#i mean for fucks sake their clothes aren’t even ripped

[bright-eyes-strawberry-lies]

“betrayal” is a really strong word when Luke just asks Percy to go with him.

“hey come with me to make our lives better.”

Even the lashing out over Hermes is just them fighting and Luke knocking Percy to the ground. Neither of them is even actually hurt in their little scuffle.

[duskamethyst]

wishful thinking.

a/n: thank you again to all that have shown their enthusiasm over this. i really hope it meets your expectations.

word count: 3.3k

genre: smut, nsfw

warnings: noncon. noncon. NONCON (fucks sake, if you don't know what that means, google it), knife play (for fear and ripping clothes), public sex, dacryphilia, degradation, mind break, creampie, choking, heavy misogyny/sexism, implied sexual abuse.

pairing: naoya x f!reader

language(s) available: vietnamese

summary: you should've known fleeing from the zen'in's household was highly impossible. now naoya is on your tail, deep inside the dark forest.

your heart is thumping in your ears, loud and erratic but you can barely hear it for your mind succumbs with fear. your legs are beginning to give out and it’s getting harder for you to breathe. to be frank, you’ve never run so hard in your life, let alone in fright. the forest is vast; one tree you’ve passed only looks like an imitation of another tree ahead and you don’t know how much farther until you can see a clear road.

you’ve had enough, you couldn’t stand to be there anymore. how could your parents sell you to the zen’ins? you’re nothing like them, you’re not a sorcerer and you definitely didn’t belong there. they all act like they’re way above your league, way better than what you are; a mere human– probably lesser or nothing at all.

but that’s what makes you perfect and as the main reason why naoya is adamant of keeping you around. you’d know where you stand. to him, you’re only a piece of flesh that is made to satiate his needs and you began to learn that you were only being sold to be used for pleasure for the rest of his life.

to confirm that, he only kept you in his room. he’d let you take a stroll around the residence if he was feeling nice enough, but never when it was getting dark and without any surveillance. you literally had zero social life there. no one spoke a word to you, not even a glance as if you’re made up of filth. human contact wasn’t something you get to experience anymore and even if you did, it wasn’t normal. nothing was normal as having his dick buried inside you as the only thing close to human contact.

so you knew you had to go.

it doesn’t take long for him to notice your disappearance. naoya thinks someone in this household is bound to get their heads off their necks for losing you, or else he wouldn’t have to chase after you in this thick and dark forest.

maybe he’s enjoying this a little, though. are you trying to test his abilities? of course you have no idea what he’s capable of, being the clueless little girl you are. naoya can already hear the sounds of the crunching dead leaves in front of him but it won’t be fun to catch you so soon.

“aren’t you getting tired, love?” you know he’s using the endearing pet name as a mere joke as you recognize the mocking tone in his voice, not too far from behind. it feels like you’ve left for a good 30 minutes, but how come he’s so quick?

putting that thought to the very back of your head, you tell yourself to keep on running instead. don’t stop, keep running. no matter how hard it is to see with just the moonlight’s illumination and how exhausted your whole body and mind are. you can feel the flight responses kicking in, increasing your heart rate rapidly and flooding you with adrenaline.

“if you wanna play this game, don’t make it easy for me.” his derisive laugh echoes within the space and it takes you by surprise, making you trip over a thick root. it leaves you with a burning scratch and you want to wail in pain but you swallow it all down and quickly scramble on your feet in an undying pursuit for freedom.

you know that nothing will save you, yet you still pathetically hold onto some sort of miracle in order to fuel your determination to escape from this hellhole.

“aw, did that hurt?” he chuckles, the resounding sound sends a cold shiver to run up your spine. you feel vulnerable, it’s almost like he’s everywhere and you don’t dare to look around except for where you’re heading, in fear that you might emit an unwitting sound if you catch a glimpse of the blond male.

but is there even any reason to stay quiet? naoya seems to already have you within his vicinity and you are more than aware of the racket you’re making with every step you take. you want to scream at him to leave you alone, but that somewhat feels like you would deliberately give yourself away to your pursuer.

your blood runs cold when you come upon two different paths ahead and you have no idea where each one would lead to. you wish you had the chance to scout the area before you left, but it was highly impossible when naoya already made sure that you were never allowed to get too far away from the main door.

but it's too late. it shouldn't be something to be pondered right now other than hoping that your choice is right as you take the risk by veering to the left and blindly follow the skewed path up ahead.

you can't help but to anxiously wait to hear his voice again but the surrounding is oddly quiet this time, apart from the sounds of your hasty footsteps and heavy pants thus making you feel more optimistic that you can almost taste victory at the tip of your tongue for finally able to outrun him or escape his visual field at least.

you can already make out the look of dissatisfaction on his face; the same one you saw so often each time you did something he displeased, the same one you feared because you knew what would lie ahead in order for him to rectify your ‘misbehavior’, nonstop until he had all sounds of protests fade to silence.

now it's all an image in your head and you want nothing more than to spit and stomp at it or maybe give it a laugh too.

“you should’ve turned right.”

but it's too early for that now, isn't it?

a part of you instantly wilts at those words and even though your resolve begins to ebb away, you still attempt to tune it out from messing with your head further with much desperation. maybe he was just trying to fool you, maybe he was only trying to make you give up, maybe–

“gotcha.”

naoya takes you by surprise by wrapping his arms around your body, causing you to stumble and fall face first onto the ground. you weep, both from pain and frustration.

“let me go!” you cry as you struggle to break free from his grasp, yet naoya doesn’t even flinch. he’s far stronger than you and even if you weren’t so tired from all that running you did, you still wouldn’t have a chance against him.

“quit your yapping.” he puts his weight by straddling your hips to paralyze you to the spot before he forcefully jerks your head back with a menacing tug by the scalp, making you shriek in pain. “you’ve wasted my time and energy when i could’ve been doing something else to you right now.”

“naoya– i-it’s hurts–” you try to pry off his hand but it only causes him to tighten his cruel grip.

“it hurts?” he coos, faking empathy. “thought you would’ve gotten used to it already.”

naoya releases his grip and lets your head collapse to the ground. you can’t scream, you open your mouth but only to find that even words have deserted you.

“all that chasing got me riled up, y’know? and it feels even fucking better when i finally caught you.” he gloats. “well, as if you had a chance to succeed anyway.”

a cold wave embalms you as the hairs rise on the back of your neck once you feel an unmistakable nudge on the cleft of your ass. he deliberately grinds the erection against you, making it more obvious than it already is.

“i think i should get a reward for winning.” he smirks as he feels your body stiffens underneath him, causing disgust and terror to bubble up in your guts knowing exactly what’s about to come.

“please, no– not here.” you desperately try to push yourself away, even with the little energy you have left but he just grinds harder to keep you in place.

“no? but you brought me here. we can’t let your efforts go to waste.” naoya takes out a knife that he often hides in his haori, the shiny blade gleams in greeting as he pulls it out from its sheath. “struggle if you agree.”

panic strikes at the sight of the sharp knife, causing you to squirm in a grave attempt to get away from him even when the chances are extremely slim. you don’t want to die here, not like this and definitely not in the hands of a maniac. “i promise i won’t run any–”

“oh, i’m glad you agree with me, sweetheart.” his voice drips with so much triumph as he meets your horrified gaze. it’s a perfect depiction of a prey and its predator. you, being the fidgeting little bunny that just got held between sharp canine teeth by the back of the neck and him, the wolf that is a bite away from devouring you brutally.

“d-don’t kill me–” you can hear your own pulse drumming in your ears as you feel the edge of the knife pressing on your back.

“kill you?” he breaks into a mirthful laughter, as if hearing someone beg for their lives is the most ridiculous thing he has ever heard. “god, what the fuck are you talking about? do you have any idea how terrible it is if you die? there’s no more women like you out there.”

it’s not exactly what you want to hear– you may live to see another day, but it only means living through the same hell again. despite that, it’s still a relief to know that he has no intentions to put an end to your life tonight even while having the threatening trail of the blade’s tip from your spine down to the curve of your ass. naoya applies little pressure yet you can feel your body tremble in fear as your hands clench into tight, shaky fists.

“but as my woman,” your breath hitches when you feel the blade tapping against your cunt. “i should claim what’s mine.” he tugs the fabric of your pants with his fingers and punctures his knife before dragging the sharp blade downwards to rip your pants apart.

the huge hole makes you feel conspicuous but it doesn’t beat the feeling of dread creeping up from the pits of your stomach when you sense the knife slipping under the stretchy band of your panties, the cool steel so close to your pussy, enough to make you tense your muscles before it withdraws in favor of tearing your panties in two.

and oh, what a sight. looks like someone’s a little masochist. he wasn’t expecting this from you. you must’ve enjoyed those punishments more than you let on.

“you said you didn’t want this but you’re already wet.” he sneers at you as he keeps the knife away and spreads the drenched folds with his fingers. you curse at yourself for the little whine that you can’t suppress, as if your body has grown accustomed to him.

“naoya, please–”

“mm, beg some more. i like hearing that.” having no regard for your pleas, he plunges his finger inside you. “this what you were asking for?”

“n-no– stop–” your head starts to spin when you feel his finger sliding in deeper and begins to pump in and out agonizingly.

“i would’ve just stretched you out with my cock but you were begging so nicely.” he smirks as he plunges another finger, coating them with your slick. you know you hate this, you truly do but your traitorous body just reacts so well to him and the way you’re clenching and squeezing the two digits doesn’t go unnoticed by him. hell, you need to stop lying if you like it so much.

you feel like you could hardly breathe but your legs quiver when he curls and drags his fingers against the spongy walls. embarrassing squelches reverberates in the silent air with every pump he makes and you’re absolutely chagrined over how much your cunt is leaking for him.

and when he found that very sensitive spot, your body trembles so much for him. how could you say you didn’t want this? you’re tightening so hard around him right now.

“you already wanna cum? is that it?” he mocks, fingers never stray from hitting your g-spot continuously as he’s determined to make your body writhe like it always has.

and much to your shame, you do. there’s an undeniable influx of sensation coursing through you and the heated knot in your stomach is threatening to snap. you’re beyond appalled at your state of arousal so you try to fight and rebuff it, not wanting to give him the satisfaction that he pursues.

“i– i don’t–” you deny in pitiful sobs, making the impatient man fume with irritation.

“looks like you’ve never learned your lesson but it’s fine,” his hand reaches your neck, wrapping his fingers around your throat to constrict air flow. “you like it when i do this, right? it always gets you so fucking tight.”

you cough and splutter with tears coursing down your face but the lack of oxygen in your system makes you more light-headed and disgustingly entices more sensation in your lower stomach. you know you’re losing yourself, so close to breaking down and won't be able to take it further before you unwillingly succumb to pure, unadulterated pleasure winding through your veins, consuming and overwhelming you with choked sobs slipping past your lips.

“you’re so disgusting, cumming just from my fingers like that.” he laughs deridingly and releases his grip, letting your cheek plop onto the ground, body shaking as you ride through your orgasm.

naoya immediately tugs his pants down to his knees, just enough to release his throbbing cock before aligning with your quivering hole. without sparing a moment to allow your fraying wits to gather, he rubs the flushed tip against your wet folds, collecting slick and moisture with no regards to how you feel.

“ah– still– sensitive.”

naoya clicks his tongue in annoyance, “and i’m fucking hard.”

clearly you haven’t been completely molded into what naoya wishes for, judging from how you’re still able to talk back to him despite having gone through the same treatment repetitively. but it’s fine, he can’t really say he doesn’t take joy in your act of defiance. sex would be terribly mundane for him if there would be no resistance.

“god, you’re so wet.” he grinds up and down your slit, making you shudder each time the tip of his cock pokes the sensitive nub. “you know why? ‘cause your needy little cunt knows you want me. it’s ‘cause you know your place as a woman and that’s why you’re given this pussy.”

terror sucks the very breath from your mouth. only low, feeble sounds to express your pain and fear, knowing that any word or pleas you utter will only fall onto deaf ears.

“and you just love taking my cock, hm?” he growls as he runs down his cock to your entrance, just a moment away from penetration. “you love it when a man puts you in your place.”

and he pushes inside of you with a groan of expletive, head thrown back as he sinks in deeper through the pulsating walls.

“fuck. i don’t think i need to tell you how you’re taking me so well.” he chuckles, ignoring the all too familiar wails and sobs as he revels in your tight and warm cunt fluttering around his throbbing cock.

once naoya is settled deep inside you, he begins to move his hips and fucks into you relentlessly with dissonant groans and grunts of pleasure ringing in your ears while your hands innately find purchase on the grass of the forest floor, uncaring of the dirty soil that collects under your fingernails as you search for alleviation from the burning pain inflicted on you.

“stop– i can’t–”

“this is what you’re made for.” the slaps of his skin against your ass resonates across the boundless trees, drowning out chirps from the crickets and your stifled sobs. “and if you can’t understand that, i’ll just have to keep fucking some sense into you.”

naoya leans down to press his chest on your body, the deep touch of his cock raises your clamorous whimpers to a crescendo before a hand clamps over your lips to keep you hushed.

“too much noise would ruin the fun and you wouldn’t want that, right?” hot plumes of breath burn your skin as he whispers into your ear. you sniffle in response with solemn tears welled in your eyes before they roll down your cheeks again like a river escaping a dam.

“that’s more like it. cry for me.” the hand over your mouth tilts your head forcefully to show him your face; all messy and poignant, a look that sends blood straight to his cock and it twitches inside you as he licks the salty wet trail off your cheek.

“you might as well try to enjoy it. maybe time will pass by quicker.” with a manic grin embracing his features, he pounds into you harder, florid cockhead kisses your cervix with each extensive thrust while his other hand maneuvers underneath you to rub tight circles on your neglected clit.

the thought of naoya taking you down and rutting inside your cunt like uncivilized creatures performing a mating ritual in the dark forest makes you nauseous– but even more revolting when the pain subsides to form undesired pleasure and drains out your strength altogether, including something as simple as keeping your eyelids lifted.

“that’s right– hah– take it like you’re supposed to.” he grunts as he feels you clenching around him, milking him dry.

muffled mewls soon join the obscene squelching sounds from your sopping cunt, pleasing the male himself and he finally unhitch his hand, but only to shove two fingers into your mouth.

“suck.” his command is unmistakable despite being whispered. through a clouded mind, you bend to his will; cheeks hollowed and tongue swirling around the long digits in sloppy movements to moisten them with bountiful drool.

“that’s what your mouth is good for.” he snarls as he toys with the nub between his fingers faster, causing your hips to jerk back in response. “look at you. squeezing me like that.”

every drag of his cock becomes more exquisite, the prominent vein continuously brushes against your walls as he works with an angle that’s sure to hit your most sensitive spot. with fingers still kept in your mouth, you keen his name incoherently as pressure tightens in your lower stomach, so close to tip you off the edge.

naoya draws his fingers from your mouth with a string of saliva connected to your wet, parted lips. he tugs you by the scalp again, craning your neck as he rams against the sensitive spot ruthlessly.

black dots envelop your vision and you hear a high pitched scream, not realizing it is your own until much later when your body quakes, pussy gushing around the cock still buried inside you.

“god, fuck– you’re really enjoying this.” he snarls, his own dick twitching while he fucks you through your orgasm.

his thrusts soon begin to stutter and he bites on your shoulder as he cums with a growl, the sound rumbling through his chest and filling up your eardrums as he spurts warm, thick load against your cervix.

naoya lets you go and you fall on the ground again, giving you a moment to take a breather as he pulls out his spent cock and drinks in the sight of your swollen cunt leaking with white cum before an idea pops up in his mind.

“that was fun, wasn’t it?” you hear him let out a sardonic laughter. “how about i count until ten so you could run– or crawl, i don’t care. but you know what happens after i catch you again.”

​duskamethyst © 2020 • do not modify, translate or repost anywhere.

enjoyed this piece? wanna buy me coffee? :)

[mindninjax]

OK FUCK IM HERE!

Bakugo x reader

Warnings: Sex, talk about putting it in the wrong hole, bahaha, also it’s not edited,fucking sue me.

A/n: ok so maybe Jo and I were talking about this. I swear to god I’m gonna do Kiri next but my fucking boss kept coming in to my office lmaooo. @kingkatsuki this for you babe

Imagine you and Katsuki getting hot and heavy. It’s a make out session, you haven’t seen each other in a while, he’s needy, desperate, biting and nipping at your lips, hands clumsily trying to undo his belt and rip your shirt off.

You’re smiling against his lips,”Eager today aren’t you Katsu?” you tease.

He only grunts as he latches on to your neck, a quick mumbled “Missed you baby” against the soft skin of your neck.

His breath tickles and makes you shudder as he continues to bite and mark you. He’s pushing you back on the couch, your hands are digging into his thick muscular arms as he pulls your clothes off. He rips open your shirt, large hands coming to grasp and play with your tits.

Of course you moan, he’s always so good about knowing what you like. He kisses down the canvas of your body, leaving little marks you know you’ll have to cover with concealer later. He’s such a menace, so possessive marking you up like this.

You can feel how hard he is as he grinds against your thigh, he’s practically throbbing, his need for you making the tip of his cock weep. There’s a damp spot on his shorts and you lick your lips in preparation of what’s to come.

“You see what you do to me baby?” he groans as he grinds his clothed cock against your clit.

You mewl in delight, it always does wonders for your ego when he talks about what you do to him.

Katsuki quickly sheds his bottoms and underwear, too eager to pull your underwear down your legs he slips them to the side and runs a finger through your soaked folds. You arch up into his touch, encouraging him more with pretty moans and whimpers of his name.

That is until he runs his finger down to the puckered tight hole below your cunt and your eyes shoot open.

“Don’t even think about it.”

Your voice, just that quickly, has turned into a scold. Katsuki pouts, pushing his lips out and huffing.

“For fucks sake, how long is the punishment gonna last?” he says, a slight whine on the edge of his voice.

“Until I know you’re not gonna jam it in like that again,” you say, raising an eyebrow.

Katsuki huffs again leaning back on his knees away from you to glare into your eyes. His cock bobs and slaps against his abs and you momentarily think about how impressed you are that he’s still hard while having this conversation.

“I told ya it was a fucking accident! I didn't mean to! I just got too into it. You know what your pussy does to me!” he argues and it is the exact same tone he uses when you’ve heard him get in an argument with Mitsuki.

“Yeah except it WASN’T my pussy was it?” you retort. Despite the curt tone you still fondle your own breasts and move to lift your hips. “You don’t get to put it in my ass until I know you’ll be gentle with her,” you add, pulling your panties down and spreading your legs.

Katsuki licks his lips as he stares at the way slick webs between your parted thighs. He almost looks like he’s in a trance, hypnotized by your pussy.

“Will a princess plug help?” he says pumping his length as he moves to line himself up with your cunt.

You hum as he pushes, slowly into your warmth, feeling yourself stretch around him as he lets out a long winded “Ffffuuuccckkk” as he bottoms out.

You catch your breath and right before he starts to move, you give him a smug smirk, “It’s a start.”

[mandoalorian]

Sinner [Dark!Din Djarin x F!Reader] *SMUT*

Summary: The Mandalorian has been attending confession for weeks now, with the sole intensive purpose to see you. 

Rating: 18+ smut

Warnings: Dark!Din, implied age difference, religion kink (don’t come for me...), sex in a place of worship, smut: loss of virginity, mutual masturbation, dirty talk, degradation, unprotected p in v, cunningless, death mention, alcohol mention, brothel mention. 

Word Count: 4000+

Masterlist

REBLOGS APPRECIATED!<3

He’d been coming to confess for about a year now. He’d gone off the rails when he lost the kid. You’d heard rumours about the Mandalorian — strong, fierce, brave... a warrior. You certainly wouldn’t have pinned him for a man of faith. You’d seen him a few times when you were shadowing your father in church. He was tall, broad shouldered, and only came during the dead of night, when the abbey was completely isolated.

“Hello,” you greeted him, your soft voice echoing throughout the chambers. Your crimson red heels clicked against the marble floor beneath you as you approached the masked figure. Curtseying politely and removing your hood, you couldn’t help but bat your eyelashes in the direction the Mandalorian. “It’s quite late. I was just closing for the night.” you admitted, biting down on your lower lip in hope that he’d understand.

“I thought places of worship aren’t supposed to close?” He countered quizzically, an air of amusement in his voice. 

“You’re right, technically,” you hummed, picking at your nails as a wash of nerves flooded over you. “But my father is out of town and... I need to sleep.”

That’s where he recognised you from— you were the daughter of the Grand Bishop. He’d seen you before, doting around the abbey in your signature black gown and red robes. You were hard to miss, your beauty being beyond standards of measure. Yes, he knew you. He had noticed you watching him from the pillars above, when you thought nobody was looking. He noticed the way you’d deliberately brush past his body... desperate for just the slightest touch. He recognised your scent too; it was sweet like honey. And your ruby coloured lips. He’d dreamt of them plenty of times. It was really you.

“Where is he?” The Mandalorian asked after a beat of prolonged silence.

“He was requested by Senator Berenko to present evening mass on Naboo, for the Festival of Lights.” you explained, probably offering a little too much information.

“When will he be back?”

“Next week.”

“Well, I’ll be back then.” 

No, you couldn’t just let him leave. You couldn’t just let him walk away from you. This was your chance. In a fluster, you extended your arm and pawed at his bicep. He froze under your touch, and you hoped that you hadn’t overstepped. 

“Are— you’re here to confess. Aren’t you?” you asked him with a nervous gulp. Maker, why were you so nervous? The Mandalorian didn’t say anything, so you heeded to continue. “I’ve seen you come by before. I know you speak to my father usually but— I can do it. The confession, I mean. I’ve been shadowing my father for the past few months— training with him. I can do it. If... if you’d like me to.”

The Mandalorian took a moment to process your words. Maker; you were a sight to behold. Your eyes were starry and reflective of the galaxy he’d spent so long venturing. Your skin was soft and delicate. You were pure— untouched— holy. He was afraid the discussion of his sins might be a bit too much for you to handle. 

Or maybe there was something more.

Maybe he was afraid that once he’d start opening up to you, he wouldn’t be able to stop. He wouldn’t be able to resist you.

“Aren’t you a little young?” The Mandalorian scoffed incredulously, bringing his leather gloved hand to his helmet, his thumb grazing the cloth between his chin and his neck. His rude manner didn’t surprise you at all, but yet, you kept a strong posture and held your head high.

“I’m old enough.” you declared, not ripping your gaze from him once. Even through the dark tinted visor of his helmet, it felt like you were looking into his eyes, staring deep into his soul. 

So, he agreed. You told him to wait in the confession box by the altar. “I won’t be long, I just have to lock up and turn out the lights.”

As you walked down the aisle, you lit a match and ignited some candles. They were tall and made from beeswax, and the flicking amber flames provided barely enough light. But it had to be enough. It had to do. The wax dripped down the sculptures and chambersticks, pooling into swirls of hardening ivory. 

The Mandalorian waited for you in the confession box, having already discarded the plates of his beskar armour. It was hard to wear, and heavy on his back, but he felt safe… here, with you. He had no reason to be still wearing it. No more fighting tonight, he hoped.

The image of you couldn’t escape his mind, no matter how hard he tried. Dirty thoughts — it was wrong of him. You were the Grand Bishop’s daughter for Heaven’s sake.

When you entered your side of the confession box, your full intention was to follow the ordinary strict protocol. There was no reason for distraction.

“State your name for the records,” you requested, shuffling around as you worked on getting comfortable in your chair.

“Din Djarin.”

Din Djarin. It was a beautiful name. Your mind immediately went to pairing his last name with your first name, and then you cursed yourself for the inappropriate thought. 

“Din,” his name left your lips like the sweetest tasting honey. “Why are you here today? What would you like to confess?”

“I went to Corellia over the weekend,” he announced, his voice cold through the modulator. “The bad part— well, it’s all bad over there,” he corrected himself before continuing. “Got into some trouble gambling at Lady Proxima’s casino and a bunch of white worms surrounded me. So I killed them, all of them. I didn’t have to. But I did. I murdered them in cold blood.”

It was in that moment you learned how dangerous of a man The Mandalorian was. His beskar armour was just as cold as his heart.

“Wh— why did you kill them?” you asked timidly, almost afraid to know the answer.

“For the release. The adrenaline. The feeling of power. I can’t escape it. Have you ever killed?”

“N—no.”

Din scoffed incredulously. “Of course you haven’t.”

“What do you do after you kill?” you inquired, hoping to change the subject.

“Corellia has the best brothels… cheap too. I sought them out and look for a quick fuck.”

“Out of wedlock?” you pondered with a queasy frown.

Din laughed. “You’re asking if I’m married?”

He was right, it was a foolish question. 

“Do you enjoy your time at the brothel? Or do you regret it soon after?” you wondered.

Another laugh— and Maker, he made you feel terrible. Were you really that bad at this? 

“Yes, I enjoy myself. The girls there are pretty little things. Needy. Desperate. But— it’s not special, you know? It’s not… not exactly what I crave.”

“What do you crave?”

“To touch someone untouched. Pure. Holy…” the Mandalorian trailed off. “So, when I fuck the girls at the brothel, I tend to think of the Grand Bishop’s daughter.” He revealed, feeling his cock harden in the confines of his pants at the memory. You swallowed, a wave of heat immediately washing over you. You. He was thinking about you.

This was ridiculous. Was he messing with you? He had to have been messing with you. Sure, he’d seen you around before but neither of you had even held a conversation, prior to today. And he’d been thinking about you while he was sleeping with other women? You had to suck it up and remain professional, no matter how much it irked you. He was here to confess and you couldn’t let this become personal.

But it was so hard. Maker, why was it this hard? Was it because you’d thought about him too? Because you’d imagined his cock in place of your fingers, at night when everyone else is sleeping? You yearned to know more. You ached to know the details. Surely that was fair. He was speaking about you, after all.

You could already feel your panties begin to dampen with arousal. How could one man have such an effect on you? In your place of worship too. You wanted to punch him, kick him, take out all your anger on him. But most importantly, you wanted him. His touch. His hands on your body and his cock splitting you open. That’s what you wanted the most.

“What did— what did you think of?” You swallowed, anticipating the details. You were glad he couldn’t see how flustered and hot you were right now. It certainly wasn’t in the code for you to ask about details such as this but… surely one question would do no harm.

You could just about hear Din chuckle, from the other side of the wall, and it made your slick wet cunt clench around absolutely nothing. He was driving you feral. “I’d think about her ruby red lips and how they’d look wrapped around my cock. I’d imagine fucking her mouth, making her gag— wanting her to cry. I’d want to see the tears stream down her cheeks as I give her my all. And finally, I’d imagine her letting me cum down her throat.”

There was something about him talking about you, to you, in third person. Like you weren’t supposed to be there, listening. Like this information was not made for your ears.

Your panties were soaked at the thought. You couldn’t believe it. All this time, all these sessions of confession with your father, and it had only stirred him on more. He’d been going to confess, only to see you. 

“Tell me, princess. How does that make you feel?”

Shit. He could not be serious right now. You placed your palm flat against the wall and took a deep breath. “Mando, you’re here to confess. Not me.”

You tried to shut out his words, but your body ached for him. Ached to feel him… touch him. You wanted him just as much as he wanted you — but it would be wrong. It would be so wrong.

Another chuckle. You hated when he did that. As if all of this was some kind of joke to him. Did he even know what he was doing to you? It was like torture. 

“See, the Grand Bishop’s daughter… oh wow. She’s a vision. She dotes crimson red lips and she walks around as if she owns the place, her stiletto heels clicking against the floor. She’s bad, like the devil in disguise, and yet, I know her. She’s young and untouched. Her father will probably marry her off to some other minister in the outer-rim, ship her away for good. And she’ll be forced to deal with very mediocre sex for the rest of her life. Which is a shame, really, because she deserves better. You deserve better.”

“You have no idea who I am.” you spat out, feeling your cheeks burn with rage. How dare he make these assumptions about you and your family. This crude, older man with a tongue that could kill. How dare he. 

You wanted to be mad at him so bad. He couldn’t possibly get away with this. But he was going to. Because what exactly could you do? 

“She’ll never know how it feels to be stretched open by a real cock,” Din gritted out, dismissing your comment completely. “F—fuck.”

Din was palming himself through his pants, desperate for some kind of release. His sleuth, dirty words set a fire blazing in your core. You wanted it too. You wanted it so bad. You contemplated all the things you could do, all the actions and their consequences. You and the Mandalorian, both in the confession box. You couldn’t even see one another… the prolonged silence on your end prompted Din to get up and leave when he heard your honey velvet voice speak once more.

You had to say something.

“When the lights are out and everyone is asleep, I think about you,” you confessed, hating the way the croaky admission left your lips. You’d done it now. Din’s head snapped upwards to face the wall and oh how he wished he could see you right now. You were squirming around in your chair and when you heard the zipper of his pants become undone, you knew it was your queue to continue. “I touch myself. It’s hard to keep quiet… thinking about you. I imagine you touching me… running your gloved hands all over my body,” you bring your hand to your breast and give it a little squeeze. “I figure.. maybe you don’t take the gloves off. You praise me when you feel how wet I am, and I tell you that it’s all for you. I’m all yours. To use however you like. I want you to ruin me. Spoil me for any other man. Fuck me until I cant walk. Bite me, give me marks I have to hide during tomorrow’s mass.”

Din made a fist around his cock and began to pump as he listened to the dirty words that left your holy lips. His grunts and groans echoed throughout the box and went straight to your core. Oh how you wished you could see him right now. Peeling up the hem of your robe, you slid your fingers under the waistband of your panties and began to rub tight circles into your clit. 

“You’re a virgin?” he asked, although it came out more so like a statement. Like he already knew the answer. 

“Ye-yeah,” you whimpered, quickening your pace.

He was achingly stiff now, beads of milky white precum already dripping down his shaft.

“You want this?” He quizzed. “You want my cock right now? Think you deserve it?”

And in that moment, you made your decision.

Maybe this life that your father had given you, just wasn’t for you.

“Y-yes, oh God yes. I deserve it.”

A low and dark chuckle left Din’s lips. “You’ve been a child of God your whole life. But you want this, yes? You’ve been waiting for this?”

He was right. You had been waiting for this. 

“P-please Din, please. Wreck me. Ruin me.”

“In the chapel too?” he laughed, rising to his feet. “You really are desperate. C’mon then.”

In a fluster, you practically fell out of your side of the confession box.

The Mandalorian stalked towards you with his cock in his hand, jerking himself off as he got nearer and nearer. His eyes didn’t leave you once and although you couldn’t see his face, you could only imagine the predatory glint in his eye. Maker he was huge, and thick, and you wondered how you’d ever be able to take him.

You weren’t used to this— Maker, you’d never done anything like this before. There was no way your fingers would ever be able to compare to the size of the Mandalorian. 

“Are you sure you want this?” he grunted, releasing his cock and grabbing your throat, giving it an experimental squeeze. You nodded your head desperately and subconsciously licked your lower lip. “I must know. If I start, I won’t be able to stop. Do you want me to claim you?”

Just like Hades claimed Persephone? You shut the absent thought out of your mind and agreed to his proposition.

“I do.”

If it was so wrong, why did it feel so right? You had dreamt of this moment. How could you ever deny him? 

He pinned you against the altar and tapped at your thigh, gesturing for you to open your legs up. His eyes dropped straight to your dripping core and he had to hold back a guttural moan.

Din wasted no time and rubbed his cock along your slick wet folds. For a second you were afraid he’d knock over the many burning candles that you had lit earlier in the evening, before your little confession session had begun. But, to no surprise of your own, the Mandalorian had extremely good coordination. 

“Oh f-fuck, such a pretty little thing. So warm, bet— bet you feel so fucking good.” Din mumbled utterances of praise, his grip tightening around your wrists as he propped you up. 

Every now and again the bulbous tip of his cock rubbed over your clit and the sensation practically sent you into orbit. You were touch starved, having never experienced intimacy like this with anyone before. “Do you want me to fuck you now, huh? Want me to fuck that pretty little cunt of yours?”

You whimpered a small ‘yes’ and Din chuckled darkly, tapping his cock against your cunt before sliding into you with one swift movement.

You let out a squeal, your fingernails digging into the muscles of his back as he seated deep inside you. Underneath his helmet, his perfect lips were parted into an ‘O’ shape as your fluttering walls clenched around him and made him feel like he was home.

“Fuck— so tight, so fucking tight. Just like I’d imagined.” He murmured, feeling like he was already seeing stars. 

Din thrust upwards into you, the curve of his cock stretching you open and pulsating inside of you. His movements were rough and bruising, as his fingers dug into the soft flesh at your hips as he held onto you for support. Just like you’d requested, he was completely and utterly using you. 

“How’s that?” his gasp rolled into an achingly long groan as his balls slapped against your cunt, creating the most obscene wet sounds.

It was uncomfortable at first. He wasn’t soft or gentle by any means, but you’d anticipated that. After just a few thrusts, the intrusive pain turned into bolts of pleasure that coursed through your veins. It clouded your vision like white noise— like what the red berry wine you’d drink during Sunday mass would do to your mind. Din grabbed at the thin cloth that covered your chest, and ripped it off, exposing your bare breasts to him. A sheen of glistening sweat glazed your skin like the most beautiful honey dew. The Mandalorian was tall and broad, and as he towered over you, he coated you in his dark shadow.

His large hands palmed at your breasts and you moaned at the sudden, unexpected contact. He continued thrusting, fucking you mercilessly. With every movement, he hit that sweet spot inside of you, and you knew he’d been doing this for a long time. He was definitely experienced.

He dropped his hand for your chest and lowered it to your clit, expertly moving his two fingers across your bundle of nerves. That feeling, combined with his thick cock, was enough to send you over the edge. 

“Oh yes, yes, yes,” you chanted his name like it was a prayer— and he felt powerful.

The Mandalorian grinned wolfishly under his helmet as he increased his speed. You were seeing stars and it felt like your whole body was trapped under a spell. His spell.

“I ca- oh I can’t, I’m close, I’m close,” you cried as he continued to rock his hips into yours.

You hugged his body into yours, wishing the pleasure would never end. With every twitch of his cock he watched you intently. He watched the way your body reacted to him, revelling in the way your face screwed up in heated pleasure. Din adored the way your brow knitted together and your mouth parted as the most angelic noises omitted from your plush lips. 

“Have you ever felt so alive than you do right now, with me inside of you?” Din queried with a grunt.

“No,” you answered, shaking your head profusely. “Please don’t stop.”

Your orgasm ripped through you like a tornado and without warning, The Mandalorian split his seed deep inside of you, his salty cum roping your perfect walls as they gripped down around his cock. Now he had marked you for life.

Din returned to confession a week later when your father had returned from the Festival of Lights. There was no reason for you to see The Mandalorian anymore. 

“Forgive me, Grand Bishop, for I have sinned yet again.” Din announced, his voice clear as daylight after discarding his beskar helmet. He ran a gloved hand over his face.

“Another kill?” your father inquired, but from the other side of the wall, Din could only smirk.

“I’ve met a woman. A holy woman. And she has consumed my every thought. When I think about her I feel more inclined to sin, over and over again.” 

It was true. Your ruby red lips, high heels, thin robes… Din had become completely enraptured with you. 

Your father spent a moment contemplating the Mandalorian’s words, finding that he was speaking a lot differently than ever before. Not as ruthless or dangerous— but almost genuine.

“Would you give your body to this holy woman, if she requested you do so?” The Grand Bishop asked, not realising he was speaking about you, his own daughter.

“I already have,” Din confessed, subconsciously licking a stripe over his lower lip, at the memory of your taste. “And I would do it again.”

-—-—-—♡—-—-—-

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[astaroth1357]

Demigod MC Series: Ares

Demigod MC Series: Intro, Aphrodite, Hermes, Hades, Dionysus, Demeter, Athena, Hades Pt. 2, Poseidon, Ares

Lucifer

He cannot overstate what kind of damage this mortal was able to do in their first few seconds in the Devildom...

The instant they got to their feet, they had managed to incapacitate Satan and knock down Beel. Lucifer himself tried to get between them and Diavolo but…

If he hadn’t moved his head, if he was standing just ONE INCH to the left… he wouldn’t have a head anymore. Barbatos was there to intervene, but had he not they could have probably taken out the Avatar of Pride and done critical damage to the Demon Prince himself in one strike...

Frankly, Lucifer prefers not to dwell on that moment... He's sure Ares must be proud of this one...

He pretty much treats the mortal like a live bomb afterward, if he can get away with not interacting with them at all, that’s what he’ll do.

He’s NOT scared of them... much... It’s just that they have a bullish and uncooperative attitude at best and since they know they can take any of them, they don't even consider him - Lucifer, the eldest demon brother - a threat...

But you know what the most frustrating thing is? They won't give him an inch of respect, but they'll always listen to Levi! Levi!!

Look, Lucifer knows he may not hold a rank among the Hell's army and he might not have been a major player in the Celestial/Demonic wars of the day, but he's still the strongest demons here, dammit!! 😡

Lucifer finds nothing is more embarrassing than having to ask Levi of all people to keep the mortal in line because he can't... Oh, the humiliation… He hopes they leave soon...

Mammon

At first, he thought they were scary. But in time he thought they were scary… and also pretty damn awkward.

Mammon wasn’t there when they more or less wiped out the majority of his brothers in the Conference Hall but when he finally showed up he'd never seen Lucifer look so pale… If THAT doesn't make you shit your pants, he doesn't know what will.

Naturally, he kind of toned it down on the "stupid human" stuff real quick after seeing that…

But here's the thing. After the two made a pact together, Mammon started to notice that the MC wasn't all that mean, they were just… violent?

He legitimately thought that they couldn’t stand him for a while until one day a guy on the street called him a dirtbag. The MC threw a punch right there! No questions asked, they just decked that guy!!

It was kind of touching… and messy. Very messy. Did he mention that they’re terrifying yet? 😥

As it turns out, the MC has apparently spent a lot of their life just fighting things and being asked to fight things so they're not very used to showing non-violent affection… 

It took him awhile, but he realized that their way of saying, "I like you," is, "I will attack your enemies." So now all he does when his brothers tease him is say, "I'm telling MC!'' and they'll stop immediately. It's great!! 😁

Considers them to be his bodyguard when he goes out to gamble in some… shadier places. Most of the time not even the bouncers want to take on the MC, ain't nobody getting paid enough to lose that many teeth…

Leviathan

Okay, so. It's not very obvious anymore, but he USED to be on the front lines of the war against demons in the Celestial Realm. He was in charge of battle strategies, he led armies, and even now he still holds the highest rank of the royal navy!

So leave it to the kid of a war god to sniff all that out about him, huh…? They appeared to know all about his record the instant they saw him and they actually seemed to respect him for it!

For context, this mortal tells pretty much everybody to shove off but any time he’s around they call him “Admiral” or “sir” and actually pay attention to what he says! He can tell it drives Lucifer insane, but honestly? It’s a bit of an ego boost. 😌

It’s sort of cute when they come to him asking for tactical advice… They get just as into it as he does with his anime and any time he points out something that they haven't seen before they get so excited it's like they're a kid watching a magic trick. HUGE ego boost. 😏

Speaking of anime, it’s hit or miss whether or not they can watch any of it. Anything with good fight scenes (and let’s be honest, not that much talking) they’re on board for. But if the hero and the villain talk to each other for like an episode before throwing punches then the MC will just rant...

MC: “The enemy is distracted... Why aren’t they attacking yet??”

Levi: “Because the villain killed the hero’s best friend and they’re-”

MC: “They could avenge their friend right now if they ended things right here!”

Levi: “MC, we’ve been over this... That’s not how plot works.”

MC: “And now he got away!! See?? They should have killed him when they had the chance!”

Levi: “*sigh*... Let’s just play some CoD.”

Satan 

The last thing he remembered when the “human” hopped out of the portal was a sharp pain to the side of the temple and Asmo wailing as he fell unconscious…

Yeeeeah, not great. And unfortunately for the mortal the Avatar of Wrath tends to hold a grudge… 

For a comparatively brief moment in time, all of Satan’s considerable ire had shifted away from Lucifer and to their new housemate. They found their bed, clothes, pillows, food, and even their toothbrush cursed!

… But Ares kids must be built from some strong stuff, because half of what he employed didn’t even faze them! He even put an explosive spell on their backpack and not only did they tank the blast, it didn’t hurt them at all!! It was like they’re damn near immortal!

Annnnd they kind of are. Apparently the MC had taken a dip in the River Styx at some point before and became nigh invulnerable…

Was it maybe a little terrifying to know that they had kidnapped a nearly invincible demigod on the level of Achilles? Yes. Did that also mean that they must have had a weakness too? In theory....

Satan honestly devoted a depressing amount of time trying to uncover the “Achilles’ Heel” of his new sworn enemy… until…

The MC was walking with him and Asmo to RAD one morning when they passed by a group of lesser demons harassing a small puppy. Now Satan may be more of a cat man, but NO ONE fucks with animals while he’s around.

He was right about to go over and rip those demons a new one but the MC actually beat him to it! Apparently, the second that they realized what was happening, they launched themselves forward and started bashing the abusers' heads into a wall!

… Live by violence, forgive by violence because in that very moment Satan decided they weren’t so bad after all. He even joined in!

Oh, Asmo gave them both shit all day for the bloodstains on their uniforms and the scratches on their… everywhere, but it’s not like either of them cared. Righteous justice had been served and it was glorious!!

100% would team up with the MC in some kind of vigilante “punish-all-animal-abusers” gig. They have but to ask. 😌

Asmodeus

Oh they TERRIFIED Asmo when they first showed up! How else was he supposed to react?? They brought down his brothers like they were made of cardboard!!

Though he had to admit that the confident, battle-ready look they had about them was sexy as hell, he knew better than to go bear poking! 😣 He avoided them like plague until they finally asked him for a pact.

And then he discovered something… something very unexpected….

They're actually adorable!!!

Okay, like, not in appearance (they look like they could pile drive Cerberus for Pete’s sake!) but he discovered that they have NO CLUE how to handle physical affection. Like zero!!

The first time Asmo actually got the courage to try and hug them he expected them to toss him off, but instead they just stood there like a malfunctioning doll, all flustered and confused… It was so cute!!! 🥰

From that point on, Asmo would take every chance he could to wrap his arms around them or kiss their cheeks just to watch them try and fail to handle it. It's more fun than picking on Levi!!

It took two months for them to finally attempt any kind of reciprocation and even that was adorable! They pecked him on the forehead without thinking about it then nearly passed out from the realization. Apparently, they had never felt like kissing anyone before so he was quite honored!

The brothers know that if the MC's looking too mad to listen to Levi, they just need to call Asmo. A nigh invincible warrior becomes a LOT less scary after you’ve cuddled them into submission! 🤭

Beelzebub

Beel didn't like them one bit, at least not at the beginning. They had managed to get past him and actually attack Lucifer which was NOT a great first impression on their part...

He honestly saw them as a threat for a while, but unlike the rest of his brothers he didn’t avoid them. He just kept an eye on them.... constantly….

Look. Beel is a big guy. Stealth is not his strong suit… If he's tailing you, you're probably going to know about it because there's a six-foot something behemoth in orange following you around while pounding down bags of chips. He's not very subtle…

That being said, after following them around for a while the two finally got to talking and he realized that they didn’t want to hurt anybody or anything. They were just acting on instinct before.

After making the MC promise not to hurt any of his family, they got on much better terms. Hell, he actually got them into fangol!

Beel's sport of choice is pretty much just ultra-violent American football so the MC took a liking to it instantly! After enough begging, the coach let them try out and they got onto his team immediately.

He likes having them as a teammate! They're very good at the game, uh... even if they take it a little too seriously…

They once tried to convince his teammates to decorate the team bus with "the helmets of their fallen foes." They're REALLY into the sport… But hey, they haven't lost a game since they’ve joined. It’ll be fine!... Probably.

Belphegor

Hahaha… He’s in danger… 😥

It took one look at this mortal to make him rethink the whole, “Trick the Human” plan… Since when have humans looked like that?? They could crush his skull under their heel!!

It took all he had in him to play it cool when they first met because his internal monologue was nothing but screaming… THIS was the "human" he had to use to get him out of there?? How in the WORLD was he going to kill them?!

Admittedly, he had to think about it for a while. Belphie's a clever guy… and a demon. So who needs an honorable fight, anyway? If he can’t win one-on-one, then he’ll cheat!

He waited until the MC got the door open and didn't attempt a frontal assault… No laughter, no gloating. He just waited for them to turn their back, claws ready to dig out their heart, and then-!

MC: "Do you really want to try that?"

The MC must have had some kind of danger sense, because they didn't even have to turn around to know what Belphie was doing…

MC: "Look. I like Beel and you're his twin brother… So I'm willing to let this slide. But if you really want to try me…"

MC: *looks over their shoulder with the glare of a bona fide killer* "I won't hold back."

That was... very persuasive.

The MC brought Belphie down to the others peacefully with his tail between his legs and honestly Lucifer was more relieved that he wasn’t a bloodstain on the floor than he was mad… They could have killed him sooo easily… 

They did, indeed, forgive and forget about the whole “attempted murder” thing, though Belphie was never quite able to shake off how frightening they were in that moment… He had nightmares for a while.

Thankfully, Asmo clued him in that the MC would melt into a harmless puddle of fluff if they got even the slightest bit of physical affection... Oh, the sweet payback he could dish out... It’s cuddle time. 😏

[girlsjustwannadrawwhump]

Whumper who’s a tattoo artist

(These aren’t established ocs but were given names to replace the generic “whumper/whumpee” titles) Trigger warning for n0nconsensual tattooing & creepy whumper

Julius doesn’t kill.

If he did, then what would be the point of all that hard work? Days of labor gone to waste; pieces of art lovingly crafted by his perfectionistic hand would wilt when they could otherwise have lasted a lifetime.

When he captures his canvasses, he does so with the intent of setting them free, to be a walking museum of his arts. Therefore, he covers his face, his hair, his hands even. After all, a creation is never meant to see its God.

“Tell me your name, dear.” he says, circling the tied-up prey.

“Why would you need to know?” It answers hesitantly, a slight tremor apparent in its voice.

Julius kneels down in front of it, forcing eye contact.

“Because we’re telling a story, my dear. And that’s where yours starts.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“It means I need your name” Julius says, leaning in uncomfortably close. “Don’t force me to make you say it” His smile fades as he reaches for the knife located next to the prey’s chair.

“I’d really hate to ruin this perfectly good skin that could’ve been used for-“

“Jesus, it’s Rowan for fucks sake” Rowan says, eyes wide.

“Rowan...” Julius mumbles, almost affectionately.

He walks over to his desk, brightly illuminated by an overhead lamp, and starts sketching. Soon he returns with a stencil.

He sits next to Rowan and lifts its short sleeve as he starts cleaning the area with a wet cloth.

Rowan recoils. “What are you doing?”

Julius holds up the stencil, revealing it to Rowan for the first time.

“Your name represents you, of course, and this name above you is mine. Pleased to meet you, dear.” Julius traces his hand across the drawing.

“This line connecting us represents our relationship. This brief moment we had, were I turned you into a Masterpiece.”

“Oh no fucking way.”  Rowan utters, leaning as far away from Julius as its restraints allow. “You’re not putting that on me!”

“Stay still.” Julius demands as he gets out his razor and attempts to shave Rowan’s arm.

Rowan trashes around, desperately trying to break free. ”You’re fucking insane, there’s no way I’m letting you tattoo me, you freak!”

Julius picks up the knife and holds it against Rowan’s neck, lightly penetrating the skin. “I told you how much I hate damaging my canvas,” he sneers, pressing deeper. “but I am willing to slash up most of your skin in order for you to let me paint on what’s left.”

Rowan freezes, a look of pure horror in its eyes. Julius wastes no time testing boundaries again as he moves the stencil towards his blank sculpture. Placing it on its skin is met with no resistance, Julius readies the tattoo gun, the buzzing sound filling the room.

“Please don’t do this” Rowan begs in a last-ditch attempt.

Julius gently lays his index finger on its mouth, indicating a shushing motion, before drawing the first line.

Rowan’s eyes start to tear up, it hurts. He’d never gotten a tattoo before, it hurts so much worse than he thought. He doesn’t want this; oh God why is this happening? Who the fuck even gets their own name tattooed? This is gonna look atrocious.

If he ever gets out of here, the first thing he’ll do is cover that shit up, or have it removed, or rip off his skin. Anything to just get it off of him.

Julius moves the needles around with an unbroken focus. He cherishes these moments, there’s no more exciting a feeling than planting your first marks into a new set of skin. It’s over before he knows it, satisfied with his creation, he bandages the tattoo in a plastic wrap.

He looks up at Rowan, pupils dilated, sweating from the pure adrenaline rush. “So, dear Rowan,” he says.

“which story shall we tell next?”

[robininthelabyrinth]

Spite in Misery - ao3

(rather silly AU of Delight in Misery, only even more petty and passive aggressive, and also slightly more JC/LWJ)

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

“What do you want?” Jiang Cheng asked.

“Sanctuary,” Lan Wangji said, prim and proper as he always was, the perfect untouchable iceberg as always, except maybe for the small child he was holding. “For me and my son.”

“Wait, you fuck?”

Wait, that wasn’t the right question.

“Why do you need sanctuary here?” Jiang Cheng asked, utterly bemused. “There isn’t a single place in the cultivation world you wouldn’t be welcomed –”

Except here.

“– and anyway, your brother, his sworn brothers, and your sect would demolish anyone who even thought about hurting you. Who in the world could you need sanctuary from?”

“My brother,” Lan Wangji said. “His sworn brothers, and my sect.”

Jiang Cheng stared at him.

Lan Wangji stared right back at him.

And then he collapsed.

“No,” Jiang Cheng said to the unconscious or possibly dead body currently lying across the threshold of the Lotus Pier and the small feverish-looking child in barely better state splayed out beside it. “I refuse to take responsibility for this!”

-

“You will not say anything about the room I have chosen to house you in,” Jiang Cheng said. “You will not complain about the food, the amenities, or make any requests whatsoever. Do you hear me?”

“Mm,” Lan Wangji said.

Jiang Cheng ought to have expected as much.

“And don’t think this means I’m going to like you or anything,” Jiang Cheng added self-righteously.

“I despise you with every drop of blood in my body,” Lan Wangji said.

“…so noted,” Jiang Cheng said.

After a moment, he added, “I don’t care!” and stormed out.

After yet another moment, he came right back into the room where he’d put Lan Wangji – it was just a convenient room, not specifically Wei Wuxian’s room, and if putting Lan Wangji in there meant he could delay having to clean out all the personal possessions left in there and actually repurpose it, that was his business and no one else’s – and said, “Why do you hate me, exactly?”

“Do you care?” Lan Wangji asked. He was examining the small cot Jiang Cheng had set up to put the still-unconscious and therefore nameless child on.

“Obviously,” Jiang Cheng said. “Or I wouldn’t have asked.”

“Mm,” Lan Wangji said.

Jiang Cheng waited a few moments, moments that grew longer and longer, and finally he realized – “You’re not planning on telling me?”

“I despise you,” Lan Wangji reminded him.

“Oh, you – you…!” Jiang Cheng ground his teeth together. “I’m the one giving you sanctuary, remember?”

“I came to you because you were the only one powerful enough to accomplish the task and spiteful enough to do it. I did not come here to owe you any favors.”

“Well, you’re going to owe me one anyway,” Jiang Cheng said, scowling at him. “You – you – ugh. Forget it!”

He stormed back out.

And then he realized he hadn’t actually brought the medicine that he’d intended to bring to Lan Wangji, so he had to go in and drop it off, but then he was finally able to storm away properly.

-

“I was under the belief we had agreed it would be best for us to see each other as little as possible,” Lan Wangji said, his voice even icier than usual – which was saying something.

“That’s right,” Jiang Cheng agreed, eying him warily. “I’m only here personally to drop off your medicine because it means fewer people know that you’re here.”

He’d thought that he would need to bring in a doctor for Lan Wangji’s injuries, but it turned out to be whip marks from a discipline whip and Jiang Cheng – well. Jiang Cheng knew everything there was to know about injuries like that.

Sure, he’d had to take A-Yuan to a doctor, he didn’t know shit about pediatric illnesses, but that was fine, it didn’t give the whole game away. Jiang Cheng was able to pass him off as some random sad orphan he’d taken pity on, which wasn’t far from what he suspected to be the truth.

“In that case,” and Lan Wangji’s voice was even colder, which how, “why do you live next door?”

“This was the only room available,” Jiang Cheng lied.

Lan Wangji glared death at him.

“Beggars can’t be choosers. I’m giving you sanctuary, aren’t I?” Jiang Cheng scowled. “Anyway, I told you that you weren’t allowed to complain about the room.”

Lan Wangji did not appear impressed.

“How’d you know I was next door, anyway?”

“You have nightmares.”

…right.

“I’ll invest in better soundproofing, then,” Jiang Cheng said haughtily. He wasn’t ashamed of having nightmares. After the life he’d lived, it was only to be expected.

“I don’t want to be around you at all,” Lan Wangji clarified.

“Too bad.”

“I don’t want you spending time with A-Yuan.”

Oh, so that was the real issue here. Well, in that case, the answer was still – “Too bad.”

“He’s my son.”

“He’s in my house,” Jiang Cheng said. “In my sect, in my lands, in my part of the cultivation world, which is the only reason you came here rather than literally anywhere else, remember? Because I’m a territorial bastard with a paranoid streak that won’t let anyone come look for you in here without hovering over their backs like a shadow, making it impossible for them to actually find you – sound familiar?”

Lan Wangji’s face twitched. “I did not say that.”

“You thought it,” Jiang Cheng said, and Lan Wangji’s silence proved he was right. “Anyway, I don’t care if you don’t like me spending time with A-Yuan. He’s one of the only people who can make Jin Ling laugh.”

“He wants to be his big brother,” Lan Wangji said. He sounded like he had swallowed glass.

“Okay,” Jiang Cheng said, not understanding. “Good for him?”

Brothers didn’t have to be biological, he thought, and that old pain tore through his heart the way it always did when he thought about Wei Wuxian.

“Worthless,” Lan Wangji said, glaring at him, and Jiang Cheng almost agreed with that assessment of himself – thoughts of Wei Wuxian usually had that effect – except of course it was Lan Wangji saying it, so naturally he had to disagree.

It was oddly reaffirming, actually. He might beat himself up as being worthless, useless and pathetic, a broken shell of a man who couldn’t keep a single member of his family alive, who had nothing and lived for nothing and existed purely for the sake of his sect and Jin Ling –

But the second Lan Wangji said that he was worthless, Lan Wangji who was wrong about everything, Jiang Cheng was immediately convinced that he was the best thing that had ever been invented.

Wait, was this how Wei Wuxian used to feel all the time?

No wonder he was always tormenting Lan Wangji.

-

“I brought you some books on physical rehabilitation,” Jiang Cheng announced. “No, don’t thank me - the sooner you’re better, the sooner you can leave.”

“It will not be too soon,” Lan Wangji said.

Personally, Jiang Cheng didn’t think Lan Wangji was going to be leaving for at least another year, maybe a few more years, not with that many strikes of the discipline whip to heal and his disordered qi to straighten out, but it was nice for both of them to see a destination at the end of the road in which they didn’t have to see each other all the time. Either way, he agreed, so he wasn’t going to ruin the rare moment of complete harmony by being persnickety.

“You should knock before entering,” Lan Wangji added, prissy as always.

Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes. He probably should have, yes, but he always had the ‘it’s my house’ thing to fall back on. This was the Lotus Pier where the rules of the Lan sect didn’t apply, and as far as he was concerned, that was reason enough to ignore etiquette. Anyway, Lan Wangji was here alone and healing just the way he’d been doing the past few months, what exactly was he going to be doing that Jiang Cheng might walk in on –

“Oh,” Jiang Cheng said when Lan Wangji attempted, with dignity, to extract his hands from inside his clothing, which was unfortunately not something he could do subtly. “Were you trying to jerk off?”

Lan Wangji looked mutinous.

“…were you failing to jerk off?”

Lan Wangji now looked like he wanted to rip Jiang Cheng limb from limb, even though it ought to have been clear enough that Jiang Cheng would only think to ask the question because he’d had a similar issue for a while there. The time after his family had died had been brutal, and he couldn’t even use getting off as a shortcut to fall asleep because every time he tried he couldn’t keep it up; it’d been awful. He’d been terrified that he’d broken his own dick somehow, which led to worries that he wouldn’t be able to have kids in the future and thereby fail his parents and ancestors in a brand new and yet unexplored way, which led to even more panic and even less sleeping. It hadn’t been until someone (he suspected Nie Mingjue, bizarrely enough) shoved a medical treatise about trauma reactions under his door that he’d realized it was a fairly normal aftereffect and managed to calm down a little.

Nie Mingjue had also given him so much work to do that Jiang Cheng hadn’t had time to even think about that sort of thing until nearly half a year later, at which point everything was working again and he’d completely forgotten it was even an issue until halfway into the afterglow.

Good man, that Nie Mingjue.

“If it’s a symptom, you need to tell me these things,” Jiang Cheng said, taking far too much wretched enjoyment out of the whole thing. He’d give Lan Wangji the trauma book, of course – he still had it – but he had to get his wins in where he could against the perfect iceberg, cheap shots or no. “As your current attending doctor, I’m responsible for your care –”

“It is unwanted but necessary. It is simply something that I must endure,” Lan Wangji said grimly, and Jiang Cheng raised his eyebrows.

The book had covered that, too, although that hadn’t been his problem, personally.

“Oh, I see,” he said. “You keep getting hard, is that it? And then retraumatizing yourself when you try to jerk off, which means you can’t satisfy the need, which means you can’t solve the getting hard all the time problem, which in turn affects your cultivation and so your healing…yeah, I see the issue. You should probably get someone else to do it for you if you get really desperate.”

“I see no one but you,” Lan Wangji said through gritted teeth.

A problem, Jiang Cheng admitted.

Still mostly Lan Wangji’s problem, though.

“Well,” he said with the smarmiest smirk he could manage, “as your attending doctor –”

Lan Wanjgji threw a book at his head.

-

“What are you planning on doing once you’re better?” Jiang Cheng wondered.

“Why are you talking to me?” Lan Wangji replied.

“Oh come on,” Jiang Cheng said. “How can you say such a thing after taking advantage of me? I let you into my home –”

“You will not be able to rely upon that fact forever.”

“I will be able to rely on that fact for eternity,” Jiang Cheng disagreed. “I let you into my home, I hid you away from the world – which isn’t actually as easy as I make it look, just so you know! Your brother is practically scouring the earth –”

Lan Wangji looked like he’d bitten into something extremely sour.

“I’m sorry, did you think he was not going to do that? And recruit his sworn brothers to help him?” Jiang Cheng asked. “I thought the whole point of this was – well –”

“It was.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“I do not enjoy hearing of it.”

“Listen, if you’re going to decide to torture someone by turning your back on them and disappearing without a word, you should at least have the guts to own it.”

“You speak from experience, I take it.”

“As a matter of fact, I do. Did you somehow forget everything that happened back then with Wei Wuxian?”

“…you were the one who turned your back on Wei Ying.”

Jiang Cheng laughed disbelievingly. “Oh, yeah, sure,” he jeered. “Because I was so well-known for my backbone when it came to Wei Wuxian. I definitely was the one to come up with the idea to throw him out of my sect and cut ties, yeah, definitely, that’s completely what happened. I mean, obviously, I always got my way when dealing with him, every time, that’s how it always was between us. He had nothing to do with it.”

Lan Wangji was glaring at him. “Not then,” he said, each word cutting like a sword. “The Nightless City.”

“You mean the time he arrogantly and completely without warning started a fight that got my sister killed and then murdered three thousand people, including some of the very few family members and friends I had left?”

Lan Wangji was silent.

“You do mean that time,” Jiang Cheng said, marveling. “Are you insane? Even if I wanted to, if I took his side then, I’d have had no claim later on to grab him as a prisoner before anyone else did. The Jin would have executed him for sure! And slowly!”

“The Burial Mounds –”

“He imploded in front of my face!” Jiang Cheng shouted. “I had to see – when he – he died! He was – he did – you don’t even know – no, you know what, I’m not talking about this. Not with you of all people; you hated him.”

Lan Wangji’s hands were fists. “I did not.”

“No? You did a good job of acting like you did,” Jiang Cheng sneered. “Always talking about how you wanted to drag him back to Gusu just because it would make you feel better –”

“Better than leaving him.”

“I did what he wanted! And yes, fine, maybe that was my mistake. Maybe I should’ve ignored what he wanted, maybe I should’ve dragged him back to the Lotus Pier and locked him in a little room for the rest of his life the way everyone knows your dad did to your mom – ”

Lan Wangji flinched.

In fairness, Jiang Cheng was exaggerating about everyone knowing. He only knew about it because he’d heard his mother spit it out at his father during one of their nastier fights, and he was pretty sure she wasn’t supposed to have known about it, either.

“– but stupid me, I thought he’d be happier being free and alone than stuck with someone he clearly didn’t want to be around him anymore! But what do I know? Maybe I should ask you, you selfish bastard. You’re the one in his position this time, you’re the one who’s doing the turning away – I bet you don’t even know what it’s like to be the one that’s not wanted.”

Lan Wangji stared down at his hands as Jiang Cheng jumped up to his feet, Zidian crackling to life in his hand despite himself, persisting even though he tried to suppress it.

“I’m going to go hunt down some demonic cultivators,” he said, trying in vain to keep his temper even a little bit and knowing it was a lost cause. “And then I’m going to bring them back here and make them scream somewhere you can hear it. You can chew on that with some glass for all I care!”

-

“You handled that last one well,” Lan Wangji said. It sounded like someone was pulling teeth from his head.

“You’re sick,” Jiang Cheng announced. “I will go get some fever medicine at once. Are you experiencing any other symptoms in addition to hallucinations? Or should I be checking for signs of possession instead?”

Lan Wangji was back to glaring at him.

“I don’t know what drove that sudden spurt of niceness and I don’t care to know,” Jiang Cheng informed him. “I don’t need your approval.”

Lan Wangji ignored him. That was more customary.

Also unfortunate, because Jiang Cheng managed to get less than half a shichen of work done before coming back into Lan Wangji’s room (not Wei Wuxian’s room) and saying, “Okay, what exactly did I do?”

Lan Wangji looked at him sidelong.

“Seriously,” Jiang Cheng said. “What did I do that was so impressive that even you approved of it?”

“The demonic cultivator. The last one.”

Jiang Cheng frowned, thinking about it. “The – stupid one, you mean?”

Lan Wangji stared at him, and then looked at the ceiling, long-suffering. “The one from Yunping.”

“The stupid one,” Jiang Cheng confirmed, and then he was ranting again because he couldn’t seem to stop ranting about it. “I can’t believe the idiot got into demonic cultivation as a way to make money! That’s just – it’s just – if I ever figure out who paid him, I’m going to rearrange their guts with my sword. Lousy rotten opportunistic…!” He coughed, realizing he’d gotten started again when he’d promised Jiang Meimei that he’d stop. It apparently got old after the sixth repetition. “Anyway, what’s so notable about that?”

“You accepted him as an outer disciple of your own sect.”

“Well, yeah. What else was I going to do with him? He’s clearly got some talent for cultivation if he figured out demonic cultivation without dying. It’d be a waste to send him back to be a fisherman or a dockworker or something.”

“You didn’t kill him.”

“I’m not going to kill someone who got into demonic cultivation as a way to raise funds to get medicine for his sick mother,” Jiang Cheng said, rolling his eyes. “The idiot’s on tomb-sweeping duty for the next year to make up for having manipulated corpses the way he did, that’s punishment enough. It’s not at all comparable to the usual sort of amateur demonic cultivator, the ones that summon corpses to torment former lovers or murder business partners or that sort of thing – those are the ones I use as an example to warn everyone else. What’s the big deal?”

Lan Wangji said nothing.

“Fine, keep your secrets. Can you watch Jin Ling today? I have a – uh – important meeting.”

“Another woman that you have no intention of actually marrying?”

“Shut up and mind your own business.”

-

“No, but seriously,” Jiang Cheng said. “What are you going to do once you’re better?”

“I don’t want to talk to you,” Lan Wangji said, his voice muffled on account of his face being firmly in his hands. “Go away.”

“Listen, we’re still neighbors, we still need to talk. There’s no point in being suddenly shy about it just because you’re still in the acceptance phase of grief in connection with the whole me helping you with getting off business –”

“Never speak of it.”

Jiang Cheng sniggered. He wouldn’t have pegged the Lan sect as having uncontrolled libidos, much less Lan Wangji, but apparently the situation had gotten truly dire. Anyway, really, getting mockery rights was totally worth an arm work-out and having to put up with Lan Wangji, the latter of which he had to do anyway.

“You really are taking advantage of me now, though! My poor virtue –”

Lan Wangji looked at him through his fingers. “You don’t have any virtue.”

“Really?” Jiang Cheng asked, suddenly curious. “I strike you as someone with a lot of experience –”

“I meant morally.”

“Oh. Hey!”

Lan Wangji rolled his eyes. “Pathetic.”

“Not as pathetic as someone who won’t answer a straight question,” Jiang Cheng said. “What’s your plan for after you’re healed? Are you going back to the Lan sect? Or start traveling as a rogue cultivator?”

“Why do you care?” Lan Wangji asked.

“I can care!”

“But you don’t. Not about my affairs.”

Jiang Cheng had to admit this was correct. “Fine,” he said. “I need a name.”

Lan Wangji frowned at him.

“For A-Yuan,” Jiang Cheng said. “It’s been a year. The kid’s as healthy as he’s ever going to be, and he’s old enough for me to shove him in with the rest of the younger generation now that we’re starting lessons back up – cultivation, swordsmanship, shooting, etiquette, all the usual. But I can’t register him in the class without a surname, and I need to know if that surname’s going to be Lan or if you plan on changing it to something else.”

Lan Wangji was frowning at him.

“I know, I know, you’re in hiding,” Jiang Cheng said. “It’s fine, it won’t give you away even if you do pick ‘Lan’. I can register him as a Yunmeng Lan instead of a Gusu Lan, the surname’s common enough that no one will suspect anything unless you make him start wearing a forehead ribbon, which I don’t think you lot do at this age yet anyway. But if you’re planning on continuing to hide from your family after you get better, you’re going to need to do something about all of that.”

Lan Wangji looked sour.

“Anyway, long story short, that’s it. Your plans, I need to know them.”

Lan Wangji looked even more sour.

“Well? What is it?”

“We will return to the Lan sect,” Lan Wangji said.

“Not that hard, was it,” Jiang Cheng said. “I knew you were just throwing a temper tantrum.”

Lan Wangji rolled his eyes.

After a moment, he said, “What do we do about Jin Ling?”

“What do you mean, ‘what do we do about Jin Ling’?” Jiang Cheng asked suspiciously. “I had to fight half of Lanling Jin for the right to raise him here, we’re not doing anything about Jin Ling – anyway, who’s ‘we’? He’s my nephew!”

“A-Yuan sees him as a little brother.”

This was true.

“They will not want to part.”

…also true.

“Moreover,” and here Lan Wangji looked especially sour, “I believe A-Yuan has taken you as something of a – second parent.”

“Well, that’s nice,” Jiang Cheng said. “He’s a cute kid. Anyway, don’t take it so personally. Kids just do that, they adopt any adult in the vicinity as their own. I mean, certainly Jin Ling thinks of you as…wait. Wait. Are we co-parenting?!”

“Mm. Took you long enough to notice.”

-

It had been a bad day, a bad week, and a bad month, and Jiang Cheng’s temper, never good, was on the verge of imploding, so naturally that was when he completely lost all self-control he might have had and marched over to Lan Wangji’s room to blurt out, “Why do you hate me?”

Lan Wangji’s hands stilled over his guqin.

“I know why I hate you, even putting aside the fact that you’re a jackass with the emotional capacity of a brick,” Jiang Cheng said. “But I really have no idea what I did to you to make you hate me.”

There were so many options, after all. He was a cruel, vicious, and bitter man – he was a terrible parent, unlikable as a friend, barely sufficient as a sect leader, and such a failure at connecting socially with anyone that he’d been blacklisted as a marriage prospect despite being handsome, young, rich, and powerful. There were so many reasons to hate him.

But he didn’t know which one was the one that made Lan Wangji look at him with disdain, even if he thought that perhaps there was slightly less of that these days than there had been before.

“I hate you because you abandoned Wei Ying when he needed you,” Lan Wangji said. “He was your brother, and you left him behind – more than that, you led the charge against him, resulting in his death.”

…that was a good reason.

Jiang Cheng wouldn’t mind being hated for that reason, actually. It was a nice change from all those people who congratulated him for having done the right thing: all those smug sect leaders that comforted him for having raised a white-eyed wolf in the family, the ones that said his actions showed that he had a good backbone and a righteous bearing, the ones that had the gall to send him gifts of congratulation on the anniversary of Wei Wuxian’s death to thank him for his contribution to the cultivation world when all he wanted was to be left alone to mourn…

“That’s fine,” he croaked. “Okay. Yes. That’s – fine.”

“Why do you hate me?” Lan Wangji asked in turn. “You said you knew.”

“Oh, that,” Jiang Cheng said. “Same reason.”

Lan Wangji stared.

Jiang Cheng shrugged. “I mean, I know you were always harsh on him when we were together at your uncle’s lectures, which was completely fair given how much he was always bothering you. But he really did try sincerely to help you when we were all the Wen sect’s camp, and in the cave with the Xuanwu – but after, in the war, when he showed up with his demonic cultivation, you suddenly turned on him even though he was just doing it to help. You kept telling him he had to stop, even though you knew he was doing so much for the war effort, and you wanted to take him back to Gusu to do who-knows-what to him…you even snatched him away during the battle of the Nightless City! I saw you. I was so afraid you were going to kill him, I completely lost my head. I looked for you everywhere – I really don’t know how he was lucky enough to get away from you that time.”

Lan Wangji stared at him.

“And then you didn’t even bother to show up to the siege of the Burial Mounds in person,” Jiang Cheng added, feeling bitter. “After I heard from the Lan sect that he escaped from you, I briefly thought that you’d changed your mind and let him go. I was counting on you to be at the Burial Mounds to support me in claiming him as a Jiang sect prisoner – I had Chifeng-zun signed on, if reluctantly, and with you leading the Lan I could’ve made a decent argument. But then you didn’t show, either you or your brother; instead you sent your uncle, and of course there wasn’t even any point in asking him, was there?”

“…I didn’t know,” Lan Wangji said. His voice sounded strangely hoarse. “I wasn’t informed. It was shortly after…”

He nodded at his own shoulder, meaning the disaster on his back. Jiang Cheng hadn’t asked how it happened – he really wanted to know, as in really, really, really wanted to know, but even he was aware that actually asking would be unbearably rude. Still, he was surprised by the timing of it. How had Lan Wangji managed to end up in the hands of his enemies then? Who had even been left to do it to him?

“Yeah, well,” Jiang Cheng said, shaking his head to try to kick away his curiosity the way he would something clinging to his foot. “You were still a bastard to him when he needed you, so I hate you.”

He frowned.

“Also, you hate me,” he said. “So I hated you back just for that. Though I guess, since your reason for hating me is valid, maybe I should stop hating you back for that?”

He considered it.

“No,” he decided. “You’re too annoying not to hate.”

“The same for you,” Lan Wangji said after an unusual hesitation.

Jiang Cheng nodded and, feeling oddly relieved at not having found a new basis for self-hatred, departs.

-

“So once you’ve reestablished yourself at the Cloud Recesses, we’ll exchange extended visits on a regular basis so the kids can see each other,” Jiang Cheng said, and Lan Wangji nodded. “A minimum of three weeks per season, whether in the Lotus Pier or Cloud Recesses, and preferably double that.”

“Agreed.”

“In the meantime, you’ll work on getting the trade agreement we hammered out through your brother and sect elders as recompense for the time you spent here.”

“Mm.”

“An agreement whose source you will be disclosing very carefully because the Venerated Triad will not hesitate to murder me if they figure out without adequate warning it was me that was housing you for all this time.”

Lan Wangji said nothing and promised nothing.

Bastard.

Still, after nearly three years, Jiang Cheng was pretty used to it.

“Okay,” Jiang Cheng said. “Is there anything I’ve left out?”

“Joint night-hunts.”

“Right, right, we’ll make a point of regularly going on joint night-hunts – wait, why are we doing that? You don’t need me to watch your back now that you’re fully healed.”

Lan Wangji’s gaze wandered.

“Oh,” Jiang Cheng said. “So we can keep having hate-sex on the regular?”

“…mm.”

“Why didn’t you just say so? It’s not like I’m doing anything else – or anyone else. Blacklisted, remember?”

“Unsurprising,” Lan Wangji said, like the bastard he was.

Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes. “Yeah, well, whatever. The set-up works, doesn’t it? I’m blacklisted, you’re apparently eternally pining for Wei Wuxian of all people – your taste is the worst – so who’s going to call us out on it? Go on, get out of here already. I’ll see you next month.”

-

“Well,” Jiang Cheng said, looking between the newly resurrected Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji, abruptly made of an issue he had hitherto not considered based on Lan Wangji’s screaming body language. “This is. Uh. Awkward?”

[arvinsescape]

Sweet Creature

A/N: Based on ‘Sweet Creature’ by Harry Styles. I was listening to it earlier today and this idea popped into my head.

Summary: Reader and Tom hit a rough patch and Tom’s not sure how to fix it but he knows he’s not going anywhere.

Warnings: Swearing.

W/C: 2.9K

You’d been with Tom for a while now and like every relationship it’d hit its rough patch. It wasn’t like the first year and a half of your relationship when you’d have a small argument and figured it out before you fell asleep. This was always something you’d made sure you did when you first moved in.

You’d done what most couples did when you felt that small change into chaos rise, you’d ignored it, assuming maybe the other was just tired and not spoken about it.

It presented itself in the way it usually did, your tempers with each other became short and the snapping started. You were both stubborn to a fault and didn’t take the responsibility of apologising.

“Did you really have to snap like that Y/N?” Tom had sighed when he joined you in bed.

“Look, you pissed me off. Sorry okay.” It wasn’t sincere and you both knew it; you were being stubborn. But Tom was more patient than he gave himself credit for and let it go. He knew you were stressed. You’d done the same for him the day prior.

That’s when the next issue would present itself. Tom was a very touchy and loving person, always wanting to present his love through all the affection he could. He always claimed having you in his arms felt like home. You didn’t sleep without his arms around you in some way, shape or form. Until you did. The snapping had ultimately reached a point that had you sleeping annoyed with each other and so, you stopped holding each other.

Then the next step. You’d both had enough and an explosive row had started about absolutely nothing. Neither of you could recall just what it was that started it but it grew into something it wouldn’t normally need to.

“Fuck sake Tom, you’ve really outdone yourself this time.” You’d screamed at him, slamming the washer shut; you were both so angry.

“Like you can fucking talk Y/N. What is this all about?” He’d yelled back at you as you made your way into the living room.

“I don’t know how many times I have to ask you to do simple things. It’s not that hard and you’ve found a million different ways of not doing a single thing today.” You seethed.

“I’m busy! Just because I’m not on set doesn’t mean I don’t have work to do.” He shouted as he slammed his script down on the coffee table.

“Whatever. Leave me to do fucking everything!” You screamed as you slammed the living room door shut, leaving him there with his anger.

That was the night you stopped sharing a bed completely. He took himself into the guest bedroom and you didn’t talk about it. That stubborn streak in both of you taking a firm hold.

After that it was awkward. You avoided each other, not wanting yet another explosive row to take place. You’d had too many over the last couple of weeks and left it you both tired. It was as if you’d forgotten how to communicate properly. Neither knowing what to say to fix it and not wanting to upset the other.

You both felt that distance settle in your chest. You hardly spoke, you didn’t touch and you missed each other in bed. Tom had almost given in one night and as he was about to make his way back into your shared bed, he faltered at the door. Sighing and shaking his head as he made his way back into the guest, well ‘his’ room. He wanted to rip the stubborn streak out of both of you and if it was possible, he would, in a heartbeat.

You’d started to find it unbearable. The distance was becoming too much. You missed him. You’d even take another argument at this point, you just wanted to feel any kind of emotion from him. He’d gone out to visit his parents, mumbling something about ‘needing some air.’ As soon as he left you broke down. You cried, the painful ache in your chest was too much. His side of the bed didn’t smell like him anymore, signalling just how long it’d been since he’d been in there.

You made your way into what had become his room and picked up his hoodie that he’d had on yesterday, you brought it up to your face and let his scent fill your senses. You’d forgotten just how good it was. Tears streamed down your face as you pulled it over your head. You made your way into his bed and let his scent take over everything. You cried for what felt like hours into his pillow.

Tom came back from his parents; he’d had a long chat with his dad about his frustrations. His dad had comforted him saying you’d fix it and find your way back to each other, that you were young and still finding the right way to navigate yourselves and he felt some of his resolve dissolve. He shut the door quietly and took in how quiet it was. He worried for a second that you might have left, but he knew you wouldn’t. You wouldn’t take off without saying anything.

It also confused him that Tess hadn’t come to say ‘hi’, maybe you’d taken her out? Then he heard it and it broke his heart. You were crying. He made his way upstairs and into the room you’d both shared. You weren’t there. He furrowed his brows as he made his way into his new sleeping residence.

There you were and you were crying so hard and so loud, he knew you’d not heard him. The sight made his heart rise and fall at the same time. It was an odd feeling, you had his hoodie on and you were curled up in ‘his’ bed, face planted in ‘his’ pillow and Tess wrapped up with you. She always did comfort you when you were sad, not leaving you for second. Seeing you in his clothing made his heart soar but the pain in your cries made his heart drop, all at once.

He moved towards the bed and made his way into it behind you. He took you into his arms and it seemingly made you cry harder. His heart was aching more than it had over the last few weeks. He missed you, he missed you being in his arms, missed your scent as much as you did his. He knew it wasn’t the end of the two of you, that it was a rough patch but that didn’t make it any easier.

He was glad that he wasn’t due to go away for a while. He realised he needed to fix it, do something. He just didn’t know what. He was somewhat scared to approach it, it had seemingly spiralled out of his control but he would and he was determined to. For now though, he just held you as you cried, feeling his own tears fall.

You still hadn’t spoken about what happened, although you fell asleep like that. The feeling of home slowly making its way back into both your chests. You had to go out that morning and you felt something shift back towards normal when he’d kissed you and told you he loved you before you left. You wished more than anything you could avoid this outing but you couldn’t.

Harrison had decided that he was going to visit that day, texting Tom to ask if he was in. When he got his reply, he made his way to his best friend’s house. He knew something had been off due to Tom’s lack of enthusiasm in their recent conversations and had decided that he needed to lend an ear.

“What’s wrong Tom? You seem off.” Harrison had commented slowly. He got a sigh in response.

“Me and Y/N are fighting. I think. I don’t know.” Tom dragged his hands over his face and sat further back in his chair.

“What do you mean you don’t know? Have you had a row?”

“Yeah but that was like two weeks ago. We just aren’t talking at all really.”

“What was it about?” Harrison was trying to pry the information carefully from his best friend.

“Fuck knows, I can’t remember. It was stupid I know that much.” He sighed again. “We’ve both just been so stressed, we were snapping at each other a lot and I don’t know it just exploded a couple times and now we’re just left with the aftermath.”

“Have you talked about it?”

“No.”

“That’s the problem Tom. You should talk.” Harrison had a stubborn streak to him but it was no where near as bad as Tom’s. It was simpler in his mind.

“We’re both so stubborn Haz, neither of us wanted to bring it up first and I don’t know, be the first to apologise. Fuck, I miss the days when we didn’t let it take over, when we’d made up quickly after an argument.” Tom felt the tears again but he didn’t let them fall.

“Look, I know I’m not as stubborn as you two but the answer is still clear, you need to talk before it gets any worse.” Harrison said as he patted his friend’s back.

“We’re not sharing a bed.” Tom suddenly stated and Harrisons eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“That bad?” Tom just nodded.

“She cried yesterday and it was the first bit of emotion we got from each other in ages.” Tom sighed again as the memories of your cries flooded his mind.

“That’s good right? She’s feeling the same as you?” Harrison asked.

“I guess. But I didn’t know what to say to her. It’s like I don’t know how to fix it. It’s not like either of us did anything worse than the other, we both let our stress get to each other and treated each other poorly as a result. I love her and I know this isn’t the end of us, I can’t imagine being with anyone else at this point Haz but fuck, I don’t know what to do.” He let a few tears fall, quickly wiping them away.

“Do something for her.” Harrison suddenly suggested.

“Like what? What if she doesn’t want me to?”

“Look, even if she doesn’t want you to, it’ll force a conversation. She was crying Tom, I’m sure she does want you to do something, she’ll be just as lost as you. Do something nice for her, make her dinner.”

“I can’t cook Harrison.” Tom reminded him with a soft laugh.

“Call Sam. He’ll tell you what to do. She’ll appreciate the thought.” Harrison comforted him.

“You’re right. I think maybe we just need to remind each other how much we love each other.” Tom sighed.

“Yes, you do. Now stop being so fucking stubborn. Don’t let her slip through your fingers mate. I’ve never seen you so happy with another human being.” Harrison laughed as he clapped his friends back again.

You’d been gone all of the morning and afternoon; it was almost six o clock before you made your way back into the house. You had a little time to clear your head, you were ready for a conversation, you can’t let this continue on. You made your way through the door saying a quick ‘hi’ to Tess as you furrowed your brows.

What was that smell? It smelt amazing and you knew Tom had not inherited the same culinary skills his brother had. Your feet padded into the living room in search of your boyfriend. He wasn’t there but you heard him in the kitchen.

“How do you have the patience for this? Are you sure that’s everything? I don’t need to add anything else?” Tom asked whoever he was talking to. You made your way into the kitchen and were shocked by the sight before you. Tom was cooking, it smelt amazing and you wondered for a second if this was Tom. You cleared your throat and he turned around. He looked at you and gave you a shy smile.

“Sam I Gotta go. Thanks bro. I will.” He said as he ended his phone call.

“Who are you and what have you done with Tom?” You teased lightly and he laughed.

“I can’t take all that much credit. Sam guided me through everything but I made your favourite.” He said shyly. There was still an awkward tension in the air but it was better than yesterdays.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“I did.” He said confidently. You took a moment to scan the room. He’d laid the table as if you were at some fancy restaurant. Your heart soared as you smiled. He’d even bought a bottle of your favourite red wine.

“Oh Tom.” You suddenly sighed, happy tears finding their way to your eyes, a stark contrast from yesterdays. He’d completely taken himself out of his comfort zone to do something nice for you and you couldn’t be more grateful. Whatever it was that was going on between you was slowly dissipating. He smiled sheepishly at you.

“I’m gonna go run a bath, this needs another hour before it’s ready.” He said as he made his way upstairs. You sniffled quietly as your heart felt like it was slowly gluing back together. He returned five minutes later and took your hand in his.

You followed him upstairs as he took you into the bathroom. You slowly undressed, he watched you as you slipped into the tub and smiled. He’d missed seeing you naked. It wasn’t a sexual need that had settled in him. It was that comfort and that trust that you felt at home enough with him to let him see you like this. He followed suit, finding his way behind you.

He wrapped his arms around your shoulders and pulled you into his chest.

“I’m sorry.” He said as you shook your head.

“No I’m sorry Tom. I was being stubborn and I should’ve apologised sooner.”

“We both should have. I love you.” He said as he kissed your shoulder.

“I love you too.”

“I’ve missed you.” He placed a few loving kisses to your neck as you sighed and rolled your head back onto his shoulder.

“I’ve missed you too. So much.” You said as you kissed his cheek. He smiled as he pulled you impossibly closer to him.

“We gonna be okay?” He asked softly.

“Yeah, we’re gonna be okay.” You said confidently.

“Can I come back home?” He said sheepishly. You furrowed your brows as you turned round to face him.

“What do you mean?”

“Back to bed, back in your arms where I should be.” Tears were brimming both your eyes as you looked at each other. Normally, you’d pull him up for being cheesy but you couldn’t, this wasn’t the time. He was being vulnerable.

“Tom.” You sighed as you took his face in your hands, wiping the tear that had slipped down his cheek. “Of course you can. I still love you okay, that hasn’t changed, we just hit a rough patch.” You said as you kissed his forehead.

“I’ll be damned if I ever let my stubbornness take over again.” He sighed as he manoeuvred you back to your original position.

“You will and I will but it’s okay. Couples fight Tom, that’s normal. We’ll frustrate the hell out of each other at times but that’s okay as long as we still love each other. As long as you always come home.” You said as he kissed your shoulder again.

“I’ll always come back to you.” He concluded as he grabbed your shower gel and washed you. You silently cleaned each other up, fixing each other’s hearts as you went. It was loving and sweet and intimate and just what you both needed.

You ate your dinner and wow, it was amazing, you made a mental note to text Sam and thank him for his teaching skills. You cleaned up together and it was playful, normal. Like when you’d first got together. You had music playing softly in the background when your favourite song came on and you remembered your brother’s wedding you had attended six months ago. You and Tom had danced to this and you remembered your brother joking about how the two of you looked like the newlyweds.

Tom reached his hand out to you and you laughed. You’d already passed up one opportunity to tease him, you weren’t going to let this go.

“Do you not think this is a bit like the ending to a Hollywood romance film?”

“I am an actor sweetheart.” He teased back as he laughed.

Nevertheless you took his hand and he pulled you into his chest, you stayed like that in the kitchen. Slowly swaying but just enjoying the comfort of being in each other’s arms. Tom knew that you were it for him, that he wanted you and only you. It didn’t matter where he was in the world, he knew his end goal was always going to be to come home, back to you.

[after-witch]

Yandere Ransom Imagine

“That's some heavy-duty conjecture.”

Word Count: 2700ish

notes: unhealthy relationships, emotional and physical abuse, financial abuse, yandere

Imagine being a struggling adult working a full time job plus freelancing gigs just to get by in your one-bedroom apartment where the ceiling always leaks when it rains and you have to perform a complicated maneuver to make sure the door doesn’t jam up on you and you’re constantly worried about your landlord raising the rent.

Maybe a well-meaning friend gets you a gift card to an upscale bookstore because they know you haven’t had a new book on your shelves in years, or maybe you find $20 on the street like a veritable Charlie Bucket but instead of buying a Wonka Bar you head into a this fantastic artisan coffee shop on the rich side of town, a place that everyone always raves about on Instagram, just so you can try an expensive latte with hand-ground beans and flavors you’ve never heard of before--because don’t you deserve a treat, for once?

Whatever it is, wherever it is, Hugh Ransom Drysdale is waiting inside and sees you there.

And oh my God is it obvious that you’re out of place right off the bat. I mean, what the hell is someone like you doing in this part of town?

With your worn out clothes that are worn from necessity and not from being fashionably thrifted and your ratty purse stuffed with papers and candy wrappers that spill out when you dig in for your card or cash and your winter boots that you’ve probably worn 5 years in a row, ripped in the hell and patched with black tape that you hope people don’t notice.

It becomes even more obvious that you’re out of your element when something goes wrong. The gift card isn’t activated. The $20? A fake, probably a movie prop that blew in the wind. Whatever goes wrong, it means that you’re suddenly at the register, impatient people with real money tapping their expensive shoes behind you, unable to pay. You’re left standing there like a deer in headlights, unsure of what to do or say.

Normally he might just roll his eyes and remind himself that people like you ought to stick to your own shops, your own place. But something about the way your eyes go all downcast and you seem to shrink down in embarrassment makes him take pity on you. Like a stray cat in the alley hoping someone will toss it some scraps.

So he strides up and flicks out a card and hands it to the cashier, dropping a friendly greeting to them because he spends like crazy and they probably know him by name at this place, and he’s the one who hands you your coffee or your bag and your hands touch ever so briefly during the exchange.

He leads you away from the register--don’t want to piss off the spoiled debutantes and assistants on lunchtime coffee runs--and you stammer out a thank-you-thank-you and you promise you’ll pay him back as soon as you can and Jesus Christ, isn’t that just adorable? Someone like you, some lost kicked puppy who can’t even afford new boots, promising to pay him back?

He doesn’t care if you pay him back, but he finds that he would like something out of this exchange, so he says that instead of paying him back you can do him the honor of going to lunch with him. His treat. 

He insists. And you can’t really say no, can you? You are hungry and he did just pay for your things and it’s the least you can do to oblige his request.

He’s not stupid. He doesn’t take you to some razzle dazzle fancy restaurant where you’ll feel embarrassed and out of place. Instead he takes you to a quiet diner, classy not greasy, where you can have an easy conversation and tell him all about yourself.

It’s funny. Normally he brings up his family name, his grandfather’s books, to women he picks up, to get them impressed and hooked and pliable. Something about you, though. Something about you is making him want to turn this into more than a lunch date and pressure for a quickie in the car to repay him. 

So he holds back to see what he can do with you on his own. No quickie in the car, but instead before he drops you off--at a bus station, you insisted--he brushes his hand over yours. Can he get your number? He swears he can feel the heat coming off your cheeks as you fumble for your phone and let him put his number in your contacts.

He waits a day, then asks you out again. Dinner, this time. He asks you if you know any good places and you recommend a dive bar that you can go to after work (because 1) schedule and 2) cheap) and shit, he’s all for it. There will be time in the future to impress you with restaurants that have dress codes instead of sticky floors. You sit close on the stools and you buy him a drink (real cute, real real cute) and just for you he keeps the baggie in his pocket there all night instead of heading to the bathroom to liven things up.

Your relationship develops with an almost shocking speed. He knows just how to reel you in. I mean--look at you. Working your ass off at some dead end job, living in an apartment so shitty it takes you almost a month before you reluctantly agree to let him see it.

He can understand, though. Because you’re not that stupid and you know he’s wealthy, even before he casually brings up his family in a “it’s no big deal but I don’t want to keep things from you because we’re getting serious” sort of way. 

You pretend to be casual about it all, but he can tell you’re suddenly wondering: why the hell would someone from this wealthy family want anything to do with me?

It’s a question Ransom asks himself a lot. He asks himself this when he’s snorting coke off another woman’s stomach (hey, you’re dating, but he’s got needs and they aren’t met with hand-holding) or when he’s eating another greasy burger at a shitty bar because you refuse to let him buy you a nice dress to wear so he can take you out somewhere fancy.

You’re not the type of person he normally goes for, not at all. He has strings of girlfriends and flings, but they all tend to fit that same cookie cutter mold: wealthy do-nothings with their parent’s credit card who want someone else to spoil them for a while, without caring who it is or what they’re like. They’re easy pickings that Ransom can burn through and then toss aside when he’s bored of them. Some of them cry but a few days later he’ll see them on someone else’s arm, it’s the circle of life.

With you, though, there’s more. You don’t expect him to pay for dates or anything at all (even when he wants to spoil you a bit) and you have actual conversations and you seem to actually give a shit about what he says and does. You argue with him, too, when he wants you to do something (just let him take you shopping, for Christ’s sake!) or he asks you to move in (again) and you say no (again). I mean, you really fight with him, spitting words and all.

And unlike his previous girlfriends, you don’t come crawling back a few hours later because you want to buy a new purse with his shiny credit card. Instead, you make him apologize first. Fuck, that’s hot. It’s also something he tucks away in the back of his mind to work on later--but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t admit that he sometimes has the overwhelming urge to push you against the wall and fuck you for the first time right after a good argument. 

But he knows that would destroy your image of him entirely, so he holds back. He’s good at crafting a version of himself that appeals to others when he has to, and you’re maybe the first person that’s been worth all the effort he’s put into you so far.

But you need a push, a push that makes it so you can’t go running back to your shithole apartment when you fight or when you question whether or no you two have a future. You do, you’re just too naive--too inexperienced with money, to say it charitably--to realize it.

So he tips off the fire marshal about your apartment building’s shoddy fire escapes and well, damn, in the process of the investigation all the little corners that your landlord has cut come crashing down. At least they were discovered before it was the building that came crashing down.

But the evacuation of the building leaves you--and countless others--high and dry. You don’t have any family in the area, and your only half ass-decent friend in the city lives in the same building but her parent’s aren’t going to let a stranger move in.

When you finally realize you have no options and call him, voice tentative and embarrassed, he knows just what to say to get you to pack your meager belongings and wait for him to pick you up. He’s no-nonsense about it. 

He knows how to avoid deflating your pride, how to keep you from deciding you’d rather stay in a shelter than take his charity. You’ll pay him back, he says, you’ll figure out a rental plan or whatever. He even teases--he’s not the best landlord, but he won’t take 2 weeks to change the toilet if you submit a maintenance request. It makes you crack a smile and bam, just like that, he knows he’s gotten in.

That night, after takeout and wine and a Netflix movie neither of you paid attention to, you fuck for the first time on his expensive sheets on his expensive bed and afterwards, when you’re both sweating and cuddling and reveling in the afterglow, he makes a note to buy you some new lingerie. 

It’s all very homey, for a while. He could do without you leaving for work and working your ass off, with your freelance shit, sometimes staying on the computer until two, three in the morning. But it’s nice to have you close all the time, available to him whenever (almost whenever) he wants. He brings home takeout and you snuggle on the couch and he finally even convinces you to go out with him to a nice restaurant wearing something he’s bought and hot damn, do you look good, head-to-toe in the clothing he’s chosen for you. Especially, later that night, in private, in the lingerie. 

Does he love you? The word hasn’t left his lips yet, hasn’t crossed yours either, but he can feel it underneath the surface. No. It’s more than love. He wants you. He wants to have you. And not just for the afternoon or the summer, but forever. 

He spins daydreams about how he’ll clean you up nice and introduce you to the family. Probably to Harlan, first, because everyone knows that’s whose opinion really matters. Harlan will like you--he would probably like you without any primping or fixing, actually, which is more than he could say for his parents or anyone else in the family. Then once you’re in, you’re in--you’ll come to family dinners and vacation retreats where people always end up in ridiculous arguments, and you two can exchange snarky comments about the family on the ride home.

And yeah, sure. You fight sometimes.

He throws out your old clothes and buys you a wardrobe befitting someone he wants to integrate into his family. You fight about that.

He makes comments about you how you should quit your job or at least try to get a degree--he’ll pay, as long as you agree to go to a university within driving distance--to work somewhere more respectable than a chain restaurant. You fight about that.

He gets pissed when you want to meet some “friends” at a bar without him, because why would you need to go anywhere without your loving boyfriend in tow, unless you were trying to flirt with someone else? You definitely fight about that.

And, okay. Maybe he’s hypocritical.

Maybe he goes out late at night when you’re stuck doing your “freelancing work” and he’s in a rotten mood about it, and he ends up on the floor of a swanky club with drugs in his system and lipstick on his neck. He doesn’t come home until the next morning and you’re pissed and red-eyed and arguing with him, accusing him even, but you have no shitty apartment to stomp back to anymore so you’re stuck. 

Until you’re not stuck. Until he casually snoops through your phone and sees that you’re looking up cheap-ass apartments and hey, you’ve already booked a few interviews already. The thought of you slipping through his fingers makes him more sober than he’s been in a while. He’s got to do something. Not to himself, of course. But to you. To keep you with him.

It’s easy enough to get you fired. He’s a ‘Thrombey’ after all, and some nice crisp bills anonymously sent to the right hands is all it takes for you to come home one night, cheap mascara (he notes: buy you some better quality makeup soon) running down your cheeks. Your freelancing isn’t nearly enough to get you into an apartment.

He assumes that you’ll give up on the idea after losing your job, but you’re nothing if not stubborn (one of the reasons why he likes you) so you start the job hunt the next morning, fresh mascara in place. 

Damn, do you keep him busy. Anonymous calls. Cash in nice white envelopes. Rejection after rejection. You get so sad, so depressed. You don’t even want to go out to restaurants, so he orders in and you snuggle in his lap while he feeds you bites of orange chicken and rubs your back. It almost brings you two closer again, starts to mend the rifts that began when you refused to get over his occasional late night out.

But then you break the uneasy mending by snooping and woah, you don’t like what you find on his phone. 

You fight. 

Damn, do you fight. This time there’s no pretense of potential forgiveness as you begin wildly throwing your clothes into your ratty duffel bag from the back of the closet, telling him to fuck off fuck off fuck off, telling him he’s crazy, telling him that what he’s doing is fucking illegal and--

It’s the shock that hurts you the most.

The shock you feel when he grips your wrist hard and pushes back on your shoulder when you try to yank away, pushing you against the wall with a hard thud. It’s like having a rug pulled out from underneath your feet when you feel a slight ache in your back, on your shoulders, when you tell him to Let go, goddamn it and he only pushes back harder to keep you in place. It’s Ransom. It’s Ransom who’s doing this.

His voice feels unrecognizably cold when he leans in and hisses in your ear.

“You think you can just leave me? After all I’ve done for you? Let me tell you something--you won’t get another job within one hundred miles of here, within one thousand miles of here, unless I say you can. So just put your clothes back in the closet, chill the fuck out, and stop being such an ungrateful bitch.”

It’s the shock that makes you numbly hang your clothes back up in the closet, fold them again with shaking hands, and sit on the bed until the dam breaks and you cry.

And oh fuck, he’s sorry. Really. He wraps his arm around your shoulders and then he’s the one who’s crying and confessing that he didn’t want you leave him because yeah, he knows he’s a fuck up, he knows he’s got a drug problem, but he loves you. 

It’s the first time he’s ever said it out loud. He loves you. “I love you,” he says, again and again, half-laughing.  And he tells you you’re the only person he’s ever dated that made him want to be a better person but he doesn’t know how.

You don’t know what to say because maybe you do love him--but he hurt you and got you fired, but the tears on his face seem so genuine and he tells you he’ll never, ever hurt you like that again and fuck, he says, if you want to go get a job he’ll drive you to the interview right now just-let-him-blow-his-nose-first-please.

You make him sit down and then you’re the one apologizing and the rest of the afternoon is a shaky truce between you two as you drink hot chocolate and order in takeout and watch a movie together.

It’s not until you’re both under the sheets, satisfied and then showered, that you think about what he did to you in a clearer light. The thoughts weigh heavy on your mind, pulling and tugging. You think you might love him. He hurt you. He took care of you when no one else would. He cheated on you. 

I love you, he tells you, when your mind is starting to tug itself into sleep.

He hit you. He said he was sorry.

He hit you.

[luminescencefics]

stubborn love

Ask and you shall receive! Here’s a little blurb about this post, filled with an angsty y/n and an adorably dimwitted Harry. Oh yeah, also smut. Enjoy!

2.6k word count

My masterlist // read below:

***

If there was one thing about you that Harry hated, it was how stubborn you were. And if there was one thing about Harry that drove you absolutely mad, it was when he left arguments incomplete—choosing the easy way out instead of finishing the conversation you ultimately started.

It was with good cause, though. After being together for three years, the little things started to surface every now and then. And with the aid of liquor coursing through both of your veins, it was only a matter of time until a fight started.

They never lasted long. And it was usually cured by sex, but sometimes, Harry did things that drove you absolutely bonkers, leaving you wanting to punish him a bit. Like tonight, for example, when you had to remind him three times that he had to be ready by eight o’clock in order to make it to your best friend’s birthday dinner on the other side of town. You watch by the vanity as you finish applying your nude lipstick, observing how he scrolled through his phone aimlessly on the bed with just a towel wrapped around his waist. His outfit was laid out beside him, his hair still wet from the shower he had recently gotten out of, and the time on the clock read 7:42.

“Harry, please get dressed. We’re supposed to be out the door in five minutes,” you remind him, sitting on the bed beside him while you buckle the strap of your heel around your exposed ankle. He nods absentmindedly while texting Jeff about scheduling radio interviews for the upcoming album, seemingly ignoring what you were telling him.

“Harry.”

Your tone is laced with annoyance now, and immediately his eyes snap over towards yours, taking in your completed look for the first time since slipping on the black dress you decided to wear this evening. His eyes rake your body instantly, and because of the years you’ve been with him, you know exactly what he’s thinking already. But you don’t have time for this, and when you stand up abruptly and saunter towards the door, you try to ignore the pout he shoots in your direction.

“Don’t be like that, baby,” he says slowly, sitting up straight and facing the door you were currently standing in. 

“Harry, please just get dressed! I promised Catherine we’d be there early,” you say tightly, giving him a pointed look until he surrenders and gets off the bed, reaching for his briefs in the dresser on the other side of the bedroom.

“Jesus, what is with you always needing to be early? You know Catherine’s always late, anyways,” Harry says in a clipped tone, shoving his long legs through the navy trousers laid out on the bed. 

“Don’t start. This is important to me, and I don’t need your lack of time management ruining Catherine’s birthday dinner that I’ve been planning for weeks.” You knew that you were being a bit over dramatic, but the stress of making your high-maintenance best friend happy was weighing down on you. Coupled with the fact that Harry was leaving again for a few months, you were under a lot of stress to make everybody happy.

“What do you mean ‘lack of time management?!’ We’re talking about Catherine for Christ’s sakes! The girl who showed up late to almost every event you’ve hosted in the past two years! I think she’ll manage us being a couple of minutes late.” Harry speaks while finishing putting on his outfit, and for once, you really don’t have it in you to argue. Because arguing costs time. And time is something you are lacking at the current moment.

Your silence is what causes his head to snap in your direction, giving you a confused look. “Oh are you giving me the silent treatment now?”

You know that he doesn’t mean it, but his words are causing you to seethe in your heels. Before you can make a comment that will cause another argument, you start heading towards the stairs, grabbing your keys by the table near the front hallway and throwing them into your clutch.

“Oh, come on! Catherine probably won’t even be there for another hour anyways!” His voice is right behind you, and before you can even think about it, you’ve pivoted on your heel, your hair whipping against your neck with the sheer force of your movements. 

“Enough! I’d like to get there before my perpetually late friend, and I don’t need you breathing down my fucking neck about it! Can you do that for me? Please?” You really didn’t mean to snap at him, but he’s been egging you on ever since you’ve asked him to get ready hours ago. 

You know that your boyfriend means well, and that he’s got enough on his plate as it is, and going to your forgetful best friend’s birthday dinner is probably the last thing of importance on his list—but you’ve done so much for him. You’ve flown out to shows, you’ve gone months without seeing him due to his demanding schedule, you’ve practically uprooted your life to accommodate his throughout your relationship. And, of course, it was all worth it—because he’s worth everything. But sometimes, especially times like this, you wish he would realize that and just do as you say.

And with one clipped nod, the nod he gives you when he’s surrendering to the argument, he reaches behind you for the front door and holds it open, allowing you to walk in front of him and head towards the car at the end of the driveway, trying your hardest to let the anger seep out of your skin.

***

You hate to say it, but Harry was right. Catherine was forty-five minutes late to her birthday dinner, and before it was over, she was already drunk enough to completely forget to thank you for putting the entire thing together. 

But you were far too proud to show your boyfriend that he was right, so instead of acknowledging the smug look he was shooting your way, you decide to order another drink and continue swallowing them down until you were drunk enough to forget how annoyed you were at the entire evening. When Catherine announces moving the party to the new club that opened downtown, you decided you were done, choosing instead to end the night early.

While you were waiting for the valet, you notice that Harry wasn’t as drunk as you were, but he was definitely drunk enough to let his hands rest low on your hips while his body enveloped yours, seemingly protecting you from the cold. His lips would brush your neck every now and then, and while you appreciated how touchy he got when liquor was in his veins, you were still annoyed at the unfinished argument the two of you had hours earlier.

“You look so beautiful tonight, baby. Can’t wait to take you home,” he whispers in your ear. You blame the shiver that racks your body on the wind, even though your insides were burning at the feeling of your boyfriend’s lips against the shell of your ear.You’re silent the entire car ride home, resting your head against the window as Harry’s hands splay against your exposed upper thigh uncovered by your short hemline. With every stop light, he would look over towards you, and you could feel the heat of his gaze every time he ogled your body in the short garment.

Ignoring Harry when you were mad at him was an entire feat in itself.

When he pulls into the driveway, you’re the first to spring out of the car, determined to put enough distance between the two of you so you aren’t tempted to let him win the argument. Harry knows this, because he knows how stubborn you can be. He loves this little game of yours that you play, and while he knows he’ll ultimately apologize to you in the end, watching the way you battle yourself with touching him and keeping your distance makes him only want to rip your clothes off more.

He sits on the loveseat in your bedroom while you rip your heels off and place them on the shoe rack in your closet. You're aware of his gaze, watching every step you take as you remove your earrings, plug your phone into the charger, run to the restroom to wash your face. His silence is irritating, but you’d be damned if you were the first to break it.

It’s once you’ve finally stripped out of your dress when Harry breaks.

“Christ, can you come here, please? You’re killing me, baby.” His voice is rough and you can hear the frustration laced in his words, and it’s enough to make you stare at him head on, hands gripping the undergarments gracing your hips, looking down at him with a stern look.

Harry does his hardest to hide the growing bulge in his pants at the sight of you.

“I’m still upset with you,” you utter, walking towards the loveseat slowly. You purposely matched your bra with your underwear, and it’s enough to cause Harry’s eyes to wander the expanse of your skin, holding back a groan at the sight of you.

“I’m sorry.” His voice sounds miles away, and you can tell that your body is distracting him. He’s not even looking into your eyes, and once his big hands reach out to grab your hips and pull you down on top of him, you immediately back away, removing his hands from your body.

“No touching. Not until you’ve apologized properly.” You know it’s wrong to tease him, but sometimes your boyfriend needs a little reminder of how to treat you when he’s been a bit unfair towards you. 

He frowns instantly, crossing his arms against his chest like a petulant child. It’s enough to cause you to snort, before crossing the room and laying on the bed, your back towards him and your front facing the window.

You can hear him shuffling around, most likely removing his clothes in favor of wearing his briefs to bed. And once the overhead light is off, just the light of the moon filtering through the room, you can feel his body hovering over yours in the bed, his hands gripping your waist tightly.

“Hate when you’re a tease,” he whispers against your neck, rolling your body so that you're completely under his, staring up into his dark eyes. 

You lock your arms around his neck. “Hate when you’re a prick,” you reply back, trying your hardest to suppress the moan urging itself out of your throat when his hands trace the swells of your breasts, before settling at the tops of your underwear.

“How many times do I have to apologize?” He says, his eyes locked on your body instead of your eyes. You know that he’s been wanting to see you naked all night, and while it makes your skin prickle with goosebumps, it’s not enough.

“Until you mean it.” You watch as he swears under his breath, before moving his hands behind your back to the clasp of your bra. He’s cautious, testing to see how you’ll react, wondering if this is still a game for you. And when you’re quiet, he takes that as affirmation, ridding you of your top layer before pressing his mouth against your newly exposed skin.

You bite your lip so hard until you can taste the metallic flavor of blood, trying your hardest to ignore Harry’s bulge growing against your upper thigh. His mouth is moving lower and lower, his hands kneading your exposed flesh, and it’s driving you absolutely mad to stay silent. But you’re still angry. And stubborn as a bull.

“You know I’m sorry. I never wanted to hurt your feelings,” his lips are ghosting over your clothed center, and when your body twitches under his, he takes that as a sign to pull the lace from your skin, tossing it over his shoulder.

“Yeah, well you did, Harry.” Your voice comes out much more high-pitched than normal, and you know that it’s due to your boyfriend’s proximity to your heat. It’s coursing now, and Harry’s eyes flicker from your eyes to your exposed center.

“Didn’t mean it,” he’s distracted again, and before you can yell at him, you watch as his ringed fingers trickle from your navel down to your clit, before swiping against your folds. He’s testing you, wondering how long you’ll be upset with him. You’re still silent, because he doesn’t deserve you at your full-capacity, not when he’s still so cavalier about the way he treated you earlier.

When he removes his briefs and teases you with the tip, your hands immediately grip his shoulder blades forcefully, and the sting is enough to make him look at you for longer than a few seconds.

“You can’t stay mad at me forever…” he’s teasing you, knowing that you’ll eventually break. But your boyfriend is completely underestimating your stubbornness, and when he tries to turn you over so that your front is pressed into the pillows and your backside is in the air, the position that he craves the most, you clench your abdominal muscles and anchor yourself to the mattress.

You won’t be giving him that luxury today.

He says your name breathlessly, but you ignore it. Instead, you bring your mouth closer to his, before speaking instead of kissing him. “Need you to mean it, baby.”

Harry groans against your lips, his tip slipping in when you moved closer to his chest. His mind is moving a hundred miles a minute, trying to remember the exchange of words you both had hours earlier, wondering what he did to make you so upset.

You can tell that he’s thinking, and you decide to reward him by wrapping your legs around his waist, allowing him to slip further inside of you. You’re not that much of a monster.

“I do mean it! I’m sorry I made you late,” he’s stuttering and his eyes are completely blown out, and normally you’d kiss him at this moment when his length is almost completely enveloped by your heat. But he still isn’t understanding it. And you’re still mad.

“Not why I’m angry with you,” you say against the corner of his mouth, your breath hitching once he’s completely bottomed out inside of you. His brain is clouded over with lust, and trying to apologize at this moment is damn near impossible.

His hips start to rut against yours, and when he pulls back out and pushes inside of you once more, gathering a gentle rhythm, you dig your fingernails deeper into his skin to remind him that you are, in fact, still waiting for a decent apology.

Harry’s breathing your name in between moans, his lips inching towards yours desperately. He normally kisses you during sex, tangles his tongue with yours, pulls his teeth against your bottom lip, anything he can do to get closer to you. But you’re denying him of this luxury, and he’s growing more and more frustrated with each pump into you.

“Harry!” You’re not sure if it’s from pleasure or from the fact that he still can’t come up with the reason why you’re so upset with him. But once you’ve stilled under him, his eyes snap to yours, and he’s realizing then that he truly has been a bit of a dickhead tonight.

“Didn’t mean to make you late. Didn’t mean to egg you on. I know—fuck, I know Catherine is always late but that doesn’t mean you are. I know this was important to you. ‘M sorry I was such an asshole. You’re important to me. I love you, fuck baby, I love you too much. Can’t stand you being mad at me. Please.” He’s desperate, his words falling over your cheek in hot pants. His eyes dart between both your pupils, and you can tell that he needs you to understand his words. That he truly means them. That he needs you to fucking accept his apology because he’s about to burst inside of you, and his heart can’t take you not kissing him and looking at him the way you normally do.

You smile then, removing your hands from his shoulders and tangling them into his hair, bringing your lips to his. He sighs in your mouth, relief coursing through his veins. He starts pumping into you again, and you’re finally reciprocating, kissing his cheeks and his neck, whispering his name into his skin, telling him that you love him with each press further into the mattress.

And when he finally comes, you reward him with an open-mouthed kiss, your tongue tangling with his, whispering “I love you” until it settles into the back of his throat.

Because even though you’re stubborn, and even though Harry can be dim when it comes to apologies, you wouldn’t have it any other way. You love him far too much to let him go that easily, and when you’re cuddled into his chest and he’s running his fingers down your matted hair, you fall asleep knowing that you’re safe in his arms.

[sarahjkl82-blog]

Artistic Instinct Chapter 10

Header thanks to the lovely @yespolkadotkitty

Summary: Marcus Pike and OC Anushka Pierce have been selected to work on a 5 eyes (Australia, Canada, NZ, the UK and US) intelligence team to track down art forgeries as a part of taking down an international white terrorism cell. Marcus is trying to escape his broken heart, Anushka is just trying to escape what the world expects of her.

Word count: 6500

Warnings: Language as always, grief, loss and some second base action.

Pairing: Marcus Pike x reader (OC)

This comes with a MASSIVE THANK YOU to the lovely @yespolkadotkitty , who reads, re-reads, points out the constant flipping between tenses and gave me the confidence to try to write something. This is the first thing I have written since angsty poetry as a teenager. Apologies if it is shit!

May the flowers remind us why the rain was so necessary - Xan Oku

Chapter 10

Your eyes fly open - heart pounding, mouth dry- as the nighttime movie that played behind your eyelids finishes abruptly. Hugging your arms around yourself, you try to steady the impact of that injection of adrenaline into your veins, drawing deep breaths into your lungs as you gaze into the oil slick of darkness surrounding you. The sounds of day are yet to kick into being as your phone screen illuminates 03:02 - the trains not yet pulling out of their sidings, sirens still silenced for the most part. The night air is just punctuated by the rhythmic pitter patter of rain upon the roof and the sweetest little snores still rising steadily from your…

Your boss.

For fucks sake.

Once could be called a mistake, even if it was a twelve year long one. But back doing this shit again? Sheer fucking stupidity. Your head drops into your hands as a stab of pain cuts through your gut. What the fuck do you do now? Marcus so honestly put his heart on a platter for you last night- could you be the cold hearted, callous bitch that throws it back in his face? All of your body fizzes with fear - your muscles twitching with the cortisol so rather than irritate him with your fidgeting, you slide out of his bed.

Bare soles on the night-cooled wooden floors help to ground your flighty soul as you walk around the unfamiliar apartment. Whilst the exterior dampness can only come as far as pretty patterns on the window pane, the chill causes tiny pinprick goosebumps to stand proud against your skin. You finally settle cross-legged on the floor by the French doors leading out to the balcony, watching the raindrops race each other down the glass - mentally cheering on your favourites as they glide towards the inky pools gathering beneath them.

With your mind so lost in your new-found sport, you aren’t entirely aware of the arrival of a warm, breathing blanket that curls itself around your body languidly before you are tightly encircled by long limbs and gentle nuzzling into the side of your neck, “What’s up, honey?”

A small, precious kiss is pressed into your temple before the sleep-thick murmur continues in your ear, “Thought you’d left. So happy to find you here.”

Leaning back into his broad chest, you allow the expanse of his form that is wrapped around you to consume your body whole, “Bad dream. Couldn’t get back to sleep and didn’t want to wake you.”

“‘M sorry,” Marcus slides you slightly to his left so he can search your face for the answers that you are so incredibly reluctant to give, “Your heart is racing - do you want to talk or just have things that will make you feel better?”

Initially, you don’t feel able to catch his gaze, having thought about breaking his heart only minutes prior to his soothing arrival but when you do, everything hits you like a ton of bricks. The deep pillow creases of his cheek, sweetly mussed up hair and the earthy hues of his questioning eyes make your fist fly to cover your eyes as your tears echo the deluge of rain.

He doesn’t speak. Just holds you close. Cradling you in his arms as your body shakes into his. Marcus allows you to sit with your pain awhile - not pressuring you to speak or offering any empty platitudes to solve it- allowing the hurricane of grief to rip through you, all the while tethering you to the ground.

As the tears exhaust themselves, Marcus leaves and your eyes dance in panic at the loss of his soothing touch. The relief of hearing his kettle start to boil and then the gentle roar of taps filling a tub, stretch a ghostly pair of arms back around you, soothing the ache beneath your ribs. A hand reaches down to you offering a way out - gently hoisting you back onto your feet.

“C’mere sweetheart,” Marcus pulls you back into his chest, pressing a line of kisses along your hairline, “I’ve made you a cup of camomile tea and run you a bath.”

He makes to leave you but your haunted eyes and tight grip upon his wrist beg him to stay, “Honey, I don’t want to overstep the mark here. I’m sorry that I asked you to stay. Overwhelming you like this, isn’t fair of me.”

Trying to eloquently respond to him comes out with just a snotty sad gasp so you vehemently shake your head tugging his hand towards the bathroom. Once inside the metro tiled space - pausing between heaving breaths - you manage to squeak out in your juddery voice, “Please stay with me.”

“Please don’t feel guilty - this is just shit I need to work through,” you mumble as you fiddle with the hem of Marcus’ t-shirt, feeling his skin twitch as you accidentally make contact, “I’m sorry that it’s having a knock on effect for you.”

“You have nothing to apologise for,” he leans in to sweetly kiss your forehead, “I’ll turn around while you get in but I promise not to leave.”

“I don’t care if you see me naked - it’s just a body,” you mutter slightly confused by this sentiment when he’d been stroking your breasts earlier. As you start peeling off the t-shirt you’d borrowed from him, Marcus swings to face the bathroom door quickly.

“No,” the sharpness of Marcus’ response steals the air from your lungs momentarily - you stand in front of him like a rabbit caught in headlights, “I’m sorry, sweetheart - didn’t mean to be so forceful. No - it’s not just a body. It is your body and I wanna enjoy it properly when you’re not so upset. It would be taking advantage.”

Slowly lowering yourself into the delicious expanse of Marcus’ bath, you allow the warmth to soak into your aching bones. The water cocoons and hugs every inch of you as you permit it to unknit every knot of tension within your body.

“You can turn around now.”

A kind smile plays upon the deep creases set by Marcus’ eyes, “Tilt your head back.”

Reaching behind you, he turns on the shower attachment - the water bursting forth in a perfect summer rain across the skin of the bath water. Like a parent with a child, he checks the temperature until it reaches a soothing heat and runs it over your hair, soaking every last strand, washing away the mix of salt from anxious sweat and tears. Dropping the shower head in the bath, he then grabs a generous squirt of shampoo in his hands, lathering it into your scalp, massaging until you feel like a gelatinous blob under his skilful touch.

After rinsing every last bubble and sud from your hair, Marcus then squeezes out some conditioner - the bottle releasing the most indecent sound that has you both giggling like small children. Having coated his digits well, he starts to run his fingers through your hair - combing every strand with his hands, ensuring there isn’t a single knot to be found. A gentle finger beneath your chin tells you to tip your head back again as the shower rinses the excess away.

Settling back on the plush bath mat, Marcus passes you your tea silently and you just sit. Sit there in companionable silence - without an ounce of awkwardness- just both sipping tea as your body gradually accepts its need to sleep again.

✪✪✪✪✪

“Give me two minutes and I’ll be ready,” Marcus gazes softly after your disappearing form as you spin into your bedroom to get dressed for work. It takes every bit of gentlemanly restraint that he possesses not to follow you, run his hands over your silken skin and get a hit of your delicious taste. Instead he re-settles his mind by looking around your flat having finally been allowed a peek inside your inner sanctum.

He doesn’t quite know what he expects to see but it certainly isn’t this. It feels an odd mix in there- piles of cushions and blankets but no photos. No pictures decorating the place yet multiple empty frames propped against walls, waiting for their stories to be told. Your home isn’t really a home at all - it is just a roof over your head with nests for you to curl into exhaustedly.

“Have you been here long?” he asks quizzically, spying the battered moving boxes that have obviously been rummaged through for a missing necessary nick-nack or two but never having been fully unpacked. Marcus runs his hand over the coarse, corrugated cardboard and light spattering of dust coating them, wondering what secrets you wish to keep hidden in there and if you will ever open fully to him, to allow him to lighten your load.

“Almost two years,” he hears you muffledly answer through the jumper you pull over your head as you momentarily reappear in the doorway of your bedroom - a vision of radiantly soft curves- just knickers and a mess of limbs arguing with the item of clothing, before your breasts get hidden under the striped knitwear.

As much as Marcus tries to stop himself, his body takes the required steps forward so that his fingers can be satiated with the warmth of your skin. He doesn’t kiss you yet - the heat of his breath just dusts the shell of your ear as he inhales the scent of his shampoo in your hair.

“Look at you,” he murmurs - shaking his head in disbelief as he grabs your wrists and pulls you into him, “Beautiful.”

Using the back of his hand to release the hair caught in the collar of your jumper, Marcus takes a moment to drink in all your features. The flecks of gold in your eyes, the sharpness of your cheekbones, the streaks of wisdom in your hair - how were you, the beauty that you are, interested in him?

And then you’re kissing him. Your mouth open, soft lips inviting him into your inner sanctum. He feels your fingertips stroking into the nape of his neck, your nails scratching into the hair that twists and curls there. Shivers of pleasure run down Marcus’ spine, making him pull you closer as your touch sparks life across his body. Your gentle push causes Marcus to startle - to stumble backwards, falling back onto the sofa, sending cushions scuttling across the floor.

Feeling his jaw tic as you clamber into a kneeling position above him, Marcus tries to steady his breath by focussing on the small details of you. The darker spots of pigmentation where the sun has permanently kissed your skin. The divots of your collarbones just peeking above your sweater. The small reminder of a childhood misadventure just above your right eyebrow.

Nope. This is not working. God, I want her.

“Lower those goddamn hips,” he growls, “Sit down.”

“I can’t,” he hears you whimper, eyes shut tight, “I’ll make a mess of your trousers.”

Marcus groans as he considers the sweetness that is encased by those bright pink, lace edged panties - still not quite believing that it is him who has had this effect on you. When you grab his hands that have been stroking little circles by your knees and pull them to your ass, the heat in him rises as he squeezes and needles the delicious flesh beneath.

“This is gonna be hard having you work so close,” as soon as he hears the words leave his mouth, he regrets it. The little twitch between your eyebrows. The tremble of your bottom lip. The slight shift back of your weight upon his lap. Marcus catches them all.

“I’m sorry. Nush, I shouldn’t have…”

As your weight rocks back away from him, leaving his body quickly cooling with your absence, the air is punctuated with your muttering of one word over and over. Each utterance a bullet coated in guilt hitting him sharply.

“Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.”

Scrunching his eyes tight shut, he rocks forward, head in hands. Should he come after you? Should he leave? Fuck, Pike.

Hearing the creak of your bedroom door, Marcus lifts his head in your direction - his eyes throwing a million apologies to you, “Nush, I’m so sorry - I didn’t mean to upset you. That’s the last thing that I’d ever want to do.”

He watches as you walk across the floor - smaller shuffling steps rather than your usual confident stomp, your eyes red-rimmed and glassy and your breathing a little jagged - and feels like he’s just crushed a butterfly in his hands when all he was trying to do was appreciate its beauty. Water starts to pool in the corners of his eyes as he blinks hard to warn them off - after all, he didn’t need to give you any other reason to walk away from him. A small grateful smile creeps across his face when you settle between his knees, resting your arms across his lap - your tear-streaked face looking up at him.

“I’m frightened,” he hears you whisper, “Repeating past mistakes is sheer fucking stupidity.”

Marcus freezes, the blood in his veins turning to ice as he awaits your verdict.

“I can’t do that again. You cannot become another Jasper to me. The relationship that never was with all the hiding.”

“I don’t want us to hide,” he hears his voice betraying him as fear courses through his synapses, his hands aching to touch you. Hold you.

Please don’t let me lose her.

Please don’t let this be it.

“Can I touch you?” Marcus quietly, carefully checks before daring to reach out. He watches as a cloud of confusion washes across your face at his request.

“Of course you can. What? Hang on, did you think,” you pause, brow furrowed, “Did you think I want to stop whatever this turns out to be?”

With his shoulders slightly hunched, one hand reaching behind to rub the base of his neck, Marcus nods, “Yeah, a bit. I…”

“I don’t wanna fuck this up, Nush,” he reaches forward to stroke your wrist.

“Me neither, but we will,” your words take a moment to register with him, “We have both experienced so much - good and bad - that we will put our proverbial foot in it with each other.

“But, I hope that in time, with our collective pasts and the streaks of grey in our hair, we may also slowly learn how to communicate and say when things are a bit shit for us and why. Why my instinct is to run screaming from things and why you think everyone you love is going to leave.”

Marcus curls forward so he can rest his forehead against yours before placing a small kiss there, “Now you’re really gonna have to be two minutes if we’re gonna get to work on time. I’m just gonna shut my eyes until you’re dressed so I’m not tempted to make us late.”

“You think that’ll work?”

Chuckling at the wink you throw at him over your shoulder, Marcus starts to allow that tiny ray of hope he’s been burying for years to shine again.

✪✪✪✪✪

As Marcus opens the door for you, an overwhelming wave assaults your senses. Noises from tapping keyboards, phones ringing and computers blaring, the overwhelming scents of fatty, sugary yet discarded breakfasts and coffee hits hard but it’s the tiny, surreptitious stroke at the base of your spine gives you the kick you need to go in and start your day. A steaming coffee is thrust towards Marcus behind you and some case files are handed to you by a smiling Andy, “Morning Sir, morning Nush. What time did you manage to get cleared up?”

“Between the two of us, it didn’t take too long,” you grin at the PA before looking over your shoulder to find Marcus smiling at you, “Think I was asleep by eleven.”

“Snoring away,” Marcus barely audibly whispers, making your eyes widen.

“Ready for the meeting at nine o’clock, Sir? I have everything set up in the conference room, ready to go…” Andy sweeps Marcus away from you as you head over to your desk, spying the hot cup of Java awaiting your arrival.

New piles of paperwork seem to litter your desk, replacing the ones you’d tried so hard to clear on Friday afternoon. Office life. That it is a life is a bit of a lie, as every soul within your office space looks like it is in some stage of decomposition. Kiri appears to be in need of another weekend to get over the two days of rest just gone, Dian is yawning into her coffee and as for Harper, well, there’s a part of you that doesn’t quite believe she’s fully human with the way she’s already ploughing through her work.

When 9am finally rolls around, it feels more like two in the afternoon. Marcus sticks his head out of the door to call everyone into the meeting and is met by several groans from the team as they reluctantly shake themselves from their chairs and drag their Monday fatigued bones towards the conference room. At the oval, walnut table, you sit sandwiched between Dian and Kiri, directly opposite Andy in a hopefully not too obvious ploy to not be too close to Marcus.

“Good morning everyone, I’d ask you if you’d all had a good weekend but I think we spent enough time together to know that we all did,” a chuckle rises from your office mates as Marcus welcomes everyone, “I wanted to have a catch up this morning as the Soutine that Agent Pierce and I checked in Lyon, has come back as a definite fake. The verdict was reached late Friday afternoon and the French authorities are currently trying to trace its origins.

“We also received word this morning that a Modigliani has turned up in Sotheby’s - they have their own art fraud team but hopefully we will get a look in soon. Agent Pierce, I know I haven’t asked you to prep but could you explain to the team what the issues are around his work?”

“Sotheby’s?” you question, staring straight at Marcus and entirely ignoring his request, “I can get in there now as my best mate works in the fraud team.”

“Hephzibah?” Andy catches your eye, “Didn’t realise she’d transferred over from Scotland Yard.”

“More money,” you shrug as Andy presses his lips together and nods in agreement.

“No, Agent Pierce, I’d like us to hang back for now,” Marcus responds, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair, “If you could give us some of your insight about Modigliani’s pieces, please?”

Slightly taken aback by Marcus’ firmness, you take a moment before responding, “Modigliani’s back catalogue is a fucking mess as he used to give out sketches like a fortune teller.

“Jean Cocteau said that he was drawn by Modigliani roughly fifty times but he only ever owned one picture. Prices have skyrocketed over the past decade with one going for $170.4 million dollars so he’s very much a member of the $100 million club along with Warhol, Picasso et al but not quite at their ethereal prices.

“One of the main things about Modigliani is that the love of the man is not easily separated from his art. Over the years, he has been painted as somewhat Byronesque in his exploits by salacious biographies and films - very much sex and drugs and rock n roll. A bohemian who lived in Montparnasse and Montmartre at the Fin de Siecle - he was known by all the artists who lived there at the time - Picasso even said he was the only man in Paris who knew how to dress.

“To be honest, whilst he was hot - soulful dark eyes, ebony, wavy hair and a beautiful bone structure with an extraordinary amount of intelligence and eloquence-”

“Ah, so you have a type?” Harper mutters into her notes.

Your cheeks flush and eyes dart around the room, hoping that Marcus didn’t hear that as you desperately try to summon a consummate professional performance for the others, “-It is hugely difficult to separate the man from the myth but the main issue due to his profligacy with his art, unlike the other greats who get over $100 million for their work, Modigliani’s work is often questioned. You could easily find a Modigliani in an attic with a letter attached from the man himself and people would still raise an eyebrow at it.

“So, um, the main thing according to all the auction houses is that unless it is in the catalogue curated by Ceroni, it ain’t a Modigliani. This is problematic in itself as that was published in 1958 and even some of the pieces on his list are questionable. People have ended up in prison over their dubious dealings with Modigliani’s back catalogue as you can see in the case of Parisot.

“So if a piece comes to auction that isn’t on the list, they’re damned if it is a Modigliani, and damned if it isn’t?” Dian questions you.

“Pretty much. And he worked at a time when a lot of advances and changes happened in artist’s products. In the first half of the twentieth century, both the production of paint and paper changed massively as everything was slowly more industrialised and made more stable. By industrialising these things, it made the equipment cheaper quicker as more could use it rather than being made Etsy-style in tiny batches that were way beyond the means of most artists.

“Normally, with older pieces we can look at how the artists use paints and the type of paints they use but with more modern artists everything becomes a bit murkier as it is harder to date. And I will stop there before I piss off Harper by rabbiting on too much more.”

Even Harper has the decency to smirk at your comment before returning to her notes. Marcus’s gaze has softened again as you finish speaking, “ Thanks, Agent Pierce. Perhaps we could hear from you now Agent Gleason and Youngerson?”

Harper raises her eyebrows in Marcus’ direction before starting, “So, Agent Youngerson and I have been looking at various right wing groups currently active across the world and what their links are to the art world. The main ones who have thrown up scents for us to chase are The Old School Society, Hydra and The Order.”

Dian looks up from her pad of extensive notes, “Yeah, we've been tracing money routes with those three and when looking at the main donors to these groups, they’ve all had dealings with art galleries and auction houses recently. So we’re now looking into each donor carefully and may need to do some in the field meetings with them as prospective buyers - so my darling work wife, Nush, we may need notes unless you fancy being our cover girl?” she comically winks at you. Making a little heart with your index finger and thumb, you send an equally cheesy wink and click of the tongue back at her.

Marcus huffs a chuckle out at the two of you before turning his attention to Kiritopa, “How have you been getting on with your catalogue of fakes relating to this case?”

“Yeah, alright - slow going collecting all the data as it seems some auction houses are reluctant to reveal how many fakes pass through their doors,” Kiri frowns before glugging some more coffee.

“It’s understandable, they don’t want their reputations dashed. Doesn’t make our work any easier though. Agent Morrison - if you can show me what you’ve compiled so far that’d be great,” Marcus gives the agent a small, sincere smile before turning to address the room again, “Right, I have a meeting this afternoon that’ll keep me out of the office for the rest of the day so I’ll leave you all to get on. Have a great day everyone.”

✪✪✪✪✪

You:

Hey sexy lady, I hear you’ve got a tasty little number at S’s - can I take a look?

Hephzi:

Off the books? Course you can. Change into civvies and I’ll get you in this afternoon.

You:

You’re a fucking ⭐️. I’ll make it worth your while

Hephzi:

Do you mean cake and coffee? Because if you do, I’m fucking yours.

You:

Urm obviously! See you around two?

A small knock on your desk makes you put down your phone and you look up into Marcus’ face, “Hey, you got a minute?”

“Yes, Sir,” as you push your chair away from your desk, you throw your mobile in your desk drawer and follow him into his office.

His desk is immaculately tidy and warm to the touch with its honey and caramel tones washing back and forth in undulating waves as if across a beach. There’s not a hint of Marcus in his office yet - no personal treasures - it stands in stark contrast to the warmth of the man you’re getting to know.

“I just wanted to check you were ok. I heard what Harper said,” he reaches out to straighten the ribbing at the bottom of your jumper, his thumb stroking your tummy lightly.

“She’s not wrong,” you grin lopsidedly at him as you step in closer, placing your hands on either side of his face, “Dark soulful eyes, beautifully high cheekbones, delightfully luscious lips that are perfect for kissing - hard not to fancy Modigliani, really.”

“You’re mean,” Marcus squeezes your hip as he shakes his head, “When would you like to speak to the others? I think being up front with them will help us in the long run.”

You sit on the edge of his desk, leaning back slightly, your face illuminated by your smile, “Maybe we can have our first date and then think about the long run?”

When you see the flinch from Marcus, a pang of guilt echoes through your gut as you recall your earlier conversation, “I think you’re right- once we’re truly confident we know where this is headed, we should speak up. I am not going to lose my job or risk my reputation for you… but I also already know that I don’t want to lose you either.”

“Me neither,” his hand reaches out for you, fingers entangling, thumbs stroking - eyes crinkling as they meet yours, “What are you doing for lunch?”

“Well, I was a bit distracted when I got dressed this morning - there was this really hot guy in my flat…”

“Uh huh, tell me about him,” Marcus slowly drawls, looking down at you amusedly.

“Oh you don’t want to know, Sir. Wouldn’t let me get dressed. Just kept groping me.”

“How... inappropriate of him.”

“Yeah - so I was almost late to work because of him wanting his wicked way with me and accidentally ended up putting on two different shoes.” Marcus steps away from you and having looked down, notices the one extremely dark navy and one black ballet pump with a gently shaking chest as he tries to swallow his chuckle.

“Going home to change? Your mind really must have been elsewhere,” you nod at him -slightly embarrassed by your initial genuine mistake that has now become a cover story. His gaze intensifies as he cups your face, his eyes focussing on your lips, “I’m sorry honey, I don’t think I’ll have time to drop you there and back before my meeting - will you be ok?”

“Of course, Marcus - I’ve worked here for years,” you tease him, feeling awkward as fuck when the half truth you are spinning for your boss feels awkward and bitter in your mouth.

But his kiss doesn’t. Marcus quickly closes the gap between the two of you, leaning towards you - his head tilted, lips soft and welcoming with their desire for you utterly apparent. Deepening the kiss, his mouth gently opening, tongue searching as his hands drop from your face to your waist, you find yourself forgetting to worry that anyone could walk in. Forgetting the regret of lying to him. What had you even been talking about? Should you be doing this? Fuck it. You pull him the final distance so that no air could pass between you - just you and Marcus refusing to pause for breath until your lungs run out of air.

Pulling back to gaze at him with lust blown pupils, wanting him so much more, you eventually find the energy to push away from him. Swiping at your lips with your thumb in case anyone spots the remnants of this moment as you walk towards the door on brand new baby deer legs.

“Hey Nush,” you swing back to look at Marcus, still standing, equally dumbstruck as you, before he winks with a cheeky grin, “Nice shoes.”

✪✪✪✪✪

Gripping the cardboard carrier that holds two steaming cups of black coffee in your left hand, you ring the bell to the magnificent Bloomsbury building that has sold multiple pieces of multi-million pound art. The Georgian façade is impressive in its structure and beautifully kept without a sign of peeling paint, decrying its almost 250 year history - a far cry from the shatterproof glass and steel at HQ. Hephzi opens the door to you with a wide grin upon her face, “Bang on time, missus - I swear the only way to get you places quickly, is with the promise of fine art to get you salivating!”

You can’t really respond eloquently to her as you are absorbed into the cool of the elegant building. Whilst kept modern and minimalistic, the space has retained some of its more charming period features - the cornicing and ceiling roses are still firmly in place despite the stark white of the walls. Oh, the pieces that have passed through this space! The very thought makes you tingle all over through excitement.

Currently bedecking the walls are a collection of women artists about to go up for auction the next day. To you, there was no true money in those frames - just a conversation between you, the spectator and the artist about their emotions in picture form. A discussion that spanned centuries as you follow Hephzi’s soft footsteps through the gallery, enjoying every single one from a still life of flowers surrounded by butterflies and other insects by Rachel Ruysch to one of the copies of Blinding by Tracy Emin - the upside down nude female form shaped in neon pink tubes. The artists speak through ages, through the art upon the wall, in the language of your soul.

Marcus would love it here. Oh to bring him and enjoy it together, walking through the space, hand in hand. My head on his shoulder...

“...Hello? Earth to Nushka? Ah, welcome back,” Hephzibah is shaking her head at you, “You’re here on work experience if anyone asks, yes?”

“Yup,” still only half listening to your friend, you begrudgingly continue on to her workspace in the fraud and forgeries department, reluctantly walking away from the art you long to submerge yourself in.

“Right, hand over the coffee and cake- I take payment in advance, Madam,” Hephzi demands, hand outstretched, “So tell me about the new job. What’s your new boss like?”

“Marcus is nice,” you quietly offer into the rim of your coffee.

“First names already?” Hephzibah’s eyes are round with surprise, “And you mention him before the job… Who even are you? What have you done with the real Nush? Oh! Oh Nush, do you like him?”

You stand there blinking hard, feeling an absolute idiot for being so awkward in front of the person you call your best friend. A small, barely perceivable nod through the steam of your coffee has the arms of your best friend wrapped around you, “Nush, tell me more - has anything happened? Do you think he feels the same way?”

“I think so. Made a curry last night for the team at his flat, and ended up staying the night - nothing happ.. Well, we didn’t have sex but I think he likes me,” you nervously chatter at her before drawing a deep breath, “He’s pretty fucking amazing. Seems to be genuinely a nice guy - just straight talking, gentle, kind and holy shit is he good looking! His kisses and touches just turn me into fucking jelly.”

“Better than Jas?”

Your heart thuds in your chest so hard that there is a point where you fully expect it to wrench open your rib cage and run across the floor. You stare wide-eyed, your mouth open

“What?”

Hephzi steps forward, her gaze gentle as she places her hand on your arm, “You weren’t quite as good at hiding it as you thought you were. It was pretty obvious you were together and loved each other very dearly - I just knew that if I ever brought it up that you would run a mile.

“I tried telling you that I knew before. It was after he died and I wanted you to know that I knew it wasn’t just the death of a co-worker. Not that there’s ever any just in those situations for us either but I knew. When I asked about meeting someone the other day, it was more of me just trying to figure out if you were ready to date again.”

With that, the floodgates open and the grief flows you like a river, eroding your defences away. Hephzi holds you as you utterly soak through her expensive blouse, “I wanted to tell you so many times but I was terrified of what you’d think of me.”

“What I’d think of you - are you fucking kidding me, you absolute idiot?” she tucks your tear drenched hair behind your ears, “I’ve held your hair back in pub toilets as you’ve thrown up from too much alcohol and gotten you out of so many other scrapes but that, a relationship with a man from work is what you think I’d judge you for? Nah, that's not how any of this works, mate. Firstly, you can’t help who you fall in love with and secondly, where else are you ever going to meet someone when all you do is work?”

“N...N...Need a tissue. You made me get all snotty,” you tearfully stammer, all blotchy-face and tear streaked.

Hephzi can’t help but laugh at you blaming her for your tears. As she grabs a tissue, she also grabs the cake and the serviettes from the bag, “Come on, I know what’ll cheer you up - cake and a masterpiece.”

Following her into the studio beside her office, there it is. A supposedly lost version of Modigliani’s Nu Couché sur le Côté Gauche - her sheer sensuality rolling off her in waves. The way that she gazes out of the piece beguilingly, inviting you to join her on the bed, the sheets ruffled and rolling beneath her delicious curves.

Hephzi laughs at your reaction to the piece, “She’s hot isn’t she?”

“Yep - I’d definitely do her. I’d like to say that it is her almond eyes enticing me but really, it’s that entirely biteable bum,” you say before biting into the pastel de nata.

“Agreed - although for me, it’s her back and her thighs. They are edible - as you rightly say,” she says into her coffee.

“How’s the provenance?”

Hepzhi pulls a face as she turns back to you, “Traceable, but this one isn’t in Ceroni.”

“Shit.”

“My thoughts entirely. Look, love, I can’t let you touch it but feel free to take photos, measurements etc. As soon as my own tests come back, I promise you’ll know before the guys upstairs do,” Hephzibah asserts before sitting back on the desk in the room, “Just remember, you’re here on work experience.”

You throw a thank you over your shoulder at the rapidly retreating figure of Hepzi as you set to work. Using a Canon with a macro lens, you instantly photograph the major features and then take several overlapping pictures so that you can look close up on your computer at work. Whilst not quite a microscope, it would have to do given the circumstances. You trusted Hephzi’s sample taking but it was good to see it in person, even if Marcus had asked you to hold fire.

Whilst you were taking measurements of various points and aspects of the picture, you realised there were multiple footsteps coming up the corridor. Hephzi, obviously heard them gaining on the studio too and rejoined you, to back the story of work experience rather than letting her old friend backstage for some covert readings. She threw her notebook at you with a pencil to have the pretence of you taking notes as she worked.

“Well, Hephzibah, that is the first time I’ve ever seen you entrust your beloved notebook with anyone other than yourself. You have never even shown me the secrets you record there, and I am the person paying your salary,” a truly plummy voice cut through the room, “Whoever this work experience girl is, we will have to see about hiring her if you trust her this much.”

Hephzibah plasters a smile onto her features, “Sir, she is the best I’ve ever had the pleasure to meet. Such a keen eye.”

Refusing to turn around, you carry on making notes in Hephzi’s journal, attempting to concentrate on the words written in front of you, instead of the intrusion.

“So what d’ya think? On first impressions, is it real?”

Shit.

That voice.

Stepping up in response, Hephzibah firmly states, “Sir, I am terribly sorry but I am not currently at liberty to be able to fully disclose that info…”

“Oh no, it is quite alright, Hephzibah - this gentleman is Marcus Pike. He is currently fronting an investigation into white terrorism and art forgeries with 5 Eyes. One of your old lot, you know,” Hephzibah’s boss winks as if he was letting her in on the national secrecy act.

“Marcus Pike?” Hephzi shoots you a surreptitious look before the smile is back, “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Sir. Shame we haven’t crossed paths before now.”

Marcus offers his hand in greeting to Hephzibah, “I hope we can put that right in the future. I was wondering if we could hear from your work experience person. I am always open to fresh eyes.”

Dread courses through your veins as you turn towards Marcus, not wanting to look him in the face, “It would be remiss of me to make a declaration without reading through and tracking back the provenance as well as undertaking the necessary infrared and paint samples.”

“Sensible,” Marcus nods, his face not betraying a single emotion.

Your face creases at his lack of response, something that Hephzi’s boss picks up on, “Are you alright, dear? You don’t look terribly well.”

“Sudden headache, sir. I should probably get going for today anyway,” you virtually throw Hephzi’s notebook at her before grabbing your bag, “Thank you for today, I will be in touch, Hephzibah.”

Running out of the building as fast as your feet and lungs can carry you, you feel your phone buzz in your pocket.

Sir Agent Marcus Pike:

Hey,

We need to talk. My office at 5?

You:

...

Tag list of glory (as ever, please ask to be put on or dropped from the list): @astroboots @silverwolf319 @sirowsky @leonieb @disgruntledspacedad @bison-writes @the-ginger-hedge-witch @danniburgh @day-off-inkyoto @green-socks @tardisfangurl @absurdthirst @mrsparknuts @zukoyonce @yespolkadotkitty @lunaserenade @theravenreads @honestly-shite @sharkbait77 @lawfulgranola @agirllovespancakes @theravenreads @lv7867 @ezrasbirdie @songsformonkeys

[thatweeboverthereisthirsty]

Hello! May I please request NSFW headcanons of Floyd, Riddle, Malleus, and Lilia dating an f!s/o who is really bratty and demanding in bed, just for the punishment? Thank you! You don't have to do this if you don't want to. Delete or ignore this ask if you don't want to do this one, alright, honey? ☺🙌💗💗💗

Ngl I had a burnout for inspiration around Riddle and Lilia so I am sorry about that.

Warnings: Collars, intense sex, punishment, edging, overstimulation, dom sub relationship

Floyd:

Oh so shrimpy wants to play a game huh?

Floyd is so down for that.

You can tease him all day and depending on how ansty he gets he might wait for school to be over or he might throw you over his shoulder right then and there.

Once you guys are in bed though all your attempts at being demanding and bratty are shut down

This boy is horny af so of course he’s gonna be excited that you wanna bang but he doesn’t like how you think you can act spoiled and dominant

There is a reason you aren’t on top and it’s because he’s the one in charge, and he will remind you of it every chance he gets

You are thrown on the bed and before you can even bounce back up he pins you with all his strength

The bruises of his hands around your wrist will likely be the first of many marks that will be on you tomorrow

His eyes are dark with lust as he pushes his tongue between your lips and quickly removes your clothes

Dark hickeys rimmed with teeth marks decorate your neck and collar

You struggle to regain control but he has none of it a he bites down hard on your neck while shoving two long fingers inside you

“Awww Shrimpy you look so cute~ I bet you would look better impaled on my cock and filled with my love~ Make more cute noises Shrimpy~ Only I can make you make those noises~ Only I can bed you and rip your sanity apart with pleasure as I pump you full of my cum~”

Sex with him always has a possessive tone to it and it is probably the reason he is so rough.

“You are so irritating when you think you are in charge. It’s my job to be in control. I guess Shrimpy hasn’t figured that out yet. I guess I’ll reteach you.”

His eyes become pinpricks as he crooks his fingers and rubs your sensitive spot.

His punishments aren’t usually crazy.

He doesn't have the patience or will to edge you and stuff.

Instead he will just fuck you till you forget what your own name is.

His favorite position is when you are leaning on him while he sits back against the wall and he bounces you until you’re nothing more than his personal cocksleeve

Drool, sweat, and seman dribbles down your chin and your eyes are almost always rolled to the back of your head with bliss

When he is finished he will roll over with you and spoon you against him

“When I wake up you better hope I don’t remember your bad behavior Shrimpy. I might have to teach you again that I am in charge and you are my cute little submissive Shrimpy. You are mine.”

Malleus:

It is very amusing for him to watch you try to bait him or take control for the sake of the end result.

He lets you be bratty and push him down and grind against him.

He’s gonna let you ride him and tie his hands together at the top off the bed just for fun.

When you finally collapse with pleasure and exhaustion that is when he will pull himself free from his binds and flip himself on top of you.

Malleus looks down at you with dark eyes filled with mischief and chuckles lowely before nipping at your ear.

“My turn”

Then he will ravage you as if you hadn’t just ridden him to completion a few times

As a non human being he has stamina for days and will fuck you stupid for hours on end

Already exhausted from your multiple orgasms you can do little but lie there as he slams into you starting a brutal pace

He’ll kiss you deeply and passionately whispering about how you take his cock so well as if this wasn’t a punishment but a reward

It’s hard to count how many times he cums with your pleasure riddled mind

Sometimes it’s inside of you and sometimes it is in your mouth or on your face, back, legs, front

Anywhere he can shoot his load is filled or covered in his cum

Sticky white pearls roll down your side as he manhandles you into a different position

Eventually when you’ve been fucked till the point where you nearly black out he will decide to finish and will his somehow still raging manhood to calm down

Then expect a nice warm bath where he scrubs the sweat, cum, drool, and tears off of you

He massages your body in places where it will be sore and cleans his bite wounds in order to keep them from getting infected

As you fall asleep against him his lips brush your ear in a husky whisper

“Don’t get too cocky little one, I only take care of you now cause everyone knows you have to keep your toys in good condition. That way you can play with them again whenever you want. Whenever I want.”

Riddle:

Hon he is already collaring people every time they misbehave.

Punishing brats is literally his whole personality.

Likely he’s just sitting over here casually sipping his tea side eyeing all the dorm children (they’ve broken into a cold sweat)

Then you break a rule and he looks at you and you’re just sitting here like “dom me I dare you”

Sis he will drag you to the bedroom and won’t even bat an eye at the rest of the dorm children (they are sweating more now)

Will collar you 100% just not with his magic off with your head (it gets in the way)

Riddle becomes really forceful in the bedroom when he’s punishing you

Orders will fly left and right and you better do them or he will make the punishment 10 times worse

Course if you want that then *wink wink*

Punishment from Riddle can go several ways.

On one hand he loves to deny you of what you want while jacking himself off.

The image of you desperately trying to reach a climax while he slowly brings himself off is so hot in his mind it is his go to punishment.

He will bring himself to a finish several times while casually fingering you to the point where you could cum but won’t cause he pulls them out and makes you lick them for a few moments before starting again.

When he finally feels that you have been edged enough he will pull your legs over his shoulders and eat you out till you orgasm.

The aftercare with him is super sweet as well.

Not that he has forgotten that you broke one of the rules.

“That’s strike 1 baby. Do it again and I might not let you get off at all.”

Lilia:

Daddy isn’t even bothered by this bratty act you have going. 

He is well aware of what it means and he knows exactly how to put you in your place. 

You want him to go down on you hard right? 

Absolutely not. 

He is not gonna cave to your demands. 

Denial is the only way to teach you that misbehaving isn’t gonna get you what you want.

Soon you will learn that acting bratty for a good fuck is only gonna get him to edge you for hours until you’re a broken, sobbing mess, begging for release.

Then and only then will he ask you if you want to cum and when you reply he will turn the tables from denial to overstimulating.

You wanted to cum right? 

He’s only doing what you wanted.

You cum almost instantly after he presses inside of you.

It’s intense and mind blowing. 

Not that he cares.

He hasn’t reached his own climax, besides after all that begging you should be happy he’s giving you what you want.

Pounds into you chasing his own climaxes for however long he feels like.

You can’t even think straight due to the pleasure but he doesn’t really care.

After fucking orgasm after orgasm out of you and himself he will clean you up and cuddle with you.

“Next time you want to act like a spoiled brat, think about what the repercussions will really be.”

[mellowswriting]

Meaning Found

pairing || Poe Dameron x Reader

summary || Sometimes it takes a crash and the fear that your best friend is dead to finally admit that you love his stupid ass.

word count || 3,466

warnings || language, allusions to sex, minor injuries, lots of teenage makeout sessions lmao

a/n || I rewatched the sequel trilogy and was reminded of my intense love of Poe Dameron, so this kind of just... happened. My first Poe fic, too, so I tried to nail his sarcastic, teasing personality but I don’t know how well I did. Let me know what you think!

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“Poe?” You called out, your hands cupped around your mouth in a vain attempt to amplify your voice through the trees. “Poe, where are you?!”

It had been hours since you crashed on this godforsaken planet, the smell of smoke and overheated metal rousing you from your unconscious state. The first thing you noticed after the awful smell was pain. Your calf was killing you, the pain radiating up through your entire leg from a long gash that thankfully wasn’t bleeding too badly. It just hurt like a bitch.  

Panic lanced through you when you realized your hot-headed pilot was nowhere to be seen. There wasn’t a single trace of him. No blood, no tattered clothes, no nothing. He was just gone. Fear thickened in your throat like glue, your lungs seizing under the weight of it. Still, you busied yourself with fixing what was left of the radio. Poe would be pissy if he came back and you hadn’t at the very least gotten a distress signal to the Resistance.

When he came back.

Poe would be back.

But then the radio was repaired and you managed to salvage some supplies from the wreckage of your precious ship - and Poe still wasn’t back. Enough was enough, you decided. Forget your fucked up leg, your pilot was out there somewhere, possibly in worse shape than you and in desperate need of help. So you found a branch that had been ripped from its tree when your ship met its untimely demise and tucked it under your arm in a makeshift crutch and got to hiking.

It was way more painful than you had expected. Each step had a sharp stab of fire-like pain bringing a wince to your face, but it seemed like the longer you walked, the more your body grew acquainted with the wound. It still hurt like hell, but the worry for Poe was far greater. The further you went, the more you really began regretting the choice to come on this mission. Your presence wasn't even entirely necessary - it was a damn supply drop for Maker’s sake. But when Leia herself asked you to have Poe’s back (and keep his pretty little ass out of trouble), you couldn’t very well say no.

Boy, was she going to get an earful if you got back.

When. When you got back.

“Poe, you shithead!” You screamed, your voice echoing off of the trees even through the rain. “I’m gonna leave your ass here, I swear! Where are you?!”

You barely heard it, the sound of his voice calling out your name. Hope lit in your chest, burning hotter than the pain that was now entirely forgotten as you took off through the trees, expertly dodging branches and raised roots as you went. His name fell from your lips over and over, hope falling away into relief when you realized his voice was growing closer.

The sight of Poe Dameron always took your breath away - not that you would ever admit that. It didn't matter when, it didn't matter the circumstance. He was too pretty for his own good, all sharp angles and dashing smiles. Even when you were at your grumpiest, usually as you sipped your coffee during morning briefings that always felt earlier than the last, his presence eased the heaviness that plagued your shoulders.

This time, it was infinitely more intense. Maybe it was the desperate way he crashed through the treeline. Maybe it was the huge grin that broke out across his face when he locked eyes with you. Maybe it was the way his arms immediately opened to embrace you and lift you from the ground, disbelieving laughter rumbling through his chest. Whatever it was, it had tears building in your eyes. For a moment, everything else was forgotten. The two of you weren’t stranded without a functional ship, you weren’t filled with fear and adrenaline, there wasn’t a painful gash in your leg. You were just in the arms of the one person who could make this whole shitshow a little bit better.

Out of nowhere, your relief gave way to fear. Sharp, debilitating, all-encompassing fear. You could have lost him. Poe could have died, or you could have died, and you wouldn’t have told him - fuck, he never would have known. Holy shit.

“Did you really have to call me a shithead, though?” Poe laughed as he put you down, his eyes sparkling with amusement. The gasp you let out when your feet touched the ground had that amusement disappearing, though. “Shit, what happened? How bad is it?”

“No, no, I’m fine. I’ll be fine.” You managed through the heaviness that clamped around your throat. Poe didn’t believe a single word that came out of your mouth, obvious by the way he sighed and shook his head. He ignored your protests and the way you slapped at his shoulders when he quite literally scooped you up. “Fuck, Poe, I said I’m fine -”

“You’re bleeding, you aren’t fine.” He gruffed out, readjusting his grip at your knees carefully. “Which way is the ship?”

The standoff only lasted a few moments, the both of you glaring at each other and waiting - Poe waiting for you to at least nod in a direction and you waiting for Poe’s dramatic ass to put you down. Of course, Poe won. When didn’t he? All it took was the jerk of your chin and Poe set off, grunting every now and then with the effort.

“You aren’t hurt, are you?” You whispered a few moments later. That fear was still rolling in your stomach. No matter how hard you tried to swallow it down, it still threatened to choke you up.

“C’mon, sweetheart, you know me. I’m tough as nails.” Poe laughed. He cleared his throat quietly when he saw the tears still gathered in your eyes. “Seriously, I’m okay. Don’t worry about me.”

The endearing term made your heart flutter. Pet names fell from Poe’s lips like second nature, you were used to it. Blame the leftover adrenaline, but this time it hit differently, right in your chest. Without thinking, you reached up and brushed his sweat-dampened curls back from his forehead gently, careful not to accidentally tug with all the jostling as he carried you. Your lower lip trembled. “We could’ve died.”

“I know.” Poe’s eyes hardened. “I know, I’m so sorry.”

“Poe, it wasn’t your fault.” You chastised gently, your fingers automatically carding through his hair and gently untangling it. He leaned into your touch slightly and a small smile graced your lips. “You couldn’t have known this would happen.”

“You told me to take the northern route, I should’ve listened -”

“Come on.” You sighed. Always so hard on himself, this one. “I literally argue with you about everything. That’s what we do, you dork. There’s no actual difference between the north route and the west route and we both know that.”  

“Yeah, yeah.” Poe smiled softly down at you and your breath caught in your throat again. Damn it. The man really was gorgeous, even with the guilt that still lingered on his face.

“I wasn’t bitching at you or trying to say you got us into this, okay? I… I just realized that you… fuck, Poe.” Words failed you. Or rather, you failed your words. They were there. They had been there from the very beginning, but the overwhelming fear of losing his friendship choked the words from you time and time again.

You didn’t even realize you were back at the wreckage of your ship, too in your head to pay attention to the world around you. Poe set you down gently in the grass, apologizing quietly when you hissed in pain. Now that you weren’t adrenaline soaked and desperate to find him, your body was all too happy to let the pain flare back up.

“Let me get the bacta from the med kit,” Poe murmured, leaving your side for just a moment. He seemed just as anxious as you were, the idea of being apart making both your stomachs turn. Even just a few moments, even just a few feet of distance, it was too much. Poe kneeled at your side and easily tore the remainder of your pants from your calf, the comfortable material now only reaching just above your knee.

Cleaning the gash was no walk in the park, but the moment the bacta touched your inflamed, angry skin, you sighed. That shit was magic, no doubt about it. Nonetheless, Poe was still careful as he wrapped your calf, his every touch slow and gentle and the memory of the last time the two of you were like this bubbled to the forefront on your mind. The roles were reversed, of course, because it was almost always Poe making daringly stupid choices and ending up wounded, but you had been so scared of making the blaster wound to his shoulder worse that your hands shook.

There had been a gentle trust in his eyes when Poe reassured you that he was okay, that you would do just great. His normally confident voice became meek as he whispered that you were the only one he trusted to fix him up, so you better get to it. That was Poe. Always trying to cover up vulnerable moments with humor. But that sparkle of humor was nowhere to be found as he settled himself next to you. Hell, he could barely keep eye contact with you.

“What...what did you realize?” Poe whispered. Something in the way he was looking at you told you that he knew already, fear and hope and anticipation all plain on his face. He pulled his bottom lip between his teeth, something you had come to recognize as a nervous habit.

You drew in a deep breath, steadying yourself against the racing of your heart and the excitement that buzzed through your veins. It lit you up from the inside out, the very idea of finally, fucking finally, saying the words you had been itching to say for far too long. “I realized that we could’ve died before I told you how much I love you.”

Poe let out a shaky breath, those full lips parting and closing around words that couldn't seem to find their way into existence. A fleeting moment of panic wound its way through your chest at the idea that you had misread this whole thing, constricting your lungs in a vice-hold that threatened to choke the life out of you, but it was washed away by the sudden press of his lips against yours. On the many occasions you imagined what it would be like to kiss Poe Dameron, you envisioned it to be all teeth and gasping passion, but the reality was so much better than anything else your brain could have dreamed up.

Poe kissed you like you were the most precious thing he had ever had the privilege of holding in his hands. Your eyes fluttered closed the moment his lips brushed yours, a soft and reverent touch that pulled a wrecked sound from him. He leaned back, breaking the gentle embrace of your lips to study your face. There was a small crease between his eyebrows where he had them furrowed and you couldn't help but reach up to rub at the space with your thumb.

The smile that broke across his face was brighter than any sun in the galaxy and he pulled you to him. The second kiss was more confident, something you never thought Poe Dameron could be more of. The warmth of his tongue sliding along your bottom lip made a rough shudder slither down your spine and his hand at your cheek buried itself in your hair to tilt your head. The new angle let him press even closer to you and the quiet moan it drew from him had you practically giddy, excitement singing through your entire body. Somehow your hands found the collar of his shirt, your body moving instinctually as if it was commonplace, as if your body knew exactly how to move with his.

“I love you.” Poe whispered against your lips, pulling away just far enough to rest his forehead against yours. He kissed you again, a short one just shy of a peck. “I guess we’re both idiots, huh? Could’ve had you for so long if I had just said something.”

“You can have me now if you stop talking.” You teased and Poe grinned. It was a grin you had seen countless times, but this time it felt almost new. Like you were able to appreciate that pretty smile of his in a new light. “Kiss me again, flyboy.”

An almost wild groan rumbled through Poe’s chest and he did just that. Poe kissed and kissed and kissed you until you were both left with swollen lips and goofy grins. Neither of you could get enough, like you had been drowning and were finally up for air. There was nothing else that mattered. Not the slow establishment of peace and control that Leia had managed to bestow upon the galaxy. Not the sudden shifting of goals after the success of the Resistance. Not the sudden floundering for meaning.

Everything you were searching for, the meaning of it all post-war…

It was found in each other.

“Wait, did you radio anyone?” Poe asked suddenly, those pretty brown eyes blinking up at you inquisitively.

“What?” You were a bit dazed from the feeling of his tongue expertly taking you apart. It took your mind a second to remember how to process words.  “Uh, yeah, Leia sent Rey out to get us.”

“How long ago?”

“...Seriously? That’s what you’re thinking about right now.” You motioned between your chests, an eyebrow raised. Poe just stared at you expectantly and you sighed. He would wait there until the Falcon landed right next to you with his stubbornness. “Like three hours ago. Why?”

That devilish smirk reappeared like it never left. “Just wanted to know how much longer I get to have you like this.”

Heat creeped up your neck at the implication. “Maker, you are so annoying.”

Poe bit at his bottom lip and for a mere second you were distracted, wanting nothing more to be the one nibbling at him. But then he had to open his mouth again. “Yeah, and you love me. Says more about you than it does about me.”

“Shut up and kiss me.” You demanded.

“Yes, ma’am.” The words were whispered against your lips as he leaned in, once again dragging you into a makeout session that could rival any other. Like teenagers, the two of you, all wandering hands and teasing nibbles.

It wasn’t long until the telltale sound of the Millennium Falcon approaching pulled you apart - a good thing, too, because both of you were writhing for more than could happen in a field in the middle of nowhere. Besides, it was growing darker and being stuck any longer without shelter when the creatures of the night would begin creeping out to prowl wasn’t the best of ideas. You weren’t surprised that the little orange and white droid was the first down the ramp when the ship had settled on its landing gear.

“Hey, buddy!” The excitement in Poe’s was unmistakable as he crouched down to greet BB-8, the impact of his droid crashing into him knocking him right onto his ass. A series of inquisitive beeps made Poe sigh almost exasperatedly. “No, she’s fine, I took care of her leg.”

BB-8 rolled over and bumped at your legs affectionately, completely ignoring Poe’s indignant, “I’m fine, too, by the way!”

Rey appeared a moment later when you were kneeling to pat the droid and look him over, ensuring he hadn’t been harmed since the last you saw him. It felt a bit strange to care so much for the little guy but he was practically a little kid to you. You had started calling him Poe’s son as a joke long ago when you first met, but you had come to realize just how right you were.

“What the hell happened to you two? Did you forget how to pilot, Poe?” Rey called out as she walked up and immediately a loud bout of bickering began. To an outsider, it would look like these two hated each other but you knew better. Your little friend group would do anything for each other, especially after all you had been through together. All that was missing was -

“Finn!” Poe smiled and embraced his friend in a tight hug before slapping him on the shoulder. “I didn’t know you were coming, too.”

“You think I would miss seeing you two stranded together? Nah,” Finn asked as he pulled you in for a hug as well, a laugh rumbling through his chest. “I figured the two of you would’ve ripped each other's heads off by now.”

“Ha, ha.” You intoned sarcastically. “It’s nice to know that you two have careers in comedy now that the war is over.”

The playful jabs continued as the five of you settled into the Falcon, Poe keeping a hand on you at practically all times. On your lower back, on your hip, settled on your thigh. It seemed like now that he had the ability to touch you like he always wanted to, he couldn’t stop himself. It wasn’t long until his little game became obvious - seeing how long it would take for either of your human companions to realize something was different.

It didn’t take long for it to escalate. A hand on your thigh quickly became tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, which became affectionately rubbing the tension from your neck. Within fifteen minutes of flying through hyperspace, you had to leave the cockpit with some bullshit excuse just to keep yourself from curling up in his lap right then and there. You busied yourself in repairing the wiring you had been working on the last time you were on the Falcon, a simple job that was practically finished already save for untangling and reconnecting the wires and replacing the panel that covered it. Of course it took no time at all for Poe to wander off and find you, his arms wrapping around your waist.

“Hey,” Poe murmured before kissing your neck gently, swiping your hair out of the way to give him even more access. The scrape of his stubble against your sensitive skin made you shiver against him and you could tell Poe felt it by the way he smiled against your neck. “Love how responsive you are...you’re never getting rid of me now, sweetheart.”  

The lighthearted remark on the tip of your tongue melted away at the feeling of his tongue tracing that sweet spot just under your ear. You couldn’t help but lean back into his chest, one of his hands leaving your hips to brace against the wall. A low hum fell from your lips when Poe bit at your shoulder teasingly and you couldn’t stop yourself from reaching back to run your fingers through his hair and hold him against you, your attempted repair completely forgotten in front of you.

Every touch had pleasure curling around your body, lighting up your every nerve with need and excitement. The man was a god, but if you told him that, it would pump up his ego to an insufferable level. Maybe you could handle it, the ridiculous amount of pride, if he would just touch you…

“Please,” You whispered, your eyes closing as your head fell back onto his shoulder, and you didn’t miss the hungry way he hummed against you. The arm that was wrapped around your waist shifted and his hand slid under your shirt, the shock of his warm skin against your stomach forced a gasp from you. His fingers dipped below your pants, just barely teasing at the hem of your underwear, and -

“I knew it!” Finn’s deep voice echoed harshly through the metal walls of the Falcon and you both jumped, damn near cracking heads in your surprise.

“No you did not!” Poe scoffed, letting you bury your face into his neck to hide your embarrassed face. Poe’s dismissal did nothing to curb Finn’s excited sprint back to the cockpit, screaming something about Rey owing him credits all the while. A short, huffed laugh fell from his lips as he pushed you back against the wall, facing him this time. “We can’t go back up there, they’ll be impossible.”

You set your chin against his chest with an agreeing hum. “We could just go to the bunks… carry on where we left off.”

Poe grinned at you. “Hell yes.”

[getyouasenju]

Dragging Away.

Part 2/3 to the “Dragging” series

Part 1 Dragging Along

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: angst, profanity, small spoilers.

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"What the fuck just happened"

Did she just give me the ring back? I stared at the ring I spent so long choosing that just had been shoved into my palm. This argument escalated entirely too fast. I was hesitating a hell of a lot more than I usually do, I couldn’t find a way to solve this tonight. I just knew that I loved (Y/N). I look through the window and see the weather was going to shit and I sigh to myself. I didn’t think this was going to be this troublesome. I tucked the ring into my pocket, brewing a plan to return it to her finger in the meantime. Scratching the back of my neck I glance at the bedroom door and then back to the window one more time. (Y/n) wouldn’t leave in this kind of weather, I’ll make this quick.

I was stressed. If it wasn’t raining, i’d light one for the walk. It didn’t take me long to get to the place Temari was staying. I lazily lift an arm to knock but before I could even touch it with my knuckles, it whipped open and a distressed Temari appeared. She looked so broken. In an instant she was in my arms sobbing, if my shirt wasn’t already soaked, it would’ve been in that moment.

Cradling her into my chest I tried to calm her sobs, pushing the door in I walk us both into the house, Temari shaking in my my arms. If I were to bring this up any other time, the blonde would deny ever crying. I sigh as I rub her back trying to soothe her and lead her to the couch. Glancing over her head to the weather outside, I started to worry If (Y/N) had really left.

This was going to be a long night... so much for making it quick.

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I held my breath as I leaned against the bedroom door. What the fuck? I strained my ears trying to listen over the rainfall for movement. Is he really going to leave and go see her? I just gave him my fucking ring back. Holy shit. I felt like absolute hell, my mind was entirely too foggy to be dealing with this right now. It felt like I was listening through the door for ages until I heard it.

-Click-

There it goes, the door closing behind him. He left and I was too, we were done. I hadn't eaten anything all day, yet I still wanted to vomit- hell I already had that bitter taste in the back of my throat. I couldn't tell if my face was soaked from my tears or basically walking through a flood. I looked down at my left hand, it felt so... bare and I felt shattered. He let her in our home while I was gone. Then he doesn't even want to explain why he's running to her aid in the middle of the night? and I'm just supposed to accept that? Thousands of scenarios were running through my mind, I just didn't understand. The wet clothing had began to irritate my skin. I jumped into the shower and started scrubbing myself red. The cuts and bruises from the mission were burning intensely, but I had too much tunnel vision to care. 

"I won't be here when you get back"

Damn right I wouldn't fucking be here, is he crazy? How would he like it if I had invited an ex over while he's working? Then not tell him shit about it, how about that? He would never speak to me again. I step out of the shower and begin to ready myself. Glancing out the window I saw the storm was getting worse, but there was absolutely no way I was sticking around! I mean, I had already given the man his ring back. The ring. It was so beautiful, it meant so much that lazy man had actually went and picked it out all by himself. There goes that feeling of wanted to vomit again, damn. I didn't bother drying my hair or even dressing somewhat nice, the rain was so heavy it wouldn't matter. I grabbed my suitcase and opened the first drawer.

I was dragging the suitcase through the storm for a solid three minutes before I came to the realization. I had no where to go- I’m the worlds biggest idiot. Don’t get me wrong, I had friends but they were also shikamaru’s friends. If it was an option, I’d run straight to Ino’s house but she and shikamaru were friends before she knew me, for fucks sake they were two thirds of Ino–Shika–Chō. I didn’t want her to be stuck in the middle of our mess... plus she just started dating Sai and I really wasn’t interested in possibly intruding on anything they were up to at this time of night. So to a hotel I went, soggily. As I got to my assigned room I sighed to myself as my shoes made mushy noises down the hall.

I couldn’t stay here forever though, I had to figure it out. All I knew was that I did not want to see shikamaru for a while. I thought about my life, I started to laugh as I spoke to myself “I mean.. It could be worse? right?” I sarcastically laugh to myself, flopping my rain soaked body onto the once dry bed. Soon my laughter turned to tears. I was alone, and partially by choice. I wanted to leave, I needed to leave, I just wanted out and I wanted it so bad and that was just what I was going to ask for.

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“Are you sure? This is a very dangerous mission (Y/N), This could take months.”

 I bow my head in regard to our new leader, Naruto. I was currently standing in the Hokage’s office. Naruto seemed taken back, and honestly a little confused. I felt his eyes trail to my ring finger, I wanted to melt into a puddle, he knew something was off. I felt bad for putting pressure on my friend, it was only his first week as Hokage,  I knew he was right for the job but this was a lot. So much for keeping our friends out of it. He swallows and speaks “You just came back from a mission, has Sakura checked you out yet?”... No... oops? I smiled almost too wide and waved my hands in front of his face, “I’m good I promise! see?” I stretch from side to side as Naruto face palms. “I feel like I’m missing something here”.

I sighed “I’m perfectly capable.” I knew this wasn’t about my capability, more like my stability really. I go to argue my case again as the door rips open.

“You left”

I whip around and stare harshly at the raven headed man. “You left me first” he crossed his arms and spoke lowly, “I told you I was coming back”, laughter ripped through me, “and I told you I wouldn’t be there when you came back after seeing her!” He took one step closer and I took two steps back, He let out a low noise, “You aren’t going on that mission”. I was bewildered, isn't this his day off? What the fuck was he even doing here? “That’s not your fucking business nor your concern” He looked at me like I was crazy and spoke quickly, “We’re engaged, I love you and that makes this my business (Y/N).” I angrily waved my left hand in the mans face, showing him the bare ring finger. “No, engaged men don’t play damsel in distress with other women in the middle of the night shika! You are very much single now and free to do what you want, and I will do the same!” The nickname slipped out, I won’t let it happen again. “Get away from me, I’m not in the mood- I don’t think I’ll ever be in the mood for you again.... and you smell like cigarettes.. bad.” I mumble out, turning my head to avoid the smell. 

“Regardless.. you’d have to be an idiot to do back to back missions like this. How troublesome do you have to be to even think this is a good idea.” He replies, “I understand trying to get away from me, but going off on a mission looking for a death sentence is just out right crazy and as an Advisor, I say no.” ending his rant with a sigh and a hand to the temple as always.

Did he just call me an idiot and tell me no?

I think my face gave away how pissed I was, and Shikamaru didn’t look too happy either. I turn back towards Naruto and see the man was basically scared for his life. “That’s enough” I thought to myself. I let out a groan “My apologies Lord Seventh,” I turn to Shikamaru. “I’m not doing this with you.” I bow my head to Naruto and try to make a speedy exit, but of course fiancé dearest is following me. I didn’t care though, I was leaving and most likely apartment hunting, If I wasn’t getting a “vacation” then I was getting my own place thats for damn sure. I was almost near the exit when he grabbed my arm.

“Can you just listen to me? Or an I just gonna profess my love to you and be brushed off again?” I snatched my arm back, how can someone so smart be so stupid? How high was that IQ again?... “brushed off you say.. like you did to me last night, huh?” I groaned out, I was so tired. There goes that feeling of wanting to vomit.. again. My head was fucking pounding still, the pain was so intense. 

I took another step back, staggering. “What is wrong with you (Y/N)” he groaned. I could hear him talking to me again, but I couldn’t focus on anything. I wave at him and turn towards the exit again. God my fucking head... I need to go, what is this man doing to me? As I reach my arm out to the door my vision started to blur, the next thing I knew my head was colliding with the door handle and I was out. Cold.

“You just came back from a mission, has Sakura checked you out yet?”

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Hey guys, thanks for reading part 2! Still new and learning :) 

Part 3!

Until Next Time! xxo (▰∀◕)ﾉ

[buckyownsmylife]

v e l o c i t y - chapter ix

The one where John’s your true mate, but he doesn’t want you to be his.

In a universe where fate grants you a new mate whenever you lose yours, John has lived quite comfortably for many years with the knowledge that he was alone after Mary. That all comes crumbling down the second that he meets you. How could the universe choose someone so young to be his omega?

for general warnings and author’s notes, please go to the fic’s masterlist.

A/N: Okay so, my bad. One more chapter after this one!

Y/N’s P.O.V.

I had a hard time sleeping since that night in the laundry room. Well, it was hard to go to bed alone, knowing only one wall separated me from John, knowing the only thing missing for him to claim me was time. He needed time to get over the image of me as a child, accept that I was another person, a woman now - and his mate. And I needed to find some sort of patience to hold onto while he got there.

That didn’t mean I was a saint, though. My desire was still there, even stronger, I dared to say. Now that he had recognized that he truly wanted me, it felt too easy, it felt simple and I just wanted to reach out and have him touch me - really, anywhere.

But I wanted to give him the space he needed to come to terms with this. So I resorted to long nights of touching myself to the thought of him, wondering what he was doing on his bed, if he thought of me when the bunker’s silence grew almost deadly and the sky became darker than a demon’s eye.

And then one night, I heard it.

It was a woman’s moan, coming from the room next door, and instinctively every nerve in my omega body stood in attention, ready to pounce. Who the fuck was with John? Why would he do this? But then his groan reached my ear, sounding much closer, much clearer, and by the time I heard another male’s voice panting, I knew what was happening.

John was watching porn.

The thought thrilled me to no end, even though I couldn’t really explain just why. Maybe it was the fact that he was doing something that intimate, right next to me, not knowing I could hear…

Or maybe he did, and that’s exactly why he was doing it. That had me drenching my panties, quickly getting rid of my clothes before laying back on the bed, a hand between my legs as I tried to listen to his every sound.

Only a few grunts and pants seemed to come from him, the rest mainly from the movie he was watching, but I could distinctly identify the wet, rhythmic slap of his hand meeting his navel along the sounds of the television, and that was the tempo I followed as I started to touch myself.

I got lost in the memories of when it was his fingers inside of me, his scent drowning mine, yet my attention never wavered from the room next door, trying to memorize every little thing about his search for pleasure while I did the same. I just knew it wouldn’t be enough to get me off until his pace quickened, a growl escaping the depths of his chest as he reached his release, and the thought of his cum covering his naked body had me mewling as my cunt clenched around my own digits.

Suddenly, it was all too quiet. All too very quiet. 

“Are you touching yourself, little one?” His voice came closer than I expected it to - not that I expected it at all - and it had me gasping in surprise, imagining him on the other side of the wall against which my bed rested, trying to hear me do the exact same thing he’d been doing seconds before. “Are you touching yourself to the sounds of me getting myself off?”

Oh, for fuck’s sake. How the fuck was I supposed to resist him?

“Are you soaking wet?” The questions just kept coming, prompting my movements to grow quicker, more desperate at the clear desire dripping in his tone. “Because of me?” A simple chuckle shouldn’t sound this hot. “No James here to prepare you this time, huh?”

And that was all it took for me to reach my high, cumming around my fingers with a strangled moan as John’s low laugh resonated from my left. “Atta girl. Bet you’ll sleep real good tonight.” And just when I thought he was done and I could finally breathe again, “I know I will.”

Oh, shit. I was trying to be patient and give him his time, but if he thought I’d let this sort of teasing just go by, he was in for a treat. Better get ready for war, Winchester.

John’s P.O.V.

I knew I was playing with fire, but no one could have prepared me for the special type of hell I was forced to live in during the next few weeks.

It was like she was doing anything she could to make my resolve break. She wanted me to lose control, take her again just like I did that time when I thought another Alpha would try to lay claim on her.

And I had to give it to her - the memories of when she was young were nothing but distant flashbacks I could only remember if I tried to think back on why I was trying to resist her.

Even then, it was like that little girl was someone else entirely, someone I didn’t know anymore - certainly not the young woman who was currently caressing the inside of my thighs and slowly getting closer and closer to my crotch in the middle of this fucking diner.

I took advantage of the fact that Dean had left the table to hit on one of the waitresses and Sam had left to ring someone to finally hold her wrists, stop her quest for control over my dick and my nerves.

“You keep trying to test my patience, you little brat. You wouldn’t like what I’d do if I actually lost it, right here, right now.” Her sharp inhale was music to my ears, a smirk taking over my face as I looked down on her by my side.

But of course, she couldn’t just let it go.

“What would you do, old man?” My chest inflated as I took in her defiance, glancing at the door and Dean to make sure no one would come back soon before turning my body fully towards her, caging her against the wall in the booth.

“I’d put you over my knee, rip those pretty jeans and spank the shit out of you, omega. I’d let everyone watch me bruise your skin, I don’t even care that all these alphas are staring at you. I’d let them see, so maybe they’d know they ain’t got no chance with you.” The sweet smell of her arousal was easy to catch, so I knew she was soaked by now - and my smirk warned her of just how much I was aware of my effect on her body.

A few seconds of silence followed my words, both of us breathing heavily as we stared at each other, trying to hold back. Until she broke the spell, simply by being her.

“God, can you get any kinkier?” I wanted to be mad, I really did, but it was just impossible. My whole body shook under the power of my laughter, and I knew Dean was looking back at us now, just like some of the other patrons.

“Try me,” I provoked, raising my eyebrows at her as I reached for my mug of coffee again. She just kept staring at me, lips pursed in a pout, arms crossed in front of her body, the perfect picture of annoyance.

“You’re hot, but you’re very mean. Did you know that?” I choked on the hot liquid, almost spilling it all over myself, not having expected to be so casually called hot by someone as attractive as her in a million years.

“But you know what?” She pressed on, not giving me any time to recover. “I can be meaner.” That sentence, whispered in my ear as she pressed her body against mine, sent shivers down my spine. “Game’s on, Winchester.”

… What had I gotten myself into?

Y/N’s P.O.V.

The fact that we had managed to get John Winchester to go to a club was mind-blowing and hilarious to me. He looked so out of place - much older than most around, and underdressed in comparison to the guys his age, who were all displaying the same type of clothes as the fuck boys who were so desperately trying to get with anything that moved.

“You have something in your hair,” I commented, using this as an excuse to press my body tightly against his when I reached out to fix his locks, and even though he was quick to push me away, keeping me at a distance, there was a smile on his face.

“You need to stop doing that.” I bit my lip as I looked up at him with the most innocent expression I could muster. It was honestly hard not to laugh.

“Doing what?” John scoffed, letting me go to turn back to his whiskey, but once the liquid was in his lips again, his eyes traveled up and down my body, almost undressing me.

“You like my dress?” I asked, twirling so he could get the full view, even though I already knew how he felt about it. There was an entire discussion about the piece of clothing before we managed to leave the bunker, and I still believed it was the entire reason why he decided to tag along to my night out with the boys.

“I think we’ve established this is barely even a dress, little girl.” Giggling, I stepped closer to him again, using the excuse some drunk dude gave me when he lost his balance and wobbled in my direction, my hand falling precisely over John’s crotch as I pressed our bodies together once more.

“You know there’s other people around us, right?” He whispered right by my ear, raising goosebumps all over my skin when the hand that wasn’t holding his drink settled over my ass. “This little skirt of yours is giving me all types of thoughts…”

I was just about to ask him to elaborate on that when his head suddenly snapped up, meeting my eyes instead of looking at my breasts. “Why on Earth aren’t you wearing any underwear?”

I giggled when I understood that he could feel the absence of other fabrics underneath the thin material of my dress since he was now rubbing and squeezing my butt. I was suddenly shy, more because I didn’t expect him to call me out on it than anything else, so I buried my face in his chest as he kept teasing me, “Do you have something against it? Is that it? Are you allergic to panties?”

He swayed us somewhat to the beat of the song that had taken everyone to the dance floor, and I just relished in his embrace before finally coming up with something to say. “You liked it so much the last time…” I reminded him, not expecting what he’d counter.

“Last time was a mistake.” Immediately, I pushed away from him, meeting his eyes in shock and hurt as his words pained me in a way I never expected him to do - not again. His eyebrows were furrowed as he stared back at me, obviously confused by my sudden reaction until he understood what he had said.

“No, no,” he called out, easily pulling me close again despite me trying to escape. I hated that I cherished that night so badly, desired him so ardently ever since, just for him to go ahead and write it off as a mistake.

“That’s not what I meant, ‘mega,” he tried to calm me down, nose rubbing over my scent gland in an effort to lower my heartbeat and suppress my anger. It worked perfectly, as much as I didn’t want it to.

“I just mean, I didn’t want the first time I touch you to be because of anger and jealousy.” His explanation drained all irritation from my body, leaving me slumping against his hard chest.

“I didn’t want it to happen like that,” he continued. “You deserved more than that.” My heartbeat was pounding to the rhythm of the music, not quite believing this turn of events.

“I mean… I didn’t even kiss you, for fuck’s sake.” The sound of his despair against his own actions had me mewling against him, absentmindedly rutting my ass against his crotch, not even realizing I was doing it until his fingers pressed tightly on my hips - not stopping me, just… holding me there.

“I want- I want our first time to be meaningful.” And that, right then, stole my breath away. Because I understood the implicit message. I understood that this was him, saying he was ready. “Hopefully, in a bed,” he continued, and I smiled to myself at his sweet plans for us.

“But if you keep teasing me so much, I’ll bury my fingers inside of you right here, I swear.” This last part was uttered against the shell of my ear, making me go perfectly still, at last stopping my movements against the bulge that had become more than evident in his old jeans.

“And Lord knows where that would take us,” he commented, hands holding me just under the curve of my breasts, making me shiver as he nuzzled against my neck from behind. “By now, you know how easily I can get carried away.”

And I did. Just the memory of it made me shiver, but maybe it was the man behind me, whose hands were now openly exploring my body as if we weren’t surrounded by people in a smelly club.

“Yeah, I know…” I panted, body sensuously moving against his without even intending to, just needing to feel the weight of his hands all over me, forever. “You’ve done it before.”

And that was the last thing I spoke for the next few hours because right then John turned me in his arms and took my lips on his, devouring me in the dark corner of the dance floor, while the rest of the club danced without a care in the world, not taking notice on two mates finally giving in to one another.

The only thing that mattered right then was him and I.

[smcc212]

Gone, But Not Forgotten

Pairings- Finn Shelby x Shelby! Reader, Shelby family x Shelby reader

Word count- 2,234

Warnings- Description of mental illness, implied/referenced self-harm, it’s the 1920s, so people not understanding mental illness, let me know if I messed any. Not proofread.

A/N- So, rather than writing what I’ve been asked to write, I wrote this-big thanks to my mum for naming this for me. The mental illness depicted in this is based off of my own struggles with mental health and I tried to dial down so I don’t offend anyone. Anyway, with that all said, I really hope you enjoy!!

“The forgotten Shelby” that’s what I was; that’s all I was. Finn Shelby’s twin, was another thing people would call me, no one would just call me (Y/N) Shelby. At least everyone that said that remembered I was Shelby though. Tommy was having a big party for Lizzie’s birthday; everyone was invited. Everyone except me. I found out about the party while I was at Garrison, some strangers sitting next to me were talking about it. Finn didn’t even tell me. Finn and I used to be inseparable. Now I was all alone.

I pushed everyone away, I pushed my friends with away; I pushed my family away. I never wanted to loose them, though, not really. I just... I couldn’t help myself, for some reason, I felt as though I didn’t need them; I never could control my emotions. I was always getting in trouble in school for my emotional outbursts, but I couldn’t stop it from happening. They’d change all the time, my emotions. Sometimes I felt the same emotion for a day, sometimes my emotions would change every hour.

I hadn’t talked to my family in three months when I heard a knock at my door. I opened it to see my twin, Finn, standing there.

“Hey, Finn,” I grumbled. I was happy to see him, but I’d been living off the last pay-check Tommy had given me. I left school two years after Finn did so both of us couldn’t do anything but go into the family business. But it’d pushed them away; they wanted nothing to do with me.

“(Y/N),” He breathed out. “How are you? What’s been going on in your life? Are you-“ He cut himself as he looked behind me. The place was disgusting. I knew that. I just couldn’t motivate myself to clean it. “(Y/N/N)... what the fuck happened?” Despite his wording, his voice was soft and full of concern.

“I... I just couldn’t clean. I mean, physically I could, but I just couldn’t get myself out of bed to do so; I didn’t have any reason to,” I murmured embarrassed that he’d seen the pigsty I’d been living in. “I-I’ll clean soon though. I had to get up to answer the door, so I’ll clean a little today.” I gave him a sad smile but he didn’t return it.

“I never realised it was this bad...”

“What?”

“Your mind. Whatever the fuck’s going on in the head of yours; I didn’t know it was this bad.” I moved to try and block the sight of my home from him even though he’d already seen it.

“Why are you here, Finny?” Finny, the same thing I’d called since I first learnt to talk.

“To invite you to Lizzie’s birthday, but... (Y/N), you can’t live like this.” His eyes stared into mine; into my soul. I could not only hear the concern in his voice, but I could see it in his eyes as well. I didn’t want that. I didn’t want to be a burden.

“I’m okay, Finn. I’m alive, aren’t I?” I giggled, but stopped when I realised he didn’t find it funny.

“Being alive doesn’t mean you’re fine! Pack some clothes, you’re coming to stay with me.”

“Oh no, Finny, I don’t want to bother you,” I mumbled, looking at the ground.

“You’re my twin. You’re not bothering me, just let me help you. Please?” He begged. He was begging to help me. I didn’t deserve his help, but I needed it.

“Okay, Finny. Wait here, I’ll pack a bag.” I walked into my bedroom, grabbing a duffel bag I’d stolen from John a while back, and stuffed the few clean clothes I had left inside it. Walking into the bathroom, I grabbed my toothbrush and toothpaste, then I spotted my stash of razor blades I collected as a child. When I was younger, I would steal the blades my brother would sew into their caps; they always thought they’d misremembered grabbing them. At first, it was just to be a nuisance, but, eventually, it was to cut myself. My brain screamed at me to leave them behind. But I couldn’t. I grabbed them, stuffing into the front pocket of my duffel bag and walking to Finn’s flat with him.

I looked around the small room Finn said was now mine. It wasn’t bad; it was was nicer than the room he and I shared growing up.

“Thanks, Finny.” I smiled at him, carefully placing my bag down to make sure the blades couldn’t be heard.

“No problem, (Y/N/N).” He smiled back at me. “So... are your coming to Tommy’s?” He asked carefully.

“No.” I couldn’t face Tommy, the head of the family. Finn was my twin, he was fine, but the rest of them? They’d hate me, I was sure of it.

“Why not? They wouldn’t be mad.”

“Finn, they’ll hate me; I was horrible to them.” I started to hyperventilate and I didn’t know why, it just happened and I couldn’t stop it. “Th-they-they.”

“(Y/N), calm down. Breathe, (Y/N/N),” Finn cooed, trying his best to calm me down, but it wasn’t that easy.

“I can’t-I can’t,” I gasped out.

“Yes you can, you just have to do it slower.” He grabbed my hand, placing it over his chest so I could feel his slow heartbeat. “Breath with me, okay?” There was panic in his eyes, but he trained his voice well so that I couldn’t hear it. He took deep, exaggerated breaths. It took awhile, but, eventually, my breathing started to calm and the tears in my eyes cleared up.

Finn didn’t say anything as he walked over to my new bed, lowered himself and gently pulled me into him. He wrapped his arm around my shoulder, pulling me into his warm embrace. I had been so long since I last saw another person, let alone got a hug off someone. I missed all of my family, but I missed my twin the most, I clung to him like he’d disappear if I let go.

“You okay?” Finn asks, finally letting the worry and concern flood his voice.

“Yeah... thank you, Finny,” I smile up at him. After a moment of silence, I spoke up again, “please don’t make me go, Finn.”

“You don’t have to go, (Y/N/N). I just thought you would want to, that’s all.” One of his hands started to smooth through my hair; Polly used to do that when we were younger.

“I’ll see them soon, it’s just... it’s a party, loads of people will be there and don’t think I can cope with that; you’re the first person I’ve seen in months, Finn, that was overwhelming enough.” I lower my gaze to the floor, embarrassment rushing through my body at how bad I got.

“Fuck, (Y/N)... I never realised it was that bad,” Finn mumbles and tightens his embrace. I hate that he’s pitying me, I know why he is but I hate it.

“It’s okay; I’m okay,” I replied. I’d gotten so you used to saying that I’m fine, it’s hard-wired into my brain.

“No, (Y/N), you’re not okay! If you were okay you wouldn’t have been living like that!” Finn exploded, he couldn’t hold it in anymore. I felt tears burning in my eyes.

“Fuck sake,” I cry, rolling my eyes. I’m sick of crying! Sometimes I can’t cry at all, and other times I can’t stop crying. It’s a fucking nightmare.

“Shit, I’m sorry. I should’ve shouted, I’m sorry,” Finn frantically apologies. I shake my head, curling in on myself.

“No, no, I need to my shit together! I’m so fucking useless!” I shouted, beginning to claw at my arms. “Fucking worthless piece of shit,” I mumble to myself. Suddenly, there are hands on my wrists, holding them together to stop be scratching.

“Stop it, (Y/N/N), you’re scaring me,” Finn spoke as tears begin to fill his eyes. I thrash against him trying to free myself, but it’s not working, he’s too strong.

“Let me go!” I scream. The front door opens, but I don’t realise, far too focused on freeing myself to care about who’s coming into Finn’s flat. “Get the fuck off of me!” I feel my throat ripping as I scream bloody-murder.

“Please! Stop it, (Y/N)!” Finn begs as two men enter to room. My twin’s pleas land on deaf ears, all I know in this moment is anger; all I know is that I have to get free. I fight and fight until something hits me on the back of the head and I black out.

My eyes flutter open, trying to adjust to the light. Looking around I see my family. Finn standing at the other end of the room, his cheeks stained with now dry tears; he looks scared as our eyes meet. Guilt overwhelms me, filling up my body until tears start cascading down my cheeks. Next to Finn stands John, one arm wrapped around Finn’s shoulders with a look of worried and perhaps guilt on his face. Polly sits next to me, her gaze upon the floor, shame and guilt paint her face too. Ada, I can’t see her face, she’s looking at some flowers placed on a dresser. The flowers look sad though, perhaps Ada does too. Arthur fights back tears as he looks at me, gripping onto Linda’s hand tightly, arguably too tight. And Tommy, he looks angry, or maybe neutral, I can never tell the two apart. Either way, he’s leans against the window looking at me. Lizzie sits on the bottom of the bed, looking up at me with sad eyes, she sends me a pitying smile as we lock eyes.

“Finny,” I croak, my throat still sore for my screaming.

“Don’t.” Tommy looks at me. Angry. He’s definitely angry. I don’t want him to be angry. “Don’t fucking speak to him; you terrified him,” His voice isn’t loud, but it’s not happy. Fuck, I fucked up again! I always fuck up! I try to hit myself, but I can’t move my arms, looking up I see that they’ve tied my arms to the bed.

“(Y/N),” Finn speaks shakily. “W-we had to, y-you we’re out of-of control.” My heart shatters at thought of Finn being scared of me.

“I didn’t mean to,” I murmur quietly, they won’t listen to me but it’s true, I don’t want to hurt them.

“I-I know.” Finn says softly.

“No, no that’s not enough.” Tommy’s stern voice cuts in again. “First, you cut us all off, and now you act like that? What the fuck is wrong with you? Eh?” I feel myself start to panic, a sudden weight on chest makes it hard to breath and it’s only getting heavier like someone in slowly but surely pushing it down until it crushes.

“I-I d-don’t know, I d-don’t-“ I cut myself off, unable to form the words.

“For fuck sake, (Y/N)! Stop that!” Tommy demands, but it only makes it worst. I just want to curl up in a ball, but I can’t because I can’t get my hands free.

“Tom, stop! Shouting makes it worst!” I think I hear Finn say, but he’s sounds so far away. I pull at the ropes tying me to the bed. Just have to get free. Just have to get free. Finn, seeing me panic and realising no one was gonna help, rushes over. “(Y/N/N), it’s Finny. Listen to me, yeah?” I can hardly hear him, but I try to focus on his voice. “I know it’s hard, but you need to try to calm down, okay? Stop pulling on the restraints and I’ll undo them, okay?” I nod slowly. “Good, that’s good.” He keeps talking as he unties the ropes. Repeating his action from earlier, he places my hand over his chest and takes long, deep breaths. I copy him as best I can until, finally, I calm down. I threw my arms around him, catching him off guard. It took a few seconds but he hugged me back.

“I’m so sorry, Finny!” I cry, but he just hushes me, rubbing my back soothingly.

“It’s okay, (Y/N). I know you didn’t mean to,” He coos softly, one hand reaching up to run his fingers through my hair. I hate myself for what I put him through, I hate myself for what I put my family through... but I can’t control it.

“I’m sorry, Finny. I don’t want you to be scared of me, I love you, you’re my brother. Please, please don’t be scared of me. I don’t mean it!” I beg and cry and plead. Finn doesn’t know how to deal with me, but he knows a lot more than anyone else does. As I cry and I beg and I plead for forgiveness, he grants it. When I promulgate my love for him and the rest of my family, he says he understands; he says he loves me too. He squeezes me with his comforting arms that provide security and safety. Crying into his arms I feel the judgement radiating from everyone else, but Finn seems to understand better than most, better than me sometimes.

The rest may not understand, they may not want to, but Finn. Finn understands, he wants to understand me more than he already does. He wants to be there for me, he wants to help me, he wants to safe me.

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