#in my ratty ass muscle tank

[shrimplife]

And I feel ✨confident in my own body✨ in this chili’s

[hermannsthumb]

Can I get something where Newt barges in on Hermann doing some yoga in the most scantily clad yoga gear ever...

ok this is for like 3 people and wholly inspired by the hermann tank top renaissance on side twitter this past week. 18+ under cut!!!

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The good thing about living on what used to a pretty bustling base—Newt considers—is that the average athletic hopeful has their pick of at least three different gyms at any given time. And the good thing about that—Newt further considers, as he half-jogs down to the gym closest to the k-science lab—is that the rangers don’t bother with any gym besides the one directly off of their quarters, because it’s got the sparring mats and the nice equipment and all that shit. Look, Newt’s not exactly the most ripped guy in the world. Or even really very fit. When he feels the rare urge to hit the gym, he doesn’t want to be struggling over some push-ups while rangers with muscles as big as his head lift 300 pound barbells and bust open punching bags or whatever. It’s...degrading.

Lately Newt’s been hitting the gym more frequently than usual, on account of a something that passed between him and Hermann at lunch in the mess a few weeks back. Hermann had caught eye contact with one of the muscled rangers across the room, looked down at his little bowl of soup, and said—calmly—“He’s quite handsome, isn’t he?”

Anyway, that’s why Newt has to get all buff now. 

It’s disappointing to see that the gym lights are on, but maybe no one will take any notice of Newt if he sticks to a deserted, badly-lit corner or something. He’s so set on creeping inside undetected that he doesn’t even realize who it is that’s beaten him there that morning, until he hears a small, surprised “Newton?”

Newt looks up sharply. Hermann is on a yoga mat in the middle of the gym floor, his left leg stretched out far to the side, and bent halfway over to touching one socked foot. But that’s not what stops Newt dead in his tracks and sends a fiery jolt of arousal rocketing straight down to his stomach, and it’s not even the little grunting noises Hermann’s making as he goes: that’d be Hermann’s outfit. He’s forgone his usually twenty wrinkled old layers for a pair of baggy grey yoga pants and the absolute thinnest white tank top of all time, a tank top which shows off shapely, toned arms, a thin layer of sweat over each, and collarbones, and clings to a shapely set of pecs, which has ridden up just enough to show off a patch of pale stomach, with a small trail of light-colored hair leading down, and... “Newton!” Hermann repeats, shooting up in alarm. 

“Wha?” Newt says, and then he trips over a weight bench.

It’s one of their more uncomfortable trips to medical.

"Don’t tip your head back,” Hermann says.

“Thanks,” Newt says, except Hermann’s handkerchief is pinched to his nose, so it sounds a great deal more nasal. “I know, dude. Not my first rodeo.” He’s gotten his ass kicked for mouthing off in bars to jackasses more times than he cares to admit. He pulls away the handkerchief and scowls at the blooming scarlet stain, as if doing so might stop the source of it. It doesn’t; another splotch of blood lands on his hand, and he quickly shoves the handkerchief back into place. “Unbelievable. I’m gonna look so fuckin’ gnarly tomorrow.”

“Well, I suppose it’s an lucky thing you haven’t broken it,” Hermann says. “Or anything else, for that matter. How on Earth did you manage to do that, anyway?”

“I was thinking about,” Newt casts about for a suitable lie, “...kaiju. You know me. Haha.”

Newt had landed pretty flat on his face. The way Hermann had sprung into action would be admirable, really, and Newt would feel grateful enough to treat Hermann to takeout coffee for at least a week, if the act that necessitated fast action hadn’t been so completely and utterly mortifying. Hermann is still in his little yoga pants and tank top; he didn’t even remember to grab his shoes from the gym before he escorted Newt out. The knotted drawstring of the yoga pants is hanging well down his thighs. Skinny motherfucker. Since when has Hermann had pecs? “Aren’t you cold?” Newt blurts out.

“Cold?” Hermann says.

With a great deal of difficulty, Newt forces his eyes up from the swinging drawstring of Hermann’s yoga pants to his torso. His half-bare torso. With his shapely arms, and his shapely pecs, and his elegant collarbones. If Newt squints hard enough, he could probably see Hermann’s nipples through the white fabric. Especially now—the Shatterdome really is always so cold, with the A/C blasting, and Hermann is usually so sensitive to it... Oh, God, someone help Newt. “Because you’re in,” he says, and then swallows a few times, “th—that. Tank top.”

Hermann looks down at himself, like he’s forgotten what he’s wearing—like it’s inconsequential what he’s wearing—and hums. “I hadn’t really noticed—I was a bit overheated, I suppose, from my exercises.”

“Your exercises,” Newt says.

“Yes, my stretches,” Hermann says. “They do wonders for keeping my leg limber.”

Limber; Hermann is limber. Hermann, in his little yoga pants and tank top, grunting away while he stretches out, is limber. “I didn’t know,” Newt says. He’s started to feel a bit light-headed again, and hopes Hermann doesn’t notice the funny way he’s walking. He’ll be grateful when they get back to the lab and he can sit down a little, or maybe run back to his bunk and take care of his...problem.

They walk under one of the larger A/C vents; Hermann gives a little shiver. Newt forces his eyes all the way down to Hermann’s socked feet to avoid catching sight of any potential physiological responses in Hermann’s pectoral region. “Maybe you should put on a sweater,” Newt says, helpfully. He watches Hermann’s cane move up and down with each step. He’s never seen Hermann not wearing a sweater before. Not even at Shatterdome parties. Up until today, Newt would’ve thought that Hermann wore sweaters to the beach, some sort of special waterproof wool. Maybe he wears tank tops to the beach.

Hermann says something.

“Uh-huh,” Newt says. He thinks about the small beads of sweat that had been dotting Hermann’s exposed collarbones.

“Were you listening?” Hermann says.

Newt looks up. “No,” he says.

“I said we ought to go to the gym together, in the mornings,” Hermann says. He gives Newt one of his rare, blinding smiles, his funny mouth going lopsided. “It’s too bloody quiet in there. I’d appreciate even your company.”

Unlimited access to Hermann’s bare arms, his bare shoulders, his collarbones. Grunting. Stretching every which way. It sounds like a fucking nightmare, or maybe a hellish wet dream. Besides—Newt doesn’t go to the gym. Not like Hermann. Apparently. “Sounds cool,” Newt says.

Hermann looks pleased. Stupid, stupid Newt.

He jerks off furiously in the empty communal showers that night, thinking—extensively—about what it would be like if he was jerking off on Hermann’s stupid tank top instead.

They make plans to meet at the gym the next morning at six, with a trip to the mess hall for breakfast at seven after. Hermann, it turns out, has an extensive workout routine, but not quite an extensive workout wardrobe, and so—as Newt attempts a few puny sit-ups in his oldest pair of MIT sweatpants—he’s treated to another view of Hermann’s weirdly gorgeous arms straining and sweating in that stupid tank-top. He watches Hermann stretch and bend each leg and lift some of the smaller weights for ten minutes before he realizes that he hasn’t actually moved a single inch since sit-up number three. Hopefully Hermann hasn’t noticed. “You’re not tired out, are you?” Hermann says, having apparently noticed. He groans as he arches his back. He has a small birthmark on his left shoulder. “I don’t mind finishing a bit—”

“No!” Newt says. “Not tired. Just, uh—” Hermann shuts his eyes and groans again, a little louder. “Just—” Hermann’s tank top has ridden up, giving Newt a glimpse of that little dusting of hair, the elegant vee of his hips... Newt bites his lip to keep himself from saying something stupid. “I. Uh.”

Hermann, bent half-over, looks up at Newt through his pretty dark eyelashes. Newt cracks.

“Holy shit, dude,” he whines.

Hermann straightens up languidly. “Mm?”

He doesn’t even look surprised when Newt reaches out a fumbling hand towards his knee, nor when—a moment later—Newt surges forward to kiss him clumsily. Hermann’s mouth merely curves up in a smirk against his, and he fists the back of Newt’s ratty old t-shirt to draw their bodies tighter. “I’ve been wondering when you would do that,” he says, and his voice hitches up in a small gasp when Newt presses his kisses onward across his jaw. “You’re the least subtle man I know.”

“Don’t even care,” Newt mumbles. He nips some of the soft skin at Hermann’s throat and lifts his hands up to squeeze his biceps. They’re nice and sturdy under his fingers. Is this moving into new territory with Hermann way too fast? Maybe. Sort of. They’ve made out a few times at parties before, and once Newt gave him a discreet (fully-clothed) handjob in a kinda nasty alleyway outside a bar on his birthday, but nothing, like, serious. Though it’s not like this is serious. Lab partner stuff. “Holy shit, dude, I didn’t know you were so strong.”

“Strong?” Hermann snorts. He goes easily when Newt urges him onto his back against his dumb little yoga mat; his pupils are wide and dark, and a pink flush has started creeping down his neck. He drapes his arms over Newt’s shoulders. “I didn’t know you cared about those sorts of things.”

“I don’t,” Newt says. “I didn’t.” He tracks more kisses down the dips of Hermann’s collarbones, following that blush. “I guess it’s just you?”

He doesn’t wait for an invitation before rucking up Hermann’s tank top. He hasn’t got a six-pack, or anything like that, but Newt doesn’t really care, because Hermann’s pecs rock even more when they’re bare. He squeezes at one just to see Hermann make a face, and—laughing—ducks down to graze his teeth across the left one, taking care to catch at his nipple. Hermann hisses sharply and grabs at his hair. He looks a little silly with his top bunched under his armpits, but it’s kind of cute too. Newt trails his tongue across Hermann’s sternum and tries his luck at the other side, too, and is pleased when Hermann gives a full-body shudder after each. “Ah, Newton,” he moans. “I’m—sensitive—there.”

Newt kisses over the spot instead as way of apology. Then he starts to trail his kisses lower, down Hermann’s slightly concave abdomen, where the skin is luminously pale. Newt amends his earlier assumption that Hermann wears tank tops to the beach; he’s not sure if Hermann has ever even stepped foot on a beach. “Newton,” Hermann moans again. He gives Newt’s hair a little tug when Newt takes the drawstring of his yoga pants between his teeth. If he goes down on Hermann good enough, maybe Hermann will let him test out last night’s fantasy... “Mm. Be quick about it. We haven’t got all—”

The door to the gym swings open; two rangers, chatting away happily, step inside, and stop in their tracks when they catch sight of Newt and Hermann. Newt flings himself off of Hermann, but it’s too little too late. It’s pretty obvious what Newt and Hermann had been doing. “Oops!” one of the rangers says, turning their back to them. Their friend turns away, too, and laughs awkwardly. “Sorry, Dr. Geiszler, Dr. Gottlieb. We didn’t realize this was—uh. Occupied.”

Hermann yanks down his tank top. 

“No worries,” Newt squeaks. “We’re. Uh. Just about done.”

The door clicks back shut; Newt hears laughter. Hermann is covering his face. “Hand me my bloody sweater,” he says. “We’ll finish this later.”

[hey-there-love]

Foolish

Summary: Being the new kid is hard right? Try moving across the world to attend the elite hero course at U.A. Unfortunately following the path of straight and narrow is difficult when you find a blonde ball of death throwing twists in it. Nobody said it was easy. New experiences, new friends, new interests...what could go wrong?

Chapter 4: Fine. Fight Me

Content Warning: adult language, Cringy Situations, slight mentions of grinding

WC: 1.4K

AN: This is what I was listening to when I wrote this :)

It was a restless sleep to say the least. First you were hot, then you were cold. Hours of tossing and turning had passed until you finally realized you weren’t going back to sleep. You stared out the window at the night sky for a while contemplating on what to with yourself.

Glancing at your phone to check the time, it indicated that there was still an hour until sunrise. You huffed and swung your feet over the edge of the bed. You padded quietly to the bathroom and flicked on the lights, wincing at the brightness.

You examined yourself in the mirror. You had faint dark circles under your eyes and disgusting eye boogers. You must have slept hard for the time you did sleep. Quickly you brushed your teeth and washed your face. Feeling slightly better, you brushed your hair and threw it up to get it out of your face.

When you retreated back to your room you opted to change your tank top into a sports bra with a loose cropped top. You put in your contacts carefully infront of the mirror hanging infront of your closet. Sliding some socks on, you picked up a pair of sneakers and headphones. Deciding to begin your work out, you took the three flights of stairs to the gym.

You paused for a moment infront of the gym doors to lace up your shoes. Making your way inside an audible gasp escaped you. The room was filled with expensive equipment. Rows of treadmills, bikes, bench presses, you name it, gleamed. “Planet Fitness doesn’t have shit on this place.” You drooled.

Finding an empty spot on the floor you began stretching. Once you were warmed up, your eyes darted from one thing to the next. Settling on running a few miles, you chose the treadmill in the corner, facing the wall. You clicked on your work out playlist and turned the volume up loud. You found you could think better with music flowing through your ears than silence.

You jogged for about 20 minutes before shifting to a run. The to do list for today formed rapidly in your head. You needed to buy the essentials, obtain a residency card and a metro pass, pick up your uniforms, and locate your hero costume. You didn’t exactly know where to go for any of these things, but you knew you needed to call Mr. Aizawa about the last part.

You began to think about your costume. You loved it with every fiber of your being. Designing it yourself, It was made to be a simple yet functional long sleeved black bodysuit. The sides were a breathable sapphire colored material. You adorned the same colored high boots with a thick heel that made it easy to run. Blue goggles were made especially to protect your eyesight from diminishing more, thick insulated gloves helped form your UV light, and a utility belt to hold your smaller support items.

Lost in your thoughts you realized you had ran about two miles and you were loosing steam. You turned off the treadmill, and tried to catch your breath. Your muscles ached and you shirt was sticking to your back. You felt gross. Closing your eyes you pulled up your shirt to wipe your face.

When you turned around and opened your eyes there stood Bakugo in all his shirtless glory. “Ugh, don’t look!” You cried out and pulled your shirt down, attempting to stretch the thin, white fabric over your stomach. If you weren’t mortified you probably would have tried to sneak a peak yourself. His cheeks dusted with a heavy blush as he dropped his weights onto the floor.

“I wasn’t fucking looking! You’re the one who flashed me!” He shouted, defensive he had been caught.

“I thought I was alone!” You crossed your arms over your chest, trying to make yourself feel small. You had a banging body that you weren’t ashamed of, but your cleavage hanging out of an old, ratty sports bra infront of a guy you didn’t know was a different story.

“You live with 20 extras! You’re never alone!” Bakugo argued. He stared at the floor, not making eye contact with you.

“Clearly!” Your own blush not faltering. “How long have you been here?”

“Just long enough to hear the whole rendition of that Chris Brown song. Jesus, I thought some stray dogs were going to break in.” He laughed. You threw your head into your hands. You had to get out of here.

You hastily made your way to the exit. “Go to hell.” You called over your shoulder.

“See you there, Cherry. ” Bakugo called after you. You paused dead in your tracks, anger taking over you.

“You just always have to get the last word in don’t you?” You were fuming at this point. You never let anything bother you, but you had enough. He didn’t have to be rude to you all the time.

“You started it.” Bakugo grunted, now gaining his full attention once again. “ Look, I don’t care who the hell you are or where the hell you came from, we can go right here. Right now.” Bakugo said through gritted teeth, maintaining a hardened stance.

Turning on your heel, you stomped towards him. He was built and had the advantage of a few inches on his side, but that didn’t matter. You had taken on far scarier enemies. Your gaze bore into his. Without breaking eye contact, you responded. “Fine. Fight me.”

You could have sworn your answer took him by surprise. His face faltered slightly before turning back into the grimace he wore well. “No quirks. I’ll be damned if I pay for one more thing in this shithole.”

“I don’t need it.” You hissed. Taking him by surprise you hit him in the face, hard. He groaned, but it didn’t affect him as much as you were hoping. Bakugo countered and hit you with a jab to the side. Thank god something told you to move so when he connected with you there was only half the impact.

You two were going at it hard. Every move he made you matched. It was a pretty equal fight overall. You didn’t hold anything back. You let out all your aggressions and frustrations onto him. He took them in stride. If you weren’t so focused on winning this battle you might have realized you were having fun.

“This is all you’ve got, Cherry?” Bakugo taunted as he blocked another one of your punches. You knew you needed to end it fast because you didn’t have a whole lot left in you. You managed to kick his leg out from underneath him and twisted his arm behind him as he fell. You landed ontop of his back, straddling him, and held his arm tightly in place.

“You don’t have to like me, Bakugo. But you will respect me.” You huffed, feeling accomplished you kicked his ass. You held his head down so he couldn’t escape. He squirmed under you as a string of curses left his mouth. You remained like this for a few moments until he stopped moving. Smiling, you let up on his arm slightly, assuming all the fight left his body. You were wrong.

Bakugo used the opportunity of you loosening the grip and flipped the two of you. Your back was planted firmly on the floor, pinned under the weight of him. He held your wrists down to your head with both of his hands.

You both were panting messes, chests rising to meet each other and falling back into place. “I’ll be damned if you tell me what to do, Cherry. ” He hissed, just loud enough to make your head swim. It was a compromising position to say the least. If anyone were to walk in they’d assume the worst. Hell, you were beginning to assume the worst.

You shifted under his weight, planning your escape. There was no point in trying to use your arms, so you used your lower half to wrestle against him. The friction you caused was dangerous. You both felt it. You felt something press into you and you knew it wasn’t his phone. The gym felt like it was five hundred degrees.

You struggled to find your voice. “My name is Y/N.” You whispered. Giving up, you stopped resisting. This time he ground his hips into yours, not breaking eye contact. You moaned in response. You felt yourself throbbing to the core. Bakugo wasn’t dumb, he could tell you enjoyed it.

He leaned down and his lips hovered over yours. You held your breath and closed your eyes, waiting for his to meet yours.

“I don’t give a fuck.” Bakugo peeled himself off of you and left you laying on the floor alone without another word.

You grabbed your chest, “What the hell just happened?”

~~~~~~~~~

AN: Hi all! So if you’ve read the chapters before this one was posted you might be confused why Bakugo is calling Y/N Cherry. Well, after brainstorming ideas of the future chapters a thought came to mind referring to the panty incident of 2021, “Lane, he can’t call the reader pinky...that’s Mina’s hero name.”

That was a total face palm moment. So if you go back you’ll see I changed the underwear to black with cherries on it. Ok, thanks for coming to my Ted Talk. 😬

[jangofctts]

Between Everything and Nothing (Cassian Andor x Reader)

Rated: Explicit

Word Count: 3.2K

Summary: It's hard to keep your chin up when it seems like everything is falling apart. You're plagued by constant nightmares, but you have Cassian and Cassian has you. It's enough.

Warnings: Smut (duh), language, mad dirty talk, oral sex female receiving, bunch of Cassian love over here

You'd been crying again. Or plagued by nightmares. Maybe both.

Dark swatches lingered like bruises beneath your red rimmed eyes that vacantly stared at your plate. Your fork trailed through the rations absentmindedly, your mouth pressed into an unusual frown. Cassian used to despise your playful quips and teasing chuckles, the man much more used to silence and his own thoughts than someone like you.

Now, though, as the metal tongs of your cutlery scraped against the plate for the hundredth time, he abruptly realized how much he hated your silence. It wasn't right—unnatural and off-putting.

He said your name, the first attempt at catching your attention flying right over your head. The second time your eyes, such curious and bright eyes, fluttered and shot up to meet his. The roguish grin that followed after tugged at something deep inside his chest.

"Hey—sorry," you hummed. "What was that?"

Cassian shook his head. "You need to eat."

"This stuff?" You laughed, scooping up the mush and letting it drip off your fork. It tasted as bad as it looked. "I'd rather get shipped off permanently to droid maintenance."

"That can be arranged," he quipped. "I would finally get some peace and quiet."

"Ha. Ha." You said, rolling you eyes. "You couldn't last a day without missing me, Captain Andor."

He hates that you're right.

"Just eat."

With a grumble you shovel a mouthful in and stick your tongue out.

                                                           -=-

He catches you this time.

His own nightmares had clawed their way to the surface and ripped away precious sleep. He'd wandered to the hangar, feet carrying him towards his U-Wing in hopes he'd be able to find something to tinker with. Though it was a long shot. You were the best damn mechanic he'd ever encountered and Cassian would bet money that his ship could fly better than any fighter ship in the Alliance thanks to you.

He only hears something when he's halfway up the loading ramp, choked sobs and the occasional sniff of someone in the cockpit of his ship. He draws his blaster and rounds the corner. Shoot first and ask questions later.

Cassian freezes once he recognizes those stupid slipper things you'd won off some poor bastard in Sabaac and the ratty old tank top you refused to throw away.

You were curled into his seat, knees drawn up so closely to your chest that it hides your face as your shoulders shake from the force of your tears.

His instincts screamed at him to run. Leave before she notices.  Leave and pretend she's ok.

Yet, at the same time, a deep ache settles within his chest to see you like this. He wants to reach out. Wants to slip his fingers through your hair and cradle you to his chest and pretend for just a moment that nothing but you two existed.

He must've made some sort of sound because before he gets to decide to flee or face you, you look up.

"Cassian?" You sniff, your voice hoarse and wobbly as you wipe at your tears. "What-what are you doing here?"

He takes a step closer. "This is my ship."

"Oh. Yeah." You choke out with a broken half smile. "I guess it is."

You unfurl yourself from the seat, using your forearm to frantically scrub at the stray beads and try to hurry past him with a whispered goodnight. He's fast enough to catch your arm.

His slender fingers are warm against your bare skin, his calloused thumb skittering over smooth flesh and hard muscle. The urge to trail his entire palm up and down the expanse of your arm is torturous and he wonders if you've always been this soft.

You're looking up at him now, the emergency lights casting your features in a haunting red glow. Cassian can still see your eyes in the near darkness, something dark and vulnerable eating away at the edges. He parts his mouth to say something, ask what's wrong, but he can't seem to get the words out. He falters and drops your arm.

"Cassian," you say, much softer than he's ever heard it from you. It makes his heart flutter like a caged bird.  "I—"

"You can stay." He cuts you off, something snarling in his stomach at the thought of you leaving. "I don't mind."

Your brows crease and you study the floor and when you look up again, your face is fixed with another goofy grin. It doesn't quite reach your eyes and if Cassian didn't know you as well as he did, it would have him fooled.

"Thanks," you sniff, backtracking towards the ramp so suddenly it jars him. "Didn't mean to cry all over your chair. Pretty gross, huh?"

He follows and murmurs your name as you step onto the duracrete. This time as Cassian moves to grab your arm again you evade him. He's scrambling for words to keep you here, but nothing springs to mind and you escape.

"Night, Cass." You say, offering him a half hearted salute. "See ya tomorrow."

You disappear behind an X-Wing and Cassian regrets not following.

                                                            -=-

The third time is after after the Alliance had been hit hard. Hard enough that you lose more than a handful of friends. You don't grieve openly. You can't.

You were a beacon of light and warmth for many and letting them see the fissures in your resolve would surely cause spirits to plummet even further. Cassian doesn't know wether to feel lucky that he knows that half of yourself you hide away or devastated that even someone with a soul brighter than any star could be worn down to the very bones of their existence.

He wants to laugh when someone knocks on his door. It was the first time in months he'd been able to sleep with little difficulty and now he's being called upon in the middle of the night.

He throws open the door, ready to snarl at the poor soul who stood on the other side. Cassian's irritation melts away when he sees you. You look as tired as he feels, your hair a bit of a mess from a sleepless night, and yet, you're still so beautiful.

Your teeth clamp down on your bottom lip and he can't help but trace your mouth.

"Did I wake you up?" You ask, fiddling with your sleeve. You're nervous for once and Cassian worries.

"No." He lies.

A long pause ensues as you struggle for words that normally flow like a river from your lips. You start to say something and it fizzles out then comes out backwards or jumbled or too quiet for Cassian to understand. "You know—I should, uh, I should go. Yeah, I'm gonna leave. Sorry about—about bothering you."

You're quick to turn on your heel, but he's quicker and snatches your hand. He doesn't tell you how perfectly your fingers fit into his, but you must know. Right?

"Stay," he whispers, the word sounding much too loud compared to the hauntingly silent hallway. He takes your silence for fear or embarrassment, but he realizes it is surprise and a moment later he's stepping aside to let you in.    

Cassian retreats back to his bed, sheets still warm and sits down. Your eyes are scanning the room, studying the sparse walls and the unfolded pile of laundry abandoned on his only chair. You've been to his quarters before, usually only to get him to go with you to the cantina or keep you company while you work on his ship.

It's different now. Tension thick enough to cut with a lightsaber.

"I'm assuming you're not here to tell me you got caught cheating in Sabaac again, yes?" He tries to joke. It does the trick and you visibly relax with a chuckle.

You wander over to where he pats the space beside him and you crash onto the mattress, bumping your shoulder into his. His heart skips a beat when you don't lean away. "Nah. And if it weren't for me cheating, your sorry ass would still be in that stupid jail."

Ah, that's right.

Cassian snorts. "I had it handled."

"Yeah, I'm sure you did," you retort.

With a sigh, you lean back until you're spread out over his blankets, your legs hanging off the edge. Cassian lies down too and stares at the uneven texture of the ceiling. You say nothing for the better half of ten minutes, and Cassian wonders if you'd fallen asleep. He turns and you've got that vacant stare where you're lost in your head. It gives him an excuse to study the soft planes of your face, your plush lips slightly pursed in thought as your brows furrow. A stray hair covers your forehead and he wants to brush it away.

His heart pounds at his ribcage and with a brief moment of courage, he does so. You blink and look at him, a fragile smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

He finds the words that escaped him in his ship all those nights ago and he asks you why you're here. Are you alright?

Your grin falters and you look away. Your fingers graze against his knuckles and they twitch into your touch but makes no move to fully encompass your hand.

Your words come out slow and soft and his chest tightens. "You—You are the only thing that makes sense to me, Cassian."

He understands and his fingers curl around yours to show that he does. Your breath stutters and you give him a squeeze.

Stray tears trail down your cheek and Cassian props himself onto an elbow. You avoid his gaze. "Look at me."

You listen and with baited breath he cups your face and gently swipes at a tear with his thumb. You mouth his name and he's leaning into you until he's pressing his lips to yours. You melt underneath his kiss, your hand curling into his hair, the other one still tangled with his. Your touch is intoxicating and Cassian deepens the kiss, tongue trailing across your bottom lip. Your mouth opens and his tongue slides along yours.

You part and he rests his forehead on yours as your fingers caress his stubbled cheek. He suppresses a shiver and leans into your touch. "I've wanted to do that for ages."

"Yeah, me too."

He kisses you again, but it's more than that. You're the undertow of a raging sea, sweeping him into your depths and holding him captive until he can't breath. Yet, you're the only thing he can inhale. He could drown in your scent, in your kisses, in your love, and he doesn't care if it kills him. You make a sound low in your throat as he licks deep into your mouth and he doesn't care if your teeth click together because he's desperate and aching for you.

You bite his bottom lip and tug, paired with your hand giving the soft tufts of hair on the back of his neck a gentle yank and he's so fucking gone. He's already half-hard against your hip, he knows you can feel it because you're flashing him a coy smirk and trailing your fingers down the planes of his chest, over his naval and then you're unbuckling his belt. Your fingers hover over his waistband, drawing teasing circles above where he needs you and his patience snaps. He captures your hand and grinds against you and you finally relent

He sucks in a breath like you've punched him in the jaw as your fingers wriggle underneath the fabric and wrap around his cock, thick and hot. You give him a few gentle strokes and then your thumb sweeps over the tip, collecting the bead of moisture there. You lightly scrape your nail across the frenulum and it nearly sends him over the edge and he rips himself away from you. It's embarrassing how fast you bring him towards release and he shouldn't care with you, but he wants this to last.

You sit up as your face contorts and he doesn't mean to hurt your feelings. "Did I hurt you?"

"No, never," he breaths, leaning forward to kiss away your frown. "I liked that a little too much."

You mouth forms a silent 'oh' and you take this little break to pull off your shirt and your pants that end up crumpled on the floor. You're naked and you look like a damn fantasy curled over his bed. His bed. Maker how many times has he imagined this exact moment?

Cassian rips his own clothes off and he's tugging your thighs around his narrow waist so he can mold himself onto you. He plants his lips over the pulse on your throat and he digs his teeth into your flesh, marking the delicate skin there. You whine, huff out his name, and he releases the bruised skin. He presses a kiss against it, likes the way it stands out, and he continues to tongue and nibble over the column of your throat that you readily expose for him until there's a trail of marks left behind.

Soft, fragile sounds are pouring out of your mouth and he wishes he could save them for an eternity. He mouths over your collarbone and trails on hand up to your breast and he pulls back to admire your heaving chest. A tiny smile is etched across your lips and his heart swells so much that his chest aches. "You're beautiful."

He doesn't think he's ever seen you blush. "Shut up."

"You are," he whispers, leaning forward to press a kiss over your sternum. "You're--fuck--so distracting. Nearly--nearly crashed the ship that one time. Remember?"

You dig your fingers into his back, leaving half-moon shapes behind as he brushes his thumb over your peaked nipple, as you whine out a response. With his tongue he swirls teasing circles around the other nipple and when he sucks it between his lips and bites down carefully, you moan and arch into him. He rolls the other one firmly between his forefinger and thumb, your eyes snapping shut.

"I can hardly stand it when you smile at me," he growls, engulfing the entirety of you breast in his warm palm. He gives the flesh a squeeze. "Shit--I love you."

He barely realizes he's told you and it's not as terrifying as he thought it would be. There is some uncertainty but when you open your eyes and flash him a smile so bright and big he thinks his heart might finally explode, all his doubts are blown away. You drag Cassian back to your lips by the jaw and he feels your bottom lip catch against his as you tell him you love him too.

"Will you...will you let me taste you?" He groans, breaking away to bury his nose into your hair. "Please? I've been--been imagining what you--shit-- taste like. I bet--bet you taste good."

"Cassian," you whine, bucking your hips. His cock is throbbing against your hip, harder than reinforced steel but all he can think about is getting his mouth on the dripping wetness between your legs. "Yes. Yes."

He sweeps down your torso, drunk on your skin and suckles another hickey over the protrusion of your hip bone. Cassian hooks your legs over his shoulders and nuzzles his stubble along the velvety skin feeling oh so lucky when you giggle and slip your hands into his hair. Your laugh tapers off into a desperate sigh as he uses just the tip of his forefinger to slip through your slit, the digit coming away shiny with your arousal. He parts your legs wider and finally swipes his tongue over your clit, moaning as he finally gets to taste you.

His mouth his searing hot and his tongue feels like silk as he swipes it over your lips, suckles at your labia and licks back up to your clit. He traces patterns across it, the tip of tongue catching so deliciously and then he dips back down again. You shudder as his thumbs slide up to gently part your cunt and his tongue leaves a burning trail until he reaches your opening. He has to throw an arm over your hips to keep you from squirming so much, and Maker, you feel Cassian smile before he licks as far into you as he can.

You're burning, broken pleas and drawn out moans of his name pouring out of you. And then, any kind of rational thinking is completely thrown out the fucking window as two of his slender fingers sink into your cunt. They curl inside you, brush against something electrifying, and you can't be bothered to be embarrassed about the keening moan that's much too loud for this time of night. It feels too good. You bite your lip and clench a handful of his hair, the vibration of his groan adding on to the pleasure of him sucking at your clit while his fingers slowly begin to drag in and out of you.

He pulls away for a moment, his hot breath fanning over your cunt and you want to cry out in frustration. Your core clenches around his digits at the loss of his tongue and you try to pull him back to you. "Please."

With his free hand, he rubs your thigh and kisses the inside of your knee. "Can I make you cum like this? Let...let you--shit--let you finish over my tongue? You'll look so pretty for me."

You don't know how it's possible to be even more turned on than you are, but it happens and you can feel yourself dripping on to his fingers and leaking over the sheets. His fingers are curling and twisting into something that's got your thighs shaking and fuck. A few more passes of his tongue over your swollen clit and another well placed thrust of his fingers--you're fucking gone.  

You arch your back as everything below your waist is set on fire. The tension in your stomach--wound tighter than a fucking spool of wire--snaps and blinding light flashes across your vision. Your core clamps down on his calloused digits and you cum into his mouth, a flood of wetness staining his mouth that continues to lick you through it. He's moaning and hooking his hands under your ass to pull you closer as you twitch and shake--your brain lost somewhere between chaos and unsurmountable pleasure.

Things feel as if they're in slow-motion as you slowly come back down to reality. Cassian pulls away from your core, wipes at his mouth that's covered with your slick, and slips his body next to your flushed and panting one. He draws shapes and swirls into the space right below your breast and nuzzles into the crook of your neck. He's whispering about how good you were for him, how soft and warm, and wet around his fingers you were and when you're finally able to process and organize your scattered thoughts, he's dragging you into an open mouthed kiss.

You can taste yourself on him and he grinds his cock against the swell of your hip, leaking precum that dribbles onto your skin. He bites at your shoulder, another bolt of arousal shooting through your belly.

"Let me make you feel good."

[buckleyy--diazz]

Niall/Reader NSFW (Kinda, this is soft)

This was originally posted on 'Irishprinceniall', I am reposting here because I deleted this blog. Enjoy 1.5k of Niall being a tease. (For the people who also read my Narry fics, don't @ me, I know I ended one of my Narry fic the exact same way a while ago...oops!)

°•°•°•°

You had a very long day, a good friend moved in her new house and you had spent a few hours helping her clean everything, so she could finally install her new furniture. The night before you had barely slept and after spending hours cleaning the inside of cabinets you were finally home. All you wanted was food, a hot bath and cuddling with your boyfriend. You texted Niall asking if he was done in the studio and asked him if he could bring back your fave pizza on his way back. As you waited for him you prepared yourself a nice relaxing bath. You opened Spotify to find your relaxing bath playlist, lit up some candles and dropped one of your favourite bath bombs in the water. 

The water felt nice and your muscles were thanking you for finally giving them a rest. You were almost asleep when you heard Niall coming home. Slowly you rose from the bath, dried yourself and put on a tank top and one of Niall's old pairs of joggers. They were soft and Niall loved you in his clothes, even ratty joggers. You decided to let you hair in the messy bun you had done to take your bath and made your way downstairs to join Nial in the living room. You knew he would be there since you rarely used the dining room unless you had guests over. You slouched next to him on the couch, and pressed a sweet kiss to his scruffy cheek you liked so much. 

"I missed you," you murmured against his cheek before grabbing a slice of pizza. 

You took a bite of pizza and moaned, not realising how hungry you were before. Niall looked at you and smirked. You rolled your eyes and took another bite, moaning exaggeratedly loud this time. 

"Do you need some alone time with your pizza, babe? Do you want me to leave?" asked Niall, laughing at his own joke.

"Would you mind if I said yes?" you replied and Niall poked your thigh with his finger.

"I love you."

"I love you too," you said, keeping your eyes on the pizza, then you looked up at Niall, trying not to laugh you added, "oh you were talking to me."

"You're a little shit, you know that?" he asked and you nodded, trying to look serious but failing miserably when a grin appeared on your lips. You turned your head to the side and kissed Niall's cheek again. 

"Don't be jealous, you know I love you almost as much as I love pizza," you laughed when Niall pouted.

"I'll remember that."

You laughed and spent the rest of the dinner talking about your respective day and Niall told you his second album was officially finished and he would be free all summer. You were so happy about it. It never bothered you Niall had to travel a lot, you knew exactly what you were doing when you got into a relationship with him but the idea of having more than just a few days together was making you very happy.

Once you finished your pizza, you took the leftovers back in the kitchen while Niall was finding something to watch on Netflix. When you came back to the living room you smiled when you saw Niall had chosen John Wick, it was one of your favourites, and he was ready to press play. Niall opened his arms for you to join him on the couch. You lay next to him and he closed his arms around your shoulders, holding you tight against his chest. Your head was pillowed against his shoulder and your hand made its way under his t-shirt, tracing slow circles on his tummy and playing with his chest hair. 

It felt so great to be in Niall's arms and you slowly felt sleep creeping on you when Niall untied your hair to play with it for about thirty minutes into the movie. You loved having your hair played with but it always made you fall asleep fast. Niall noticed and he paused the movie.a

"C'mon, let's get you to bed love, we can finish the movie tomorrow if you want."

You nodded and let Niall help you get on your feet. Not letting go of your hand he lead you to your bedroom. Niall fluffed your pillow and helped you out of your sweatpants. You smiled sleepily, Niall was such an attentive boyfriend, you really didn't know how you had gotten so lucky. You took your place on the bed and watched Niall get undressed and made grabby hands toward him, making him chuckle. Niall climbed on the bed and he took you in his arms like he had done on the couch. His strong arms around you and your legs intertwined. You closed your eyes and sighed loudly. You felt so safe in Niall's arms, there was nowhere you liked to be most. Niall pressed a kiss to the side of your head and you giggled when his beard scratched your skin.

"I love you," he whispered directly against your ear, "I love you so so much. You make me happy," he kept whispering, his hand drawing circles on your back, "I don't think you know how happy you make me."

"I am so lucky to have you. You're so sweet and intelligent and pretty fit too" Niall added, "I've wanted you the first time I saw you, you're the one. I will always love you."

You loved when Niall was doing this, just whispering sweet things, sometimes he was singing until you fell asleep or if you were particularly stressed he would just remind you all the reasons why you didn't have to be. Always finding the right words to encourage you. Niall kept murmuring in your ear, his beard lightly scratching your cheek and you shivered. 

"You like that, don't you? My beard against your skin, against your neck and your chest when I kiss my way down," Niall whispered and it sent another shiver down your spine.

This had rapidly taken a turn you were not expecting at all but you nodded. 

"You like it against your stomach and on your thighs, between your thighs when I press kisses all over them." 

You swallowed thickly and rubbed your thighs together, a move Niall didn't miss. 

"You like this? You like it when I tell you everything I would do to you? I bet you're getting wet right now," he said and a small moan escaped your throat. You were definitely getting wet and feeling less and less sleepy. You wanted to turn your head and kiss Niall or push him on his back and have your way with him, riding him until your thighs burned but you also wanted him to keep whispering so you stayed still.

"If I slipped my fingers inside your underwear I'm sure I could easily push them inside of you, could I?" Niall asked and you nodded again. 

Niall had barely said anything but your breath was getting shallower and your clit was aching between your legs and you tried to rub them together again but Niall was faster than you and stop your leg by putting his hand on your thigh.  

"Maybe I should do just that. I don't know if you deserve it. You did say that you loved pizza more than me," he laughed.

"Please Niall," you begged because it was getting too much. You needed him now. You needed him to touch you.

"Please what?"

"Touch me," you replied, opening your legs wide, "I need it. Please." 

You tried to turn around in his arms, trying to rub yourself against his thigh but again Niall kept you still with his hand. 

"Not yet love, but I can keep telling you how much I want you," said Niall, rolling his hips against you, making you feel how hard he was already. "I want to taste you, I love the way you taste and all the sounds you make when you sit on my face." Niall let his fingers trailed up your thighs and you moaned again. 

"Or maybe I could pin your wrists above your head and fuck you until your begging me to let you come. So many possibilities, what do you think baby?"

"Please," you whined, "I need it, please."

Niall sighed and kissed your cheek. 

"You said you were tired babe. You had a long day, we should sleep and we can do that in the morning," Niall said.

You let out a frustrated sigh and pouted. 

"Don't pout baby, I know you enjoy this as much as me," Niall replied and you tried to glare at him but he only smirked in response. Niall was right, you did enjoy when he was working you up like that, edging you until you couldn't take it anymore, your orgasms were always more powerful. 

"Oh and don't try to slip your hand down your panties once I fall asleep because I will know if you do and then I'll have to punish you. Do you understand me?"

You nodded and closed your eyes waiting for Niall to close his eyes and fall asleep. It only took a few minutes and as soon as his breathing evened out you slipped you hand down your panties, already feeling the skin of your ass tingling with the promise of a good spanking.

[writemarvelousthings]

Notice

PAIRING- Steve x reader

WORD COUNT- 1.8K

WARNINGS- ANGST, But don’t worry there will be a part two cause even I’m not this much of a stone-cold bitch and let's be honest Steve can be a bit clueless 

A/N: Now look, you all need to know that I am obsessed with Little Mix and when I hear Notice I just had to write this so here we are!

GIF NOT MINE

It's been a while since you noticed, I feel like you been losing focus

“How do you make men notice you?” Natasha gave you a suspicious look from over her wine glass, you pointedly ignored the look from the redhead. Taking a sip of your own glass you cross your ankles as you perch on the bar stool.

“You know I was a spy right? Being notice kinda leads to being compromised” you roll your eyes, placing your glass back on the bar. Smoothing your palms down the marron fabric of your dress. It was cut perfectly to your curves, your hair styled to perfection thanks to the skills of Wanda. But still, it didn’t have the desired effect on one man. The sound of your name falling suspiciously from Natasha’s lips had you looking back up at her.

“What’s going on? Are you and Steve okay?” There it was, the million dollar question. You had been together with Steve for a little over two years now and things were perfect. He was attentive, respectful and the sex was mindblowing, to say the least. But recently, things had been different. Something was off and you couldn't put your finger on it. You glance over to the man in question, he was stood with Sam and Bucky. Your heart lurched when you realised that it was the most animated and happy you had seen him in weeks.

“Yeah of course, why wouldn’t I be?” Nat gave you a deadpan look, placing her glass next to yours. Resting her forearm on the bar.

“Because you’re dating one of the most lusted after men in New York. Happily in love which it’s sickening by the way and you're suddenly asking me how to get men to notice you” you felt your shoulders sag slightly. You couldn’t lie to Natasha.

“He’s just... Seams distant lately. I’m worried he’s lost interest in me” you shake your head, your throat suddenly very dry as the hot burning behind your eyes made you grasp for your wine.

“He hasn’t lost interest, the man worships the ground you walk on”

“The why hasn’t he touched me in any way sexual for two weeks” the question pours out of you like molten lava. It burns your tongue and lungs to even admit the problem to your best friend, Natasha is taken back for a moment as you watch her jade eyes flick towards the soldier then back to you.

“I don’t know the answer to that. But I do know sitting by the bar, drinking your sorrows isn’t going to help” you snort into your glass, downing the rest of your wine wincing at the tart taste of it.

“It will tonight, thanks for the talk” you slide off the bar stool. Turning to the elevator the touch of Nat’s hand on your elbow makes your turn around.

“You wanna make him notice you, let him see you with someone else”

“You’re actually suggesting cheating, for fuck sake Nat”

“No you dickhead, not cheating fucking christ why am I always the one..” Nat stops herself taking a breath before continuing.

“Steve trains with Wilson and Barnes in the mornings right?” you nod mutely.

“So let him see you with someone else” you smile nodding again, finally understanding. You lean over to give her a soft kiss on her cheek before taking your exit.

~~~

“You left pretty early, everything okay?” Steve's voice pulls you out of your novel, looking up you notice the suit jacket was now discarded on the armchair in the corner of the room. You wanted nothing more than to stride over to him, rip the dark blue shirt off his Adonis body and make sure that neither of you would get any sleep. But you didn’t know how to climb this wall that was suddenly between the two of you.

“Yeah, just wasn’t in a partying mood” Steve hums in agreement.

“Sometimes I wonder why Tony still throws those ridiculous things” Steve sits on the edge of the bed, toeing off his shoes. The urge to touch the strong muscles of his back burns through you but you resist.

“Because he’s Tony Stark” He snorts in amusement looking back at you.

“You’re not wrong there” he pats your knee through the duvet, it jolts you slightly as he stands to cross to the bathroom. You take a breath, swallowing what you really want to say as you open your novel back up again.

“Oh, I’m gonna join you for training tomorrow” you keep your voice light and free of anger as Steve doubles back to look at you.

“Don’t you train with Wanda in the afternoons?”

“I wanna train in the morning tomorrow, is that a problem?” You turn, giving him an innocent smile you watch as he mirrors your expression. Noting how it doesn’t meet his eyes.

“No problem at all sweetheart”

I can't help it, if it ain't you, uh huh

You make sure to let Steve arrive at the gym before you. If you wanted him to notice you, you were gonna fucking make sure he couldn’t take his eyes off you. You had picked out probably the most scandalous outfit you owned. Short black shorts, a matching sports bra and a loose tank top were the only things to cover your body as you walked into the gym. Bucky and Sam both widened your eyes at you, normally you wore leggings and an old band shirt to train in, this was definitely not normal for you.

“Damn girl, looking good” Sam whistles, Steve turns to look at you. For a moment your heart leaps at the look of anger and jealousy but it fades as quickly as it comes. Steve merely beckons you over, kissing your temple.

“Ready to train?”  you grit out a smile as you place your stuff on the ground.

“Always Captain”

You set off to warm up, glancing at Steve every so often. You suddenly feel very stupid and insecure, why did you need to prove anthing to anyone. You loved Steve and Steve loved you... Right.

“I know what you're doing?” the deep voice almost makes you shoot out of your own skin, turning hand on your chest to face Bucky you gasp up at him.

“What?” you urge your heart to beat normally as Bucky sweeps his hair up in a low bun.

“All this and last night in that dress” he gestures to you making a point of your outfit.

“The punk is clueless at the best of times, but you ain't got to put on a song and dance to get his attention” you frown, leaning down to touch your toes.

“You’d think after two years I could figure all this shit out” Bucky lets out a sharp bark of laughter copying your stretching position.

“Listen, Nat may have told me of your predicament” you suddenly felt very hot and it wasn’t from the warm up.

“Sneaky little bitch” you hiss, standing up glaring at the brunette.

“That she is, but she’s concerned and so am I. And if I can give you my advice” you nod for him to continue. The sly smirk makes something in your chest clench.

“Take it back to basics, I know Steve loves lace”

“How the hell do you know that?” Your eyebrows raise slightly as Bucky laughs more.

“Oh doll, that's for me to know and you to maybe find out. Now c’mere so I can kick your ass”

“In your dreams, Barnes” grinning you took a defensive stance ready to unleash some of your frustration and tension.

Now, covered up in lace to wait around

“This is ridiculous” you look at yourself in the mirror, the black matching lace bra and panties covering your body didn’t do anything to boost your confidence. If anything it made you want to rip the whole thing off and hide under the peach cable knit jumper you had been wearing. But this was your last chance, it was Steve last chance. Steeling yourself you walk to Steve office connected to your apartment, it was late. The only light was coming from the lamp lighting his profile as he frowns at the laptop in front of him. You couldn't see the screen but whatever he was looking at you felt sorry for it.

“Baby” you lean against the doorframe, trying to look enticing enough for Steve to break his focus away from the screen. A grunt is all you get in response, swallowing the urge to sigh. Time to up your game.

“It’s late, come to bed. I’ve been waiting for you” you put your best bedroom voice on, but still. Steve doesn't budge.

“You should sleep if your tired sweetheart, I might be a while yet” you refused to let the tears of frustration. You walk further into the office, using the back of the chair opposite the desk to lean on, pushing your chest out as an invitation for him.

“I might need some help taking this off” and finally, finally he looks up. His eyes roam over your body, your heart races. Waiting for him to stride over to you, to take you in his arms and make you forget all the anger and frustration from the last two weeks. And then finally it's like the balloon bursts and Steve’s eyes flick back down to the laptop.

“I think you're more than capable of taking care of yourself” Suddenly it feels like the temperature of the room drops twenty degrees, your heart plummets to the pit of your stomach where the creatures of sorrow and despair grasp it in their cold damp claws grinning at each other at finally claiming their prize.

“Yeah, you’re right Steve. Sorry to disturb you” you don’t wait for his response as you fly out of the room the soft lace suddenly feeling too tight and confined. Tears blind your vision as you rip the bra and underwear off, pulling on your sweats and an old ratty university jumper you look at the large bed. Images of writhing bodies and broken pleasured moans fill your mind and the urge to rip every single pillow up overcomes you. But you turn and walk quickly and quietly out of your apartment down the hall to the familiar door. You hand pauses over the door, you shouldn’t do this. But you didn’t know what to do, so you knock on the door softly waiting for the door to open bathing you in the warm light from the apartment. Sympathetic eyes look at your tear-filled ones as you wipe the sleeve of your jumper under them.

“He didn’t notice?” you shake your head, not trusting your voice to convey the levels of emotions running through you.

“Come on in doll”

I don't think you notice, I don't think you care I don't think you notice So, what's the point of wearing nothing if you never notice?

[rogertaylors-lipgloss]

American Girl, the Formerly Untitled Ben Hardy x Reader Chapter 4

As I said in my post earlier, this is kind of a filler chapter to get us from point A to point B. Taglist is open, enjoy!

Masterlist

Word Count: 4.5k+

Warnings: Tooth-rotting fluff, irreverence for Uber drivers, Slight Dom, Godless Smut. 18+, y’all. 

Two Months Later

Filming was well underway and although most of the major costuming decisions had been made, you still had plenty of work to do on set, constantly mending and adjusting the boys’ wardrobe pieces. Ben was particularly bad about popping buttons, but after the sixth loose button in a handful of days you had finally realized that he was doing it on purpose.

When he walked up to where you and your sewing kit were set-up clutching a shirt in one fist and a small, unseen object in the other. You smirked. “Let me guess, another button?” You held your hand out expectantly and Ben sheepishly handed over the small object. He caught your eyes and flashed you a grin, knowing you were a sucker for that award-winning smile. “You know Ben, the other boys can manage to make it through days of filming without having a wardrobe malfunction. I’m beginning to wonder if you might have some nefarious ulterior motives in constantly destroying that shirt.”

He clutched the shirt to his chest in mock outrage. “Moi? Why Y/N, you wound me!” You giggled as he stepped around the desk you were sitting at and swooped down to place a kiss on your ear. “I can’t help it if this shirt is just a bit too small for my rippling muscles.” You snorted, and he pinched your side in retaliation. He peppered small kisses along your cheek and slipped his arms around your shoulders as you quickly reattached the button to his shirt.

“There, all better!” You pull your head away from his greedy lips and he scoffed in protest. “Now, get back to set before Roger Taylor decides you’re more trouble than you’re worth!” He chuckles and turns to wink at you before walking back over to the cameras.

Later that day

You had already completed your work for the day, but the boys were hanging around waiting for Rami and Lucy to finish one of their scenes. The whole group was supposed to be going out for drinks and karaoke tonight, so you cleaned up your desk and made your way to join them in waiting. You stopped in front of one of the doors, taped to it was a sheet of paper that read, “The Band,” and underneath someone had scribbled in “plus Lucy,” “plus Allen,” and “plus Y/n.” It had been Joe’s dressing room, and not even a week into filming the boys had taken the couch out of Gwil’s and finagled it into the space. The two couches sat opposite each other, centered around a large television that Rami had mounted to the wall. Opening the door, you were instantly greeted by Ben, Gwilym, Joe, and Allen.

“Y/N!” They collectively shouted, Ben winking at you from his spot on one of the couches. Allen and Gwil are sitting across from him, and Joe’s plopped down in the ratty bean bag you had begged him not to get on one of your most recent thrifting adventures.

“Hey, guys. What are you watching?” The four of them had their eyes glued to the television screen in front of them.

“We’re watching Undrafted, Joe here’s bloody brilliant,” Allen answered with a giggle. You’d lived in the UK for a few years now, but his Irish accent still made the corners of your mouth pull up into a grin.

You step gingerly around Joe, whose long legs take up almost the entire space, and walk towards Ben, who pats the seat next to his. Smiling, you fall onto the couch next to him and turn your attention to the screen. Joe had forced you to watch it the first week you’d met him, and at this point you’d seen it at least ten times. His character, Pat, had just struck out and was screaming and stomping around the outfield. It was your favorite part and it never failed to make you laugh every time. Joe beamed up at you as you struggled to contain your laughter.

God, how Ben loved the sound of your laugh. You pulled your feet up onto the couch and perched your legs across Ben’s lap. As the group of you watched the movie, Ben couldn’t resist running his fingers up and down your jean-clad legs.

By the time the movie was winding to an end, Rami and Lucy finally finished filming for the day and made their way into the dressing room. “Y/N!” Lucy shrieked, and you jumped up off of the couch (Ben wincing as you accidentally grazed one of his balls with your foot) and ran over to greet her. Over the past several weeks you and Lucy had grown inseparable and any minute she didn’t spend on set she spent distracting you in the costume department. “Boys, we’ll see you all later! Y/N and I are going to get ready and we’ll meet you at the karaoke place in a couple hours.” Rami pecked Lucy’s cheek goodbye before moving to take your vacated seat next to Ben, who winked at you as you waved bye to everyone.

“Wait, did they say hours? As in plural?!” You heard Joe complaining as the door shut behind the two of you, who both chuckled at the zealous redhead.

“Come on, we’re going to get ready at my place!” Lucy grabbed your hand and pulled you away with her.

---

A little while later, you found yourself standing in front of Lucy’s bathroom mirror as you curled her short, platinum hair loosely around the hot wand in your hand. You spritzed her locks with a bit of saltwater spray before gently tousling them with your fingers. “Ta-da!”

“Wow,” she exclaimed. “Tell me again why you aren’t working for hair and makeup on set?”

You rolled your eyes and smiled at her in the mirror. “I’m glad you like it, Luce.”

You’d helped her pair together light-wash boyfriend jeans with a white Rolling Stones tee, the sleeves rolled up and the hem twisted and tied so that it rested just above her belly button and matched the color of her lipstick to the that of the lips on her tee. She had decided to finish off the look with her favorite pair of black creepers before whirling around on you. “Alright, Y/N, it’s your turn now!”

She ignored your groans and protests, pushing you into the bedroom where you’d left your bag of clothing options. After several minutes of digging, Lucy emerged with an army green tank top that covered your chest to the neck, although the way it clung to your every curve left little to the imagination. She tossed it at you, along with the shortest pair of denim shorts you owned. “Hold on!” She rushed back through the bathroom and into her own closet, returning with a pair of solid black suede ankle boots and a black felt hat. She couldn’t stop smiling as she perched the hat atop your head and finally declared you “absolutely perfect!”

“Not bad, Luce!” You admired yourself in the floor-length mirror she had leaned against the wall of her bedroom. “Not bad at all.”

She pressed a kiss to your cheek, forgetting all about her lipstick and leaving you with a red imprint on your face. “Oops! Let me get that!” She carefully dabbed the red smudge off without ruining your makeup underneath, then the two of you set off for the small, hole-in-the-wall karaoke bar that Gwilym had vouched for.

---

Ben sat at a large table with Joe, Rami, Gwilym, and Allen, knee bouncing underneath table as he looked to the door, anxious for your impending arrival. When you and Lucy finally did arrive, his breath hitched in his throat at the sight of you in that skimpy little top. His mouth was practically salivating as he thought of that same top in a crumpled mess on his bedroom floor. This was going to be a very long night, he thought.

Ben and Rami had left two empty seats between them for you and Lucy to slip into. Ben pressed a kiss to your cheek, murmuring, “You look incredible tonight, love.” You blushed and returned his kiss. Settling into the table, you turned to Joe.

“So Joe, how many times have you put your name on the list already?” You asked, unaware of Ben’s lustful eyes still on you.

Joe scoffed playfully. “Only five!” The table laughed at his response, except for Ben. You turned to look at him and recognized that all-too-familiar look in his eyes. As everyone else returned to their own conversations, Ben scooted his chair closer to yours and placed his hand on your bare thigh. You met his gaze and smirked before leaning in to whisper in his ear. “Are you feeling alright, Ben?”

“If I say no, does that mean we can leave sooner?” You shook your head and giggled when he groaned out loud. “What can I say to get you to meet me in the bathroom then?” Ben leaned in and his breath on your neck (as well as his words) sent your pulse racing. His fingers traced their way up your thigh, closer and closer to the hem of your shorts. As his index finger started toying with the edge of the denim, he looked up at you with those big blue eyes, hoping (read: knowing) you wouldn’t be able to resist. But unlike Ben, you were hyperaware of your surroundings.

You lightly swatted his hand, glancing around to make sure no one had noticed. “Ben!” You chastised him playfully and he smirked at you, leaning back in to whisper in your ear, “Fine, but the second we get in the car, I am ravishing you in every way I know how.”

You gave him a small kiss on the lips. “Couldn’t we at least make it back to your place first?”

“Hey, I can hear you guys!” Joe cried out, fake disgust riddling his facial features.

“Oi, mom and dad are having a grown-up conversation!” Ben quipped back, the table erupting with laughter.

The boys already had their drinks, so you leaned over to Lucy and asked what she wanted before you headed over to the bar, leaving a whining, needy Ben alone at the table.

There were quite a few people crowded into the karaoke bar that night, but you didn’t mind sliding onto a barstool and waiting patiently for the bartender to take your order. You noticed Ben’s gaze still on you, as if he were hunter and you were Bambi’s mom. He couldn’t help but admire your ass in those shorts, feeling his own pants grow tighter as he watched. When the bartender was finally able to free up her attention long enough to pour you and Lucy some shots of tequila, you took the small tray from her and nodded in thanks as you carefully headed back to the table.

While you’d been gone, Joe’s name was called and he had begun his rendition of “Bennie and the Jets.” Laughing as he overemphasized every Bennie with an airy squeal, you and Lucy clinked your glasses together before downing one, two, and three shots each. Ben was engaged in conversation with Gwilym and Allen, but his hands never left your thigh as you and Lucy giggled at one of Rami’s stories. The night continued on this way. You and Lucy eventually got up and sang “Woman” by Kesha, Ben and Joe sang none other than Queen’s “You’re My Best Friend,” earning jealous pouts from both Rami and Gwilym as Allen laughed. It was absolutely terrible and as much as you liked Ben, you cringed slightly when he echoed Joe singing “happy at home.” Gwilym had been surprised when you recognized a song that he’d chosen by the Irish-rock band, The Pogues, that he’d pulled you up on-stage with him as the two of you belted out “Fairytale of New York.” It was a beautiful train wreck, and all of the boys got up to sing “Bohemian Rhapsody” as the ultimate big finish. You and Lucy sat back and cackled as the other patrons raised their eyebrows at the five very tipsy boys tripping around onstage as they attempted to head bang to the guitar-heavy rock section of the famous song.

After exchanging goodbyes, you and Ben climbed into an Uber and made your way back to his apartment. In the dark of the backseat, Ben was silent with his lips pressed to your collarbone as his hands attempted to explore your body. The driver glanced in the rearview mirror and cleared his throat, turning up the music slightly, and you giggled as an embarrassed Ben halted his attempts. He held on to your hand, however, drawing circles on your palm with his index finger. When the car finally came to a stop, your feet had barely touched the pavement outside before you were being swept off of your feet.

“Ben!” You shrieked as he bolted up the sidewalk and through the front door of his townhouse. Once inside, your feet once again only touched the floor for a moment before Ben had you pushed up against the same door he had only just slammed closed.

“Have I told you how much I love that you get along with my friends?” He asked, his chest pushed up against your own. His question was rhetorical, but before you could answer anyway (like the smartass you are), his lips crashed into yours with bruising force. His hands wandered up and down your body, torn between squeezing your ass and groping your chest. Your own hands hung useless at your sides, unsure of how to reciprocate Ben’s attack on your senses.

From deeper in the apartment, Frankie came strutting out to see the commotion, barking as she made her way. Ben ignored the pup, his hand sliding up one of your thighs to lift your leg and wrap it around his waist. You murmured his name in a weak protest. He groaned in acknowledgment but continued sucking at your collarbone and grinding his hips eagerly against your center. Your eyes darkened, but you were quickly pulled right back out of the trance when Frankie finally found the two of you and began barking in earnest. Ben finally gave up when Frankie put her two front paws on the back of his legs.

Sulking, he set you back on your feet and turned to lift the pup into his arms. “Frankie, we’ve talked about this…” he muttered as he disappeared with her, presumably to let her out into the yard. While he was busy, you bolted for his bedroom. Your overnight bag sat on the floor, Lucy having had her assistant deliver it from her place to Ben’s while you’d all been out. You heard the sliding door open and Ben and Frankie shuffle outside, and you knew you didn’t have much time. Quickly, you unzipped the bag and dug around until your hands brushed against the lace fabric you’d been searching for. You pulled out the black lace bodysuit, a more affordable echo of the expensive garments you’d seen in the window of Agent Provocateur while shopping in London. Luckily, not long after that, you found a small boutique that carried much more reasonably-priced lingerie. You’d never really worn actual lingerie before, aside from a pretty matching bra and panty set. As you rid yourself of your karaoke clothes, you realized that this was entirely new territory. You dashed into the bathroom and made sure to wipe down the key areas that you knew had collected sweat throughout the night and ran a brush through your hair to tame it. You admired yourself in the mirror, spritzing a small amount of your signature perfume on your neck as you heard the back door open once more.

Ben closed the door behind him and walked back into the main living area. Expecting to find you where he left you, his brows knit together in confusion until he walked down the hallway to see the door to his bedroom wide open. There you were, perched intentionally across the foot of his bed, gazing up at him with the most “come hither” eyes you could muster. His own eyes widened as he took in the sight of you scantily clad in black lace.

He stood there for a moment and you began to worry that he’d had a stroke. Standing up, you walked slowly over to where he stood, still frozen in the doorway. Your inner sex goddess took over as you stopped about an inch away from him. You looked up into his piercing green eyes, clouded with lust, and flicked your gaze down to his lips, still swollen from earlier. Your tongue darted across your lips as you slid a finger into the waistband of his jeans to pull him towards you, guiding him until you felt your legs hit the back of the bed. When you pulled him down onto the bed with you it was as if his trance had been broken. Suddenly, he was back on top of you with the same fervor he’d had when you’d first arrived home.

“Y/N, you minx,” he moaned, his hand running across the lace that covered your stomach. You reached between the two of you and began undoing his belt. Unbuttoning his jeans, your lips never leaving Ben’s, you managed to push them and his briefs down his hips far enough for his cock to spring out. Though this wasn’t the first time you’d seen it, a small gasp still escaped from your lips, Ben moaning as you took it in your hand. “Fuck,” he cursed.

A devilish smile played across your lips as you gently pushed him off of you and onto his back. You pressed a light kiss to his jaw, continuing to intermittently pepper kisses on his skin as you made your way tantalizingly slowly down his body. His hands found their way to tangle themselves in your hair, and when you halted just above his member to suck a mark on his pubic bone, he absentmindedly tightened his grip and tried to buck his hips into you.

You removed your lips from him, tutting. “Easy, Ben. Don’t you want to take this slow?”

He cried out as you allowed your tongue to just barely graze the head of his penis. “Y/N, love- please. Please, please, please.” You were slightly taken aback, you’d never had a man beg you. You were even more surprised to feel yourself growing wetter with each “please” he uttered. Ben whimpered as you pretended to think about it, tracing your fingers across his abs as you made another mark on his thigh. Looking down at his swollen, throbbing cock, leaking with precum, you suppressed a moan. Finally, you took him into your mouth, wrapping one of your hands around his base so that you wouldn’t choke on his enormous length. His cock twitched on your tongue and you hummed against him, causing him to cry out once more. You started to bob your head up and down on him, but Ben’s fingers tugged on your hair, pulling you off with a pop. Worried, you asked, “did I do something wrong?”

Ben’s eyes flared and softened, “no, no, no, baby. I just wanted to try a more, uh, mutually beneficial position.” When you looked confused, he sat up to pull you further up the bed. He kissed you softly on the lips, before uttering, “do you trust me, love?”

When you nodded, he helped you position yourself until you were straddled in a reverse cowgirl-esque position across his chest. He tapped your knees and it finally dawned on you what he was trying to do. That cheeky bastard wanted to sixty-nine. You repositioned yourself so that your knees rested on either side of his head, your lace-clad center hovering over his face. Before you could return your mouth to its earlier work, Ben moved the fabric of your bodysuit to the side so that you were on full display to him. After thoroughly coating them in his mouth, Ben carefully slid his index and middle fingers into your dripping core, eliciting a loud moan from you. His head moved and, much to your surprise, his tongue flicked across your clit several times before his lips attached to it, sucking relentlessly. You felt your knees buckle and his name fell from your lips, but you pushed through the pleasure and tilted your head to take his cock back into your mouth.

The two of you continued this way for a few moments before Ben curled his fingers inside of you to press against your sweet spot. You sputtered against his cock and it fell out of your mouth. As he picked up speed, you managed to croak out, “Ben, I need you.”

His fingers still continuing their relentless assault, Ben grinned. “M’right here love. I can feel how close you are my sweet girl. Fuck.”

Trying to keep yourself from coming, you were on the verge of tears. “Ben, stop. I want- I need your cock, baby. Please, Ben.” Satisfied that he had the upper hand, he removed his lips and fingers from your soaking pussy. You moaned at the lost sensation and carefully moved off of Ben. He knelt behind you and unzipped the back of your lingerie before sliding it off your shoulders and helping to pull down and off your legs. Once you had been freed, with your back still to Ben, you knelt on the bed on your hands and knees, wiggling your ass in the air to get his attention. You knew you had it when his hand came down on your ass with a hard smack, and you cried out at the impact. 

“Naughty girl,” he chastised, his hand connecting with your rear once more as he lined himself up. Massage the sore spot with one hand, he brought his other down to rub his cock against your folds. “You’re so fucking wet, baby. Who did this to you?”

Eager to see more of this new, dominant side of Ben, you ground your ass into him as you teasingly said, “Gwilym.”

Another smack, then he gathered your hair in his hand and twisted it so that you were pulled back against him. His other hand came up to caress the side of your face, down your neck, and in the valley of your breasts, then moving to toy with one of your nipples. You squirmed, but he only pulled your hair tighter, pinching your nipple in response. Your center ached for him and you tried to rut your behind into him once more. Your hand snaked down to your clit and began rubbing circles in search of relief, but Ben grabbed your wrist in his hand. “I don’t think so, love. Liars don’t get to come.”

You swallowed, and wanting to see how far you could take this, you said, “Who says I was lying?”

A blistering heat rose in Ben. “Is that so?” Releasing you from his grasp, he pushed you down in front of him and grabbed your hips. You cried out in ecstasy as he forced himself into you and immediately started pounding you so hard that you swore your eyes rolled back into head. Tears spilled down your cheeks as the sound of skin slapping skin filled the room, interrupted only by your cries. You whimpered his name, over and over. Ben felt your walls tighten around him and his hand connected with the flesh of your ass once again. “Tell me, Y/N. Tell me or I won’t let you come.”

You stayed silent, sure that he was bluffing, but you sobbed when he suddenly pulled out and began stroking himself with his hand. “Say it, Y/N. Who made you this wet?” He asked once again, running the fingers of his free hand between your folds.

Mascara streaming down your face, you finally relented. “You. You did Ben.”

“Not Gwil?”

“No. Only you, baby.” You had barely gotten the words out of your mouth when he plunged back into you, reassuming the same brutal pace as before. This time, he wrapped his arm around your waist to reach between your legs, circling your clit to bring you closer to the edge. His own orgasm was quickly approaching and when you finally came, you clamped down on him so tightly that the sensation of his own release prolonged your orgasm. His movements stuttered and his hands tightened their grip on your hips as he held you in place, milking every last drop of cum from his erection.

You collapsed, bringing Ben toppling down on top of you. He rolled off of you and onto his side, and you flinched as his cock slipped out of you. Ben could sense how sore you were and pulled you closer to his chest. You focused on steadying your breathing and Ben brushed the hair from your face before nuzzling his face into the back of your head.

In your post-coital haze, you weren’t thinking clearly about the potential consequences as the words “I love you” fell from your lips. Only after the words had escaped and were already hanging in the air did you realize what you’d said. You froze, waiting for his response.

Ben shifted beside you, propping himself up on his elbow. “What did you say, Y/N?”

You winced and covered your face with your hand. This was it, the rejection. You were sure of it. But instead, Ben gently took hold of your wrists and pried your hands away. “Please, say it again.”

Your heart-rate picked up and you let out a deep breath before finally repeating yourself. “I said, ‘I love you,’ Ben.” You looked up into his eyes, unable to read the intention in his face, and for the shortest moment you braced yourself for the worst. After all, he was an actor. He was already recognized frequently for his role on Eastenders, and you knew that once Bohemian Rhapsody hit theaters those one or two girls who recognized him at the store would turn into hundreds. Why would he want to tie himself down to you of all people when soon he would have women tripping over themselves to get to him? Maybe your fears had been right, maybe this was just an on-set fling.

But then the corners of Ben’s mouth tugged into the widest smile, his eyes sparkling with adoration. “You love me?” He asked, his hand coming up to cup your cheek. You nodded.

“Do you love me?” You asked, and he blinked down at you incredulously.

“Do I love you?” Ben’s lips found yours, his hand that had been on your cheek moving slightly behind your ear. You leaned into his touch, but he broke the kiss. “Of course I love you, you looney!” You both giggled and he kissed your temple before settling his chin atop your head, holding you to his chest as you both drifted off to sleep.

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[alitheamateur]

Turning the Tables

Characters: Colton Ritter/Liv Elliott

Warnings: NSFW. SMUT. DIRTY, DIRTY COLTON.

Summary: We all know Liv is the lady of the when it comes to ruling under their roof. But this time, Colt just needs to see his bold, sure, Liv begging for his mercy.

A/N: THANK YOU ANON, for this awesome request. I hope you enjoy!! I typed the entire thing on my phone within a matter of hours because I was itching to write it so badly 😂

Poor girl. I nearly drowned her on our run this afternoon. Leave it to me, the asshole, to skip out on checking the weather beforehand. Three cheers for boyfriend of the year, Ritter. She was definitely not gleeful about having to sprint over a mile in return back to the house with brutal pellets of Spring ran beating into her bare shoulders. But, her little blue chattering lips once we finally reached the safe space of our dry kitchen did make me smile. Behind her back, but I smiled nonetheless.

Livvy darted straight for the downstairs shower, her soaking tank-top plopping with a splat onto the tile, making me nearly slip to my ass from the puddling rainwater. I didn’t make it to the warm confines of her scorching shower before she locked me out. Access denied. She plays this little game, putting on a dutiful face of anger & displeasure, knowing my sorry ass will kiss her holy feet to make it all better. I know, right? Who the fuck am I these days?

Hers. And that’s all I ever care about being again.

BUT, she can’t be the only one to play the games. She knows I have a pretty competitive game face myself, and I won’t let that little pouting princess have all the fun. Not tonight. The pumping thunder of the storm outside has the afternoon sky resembling more of the nighttime hours, and the dripping, goosebumps on the side of her topless breast as she bounced down the hall stirred me.

I waited for the unlatching click of the lock, and wafting steam rolled from the door when she stepped out. I’m bringing my A game. She loves these ratty as shit sweatpants from Mac’s, and I slid the bed comforter into the dryer while she was thawing under the warm spout. She loves it when I do that. Crawling into the fluff of a heated bed makes her almost purr with happiness.

“Livvy, baby? Hey, I’m in the bedroom.” I cleared my throat & pulled off my own soggy t-shirt.

She peeped around the door frame, comb lines through her golden hair. She’s cut it shoulder length against how I thought I preferred it, but I love the way it frames around her soft face.

“I’m gonna make a quick cup of coffee. Ya’ know, before I catch pneumonia.”

Damn it, her comes the snark. She’s ready to make some demands, I can tell it in her sure voice. I make up my mind fully to turn the tables. Just for tonight. I love her independent, broad mind. Truly, she keeps me in check, & I’d be fucked without her. But, I need those lips to beg me tonight.

I had a few extra minutes to spare, and I needed to really send her reeling.

Do some push-ups or something Ritter, get a sweat going. Fuck no, you prick. Don’t be that meathead douche.

Think. Think.

I felt myself get hard with the anticipation of her & what I intended to come, so I used it to my advantage. Bouncing quickly from under the covers, I ran towards to kitchen. She stood at a gentle lean against the counter, her back towards me watching the drips of her French vanilla blend fall into her favorite mug. I loved the way she fit so petite into the span of my arms, so I tip-toed stealthily to encase her. Making a point to lean into her with my excited lap first.

She tried to chew her lip & stifle the little squeak of arouse it caused her, but I saw her curved lashes close over her dangerous green eyes in the reflection of the steel toaster on the counter. I was winning already.

“Head to the bedroom, baby. I got the bed all warm. I’ll grab your cup & the green candle that nearly chokes me from the coffee table. I know how much you like it.”

The key was making her think she was dealing with apologetic, cowering Colton. But, he was only a disguise for the mischievous bear waiting to make an entrance. How many times has this girl had me on my knees? Most times, I caused the groveling so I’ll own those fucking colossal mistakes. However, I’ve lost count on the occasions I could’ve cried when I was between her heavenly legs.

Liv’s body shuddered & I could hear her thick swallow as I was curved into her neck. I made it no point any longer to try & hide the long inhales I took of her flowery smell. She knew it was my favorite, most familiar sense of home.

I wrapped my scarred knuckles playfully around her loose hair, and kissed the silken patch of skin behind her ear before she dismissed herself.

All requirements in tow after the final sputters of coffee poured from the pot, I marched to her. Her painted toes were buried under the heavy bedsheets, her neck covered to the chin like an Eskimo. I heard the key up of Pretty Woman on the t.v., and my manly ego nearly regurgitated. But, I didn’t have any intentions to let her watch much of the film for the 42nd time regardless.

“Got any room for me under there?” I ran my hand through my damp hair and purposely adjusted the loose waistband of my sagging sweats to kidnap her attention.

“What’s in it for me?”

Oh, honey. You got no idea what’s about to unfold.

“You know there’s nothing warmer than me, baby. C’mon now. I’m sorry about the rain! It’s my fault. I’ll be more careful next time.”

Way to stand your ground, Ritter. We see who’s in control here.

She tossed back the spread on my side of our California king, and pat the wrinkled lines of her indention in the mattress. With no time, or patience, to waste I climbed in beside her & immediately reached for the cotton tightness of her leggings. Discarding the unwanted clothing to the foot of the bed, I smiled darkly not hiding those demons behind my eyes. Sometimes they came in handy.

I licked over my lips, coating them generously, before I latched onto the skin where her thighs met her warm sex. Liv’s back arched off the bed like a woman carnally possessed at the sensation of my teeth sucking into her flesh. She knew I was needy when it came to the taste of her on my mouth.

I wanted to play her slow, in a way that forced her body to spiral & clutter with need. So, I pulled back to allow her sexually spasming muscles to find relief. Kissing my way up the bone of her pelvis, to the tiny dip of her belly button, then wallowing my head under the oversized fit of her t-shirt to ghost the tiniest tip of my tongue between the valley of her heavy breasts. Her whispering exhales teetered the line of a moan, and I felt her heartbeat dancing inside her chest.

“How about a nap, 2-1? I’m pretty beat.”

My lovers every inch froze. Every feathering touch of my lips had ignited her with gallons of gasoline, and the wildfire couldn’t be stopped. I could tell she was blindsided by my unsubtle shift in direction exactly the way I wanted.

“Wait a minute,” she needfully whined. Her voice lifted an octave & it painted over me like a cold paintbrush, causing prickles all over my skin.

“What’s that, baby?”

“I’m... I’m not ready for a nap yet, Colt...”

Let the games begin.

“Well what is it my girl needs then, huh? What are you ready for? Wanna finish the movie first?”

Her limbs squirmed nervously, wrestling with the words she wanted to say. But, I could see traces of pride on her face. Would she break that easily?

“Yeah. Exactly! I just wanna finish the movie. That’s all.”

Fuck. She won’t break that easy, you bastard.

I resentfully took my place next to her on the cool pillow, and opened the bend of my arm for her to nuzzle into as the movie played in the background. I traveled to the deepest cavern of my mind for any weapons of mass eruption I could use against her valiant efforts of resistance. With one arm bent behind me against the headboard and my thoughts at war, I fretted internally. She always liked her hair twirled around my finger before she fell asleep, so I trusted the usually successful tactic.

Still, no reaction on her stoic face as she gazed & giggled at Julia Roberts on our bedroom flatscreen.

Trying to focus so intently on all the ways I could break down her wall, I instead trailed off on the countless ways she drove me utterly insane with her feminine antics, once again the ripple effect landing between my legs. I’d bust if she didn’t cave into me sooner rather than later.

Lowering deeper into the soft bed, I rolled onto my side dangerously near the opening of her ear. My hands & mouth danced in unison, one on the point of her pert nipple, the other lapping on her lobe. I heard her fingers scrapping against the thread of white sheets, and her toes curled.

“Does my pretty baby like that, huh?” My gravely questions seemed to inject directly into her veins like vicious poison.

“Does my Livvy girl like the way that feels?”

I was never, ever a man of poetic manner, but I knew it meant worlds to her when I made some conscious effort to try & use my words like a actual adult. Even if it meant using them to my full advantage in the most salacious of ways.

She never answered my questions, not even so much as opened her sealed eyes. But I planned to break her silence.

I walked two fingers, one in front of the other like the ‘itsy-bitsy spider’ south toward her seeping center. Intruding with my pointer finger inside the band of her laced-trimmed panties, Liv licked over her dry, panting mouth. I could feel the pooling of her pleasure between her velvet folds, and I slid gentle circles around the bundle of sensitive nerves. Sweaty beads of gleaming sweat gathered on her forehead, the perfect bones of her cheeks puffed with red the more I toyed with her release, but she still remained collected.

I escaped from the glossy squeeze between her thighs & winked to her as she laid on her back in disbelief. The lick of her wetness from my finger may have struck her every desire, but it was actually more of a treat for myself rather than her.

“What do you think you’re doing, Ritter?” She elevated on the point of her elbows, her lids heavy with lust.

“I’m disturbing your movie. My bad, babe. I’ll behave. I really am sorry. Unless....”

The static electricity from the pillow case flowed through her hair as she waited for my offer to fall on the table.

“.......unless?”

“Unless you want me to get down there & suck out every last little drop of sweetness you’re keeping from me between those gorgeous legs.”

Her eyes took the shape of glassy marbles. My girls shyness with my sailor mouth never got old.

A storm brewed inside her, and she couldn’t deny how bad she wanted me if she tried. But I’d make her say it. I’d make her grovel just this once.

Giving her ample time to make her final decision, she never uttered a sound. So, I climbed from beneath the bubble of warmth under the blankets and dismissed myself.

“Imma grab a shower, then maybe I can head out & grab a bite for us if you want.”

Liv leaped with the speed of a lioness on attack to protect her young to stop my escape.

“Don’t. You. Dare.” She treated & swiftly pulled off the cover of her t-shirt.

“What’s that? I have no idea what you mean, baby...”

With one gracious motion she stood up shaking loose her hair, her round tits shaking with the aftershock. Her fight training had definitely fallen to her advantage as she took my broad arm in the lock of a submission move, weakening my knees and sending me to the floor.

“You know what, you clever little bastard. Finish what you started, Ritter.”

There was fury in her voice, and power in the fist she knotted into the hair on top of my head. Here I was again, bending the knee to worship her perfectly curved body.

“Beg.” I boldly protested against her sharp demands.

She knew it’s what I wanted. The entire time she could see it’s what I was working for.

I kissed her lips once more, lingering a bit just for the taste, then backed away to look upward at her.

“Let’s hear it, baby. I know how bad you need it. It’s dripping down my chin, in fact.”

“Please.”

Step one.

“Please what, Livvy. I’m ready & willin’, baby. Just ask.”

“Please... you know...”

Step two.

Her polite little mouth just couldn’t allow the words release. I eyeballed her, batting my eyes in genuine laughter at the way she kept such a shy demeanor when it came to our sex life. Even considering the many ways we had tarnished nearly every service within a 10-mile radius.

“Damn it, Colt! Make me come already! Please! Make me come!!”

It was an angry, resentful, desperate cry, but immediately my every pulsating cell exploded. My pupils swelled with evil satisfaction at the feeling of her needing me in such a raw way. Immediately, a victim to my lack of self control, I pummeled my face to her core. I wanted to shower in the hot, sugary sensation of all things Liv. She laughed out loud, resembling a twisted woman controlled by the darkness of her lusts. My thumbs pushed into her thighs in effort to keep her wobbly legs standing, and I knew it wouldn’t be long before a bright pink blush would rash all over her body with the arrival of her orgasm.

“More, Colton! Just one more minute. I’m begging you. Don’t stop!”

Pushing into her entrance with a widened tongue, seconds later my beautiful Livvy’s screams bounced from wall to wall in the tranquil privacy of our little house on the corner. And as for me, I spent the rest of our stormy, Spring afternoon groveling for her mercy.

Tags: @torialeysha @eap1935 @littleluna98 @mollybegger-blog

[there-must-be-a-lock]

Marked (Part 12)

Dean x Reader

Word Count: ~2930

***Warnings:*** The beginning of some knifeplay, and some shit that’s just uncomfortable to read, if I’ve done my job right. I will say that everything stops when someone says stop. Beyond that, I honestly have no idea what to put here; I can’t fully explain without giving away the ending, and while you’ve probably seen this coming, I don’t want to spoil it. Let’s just say that if you have concerns, you should message me before reading. 

A/N: This is dedicated to @gripmetight-raisemefromperdition. Thank you for all the comments and sharing and support, and for the perfect, spot-on summary of this series. You da bomb diggity. 

This chapter has been in my head since I came up with the whole idea for the series, and it sprang directly from the gif that started it all: 

You wouldn’t think three little words could make such a difference. It wasn’t anything new, after all; the skeptic in me knew it wasn’t much more than a cocktail of oxytocin and pheromones and electrical impulses, and those ingredients had been there from the start, from the moment I met Dean and let him drag me into bed and some primal animal instinct had taken over. The skeptic in me knew it was nothing more than biology at work.

The rest of me, though… I kept looking in the mirror, expecting something to have changed. It would be written across my forehead or blinking neon behind my eyes: love. But my reflection stared back at me, the same as always, so I carried it like a secret, glowing invisible in my ribcage, and let it warm me from the inside out.

Dean called when I was already asleep one night. The letters on my alarm clock read 3:07 in icy blue.

“Sorry to wake you,” he said softly. I rubbed sleep from my eyes and tried to figure out if it was a dream. “I can’t make it this weekend. Something came up, and I just… I have to take care of something.”

“Shit,” I mumbled, around a yawn. “Maybe next week? I’ve got Tuesday night off.”

His voice was hoarse and cracked and sad. “I don’t know how long it’ll take. Might be a few days. I don’t… you might not hear from me for a bit. I’m so sorry.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“I wish…” Dean trailed off, and then took a deep breath. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be. You know that, right?”

“Yeah. I do,” I whispered.

“I’ll be there. I promise. As soon as I can.”

“Okay. I’m not going anywhere.”

I could hear him sigh, a long ragged defeated sound. “I love you,” he said, and I closed my eyes, felt that same inexplicable glow.

“Love you too, Dean.”

-----

A week went by before I heard the knock. It was late and I’d just been getting ready for bed, so I was wearing ratty old pajama pants, makeup smudged around my eyes where I’d done a half-assed job of washing my face, but I was half-sprinting from my bedroom to the front door before I could even think about it. When the door swung open, I had to freeze for a second to just take him in. He’d sounded so haunted when he’d called that I was almost surprised to see him smiling and (from what I could see) all in one piece, but there he was, devil-may-care grin on his face, one hand running through already-tousled hair.

“Honey, I’m home,” he drawled.

I giggled and tugged him inside. “Fuck, I’m glad to see you.”

He didn’t answer, just pushed me against the wall and kissed me breathless, sucking roughly at my lips until they stung. When I tried to put my arms around his neck, he snatched my wrists and pinned them over my head with one hand. A delicious wave of heat ran through me.

He held my hands in place as he bit a fiery trail down my neck, working the skin between his teeth until I could feel the blood rushing to the surface, and each tingling spot throbbed in time with my pulse. With his free hand, he tugged down my tank top until one breast was bare. He nipped and sucked his way down to my nipple and swirled his tongue over it, a hot wet swipe that had the sensitive skin prickling and going taut. He kept going, alternating between flicks of his tongue and teasing little nibbles until the pebbled skin was swollen and tingling. His teeth scraped just on the bearable side of too hard, and I whimpered, twisting in his grasp, torn between too much and not enough.

“Dean,” I gasped, as he finally moved to the other side, pulling my shirt carelessly out of the way as he went. “Fuck, Dean, that feels - shit, slow down, I can’t -”

He replaced his mouth with his fingers, twisting and pinching and rolling. “You don’t really want me to slow down, do you?” he said, whispering the words right against my ear. “You’re fucking dripping for me, I bet. How long has it been? Ten days? And you’re already desperate for my cock.”

“Yeah,” I sighed. “God, yes, Dean, need you.”

It had been a while since I’d seen this side of him, the cool, commanding Dean with that dark edge in his voice. I hadn’t been expecting it, although I wasn’t sure what I had been expecting. Maybe not sweet endearments, I didn’t think we’d ever be that couple, but… something else. Something softer.

Dean whirled me around without warning, flipping me so that I was facing the wall. He still had my wrists pinned. His other hand splayed out over my lower belly, the heat of his palm making me shudder, and he plastered himself against my back, grinding into me so that I could feel the hardness of his cock. I moaned, arching into it.

Expectations could go fuck themselves.

And maybe this made sense, I thought, spreading my legs and squirming, rubbing my ass against him. Things had been so fucking intense, lately. Maybe Dean was just as terrified as I had been. Maybe this was his way of taking a break from all that emotion.

Dean’s hand was sliding slowly downward, dipping under the waistband of my pajama pants as he rocked forward, and my pussy was aching with the urge to get him inside me, deep and hard and fast and now. Soft and sweet could wait. He curled his fingers into me abruptly and I moaned, eyes rolling back in my head at the rough stretch.

“Fuck,” Dean breathed, low and silky against my ear. “So wet, I gotta see this.” He tugged one-handed at my pants until they slipped down and puddled at my ankles. I arched my back even more, accentuating the shamelessly submissive pose.

“Please,” I said breathlessly. His free hand was cupping the curve of my ass and he gave it a squeeze, fingers digging into soft skin hard enough to bruise.

“Look at you, begging already,” Dean crooned. His hand was kneading and squeezing and then suddenly gone, and I barely had time to brace for the impact before I felt the sharp crack of his palm connecting. The blaze of pain sent a shock wave up my spine. He held me in place through the next slap, grip almost too tight around my wrists so that I felt bones grinding as I twisted and squirmed helplessly, doing my best to be good for him but flinching away instinctively.

He switched sides, palm snapping down twice in quick succession, and then his fingers traced delicately over the heated skin as he looked at the marks he must have left.

“More,” I whispered, and the next round of stinging smacks brought tears to my eyes even as I moaned, pain giving way to a heart-pounding rush of tingling sensation that thrilled through my entire body.

Dean was panting by the time he stopped, making a hungry noise in the back of his throat. He used two fingers to spread me open from behind.

“God, you’re fucking filthy,” he growled. “Getting off on this. Is this what you think about when I’m not here? When you touch yourself? Bending over and letting me leave bruises all over that sweet ass until you can barely stand up?”

I shuddered, cheeks flushed at the dark curl of pleasure that snaked through me at the words. It wasn’t like I could deny it, though.

“What else would you let me do, hmm?” he said, low and promising in my ear. His fingertips nudged at my entrance.

“Anything,” I gasped. I rocked back. He didn’t move his hand, just let me fuck myself on his fingers. I had to strain against his grip, unable to move more than a couple inches, and it was nowhere near enough.

“Do you have any idea how you look right now?” he asked. “So fucking desperate to get something inside that tight little cunt. You want my cock? Want me to fuck you like the slut you are?”

I couldn’t answer, couldn’t do more than tremble as my knees threatened to buckle. I’d heard him talk dirty before, but it wasn’t usually like that, not with that sneer in his voice. A shadow of doubt battled the arousal smoldering in my core.

“Bedroom,” Dean snapped. He released my wrists and he was striding away, ignoring me as I stumbled and almost fell, head spinning, legs weak, hands prickling as my circulation was restored. I stepped out of my fallen pajama pants and didn’t bother to pick them up before following him obediently.

His back was to me as I entered, and I watched the muscles of his shoulders ripple as he threw his shirt to one side. I followed suit and scrambled to get on the bed, waiting for him.

When he pulled his pants down, something fell out of his pocket and skittered across the floor: a small, folded-shut pocket knife. He turned, deliberately slow, and paused to consider it. Then he scooped it up and turned to me, naked and fucking gorgeous as ever, but there was a strange, cold sparkle in his eyes. Goosebumps shivered down my arms.

“Whaddaya say we try something new today?” Dean said coolly. With a practiced flick of his thumb, the knife was open, and its sharp edge glimmered in the low light.

“I - I don’t know,” I stammered. He was stalking toward the bed, predatory grace written in every line of his body, and my heart was thudding painfully in my throat. I had an awful urge to run.

“Come on,” he wheedled. “Thought you’d be up for an adventure.”

He crawled up the bed with the knife still clasped in one hand, and before I could think of anything to say, he was looming over me, straddling my hips and trapping me in place. My breath came in short, jerky bursts. I had the sudden ridiculous idea that this couldn’t be my Dean. This was a stranger, with those hard glittering eyes.

He splayed a hand on my collarbone, pushing me down, holding me to the bed as he ran the tip of the knife down my breastbone, smiling a bland, implacable smile. I could feel the edge of the metal, sharp and cold and so close to breaking the skin.

“No,” I said, as soon as he lifted the blade. “Dean, fuck, I don’t want -”

“Fucking hell, okay,” he snapped, and rolled over onto his back, freeing me abruptly. “You do it, then. Go on.” He was extending the knife, handle first, to me. I took it reluctantly and sat up, unsteady, still hesitating, but feeling slightly more in control of the situation. I straddled him carefully and took a deep breath, and I couldn’t ignore the heady rush of danger, of power, that I felt.

I traced the blunt edge of the blade down the center of his chest, mirroring what he’d done to me. He was just watching me through heavy-lidded eyes, tongue pressing against the back of his teeth, visible between bitten-red lips. I felt another steely squeeze of wrong wrong wrong like an iron hand gripping my heart.

“Do it,” he hissed, and I clenched my jaw and pressed, opening a shallow inch-long slice near his shoulder that immediately started to well up with blood.

“Shit.”

But he was moaning, eyelids fluttering shut, and his hips twitched up so that I could feel his cock, rock-hard, pressing into my thigh.

“Yeah,” he sighed. “More.”

I felt cold all over but I obeyed, dragging the knife when it caught, opening another cut, deeper than the first.

“Dean, I -”

“Again,” he snarled. When I hesitated, his eyes snapped open. I caught a glimpse of black, pure and deep and inky where there should’ve been white, and my stomach swooped sickeningly.

He blinked and it was gone, but the afterimage was seared into my retinas. I scrambled back, shaking uncontrollably, brandishing the tiny knife as if it would somehow protect me.

That had always been the allure, right? Dean’s strength, the very real danger if he ever snapped, the fact that he could pick me up and throw me around and force me to obey. Now, though, the awareness of that strength was like icicles in my veins.

“C’mon, thought you’d do anything,” he taunted. He was still smiling. He stretched, catlike, completely unfazed, and curled a hand around his cock, stroking lazily.

“Out,” I said, sliding off the bed and staggering to my feet. “Get out.”

I couldn’t reconcile it, the familiarity of all that bare golden skin, those beautiful green eyes, with the terrifying stranger in front of me.

There’s a psychiatric condition called Capgras Syndrome where the patient thinks their friends and relatives have been replaced by strangers. Some tenuous link between the memory and vision centers of the brain has gone haywire, and they’re convinced they’re surrounded by aliens or pod people or something equally horrifying. I wondered, hysterically, if I’d had some sort of brain injury.

But no. I couldn’t explain it away. This was just Dean.

“I’m sorry, did you want to make love?” he was saying, voice high and mocking. My hands were shaking so violently that the knife almost slipped out of my grasp. Dean (if it was Dean) stalked toward me, still naked. I felt frozen, feet too heavy to move, like this was a fucking nightmare.

“Don’t,” I whispered, voice ragged, as he came closer.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’m not the kinda guy who likes to watch ‘em struggle,” he replied, lip curled with disgust. “Just want my knife back, and then I’ll be out of your way.” He snatched it from my grip and I flinched, cowering away from him, a sob catching in my throat.

I wanted to shut my eyes, shut him out, shake my head until it all went away. Instead I watched as he stepped into his boxers, zipped his pants, buckled his belt, bent to pick up his shirt, moving with easy, careless grace. Finally, he looked at me, considering, with a contemptuous smirk that made my skin crawl.

“Shame,” he said, voice velvety and low. “Was looking forward to hearing you scream.”

Without a backwards glance, Dean turned on his heel and walked away. I heard the front door slam.

My legs finally gave out and I crumpled to the floor, too shocked to do anything but sit and shake and let silent tears run down my cheeks. I wanted to wake up. I wanted him to come back and laugh off the joke. I wanted him to show up and explain that, surprise, he had a fucking evil twin, or something.

He didn’t. I sat on the floor for God knows how long, naked and bruised and shivering, but he didn’t come back.

Dean was gone.

-----

I ignored it for the first couple days. I was just numb.

On the fourth day, I found a shirt, a soft thermal shirt that he’d left ages ago. I’d tucked it into the back of my closet and assumed I’d remember to give it back at some point. I’d assumed we would have time for things like that, for him leaving his shirts on my floor until I caved and offered him a drawer. I assumed his toothbrush on my counter and his scent on my pillows would stay, would last, would be with me for a long time, if not forever.

That was fucking stupid of me.

The shirt took me by surprise, though. I stared at it dumbly for a moment before the pain hit, the gut-punch reminder of him, and it knocked the air from my lungs, kicked the ground out from under me, left me dizzy and shaking all over again.

None of it made any sense.

The only thing I knew for sure: he was gone. Even if he did show up, someday, how could I ever let him back in, after the things he’d said? 

He was really gone. The laughter and joy and electricity he’d brought into my life were gone, and I almost wished they’d left something as simple as a void in their place. Numbness I could’ve handled. I’d lived with sepia tones for years; it wouldn’t be the end of the world, to let the color fade out of my life again.

Instead, I felt like one big open wound, a walking mess of ripped-apart skin and broken bones, and it hurt. The slightest pressure on one of my jagged edges would start the bleeding all over again.

The line of bruised-black bites down my neck went purple, then green at the edges. The handprints on my ass faded to mottled pink. I kept waiting for the sharp ache in my ribs to do the same. I waited for it to ease, hoping that one day I would wake up and feel whole again.

Days and weeks went by, and suddenly it had been a month, then two months, and the hole where he’d been was still raw at the edges, open and bloody. After a while, I just learned to live with it. I didn’t have much of a choice.

The bruises were gone like they’d never existed. Cuts scab over, scar tissue fades. The body finds ways to heal.

The heart is a different thing altogether. Love always leaves a mark.

.

.

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NEXT PART HERE. 

If you’re enjoying this, please reblog or leave a note HERE! Comments are writer jet fuel. 

[calcidekudine]

out of my head of my heart of my mind

out of my head of my heart of my mind katsudeku. explicit. part two. also available on ao3. warnings: A/B/o dynamics, masturbation, scenting, nipple play

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<< previous | beginning

.

When Katsuki wakes, his alarm is screaming. His skin is tacky with sweat. His throat is dry. He grabs his phone and hits the snooze. Sleep sticks to the corner of his eyes, a gooey sensation at war with the scrape of frustration inside his bones and the broil of heat in his blood.

Katsuki breathes deep.

Holds it until it hurts.

Exhales shakingly. He repeats this process until his irritation fades. When his alarm goes off again, he sits up, turns it off, and scrubs the heel of his hand against his eyelids. Sheets pool around his naked waist.

This is when he notices two things. First is the sensation of slick between his legs; the second is the stiffness of his cock. He glares at his covered lap, but no amount of scowling deters his erection.

"Are you fucking me," Katsuki mutters as he gets out of bed. His cock bobs as he walks to the bathroom and turns the shower to scalding. He has only been off his suppressants for three days; it should take longer for his heat to take root. "This is a bunch of bullshit."

Katsuki steps under the spray and lets the hot water soak his short hair and run down his body. He lathers shampoo into his hair; cleanses his face; scrubs a bar of soap against his skin. The longer he ignores his erection the more he becomes aware of other things, like the slide of water over his taut stomach and the tightness of his nipples.

"What the fuck," Katsuki mutters as he looks down at the pink nubs. His chest is not normally sensitive and, with some curiousity, he reaches up and pinches. A bolt of heat races down his spine and explodes in his groin. His leg muscles tense, forcing him onto the balls of his feet, and an inhuman noise claws out of his throat.

Holy shit, Katsuki thinks in a brain full of static. Holy fucking shit, why the fuck—?

Without thinking, Katsuki lifts his other hand and pinches both his nipples simultaneously. He's rougher, holding onto the nubs and tugging. His jaw slackens. It feels so good he wants to shout, but he's too breathless for any true sound to form. He repeats this action again and again, until his nipples are red, puffy, and painful. He holds one—twists it—reaches down to his bloodheavy cock—tightens his fist cruelly and—

Katsuki closes his eyes. Thinks of Izuku's hands: scarred and deformed, thick-fingered, broad-palmed, and callused. If he were in the shower with Katsuki, Izuku'd wrap one hand around Katsuki's cock and press two fingers against Katsuki's slick hole. He wouldn't push inside. He'd rub at Katsuki's entrance and murmur nonsense about being sure and ready against the line of Katsuki's throat. Katsuki would have to swear—

Threaten—

Beg.

Brought to the brink, every muscle in Katsuki's body tenses. He whines as he comes. He spills over his desperate fingers and—by the time his heart calms down and his breathing returns to normal—the evidence of his want has been washed down the drain.

"Fuck," Katsuki says.

.

The rest of the morning crawls. Katsuki makes himself an enormous breakfast—rice, eggs, and fat-rich fish—and ignores the clean-up in favor of turning on his television. He scrolls through the wide selection of movies and shows. Nothing appeals to him, not even the latest action films packed with giant explosions.

Huffing, Katsuki turns on his gaming console and starts his favorite first-person shooter. This attempt at distraction lasts longer but, after an hour, the buzz of boredom creeps into Katsuki's brain and refuses to leave. He tosses the controller aside with a frustrated grunt. His skin feels tight. There's potential low in his abdomen, a simmering heat that could quickly become another erection. It would be so easy. Katsuki could push the waistband of his sweatpants down his thighs, just far enough for the elastic to press against his balls. It would free up his other hand so he could reach behind him, slide his fingers into his empty hole, a weak substitute for Izuku's alpha dick—

Abruptly, Katsuki shoves his thoughts out of his brain and gets off the couch.

He's going to the gym.

.

The gym Katsuki goes to is halfway between his apartment and his agency. It's pretty popular despite the outrageous membership fee, and is exclusive to heroes and sidekicks. It boasts state of the art equipment, a swimming pool and sauna, an indoor running track, several on-site massage therapists, and even a smoothie bar. It isn't busy when Katsuki arrives at half-past ten but it isn't deserted either, and everyone who is present double-takes when they smell him. Katsuki firmly ignores the quick, sideways glances and—after changing into a pair of ratty cutoff sweatpants and a muscle tank—stalks over the dumbbells. This is where he stays for the next twenty minutes, doing rep after rep until a familiar face ignores his scowl and saunters over.

"You reek," Sero says in lieu of greeting. His wiry arms are crossed over his chest and his face is carefully blank. "Are you—you know."

Katsuki rises from his squat but doesn't put his weighted barbell back on the rack. Instead, he meets Sero's eyes and cocks an eyebrow. Sero sighs.

"Stupid question," Sero mutters. Then, because Katsuki is surrounded by idiots, Sero says, "I thought you took suppressants."

"I did." Katsuki drops down. Comes back up. The movement is flawless even though Katsuki's thighs are trembling from exertion. "Now I'm not."

The burn beneath Katsuki's skin is not entirely from exercise. The prickle of pre-heat is incessant. It feels like a fever. Already the sensation is stronger than what Katsuki experienced while he worked through his cycle on his suppressants. The harder he tries to ignore it, the more aware he becomes.

"Should you be here, when you're this close?" Sero asks. "I could smell you from the door."

"I don't give a fuck," Katsuki snaps. Oddly, the sharp response makes Sero smile.

"No," he says. "I didn't think you would."

Katsuki glares. He's an unclaimed omega going into heat and, as a result, his body pumping out pheromones in the hopes of attracting a mate. It's no different than what happens when an alpha goes into rut, save for the fact that it is socially acceptable for alphas to be in a public sphere while omegas are meant to be locked away. Ever since he presented, Katsuki has been enraged by what others think he should do and how he should behave.

"So what?" Katsuki prompts. "Were you worried or some shit?"

"Knee-jerk reaction." Sero shrugs. "Sorry. It's stupid, I know. You're you. If someone made an unwanted advance, you'd kick their ass."

"Damn right I would."

"Which is why I have to ask—why did you stop taking your suppressants? You've been on them for as long as I've known you, and you're not the kind of person who just does something without reason. So, tell me: is it medical or did you finally meet someone?"

"Whaddya mean, finally?"

"Ah, so you did meet someone!" Sero crows. His grin has grown and taken over the majority of his face. "Come on, Bakugou, you can tell me who it is. I promise I won't tell anyone."

"The fuck you won't. You're worse than Pinky," Katsuki says.

"What if we do a couple laps and I beat you?" Sero wagers. It's a bad bet, especially since Katsuki just finished a punishing series of squats, but he knows Katsuki won't back down from a challenge, even one that is at his disadvantage. "Or are you afraid you'll lose?"

Sero wiggles his eyebrows and holds out a hand. Katsuki takes it without hesitation, and says,

"You're on."

.

Katsuki wins. Sero groans, defeated, and then tries to wheedle Izuku's name from Katsuki for the next hour. Katsuki refuses to say anything. He doesn't care if Sero learns that he is spending his heat with Izuku—Kirishima will blab soon enough—but it is amusing to listen to Sero try and guess who Katsuki's heat partner might be.

"You know I'll find out eventually, right?" Sero says after they've hit the showers and are redressing in their civilian clothing. "There's literally no reason for you to keep it a secret."

"That reverse psychology shit isn't gonna work on me," Katsuki replies as he tugs on his sneakers. Then, because Katsuki has a sadistic streak, he asks, "Would you like a hint?"

Visibly perking up, Sero exclaims, "Uh, yeah!"

"Too bad," Katsuki says.

The betrayed look on Sero's face keeps Katsuki in good spirits for the rest of the day.

.

Though Katsuki's time at the gym mellows the worst of his pre-heat symptoms, subduing the feverish itch beneath his skin and keeping his burgeoning arousal to a simmer, it does not make them disappear completely. Sweat beads on his hairline, gathers between his shoulders blades, and makes his costume stick to him. It is uncomfortable and itchy, and not even the cool spring breeze can alleviate the discomfort.

The hours drag from afternoon to evening. Uneventful and boring. Katsuki is relieved when his comm crackles to life in his ear and his replacement gives him the all-clear. He all but races back to agency, bursting into the changing room and—

A familiar smell stops Katsuki several feet from his locker.

Deku, he thinks, the name surprisingly clear in his suddenly hazy mind. He stumbles forward. Drops to his knees and yanks the metal door open. There is another bento in his locker but no note. In its place is a carefully folded white t-shirt. The shirt is unwashed and it reeks of Izuku, of his strong alpha musk. Saliva instantly pools in Katsuki's mouth. He wants to bury his face in the fabric and drown himself in Izuku's scent. Izuku has always smelled so, so good...

Abruptly, Katsuki slams the locker door shut. He pinches his nose shut and breathes heavily through his mouth, great heaving gasps that hurt his ribcage. He does this until the fog in his brain dissipates enough for him to change out of his costume—

To scarf down the convenience store bento—

To shove Izuku's shirt into his gym duffel—

To stalk home and—

.

"Stupid," Katsuki hisses as he staggers into his apartment, barely remembering to close the door behind him. It is half past one in the morning. His head feels fuzzy and his limbs feel heavy; his pants chafe against his thighs and the fabric of his henley drags against his sensitive nipples. "Stupid—fucking—nerd—"

With trembling hands, Katsuki opens his duffel and pulls out Izuku's shirt. The heavy scent floods his senses. He moans and all but collapses onto the floor of the entryway, his knees and his forehead pressed against the unforgiving hardwood. He brings Izuku's shirt to his face and buries his face into the fabric.

Katsuki is so hard it hurts.

One-handed, Katsuki fumbles with his belt buckle and zipper, trying to free his dick as quickly as he can, and he chokes as his fingers wrap around his erection. His clammy palm does little to ease the roughness of his callouses against the sensitive skin, but he is more worried about getting off as soon as possible than going into the bedroom and finding lube. He jerks himself, dry and brutal, and buries his face as far as he can into Izuku's shirt.

It smells so good. So so so good, and Katsuki's mouth floods with spit again. Drool escapes the gape of Katsuki's mouth and soaks the cotton. He is unaware of the way he licks at Izuku's shirt, desperate to have the taste of his alpha's skin. His fist works furiously as he suffocates, mouth and nose smothered. Slick soaks his underwear. His hole is empty and it isn't enough—

It isn't enough—

It isn't enough—

It isn't—

Katsuki's orgasm is sudden and unfulfilling. He cries out, "Izu—!" as his come paints the dark floor, the plea muffled by the bunched up cotton pushing into Katsuki's mouth. He is rigid for a moment as pleasure crashes through him—then the tension releases and he falls bonelessly to his side.

His muscles twitch.

He struggles for air.

Yet even while Katsuki pants through the aftershocks, Izuku's shirt remains clutched in his fist and against his face.

.

next >>

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[prettieparker86]

Deliverance || Part 7

Pairings: Donald Pierce x Reader

Warnings: This chapter depicts graphic violence, character death, and sexual content. Guess I really went for it.

Word Count: Mega Frickin Long, sorry or your welcome

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, & Part 6

Gif credit: Thank you to @cat1212 and @littlesati for letting me use their beautiful gifs! You guys rock!

Tagging:  @crazyfreckledginger @star-girl-pryde@introvertalien13 @emislayyyy74 @nuvoleincielo @ziambitches99

A/N: This chapter jumps forward in time a little and moves the relationship along. I realized the story was focusing too much on when Donnie and the reader would get together again. And since that’s not the main plot I’m going for, and it was going to happen anyway, I just took it there. Hope you don’t mind. There’s a lot going on in this chapter, so hopefully you like it.

Also, sorry for the long delay. I’m in my final year of graduate school and in case you can’t tell, it’s killin me. Whatever, almost done. This chapter is also ridiculously long, so that’s either a gift or a curse.  

After settling you and Danny in, Donnie tells you he has to leave again. You’re not surprised though. 

Says he needs to make you disappear for good, you’re not surprised by that either. 

He mentions casually something about faking your death, but offers no details, and you both agree it’s probably best if you don’t know.

He warns you he’ll be gone for at least a month. Can’t risk the contact. You know it’ll be hard, especially on Danny, but you’d rather be safe.  

The last close call was too close. Donnie gives you his word you’ll be safe there, but makes it clear no one can learn what you really are.

In the month he’s gone you learn a lot about the Donnie you never knew. The man behind the leather jacket, yellow tinted glasses, and gold tooth. The man behind the mask.

 His uncle Bill isn’t much for talking, but his aunt Edith won’t shut up. She gets you a job a couple days a week at the antique shop on Main Street where she works. Even talks the owner into letting you bring Danny, because he’s so mild mannered and well behaved.

In the hours spent together you learn where Donnie comes from far more than the handful of stories he shared in the lab. 

You learn Donnie’s dad was a career military man. A real hard ass she calls him, before pardoning her foul language. 

Says, she always thought he was too rough with Donnie, too heavy handed and quick tempered, but it wasn’t her place to make a fuss about it. 

She shared his mama hated the marriage, felt trapped, and spent most of her days numbing her discontentment with long island ice teas, and looking the other way where Donnie was concerned.

Edith shared she and Bill hadn’t seen Donnie since he graduated from high school and joined the marines. 

Last she’d heard he was in the special forces. She hadn’t even known about his hand until he called Bill up asking if you and the boy could stay with them. 

Edith doesn’t say it, but the way she recalls the night Bill got the call from Donnie, it’s obvious the woman knows you’re hiding out from something, but she doesn’t pry. 

In fact, she says she’s happy Donnie met a good girl… If only she knew the half of it. 

You help her around the house and she teaches you how to make homemade pies and rolls. 

While uncle Bill teaches Danny about the various animals on the farm and you help out where you can.

With the news Edith shares you can’t help but feel like you understand Donnie a little better. 

Feel like you understand where all that anger and brutality comes from inside him. 

A wrath you’ve been on the receiving end of, but having also seen the depth of his heart, you always wondered how such extremes could reside inside one man… Now you feel you understand a little better.

 You tried to pretend you’re ok with all this, as Danny charges as fast as his little legs will go whenever Donnie walks through the door. Try to pretend as you watch Donnie pick your little boy up, tossing him in the air. 

The sound of your his’s laughter spilling and filling the room with contagious life that brings a smile to your face, that bubbles up laughter from deep within your gut.

You try to focus on the joy the little moments hold, like when Donnie’s hauled up on the couch, Danny snuggled in the crook of his arm. 

You watch as Donnie loses himself in a game of football on the television, teaching Danny everything he knows about the game. 

In an old ratty sweatshirt, hair a mess atop his head, Donnie looks like a shadow of the man who storms through Transigen. 

That unholy skull on his neck peeking out over the collar of the sweatshirt the only sign that he’s not just another dad watching a game with his son. 

Danny takes to having Donnie as a dad faster than you ever would have imagined and you can’t deny the love in Danny’s eyes for his dad, the hero he believes him to be. Anymore than you can deny the love in Donnie’s eyes for his son, how strong but also careful he is with him.

You try to pretend like you moved past what happened at the lab. Try to pretend nothing mattered before this as you feel a low rumbled growl comes up from within Donnie. 

His body resting perfectly upon you as you feel his face in the crook of your neck, his facial hair nuzzling your skin as he peppers you with lazy kisses, trying to seduce you. 

You try to pretend you aren’t haunted by the past as your hands slide slowly up his arms, over the curve of his muscles, up his neck and into his hair. Your body responding so naturally to the familiar feel of his touch. 

You try to remember only him and what you found together as you curve into the feel of him, your leg winding around his hip as you push into him teasingly.

You tell yourself you shouldn’t feel guilty in his arms as you feel a low rumbled groan rattle up through him. 

Your breath deepening as his robotic hand grips tight at the back of your thigh, holding your leg around the curve of his body as his mouth finds the sensitive spot just below your ear.

“Do that again.” His thick sexy drawl commands as he presses down into the cradle of your thighs, making your breath catch in the back of your throat.

You almost forget what he does… As your nails rake along his scalp and down the back of his neck, as his name spills off your lips like a prayer.

“Donnie…”

“Yeah, baby?” He teases you as if he doesn’t already know, as he releases the hold of your thigh and his mouth begins to leave a tail of kisses down the front of your body - over your tank top, down between the crevasse of your breasts.

You close your eyes to the horrors just beyond your reach as Donnie nips at your ribs, tugging your tank top up as a surprised gasp lifts off your lips. 

You tell yourself you aren’t responsible for what he does at the lab, as your head swims with the feel of his hot mouth and the burn of his scruff dragging across your skin.

His mouth traces the line of your hip as he tugs at your shorts and panties.

“Tell me to stop,” You hear him dare you, his husky breath against your skin as he gives you another nip that makes you shiver.

Your eyes close as your head falls back against the pillow, giving into the way only Donnie can make you feel.

“Don’t stop,” You beg on a breathy sigh, giving into the sickness so familiar between you and your need for release.

As your panties disappear around your ankle and the heat of his mouth drags slowly up your inner thigh, you try to stay blind, try to pretend you’ve made peace with what he’s capable of.

You tried to forget the taste and feel of hell, and the knowledge others are still living it as you follow alongside while Donnie takes Danny on long walks around the field out back behind the house. 

Watching the sun beat down on your son’s golden hair as Donnie points out different birds and Danny tries desperately to mimic their call like his dad. 

You try to justify his work and the pain he causes as you watch Donnie read to Danny every night in bed. 

 Try to hold onto the good you see in him as your son hangs on his every word and Donnie traces them on the page for Danny to follow along. 

You wonder if anyone ever read to him growing up. Wonder if that’s why it’s so important he reads to Danny now and maybe that’s part of the reason, among so many others, he ended up the way he did.

You try to close your eyes to truths that are too unbearable to face. Truths that would only suck the life right out of the joy you, and especially your little boy have stumbled upon with Donnie. 

You try to lose yourself in the rough callused texture of his hands as his touch moves lazily against your bare skin when you find yourselves all alone in the dark. 

Holding tightly to the constant rhythm of his breath - lulling and mesmerizing as it fans against the back of your neck, sending tiny frayed strands of hair dancing across your face like whispered tickles.

Focus on the enormous size of his hand as it’s sprawled across your hip, molding and curving around the natural shape of your body as he holds you steady in his grip. 

Your back flush against his body. Skin dewy and hot as your body lays positioned like a puzzle piece, connected to his in the most intimate of ways.  

Your mind tries to hold onto the strength of his body, the way it feels warm. 

His skin soft, but muscles firm and unyielding against the weight of you, as he grips your hip tighter, biting and sucking at your shoulder as he pumps deeper within you.

You tried to pretend…

But you can’t.

Not after what you’ve seen. Not after what you’ve endured. You can’t pretend he isn’t a monster when he’s not by your side. 

Can’t pretend others don’t suffer under the weight of his hands and force of his will, while you and your child smile over a movie like some happy patchwork family. 

You can’t stop the sound of their cries from echoing into your head in the quiet hours while he’s away. 

You can’t pretend their pain is unseen. You can’t pretend they don’t exist, or are forgotten. 

Swallowed up in the same hole that nearly took your life. 

And you can’t pretend the man who warms your bed… the man who holds your heart and your son’s… isn’t the same man who holds the key to all their suffering. 

And that inexplicable truth always finds you, one way or another.

Five Years Earlier

When the government said they needed a national registry for all mutants, a chill ran down your spine, but still you had hope. 

This was America, land of the free, home of the brave.  You had seen atrocities happening all over the globe, but surely, those things couldn’t happen here. 

There was fear among “normal” people. Fear about mutants and what they were capable of, so naturally the government was only trying to reassure people, maintain order. 

They said it was a precautionary measure. They said it would help make everyone safer. 

But then the rumors and fear began swirling, talk of people being taken from their homes, their places of work, snatched up off the streets while the world stood silent.

You didn’t want to believe it. It wasn’t possible. Something like that couldn’t happen here, people would rise up against such injustice… but they didn’t. 

Maybe some agreed with the cause, others held their tongues out of fear, whatever the reasons, people let it happen.  

They closed their doors, looked the other way, pretended it wasn’t happening, or worse, cheered it on.

The day you saw a woman snatched right off a crowded street as people continued to pass her by as if nothing was happening, you knew the rumors were true.  

It was then that you realized you had been fooling yourself, asleep to the world you now lived in and it was time to wake up.

That’s when you went into hiding like so many others. You didn’t hide with other mutants. 

Your greatest weapon in this game of survival was your ability to blend in. Your mutant gene easily disguised, you lived amongst the rest, trying to play the role, and stay alive.

You didn’t lose all hope in humanity though, not even in those dark days. There were helpers. Those who wouldn’t – couldn’t - stand by idly and watch as such atrocities against humanity took place. 

Underground networks formed. Those willing to risk everything to hide mutants. Not because they had anything to gain, but because it was the right thing to do. 

Because they knew if they did nothing, their silence was as good as complacency. 

Those were the people who kept you believing. Those were the people who gave you hope.  Who kept you fighting, kept you hiding, kept you hoping this would pass. 

That the good and righteous would prevail, and humanity would come to its senses once again.

Until they found you…

You had been working at an art studio. Low end, on the fringe kind of place, for electric souls in need of expression. 

You didn’t have their talent, but you were always drawn to the beauty it could bring to an otherwise bleak world.

You worked behind the scenes, an extra set of hands mostly. Keeping inventory of supplies, invoices on orders, restocking shelves. 

The pay was shit, barely enough for the room you rented in an apartment on the south side, but you were happy there.

Your friend and roommate, Aster got you the job. You would later learn she and some of the regulars were part of the underground network. 

As if all roads were leading here whether you liked it or not. 

You never revealed what you were, but the truth got out to a few of them when a little girl got hit by a car just outside the studio. 

With her blood smeared on the black pavement, her mother wailing as she cradled her dying daughter in her arms, you couldn’t just sit back and hope help arrived in time. 

You couldn’t do nothing and that was your mistake. You never regretted saving that little girl. Even though you’re pretty sure it’s how Donald and his team ended up hot on your tail.

They had blindsided you. You never saw it coming. One minute you were living your simple life, the next you were returning from lunch to find the studio full of heavily armed men and your friends on the ground, held at gun point. 

You’re gut response had been to freeze in disbelief. This couldn’t be happening to you, they couldn’t have found you, but Aster wasn’t surprised. 

You knew she was brave, but you never knew just how brave until a soldier moved to grab you and out of the corner of your eye, you watched Aster pull the gun off him and fire it without hesitation.

It all happened so fast – The ringing sound of the gun fire. Her voice echoing through the building, “Run!”.  

The soldier dropping to the ground in front of you, grabbing wildly at the top of his chest. 

You don’t think, you can’t, as you spin in your chucks and start running as fast as you can for the door.

You make it out and you would have gotten away, you’re sure of it, but you look back. 

Legs pumping, you glance over your shoulder and watch in slow motion as soldiers swarm the one bleeding out on the floor, two more follow you. 

Your eyes shoot to Aster, her protests fill the studio as one of the soldiers drags her to the middle of the room, while another strings a rope over the exposed ceiling beam.

Maybe you should have never looked back, you’ll never know, but watching them drag Aster toward the hanging rope, you knew what you had to do.

Heart pounding hard in your tight chest with fear, you turn back. Dodging the two soldiers hot on your tail, you run back into the room and your own trap.

“No, no, no! Wait!” You yell at the soldiers as you race toward the one bleeding on the floor.

“I can fix it!” You yell as you drop hard to your knees before the man on the floor, pushing your way through the other soldiers trying to help him.

Your heart is pounding, your head feels light as you yank off the Kevlar vest and rip open the soldier’s shirt. 

How had she managed to hit him just above the vest? You don’t understand, but it doesn’t matter now as you move your hands over the bloody hole in his chest.

Another soldier grabs forcefully at your arms, trying to pull you away, but you refuse, as you throw an elbow back and connect with something you think might be his face.

“Let me help him!” You holler back as his grip breaks free and you quickly place your open palms down over the bullet wound, pressing your body weight into it.

All the chaos ensuing around you, the flutter of energy, the fear of your own fate and Aster’s, it’s hard to concentrate, but you force yourself to focus harder than you ever have before. 

Willing the energy beneath your hands to pull this soldiers body back together.

You can hear boots coming close, but your try to ignore them as you focus all your strength on the work beneath your hands.

“Don’t touch her.” You hear a man order, so close it sends you face whipping up to see a blonde-haired man now crouched beside you. 

You hadn’t noticed he was there until that moment. You can’t help but notice how different he looks from the rest - leather jacket, gold chain, skull tattoo on his neck, but it’s his eyes that catch you for a moment. 

A deep piercing blue that looks at you in a way that’s hard to read, but maybe, just maybe, there’s surprise in them. Surprised you came back willingly.

Your attention turns back to the soldier beneath you as you feel the tissues mending and closing beneath your hands, the bullet rising up to rest in the center of your palm.

Letting out a heavy shaken breath, a wave of exhaustion washes over you with the amount of energy your work took. 

Cupping the bullet in your shaky palm, you flip your hand over and open it to show them it’s out, he’s ok as you steadily pull back from the soldier.

You catch the blonde’s eye as you show him the bullet, sensing by the difference of his appearance and call of orders, he’s somehow in charge of his merry band of bastards. 

You swear there’s something close to disbelief in his eyes, something fixed in the way he looks at you, but you can’t be sure before you take a quick blow to the face and slam hard to the floor below.

“Fuckin freak! What’d she do to me! What’d she do to me!” You hear the soldier demand as your head spins, the world flipped on its axis as your eyes scan the studio and your cheek rests against the floor.

You had hoped your sacrifice would stop the chaos and carnage, but you realize how naive you are as you watch the soldiers place the makeshift noose around Aster’s neck. 

Screams fill the studio from the others held at gun point down on the ground. Your head is pounding, but still you rise up against the pain, your voice bursting to life.

“No!” You scream, but it’s too late as you watch your friend get strung up, her legs jerking as her hands reach desperately for the rope.

“Stupid bitch.” You hear them callously surmise.

The horror before your eyes lights a fire within you as you push off the floor and charge boldly at the soldier holding the rope. 

Jumping onto him - you attack, fists swinging, nails clawing as you try to get him to let go, but he’s stronger than you and you’re not surprised when he manages to fling you off his back.

The wind knocks out of you as your back slams to the ground. 

Your gasping for air as your eyes barrel up on the soldier, the butt of his rifle raised and ready to slam down on you, before a halting noise fills your ears, and you spot the blonde again, his finger raised as if to stop whatever that soldier had in mind.

He crouches down next to you, reaching for you as you resist, until he pins your arms down to your sides and stoves a knee deep in your chest. Staring down at you, those piercing blue eyes are all you can see and the way they look at you is like nothing you’ve experienced before.

“You really gonna make the rest of these people die before we drag you outta here, baby?” He asks you tauntingly as his gold tooth shines down on you.

Your eyes glance around and see your friends, your co-workers couched on the floor crying as automatic weapons aim straight for them, soldiers armed and ready. 

Staring up into his merciless blue eyes, a shuttered gasp of breath leaves you. 

These people you care about – you can’t bare the thought of costing another one of them their life. Not at the hands of these monsters, not for this. But you also know that if they take you, you’ll probably never return.

That’s the first moment you want to cry. Sucking in a sharp gasping breath against the pressure on your chest, you can’t fight the tears that burns in your eyes and then slide down the edges of your face as you shake your head no.  Accepting your fate.

“Good girl.” He grins, giving your cheek a playful pat before yanking you off the ground. Gripping your arms tightly behind your back.

You’ve never known fear like you do as this man grips your wrists tight. Your limbs tremble in terror from every cell in your body, your heart racing with unimaginable fear as you glance over at the people you know.

Chancing a glance, you spot Aster off to the side, dangling from a beam. 

You can’t stop the next round of tears that slip from your eyes with the sight of her, but then you see it, her leg moves. 

She’s still alive! But barely. Without warning, you buck back against the blonde, slamming your head into his chest. 

He wasn’t anticipating your sudden fight and his grip lessons for a moment, but that’s all you need to break free.

Racing toward the rope, you rip the knot free and her body crashes hard to the floor below. 

Running to her, you barely have a chance to touch her neck before a strong arm wraps around your waist, yanking you swiftly away from her.

“No, I can save her! I can save her!” You scream, fighting against the hold he has on you, but the robotic hand around you is unrelenting as it drags you away.

“Let this be a lesson to all of you. Treason will not be tolerated.” You hear his southern voice holler out. 

His breath heavy beside your ear, just before he speaks only for you.

“She’s a lost cause, baby.” His husky voice drawls out smoothly and before you can believe your eyes, one of the soldiers is on her, pointing a gun down at her head and pulling the trigger without hesitation.

“No!” You scream violently through tears. 

Your body bucking frantically against his grip, hands desperately clawing at the metal trying to break free as he drags you back toward the darkness.

“Macon, let’s go!” Is the last thing you hear him say, his words echoing in your head…

You can still hear your cries vibrating through you, rattling through the hollows of your chest. 

Still see her body as you cry out, your throat sore from the force of it as your eyes shoot wildly open in the dark. 

Donnie’s smell engulfs you, suffocates you like the feel of his arms trapped around you. 

His hands are on you, grabbing at you, burning into your flesh as you fight to break free, thrashing against the blankets and his strength. 

Donnie comes into view - shirtless, hair disheveled, his piercing blue eyes full of so much confusion as he blinks at you. 

Your face whips frantically around the room as the four walls of your bedroom fill your eyes, but the line between this world and the past is a thin veil rolling like a wave, unfolding onto itself. 

It’s all still so real, so present, as If it’s happening before your very eyes all over again.

A sob rips violently up your throat, clenching at your belly. Gasping you shove at Donnie as hard as you can.

“Don’t touch me!” You yell at him as tears burn and fall rapidly from your eyes. 

You pulse pumping frantically, heart racing wildly as you scramble and stumble out of your bed, needing space and room to breathe. 

The wooden floors feel cool on your bare feet as you stumble around disoriented, the tears feel warm as they rush down your flushed cheeks, reaching for your chest, you try desperately to catch your breath.

Donnie comes into view again, rounding the side of the bed, moving toward you. 

The sight of him sends your panic in full drive as you rapidly move back, arm raised trying to keep him at bay.

“Stay back.” You order.

Your head swirls with images of your dear friend, the sight of her horrible death, the callousness of Donald and his men. 

Your back hits the wall and you find yourself sliding down it to the floor below as the tears keep coming. 

Wrapping your arms around yourself, you bury your face in the hill of your knees as your body trembles violently all over. 

You wish this would stop, wish you could tell yourself it was only a dream, but it wasn’t, it was a memory. 

A horror show you fear you’ll never make peace with, like so many others buried inside your mind.

The sound of little feet on the floor catches your attention, frantically you fight with yourself, struggling to steady and compose your breath. 

You hate your baby to see you like this. Your face rises as the sound of Danny’s feet come close.

“Come ‘ere, Buddy.” You hear Donnie say as he reaches for your son, but unlike any other time Donnie reaches for him, Danny begins to protest this time.

“No, I help mommy.” He insists stubbornly.  

Wiping the tears from your face, you smile at your little boy standing before you, his hand gently touching your damp cheek as he tries to hand you the cup of water from his nightstand.

“Here mommy, dwink. Is ok.” He tells you in the softest voice. 

And your heart breaks all over again with the sight of him. Breaks, because he knows what this is, even though he shouldn’t, because he’s see you have an episode before, more than once.

Taking the water into you hand, you open your other arm to him and Danny easily snuggles in. 

Your heart feels heavy with guilt as he burrows in close. He deserves so much more than you. He deserves a better mom, not a broken one. 

And its moments like this you wish he had been born to someone else, someone better.

Snuggling him close, you only realize Donnie is still standing in front of you when Danny addresses him. 

“Is ok, Daddy. Mommy jus had bad dweam.” He explains in a voice that makes him sound years older than he truly is as he hugs you tightly around your neck.

Crouching down, Donnie looks at you closely. His eyes a strange mixture of concern and guilt, because you both know his imagine haunts your deepest nightmares.

“You ok, baby?” He asks, his voice heavy and thick, but when you jerk away as he reaches out to touch your face, his breathe nearly dies mid intake.

Staring into his eyes, in that moment you can’t help but wonder who’s dying in a cell he holds the keys to while you play a dysfunctional game of house. 

All the time you spent praying and begging for someone to hear your cries, rescue you from your hell at Transigen, and here you are now, blind to another’s. 

Rising slowly on your feet, you hold Danny close and shift him to your hip. Your eyes never leaving Donnie’s as your lips hold mute, the tension thick between you. 

Staring into his eyes with all your memories and pain so fresh within your veins, you can’t help but wonder, who is this man you love? How can he contain such contrast inside one body? And how come you still love him in spite of it all?

Breaking his gaze, needing time to think, you move for the door.

“Hey,” Donnie drawls out more demandingly, not one to be ignored. 

He forcefully grabs your arm, but when you flinch against his grip, his eyes grow wide and his hand slowly let’s go.

“You gotta know by now I’d never hurt you again, baby.” You hear him say, his face a guarded mask, his features set and firm, but his eyes, his eyes hint with shades of pain, rejection.

The sight of it brings tears swelling in your eyes as you hold Danny close, gently smoothing down his hair. 

You do know, you can see it, he regrets the pain he caused you and would never willingly do it again. 

And you do love this man. God help you, you do. Probably never stopped loving him… probably never will. 

But you don’t understand, can’t wrap your mind around how the man who can teach Danny about football and hold you safe at night, is the same man who wishes to wipe your kind off the planet and has gone out of his way to do so.

Looking into his eyes, you fight to hold the tears back. 

“I know… I just… I just don’t get it.” You finally say, more to yourself than even him as your voice wavers with emotion.

Donnie eyes you with caution, before his breath dares to ask. Somehow sensing he isn’t going to like this answer. 

“What?”

Your head shakes lightly as the thoughts become too much. The game you played with yourself. 

The one that lets you believe you could pretend he didn’t do the things he did while he was away as long as he was a good man with you and Danny when he was here.

“How you can go there, do the things you do and then come back to us.” Your voice cracks with the words, a tear breaking free at the end as you quickly wipe it away, hopefully before Danny sees.

You don’t say it - Transigen. But you both know. It’s the canyon standing between you two. 

Maybe if you didn’t know what it was like to disappear down the belly of that beast or be locked in a room for hours of unimaginable torture, but you do, and that’s something you can never forget.

“What am I supposed to say to that?” He counters, his face set, his eyes narrowing as if you’ve challenged him to an unwinnable fight. 

And perhaps the awful truth is, you have. He’s committed to his job for reasons you don’t understand. 

A job that destroyed your world. Nearly destroyed you. And now you’re both just supposed to pretend that doesn’t impact your life together here. 

Pretend you can have it all, Transigen and each other. You see now that was ridiculous.

“I just… I need some time to think and figure things out.” You say, turning from him, to go back to Danny’s bed for the night.

You awaken sometime later to the feel of Danny hot and sticky with sweat against you. 

Gently lifting your little boy off your chest, you lay him back down against the mattress and pull back the blankets to go back to your bed. 

That’s when you spot him – Donnie, asleep against the wall, on the floor by the door. Creeping over to him, you crouch down in front of him and gently shake his arm.

“Donnie,” You whisper, trying not to wake Danny.

Donnie wakes with a start the way he always does when you catch him sleeping somewhere besides his bed, always on guard. 

He reaches out for your arm suddenly, gripping it tight until he recognizes you and easily let’s go.

“What are you doing in here?” You ask quietly, not sure when he came in or why he’s down on the ground.

His eyes hold yours, steady and sure as he speaks. 

“I’m watchin’ out for you. I’m not gonna let anythin’ happen again.” He tells you simply in a thick southern drawl, heavy from sleep.

But it’s the meaning behind his words that makes your heart swell.  

Donnie’s never been good with words, even less when it comes to feelings, but his actions speak loud enough.

Reaching for you, Donnie tries to pull you into his arms, but you resist, easily slipping from his grasp to take a seat on the opposite wall across from him. 

Your mind still a swirl of unanswerable dilemmas you’re not sure snuggling can fix.

You hold his eyes, offering him a small smile. Trying to say without words, it isn’t on him, it’s about you. 

But Donnie isn’t good with no, so he pushes off the wall and moves to you. 

Kneeling over you, your eyes hold steady with his as he gently cups your jaw and brings his lips down to your forehead for a brief kiss. 

Resting his head against yours, you hear him let out of a long uneven breath.

“I’m tryin baby.” He drawls out with more raw honesty than he usually expresses. The kind of truth that comes from a man when he’s scared of losing something he loves.

“…I’m tryin.” You hear it in the waiver of his breath, he’s never done this before, he doesn’t know what you need, how to help you, but he’s trying.

“I know,” You try to reassure him as your fingers faintly trace the tattoo on his neck.

Pulling back slowly, Donnie takes a seat beside you, tangling the hand at your side with his. 

Drawing your hand to his lips, he softly kisses your knuckles, his eyes holding steady with yours, steady and unwavering against the darkness that surrounds you both.

[sebspocketsquare]

Hook, line and sinker.

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Story Summary: Takes place after the events of Civil War - Bucky is living in an apartment in the City - one of the conditions of Tony and Steve’s new truce. Bucky seems to develop a soft spot for his neighbor across the hall.

Warnings: Language, fluff, flirtation, I think that might be it.

A/N: I’ve had this sitting in my drafts forever and I’m finally posting it. I hope you enjoy it! Also, I had to edit this on mobile, since my laptop took a shit(hopefully I’ll get a new one for christmas!)

The first time Bucky heard you sing, he knew he had to get to know you.

‘My lover’s got humor, she’s the giggle at a funeral.’

He was sure you couldn’t hear his light footsteps coming down the basement stairs, the washer and dryer that you shared was always making an awful knocking noise. He hadn’t ever met you face to face before, he’d only ever heard your voice.

You were more beautiful than he had imagined.

‘Knows everybody’s disapproval,

I should’ve worshipped her sooner.’

Each note that you sang made his heart race more and more. He was sure that at some point, it would jump right out of his throat and run straight to you.

‘If the heavens ever did speak,

She’s the last true mouthpiece.’

His remaining descent of the stairs happens in a daze. He feels like he’s floating as he watches you sway to the music he can’t hear, emotion evident on your face, even with your eyes closed.

‘Every Sundays getting more bleak,

Fresh poison each week.’

He sets his basket down beside him, crossing his arms over his chest as you continue folding your freshly cleaned clothes. He decides he loves seeing you like this - no makeup, hair in a messy tie on your head, sporting sweatpants and a loose tank-top, a grey hoodie hanging off your shoulders.

‘”We were born sick.”

You heard them say it.’

He has to resist the urge to come up behind you, wrap his arms around your waist and bury his face in the crook of your neck, that beautiful neck. He’s completely infatuated with the freckles that dust your skin; he wants nothing more than to study each and every one until he finds constellations.

You close your mouth momentarily, still humming along to the tune as you find the match for each of your socks. He’s completely enamored with the curve of your lip, the dimple in the corner of your mouth.

‘Take me to church,

I’ll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies,

I’ll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife.

Offer me that deathless death,

Good god, let me give you my life.’

Hook, line and sinker, he’s yours and you don’t even know it.

He gets so caught up in the sway of your hips, the random strands of hair that fall around your face, he doesn’t even see the basket in front of his feet, gracefully tripping and ripping you out of your blissful state. He looks up from his heap on the floor to see your wide eyes staring down at him, a mixture of amusement and worry in your features. You pull your earphones out quickly, taking a few steps closer to the strange, handsome man in your laundry room. “Shit - are you okay?” You ask, reaching down to help him, his arm muscles feeling taut under your fingertips. “Yeah, sorry, I.. It’s pretty late, I didn’t think anyone would be down here..” He muses, running a gloved hand through his hair once he’s upright once more. Your lips twitch into a nervous smile as you straighten out the ratty clothing you now realized you were wearing. “Yeah, uh.. I usually wash my stuff in the morning, but.. Cleaning is a stress reliever for me, so..” You trailed off, trying to keep your eyes from exploring each and every inch of the man before you.

There’s a pause in the conversation before he thrusts his right hand forward in greeting. “James. or Bucky. Apartment 3B.” He tells you, and you smile softly, resting your hand in his. He makes you feel so small. “Y/N. 3A.” His eyes light up at this, “You live right above me, then?” You nod in response and a huge grin takes over his face. “You-you’re the one with the dog, yeah?” Your eyes widen in fear. “Oh-oh god, I’m so sorry.. Selene can be pretty.. talkative at times, I’ll try and keep her more quiet.” You tuck your hair behind your ear nervously, but he just shakes his head with a quiet laugh. “No, no.. Not a problem at all, I just.. I love dogs. What kind is she?” He wonders, his heart hammering in his chest at how easy you are to talk to.

“Husky. Do you have a dog?” You ask, feeling comfortable enough to turn away and continue to fold your clothes as you talk to him. He comes to stand beside you, leaning back against the washer so he can see your face. “No, no.. I’m away for work a lot.. I’d feel terrible for leavin’ the little fella by himself all day, y’know?” You smile at this, an accent slipping through in his words. “And what do you do for work, James or Bucky?” You wondered, flirting with him the tiniest bit. He’s quiet for a few moments and you look up at him in confusion. His eyes are focused on the floor, a far off look on his face. “James?” You prompt, taking a step towards him. Before you can say anything else, he looks up at you with a forced smile. “I’ll come back in about an hour. You should be done by then, yeah?” He says hurriedly, before turning and darting up the stairs, going so fast that he even forgot his clothes.

You watch him escape from the conversation, and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t a little hurt at how he’d just ran away from you. “Well..” You mumbled to yourself, going back to your clothes. “That’s the last time I try to flirt with anyone.”

It would be a whole week before you saw Bucky again.

You were stumbling into the apartment building, bags upon bags of groceries in one hand and an overly large bag of dog food in the other. It was the beginning of November and you’d managed to break a sweat from the taxi to the elevator, only to find an ‘out of order’ sign on the door. “Mother fucker.” You hissed, trying to balance the bag of dog food on your hip as you turned towards the staircase. You’d have to climb 3 flights of stairs to get to your apartment and you weren’t looking forward to it. “Well.. Mama didn’t raise a quitter.” You mumbled to yourself before making your way to the stairs. A voice from behind you stopped you in your tracks. “Can i help you with those?” Turning slowly, you saw none other than James standing behind you, bundled up in a leather jacket, scarf and beanie, gloves on both of his hands today. You shake your head slowly, clearing your throat. “I think I can manage, thank you.” You say softly before turning back to the stairs.

“I work for the government.. Security mostly..” He says quickly, making you cease motion once more. “I can’t tell you what department.” He adds, voice timid. “So.. you’re like a cop?” You ask, turning your head with your eyebrow raised in inquiry. He shrugs. “Not really - well… Sort of.. I guess.” He chews his lip nervously as he waits for you to say something, anything at all. You let out a small sigh, beckoning him forward with the nod of your head. “C’mon Officer James, you can help me this one time.” You tease him, and a shy smile forms on his lips. “Sergeant, actually. Its Sergeant James.” He tells you with a wink as he takes a few of the grocery bags and the dog food from you. “3A?” He confirms, before taking off up the stairs in front of you. You’re stunned. Where was this shift in behavior coming from and - goddamn, how could a man have such a nice ass? You have to tear your gaze from his jeans as you follow him up the stairs.

“Thank you, James, I.. I really appreciate it.” You tell him when you reach your floor. You can already hear Selene whining before you approach your door. “It’s no problem, ma’am. Glad to help.” He replies, that same, shy smile taking over his face again. When you reach your door and dig your keys out of your purse, Selene lets out a bark and Bucky looks at you, eyes wide with excitement. “Is-is that her?” He asks, and you nod, putting your key in the lock and turning it. “You can come in and meet her, if you’d like.. I can’t promise she won’t jump on you or lick you.” He just nods excitedly, waiting for you to open the door. As soon as you walk inside, Selene is on you. “Hi, girl. Hi. I know, I missed you, too.” You giggle as she desperately tries to reach your face to give you the affection she’s been holding in the entire time you’ve been gone. “I know, I know.” You whisper, hearing the soft sound of Bucky placing your groceries on the small island in your kitchen.

Selene’s attention is suddenly grabbed, ears perking up as her head snaps in his direction. “Selene, this is my friend James.” You tell her, keeping a hold on her collar in case she makes to leap at him, too. Bucky takes a few steps forward, a warm smile on his face as he holds his hand out to her to smell before he tries to touch her. She sniffs, once, twice, three times before trusting enough to nuzzle his hand, making his smile grow even more. “Hi there, pretty girl.” He coos, slowly kneeling so he’s closer to her height as he begins scratching behind her ears. Her eyes closed in contentment and you feel your heart soar. She loved him already.

You let them have their moment in peace, taking the time to unpack and put away your groceries, trying to hold back your smiles as you hear him talking to her. “You’re such a pretty girl.. and so soft.. I wish I had a dog like you.” You hear Bucky let out a loud chuckle and your head snaps in his direction. Selene has managed to knock him over and is currently assaulting his face with her affection, slobber everywhere. “Oh, Selene, knock it off! Thats rude!” You chastise her, quickly coming over to shoo her away. She retreats to the safety of her dog bed, a small whimper leaving her as she tries to reason with you without words. She just wanted to love him.

You offer Bucky your hand to help him up, which he gladly takes, dusting the dog hair from his jeans once he’s standing. “Oh, she’s alright. I don’t mind.” He informs you with a soft smile.

There’s a beat of awkward silence between the two of you as he looks around your apartment. “I like your setup.. Is that what I think it is?” He asks, eyes lighting up as he notices your record player in the corner of the living room. “A record player? Yeah.. I may or may not collect vinyl.” You tell him, walking over to the device and motioning for him to follow you. “It’s beautiful.” He whispers, running his fingers over its edges and knobs. “Thank you. It was my father’s.. I inherited it a few years back..” You tell him, suddenly feeling sadness well up in your stomach. Bucky’s eyes dart over to you, sympathy evident in his gaze. “I’m sorry..” He breathes, slowly retracting his hands from the player. “It’s alright..” You shrug, making your way back to the kitchen to finish your chores. “We knew it was coming, really..”

Bucky doesn’t say much else, just watches the way you move, trying to understand how you could be so collected when talking about such a tragedy. When you look up after a few moments and meet his eyes, he offers a small smile. “Well.. I guess I should be going.. I’m expecting company here soon.” He tells you, and for some reason, you feel a twang of jealousy in your chest. Who were you to get jealous? He wasn’t yours. You barely knew the man. “Sure, of course..” You say softly, nodding as you wipe your sweaty palms on your sweater. “Selene, come say goodbye.” Selene trots over, immediately jumping up on Bucky and resting her head against his torso. He scratches the top of her head lovingly, humming softly. “I’m sure I’ll see ya around, pretty girl.” He muses, and before you can stop yourself, the words just fall out of your mouth. “You’ll have to come back sometime. I could make dinner - or-or we could watch a movie.” Your cheeks flood bright red when you realize that you’ve practically just invited him on a date, but he doesn’t seem too phased, just looks up at you with a bright smile. “Yeah.. I’d really like that.”

When Selene hops down, you walk Bucky to your door, awkwardly shoving your hands in your pockets. “So… I’ll see you around, then.” You tell him as he opens the door and stands in the doorway. “I hope so. Get in touch with me about dinner, yeah?” He replies, tucking a strand of his hair behind his ear. You notice that he’s still wearing one glove. “Sure, yeah.. We’ll have to do it soon.” You say quickly, chewing the inside of your cheek to keep from saying anything else that might be embarrassing. “Soon. Sounds great.. Catch you later, doll..” Your heart flutters at the pet-name, and then drops into your stomach as he began to walk away. What was with the rollercoaster of emotions you were having around this man. “Oh, and Y/N?” He calls once he’s about halfway down the hall. You look up, a nervous smile on your lips. “Thank you.” That’s all he says before he disappears into the stairwell again.

TAGS: (I didn’t know who to tag so sorry) @plumfondler @mindingmyownbusiness @breenieweenie @dianelogan @buckyshattergirl

[ishouldprobablybewriting]

On Wanting, Avoiding, and Leaving

So a few weeks ago, @honeydrippin-cutefattie messaged me gushing and being an absolute amazing and adorable human being so I decided to write her a thing. Its completely late cause I’m a slack human being but still. 

Fandom: Supernatural

Pairing: Cas x plus size reader

Word Count: 2558

Tags/Warnings: None. Language and sexually suggestive themes, maybe?? Seriously though mostly just fluff.

It had been one of those days. One of those hot, sticky, shitty days. Strike that- it had been one of those weeks. Literally. You were covered in residual gore and funk and sweat from weeks' worth of hunts in the middle of May, mostly around and between Texas and Tennessee, that couldn’t be washed off with just a quick fucking shower in the motel. Which was only made worse by the fact that it was following a month of non-stop hunts. It had been well over six weeks since the Winchesters, and you, had had a breather, much less been back to the bunker. But you were finally home. Dean pulled into the garage and you were pushing on Sam’s seat before he could even open the door, begging to get out. Your plump arms were heavy with your pack, and despite your rounded size, you squeezed out of the Impala and made a beeline for the showers. 

You grabbed a towel from one of the storage closets along the way. You dropped the duffle bag with a thud by the shower door, and took your clothes from your pack. And then dropped them. The stench was palpable. Guess the quarter-mat and sink-washes didn’t quite do the job. You pause for a moment, considering your options. Option one: Take a shower, put on clothes that smell like monster guts. Fuck that. Option two: Walk all the way down the hall and back just to get clean clothes before you can shower. Eh. Better but not ideal. Option three: Say fuck it, shower, cover what you can with a towel after and walk back to your room quickly after. Not great either. But, honestly, it’s not like you, nor the boys, were particularly body shy- despite the difference in your body types with the boys all tall and lean and muscle and you soft and round and curvy. Fuck it. Option three it is. You strip off your black, thread-bare tee-shirt and peel your jeans off your plush body. The spray of the showers in the bunker was mercifully strong and the water heater- enchanted- was quite literally never ending. The room filled with steam quickly which helped undo the stress of the past few weeks spent slashing your way through the American south. What really worked wonders, though, was the harsh pounding of the water pushing against your muscles and burning your skin slightly. After thoroughly scrubbing off of the first few layers of skin, you begin to feel more like yourself. More like a person. You spend a few moments more breathing in the steam and releasing the tension from your muscles. You turn off the water and wring out your hair a bit before finally toweling off while stretching out muscles a bit. Taking one last deep breath of the fresh steamy air, you wrap the towel around your plush body, holding the not-quite-long-enough towel tight across your soft breast and tucking the ends under one arm. It didn't cover everything, but it covered most of the important bits. Your thighs still showed in all their jiggly glory and the swell of your plump ass caused the towel to rise up a bit and show it off. You snatched your bag off the floor and wrenched the heavy door open. You heard the boys down the hall in the war room laughing loudly at something. You weren’t sure you wanted to know. You just wanted to crash, hard, into your bed and sleep. You walked down the hall, towards your room- and the war room- and heard him. Cas. The angel you try desperately to avoid. And couldn’t bare to stay away from. “I do not understand. I did not tell a joke.” You could almost see his head tilting like a puppy dog while his blue eyes shone, eyebrows scrunched as he tried to figure out why the boys were laughing at him- again. Sam turned his head and saw you, “Yo! Finally out?” Of course Sam called you out. “Yeah, yeah.” You stopped at the end of the hall, leaning slightly against the wall, bag clutched in one hand and towel clenched in the other. “Not my fault you two were too slow to get in the shower first.” You send a wink towards Dean, “Couldda joined me, if you were in that big of a rush.” Sam groaned and Dean laughed, “Yeah, maybe I’ll take you up on that next time, kid.” You made sure to keep your eyes on either of the Winchesters and strictly off the angel. You weren’t stupid. You know how he looks at you. How he pines for you and searches for you whenever he shows up. But you weren’t going to act on it. Not until he gave you conformation. You couldn’t risk it. “Jesus. Will you go get dressed, please? And stop flirting with Dean!” Cas’s head swung around and he tried not to glare at Sam, before giving you that pleading look again. He couldn’t help himself. He couldn’t resist looking at you like that. Like he needed you. Like he would go to the ends of the Earth, to Heaven and Hell and back for you. Literally. \At first it was your soul. He was attracted to the brightness. It was sparky and soft. And warm. Like nothing else he had ever felt. 

Then it was your actions and your words. You seemed to have this way. No problem killing monsters and getting bloody, but still able to genuinely comfort and care for victims. You were kind enough to stop the brothers before they wiped out a pack of vampires who had gone vegan, working as mediator while things were being worked out, yet diligent enough to continue checking up on them to be sure they stuck to their diet. Hard enough to damn near decapitate whatever monster of the week popped up in a single swing and yet soft enough to care for three weeks for a baby left after a rougarou started snacking on her family. Smart enough to know, fluently, at least six spoken languages and three dead ones, but humble enough to know that there's an eternity more you could learn. Flirty enough to keep up with Dean, but down-to-earth enough to be approachable. That, of course, was a whole nother problem. Forget the fact that Cas was convinced you weren’t interested, or that even if you were, he wouldn’t be able to make you happy, to keep up with you. He hated watching you be approached by man after man- and sometimes woman- when you went drinking with the Winchesters. So he tried to stay away. Tried to distance himself. It just made him think of you more, worry about you more. He almost couldn’t stand it anymore. Which is why he was standing in the war room, mouth agape, staring at your soft, thick thighs. He wanted to feel your warmth. First hand, preferably. “Alright, well. I’m fuckin’ beat. Night, ya’ll,” you announce. Sam and Dean chorus the sentiments back and you turn to head back to your room. You try desperately to ignore the slight gasp from Cas as you turn around and the towel you were still clad in, slipped slightly from your body, showing more of it to him. And the boys. Mostly to him.

Dean slapped Cas in the ribs after you left. “Jeeze, man. Just go ask her out already.” “What?” Cas looked at Dean, back after you then back to Dean. “No. Don’t be absurd, Dean.” “Absurd?!” Dean sat up quickly. “Are you kiddin’ me?” Cas got that look on his face again- head tilted, eyebrows scrunched, eyes searching. “Seriously?” Sam chimed in, shaking his head in disbelief before taking a swig of his beer. “What? Dean, I don’t understand. Why would I ask her to leave? She is a valuable member of this team.” “Dude,” Dean started, laughing at Cas’s expense, “Go. Ask. Her. Out. On a date. You’re obviously into her.” Cas let out a disgruntled noise, “That would not be advisable.” “What?! Why not?” Cas just stared at Dean and sighed. “Dean…” “Look, Cas,” Dean slammed his beer down, “Ask her out or don’t. But stop looking at her like that,” he gestured to Cas. Cas pressed his lips together and thought about the plump woman of his - well, not quite dreams. Angels didn’t sleep so they didn’t dream the way humans did. But Cas knew, even Heaven would seem lackluster without her. He was at an impasse. Cas had seem the types of men that she brought back to the hotel room, or went home with. Cas did not fit her “type”, as Dean would say, at all. Surely she would feel uncomfortable if he did “ask her out”. It would islate her. She would leave. He wouldn’t even be able to look at her anymore. She would leave. Sam and Dean would blame him. She would leave. That was unacceptable. He wouldn’t do anything to risk her leaving. It would be easy.

It was not easy. The following week consisted of: Dean all but living at the bar in town, and going home with a different woman every night; Sam spending the majority of the day running and doing a thorough restock of spell ingredients; and you demanding Cas’s help in rearranging the library and the war room to make it more efficient. Which, under normal circumstances, Cas would have been ecstatic to do. Except, it seemed like you knew of his feelings and were bound and determined to make him act on them. Temptress. Tuesday you wore ratty gray sweatpants and a tank top because “Fuck normal clothes”, or so you said, But what got him was how you bounded from the kitchen, singing his name out to find him with not just one but two cups of coffee in your hand. Your simple kindness softened his heart, yet again. Wednesday he found you seated on the floor surrounded by ancient books, sorting them as logically as possibly, and cussing enough to make even Dean blush. It was strange how endearing he found your colorful vocabulary. He followed your orders dutifully, sorting and moving books with a smile. By Thursday, Cas was sure you were trying to torture him. He heard you call for him and when he appeared, he damn near lost it. He actually whimpered. Fuck. You were bent over looking for something- he couldn’t look away from you long enough to figure out what it was- and the grunting fueled the sinful thoughts the black shorts sparked as they rode higher and higher until the soft curve of your ass peeked out from under the cuffs. The long whining “Caaasss!” and accompanying ass jiggle from you stomping your foot truly tested him. He avoided you for the rest of the day. It didn’t stop him from thinking of you though. Friday, Cas resolved, you would not be able to tempt him. He found you in the library reading, three open books, stacks of closed books nearby and a full mug of what he assumed is now-cold coffee in front of you. He noted that the books open were all three different languages, one extremely ancient. The scribbles on the page proof that you had been translating them. You were wearing the same shorts and off-the shoulder sweater from the day before. Cas took a deep breath and pointedly avoided looking at your plush warm thighs or soft silky exposed shoulder. He chose instead to keep his eyes on the table. He licked his lips and took a deep breath, “Have you been here all night?” You jumped a bit and looked up at him. Your eyes were wide and a soft smile grew on your face. “All night?” You clicked your phone and saw the time- 9:30 am. “Oh. Yeah…” You looked around and saw how all the books and artifacts you were organizing were still in stacks scattered around the room and your coffee- that you swore was steaming and fresh not five minutes ago- was not just room temperature but stale. “I guess I have been,” you smiled at Cas. “I have have gotten a little distracted waiting for you to come back.” All plans Cas had of keeping himself away from you, avoiding making you leave were gone. His feathery brain short-circuited and he couldn’t think of anything else but your round face, how your eyes sparkled at him, how bright your smile was. “Beautiful,” he breathed. You tilted your head, scrunched your eyebrows and smiled at him questioningly. Cas suddenly realized he had said that out loud. He didn’t mean to. Your smile slid into a smirk, digging into one of your chubby blushing cheeks. “You think I’m beautiful, Cassy?” you teased. Cas stiffened and stood up quickly to make his retreat. His plan was failing miserably and the best tactic at this point was retreat, obviously. But you caught his wrist and no matter how lightly you held onto him, he would never shake you off of him. Cas wasn’t sure he was even physically capable of doing that. “Cassy?” you questioned, standing up and stepping closer to him. He still refused to look at you. “Cas.” Your demanding tone finally got him to turn. His eyes softened and his shoulders relaxed. You grinned up at him. “So?” “Absolutely.” Your smile and the energy that burst from your soul and seeped out your rounded, gently curving body melted him and gave him courage to continue. “You’re the most amazing creature I’ve ever seen. Heart, soul, body, brain. You amaze me.” Cas leaned in slowly, asking for permission and searching your eyes for rejection. He found none. Your finger met his lips and you looked at him suspiciously. “Nothing you learned from the pizza man.” Your eyes raked down him, “Not yet, at least.” You grabbed his face and brought his lips to yours in a soft heat. When you finally pulled away, Cas looked at you like he was trying to figure something out. “What?” He was silent for a second more, “I don’t want to make you leave.” You looked at him for a beat. Then two. Then three. Then, you busted out laughing. Not a cute giggle or a soft laugh but a loud, snorting braying kind of laugh. “Oh Cas! I’m not going anywhere. I swear.” The look of relief that washed over him was almost comical. It made you smile. “Is that why you didn’t come back last night?” “I, uh…” Cas flushed bright red, “that is…. Yes. Yes it is.” He sighed, the cat was out of the bag- another saying Dean had taught him. “I was afraid that my feelings would be… unrequited. And, upon you finding out about them, would make you leave. I did not want to make you uncomfortable.” “Huh. I thought you were just avoiding me because you didn’t like me.” “No!” “Well. I, for one, am glad we got this cleared up. I mean, I have a ton of questions but I can ask those after you help me clean this mess up, Cassy.” Teasing him was just too much fun. “Is this where I am supposed to ask you out?” “Yes, yes it is.”

[ivory-line]

i’m wearing a ripped muscle tank and basketball shorts and y’all i look like my moshi i’m dying i just need a pair of ratty ass flip flops and a pepsi to complete the look

[squiddlesandsopor]

Sex and Violence

RivaMika One Shot

Explicit (18+ only please)

Warnings: derogatory/sexist language, attempted mugging, graphic violence, swearing, blood, rough sex, stranger sex, Thug!Levi, Punk!Mikasa

A/N: I was originally inspired by this drawing of Thug!Levi by Morie’s Artworks. It was just too fantastic and then my brain went to a disturbing place and produced this fic.

AO3

He leans against an old, crumbling brick wall slowly inhaling bitter smoke and nicotine as he scans the late night bar crowds for likely prey. He exhales smog and rules out people for being too drunk, too sober, too shabby, too large. He wants this to go quick and easy and to have a payout worth his while. He takes another drag as a small group of women passes him by in a cloud of perfume and cheap alcohol. They seem a sure enough bet so he stubs out his cigarette and flicks it into the street. It’s fucking filthy anyway.

He maintains a careful distance from the unsuspecting women even though they appear unaware of anything beyond their own merriment. It takes two blocks but  they finally begin splitting off from each other. Three women stop and wait to cross the street while the rest continue on. He keeps up with the group. Another block and a fourth woman turns off alone down a side street. Perfect. He follows the solitary woman as quietly as her own shadow. He waits until they are well and truly alone and far away from the safety of the main street and anyone who cares about what happens to her. When she ducks into an alley he decides to make his move. He’ll hardly have a better opportunity and the tall concrete walls will dampen her screams if she decides to be stupid.

“Oi.” He growls.

She startles, half turning, and he notes the sway of a gleaming chain connecting her nose and ear. Her visible eye is harshly exaggerated with black shadow.

He pulls out his knife making sure she sees, “You’re going to give me all your money and anything else valuable you have on you. If you aren’t a bitch about it you’ll walk away tonight. If not…” He half shrugs and lets the threat hang in the air.

He’s done this enough times to know the threat of violence, the naked steel, is enough to make most people give in to practically all of his demands. So he isn’t expecting her sudden snarl as she whips around and launches herself at him. Her forehead breaks his nose with a sickening crunch; he feels rather than hears the soft wet pop accompanying the sudden gush of blood. At the same time she lands a sharp blow to his wrist forcing him to drop his knife. Eyes watering he hears a scuff followed by a metallic cacophony as the girl kicks his knife far out of reach down the alley.

Pissed now, and never having needed the knife in the first place, he comes up swinging and fists the dumb bitch in the stomach. She grunts and doubles over, retching slightly. He steps back and swipes the back of his hand across his mouth. It does little more than smear his blood across his knuckles as well as his lower face but he flicks some of it away regardless.

“You’re going to pay for that, bitch.”

She glares up at him, still hunched over, through sheets of black hair.

He tries to wipe the excess mess off his face again to no avail. All he can taste over the bitterness of his smokes is the bright copper tang of his own blood.

He realizes his error in allowing himself to be distracted when the woman straightens and throws all her weight behind a lightning fast left hook that snaps his head to the side. His neck protests and his cheek feels tender but he doesn’t repeat mistakes because that’s a good way to get killed out here. He reaches out and tangles his fingers in her hair. He yanks her down sharply to meet his rising knee. She cries out in pain but jerks away, the short silky strands of her hair slipping from his grasp.

She retreats a couple paces and glares at him belligerently. He’s split her lip and the blood trickles down her chin to drip on the worn leather jacket she’s wearing. He glares back at her. He doesn’t have time to deal with vicious punk whores. They both stand, panting and glaring, at an impasse. He flicks his gaze to his knife but it is thoroughly out of reach. If he didn’t know how fast she could be he might have attempted to grab it and regain complete control of the situation but as matters stand he’d only be opening a weakness for her to exploit. He looks back to her face in time to see something hungry flash in the depths of her dark eyes before she’s on him.

He starts to take an offensive stance, ready to meet her head on, but she surprises him with deceptively delicate hands that grasp the collar of his tank and lips that crush against his own. His brain stutters for a moment but then he’s shoving her against the wall and forcing his tongue into her mouth. She tastes like blood but so does he and he is beyond caring as she growls and bites down on his lower lip. He retaliates by curling his hands around her shoulders and pulling her towards him before slamming her back into the wall again. She snarls at him but he growls right back and forces his hard thigh between her legs. She gasps and grinds down instinctively so he increases the pressure on her cunt and bites along her jaw and throat.

She releases her death grip on his shirt to dig blunt nails into his shoulder with one hand and to yank his head back with the other fist in his hair. They gasp for breath, no space between their bodies, bruised and bloody and so very ready. He can tell by the insistent twitches of her hips that she can’t seem to control and the way her gaze slides from his eyes to his lips to his heaving chest and back. Her own thigh nudges between his and he spreads his legs enough to let her feel his hardness. Her already dark eyes blacken further and she moistens her lips with the tip of her tongue - wincing as she encounters the torn skin there.

“Do you live near here?” She asks, voice husky and strained.

He has to think for a minute and mentally trace the route he took following her and her friends.

He nods, “Yeah, a couple streets over.”

“Well,” she raises a cocky eyebrow, “Are you going to take me home or are we fucking in this alley?”

He shoots her a dark look and disengages. He walks over and collects his knife, putting it away, before turning back to her. She was slumped back against the wall, her eyes following his every movement. He snorts.

“Are you coming or not?”

She chuckles, a wicked little noise that goes straight to his cock.

“Not yet,” she purrs.

She stands on shaky legs and walks over to where he’s waiting for her at the mouth of the alley. Once she catches up he leads the way to his nearby apartment. It’s a shabby place but it’s clean and it’s home and it has a bed.

She runs cold hands over his arms and shoulders and back as he fights with the door lock, the piece of shit in desperate need of repair for the past few years. Finally he jams the key into the hole and opens the door to his spotless flat. He manages to rescue his key and swing the door shut as she attacks him with her lips and teeth and tongue.

He pushes her off with a terse, “Hold your fucking horses.”

He flips on lights as he stalks to the bathroom. The face in the mirror is more fucked up than it’s been in a long time and he sighs as he turns his head to get a better look at the split she’d opened up along his cheekbone that he hadn’t felt. It’s coagulating but between it and his nose his face is a bloody mask. She’s hovering in the doorway with a careful expression of neutrality but there is a faint tremor to her fingers that gives away her anxiety. He turns on the faucet, more hot than cold, and scours as much of the blood off his face as he can. The cut on his cheek stings as he reopens it but it’s only seeping so he ignores it in favour of peeling off his bloody shirt. He briefly considers soaking it but decides to just toss it. He has others anyway.

He turns back to the woman and braces himself against the doorframe, letting her take in his muscles and tattoos. When she finally meets his eyes again he smiles, all teeth, at the shocked lust written all over her face. He reaches out and wraps his fingers around the nape of her neck to drag her into another bruising kiss. Nails digging in at random intervals, her cold hands stroke desperately against his skin. With the hand on her neck and the one he clasps around her hip he presses her back, leading her down the hall to his bedroom.

He releases her hip to turn on the light and pulls back for a moment to take in her flushed face and swollen lips. She’s still fully dressed so he rectifies that by sliding his hands under her jacket and pushing it off her shoulders. It hits the floor but he doesn’t let it bother him as he palms her tits through the thin cloth of her ratty shirt. When the peaks of her nipples poke at him he slides one hand under her shirt to see if she’s really braless. He encounters only skin, much to his delight.

When he closes his teeth over one perky nipple through the fabric of her shirt she gasps lets out a stuttering little moan. He offers the other the same treatment and her head drops back with a groan and she clamps her hands onto his shoulders with a vise-like grip. He’s tempted to rip her shirt off but restrains himself enough to tug it roughly over her head instead. It hits the floor with her jacket and despite the growing mess he can’t be assed to care.

She’s jerking at his belt and he lets her undo it before shoving her to sit on his bed.

“Boots off. Now.” He commands.

She hastens to obey; unlacing her knee-high boots with fervor. He crouches to take his own off. He shucks his jeans as he stands again. Kicking them aside he approaches the girl on his bed. She’s only managed to get one boot off and is struggling with the knot of the other. She lets out a frustrated grunt and finally manages to loosen it. He bats her hands aside and she looks up at him as he tugs the unknotted laces until the boot is loose enough to slide off her leg. He does so with one hand, the other resting in the crook of her knee.

Depositing her boot on the floor he curls his other hand under the thigh of her free leg and spreads them to step forward and kiss her again. She gasps into his mouth and pulls him closer with an arm slung around his shoulders. Her fingers trace along his deltoid and up his trapezius and finally come to rest, with small stroking motions, on the shaved skin at the back of his scalp. He bites her torn lip to hear her moan and is rewarded by her flinging her head back, her weight mostly resting on the arm she has stretched out behind her - her fingers tangled in his bedspread. She’s gazing at him below heavy-lidded eyes and breathing deeply, her chest heaving, and he notes the tell-tale glisten of sweat gathering at her temples. He flashes her a quick grin before putting his teeth to better use.

He bites and sucks his way along her jaw and down her throat, not lingering long enough to leave marks. He tightens his grip on her legs and presses closer, grinding his clothed cock against her, as his lips and tongue chase the exquisite line of her clavicle. She ruts against him with breathy little moans. He pays brief homage to her breasts, pressing teeth into the soft flesh, and wraps his lips around each dusky rose nipple for a moment. Then he’s edging back and slipping to his knees to continue his trail down even as his hands slide up under the short torn skirt she’s wearing. He finds the top of her tights with nimble fingers even as his tongue traces the hard lines of her abdominals and obliques. He can’t see her face from this position but her needy whimpers and still-twitching hips are all the invitation he needs to hook his fingers under the thin elastic and drag the fabric down her legs. He deposits the damp fabric on the floor and pushes her skirt up pulling back to eye the long hard lines of her thighs. She’s still wearing her panties, a black scrap of fabric hardly worth the name, so he drags those down her legs too.

She has readjusted, laying back with her elbows supporting her so she can watch his every move. Her body trembles with her need and the strain the position puts on her core. He presses his lips to her skin again starting at her knee and moving upward. He drags his tongue in a long lick up one thigh nearly to the apex and she jerks into the touch with a strangled moan. He denies her and instead turns his head to bite down on the smooth flesh of her other thigh. He gives the skin between his teeth a long hard suck, tonguing at it playfully. She groans and he feels the bed shudder and when he looks up again she’s laying flat with an arm flung across her eyes. Her hips still rock upward in small, desperate rutting motions though.

He shoulders her legs farther apart and spreads her lips with the index and middle fingers of his left hand. She’s gleaming with wetness and swollen with desire and he leans in to taste her. She cries out sharply and her thighs tighten as she ruts up into his face while he hums around the tangy sweetness of her. He uses his free hand to pin her hips down as he traces the tip of his tongue along the slick folds of her cunt. Occasionally he pauses to tug on her lips with his teeth or suck the folds between his lips. His tongue teases her everywhere but her clit. He skirts it carefully and deliberately smiling to himself at each frustrated groan she makes when he gets close only to move away again.

Finally he relents and drags his tongue from the base of her vulva to that tight bundle of nerves. Once he’s there he doesn’t let up - licking and sucking as she cries out beneath him. He tongues her clit and then sucks it into his mouth timing the scrape of his teeth with a finger plunging inside her. She gasps and he can hear her clawing at the bed as she jerks and convulses under his teeth before melting bonelessly. He pulls back once the worst of her shivers stop and wipes away the mess she left on his face with the back of his hand. She’s looking at him with dark eyes as her chest heaves in a desperate bid for oxygen. He slaps a casual hand against the outside of her thigh, a stinging blow but not nearly as hard as it could have been, and stands long enough to make it to his bedside drawer where he locates a condom.

He peels out of his boxer briefs and sits on the now-tangled bedspread. He glances over and she’s rolled onto her stomach watching his cock with predatory eyes.

He turns back to the task at hand and tells her casually, “Take off your skirt.”

He glances back to see her eyes roll but she props herself up with an arm and her knees and undoes a small zipper along the side seam of the burgundy fabric. She wiggles until it pools around her knees and then drags it out from under her and cheekily tosses it across the room.

“Better?” She asks in a voice like crushed velvet.

He nods and rolls the condom down over his cock carefully.

“Much.” His own voice is harsh in his ears, desperate from the brief contact he’s had with his cock and the delicious sight spread out before him. She is all long muscular lines and harsh angles and smooth ivory skin and raven black hair. He gives his cock a single helpless stroke and she chuckles before crawling his way to tease his throat with small licks and nips, her breath hot on his skin.

“So are you going to fuck me or what?”

Her voice holds a growl and he shivers in anticipation. The woman is voracious.

He wants to flip her over and drive into her; sheathing himself in her tender flesh again and again until they both reach completion and no longer know where one of them starts and the other ends but he restrains himself letting her pay him back with her hot little mouth all over his tight skin.

When his cock grows impossibly, painfully harder he pushes her down to lay diagonally on her back across his bed. Her hair fans out around her head like an unholy halo and he lunges over her take ahold of those thick strands and force his tongue into her mouth again. She welcomes him readily, her back arching and her hands pulling him, crushing him, to her. When he draws back to breathe finally he hooks one of her legs behind the knee and guides it up over his shoulder. She reclines languidly beneath him, body betraying no strain even as he deepens the stretch on her hamstring.

She smiles up at him until he nudges at her entrance with the blunt head of his cock and her lips part in a soft sigh. With a single hand she strokes down his spine, starting at his nape and ending with a grip on his buttock urging him forward. He doesn’t need to be asked twice and presses into her as quickly as he dares; not stopping until he bottoms out and he feels the soft tickle of her pubic hair against his lower abdomen. Her other hand is digging into his shoulder again and he’s going to have interesting bruises in the morning. Her hips are grinding up in small circular motions against his own and she’s panting against his lips. He considers dragging out the moment but it sounds like a cruel and unusual punishment to inflict on himself so he lets go of his self-restraint and pulls back until he’s nearly out of her hot, wet cunt only to dive back in with a sharp snap of his hips.

He sets a blistering pace and she writhes underneath him, her hips bucking up to meet his own with every fierce plunge. He’s approaching his edge rapidly with each heavy thrust and she starts whimpering brief pleas of more and harder and an ongoing breathless litany of fuck, oh fuck while her hands claw deep furrows into his back. He settles his weight on the arm with her leg slung over it and reaches down with his other to thumb roughly at her clit. She loses her rhythm, hips jerking sporadically, and she crests again crashing down with a drawn out, shuddering moan. Between that and the slick wet sounds from where they are joined and the clenching pressure on his cock as she finds her release he reaches his limit. He buries his cock in her tight little cunt and grinds his hips into her pelvis as he spurts his own release into the condom. He collapses on top of her, probably crushing her under his not-insubstantial weight, but is too blissed out to care for the moment.

When they both stop twitching, subsiding into brief shivers, he raises himself on a shaky arm and reaches down to wrap a hand around the base of the condom to ease his softening cock out of her. He flops over onto his back to let her breath and remove the condom. He carefully ties it off and stretches out a hand to drop it into the waste bucket with a soft noise. He lays there catching his breath as the woman next to him does the same. He runs a sweaty hand through his displaced hair and grumbles.

Rolling into a sitting position he digs in his drawer for the spare pack of smokes he keeps there, not energetic enough to find the already opened pack in his jeans. He finds it and tears through the plastic wrapping and deposits it in the trash as well. He liberates a cigarette from the pack and sets it between his lips. He half turns to the woman lounging on her side in his bed and offers her one silently. She accepts it. Tossing the pack back into the drawer, he’ll have to remember to smoke them before they go stale, he grabs his backup lighter and lights the tip of his smoke with a small puff to make sure it caught. He holds the flame out to the woman who curls one hand around his own on the lighter and steadies her cigarette with the other. When she exhales a small cloud of smoke she releases his hand and settles back against the headboard.

After putting the lighter away he joins her. They take companionable drags on their cigarettes in silence for a few moments, bathing in the afterglow.

She removes the cigarette from her mouth and shoots a stream of light smoke to the ceiling.

“Your cigarettes taste like shit,” she informs him lightly.

He just cocks a brow at her and takes another drag.

She chuckles, a small smile curving up her lips.

“I’m Mikasa by the way.” She says.

He gazes at her appraisingly.

“Levi.” He replies, eyes drifting comfortably back to the far wall.