#its fun to make his ears and neck stupid long and thin. i want his neck to crack like a pencil

[onepeachymo]

jax toy! jax toy! jax WOO!!!!

[noteguk]

bro bad influence! jk and reader are 100% the type of couple to argue mid-sex i love this culture

They are!!!!

Taglist: @ft-multi @cryinginmypromdress @kooafraid @kissestothesky @dianaaviny @ggukkieland

[ ! ] this drabble is for “bad influence” — it can, however, be read as a standalone. 

— words; 1.8k

— contents and warnings; hmmm smut, semi-public sex, oral (m rec and mention of f rec), unprotected sex, dirty talk, mention of cum play, playfully “arguing” mid-sex, the endless adventures of bad boy!jk x good girl! reader

~

“I can’t believe you, Jungkook,” your voice came out as an irritated murmur against the warm skin of his neck, barely interrupted by a soft whimper. “We’re gonna be late for class.”

His hand grew tighter around your thigh, pushing your leg higher up. Jungkook was buried deep between your folds, filling you up in every way that you loved, and yet you were a bit too paranoid to fully dive into those sensations. “Hmmm don’t care,” he groaned, the slaps of his skin against yours filling that small cabinet in a rhythmic symphony. Twice already, a broom had fallen on top of you, knocking you right on the forehead, and so you refused to let it go. That entire scene was ridiculous. “Fuck, you’re so tight,” he moaned. 

You rolled your eyes, amazed at how he managed to ignore everything else but the feeling of your walls clenching around him. The fact that you two were having a quickie in the janitor’s closet, exactly fifteen minutes before your most important class, was bad enough as it was. Your escapade was far from heavenly, with the stiff air impregnated by the nauseating aroma of a hundred different chemical products, the annoyingly flickering lightbulb over you, and, as stated, the paraphernalia that was knocked over every time Jungkook’s thrusts got a little too rough. 

“God, why are you like this?” you complained. 

He hummed, his fingers digging into your flesh. You could tell that Jungkook was starting to lose himself in you, for the roll of his hips started to get slower, less coordinated, as they always did when he was trying to prolong his pleasure. “Like what?” He breathed out.

You leaned your head back against the wall, looking at those devilish eyes of his. Jungkook’s hair was a mess, exploding around his head like a failed scientific experiment, and you knew that one look was all it took to know that it was sex hair. “Why do you always have to pick the worst time to do this stuff?” you clarified. 

He scoffed. “Excuse me, princess, I think it was you who locked us in here,” he said. He wasn’t wrong, but, to be fair, you weren’t expecting that your make-out session would escalate to that. Then again, you were often naive when it came to his antics. “Now stay quiet or people are going to hear you.”

“Fuck off,” you whispered — whispered, because he was right. You had been controlling your moans and whimpers fairly well, but your normal speaking voice wasn’t a good idea either. There was no way to lock the room from the inside, and anyone could open that door at any given second. 

Jungkook smirked like he knew what you were thinking about — that fucked-out, greek god smirk that had your knees weak for a second. His face was bathed by the golden light from the bulb, dripping in shadows and lustful gazes. “Wrong answer,” he teased. “You were supposed to say ‘Oh, Jungkook, I can’t keep quiet when you’re fucking me so well’.”

As if to prove his claim, Jungkook placed his face on the crook of your neck and pressed himself even deeper inside you. The feeling of his cock stretching you open was intoxicating, and the timid moan you let out was enough to make him throb inside you, gasping against the sweet scent of your hair. 

Still, you wouldn’t bulge. “Gooood, shut up, please,” you whined, interlacing your fingers in his hair. There was a thin layer of sweat on his nape, the expected result from fucking in a hot, closed-off enviroment. “Are you close?”

“Yeah, almost there,” he moaned, picking his pace back up. You had to bite your lip to suppress a particularly loud moan after one of his hands slithered up your abdomen and grabbed your clothed breast, playing with it as he continued to seek his own high. His other hand still had its iron grip on your thigh, keeping your leg up as he continued to pound himself in and out of your wet heat. “Fuck, I love these skirts you wear. Easy access.” 

“You’re such a caveman,” you said. Jungkook was breathing heavy against your ear, fighting for air as he mumbled sweet nothings just for you. You were almost overtaken by him — the pounding of his cock inside your pussy, his delicious moans and curses, the praises that he threw your way for being so good for him. Almost. “Don’t cum inside.”

Jungkook visibly tensed up at your request. You could tell that some part of his primitive brain was thinking of repeating one of his past endeavours — one that he came inside you, and made you walk around campus with his cum in you for the rest of the day. It was really hard to keep an upper hand when Jungkook was always knowingly smirking at you from across the room, loving the way that only the two of you knew of that little nasty secret. 

(Miraculously, it was one of the few times that he didn’t feel slightly jealous when he saw you talking to other guys, but you didn’t have to know that). 

Still, you weren't wearing pants that day, so the whole ordeal wouldn’t be so easy to hide. 

A small whimper left his throat as he leaned forward, placing a wet kiss against your lips. You were looking at him with those big, doll-like eyes of yours, and he couldn’t refuse your request even if he wanted to fill you up so bad. “Awn, you’re so mean,” he whined, forehead touching yours. Every shove of his cock inside you had you bouncing up and down against the wall, that stupid broom threatening to tilt once again. “Can I cum in your mouth, baby?”

You hummed, trying to torture him with a fake thinking session. “Don’t know…” You hesitated. Jungkook cursed against your shoulder, his cock throbbing inside you once again. “Do you have gum?”

“Jesus, woman,” he complained, almost choking on his own pleasure. “Yeah, I have gum. Can I do it?”

You smiled. “Suit yourself.” You had to use all the force inside you to place your hands on his shoulders and push him away. Jungkook almost sobbed when he pulled himself out of your heat, his cock glistening with your wetness, swollen and reddened. “And cum quickly or I’ll kill you.” 

You got to your knees before Jungkook had the chance to respond, your hand wrapping around his base and pumping him tentatively. He bucked his hips towards you, hissing at the sensitivity. “Listen, I’m really fucking close,” he told you, “and I don’t think you’d fancy a facial right now, so stop with that teasing.” 

You chuckled at his comment, fumbling closer to him. “You know me too well.” 

With that, you wrapped your lips around his tip, sinking his member inside your mouth until it almost reached your throat. Jungkook cried out in delight, louder than he had the entire time, and you were sure any passing strangers had heard him. 

Yet your paranoia was forgotten when he started talking. 

“Fuck, that’s it,” he moaned, placing his hand on the back of your head and tugging at your hair. Jungkook guided your movements with little force, watching as you had your fun around his cock — sucking and slurping him like it was the best thing in the world, the tears that accumulated at the corners of your eyes looking like a divine gift to him. “God, I love when you suck my cock, fuck—“ 

You moaned around him, the vibrations feeling like heaven to the boy. With a few more pumps of your mouth around him, Jungkook was coming undone with a loud hiss and a desperate buckle of his hips, calling out your name as he released his cum inside you. “Swallow everything,” his voice was hoarse as he told you that, meeting your watery eyes as you fought to drink every drop of his cum that you could. Jungkook smirked at your efforts, fingers caressing your scalp as you finished cleaning him up. “Good girl.” 

You sighed happily at his praise, taking his hand as he helped you back on your feet. You could only hope that your knees wouldn’t be red by the time that you arrived at your classroom.

“Love watching you with my cock in your mouth, baby.” Jungkook leaned closer to you, wrapping his arms on your lower back. He gifted you with a quick peck on the lips, still breathing hard against your mouth. “I hate that you don’t let me snap a picture.” 

You laughed at that, running one hand through his messy hair in an attempt to save it a bit. In the end, you decided it would be better if he just pushed it back. “I’m not an idiot, believe it or not.” You smiled. “Gum?”

Jungkook nodded and reached for his jacket’s pocket. “Here you go.” He handed you the small colorful wrapping. You promptly threw a piece in your mouth, humming at the sweet taste. He pouted. “You’re going to class like this? You didn’t cum, baby.” 

“I’m aware,” you told him, fixing your panties and skirt. Jungkook didn’t seem to worry about the state of his pants, though, because he didn’t follow your movements. “But I’m not gonna be late to this class, today’s topic is half of what’s gonna be on the test. Pick me up after the lesson and maybe you can deal with my delayed orgasm situation. If I’m feeling nice.” 

Jungkook smirked, pulling your body closer to his. “Hmmm, love when you boss me around.”

He kissed you again and, when the kiss started to get a bit too long for your liking, you pushed him away. “Jungkook, listen, I have two fucking minutes—“ 

“Okay, okay, go.” He rolled his eyes, noticing that his attempts at prolonging your little escapade wouldn’t be fruitful. Jungkook stepped back so he could tug himself back inside his underwear, and you turned around to open the door. As your fingers were curling around the handle, he made sure to add, “Don’t exhaust your wrist with all those notes, princess, you’re gonna need it later.” 

And of course he smacked your ass when you walked out. 

~

Thirty minutes after your class was over, Jungkook was happy to have his face buried between your thighs, eating you out on the backseat of his car. Suddenly, it seemed as if you weren’t so worried about being caught, because he never heard you moan so loud. 

He made a mental note to do that more often.

~

BAD INFLUENCE COLLECTION

[black-mistress-of-evil]

Hey! Can I request a Bucky x Reader where Bucky gets hurt during a mission and the reader is there to take care of him? Maybe he’s caught of guard by this because he hasn’t had someone take care of him in a long time? Feel free to do whatever you want with this!! Thank you so much and I can’t wait to read it 💕

Bucky Barnes x Reader

A/N Thanks so much for the request @thighs-of-betrayal-blog this was so fun to write! Sorry it took so long! I swear every time I get the motivation to write my life gets crazy. But here it is, hopefully it’s a little bit what you hoped for and if it isn’t I hope you enjoy it anyways haha 💜

Warnings: FLUFFY FLUFF; angst if you squint; very very brief canon level violence; a minute of mutually pining idiots

Word count: approx 2.3k

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader (he uses the endearment “doll” but other than that reader is gender neutral)

Why Do You Care?

“Bucky stop being so stubborn and let me see!”

You were standing in the living room of the safe house Bucky had dragged you into, hands on your hips glaring down at the super soldier on the couch. He was avoiding your gaze, staring a hole in the wall to your left, and had his arms folded across his chest. He looked to you more like a pouting child than a 100+ year old ex-assassin/current Avenger and if you weren’t so frustrated with him you’d probably giggle at the sight.

The mission had been a success. Sort of. You and Bucky had been sent in to steal sensitive files from an abandoned Hydra base. Which you managed to do. But it ended up being less than abandoned and without any backup the fight out was a rough one. Just as the two of you were finally getting out, covered in blood and bruises, Bucky had grabbed your arm and shoved you into a crouch, bending himself over you protectively as a shot rang out. He grunted out in pain and you leaned around his frame to send a bullet straight into the skull of the Hydra agent who’d been stupid enough not to stay down. You’d tried, then, to make sure Bucky was okay but he wasted no time in hauling you back up and out into the night. His hand slipped down your arm to clasp yours and he didn’t let go until you were safely within the walls of the safe house. The more the two of you had run the more obvious it became that he was hurt but he ignored you asking about it.

Now that he’d made sure the safe house was secure and reported back to Steve what had happened and where you were, he couldn’t avoid you anymore. But he could ignore you and he was trying his damnedest to do so.

“M’fine.” He grumbled at you for probably the third time in as many minutes, shifting to turn his injured side away from you as if that would make you go away.

“Bucky I know you’re not fine so why won’t you just let me see so I can help?” The cuteness of his pout was wearing off as your patience was wearing thin. “Do you not trust me or something??”

Bucky’s eyes snapped up to yours then, his heart rate rising as he saw the concern there. He did trust you. More than he trusted himself most days. Hell he was in love with you. But you were way too good for him, too full of light, and you’d never be interested in someone like him. He’d only ruin you anyways. But when he looked into your eyes he couldn’t stand the flash of hurt he saw when you asked that question.

“Course I do doll...I trust ya...” his voice was hoarse and he tried taking a deep breath to clear his throat but it sent pain shooting through him and he groaned, pressing his hand to the still bleeding wound in his side.

“Buck....” your tone was softer now as you took a step closer. You thought for a second that he was going to let you check on his injury but the moment your hands reached for him he shot up, ignoring the pain, and pushed past you into the bathroom while mumbling about not needing help.

You roll your eyes and sigh as the bathroom door slams shut behind him. Ever since you’d met the quiet soldier when he joined the Avengers he’d swung back and forth between pushing you away and pulling you in closer. He always volunteered to be partnered with you and you worked well together but he’d refuse to spar with you. He liked helping you cook for team dinners but always declined your invitations to go out for lunch. During movie nights he only ever sat beside you or, if someone beat him there, he’d sit on the floor and lean against your legs even if there was an empty seat by someone else, but he wouldn’t join you when you were binge watching your favourite show alone. You couldn’t figure him out but the more you tried to the more you fell for him. It had been agony for you to want him knowing he could never see you as more than a teammate and friend. Regardless of how many times his behaviour had made it clear he wasn’t interested in you that way, you couldn’t help it. You loved him. And if that remained unrequited the rest of your life then so be it, you were that gone for him.

And so, despite his insistence that he didn’t need your help, you found yourself trailing after him towards the bathroom. You pressed your ear to the door and could hear him shuffling around, pulling out a first aid kit, and then gasping in obvious pain.

“Bucky? Open the door and let me in? Please? I want to help...I want to take care of you, you just have to let me....” you pause, waiting for a response, and notice that all the sounds on the other side of the door have ceased.

“Buck? Please, I care about you...let me...” your voice is lower, almost a whisper now, and you wait another few painfully silent seconds before hearing a long sigh from the other side of the door. When it cracks open, your eyes meet his piercingly blue ones and you nearly crumble at the uncertainty you see there.

“Can I come in, Buck?” You ask gently and he hesitates for only a second before nodding and opening the door wider. You step inside and motion for him to sit on the edge of the counter for you and he quickly obeys.

“You’re gonna have to take your shirt off for me to see, Buck.” You say gently, not wanting to make him uncomfortable. He grunts in acknowledgement and begins pulling his black tee up, hissing as he raises his arms causing a tug to his injury. Without a second thought, you reach forward and help maneuver his shirt the rest of the way off, dropping it to the side as he brings his arms back down. As other times in the past when you’ve seen him shirtless, you can’t help but let your eyes travel across his firm chest and toned abdomen, drinking him in until you raise your eyes to his and realize he’s watching you. You quickly avert your gaze, your ears burning at having been caught ogling him, so you miss the way his lips curl into a smirk. Focusing your attention onto his side you gasp at the large gash there still slowly leaking blood.

“Not that bad, doll.”

“James Buchanan Barnes! Just because its not life-threatening does not mean that it’s ‘not that bad’. Dammit Buck why wouldn’t you let me help you take care of this as soon as we got here?!” You huff as you grab some antibacterial cloths and begin cleaning the wound, ignoring his hiss as you do so.

“M’sorry, doll...it’s just...haven’t really had anyone take care of me in...well since before the war to be honest. Got used to taking care of myself...used to not having anyone care.” Bucky’s voice is barely a whisper and you have to strain to listen to him. He’s never been so vulnerable with you and you want to make the most of however long he’s going to let this moment last. When its clear he’s waiting for you to say something you reach one hand up to softly cup his cheek and turn him to face you.

“I care. I care so much, Buck. You just have to let me.” You try to put all your emotions into your gaze, desperate for him to see that he doesn’t have to be alone and that he is loved and cared about. He sighs and leans into your hand more, raising his own to rest on your hip.

“Why?”

He spoke so quietly you’re not sure you heard him and raise an eyebrow to ask him to repeat himself, too afraid of breaking the spell that seems to have fallen over the two of you to speak.

“Why do you care so much, doll? Why me? I’m not...I’m not worth it.”

This is it. The chance to tell him how you feel. If he rejects you that’s fine, you decide. Even if he doesn’t return your feelings at least he will know that he is loved and that’s enough for you right now. Your heart feels like it may burst as you weigh your response carefully.

“You, Bucky, are so worthy of all the care in the world. You went through hell and back a million times over and came out the other side a kind, thoughtful, sweet, considerate, gentle, loving man. The world tried to break all of that out of you but you are too strong and too GOOD. The world owes you and if I could wrap up all the love that exists in it and give it to you I would. But I’ve only got mine so that’s what I’ll give you.”

Dropping your hand from his face to his shoulder, you hold your breath as Bucky’s eyes stare into yours as though searching for something. He tightens his grip on your waist, before finally breaking the heavy silence, his voice at least an octave lower.

“You’ll....give me...your love...?” Bucky is the strongest man you know and yet you have never heard him sound so timid and unsure in all the time you’ve known him. He looks so hopeful and scared and you can’t help the confession bursting from your lips.

“Yes Bucky! I will. I already have. It’s yours. I-I love you.” You take a deep breath before continuing, rambling now. “And I don’t expect to you to return my feelings and I hope I haven’t ruined our friendship because that would just kill me nothing has to change between us I just needed you to know that—mmph—“

You’re cut off by Bucky’s lips connecting with yours, his hands cupping your face, thumbs rubbing gently across your cheekbones. The kiss is gentle, careful, almost tentative at first. But then your arms snake around his neck and one of his hands makes its way into your hair and it becomes passionate and desperate. Bucky pulls you between his thighs so you are flush against him and the feeling of his taut muscles against you makes you moan. Your hands lift to tangle in his hair and tug gently as he runs his tongue along your bottom lip, practically begging for entrance which you immediately grant. He growls into the kiss as he explores every inch of your mouth with his tongue, his hands roaming all across your body, pulling you impossibly closer as you arch into him needing to feel him. He stands suddenly, pushing you back a couple of steps until you are pinned between his body and the wall. You gasp for air and he moves his lips along your jaw, down your neck, and then back up to press another searing kiss against your lips before resting his forehead against yours as he tries to catch his own breath. Your chests rise and fall together and he rubs his nose against yours before placing another tender, gentle kiss on the corner of your mouth.

“Sorry....couldn’t help myself...” Bucky manages to tell you between gasps for air.

“Never apologize for THAT...” you giggle and the vibrations of his chuckle against your chest make you feel lightheaded as he leans back to look you in the eye, cupping your cheek tenderly.

“I love you.” He sounds sure. Confident. Like nothing in the world could be more true than that statement. You can’t help the ridiculously giddy grin that splits your face as you tug his face back to yours for another kiss, which he smiles into.

Once you come down from your highs a little bit you manage to coax him back to his spot on the counter and you continue cleaning his injury and stitching him up though it takes much longer now as Bucky keeps distracting you. He plants kisses to your nose, your shoulder, your neck, your cheek, your forearm, basically any part of you that comes close enough to his lips. When you finally finish, you let your hands run along his muscles as you rub your nose against his and kiss him deeply, gently biting his bottom lip eliciting a sound from him that turns your insides completely upside down.

Before you can say or do anything else, the front door opens with a crash and Bucky grabs you and shoves you behind him protectively as he peeks out into the front room to assess the threat.

“Dammit punk! What’re you breaking down the door for?! I thought you were a hostile! Why didn’t you just call and say you were here??!” You sigh in relief at Bucky’s nickname for Steve and move to peer over his shoulder at the Captain as the two super soldiers glare at each other.

“I’ve been calling for several minutes! You didn’t answer! I thought you were in danger, jerk!”

“Sorry, Steve! We were...distracted. Bucky needed stitches.” You quickly apologize and give an excuse in case Bucky isn’t comfortable saying anything yet since you hadn’t exactly taken the time to talk yet. But he just turns to face you and smirks as he tugs you to him for one more kiss before reaching around you to grab his shirt and pull it on.

“Ya. We were pretty damn distracted. Didn’t really appreciate the interruption, punk!” Bucky chuckles and can’t help the grin that has been plastered on his face since you told him you love him. Your cheeks flush as he puts an arm around your shoulder, guiding you to Steve who is looking between you and Bucky with a happy, almost proud, look on his face.

“It’s about damn time, you two! Now, who made the first move? I need to know if I owe Sam $50 or not.”

[shig-a-shig-ah]

LAYING CLAIM

» pairing: dabi x fem!reader

» cw: dubcon, revoked consent, noncon (we’re going on a journey, okay?), rimming, anal fingering, anal sex, crying, gratuitously fanon characterization. 18+, minors DNI.

» a/n: Started this months and months ago, and since I’m finally getting around to wrapping some WIPs, I guess you can have it now. Thanks @thebiggergroove​ for beta-reading!

» wc: 5.3k

» ao3 mirror

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The thing about Dabi is he's not usually a possessive guy. Fucking is fucking, as far as he's concerned—it doesn't really matter who is doing it with whom as long as everyone is getting off on it. But goddamn if there isn't something about you that makes him want to make you his.

And he's gotten that, more or less. It took some sweet talking and cajoling, and a few late nights where he made you come until you couldn't see straight, but you agreed not to go sleeping with anyone else. Sure, you've made him promise the same, but that's fine. Not that he's going to actually stop, of course, but he goes out on recruiting missions alone and he figures what you don't know won't hurt you.

That's all enough to satisfy him, at least for a little while. But then a few weeks pass and there it is again: that stupid jealousy and all those unbidden thoughts about the people you were with before him. People he knows. You never talk in too much detail about your past hookups, but he's not stupid, is all too aware that he's not the first one in this ragged band of miscreants that you've crawled into bed with. You've fucked Jin, and Shigaraki, and probably even Magne, god rest her soul—Dabi hadn't missed the way the two of you had huddled up giggling in the corner of the old bar one night, disappearing together unusually early, making those bedroom eyes at each other. And in theory that's fine. Nothing wrong with two girls having fun together, after all. Hell, bi chicks are hot and Dabi wouldn't mind taking advantage of that someday.

But first he needs to find a way to get the image of you with your legs spread for half the League out of his goddamn head.

If he's being honest, it's Shigaraki who bothers him the most. Magne is dead. Jin is a decent dude and, Dabi has to imagine, tame as a kitten in the sack. But Shigaraki, well...Dabi can tell just by looking at the guy that he's a freak, and the idea of you riding Shigaraki's dry, crusty dick, of letting him do who-knows-what filthy shit to you? It just gets to him.

And then Toga has to suggest that stupid game and go putting ideas in his head.

You're all sitting around the crumbling office space that passes for a hideout, drinking to celebrate the League's first successful double-amputation (because fuck that germophobic, transphobic prick), and blondie is just begging to play a drinking game. Normally Dabi doesn't go for that shit—why anyone needs an excuse to get wasted is beyond him—but he's in a good mood, and you make that adorable pouty face as you tell him that you played in college, that it's really fun, and somehow he finds himself sitting in a circle on the dusty floor with the rest of you losers playing 'I haven't' or whatever the fuck it's called.

It's all bland shit to start. Toga's never driven a car, Shigaraki's never gone to school. But, after you've made your way around the circle once, everyone seems to be loosening up and Spinner takes one for the team by getting to the interesting shit and admitting he's never slept with a girl. It spurs a moment of awkward silence made all the worse by his red face and obvious self-consciousness about being a virgin, but then Compress stage-whispers "Neither have I," before winking salaciously at the blushing lizard and taking a dramatic pull from his beer bottle. It's enough to lighten the mood.

After that, Dabi's forced to admit it's a decent game. There's not much he hasn't done sexually or criminally, and since those are the two topics everyone focuses on, he finds himself getting hammered faster than usual. It's a good thing too—his buzz makes it easier to ignore the look you and Shigaraki exchange when Jin announces that he's never tried watersports, easier to pretend his gut isn't twisting at the knowing smirk on your leader's face as he raises his beer bottle to drink and you follow suit.

That particular moment makes it all the more surprising when, on your next turn, you hide an embarrassed face behind your hand and announce that you've never taken it in the ass.

Dabi can't stop thinking about it the rest of the night. Obsessing over it, and the idea of being your first, your only, even if only in some less than conventional way. The thing is, it's downright tame in comparison to a lot of what you two get up to, so barely even kinky that it's almost impossible to believe you've never tried it. Sure, you've never done it together, but he'd just figured neither of you were all that into it, since it hadn't come up when you were doing lewd shit to each other.

That kind of sex is fine from his perspective, but only fine. He doesn't actively seek it out because in his mind nothing beats the feel of being balls-deep in a warm pussy, but that doesn't mean he hasn't done it. He's hooked up with plenty of girls that were into it and has always been happy to oblige; hell, he's even taken it more than once, on account of the fact that when it comes to the bedroom he's willing to try anything twice.

But doing it with you? Well, that thought sticks. The two of you finally go to bed and Dabi's so turned on by the idea of your virgin ass that he can't help testing the waters, prodding teasingly at that tight hole with one spit-slicked finger until you're squirming away and whining. He doesn't manage to convince you right then, but he makes those puppy dog eyes that are far more effective than they have any right to be, and you agree to give it a go in the future.

"Not here," you specify, the words fuzzy on your drunken tongue. "Someplace nicer, with a real bed." You already have your reservations, and you certainly don't relish the idea of undertaking that particular venture now, on a worn mattress in this falling apart building, with its paper-thin walls and complete lack of hot water. Between your booze-fueled haze and the seeming interminability of the League's poverty, you mostly forget about that casual promise by the following morning.

But Dabi doesn't. He picks up a small bottle of lube the next day and carries it around in his pocket shamelessly, a little reminder that he has something to look forward to besides roasting that prick Endeavor, and he strokes himself off to the idea more than he's proud to admit as he waits for the League to move on to better things. He can be patient, when he needs to be.

That patience takes a toll though, and the minute the League settles into their new digs in Re-Destro's sprawling villa, where there's actually privacy and clean, comfortable beds, Dabi shows up at your door with a cheshire grin and every intention of finally getting something from you that's just for him.

You grimace when you remember that promise, try briefly to talk him out of it even, but he isn't so easily dissuaded. It's made all the harder by the fact that you can't give him a specific reason why you've never tried it, beyond that it seems uncomfortable and you hadn't particularly enjoyed the couple instances when you'd allowed someone to slip a finger or two in there.

"C'mon, baby girl," Dabi coos, his breath hot in your ear as he pins you to the wall, working two unnaturally warm fingers into your cunt. "I'll make sure it's good for you. Be gentle, get you nice and warmed up first, all that sweet shit."

It really is unfair how persuasive he can be when he fixes those pleading turquoise eyes on you. The way the pads of his fingers are curling just right deep inside isn't helping either, and he teases you like that until you give in to his cajoling, though you still insist on waiting a couple nights so that you can do your research and make sure you're entirely prepared. Dabi demonstrates his appreciation by burying his face in your cunt and not surfacing for air until you've come three times and are begging for a break.

When the night finally arrives, Dabi's feeling positively giddy. He slips into your bedroom with a bottle of wine and a couple glasses he's brought, a little something to help you relax because he's a gentleman when he wants to be. It should be good booze too—he lifted it from Re-Destro's private stash, and he's certain baldy doesn't drink anything that costs less than ¥30,000. Of course, Re-Destro doesn't love sharing either, but the uptight prick is too scared of Shigaraki to complain about anything the League does. They all take advantage of that, because they can and because it's fun to watch him bite his tongue when they piss him off.

You don't make it easy for Dabi to focus on pouring the drinks though, not when you're reclining in that armchair by the window, freshly showered and fidgeting nervously. He was half-erect before he got here from just thinking about what he was going to do to you, and the sight of you acting like you're some blushing virgin spurs him all the way to rock-hard. By the time your glasses are close to empty, he's straining uncomfortably in his pants, and can't fight back his impatience any longer.

"What do you think, doll?" he murmurs, setting his glass to the side and standing up, shrugging his jacket off before leaning down to ghost his lips over your neck. "You ready to move this to the bed?"

The way you chew at your lower lip anxiously before nodding makes his dick throb.

You empty your glass with one final, large swallow, your heart racing as you rise. You know it's stupid—you and Dabi have fucked countless times and a lot of it hasn't exactly been vanilla—but it's been a long time since you've actually tried anything new. His obvious excitement doesn't help either, paradoxically; it leaves you fretting about what will happen if you're somehow bad at this, or if you can't take it and have to stop. You've never really worried about disappointing him before, but now the thought weighs acutely on your mind.

It's with halting steps that you approach the bed and then, when you can't realistically drag your feet any longer, you finally tug the nightgown you're wearing off your shoulders, letting it fall to the floor to reveal what's underneath.

"Damn, baby girl," Dabi breathes, looking you up and down. You'd figured that since it was a special occasion you might as well dress up, donning a strappy bra and panties. They're little more than elaborate, crisscrossing pieces of lace, all white since he'd seemed so fixated on this pseudo-innocent, first-time act. His reaction doesn't disappoint, eyes lighting up as he stares at you hungrily.

You let yourself fall back on the bed, nestling against the many pillows. The look on his face has your stomach fluttering, and the wine has helped you to relax a bit despite your nerves, a pleasant warmth spreading throughout your body. It's joined by a different kind of heat when you feel the mattress dip beneath Dabi's weight as he positions himself over you, one knee resting between your thighs, just barely brushing against your center, a hint of what's to come.

"You look so good I could just eat you up," Dabi whispers hotly against your ear before tracing his lips over your jaw. Even though he wants to take his time, let himself savor this, it's taking every ounce of patience he has to keep the promise he made to get you worked up and ready for him, to not to tear those pretty bits of satin and lace off and have his way with you right then.

You whine eagerly when his mouth slants hungrily over yours, savoring the feel of those mismatched lips, the way the rough skin of the bottom one contrasts so deliciously with the top. Hot hands run over your sides as the kiss deepens, your tongues tangling together, and you moan against him.

When you finally break for air, Dabi moves his lips to your throat, his tongue lapping at your pulse before he sinks his teeth into you. He loves to mark you up, loves making sure everyone can see that you're indisputably his, and it's even hotter now that he knows he's going to fuck you in a way no one else has. You're shivering beneath him as he works, your hand tugging insistently at his hair, and Dabi lets out a low, throaty growl.

"Guess I'm not the only one who's eager, huh?"

Your hips tilt in response, pressing needily into his firm thigh, and Dabi can feel the skin on his cheeks straining against his staples as he grins. He traces one hand up over your ribs, cupping at your supple breasts, teasing your hardening nipple through the flimsy fabric of your bra. Those deft fingers work under the seam of your lingerie as he shifts his weight, increasing the pressure against your center while he pinches and tugs at the peaks of your breasts until you're whimpering, spreading slick along his leg even through your thin panties.

Dabi pulls away abruptly, rolling onto his back and tugging at you to change positions, shaking his head when you move to mount his hips.

"Come here, baby girl," he says, his tongue tracing over his bottom lip. "Like I said, I wanna eat you up."

The promise in those words sends a bolt of heat straight through your core as he guides you to straddle his face, hot breath tickling your inner thighs. One calloused thumb brushes your clit lightly through your underwear, blue eyes sparkling when your breath hitches at that soft touch. When he pulls that useless fabric to the side and runs his tongue over your already-damp slit, you shudder.

Dabi lets out a pleased groan at your reaction and gets to work more earnestly, lapping at your sensitive nub, licking and sucking until you're moaning and only then shifting a little so that he can lap at your insides, that same rough thumb replacing the pressure of his tongue on your clit. It strokes firm circles as he buries that hot, wet muscle inside you, the metal barbell there teasing your inner walls as you grind involuntarily against it. You can't help but whine when he withdraws it, but that disappointment is quickly replaced by you startling as that same wet muscle extends further back to tease at your puckered entrance.

"A-ah, Dabi, wait," you protest, your face heating up self-consciously almost at once.

Dabi pauses, shifting just enough to keep his reply from being muffled as one warm hand runs reassuringly up your thigh. "I don't think I can help myself, doll," he says, his slick-coated lips splitting into a wide grin, "you just taste too good."

That heat in your face worsens as he dives back in, not even waiting for you to respond before he's flexing his tongue to poke at that tight ring of muscle. You still try to squirm away, feeling unprepared for this. You hadn't even considered it among the possible activities were volunteering to participate in, but Dabi is holding you firmly in place with the hand not working at your clit, and when another whine of protest escapes you, it's weaker than the first. The foreign sensation of his tongue against your neglected hole has you hyperaware of the press of his thumb at your apex, and you can feel tension building in your core even as you writhe in embarrassment.

It's as though he knows, too, and you suppose maybe he does; after all, he's the one who's done this before. He thrusts his tongue a little deeper, rolling your clit between two hot fingers with enough pressure to cut off any further protests. A long moan is the only sound you can muster as you spill over the edge, your thighs clenching around his head and your hips jerking shakily as you ride out your climax with his tongue still buried obscenely in your rear.

Dabi's face is covered in your juices by the time he slides from between your thighs, and he wipes it away carelessly with one arm as he repositions you again, pinning you on your back and wasting no time peeling away your now-soaked panties. He grins at the sight of your glistening folds and swollen clit before stripping off most of his own clothes, kicking them unceremoniously to the side and relaxing between your legs, kissing at your still-trembling thighs.

He teases at your sensitive cunt with his fingers, coating them in your juices as you whimper. "Ready for a little more?" he asks, and you nod despite the fact that your cheeks are still burning from before and your stomach is knotting with nerves.

"Just...go slow, okay?"

"Of course, baby girl," he promises, "I told you I'd take good care of you." With that, he starts to work you open, dipping one finger into your tight hole just until he reaches the first knuckle, working it in and out slowly. His other hand toys at your clit, stroking and rolling that puffy nub again, making you mewl.

Dabi waits until you're relaxed before trying any more, pulling away from you just long enough to dig the lube from the pocket of his discarded pants, coating his fingers with it. He works that lone finger deeper this time, in and out until it's buried to the last knuckle.

The sensation is strange, but not entirely unpleasant; even if you think you'd rather have that finger curling in your cunt, the slight stretch is still adding to the faint throb already growing inside you, the one that worsens when his thumb returns to your apex.

"Fuck, you're so tight," Dabi growls when one well-placed stroke of his thumb has you clenching lightly around his finger. He ruts his hips against the sheets, trying vainly to find some relief for his aching member, but it's not enough—he needs to feel you, needs the vice-like grip clutching his fingers to be wrapped around his cock, and he needs it soon.

You feel him withdraw to add more lube, and then he's fingering you again, adding another digit to stretch you wider. It comes with a stab of discomfort when he forces his way past the second knuckle, and you reflexively try to pull back. "Dabi, that's too much."

He abandons his soothing attentions to your clit, one warm palm pressing you tight against the mattress to keep you in place, stroking soothingly at your hip. His breath tickles over your inner thigh as he chuckles softly. "If you can't take this, how are you ever gonna take me, hmm?" he says teasingly. "You're doing great, baby, just relax."

You will yourself to unclench, trying to picture Dabi's satisfied face once you're taking him, that adoring look he sometimes gives you, the one that you relish. Your efforts are only marginally effective, but Dabi keeps pushing deeper, fucking you slowly but insistently with those fingers, and when you don't complain again, his thumb returns to caressing your sex.

"That's a good girl." Dabi picks up the pace, cursing under his breath. "You're doing so good."

You're wriggling against his hand now, trying to increase the friction at your center, not quite minding the foreign sensation of his fingers and the uncanny fullness they bring so much now that there's heat thrumming in your core. "Y-yeah, like that," you pant encouragingly, and Dabi grins.

"That doing it for you?" he purrs. "Think you can take more?"

You start to shake your head—the stretch now feels like all you can handle—but Dabi's already adding a third slick finger, shoving it in with less restraint than before. You feel more than discomfort this time when three knuckles breach your asshole, and it quickly dampens the arousal that had been steadily building. "Dabi, slow down," you gasp.

"Aw, are you sure you can't handle it?" His blue eyes meet yours, pupils blown wide with arousal as he looks you over with the hungry gaze. "'Cause if I'm being honest, it feels like you're trying to suck me in. Like this greedy little hole wants to get fucked."

The huskiness of his voice sends a shiver down your spine, even as another whine of discomfort escapes you. For just a second his expression darkens slightly, but then he's slowing his movements, twisting his fingers instead of thrusting them in and out.

"Better?" he asks, and you think you catch an edge of impatience in his voice.

It is better though, a little at least, enough that you can focus on the way your cunt flutters every time his thumb strokes over your clit. So you just nod; it's not like this wasn't bound to be a little unpleasant at points, right?

Dabi's smile stretches wider, his thumb working faster. A mewl slips from between your lips and Dabi takes that as encouragement, his fingers resuming their persistent thrusts. It's still uncomfortable, though not quite as bad as when he started, and your teeth sink into your lower lip to bite back your complaints. You let your eyes fall closed instead, trying to focus on his attentions to your hooded nub, on the heat that's pooling in your lower belly. You're inching towards another release, and you let a hand lift to your breast, tweaking at the pebbled flesh of one nipple to help yourself along.

"D-dabi, I'm close," you stammer, your hips bucking against his hand.

"Yeah?" His movements speed up, his voice breathy and excited. "Do it, baby girl. Come for me and then I'm gonna fuck this tight little ass of yours."

You swallow hard, trying not to dwell on those words for now—you can tell you've loosened up more, tolerating the jab of his fingers, but his cock is substantially larger than those, all too intimidating. Thankfully, it's not hard to remain distracted, to focus only on your approaching peak.

Dabi can feel that orgasm rip through you when it hits, your asshole clenching around his fingers as you keen, and it's then that he reaches the limits of his patience. He needs you now, needs the thrill of burying himself in your tight ass and claiming you for his own, of reaching his own release deep inside and then watching his seed spill out afterwards. What a satisfying sight that will be.

He scrambles up from between your legs to catch your lips with his, fumbling his boxers off as his tongue invades your mouth. When he pulls away, his eyes are bright, needy. "Ready for me?" he asks.

You're not, not really, but you can see the fervor in his eyes, hear the urgency in his voice, and you convince yourself that he won't be able to work you open much more with his fingers no matter what. Your agreement doesn't matter anyway—he's already rolling you onto your side and slotting his chest against your back, his straining erection poking at the cleft between your thighs.

"Like this?" you ask, surprised by the choice of position.

"Just like this," he pants in your ear. His teeth nibble at your lobe as he slicks his cock generously with lube. "Want you spooned against me so I can see those cute faces you make, feel you squirming when you take me."

And fuck, when he slips one hand back down to finger your asshole one last time, it doesn't disappoint—your body ripples against him when that invasion catches you off guard, and he can see the way your lips part obscenely as you gasp at his touch. His fingers abandon your tight hole almost as quickly as they'd entered, and then Dabi is aligning himself with your entrance, using the last of his restraint not to slam his hips forward and bury himself inside with a single thrust.

You can feel the spongy head of his glans, and the slick coolness of the ring that adorns his tip, prodding at your rear. One of his arms worms its way under your side, his hand groping distractedly at your breasts as you tense in anticipation.

"Relax, baby girl," he murmurs, but he doesn't wait for you to even try. He's already slipping in, moving slowly until he encounters resistance an inch or so inside, and then pausing.

He has to struggle to keep his composure. Even like this, with not even the full head of his cock in your ass, his balls are tightening, just the thought of what he's doing nearly enough to send him over the brink. He waits until he's sure that won't happen and then starts moving, pushing insistently to work you open around his length with shallow thrusts.

"A-ah, Dabi, g-go easy," you stutter, already squirming. You can feel your body resisting the intrusion, so much larger than his fingers, and it aches slightly every time he tries to breach that inner ring.

"I am, baby, don't worry. I'll take care of you." His cheek is nuzzling against yours, his lips kissing and sucking wherever he can reach, but his motions don't change at all even as he murmurs so sweetly. He only slings one arm over your hips, toying lazily at your clit. That attention helps you relax, helps distract you a little, but it's not enough to prepare you for when he drives himself in further, finally surging past that taut band of muscle.

The invasion brings a sharp pain, one that has you crying out. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, your body reflexively contorting to try and escape the cause of that hurt, but his arms tighten around you, holding you in place as he continues to work himself deeper with every thrust.

"Dabi, that hurts." Your words are sharper this time as each stroke sends another unpleasant throb through your overstretched hole, but his only response is to plunge the fingers rubbing at your clit into your dripping cunt.

"Shh, you're doing great." He curls his fingers, stroking against that spongy spot deep inside. It makes you writhe, but that does nothing to address the pain between your legs as he fucks you.

"Dabi, don't, that's not helping, I—"

"It's okay, baby girl, you're taking me so well," Dabi coos. You'll adjust, he knows you will—you're usually up for anything, of course you can take this. And fuck, there's no way he can stop now, not when it's even better than he'd imagined—hotter and softer, your pillowy walls enveloping his length every time he plunges into you, the exquisite tightness of your entrance massaging his shaft with each thrust.

"I'm not— I don't— I don't want to do this anymore." You can hear the desperate edge in your voice now. Your heart is racing and there's a cold sweat forming on your skin as tears of pain and confusion start to leak down your cheeks. "Dabi, stop."

"Shh, shh, you're fine. You—fuck—you feel so amazing. 'S never been this good with anyone else, fuck."

"I don't care, I don't want this." You can't understand what's happening, why he's not listening. You twist your head to look at him, pleading with your eyes, but he's barely even focusing on you. His blue eyes are glazed and half-lidded as his lips wander over your shoulders and your neck, all the while murmuring those useless reassurances against your skin. You're thrashing now, your feet scrambling for purchase on the sheets as you try frantically to pull away, but he keeps his tight grip on you, one of his legs hooking around your own to hold you in place. "Dabi, I said stop!"

He shushes you again, rutting into you harshly, and a choked sob escapes you when he bottoms out inside you, his hips flush against your backside as you struggle against him. You feel sick to your stomach, and it only worsens when he pulls out until nothing but his tip remains, then drives himself back in with one agonizingly rough thrust.

You keep begging, pleading, wracking your brain and trying every past safe word you can recall, but he only continues to pound into you, his breathing erratic as he pants in your ear. "It's okay, baby. You're taking my cock like such a good girl. You're—ngh—making me feel so good."

The ache between your legs is diminishing slightly as you adjust to his girth, your body entirely unconcerned with whether you want that or not. He's still fingering your sopping cunt too, his palm grinding against your oversensitive clit with each plunge of his long digits, the lewd squelching sound of those attentions mingling with the sharp slap of his hips against your ass as he fucks you.

"You like this?" he asks, but you know he's not really asking. "You like knowing I'm the only one? That I'm making you mine, just mine, just like how it should be?"

"Dabi, stop. Please stop." Your appeals are feeble now, far more for yourself than for him as you continue to utter them between quiet sobs. Dabi's somewhere far away, awash in the tight heat of your ass and the satisfaction of finally staking his claim on you, aware of your supplications but not hearing them, not really.

You slump, still sobbing, and let him take what he wants. His attentions to your cunt have a coil tightening in your gut, but when your climax hits it's perfunctory and mechanical, no real pleasure to be found even as your hips jerk and your holes spasm, a joyless whine passing from your lips.

No real pleasure for you, at least. But fuck, the feel of you squeezing around his cock as you come is what Dabi has been waiting for, your insides massaging his length as though desperate for him to decorate your walls with his cum. It's a gift he's glad to grant—he rocks his hips more urgently, keeping his thrusts shallow now so that he's sure to get it all deep inside.

"Fuck," he groans against your neck. "Gonna make me come, baby girl. That what you want? Want me to fill you up?" You shake your head, but his movements are already growing spurtive and erratic, his grunts louder and throatier, and then you can feel his cock jerking inside you, a hot rush of cum flooding your guts.

Dabi doesn't stop then, either, keeps fucking his seed into you until he's softening, not quite able to work himself in and out of your tight, abused hole any longer, and only then does he finally pull out, a dribble of cum leaking obscenely down your thigh.

You're sniffling, drawing shaky breaths, and you try to pull away the moment his arms relax around you. They only tighten again, his lips planting soft kisses along your temple.

"Shh," he murmurs. The sound of his shushing makes you want to scream. One hand lifts to wipe at the tears on your cheeks. "You were so good, baby girl, there's no need to cry. You were fucking incredible." He means it too, doesn't think he's ever come so hard in his life as he did now, making you his.

Dabi can't wait to do it again.

[llamagoddessofficial]

Happy (late im sorry) birthday @aka-indulgence !!! I wrote you a special thing... with one of your special boyos whomst you managed to convert me into loving. I hope you had a fun day!!

Tw; caves, broken bones

You’d stopped screaming a while ago.

There were a lot of reasons- for one, the air in the cave was damp, thick, choking... screaming required you to take a deep inhale of the stale smog and your lungs were already starting to reject it. It was borderline unbearable and you were pretty certain that if you survived this, you’d be choking and coughing for a week at least.

... But that wasn’t the biggest reason. That wasn’t the most important reason you were keeping your mouth shut tight, as you laid on your back in complete darkness, eyes darting around as fast as they could and leg numb with agony.

By this point, screaming was a critical danger that would get you killed.

... The cave just behind the cliff was rumoured to be impossibly deep, to have once contained some kind of legendary terrifying monster that reacted violently to intruders and killed those who didn’t heed its immediate warnings to leave. Of course, there were no modern sightings of this mythical beast, and it definitely sounded less like fact and more like some urban legend designed to keep people away from a dangerous area. No one had ever mapped it... no one wanted to, even the most intrepid of local explorers. The stories (and a healthy serving of common sense) seemed to have prevailed long enough for that particular entrance to just be left alone.

...

So of course, your study group decided it’d be such a good place to spend a Friday night, armed with nothing but half-charged torches, rucksacks full of drinks, and borrowed walking shoes.

You could feel tears gathering at the corners of your eyes, gravity dragging them down the sides of your face as you stared upward into the total blackness. It was stupid to come down here, horror movie levels of stupid- but you just couldn’t say no to them. The study group was the closest thing you had to friends, and you let them lure you into coming along, you’d allowed yourself to be led by your terror of being left out.

... You had no idea how long you’d been lying on your back in total darkness with your immovable leg throbbing with pain, but it was getting clearer and clearer no one was coming back for you.

... So I guess you’ve been left out after all- left out in a cave to die. 

...

A noise. You turned your head, quickly- a familiar blood red colour standing out against the black, closer than last time. Panic jolted through you once again and you grappled with your flashlight, turning it on and pointing it directly at the red; a harsh white circle of light appeared and illuminated a section of the cave. You saw bone and a wide maw of terrifying teeth for a split second before it retreated quickly from the glow in a flurry of movement, disappearing back into the nothingness, an aggravated snarl rippling through the cavern.

...

Your friends, if you could even call them that, seemed to have followed the philosophy of ‘don’t outrun the bear, just outrun the slowest person’. When the monster had attacked your group in the dark, everyone panicked and ran for the exit... and when you stumbled, falling down a steep shaft into what was most likely going to end up being your grave, you became the slowest person.

And the ‘bear’ focused on you.

... It was hanging around in the darkness surrounding you. You could hear it, scuttling, waiting, the terrifying sound bouncing off the walls and coming from every direction at once, you hated how your panic and the enclosed space worked perfectly together to fuck with your hearing. Your only hope was the flashlight you clutched in both quivering hands.

...

You turned to the left, and caught sight of the red again. An engorged, blood coloured orb, slowly moving closer to you like a stalking wolf- it paused when you raised the flashlight, ready to recoil, and you jammed your clammy thumb onto the on button.

...

Nothing.

...

“... N-no.” You said, tiny, voice cracking, shaking the device and mashing the useless button over and over. Suddenly, just like that, the darkness around you had swallowed you completely whole. “No, no, no...”

... 

The monster made the same realisation you had. The flashlight was out of battery. The bloody red eye contracted a fraction... and then, upon realising your only line of defence was gone, advanced toward you.

...

You screamed as loud as you possibly could. You screamed with your whole chest, so hard it ricocheted across the walls and rang in your ears, you kicked your good leg against the ground in a desperate attempt to push yourself away but your heel just slipped on the floor. The sound didn’t deter it- and the eye got bigger and bigger, coming closer by the second, the true scale of the thing hunting you was dawning alongside the panic.

It’s gonna eat me.

The eye was the size of your fist. You could smell something, something warm, its breath, you were seized with unparalleled fear and you blindly swung the useless torch like a weapon. To your shock, it connected- landing squarely on what must’ve been a cheekbone. But it did about as much damage as a pillow would to a rhino and the flashlight shattered into pieces upon impact, with the monster not even so much as flinching.

It was definitely breath, you could feel it in your hair. It smelled like blood. Giant hands moved around your torso, under your arms, and picked you clean up off the ground- and the oh-so-familiar heavy ‘scuttling’ sound of him moving filled your ears. 

S-someone help me!

You punched at his ribs, still ‘screaming' (it was hardly screaming anymore because it was punctured by cracks and thin breaths), the world was beginning to drown out. The sounds and smells and pain were all so overwhelming, the dark and red of his eye were already eating you before he’d even opened his mouth, all you could think about was how no matter how much you didn’t want to you were going to die.

...

Light. Light that wasn’t his eye. It was enough to distract from your shouting, pathetic attempt at making noise catching in your throat. Little glowing rocks- crystals, maybe, they dotted the floor and walls, creating a faint white that was just enough to see by but still filled the world around you with wriggling shadows.

... It was enough to, for the first time, properly see the creature that was taking you.

He was huge; a skeletal upper half, barrel-chested, shoulders twice the width of your own and a heavy sternum with ribs like prison bars. The size of his jaw and thickness of his teeth told you he wasn’t the kind of predator that wasted any time with theatrics; there was no serration, probably no venom, he wasn’t going to be using valuable time to suffocate victims. With a mouth like that he would get right to the point- crushing straight through bone like eggshell.

He was staring ahead. Concentrated.

... Your eyes darted past his skeletal body to the main thing you'd been afraid of seeing; his lower body was a centipede. Giant scar-mottled gleaming brown carapace, trailing off into the dark, massive hooked 'feet' working in perfect undulating tandem to move him effortlessly across the uneven cave floor. You had absolutely no idea how long he was, you couldn't even hazard a guess. No wonder you'd heard his scuttling all around you in the darkness, it wasn't your mind playing tricks on you, he'd literally been all around you- you never stood a chance, did you?

You'd wedged your arms between yourself and his massive ribcage, shaking hands pushing as hard as you could. Despite how obviously little it was counteracting his hold, it was your last way of feeling like you were fighting. Your face and neck ached, your chin was wobbling, your head pounded.. you were a melting ice statue ready to shatter at the slightest push.

You were running out of fight.

... He carried you up, over a lip, into a small alcove. A recessed section of rock, a cave within a cave- a slightly more concentrated cluster of those glowing stones revealed the interior was lined with furs, rags, chunks of sleeping bags, old and well-loved blankets. Some kind of nest.

I’m... am I hyperventilating? you thought, feeling disconnected and dizzy, mind retreating further and further away from your body as a final defence mechanism. Everything’s spinning. 

...

Softness. At first, you thought you’d just gone completely numb... but when you concentrated a little more, you were surprised to find you were staring up at the glow-dotted stone ceiling. 

...

... He’d... put you down. On his nest of blankets? He was hovering over you, breath still brushing your cheeks and forehead... that terrible eye shifted its gaze down your body, you felt like a dinner being surveyed.

... You couldn’t even bring yourself to try and wriggle away. What chance did you stand? Further and further into numbness... am I going into shock?

...

He reached toward your broken leg. You didn't even want to look at it; it hurt so badly. You squeezed your eyes shut, suppressing a sob.

...

Warmth.

A pleasant kind- like you'd just laid the broken limb beside a fire. Tingling faintly... magic? Healing magic? You couldn’t look, you didn’t have the stomach to see just how mangled the leg was, that’d just make it hurt even worse. But it was... 

... Nice.

The warmth was like an eraser. It floated over the leg, fuzzy and comforting, and wherever it floated the pain just... ebbed away. 

...

You opened your eyes again. When he stopped, there was no more pain in your leg. None at all. And he was just... sitting there. Staring at you.

...

“Y-you...” You croaked. The hole in the centre of his eyelight shrank a fraction. The magic felt like it was doing something to you; you could feel your shoulders slowly unwinding, chest relaxing enough for you to take breaths that actually filled your lungs, throbbing head settling down. “... You healed me?”

... Was clubbing him with a flashlight the wrong idea?

...

... He made a sound. Several sounds, actually... soft, throated, deep and staggered... chuffing, like a tiger. Such a gentle noise, for such a giant monster...

...

He seemed to make a decision. With one last little chuff and a nod to himself, his socket lidded... and he laid down next to you. One of his thick-as-your-head arms gently looped over your middle; you were vaguely aware of his centipede body gathering itself into the little alcove, some of it draping lazily over your lower legs.

... Keyword ‘vaguely’ aware. You were so tired, so tired and sick of being in pain, that you barely even wiggled in response to his strange cuddle-like gesture. He was... actually pretty warm... and he smelled like amber and campfires.

...

You were asleep before you could remember you needed to be scared of him touching you- that claws carding lovingly through your hair wasn’t supposed to feel nice.

[scuttling]

Animals

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairings: Aaron Hotchner/Female Reader Word Count: 2,766 Tags: 18+, NSFW, Insecure reader, Crushes, Some very public secret touching, Fingering, Pool sex, Unprotected sex Summary: Based on this prompt from anon: "Reader in a red skimpy bikini at one of rossi’s pool parties trying to get hotch to loosen up….what happens when she gets a little too close when they’re swimming in the pool?" I uh 🥵 Link to A03 or read below! Going to Rossi’s for dinner as a team has to be one of your favorite things in life. There is always good food, good drink, teasing and grinning and laughter; you all get to decompress, destress, enjoy each other’s company as people and not because someone’s life depends on it.

You get to see Hotch as a person, too, and that’s kind of the best part. He’s the one who needs to relax and unwind more than anyone, so when he’s there with you all, casually dressed, softer, and quick to smile, it’s no wonder you… feel things.

You’re not an animal. You can feel things without acting on those feelings; you are more than your instincts. So what if you get butterflies in your stomach when he offers to pour you more wine? So what if your breathing picks up when he’s so close you can feel his breath on your neck? So what if you end these nights at home, alone in your bed, wishing he was beside you, inside you? He’s still off limits.

Your body’s reactions to him are normal, chemical, biological, and pointless, because he could be standing half naked in front of you and you would still be able to control yourself. You are a brain that happens to be in a body, not a body that happens to have a brain.

At least, that’s what you tell yourself when Rossi invites everyone over, not for dinner, but an evening pool party.

A pool party. Fuck.

You are one hundred percent apprehensive, but for two different reasons. One is that you are a little self-conscious, and you prefer jeans and t-shirts over any other clothing; wearing a swimsuit in front of your coworkers seems extremely daunting. The other reason is that seeing Hotch in his swimsuit might actually be more terrifying, because you talk a big game about being able to control yourself, but if presented with his hot body, dripping wet, maybe his hair slicked back, a drop of water on his nose...

You take a deep breath, blow it out slowly. You’re just going to tell them you feel sick and can’t make it. Probably no one will care anyway.

You’re just gathering your things to leave work for the weekend, preparing to smile sadly and tell your lie, when Hotch appears at your side, his bag slung over his shoulder. He’s leaving work on time for once; it’s a freaking miracle.

“You’re coming to Rossi’s, right?” he asks softly, and you get those goddamn butterflies. You smile, not sadly.

“Yeah, definitely. I need to go home and get my swimsuit, though. I think I have one... somewhere.” It’s been a while since you had a vacation; wherever it is, you hope it still fits. He swallows, nods.

“Right, of course. I’ll see you there, then.” He brushes a hand carefully over your shoulder and passes you, heads for the door. You take another deep breath.

You are not an animal.

Right?

You arrive at Rossi’s house last, because you spent so long looking in the mirror, trying to convince yourself to just accept the way the swimsuit fits.

The only one you could find was from college, a little red string bikini, and since your body is obviously different now, it’s a little too small. You’re mostly covered, though, except for your ass, and no one is going to be paying much attention anyway. These people are like your brothers and sisters—or in Rossi’s case, your fun uncle—with the exception of Hotch, but you know he’s not going to be looking.

You walk into the backyard in your coverup, a cute black and white tunic, and everyone is swimming but JJ and Hotch. JJ is standing off to the side, phone at her ear, and Hotch is sitting on a lounge chair, not lounging at all. His spine looks rigid, but you can’t imagine why.

“Beer, my dear?” Rossi calls, holding up his own Corona. “Over by Hotch.” You smile and head toward him, bending to reach into the cooler for a drink; he looks a little more comfortable when he sees you, and says hello. You reply, then lift the bottom of your tunic to try to twist off the bottle cap, to no avail.

“Here, let me,” he says, reaching for your bottle, and he wraps his t-shirt around it, pops it open and hands it back.

“Thanks.” You take a long sip, your head tilted back; after all the self-scrutiny, you feel like you earned this one. “Why aren’t you swimming?”

“I will; didn’t feel like it yet,” he says, looking up at you, and you put a hand on your hip.

“Only you would come to a pool party and not swim, Hotch. Live a little.” You take another long sip, if you can call it that—the bottle is half empty already—and then set it down on the table, pull your tunic over your head. Might as well undress where fewer people are paying attention. “Come on,” you say, reaching out a hand. “I will if you will.”

He looks you over like he thinks you’re crazy or something, staring at you for a long moment, and then nods, lets you pull him up to standing. He tugs his shirt off too, and you do your best not to stare, because he is even hotter than you’d imagined, his chest broad and strong, arms strong too, and there’s a trail of hair disappearing beneath his swim trunks that you would like to explore with your mouth. You take a calming breath, turn to head for the edge of the pool, and he follows behind you; Derek looks up and whistles, and you feel yourself flush hot.

“Okay, Baywatch,” he calls with a grin, “come toward me again, but this time run in slow motion.” You roll your eyes and remind yourself not to try to cover up. If he sees you nervous, it’s just going to get that much worse.

“Shut up. It’s the only one I had,” you reply, and you look back at Hotch, who’s just standing there behind you and not saying anything. It’s like he’s afraid to get too close to the pool, or something; no way a big bad FBI guy is scared of water, right?

You get in the pool, and it feels blissfully good on this 80+ degree day, even though the sun is down; you dunk your head just to get it over with, before someone does it for you, and when you come up, you hum happily and rub your wet hair back out of your face.

You look at Hotch, who is sitting on the edge with his feet in the pool. It’s a total cop out, and you swim over to him and carefully put your hands on his legs beneath the water. He looks down at you seriously and doesn’t move.

“Come on, all the way in. For me.” He wets his lips, and you’re about 80% sure he’s going to ignore you, so you just let go of his legs and back away; he absolutely surprises you by dropping into the water with a splash. He goes under, pops up and shakes his wet hair, droplets clinging to his shoulders. You laugh out loud and give him a shove, glad, again, that you’d chosen to submerge yourself already.

“Are you happy now?” he asks, voice dry, but with a playful smile, and you nod and smile as well. Yes, you’re happy, maybe a little happier than you should be: you can feel that your nipples are hard beneath the thin material of the bikini top. Your stupid body is sending signals, and you’re entering the danger zone, your brain and body fighting for dominance; your stupid body may be winning.

Do not engage, your brain repeats when you look at wet Hotch, a sight to behold, all big and drippy and firm; your body whispers in your ear like the devil on your shoulder, just go for it—he will feel really good—what’s the worst that could happen?

“Yes,” is all you say, moving closer to him even though there’s a warning bell going off in your brain. Do not engage!! “All I wanted was for you to loosen up a little, to relax.” You’re less than a foot from him, and no one is paying either of you any attention, busy playing with an inflatable beach ball or singing along to the radio or drifting around on a lounge float. You two might as well be the only people in the world, or at least that’s how it feels.

“I’m… loose,” he says, his voice low and rough, and something about it makes you feel less inhibited, like maybe it’s not just you who wants this; your hand brushes his waist, and then his hand brushes your hip, and then you lean closer and your leg brushes…

Very loose indeed, if loose equals horny, because that’s definitely not a gun in his trunks and he’s definitely happy to see you.

“Sorry,” you breathe, but you don’t feel sorry. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t move, and you brush him more purposefully this time: your thigh against his bulging cock.

Do not engage!!

“Don’t be,” he replies eventually, and then it’s your hand moving of its own accord, palming him, big and hard. He closes his eyes, wets his lips. You want to bite his throat, to lick it, to get your hand down his shorts and feel him; you’re about to do that, your fingers slipping past the elastic, his breath hitching, and then the beach ball smacks down in the water right beside the two of you and you jump apart, startled.

“Sorry!” Emily calls, and Hotch bats the ball back over to them, and then you just look at each other. Was that a close call you never mention again, or…?

Now or never, your body says. He was about to let you put your hand in his pants. Try it again.

You are not an animal.

You try it again.

This time, you make it past the waistband, and you wrap your fingers around his dick. It’s thick, and hot, and smooth, and he reaches out a hand to grip your waist hard, his eyes boring into yours. You wet your lips, move your fingers to the head, rub it, and then you stroke him three times just to see what he looks like when you do.

He’s gorgeous, unsurprisingly, his eyes lidded and his chest heaving, and you rub him softly one more time and then withdraw your hand; apparently you’re cool with groping your boss in the same pool as the rest of your coworkers, but an actual orgasm is where you draw the line.

You are also breathing heavy, so turned on you’re almost shaking with need, and then Hotch reaches down and slides his hand inside your swimsuit bottoms, rubs the pads of two fingers along your slit. It takes everything you have not to moan at his touch, especially when he dips lower, prods at your opening where you are already slick. He takes a deep breath, and it looks like he’s fighting for strength too, which makes you feel a little better.

At least you’re both animals, now.

He pulls back only to get his hand on your ass, to squeeze it so hard your body shifts forward. You look up at him, and he looks down at you, and everything that needs to be said is said with your eyes.

You drift apart a little bit, but you still feel the ghost of his touch and maybe always will.

You float around, and talk a little; you get out to finish your beer, to grab you both another, and now that you know he’s into you, you maybe make climbing out look a little sexy. When you ease back in, hand him his bottle, he makes eye contact while he wraps his lips around it and takes a long drink.

Eventually, the others interact with the two of you, and it feels so strange to pretend that you and Hotch didn’t just fucking fondle each other fifteen feet away. It also feels really dirty, and that only serves to make you wetter. The glances he’s shooting you don’t help that situation much, either.

Garcia and Emily are the first to leave, and then Reid, until the only ones left are the two of you, Derek, and JJ. JJ says goodbye, heads out, and then Derek gets ready to leave. Rossi says he’ll walk him out, that he’s going to turn in, but that you and Hotch are welcome to stay as long as you like, and to just please lock the front door when you go.

“Couldn’t get you to get in, now can’t get you to get out,” Derek teases Hotch; you preen a little, because you know you’re the cause of both, and when Derek and Rossi leave, the air becomes thick with tension again. You open your mouth but don’t know what to say.

It’s Hotch who actually speaks first.

“I’ve thought about doing that for a very long time,” he murmurs, and you move closer to him, get your hands on his waist again. “You are so fucking beautiful, all the time, but in that bikini… were you just trying to tempt me?” he asks, a sincere question, and you shake your head.

“It’s really the only one I own. I got it in college, so it’s a little small now,” you explain, and he chuckles, soft and low.

“Well then, I guess I’m glad you don’t swim much, because you’re absolutely breathtaking. I was having a very hard time keeping my hands off of you, so I’m glad that you… initiated.” He puts his hands on your ass, pulls you closer, and you wrap your legs around his hips, your arms around his neck.

“Me too. I’ve wanted you for longer than I can remember, you’re so fucking perfect.” You bring a hand to his wet hair and guide him down for a deep, steamy kiss, rubbing against his hard-on and moaning softly, since you can, now. “I want you, Hotch.”

“I need you,” he says, and that’s so much hotter; you reach between you to push down his shorts, taking him in your hand and stroking him again while he holds you up, and then you ease your bottoms to the side and guide him inside you, moaning and tipping your head back when he presses in. “Oh, fuck,” he pants, and you cling to him, kiss him harder, and move in his arms.

“Oh, god, Hotch,” you breathe against his lips, working your hips against his thrusts. “You feel so good, so big and hard and good.” He groans, buries his face in your neck, and pumps up into you roughly, like he’s getting close already.

God, this is amazing, pure fucking, the outcome of being up to your eyeballs in sexual tension—you’re connecting the dots now, seeing how some things you thought were innocent between the two of you were absolutely not—and when he comes he pounds hard inside you, and you dig your nails into his neck and bounce on him until he groans and slides out, sensitive.

“Oh, wow,” he exhales, and then he turns so you’re up against the wall of the pool and lets you go, holding out his hands so you know to stay there. You stretch your arms out on either side of you, breathing hard, and he leans in, moves your top out of the way and sucks on a nipple, then reaches down and pushes your bottoms aside again, presses his fingers deep and fucks you with them.

“Hotch, oh, fuck.” He looks up at you through dark lashes, nips at your breast, and then lifts his mouth off and begs you to come until you do, practically strangling his fingers as you clench tight around him.

He pulls his hand away after getting you through it, fixes your suit and then his, and then pulls you back into his arms and kisses you for a long time, full of yearning and passion and satisfaction. You sigh against his mouth, touch his face, and offer for him to spend the night at your place.

He does, and you have sex on the kitchen counter, and in your bed, and then on the floor the next morning.

You animals. Taglist ❤️: @arsonhotchner @mrsh0tchner @ssahotchie @sleepyreaderreads @mintphoenix @meghannnnnn @disgruntledchowchow @azenpal @g-l-pierce

[duskholland]

Zip It || Peter Parker

prompt ↠ “oh, you want to kiss me so fucking bad, don’t you?” / “... what if I do?”

summary ↠ you didn’t think it could get any worse than the shared bed at the hotel, but then you find out you have to pretend to be peter’s girlfriend for the duration of the mission. it really feels like the universe is laughing in your face. ↠ enemies to lovers, fake dating, college au. word count ↠ 6.3k. warnings ↠ alcohol + a college party, brief use of needles, all the teasing and cursing that comes with an enemies to lovers, and some suggestive tension! this is sfw! a/n ↠ I love this prompt. I’ve wanted to write something based off it for ages, and what better scenario to explore it than in an enemies to lovers fake dating situation lmao? :’) it’s been a while since I wrote anything long with pete so I’m a lil rusty, but this was still a lot fun! I hope you like it

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

“Are you falling asleep right now? Seriously?” Your voice is scathing, your face pinched into a scowl as you stare across the hotel room. “Peter, we have to go in an hour.”

There’s the sound of the duvet rustling as Peter Parker very slowly looks up to glare at you. He’s sprawled beneath the covers of the large double bed, the sheets pulled up to his chin. The heat he carries in his eyes as he hears your accusation is considerably softened by the oversized burgundy hoodie he’s being swallowed by, and the fact his hair is wild and unkempt.

“No,” he says, voice cracking from its high pitch. He clears his throat immediately, cheeks flushing a little darker as he grimaces and looks away. “I’m just...chilling, Y/N.”

“Sure,” you reply. You shift around in the uncomfortable armchair in the corner of the room, feeling pain shoot up your back from the hunched position you’ve been in for far too long. “Liar.”

Peter sits up a little straighter, pulling a face. It’s quick to shatter as he yawns suddenly, and loudly, the sound so brash and unexpected that it makes you jump. Amusement mixes with his annoyance as he looks at you, brown eyes glinting almost amber beneath the light from the bedside lamp.

“I’m not lying. I’m just enjoying this really comfy bed,” he says. His pink lips quirk into a smirk, and he looks so fucking smug as he buries himself back beneath the covers. “It’s so warm. I think the, uh, the sheets are satin. Feels like a cloud, or something. And the pillows…” Peter releases a strangled sound, hitting the back of his head off one of the feathery pillows for dramatic effect. “So nice… Um, unrelated, Y/N, but… how’s that chair? Looks pretty uncomfortable.”

You scowl. “Shut up,” you snap. “You’re completely insufferable. I can’t believe I have to be here with you right now.” You drop your voice, speaking in mutters as you add, more to yourself, “why couldn’t it be Cap? Or Natasha? Why’d it have to be you?”

Peter releases a mirthless chuckle. You glance back, watching as he combs a hand through his fluffy brown curls, messy and wild from so long lounging around. He looks a little bit like an angry teddy bear, wrapped up in such a large hoodie, tucked up in bed. You’re quick to push down that thought. There is nothing cute or inoffensive about Peter Parker.

“Do you think I’m any happier than you about this?” he responds, voice dull. “This is the worst mission I’ve ever been assigned to, and that’s saying a lot. Do you remember that one we did, with the, uh, the… The chemicals? In the lab? Or the time that we had to go and deal with all those freaky alien snakes?” he breaks off, shivering, then recomposes himself enough to shoot you a sour look. “This is worse than all of those times.”

The ache in your back from the chair grows too much to bear, so you stand up slowly, trying to hide your expression of pain.

“Well, hopefully, we’ll get this over with soon,” you reply, voice a mutter. You cast him a distrustful look. “I might kill you if I have to spend much longer with you.”

Peter just smirks, rolling onto his side as he snuggles back into bed. “Feeling’s mutual, baby,” he calls out, looking back at his phone.

You sigh, rolling your eyes as you stalk over to your suitcase and pull out your outfit for tonight, followed by a bag of makeup and hair products. You don’t bother to say anything more as you stride into the bathroom, slamming the door behind you for effect. The moment it’s shut, you throw everything down on the counter and grab at the cool porcelain of the basin, staring yourself in the mirror as you try to calm down.

Peter makes you so frustrated. Since high school and the cramped hallways of Midtown, he’s been an irritant to you. Back then, he was always hanging around, crowding your space, infiltrating your friend group. You understood it, at first. He was a new addition to the Avengers, a team you’ve been a part of since you were 14. Maybe it was to be expected that he clung to you like he did back then, and stuck to your side like glue. Maybe you’d liked it at first.

But then he’d grown up. Peter had become cockier, bolder. The biggest transformation was when you both went to college and somehow ended up on the same course, sharing 90% of the same classes. You got to watch as he was scouted by the college lacrosse team, and thus his ego inflated. To most people, you know he appears charming. He’s polite, considerate, compassionate, and those qualities have awarded him both the attention of your entire college population and the acclaim of the citizens of New York. They herald him, repeatedly, as their saviour, and whilst you’re not jealous of the attention he gets, it irritates you.

Peter does stupid things, all the time, and everyone just lets him get away with it. Like when he accidentally webbed you down during a mission or tossed a bomb your way assuming you could magically diffuse it within the five seconds left on the timer. He steals your food from the fridge in the Avengers’ compound every single time, despite the notes and the padlocks you’ve resorted to using. It’s as if Peter is intent on ruining your life, and when he’s not doing it by fucking up a mission, he’s always just...there. Hanging around, with a sly smirk on his lips or a witty remark laying at the tip of his tongue, trying to get a rise out of you.

You can’t stand being around him.

To add insult to injury, you’ve both been roped into working this mission together. It’s an odd pairing—usually, you’d have at least one other member of the team to act as a buffer between you both. This time, though, with the objective being the infiltration of a college party, apparently you and Peter are the only people who look the right age. You think it’s just some elaborate ploy to get you to work better together, but your complaints had fallen on deaf ears.

You sigh as you look at your reflection in the mirror.

As you do your makeup and fix your hair, you try to let go of some of the frustration you feel. You’re jumpy and shaking, feeling like an uncontrollable livewire. You always feel oddly unsettled whenever you’re around Peter, and it’s only been growing worse recently.

A weight rolls from your shoulders when you finish painting your face and fixing your hair. All that’s left is your dress, and you pick it up with a smile on your face. It’s short, one of your own, and a pretty shade of red—the perfect number for a college party. You slip into it, wriggling as the silky material slides up to press against your soft skin. It’s going well, but then...

You can’t reach the zip.

“Fuck,” you mutter, scrunching up your nose as you reach back and paw helplessly at the undone zipper. You’d forgotten when you’d packed it that the high rise of the zip on this particular dress always gives you trouble. “Peter!”

“What?” he yells back.

You grimace and try a final time to grab the zipper yourself.

“Can you come here?”

“Is that how you ask for something politely?”

You inhale a shuddering breath, clenching your fists as you glance up at the ceiling. Through tight, irritated lips, you call back, “Peter Parker, oh generous and kind saviour of New York City, could you please come here and help me?”

You hear the sheets of the bed rustle very slowly, followed by the heavy set sounds of footsteps stomping over the carpet. You wonder if he’s being purposefully annoying, or if he’s just like this. A moment later, Peter opens the bathroom door, sticking his head around the doorframe with a scowl on his face. He opens his mouth to speak, only for the words to catch as his eyes bulge and take in your figure. You stand a little straighter, arching an eyebrow as you watch him swallow, deeply, taking in the tight fit of the dress and the way it clings confidently to your form.

“Uh- oh, uh, what?” he mutters, cheeks burning red.

“Can you get my zip? Please?” you ask, biting back a smile as you see how flustered he’s become. It gives you a rush of confidence that you can’t quite explain to have him looking at you like that. “It’s uh, just too high for me to reach.” You turn so you have your back to him, glancing into the long bathroom mirror to watch him tentatively step forward.

“Yeah,” he responds, voice gentle. He shuffles nearer, still shrouded in that soft hoodie.

You bend down slightly and make sure he’s got open access to the back as you stand still. A small pulse of electricity crackles down your spine when Peter perches one of his warm hands on your bare shoulder, fingertips brushing up against the thin strap as the other curves down to your back.

“You, uh… You look nice,” Peter murmurs. He’s gentle as his fingers tug the zip, and you have to look away from the mirror, something in your chest tightening as you observe how delicate he is with you. It’s a stark contrast to how haphazardly he treats you out on the field when you’re both protected by your suits.

“Thanks,” you whisper.

It’s tense. You can feel his breath coming out across the back of your neck, and you’re entirely aware of the hand resting on your shoulder. As the sound of the zip slowly being pulled up fills the small space of the bathroom, you find yourself holding your breath.

“There,” Peter mutters. He steps back, immediately pulling away all contact with your body, and your skin feels cold without him. You glance in the mirror, seeing that he’s fixed it perfectly, and give him a short nod.

“Thanks,” you say again, lacking any better words. Your brain feels fuzzy.  

Peter’s phone buzzes and you watch as he digs through his front pocket to find it. “Oh!” he exclaims. His nimble fingers pad over the front screen. “They’ve sent through our fake identities.”

“Ooh,” you say, suddenly feeling excited. This is your favourite part of going undercover—the fake names, the fabricated social media accounts, and the backstory you get to spin. Whoever HQ designs for you becomes your character for the night, and it’s thrilling. Makes you feel a little bit like a movie star. “Let me see.”

Peter’s brows furrow and you watch his jaw drop as his eyes widen. He glances at you, nervousness mixing with his frustration.

“You’re not going to like this,” he says.

“Why? What are you talking about? What have they done? Why—”

He passes you the phone with a roll of his eyes, and you snatch it from his hand.

“Oh, yeah, no problem, Y/N, you don’t need to say thanks,” Peter says sarcastically.

Entranced by the phone, you sit on the marble bathroom counter, continuing to scroll through the fake social media profiles as Peter faffs around in front of the mirror. You’re numbly aware of him pulling off his hoodie, then inspecting his teeth and uncapping his tub of hair gel.

The profiles seem fine. You can’t see anything wrong with them. You’ll be Fi Hardy, Peter as Ben Beckerman. You scroll down your own orchestrated instagram feed, seeing photos of you, pictures of typical college things, then…

“Wait.” You feel your breath catch. “What the fuck.”

“Yeah.” You can hear the smirk in Peter’s voice. “I know.”

The tech team back at HQ is incredibly talented. One of their freakiest and most irritating skills is their ability to photoshop photos that look so real it’s disconcerting. Their latest feat seems to be a series of photos of you and Peter together, except, it’s not really you kissing his cheek, and it’s definitely not him with his arms wrapped around you and his face nuzzled into your neck.

“They...want us to be a couple?” you mutter, voice tight.

“Mmm. Gets worse than that, though. Look at the caption on the newest one.”

You scroll back up, eyes catching on the small, almost insignificant detail of the photo. It’s you both, again, standing together at a party that never took place. Your left-hand rests on Peter’s shoulder, and though some of the details are blurry, the presence of a ring is not.

@fi_hardy: feel like the happiest girl in the world. can’t wait to have you as my husband <3

Beneath the post is hundreds of likes, and a stream of comments from fake accounts congratulating the two of you on your engagement.

It makes sense, you suppose. You’ve read the file. You know that the man you’re trying to bug tonight has a history of pursuing taken women, and you suspect that your engagement ring might give you access to him that you might otherwise not get. On a basic level, you understand it, and if it was anyone else assigned as your fiancé, you’d be fine with it. But it’s not. It’s him.

You throw Peter’s phone on the counter angrily.

“Hey!” he yells, quickly snatching it up and cradling it close. “Careful!”

You slip down from the counter, your fingernails digging into the soft flesh of your palms as you pace the short space. Peter jumps out of your way, eyeing you with amusement in his eyes.

“Are you seriously laughing right now?” you quip, needing to direct your irritation at someone.

Peter shrugs. “Maybe. You’re being really dramatic.”

“Oh, well I’m sorry that I don’t particularly like the idea of walking around a party pretending to be engaged to you.” Your eyes widen as you start to think about what this actually entails. “Clearly, these people are gross and affectionate. Have you even thought about what that might mean?”

Peter loses a little bit of his confidence, his cheeks paling slightly. “Well, uh, we don’t have to play into it that much—”

“Yes, we do,” you challenge. “They’ve clearly set it up like this for a reason. If we don’t follow it exactly, then we’ll fuck up the mission.” You meet his gaze, nostrils flaring. “I’m not going to fuck up this mission, Peter, and you better not either.”

“Woah,” he mutters, throwing his hands in the air. His fingers glint beneath the harsh bathroom lighting, still partly sticky from the hair gel. “I’m not planning on messing up the mission.” He tilts his head to the side, chuckling. “I’m gonna be the most convincing fake fiancé you’ve ever had.”

You pause, crossing your arms. “Oh, really?” You raise a brow. “You know, that means you’re going to have to, like… Hold my hand.”

Peter nods, gelled hair staying in place. He copies your movements, biceps bulging against the thin white t-shirt as he folds his arms over his chest.

“Yeah,” he says. He steps a little closer, smirking, and you breathe in the scent of his cologne. “Might even have to kiss you, too.”

Something inside your chest rebels against your irritation, and you find yourself puzzling as an odd combination of emotions strikes you.

“You will,” you say, narrowing your eyes. You look away, trying to shake off the odd feelings in your stomach. “I, uh… I’m going to go and find the rest of my jewellery.” You walk towards the bathroom door, glancing back just in time to catch Peter’s eyes admiring your form. His cheeks flush again, and you raise a brow. “Hurry up,” you mutter. “We need to go.”

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

An hour later, you’re there, thrown thick into the fray of a Chicago house party. From the outside, you’d been sceptical—the house looked to be a normal building, smack bang in the centre of a residential street. Inside, though, it wears all the marks of a college party: tacky red cups, a terrible DJ, and a persistent level of noise that makes your ears ache. As a student yourself, you usually love parties, but you will admit it’s a little disconcerting to be at one where you know no one. Undercover and knowing no one but Peter, you find yourself in the back corner of the room with him, his arm thrown easily around your shoulders as the two of you scout the room.

Peter’s presence at your side is merely for protection, and both of you know it. With neither of you in your suits and your skills leaning more towards the pick-pocketing side than his, the plan is simple. You’ll both work together to identify your target, then you’ll discreetly take his phone and pass it off to Peter who will make a copy of all the files. Hopefully you’ll be able to return it to Harry Osborn, the son of the elusive CEO of Oscorp, before he notices that his phone, which contains precious information about illegal scientific experiments, has been taken.

It should be simple.

“Where the fuck is he?” you murmur, squinting your eyes as you survey the crowd. It’s Harry’s party, yet the host hadn’t been on the door, nor does he appear to be in the living room.

“Don’t know,” Peter responds.

You glance up at him, biting back a snarling comment as you get distracted by the sight of his face. It’s quite… It’s quite cute.

Peter’s pulled a blue plaid shirt over the top of his white t-shirt. The cuffs obscure the web shooters he’d refused to leave behind, and the material clings tightly to his torso. He’s buffed up considerably since joining the lacrosse team, and though you despise the way he’s now able to press more than you in the gym, you will admit he looks good with his chest full and muscular.

“Um, Fi?” Peter’s looking at you, eyebrows arched. His thin lips twitch into almost a smile, and he tugs you a little bit closer. You squeak as you fall into him, having to reach up and grab at his shoulders to steady yourself. The glint of the golden band, sitting on your ring finger, draws your attention. “Are you okay, baby? Looking a little bit… Distracted.”

He doesn’t know you were checking him out. There’s no way. He doesn’t.

...Does he?

You smile sweetly, trying to look at him like you’re in love. “Sorry, babe,” you respond. There are people all around you, chatting and swaying to the music, so you have to maintain the rouse. “Got a lot on my mind.”

Peter coos, reaching up to pat your cheek softly. You have to press down the urge to bite his finger.

“‘Course you do,” he soothes. His eyes flitter around your face, then back to the rest of the room as he surveys the crowd. Peter’s expression suddenly clears, and he pats your cheek softly. “He’s here,” he murmurs, voice low. “Eleven o’clock.”

You turn in his arms, sinking back into Peter’s form as he adjusts to hold you in a loose hug. His chin presses into your shoulder, slick hair brushing up against the bottom of your face. His warm grip on your waist makes you gulp.

Harry Osborn has entered the room. The blond is surrounded by a group of his friends and wearing a long, green and purple checkered jacket. Even from across the room, he emanates the stench of old money and thick charm.

“Alright,” you say. You pull away from Peter, having to fight for a few moments to break free from his firm grip. You turn back to look at him, blinking a few times as you take in his unreadable expression. “I’m going in. Stay close.”

Peter gives you a curt nod. “Gotcha,” he says. He drops his voice, eyes darkening. “Be safe,” he adds, voice a little quieter.

You swallow, nodding in return. “You too.”

Before he can say another word, you take off, melting into the crowd with ease. You’ve got a vague game plan building in your mind, but you won’t know the best way to get close to Harry until you get a better read on his character. You know a few things from his file, such as his naturally outgoing personality and a supposed affinity for taken girls, but beyond that, he’s a mystery.

You find a cup of cheap beer and stand fairly near Harry and the rest of his friends. There’s a few of them, standing in a circle, laughing loudly and talking in obscenities. You sway with the rest of the partiers, making direct and focused eyes towards him until he glances up and spots you. His eyes caress your figure, then he wiggles his eyebrows at you, and you slap on your best I’m interested face.

Harry excuses himself from his friends, walking over to you, intrigued.

“Hey,” he calls out, falling to a stop in front of you. His wavy blond curls complement the icy depths of his blue eyes. “Do I know you?” His tone is light but curious.

You nod immediately, slapping on a bright smile. “Yeah,” you reply. “We were in the same chem class last semester? I’m Fi.” Your words are instilled with so much brash confidence that Harry accepts them. He leans into you as you step closer and place your free hand up on his shoulder, fingertips feeling the soft material of his jacket. “I always had a bit of a crush on you, if I’m being honest.”

Harry chuckles, looking you up and down with hunger in his eyes. You match his movements, doing it under the guise of checking him out, but really, you’re trying to locate the position of his phone. A frown finds your lips as you begin to suspect it might be in one of his inner pockets. Your brain starts to spin, running through a variety of different actions you could pull that might give you closer access to him.

“You’re cute,” he decides. Harry smirks, then he plucks the red solo cup from your hand and raises it to his own lips. After draining it, he haphazardly throws it behind him, and your eyes follow it as it soars through the air and bounces off someone’s head. A snort slips past your lips as the figure jolts up, and you recognise the bed of brown curls as Peter. “D’you want to dance with me?”

You nod immediately, forcing a smile as you bring your eyes away from Peter, and back to Harry.

“I would love that,” you respond. Harry grins, then reaches forward to take your hand, only to halt as his beady eyes fall on your ring. Your breath hitches as you hope and pray the intel on his romantic tendencies is correct.

“Are you getting hitched?” he asks, eyebrows furrowing.

You shrug, trying to pass it off as a mere inconvenience. You distract him with fingers in his hair, stroking through the ends of his strands.

“Does it bother you?” you coo, stepping up to whisper in his ear. “He isn’t around at the moment, and I really want to dance with you, Harry.”

The blond’s eyes darken, and he shakes his head. “No problem with me, sweetheart,” he bounces back. He tugs you further into the room, and from the corner of your eye, you see Peter following.

You dance together for a while and slowly, you inch closer to Harry. What starts out as a casual exploration of his form with your hands quickly turns into a full-body pat-down, but he doesn’t seem to notice it. As you slide your fingers beneath the heavy material of his jacket, his lips tickle your neck, kissing your skin harshly. You hide a scowl as your fingers shift lower, lower, and finally, you feel it—his phone.

Harry coaxes you away from his shoulder, and you feel disappointment dampen your excitement as he glances at you, slightly flushed.

“D’you want to go upstairs?” he asks, voice sultry.

You pout softly. “Can we just dance? For a little bit longer?” You know if he gives you one more shot at it, you’ll be able to snatch his phone.

Harry nods, bringing a hand up to cup your cheek. His palm is cool and calloused, and it feels alien on your face.

“Of course,” he responds, voice soft. His eyes slip down to your lips, and you know what he wants. You think that it’d be a small price to pay for completing the mission. “You’re so pretty.”

He starts to lean in, his touch on your face encouraging you to do the same. Your eyes flutter shut, but before you’re able to seal the deal, something very large crashes into you.

You yelp, being pushed back from Harry. Your eyes spring back open, and nothing short of volatile irritation burns across you as you see that it’s Peter.

“Woah, man, what the fuck?” Harry snaps. “Look where you’re going.”

Peter snarls at him and reaches down to grab your hand. Your eyes widen, and you squeeze his fingers hard.

“Yeah, well, maybe you should watch where you’re putting your hands before you try and make a move on my girl.”

You jolt up, staring at him, horrified. Before Harry can get in another word, Peter’s jerking you across the room, pulling you in the direction of the patio.

“What the fuck?!” you exclaim, voice high. “What did you do that for? Eh? I was so close to getting the fucking phone, Peter!” you drop your voice as you speak his real name. You try to shake yourself out of his grip, only for him to squeeze you tighter.

Peter doesn’t say anything—not until you’re outside, standing away from the rest of the party, shielded in the trees. He drops your hand and starts to pace in front of you, eyes wild, face scowling.

“You weren’t,” he says, pointing at your left hand. “We’re supposed to be engaged. You were going to blow our cover.”

You throw your hands in the air. “Excuse me? That’s bullshit. Both of us know that this,” you pause to throw your hand up and point at your ring, “is part of it. He likes taken girls, idiot. He found it hot. What the fuck is your problem?”

Peter stops pacing, and he stands in front of you, breathing heavily through flared nostrils. His eyes trail across you, and he jumps forward a few steps.

“He was...sleazy,” he says, scrunching up the tip of his nose. “We’ll just take him out another way. Like, we- we can just wait until he’s alone, and jump him. You’ve still got those, uh, those unconscious injection things, right? We’ll just jab him, steal the phone, use the memory wiping ones, and it’ll be fine.” He’s sputtering and stammering over his words, and you press both hands into your waist as you stare at him, incredulously.

“I understand now,” you say, speaking quickly. “You’re jealous.”

Peter’s expression shifts into one of horror. He opens his mouth to speak, but you jump in first.

“No, I’m talking,” you interrupt. You step closer, finding yourself drawn to the fierce anger churning in his eyes. “You want to be the one who gets all the credit for the mission. You can’t stand the thought of me doing the hard work, can you? You’d rather sabotage the whole thing than let me do my job.”

Peter shakes his head roughly, a few strands of his hair bursting free from the confines of the gel.

“No,” he stresses. “That’s not it at all, Y/N. How self-centred do you think I am?”

You laugh coldly. You’re so close now, you can almost feel his warm breath coming out over your face.

“Incredibly self-centred, Parker,” you respond, not even bothering to use his code name. You’re too far away from anyone else for them to hear you, anyway. “You’re selfish, and volatile, and you do whatever the fuck you want to do. You’re no better than a child.”

He blinks a few times, pursing his pink lips. “Well, fuck you,” he replies, voice dancing with irritation. “You think I’m a child? You’re the one who never fails to throw insults at me, or make fun of all the things I like to do. You’re always, always, hanging around me, watching me like I’m about to trip up. You’re the one who’s self-centred and doesn’t let anyone help you. You’re stubbornly independent, infuriatingly curious, and you- you- you make me so mad.”

Peter’s glowing, his cheeks bright pink, and his eyes a rich shade of brown that takes your breath away. You don’t know how to respond, so you fall back to the thought that’s been bouncing through your head since he’d tugged up your zipper.

“Oh, you want to kiss me so bad.”

“...What if I do?”

There’s a tense silence as you meet his eyes. Your chest is heaving, Peter’s too, but in sync, you seem to surge together. His hands go to your waist, and you wrap yours around his neck, and he kisses you, suddenly. You moan from surprise, but you push back into it, twirling your fingers into his hair as you kiss him fiercely. His lips are soft and slightly chapped, but they make you feel warm inside, and you realise in a quick moment that you love the feeling of them moving over yours. When he breaks off to gasp for breath, you’re quick to smother him again, craving the sensation, rejoicing in how nice it feels to be held in his strong arms.

You kiss him, and suddenly you understand why it annoys you so much every time you see him playing lacrosse and being cheered on by the crowds in the stands. It becomes clear why you couldn’t stand the sight of him with MJ. The way your skin crawls and your heart seizes in your chest every time Peter looks at you become explainable.

You kiss him, and it all makes sense.

When your lungs burn for air, you fall back. As you inhale the fresh air instead of his lips, your mind starts to clear.

“Peter?” You whisper.

Peter’s holding your waist, forehead pressed against yours as his ragged breath comes out across your face. When you open your eyes, you see the way his eyes are similarly wide with shock.

“I, uh…”

Suddenly, there’s a loud crash from inside the house. Peter jumps back, eyebrows furrowing as if he’s listening to something.

“Gotta go,” he mutters. “Spidey sense. Stay here.”

You try to reach out to grab him, but he slips away.

“B-Ben!” you call after him, but it’s already too late. Peter’s vanished, and your eyes have little more to grasp but the sight of him running over the patio and vaulting into the room.

You decide to follow him, head spinning.

When you reach the house, you see that one of the tables has been pushed over. You suspect that was the source of the loud noise, but a glance around the room gives you no sight of Peter, nor Harry. Your eyes flutter around the sea of people, and where you draw up blank, you decide you’ll need to comb the house.

Using your intuition, you quickly run up the stairs, dress flapping around the bottom of your thighs. It’s quieter upstairs, but you have to push through a few entangled couples. Worry hangs heavy in your heart. There’s a selection of rooms up here, but the one at the end has its door flung wide open. You squint your eyes and stare into it, gaze widening. It’s the master, and it leads out to a large balcony. On the balcony are Peter and Harry, engaged in what seems to be hand-to-hand combat.

You groan as you run into the room, but the sight of Harry’s jacket strewn across the floor makes you pause. You bend down, rummaging through his pockets and grinning as you feel his phone. After pulling it out, you dig into your slim black bag and pull out the transmission beacon. Whilst keeping half an eye on the fight out on the balcony, you use the other to slot Harry’s phone into the device. As the machine absorbs the intel from Harry’s phone, you stand up and hurry out, digging through your bag as you go to join the fight.

It’s a lot worse now that you’re out here. You’d thought Peter was in control, but now you’re closer, you can see that Harry is holding a sharp, thin knife. Usually, in his suit, Peter would be able to hold his own easily. Yet, it seems that Harry is exceptionally good at close combat, and you find them sparring on an equal level, one of Peter’s sleeves slashed and red blood staining the material.

“Who the fuck are you?” Harry sneers, breathless as he dodges a kick from Peter.

“None of your business,” your partner snaps back. Peter sees you, his face clearing with relief, but it knocks his concentration. You gasp as Harry manages to punch him in the side of the face and Peter goes spiralling back, grunting as the force behind it pushes him onto the cement floor.

“Well, if you won’t identify yourself, I’m sure the coroners will,” Harry snarls. He bends down to kneel on Peter, pinning him down with his wrists and legs.

Panic courses through your veins, but you’re finally able to shake it as you realise the fight has tilted very seriously out of Peter’s favour. You grab one of the syringes from your bag and vault across the large balcony, jumping onto Harry’s back. The man grunts, trying to turn around and take you on, too, but you jam the fast-acting needle into his arm, and he immediately slackens. You fall to the side, crashing onto the patio beside Peter as both of you watch Harry pass out. You wince as the blond falls back, slumping onto the balcony with his eyes closed.

“Shit,” Peter murmurs. He sits up, rubbing at his arm. “Thanks.”

You bring your gaze back to him, uncertain and nervous.

“Uh, you’re welcome,” you say. You swallow deeply. Peter’s eyes are dark but kind, glinting like stars beneath the night sky. “You’re my partner, so, uh… I had to protect you.”

“You saved me. He was this close to gutting me.” Peter holds up his fingers, showing you a tiny space as he smiles shyly.

You shrug bashfully, enjoying the way he’s looking at you.

“I couldn’t let you die,” you whisper.

Peter crawls over to you, and you melt like a candle against his lips as he reaches up to cup your face and kiss you, gently. It’s warmer this time and lacks the frenzied anger that’d tainted the last one. You sigh into it, and relax back, letting him press you down against the cool ground as he chases your lips. Peter shifts over you, planking above you, and the hand messily sprawled over your cheek holds you in place, allowing him to kiss you again and again.

“Wait,” you murmur, pulling back, brows furrowing. The sight of him above you, messy hair falling out around his face makes you smile. “What about your arm?”

Peter makes a noncommittal noise. “Super healing,” he mutters. “Worth it.”

You swallow, ghosting your lips over his again.

“But… But don’t you hate me?” you find yourself asking.

“Nah.” Peter’s smiling, his expression warm. “I think, uh… it was more frustration. I think I… I think I feel the opposite of hate. If you… If you know what I mean.”

Your lips twitch into a wide smile. “I know what you mean,” you reply. Teasingly, you press a very light kiss to the corner of his mouth. “You drive me mad, but… in a good way.”

Peter chuckles, the sound vibrating through the air. “You’re so cute,” he mumbles between kisses. You play with his hair, aching in every single way to feel more of him. The attraction you feel towards him is consuming and fulfilling, and you wonder why it took you so long to get to the root of your feelings. “I, uh… I couldn’t stand the sight of you two together. That’s why I interrupted you guys. Sorry for, uh, blowing the mission.”

You giggle. Finally, Peter shifts away, standing up with a grunt and offering you a hand up.

“It’s fine,” you say. You curl into his side, his hand resting comfortably on your waist as the two of you look down at Harry. He’s snoring loudly. “It was a memory tranq. He won’t remember any of this tomorrow.” There’s a beeping sound coming from inside his room, and you nudge Peter’s side. “That’ll be the data transfer complete, too.”

Peter hums. He looks back to you, handsome eyes flickering over your face.

“So… Mission complete?” he asks, squeezing your waist.

You nod, smiling. “Mission complete.” You step closer and kiss his cheek, your grin widening as he blushes. “You want to, uh… Get out of here?”

Peter quirks an eyebrow, understanding fluttering out across his face. There are a hundred different things you know you’ll need to talk about and work through, but you don’t feel scared about that. You have a feeling that communicating with Peter is about to get a whole lot easier.

“What, to our very exciting hotel room with that really comfy bed?”

You giggle. “Yeah. That’s the one.”

“Mhmm.” Peter grabs your hand and squeezes it, then returns your kiss with a brief scattering of light pecks, stretching from cheek to cheek. “Can’t think of anything better, baby.”

You bite your lip, your cheeks aching from the stretch of your smile.

“Me neither.”

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

woooh yay :’) we lov college peter

lmk what you think !!!

m-list and taglist are linked in my bio <3

[kumzume]

desperate ft. kozume kenma

warnings. SMUT, exhibitionsm, voyuerism, handjob, slight slight slight humiliation if you squint really hard, also kuroo x kenma if you squint + kuroo x you too ;)

an. wrote this in 3 hours and have no idea how long it is LMAO, not proofread, fueled solely by my whorekneeness :D

♡´･ᴗ･`♡

kenma would rather be anywhere but here.

the loud noise of the bass gave him a headache and the numerous people filling the small living room made his skin crawl. the warm beer he’d been steadily nursing didn’t even help distract him from the spring poking through the shitty couch cushion, leaving a small ache in his butt.

as he glanced around the room searching for something to take his mind off of the hell that was this college house party, his mind wandered back to the question that had been in plaguing his mind the entire night: why the hell am i here?

just then, his eye caught on something—rather someone—and he couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face.

oh yeah. it was you.

you were standing in the kitchen speaking to kuroo while grabbing a drink of your own, your short skirt riding up as you laughed at something stupid kuroo said. kenma felt his cheeks heat up, his eyes darting down to his lap as if he wasn’t allowed to stare at his (Gorgeous™) girlfriend.

his cock was already growing in his sweats, one of his hands going to cover it. he wanted to whine for you to come over and take him home so you could fuck him senseless but he knew you were having fun. you’d leave the party with him in a heartbeat but you’d been looking forward to this party for weeks and he didn’t want to ruin it for you.

so, kenma grabbed a musty couch pillow that was stained with something mysterious (was it cum? or blood? he really didn’t want to find out) to cover up his little...problem.

it wasn’t long before you made your way back over to your boyfriend, feeling a little guilty for leaving him alone for too long in an uncomfortable environment. you realized he had problems with big crowds so you were willing to say goodbye to the last of your friends and then leave to cuddle with kenma at home.

as you approached the couch where he sat, you couldn’t help but notice the strategically placed pillow on his lap, his pink cheeks, and teeth digging into his plush bottom lip. a smirk appeared on your face, your years of dating him preparing you to notice that that wasn’t an uncomfortable kenma face—it was a horny kenma face.

“hey baby, are you alright?” you asked, sliding into the empty space next to him on the couch. kenma felt his body immediately seek yours, one of his legs spreading to get in contact with your thigh. of course you noticed this and swiftly decided to do something about it.

you took one of your arms and wrapped it around kenma’s thin waist, pulling him nearly into your lap. a small gasp escaped his lips at the gesture, his head ducking to hide in your neck to cover his burning cheeks.

“baby, tell me what’s wrong, hm?” kenma shook his head at your question, his blond tipped strands ticking the side of your face. you sighed in disappointment while allowing one of your hands to trail down to his lap, gently caressing his thigh before pulling the pillow off of his crotch.

kenma moaned softly into his place in the crook of your neck as your hand palmed his rock hard length through the thin cotton fabric. “oh baby... is this the problem? are you horny, is that it?” your tone, while mocking, is sweet and kenma nodded his head quickly without thinking.

you lifted his face from against your skin to look at him and the sight that greeted you had a gentle sigh leaving your chest. kenma’s cheeks had become bright red from your ministrations and his bright golden eyes gazed on you with adoration and lust pooling in the centers. your smaller hand caressed his jaw before pulling him down for a passionate kiss.

the minute your lips met his, a sharp whine left his mouth, his hands coming up to the back of your head to press you both closer together. your own hand tangled itself in his long hair while your tongue forced its way past his lips.

“oh, are we getting a show?” kuroo exclaimed while coming to sit on the chair across from the couch where you were sat, causing you to hesitantly pull yourself from your boyfriend’s soft lips. you didn’t miss the way kenma followed you or the whimper that escaped him when he did and you doubt kuroo did either.

after sending a placating look kenma’s way, you turned towards kuroo with a roll of your eyes. “i’m sure you’d like that too, pervert. you wanna see me jerk kenma off in the middle of this party?” you replied, only half joking but the way kuroo’s eyes darkened at your statement and kenma’s hips rolled into yours told you something different.

“baby? can you look at me?” you lifted your sweet boyfriend’s face back up so that his eyes would meet yours and all you saw in them was want and desire. still, you believed consent was sexy and you needed his expressly for what you wanted to try out. “are you okay with that kenma? do you want your best friend to watch while i jerk you off in this room full of people?” he nodded heavily, his hips rolling into your hips with more ferocity while a moan of your name left his lips.

your pussy clenched under your skirt at the noise as a wave of slick stained your panties. you were really going to do this. holy shit, okay. after taking a deep breath, you readjusted kenma on your lap so that he was seated in between your legs with his back against your chest. your hand moved down to play with hem of his sweats, a wet stain starting to show where he soaked through his boxers. a glance across the room showed kuroo leaning back into his chair, a noticeable bulge showing through his jeans.

you brushed kenma’s hair over his shoulder before whispering once more in his ear. “are you sure you want to do this? you can say no and we can both go home right now, ok?” as a response, kenma grabbed the hand that was messing with his sweatpants and placed it right over his hardened cock, his hips bucking up into your touch.

“please,” his voice coming out so quiet, you could hardly hear him. “just touch me.” and who were you to deny a sweet request such as that?

kenma’s grip lessened on your wrist, allowing you to room to reach into his sweatpants and pull his dick out, it smacking against his stomach where you’d pulled up his hoodie slightly. his head automatically tilted back to rest on your shoulder but his eyes never left his best friend who had a hand resting on his crotch but left it unmoving.

a quick look around the room showed a couple of interested people, whispering at the sight of kenma writhing in your lap. largely though, the partygoers were unbothered or not paying the slightest attention at what was going on on the couch.

another whine of your name took you out of your thoughts and back to the present where your boyfriend’s cock stood bright red and leaking against his abdomen, waiting for your touch.

you wrapped your hand around the base of his member, earning you a hiss and sharp buck of his hips against you. you began stroking him up and down, careful to twist your wrist around his head in the way you knew he liked. he was heavily drooling precum now, making it easier to pick up speed.

it wasn’t long before he was a moaning, crying mess beneath you, his whimpers leaving him in a higher volume and frequency, attracting quite the crowd. kuroo had been steadily rubbing his cock through his jeans, still unwilling to remove it from its confines with the growing number of people surrounding the two of you.

“you like this hm? you like being put on display for everyone can see?” you murmured into his ear, the slick sound of your strokes nearly drowning you out. he could hardly answer, his eyes rolled back and a thin line of drool spilling from his mouth.

now, that wouldn’t do.

you gave him a sharp slap to his thigh, eliciting a jump and a moan from him and a gasp from your audience. “baby, answer me when i ask you a question.”

“yes, yes, i like w-when they watch me!” he moaned out, his breathing picking up speed as he chased his high. his hips bucked up into the tight circle your hand made, his thighs beginning to shake, signaling his nearing climax.

“c-can i cum, p-please let me cum,” kenma whimpered as his eyes locked on kuroo, his cock twitching in your hold. you followed your boyfriend’s gaze and smiled when you saw who they landed on.

“kuroo, do you want to tell kenma to cum? he’ll do it if you tell him to.” jealous whispers resounded around you but you ignored them in favor of watching kuroo’s eyes darken further and heat rushing to his cheeks. he nodded after a moment but you shake your head. “kuroo, tell him to cum.” you spoke with such finality that kuroo can’t help but do exactly what you say.

“kenma, cum.” it’s simple but it does the trick, kenma’s eyes rolling back, and his back arching as cum splatters all over his thighs, abdomen, and sweatpants. you continued to stroke him through his intense orgasm while he shook in your hold until he pushed your hand away from his softening cock with a whine of too much.

you removed your hand from him before pressing a kiss to his forehead and helping him pull his pants back up to cover him. you briefly took in the faces of the voyeurs standing around in the living room but kenma’s gentle hand on yours alerted you to his tired eyes, and fucked out smile. you smiled back and helped lift him up to his feet, his legs nearly buckling on him threatening to pull you both down to the floor but thankfully, a strong arm appeared, lifting kenma back to his feet.

you looked up to see who the culprit was only to meet the gaze of kuroo who sent you a sheepish smile. your eyes tracked down his body and landed on his still hard cock, straining against his zipper.

you grinned while the pair of you walked kenma to your car, not batting an eye when kuroo suggested coming home with you, to take care of kenma of course.

you knew and he knew what he really wanted and you were more than willing to give it to him.

after all, who were you to deny your boys what they needed?

[multifandomimagines]

Obvious - A Kai Parker Imagine

Characters: Kai Parker x Reader

Word Count: 2285

Summary: Kai and the reader go to a party at the Salvatore house, but they can’t keep their hands off each other.

Warnings: Alcohol, suggestive comments, making out

Written by: Josie

A/N: First imagine! Really hope you guys like it, we’ll be posting more like this soon so be sure to check out our page to help us get going! x

Disclaimer: Gif isn’t ours - credit to who it belongs to.

Kai and Y/N didn’t have what was known as a typically conventional relationship. A witch with unlimited power and a somewhat insane siphon, both with a thirst for chaos and excitement? I mean, causing mayhem together isn’t usually on most people’s date night ideas list.

The Salvatore house was once again home to a massive Friday night party, courtesy of Caroline Forbes’ charm over Stefan, who reluctantly agreed to let her use their house as the venue. Only one of the couple was technically invited, as Y/N was best friends with the hostess. The others weren’t exactly thrilled at Kai appearing by her side with a wide grin when they arrived, but they wouldn’t object. For now at least. Not when he brought enough snacks and drinks for at least ten people.

A few drinks later, and the two witches were almost ready to let loose on the unsuspecting partygoers. What they were planning wasn’t quite as extreme as Kai would have wanted, but Y/N was able to convince him of something both fun, and that wouldn’t kill her friends or land them in a magical coma of sorts.

“Come on,” Y/N giggled as she dragged her boyfriend by the hand away from the snack table and toward the middle of the room. Kai eyed the food with longing as he was taken away from it like he was being torn from his soulmate. He kind of was, really. “Dance with me.”

Turning back to his girl, he raised an eyebrow at her flushed expression. “How much have you had to drink?”

“Only enough to give me confidence,” She turned to face him when she reached her destination in the middle of the crowd, having forced herself and Kai through various sweaty bodies. Kai got smacked in the face by a dancing drunk blonde on the way, but Y/N’s grip on his hand was too strong to give him the chance to get angry at her.

Kai smiled and pulled her close as she wrapped her arms round his neck, beaming up at him. “I thought you wanted to cause some trouble?” He smirked, leaning close as he spoke. Y/N was already a little tipsy, but having him this close made her feel completely intoxicated. He was stronger than any alcohol she could drink, and she never got hungover after a hit of him, she only wanted more.

“I do, but can’t we just act like normal people at a party for a bit? And besides, I like this song!” She swayed with him as the bass boomed through the speakers, making it all the more intense.

“You know I’m not all that much of a dancer.” Kai chuckled at her moves; she was so carefree once she let herself go and her smile was enough to pull at the corner of his lips.

“You liar,” She hit lightly at his chest and looked up at him with a challenging fire in her eyes. “You dance all the time at home.”

“Okay yeah, but that’s not in front of everyone else,” His eyes drifted behind her as she cocked her head in confusion. “And your friends are watching us.”

Y/N turned her head to the side, still latched onto her boyfriend, and caught Damon and Elena keeping a watchful (and definitely judging) eye on the couple. Rolling her eyes, she turned back to Kai. “Let them,” She spoke, reeling him in with her gaze. He was basically putty in her hand. “Just pretend we’re back at home, dancing in the living room, just like we do at the weekends.”

A smile crept its way back onto Kai’s lips as the memory flashed against his mind. Saturday nights were traditionally romantic - they’d cook dinner together, cuddle on the sofa and watch tv, then afterwards he’d always somehow end up twirling her around the room with the lights dimmed until they couldn’t dance anymore, and he’d carry her upstairs to bed.

“Unless,” Her voice by his ear pulled him out of his reverie, looking forward to tomorrow’s date night and thinking about how well he was going to treat her. “You fancied going somewhere else?”

The hair on the back of his neck pricked up at her words, eyes snapping to hers, pupils dilated. His signature smirk appeared, quickly melting her down. “You know me so well.”

Grabbing her wrist, their roles were reversed as he dragged her out of the crowd this time, eyes darting quickly as they searched for somewhere to hide.

“Here,” Y/N said, pointing to a small storage cupboard. “No one ever comes in here.”

“Well then,” Kai said, pushing her inside and closing the door behind them. “You’ll be the first.”

In a flash, she was slammed against the door as Kai’s lips moulded with hers in desperation. He had needed this all night. He might be an expert at hiding it, since emotions had never really bothered him before, but the critical gazes of her friends made him uncomfortable. They made him start questioning every move he made, just because he wanted Y/N’s friends to approve of him and be happy that she’s with him. Kai Parker would never let stupid emotions get to him. Not like love. At least, not until her.

She sighed into his mouth as he took her breath away, her hands gripping his hair tightly while his held her waist firmly in place. His fingers slowly trailed up her shirt, brushing the skin underneath, making her shiver. Breathing heavily, her hands found their way to his chest as he pulled away from the kiss and moved his lips to her neck.

“Eager, are we?” She giggled, her voice thin from the exhilaration. She felt Kai chuckle in response against her skin, sending a tingling sensation through her veins.

“Impatient, actually. I want you now.” Kai trailed his lips down to her collarbone, and back up to her jawline.

Y/N was finding it harder and harder to think straight as Kai pulled away, his fingers tracing the faint marks he’d left on her neck. I’ll definitely have to add to these later, he thought. “What about the plan? Still want to cause a little chaos?”

Kai’s hand that was on her neck moved behind and into her hair, her head automatically tilting up to make capturing his lips easier. “To hell with the plan.”

Leaning in for another heated kiss, their lips had barely met when the door of the storage cupboard swung open and the two of them fell to the ground with a good thump, Y/N groaning as Kai’s whole body weight crushed her.

“Seriously?” Caroline stood over the couple with her hands on her hips, looking mostly irritated yet somewhat amused. The twinkle behind her eye when she looked at Y/N gave that away - she was always the most supportive of her dating Kai.

The female witch glanced sheepishly up at her friend, lightly shoving Kai to the side. The siphon didn’t even want to make eye contact with the blonde vampire. He was yet to familiarise himself with how to deal with awkward.

“Y/N, I thought I said making out in dingy cupboards was off-limits! Raise your standards,” Caroline eyed her friend, the ghost of a smirk lingering on her lips. After looking briefly at Kai’s embarrassed expression, she leaned in closer to Y/N and whispered, “If you guys want to have some fun then just leave. The party’s starting to clear out now anyway, and it’ll be a lot more fun than in a dusty old closet.”

She winked at her and strutted back into the crowd, not before giving Kai a light pat on the shoulder on her way past. She was right, the crowd was slightly smaller than before.

“God,” Kai sighed. “That was awful. I don’t like awkward, it’s my least favourite emotion so far.”

Y/N laughed at her boyfriend; he still discovers himself experiencing new emotions all the time, and she finds it oh so endearing to see how he reacts to the foreign feeling. “Well if anyone was to catch us, I’m glad it was Caroline.”

The tall boy looked at the girl he thought was an angel, although she didn’t quite see herself that way. Sometimes that made him sad, another feeling he didn’t particularly enjoy. “Let’s just get out of here,” He said, taking her hand and intertwining their fingers, something she always loved. “Bring the party back home, just you and me. We can pick up where we left off and no one will even notice we’re gone.”

Y/N grinned, happy that they were always on the same page. She took a step forward, watching as Kai’s eyes lit up more and more the closer she got to him. Their sparkle seemed to be directly proportional to his distance from her. “You just read my mind.”

It wasn’t long until Kai was driving his silver car back to their shared apartment, one hand on her thigh as it always was. She was his comfort blanket no matter what, and physical touch was Kai’s love language, so even when driving he craved some contact with her to keep himself sane.

Mostly sane anyway.

Eventually, they returned to the warmth of their apartment and wasted no time in latching onto each other. See, that was the thing about Y/N and Kai. She might be his comfort blanket, but he was hers too. When they’re apart it feels like two separate parts of a magnet, aching to be able to touch, see, feel the other, so when that ache is satisfied, it’s like a force unlike any other, and pulling them apart proves difficult as neither of them wants to ever be away from the other.

Their love for each other was obvious, you’d have to be blind not to see it. The only reason Y/N’s friends tolerated Kai was because they couldn’t deny the clear adoration and care he had for her. They’d tell her Y/N, he can’t be trusted, he doesn’t feel, he can’t feel love, but when you witness a love like they have, how could you ignore it? They’d almost come to a silent truce: Kai stays out of trouble and never hurts Y/N, and they’d leave him be. It worked for them.

What they had said about him not feeling love was true though, before. Kai thought that love was a wasted feeling - relationships crash and burn everyday, he’d said once, so why would he let it waste his time if he can’t one hundred percent confirm that it would be for life? Y/N came into his life like a wildfire spreading through dry forest, this new and unusual feeling coursing through him at an alarming pace, and it made him want to scream. He couldn’t understand why he was unable to shake this one girl out of his head, it was distracting him and he couldn’t concentrate, it was a nuisance.

But as time went on and he started wanting to make sure she was safe and happy, it became less and less of a burden to him. In fact, he started to revel in it. Any excuse he could find to see her, he’d take it. Any chance to protect her, he’d be there in an instant. He actually started to care, which baffled him at first because Kai Parker doesn’t care. But as he looked at her then, wind blowing her hair around her face, he didn’t mind it. Maybe caring wasn’t so bad, if it was this one girl he cared about. He decided then that he would dedicate all his emotion to her, all his care, all his time, all his love.

Love. When Kai realised he was in love, he wasn’t sure if he was awake or dreaming. Love was pointless, he told himself so. But he couldn’t bring himself to lie to himself any longer. It may have been pointless to him back then, but not now. Now, his whole reason for living was to make this one girl happy, this one girl who had managed to change a man so set in his old toxic ways. He loved her.

Y/N wasn’t sure if she’d ever definitely know that she was in love. I mean, how can you really know? Everyone’s experiences with love are different, and all relationships vary, so there’s not one set formula for it. Love is complex, and that was scary to her, because she didn’t want to let someone in thinking they’re her soulmate, and they end up breaking her heart. She’d made that mistake before, and she didn’t want to let the wrong person get to her again. But with Kai, there wasn’t a single question or doubt in her mind. This, this was what love was supposed to feel like. All that fear of allowing the wrong person into her heart had vanished in an instant, because she knew there would be no one else ever again now that she had Kai. He had taken up residence in her mind and there was no space for anyone else. He was her person, she knew, it was obvious. She loved him.

Back in the apartment with the two of them getting lost in each other, those intense feelings resurfaced. In that moment, it was just the two of them: no problems, no death, no prison worlds. Only the crystal clear love they had for each other that everyone could see. It even got them a bit of a reputation in the local supernatural community as the couple that defeated all odds.

The sociopath who learned to fall in love, and the witch that taught him how.

[donutloverxo]

Spoiled

Kinktober day 5 - Mirror sex

*gif is not mine*

Note - this is a bit of a rushed job. Because while I like August I didn't want to end the year on him lol. It has to be our husband. Thank you so so much for all the support and love all of you have shown me this past year, it's serves as a great motivation for me. I have a resolution of writing 200k in the next year so hopefully there's a lot more hoeness and happiness this coming year for us all. Love y'all❤

This is the last part and sequel to past self and messed up. Dividers by @whimsicalrogers.

Warnings - 18+ only, Smut (m/f), daddy kink, light anal play, hints to threesomes, jealous Steve, cum play, rough sex, general nastiness.

Pairing - Steve Rogers x reader

Word count - 2k

“I am so tired. I mean time travelling is fun and all but sooo exhausting,” you mumbled into the pillow as you laid face flat on your bed. The soft plush mattress providing some much needed comfort to your sore muscles.

After the snap both you and Steve had moved into a brownstone in Brooklyn, it was much smaller than your quarters in the compound but you never really liked having that much of a distance from him anyway.

Even if you weren’t doing anything, you’d prefer to do nothing with him. Just lounging around on like a couple of couch potatoes.

It was hard for him to not have much to do. With half the world gone and the Avengers broken up he spent most of his days volunteering and leading therapy groups. Telling others to move on, that’s what their loved ones would want for them, while not being able to do so himself. Blaming himself for everything that had happened.

He told you that having all that free time made his mind go to dark places, thinking of his past, of all the lives that he wasn’t able to save. And after years of denying that he needed any, he decided to go to therapy.

They were a tough few years. But everything was fine now. As fine as it could be. His friends were back, you joked about how Bucky and Tony had matching cyborg arms now, he laughed at that but they didn’t. There was still plenty of hostility there, he didn’t exactly expect them to become ‘bffs', as you’d called it, hopefully they’d learn to get along.

He unzipped your boots, pulling them off and massaging your feet, listening to you babble nonsense about all your theories about time travel.

He always called you his sunshine. It was an apt petname for you, you brought light into his life, you were his light at the end of the tunnel. After years of being alone, it was as if he was waiting for you all along.

While you had your share of breakdowns during those five years, lots of fights with him because you wanted to move on and not be stuck in the past. He agreed with you, he didn’t want to be stuck, but he couldn’t help it. He couldn’t give up on those he loved.

You were always there for him. His only solace during those dark times.

He had changed a lot, when he met you he was still the Captain, then he was on the run, living in shady motels and not knowing who the fuck he was.

He became a bit more melancholic after the snap, the whole world did, a lot needier for you and your attention and love. Because he was so grateful you weren’t gone.

If you had... he wouldn’t know what to do with himself.

He knew it annoyed you because even though you loved him, that he didn’t doubt one bit, you also liked your independence. But he’ll always need you way more than you need him.

“Sunshine?” he called for your attention, his hands now moving up to your calves, applying just the little bit of pressure.

You giggled, looking over your shoulder to him as you felt your face heat up, “I swear, Steve, you’re so cheesy.”

“Do you...” he cleared his throat and then shook his head, it was stupid of him to even think something like that much less verbally express it to you.

You turned around, laying flat on your back, “What?”

“It’s silly,” he pressed his lips in a thin line.

“I don’t care, you still have to tell me. Come on,” you lightly kicked your legs which were on his lap.

“Do you ever wish... you were with someone closer to your age.”

He couldn’t look at you, even after all these years of being together he couldn’t be completely vulnerable--a life of rejection making him anticipate the worst.

“Why would you say that?” you sat up, cupping his cheek with your hand.

“I don’t know,” he shrugged.

It wasn’t just that you were younger, almost everyone was younger compared to him, but you had a young soul that would never grow old.

And he... he was no fun sometimes, how long would it take for you to grow tired of him. Did just you like the thrill of being on the run? When he was more edgier and rougher than he is now.

“I could never even imagine being with anyone but you,” you assured him.

He scoffed, “Didn’t seem like that when you were with him.”

“Oh, you mean ‘you'?” you cocked your head to the side, feigning innocence.

You knew how jealous your fawning over his past self’s beard had made him. To be honest, you would lose your shit if he acted that way towards any other woman, even if said woman was a version of you.

He shook his head, “Forget I said anything.”

“Wait,” you cupped his cheek, making him look at you, “You’re so jelly and needy sometimes, daddy.”

He bit the inside of his as you knelt on the floor before him, parting his legs, your hands fumbling with his belt but he stopped you by holding onto your wrists.

“We should get cleaned up...” he half heartedly tried to stop you but you managed to pull all his straps open and take his hardening erection out of his pants.

“We probably should...” you hummed, “But I guess I need to show daddy how much I love him,” peaking out your tongue to circle his leaking tip.

“I know you love me, sweetheart, but I just worry sometimes if I’m too old fashioned for you?” he wondered, letting out a shuddering moan as you took him in your mouth, looking up at him with your wide innocent eyes--always so full of life.

You swallowed around him, moaning at the familiar taste and scent of him, taking him deeper till he hit the back of your throat.

Steve being old fashioned did bother you a little at times. Not the part where he was an absolute gentleman, always holding the door open for you, paying for your dates. But where he always wanted to be the one protecting you. Taking care of you. Which was good, but he needs some loving too.

“Swallow it all, honey,” he instructed as he held your head down, his spend coating the back of your throat as you followed his command like a good girl.

Opening your mouth and holding out your tongue, “I did it, daddy,” you proclaimed proudly.

He prodded at your mouth with his fingers, under your tongue, to make sure that you got all of it, “Good girl,” he smiled as you suckled on his fingers, “you always need to have your mouth stuffed, honey, don’t you?”

You only nodded, letting out a pathetic whine when he pulled his fingers out with a loud pop.

“Let’s go shower, honey,” he said but then frowned when you shook your head.

“Are you done already? That’s it?” Don't say it, don’t... “Got another one in ya?”

You knew you were digging your own grave, of Steve wanted you he could literally fuck you for days, you had tried to ‘test' that on your honeymoon. To see who would give out first, your poor pussy or his unyielding supersoldier stamina.

Obviously he won and you were never able to complete your little experiment.

He gave you a fake sweet smile, dripping with--so much malice which was so not Steve. Gripping your hair he yanked you back to bare your neck to him, his other hand tracing your pulse point before wrapping around your neck, applying the slightest bit of pressure - because you were precious, he’d never want to actually hurt you, “I was going to make love to you in the shower, sweetheart.” he squeezed tighter as you choked, wrapping your tiny hands around his wrist, “But then you had to go and say that. What should we do with you?” he mused.

“Fuck me?” you sassed, while making love sounded nice, you would much rather have a good dicking down.

“No, you have to learn your lesson, honey. I maybe older but it only makes me better. I’ll have to show you I guess,” he tutted.

Hauling you up, with his hands under your arms, he manhandled you till you both stood before the dressing mirror you had gotten a few months ago, pressing your cheek against its cool surface as he worked on the seams of your cat suit.

“I’ve wanted to do this for a long time,” he confessed, ever since you had bought the large mirror, he liked to watch you as he took you apart in it, sometimes making you look, somehow that seemed to suck all your sass and feistiness and you’d just turn into a shy flustered mess in his arms, refusing to look at the mirror or at him.

Which would only fuel his lust, because he still had the ability to surprise you, even after he’d seen all of you. Felt all of your caverns, and you, intimately and knew them like the back of his hand.

“Never really got the opportunity to, now’s good a time as any, wouldn’t you agree?” he nibbled at the shell of your ear, smirking as you weakly nodded.

“You’re so good at doing what you’re told.” He pressed a kiss to your hair, kneeling behind you to rid you of your tight pants before burying his head between your legs.

Nudging your intimate lips apart with the lip of his tongue, “You’re already soaked, honey,” he observed, licking his lips to savor your taste before prodding at your second hole with his tongue, just so he could hear you gasp.

“Steve!” you exclaimed, not expecting that. While Steve was more of an ass man, he never wanted to fuck you or even touch you there. But after a lot of course convincing from your side he had to give in.

He bit the flesh of your buttocks before speaking against it, “Since you like having all your holes stuffed, maybe I should call Bucky to help me out sometime...”

“Really?!” you perked up, looking down at him over your shoulder.

He didn’t give you an answer, instead fucking you with his tongue tillyou were quivering around him, crying out loud, as the mirror fogged up.

“Bucky’s nice...” you mumbled incoherently as he rose to his feet, his nails digging into your hips as he picked you up till you were standing on your top toes to meet his height. Sheathing his hard length inside you in one firm thrusts as he stayed still to let you get used to him.

“Hm. Am I not nice?” you saw him frown behind in his reflection, “I buy you whatever you want. Give you whatever you want, don’t I? Apparently it’s not enough for you. You’re getting too spoiled, I need to start saying no,” he drove each word home with hard thrusts, his tip kissing your cervix, his warm breath brushing the back of your neck.

“NOOO,” you whined, tears streaming down your face at such an outrageous prospect. Steve never said no to you. Not even when you literally asked for a threesome with his past self. “I was saying...” You tried to say but moaned as he pinched your clit, trying to jerk away from him but his firm hold on you made it impossible. “That he’s nice...” you panted, “Slow down, please!”

He hummed to make a show of thinking about it but then fastened his pace, twisting your clit between his fingers as he watched your face in the mirror.

“No.”

“He’s nice.... but he’s not you,” you wailed, clenching around him as your climax washed over you.

He had to hold onto your waist, so you wouldn’t collapse on your shaky leg, he smiled, “That’s very touching, doll.” He said.

“’is the truth.”

“I wouldn’t mind sharing it with Bucky though. He knows you’re mine.” Unlike a certain someone who was dumb enough to think he had any claim on you, “Can you hold for me?” he asked as you nodded.

Planting your hands against the mirror you braced yourself as he fucked you from behind, filling you up to the brim with his warmth.

“Okay then. You wouldn’t find me kicking him out of my bed...” you giggled.

[someonestolemyshoes]

So... during the time skip, Hange is on a business trip to Marley. Levi stays home to deal with some installation or important project for Hange, gets injured in some stupid way, falls off scaffolding or something. And he doesnt think too much of it because it's such a stupid way to get injured. And he hides it even when it gets worse and Hange is the only one who notices because she knows him so well. BUT when she gets back, it gets worse. And Levi hates hospitals so Hange forces him to go <3

Hello! Thank you so much for the prompt :) I’m not super thrilled with the way this one turned out, but I had a lot of fun anyway, and I hope you enjoy it! Angst ahead, if that’s not your thing. 

(Drinking game: take a shot every time Levi says he’s fine) 

Levi was no stranger to pain. While he had been luckier than most, Levi had sustained his fair share of injuries. Bruises and breaks were commonplace. Pain became easier to handle, wounds less debilitating to endure.

It didn’t make them hurt any less.

**

It wasn't a particularly bad accident, but it was a particularly stupid one.

Hange had been tied up in meetings for days, stuck inside Sina with other military personnel, with carnivorous media, with business moguls eager to ensure their pockets would be well lined by any negotiation plans with Marley and their neighbouring countries.

She had taken Armin and Jean alongside her; Armin had a mind with similar mechanics to her own, and as such he was best suited to help her formulate a compelling case with their higher ups, while Jean had attended at Levi’s insistence. Hange had already made it clear that, with Armin gone, they needed somebody to oversee continued construction on the railway line, and Levi, uneasy with the idea of Hange being without an attack dog, had demanded Kirstein attend in his place. The brat was becoming something of a budget Moblit, always trailing after Hange whenever she was around—Levi thought he looked a little pitiful, following her around like an eager puppy, but he supposed he was grateful for it now, if it meant he had no objections taking a trip into the interior with her.

Levi had been left with the rest of the brood. Eren and Mikasa worked diligently, though Eren—distant and despondent as he had been since the Queen’s address after Shiganshina—remained sullen, while Mikasa alternated between shooting Eren looks of concern, and staring scathingly at Levi whenever he came into view. She tolerated him far better, these days, but Levi was unsure she’d ever fully forgive him for his public display at Eren’s trial.

No matter. She did as she was told, reluctantly as may be. Connie and Sasha, on the other hand, were proving problematic.

They lacked focus. The four of them were working on construction of a rail house near the coast, somewhere to store equipment for maintenance, with a few flat beds for workers to rest in between commutes. The walls were coming along, but the space was still lacking a proper roof, covered only by tarp to keep the metal beams and frames inside from rusting before they could be treated and on the tracks. Eren and Mikasa were working quietly on one side, while Connie and Sasha were goofing off on the other.

Levi clicked his tongue. The work was, in theory, far less hazardous than slaying titans had ever been, but they were still a couple of stories in the air on flimsily constructed scaffolding, without any gear to catch them if they fell. The drop wasn’t deadly in itself, but the inside of the half-built hut was full of great mounds of metal, beams and poles and wires covered only by papery thin sheets. A fall onto that, from this height, would result in breaks and bruises at best. 

"Oi,” Levi called, making his way around the rickety structure. Connie and Sasha either did not hear him, or chose to ignore him. That had been happening upsettingly often, of late; whatever intimidation tactic Levi had employed when they were still bratty kids had lost its effect. Connie teetered around Sasha as she tried to smear mortar on his cheek, edging along the scaffolding on only his toes until he made his way around her. Levi picked up his pace and called again, more of a snarl this time, a warning, but Sasha let out a shriek of delighted laughter as she managed to slap a trowel full of mortar on the top of Connie’s head. Neither of them heard him.

“You fall and break your necks and Hange will kill me,” Levi said. Sasha twisted to look at him but offered only a smile. Levi was within feet of them, when Connie moved quickly behind Sasha—he was doing nothing suspicious that Levi could see, but Sasha, awaiting retaliation, tried to scurry hurriedly away. Her foot missed the edge of the scaffolding, and there was a fraction of a second in which her eyes widened, body tilting, before Levi moved.

His hand closed around her wrist. With a sharp tug, he jerked her back onto the safety of the scaffolding, but in his rush to grab her he hadn’t the time to brace himself—with his weight unbalanced, the force of his pull sent his body careening forward, tipping over the edge of the plank.

He barely managed to release his grip on Sasha before he lurched over the edge.

Levi was no stranger to pain. While he had been luckier than most, Levi had sustained his fair share of injuries. Bruises and breaks were commonplace. Pain became easier to handle, wounds less debilitating to endure.

It didn’t make them hurt any less.

Levi hit the beams with a resounding clatter. Metal clanged and wood splintered, dust gathering in great plumes as Levi hit the tarp. The beams, built with enough strength to hold steam engines, had no give to them—Levi struck one solidly with his side and his body bowed around it. Something—his ribs, his spine—crunched on impact. The sudden stop made his neck whip down, temple cracking hard against the stone floor.

Every last drop of air punched out of his lungs and a white, dizzying pain exploded in his head. He slumped the rest of the way to the ground, gasping fruitlessly, but his chest, all empty, crushing pressure, would not expand, would not allow for a single wheezing breath.

He lay in a heap on the cold stone. Dimly, he could hear voices, the clatter of feet on wooden planks and the echo of sturdy shoes on the scaffold poles as the kids clambered their way down to him, but everything sounded muffled and distant, warbled by the pound of his pulse and the rush of blood in his ears. He blinked rapidly, squeezed his eyes closed to push the fuzziness from the edges of his vision, then gathered himself slowly, shifting to lay on his back. His every muscle felt tight, seizing from the shock of the impact and sharp, stabbing pain, but despite the tension, something in his side felt loose. He sucked in a few small breaths, pausing at every spike of pain before trying again, and then he pushed himself up to sit. His head felt thick and full, stuffy, too heavy for his neck to hold up. It throbbed with the change of position, a crack of pain so sudden he thought his skull might split in two. He resisted the urge to grab at it as the kids’ footsteps sounded close by, several sets of feet scuffing and clicking against the stone.

Levi pre-empted their concern with a wheezy, “I’m fine,” as Mikasa, followed swiftly by the others, rounded the corner and stopped short of him. “Get back to work.”

None of them moved. Levi focused his swimming gaze on them as well as he could, attempting a glare, but the corner of his eye and the side of his face felt fat, skin tight over the rapidly swollen flesh, and his breathing was tight, uneven, chest jerking with each attempt to fill his empty lungs. Nobody looked intimidated by the sight of him—in fact, all four of the little brats looked almost frightened.

“Captain…” Eren said. Levi scowled, fought not to wince.

“I’m fine.” Gritting his teeth to muffle each pained grunt, Levi grabbed a nearby beam and used it to drag himself up to his feet. His head spun, the ache intensifying to something almost unbearable, and that, coupled with the sickening grinding sensation in his side as he straightened up, was enough to make him sway on the spot. Mikasa was the first to step forward, hovering awkwardly. Levi suppressed the manic urge to laugh—there was some irony somewhere in Mikasa, grudge so steadfastly held, being the one ready to catch him if he fell. Levi shooed her away. His chest ached something terrible, a persistent, resounding swell behind his rib cage. It should be impossible to feel so full, so bloated, yet so empty at the same time.

“You should rest a little more,” Eren said, at the same time Sasha erupted with a wailed apology. Connie looked pale and guilty behind her.

“Hange wants this—shitty thing—finished, by the time—she gets back.” Levi hitched stilted breaths as he spoke. He took a careful step forward. His side screamed, and his head pounded, but he remained upright, which was good enough. He passed by Connie and Sasha, who both looked ashen-faced, and clicked his tongue against his teeth. They’re too tall now, so tall he almost lost his precarious balance when he stretched up to pat them both roughly on the head. Then he brushed past them with as much ease as he could manage.

“Hurry up. The damn walls won’t build themselves.”

**

Levi had expected to be better by the time Hange returned.

The pain had not subsided at all in the three days that passed between the injury and Hange’s arrival—if anything, it had intensified, and Levi’s bouts of dizziness and breathlessness were near constant. He hid it as well as he could from the others, compensating with vicious scowls and quick, barked instructions, but he couldn’t escape their concerned glances.

The building, at least, was almost complete. They had laid the rafters for the roof the day before, and were hammering on the felt when Hange, Armin, and Jean appeared in the distance.

The weather was blisteringly hot. Eren and Connie had removed their shirts long ago, while Sasha and Mikasa had tried fruitlessly to keep their hair off the base of their necks and out of their faces. Despite his lack of manual labour Levi was just as sweaty as the rest of them, though his skin was pale in comparison. He had argued, albeit rather feebly, to do his part in aiding the construction, but the damn brats had put their foot down on that, at least—as such, Levi had spent the last three days sitting beneath the shade, glumly watching their progress.

He stood when he saw the horses approaching. The others climbed down from the scaffolding, wiping sweat from their hands and faces. They cast Levi a sidelong look, and he glared in return.

“Not a word,” he reminded them coldly. Levi had already demanded that they keep the details of his incident quiet. The swelling on his face had gone down some with the aid of a bag filled with cold sea water, but the bruises were persistent, mottled from his eye to his ear. He could play it off as a far smaller incident than it was, so long as he could keep the ugly welt on his torso well hidden. The bruising there was dark, a deep, violent shade of purple, wrapping around his side and bubbling out over his back.

Eren looked uncertain. Mikasa gave him a stoic, level look, while Sasha and Connie still looked sheepish, avoiding his gaze. They had apologised profusely, and on multiple occasions,  for causing such a mess. Levi had, at their insistence, scolded them for messing around, but in truth he had little energy left to care.

Hange waved as soon as they were close enough. She kicked her horse on, Jean and Armin following dutifully behind her. The three of them pulled to a stop and dismounted, leading their horses to shade and water, looking tired, but satisfied. Levi kept his angled down, twisted to one side. He was prolonging the inevitable, he knew, but if he could get Hange talking about the meetings, or with some luck the upcoming expedition, or maybe even the mostly completed rail house, Levi could at least wait until they were alone before Hange battered him with questions.

All three of them had dark circles under their eyes. Armin yawned widely, he and Jean bumping into one another as they walked. Hange, as tired as she looked, strode forward with a delighted confidence—Levi, in spite of himself, quirked his lip in a small smile. It has been too long since Hange looked excited about anything. The prospect of an expedition had breathed some life into her.

“We’ve still got to work out some kinks,” Hange said, “but things are looking good. We’ll set up another meeting with Kiyomi. It might take a little while, but we’ll get out there ourselves. See the world with our own eyes, and—more importantly—let them see us.”

Connie and Sasha exchanged excited glances. Mikasa and Eren shared a more subdued look. Levi understood both perspectives—the prospect of venturing out into the world opened them up to a lot of risks. Each of them carried targets on their backs. One wrong move, and they would be in trouble. But, if all goes according to Hange’s plan, there would be plenty of reward. Freedom was worth any price they could pay, if only they can secure it.

Levi listened as the group reacquainted. Eren and Mikasa seemed pleased to have Armin back in their company, while Sasha hounded Jean endlessly until he relented, and surreptitiously pulled a small pack of cured meat from the inside pocket of his jacket. He had the decency to look embarrassed when he caught Levi’s eye on him, but his abashed expression quickly turned to one of confusion when he caught a good look at Levi’s face.

“The hell happened, Captain?”

Hange, who had been quietly engaged with Armin and the other two, looked around. Levi tutted and curled his lip, letting his fringe fall to cover part of his bruised brow.

“None of your business,” he said. His chest spasmed and he clenched his teeth, fighting the sudden urge to cough. “If you’ve still got the energy to stand around talking, you can get up there and help them finish the damn roof.”

Jean, who either hadn’t quite developed the same immunity to Levi’s brash tone as the rest, or was nervous about Levi scolding him for stealing food from the interior, nodded once and shrugged out of his jacket. Sasha’s eyes followed longingly as he hooked it over the nearby cart sitting on the tracks, but then her gaze shot back to Levi, and she scurried after Jean towards the rail house.

The others followed. Hange’s eye was still on him, and she waited until the group had scrambled up onto the scaffolding and picked up their tools before she crossed over to him. She bent a little, tilting her head to get a good look at his face. Hange let out a low whistle.

“Quite the bruise,” she said. Levi gave her a somewhat guarded look, and carefully shrugged one of his shoulders.

“Brats were messing around,” Levi said simply. “Caught me with a stray elbow.”

He didn’t dare look Hange in the eye long enough to determine whether she believed him. He nodded towards the rail house and said, “They’ll be done in a few hours.”

Hange beamed, bracing her hands on her hips. “They’ve made good progress! I wasn’t sure they’d get it finished by the time we made it back.”

“You wanted it finished,” Levi scowled, “those were your orders.”

“Calling it an order is a little harsh, Levi.”

“You’re our commander, Hange,” Levi said. “You tell us to do something, we do it. By definition, it is an order.”

Hange grimaced. It had been years since Shiganshina, years for Hange to come to grips with the position that had befallen her, and to her credit she had taken to it admirably enough, on the outside. It was only in small, private moments like this that she allowed herself to show doubt. The lack of cooperation from Hizuru had been a blow Hange had expected, but hoped to avoid—she had worked hard on her proposals and her negotiations had been sound, but the rejection stung nonetheless. With each new trial and each new error, Hange felt herself all the more lacking. Her distaste for her own position, for Erwin’s faith, grew stronger, and showed face more often.

Levi took in her sullen expression and winced internally. After a moment of heavy silence, he said, “They give you a hard time?”

“Who?”

“Zackley. The reporters. The kids.”

Hange let out a low chuckle. “Zackley’s as rigorous as ever. Picked apart every last thing we had to say, highlighted every possible flaw in the plan. Made us work hard, as usual. The reporters...asked a lot of questions we didn’t have answers to. They’ll smear our names in the papers tomorrow, no doubt, but it can’t be helped. We did our best. Armin was a huge help, though. He’s still a little nervous, but—so clever! So full of interesting ideas, and he negotiates well. He’ll make a good commander one day.”

“And Kirstein?”

“He’s an excellent paperweight,” Hange said, shooting Levi a sideways grin. “I appreciated the company, but I think we would have been fine without him.”

“Never know,” Levi said gruffly. He couldn’t be sure whether it was the heat of the sun or simply standing too long, but Levi was beginning to feel woozy. Breathing was still a chore, a concentrated effort to suck air into his aching chest and let it out again without choking, coughing, and more often than not he felt lightheaded. He nodded towards the boxes he’d been using as a seat over the last couple of days. “Sit. You look like shit.”

“For once, I don’t think you get to judge me for that.”

Levi had already begun walking stiffly to the boxes, and made no comment. He had no valid argument to give—he did look like shit, far worse than Hange, and he felt even shittier. He dropped a little heavily onto the box and bit back a grunt of pain.

Hange sat next to him. The box shuddered. Levi tensed as pain lanced through his side. He took in a quick, sharp breath, holding it high in his chest when the pain intensified. He could feel Hange’s eye on him and clenched his teeth, fighting to keep his face somewhat neutral.

“You sure you’re okay?” Hange said to him. Levi grunted. He busied himself taking slow, shallow breaths, staring resolutely ahead, avoiding Hange’s keen stare. “You look a little clammy.”

Levi made another quiet noise. Levi wasn’t very talkative at the best of times—this, he knew Hange was aware of, and most of the time Hange was content to fill the silence herself, but today she was quiet, and watching him too closely. Scrutinizing. Levi had often praised Hange for her powers of observation—she had an incredible eye for detail and a knack for spotting patterns and anomalies, a talent which had served the Survey Corps very well, but right now, Levi was cursing it. He didn’t need Hange surveying him.

He was hurting. He’d had a near constant headache since the incident, and his chest felt tight, riddled with pain both dull and sharp, stabbing whenever he breathed too deeply or gave in to the pressing urge to hack out a cough, but more than that, he felt unwell. Groggy, sickly, light-headed. His heart beat frantically, and his skin did feel clammy, cold sweat sitting on his brow. He stared ahead, blinking the fuzziness from his head and resolutely ignoring Hange’s steady stare.

Hange’s palm pressed to his forehead. The sudden touch made him jump—his muscles tensed, his ribs screamed in protest, and Levi let out a strangled groan, biting his tongue a second too late to trap the sound.

He was barely aware of Hange’s fussing as he fought to draw breath. Air grated in his battered lungs as Hange’s hand pressed flat to the back of his neck, her voice warped and muffled in his ear as she felt his sweat-damp skin. His vision tunnelled. He blinked rapidly to clear the black spots and wheezed in the humid air. His chest felt like it might split open, pressure billowing out from behind his ribcage, pressing agonisingly against his damaged bones.

He breathed short and shallow until the haze of pain lessened. Hange’s voice was loud beside him, the sharp, deep bark she used when she felt it necessary to assert her authority. Through the fog in his head he could barely make out her words, but he knew exactly what it was she was demanding. Sasha’s voice was meek in comparison, but it still carried over the distance enough for Levi to hear her.

“It was an accident,” she was saying. “It was our fault—my fault—”

Levi hissed through his teeth. Hange’s hands—one still at the back of his neck, the other curled around his arm—tightened their grip on him.

“Drop it,” Levi said. “Stop grilling them. It doesn’t matter what happened, I’m fine.”

Hange had the audacity to laugh, but there was no humour in it. “Fine? Levi, you can’t even move. You can barely breathe! What the hell did you do?”

“Fell,” he said shortly. His voice sounded weak, but he didn’t have the breath to put more force behind it.

“From where? When? Hell, Levi, when did this happen?”

“Hange, leave it.”

Hange turned her question to the rail house, and Connie answered immediately. Traitors, Levi thought scathingly. Mikasa explained without prompt that they didn’t know the extent of his injuries, that Levi had refused a proper medical examination despite the head wound that had left him unable to stand straight. She explained that they had managed with very little effort to get him to observe the construction from the ground, which, it seemed, was enough to concern Hange—Levi wasn’t the type to sit around doing nothing. He despised being idle and she knew it.

“You should see a doctor, Levi.”

“I’m fine—”

“No, you’re not. What else did you hurt? Just your head?”

Levi felt ill. Hange’s persistent questions were making his head spin and his entire body felt sore and spent. He mustered enough strength to glare at her, but nothing more. Hange was watching him carefully, brow furrowed in concern, but at his silence her expression hardened, and she stood abruptly. Levi bit back another groan as the box moved beneath him.

“You can ride, then?”

Levi squinted up at her. “Hah?”

“If you’re fine, you can ride back into town with me.”

No. “Sure.”

Hange stared at him a little longer, waiting, no doubt, for him to backtrack, admit defeat. Levi clenched his jaw and maintained steely eye contact. Hange narrowed her eye at him, then turned towards the rail house.

“Oi!” Hange called up, cupping a hand around her mouth. Six heads turned their way, popping up over the roof. “We’re heading back early. Leave the scaffolding when you’re done, we’ll send for it tomorrow. Good work!”

She turned on her heel and headed towards the horses, still tacked and tethered beneath the shade of a small copse of trees.

“We’ll go get your head checked.”

“Hange, I said I’m fine.” It was a weak argument, made even moreso when he stood too abruptly and swayed on the spot. Hange darted back towards him and steadied him with a hand on his shoulder, and a little of her angry resolve cracked, worry creasing her brow. She led him, more slowly now, towards the horses with her hand hovering over his back. He braced himself for the agony of her touch, if she pressed her palm against him, but Hange—perhaps in fear of not knowing what other injuries he had sustained—didn’t touch him.

“Humour me,” she said. “If you’re really fine, and it’s really nothing, no harm done. I’ll feel better knowing, and you—” she drew them to a stop by the horses and turned to face him fully, grinning, but the smile didn’t quite reach her eyes, “—you get to say I told you so.”

Levi said nothing. The thought of riding for hours on end made him feel nauseous.

“This is pointless,” he said. “I’ll rest here, if you’re so worried.”

Hange shook her head at him. She untied her own horse and Jean’s, holding the reins out for Levi to take.  

“We’re going back now, Captain. That’s an order.”

**  

An hour into the journey, Levi began to struggle in earnest.

No part of the ride had been pleasant—the heat was oppressive, and the motion of the horse required a fluidity in his hips and back that sent sharp jolts through his side with every step. Hange was uncharacteristically quiet, occupied instead by watching Levi from the corner of her eye. His head pounded with increasing intensity the longer they travelled, and between the pain, and the scorching sun, and his pitifully shallow breathing, Levi was feeling more faint by the second.

It was an unsettling sensation. Injuries were always difficult, but Levi had never felt so completely wiped out by physical damage in the past. Three days was enough time for his body to at least begin healing, but Levi had seen no improvement since the moment he struck the beam during his fall—if anything, he’d felt worse by the day.

Now, he was fighting to keep himself upright in the saddle.

They were approaching another clump of trees, great leaves wilting in the heat, when Levi, jaw tight and teeth bared, grunted out a request that they stop.

Hange looked torn. She wanted to hurry back into town, and was already impatient enough that Levi had requested they walk—”It’s too hot, for the horses”—but something on his face must have reflected the severity of his discomfort. Hange directed them to the treeline, dismounting and taking Levi’s reins while he did the same. His feet hit the ground and his knees buckled.

Hange caught him about the elbow but only after he had sunk to the grass. He felt shaky, weak, but more than that he felt vulnerable. Realistically, Levi knew that there was no shame in being hurt, in needing help, but he was a stranger to it. He had been self-sufficient since he was in Kenny’s care, and had grown up with the express understanding that showing weakness was a death sentence. And then again, in the Survey Corps—an injured soldier was titan bait.

There were no titans now, but Levi felt distinctly exposed, sitting in the long grass with his vision swimming and his lungs burning, barely functional.

Hange knelt next to him in the grass. She brought a hand up to his face, fingers curling against his jaw. Her gaze darted over his face, all of her righteous anger forgotten as she took in his state. Levi wanted to shake her off, to shake off the spinning in his head, to stand up and get back on the horse and continue their journey, but he couldn’t find the strength to gather his legs beneath him. Hange’s hands—one on his arm and one still on his face—kept him sitting upright.

“Levi…” Hange said slowly. Words sat on his tongue, reassurance that he was fucking fine, that he just needed a minute, but try as he might, he couldn’t get enough air in to voice them. His chest bubbled and rattled as he drew in a thin breath.

“Levi,” Hange said, sharper this time. Levi blinked blearily and searched for her. Neither of them were moving, but Hange’s image wavered and blurred in front of him. He swallowed. Wheezed. His heart hammered in his ears. Hange’s fingertips found the pulsepoint in his neck, pressing, counting. “Levi—what else hurts?”

Levi swallowed thickly, a nauseous tremor under his tongue. After a moment, he choked out, “cracked a few ribs, probably.”

Hange sucked in a sharp breath. “Let me see.”

He didn’t have the strength to fight her as Hange began unbuttoning his shit. He swayed where he sat, struggling to balance without her hands keeping him upright, until he heard Hange’s hiss as she uncovered the bruises wrapping his chest and back.

Levi looked down and grimaced. The bruising was worse than he remembered, stretching further up his chest, dark and mottled, the flesh tight and swollen.

“Levi, this is bad,” Hange said. “We need to get help.”

“Just need rest,” Levi said. His voice sounded slow and slurred in his own ears. Hange’s hand cupped the side of his neck, her thumb tipping his jaw up to look at his face. His eyelids felt heavy.

“I know it hurts,” she said, “and I know you don’t want to move, but—Levi, please. C’mon, I need you to get up.”

It had been a long, long time since Levi had heard that frantic tone from her. She sounded urgent, panicked. Desperate. Levi dragged his eyes open, but found he couldn’t focus on her face anymore. His lungs protested violently as he tried to speak, only coughing instead, dry and hacking. His chest burned.

Hange dragged him to his feet. Levi’s limbs felt heavy and clumsy, detached and completely out of his control. He leaned heavily into Hange’s side as she moved him across the grass.

“C’mon, Levi—work with me.”

Hange hefted him up onto one of the horses. Her horse, he realised, as she clambered up with him. She settled behind him, her arms gripping the reins either side of him. Levi tried to sit up right, but as she kicked the horse on, he slumped back with a low groan. Hange’s voice rumbled through her chest when she spoke.

“You good?” Hange asked quietly, and then, “stupid question, of course you’re not.” Levi found the strength to scoff, but it was a pitiful sound, and followed swiftly with another pained grunt and a fit of coughing. “Bear it a little longer, okay?”

Consciousness drifted, as they rode on. Levi was dimly aware of the sun on his feverish skin, and of Hange’s warm, solid body at his back. Her jaw brushed his head when she moved. Her voice was constant now, a rumble up his spine and in indistinct mumble in his ear. At times he could pick out her words, but his comprehension was hazy, mind unable to string sentences together, to find meaning in her chatter.

In this state, there was no focal point for the pain. It was consuming, indistinct but ever present, impossible to isolate in any one location. His whole body ached. His breathing was quick and laboured. There was no real respite even in this state.

Hange’s hand repeatedly found his throat, fingers feeling for his frantic pulse.

Time passed strangely. The ride seemed to last a lifetime, with Levi waking a thousand times to agony, consciousness barely breaking before he succumbed again to his feverish dozing.

At times, he awoke to new sounds and new sensations. The echo of multiple voices around him, all talking frantically over one. The scratch of crisp sheets beneath his bare back, the click of shoes on tiled floor. New, stinging, fiery pain, sudden and excruciating enough to make his body jolt in discomfort, followed swiftly by strong hands on his arms and legs to keep him still. Cool air blowing gently over his heated skin. His hand caught in a loose, tangled grip.

The aches in his battered body settled, localised. Levi felt it acutely in his chest, though the pressure no longer felt as intense. Breathing still hurt, but the air came easier now. He felt his lungs fill with it, little by little, for the first time in days. He opened his eyes, blinking rapidly in the light, then rolled his head slowly to look around.

The small window had been cracked open, the fresh, cool air lifting Levi’s fringe, tickling at his brow. Thin morning light poured in, illuminating the small, sparsely furnished room. Besides the bed he lay on, there was only one small table and a stiff, uncomfortable wooden chair.

Hange was slumped low in the chair. Her legs were sprawled out in front of her, her chin dropped to her chest while she slept. She had discarded her military jacket, eye patch, and glasses in a heap on the floor, and her sleeves were rolled up to the elbows, the top buttons of her shirt undone and splayed open. Her hair hung limp and ratty around her face. She looked pale and exhausted.

Levi’s tongue was dry, tacking to his teeth and the roof of his mouth. It took him three attempts to say her name, and when he did it came out raspy and ragged. He tried to move, to reach over and nudge her awake, to ask what the hell had happened since he’d last been lucid—but as he leaned over a sudden, white hot agony ripped through him, tearing into his side.

He gave a strangled groan and pressed himself back into the mattress, squeezing his eyes closed as he rode out the spasms. Wood scraped by the bed; Hange must have startled awake at his outburst. Levi squinted an eye open to see her blinking rapidly, rubbing her knuckles into her eyes before scooping up her glasses and taking in the sight of him.

The pain subsided little by little, though Levi didn’t dare move again. Hange sat on the edge of her chair and reached for him, her hand stopping short of his and falling to grip the bed sheets instead.

“How you feeling?”

Levi cleared his throat. “Like shit.”

Hange managed a weak smile. The bags under her eyes were considerably darker than they had been before, her skin paler, papery. Levi frowned at her. “You still look like shit.”

Hange waved him off with a small laugh, sitting back and scrubbing her hands over her face. She hung her head over the back of her chair, fingers pressing into her eyes beneath her glasses. She sat for a long while, observing the backs of her eyelids. Levi watched her through pinched eyes as the burn in his side settled to a more familiar ache.

“Don’t do that,” Hange said, voice strained by the stretch of her throat. “Don’t do that again.”

“Which part?” Levi said.

“All of it. Don’t get in stupid accidents. Don’t pretend you’re fine when you’re not. Don’t—”

She stopped short, then, with a sudden hitch of her breath. Levi watched her dig her fingers harder into her eyes, watched the bob of her throat as she swallowed reflexively. For a moment she was quiet, then she sat up straight and turned watery, bloodshot eyes on him.

Hange was strong. She was a far more emotionally available person than he could ever be, but she had an incredible capacity to compartmentalise. To switch off. To accept the necessity, the inevitability of loss, to evaluate and recalculate and move forward. Hange mourned—Levi had witnessed the aftermath of it plenty of times before, repaired broken tables and reorganised upended bookshelves in the wake of her disaster—but she mourned later. Alone. Felt all her fears and frustrations in isolation, away from prying eyes.

Hange wasn’t the type to cry at peoples besides and beg them to live.

And yet.

“Don’t leave me on my own.”

“It wasn’t that—”

“You dare tell me it wasn’t that bad and I’ll kill you myself.”

Levi clamped his mouth shut. Hange was glaring at him like she might really mean it. Instead of arguing, he said, “what’s the damage?”

Hange slumped forward, elbows on her knees and head hung low. “Broken ribs. Ripped up a few muscles in your back. Collapsed lung. The air pressure in your chest was restricting blood flow to your heart.” She put her head in her hands and dug her fingers into her messy hair. “You got so fucking lucky, Levi. If we hadn’t left when we did—”

He watched silently as Hange groaned into her palms. She breathed deeply, back and shoulders raising as she did.

“You could have died.”

“I didn’t.”

Hange’s head shot up. “By the skin of your teeth, Levi. You—” she took a long, steadying breath, but her voice still shook as she continued, “—you were barely breathing. You couldn’t talk to me, you would hardly even respond to me.”

“Sorry.”

Levi wasn’t sure what else he was supposed to say. Hange looked distraught, her composure tenuous. Levi’s fingers twitched on the sheets, itching to reach out and touch her, offer some kind of reassurance that he was here, he was fine—but he wasn’t fine, and moving so far was out of the question. He gripped hard at the sheets instead. “Sorry.”

“Not you as well,” Hange said quietly. Levi’s chest tightened painfully at her tone—she sounded so small in that moment. Scared. Levi wasn’t sure he’d ever heard her sound so frail before. “What am I supposed to do if you—” she cut herself off again, shaking her head.

“Same thing you always do.” Hange curled tightly in on herself. Levi turned to stare at the ceiling instead. “You keep going, Commander.”

“Don’t. Don’t do that.”

“One day or another, everyone you care about eventually dies. You said that.” He listened as Hange’s breath hitched, but refused to look at her. “It sucks. It hurts. But we keep moving forward.”

The mattress dipped by his hand. Levi rolled his eyes down, and found Hange hunched out of her chair, her face pressed into the blankets. Levi sunk his fingers quietly into her hair.

They lapsed into a painful silence. Hange hiccupped and sniffled now and then, while Levi scratched lightly at her scalp. After a long while, Hange spoke again.

“I know those were my words,” she said thickly. “But I can’t accept that. Not now. Not after everything.”

“Stubborn,” Levi said quietly. He pulled lightly at her hair until she raised her head, wiping her cheeks and nose messily on her arm. “Disgusting.”

Hange managed a bare, wobbly smile. Levi’s hand fell from her hair as she straightened up, and Hange scooped it up in both of her own. She played absently with his fingers, curling and flexing them, rubbing her thumb over the lines on his palm. She seemed to be gathering herself, brow a little furrowed in thought.

“I know we can’t guarantee anything. I know how uncertain our world is. But just—” Hange paused, closing Levi’s fingers around her own, then looked up at him with a fierce determination. “Promise me anyway.”

Levi blinked sluggishly at her. “Promise you what?”

“That you’ll survive.”

Levi tensed. “Hange…”

“Indulge me. Just this once, please.”

A promise of that kind was unrealistic, Levi knew this. Hange had said so herself: there were no guarantees. Except, that wasn’t quite true—death, at least, was a constant. The only inevitability they had. The island may be free of titans now, but the threat of attack loomed over them like a persistent storm cloud, black and heavy, ready to give at any moment. And accidents, as he had painfully learned, could happen in the blink of an eye.

Levi was resilient, but he wasn’t invincible.

But Hange was looking at him steadily, her resolve unwavering. She wanted his word here and now. Needed it, maybe, but Levi knew her. Hange valued honesty over everything else. There was no way she could feel at ease with such an empty promise.

Levi sighed.

“You’re a brat, you know that? Looking at me like that.”

Hange’s gaze held firm. Levi felt her grip on his hand tighten.

“I can’t promise shit like that, Hange,” he said. She squeezed his hand tighter still, and her body tensed, shoulders drawing up to her ears. “You know I can’t. Nobody can.”

For one horrible, gut wrenching moment, Levi thought she might cry again. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes but when she opened them again, her good eye looked terribly blank.

“You’re right. Sorry, sorry!” She let go of his hand and sat back in her chair, hands resting on her legs instead. Her voice sounded lighter, more like Hange, but there was something off about it. Something forced. Strained. She adjusted her glasses but didn’t meet his gaze again.

This was the Hange he knew. The Hange who could bury her feelings in the moment, squash them down and push them aside to focus on the rational, the plausible. Seeing her like that didn’t relieve him the way it should have. It left a sour taste in his mouth and a discomfort in his gut, knowing that he was the cause of the grief she felt she had to hide.

It was stupid, the whole situation—how a moment of carelessness lead to this; Levi bedridden, and Hange struggling to hold herself together.

The space between them grew stagnant. Hange seemed a little lost in thought, gaze caught blankly on Levi’s blankets, while Levi watched her, waiting for her to say something else, to change the subject, to be Hange again. But Levi was never one for giving inspiring speeches, and in truth, he didn’t know that anything he could say now would make anything better. Hange would do what Hange always did—wait until she was alone, and vent in whatever way she could.

And Levi, as soon as he was able, would do what he always did, too—pick up the broken pieces and mend as much as he could.

“You should rest.”

Hange blinked tiredly over at him. It had been an age since Hange looked well-rested, years since Shiganshina and the exhaustion of that particular battle had never left her. The burden she carried—everything Erwin had left behind and all that they had discovered since—was so impossibly heavy, the expectations put upon her too much for any one person to handle. Hange had enough to deal with, she didn’t need to be worried about him, too.

“Eat something, bathe. Sleep. I’ll still be here when you come back.” After a pause, he added, “I’ll promise you that much.”

Hange gave him a weak, wry smile as she fished up her eye patch, strapping it into place and righting her glasses over it. “I guess I’ll take that. And then tomorrow, you can promise me the same again.”

Levi rolled his eyes. “Fine, whatever. Go.”

“Alright, alright. I’ll nap for a couple hours and come back. You should sleep some more too, you know. It’ll help you heal faster.”

Levi grumbled in response, and grumbled louder still when Hange stepped up to the bedside, but he fell quiet when she leaned over, brushing his fringe back from his forehead and pressing a small kiss to his hairline. It was such a simple gesture, and nothing out of the ordinary—Hange had been a physically affectionate person as long as he had known her, always grabbing and hugging and kissing whenever she got the chance—but there was something so tender in it, this time. Levi’s eyes fluttered closed.

Hange lingered longer than was strictly necessary, and yet it still didn’t feel like enough. Levi could easily have let her stay close, feel the warmth of her breath and the softness of her lips on his skin until he drifted into sleep, but she straightened up after a moment and Levi was left instead with the cold breeze from the open window. Levi blinked sluggishly up at her. His own exhaustion barrelled in, making his eyes sting, lids heavy. Hange folded her jacket over her arm and pushed the chair into the corner, out of the way.

“I’ll see you soon, okay?” She said.

“Mm.”

“You’re gonna feel like you got crushed by a titan when the pain meds wear off, so make the most of it.”

“Got it.”

“And you should let the doctor know if anything changes. Straight away, don’t wait around.”

“I will.”

"And there are nurses around, if you get hungry or thirsty. The bathroom is just down the hall too, but they've got bedpans if you need to—"

“Hange.”

“I’m going, I’m going.” Hange had already crossed the room as she spoke, but she paused in the doorway, fingers curled around the frame. She deliberated with herself for a moment longer, then said, “hey, Levi?”

“Hm?”

Hange chewed on her lip, contemplating something, a faint blush building on her cheeks. And then she shook her head, gave him a small smile, and said, "Ah, doesn't matter. Sleep well."

She left quickly after that, closing the door quietly behind her. Levi stared at the space she'd vacated, brow a little furrowed; her hesitancy confused him.

But he was tired. His body hurt. His head felt thick and fuzzy, and without Hange's presence to keep him occupied, he consciousness began to drift. 

Tomorrow, he thought hazily. He would ask her tomorrow. For now though, he would follow his own advice; for now, he would rest. 

[lxngbottom]

A Fun Trip. | N.L.

in which the reader and neville take acid, and have a fun trip together.

warnings: drug use, swearing, a little bit of angst.

word count: 1,692

i got inspired due to the fact i had to trip sit like 6 or 7 people the other night so enjoy whatever this is lolol

—

“oh, shit. this is actually about to happen...”

those were the words that came from your best friend, neville longbottom. you two sat calmly on his bed, ron, harry, seamus, and dean all present in the room.

“we don’t have to do this, you know. if you’re too scared then we should just—“

“no! i want to do this. it seems cool!” he quickly interjected, taking a quick glance at the tab sitting patiently on the plastic bag in front of both of you. you laughed at your best friend, surprised by his eagerness to take muggle drugs.

“you guys won’t like—die, right?” ron asked, not really knowing if he was trying to reassure himself or you two.

you rolled your eyes at the ginger, “no, ronald. we won’t die. we’re taking one tab each, and trust me... i’ve seen people take way more than that and be completely fine.”

“so why did you ask us to be here?” seamus added, a book settled in his hands as his back was propped up against his headboard.

“because, asshat! it’s only my second time ever taking LSD and it’s neville’s first time!”

“i thought you said you’ve never done this before...” neville stated, his face now visibly sweating. you smiled at him,

“i’ve done magic mushrooms, nev. but never acid.”

his mouth formed into an ‘o’ shape, and he quickly looked down at the two tabs once more. you could tell that he was anxious, simply from the way his hand made its way up to his neck and began to rub it. you grabbed the same hand, and put yours over it. “hey, you’ll be alright. there’s nothing to be scared of. and if you do start having a bad trip, i told all of them how to get you out of it, alright?”

he couldn’t help but to send you a small smile. you were always so good at making him feel relieved, reassured. it was one of the reasons why he adored you so much.

“so...” you began, picking up one of the tabs carefully, making sure that it wouldn’t get on your skin. “are you ready?”

neville looked at the tab once more, and sighed. “yeah. fuck it.”

you chuckled, and passed him his tab, “fuck it.”

at the same time, you two put the tab directly on your tongue. you could already feel the tab slowly dissolving, and for a quick moment regret filled your body. but you pushed it away, as you didn’t want to make neville nervous. you wanted his first trip to be good, unlike yours was.

“how long does it take to work?” neville asked, throwing the plastic bag in the trash bin right beside his bed.

you thought for a moment, trying to recollect your past knowledge from doing LSD. “about thirty minutes to an hour. but, it really all depends on the person, i suppose.”

he nodded, and began to play with his fingers.

you let your back fall onto the headboard, and moved some hair from your face.

“now... we wait.”

—

almost a whole hour had gone by, and neville stared up at the canopy, waiting for something, just anything to happen.

“still nothing, longbottom?” dean asked him, staring intently at his friend.

“yeah, nothing...” he muttered in response, “what about you, y/n?”

if neville or any of the other boys would’ve been a bit more attentive, they would’ve noticed how you were practically lost in your own world. everything was so bright, the most beautiful environment that you had ever seen. the wrinkles in your hands wiggled, and the print on the wall seemed to move like the ocean.

“uhh—you guys?” harry suddenly announced, and he pointed over towards you.

the boys looked over, and saw you staring at neville’s bed side table intently. you were on your knees, staring at the printed wood and the way it danced. you almost began to dance with it until neville got your attention,

“y/n? are you alright?”

you looked over at him, and he was shocked to see the brightest smile on your face that he had ever seen. “fantastic. the best i’ve ever felt!”

you couldn’t explain it, but it was the best you ever felt. your physical body on its own felt as if it were on cloud nine, and the things you were seeing... it was brilliant.

“look at the table. it’s dancing!” you squealed excitedly, pointing at the thin lines imbedded into the wood. neville, out of pure curiosity, looked exactly where you were pointing at. but, he didn’t see the wood dancing like you were.

“i don’t see anything. i guess it’s not working for me...” he sighed, envious of how happy you seemed from the affects.

you slowly got up, and looked over at him. you were making every attempt possible to ignore the visuals that covered your eye sight. you walked over to him, a small smile still planted onto your face. you bent down in front of him,

“it hit.” you whispered to him,

“what?”

you stared into his eyes, “it. hit.”

in that moment, neville truly believed in the power of words. because as you stood up, a blurred version of your figure followed. as if everything happening all in this moment was delayed.

neville’s eyes widened, and he looked down at his hands. he noticed the way the faint lines in his palm moved, and how they seemed to be wrapping around on each other. he closed his hand, and opened it right back up to make sure he wasn’t just seeing things.

no. this was actually happening.

“you guys... look at my hand! look! it’s moving!” neville started to shove his palm into his ron’s face, and ron laughed when he saw that his palm actually wasn’t moving.

you two began to get lost. lost into a trip that came in waves, but nonetheless, quite enjoying.

every time you looked at the walls, they seemed to move with your every step. you kept giggling at it, earning questionable stares from your designated “trip sitters.”. the bed posts seem to grow, shrink, and do the same thing all over again. at one point, you needed to use the bathroom. but as you walked passed a random mirror within the dorm, the need to relive yourself faded away.

in the mirror, you could say you saw multiple things. but, that wouldn’t even be a good enough explanation for what you saw. your face began to grown a shade of purple, a lavender shade. and you saw two extra terrestrial seeming ears grow out of the top of your head.

“neville, come check this out!” you blankly stated, too lost in thought and sight to even put any emotion into your words.

he quickly made his way over to you, and looked in the mirror as well.

it didn’t take long before the two of you were shouting about crazy things, and laughing your asses off.

“these crazy people, mate. i swear!” ron joked, shaking his head at the two of you.

—

as you sat up from neville’s bed, a large wave of sadness crashed into you. you knew this was bound to happen, just not as soon as you woke up.

you looked over, and spotted neville sleeping soundly. his hair was messy, and his lips were parted a bit. small snores escaped him, and you smiled at the way he looked, but your come down didn’t let you feel too happy for long.

“neville...” you nudged him, attempting to wake him up nicely. “neville... wake up...”

his eyes fluttered open slowly, and he smiled when he realized that you were over him, staring at him.

“hi.” he hummed, and you greeted him back with a quick, “morning.”

but from the way your face looked, neville could tell something was wrong. he had known you for so long, that he knew just one face drop always indicated that something was going on.

“what’s wrong, love?” he asked sweetly, mentally pleading for you to lay down next to him.

“i just feel...” you began, but trailed off getting lost in your own thoughts, “i just feel sad. like... noting is ever going to get better.”

you had talked to him about the affects of LSD, and how it made certain people react. and of course you didn’t forget to tell him about the infamous come down. he had retained as much as he could, so he knew from your statement that it was simply the drugs talking.

“y/n... that’s not true. you know that. everything can get better.” he assured you,

you looked over at him, “you said can. but... what if they don’t?” your voice cracked, and you could feel the sob climbing up your throat, desperately trying to escape your lips.

neville sighed, and quickly pulled your arm, asking if you to lay down next to him. you did so easily, making no complaints about receiving comfort in this moment.

he held you tight, and pressed a small kiss to your temple as he fixed the blanket that laid over the both of you. when he settled in once more, all it took was a look of adoration from him to make your lip quiver, and for a small cry to leave your body.

“oh, y/n... it’s alright...” he whispered, petting your hair gently as you cried into his chest. he couldn’t help but to feel his heart shatter into thousands of pieces hearing you sob like this. he knew it was just the routine of doing muggle drugs, but merlin, he hated seeing in this state.

you both laid still, and neville let you cry and ramble on about philosophical topics. he listened carefully, running his fingers through your hair gently.

when you calmed down, you nuzzled up closer to him.

“i had fun with you last night, nev. thanks for always doing stupid shit with me...” you chuckled through your tears, wiping them away with your hand.

“well, you want to know something?”

you hummed in response, looking up at him.

“i would do it all over again.”

[brelione]

And It Felt Great To Be A Liar (700 Celebration)

Ok so I based this off of this prompt:Hi there! I hope you’re doing well. I just have a request for JJ maybank. Would you be able to write one where y/n is apart of the kooks and is dating Rafe and Jj and her hate eachother. One day everyone is at a party and JJ and y/n are fighting with eachother as usual in a bedroom and he pins her against the wall and all of a sudden they start kissing eachother and they end up having really rough sex against the wall or a desk in the room with lots of dirty talk, choking and JJ making y/n admit he fucks her better than her boyfriend and gets her to beg for him If you have any time to write it I would be very appreciative, thank you so much x 

and it really fit with the poll results for the celebration so enjoy this master piece <3

Warnings:Choking, Spanking, Bondage, Sub and Dom behavior, cheating, no condom, degrading, swearing.

Rafe’s arms were around your waist, his hot breath fanning against your neck as he nipped at the skin. “We should stay here tonight.”He suggested, his hands moving to the hem of your shirt, his hands slipping under the thin material and onto your skin.

 “We cant, we already told Kelce and Top that we’d show.”You reminded him, peeling his hands away from you. He pouted, grabbing his keys. “Fine, we’ll play later.”He winked, opening his door and going down the stairs, shouting a goodbye to Wheezie and flipping off his dad.

 You cringed at his words, not looking forward to coming back after the party. You were getting bored of Rafe, there was really only so much of his drama that you could take. You were hoping he’d get bored of you soon too or maybe even move on to someone else and forget about you.

 But you stayed anyways, hoping he’d become less boring or maybe you’d stay around long enough to truly mean something to him. You followed him, sitting in the passengers seat of his truck. It reeked of alcohol and weed, his hand gipping your thigh. You rolled your eyes, looking out the window as he drove. 

“What are you thinking about, pretty girl?”He asked. You hummed, not replying. You grabbed his hand, resting your elbow on the arm rest. There wasnt much to look forward to these days. Nothing new, nothing fun, nothing interesting. The kook life got so boring so quick. 

Your only options on most days were to go golfing, shopping or a party if you were lucky. Everything was blurred together, feeling the exact same.He lifted his hand, pulling yours with it before pressing a kiss to your hand. It was a romantic gesture that you werent used to. 

He was like this at the beginning of the relationship, the romance slowly fading away as he became more obsessed with you instead of loving you. He was trying his best to convince you that he still loved you but you knew that you were just holding on to broken pieces at this point, wishing you had something different. 

You could hear the crashing of the waves, lifting your head and widening your eyes for a moment. The party was at Kelce’s beach house that wasnt really a house, it was really just a second mansion. You grinned at Rafe, sliding your phone in your pocket before hopping out of the truck, biting your tongue when he squeezed your ass.

 “Im gonna go look for Sar, okay?”You asked. He nodded, pulling you in for a quick kiss, watching as you jogged up the stairs. You could feel him watching you, slipping into a hallway and hoping for the best. You were sure that Sarah wasnt even at this party, it wasnt really her type of place. 

Sure, she was a party girl but even this was too much. You figured you should just lay low until Rafe was busy catching up with Kelce and Topper that he wouldnt notice if you went ot get yourself a drink. You werent in the mood for him to drag you over to his friend group and start bragging. 

You tested each door knob, searching for a bedroom or a bathroom for you to sit in for a while, grinning once one of them finally turned.      As soon as you were in the room you closed it behind you, locking it because you didnt feel like having your alone time interrupted by some drunk couple. 

As soon as you turned around you regretted it, seeing noone other than JJ Maybank shirtless in the middle of the room. He was staring back at you, stuck in place. You and JJ had problems that dated back to eighth grade. He had gotten into a huge fight with a kook and you were the only witness, watching as the boy hit JJ repeatedly in the ribs.

 JJ had eventually won the fight, blood running from his nose and staining his shirt, a layer of sweat covering his face as he stared at you. Since then he had nothing but anger and hate for you, giving you dirty looks in public and talking shit about you at parties. Of course you always found out about it. 

How he called you a whore, a gold digger and a bitch.  “Get out.”Was all he had to say, tossing his shirt onto the floor in the corner. It made a slight sloshing sound and you could only assume that he had bumped into someone and got something spilled on him. Or maybe he had been a bitch and got something thrown at him. 

“No.”You replied, staring back at him with a glare. He matched your energy, jaw clenching as he looked you up and down. “What are you hiding from, (Y/N)? You maniac of a boyfriend?”He asked, causing your blood to boil. Of course he was right but you’d never admit it. And of course Rafe was an absolute maniac but so was JJ and all of his friends.

 “He’s not a maniac, JJ.”You replied, knowing that it didnt sound right. You had never been great at lying. “Aww, thats cute that you try to stick up for your crazy boyfriend? If hes not a fucking maniac then explain what he did to Pope and I. You think a sane person would do that?”He asked.

 You stared back at him, biting the inside of your cheek as you tried to think of something to say. He shook his head, chuckling. “See, you cant even defend him anymore. God, I hope he fucking dumps your ass!”he exclaimed, letting out a sigh. You gulped, staring at him.

 “Shut up!”You shouted in response, only making him smirk. “Face it, (Y/N)!The boy you call your boyfriend is a shitty, disgusting person. You’re so much worse for being with him!”He shouted back at you. “Excuse me?”You asked, somehow surprised that he would say it to your face. 

“Come on, (Y/N). You’re not that fucking stupid. He’s using you and you know it. But you like being used, dont you?”He asked, causing you to go silent. For once you didnt know what to do or what to say. He was getting closer to you, gripping your wrists and pushing you against the door in a swift movement, your back hitting the wood hard. 

His eyes stayed on you, raising an eyebrow. “Answer the question, princess.”He demanded. You stared back at him, feeling his grip tighten. “Sometimes.”You replied, not wanting to give him the satisfaction he craved. 

“Dont lie to yourself, sweetheart. You’re a little maniac that likes to be used.”He spoke into your ear, leaning down and kissing you roughly.You were struggling to keep up, so much happening so fast. His hands were under your shirt, sloppy kisses being dragged up and down your neck. 

“Do you want me?”He asked you, fingernails digging into your skin. You nodded eagerly, feeling a sense of relief when he pulled you over and onto the bed, glad that you werent trapped against the wood surface. He didnt let you lay down, pushing you onto your knees as you stared up at him. 

He guided one of your hands to his belt, making you press against him before letting go, biting his lip as you palmed him through his pants, carefully undoing his belt with slightly shaky hands. 

He let you take your time, grinning at how nervous he made you, watching you struggle with his zipper. He chuckled, pushing you back and undoing his pants, getting on top of you, parting your legs. “Does Rafe make you this nervous?”He asked, seeming pleased with himself. 

You shook your head, not sure you could answer properly. He grinned, kissing you again. He lifted your shirt over your head quickly, tossing it. “Im flattered that I have such an effect on you.”He muttered, tugging your shorts off, his hand wrapping around your neck not soon after. 

His blue eyes were staring into you, squeezing harder for a moment. He was testing how much you could take, his thumb pressing into a spot right below your jaw. His hand dragged from your neck to the end of your hair, tugging harshly and causing you to let out a low shout. 

He chuckled, letting go and unclasping your bra. “There’s so many things I could do to you…. We’ve got four hours until Rafe remembers you…..”He muttered, tugging down your underwear and keeping your thighs open with his hands, settling between them. 

“Can you last four hours?”He asked. You nodded, moaning when his tongue slid through your folds. He chuckled, his fingernails leaving little crescent moons into your skin as he lapped at your entrance. You already already shaking from his tongue alone, your hands going to his hair and whimpering when he pulled away. 

“No, no, princess. You dont get to touch me.”He told you, grabbing his belt off the floor. “Give me your wrists.”He told you, grinning when you put them out for him. He had so much power over you, holding your wrists to the headboard and securing them with the belt. He settled back between your thighs, his tongue darting in and out of you, pressing his thumb against your clit. 

He could feel you were about to get close, pulling away before you could reach your high. You whined, moving against the belt. “What? You dont like that, princess?”He asked, moving up again so that his nose was against yours. “JJ, please.”You whispered, thinking that maybe he would change even just for a moment when he kissed you. 

“Not. A. Chance.”He replied. “This isnt fair!”You exclaimed, moaning again when he licked your nipple. “Not fair?”He asked, beginning to suck. He moved his hand up to pinch your other nipple, rolling his thumb over it. “I think its pretty fair, (Y/N).”He replied, turning you over so that your stomach was against the mattress and you had to turn your head to breathe properly. His palm collided with your ass, sending a shock through your body. 

“You okay?”He asked, moving your hair aside and pressinga  kiss to you cheek. He was only calm for a moment before he smacked you again, making you take a shaky breath. “Anthony hit me twelve times….you get fifteen. Count.”He told you, rubbing your ass before lifting up his hand again, the hit making a loud noise.

 “One.”You whispered, squeezing your eyes shut as he hit you again. You’d never let Rafe do this to you. You didnt like most things Rafe did especially in the bedroom. He just couldnt do what you wanted and if he did he just couldnt do it well. You didnt know when you got to ten, tears streaming down your cheeks. “JJ…. I dont think I can take more.”You sobbed. 

He took in a deep breath, leaning down. “Hmm…. you’re doing so good, princess. Only five more left, promise I wont be too rough.”He whispered, his fingertips grazing over your thighs, waiting for an answer. You nodded, biting your lip as you waited, his palm hitting you again but not nearly as hard as the others. He spanked you again, rubbing the area after carefully. 

You werent too worried anymore, whispering after he hit you the last time. He gave you a moment to recover, his fingers rubbing your thigh and sides, kissing your shoulder. He turned you over a few moments later, staring down at you. He pressed a kiss to your lips, the act much more gentle than before. 

He pulled away after a second, his hand back at your throat as he pushed into you. You gasped, your head falling against the pillows as he bottomed out. He chuckled, tugging at your hair and forcing your head back some more, leaning down and nipping at your shoulder, only letting go when you whimpered. 

It wasnt hard enough for you to bleed but his teeth left imprints in your skin, a satisfied smile on his face before he sped up. “Does Rafe fuck you like this?”He asked, hitting a spot so deep inside of you that you hadnt even known that it existed. You moaned loudly, feeling him tug your hair again. 

“JJ!”You shouted from the pain against your scalp. “Answer the question.”He told you. You licked your lips, an idea sparking in your mind. “Rafe’s better.”You lied. He looked down at you, fingers pressing hard against your neck. “You want me to stop? You wanna go back to Rafe?”He asked, thrusting in and out of you. You shook your head quickly, wrapping your legs around his torso.

 “Thats what I though, you fucking liar.”He muttered, slowing when he heard a knock at the door. “Anyone in there?”A voice shouted. It was Rafe’s. “Make a sound and im done with you.”He told you, picking up the pace. 

“Rafe, man. Im busy!”He shouted. You bit your lip, closing your eyes and trying your best not to make any noises. You heard a loud groan before heavy footsteps thumped down the hall. JJ chuckled, noticing your relief. “Aww, the poor slut doesnt wanna go back to her boyfriend.”He grinned, biting your neck again. 

You knew Rafe would see the marks but you didnt really care, eyes widening as you clenched around JJ. He let go of you, pulling out and cumming on your bare stomach. He panted, kissing you gently before freeing your wrists, kissing the skin gently. For someone who hated you he was being surprisingly sweet, especially after what just happened.

 It didnt last long before he got up and put his clothes back on, your suspicions confirmed when you noticed a large stain across his shirt. “See you around, kook.”He winked at you before leaving the room. You laid down on the bed, pain running through your body. You felt guilty for feeling so good, your wrists stinging slightly and your heart dropping when you realised Rafe would see.

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[gusu-emilu]

Whumptober No.2

Ship: Xue Yang / Xiao Xingchen Rating: T Wordcount: 1421 Tags: Canon-Typical Violence, Choking, Whump, Angst with a Bit of Fluff, Xue Yang POV Summary: One time Xiao Xingchen healed Xue Yang, and one time he healed Chengmei.

He sinks back into the feeling of Xiao Xingchen pressed against him. Even after living with him for so long, Xue Yang still finds himself startled at the comfort the daozhang’s presence brings.

Comfort from a man who would have seen him murdered.

Seen Xue Yang murdered, that is.

The fuckers had been too cowardly to kill Xue Yang in one clean blow.

Instead, they’d left him on the ground, arms and legs bound, leashed to a tree to slowly choke. The rope binding him is thin but strong, charmed to gradually cut into the skin and to suppress spiritual power, designed to slowly kill.

But the cultivators who captured him are just from some no-name sect. The charm they cast on the rope is mediocre. Potentially breakable.

Not that Xue Yang would be able to do much with his spiritual power given how much blood he’s lost. Otherwise, even his piecemeal cultivation abilities, scraped together for survival over the years, would be strong enough to break these binds—and then rip out the spines of the cultivators who dared touch him, vertebra by vertebra.

As he squirms against his restraints, he thinks about how those bastards will turn him in to the meathead leader of the Nie Clan once he’s dead, and have a little celebration praising themselves for their righteousness.

But where’s their righteousness now, while Xue Yang chokes and bleeds out on the forest floor? Where are their clan values? Xue Yang knows they aren’t stuffy inner disciples of a major sect—just some backwoods lowlifes—but they could at least kill him cleanly and quietly with the integrity that every hypocrite clan sings about.

And if they can’t kill Xue Yang with integrity, they can at least kill him right—by getting some fun out of it.

Instead, Xue Yang’s murderers are too cowardly to look him in the eye while he dies. They’ll come back for him when he’s fully choked out.

And he might be choked out soon. The coarse rope constricts tighter around his neck each time he struggles, closing in on each breath that claws its way down to his lungs.

Tighter.

Tighter.

Tighter, until it squeezes out all thought.

Until Xue Yang’s entire world is one strip of rope cut into his skin and one shrinking column of air.

Primal fear smothers him like a rancid stench as the leash crushes his throat.

He knows struggling will only constrict the rope more. But he can’t fight the instinct to trash against his restraints, desperate for air.

He’s going to die here.

Tighter—

The rope loosens.

Xue Yang coughs and gasps for breath, folding forward as his stomach lurches. But he forces himself to look up immediately, to prepare to fight tooth and nail against this new threat—

“Who did this to you?” asks a man in flowing white robes, gleaming sword in hand. The man’s face is in shadow, only a few smooth contours rimmed by moonlight.

But it’s enough for Xue Yang to recognize him.

“Xiao Xingchen,” he hisses, voice hoarse, barely able to speak. Blood trickles out the corner of his mouth as he smirks.

“Who did this to you?” Xiao Xingchen repeats, firmer.

Xue Yang cocks an eyebrow. “What?” He coughs blood. “Not going to untie the rest of me? Or would you rather leave me to slither from now on?”

Xiao Xingchen doesn’t answer. Instead, he squats down next to Xue Yang and sends a stream of spiritual energy into him, healing him, a rush of cool sweetness like pilfered candy.

Xue Yang recoils, then jerks, trying to knock Xiao Xingchen away. But the stubborn daozhang only dodges and grabs him by the shoulder, holding him steady while forcing spiritual energy in through the battered skin on his back.

“Let go of me,” Xue Yang growls. “I don’t want your useless qi inside me.”

“You will die of blood loss without immediate healing.”

“Isn’t that what you want?”

“No,” Xiao Xingchen answers, sounding distressed. Sounding surprised that Xue Yang asked such a question.

“No?” Xue Yang echoes, throat still sore. “Liar!”

Xue Yang stops struggling and accepts the spiritual energy, using the strength from it to devote all his focus to forcing Xiao Xingchen to acknowledge his hypocrisy.

“You think you’re any better than the bastards who did this to me? What are you planning to do with me after you so graciously heal me?”

“Turn you in for your crimes.”

“And that’s justice?”

“It’s what must be done.”

“‘It’s what must be done,’“ Xue Yang mimics. “You know good and well they’ll murder me the moment you hand me over. Why bother helping now? Is it only right for me to be murdered if you decide when?”

“It is not my decision—”

With spiritual energy the daozhang so kindly gifted him, Xue Yang diverts his new qi from healing his wounds to create a blast of energy. The binds snap off. He slams his body into Xiao Xingchen, knocking him to the ground.

Every sinew in Xue Yang’s body protests movement as light-headedness overtakes him. His injuries could've used the spiritual energy he spent on escaping.

But he still manages to jump out of reach before Xiao Xingchen reacts. After all, physical weakness had never held him back.

People like Xiao Xingchen had held him back.

“Here’s a lesson for you, daozhang!” Xue Yang calls as he slips deeper into the darkness of the forest. “Unlike you, I can show mercy and spare your life. You can never be righteous by killing me now!”

* * *

“Chengmei,” Xiao Xingchen croons fondly in his ear. “You can’t keep doing this.”

"Can't keep what? Being irresistible? You're the one deciding to touch me."

"I'm not—" Xiao Xingchen huffs and lifts his hand from Xue Yang's back, still so easy to fluster. "You know what I mean."

Xue Yang shakes his head, a crooked smile playing on his lips. Xiao Xingchen is treating an injury he'd gotten by falling and gouging a wound in his back while changing the roofing.

“The Coffin House needs renovations,” Xue Yang says. “Unless you manage to anger a spirit who gets revenge by a feng shui makeover of the nearest building, you’re going to have to rely on me to fix things around here.”

Xiao Xingchen chuckles and leans forward, wrapping himself around Xue Yang from behind, chin resting on his bare shoulder. With one hand he rubs soothing circles of spiritual energy into Xue Yang’s back.

Xue Yang soaks in the pleasant sensation. Absorbs the warmth from Xiao Xingchen’s body and the way the heat intertwines with the coolness of spiritual energy. Relaxes into the satisfaction of the daozhang healing him.

Then, like blood splattered on white stone, the long-buried memory of Xiao Xingchen’s hand pressed against his back rushes back into his mind. Drowns him in that unbearable moment of vulnerability that he’s tried so hard to forget—the feeling of being on the brink of death, his life in his enemy’s hands, healed by someone who only intends to kill him again.

The unbearable vulnerability still eats at Xue Yang, making him restless with the memory flaring up in his mind. Instinctively, he draws as much air into his lungs as he can, just to reassure himself that he still can.

He sinks back into the feeling of Xiao Xingchen pressed against him. Even after living with him for so long, Xue Yang still finds himself startled at the comfort the daozhang’s presence brings.

Comfort from a man who would have seen him murdered.

Seen Xue Yang murdered, that is.

The daozhang has already found Chengmei on the brink of death, and never once tried to harm him. Instead, he healed Chengmei and has asked for nothing in return but stories and companionship. And the occasional stint babysitting A-Qing or buying groceries.

Xue Yang tells himself that makes Xiao Xingchen more of a hypocrite than ever—that Chengmei gets everything for free but Xue Yang doesn’t—but somehow can’t fully convince himself.

“You can’t keep injuring yourself while working,” Xiao Xingchen says, “You even aggravated your old leg injury last time you—”

“I’m fine, daozhang. I think you’re inventing these injuries so you can steal me from my work and make me take my shirt off.”

Xiao Xingchen laughs again, a soft, comforting rumble against Xue Yang’s back, and slips an arm around Xue Yang. Xue Yang leans back, melting into the daozhang’s embrace.

Xiao Xingchen may think it’s right for Xue Yang to die for his crimes. But surely he would never think it’s right to kill Chengmei.

Chengmei can receive the daozhang’s spiritual energy with no cost, no conditions, no consequences except the attention of a stupid, gullible, beautiful man.

Chengmei will only die if Xue Yang kills him himself.

 * * *

Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this fic, come visit me on AO3!

[sahesha]

the royal assembly

Honestly, I don't know the terms of fanfiction on Tumblr, so I'll just call it scenario, lmao :)

Doflamingo x Female Reader

word count: 722

warnings: NSFW, size kink, blow job, face fuck, sex in a public place

🍷 Doflamingo approaches you and stands up so close that your face is right in front of his crotch. He likes the fact that you're almost half his height, and he often uses it for your mutual pleasure. You don't mind at all, although sometimes you're confused by his audacious and contented smirk, which he gives you from above. But when he skips the strands of your hair through his elegant fingers and calls you "my little queen," you lose your mind.

🍷 He keeps telling you such hot things, praises you with spicy words, and purrs by his chest velvet voice. All of what he does caress your tiny, pretty ears, which look like graceful pink seashells, and self-esteem. Doflamingo rewards you for being able to win his heart, and that means too much. If the king is not generous, can he then call himself king? But he does it only when you're alone together because a rare human being deserves his openness. And you're the only one of your kind, his priceless treasure, and his eternal curse.

🍷 Doflamingo holds your hair, presses you to his groin, and rubs against your face with aroused dick through the thin fabric of the pants. His movements are fast and rough. The growl comes from the depths of his chest, and all of this inflames your desire more and more. Your face blushes with such a treatment, hot blood rushes to your cheeks, and they look like two coral-red petals with a light, innocent fuzz. For a few seconds, he breaks away from you and looks into your eyes, stroking your cheekbones with his warm thumbs. He likes the way you flush after this wild friction.

🍷 You open your slightly swollen lips and bite his weird belt with your little teeth. You pull it by the laces, then untie with trembling fingers, and the belt slowly falls off his beautifully delineated pelvic bones on the floor. All this time, Doflamingo looks attentively at how you do it and strokes your hair softly, saying what a good little girl you are. Then you unbutton his fly with your teeth, and his giant member sticks in your face: he doesn't wear underwear. You lick a hot throbbing vein on it, taste the soft skin, then caress its wet crimson head with your lips and tongue. He growls with pleasure and pushes his cock into your open mouth, making you accept his impressive size. It quickly penetrates your narrow throat while he holds you with both hands behind your head. The man fucks your face fast, slowly, going from one speed to another so suddenly that you almost choke on him.

🍷 Unfortunately, this piquant fun lasts a short time, because soon you both have to go to a meeting with royals from other countries. But this fact doesn't make it any worse. On the contrary, the element of transience and prohibition gave spice to this little game. You are in a niche behind one of the marble columns supporting the delicate vault of the giant hall. All the kings and queens went to the small tea party, after which they will come again to this hall. The round oak table with a malachite countertop in the center looks lonely without their noisy discussions, craving eyes, and rich clothes. Doflamingo pours his hot sperm with a soft growl into your mouth, his sculptural body trembles slightly, supple muscles of his open chest and his abs tense. You swallow his semen to the last drop, so you don't ruin your decent look. Then you straighten your tousled hair and your pearl necklace, the long thread of which encircles your thin, graceful neck several times.

🍷 "My little queen," he repeats, stroking your rosy face with his palm. "Now you and I are going to make these idiots pay for their stupidity. I want to launch a couple of wars. What do you think of this idea?"

🍷 "I like that," you reply with a little satisfied smile. "That queen with tiny fish eyes called me too short for such an impressive man like you. Why don't we burn her palace to the ground?"

🍷 "Then let's start from her kingdom," Doflamingo smiles predatory, leaning over at you and softly kissing your forehead. "I don't like her either. She dared to insult my precious queen."

[yandere-daydreams]

God please can I get anything with Rook hunting down his escaped darling? This man has a thing for chasing you down you cannot convince mo otherwise

I’ve been meaning to write a special headcanon/scenario post about Pomefiore to celebrate the release of Chapter Five, but,,, this’ll have to do, for now. I’m doing a disservice to the best dorm, but hopefully, some Rook content will delay by inevitable shame.

Title: The Hunt.

TW: Violence, Kidnapping, Strong Predator/Prey Themes, Implied Stalking, and Mentions of Death.

~

You really used to think Rook was just on the extravagant side.

That’s how it’d seemed when he first introduced himself, dropping to one knee and pressing his hand to his chest, declaring something loud enough and incoherent enough to draw the eye of every onlooker within earshot. Some of his actions were questionable, his gaze often leaning towards the unnerving side, but you’d never thought he was villainous, he hadn’t seemed to want to do harm. He meant mischief, as far as you could tell. He didn’t try to hide the way he watched the more particular members of the student body, but he never took anything beyond a picture. He never made a secret of his fondness for you, but his affection was a fleeting thing - he’d said as much himself a dozen different times. You figured Rook would move long as soon as something newer and shinier came along. You thought he was just having fun.

You supposed you weren’t wrong. He had been having fun. He was still having fun.

It just wasn’t fun for you, anymore.

“Mon cœur,” Rook called, the familiar term of endearment stretching into something twisted, something perverse as it echoed through the lifeless woods. The forest surrounding the Pomefiore dormitory was always dark, always daze-like, always horrid, but tonight, it felt especially misleading, as if the trees themselves were uprooting and rearranging to guide you in any direction but the one that’d lead you away from your hunter. That’s what he was now, really, your hunter. Rook had a way of making his prey feel like pets, of making you feel like a partner rather than another trophy for him to decapitate and mount on his wall, but all of those blissful lies and domestic fantasies had dissolved into thin air the moment you slipped out of your chains and threw yourself out of that elegant, stained-glass window of his. It’d been a stupid move, in hindsight, you were only doing damage to yourself and giving him a blood-trail to follow, but a lifetime of picking crystalline shards out of your skin would be less agonizing than another minute spent in his captivity. You just wished his footsteps hadn’t fallen in-tempo with yours so quickly.

“You really should come out, (Y/n).” His voice was calm, projected with the all the tranquil serenity of a man who already knew he’d won. It wasn’t close, it wasn’t deafening, but the fact that you could hear him at all was damning. It meant he’d be able to hear you, too, even if you had no plans to announce yourself so blatantly. “I know you love your games, and I do want to play with you, but staying up so late is bad for your skin, no? And you must be so tired, dear. If you put an end to this silly show of defiance now, I may even let you sleep in my bed, rather than the cage where you belong.”

You didn’t respond  - you wouldn’t have, even if you hadn’t been hiding. Pushing forward, you drove yourself to run faster, to escape both his cage and his bed. There was a clearing in your path, a spot where the leaf-canopy broke apart and the ground grew barren, harsh moonlight seeping in like an unwanted thought, but you skirted around it, following its borders until you found the spot where the foliage was at its thickest. You didn’t think as you forced yourself into the narrow space between branches and trunks and vines with so many thorns, you had to wonder if you’d die of blood loss before Rook got a chance to wring your neck himself, only pressing a hand over your mouth and doing your best to control your panting. You just had to stay put for a minute. You just had to give him time to move on. Then, you’d be able to circle back and beat on every door in Pomefiore until someone recognized you as the student who’d gone missing weeks ago. Then, you’d be safe.

Rook, on the other hand, had no reason to tuck himself away. He stepped into the large clearing without hesitation, letting out a long, labored sigh as he idly glanced towards his surroundings. He must’ve begun his chase as soon as he noticed you’d gotten out, his intricate wardrobe cut down to little more than a black shirt and an insulated, camouflage jacket, both doing leagues more to block out the biting cold than the simple button-down shirt you’d been given to wear. He hadn’t had time to choose a proper weapon, either. Rook preferred traditional bows, the kind without cogs or cables to alleviate the tension of the draw, but he was carrying a simplistic compound bow tonight, made for efficiency and speed rather than enjoyment. Made for maiming his target, rather than indulging them in their rebellion, an arrow already knocked and ready to be drawn back at the first hint of an opening. “Perhaps I should call you mon ange, instead, considering you’re so eager to fly away.” Another sigh, this one accompanied by a graceful turn on his heel and a smooth survey of the forest. His eyesight was good, but it couldn’t be that good. You could barely see your hand in front of your face, where the shadows were their deepest. “Wouldn’t it be easier to come out on your own? You know how much I hate having to drag you home.”

Liar. That dirty, filthy liar. He’d already dragged you away from Night Raven, he’d already dragged you away from your classmates and your family and your friends, and all because he was under some deluded, pathetic notion that he’d only be able to love you - truly love you - if he nailed you to the ground, first. His gaze wandered, he was the one who couldn’t be trusted to keep his promises. He’d just wanted to ensure you’d still be there, waiting for him with open arms, when he got back from all his many expeditions. He’d imprisoned you, and he’d delighted in it, reveled in the joy that came with a source of companionship he’d be able to bleed dry. He was only unamused now that you’d refused to let him cut you open.

You could feel your cheeks begin to flush in anger, your nails curling into your palms, but that did little to stop Rook from going on. Always going on, never stopping. You hadn’t realized how much you hated the sound of his voice until you’d been forced to listen. “I’ll admit, I’ve been busy, lately. Have I been neglecting you?” He laughed, the sound airy, non-commital. As if it suddenly didn’t matter if you came out, as if he suddenly didn’t care. “This is childish, is it not? I mean, I never thought you would stoop so low just to buy for my attention.”

It was so little, it was nothing, just a shift of your weight in the barest hint of a reaction, but dried leaves and twigs seemed to crack under your feet as if you’d thrown your biggest tantrum yet. You reacted immediately, scrambling to free yourself from your constrictive hiding place, but Rook was so fast, he was so ready. It was all you could do to catch a glimpse of his bow as he took aim, your efforts to escape from his line of fire turning out all-but futile. You pressed yourself against the nearest trunk, but in the end, he was the one who faltered, his arrow barely grazing your bicep, cutting through your sleeve but only leaving a thin, red line in your skin, the shallowest wound he’d ever inflicted. You allowed yourself to smile, you allowed yourself to laugh, but Rook didn’t move to fire again, only slinging his bow over his shoulder, slotting it into place as if he wouldn’t need to use it again. Not on you, anyway.

“You really should come out,” He said, one more time. “These kinds of things tend to get rather ugly when they’re not given the proper treatment.”

For a moment, you didn’t know what he meant, but before you could gather up the confidence to ask, something sharp and frigid pounded through your injured arm, stretching from your fingertips to your shoulders, and out of reflex, you glanced towards the cut. A pale, lilac fluid was smeared across your skin, dripping from the small wound, the color so faint, you hadn’t noticed it before. The same shade of purple that coated his arrowhead, even after it’d buried itself in the ground.

Oh.

That made sense. For Rook, at least.

You hardly tried to resist it, your body buckling under its own weight, crumbling until you were little more than a mass of stained clothes and writhing limbs, every part of you contorted in agony so vivid and bright, the darkness seemed to dissolve, kept at a faithful distance by an unmoving wall of white-hot pain. It was relentless, it was ruthless, and it only got worse as Rook’s calloused hands took hold of your tense form, lifting you off the ground and pulling you against his chest, cradling you as gently and as tortuously as he could. His hum was liked a needle to your ears, the click of his tongue as fatal as a dagger to the back of your neck, but even then, you knew it wouldn’t kill you. No, no, that’d ruin Rook’s fun. That’d be too merciful for him. That’d be too kind.

And to think, you’d almost forgotten the flare your hunter was capable of.