#oh fuck did my lip blood drip all the way down this joint

[stonedasamartyr]

Guy Whose Way Too Stoned for the Rolling Papers to be Pink: oh shit these rolling papers are pink

[juniaships]

The most awkward Miguel x Reader smutfic ever

Or, what REALLY happens when Miguel uses his fangs on you. Basically my response to fics that make Miguel out to be an "animalistic" Sex God. Because y'all suck and racist. Might make a part 2 I dunno. TW for healthy!sex, temporary paralysis.

Sade croons in the background, as vanilla incense burns on on a metal plate on your dresser. It isn't common for evenings like this: between Miguel often working late, you caring for your daughter and handling Anti Mutant bullshitters, and the both of you sharing joint duties as the protectors of Nueva City.

But on this rare night of peace you and your husband knew y'all had to take advantage. With your daughter staying with Miguel's mama, you broke out the essentials you would need to make it special.

Right now, you were laying in the bed, dripping with need as Miguel rubbed his hands all over you. The blue and red intimates you bought many months ago lay in tatters alongside Miguel's clothes. Your hair is secured & covered with a bonnet you bought specifically to match your now-ruined outfit. A few stray curls lay damp on your forehead.

The guilty party trails his instruments of titillation across your skin as gently as possible. As if they never shed a single drop of blood, his talons leave behind a trail that tingled your thighs. Miguel's plush lips follows behind, he poetry that sears through you like cinnamon, his brown locks messy from your playful hands.

"My love... dios mio how did i get so lucky," he whispered. He sucks a patch of your thigh harshly. You jump. Your insides clench and you swear you could feel an ocean under your rump. Your pretty little clit throbs impatiently as your love continues making a meal of you.

Miguel smells the arousal. It's his favorite activity (he had plenty). Slowly easing you into a state of mindless pleasure, an iceberg of a serene ocean, before plunging you into the fiery passion below. It is so pungent the pheromones warp his mind in a symphony of colors.

Your heavy moaning drives his canines to elongate.

He freezes suddenly as he felt one dig into the brown flesh just below your intimate area. He hears you jump then relax with a sigh. So relaxed, your body stops writhing and all the pleasure slows down to a simmer.

You were already drooling but something tasted different. Your lips throb and like a dentist applying numbing cream you lose sensation in your entire mouth. Sensuality gives way to panic and you shout your husband's name.

Or try to. Since you had your head turned to the side your tongue hangs lifelessly as small pool of saliva forms. Your fingers lose their grip on the sheets. You try to flail about to get his attention.

It is when Miguel hears your frightened pleas when he jerks his body away from you. He stares down, his gorgeous eyes full of confusion and shame.

"Oh fuck!"

"Yes Miguel I'd like to get back to that," you snark in your mind. You haven't broke your code against capitalism to let sexy times go to waste.

"I knicked you with my teeth," he sighed. He rubs the bridge of his nose. God why did he was so reckless? One night just one night to give his love the love she deserves and he couldn't even control his most basic body function?

"I thought you said you can control the length?" Her words slurs out in dismantled grunts. Miguel scratches the back of his head.

"I guess I got so distracted by your beauty I got a little carried away" he says. He allows himself a tiny, nervous grin.

"Besides I'm kinda liking you this way," he says as he strokes his hand down your cheek. He left the biting to you and you would've had bitten him in retaliation if not for your current predicament.

Fury simmers inside you at his sad attempt at appealing to you. "How long until it wears off?"

Miguel runs a tentative thumb against your thigh. "Since it's only a scratch it should take maybe... One hour. At the least."

"One hour? That's a foreplay's worth of waiting," you lament as you try to move your legs. You couldn't even wriggle your toes.

"You do know after this wears off I'm gonna kick your ass," you try to say. Miguel couldn't stop the low snicker that came out of his mouth at your pathetic attempt at a threat.

"Don't worry my ass's been needing some of your kisses anyways. Pavement doesn't make for good cushions," he said. He reaches over you to set the timer on the clock.

"If it doesn't wear off by then we'll just call it a night."

"If? You mean I'm going to be stuck like this forever?!" You cry out in fear.

"Don't worry i have an antidote?"

"Your death?"

"No. This." He begins to prop you up on the pillows as best he could, and starts massaging your legs. While you couldn't move much you could close your eyes. Thankfully, you could make it through the evening without dryness. Visually and down there too.

Of course you had to cancel the sex part. Miguel has no desire ant to screw you while you lay so helplessly. He wants to do you safe in his arms. You sigh one more time as Miguel caresses his strong warm hands apologetically across your body, until you finally retain some sensation. By then the serenity consumes you into a peaceful sleep, and Miguel pulls you into a tired embrace.

[queer-coded-camaro-driver]

Prompt idea maybe: "You look so pretty when you cry."

sorry this took me a minute, but the right scenario needed time to formulate

Harringrove pre-relationship, post S2/pre S3, marijuana

---

He’s stoned as hell when he says it, of course. Otherwise he would never have opened his mouth and let something so totally idiotic come flying out in front of Hawkins’ notorious bad boy, Billy Hargrove. But they both show up at one of the quarry’s lesser known spots at the same time and both outright refuse to leave… So the somewhat-rivals begrudgingly agree to share some of Eddie Munson’s better shit and ignore the tension brewing between them. At least for a few glorious hours.

Until Steve exhales a cloud of blue smoke and says offhandedly: “You look so pretty when you cry.”

Billy’s head snaps up, expression grim – he’s borderline murderous already. The blond’s upper lip curls back until he’s snarling, until Steve is staring down a Billy who’s more wolf than boy. “What the fuck did you say to me, Harrington?”

Steve blinks. Shit. How is he supposed to answer that when he hadn’t even meant to open his mouth in the first place!? How the hell is he supposed to tell the guy who beat the shit out of him a few weeks ago that he looked stunning from below–

In retrospect, obviously. At the time of their altercation, Steve had been angry and frightened and was trying his best to protect the kids; which is, ironically enough, also what Billy had been trying to do. He’d been trying to protect Max from an entire room full of strange guys.

Which, like, fair enough.

But even after the Billy’s-fist shaped bruises have healed and the cuts fade to nothing, Steve’s mind keeps wandering back to those awful but electrifying moments before unconsciousness. The memory is glorious: blood dripping from that statuesque nose, tears forming at the corners of the younger boy’s wrathful blue eyes as he drives his fist into Steve’s face over and over. The howl Steve saw but never quite managed to hear, straining like distant thunder in the back of Billy’s throat. 

He’d been pissed at Billy, going out of his way to avoid the blond until Max filled him in on what went on at their house on Cherry Road. Staying mad about something as stupid as a misunderstanding in the wake of El’s incredible victory and this new information seems childish. Stupid. Steve has seen the end of the world and faced it head on, so what’s one equally lonesome asshole from California, really?

“Hey, pretty boy, you gonna fuckin’ answer me?”

“Oh!” Steve shakes his head and bites his bottom lip before exhaling. “Right… I mean, you have like–” Fuck. “–I don’t know dude, I’m high as fuck!”

“Well that’s kind of a weird thing to say, man.”

“I know that, Billy. Christ, you think I wanna sound this stupid all the time? Kids make fun of me when I open my mouth.”

Unexpectedly, the blond boy’s frown deepens. He starts rolling another joint on the hood of Steve’s car. “That’s not very nice of them, considering how much of your trust fund you’ spend on gas to tote them everywhere. If I were one of those brats, I’d be worshiping the ground you walk on.”

Steve gives Billy a look of outright awe. 

Did Eddie lace this shit? Am I dreaming? 

“Huh?”

“I rarely see you around without one of those nerdy little brats hanging off your jacket, so you clearly spend a lot of time helping them out and taking them places. They think it’s okay to treat you like crap just because they’ve read a few more books and gone to a few less parties? Dumbasses.”

“When I said you’re pretty when you cry, I mean your eyes get more intense. You have nice eyes for, like, a dude. I guess.”

Now it’s Billy’s turn to stare at Steve in shock. 

He lights up the joint and takes a drag before passing it to Steve. “Thanks, Harrington. That’s kind of nice, in a weird way.”

“It’s already been established that I’m pretty weird.”

“And sweet.”

“What?” 

“You’re sweet,” Billy reiterates, taking the joint back. “But you didn’t hear me say shit.”

“Course not,” Steve smiles. He’s really stoned; his head is full of cotton and he has the deep desire to reach out and touch Billy’s golden curls. “Hey, can I touch your hair?”

“Can I touch yours?”

“Yeah.”

“Then, sure.”

They each reach out with one hand. Billy tucks what he can behind Steve’s ears and Steve tugs gently at one of Billy’s ringlets only to watch it bounce back into place. Quietly, so quietly it’s barely audible, the older boy whispers: “What are we doing?”

Billy shrugs, fingers still tangled in loose brown locks. “Dunno. But I kinda like it.”

“Me, too.”

“Cool… Do you really think I’m pretty?”

“Yeah.”

“Cool.”

They watch the sun rise over the far edge of the quarry in silence, shoulders pressed tightly together. They’re almost sober again, and Steve isn’t sure if things will go back to the way they were yesterday or if this new sense of understanding is permanent. The tension in the air hasn’t returned and he’s terrified to think that it may. 

He doesn’t want to lose this side of Billy.

“Hey, Hargrove…?”

“Yeah, pretty boy?” 

“Are we– Does this mean we can stop being assholes to each other?” Steve asks.

Billy laughs, bright and loud and so fucking beautiful that Steve’s chest aches. His gorgeous blue eyes go squinty and thin as his smile grows, slivers of seafoam iris showing through. “Yeah, Harrington. I think we can figure out a way to be friends.”

Steve’s grin is unstoppable. Genuine. Something is stirring in his heart like an animal waking from hibernation. 

“Cool.”

[thegremlincrowsnest]

Good Vibes - A Stripper!Kiri x Reader AU NSFW

This is my contribution to the Magic Mike Collab by the illustrious Angelashido

CW: Use of pussy, clit, cunt. Daddy used in a sexual context,

Disclaimer: All Reader inserts are brown and ftm trans! Reader will have he/him pronouns. All characters are over 18. Minors DNI!

“Good Boys listen to daddy don’t they, my darlin.’”

Those words rang through your head almost every day you went to work.

The deep bass of his voice, the warmth of his hands, the hungry look in his eye.

They all haunted your dreams since you started working at Fatgum’s Farm. A southern farm themed strip club where the servers and performers dressed as either cowboys, farm hands, or farm animals. Your “uniform” was a cow printed bikini with a matching tail, ears, and horns. The straps dug into the plush flesh of your brown hips and sides, but you reveled in the stares you would get.

However, you weren’t the only one who had a liking for your outfit.

Eijiro Kirishima was one of the house favorites. A stripper who went by Red Riot, was very intrigued by your appearance. Tall and built like a house, he wore assless chaps, a black thong, and a cowboy hat. Besides the outfit leaving nothing to the imagination, he did love to tease you. Letting his hand slip ever so slightly lower as he walked by, would leave you with a lingering warmth for the rest of the night.

He’s a sweet man though, always walking you to your car and taking care of any customers who got too handsy. Although you never did complain the few times he had to pretend to be your boyfriend. One time in particular, actually. You had a customer gripping your wrist, begging for a kiss, and refusing to let go. Eijiro came up behind you, pulling the man’s hand off of you before putting a protective grip on your waist. Your mind went blank for a moment, feeling his solid body pressed against your side as his fingers dug into the meat of your hip.

“-you go along now baby.” A voice said, shaking you out of your fog. You stood there for a moment before a strong hand gripped your cheeks gently. Turning your face to him, his grip lowered onto your ass.

He gripped it tightly as he spoke. “Good boys, listen to daddy, ‘ight darlin’?” He asked with a low growl. His eyes quickly darted down to your slightly puckered lips, thick and painted red, before looking back up into your eyes.

“Y-yes sir.” Was all you could say before running off to the back to cool yourself off.

That was weeks ago and since then you’ve had your fun with teasing him. Grinding your ass against his bulge “accidentally”, pressing your breast against him with soft groans laced into whatever you were suggesting. Every time, you saw his crimson eyes darken and he licked his lips, looking at your display with hunger. He would recuperate, grabbing your ass as he walked by or snapping the straps of your bikini bottoms against your ass just to see your fat ripple. Today, however, you decided to try and make a move. The two of you were closing for the evening and were the last to leave.

As you walked into the back to change you saw Ejiro standing outside of the entrance. “Ya know you don’t hafta wait outside when it's the two of us right?” You comment to him as you walk inside.

“I know but my mamas raised me to be respectful,” he replies as he walks closer, leaning against a nearby locker as he begins to scroll on his phone. You smirked as you began to strip in front of him, as your back turned to him you felt his eyes trail down your back. Usually, you just threw on some sweats and changed at the house. But tonight you wanted to see how far you could push him. As you pulled off your bra you turned back to him, placing your hands on your hips you smirked. He was standing awkwardly against the locker, face buried in his phone with the faintest of blush dusting his cheeks. “Don’t tell me ya never saw a pretty body naked have ya Eiji?” You taunt as you walk closer to him. Only coming up to his chest you giggled as you pressed up against him.

His breath caught in his chest as he looked down at you. “Now doll… I know we’ve been teasing each otha for a while not..” He started, gripping your chin to keep your eyes on his. “But if ya want this I warn ya… I aint gentle,” he finishes lowly. You can only giggle and bite the inside of your cheek.

"Who says I want it to be soft?” You retort.

Suddenly you’re lifted up and pressed against the lockers by strong arms as a pair of soft lips are pressed against yours. You moan into his kiss as his large hands grip the fat of your thighs and ass. “Fuck baby, do ya know how hard it is for me to just sit by and watch as these hips swing by my stage,” he growls. You can’t get a word out as he sticks two thick fingers into your mouth. Soft whimpers echo through the changing room as your drool drips down his hand. He pulls them out and kisses you gently before slowly sliding a finger inside of you. He groans lowly as he feels how tight you are, your pussy clenches around his finger, desperately trying to suck him in. You stay like this, him stretching you slowly as he adds one more finger, scissoring you apart as he watches your face. How it contorts, how your eyes cross slightly as he feels your sweet spot, it all goes straight to his cock.

“Look at you..taking my fingers like a good little boy should,” he remarks as he looks down at the absolute mess you’ve made. He gently lays you down on a nearby bench, taking off his sweatshirt and folding it up before placing it underneath your hips. You watch as he slides off his pants and boxers, drool escaping you slightly as you watch his cock slowly reveal itself. Thick as heavy that even with it fully hard it can barely stand by itself. He positions himself between your legs, tapping his cock against your pussy. He smirks as he hears your voice hitch, feeling how heavy it is. He looks at you with concerned eyes, studying your face for any sign of discomfort only to find lust-blown eyes looking back at him. He grips your thighs tightly as they push them up to your chest. Your pussy clenches as you feel his fingers sink into the fat of your thighs. He slowly pushes in, biting his lip as he feels the hot, tight walls of your entrance. You reach up, digging your nails into his arms as his grip tightens on your hips.

Eiji gives you only a moment to rest before he pulls out, watching as your lips grip his shaft, glistening from how wet you are. He can’t help the deep growl in his chest as he pushes back in. He picks up the pace, leaning down on his forearms he leans his forehead against yours. The slapping of his balls against your ass echoes loudly. “God damn… you’re so fucking tight-ngh- didn’t think you could take me so well,” he moans out.

You let out a shaky laugh as your legs tighten around his waist. “D-didn’t know you thought so little oh fuck yes of me Eiji~” You replied. Your mixed juices dripped down the curve of your ass, adding to the explicit sounds coming from your rendezvous. To keep himself quiet he buries his face in the crook of your neck, biting and marking his way down to your chest.

Your whines grew louder as you felt the head of his cock hit your most sensitive spot. Your back arched and your nails drew blood from how hard they scratched down his shoulders. “Ah there it is~” He remarks as he sits up a bit, angling his thrusts to keep hitting your sweet pot. Absolutely enamoured by how fucked out you look, eyes crossed and drool dropping from the corner of your mouth, he can see the beginnings of hickeys bloom across your warm brown skin. It made his cock throb. “You’re all mine baby boy, no one else can have this tight pussy except me,” he announced as he began to thrust faster. Rubbing your clit in slow stuff movements he can’t help but smile seeing how your body reacts to the softest of touches. You can barely respond, only nodding your head and whimpering as you feel the knot in your loins tighten. “Gonna cum for me baby? Go on, I’m feelin’ nice today,” he remarks as he feels your pussy tighten around him. He thrusts faster, pinching and rubbing your clit along with his thrusts as he watches your face. You turn your head as you feel yourself about to climb over the edge before you feel a strong hand grip your chin. “Now now. Good boys look at daddy when they cum, I wanna see those eyes cross when ya squirt on my cock,” he commands. His smirk, usually holding warmth and comfort, throws you over the edge with a loud moan. Holding onto him like your life depended on it, you can’t help the cacophony of noises that spilled from your lips. He doesn’t relent, continuing to pound away at your quivering entrance.

“E-eiji nngj s-sensitive,” you moaned out, hot tears streaming down brown cheeks as you tried to move away from his powerful thrusts.

“Shh baby let daddy use you a little bit longer,” he comments as he hooks your legs over his shoulders as he holds your face gently. His large palms squish your cheeks gently as he speeds up his thrusts, your toes curl, and your body quakes as you feel his cock throb inside of you. Looking up at him with unfocused eyes you hold onto his wrists.

“C-cum inside daddy~ please~” You squeaked. That broke him, holding you close to him he unloaded inside of you, groaning loudly he humps against you. Feeling his cock throb and pulse as rope after rope of cum unloads inside of your tight cunt.

He keeps your bodies close together, kissing your face and lips gently as he asks how you're feeling. “I wasn’t too rough with you, was I sweetheart?” He asks as he wipes away tears. You shake your head and lean into his touch.

“No no...that was exactly what I wanted,” you replied. He chuckles as he lets your legs down gently, rubbing your hips and joints to ease the tension.

“Good. Cause as soon as I get you home, you’re gonna need to call off tomorrow.”

[helliontherapscallion]

Yellow Carnations (Destiny Written in Begonias Part 1)

Spotify Playlist (collaborative)

Summary: After hearing something deep within the woods, you give into curiosity and investigate. Who knows, whatever you find could be a prize.

Warnings: Swearing, slightly graphic violence (just some zombies getting dismembered)

Word count: 3,715

(A/N): So, welcome to my new series! I have so many ideas for this that I’d love to write. This story will be very gay, fluffy, and sorta angsty, so buckle up my children!

So just a lil background info: the reader is Techno’s adopted daughter. She is a piglin hybrid, but she is more human looking than piglin. This takes place about eighteen years after the most recent events of the SMP.

                                           ✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

“Techno, I think we have enough ender pearls for tonight.” You glanced to your side to look at your father and Philza, the enchantments of their armor glowing dimly in the moonlight and the orange light of the torches in their hands. Philza stretched his body and his wings out, a small groan escaping his mouth and small cracks sounding from his joints.

“The night’s still young, Phil!” Technoblade grinned, his gold capped canines glinting slightly. His hand moved to gently rest on the handle of his sword.

You snorted to yourself, “you two, however, aren’t.” A small shove came from your side making you stumble slightly, laughter bubbling from your throat.

“I’m just going to pretend that I didn’t hear anything,” Philza crossed his arms and looked off to the side. Though, you could hear a smile in his tone and the beginnings of a chuckle.

“I’m sorry,” you chuckled, “Dad set me up for that one. The opportunity was too good to pass up.”

“I’ll set you up for longer training sessions if you keep going for… ‘opportunities’ like that.” He glanced down at you with amusement glinting in his eyes and tugging at the corner of his lips.

His statement, though lighthearted, immediately made you stop laughing. You knew him well enough to know that he wasn’t joking; the last time you laughed it off you had to endure two extra hours on top of the four hour sessions you had daily. By the end of the punishment, your arms felt like they were going to fall off.

“No! I take it back, you guys are young! Not a single-”

“You’re digging yourself an early grave if you finish that sentence, kid. Besides, you can’t pass up opportunities like these!”

“I think I’m good for now,” you shivered slightly when a breeze blew past you. It was starting to grow colder as the night dragged on. Technoblade, noticing this, wrapped an arm around your shoulders and pulled you close to him securely. Though the Blood God never shows mercy, he couldn’t let his only child succumb to a head cold; that’d just be barbaric.

You jumped at the feeling of the freezing netherite making contact with your bare arm. “Sorry,” he murmured sheepishly, “forgot how cold the armor is… We should probably head back, it’s getting cold.”

As your family started to make their way back towards the tundra, banter was exchanged between the three. The journey out of the forest was uneventful, only a few mobs had attempted to attack or sneak behind you. Just as you reached the edge of the forest, a noise caught your attention.

It sounded like it was only a couple of minutes away; so faint that if you weren’t actively listening for it, it would have nearly been lost in the night. If you strained your ears, you could hear the trampling of dry leaves making you assume that there were several people or animals in that area. Alongside it, there was a faint whimpering.

Your curiosity was piqued, just what was making that noise?

“(Y/n), is everything alright?” You looked back at Philza. It seemed that they walked a bit away from you while you stopped at the forest’s edge to listen to the sound.

You absentmindedly nodded, “yeah, Uncle Phil. I think I left my bow back in that clearing when we were taking a break so I’m just going to go grab that. You guys can keep going home, I’ll be right behind you.”

“We can go with you-”

“No, you don’t have to. I’m old enough to go alone.”

Philza and Technoblade then spoke at the same time, “alright, we’ll just meet you there.” “Absolutely not.”

Philza elbowed Technoblade’s side lightly and looked up at him. They were silently communicating with pointed looks and pursed lips, every expression understood completely by the other. You never understood how they did that, even if they raised you. You could remember making a journal dedicated to deciphering their expressions, but you never could truly understand it (that, and ‘nose scrunch and eye narrow’ meant multiple things).

Eventually, Technoblade’s shoulders slumped and he ran a hand down his face tiredly, “you know the rules?”

You rolled your eyes, “of course I do. Fight to win, go for the throat, if you lose your weapon go for the pressure points. You remind me daily.”

He stared at you for a moment before his ear flicked, “don’t take long, we’ll be waiting.” They both turned and started to trudge towards the spruce forest in the distance.

Without a second thought, you ran into the forest with your ears perked. Following the noise was easy, the whimpers had turned into high pitched whines. You leapt over stumps and ducked under low hanging branches as they blocked your way; nothing was going to stop you from finding out what was making that noise.

Eventually, you broke through the trees and found yourself in a grassy clearing surrounded by large stones. If it were spring, you’d imagine wildflowers sprouting everywhere you stepped. A small spring sat in the furthest corner of it, waterfalls cascading over the jagged stones and crashing into the water below. Near the cliffside, a hoard of groaning zombies swarmed something and they were closing in on it. Now, what was it they were attacking?

You quickly unsheathed your golden sword and sprinted towards the hoard. The crunching of the dried, colorful leaves under your feet was enough to drag the zombies’ attention to you.

Adrenaline coursed through your veins as you made your first swipe at one of their torsos. In an instant, the zombie was bisected and fell to the ground. With a twirl, you slashed at multiple zombies at once. They all collapsed to the ground as their rotting flesh was torn and couldn’t support their crumbling bodies any longer.

As soon as all of the zombies were laying dead on the ground, you wiped your blade off on one of their torn tunics and sheathed it. Taking a step back to look at the bodies littered on the floor, you smirked; this was too easy.

Now, without the obstacles, your prize awaits you. Eagerly, you looked over to see what the zombies were swarming. Instead of the scared villager you were expecting, the person that stood there completely took your breath away.

The woman was wearing a simple white dress with a baby blue shawl shadowing the upper part of her face. Her skin was fair and her face was round, a button nose laid in the center of her face and plump pink lips slightly parted showing off straight white teeth. Curly dark brown hair framed the sides of her face and spiraled down to rest on her shoulders.

She was tall for a human, about five-foot-ten if you were to estimate. Her hands moved to clasp in front of her elegantly, your eyes catching sight of light blue nailpolish decorating her perfectly shaped nails.

Red was starting to dust her cheeks and her breathing was starting to return to normal. That was good, at least she wasn’t going into shock. For someone who nearly got eaten alive by the undead, she looked relatively calm and well put together.

“Are you alright?” You tried to keep your voice even, but there was a light wobble to it. You thickly swallowed, cursing yourself for showing any emotion in front of this stranger. The mask that hid the upper part of your face gave you a sense of security and safety, it hid most of your emotion.

You saw her lips move, but no sound came out. Were you going deaf like your father? You shouldn’t be; you haven’t blown up an entire nation yet. You stepped closer in hopes of hearing her better, “excuse me?”

Her lips curled up into a smile, dimples appearing on her cheeks, “Oh, I just said that I’m fine, nothing else. May I get the name of my knight in shining armor?”

Her voice was soft and light. Though it was on the deeper side, it had feminine, euphonious undertones; it was like honey was dripping out with every word she spoke. Just by the way she spoke, you assumed that she came from the nearby kingdom.

You smirked, playing along with the small game she was setting up. Stepping closer and kneeling, you grabbed her hand and brought it to your lips. Her hands were soft and velvety, a part of you longed to hold it in yours all day long.

Against her knuckles, you spoke, “(Y/n) Blade at your service. And you, my fairest lady?”

“Princess Helen Dahlia Eret, but please, call me Dahlia; Helen was my mother. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

You snorted, she was really dedicated to this game. You’d just play along with her, why not? It’s not like you have anything else to do. “Well, princess, it’s about time for you to head back to your castle.”

You looked up at her through your eyelashes and caught sight of the outline of her shadowed features. You could see her purse her lips, “you think I’m lying, don’t you?”

“Forgive me for thinking so, your highness!” You snickered, “the princess shall not step foot outside of her chambers, lest a scrape shall mar her flawless skin!”

She smirked before placing a delicate finger underneath your chin, tilting it upwards. You could feel your face grow hot as she removed her shawl. Ivory white eyes stared back at you smugly, sending a shock through your body. You weren’t sure if the jolt you felt was from her beauty or from the fact that she wasn’t lying.

“Would you like to try again, my knight?” She cooed to you, her other hand coming down to rest on your cheek. You stood up and gaped at her, “oh fuck, you’re actually the princess.”

A part of you wanted to dislike her for her title and for the royal blood that coursed through her veins. That blood tainted her, filling every nook and cranny with vile corruption. “All governments are bad,” Technoblade had taught you early on in your life, “they should, under no circumstances, be trusted.”

Though her parent Eret had been a fair king, always attending to the needs of their people, you were anticipating their corruption. If your memory serves you right, they were the one that betrayed the revolutionaries during the L’manberg Revolution simply because of their thirst for power. If they were a power hungry traitor before, who’s to say that they won’t be blinded by it again?

Every fiber in your body screamed at you to sink your sword through her abdomen to put her down, just like the bloodthirsty hounds that hailed long before her. You could just end her right now, make it quick and just leave her body here. It’d be easy and it would bring chaos to the SMP Kingdom, causing mass paranoia and tearing it apart from within. It’d be delicious, something that would give you a high you’d ride for years. You wanted to paint the grass with her blood, but something deep within you protested.

Filthy blood nourished her body, but that didn’t take away from her sheer and complete beauty or the way she covered her mouth with a delicate hand to hide her laugh. That did not take away from how she had cupped your cheek moments before, your skin still tingled where her hand was. That didn’t suppress the butterflies that fluttered wildly in your stomach when she stepped into the moonlight.

She put her hand out and smiled, “won’t you accompany me to my castle, my faithful warrior?” You merely put on a cold, uncaring facade and side stepped her.

“...You got yourself here, yes? You can find your way back.”

“Well you see,” she moved to rub the back of her neck and awkwardly chuckled, “I was hoping you know the way back?”

You couldn’t stop the snort that escaped your mouth, something about her made her irresistible. “You’ve got to be kidding me, you just ran blindly into a forest?”

“Hey, you would too if you were being chased by zombies!”

“Excuse me, who was the one that just slaughtered said zombies in under a minute?” You raised an eyebrow and looked down at her.

“I don’t have a sword like you do,” she crossed her arms over her chest and glared up at you.

“Even then, I doubt you know how to use one. Here,” you unsheathed the large sword and held it out to her, “I bet you can’t even hold it up.”

“Can too!” She protested before snatching the sword out of your hands. She grunted slightly at the heavy weight, almost dropping it, but she quickly steadied it. Looking up at you with a smug, slightly reddened face, she shook slightly. “See? It’s not that hard.”

You quirked an eyebrow beneath your mask, “oh really?”

“Y-yep,” was all she managed to choke out before she stepped back and dropped the tip. It swung down and buried itself inside the dirt below, scouring the earth as it made contact.

Smirking at her, you took it back with ease, putting it back into its sheath slung around your back. You once again stepped around her and started walking in the other direction.

“Where are you going?!”

“To the castle, you said you wanted me to take you home.”  

She rushed to your side and grabbed your arm with both of her hands. They snaked around your bicep and tangled themselves in your cape. You could feel yourself soar at the contact; you had to fight against every instinct to hook your arm with hers. You ripped yourself out of her embrace and put some distance between the both of you.

She crossed her arms and hugged herself, shivering slightly, “how are you not cold?!”

“It’s barely cold out here,” you mentally scolded yourself for being a hypocrite, “you’ll be fine.”

She said nothing and continued to walk. As you got further and further into the forest, she merely started shivering more. You could hear her teeth chattering loudly and could see goosebumps decorating the skin on her bare arms. Sighing, you unhooked your cape and slung it over her shoulders.

She squeaked in surprise at the feeling before realizing that you gave her your cape. She grabbed the edges and pulled it closer to her before snuggling deeper into the cloth; you could feel your heart explode at the small sigh that she let out and the content hum that left her mouth. Just as she looked up at you, you made quick work of looking away. The ground was very fascinating at the moment.

“Thank you,” she murmured. You just curtly nodded, avoiding looking at her.

The walk to the castle was short, luckily she hadn’t run far from her home. Just as the castle walls were in your sights, she tried holding your arm again. Once again, you stepped away from her.

“C’mon,” she chuckled, “I don’t bite.”

“Well I do. You really need to learn not to trust a stranger, princess.”

“Well, we aren’t strangers. We know each other’s names, do we not? And besides, I bet you’re just a massive teddy bear.”

“I don’t know what your teddy bears looked like as a kid, but they certainly weren’t me. If I wanted to, I could take your hand clean off with a single twist and pull,” you growled out. She was silent once more as she led you towards a specific part of the castle.

“...Why are you so defensive? At least treat me like you did before we knew each other!” She unhooked the cape and shoved it towards you. You gladly took it and put it back on. To your sheer embarrassment, you felt joy as you caught a whiff of books and expensive perfume. It smelled like her.

“...I could’ve just left you back there if I wanted to, consider this a favor. Respect is earned, not given. Even to royalty.”

You turned to leave, you cape swishing behind you as you turned. Before you could walk off, a hand on your arm stopped you. “Wait. Even if you’re a massive jerk,” she sighed out, “I still have to thank you. So, thank you for saving my life; I’m indebted to you, my douchey knight.”

She leant up on the tips of her toes and gently placed her lips on your cheek. You froze and watched as she turned on her heel. She walked towards the entrance with several glances back at you, some of them being smug and others being questioning. It was like you were entranced underneath the veil of a spell, unable to move until she disappeared from sight.

The walk home was quiet with no mobs sneaking up on you. The entire time, the memory of her kissing your cheek replayed endlessly in your head. Though the very thing you disliked more than anything was embodied in her, you couldn’t help but fall for the natural charm she had. You were probably just tired, it was getting late into the night after all.

As you walked through the door, you could see Technoblade impatiently waiting for you on the couch. He had a book open in his hand and his half-rimmed glasses were perched on the bridge of his snout.

“You’re late.”

“Sorry, I just ran into more mobs than I anticipated.”

Technoblade said nothing as his eyes flickered over your body, looking for even the smallest of scrapes. When he didn’t find anything, he nodded to himself and stood up. Tiredly, he walked over to you and ruffled your hair before trudging to his room.

“Are you sure the only thing you ran into was mobs?”

“Yeah,” you cleared your throat, “just a lot of zombies.”

He rolled his eyes and gave you a knowing smile before walking over to you. He swiped his thumb across your cheek and showed it to you. It was stained with a light pink color. “In all of the centuries I spent living in this world, not once have I seen a zombie wearing pink lipstick or,” he took your cape in his hand and sniffed it slightly, “cherry scented perfume.”

Your face exploded in heat as you made hasty work of scrubbing your cheek making the older man laugh quietly at you, “all you’re doing is smudging it all over your face. Some warm water and soap will get it off fast… Now, wanna tell me who gave you that?”

You stared at his smug expression and quickly came to the realization that he wouldn’t let this go unless you told him. Or, at least until you told him what happened.

You sighed and started to remove your armor, placing it on the armor stand situated between Philza’s and Technoblade’s armor. You had insisted that the armor stands were in this specific order, it just made sense with the height differences between the members of the household. Since you were between Philza’s and Technoblade’s height at 6’4 (and still growing), it made sense with the order of the armor in terms of size.

You made your way over to the couch and sat down with a sigh, Philza following suit. He gave you a reassuring smile, “whenever you’re ready.”

So you told him everything that had happened that day. Needless to say, Philza was happy for you, asking you questions about the interaction.

“It sounds like she’s perfect for you, kiddo.”

“That’s the thing, Uncle Phil. She isn’t,” you ran a hand down your face and leaned back onto the back of the couch, your head resting on the top of the cushion. You heard Philza shift slightly before he grabbed your hand.

“Now,” he asked gently, “what makes you think that?”

“She’s King Eret’s daughter. Helen Dahlia Eret,” you sardonically chuckled, “I really thought she was just joking when she said ‘princess’.” Every part of you wished that that was a joke. That she would laugh and tell you that it was part of the game she was playing. But no, she just had to be royalty.

“Eret’s better than most, they are a good king,” he reminded you.

“Still, there’s royal blood in her. She’s actively a part of a government… I wanted to kill her on the spot; hell everything in my body was screaming at me to slaughter her, but I didn’t. I couldn’t.”

“Sometimes, someone is more than the blood inside of them; maybe she isn’t as bad as you think she is. Someone could be born into a family of saints and still destroy everything they touch. On the other hand, someone could be born surrounded by the lowest of humanity and grow up to become the best person you’ll ever meet. You have to understand that blood isn’t everything to a person’s character.”

You didn’t say anything, contemplating what he said. She didn’t seem like someone to rule with an iron fist, and neither did her parent. Tubbo was the first person to come to mind. He was raised by a malicious, tyrannical idiot, a man that had valued absolute power and booze over anything else. Your uncle turned out to be the most caring person you’ve ever met, always making sure that those around him are in a good mood even if he himself wasn’t.

However, it’s best to be cautious of somebody. Your mind flashed back to Wilbur and Dream, the two men rotting away in Pandora’s Vault together until either their time alive is up or time itself expires. They were charismatic and kind on the outside, but on the inside, they are two of the most heinous men you’ve ever met. 

It seemed like your mind was running in circles, bouncing between both conclusions like it was being slammed between two surfaces.

“...Do you think you’ll see her again?” Philza asked you, rubbing a thumb over your knuckles and squeezing it comfortingly when you didn’t respond immediately.

You sighed, standing up and walking out of the room, “if the odds are in our favor, we won’t see each other any time soon.”

                                          ✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

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[whaleofatjme1920]

EJ SIMPS RISE 😤😤💪💪💪

may i please request a scenario for yandere ej x fem reader where ej is punishing the reader for escaping ? feel free to go DARK dark with this one <3

Cream Colored Ceiling

[Eyeless Jack X F!Reader]

[Warnings: NSFW - but not for sexual content, just violence, what isn't a warning in this one, mentions of cannibalism (but there is no described cannibalism, just allusions to it), EJ physically harms the reader, amputation, violence of all kinds, throw up, look this is just,,,, it's dark. I repeat, there is no sexual content in here, it's just physically violent]

[AN: yeah. This was uh, yeah.]

Hazy, your mind is hazy. You wake and open your eyes to see that same fucking cream colored ceiling with water damage leaking through the top and dangerously close to your bed, if you’d even want to call it your bed.

You raise one of your hands that feels heavier than stones and wipe quietly at your eyes, dusting them from the sleep. Your body feels heavy, oh so heavy.

You sit up. Nothing strange so far.

Has he really been that gracious with you?

You yawn and stretch, joints and bones popping as you look out the window. There’s that cursed forest. It looks dark, shadowy, misty. The fog is rolling in and you know with it comes the rain. You’re going to be stuck here forever, aren’t you?

The sunlight doesn’t filter through the window, but there’s light regardless. You’re deep into mid Autumn and with it will come winter. It’ll be the third winter you’ve been trapped with this monster.

Your mouth feels dry, much too dry. You smack your lips together a few times, wondering where your saiva has gone and decide to go to the kitchen. It seems like Jack isn’t home right now, which is probably for the best. Alongside him being out, so too is your natural fear of him. You swing your legs over the side of your bed, wondering why you feel so physically exhausted before attempting to stand up.

“Shit!” You cry out as your knees buckle beneath you, your body cascading like a pile of bricks to the floor. Your knees and palms blank onto the hardwood, digging into you most uncomfortably. Tears well in your eyes as you struggle to get off the floor. You continue to curse under your breath as you glance back at your ankles where large surgical wounds lay, covered in stitches and gauze. What the fuck? When did that happen?

Your heart begins to race when you slow, calculated steps padding on the floor. You’re all too familiar with the sound of those combat boots knocking on the floor, pacing back and forth and keeping you awake at all hours of the night. Panic sears itself into your heart as you attempt to get up, pathetically crawling along the floor and reaching for your bedpost.

Jack stands in your doorway, his large form casting a shadow on your throw rug. He tsks, and you can already tell he’s more than disappointed with you. “What did I tell you about getting up?” He asks, voice smooth and clinical, once again padding towards you.

You feel tears well in your eyes as you curl as tightly into a ball as you can.

Jack breathes out with slight disappointment before crouching down and seeing your sorry form. “You knew this was going to happen,” he says, half lidded eyes watching you curiously before he reaches his large, gloved hand out. “Did you pop any of your sutures?” He tilts his head to the side and looks over your swollen, still bloodied ankles. “I think you might’ve.” He reaches to pick you up and you begin to panic, blubbering your apologies.

“I’m sorry, please, don’t touch me, don’t hurt me-” you begin to babble, your remaining strength trying their hardest to push the behemoth away. Tears well in your eyes as Jack grips your calves, sending pain holting like lightning strikes up and down your lower body, making you cry out in pain.

“You deserve it,” he murmurs, his claws pinching into your skin before he lifts you. A glance of annoyance passes over his face before he yanks your grip from the bed.

You struggle against him as you pound your fists into his broad chest, tears of frustration falling down your cheeks.

The tall demon moves without budging. He doesn’t care, you barely feel like a scratch to him.

You watch your surroundings, still fighting against him and feel your heart sink when you realize he’s taking you down the hall that he’s deemed forbidden. The energy you feel from this specific hallway makes you cry out in fear.

Jack eats it up, his own heart beating just a little faster. You won’t ever do what you pulled last night again. He juggles you into one his arms and uses his free hand to unlock the door, the slight beeps of numbers being added into a keypad making your attention shift ever so slightly.

The inside of this room is like a horror scene to you. You see an operating table, and stainless steel tables, cabinets and countertops. There’s a large trash bin filled with bloody gauze and other things, such as discarded clothes, clumps of hair, things you don’t want to think of. Is this it? Is he finally going to kill you?

Fear overtakes your system again and renders you to nothing but silent sobs as Jack pulls off a turquoise colored sheet from the operating table, placing you down.

You try to get off, wiggling and clawing at him. “Let me go!” You cry out like a broken record of a mantra, your eyes wild and feral.

Jack simply shrugs you off, tying large leather brown straps over your waist and your chest, rendering you immobile. “The more you struggle, the more it’s going to hurt you,” he hums, his clawed hands moving across your chest to your wrists. He quickly ties you down there as well, your legs numbly kicking at him through the pain due to severed Achilles tendons. He flicks the wound on your left leg, grinning at your pain. “Won’t be needing these anymore,” he chuckles.

“What?” You say in shock, pupils restricting to the size of pim points.

He takes a seat on his wheeled stool and begins setting you up with an IV drip. “Gonna sedate you, and when you wake up?” He warmly smiles, pricking the vein on your right arm with the needle, making you weakly thrash once more. “Get some sleep,” he murmurs, pumping some sedatives into your bloodstream.

You feel more tears welling in your eyes as your conscience begins to wean. The world becomes more shapes and colors, merging into brightness and shadows before you finally slip into your dreams.

You haven’t been able to trick Jack like this in the history of well, ever. Almost three years with this nightmare and you’ve finally gained enough of his trust to ask him for some time out.

“Don’t stay in there for too long,” he says, large hand gripping your thigh as you swallow down the feeling of hitting him from where you remain seated in the passenger seat. “I want you back safely,” he murmurs, his other hand gently letting go of the wheel to cup your face.

You do your best to show love and admiration in your eyes as you meet his gaze. “Don’t worry. It’s just an hour or so, okay?” You hum, your hand gently holding his and burying your face deeper into his warmth.

“I don’t know why you need anyone else’s company,” he says, a slight acrid venom seeping into his tone. “You don’t need anyone else but me.” It’s almost cute how offended he sounds.

You play the part of loving him. “I know, I know,” you coo, taking his hand from your face and pressing your lips into a pucker. You raise his hand to them, planting a kiss on his palm. “I love you. I won’t be that long.”

Jack’s heart flutters. “I’ll be here, waiting for you.” He says, watching you as you unbuckle yourself, his hand reluctantly leaving your thigh.

You flash him a warm smile and lean over to press a kiss to his cheek, and then his lips. You try not to spit at the scent of blood and taste of rot before pulling away. You then open up his car, sliding from the passenger seat and to the rinky dink little bar you’d managed to convince him to let you go to. Just an hour - that’s all it was. Just an hour. You’d be in and out, get some drinks, and come straight back to his car.

Due to Jack’s appearance, he had told you he couldn’t go in. They’d know something was wrong with him immediately, and you’d gained enough of his trust for you to be away for just an hour. Come straight back to the car when it reaches 10 PM. You promised him. And he fucking believed you.

It wasn’t that hard finding some idiot down on his luck with the ladies. You cozied up next to him, getting to sit with him at the bar and start talking. He was so attentive and sweet, so receptive to the story you had made up to him.

“That sounds awful,” he says, voice low and sweet. His deep blue eyes look at you with nothing but gentleness and fondness. His hand reaches for yours across the bar and you smile, allowing him to take it.

“I just wanna get away from that brute,” you admit. “I just wanna go home.”

He squeezes you just a little tighter. “Why don’t we go back to my car and call the cops?” He offers.

“Where did you park?” You ask, hoping it’s not in the front lot where Jack remains waiting for you.

“In the back.”

What a relief.

A slight smile blooms on your face as you nod. “Yeah, let’s go,” you finally answer. You hop off the barstool and then grip his hand, letting him lead you through the bar and the sea of people. It smells like sweat, alcohol, and regret - you love it. It smells like the beginning of freedom, something better. Maybe, just maybe…

He opens the backdoor to you, allowing you out first. The crisp night air of autumn greets you with her beauty. You can smell maple leaves and pumpkins out in the distance, the atmosphere is incredible. “That one’s mine,” he says, pointing to his car a little ways down in the parking lot under one of the yellow lights. He continues holding your hand as the two of you walk through the parking lot.

You watch as he unlocks the car door, walking around the side to let you in. You accompany him and slide into the passenger seat. Putting this seat belt on feels almost liberating. You giggle when the short man closes the door before walking around the front of his car.

And then he pauses.

Fear seeps into his eyes and leans forward, his abdomen cutting into the hood of the hunk of metal that can barely be called a car before sweat beads and rolls down his forehead. He begins to cough, violently.

Your eyes widen in shock as he begins to cough up blood, and tears well in his eyes. They roll down his cheeks, fat and crystalline like the beads of sweat. He reaches out to you, mouthing for you to run before finally slumping forwards.

You see him, the behemoth that’s held you captive for three years, a sapphire colored mask boring into your soul and searing into your mind with what you can understand is pure, unadulterated rage. You scramble, panicking as you notice the large blade that’s wedged itself into the man’s back as he seizes on the car, his thick body rolling off from the hood and landing with a large ‘thump!’ as he does so. Foam and the smell of something unpleasant wafts upwards and you palm the handle of the car, attempting to release yourself.

Jack takes slow, calculated steps forwards, his shadow growing larger as he gears up to catch you and claim you as his.

Your heart pounds like a drum in your chest, the panic overtaking your system as you finally get the car open. You shoot out of the metal cage like a bat from hell and stumble onto the asphalt, hissing as the black tar digs into your knees and palms. No time for registering your pain, you need to run! Like a freshly born faun, you hobble up and begin to run, wondering if you can make it back to the bar and the safety of other people when Jack’s steps grow quicker.

Fuck, fuck, fuck! He’s going to catch you and he’s going to kill you!

“You’re such a stupid little rabbit,” he hums, watching as you sorely sprint towards the door. “Look what you’ve done,” he taunts, hand gesturing to the man. “You made me kill him and I’m not even hungry,” he hums. “Maybe I should make you eat it instead,” he muses.

The thought alone makes your stomach retch. You stumble once more, body feeling violently ill as you cave. The alcohol paired with his words has you emptying your stomach of its contents that splash to the asphalt, the sickly acrid and saccharine taste overtaking your mouth.

Jack’s giant form finally overtakes you. He stands with his hands behind his back, peering down at you with disdain. “Fucking disgusting,” he coos in a tone that reminds you of a condescending father. He grips the back of your neck and forces you down.

You screech and fight him, not wanting to touch what came out of you.

“No? No,” he grins. “Fine. Let’s go see your date.” His claws dig into your neck as he drags you back to the man’s car where he’s finally gone still. He’s left a puddle of blood. Jack laughs quietly at your struggling before forcing you to your knees. “Are you hungry?”

“No-”

“I think you mean yes.”

The taste of blood still lingers in your mouth, and it remains even in your slumber.

Of course, you passed out due to your traumatic experience, and threw up again as well. Jack took advantage of your fragile state and brought you back to your home, the place you belonged - with him. He cut your Achilles tendons, just a warm up, really.

“Time to wake up.” Jack’s voice permeates your head, rousing you from your slumber. His gloved hands are snapping in front of you.

It’s bright, much too bright. Your body feels simultaneously heavier and lighter. Where are you? You see that you’re now looking into an operating light, and it’s super uncomfortable. “What did you do to me?” You ask drowsily.

Jack ignores your question and instead picks you up. His footsteps begin to lull you into sleep.

Exhausted, you fall back in again, and this time? This time, it’s dreamless.

It’s that fucking cream colored ceiling again that you open your eyes to. The water damage is still the same, and you realize you’re still stuck. You’re about to get up when you hear your door opening.

“Nice to see you up,” Jack says, watching as you slowly come to. “Did you dream about anything?”

You narrow your eyes recoiling as he reaches his hand out to pet you.

Jack glares at you for a moment, his hand straightening before he slaps you. “Don’t get testy, I’ll take your arms next,” he murmurs.

You’re about to bite back when you take in his words. What? Your heart begins to sink, deeper and deeper as your hand shakily reaches to the edge of your bed sheets. No. No. NO. You hold your breath as you rip the sheets off. Your flesh is swollen, puffy and looks like it’s crying out in its own form of pain. Large, manila colored casts and bandages surround your thighs and what remains of your knees.

You begin to hyperventilate. Your chest begins to rise and fall faster and faster - your body feels like a prison.

Jack only coos. “Stop that,” he says lovingly, hand petting your head as you fall deeper and deeper into despair. He removes the black glove from his hand and grabs your face, his dark, eyeless sockets boring into your own eyes. He looks at you with such adoration that acts as a front for the betrayal and anger he feels for you deep down inside. He draws closer to your tear stained face, a small smile bearing shark-like teeth at you before parting his lips to speak to you. “You’re being hysterical.”

[fatal-blow]

Brush With Death

Fucking around with some symbolism and the relationship between a couple of my OCs

--

Sat above the fireplace looms a deer skull, antlers arcing across the wall to either side.  Light flickers across hard angles.  Like looking at the yawning maw of Darme himself, deep black eyes pulling in all they could see.

A crack and a pop of sparks would once made Fergus flinch.  He’d gazed into the flames as a child, mesmerized by what he saw inside.  A something he could reach out and touch, even.  At that age, Elliot’s hand burning against his shoulder, he couldn’t have taken it up on the offer.

He didn’t need Elliot to burn him anymore.  Darme’s whispers are calming now.  Death and war aren’t his domain, but oh how it purrs…

He would never say it out loud, but he never did understand James’s hesitancy.  Not his domain, but it’s always spoken to him has always spoken to him.  In the lick of blood.  The kiss of a knife’s tip.  The hot singe of a dancing flame.

Elliot’s face is gaunt these days.  Sharp edges and deep creases catch the dark more and more, as if death has started to knock.  Haunting.  Inviting, but in a way he couldn’t describe.  Maybe it was just the familiarity of it.  Of death.

Her fingers are gnarled from decades of an arthritis that has long warred against her body, yet they cling to her wine glass like the grip of rigor mortus.  He can imagine them around his wrist, just as tight.  Makes his scars itch.

“My meds, dear?”

She unfurls a hand that creaks like old bark, but as much as the rest of her ages, sugar sweetness still slicks her tongue.

With practiced ease, Fergus takes the delicate top of the glass bottle and unscrews it with a single, elegant gesture.  She extends her glass and lets him pour.  He doesn’t need measurements for a command he’s enacted since his hands had become deft enough to do so.  With a gentle spin, he saves the final drip of the viscous liquid, watching shimmered gold spiral in her drink.

She pulls it to her lips.  “You’re a darling.”

Her honey glazed words soak into him as he replaces the bottle, and he releases a breath.  It frees like a caged bird.

He takes a familiar spot kneeling beside her chair, letting a finger run the line of his jaw.  She does not look at him, idly capturing a curl and letting it twist around her.

“I have news,” she says, her breath frosting the inside of her glass.  “You will be first to hear it.  Henry doesn’t know yet.”

He swallows an old, childish pride that builds in the back of his throat.

“Good news,” he says.  Statement, not a question.  Of course it’s good news.

“Yes.  Maybe not news—a revelation, if you will.”

A thumb grazes over his brow.  He can feel the heat in the joints as if it dwells in his own.  It’s been a very long time since her pain has bothered him.

Less her pain, though, and more a lightness that spreads in his chest right alongside hers.  The upward tip of a leaf seeing sun for the first time in far too long.  He hasn’t felt her elation in a very time.  He drinks it in like dew drops in a desert.

He silence is mandatory for her to continue: “I know you can feel it.  I was starting to believe our cause was for nothing.  All this fighting taking us nowhere.”

“It was always going to take us somewhere.”  The reassurance leaps out of his throat before he can wrangle it.  Her fingers press into his cheek.  He’s pleased her, this time.

“And I should have listened to you, shouldn’t I?”  She tuts at herself.  “Nonetheless.  There’s been a use for the good sir Dumonte, finally.”

Her mood relaxes him into her grip.  Across her lips, a smile lights in response.  One of her fingers traces delicately down the arch of his hooked nose, catching only slightly at the place where it had once been broken.  The corner of her lip twitches, but Max’s inability to spare the flaw doesn’t bother her tonight.

“Sometimes the most complicated problems have the simplest of solutions.”  She takes the last sip and places her glass.  It clatters just a bit with the tremor of her hand.  “The catacombs never wanted old blood—they wanted something fresh, all this time.”

Her fingers take his chin, lifting his eyes up to hers as she lets the silence settle, lets her words sink in.  Does she see it, the way his heart sinks with them?

That ghost of a smile broadens.

“Fresh blood.  Others like you—now isn’t that a rare treat?”  Her dark eyes study his features, obediently blank.  “Maybe you won’t be trying to kill these ones.  You shouldn’t.  They’re about to usher greatness into the world.”

He fights a nervous urge to wet chapped lips.  Perfectly stone faced.  Statuesque, even.

“They aren’t,” he says.  “But you are.”

A warmth enters the creases on her face.  The fire’s heat has reached her.

“So it seems.”

[babytsum]

milkers - rollin'

based on this meme.

word count: 1.7k

warnings: nsfw, smut, drug use (weed), smoking, characters are high, breast worship, praise, oral (f receiving), face sitting, slight dacryphilia (if u squint), slight overstim

(a/n): it was a drabble, but i think i may have lost control

"god, this sucks."

you looked down to your chest, baggy shirt covering your upper body, but it doesn't hide the fact you feel can feel them weighing you down.

suna calls you at the most random times to smoke. during work, during class, just anytime. and if you were free, you would gladly come over, taking some time to put effort into your appearance. you didn't know exactly what prompts you to put on some eyeliner or change into a more flattering top before you head over, but it happens and you don't think much of it.

except for today.

he'd been calling at the wrong times, mostly because you had the willpower to study instead of smoke, but finally your free time aligned with his and you needed it. or maybe you just needed to see him. either way, you still rushed over with no regard to your appearance. what a mistake.

black smudges on your eyelid, no bra, little nubs peaking through the thin material of your shirt, you didn't look flattering at all. but it doesn't matter. you came here for the weed and the weed only, right?

"what's wrong?" rin frowns, taking in the sight of your tired self. for him, seeing you like this was nice to say the least. it seems as if you've gotten comfortable around him and it makes his heart beat a tad bit faster.

on the other hand, you were already feeling the effect of the nearly magical substance that was overcoming your senses and your judgement. your body felt light, almost lifted, and the stress from your exams was dissipating quickly. your mouth opens and your brain doesn't stop the words from coming out.

"i wish my boobs were smaller."

"oh?" his eyebrows were raised, a bewildered expression planted on his face. he took another hit of the joint pinched between his fingers, exhaling to the screen door of his window. you laid on the bed pouting and staring into the ceiling, "what makes you say that?"

"they just kind of look ugly, i guess," your hand came up to your breast, poking the squishy flesh over and over again and you laughed at the way it would jiggle with every small tap. rin, however, felt his pants becoming a little tight. he took a few steps closer to his bed and noticed how he can see more than just the shape of your nipple, but the dark brown color as well. and the way that a particularly hard poke made your breast wiggle a little more than usual. his lips were parted, but his hazy mind is able to gather a response.

"what do you mean ugly?" he asks curiously.

"i don't know," you sigh looking back down at your chest, "they move around too much. it's annoying."

he's puzzled. he's always loved a good pair of boobs, especially yours. rin can't lie to himself and insist that he's never looked before, especially with the flattering tops that sculpted out the shape perfectly. his train of thought is cloudy, and just like you, the filter has disappeared and now everything that comes out of his mouth flows out like a waterfall.

"i like them," he mindlessly states, "i can show you how much, too."

you sit up on his bed, turning your head towards his direction. when did he get so close? he was already leaning down, faces inches from yours, his hot breath fanning over your face, a smirk planted on his lips. you felt small under his gaze, but he wasn't looking at your face.

"then show me, coward." you giggle, brushing it off as a joke. he's close, but he's not serious, right?

you were deadly mistaken.

you were deadly mistaken and you know it when he gently pushes you down onto his mattress, hands making their way under your baggy shirt while he kisses from your stomach back up. "no bra, huh?" an unintelligible word leaves his mouth when your nipple is pinched between his fingers and you're sensitive. you're sure you can feel every single nerve and it all shoots to your core.

he urges you to take your shirt off and you oblige, struggling a bit at first, but he helps because he's nice. rin is nice. he lets you in his room, lets you smoke his weed, lets you lay on his bed while he sucks on your tits.

"fuck, you're so pretty, baby."

you're not sure what exactly feels so good about this, but the small praises that you barely register that come from his mouth everytime he comes up, the vibration of his groans that wrack throughout your body, the hand that kneads the neglected side of your chest. it's all so intoxicating. the sight of his red eyes and his mouth suckling on the wet nub is enough to make your slick to leak through your panties.

his eyes are half lidded, but he maintains eye contact and it's one of the most erotic sights you've seen. he drools all over your breasts, leaving teasing open mouthed kisses, taking one of the little, brown nubs in his mouth. he suckles gently at first and you let out a moan until he works his way up to a soft bite. you barely, just barely, register the pain, but he's making you feel so good and you need more. "i can't believe you wouldn't like these pretty tits," he mumbles, his mouth barely a centimeter away from your chest, "love tasting them."

so your hands tangle in the hair on the back of his head, desperately bringing his mouth closer to your chest because you need more. you need to feel his tongue circle around your sensitive nipple. rin doesn't mind. in fact, he thinks he's enjoying this more than he should be. he's rubbing himself onto the mattress, and though he's fully clothed, this might be one of the hottest ways he has ever gotten off. it's the whimpers that spill from your lips, the nearly whispered mumbles of "more, more, more", and the droopy look of your smudged eyes that do it for him.

when you look at him with heated cheeks and half lidded red eyes that match with his, he creams in his pants and moans loud and clear, letting go of your nipple with a small pop.

when he tries to stand up to change his pants, you flip him over, legs straddling his crotch, his back flat against the bed. his eyes are wide and your cunt is puffy at the image of him underneath you. your hands rest on both sides of his face and he can feel the blood rushing to his groin once again. you lean down, bringing your lips close to his ear.

"thanks, rin."

he groans when you grind your clothed cunt over his hardening cock, your hands tugging at his shirt which is eventually thrown away somewhere in the room. your jeans and soaking underwear are quickly discarded. the friction shoots through your core, but his hands grab your hips, stopping your movement.

"what-" rin doesn't let you finish, quickly pulling your lower body closer to his face. the sudden repositioning makes you squeal and before you can process it, his arms are hooked under your thighs and he's blowing onto your bare cunt. your breath is caught somewhere in your throat and he immediately takes your bundle of nerves in his mouth, sucking gently. your hands grip on the headboard, knuckles turning white.

if it weren't for the fact his mouth was preoccupied at the moment, he would be smirking at the small whimpers that fill the room. the wet muscle circles around your clit before he sucks at it again and you clench around nothing, eyes rolling to the back of your head. your back is arching and it only encourages him to bury his face further into your drooling cunt. his tongue fucks into your entrance, curling deliciously and your hips grind onto his face as you unconsciously search for more friction. though, he doesn't let you do it again, his arms locking your position on his face.

you look cute, he thinks when he's looking above, eyes half lidded. small tears are forming from the corner of your eyes, one hand squeezing your breast, two fingers pinching your nipple, a hand gripping his headboard in desperation for some stability. you taste like candy and he drinks up your slick like a starved man. your head is thrown back and it urges him to pull you up a little more and tighten the grip his arm has on your legs.

"c-cumming now, r-rin," you struggle to form coherent words, your mind is still cloudy and you feel weightless on his pretty face. one particular curl of his tongue hits the spot that sends you reeling into a sense of euphoria, hot pleasure overcoming your senses as your thigh shakes. he laps at your cute, little cunny, attempting to prolong the feeling as much as possible.

it's too much.

and you consider getting off his face, but he locks your position once again. one more, he thinks. he can get out one more. so he keeps on going, sucking and licking without mercy. the lewd squelching sounds he makes with his mouth push you closer and closer to the edge while the cute noises you make shoots to his cock. you're not sure you want him to stop, but when he's back on suckling your little nub with his soft lips, your mind goes blank. and your walls are pulsating around nothing as you cream all over his face.

he finally lets you off, your naked body covered in a layer of sweat, your overstimulated cunny back on the wet spot of his grey sweats. the lower half of his face is covered in your juices. it drips down his chin and you immediately pull his head towards yours, both of you melting into a deep kiss. you can taste yourself on his mouth and your hands palm his hardened cock.

"let me take care of you, rin."

taglist: @nvthvlyy @rintaoreo​ @shinyaluv​

[johobi]

A Lycan Dignity

Word count: 4k

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Warnings: rough, penetrative werewolf sex, pregnancy sex, blood consumption, biting, knotting, squirting, very strong dom/sub dynamic, extremely graphic sexual description lol, impreg kink, baby bump worship, masturbation, giant COCK, i mean huge, tiny amount of angst

A/N: This was commissioned by the wonderful @divine-bangtan​ in exchange for a Black Lives Matter donation! I really hope you enjoy it!

Next: Mark of the Beast || Tooth and Claw Masterlist

Sympathetic to the plight of the werewolves your kind have culled to near-extinction, life as a human informant has never been one of safety. However, when you catch the eye of an alpha, your situation only grows more perilous.

After many months of unremitting use, your once solid bed frame had become a rickety, wretched old thing. Its joints ground like those of a horse bound for the knackery. Weeks ago, you thought it near total collapse. Since then, however - though it protested any and all movement - it had remained intact. Because, no longer did you and Jungkook breed with the impassioned fervour you once did. No, these days your bed hosted only the most lacklustre of sex; the sort you never imagined needing endure when you tied yourself to him. After all, Jungkook was an oversexed, testosterone-burdened manbeast with a twelve inch cock and a negligible refractory period. So why was it now so scant? So underwhelming? 

According to him, it was necessary. 

Ugh.

Oh, how you longed for the days and nights Jungkook would run you all the way through, bending you this way and that to offload himself for the third, consecutive time. How he would grow and grow and grow, locking into place in the depths of your cunt and soothe you all the while.

Being that you were now five months pregnant, however, you were the only one ballooning. God, you missed his knot. Missed the intensity with which he once bedded you. Missed the—

“Does that feel okay?”

“It’s fine.”

Presently, Jungkook mounted you with the shallowest of thrusts, barely wetting half his length. The bed swayed beneath you, tapping the wall to the rhythm of his gently rolling hips. Before you’d grown big, it had clapped the cabin’s pine like thunder, and splintered where it struck. Today you clutched a pillow for comfort as Jungkook rocked you into a drowsy stupor.

It was so quiet that his breathing carried across you. It, too, was shallow - hardly laboured - and sometimes there came an occasional grunt of effort. Or perhaps of pleasure? It was difficult to distinguish to what extent the act satisfied Jungkook when he restrained himself so. By the furrow in his brow, it appeared more akin to torture. It certainly was for you. Your libido had grown unruly during gestation, and nothing much gratified you. 

Nothing but your aforementioned, well-endowed mate. Only he could alleviate the nagging ache.

So it was to your utter dismay when Jungkook deemed you too large for such boisterous intercourse, and insisted you be handled like some delicate bijou. It was preposterous! You were tough enough to withstand a decade’s duty in the militia’s vanguard! A few extra inches of cock weren’t like to break you.

In the end, despite two full days of moody back-and-forth on the matter, he tempered your lovemaking significantly. And though your post-coital canoodling was as much to your joy and satisfaction as it ever was, you found the preceding act painfully lacking. Actually, literally painful. Pregnancy was quite intolerable. 

You challenged Jungkook on several, fruitless occasions thereafter. But his constant dismissals would not deter you. Especially not today, when the entirety of you quivered for satiation, and he had been drip-feeding you cock for the past twenty-odd minutes. It was maddening. The path to climax was a sleet-sodden slope that you could never hope to climb.

"Jungkook, please, enter me fully. There’s no need for such caution. I know it hurts you to hold back." And me. “How many times must I assure you that I’m not as fragile as you think me?" You grimaced at the headboard as Jungkook probed your entrance with middling impetus. His girth was such that your cunt begged and fluttered to receive it deeper, distressed by the gaping space that went unfilled.

“Hmph.”

Jungkook’s considerable weight descended,  blanketing your back to secure your compliance. With his breath at your ear, he interwove your fingers and exerted pressure enough to bow you to the blanket. Your ass, however, remained high and accessible; as submissive a posture there was. By the devilish chuckle that blew across your cheek, Jungkook already thought himself the victor of this quarrel. "And how many times must I ask you not to challenge me? I know my own strength." It was difficult to rebuke him when his lips skirted your ear so. So soft and wet and careful in their pressure.

"And I know your strength just as well. I have been on the receiving end of it for months before th-this—ah!" Pain suffused your neck where Jungkook’s mouth lingered. He curled his lip at your continued defiance. Out of the corner of your eye, his fangs bore a red glaze. 

Mayhaps it was a warning, but it only served to embolden you. 

"Nothing you could do would harm the pups. Please, Jungkook. I'm begging you." He liked being begged. Liked when you relinquished your power and station entirely. Because, outside your bedchambers, you were as important and respected as he. That he liked, too. 

Your particularly bullish nature meant that Jungkook relished your surrender. Especially in the aftermath of contentious discussions. There had been many an occasion where Jungkook’s red-blooded urges almost jeopardised tactical assemblies, because he simply could not ignore them. Particularly the meetings where you butted heads on some divisive detail or another. The tension grew so stark during these exchanges that it cowed the other attendants into silence. You would exchange little else, thereon, but sultry glares, and Jungkook would orbit you in inappropriate proximity, breathing down your neck and rubbing you where others could not see. The sex after those meetings was singularly wild.

Jungkook attested often to his being a tethered beast, but you were the one with the leash. “Please. Put it all the way in,” you snivelled. “Alpha.”

Jungkook’s breath hitched at your urging; you felt him on your back, chest broad and feverish. He did not perspire out of exertion but sheer sexual frustration. It was obvious by the weight with which his balls hung; you spied them between your legs when you looked beneath. "Please, alpha. Take me completely." 

Furtively, you grinned. Jungkook was an astute man. However, he was also a simple, dick-driven creature. 

“Argh!”

A snarl seared your ear, drawing gooseflesh in its wake. You tilted your head to behold him; to enthrall him with lust-lidded eyes. But it was you who was captivated. Jungkook would never be anything less than breathtakingly handsome. The type women ripped costly bodices for. He was rugged; as hewn in the jaw as he was in body, and with eyes so honest you could be sup from his soul. Your mouth hung in open appreciation of his masculine beauty. Jungkook’s hips stuttered, then, as you drunk one another in. A fleeting slip, but enough to propel him deeper for a crucial moment. The repercussions manifested immediately. Your eyes rolled in their sockets and out came a harrowing groan. The entirety of your body tautened as your cunt did, grasping at his elusive length as it again withdrew. "Ugh. Jungkook!"

"Cease your attempts to seduce me, woman," Jungkook menaced, butting aside your head and raking his fangs along the angle of your jaw. "Your charms will not work." His tongue laved wherever they grazed, his hands surrendering your hips only to snake beneath and caress your rotund belly. So tender was he in his touches, that your cunt pulled with desire. Jungkook splayed his fingertips, cradling your circumference as best he could in his calloused palms. He muttered something soft and indiscernible about our children as he admired you, your provocation momentarily forgotten.

His cheek came by yours, then, rounded nose drifting to your temple to huff in your pregnant scent. According to him, you’d become overwhelmingly, wonderfully fragrant. Such that he would pine if denied it too long. 

Chamomile. 

That was what you effused while with child.

Jungkook’s favourite tea.

The headbutt that came next would reasonably incapacitate the average person; indeed, it was so strong that your knees rattled on their hinges. But Jungkook went unscathed, nuzzling a path through your tangled hair, air whooshing through his nostrils as he scented you. "God, you are beautiful. So round, so full. And utterly mine," Jungkook murmured, teetering on the fringes of abandon. He continued his ardent groping with a whine.

Had he really sabotaged his own restraint? 

How funny that his undoing was his own. Positively hilarious. 

That was, until you felt his cock sink deliberately deeper. Jungkook groaned as you did, though you were far more shameless in your desperation. “Oh, God—!”

"Fuck!" The curse word unravelled into a low, ungodly growl.

"Yes, Jungkook. More—" Your hands scrabbled for purchase on his backside, but it soon retreated out of reach as he again withdrew. "Godfuckingdamnit! What must I do to convince you? Please, do it again. I can take it!"

"I will not. It’s too much a risk. What happened was—was entirely unintentional, and I won’t allow it to happen again." He stated it with resolve, but his hips stuttered traitorously, heeding not him but the wolf within him. A rush of breath buffeted your shoulders and then Jungkook's nose was again in your nest of hair, inhaling himself to his senses. "That is the end of it," he murmured on exhale, seemingly sobered. "Now, let us continue." Penetration resumed at its previous, underwhelming pace, maddening you to your very marrow.

"Fine." A growl of your own grew in your chest. "Then I will not submit to you today."

When you dared look Jungkook’s way, the sheer displeasure buckling his features very nearly undid your determination. His brows hung gravely over his eyes, obscuring their usual, gentle glimmer with a severity that stirred your wanton pussy. "You will. You will always submit to me. I am your alpha," Jungkook stated with a snap of his teeth, seeking to subdue you with his hefty physique.

Oh, you absolutely would and should submit but it was imperative you defy him now or you would never see satiety.

With something of such import in the balance, you heaved yourself onto your elbows and then your hands, quaking beneath the werewolf that hung plastered to your back. As you rose, as you straightened your spine in defiance and denied Jungkook your submission, the growl behind you grew in outrage. His cock stalled at your opening, tip still between your folds.

“Not today.”

Jungkook's lips curled back along his gums, a slight tremor to his tautened jaw. Two, prominent fangs confronted you in the candlelight, your skin prickling where they'd countless times pierced. His authority was difficult to oppose when the mere visage of this apex predator was enough to buckle your knees and sodden your cunt. "You're a baffling woman. I've dominated you on hundreds of splendid occasions, and today is the day you defy me? Must I subjugate you again, my sweet?"

As much as you yearned to present him your sopping hole, it would be another five months of unrealised desire if you did. 

To hell with that.

“Come, now. Show me how ready you are to receive me.” Jungkook sought to bow you with nips and kisses, but you would not be bowed. Not this time. When this much became clear, he peeled himself from your back and his cock from your hole. Oh, no. No, this wouldn't do.

"If you will not obey me then you will not receive me at all," he snorted, as enraged and engorged as a hung bull. Truly, he was a marvel that you could not tear your desirous eyes from. Not when he knelt there so, in all his strapping, virile glory. You whined for what you were cruelly denied. Jungkook interpreted your meaning well. "It is your own fault." He vented frustration through his flaring nostrils. "Present yourself to me or I will simply finish all over you."

Your cunt pulsed in anguish and joy. What a dream it would be if he painted you, cock in hand and strangling it of cum. If his sac throbbed with each ejaculation as it fell across your body, hot and sticky. If his lips were bitten bloody and his eyes crinkled closed.

God.

Yes, it would be beautiful. But it would afford you nothing in the end but your own, spiritless fingers to finish with. Jungkook had been so keen a lover that you could not even recall the last time you masturbated. And you weren’t about to start now, as unquenchable as you were. 

So, you persisted. Prayed that your ruse might finally bear fruit. It all culminated with this: "I won't. How about you I take you, so that I may seek my own pleasure? Get on your back. Offer your belly up to me, wolf, so I may sit on you."

In a lightning's flash Jungkook was atop you, one muscular forearm looping your hips and the other strong across your chest, claws toying with the malleable flesh of your swollen breasts. His weight suffocated you once more, but you did not resist when he sought to manoeuvre you into submission. Not when, in the ferocity of his outrage did he then stuff you full with his entire cock, plunging to your depths in one, fluid thrust. It took your breath away. Deprived you of your vision. For a moment, nothing but blood raged in your ears as you fully comprehended just how in want you were. "Oh, G-Gods."

A scramble of depraved utterances streamed from Jungkook's mouth as he handled you as he truly wished. With just the one, greedy hand he bullied your swaying breasts, squeezing them as if to strain you of milk. Every vulgar grope, every pull of your nipples manifested violently in your cunt, throttling Jungkook's monstrous cock in arrhythmic convulsions. "I-Is it truly safe?" He posed it to you as a throaty moan, his other hand charting the flesh of your inner thighs and skimming them like a potter might wet clay. As his thumbs brushed the apex between, willingly and desperately you split your legs further apart, elevating your backside for his inspection. The mere act of yielding to Jungkook sensitised you to him tenfold. Though you were not werekind, his influence was such in its potency that it affected you all the same. A familiar, innate desire to pleasure him overcame you. And as you submitted to him now, nothing thrilled you more than the whines of appreciation that kissed your ears as his full length stretched you silly. Jungkook murmured again; lower and in earnest. "____. Is it truly safe?"

"It is. A thousand times I've said it." As you spoke he shifted within you, and the world shifted too. The gratification was profuse. "The babes will come to no harm," you sang, sliding along the base of his girthy cock. "And neither will I. No, I need this. And so do you."

"I won't deny that." Was all he said before he pinned you like a ravenous beast its beaten prey, hips snapping, momentum rippling through you. Each drive of his pelvis bombarded your cunt with his weighty, bloated balls as he dove in deep. They struck you like a rider’s crop, again and again, until you were sore and splendidly puffy. “Fuck, you’re so deep. I forgot how far back you go. God, you’re made for me. My perfect, pretty little bitch.” Jungkook was quickly carnal. Every phrase concluded in a wolfish whine. 

He rutted you with the vigour of his first heat, feverish and erratic, jamming you to your limits with his colossal cock. His tip kissed your cervix on repeat, greasing your insides with pre-cum as he ploughed apart your unyielding walls. He leaked it so liberally now, so profusely that it dribbled from around him. All the while you yelped up a din beneath him, fully engrossed in your deference to him. You glimpsed night sky in the bedsheets, spatterings of stars combusting before your very eyes. They fell as tears, streaking your cheeks wet with relief.

"Yes, yes—that's it. Oh, you feel so good, my love. S-So good." Jungkook pistoned into you with expert precision, sweeping across your g-spot with every frenzied pass. A glorious ache tugged at your navel as he did so, wringing your insides like a sopping sponge. And, oh, how you were sopping. Vulgarly so. Jungkook juiced your cunt each time he crammed you full, soaking the space between you. It lacquered his abdomen 'til he shined in the lowlight. Gods, he was gorgeous, you could not help but glimpse him past your shoulder, to observe him as he split you apart, his eyes sharp and expression fraught. Your cunt heaved at the sight and sensation of him, and spurred him on.

"You were right. So right." Jungkook's tongue flicked around his gaping mouth, touching on his teeth in concentration. His eyes remained fixed to the site of your messy joining, tracking the drag and draw of his throbbing cock. "You can take anything. You're so strong. So beautiful," he whispered between uneven breaths, adhering himself to your arching back and resuming his earlier, intimate ministrations. As his lower half rippled and rammed you, his upper half cocooned you in comfort, gifting touches so soft they could be whispers.

You sensed it before it came. Hot breath tickled your nape for the briefest moment and then, there it was, sharp and soothing, a bite as familiar as his tender kiss; the bite that affirmed your initial bonding. It no longer induced pain, only a midsummer's welcome warmth. This first bite was the gentlest; Jungkook reasserting his claim. But then he withdrew, and struck again, and again, latching onto your nape for purchase as he pounded himself into your cunt to eke mewls from you.

"Ngh, fuck, it's happening too soon." Jungkook sounded utterly bereft. He did not, however, slow his incessant pace. His zeal had displaced you so far up the bed that the headboard clattered against your cheek. Discomfort was an irrelevant notion when you were having the life fucked into you, however. "I should withdraw."

"No!" It was practically a scream. "Knot me. Please, it's been too long. I need it, I need all of you," you burbled, tears afresh in your eyes. You were so close. Something momentous accumulated in your abdomen; teased glimpses of divine completion.

"Fuck!" Jungkook's hands roved your underside in woeful abandon, gripping at you like he might yet reestablish restraint. Clearly he could not, for his next move was to indulge in the blood that trickled freely from your neck. His long, rough tongue lapped you clean of his excesses, and his lips made sweet reparation. "I want—" A wet, solemn kiss. "I w-want—" A quick, furious thrust between your legs. "I want to fill you to the brim."

"Yes, do it, alpha. Please, please." Your whining rivalled that of the den's neediest pups. "I'm strong, like you said. I can take it. There is nothing more I've wanted these past months than that. Please knot me, Jungkook." As incentive you pitched your backside higher, clenching both orifices for his appreciation. Jungkook observed the gesture keenly, his cock jumping to a stall within you.

“Sh-shit—”

With surprising composure, he cupped the back of your head and tilted you toward him. Your cheekbones brushed in passing, and the tips of your noses pressed close. He sifted your eyes for sincerity before pressing his lips to yours in a long, torrid kiss that conveyed all that you needed from him. As you parted, Jungkook's tongue lingered long enough to draw strings. And then he grinned. "Alright. As you deferred to me so readily." His pace quickened, escalating into a frenzy of cunt-cleaving thrusts that drove ruthlessly along your upper wall. "I shall oblige you."

"Oh God—" The reservoir within you burgeoned suddenly, pulsed behind your cunt for release. And as you felt the dam begin to fracture, Jungkook's fingers found your clit amidst your plastered folds. One, establishing touch was all it took to undo you. As the base of his cock began to thicken, a river of fluid rushed around it as you finally, joyously climaxed, eyes half-lidded and sightless as you ascended. Euphoria tinged your every atom and daubed the world white. You convulsed on end and with alarming force, your pussy gulping down Jungkook's rapidly ballooning cock. The stretch of him stung wonderfully, pushed apart your seizing hole without care for your capacity.

"F-Fuck." Jungkook faltered upon witnessing the ferocity with which you gushed. It soaked what little remained dry of his thighs, clinging to their definition. You gasped and moaned beneath him, dizzied by orgasm, your mouth agape and cheek crushed flat to the headboard. His vascular forearms shook to support him as he hurtled toward completion. "You needed all of me, hm?" Jungkook panted, drunk on lust and wild with power. He gloated over you like the primeval beast he was, fangs bared and liberated by instinct. "Your slippery little cunt missed this, didn't it?"

You mustered little more than a gurgle as he continued to ravage your boneless body, fucking through your spasming cunt until he himself began to twitch. "Sh-Shit, fuck," he exclaimed on high, head thrown back and knot taking root. Though you were spent and without much sense, Jungkook's sudden, violent expulsion shot new life through you. Together you groaned, until he began baying, grinding his turgid cock as far as his knot would allow, frustrated by its impediment. Possessed by ferality, Jungkook nipped desperate pleas into your bruised shoulders, grunting with each subsequent spurt he emptied into you. Though he could no longer snap his hips, they nonetheless dug into you as he milked himself of residue. “God. Shit. I—” Monosyllabic cusses continued to fall from him as he prised himself from your limp body. Without a moment’s reprieve he maneuvered himself to his knees so as to better inspect your expanding belly, his hands roaming your bulging expanses. "Yes." It was almost a hiss. "You are perfect. So full of me and mine."

"Indeed, I am." You cast him a struggling smile. When Jungkook returned it, it revitalised you. Your smile grew into a grin. "And what a lucky woman I am."

"Come, let us make you more comfortable," Jungkook muttered with a touch to your dampened cheek. Historically his knots did not always abate in a timely manner. Knowing this, Jungkook clutched you to his chest, adjusting you so as not to tug at your joining, nor disturb your swollen belly. Ever so gently he steered you onto your side, his sweat-slick body clinging to your back. His knot throbbed pleasantly within, interlocking you indefinitely. And you did not object, because this was when you felt most at peace, most loved, most protected. His arms cradled you, encircled your precious load, and all the while he washed you of perspiration and blood. No week went by where your neck and shoulders were not a spectrum of colour due to Jungkook's oral attention.

You did not object to that either.

"Thank you, Jungkook. I really needed that. I genuinely shed tears," you giggled, your breasts askew around his forearm. It tensed and pulled you closer.

"So did I." A growl laced his chuckle. "But I would never harm you or the pups to satisfy my own selfish desires. Forgive me my obstinacy, but I had to be sure."

"I understand. And we are safe. We're the safest with you, my love."

Jungkook suspended his rigorous bathing of you to kiss the crown of your head. "You are. Nothing shall befall you while I still breathe.

For a dreadful moment, your ongoing predicament punctured the post-coital glow. But you resolved not to let it. No, it could wait until tomorrow. In the here and now, you did not have to fret whether Jungkook would return home tomorrow. Whether his dinner would grow cold and your bed perennially so.

No.

In this moment, he was here, as were you. One bonded pair and their six, synchronous heartbeats.

Just a quick note to elaborate on the reader’s pregnancy, as I appreciate not everyone will have read these asks.

1) She is pregnant with four boys.

2) They develop in utero as wolves, and are born in that form too - therefore they are quite a bit smaller than human babies. So she isn’t particularly overburdened. A few months after birth they will begin popping in and out of both forms until they learn to control it.

Next: Mark of the Beast || Tooth and Claw Masterlist

[someonestolemyshoes]

Come to Me

This is my submission for @levihan-drabbles Trope Tuesday - I jumped firmly on the bandwagon and went with prompt #4: Injured/hurt Levi & caring Hange. Juuuust eeked inside the max word count, but I’ll take it! 

Warnings: This fic does contain some depictions of injury, nothing too graphic, but be aware if this is something that bothers you! 

**

“Who was it this time?”

Hange expected no answer. As such, they were unsurprised at receiving nothing but a grunt and a hiss as they pressed an alcohol-soaked swab to the apple of Levi’s cheek, where the flesh, feverishly red and swollen now, had split like a burst seam.

Only rarely did Levi disclose the particulars of his adventures, and never when prompted. Hange knew better than to press. It wasn’t their role to ask questions, but the silence quickly grew oppressive when left unattended, and Hange would much rather listen to the sound of their own voice than the stifling quiet.

“Do they at least look worse off than you do?” They asked, tilting Levi’s bruised jaw to angle him better beneath the hanging bulb. Levi gave another noncommittal grunt, this one accompanied by a shrug of his shoulder and a grimace that tugged at his bust lip. The forming scab cracked open, and a thin trail of blood dripped towards his chin.

He was quiet, tonight. Moreso than usual. It wasn't in Levi’s nature to divulge too much of anything, but he could be vocal, in his own way. Hange’s poking and prodding was most often met with a grumbled ‘mind your damn business’ or ‘keep your nose out of my shit’ and occasionally, when Hange was in a particularly obnoxious mood, ‘quit jamming your finger into my ribcage’.

There was none of that now. Levi remained perplexingly silent while Hange disinfected the open wounds on his face and knuckles, cleaning smeared blood and palpating the joints, checking the swollen flesh for signs of damage they couldn't hope to fix in their parents' tool shed.

This had been their routine for a little while, a semi-regular occurrence since the first night Hange had found him crumpled over a bench in the park, sucking wet breaths through his teeth and trying in vain to stem the blood flow from a yawning gash on his arm. He had colourfully refused Hange’s offer of calling him an ambulance, and had vehemently denied that he needed to see a doctor, but he had eventually resigned himself to at least allowing Hange to help however they could with the first aid kit in their kitchen and what little medical knowledge they had absorbed from their mothers medical journals.

He had been a relative stranger to Hange, then. They’d seen him around sometimes, in school corridors between classes, or in the lunch hall, or around the back of the science block, where Hange had caught glimpses of him sparking up or stubbing out a cigarette, but besides these sporadic sightings, Hange's knowledge of Levi came only from whispered rumours.

The rumours, more than anything, made Hange worry that this was not a solitary incident.

“Just come to me,” Hange had said, as they'd finished wrapping the bandage around his wounds. “If you need help again. I kinda like my evening walks, and I think it’d ruin my night if I found you dead next time.”

In truth, Hange hadn’t expected him to take their offer seriously at all. Shocked as they were to see him turn up bloody and bruised at their window, they had stayed true to their word. Levi had tolerated their needling questions with surprising resilience, but eventually acquiesced to give some vague answers when Hange had suggested that he might be involved in something highly illegal.

“You’re in a gang,” they’d said.

“Like hell.”

“Selling drugs?”

“You think I’m stupid?”

“I got it—human trafficking."  

“For fucks sake, four-eyes! I’m not—no, what the hell is wrong with you?”

Hange had accused him of every offense under the sun, but as it had turned out, there was nothing so terrible, nor so immoral or unlawful, about Levi’s affairs.  

“I just get in fights, sometimes. I live in a rough neighbourhood. Tensions are high, people snap easy.”

“Do you? Snap easily, I mean.” Levi had given her a noncommittal shrug.

“Depends,” he had said. “Whether something’s worth snapping over.”

Hange had never asked what held that kind of wealth, for Levi. He had a deceptively calm aura about him whenever Hange saw him in passing; a little grumpy perhaps, with his thin eyes and drawn brows and pouted lips, but he never exuded the crackling energy of a bomb ready to explode.

Now, though, he seemed stormy. There was an intermittent twitch in his jaw where the muscle bunched and flexed. Despite Hange's close proximity, sitting with their knees tucked between his splayed legs, his gaze remained resolutely fixed somewhere over their shoulder. His freshly bandaged fists rested clenched atop his thighs. There was a pallor to his skin, the sickly hue of it exacerbated by the fluorescent glow from above them; the angle of the light deepened the shadows beneath his eyes and in the hollows of his cheeks. He looked, if possible, more sullen than Hange had ever seen him.

Perhaps more tenderly than intended, Hange smoothed their thumb over the last steristrip on Levi's cheek. Something in the softness of the action must have caught his attention, for he drew his gaze towards Hange's face for the first time since turning up tonight. Hange tilted their head at him.

"Are you okay?"

Levi scoffed. "Do I look okay?"

No, Hange thought. You never do. "You've looked better."

"I'm fine."

Hange fought the urge to roll their eyes.

"Like pulling teeth," they mumbled. Levi shot them a look, something petulant and withering. Hange poked their tongue out at him, and winced when he aimed a kick at their ankle.

"Stop being difficult," Levi said. Hange looked at him incredulously, chest swelling and cheeks puffing with indignation. Levi was watching them calmly now, his brow quirked, and Hange felt the futility of arguing with him before they even began. Instead, they blew out a long, calming breath, and began packing the first aid supplies back into the kit.

Silence swelled between them, broken only by the crinkle of plastic as Hange, perhaps with more force than necessary, jammed spare wipes, swabs and bandages into place.

For once, Levi broke it.

"Oi, Hange."

Hange, not looking up from repacking their first aid kit, huffed loudly, and tried their best to ignore him. In the end, though, curiosity won out. "Mm?"

"If—" Levi began, then cut himself off with a harsh huff, and ticked his tongue against his teeth. "If anyone bothers you. Come to me, okay?"

Hange looked up at him, surprised. Levi wasn't looking at them, head turned away and eyes cast down towards the floor.

They weren't friends, exactly. Outside of their strange arrangement, they never really spoke to one another. Hange had, once or twice, caught Levi watching them with a curious expression on his face, but he never spoke to them in public. Hange was mostly at ease with the whole thing. There was an itch of intrigue they longed to scratch, but Levi's responsiveness to questioning had already made itself well known. Excluding their meeting in the park, they had never shared a single word with one another beyond the confines of the tool shed. Why, then, would Levi expect Hange to approach him anywhere else?

"Why would anyone bother me?" It was an earnest question, but Levi met their questioning gaze with a scowl. He opened his mouth with the kind of frustrated ferocity that preceded an argument, then closed it again, and huffed through his nose.

"I heard some things," he said. Hange said nothing, only blinked openly at him, and Levi was pressed to fill the silence. "Someone saying shit. About you."

Hange's brows lifted towards their hairline. "Oh?"

Levi scuffed the toe of his boot over the floor, face twisted in a sneer. Hange found it difficult to tell where his disgust was aimed; at whatever conversation he had overheard, or at himself for bringing it up.

Hange shuffled forward in their chair, one of their knees bumping against the inside of Levi's thigh. His eyes flickered down to the point of contact, then up to Hange's face. Hange nudged his leg harder.

"C'mon, you can't say that and not tell me."  

When Levi showed no signs of budging, Hange sat up straighter and folded their arms over their chest. "At least tell me who."

Levi rolled his tongue between his cheeks, deliberating. His gaze flitted over Hange's face as though he was hoping he might find something reflected in it. Whether he found what he wanted Hange didn't know, but after a long moment, he slumped back in his chair and crossed his arms to match Hange, and said, with no absence of venom, "Zeke."

Ah. That at least explained some of Levi's seething. He and Zeke had a history. Hange was unclear on the details, and much of the story was based on rumours passed down in hushed whispers, morphing with each new retelling, but what was clear enough was that the two disliked one another. On Levi's part, it was all clenched fists and frosty glances, while Zeke carried himself with a mix of smug satisfaction and barely restrained resentment.

Still, Hange found it hard to believe that Zeke would have anything too terrible to say about them. Their communication had been inconsequential at best—he had an air of self importance that Hange found a little grating, and an overconfidence in his own opinions, but the handful of instances in which they'd spoken to one another hadn't been unpleasant. Hange told Levi so, and watched with interest as a hint of colour rose in his cheeks and his frown deepened.

"He's a creep," Levi said. Hange's brows arched even higher.

"What, did he threaten me?"

Levi said nothing.

"Is he gonna beat me up?" Still nothing. "Did he call me ugly? Say I smell bad?"

"You do smell bad."

"Did he perv on me?"

Levi's response was both fascinating and telling. He tensed visibly, spine snapping straight, fingers curling tight into his palms—even his thigh, still resting against Hange's knee, clenched hard. Hange's grin widened.

"Jackpot," they said. Levi curled his lip

"Well, I'm honoured by your chivalry, Levi. But you didn't have to pick a fight with him just because he thinks I'm hot. It's kinda flattering, you know?"

"He doesn't even mean it," Levi said harshly.  "He's just saying it because I—" but Levi cut himself off again, sharply, and pressed his lips into a thin line. The forming scab tugged, threatening to tear anew.

"Because you what?"

But Levi had had enough. He stood quickly, barely avoiding the low hanging bulb, his chair scraping back with a clatter. The new angle of the light cast his nose and brow into deep shadow, and illuminated his cheeks with a bright glow—despite the washed out look the light gave his skin, Hange could see twin strips of pink on either cheek.

"Thanks," he said. Hange blinked owlishly up at him, their mouth open. They wanted to press him, demand he finish saying what he'd started—and perhaps they would have, perhaps this time, curiosity would win out, and Hange would succeed in wrestling an answer from him for once, but he didn't give them the chance.

He ducked around the bulb and moved to brush past Hange's chair and out the door. Beside them, he stuttered in step and paused; Hange thought—hoped—that perhaps he might be debating telling them the full story. He opened his mouth, and closed it again, opened, and snorted quietly to himself.

Then he raised a bandaged hand, and ruffled it into the messy hair atop Hange's head.

"Thanks," he said.

And before Hange could speak, could move, could do much of anything but stare ahead in shock, Levi had gone.

**

If, come the following morning, Hange was at all surprised to see the cuts and bruises colouring Zeke's face—a rather delightful collage of red and purple, black, and blue—they hid it very well.

Levi's self-satisfied smirk was far less subtle.

[aethelflaedladyofmercia]

So as part of my push to fill the world with soft fluff while we all need it, @sparkkeyper requested Aziraphale warming up a cold Crowley. And, well, things got a little out of hand with this bit of hurt/comfort. Also fills the @bingokisses prompt for “Brush of Lips, Almost-There Kiss/Bridal Carry” so that’s exciting!

Not clearly established, but this fic is just-barely-pre Arrangement.

“If that’s the way you feel,” Aziraphale said, hand on the door to his one-room hut, “then I suggest you leave, and find some other angel to bother with your nonsense.

“Good! Maybe I can find one who isn’t a self-righteous prick.”

“I’m terribly sorry,” the apology dripped with sarcasm, “that I choose not to blindly trust a devious…manipulative…snake.”

The words hit like a physical blow. Crowley sucked in a breath, tasting a hint of frost in the late-autumn air. “Fine,” he growled, turning away. He’d have to walk through the night to get back to London, but at just that moment he felt angry enough to march all the way to China and back. “Good riddance,” he snapped from the gate around the little garden, but Aziraphale had already shut the door.

--

“Call me a snake,” Crowley grumbled, pulling the thick black pelt more tightly over his shoulders. He’d thought the wilderness look – loose hair, black fur wrap, boiled leather jerkin belted over his tunic like armor – would make him look intimidating and cool. But as the temperatures dropped with the sunset, he really just wished for a good wool cloak.

“I’m not the one who’s manipulative and…whatever else he said.” The wind shifted, slapping across his face, sending his hair spinning behind him. “Cold-blooded. I’m not cold-blooded.”

He snapped his fingers, summoning a cloak, but the wind immediately ripped it out of his hands. It got caught on a tree branch, just out of reach. “Ah, never mind. Just slow me down anyway.”

Stuffing his hands into his armpits, Crowley marched deeper into the woods. Just follow the path west to the little creek, follow that out of the forest, main road was on the other side. Quickest route to London.

As the last light faded from the sky, the snowflakes began to fall.

--

“Coordinate our activities – of course we can’t coordinate, you fool, we’re doing opposite tasks.”

Aziraphale waved his fingers at the fire, making it burn just a touch brighter, and continued angrily chopping vegetables to drop into the pot of water. “And I certainly can’t just – just tell you what Heaven’s plans are for the north, or for the Holy Roman Empire, or for…for…blast!”

He glowered at the deep cut on his thumb and quickly healed it, an almost blinding burst of holy power. Well, that was probably enough for soup, anyway.

“All I’m trying to say, you foolish creature,” he grumbled, lifting the pot to nestle against the hot stones that circled his hearth, “is that we can’t talk…business when we meet. Is that so hard? Can you not get that one idea in your head?”

The shutters rattled in the wind, one breaking open to crack angrily against the wall. Aziraphale hurried over to push it shut, pausing to look across the dark fields to the woods beyond. Already a mix of snow and freezing rain had turned everything to a muddy slush.

Crowley would be fine. Crowley always found a way to be fine, and more often than not that way involved finagling himself into some comfortable circle where dozens of humans happily did his bidding. And when he couldn’t find that, he came to Aziraphale.

Well. Aziraphale would not – would not be duped into doing Crowley’s work for him.

“Enjoy getting yourself out of this mess,” Aziraphale said, pushing the shutter closed.

--

Bracing himself against a tree, Crowley tried to pull the back of his tunic up to protect his neck. Tiny spears of ice had assaulted it for hours, and he could feel the cold drops worming their way down his spine, soaking into his undertunic. His boots were drenched through, squishing a little with every step.

“Bloody creek,” he grumbled, searching desperately through the ceaseless fall of ice and snow. He should have passed it ages ago. He should be nearly out of the woods, and instead here he was, surrounded by mounds of wet, icy snow as deep as his ankles.

Everything looked strange. Everything looked different. Every rock transformed into something unfamiliar, every tree a shapeless mass of white. He was…

Crowley was lost.

“It’s fine,” he said as the wind shifted and the tree dropped another freezing glob of ice into his hair to ooze down his neck. “It’s bloody fine.” He pushed away from the tree and snapped his fingers, trying to summon a fire.

Nothing.

“Oh, for Sssatan’s sssake!” He pictured a cloak again. Nothing. A windbreak. A pile of blankets. A lantern.

Nothing, nothing, nothing.

With each failed miracle, Crowley felt the panic rise further, which was stupid. The only reason he couldn’t perform them was because he was panicking, so the thing to do was to stop panicking.

Useless, Aziraphale had called him. I don’t know what’s worse, that you come to me to help you with every little thing, or that you do everything in your power to get out of even thinking about working.

No, wait. Aziraphale hadn’t said that, not out loud. But the look in his eyes…it was obvious how he felt. Why wouldn’t he? It was true enough.

“Stop that, stop that!” He marched on through the forest. West. Just keep going west, London had to be somewhere around here. “It’s not my fault. Pointless assignments, impossible tasks, and you, you running around undoing everything I do – it’s not my fault I can’t get anything done!”

Useless. Failure. Worthless snake.

Had that been Aziraphale? Or Hastur? Or one of the other demons? They all thought the same, didn’t they? They were all right, weren’t they?

“No!” He waved his arms, visualizing a clear path through the slush.

Instead, he slipped on an icy patch and fell, chin cracking against the ground, one arm shoving into a particularly deep mound, filling his sleeve with snow.

“Fuck, fuck.” He scrambled to get purchase, to push himself up, wriggling around on his stomach like—

Like a snake.

“I’m not,” he whispered, but without conviction. “I’m not.”

--

Aziraphale tried to keep himself busy. Cooking, preparing herbs, copying pages out of texts, bits of wisdom that would be carefully left on the right desk at the right time, according to Heaven’s guidance.

He never quite knew when he’d be called to take care of something, never quite knew when Gabriel would announce he was coming down for an inspection. So Aziraphale always had to be ready, always had to look busy. Always had to be sure he was where he was supposed to be.

Maybe Crowley didn’t have to worry about that. Maybe Crowley didn’t have superiors checking in at random intervals, making sure he really had traveled to York, or Venice, or Kiev, or wherever else a bit of Holy assistance was needed. Maybe Crowley’s superiors actually trusted him to get the work done without…(Aziraphale pressed his eyes shut, carefully removing any accusations of micromanagement to the deepest depths of his subconscious)…without their careful direction and helpful input, but that wasn’t the case with Aziraphale.

He sighed and put the manuscript pages back on the bench. It was far too dark for a human to be doing copy work, and rather too dark for an angel. Perhaps he could take a break, just for a few minutes.

It’s always another excuse with you, Crowley had shouted. Well. Not shouted, but the words had hit him just the same.

But they weren’t excuses, they were – a thousand perfectly valid reasons why he couldn’t…couldn’t let Crowley interfere with his work, and yes perhaps some of them contradicted each other, but that wasn’t Aziraphale’s fault and…

“No, stop that.” He rose to his feet. Needed to keep busy. “A bit more water from the well. Better to be prepared.” The villagers often came up, looking for medicines, for advice, for a bit of food more varied than their usual diet (Aziraphale could miracle up fresh spices and vegetables any time of year, and that wasn’t…entirely cheating). Bad weather usually kept them away, but likely it would all clear up by morning.

He opened the door.

The wind that blasted Aziraphale’s face sent him staggering back. A fistful of mixed snow and rain hit him in the face, somehow colder than ice. By now, he ground was covered almost knee-deep in some places, and he could barely see the fence from where he stood, never mind the well.

“Oh…”

But, surely, Crowley had made it back to London by now.

Surely.

--

He had to keep moving.

Crowley huddled below a tree, knees pulled up to his chest, fingers wrapped around the back of his neck, trying to shield himself from the weather.

He shivered so hard his teeth nearly cracked, his ribs ached, and he felt sick to his stomach. Stupid mammal bodies, weren’t they supposed to retain heat?

He couldn’t feel his toes. The boots were packed with snow from trying to push through drifts. He couldn’t feel his fingers. He moved them back inside the pelt wrap again, pressing them into his already-wet tunic. The boiled leather jerkin clung to him like…well, like only leather could, getting stiff where he needed it to flex, getting soft where he needed it to stay rigid. Bloody useless.

Clenching his eyes tight, Crowley braced against another blast of wind, cutting through his layers like a dagger. What was the point of all this clothing if it didn’t help?

Some part of his mind kept reminding him to move. Not time to burrow yet, not time to conserve energy. Movement would create heat, warm him up.

No it won’t, argued the part of his mind that would never not be a snake. Moving uses heat. Stay. Conserve. Burrow down and wait for the sun.

“D-d-d-doesn’t matter,” Crowley groaned. “N-n-nowhere to go.”

His joints locked up, skin trying to pull itself away from the damp clothing pressed against it. He was tired. Mammal and serpent, both so tired.

No. He had to keep moving.

Crowley wasn’t sure how he managed to get his feet under him, managed to take the first shuffling, stumbling steps.

West. He was supposed to go west. Whichever way west was.

He picked a likely direction and started moving.

--

Was that hail pounding on the thatch? Or was the rain that strong?

Aziraphale waved the fire stronger, almost enough to over-boil the pots of soup arranged around the outside.

He didn’t really need that much soup. It just. Kept him busy.

--

The sun rose just as Crowley reached the edge of the woods.

It hurt to lift his head, to shift the muscles that had been hunched and braced against the cold for so long. The brightness of the sky hurt his eyes.

At some point, it had stopped snowing. He didn’t know when, his skin was completely numb. Wasn’t even shivering anymore. It was nice, in a way. Just the comforting darkness all around.

Now even that was gone, but he could look around the endless ocean of…snow was too strong a word, it was really slush…under the blood-red of the sunrise.

He wasn’t lost anymore. The hill, there to the right, the hut on top of it –

That was Aziraphale. He’d gone in a bloody circle.

I suggest you leave, and find some other angel to bother with your nonsense.

Fuck.

Aziraphale wouldn’t want to hear it. He’d wonder why Crowley hadn’t just miracled himself to safety, and he didn’t have the strength to explain that he didn’t have the strength. He knew his miracles had failed in the night – that he hadn’t been able to focus. Couldn’t remember exactly why.

Couldn’t really focus now.

Aziraphale wouldn’t want to help. He’d still be angry over the things Crowley said. Still be stuck in his holier-than-though me-versus-you mindset. Probably want to send Crowley away.

But Crowley would never make it to London now. Might not even make it up the hill.

He pushed himself forward.

I can do this, Crowley grumbled at himself. Just need a plan.

Aziraphale would let him in. He just needed a really clever argument to convince the angel first. Tempt him, trick him. Make him think helping Crowley would somehow help himself? No, that wouldn’t work. Maybe threaten to cause trouble in the village? Though he could hardly look capable of it in this state.

He stumbled through the gate – half-open, and held in place by a mound of ice that crunched under his feet. Just a few more steps to the door.

Well. Looked like Crowley would be going with his favorite plan: winging it.

He tried to knock on the door, but his arms had stopped obeying him, his hands wouldn’t budge from where he’d tucked them in his armpits. He tried kicking the door, but the snow and slush piled in a drift almost up to his knees, so he only succeeded in making a wet crunching sound.

The wind shifted again, another volley of ice, and the last of his heat was stripped away.

He was going to discorporate here, literal inches from safety. He was going to wake up in Hell and spend the next decade trying to convince his superiors to give him another body after he’d been so careless with this one. Worthless, stupid snake…

“Aziraphale,” he tried to call, throat too raw to make a sound, his jaw irrevocably clenched. He surged his whole body forward, smashing his shoulder against the door. “Angel! C’n see…smoke…lemme in…”

The door vanished in front of him so quickly, Crowley nearly tumbled through it. Barely managed to wedge his shoulder against the door frame to keep himself upright.

“Oh, my word!”

Blinking the ice out of his eyes, Crowley could see the look of shock and horror on Aziraphale’s face. Knew he wouldn’t want me here.

“G-g-got caught,” he managed, struggling to unclench his jaw. “Sssssstorm.” It was more a puff of steam wrapped around a vowel than a word.

“But – you – that was hours ago!”

“Nrf.” Something was spilling out the door, like a wave of…the opposite of pressure. As if the air was somehow lighter, easier to move in. So close. Just had to convince Aziraphale. “Look. ‘Ngel.”

“Enough. I don’t want to hear it.”

“B…” He shook his head, long, slow, dizzy loops as he tried to clear his mind. “Jus’lissen. Yer side…I mean, my side…”

“Don’t start on that now.” There was that stubborn edge to his voice. No point in arguing.

“Fffffine.” Another white puff filled the air between them and he tried to turn, one shuffling step at a time. He was still upright, that had to be good, maybe he could make it to the village before—

“No, you ridiculous—! Get in.”

“Wah…?”

Aziraphale grabbed the back of his fur wrap and hauled him through the door, kicking it shut behind him.

Something prickled across Crowley’s skin. It must be the heat, but he couldn’t feel it. Not really. The blinding light of the morning sun reflecting off the white landscape had been replaced with the cozy darkness of a shuttered hut, fire burning low in the hearth at the center. Oil lamps burnt here and there, giving a cheerful glow that reflected off the brass cookware, the earthenware pots tucked close to the fire, then bench covered in parchment, the neat white linen of the bed.

Then Crowley did feel something: the ice trapped in layers of clothing melting, sliding down, soaking further into his tunic. He bit back a groan.

“Come along, move faster.” One hand still clutching his furs, the other pressed into the small of Crowley’s back, propelling him forward.

“I c’n walk,” Crowley griped, but before he could even finish forming the words, he was in front of the fire, being pushed firmly down to sit on the floor.

“Yes, I’m sure you can, you always make such a display of it.” Aziraphale crouched beside him, brow furrowed. “Look at you. Look at your hair.”

“S’wrong wi’m’hair?” Aziraphale reached behind Crowley’s ear and pulled out an almost fist-sized lump of snow. “Oh. Nice trick.”

“Don’t be…Crowley, this is serious!” He grabbed Crowley’s chin in both his hands, ran thumbs across his cheeks, then pressed a palm to his forehead. “You’re too cold.” Cupped his hands around Crowley’s ears. “Not frozen, at least, but…couldn’t you at least wear a hood?”

“Nah. M’hair’s too good.” He tried to toss his head, despite Aziraphale’s grip, and he heard the splat of more snow working loose. “Lost it. Cloak. Wind.”

“And you didn’t just – just miracle yourself to safety?”

“Nrrrrrrgh.” Crowley bent his head, ready for the recriminations. He could stand them. Probably. Long as he didn’t have to meet Aziraphale’s eyes.

Aziraphale ran his hands across the thick pelt, scraping through melting snow, which still clung thick enough to turn it white. “My dear fellow,” he said, voice strangely soft. “If you were in trouble, you should have…have come back.”

Crowley’s head jerked up, searching for Aziraphale’s face. It was hard to focus but, yes, his eyes, not angry. Something else.

“Didn’think…y’wanted me…”

“Crowley…” Aziraphale shut his eyes for a moment, but his fingers sprang into action, twisting the furs free to drop in a pile behind the demon.

“Wha…Angel, what’re you…”

“Isn’t it obvious? Trying to warm you up.” He grabbed the heavy pelt with one hand and tossed it aside, as easily as if it were made of cotton. “It’s hard enough to heal a demon with holy power in the best of times, but if you’re too numb to even tell me if it hurts…”

“M’not.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” His hand rested on Crowley’s elbow, tracing it up to where one hand tucked into his armpit. Aziraphale tugged, but the hand didn’t come loose. “Crowley, please. We don’t have time for you to be petty.”

“S’nice coming from you,” he grumbled, and tried to shift his arms. “Can’t. Too cold.”

Aziraphale tugged at Crowley’s arms, rocking him in place, and made a noise of dismay. “Your clothes are soaked through! Of course, all that walking.” He turned to Crowley’s boots, started tugging them off. “You’ll be lucky if you still have feet under here.”

“M’fine. M’a snake. Don’ need feet.”

“You’re delirious.” Aziraphale jerked the first boot off Crowley’s foot, water and ice pouring out of it. He tugged off the wool wrapped around Crowley’s foot and ankle and inspected his toes. “Not black, at least. I think you’ll be fine. Can you feel this?” He breathed out heavily.

“Nnnnh.” Was that a little curl of warmth across the back of his foot? Or was he just imagining it? “Not delirious,” he added. “You called me snake. Las’time. Other thing, too. Untrustworthy.”

“Did I?” He started on the other boot. “Well, you can hardly blame me, Crowley, an agent of Hell repeatedly asking me to – to neglect my duties. What am I supposed to think?”

Crowley groaned. He didn’t want to argue. Couldn’t argue. Some of the feeling was returning to him, along the side closest to the fire, but that just made him feel colder. More miserable.

“Look, I know you’re tempting me, Crowley. I don’t know what your goal is, but I’m aware of what’s going on.” The second boot came off, and Aziraphale began unwrapping his foot. “I…I may have been…harsh. Defensive. But I’m just…trying to be cautious. You’re very good at what you do.”

“You think I’m g-good?” Odd, he couldn’t actually feel the grin on his face, but he could hear it in his voice.

“Hmmm, no. Obviously not. Demon and all that. But you are very clever.” He stretched Crowley’s feet out towards the fire, stopping them just shy of the ring of stones. The flames, Crowley noticed, didn’t feel very hot. “There. Let those warm for a moment.”

“You…” Crowley shook his head. Wished he could focus. “C-called me w-w-worthless. Ffffailure.”

“I most certainly did not!” He rested his hands on Crowley’s arms again, but they still wouldn’t relax. “I never said anything of the kind. Why would you even think such a thing?”

“Fine. You th-thought it.” Was he shivering again? Or were his lungs just seizing up?

“No. I didn’t. Truly, Crowley, I have never thought that of you.” He moved behind Crowley, crouching down, wrapping fingers around his narrow waist, tugging him slowly back. Away from the fire. “I have the utmost respect for what you do, even if I disagree with all of it, both your methods and your goals. I cannot deny that you are effective, that you get results even when you hardly do any work at all. I do not think you’re a failure. Or worthless. Nothing could be farther from the truth.”

Crowley stared ahead at the fire, which kept flaring up, brighter, redder. Tried to wriggle his toes. One of them stirred a little.

“How is that? Too hot?”

“Nah.” The shivers seemed to have faded, leaving him just tense. Hard to breathe. And move. “Not hot’a’tall. Some’n wrong wi’ your fire.”

Before he knew what was happening, Aziraphale’s arms wrapped fully around Crowley, and pulled the demon back into his lap. He gasped out a protest, even as soft arms crossed over Crowley’s and large hands rubbed at his biceps.

“Just what I was afraid of,” Aziraphale murmured, voice close to his ear. “You’re very, very cold. So cold you don’t realize it.”

“Aziraphale—! I don’t need you to…to…”

“Come, my dear fellow. You know you do. You wouldn’t have come to me otherwise.”

Long, slow movements of Aziraphale’s hands up and down his arms. He could feel the heat of them, of the chest pressed into his back. Better than fire. “M-m-maybe I’m t-tempting you.”

“No.” His grip slid once more to Crowley’s wrists and with a little pressure his hands popped free of his armpits, feeling damp and oddly distant. Aziraphale took one, then the other, giving them a few slow rubs each. “No, I know when someone is…truly in pain. You can’t fake that.” He hooked his chin over Crowley’s shoulder, bringing his fingers closer to blow on them, one hand, then the other. “And as you well know, I won’t turn away anyone in pain.”

“Do I know that?” He was feeling strangely tired. Well. Not strange, all that walking all morning, but it wasn’t the normal exhaustion. It tugged from somewhere deeper.

“Why else would you come here, even though you were angry at me?”

“N-n-nowhere else to g-go.” He leaned back a little, soaking in the warmth. “’Sides. M’not angry. C-can’t stay m-mad’t’you.” The movement of Aziraphale’s hands against Crowley’s slowed, briefly. “Y’r mad’t’me.”

“Am I?”

“Called m-me sssssnake.”

“I…But I always call you…serpent. Foul fiend. All sorts of things.”

“S’different.” He didn’t know how to explain it. How serpent was clever, chaotic Crowley, slithering around, outsmarting his opponents; but snake was stupid, useless Crawly, begging for his life, cowering in fear, hiding from every failure. Aziraphale couldn’t understand. He didn’t have two selves – a true one he tried to project, a wrong one that everyone saw anyway.

But even still. It hurt.

“I see.” One of Aziraphale’s hands dropped to rest against his stomach. “But you aren’t angry? That I sent you away like that?”

“Naaaah. Yer’n’angel. Gotta ssssay th-th-things like that.” Aziraphale still held one hand, thumb rubbing circles on his palm. Crowley wiggled the fingers of the other, and smiled to see them move. “Just…wish you’d trust me.”

“Why?”

“Cuz I trust you.” He tried to squeeze Aziraphale’s hand, but his fingers still moved stiffly, like twigs on a frost-covered tree. “I like you.”

Now both of Aziraphale’s hands were at his waist, pressing him back. It was nice. “Do you mean that, Crowley? Do you trust me?”

“Course.” Crowley turned his head on Aziraphale’s shoulder and found the angel’s face alarmingly close. His eyes were right there. His lips. Right there. “N-nerrer trusted anyone b’fore. N-not a lotta trust in Hell. Erryone’ll b-b-betray you.” He smiled, or at least he thought about smiling. No telling what expression his face wore. “You, too. You’ll b-betray me. S’fine. Don’ mind. J-j-just hope I see it comin.”

“Crowley…”

They were right there. Crowley thought of leaning forward just a little. See if that heat was in Aziraphale’s lips, too. Drink it in. Warm him from the inside.

“But even so. Yeah. I trust you.”

Aziraphale took a deep, shuddering breath. “Good.” His hands grabbed at Crowley’s belt and began to unbuckle it, loosening the leather jerkin. “You need to take your clothes off. Now.”

“Oh. Oh.” He dropped a hand to pat Azirphale’s…something…missed entirely, anyway, and landed in the dirt. “Angel’s g-gonna tempt me.”

“Stop that, you ridiculous…” He huffed out his annoyance. “Crowley, your clothing is soaked through and it’s making you colder. Let me help you out of it and into the bed.”

“You g-gonna j-j-join me?” He’d only said it to make Aziraphale uncomfortable, indignant. He really liked those little huffs. Instead, he was only met with silence. “Aziraphale?”

“Crowley…you’re always a little cold. Barely produce enough heat even when you aren’t…” He’d unwrapped the soaking leather, and one hand clutched at the hem of Crowley’s tunic. “No, I won’t. Not if it will make you uncomfortable. You can keep your clothes on, too, if you prefer. There are other ways to warm you up.”

“Oh.” He wished he could see Aziraphale’s face. “D-don’t mind. Ssssaid I trust you. Meant it.”

“You…ah…”

“Gonna haf’ta c-c-carry me tho. M’feet’re…” He tried wriggling his toes again, succeeded in flexing his whole foot together. “Do what you gotta. Trust you.”

He hadn’t realized how awful the tunic felt, clinging to his ribs and back, until Aziraphale peeled it off over his head, ran his hands quickly over damp skin. The rest followed soon after, and Crowley felt…not warmer. Lighter. As if some burden had been removed.

Aziraphale slipped on arm under his knees, the other around Crowley’s back, and lifted him easily, carrying him across the little hut to lay him on the bleached-white linens of the bed.

“S’nice,” Crowley murmured, as Aziraphale found more blankets to pile on him. Miracled up? Possibly. Lucky bastard.

“Oh. Ah. Glad it’s comfortable. Don’t really use it myself. Only have it because visitors expect it. Like the chamber pot.” He gave the blankets one more tug, then brushed his fingers across Crowley’s hair. “Is this better?”

“Mmmmh. Sleep?”

“One moment.” A rustle of fabric, and then the bed shifted and another body slid in beside him, tugging him against the soft, warm chest. “Is this better?”

“N-now’m warm.” He ran his fingers across Aziraphale’s back, feeling the way his skin dipped under the pressure, as if Crowley could truly sink into him. “Y-y-you’re n-nice.”

Aziraphale clicked his tongue, but his hand didn’t stop rubbing a slow circle across Crowley’s back. “That really is enough of that.”

“No. I m-mean you’re n-nice.” If he wiggled a little, he could rest his head on Aziraphale’s arm. Hmmm, that was good. “Y-you d-didn’t need t-to help me. M’a demon.”

“I told you. I will help anyone. Even you.” A hesitation, and Crowley could swear he felt something brush across his forehead. Maybe his hair. Everything still tingled a little. “Especially you,” Aziraphale said, voice even softer.

“Won’ help me wi’my work,” Crowley grumbled.

“That’s…I can’t…it’s different.” Another hesitation, and now he could feel Aziraphale’s other hand, still running evenly up and down his bicep. “What…did you want me to help you with? I…suppose I…wasn’t really listening.”

“Nrf.” Oh, he could feel himself shivering now, in a distant sort of way. “J-J-Jus’wanna know f’you’re…gonna…cancel out m’next j-job. S’along way t’walk for n-n-nothing.”

“And if I am?”

“I sssstay’n London. Ssssay you th-thwarted me. Sss’all g-good.”

Crowley could hear the rhythm of Aziraphale’s breaths, of his heartbeat, of the hands on his skin. It was all nearly enough to lull him to sleep, even without that glorious heat that surrounded him, reflected back from the blankets. It was the closest he’d ever come, in this body, to that luxurious feeling of basking, gathering the sunlight on his scales.

“You know, Crowley…perhaps we should talk. When you’re better.” His forehead pressed against Crowley’s, and he continued in a quiet voice. “I’m sorry I threw you out. I’m sorry I called you a snake.”

“Ssssss.” They weren’t supposed to say those words. “Can’t ssssay m’sorry for wha’I said,” Crowley muttered. “Umm. Cuz. Fffforgot what it was.” He remembered being hurt. Angry. But the words themselves escaped him. “I was jus’…jus’…”

“I understand.” Another of those funny brushes by his hairline. “Sleep now. I have you.”

--

Aziraphale’s lips still tingled where they’d brushed Crowley’s forehead.

For a moment, back by the fire, Crowley had been too cold. Too still. Aziraphale had come very close to losing him, and that frightened him more than anything. He couldn’t say way. It was just discorporation, and yet…

I trust you.

One last brush of lips, so gentle it could hardly be called contact. Even still, Crowley sighed in his sleep, pulled a little closer. He was shivering now. That was a good sign.

“I think I’ll trust you, too,” Aziraphale whispered. “I’ve…never trusted anyone before, either. We’ll have to learn together.”

[aries-rising-on-an-aquarius-tide]

Helter Swelter

Rating: MA, NSFW

Spoilers: None

Trigger/content warnings: alcohol, semi-public sex, implied voyeurism

This is for the IN THE POOL square of @thatesqcrush 's Sexy Summer Bingo, and was requested!

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

"This is a fucking disaster," Olivia sighed, throwing her bag onto the bed in frustration.

Amanda rammed the heel of her hand against the sputtering A/C unit in the window and frowned. "I don't know why you ever expect anything more from Daddy Dodds than a fuckup," she muttered.

Liv ran a hand over the nape of her neck under her hair, finding it moist with sweat, and surveyed their room. Dodds had told her that he had booked them at a high-class hotel for the Extended Learning conference that weekend. A five-star, full-service, swanky joint, he had sworn.

Yet, here they were - sweltering during the peak of a heatwave, in a barely passable room with one double bed and a busted A/C unit. Even better, they weren't even in the right city for the conference - a fact discovered when they called Dodds upon landing to tell him that nobody had heard of the hotel he named.

Fuckup was putting it mildly.

"I'll go talk to someone at the check-in desk and see if they can do anything about the air conditioning," Olivia announced.

"I'm going to take a cool shower in the meantime," Rollins said, palming sweat from her forehead.

The young man at the front desk looked at Liv as though he'd fallen asleep and she had walked out of one of his fantasies into the lobby. Handyman? Not on weekends, it turned out.

"The pool's open 'round the clock though," he shrugged. He finished up by giving her some info on what was available to order from the kitchen, then went back to the glare of his cell phone screen.

When Olivia got back to the room, Amanda was already out of the shower and had changed into light cotton shorts and a sports bra. Liv shrugged apologetically and tossed the info about food to her on the bed.

"No-go on the A/C. There's a pool though." She stopped at the bed long enough to grab her bag. "My turn in the shower, I guess."

Amanda nodded disinterestedly, perusing the menus as the brunette disappeared into the small bathroom.

.

.

The clock in the room was ticking past 1:30am. On the coffee table in front of the room's armchairs was a plate of mostly-eaten chicken nachos, and what was left of a six-pack of beer, still sweating condensation.

On the bed, the SVU detectives were also sweating, awake atop the bedclothes. Olivia was on her back, eyes to the ceiling, Rollins was on her side. They breathed the overwarm air and tried not to move too much, but neither could sleep. Amanda's tossing and turning was more irritating with every creak of the narrow mattress.

Tick -

Creak

Tock.

Always followed by the dying, strangled hum of the useless A/C.

This is it, this is how I'm going to lose my mind, Olivia decided.

Tick. Tock. Tick -

Creak.

"Amanda!" Liv snapped, "Can't you stay still for five minutes?!"

"I"m sorry!" the blonde whined, "I can't fucking sleep!"

Liv rolled her eyes. "I thought you grew up in the South? You must've had nights hotter than this."

"We slept out on the porch in the Summer."

"Be my guest and go sleep in the parking lot if you'll be more comfortable."

Amanda gave a surprised huff that was partway between amusement and annoyance. She leaned up on her elbows, shot Olivia a look, then rolled to her feet. "I'm going for a swim," she announced.

Liv's head turned on the pillow. "Amanda - it's nearly two AM."

"It's still almost 97 degrees! I can hardly breathe, I'm so hot," the blonde groaned. "Plus, I bought an expensive new bikini to wear at the hotel Dodds promised, and it's a damn crime for it to go to waste."

She crossed to her suitcase and unzipped it. "'Sides, you don't have to come. Stay here and melt, if you'll be more comfortable," she mocked.

Ten or so minutes later, both women slipped into the elevator, dressed in thin complimentary hotel robes, bikinis and sandals. In their robe pockets they had tucked cans of the warming beer from their earlier order.

On the main floor, they followed the signs to the door that lead to the pool and pushed outside into the thick, hot night air. The pool was somehow cleaner than their room, and they had it all to themselves. It rippled and beckoned under the starlight and the few florescent lamps that lit the tiled area around it.

Amanda stopped alongside a lounge chair and emptied her pockets of beer before she slipped off the robe. "What do you think?" she asked Liv, hands on hips.

Olivia swallowed dryly, glancing quickly at the bikini and then away. "Very nice," she murmured, busying herself with her own robe and cans. As Amanda walked away toward the pool's edge, Liv took another, more surreptitious look at the bathing suit. It was a dark green color, highlighted with square, gold rivets along the straps, the band under the bust, and along two split straps at the front of the bottom, which tied at each hip.

She popped open a beer and took a long pull from the can. I've seen underwear with more material than that entire suit, she mused. Her own suit looked conservative by comparison: a sporty black two-piece with boyshort bottoms ruched at the sides, and a crocheted, mesh high-neck top that covered her cleavage.

Amanda let out a loud, satisfied groan that startled Olivia out of her bikini thoughts, nearly dropping the drink in her hand.

"Oh my God that feels so good!" she cried. Blood rushed into Liv's face and groin simultaneously. "Hurry up and get in - and bring me a beer!" Rollins urged excitedly.

Olivia shed the last barrier between her bikini and Amanda's gaze, and grabbed two cans of beer. She leaned down to hand one to the blonde at the pool's edge.

"Thank you," Amanda said, and smiled genuinely for the first time since their plane touched down. It raised a relaxed twinkle to her blue eyes, and Liv stared until she caught herself.

She let herself down carefully on the tile and then scooted to the pool's edge, stretching her long legs into the water. Amanda was, of course, right - the water felt fantastic against the cloying heat - and Liv sighed with relief, letting her head fall back as her eyes closed.

The Southern blonde smirked and drank her beer, feeling more herself now that she wasn't sticky and uncomfortable. Setting her drink down, she plunged under the water and wet the rest of her body, kicking hard. When she split the surface, she was a few feet away from Olivia, who was still kicking her legs, watching.

"You didn't come all the way down to just sit on the sidelines, did ya?" Amanda teased.

"What, you wanna play Marco Polo?" the brunette tossed back, smiling as she raised her can to her lips.

"Don't make me drag you in here, City Girl!"

Liv set aside her drink and rolled her eyes, pushing her weight up and over the side with both hands against the concrete tile. The soothingly cool water ribboned over her warm skin, sending goosebumps racing in every direction.

"Better?" she grinned.

Amanda put a finger to her lips thoughtfully. "Mostly . . . " she drawled, "just - " Then she spread both arms wide and used them to scoop and splash water at Olivia, laughing.

Liv opened her eyes as the water settled, letting drops drip from her jawline and hair. "I'll make you regret that, Dixieland," she said calmly.

Rollins laughed and tipped backward into the water, kicking her feet and floating along the surface. Liv ducked under the water to finish cooling off, then swam back to the side for another drink. The dehydration from the heat was making the beer go to her head more than usual; she felt good, and she was enjoying Amanda's flirting.

"You'll have'ta find me, first!" Rollins giggled from behind Olivia.

Rolling her eyes, Liv swallowed what was in her mouth and replied, "Right, because the pool is soo - " she turned around to face the water, finding herself alone, " - big," she faltered. Scanning the pool she didn't see ripples or bubbles - no sign of the blonde mermaid.

Olivia shivered, partly from her lowering body temperature, and partly from the eerie silence of standing there in the water alone.

"Enough, Amanda," she called. "you're not funny." When there was still no response or sound, the brunette turned defiantly back to her beer. The quiet, early morning dark wasn't so peaceful, suddenly.

With absolutely no hint of movement or sound of warning, Amanda tunneled up out of the water behind Liv, the noise breaking the surface like rolling thunder as splashes rained down. Liv let out a gasping yelp as she startled, then Amanda's arms locked around her middle from behind.

"Marco Polo!" she shrieked in glee as she pulled Olivia underwater against her.

Sputtering, they broke the surface again together after just a beat, Amanda still holding tight. "Jesus, Rollins!" Liv coughed out, "You gave me a heart attack!"

They stilled as Liv caught her breath, heart pounding from being caught unawares. Slowly, the feeling of Amanda's wet body wrapped around her from behind began to register with her senses: their legs, sliding against each other, cool skin on skin, the press of hard nipples against her back where Amanda's wet suit pressed. It sparked another shiver, but this one went to Liv's center.

"I don't think that's how Marco Polo is played," Olivia murmured softly.

"Well, we didn't play it that much in Georgia," Amanda chuckled, her warm breath tickling the back of Liv's neck. Then, just as suddenly, she let her go.

Liv pushed away slightly, back to the side and the drink that had been interrupted. But her mind was buzzing about more than beer now, wondering if Amanda's flirting was purposeful, natural or beer-induced. She kept her eyes on the stone tile as the blonde floated over and resumed her own drink. Their bodies were unnervingly close. Liv's breathing shallowed as she bored a hole in the spot she focused on.

Then, Amanda's foot, sliding against Olivia's ankle. Too pointed to be an accident. Higher - the leg was slipping against calf. Underwater footsies, Liv mused, a little drunkenly. Still, she refused to turn her head, not wanting to break the tranquility.

Rollins drained the can she was holding, then set it poolside before shifting her body so that she was directly behind Liv again. Cool, wet lips pressed against the nape of Olivia's neck, and she drew in a ragged breath, held it.

The kiss warmed and went on, lips dragging over the water drops on the sensitive skin there until finally her tongue joined in. Liv's eyes closed, relaxing into the touch as she exhaled. Next there were fingers at the strings where her bikini top was tied, tugging slowly, gently, giving plenty of opportunity for the brunette to call the stops.

All of it felt too good, however, for stopping to enter Olivia's mind. The water, the touch, the buzz from the beer - it all beat an Extended Learning conference to hell and back.

Amanda pulled the ties away slowly, one side at a time, kissing and nibbling warmly over Liv's shoulders, while her legs continued to playfully rub and slip around and between Liv's underwater.

Liv felt a hand return to her middle, pressing firmly, while the other arm crossed her upper chest. Amanda tipped Liv's head to the side with wet fingers to the jawline, then licked the point of her tongue up the curve and pulled an earlobe into her mouth.

A moan escaped Olivia as she wriggled against the blonde's hold, turning in her arms. "You taste like salt and flowers," Rollins smirked, her voice thick and deep. It was all she got out before the brunette framed her face with dripping hands and kissed her mouth.

Her tongue was a shock of heat in comparison to her hands, and Amanda gave back everything she received, their kisses as deep and wet as the pool itself. The turning in her embrace had taken care of moving Liv's top out of the way, and Amanda could feel the brush of wet breasts as the brunette made out with her madly.

She fought to get her hands between their bodies, then the smooth weight of those same breasts filled her palms. The sensation sent a ripple of desire throbbing through her swollen center. Amanda's thumbs grazed over the hard peaks and it finally broke their kiss, Liv's head lolling back.

"Fuck," she hissed, spurring the blonde on to rub harder. When she couldn't take it any more, she pushed her hands under Amanda's arms and grasped the bottom of her bikini top, yanking it over her head.

Olivia ducked low, her mouth just as hungry for this as it had been for Amanda's tongue. One cold, dripping nipple, then the other rolled under the brunette's tongue and pebbled under the scrape of her teeth until Amanda was panting, fingers slipping in their search for purchase on Liv's shoulders.

Kicking her feet, she steered them back to the pool's side until she could leverage her weight to regain dominance. Amanda pushed her knee in between Liv's thighs and made contact with the place she wanted to touch most. Immediately, Olivia's head dipped to the blonde's shoulder, her breathing quickening. She turned so that her lips were just under her ear and breathed, "I want you to make me come."

Without a breath of hesitation, Amanda buoyed Liv's weight up with her hands spread on her outer thighs, and deposited the dark haired woman on the pool's edge. Both hands tugged on the bottoms Liv still had on, until they rolled down and were tossed to the tile with a wet splat.

Amanda pulled Olivia's ass flush to the edge and wrapped her arms around her tan thighs, then lowered her tongue to the dewy pink valley between. Her clit was swollen and aching, twitching as Amanda nosed over it and sucked it gently.

Impatient, Liv bucked her pelvis into every touch of Rollins' sweet mouth. "I'm so fucking wet, Amanda, please . . . "

"Patience is a virtue," Amanda grinned. "Guess they don't teach that in the city," she teased, running her tongue down and inside Olivia's dripping entrance with a moan. She brought two fingers into the mix, slipping then inside carefully, then rubbing firmly against the G-spot.

The normally restrained SVU detective was sprawled on the pool tile, propped on her arms with her head dropped back and her legs over the Southern blonde's shoulders. Mouth open, thighs quivering, Olivia could hear the roar of her blood rushing and the sound of Amanda's talented fingers fucking her blind.

"Oh God, Amanda . . . don't stop, please . . . don't - yes, fuck me fuck me . . . " she babbled, unsure if she was even coherent.

Rollins couldn't stop grinning as she sucked and fucked the trembling brunette with fervor.

"I'm going to - oh fuck, oh oh Amanda! Ungh I'm going to come!"

"Damn right you are," the blonde mumbled as she pulled her fingers out and replaced them with her tongue again. Olivia squeezed her thighs and rode her orgasm out on the thrust of Amanda's tongue, dripping hot juices.

Pleased with herself, she released her grip on Liv's thighs and cupped pool water in both her hands, dousing her face and hair to cool down. "God, you're fucking incredible," she grinned.

Liv let out a laugh. "You did all the work! Get up here, Amanda."

She did as told and joined her on the cool cement tile. Olivia liberated her from her bikini bottom, then straddled over her on all fours. Delighted to once again be presented with Liv's slick, pink pussy above her face, Amanda wasted no time in sliding her fingers back inside. She was distracted this time, however, by the long, gentle brush of Liv's own fingers, spreading her own pussy open.

"Fuck, look how wet you are," Liv praised, gathering the slickness on her fingertips and swirling them around the blonde's hard clit.

"Jesus!" Amanda cried, her hips quaking at the touch as she remembered to pick up her thrusts into Liv.

A greedy race to the finish line started as both women worked to make the other come first with fingers and tongues as the pool threw reflections of light and the stars winked down on them.

.

.

When they returned to their room, the morning was rushing toward dawn. Olivia opened the door and was startled to hear the hum of the now completely functional A/C unit.

"I'll be goddamned," Amanda drawled from over her shoulder.

Liv crossed to the unit and put her hands in front of it to make sure the air was cool. As she did so, Amanda found a new six-pack of cold beer on the coffee table. A post-it was stuck to the table beside the cans.

"Fixed your A/C, beer's on the house," Amanda read aloud to Liv, followed by, "But please feel free to enjoy another night swim anytime." She looked at Liv quizzically.

The front desk kid. Liv rolled her eyes and chuckled. "Oh, God."

"Good thing we ended up in the wrong place, after all," Amanda giggled, and pulled open another beer. "Cheers!"

END

[seanfalco]

New York State of Mind: Part IV | Misfits Timeline Anomaly’verse

an oc x oc collaboration between @seanfalco & @super-unpredictable98

Word Count: 5k Warnings: Language, Smut (rough sex, public sex), Recreational Drug Use Summary: Win’s Nathan has finally figured out Lydia’s hidden kink and gets to reap the benefits while Win and Lyddie’s Nathan have some fun of their own and decide to help Lydia audition for a Broadway musical. a/n: The fourth and final installment of the New York City arc, but don’t worry, there’s so much more yet to come.

[ masterlist ] [ New York State of Mind: Part III ]

"I want you!"  

Lydia pressed Win's Nathan against the wall as soon as they walked into the room, kissing his neck and tugging at his shirt aggressively.  "Do you guys want us to move somewhere else so you get the room?" she asked, glancing over at Win and her own Nathan. 

"Nope," he chuckled, knowing better than to try to contain Lydia's hunger when she got a taste of blood.  "I wanna have a smoke anyway..." he glanced down at Win, a joint magically appearing between his fingers.  "Wanna join me, Winnie?"

“You read my mind,” Win mused, glancing down at the blunt in his hand before back up at him, wetting her lips. 

“Oh, good,” Win’s Nathan groaned, sliding his hands down Lyddie’s backside to squeeze her ass possessively.  “Oh, I want you too Lollipop,” he exclaimed, directing the smuggest grin at the others.

Lyddie's Nathan shot his fiancé a wink before closing the door.  He thought about going to the pool again, but Win seemed like a girl who liked surprises.  "Let's go, baby," he exclaimed, wrapping his arm around her waist on the way to the elevator.

"God, you're so sexy!" Lydia crawled to the bed, ripping off her shirt and skirt as fast as she possibly could. "Come here, bet you won't feel lonely anymore..."

“You’re th’sexy one, babe,” Win’s Nathan exclaimed, ripping his shirt over his head as he hurried toward the bed. “God, I want yeh so bad.  Been thinkin’ bout last night all day.”

“Me too, Natty, it's been torture waiting to get my hands on you!"  Lydia pulled him closer, their lips crashing together as she unzipped his jeans, humming with satisfaction.  "You don't even know what you do to me..."

“Oh, but I do,” he groaned, between heated kisses, his jeans dropping to the floor and his hands roaming Lydia’s body, groping and pinching, pulling her closer.

"You do...?" she froze for a second, glancing over at the ginger ale on the nightstand before shaking her head slightly, pushing the idea away from her mind and going back to snogging.

“O-oh, yeah,” Win’s Nathan exclaimed, dragging his lips down her neck, biting at her as his fingers teased her folds, feeling how wet she was.  “You drive me just as crazy baby,” he murmured, guiding her hand to his erection.  “See how rock hard I am?  You did that.”

Lydia gasped as her hand found his cock.  His words, his touch, his breathing, his smell... everything was driving her mad that night.  "Oh, please use me, use me the way you want, make me yours," she whined, feeling her arousal coating the inside of her thighs.

Nathan's brows rose at her words and his mouth suddenly went dry.  "Holy shit," he breathed.  The lust drenched look on her face was the sexiest thing he'd ever seen and his cock gave a twitch in her hand.  "Wanna do it doggy style?" he asked, pinching her nipple, rolling it between his fingers.

"Oh, it's been so long... Yes, please, Natty!"  Lydia's chest heaved in anticipation as she jumped to her knees and turned around slowly, pressing her back to Win's Nathan's chest, taking her hair out of the way to give him access to her neck.  "Make me," she purred.

"Oh Lyddie, fuck you're hot," he groaned, pressing his face against her shoulder.

Lydia moaned as she felt Win's Nathan's hand on her throat, melting in his arms when his other hand found her sex.  "Go ahead, Nats, squeeze," she begged, grinding against his election. It's not like choking her would make a huge difference with her power, but she wanted it anyway. "Show me what a filthy girl I am, give me the punishment I deserve..."

"Oh, you're such a bad little girl, Lyddie," Win's Nathan growled in her ear, squeezing her throat til he felt her arch in his embrace, his fingers between her legs moving in a circular motion, gliding over her easily with how wet she was.  "Oh fuck, I'm gunna love punishin' you.  With my cock.  I'm gunna fuck yeh til y’can't walk right tomorrow, love."

Lydia shivered from Nathan's voice next to her ear.  "Give me a lesson, Natty, teach me to be a good girl for you," she managed to say, her voice strained as she fought not to come from the stimulation of his fingers.  "I need you inside of me, please..." she stopped herself before saying 'sir', scared to freak him out.

"Oh, I'll teach yeh a thing or two, y'little minx," Nathan exclaimed, slipping his hand from her neck to her shoulder, forcing her down on all fours before him.  "Oh, you're so fuckin' wet, so needy baby.  I wonder why..." he mused with a smirk as he gripped his cock, teasing her folds as his hand on her shoulder slid down her back to her ass, spreading his palm over the curve of it before pulling back to leave a sharp slap.

With a yelp, Lydia fell on her hands, the knowledge that Win's Nathan could do anything he wanted to her was exciting.  She moaned helplessly as the pain from the slap turned into pleasure.  "You did this to me, you left me dripping..." she whimpered, still holding back her orgasm as he teased her with his cock.  "More," she begged.

“More, huh?" Nathan mused, spanking her again, leaving a red welt across her ass as he pressed into her, gripping her hip with his other hand to stabilize himself as he thrust completely into her.  "Like that?"

"Yes!" Lydia shuddered, crying with pleasure.  "Oh fuck, Natty, you're so good to me, you make me feel so good... I wanna come for you," she turned her neck to look at him, the moments from earlier at the pub playing on repeat in her head.

Nathan grinned at the desperate look on Lydia's face.  "Oh, you'll come alright, several times, if I have my way," he exclaimed, hoping he'd be able to hold out that long.  Tangling his hand in her colourful hair, he yanked back, forcing her head up as he began to thrust into her, slamming into her with abandon.

No one had ever pulled Lyddie's hair like that, it just never came up, but it felt so good... One more thing to add to her list.  With Win's Nathan's permission, Lydia came, biting her lip to avoid screaming.  "Play with my piercings, pinch me, Natty," she asked, sweat dripping down her neck, but she didn't feel tired.

 "Such a kinky thing," Win's Nathan groaned, biting his lip as he had to slow, needing to cool it or he was gunna come as well.  Leaning over Lydia, he braced himself with one hand while pinching her nipple with the other, twisting at her piercing roughly as he continued to pound into her.  "Ohhh, you feel so good.  So good for me."

"All for you, just for you," Lydia murmured, feeling the tingling excitement starting to build in her lower stomach once again.  "I love you," she blurted out, feeling confused, her mind in a haze with feelings and sensations.

Nathan nearly stopped in surprise at her exclamation, managing to only slow for a moment before bucking into her again.  "I love yeh too, Lollipop," he grunted.  "Fuck.  So much," he murmured, kissing her back.

“I'm getting close again, baby," Lydia looked back at him with a pleased smile.  "I might love you, but I still want you to ruin me," she moaned, moving back into his thrusts to get him to go deeper.

"Can do sweetheart," Nathan exclaimed, picking up the pace again, feeling his climax hovering, not sure how far he could last like this.

Lydia knew Nathan was probably struggling to keep going and she wanted him to feel good, especially after being so good to her... "I want you to come too, Natty, fill me up, baby."

“Oh yeah, I’ll fill yeh up sweetheart!”  As soon as the words were out of his mouth he couldn’t hold back any longer, coming inside her with a broken cry, thrusting roughly several more times as he emptied himself deep inside her, hearing her moans as well.

Lydia fell on her back, still shaking from how intense that last orgasm was.  She was spent, but never felt so great in her life.  "Oh my God, Natty, you've outdone yourself... can you give me that?" she pointed at the bottle on the nightstand.  "I'm so thristy, Jesus..."

Though his own muscles felt like water, Win’s Nathan crawled over to the table to grab the drink for Lydia.  “You were wonderful, you were so fucking amazing Lyddie.  I love you so much,” he murmured as he collapsed next to her.

"Thank you," Lydia sipped from the bottle slowly as her heart calmed down in her chest.  "I love you too, Nats, you were perfect, I love it when you're rough to me..." she handed him the bottle back, laying on his chest.

Win’s Nathan pulled Lydia closer, wrapping his arms around her gently, soothingly running his hands up and down her back.  “I like that y’like it rough.  Win doesn’t like it that rough... it’s nice t’be able to share that with you,” he admitted.

"Yeah, it's our little secret," Lydia narrowed her eyes playfully before lifting her head to kiss him.  "Hey, speaking of secrets, do you think you can keep a... " her voice disappeared as she realized what she was about to do.  "I'm so tired, will you hold me as I fall asleep?"

“Secret?  I can keep a secret...” Win’s Nathan murmured, but he was having trouble keeping his eyes open, so when she changed her mind, draping herself over him he didn’t mind, simply holding her close as she fell asleep.  “I think I might already know your secret, darlin,” he murmured when he was sure she was out.  “And I think it’s adorable.”

Lydia heard Nathan saying something as she fell asleep, but she wasn't sure what, too exhausted to even open her eyes.  The last thing that crossed her mind was how much she loved him, how much she loved her own Nathan, and Win, she doesn't even know how she used to breathe without them.

——

“Where are you taking me tonight, Nathan?” Win asked, wrapping her arm around Nathan’s back, excitement coursing through her.

"We're goin' to the sauna, baby."  He smiled mischievously.  "I could use some time t'relax... since it's closed there won't be anyone t'bother us."

“Ooo, sauna,” Win mused, “I’ve never been in one, actually,” she said, thinking about it for a moment.  “Looks like another first I get to spend with you.” 

"Me neither, I s'pose we'll figure it out together, love," Lyddie's Nathan mused, kissing the top of her head just as the elevator stopped and they stepped outside.  "I love t'shag high, you've done that, right?"

“Oh, yeah,” Win exclaimed, leaning into Lyddie’s Nathan’s side, tilting her chin up to look at him.  “It’s been a while, though.  Have you really been thinkin’ bout this all day?” she asked with a laugh, feeling heat pool between her legs at the thought. 

"Of course, it's kinda hard not to after what we've done, it was a real struggle not t'shag you earlier.  I was hopin' t'get you for myself tonight..." Nathan led the way, unlocking the door to the sauna with a snap of his fingers. 

Win's lips twisted in amusement as she thought about them shagging in that little car, trying not to be caught.  That, plus the fact he'd been thinking about her all day only served to turn her on more. 

"Really?" she asked, biting her lip.  "Mmm, me too, actually," she admitted, following him into the dark room.  

"Y'have?" Lyddie's Nathan shed his shirt and fumbled with the buttons on the wall for a bit. "Then you must be in desperate need for some attention, sweetie..." he pulled a lighter from his pocket to light up the joint between his lips.

Win watched as he inhaled, holding the smoke in his lungs for a long moment before exhaling slowly, the smoke rolling over her and she grinned, taking the blunt from him to bring to her own lips, inhaling deeply, letting the calming effect of the marijuana spread through her before blowing the smoke away, coughing slightly.

"Oh that's nice," she murmured, offering the blunt back to Lyddie's Nathan.  As soon as she turned around Nathan let his hands slip around her, seeking her breasts to fondle roughly as he kissed down her exposed neck, sucking and biting, leaving little love marks as he went before moving his hands, one going up to gently circle her throat while the other buried between her legs.

"Y'know, I've read somewhere that y'get high faster when your tits are out, we should try it..." Lyddie's Nathan snaked his hand under Win's shirt while taking another drag.  "I'm so worked up, Winnie, I need it!  And I know ya need it too," he passed the joint to her once again, idly rolling her nipples between his fingers while kissing the marks he left on her neck. 

"Oh y'heard that, did ya?" Win asked with a smirk, her breath catching as he played with her tits, and she melted against him as he kissed her.  "D'you like knowing that you made those?" she breathed as she pulled back to quickly shed her shirt, letting it fall to the ground at their feet. 

"Yeah, I love knowin' that it was me... And you're mine," Nathan sighed, watching hypnotized as Win undressed under the light fog of the sauna.  He wet his lips before leaning in to kiss her, his head completely empty except for the feeling of her lips on his.  "Please, baby" he whispered, giving her what she wanted.

"God, I like hearing you beg like that Natty," she groaned, unbuttoning his jeans.  "I need you too,” she murmured, kissing him back, her hands running down his bare chest.  "Please what?" she purred, her hands pausing near his navel, before her fingers teasingly danced over his hip bones, tracing the little line of stars there.

"Please... ma'am?  Please.... mistress?  Please... let me shag your brains out?" Nathan mumbled, not used to being the one begging, his eyes glued to Win's hand on his hip.  "I want you, really bad." 

Win laughed, plucking the blunt from Lyddie's Nathan's fingers to take one more draw.  "Mistress, huh, never been called that before," she mused, leaning in to press a kiss to his chest before moving lower, til she was on her knees before him. Looking up she wet her lips.  "Y'know I've been thinking about this for a while now," she said, grasping his cock with one hand while the other lingered at his hip.  "I've never got to suck you off yet," she murmured, laving her tongue along his length before circling his head and taking him into her mouth. "

"Jesus," Lyddie's Nathan clenched his eyes shut as Win took him in her mouth.  "Yeah, I've been thinkin' about it too, but I didn't know if you'd be into it... God I'm glad y'are, this feels so good," his hand traveled to the back of her head, but without pushing, Lyddie liked when he pushed, but he wasn't sure Win would appreciate it.  "Fuck, Winnie baby, I'll call ya anythin' if you keep doin' that..."

Win chuckled as she bobbed her head, pulling back to speak. "I don't know if you've noticed babe, but oral is kinda my thing," she murmured with a smirk, teasingly licking at him as she held his gaze before wrapping her lips around him once more, letting his tip hit the back of her throat as her other hand traveled down his hip to his balls, caressing them gently. 

"Yeah, you're quite good at it..." Lyddie's Nathan murmured, enjoying every last second of that, but not wanting to finish and leave Win hanging.  He still wanted to quench the thirst left by those kisses in the back of the car.  "Your mouth is just... Oh, I should beg more often if that's what I get after."

Win pulled Lyddie's Nathan's cock from her mouth with a soft pop as she stood, raising up on her toes to press a kiss to his lips.  "As much as I'd like to finish you with my mouth, where would that leave me?" she purred, wrapping her arms around his neck.  "I want you inside me, Natty.  Make me yours," she whispered, feeling sweat begin to coat her as the room filled with steam.

"Gladly..." Lyddie's Nathan pulled Win closer, kissing her urgently, greedily.  "I guess now it's my turn," he grinned as he quickly switched positions, staying on top of her.  He lowered his head to take her nipple between his lips, while teasing her entrance with the tip of his cock.  "And your turn to beg." 

"Ohh, aren't you smooth," Win gasped, "you'll have to do better than that to make me beg," she teased, trying to keep the whine from her voice. 

"Really?  Okay, I s'pose I could finish myself off," Lyddie's Nathan teased further.  "That's too bad though, I was really lookin' forward to fuckin' you so good you'd wake the entire hotel up, but if you don't wanna be a good girl..."

"Wait!" Win exclaimed suddenly, grasping at him, "I'll be good, please Nathan," she whined, wrapping her legs around him.

"That's better..." Lyddie's Nathan nodded, capturing her lips once again as he thrusted into her.  "See?  That's what y'get for bein' good, you like that, Winnie?" he groaned in between kisses. 

“Oh, yes,” Win exclaimed with a sigh, “I love you, Natty,” she whimpered, burying her face in his chest as he moved in her.

"I love you too, baby" Lyddie's Nathan moaned, kneading her breasts somewhat gently, wanting to savour the touch of her soft skin.  "I love you so much, my Winnie."

Win gasped as she came, pulling Lyddie’s Nathan closer, wrapping her arms around him tightly as he continued to thrust into her, riding her through her high and she cried out, their sweat slicked skin sliding and sticking together.

“Oh, Nathan— I’m yours!” she panted as he came as well, filling her. 

Lyddie's Nathan came as soon as he felt Win clenching around him, her moans only driving him crazier. " And I'm yours..." he panted, placing a loving kiss to her lips.  "How'd I do today?  Did I follow all your instructions?" 

Win grinned incredulously.  “You followed it to the letter didn’t you?  Oh my God, Nathan, I... I don’t know what to say.  That’s so sweet,” she murmured. “How are you so perfect?” 

"I wanted t'make a good impression, you're my girlfriend too..." he shrugged, holding Win tighter.  "You deserve it, baby, y'make me happy, y'make Lyddie happy... I love you." 

“I love you too,” Win repeated, feeling tears prick her eyes.  “It’s not often you get to fall in love with the same guy twice,” she murmured, stroking his face.  “You have his face, and his name, and his life, but... you’re not him.  You’re you and... you’re different and I don’t know where I’m going with this, but I love you just as much.  I wanna be with you and him and Lyddie forever,” she murmured.

If she hadn’t been high, she didn’t know if she would have admitted so much, but it felt right to say and she waited for Lyddie’s Nathan’s response. 

"Y'know, a while ago I told Lyds I couldn't imagine a future without her, and I still can't, I love that freaky little thing... But now I can't imagine a future without you, and I don't think she can either," Nathan didn't exactly know what he wanted to say with that, just that he wanted to be with them, this way, for the rest of his life…

Win hugged Lyddie’s Nathan fiercely, overcome with emotion for a moment.  “It’s getting really hot in here,” she murmured, not exactly wanting to move, but also starting to feel a little lightheaded.

"Yeah, sorry, but y'know, maybe it's just me, I do that..." he waved his hand and the sauna stopped.  "D'you wanna get back, baby?" he stroked her hair, still thinking about what she confessed.

Win giggled.  "You are pretty hot," she murmured, snuggling closer.  "I don't really wanna move, but..." she whined softly, pressing her face into the crook of his neck.

"Me neither, I just wanna stay like this... But how about Lyddie and your Nathan?  They're probably gonna get lonely in a bed with only two people," he laughed.

"You're right," Win agreed, smiling softly.  "I don't know if I could fall asleep with only one person in bed anymore," she admitted, sitting up.  "Ugh, I wish we didn't have to walk and you could just magic us back to the room," she joked, “though I know it doesn't work like that."

"I'm not that powerful, but I can do this..." Nathan magically dressed and dried them with a silly flourish of his hands. "Come on, baby, we have a lot t'do tomorrow, and I'll need your help if this plan's gonna work."

"What did you have in mind?" Win asked, perking up despite how exhausted she felt, slipping her arm around his waist as they headed back to the room, wanting to be as close to him as she could.

"I'm gonna get Lyds into Rock of Ages, she'd be perfect for it.  It does involve some strippin' on stage," Lyddie's Nathan rolled his eyes.  "But I s'pose we can live with that," he stumbled out of the elevator, taking Win with him.

"You s'pose, huh?" Win teased.  "I'm in.  I remember the look on her face when we brought it up.  I don't think she'd try for it otherwise, even though it's obvious she wants it."  Win stopped as they got to their door, turning to take Lyddie's Nathan's face between her hands.  "You're sweet," she said, rising up on her toes to press a peck to his lips.  "And I love you," she continued following that with another kiss.  "That's all, we can go in now," she laughed.

"And I love you, baby," he opened the door, still a little high with both the weed and the sex.  He found he likes to be called 'sweet', it didn't happen often, but I felt good.  "Look at these two," Nathan chuckled while undressing, Lyddie and his clone were completely out, holding each other.

“Like a couple of rabbits,” Win laughed, “though I suppose we aren’t any better,” she mumbled as she crawled under the sheets, pulling Lyddie’s Nathan’s arm around her.

"Yeah, we don't have much room t'talk," he wrapped his arms around Win, kissing her neck softly while one of his hands reached for Lyddie's.  "Good night, baby."

——

The next morning Win’s Nathan stirred as he felt a pair of lips brush against his forehead.  “Nathan, babe, wake up sweetheart,” Win’s soft voice in his ear said and he groaned, rolling toward her. 

“Winnie?  I missed you,” he whined and she laughed softly.

“I missed you too, but I need you to wake up.  There’s something we need to do.”

Lydia sighed, mumbling incoherently, before shifting in her sleep, not waking up. 

"I think bein' in a Broadway show will be great for her career," Lyddie's Nathan was on the phone with her manager.  "It doesn't have t'be an open run, just a few months, and rehearsals don't start until October anyway.  She can start on the new album as soon as we're back home as leave everythin' ready."

“What’s goin’ on?” Win’s Nathan asked as he sat up, looking around.

“Shhh, don’t wake Lyddie,” Win whispered, pulling him to his feet.

Lyddie's Nathan waved, signalling them to come closer and immediately putting one finger in front of his lips.  "Then it's a deal, I'll sign her up right now, fingers crossed, ey?  See ya, man." he hung up with a triumphant look on his face.  "Now we just need a good video of her with the right song."

“Perfect!” Win exclaimed as her Nathan quickly dressed.  “So how do we get that?” he asked.  “Are y’plannin’ on tellin’ her about it?”

"If she gets the gig we'll tell her, if she doesn't, she won't get hurt..." Lyddie's Nathan nodded as if he was the most brilliant human being on the planet.  "I've never picked an audition song before, but from what Lyds told me, it has to match the show, so '80s rock."

“Good idea, babe,” Win agreed.  “Eighties rock huh...” she mused.  

“How about Don’t Stop Believin’?” The other Nathan suggested.  “Is that from the 80s?”

"I think so, yeah. That song’s in the show, it could work... all we gotta do is film her, and e-mail the video, but how do we get her t'sing that...?" 

"Hmmm," Lydia slowly sat up, stretching with a groan.  "Good morning, loves."

“Mornin’!” Win’s Nathan yelped, moving in to distract her with a kiss. 

“I think I have an idea,” Win whispered in Lyddie’s Nathan’s ear.  “But I think it might work best if we’re out and about.”

"Then let's eat at the Hard Rock, take a walk around the theatre district, she loves it," Lyddie's Nathan whispered.

"Hey," Lydia immediately turned red remembering the night before.  "Did you sleep well?" 

“Like a log,” Win’s Nathan answered, running his fingers through her hair.  “You? Feelin’ okay?” he teased.  “Hope I wasn’t too rough.” 

"I'm great," she hid her face in his chest, not wanting to stare him in the eye.  "You can never be too rough with me, you were amazing."

“That’s good t’know, y’kinky little thing.  Gives me some ideas,” he mused with a smirk.

“Perfect,” Win mused, watching Lydia, already with an idea in mind.  “How are you feeling today?” she asked, turning back to the Nathan next to her.

"Never better, especially after our little talk yesterday," Lyddie's Nathan pulled Win into his arms. "How are you, baby?"

“Mmm, can’t complain,” Win exclaimed lightly before grinning and jumping up to give him a kiss.  “I’m really good.  Now let’s go get Lyddie this role.”

Lydia giggled quietly, running her hand through Win's Nathan's hair.  "And you say that as we're about to leave?  When I'll have to imagine it all day?" she looked around, everyone was already dressed.  "I'll be ready in a second, guys, I swear," she jumped from the bed and disappeared into the bathroom.

——

“Hey, Lyddie, do you know of any good music stores around?” Win asked as they walked, looping her arm in Lydia’s.  “I was thinking ‘bout looking for a new guitar... as a little celebration for becoming your guitarist.”

"Aww sweetheart, you're so cute!" she sighed, pulling Win closer.  "Yeah, Guitar Center is five minutes from here at the 44th, I got my acoustic there last time, it's a paradise for musicians."

“Perfect!” Win exclaimed, shooting the Nathans a pointed look.  Once they stepped inside the store, Win pulled Lydia toward the wall of electric guitars.  “What do you think, should I replace my yellow one?” she asked.

"I don't think you should replace it, but in my experience it's better to have a spare if you're working with music," Lydia mused, looking around.  "Look, this Mitchell MD200, it's not too expensive... and it's pretty good, this one even matches your hair."

Win looked at the lime green one Lyddie’d pointed to and she took it down.  “I like it,” she mused, running her fingers over the strings.  What d’you think, should I test it out?”

"Sure, give it a try, see how it feels," Lydia smiled.  Meanwhile, her Nathan already had his phone prepared to start filming, sitting with his clone on a bench where he could get a good angle.

“Only if you’ll sing with me,” Win exclaimed with a grin.  “Please, Lyds?”

"Fine, anything you want," she was so happy that Win had actually accepted her offer, she didn't even question it.

“Perfect!” Win exclaimed, pretending to think of a song.  “How about this one, I’m sure you know it, everyone does.  Don’t Stop Believing’?” she asked, holding her breath.

"Of course!  I grew up with Glee, it's one of my favorites," Lyddie sat by Win to watch as she played.

Win plugged the guitar into one of the nearby amps and began to play, glancing up at the boys as Lydia joined in singing.  She couldn’t believe their plan was actually working.

Lyddie was having so much fun, she really missed making music with Win, and it was music that brought them together in the first place, so it was really special for her.  A few people gathered to watch and her Nathan quietly documented the entire thing.

By the time Win finished playing there was quite the crowd gathered and she turned to Lydia.  “Thank you for singing with me, babe, I’m so excited to be making music with you again,” she murmured, leaning in closer.

"Me too, Winnie, I still can't believe we're really doing this," Lyds gently pressed her lips to Win's.  "Actually, pass me the guitar, I'll get it for you, it's my 'welcome to the band' gift."

“Oh Lyds, you don’t have t’do that,” Win exclaimed, but the determined look in her girlfriend’s eyes stopped her from protesting further.

"I know I don't, but I want to," Lydia quickly took the guitar to pay for it.  "It's perfect for you, and it matches my blue one perfectly." 

"Brilliant!" her Nathan celebrated when she was gone.  "It really worked, I'll send it right away!"

“I can’t believe that worked,” Win’s Nathan exclaimed, pulling her into his arms.  “You’re brilliant, babe.” 

“Nahh, I just knew Lyddie wouldn’t be able to resist singing with me.”

"And who is able to resist your charms?" Lyddie's Nathan purred, playing with Win's hair.  "Poor impressionable Lyds didn't stand a chance." 

"We should probably drop this off at the hotel," Lydia came back with the guitar in a leather case and gave it to her girlfriend.  "Welcome to the band!"

“Thank you, Lollipop, really, I don’t deserve you,” Win murmured, pulling Lydia into the midst of their group hug as well.

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

Tag list: @magic-multicolored-miracle @midnightseance @messengeronthemoon @the-freckled-luba @firstpersonnarrator  @spanishmossmagnolia @salvador-daley @forenschik @a-ghoulish-tale @love-is-dirty-baby @captainsheeballs

[prophecy-is-inevitable]

On the Eve of November

Outpost!Michael x Demon! Fem Reader Oneshot

Halloween night marks Michael’s final victory over the witches, and his father sends you--a Prince of Hell--to offer your congratulations to his son.

Warnings: Smut...this is really just smut. Language, Some Blasphemy, maybe a little fighting for dominance, Scratching (let me know if I need to add anything!)

Word Count: 5k (WHOOPS)

Outpost!Michael won the poll, so here is the Halloween oneshot I promised! I hope you all enjoy, and have a great Halloween! (Bonus points to you if you know which Prince you are before the end.)

--------

The fires and candle flames of Outpost 3 flickered into nonexistence and threw the empty hallways into shadow. The tendrils of smoke rising from the wicks and embers funneled to one concentrated spot and blotted out any remaining light. As soon as your form finished materializing, your nose crunched at the acrid smell of vomit and blood. Heels clicked on along the floor as you wove your way around the room and past the array of bloodied, decapitated, or smoldering bodies around your feet. You hiked up the burnt, ragged edges of your long skirt to avoid the mess. It was one thing to cause such carnage, and it was another thing entirely to wear it.

“What the fuck, Michael,” your groaned. Your pace quickened as you hunted for the man. It wasn’t hard--just follow the bodies. Candles and fires relit upon your approach to light your way through the complex. It looked like absolute chaos. Large bullet holes littered the once perfectly polished wood walls, and blood and organs had exploded over the stairs. It was a lovely tomb, far too generous for these failed humans, you thought. You quirked an eyebrow at the body of a woman laying on the floor missing her heart. At least he was keeping his energy up with all of this. You rounded a corner to see him standing in the hallway with his back to you and his elegant clothes in tatters. His shoulders were tensed and he pulsed with the energy prepared for a fight.

He whipped around and extended a hand towards you, intending to launch you against the wall, and you deflected the attack with a dismissive wave of your hand. His crystalline eyes widened a fraction as his lips curled into a silent snarl. You tilted your head to the side with an incredulous furrow of your brows and a soft smile at his reaction.

“Really, Michael?” He stood straighter at the sight of you, his eyes searching you from head to toe, and you sway carefully over to him as if approaching a caged lion. His eyes held the same predatory, calculating, coldness on that beautifully chiseled face. 

“You.” He spit the word as if it’s the same poison on his tongue he’d used to kill the inhabitants. Your eyes widened in a gesture of mock hurt, and you placed an ornately armored hand to your chest, each piece of clawed armor on your fingers clinking together.

“Me? Here I thought you’d be happy to see me. I’m happy to see you.” You pouted when reaching your other silver clawed hand out to wipe some of the blood from his cheek. He gripped your wrist in a vice with his rings digging into the broken shackle around the delicate joint. 

“Why are you here?” Your pout melted into a smooth, seductive smirk. He still towered over you, and you looked into his turquoise eyes from under your lashes.

“Daddy might not always answer you, precious, but he’s always listening.” Feigning boredom, you began to run one metal nail under the other. He practically growled at the pet name and you chuckled. “After a pathetic fiasco in 1984, he decided to take a more passive roll with summons and rituals. Otherwise, people would never shut the fuck up with their pathetic begging. ‘Save me this’ and ‘help me’ that. That’s what God is for, you wretches.” Your eyes narrowed up as him, and you reached out to try and straighten his shirt and salvage whatever was left of his style. The bloodstained velvet of his dinner jacket had somehow managed to retain the smooth and luxurious texture, and the heat of his body kept the fabric warm beneath your fingers. The richness of the material suited him. “Since the apocalypse, I haven’t been very busy, and--as a mere prince--I have to do what your daddy says,” you shrugged, running your hands down his lapels. “Consider me a sort of...answering service. Though you seem to have everything well in hand. How about that!” Your head tilted once again with a coy smile.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Michael said through gritted teeth. His lips are pursed tightly in his annoyance, and the air grew stagnant in the hallway around you both. Michael took a step closer until you were nearly breathing on his chest. “Answer me. Now.” His voice rose marginally, and it’s just enough to echo through the vacant halls. 

“Oh, listen to you! Making demands of an Archdemon and a Prince of Hell! My, how you’ve--” Michael’s hand quickly grasped your throat and squeezed. What he anticipated causing you pain earned him a moan instead as your eyes slipped closed. You could feel his grip falter momentarily in his confusion before it grew more intense. You gasped and released a breathless chuckle. His gaze searched your face, you could feel his eyes taking in every aspect of your lustful expression. Suddenly, his hand released you, and he took a few steps back with a tight smirk.

“That is exactly why you’re here, isn’t it?” He watched you with a side glance as you adjusted the chandelier choker at your neck and shoulders.

“Whatever do you mean?” Your eyelashes fluttered with an ill-suited expression of innocence. Michael’s eyes travelled down to the deep v of your dress that plunged to the top of your navel. The dark laughter bubbled from low in his chest and reverberated in the halls as he tipped his head back. It had you absolutely throbbing with need and was fucking embarrassing. Then again, this was Satan’s son, the highest Crowned Prince of Hell, created to be every idea of perfection and desire there could be. From the shimmering strands of golden silk draping his shoulder, to his slender perfect nose, to those mesmerizing oasis eyes set within the dunes of his elegant cheekbones… You couldn’t have designed him more perfectly yourself, and you had a lot of ideas thanks to your reign.

Michael ran his tongue along his upper teeth and continued to smirk at you. He tilted his head inquisitively, and you mimicked him playfully. The timber of his voice had dropped to a dangerously seductive tone filled with confidence when he spoke again.

“I have won.”

“A very astute observation, Michael.” Slowly, he sauntered back to you and ran one ringed finger along your cheek and down your jaw.

“I have won. I’ve done everything he asked. Cordelia let her successor die before she could complete her plan.” Michael extended his arms out from his sides, a prideful smirk stretching across his lip, and he cocked his head to the side. “There is no one left to stop me.” The warmth of Michael’s hand rested on a bare section of your clavicle as he looked over your body once again. His smirk grew and he inhaled deeply through his nose.

“Now, I’m receiving my reward. Father sent you, did he not? One of his princes, here to please me in the hour of my greatest victory, and on our night no less. The night before your powers are at their strongest, if I’m not mistaken.” Michael leaned his head down and his breath ghosted across your cheek as he spoke softly. You could feel his lips only a hair’s breadth away from the shell of your ear.

His words should not have caused the goosebumps that prickled across your arms and chest, nor should it have caused the slight weakness in your knees. You had been around for millennia. You had 72 legions of demons under your command, dammit! How dare--

Michael’s lips brushed along your neck above the elaborate jewelry veiling your soft skin. He knew exactly what effect he had on. The hierarchy of demons granted him the ability to toy with you just as he did with humans despite your ancient status. And he played you like a child with their favorite old toy. Michael’s hands gripped your hips tightly and, with a violent jerk, he tugged you flush against him. 

You didn’t even want to fight him. You wanted him to have his moment and embrace his victory--embrace you. Despite the lack of necessity for breath, you found yourself panting against him in anticipation. The tip of his tongue traced up the tendon in your neck up to your jaw. The mewl that slipped from between your lips was almost embarrassing and made worse by his syrupy chuckle that you could feel against your chest. You were positively dripping, and there was no doubt that he knew. 

“Hell has sent its greatest whore to pleasure me, I see. What, was Lilith too busy today?” His verbal jab made your eyes narrow dangerously. That succubus had nothing on you, and you would prove it. Renewed vigor flowed through you as your hands gripped his jacket tightly; the sharp metal claws tipping your fingers scratched and tore into the thick, expensive fabric adorning his chest.

“I’m going to make it so that you don't even remember her name. From now on, whenever your cock gets hard, you’re going to think of me,” you purred into his ear as you stood on your toes. Using the purchase you had on his clothing, you dragged his mouth to yours and moaned at the sweet and smoky taste of his sultry full lips. Michael's body radiated power and the heat of the inferno from which he was born, and it drew you in like a moth to a roaring bonfire.

Michael’s hands clenched into fist at your waist, and you heard the sharp inhale through his nose when you ran your tongue along the curve of his lips. It was your turn to chuckle. Dominion over lust had not been granted to you without reason, and you’d had centuries of playing with mortals and lesser demons to perfect your...talents. You weren’t entirely helpless against the superiority of the Antichrist. The feeling of his rigid length pressed firmly against your stomach proved that.

Within seconds the power shifted, and he had you against the wall. His dull nails sank into the sensitive flesh of your inner thighs when he bunched up your skirts and held your legs apart around his waist. The touch was scalding. You could feel the crescent marks burning into your skin.

“Not making empty promises, are we?” Michael crooned, the tip of his nose dancing along yours. The smirk on his face was predatory when your lips parted with the expectation of another searing kiss. His wicked laughter caused a shiver that ran up your spine. “What makes you think you are worthy of me?”

With your heels locked behind his waist, you used the position to your advantage and flexed your legs to grind your hips together. As much as he talked shit, you knew he wanted this, but two could play his game. A light breath, akin to that of blowing out a candle, forced Michael off of you and against the opposite wall. 

“If I’m so unworthy, I suppose I will simply show myself out.” You vanished in the blink of an eye, your playful chuckle bounding throughout the underground complex. Of course, you made it very easy for him to find you. All Michael needed to do was follow the trail of lit candles up to the room he had inhabited as his office while at Outpost 3. The growl he emitted upon opening the door and seeing you sitting so daintily on the spiral iron staircase made your eyes burn with unbridled lust. 

Michael stalked over to you with a scowl on his face, golden hair billowing around his shoulders from the speed of his strides, and you parted your legs wantonly to welcome him between them. You had him eating out of the palm of your hand whether he would ever admit it or not. Michael was rough when he pulled your hips against his once more. Your metallic claws dragged down his torso and cut through his shirt and jacket to leave thin red marks on his otherwise unblemished skin. You could feel him twitch against you with his pants the only barrier standing between the two of you.

Both of your hands grasped onto the metal rails of the stairs when he sharply yanked your hips towards the edge of the stair. The last thing you expected was to see him dropping to his knees and burying his face between your legs. Your head tipped back against the stair above you with a strangled cry of surprise that quickly morphed into a long moan. Instantly, your hands sank into the satin curtains of hair around his head as his tongue made a long swipe over your folds. His movements were impatient when he forced your legs farther apart.

“Michael…” You could feel the smirk on his lips when he took your clit into his mouth and sucked. Hard. Your back arched against the stairs and your hands scrambled to grab onto his shoulder. It had been so long since someone had sought to pleasure you as much as themselves. He certainly didn’t get those manners from his father…

Michael’s teeth nipped at your sensitive nerves and you yelped, filling the room with your loud cries of pleasure. Soft sounds of tearing fabric filled your ears when you continued to clutch his shoulders so hard that his jacket ripped at the seams. The deeper he worked his tongue into your core, the brighter his celestial eyes burned. It made your chest heave as you stared at each other, waiting to see who would break first.

It was you.

Michael stumbled back when you pushed him away. His eyes flared black in his agitation, and you returned the obsidian gaze. Short strides carried you to him until your hands grasped his sculpted face and drew his lips back to yours. It was a dance of domination and desperation, your tongue swirling and battling against his while you both inhaled the growing heat and arousal of your flushed skin. At the same time, your steps urged him backwards until he dropped down into the chair behind the desk. Ah, victory. It looked so sweet when it came in the form of Michael man-spreading in a chair with mused hair, kiss-swollen lip, and a very obvious and impressive erection all courtesy of you. You knelt in front of him before he had the chance to move. He had done the same for you, and you weren’t so cold as to not return the favor.

Michael’s eyes watched you carefully. At first, his expression almost looked like boredom, but you could see the tension in his jaw and feel the way his abdominal muscles contracted beneath your fingers. You pursed your lips while deftly roaming your fingers over his belt.

“Take your jacket and shirt off, Michael.” It hardly covered him anymore anyway, but his eyes narrowed at your command. You sat back on your heels to look up at him. “Come on. Off with it.” Reluctantly, he undid the buttons and tossed both items away. The sight of his bare torso, stained here and there with flecks of blood, was so very enticing. You leaned forward, placing sloppy and open-mouthed kisses over his chest and down his stomach. The sight of his stomach heaving from your actions made you moan against his skin. His hips bucked into your hands when you cupped him through the material of his pants. 

Teasingly, your fingers slowly caught the waistband of his pants. Your eyes shot up to his when you noticed the absence of anything else underneath. The smirk he gave you was pure mischief, and you licked your lips at the sight of his weeping tip. One of his ringed hands sank into your hair and urged you forward; you allowed it this time. The shape of him was perfect--something humans modelled their toys after. Oh, how eager you were to play. He truly had been crafted to perfection.

The tip of your tongue ran along the pulsing vein of his shaft, and his groan filled you with pride. Flicking your eyes up to his, you noticed that they were closed and his head was tipped back to let his hair cascade over his bare shoulders. The candlelight flickered on his skin and you could spot the beginnings of sweat beading on his chest. A quick flick of your tongue caught the beads of precome that tickled from the head of his cock. The hand in your hair tightened, but you gave him a warning glare with growl. This was not his time to take control.

One hand stroked the length of his shaft and the other gently scratched down his chest. Michael arched into your touch, and you hummed around his tip when your lips encircled him. The groan that fell from his lips was nothing short of obscene and it drove you on. He even sat up more to get a better view of your mouth swallowing down his cock. Your eyes locked with his and you smirked around him. The taste of his heated length alone made you moan. Trick or treat indeed.

Michael’s chest was heaving before you even reached the base. You held there for a moment and then began to bob your head. It was only moments until he bucked his hips upwards, shoving himself deeper down your throat, and tugged your head against his pelvis. Your nose is pressed to his skin and the musky, salty smell invades your senses. A guttural moan tore through the amber-lit room when hollowed your cheek to suck greedily at the head of his cock and your hands pumped the rest of his shaft. The way your core throbbed at the sound told you your body was more than ready to feel him inside of you. You stood without warning, and Michael instantly moved to follow. One of your heels on his chest pushed him harshly back into his chair.

“Stay.” Michael glared at you, but he did not repeat his effort to move. “Good boy,” you cooed. You didn’t miss the way his hands tightened on the arm of the chair. You removed your foot from him and took a step back. With your back to him, you reached back to undo the clasps of your dress. Clearly, he was far too impatient by that point, and a light snap of his fingers finished your work for you before it even began. The clothing covering you both disappeared, but you noticed that he left the vast amounts of jewelry on you, from the tips of your ears down to the gilded manacles on your feet. 

“Let me see you.” The request fell from his lips much softer than you would have expected, and you complied easily. His eyes widened so subtly that you would have missed it had you not been watching him carefully. Azure eyes devoured your appearance. Your breasts were framed by the chandelier necklace hanging over your shoulders and dripping onyx beads down your sternum. Michael’s hands slowly rose, his eyes still roving over your figure. 

"You may touch me," you allowed. At first, he only ran his fingers over the shimmering cuff on your upper arms. Then he trailed down to the broken jeweled shackles on your wrist that matched the pair around your ankles. He gently maneuvered your hands on his shoulder to lure you closer. It placed your chest at the same height as his lips. Greedily, his head leaned forward to take a hardened nipple between his lips. A sigh of relief escaped your own.

Michael continued the slow exploration of his hands. They moved back up your arms, over the collection of diamonds and midnight gemstones dangling across your shoulders, and down your sides to hold your hips. Each fingertip left a trail of raised skin in its wake. The simple touches made you shiver, and you let Michael see this time. His hands curled around your waist to pull you in closer, and you pushed your hands against his shoulders. He released your nipple with a wet “pop” and furrowed his brow.

Your movements were fluid and smooth when you pushed him back into the chair and straddled his hips. His erection stood proudly against his abdomen; you stroked him delicately, careful not to graze the sensitive skin too harshly with your armored fingers, and you returned your lips to his. The pillowly softness was something you had never encountered with your previous lovers. Michael could happily drown you in those full lips, drink you dry, or curse your name and you would beg for more. A combination of your movements gave you the room necessary to line him up with your core. 

Sweet moans accompanied the simultaneous fall of both of your heads towards each other. His breath mingled with yours in the limited space between your lips. For moments the pair of you did nothing but breathe each other in and stroke your noses together in an almost tender fashion.

“Move,” Michael breathed tightly. The flex of his fingers into your hips made you bite your lip. Your lips lifted slowly at first, and then dropped quickly into his lap. “Fuck!” Your head dropped back again with a bark of a laugh. Hearing him curse from one simple movement had you clenching around him instantly. You repeated the motion, his fingers digging into your hips with a fiercer grip, and you moaned loudly. 

Tinkling of your jewelry chimed in time with the steady rolling of your hips over Michael’s. Always one to enjoy an active role in his pleasure, Michael urged you to ride him harder using his hands on your hips. He pulled you down sharply, burying himself inside of you, and returned his mouth to your chest. His teeth caught a taut nipple and tugged. You rewarded him with a cry of ecstasy and carded your hands through his long hair. Every pulse of his cock inside of you stroked your walls with a delicious pressure and pulled you closer to the edge. You didn’t notice how much Michael was controlling your movements until he angled your hips forward on your downward thrust and made you cry out. You tightened around him and increased your pace to bounce off his lap. Soon, the chiming of jewels was drowned out by the clapping of your skin on his and your unified moans of each other’s names.

Michael abandoned your breasts for the time being and turned his attention to the droplet of sweat rolling down between them. His tongue caught the salty droplet, and he licked his way back up to your neck. You shuddered over him and pushed him back against the chair again. Things like that would have this over far sooner than you wanted. The smirk on his devilishly handsome face clued you in to just how pleased he was with himself. He could feel you trembling around him. You ran a jeweled nail over his lower lip and decided to tease him. Your hips rose slowly until only the tip of him remained inside of you. The descent back into his lap went just as methodically. Several times you repeated the motion, swirling your hips once he was fully sheathed inside of you again, and you grinned wickedly at the tortured groans you pulled from him.

He had been so good and so attentive thus far, so you decided to give him a break. He desired it hard and fast, just as you craved it. The chair protested beneath the forceful ricochet of your bodies colliding. You laughed breathlessly at the return of Michael’s lips to your skin. This time, he left open-mouthed kisses over the tops of your breasts and your neck.

Without warning, Michael propelled himself up and out of the chair to slam you down on the desk. His pace never faulted throughout the change of position. The lines of his face were set into a look of determination.

“You’ve had your turn. Now it’s mine,” he hissed in your ear. His hair framed his face and grazed your skin as he loomed over you. Rough hands gripped your thighs and shoved them apart. The first sharp thrust forced the air from your lungs. The sparkle in Michael’s eyes was unmistakable. He was in control now.

He targeted the depths inside of you that had caused you to cry out earlier, and he set a relentless pace. His lips burned across your stomach and chest as he explored every inch of your skin that he could want. Your hands found purchase on his back, the points of your nails sinking into the slick flesh around his shoulderblades. Michael growled and bit into your collarbone with a particularly rough thrust into you.

“Michael!” His name fell from your lips in the most sinful, sensual prayer. He breathed heavily in your ear now, drowning out the deep thudding of your back being drilled into the dark wood of the desk. “Michael…” You could feel his hips beginning to stutter in the bruising pace he had set. It must have felt good for him to be able to let go and not worry about the frailty of a human’s body beneath him. His arms wrapped around your waist to pull you into him again to achieve the depths his mind was screaming for him to reach. 

One bite into the already bruised skin of your neck and a perfectly timed thrust was all it took to send you spiraling over the precipice of pleasure. Your legs latched behind his thighs to lock him against you. Every spasm that rippled your body amplified his pleasure, and you felt Michael spill himself into you with a strangled cry. His warm release inside of you made your head drop back against the desk with a thud. He buried his face into the crook of your neck to ride out the aftershocks of your combined orgasms.

“Happy Halloween, Michael,” you whispered with lips pressed to his ear.

Dampened skin held you together, and you lovingly stroked his hair back out of his face. It had been well worth the visit, you thought with a smile. Feather light kisses in your neck and jaw caught you by surprise. The kiss to your lips was slow, conveying a long-sought satisfaction, and you wrapped your arms around his shoulder. It was an ancient dance, the tangling of tongue and limbs, and usually accompanied by the same heady smell that surrounded you both in that moment. You decided that this was your favorite perfume--the smell of desire and sin, of sweat and carnality, all mixed with the intoxicating scent of Michael.

A gentle tap to his shoulder signalled for Michael to remove himself from you. He did so slowly, carefully, and with a slight grimace. Your back still arched with the sensation. You looked over his lean and picturesque form from your spot on the desk. Yes, you wouldn’t mind if this became a regular occurrence. He dressed languidly--all the time in the world stood waiting for him now. You followed suit when he retrieved your dress. Michael even offered to help with the clasps and buttons at your back. Of course, it wasn’t so simple. He dropped sensually slow and wet kisses over each inch of your spine Bedford doing up the respective button. The resounding boom of clocks striking midnight thundered through the halls. November 1st. Your eyes slipped shut at the returning power thrumming through your veins. It had only been fair to Michael to send you before your powers heightened to their prime. Now you would be able to return home.

“Do you really want to know why I’m here?” you asked over your shoulder. His hands paused in their task.

“It would be in your best interest to tell me the truth.” You rolled your eyes and turned to drape your forearms over his shoulder. His hands instinctively fell to hold your wasit, and it made you smile.

“Your father wished for me to bring you to him.” The expression that crossed his face was precious. Your smile grew at the pure disbelief and childish wonder. Your fingers picked up one long curl and twisted it around your fingers and then let it fall back against his shoulder.

“What?’

“I know! He’s proud of you. He knows how hard this has all been, and he wishes to congratulate you. In person.” You took a few steps towards the door, your hand clutching his and trying to pull him with you, but he was frozen where he stood, eyes unfocused. “Michael, come on!” you laughed softly, “We shouldn’t keep him waiting--not any more than we already have.” He looked to you then and gestured between the two of you.

“So what was this then?” You swayed your hips on your way to the door and twisted the handle with a coy little smile.

“Fun, wasn’t it?” You winked as you opened the door. The deserted halls of Outpost 3 were not on the other side. Michael’s eyes widened at the geysers of molten lava and the long polished bridge of obsidian leading to an ancient palace of equally dark stone set on the far side. “Welcome home, Prince Michael.” His arm slid around your waist while his eyes took in everything new around him.

“Thank you, Asmodeus. I suppose having a friend in the Prince of Lust could have its benefits.”

"Oh yes. Whenever you'd like."

[internalsealpanic]

Merzost’

Summary:   Merzost’. Abomination. Monster.

a/n: This is mostly a character building piece for reader in my False Face Au with Good Dad! Bruce and Good Big Brother! Dick. This piece is slightly depressing but here it is. I would very much like to thank @knightfall05x for proof reading, putting up with my nonsense and convincing me to post this. Please ignore the blatant use of google translate. 

TW: Attempted solicitation of a minor, trauma, and gore. 

masterlist

Merzost’.

 Abomination. 

 That is what the old woman called you. 

 It wasn’t your unusual gait or your unnaturally fluorescent eyes or even the fact that you could feel the press and pull of minds just as easily as you felt the heat radiate off another human.  

 No, you could see it in her clouded eyes and the way she shivered in your presence. She was old. She was an old woman in Gotham. She knew what death smelled like and oh, how it rolled off of you like a thick miasma. Dripping thick and suffocating. 

 No, no, it was none of those blemishes. It was something more… fundamental, unshakeable. Something you could not slough off as it nestled and stewed under your skin. 

 Even now, you can still feel the heft and weight of the old woman’s terror as she gazed at you. 

 You tried to smother the smile that ripples through your features. 

 As it carved itself on your lips, a cold sort of fear engulfed you. 

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 Your mind spent far too much of your time in someone else’s skin that crawling back to your own felt wrong. Your mind and body roiled against each other. Blistering. Scraping. Scorching. Peeling away from each other as they are forcefully melded back together into an awkward human-like shape. 

 It was an odd feeling, a feeling of permanence and solidness that felt completely foreign to you.

 But this wasn’t what you wanted. You didn’t want their eyes. Not raking over your still roiling flesh. Not carving, inspecting, appraising. Pausing too long at your leg, smiling knowing it made you weak. Your stomach rebelled, twisting. You felt sick. You hated these moments. You hated when you and whatever this nervous scared thing this was blended together. 

 “You’ll be so pretty when you grow up,” the man whispered to you. The excitement in his eyes made your skin itch. You swore there were boils forming on your skin.  This was the only time your mind and body coalesced when your skin tore itself away from uninvited touch. 

 The man grasped your face with large calloused hands, squishing the loose tufts of your hair to your skin- prickling. It made the itch on your skin worsen, the unsettling boil in your gut more pronounced. Men like him, when they looked at you, soaking up the sight of you with hungry eyes, they saw your mother-soft, shining undine. Less of the knife-toothed ruskla you knew she was.

  Or maybe they did know. 

 Maybe this is why they-

 “You’ll be so so pretty, baby,”

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

 Your mother held you tight. The smell of lilac in her hair was almost salient enough to overcome the pungent odor of copper in the air. 

 “Shhhhhhh. Shhhhh, It’s ok now-” She whispered, pressing a gentle kiss on your brow. “Mama’s got you. It’s ok.”

 Her words rang hollow and stark in contrast to the death rattle echoing from the man on the tiled floor of your kitchen. His intact eye still staring at you as your mother smoothed your hair with her blood-covered hand. 

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From the way your skin itched, you could tell Jeffrey Woodfield was a monster. Not the fun -movie kind with cheap latex masks so fake it made the pink flamingos in Florida look like the genuine article. Now that you thought about it, you really would rather be in Florida right now. The weather would be warm, your joints would ache a lot less, Disney Land probably didn’t get half as many clown attacks, and there would be sooooo many old people to scam. 

 “Baby,” he whispered huskily into your ear, sliding his filthy hands up your waist and keeping you planted firmly against the brick wall. You could practically feel the hives begin to pucker at your hips. Your breaths were shallow and nervous as he presses your small body into the wall. You asked him to leave you alone. You asked him to give you space.  You thought about screaming or asking for help or anything but the way your lungs shrink into your chest made it hard to so much as a squeak.   

 This wasn’t happening. 

 You were 13. 

 This wasn’t happening. 

 Behind Jeffrey, you saw your mother, gore ladden and goddamn beautiful. She smiled, lips painted red and slick with fresh blood. Man or pig’s, it did not matter. To her there was no difference. Man or pig, they both squeal. 

  You could feel everything in you unfurl and relax. Mother was here. No, no. She wasn’t.  Logically, you knew she was somewhere else. Where that somewhere was you hoped it was at least 6 feet under the dirt. For everyone’s sake. 

 But with your mother there you knew what to do. Muscle memory whirred to life and suffused throughout your body. Fluttering your long lashes and running your small hands up his chest, you felt him bend toward your touch, leaning low enough for you to cup his face in your hands. 

 You measured the odds.

  His neck was too thick to snap. You bit back a snarl of frustration. 

 You slid yourself along the brick wall, inching both of you towards the dumpster. 

 “Acting shy now?” he breathed against your skin sounding like a panting bulldog. You could feel the hives pucker there too. You struggled to keep your face carefully sculpted, not letting any of the fear and disgust slip out. 

 He led the way, pulling you off the wall keeping a death grip on your wrist. A manic smile, too wide, too full of teeth stretches across your lips when he grabs your non-dominant hand.  Using your good foot, you scooped up a brick and snatched it with your free hand. You tugged at your wrist nearly wrenching yourself free. He kept a steady grip on you. It didn’t matter. He turned to you snarling, impatient. You slammed the brick into his face.

 He 

 Went

 Down

 With a satisfying thud, he was on the ground. The joints in your leg and hip twinged, screaming for you to run but the feeling of bone cracking beneath the force of your blow thrummed pleasantly through the twitching muscles of your hands. It felt fresh and satisfying. 

 “Solnechnyy svet, we do not leave things half done,”

 You stalked towards the groaning heap of flesh, grabbing the discarded brick. You weren’t weak by any means. But your mother had taught you well. 

 All you needed to do now was finish what you started. 

 Straddling his chest, fingers laced together around the brick, 

 You slammed the brick down. Another satisfying crunch echoes in the empty alley. Giddy laughter bubbles in your chest. A sort of manic excitement took over your body. 

 You felt alive. You feel the rush even as shattered teeth carve deep gashes into the flesh of your knuckles. Your mind lashed out soaking up the pain that radiated off of him. 

 Distantly, you can hear him beg. He’s pleading for his life. He’s begging you to stop. 

 You should stop. 

 For him?

 Did he when you asked? 

 They only stop when they’re like this. Twitching and bleeding. 

 “Merzost’,” came the old woman’s frail voice cutting through the vicious thoughts in your mind.  

 The high vanished. It left you cold. Cold and solid.

 The puckering of your skin returned. 

 You looked at your shaking hands. Blood dripping, still trembling from a mix of nervousness and exhilaration. 

 The air thinned. 

 Your mother’s painted lips curled into a sweet smile. Her eyes softened as she reached for you. You could almost feel her carding her hand through your hair, gently running the tips of her fingers over your scalp.  Her hands slid down to cup your face. Your unnatural eyes meet. 

 “Just like mama,”

 Your senses failed you. 

 The next few minutes were a slapdash combination of colors and sounds. 

 The wash out grey of Gotham tainted with red. 

 The echo of shoes against pavement. 

 Your breath came out in puffs. 

 You felt sick. 

 Everything ached. 

 Why were you outside? 

 You had piano lessons.

  No, that was last week. 

 No, it was today. 

 No, it was-

 The fresh, deep gashes running up the length of your hand throbbed angrily, still bleeding. You could probably ask Alfie to-

 Fuck. 

 Fuck. 

 Alfie was going to kill you. He was going to kill you and cut you up and- 

 Wait. Where were you? 

 You look around at the dilapidated buildings. Your breath picked up when you took it all in. 

 How did you end up in Crime Alley? 

 You bring your injured hands to your mouth 

 Fuck. 

 Fuck. 

 Fuck. 

 Breathe. 

You shoved your hands into your pockets, violently rummaging through the seemingly endless expanse of space provided by the jeans you’d stolen from Dick’s wardrobe. 

Why were guy pockets so much bigger? 

Wait, why were you even wearing these? 

You shook your head as you finally fished out your phone. 

Dried blood still covered your hands. 

Your stomach fell. 

Bruce wouldn’t take you back. 

No. 

Not when you’re just like your mother. Your hands move to your face feeling the remnants of the manic smile still pressed into your features. Your stomach cartwheels. 

You’re just another one of Gotham’s monsters. 

Bruce might not be the sharpest tool in the shed, and, sure, the guy has a bleeding heart-

The phone’s shrill ring drags her mind kicking and screaming back to the present. 

Should you answer? 

Should you leave it?

Whatever you’re gonna do you really shouldn’t do it in the middle of the street, looking dazed and confused and way out of yourself. Quickly ducking into an alleyway and slipping behind a dumpster, you curled into herself before pulling out your phone. 

 “Where are you?!” Dick practically shouted over the phone. 

Oh fantastic, it’s boy blunder big brother wanna be extraordinaire. 

. From the way he sounds, he’s probably grappling or running roof to roof. 

“Parker Row, I think,” You slapped your hand against your forehead. Why did you tell him? 

“Parker-”

“Hold on, lemme check-” You peeked your head out just enough to see the mouth of the alleyway which didn’t show much. At least, not in any remotely distinguishable way. 

Wait. Why were you even giving him your location? He’s just gonna throw you in Arkham. You swallowed thinking of all the minds you didn’t want anywhere near yours. Your pulse faltered. The thought of your mind melding with any of the rogues made you absolutely wanna crawl out of your skin. You wanted to leave it behind. You absolutely just wanted to make a break for it.  

To be fair, considering what you just did, you probably belonged in a cell there. Maybe not next to any of the rogues but if you had to pick one, Poison Ivy. Definitely. 

“(y/n), I’m serious, where are you? Bruce and Alfred are worried sick,”

You bit your lip. Worrying them was the last thing you wanted to do but there was also the fact that you just nearly murdered a man and possibly murdered him since you didn’t call for an ambulance. 

You tried to dredge up any sort of guilt for your actions but you really couldn’t find any. You really couldn’t manage much. You didn’t feel bad for putting him down. He was a fucking asshole and he was gonna do that to someone else. You weren’t about to apologize for rearranging a creeper's face. But you were sorry about the brutality of it. You hated how cathartic each blow felt. How righteous the violence felt.

The image of red lips flashed across your mind. Another wave of nausea rolled over you. 

You let out a breath. You were surprised at how dry it sounded. Considering how thick your throat felt, you expected a sob to come out. It sounded like a huff.  It even sounded oddly petulant to you. It probably sounded like that to Dick too since he let out an exasperated huff of his own. You were a little glad for it. 

“I’ll try to look for something,” 

“No. Stay put. If you’re in the Alley-”

“Yeah. Yeah. It’s not safe for me to wander around alone in the Alley. You and B don’t have to keep telling me,”

“Considering where you are…."

This wouldn’t really be much of an issue if your dumbass legs didn’t take you there for God knows what reason. 

“Lecture me later. Yanno when I’m in the safety of an overly plush couch where I can drape over dramatically as you each deliver your 500-word monologue about my dumbassery and I pretend to listen,”

“Please tell me you’ve actually done that to Alfred,”

“Do I sound brain dead to you?”

“Do you want an answer to that?”

“Fuck you,”

“Love you too, baby sis~”

Not for long. 

You really loved your big brother. It was hard not to. He was too damned caring and sincere not to. 

The knots in your stomach tightened at the idea of Dick not being your big brother anymore. You wanted to cry. But he was already stressed as it was and having you crying into his ear would have exacerbated that. 

Maybe they’ll at least feed Anatolii once they kick you out. Or maybe Arkham will let you keep him.

“How did you manage to take out your tracker?”

“What tracker?”

“Wait, has B somehow not gotten into your stuff yet?”

“No and I stole some of your old clothes”

“What? Why?”

That is a good question that someone should have asked you around 3 hours ago.

“What tracker?” You repeated trying to redirect the question to something more concerning. 

“You know how B is paranoid,”

“Ah,”

“Yeah,”

You smiled at the easy understanding. 

“I think I see you,”

You waved your hands over your head as his silhouette dropped down from the fire escape. You rushed over to hug him, practically tackling him in the process. Looking down at you clearly very surprised by your sudden affection, Dick doesn’t question it and simply holds you. You bit your lip and blinked rapidly feeling the tears gathering in your eyes.  

“You’re injured,”

“You’re in tights. What’s your point?”

“YOU HAVE GASHES ON YOUR HANDS”

“And you should really consider getting your name changed to Captain Obvious,”

“Y/n…..”

You hugged him tighter trying to shrink. It was a manipulative tactic but you knew it would work. Your skin started to dot with angry hives where your body made contact with his. You could already feel your face getting mottled with red bumps.

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” The bumps spread to your neck. You could tell  Dick could see them when his breath hitched and his grip on you loosened. 

Both of you knew that the hives were nothing more than a psychosomatic reaction but Dick really couldn’t help but worry. You greatly appreciated his concern. You really did but letting go meant looking him in the eyes. Looking him in the eyes meant talking. Talking meant telling the truth. You just couldn't stand the idea of it, so you let your skin blister.  

“What’s wrong, kiddo?”Dick asked, giving your hair three quick pats before smoothing it over in a comforting gesture. It nearly made you burst into tears. Your control over that was wearing thin. You shook your head not trusting your voice not to come out frail. “C’mon you can tell your big bro,” He coaxed, nervousness edging into his voice. You shook your head again. 

Dick sighed. 

“Can I at least get you to Doc. Leslie’s clinic?” 

You weighed your options. 

And weighed them again.

And again. 

Calculating the odds but you were too tired.

Too rung out.  

Whatever is going to happen will happen. You nodded into his shoulder. Dick’s shoulders loosened. His hands moved up to squeeze your shoulders but pulled away quickly like you’d burned him. 

“Can you walk?” He asked gently. You hummed in answer. He let out a breath and shook his head. Your shoulders eased at that and you relinquished your grip. 

 You two began the slow walk towards the clinic, hand in hand. The silence pooled uncomfortably. You felt the anxiety whirring in Dick’s body even as you walked. Your mind reached out to him.  You wanted to reassure him that you were ok but you were a terrible liar when it came to your family. You knew the world of horrendous possibilities that was swirling in Dick’s head. He dealt with the worst the world has to offer on a nightly basis. His guilt and worry licked at your consciousness like a fire spreading too quickly. Your skin buzzed with irritation. Still, you tapped your index and middle finger against the back of his hand. It took you far too long to realize that that gesture meant nothing to Dick. Your eyes widened, mind racing through all the possible ways to do damage control. But when Dick simply reciprocated the gesture, you finally started crying. 

Doc. Leslie giving you a mouthful was expected. What you didn’t count on was her swatting you over the head when you refused to tell her what happened. 

“It was a Racoon, I swear,” You said, earning you a swat over your head. Dick was snickering at the edge of your periphery. You stuck your tongue out at him which he returned in kind. Doc. Leslie looked between the two of you and ran her hand over her face. Her blood pressure was going through the roof. Doc. Leslie leveled you a stern look one only Alfred could match. You shrank and let her inspect the rest of your skin. It was still mottled from the hug but Doc. Leslie was familiar enough with your condition to distinguish it from any other abnormalities. 

Your mother might not have trusted hospitals but even she could see that Doc. Leslie was trustworthy. Or at least, competent enough.  

“I’m gonna call, B-”

“NO-” You screamed shooting up from the exam table, your eyes blown wide and wild with fear. “Please don’t call, Da- don’t call, B-” Dick looked at you, brow furrowed, his hand reaching out for you. You didn’t shrink away. Instead, for once, your mind pressed back. His face twisted in mild discomfort. “You can’t, Dick. Please. You- please.” You sounded pathetic even to your own ears. Your mind pressed again. This time Dick winced in pain. You flinched back, your mind retreating.

“Dick- I-” You had hurt him. You had hurt him. 

You have become something intolerable. You have become what you have always been.  

Merzost’. 

Abomination. 

Monster. 

You felt all the adrenaline from the past few hours leave you all at once. The room felt like it was swimming and shifting. You tried to mouth an apology but your tongue simply flailed uselessly failing you in such a crucial moment. 

The world faded and you heard yourself collapse onto the floor rather than feeling it. 

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

The (h/c) haired woman towered over you. You were weeping and begging as you bleed on to the kitchen. You sniveled letting snot, drool, tears, and blood pool at the side of your face. At that moment, you were what the woman thought you were, a pathetic animal. Two sets of incandescent eyes bear down on you-one pitiless and one too young to truly comprehend what's happening.

You look into your own uncomprehending eyes as you bled out on the floor. 

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

You woke up wild. 

Your arms flung over your face. 

Your flesh was raw.

Your breath was short. 

The world around you was muted against the memory. 

Piece by piece the world fell back into place. 

There was a monitor beeping beside you. The air smelled of antiseptic, not copper nor lilac. Your breaths slowed. 

Piece by piece you retrieved yourself from the nightmare. 

You shifted and settled into bed, remembering clearly now where you were. You were at Doc. Leslie’s. You weren’t in the apartment on Main or the house on Orange or Wayne Manor. You were in the clinic. You were safe. 

“It’s ok, y/n. You’re safe now, sweetheart. It’s ok.” You felt a large hand smoothing over your sweat-soaked hair, stroking your head gently. Your muscles uncoiled and you let yourself melt into the mattress. Your skin did not prickle. 

In the complete darkness of the room, your mind searched for him. Bruce looms over you, towering but unimposing as he usually did. His mind radiated of worry, of warmth, of kindness. You were going to be sick. 

“Papa?” You rasped. The word must have sounded like a shattering plate to Bruce because he froze. A cocktail of emotions seemed to swirl in his mind. You desperately wanted to take the word back but you wanted to call him that just once before he carted you off wherever it was you belonged. You did not wait for his mind to pick whichever unpleasant emotions it decided on. You were resigned to whatever fate was in store for you but you weren’t one to sit idly by and wait for it. 

“Pa- B- I- I-” You tightened your fists around the threadbare blanket in frustration. Your mind was well aware of what it had to lose by saying this. It was once again the loss of love and you honestly didn’t know if you could take that but knowledge, the waiting for the inevitable, felt far more agonizing at the moment.  “B, I- Woodfield.” At that, Bruce’s brow furrowed visibly through the cowl. His mind finally settled on confusion. The loss of discordance put you at ease. 

“Woodfield,” He repeated quietly. The gears turning in his head. His expression grew grimmer by the second. You could feel your life falling apart. It was no surprise that Bruce had already heard of what had happened to him. “Why would you go after him alone? Are you ok?”

Alone? 

You blinked at Bruce. You furrowed your brow. 

“Did he hurt you?”

“No,” You were certain but the answer came out wobbly and unsure. Bruce gave you a stern look, but your mind was far too preoccupied to actually react to it.

What did he mean by alone? 

You’ve been talking cases with Bruce for the last week, pestering him about letting you help out by sorting through documents. Being the fresh eyes for the case. 

Then you stumbled on Woodfield’s file. Then? Then what? 

You were in an alley. Your stomach revolted to prevent any more memories. 

Your arms shot up grabbing Bruce’s and pulling yourself up with what little strength you had. “Bruce, I ki-”

“He’s in the hospital-” You stared at Bruce searching his face for something. Whatever it was you couldn’t find it. You expected to feel some kind of relief. After all, you didn’t kill a man. You still maimed him. Your mind supplied unhelpfully. 

“Are you ok?” Bruce repeated.

“No,” You answered honestly. You felt numb. With a war of emotions clamoring in your chest, you simply stared at a wall.  You felt the bed dip. Bruce was now sitting beside you. You pulled your knees to your chest and bury your face into your arms. You couldn’t stand to look at him. You just- Your mind reached out. The shape and texture of his thoughts weren’t jagged. They were heavy. Heavy but not crushing. The bumps and little prickles of concern confused you. 

“B- I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to- I tried to stop but- but he- I-”

Bruce pulled his cape off and wrapped it around you, the solid weight of it gathering you into something solid. It was a silent comforting gesture. From one affection allergic person to another. You gripped the cape, lip wobbling. You turned to Bruce expecting to see his eyes cold and calculating, the kind of eyes that sussed out your weaknesses. But when you actually looked at them, Bruce’s eyes only betrayed concern. You felt like you’ve been sucker-punched. 

Bruce placed a large hand on your head. Bruce looked at you as you were, a scared kid. Not a thing or an abomination or a monster. You were just a kid.  And with that, you conceded. You scooted closer. Hesitantly, resting your head on his arm. Bruce made no attempt to pull you into a hug and you thanked whatever was up there for that.  

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a/n: To anyone in my tag list who just wanted fluff, I am so fucking sorry. To anyone who had to read this in general, I apologize but I just wanted to write this.  Thank you for reading.  

Tag list:  @batarella, @anothertimdrakestan, @lucy-roo, @multifandomgirl-us, @idkmanicantenglish,@birdy-bat-writes,  @boosyboo9206, @americasmarauders , @l-horizon11, @arestorationofbalance (Thanks for the push), @cloudie-skay 

[happy-mimin]

➪𝙃𝙞𝙨𝙤𝙠𝙖 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙤𝙬 𝙭 𝙗𝙡𝙖𝙘𝙠𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧

➪𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙩𝙖𝙞𝙣𝙨: 𝘿𝙞𝙧𝙩𝙮 𝙩𝙖𝙡𝙠, 𝙙𝙤𝙜𝙜𝙮𝙨𝙩𝙮𝙡𝙚, 𝙥𝙪𝙗𝙡𝙞𝙘 𝙨𝙚𝙭, 𝙩𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙗𝙖𝙘𝙠-𝙨𝙝𝙤𝙩𝙨.

➪𝘿𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙖𝙩: 10:51 am

➪𝙁𝙞𝙣𝙞𝙨𝙝𝙚𝙙 𝙖𝙩: 2:15 pm

❤︎𝘼𝙪𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙧’𝙨 𝙙𝙖𝙞𝙡𝙮 𝙨𝙢𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙩𝙖𝙡𝙠: “I’m messed up for liking this man but like cmon..( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)“

———————————-————————-————

Alot of folks stared at the both of you. Having deceiving smirks that had intentions of evil in it but most of all.... having an very uncomfortable feeling that someone is staring straight into you're soul but all of them knew better than to even say a word towards you.

Remember having that feeling that someone was staring? Yeah? It was your clown of a boyfriend that had you on his lap with a smug smirk on the corners of his lips as he petted at your curves.

"You do this everytime, can't you just let my ass sit on a regular seat?" You said while puffing out you're cheeks like they had been stuffed with something, but all he did was lean towards you and creepily whispered into you're ear.

"Aww..but that wouldn't be no fun~." Hisoka patted your buns and gripped the left one with his large hand making you bite you're bottom lip. "I like you're thick ass warming my coc-" . You placed both hands on his mouth before he caused a scene between the two of you, just with the way you're heart was beating and sweat that cascaded down your face. God damn, his freakiness was gonna be the death of you someday (a pleasurable one at that.)

'Though.... a little teasing wouldn't hurt nobody, now would it hisoka?' shit. Provoking him in public would mean some kind of price: boldness would get you more like embarrassed in the naked eye of everyone and hisoka couldn't care one bit. Placing you're hands on his knees you swiftly pushed up from the middle of his lap and decided to go get something to eat because your stomach been bugging you for a good minute now.

LATER THAT DAY:

His dark aura wouldn't go away and you didn't even know why? Was it blood lust? Nah. Horny? You was wondering half of the day as the two walked through a couple local seafood and market places, but as soon as you tried to ask him what he was mad about he'll just look your direction and tell you it was nothing to worry about. Mainly that was odd but you shouldn't really stick it out ur ass for the time being.

"Aww baby look! Won't this look good on me- HISOKA!" God did he jump in other shock and how much he probably missed you're yelling but that besides the point, he looked down at you and was still standing behind you're small frame and looping his arms to pull your back up against his chest. Wait hold up... his behaviors are very familiar..oh my God; he Jealous.

"(Nick name), I see that smile on your face. Who are you smiling at?" He said while holding onto you're hips more..in the corner of your eye you saw a man that was slight staring at you, every second he got.

"You jealous?" He scoffed and chuckled softly into the shell of your ear as he looked at the man just for a moment. As for you- you was gonna make fun of him for a moment before his hand quickly slipped into your shirt where he rubbed up his slender fingers up and down you're tummy..in an sensual way. "Y-You better not..o~oh.." a soft sigh escaped the corners of your plush brown lips as he was moving more down and playing with the waistline of your cotton panties.

"Better not what my love? Might wanna keep quiet I'm gonna give mister stalker over there a little show of what he can't have.." he voice was deep and rich which only made you shiver as the lining of his fingers was pressing up against your damp clothed crotch.

You stopped him though before pointing into a nearby changing room, hisoka caught on and you lead him in there with a small grin as while he went ahead and grinned at the stranger and whispered something into the air for only he could hear. When his skin turned as pale as a damn ghost.. this man don' went ahead and left the store.

Hisoka giggled before getting yanked into the room along with the door clicking shut immediately after. Before he could even process a word, you was already jumping on to him, wrapping you're legs around his waist and smashing your soft lips onto his own almost trying to suck the air out of his lungs. You was making a satisfied "mmmm..." sound as if tasting you combined salivas was the best feeling in the world besides the sex.

The makeout session you two was having probably only last a few seconds before both of you pulled back and left only a trail of you're jointed spit connecting to both your lips. You have gulped in some air as he only gave you a second before pushing your body down onto the floor and spreading you're knees forcibly while getting between them. "A~Ah..you was jealous huh?" You said while already going ahead letting you're grabby hands have a good grip on his ass as you pushed his clothed erection against you're pussy.

"My dear..fuck~..I don't know what you mean by any chance, whatsoever.." he said before diving back down and kissing you all over like you're: neck, jaw, and lips and even the hot way you both swirled your tongues together. Him denying that he wasn't being possessive of you is just what made the muscle in your chest patter faster.. before there was a knock at the door.

"Um ma'am..are you buying anything or do you need anything...?" You looked at hisoka and he groaned before letting you get up and hide behind the door. "Actually, I will love for you to past me those nice shorts and shirt over there!" You pointed out and the man nodded before he quickly started a little conversation with you, there was a few giggles here and there but hisoka definitely had other plans as he got behind you and grinned wickedly while the sound of a belt buckle ranged into your ears.

Hisoka morrow..

You're inner thoughts went skyhigh as the nice man in the front was talking about his family and you took every muscle in your face to keep it straight. With a lick of his lips, he edged his manhood to your slick entrance and had a grip on your soft hips before plunging himself deep into your tight folds like they were his missing puzzle piece.

"O-Oh.. mng~..my god.." you softly whimpered before he peeked his head up in confusion and asked if you were ok and with all the force sterness you could give, you nodded and just said you was fine but that wasn't really the case because behind you was a man who was gripping you're pillow like buns and slamming them down against his waist; making them have a stingy sensation. "Ha ha~ love..mph.. damn your pussy is amazing today.." He said while pulling your hips closer. By this range you're legs was going to give out and hisoka noticed this by just how they was shaking. Finally another customer had come in and the worker went ahead and seen you off before you immediately closed the door and pressed the flat of your palms against the door as hisoka was fucking you like there was no tomorrow.

"Y-You..~!..ngh..fuc..harder.." The word's that were at least trying to form was just coming out as commands. "Oh hush dear..my dick not going anywhere~.. now I want you to arch more." You looked back at him and he only grin as he grabbed into your hair and made you arch (wig glue saves the day bitch!).

Oh he was hitting all the right zones and since he made you endure some embarrassment from earlier; he decided to be nice and push your body onto the floor but hold your lower half into the air while soft quiet pants left your drooling lips. "Boy..H-Hurry..~up.." Was your only response and damn was this dude quick about it too.

Hisoka filled you back up to the brim and was looking like he wasn't stopping until his selfish fires of lust were burned. "A~Ah..God baby I'm close..~" he aired out softly into your ear and soon it wasn't to late for you as the pit in ur tummy started to feel painfully weird but like in a pleasurable way.

As his last few deep thrusts hit that one spot that had you coating on his cock and even some of your arousal dripping down you're thighs. The blissful release was so nice that you didn't realize that hisoka turned you to face until he smacked his lips into yours and started to gulp down each of your desperate but quiet moans.

Seeing you like this.. ecpectially in public was the most sexiest shit you have ever done as of being a couple. "O-Oh shit.. I'm..ngh..~!" The warm sensation of his seed overflowed in you as he started to slow his movement. You gave him a few minutes to calm down from his orgasm before there was a soft knock on the door.

10 minutes later:

"I can't believe you got us banned." You said sighing that at least they didn't give y'all a fine. Tho hisoka on the other hand felt fuckin prideful than a bitch, he looked at you and cupped you're face with both his large hands.

"I could care less~." He said with a smug grin.

♣️♦️_____________________♦️♣️

END.

Yo my back hurt and not like that.