#reader's arm gets grazed by bullet

[selineram3421]

Song Rec: Aerodynamic by Daft Punk

Isekai'd

Part 7: Bullets Whizzing By

Part 6

~

Vash (Tristamp) X Reader

Warning! ⚠

⚠ cussing, all caps for screeching dialog, weapons and guns(pew pew),reader has an idea(its not a great one), gullet graze, blood ⚠

You woke up before the sun rose, going out to buy what you could find that was on your list.

Vash should be at the diner soon, so I have to hurry. You think and rush over to the first shop. Let's hope they sell in bulk.

"Fuck."

The suns had risen and when you arrived to the shops they were all closed.

I should have done this yesterday! You scowl and hear guns start firing off.

Now you were running to go on one of the rooftops to try and spot the blonde haired man while he was on the run.

"ITS TOO FUCKING EARLY FOR THIS!!", you shout.

.

Vash ran along building rooftops and pipes, bullets whizzing by, just barely missing him.

"AAAAH!", he yelped and then shouted as he jumped through a narrow space between buildings, spinning through the air as more people shot at him before landing on a roof.

He rolled and jumped off of it seconds after, making panicked sounds before yelling out again.

"Don't let him get away!", he heard Rosa yell.

Turning around after sprinting down some stairs, he sees someone and jumps over the hand rail as they start shooting. Running through a small hallway made by the buildings, he feels a short moment of peace before skidding to a stop when another person shows up at the end of it.

"Found him!", a man says and starts shooting.

"AAAH!", the humanoid typhoon jumps, dodging the bullets and starts running again.

He runs down an alleyway, jumping when at the ledge and screams when he realizes its pretty high. His foot hits an oil barrel when getting closer to the ground, effectively making him slip and fall back.

As he sits up, more people show to the right and start shooting, not even giving him a second to groan out in pain.

"WHAAHAHA!", he yelps jumping up as the bullets miss him, making his way over to hop off another ledge.

Landing on the space between stairs, he quickly runs down, turning at the corner to continue the descent.

"There he is!", a man says and aims at him.

Vash makes a few more panicked noises when they release another round of bullets just behind him.

At some point he gets enough distance, running on a bridge like structure.

Looking back, he doesn't notice the three figures with guns until facing forward, making him stop in place.

"Uh oh.", he says with a nervous smile, raising his hands up.

"We've got him.", someone says from behind.

"Huh?", he turns his head, seeing three more armed people running up.

He stays in place.

How am I gonna get out of this?

"Heads up!"

Looking over, he sees a rope being tossed at him by the female reporter.

He rushes forward and grabs the rope at the end of the noose. "Oh!"

Before any bullets could hit him the rope yanks him towards a building, making him have to run along the wall of it so he doesn't crash into it. More people shoot at him as he does so.

The rope pulls him up really high.

"AAAAAAHHH!", he screams before feeling himself start to fall.

And then he screams again.

"Ah!", its short, because a second later he lands on the two reporters.

The three let out a collective grunt in pain.

.

You watched as the town ran wild trying to get Vash from one of the highest rooftops.

Seeing this episode and all its angles was fun, but actually seeing it from the sidelines was a different story.

All that jumping and running has to be difficult.

Then you heard the scream of him being yanked up by the rope and decided to do your part to help.

I can't believe I'm doing this. You grumble a few curses as you go down some stairs, taking off your coat. Rem better show up after all of this shit 'cuz I'm gonna need her to explain all of her cryptic ass shit!

The heat comes back to bother you for a moment.

As you make it to the last step, you flip your coat inside out, the red lining from the inside now vissible.

Putting it back on and fixing it, you think over your life choices.

"I'm gonna get shot.", you say in a whine and put the hood over your head.

Then you start running down the alley way.

"Hey! I think I saw him!", someone yells.

Its only been a fucking second! You cry internally and keep running. Let's hope that Tomas is out now!

Turning down a corner, you see a small group of armed people, and one of them spots you.

Oh shit.

"There!", they yell and start shooting.

"Ah!", you yelp and jump out of their lone of fire, running the opposite way.

"FOLLOW HIM!"

Bad idea bad idea bad idea bad idea bad idea-!

You let out another scream when a bullet whizzes by your head.

REALLY BAD IDEAAAAA!!

Going into an alley way, you run between the buildings.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck!

As you run out of the alley, a bullet grazes your arm.

MOTHER FUCKER!

You wince but keep running.

After a while you stop, gasping for breath while hiding in the shadows. Taking off the coat, you check your wounded arm and hiss. Blood going down your arm, some of it staining the white side of your coat.

"Never again.", you sigh and get up, making your way back to the Inn, placing the coat over your shoulder.

"I hope he made it to the entrance."

There's a loud crash coming from somewhere to the right side of town.

"POWER IS JUSTICE! POWER IS TRUTH!"

You hear a voice coming from a loud speaker.

"THERE IS NO FUTURE FOR THE SNIVELING SLUG WHO CAN'T FIGHT! COME OUT VASH THE STAMPEDE, THE FURIOUS FIST OF THE NEBRASKA FAMILY CHALLENGE YOU TO A DUEL!"

"He made it.", you sigh, not bothering to turn around, feeling your legs ache from all the running. "I'll sit this one out and come back with my medic pack."

"COME OUT, COME OUT WHEREVER YOU ARE!", the old man says.

"Ugh.", you groan and face palm. "And then the psycho shows up right after!"

Why are there so many crazy people!?

As you made it to the Inn and entered your room, you checked your ammo and picked up your bag. Before stepping out, you heard an explosion.

Fuck.

Please send over some songs that you think would be great for this fic!

~Seline, the person.

Next: Part 8

Taglist@

@summerdazed @lunar-archangel @+?

ML Vash | ChL Isekai'd

[skbeaumont]

Just a Graze | Joel x Reader oneshot

One-shot Joel/Reader. Previously posted in two parts but thought I'd make a masterpost for this one.

Summary: Joel comes back injured, and while you patch him up the tension that's been building for several months threatens to break.

Tags/warnings: dirty talk, explicit content, language, injury detail (not explicit), MDNI, sexual tension, PIV, oral (F receiving), FILTH

Word Count: 4.3k

Joel’s bleeding when he gets back. The screen door clatters shut behind him, wire shuddering against the wood, and you look up from the table. His face is set, a solid frown painted across his features – nothing unusual – but there’s a downward turn to his mouth that you recognise as a pained expression. He steps in and leans against the counter, one hand on the warped wood, the other pressed against his shoulder. Blood seeps through his fingers, clotting around his knuckles, staining his jacket red.

“I’m okay,” he says as you spring up from your place at the dusty kitchen table, “it’s just a graze.”

“Bullet?” You ask, ignoring his attempts to wave off your concern.

“Barbed wire,” he says, letting you lead him further into the cabin, toward the misshapen couch, “stupid mistake, I didn’t see it.”

The shotgun clatters onto the floor at his feet as he collapses onto the couch with a groan. He doesn’t protest as you pull his fist away from the wound, your hand warm against his wind-chilled fingers. The cut isn’t deep, but the wire has torn through his jacket and shirt down to the flesh of his shoulder, leaving a jagged cut that’s oozing blood.

“You must be getting old,” you say, standing to search through your pack for the first aid kit, “your eyes are going as well as your ears.”

“Ain’t nothing wrong with my eyes. Or my ears.”

“Sorry?”

“I said, there-” he notices your grin, the glint of mischief in your eye. He sighs heavily. “You’re a damn pain in my ass.”

You huff out a laugh and pull a kitchen chair across to sit opposite him. You open the first aid kit – which is really no more than a small washbag stuffed with a bottle of Lysol and a handful of bandages – on your lap, pull out the disinfectant and start unscrewing the cap. “Can you take your jacket off?” You ask, and he nods, starts unzipping it and pulling it off of his uninjured arm. He winces a little as he peels it past his bad shoulder, shakes it down his arm and lays it over his lap, frowning at the gash in the fabric.

“I can patch that up when we get back to Jackson.” You say.

“Ain’t going back ‘til we’ve something to bring back.” He replies, and now it’s your turn to sigh.

“We’ve got two deer and a whole family of rabbits, Joel. There’s nothing else out here for us to get.”

“We both saw that clinic complex, and I ain’t arguing with you about this again. Winter’s well on its way, and we need as much medicine as we can get to make it through. I almost got in today – would have, if I hadn’t got caught on that damned barbed wire. We’ll both go back tomorrow.”

He fixes you with a hard stare, one that makes the hairs stand up on the back of your neck, though whether it’s through fear or something else, you’re not sure. You’ve been partnering up for a couple of months now, going out on hunts and supply runs, growing slowly closer over long hikes and cold nights camping out under the stars.

At first, he intimidated you. He was cold, harsh; a solid bulk of a man who never smiled and rarely spoke, except to tell you to keep your voice down or stop walking so loudly. But then, gradually, he’d started loosening up around you. A few weeks ago he’d cracked a smile at a joke you’d made – something stupid about a bird in a tree, the kind of joke your dad used to make when you were a kid – and then that smile had grown into a deep chuckle a couple of days later, and then a conversation, whispered and illusive, under a starry sky last week.

This latest trip outside Jackson had been the most enjoyable yet, conversation flowing easily between you, and you were starting to suspect that the strange swooping feeling in your stomach that arose each time he looked at you, or bumped against you as you walked had a lot less to do with how intimidating he could be, and a lot more to do with him.

Now, locking eyes with him over the opened bottle of Lysol, his eyes dark and with an argument boiling up between you, that feeling blossoms into something hot and delicious, stirring a fire in your belly that makes you bold.

“From where I’m sat,” you say, tipping the bottle of Lysol so that the disinfection pours out onto a clean swab, “you don’t seem to have much choice about what we’re doing next. You’re hurt, and I need to patch you up, so stop arguing and take your shirt off.”

He opens his mouth to argue but shuts it again, eyes flicking up to your face. A hint of red creeps up his neck, settling high on his cheeks, tinging them scarlet in the low light of the cabin. You keep glaring at him. He lets out a long breath through his nose and moves to unbutton his shirt. The shirt is old, vintage, even – probably older than you – with mismatched buttons and a crumpled, frayed look. It comes apart easily, Joel’s fingers working down the buttons nimbly until he reaches the bottom. He pauses there, looks up at your face. You look away, because heat is creeping up your own neck now, hot and unbridled, as he pushes the shirt off of his shoulders and lets it fall open onto the couch behind him.

After his dark eyes, the most notable thing about Joel is his stature. He’s tall, and broad enough to fill any room he’s in. You’ve seen him lift grown men like they weigh nothing, watched him pick up a dead deer and throw it over one shoulder without so much as a stumble. Last month you went out on horseback to scope a potential hunting ground, and, sitting behind him in the saddle, you couldn’t see anything past the triangular bulk of his shoulders, your hands clasped easily around his waist. So, yeah, you know he’s strong, could tell anyone that the man is built. But when you look at him in the half-light with his shirt off, uncovered by layers of leather or plaid, the sight still sends blood rushing to your face.

His shoulders are broad, curving into thick biceps that tense as he raises a hand to scratch, self-consciously, at the back of his neck. There are small scars littering his chest, running down in narrow white slices to his belly, which is softer than the rest of him, sloping and scattered with coarse hair that continues below the buckle of his belt. You want to press your face into it, kiss the contours of his bellybutton and the plains of his chest, up to the juncture of his throat, which bobs as he swallows, eyes shifting to catch yours.

“You gonna patch me up or just stare?” He asks, and there’s something teasing in his voice, something that causes heat and slick to pool in between your thighs. “I- you’ve got a lot of scars.” You say, stupidly, tipping more Lysol onto the cloth you’re holding.

“Had a lot of run-ins with barbed wire.” He replies, the words turning to a hiss when you press the wet cloth to the cut on his shoulder.

“Should be more careful.”

“Now where would the fun be in that, darlin’?”

Oh, that’s new. You’ve heard him call Ellie pet names before, laughed when she rolls her eyes and shirks away from his affections, all fifteen years old and too cool to be coddled. But he’s never called you anything but your name – never so much as shortened it to a nickname like almost everyone else does. You flick your gaze from his wound to his face. His eyes are dark, expression unreadable, but the intensity of his gaze makes you look away, cheeks reddening. You pull the cloth away from his arm and start wrapping a clean bandage around his shoulder.

“Sorry,” he says, after a pause. “I forget, sometimes. Recently.”

“Forget what?”

“That you’re young enough to be my-” He cuts himself off here, “that you’re a hell of a lot younger’n I am.”

This makes you laugh out loud, a huff of breath exhaled. You’re still opposite each other, him on the sofa, knees spread wide, you in the kitchen chair. If you inched forward only slightly your own legs would be between his.

“Old days I’d have been old enough to drink and drive, and more than old enough to flirt, Joel.”

“That what you want? You want me to flirt with you?” His voice is low, almost a whisper.

You shrug and hold his gaze. “I think it’s what you want too. I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I can’t see you.”

You have. He thinks he’s being discrete, but you’ve seen how his eyes linger on your legs, how he can’t help but drop his gaze to your chest when you wear something low cut. A few weeks ago you’d seen him adjust himself in his jeans when you stripped down to your underwear to bathe in a stream you’d come across after two days out searching for supplies.

“And how’s that?” He asks. You have to hold yourself back from leaning forward and kissing the worried crease of his mouth.

“Like you’re a man dying of thirst and I’m an oasis.”

He scoffs at that. “Shoulda been a writer, sweetheart.”

“And how does this story end?”

“Ends with you walking away from me like you should’ve months ago. This,” he flicks a finger at himself and then you, “ain’t happening.”

“Why not? You want it, I want it. I don’t see what the problem is.”

“Problem is,” he slides his arms off the sofa, reaching back to pull his shirt back up over his shoulders, “you think you know what you want, but you don’t.” He starts buttoning the shirt, fixing you with a stern look. “Trust me.”

He tries to stand but you put your hands on his knees, holding him in place.

“No way,” You say, your heart thumping in your chest, “you don’t get to decide what I do or don’t want.”

“What do you want? You want me to fuck you? Want me to spread your pretty little legs out across this couch and make you come on my tongue?”

Yes. God, yes.

“What if I do? What if that’s exactly what I want you to do?” You slide your hands further up his legs, holding him down on the couch. If he wanted to, he could push you off easily, but he doesn’t. When your fingertips reach the tops of his thighs he slides his hands over your wrists and pins them where they are, stopping you moving any higher.

“Find someone your own age, sweetheart. Someone whose knees don’t creak when the stand up. Someone who can make you happy.” And then he’s standing up, moving your hands off of him with ease, stepping around you in the kitchen chair to stride to the other side of the room, the tension collapsing in on itself as he tells you to get some sleep, that there’s more work to do tomorrow.

*****

The next morning brings rain. It hammers against the walls of the cabin and drips in through the leaky roof. Joel stands at the window, one hand on his hip, silently looking out at the downpour.

“Tell me you’re not considering going out in this?” You say, moving up behind him to peer out at the lashing rain.

“Might ease up later.” He says, turning to face you. “There’s enough to do in here to keep us occupied, anyway.”

“Guns?” You ask.

“Guns.” He agrees.

Joel’s fanatical about keeping the guns clean and working. It makes sense, you suppose. You don’t know much about his past, about how he and Ellie ended up in Jackson, but what you’ve heard, the snippets Ellie’s confided in you over quiet conversations, makes for grim listening. To Joel, those guns mean the difference between life and death.

And so you both sit at the kitchen table, meticulously cleaning Joel’s shotgun and your pistol, passing cloths and gun oil between you. You make casual conversation as you go, neither of you touching on the events of the previous evening. After he dismissed you last night you’d gone straight to bed, tucked yourself into the dusty single bed in the bedroom while Joel took the couch. Your dreams had been hazy and pleasant, and you’d woken up flushed.

You’re sliding the magazine back into your pistol when Joel jumps and swears, pulling his hand back from where he’s trapped his finger in the loading mechanism of the shotgun. A tiny bead of blood wells up and spills over his fingertip and he sighs heavily. You reach out and take his hand in yours to examine the cut. It's tiny - you've seen paper-cuts do more damage - but Joel's frowning like he's in pain.

“You’ve gotta stop being so clumsy.” You say.

“I’m not clumsy.” He replies, letting you turn his hand in yours, watching you watch his thick fingers, take in the breadth of his knuckles.

“No?”

“No. It’s-”

You're not sure what makes you do it - maybe it's frustration still boiling over from yesterday, maybe it's the way Joel looks at you as you clasp his large hand in your own smaller one -  but before he can finish speaking you pull his arm across the table and wrap your lips around his finger. You snake your tongue over the pad of the digit and the noise he makes then - a breathy, broken groan - sends fire surging through you, heat coiling between your thighs.

“Distraction.” He finishes.

When you pull your mouth away and place a wet kiss to the palm of his hand, he slides his fingers across your jaw and up into the mess of your hair. His hand is hot against your scalp, curving around the back of your neck, leading you forward so that he can fit his mouth against yours across the table.

Pleasure flutters out from the pull of his fingers in your hair, and his lips are soft and dry until he opens his mouth to you, guiding your tongue into his mouth, pressing his into yours. It’s slow at first. Tentative, as though he’s waiting for you to push him away. But you’ve never wanted anything more, and when you moan against his lips he stands, bracketing your face with both hands to pull you up from your own chair.

It’s a messy walk backwards from the table. You bump against the broken coffee table, pull away from his mouth to curse and rub your shin, but then he’s falling back onto the couch, pulling you down into his lap so that your thighs are bracketing his legs.

You pause like that, looking at each other, both breathless and dazed, lips bruised.

“This what you want?” He asks again, placing his hand at your jaw gently. His fingers are thick, hand so large that his thumb rests at your temple and while his index finger sits under your chin.

“I want you, Joel. Please.”

When he kisses you again, it’s hungry and animalistic. All pretence of hesitation is gone. He presses his mouth to your throat, lets his teeth scrape the delicate skin below your ear.

“This is still a bad idea.” He says, voice breaking when you roll your hips against his. ”Shit.”

“Please, Joel.” Your voice sounds tiny, shrill to your own ears, desperate and pathetic, but Joel bites at the juncture of your neck and it doesn’t matter, nothing matters except the feel of his hands on your hips, guiding you against him, pulling your clothed cunt against where he’s impossibly hard in his jeans.

“I’m gonna take this off.” He says, pulling at your shirt, tugging it up over your head. “And this.” He runs a hand over your covered tit, pinches your nipple beneath the thin fabric of your bra, rolls it between his finger and thumb while his other hand slides up your back and unclasps it. It falls between you, forgotten immediately.

“Fuck, darlin’, look at you.” He says, running the knuckle of his index finger over the swell of your chest, down along your ribs and across one hip. He lets his hand fall away, brings it back up to the side of your face, pulls your lips back to his and drags your bottom lip into his mouth with his teeth.

Pain and pleasure blossom through you, make you scrabble at the buttons of his shirt, fingers shaking as you try and get them undone. He helps, slides the shirt off of his back, careful where his shoulder is still sore. He balls it up and casts it across the room, then grips your hips and lifts you, turning you onto your back on the sofa, pressing himself between your open thighs. The change in angle presses the seam of your jeans against your clit, a jolt of pleasure rocking through you.

“You ever done this before?” He asks, hovering over you, dipping down to press a chaste kiss against your collarbone.

“I ain’t that innocent, Joel.” You reply, gasping when he pulls your nipple into his mouth, teasing it with his teeth. “Have you?”

This earns you a deep chuckle, a hushed whisper against the back of your neck, “I’ve been doing this since before you were born, baby.”

And, fuck, that shouldn’t turn you on so much but it does. It has your hips lifting up, seeking out friction. Joel notices and slides down your body, dropping onto his knees on the floor. He runs one hand up the inside of your thigh, presses his thumb expertly against your covered clit.

“I’m gonna take these off now, and then you’re gonna come on my tongue. That sound okay?”

You nod, voice lost as he undoes the button on your jeans and pulls them down in one motion, pushing them away in the direction of his discarded shirt.

“Look how wet you are for me already.” He glides two fingers over the front of your soaked underwear, up to the waistband to hook them off.

And then he leans forward, presses light kisses up your thighs until he reaches your cunt. He pauses, blows a cool strip of air against you that has you trying to close your legs, but his hands are there, pinning them open for him. When he seals his lips over your clit and drags his tongue over it you thread your fingers through his hair, pull at the black-grey strands. You squeeze your eyes shut but he pulls away, chastises you gently.

“Eyes on me, sweetheart.” His voice is like molten chocolate, rich and dark, pulling you back so that you gaze down at him.

He swipes his tongue over your slit, gathers the slick that’s pooling there. He’s like a man possessed, eyes dark, hair standing up on end from where you’ve run your hands through it, cursing and moaning as he slides his tongue over your clit, starting up a firm and consistent rhythm that has you bucking against him. His hands are gripping your thighs hard enough to leave bruises, his forearms corded with muscle, biceps flexing up to those impossibly broad shoulders.

“You gonna come on my tongue?” He asks, hardly breaking away from you to grunt out the question.

“Yes, Joel, fuck, please.” You can’t seem to form a coherent sentence, can hardly force yourself to keep your eyes on him where he kneels between your thighs like you’re an altar and he’s a lonely priest begging for repentance. It’s this thought – the idea of him worshipping you, tongue lapping over your clit, his eyes blazing with lust – that tips you over the edge. Your cunt clenches around nothing, body wracked with pleasure as you come, hard, on his tongue. He grins into your cunt as he feels you come apart against him, continues pressing sloppy, wet kisses to your pussy as you come down from the high, limbs shaking. When you finally push him away, overly sensitive and buzzing with pleasure, he rocks back on his heels, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. Your pleasure is painted across his face, his greying stubble wet with your slick.

He crawls back up onto the couch between your thighs, dips his head to kiss you. You taste yourself on his lip; on his tongue when he sweeps it against the back of your teeth, heady and sweet. He presses himself against you, drags the front of his jeans over your bare skin. The buckle of his belt catches against your bare stomach and you hiss into his mouth, reach down to unbuckle it. It comes off easily, falls to the floor with a dull thud, and then you slip your fingers through the buttons of his jeans, undo them quickly, desperate to get them off. He stands briefly, pushes them the rest of the way down his thick thighs and then kneels back between your legs. Immediately you slide your hand into the waistband of his briefs. He feels like velvet wrapped around steel, hot and delicious in your fist. He groans into your mouth as you palm him desperately, sliding delicate skin over the head of him, feathering the pad of your thumb against his slit. When you draw his cock out you break away from his needy mouth to look. He’s big: thick, curving slightly to the left, head already weeping precum.

“Fist feels so good wrapped around my cock, sweetheart.” He tells you, “You gonna let me fuck you?”

It’s the easiest yes you’ve ever given. He chuckles darkly at your needy reply, pushes his briefs the rest of the way off and wraps his own fist around his cock. He slides himself over your cunt, coating himself in your juices. Then he’s notching the blunt head of his cock against your entrance, sucking in a breath as he pushes in gently, slowly, stretching you out deliciously.

“Good girl,” He murmurs, easing himself deeper, feeling you flex and clench around him, “good fucking girl.”

He stills when he’s fully seated inside you, sucks at a spot under your jaw that makes you gasp with pleasure, runs one big palm up your body to paw at your breast, trying to collect himself, twitching inside you with the effort of staying still.

“Cunt’s so goddamn tight, baby.” His voice is broken, pitchy and breathy against your ear.

You run your hands over his back, feeling out the breadth of his shoulders, the thin scars that lace across them, his muscles bunching and flexing beneath your fingers when he finally – finally – starts to move inside you, rocking his hips into yours, dragging himself all the way out and then gliding back in. The head of his cock hits something inside you that sends white hot pleasure jolting through your belly. The cabin is silent now – the rain has stopped – the only sounds are your frantic breathing and low, breathy moans, and Joel’s whispered praises as he rocks against you.

Good girl, so fucking good for me, letting me fuck you like this, cunt so tight around me, could come just thinking about it.

It’s dirty and sloppy and fucking incredible. The power you’ve seen him exert on infected and drunkards and raiders suddenly coiled over you, his muscles pulling you taunt against him when he changes the angle, sits up, pulls you with him so that you’re riding him, his cock somehow buried deeper in your cunt, your thighs bracketing him. You can feel yourself growing closer to release again, pleasure notching up in your belly like fire spreading. Joel shifts slightly again, makes space for his hand to come between you, places his thumb against your clit and presses, draws out slow, gentle circles that match the pace of his thrusts.

“Need my thumb on you clit while my cock’s buried inside you, sweetheart? Gonna come again just like this, huh? Dirty fucking girl.”

His words are like fuel on the fire and within seconds you’re moaning and shaking, cunt clenching around him as you come, harder than before, on his cock. Joel fucks you through it, keeps the steady pressure on your clit.

“Gonna make me come in this tight little pussy,” He says, and you know you shouldn’t, know you should make him pull out, but he feels so good inside you that you grind down on him telling him yes, please, fist your hands into his hair to pull his mouth against yours. The kiss is desperate and messy, all teeth and tongue. He hisses into your mouth as you buck your hips and drive them down on him, and then he’s swearing, fingers digging hard into your hips.

"Jesus, you feel so fucking good, baby, I’m gonna come. I’m gonna- shit.” He pulses inside you, painting your cunt with his come, hot and wet inside you.

You continue rocking against each other, slowly, coming down from the high. When he slides out of you and shifts away the old sofa groans out in protest, springs creaking. It makes you laugh, breathless, racking laughter than drives away the sudden realisation of what you’ve just done, of how you’ve indelibly changed the way you look at each other, the relationship between you.

“That was… fucking hell, Joel, that was incredible.”

He’s looking at you sideways, his hair still a mess, stubble still coated with your slick. He’s naked and vulnerable and you think it might just be the hottest thing you’ve ever seen. When he leans across to slot his lips against yours you grin against him, trying not to think about what happens next.

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

It's a Match! || poly!141 x Reader

[Chapter 27] || [Chapter 29]

Pairing: 141 x gn!Reader Words: 1.2K~ cw: illness, injuries, hurt/comfort, fluff, love confessions! Summary: While overcoming recent heartbreak, you decide to join Tinder in search of a rebound. Your friends advise to just Swipe Right indiscriminately... What happens when 4 soldiers from the same squad match with you? a/n: Just a cute little moment

Chapter 28: How in the-

The trip with John was short but sweet. A full weekend together, away from everything…

Followed by 4 whole weeks alone. Not that you minded the extra piece and quiet.

You were normally kept at a distance from the boys and their line of work. Arms length, not because they don’t trust you, but because just like Simon learned to drop Ghost at the door, the rest drop work at the door too.

The closest thing you get to ‘work’ is funny anecdotes that can even make you laugh, OR soft, whispered, retelling of memories as your hands snake over their rough skins, fingers grazing the scars that those memories left behind.

Today was a first. In a lot of ways.

The boys showed up at your flat at 3 A.M. after spending a whole month out of Hereford and in God knows where.

You had opened the door very wearily to the sight of the four of them, not even having changed out of their tactical gear, looking like they had been through hell.

Kyle was walking with a limp and a groan, his back stiff and an inability to properly swivel side to side at the hips.

Johnny had gotten his shoulder shot?? Plus his knee was acting up so he was also limping.

John was, also, limping. His back was also stiff and he murmured something about having pulled a muscle.

And Simon? The man’s eyes were surrounded by circles darker than you’d ever seen them, his shoulders slumped. He moved normally, unlike the others. And that concerned you more than anything.

“Jesus, what happened?”

“Mission mishaps. They happen sometimes, da’lin’.” John told you soothingly as he attempted to press a kiss to the crown of your head, but wincing when he felt the pain shoot up his spine.

“Sounds to me like more than mishaps. There’s no way all four of you are injured and it was just a ‘mishap’.” You scolded them as you carefully helped them off their gear, multiple men groaning and grunting in pain as the heavy weights were shed from their torsos.

“Have you been checked?”

“Yes, we went to medic before coming over-” Kyle told you.

“And they let you leave on foot? You look like you all should be on bed rest!” You scolded them.

“And that’s why we’re here.” Johnny added before letting out a groan when you moved his arm, sending pain barreling down his arm.

“How in the-” You murmured as you noted the patched up bullet wound.

“Don’t ask…” Kyle muttered under his breath, a whimper of a sound that you had never quite heard from him.

They were like lost puppies… Needy for being lulled to sleep by a soft hand caressing them behind the ears after some nasty man kicked them on the street.

So that’s how you ended up with four injured soldiers in your house. Ghost took the living room couch, leaving the bed for John and Kyle and Johnny.

“Don’t get any blood on my bed, Johnny!” You warned him. “If something happens, you call me.” You had added as you made sure they were as comfortable as can be before you slipped out of the room.

Reaching the living room, it was now well past 4 A.M. Simon was lying there, one leg swung over the back of your couch, and eyes locked on the shower. “You okay, Simon?” You checked softly.

“Fine, sweetheart.”

“Don’t look fine to me.” You retorted and sat on the armchair by his head, looking down at him, your hand finding his and caressing it.

He twitched a bit against the pillows, brown eyes fluttering for a moment as he took a deep breath. “Mission went tits up. Strained ourselves trying to finish.”

“You too, then?” You asked him and he nodded. “Where?”

“Everywhere. I’m sore all over… And I think I have a fever.” He admitted.

“Do you wanna try a shower?” You suggested and he shook his head.

“I don’t wanna stand up for that long… I get dizzy.”

“And a bath?” You added.

“…” Simon didn’t answer but he groaned and forced himself to stand up. You helped guide him to the bathroom.

After lowering the stopper and allowing the water to flow into the tub, you looked at Simon. “I’ll be outside, okay? I’ll give you privacy.” You told him softly.

Leaning up, you kissed his pale cheek, and turned away…

Only for him to catch you by the wrist. “Stay.”

“What?” You asked him, unsure you heard him right.

“Stay. Please.” He requested.

“But… you said you didn’t-” You trailed off, the memory of his fear of exposing his body to you (or anyone) clear in your mind.

“I know what I said. Just… Please.” He insisted.

“Okay.” You replied and nodded, stepping forward again. He reached his arms up, painfully slowly, the same way John and Kyle and Johnny had.

You grabbed the hem of his t-shirt and slowly rolled it up, your eyes finding his scar-riddled torso for the first time. Blotchy skin due to chemical burns here and there, big gashes and smaller cuts spread throughout.

Simon was looking away the whole time as you helped him off his cargos and underwear. The injuries continued down his legs, every inch of him nasty and ugly, only due to how brutal his scars were. In reality, it all made no difference to you.

“You okay?” You checked on him. He nodded slowly, his eyes screwed shut.

“Let’s get you into the water, okay? It’ll do you good.” You said as you grabbed him by the bicep and helped get him into a seated position inside the tub.

Then, you knelt by his side just as he was grunting in relief, his muscles relaxing in the water. 

The bathtub that had felt tight with you and Johnny in it months ago, now felt even smaller with Simon Riley in it. 

Grabbing the sponge, you carefully ran it over his torso and shoulders, wetting the part of him that didn’t fit in the bath.

The blond leaned his head back on the wall and opened his eyes, finding you looking at him.

“Thank you.” Simon told you in a whisper.

“For bathing you?”

“For dating me.” He replied, causing you to smile.

“My, Simon, you might be sicker than I expected. Where’s the confidence?” You teased him good-naturely, earning a soft chuckle from him.

“Was never here. Just faking it until I made it…” He admitted and shook his head, letting it lull against the tiles.

“I see, well… It worked.” You joked as you kept wetting his body carefully.

“We’re lucky to have you.” He murmured. “You didn’t have to do this. To put up with us.”

“It’s not putting up if I like you.” You told him. “Besides… you take care of me. I take care of you. Mutually beneficial, that’s what a relationship should be.”

“I don’t take care of you because I like you.” Simon whispered, a drowsy look in his tired eyes.

“Then what for?” You asked him. “Because you want to shag me that bad?” You joked again and winked.

“No… because I love you.” Simon muttered, his lips a bit lazy in the way he said it, clearly too relaxed and tired and groggy to really think straight.

Your eyes widened and your jaw dropped open, your hands going limp and dropping the sponge. “Simon…”

“You don’t have to say it back.” He said as he rolled his head against the tile wall, side to side. “Just wanted you to know.”

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

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[draconic-desire]

💥 Take My Whiskey Neat 💥

Yandere Boothill x Reader

Again and again, you find a way to escape, and every time ends with you peering down the barrel of a gun.

Warnings: Yandere behaviors, forced relationship and captivity, implied kidnapping, some suggestive content but mostly sfw. Mild spoilers for his background story; I want to write him both as a super attentive and protective guy but also crazy for you???

You’ve become all too familiar with the sensation of a gun being pointed to your forehead.

“Aw, darlin’, why the long face? Took me two whole days to find ya this round! You should be proud’a yerself. I dare say our time together has taught you well,” he concludes with a wink.

Somehow, his praise feels more like a taunt.

That’s because it is. Obviously you never had a chance at escaping from him, a Galaxy Ranger with a bounty on his head worth more than your life a hundred times over. He was born and raised to hunt, to track, to kill. You’re just the unlucky target.

He leans the gun ever so slightly closer to you, mere inches before it can graze your skin, and waits for your response. Although you know he won’t pull the trigger, the sight of the 9 millimeter colt aimed directly between your eyes still sends goose flesh skittering down your arms.

You grit your teeth and pin him with a withering glare. The last thing you’ll relinquish is your pride—you’re not intimidated by him, and it is impressive that you evaded him for so long, relatively speaking. Your other escape attempts lasted mere hours.

Unfortunately, the fact that the Ranger has always traveled alone doesn’t help your chances—especially when lately, his only occupation has been you.

“What, no clap back today? No, ‘fudge you, ya son of a nice lady’ or ‘fork you, shirtbaggin’ bootlicker’? I’ve gotten so used to yer colorful language that I’m almost disappointed!” Boothill tilts the gun and juts his hips, his bullseye gaze locked on your own.

Ignoring the subtle look of longing, of hurt, within their depths is getting harder and harder. He’s superb at hiding it behind jokes and attempted curses, but you know that look. He’s clinging to you after all that’s been taken from him, seeking love after it was destroyed in flames. If only he still held onto his human emotions and didn’t rely on that neuro chip of his; then he’d know that what he’s showing you isn’t love, but obsession.

You wish you had never extended your kindness to him that fateful day, when he’d burst into your home, sparks flying and wires exposed. One of his arms was barely attached, completely torn through with bullet holes. A shootout, he’d said, and he’d caught wind of a handy ‘machine doctor’—a mechanic, you’d corrected him—in town who could fix him right up.

It had taken a full two weeks for you to get him back up and running functionally. Two weeks of evading IPC grunts knocking on your door in search of him, two weeks of tolerating (and fine, maybe even enjoying) his crude jokes, and two weeks of stories over a glass of whiskey, about your hope to one day travel among the stars and his of finding a companion to do so with.

That’s when he’d seemed the most human. Voice tinged with sorrow, yes, but lips curved into a morose smile, eyes looking up at the stars. Reminiscing about when he was still fully human, nothing but a cowboy on a seemingly insignificant planet, surrounded by his adopted parents and siblings, and even that little girl whom he never got to see grow up.

After he’d shared his story, you’d felt the sudden urge to be close to him. Without thinking, you’d brought your hand up to his cheek, wiping an invisible tear despite the fact that he lost his tear ducts long ago.

He’d sucked in a breath and gone deadly still; thinking you misjudged the situation and overstepped a boundary, you’d quickly started to jerk your hand back, only for him to lock it firmly against his face with his metal palm.

His voice, normally loud and clear through the synthesized distortion, had been quiet, low, wavering. “I—please, don’t stop. That feels…nice.”

You were sad to see him go after those two weeks. You honestly expected to never see him again—he was a Galaxy Ranger, after all, the definition of a lone wolf—but to your surprise, his visits didn’t end there. He kept returning again and again, and not just for repairs. Sometimes he’d bring you gifts or tell you stories of his hunt, and you’d cherish those moments when the galaxy felt just a bit less lonely with him.

Then the visits started to increase in their frequency—and intensity. He’d show up while you were working with a client and brazenly threaten them to leave so he could occupy your time instead, or he’d appear on your doorstep in the middle of the night with your favorite bottle of liquor, winking at the sight of your embarrassed form, still in your nightclothes. Your world suddenly seemed to revolve around the gunslinging cyborg.

You’d had to put your foot down—as much as you did enjoy his company, you wouldn’t allow him to interfere with your career. You’d worked hard to gain your skills, and even though you were barely scraping by and living in a tiny, modest home by yourself, you were still proud of what you’d achieved on your own.

His initial reaction was an uncharacteristic and frightening bout of silence, his pupils blown wide, locked onto yours. Just as quickly, his typical smirk returned as he laughed it off. “Just watch out, lil cutie, ‘cause I know you’ll be missin’ me soon.”

Apparently, soon was imminent, immediate. You were pouring yourself a drink after a long week of work when he finally kicked down your door and announced you’d be coming with him.

“I’ve been waiting a long while now to claim you, darlin’.”

“And if I refuse?”

That was the first time you witnessed his gun trained on you.

Now, Boothill drags you along everywhere, hopping from one planet or system to the next, living together as nomads. What you believed to be a serendipitous friendship, he thought was the start of your romance and life together.

It would be thrilling in any other circumstance, treading the path of The Hunt, evading the law, tracking down the IPC members who destroyed his family…except the cyborg transferred that need to protect, to save someone, onto you. You have no choice but to be his now, and he’ll be damned if he ever lets you go.

“You just want to hear me curse because you can’t,” you growl. What a stupid argument to be having with a pistol to your head. Yet you can’t help but siphon all of your anger into this dumb little game of cat and mouse, of shark and minnow, of hunter and bird.

He forgets you’re not the only one armed.

You flash him the most vulgar gesture you can make. “Go fuck yourself, Boothill.”

The cowboy throws his head back in a laugh. “Haha! There she is. Wild as a newborn colt.” He grins, flashing those shark teeth you’d groan to loathe. You’ve lost count of the number of puncture marks and scars they’ve littered across your flesh.

That’s something he can’t seem to get enough of—the feel of your warm, organic, human skin against his cold, steel shell.

“Lan shoot me with an arrow, do you ever shut the fuck up?” you grumble, looking up as if the Aeon will give you an answer.

“Think ya already know the answer to that,” he replies, lowering his weapon to sling his opposite arm around your shoulders. The gun hangs languidly from his other hand, as if he’s not the deadliest shot in the galaxy.

His breath brushes your neck as he leans in and nips at your ear. “Now, how ‘bout we take this back home, eh cutie? Two days without you has got me pretty…” His voice drops an octave. “…pent up, if ya know what I mean.”

The tooth marks along your skin flare. Oh, you know all too well.

~*~

Trying to find the solution to your imprisonment at the bottom of a bottle seems like a really clever idea, at least until the room starts spinning.

The empty glass cracks against the wooden table again as brown liquor burns down your throat. What did he call it? Rocket fuel? Damn right, and you’d lost count of the number of shots you’d taken.

Boothill’s normal smirk is contorted into a small frown. “Darlin’, I know it’s been a long couple’a days away for you, but I think we should retire the whiskey for the time being—”

“Shyut up!” you slur, jabbing a finger at the Ranger, your neck still throbbing from all the love bites and hickeys he’d given you. “Thiz is your fault.”

He reaches for the bottle, but you snatch it away and instead start to take pulls directly from it. A deep sigh reverberates behind you as you stand and begin to spin around, hands extended. “Aren’t we celebrating you catching me again? You got what you wanted, you…you mudder…fuuuu…” You sway and just barely catch yourself before you tumble—wait, no, that’s him steadying your shoulders.

“(Y/n).” You blink out of your haze momentarily; only on rare occasions does he use your name and not things like darling or cutie. His face is controlled, mouth tilted downward. “Put the bottle down. I know the feelin’ of wanting to drown in liquor, but it ain’t right.”

“I’m only like this because you took me from my life!”

He bares his teeth, and you know you hit a nerve. “That little shack you called a home? Was that really livin’? All those nights we talked, you said how you wanted grand adventure and risk! To travel and see the stars! To be with me!”

“I didn’t ask for you to put me in a moving cage,” you spit back, trying to shake out of his iron-clad grip. “But you never asked what I wanted, did you?”

“Why’s this all so hard for you to accept?” One hand moves to grab your chin, tilting your face towards his tall form. “It could be just us, ridin’ through the galaxy for all time.” His lips brush lightly against your own, and you feel a tinge of warmth run down your spine. “Just be mine.”

In your drunken stupor, your anger morphs into something else, something more carnal. He wants to be the predator? Well, even the hunted fight back sometimes.

The bottle drops from your hand, shattering against the floor, as you hook an arm around his neck and kiss him fervently, your tongue running along the edges of his pointed canines.

Before he can kiss you back, you pull away, wiping the back of your mouth with your forearm. “That’s what could have been if you hadn’t kidnapped me. If you’d asked me first.” Skipping over the remnants of the whiskey bottle, you flip him the finger over your shoulder as you walk away. “Too bad that’s all you’ll get. Fork you, Boothill.”

As soon as you leave the room, Boothill raises a metal digit to his lips, savoring the sensation of your warm mouth against his. So that’s what your willing kiss feels like. The true passion he knows is hidden deep in your soul, buried beneath the dirt like an unmarked grave. He releases a breathy laugh.

Well fork him sideways, but he wants more.

Taking his hat off, he sets it on the table and moves to pour himself a glass of sherry. He’s nearly positive he’ll find you passed out in bed if he goes to you now, and knows he shouldn’t, can’t be in the same room with you when his self control is so near to breaking. Better to let you sleep it off and tease you about the kiss in the morning.

Boothill kicks his feet up and takes a long sip. So, it turns out your drunken self may actually be harboring some attraction for him. Yeah, he can use that.

“I’ll have you someday,” he whispers, a promise to both you and himself. “Whiskey ain’t the only thing that’ll be on your lips, darlin’.”

[t1red-twilight]

1.5 pints

summary: you get injured on a case and spencer is…worried to say the least.

warnings/content: gn!reader, fluff, hurt/comfort, medically inaccurate (i googled stuff but idk), spencer has ptsd, reader is implied to maybe have ptsd, cannon typical violence/injury (bullet wound), reader has self destructive traits, spencer is worried and quite overbearing, non-sexual nudity, spencer passenger princess confirmed, idiots pining over each other, like a significant amount of pining, friends totally share a bed regularly, that’s so normal and platonic, reader is an unreliable narrator at times, lmk if i missed anything<3

word count: 1.4k

masterlist

you had gotten injured after a case. it wasn’t anything serious, you had just gotten grazed by a bullet on your upper arm on your dominant side. it stung like a bitch, and bled quite a bit, but it wasn’t anything to cry over. even still, you were bandaged by paramedics before being sent on your way.

the case hadn’t been far from quantico, just a forty-five minute drive or so. spencer had silently insisted on sitting next to you in the suv. the air was awkward. not uncomfortable, per se, it was just that everyone in the car could feel that spencer was definitely upset.

once back at quantico, everyone split up to go to their homes. hotch informed everyone that you would all have the next day off. you searched through your go-bag for your car keys, when you suddenly felt a presence behind you.

spencer’s natural scent of linen and citrus would always be familiar to you. you’d recognize it anywhere. “hey spence.”

“how’d you know it was me?”

you turned around, shrugging. “lucky guess,” you smiled a lopsided smile. there was a momentary pause.

“is your arm okay?”

chuckling lightly, you shifted your weight onto one foot. “yeah, i’m alright. do you need anything?”

he was avoiding eye contact more than usual. “i think you should come over to my place tonight.”

you quirked an eyebrow. there was this unspoken arrangement the two of you had; you’d switch off spending the night at each other’s apartments. it had started when spencer began having ptsd-fueled nightmares again and you had recurring bouts of insomnia. and this consisted of sleeping in the same bed, to comfort each other.

“yeah?” there was an overwhelming feeling that he was more upset than he was leading on, and this was even more evident considering his behavior on the ride back to quantico.

“…yeah. i just want to make sure you’re okay.”

you snorted. “of course you do, spencer.” he finally looked up and resumed eye contact.

“what do you mean?”

“i don’t mean anything.” you twirled your keys around your finger, chuckling lightly at the thought of spencer being caught up in what was to you, a very minuscule injury. gesturing to your car, you add on, “well, we should get going then.”

he walked around to the driver’s side of the car and motioned for your keys. spencer wasn’t very keen on driving; he much preferred his passenger princess privileges and tendencies. confusion and minor amusement flooded your features. “you want to drive?”

“uh, yeah. you shouldn’t be lifting your arm, it could tear your stitches.” the sass in his tone almost made you double take.

“hey, i think i’ll be fine, okay? you don’t have to worry about me because i got scratched.” your tone was more genuine but still held a playful element. he sighs and looks a little incredulous.

“just let me drive. please.” taken aback, you hand over the keys and walk over to the passenger side. you raise your dominant arm to open the door. spencer quickly rushes over to open the door for you. “please don’t.”

“uh, okay,” you reply in a quieter voice. as you buckle your seatbelt, spencer gets into the drivers side seat. he somehow finds a classical station on the radio (it’s not all too surprising that he probably has them memorized), and the rest of the ride goes on without a hitch or bump.

when you arrive at his apartment, spencer runs to your side of the car. he opens your door for you, and helps you out of the car. “you don’t have to baby me, spence.” he mumbles out a response. “what?” you question back.

“can you please take this seriously?” your eyes widen at his more stern timbre. a semi-sarcastic thumbs up is all you give him.

the walk up to his apartment is exceedingly more tense. you try to focus more in the scent of the old building rather than spencer’s apparent disappointment in you. the building smells like, well, old building, and the floor creaks fifteen times on the way to the elevator and to his front door.

you both cross the threshold and he sets his crossbody bag down near the entryway. you didn’t bring up your go bag, as you have plenty of things at his apartment already.

he grabs your hand and leads you to his bedroom. he proceeds to hand you some pajamas: an old mit shirt and soft shorts that you left prior. you wait for him to leave, but he doesn’t. “are you going to let me change?” he looks at you exasperatedly.

“you can’t move your arm.”

“yes. i can.”

“you can, but you shouldn’t. please let me help you.” you just about roll your eyes, but you stop yourself.

“i can undress myself. i just got grazed.” you’re getting more annoyed.

“grazed? you almost fell over from the blood loss. morgan had to hold you up. the average human body has around ten pints of blood and you lost one and a half- that’s 15%. that’s not a graze-“

your eyebrows raise. he was taking this very seriously. “the bullet didn’t penetrate. i didn’t need a transfusion, and it was by no means fatal in any way.” injuries like this have occurred before on the team, and the team has recovered.

“yes, but if you lost 5% more blood, you might have lost consciousness and needed a transfusion. can you please take this seriously?”

surprisingly, you didn’t respond immediately. spencer, and everyone for that matter, had known you to be quite stubborn and not known to back down.

“you got shot. you should be taking this more seriously.”

“you could barely even consider it a shot, spencer. besides, it’s better me than anyone else.”

his eyes widen. “how can you be so reckless?” you don’t respond at all this time. you just look down at the clothes in your hands.

“please,” he quietly says your name, “you just really mean a lot to me. i don’t want anything to happen to you.”

if your eyebrows weren’t high before, they sure as hell were now. “can you promise me? that you’ll take your health into consideration more? i have no clue what i’d- what the team would do without you.”

his slip-up does not go unnoticed. “okay.” you swallow your pride. “i will.”

he sighs in relief. “now please, let help you.” his eyes glance up from the floor to meet yours. you nod and he steps closer. both of your movements are awkward as he places his hands on the buttons of your shirt. he unbuttons it quite slowly, and pulls it down your arms.

he’d seen you in more compromising situations before, so this is nothing new. “put your arms out, but not up, please.” he then proceeds to put his old college alumni shirt over your arms first before pulling it over your head. “i think, you can, uh, put the shorts on yourself. just don’t lift your arms too high.”

“i won’t. i promise.” you give what you think is a convincing smile and he leaves to the bathroom.

when he returns, he is also dressed for bed. he guides you to the bathroom to brush your teeth. he babies you as much as is physically possible, but you draw the line at him brushing your teeth for you.

“dude. i’ll be careful. i’ll just use my other arm.” the task proves to be weird and uncoordinated.

you both finish brushing your teeth at about the same time. you follow him to the bedroom.

his feet pad across the carpet softly. the socks he’s wearing isn’t shocking to you at all; it’s a habit of his he’s gotten used to. he turns on his lamp on the side table, and turns out the big light.

he draws back the covers before you can, and you swing you legs onto the bed. you pull the covers up to your chin before he can tuck you in or something. one can only handle being babied for so long, after all.

he has one of those fancy dimming lamps. it casts a soft glow over the room without being too overwhelming. and because he likes it this way, so do you.

he turns onto his side and places his hands under his pillow. you begin to turn onto your side, but he stops you. “don’t put too much pressure on it.” you compromise by turning your head towards him.

his eyes are big and his lips are slightly parted. his breathing is deep and slow. you don’t know who falls asleep first, just that you both slowly inched closer so that eventually there was only about two fingers worth of space between you.

[lipglossanon]

Shimmer

Leon S. Kennedy x Fox Fem!reader <one shot>

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, very little world building, smut a plenty 😆, Leon POV, hybrid reader, teasing, flirting, kissing, dirty thoughts, dirty talk, nipple play, oral (f receiving), breeding kink, mommy kink, unprotected sex, creampies

not proofread ✌️ just a smutty hybrid au

title from Shimmer by Fuel

Leon couldn’t believe his eyes. You wind around the trunk of a tree, bright eyes locked on him as a little smile hovers on your lips like a secret. He swallows, tracking your movement, tenebrous colored tail flickering in and out of the tree line. He didn’t know he’d see a pretty little fox this far out. 

Leon planned for his four day weekend to be a relaxing hike in the local mountains, camping for a night (maybe two), and then heading back home to veg out in front of the tv before the next work week starts. He’s been out here in the forest for a few hours now and finally found a place to bed down for the night when you appear. A gray fox isn’t as common as the red, but he’s heard people in town talk about the few that have been spotted out here in Arklay. 

Leon doesn’t consider himself a hardcore outdoorsman, but he at least knows enough about the local wildlife. The closer you get to his little campsite the more enraptured he becomes; you’re absolutely captivating. His fire crackles and keeps him warm despite the chill permeating the night air; he’s afraid to move once you take a graceful seat on the opposite side of his fire pit, flames highlighting the hollows of your face. 

“Hi,” you smile, sharp little fangs glinting at him. 

“H-hi,” he croaks, throat dry so he tries to clear it.

“Camping, hmm?” Your gaze lazily drifts to his tent and satchel before landing back on him. 

“Yeah, needed a break,” he shrugs, hands clasping together to give them something to do, “you live near here?”

“Now why would I tell a stranger where I live?” You laugh, a throaty sound that makes Leon’s blood run hot. 

A flush overtakes his cheeks, “Sorry, I-I’m just making small talk.”

You laugh again, tail shifting to drape across your lap, “You’re cute. What’s your name?”

“Leon. What’s yours?”

He listens as you answer but his eyes can’t stop darting between your perked ears and soft tail. 

“Do you want to pet me?” You grin, tail swishing back to your side. 

“What—no, I mean, maybe,” Leon’s sweating bullets, mesmerized by you but also terrified you might rip his throat out with your sharp little teeth.

Smiling even broader, you stand up and make your way to him, folding down into a crouch in front of him. This close up, Leon quickly takes in your facial features before noticing the small black collar wrapped around your neck; his eyes trace down the modest sundress to your bare legs and feet. 

“Aren’t you cold?” He murmurs, blue eyes roving back up to your curious gaze. 

“No,” you smile, “but I’ll be sure to let you know if I am.”

Leon blushes and you look delighted, kneeling closer to peer up at him. 

“You’re pretty far out for camping, little Leon,” you fingers graze over his jeans, sharp nails making his pulse race, “aren’t you scared you’ll run into some big scary animal?”

Swallowing, he shakes his head no, “I-I brought bear mace and I’m sticking to the game warden trails.”

He watches your head tilt as one of your ears flick back, listening to the dark forest behind you. 

“Hmmm, you should be safe enough then,” your smile returns and Leon feels your tail brush across his arm, “want to see how soft it is?”

With hands steadier than his heart, Leon carefully strokes over the soft fur. It’s more silver than grey with a streak of black that ends at tip of your tail. Some white highlights catch his eye as his hand softly glides down the length. 

“It’s lovely,” he murmurs, dazed eyes coming back up to lock on your bright ones. 

“Thank you, Leon,” you purr, flicking your tail away behind you, ears perking forward, “you’re no slouch yourself.”

You let your nails brush across his sandy blonde fringe before pulling away. Leon doesn’t know what it is but he’s so drawn to you that his defenses are completely down. So he makes no move to stop you when you drag those sharp claw tips across his scalp and down his neck. 

A low groan slips from his mouth and he jerks away, an embarrassed blush crawling up his neck. You laugh and inch closer, hands moving down to skate up his jean clad thighs before resting on his chest.  

“Little Leon,” you coo, “are you feeling flushed? You look red.”

“I’m,” he coughs, trying to cover up his nerves, “maybe I’m just too close to the fire.”

“Do you need help to your tent?” You hold his gaze, your little grin showing off an incisor, “don’t want you to pass out.”

Your fingers drum across his pecs and he has the intrusive thought of you ripping into his shirt to tease his nipples. Biting back another groan, he nods jerkily. 

“I should probably lay down,” he clumsily stands, watching as you easily stand next to him, hands hovering over his shoulders. 

“I’ll help,” you take his arm and guide him the few feet away over to his accommodations for the night.

Pulling back the flap, you help Leon ease down onto his knees so he can kick off his boots before placing them inside next to the opening. Before he can thank you, you crawl in next to him, tail brushing across him as you splay out on his sleeping bag. 

“Comfy,” you pat the space next to you, “come lay down, Leon.”

His cock twitches in interest and he quickly zips the tent closed; the light glow of the fire can still be seen through the mesh. Moving over to you, he copies you, lying on his side with his head propped against his arm.

“Figured you might like some company tonight,” your eyes drop down to his mouth, “don’t want you to feel scared.”

“Thank you,” he murmurs, pulse thundering in his neck as you shift closer, legs tangling with his. 

“Maybe,” you murmur, lips ghosting across his, “you should get comfortable for bed.”

Without any other prompting, he quickly shucks off his jeans and socks before taking his shirt off just leaving him in his briefs. His cock sits half hard against his thigh and he watches as your greedy eyes take him all in.

“Mmm, not bad,” you grin at him, tail waving back and forth behind you. 

He settles back where he was and you move into his space, lips kissing across his jaw before pressing softly against his own mouth. With a groan, Leon lets your hot tongue lick into his mouth, hips rolling forward until you finally push him on his back and lay atop him. You break the kiss once to stare down in his face while you rock your wet little cunt against his bulge before lapping at his parted lips. 

Kissing you messily, Leon can’t stop from moaning and groping your ass through your sundress. The hard press of your nipples against his chest makes him grind against the apex of your thighs even rougher. Pulling away, you raise up into a sitting position over his lap. Your sharp nails tease across his pink nipples and his whole body jolts like he got an electric shock. 

“Oh, Leon,” you grin. 

He feels powerless while your fingers pinch and tug his stiff buds until he’s mewling and rocking up into your ass. Hands grabbing onto your thighs, he presses your dress up until he can see your bare cunt coated in clear slick that makes his mouth water. 

“Sit on my face,” he pants, “fuck, sit that fucking chubby pussy on my face, please.”

“What a dirty boy,” you lean forward and bite his nipple. 

Leon keens in his throat, a sharp high noise he’s never made in his life. Fuck, he thinks he might cum from just you abusing his nipples. His eyes flutter as your wet little mouth decides to suckle and tease his swollen buds; your sharp teeth scraping across them has his cock weeping precum, staining his briefs. 

“I-I’m gonna cum if you keep that up,” he finally gets out, hands tangling in his own hair, “fuck, please baby, sit on my face.”

“I guess since you’re being so good,” you sigh, sitting up to pull your dress up and off, nude body coming into view for the first time. 

“God, you’re beautiful,” he breathes out, eyes sweeping down your body. 

Your ears twitch and you smile, “You’re so sweet, Leon. Now sit back so I can ride your face.”

“Please,” he whines, helping you crawl up his body.

As you move, Leon shimmies his briefs down and off his legs. Your knees then rest on either side of his head and you gently sit your fat dripping cunt down onto his face. With a moan, Leon’s lapping and sucking up all of the slick coating your pussy lips, tongue running up and down your slit. Settling more of your weight down, you relax against him and he humps the air, cock drooling everywhere as he licks your pussy. 

“So good, Leon,” grinding your cunt down on his mouth, he flattens his tongue letting you rut against the slick muscle. 

He moans, hands cupping your ass to keep you from moving off of his face. Even if he suffocated, Leon would die a happy man. Chillbumps race down his body when your tail brushes over his chest and stomach. The soft fur of your tail eventually drapes itself over his stiff and leaking cock making him lap eagerly into your cunt, tongue fluttering against your pussy walls. 

“Right there,” you purr, nails carding through his hair and scratching at his scalp, “suck on my clit and I’ll cum all over your pretty mouth, Leon.”

More precum leaks from his slit, cock so swollen it aches. His eyes shut in an effort to control himself, control his thoughts before he cums all over himself like some virgin. You rock and grind down on his tongue, low moans filling the tent as he laps along your clit before sucking it into his mouth. Keening, you press your bodyweight down, making sure he stays suckling your swollen bud until your orgasm finally overtakes you. 

Leon moans just as loudly as you do, drinking up your slick like he’s a man dying of thirst. You undulate in place until the overwhelming feeling of his mouth has you shifting back down into his lap with a pleased little hum. 

“Fuck, you taste good,” he rasps, eyes blown out as he takes in your relaxed posture.

“Glad to know,” you tease, running your hands down his pecs and across his puffy nipples. 

He lets out a low hiss but doesn’t stop your touches. Your soft hands drift down to the thatch of hair at the base of his cock before sweeping down his thighs. 

“Finally,” you sigh, one hand slowly stroking his dick while the other cups his balls, “a nice fat cock.”

Said cock jerks and leaks even more into your palm, balls throbbing as Leon watches you play with his dick. 

“Fuck,” he whimpers, slowly rocking his hips up, “you like it?”

“Mm hmm,” you purr, “I’ve had lots of men over the years, but you have the prettiest cock I’ve ever seen.”

A spark of jealousy lights in his chest but it’s washed away by the twist of your wrist around his tip making him lose all train of thought. 

“I’ve been looking for someone like you,” you whisper, eyes flashing, like it’s a secret— Leon supposes it might honestly be, “someone to mate.”

His cock kicks, a glob of precum dripping over your fingers where they’re wrapped around his length. You use the sticky wetness to glide your hand more easily up and down his dick, slowly jacking him off. He groans, hips pumping but you only loosen your grip with a sly little grin. 

“Please,” he murmurs, “it hurts.”

“Does it?” You pout, hand softly massaging his sac before tracing the seam down to his taint, “poor little Leon wants to cum?”

“Uh huh,” he drops his head back with a broken moan, “please, w’nna cum for you.”

“Oh?” 

The way your voice piques with interest has his gaze lasered back in on your face. Your attention is focused on his cock but he sees the want sitting as heavily on you as he feels.

“Since you’re being so sweet,” your eyes flick to his and you hold the connection as you rub his cock over your slippery clit, mouth dropping open to pant. 

“God, you feel so good,” he grunts, hands grabbing your waist, thumbs digging into your hip bones, “please, please.”

You press his cock against his stomach and glide your soaked cunt up and down—the world's most torturous pussy job he thinks dazedly. His tip leaks so much there’s a small sticky puddle of precum forming on his stomach as your slick coated pussy lips part around his cock, hole dripping and rubbing against him. 

“You’re going to stretch me open so much,” you coo sweetly, tail swishing excitedly behind you, “hope you don’t cum too soon.”

Before Leon can even argue, you tilt his cock up and sink your pussy down on him; he knows he’s gripping you too hard, but he can’t let go when your hot little cunt’s sucking him in so agonizingly slow. 

He’s babbling too, but fuck if he knows what he’s saying; whatever it is, you don’t mind since you’re giving him that same throaty laugh from earlier that makes him wanna spill deep in your greedy hole.

It feels like a lifetime before you start to bounce on his lap, pussy squelching deliciously, making his mouth flood with saliva knowing what you taste like. The pace picks up and before he can blink, you’re riding him rough and fast, pussy clamped down on his cock like a vice. 

“I’m gonna cum,” he grunts, hands going to your hips ready to pull you up and off so he can spill all over your pussy.

He feels like a fucking teenager, not able to hold back on cumming inside your pussy like he’s never fucked a woman before. Hybrid pussy must be something else, he thinks dizzily, cock throbbing as your slippery walls pulse and throb around his thick length. 

“Cum inside,” you moan, nails digging into his forearms so harshly blood runs down his arms. 

The pinprick of pain makes him buck up harder into your spasming hole. His brain fizzes in arousal, dick buried balls deep in your soaked cunt. 

“Can’t,” he gasps, “fuck, what if you get pregnant?”

His cock thickens at the thought, balls tight against his body, at the hint of knocking you up. You laugh, that throaty sound that makes Leon throb, and you grind harder down on his lap. 

“Then mate me, little Leon, spill your seed deep inside and give me kits,” your lips spread in a smile so wide your fangs show, “breed my pussy like your cock’s begging you to.”

“Oh god,” he whines, “I-I can’t,” but he doesn’t stop himself from fucking into your pussy harder and deeper, balls aching to shoot his load.  

“Aww you can’t?” You mock, guiding his hands up to grab your breasts, “can’t fill my cunt with your thick cum? Can’t breed a wet pussy that wants it so bad?”

He’s losing the battle. It just feels too good inside your fluttering walls while he rabbits his hips against yours, cock stuffing you on every thrust. He squeezes his hands until your tits spill over his fingers, nipples hard against his palms. 

“Make me a mommy, Leon,” you croon, voice saccharine sweet in his ears and he nods before even realizing what you’ve said. 

“M-mommy?” He slurs out, body flushed and overheated as he fucks up into your cunt. 

You giggle and lean forward, “Mm hmm, you like mommies, Leon?”

He gasps, eyes rolling back as he leaks heavily inside your hole, “Ye-yes. Love mommies.”

“Good boy,” you murmur, dropping a dizzying kiss to his lips and he chases your mouth with a moan. 

“Mommy, want you to be a mommy,” he babbles out, brain complete mush now from the arousal, “want you to be my mommy.”

“Ohh?” You sigh gustily and lean forward more, pressing your breasts into Leon’s face. 

Taking the hint, Leon’s hand shift down to your ass so he can mouth and suck at your tits, licking and suckling your nipples as he thrusts sloppily. 

“Mommy,” he murmurs, tongue lapping at the soft skin of your breasts before sucking a nipple into his hot mouth. 

Whining, his eyes flutter shut. If he breeds your cunt, you’ll leak milk from these gorgeous tits. He moans loudly, the thought turning him on so much he can’t stop sucking your nipples. He pumps his hips up into your soaked cunt, feeling you drip slick down his cock to drip off his balls. 

“So hard, Leon,” he distantly hears your voice, “being such a good boy for me, fucking your mommy so good.”

Mewling against your breasts, he bites the puffy bud in his mouth, tongue lashing against it until you’re squeezing and rocking down on his dick. He could fill you to the brim, bust his load deep in your pussy and keep you on his cock til it takes. Eyes rolling in pleasure, he swaps to your other breast, mouth greedily suckling the hard nipple into his mouth. 

He pulls away, mouth brushing across the stiff peak as he looks up at you, “Mommy, gonna cum for you, gonna cum so hard in your pussy.”

“Good boy,” you smooth back the sweaty strands of hair sticking to his forehead, “if you fill me up you can keep me, a mommy all to yourself.”

His eyes drop to your collar and you grind down hard on his cock making him moan. 

“This is to keep people from getting any ideas,” you smooth your hands down his chest, nails scratching at his abs and making them tense, “you can put your own collar here if you want.”

Leon closes his eyes, trying his best to behave. Having you in a collar he picked out? Coming home to you waiting for him, maybe even splayed out in his bed, wet and wanting his cock. Shuddering, he blindly mouths at your chest nuzzling until he finds your nipple to pull into his mouth with a rough suck. 

“Mommy, ‘m so close,” he groans, “wanna keep you on my cock forever.”

You pull yourself from his lap with a loud wet suctioning noise that makes his balls draw up tight. The words to keep you sitting on his cock die in his mouth as you kneel down at his feet with your back facing him. You dip at the waist to press your chest into the sleeping bag as you arch your ass into the air. Your tail mesmerizes him for a minute before he scrambles up onto his knees behind you. 

“So pretty,” he slowly strokes his hand down your tail and you moan longingly, spreading your knees to present your wet little cunt to him. 

“Breed me, Leon,” you look back at him, ears twitching and teeth biting your bottom lip, “want you to fill me up.”

“Fuck,” he hisses, notching the head of his cock at your opening before slowly sinking inside. 

His hands grip the fat of your ass, eyes unable to pull away as he watches your pussy eagerly suck his cock back into your slick soft heat. The first few thrusts are slow and deep, letting him luxuriate in the feeling of burying his cock in your hot little pussy. 

“Harder,” you whine, hips pushing back, “give it to me, Leon.”

He lets out a pained grunt as he pumps his cock in and out of your tight hole. Leaning forward, he braces one hand on your shoulder to pin you down as his other grips your hip. The new angle lets him piston his dick deep and hard into your slick greedy hole. Moaning, Leon rabbits his hips faster and faster, balls smacking your clit on every thrust and making you squeeze his dick. 

Moving the hand from your hip, his fingers seek out your slippery swollen clit and rub soft circles across the pudgy bud. 

“So good, such a good boy,” you pant, nails clawing his sleeping bag to shreds, “god, you’re gonna make me squirt.”

The words turn Leon on so much he nearly blacks out. Chills race down his back and he teases your clit from side to side, dipping down to wet his fingers from the slick leaking from your stuffed cunt before pinching your bundle of nerves.

“Your pussy is so perfect,” he gasps, leaning back as he slides the hand from his shoulder down to grab the base of your tail, “gripping me so fucking tight.”

He tugs lightly and you keen, body thrashing wildly as your pussy clenches rhythmically around his cock. 

“Fuck that’s hot,” he groans, chin dropping to his chest to watch him fuck your cunt. 

The more he pets and tugs on your tail, the harder you squeeze down on his dick. Leon’s fingers also never let up on teasing and rubbing your clit while the fat tip of his cock kisses your cervix and makes you squeal. 

“Leon, ungh— fuck, I’m gonna cum,” you slur out, drooling on the slick material of the sleeping bag.

“Please cum for me,” he keeps the same breakneck pace paired with circling your clit and tail, “want that fat pussy creaming my cock, mommy.”

Your body locks up underneath him and Leon feels a gush of slick push his cock out and wet thighs; quickly recovering, he shoves his dick back inside your spasming walls and humps your pussy fast and hard. 

“You fucking squirted,” he whines, “never had a girl squirt on my cock and you fucking—god, I’m cumming, fuck, this chubby fucking pussy is making me cum, oh mommy—”

Leon nearly collapses as he presses himself as tight against your ass as possible, balls drawn up tight and pulsing as he spills deep inside your cunt. Your slick walls milk him for every drop— his dick spurting rope after rope of thick hot cum until it’s dripping from your used hole. 

When he goes to pull out, you whine and press your ass back against him. 

“Stay,” you sigh, “don’t want a mess just yet.”

Shuddering, he groans as your walls flutter and hug his cock. In no time, he’s just as stiff and hard as he was ten minutes ago. 

You moan low in your throat, “You can go again?”

“Yeah,” Leon’s breathless reply surprises himself, cock flexing inside your pussy and making you whine. 

The second time Leon creampies your pussy is rough and nasty. 

Pulling out, he flips you onto your back and slips his cock back inside your cunt. Slick and cum ooze out around his fat cock, but he’s too busy pressing your legs up and over his shoulders to notice.  

Mewling against his messy kisses, you clench and whine from Leon’s rough fucking. At this point, he can’t stop himself from giving it to you hard and fast.

“Gonna fuck your little cunt all night, mommy,” he knows he has no filter at this point, completely pussy drunk, but it doesn’t stop him from talking, “you’re gonna be stuffed to the brim, stuffed full of my cum.”

“Leon,” you moan, nails digging into his back and making him buck harder, dick knocking into your cervix roughly. 

“Yeah? Like that? I’m gonna pound this hot little pussy til you can’t take it anymore. Fuck, ‘m gonna give my mommy what she needs,” he growls out, feeling your heels bounce against his back with his thrusts.

“Want it,” you grin wickedly up at him, “give it to me, Leon. Be a good boy for mommy.”

He’s too wound up from earlier so in no time at all Leon’s cumming inside your pussy for the second time that night. His fingers pinch and rub your slippery clit until you’re clamping down tight on his cock, milking him into overstimulation as he finishes spilling his seed in your sticky walls.

Pulling out with a grunt, Leon collapses next to you with a sigh. Laying there in the quiet, he lets his heart rate drop back to normal before turning to you.

“You really want to get pregnant?”

You smirk and it makes his pulse race. 

“No, that little issue has been fixed,” you kiss the tip of his nose, “but it’s fun to pretend, right?”

Leon’s cock twitches against his thigh and he nods. 

“Yeah,” pink blooms across his cheekbones, “I liked it.”

Curling up into his side, he softly runs a finger across one of your ears. 

“Can I really keep you?” He whispers.

Night sounds slowly seep back into his awareness as a cicada screams nearby. 

“Can you truly keep a wild thing?” You muse humorously, head tilting back so he can see your bright eyes. 

At his contemplative silence, you run your hands through his hair with a half smile, “But I want to go home with you, Leon. If the offer is there.”

“Please,” he blurts out, not caring if he sounds desperate or whipped, “I’d love for you to come home with me.”

Smile softening your features, you brush the fringe from his eyes, “Then, I’m yours.”

Relief and excitement fills his chest and he grins, “Perfect.”

[theirnamesarekiklo]

Cold

Tired and damp, the sweet sweet girl could only hold herself

pairing: !Twin Sister! Reader x Sully Family

a/n: this is kinda like at the end of the movies where the whole battle takes place also this was not corrected at all I literally js pulled this out of my ass 😭 (LITERALLY THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE LIKES I CANT BELIEVE THIS)

TRIGGER WARNINGS: a lil talk abt suicide, very faint injury desc

⋆★⋆★⋆

Deep pants all around, the only thing on their mind was that they were safe and together. But something deep and churning kept place in Lo’ak’s stomach.

The most common thing between twins in Na’vi culture was that they were more connected than most. They had this special bond that most siblings didn’t obtain. Ever since Lo’ak and his twin sister had been born under the same light, they could feel one-another. They felt each other’s losses, wins, and they especially felt eachother’s heart. So imagine how his heart dropped as soon as he felt alone.

So utterly alone and cold, he felt.

“Dad, where’s y/n?” and everyone’s breath hitched.

— ⋆⋆ —

Gasping for air, she had managed to drag herself on the rough rock, but she couldn’t care less now that she had bigger wounds to tend to. Wheezing out raspy breaths, her shaking hand rested softly on the edge of the blade, the same blade that had pierced her heart. The wound was the biggest one there, despite the bullet hole lodged into her skin.

She wasn’t sure how she felt exactly. Her legs were numb, one of them clearly in no condition to walk with, her face had been covered in dried gore that not even the water could wash off, and her arms were covered in several deep gashes, bruises, and burns. Swallowing the rising blood, she took one more deep breath before her hand gripped the knife, obviously not being enough as the removal was simply worse than the actual wound.

The gruesome scene was surely something, and she was sure that the other guy (who she hadn’t bothered to even learn the name of) had looked worse when she was done with him, but that didn’t stop her from meeting the same fate as he did.

Letting out a scream that truly screamed bloody murder, the girl could only sob and heave and clutch her torn skin that she was sure would get infected if she had even managed to get out of here. What would take her first? Dying of blood loss or dying of infection? Taking a peek at the sky, Her vision was already clouding over. Wincing as she tried getting just a tad bit comfortable on the rock, blood started pooling at the edges of her lips.

Was her older brother okay? She was sure the bullet only grazed him, she took the bullet for him before getting dragged back by the same guy she killed. Most importantly, was her twin brother okay? Was he breathing better than her? Did he carry the same feeling she did at this moment? At this moment, she could recall all the sweet memories she and him shared. They were born together, and she sure was hell glad they didn’t leave the same way, although she wished more than anything that they were right there with her.

Choking out a sob, the girl felt a chill of acceptance run through her. She wouldn’t make it out of this. Even though she was still young and hadn’t completed her Rite of Passage, she knew she was going to die. Curling up into a ball, she felt cold and as if all the thoughts in her head were simply vanishing, the only thing repeating itself were comforting nothings. Clutching at her chest, her slightly parted lips were releasing slow, tiny gasps. Taking one more look at the looming eclipse, she choked back a cry and whispered one last promise to ewya, leaving the world the same way she came into it.

— ⋆⋆ —

“No No No Y/N!”

As the wailing begun, Jake couldn’t help but want to simply shoot himself in the head right now.

Taking one look at her daughter once more, he turned around and crouched down. Taking some shaky gulps of air, he felt as if his world was suddenly closing in on himself. He’s been through this before, only he wasn’t experiencing it directly. Turning his head to take a look at Lo’ak, his heart broke into a million pieces right then and there.

Bringing her hand to his heart, his hands were already covered in her drying blood, trying to gain that silly warmth that everyone felt cover them if they had ever been around her. Whimpering tiny delusions to himself, he couldn’t help but wonder if this was some sick joke or some type of revenge for all the wrong doings he’s caused in his life. Meeting the eyes of his father, he could tell this was taking somewhat of the same toll on him too.

Trying to let out a few words, only a squeak could be heard before he ran his hand over his face and his his face away from the rest of the grieving children. He had let her die cold and alone.

He had let the sweetest person he had possibly ever met, the one who could do no bad, die stuck in her head and fighting. He wasn’t there to comfort her, caress her face as a distraction from the pain, nothing. If only he had been there sooner, if only he hadn’t betrayed Miles, if only he decided to follow the rules. His babygirl was gone, and the only thing he could do was cower and cry into his hand.

Kiri, who was simply sobbing to herself, truly not even there at the moment, held spider’s hand so tight that he was sure she would break it, but he wasn’t paying attention to that as he shed a wave of tears himself. She was one of the first people to truly accept him into their family and made him feel as if he belonged. Tuk, that poor child, tried laying her head on her older sister’s chest, trying to find a heartbeat, something, to prove that she wasnt really gone forever.

Neytiri, at this point blubbering thing to herself, only calmed down as she took in the peaceful expression on her daughter’s features. She had always been calm, but sometimes the way shadows hit her face showed nothing but a mask. Her eyebrows were always a little tense, but now they rested easily. Her baby, My baby, she thought, was gone. Bringing her face closer to hers, she laid her other hand right onto her cheek. They’ve held each-other like this many times, and to believe that this would be the last was a punch to the gut.

Tsireya, who was weeping right next to Lo’ak, couldn’t help but remember how sweet she was. She had a heart for many, even her brother, who had gone to extreme measures to simply make sure that they hadn’t felt welcome. She recalled the funny and heartwarming, sometimes sad memories that her twin had shared with her, and that only brought more tears to her eyes.

— ⋆⋆ —

The clan was silent.

Both y/n’s ilu and ikran had gone wild, suddenly scurrying off but not without a tiny fight with a few of the men, trying to keep them stable.

Ao’nung, who had seen the whole thing go down, was sure of his reason as to why these things were happening, but he didn’t want to believe himself. He was cruel, desperate to relive himself of these feelings he felt around the doe-eyed girl. Now, as he stood there, rigid and hardly breathing, let out a gasp as he could see a group in the distance.

As people started whispering, they were cut short as his mother let out a tiny noise at the sight of them. Peeking around a shoulder, he felt his heart drop down to his stomach. She was there, only not in the condition he hoped and prayed for. She was limp, pale, and completely rid of life as her father carried her in his arms, obviously not ready to accept the fact that she was dead.

Huffing out a “no”, he ran off, shoving people out of his way as his parents focused more on the sobbing daughter that was shown possibly the first heartbreak she had ever experienced. Her oldest brother didn’t know. How would he possibly react to the news that the girl he promised to protect since the moment she was born, was gone?

—…

[mysicklove]

𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐄𝐗𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄

DAY 8: TOYS

With: Giyuu Tomioka

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: Sub! Giyuu, gn! reader, modern day au, vibrators, bullet vibrator, anal play, nipple clams, vibrating cock ring, reader lowkey sadistic, safeword mentioned, giyuu crying/sobbing,

A/N: i struggled writing this and i have no idea why. welp.

“There are so many…Where did you find them?” Giyuu mumbles into your neck, sitting behind you on your shared bed, completely bare. His face has turned a bright red, and hes getting extra clingy, meaning that he must be embarrassed. But he is embarrassed majority of the time you do anything remotely not vanilla, so you are used to it.

You sit with a grin, staring at the items layed in front of you. Most of them are a shade of pink, but some are purple, or dark blue. Toys. You have acquired a bunch of sex toys, and today you were going to try them out on your adorable, stone-faced, boyfriend. “Online. Do you want me to explain what they all are?” 

He nods into the back of your neck, peering over your shoulder, and wrapping his arms tighter around your waist.

His eyes scan the multitude of silicon, and the strangely shaped devices. He has never owned nor even talked about sex toys, and the fake pussy is staring right at him, and is making him squirm uncomfortably. You pick it up, laughing at the way he seems to cower at it. “This is a fleshlight. We also have another one over here,” This one was a green color, and just looked like a cylinder with texture on the inside. He liked this one immediately more. “You fuck it instead of your hand.” He blushes at the bluntness of your words but nods.

You set the two down, and Giyuu makes sure to turn away the lewder fleshlight so that it doesn’t face him. You giggle at him but don’t say anything and begin to search for your next item.Your hands trace to a white wand-shaped item, bigger than the rest of them. “Watch this,” You say, clicking on the button to see it jump to life. Giyuu’s eyes widen at the loudness of it, and how strong the vibrations are, and he unconsciously leans into you. “This is a vibrator.” You place it on his chest, and he jumps when they graze his sensitive nipples, shooting you a half-hearted glare. “We also have a bullet vibrator.” You grab the pink circular vibrator with the long attachment cord. “I have some fun ideas for this.” 

He covers his face and groans when you playfully slap his ass. “Alright, two more.”

Giyuus eyes wander to a mental chain with two clamps on both ends. Before you can continue, he cuts you off, pointing to it and mumbling out, “What is this?”

Your face lights up, and you place a hand on his thigh, leaning forward to whisper into his ear teasingly, “Nipple clamps.” You grab the chain from his hand, and pinch the two sides, staring at his chest in awe. “Bet they’ll make your cute nipples all red and swollen,” You sigh, mouth already watering at the idea. 

He flinches, pulling away. “Th-Thats gonna hurt,” The dark-haired man complains, trying to hide away from your sadistic gaze. He squirms when you laugh, and grabs a purple silicon circle, hoping to distract you. “And this?”

“Mhmm, may be my favorite. Cock ring. Prevents you from cumming, and look!” You press the button, sending the toy to life. “It also vibrates. Man, Giyuu, you are going to have so much fun tonight!”

His face pales slightly, and he drops the toy. “I don’t like that one,” He frowns, not liking the idea of not being able to cum at all. 

You peck his mouth, ignoring his complaint. “Hmm, most men don’t. But you’ll look so cute!”

He lets out a small whimper, hoping to coax some sympathy from you, but you just smile at him, petting his head. “It’s gonna be fun. And you will have your safeword. So if you don’t like anything too much, we can stop.”

He doesn’t say anything, instead moving closer to you. You feel something tap your thigh, and grin when you look down. “Well, arent you excited?”

He gulps, looks up at you one more time, and then buries his head into your neck with a whine, mentally preparing for what’s to come.

He was right to prepare, he was already trembling before you even turned anything on. He yelps when you clamp the second nipple on, and you wipe away a stray tear. “Hurts,” he whines, cringing when he glances down at his chest. 

“Sorry love, it’s over now. That was a little uncomfortable, huh Giyuu?” You murmur, cupping his face and kissing his cheek. The words make him feel like a child being comforted after getting wounded, but still, he melts at the tone, playing into it by sniffling and nodding. “Oh you’re so cute, just makes me wanna tease you.”

He whimpers, frowning at you and shaking his head. You pull away and run your fingers down his body, and then sit back on your knees before him. He lays on his back, hands on your knee, while blinking at you, waiting patiently for what’s next to cum.

He lays naked, and with one hand on your knee, seeking comfort. The thin chain connects his two nipples together, and lays lax against his pale chest. On his cock, is the cockring, that sits silently, waiting for you to turn it on. His dick fumes against his stomach, twitching in arousal. Next to him, lay the light green fleshlight (he convinced you to put away the pussy one), and the wand vibrator. And finally, the pink bullet vibrator is up his ass, and grazing his prostate. 

“Alright, let’s start this, yeah? How many times do you think you are gonna cum?” You tease, distracting him as you reach in between his thighs, and click on the vibrator. 

He jumps, sighing out when he feels the low vibrations inside him. “Don’t know,” He mumbles, “Maybe two times?”

You giggle, shaking your head. “Way too low of a guess, silly boy.” The sound of the cockring clicks to life, and Giyuus eyes visibly widen. It was at a higher intensity than the bullet vibrator, and it surprised him.

The two intense feelings send him shivering, and quietly moaning out. His hand grips onto your knee, and he buries his head into the pillow, panting into the soft fabric. You smile at him, and then grab the fleshlight, quickly pouring a copious amount of lube in.

You then steady his hips, huffing a laugh to see them already trembling. Then you force the fleshlight onto his cock, marveling at the lewd squelching noise. 

His reaction is immediate, bucking his hips into it, but then frantically pulling away, as if he was confused. “Wait. Wait. Wait. At the same time?” Giyuu uncharacteristically yelps, eyes wide and staring at you in panic.

You cock your head to the side. “Of course? What did you think we were doing?” He tries to respond, but it’s cut off by a moan when you slide the entire thing back on. It’s too big, considering the cockring covers too much space, so the tip ends about halfway into the toy. 

The vibrations travel to the silicon when the two toys touch, and it sends Giyuu crying out. “F-Fuckkkk. No no no. It’s too much!” 

His hips barely touch the ground anymore. Frantically moving from side to side, and then bucking upward into the toy without his consent. His frantic movements send heat to your groin, and you reach around in between his thighs to turn up the bullet vibrator to the highest level.

His thighs instictually close shut, and your hand almost got caught in his trap. You smack his upper thigh gently, in a tease, but he doesn’t seem to notice. His back is arching and he is gripping the sheets, letting out a silent scream. Giyuus face is buried into the pillow, but he’s whipping his head from side to side, overwhelmed with all the sensations. 

You pump his dick slowly, instead focusing your attention on your obviously overstimulated boyfriend. “I can’t–I can’t. Oh my god, it’s everywhere,” he cries, legs sporadically bending and then kicking out. 

His body forces himself to the side, moving your hand aside, as his hips come up. Then he turns himself completely over, onto his hands and knees as he screams into the pillow, while bucking his hips backward and forward into the two vibrations. He hiccups when he feels his nipples being tugged at by the force of gravity on the clamps. 

“There ya go. More comfortable on your hands and knees?” You don’t wait for him to respond, brushing his hair to the side. “Now, what’s everywhere, Giyuu?”

He sobs something into the pillow, but you can’t hear it, so you gently pinch his thigh. He gets the memo immediately, and pulls away, balancing on shaky hands, as drool coats his face. “T-The vibrations–Everywhere!” He hiccups, lifting his ass higher in the air as his eyes roll back.

A sadistic urge boils in your stomach as you glance at the white vibrator. He was wrong….They weren’t everywhere, and you wanted to change that. With one hand, you bring the fleshlight back to his cock, and then gulp, before picking up the wand, and switching it on. 

He doesn’t hear the new sound of the vibrator, focused completely on the feeling of the fleshlight again. His hips drill into it, and then occasionally arch as if to push himself deeper into the bullet vibrator.

You reach under him, and gently place the wand on the chain. It pulls it down, and also sends vibrations rippling through the chains. 

Giyuu’s eyes widen, and then immediately he sobs into the pillow, cringing as his fists jab into the bed sheets. His nipples are being pulled at, and are vibrating profusely. “Ow. Owwwww, stop stop! Its–I can’t–Oh help me!”

Before you get lost in the mouthwatering view, you are quick to ask if he is all alright. “Your color?”

“Green. Green,” He hiccups, “But you are so–so mean to me!” 

You kiss his upper thigh and continue to move your hands up and down his shaft. His whole body trembles, and the only thing louder than the multiple vibrations, was his constant moans and cries. “But you are gonna cum soon, right, Giyuu?” You coo, watching the way pre begins to dribble out, and helps lube the toy.

He nods into the pillow, body beginning to collapse on itself. You are quick to pull him upright, liking the view of his trembling ass, and shaking dick a little too much. “Bet it's going to be intense,” You mumble, “Bet it’s going to feel so good.”

Your words send his head spinning because you are right. He feels himself approach closer and closer to it, and its never been this intense before. Every sensitive part of his body is being stimulated, and it hasn’t even been five minutes.

You know the signs of your lover beginning to approach his orgasm, and you take the cockring off. One of these days youll use it to deny him his release, but not today, that would be too brutal with everything that is going on. He doesn’t notice, because it’s immediately replaced by the fleshlight fucking him up and down.

 “Please. Please. I–” He falters, forgetting how to speak when his orgasm hits him. His whole body shakes, and he sees white. Every inch of his body is screaming out, and he has got to be on cloud nine. 

He stays silent through it all though, eyes rolling back, and teeth biting into the pillow. Cum shoots out, onto his stomach and the sheets, and you smile through it all. 

His legs collapse moments later and his whole body falls limp against the sheets, jerking sporadically from the continuous vibrations on his prostate. Giyuu felt as if his brain melted, his every thought truly fucked out of him.

He feels his hips being lifted again, your arm supporting him, and he glances at you with hazy blue eyes. “Don’t pass out on me now,” You tease, strapping the cockring back into place. “We still got at least two more orgasms to pull from you.”

And the second the vibrations turn on, he seems to snap awake, but its too late. “W-Wait!” 

You just laugh, and bring the wand vibrator back to his now-redden nipples.

PREV POST | MASTERLIST | NEXT POST

[milkteabinniechan]

bath water | hwang hyunjin

part two

MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY ☕| m.list

pairing: virgin! hyunjin x afab reader

warnings: oral (f. receiving), some angst, lots of smut, hyunjin is just learning hehe

a/n: this is a continuation of this story. This was a labor of love and I feel personally connected to this so please go easy on me, thank you for reading!

Your phone hadn't buzzed yet. Hadn't rung once. You cleaned your apartment. Twice. You reorganized your closet. You washed your hair. You played loud music. He still hadn't called.

Brrt Brrrrt. Your phone jumped on your desk. Not so gracefully, you leaped to grab it. "Buy one, get one on all hand soap! Now through Sunday." You squeezed your phone in your hand. A goddamn promotion. How evil.

You lay your head on your pillow, slaying arms out wide. Your eyes blur and unfocused, making shapes in the ceiling. You let your eyelids close. Suddenly you were back in that bathtub. Hyunjin's fingers appearing in and out of focus. You could hear the water, you could smell his cologne.

Brrt. Brrrrt. Now you were imagining things. Pretending your phone was ringing. You really were losing it. You glance down at your closed fist, phone inside. The light shone through your fingers. A cute picture of a ferret peeking through, Hyunjin’s contact photo. You shot up from your bed. This was real. 

“Hey…” his voice was low.

“Hey, you…” Your voice was shaking, “what’s up?” attempting to sound casual, you hoped it was convincing enough.

“Not much, just bought some new watercolors, some brushes. They’ve got this great sale going on at…”

Hyunjin continued talking about his day. His voice was chipper, like nothing had happened. He sounded warm, so warm. You clutched your shirt. 

“...what about you?” his voice back in your head. 

“Oh! Not a lot. Just some spring cleaning, ya know.”

Hyunjin paused. “You hate cleaning.” He huffed. You could hear the smirk in his voice. 

The conversation continued like that for a while. A few pleasantries, a few inside jokes. He made you giggle, so hard you would snort, making him laugh too. After a long fit of laughing and funny voices, there was a silence between you. You both sat in it for a moment.

“So…” Hyunjin cleared his throat, “I wanted to ask you something.”

You clutched your shirt again. 

“Do you think I could… paint you again?”

Days later you found yourself at Hyunjin’s apartment again. New plastic sheets on the floor. Neither of you had discussed what happened last time. He just asked to paint. That is all he wanted. You stared down at the plastic. Then up at Hyunjin, taking a deep breath.

“Where do you want me?” you spoke in a clear, confident voice, hands on your hips. A power pose. However, you felt like feathers and cotton candy on the inside, so fragile. 

Hyunjin pulled up some photos on his phone of women with painted stomachs. Beautiful works of art sprawled across skin. Your stomach flipped. Your mouth dried up. 

“Is this okay?” Hyunjin lowered his phone and met his eyes with yours. He had an intensity that shot through you like a bullet. All your feathers and cotton candy would melt away if he stared at you like that for even one more second.

“Of course.” You clasped the hem of your shirt and began to pull up. You expected Hyunjin to turn away, like last time. But he didn’t. He stood right there in front of you and watched. He watched your shirt graze past your stomach, past your breasts, up over your head. Your eyes met his as your shirt fell to the floor. One of your bra straps slipped off your shoulder. Hyunjin reached out and grabbed it, pulling the strap back up.

“Let’s get started.” He turned toward his supplies, unwrapping fresh, unused brushes and paints. You nodded your head and lay flat on your back, plastic crinkling underneath you as you adjusted and moved.

The first brush stroke across your lower abdomen felt exactly as you remembered. The cool paint countered your hot skin. You try your best to steady your breathing, letting out small I’m sorry’s every so often. It was different then the first time, however. Now you could see his face. His eyebrows pressing together in concentration, slightly biting his bottom lip, tilting his head to get the best perspective. You felt heat building in your core as his paintbrush traced lower and lower down your stomach. Your thighs clenched together involuntarily. You willed your body to stop. To not give away the awful, dirty thoughts that were going on inside your mind. You heard Hyunjin clear his throat and set his brush down, maybe to grab a different one. You closed your eyes and tightened your mouth into a thin line. You braced yourself for the soft bristles again, only this time there were no soft bristles. There was skin, fingers dipped softly into watercolor. You would know those fingers anywhere. A thumb ran down your outer thigh, a long streak of paint followed along with it. Then an index finger drew another long, thick line down your thigh. You bit your lip hard, so hard you feared it may bleed. You squeezed your eyes together tightly.

Hold it together. He’s just using a different medium. Don’t get off to this.

Unfortunately, your body was not listening to your brain. Your body wasn’t listening to anything except the feeling of Hyunjin’s fingers against your skin. He ran another paint soaked finger from your knee up to your inner thigh, causing your legs to open in response. You bucked your hips slightly at the sensation of Hyunjin being so close to your core.

“Hyunjinnie…” you moaned softly. A wet spot already forming on your panties.

Hyunjin hooked his paint covered fingers around the hem of your panties, coloring them in purples and blues. He lowered them delicately, exposing just the top of your cunt. He lowered his head and kissed gently, but hungerly. Like that first kiss was going to save him, he bowed his head like praying for a holy light and he had finally found it. 

“I want to taste it.” He spoke deep into your clothed cunt. He wanted to enter the gates of heaven, not just paint the Sistine Chapel.

You lifted your hips and helped pull your panties down the rest of the way, the plastic sheets still crinkling beneath you. Hyunjin grabbed both of your legs simultaneously, bringing them to his chest, so your open, wet cunt was exposed and displayed for him. You watched his eyes, and there it was. That concentrated and intense look that left you vulnerable and unable to move.

He kissed your wet core like the way he used a paint brush. His tongue was innocent at first, giving small licks, waiting for you to open up for him like a flower. The muscle moving like music, so very conscious of every reaction that your body gave him. Then you bloomed for him. You pushed your hips into his face sparingly, not wanting to overwhelm him. This was so new, so fresh. The first push of your hips jarred him slightly, his eyes met yours from between your legs. You could see his smirk again from under your thighs. He drove his face further into you, making you arch your back, the plastic sheet slipping from under your elbows. 

Hyunjin let his eyes roll back as his tongue continued its holy work. Lapping and licking every inch of you. Your lips now swollen at the marvel of his mouth.Your hips were thrusting at a faster speed now, climbing toward your own release. 

“Come inside my mouth.” Hyunjin muffled from inside of you. His breath was hot with each word.

Both of your bodies wet from sweat, you carded your fingers through Hyunjin’s hair and gripped tightly, giving yourself leverage and momentum to ride his tongue harder. The paint on your stomach still wet, dripping down onto the floor. Grinding, grinding, grinding into Hyunjin’s open mouth, you could feel the tense bundle of nerves reaching their climax, you were starting to see stars, you were no longer on this earth, in this solar system, you were something entirely new. 

Your climax held there in the air for a moment. Like you were both floating, just inches off the ground. Paint had spilled everywhere. Hyunijn lifted his head back up, panting and out of breath. Saliva fell from his open mouth, dripping down his swollen lips and chin. He smiles wildly.

“So…” you huffed in between panting breaths, “anywhere else you want to paint me?”

[kimberly-spirits13]

Rescuer

Pairing: Jason Todd x (hero) reader

Word Count: 2610

Warnings: Mentions of blood, needles, death, stitches, a bit angsty but then fluff, not really proof read

Summary: After getting hurt on patrol, Jason comes to rescue you from your captors, leaving a trail of destruction in his wake.

Maybe you had been captured and moved to a new location. Maybe you were bleeding out in some rat-infested warehouse. Maybe you were- Jason wouldn’t think that. He couldn’t think that. The mere image of your body gone cold sent chills down his spine and sent him into overdrive. 

                  Rain pelted against his helmet as he sped through the streets of Gotham. He knew that splitting up was a bad idea. Bruce had wanted to split the patrol teams up to ensure that Ivy’s shipments were being handled. You were supposed to be fine, the shipment you were going after was meant to be a dud. Bruce had valiantly offered to put himself in danger by going after the suspected live shipment. Apparently, the information had been bad, and now Jason was rushing to your distress call, flying past cars crowding his way and cursing Bruce for making Jason leave you. Jason knew that you could handle yourself, it was why he was okay leaving you alone. You were a match for every member of the family and rouges gallery, he was sure that if you had called a distress signal, something terrible had happened. 

                  Jason felt like he was the only one coming for you. He had left his brothers in the dust when he heard the blaring alarm coming from your comm. The others were coming, but it wasn’t fast enough for him. As he flew through the city streets, he came to a group of warehouses on the West Side where he knew you were located. The signal became stronger and stronger as he reached the roof of the specific warehouse. Looking down, he saw a group of guards standing around you. You were lying on the floor, blood pooling under your body. The site made a harsh wave of fury swell up in his chest. Jason felt his arms go numb and his breathing quicken. 

                  “Those bastards” he thought. They must have been under the control of Ivy’s venom. This was the only way he could justify your current position. 

                  “ETA 5 minutes, do not engage.” Bruce’s voice rang out.

                  “Bullshit,” Jason spat, “I’m going after her. She’s surrounded.”

                  “No, stay low and report.” The voice of Bruce rang into his ear, “Don’t leave post, that’s an order” 

                  Jason observed the scene below him and saw one of the men walking towards you, his foot grazing the side of your arm and applying a pressure that made you wince in pain. Dark circles were forming under your eyes, indicating the presence of Ivy’s venom. At this, nothing could have stopped Jason. 

                  The sound of glass shattering echoed through the building as the man who had his foot on you fell to the ground following a piercing boom. The clank of his gun falling on the floor next to your head sent a heavier pounding sensation through your already aching skull. You groaned and tried to roll over away from the noise, only to realize that it was everywhere. 

                  “Jason must be here.” You thought.

                  Jason saw you try to move, and his heart ached. He knew that you were in pain, incapacitated from whatever happened earlier. The gaggle of men aimed their weapons towards him and opened fire as he ran through the shadows, avoiding the bullet spray as he was trained to. Grabbing for his holster, he drew his pistol and aimed for the would-be leader of the gang. The man dropped to the floor, the familiar sounds of metal clashing against the floor ringing out once more. A call to action rolled through the room as Jason emerged from the shadows, bullets from his pistol now raining on the perpetrators. Two men attempted to tackle him at once, ending in Jason wrapping them together with a line and executing them with little scrutiny of their situation. Another shot at him, nearly grazing the side of his armor before he too dropped to the ground from a shot Jason had sent to him. As the fight went on, Jason steadily dismantled the group, turning his attention to the last man he saw standing who had dropped his weapon, knowing that he was out of ammunition. 

                  The man screamed as Jason leapt onto him, fists flying high and hard, the sounds of cracking under his knuckles filling your ears. Blood spurted from the man’s mouth, signaling not only broken teeth, but internal bleeding. After a minute, the man stopped struggling, Jason continuing his blind rage driven beating. You turned to him, trying to move closer to your only safety when you saw one of the seemingly incapacitated men reaching for a dropped gun from a fallen comrade and reach it around Jason’s head. 

                  “You’ll end up just that like bitch, Hood.” He spat, holding the gun closer to Jason’s head, “Don’t move or I’ll-“

                  The sound of a shot rang through the room and then the clashing of a body on the floor. You had mustered the last of your strength, grabbing the rifle the man who Jason had killed first had dropped next to your head. Squinting to avoid seeing double, you braced against the floor and pulled the trigger once you were certain your aim would withstand against the drug working through your system. With a groan, you fell back once more, dropping the weapon and sprawling against the concreate floor.

                  Jason flew towards you, sliding on his knees on the floor once he came within a foot or so of you. You winced when he picked you up into his arms, still on the ground to assess the damage.

                  “Come on baby, you’re okay. Where’s the wound Y/N/N?” He asked, panic lacing his voice.

                  “Jason” Was all you could say groaning into the pain you felt. 

                  “It’s okay Y/N/N, I’m here. Where are you hurt?” He started stripping your outer gear, searching for a stab, a shot, something that would indicate what was wrong.

                  His hands roaming your side were what found a deep stab wound. Ripping open the clothes in the impacted area, he saw that the skin was already bruising, a green liquid staining the outside of your skin. 

                  “They got her with a venom laced knife.” Jason said into the comm. 

                  “Use the antidote, it should treat it immediately.” Dick answered, finally running into the room where you were, “Inject it by the site of the wound, about a centimeter from the center.” 

                  Dick looked around at the carnage and then saw his brother cradling you in the center. The sight made his skin crawl. Blood was everywhere, a mixture of everyone’s who was unlucky enough the stand in the wake of Jason’s rage. If Bruce didn’t show up, Dick wouldn’t say anything to him. You were almost limp in Jason’s arms, eyes fluttering open and shut every minute or so. Dick heard Jason talking to you gently and his heart sank at your condition.

                  “This is gonna pinch baby. You can do it, I’ve got you.” Jason said, injecting the antidote as quickly as possible. 

                  You groaned, not appreciating the stinging rushing into your side once more.

                  “ETA 5 minutes.” Tim’s voice rang into the comms, “Batmobile is ready for transport.”

                  “Forget it,” Jason said into it, “I’ve got the antidote, get the med bay ready in the cave.”

“You can’t take her on your bike Jason.” Dick interjected, “She’s not in condition for it.” 

                  “You got any better ideas Dick?” Jason said, a tone of frustration coming through his voice, “We’re both on bikes and she doesn’t have five extra minutes in her.” 

                  Jason bound a bandage tight around your side, stopping the bleeding as best he could. You had a vice grip around his arm as the stinging and sheer pain of the antidote flooding through and eradicating the venom swept through your body. 

                  “Fine, you take her to the cave, I’ll handle Gordon and venom recovery.” Dick said, the sound of sirens starting to blare in the distance.

                  Jason gave a nod of thanks to Dick before turning his complete attention to you.

                  “Y/N/N can you hear me, baby?” Jason asked, running a hand over your forehead and into your hair.

                  You groaned in response, not able to muster a “yes”. The lights in the warehouse and the bright red from his helmet that he hadn’t had time to take off yet were blinding you and you shut your eyes once more.

                  “Stay with me babe, I’m going to pick you up now and get you on the bike. Can you handle that?” Jason asked.

                  “Mhmm.” You mustered up. 

                  Strong arms wrapped around you and hoisted you into the air. You instinctively curled into his chest, an arm wrapped around his neck and onto his shoulder. Your head lulled back, all strength to hold yourself up leaving you. 

                  “Good job doll. I’ve got you now.” He said, breaking into a run towards the bike.

                  It was still raining when Jason reached where he parked his bike, sliding you onto the seat and placing himself behind you to support you. 

“This is the hardest part baby; you can do it.” You heard the clink of the kickstand go up and the load roar of the engine coming to life. 

In a sudden motion, you knew you were speeding out of the complex and onto the main road, Jason weaving the bike throughout traffic. Every few seconds he’d glance down to check that you were still breathing. You tried your best to keep yourself up, not wanting to lean against Jason too much as to not throw him off. He seemed to notice this struggle quickly.

“You’re okay Y/N. Relax, I’ve got you.” 

It seemed like an eternity yet only a few seconds before Jason rolled into the Batcave. Feelings arms around you once more, you were picked up and ran to the med bay. 

“You’re okay Y/N, we’re here now, you’re going to be fine.” It seemed like Jason was saying these things, more so to convince himself that you were alright.

“She’s got the antidote going through her system.” You heard him say, “She needs stitches.”

“Lay her here.” Alfred’s voice chimed in. 

You could have smiled upon hearing Alfred. Knowing you were in good hands, you went totally limp on the table, not having a care in the world. Jason’s fingers brushed against your face as an oxygen mask was strapped over your head. 

“Indeed, this is a nasty wound Miss. Y/N.” He quipped, not truly confident that you were listening, but merely trying to cut the tension in the room and relax Jason, “No matter, it’s nothing I cannot handle.”

The clear plastic of the mask you were wearing fogged and cleared, giving perfect indication that you were still breathing. Jason was working on removing your gear as carefully as possible to not get in Alfred’s way. Minutes had passed and the stinging sensation of Alfred stitching up and disinfecting your wounds had subsided. A pain killer must have been administered to you as you were out of consciousness. You heard Jason and Bruce talking loudly but not arguing, something that made you feel better about the entire situation. Loud steps came closer to you, the familiar sound of Jason’s boots making thud noises against the stone floor of the med bay. 

“She’ll be fine Master Jason.” Alfred assured him, “I say the best course of action is having her cleaned up and in bed, not this blasted table.”                

“Will do.” You heard Jason say, “Thank you Alfred.”

“It is my honor, Master Jason.” “I am only glad that you arrived when you did.”

“You and me both.” Jason mumbled, picking you up once more.

“Let’s get you cleaned up doll.” He said gently, walking towards the elevator that led into the rest of the house, “Does that sound good to you?”                   “yea, sounds great.” You answered softly, strength slowly returning to you as the antidote was steadily working against the venom.

You closed your eyes again and the next thing you knew was the cold sensation of marble against your skin. Looking around, you saw that you were in Jason’s bathroom, and he was standing over the bathtub faucet, adjusting the temperature as to not be too hot or cold.

“You alright baby?” He asked, walking back over to where you were and kissing your temple, “You scared me back there.”

“Sorry Jaybird.” You replied weakly, “Got ambushed.”

“It’s okay doll, you’re okay now.” “Just rest, I’ll get you cleaned up and in bed.” He said, “Is that still okay with you?”

“Yea,” you answered, “thanks Jay.”

He nodded, dipping a soft washcloth into the warm water, and lathering soap onto it. The bubbly water tingled against your skin as he dragged the cotton rag against your skin as gently as possible. You felt safe with Jason, no matter how close to demise you had come earlier.                  

“It was stupid.” You thought to yourself, “How could I be so careless?” 

You sighed in disappointment, alerting Jason of your thoughts.

“What’s wrong?” He asked.

“Just- stupid of me.” You groaned, “Jumped by a bunch of Ivy’s minions.” “That’s not supposed to happen.”

“Don’t beat yourself up over it. We all have bad nights Y/N/N.” Jason softly kissed your lips, earning another, more satisfied sigh from you. 

“I guess.” You weren’t going to argue with him after that.

“Besides, we got the venom shipment covered now.” He tried to assure you, “Don’t worry about anything.”

“I don’t think I have the energy to worry.”

Jason chuckled, grabbing a new towel to dry your air as carefully as possible.

“I’ve got to go to the bathroom now.” You said, sitting up.

Jason nodded, lifting you out of the tub again and into the little room with the toilet. Closing the door after handing you a pair of his sweatpants, he started cleaning up. You walked back out, hair still dripping on the floor.

“Come here love.” He said, pulling you into a tight, yet soft embrace and kissing the top of your head.

Wrapping his arms around you again, he sat you onto the counter and opened the bottle of toner that you kept on your side of the sink. He helped you pull one of his old t shirts over your head and smoothed it out once you had it on.

“You don’t have to do that Jay.” You said, hands softly gripping against his free wrist.

“It’s okay doll, I want to.” “Just let me take care of you.”  

A soft cotton pad glided against your face as he swept the toner over your skin. After that, he slathered your other skincare products across your face, following the routine he knew you used. Your heart swelled knowing that he had memorized something so seemingly unimportant. It meant a lot that he cared so much to understand you.

“Let’s get you to bed.” Once again, he wrapped his arms around you to pick you up.

“I can walk there.” You said, grabbing onto his arms for support.

“I know you can baby but let me do it for you.” 

Jason carried you to the bed and set you under the covers, pulling them over your shoulders and sliding in behind you. Arms settled around you as you pushed yourself into his chest, taking in the warmth and comfort that he provided.

“I’m glad you’re okay Y/N.” He said, “Wake me up if you need anything. I love you Y/N/N.” 

You mumbled a response under your breath, the feeling of safety and comfort flushing out any troubles or worries you carried with you from the mission.

[shibaraki]

KISS IT BETTER ┊ SHINSOU HITOSHI

tags: GN reader, pro hero shinsou, support engineer reader, brief descriptions of blood + injury, tending to wounds, mutual pining, fluff, idiots to lovers, love confessions

wc: 1.9k

“You know I’m not a doctor, Hitoshi,” your voice is a low murmur yet loud in the cramped space of your bathroom. Just you, his shallow breathing and the steady flow of water in the sink. “I wish you would actually go to a hospital, or someone with a healing quirk”.

Hitoshi shrugs in the reflection and immediately appears to regret it as his face twists in discomfort, the movement jostling his wound. The bullet grazed a vivid arc right across the back of his left shoulder; thankfully not deep enough to require stitches or to damage the layers of skin beneath, but given the awkward to reach area and the blood that had been streaming through his fingers upon arrival you can’t say you blame him for waking you.

“You do it better,” he rasps. The soft hair on the back of your neck stands on end as you sense his eyes on you in the mirror. “You’re gentle. And good with your hands”.

The gauze dabbed around his wound is saturated red, quickly darkening and taking on a brownish hue. Resolutely avoiding his gaze you toss it beside the molehill of stained swabs already on the counter, reaching for a clean one and running it under the cold water. “I’m good with your equipment,” you stress with a huff, willing the heat crawling up your neck to go away. Years of working with delicate machinery keeps your hands steady. “I fix gadgets, Hitoshi. Not people”.

Hitoshi hums. Rather than contemplative he sounds faintly amused at your strong denial, as though he knows something you don’t. “You fix me just fine,” comes his soft reply as you successfully staunch the bleeding. Following the steps that have become routine for you both, he passes back the usual tub from your med kit—used so often now that the label has worn off—and adds nothing further while you cover the wound with a thin layer of petroleum jelly.

“Bandage,” you say, proffering your hand once more. Hitoshi twists his good arm to give you the non-stick dressings. You mumble an apology at the quiet hiss drawn between gritted teeth as you smooth the covered edges around the wound. “And… there. You’re set. That’s as good as you’ll get from me”.

Hitoshi turns in place before you’ve the chance to step away. You find yourself closer than intended. The white luminescence drapes over his shoulders and glints off the silver studs in each earlobe. You don’t know where to look. His ribs expand as he takes a staggered breath and your chests meet; a brief touch of bare skin but enough to make the sound of your heart flood your ears.

You catch how his throat bobs and entertain the thought that he might be equally affected. “Thanks,” he says. The gentle timbre of his voice settles over you like a cold fog of longing.

Neither of you have moved. You do not address the proximity as you study his upper body. There’s old bruising on his hip that looks a bit like an abstract painting but nothing else of immediate concern. He’s lean and angular, tall enough to cast an impressive shadow; neither of you are children anymore.

“You don’t have any other injuries hidden, do you?” you ask, eyes trailing up the column of his throat and lingering on the healed scar tissue cutting through the right of his mouth. It begins beneath his nose, strikes through the dark scruff along his jaw and ends far beneath his jugular, a paint stroke left by a brush with death. The memory is fresh in your mind and guides your hands to cup his chin, thumb tracing the raised skin. You don’t recall ever being that afraid for anyone, and yet he returned to work the day after as though nothing had happened.

At the very least it gives you ample reason to stare at his mouth. You can feel his gaze on you, peering down through half lidded eyes. There’s warm intensity behind them, like he can see through your poorly strung excuse, but if that is the case then he’s allowing it to happen, and you think that reveals just as much.

“It healed perfectly. You don’t need to worry about it,” he murmurs. There’s almost a breathless quality to it that invites goosebumps. And you freeze, as if caught.

“Not worried,” his lips press thin at the sudden cold tone as you turn to gather the used gauze and throw it in the bin beside the sink. “Your funeral not mine”.

Hitoshi moves when you nudge him aside, blood staining the dispenser as you squeeze some soap into your hands and scrub yourself raw under the running tap. The murky red water gurgles down the drain, rivulets streaking higher up the basin and likely to stain. You’re so lost in the sight that you barely register the larger hand coming to cover your own.

“Stop. Let me,” he says, already prying your entwined fists apart to gently massage the soap along each finger. Body heat seeps through your sleep shirt as he loosely wraps around you. You lean into him a fraction and imagine he’s embracing you like a lover while he cleans the dried blood from beneath your nails.

Silence befalls the small space once the water cuts out. Rather than dry your hands Hitoshi keeps them there, encased in his, his thumbs stroking back and forth over your knuckles. He rests his forehead on the curve of your throat and something shifts. The atmosphere, the ephemeral thing between you that you called friendship, the hips that press closer until he’s shaped perfectly to your back.

“I’m sorry,” you hear him say.

Wild violet hair tickles your cheek. It’s shorter than last time. You stare at your conjoined reflection as you overturn your wrists, threading your wet fingers together until your palms kiss. “For what?” you prompt, watching his head lift while you speak. “For constantly breaking your support equipment? For bursting into my apartment after midnight and bleeding all over my carpet again? For scaring me and making me lose sleep? For this—” your eyes meet in the mirror and your mouth becomes dry. “For this less than professional relationship?”

At that the corner of Hitoshi’s mouth lifts in the suggestion of a smile, and suddenly exasperation and fondness is warring over your expression. He clears his throat, almost shy, and he tightens his grip on your fingers. “I guess I’m sorry for all of that, too. But that’s not what I meant”.

“What else is there?” you tilt your head. In a heart stopping move, he turns his nose into your temple.

“I’m sorry I can’t… shit. That I can’t be normal about this kind of thing,” he admits, jaw shifting as he fights the discomfort that so often accompanies being vulnerable. “I always feel like I need some dire excuse otherwise you’ll see right through me”.

“See through you—?” the clamouring in your mind comes to a standstill. Your tongue sits heavy behind your teeth. You spin in his arms, The sink counter digs into your lower back and your hands, mostly dried by the air, come to rest on his bare chest. A mottled blush spreads across his collarbones. “What, you bled on my carpet because you didn’t want me to know you liked me or something?”

Hitoshi grimaces. His eyes rose to the ceiling to avoid your scrutiny and he hesitates to hold your hips. “Sounds stupid when you put it like that,” he huffs.

“Because it is,” you remark, sliding your hands further up and around his ears. Cradling the back of his head you tip him forward and force him to look at you. “You could’ve just brought me coffee at work or something”.

“You’re missing the point,” he mutters, gaze dropping to your lips and away, staring at the space between your eyebrows. “I did it so you wouldn’t know”.

“Why not?”

“Because there’s no way that you’d…” he blinks. His words lose strength as your nose bumps his. You feel a shaky breath leave his lips.

“No way that I’d like you?” as you finish the sentence for him, unsure if he even hears you behind then far off look in his eyes. Emboldened, you pitch your voice lower, quiet enough to cover the short distance between your mouths. You stroke your thumb over the swell of his cheek and say, “You think I patch up every guy that rolls through my bedroom window?”

“Well. There better not be any other guys coming in through your windows,” he rasps, cautiously tipping forward. A playful furrow has etched into his brow. Hitoshi wets his lips, searching your expression for something—perhaps rejection or anything close to it. “I know you’re a good person. You’re good to me. I figured that’s all it was”.

“Right, I’m good to you,” you nod and hear his breathing hitch as your mouths brush. The blush across his chest has spread fingers up his throat to his cheeks, enough reach to stain his ears pink. Hitoshi sways forward. You collide. He kisses you, finally. It is every bit as solemnly sweet and respectful as the hands at your waist.

You can’t help but smile, and feel his smile in turn. There is something so boyish and coy about it; you would never expect it from a man of his status—a man that sees the worst of humanity and spends his nights both evading and preventing death.

“…Oh,” he breathes dumbly as you pull back, his focus caught on the swipe of your tongue.

“Oh,” you repeat to lightheartedly tease, pushing the heel of your hands to his cheeks together until his mouth juts into an ugly pout. Restlessness grips you seeing it paired with his dazed expression, already wanting more than he can give in his current condition.

You release his cheeks and rub them in apology. “You’re done for the night, yeah?”

“Yeah…?” fingers dig in at your soft waist, drawing you impossibly close, as though he were savouring the last of the moment. You smooth over his shoulders, down the curve of his biceps, along thick forearms to take his wrists.

“Good. You’re coming to bed with me,” you tell him. The stupefied look after tucking a kiss to the corner of his mouth will never get old, you’re sure of it. “We’re going to sleep. Tomorrow I’ll help you clean and redress your injury and then,” you press another kiss on his jaw, nuzzling the coarse stubble there, “then you can take me out for breakfast”.

You almost lose your footing. In one swift motion Hitoshi has swung the bathroom door open and begun corralling you through it toward the bedroom. There’s an echo of soft, near drunken laughter as you navigate the darkness, and you realise, belatedly, that it is coming from you.

The strong arms cinched around your middle unraveled to drop you on top of the covers. Reclining into the plush pillows at the head of your bed, you holdout your arms to welcome Hitoshi into honeyed repose. The mattress yields under his weight. Breath held, he crawls over to you—braces over you and sinks onto his forearms.

Seconds pass. Fingers dance across his back, avoiding his bandages. Your grin is concealed by the darkness but it’s clear in your voice. “Hitoshi,” you whisper. “You can breathe now”.

With an exaggerated exhale, Hitoshi sinks into the crook of your body and smooshes his face into the pillow beside your head. “I’ll try not to bleed on your bedsheets,” he says, muffled. Then quieter, much later, when he’s sure you won’t hear it, “I like you”.

[cheriiyaya]

Even then, you looked so pretty

Dazai and Chuuya x reader (seperate), Post Mersault

A/N: I had to get this out of my head m sorryyyy i'll continue w my other stuff after this drabble !! (not proofread btw)

Dazai Osamu

You heard the shower turn off, muffled sprinkles of water filling the holes of silence that you've gotten accustomed to for the past few weeks.

The light shuffle of feet, the click of a crutch against the linoleum floor and the creak of the washroom door gave way to dazai. hair wet and droplets rolling off his pale skin that had taken on a pinken hue from the steam in the shower, he made his way beside you, limping against his crutch and it broke your heart to see him like this.

He shuffled to the bed and sat on the end of it, lips curled into a smile and he held out his arms for you. You carefully crawled towards him, bunched up in one of his shirts-a habit you had picked up during his disappearance.

You rested your chin carefully on his shoulder, nosing his neck before burying your face into the warm crook of it. You breathed him in, hand resting over the place on his chest where you could feel the steady thrum of his heart under your palm.

The two of you sat like this, dazai's breath hitting your skin and his hand resting between your shoulder blades before he broke the silence.

"I put you though a ton, huh?" he breathily chuckled, tugging your shirt down to expose your shoulder. he pressed his lips to your bare skin.

"...why didn't you-"

"because," he hummed, tucking your hair behind your ear and brushing it over your shoulder. "You would've stopped me."

"damn right I would've" you grumbled and dazai smiled, tilting your head up to face him. He leaned down, locking your lips in his in a gentle kiss, hand resting behind your ear and gently tugging at your hair as his teeth grazed your bottom lip.

"Why did you hafta get so hurt..." you sighed, brushing his bangs away from his forehead and thumbing the mark left on his forehead. The thought of the bullet actually piercing his skull, the image of his head blown open and blood staining the floor made you tear up and take in a quivering breath. Noticing this, dazai pressing his lips to yours, mumbling softly as he rubbed circles into your back with a large palm.

"I'm sorry, darling."

Nakahara Chuuya

"Damn it..." you heard Chuuya mutter for the bathroom and you poked your head in, frowning.

"Is everything alright?" You watched as your lover hunched over the counter, prying at the fake teeth that had been glued atop his real canines to sell his vampiric act. You couldn't help but let out a giggle.

You walked over, tapping his shoulder so chuuya would turn and face you. "Sit." You patted the countertop, and chuuya obliged with a grumble. Standing between his legs you pressed a quick kiss to his lips before gently prying them open.

"Don't even sweetheart, they'll never get out 'cause the boss decided to glue 'em in reaaal tight...bet dazai put him up to it..." His words sounded gargled as you tried pulling them out, teeth pressing down on your tongue.

"You're right, why are they in so tight?" the sentence broke off into a chuckle as you looked up at him, rubbing your thumb across his plush bottom lip.

"I dunno! did the boss think I was gonna knock them out somehow?" Chuuya groaned, dragging his hand over his face. "now I got fake teeth stuck in my mouth like some cheap-ass halloween costume!" You giggled, tugging chuuya down.

"Can I tell you something chuu'?" You giggled and chuuya sighed, expression softening as he ran a gloved finger delicately over your jaw.

"F'course ya can." You smiled and leaned in before quickly pressing you lips to his, gently Parting his lips and grazing your tongue over his teeth, causing him to sputter and pull back flustered.

"Wha- what the-!" You laughed, kissing his cheek and relishing the way his face turned red.

"If it's any better, I think they look good on you chuu'." You hummed, kissing the tip of his nose before leaning back. chuuya looked away, rubbing his nose before answering.

"...you like em, huh?"

Maybe he doesn't want them off just yet after all.

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Where Will All The Martyrs Go [Chapter 1: Welcome To A New Kind Of Tension]

Series summary: In the midst of the zombie apocalypse, both you and Aemond (and your respective travel companions) find yourselves headed for the West Coast. It’s the 2024 version of the Oregon Trail, but with less dysentery and more undead antagonists. Watch out for snakes! 😉🐍

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, med school Aemond, character deaths, nature, drinking, smoking, drugs, Adventures With Aegon, pregnancy and childbirth, the U.S. Navy, road trip vibes, Jace is here unfortunately.

Series title is a lyric from: “Letterbomb” by Green Day.

Chapter title is a lyric from: “American Idiot” by Green Day.

Word count: 5.1k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🥰

“What do you think, should we kill ourselves now or later?” Rio is spinning his Beretta M9 around on his index finger. This is not advisable. He doesn’t care.

Your hands are gripping the skeletal latticework of the transmission tower, steel hot enough to burn you; no electricity hums in the power lines suspended above your heads. Your eyes are on the horizon, golden June sunlight over fields no one has planted. Weeds are growing up through the earth, feral and defiantly useless, reclaiming their land just like the deer are, and the rabbits and the opossums and the turtles and the squirrels and the doves. The reign of humanity is over. Now you’re prey animals too. “Let’s wait.”

“For what?”

“Maybe someone will save us.”

“Ain’t nobody coming, Chips!” Rio says. “We’re a hundred feet off the ground in the middle of nowhere, motherfucking Catawissa, Pennsylvania, and we haven’t run into anyone since that Amish family back in Lightstreet, and I wouldn’t count on them driving by in their horse and buggy to pick us up.”

“We’re about sixty feet off the ground.”

“Okay, Bob the Builder, why don’t you whip up a helicopter or something to get us out of here?” Rio’s M9 has one bullet left in it, yours has three, nowhere near enough. At the bottom of the tower is a swarm of fifty-four zombies; you’ve counted them twice. There are no cute euphemisms: walkers, biters, the infected. They were once people and now they’re not. They wear the vestiges of their former lives, like how those who believe in reincarnation see meaning in birthmarks: here you were stabbed, there you were kissed by your true love. They lurch and snarl and hiss in their professional attire, college t-shirts, Vans and Jordans, septum piercings, wedding rings. They decompose in a miasma of metallic blood and spoiled meat. Parker had been the last one to the transmission tower, and they grabbed him by the legs. Now they’re chewing the gristle off his bones: disconnected ligaments that swing like strands of cobwebs, scarlet threads of muscle. “Oh shit,” Rio says, looking down. “We’ve got a smart one.”

Most zombies don’t have the fine motor skills to climb, swim, or open doors, but every once in a while—just like out of every 5,000 or 10,000 or however many ordinary humans you’ll pull the lever on the genetic slot machine and get a Picasso or a kid who can score a 1600 on the SATs—you run into an overachiever. This zombie, a teenage boy with red hair and a blue plaid shirt, is slowly scaling the tower. He’s already ten feet off the ground.

Rio aims his M9, semiautomatic, packs a punch but won’t break your arm with the recoil. “Fuck off, Ed Sheeran!” He fires and misses; the bullet grazes the boy’s shoulder. He groans dramatically and asks you in defeat: “Will you take care of that, please?”

You pull your pistol out of your holster and lean away from the tower to get a better angle, holding onto the scaffolding with one hand. You feel Rio’s large fingers close around your wrist, ready to yank you back if you slip. You click off the safety with your thumb, peer through the front sight, aim and wait until you’re sure. It’s a headshot: shards of skull ricochet off steel beams, half-rotten brains spray out in a mist. The carcass plummets to the earth.

“All this horror, all this catastrophe.” Rio’s eyes, dark like a mineshaft, drift mischievously back to you. “We could…distract each other.”

He’s not serious; this is a game you play. “No thanks.”

“You don’t want to die a virgin.”

“I do if you’re the only other person up here.”

“You deny a condemned man his final wish?”

“We’re not dying,” you insist. “What about Sophie?”

“Sophie would understand given the circumstances. She would want me to be happy.”

“What if we have sex and then immediately thereafter get rescued? You’d be a cheater. You’d be consumed by guilt. You’d never be able to take me back to your parents’ doomsday prepper cult commune in bumblefuck Oregon to wait out the apocalypse in peace.”

“You’re going to appreciate those doomsday preppers when you’re eating Chef Boyardee out of a can instead of shuffling around as a reanimated corpse.”

“Yeah, I’m sure I will,” you muse. “So you agree we’re going to get off this tower somehow.”

Rio sighs and whistles a morose tune: what a shame. “You should have gone out with that Marine at Corpus Christi.”

You frown, repentant, wistful. There’s nothing on the horizon except fields and trees and black storm clouds of crows taking flight. “I was afraid of making a mistake.”

“And now look at you. About to die as pure as Pope Francis.”

“How did this happen?! We’re not idiots, we’re goddamn professionals!” You re-holster your M9. You’re still wearing your uniforms from when you went AWOL, stealing away from Saratoga Springs like rats from a sinking ship.

“I’ll tell you exactly how this happened. You let that loser Parker come with us even though I knew it was a bad idea—”

“I couldn’t just leave him there! He started crying!”

“And he had one job, which was to check the oil in the Humvee, and clearly he failed because…” Rio glances at his watch. “Approximately four hours ago, the engine started smoking and the whole thing died on us, so we had to get out and walk, like we’re pioneers or some shit, and then that hoard down there came out of nowhere, and the only place left to go was up. Freaking Parker. I could murder that guy.” An awkward pause. “I mean, the zombies beat me to it. But still.”

“He had two jobs. He was also carrying the extra ammo.”

“Don’t remind me.” Rio isn’t messing around with his M9 anymore. He’s contemplating it as the sun hovers just past noon, hot and shadowless. “How many bullets do you have left?”

“Two.”

“Good. Don’t use them.”

You look at him, this man you’ve known for over four years, this man you’ve traveled the world with. You’ve already gone so much farther than Oregon together. How is it possible that what was once a six hour flight is now a month-long journey that might kill you? “It’s not over yet, Rio.”

“Remember what you promised me.”

His hushed voice in the moonlit indigo of the Humvee the night you left Saratoga Springs: Don’t let me die alone. “We’re going to be okay. We’re going to make it to Oregon.” Then you grin, sweltering summer air breathing over you, humid, heavy, the screeching of insects in the trees. “But if it comes to that, I’d be happy to shoot you first.”

Rio smiles as the zombies below growl and claw at the steel framework of the transmission tower. Flesh peels off their fingers until you can see the gore-stained white of their bones. “Don’t miss.”

“I rarely do.”

“Do you have any more packs of Cheddar Whales in your pockets or—?” He cuts off as he spots something in the distance. His eyes go wide, his jaw drops open. “What…what is that?!”

It’s an SUV, massive, dark blue, rumbling across the field in a dust storm of displaced earth. It’s headed straight towards you. There is someone standing up through the sunroof, short dark hair that whips wildly in the wind, binoculars. You can hear the engine revving and, faintly, Kanye West’s Gold Digger. As the SUV nears the tower, Sunroof Kid ducks inside and closes the hatch.

Rio explodes into hysterical, rapturous laughter. “Oh my God, we’re saved! We’re not going to die up here! Oh, thank you, Jesus, thank you. I’m never going to jack off on Sundays again.”

The SUV, still accelerating, plows through the mob of zombies. Severed limbs go flying; bones crunch and snap. There’s a woman driving, you can see now through the slightly tinted windows. She puts the monstrous vehicle and reverse and does another pass. Zombies paw futilely at the sides of the SUV, a Chevy Tahoe, as it turns out. They smack their open, soggy palms on the windows; they gnaw and lick at the bumpers and the wheel wells. The Tahoe circles to regain speed, the engine growling, a bear, a dragon, and barrels into the remaining ambulatory zombies. The hoard is now largely incapacitated. Rio is cheering and clapping his hands.

The Tahoe’s doors open, and your rescuers appear. There are two men wielding baseball bats: one with long dark curly hair, the other tall and blonde, and there’s something wrong with his face, the left side, though you are too far away to see clearly. They move rapidly through the battlefield of felled, moaning bodies, swinging their bats and crushing skulls. There’s another blonde guy, shorter, softer, pink with sunburn, wearing plastic sunglasses and a teal polo with a popped collar. He’s spinning a golf club in his right hand. He is followed out of the Tahoe by one last blonde, spindly and swift, stalking the perimeter with a compound bow, a quiver of arrows secured to his belt. Rio is singing along to Gold Digger, drumming his fists on the steel beams.

“Now, I ain’t sayin’ you a gold digger, you got needs

You don’t want a dude to smoke, but he can’t buy weed

You go out to eat, he can’t pay, y’all can’t leave

There’s dishes in the back, he gotta roll up his sleeves…”

The driver wriggles out of the Tahoe with some difficulty; she is seven or eight months pregnant. “Stay in the car,” Madame Driver tells someone inside as she slams the door shut. She’s holding a hammer and sets about euthanizing the zombies still squirming on the ground and gnashing their cracked teeth at her.

Golf Club says: “Jace, bro, that’s so embarrassing. You’re gonna let her do that?”

Curly—or, rather, Jace—shrugs. “Exercise is good for the baby.”

All three blondes respond at once in a chorus of appalled disapproval. Interestingly, your rescuers have British accents. From within the Tahoe, someone turns off the CD player. This is wise; noise tends to attract more zombies. Madame Driver, unaffected, puts her hammer through the eye socket of a former Arby’s employee.

Jace flings back: “She likes helping! It would be sexist to tell her she’s not allowed to!”

The Scarred Man looks up at you and Rio and salutes, two fingers glanced off his forehead. You begin climbing down the scalding rungs of the transmission tower to meet them.

“Oh fuck, Aemond, you gotta deal with this,” Golf Club says. He is holding a yowling zombie at arm’s length by the straps of its overalls. It’s tiny, maybe a kindergartener. “You know I can’t kill the little kid ones.”

The Scarred Man, Aemond, turns to him. He’s wearing a maroon Harvard University t-shirt. “You have to learn how to do things yourself. I might not always be around.”

Golf Club scoffs. “As if I’d outlive you.”

“Go on. You can do it,” Aemond says. Behind him, more people are emerging from the Chevy Tahoe: Binoculars Buddy, a slight girl with shifting, watchful eyes, a blonde woman in a billowing sundress and with a burlap messenger bag slung over one shoulder.

Golf Club is still struggling. “Aw, Aemond, man, he’s got light-up sneakers!”

Jace strides over irritably. “Aegon, you’re so fucking useless…” He kicks the miniature zombie to the dirt, raises his bloodied baseball bat, and brings it down on a skull that disintegrates like an overripe Halloween pumpkin. “You’re welcome.”

“Get bit, you poodle.”

Rio hits the ground first, his boots thumping against untamed earth. Aemond sets his baseball bat aside and reaches out to offer assistance as you dangle from a white-hot steel beam. “No,” Rio tells him roughly. “Back up.”

Aemond shows his palms and complies, retreating several paces. Rio helps you down. Now you can see Aemond’s face perfectly. There’s a relatively fresh wound running down the left half of his face, the violent red of burgeoning scar tissue, clear stitches; his eye has been sutured shut. But that’s not why you’re staring at him. His other eye is a focused, hypnotic blue, his short blonde hair disheveled. He keeps touching his chin, a nervous tick. Immediately, there’s something you like about him. He gives you the impression of someone who has gotten very good at hiding how afraid he is. Aemond looks away from your gaze, thinking you’re horrified by his injury. Then, reluctantly, he comes back. There’s forbidden temptation the lines of his ravaged face, a curiosity, a hesitation.

“Thank you for saving us,” you say to your rescuers, tearing your attention from Aemond. It’s not easy. “That was really, really cool of you, and we know you didn’t have to do it. So thanks.”

“Yeah,” Rio adds. “Sorry your Tahoe is covered in guts now.”

Aemond turns to confer silently with his companions, then asks you: “Where are you headed?”

“Odessa, Oregon.”

He nods. “We’re going to California.”

“NorCal,” Jace says, holding his baseball bat across his shoulders. “Bay Area.”

“Are you two together?” Aegon asks.

“Yeah,” Rio says, misunderstanding the question.

“Not like that,” you clarify. “He has a wife and baby, that’s what’s in Oregon.”

“So you’re single,” Aegon says, grinning toothily. His fellow travelers—family? friends? classmates? a combination thereof?—grumble and roll their eyes.

“Um, I mean, yeah, technically…?”

“Aemond’s also single,” Madame Driver informs you, relishing the chaos.

“He’s single but deformed and traumatized,” Aegon says. “I am mentally uninjured.”

You chuckle awkwardly. Your eyes, by their own volition, flick back to Aemond. He peers down at the ground then up at you again, smiling, a little sheepish, a little wicked.

Aegon groans, swinging his golf club around. “Man, come on.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Aemond replies.

“No, it’s just right there, all over your fucked up face.”

Madame Driver feigns a sympathetic frown at Aegon. “How sad. Guess you won’t have anyone to give your syphilis to.”

“I don’t have syphilis,” Aegon tells you. Then, to the others: “I can’t be the only single guy! It’s pathetic!”

“I’m single,” Archery Team says brightly.

“You’re like twelve. You don’t count.”

“I’m seventeen!”

“Are you Army?” Aemond asks you and Rio.

“Navy,” Rio replies. “We were stationed at Saratoga Springs in upstate New York.”

Aemond is fascinated. “You’re deserters?”

“What are you gonna do about it, Brit Boy?” Rio says. Aemond blinks at him. Aegon cackles, drawing huge circles in the air with his golf club.

“Everyone’s deserting,” you explain diplomatically.

“They were going to evacuate the base and send everyone left into New York City,” Rio says. “Fuck that, we’d heard things, we weren’t about to go on some suicide mission. We weren’t even in a combat unit for Christ’s sake, we’re Seabees.”

“You’re what?” Aemond asks, puzzled.

“We do construction. That’s why we were still at the base. If they’re putting us on the front lines, the situation is truly desperate. I’m not going in the meatgrinder. I’m not gonna be like those Hitler Youth kids sent to Russia.”

Aegon is squinting behind his sunglasses, truly lost. “Huh?”

“We should go west together,” Aemond suggests. He’s attempting to sound casual.

“I thought we didn’t want to travel with strangers, Aemond,” Jace says pointedly, mocking him. “I thought they couldn’t be trusted, Aemond. I thought they might slit our throats and steal our Tahoe in the dead of night, Aemond.”

“We’re useful!” Rio bargains. “We can shoot things!”

Aegon is very confused. “I thought you did construction.”

“Everyone has to go through basic training,” Aemond tells him impatiently, watching you.

“She got the Marksmanship Medal,” Rio says, grinning, proud.

“A lot of people get that,” you demur immediately.

“We can give you guys weapons training,” Rio continues. “You seem…like you probably don’t know about guns. Like you read a lot of books.” He gestures to Aegon. “Except that one.”

Aegon snickers, unoffended, still swinging his golf club around. “I don’t read books. I read maps.”

“Okay, lets do it,” Aemond says. “We’ll stick together across the Midwest and split up before we get to the Pacific. That puts us at ten people, and there’s safety in numbers.”

“Why do you get to make all the decisions?!” Jace demands. “Who signed that fucking contract? I didn’t consent to those terms.”

“Because that’s what Criston told us the last time the phones worked,” Aegon replies smugly. “He said Aemond’s in charge. So he is. If you want to find your way to California on your own, you’re welcome to try.”

“Who’s Criston?” you ask.

“Our fake dad,” Aegon says.

“Oh, your stepdad?”

“No, our mom is still married to our dad, he just sucks.”

“He does suck,” Archery Team confirms.

Rio tells you: “Hey, Chips, you’re standing in a torso.”

“Am I?” You look down. Your boots are buried to the ankles in the rotting gore of a bare midsection with only one limp arm still attached. You step out of it and shake off the bits of decomposing organs. “Gnarly. Thanks.” You spot Parker’s backpack containing the extra ammunition, pick it up out of the dirt, and throw it over your shoulders.

“Chips?” Aemond says. “Like…chocolate chips?”

“No, like woodchips. I’m a carpenter. I mean, I was a carpenter, I guess. That’s what I did in the Navy. Some people call the carpenters Chips.”

“I was an electrician,” Rio says. “So clearly, now that all the power is down, that turned out to be a fantastic career path.” Then he formally introduces himself. “Hi everyone, I’m Rio.”

Aegon perks up. “Oh, like the Rio Grande.”

Rio pretends to be scandalized. “Wow, racist.”

“So racist,” you agree.

Aegon’s chubby pink face fills with horror. “No, wait, I didn’t…um…”

Rio laughs and taps the nametag on his chest, black letters stitched over green camouflage: Osorio.

“His first name’s Bryan,” you say. “But no one calls him that.”

“My mom calls me Bryan. Sophie calls me Bryan.”

Aemond points at his companions, one after the other. “That’s my brother Aegon and my sister Helaena. Jace and Luke are our cousins. Then Baela and Rhaena are their girlfriends. Well, Baela…she’s kind of a fiancée. But there’s no official ring yet.”

Jace says: “Unfortunately, all the jewelry stores were looted on account of the apocalypse.”

“And I’m Daeron,” Archery Team says buoyantly, waving. Then he shields his eyes as he notices something at the edge of the field. “Oh, guys…?”

There are zombies approaching with clumsy, staggering strides, only a few now, but more will follow. That’s the thing; they are in seemingly endless supply. It’s easy to get too comfortable with them, to think of them as slow and mindless, even comical, even pitiful. But they can surprise you. And it only takes one bite to become just like them.

“Time to return to the Tahoe,” Baela announces, waddling towards the driver’s seat. Rhaena climbs in the passenger’s side. The rest of you pile into the back. The SUV has nine seats; Aegon crouches on the floor without being asked to. He’s unfolding a map he pulled from the pocket of his salmon-colored shorts and laying it flat across Rio’s knees so everyone can see. Baela turns the key in the ignition and the Tahoe rumbles to life. You spot a few red gas cans under the seats. If you can’t find more when that runs out—siphoning it out of other vehicles, stumbling across a gas station that is miraculously not drained dry—you’ll be walking, biking, or skateboarding to the West Coast. Or embracing the Amish lifestyle with a horse and buggy.

“We were planning to swing by Fort Indiantown Gap,” you tell Aemond. He twists around in his seat to look at you, that absorbed crystalline blue gaze. “That’s where we were headed before our Humvee broke down. It’s a National Guard Training Center. It’s probably cleaned out like everywhere else, but if it’s not…we might be able to find some guns and ammo there.”

“Where is it?”

“An hour south of here, just outside of Harrisburg.”

Baela is watching Aemond in the rearview mirror. He gives her a nod. “How do I get there?” Baela asks you.

“South on Route 42. Did you see the signs on your way in…?”

“Yup. Got it.” Baela steers the Tahoe across the field, kicking up a vortex of parched soil. She intentionally runs down four zombies before swerving left onto a two-lane road. Then she turns up the volume on the CD player: War Pigs by Black Sabbath. “It’s a mixtape,” she informs you.

Aegon points to southcentral Pennsylvania on a map of the United States of America, highway arteries and local route veins. “We’re here,” he says, sliding around on the floor of the Tahoe as Baela drives. His index finger traces the path; it’s a precarious balance between avoiding the most heavily populated areas and still having access to the necessary trappings of civilization: supplies to scavenge, roads to follow, buildings to take shelter in. “We’ll stop by Fort Indiantown Gap and then head northwest, thread the needle between Pittsburgh and Cleveland, stay south of Detroit and Chicago, cut across Iowa, Nebraska, Wyoming, that top part of Utah, then go our separate ways in Nevada. Oh my God, it’s just like the Oregon Trail! Do you guys remember that game?! Fording rivers, getting dysentery, hunting bison to extinction?” He starts humming the theme song.

Jace smirks, chomping on a Twizzler. ��Hope you don’t die of a snakebite or something. That’d be awful.”

Aegon ignores him and refolds the map. “Rio! Fuck, marry, kill. The last three first ladies before Biden.”

Rhaena says, exasperated: “Aegon, you have to stop asking people that. It’s inappropriate.”

“Oh, easy,” Rio replies. “I’m fucking Laura Bush.”

“That’s what I’m saying!” Aegon gives him a high five.

“And then I have to marry Michelle.”

“You gotta.”

“Which means Melania gets the grape Flavor Aid.”

“It’s the only logical answer.”

“I’d fuck Melania,” Jace says.

“Of course you would, you sick, sick man,” Aegon mutters, rolling down a window and sticking his head out like a golden retriever, his sunglasses still on, his blonde hair flapping in the wind. There’s a tattoo in black ink on his forearm, you notice for the first time: It’s not over ‘til you’re underground.

~~~~~~~~~~

Fort Indiantown Gap is a ghost town like a gold seam emptied, an oil well run dry, a collapsed coal mine. There’s no central armory but instead a series of arms rooms, one for each unit. Every single scrap of lethal metal is gone: no pistols, no rifles, no grenade launchers or machine guns, no ammo, not even pocketknives, although you do find clean PT uniforms for you and Rio to change into, t-shirts and running shorts and sneakers. Clothes are surprisingly difficult to acquire now. Most stores have either been looted or overrun by zombies, and Amazon is tragically no longer delivering. You can break into houses that seem abandoned, but then you have to hope the people who lived there just so happened to be your size and also aren’t waiting inside to eat you. It’s not usually a wise gamble.

You study Aemond and his companions as you move through the base clearing buildings, you and Rio with loaded M9s in your holsters and clutching borrowed baseball bats; gunshots are best avoided if possible so as not to attract unwanted attention. Aemond and Jace take point, almost always; Aegon hovers on Aemond’s blind left side, wagging his golf club around, occasionally slapping Aemond’s shoulder to remind him he’s there. Daeron prowls at the back and on the periphery. Baela pretends she isn’t struggling to keep up. Luke and Rhaena are the lookouts. Helaena fills her burlap messenger bag with small treasures you don’t even notice her accumulating: bottles of Advil, batteries, lighters, pens, tweezers, Band-Aids, Uno cards. You encounter only three zombies, easily decommissioned. Fort Indiantown Gap must have been evacuated weeks ago. You wonder what pointless battles her soldiers died in. Everyone knows the dead have won.

What the abandoned base lacks in weaponry it makes up for in food. You find a chow hall with an untouched kitchen, a wealth of shelf-stable delicacies: chili, saltine crackers, applesauce, fruit cocktail with bright red gems of cherries, peanut butter, strawberry jelly, green beans, carrots, peas, beets, tuna fish, chicken noodle soup. You feast—a Thanksgiving, a Last Supper—then settle into the barracks next door as the sun begins to set. There are plenty of bunkbeds and a closet full of pillows and sheets. Someone always has to be up to keep watch; Daeron and Jace immediately go to sleep so they can get some rest before they are shaken awake sometime around 2 or 3 a.m. Baela says she’s going to lie down for a minute and almost immediately begins snoring. Helaena makes silent amendments in her notebook; she keeps an inventory of everything the group has, needs, or wants.

Outside, Rio and Aegon are engaged in a spirited game of Uno. Luke is sitting cross-legged on the roof of the Tahoe with his binoculars. Rhaena is beside him softly reading a book out loud: The Hunger Games. Aemond is on a wooden bench on the front porch of the barracks, watching the sun sink into the west. When he notices you, he seems pleased. “Hi.”

“Hi. I’m sorry we wasted your gas to come here.”

“No, it was a good idea. It was worth a shot. And now we have a safe place to sleep tonight.” His eye drops lower, his scarred brow crinkles in concern. “What happened to your hands?”

“My hands?” In the haze of the adrenaline, you didn’t even notice. Your palms are blistered, swollen and stinging. “Oh. It was the transmission tower. The steel beams got really hot while we were up there. I’ll be okay.”

“Let me bandage them. You don’t want to get an infection.”

“Really, I’m fine, I shouldn’t inconvenience—”

“Sit down,” Aemond insists. You take a seat on the bench while he goes to the Tahoe to fetch a black nylon bag about the size of a briefcase. Rio casts you a furtive, crafty grin. It’s nothing, you mouth back, more to convince yourself than him. Your pulse is thudding in your ears; your cheeks are warm. You haven’t felt like this since you almost agreed to go on a date with that Marine you met at Corpus Christi, where your battalion had been dispatched to build a series of new airplane hangars. Aemond returns to the bench and begins wiping down your palms with antiseptic. “Sorry if this stings.”

It does, but you’re grateful for the distraction. “It isn’t too bad.”

“You’re not from Oregon.” He’s noticed your accent.

“Kentucky,” you confess.

“You aren’t making a stop at home before traveling west?”

“Why would I want to go back there?”

Aemond looks at you uncertainly; he can’t tell if you’re joking. You like the way his voice goes quiet when it’s just the two of you. You like the way he barely shows his teeth when he talks, like he’s keeping secrets.

After a moment, as the sky begins to turn to orange and pink and lilac, you continue. “People join the Army for a paycheck and a place to sleep, free college, health insurance. People join the Marines to prove they’re the best. People join the Air Force because they want to be in the military but think they’re too smart for grunt work. And people join the Navy to get away from home. I wanted to get far, far, far away.”

Aemond smiles. “Are you far enough yet?” He doesn’t mean by miles. He means the fact that the world will never be the same. Now he’s coating your hands in a thick white ointment, cool and blissful.

“I was afraid of so many things, and now none of them matter.”

“We all have brand new things to be afraid of.” He gets a roll of gauze and begins to wrap your palms, careful to keep your fingers and thumbs unencumbered.

“Aemond?”

“Yeah.”

“What happened to your face?”

He shrugs. He’s trying not to be resentful about it; he can’t change it anyway. “We were scavenging supplies from a Home Depot. We had to board up the house and wait until things…got quieter and it was safe to travel out of Boston.” And by got quieter, he means that the initial wave passed, the zombies began to wander out of the cities and disperse, the survivors were hunkered down and not participating in gunfights or Vikings-style pillaging in the streets. “A piece of sheet metal fell on me from the top shelf. Aegon and Jace dragged me home, they thought I was dying.”

“I’m glad you weren’t. Who treated it?”

“I did.”

You can’t disguise your shock. “You…you stitched up your own face?”

He smirks, finishing the bandages on your hands. “I was in medical school before all this.”

“You’re a doctor?”

“I was an intern. So definitely not a doctor, but the closest thing to one I had access to. And I had taken some things from the hospital when everything went to hell. So I got a little mirror, and I lidocained myself very generously, and I started suturing.”

You don’t know what to say. His eye?? He stitched his eye shut?? “I mean…you did a great job.”

“I’m aware I look like Frankenstein, but I guess it’s better than not being here at all.”

“No, seriously. You look amazing, Aemond.”

He stares at you, bewildered. You realize how bizarre it must sound. You both start laughing as Aemond packs his supplies back into his medical kit. He touches his fingertips to his chin a few times—restless, meditative—then stands to return inside the barracks. “I’m…going to go check on Helaena.”

“Yeah. Cool. See ya.” You don’t watch him leave. This takes intentional effort.

Seconds pass anonymously: no time you need to be anywhere, nothing late, nothing early, no television premiers, no football games, no State Of The Unions, no time zones to do mental math over. You aren’t even sure what day it is. The earth has erased your invisible prisons. Now all that remain are the real ones: weather, terrain, disease, predators.

There is the creaking of weight on the porch steps. You warn him: “I’m not interested in your commentary.”

Rio winks as he says: “Maybe you won’t die a virgin after all.”

[huramuna]

lay all your love on me - oneshot.

modern aemond x wife reader 18+ minors DNI, you will be smited.

an early valentine's day piece.

word count: 2.2k

i don't do taglists any more unfortunately -- @huramuna-fics -- follow & turn on notifications for just my fic postings!

content: smut with little plot (specifics under the cut), bdsm themes, allusions to infertility, established relationship, no use of y/n, no description of reader, aftercare

lay all your love on me - ABBA • gimmie! gimmie! gimmie! (a man after midnight) - ABBA

warnings: bondage, edging, ruined orgasms, orgasm control, deepthroating, face fucking, ball-gagged, p in v, creampie, breeding kink, bdsm dynamics, dom/sub, brat taming, use of sex toys, knifeplay

You shouldn’t have listened to Aegon’s advice. Aegon, the brainless older idiot brother of your husband, gave you advice to spice up your marriage and hopefully, to conceive a baby– as he apparently had a few children running around, and this somehow made him an expert.

And you took it. 

It started off innocently; more dirty-talk, heavier touches, bites that left small marks of ownership for both of you to admire. It began to move onto silken sashes loosely holding your wrists together, fingers gagging your mouth. 

Then, it shifted with the creation of your safeword. 

“Pomelo,” you said, a tad more confidently than you should’ve. 

“Pomelo? That’s what you’re choosing as a safe word?” Aemond chuckled, perking his brow. 

“Yep, so you won’t forget.”

The bindings became tighter then afterwards, but not uncomfortable, of course. Aemond was a gentle husband in most facets, and this extended to his bondage of you. He would have you reassure him that they weren’t too constricting, weren’t chafing and were comfortably snug.

 Once his work was done and you soothed his worry, it was like a switch flipped in his head. Gone was your gentle husband of two years, and out came something primal and feral. It's always been there, right under the surface— broiling and writhing to come free, his blood set aflame. 

You realize now what amazing control your husband has— over himself, over his environment and most importantly; over you. 

That is how you ended up in your current situation— a cocktail of taking Aegon’s advice and stoking the flame of Aemond’s inner depravities. Your current situation being tied to a chair in red, silken sashes, adorned like a present ready to be opened, legs spread slightly, arms tied back. A matching ball gag muffled your gentle whines as a red bullet vibrator was carefully nestled in your folds. 

This was your Valentine’s Day gift to Aemond; allowing him to tie you up and edge you for as long as he wished, watching you almost fall apart each time— before he snatched away your release. He even tied a lovely little bow across your breasts; a treat for him for later. 

Saliva dribbled down your chin as you watched him; he was still dressed from work that day, business casual with black slacks and a white button up, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, hair pinned in a neat bun at the nape of his neck. He had his phone in his hand, changing the frequency of the vibrations on the bullet expertly placed just grazing your clit, teasing you and circling you. You looked a mess already, drooling and whining against the gag, toes curling at every minute sensation— while Aemond looked groomed and tailored to perfection, just watching. Cheeky bastard. 

Your eyes roved his form as he pulled up a chair, finally, across from you. You swore you could see the distinct bulge of arousal tightening around his pelvic region, but he turned around before you could confirm it. Asshole. You wouldn’t be surprised, with the insane amount of control that he had over himself, if he was willing away a boner, just to tease you. 

While he was turned away, you rubbed your thighs together, eager to ease some of the ache you felt from being denied. 

“You know you aren’t supposed to do that,” he chastised, somehow knowing you were getting up to no good with his back turned. “You’re being bad, love.” 

You responded with a few indignant grumbles, more saliva slipping from your lips and sliding down your chest. 

“Back talking?” Aemond mused, finally turning around, chair in hand. He turned it so he was sitting with his chest against the back of it, arms propped on the wood as he held his phone in an almost lazy manner. “That won’t do. You know I hate when you’re bratty.” he hummed, adjusting the speed once more on his phone. His voice said one thing, but his eyes said another. He loved when you were bratty— it gave him a chance to tame you. 

This exchange had been going on for thirty minutes already and you felt tears in your eyes at your ruined orgasms. You were screaming silent pleas to him from a look alone, your lashes damp with welling tears. 

“Does my wife want to come? I thought you had more stamina,” Aemond tutted, his voice perfectly trained to feign disappointment.

 You wilted under his faux admonishments, shaking back and forth against the bindings, chasing the high that would never come. The legs of the chair squeaked slightly as you moved it. 

“Don’t,” Aemond said firmly, turning off the vibrations completely and putting his phone aside. His voice took a darker note now, not like the playful scolding before. “You’ll hurt yourself,” he got up, hand stilling the chair. “Do you want me to touch you?” 

Your chest heaved as you nodded profusely. Yesyesyes, pleaseplease! Your skin crawled delightfully as he reached between your legs and slowly, deliberately slowly, pulled the bullet from your folds. It was soaked and slick. He reached up then and untied the gag, as well, rasping a finger over your poor swollen lips. 

“My poor baby,” he cooed, before pulling back. He began to undo his belt and your mouth filled with saliva instantly— that had to be some sort of pavlovian response, how pathetic— your eyes were trained on his hands as they flexed, discarding his belt and shirt, then his pants without much ceremony. Your eyes hadn’t deceived you earlier, he was rock hard, to a point it almost looked painful. “You’ll get yours soon, I promise.” he said, running his palm down his length as he positioned himself— one leg up on the chair you were on, one hand behind your head. ‘Open’, he mouthed. 

Your swollen lips opened as he guided his cock into your mouth. The salty, musky taste and smell of him, so familiar and comforting that it caused your eyes to flutter, enveloped your senses. He slid his length across your tongue until he nestled nicely in, drawing you in at the hilt. Your nose brushed his mound of neatly groomed short and curlies. He was all consuming, so in control— all you could do was look up at him. 

“You don’t need to do the work, baby,” he murmured. “Just sit there and look pretty.” his now free hand caressed your face, thumb drawing circles over your cheek as he began to move. It was slow at first, to help you get used to it— you were very used to letting him fuck your face, but it was always nice to start slow. You felt his cock slide in and out, against your tongue, prodding at your throat. 

Usually, he would put music on, or have the T.V on as background noise— but that wasn’t the case tonight. It was silent, save for the sound of the rocking chair, his soft pants of pleasure, and the downright vulgar noise of you taking him in your throat. It was straight up pornographic and you hoped that soundproofing the room had actually worked. 

His fingers curled in your hair. “So… good for me,” he praised, voice tenuous as he edged himself now, wanting to make it last. “So good, letting your husband fuck your throat.” he clenched slightly, stopping his movements and clasping two fingers at the base of his cock— a close call, apparently. Times like these were where you could see the edges of Aemond’s control frayed, like threads of an old sweater. It delighted you greatly, and you wanted to see him let go completely and lose it. You hoped tonight would be that night.

You caught your breath as he showered you with compliments, wiping away your tears. “Such a good wife, my sweet girl,” Aemond said, absconding from you temporarily to fiddle with something in his discarded trousers. “Gonna open my present now, yeah?” he returned, clicking a small switchblade open— one he kept in his pocket for miscellaneous purposes. The two of you have indulged in knife play before, and it’s something that particularly excites him.

 The flat of the blade pressed to your skin, the cool sheen of it making your skin prickle. He dragged it up carefully, the edge away from your flesh until it met the sashes at your breasts. Aemond sliced through them like butter, followed by the ones on your arms and legs, effectively freeing you. You gave a gentle sigh of appreciation and approval— as he always required before the final act, just to make sure you were alright. 

Once receiving it, he swept you up from the chair, picking you up with ease. He wasted no time pressing his mouth to yours, tasting himself on your tongue. Your brain felt full of fuzz and bees, still numbed by how badly you wanted to come. Your clit was practically throbbing, warmth spreading through your core as he took you to the bed— not the bed you slept in, but one you both had bought especially for the play room. He laid you down so gently that you almost forgot where you were— until you looked in his eyes and saw the eclipsed pupil, his usually calm blue eyes (one less blue than the other from his childhood injury) was totally engulfed by blackness. He reminded you of a shark, besotted to the primal urges of their nature when they smelled blood. 

His cock sunk into you without any resistance, like slipping on a lubricated glove. The fit was still snug, but eased some of the ache you felt. 

“Aemond…” you sighed softly, body relaxing as he rested inside of you. It felt like laying in bed after a long day, your bones softening. “Need you to fuck me, husband,” you continued. “Please.” you added after, remembering your manners. 

He just stayed there, still, staring at you. He didn’t move.

“Please.”

No response.

“If I am not blissfully fucked out in about five minutes, I’m going to bite you.”

Nothing.

“Pleasepleasepleaseplea–,” 

Your whining was cut off as he set an unrelenting pace, right off the bat, hammering into you with reckless abandon, bullying your sweet spot like it owed him something. But he, in fact, owed you something. You reached behind and pulled his hair out of the bun, letting it fall between you like a curtain of snow. His blown out pupils, his hair a mess, his movements were erratic– he was losing control. 

His hand supplanted into the soft of your hip, clenching onto it for dear life as he drilled into you. You pinched his free wrist as a reminder– to which he dutifully remembered, his digits falling to the apex of your thighs and rasping over your clit in rhythmic ministrations. Your legs locked around him in an instant, pulling him in impossibly closer as you continued to beg, you were so close, so close–

“P-please– can I?” you asked through broken whimpers.

He couldn’t even respond through his exertions, evidently chasing his own high– he gave a growl in response, nodding. You didn’t just tip over the edge, you were fucking pushed, as your pleasure came to an all consuming, mind numbing climax. Your neurons fired off on all cylinders, electrifying through your body and coming to a conclusion: Holy fuck. You felt wetness squidge between your legs as you soaked Aemond, in turn, gripping him like a vice. 

The mask of power he had been wearing slipped and fell off completely, as he scooped you up from the bed (without slipping out even once) and gripped you by the ass, pistoning up into you with feverish, animalistic panting. His fingers left red indents on your soft bottom, his teeth sinking into your shoulder, a dragon tasting his meal. His knees almost buckled as he came, a long grunt indicating it– as well as the coupled feeling of him emptying his balls inside of you. He gripped the wooden bedpost, angling you in one arm as he caught his own breath. 

His hair was plaited to his forehead as the sheen of perspiration glazed his skin, all the strength had been sucked out of him temporarily, exiting through his cock and into you, apparently. Yet, even still, he placed you back on the bed, bottom towards the headboard. He propped up a pillow under you and angled your legs upward. You were still thoroughly fucked out, so you let him handle you like a ragdoll, you bones jelly. It was your routine to do this specifically– as you’d been trying for a baby for the past year or so. 

Aemond returned (when had he left?) with a bottle of water. “Drink, love,” he murmured softly, his disposition back to that of the gentle husband. “Here,” he fluffed another pillow, this time putting it under your head. “You alright?” he asked, uncapping the bottle of water and bringing it to your mouth. 

“Mhmm,” you hummed back, sipping the water. “Food?” you asked simply, a goofy grin coming to your face.

“Of course, of course– whatever you want.”

“Thai.”

“Consider it done.”

–

When you inevitably tested positive for pregnancy about two months later, you chalked it up to your Valentine’s Day surprise that did the job– Aemond agreed. Aegon was disgusted, but also took credit for the dubbed ‘miracle baby’. 

Aemond wacked him over the head each time he said it, to which Aegon would run away and shout. “I got your wife pregnant, I got your wife pregnant!”

[butwhyduh]

honestly jdk just tim drake x reader where one/or multiple of the batfam walks in?? i just find them entertaining, or they are continually being interrupted through the day!

Warning: eventual smut and Tim is done with everyone’s shit. If it’s not the end of the world, don’t call me- level done. And you can tell it’s fanfic because Tim is actually an adult.

Tim didn’t get into shows very often. He’s busy and he has a terrible habit of falling asleep after the first 10 minutes. He didn’t want to watch the show but he was tinkering with some of his tech while sitting on the couch and you put it on. And that’s how he got sucked in.

“And Daphne said yes to that? Drew is not good enough to lie to her friends over,” he said and you started telling him the backstory.

You binge watch the next few episodes to catch up to the new season. It was a fun and scandalous show, nothing like Tim’s usual picks. And he thought it was cute how animated you were when talking about the show.

“Trevor needs to get his shit together or not only is Naomi going to leave him, he’ll go to jail,” Tim said.

“Yeah but he owes the local crime boss money and he said he’d kill his family otherwise,” you countered.

“Sounds like Gotham,” Tim quipped. You lightly smacked his arm before laying your head on his shoulder and entangling your arm in his.

“That is not comforting,” you said. “Oo they’re going to tell us who took the diamonds!”

The bat phone started ringing almost off the coffee table. You groaned and let Tim go to sit up to answer that.

“The corner of 17 and Parkway? How many combatants?” He said in Bat speak. And that’s when you knew your date night was over. He hung up and turned to you looking apologetic.

“I have to go,” he said. You sighed but pulled him into a hug.

“Be safe. I’ll be here,” you said with practices familiarity. He kissed you before grabbing his stuff and leaving. He didn’t get back until hours later with some fresh bruises and a girlfriend asleep on the couch.

It was 2 days later that you tried to continue the show. Tim had told Bruce to call someone else first. The door was locked and his phone was on silence. You’d even given him some pretty good incentives if you were uninterrupted and alone after the show.

It was all of ten minutes into the continued episode with pho takeout on the way that the fire escape window opened. In flopped Nightwing covered in mud.

“No,” Tim groaned. You huffed before pausing the show. “Do you need help?”

“Only a bit,” Dick said as the understatement of the year. He let Tim look at him to find that he was leaking blood all over the carpet from a bullet wound in his thigh. “Only a graze. Do you have a bandaid?”

“Good lord,” you replied as Tim called Alfred. You quickly grabbed a towel to stop the bleeding.

It was a few hours later and a carpet cleaner before Nightwing and your carpet were patched up. By that time it was the middle of the night and you couldn’t concentrate on anything. Tim promised a date night another day.

This one was a whole week later. All of the Robins had been warned under pain of torture to not talk to Tim for that evening. Because Tim was to put it mildly, frustrated. You two hadn’t had alone time in over a week.

You started the show back up with all entrances locked and phones off. You were able to watch the next 15 minutes before you heard broken glass.

“Hey did you know your window was locked,” Superboy said standing in front of the window. Tim practically growled before pausing the show to shove Kon out the window.

“I don’t know what you need but the other members of Young Justice are available. Call them,” Tim said but it was already too late. The wind had blown into the room and it was starting to snow outside so he couldn’t exactly ignore the window. Once again date night was canceled.

Tim was so frustrated that he had dreams about you in his bed. It was almost a week later and now 3 episodes behind on the show that you had another date night. He was almost willing to skip the show entirely at this point just to have alone time.

Tim had practically threatened everyone he knew with death threats to leave you both alone.

“Someone is feeling the mode,” Bart joked.

“You mean, someone needs to get laid,” Kon added.

“At this point, yes! I don’t want to see, hear, or think of either of you tonight. Unless it’s the  apocalypse, then I don’t want to even know about it,” he growled. The two other heroes howled with laughter as he left.

You could tell Tim was distracted and preoccupied by the way his hand gripped and squeezed your thigh. He gave you frequent kisses between scenes. As the episode ended, Tim pounced.

“Tim!” You gasped as he pushed you to lay on the couch before the credits were even done. It turned to a moan as his hand slid between your thighs to rub you through your panties.

“It’s been way too long,” he groaned as he kissed down your throat. He was almost never this aggressive and it was dizzying. He pushed your panties to the side to finger you.

“Oh fuck,” you gasped as he hit deep inside you. His hips rubbed his hard cock against you. He pulled at your shirt with one hand.

“Take it off,” he groaned with impatience. Before you had even gotten the fabric over your head, he had attacked your chest. Pulling a nipple into his mouth and sucking hard while fingering you thoroughly had you whimpering.

You shoved down his pants to grasp him in a loose fist. Tim rutted into your hand while sloppily kissing across your chest.

“Please, want you,” you whined and he wasted no time sliding in. Your back arched with a gasp. His arm reached behind your back and Tim took his time with long deep strokes.

This pleasure cycle couldn’t last forever and you both finished far too soon. Tim kissed you softly and gently.

“We can continue this later. I think the food is here,” he said.

“Sounds good,” you said adjusting your clothes and sitting up. “I’ll be right back,” you added as you went to clean up.

Tim answered the door in his messied hair and haphazardly placed clothes. Instead of the food delivery guy, it was Jason standing with his food box. Tim frowned.

“What do you want?”

“Pizza anyone?”

“Leave,” tim growled, taking the box. Jason laughed.

“Interrupting something?” Tim almost slammed the door in his face. “Hey, I just need keys to the Robin motorbike,” Jason added. “Oh I didn’t know you watched that show. Can you believe that in last week’s episode, it was the mom all along. Wild hu?”

Tim sighed before throwing the keys at Jason. “Go away.” He slammed the door.

“Well that sucks,” you said across the room.

Tim locked the door and sat the pizza box on the table. “I’m gonna be honest, and that is that I really just want to finish what we started before pizza. I’m not picky where.”

You laughed before letting him grab you fireman style over his shoulder to drag you into the bedroom. There was no way you were answering the door after that.

[mellowwillowy]

𝐘𝐚𝐧! 𝐌𝐚𝐟𝐢𝐚 𝐑𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 x GN Reader

⤷ warnings — everyone is depressed :), masterpost

—𝒀𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒐𝒃𝒆𝒓 - 𝑳𝑰𝒇𝑬 𝑷𝒓𝒐𝒋𝒆𝒄𝒕 𝑬𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕

𝐘𝐚𝐧! 𝐌𝐚𝐟𝐢𝐚 𝐑𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 who hates his work so much and despises the fact that he has to stay involved unless he wants his hard work in protecting you crushed down.

𝐘𝐚𝐧! 𝐌𝐚𝐟𝐢𝐚 𝐑𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 who is a ruthless man nonetheless, stepping on anyone's fingers who tries to graze you with his boots, watching them wailing and trying to wriggle out of it.

"Such bug must really be squashed dead huh?"

𝐘𝐚𝐧! 𝐌𝐚𝐟𝐢𝐚 𝐑𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 who will sometimes take the belongings of his dead enemies for you to collect. Whatever it is that manages to catch his and your interest is as good as yours now.

"You know, how about we make a deal? Give me this thing and I'll let you die in a more peaceful and easy way."

𝐘𝐚𝐧! 𝐌𝐚𝐟𝐢𝐚 𝐑𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 who hates the idea of seeing even a soul sneering at you. Anyone who makes the slightest bit of rude remarks toward you will be faced with his fist immediately, no matter where they are.

"Say. That. Again. And. I. Will. Make. Sure. You. Can't. Talk. Anymore."

𝐘𝐚𝐧! 𝐌𝐚𝐟𝐢𝐚 𝐑𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 who is not a talkative man but will always tell you about his day as he strokes your hair, watching you sleep peacefully. He doesn't like telling people about himself but all that is thrown out of the window when it comes to you.

𝐘𝐚𝐧! 𝐌𝐚𝐟𝐢𝐚 𝐑𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 who is indeed a loyal man, never indulging himself in the parties where women and men are involved with each other.

"Never seen ya' with anyone wrapped around your arm. Come get a taste of it!"

"If I were you, I'd immediately run along before I make you taste my gun's bullet."

𝐘𝐚𝐧! 𝐌𝐚𝐟𝐢𝐚 𝐑𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 who is tired of living, had it not been for you, he would have long chosen to kill himself and after you into oblivion. But that would simply mean he is wasting away all the troubles he had gone through just for his current standing.

𝐘𝐚𝐧! 𝐌𝐚𝐟𝐢𝐚 𝐑𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 who can never rest in peace because of you and the organization he's leading. He shouldn't have taken this position, and shouldn't have shot the previous ringleader down after the revolution he led. But he needs power and being that man's right-hand man wasn't enough.

"ELEANOR! IS THIS HOW A DOG SUPPOSED TO REPAY HIS MASTER'S KINDNESS?!"

"... Hey, unfortunately enough... I have never even once considered you to be my 'Master'. I'll let you go with your pride still intact, see you again."

𝐘𝐚𝐧! 𝐌𝐚𝐟𝐢𝐚 𝐑𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 who likes to tend the garden in place for your bedridden state. You love flowers and it truly would be a shame if the flowers have to wilt because no one takes care of it. Well... never mind that he'll just ask the gardener to tend it again later when he's absent.

𝐘𝐚𝐧! 𝐌𝐚𝐟𝐢𝐚 𝐑𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 who watches how the house that was once white slowly darkens into pitch black, just like how he is dragged deeper into the underground world. Reality and Fantasy, these are truly a shackle of curse to him.

𝐘𝐚𝐧! 𝐌𝐚𝐟𝐢𝐚 𝐑𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 who likes to sit in front of the grandfather's clock, sipping his share of tea while flipping through the album photo of you two. All was great until you decided to commit something foolish that dragged him into the underworld.

𝐘𝐚𝐧! 𝐌𝐚𝐟𝐢𝐚 𝐑𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 who likes to stroke your hair absentmindedly, watching you sleep while your chest heaves up and down. Always sleeping and never awake. He enjoys humming the lullaby that you have always been fond of, hoping that it'll somehow reach your ears.

𝐘𝐚𝐧! 𝐌𝐚𝐟𝐢𝐚 𝐑𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 who likes to play the Russian roulette with himself, will the dice finally choose to take him? Nonetheless, the dice is kind enough to make him survive for another day to take care of you.

𝐘𝐚𝐧! 𝐌𝐚𝐟𝐢𝐚 𝐑𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 who can not sleep in peace as he cradles your limp body, worries endowed in him as the thought of his enemies slipping into his manor and taking you away from him. They know a better way to kill him after all, and that is by taking you hostage rather than torturing him to death.

𝐘𝐚𝐧! 𝐌𝐚𝐟𝐢𝐚 𝐑𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 who will always make sure that you are breathing, his ear placed on your chest, listening to your heartbeat. The idea of your life slipping away from your comatose body terrifies him.

"... Good night." Eleanor places a kiss on your forehead before hugging your body, the two of you hiding beneath the cover of a blanket.

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