#smutty fun on the firing range

[cinlat]

Blood in the Breeze: Ch 17 (Choices)

Parts one and two of this series linked.

Read every chapter on FFN or Ao3.

Summary: LOTS of hard choices to make, some tangible wisdom, a little bit of fun on the firing range, and one pissed off dead emperor...

Chapter Word Count: 7,200 Chapter Rating: M Characters in Chapter: Fynta Wolfe, Aric Jorgan, Theron Shan, Zolah Holran, Lana Beniko, Shillet Jorgan, Keshal Vaak, Balic Cormac...

Author’s Note: Whole chapter under the cut. Better formatting on Ao3.

Odessen Private Quarters

Jorgan tossed the empty bottles into the bin while Cormac and Fynta hazed each other about who drank more. Tayl yawned as Elara said her farewells to Shillet. The girl promised to come stay with them soon, then hugged the only mother she'd ever known before bidding him and Fynta good night. All things considered, the night had gone perfectly. Yet, Aric felt more restless than ever.

The skirmishes on Nathema sat clearly in Jorgan's mind. Force-mad guardian and the way his blades sparked off Fynta's armor. Jorgan had taken the shot. He'd missed. If not for Fynta's beskar, that bastard would have cut her in two. Because Aric had missed.

Jorgan pulled the patch off his eye and rubbed it. Fynta had given him his sight back, but when it mattered, he hadn't been good enough. The world still looked like a white haze when Jorgan closed his good eye. Tech might have been able to get Fynta back on her feet, but it couldn't make him a sniper again.

Sighing, Jorgan swept crumbs from the counter into the tash. He'd find some other way to be useful, even if it meant hanging up his scopes. The pain of that thought stole his breath.

Strong arms snaked around Jorgan's waist from behind, and the familiar weight of Fynta's head resting against his back brought a sense of peace. For her, he'd give it all up. Maybe they should. Turning, Jorgan wrapped his wife in a hug. "We should retire."

Fynta chuckled and let Jorgan pull her closer. "You keep saying that."

Jorgan tightened his hold until Fynta looked him in the eye. "I'm serious. What if we just…stopped."

The smile that a pleasant evening had put on Fynta's face slipped. "Are you serious?" Jorgan held her gaze, and familiar frustration replaced it. She pushed away and flailed her hands. "I can't just stop, Aric. I have to get him out." The last line was delivered with a sharp slap to her forehead.

"Why?" Aric crossed the room and gripped Fynta's shoulders. Every time his panic felt under control, something sparked an attack that made him feel like it was all slipping through his fingers. It didn't matter that it wouldn't work, Jorgan argued. "What power does he have if you keep him bottled up? Some bad dreams and whiplash when he stops time? We can handle that."

Fynta tried to turn away, but Jorgan held her fast. "Damn it, woman." Every fear from the last six years crashed over Jorgan all at once. His fingers tightened, desperate to hold onto a past that he saw fading with each day. They were growing apart, him settling into life as a husband and father first, her always the reckless soldier.

Unbidden, anger replaced his fear and Jorgan snarled. "What more do you have to lose to see that this war will never end. Your other leg? The rest of my sight?" Fynta glared at him, but Jorgan couldn't stop the torrent of accusations even though he knew they weren't her fault. "For fuck's sake, Cormac's still walking with a limp. Havoc squad is gone. Vik is dead. When will it be enough?"

Jorgan regretted those last words even as they left his lips. Fynta's eyes widened, and for the first time he saw true, unadulterated emotion on her face. He'd crashed through her shields while she was vulnerable and left her exposed. That had never been his intention.

Slowly, Jorgan lifted his hands. He seemed to be doing that a lot lately. This was the second time in as many days that he'd fucked up what could have been a civil discussion. "That didn't come out the way I meant."

Watching Fynta's mask slide back into place left Jorgan cold. "I know." Her whispered words hurt more than any slap could have.

Jorgan took one of his wife's hands and studied it against his. It was smaller, the fingers more delicate despite the years of calluses and scars. Fynta projected herself as a giant, and sometimes even he forgot that she was only human. Without looking up, Jorgan blew out a breath. "Will you at least hear me out?" Now that the heat of the moment had faded, Jorgan felt like shit. "Please."

"Of course." Jorgan winced at the distance in Fynta's voice, but it was no less than he deserved.

"I need to show you something." Jorgan pulled Fynta to their room. She sat on the end of the bed while he dug out the ruck sack that he had neglected to unpack earlier. He'd warred with himself all night about when to bring up the black box from Nathema. Now seemed as good a time as any.

Sighing, Jorgan turned. "I found this in the vault."

It happened too fast for Jorgan to react. Fynta had been sitting on the bed, then he was tripping over the desk chair, landing on his ass with her on top of him. The face hovering above Aric didn't belong to his wife. It twisted in rage, fingers clawing for his throat.

"Fynta." The knee she drove into Jorgan's gut drove a grunt out of him. He growled and squeezed her wrists so tight that he felt the bones grinding under his fingers. "Stop."

With a shout, Fynta threw herself backwards. The nails that had clawed for his throat were now tangled in her hair. She cried out, more of a belligerent curse than tortured scream. Jorgan scrambled to her and wrapped himself around her. He muttered nonsense, holding her stiff body until it began to relax. By the time Shillet appeared at the top of the stairs, Fynta was sweaty and panting.

"It's alright," Jorgan assured the girl, though he didn't loosen his hold. He couldn't imagine what they must look like, sitting on the floor with Fynta curled into his body. "Nightmare."

"You're sure?" Shillet didn't sound convinced, but she wanted to be. Jorgan nodded, and the girl half turned. "I'll go get her some water."

Fynta shivered, then lifted her head. "Fierfek." Jorgan let out a relieved breath, that word becoming one of relief instead of the curse it was meant to be. It meant his wife was back.

At the sound of returning footsteps, Fynta pushed away from Jorgan. She managed a weak smile at Shillet. "Thanks, Shil'ika. Sorry to wake you."

The girl wore her favorite pajamas, consisting of an old SpecForce shirt that Jorgan had given her years prior and a pair of shorts that she'd proudly lifted from under the quartermaster's nose. She'd been supposed to return those. "You good?" Shillet asked, keeping her distance with thin arms wrapped around her middle.

Fynta drank deep, then let out a shuddery breath. "I'm good. Thanks."

Though Shillet didn't look convinced, she turned and went back to her room. Jorgan waited until she was gone to open his mouth, but Fynta beat him to it. "What the hell?" She pressed the heel of her hand to her eye as she gestured at the box he'd dropped. "Why did you bring him with us?"

"He gave me an idea." The ghost living in Jorgan's box claimed to be Valkorion's father. Trapped for an eternity in a lonely vault by his petty son.

Fynta winced. "The old shabuir doesn't like that."

"Good." Jorgan took Fynta's face into his hands. They'd need to discuss what had just happened and why she had reacted so violently, but first— "Ever wonder why he didn't want you in that vault?"

Eyes widening, Fynta's lips parted. "You want to trap him." She hissed and squeezed her eyes shut, nails digging into Jorgan's forearms. No doubt that old Sith was raging inside her head.

Jorgan brushed loose strands of hair from Fynta's face. "It won't be easy." Hell, he didn't even know if it would be possible. What Jorgan did know was that their current life would lead Fynta to the grave. That wasn't something he'd survive a second time.

"We'll need help," Fynta rasped. Her spine straightened, life entering her eyes once more. "And a galaxy's worth of luck."

War Room Emergency Council Meeting 02:14 Hours

"You're mad." Lana waved a hand at Fynta while speaking to Zolah. "Tell the woman she's gone absolutely insane."

The Chiss shrugged narrow shoulders. "Since when has she ever listened to me?"

Arguments erupted, all the while Fynta watched the hope drain from Aric's eyes. She couldn't say that she disagreed with Lana's assessment. This was one of those grasping at straws plans. The sort that only the truly desperate made up. Fynta hadn't realized that they'd reached that point until Valkorion's rage over the holocron took over.

Fynta knew what, more specifically, who was in that box. She had ordered it to be left behind, to let the old bastard who sired the dead bastard in her head rot for all of eternity. Apparently, her husband had other plans.

A shiver traveled up Fynta's spine at the memory. It hazed, becoming more cloudy as the moments passed, but the rage lingered. Valkorion had roared in her mind, awakening some deep part of her that needed to kill. That old blood lust from childhood that Fynta had buried so long ago. Valkorion hadn't so much taken control of her body, but he'd unleashed the beast within, and she'd gone after the nearest target. That couldn't be allowed to happen again.

"We could use the same technique on Fynta that was used on me," Zolah suggested. Fynta's attention snapped back to the conversation. Zolah rarely spoke about her conditioning, only that it had been unpleasant, but she wouldn't hesitate to use that knowledge to better their position in the war effort.

Vector shook his head, his jaw taut with what Fynta assumed was disapproval. "We will not be a part of such tactics again." Zolah's eyes rolled towards the ceiling, evidence of a years-long argument between the couple. Vector continued without acknowledging his wife's chagrin. "Furthermore, that was an absolute loss of autonomy. Fynta would become a powerful weapon in the wrong hands."

Voices clambered for attention, and Fynta lost interest again. A yawn built in the back of her throat, and she clamped her teeth together to keep it caged. Finally, Notiac interjected with a calm that silenced the room. "I would like to speak with Felix about this."

Only the uncomfortable shuffle of feet answered. Felix Iresso had been a prisoner of war more than a decade ago, the only surviving member of his squad. Only later did the Republic learn that he'd been implanted with experimental holocron tech. No one knew how it worked or what knowledge lay dormant in his mind. Not even the Imperials. And, not for lack of trying. By the time he joined the Alliance, Felix had as many or more scars than Fynta.

"Is that a good idea?" Theron asked. He cleared his throat, and Fynta noted the intentional way he didn't look at their Imperial allies, specifically his girlfriend, the former Cipher Nine. "We promised that he wouldn't be prodded here."

Somehow, Notiac projected peace. Her lips tipped up, a matriarch indulging a child's concern. "No prodding. I simply wish to hear his thoughts on the matter. Fynta, Jorgan, I believe you should accompany me."

"Do you see a way for this plan to work," Lana hedged, eyes narrowed at her Jedi lover. Fynta didn't bother pointing out that Notiac didn't have eyes, though her fatigued thoughts snagged on that bit and refused to let it go.

As Fynta looked around the room, she realized how odd they were. Discounting her, a born Mandalorian, marrying a Cathar. That left the two pairs of Sith/Jedi couples, and a handful of intelligence agents from opposing sides settling into a foursome of domestic bliss. Technically, Theron had surrounded himself with Imperials, but he was stubborn enough to keep whatever loose morals guided him. What had started as a paltry group of radicals had merged into a single force, with no room for Imps and Pubs. They were simply the Alliance now.

Notiac dipped her head. "Possibly. I understand the idea behind Major Jorgan's proposal. Vitiate's father has been trapped for eons, unable to do harm. They want to do the same with Valkorion, trap him in Fynta's mind where he can no longer sway the growth of our galaxy. If done correctly, when she dies, he will simply cease to exist."

Fynta noted that the emperor in question had been silent since his outburst in their quarters. She didn't know what to make of it, but assumed there would be dreams and visits in the coming days to talk her out of this plan.

"I would also like to include Kaeto and Kozen. His skillset could prove useful," Notiac continued. Then, she looked at Fynta. "On second thought, I believe perhaps you should not be there. Major Jorgan can relay any pertinent instructions to you, and I have little doubt that he will base every decision on your wellbeing."

"Sure." Fynta didn't doubt it either, but she made a mental note to remind Aric that they were doing this for the sake of the galaxy too. That there would always be risk.

Zolah nodded, then added her concerns. "Say that we cage the mad emperor. What then? He will always be privy to our plans, even if he's rendered impoten—"

"I retire." Fynta saw Aric straighten, and Zolah let her sentence go unfinished. "We lock him in, then throw away the key. Take me off the board. Without access to fancy weapons and galactic armies, I'm just a Force blind human with a short temper and good aim. He can't do too much with that. Aric and I leave the Alliance and find somewhere remote to live out the rest of our lives." Now that she'd said it out loud, it didn't seem as terrible a plan.

"And what of the Alliance?" Zolah asked, her tone more clipped that Fynta expected. The Chiss had never sung Fynta's praises; she assumed Zolah would be pleased to have her out of the way.

Fynta gestured at the gathering. "It's yours. I was a figurehead, a way to draw people in. You've outgrown me." It was true, she realized. The Alliance was bigger than Fynta Wolfe, in truth it always had been.

Lana sighed and rubbed her temples. "That is—a lot to process." She dropped her arms and addressed the room. "It's late, and we all need rest. Before making any decisions, we must figure out if this plan is feasible. Once that question is answered, we can deal with what comes after. All in favor of dismissal?"

Three hands raised at once, Fynta's being among them. Aric and Vector seconding. It was no surprise that Theron, Quinn, and Zolah wanted more time to argue. "Motion carried." Fynta clapped her hands, then rubbed them together. "Good night, everyone. I'll see you at lunch."

Fynta angled for the door, speeding up when Aric joined her. They turned the corner before he leaned close to her ear. "Thank you."

Somehow, Fynta found a weak smile in her exhaustion, even though she felt hollow. Retirement had never been a concern for Fynta. She'd never expected to live long enough to see it. Now that it loomed on the horizon, Fynta didn't know what to think.

Odessen Officer's Quarters 10:00 Hours

Even as large as the Odessen was, it was hard to find privacy. Jorgan was used to the constant press of bodies and movement after years in the military. Still, there were moments when he felt the invasion more keenly. Jorgan hadn't meant to eavesdrop on Fynta's conversation, but Keshal's voice snagged his attention when he stepped into their quarters after a training session with Bey'wan.

"I hear that you've been questioning the Resol'nare." The woman hefted her daughter, who'd reached the age of non stop wiggling. She sighed and shifted Jodi to the other hip. "Care to hash it out?"

Jorgan pressed himself to the wall and ignored the guilt that gnawed at his gut. He knew that Fynta had been struggling with her identity lately. So many things had changed for all of them, but time had been compressed for Fynta, and she felt the ripples of his more keenly. It was part of why Jorgan had pushed for retirement. They needed to separate themselves from the constant battle that had become their lives.

"What makes you think that?" Fynta's tone sounded guarded. Then, she signed. "Verin's got a big mouth."

"Only when it comes to those he loves." Keshal blew air through her lips, and baby Jobi giggled.

"I'm not questioning the Resol'nare," Fynta admitted after a moment of silence. Jorgan's brows lifted. He'd never seen anyone bully Fynta into sharing her feelings as fast as Keshal did. Then again, few people said no to the matronly Mandalorian. "Just my place in it."

"Explain what—shab, let go you greedy little strill." Jorgan heard a scuffle and fought the urge to look around the corner. He assumed it involved one of Keshal's many braids and Jodi's tiny fingers. With a huff, Keshal continued. "You've got Cinlat's armor. You speak the language and put clan above all else, and—"

Fynta growled, and Jorgan heard the heavy clatter of her metal foot as she paced. "And no colors for that armor. A child that I can't raise in our culture because her father is Cathar, a Mand'alor that I'll never answer the call of…" She trailed off, footsteps falling quiet. "I'm dar'manda now." The horror in Fynta's voice twisted Aric's stomach. He knew what the term meant, but had never expected to hear it from his wife's lips.

Keshal hissed. "Hold your tongue, girl." Jodi's cooing paused while the girl puzzled out her mother's shift in temperament. "You take these things too literally. Colors will come. The Mand'alor is your alley, who you will aid if she calls. And as for Aric, well, he married a Mandalorian. That's on him."

Fynta didn't answer, but Aric heard the mattress squeak as she settled on it. Keshal's words echoed through his mind. He had chosen Fynta, knowing how integral her culture was to her. Perhaps it wouldn't hurt to let her instill some of the better aspects of Mandalorian culture in their daughter. Thirteen wasn't an adult, though, Jorgan wouldn't budge on that.

"When my husband died," Keshal continued, her voice softer than before. "I felt lost. Do you remember that feeling? When you learned that you were married?"

Fynta must have nodded because Keshal only paused briefly. "That feeling of spiraling out of control. Of the universe plotting a course that you can barely hang onto. I felt that. I had a young son, my clan had scattered, and there was no way out."

"What did you do?" Fynta asked. Jodi squealed, and Keshal swore again. Fynta chuckled in reply. It reminded Jorgan of the way Cormac used to laugh when Shillet flung her food everywhere. Stars, Aric missed those days. "Assuming there's a moral to this story," Fynta continued, but there was a note of laughter in the biting words.

"I shaved my head," Keshal growled. "Something I'm considering doing again before this child rips my hair out by the root."

There was a scuffle, then Keshal sighed. "It was a small change, but something I could control. I felt empowered, and that stupid haircut breathed enough life into my sorry shebs that we survived."

"Not sure Aric would approve of me shaving my head, but I get the point." Fynta chuckled again. "Thanks."

"Now, about your brother." Keshal launched into a tirade about how long Verin had been gone and the trouble he could get into. Aric excused himself, giving Fynta the privacy that he should have from the beginning. He needed to find a way to approach the subject of Shillet and apologize for being an ass about it. If he wanted Fynta to be a part of his daughter's life, then he needed to give her that freedom.

Two days later, Jorgan poked the fire he'd built at their mountainside retreat and sighed. Fynta had run late in meetings and commed to say that she would meet him at their campsite. It had been his idea, a way to get Fynta alone so that they could work out some of the tension building between them.

The weather was forecast to be warm but comfortable. Jorgan had planned a mountain climb and maybe a late-night swim in the spring. That was hours ago.

Fynta arrived well after sunset, making enough noise to announce her presence. Jorgan poked the fire again, letting the knot that had squeezed his chest burn off. He'd begun to wonder if she wouldn't come at all. "Thought you'd forgotten."

"Never." Fynta's tone perked Jorgan's ears. He turned with dread to see what fresh hell the War Council meetings had heaped onto them this time. Jorgan paused half standing when Fynta stepped into the light.

Jorgan didn't remember crossing the campsite. Fynta kept her eyes low in an uncharacteristic scowl. Aric reached for a dark strand of hair that had worked its way free of its binding, then paused. "This is…different."

"I needed a change." Fynta tugged at a lock of hair, then squared her shoulders and looked Jorgan in the eye. "I needed to take control of something."

The defiance in Fynta's eyes barely hid the fear behind them. Jorgan remembered her conversation with Keshal, how one small detail could mean the difference between confidence, and the breakdown that Fynta had been creeping towards for weeks. At least she hadn't shaved it.

Taking Fynta's hand, Aric pulled her into the firelight where he could see her better. Fynta didn't fight or speak as he tugged the tie free so that he could run his fingers through the now black strands. He'd only known Fynta as the feisty blonde, with hair caught between pale highlights and brown undertones with no direction as to where it would end up.

The black complimented her skin, bringing out the bronze hues, and making her eyes blaze brighter. Jorgan had always known his wife was beautiful, and had spent many a grumpy meeting glaring at the men who threw themselves at her. The new color amplified that, contrasting where the blonde had blended.

Jorgan smiled and tucked the strand behind Fynta's ear. "It suits you."

Odessen Training Room

"You sure about this, boss?" Cormac blocked two high strikes and a dirty kick. His hips almost had full range of motion, and his left knee didn't give out anymore. Which was good since Fynta wasn't holding back.

"Of course not." Fynta ducked beneath Cormac's jab, then stabbed two fingers into his ribs. He grunted, and she danced away. "But, Aric has a point."

Rubbing his abused torso, Cormac put some distance between him and the agile not-blonde. He liked the new hair color and thought it brought out the light in her eyes. He hated seeing how dull they had become lately. "That means you'll be stuck with him for the rest of your life. Is that what you want?" If Cormac had his way, they'd fight to the throne room of Zakuul and find a way to be rid of the old emperor once and for all.

Fynta blew out a breath, and Cormac used that opportunity to box her ears. He managed to get one before she stomped his foot. With a curse, Cormed limped back to his side of the mat. Fynta waved at the ceiling, and damn it, Cormac looked up even though he knew she was being rhetorical. "I don't know. You weren't there. You didn't see him."

"Pretty sure I was," Cormac responded, dragging his gaze down from the nothing above them. Fynta's features clouded, and he shrugged. The poor woman had gotten a healthy dose of reality from a lot of people lately, and it looked like it was his turn.

Cormac started unwrapping his gloves and jerked his head towards the bench where their bags were stored. He flopped onto the metal seat, pleased that it didn't hurt. Fynta joined him, focusing too hard on her gear. She sighed. "Tell me."

They'd never spoken about the time when Fynta was away, not at length. He'd been so damn grateful when her memory returned that rehashing those emotions didn't seem worth it. But, Cormac was good at reading people, and right now it seemed that the bosses were out of sync. That was bad for everyone.

Leaning back, Cormac took a deep breath. "It was hell." Fynta winced, and he patted her leg. He didn't want to hurt her or betray Jorgan's worst moments, but she needed to know in order to make the best decision for everyone. "He stopped eating, dropped maybe ten kilo. He's never been a jolly bloke but all the life was gone from him. Jorgan woke up, did his duty, then went to bed. Shillet was the only thing keeping him going after they declared you dead."

"Yeah." Fynta breathed the word and leaned against the walll. Her shoulder pressed against Cormac's, but she still didn't look at him. "I've never seen him like this."

"He's scared." Cormac knew the feeling. It was worse with Elara and Tayl on Odessen than it had ever been while they were apart. "I don't think he'd survive losing you again." Cormac stopped short of voicing his opinions on how that end would come, only that he had doubted the Cathar would outlive his mate a second time.

They sat in silence for a moment, then Fynta dropped her face into her hands. "I need to figure him out again." Her voice was muffled, but Cormac understood. "We are so different now. I don't know how to get us back on the same page."

Plastering on a grin, Cormac nudged his best friend's shoulder until she looked at him. "Go back to the basics. Find something that you can connect with and build from there." He wiggled his eyebrows for added effect.

Fynta chuckled and shoved Cormac away. Then, she straightened. "Actually, that gives me an idea." She reached beneath the bench and snatched her gear. Fynta took two steps, then came back and planted a kiss on the top of Cormac's bald head. "You're a genius. Give Elara and Tayl my love."

Cormac lifted a hand to wave his friend off, then set about gathering the rest of his gear. Maybe he should take his own advice and treat Elara to a nice night at the cantina. Shillet probably owed him a favor, and she wouldn't turn down time with her little cousin anyway. By the time Cormac stood, he had an entire evening of dancing and relaxation planned. Now, all he had to do was pry his wife away from the medical bay long enough to enjoy it.

Odessen Alliance Base Indoor Rifle Range 0023 Hours

Jorgan followed Fynta into the rifle range and flipped on the external light to warn others that it was occupied. It was late, after midnight, and he felt the weight of the day wearing on him. They'd enjoyed a day in the mountains, but had been recalled early to deal with a new development in Vaylin's plans. Since then, Jorgan had barely seen his wife.

Stifling a yawn, Jorgan set his kit down and flipped through the target options. Fynta had refused to leave until Shillet was asleep, which the girl seemed to recognize and found every reason to stay awake. That was after a run with Iresso, a fresh batch of recruit testing, and general fretting over things he couldn't change. Jorgan had dozed once or twice on the couch while the girls had their battle of wills.

"What are you up to?" Jorgan didn't want to be on the firing range, but could tell Fynta had planned a special evening for them. He just hoped they could get through it without another argument.

A hand settled over Jorgan's, jerking him out of his glum thoughts. Fynta nodded to the far lane. "Come on, I've already got it set up."

"Been planning this?" Jorgan aimed for flirtatiousness and was rewarded with Fynta's signature grin. Her gaze traced along the blacks he wore, stirring a twinge of excitement in his gut. A quick glance towards the door revealed that she'd unplugged the security camera. Her grin widened when his lifted brows found her again.

Instead of the blankets he'd hoped to find behind the dividing wall, Jorgan's sniper rifle perched on the flat countertop and a target blinked at the hundred yard mark. He shifted a wary glare towards his wife. "I could probably hit that without the fancy new eye patch."

"Gotta start somewhere," Fynta answered with a wave for Aric to step up. "We need to calibrate it better so that there are fewer unknowns in the field." She didn't say it, but Jorgan knew that she'd seen his mistake. He was a liability now.

Sighing, Jorgan pressed his shoulder into the rifle butt and propped his elbows on the table. The patchwork of lines flickered to life the moment his eyepiece touched the scope. Shapes formed, creating the other half of what his good eye saw in a precise, green grid. The target appeared last, though the entire process took less than fifteen seconds. Even though he didn't need it for such a short distance, Aric ran through the routine of relaxing his muscles and counting heart beats. He squeezed the trigger on an exhale and the target flashed a sequence of colors to mark a bullseye.

Straightening, Jorgan smirked at his wife. "Satisfied?"

Fynta bent forward and unlaced her right boot. "Eventually." Jorgan watched the woman gracelessly relieve herself of the shoe, tipping so far to the side that he reached out to steady her on instinct. Fynta batted his hand away. "No touching."

Jorgan withdrew and gestured at the firing lane. "What's this all about?"

Fynta kicked the offending boot to the side, then nodded towards the target. It had moved out to one hundred and fifty yards. Jorgan attempted one of her brow raises in response. "For every hit," she continued, leaning against the wall and crossing her arms in a way that lifted her breasts for his appreciation. "I'll drop an article of clothing."

"Now the security camera makes sense," Jorgan replied, hoping that his voice didn't give away the speed of his racing heart. Fynta didn't respond, which set his nerves on edge.

Carefully, Jorgan set his rifle on the table and folded his arms to match Fynta's stance. "What happens if I miss?"

Fynta's shoulders lifted. "Nothing, but I'll pull the target in closer." Pushing off the wall, she slinked closer, hips rolling and eyes dancing with challenge. "You either get me naked, or prove that you can't hack it as a sniper anymore." Her voice dropped an octave, and she stopped short of touching him. "The choice is yours, Major Jorgan."

"Damn you, woman." Aric spun around and snatched his rifle from the stand. Echoes of a similar conversation a lifetime ago rolled through his thoughts. A time when Fynta entertained the prospect of giving up the life she loved instead of trusting in technology. Fynta was making her point in the same way he had after losing her leg. Accept the hard truth that his fighting style had to change, or retire. There was no room for half measures on the battlefield.

This time, Fynta rested her hand on Jorgan's arm, but he couldn't make himself look at her. "There is no one I would rather have at my back. We do this together, or what's the point?"

Swallowing his pride, Jorgan nodded and sighted on the next target. Fynta had agreed not to bench him again. Now, he needed to prove that he could still be counted on. When Jorgan executed another perfect shot, Fynta removed her sock, then her jacket, leaving her in just the casual blacks she wore around the base. When the target hit three hundred yards, Jorgan felt the warm press of breasts against his back. "Don't miss," Fynta whispered against the shell of his ear. A shiver ran the length of his spine, but Aric pushed it down.

The kaleidoscope of color announced another perfect shot, and Jorgan looked over his shoulder in time to see Fynta pull her belt free. He let his eyes trail over her before finding her face. "You're running out of clothing." Glancing back at the target, Jorgan estimated how far he could make it out before she was out of bargaining chips. "You've only got until five hundred yards before I win."

Fynta shook her head. "Don't worry about me." Something in her tone made Aric hesitate. He stared at his wife, trying to peer past the smug exterior to work out her plan. Eventually, he gave up and found the target again.

Three-fifty wasn't a difficult shot, but he'd never taken it with the eye piece. An uneasiness settled in Jorgan's stomach, and he flexed his hands to work out the stiffness. Insecurities that he hadn't felt since his rookie days creeped into the back of his mind until warmth slid around his ribs.

Jorgan looked down to find Fynta's hands splayed across his stomach. "What are you doing?"

"Distracting you." Fynta nipped his ear, making Jorgan start. He heard her laughter when she spoke again. "Is it working?"

"No." Jorgan didn't believe his gruff answer any more than Fynta would, but her touch gave him something to focus on more than his fear. Something to conquer.

The rifle kicked, and Jorgan let out a relieved breath when the target signaled a hit. Fynta's hands unwound from his body, but Aric felt movement as his back. When the target positioned itself at four hundred yards, he leaned forward to let the instruments read the field.

Tan skin slid into Jorgan's peripheral, a naked leg that rubbed suggestively alongside his. Aric cleared his throat and squinted down the line. His best shot was more than twice this, but the range only went to one thousand yards. He could do this, and prove to himself that his career hadn't ended.

Fynta's hands returned to their positions on Aric's stomach, the warmth of her exposed skin seeping through his pant leg made for a better distraction than enemy fire. He huffed a breath and focused on his heart beat, listening to a rhythm that was faster than he'd have liked. Another shot sparked cheerful colors from the target.

Straightening, Aric turned to his wife. "Fynta, this isn't going to—" His words dried on his tongue. After so many years together, the sight of her wiggling out of a shirt still brought him up short. He was mesmerized by the seductive way her hips twisted while she worked the fabric over her head and the flex of abdominals when the shirt finally cleared.

Fynta dropped the cloth on top of her pants and boot, then stretched. "Sorry, riduur, you were saying?"

Jorgan growled low in his throat, a primal sound that he'd hidden from other women. Fynta loved it, often coaxing more from him. She stepped back and held up one finger when Aric started towards her. "Remember? No touching."

With narrowed eyes, Jorgan returned to his perch and leaned forward to peer down his scope. Before he could find the target, Fynta's body pressed against his back, her hands toying with the hem of his shirt. Aric's body was more than aware of the change in her scent and how little separated their skin.

Target acquired, Jorgan's finger tightened on the trigger until the drawstring in his pants loosened. "That's. Cheating." He bit the words out through gritted teeth while Fynta wound her fingers in the flimsy ties.

Fynta's hand slid into the loosened waistband of his pants and offered a tantalizing massage through his underwear. "I never specified my rules," Fynta husked, fingers squeezing and flexing around his clothed shaft. The combination of heat and coarse material made for a dizzying sensation. "Think you can make the shot under—" her fist tightened, stopping short of pain. "Duress?"

Air wheezed between Jorgan's lips. Fynta's heady scent filled his nostrils, clouding out everything except removing that final barrier between his erection and her heat. Teeth bared, Aric met those deep, blue eyes over his shoulder. "Watch me."

The target flashed a hit, and Fynta rewarded Aric with several, quick strokes. He yelped in surprise, gripping the table with one hand while trying not to send his rifle clattering to the floor. When she released him, Jorgan felt like he could breathe for the first time. Until he saw that she'd removed her bra. His mouth went dry, attention drawn to the two perfect peaks that he wasn't allowed to caress.

Fynta pretended not to notice, nodding down the line. "Five hundred yards, Major. Make this shot, and…" Her thumbs slipped into the elastic of her underwear, dragging one side low enough to expose her hip bone.

Snapping his attention back to that infuriating smirk, Jorgan's eyes narrowed. "I'll have you when this is over, woman."

The impish grin widened. "I'm counting on it."

With rolled eyes, Jorgan forced himself to bend forward and press the high tech eye patch to the scope again. Visions of what he planned to do to Fynta after this shot played out in distracting clarity. He'd bend her over the stall and take her from behind until she was panting in Mando'a, then—

The brush of fabric caught his attention a second before Aric's thoughts splintered into a hundred shards of light. Wet heat enveloped him, wrapping his mind in cotton while his body hummed to life. Even when he looked down to find Fynta on her knees, head bobbing while her mouth made delicious sucking noises, his mind couldn't make sense of it. He'd had a fantasy like this a long time ago and was almost certain that he'd never mentioned it to Fynta.

Fynta took Aric into the back of her throat, gripping his hips when he tried to push for more and glanced upward. The damn woman smiled, and somehow it was all the more radiant with his cock in her mouth. "What—" her throat flexed and his words scattered.

Pulling back, Fynta smiled with an innocence she'd never possessed. "Take the shot, riduur." Her tongue flicked out to tease him, and Aric shivered. "If you can."

The defiant note in Fynta's voice battered against the haze of pleasure she'd lured Jorgan into. It reminded him of his purpose. With one hand, Jorgan cupped Fynta's chin, his thumb brushing across her bottom lip. "You're on."

Odessen Alliance Base Command Quarters 03:47 Hours

Fynta should be asleep. Her body ached in that delicious way it always did when Aric let loose in bed. She'd never been more grateful that Shillet chose to stay over with Elara and Cormac. There were some sounds that a girl should never hear her father make.

The man in question sprawled on his stomach, one arm draped over Fynta's torso. He'd meant to cuddle, no doubt, but had succumbed to exhaustion before completing the act. Smiling, Fynta scraped her nails over Aric's scalp. It had been a good night, a way to reconnect over what they did best. Probably not what Cormac had meant with his pep talk. But, Fynta felt more in sync with her husband than she had in months. She hoped that their unorthodox exercise had bolstered his confidence behind the scope too.

Fynta stretched, then settled closer to her husband. Aric pulled her against his body without opening his eyes, sliding one hand under her shirt while burying his face in her hair. It reminded Fynta of those stolen moments back on the Thunderclap in between missions. Their romance had been fresh and forbidden back then. They'd risked their careers to be together. Now, Fynta worried that they risked more.

You can't do this without me.

Valkorion had been sedate since Aric's reveal of the mad Sith's long trapped father. He muttered ominous warnings in the back of Fynta's mind, but had yet to approach her outright. Fynta didn't think he was scared. More like the chakaar was plotting, biding his time until an opportunity presented itself; a way to take away her choice.

Fynta's comm buzzed across the room. A second later, Aric's joined it. Muttering a curse, Fynta wiggled out from under her husband's arm. Aric grumbled and rolled onto his back. "Thought we'd banned those things from the bedroom."

In the second it took Fynta to open her mouth for a snarky retort, the floor lifted her into the air. There was the feeling of weightlessness, a moment to think of some choice words, then her weight drove the air from Aric's lungs. Their eyes met, and Fynta's comm flickered to life at the end of the bed where it had landed. Theron appeared in muted blues, shirtless and typing furiously.

Fynta scrambled off her husband while he rolled to his feet to find his gear. "Theron, what the hell was that?"

Fynta had known Theron for a long time. She'd seen him in all manner of circumstances from exasperated friend to cold blooded murderer, even a desperate lover once or twice. She'd never seen fear on his face, not until his hazel eyes met hers through the holo. "It's Vaylin. She found us."

[aethon-recs]

Themed Rec List | Tomarrymort Recs with Hemipenes 🍆x2

What is better than one? TWO, of course! I think the monsterfucking potential in Tomarrymort is one of its most unique aspects, at least within HP ships :D If anyone is monsterfucking-curious, this is a great place to start.

I’m so excited to share this delightful smutty nasty dirty and super fun collection of one of my favorite tropes in Tomarrymort: not just snake-like Voldemort, but snake-like Voldemort with snake-like appendages 😏

Standard rec list disclaimers apply: There’s a lot of dead dove in the selection below, so please mind the tags, and read at your own risk. I strive to include a diverse range of fic genres these lists, so you'll come across lighter fare such as crack fics, along with fics that definitely cover darker themes.

*

Tomarrymort Recs Feat. Hemipenes

a dainty lace noose by @mrmxlemons (E, 4k, complete)

Voldemort likes pretty things, and Harry is his favorite, prettiest thing.

a snake, an eagle, and a phoenix by @virgil-anon (E, 9k, complete)

Harry Potter is angrier than ever, thrown into a tournament he wants no part of, without any assistance except for his Defence Instructor. But when the Goblet of Fire turns out to be a portkey, he’s in for a surprise.

and make it double by @captainremwrites (M, 1k, complete)

Well, Harry thinks, that answers that question. He's definitely telling Ron and Hermione about this.

Dragon Me Down, My Love by @wolfantlersinspace (E, 2k, complete)

Harry had been a virgin sacrifice, given by the people to appease Voldemort. However, Voldemort had grown rather fascinated after he discovered Harry chose to come here, to take the place of a friend. And now, Voldemort liked him too much to let him go, liked him far too much to use him for his intended purpose.

Ensnared by @loneamaryllis (E, 4k, complete)

After the Battle of Hogwarts, Harriet finds a white snake in the grass. She quickly befriends the poor, lonely creature.

Hands-On Anatomy Lesson by @ivory--raven (E, 2k, complete)

Harry uses Liquid Luck to ask Voldemort himself how snakey he is.

I will follow you into the dark by @i-dream-of-libraries (E, 6k, complete)

Harry loves a good horror book, and this new one about a monster called Voldemort is now his favorite. Unknowingly, he calls out to the shadowy entity, and gains the monster's full attention and appetite.

Inquiring Minds by @theonceandfuturequeenoftarts (T, 2k, complete)

Harry has a burning need to know, and Voldemort is just so done with teenagers.

Insatiate by @vdoshu (E, 2k, complete)

Voldemort stole both Harry and the Philosopher’s Stone, and doomed Harry to live a half-life. That was ten years ago.

Love at First Sight by @dividawrites (E, 5k, complete)

Voldemort rises from the cauldron with two dicks and some extra powers. Harry is mesmerized.

Monster Fucker by Destiny_Of_A_Dragon (E, 10k, complete)

During their nightly gossiping session, Ginny poses a question about how snake-like Voldemort might be. They fantasize a bit, then go to bed and assume that that was it. A week later and Harry just has to know.

ovoviviparous by @cindle-writes (E, 5k, complete)

In which Voldemort captures Harry at the Final Battle, and immediately puts him to use as an incubator.

splits your skin from end to end, down the center of the earth by @cannibalinc (E, 19k, complete)

Snape has just killed Dumbledore before Harry’s eyes, and he will not rest until he makes the man pay. But Snape isn’t the only Death Eater wanting to gain favor with the Dark Lord. No, there are ambitions far worse than even Snape’s, Harry learns. Ambitions that deliver him directly into Voldemort’s hands. “I was so very nearly tricked, you see, but Lord Voldemort is not so easily fooled. No, I shall not kill you Harry, not yet. I think I should like to keep you instead.”

Phobia by @katsitting (E, 48k, complete)

“I shall show you just how far you’ve fallen,” Voldemort whispered, breaking the thick silence that had settled between them. Harry wanted to laugh, to bare his teeth at the man like the wounded lion that he was. There was nothing for him to do but snark and snarl at the man that had hidden him away from all prying eyes...save for those he trusted most. His legs were useless, his body weak. “I’d like to see you try,” he goaded.

Preparing For A Legacy by @ellionne (E, 5k, complete)

Marriage, especially with magical folks, required to be consummated to have the legal consequences Voldemort demanded for their treaty to come into effect. And Harry had been terrified. Voldemort's thoughtful proposition had seemed like a godsend then. The consummation of a marriage was a purely physical act; Harry didn't need to be aware for it. Didn't need to be awake.

Research and Development by @cannibalinc (E, 6k, complete)

Primary Objective: Establish with certainty that Subject IS or IS NOT a living Horcrux. Secondary Objective: If Subject is a living Horcrux, determine whether the soul fragment can be extracted intact and transferred to a different vessel, allowing Subject to be terminated thereafter.

Roughly 19 Years Later by @dividawrites (E, 2k, complete)

Platform 9¾ is a nice place for reunions.

thrice-bound, twice-filled by @cindle-writes (E, 4k, complete)

Harry wakes up in the middle of the night to the sensation of a blunt, hard cock slowing pushing its way inside him.

The Arsonist's Lullaby by Saeva (E, 101k, WIP)

It’s Harry’s bad luck that his mate is Voldemort. A possessive Voldemort, giving out the most reassuring scent, a scent Harry aches for. No one can blame him for giving into it... just a little... right? Magic Made Him Do It.

War Prize by @duplicitywrites and @moontearpensfic (E, 6k, WIP)

Ten years ago, in the name of world peace, Harry Potter signed his hand away to Lord Voldemort, Dark Lord of the British Isles, Saviour of the Realm. If Harry had known he would spend his days serving as the man's bodyguard and personal stud... He would have asked Dumbledore to include protection against retaliation in the form of sexual objectification.

Venomous by @crowcrowcrowthing (E, 4k, complete)

One would think a famous collector of magical creatures would know better than to set a Naga loose in a room full of people, but Sirius Black was never known for his common sense.

Violent Delights by @katsitting (E, 5k, complete)

Harry was shoved against something hard and unyielding. It scratched along his back, chafing the skin. Harry didn’t so much as flinch, refusing to make a sound when more jeers sounded in the clearing, the words cutting through the rush of blood flooding Harry’s ears— “Fuck him, m’Lord.” “Defile his corpse.”

yer a monster fucker, harry by @exarite (M, 3k, complete)

Voldemort suggests they fake a relationship. It's a reasonable suggestion, so of course Harry says yes. Or: Harrymort Fake Dating AU

you're a parasitic, psycho, filthy creature (finger-bangin' my heart) by @toast-ranger-to-a-stranger (E, 135k, WIP)

Harry keeps thinking about it. The way he smiled, with sharp white teeth. The way that smile had felt pressed to his own, to his throat, to the inside of his thigh. The clutching fingers; the desperate grip. The sweat clinging to his skin, salty on his tongue. The red eyes behind the mask that Harry would recognize anywhere— Harry keeps thinking about it.

*

[actuallysaiyan]

jiraiya with smutty prompt 12, you know me, bacon 😈

warnings: smut, angst, unprotected sex, vaginal fingering, alcohol

Jiraiya was so much fun. He loved to surprise you. He would just show up in the village and invite you to dinner. Most people tried to tell you to keep your distance, but damn you were so fucking attracted to him.

Despite the pervy nature, he was funny. He made you feel so alive. He made you laugh and your heart sing. He was a fun drunk and usually kept the flirting to a minimum with you, much to your dismay. It took the Hokage to finally talk some sense into you.

“He doesn’t like you like that,” she says one day as you two walk through the village. “Not to burst your bubble, but I don’t know if that man can actually have romantic feelings.”

The way Tsunade said it so casually, it just broke your heart. But still, you continued to hang out with Jiraiya whenever he was in town. You even spent time helping him train Naruto, which was really a blast. Still, the words of Tsunade rang through your mind every time Jiraiya brushed up against you by accident. Every time he said your name just a little too sweetly.

It all came crashing down one night when you’re a little too buzzed. You keep leaning closer to him, your own confidence being fueled by the booze. Jiraiya notices and he feels like he doesn’t want this. He wants you, yes, but not if you’re just trying to get his attention by being a silly drunk.

He walks you home that night, making sure you get to bed safely. And then, nothing…he just leaves. He leaves you with a sweet kiss on the forehead and a promise to buy you breakfast the next day.

Yet when you wake up, he’s gone. He left the village once more, leaving you with your confusing and conflicting feelings.

The next time you see him, he’s knocking on your door in the middle of the night. You awake to find him so disheveled. There’s the smell of Sake on his breath, but he doesn’t seem to be completely drunk. He smirks when he sees you.

“I made a mistake of leaving you last time,” he breathes as he pulls you close to him. His muscles ripple against your soft body. “I won’t make that mistake again.”

Jiraiya brings you into the bedroom, his lips on yours in a passionate kiss. You can’t help but kiss him back, wrapping your arms around him. The way you two kissed was almost like a fire had been lit up between the two of you. It’s passionate and wild and hungry.

He stumbles back on your bed, smirking up at you as he begins to undress you. Then your hands work on undressing him, relishing in the way his toned body looks. You finally are getting your wish. You get to make love with Jiraiya. He pulls you in for a very sweet kiss, brushing hair out of your face.

“Thought you were way too good for me, kiddo.” He says with a sad smile. “But I realized I couldn’t live without you.”

The words hit you right in the heart. You kiss him back sweetly, reassuring him with sweet words. Then he begins to prep you for his large girth, replacing his fingers with his cock when you feel ready for it and you vocally confirm it. As you sink down on his cock, you think to yourself that you’re going to become very addicted to this.

“Go on, ride me.” Jiraiya says with a pervy smirk on his face. “Mmmmm, you should use me like your life depends on it!”

dividers: @adornedwithlight

[jimsbeetroot]

Can you write a one shot for Corey? The reader is in the studio with Slipknot. Corey takes screams and reader, his girlfriend, loves them. Reader gives him loving looks. The others make fun of it and tease reader. Corey comforts them (hug,...).

February, 2001.

I was unsure as to if you were requesting a smut. I made it none smutty, but comment and I’ll change that real quick! This is not my best writing at all, I’m trying to get back into my groove, though!

The dimly lit studio was alive with the sound of metal, an almost tangible energy crackling in the air. Slipknot was deep into the recording of their latest album, *Iowa*, and Corey was in his element. His voice ranged from guttural screams to melodic growls, filling the room with an intense rawness that only he could deliver. You were in awe. You always were, but at that moment, watching him so in touch with that realness. You almost wanted to shed a tear.

You sat on a worn-out leather couch at the back of the studio, watching him pour his soul into every note. You marveled at the transformation of the man you loved into the suffering, terrifying frontman of Slipknot.

For you, it was a revelation each time you witnessed Corey perform. The power of his voice resonated within you, sending chills down your spine and igniting a fire in your core. You adored him in these moments, wrapped in a mix of awe and desire. It wasn’t just about his voice or the music; it was the passion he exuded, the way he owned every inch of his space, commanding the attention of everyone around him.

The band was in the middle of recording "The Heretic Anthem," a track that pushed the limits of intensity and speed. Your heart raced in time with the furious drumbeats, your pulse mirroring the ferocity of the music. You were utterly captivated, caught in a trance of admiration and something more primal.

You shifted slightly on the couch, unable to tear your eyes away from Corey. His presence was magnetic, drawing you in with every scream and every breath he took between verses. The rest of the band played on, each member a vital part of the chaotic symphony, but for you, Corey was the focus.

As Corey launched into the chorus, your heart swelled with pride. You knew how much this album meant to him, how much of himself he poured into every lyric and every note. *Iowa* was a darker, more intense journey than their debut, a reflection of the struggles and triumphs the band had faced. And at the center of it all was Corey, baring his soul for the world to hear.

But the bandmates, keen observers and expert teasers, couldn’t let the moment pass unnoticed. Between takes, Joey Jordison grinned mischievously and pointed at you. "Looks like someone's got it bad for our scream king over here," he joked, his voice dripping with playful sarcasm. The others joined in, their laughter infectious and loud, echoing off the studio walls.

Mick Thomson leaned over his guitar, a sly smile playing on his lips. "Yeah, you should see her face when Corey hits those high notes. Bet the studio isn’t the only place she hears it."

The rest of the band chuckled, their teasing lighthearted but relentless. Paul Gray added, "I think we have a new number-one fan in the room."

Your face flushed a deep crimson, your initial amusement quickly giving way to embarrassment. You tried to laugh it off, but their good-natured ribbing hit a sensitive spot. You didn’t want to be seen as just another fan, caught up in the allure of a rock star. She was there for Corey—the man behind the mask and the music. She was his girl, had been for over two years, and you sure as hell wasn’t planning on leaving either.

Sensing your discomfort, Corey stepped away from the mic and crossed the room with his usual attitude, the teasing giving way to a more sincere energy. He slid onto the couch beside you, draping an arm around your shoulders. The warmth of his presence was immediate and reassuring.

"Hey," he cooed, leaning in close so only you could hear him over the noise of the studio. "Don’t let them get to you. They’re just messing around."

You sighed and looked into his eyes, finding the comfort she needed. “I know,” you replied, voice barely above a whisper. “It’s just...sometimes I feel like they see me as a groupie.”

Corey shook his head, his gaze steady and sincere. “They don’t, trust me. They love you, they’re just- they’re bored and tired and fucking immature.” He gently squeezed your thigh and leant in to kiss your cheek.

Reassured by his words, you felt the tension melt away, replaced by a renewed confidence in her place beside him. You loved Corey, not just as the charismatic lead singer of Slipknot, but as the man who held her close and knew her heart.

The session resumed, Corey back at the mic, his voice a weapon of raw emotion and strength. You watched him again, your heart swelling with pride and affection. The teasing had faded into the background, and all that remained was the music and the man she loved. You were no longer embarrassed, only exhilarated by the unbreakable bond you shared amid the chaos and creativity of the studio.

[dc-marvel-crossovers]

Crossover Fanworks Celebration Masterlist

Thanks so much to everybody who participated! We're still waiting for a couple late entries, but here's the wrap-up of all the fics that were fanworked and their related works. You can find the Ao3 collection right over here.

It seems like everybody involved had a great time, so it's very likely that this will be a repeating event. If you'd like to join in on the next one, follow us here and/or send us a message about joining our Discord!

Knaves All Three by @ginbenci: gen, focused on Steve Rogers, Bruce Wayne, Matt Murdock, Foggy Nelson, and Tony Stark. Funny comedy-of-errors identity porn. 7922 words, rated T.

All Three Knaves by @o-kaythislooksbad

Playlist by @bittercape

Third Wheel by @kangofu-cb: Jason Todd/Bucky Barnes/Clint Barton. Established Bucky/Clint. Roleplay gone hilariously awry leads to a hot-as-hell threesome. 10,776 words, explicit.

Sequel by @carcrash429

Bookbinding by @moonshinebindery

Remix by @there-must-be-a-lock

Playlist by @capriciouswrites

Won’t You Stay Awhile? (I’m Staring At A Ghost) by @daddyswickedqueen: Jason Todd/Steve Rogers. Steve gets picked up (and flustered) in a dive bar; sexy, but also a great look at both characters. 5022 words, explicit.

Podfic by @betrayedbycinnamon

Remix by @sammialex

Sequel by @darbydoo22

Moodboard by @drgrlfriend

Snow On The Beach by @bittercape: Jason Todd/Bucky Barnes/Clint Barton. Interconnected vignettes of a developing relationship — some funny, some fluffy, some smutty, and some all of the above. 13,181 words, range from T to explicit.

Art by @o-kaythislooksbad

More art by @o-kaythislooksbadkay

Timestamp by @betrayedbycinnamon

Spider and Bat Friends by @emmacortana: mostly gen. A series of standalone fics about Peter Parker in Gotham. Mixed bag with something for everybody: some wildly creative crack, some angst, and more. 170,897 words total, mostly rated T.

Podfic by @graham-cracker-guillotine

Art by @wyxan

The Stockings Were Hung by @betrayedbycinnamon: Jason Todd/Bucky Barnes and background /Clint Barton. Christmas lingerie, insecure Jason, and a tender, reassuring Bucky. 3945 words, explicit.

Remix by @darbydoo22

Moodboard by @kangofu-cb

Sunrise On The East Side by @wyxan: Tim Drake/Peter Parker/Michelle Jones, established Peter/MJ. Spilled coffee + endearingly awkward Peter; luckily MJ is a boss and very comfortable doing something about his crush on Tim. 8816 words, explicit.

Remix by @there-must-be-a-lock

Podfic by @noxnthea

Finders Keepers by @drgrlfriend: Jason Todd/Bucky Barnes/Clint Barton. Adorable “meet-ugly” courtesy of animal friends. Clint and Jason aren’t used to romance, and Bucky decides to change that. 3081 words, rated T.

Art by @bittercape

Podfic by @daddyswickedqueen

Remix by TheologyDiscography

Moodboards by @there-must-be-a-lock

What's in the name by @graham-cracker-guillotine: Peter Parker & Bruce Wayne centric. Feel-good fluff and humor. 2142 words, rated G.

Podfic by @carcrash429

Art by @o-kaythislooksbad

blood upon the snow by @carcrash429: One fic is Clint Barton/Bucky Barnes; others are gen, focused mainly on Clint and Dick Grayson, with appearances by Natasha, Roy, and others. Fae Clint fantasy AU with great world-building. 11,900 words, rated T.

Art by @o-kaythislooksbad

Podfic by @noxnthea

Moodboards by @there-must-be-a-lock

can't start a fire without a spark by @mightymightygnomepriest: Frank Castle/Jason Todd. Frank saves a puppy and gets caught in the rain. Soft and sweet and sexy. 3468 words, explicit.

Remix by @daddyswickedqueen

Sequel by @bittercape

getting better in the worst way by @o-kaythislooksbad: gen, featuring characters from Moon Knight, Doom Patrol, Teen Titans, Hulk, and Venom. Creative canon mashup with characters that don’t get a lot of representation in fic. 80,064 words, rated T.

Moodboards by @there-must-be-a-lock

Hawksnest by TheologyDiscography: Jason Todd/Clint Barton. Post-Under The Red Hood friends-to-lovers with a fun twist on Clint’s story. 3359 words, rated T.

Podfic by CainPods

Sequel by @o-kaythislooksbad

Marshmallow Crime Lords by @noxnthea and @there-must-be-a-lock: Jason Todd/Bucky Barnes/Clint Barton, but the relationship isn’t the focus; lots of BatFamily shenanigans and fluff. 46,440 words, rated T.

Remix by @bill-longbow

Sequel by @bittercape

Art by @wyxan

Podfic by @flowerparrish

Playlist by @carcrash429

If It's A Highway by @there-must-be-a-lock: Jason Todd/Bucky Barnes, Lost Days/post-CA:TWS canon fusion. 77,122 words, explicit.

Timestamp by @bill-longbow

Art by @wyxan

[ja3hwa]

Enchanted | Seonghwa

「Synopsis」 : One day when a far away kingdom gets attack a brave knight fights to save his homeland but what if he ends up nearing death only a fae can save him...

「Word count」 :  3.5k

-> Genre: Fantasy Au, Fluffy, Gore, Suggestive,

Paring: Badboy!Knight!Seonghwa x Fae!Reader

[Warnings] : Violence, heavy gore, blood, weapons, animals dying, near character death, making out.

Note: Thank you to @wavewavesworld for this very big request. I hope this is too your liking. This was super fun to make. (I lowkey wanted to make it smutty but I held back cause you didn't ask haha) but I really hope you enjoy reading it ♡

Part Two

The enchanted forest just on the outskirts of the kingdom was one of the most ancient and powerful places you could ever visit. The thick forestry was home to many magical beings, ranging from fairies, fae, nymphs, druids and more. If you walk fifteen minutes into the giant trees, you can spot a crystal clear waterfall that is said if you swim in it, a water nymph will appear and grant you wishes.

If you cast deeper inside, as the forest becomes denser, you can find a cave that houses a griffin. It has spoken he is sound asleep waiting for his master to awaken him from his enchanted slumber. The forest is beautiful inside and out but never tread too far, it may be magical and gorgeous but it's a dangerous land. The creature that hides inside can be seductive and lure you into an early gra—

"SAN! WOOYOUNG! Stop scaring the kids." King Hongjoong called from across the classroom. The young prince and princess stared in shock hearing the horrors of the forest just beyond their bedroom.

"Uncle Joong, can you tell us about the forest. Haven't you been in there yourself!" The young princess smiled at him, intrigued by the stories that were whispered in the castle. Hongjoong just chuckled, leaning against the large door frame. The two knights that were telling the stories also anticipated what their leader might say.

"Well, there was this time when—My lord three or more large wolves have entered the outskirts of the kingdom," Yunho calls out with three other knights following him close behind, Mingi and Yeosang, Jongho look out of breath having to try and keep up with the giant and his long legs.

San and Wooyoung told the kids to go find their father, Hongjoong's brother from another kingdom and wait until the threat is going. Hongjoong rounded them all up heading straight for the large entrance gates.

"Wait where is Sargent Seonghwa?!!" Hongjoong called, looking among the knights present.

Treading through the thick grass, Seonghwa wipes his brow with a bloody hand in hopes to remove the blood off his face. But it just ends up smearing it more. His amour is scratched and some of it has been torn off. His chest was exposed, but he kept his shield close, to make sure he didn't get a jump on himself.

"Where are you…" He gritted his teeth, holding his sword tightly in his grasp. He already managed to slaughter two of the rage-filled beats, but he became unsure how many exactly were left. A stick snapped behind his back, making him turn in all the speed he could conjure. But it wasn't as fast as he would have liked, being tackled down by a large black wolf. Its teeth were a mix of black, red and yellow, breath stunk of death and eyes were pitch as the night sky. It was hungry and Seonghwa was its prey.

The meadows were extra lively this fine day. The flowers were all in full bloom, making pollen dance in the cool breeze. Your cottage was warm, and the smell of leftover burnt word from last night's fire was still prominent as you snipped at some herbs in your greenhouse that was connected to your humble abode.

Placing the herbs and sorts carefully into your little grass basket you carry around, you head inside to sort them out for storage. Some things you sell in neighbouring kingdoms, and others you keep just for yourself. Placing everything on the counter you notice you're missing a few items for the meal you planned for tonight. Sighing you head upstairs to get dressed. You couldn't do without the ingredients and it was only a short walk to where you needed to go.

You put on your petty coat before laying on your fabrics. You put on a baby pink and blue with a contract of a white theme. You tie on your bodice top to make sure you avoid your shear wings. Lastly, you threw over a slitted half cloak to just cover your shoulders gifting you a little hoodie.

Grabbing your basket and bow from downstairs you slip on your shoes before heading out into the forestry you call home.

The small space away from the giant thick trees was covered in hot red blood. Two wolves were lifeless and cold, while one of their brothers still stood. It was wounded but held its ground. Seonghwa stood across from it, covered in blood. Losing count of what was his and what was the beasts. He held his stomach as the large gash that the big black wolf gave him continued to pour out streams of the crimson liquid.

He was dying.

He spat, holding his sword with both hands. If he was going down he was going to go down fighting. The wolf growled, getting ready to pounce, looking Seonghwa dead in the eyes. He ran, jumping onto Hwa, pinning in down to the damp ground. He screamed as the wolf bit into his shoulder, ripping a bit of his flesh away. It one last piece of strength, Seonghwa drove his sword into the beast's chest, his knuckles white as his grip clutched tight. The beast let out one last growl before falling onto Seonghwa, lifeless.

Seonghwa kicked the large wolf off him before leaning against a tree that sat behind him. His eyes grew heavy, feeling his breath becoming shallow. Lifting his left arm from his stomach to look at the damage. His lower half was completely covered in red, his hands painted cardinal.

"Fuck.." He choked, his eyes fuzzy unable to see his surroundings. Maybe going out on your own was a stupid idea. He thought before shutting his eyes for the final time.

You were minding your own business. Picking some morels up from the base of an Elms tree that had recently died. The soil was wet, getting stuck to your palms as you removed each mushroom carefully. A low whimper caught your attention. Making you stand up quickly. Your hand clutched your belt that carried your positions, getting ready just in case. You slowly walked towards the noise, preparing for the worst. But now one could prepare you for what you saw.

A literal blood bath.

Three dead wolves and a man. Blood is painted everywhere. The whimper you heard was from a smaller wolf that has stumbled upon the massacre. Its eyes are rage-full, stalking its way towards the man that lies unconscious. Without a second thought, you drew your bow, pulling out an arrow from the quiver. You dragged the arrow, aiming for the wolf. You slowed your breathing before letting go of the stem, letting it fly straight into the jugular of the wolf, stopping it in his tracks.

It was quick and painless. You pick your feet up, letting them hover just above the forest floor, so your shoes don't get blood on them. You flap your wings, fluttering over to the man. You lean down, becoming horizontal. Your notice the gash in his chest, hissing at that state. You pop the button on your pouch grabbing out our jar of golden dust. You pinch a small amount before sprinkling some of the unconscious male.

"Let's get you cleaned up…" You sighed…

The smell of soy sauce, perilla oil, chicken broth and other spices made Seonghwa's nose twitch. He shifts slightly, gifting him a sharp pain in his abdomen. His hands flew to his stomach, letting out a hard groan. He shifted more, blinking slowly. His fuzzy vision makes it hard to completely see his surroundings. He notices he is inside a lounging area, a blanket covering him and a fluffy pillow holding his neck up comfortably.

He pulled the blanket away seeing all his wounds were dressed and he was in only his undergarments that hid under his pants. A rush of red-painted his face, feeling decant. He moves to get up but another sharp pain hits him, making him cough this think. He went to put his feet on the floor when a gasp caught his attention.

"HEY! STOP YOU'RE GOING TO POP YOUR STITCHES!!" A concerned voice made him freeze. You ran around to the front of the couch, placing both hands on his upper chest, fingers resting on his shoulders before pushing him back down onto the comforter...

His eyes grew wide watching your face contort as you speak to him. But he doesn't hear anything. All he is paying attention to is your beauty. The way your hair shines with sprinkles of what looks like glitter. Your skin contrasts with your outfit, making you look eternal. And your wings, resting flat on your back. The shimmer of blue on your forewings while the baby peach blends into your hindwing.

Your head tilted as you examine his wounds, he notices how cute your pointed ears look, having been decorated with jewellery. You were beautiful, a goddess. He has never felt something like this before, he was the bad guy. The quiet mysterious knight that most town folks didn't dare to tread near. But you didn't look at him like that. You didn't look at him as if he was a monster. You just saw a hurt man.

"You understand!" You say sternly, making him fall out of his thoughts. He blinked a couple of times trying to find a word that might have stuck from you but he didn't hear anything. You laugh watching his brain tick and find nothing making him blush even more.

"You heard none of what I said did you?" You giggle crossing your arms over your chest. He just shook his head with a simple sorry.

"Stay. Don't move, I'll bring the food." You got up quick, existing towards where you came from. He sat there for a moment, confusion and wondering mixing in his mind. All he could remember was the colour red from the blood and darkness. But now he was here, fixed up and safe…Strange.

You returned with two bowls of warm stew. Placing both on the coffee table, you move towards Seonghwa, making him stiffen. You put more pillows up against the couch's arm. Making him lean back but still sit up enough so he could eat. You place a little tray on top of his legs before putting the bowl on top, and handing him a spoon.

"Eat, you'll feel better." You sounded like a mother caring for her sick young. You were trying to be stern but in the tone, he knew all you were feeling was concern. Worry for a stranger you have never met, wanting nothing but to help heal him no matter his background. The silence was comforting, taking down the delicious meal. Time passed soon finishing the meal, you got up to grab the empty dishing heading swiftly to the kitchen. Seonghwa wanted to speak but you were too quick so he got up. Slowly, and mildly painfully, well scratched that very painfully. He leant against the kitchen door frame coughing out, making you jump.

"Oh my god, what are you doing!" You yelps, dropping the dishes back into the soapy water, immediately moving to wrap your arm, even though it doesn't completely wrap around, his waist, helping him to sit on the chair. He wheezed out slightly, holding his lower stomach before slouching into the soft seat with emerald green cushioning and deep spruce wooden framing.

"I told you. You move your stitches can pop, do you have a death wish or something!" You sounded angrier than you wanted your fingers grazing over the wrapping around him checking to if anything may have moved.

"Ha maybe." Was the only thing he replied with. You looked him dead in the eyes with frustration. You watch the brown in his eyes shift, his pupils blow slightly. You felt a connection as if you knew him for years. The distance was suddenly hyper-aware in your mind, shifting back away from him moving straight back to the sink.

"So…What's your name anyway?" He asks, tilting his head slightly, trying to get your attention.

"Y/n…" Your voice was small as you watched the bubbles slowly pop away. Seonghwa cracked a smile, watching you intensely.

"I'm Seonghwa. And I owe you a thank you." You turned around to meet his gaze once more. Blush forming on your cheeks. You nod, giving him a smile before turning your back to him, placing a bowl into the drying rack.

"I don't need thanks. You are the one that kills those beasts. The beasts that infect my home. This forest." You choke out, placing the last dish on the rack, and pulling the plug. Seonghwa clicks his tongue knowing first-hand what those feral wolves can do. Destroy crops, kill just about anything and anyone that get in their way and leave a path of misery in their wake. You place a cup of coffee down in front of him and sit down across the table from him.

"Well Seonghwa, You need to rest. You are not going anywhere until you can at least walk without anything…" You wave your hand, gesturing to his stomach, "…You know, hurting." He laughs at your actions taking a sip of his coffee while you do the same. Silence fell again but it wasn't awkward, it was comforting. A small smile was placed on both of your faces. You stared out your window watching a small drop-lit of rainfall onto the glass, sighing in contentment. But Seonghwa watched you, he might of not know it and neither did you, but you had him around your finger. He was falling fast and for once, he wasn't scared.

"HEY, IT"S SEONGHWA!!!" Mingi screamed from the edge of the billiard room making San miss his shot with the pool cue. Before San could protest and whine the members started running towards the gate. Hongjoong was there first, wrapping Seonghwa's arm on his shoulders to hold him up. All of his fellow knights surrounded him, spitting out questions over questions, overlapping one another.

"Okay give the man some breathing room." Yeosang pulled the two youngest away letting the others move so Seonghwa and Joong could walk towards the castle. Once inside take took him straight to the infirm to check up on his wounds. Joong was the first to break the silence.

"Where have you been? It's been four days?" He crossed his arms, tilting his head to the side. The nurse helps Seonghwa remove his blouse so that she can undress his wounds. The members watch as the dressing falls off his chest revealing a scarred semi-healed gash from just under his left nipple cross until it ended just above his pelvis. Audible gasps echoed in the infirmary, San lent forward for a better look while an uproar of questions sprung again.

"Okay okay!" Hongjoong calmed the crowd. "Answers now. We thought you were dead! For the love of god we were contemplating whether we start planning a funereal or not!" Hongjoong sounded hurt but who could blame him. He and the other had trouble sleeping without knowing what exactly happened.

"We found the massacre on the outside side of the woods. The five wolves are dead along with the two you left in the entrance of the forest." Yeosang snickered curious how he took on that many wolves.

"Five? You mean four? I only killed the four in that break of trees…" Seonghwa spoke holding the end of the bandage as the nurse dressed the wrapping around him. Then it recalled to him when you found him a wolf might have been there. Did you kill a wolf to save him?

"Oh, Y/n…" he sighed in a whisper making the others tilt there heads at the grumble of words.

"Who y/n?" Jongho asked, only just being able to hear the older male's voice. Seonghwa was frozen he didn't want to tell his brothers who you were, not cause he didn't trust them, but if the word got out that he was saved by a creature of the forest, questions will arise and that could lead to negative theories on Hongjoong leadership. There was too much to risk at the moment and only just being returned sparked all these questions. He was scared.

"I'm not dead, right, that's the main thing. I'm fine. But I…." the nurse backs away to the desk on the side pulling out some other dressings but Seonghwa stood up backing away from the bed.

"I'm tired but I assure you I'm not in danger anymore…." and with that he left in a hurry, leaving his brother confused and even more so worried.

Two weeks have passed since the accident and everyone had seem to have died out of questions. None of the townsfolk speculated anything and only blessed Seonghwa, one of the bravest knights, was safe.

Seonghwa watches through the bay window in the main meeting room. An important spokesman came around for king Hoongjoong, for some event that was happening. Seonghwa wasn't paying attention, all that was thinking about was you.

Tonight was your meeting night. He would sneak away in the evening while everyone went off to their separate duties. The sun was low on the horizon, most have already settled in for the night. But Seonghwa was quick and quiet, weaving through the halls to avoid all the guards and his brothers. He managed to get to the outer gate undetected but little did he know, Yeosang was hot on his tail, watching his every move.

Seonghwa entered the dim forest, making Yeosang curious to remember back to the conversation he had with the others not too long ago.

"I've seen him. He has been sneaking out into the forest at night." Jongho states having been on guard watch the other night. The boys were beginning to question where their brother was disappearing to. Seonghwa avoided every question and every query that was thrown his way. Everyone was becoming impatient with the mystery. So Mingi and Yunho devised a plan to catch Seonghwa out and find out exactly where Seonghwa was going.

“My bet, a siren or wore a succubus has enchanted him,” San says with worry, fear slipping off his tongue.

“Succubus?! You are certainly mad. I think a witch has given him a love potion.” Jongho laughed.

“Maybe it’s love,” Yeosang whispered making everyone turn from the table.

“Love? Pff you’re funny.” Mingi laughed but Yeosang was serious, maybe the cold-hearted and closed off knight finally met someone that can melt his exterior. But in the end, the brothers were still determined to find how. So as the sun sets and the boys all get set into place. Seonghwa doesn’t suspect a thing, entering the forest like he does every other time.

But only this time Yeosang and the others were close behind.

The front garden was full of lanterns lighting up the evening's surroundings. You sat on your swinging bench while Seonghwa stands in front of you telling yet another story of his adventures. He swings his sword as he focuses on this crucial part of the story but all you could do was smile at him being so goofy. He was so perfect in your mind and you were falling every moment you spent with him. He tripped lightly, making you laugh, standing quickly to help him up but he pulls you down, making you fall slowly as your wings stopped you from gravity. His arms snake around your waist as you both laugh. Your hands rest on his chest as you look him in his beautiful eyes. He smiles, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“I think I’ve fallen for you…” He confesses, making you blush, leaning close to him. Your lips ghost of him as your smile grows with his.

“As am I…” You reply leaning into a kiss. His lips are soft and warm. Butterflies dance in your stomach, your wings flutter slightly. His hand cups your face deepening the kiss. You were so in love and so was he. He sits up, bringing you with him. His hands grip your thighs bringing you onto his lap before turning you. You fall onto the soft grass on your back with Seonghwa above you. Your wings lay flat letting Seonghwa see every detail. His fingers graze over the sheer appendage, making you let out a small sigh. Electricity crackles up your spine, almost like a burning wire in a broken fuse box. Everything was so sensitive. You couldn’t get enough you needed more.

“Hwa…” You whisper through his lips, mixing your breath with his before he could answer you, prying eyes that were watching your displays of affection caught his attention.

“What did I tell you,” Yeosang states with a smile, watching his brother finally happy.

“NO WAIT I WANTED TO WIN THE BET!!” San said a little too loudly making you and Seonghwa hear. You sat up straight off him, hiding behind his back once he was facing where the noise was.

“San?” Seonghwa called out suddenly seeing a small head pop out from behind the trees before yelling;

“Pretend I’m not here!!!!” Everyone laughed.

-

Ateez Masterlist

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[nunchiimagines]

Choco Bun: 8 - Final

Choco Pie

— Summary: When you moved to Korea after finishing college to continue pursuing latte art and baking, the last thing you were expecting was to open up your very own coffee shop under BTS Corp, Korea’s biggest entertainment service company for idols, models, singers, and more. Thanks to your hard work, creativity, and approachable personality you managed to become friendly with some pretty big named individuals as well as up and coming talent. As exciting and fun as it was for you, you slowly began to realize how much your 7 bosses weren’t particularly fond of this, acts of jealousy, pettiness, and aggression poking through in the most unsuspecting of ways. But what could 7 big named dragons want with a little foreign bunny?

HYBRID TYPES: Reader-Bunny Namjoon-Earth Dragon Jin-Water Dragon Yoongi-Moon (Dark) Dragon Hoseok-Sun (Light) Dragon Jimin-Wind Dragon Taehyung-Ice Dragon Jungkook-Fire Dragon

— Pairing: ceo!mythical hybrid!bts x poc!curvy!hybrid!coffee shop owner!reader

— Genre: fluff / poly!au / ceo!au / hybrid!au / mafia!au (if you squint)

— Status: Completed

— Warnings:  SUPER fluff, slight mentioning of smutty behavior

— Word Count: 1.7k

~MASTERPOST~

CHAPTERS: Prev 

**AUTHORS NOTE**

Here is the final chapter of Choco Bun. Hahaha, bet you guys didn’t see that coming?? Lol, I said it was going to be short so I figured it wouldn’t hurt to post the final two chapters now! Can you believe this is my first fully finished story??? It is so far from perfect but it was fairly well developed to my standards! Anyway, I just want to appreciate everyone who gave it so much love and support. I do apologize if it kinda abruptly ended though, like I said, it’s not perfect and I’m still learning. Anywho, please enjoy and be on the look out for the official start of Pied Piper! Thank you to everyone who’s always been there and to everyone who’s new!! I can’t to keep writing and sharing with you all!

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“Mama? Where’s Papa Tae at?” the little boy before you asked.

You stilled for a moment, having just realized the presence of your oldest son here. You were currently in your work kitchen preparing the next batch of sweets for tomorrow's sales. However, a certain someone had waltzed in here roughly 15 minutes prior to your son and had been distracting you ever sense.

“U-Uh, did you g-go see if he was with P-Papa Jimin?” you asked, stuttering, desperately trying to keep a straight face.

The dark haired 4 year old cocked his head, his sharp eyes mimicking that of his fathers. He had little bumps on his head, his horns not quite yet growing in but making their presence known.

“But...I thought I could smell him here.” he pondered out loud.

That’s right, you forgot. For some reason Namjoon passed on his overly developed skills to his son as well, so he was far more advanced than a 4 year old dragon hybrid should be. Most children at his age are sensitive to the smells, so his accuracy shouldn't be this developed yet. You had to think quickly.

“H-Heeeh~!” you squeaked out.

“Mama?! What's wrong??” he asked, concerned.

“Nothing!! I’m fine sweetie!! I saw Papa Tae earlier! He...uh...he went to go see your father on the top floor!”

“Oh. Really? He promised we’d play ball today.” the little boy said with a pout.

“Your little sister is at the gym with Papa Kook and Papa Jin! I bet you they’d play ball. Just make sure Mr. Choi is with you when you take the elevator okay? Ahh-Ahnd I’ll be up to join you all soon too!”

The young boy contemplated for a moment before smiling.

“Promise?”

“Promise!”

“Okay! I will then! I haven’t seen any of them since this morning so I’ll go play with them!”

“Okay sweetie, please be careful!”

“I will! Bye mama!”

As the young boy waltzed off out of sight and out of range for his scent to pick anything up, you sighed. Your next immediate action was to start slapping Taehyung.

“Have you no shame!” you cried angrily at him, face flushed from overstimulation and embarrassment.

Taehyung removed himself from between your legs, your long dress no longer draped over his body. He casually licked his lips, having sat there eating you out while your son stood before you. He had a smirk on his face and a look of satisfaction present.

“He may have inherited hyung’s advanced qualities but he’s still too young. It all worked out in the end anyway.” he stated nonchalantly.

“That’s beside the point Tae! This is completely inappropriate and totally unsanitary! I’m running a business, remember?? Plus you didn’t even stop yourself while he was talking! He even got concerned!”

Taehyung laughed, eventually standing up and walking over to the sink to wash up from his previous actions.

“Where was all this protesting the last time I did this?”

You quickly shut your mouth and turned away from him. Your face was even more flushed than before and you huffed in irritation. Snaking his hands around your waist, he pulled you against his chest. Kissing your neck and then your cheek, he nuzzled into your scent.

“You’re so cute when you flustered. And you,” he said, rubbing your steadily growing belly.

“Make sure to watch over mommy okay? She’s doing too much work as is and she needs to rest. I was trying to provide some much needed relaxation for her but it’s apparently going underappreciated.” he said with a playful pout.

“Tae! Don’t tell our unborn child that!” you protested.

“Don’t be such a worry wart. You’ll keep Papa Tae’s words a secret, right, little one? We’ll keep this from your papa for now too.” Tae said, trying to bargain with your belly.

“You’ll keep what from me.” a voice called out.

You both froze in place, heads turning to look at the sudden moon dragon before you. Yoongi walked closer to you two before giving Tae a glare. He protectively embraced you while lovingly rubbing your stomach.

“Nothing! Wow, look at the time, I got to go see Namjoon now!”

“Kim Taehyung, if you think you can keep secrets from me with our child you are sorely mistaken.” Yoongi weakly threatened.

“What~, I would never! Right Y/n?”

You looked at him then sighed, caving to those pretty eyes of his. Turning to Yoongi, you smiled at him, nuzzling his neck to soothe any tension that was even made present.

“There's nothing to worry about Yoongi. He was helping me...relax a little. That’s all.”

Yoongi hummed, falling prey to your comforting touches.

“By eating you out?” he questioned.

You froze and Taehyung bursted out laughing.

“H-How’d you-??” you began stuttering.

“It wasn’t hard to tell. I can smell you all, remember? Your scent is pungent, especially when you are being intimate. Plus you're pregnant with my kid so my bond with you is a bit more heightened compared to the others.”

You pouted and gave an apologetic look, your stimulation having affected your bond. It was probably the reason he came to check up on you.

“No worries love, Tae’s just being a pervert.” Yoongi said, cuddling you even more.

“Hey, I was helping! In my own way.”

Yoongi rolled his eyes before flicking Tae on the forehead.

“Yeah sure. Next time, be more gentle. You went overboard and I couldn’t concentrate. Plus she’s pregnant so don't do too much.” Yoongi lightly chastised.

“Hehehe~ Sorry.” Tae said fiving his boxy smile.

“Hey! This is where you’ve all been! Everyone’s waiting downstairs for us.”

The three of you looked up to see Jimin. As soon as his eyes landed on you, they lit up unapologetically. He was the one who cooed over you the most when you got pregnant the first time. Namjoon was so scared, Jimin had to always coax him to calm down. He made sure Namjoon was always level headed and helped find books for him to review and read. When you got pregnant with Jin’s baby, Jimin was always present 24/7 then too. Jimin has been a massive help for every pregnancy and this one is no different.

“Hi Minnie~” you said as he began scenting you.

You giggled as his actions were a bit ticklish. He was always so protective of you and always went out of his way to, appropriately, ensure you were relaxing.

“Hmmm~ Smells like Tae did something dirty again.”

“It wasn’t dirty, it was a distresser. For both of us.” Tae clarified.

“Now it was for the both of you?” Yoongi chimed in.

“Regardless, we need to head downstairs and get you home! Are you done here?” Jimin asked.

You nodded your head, going over everything one last time before agreeing to head out. Your small group made its way to the elevators and down to the first floor. When you walked to the main entrance you were greeted with the rest of your family.

“Mama!” (Y/S/N) called out.

“Hello my love.” you said, embracing him back.

“Papa said that we're going home early because you need the rest.” he said happily.

You smiled at the little boy before agreeing.

“Yeah, mama has been a bit tired recently. All your papa’s are so kind aren’t they?”

“Yeah! They sure are!”

“Mama~!” a squeal came out.

You turned to look up at your daughter as she was being cradled in her fathers arms.

“I’d never forget about you, my lovely baby girl!” you said approaching Jin.

“Why don’t you tell mama how good you were today, huh?” Jin cooed.

“(Y/D/N)...good!” she giggled.

“Was she now? What a good girl you are!”

“How are you feeling (Y/N)?” Hoseok asked, approaching you and rubbing your belly.

“I’m doing okay. It’s a massive help with you all here actually. Thanks for asking Hobi.”

“Of course. We’ll always be here when you need it. Just don’t push yourself.”

“Hey hey, (Y/D/N), want to show mommy our new trick?” Jungkook asked.

“New trick?” you questioned.

“Yeah we do-”

“Absolutely NOT!” Jin interfered.

Jungkook already started laughing which made (Y/D/N) laugh too.

“Why are you trying to endanger our child!?” Jin questioned.

You knew this was all playful banter and (Y/D/N) must’ve had a field day spending time with these two. The bickering never ceased even now. When you turned to (Y/S/N) again began petting his hair. He looked up at you and smiled once more.

“Where’s your papa at?” you asked.

“He said he had to take care of a few documents at the front desk and that he’ll be back soon! He put me in charge of letting you know!”

“What a good boy. You know what? You did a fantastic job letting me know.”

His smile widened, those dimples of his mimicking that of Namjoon’s. Shortly afterwards Namjoon came running out with an apologetic smile.

“Hello my love.” Namjoon said, kissing your cheek.

“Pardon me being late.”

You smiled at the last to arrive before dismissing his worries.

“Nothing to apologize for! We didn;t wait long and plus I got to check up on everyone in the meantime.”

Namjoon smiled again before reaching out his hand for his son to take. Hoseok took the opportunity to grab his other hand, which only made the little boy happier. Yoongi and JImin stayed by your side as you all started walking out. Taehuyung was making (Y/D/N) giggle and laugh while Jin tried to desperately prevent Jungkook from throwing her around in the air at the tender age of 2.

This family was a big huge heaping pile of silly antics, crazy ideas, and childish behavior. But it was your family. A family you loved with all your heart. A family that cared deeply for one another no matter what. A family that you’d never change or exchange for anything. One that was still growing. Still getting used to this life. But it was one you could call yours and you couldn’t have been any happier to do so.

And thus was the closing of this story, the story of a little foreign bunny and her 7 dragons. A story where, just like a choco pie, it can’t be whole without each slice.

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[harringtonstilinski]

That Was Hot - Stiles Stilinski (Smut)

Author: @stilinskiparker Characters: Stiles Stilinski x Reader Word Count: 3,784 Warnings: middle is rushed but just go with it smut; (both are college aged), oral (female receiving), protected m+f (wrap it before you tap it, kids) Requested: “Stiles: random #36 with against the wall kiss... my mind wants to go smutty but you get the idea. 😉😉😉” @fandom-princess-forevermore A/N: Hi, friends! I do believe this is my first smut piece that’s not involved with YABMH, so go on easy on me. Do not hesitate to tell me if it sucks, lol. As always, read at your own risk and enjoy 😊

“UGH! Have you ever seen someone so handsome?!” Maya asked, swinging her iced coffee around.

Since we were sitting at a square table and I was in range of her cup, I moved to the right to avoid getting hit in the face. “First, I’m in the line of fire with your cup. Second, who are you talking about?”

She sighed and kept looking ahead. “That guy right there. Coffee stand. Spiked hair.”

I looked over from my laptop to see who she was talking about. I raised a brow and looked back at her, saying, “You mean Stiles Stilinski?”

Quickly looking at me while setting her up down onto the table, her eyes were as big as saucers. “You know him?!”

I nodded a little and shrugged. “We have a couple Criminal Justice classes together. Aaaaaaaaaaaaand we sorta grew up together,” I said, quickly taking a sip of my own iced coffee to finish my sentence.

“You’re kidding me. Like, you’re actually fucking kidding me?”

Chuckling, I said, “Nope. Not kidding.” Setting my coffee back down, I continued with my explanation. “We lived a few houses down from each other. Our other friend, Scott, goes here, too.”

“Someone say my name?” 

I turned around, seeing Scott walk up to the table. I stood up and gave him a hug before I sat back down. “Scott, this is--”

“Hey, babe” he said, giving Maya a kiss.

Shocked as hell, I raised my brows. “Wait, y’all are dating?”

“Gotcha,” Maya chuckled.

“WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME?” I exclaimed.

“What are we yelling for?” Stiles asked. I didn’t even notice him walking over to the table. I turned my head over to watch as he sat down next to me.

“My idiot roommate, as well as one of my best friends, failed to mention to me that they’re dating,” I said, looking at and gesturing my hand between the two before looking back at Stiles.

“Yeah, they’ve been dating for like 4 months,” he said, nonchalantly.

Giving him a look that said I’m done, I started packing up my computer to, number one, feign like I was leaving, and two, to give some more room on the table.

“Wait, hold on,” Scott said. “You never connected the dots?”

“What dots?” I asked.

“I would say, and I quote ‘I’m going to Scott’s. I’ll be back either late tonight or tomorrow afternoon’ and you would tell me to have fun,” Maya explained.

“How the fuck was I supposed to know you were talking about McCall?!” I once again exclaimed.

That must’ve been funny to the three of them because they all started laughing. 

“Y/N/N, you really don’t pay attention that much,” Stiles chuckled. “You never have.”

While Scott and Maya started laughing, I looked at Stiles with a deadpan look and laughed sarcastically at him. “You’re so funny.”

Sitting up a little straighter like he was proud of my statement, he smiled and boasted, “Why, thank you! I’m hilarious.”

I couldn’t help but laugh along with Scott and Maya at Stiles’ antics. I mean, how could you not? He’s funny, devilishly good looking, charming, considerate, super sympathetic, generous, and all the other good stuff you could think of. 

Oh, and yes, if you’re wondering, I do have a crush on Stiles, and have since about the 7th grade. Scott had asked me that year if I liked anyone, to which I said that I did. I think he thought I meant him, but he later put together that I was talking about Stiles and not him.

Did Scott and I try dating? Yes. Was it to open Stiles’ eyes? Also, yes. When did it happen? Summer before freshman year. I grew to love Scott over the years, but it was more of a brotherly sisterly love, and I think he knew it as well. We’ve been that close ever since we broke up.

What about Stiles and I, you may ask? Well, he was too hooked up on Lydia, and then dated Malia to even notice any other girl. He would, however, talk to me about this girl he had a mad crush on during high school, but I knew he was talking about Lydia and then Malia.

Could I have been the girl he was talking about? I don’t know. Probably not. Like I said, he was too hooked up on Lydia and then Malia to notice any other girl, aka me.

But, as we’re sitting here with Scott and Maya, I quickly realized that my crush on him never faded. Not even when I dated other boys. 

“Okay, that’s totally uncalled for,” I said.

Laughing, Stiles said, “Well, it’s true!”

“I may be a blonde at heart, but I’m not dense.” I looked at Maya after hearing her clear her throat. “Not saying that you are, Maya.”

“Mmmmm-hmm,” she hummed.

I chuckled then looked down at my phone for the time, gasping in realization. “Holy shit! I’m gonna be late for my next class.” I stood, throwing my bag over my shoulder.

Stiles stood, asking, “Want me to walk you?”

At seeing a redheaded girl walk in our direction, I looked between her and Stiles quickly before saying, “No. No, I’ll be fine.” I really did want him to, but I knew about him seeing the girl, Isabella. He can tell me all he wants that they’re not together and that they’re just lab partners or whatever, but part of me doesn’t believe it.

“Are you sure?” he asked as Isabella put her hand on his shoulder.

“Yeah,” I reassured. “I’ll be fine.” Addressing Scott and Maya, I said, “I’ll see you guys later,” and walked away, not caring to hear Stiles call my name. Once I got to my class, I sat in my seat and wiped the tear that escaped from my eye.

~~~

After my class, I went straight to my apartment and got to cleaning. It’s something I’ve done since high school to help calm my nerves and racing thoughts. I was so into my cleaning that I didn’t hear my apartment door open and close due to Fleetwood Mac’s The Chain playing in my ears.

I jumped about ten feet out of my skin when I felt hands on my shoulders. Taking the bud out of my ear, I turned around and let it fall to my chest, seeing Stiles in a fit of laughter. So, I yelled his name and slapped his chest.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, taking the other bud out of my ear.

Taking a deep breath, he said, “Making sure you’re okay. You kind of walked off and didn’t come back. Seemed like you were mad.”

Sighing, I pulled the earbud wire from under my shirt, putting my phone down on the counter, and tapping the screen to show my lock screen and pause my music. “I wasn’t mad. I was a little irritated.”

“Why?” he asked, moving closer to me. 

Not looking him in the eye, I whispered, “‘Cause of the way she touched you.”

Seeing his shoes in my line of sight, he whispered back, “And how did she touch me?”

“Like you were hers. And I don’t want you to be hers.” I looked up at him, seeing the same emotion in his eyes that I had in mine.

“Who should call me theirs, then?” 

“Me.” I looked down at Stiles’ hand, reaching for it. Pulling it up more into my view, I laced our fingers together, softly, feeling and watching him close his long fingers around mine. With one more look at him, I did the one thing I’ve wanted to do for the longest time; kiss him. Leaning forward, I quickly captured his lips with mine, pulling away after a second. 

“What was that for?” He asked.

Shurgging, I looked down and whispered, “I've always wanted to do that.”

He smiled a little, nodding his head. “Yeah. Me, too.” 

Before I knew it, Stiles’ lips were back on mine but with more hunger. He spun us around and backed us up until my back hit the wall. 

My whimper in pain was lost in his mouth as he took the opportunity to tangle his tongue with mine. I was so lost in the kiss, I didn’t even feel when he laced his fingers with my free hand, bringing both my hands up above my head.

Stiles was a lot taller than me, mind you, by about 8 inches or so. It wasn’t awkward with the height difference, no. It felt… right.

He had moved his attack with his tongue on mine to press kisses to my cheek, jaw bone, and neck, where he started searching for my sweet spot. When he found it, he stayed there for a few seconds, kissing, sucking, licking, the whole nine yards.

I had to turn my head towards him to get his attention. “Stiles,” I breathed. “Stiles!”

He hummed, bringing those beautiful whiskey-caramel colored eyes back to mine. “What is it, baby girl?”

I swallowed thickly, trying to contain my heart rate as I started to feel a little moist. “If this is gonna go further, we should probably move to the bed.”

“Couch.”

“Wha-“

“We’re in the living room,” he whispered.

I looked around at my surroundings, realizing that we were, in fact, in the living room. “Oh.” I looked back at him upon hearing his chuckle, causing a giggle to escape from my own mouth, but it was lost in a kiss as Stiles pressed his lips back to mine.

He squatted a little, putting his hands on the backs of my thighs, whispering, “Jump.” 

I did as told and jumped up, putting my arms around his neck and my legs around his waist. I broke the kiss to tell him, “Bedroom.” I placed my forehead on his shoulder as he walked us to my bedroom.

Hearing the door close, I picked my head up right before I felt my back hit the mattress, Stiles hovering over me. He didn’t move. He just looked at me for a moment before he took a deep breath. “If I think what’s about to happen is about to happen–”

“Stiles,” I said, stopping the beginnings of his rambling. Running my fingers through the side of his hair, I looked between his eyes. “I can promise you, I want it just as bad as you do.”

“What, sex?” he asked, brows raised.

I scooted back some to sit up on my knees in front of him. I took his hands in mine, placing them on the hem of my shirt. “If you want this, take it off. If you don’t, you can walk out of the door. I’m letting you choose.”

He stood there for a moment before he leaned forward, placing his lips on mine in a soft, but firm kiss. Pulling away just to quickly come back, I knew he wanted it as much as I did. I’ve been wanting him since high school. 

In the middle of the kiss getting heated, he pulled away. I kept my eyes closed as I felt my shirt being lifted off my body, hearing it hit the carpet with a soft thud. His lips were back on mine before I knew it.

I did the same to his shirt; taking it off and putting it with mine on the floor. I took a moment to admire his body, the years of lacrosse at Beacon Hills High doing him good. “Damn,” I whispered, running my hands along the abs that were barely there. “All that lacrosse did you good, Stilinski.”

He chuckled, putting his hands on mine, bringing them to his lips. “I needed to keep up with everyone else. Plus you were in the stands.”

Not believing him, I scoffed quietly. “Nah, it was all for Lydia… and then Malia.”

“You are dense,” he chuckled softly. “Y/N/N, it was always you. Always was, and always will be.”

Smiling at him, I slid my hands out of his, placing my arms around his shoulders. “Then make me yours.”

That must’ve sparked something in him ‘cause he launched me backwards, careful to stay on the bed, laughter pouring out of me. It stopped when he kissed me again, this time more passionately. 

Very skillfully, he put his hand under my back, unclasping my bra. Very slowly, he slid the material down my arms, exposing my breasts to him and the air around us. I watched as he looked down at them, smirking a little.

“Beautiful,” he whispered. Looking up at me, he said, “Just like you.”

Smirking back at him, I said, “Just wait until you get to my pussy.”

His eyes going wide made me giggle. “Such language,” he said.

“You’ve said worse,” I deadpanned. “Listen, are you gonna fuck me or not?”

I guess that motivated him because he quickly got off the bed and took off his khaki pants, leaving him in a pile on the floor before hovering back over me. He quieted my laughter by pressing his lips to mine, quickly getting things heated up once more.

Wrapping my legs around Stiles’ waist, I managed to flip us over so that I was hovering over him, our lips never disconnecting. Stiles did grunt, however, when I started grinding my clothed core against his ever growing erection. 

Disconnecting our lips, Stiles breathed, “Holy shit, baby girl.”

“I knew you would like that,” I chuckled, moving my lips to his neck. But before I could start on making my mark on him, he flipped us back over, lips immediately going to one of my breasts. 

With my fingers threading through the back of his hair, I arched my back a little in pleasure, letting out a quiet moan. 

As he gave my breast and nipple attention with his mouth, his free hand that wasn’t holding himself up was giving my other breast some attention, palming it and lightly squeezing, all of these actions making my core even more wet.

Almost like he was reading my mind, he released my breast with a small pop, his eyes connecting with mine. Slowly sliding his hand down my side, his hand was met with my shorts, his hand stopping. His eyes never once left mine, and once he stopped, I could see that he was asking for permission to remove my shorts with his eyes.

I nodded, lifting my ass at the same time he sat up straighter to remove my shorts. Once he placed them in the growing pile of our clothes, he looked down at my core, seeing a wet spot on my panties.

“All this for me?” he asked, his honey whiskey eyes going dark.

“All for you, Stiles. Only you.”

That sparked something in him as he dove down to press kisses along my stomach down to my core. 

“Scoot back some,” he whispered. I scooted back, my head on the edge of the bed. We were parallel to my pillows. Once I was comfortable, I watched as he laid on the bed the best he could and put his arms under my legs, keeping them open.

Instead of going for my core like I thought he was, he turned his head and kissed delicately at my inner thighs, starting from the middle and working his way down. He moved to my other thigh, almost teasing me, so I lightly bucked my hips up as a silent way of telling him where I really wanted his mouth.

“So eager,” he said, chuckling at the end.

“Hell yeah, I’m eager!” I lightly exclaimed. “I’ve been wanting this to happen since like junior year of high school.”

“That long, huh?”

“Fuck yes! You’re hot, Stiles. Like, insanely fucking hot. Always have been and always will be. Just please, eat me–” My words were stopped by a gasp at Stiles’ mouth on my clothed core. 

Putting his finger under the band on my panties, he moved them to the side, replacing the cloth with his mouth.

“Finally,” I moaned. Keeping one hand near my head and the other on the back of Stiles’ head, I tilted my head back as best I could, letting out another moan.

Stiles’ movements with his mouth and tongue were slow and sensual. It’s almost as if he was reading my thoughts when we’re around each other, or when I’m having a super lonely night alone in this very bed.

Getting fed up with my panties, he sat up a little bit, removing my panties at the same time before diving back into my core, eliciting a loud moan from me. Tilting my head to the side, I watched him slowly lick from my entrance to my clit, his eyes closed.

Opening his eyes, he locked eyes with me, smirking the best he could as he wrapped his lips around my bud, gently sucking for a moment, sparks of pleasure shooting through my body.

“Mmmmmm, fuck, Stiles,” I moaned. 

“You like that?” he asked, smirking. He looked down at my core, kissing it lightly as I nodded and hummed. 

I leaned up on my elbows to get a better look at what he was doing, feeling his tongue at my entrance before feeling it along my walls, another moan from me, my back hitting the mattress once more. 

Hating the fact that he was going a little too slow for my liking at this point, I lightly ground my core on his tongue, immediately feeling his arm across my hips.

“No, baby girl. Let me show you how properly you need to be treated,” he said, delving his tongue back where it was. This time he went a little faster, moans of absolute pleasure pouring out of my mouth.

“Fuuuuuuuuuuuuck,” I drawled out. “Keep doing that and I’ll cum all over that tongue of yours.”

“Well, in that case,” he said, bringing his body back up mine. I went to protest but the feeling of his tongue on mine had me shutting up right quick. 

“Mmmmm,” I hummed after he pulled back. “Magic tongue in both areas.”

He chuckled, getting off the bed. I sat up and watched as he picked his pants up to grab his wallet out of his back pocket, looking inside the item, as well as his eyes going wide. “Uhm, I don’t have–”

“Top drawer.”

Opening the drawer of my nightstand, he chuckled lightly to himself. “I love the fact that you’re always prepared.”

“Yeah, well. Just wanna make sure I stay protected.”

Pushing his boxers down his legs, he rolled the condom on his very impressive length, asking, “Have you any other guys in here?”

I shook my head, “Nope. You’re the first.”

“But you’re not–”

“A virgin? No. Lost that in high school. And please don’t ask about it. I don’t wish to relive it,” I said, chuckling at the end.

“Good,” he said, jumping back on the bed causing me to squeal playfully. He lined himself up before looking back up at me. Sighing while looking at me, he asked, “Are you one hundred percent sure? Because we can’t go back after this.”

“Stiles, I don’t want to go back,” I said, carding my hands through his hair. “I want you. I’ve always wanted you. Now, put your cock in my pussy and fuck me like your life depended on it.”

“Oh, I will fuck you, but not rough yet. Gotta work up to it,” he winked. With one last kiss to my lips, he slowly pushed his cock inside me, a pleasurable gasp coming out, my eyes closing.

“Mmmmmm, fuck,” I moaned once more as he thrusted his hips a little faster. What I saw when I opened my eyes my heart fluttered; Stiles’ eyes already locked on mine.

“God–” he grunted. “I don’t think I’m gonna be able to last much longer. Your pussy feels amazing right now.”

“ Go faster and I’ll be there,” I breathed.

Stiles leaned back, holding my hips to get a better angle. His thrusts were so fast, my breasts were bouncing in every direction, moans pouring out of me like a waterfall. “Mmmmm, fuck! Right there! Oh, my god, don’t stop. Mmmmmm, magic tongue and cock! Fuck!”

We both leaned towards each other, my left arm supporting my body weight as my right hand went to the back of Stiles’ head, keeping in place as we shared a fiery kiss. We pulled away, foreheads pressed to each other as we breathed heavily from the activity.

“Don’t stop,” I whispered. “I’m almost there. Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t–” Moan. “I’m gonna cum, don’t stop.” Moan. “I’m cumming, I’m cumming, I’m–” One final moan stopped my words as Stiles’ movements stopped as well. “Why did you stop?” I asked, pulling my head to look at him, heavy breaths between us.

“I came when you did,” he panted. 

My hand landed on his shoulder as I relaxed my arm. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because,” he paused for a moment to catch his breath for a moment. “That was hot. Our foreheads together, you whispering– it just sent me into my orgasm.”

All I could do was smile at him, pulling his lips back to mine, feeling him pull out at the same time. Reflecting back on what just happened, I smiled. “That was hot, wasn’t it? Think we’ll do it again? I mean, I hope we can do it again.”

“What do you mean?” he asked, putting his boxers back on and handing me his shirt and a fresh pair of panties for me. “As in, like, friends with benefits?”

I shook my head after putting the clothes on. “No. More. But it’s probably wishful thinking.”

It was his turn to shake it head. “It’s not. Because I want to be more than just friends with you, too.”

Watching him sit against my pillows, all I could do was smile again. He put his arm across my pillows, inviting me to cuddle up against him. So I did before he wrapped his arm around my shoulders.

I hummed, wrapping my arm around his middle. “I could stay like this forever.”

“We’re together now, right?” Stiles asked.

This put me into a fit of laughter, Stiles joining me for a moment. “Yes, dork.”

“Good,” he said, putting his free hand on my arm.

I’m not sure how long we stayed like that before I heard Stiles snore softly. The last thing I remember before I drifted off to sleep was the smile that was ever present on my face at the fact that Stiles and I were finally an item… and that we had amazing sex.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N 2: well, i think that ending sucked, lol. i started losing inspiration at the end, but let me know what you thought!

~~~

Forever / Everything Taglist: @stiles-o-dylan24 @stixnstripesworld @fandom-princess-forevermore @quanticobae @mischiefandi @kellyashcroft @lauren-novak @good-vibes-and-glitter

THW taglist; @aurorx3​

Posted on March 8, 2022

[roamwithahungryheart]

Soundproof

Unimaginative title aside, I haven't written something smutty in a hot minute, so here's a little something based on a rather spicy dream I had recently...

Warning(s): Coarse language, dom/sub vibes, fingering, edging/orgasm denial, semi-public sex I guess???

House-hunting had turned out to be a lot harder than you’d imagined.

You’d printed out your favourite listings, made Pinterest boards late at night with a glass of wine and subjected Henry to hours of back-to-back interior design and real estate shows. It had been fun at first, the thrill of searching for your forever home, but now on your sixth house, you were beginning to get frustrated. It felt like slowly knitting a patchwork quilt – each house had a little piece of what you were looking for. You just couldn’t get them to knit together.

Sitting at the kitchen table, you scrolled through the images on your phone one last time, sipping your coffee.

“I bet you twenty quid this house isn’t it.”

Henry quirked an eyebrow. “Just twenty?”

“Okay.” You smacked your lips. “Fifty.”

“That’s more like it.”

“What can I say, I’m a woman who knows what she wants.” You shrugged.

“Oh, I know.” He smiled, leaning down to press a kiss into your hair as he joined you at the table. “I have a good feeling about this one though.”

“You’re just saying that to stop me from stressing out.”

“No I’m not.” He leaned back in his chair, softly clicking his fingers to beckon Kal over. “Kal, bark if I’m telling the truth.”

You waited.

Sure enough, Kal barked.

“See? Truth.”

You shook your head, laughing. “I think he’s really barking for your bacon.” You nodded towards Henry’s plate. “The jungle pig’s foraging again, aren’t you?”

Kal nudged your hand as you petted him. Presented with empty palms, Kal trotted over to Henry, sitting patiently by his side, eyes fixed on the hot bacon sandwich that was now in Henry’s hands. Of course, it didn’t take much for him to give in. The wise old bear had learned how to charm him quite easily. Rolling your eyes, you watched as he gobbled up a few torn pieces of bacon and nuzzled further into Henry’s side.

“We said we wouldn’t feed him from the table anymore!”

“I know, but look at that face.” Henry pouted playfully.

“Alright, we’ll let you off this time, buddy. But next time? Bowl.” You booped Kal on the nose and ruffled the fur under his chin. “Okay, we need to get going shortly. Did you text Dany and Leah to let them know you’ll be late?”

“First thing this morning, my love.”

“Good stuff.” You slapped the table and stood up, reaching for the car keys that were hung up on the side of the refrigerator. “I’ll let Kal out and lock up. You fire up the Rover. Catch!”

With the keys caught, Henry headed out the door.

You both felt bad for leaving Kal at home, but you also didn’t want to risk the bear’s boundless energy resulting in broken ornaments and soiled lawns that would ruin the aesthetic for the next potential buyer.

For the sake of privacy, you’d narrowed your search down to homes that exuded suburban comfort. Some were nestled in little countryside nooks, while others sat on tree-lined streets just a few miles from the centre of London. House number six was a red-brick Victorian semi-detached property in Chiswick. You wanted a driveway, this was street parking only. You wanted a separate dining room, this had an open-plan kitchen and dining room. But you were willing to give it a chance.

“Moment of truth.” You sighed, hopping out of the Range Rover, slamming the door a little louder than you’d intended.

The estate agent seemed to appear out of thin air, startling you both.

“Ready for the tour?” She beamed, ushering you inside.

Things were off to a good start. A bright centre-hallway with enough room for the clutter that would surely mount up over time. The living room had the marble fireplace and bay window you’d dubbed as non-negotiable. Three bedrooms, one bathroom, one en-suite. A spare room you could use either as storage space or a cosy home office.

The estate agent led you back downstairs.

Henry stood back and let you do the talking, knowing he couldn’t possibly get a word in once you’d started babbling buzzwords and pacing around the room.

“The living room is really well-appointed, I’m just not sure about the kitchen.”

The estate agent nodded, tapping her pen against her lips. “I’ll give you a few minutes to gather your thoughts.”

The spacious kitchen overlooked the most treasured of all real estate possessions – a south-facing garden. It was easy to imagine Kal rolling on the grass. Garden parties in the summer. Children laughing as they chased each other. You could picture a life here.

Henry’s warmth surrounded you as he slipped his arms around your waist and kissed your cheek.

“Penny for your thoughts.”

“I’m thinking” you hummed, nuzzling into the crook of his neck “I like this house.”

“So you admit it.” He grinned. “I was right.”

“Up to now, yes.” You spun around to peck him firmly on the lips. “But don’t get ahead of yourself. I’m still waiting for the wow factor.”

Once again, the estate agent caught you off-guard – and had evidently been listening in.

“Did I hear the words ‘wow factor’? Because I think the next room definitely has it. Follow me.”

She led you through the kitchen, past the mudroom and into the garden. To the left of the patio flagstones, there was a hidden staircase leading to the basement. The steps were just steep enough for you to make a mental note to never go down there after a few glasses of pinot grigio.

“You can access this room from inside, but the garden staircase is a fun addition to the property. Just make sure you watch your step.” She chuckled. “It’s a very large, versatile space. So this could be a wine cellar or even a home gym.”

She was right. With its high walls and concrete floor, it could easily be turned into a recreational space that would suit you both equally. You could tell by the way Henry’s eyes had glazed over that he was already planning where to put his gaming PC and install custom shelving.

You caught the real estate agent’s eye then, inclining your head towards Henry.

“I think you’ve won my husband over. Once he gets his games in here I’ll never see him again!”

She shot you a pleased glance and gestured around the room. “It's also completely soundproof, so the neighbours can't complain about noise from your games – or DIY projects.”

There was an edge to her voice that you didn’t appreciate. She didn’t try to hide the darting glance at Henry’s muscular arms. Giving his hand a squeeze, you pressed into him a little further, speaking emphatically.

“You’ve really thrown it with this room. I think my husband and I just need an extra minute to get a proper look at things, if that’s okay?” Your reply was laced with sweetness, but it was satisfying to watch her stand down.

“Absolutely. Take all the time you need. I’ll be waiting upstairs.”

When you could no longer hear her, again you paced the room.

Henry stood with his hands in his pockets, surveying the space. “This would definitely make a good Man Cave.”

You scoffed in amusement. “I thought you’d say that. And you could play all your games without headphones in here, screaming and swearing to your heart’s content.”

Then, Henry smirked. “I could make you scream in here too.”

There it was, that sly glint in his eye that you couldn’t resist.

Your lips quirked up. “Interesting…certainly a lot to think about.”

“Why waste time thinking about it?” He lowered his head slightly, eyes locked with yours, unblinking. “Come here.”

“I don’t think-“ In spite of your protestation, your heartbeat quickened.

His posture changed then, his stance broadening. He wasn’t asking.

“Come here.” He repeated, his voice firm and deep.

You thought then of the disgust – or something like it – you had felt earlier, adding up all the times you’d noticed the real estate agent subtly but shamelessly attempt to flirt with him. He must have felt it too. The fire in his eyes made your breath catch in your throat. This wasn’t spontaneous, this was a lustful act of ownership.

The gap closed between you with the deliberate slowness of a sensual dance. In one swift move, he had you pinned against the wall, his strong hands gripping your hips, pulling you tightly into his growing hardness as he covered your neck with feather-light kisses.

“Henry, I really don’t think we should-“

He hushed you with a searing kiss. It was so easy for him to make you surrender. He was too strong. Your shoulders dropped as you relaxed into him like a ragdoll – his doll to do with as he pleased – eyelashes fluttering, mouth agape as his long fingers brushed along your skirt.

“Fuck.” The word barely escaped your lips as you felt him reach beneath the flowing chiffon, fingertips grazing your thighs. Your eyes closed, head falling back against the cool wall as he teased you over the fabric of your panties. Then –

“No.” He tilted your chin down. “Look at me.”

You didn’t even register the removal of the thin fabric.

His thick fingers plunged into your wetness. One. Two. Caressing your walls in a come-hither motion. You averted his gaze again, your mind blank with pleasure.

“Look at me.” He commanded.

He let out a husky laugh as he watched your breathing grow increasingly ragged at his touch, eliciting gentle moans that became louder and more desperate as he stroked your walls faster.

“Oh God.” Your hips bucked, needing more.

“You’re so wet for me.”

You hummed breathlessly. Every inch of you tingled, the flutter of your impending climax so close to its crescendo as he thrust harder, deeper into you, hitting that sweet spot only he could. Over and over. Relentlessly.

“Fuck, Henry, I’m so close.” You panted, grasping his shoulder. “I’m-“

He paused, slowly, torturously sliding his fingers out with a devilish grin.

“Don’t stop.” You whined. “Please, Henry.”

“I love it when you beg me.” He lilted, teasing your folds again. “Tell me again.”

“Don’t stop.” You were stuttering now, legs shaking as he plunged back into you. “I’m going to come.”

“Tell me again.” He was torturing you. He knew exactly how to tease you to the point of delicious frustration.

“I’m going to come. Please let me-“ you stammered – “I’m-“

He stopped and stood back, scanning you as you trembled against the wall. “We should go back upstairs. Wait until we get home.”

@harrysthiccthighss @foodieforthoughts @cavillsbestgal @myloveforhenrycavill @cherry-gemz @blowing-mikey @captainsy-cookiemonster @pussyverson @sillyrabbit81 @viking-raider @demivampirew @zealoushound @keanureevesisbae @honeyloverogers @littlewrenofrivia @beck07990 @christhickevans @luna-aestas @luclittlepond @kebabgirl67 @angreav @omgkatinka @greensleeves888 @cavillsthighs @littlebirdofrivia @angelcavill66 @darklydeliciousdesires @henrys-little-princess @herefortherealdeal @cavills-little-princess @mis-lil-red @nuggsmum @thwick @marytudorbrandon @uncensored-steve-the-platypus @nerdyoldsoul @charmed-asylum @starstruckkittyangel @thereisa8ella​ @miss-rebel-without-applause @abschaffer2 @scorpiobitch95 @marantha @burberrybaby @notabronte @unauthorizedhenry @winter2112rose @dream-ell @oh-for-fic-sake @dontmindmejustprocrastinating @spazzymamahenrylover

[mistresslynndramione]

Recap of what I’ve read lately!

I’m long overdue for one of these, so I went back to the WAYR thread on reddit to see what I posted about. I still said I’d do a massive rec of underrated authors and their stories - I’ll pull that together too, but let me just get this out here first because it’s less work.

The Fluffy Gore Fest - I put this fest together with Jana and @lilithshadefanfic. The prompts range from violent and gory to fluffy and romantic. The challenge of the authors was to incorporate both elements into their stories, or to make a twist on the prompt they chose. The results of this fest were fantastic. Genre mashups, unique premises, really cool artwork, hilarious situations, and the best tag I have ever seen in fandom: non-con pseudo cannibalism. I highly recommend trawling through the submissions, there are 26 of varying lengths, genres, and levels of gore. Super fun! But mind the tags. ;)

Seven Minutes in Hell by echoesofmyfootsteps (4.6K, M)

Summary: Hogwarts has inaugurated a fully integrated 8th year class, regardless of previous house or Death Eater status. On the surface, it appears like a bold experiment in harmony. In practice, they’re still just young adults doing young adult things.“ Seven Minutes in Heaven, the Muggles call it. But heaven isn’t my thing.” Pansy paused dramatically and popped her hip. “We’re playing Seven Minutes in Hell—a chance for you to have a real, no-holds-barred, honest-albeit-forced conversation with your greatest enemy in eighth year.” The room went silent.

My thoughts: It's exactly what you want it to be. Funny, snarky, good characterizations of the side characters playing off each other and the mains, and delicious angry making out.The sequel:

Seven Minutes in Hell(ishly Frigid Water)- 3.2K, E.

Summary: That was it. They were going to have to amputate his cock. Farewell, future family of little Malfoys. Adieu, dreams of Eiffel Tower sex. Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger have been dating for a month since their escapades in the broom cupboard, and much to his chagrin, they haven’t yet experienced anything as steamy as that night. So when she casually mentions never having gone skinny dipping, he jumps at the opportunity. If only reality didn’t have the irritating tendency to crush every fantasy. A totally indulgent sexy Dramione skinny-dipping oneshot, happening after the events of “Seven Minutes in Hell.”

My thoughts: Draco's snarky, drama queen-esque POV for this smutty skinny dipping one shot is hilarious.

Granny Smiths by ChaosAndCrumpets (4K, rated T)

Summary: The worst thing, Draco Malfoy thinks, about being the fallen scion of an ancient and noble house banished to the Muggle world for his various misdeeds, is undoubtedly the grocery shopping. At least it helps him to discover an unexpected talent.

My thoughts: This was the most delightful thing I've ever read, with one of the best OCs ever. Meet Edith: an extremely devious, ever-so-naughty geriatric. Did you need to read about snarky, grumpy-ass, tattooed Draco reluctantly helping elderly ladies with their grocery shopping? I'm telling you right now that you absolutely do.

Draco Malfoy's Halfway House for Wayward Hens by Chaos and Crumpets (10K, rated T)

Summary: A story about Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger and 562 ex-battery hens. This is a bit of silliness, inspired by an article I read years ago about a man who felt that rescuing ex-battery hens had saved his life. Sometimes, I like to read it when I've had a few glasses of wine, to remember how nice the world can be.

My thoughts: Draco is accused of illegally raising fire-breathing cockatrice's by his neighbor. Hermione is assigned to investigate. Turns out they're actually chickens. With hilarious names. I really enjoyed the unique premise of this story. I loved the banter, the tentative feeling each other out, the confrontation and resolution. It was all well done, none of it was contrived, none of it cliched. And the kiss at the end was a heck of a kiss. Like everything I've read from CeeCee thus far, it's silly and delightful (I haven't yet read her war fic, it's on my TBR), but this story has a lot of heart to go with it. Also? I'm convinced she needs to write an epistolary fic (please help me enable her in the comments) given the snarky jabs going back and forth by owl in the beginning of the story. Read it when you want to laugh and smile and feel like hugging everyone.

Epilimnion by witchsoup (8K, rated M)

Summary: The tournament was supposed to be safe. Dumbledore was a personal friend of the chieftain, spoke Mermish, commanded the waters of the Black Lake and the movements of the Giant Squid. There was nothing to be afraid of, until the others (the Delacour girl, the Ravenclaw chaser, fucking Weasley) surfaced at the end of the hour. And Granger did not. 

My thoughts: Oh my gosh this was fantastic. It was written for the monsterfucking fest and I'm fairly certain the writer wanted to subvert the entirety of the monsterfucking trope by making it as unsexy as possible. Definitely a ballsy move in a fest dedicated to sexy monsters, and she's got all my respect for doing it. DON'T LET THAT SCARE YOU AWAY THIS WAS SO GOOD. The writing was some of the best I've ever seen in a fic. If not the absolute best. It was gross and brutal, and some of the best body horror you'll ever read. The world building that was crammed into this super short Voldemort wins AU, was phenomenal. The head nods and the parallels to what could have been were expertly done. Highly highly recommend this one (Bek has been raving about it for a long time, I'm slow to catch on). I don't want to say anything else. I'm probably going to go binge the rest of her stuff. She's that good.

Pegged by MisDemeanor1331 (6K, rated E)Summary: They have been planning for months. Their research is complete, the necessary supplies purchased, and the scene’s negotiations finalised. So why does Draco still feel woefully unprepared for the pegging he’s about to receive from his beloved Domme, the Professor? 

My thoughts: MisD is now a proud, card carrying member of The Pegging Agenda. It's the latest installment of her Yes, Professor series, in which Hermione and Draco are both switches, but all entries thus far have been with a Dom!Hermione/Sub!Draco dynamic. It looks like she may switch it up for the next story. As with all her smut, she does a bang up job in relating it to the characters, their state of mind, their growth and their future. Trusting each other is a big theme in her series, but for Draco, trusting himself is even more important.

Time and Tide (M), 30K. from MisDemeanor, this was also discussed in the book club. I'm a big fan, I think she's one of the better writers in fandom, consistently putting out unique, high quality, thought provoking pieces that say more in 30K than other writers manage in 300K, (yours truly included). She's just not as well known because she unabashedly writes horror, MCD, G,T-rated and short stories, which don't get the attention that long behemoth smut fests do. I'm notorious for skimming bits of stories (or entire chapters) in fanfiction, and yet I've never skimmed a sentence she's written. Ever.

Summary: While ferrying a message for the Order of the Phoenix, Hermione Granger is caught by jaded Death Eater, Draco Malfoy. Unlikely and unwilling allies, the pair begin a cross-country journey where their survival depends on learning when to stand strong against the elements’ fury, and when it’s acceptable to erode.

My thoughts: Where to begin? I love war fics, and this one is realistic, makes sense, and is strategic and gritty. So the story itself already ticks my boxes. Hermione as a selkie is already several trope subversions because she's the creature, not Draco, it's a creature that isn't inherently sexy, there's no mate bond, and I've never heard of it before. lol (yes, I did google it)The story reads like a fable where the choice of Selkie really adds to that feeling, starting off by contrasting Hermione's lonely life in her role for the Order - always on the move - with a quiet fishing village where she would like to lay down and rest quietly, but doesn't know if/when that will ever happen. She can't think past her role in the war. The interactions with Draco are efficient and emotionally loaded. He's similarly changed from years at war, but on a different side, unwillingly. There's a lot of trauma experienced by the two in a short time, and they lean on each other, with no pretense, baring it all. The action scenes come out of nowhere (in a good way) and are unrelenting in how brutal they can be. Much like MisD's other stories, I can visualize the scenes in this story so vividly, and they'll stay with me a long time. The fishing village, Hermione baring it all in front of Draco - with no shame - before undergoing her Selkie transformation and diving into the water to get more information, Draco's ancestors literally crying out to him as he rejects his past and runs away towards something new (brilliant, this scene was brilliant), Hermione discovering murdered Order members at a safe house, and some other scenes that I wont' mention because they spoil the plot. The story itself deals with freedom and waning idealism, being worn down by time and life experiences (hence the name and the theme), living life on your own terms, compromising, rejecting one form of freedom for a different kind of happiness. This story has two endings, and if you've read it before, you probably haven't read the alternate ending because it was just published. I don't want to spoil it, but there is a trigger warning on that last chapter. Even though I enjoyed the original ending, I personally, think the alternate ending works better because the story comes full circle and continues with the fable-like feel of Hermione's identify as a Selkie.

Where Is Thy Sting? by Anne Ammons 6K, T, 

Summary: Hermione has a terminal illness, Draco is Death, personified.

My thoughts: This one shot came out of nowhere. It's MCD and HEA. So chew on that. lol Super interesting premise, I adored this story. She had me crying - of course, dealing with death - but it's also a sweet ending. The one shot deals with parental anguish, loneliness, assigned roles and what they mean, detachment from others, inevitability. It had Neil Gaiman vibes, was very romantic and slightly surreal. I loved it, one of those one shots that will stay with me for a long time.

WIPs I'm enjoying:

Sweet Disarray by Pia_Bartolini

Summary: Grief stricken after the trauma of war and failure to return her parent's memories, Hermione Granger immersed herself in a dizzying swirl of distractions. No regrets, no thinking, no pain of loss.Fate had a rather twisted sense of humor.Now she must fight a system of opaque rules and archaic prejudice while surviving NEWTS, impending motherhood, and the weight of her own grief. If only Draco Malfoy didn't keep hovering with biscuits and damnably confusing legal contracts.My thoughts so far: I've called this the unplanned pregnancy fic for those of us that don't like the unplanned pregnancy trope. This story is very personal to Pia and it shows, and that's probably why I enjoy this take on the trope - because it's not a cliche. It's based on some of the struggles and prejudice that she faced as a young mother. Aside from some of the plot twists and surprises that she's got, what I'm enjoying in particular is how she's portraying all the post-war teens in their eighth year. Some are angry, some are resentful, some are taking out their issues at the wrong places, they're all struggling for different reasons, but no one is really bad or evil. Except the people at St. Mungos. My rage knows no bounds.

The To-Do List by emilyinwonderland

Summary: Is that what frustrated her the most? That all of her other peers seemed to be in the know of something big and not-very-secret. All of them had that knowledge. For once, Hermione Granger did not have the correct answer. Hermione capped her quill, laying everything down to peer at the social experiment that would take up the next few months of her time. The parchment read: The To-Do List

Snogging

Breast fondling

Dry Humping

Fingering

Handjob

Blowjob

Receive Oral Sex

Intercourse

My thoughts so far: Kris is really coming into her own as a writer. She excels at this whole 'awkward teenage exploratory sex' thing and I shrieked at the last chapter I read, I kid you not. Looks like I'm reading mostly teen-focused stuff right now with what the rest of my post looks like lol. But while this very much has the feel of a teen movie, (there's a fun truth or dare game) it's got an awful lot of heart. Honest, sincere moments between the characters, which really elevate the story over something that could easily be cliched and tropey. Also, the hand job scene with Draco was hot and a huge cliff hanger. I'm so nervous about the blow job chapter, which I haven't gotten to yet...

Lapsarian by hellvwng

Summary: Two enemies strike a deal to turn the tide of a war and save what they each value most. The temptation of salvation draws Hermione Granger deeper and deeper into damnation, her own fall from grace, at a heavy price.

My thoughts: A Manacled AU, she's setting the stage in the beginning chapters, readers that enjoyed the Manacled 'verse will appreciate the point in time where she picks up. And although the setting is familiar, she has her own unique take on the characters, their motivations, and how they interact with others. Looking forward to reading more as the plot picks up!

[babbushka]

Because it’s last call, may I please request some more summer fun with Exhibitionist!Flip? Picnics, BBQs, camping trips, road trips, anything you think would be fun to try to get away with some public sexy times! Thank you :)

A/N: Thank you so much for requesting! I hope you enjoy this smutty ficlet!

1.7k, NSFW (Rough sex, gagging, outdoor sex, PIV, semi-public exposure, exhibitionism, spit-as-lube, name-calling)

You’ve been winding him up all fucking day, and you know it. From the moment he had told you about the CSPD boys going out to the shooting range for a day of target practice, you decided you were going to have a little fun of your own. The range had a nice outdoors section, complete with picnic tables that were currently piled high with all sorts of coolers and tupperware containers filled with food, and that just so happens to be where you’re sitting while you watch your husband and his friends fire blanks at long-distance bullseyes.

And if, you just so happen to be wearing a low-cut halter top and the shortest cutoff shorts you owned, well, that was surely just a coincidence. Definitely not a plan to punish your husband for bringing you all the way out here when you could have instead done literally anything else on this fine Friday afternoon.

“Hey ketsl?” Suddenly, the gruff sound of your husband’s voice is heading straight for you, something of a scowl set into his features when he reaches for your hand and growls, “I need to talk to you about something for a minute.”

“Sure thing honey, one sec,” You make a show of gulping down a bottle of water, wanting of course to stay hydrated in the summer heat, the crisp cool water spilling over your mouth and dripping down your neck, absorbing into the fabric of your halter top. You grin when Flip’s hand tugs at your own and pulls you away from the picnic table, playfully asking, “Oh, are we going somewhere?”

“Yeah, somewhere private.” He mutters, and you know exactly what you’re in for.

He brings you around back of one of the pavilions, away from where Ron, Jimmy, Trapp, Bridges and the rest of the guys are laughing and jeering at one another, away from where Patrice and the rest of the women are joking and making fun of their stupid men. It’s just the two of you, tucked away behind the pavilion, a special kind that has one of the sides closed off by a wall.

“You’re a fuckin’ menace, you know that?” Once he’s sure he’s got you out of sight, Flip’s mouth crushes against yours, his hands a tight grip on your cheeks, pressing your back against the wall.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” You gasp, your own hands fisting in the fabric of his shirt, one of your legs already trying to hook around his waist, heat pulsing in your stomach, desire coursing through your veins.

“Walking around looking like this, you’re going to make me shoot myself in the fuckin’ foot.” Flip snaps with a scowl, bringing one of your hands down to his crotch, “Feel how hard I am, all your fuckin’ fault.”

The hard thick line of his cock juts out underneath the fabric of his blue jeans, and you lick your lips immediately, giving it a squeeze and rubbing your palm over it, working him up even further as sweat drips down his nose, grinning around a whisper, “What are you gonna do about it?”

He glares at you for a minute, and then peeks around the pavilion wall to make sure no one is coming, and licks across his teeth, sucking a sharp little noise.

“Turn around and spread your fuckin’ legs.” He orders, his voice deep and commanding.

“Here?” You raise an eyebrow, figuring he would take you somewhere inside, like the bathrooms, or the vending machine room, or something that wasn’t just out in the fucking open like this.

“You want to walk around like a whore? You get fucked like a whore, come on.” Shaking his head, he manhandles you against the wall, and you let him do it happily.

“They’ll hear us.” Bracing your hands against the wall, Flip presses the weight of his body against your back, his hands wrapping around to the button on your shorts and ripping it open.

“Not if you stay quiet they won’t.” He growls in your ear, yanking the zipper down and pushing the shorts far enough down your thighs that he can get handfuls of your bare ass -- of course you aren’t wearing panties, just another thing to make him groan.

Flip takes a few seconds to push his fingers in and out of your cunt, gauging how much prep you need. He knows he’s big, and you know he knows it, glad that he at least gives you these few seconds to relax enough to take him in a position like this.

“Fuck, you’re soaked, getting wet from watching me and my big gun, is that it?” Flip whistles low right in your ear, his mouth breathing hot puffs of air against your neck, as he listens to the squelch from your pussy as his fingers crook and thrust inside of it.

“N-no, just thinkin’ about you and your big cock, give it to me Flip, fuck me hard.” You sigh out dreamily, happy that you’re finally getting what you wanted, finally going to be stuffed full.

Ever the faithful husband, Flip does exactly what you ask, he’s all too eager to whip out his dick and push the head of his cock right up against your cunt, thrusting in from behind. You’re wet, but even still he spits down right onto his own dick, watches as he pushes that spit into your pussy, watches as it disappears when he thrusts slowly, grinding his hips against your ass as you both moan.

“Shit,” He hisses slowly, placing his mouth right back against your throat, suckling and grazing his teeth against that spot where your shoulder and neck meets, knowing that the straps of your halter will cover any hickeys or bruises he leaves there, “I love this tight cunt, fucked you this morning and it’s still grabbing me like a vice, bend a little more for me baby -- there we go.”

“Oh!” Your eyes flutter shut and your ass presses back against him, wanting him deeper, wanting him to fill you completely.

“Shh, shh you gotta stay quiet, remember? Don’t make me gag that pretty mouth of yours.” Flip grabs a hold of your waist and keeps you still, fucks into you hard and rough, the sound of flesh smacking against sweaty flesh ringing through the air.

Thankfully, the noise of the gun range drowns it out, but Flip still can’t help but tsk the roof of his mouth when you start your moaning and begging.

“Flip, oh fuck, faster, you can go faster -- please!” Your hands grasp for purchase against the wall even though there is none, your sweaty palms slipping, eyes clenched shut as you try and spread your legs farther, thighs trapped by the jeans.

You’re too loud, and Flip had warned you about being loud, so when his hand clamps down around your mouth, it’s not a surprise. He gags you with his palm, making sure to leave enough room underneath your nose that you can breathe, albeit harsh breaths now that you can’t rely on panting. He doesn’t once break his pace, thrusting inside your tight cunt, your whimpers and moans muffled.

“Is this what you wanted? To be filled up with my come all fuckin’ day? You know they’re just around the corner, anyone could come over at any time and see you taking my dick like this. I’d have to kill them, and it’d be all your fault, too fuckin’ pretty for your own good, pretty pussy.” Flip grunts as he feels that coil of pleasure winding tighter and tighter in his groin.

“Touch me? Please?” Your words are muffled but he knows what you’re asking for, as hot tears of pleasure sting at your eyes, spilling over your cheeks and wetting his hand, much like the drool that’s slicked up his palm.

“Say it again.” He demands, loving the way your body is shaking just for him, getting plowed underneath him for the second time that day, and sure as shit not the last, “You want me to make you come on my big fucking cock?”

“Please!” You shudder, so close, your pussy clenching, clit throbbing, aching, desperate to come. He could have been fucking you for hours and hours and you wouldn’t have known, too wrapped up in the pleasure of the way he nudges against your gspot, your knees pinching in, body wound tight -- until it hits, and you’re practically unable to hold yourself up, stars dancing across your vision.

“Attagirl, deep breaths.” Flip moans, releasing his grip on your mouth so you can suck down air, his own orgasm on the verge of washing over him.

“You’re so big.” You whine, and that makes Flip chuckle, because even though it sounds like a complaint, you both know it isn’t.

“I know baby, you take me so well, I’m almost there, almost -- ” He goes back to kissing your throat, licking up the sweat there, before he thrusts once, twice, three more times into your pussy and blows his load, right there behind the pavilion.

The two of you take a minute to steady yourselves, not yet separating from one another, Flip’s cock throbbing inside your pulsing cunt for a few more minutes, before you’ve got a case of the post-orgasm giggles, and are looking over your shoulder at him with a blissed out, starry-eyed smile.

“You’re not really mad, are you?” You ask, and Flip can only smirk and shake his head, trying to blink through the haze of his own pleasure.

“Course not honey-bunny,” Flip kisses your cheek, before the two of you wince as he pulls out. Your cunt is a fucking mess of come and slick, and you don’t even have any underwear to soak it up, so he steps aside and helps you with your shorts, suggesting, “Why don’t you go clean yourself up in the bathroom, and I’ll make you a sandwich?”

You huff out a laugh at that, because only Flip could think about eating something after getting his pent up sexual tension out, but when your own stomach growls, you have to avoid the smug look he gives you.

Flip tucks himself back into his jeans and walks back to the picnic table, where seemingly, no one noticed how long you two were gone. Or at least, if they did, his friends are smart enough to not say anything -- Flip does have a loaded gun, after all.

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Taggin' some Flip lovin' friends! @mochabucky @sacklerscumrag @artsymaddie @bitchydecisions @direnightshade @reyloaddict55 @thembohux @kylorenswhxre @sunflowersinthesnow @babayagakeanu @safarigirlsp @steeevienicks @materialisthicc @hswritingrecs @miabelay11 @han68000 @rosi3ba3z @chapterhappygirl @loverofallthings @groovetoob @bxnnywriting @glassbxttless @angel-bxby3 @smallgirlbigpersonality @lovelyyy-luna @2000andwhat @raddo1975 @cornmousequeen @metsienmenninkainen @caillea @painttheskylineforme @holding-on-to-starwars @caitlin-was-here @canikeepitonplease @icarusinthesea @princessflip

[msfett]

Chapter 6: This Side of Ultraviolet 

Boba Fett x F!Reader

Rating: NSFW Explicit 18+ Only

C/W: Explicit Sexual Content, Rough!Angry!Hate Sex, Breathplay, Angst, Enemies to Lovers

Some Stuff 😊 Alright y'all! Here we go! The smutty, naughty filth starts here (and will likely make appearances in every future chapter, cuz that can of worms just exploded). Always consensual. Let's have some freakin fun! 😁

To a certain extent, I've tried to remain relatively Canon compliant. That being said, I wrote this chapter prior to the release of the last 2 episodes of The Bad Batch. So, whoopsies! It's all fantasy anyway ☺️ For all the wonderful people who have been going down the rabbit hole with me or for any newcomers to this twisty tale, I’m so incredibly glad you’re here! If you prefer AO3 (msfett_ifyourenasty), this series is cross-posted there. If you’re enjoying this fic, I'd love to hear from you, and please feel free to reblog and share 💕

🎶 Musical Motivation/Lyrical Inspiration: Beggin For Thread by BANKS

**********************

The small craft has a poor quality long-range transmitter, the audio garbled on both ends as you input the coordinates for the jump to hyperspace.

“Repeat, affirmative. Put a leash on the Dogs, 315. Over.”

“I don’t agree with this. You are in a dangerous position. That bounty hunter needs to be eliminated. Everything you’ve worked so hard for will be compromised if you ask me to call them off. What gives you the impression you can trust a man like this? Money is all he cares about. His loyalty is bought and sold to the highest bidder. And you, my dear, are a priceless gem in his eyes. Over.”

“Please. Just for the time being. Pull them back. I’m going dark for a while. I’ll explain everything later. If you don’t hear from me within 4 standard weeks, you can…follow protocol. That’s all I can say on this channel. SG-401 out.”

“401, no! Listen to me —“

**********************

The torrential rainstorms on Kamino are commonplace to Boba, white noise as he views the events below from his higher vantage. His sniper rifle is aimed at the dueling pair of blue and red laser swords clashing in the downpour.

The blue sword looks similar to the one the wizard had used battling his father. His father had beaten the brazen man, but somehow the Jedi had lived. Boba would ensure that didn’t happen today.

The rogue clone is fast, more than rivaling his would be master, blindly enraged after Vader struck down the woman Boba had been hired to lure him in with. The young man disarms the Dark Lord, the hilt of the red blade flying into his open hand as he seems to invisibly push the man of metal to the ground.

Troops from the Rebel Alliance sent to rescue the woman announce their entrance with distant blaster fire as Starkiller’s clone advances, crossing the blades into an X. Boba knows he will have only one shot to fulfill the contract with Vader before the clone executes his source of income. The hunter focuses through the scope, tracking the clone’s head until it halts. The clone is poised to strike, ready to defeat Vader as Boba’s finger tightens on the trigger.

“Galen, stop!”

And immediately Boba is training his sight to a voice that kindles lingering embers.

“Don’t! He will win, even in death, if you give in to his hate.”

It’s an impassioned plea lit from an unexpected torch in the midst of his crosshair.

“Think of Juno.” He watches as you gesture to the motionless woman laying on the platform, a victim of Vader’s handiwork. “Think of all she’s worked for. What she would want. The Alliance needs Vader’s knowledge of the Empire’s inner workings. Don’t destroy him as he’s tried to do with you. This is not the vengeance you seek, Galen Marek.”

It’s as if time has stopped for everything except the rain washing away the tempers of heated revenge. Boba has felt this before, a sluice of cool water soothing a burn.

Boba recognizes the rage filling the clone’s face, a desire to succeed where his progenitor failed by killing Vader. But then Starkiller’s face is overcome by something Boba can’t place, and the young man reluctantly heeds.

Boba watches you retreat back into the shadows as Rebels arrive, surrounding and subduing Vader.

But the dark helmet is focused elsewhere as if he can see past the Rebel soldiers.

Boba refocuses the rifle, preparing to execute the target as the clone cradles Eclipse’s apparently dead body. But the woman wakes up, revealing she’s survived Vader’s attempt on her life, kissing the clone embracing her.

Boba steals a glance to the shadows, detecting indistinct movement, and to his own surprise lowers the rifle, staring at the tender moment the clone and woman are sharing.

“Next time, Starkiller. She won’t be there to save you.”

**********************

Though both forgotten by most of the galaxy, Kamino is a stark departure from Tatooine’s blazing desert landscape. Ruled by water, Kamino is a saturated hydrosphere of aquatic terrain. Deep oceans completely cover the planet as the gloom from never ending rainstorms drowns out the light from its single sun.

Tipoca City’s cloning facility had closed years ago after an incident involving the Empire. The facility remained standing, but in a state of disrepair after being deserted. Few windows had been incorporated in the original architecture. Instead, white artificial lighting permeated the sterile hallways.

After the encounter, Fett had found you standing in the shadows, held still with an unnatural daze. You can’t remember the details of him guiding you here to this room. Your mind had been coerced into a darkly sinister direction.

Lightning illuminates the dark sky followed by the steady rumble of thunder. Windows line the outer wall allowing a dim light to cast shadows across the interior of the small, sparse room.

Your mind feels distant. The dark horizon blurs seamlessly with the ocean and you barely register the soft clank of armor. It’s as if you’re submerged in the depths of Kamino’s waters, sound muffled, moisture fully bathing your skin through water-laden clothes, limbs too heavy to move against the drag.

Fett almost startles you when he places a hand on your shoulder.

“Let’s get you out of this.”

A puddle has formed around you, water dripping in a constant plink, but it’s as if you haven’t heard him, your gaze returning to a fixed point.

“Hey.” He’s squeezing your shoulders and you close your eyes releasing a long exhale. Recognizing his words, you begin to unfasten the drenched jacket, rolling your shoulders back for him to help peel it off your arms. The few leftover clothes you’d donned on Tatooine were not meant to withstand water and the thin undershirt clings to your damp frame.

“He was clawing at me. He wanted in.”

“Who?”

“Vader.” The empty eyes had honed in, grappling with your energy. “He knows.”

His voice is less harsh without the modulator. “Why are you here? Why did you stop Starkiller’s clone?”

The filter begins to fail as you speak. “I had to. I had to be the one to stop Galen. I couldn’t let my brother fall back into darkness.”

Fett is silent for a moment comprehending the meaning. “That wasn’t your brother. That was a clone.”

Even before you turn around you picture his set facial features. “You of all people should know that doesn’t matter.” But your words seem to have affected his expression more than you’d imagined.

He’s carefully pulling a saturated glove from each of your hands, and is deliberately slow reaching up to remove your mask, not wanting to reveal your face too quickly, to overstep his boundary.

Few people have ever seen your entire face, felt your hands. These barriers have been essential for your survival, for continued anonymity. Even those that had gotten too close, accidental or otherwise, risked removal of such memories.

He doesn’t know any of these darker capabilities, but you doubt that knowledge would alter his premeditated actions. He’s a bold man with few occupancies for regret. The fact he is seeing your face, touching your bare hands, makes this infinitely intimate.

It feels easier to breathe, to speak your truth as he removes the metalweave. “He’s a person, and a part of my brother lives on in him. Galen saw through Vader’s deceit, and ultimately claimed redemption before he was killed. This clone…my brother, kept his promise to himself and to his partner even when he thought she was dead. In doing so, he found something stronger than hate.”

The weight of your words rests heavily upon him causing a sway in his thoughts. “You believe all of that.”

“I wouldn’t have said it otherwise.”

He’s trying to find support, something dense enough to push his thoughts in a different direction instead of tilting from the uncomfortable truth you present to him. And it’s not just now, but every time he’s asked you to, gladly offering your hand to build something different, something better.

Unobtrusive, yet powerful, your exhale is the soft breeze that topples the dilapidated structure.

In the midst of release, his grip encircles your arms, pulling you against his chest, thrusting your body upward into his. And before you can inhale, his mouth is seizing yours with barely checked ferocity, opening and entering, rolling his tongue against yours as he elicits a low groan.

His hands sweep up through your rain-soaked hair, capturing your delicate head, pulling you deeper into him. You feel his emotions rush over you, raw and blistering, justifying your own intensity. Your hands slide up the back of his neck and into the depths of his rich hair as your body bows backward, curving, fitting against him to melt into the heat he radiates.

One step and he has you pinned against the cold, horizontal bars across the transparisteel window, his body tightly trapping, daring you to escape his hold with one arm outstretched, palm flat to the window as the other hand presses into you lower back pushing your hips forward. And just like every other situation you’ve been in with him, he relentlessly battles you for total control.

But you’re a worthy opponent, and pulling away you savagely yank him back by his hair as if you would put him at a distance, hissing, “You’re so fucking aggravating, Fett.” Your forearm is pressed across his upper chest, sharply digging your nails into his bicep with each word.

He leans his head forward, into the tightness of your grip like he’s enjoying the prick of pain it causes, comfortable with its sensation. His gaze turns primal as you watch the softness recede from his eyes. You hold your breath, brow furrowed, matching his as hunger licks hotly through his blackened irises. Your belly contracts in response as his eyes skim over you, consuming you without so much as a touch.

“No, Jedi.” His raspy address is not the acerbic curse you once heard. “It’s you that’s fucking infuriating.” He jerks your hips impossibly closer to him, like he wants you to feel his anger take shape, his erection hardening against your body.

You are suspended in this moment as war rages in his obsidian eyes, fingers gripping his scalp in a desperate message of conflicting needs, when unexpectedly he begins to closely trail down your body, eyes locked with yours as he slowly descends.

It does something to you, watching him lower before you, a posture of submission except there’s nothing submissive about this man even as he sinks to his knees. He is thoroughly controlling every second of this. And you wonder what degree of perverse insincerity desecrates his deferential action, like worshiping a goddess of peace forced upon a violent throne.

His hands slide up your ankle, fingers tracing the seam of your pants to the thigh strap of your holster, and your hand constricts into a fist at your side. He doesn’t break eye contact. He doesn’t need to see. He knows exactly what he’s doing, slowly unbuckling.

Looking down at him, water drips from your hair to stream across his cheeks and down his angled jaw. And it’s a depraved, wicked movement as the edges of his lips curl up. You want to absolutely rip that mocking caricature of a smile off his fucking face, but all the same it sends a shiver through your body.

“When’s the last time you used this blaster?” A dark sound, if it can even be classified as a chuckle, releases from the back of his throat, eyes steady with yours.

“Careful. Or it’ll be tonight.” The muscles in his jaw clench with your answer. He likes this weapon. He’s familiar with it. He’s exceptionally skilled in operating it. This type of violence is tangible, straightforward, simple cause and effect. He doesn’t want grey; too much room for error, uncertainty.

His hands glide up your other thigh, and you feel his seductive mix of fear and desire in knowing what lies concealed, hilt safely sheathed. “Don’t touch it,” you warn through gritted teeth.

“Too personal?” He mocks the sanctity of the weapon, but you can sense his unease. His ignorance about the functionality scares him, a novel thrill. Unlike the other side, it’s a sharp pinch as he jerks loose the leather strap and your lip twitches in contempt.

He could never understand the sacredness of this weapon. It is your lifeblood, acting as a conduit between you and the Force, serving as a symbol of honor and commitment. He wants to break each part, smear your honor across your face, across his in spiteful derision.

You hold back, breathing through the waves of anger trying to pull you under. He’s stoic under your glare, but stubbornly complies with a snort.

In a smooth, continuous motion he runs a hand up the front of your hip while his other palm dips dangerously low, moving across before gliding up to unclip the holster. He refuses to disengage from your glower as he places your effects on the floor with surprisingly great care.

He’s disarmed you. Your safety has been set aside by him. You’ve allowed it.

You briefly see that same acknowledgment echoed in his eyes before he bows his head, a disingenuous pretense. The significance of his forehead resting against your belly is implicitly tarnished by his enduring scorn. But he is the first to look away, breaking the aggressive stare, the smallest of surrenders.

You remember his whisper. This changes nothing.

And though you recall how those words shook you, he’s the one on his knees, an undeniable vulnerability itself, a yielding of some portion of control, and something has changed with this position of his choosing.

The heat of his breath against your skin sends a shiver through your body as his hands firmly grasp the back of your thighs. His lips ghost over the small space between your shirt and pants, softly pressing until you acutely feel the scrape of teeth across your skin.

Reestablishing your grip against his scalp, you yank him back. He has the hem of your shirt between his teeth, lips pulled back ever so slightly revealing the glint of his bared teeth as he bites down. He locks eyes with you again, the shirt snapping back as he intentionally releases it, teeth clicking, his decision to let go.

Confidently he rises up, sliding his hands up over your ass, flexing his fingers to lock you against him. The tension you’ve been holding is made apparent as you completely release him, knuckles white from intensity, tentatively unfurling your hands on his chest. Though his position has changed, a charged balance is present, an unfamiliar give and take you’ve not felt from him.

His breath rushes so hotly, prickling the shell of your ear. “You should’ve killed me when you had the chance.”

You make sure he can feel the indentations of your nails as they scratch down his chest, body shuddering in response as you grit, “I don’t need those weapons to completely destroy you.”

The sound rumbling from deep within his chest is absolutely feral as you willingly let him crush you against the warmth of his body, bending and not breaking from his intensity. “You made a bad choice coming back here. I took you somewhere safe.”

His mouth comes to hover over yours, ready to devour your words as they spill from your lips. And just when the weight of control seems to tip the scales, a secondary shift of balance occurs, an equalizing push and pull. “I wouldn’t be here if you had just left me alone. This is all on you.” 

You’ve matched his intensity and he proves capable of an uncharacteristic mutual concession, groaning against your lips. It’s a move in your favor, and you decide to break even, gasping into his mouth, fingers clutching the back of his neck, thumbs tracing his hairline. You feel his strong fingers gliding up your shoulder blades to follow back down the curve of your spine, sliding slowly over each contour, heading with purpose toward your waist, your hips.

He sinks his fingers into the swell of your ass, and you pull back slightly to draw a breath, a small sound high in your throat, lips glistening until your teeth find purchase on his lower lip, biting and sucking him into your mouth. He hisses, a small fissure on his lip opening and you can taste the hint of iron mixed with salted rainwater.

You realize this is what he’s tasted like his whole life.

Your hands begin to move over him with sudden liberty pulling his dampened shirt off, feeling the expanse of his muscled chest, fingertips drifting lower over his taut abdomen. He clutches your rounded ass tightly in both hands and you eagerly leap up as he lifts your feet from the floor.

You sling one knee over his hip, the other leg snaking quickly around him so he’s caught in the encouraging vice of your legs. Your torso rises up high in his embrace, your mouths separating as you guide the back of his head, pulling him toward the fullness of your breasts. You gasp when he captures a peaked nipple through your clinging undershirt, sucking it into his mouth and catching it gently between his teeth.

The table he places you on is littered with items still set as if the occupants had left hurriedly in mid-use. He doesn’t bother to clear anything and the cold temperature of the alloy penetrates the fabric of your pants. The sitting position naturally draws your thighs up so your knees bracket his hips as your ankles hook around his legs. The movement causes objects to fall, hitting the floor with varied resonances.

There is a rushed sense of urgency coming from him, from the environment. You glance to see a child’s toy ship become part of the scattered mess below in his haste with you. And now he won’t bring his eyes to your face. The combination of contrasting sensations pour into you, heartbeat quickening, and it feels like the vibration is humming through your entire body.

You can tell he’s acting purely on impulse, every wild twist of his mouth against yours a reflection of the need to rapidly remove thought from his existence. His demanding hands wrap around your hips and drag you forward to the edge of the table where balance seems unlikely. But just as your arms have been clinging around his shoulders, he holds you steady as he pushes himself deeper toward the juncture of your thighs. Your gasp becomes a moan beneath the command of his lips as you feel the hard impression of his erection pressing against the center of your core.

His cock is straining against the barrier of his pants and you make an abandoned sound of pleasure, wriggling toward his frame, slowly rolling your hips. Your hands glide down over his back and onto his firm ass where you can feel the muscles driving towards you. His abdomen flexes against you, the sinew of his thighs jumping tensely to attention, cock twitching in excitement with your engagement.

His course satisfaction is palpable through his groan at your eager response. He’s precariously soliciting a mindless state as he makes savage use of your mouth, kissing you, until breathless, you release little sounds of encouragement for him.

You feel his fingers thrusting hungrily under your damp shirt, burning back up over your hips and belly until he’s caught your breasts in impatient palms. His touch is aching skill, an assured manipulation that molds the supple flesh, rubbing his roughened hands against you. He draws an already peaked nipple between his thumb and forefinger and rolls it into a deft pinch. You gasp, your torso arching forward into him, moaning as he toys with the opposite breast, melting liquid down the center of your body until you are soaked with it. As you sharply inhale, you become aware of his musky scent. It is bitter rain spiced with sweat, heated by the warmth of his skin.

This is how he’s always smelled.

Mouthing along his jawline down his neck, your tongue flicks along the increasing pace of his jugular pulse and over the scarred skin where you deflected the blaster bolt that fateful evening. He recognizes your silent, veiled intimation, the first time you chose to spare his life. He growls a fast, foreign phrase through clenched teeth causing a pulse of heat to seep down your center, wet as it bursts the confines.

Then he’s ripping your shirt up and over your head, flinging it aside carelessly. You lean back on your hands and watch as he focuses on your bare breasts, his gaze completely transfixed, his hand slowly skimming feather light over the top of one, then traveling to the other. This measured exploration is nothing like his desire to dismantle you, nothing like the more aggressive need you can feel radiating from him now, expertly hunting your shadow. He is dangerous and you can feel it as he insinuates himself around your thoughts.

Your walls clench under his thorough visual examination, touch narrowing to a single fingertip that traces the slope of your breast until it is just his nail scraping over your rigid nipple. You jerk sharply, unprepared for the spear of heat the simple touch sends hurtling through you as he squeezes your breast harder. His mouth catches your nipple, drawing it deep into his mouth, suckling languidly as you moan softly. You cup one hand under his jaw as he alternates his attention to the other breast, feeling the grains of sand left behind by your shirt, pleasantly chafing with his tongue.

Looking down, you’re stirred by the fullness of his lips wrapping around your sensitive nipple, by the contrasting color of his flushed lips against your skin highlighted by streaks of lightning outside. You place your palms on the backs of his hands, urging him on, tightening his touch. And fuck. The intoxicating way he looks as he lavishes your body, how the half-mast of the thick lashes lightly tickle against your breast, floods you with moisture pooling hotly at the juncture of your thighs.

He releases you from his mouth, your body responsive in his embrace, and you can feel the need coursing through his body. He pants softly as your hands sweep through his soft, black hair, fingers curving until your nails are running over the sensitive back of his neck, teasing and making him even harder. You scrape your nails down his back, around and up to his chest, simultaneously drawing him deeper into the tender trap of your locked legs.

You’re not expecting the streak of pleasurable pain when his teeth latch onto your nipple and your whimper loudly until the pitched noise extends into elongated moan. His large hand reaches up to hold you still, almost completely encompassing your throat, lightly pressing, as a guttural growl of desire boils out of him to sweep fiercely around you, dark and carnal.

He breaks away to chase a bead of rain that slips down between your breasts, catching it with the tip of his tongue. He drags the velvet tool across your skin until he’s drawing a stiffened nipple into the warmth of his mouth as you release a small cry.

It feels like you’ve already lost the sensible part of your mind, swimming with the heat of arousal as his hands find the snap of your pants. You feel his hand slide around your hip and down over your ass again, but this time he’s touching your skin, having slipped his fingers past the loosened fabric. His depraved thoughts are exquisitely loud, knowing the rain-soaked material is the only physical barrier between him and his ability to fully experience your body. The material slides lower, setting your sensitive skin to screaming.

Your legs go lax as he supports your weight with one hand, pushing the pants from your body effortlessly and then urging your legs back to their embrace around him. His eyes rake over your naked figure. “Fuck.” He exhales loudly, biting his lower lip.

Breath quickening, he discovers you, training his sights on the glistening slit, lips slightly parted from the wide spread of your thighs. His furrowed brow momentarily relaxes as his eyes flick back up to meet yours. “Beautiful.”

There is truth in his words, devoid of his previous mocking tone, and you feel a natural softening in your chest at his revelation. Your entire body is exposed to this man and he’s chosen to stare at your most vulnerable area, your face, your eyes. It’s a challenge to look at him, wondering what he might see there.

As if reciprocating that feeling, he drops his gaze. Your body is easy to admire. He can make an objective assessment of each part, like any other man.

Shifting into a more comfortable frame of mind, he splays his fingers over the trembling muscles of your belly before rotating his hand to cup the mound of your sex. His middle finger brushes over you and you’ve been wound so tightly that this light touch inundates you with sensation, softly sighing as your eyelashes flutter shut.

“You weren’t supposed to be like this,” he gravels, burying his face into the side of your neck, inhaling deeply as if to drag your scent deep into his lungs. His finger is slow, deliberate, sliding just enough to gather slick for the tip so it glides without friction over your sensitive nub.

“You’re complicated.” His accented voice is coarse as his fingers thread through your hair, gripping hard enough to pull your head back. “And confusing.” He opens his mouth on the side of your exposed neck, sliding his hot tongue up its delicate length, dipping it into the hollow behind your earlobe.

“You make me think.” His confession unravels through guilt-burdened lips, unable to look in your eyes. “I don’t want to fucking think,” he mouths into your neck. “I don’t want to feel.”

“Is that why you hate me, Fett?” you murmur, forcing your hips to remain still under his increasing pressure.

His answer is audibly silent, but his is mind is booming decibels, breath blowing hot into your hair, over your skin, the speed chilling the sensitive back of your neck. His heavy panting makes you feel like your own short breaths are deprived of needed oxygen.

“I don’t even know your fucking name.” His fingertips slide into the collection of arousal between your soaking folds, running through until they’re completed coated before slipping one thick finger and then another into your wet, silky flesh. You gasp, a stuttering intake, encouraging his strong fingers to curl tightly as if he can coax your name into his covetous hand. Your arms drape over his shoulders, pulling him closer so that your face can burrow into the side of his neck, mewling as your walls clench tightly around the welcome fullness. He hums in satisfaction at your reaction, at the way he’s pulling these sounds from your tempered composure. And it’s messy as he presses open mouthed kisses along the top of your shoulder.

He feels you shudder, marveling at how tight you feel around his fingers, how your insides quiver with delicious, eager little spasms under his touch. Your hand grips around his taut bicep, muscles flexing as he pumps his fingers slowly into your cunt. You grind up against the calloused pads of his palm, stimulating your clit with every deep curl of his fingers. Allowing this momentary loss of control, you let him fuck you with his thick fingers and it feels so good. And you want to feel him too so you shove your hand down between your bodies, grasping the hard outline of his cock, preparing for the inevitable breakdown of will.

And just like this, he’s making you completely mad with dizzying sensation. He’s leading you up to the edge, and you’re so ready to cum all over his fingers, electricity branching out like lightening from your center…when his fingers suddenly stop.

And this time it is an unmistakable deviant chuckle.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” you pant, and it looks like evil retribution pouring from his dark eyes as he pulls back from your grip enough to rob you of both your orgasm and of the beautiful image your mind was creating of his cock.

Why his cruelness still shocks any part of you is beyond comprehension and your fingers claw into whatever you can find. Then you see what he’s staring at, and your eyes dart between his face and his hand, from looking at his reaction to watching him slowly remove his fingers from your cunt. He’s absolutely soaked in your arousal so as he parts his fingers, strands of glistening slick web between them.

It looks like he’s inventing a new way to sin as he opens his mouth, sliding his fingers in to taste you, wrapping his lips around dirty, criminal fingers. His eyes close, wide nostrils flaring as he takes a deep, purposeful breath, drawing in your scent, solidifying his violation, groaning as he palms his cock over his pants.

His eyes snap open to confront yours, removing his fingers to spread them over his lips. He drags his fingers down, tongue licking between them to consume your residual arousal.

“Tell me.” And you clench at the sight of him spitting into his hand to reach under his waistband, roughly stroking his cock. The flared, engorged head is just visible, shining with the mix of his saliva and your slick.

“You are a hateful creature,” you sneer. This is not justifiably reconcilable, chest heaving, and you fight to keep your lips sealed.

You can feel his urge to take you, to be buried deep inside, rolling off him in torrid waves. “Don’t make me say it again.” Though it sounds like a demand, he’s waiting to hear your answer.

Feeling insolent, you mouth off to him. “Is that all you have for me, bounty hunter?” Your own vicious smile turns up the corners of your lips. “I expected more vigor from the Fett line.”

And your comment has exactly the desired effect, purposely rousing the sleeping beast. He’s growling, flipping you around, roughly pushing you against the metal. The table is cold against your heated cheek, biting at your sensitive nipples as you hear his unfastened pants swoosh to the floor. One hand is pressing hard between your shoulder blades, the other gripping into your hip, holding you in place as he uses his knee to shove your legs apart.

His muscled arm is like a band of durasteel as it crosses your lower abdomen from hip to hip, his other hand grasping through your hair until he has a firm hold near the base of your head. He jerks you back hard against him, your ass snuggling deep into the well of his hips as his thick thighs keep you parted.

Your body is wet from rain and arousal, and becoming more so with every eager rub of his suggestive burrowing against you. Your breath comes out as sharp gasps of pleasure as you feel his head slide along the edges of your slick folds. You feel your body craving, seeking, fuck it begging to be filled as he’s leaning forward over your outstretched body. The clamp of his teeth on your shoulder and the bruising force of his hands only intensify those desires. He’s so conformed to your body, bent over your smaller frame, as if he can absorb your pleasure, your anger, fuck, whatever you’re releasing, through contact.

You can feel the raging of his body, his want to be deep inside, the slick welcome of your anticipation bathing him in invitation. You writhe back against him, demanding him with savage provocation, tilting your pelvis forward as if he needs help accessing your soaked cunt, your body wildly seeking the fulfillment the hardness against you promises so hotly.

Oh and he fucking wants it too as he tries to moderate the bastardized ego of his current control. His breath is ragged. “Maker you’re so confusing.” But it sounds like he’s trying to convince himself more than you.

“Even if,” he’s barely managing to grit out between placing his mouth along the back of your neck, relentlessly teasing his cock over your clit, “I don’t hate you...” All the buildup is making you soak his length before he’s even entered you. “That’s exactly how I want to fuck you.”

You feel your cunt involuntarily clench at the words he’s growling into your neck, brutal in their honesty. His animalistic need to dominate you is overwhelming and you grind against his hard length until he can’t withhold. Returning upright, he grips your hips even harder with bruising intensity, dragging the tip of his head through your wet folds. He slowly enters you allowing you to adjust to the thickness of his cock. And though you haven’t seen the entirety, you can feel the breadth of it breaching you.

“Fuck.” He extends the word as you whine with the intensity of him stretching you, and you know he can feel you contracting around him. His thrusts are small, controlled, but deep, hitting against your cervix.

His hips are firmly pressed against your ass, letting his cock sit and twitch in your warmth, reveling in your little noises and desperate movements, when you realize he’s still taunting you. He’s barely moved except to take your overly sensitive clit between his index and middle finger, pressing and sliding his fingers slowly up and down causing you to buck your hips.

“Fucking move, Fett." It's an angry, breathy whine that sounds so unusual coming from your mouth.

You’re at that precious threshold as his sweat drips from his hair onto the small of your back. And he’s such a control freak that his restraint is torturing him as badly as he’s wanting to punish you by withholding. If there’s ever a next time, you’ll fucking remember this shit.

His groin is sticky with your arousal, and he’s got that good grip on your ass, kneading his fingertips into your cheek, indentations that will leave his mark of well-placed bruises. Beyond frustrated you tilt your hips, rocking forward, making his head press into you, hitting that aching spot in the front as your walls clench around him.

Without warning, his reaction is explosive, cursing and groaning as he pounds into your cunt, squelching with the brutal clash. He reaches for your neck, his thick, powerful fingers grasping and curling around the delicate column.

He feels you swallow, feels you breathe. Such vital, living reflexes. He can feel your pulse, feel it quicken under his fingers. And it makes him feel alive as if his world is tilting just a little off its axis. 

His other hand drives up from your hip to your waist, the dampness from the rain and his sweat coating your skin making it a slick movement. His thrusts are profound and rough, tipping you forward onto your toes. A primal sound erupts from his lips as you squirm eagerly in compliance, your rough breath rasping beneath the press of his index finger on your throat.

His exhales become groans, the transference of anger with each snap of his hips, a punctuated rhythm like his cock can shatter you, cause you to completely break down for him. You can feel him reeling from the unadulterated high as he surges into you, rooting himself deeply in your heat, feeling the impossibly tight wetness of your cunt.

“Oh, fuck…Yes,” you purr as your thighs begin to shake uncontrollably. His groan a reply as he thrusts into you, reveling in the slick sensation of your folds, of affecting you enough to speak. And you can barely tolerate how he’s been able to do this to you, how his heartless, cold-blooded body has made you feverish for satisfaction. 

Then suddenly he pulls out, making you whimper in shock, overwhelmed by a sense of grasping loss as your hips writhe back to his instinctively. But he’s turning you over again, drawing your legs up, fitting them around his hips as he positions you back on the table. His thumbs are fitted into the crease of your thighs, fingers gripping low around your hips as you lean back on your hands.

And you’re so done with him teasing you, about to tell him he can go fuck off if he can’t finish the job he’s started, but he seizes your mouth with great need. His thoughts seem to flow through his lips with the nervous energy of being face-to-face. It’s as if he’s afraid he might see something telling in your eyes, and he can’t, no, won’t be able to turn away.

Breaching deeply into your eager body, he rasps. “Want to see you.” And you can feel his eyes burning back and forth between your gaze and where you’re joined, like he doesn’t want to miss out on visualizing either as he savagely drags your aching cunt over his thick length until he’s deeply seated in you. “You feel so fucking good.”

His brow is furrowed, eyes watching as he fucks into you hard, desiring to devastate, control, and he feels a sense of power. It’s like his cock is capable of conquering you, delivering his revenge by forcing your cunt to weep around him until he fills it with his seed, defeating you; defeating his own Jedi, cum dripping from his conquest, disgracefully marking her thighs.

He can do this if he avoids your gaze, make you an object, one more faceless acquisition.

But when he looks into your eyes, it’s entirely different, as if with each repeating deep thrust he’s letting go of some small thing. Like you’re giving him permission to release unwanted pieces of himself, his anger, his despair, the prideful parts that want to hold on to unfounded reasoning.

His eyes can’t seem to focus long on either, so you allow him to choose; his revenge, his peace, or something in between.

You cautiously slip past his projections and into the superficial areas of his mind. You can feel the build of pleasure climbing hot and tense around him. Rarely do you let yourself enjoy admittance to the mind, but it’s almost like he’s inviting you in, letting you access the lust, hatred, anger, confusion, the conflict of his want for you. It’s all tangled in tiny knots that only time and patience and determination have any hope of undoing.

He moves energetically within your body, and drawn in, he feels you match his rhythm. His hands glide over you, seeking sensitive spots, and focuses on your throbbing clit. His thumb rubs minute, firm circles in response to your walls squeezing his solid cock. You’re gasping with each successive movement he makes inside you, ruthlessly driving into you.

Your hands come up to clutch around his shoulders, pulling your chest against his. He’s tense, coiled, but the gentle way you press your lips against his neck causes him to involuntarily shiver. And as his muscles relax, you finally explode, crying out, cunt fluttering around him in rapid contractions. A screaming burst of energy flashes hot and bright from your center, radiating through limbs in pulsed waves. Your cum drenches his cock and you can feel the wetness spread down your ass making the table even more slippery.

There is a loosening of your limbs, weight falling against him, relaxing as you feel him tear into what’s left as you, yielding shreds of resistance you’re willing to part with. But he wants that piece you’ve been successfully guarding. His press against your hips asks you to lean into a new embrace. He supports your lower back, cradling the base of your head in the other hand, and it’s a only a whisper but has the force of something much greater. “Let me see you.”

And when your eyes drift to his, he’s not sure in his request, but your hand smooths back sweat-soaked strands of hair from his face, thumb removing the sheen from his cheek and his dark eyes lock with yours. His hips are beginning to lose rhythm, panting as his hips pull back, and his final thrust is shuddering, dislodging your gaze. His groan is long and undulating with violent, lurching spasms as his cock pulses with bursts of seed, filling you until drips of genetic material are smeared along your cunt.

Recovering, you almost don’t feel his come down, his give. He’s leaning into the light caress of your hand, mouth turning to kiss your palm; the palm that redirected and peacefully diffused his intended kill shot, that painfully bore shards of glass after the fall from his paralytic dart, that mercifully healed and granted him another chance at life.

And once again your palm is there, and this frightens him. Mind following body, he untangles from you and a different intensity replaces the more basic urges.

“Wait.” He motions for you to be still, and you can’t help but smirk at his muscled ass as he pads across the room.

“Here.” The blanket’s edges are frayed from age and use, but nonetheless soft in way that can only come from time and purpose. “There’s a bed in that room.”

“I’m fine out here.” Out of habit, you thumb back and forth over the worn material.

“I’d prefer you not be in the room with all the weapons.” He glances over to the separate piles accumulated on the floor.

“And I, you.”  This impasse was inevitable.

“Fine, but the bed is small.” He begins to replace items that had fallen during your activities back on the table, rearranging them methodically.

“I thought I saw another bedroom over —“

“No,” he interrupts, stopping you immediately. “We’re …you’re not going in there.”

You nod, not questioning him, and he follows behind you after repositioning the toy ship on the table.

Just like the blanket, the bed has its own imperfections. Made for one person, there are permanent indentations from previous use and you both become similar shapes around each other, shifting toward the center to better fit the impression.

“I’m a light sleeper.” You are cautious.

“So am I.” But he seems more comfortable.

“If you move, I’ll know.” The room feels particularly cold to you.

“Same.” As if for emphasis, his arm wraps around your hip. The warmth from his body is lulling you into that dream-like, in-between space of consciousness.

His breath is soft upon your neck as he murmurs. “You said the clone…your brother found something else stronger than hate.” You’re not sure how long he pauses before seeking an answer. “What?”

The rain has become a soothing background noise, something that belongs.

“Love.”

**********************

@yamaktaria @ocfairygodmother

So…that happened. 🤭 Too much? Not enough? This is just the beginning of this dirty debacle. Thoughts, feedback, concrit are always welcome and appreciated 🥰

Safe. Sane. Consensual.

[utterlyhopeful-fics]

Midnight Magic

A/N: Wrote a smutty part 2 to accompany you lovely folks! 🥰🥰

MASTERLIST

Henry Cavill x Reader

Also, if I keep tagging you and you’re not interested or want to be tagged; please let know!

Word Count: 1855k 

Warnings: MUCH PROMISED FLUFF, dirty talk, implied smut, foreplay, kissing, language, teasing

***********************************************

Y/N wasn’t someone to demand attention but tonight was a different story entirely. Whether it be the holiday magic in the air or the sheer happiness exuding from her beaming smile, they’d never know for sure.  She glazed into the fireplace awaiting the arrival of her midnight kiss to show up. The embers flickered uncontrollably creating a spellbinding illusion of comfort. The cerulean blue hue of her dress was majestically magnificent, custom designed to perfection leaving little to the imagination. Paired with a sexy high slit revealed the majority of her right leg; just enough access.

This New Year’s Eve Henry had the peculiar notion to get dressed up as if they were enjoying the evening out. Y/N almost died of happiness then and there seeing the childish reflection in her husband’s hypnotic orbs. 2020 was one helluva year and though it brought them closer than ever as a couple, Y/N wasn’t blind to the hardships occurring throughout the world.  

His loins stirred excitedly as lust glazed over his features growing semi-hard. The only barrier holding them from going at it like teenagers. He licked his lips in anticipation eager to have his wife all to himself. No lavish parties or parades of people to entertain this year, just the lot of them, alone and horny. He continued admiring her from afar pouring two flutes of champagne for the pair.

“You look positively scrumptious this evening, Mrs. Cavill.”

Henry silently crept from behind sneaking up unsuspectingly slow. Goosebumps riddled her gorgeous skin rippling in masses. His breath ticked the tiny, delicate hair adorning her neck shooting a pleasurable surge to her limbs. Both endlessly love drunk on one another. His sensational touch alone kicked every sense into overdrive, heightened every emotion he emitted. Y/N reached back entangling her fingers with his newly deemed ‘quarantine curls’ she’d loved to tug on. Small bites traced down her neck leaving small marks in his wake of destruction.

“May I add how delectable you are in a tuxedo, Hen? My god, my poor ovaries must be working overtime.”

A salacious smirk broke out on his lips eyeing her lustfully.

“You haven’t the finest clue what I want to do to you right now, my love.”

Her hips grinded back on their on accord knocking the air from his lungs. All his remaining blood rushed to the tip of his cock as his belly stirred in playful chaos. They swayed back and forth to the melody playing in the background both reflecting on their last year together.

Henry lined himself up with the shell of her ear wrapping his bulky arm firmly around her waist drawing her as close as possible.

“I’m truly astounded this is our 12th year celebrating as a couple.”

Y/N smiled thinking back when they first met. The year was 2008, Henry was a newly promoted regular to a Showtime series called The Tudors. Y/N was a brilliant writer, the brains behind the complex operation. Henry considered her the beauty and brains; Y/N hated when he talked down about himself saying she’d never once doubted the man who became a wonderful husband and even better daddy.

One unparticular day he’d spotted her struggling to balance a pretty hefty pile of scripts and tumbled right into him. Luckily, his super-size and strength kicked in just in time catching the eye of the attractive stranger. In that moment, Henry knew there was something about this woman he craved to figure out. He was just the lucky bastard on the reciprocating end.

“And thank god your parents volunteered to take the kiddos for the evening. Some private adult time is just what the doctor ordered. We owe them BIG time.”

Y/N winked leading him to decipher the meaning behind her blanket statements. She stepped from his grasp breaking his hold on her. He whined at the loss causing Y/N to eye him curiously.

Oh, you little tease.

Henry’s frisky nature broke through lighting the atmosphere around them. Due to the ongoing pandemic and what not, Henry and Y/N found themselves in wintry London at their main hub of a home. Henry’s roots were deep-rooted and his plea so passionate as she agreed to move across the world with him. Their lives halted for the better allowing the family to spend more time than usual as a unit. Though initially hectic and overwhelming, they were secretly thankful for these little moments with their four children. It was a time they so dearly valued at their imaginative ages.

“Oh, I bet my pops could sense the sexual tension oozing off you, darling. You smell mouthwatering.”

“Hush! Besides it is completely natural to pursue a sexual relationship with my husband outside of our children. Gotta keep you coming back for more…”

“Oh sweets, you have no earthly idea how bad I want to fuck you every day of my existence. You are absolutely divine and somehow all mine.”

“I can’t take all the credit. Nobody’s ever made me cum the way you managed to figure out. You play me like a damn instrument.”

“With pleasure.”

“Ugh, you’re insatiable.”

“Oh, come on. Your sex drive is just as insane as mine. Admit it!”

Y/N bit the inside of her lip collecting her thoughts. Henry pried and teased her ribs forcing her to his whims.

“Fine, fine, you win! I’m a ravenous feign when it comes to you. You’d think having kids would cool my jets but then I see these gorgeous faces I birthed and it’s like I reset. Poof, just like that.”

“Well you’re a phenomenal Mum and quite the MILF too.”

Henry inhaled her perfumed scent taking a long sip of bubbly; anything to keep him from combusting.

“Let’s toast, love. We must.”

“My my, how time flies when you’re having fun.”

Her manicured fingers reached for the chilled glass looking up at Henry and his three-month-old beard. She rose her glass slightly higher in preparation for his speech. Her eyes gleamed with pride as she admired her husband.

“Thank you for loving me, Henry. Seriously, you changed my life in so many profound ways.”

The sap in him was beginning to show as his eyes watered with unshed tears; “My love, it is I who should be thanking for you the unending shower of love and affection. You are the beautiful mother of our four wonderous kids who are the absolute lights of my life because of you. You’re a woman worthy of many praises than my silly ramblings. Cheers to you and for another adventure of a year!”

She swatted his chest immediately shutting him up; “Don’t say that! I am just as equally lucky to have found someone who gets me for …me. It’s a wonderful feeling to have you by my side even if I did have to kiss a few frogs.”

“No doubt I the best possible selection.”

Y/N played along jesting back; “I wouldn’t go that far, maybe the easiest?”

Gob smacked Henry’s wit was rapid fire; “If memory serves, you were there too. And just as ravenous.”

“I was about to get nailed by an insanely hot British man. Can you blame me?”

“One look from you and I was a bloody puddle. I had to recite rugby players to keep from losing my shit.”

No matter life’s challenges the past years of their lives, their resolution to stay equals and lovers was stronger than ever. A sinful glow overcame Y/N as she stared directly up at him; “Cheers to you fucking me stupid then?”

“As you wish.”

She refused to glance away maintaining his smoldering gaze; her Y/C eyes screamed sex. His pupils dilated just as his heart speed up voraciously. Both subconsciously tilted their heads oppositely neither daring to move first, unwilling to yield. Y/N challenged his masculinity testing him. Many words could be used to describe Y/N but priss wasn’t one of them.  

“Oi, you are a true keeper.”  

Y/N checked the matching wrist watch completing her outfit; “T-minus 15 seconds until 2021 is here.”

Still unbreaking of her gaze, Henry stayed silent taking in the beauty of his wife. He could stare at her for the rest of his god given days and die a spectacularly happy man.

10,9,8

“Oh Hen, another marvelous journey with you. Can’t wait to see what 2021 has in store for us.”

7,6

She stared down at his inviting pout unable to look away nor did she truly want to.

“Maybe thinking about another baby?”

Her eyes bulged from her skull as shock illuminated from her pores.

“You’re joshing me?”

His lack of response was more than confirmation enough.

5,4

“There’s something so ridiculously sexy about you being pregnant. I always knew I wanted kids but with you, oh with you I want to have as many as humanly possible. Our very own football team.”

Confusion stamped her features at his terminology. Sometimes Henry forgot they were from different countries.

“Football as in soccer. You know the game with the checkered ba—”

Y/N cut him off; “Jeez baby, save your mansplaining. I’ve been on this side of the pond long enough to understand your oh so clever references.”

3,2

The pros and cons bounced around in her head, doubt never far behind but the mischievous joy coming off him was tantalizing; “Let’s do it.”

2,1

Cheers rang ecstatically from the television as fireworks commanded their attention but they only had eyes for one another. Henry closed the gap kissing her feverishly. He was forever seared into her brain ruined for all other men. Lost in the moment, Y/N barely had time to set her glass down untrusting of her own balance anymore. Henry followed shortly behind. Now with her newfound freedom, Y/N wrapped her arms around his neck locking him in place. His questioning tone was almost cause for concern before his façade shattered.

“Really? I do so enjoy seeing you round with my babe. So, fucking irresistible.”

Henry’s jacket was long removed strewn over the couch. That left him standing only in his tight button up and trousers. Y/N merely leaned back his direction bringing his attention towards the zipper aligning her spine. Henry chuckled undoing her dress too easily watching the zipper flair apart. He couldn’t resist admiring the flex of her muscles and how striking she was. Tugging the material over the curvy hips, Y/N noticed Henry was far too overdressed.

“Take off your clothes, now.”

“You bossin me round, babe?”

His muscular tush ignited in minimal pain as her hand connected with his ass whipping rather harshly. A small red welt appeared instantly. Henry stood shocked as Y/N’s smug smile decorated her face.

“You really shouldn’t push me. I don’t like my authority questioned.”

Henry’s mood shifted at her use of roleplay knowing he was in for a well and good night. Henry stripped removing his boxer briefs last. Y/N strutted towards her bedside dresser pulling out a pair of metal handcuffs. Dangling them in front of him, she grinned bashfully; “You’re going to sit your ass on that bed and I’m going to tie you up now. Got it?”

~~~~~~~~~

Tags:  @thedeadhearted @giveusbackourbucky @henry-cavill-obsessed  @onlyhenrys @omgkatinka @thereisa8ella @threeminutesoflife @homewreckingwreck @gemini0410 @maan14@bluegalaxyprime @sofiebstar @whyyykitkat @encounterthepast  @readermia @ly-canthropewrites @scorpionchild81 @henrythickcavill @snowbellexx @stephartrave @agniavateira  @cap-barnes​ @henryfanfics101  @mary-ann84 @westcoast-nightowl @poledancingdinos​  @justaboringadult @peakygroupie  @nalathefirefly​ @vikingsbifrost​ @bloodyinspiredfuck​ @moderapoppins​ @cooldiva1234​ @icedcoffeeismythang​ @titty-teetee​ @summersong69​ @kaatelyyynn​ @missursulacalmet​ @michelehansel​ @iloveyouyen​ @shyshu​ @star017​ @raynosaurus-rex @radkesgirl83​ @starrynite7114​  @wheretheriversrunintothesea​ @i-love-scott-mccall​  @darkbooksarwin​ @ellieseymour70​ @designerwriterchic​ @studywithrosie01​ @dangerouslovefanfic​ @lebguardians​ @crazybutconfidentaf​ @hen-cavill​  @cavill-sass​ @oh-for-fic-sake​ @icedbottles​ @buckysgoldenheart​ @brexrif​ @gryffindorwriter​ @laketaj24​ @foxyjwls007​ @lawsofthejungle​ @henrycavillfanpage​ @kaboogie21​ @fangirl199812​ @gothicninibalor​ @qualitynightkoala​ @strictlybuckybarnes​ @toomanyfandomsshreya​@hersilencescreams-blog​ @viking-raider​ @sesamepancakes​  @madbaddic7ed​ @fuckoffbard​ @funfickgirl22​ @inlovewithhisblueeyes​ @wolvesandhoundshowltogether​ @hoeforhenry​ @henrycavills-babe​ @abschaffer2​ @loving-this​ @one-of-those-fanfiction-blogs​ @lovelycavills​

[dc-marvel-crossovers]

These are the fics that have been submitted to our Crossover Fanworks Celebration! If you're interested in making art, fic, playlists, and more inspired by any of these, more information is right over here.

Knaves All Three by @ginbenci: gen, focused on Steve Rogers, Bruce Wayne, Matt Murdock, Foggy Nelson, and Tony Stark. Funny comedy-of-errors identity porn. 7922 words, rated T.

Third Wheel by @kangofu-cb: Jason Todd/Bucky Barnes/Clint Barton. Established Bucky/Clint. Roleplay gone hilariously awry leads to a hot-as-hell threesome. 10,776 words, explicit.

Won’t You Stay Awhile? (I’m Staring At A Ghost) by @daddyswickedqueen: Jason Todd/Steve Rogers. Steve gets picked up (and flustered) in a dive bar; sexy, but also a great look at both characters. 5022 words, explicit.

Snow On The Beach by @bittercape: Jason Todd/Bucky Barnes/Clint Barton. Interconnected vignettes of a developing relationship — some funny, some fluffy, some smutty, and some all of the above. 13,181 words, range from T to explicit.

Spider and Bat Friends by @emmacortana: mostly gen. A series of standalone fics about Peter Parker in Gotham. Mixed bag with something for everybody: some wildly creative crack, some angst, and more. 170,897 words total, mostly rated T.

The Stockings Were Hung by @betrayedbycinnamon: Jason Todd/Bucky Barnes and background /Clint Barton. Christmas lingerie, insecure Jason, and a tender, reassuring Bucky. 3945 words, explicit.

Sunrise On The East Side by @wyxan: Tim Drake/Peter Parker/Michelle Jones, established Peter/MJ. Spilled coffee + endearingly awkward Peter; luckily MJ is a boss and very comfortable doing something about his crush on Tim. 8816 words, explicit.

Finders Keepers by @drgrlfriend: Jason Todd/Bucky Barnes/Clint Barton. Adorable “meet-ugly” courtesy of animal friends. Clint and Jason aren’t used to romance, and Bucky decides to change that. 3081 words, rated T.

What's in the name by @graham-cracker-guillotine: Peter Parker & Bruce Wayne centric. Feel-good fluff and humor. 2142 words, rated G.

blood upon the snow by @carcrash429: One fic is Clint Barton/Bucky Barnes; others are gen, focused mainly on Clint and Dick Grayson, with appearances by Natasha, Roy, and others. Fae Clint fantasy AU with great world-building. 11,900 words, rated T.

can't start a fire without a spark by @mightymightygnomepriest: Frank Castle/Jason Todd. Frank saves a puppy and gets caught in the rain. Soft and sweet and sexy. 3468 words, explicit.

getting better in the worst way by @o-kaythislooksbad: gen, featuring characters from Moon Knight, Doom Patrol, Teen Titans, Hulk, and Venom. Creative canon mashup with characters that don’t get a lot of representation in fic. 80,064 words, rated T.

Hawksnest by TheologyDiscography: Jason Todd/Clint Barton. Post-Under The Red Hood friends-to-lovers with a fun twist on Clint’s story. 3359 words, rated T.

Marshmallow Crime Lords by @noxnthea and @there-must-be-a-lock: Jason Todd/Bucky Barnes/Clint Barton, but the relationship isn’t the focus; lots of BatFamily shenanigans and fluff. 46,440 words, rated T.

If It's A Highway by @there-must-be-a-lock: Jason Todd/Bucky Barnes, Lost Days/post-CA:TWS canon fusion. 77,122 words, explicit.

[watermelonlipstick]

Surprise

Everyone was so nice about my first Dean fic, here’s a Sam one! Again, thanks in advance for any critiques or advice!!

Title: Surprise

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 4904

Summary: Mostly fluffy, a little smut, some angst when the reader realizes she’s late.  

Warnings: One smutty bit--separated by spacing, some light swearing, oblique mention of abortion, pregnancy

gif by study-of-supernatural

           Dean tossed his phone onto the car seat next to him. “That thing in Cleveland sounds like vamps for sure. So we’ll just drop you off at the bunker on the way.”

           You looked quizzically at him in the rearview mirror. “Drop me off? No, I want to come.”

           Dean flicked his eyes up to the mirror to make eye contact. “Well you obviously can’t go hunt vampires right now, so, sorry.” He turned the key in the ignition and threw the Impala in reverse. Before he could back out of the parking lot, Sam stopped him.

           “Dude, what? She’s hunted vampires with us dozens of times.”

           “I’m not taking you to a vampire nest when you’re, you know, parting the red seas,” Dean addressed his response to you in the rearview mirror rather than Sam. “Too dangerous.”

           “Oh my god,” you said under your breath, stunned. “You did not just say that.”

           Sam’s eyebrows had shot up to his hairline, his lips parted while he tried to find something to say. Dean looked over at him in an exaggerated “what?” grimace.

           “Dean, it is so fucking weird for you to know that,” Sam insisted.

           “No it’s not, she was talking about cramps when we were at Jody’s a few months ago, it’s not that hard to keep track of 4 week chunks,” Dean tried to justify.

           “We are not talking about this, Jesus Christ!” you snapped, startling both brothers. They turned in their seats to look back at you. “And Dean, not that it’s any of your fucking business, but I am not on my period.”

           “Wait, yeah you are,” he started, ignoring your glare and the awkward tension building in the car. “We were in Sioux Falls for fourth of July on a Wednesday, then that would mean 4 weeks later was the witch in Nebraska, and two days ago was Wednesday. So that’s another 4 weeks,”

           “Dean!” Sam interrupted, his hands thrown up in frustration. “What the hell?!”

           “Again, and I don’t know how much more I can emphasize this, it’s none of your concern at all, but I’m not on my period and I will be coming to Cleveland,” you responded, leaning back in your seat to indicate that you would not be discussing the matter further. Dean sat for a moment before rolling his eyes and backing up out of the parking lot, seemingly having given in.

           After a few moments, the implications of Dean’s too-keen observation started to sink in. You had been on your period at Jody’s, because you remembered being thankful that you weren’t in a grown-up magical frat house and rather a normal home with some other women for it. Normally you loved living with Sam and Dean, but there was a certain kind of comfort and camaraderie that only other people with periods understood. And his math was right, that would’ve been 8 weeks two days ago. Had you been on your period during the witch hunt in Nebraska? Dammit, you couldn’t remember at all. As you often did when surprised with it during a job, you cursed the fact that you weren’t the kind of person who wrote something down on a calendar about your cycle.

           You shifted in your seat, trying to calculate. Fuck. Why couldn’t you remember if you were on your period in Nebraska? 2 days late wasn’t that big of a deal, but if you were a month late… You watched Sam try to rub some tension out of his neck absentmindedly. Was he wondering the same thing you were?

           This was not the time to be worried about it. You couldn’t figure out anything either way in the car—what were you going to do anyway, count the number of extra tampons you had in your bag?—and relatively soon you’d be in Cleveland. There would be opportunities to talk to Sam alone, to get to a drugstore, to figure this out. You took some deep, deliberate breaths. By your estimation, it would take about 7 hours to get to Cleveland. Curling up in the darkness of the backseat, you dozed fitfully until Dean woke you up to grab some food. Stressed but knowing that the boys would notice if you didn’t eat, you forced down the better part of a buffalo chicken sandwich and gratefully relinquished your fries to Dean. You couldn’t tell if Sam seemed nervous or just tired through dinner and knew better than to ask in front of Dean.

           When you got back in the car, you offered Sam the backseat so he could stretch out and sleep. Singing along to Creedence Clearwater Revival with Dean helped take your mind off of the racing questions until finally the Impala pulled into a motel outside Cleveland. You grabbed a top sheet and pillow off of one bed to put on the couch as you usually did on the road with Sam and Dean, and were asleep by the time you slipped your boots off under the plasticized coffee table.

           The next morning, you carefully slid Dean’s keys out of his jacket as it hung on a chair. Your hope was to be back before either of them woke up, and you knew you were pushing it. Sam and Dean had been asleep for a little under 4 hours, and you knew it would be miraculous if they stayed down for a 5 hour stretch. Gently catching the door behind you, you didn’t hear any movement on the other side and hoped for the best.

           The first drugstore you found was a little mom-and-pop establishment with a very sweet looking woman in her mid 60’s behind the counter. She was eating what looked like a cruller and drinking coffee from a steaming ceramic mug while reading a magazine. You congratulated yourself silently for brushing your hair to look more presentable to her as you pushed three pregnancy tests across the counter. She brushed off her hands on a small white apron tied around her waist and smiled warmly as she rang up the tests.

           “Sweetie, do you want a bag for these?” she asked.

           “No, I, uh,” you stammered, realizing you were more nervous than you had convinced yourself you were on last night’s drive. She softly touched the back of your hand on the pregnancy tests and pointed down a little side hall next to the counter.

           “Bathroom’s on the right,” she offered graciously. You nodded, taking the tests with you as you followed her directions. Unbuckling your jeans, you almost thought “I can’t remember the last time I took my pants off this fast,” chuckling aloud when you realized you absolutely could remember the last time your pants were taken off this fast. God, how stupid could you both have been? If your gut was right, that you had skipped your period in Nebraska, it meant your slipup with Sam at that bar in Montana was the likely culprit. Normally so careful both about making sure Dean wasn’t around to find out as well as protection, you were playing with fire that night. You had been stealing sultry glances at Sam for hours as Dean ripped through shots. Dean had found some bikers to play pool with, and you’d been brushing against Sam for longer than you needed to every time you snuck by the table for another round. The guys were fun and loud, and made the three of you feel at home. Dean was in the middle of being convinced to sing karaoke when you reapplied your lip gloss slowly with Sam’s eyes on you, and Dean was too caught up with the start of both another round of whiskey and a new game when you had told Sam you were headed to the powder room.  

           He had given you about a 2 minute head start before slamming open the door of the bathroom, crashing into you as a long arm cracked the lock into place. Sam, normally sweet and gentle Sam, had reacted to your teasing him all night exactly the way you wanted to, the heat and urgency and need searing through him as he tore at your belt buckle and you at his. He gathered a handful of hair at the base of your neck as he kissed you deeply and nipped at your bottom lip. You groaned as he moved down your neck, his hot breath sending electrifying chills down your spine. Suddenly his other hand was under your thigh, and he pulled you up to sit atop the old porcelain sink. Your jeans held on to your right leg for dear life as you tried to yank free of them, ultimately getting only your left out before Sam’s impatience got the better of him and he left your mouth to drag his tongue, long and languid, across your clit. When you gasped, he pulled firmly on the handful of hair he still had, arching your back into the mirror behind you.

           You hadn’t even thought for a split second of the consequences when you had pulled him into you on that sink. All that had mattered for those fervent salty minutes was the rhythm of Sam pounding you into the bathroom wall, hearing the creak of the sink ache underneath you, feeling the throbbing of yourself around him, the shiver you felt in his arms when you licked at his neck and earlobes. When he finished, sticky and hot on your stomach and inner thigh, you had cleaned up as fast as you could before getting your clothes back on, checking both of yourselves in the mirror for evidence before leaving one at a time to rejoin Dean and your new friends. You remembered the way you had ached so good in the days following, the way Sam blushed the next day when you winked at him over pancakes.

           In a way it felt poetic, to be once again in a strange bathroom. You lined up the tests next to the sink as you washed your hands, begging for time to move more quickly. One by one their results developed in cloudy blue words.

                                                  Pregnant

           Fuck.

           By the grace of God, Sam and Dean appeared to still be asleep by the time you got back to the motel room. You slipped Dean’s keys back into his jacket pocket and took off your boots, lying back down on the couch to pantomime sleep as you tried to figure out your next move. Sam roused first, and you jumped on the opportunity to talk before he got to the shower, startling him as he walked by the couch to get to the bathroom.

           “Sam, can I talk to you?” you whispered.

           He jolted before closing his eyes hard. “Yeah, of course. Sorry, you scared me,” he responded, his voice rough with sleep. “Two seconds, ok?”

           “Yeah sure. I’ll be outside,” you said, shoving your feet into your boots and heading for the small cast iron bench outside the motel room. Sam came out a few minutes later, smelling of toothpaste and looking like he had raked his fingers through the worst of his bedhead tangles. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you had been holding in.

           “What’s going on?” He looked concerned, and you realized you probably weren’t keeping the worry off of your face as well as you would’ve hoped.

           You took another deep breath, trying to keep your voice level as you responded. “So, Dean being a creep yesterday got me nervous, because I think he might be right,” you started. Sam’s earnest eyes encouraged you to keep going. “In that I’m supposed to be on my period right now. And I should’ve been on my period in Nebraska. But I’m not now, and I wasn’t—” Sam finally made the realization you were leading him to, his eyes widening as he held your gaze. “—in Nebraska, so I took a test, really three tests, and I think I’m pregnant,” you finished, the words tumbling out of your mouth like an avalanche furtively mumbled outside the Ohio hotel room. “And I, uh, you’re obviously the only person I’ve been with, so I thought you should know.”

           Your voice cracked on the last words, and you bit your lip to hold back the involuntary tears. Sam took your shoulders in each hand and looked into your eyes. “Hey. Hey, okay, look at me. Everything’s okay.” He pulled you into a firm hug, his ropey muscles around your shoulders and back feeling like an anchor in a storm. You stayed like that for a few minutes, trying to breathe smoothly around the lump in your throat threatening to burst while Sam gripped you tightly. When you shifted your weight, he let go and left a stabilizing hand on your lower back for a moment. You and Sam sat on the bench side by side staring out at the half-full parking lot in the morning dew.

           Sam cleared his throat. “What do you want to do?” he asked softly. You were worried if you looked at him you’d start crying, so you kept your eyes locked on the asphalt.

           “I don’t know, I guess. Hadn’t really thought that far,” you said honestly. “I mean, how many pregnant hunters do you know?” You finally looked over at Sam when he didn’t respond. His brows were knitted together as he looked at his hands in his lap.

           “Not very many, I guess,” he mumbled, barely audible. He straightened his spine and set his jaw. “If that’s what you want to do, I totally get it. I’m here no matter what you decide.”

           “Well, what would you do?”

           “It’s not my call.”

           “Sam, I’m asking because I want to know. What would you decide?”

           “I’d give it a shot,” he said, firmly but quietly. “I think we could do it.”

           You let his answer hang in the air for a moment. “Are you sure?”

           Sam chuckled, looking back down at his hands before meeting your eyes. “Pretty sure.” He smiled, a small and self-conscious smile that made him look more unsure of himself than you’d ever seen him. When you smiled back at him, a tear slipped past your eyelashes. You wiped it away furtively as you began to laugh. Then Sam was laughing with you, his own eyes wet and bright. For the first time since you were in the car yesterday, you didn’t feel like you were racing and clawing to stay afloat. It felt like maybe things would be okay.

           You heard a creak and saw Dean’s head poking out of the motel door. His hair was unkempt and the neck of his t-shirt was stretched out; he’d clearly just woken up. He squinted a puffy eye at you both. “What’re you guys doing out here?”

           You gasped for breath in between your hysterical giggling. “I’m pregnant,” you managed to squeak out.

           Dean’s head kicked back into his neck as he opened his eyes wide. “This feels like a conversation I should have pants on for.”

           “So you’ve got a bun in the oven,” Dean said, pouring syrup over a short stack at a nearby diner. “Is this a moment for congratulations?” He squinted at you, carefully trying to keep his expression neutral.

           “Um, yeah, I think so,” you said shyly. Eggs had seemed like a good idea when the waitress came over, but now the idea of putting them in your mouth was too much. Dean seemed to read your mind, rolling his eyes and forking a pancake onto your plate.

           “Who’s the baby daddy? Should I be calling Springer?” Dean smiled slyly. Sam was notably quiet, looking down at his omelet like it had all the secrets of the Rosetta Stone.

           “Shut up,” you said, grimacing at him. “Between the two of us, I think you know who should be more scared about a random baby coming into the picture.”

            “Fair enough, I yield,” Dean chuckled. “Seriously though, who’s big papa?” Dean took a comically large bite of sausage, and you waited a beat to make sure he wasn’t about to choke.

           “Sam.”

           Dean coughed and sputtered around the bite of sausage, snatching his coffee to help him swallow. He bared his teeth when he realized how hot it was and pounded a closed fist on his chest. “Good one, jackass. Seriously, who is it? Maybe that detective from Sioux Falls who’s always getting you coffee cake when we’re there?” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

           You shot a look over to Sam, who clenched and unclenched his jaw before looking up at Dean. As was often true, they were communicating with their eyes in a way you couldn’t understand. Sam raised his eyebrows slightly, and Dean closed his eyes very deliberately before putting his fork down and steepling his fingers on the table. “You guys have got to be fucking kidding me,” he muttered under his breath. He opened his eyes after a long moment and sucked on his teeth. “Start talking,” he growled.

           “We’ve been, you know, uh, spending a lot of time together—” Sam started before Dean waved a dismissive hand in the air.

           “How long?” Dean asked, still steely.

           Sam gulped hard and pursed his lips. “Like 7, 8 months?” He looked to you for confirmation and you nodded slightly.  

           Dean’s nostrils flared and he bit his bottom lip. “Eight goddamn months, Sam? Are you kidding me?” You tried to meet Sam’s eyes but he was avoiding Dean by looking out the diner window. “Sam!” Dean barked. You watched an older woman a few tables away look over at your table and threw a weak wave her way to apologize for the noise.

           Sam finally turned to look at Dean. “Dean, I don’t know what you want me to say. Yes, eight months. I’m sorry we didn’t tell you, it just didn’t seem like the right time and then a lot of time had passed, and—”

           “—it didn’t change anything so there wasn’t really any point to talking about it,” you finished. Sam gave you a tight smile to indicate his thanks.

           Dean looked from you to Sam and back before picking his fork back up and stabbing another piece of sausage a little harder than necessary. The fork scraped against the plate unpleasantly. He raised it to his mouth before reconsidering, letting it clatter to the plate. “Sam, I asked you like five times if there was something going on and you said no every single time. What the hell, man?”

           You leaned back in the booth and watched as Sam chewed his lip nervously. On some level, you were glad it seemed like Dean wasn’t as mad at you as Sam, but you felt guilty both for not having told Dean and that Sam was incurring his wrath alone. Sam let his head loll back on his neck.

           “Well?” Dean repeated. You could sense now the note of sadness in his voice peeking out between the waves of anger. Sam still didn’t meet Dean’s eyes.

           “I, uh, I don’t know,” he finally answered softly.

           After a long stare, Dean finally went back to eating. You and Sam followed, and the three of you ate silently for a few minutes.

           “You’re keeping it, then?” Dean asked, his voice low and raspy as he kept eating.

           You finished your bite and took a sip of orange juice before answering, hoping this meant Dean had processed some of his anger. “I think so. I just found out this morning so it’s all happening kind of fast. Sam said he wants to try.” A smile crept onto your face involuntarily as you looked over at him.

           “You cannot just try with a fucking kid, did you two get dropped on your heads? You’re going to what, put a play pen in the dungeon of the bunker we live in? Do you hear yourselves?”

           You winced. “Dean, I don’t know, okay? You’re right. I don’t know. I don’t think Sam does either. I’m just trying really hard not to freak the fuck out right now, and I gotta be honest: you’re not helping.” You reached out to squeeze his hand. Dean allowed it but didn’t squeeze back. “Please. I don’t know what to do.”

           Dean’s face fell and he rubbed a quick circle in the back of your hand before pulling away to stroke his face. He looked so tired suddenly. “Are you guys leaving now then?”

           Your eyebrows and Sam’s communicated your confusion. “No one’s leaving. There’s still a job here, regardless of whatever soap opera bullshit we have going on,” you said.

           “Get real, like either of us is going to be able to focus on a hunt if we know you’re cracking necks pregnant.” Dean scoffed.

           “Okay, then she can stay in the motel and we can talk about this more back at the bunker,” Sam offered, ever the peacemaker. You glared at him but he specifically avoided meeting your gaze, knowing you’d be frustrated at this plan.

           “I’m done talking about this right now,” Dean said abruptly, yanking his wallet out of his pocket and throwing far more money on the table than the bill would’ve cost. He started toward the door, leaving you and Sam to run after him or risk being left.

           The car ride was silent and tense. When you got back to the motel, Sam and Dean stayed in the car as you got out alone.

           “We’ll probably only be a couple hours, just to the morgue and back. See you soon?” Sam asked.

           “Not really a ton of places I could go with no car,” you responded.

           “I’m sure you could figure something out,” Sam chuckled. You saw Dean’s hand tighten on the steering wheel until his knuckles were white.

           “Dean, is your suit in the trunk or do you want me to grab it?” you asked, trying to offer an olive branch.

           “Trunk,” he said curtly. Sam made an apologetic face and waved as they pulled away.

           With the motel in the rearview mirror, Dean’s fist shot out to dead-arm Sam. “Are you fucking stupid? You’re so fucking stupid!” he grunted in between punches.

           Sam tried his best to block Dean, very aware of the road in front of them. “Dean. DEAN! Stop hitting me, alright? Jesus Christ, I get it!” Dean finally stopped and Sam rubbed his sore arm. “God, Dean, I’m sorry, ok? I should’ve been more careful and I should’ve told you.”

           “God, Sam, what were you thinking?” Dean slammed a palm into the steering wheel. “I mean, this has got to be your last job then,” he said, resolute.

           “What? No! I can still be a hunter if she’s pregnant. Plenty of hunters have kids,” Sam snapped.

           “Yeah, like Dad? Jo’s dad? How’d that work out for them? Wake up, Sam. At best you leave her alone raising a kid with no dad, and at worst they both get killed from some crap you get caught up in. If you go straight, get a day job, some house somewhere, maybe you have a shot at keeping everyone alive.”

           “She’s a hunter too, she knows how hard it’s going to be, okay? We’re going to figure it out,” Sam answered.

           “Yeah, you both keep saying that, don’t you? So start figuring it out then, dumbass. Tell me your groundbreaking plan to keep a target on your ass ganking demons and monsters with a baby Björn on.” He looked at Sam condescendingly. “I’m listening, Sammy. Turn on that genius brain of yours and lay it on me.”

           “Enough.” Sam said firmly. “What do you want me to do then, Dean? I can’t exactly take it back, and it’s not like I could force her to do anything even if I wanted to, so tell me what you think I should do!” Sam’s voice rose, the fear coming to the surface.

           The tension hung in the air like a curtain for a long minute.

           Finally, Dean slammed the steering wheel again. “Son of a bitch,” he said emphatically. “Okay. You’re right. We’ve got to figure out what you’re going to do.” He took a deep breath and pushed it out forcefully.

           Sam’s shoulders relaxed noticeably at Dean’s change in tone. “Thank you,” he said in a low voice.

           “Man, eight months? I must be pretty stupid,” Dean laughed, still somewhat angrily.

           Sam realized Dean was trying to lighten the mood and decided to let him have it, despite his bruised feelings. “There were a few times when I thought for sure you knew, to be honest.”

           “Oh yeah? Like when?”

           “Remember when, ah, you came home early from that Die Hard thing?”

           “Drive in double feature that got rained out, hell yeah. I was pissed.”

           “And when you got back to the bunker the kitchen was a mess and she said she was making like, cupcakes or something?”

           Dean’s eyes widened. “Dude, the kitchen? You’re a dog.” He smiled slyly at Sam, who laughed. The mood in the car was lifting like a low cloud after a bit of afternoon sun, and both of them relaxed into themselves for a few minutes of road.

           Dean cleared his throat. “Do you love her?”

           Sam turned to Dean, locking him in his gaze. “I do, yeah,” he said, softly and earnestly.

           Dean thumped a big hand on Sam’s back. “Then congrats, baby bro. Look at you, all grown up. If I’m being honest, I thought I was going to be the one who finally got the girl.”

           “Wait, Dean, if you have feelings for h—” Sam started.

           “No, nah, not now. It’s been years, she’s like a sister to me. Yesterday I would’ve said she’s like a sister to us,” Dean chuckled. “But she’s obviously a gorgeous girl, tough, smart like that? I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think about it when she first started staying with us.” He squeezed Sam’s shoulder. “She’s going to be a good mom, Sammy.”

           “I think so too.”

           In the motel room, you tried hard to focus on whatever Alaskan logging show was on but failed. Dean was right, this whole situation was overwhelming. The moments of hope you had sitting on that bench with Sam seemed lightyears away.

           A few hours later the boys finally walked through the motel door in their suits. Their expressions were unreadable, and Dean had a paper bag presumably of evidence in his hand that he set down on the small kitchenette table. Sam walked over to a bed, loosening his tie and taking off his jacket as he went. Dean mirrored the motion as he sat down at the table. It was always obvious they were brothers, but these small moments of such strong resemblance tickled you, even despite the circumstances.

           “How’d it go?” you asked, trying to keep your voice light as to not reveal the time you’d spent pacing and panicking while they were gone.

           “Seems pretty open and shut, we’re going to hit them tomorrow morning. Apparently they usually close down the tiki bar and then crash for a few hours before hitting the third shifter joints,” Sam said calmly, patting the bed next to him for you to sit down. You complied.

           “You deserve an apology,” Dean began. You tried to keep the surprise off your face so as not to discourage him from continuing. “I wouldn’t have lied about it for the better part of a damn year, but if you guys are happy and everything, I can hardly judge about a slip up. Mistakes happen.” He let out a deep breath and rubbed his eyes. “So, I’m sorry. And I know normally you’d like a nice peaty Irish whiskey, but I figured under the circumstances this was more appropriate,” Dean reached into the paper bag on the table and pulled out a fluffy white cake with big pink, blue, and yellow frosting roses. In graceful, elegant script along the top, it said, 

                                   “Sorry Sam didn’t pull out!”

           You blushed and laughed out loud, reaching over to lightly slap Dean’s arm. “How much did you have to pay them to put that on it?”

           “Oh, they do the writing for free,” he grinned devilishly. “Want a slice?”

           “Sure,” you said, thinking a piece of cake at 10 am couldn’t be any weirder than this day already was. Dean got up to look through the cabinets for the cheap silverware and Corelle plates that seemed standard issue for motels like this.

           You turned to Sam. “What’re we going to do? I mean, it’s not like we can take a baby with us on the road, no offense, and to be honest I don’t know that I want to stop living this life. And I definitely don’t want to leave Dean, or the bunker, or—” Sam stopped you by lacing his fingers through yours.

           “We’ve figured out way more complicated problems than this. We’re going to make it work. If that means babyproofing the bunker or living in a duplex with Dean or driving around the country in a big RV, then that’s what we’ll do. Believe me, I’m scared as hell too. But there is no one I would rather bring someone into this world with. I love you.”

           “Thanks, Bridget Jones’ Diary,” Dean said, exaggeratedly rolling his eyes while you rubbed the beginnings of tears out of yours. “Sam, how big do you want your piece?”  

-

Thanks again for reading! If you liked it, check out my Masterlist or send me a request!

Tags: @sams-sass​

[ramblingkat]

Fic: Tattoos

A late fic for Day 3 of UraIchi Week 2021. I went with Rebellion, which has turned into no power au Teenage Rebellion. With implied underage smuttiness, though it’s not on screen. 

Characters: Kurosaki Ichigo/Urahara Kisuke, Shihoin Yoruichi

Summary: Isshin was a ridiculously lenient parent. At least to Ichigo. He’d never put many limits on his oldest child, no matter what shit Ichigo got up to. So when he had firmly said no tattoos, most people would have assumed that Ichigo would have agreed, as one of the few requests of his father.

Those people did not know Ichigo very well.

Isshin was a ridiculously lenient parent. At least to Ichigo. He’d never put many limits on his oldest child, no matter what shit Ichigo got up to. So when he had firmly said no tattoos, most people would have assumed that Ichigo would have agreed, as one of the few requests of his father. 

Those people did not know Ichigo very well. 

He went from idly speculating on them, because Renji some crazy ones over his neck and shoulders. And even further down. When Isshin had heard Ichigo talking about it with Karin, he had put his foot down. And Ichigo went from idly speculating to wanting one more than anything he had ever wanted. 

He might be a bit of a shit. 

At first, he had just done some research, checking prices and styles and such. The biggest problem he was running into was that he wanted someone decent who would still give him one. The biggest stumbling block was the first thing Yoruichi-san mentioned when he asked where she got hers. 

“You are underage,” the woman pointed out, even as she admired the tattoo that was exposed on her thigh. The woman did enjoy showing off skin wherever she could, and the tattoo she had curling around her leg was much more in line with what Ichigo was looking for over Renji’s thick black lines. 

“So?” Ichigo looked at her, expression one hundred perfect unimpressed. “It’s not like I don’t have a fake ID. -You- got me that ID so we could go drinking together.” He waved away that concern. “Look. I want one, but I’m trying to be smart about it. Besides, I know you. You know every underhanded, shady place around. I know you know at least one place that will give me a tattoo without giving me who knows what else.”

He stared into her gold eyes, determination evident in his. “And if not, I’ll talk to Renji. I know he got his first ones done while he was underage.”

“Renji has shit taste,” Yoruichi protested, even as she was pulling out her phone. Ichigo felt a certain smugness as he realized that he had won. At least a little bit. She was contacting someone, and given her opinions of Isshin, Ichigo knew it wasn’t his father. 

There was a soft buzz as whoever she texted replied after a bit. Yoruichi read it, then tucked her phone away. “You are buying me lunch,” the woman informed Ichigo. “And we are stopping off, and you are buying some more food. If we bring him breakfast, he’s more likely to hear you out, at least. After that, it’s up to you to convince him.”

Already standing, Ichigo frowned a bit. Breakfast? It was afternoon.  

“Who are we going to?” The use of ‘him’ meant it wasn’t Soi Fon or his cousin Kukaku. Not that he thought either of them were tattoo people, even if his cousin had a pretty nice one herself. But those were some of the few people he knew that were in Yoruichi’s circle of friends. 

“My adopted brother.” She grinned. “Don’t worry. He’s much less likely to bite if we bring him food.”

The first view of Yoruichi’s brother would have told Ichigo they were likely adopted siblings anyway. He was pale, the skin that Ichigo could see, with a mass of ash blond hair bundled up into a messy bun. 

His back, which was facing them as they came in, was bare of cloth but covered with ink. The center of it was a woman with long dark hair in an elaborate hairstyle, wrapped in red fabric. Her pose reminded him of the statues of bodhisattvas or saints, all calm and poise, her eyes close and face a picture of peace. 

Her arms, though, were jointed like a doll’s. In one was a blade. The other held a fan with sharpen tips. 

It was a nice piece, and Ichigo wanted to look at it more. But the sound of them coming in made the man turn. He blinked a little blearily at them, though he perked up at seeing Yoruichi. 

Then the smell of the food in the bag Ichigo carried got the man’s attention. The blond sniffed the air a few times, then looked at Ichigo. He had pale eyes, though they looked more blue or gray rather than Yoruichi’s gold. 

After an elbow from Yoruichi, and Ichigo offered up the food. It vanished from his hand, and he blinked as he saw Kisuke start digging into it. Shit, the guy was as fast as Yoruichi was. Guess he trained in the family martial arts as well. 

It would explain the man’s shoulders. And arms. And the muscles on his back that were not hidden by the ink at all. And the man’s chest, where it wasn’t hidden by the loose wrap that seemed to be his shirt. Ichigo was convinced it was a scarf with pretensions, as it looped around the man’s neck, then dropped to tie around his waist. Technically, he had a shirt, even if it hid very little. That was something Ichigo could appreciate. 

Ichigo swallowed as he realized that Yoruichi’s brother was hot. Really hot. The sort of hot that made Ichigo want to put his mouth all over the guy. Shit.

“You two have fun,” Yoruichi chirped, waving and letting herself back out of the door. There was a wordless sound of protest from Ichigo, who felt a bit abandoned. Then he heard a chuckle from the man. 

“Ah, Yoruichi-san is a fan of throwing people in the deep end,” he said. “Please, have a seat, Kurosaki-san.” The man smiled. “I’m Urahara Kisuke.”

Ichigo blinked, even as he did grab a seat. They were in a lounge area, and he realized Yoruichi had led them through a side door of a tattoo parlor. “Good afternoon,” he said, memories of manners his mother had taught him kicking in. No Shihoin? Wasn’t he adopted?

Though…. “When did Yoruichi-san tell you my name?” It was a dumb question, but Ichigo was looking for anything to fill the quiet that wasn’t “Gimme a tattoo,” or “You are hot, fuck me over this chair?”

There was a soft laugh as Kisuke set the cup of juice that Yoruichi had insisted them pick up down. “I’m the one who made your ID.”

Oh. Ichigo had not expected that. Tattoo artist and a forger? That was a range of talents. 

He was pulled from his thoughts as something landed on his lap, and he looked down to see an imperious black cat looking up at him. He was reminded of Yoruichi’s cat; only this one was covered in long fur. Long, soft fur, as he carefully started to scratch the cat. It took a moment of thought from the creature, but the cat finally closed its eyes and started to purr. 

“That’s Benihime. She’s a pretty pretty princess,” Kisuke said with amusement. “And she will bully you for everything you’ll give her. I beg of you not to give her food.”

Ichigo blinked, looking back at Kisuke, who had demolished the food he had been given. “I don’t have any food to share.” Because the only food he had brought was what Kisuke had eaten.

The man gave him a lazy smile. “Well, depending on the tattoo we put together, you’ll be coming back at least once more. Maybe more often than that.” Then he gave Ichigo an undeniable once over, expression approving before the man stood and gathered his trash to throw it away. “So you’ll be seeing her a lot. She’s a slut for attention.”

“So we got something in common,” Ichigo said, mouth getting ahead of his brain as he watched Kisuke walk across the room, jeans accenting a rather nice ass. And the man was barefoot. Fuck. He was going to have to pay Yoruichi back for this later. Either with revenge or with something good. Because Ichigo was horrible at filtering his mouth at times, and he was going to end up hitting on Kisuke eventually. Probably bluntly. Hopefully, he wouldn’t insult the man.

Then Kisuke chuckled, low and throaty, and Ichigo had to swallow hard. “If you stare any harder, Kurosaki-san, you’ll set my clothing on fire. I assure you, there are easier ways of getting them off me.”

And if that wasn’t an invitation, Ichigo didn’t know what was. Especially when Kisuke glanced over his shoulder, smiling at the teen. “If you like, we can head up to my apartment and talk about designs and...other things.”

Subtlety was not a requirement here, apparently, and Ichigo grinned. A hot older guy wanted to have sex? Yes, please. 

He scooted Benihime off his lap, the cat protesting as he moved her, and then stood. “I’d like that,” he said. 

Having a chance for a little teenage rebellion was going better and better for Ichigo.