#takes any opportunity to give a kiss on his bare shoulder! forearm! knuckle! chest and lower! anywhere gabby's fine with

[minophus]

finally got hylics out of my head. i've recovered. i think gabriels relationship w nudity is like, hes fine Being nude in proper areas(i.e. like, a bath house, i think theres a few of those in heaven that hed visit but theyre not really populated) and on his own (Think it's actually quite comfortable really, esp w how Big Fucking Huge he is) but he gets nervvy around minos & sisyphus because theyre, to him, Overwhelmingly hedonistic

[mintmatcha]

quickie - dabi X hero!reader

Dabi x cis!fem reader

CW: public sex, voyeurism, standing sex, doll as a nickname, praise

 a/n: thanks to shan’s discover server for dealing with my bullshit creating this <3

   "We can't keep doing this."

The figure, leaned against the graffitied brick of a building, tosses back his hood as he takes another drag from his cigarette.  The black of his hair, streaked with the occasional red, shines under the streetlamp.  His burns are worse than the last time you’ve seen him, stretching from his face to his knuckles.

"You say that everytime." Dabi drops the cigarette butt and crushes it under the heel of his boot. "But you always come anyway."

You scuff your heel against the concrete, listening to how it echoes down the empty street. The dive bar you two stand in front of long ago cleared, all of the patrons disappearing into the night. 

Maybe heading home. Most likely not.

You should be heading home too.

"I'm only here because you asked me to be here." you ask cooly, forcing your eyes to stay glued to your phone. You don't look away until his tight grip clutches your shoulder. Against the chill of the night, his touch is comforting.

"Don't play coy." he scoffs, "I never asked you to be here, little hero."

You flinch at the nickname, checking your surroundings once again. Being recognized as a hero would mean trouble in this neighborhood. You already clearly don't belong; you had dressed nicely for a date- a date with another hero, someone good for you-

only to abandon him the moment this asshole texted you.

"I just told you I was bored," Dabi smirks, the stitches at the corners of his mouth pulling as he eyes you up, "And you decided to entertain me, apparently." 

You wish your heart wasn't beating out of your chest. You're not quite sure what it was about him- maybe the danger, maybe daddy issues, maybe the horrifying idea that you genuinely cared about him, maybe something entirely different- but you were wrapped around his fingers.

And he is well aware of it.

He hooks a finger under the strap of your dress and pulls it down and off your shoulder with a languid pace, eyes tracing over the exposed skin. "I like this. Kinda fancy, kinda skimpy-" His tongue runs over the edge of one of his incisors, his piercing catching the low light. "It's like you're asking for trouble."

You just shrug. "Maybe I am looking for trouble."

"I told you to stop playing coy." His hand cups your chin, dragging it up to look at him directly. His gaze is dark, hungry, and more than a little dangerous. "Are you here to get dicked down or what?"

You try to sound nonchalant, but your voice is high and tight in your throat. “If that’s what you want, I guess.” 

“Aw, come on now, lil hero. Don’t pretend to be a brat." he grins, pulling your head higher, “Lemme hear you say it. Tell me you came here to get fucked."

“I-” you hesitate.

“Come on, say it.” he takes your hand in his and, for a second, it's sweet- but then he guides it down to the front of his pants, cupping you over his crotch to feel the beginning of his excitement. "Say you wanna get fucked."

You swallow, and then gently squeeze his cock. "I want you to have sex with me."

"Nuh-uh. That's not what I said." he leans into you, lips brushing against yours, blue eyes never leaving yours, "Say you want me to fuck you."

"I want you to fuck me."

“Aw, dirty girl.” he purrs, "What would everyone think? The perfect sidekick, begging for a villain's cock?"

He closes the gap and catches the plush of your lip between his teeth- hard. You gasp and he doesn't waste the opportunity; his tongue finds yours, rushed and messy. 

The kiss breaks, a string of spit connecting your lips for a microsecond. "Turn around."

Before you can react, Dabi's hand grips your forearm and twists it behind you, forcing you against the wall. The prickle of the brick digs into your cheek, but you can't focus on the pain- only the heat of his hands: one holding you still, the over sliding up your skirt.

"H-here?" you whisper, but don't resist. "Someone could see."

"Yeah-" his chuckle is low, "That's the fun part." 

He's quick to flip the fabric up and over your ass, exposing your lacy panties to the night air. His palms your ass and shakes it, eyes glued to how it shakes and quivers under his touch.

"Very sexy." he coos almost mockingly, pulling the elastic of your panties so taut that it digs into your skin. You flinch when it snaps back, further pressing yourself into the wall, and Dabi laughs.

"Aw, sensitive little thing, aren'tcha?" he grinds against you, the rough fabric of his jeans doing nothing to hide the swell of his cock. It rubs between your ass cheeks, the friction of demin already burning. The only respite in the cool metal of his studded belt, smooth and slick against you.

"Are you sure you can handle this, baby?" he tugs you closer by the bicep, arching your back until your head falls back. Like this, he looks down at you, a wolfish grin on his face. "I'd be so sad if I broke you."

"No, you wouldn't-" your free arm slides down his front, thumb dipping into the waistband and fingers rolling over the buckle.

"Yeah, you're right." he helps you unclasp the buckle, the gentle tinkling the only sound that echoes down the empty street. It hits you then that, despite the late hour, someone could approach at any moment and catch you being fucked by a wanted criminal.

The scrape of denim is replaced by hot, smooth skin and a tickle of his happy trail. Dabi lets the weight of his cock fall against your folds and a warm trickle of precum grazes your cheek. The night only seems to be getting colder, but the latent heat of Dabi's skin only seems to build.

"Fuck--" he ruts up against you unexpectedly, "You're fucking dripping-" You can feel his cock sliding against you, the wetness of your arousal letting him easily slip between your thighs. The head of his cock ghosts near your clit, not nearly the pressure you need. "God, maybe I'll just fuck you like this-"

A whine escapes your throat before you can tamp it down. 

"Oh, don’t be a brat.” he pulls back, “I’ll make sure you get what you need.”

He digs into his pocket and pulls out a gold foil packet, flashing it to you. You two agreed on protection since the first hook up- your insistence. He quickly rips into it with his teeth and rolls the condom down, barely covering his length before he pushes against your entrance, his fat head easily popping inside despite the stretch. You expect him to fully bury himself in one stroke, like he always does, but he stays there inside you, his cock barely past the petals of your pussy. Impatiently, you wiggle back against him, desperate for more, but he braces against you.

"Slow down, now-" he clicks his tongue before pressing a surprisingly soft kiss into your temple. Then, he shoves you forward again, face smushed into the rocky brick. "Lemme enjoy this properly."

You teeter on your high heels, legs already shaking as he finally rolls his hips forward inch by inch. Under his breath, he mutters so low that you can't understand him, but you catch clippings of praise and curses.

His pace is unusually slow, letting you savor the fullness of his whole cock before he pulls back to the tip. His breath is uncomfortably warm against the back of your neck. The scent of ash and tobacco that clings to him makes your stomach turn, but you can't help but want more of it- more of him.

The hand of your hip, unnaturally warm, almost burning, slips around to the front of the panties, dipping into the fabric to trace supply circles around your clit. It's nice- soft and gentle-

but you don't fuck Dabi to be gentle.

With your free hand, you push against the wall, forcing him to sink into you, hard. "Fucking hell-" he chokes out a groan as you start bucking against him. He uses your forearm as leverage, pulling and pushing down his length faster and faster. "That's it-- bounce like that- oh, good girl-"

Your voice, pathetic and lewd, fills the stress, but Dabi does nothing to muffle it. Of course he doesn't- he likes the risk. He wants to be caught, wants people to see him splitting you in half. Anyone even remotely close would be able to hear the wet, sloppy sound of your pussy, but you can't find it in yourself to care.

Once you get the rhythm he wants, Dabi releases your arm and grabs on to the front of your dress, palming your tits through the fabric greedily. It's rough, almost bruising, squishing you solely for his pleasure.

"So soft," he breathes. After a moment, he decides the fondling isn't enough and wraps his fingers under the hem, digging into the fat of your chest. With a firm tug, he snaps the remaining strap, freeing one of your tits into the cool night air. You don't even have time to shiver before his hand takes it place against you. 

Dabi always runs warm, but something about sex- albeit the desire or the physical contact- makes him hot. The stroke of his hands, the lips across your shoulder blade, the dip of his stomach against your back- all of them leave ghosts, trails of goosebumps where heat used to be.

Even through the condom, his cock radiates heat deep inside your cunt, twitching and pulsing with every stroke. His fingertips never leave their mark, rolling your clit steadily. 

"Y-you gonna cum for me?" he says through his teeth, "Gonna let me f-feel it? Let me make you feel good? Oh, such a good girl for me--"

The pressure on your clit all at once becomes too much and you cum, knees wobbling and threatening to give out. Your pace threatens to falter, but Dabi muscles through it for you.

Dabi's lips find your neck, right below your jaw. A flick of the tongue is followed by the sharp pain of his teeth digging into the soft spot.  Overstimulation hits your quickly, your pussy twitching every stroke.

"'Is too much." you hiccup, reaching behind you blindly. You manage to caress his face, the staples warm and wet with his sweat. He nuzzles into the hand, a surprisingly sweet gesture.

"Just- just take it." he growls. The pace is suddenly lopsided, the rhythm gone as he starts to cum.

The gentle pulsing of his cock is immediately followed by pooling warmth. No, warmth is an understatement. It's hot, almost unbearably. You keen away from him, but he stays locked against you.

"G-get off," you hiccup, "You're t-too hot."

"You're not so bad yourself, doll." He withdrawals and quickly peels the condom off, tossing it to the side. He spins you around, running a thumb under your eye. Flecks of mascara and eyeliner stick to his skin. "Especially like this." he gestures to you as a whole. Running makeup, ripped dress, quivering legs, your own cum glossing your thighs- you look destroyed.

"You should walk around like this all the time." Dabi wipes his stomach with his shirt, haphazardly smearing the wetness more than cleaning it, before redoing his buckle. He takes his time, clearly not concerned about being exposed. "On second thought- nah. Just wear this for me." 

You shimmy your dress down, trying to cover your ass as quickly as possible. "You're disgusting." 

He throws his head back and laughs. "You didn't seem to think so a couple minutes ago." 

"Fuck you."

Dabi shakes a cigarette free from the carton and sticks it between his teeth. "Aw, doll-" he dots the tip with his finger and it alights, deep orange against the dark of the night. "You just did."

[spilledkauffie]

Still Having Nightmares

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader Word Count: 1.8k T/W: nightmares, trauma conversations, fluff A/N: MY HEART IS FUCKING BROKEN!!! Do you hear!? All because of this gif set— spoilers!

Song inspo: Nightmares - All Time Low

You squeezed your eyes closed, trying not to let the tears fall. But they weren’t for you— from outside the door, down the hall, and into the living room, you heard the soft mumbling. The desperate “no’s” and the heavy breathing. Rolling over in bed, you placed your hand where he often began the night, right next to you. Knowing he liked to fight this struggles alone, you methodically bit at the inside of your lip, furrowing your brows. 

However, when you heard the static of metal tension, you couldn’t ignore it any longer. Sitting up, you tossed the covers aside. Taking a moment to calm yourself, you quickly wiped the tears off your cheeks and took a deep breath, wanting to be in the best state to help him. Opening the bedroom door you stepped out into the hallway gently. Attempting to make your footsteps as light as possible, you made your way to the living room doorway. Bucky was laying on the opposite side of the apartment’s room from you. 

Watching him toss and turn, sometimes jolt, was difficult, but you always tried to think of how best to help him if you could. As you debated waking him up to end the night terror, something did that for you- hearing him yell your name he completely sat up. You blinked back some tears, hating that you knew his nightmares forced him to see himself losing more than he already had. 

“God-” he exhaled as if he had been forced to hold his breath for five minutes, it was a painful first few breaths. Shoving his hands through his hair, he set his elbows on his knees and tried to steady his breathing, he clearly hadn’t seen you yet, “shit,” you heard him say in a broken voice, though you couldn’t see them, you knew there were tears from the way he sniffled with an inhale every other breath. 

You shifted your weight onto the opposite foot, accidentally catching his attention.

“Hey,” he suddenly said as if nothing had happened, quickly turning his face away from you, rubbing the back of his hand against his eyes, trying to get rid of any proof of tears. Clearing his throat he exhaled, “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

Tilting your head with a heavy sorrow that he just wanted to push everything aside, you reached for the light switch.

“No!” Bucky exclaimed, before looking down, surprised at his tone, “no,” he said softer, looking back up at you, “can we leave it off? Please?”

“Yeah,” you answered hoarsely, feeling a tightness in your own throat, “of course, baby.”

Walking over to where he was, you settled on the floor, sitting next to him, facing his direction. There was just enough light from the apartment windows for you two to see each other in dim lights streaming in. He tried again to subtly brush away any tear stains, while you joined him. Pushing the top of his wrist against his lip, he dropped his hand, and finally turned to you. 

“Did I-” he swallowed, you saw the tension in his jaw, “did I wake you?” 

“No,” you whispered, raising a hand to fluff back some fallen strands of his messy hair.

“Really?” he perked an eyebrow, “then why are you awake?” 

You hold your breath trying to think of an excuse, but you’d rather say nothing than lie to him again. 

“I didn’t mean to leave tonight, I just-” he quirked the corner of his lips, trying to find the right words, “I’m not used to it, but I didn’t want to leave- I just-”

“I know,” you assured him, free hand touching his forearm, calmly stroking his chilled skin.

He dipped his head shaking it, before giving a disappointed laugh, “you know I thought I was over this,” he admitted, your hand still brushing soothingly through his hair as he stared straight ahead, you swore you could see him thinking of another time. 

“Tell me about it?” 

He pressed his lips together, debating if he wanted to say more, so you let the quiet come between the two of you, and that was okay. Time was needed and you were more than willing to wait for him.

“You know sometimes I can see myself, at different times, and I just keep thinking- when I see that kid, signing up for the army, he looks at me,” he smiled for a second, but it faded faster than it came on, “he had no idea what he was signing up for.” Looking down to the metal replacing his arm, Bucky nodded to himself,  blaming himself for it all.

“Victims never do,” you said, “because it’s not their fault.”

“Victim?” He scoffed, raising his eyebrows in disbelief at you, “have you seen my count-”

“Bucky, what they did to you-”

“But what I did to others-” he started.

“What they did to you,” you repeated, more firmly, stopping him from interrupting you, he waited for your next words, “what they did was cruel and monstrous, but that doesn’t mean you are.” Bucky tilted his head, “you signed up because you’re a brave soldier, what came next was out of your control, but now, you’re back on the path you first started.”

His grey blue eyes were fixed on you when you finished, “tell me about tonight’s nightmare?”

He was quiet again, so you pressed your hand against the middle of his chest, covering his dog tags, before you curled your fingers around the metal and glanced down to study them in your palm. Rubbing your thumb over the raised letters- one tag spelling out his name the other simply saying “Winter Soldier,” you bit the corner of your lip. Bucky never took his gaze off you, studying you studying the tags. 

After a moment of silence, he leaned in closer, slipping his hand against the side of your neck, fingertips pushing into the roots of your hair at the nape of your neck, while he brought his mouth to the opposite side. You tightened your hand around his dog tags as his skin brushed against your knuckles. With the way his chest was already rising and falling and the hum of his moan against your neck, you almost got lost in it. Slowly moving his other hand up your thigh, to your hip, you felt the metal, smooth and cold as ever. Closing your eyes, you focussed for a moment on his hot desperate kisses, his lips felt so good against you, but you knew what he was doing.

“Bucky-” you said softly, but seriously, knowing what you needed to do.

“Mhmm?” he hummed, lips ghosting against you as he waited for you to continue, but when you didn’t, he pulled back to look at you, his hand still caressing the nape of your neck gently.

You stared at him, amazed at how well he was trained to shift from emotion to emotion or just hide them altogether. It seemed wrong that there was so much pain and hurt in you form sympathy when he was the one actually fighting through it. As you stayed silent, his gaze fell to your parted lips. Bucky took his opportunity and met your mouth with a deeply passionate kiss, when you hardly responded he paused the kiss, lips still touching yours as he spoke.

“What is it?” he asked, caressing your cheek.

“I love you so much,” you took a deep breath, placing your hand on top of his and bringing it away from your cheek setting your interlaced hands in your lap, looking back to him, “but that won’t make them go away,” you stated eyebrows knitted together, shaking your head softly, “I need you to talk to me,” you stroked his jawline with your thumb, still holding his hand with your other, and speaking as gently as you possibly could, “so we can work this out together, I want to help you, I want you to be able to stay a whole night with me.”

Taking his hand off your thigh, you heard the metal adjust as he shifted his weight onto it.  

“Alright, in my nightmares. . .I keep hurting you,” his words broke the silence, “different ways, I tell myself it’s not me, it’s that shadow I used to be, but all the same in the end.” 

Listening carefully you placed a soft kiss to the cooled skin of his shoulder, where the scars met metal, encouraging him to continue with gentle stroking motions of your fingertips on the back of his hand. 

“Every time. . .I’m in a place from my past, but you’re there,” he confessed, tightening his grip around your hand, “and you die, all because of me.”

“You’d never hurt me.”

“But I did...I do,” tears were returning and he didn’t understand; the one happiness in his life was being twisted by his past and his mind, he remembered certain things, others a blur and now past and present were blending. . . 

“James,” you brought him to face you with your hand against his cheek, “you’d never hurt me.”

“I’m just-” he said cautiously.

“Bucky,” you said almost disappointed he’d question himself on this.

“I’m just scared I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from hurting you,” he confessed in a louder voice than intended, making you jerk back, but keeping your hand in his helped ground him, “I’m sorry,” he said, calming himself down. 

You could see the tears falling even if he didn’t want you to see them.

“There’s no chance of that happening,” you pressed your forehead against his, “I know you, Bucky, you love me.”

 “But you’ve seen it, if- if someone knows those words- with that book- they reset me and I can’t-” 

You heard him exhale, heavy with pain and hurt and panic. His chest began to rapidly rise and fall. 

“Bucky, Darling,” you moved yourself closer and brought your arms around him, to which he responded by wrapping his around your frame, pulling you even closer, and burying his face against your neck, “it’s okay, we’re okay.”

Feeling his hot tears against your neck, and his erratic breathing, you tilted your head up, trying not to cry yourself. Stroking across the back of his bare shoulders, you softly combed your fingers through his hair, embracing him against you. It wasn’t easy for him to show this much emotion and you could sense that, staggering breath and long periods of tension, as if he was trying to hold it all back. Feeling him tighten his hug and squeeze his eyes closed, you just held him to let him know it was okay.

“We’ll get through this, I promise,” you whispered, “no one is ever coming near you with that book ever again, and if they do. . . now they’ll have to get through me first.”

Pulling away from you just enough to press his forehead back against yours he smiled softly, staying there for a moment, “how’d you get so tough, huh?”

“I live with a fighter,” you smiled back, “he’s taught me to survive just about anything,” he gave a small laugh with his smile spreading, “so together,” you stole a kiss, “I know we’re unstoppable.”

[sakusasbunny]

— debasement 

anon: Professor Kuroo thirst - it's office hours and you sit with your knees hugging your chest. u don't realize that he can see the back of your thighs and your underwear hugging your cunny. You shouldn't wear a skirt that short around kuroo sensei, not when you get wet at the sight of him. Not when you catch him wide eyed at wetness trickling around ur thighs.he's a young single professor, doesn't hurt to please him right?

pairing: kuroo t. x reader

cw: student-teacher relationship (college setting), age gap, non-con, blackmail, oral

wc: ~2.1k

a/n: again, i was carried away w what was just supposed to be a drabble :D. also a special thank you to @azo-musxas for beta reading this fic, ily!!

m.list

You were sitting on the couch directly facing his desk as you fiddled with your skirt. Professor Kuroo had asked you to meet him in his office. He said he needed to talk to you, but he never specified the reason. You were nervous, what could he possibly need to talk to you about that he couldn’t just say after class?

Your heart raced as you watched him across the room grading papers. He ran a hand through his messy hair and adjusted the glasses that sat atop his nose. You noticed that the first few buttons of his dress shirt were unbuttoned, revealing his collarbone to you. The knot in your stomach was growing as you shamefully gawked at him, taking in the way his shoulders tensed after every long sigh and how his jaw was accentuated whenever he clenched it. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and you watched his arms flex as he tightened his grip on his pen. Your face flushed wondering how his hands would feel around your soft skin, gripping and bruising where he’d touched you.

It didn’t help your nerves that he’d ask you to wait till after he was done grading the last of his papers. Not when you were forced to be alone in a room with your young hot professor.

It shouldn’t take much longer, he promised. What a liar.

Pulling your knees to your chest and burying your face in your arms, you tried to provide yourself with what little comfort you could. You took a deep breath in and tuned everything else out, focusing only on the air that filled and escaped your lungs. However, as you attempted to distract yourself, your efforts resulted in the opposite and thoughts of your attractive professor clouded your mind. Unconsciously, your legs began rubbing together in earnest.

What you failed to realize was that your short skirt, which already was so revealing, had hiked up, exposing the cotton of your underwear to your professor. 

As Kuroo’s eyes flitted up, he was greeted by your bare thighs and tight underwear that hugged your cunny. He’d noticed the way your legs clenched together  as well. Kuroo leaned back in his chair and let out an appreciative sigh, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the pen in restraint.

 God, you were a clueless little thing, weren’t you?

He’d surmised that you fluttered your way around life without so much a care in the world, not paying any attention to your surroundings or the bad men that lurked in the shadows. He could tell life had come so easily to you. You reeked of innocence and naïveté that he’d loved to debase. How cute, he thought.  Didn’t you know never to wear such short skirts in front of men? The world was full of bad people and it was an important lesson for such a young girl like you to learn— one that he’d be glad to teach you.

Getting up, he circled his way around his desk, slowly making his way towards you. His movements weren’t unlike that of a predator eyeing his prey; you were just a poor gazelle unknowing of the lion preparing to strike. Kuroo sat down on the coffee table in front of you, careful not to make a sound. He wanted this moment to last longer so he could savor the sight in front of him. You still hadn’t realized how much you revealed to your professor as you hugged your knees to your chest.

Kuroo took in your stuttering breaths, his eyes dark as they trailed down to your soaked underwear. Such a naughty girl... were you thinking of him? Is that what was making your pussy drool all over his couch? His cock ached at the mere thought of it. 

Oh, he was gonna have so much fun with you.

He placed a gentle hand on your forearm and your head shot up, “Uhm, P-Professor, I—  Sorry, I didn’t hear you come over.”

“That’s alright,” he offered you a reassuring smile and it helped ease your nerves a little bit, “Don’t be so nervous, you’re not in any kind of trouble.”

His hand remained on your forearm, rubbing small circles around your skin.

“I-I’m not?”

“No, of course not,  you haven’t done anything wrong.” He almost melted right there as your eyes lit up. “But— I would like to talk to you about your grades.”

“My grades?”

“Yes,” he said, leaning forward as he clasped his hands in front of him. Kuroo took a deep breath before he continued. “I’m afraid you're failing my class.”

“B-But I—” you stammered. 

Your voice trailed off as tears began to prick your eyes. The crushing feeling in your chest weighed you down and you hugged your knees closer. Kuroo watched your lips tremble, slowly parting as if you were going to say something in protest but closing again.

“No, hey, hey…  It’ll be okay, don’t cry.” He brought a hand to your face, cupping your cheek and wiping a tear that threatened to fall. You closed your eyes and allowed yourself to relax into his touch. 

“I’m here to help you out, yeah? You’re a smart girl, I’m sure you’ll find a way to bring your grades up.” You sighed in relief, but as you looked up at your professor, you could see the predatory gaze in his eyes as he stared down at you. The soothing feeling of his small embrace was suddenly drowned out by the sinister meaning behind his reassuring words. You leaned away from his touch, eyes widening in fear.

You shrunk back on the couch, inching as far as you could until your back was flat against the leather cushions. Panic kept you sedentary.  You could have taken the chance and ran but as he stood slowly and peered at you with half-lidded eyes, you found yourself cemented in place.

Kuroo took a step towards you. He undid the knot in his tie, hooking his finger over the fabric and pulling it side to side until it effortlessly fell to the floor. He let out a low chuckle, the corners of his lips turning in a malicious smile.

“I think you know what you have to do.”

“P-Professor, please, n-” 

He grabbed your chin harshly, silencing you.

“Don’t you see the opportunity I’m giving you? I have no qualms about letting you fail my class”

“No! Please, I’ll do anything!”

“Good… Now, why don’t you show me that slutty pussy of yours.”

You spread your legs wide for him and Kuroo situated himself in between your thighs. He was so close that you could feel his cool breath on your cunt. 

“Look at you,” he said, taking in the sight before him. “Already dripping for me.”

He trailed two fingers on the damp spot that formed on your underwear and pressed lightly. You squeezed your eyes shut as you tried to suppress the sigh threatening to escape your lips. You’d rather he got it over as quickly as possible, even if it ended up hurting you more, but he’s decided to savor the moment.

Kuroo hooked his finger on your panties, slipping them off your legs. The cold air in his office hit your dripping pussy, making you feel all the more exposed. You clamped your legs together in an effort to hide yourself but his hands were quick to grab your thighs, keeping your legs spread as wide as possible.

“Don’t.” His voice was low as he warned you. 

Kuroo didn’t waste any time as he teased your hole with his tongue. He moved slowly and deliberately as he dove into your fluttering pussy. Your thighs tensed around his head but as he moved towards your clit, he felt your legs relax in his hold. 

You couldn’t help but moan as he lapped at your dripping cunt, lost in your own pleasure. He brought two fingers to your lips, spreading you apart. Long fingers teased and prodded at your hole before slowly slipping inside you. It was a tight fit but your own wetness made it easy for him to pump his fingers inside you. 

You were close, so close. Your hips were bucking into his fingers, practically begging him to go faster but the sudden realization of your situation brought you crashing down.

“Wait! Please, professor, I-I can’t—!”

“You can’t?” his fingers continued their movements, curling to massage that spot inside you and making you groan, “Well… that could mean anything when you’re making such loud, pretty noises for me.”

The slick sounds of your pussy were obscene as he spread the two fingers inside you stretching your walls. You let out a sob, the knot in the pit of your stomach tightened.

He hummed in approval.

“Good girl, I think you’re ready for me.”

Kuroo stood from his position and you watched him with glassy eyes as he unbuckled his belt and let his cock out of his slacks. You felt delirious and heavy laying down on the couch. You closed your eyes and leaned your head back on the soft cushions. You couldn’t make anything else out except for the loud clang when his pants hit the floor and a bright flash of white light that lasted only for a second, followed by a small beep.

He lined himself up with your hole, but not before sliding the angry tip of his cock on your slit and spreading his precum. He stretched you out, not bothering to slow down as he pushed his cock into the kiss of your puckered cervix. The blunt head of his cock forced a scream from your throat and you held onto the back of his neck, digging your nails into his skin. He hissed at the sensation.

Kuroo pulled out, leaving only his head inside, before slamming his hips against yours and battering the tight ring of the spongy muscle. He could feel your walls squeeze around his cock with every move he made, tugging him deeper into your pussy. You felt the prominent vein that ran along his shaft making you pulsate around him in desperation.

Tears streamed down your face as you screamed in pain and pleasure. You had the cutest look on your face as you tried not to enjoy yourself while Kuroo repeatedly bumped your g-spot with his cock. He took hold of your legs once more, bruising your plush skin with his grip. Pressing your legs flat on your chest, he put all his weight on the back of your thighs and he quickened his pace. 

Kuroo’s desperation grew while he watched your mouth open in a silent scream. His pleasure was heightened thinking about how he was violating your most intimate parts. He’d dreamt of molesting cute girls like you— so deep in their denial even when their cunny’s sucking the cum right out of his cock. 

You’d never let yourself admit how good you felt even as you gushed around him, soaking him in your slick. You were blinded with pleasure, eyes rolling to the back of your head, back arching, and legs thrashing underneath him. The knot in your core snapped all at once while you came around him.

He kept you close to him as he felt your walls flutter around his shaft. Kuroo drove his cock harder inside you, his pace unrelenting, and when his tip kissed your bruised womb, he came. He growled in your ear as he shot hot ropes of cum deep into your cunt. You could feel it trickle out of your convulsing hole as he fucked his cum into you.

You moaned— a sad, hiccuping moan, as he pulled himself out of your dripping cunny. He watched his seed dribble out of your stretched hole slowly before scooping it up and pushing it back inside. Kuroo helped pull your underwear up your legs, releasing the fabric with a snap, ensuring none of it would escape.

He pulled you up from your previous position and he cupped your face. Exhaustion filled your body and you couldn’t resist anymore, not that you had fought him all that hard. You openly stared back at him dumbly.

Your professor moved his phone in front of your face, waving it around to ensure you paid attention. Horror ran up your spine as the filthy sounds of your wanton moans flooded the room.

“Now, I’ve caught a little snippet of our… time together on video. I’m sure you wouldn’t want this getting out.” He let out a breathy laugh, chuckling at the dumbfounded look on your face. “ I mean— what would your classmates think of you? So, why don’t you meet me back here tomorrow at the same time? We can put that whore mouth of yours to use, pretty girl.”

[feralthoughtdump]

The Kind of Love I’ve Been Dreaming Of

Based on the music video for Dinner & Diatribes by Hozier

CW: smut, a little bit of playing with fire, oral (fem receiving), unprotected sex (remember, always wear protection, Loki being a little bit manipulative???

Word Count: 2.3k

It was common knowledge that cats enjoyed playing with their food before they eat and right now, it was clear that Loki was the cat, and she… well, she was the food. 

To an outsider, maybe someone who knew little about Loki and the girl seated across from him, the scene was set like a fancy dinner date.

And in a way, it was. The tables were set with an array of dishes. Gold goblets filled with wine, and candles illuminated the room in a warm glow. 

She looks regal in the emerald green gown. The elaborate gold embroidery glitters under the candlelight and the long bell sleeves drape elegantly against her forearms. 

Loki’s quite proud of himself for choosing that gown. It was exquisite, truly a stunning piece. 

It was a picture-perfect romantic dinner. 

But of course, because Loki was well… Loki, he wanted to have some fun beforehand. He wanted to play a little game. 

The rules were simple. If the match hits him, she wins. 

And so far, she was far from winning.

So needless to say, a grin was stretched wide across his face as he stares at her brows furrow in frustration. 

“This is impossible.” She huffs, flicking the match against the box. 

The little flame flickers and disappears as the match lands a foot away from him.

“No,” He chuckles. “You just aren’t doing it right.” 

She crosses her arms and stares daggers into him. 

“Then why don’t you give me a hint?”

“You know I can’t do that.”

She scoffs. 

“Why not?”

He raises his arms.

“Well, that’ll take the fun out of it!”

There’s a pang of slight annoyance in her tone. 

“It’ll take the fun out of it for you. As of this moment, I’m not having any fun.”

It was such a simple game yet it was difficult. And the long, heavy sleeves of her gown do little to help. 

She sets the box of matches on the table.

“You said if I hit you with the match, I’ll win. What exactly am I winning?”

He leans forward, eyes twinkling with excitement.

“That’s for you to find out. After you win.”

She rolls her eyes and laughs.

“How am I supposed to claim my prize if I’m playing a game I can’t win? You know what? I’m not playing anymore. I don’t care about the prize.”

As she gets up, she feels invisible hands tug her back into the chair. 

“Now, now, pet,” his voice is silvery, “don’t go running off now.”

“Loki,” her eyes widen as her fingers dance along the edge of the table “stop it.”

“I’m not doing anything.” He chuckles, sitting still in his seat. 

It was like she was a puppet. Twisting and contorting her body into some strange dance. 

“Yes, you are!”

Her back arches against the table and her eyes meet Loki’s. He stares down at her with mischief in his eyes.

For a brief moment, his gaze and the low timbre of his voice ignited a fire within her abdomen. But it’s quickly dashed with a flick of his hand. 

She’s sent back into her chair, head nearly slamming into the wood. 

“Gods,” She groans. “I hate it when you do that.”

Loki laughs.

“Then stay seated and keep playing.” 

“I told you, I’m done playing.”

“Oh, pet, you give up so easily, even when you’re playing a simple game.”

She scowls. The whole “game” was bordering on pure irritation for her. 

“It’s not that simple when it’s near impossible to flick-“

She’s been playing it all wrong. 

Loki had said that as long as the match hits him, she wins. However, he never said how the match had to hit him. Flicking the match was never a requirement. 

She had simply assumed that she was supposed to flick the match at him. 

So with a quick hand, she ignites the match and simply tosses it at him. 

Her skin glows gold as the figure burns in front of her, engulfed in flames. 

“Congratulations.” His voice rings from behind her. “You’ve won.” 

The figure dissolves, revealing that his seat was empty the whole time. 

Sneaky bastard. 

Her head whips around, eyes landing on the god. 

“So I wasn’t even playing with the real Loki?”

His long legs stride towards her, footsteps echoing through the room.

“Do you think I would sit there and let you throw matches at me?” He places a finger under her chin, tilting her head to look at him. 

“I guess not.” 

He walks around the table and sits in the empty chair. He beckons her with a crook of his finger.

She’s about to stand when Loki shakes his head. 

“There’s a space between us. Crawl.”

She rolls her eyes.

“Are you being serious?”

“I am. Now, crawl.”

She slowly shifts, placing a knee on the table. Before she can say anything else, she feels her limbs move. His invisible strings manipulate her body and pull her towards him. 

She doesn’t fight it. Sure, it scared her, him taking control over her body, but at the same time, it excited her. 

When she reaches him, he places a firm hand on her back, helping her into his lap, thighs straddling his. 

“Now, it’s time for you to claim your prize.”

His fingers move the dark silk around her thighs, letting the fabric bunch around her hips and exposing her bare cunt to the cool air.

She noses at his jaw, placing a kiss next to his ear. Her lips trail kisses down his cheekbone and to his lips. 

“But we haven’t eaten yet.” She murmurs. “And those strawberries look really fresh.”

He captures her lips with fervor. 

“You’re right, but there’s something else I want to-“

She places her arms on his shoulders and pushes back. “I want to eat at least something.” She bats her eyelashes at him. “Please?”

Loki gives her a sugary grin. “Alright, my love.” 

The strawberry he brings to her lips is sweet. As the juice dribbles past her lower lip, he gently wipes it away with the pad of his thumb.

She parts her lips and uses her tongue to draw his thumb into her mouth. 

“You are insatiable,” He chuckles, pushing his thumb deeper into her mouth. 

She sucks on the digit, lapping at the last of the juice. A burning desire swims through her veins, replacing her appetite for food with something more lustful. 

His thumb is pulled from her lips with a pop and she can feel Loki stiffen underneath her.

She slowly grinds herself down on his clothed erection. The leather of his pants feels good against her cunt, making her wetter than she already is.

A needy gasp leaves her lips when he bites her neck, sucking a dark mark right above her collarbone.

It was a sign of ownership. A sign that she was his.

“Now,” he skims his teeth against the sensitive skin, making her yelp. “All of Asgard will know you’re mine.”

There’s a gentle tug on her hair and she tilts her head back. Loki takes this as an opportunity to let his saliva fall into her open mouth. She swallows it with blissed-out eyes and a grin on her face.

“Look at you.” He moves his hand to caress the length of her neck. “So pretty. So perfect.”

She hums, head thrown back, reveling in his soft touch. 

“You flatter me.” 

He playfully nips at her collarbone, smiling at her sweet giggle.

“It’s not flattery if what I’m saying is true.” 

She pulls herself closer to him and presses her lips to his.

It’s ravenous, hungry, and fiery with clashing teeth and bitten lips.

“Loki” she pants, “I need you. I need you now.” 

With desperate hands, they work in tandem to pull his leather pants past his hips. 

She reaches down to wrap her fingers around his cock, feeling it stiffen in her hand.

He hisses when she runs her finger over the tip.

Loki runs his palm up her thigh, fingers ghosting over her core. 

She squirms in his lap as he pushes a finger past her folds. 

“Stay still.” He murmurs. “Keep stroking my cock.”

She gulps and pumps her hand up and down, drawing groans from his mouth.

Loki pushes another finger inside of her, releasing a whimper from her. 

He pauses, eyes widening slightly with concern.

“Did I hurt you?” He gently asks.

“No.” She gasps. “It feels good. Keep going.” 

Loki grins and crooks his fingers upward.

“Look at that.” His other hand reaches behind her head, forcing her to look down at his fingers. “So wet already.”

He removes his fingers from inside of her and places a firm hold on her hips, her pussy hovering over his hard cock. 

A whine slips past her lips as she lowers herself onto him.

The stretch burns and tears prick at her eyes. 

“Come on, love.” He rubs his thumb against her jugular. “I know you can take it.”

A loud gasp leaves her lips as he pulls her down, spearing her onto his cock.

She grabs onto the golden horns of his helmet so she doesn’t fall, knuckles slowly turning white. 

Slowly, she lifts herself using his helmet for support and lowers herself back down.

“You like the horns, don’t you, pet?” He teases.

She gives him a desperate whine and is met with a tightened grip on her throat.

“I want a verbal answer, darling.” He seethes. 

“Yes.” She whines. “I like the horns.”

He releases his hold on her neck and sits back, watching her pull herself up and sink back down. 

Every thrust of his hips sends shockwave after shockwave of pleasure through her body, and she can feel herself wanting more. More of him. She wanted to be closer. 

A hand releases its grip from the helmet, grabbing onto the back of his neck and pulling him in for a kiss. They pant into each other’s mouths through bitten lips and needy whines and gasps. 

His grip on her tightens as he cums, throwing his head back and groaning. It brings her closer to the edge, but the feeling of his warm cum painting her walls wasn’t enough to bring her to an orgasm. 

But Loki is far from finished. He pulls out and she whines, desperation coursing through her veins. 

She’s left shaking, face flushed, and chest heaving as his cum trickles down her thighs. 

His eyes light up in a way that only means one thing: he has an idea. 

Excitement and dread fill her mind. What sick and twisted idea did he have in mind? To edge her to the point of tears, or to make her cum over and over again until her brain was mush?

She watches with bitten lips and wide eyes as he stands, leaving her in the chair.

“Loki, what-“

“Hush, my love.” He slowly takes his helmet off and places it atop her head. “Beautiful.”

He sinks to his knees, large hands spreading her thighs. A groan leaves his lips at the sight. 

“Loki-“

Her words are cut off when he licks a stripe up her folds. He grabs her thighs, the pads of his fingers digging into her skin, and pulls her towards him. Her knees are placed on his shoulders, allowing him to dive deeper.

From the view between her thighs, Loki thinks she’s beautiful, especially with his helmet. He’ll have to find one for her afterward. 

She’s divine, someone meant to sit on a throne. Someone meant to be queen. His queen. 

He’s always discussed the day of his coronation to her, picturing how people will kneel before him. But for her, he’d kneel for her any day of the week. 

“Gods,” he murmurs against her thigh, “you’d look good on a throne.”

“Uh-huh.”  she gasps, ignoring his words. “please, just shut up and stop teasing.”

Loki hums against her pussy.

“Of course, your majesty.” 

A loud moan reverberates through the room as he continues licking into her, soaking his face with her wetness and his cum. 

“Fuck!” She gasps, threading her fingers through his hair.

At this very moment, as he is drawing desperate sobs from her throat, he decides that he will make her queen. 

When he ascends to the throne, he’ll make sure there is one for her, all grand and gold. 

One of her hands grips onto one of the armrests and the other works its way into his hair, pulling his face closer to her. He deepens his ministrations and she lets out a strangled moan, pleasure coursing through her body. 

The intricate beading on her sleeves scratches at his face but he pays no mind to that. All he can focus on is how sweet she tasted against his tongue. Like the bowl of strawberries left abandoned on the dining table. 

She throws her head back, the heavy headpiece sliding down her forehead, obscuring her vision. Her hand quickly adjusts it so she can continue to admire the view from above. 

The prince has his eyes closed, cheeks, still flushed from his orgasm, pressed against her soft thighs. 

The sight sends her falling over the edge. She cums with gaspy breaths and loud moans. It’s music to his ears. 

As he stands from his position between her legs, she looks up at him with lust-glazed eyes. 

He bends over to grab her chin, pulling her in for another kiss, the taste of her orgasm fresh on her tongue. 

“Bless that silver tongue of yours.” She grins.

“You are the one who blessed it.” He gives her a cheeky smile, swooping her into his arms. 

“Don’t be vulgar.” She wraps her arms around his neck as he sits back in his chair. “Plus, I believe we still have to eat dinner.”

He laughs and presses a sweet kiss to the tip of her nose. 

“Oh, darling, I’ve already eaten.”

[santigarcia]

piryc beskar buy’ce

a din djarin x reader fic

rating: m for smut; mentions of squirting; masturbation

word count: 2k

summary: The Mandalorian’s heat seeking signature’s in his helmet have malfunctioned, and he can see that you ache for him.

a/n: look idk if his heat seeking vision in his helmet works like this but we’re gonna roll with it! and the title translation will be at the end of the fic cuz it’s a spoiler ;) 

You didn’t exactly plan it this way, to become a stowaway. The Razor Crest was the first ship you saw with the hatch doors open. You’d find out later the Mandalorian let you on his ship – you didn’t sneak onto it. You did your best to hide from him, and you jumped when he ‘found’ you. It was not the hunter’s intention to startle you, but his cold Beskar exterior did the job for him.

He didn’t have to ask to discover you’re running away; he knows it when he sees it. You don’t have a bounty puck on you, and the way you treat the child lets him know he can trust you. You’ve given him no reason to doubt you, nor will you ever. He even offers to pay you for taking care of the child; but as long as you have a place to stay and food – you don’t need credits.

So that’s how you became a part of his life.

It was interesting to learn about the Mandalorian and how he operates.

He’s often times quiet, but you know from the way he speaks and when he speaks – that he has heart. Why else would he have taken in this small child? It was for no benefit of his own. In fact, it was of great cost to him.

You respect his way of life. You understand you’ll never see his face.

You saw a fraction of the back of his head once, only enough to see the tips of his brown hair. That’s the only detail you’d get. It made your heart skip a beat; you don’t want him to know you saw.

It didn’t bother you that you’d never see his face.

At first.

Your relationship with him in the beginning was purely professional and he was kind to you. For which you’d always be grateful. You called him ‘Mando’ and it was simple.

You’d watch him with the child or do something small and sweet and it made your heart ache a little. Who is this man?

Mando would startle you on accident – he’s always so quiet. And he’d offer an apology for scaring you. That always tugged at your heart that he apologized.

Then one day he tells you his name. Din Djarin.

Something changes that day in you both. That’s the day you ache to put a face to the name. And that’s the day when he walks up behind you and you jump – he actually laughs. There’s amusement in his voice.

Amusement.

Where there’s amusement, that means a smile.

You never thought much about how he felt about you, but now you think maybe he sees you as a friend. Something about this brings joy to your heart, and more longing you don’t know where to put.

You wonder if you’ll ever know what’s going on behind that visor – you only ever see your own face reflected. How does he see you in there?

Life with Din isn’t always easy, tonight is no exception.

He’s bringing in a dangerous bounty.

“Keep the kid safe,” he told you before he turns and stalks down the ramp of his ship, ready for the hunt. His cloak brushed against your leg as he left, and you shivered. There’s something unspoken, a need to reach out and touch him. But there’s no skin to touch. He’s closed off from you physically, and emotionally. You suppose his name is all you’ll get, but you’ll take it.

It doesn’t occur to you that this bounty is actually dangerous – Din always tells you to keep the kid safe. But when he returns to the Crest with something very angry with claws in a bag – you lock yourself into one of the compartments with the child in your lap. You wait for the hiss of the carbonite before you come out.

Din is panting heavily and tapping against his helmet, whatever it was he was wrestling must have hit him on the head.

You put the child in his pram, and he starts to doze off from all the excitement.

“Are you alright?” you ask, and he looks at you, really looks. He cocks his head to the side and your heart is beating rapidly in your chest. His gaze pierces through you and it eats you up inside that you don’t know what he sees, or even what his eyes look like.

His helmet was slightly damaged – and he can see right through you. Literally. His heat tracking sequence is turned on. He can see the warmth in your face, hear your heart pounding in your chest. He feels as if he shouldn’t look at you like this, and he turns his head away. But in the brief moment, his eyes catch a glimpse of warmth pooling in between your legs.

He’s no stranger to an aroused woman, but it still catches him off guard for a moment. Has he been this blind? Have you wanted him all this time and he not seen?

Testing the waters, he takes a step forward. Your heart only pounds faster, and there is no mistaking the heat at your core.

Something inside tells you that he knows that he can sense you desire for him. You don’t know whether to be embarrassed or aroused all the more. So, when he takes a step forward, you stand your ground.

He raises his gloved hand – reaching for you. You stand still, unsure of what he’s doing. He places his hand over your heart, and gently backs you up until your back hits the wall behind you. You’re trapped, but there’s nowhere else you’d rather be.

Maybe it’s the thrill from capturing a dangerous bounty, the adrenaline pumping in his veins. Seeing your obvious arousal has him feeling a heat he’s not felt in some time. He’s quick to close the pram, giving the two of you some privacy from those big eyes.

“Your heart,” he says, feeling the pounding under his palm and hearing the thrum bounce around in his helmet. “Do you want this?” he asks, just to be sure. As if he can’t see the heat sensors picking up your need.

You nod and whisper a ‘yes.’

You’re not entirely sure how sex with someone who can’t take off their helmet is going to work but you’re not asking any questions.

A sturdy thigh makes its way in between your legs and you shudder violently at the chill from the steel under your hot flesh. You want your clothing off so you can feel as much of him as possible. You’ve never really touched him before, maybe only in passing if you clumsily bump into him. But not like this.

Not when his thigh is purposefully spreading your legs apart.

You reach for him, your hand landing on his forearm. His hand is still on your heart, still pressing you to the wall. It’s not rough, it’s as if he’s just enjoying the feeling of another’s heart beating quickly for him.

He pulls back then, suddenly and you gasp at the loss. He undresses you then, slowly. It’s more intimate that you anticipated, you’re not going to see him naked, so he draws this out for the both of you.

When you’re fully exposed to him, you somehow feel barer than you already are. He’s covered from head to toe, and there you are without a stitch on you. Which is why his next move makes your heart ache with tenderness.

He offers you his hand, he simply holds his hand out to you. Somehow you understand his meaning, and you slowly pull off his glove. You drop the garment to the floor, and you see his bare hand. His knuckles are scarred. His hands beaten and showing the life he’s lived. His hand is relaxed, and you take it in both of your hands, feeling the warmth and heat of his skin. It sends a thrill down your spin; this is what you’ve been waiting for.

You bring his hand to your lips and kiss his knuckles, which surprises him. He gently pulls himself from your grasp to tenderly brush his finger down your cheek.

His other glove comes off and you’re quick to put his hands on you.

A warm hand cups your breast, and the other rests on your chest – just under your throat. His thumb rubs along your collarbone. It’s just as meaningful to him to touch skin as it is to you.

You let his hands explore your skin. There’s an eagerness to it, laced with a heat and desire. You can’t see his face but the way his fingers dig into your flesh tells you that he wants you back.

His thumb swipes along your breast, slowly. Just touching your skin. His head cocks when you cry out from your nipple being so teased. His other hand is on your hip, fingers dancing along – his fingertips slow in the movements. It’s as if he wants to memorize the way you feel.

He wishes to see you without this heat tracking – the images in his helmet are blended. He can see your skin, but there’s an unnatural red over your body showing him the heat you’re giving off.

The heat is building, so he takes this opportunity to guide you to his bed. He lays you down – your legs hang off the edge of his makeshift cot. He kneels then in front of you and grabs a hold of your leg to put it over his shoulder. He does the same with your other, his cold Beskar under your bent knees.

Much like his thumb had brushed over your nipple, he brushes his thumb over your clit. It’s one slow stroke, but it has you gasping harshly from your lungs. He repeats the stroke, and you cry out. If you could see him, there’d be a smug smile on his face.

Slick has gathered at your opening, and experimentally he dips a finger inside. When you moan, he takes this as his cue to continue. His thumb is pressing into your clit, he can hear your heartbeat pounding and he can feel it under his thumb.

A second finger joins the first while his thumb strokes back and forth. He’s in no hurry. He gets you off once, then twice this way. Letting it build slowly, then he increases his pressure and speed. He says nothing while you reach your high and cry out for him, but you can tell he’s pleased.

“One more?” his voice rasps through his modulator. Tears are in your eyes from such intense, sweet pleasure and you nod. You’re not above begging, and you would if he were going to stop here.

His fingers curl and thumb is toying with you. You look up to see his helmet there between your legs. His vision is clouded with you spread out in front of him, red hot pleasure, and your heart rings through his helmet. He curls and curls his fingers again and again until you feel that sweet release approaching.

You feel your stomach tighten, and a sensation you’ve never felt before begins to grow. It builds and it builds, and you groan – throwing your head back. You’ve moved your leg to press your foot against his shoulder while his fingers move, you press hard with your leg, but he’s ever steady. His strokes don’t stop, and you scream when you find your release. You whine as you come down and you can’t breathe it feels so good. Your vision is clouded now with red hot pleasure. It burns.

You lean up once you can breathe to see his helmet is covered in your essence, you gushed all over him. His fingers still inside you are coated with your slick. He’s still, unmoving. It’s a sight to behold. A wave of embarrassment washes over you. To see your wetness dripping from the Beskar helmet.  Then you hear him let out a soft grunt. You look to see him with his free hand wrapped around himself. You don’t know when he pulled himself free of his pants, but he’s nearing his end. Your release set him off and he’s coming on his own hand in mere seconds. He pulls his fingers from your heat, and you see his both his hands are covered in cum.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, though you know he’s not angry.

“Don’t be,” he rasps, then clears his throat. “That was-“

“That’s never happened to me before.”

“Me neither,” he chuckles, there’s that amusement again. “We’ll have to see if we can get you to again.”

Your eyes widen at his simple and sudden remark. He’s completely nonchalant as if he didn’t just say something that made your heat clench again. He slides your leg off his shoulder, some sticky left on his hands gets on your leg – adding yet another strange thrill.

You get an eyeful of him just before he tucks himself back into his pants.

“If you want to use the refresher,” he points, bringing your attention back to his ‘face’ instead of his length. Your face heats realizing he saw you, and again when you see your arousal is still stuck to his helmet.

You clean up in the refresher while he cleans off his helmet and fixes the heat sensors. He won’t need those anymore to know if you want him.

You wish you could have seen the look of surprise on his face when you came. His shocked expression hidden under the safety of his helmet. You can’t get it out of your mind as you clean yourself off in the refresher, the way he sat – stunned. The grunts that escaped his lips as he stroked himself. How casual he spoke about the ‘next time.’

The need to see his face grows stronger, but how well his hands took you apart tonight is more than enough to keep you satisfied – there’s proof of it. And The Mandalorian is wiping it off his helmet.

xx

piryc beskar buy’ce = wet beskar helmet 

xx

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[daddywanken0bi]

Armor

word count: 1.7k

author: Allie

warnings: female reader, but none other than that. it’s fluffy :)

a/n: oh my gosh it’s been so long. Jess and I have been working like crazy this semester, but we’re finally on break. And this one, for some reason, took forever to write. I still don’t think it’s perfect, but I don’t want to keep y’all waiting any longer. 

Obi Wan x Mandalorian!reader

requested by @the-mandalorian-clone-lover​

Armor

Your armor didn’t used to feel this heavy.

It was designed to be light weight, flexible and silent in combat. It was precisely tailored to your body with chrome plating and acute edges. It used to be something you relied on and trusted to protect your most vital organs. But now, as the red paint chipped to reveal the true blue underneath, it only felt like a burden, a customized reminder of a distantly past life. You probably offended someone wearing it still, but you didn’t really care at this point. The menacing helmet was enough to prevent people from approaching you - that was the last thing you needed.

So you kept it, wore it with some sort of false pride that was more akin to stubbornness than anything else. If you were honest with yourself, you’d acknowledge the comfort it provided - a shield that prevented you from facing the Galaxy and coming to terms with your past. But life as a bounty hunter was far from honest, and you were good at your job.

Your armor hung especially low on your shoulders as you landed back on Coruscant. The target you’d been hunting for a week slipped through your fingers again. Every time you thought you had them, the bastard squirmed out of your grasp. And to add insult to injury, a colleague (to put it politely) captured the shmuck just as you were about to close in. Dejected and bitter, you returned to the city planet with very little of your pride intact.

However, as soon your boots hit the pavement, all of the tension released from your shoulders. You exhaled and tilted your gaze to the magnificent temple piercing the horizon. Beneath your chest plate, your heart reached for your lover that resided there. It wouldn’t be long until he found you, you knew, as the Force drew him to you like a moth to a flame. You shook your head, and beneath your helmet, a smile tugged at your lips.

The thought of reuniting with his sapphire eyes kept your shoulders square as you traipsed through the muddy streets. You surveyed its inhabitants, noting how any of them could be your next target. On your left, an elderly man played the ommni box, his hat on the ground for credits. On some strange level, you empathized with him: you both resorted to your talents to make a living. To your right, a couple stumbled out of a bar, giggling and collapsing on top of one another. Acidic jealousy bubbled in your stomach as you watched, but shame quickly suppressed it. It was unfair of you to be envious. Loving a Jedi was difficult, but you knew you were just as difficult to love, if not more.  

You shook your head and his eyes flashed in your mind once more. You smiled again at the reminder, and  the old man and the couple disintegrated back into the hustle and bustle. You kept your head high for the final few blocks that separated you from your building, but as soon as the elevator doors sealed behind you, you slumped against the wall. You sighed as you peeled off your helmet, grateful to release some of the weight. The hum of the lift was lulling and you hardly fought the closing of your eyelids. But the hiss of the lift doors opening reminded you that you weren’t at your apartment yet, so you heaved yourself off the wall. You could barely keep your eyes open as you made your way down the hallway. All you could think about was how wonderful your bed would feel as soon as you got the door open...if only you could get the door open.

“Are you having trouble with your key code, dear one?”

Your eyes few wide.

You swung your head, and sure enough, your lover stood, propped against the wall with his arms crossed deliciously over his chest. A smiled played on his beautiful lips a you registered him there - just as you predicted.

“Obi Wan,” You crossed to him in two steps and all but collapsed into his arms. “How long have you been here?”

“Oh, not too long.” He whispered into your dirty hair, his smile evident in his voice. You released him, eager to see that smile with your own eyes. He nearly took your breath away. Wow, was he remarkable.

You returned to your door, finally energized enough to tap in the (correct) code. You reached for him with your free hand (your helmet tucked under the other), a silent gesture for him to follow you inside. He did, and he watched as you discarded your helmet and made a b-line for the kitchen. You reached for the kettle.

“It’s good to see you.”

“You, too,” Obi Wan said as he leaned against the counter. He crossed his arms over his chest, restrained excitement bubbling in his eyes. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t posses the same look. You focused back in the kettle.

“I nearly had him, you know.”

“I believe you.”

“If only that stupid patron didn’t spill their drink and make an entire scene-“

“You must be exhausted,” You hadn’t noticed his proximity until he slipped his hand under yours, taking it off the stove ignition. You peered up him.

“No more than usual,” You chuckled.

“Lets get this armor off you.”

“Obi Wan-“

“Come.”

You knew better than to argue with him. So you followed as he lead you out of the kitchen, down the hall, and into your bedroom. He dropped your hand and crossed to pull fresh clothes from your dresser. You took to opportunity to start loosening the clasps on your chest plate.

“Please,” Obi Wan took your hands again as soon as he noticed. “Let me.”

Resigning, you let your hands fall to your sides. He resumed your previous chore, gentle and patient as ever. He unbuckled the last clasp and mumbled a small “up,” urging you to lift your arms so he could pull the armor over your head. He then moved to the metal on your arms, unhinging their grasp on your biceps and forearms. He finished with your gloves - he placed a soft kiss to each palm as they were revealed.

“Sit.” He nodded towards the bed and you did as he asked. He knelt before you and began unlacing your boots. He pulled each one off, massaging your toes before removing your socks. He worked next on your shin guards, then pulled you up to stand once they were shed. He remained kneeling, peeling the last bits of armor protecting your legs to the floor. You stepped out of them, and Obi Wan gathered the discarded pieces and placed them into the drawers of your dresser.

You just admired him, joy radiating from your bones as he moved so gracefully around your room.

“Do you need help changing your clothes, too?” He teased. “I thought you would be capable of doing that yourself?” You giggled.

“I’m just so tired, Obi Wan. Would you please assist me?” You feigned, biting back a grin. His eyes rolled to the side, but his laugh gave him away.

“You’re lucky you’re beautiful.” He reached for zipper down the front of your bodysuit.

“That’s the only reason you love me-” As he pulled it down your shoulders, “-my appearance.” He pursed his lips.

“Oh no, darling.” He pressed a kiss to your cheek, “I love your wit,” a kiss to your jaw, “Your humor,” to your shoulder, “Your no-nonsense attitude,” your collar bone, “Your strength,” the center of your chest, “Your flaws,” your chin…

“You,” He hovered just above your lips, “in entirety.”

You gazed at him, pure adoration in his eyes. You traced his cheekbone with your fingertips and kissed him with all the love you had to give. For he was the only thing in the galaxy that gave you purpose anymore, the least you could do was love him in return.

You drew away from him for breath, he rested his forehead on yours. You forgot for a moment that you were half dressed, until a draft shivered up your arms. Obi Wan noticed, and reached for the clean shirt he pulled out earlier. He pulled it over your head, blissful smiles permanent on both of your faces. You peeled the rest of your body suit off your legs, and replaced it with fresh lounge pants.

“There.” Obi Wan sighed, content, “Better?”

“Much.” You smiled. “Now it’s your turn, Master General.”

“Sweetheart, I’m alri-“

“It’s simply unfair that I stand so unprotected in front of you.” You placed your hands on his shoulder pads. You raised your eyebrow, and repeated the same phrase , “Let me?”

He didn’t protest, he only chuckled and nodded encouragingly. You mirrored his previous actions - drawing his chest plate over his head, unclasping his arm guards, and pulling his gloves. However, you placed a kiss to his knuckles instead of his palm. He wore significantly less armor than you, so you were done much faster than he was, but you wanted to savor the moment as he did. You caressed the linen hugging his chest, grateful to feel him near you again. You ghosted your lips at the crest of his collar bone, the small glimpse of him his robes provided.

Obi Wan lifted your chin with his finger, an endearing gesture that always sent butterflies to your stomach - this he knew. You melted into him, closed your eyes, rendered yourself completely vulnerable.

“So beautiful…” He murmured, barely audible. You leaned closer to him, expecting to feel the weight of his lips on yours-

A scream rang through the apartment. You relaxed after you realized it was only the obnoxious screech of the kettle echoing from the kitchen. The moment with your love now absolutely butchered, your head fell onto his chest, laughs and giggles spilling from both of your lips. Your head tilted back up at him.

“Care for a cup of tea?”

He grabbed your cheeks and smacked a sloppy, playful kiss to your lips.

“Absolutely!”

Wiping the kiss from your mouth and stumbling with laughter, you followed Obi Wan out of the bed room, your lost bounty forgotten with your discarded armor.

[comfyswitcherblanketfort]

Snowed In p6

This gave me such a hard time but I needed this conversation to happen for like 50% of the plot shit down the road, plz forgive me. 

Pairing: Geralt x fem!reader

Warnings: hella awkward convos, pining, self depreciating undertones?, talking about sex? idk yall im tryinna tag these with everything i can think of but if i miss something plz let me know!

Summary: (Last part was pure smut, but for those who skipped, it was basically them justifying a good roll in the hay bc it would help them sleep) The day after some completely pragmatic and not at all monumental sex they’re figuring out where to go from there. Boundaries and such?

__________

part 5 here!

You woke slowly, uncomfortably warm and… sticky? 

As reality came into focus you realized the stickiness was sweat from being plastered to Geralt's bare chest as you slept. You wriggled a little, loosening his hold on your hips so you could scoot back and see his face. He was still fast asleep, hair sticking to his stubble and mouth slightly open. He looked so much more innocent, almost juvenile when he slept. It made you want to protect him, as ridiculous as it sounded. 

Your hand reached up on its own to brush the strands of hair away from his face. When he didn't stir you trailed your first two fingers down his jawline, gently dragging the backs of your knuckles up over his cheekbones. You knew he could wake up at any moment, and it would be uncomfortable to explain why you were staring at him like he alone breathed life into you every day, but you continued tracing the peaks and contours of his face. 

If you let yourself think about it, he technically did. He got you up every morning, did anything you asked to help you, and everything you didn't have the stones to ask. This man made space for you like no one ever had and accepted the mess you brought with you, going so far as to help you sweep it into a manageable pile. 

You swallowed back the lump forming in your throat as you realized just how much of a mess you'd made for yourself this time. You'd fallen in love and set yourself up for nothing but pain.

The snow would melt, you two would join Jaskier on the other side of the pass, things would go back as they were, and you would fall asleep alone. 

You took a slow deep breath in and savored the peace for the last couple of moments you could before your heart would burst. Gently lifting Geralt's arm, you rolled up to sitting as slowly as possible, watching him the whole time. When he still didn't wake, you snatched up your clothes and tiptoed to the bathroom. 

He was still asleep after a towel bath and meticulously braiding your hair, softly snoring now. You couldn't help but feel a little proud of yourself for tiring him out so thoroughly.

Sitting down next to him you squeezed his shoulder, "Geralt. Hey, wake up." 

He grumbled something about it being early and patted the bed where he thought you were supposed to be before his eyes snapped open.

"There he is." You cooed, reluctantly pulling your hand away.

He squinted and furrowed his brow against the morning sun, pushing himself up on one elbow, "You're up. And dressed." 

Now, you knew you were manufacturing the disappointment in his words, but it still hit you just as hard. You sprang to your feet, kicking the contents of your bag back toward the corner with a little more vigor than necessary, "Woke up hungry. C'mon, get up." 

"Alright, alright." He grumbled, rolling over and reaching for his neatly packed bag.

Breakfast was uncomfortable, to say the least. 

Geralt didn't lean his knee against yours and you weren't sure if you missed it or were relieved he spared you the adrenaline rush. Though when he brushed against your arm reaching for the salt and you nearly jumped out of your skin. The neighbors sat across the table from you and one of them winked at you, almost making you choke on your oats. As soon as Geralt was done with breakfast you cleared both your plates and made a beeline for the door. 

You lead the way out to the barn, excited to see the caverns in the snow your fight had left the week before were still uncovered by fresh snow. You fumbled with the latch, not entirely paying attention, so Geralt reached over your shoulder and flicked it open himself. He was so close you felt his breath on your neck and the heat coming off of his chest. Everything in you wanted to lean back into him, but that might be breaking a rule and these rules were becoming ever more nuanced. 

You went about your usual business feeding and examining the horses and were about to leave, but Beau looked so sad and bored. Poor guy hadn't gotten more than a walk up and down the breezeway in a month and you could see the pent up energy in his eyes. You sighed and grabbed hold of his mane, swinging up onto his back and laying back over his haunches while he ate. This felt like a good place to slow down and examine your options with this whole "friends" business. 

"Y/N?" 

Or it would have been. 

"Stall." You answered, not sitting up even when you heard him slide the door open. 

"What're you doing up there?" Geralt's voice had that same confusing, unidentifiable tone he'd used when he'd left you in the bath. 

"He looked so lonely. You don't just spend time with Roach?" You spared him a glance, noting how casually he leaned against the door, arms crossed so that his collar slipped down to show the marks from your nails digging into his skin.

He shrugged, "She gets tired of me." 

Beau walked across the stall to sniff Geralt’s pockets and nudge his hand when he smelled what he was after. You shifted to stay balanced on his back, absolutely no intention of coming down any time soon.

The silence between you that crept on and on was in no way comfortable. You fidgeted while Geralt pet Beau, giving him a treat here and there when he smiled for him. Normally you’d be amused, now you were just angry at yourself.

You swung a leg over Beau’s withers, spinning to sit sideways facing Geralt, “You’re rather quiet.”

“I’m always quiet.”

You shook your head, frantically searching for the words you needed, testing the waters,“I ah… I had a good time last night.”

He quickly glanced at you before focusing back on Beau trying to eat his gloves, “Mhmm... Haven’t slept that well in months.”

There was a beat where you debated leaving it there, but you were never one to quit while you were ahead, “This doesn’t have to be weird, does it? I don’t want things getting tense.”

Geralt finally locked eyes with you, searching your face for something, “No… if you’re uncomfortable-”

“Which I’m not.” You interrupted.

He tilted his head, a softness taking over his face that you rarely saw, “You’re my best friend. As long as you’re okay with it, I am too. It’s just sex, after all.”

You nodded, “Just sex. Yeah. We- heh, we didn't even kiss...”

“Exactly. What are friends for?” Geralt playfully swatted at your boot, giving you a grin. 

What are friends for…

You plastered a smile on your face, changing the subject before the emotions bubbling in your chest boiled over, “Jaskier is gonna kill you when I tell him you said I’m your best friend.”

He moved to stand in front of you, crossing his forearms and resting them on your knees. His touch was calming, grounding you back into reality as he usually did.

He squinted up at you, “That’s if you tell him.”

You patted his hand, “Oh, I’m definitely telling him.” you teased. 

He gripped your wrist and quickly spun to face away from you, pulling you forward and off Beau's back. You squeaked and gripped onto his shoulders when you landed on him. He laughed, giving a little jump to get you higher on his hips and get a hold of your knees. A giggle slipped from your lips, partly due to surprise, but partly because his grip on your knees tickled.

"I'll tell him it was you who dropped the sword on his lute strings." Geralt made his threat halfheartedly, carrying you out of the barn only to have you steer him back to grab your gloves that you'd left on the hay. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, taking your opportunity to hold him close to you as possible, resting your chin on his shoulder. His warmth and his scent lulled you into a state of content as he took his time meandering back to the inn. Just before he reached the door you noticed a fresh snowflake on your elbow. 

"Motherfucker." You shouted, "It's snowing again." 

"Shit! Y/N, you're right in my ear." He tried to turn to look at you but you tucked your head against his neck, hiding almost like a child. 

"Sorry. I forgot…" you whispered, more out of embarrassment than anything.

He hummed, the vibrations permeating your whole body from where you were perched as he yanked the door open and stomped inside. You wiggled, communicating you could once again walk just like a toddler, but he just hoisted you up higher and trudged up the stairs. You bit your lip, hiding a smile on the basic principle of not wanting to feel it, not necessarily because anyone important could see you. 

When you reached your room Geralt rather unceremoniously collapsed onto the bed, sending the two of you bouncing for a bit before he came to rest with his shoulders on your hips. 

"Tired?" You asked, fighting the urge to rake your fingers through his hair.

"Exhausted." He made no effort to get up but rested his hands underneath the outsides of your knees. 

You sighed in agreement and rested your hands on his shoulders, "Post breakfast nap sounds nice."

I can handle this. I know the boundaries. Just don't kiss him. That should be easy enough ...

__________

part 7 here!

gotta edit bc im a scatterbrain and forgot to tag! If you want to be tagged plz let me know! 

@ab-haya @fire-in-her-veinz @cavillhavoc

[fourmarkdove]

Wings.

Title: Wings.

Summary: Bouncing back into the dating scene after a bad breakup seems like a good idea until your Tinder date becomes an absolute nightmare.

Paring: Vampire!Henry x Reader

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: Angst, physical and a hint of sexual assault, violence, blood, dissociation, murder (most foul). You know, the usual. Please avoid if you trigger easily. 

A/N: Inspo based on this edit (above) of Vampire!Henry by @demivampirew​ 

“I’m going to go to the bathroom!” you shouted to your date over the hard thumping house music.

Surprisingly, he looked exactly like his Tinder profile picture, with his perfect blonde haircut, clean lines of an expensive suit, bioluminescent grin. It seemed odd he refused to meet his brown eyed gaze to yours, electing to keep his sunglasses on during dinner, but you cared less and less as the top tier mixed drinks kept coming. He’d thrown his arm comfortably around you way too early, smiled much too brightly. But if you were completely honest, it’d been so long since your last date, before that rough break-up, and you were starving for the attention. It’s not like you were a one night stand kind of woman, certainly not with a smooth, nearly perfect, stranger but if the situation presented itself you were pretty sure you were going to jump on the opportunity - not because he was as amazing as his profile said he was. He was actually quite boring, despite the flash and swagger, tossing cash around like he legitimately owned the nightclub he took you to after dinner.

In the bathroom, you pressed your hips firmly into the edge of the counter to keep from tilting on your fuck me heels. Applying a fresh bit of lipstick, you felt giddy, despite all of the alcohol pumping through your bloodstream. The room spun and you were hazy but in a fun way.

You are a sexy bitch. Smiling at yourself in the mirror, you decided you were going home with him.

He gripped your hips bruisingly hard and kept ramming his bulge against you every chance he got. He even started to kiss and nip at your neck, right there on the dance floor with people pressed in all around you. Who does that? People who find other people incredibly desirable and not at all desperate for validation, that’s who.

Your drunken logic, like your lipstick, was flawless.

After adjusting your push-up bra so your breasts lifted even higher from the black dress you wore, you stumbled back out the door to where he was waiting, leaning against the wall, your tiny purse strap dangling from one of his fingers.

“You ready to go, babe?”

“Mm I think so,” you purred hazily, running your nails over the buttons down the front of his shirt. He gripped your hand so hard you squeaked. His crushing grip hurt as he dragged you through the writhing mass of dancing bodies. You were going to get fucked. And you were going to feel it tomorrow.

“Uber?” you questioned, pulling out your phone the moment you cleared the club doors and were slapped with the shudderingly cool night air. Damn. You should have brought a jacket.

“Nah, we’ll walk,” he griped, leading you a few steps down the sidewalk. “My place isn’t too far.”

You made it exactly three steps teetering on those fuck me heels before you rolled your ankle on the uneven sidewalk and cried out in pain.

“I’m so s-sorry, Bryce,” you whimpered, leaning against a sign post to slip off your heel. “Give me a minute.”

He glanced over his glasses at you and then further down the street. “Come on, babe. Worry about it when we get to my place.”

“I think I might have pulled something. It’s really swelling up. Will you please wait a moment?”

“No, I don’t think I will,” he hissed menacingly. “I guess we’ll just have to do this here.”

Before you had a chance to ask what he meant, he fisted your hair and yanked hard at the roots.Your hands flew around his wrist, attempting to free yourself as he dragged you toward the darkened alley beside the club. Stumbling in only one heel, your throbbing ankle gave way again and you howled painfully, begging him to let you go. In the rush pry yourself from his grip, your purse swung from your body and landed on the sidewalk.

“Please stop!” you sobbed when your back grated flush to the stone cold brick wall behind you.

He held you by the throat, taking his time pulling off his sunglasses and tucking them into his jacket. There was no hurry now that he had captured and caged you in with his body. He hovered, blown out eyes black as midnight, and breathed in the warm scent of your skin, nuzzling along your hairline.

“You’re a fucking tease; you know that, yeah?” he breathed, tipping his head and playfully edging your strap off your shoulder.

“No, I’m really not,” you gritted, holding onto his wrist for dear life. In your peripheral vision, you noticed your purse had fallen open and spilled its contents under the buzzing orange streetlight. Fuck. Mace was in your purse but too far to manage now, especially on a sprained ankle.

He took advantage of your sideways glance, pressing his mouth hungrily to yours. Pressure and sharpness made you gasp audibly. He sighed, savoring the moment and you licked over your bottom lip to find the sting.

“You fucking bit me!”

His grin shown dark, stained with your blood. Wordlessly, he jerked your head to the side and sunk his canines into the soft place between your shoulder and neck. You cried out in shuddering pain, attempting desperately to shift your weight onto your injured side so you could at least give him a swift kick. He had you pinned too well though and any movement made him just grip tighter.

Bare shoulder blades scraping into the bricks behind you made you arch from the wall, but he pressed a thigh between your legs and forced you back onto it, his other hand roaming freely all over your body; grasping, kneading, bruising.

Letting out a choked, desperate cry, you felt your vision going dark. The lightheaded sensation swept through your body and your grip on his wrist loosened. You felt sick and hot and just wanted to escape your body.

You neither saw nor heard your date’s attacker approaching, but the pressure release and being tossed into the gravel shocked you semi-conscious. Through hazy vision, you made out two men scuffling and two others arriving from under the buzzing streetlight. 

Shouting. And growling. 

Pulling yourself up to sitting, you attempted to stand but the pain and disorientation proved too much. Instead, you dragged yourself to the doorway behind the club and held your breath, trying to stay quiet. Hot liquid pooled in the dip above your collarbone which you instinctively pressed your hand over.

The shouting ceased with a sickening click followed immediately by two men dragging a limp body right past you down the alley in the direction of the dumpsters.

A massive form in an all black suit loomed large over your hiding spot and the proximity made you shudder in terror. Flicking on his phone flashlight, he crouched down and laid it beside you.

“You can call the police and I’ll wait here with you. But I’d prefer you let me help you inside.”

His deep voice felt warm, like an embrace to your senses. A dark curl fell against his tense, worry-lined forehead which he pushed back but fell right onto its original place.

“My ankle…” you redirected, anxious to get his steady gaze away from your face. You had yet to look him in the eye.

Shrugging off his suit jacket, he slipped it around your body while looking over your swollen appendage. “Hmm, we should get some ice on that.”

Pulling the smooth fabric up close against your cheeks, you burrowed down into his jacket that could have wrapped around you twice over. It was still warm and smelled like sandalwood and soap.

Awash with sympathy, his blue-eyed gaze returned to your pained face. His brows lifted in the center waiting for your decision.

“Maybe some ice,” you suggested, “for my shoulder, too?”

Fishing keys out of his suit pants’ pocket, he put one into the lock above your head and turned it.

“You work here?”

“Something like that,” he nodded, sliding a thick arm under your legs and another behind your back, lifting you up off the gravel like you weighed nothing at all.

Dumpster lids at the end of the alley slammed open. The jarring sound rattled your nerves and you instinctively buried your face in his dress shirt’s collar.

“You don’t need to look at that, darling,” he instructed gently, rubbing a thumb against the small of your back.

*

Once inside, he flicked on a series of small golden lights down a long hall and into a pristinely presented office. Just past the desk with leather chairs was an executive washroom similarity decorated to the rest: mostly black marble with gold trim around the huge mirror that filled almost an entire wall.

Setting you down gently next to the sink, he slipped from your grasp to wash his bloodied knuckles. Your wide eyed gaze peering out from under his over-sized suit jacket made him smile just slightly.

“What’s your name?” He took a folded towel from the sink and dried his hands.

“Y/N.”

“Henry.”

“I’m not sure I should be in here.”

He arched a curious brow, removing his cuff links. “Oh? Why do you say that?”

“Looks expensive and I might be sick.” You cringed inside but it was the truth. Your skin was clammy and you kept swallowing hard, trying not to think of your anxious stomach turning over.

His amused smirk faded. Rolling up his sleeves, he pushed them up his forearms and stepped up between your knees.

When he came that close, you stared straight ahead at his broad chest, particularly the third button down that strained to keep his shirt closed across his pecs. 

Black button on a black shirt with black thread going through two holes. Kind of a shiny button. Almost. Not quite matte. It’s a nice shirt. On a nice man. He smells nice.

“Darling?” he called gently, tugging at your not-so-conscious thought. You lifted your head up to meet his gaze. They were the most beautiful blue eyes you’d ever seen. Saying nothing, heat rose to your cheeks and the corner of your lips ticked slightly upwards.

“Before we get to that ankle, I’d like to have a look at that shoulder,” he pressed two fingers to the lapel of his jacket you wore.

The moment he applied even the slightest pressure, you recoiled to the back of the jacket and closed your eyes tightly.

“Easy now, I just want to get you bandaged up,” he rumbled in his deep baritone.

“No.” You appeared to withdraw further into his jacket. “Please… don’t… touch me.”

Sighing deeply, he disappeared a moment and returned with the first aid box and set it next to your thigh. Popping it open, he rifled through bandages and located a pair of scissors, offering them to you, handle first. “Go on, take them.”

You frowned but pried your hand from your grip on the fabric around yourself to hold the scissors. Pressing a palm on the counter next to your knee, he leaned down so you were both eye level.

He searched your gaze for a moment. “In case you were worried, now you have a weapon. You won’t need it, but I do need to have a look at you though.”

Biting your bloodied lip, you nodded and felt an odd sense of relief. He lifted his brows in the center and asked if he could peel back the blood slickened jacket from your chest and you agreed, but immediately regretted it. Hissing in sharply, you clutched the scissors and looked up at him for any indication as to how bad it really was.

He maintained the same expression, however: focused, concerned, but controlled. Once he had your shoulder fully exposed, he reached around and quickly collected one of the hand towels, applying such hard pressure to the gaping bite wound that it made you wail in pain.

“Fuck,” he grunted, checking under the towel edge, adding a second to it and pressing down with the same painful pressure. “I didn’t think he had it in him to bite you as seriously as this.”

“Serious?” you repeated, feeling quite detached from your body. You touched the tendon working along his forearm, over his wrist and hand forcing the towels into the bite so severely, any additional pressure and he could have snapped your clavicle with his bare hands.

“You’re bleeding. Badly.”

“Doesn’t hurt.”

Jaw clenched, he corrected, “I can get it to stop but you’ll need to trust me and you won’t like it.”

“Doesn’t matter.” An overwhelming sense of dread filled every corner in the darkest parts of your mind. It made you choke on tears. “Nothing matters.”

“Of course it does,” he nudged gently, lifting your head with his elbow. “What were you drinking tonight?”

“Um… a-appletini. Caramel.”

Flashing a brilliant smile, down at you, he applied both hands’ worth of pressure to your shoulder again, making you whine. “After we get this sorted, we’ll sit down together and you can drink all the appletinis you want. On me.”

“N-no, I… c-couldn’t- I…”

His warm chuckle resonated through your chest. “Of course you can. And will. I own this place and a dozen more like it, Y/N. We’ll sit down together at any one of them that you like, promise.”

“Like… a date?” The words tumbled out of your mouth but in fairness, you weren’t sure the perfectly gorgeous man before you was real or just a dream. It had to be a dream because what would someone who looked like him want anything to do with someone like you?

“Like a date,” he repeated, leaning over and nuzzling your head back up. He huffed a frustrated grunt. “Come on, stay awake.”

Touching foreheads, your eyes opened lazily and you stroked the stubble along his jawline. “S-sorry I... ruined y-your... jacket...”

Worry strained his features; you were fading quite literally in his hands. “Let me do this. Please.”

“Mm...” your hand slipped from his cheek and the sweet solitude of sleep consumed your consciousness, rendering your body limp.

In an instant, the towels were slapped onto a soaked pile on the floor and his massive hands wrapped firmly around your waist, lifting you up as his mouth descended to your neck. Your head dropped back, and he pushed tendrils of blood soaked hair over your shoulder so they swung against the mirror making a slippery mess of the glass. He tongued over every inch of your exposed flesh, coagulating the fresh blood rising to the surface with his saliva. The scissors you held clattered into the sink basin.

Dark liquid smeared all over his lips and cheeks, he lifted his head, panting. His bright ocean blue eyes were filled with the red rage and blood lust from the taste of warm, fresh blood. Pushing his fingers into your hair, he tenderly lifted your head and dropped his shoulder to cradle your forehead against the crook of his long neck.

His brow furrowed when he tugged his saturated jacket down the rest of the way, exposing your injured shoulder blades in the mirror. Licking his thumb pad, he stroked over each bloodied wing in the reflection.

He made his way with you still in his arms back to the couch in his office and laid down heavy with you positioned atop his chest. Who knew if you would remember any of what had happened - or if despite his best efforts - if you’d wake up at all?

[spookyold-saintjm]

Pieces of You

Mayor Damien x reader

| Part Two | | Part Three |

Warnings:��mild language and sexual themes/implied smut (gender neutral)

Word Count: 1,810

Series Summary: Damien is your world, and you are his light. One night, just shy of the long-awaited evening on which he’s planned to ask for your hand in marriage, he goes out for a poker night reunion with old friends at the Markiplier manor. He doesn’t come back.

a/n: I am SO incredibly excited to finally get started on this! It’s an idea I’ve had since long before I started writing again, and it’s about time I put it down into words. Thanks to everyone who encouraged me to post this! The first chapter is soft but we all know where it goes from here...

Damien is so very near and dear to my heart so please let me know your thoughts! Hope you enjoy reading. x

“When someone dies, you can mourn. It’s so much harder when someone just disappears.” 

—

Damien kept the ring in his office.

Not because he thought you were nosy and went through his things, but because he was worried he would get so caught up in a moment with you that he would end up giving it to you before the night he’d been so meticulously planning for weeks on weeks.

Damien had known he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you for some time. He was the sort that had friends in every circle, got invited to all the parties in college (and attended most of them), and as he somewhat accidentally stumbled into a political career, became a prominent guest or host of more events than he could ever count. 

Early on in this whirlwind his life had turned into over the last several years, he had met you. At one of said college parties, actually. Your meeting may or may not have been orchestrated by a certain aspiring actor that you both had befriended in separate undergrad courses, who had decided on his own accord that you were a clear match.

He was right, of course, but it took some time for Damien to prove himself to you. He was foolishly head-over-heels for you, but you were far more focused on your career path, and perhaps eventually a serious relationship, than you were with a boy who didn’t seem interested in anything more than blowing through his courses and finding his next opportunity for a wild night with his friends. 

His kind eyes, witty sense of humor, and devilishly charming smile be damned.

When you finally resigned to the first date, and teasingly confessed to him that weekend at a bar across from campus that you’d consider a second date if he made a deal with you to take his studies more seriously…well, he didn’t fuck around. Why would he? He was enamored with you, had decided from day one that he’d give you the world and then some if you asked for it. 

Damien was determined to prove himself to you. So a second date turned into a third, a fourth, and countless more. The brilliant man that you knew had been hiding under all of the fun and games came to light. Not that he lost that side of himself; no chance in hell. When the two of you weren’t side-by-side in the library working on your respective projects or gathered around a table with colleagues energetically discussing the latest elections and policies, he was taking you out for late nights of dancing to your favorite music under the stars or sneaking you into his apartment to watch movies and cram in a make-out session before his roommates came home. You'd caved. You’d caved hard.

You came to realize Damien was all you could have asked for and more, and he would have easily said the same of you. You stuck together through the years of school left ahead of you and beyond, which eventually led to your position as a chief assistant in the District Attorney’s Office, and Damien’s skyrocket to the role of Mayor in the building right across the street. 

Which was where you were headed that particular afternoon after saying goodbye to your coworkers for the day. After closing a particular case that the office had been plagued with for the last few weeks, the DA sent everyone in the office home for an evening to finally get some much-needed rest.

You cheerfully exchanged greetings with those you knew lingering in the lobby and the front desk and immediately let into the hallway that led to Damien’s office. As you approached, you could hear an exchange of two deep voices, but they immediately clipped to complete silence when you lightly knocked three times on Damien’s office door.

There was a sound of brief shuffling, quickly followed by Damien’s call to come in. You slowly opened the door, smiling at the two men standing behind the desk in the far side of the room.

“Detective! Nice to see you.” You greeted Abe first, stepping further into the room. The detective met you halfway, shaking your hand and nodding politely back at you.

“You too, y/n,” His smile a little too enthusiastic. He jerked this thumb behind him, and you briefly flicked your eyes toward Damien hastily shuffling pens and papers around in his desk drawer before detective spoke again. “Our lovely Mayor here was just telling me about his latest project—”

Damien had made his way around the desk by then, and swiftly clapped his hand atop Abe’s shoulder as he came up behind him.

“Yes, Detective! And I’m happy to discuss more later, if you’d like.”  You didn’t miss the emphasis layering a couple of their words, but you didn’t pay it much mind; Damien was always up to some sort of troublemaking within the office, good-natured of course, but nevertheless enough to make at least a couple members of the staff want to pull their hair out at any given time. His defense was, naturally, that he didn’t want anyone to get bored. Knowing him, there was no danger of that any time soon.

You rolled your eyes as your grin widened once Damien stepped around Abe, his hand sliding off the detective's shoulder and dropping to your waist to pull you in for a quick peck on the lips.

“Darling, do you mind swinging by my mailbox before we head home? There’s a couple things I need to finish up here, and I’ll meet you in the lobby.”

You lightly patted his cheek. “Of course, love. I’ll see you in a bit.”

You turned to leave after exchanging departing words with the detective, not missing the sound of Abe’s amused muttering and Damien’s shushing response as the door clicked shut behind you.

Boys, you sighed.

—

Damien’s stuttered sigh was heavy in your ear just before he pulled himself away from you. He fell onto his back at your side, and you were quick to collapse beside him shortly after, your head resting atop his bare, sweat-slicked chest. 

There were no words, at least not for a while; only the mingling of your panting breaths and Damein’s gentle kisses to your forehead, your cheek, and finally your lips as you propped yourself up with your forearm so that you could see him face-to-face.

“Shower?” he asked softly, but even in the dim light of your shared bedroom you could see the devilish glint in his eyes as he stared up at you. 

Your sigh was dripping with sarcastic amusement as you ducked your head down into the crook of his neck. “You’re ridiculous.” 

You laid your palm flat on his chest, fingers splaying outward, lingering on the feel of his skin beneath your hand. Damien’s own hand reached to fall atop yours, the weight a reminder that he was yours, only yours. He gave your hand a slight affectionate squeeze as the fingers of his other hand found themselves weaving in and out of your disheveled hair.

“Can you blame me? You’ve been up all night every night for the last two weeks working on that case.” He brought your hand to his lips to feather light kisses onto your knuckles. “I’ve missed you.”

You couldn’t help but smile, the soft warmth of the love between you radiating through the room and wrapping around you much like the now-tangled mess of sheets on the bed. 

“I’ve missed you too, Dames.” 

He let out a breathy laugh at the nickname that you’d given him years ago. A name reserved for only your use; anyone in the office caught teasingly using it, to his face or otherwise, was in for a death stare and a few choice words from the Mayor himself.

You laid in a contented silence for a while longer, limbs again intertwining as you embraced him and the opportunity to simply be together in a rare, quiet moment in the midst of your ever-increasing list of cases and the upcoming elections. You let the sound of his now-steadied breathing, the feeling of his chest rise and fall beneath your head, take the place of the million other things that ran through your brain on a constant loop; at the end of the day, Damien was your constant, your anchor. You couldn’t imagine life without him.

You were much more reserved and hesitant with your words than Damien, however; he would say the same things back to you and more every moment of every day if he could.

Which, now that you thought about it, made it odd that he was suddenly silent.

“You’re quiet tonight,” you softly stated, your eyes slowly opening again.

Damien’s had never closed. He was lost deep in his thoughts, in the spiral that had overtaken him so often lately: about the ring hidden away in his desk drawer back at his office, the private dinner that he’d made reservations for months ago at the most sought-after restaurant in the city, the outfit he’d bought for you to wear that night that you’d been eyeing for some time but couldn’t justify buying, now tucked away deep in his side of the closet where you’d never even think to look.

Mostly he thought about the moment when he would ask you to be a part of his life forever. When he would ask you to stick with him through the rest of his career and his life beyond, to wake up every morning by his side, to raise a house full of bright-eyed and brilliant children together, to grow old with him…

He knew you would say yes...or, at least, hoped. Abe was quick to shut down his doubts earlier that afternoon when he’d let him in on his plans to propose to you. But regardless, he couldn’t keep his stomach from turning at the thought. He’d never been more terrified, but ready for, anything in his life. And the day was drawing close.

Damien’s fingers trailed along your arm as he eventually answered you. “Just thinking about that shower we could be taking right now.”

He was quick to then grasp your arms and flip you over, forcing you to let out a high-pitched yelp followed by giggling as his body then hovered over yours. He chuckled back at you as you teasingly smacked him on the shoulder, but the both of you fell silent again as your lips met for a slow, lazy kiss.

When your lips eventually parted, the fluttering in your chest had picked up again and Damien’s grasp had drifted from your arms down to your hips. Your eyes met only for a brief second before you were both on your feet, nearly knocking over every piece of furniture in your path as you made your way to the shower.

| Part Two |

—

tag list: @aheistwithyaboi​ @dapper-comedy​ @pandacookieowo​ @jennabonenna​ @nightfuryobsessed​ @a-okay-rj​ (If I tagged you, you probably expressed interest in this when I posted about it a while ago...but I don’t wanna bother you in the future if it’s not necessary so please let me know if you’d like to be added to the permanent list!)

gif source: @darkipliers

quote source: @elfinprompts

[firebrands]

a catalog of non-definitive acts | steve/tony (part 2)

Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, mature, 2k ft. sex and angst | part 1 | ao3

They’re in a different but similarly bland conference room discussing reconnaissance reports when Tony yawns and stretches. It’s not a move, at least, he doesn’t mean for it to be, but his arm lands just along Steve’s shoulders.

(Maybe at this point it’s subconscious, ingrained in him to push boundaries and test his theories. He’s spent more time than he’d like wondering what the limits were after he’d come down Steve’s throat and Steve had tucked him back into his pants, completely nonchalant, and let the elevator continue its descent once Tony had righted himself. Tony had offered, too, to reciprocate; he’s not an asshole, much as everyone would like to think. But Steve smiled and said, next time. There hadn’t been a next time, not yet, and this is why he’s not so sure about the result of this unplanned experiment. He hopes for the best but—) It’s a small movement, almost imperceptible, the shift in Steve’s shoulders as he shrugs off Tony’s arm.

Tony moves slowly as he backs off so as not to draw attention to himself; it feels unnatural to do so, to aim for smallness. A part of him sees the beginnings of a pattern; a bigger part of him chooses to ignore the worry that begins to burrow underneath his skin.

Tony picks up his pen, begins to twirl it around his fingers as he half-listens to Nick and reorients himself with this new information. Of course, it makes sense—Steve wouldn’t be too keen on coming out, even if just to them, and to come out with Tony as his partner—well. This isn’t Tony’s first rodeo. He knows how it goes, knows what people think of him.

He slides down the seat, slouching and stretching out his legs. Besides, he figures, it’s Steve. Not Captain America—Steve. Focused and determined, intelligent and cultured; kind and generous and selfless Steve. Sure, he can be a smartass, and sure, he’s probably going to break Tony’s heart if he carries on like this, but the fact remains: It’s Steve. Tony’s a genius, but even an idiot can see that they’re not a great match. Tony consoles himself with the knowledge that at least, for a while, they have this. Whatever it is. Maybe that’ll be enough. Maybe, Tony thinks to himself, just as the pen spins out of control and skids across the table.

(As the meeting drags on, not once does Tony ask what he wants, or why he wants. Ever since, people have always asked those questions of him; he’s never learned to ask it of himself.)

*

They’re choosing the movie to watch next and Tony rests his hand on Steve’s thigh as he makes a spirited argument for Pacific Rim. Again, it’s not intentional, but Steve jerks his leg from under Tony’s palm so abruptly that Tony stops mid-sentence. No one seems to pay this any heed; Tony touches everyone all the time. (What Tony thinks no one else has noticed, though, is that Steve doesn’t touch anyone.)

Clint picks up the argument on Tony’s behalf (and if anything could grab anyone’s attention, it’s Tony and Clint agreeing on something), which gives Tony the opportunity to look at Steve without fear of—Tony’s thoughts stutter to a halt. Without fear of what, exactly?

Steve’s already looking at Tony, eyebrows drawn together and mouth pinched into a frown. He doesn’t have to say anything, and Tony knows he won’t. What irks Tony is that he’s done this before—before anything. Touched Steve without purpose or design. Now that Steve’s had Tony’s cock in his mouth, he can’t do that anymore? Tony wants to shout, This isn’t fair! But then he knows how he’ll sound. So instead, he gets up from his seat beside Steve and walks to his workshop without saying a word to anyone else. No one follows after him. This is another thing everyone’s become used to, Tony leaving suddenly, and he’s sure they chalk it up to a sudden stroke of brilliance.

It isn’t that, though, obviously. He knows there isn’t anything for him to repair, but he asks JARVIS anyway, to give himself time to think—by the time JARVIS answers in the negative, Tony picks up the latest version of a gauntlet and gets to fiddling.

He understands himself well enough to know that tinkering isn’t doing anything to clear out his thoughts. If anything, this is one of the few times when what he’s working on begins to mirror the way he’s thinking. The work is imprecise and tangled, and he knows better, he should know better, but in a stunning display that proves every single person who’s called him a genius to be false, he slips the gauntlet on sans plating and tests out the repulsor.

 Tony’s in the middle of reapplying bandages to all the small nicks and cuts on his torso when he hears a knock on his door. It takes him a few more seconds to finish up and answer—when he swings the door open, he reaches out automatically to catch Steve’s wrist just as he’s about to turn away.

“Impatient,” Tony remarks, pulling Steve into his room and shutting the door. Steve tuts in response, but it’s undercut by the gentle way he checks Tony’s bandages.

“Does it hurt?” has asks, hand sliding up Tony’s arm to smooth down the medical tape holding down the gauze on Tony’s forearm.

“Not more than usual,” Tony says.

“JARVIS—” Steve starts.

“I figured,” Tony cuts in. The mention of his AI explains how Steve found out about the explosion and subsequent injury, but not so much why Steve came up to Tony’s room in the middle of the night. Especially when a few hours earlier Tony’s touch seemed so repulsive.

Steve takes Tony’s hands in his and presses a soft kiss to Tony’s fingers. Tony hates the way his breath hitches audibly at the sudden affection, hates that he wants more of it, wants to hoard every single one of Steve’s kisses for a time when they’ll no longer be as bountiful. Tony watches as Steve’s lips curl into a smile, and he looks up at Tony as he brushes his lips against Tony’s knuckles.

Tony lets out a shaky breath, unsure of what to do next, of what he’ll be allowed to do—then Steve takes Tony’s chin in his hand and tilts his jaw up. Steve swallows and looks away for a moment, then turns back to Tony. Tony realizes it’s as much permission he’s going to get, and a small thrill shoots up Tony’s spine as he rises up just a little on his toes, enough to get his face barely an inch away from Steve’s.

So, maybe, maybe this isn’t a good idea, Tony thinks, thoughts racing through his mind so quickly he barely notices the small smile Steve spares him just before kissing him, soft and slow. It gets harder to think when Steve parts his lips open; Tony’s brain recalibrates to begin indexing the way Steve’s skin feels, the way Steve’s muscles shift under his touch, the ridges of wounds on his back that are already beginning to heal.

Steve’s thigh presses against Tony’s, and he walks them back towards Tony’s bed, and oh, god, isn’t that a thought? Tony thinks, already half delirious with Steve’s tongue in his mouth, his palms flush against the swell of Steve’s ass.

Steve barely pulls away, his lips still ghosting against Tony’s when he murmurs, “lie down,” and yes, Tony’s got a problem with authority but somehow his mind has taken this as an offer, not an order.

Tony’s knees are bracketing Steve’s hips and he can feel the curve of Steve’s cock against his. He feels like he’s an engine overheating, like his insides are full of steam and Steve’s the only one who can release the pressure. Vaguely, he realizes that he should be bothered by the way his body is singing with pain and soreness, but nothing else matters. Just Steve, and his hands, and his lips on Tony’s collarbone.

“Steve,” Tony breathes out, once again unable to form words, or any rational thought. Steve responds by sliding his hand down Tony’s side, worming around Tony’s waist to pull him closer. He’s being impossibly tender, pressing soft kisses all over Tony’s chest, his hands skating over the bandages, as if he’s on a mission to map every part of him. “Steve,” Tony says again, more urgently this time.

Steve disregards him, begins to lick and suck gently on Tony’s nipple, smiling slightly as Tony begins to writhe under him. “Harder,” Tony moans, and Steve doesn’t mind him, keeps his maddening pace.

“Please,” and it comes out much softer than he means it to, but all that matters at the moment is it’s what gets Steve to stop and look up at him. Out of everything Steve is doing to him, it’s the look Steve gives him that makes Tony gasp. There’s a word for that look. Tony conveniently forgets what it is.

 Tony’s only half asleep when he feels the bed rise. He keeps his eyes shut as he listens to the rustle of clothing, the soft pad of Steve’s steps, the barely perceptible click of his door opening.

The words are out of Tony’s mouth before he even finishes the thought. “Stay,” he says, then he rolls over to his side, away from the door and Steve’s retreating back. He strains to hear what happens next, remains resolute in his decision to hide after his faux pas. He listens, and hears Steve walk back into the bedroom. He feels the bed dip, then feels Steve settle in beside him.

Tony lets out a small breath, relieved and content now that Steve’s back. Steve wraps an arm around Tony’s torso, takes a breath, and then presses a small kiss to the skin behind Tony’s ear.

Tony bites down on his lip, tamps down on the urge to verbalize his appreciation.

 When he wakes up the next morning, he figures he was right not to say anything else; the bed is large, and empty, and cold. Thankfully, JARVIS increases the room temperature without Tony having to ask.

*

Fury’s intel comes through and the battle versus Justin Hammer’s robots is taxing, not for their ingenuity but because there are so many. It doesn’t help that Tony hasn’t had a decent night of sleep in almost a week (Tony’s lost count of how many times it’s happened between them, but Steve had stayed for a while, curled his body around Tony’s and dozed off on the couch in Tony’s penthouse, only for Tony to wake up alone, again).

Tony’s busy calculating the trajectory of his missiles for maximum impact when he’s suddenly knocked backwards and down by errant debris. He bangs along the fire escapes and the bricks of the opposite wall and lands flat on his back on one of the grimier side streets of New York.

He takes a moment to reorient himself and let out a few choice curse words, and he hasn’t even righted himself up when Steve arrives at his side, breathing hard.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes,” Tony snaps, annoyed by the earnestness of Steve’s tone. The commlink crackles back to life, just in time to hear Steve say: “Tony’s fine.”

Despite this, Steve still does a cursory check of the armor, using his hands to feel for any alarming indents.

“I said I’m fine,” Tony says, irritation clipping his speech.

“Okay, okay,” Steve says, placating. Steve seems to take a moment to center himself, then he reaches over to rest his hand on the cheek of Tony’s helmet. “Just take care, Tony,” he says softly.

Tony sighs, exasperated at this display. He blinks when he notices Steve glance around the alley they’re occupying, and then blinks again when Steve leans forward and presses a kiss to the top of Tony’s helmet. Tony knows he shouldn’t (can’t) feel the warmth of Steve’s lips, but he does; he has the sense memory to fill up the space.

“I will,” Tony acquiesces, and moves to get up. He files the moment away for further dissection, and helps Steve up. They stand beside each other for another second longer than necessary before throwing themselves back into the fray.

*

Tony finally gets Steve alone two days later, late at night in the kitchen. Tony disregards his need for caffeine, instead crowds Steve up against the counter and pulls him in for a kiss.

Steve’s hands immediately settle on Tony’s hips, and then they’re grinding against each other and yes, maybe Tony had intended to make a joke to thank Steve for being the first person to leave him alone in bed rather than the other way around. Intended to make light of the remorse he now felt, for all those times he’d left others. He’d meant to make a joke about the kiss Steve had all but seared into Tony’s forehead, teased him by asking, well, where’d all that affection go, huh?

Yes, yes, yes, he’d meant to, but now Steve’s knee is slotted in between Tony’s legs and Tony doesn’t even try to stop himself from rutting against it.

Steve steers them towards the elevator, hands roaming all over Tony’s arms, Tony’s back, Tony’s chest. Tony pulls away once they’re inside the elevator to direct them to Steve’s floor but Steve beats him to it, and then they’re in Tony’s penthouse, and Tony’s shirt is on the floor, and when did it become acceptable, Tony wonders, that he can’t seem to get a word in edgewise?

Steve fucks him hard against the wall, Tony’s legs wrapped around Steve’s waist as Steve takes, and there’s something to be said about how easily Tony divests control, how delirious with desire he feels when Steve pins him against the wall, growling praise into his ear.

Tony throws his head back sharply when he comes and is rewarded by the starburst of pain in the back of his skull mixed with the pleasure of release. Steve fucks him through it, bites at the exposed column of Tony’s neck. When Steve’s done, Tony’s too spent to stand properly, not that he’d ever admit that out loud. He doesn’t have to, though, and without any preamble Steve carries him back to his bed. He sighs softly when Steve lays him down, closes his eyes as Steve disappears and only opens them when he feels the soft touch of a damp towel on his stomach.

Tony bites down on his lip at the attention, at the strange tenderness of the scene. It’s the perfect time to make a quip, something about care, fondness. But Steve is looking at him so earnestly as he presses a kiss to Tony’s temple that all the words dry in his throat.

He doesn’t make a request for Steve to stay. Steve doesn’t offer.

[leejihoonownsmyheart]

Click, Click

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4 , 5 , 6 , 7, 8 , 9 , 10 , 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16  

Chapter Seventeen:

The worst part about Jongin, undeniably was that he always knew exactly when you were free.

You barely had any time to do anything in the first place. You truly did spend almost all of your time doing homework and studying for classes and working- but any time that you had any opportunity to do anything in between that, Jongin would send you a text message. It was quite the coincidence. Had to have been, because there was no way that he just… knew your schedule that well.

So, when you finished your math homework the next day and there was a knock at the door you knew almost immediately that the person behind the door was going to be Jongin.

He gave you a bright smile, tapped his watch and jerked his head to the side.

“Let’s go shopping.”

And that’s how you ended up walking down the street with Jongin’s arm draped over your shoulder a few of his bags in your hands and a bright smile on your face.

Because even though most days you rationalized that you didn’t want to go out, that you just wanted to stay inside and keep to yourself and block yourself away from the world, Jongin knew when you actually wanted to see the world and to let the world see you.

You guys had been out for quite some time, him dragging you from store to store to buy things he couldn’t afford no matter how much you told him not to. You guys were only partway through his splurge when his lips spread out into a grin.

“I get why Jihoon likes you so much,” he stated pleasantly. He bopped you gently on the nose and smiled sweetly at you. “He’s lucky that you like him.”

“Are you high or something?” You scolded, batting his hands away from your face. “I’m lucky he likes me if anything.”

Jongin laughed and tugged you closer to his body.

“What should we eat?” He asked thoughtfully. You groaned.

“Nothing, we ate like ten minutes ago,” you protested. That made Jongin roll his eyes.

“Ten minutes ago?” He mumbled. “Look at your watch idiot, it’s been six hours since you last ate.”

“And ten minutes since you did,” you shot right back. “You got something at that food stand.”

“But you didn’t. You’ve got to be hungry.”

“You know me, I’m fine,” you replied, waving off his concern. “I’ll eat when I get back to my apartment.”

Jongin opened his mouth again- probably to lecture you when your eye caught something. Two people walking towards you. One tall, one short. Both with black hats, face masks and matching oversized shirts. Your eyes were immediately drawn to the shorter figure, and there was no question in your mind as to why. A smile grew across your face.

“Jihoon,” you mumbled in a hushed whisper. You pulled away from Jongin completely- totally ready to just run up to the older idol when Jongin caught you by the wrist.

“Keeping it cool,” he mumbled softly. You glanced back at him, a frown spreading across your face.

“But-”

“Too many people,” Jongin reminded. He sighed, shaking his head. “I swear how have you not gotten caught yet? You don’t seem to be very careful in any sense of the term.”

You were about to hit Jongin and tell him that you two were careful, just not always when you hadn’t seen one another in a while when another body collided with yours. The frown melted from your face as your arms wrapped around Jihoon, your fingers gripping at his shirt in a way that was starting to feel familiar. You let your face burrow into the crook of Jihoon’s neck, aware of the way that his arms tightly held onto you.

“I missed you,” you mumbled into his skin. You felt him laugh against your body.

“You don’t even know what it’s like to miss someone like you. You never post on instagram, or anything anymore,” Jihoon retaliated. He pushed your body back gently with his free hand and then raised it to your chin, the knuckles of his index finger brushing the bottom of your chin as the pad of his thumb resting just below your bottom lip. “You got to see me. Every instagram post, every fancafe update, every interview we did. You don’t even post stuff about yourself on your dance club instagram.”

“I take the pictures,” you mumbled back. “I can’t be in the pictures if I’m the one who takes them.”

“Stop being so responsible all the time,” Jihoon replied. “It’s taking everything in me not to kiss you right now.”

Your breath caught in your throat, but before you could respond you were pulled from the back. You suppressed a groan when you realized it was Jongin holding you back, but then you saw that Seungcheol had his arms around Jihoon too.

“You idiots are going to get yourselves caught,” Jongin stated. He hit you on the forehead which made you sigh.

“But-”

“Tall dark and beautiful over there is right,” Seungcheol mumbled. “You guys have to be more careful than that.”

Jihoon rolled his eyes.

“We are careful. No one is looking,” he responded defiantly. He crossed his arms across his chest when Seungcheol didn’t let him move forward. Your cheeks reddened and you gave Seungcheol a soft smile.

“Hi again Seungcheol,” you mumbled, ignoring Jihoon’s uncharacteristic reaction towards the whole situation. He gave you a pressed smile.

“Hi,” he replied. He slowly dragged his eyes up and then down your body again, which made you scrunch your nose. “I like your pants. Is that a Seventeen jacket?”

You smiled and did a 360 shyly.

“It has Jihoon’s name on the back,” you mumbled. “Jongin got it for me.”

“I told her that if she was really dating him she should have something with his name on it,” Jongin chirped in. He wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled on one of the jacket strings. You rolled your eyes.

“What are you guys doing out in the middle of the day anyway?” You asked. You mostly directed this at Jihoon, but he was busy just staring at you, so Seungcheol responded instead.

“No practice today. I thought I’d take Jihoon out.”

He looked over at Jihoon like he expected him to say something in response, and when he didn’t he sighed and continued to speak.

“You guys should join us. You and your…” He trailed off, his eyebrows scrunching uncertainly. “Jongin.”

You noticed Jihoon tense a little, and you let the confusion riddle across your face.

“Uh-”

Jongin jumped into the conversation before you could get a word in. He seemed to have caught onto something that you were not clued in to.

“We would love to,” he insisted. “Where are we going? Hopefully somewhere more private.”

Seungcheol’s eyes narrowed and he nodded suspiciously at Jongin.

“Of course,” he mumbled softly. “We wouldn’t want anything that we could… regret to happen in public.”

Generally, you would say that you were pretty good at reading a room. You knew what almost everyone around you was feeling pretty much all the time no matter what was really happening. If someone was upset, you could read it. If someone was uncomfortable, you knew.

It was probably what made this the most confusing.

You could tell that Jihoon was upset with you. You weren’t sure why he was exactly. As far as you could tell you hadn’t really done anything wrong. As far as you could tell- Jihoon should be happy that you were there, and he had been. But now he wasn’t.

Seungcheol was obviously a little tense as well. He kept looking between you and Jongin, and then between you and Jihoon. He would take the boys forearm and quietly whisper to him something that you couldn’t hear as they walked someways in front of you and Jongin. It made you furrow your eyebrows whenever Jihoon would glance back at you two, his eyes catching yours.

Jongin was possibly the most confusing of all however to follow because you had no Earthly idea why he was so completely and undeniably giddy about this whole situation. He chirpily spoke of this and that and held you close to his body, and everytime Jihoon turned around he just smiled larger.

You suddenly felt like a complete and total idiot and you hated feeling like an idiot. It didn’t help that you were feeling tired either- having to ask Jongin to repeat every other word he said because everything kept going right over your head when he spoke. 

“What are you doing?” You mumbled sharply to Jongin as you walked, once you had mustered enough attention to properly address the situation. Jongin gave you an innocent glance.

“What on Earth are you talking about?” Jongin asked. “I’m just walking dear. About to go babysit you on your date with your boyfriend.”

He bopped your nose degradingly- which made you shoot him a sharp glare.

“Jongin I will end your life,” you stated. “Seriously, Jihoon and Seungcheol seem so mad. Did I do something?”

Jongin rolled his eyes light-heartedly.

“Of course not. They’re definitely mad at me.”

You sighed.

“Why?” You mumbled. You glanced back over at Jihoon’s back, noting that he had his hands shoved into his pockets, his long shirt draped around it. You watched him walk for a second. You almost couldn’t believe that he was right there. So close once again after what felt like forever.

Geez, if you were this clingy now how would you handle being back home- or his journey into the military.

As much as you wish it hadn’t the thought shocked you a bit.

The idea that you and Jihoon would make it to tomorrow surprised you on most days (especially with him so angry at you right now). Thinking that you two might make it to the end of your time at the exchange program, or even long enough to be there when he had to enlist in the military was practically unthinkable. Yet here you were, worrying about it.

Was that what it was like to like someone who liked you too?

To wonder what kind of future you two had together? 

To always want to know what he was thinking?

To always want to be near him?

To give anything just to hear him say-

“Y/n.” 

You looked up, your cheeks blazing red when you noted that Jihoon and Seungcheol were posed in a doorway, both looking at you with neutral expressions. You clasped your hands together behind your back and forced and expression on your face. Teeth clenched- no smile to be seen, but teeth showing anyways.

“Yes?” You managed to say.

“We can all eat in here,” Jihoon finished. You nodded once.

“Right, cool.”

Whenever you went out with Jihoon- it wasn’t generally planned. It was always very last minute.

You two saw each other somewhere and just ended up continuing your conversation somewhere else entirely. It was always very casual. You were both just happy to be in one another’s company, and just glad to figure out what you two were together right then at that moment.

That’s what made it so weird to have Seungcheol and Jihoon there with you guys.

Even though no one in the small restaurant seemed to care what you guys were doing, Seungcheol and Jongin were awfully bossy about what you guys could and couldn’t be doing. On top of that, Jihoon kept trying to make excuses to touch you.

You thought it was funny considering he was so against skinship. He would reach across the table and brush your fingers with his to make you look up at him, and he would kick your toe with his every once in a while, just so that you would acknowledge he was there. 

Seungcheol hated it. It made him roll his eyes every time that Jihoon did something for attention and then after just a second he would reach over and pinch him softly. That would make Jongin laugh, which would make Jihoon glare at him and you confused all over again.

“So y/n-”

You jolted slightly, looking back up at Seungcheol as he addressed you.

“What were you up to while we were in Japan?” 

“Uh, nothing new. Work, school, work, school, work-” You mumbled with a roll of your eyes.

“Nothing new?” Jihoon asked, jerking his head in Jongin’s direction. You shrugged.

“I mean Jongin isn’t new. You met Jongin when I met Jongin,” you mumbled.

“Yeah, but then you weren’t close to Jongin,” he responded. You scoffed softly.

“I’d hardly call us close,” you said. “He’s more of a nuisance than anything else.”

“Hey!”

“Why’s everyone so obsessed with Jongin anyways? He’s just a new friend,” you mumbled.

Seungcheol whistled at that and Jihoon looked down at the table. You sighed.

“What am I missing here?” You mumbled.

“You are so stupid,” Jongin said with a roll of his eyes. “Obviously Jihoon is jealous.”

“Jealous?!” Jihoon blurted. “I am not jealous.”

“Yes you are, you’re jealous because I’ve been hanging out with your little girlfriend while you’ve been in Japan.”

“She’s not my girlfriend!” Jihoon blurted, at the same time as you insisted: “I’m not his girlfriend.”

It made Seungcheol roll his eyes, and Jongin scoff.

“Right, because two people not dating kiss as much as you two do and get as jealous as you just did.”

This time, instead of protesting Jongin’s words, Jihoon looked at you, his eyes wide in surprise.

“You told him about the kissing?!” He exclaimed. Your cheeks reddened a bit.

“Well, I had to tell someone about the kissing friends don’t just kiss Jihoon!” You protested back. 

“We just kiss!” Jihoon insisted back. You sighed, and rested your head on your fist.

“We haven’t kissed at all since you got back,” you mumbled indignantly. It made Jihoon’s eyesbrows shoot up in surprise, and you were a bit surprised by yourself too. You hardly ever spoke so casually towards others like this. Especially not guys, especially not people like Jihoon.

“You sound a little upset by that,” Jihoon mumbled, a teasing smirk spreading across his face. You hated the way that made him look at you. He was so confident, cocky even. “You like kissing me?”

You rolled your eyes and looked away from him, which only made Jihoon laugh and gently nudge you with his toe.

“I miss kissing you too,” Jihoon said after a second. He seemed to think over the words and looked away from you briefly. “I, uh, I just miss you.”

You risked looking back over at Jihoon and were immediately glad when you did. He had a softer smile on his face now, something more gentle and relaxing then had been on it a moment ago.

“What are we doing?” You asked with a chuckle. You nudged Jongin in the side. “You know that I don’t like Jongin right?”

Jihoon scoffed and looked to the side so you pulled your legs up on your chair, leaning towards him nervously.

“Seriously, I don’t like him. What do I have to do to prove that to you?”

Still, Jihoon didn’t look at you, so you swallowed your pride and lifted a knee to the table. You crawled up onto the table, ignoring Seungcheol’s protests, and Jongin’s surprised gasp. You sat back on your feet once you were close to Jihoon, hesitantly reaching forward to touch his cheek.

“Lee Jihoon, I like you,” you mumbled softly, letting your face get closer to his then you would generally ever let it get by your own doing. “Not to sound dramatic, but if given the choice between you and anyone else, anything else. I would choose you any day.”

You brushed your nose against his, smiling shakily at him.

“I knew from the moment that I first saw you I think. When I first saw anything that had to do with Seventeen, the first time my eyes ever landed on you- even if I didn’t know it know it. I think I knew that you were going to be my everything. Deep down.”

Jihoon’s face was burning just as red as yours was.

“Yeah,” he agreed softly. “I’m the same way. First time I ever heard about you, even before we met. I knew that you were something I wanted to risk my everything on.”

You furrowed your eyebrows at that, tilting your head to the side.

“Before we met?” You asked softly. “What-” Jihoon cut you off by leaning just far enough to close the distance between you two. Your eyebrows furrowed as his warmth consumed you, but past that you didn’t really complain. You actually got a little lost in the kiss, feeling comforted when his hand rested on your hip- his thumb rubbing gentle circles into your side.

You felt so safe. So happy.

Then your mind cleared, and you pulled away from him, ducking your head away from the gazes of both Seungcheol and Jongin. You had never meant to be so… public and honestly knowing that they had been watching you made you really wish they weren’t there right now.

“Maybe we stop doing this in places so public,” you mumbled softly. Jihoon raised an eyebrow.

“And here I thought you’d be into that,” he teased. Your face blazed red, but before anything else could be said about it, Jihoon got to his feet, his hands coming up under your armpits. With ease he lifted you off the table, setting you back down to your feet. He patted your head.

“I know we came here to eat, but how about I walk you home?” He offered softly. “You look tired.”

You wanted to protest being so obviously treated like a child, but when you turned back and saw the smirk on Jongin’s face…

“Jongin, I’m not afraid to end your life,” you grumbled. He laughed at your aggression.

“Get out of here with your boyfriend, I’ll get to know Seungcheol better,” Jongin waved off. Seungcheol scoffed. 

“Yeah, no, I’m going back to Pledis,” he stated. Jongin feigned excitement.

“You hear that we are going to Pledis!”

You went to say more, but before you could Jihoon’s fingers closed around your wrist. He tugged you slightly.

“Come on,” he mumbled. “Let’s get you home. I’m back in Korea. We can hang out anytime just not when you are tired.”

“I’m barely tired,” you stated with a roll of your eyes. He scoffed.

“The bags under your eyes say otherwise,” he commented.

“And you’re one to talk,” you stated back. He chuckled at your words and cupped your cheek with his hand.

“I missed you,” he mumbled. He leaned forward and you thought he was going to kiss you again. Instead, all he did was kiss the corner of your lips. Somehow it was even more intimate then all the other kissing you guys had done.

“I missed you too, but I don’t know why-”

“Questions later,” Jihoon brushed off. “For now let’s get you home.”

This time, you didn’t protest. You figured the sooner that Jihoon got you home, the sooner he would go back to Pledis. Get some sleep of his own. And if leaving him was what you had to do for now for Jihoon to relax too. You supposed that’s what you had to do.

He dipped his hat back down over his head, pulling a face mask over his nose. It made you smile. You were just glad to have him back.

Chapter Eighteen

[honestsycrets]

Like Me VI: Giving In

❛ pairing | ivar x oi!reader

❛ word count | 3k+

❛ type | multi

❛ summary | ivar misses his dear friend. he seeks to give her all she wants. even if it includes him.

❛  warnings | rivalry, jealousy, arguing, one of them will kill the other.

The worst part of being a walking cripple was to have to endure the need to be in the goodwill of the only other cripple you knew that could walk as well.

“Ow!” Your fingers deepen in strokes upon the bird whose claws hollow the glove you wear. The blacksmith recoils from your nasty cry in the back of the royal quarters. Your earrings jingle as you shake your head to rid yourself of the sting that came from the blacksmith’s clanging. Your friend rears his head from his goblet of ale to your seat, grinding tooth together.

“What are you doing to her?” Ivar seethes. “She is screaming.”

“It is too tight on her legs, King Ivar. It is restricting movement.” He rumbles. “I was only adjusting them for improvement.”

Ivar droves off of his chair, dragging himself along the floor toward you. He sits himself up, dragging the leather strap of his bound legs directly in front.

“If her legs come out of that injured, you’ll answer to me, hm?” Ivar resounds with his war pick, flipping the blade at the blacksmith to reassure the man without question what will become of him.

“Uh-- of course, of course, my king. I will take these for repairs” He slips the braces off of your legs again, pulling the heavy straps of metal onto his arms as he stands. It doesn’t escape Ivar’s notice that you quickly chuck your dress over your notched legs to shield them from your view. Mangled legs, he reminds himself.

“Goodman,” Ivar replies with sycophantic smoothness as the man makes himself scarce from the room. You sit with your hands in your lap, one on top of another. Your lips have gone flat, calming your strokes across the bird. “Goodman… (Y/N)?”

“Yes?” You look toward the silken straps that bind your legs down. You need to bind them to be able to return home, this time on your forearms. The spirit of relaxation that you previously had with Ivar seems to have eviscerated in exchange for a tense and wary background.

“I did not mean what I said of your legs. And the prince. I was led by anger.” He reaches out to set his hand upon your knee.

“Rorik?” You say, leading him on to say the prince’s name. Ivar much rather eat his words than say the ruddy-haired prince that came with strange Persian, Swede and dark-skinned thralls. Yet if he had to in order to repair this relationship, he would.

“Rorik of Novgorod.” His thumb strokes your kneecap through your warm dress. Then, bouncing off your knee, he looks to you. “Sigrunn told me you saw him in the waters the other day. You enjoy his company, don’t you?”

“More than anything.” You answer too quickly. Enough that his face drops completely at your assertion. They are too soon, too raw. He clenches his jaw to avoid a raw reaction, tightening his grip upon your knee. He’s about to blow again, you know. In order to curb his brash reaction, your hands drop down to his gloved fingers. His Viking skin is calloused-- reflecting the days of his childhood and those of being truly Viking. The first touch that you had given him since the wedding and so he’ll take it.

“In another way, Ivar.” You say. “You are my friend, I understand our relationship. Freydis is a fair queen and you are a k--”

“A god.” Ivar cuts you off, dry in nature. “And you are a goddess. My equal.”

You’ve heard such things before from Freydis who worshiped Ivar’s feet in her own way. Still, you do not know what to say nor how to respond. Ivar brings the back of your palm to his lips, planting a gentle kiss upon the knuckle in tender care. Your love of the king always went like this. At times, tender and loving. At others, harsh and unforgiving.

“I have decided. As a goddess, you should be free to spend your time with who you wish without fear.”

Should you bend down on the floor and thank him for being such a fair and pious ruler? Your lips quirk into a smile, unable to contain it. Fighting Ivar in this state-- where his mind was degenerating… it would get you nowhere.

“So you approve of him becoming my lover?” You ask.

“I never said that.” Ivar sibilates when a white-hot prick of anger sears through his bones. “Only that I’m giving you an opportunity to choose.”

Your jaw relaxes, bending with your great beast on your arm. You lean to the shaved side of his head, planting a small kiss upon the scar that follows his cheekbone down. His cheeks almost could have reddened.

“Thank you, Ivar.”

He hates to admit it, but a gale of glee fills his stomach when you speak to him like that. Your voice is sweeter than his cups of mead. He feels as if he’s done something right when he notices the sharp eyes of the falcon on your other arm, his wings lifting as if he’s gotten too close.

“Where did you get that beast anyway?” He grumbles.

“Oh, the falcon?” You ask. “Rorik brought it to me from somewhere past Jorvik. Isn’t he cute?”

“He is anything but cute.” Ivar looks up and down the beast on your arm. “Babies are cute.”

“I heard Freydis is with child,” You gleam and know full heartedly that well, any child from their union was likely not Ivar’s in blood. You realize moments later, that it did not matter. The child was his in the soul. Freydis was right… this, this was good for him.

“I’m going to be a father.” His lips prick up, shifting the short hair of his mustache up along with it. “Do you want to be a mother, (Y/N)?”

Your heart drops, weak as you consider his suggestion. You shake your head at the absurdity of the statement and then look down to your skirts. Your face is practiced in emotion, eyes almost empty when Ivar shifts to look at you. No one expected a family of a cripple, of someone that could barely walk. How were you to chase a child? To care for a child? The thralls you would need!

“I don’t think so. I am a cripple.” You say after a moment in which your heart beats painful and deep. You relax your shoulders when Ivar leans up, coursing his hand along your thigh to your hips.

“So am I.” He leans in. His hand shifts up to the sky. “And Frigg has given me a child.”  

“It is easy for you, Ivar. You are a man.” You then groan, a tremulous sound from your lips. “I can’t imagine the strain in carrying a child. I have heard of bleeding, malformations and small children in women like me as little as they may be. Even sex makes me...”

“Whitehair hasn’t fucked you?” Ivar asks.

“Of course not!” You shout. Dyr, or so you decided to name him, flared his wings. You hush him back down. “I’m sorry. I-- Can I tell you something, Ivar?”

“Yes.” Ivar hands you a chunk of meat for your beast. He pecks determinedly at his dinner. You take a wary breath as you decide to put it out there and far more than that, trust Ivar again. Your bird takes the meat with keen interest.

“I want to be a grown woman. Not just because I am married. But everyone will see me for only my legs. Like you.”  

“I don’t see you as--”

“If I had been born like a normal woman.” You say sharp, but diaphanous in tone. Ivar feels the words before you actually finish them. “Would I have been your queen?”

There is no witty comeback from his lips this time. He turns to stare at you as if you’ve slapped him across the face instead of the other way around. You could have been, you think, and for a moment, you take in a long breath.

“No that-- that is…” Ivar stumbles.

“Ridiculous.” You say. The words scrape off your tongue, disdainful in an answer. Ivar has no other desire but to stop his slip up. Dyr swallows his dinner much like Ivar swallows his words. The gulf of emptiness in his stomach spreading. “Sigrunn!”

“Yes?” She turns the corner, clutching dark leather veils that are curtains. Her hands in front of her lap.

“Take Dyr. I am going home.”

As much as Ivar wants to ask you why you are like this… why you push him out, well, he can’t. He knows your affliction all too well. It’s his own.

It was late at night when Rorik heard the knock upon the door. His men shared the living space of the longhouse they took up in. His men were about the fire, roaring in laughter. He settles them down, roaring shut up! Shut up! As his booze sloshes over his pasty knuckles. As he works the latches, each harder than they should have been-- he hears the banter on the other side of the door.

“Why am I doing this?”

“To show her how deeply you care.”

“Yes and when she shows with child, what then?”

He pops the door open. Therein flesh and blood is Ivar standing arm and arm with his wife. Rorik stands in trousers alone, legs wrapped and stuffed in lazy boots. His tattoos blotch over his shoulder and chest.

“If it isn’t the god Ivar!” He roars, giving a lazy bow at the waist. Ivar’s hand flexes about his crutch, clearly debating if he should kill him now or later. “And Queen Freydis-- she’s far too pretty for you, you know.”

“Rorik.” One of his warriors intervene and cause a banter between the prince and his warband in words that Ivar truthfully cannot follow. They argue shortly in a quick swap of tongues before Rorik huffs forcefully out of his nose and steps aside to let them in.

“What can I help you with?” Rorik asks, forcefully closing the door with a lock. If Ivar was here to burn them too, as he learned Ivar was fond of, he probably wouldn’t do it if he was in here too.

“With her,” Ivar says.

“Her? Who her?” Rorik leads. Given the other day, he’s not sure if the moment in the bar or the wedding is the question. The men about him consider their prince as if they were entitled to know whatever was going on in his life.

“(Y/N).” Ivar starts. His headache was welling up in the front of his head. A furrow of newfound concern creases Rorik’s brow. He comes to sling his arm around Ivar’s shoulder to pull him from Freydis.

“Let us talk in private.” Ivar looks away from Freydis who sits confidently among the men. She motions him forward with a face as flat and hard as she ever wore among foreigners. His patience is visibly unwinding.

“What about (Y/N)?” He shows Ivar to his backroom, gripping the waistline of his pants once they got in. Ivar shifts around, head bobbing as he looks to the dark wooden walls, a spiraling shield up on the walls. A half wobbly smile takes his face. “Have you done something to her?”

“Have I done something to her?” Ivar’s gaze goes hard, voice grating at Rorik’s assertion. “If I were to do anything it would be to you.”

“Then get on with it.” Rorik flicks his hands into the air. He could have-- Ivar thinks. The man is drunk and incredulous. With his queen in the other room though, he would do nothing. To Rorik’s obvious amazement, Ivar holds up his gloved fingers.

“Shut up.” Ivar orders, soothing over any bite to his voice. “As little as I like you, I like seeing her upset less.”

Rorik snorts as he takes a few lazy paces around the room. The longer he stayed, the itchier his skin became. He scratches the long runic marks of his arms when finally Ivar finally admits why he is here.

“Have sex with her.” He says.It aches him to say, but he knows Rorik is the only one to see you than more than your disability. Perhaps, more than him. “She wants to be made a woman.”

Rorik’s brow lifts. He wants to laugh, but he can’t, he can only run his hand up through his loosened braids.

“Ahhh. King Ivar.” He says, acrid amusement festering in his gut. “I know you think you control her. I know you do! But you are late. She has asked me herself.”

“What?” No answers come to him though-- Rorik’s cocky smile simpers the waters of his tolerance into a full-blown boil. The foreigner comes up, patting Ivar’s shoulder.

“She wants me to deflower her,” Rorik says in a would-be-good-natured tone. “But I appreciate your approval, keeper of the keys. Truly. I’ve never heard anything better. I’ll keep it in my heart. Now is that all?”

Ivar’s hand flexes at his belt. His patience blown-- and the last semblance of a relationship torn.

“Yes.” He sneers, incredulously. “That is all.”

Perhaps Freydis was right. You needed someone. But there is no way that this man deserved you.

Rorik had sex with many women. But… not a cripple. He tried not to think of you in that way; crippled. His men consider it a fetish because why, in their eyes, would he want a cripple if he could want an able-bodied woman? Even Ivar did, making that heated request in the deep of night.

They didn’t understand.

“You won’t like them.”

“I’m certain I will.” He almost fights your hands upon your skirts, wet kisses moistening your neck as he ground himself against your shy body. Your knees knock together, too shy to let him see your pretty pussy behind your skirts. His other hand grabs all that you offer, squeezing your nipples between his thumb and index finger to tug gently.

“But what if you don’t?” You breathe out in a hushed gasp. “What if they are so disgusting that you run from them? Women are supposed to have gorgeous legs.”

“Shhhh…”

He knows why you’re so anxious. King Ivar, as he was told, told you that you had ‘mangled legs’ as you later recounted to him. It took work to dispel those fears and still you fought him. Even with Ivar’s so-called approval, men watched him wherever he went. They look for a foul up. A reason to kill him in justification so that you would not hate the king. His pride must be wounded because now, more eyes than ever, he feels the hate.

“You will,” Rorik says, growing hard in his heated desire against your side. The prince shifts over your body. “Just let me see them.”

You tug your blue skirts over your legs, squeezing your eyes and shifting your face away. It lets him take your body in. His piercing eyes glance over your twisted legs up to your hips. Rorik slides down between your legs, shifting one over each shoulder.

“Oh!” You squeak adorably.

“See! Look at you and that glorious--” Rorik spreads your lips apart, gazing at your well-kept pussy.

“Rorik, stop.” You say. He leans in, swirling his tongue against your inner lips. He pulls his head back once again, sweeping his tongue against your puffy wet pussy in smooth licks. Your head drops back, adjusting to this strange new feeling. Slowly you roll your hips down upon his tongue, gasping when Rorik gave a playful suckle against your outer folds.

“Why?” His laugh almost vibrates hot breath against your pussy. “I can’t wait to get my dick in that pretty pussy.”

Rorik moves on when you don’t respond, suckling playfully. The pads of his fingers playfully slap your wet pussy, delighting in the knowledge that you’re moist and wet for him. His tongue shifts down, flicking his tongue in the tight little hole.

“Mm, do you touch yourself, hm?” Rorik hums, nudging his nose against your folds. His beard tickles against your wetness, a soft but prickling feeling against your body. He goes to work, lapping and licking at your sweet pussy with loud slurping noises.

“No-- No.”

“You should. I can see it in my mind already.”

“Do you have to talk so much?” You weave his hair between your fingers, shoving him forward into your cunt when there’s a long, loud thwack, thwack, thwack at the door. You shift with your forearms, legs slipping off Rorik’s shoulders.

“Ignore it.” He says, turning his head to huff against your thighs.

“I have to get it. It could be Ivar.” You say and push past him. Rorik lets loose a long draw of annoyance. You slide down onto the ground, using your forearms and palms carry you over to the door, ignoring the hot pulse of your pussy engorged with the need for your orgasm that you denied yourself.

“It’s always fucking Ivar,” Rorik growls, low under his breath. You throw a look back at him that leaves the prince exasperated upon the bed.

“Be patient.”

“Patient!? Děva… I was that close!” Rorik drops back, flopping on the bed while you reach-- unfortunately with difficulty toward the door. The locks of the door are too high up when you’re out of your braces. Unfortunately, the blacksmith yet still had them.

“Rorik, please. Sigrunn needs her rest.” You call out to him, pointing toward the door. He flips his hand midway in the air, dramatically dropping on his chest.

“I’m coming.” He pushes himself off the bed, jamming his hand into his pants to adjust his cock comfortably. He grasps his uncle’s sword from the wall and sways over to the door, jerking it open. You drag yourself out of the way to avoid getting smacked.

The first thing he says, of course, is said with a sigh.

“Queen Freydis.”

Checkmate.

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[alitheamateur]

The Grind- Chapter 31

A/N: Here we are, my precious jewels. The end of my own little era, but the beginning of a renewed passion. This story brought back a love for story-telling that I had long neglected, and although most don't understand the sentiment, I owe a lot of happiness to these characters. The Grind sprouted during a very dark, confusing, heartbreaking time in my life, and it became such a welcomed distraction from my emotional spiral. This piece of fiction will be held near and dear to my soul for all of eternity, and my heart beats with love for each & every one of you who has shared a kind word. 

One last time, The Grind.

I was grateful that even over all the unsteady commotion, the gravel of his familiar voice busted through to my eardrums. The thud of my pulse hammered, already bringing along the gift of a taxing migraine that would only worsen once a pair of fists lashed into my skull. I was dreading the aching road of recovery before Kat and I had even thrown a punch.

Hers came first though. Quick, and robust it met the girlish roundness of my chin, shaking quivers over every hair on my skin. My footing staggered, and I swear to you my very eyeballs rattled. The early stages of pain I felt didn’t talk long to drag back the memo to my brain to protect my face as much as possible as she obsessively stalked to land an even more brutal hit the next time. I swished the blood laced spit around my jaws to wet my tongue, and settled in for war.

She could tell the blow had combusted an inkling of uncertainty in my spirit, and it only fed her desire for violence. With a random bout of bravery, I pointed an attempted swing for her ribs, connecting successfully to the tight ripples of her abdomen. Seeing as she hadn’t foreseen the body shot, it crippled her standing straight stance, and I was able to rock two more fists to the opposite cage of her ribs. Something felt off for a second when I heard her gasp for a breath when I released the wind from her belly. I felt… bad.

Violent nature was foreign to me, and I let myself feel briefly apologetic on the inside watching her suffer for air. Then, the fighting side of me rose to rule. I lobbed a club-foot kick to her chiseled thigh, victoriously capturing her balance. However, I couldn’t completely escape my often clumsy tactics, and I let my own legs tangle with hers as she dropped buoyantly to the mat.

I scurried with fluster to try and reach my standing position before Bex, but unfortunately her quickness outweighed my own. I brought my forearms to my face, doubling them as a shield of armor for my breakable nose. With her every delivery of a fist, my head bounced like a ball on the soft mat below. I prayed for her to tire, or somehow make a careless mistake and allow my escape. I could already feel the tenderness of plum-shaded bruises forming up and down my arms, and I just wanted to cower in Colton’s arms.

Where was his voice? Why couldn’t I hear the assuring yells of he and Tia?

Just as my arms began to weaken in defeat, the squealing of the timekeeper’s bell halted her strike.

Katrina stood to her feet with ease, running for the cool swig of water waiting in her corner, leaving a shaken and hallucinating swirl of stars swimming like a halo around my skull. I tried to assess myself on the mat, still surveying what damage may have been done. Aside from my fractured pride.

“Baby! Get up, c’mon! Get over here, Liv!”

I frenzied to my feet shakily, remembering the very limited seconds I had to steal a second with my coaches in between rounds. Tia tried to masquerade her reaction of pity, but the squinting sickness of her eyes told all the tale I needed. I didn’t feel much pain, other than a tight pressure settling inside my nostrils, so the unknown markings couldn’t have been of much severity, right?

Suddenly, settling on the 3-legged stool for a ticking minute of a break, I caught glimpse of the very sopped, very stained towel that Colt applied to my stuffy nose. He squeezed gently, and his touch seemed to re-apply sensation to my busted snout. I yelped as his massaged as gingerly as his rocky hands would, and plugged the holes with some sort of swabs to drink up the blood-spill.

“You good, Liv? Hey… Look at me, right now. Look in my eyes. Do you wanna keep going?” Colton shook my shoulders, demanding a surefire answer. Bless his soul, there was nothing but devoted protection and the will to be my strong tower in his silver eyes.

“Have a little faith, remember?”

He rehearsed his best fake smile, and slung the ruined rag over his shoulder to scoop up my cushioned seat when the ref tapped a finger to his imaginary watch hurrying us to pick up the pace.

Besides the whelped imprint of my ankle bone on the upper of her thigh, Bex would enter the second round only rested and ready for more. She would go viciously after my obviously very broken nose, so it was my responsibility to protect it like a mother bird to her helpless young.

Two nippy little jabs, but thankfully she had missed. The dodging alone of her efforted hits made my entire face spasm with pain, and I was already daydreaming about the blue-green blossoms of bruise I would wake up to in the morning. If I even made it that far…

“Go after that leg, Liv! She’s tryin’ to baby it, so get after her!”

With Tia’s help, I did begin to notice the awkward teeter to Katrina’s steps. She was hobbling in the slightest, and her leg carried a barely detectable limp of uneasiness. If I could numb that leg enough, and swipe her footing to crash, I knew I could get her. I needed just a cracked window of opportunity, and I wouldn’t let my submission training go to waste.

I fell into rhythm with bizarre fist fakes, confusing her reflexes when taking shot after shot at her leg. With unyielding focus, I beat the tender skin of her thigh with kicks like a well-oiled meat tenderizer, the stretch of my own groin muscle also suffering.

Dribbles from my nose spilled blood down my chest onto the mat, painting a slickness beneath our feet. The metallic flavored goo gurgled in the back of my throat, and I wanted to spit free my mouthguard and guzzle the strongest proof of some sort of dark alcohol to curb its stain on my tongue. I made a mental note that Colt make a liquor run once I settled into the featherbed in our hotel room.

As Katrina and I tiptoed on light feet ‘round the cage, I’d give side glances to Colt. Once finding his foot standing in the seat of my stool with his elbow resting on a knee, his mouth taut behind the hand his rested over his lips. Assessing. Strategizing. Criticizing?

Another moment his forearms interlocked over his beating chest, toes tapping in a wide stance, and even a barely traceable half-smile sitting across his face. Just knowing he was there, close to me, only a few arms-lengths away should danger really arrive, slowed the pace of my overbeating heart. I’d win this for him. For me, of course. But, it was decided nevertheless that Katrina’s very first loss tonight, would ultimately rally a victory for me, my camp, and my Colton.

As the round ended, Bex felt the buff weight of pressure stalking around her. As I turned, this time much more aware, towards my corner for a rushed break between blows, she smashed both palms to the blades of my shoulder, childishly showing me to the ground. Our ref consumed her with a tight embrace, quite firmly chastising into her ear. Thankfully for the much ,much needed backup, I bounced out of the way for Willow to swallow Tia inside a resisting bearhug, as I attempted to handle Colton’s own bursting of incoherent fury.

“Handle your fuckin’ girl, Tyler! You and I both knew we ain’t here for any shit like that!” My rumbling bear growled across the mat to Kat’s fumbling coach. “I see anything like that again, and me ‘n you may have to borrow this damn cage for a short minute.”

“Hey, hey, hey! Colton, hey. Stop, baby. C’mon! Look at me, I’m good, ok?” I purred and hummed into his hot ear. Hoping some sort of soothing spell would lull some calmness back into his raging eyes.

“COLT, STOP. Shit! Take a deep breath, Colton. Don’t ruin this for me, damn it! I’m fine, babe. I promise.” I was rambling to an empty shell. His spirit was climbing the rafters like a demonic spirt lurking above the darkest shadows. “Please…”

With that simplest plea, the pink of his cheeks reappeared, and his lips relaxed. I think his teeth cracked from the tense of his unbreakable jaws.

He shuddered, as if feeling his spirit mold back into his body, and turned away from Bex and her coach. Placing two firm paws atop my shoulders, he hurried me to a seat, kneeling himself to eye level.

“Beat. Her.” A growl buzzed from the back of his raw throat.

He knew her sideshow had embarrassed me, and if I wouldn’t let him intervene in my honor, I best do it myself.

Colton kissed me. Hard. Teetering the stool on its back legs. And if I couldn’t win this fight with that kind of motivation, I never had a chance to begin with.

The referee had taken some extra moments to scold Katrina for the uncalled for, untimely reaction, and began ushering Tia and Colt towards the cage door.

I hissed an engrossed inhale, focusing best I could to even out the pace of my tottering, rambunctious heart.

But my heart would be the only thing I would slow.

Barely registering the ‘ting’ of our timekeepers bell, I lunged forward sighting in on the nose protruding from the middle of her smug face. The girl hadn’t given a single clear peep at her face the entire match, but it seemed in that moment that fate had tied her hands for the upper hand of my fist.

Her eyes wept instantly at the burn of her nasal bone cracking in half. But that didn’t stop me. My humanity switched long flipped with the scent of a wound, and I was only out for blood no matter the cost. With battered knuckles, and uncontrolled swings, the light of defense dulled behind my opponents’ eyes.

A happen-stance shot deep into the mushy socket of her eye obliterated her focus, and the cage rumbled and rattled when her body fell limber at my feet. Until I was torn from her, and the match was called, I wouldn’t stop the invasive assault and risk any odds of a comeback.

Her head bobbled like a bottle cap rolling over the waves of a high tide ocean, and it seemed the way her eyelashes batted in slow motion that they themselves were even too heavy for her to bear. Our official closely observed her behavior, watching for signs of drooping unconsciousness, and any other medical qualifications for calling the match.

With one roll of my knuckles over her chin, her knee buckled at the bend and sent her tumbling. Trying to resist the inevitable admirably, in true fighters’ fashion, Katrina’s feeble, worn down body emptied of any overcoming abilities. Tears began to twine with red leaking down her face when the ring ref signaled to the timekeeper, calling the bout.

TKO.

Colton’s obsessing pride, uncontainable joy, and earnest tears of content dissipated whatever inkling of patience he was born with, and he kicked his lead foot into the cage door, bending loose the hinges to get to me. As my left hand was raised in baffling triumph, he pulled it right back into his own, sliding back into to place the sparkling gemstone on my ring finger.

Colton’s sentimental tears turned loose into an unbroken stream, his chest choking free chuckling sobs as he folded at the knee, and buried his reddening face into the pumping breaths of my belly. I could feel his mumblings vibrate into me, and his mouth movements tickling the bare skin above my waistband. Pulling him free and seeking his face, I combed through his shagged hair with giggling of my own.

“Baby. Hey! What is it, Colt?!”

I adored the way his smile danced with his tears, the odd coupling a beautiful one.

“You are fucking amazing, Liv Elliott! And fuck me for ever thinking you didn’t belong here.”

With an eager, rising fever to kiss his forever gorgeous lips, I cupped his face and willed him into me. His hands wormed under the crook of my arms and suddenly the ground disappeared from beneath my tired feet. No protest present, I hooked the clutches of my legs about his abdomen, and captured him. If I had any breath in me after the battle, he would’ve sucked it clear from my lungs with his smothering display of a kiss. I heard cameras snapping, analysts and fellow writers begging my name for a statement, but all the world might as well have been a foreign, unpopulated wonderland where only my soul and his could survive.

The fusing of his plush-skinned mouth with my own lit my spirit on fire, and I considered dragging him to the courthouse first thing the following day to marry him on the spot, just to be able to pair his own name with the word ‘husband’.

“Do your thing, champ. They wanna hear from you,” Colton plopped me down to meet to ground. “I’ll be right here. Always”

He eased himself backwards, dismissing himself from the sight of cameras and attention, pushing me to bathe in the limelight of the results of my hard work. He may not have been holding my hand in the literal sense, but the glow of his cheery cheeks as he watched me share the rundown from my point-of-view with the newspapers comforted me. I spied Tia even chatting at his side, with some strange sentiment resembling a genuine smile, as my parents weaved through the aisles.

Standing in my own portrayal of center stage, feeling the gratifying weight of his diamond promise on my finger, his last name soon-to-be mine on the wrist of my blood-stained gloves, and the unpredicted win of an MMA bout under my belt, there weren’t enough words in a Webster to define my state. Whether things would never be the same again, I knew all change would be for the better with the treasure of my Colton tucked in my back pocket for cherished keeping. With a determined heart, a driving passion, and maybe a few more callouses on my hands than before, I would strap down and relish in the ride to come. Lots of work, even more play, and back to The Grind.

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

[fawnnandfable]

one night stand - Jordan Devlin

After meeting at the bar, the reader and Jordan share a hot and heavy moment on Jordan’s couch.

word count: 1,600 Warnings: SMUT

Your hand rests on the mirror finish wood of the bar as your gaze drifted across the room. Conversations swirl in a dirty cloud of smoke, each competing with the sound of the 70's rock that dominated the atmosphere.  The stagnant stench of cigarettes and alcohol loitered around you as you brought your glass of whiskey up to your lips, downing the last bit.  You raised your finger grabbing the bartend's attention to order another. "Whisky...neat." You blandly stated before turning backward, leaning your elbows against the dark stained wood.

You chewed on the end of a little black straw as your eyes danced across the many faces that filled the room. Your eyes fixated on one man who stood in the far corner. He noticed you too. A smirk grew on his face as he sent a flirty wink your way. You bit your bottom lip and rolled your eyes turning back for a brief second to pick up your drink. You placed the straw down next to your napkin and subtly ran your fingers through your hair giving it a little volume before taking a drink. The glass hit the table with a little clink,  your fingers still around it as you threw your head back in pleasure. "Mmm," the oaky flavor lingered in our mouth as you licked the little bit that dribbled down your chin.

You looked back at the stranger who was now making his way towards you. Your breathing became heavy as he drew closer to you. He leaned against the counter next to you, setting his drink down.  "Hi," He greeted. You were completely taken back by the sound of his voice. His accent was thick, sexy. "Hey." You smiled, stepping a little closer to him. His eyes drifted down your body examing your curves, which your dress hugged oh-so-tight.  You took this opportunity to do what you liked to call your move. You lifted your drink to take a sip, spilling just enough on your chest, which was on full display in your deep cut bodycon.  "Oh, I'm such a clutz." you groaned in a low sexy tone. "Here." He offered, handing you a napkin. His eyes focused on your breast as you patted them dry. "I'm y/n, by the way." you smiled sweetly placing the napkin back under your drink. "Jordan." His smile was gorgeous. "Nice name for a nice face." You flirted shamelessly. "So Jordan, what do you do?" You asked leaning in towards him.

"I wrestle." you hummed in response. "Like wwe stuff?" You prodded, running your finger along the rim of your glass. "Yeah actually, I'm signed on to their UK brand. You watch wrestling?" He asked, looking surprised.

"Used to, haven't in a while." You turned your attention to your drink, swirling it around as you pursed your lips.

"Why'd ya stop?"

"Just rubbish now honestly. Little upset that I stopped tuning in if the guys look like you now." You flattered, earning a little laugh.

"You're not too bad yourself." Jordan smiled, returning the compliment. As the night went on you moved closer and closer until there was hardly any space left between the two of you. You opened your clutch digging out your phone to check the time, only to realize it had died. You shoved it back in your bag, you looked down and noticed the watch around Jordan's wrist. "Do you mind?" You asked, wrapping your hand around his wrist pulling it up slightly. "No, go ahead." He nodded lifting his arm some more. "Thank you." You blinked your eyes a few times in an attempt to focus. 12:56. "Fuck." You laughed realizing how late it had gotten.  "What's the matter Cinderella, got a curfew or something?" He joked,  finishing off whatever was left of his drink. "It's just been a while since I've stayed out this late." Jordan ran his knuckle along your forearm, leaning in to whisper something in your ear. "I don't wanna pressure you or anything, but you’re a very pretty girl and I’d like to sleep with ya."  You were pumped full of whiskey and feeling a little frisky, you grasped the arm of his jacket tightly, pressing yourself against him. "Let's get outta here, big boy." Your lips brushing his ear as you spoke.

The minute the door closed, your hands were all over each other. Kissing until your lips were swollen. Somewhere between the elevator and his front door-  your dress came unzipped. With two swift motions, Jordan pulled it off the top of your head. You stood before him in nothing but your black, lacey panties.

"Take off your shirt," You told him, you were confronted with a gleaming set of abs, you dropped to your knees in front of him, lightly running your hands up his thighs while you looked up at him with lust in your eyes.

You wanted nothing more than to tear off his pants, but you couldn't resist teasing him first, leaning forward to plant a kiss on his very visible bulge. You rubbed your cheek against him while your hands undid his belt and fly. Pulling his pants down you revealed his tight, black boxers briefs and an even bigger shape than you'd imagined. You reached up and massaged his balls while having the pleasure of seeing his knees shake a bit as he buried a hand in your hair.

"Take them off," he commanded. Breath coming short in anticipation, you pulled the elastic waistband down, his cock bouncing out, he looked slightly above average. His engorged tip was wide and pink and had a perfect clear drop on the tip. You looked up at him in amazement with a slight widening of your eyes that he wisely interpreted as fear.

You flicked your tongue out and licked the precum from his tip, both moaning at the feeling. You took the base of his dick in your hand pulling the massive rod down rubbing your tongue along the underside of the tip. Slowly, you wrapped your lips around it, feeling your mouth stretch a bit at the girth. Bringing your other hand up to roll his balls in your palm, you started to bob your head up and down, coating his dick with your saliva. His other hand came to rest on your head. Jordan leaned back a bit, pushing himself forward into your mouth. Slowly, he increased the pressure until he was pulling you further and further onto his cock. Your lips reached where your hand was wrapped around him. You gagged around the tip of his cock, a rush of wetness flooding out as you continued to move your head up and down in earnest, zig-zagging your tongue across the underside. Increasing the suction and now dripping spit into the palm that was still rubbing his balls you moved your head and other hand in slightly twisting motions until he groaned deep in this throat. You pulled off of his dick with a popping sound and took some deep breaths, your eyes watering and a line of saliva connecting your lips to his swollen tip. You jacked his now soaked shaft up and down with your hand, you could barely take it anymore. You reached down and began to rub yourself between your legs.

Seeing this, he pulled you up, took you into his arms and carried you to the couch, laying you over one arm of it. Stepping back, he took in the sight of my ass up in the air, he slid his fingers into the hem of your panties yanking them down. "Fucking touch me." You demanded, looking back over your shoulder. "I want you... I need you inside me, or your fingers on me, or something..."  Your voice cracking. You weren't much of a bigger but this man was doing something to you.  You closed your eyes and wished and hoped he would listen.  You soon felt the tip of him rubbing up and down your slit. You were so wet that he was able to get a rhythm going, his massive cock sliding up and down your already sensitized clit. Slowly, Jordan began to slide into you.  He let out his breath with a hiss, locked his hands onto your hips and started to pound in and out. With each thrust, the air left your body with a moan and he let out a strangled sound of his own, eyes rolling back as he thrust. The sensation was like nothing you'd ever felt before, you grabbed onto the couch trying to find something to hold to contain the over-stimulation you felt. With each thrust you drew closer to your orgasm, eventually releasing your juices over his thick cock. Jordan's hands grasp your hips, pulling your body into him as hard as he could.

"God, you're beautiful." Jordan groaned as he gave it one last thrust, releasing himself inside of you, followed by a string of curse words mixed with your name. His cum oozing out of you as he pulled out, he grabbed a hold of your hands helping you up off the couch.  "You can shower if you want, I can get you some of my clothes or whatever. You don't have to rush off or anything." You smiled, nodding your head at the offer.

"Thanks, I don't usually do this whole 'one-night stand' thing." You stated, following him down the hall.

"Who said this was a one-night stand?" Jordan smirked.

[cruelangelstheses]

the drums of the beating rain

fandom: dragon age rating: G characters: fenris/m!hawke words: 1.8k additional tags: modern au, fluff, humor, established relationship description: the power goes out during a storm. hawke decides that this would be the perfect opportunity to build a pillow fort with fenris. a/n: :3 this was written for @fenrisappreciationmonth day 25: domesticity. title is from “brother” by gerard way

read it on ao3

—

The power is only out for about a minute before Hawke says, “I have an idea.”

Fenris glances up from the kitchen drawer he’s been digging through. “I’m not sure if that is a good thing or a bad thing,” he comments with a half-smirk as he retrieves what he was looking for: a lighter.

Hawke bounces over to him, a mischievous gleam in his eyes. “We should build a pillow fort.”

Fenris closes the drawer and raises an eyebrow. “A pillow fort?” he repeats, lighter in hand.

“Yes!” Hawke says. “It’s dark and cold and stormy outside, and the power’s out, and my phone is on fifteen percent battery life. It’s perfect.”

Fenris isn’t quite sure he completely follows Hawke’s logic, but that’s not uncommon. “I don’t know how much help I would be,” he says, shifting his weight.

“That’s why you have me,” Hawke says without missing a beat. “We Hawkes are experts at building pillow forts.”

Fenris chuckles. “Alright. Sure. Just let me light some candles first so we can actually see in here.” He holds up the lighter.

Hawke beams, a smile that could probably light up the whole of Kirkwall on its own. “Great! I’ll start grabbing the pillows—and blankets!” With that, he rushes over to the staircase, taking the steps two at a time. Fenris shakes his head and tries not to smile.

Ten minutes, five candles, seven pillows, and four blankets later, Hawke and Fenris are sitting on the couch in the living room, staring at the blank piece of scrap paper on their coffee table. Hawke taps his pencil against his chin, deep in thought. Fenris glances out the window, at the torrential downpour currently engulfing the city. A flash of lightning brightens the room, followed by a crack of thunder a moment later.

“Well. Clearly we’ll need to take the couch cushions out,” Hawke says, as if it’s obvious.

Fenris can’t help but laugh. “You sound so businesslike. As if you’re a scientist setting up an experiment.”

“I think I’m more of an architect, actually,” Hawke says as he starts to sketch out the “blueprint” of their pillow fort. Reflexively, Fenris smacks his hand against his forehead and laughs again.

“I’ve got it!” Hawke says, snapping his fingers and gesturing to the recliner on the other side of the room. He draws it on one side of the paper, fully reclined so that the footrest portion is sticking straight out. Then, on either side, he draws a couch cushion, with another large pillow to finish the “roof.”

“Will that work?” Fenris asks.

Hawke puts a hand against his chest in mock offense. “Fenris, your skepticism wounds me,” he says dramatically. Setting the pencil down and standing up, he says, “Let’s get to work!”

They start, as Hawke suggested, by removing the couch cushions. Then Fenris pulls the lever on the recliner so that the footrest is all the way out, like in the drawing. Hawke grabs one of the couch cushions and shoves it right underneath one end of the footrest. Height-wise, it fits perfectly—the only way it would ever fall over is if someone pushed it. It’s a bit longer than the recliner and sticks out a bit, but that just makes the fort bigger.

Fenris does the same thing with another cushion so that they’re matching on either side. Hawke nods approvingly and reaches for a blanket. When Fenris stares at him in confusion, Hawke says, “Well, we’re not just gonna lay down on the carpet. What are we, barbarians?”

Fenris helps him spread the blanket out on the floor. (They realize simultaneously that they probably should have done this first.) Then Hawke grabs a pillow from their bed and rests it on the gap between the two cushions that isn’t covered by the footrest. Fenris grabs another blanket and spreads it out on top of the “roof.”

“Yes! Good!” Hawke says with a grin, grabbing a few more pillows and tossing them inside the fort. “Let’s check it out!”

Before Fenris has the chance to point out how small it looks, Hawke crawls on his elbows and stomach into the pillow fort, so Fenris shrugs and follows his lead.

When they’re both inside, they find themselves shoulder to shoulder, elbow to elbow, squished up next to each other. Their feet are sticking out of the fort, and they can barely lift their heads up without hitting the underside of the footrest. “Hawke, I don’t mean to criticize,” Fenris says slowly, “but it’s a bit…small.”

Hawke seems to be thinking the same thing. “You know, I just realized something,” he says, stroking his beard thoughtfully. “The last time I did this, I was eleven years old and about four foot ten.”

Fenris snorts and buries his face in his forearms. “Well, we tried.”

But Hawke doesn’t seem completely ready to give up his quest. “No. It needs to be better than this,” he says, furrowing his brows. “There has to be another way.”

For a moment, they lie on the floor in silence—Hawke thinking deeply, and Fenris watching him. His chest swells with fondness at Hawke’s constant determination, his drive, no matter how big or small the task. There’s a part of Fenris that suddenly just really wants to kiss him.

“Eureka!” Hawke shouts suddenly, leaping up automatically and banging his head against the “ceiling” of the fort. Completely unfazed, he crawls out of the fort. “I’ll be right back!”

By the time Fenris exits the fort, Hawke is already gone, but he soon returns with a giant bed sheet. Fenris raises an eyebrow. “And this fixes all our problems...how?”

Hawke throws the sheet onto the ground, on top of their unused blankets and pillows. “Clear the living room,” he says without answering Fenris’s question. “I’ll explain then.”

So they tear down their first attempt at a pillow fort and push the recliner and the coffee table closer to the wall. “Okay,” Hawke says, clapping his hands together. “Now. We need three dining room chairs.”

Fenris cocks his head to one side in confusion, but he doesn’t question it. He’s learned over the years that there is (usually) a method to Hawke’s nonsense.

As he carries one of the chairs from the dining room into the living room, he calls over his shoulder, “I thought you said you would explain this to me.”

Hawke appears in the dining room entrance with one chair on each shoulder. “I will. After we get these chairs.”

Fenris can’t help it; he laughs so hard he nearly drops his own chair. “You look absurd,” he says. “How are you going to get through the doorway?”

“Sideways, baby!” Hawke proclaims, turning his body to one side and bending his knees so that the chairs don’t hit the top of the doorway. Sure enough, ridiculous though it seems, this method allows him to successfully inch his way through the door and into the hallway.

“Surely there are easier ways to carry those chairs,” Fenris says as they make their way to the living room and set the chairs down.

“Yes, but they’re less fun,” Hawke replies with a grin.

Fenris just smiles and shakes his head. “So, what’s your Plan B?”

Hawke cracks his knuckles. “Okay,” he says, grabbing one of the chairs and setting it down at one end of the living room area, facing the couch. “We’re gonna put these chairs in a triangle formation.” As he speaks, he takes a second chair and positions it on the other side of the room so that it and the first chair are back-to-back. Fenris, picking up on his idea, grabs the third chair and positions it equidistant from the other two, with its back facing them.

“Great! Perfect!” Hawke says, rushing over to their pile of bed accessories and grabbing the bed sheet. “Now we’re gonna spread this out on top of them. It’ll be our ceiling. With any luck, we’ll be able to sit up inside the fort without hitting anything.”

Hawke takes one end of the sheet, and Fenris grabs the other. They end up pushing the first two chairs a bit closer together, and then they spread the sheet out and drape it across the chairs, making sure that it covers each one almost completely so that it’s less likely to fall. Then Hawke grabs a few random books that were lying around the house and puts one on each seat to hold the sheet down.

The next thing they do is spread out some blankets underneath the “ceiling.” (Evidently, they did not learn from their mistakes and once again forgot to do this first.) Then Hawke props the couch cushions up against the chairs to create something resembling walls. He leaves the area between the first two chairs open and tosses some of their extra pillows into the fort.

“Pillow fort, round two!” he proclaims. “Let’s see how this one feels.”

It already looks a lot better (and bigger) than their first one did. Hawke crawls into the fort, and Fenris follows suit, pleasantly surprised to find that they’re not squished right up next to each other. He’s also pleasantly surprised to find that, just as Hawke hoped, they’re both able to sit up without hitting or bumping into anything.

“Well?” Hawke says expectantly, lightning illuminating his face for a brief moment. “How is it?”

Fenris is suddenly aware of Hawke’s eyes on him. “It’s much better,” he says truthfully. “I like it. Why?”

Hawke shrugs. “Well, I know you never really got to do these sorts of things,” he says slowly. “So I wanted your first pillow fort-building experience to be perfect. Which isn’t hard to do when I’m involved, but...” He laughs a little, but behind the joke, it’s clear he genuinely wanted to make Fenris happy with this whole affair.

Fenris smiles and leans forward, planting a kiss on Hawke’s cheek. “It was perfect,” he says quietly, and he means it with everything in him. “Thank you, Hawke.”

Hawke opens his mouth to say something, but he’s interrupted by a yawn. “It’s getting late,” he comments. “We could sleep in here tonight. Y’know, if you want.”

“Of course,” Fenris agrees. Already he can feel his eyelids growing heavy.

So they sleep on the living room floor, two blankets underneath them and two on top, surrounded by pillows and the sound of the pounding rain and rumbling thunder. Fenris rests his head against Hawke’s chest and wraps an arm around him, holding him close.

“I could stay like this forever,” Hawke breathes as he drifts off.

Fenris lifts his head up and kisses him softly on the lips. “So could I, Hawke,” he whispers. “So could I.”