#wait have you read Spinning Silver? go read Spinning Silver

[katsukikitten]

cum here

Warnings: spit, dub con

A Bakugou Birthday collab read the intro on the ML first!

A notification pulls your attention in your tipsy stupor as you collapse half dressed in your bed. Another successful night out with your girlfriends when your favorite pro hero posts a picture.

A thirst trap no less making you pop up in bed, the room spins delightfully as you stare down at the picture, screen shooting it without a care that he may get a notification for it but you were sure that you wouldn't be the only one.

Bakugou Katsuki, THE Dynamight with his shirt up exposing his abs, his Adonis belt and the vein that leads down to what has to be his fat cock.

You salivate over the thought of it and the several shots of tequila have you feeling bold, although your friends would argue you'd have been this bold sober simply because of how much you spoke about him even if most of the public thought he was an asshole you claimed that's what made him so fucking hot.

Pushing up your tits and angling your phone just right before you snap a photo and attach it to a very public reply before you slip into his dms to send a little something extra.

Bakugou's phone becomes nuclear to say the least, blown up from how many replies and notifications has gotten in such a short time. Each and every woman and the few male prospects are more than attractive and yet none make his cock jump to life, not fully anyway.

Until he sees you, tapping on the picture to make it full screen.

Soft fat tits pressed together, skin aglow in the ambient low light of warm string lights. Tongue lolling past pretty lips, wet muscle most likely fluttering before you took the picture. Obvious that you waited long enough for drool to drip from the tip in a silvery string as some droplets collected on those perfect tits. Pinching his screen to zoom in on your sexy mouth he imagines pressing his angry cock head against before he shoved his length until you gagged around him.

He groans at the thought, zooming out to take in all of you before he finally reads the caption..

Cum here.

“Fuck.” He growls, clicking on your profile, going to privately message you in hopes of more pictures. Palm moving to free his cock from his boxers when he sees you messaged him first.

Sharing your location with the pro hero like a fucking idiot. What if Bakugou had been hacked?

And here you were offering yourself up on a silver platter.

Cum here echoes in his head as he backs out to your selfie and before he can talk himself out of it he's jumping back into the tight black denim that never made it past his thighs.

You lock your phone falling back into your bed after you've seen that he's read your messages. Sighing as you hadn't expected much else, especially since it was his birthday and half of the feed were thirst traps of others tagging Dynamight in hopes of getting his attention. He ignored every single one of them, even from well known models and porn stars, so what chance did you really have?

Still, it was fun to be a little delusional every now and again.

Fireworks echo in the distance and you're surprised the spring festival was going this late into the night. Never one to miss a good show you rise from your bed, topless and half drunk to watch the last of the fireworks before you'd pass out, sleep well past noon before ordering a fat order or take out.

Leaving the sliding glass door open when the cool night air makes you shiver and regret foregoing a shirt. Eyes adjusting to the dark easily but your eyebrow furrows up in confusion. You hear the fireworks but you can't see them.

At least not well, a small orange burst that makes you wonder if maybe they aren't fireworks at all, that maybe it was just a villain making their grand escape.

Scoffing you turn, closing the sliding glass door only for it to be stopped in its tracks. Looking up for see a hulking shirtless man shrouded in darkness on your balcony. Smoke, caramel and whisky envelope your senses as the man breathes evenly behind you. You blink once, twice before you register his eye color.

Toxic, crystalline bromine.

"Dynamight?”

“In the flesh, Sweetheart.” He removes his hand from the frame of the door, takes a step towards you and you step back.

Stalking forward until you're both fully in the room and he delights in the mixture of emotions in your eyes. Fear, excitement, arousal.

“Haaah, what's wrong? Little kitty is acting more like a cornered bunny. Ya scared?” He leers over you, crowding your space, “Shouldn't be. Yer the one who invited the big bad wolf.”

Grabbing onto your chin to turn your pretty face this way and that, he doesn't even need to force his eyes away from your chest, your face captivates him that much. He runs his tongue across his teeth before he smirks.

“Now where am I supposed to cum again?” His large thumb swipes over your plush lips before he shoves it between them, forcing your mouth open.

He tries to recreate the picture you sent him, watches the wet muscle flutter and it makes him salivate. Makes him gather it in his mouth before he's pushing it the tip of his tongue letting his spit hit your tongue.

“Right here wasn't it?” He mixes his spit with yours with his thumb, pressing down on your tongue harshly. He watches your eyes widen before they narrow, into that hungry cat gaze that was in your photo.

Eyes that devour him whole as you hollow your cheeks to suck on his thumb. Swirling it around the digit before you pop off of him, the lewd sound echoing around the two of you.

You're fast, faster than Bakugou, especially drunk, expects. Jumping onto him and wrapping your legs around his waist, bucking your hips to make him fall onto the bed with a grunt as your tongue slides into his mouth. He paws at you heavily, grabbing at all your delicious softness as he growls into your mouth, calloused hands still warm from his journey here. Launching himself into the air that did little to sober him after he stalked your profile enough to get your apartment floor and balcony right.

Your claws dig into the nape of his neck as you bring him into a sitting position parting the kiss slowly, letting the silvery string that connects the two of you snap on its own.

“Gonna let me take care of the birthday boy and his special request?” You practically purr, crawling down his body as your fingers hook into the waistband of his boxers and jeans. All but ripping them from his body even when he lifts his hips to help you free his cock while he grunts out a “‘Course.”

It stands at attention, jumping as your eyes fixate on the one thing you've fucked yourself to the thought of hundreds of times. Drunk all over again, eyes falling to half mast as your hand grips him firmly, listening to him hiss over the contact before you give him a few languid pumps.

Hovering over him for a moment before you look up, watching his pupils blown wide, wider than what they were at the door. Soft almost unnoticeable red tint to his cheeks as he tries to control his breath.

“Try not to fall in love.” You giggle, lolling your tongue out to swipe over the leaking slit in a quick stripe.

“Ya wish, Sweetheart.” But already his head is falling back, hands reaching to grab at your hair before you swipe him away.

Slowly taking him into your mouth, hand gripping what you can't fit into your mouth, letting his fat cock head gag so that your throat contacts the same way your cunt would. Saliva pooling past your lips to coat his shaft, gagging again when you hear him groan before you start a steady pace.

Bobbing your head, alternating hollowing your cheeks and letting him ram into the back of your throat. Giggling when you push his head into the pocket of your cheek, holding eye contact and he reaches down to pull his balls harshly.

He's never been this close to cumming with such little effort.

You let your molars graze him lightly before straightening him in your mouth again. Sure to hit your gag reflex purposefully so that his pre and your spit soak his neatly trimmed pubic hair that's starting to slick to his skin.

If you're lucky he'll stay long enough for your pussy to do that to him too. Cunt neglected as it soaks your underwear as you adjust your weight on your knees for some sort of friction.

Moaning around him when he groans loudly, at his hisses and growls of sugared curses that do nothing but encourage your sinful movements.

Katsuki is panting, the man with all the endurance in the world is fighting the building coil in his lower abdomen and losing.

Bakugou Katsuki never loses but tonight he just might.

Letting his fingers card through your hair before he's pulling harshly, still you don't budge. Lost in your mission to make this last as long as possible by changing from a speed that's bound to make his cum flood your mouth to a slow bob that has you gagging around his sensitive head every time.

Letting your eyes flicker to look up at him and his debauched face, throughly fucked out as his chest heaves eyes fixated on you even as he struggles to hold his head up as if he couldn't bare to look away from.the things you do to him.

The sight is enough to make your eyes flutter, to make you moan around him and the vibrations make his sac tighten, moving your hand so you can shove all of him deep into your tight throat, tears in your eyes that stick in long lashes and fall in fat droplets as you bob on his entire length, once, twice.

And he can't take it, the sight, your eyes all but begging him to cum as you choke yourself on him, as if his pleasure was more important than air.

“Oh fuck princess, just like that.” He groans, cupping the back of your skull as he presses enough to make you gag one last time before he bucks his hips up into you. Starving you of air as your nose is pressed to his pelvic bone while he paints your pretty throat in sticky white cum, your claws digging into the thick meat of his thighs deliciously.

Finally he lets you up and you gasp desperately for air even if you found his aggression as he chased his high undeniably hot. You expect him to smirk, expect him to laugh or to leave pulling up his pants in a hurry but he doesn't.

Instead his large hand grips your chin, pulling you to him as his free hand comes to wrap around your sensitive ribs. Closing the space so that he can kiss you, swiping his tongue over yours shamefully groaning into your mouth as he tastes himself mixed with your spit.

“Fuck.” He pulls you onto the bed, flipping the two of you so he can pin you to the mattress chasing your lips desperately. His other hand has a mind of its own as it rips your panties from your hot core, fingers quick to press and spread your glistening folds. Cruelly avoiding your clit before he shoves two thick digits knuckle deep into your drooling cunt.

Forcing you to arch off the bed, pumping into you with a harsh pace, fingers perfectly positioned to bully that spongy spot that has you seeing stars before he times it perfectly.

Pulling away enough to look you in your eyes before he slowly, roughly, swipes his thumb over your clit and makes you cum in a matter of seconds, faster than any toy. You arch off the bed with a moan so loud you're sure the neighbors know his name now, little do you know what else he has in store.

Removing his middle and ring finger from your fluttering cunt reluctantly, quick to press the digits to his tongue harshly. Smoky caramel fills your senses as his palm heats against the fabric by your head. Leaning over you again to swipe his tongue against yours to taste the two of you melded together in your hot, hungry mouth. He pulls away, hand gently cupping your throat as he holds your gaze, cock heavy and hard again as he aligns it with your still convulsing entrance.

“Sorry Sweetheart, guess I fell in love.” He bullies himself into you in one harsh thrust and you're seeing stars again.

“Now I gotta return the favor.”

[ddejavvu]

don't mind me i'm just thinking about how Eddie Munson would SO pretend to be someone you know if you come up to him in a store or so and whisper to him how this guy has been creeping you out for ages 'n he would take to his role so well 😭 i need to shift dimensions I need to be with this guy

i'd commit unspeakable horrors to be his girlfriend

--

You almost feel bad practically tackling the man from behind. All he was doing was grabbing a can of soup off of the shelf, and you made him your impromptu best friend.

He lurches forward at the contact, and turns to look at you with fire in his eyes. You're absolutely certain he's going to scold you, but he sizes you up at his eyes soften slightly. He raises one eyebrow, a silent 'what the fuck do you want?' and you ramble breathlessly.

"Please pretend you're my friend," You whisper, the squeaky wheels of the cart you're dreading the owner of coming towards you down the aisle, "He's following me and I don't know what to do."

He doesn't even blink. His face doesn't shift in the slightest, and for a quick moment you're unsure whether he heard you at all. But his arm curls around your own, and he spins you to face the soups.

"-so I was thinking chicken and stars, but R2-D2 absolutely kills as a noodle," He drawls, ringed fingers gesturing vaguely at each can that he names, "'S whatever you want, babe."

You hear your supermarket stalker's wheels squeak to a stop at the end of the aisle, and you don't dare turn to see his face. You'd prefer never to see it again, a reminder of the lewd comment he'd made in the produce section about melons.

"Star Wars," You decide, plucking the can off of the shelf and handing it to him, "Uh, thank you."

"Now we need," He squints at his list, tongue poking out of his mouth and sticking to his upper lip, "Ritz crackers, and chicken for tomorrow night."

He mimes looking for the crackers, noticing the man standing at the end of the aisle, waiting.

"Oh, sorry," He lifts the back wheels of the cart with the handle, scooting it sideways so that the man can pass, though you both know he doesn't want to, "Were we in your way? Go ahead, we're gonna be here for a while."

The man stares at you, you can feel it. But your new best friend sets a hand gently, politely on the small of your back, leading you around him and sandwiching you between the aisle and him. He holds the list out in front of you, "Babe, can you tell what that says? Can't even read my own writing," He laughs good-naturedly, "I think it says 'blueberries'?"

"Or blub errands," You try deciphering his messy scrawl, weight lifting from your shoulders as the man finally decides to move, crossing your path and bumping the wheel of your new cart as he does.

"Definitely blub errands," The boy beside you snickers, glancing at the reflective panel of the aisle beside him to watch for when the man finally turns a corner, "Some nice improv, babe."

You're not sure why he's still using the nickname, the man is out of earshot. But you're too relieved to care, physically relaxing as your shoulders slump.

"Oh my god," You let out a much bigger breath than you intend to, almost dizzying yourself, "Thank you so much. I just- he was always there and I didn't know what to do! I'm sorry I almost knocked you over," You turn sheepish, eyeing his ankle that you're fairly certain he'd twisted in the meetup, "Are you okay?"

"You're fine," He waves off your apology, rolling the ankle in question with a cheeky grin, "I'm tough."

"You look it," You eye him up and down, a silver chain dangling from his belt that's almost covered by a leather jacket, "Do you have, like, a really big tattoo of a heart with a knife through it on your arm? Bonus points if it says mom."

He laughs incredulously, shrugging the shoulder of his jacket off to prove you wrong, "Uh, no, but thanks for the idea."

You let out a laugh, something that seems impossible considering how scared you just were, but one that comes naturally. The boy you'd found seems to be the type you'd go for both in and out of a life-threatening scenario, and you're starting to wonder if you'll get this lucky with any real relationships you're in.

"Well, listen," He stuffs the list in his pocket, a scrap of the paper sticking out, "I've only got a few more things. If you want, we can check out together," He motions towards the hand-held basket you're holding, "'Cause I don't think that guy's gone. I'd offer you a ride home," He reaches a hand up to scratch aimlessly at the nape of his neck, "But I drive a van, and I think me asking you to get into it would be creepier than anything that guy did."

"It's okay!" You assure him, a light laugh escaping you at his earnestness, "I'm sure I'll be fine driving home. But seriously, thank you," You smile at him, clutching the handles of your basket tighter in an effort not to hug him, "I really appreciate this."

"Anytime, babe." There's that nickname again, paired with the grin you'd seen before, "Now come walk with me, you're helping me find the blub errands."

[sunshine-on-marz]

PLEASE PLEASE SECRET SANTA IN THE OFFICE AND YOU AND SPENCER GET EACH OTHER 🙏🙏

ly😼

Ok pookie pooks you know me so well ILY (guys pls I know who sent this pls I’m not insane I promise)

Spencer Reid x reader

‘How the hell do you shop for Spencer Reid?’ You thought, wadding up the small slip of paper in your hand

You sighed and put your hand on your chin, then your felt something press against the back of your chair “what’s up princess?” Morgan asks, tapping the side of your head. You were quite used to his teasing but right now it was greatly appreciated. “What do I get Spencer?” You ask him, the words coming out half jumbled in your stress. Morgan chuckles “woah there sweetheart, breathe.” He spins your chair around so you’re facing him “he like reading right? Get him books” he suggests, you roll your eyes “I swear there isn’t a single book on earth he hasn’t read!” You pout, Morgan once again laughs at your suffering “you’ll figure something out, now go home, it’s like 8pm. I’m headed out too” you nod and go with him.

A few days later you finally found time to shop, walking around the mall like a lost child. So far all you’ve gotten is a headache, and no gifts for Spencer. Buying gifts for someone who doesn’t really have any hobbies other than being smart (and cute) is proving quite difficult. Eventually you settle on a chain and a sweater vest. The silver chain is simple, but it matched the white and grey vest so you decided to get it. That night you fold and wrap the vest and chain, the silver necklace placed neatly on top of the folded vest, both hidden behind an off-white wrapping paper adorned with black stripes. It was a pretty cute gift.

Nearly a week later it’s the day off the exchange, Penelope was hosting the small get together, you’d waited a bit to give your gift, getting distracted talking to JJ, until you feel the couch dip a bit, turning to see Spencer, with a nervous smile of his lips. “I got you” is all he said as he holds out the gift, you giggle “well this is yours” you say as you set his gift on his lap and start to open yours. At the same time you both burst out laughing. He’d gotten you a white cardigan, and a silver necklace. The coincidence was entertaining to everyone in the room, he puts on the chain and offers to put your necklace on your you. You nod, sitting with your back to him as he reaches around you, he’s so close, his hands gently rubbing against your shoulder blades as he clasps the necklace, then gently reaches around to readjust the small heart pendant to the center of your chest, your breath hitched at his gentle touch. “Thank you Spencer” you smile “thank you” he says back. You expect him to get up and go back to where he had been talking to Morgan before, but no, he actually moves to sit a bit closer to you, his arm gently wrapping around you. “Is this ok?” He asks softly? You nod and lean back into a bit as his thumb rubs small circles into your hip. “The chain suits you” you tell him, smiling, he smiles back. “You’d suit me” he says, both of your eyes go wide, he looks just as shocked as you (despite being the one who said it). “Spence?” You say, your smile and shock both evident in your voice. “Yea?” He responds, he sounds so nervous. “I think I’d suit you too” you whisper, you feel him relax as that gorgeous smile finds its way back to his just as gorgeous face. You readjust to how you’d been before, leaning into his chest while still facing everyone and holding a conversation. Spencer on the other hand is in a trance. His fingers running through your hair, braiding small sections and brushing it out just to do it over again. He’s only broken out of his chance by Emily snapping next to his face “hello? earth to Reid” she laughs, he looks up “oh-uhm- yea?” He responds, attempting to regain his composure. “Havin’ fun pretty boy?” Morgan chimes in, Spencer just sighs. It was gonna be quite the night.

Guys this was such a cute lil thing to write oh em gee

[authorhjk1]

Good day! Wanted to see if this counts for queen Yoona. Its see-through and it does have color probably along the lines of silver or white gold but ofc how she presents it is quite astonishing I must say. There is a top and a skirt but the see-through is the highlight I must say…its ok if it doesn’t make the cut but I hope you can use this for future reference for a completely needy, horny, wants to be bred so badly that at certain times she loves riding and pleasuring you to the point of overstimulation because she loves you so much Yoona since it makes total sense she's the type you would never dare to pull out of (smirk).

https://kpopping.com/documents/19/1/3468/SNSD-YOONA-for-DAZED-Korea-x-MIU-MIU-September-Issue-2022-documents-3(2).jpeg?v=6b901

White Gold

(Lim Yoona X Male Reader)

You knew this was a test as soon as she stepped out of the bedroom. At first glance, her outfit actually looks nice. More skin than she usually shows. But still nice. Fashionable.

But as she walks over to you, you realize that Yoona is hardly wearing anything. The top and skirt are see through. And she is only wearing underwear underneath.

"I'm going out now."

You can hear from the tone in her voice that she expects you to stop her.

"Have fun."

You nonchalantly say, focusing on the book you're reading. You know that you can't win this test. You either call her out and she calls you controlling, or you don't call her out and she is unsatisfied with the lack of attention.

You gladly choose the later. It annoys you that Yoona has been like this for the last couple of days. You suspect one of her friends behind it.

"I will."

She says, the pitch of her voice already raising. That means she is preparing herself to argue.

Instead of addressing it, you keep ignoring her ridiculous excuse of an outfit.

"Are you not gonna say anything?"

It's the first time you actually look up from your book, after you looked at her when she walked out of the bedroom.

"What do you want me to say?"

"If you don't know, forget it!"

With an angry glare, Yoona leaves the house. The slamming of the door has you groan in annoyance. You know you can't let her go out like this. Especially not at this hour. She won't be coming home before midnight. Usually, she hangs out at a cafe with her friends. For some reason, they wanted to explore a new club. Not your kind of thing. But Yoona wanted to do it, since she hasn't gone to one since you two become a couple.

You close your book as you hear the door of the garage being opened. You know that Yoona would never make you feel uncomfortable on purpose. And yet, she is going out late at night, barely wearing more than her underwear. You wonder if this really is a test. Is she about to leave? Or is she waiting in the car?

Yoona looks to her left, when she hears the car door open. Your face is still emotionless, but she catches a hint of annoyance on your face. Not something she expected. She thought you'd be angry. She would never leave, dressed like this. But you still let her go.

"What? I'm leaving now."

Yoona is angry with you and herself. She can't back out now. She is too proud for that. But she feels awkward in these clothes. Why did her friend suggest this? What was she trying to prove? Yoona knew you aren't a bad person. So why is she doing this?

"I've had enough of your tests and your weird behavior. Get out of the car."

Yoona hesitates for a second, thinking about talking back. But your look makes her obey.

As soon as she stands in front of you, you spin her around.

"Hey!"

Yoona expected something, but not this. Her cheek is pressed against the car and you trap her body in place with yours.

"What is this, Yoona?"

She feels you slightly pull at her top. Your voice is colder than usual.

"You have a problem with it?"

She tries to keep up her act, but she knows she has lost. Whatever she was trying to prove, she couldn't.

"I do. Why would you go outside wearing basically nothing except your underwear?"

"You can't tell me what to wear."

"But I can fuck you whenever I want. And I want to now."

"Wait-"

That's not a scenario Yoona anticipated. She was preparing herself for a huge fight, which she caused herself and which she was probably gonna lose.

A heavy pull on her top and a push against her back. A loud rip eachoes through the garage.

"Oh my gosh! What-"

You just tore Yoona's top off her body.

"What? You're almost wearing as much as before."

You quickly unhook her bra and pull it off of her.

"You're not going anywhere dressed like that."

Your hands cup her small breasts as you speak. Yoona is torn between complaining and moaning.

"You're mine. I'm the only person who sees you like this."

"That's controll-"

Yoona tries to say the words her friend told her to say. But Yoona has to admit that it's stupid. Why would anyone walk around outside half naked? Especially when they have a partner?

"That's having boundaries. Being in a relationship."

You undo her belt and wrestle her arms behind her back. After tying her wrists together, you slip off her skirt.

"That means I can tell you what to wear too."

"It is about what we both feel comfortable with."

Another tearing sound. Another gasp. Yoona's torn panties fall to the ground.

"I'm not comfortable with you going out almost naked."

You place your tip at her entrance.

"And I'm not comfortable with you, talking to-"

You push inside Yoona.

"I won't talk to anyone you feel uncomfortable with."

You hear her sigh.

"Now shut up and let me use you."

Yoona stays silent, closing her eyes. She knows you're going to be a little rougher this time. She deserves it.

"Oh, god!"

She lets out a cry as you thrust into her. You pin her against the car, making her moan and whine as you fuck her hard.

"Like I said, you're mine."

You whisper into her ear as you have your way with her pussy. Yoona moans in response.

"I do with you whatever I want, when I want to do it."

To proof your point you give one of her ass cheeks a hard slap. She feels the pain, but begs for more at the same time.

Soon, both of you are beyond the point of talking. You use her scarf as a leash to hold onto as you keep fucking Yoona from behind. You see some of her saliva run down the window as she drools on it.

Both of you can feel that the other one is close.

"Please breed me. I need your cum."

Yoona weakly whines. She wants to feel your seed. She wants to feel desired. She wants you to show her how much you care about her.

"Give me all of it. Cum inside, please."

She whines and begs, but you have other plans.

It's hard to pull out. Almost impossible. Yoona's pussy is trying to keep you inside. And Yoona herself just feels so good. Her insides are perfectly shaped for your cock. Perfect for you to just dump your seed in her.

"This is your punishment."

You manage to pull off the impossible. In your head, you promise yourself you will use Yoona as a cumdump the next time you fuck her. But now, she has to learn her lesson.

Yoona trembles as you pull out, almost climaxing untouched. She whines, asking for your cum.

"Watch."

You pull at her scarf to turn her around as you pick up her panties. You quickly wrap them around your cock. It doesn't compare to Yoona's pussy, but it does feel good.

It only takes you a couple of seconds to ruin her white panties.

Yoona gasps, she can almost feel how you cum inside of her. That's how bad she wants it now.

"Don't even think about dressing like a slut from now on."

You throw the ruined fabric in her direction, before turning around to leave.

Yoona, still desperate for at least a taste of your cum, darts out her tongue. She closes her eyes as it moves over her cum stained panties. Yoona licks at least most of your it off the fabric. In her head, she is already trying to come up with a new outfit she can buy online. Maybe...

[feyhunter78]

Sidewalk Kisses

Art cred: mia_bobrhia

“No, so then we get to the next chapter, the one we were supposed to read before class, right? And this dumbass goes wait, who’s Ophelia again? We’re literally reading Hamlet; the book cover is that super famous painting of Ophelia, and he doesn’t even know who she is.” You rant, waving your hands wildly in frustration, recounting the drama from your last class as you and Miguel take the back way to your next classes. You’re walking down the cracked sidewalk, the large looming trees above, birds singing in their branches, it’s quiet, no one else is around.

Miguel hums in halfhearted acknowledgment, and you look over at him, slowing your pace.

“Sorry, I know I’m being dramatic, but it just pisses me off.” You say, and Miguel can see you curling in on yourself.

“Don’t apologize, I’m just enjoying listening.” He says, trying to blink himself out of the trace your beauty has put him in. “And looking at you.”

You look so pretty, your hair tied up, a few strands falling perfectly, framing your face, the sun on your skin, the flowers blooming on the trees and bushes behind you.

You give him a shy smile, looking up at him through your mascara adorned lashes. “You’re so sweet.”

It’s his turn to be shy, and he ducks his head. “It’s easy to be sweet to you, you deserve it.”

You smack his arm playfully, full on beaming at him now. “Shut up, I adore you.”

I love you. The words sit on the tip of his tongue, poised, ready for action, but he chokes them down. “Now who’s being too sweet?”

You giggle, and it’s like music, like bells, like everything he’s ever wanted to hear. He loves to hear you laugh.

Miguel wants to kiss you, but he knows once he starts, he won’t be able to stop, and you both have classes to get to.

“Yeah, yeah, but anyways, so Dr. Wrinkler is like young man she is the very reason we’re reading this book. And dumbass just says I thought we were reading Hamlet because of Hamlet. Literally starts arguing with the professor! And I’m just sitting there dumbfounded, but also happy because I didn’t actually read the chapter before class, so I don’t mind him wasting class time.” You admit, giving Miguel an impish smile.

“My girlfriend, the ever-diligent student, is secretly a rule breaker, who would’ve known?” He jokes, glancing over at you when you stop dead in your tracks. “What’s wrong?”

You smile and go up on your toes, pressing your lips against his cheek. “I just don’t think I’ve ever heard you call me your girlfriend before; I like it.”

His cheeks warm and he ducks his head. “I…I like it too.”

You coo at him and smother his face with quick kisses, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him down to your height, angling your lips against his in a way that feels both romantic and wildly inappropriate. His head spins and he can’t stop a whimper from escaping when your nails graze against the nape of his neck, and your tongue traces the seam of his lips.

You smile against him, tangling your hands in his hair, manicured nails massaging his scalp, his glasses digging into the bridge of his nose a bit. He doesn’t care, you could devour him, break him into tiny pieces, melt him down, mold him into something new, whatever you want as long as you keep kissing him.

His hands go to your waist, pulling you closer, instinct taking over as he explores every inch of your mouth, the tip of his tongue running across yours, his grip tightening when he feels your breathing speed up.

You break away, breathing harshly, leaning into him like your knees are weak. “You’re um—you’re really good at that.”

“Only with you, mi dulce.” He says, and it’s not a lie, it’s the truest thing he knows. He likes kissing you, it comes naturally, everything he does you like and vice versa, there’s no wrong moves with you. “You inspire greatness in me.”

“Who knew you had such a silver tongue?” You tease, looking up at him with your pupils blown wide, your hands trailing lower, caressing his broad back.

Maybe he could convince you to skip class?

“If you would let me, I could show you more of it.” The words are honeyed, far smoother than he thought they would be, and Miguel holds his breath as he waits for your response.

Your breath catches in your throat and blink at him, stunned, flustered, lips parted in shock, or maybe anticipation? It’s an intoxicating expression, one that fuels him, fills him with courage.

“Déjame mostrarte cómo me has inspirado, mi musa, déjame arrodillarme ante ti, pintarte, tocarte, adorarte.” He whispers, drunk on your reaction, on the feeling of all your attention focused solely on him. Trsl: Let me show you how you have inspired me, my muse, let me kneel before you, paint you, touch you, worship you.

“Oh…” You breathe out, as you tilt your head subconsciously, your eyes flickering down to his lips.

He doesn’t need any other instruction, and he closes the distance, humming at the way you melt into him. He could do this forever, just you and him in the quiet of the day, sheltered by the shadow of the trees.

A sharp wolf whistle breaks you two apart.

“Damn, y/n, is that Honor Council approved?” Kelsy, one of your sisters’ calls, making you turn on your heel.

“I don’t know, why don’t you tell me, Ms. Honor Council Chairman?” You call back, rolling your eyes playfully.

“It’s not, but we’re going to be late for class, so I’ll excuse it.” Kelsy says, linking her arm with yours and pulling you towards the direction of your class, casting a sympathetic look over her shoulder towards Miguel. “Sorry lover boy, gotta steal your girl, good grades and all that.”

He just nods, feeling back in that daze from before. It’s only the sight of you blowing him a kiss that breaks the trance, and he forces himself to head to his own class, the feeling of your lips on his still lingering.

I KNOW THIS ONE IS SHORT BUT I'M TRAINING THE NEW GIRL AT WORK SO I'VE HAD ZERO TIME TO WRITE + EDIT, SO THIS IS ALL I'VE GOT TILL SHE CAN STAND ON HER OWN SO SORRYYYY

TL: @bat-bae, @nyctophilic0vitnir, @smokeywhalee, @obi-mom-kenobi, @prowlingforfood, @penggion, @crystal-crax, @oharasfilipinawife, @generalkenobitrash, @melsimps, @chrishy973, @farrowroyale, @palesatan, @scaryplanetdestroyer, @denzmallows, @36namey, @scoobysnakz, @ihateuguys, @idkbros-world @smartyren, @deputy-videogamer, @blackrose8425, @amberpanda99, @marshhbs, @queerponcho

[kentopedia]

♰ sent to destroy — dazai osamu

.𖥔 ݁ ˖🕸️🕷.𖥔 ݁ ˖ KINKTOBER NO. 5 - fallen angel!dazai

he promises he's not the devil, but he steals your soul with just a kiss.

contents. fem!reader, nsfw minors dni, takes place in 1920s for fun ig, actress!reader, alcohol, one mention of suicidal ideation and prostitution by reader, blasphemy, sacrilege, pls don't read this if ur religious & will get offended LMAO, angel fucking (& he has wings), bondage (thru powers), unprotected sex, cunnilingus, corruption kink, possessive sex, softish dazai, mm idk what else — 6.1k

note: i didn't edit this as thoroughly as i normally do so plss ignore any mistakes and i'll love you forever

the speakeasy fills with a thin veil of smoke, coating the room with an intoxicating mix of alcohol and nicotine. it’s a lewd place, full of degenerates and failed actresses like yourself, a crowd of people who don’t belong, but try their best to find a way to keep living. 

it’s a place where women pick up their clients, leading them to the hotel around the corner for a night they certainly won’t be paid enough for. it’s where people drown their miseries in alcohol and hope they won’t wake up in the morning. 

it is, regrettably, the only place you can afford. 

you sit alone at one of the tables, hands shaky from nerves as you smoke another cigarette, contributing just as much to the cloud that suffocates the small room. 

hoards of people make their way downtown for a sip of alcohol, the drink that has so ridiculously been banned, but you are no exception, no angel amongst the sinful devils. 

someone plays a saxophone at the front of the bar, spinning into a graceful melody of jazz that sings out to you, lulls you into an embrace that warms your core. it soothes the anxiety that has lingered with you throughout the day, the reminder that your life is tailspinning. 

you’d failed at landing yet another role, and the acting career you’d packed your bags and moved out for was plummeting. who would accept you now, now that your hopes and dreams had been for naught, now that you’d created a shameful woman of yourself and your family?

the answer was clear; but you were too stubborn too accept it, too desperate to believe that you could be up in the glimmering lights, the brightest silver star the world had ever seen. 

you lean back in your chair, stamping out the cigarette with a sigh as you stand to collect another drink. there’s not much left in your pockets, but you’ve made it work before, and you’ll keep making it work now, scrounging up coins for the relief that came with forgetting. 

the only consolation is the line of women that stand alongside you at the bar, as dejected and miserable as yourself. all of you have been labeled the failures of your families, the ones that bet on a shot in the dark. none of you expected that the road would be easy, certainly not with the way the industry is hasty to pick up only the most beautiful faces… but your ambitions had led you to believe that you, of all people, had had a chance. 

you know your beauty is endless, a sight to be admired, but even that had not been enough to secure your spot in the limelight. 

you thank the bartender as he hands you a drink, and slump back to your table, waiting for the effects of the alcohol to kick in. yet, when you stand at the edge of the table, peer at the chair you’d once been seated in, there is already a man there. 

he gazes at you with a crooked smile, eyes amused as he regards your beaten-down state.

you’ve seen him before—made every attempt not to see him again. you know what they say about him. he’s a wizard, he’s the devil, he’s a god that steals the body of a mortal, waiting to destroy the earth. all bad things, certainly, and with the way your life’s been going, you’d be a fool to get mixed up with someone like him.

still…you know of the things he’s done for people. that miracles have happened for those brave enough to ask for them. 

perhaps, you’re in need of a miracle. 

the dark-haired man leans forward, eyebrows raised as you gawk at him from the other side of the table. “no need to look so frightened,” he says, gesturing towards the other chair. “sit.” 

“i don’t want any company,” you say, straightening, pulling your drink closer to your chest. “i came here to be alone.”

his eyes flash, predatory, as if seeing down through the depths of your soul, to the very desire that lingers within. all of your dreams, your ambitions, and your loneliness are displayed to him, a flashing banner that alerts him easily of everything that’s ever been wrong with you. 

“is that so?” he asks, leaning forward, his voice deepening amongst the chaos of the speakeasy. “then, why have you been staring at me all evening?” 

you can’t help the flush that rushes to your cheek, the heat that covers your entire body. with the crowd of men and women alike that are constantly at his arm, you’d hardly thought he’d notice you.

and though you know what they say about him, he is undeniably beautiful; you’re drawn to him. there is a dark and heavenly beauty about him, something that you fear is too angelic to be of this world. his eyes glimmer almost like diamonds in the candlelit room, skin so flawless that it is nearly luminescent. 

it’s no wonder, really, that you haven’t been able to peel your eyes off of him.

you circle around his question, instead, and set your drink down on the table, lured in either by a false sense of safety, or the confidence of his grin. “i know what you are,” you say, swallowing back the fear that devils often prey on. 

he smiles, indulging you, a lifelong game he has surely played. “and what is that, my dear?” 

the mocking tone sends a cold wave down your spine, even though the sweet name seems to warm you. “i don’t believe i should say it out loud.” you’re not sure what kind of consequence that will bring you. perhaps you do not need to make a deal with him for your soul to be damned, straight to the fiery pits; maybe this conversation is enough, and already, you are on the long list of sinners that will be sent to burn.

“because you believe i am the devil? a demon sent to prey upon you and your soul, drag you down to hell once the contract you’ve made is over?” 

you say nothing, but your silence speaks loudly. 

he sighs, leans back in the chair and looks at you from under thick lashes. “i have no interest in the dealings of those fifty, lesser beings. i find that i can bargain for more enjoyable ventures.” two dark eyes trace over you, swallow you whole as he grazes your curves with his irises, the shape of your breasts under the tightness of your dress, the style shorter to match the current fashions. “so, i think we both may have something the other is interested in. please,” he gestures once more to the seat in front of him, addressing you by your first name—one you never even had to tell him. “sit.” 

nervous, you take the chair, wondering why you aren’t running away, screaming at everyone that there is a monster in your midst, a being that hunts the weak to lure them away from their misery. no wonder he has made himself a frequent customer at this place—there are people drowning in sorrows. one deal with him, and they will wake up in the morning, drowning in riches instead. 

“what do you want from me?” you ask, letting your hands fall to your sides. 

“so eager to get to the best part of my bargain, silly girl. have some patience.” he takes a sip of his own drink, pinning you with his gaze, even above the rim. you squirm under the intensity, but you, even now, can’t look away. “i know you’re struggling to find work. you’ve been here for years, and made pennies to live off of.” he reaches across the table, spins a lock of hair around his finger as he sighs dramatically. “such a shame, really. they must fear the power of your perfection if they refuse to let you shine brighter than the rest of the dull creatures that they call starlets.” 

your heart drops, stutters within the delicate bones of your skeleton before starting again, as you remember that this is how the devil would act, luring you in with sweetly poisoned words full of deceit. “they are talented—”

“they are nothing,” he snarls, banging his fist on the table so loudly that you jump, hands shaking against the beaded skirt of your dress. “you may claim to believe in your own talents, your appearance, but it is all a lie, a facade that you maintain to protect yourself. you are the one holding yourself back, and unless you let me help you, you’ll get nowhere.”

you feel tears burn. “you mean to lure me away from the path of god—”

his eyes narrow. “i mean to free the human race from the chains that religion has bound on them. there is nothing for you in the afterlife but an existence of slavery. one to a malicious devil who only wishes to torment, or one to a god who doesn’t love you.” 

it confuses you, the way he speaks of these beings as if he is not on the side of heaven or hell. as if there could be another option. it seems surreal, a secret that you should not have been told; since the day you were born, you have learned of the path of righteousness, the will of god. 

that is the only way you can obtain a life of peace… yet, there is a creature before you, claiming to offer you a third path, one that doesn’t have you bowing down for a god that won’t answer your prayers. 

it may be foolish, the work of the devil, but you are willing to listen. you are already lured in by this graceful creature with a charming smile and a quick tongue, and you don’t know if it will take much more for you to succumb to him completely. 

already, you have lost your way—you would do anything to escape your unhappiness.

“what is it you’re after, then?” you ask, your voice softer, weaker than you anticipated. 

he laughs, and lets his head tilt sideways, studies you before answering. “my father has cast me out of heaven; i plan to build my own religion of followers, tearing them away from that idiot of a being they call their god. because i am much stronger, much wiser, and the only way that they can find peace after their death is by trusting that i will give it to them.” 

you swallow, twining your fingers together, and think. “you’re… an angel?” 

he waves his hand. “a fallen one.”

there are things about the world that you do not understand, but you know that god has not once help you when you were drowning without a savior. he did not guide a helping a hand when you contemplated dragging a knife across your wrists, and yet, here is something, someone wanting to save you from just that. how is it that god can be more benevolent than those he casts out, when you have seen nothing but the opposite?

“you want me to join you, then?” you ask, drawing your eyebrows together. “if i join you, you’ll give me what i desire?”

“well… that is usually the bargain i offer. however,” he hums, eyes flashing as they scour your body. he looks at you hungrily, like he has never seen a being like yourself. “it has been a while since i’ve seen a human as beautiful as you.” 

you swallow, blinking at him with wide eyes as you grow hot all over. this would not be the first time you’ve sold your body for fame, but never has it been with a man as stunning as the angel before you. “you mean… if i fuck you, you’ll give me whatever i want?” 

he sniffs, repulsed by your suggestion. “always so lewd, you mortals.”

your eyebrows knit together. “but you said—”

“i don’t want you for one night. i want you forever. i want you to swear your body over to me for the rest of your life, let me use it as i wish, bear my children.” he traces your features, grazes a thumb over your jaw, your lip. his eyes are hard, and you swallow, wondering why your stomach flips. “you are meant to be mine.” he smiles, and though you can see the mischief within it, for some reason, there is also softness there as he crosses his arms over the counter. “but if you aren’t interested, then the deal is off the table. i have no need for someone who doesn’t want me in return.” 

you blink back at him, observing the seriousness of his expression, the softness lurking within the pools of his deep brown eyes. perhaps he is a vengeful angel… but he is offering you a life that is much more promising than the one you have now. would it really be so bad to give yourself to him, to spend the rest of your life in his arms, when he promises to give you everything you’ve ever wished for?

“i—” you hesitate, unsure how to even begin to answer the question, when you didn’t quite understand what it was that he needed from you.  

“i’ll give you some time to think about it. after all, it is a decision that will affect the rest of your life.” he stands to his feet, and it is then that you notice there are some eyes on you, the women he typically has hanging off of him watching your interaction with bated breath. “when you have an answer, just call for me. i’ll be there.” 

“wait,” you say, turning in your chair to face him. “i don’t even know your name.” 

“you can call me osamu.” he smiles and winks at you, tucking his jacket closer as he begins to walk away. “we’ll be in touch."

three weeks pass before you see him again. 

you’d decided quickly what you would say to him, and after two weeks worth of auditions that led to nothing, drinking without a friend in the world, alone to rot in your bedroom, you’d made up your mind.

osamu’s proposal, now, after everything you’d suffered, seemed too good to be true. how long had you wished for a companion, for money, for a steady job—and now, these were all things he promised to provide you, if only you’d stand by his side. 

you’d called to him at the start of the week, said a prayer to any angel named osamu that was out there—but no one came. 

night after night, you said the same prayer, wondering, if perhaps, you’d been made a fool of. that everything he had said was a lie, and you, truly, were doomed to live an unhappy life. maybe, he was mocking you for your misfortunes, for your weak heart. 

though, on the twenty-first day after your discussion, you awaken to a figure standing in the corner of your room, watching you with hawklike eyes, the shadow of a wingspan shaped out behind him. 

you gasp, nearly letting out a scream as you scramble to a seated position in your bed, bringing the sheets up to your chest. the man is nothing more than a silhouette, so dark in the moonlight, but you know, without seeing his face, that he is the one you’ve been searching for.

“osamu,” you say, trying to quell the fear that has made a home in your chest. you gawk at him as he uncrosses his arms, sauntering over like he owns the place, like he’s been here before, knows the shape of your body, even under the sheets you hide within. “you heard my prayers.” 

“i apologize for not coming faster,” he smiles in the darkness, teeth glimmering under beams of starlight. his face becomes visible then, and it steals your breath away—he is more stunning than you remember, skin nearly glowing, golden. “you were beginning to sound desperate.” osamu watches as your breathing evens out, your eyes flicking over his features. “is that still the case?” 

he is a sight to behold sitting before you, the very essence of power seeping off of him in waves. a creature crafted from the hands of god, shaped to be the very thing that would protect the weaker creations. 

osamu’s skin, his hair, every inch of him is without flaws, while you are but a sinful human girl who succumbs to each of her urges. 

“i want—” you stop, realizing that you’re not sure what you want. to be an actress, yes, a famous starlet that is cherished by the masses. but, when you look at osamu, the soft, plump shape of his lips, the lean limbs that hide under his tailored coat, you wonder if fame, security, comfort—perhaps, those aren’t the only things you desire from this exchange. “i accept—”

“you sound uncertain,” he interrupts, eyebrows drawing together in a scowl. “you called me here, begged me to come steal you away, and now, you change your mind?”

“no!” you say, scrambling to grab his wrist as he starts to stand from the bed, his eyes flashing as you reach for him on all fours. “i’m not changing my mind. i want to be famous, i want to be yours.” you swallow, choking out the word as it turns your cheeks warm, the heat making its way up from your toes. 

it hit you harder that you anticipated, the taste of belonging to another. you aren’t sure if its because you’ve craved the connection for so long that it’s twisting your insides, turning you into something desperate, or if, already, you feel an invisible string tying you and this stranger together. 

“but?” osamu asks, still seeming like he’s about to flee, his eyes hard, blinking back at you. there is something about you that he wants, but he won’t take it, not unless you crave him just as much. it muddles your mind, confuses you—he could have anyone, could take anything. yet— 

“but why do you want me?” you ask, releasing him to curl your fingers around the blanket. “i don’t understand.” 

osamu balks, then laughs, his eyes crinkling as he regards you with some sort of gentleness. “perhaps i have always loved humans a little too much, much more than i should, at least.” he curls a piece of your hair around his finger, hums to himself. “innocent creatures that my father cursed with misery, blaming their own sinfulness against them.” osamu licks his lips, hungry as dark eyes cover your face. “but it’s not entirely your fault that you must bear the torment of generations. just as it is not my fault that i was born with a lust for something much more delicate than the creatures of heaven.” 

he strokes your cheek, fingers grazing you like you are nothing more than a piece of glass, that you might shatter under the force of his power. perhaps you would—with too much, he might break you, turn you into a pile of ash with a snap of his finger.  

“but there are millions of us to choose from,” you say, sweating under the blanket as your heart pounds in your chest. the breadth of his power becomes more obvious with every passing second, and yet, you crave  a taste of it. “what makes me so special?”

he wraps a large palm around your jaw, thumb pulling at your lower lip. the tip of it dips into your mouth as you watch him with wide eyes, frozen, but not from fear. “i was meant to be your guardian angel, to be the guide that leads you away from the devil until your dying breath.” he moves closer, dipping his head towards your lips, brown irises never leaving your own. “and yet, the moment i laid eyes on you, i had already broken the first rule.” 

you stumble over your syllables, whispering them breathlessly. “and what’s that?” 

osamu smiles, muttering the words against your mouth, his voice ghosting over your skin. “angels are wired to protect those that we are assigned to,” he says, swiping his tongue against your lip, just barely kissing you, the sounds low and breathy. “we’re not supposed to want to fuck them.” a finger drags slowly, sensuously up your arm, and you can’t move, can’t do anything but watch as he pushes you, sinks you slowly into the bed. “i have never wanted anything as badly as i want you.”

you breath, in and out, slow, as the heat settles in your stomach, a burning pool of need churning there. it’s been so long—so long—since anyone has touched you in a way that is kind, has wanted to please you, instead of steal from you. “all that, just for me?” you ask cheekily, though you’re still not sure that he is telling the truth. 

maybe he is the devil, but you no longer care. his voice is so sweet with praise and affirmation, bleeding into the softness of your heart. 

he shrugs. “perhaps i was always meant to fall.” your head hits the pillow. you aren’t sure when he got you pinned on the bed. osamu looms over you with wide, burning eyes, licking his lips with an ache he doesn’t bother to hide. 

“osamu,” you shudder, grabbing his bicep to steady yourself. it is too much, suddenly, all at once. you are filled with need for him, clawing at his skin as he commands complete control over you with nothing but his words. “i—”

your sentence is stolen away by a kiss, one that burns from your mouth all the way down to your toes. it twists something within you, turns you into a monstrous being that you had not realized you were, longing so recklessly to be touched. 

his hands roam over your body, touch featherlight as he removes your dress, drags it slowly off your body, eyes grazing over every inch of your skin like he wants to devour your whole.

he makes a low sound in the back of his throat, fingers lightly dipping down your chest, between the swell of your breast to your ribcage. “how cruel of our father to keep us from such divine creatures,” he says, leaning down to kiss up your stomach, lick the skin around your breasts. “perhaps we are the ones that are truly being punished.”

you writhe under him, hands curling in his hair as his own dips between your thighs. grabbing his scalp hard, you yank him back up to your lips, and your eyes meet, both dark and dangerous as you brush your nose against his own. “you are punishing me right now.” 

“is that so?” he laughs, eyes flashing with humor. “such a greedy, impatient little thing.” osamu slips out of his coat, his shirt, revealing the tent that has already grown in his slacks. they are the next to go, and his golden skin is revealed, the perfection of every line and angle of his body heavenly and refined. he leans down to whisper in your ear, breath ghosting the shell of it. “act like such a princess, but i know you want to be fucked until you can’t form a single thought, don’t you?” he says, and the coolness of his voice has you squeezing his shoulders, gasping out his name.

your skin burns, your chest burns, an ache gathering and settling deep in your stomach. your cunt throbs as you look at the angel before you, and he kisses down your neck, bites a hard bruise into your collarbone. 

you whimper, wondering why you ever questioned going with him, when he could make you feel this good from nothing more than his hands on your skin. 

“such pretty fucking tits.” he swirls his tongue around your hardened nipple, teasing the bud as you cry out loudly in the silent room. far too loudly for the thin walls, the cheap apartment. yet, you wonder if you care that your neighbors can hear the noises that come with your pleasure. 

“that’s it,” he purrs, kissing down your stomach before his lips reach your hipbone, smiling into the sensitive skin there. “so quiet before… thought i was doing something wrong.” 

“n-no,” you say, chest rising quickly as you watch him hover above your soaked cunt with anticipation. “feels good.” 

osamu smiles, spreads your legs farther, so your dripping, aching hole is on display, embarrassingly, every inch of you vulnerable to him. “look at you,” he says, eyes hazy as he holds you tight, digs his fingers in your skin. “so fucking perfect. bet you taste as good as you look.” 

there isn’t a moment for you to say a word—his head is already between your thighs, kissing your clit before sweeping his tongue through your folds, gathering up the wetness. a moan leaves his lips, and the vibration sends a wave of need through you as you squeeze his hair, force him back down on your cunt, nose dragging against your clit. “osamu, please.”

“ah, ah, ah,” he stops, licking his lips that are moist from your juices as his head lifts from between your thighs. a dark smile stretches across his features, calculating and cruel. “where are your manners, sweetheart? i don’t want you to cum too quickly.” 

you’re not sure what he means until you feel your hands pinned to the bed by an invisible force, the power of the angelic creature before you, finally obvious. you can’t move, can’t even writhe against him, even as you try to thrust your hips forward, gain any sort of relief from the position. 

he laughs at you, so pitiful at your desperation to be touched. “much better,” he says, and returns to lap at your cunt, tongue already stretching you as his fingers graze your thigh. 

“s-samu,” you say, feeling the heavy pressure build down in your stomach. “want,” your cheeks grow hot, and you’re tingling with a need to touch him, but you can’t move. his pace is too steady, too slow. you’ve never wanted to scream more. “want your fingers. please, please.” 

“please? such a good girl.” osamu grins against your pussy. the sound of his tongue slurping at your arousal is loud in the darkened space, and you clench around him, burning with need and shame. “you taste so good, too. better than any of the fucking shit in heaven. fuck.” he slips a finger in then, working at your clenching hole as his tongue curls around your clit, rubbing at the sensitive bud. 

your words leave you in a cry, every muscle in your body aching. “please, i want to move. let me touch you, i want to, i—”

“i’m not letting you go that easy,” osamu says, and he pulls his mouth away, his face glistening, soaked. his fingers curl into you and you squeeze your eyes tight as he reaches deeper, to the second knuckle. “you’re so fucking worked up. bet you could cum at the sound of my voice alone.” 

“i wanna, please, i’m so close—"

he laughs, looking up at you from under dark lashes. “already?” the sound is mocking, nothing about it soft as he kisses your inner thigh. he sees the desperation in your irises as you can do nothing but stare, unable to twitch a single muscle. “gonna cum all over my face?” he asks, and he’s back between your legs, tongue diving into you. “make a mess on me, sweetheart, wanna see that pretty face of yours when you cum.” 

you don’t think you’ve every felt like this before, basked in the moonlight as the angelic man soaks his face with your desire, smiling at the sight of you so sinful. your heart hammers in your chest as you remember what you’ve promised him—that you would be his forever and, perhaps, this is what forever entails. 

breathy moans leave you, and with each thrust of his tongue, you’re left with less words on your lips, less thoughts in your mind. “feels so good, you’re so good, osamu,” you babble, over and over. 

osamu reaches the deep spot inside of you, and you squeeze him, clenching as you come on his fingers, cry out in the space of black room, nothing but the stars to guide you. you’re not sure you’ve ever come this fast before, not without the help of your own hands, but osamu just continues to lap at your cunt, drinking the juices and making lewd noises of pleasure at the taste of you. “mm,” he hums, “so fucking perfect.”

he fists his cock, already hard as his tongue swirls inside of you, and you lose any train of thought, too focused on the way he’s making you feel. 

osamu is hard, leaking before he shifts onto his knees, rubbing his cock between your folds, gathering slick at the tip. “want my cock, baby? such a pretty thing deserves it, don’t you think?”

you nod, muttering syllables you don’t even understand. osamu teases you, drags his cock against your hole as he kisses your lips. 

“use your words, sweetheart,” he smiles. his soaked fingers leave patterns of your own slick on your stomach. 

you groan, eyelashes wet. “want your cock, ‘samu, please, wanna be stuffed so full,” you babble, and you can’t do anything but lay there, even though you want to touch him, want so badly to shift your hips into him. “please, osamu, please,” 

he makes a noise in the back of his throat, grinning as he plays with your nipple, lining himself against your dripping hole. “so fucking sweet for me, anyone would think you were the angel, wouldn’t they?” osamu asks, and then he sinks into you, slow, eyes careful as he searches for any pain in your features. 

you blink up at him, making a soft noise as you writhe under your skin. “b-big,” you say, feeling him stretch your walls as he sinks further. 

though his eyes are careful, he doesn’t bother to stop, each second dragging as he inches further into you. he laces his fingers with yours on the bed, grinning as dark hair falls into his eyes. “i think you can take it, can’t you? you’ve been sogood for me already.” 

sucked into the coolness of his gaze, you don’t realize that he’s released you from whatever spell you’ve been trapped under, kept helpless on the bed. you gasp as he sinks into you completely, aching from a mix of discomfort and the deep need with you. 

“too much,” you say, but he sinks further, deeper, and your walls clench around him, bringing a heavy groan out of both of you. “fuck, please, let me move, i—” 

“i’m not stopping you,” he kisses you hard, sloppy as his saliva drags across your lips. there’s a possessiveness in the way he fucks you, dragging his mouth across your own, claiming you as his. “you take it so fucking well, angel, slipping right into this soaked pussy.”

his words take a moment to reach your disoriented mind, and when you try to move, you can, your hands flying to his shoulders to bring him closer. your whimpers are loud in the hollow room, and osamu loves the sound of you, drinking each little whisper in like a heavenly elixir. 

“you’re so pretty,” he says, kissing across your forehead as you arch into him. “making you feel good, hm? so fucking innocent, and i’m ruining you.” 

“mmm,” you force the sound out as osamu thrusts into you, hard against the mattress, his hips moving in a steady, fast rhythm. hair is sticking to his forehead with sweat, his brown eyes even darker in the midnight hour. 

your fingers graze across his back, between his shoulder blades, and though your touch is featherlight, he freezes, stops immediately with a loud groan as he clamps his teeth down on your shoulder. 

you breath in sync, your chests rising and falling together. “osamu?” you ask, staring up at him, his eyes pinched together tightly as he grits his teeth. 

“sensitive,” he says, and his voice is hoarse. “fuck, i’ll cum on the spot if you touch me there.” 

you blink, your haziness clearing as you let your hands fall to your sides. it takes you a moment to realize why he would curl away from your touch there, why he would—

“your wings?” you ask, and he drags his gaze back up to your’s, nodding, before dropping his head onto your collarbone. he exhales into your neck, resuming a slow, steady pace inside you. though, you place a hand on his chest, feel his erratic heartbeat. “can i see?” 

“you don’t want to.” 

you pinch your eyebrows together, but he shifts his hips, forces a cry out of you as you collapse back down against the mattress. “i do,” you argue, but he’s fucking you mercilessly, sensuous sounds echoing in the room as he attempts to distract you. “i want to.” 

he’s about to deny your request, but you let out another soft please, batting your eyelashes so sweetly. your cheeks are flushed from the heat in the room, and, for some reason, he relents, bowing his head in some sort of remorse. slowly, his wings span out across the room. 

you lose your breath for a moment as you stare at them, muddled from the feeling of him inside and the beautiful sight before you. the wings are thick, black and feathery, spanning the length of the room, casting a dark shadow over you. they’re strong and unwavering, with a sheen that could be seen only on a raven, the light turning the shades from a deep purple to green. 

“oh,” you can’t mutter anything else as he drags his tip against the sensitive spot inside you. “oh, they’re so beautiful. fuck, osamu, i can’t—”

you can’t stop yourself from touching them, dragging a gentle touch against one of the feathers. osamu cries out, groans into your mouth as your walls clench around him, sweat dripping between you as your chest presses against his own.

“shit,” he says, forehead pressed to yours. “oh, i’m so close. gonna make me come, aren’t you, baby? squeezing me so fucking tight, touching me like that.” 

his eyes are hazy, and, somehow, for some reason, he’s let you have control of the situation. he kisses your face, treats you with a gentleness you didn’t think he was capable of, his lips so warm against your skin. 

the dark, heavy wings cage you in, falling over the two of you, and you run your fingers against them once more as you feel another orgasm creep upon you. your clit rubs against him, and your slick drips between the two of you, down your thighs as your breath catches in your throat. 

for a moment, you revel in the feeling of him deep inside you, and you close your eyes, his feathered wings so soft under your palm, letting your pleasure overtake you.

though that is short-lived as osamu pinches your jaw.

“hey,” he says gruffly, “look at me. want to see those pretty eyes of yours when you cum.” and though his eyes are soft, delicate from the way you’re stroking his wings, he sounds so mean, so possessive. “gonna fuck all my cum inside you, cause you’re mine now.”

your fingers curl around the feathers, hard as you tug him down towards you. osamu moans deep into your mouth when you clench around him, your orgasm rolling over you again as you scream his name into the blackness of the room. 

“such a good girl f’me, fuck, i—” he doesn’t finish his sentence, already filling your soaked pussy with his cum. it seeps deep inside of you, coating your walls white until he pulls out, lets his seed drip between the two of you. 

osamu presses his fingers across your face, dragging the delicate touch around your jaw, your chin as you breath heavily, still awestruck by the creature before you. you’re exhausted, sleepy, eyes hazy as you regard him with stuttered breath. 

but he doesn’t let you go, kissing you over and over again with flushed lips. “i know you can give me one more,” he says in a low voice, humming against your throat. “my perfect mortal girl. just one more, and i’ll give you whatever you want, got it, pretty?” 

your body aches, sensitive and spent, but you don’t object when he slips another finger into, kissing you hard as he lets you touch his raven wingspan. 

you’d always wanted to be an actress, anyways. 

tags: @hannzai @cha0thicpisces @kissesmellow21 @sukiischaotic @hinata7346

OCTOBER MASTERLIST

[darknight3904]

𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕽𝖆𝖈𝖊

ᴀᴇᴍᴏɴᴅ ᴛᴀʀɢᴀʀʏᴇɴ x ꜰᴇᴍ!ᴏᴄ! ᴛᴀʀɢᴀʀʏᴇɴ

ᴘʀᴇᴠɪᴏᴜꜱ ᴘᴀʀᴛ / ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ /ᴍʏ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

132 AC

The rain was hammering against the window as she watched Vhagar land in the nearby field Aemond kept her in. She hadn't seen him in an age, the greens were keeping him busy.

It had been nearly five days since they stole Rhaenrya's throne and placed Aegon on it. Rhaella had spent most of it reading and spending time with Edric who liked to listen to her voice and eat whatever sweet pastries the kitchen prepared.

Now, the old man was fast asleep as Rhaella looked out his window. Vhagar's massive head had disappeared behind trees as Rhaella wondered how on earth the dragon was alright with the storm. Perhaps Sōna was too spoiled, often refusing to fly in rain.

Rhaella wondered where Aemond had gone, it was late for a city patrol and the storm would surely keep anyone from Dragonstone out of Kings Landing.

Aemond shook the water from him the moment the castle doors were open for him. He could hardly see when he tied his horse off in the stables, this rain was disgusting.

He knew what he should do, go to Aegon or perhaps his mother...tell them what occurred at Storms End. Yet, he found himself drawn to where he knew she'd be. Where Rhaella was waiting with that old Maester of hers.

She was sitting there, just as he predicted. Her fingers were chasing the raindrops that were painting the glass of the window. Aemond wanted to run to her, to fall to his knees and hope she'd console him for what he's done. Instead he finds himself lowly clearly his throat, as to not wake Edric.

"Aemond." Rhaella greets, without even turning her head, "You're dripping water all over the floor."

Aemond looks down at the dark stones where water drips from his clothes and hair.

"I was flying." He dismisses

"I saw. Vhagar doesn't seem to mind the storm." Rhaella says, looking at him

Aemond feels his breath hitch when she looks at him. He feels self conscious all of a sudden. Perhaps he should have dried off before coming home to see her. After all, she looked ethereal, even in her night dress. He was sure he currently looked like a fool, dripping wet and probably reeking of Vhagar.

"She flies in any condition." Aemond says

"Not like Sōna." Rhaella smiles

"No, not like Sōna." Aemond muses, he feels a small smile pulling on his face. Rhaella was truly a mystery to him, how she made him forget all his woes was truly mystical.

"Are you going to tell me what's wrong?" Rhaella asked, "You're bad at hiding your emotions."

Aemond cursed her in his mind, she always knew when something was wrong with him.

"I don't know what you're talking about." He sighed

"Lying...I thought we were friends!" Rhaella gasped, sarcasm dripping in her tone.

"We are!" Aemond said, letting the smile take his face.

Rhaella suddenly got up from her seat beside the window and walked towards him. Her hand was warm against his own skin. His face was still wet with the rain.

"Then tell me, what is wrong?" She pushed again

Aemond closed his eye, basking in the feel of her hand on his cheek. Perhaps he could just freeze time and stay like this forever.

It takes all the strength in his body to keep his voice from wavering as he begins to speak.

"I flew to Stormsend. To treat with the Baratheons so they'd back Aegon's claim." He said slowly

Rhaella's face sours and she withdraws her hand. He wants to grab her wrist and keep her hand in place. How soothing her touch had become.

His mind is racing as he tries to speak.

His head spins as he tries to focus on anything but Rhaella but it's as if he's in a tunnel and all that's ahead is her. Long silver hair that gets wavy when wet. Gleaming violet eyes that match his own as she looks at him with a disapproving expression.

"And what did Lord Baratheon say?" She asked

When he doesn't answer, she speaks again.

"What did he say, Aemond? Good or bad I want to know." Rhaella said, crossing her arms across her chest.

Aemond thinks about the proposal he has agreed to but that is not what is plaguing him.

"Maybe we should go elsewhere." Aemond glanced over at a sleeping Edric whose snores filled the room.

"Fine." Rhaella huffed, grabbing his forearm and pulling him down the hall to her own chamber, "Now, we are alone. Tell me what is happening."

"Lucerys is dead." Aemond let out, "Vhagar...she...."

He can't bring himself to finish his sentence. Perhaps if he doesn't say it, his actions will be reversed.

Rhaella is silent infront of him. Aemond can't tell what she's thinking but its nothing good. Even in the low light, he can tell her face is growing pale as she digests his words.

"What did you do?" Her voice is dripping in anger and Aemond can feel himself shrivel in her gaze as she looks at him.

"It wasn't me...Vhagar she..."

"No!" Rhaella gives him a hard shove using strength Aemond didn't even know she had. He stumbles back a few paces.

"She is your dragon Aemond, yours! Every rider knows how the bond works, they feel what we feel." Rhaella says, pretty eyes welling with tears Aemond wants to wipe away. "Vhagar was acting on your emotions. You have always hated Luke."

"That's not true," Aemond says, he can feel his anger beginning to boil over.

"It is. Even before he took your eye you disliked him." Rhaella says, "His blood is no fault of his own."

"So you acknowledge it then," Aemond says his eye squinting in the darkness, trying to see what face she was pulling now.

"Acknowledge what?" Rhaella seethed

"He's a bastard. Or well, was one."

"Get out," Rhaella commanded

Rhaella pointed to the door behind him. Her face was stony with determination but her eyes were full of sadness. Aemond wanted to comfort her, to tell her it would be okay. Yet, he knew he couldn't stay, he was the source of her pain this time.

"Get out!" Rhaella yelled this time.

Aemond quickly turned on his heel and made his way to the door, pulling it open. He turned over his shoulder and looked at Rhaella once more.

"Out! I never want to see you again!" Rhaella yelled

He knows she's lying about that last bit. She needs space that is all, in a few days things will go back to normal and they'll be laughing and reading together again.

Aemond takes his leave and just as he pulls the door shut. When it finally closes, he hears a loud thump like Rhaella has thrown something at the door in a futile attempt to hit him on the other side.

He should go to Aegon and tell his big brother of what he has done, what he has just unleashed, their sister will not let this go unanswered. Instead, his feet feel stuck to the floor like he has walked through tar and let it dry. He presses his ear to Rhaella's door, ornate with her favorite flower, the Bluebell.

Guilt threatens to choke him where he stands as he hears the sobs from his closest friend leaking through the wood.

What has he done?

I'm still alive, and I hope you enjoyed this part.

Next Part- Coming soon

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[writingsbychlo]

HOW TO SAVE A LIFE | rhysand

summary; trapped under the mountain, starfall has always been your favourite holiday and you miss it. tonight, this time, you have one opportunity to share it with someone.

word count; 5577

notes; starfall day 3!! but also, go easy on me, I didn't proofread this. it's like midnight here, I am exhausted, let's not judge obvious mistakes 😅 also, please note, this takes place UTM, and references to rhys' SA are alluded to, so read with caution!!

‘how to save a life’ moodboard

The corridors were utterly silent as you paced up and down. Back and forth, back and forth. Your eyes flickered to the shadows across the floor moving through the open windows, your only way of measuring how much time passed was with the moon’s manipulations. As the shadows encroached closer and closer to the small scuff you’d marked as your limit on the floor, you gave a heavy sigh. 

Your thumb was in your mouth, chewing the nail anxiously, and as that thought came into focus, you removed it, scoffing idly at yourself. You weren’t in trouble. Yet. In fact, you could leave right now, and nobody would have even known it was you, you’d fly right under the radar, as you’d always done, and bring no attention to yourself. 

Who were you kidding? You weren’t going anywhere. Not even as the ceaseless pounding of your heart threatened to crack your ribs, not even as the lingering fear in the back of your mind about what you’d already done to get here made you dizzy. You were waiting it out. 

Your gaze flickered back to the silvery streaks pouring in through the window. 

Time’s almost up.

You finally paused your pacing, staring down at it as darkness crept out of silver, marking your timer. You waited for a second longer, lifting the edge of your dress and poking at it with a scuffed shoe. 

This is it.

You weren’t sure whether it was crushing relief or crushing disappointment weighing you down, that sank your shoulders into a slump that made you feel as though you were holding up the whole world. Shaking out a sigh and loosening your shoulders, that relaxation lasted for only a second, before a dark chuckle emanate from the shadows, and you were whipping around to peer into them. 

You didn’t see him at first, gaping at the darkness until he stepped out, looking every bit like a devil dressed in finery. Purple eyes glowing in the moonlight, the sharp lines of his face like jagged peaks in the dark of the hall, tall and intimidating, with a sinister smirk sat on his lips. 

“You, Little Mouse, are the one who called me here?” Like magic - well, with magic - the letter you’d scrawled in a hurry and slipped under his door mere hours ago appeared between his fingers. Scratchy, torn brown parchment, with other notes and lists and words scribbled out and crossed, reused over and over because it was all you had. 

You steeled your nerves, rolling your shoulders back and tipping your chin up to look at him as he stepped close, close enough to smell the luxurious soap that had your head spinning once again. “I did.”

Your voice only trembled a little as you spoke, and you were proud to get the words out at all. You’d never been afraid of Rhysand, but at this moment, as all that big half-Illyrian warrior and High Lord stood before you, you’d be a fool not to be at least a little intimidated. “For what?” 

He all but purred the words, smirk widening a little more, brows rising at you and his head cocked to the side. 

“A bargain… a fuck… a good look at true power? What could you,” He cast a scornful and slow stare over your body, the torn rags you called a dress, the scuffed and scratched shoes, the messy hair and dirt under your fingernails that made you hide your hands behind your back. “Possibly want from me?”

Your mouth dropped open, words silenced as you tried to work out what to say to him, but his sneer made you second-guess yourself. Maybe this was a bad idea, maybe everything you thought was wrong, maybe-

You didn’t get a chance to think any further, before the sound of pounding footsteps and angry voices bouncing off of the stone walls made every decision for you. If you were caught here, lowly and unworthy up in the higher courtrooms of the mountain palace, you’d be flogged for sure. Worse, they’d be sure to get the truth out of you, sure to get the truth of everything you’d done just to get here tonight. 

For that, they’d kill you.

In a spur of boldness that you’d most likely come to regret, your arm shot out, saving him as well as yourself as your nimble fingers wrapped around his muscle-corded forearm. Even through heavy layers of expensive black silk shirts and embroidered blazers, you could feel him tense at the abrupt contact. Dragging him along behind you, you didn’t hesitate, weaving through corridors and pathways, past floor-to-ceiling windows and being sure to remain out of sight. 

He spluttered behind you for the first few seconds, almost enough to pull a smile at your lips with the image of the terrifying Lord of Night spluttering, but your panic was far too high to even entertain that kind of thought right now. He yanked his arm free, a growl on his lips as your fingernails scratched at the soft fabric of his blazer, surely messing up some of the threads, but right now, your adrenaline was too high to be concerned with such trivial fears. 

Everywhere you turned, voices could be hurried; hurried and panicked and frantic. Boots marched, people corralled out of their way, heels tapping and weapons scraping along the floor as they were dragged. A busy, busy night indeed. 

All your fault, a voice taunted in your head, a tendril of regret finally making itself known as you fled. Despite it all, curiosity seemed to have gotten the best of Rhysand, because he was following you, despite your grip no longer being on him. He could have stopped you, even with all that dark power suppressed he would possess enough to freeze every cell in your body to his command with nothing but a wink, and yet, he didn’t. 

His long legs carried him at more of a fast walk to your hurried run behind you, and you jerked with shock when you felt the sharp scratch of an icy talon, then two, then three, scratched down your thick mental barriers. You could feel a ripple of twisted fascination burst from him at encountering any walls at all, at someone who knew how to track and resist a daemati. 

The tall doors at the end of your final corridor beckoned you forward, with intricate designs etched into the front, and thick wood that would hide you both on the other side. You’d already picked the locks, your feet finally slowing down as relief enough to make you almost collapse as you came to a halt before them. Twisting the knob with a prayer that nobody had somehow discovered your plan, locked them again to keep you out, a shaky laugh left you as the door creaked open with just a little pressure. 

Nothing but inky darkness spilt out from inside, and you stepped into it, welcoming its cold embrace and its camouflage, its protection. He followed you in, stepping through with one graceful stride, and your back collapsed onto it to push it closed, a heavy sigh leaving you as your heart rate began to even back out at last. Now, you could barely make out the silhouette of him before you, but you could feel his presence all around, like a weighted blanket closing in. 

His stare was even heavier, you didn’t need to see those violet eyes to feel the depth of them on you.

You smiled anyway, wondering if he could see you through the dark, another gift those lucky High Fae perhaps had that your lowly kind did not. Your steps were rehearsed, pacing across the room, acutely aware of where he was as he followed, just from the buzz of his leaking power on the air, all the way to the window at the far side of the room. Scraping back heavy curtains on either side of clear glass doors, you’d already picked those locks too in preparation. 

Swinging the doors open and stepping out into milky moonlight on the terrace, you took your first real breath of fresh air in weeks, sighing happily at the cold breeze of the early-Spring night.

The curse trapping you both here shimmered before you, barely an inch from the edge of the stone, and you reached out, never touching it, never risking letting it tell of your true location, but hovering your hand before it, feeling the cruel zap in warning of Amarantha’s boundaries. Never to escape, never to leave, trapped here Under The Mountain.

Your peace was shattered by the rough, animal growl of the man behind you, patience audibly fraying.

“Alright, Little Mouse, I’ve played your game. But, you know how it ends when the cat catches the prey, so what do you want?”

Finally, you turned to face him, hands clenching once again behind your back, hoping this time it would hide the tremor as your intentions were finally to be revealed. “I want nothing.”

“Everyone wants something from me. So, what is it?” He stepped a fraction closer, a snarl curling on his lips, ugly power taking over a handsome face.

“Alright, fine.” You mused, stepping a footstep closer to him as well. “What I wanted… was for you to see the sky.”

He visibly faltered, for all the roles he played and the masks he wore, this one slipped for just a second, his eyes widening as though it was a riddle, brows furrowing even deeper, and scowl twisting to a frown of confusion. “Why?”

“Because it is Starfall tonight.”

This time, his mask didn’t just falter, it crumbled entirely, the façade coming crashing down around his feet as his jaw dropped. His throat bobbed as he swallowed thickly, gaze flicking over you in an entirely new light now, eyes narrowing to assess you but no malice behind those pretty iris’ now. “You know of Starfall?”

“Of course. It is my favourite holiday.”

An unsteady breath rushed from him, like he’d taken a hit to the lungs, eyes widening as he stared. His shoulders slumped, rigid posture melting away until he looked positively world-weary, arms hanging by his sides. It was then that he wiped a hand over his face, realising a tired laugh, and you wrapped your arms loosely around yourself. 

He didn’t recognise you, of course he didn’t you’d been counting on it for this plan to work. You just didn’t realise how cold and lonely actually having that fact acknowledged would make you feel. Rolling up one tatty sleeve of your dress to reveal swirls of blank ink beginning to climb up your forearm from your wrist, his eyes somehow seemed to widen further.

He took your wrist in his hand, your fingers tightening to a fist as a shocked gasp sounded, his touch like fire and warmth and comfort all in one as he gripped you firmly, but cautiously. Turning your arm over in his hold, he pushed your sleeve all the way up to your bicep, tracing the patterns with one fingertip, touch so light it made you shiver. Your bargain marks, messy and rough and ugly, just like the deals you’d had to strike which resulted in them.

“These… these are bargain marks. These are Night Court marks.” He traced again, thumb swiping over the pulse point on your wrist, feeling the race of it under the pad, before lowering the fabric back down to cover them again, and releasing your arm. “The marks of my court.”

His voice cracked, something within you shattering at the sound of it, and you choked down a well of thick emotion as you thought of home, for the first time in a very long while. One a whisper as broken as his voice had been, you uttered; “Yes.”

Too much weight in his stare, too many memories of a place you missed like a lost lover, too many bargains made here just to survive. 

It was all so horrible. 

“I didn’t know. I had no idea anyone from my court was here.”

There were questions loaded in that sentence. How did you get here? Why are you trapped? Who brought you? What was your reason? You wanted to answer them all, but at first, a single shrug was all that came to mind. It was so overwhelming, not only to be standing here, finally talking to the one person who could understand your longing for home, but to be standing here with your High Lord, someone you’d spent centuries admiring, decades pitying, and months plotting for.

This time, it was he who attempted a smile in comfort. It helped.

“I was travelling at the time. Seeing all of Prythian, and finding work wherever I could to find my adventure.” A horrible feeling you’d spent so long crying over worming its way back in. 

You’d spent so long dreaming of getting away from the Night Court, to explore and see the rest of the continent, of the world, and now it was all you wanted to go back. To stay forever, curled up on the windowsill of a cosy apartment that overlooked the glowing lights of Velaris, close enough to hear the music from the Rainbow and hear the happy voices, watch the snow fall or bluebells sprout. You wanted it so badly it ached.

“At the time of…” You waved a hand, throat stinging as you wrestled with emotion, unable to even say the words of this foul curse aloud, even after centuries, “I was working for the Vanserra’s. No one important, as it had always been for me, but they always bring their own staff to the parties. In case you hadn't noticed, Beron is quite high-maintenance, and Eris is terribly paranoid and suspicious.”

A laugh burst from him, rough and grating and unsteady, like he hadn't used it in so long, but it blossomed something in your chest that you thought had died long ago.

“I was one of the lowly serving staff they brought with them that fateful night, to keep Lady Autumn’s glass filled with wine, so she’d never have to lift a single finger. Unfortunately, that meant that when they were trapped, I was too. All that wish for adventure. I got a little more excitement than I bargained for, I suppose.” 

Silence settled, the story hanging between you like mist on the morning air, your head turning and gaze shifting to the twinkling stars overhead. Several minutes seemed to pass as he processed it all, and decided what to say next, a hand skimming your shoulder lightly, as though hesitant to dare touch you at all. “Why did you never come to me, before tonight?”

The laugh that tumbled from your lips was self-pitying and sad. Running your hands over the tatty skirt you wore, it felt obvious. 

He was, arguably, beside Amarantha, the most important person here. You were nobody. He wore a new suit embellished with gold and silver, you wore a dirty dress that had more patches and sewing than the original fabric. He smelled of fresh soap and aftershave, you smelled of bleach from scrubbing the floors and cinders from the fireplaces. He slept in silk sheets on a big bed, all to himself, you’d been sharing a dormitory for ten years with scratchy bedding and broken mattresses. 

And yet, you wouldn't trade with him for all the riches in the world. Your anonymity was all that protected you.

You were nobody. You meant nothing. But tonight, just tonight, you had the chance to be something.

“To what end? We’re both trapped, you have your role to play, and I have mine.”

His smile was as weak and empty as your laugh was. “It’s been ten years. I could have… I could have don’t something to help, made life easier for you, so that you weren’t so alone.”

There was a pain in his voice, a kind of ongoing struggle you’d come to terms with years ago, but it was like a fresh slice across sensitive skin for him. You reached out, hand hovering lightly over his arm, unsure whether or not it was your place. Then again, it was a barrier you’d already crossed in an adrenaline-fuelled panic. Settling your hand lightly onto his forearm, you squeezed gently, hoping it was as reassuring for him as you intended. 

“I don’t know how-”

“It’s okay, truly.” Your throat bobbed, the informality of this whole situation was surreal, only the chill in the air, wind whistling through rips in threadbare fabric keeping you grounded. “I was never alone, it’s hard ever to be alone around here. It was just lonely.”

He hummed, a non-committal response, and his mind seemed elsewhere. A heavy sigh, and then his head tipped back, eyes moving to watch the motionless stars twinkle in the sky. It wasn’t until the third shaky breath and slight sniff, hands clenching by his side, that you realised he was choking back powerful emotions. For you.

“Please, don’t worry for me, my Lord.” Your hand swept comfortingly, twice, up and down his arms, that fist of that hand smoothed out when your fingers brushed his the pulse on his wrist. Words, hanging on the tip of your tongue, dangerous and risky and presumptive, but it felt like the two of you had far surpassed those kinds of barriers by now. “It looks far lonelier and far more hurtful at the Queen’s side than where I am.”

His head snapped back down, all that anguish temporarily banished from swirling violet eyes as he studied you once again. It was like a thousand thoughts flashing through his mind too fast for you to read in his eyes. Your lungs were frozen, burning for air but unable to take any oxygen in, eyes wide and body locked as you waited. He was putting something together, he knew, his lips pressing into a thin line and you didn’t know whether this would flip it all over wrongly. 

His head cocked to the side, licking over one lip, before the edges of his lips were flickering at the edges, just slightly. 

“It was you.”

“What was me?” You’d always been a bad liar, gaze flicking away from his and it was your turn now to let the stars distract you. A talon, scraping at your mental shields again, a warning that he could if he wanted to, break through and you’d never even know. Instead, a single finger hooked under your chin, turning your face back to him. 

“It was you. You, who suddenly unearthed this mysterious prophecy about the human girl breaking the curse. You, who has Amarantha on such a wild goose chase that she has no time for… me. At least, not for a while.” He looked awed now, a reassured expression, and his hand slipped from your chin up, to cup your face. Your throat was tight, painfully so, the simple bit of affection making your eyes water and the truth poured from you in a nod. “You were so scared in the halls, pacing and fretting before I even got there. Your fear was heavy in the air. When you heard the voices and the footfalls, you fled. It was you.”

“It was me.” His breath raced from him, lips parted, and you raised your own hand. Holding his to your face, you stole a few selfish seconds, head tipping further into his palm as his thumb swept over your cheekbone; a few sacred moments of comfort. “Buying you a few hours to yourself on this night was the least I could do, my Lord. You may not have known I was here, but some of your actions, the small mercies you disguise as cruelties, have done more for me than you could ever know.”

“Call me Rhysand. Please.” He was fighting tears, much the same as you were, and his other hand joined the first, holding your face up to his own as he stepped a little closer. The warmth from his body was like a magnet you, swayed toward him, the moonlight glowing on his skin like it was made to decorate him and him alone. “At least… at least, when we’re alone. I don’t want to be anything but myself with you. You see me. You’re the only person down here who does..”

You didn’t have to force a smile anymore. It was the first one that felt honestly genuine in years. His thumbs swept a couple more times, before his arms were shaking with restraint, and he pulled them away. Silence settled around you both. With one more glance at the stars, your arms wrapped around yourself, and you turned back to him. “Enjoy the stars, Rhysand.”

There would be nothing to see, no falling stars and souls finding their way. But, just knowing that it was happening out there, watching these ones stay still and twinkle gently, it was enough to feel connected to home, just for a little while. Stepping away from him, the loneliness creeping back up already felt suffocating, like ice water ready to drag you into the darkness and the depths. 

His hand shot out, fingers wrapping around your own, firm but gentle, insistent but pleading. “Please- please, don’t go. Stay with me. Spend Starfall with me?”

It was an offer like you could only dream of, to spend Starfall with someone else once again, someone who knew. You had no idea how to say yes, mouth hanging open, but he seemed to get the gist, lips curling into a real smile now. Not the cruel grin he wore every day, not the cocky smirk. This was real, this was beauty and emotions and trust. 

“Yes?”

“Yes. I would like that.” This opportunity could never happen again, and so you weren’t going to let it just fly past like a misguided star. He tugged you back a little closer, letting your hand go when you fell into place by his side, and his body dropped any remaining tension. He rested his hands on the railing, cautious not to touch that barrier of the curse, and tapping the space beside him for you to join. 

You did, the two of you staring out quietly at the vast lands, the bright skies, the empty space; nobody ever dared near the centre of the horrid curse killing the lands.

“I miss the grass.”

“I have a friend… a brother, who has terrible allergies. Even a speck of pollen, and he’s sneezing and eyes running.” A wistful look took over his features, amusement and nostalgia crackling under the surface. “It’s quite the sight to see a warlord sneeze and curse at a flower.”

Your mind followed, reeling a little as the puzzle pieces clicked into place. “General Cassian… has hay fever?”

“Don’t tell him I told you, he’d string me up by my boxers from the pillars of the moonstone palace.” The sounds of your laughter bounced off of the stony sides of the mountain, echoes disappearing into the tonight, mixed with his deep chuckles. A kind of harmony formed, peace, a small bubble of a happy memory like a light amongst so much darkness. You’d look back on this moment for years, possibly decades to come, relishing in the way it felt to smile again, to have companionship and real happiness, even if it didn’t last long. “I miss the smell of the Sidra just after it rains.”

“I miss watching the snow fall at Solstice.”

“I miss the way it would feel after the snow melted, that first truly warm day.”

It somehow became a game, swapping back and forth, each thing you missed. Some were funny, others nostalgic, some were his royal experiences that made his cheeks heat and sweet chuckles leave his lips when you teased him, others had the same experience on you. 

The conversation shifted, he asked you all about your travels, told you of his favourite places he’d seen in different courts, and asked you if you’d ever been there. He told you stories about all of his adventures, as you did for him, watching the moon slowly inching its way across the dark sky as you confided in one another, all your deepest pain and joy and excitement. He told you about his friends, the shadow singer, the general, the terrifying creature from another world. He was so passionate, he loved so deeply, that by the time he’d finished, you felt as though you knew them too, like you loved them too.

Then, when your cheeks ached and your stomach was sore from all the laughing, when every happy memory had been shared, reality set back in once again. 

“I miss home.”

“Me too.” With your simple response, his gaze fixed once again above your heads, so far away and yet you longed to be there.

“It's- it’s just so godsdamned nice, that just one person knows I’m not a villain.” His words startled you, a fresh batch of pain, something deep and primal exposed like an open wound right to the heart. When you turned to face him, he was staring at the stars, but soft trails of moonlight trickled in fat tears down his cheeks. “Sometimes, so many days pass by where I can’t even look at myself in the mirror, where I can’t even bear the sound of my own name, knowing the way it’ll go down in history. This, this night, your company and your kindness, it makes it feel worth it. That just one person will not hate me, for the rest of my life, makes it feel like it's enough.”

When he finally faced you, wet cheeks and red eyes and exposed vulnerability, you gave him the same comfort he’d given you. With hands on his cheeks to wipe away those tears, you gave your best smile, letting his head hang heavily in your palms for a while. “You’ll never be the villain in my story, Rhysand.”

His lip wobbled, and he twisted his head, lips brushing your palm as he pressed a series of fragile, trembling kisses there. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

Your shiver wasn’t from the cold, but from his blatant affection. At the act, however, his pained look became dismayed, glancing over your thin attire with disappointment. He stood, reluctantly peeling your hands from his face long enough to slide down the large blazer he wore, and slipping it over your shoulders. When he pulled the lapels tightly around your body, the plush lining, still filled with his body heat, was like wrapping up in front of the fireplace, on the very rare occasions you could steal a minute to do so. 

With a roll of his shoulders, those magnificent wings you’d only ever seen from afar were visible, appearing before your very eyes as though from thin air, as though they’d always been there, only veiled, and you stared unabashedly in amazement. 

Stepping closer, until you were so close your breath bounced off of his chest and you could pick out the threads in his shirt, he wrapped them around you, sealing out cold wind and the rest of the world. 

“Better?”

“Better.” You whispered, and his resulting look of pride warmed you as much from the inside as he did from the outside. After only a brief moment of consideration, you freed one arm, looping it slowly around his waist. When he only tugged you closer, your other arm joined it. Settling your cheek against his shoulder, he moulded his body to your arm, thick arms wrapping around your body in return, sealing you to him in a hug neither of you intended to let go from any time soon. 

His lips traced the top of your head as he turned, a few kisses dotted affectionately along your hairline, drawing happy sighs from you each time. When his head dipped a little further, lips near your temple, it was to quietly murmur, “Would you like to see the stars falling?”

You pulled back, barely a fraction as he refused to let you go at all, but enough to stare up at him. “How?”

“I still have a little of my powers, such as hiding these magnificent wings.” His smirk was positively feline, the nosey Lord having pulled that tidbit from your mind, and warmth raced to your cheeks. “I can show you some of my memories from previous years, if you trust me?”

Another tap of claws on your walls, a soft stroke like a finger over your skin, and you lowered your shields slowly to allow him inside. As soon as you did, you could feel him everywhere. Swarming in your thoughts, filling your head like you were both in there, and giving as much of his feelings away as it did yours. You could feel the relief at knowing someone else’s touch, that lingering guilt for not having known you but the borderline bliss at being here right now. The elation, at being trusted. The joy of having someone to share home with. 

Your eyes fluttered closed on his command, as he began to play the memories over.

Glimpses of parties, of stars and fireworks and sequins and fancy dresses. Twirling and dancing, intoxicated fun, and when you saw Azriel or Cassian or Mor, you felt his love for them like you’d feel your own. It was like seeing it through your own eyes. In this memory, he was making his way through the palace, the House of Wind atop the mountain. 

You’d seen drawings and pictures, of course, glimpsed it from afar on clear days, but nothing had ever compared to these real images of seeing the palace home. It was breathtakingly beautiful. Tall pillars and columns made of marble and moonstone, carved and designed with intricate swirls and stories. Open balconies, large rooms, enough space that it would take you days to learn your way around, and that was just the small glimpses of it you could see now. 

Eventually, he made it to the balcony, one hand braced on the stone as he stared out across Velaris down below, so far and tiny and beautiful, a vibrant ache in your heart as you longed to be back there, one that matched in his own through the connection you’d forged. 

You watched on, as his attention turned to the sky, to the falling stars, glittery and soaring and so close. So colourful up close, you’d never seen such a sight, like being immersed within the colour, becoming a part of nature temporarily, leaving you breathless and high on the feeling. 

You watched and watched, as he once had, what felt like hours slipping by until it came to an end, and your cheeks felt wet when you finally felt him pull back from your mind. Not entirely, no, a piece of him was still lingering there behind your consciousness, a comforting weight, but your senses were all back, like your spirit had sunk back into your body.

“Thank you for showing me that.”

“Incredible, isn’t it?” 

“That stars,” you breathed, “I’ve never seen it so clearly. They were so close, like you could just reach out and touch them.”

He wiped away your tears with one arm, the other still sealed tightly around you, soon to be rejoined. “You can, and when we get out of here someday, I’ll show it to you. I’ll show you so much, give you so much.”

There was nothing else to say, no more words that could fathom this feeling. But, you didn’t need them. You knew that he knew, his presence in your mind was sure to trace it. So, instead, you just snuggled in closer, cheek on his shoulder once again, and eyes sliding closed as you let yourself sink fully into his embrace. 

He needed this as much as you did, a two-way street now opened between your minds, and a selfish part of you hoped he never took it away, that even when you were alone, you’d never be lonely again. That fraction of darkness in your mind flickered, as if making a promise.

“Why? Why did you do this for me?” He eventually asked, the question that had been hovering all night. “When I have done nothing for you?”

“Because, Rhysand, I have seen you from afar. You’ve seemed so empty, lately. I wanted to give you something to remind you to hold on.”

He’s breathless, you could feel it under your own thudding heart as his pulse raced and he panted softly into your hairline, trying to settle. “Someday, I’ll take you home. Back to Velaris, where we belong. I’ll make up for everything you’ve had to go through. You’ll never want for anything, you’ll never be alone again. But, while we’re still here, I’ll make up for these ten years I’ve missed already. What can I do, what do you want first?”

“Those are beautiful promises, Rhysand, and I appreciate them, but I don’t need them. All I want, all I need, is a friend. To not be so alone.”

“Never again, darling. Never again, will I let you be alone. It’s me and you, now.” He squeezed you in, another kiss to the top of your head, and you pressed into it, leaving a single kiss to his jaw in return. “Happy Starfall, darling.”

“Happy Starfall, Rhysand.”

[fluentmoviequoter]

One More Favor

Pairing: Titans!Dick Grayson x fem!reader (most of this fic takes place in/around Titans 1x2)

Summary: When Dick takes Rachel out of Detroit, he needs help, but he'll have to call in a few favors first.

Word Count: 5.0k+ words

Warnings: POV changes (that hopefully make sense), fluff, a little bit of angst, descriptions of injuries/self-harm (reader cuts her arm open to remove a tracker), several descriptive fight scenes, guns?, spoiler for Titans.

A/N: This is my first Dick Grayson fic, and I actually wrote it several months ago and just got around the editing it. Dick may be OOC, but I hope you enjoy this and please let me know what you think!

Masterlist | DC/Dick Grayson Masterlist | Request Info (OPEN)

Gotham City - 4 Years Ago

The heavy door creaks as it is pulled open, warm air blowing out into the cold rain. You step inside, dropping your umbrella in the overflowing bin and wiping your shoes on the mat. Shivering slightly, you run your hands up and down your arms, attempting to warm up.

“Hi, Alfred,” you greet as you look over at him, your smile dropping at the solemn look on his face. “What happened?”

“Master Grayson left last night. He left you this,” Alfred answers as he hands you an envelope, your name written in Dick’s handwriting across the front.

“He’s not coming back, is he?” you ask, tears welling in your eyes.

“I’m afraid not. Would you like some tea?”

“No, thank you, Alfred. I’m going to go home,” you say as you pull the door open and step out, waiting for the door to close behind you. You take a deep breath and start running, not even thinking about the umbrella you left. As your tears mix with the rain on your skin, your heart feels about as warm as the Gotham City air.

Fremont, Ohio - Present Day

“Where are you taking me?” Rachel asks, spinning one of her rings on her finger as she looks out the window.

“To see an old friend. She can help us,” Dick answers, his knuckles white as he grips the steering wheel.

An hour later, Dick checks his phone while he waits in the car as Rachel goes into a truck stop. He tracks her through the window as he dials a number he hasn’t called in years. It rings several times, and he thinks he won’t get an answer.

“Hello?” A voice asks as the line connects.

“Hi, Alfred, it’s me.”

“It’s been a long time, Master Grayson.”

“I know. This is a one-time thing; I need a favor.”

Omar, Ohio – Present Day

You enter the diner, sighing as you fall into a booth. Looking up at the television mounted in the corner, you see a story about yet another murder in Detroit. It’s almost as bad as Gotham City these days. 

“How’s my favorite customer today?” Dan asks as he walks to the booth, his apron still on.

“I’ll bet you say that to all of your customers,” you counter with a smile, your hood still pulled over your head.

“I most certainly do not. What can I get you today?”

“Just some tea, please.”

“You need to eat.”

“Will you let me pay?”

“You know the answer to that.”

“I’m not letting you give me free food every day, Dan. Just tea.”

“Fine,” Dan sighs, returning to the kitchen and passing your order to a waitress.

The bell above the door chimes as it opens, a few sets of footsteps echoing as the door closes. You pull your hood up further, turning to face the back corner. Kelsey, Dan’s only waitress at this hour, drops off the mug of tea and a book, smiling at you as she walks away. She’s been lending you books since you first visited two months ago. You slide it closer, shaking your head as you read the summary: a vigilante who gets a new partner. Sounds familiar.

Benton, Pennsylvania – 3 ½ Years Ago

You take a deep breath before you dig the knife into your arm, making a shallow slice from the middle of your forearm up to your elbow. After you drop the knife into the hotel bathroom sink, you grab a pair of tweezers from the first aid kit and dig around, gritting your teeth as you ignore the pain. When you finally see a glint of silver, you grab it and pull. The tracker makes a ‘clink’ sound as it falls into the sink and goes down the drain. You sigh as you pick up the pre-threaded needle and start on the stitches. Good luck finding me now, Bruce.

Norwalk, Ohio – Earlier Today

“If the police are looking for me, is it smart to be on an interstate?” Rachel asks.

Dick sighs, knowing she is right. He pulls off at the next exit, getting on a small Ohio state route and heading south. They drive for about thirty minutes before coming to a small diner, claiming to have the state’s best chicken and waffles. Dick is ready for a break, so he doesn’t fight Rachel when she asks him to stop. They walk into the diner, and Dick looks around, planning escape routes and scanning for trouble. The waitress and the cook both say hello as Dick and Rachel sit by the window, the kitchen and the door visible. Dick looks at the only other customer, a girl in an oversized sweatshirt leaning over a book and nursing a mug of something.

“I’m Kelsey. What can I get you, folks?” Kelsey smiles as she approaches their table.

“Chicken and waffles, please,” Rachel orders.

“Coming up, and for you, sir?”

“Just coffee,” Dick answers, smiling.

Dick watches as the cook takes the order from Kelsey before nodding toward the girl in the booth. Kelsey walks over and starts talking to her, but Dick can’t tell if it is a friendly conversation or a ‘you need to leave’ conversation. Kelsey’s shoulders drop as she turns around and walks back to the kitchen pass-through, shaking her head as she speaks to the cook. A plate and a mug slide onto the counter, and Kelsey carries them over to Dick and Rachel, telling them to let her know if they need anything.

“What are you looking at?” Rachel asks.

“I’m trying to figure out what’s going on over there,” Dick answers, gesturing across the restaurant with his chin.

Rachel looks over and cocks her head slightly, “Kelsey’s happy but a little worried, the other one is really hard to read.”

Dick nods, sipping his coffee as he looks up at the television screen. His heart drops as Rachel’s picture appears on the screen, but it is gone before he can say anything. Dick looks toward the kitchen, but no one is there. Turning his head, he sees the cook talking to the other customer, sitting at the booth with her. Kelsey and the cook stand, and the cook returns to the kitchen as Kelsey walks toward their table.

“How is everything?” Kelsey asks.

“Great. Those were definitely the best in the state,” Rachel answers.

“Need anything else?”

“Just the check,” Dick answers, reaching for his wallet.

“It’s been covered,” Kelsey assures before clearing the table.

“By who?” Dick asks, eyebrows furrowing as Kelsey smiles.

The girl in the booth looks up suddenly, leaning to look out the window. She stands and moves toward Kelsey, telling her something before walking out the back door, the book she had been reading abandoned at the booth. Kelsey whispers something to Dan before turning quickly to walk back to Dick and Rachel.

“Someone is here for her,” Kelsey says to Dick, gesturing toward Rachel, “there’s a room through the kitchen with a back door.”

Dick and Rachel stand quickly, following her through the kitchen. They all freeze at the sound of gunshots, then begin moving again.

“Why are you helping us?” Dick asks.

“Favor for a friend,” Kelsey answers as she opens the back door. “Be careful.”

Dick nods as he ushers Rachel to stand on one side of him, gripping his gun in his other hand as they slowly round the building. The girl in the sweatshirt, who Dick really needs a new name for, is standing in the parking lot, a pipe falling from her hand and three unconscious men sprawled on the ground around her. She looks up before dropping her head, putting her hands in her pocket, and walking away. Dick hears one of the men groan and decides to leave before they come to. Rachel keeps asking him if he knows the girl, and the only answer he can supply is, “I don’t think so.” Maybe he should make it his new catchphrase.

Gotham City – 4 Years Ago

You enter your apartment and grab your backpack, dumping its contents out on the floor before you run around and grab what you consider “essentials”: an extra pair of shoes, a change of clothes, cash, a fake ID, a sweatshirt, a blanket, and the letter from Dick. You slide the letter into the protected laptop pocket of my backpack, promising yourself you will read it someday, but not right now. You put on your best pair of sneakers, comfortable and warm clothes, and a jacket with a hood before walking to the ATM, emptying your account, and ditching your card before boarding a bus to Princeton. As you watch Gotham City fade behind the bus, you cry because you lost a part of yourself, and you know it would hurt too much to see reminders of him. So, you leave.

Glen Easton, West Virginia – 2 Years Ago

You check into the small motel with cash and a fake ID, grateful you can sleep in a real bed for once. You find your room and collapse against the small mattress, setting your backpack beside the bed. You open it and pull out a change of clothes before showering. The letter from Dick is still in the computer pocket, unopened. When you think you are finally ready to open it, you get scared about what is inside it and change your mind.

You retrieve the sweatshirt from the bottom of the backpack and put it on. Then you order a pizza and turn on the TV. The sweatshirt is the only thing that provides you comfort after leaving Gotham City. You left everything that tied you to that life, except the sweatshirt, and nights like this make you wish you had realized Dick was going to leave and chased him.

Omar, Ohio – Present Day

“Why are we driving around in circles? I thought you were taking me somewhere?” Rachel asks.

“I’m looking for the girl that helped us,” Dick mumbles as he looks across the street.

“Oh,” Rachel says with a smile.

“What does that mean?”

“You’ve felt different since you saw her in the diner.”

“She just reminded me of someone I used to know.”

“Someone you knew. Seems like a lot more emotion than simple acquaintances.”

“Fine, we were best friends. We did- some stuff together and we were super close,” Dick said, failing to find a way to explain their vigilante activities.

“You did stuff together?” Rachel repeats incredulously.

“Not like that,” Dick huffs. “We just- she was my best friend, and I haven’t seen her in a while.”

“Why?”

“I left.”

“You left her?”

“I didn’t leave her; I left the life I had then.”

“And by extension, her,” Rachel scoffs. “Why haven’t you called her?”

“I tried, once. Her number had been disconnected and I didn’t know her new one. Or if she even wanted to talk to me.”

“Surely you know someone who would’ve stayed in contact with her. Call them.”

Dick sighs and runs a hand through his hair. He does know someone.

“Right now,” Rachel adds, “I can feel your sadness and it’s bumming me out.”

Dick pulls over, pulling his phone from his pocket and typing the number. “It’s me again. I need one more favor,” he says when the line connects.

“Of course, Master Grayson,” Alfred agrees.

“I’m looking for,” he glances at Rachel, who is listening intently, before finishing, “her. I was wondering if you had a new number for her. Or know where she is?”

“Master Grayson,” Alfred says sadly, “we haven’t seen her in four years.”

“Four years?” Dick asks, eyes widening.

“Yes, sir. She left right after you did.”

“Did you give her the letter?”

“I did. She ran out of the manor, literally, after I gave it to her. We have not heard from her since.”

“Any idea where she went?”

“Last we knew she was in Benton, Pennsylvania. But that was nearly three and a half years ago. I’m sorry, Master Grayson.”

“Thanks, Alfred,” Dick says before hanging up.

“Sorry,” Rachel says quietly, “I shouldn’t have made you call.”

“Not your fault,” Dick assures her before pulling out. He slams on his brakes and backs up, turning into an alley and parking.

“What?” Rachel yells, gripping her seat.

“I think she’ll go back to the diner, they seemed to know her. Enough to give us free food on her behalf.”

“That’s what you think happened?” Rachel asks sarcastically.

“You’re the one that read their emotions.”

Rachel sighs before agreeing, “You’re right. She’ll go back.”

They find a small motel and get a room for the night, leaving their stuff in the room before returning to the diner. Entering, Dick and Rachel look around but only see the cook and a different waitress. 

“Welcome back,” the cook, who introduces himself as Dan, greets.

“Hi, Dan. We’re looking for the girl who was in here this morning. She was wearing a grey sweatshirt, reading a book, and left quickly out the back door,” Dick explains.

“Yeah, I know her. Why are you looking for her?”

“She helped you. That’s why you’re so nice to her, if not a little protective, isn’t it?” Rachel asks.

Dan’s brow furrows as he answers, “Yes, she helped me.”

“We’re not trying to hurt her or get her in trouble or anything. She helped us this morning and we’d like to repay the favor,” Dick promises. “Could you at least give us her name?”

“I don’t know her name,” Dan answers. “But she’ll probably come back here in the morning.”

“Thank you,” Dick and Rachel say together.

The following morning, Dick checks out of the motel and drives to the diner. They both look to the booth where she sat yesterday as they walk in, frowning when they see no one there. Kelsey smiles as she greets them and takes their order, exactly as they had yesterday. Dick spins his mug around as he watches the television, trying to keep himself from staring at the door.

“Dick,” Rachel whispers a few minutes later. She gestures toward the counter, where the girl is now sitting, wearing the same sweatshirt as yesterday.

Before Dick can do anything, Dan’s voice fills the diner. “All three of you need to get somewhere safe. Everyone in town is talking about some secret service agents asking about you folks.”

“All of us?” The girl in the sweatshirt asks.

“You know how these people feel about cops, but they’ll come in here eventually and you don’t need to be here,” Dan says.

“11 North Country Road 29,” the girl in the sweatshirt calls as she stands, “you got that?”

“Yeah, we got it,” Rachel answers, practically dragging Dick to the front door.

Dick gets in the car and speeds toward the address, hoping that the girl in the sweatshirt will meet them there. And give them her name. He parks between the house and a row of trees, where the car is hidden from the road. The back door is unlocked, and Dick sweeps the house before ushering Rachel in. Several minutes later, the back door opens again, and the girl in the sweatshirt walks in, coming face-to-muzzle with Dick’s gun. Her hands are raised as he lowers the gun.

“Sorry,” Dick apologizes as he holsters it.

“Not a problem. I’d give it a few hours before leaving,” the girl says, moving past them.

“Thank you. For yesterday and right now,” Rachel says.

“Least I could do. I’ll be in the back room if you need anything.”

Rachel waits until she is out of earshot to turn toward Dick and ask, “She really reminds you of this girl doesn’t she?”

“Yeah,” Dick sighs. “That obvious?”

“Your shame is practically choking me. Why did you hurt her?"

“I didn’t mean to.”

“That’s not an excuse, Dick.”

Rachel walks toward the back room, determined to find a way to help Dick get over his hurt.

Omar, Ohio – 2 Months Ago

“Take your hands off the girl,” you demand as you enter the dark room.

Three men turn toward you, one raising a gun as the others take a step closer. You see a girl tied to a chair, a gag in her mouth, blood everywhere, and fear in her eyes. 

“You don’t know who you’re messing with, sweetheart,” the man with the gun growls.

“Right back at ya,” you say, taking a threatening step toward him.

The two other men charge toward you. You catch one of their fists as they throw it toward you, twisting him in front of you to encounter the brunt of the other man’s hit as he throws it. Their shared momentum knocks them both to the floor. You slide across the floor, elbowing the third man’s knee as you grab his hand, flipping his wrist so the gun falls to the floor. You pick it up and level it at his temple.

“One more time: let the girl go,” you demand slowly.

One of the men on the floor throws a knife, which spins in the air and nicks your arm. You glance toward him before swinging the gun and taking three shots, taking out one knee on every man. As they groan in pain and roll on the floor, you untie the girl and ask her where to go. She directs me to her father’s diner.

“I’m looking for Dan,” you say as you carry her through the back door.

Dan comes running, grabbing his first aid kit as he sits beside her. “Your arm needs attention?” he asks as he points to your scarred forearm and the small bloody patch from the knife.

“No, I’m all good. Thank you.” You begin to stand, but he stops you, refusing to let you leave until you eat something.

“You’ll never pay here. Come back anytime,” Dan says when you leave an hour later.

Omar, Ohio – Present Day

“Sorry about him,” Rachel says as she walks into the back room.

“It’s completely fine.” The girl in the sweatshirt laughs softly, her hand playing with the sleeve of her sweatshirt. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Rachel says as she sits in a chair across from her.

“How long have they been looking for you?”

“About a week. Since they killed my mom.”

“I’m sorry.”

Rachel shrugs. “Just so you know, the guy I’m with, Dick, he’s a cop. And he’s not usually this weird.”

She laughs again, looking up long enough that Rachel can see her face.

“You remind him of someone he used to know.”

She shakes her head before changing the subject. “You’re Rachel, right? I’m assuming you can do something, otherwise, they wouldn’t be looking for you.”

“I can feel what other people are feeling. There’s something inside of me, but I don’t know what it is.”

“Rachel, you can learn to control it. It’s obvious you’re a good person.”

“I tried to read your emotions at the diner yesterday,” Rachel admits, “but you have a lot, and they were overlapping.”

“A lot has happened to me in the last few years. I don’t even know what I’m feeling all the time.”

“They’re clearer now. You’re sad and regretful,” Rachel says quietly.

“I don’t care that you’re looking, Rach. The more you use your powers, the better you’ll get at them. And you’re dead on.”

“Sometimes, when I touch people I can see some of their memories,” Rachel explains.

The girl in the sweatshirt smiles. “You don’t even know my name.”

“What’s your name?”

She extends her hand and answers, “Find out.”

Gotham City is cold in winter, and the freezing rain is not helping the temperature issue. Robin is fighting behind me, our backs touching as we take down the last of the numerous bad guys.

“Nice work,” Robin says as he smiles at me. “But you’re cold, stop touching me.”

“Oh? I am cold? Your Kevlar is practically frozen,” I respond sarcastically.

He pulls me into his side, pressing the button on his belt to turn on his cape heater.

The setting changes: a large door opens, and an umbrella is placed in a bin, destined to be forgotten.

“-left last night. He left you this.”

An envelope trades hands, and a name is written on it. The door is opened and closed, then running in the rain gives way to stressed packing and boarding a bus. The same envelope is unopened years later, a new scar appears on a forearm, the same backpack is stashed in a motel, and a sweatshirt is the most prized possession.

Omar, Ohio – Present Day

“It was you,” Rachel says, her eyes wide as her hand slips from yours.

“What was?” you ask.

“You’re the girl Dick left, the one he’s feeling so guilty and sad about.”

“He what?”

“He saw you in the diner and was reminded of a girl he used to know. He said they ‘did stuff together.’ You don’t look like that girl; you are that girl.”

“What did you see?” you ask, confused about how exactly her powers work.

“I see some of the most important things in your life. I saw you fighting with Robin and then learning that someone left. You’ve been on the run since then, haven’t you? And the sweatshirt means something.”

“What do you know about Robin?”

“I know who he is. I know what he went through. I think you two should talk.”

A noise outside causes you to stand suddenly. “Stay here.”

You walk out, seeing Dick holding his gun as he moves toward a window. You move to the other side of the room, by another door, and stand against the wall as the door is kicked open. A hand holding a gun comes inside; you grab the wrist and slam it down against your knee. The gun hits the floor and slides away. The man raises both hands to your shoulders, pushing you backward and into the wall. You form a fist and slam it up into his chin, his head snapping back as his grip on you loosens. While you fight him, Dick takes on a second man who enters the house.

Dick moves behind the door, grabbing the man’s shirt collar and flipping him to the floor. He attempts to get information from him but comes up empty. Slamming his fist to his nose repeatedly, Dick doesn’t stop until the man loses consciousness. He looks over and sees the girl in the sweatshirt standing from the floor, wiping blood from her nose.

“That was impressive. You two could be partners,” Rachel says as she walks in, smirking as she looks over at you.

Dick opens his mouth to say something, but you cut him off, telling them, “You two should get out of here while you still can.”

“I’m not leaving,” Rachel says, crossing her arms. “Not until you two talk.”

“About what?” Dick asks.

“Rachel,” you warn.

“She’s right. We do need to get going.”

“Show him.”

“Either we need to leave, or I need more information,” Dick sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

A phone rings in the back room, and you walk away to answer it, releasing a breath as you realize it was Kelsey.

“What was that about?” Dick whispers.

“You two have to talk before you never get a chance again,” Rachel says.

“Someone broke into your house and assaulted several officers,” you say as you return, “the police are calling a nationwide manhunt for you, Rachel.”

“I am not leaving without you,” she says, stepping toward you and grabbing your hand. 

Her eyes fall to the sleeve before she glances up at you and pushes the sleeve up. You push it back down quickly and look away from her.

“I can’t go with you,” you say sadly, shaking your head.

“You can if you want to,” Dick offers, “you’ve been a huge help.”

You look toward Rachel, who only nods as she squeezes your hand.

“Just tell him,” Rachel whispers.

You take a deep breath before you look up and pull your hood down. “Hi, Dickie.”

Dick’s eyes widen as he takes a hesitant step forward.

“Rachel said I remind you of someone,” you say. “I thought-“

Dick cuts you off by rushing forward and hugging you tightly. You return the hug, gripping him tightly and burying your face in his shoulder. 

“I’m sorry I left,” Dick whispers.

“It’s okay.”

“Tell him everything else,” Rachel encourages from beside you.

You squeeze Dick one more time before pulling back and saying, “I left Gotham City after you did. Alfred gave me the letter and I just ran. I’ve been in a bunch of small cities since then, but nowhere as long as here. I saved Dan’s daughter from some kidnappers and just stayed for some reason.”

“Alfred said he didn’t know where you went after Benton,” Dick says.

“I cut my tracker out in Benton,” you explain, pulling your sleeve up and exposing the scar.

He reaches forward and gently runs his fingers up the scar. “Tracker?”

“Right. Bruce told me he sedated you when he gave you yours, something about you being too excited about being in the bat cave.”

“He put a tracker in me?”

“He put trackers in all of us.”

The phone rings twice before silencing. “That’s our cue to leave,” you say.

Columbus, Ohio – 1 Week Later

“How’s your arm?” you ask as you enter the room.

“Healing quickly,” Dick answers, smiling as he looks up at you from the hotel bed.

“Looks good,” you say, gently holding his arm, “yours probably won’t scar.”

“Pizza’s here,” Rachel calls as someone knocks on the door.

Dick answers the door and gets the pizza while you and Rachel get drinks from the mini-fridge. You all sit on the small couch as you eat, and you can’t help but think of old times. The following morning, you, Dick, and Rachel load into Dick’s car and drive toward Covington. 

“Are you going to tell him?” Rachel asks as we wait in the car while Dick goes into a police station. 

“Tell him what?’

“That you still love him.”

“I-“

“I can feel it. I could feel it when he was Robin and when you found out he left, in the safe house, and right now.”

“I don’t know, Rach.”

Dick sighs as he gets back in the car. “I got the description of the woman who broke into the crime scene.”

“Where to now?” you ask.

“Arcade. 5 miles north,” Rachel answers.

You laugh lightly as you shrug at Dick.

“An hour,” Dick says as he puts the car in gear.

“And a half,” you and Rachel correct together.

You give her some cash before you and Dick find a seat where you can see the entire arcade.

“You’re good with her,” you say as you steal a fry from his plate.

He playfully swats your hand away before moving his plate closer. “So are you,” he agrees.

You watch Rachel for a moment before looking down at your sweatshirt sleeve.

“Are you okay?” Dick asks, his hand landing on your arm.

“Yeah,” you say with a nod, still looking down. “This sweatshirt is the only connection I’ve had to you for the last four years.”

“What?”

You extend your arm toward him, watching his face as he grabs your wrist and looks at the sleeve, his initials and a small Robin messily embroidered on it. 

“You kept it?” he asks.

“Of course, I did.”

“Mine’s in the trunk of my car,” he admits, smiling as he looks back up at you.

“Really?”

“You think that I’d leave it after all the hard work we put into them? I couldn’t leave it behind; it felt like leaving you behind. I tried to call you.”

“I left my phone; didn’t want Bruce to come after me.”

“Why does Rachel keep telling you to talk to me?”

You laugh before answering, “There’s something I haven’t told you and she wants me to.”

“What?”

“That I’m in love with you,” you whisper, looking into his eyes.

Dick is silent as he stares at you, his hand still wrapped around your wrist.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have said any-“

Dick pulls your wrist gently, slamming his lips to yours. His other hand raises and wraps around the base of your neck, pulling you closer. You move your hands to his waist, pulling yourself closer to him as you kiss him like he’s your source of life.

“I take it you told him,” Rachel says, suddenly standing on the other side of the table.

Dick pulls back, smiling at you before saying, “Shut up, Rachel.”

“I’m out of money.”

Dick pulls a fifty from his wallet, handing it to her and smiling in gratitude as she walks away. She nods and returns the smile.

“I love you,” Dick says.

“I love you,” you respond, stealing another one of his fries.

“I missed you.”

“I missed you, too. I wanted to find you but had no idea where to look.”

“Rachel was right. We could be partners. Again.”

“Whatever you say, Mr. Grayson,” you smile before kissing him again.

“You didn’t read the letter did you?”

“I couldn’t,” you admit, shaking your head, “hurt too much. Why?”

“I wrote it to tell you I loved you. I wanted to take you with me but was scared.”

“I guess I should read it then, because I love you, too, Dickie.”

You and Dick watch as Rachel walks toward you, a tall woman with bright Magenta hair on one side and a green-haired boy on her other side. 

When they reach the table, Rachel says, “This is Kory and Gar. They have some interesting stories.”

“This feels familiar,” you mutter to Dick as you stand up.

“I’m gonna need a bigger car,” Dick says as he wraps his arm around your shoulders.

[blues824]

hello blue~ happy december ‼️❣✨ for the fluffcember event, i'll request the future king himself✨ malleus💚 with prompts #29, #21, and #2 ✨✨ take care of yourself as the seasons change 💙☃️

You requested: Dancing in the Snow, Secret Santa, Holiday Blues

You take care of yourself as well!

Malleus Draconia

To say that the holidays were your favorite time of the year would be an understatement. You had always had the holiday blues, but they were just emphasized now that you had no way of going back to your world.

The Diasomnia dormitory noticed how you have been seeming down in mood as of late, so they decided to research some traditional human festivities. A game called ‘Secret Santa’ popped up, and after reading over the rules, they came to the unanimous conclusion that this might bring your holiday spirits up.

Now, Malleus may or may not have used his magic to manipulate the choices, as he wanted to make sure that he picked your name from the bag, and you picked Silver. Who you picked didn’t matter, however, as he just wanted to get you your gift. There was one idea that immediately came to mind, but he would hold off on that, as he didn’t want to rush you into anything.

When the day came, you were feeling worse than ever. Everyone was gone for vacation, and you and Grim were stuck in Ramshackle. However, you felt a bit better when you made the journey to the Diasomnia dormitory to celebrate. You had your gift in one arm and Grim in the other, making sure to not drop either.

The dragon prince himself answered the door, as he had been waiting for you to arrive. He led you to the area in which his retainers were speaking animatedly with one another, and you gave each of them a fake smile.

Anyway, as you gave the gift you brought to Silver, revealing that you were his Secret Santa, you learned that the Crowned Prince was your Secret Santa. You opened it and it was a very soft blanket, perfect for the winter time in Ramshackle, as it would keep you warm even as the snow fell outside.

You sat there, petting the blanket and finally giving a genuine smile to Malleus, and his dragon’s tail was figuratively waving back and forth frantically.

~~~~~~~~

He insisted upon seeing you home, as he didn’t want anything to happen to you or Grim, and he insisted upon carrying the box that the blanket resided in. As the monster that called you ‘henchman’ was asleep around your shoulders, you both whispered to each other, making sure not to wake him.

Eventually, and unfortunately, you reached the front door of Ramshackle, and you invited him in, not ready to end the night yet, surprisingly. You set the cat on your bed so that he may sleep, and you put the new blanket over him, then you turned to Malleus, who watched you tuck in the little monster.

Walking back down the stairs, you noticed that it was snowing outside, and so did the prince standing beside you. He then extended his hand out to you, looking into your eyes with such pure love that it had you melting.

“May I have this dance?”

It was a simple question, but it had you weak in the knees as you put your hand in his. You quickly found yourself being pulled outside, back into the cold, but you were pressed up against his chest. His left hand found your waist and his right hand joined with your left, and you both started spinning around.

Looking into his eyes to see he was still looking at you like you were the personification of a gasp of air after he had been trapped underwater for his entire life made your heart burst, it made you feel as though you were soaring. You smiled, and it was as though everything had turned to gold for the dragon prince.

And so you both stayed there for a few moments, dancing about in the snow, staring into each other’s eyes, finding peace in the depressing season.

[pursuitseternal]

Introducing “Our Blood is Thicker:” Enemies to Lovers Astarion x Tav (OC female)

Astarion x Tav (female OC) | E | 4.8 K Chapter

Summary: He can’t remember anything, but she does. The betrothed she believed dead, the source of all her centuries of grief and heartache now in the middle of her path after the Nautiloid crash. He might look mostly the same as the one who stole her heart, but something is different about him. Dark. Changed. Something hidden. But her own centuries of becoming battle-hardened haven taught her wisdom and insight beyond her own elvish abilities. He is a monster she can tame, a challenge she will have to face. No matter the heartache.

CW: angst, heartbreak, enemies, sexual tension you can cut with a dagger, vampire trauma-induced memory loss, calculating manipulation (Astarion), Spoilers for the gameplay

A/N: Prompt fill, 3rd Person POV, female Tav OC, headcanon Astarion as Star elf ✨, our Little Star

Read on AO3 if you prefer

Chapter 1: Wondering

💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞

“Shh shh shh shh,” that sweetened, mellifluous voice whispered in her ear so softly. Lips nearly pressing against her sensitive, pointed ear. Something about it reached into the dark recesses of her memory. Jarring almost more than the danger he posed.

It was a sharp contrast. So caressing in tone. Strange, compared to the way he used every bit of his wiry, lean, overwhelming strength to push that dagger towards her neck.

“Not another sound… not if you want to keep that… darling… neck of yours….”

Shivers, colder than ice, colder than death ran down her spine at his words. Recognition shot right through her. It was a voice that once haunted her thoughts, one she once craved. But that craving had turned sour, that longing had long ago twisted into spite.

That silver hair, those piercing eyes and dangerous smile.

Even the way his arm cradled around her back, bracing her into him as he tried to threaten and destroy her.

But she had been here before.

Destroyed by him once.

Over a hundred years of loathing, resentment, anger, it all came rushing up, pouring out from her. Her hands swift and strong, she grabbed his body where she could, smashing her head right into the bridge of his beautiful, aquiline nose.

His howl of pain as he rolled away made her heart sing.

Her companions watched, mouths open as they stood in a line, some in surprise, some in delight. Karlach’s laughter was especially reassuring to her ear. Making her go just a hint faster as she scrambled for her own elegant blade.

But it was a struggle to keep her stance, to keep up. Maybe that fucking parasite is making me slow, she cursed inwardly, or maybe he’s just become quicker. Faster. But equally mean and threatening as before.

A ghost from her past, just as much of a… threat… as he once was.

Already at his feet, he clutched his dagger in hand, lips pressed in suspicion and cold, calculating spite. “I saw you on the ship…” he hissed.

She squared her shoulders, spinning her own blade expertly in hand. “That doesn’t give you the right to touch me, Astarion Ancunín,” she hissed back.

She saw it, giving her a sublime dark and twisted joy. His shock and doubt the moment she gave his name. A flicker over his face as his concentration, his intense charm and swagger, shattered. He eased on his toes, weapon lowering. Looking for answers, maybe for peaceful conversation. But it was too late for her, swallowing down the bile that had risen to speak his name again.

No backing down now, she sneered. And besides, she wasn’t alone this time. Her party stood behind her, their anxiety palpable as they watched. Waiting for her to choose: attack or speak.

And for every scar on her heart that bastard made, she longed to attack, but her own, ancient elvish sensibilities prevented her.

She couldn’t just kill one of her own. Not when there were already so few Star Elves to begin with.

“I take it, we’ve met before,” he replied. Cold, so cold in his tone. And cautious, as if he weighed every word before he let it out from those sneering lips. Same old Astarion. “At least before you crawled around the Mindflayer’s ship doing gods know what…”

That was it. She snapped inwardly. It was hard to control it, her need to pummel his pale face. “Don’t remember?” She forced a charming smile, narrowing her sharp, silver eyes at him. “Of course not, over a century of chasing your own ambitions and leaving your people behind…” She swallowed the need to mention herself… how he left you behind, her mind hissed at her with all the venom she had tried to bury.

He said nothing, but she could see how his mind was racing, scanning her up and down and all over with those… crimson… eyes.

She paused. Where were those deep violet ones? The ones she would once lose herself in, deep like the night sky she had stared into, abandoning all reason, forgetting her own self in, during those long and lonely years, wishing she wasn’t alone in her bed at night….

Rapidly, she shook her head.

It pulled him back into the tension, the pale elf hardened his form again, back on the offense, a second dagger in his fist now. “Tell me what you know about these parasites, or I’ll decorate the ground with your innards, darling…”

That’s when something pulsed in your mind, the parasite swimming, throbbing as their minds smashed together.

She saw through foreign eyes… crouching in the darkness, the tang of old blood… locked behind walls away from the stars, the sky, forsaking the sun… her stomach burned with a hunger she had never known. And slowly her mind raced, trying to cling to the memories of faces and names and the feeling of grass under her feet and wind on her face.

She wished she had chosen death as the blood on her back began to dry, as the pain of his knife still cut your senses and deadened her mind. She tried to remember anything, but it all faded into the dark…

Her eyes shot open, the glaring sun a relief to her heart as she gasped. As if she had been suffocated by that dank dark prison herself.

Astarion glared at her, so intense and angry as those crimson pools narrowed. “They took you too, I saw it during… whatever that was,” he scowled at her. Confusion, mistrust, wrinkling his porcelain brow. “It seems we have a common goal, darling, even though I could feel your hatred for me clear as… day.”

“Another gift from the Ilithids, it seems,” she scoffed, “glad I didn’t have to waste my breath telling you.” Her lithe fingers resheathed her dagger, turning on her heel to face her new found companions. But they didn’t budge even as she approached with all the confidence of a seasoned commander.

“That's it?” The elf called, voice sharp as he followed in her steps. “You’re going to just… leave me? Even though I am stuck with the same fate as all of you?” He sounded desperate, an edge of true fear flickering in his mellifluous voice.

She scoffed, tossing her shining red hair over her shoulder with a glare. “I seem to remember you always preferred to go your own way,” she jeered over your shoulder, feeling the tips of her own pointed ears growing hot with rage.

“Look, if I remembered anything, I’m sure I would have centuries to apologize for, but as it is…” he cleared his throat. She turned fully at the noise of discomfort, reassured by the closeness of the others beside her. She watched as he put on a well-practiced smile, making his arms soften as he flexed them at his sides. “I… I don’t, I can’t remember much other than my name, and little of my past.” His eyes scanned your company: wizard, cleric, tiefling… begging and pleading with their wide wetness in every way that matched his supplicant tone. “Please, I know you’re trying to find an expert, a solution…” he placed a hand on his heart, smile softening, forcing sincerity, “I’d like to, too.”

The wizard shifted beside her, leaning closer so his voice reached her ear. “It would be.. most extreme to just… ignore someone thrown into our path and bound to the same fate,” Gale’s calm and soothing lilt seemed to only aggravate her.

“We know nothing about him,” she snapped between gritted teeth. Hissing, her mind corrected those furious words: you know nothing about him.

“Do you know anything about any of us?” Shadowheart added, eyes so soft and sparkling, tone so damnably calm too.

Her nostrils flared, her temper beating in her head. Made things difficult to think past all feelings that swirled in her stomach and befuddled her mind. But she forced herself to take a breath, closing her eyes as she turned to face that unsought phantom from her past. “Fine,” she gave a relenting hiss, “for the good of the group, I will allow you to come.”

His brow quirked. Too attractively, too seductively for her own good. “Thank you,” he crooned in reply, catching her fist where it balled at her side and pressing his lips on her fingers.

His mouth was cold, but so was the air, she shook the observations from her head. Trying to keep everything he did at a distance. Hard to do as he smirked down at her, as rakish and roguish as once plagued her dreams. “I always enjoy being allowed to come,” he purred, quietly enough for her ears alone.

“Don’t,” she rasped through her tightly clenching jaw. “Don’t make me regret this spike of altruism on your behalf…” Finally ripping her hand from his chilled hold upon her. “Not that you would know the word at any rate.”

He stiffened, caught off guard again as she mentioned his past… who he was. “For as much as you think I should know you, darling, I don’t…” he squared his frame, rigid and defensive. “And for as much as you think you may know me, of what I once was, I assure you…” he seemed to sneer bitterly, his teeth flashing in the sun, “…you do not.”

Provoking him was fun, she decided. Maybe, making him pay would be a pleasant distraction from the fear of these damned parasites. She made her lips smile, giving her fiery, burnished red hair a toss. Cool and collected. “Then it seems we will have much time to get to know one another, Astarion.”

There it was again, that outward show of being polite, his feral nature just simmering beneath. “Of course,” he bowed his head, closing in so close, she had to push past him.

But the moment she cleared ahead, he was right there again, and this time, she couldn’t fight the aggravated sigh in her throat as he fell in step behind her. His body so close, she could feel the brush of his sleeve—richly colored, decadentally embroidered—with every fucking step. That’s when his sultry voice leaned too close to her ear so as to fill it. “So, since you’re so cunning and sneaky and beautiful, I’m sure you know about these parasites…”

“Certainly,” she threw him her most annoyed and caustic look. “I know enough to tell you they’ll turn you into a Mindflayer,” she snapped her reply. Quick and to the point.

“A…” he stopped frozen in his tracks, shaking his head as he scoffed with bitter laughter. “Of course,” he sneered with disdain, “it’ll turn me into a monster. What did I expect?” he commented, quietly, under that icy breath, almost to himself.

She sniffed, her own irascible, twitching grimace on her smooth face, letting out all the barbs that had piled up as he looked at her, that aloof veneer just… pissing her off. “You were always a bit of a monster, Astarion,” she teased, malice in her words. “Shouldn’t be much of a change for you.”

That did it. That broke into his ice-cold defenses. He roared, hands clawing into her upper arms, his massive strength shoving her little, flexible frame against the closest tree. He’s so close. His breath chilling. His teeth bared in her face, but all she could see was the feral, unchecked wilderness in the shocking red of his eyes. “Look,” he growled, voice barely more than a rumble as he pinned her into that unyielding tree. “I don’t know what you remember, or who you remember. But I don’t know you… I don’t recall your name, your face, your annoying, rash, irritating presence…”

“Funny,” she kept her face relaxed, pleasantly smiling softly, strangely calm as all the bile began to draw from the dark recesses of her soul. At last, her mouth spewed the words that had tightened in her chest since she recognized him. “I can recall everything. An elf’s memory is their curse, you know. I remember the depth of colors in your violet eyes, I remember the way your giggle would turn every head to give you the attention you longed for, even as a youth.”

His pinning frame eased, but he kept them on her body. Still heavy and strong as he pressed over every inch.

She wished he wouldn’t.

But it only kept the poison flowing. “I remember the taste of your tongue in my mouth, the heat of your hands as you caressed me through my gowns… I remember the way your voice cracked with feeling when you gave me your word we would be wed, my betrothed for every age… every lifetime…”

Now it was her silky voice that cracked. And she watched the shadows draw over his pale face. The lines around his eyes crinkling as he winced, as if her words were sucking a venom from sealed wounds.

“I remember that same untamable need for power, for ambition, the same that made you leave your people under the stars, in the woods, to go to Baldur’s Gate for your studies. For you to find a way to take power from society, exploiting the law… becoming a Magistrate so you could discover true power and freedom…”

Those dark red eyes shut completely. His lips drawing slowly in a pained sneer. But now the words just couldn’t stop. Not now.

She inhaled, shakily and deeply. The pain almost overwhelmed her. “I recall every second of waiting during those years, waiting for your letters… for your return to me… to make me your bride but…”

He gave a rattling breath from his chest. “But I never did…” his hands swept down her arms, lingering for a moment before he released her completely. “I couldn’t return…”

She gave a derisive huff, a laugh of pure ire and disbelief. “I know. Well, I thought I did. I went looking for you, Astarion. I found your… grave.” She almost shouted the last word. The full extent of her pain, her betrayal coating her voice, coloring her vision in pure, red rage. “I sought after how you died. Murdered in the streets. Like the traitor you were to me.” Her breath was rough and ragged. “I let you go from that moment, Astarion. So forgive me if stumbling upon you very much… not dead… is a bit painful.”

“I assure you,” he spoke through his perfectly white, gritted teeth, “it might not be as painful as the truth.”

“Well,” she sniffed in scorn, “once you deign to share it, then I’ll stop assuming you faked your own death, just to get away from me. What a sense of humor the gods must have to throw you back in my path now.”

“The gods have nothing to do with it,” he twisted his head, and she could see every muscle in his neck clenching and throbbing. “You’ll learn the truth, I’m sure. Maybe it’ll even come to you in the night…”

Brows furrowed, making her face screw in contempt, too irritated to be confused. “Maybe,” she snipped, “might be faster than waiting on you to do anything.”

He grinned, brows canting, those eyes gazed at her with that same amused stare that once made her thighs wet with need. And dammit, if she didn’t start to feel it again. Especially as that smirk started to twist more rakishly. Her heart skipped a beat. The wind in his hair, tousling those same silver locks, the scent of his skin, citrus and spice, she hated the way it still tugged at her body.

“Fuck,” she cursed, jutting her chin up at him, trying to look composed and undeterred. And unaroused. “I just hope you’re as good of a fighter as you once were,” she taunted, eyes scanning the daggers at each side of his narrow waist. “Seems your body remembers that even if you don’t remember anything important.”

“I would dare to say, darling, I’m even more dangerous now than I ever was,” he preened. Proud. Insufferable. “If you ever felt yourself in danger around me before, perhaps you may wish to watch your back… and your neck.” His eyes raked down her body, that same ancient heat in his eyes even if he didn’t remember it from… from before.

That was enough. She huffed and stalked on up the trail, trying to put as much distance and as many other bodies between her and him.

That’s when she saw it… where the rest of her party had already gathered. Something about the rocks ahead, the massive door in the wall, something inside her wanted to see what’s inside… and without another thought, she shoved on the big, wood planks.

“Locked,” she proclaimed, looking at her sweet Wizard, giving him a soft, pleading look for any help he and his magic could offer.

“Well, I do suppose…” Gale smiled, “anything to help our fearless leader, even if it’s just the gentlemanly thing of holding a door open…”

“Done!” Astarion crowed, his lockpick in one hand, the other gesticulating dramatically as he bowed. The thick door did, in fact, groan on its hinges as it opened into the mountain. “Who needs magic when you have a fine tool to shove in tiny holes, hmm?”

His eyes fixated right on her. Gods, her mind raced at the way he looked at her as if she was bared to the sun. Is he remembering?

“Well, Astarion,” the cleric taunted as she drew closer, “no one is accusing you of gentlemanly behavior.”

“I should certainly hope not,” his eyes shifted that heated, flirtatious stare on Shadowheart. “Gentlemen aren’t known for having as much fun as I tend to… enjoy.”

“Ugh,” that groan came from her, through, totally unplanned. She pushed between them to enter into the dark. But what she tried to ignore, try to distract herself from, was how her stomach knotted, how her blood boiled at the image that was now burned in her mind. Of how he was just… smirking at her…the cleric… undressing with his eyes… throwing those honeyed barbs…. And all he has for you is just anger and blades and pain, her thoughts scratched at those old, heartsick wounds.

As she entered into the dark adventure ahead, she didn’t know what was worse. The enemies in her path, or the traitorous ghost that haunted her with envy within her heart.

With a sigh, she could only hope he was as brutal a fighter as he seemed to think he was. External enemies he could slay, but she doubted he would help, could help, that bitterness and jealousy that had taken root inside her.

___________________

Hells below, she moaned, she made it to the night. Alive and in one piece. And… as she surveyed her companions that fate had shoved into her path, it was thanks to all of them. Even… she groaned inwardly… Astarion. He was indeed vicious. Worse than she remembered. He loved the bloodshed. He thrived in the chaos of battle. He became one with the shadows to sneak up on the enemy.

It was…. Gods forbid… impressive.

She mindlessly sorted through the food that everyone had pilfered on the journey today, every companion busied now piecing together sleeping places. Some of the more ambitious, entitled, conceited companions had begun to construct tents.

Like Astarion.

A heavy sigh, she tried to ignore how he was bouncing on his toes, fairly giddy to make a little abode under the night sky. Rolling her eyes painfully far back in her skull, she settled for a comfy, if austere, bedroll that she settled by the fire.

She looked at her hands as she fluffed her pillow, shifting the thick blanket to cover the leather of its back. So dry, so scarred. Calluses on both her fingers from holding sword and dagger. Seeing Astarion… it made it hard not to remember the days before. The days when pricking her fingers with a needle and thread were the worst she could do… days when she touched the finest silks, softer than starlight, that shimmered just as brightly and just as…

“Shame you can’t fashion yourself a little retreat away for yourself… a little place for privacy, secrecy,” that irritating and silken voice snapped her from her sweet memories, thrusting her right back into the agony of his presence. The reminder of all she lost. And he towered over her, looming above where she crouched.

Turning a look of pure spite up at him, she glared from over her shoulder, unable to miss how his legs stood so close to her rear. Nearly touching her with his body.

“What need would I have of secrecy, Astarion?” She taunted as she stood, carefully putting more room between them as she did so.

“Given how little I do recall about you, I’m sure I have no idea,” he purred, crossing his arms.

Exasperation. It had been a long day, ending it with more of him wasn’t ideal. She needed to… put something to rest. Anything.

“Okay, I get it,” she huffed, crossing her arms too, jutting her chin up as she met his sultry stare of indifference, “I remember much more than you. For whatever reason, I don’t know. And I know after all this time, I doubt I deserve any form of explanation. But my memory is all I have….”

She swallowed, the words you were all I had burning a hole in her throat as she fought them back down.

“But what I do know is that… someday… I would like to know what happened,” she blinked her sharp silver eyes, turning away hurriedly to hide the harsh sting of tears that began to burn. “When you’re ready… if you even remember enough to share that.”

Breathless, she waited for some snarky reply. For some witty rejoinder. But it never came. She turned. He was just… standing there. The light of the setting sun seemed to glow around him, almost making those soft, silver curls on his head incandescent.

Gods, she knew how it was she fell in love with him so easily, so long ago. A lifetime ago. Shadows darkened his eyes, and she saw it then, how he had let his guard down for a split second. Nothing but purest pain on his face.

“Astarion,” she breathed, those long forgotten feelings creeping back up. Timeless affection, boundless attachment, undying devotion.

“I will tell you… but,” he swallowed, giving a heavy, saddened sigh. “Gods, I wish I remembered more, remembered… you.” He looked at her then, really and truly. No squinting or leering or smirking. “You seem so, nice… when you want to be. You sound like you really, truly cared for me.”

“I did,” came her reply. I do, her heart screamed through the cage of spite that she had built.

“I am… sorry,” he kept his eyes fixed on her, so wide and soft. “I… must have cared for you too, I… I can almost feel it too.”

Her lungs burn. No, no. She was past this, for almost two centuries, she had buried herself in serving her people, defending them from enemies, seeking victories on the battlefield. Alone. Prowess with the blade. Feats few of her race have ever attained. No marriage or love to soften her.

And yet…except for his eyes, this was her love… her… gods, she swallowed the words… her betrothed.

“It’s alright, Astarion,” she shrugged, shoving down all that saccharine sentiment, “even if you did feel the same way as you did once, there is still the pain of losing you for such a long time.” Her head hung down, her eyes looking down the front of her well-worn linen shirt, as if she couldn’t examine the creases in her sleeves hard enough.

Then she felt him drawing closer.

“I… didn't fake anything,” he whispered. Standing right before her. Not touching, but staring back in the fading light. “I didn’t fake my death.”

She let out a quiet scoff. “So what, then if you didn’t fake it, you really died?” She couldn’t help the slight mocking edge to her voice as he dragged up all that pain she fought to still keep locked up tight.

He gave a single, loud, bitter laugh in return. Then, his face instantly lost all that softness, becoming all slanted angles, clenching muscles, and spiteful glare. “I was captured,” he hissed, “kept as a slave to a… monster.”

“Astarion,” his name was a sob in her voice, her body unable to stop her hand from reaching out to rest on his arm as it clenched at his side.

“No, I don’t want pity,” he snapped his teeth in rage, “I don’t want your pity. What I want is revenge. Freedom. These tadpoles have obviously affected us, in more ways than I think anyone can simply observe. There is a power here.” He trembled under her featherlight touch, but he hadn’t shaken it off. “And I would like to use it to its benefit for me, for once.”

“Sounds like even with… everything you endured, you haven’t changed all that much,” she tried to smile. Despite his pain and rage on his beautiful face. Despite her heavy heart.

“You have no idea what you are speaking of,” his voice was exacting, enraged, and sharp.

Her head nodded, the soft red waves of her hair falling gently as she did. “No, no I don’t. You’re right.”

And instantly something shifted in his frame. His gaze felt… different on her face. Even though she didn’t look up. Not yet.

“And I would want those things for you too, even once upon a time,” she added, “Freedom. Revenge.” She trained her eyes on the ground between them, feeling his stare’s intensity more than seeing it.

And still, he allowed her hand to rest on his arm.

“When we… once were… together, I would never have said such a thing. But I have changed in these centuries too. Fought enough battles, looted enough corpses to lose the softness of my hand and the gentility of my voice.” She struggled to breathe again. Something around her heart releasing at last. “Maybe it’s best that you don’t remember me.” She gave the hard sinews of his arm a gentle squeeze. “Maybe we just get to know each other as we are now?”

“I kind of like the sound of that,” he hummed. Then he cast that well-practiced smile, the only warning before his other hand came to cover hers arresting it from his body in his soft fingers.

His touch was still so… cold.

“I do still wish I could remember more of you,” his voice dipped low, soft and sweet and tickling in her ear as he seemed to draw closer. “Maybe you can think of some things to… trigger my memory?”

“I could certainly try,” she managed to reply, and as he began to crowd her.

“I’d be open to some ideas of yours, darling,” his hand raised her to his lips, placing a polite kiss on her twitching fingertips. “I also have some… suggestions that you might find… intriguing.” His eyes flashed as she looked into his face, as she felt his breath on her hand where he kept it pressed close to his mouth. “Especially since you say we were betrothed…”

Nope. She gave him a disapproving frown, a bitter chuckle. “If you can’t remember if we have coupled yet, then I am not about to tell you either way, Astarion,” she smirked at him. “If we are getting to know one another again, it seems only fair you should earn such a privilege again as well.”

He shrugged those strapping, broad shoulders. “Can’t blame a man for trying,” he purred. “Not with how… delectable… you smell.”

Her breath burned in her lungs, his hand turning hers slowly, running a thumb over that sensitive skin inside her wrist just once. Pressing it against his nose. Smelling her flesh. Even more painstakingly slowly, his lips caressed it, trailing a few more over those tingling nerves he was igniting on fire now. Then he released her just as quickly as he had stolen her hand to press to his lips.

Similar, but so, so much more daring. Devious. Desirous. Gods, kissing her fingers was one thing, but this. Oh, she felt molten inside, barely noticing just how cold he still was to the touch. Finally he released her. “You should rest, my dear. Tell the others, I will take the first watch to show you all I’m on my best behavior.”

She watched him turn and take two steps towards his tent.

Then he stoped, casting a smirk over his shoulder. Catching her in the glint of his crimson eye. “Sweet dreams… Cordehlia.”

Hells… her name. Her gut stabbed in on itself. Her legs gave out slightly, as she hoped he wouldn't notice.

No one had said it… her name… not within his hearing. How… did he…?

As he crept his way to the treeline, Cordehlia watched him as he stalked away. Wondering just how much he might remember.

Wondering at how much he had changed…

Wondering… why was he so cold, and why were his eyes so red…

💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞

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[novamariestark]

Like A Virgin

Summary: Your most embarrassing secret comes out and somehow it ends differently than you thought it would.

Warnings: age gap, smut, pretty much 90% smut, oral (m+f receiving), piv, unprotected sex (wrap b4 you tap), virgin reader, first time,

Word count: 4069 (I swear that number is unintentional)

Fandom: NCIS

Pairing: Alden Parker x virgin!reader

[A/N] Guess who's back bitches!!! 🤭🤭

Was I dreaming? Or is this actually happening? Was the sexiest man I’d ever laid my eyes upon really buried between my legs?

His tongue darting between the wet lips, trying for find the sensitive bud. The simplest touch of the tip of his tongue, sent shivers through your body. You’d read about this, you heard your friends tell you about it but you never believed it felt this good.

And to think, you owe it all to that big mouthed best friend of yours, Nick.

What turned out to be a simple conversation, turned into the most embarrassing yet best conversations ever. Why? Because your silver fox, sexy ass boss, is between your legs, his face buried in your folds as he licks, sucks and nibbles at the soft flesh.

You hadn’t told anyone, no one at all, because you were ashamed. Why? Who knows. But you definitely did not want your co-workers to know, especially not… him. After a particularly long, hard case, Nick decided… forced, you all to engage in a team bonding exercise “Never Have I Ever”

What did that have to do with team bonding? That’s exactly what you asked Nick. He has been trying to get something out of you about relationships, sex and everything that goes with it. Sure you had boyfriends in the past, you weren’t that sad. But you didn’t just want to give it up to just anyone. You wanted the one. And the moment you laid eyes on him. You knew. But you also knew it was never going to happen. So you guessed you’d die a virgin or you just go to a bar and give it up to the first sleazy guy that was interested.

The game started off relatively PG, until it came to be Nick’s turn.

“Never have I ever had sex in public,”

“Really?” you asked, “Are you 12?”

“Size 14 actually” he said as he took a sip of coffee because we obviously don’t have alcohol stashed in your desk drawers. At least you didn’t. You rolled your eyes at the comment, and everyone took note that you were the only one who didn’t take a sip

“What?” you asked as you noticed all their eyes on you and the drink in your hand.

“You’ve never been adventurous outside of the bedroom?” Nick asked, a smirk finding it’s way onto his face, he had you now. “What have you done, little miss innocent?”

“You only get to ask one question, Nicky,” you said, trying to get as far away from the topic of sex as you could, especially considering your boss, and the owner of your heart and every other part of your body, if he wanted, was sat across from you. So you ask a somewhat, safe question, “Never Have I ever shoplifted,” you asked and you took a sip of your drink.

Obviously, it was like a million lifetimes ago and it was really ridiculous now that you think about it. All you took was a simple pink hairband, but nonetheless, you took it without paying.

“Oh my God, we’ve been working with a maniac,” Nick gasped over dramatically, “But seriously... that's your question? Come on, ask a juicier one,"

"No!"

He looked at you as if he were trying to read your mind, "Wait a minute... have you never?"

You felt the room spinning around you as everyone looked your way, your heart racing and your cheeks burning up like the sun.

You blurt out, "Fine okay! I haven't!" Your voice quivered as you spoke, and you could feel the tears stinging at the back of your eyes. The room fell silent, and for a moment, it felt like the air had been sucked out of it. You looked around, expecting judgement, pity, or laughter, but instead, you saw a a few surprised faces but Alden's face gave nothing away. No one said a word, and you felt like you could hear the thunderous sound of your own heartbeat in the quiet.

Swiftly, you stand up, knocking over your chair in the process. You didn’t care. You had to get out of there. You grab your bag and rush towards the restroom, trying to keep your composure as you go. Your cheeks were on fire, and you could feel the eyes of your colleagues burning into your back. The cool metal door hits you with a bit more force than you meant it to, and you stumble into the restroom, locking it behind you.

Once inside, you lean against the door, taking deep breaths and trying to keep it together. The sound of the lock clicking into place echoes through the small space, offering a momentary sense of security. Your hand shakes as you lift it to your face, wiping away the rogue tear that had escaped. You look at yourself in the mirror; your makeup is a mess from the hasty retreat. You hastily fix your mascara, which had started to run, and smooth out your hair. You take a deep breath, telling yourself that you can get through this.

When you finally feel presentable, you turn the handle and push the door open, only to find Alden leaning on the wall across from the restroom, his arms folded over his chest and his gaze fixed on the floor. He looks up as the door swings outward, and his eyes meet yours. For a second, you consider retreating back into the safety of the bathroom, but the words tumble out of your mouth before you can stop them. "What are you doing here?" you ask, your voice still shaky.

He straightens up, looking at you with a mix of concern and something you can't quite read, "I wanted to make sure you were okay." His voice is low and calming, but it does nothing to ease the storm of emotions raging inside you. You're acutely aware of the fact that he now knows your secret, and you're not sure how to handle it.

"I'm fine," you lie, trying to keep the tremor out of your voice. "I just needed a moment." you look at the floor, the wall behind him, anywhere. Anywhere but him, "I suppose everyone will think I'm some kind of sad loser now," you let out a breathy laugh even though all you want to do is cry.

Alden takes a step towards you, "They don't and they would never," he says firmly, his eyes searching yours for some sign that you believe him. "If anything, they're surprised, I know I am,"

"Surprised,”

"Yes," he says, taking another step closer, "I mean, you're smart, funny, beautiful..." His voice trails off, and he looks at you with a softness that you've never seen before in his eyes. It's a look that makes your stomach flip but it also has an effect somewhere else, somewhere a little more south. Your eyes avert from him, not wanting him to see exactly what you were thinking. Thinking about him. How he just made you feel with one sentence. You can't help but imagine what else that tongue could do.

He must have read your face because his expression shifts, his eyes darkening slightly. "I could help you with that," he says, his voice dropping to a whisper.

Your heart skips a beat, "What?" you blinked a couple of times. Did you hear him right? Or is this your imagination? Again.

"I said," he takes another step closer, his eyes never leaving yours, "I could help you with that."

You swallow hard, your mouth feeling like it's filled with sand. You've thought about it so many times, even at work, when you've stared at his beautiful hands as they glide over documents and computer keyboards, wondering what they'd feel like on your bare skin. But you've never, ever imagined him saying it out loud, especially not here, in the stark fluorescent light of the office hallway.

"You don't mean..." you start to protest, but your voice trails off. What could he possibly mean? Did he just offer to...?

Alden nods, a knowing smile playing on his lips, "I do. I could be your first," he says, his voice low and enticing. You can't believe what you're hearing. Your boss, the man you've had a crush on since the moment you and McGee interrogated him, is offering to take your virginity. It's like a dream come true, but in the most unexpected way possible.

You feel your cheeks flush even more, and you stumble over your words, "I-I don't know what to say."

Alden steps closer, his voice gentle, "You don't have to say anything. The offer is there if you want it, no pressure," he says, reaching out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. His touch sends a shiver down your spine, and you can't help but lean into it slightly. He seems to notice and smiles, "You need a ride home?"

You nod, unable to form coherent words. You follow him towards the elevator. The ride down seemed to take forever. Too much close proximity and you were about to get into his car. Alone. You felt like a teenager again, the butterflies in your stomach had returned. You're nervous, excited, and a little bit terrified. You've seen movies, read books, but this was your first time feeling like this about someone.

The elevator doors open with a soft ding, and you both step out into the dimly lit parking garage. His car is parked right outside. He opens the door for you, and you slip inside, the leather seats cool against the thin fabric of your pants. The scent of his cologne fills the car, and you can't help but take a deep breath. He gets in and starts the engine, the low purr echoing through the space.

As he drives, the silence between you is thick and palpable. You can't stop thinking about his offer. You want to ask a hundred questions, but you're afraid of what the answers might be. You look over at him, his profile lit by the passing streetlights, his jaw clenched as he focuses on the road. You wonder if he's regretting his words or if he's just as lost in thought as you are.

Your eyes wonder back to his hands, gripped tightly on the steering wheel. You bite your lip, as the things he could do to you with those very hands played through your mind like a dirty movie. One you really wanted to star in. You absentmindedly squeeze your thighs together. Never had a man made you feel this way.

Should I do it? Should I lose my virginity?

But what about waiting for the right guy? If he isn't the right guy, I don't want anyone else.

The back and forth in your mind takes over, and you don't even realise it's been so long when Alden taps your shoulder.

"This is you," he said softly gesturing to your house. You looked over your shoulder and you felt a wave of sadness wash over you. Now you won't see him until tomorrow.

Unless...

"You want to come in?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. You didn't know why you were asking, but something inside you just didn't want him to leave just yet. Alden looked at you for a moment, his eyes searching yours before he nodded slowly.

He followed you in, the door clicking shut behind you. The house was quiet, a stark contrast to the chaos in your mind. You led him into the living room, flipping on a lamp to cast a warm glow across the room, "I'm not sure what to do, I mean I've watched stuff and read.."

He stopped you, "I told you we don't have to, [Y/N], no pressure,"

You nodded, "I know, I just..." You didn't know what to say. "I want you, I-I feel it," you stutter not sure if you made sense.

He stepped towards you slowly, giving you time to retreat should you want to. His raised his hand to gently move your face to look at him, "Where do you feel it?" he asked, his hand releases your chin and starts moving down, his hand ghosting over you, not making full contact in case you didn't want it, "Here?" he asked, his hand over your stomach, you shook your head 'no' and he continued further down, until he reached your clothed pussy, "Here?"

You nodded shamefully and looked away and his hand found your chin again, "Hey, it's okay," he said softly, a small cocky smirk made it's way onto his lips, "More than okay," you rolled your eyes but you couldn't help but smile. "Has anyone else made you feel something there?"

You shook your head 'no' again and his smile grew wider, "Just you,"

"I can still leave," he said, his voice a gentle rumble that seemed to resonate through your entire body.

"I don't want to disappoint you," you murmur, the words barely leaving your lips. The tension in the room is thick, charged with the electricity of possibility. You want him so badly it hurts, you need him. Now.

"You could never disappoint me," Alden whispers, his thumb tracing the outline of your bottom lip. Your heart skips a beat, and you can feel the heat building between your legs. He steps closer, and you can't resist leaning into his touch. He takes this as an invitation, his other hand sliding around your waist, pulling you against him. You can feel his erection pressing against your waist, and you gasp.

He kisses you then, a soft, gentle kiss that sends shockwaves through your body. It's the first time you've ever been kissed with such tenderness, as if you were made of the most delicate material and he didn't want to break you. You melt into it, your arms wrapping around his neck, pulling him closer. His hand moves up to cradle the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair as he deepens the kiss. Your heart is racing so fast you think it might just burst out of your chest.

You can taste the mint on his breath, and it sends a shiver down your spine. You've never felt so alive, so wanted, so... desired. His other hand travels down to cup your ass, squeezing gently, and you can't help but moan into his mouth. The sound seems to ignite something in him, because he suddenly picks you up, his hands under your thighs, and carries you over to the couch. He lays you down gently, his body hovering over yours.

"You want to stop?" he asked you, breathing heavily as he regains his breath. you shook your head 'no' once more, "I need words, baby. Once we start, I don't think I'll be able to stop,"

"Yes, please fuck me," you begged moving to kiss him again but he pulls away, just out of reach of your lips, you frown, "I thought..."

"I do, trust me, but I'm not going to fuck you. It's your first time, baby, I'm gonna make it special," he says, his voice gruff with desire. He leans down and kisses you again, slower this time, letting you feel the passion in his lips, the promise in his touch. His hand slides up your thigh, to your covered pussy, "Can I?"

You nod eagerly and he smiles against your lips before he starts to unbutton your trousers. He kisses along your jaw to your neck, his breath hot and ragged. The fabric of your trousers sliding down your legs, exposing your simple black lace underwear. His eyes darken as he looks at them, "These are beautiful," he says, his thumb tracing the lace band. He leans down and kisses your neck, sucking gently, leaving a mark that you know will be there tomorrow.

You reach down to palm him through his pants but just as your fingertips touched the fabric, he pulled your hand away, "No, It's all about you right now, baby,"

Alden's eyes are burning into yours as he runs his thumb over your underwear. You can feel the wetness that's already seeped through the material. He leans down and kisses you again, his hand sliding your underwear to the side. You gasp into his mouth as his thumb brushes over your clit. It's like a bolt of lightning shooting through you, making your body arch off the couch. His other hand is under your shirt now, his rough thumbs teasing your nipples. You can feel them harden under his touch, and you whimper.

He breaks the kiss, looking down at you with hunger in his eyes, "You're so beautiful, so responsive," he murmurs, his voice a low growl. He kisses down your neck, his teeth grazing your skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. He kisses down your chest, pausing to pay special attention to your breasts. His tongue flicks over one nipple, then the other, making you moan. He pulls your shirt off completely, leaving you in just your bra. He takes his time unclipping it, the anticipation killing you. When it finally falls away, he groans, "Fuck," before taking your breast into his mouth, his hand still working your clit.

You've never felt anything like this before. The pleasure is intense, almost too much, and you can feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge. You start to move your hips in sync with his thumb, your breaths coming in pants. He kisses down your stomach, his tongue tracing the waistband of your panties

And now that’s how you got here. Your first time, Is with Alden Fucking Parker.

***

“You’re so wet,” he murmured against your skin, his voice sending delicious vibrations through your core.

It’s like he had a PhD in the art of pleasuring a woman. His tongue, the perfect weapon, caressing your clit in just the right way. It was like he had a manual and studied it every night.

Everything about him was intoxicating—his scent, the way he groaned as he tasted you, the way his beard scraped your thighs as he worked.

He was the kind of man who could charm the panties off any woman and make her feel like the only one in the room. And here he was, doing just that to you.

But it was the way he looked at you that had me questioning everything. His eyes, a piercing blue, they were filled with a hunger that you’d never seen before. It was like he was starving for you, and you were his last meal.

But it wasn’t just the physical. It was his confidence, his command, his authority that had you wetter than the ocean. He knew what he wanted, and he wasn’t afraid to take it. It was a turn on like no other.

As his tongue continued to dance against your clit, your body began to tighten. The pressure building, your moans grew louder, your hands found their way into his hair, gripping tightly.

“Oh God, I’m going to come,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

He smirked against your skin, not missing a beat, his mouth working harder. And just like that, you shattered.

But what happens now? Would we pretend this never happened? was this the start of something? Or was it just a one-time thing?

Parker reaches to unbuckle his belt and looks down at your face, your thoughts must have been written boldly across it because he paused, "We can stop if it's too much," he whispered, reaching down and stroking my cheek gently. A gesture you had never experienced from a boyfriend before. His thumb wiped away a tear that had escaped your eye.

You nodded, giving him the go ahead.

He stood, the sound of his zipper echoing in the quiet room, and stepped out of his pants. He was already hard, and the sight of him took your breath away. He was everything you had ever imagined and more. You watched as he kicked his pants to the side and took his shirt off, revealing a chest that was peppered with the cutest hairs ever. He was perfection, and you were about to get to touch him.

He moved closer to you, and you could see the veins in his arms as he reached for you. His cock was thick and long, standing tall and proud against his stomach. The tip was already glistening with precum, and you felt your mouth water at the thought of taking him in. You bit your lip, your eyes never leaving his huge member.

He sat back down on the bed, his cock jutting out in front of him. "Do you want to?" he asked tentatively although his voice gruff and full of lust.

You nodded, eager to taste him. You leaned forward, your hand reaching out to wrap around his length. He was hot and hard in your hand, and you couldn't help but moan as you took him into your mouth. He tasted salty and musky, and it was everything you had ever dreamed of.

He groaned above you, his hand reaching down to stroke your hair as you bobbed your head up and down. His cock filled your mouth, and you could feel his pulse against your tongue. You sucked harder, feeling him swell even more.

"Are you sure you haven't done this before?" he breathed out, his eyes never leaving yours. "You're a natural."

You blushed at the praise, but didn't stop. You liked the feeling of his cock in your mouth, liked the way he reacted to you. You liked the power you had over him.

You reached up and cupped his balls, gently squeezing as you took him deeper. He bucked his hips, and you knew he was close. You could feel his orgasm building, and you wanted to be the one to make him come.

You sucked harder and he tensed. "I'm going to cum," he warned, and you nodded. Then, without warning, he pulled out of your mouth and stood up. "I want to be inside you when I come," he said, his voice a harsh whisper. "Do you want that?"

You nodded again, not trusting your voice. You had never wanted anything more in your life. He climbed onto the bed, his body covering yours. He kissed you hard, his tongue delving you’re your mouth, tasting himself on you. It was erotic and raw, and you were completely lost in the moment.

He positioned himself at your entrance, and you felt the tip of his cock pushing against you. He was so big, and you were so tight. You were a little scared, but mostly excited. This was it. You are going to lose your virginity to the most amazing man you had ever met.

"Ready?" he asked, his voice filled with concern.

You nodded, and he pushed in. It hurt at first, but then it felt... right. Like he was made to be inside you. You moaned into his mouth as he filled you completely, his cock stretching you open.

He began to move, his hips thrusting in and out gently. It felt so good, so much better than you could have ever imagined. And as he fucked you, you felt something building inside of you again. An orgasm, this time deeper and more intense than the one before.

You dug your nails into his back, your hips moving with his. He groaned, his movements growing faster and more erratic. "You're so tight," he murmured, his breath hot against your ear. "So fucking tight."

You could feel him getting closer, his cock pulsing inside of you. And then, with one final thrust, he came, his warmth filling me up. You followed right after, your body convulsing around him.

You lay there, panting and sweaty, for what felt like hours. He held you close, his arms wrapped around you tightly. "Are you okay?" he asked, his voice gentle.

You nodded, your cheek pressed against his chest. "More than okay," you murmured. "That was amazing."

He chuckled, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "It was," he agreed. "But we're not done yet."

You looked up at him, your eyes wide. "What do you mean?"

He smirked, "I mean, we're just getting started, baby."

@mandy426 @writeandsurvive

[lewkwoodnco]

"Slut!" - Lockwood x Reader

A/N: been having a lottt of thoughts about this song. it wasn't what I expected like for a lot of ppl but this is immediately my favourite?? like idk man those hints of her rep era beginning mixed with the emotional vulnerability of being in love mannn im going to be annoying abt this for a wholeee month. Reader is a Fittes agent, wc 5.4k!!

Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 3.5 | Ch 4 | Ch 5

On paper, her employers had always commended her for her drive for excellence. What was usually glossed over was how it arose from an unhealthy obsession with perfection, not that it mattered. And yet, glowing articles about successful cases were rare and far between. She had led as many successful cases as some of her male colleagues, but those headlines were seemingly too dull for her sex. After all, who wanted to read about a woman showing up the men in her field? So the tabloids started to play dirty, spinning convoluted rumoured love stories from any and every photo of her in the vicinity of a man.

She remembered how devastating the first article was. Instead of publishing one of the many photos of her standing with her team, there was a shadowed, grainy photograph of her talking to their supervisor. She tried to tell anyone who asked her that no, they weren't kissing, not that it would have mattered if it did, but no one seemed much interested in listening. The shame burnt into the side of her face like a scarlet letter. A slut.

Eventually, she decided to just keep everyone at arm's length. Maybe if she kept her head down long enough they'd run out of knives to throw at her. And for a good two years, it somewhat worked, or at least helped. But then she met Lockwood.

She didn't think much of him at first - if anything, she resented his suave, silver tongue and how the press went nuts for his charismatic smiles. He tried to dazzle her with one when they first met, and she nearly scoffed.

"Anthony Lockwood, Lockwood and Co. And you are...?"

"Disgusted."

She tried talking to Barnes, throwing in some less-than-complimentary opinions on Lockwood, but he just waved her off. Eventually, she came around, but only because he was undeniably skilled, and it would have been unprofessional to freeze him out forever.

She remembered the first time he made her smile. Their supervisor was having them sign their case report, so she wasn't even looking at him. He whispered some inane remark which caught her completely off-guard, but it was enough to make her damage the tip of the fountain pen as she choked on a laugh. Her supervisor looked unimpressed, grumbling about the pen, but Lockwood's face had taken on an animated spark.

"Oh, good. I was beginning to wonder if you knew how to smile."

The smile is a foreign feeling on her face. Lockwood gently takes the report from her and starts talking in smooth tones that flow right over her head. She shakes herself and tries to pull herself together, trying to soothe the nervous flutter of her heart. She can only bear catching glimpses of his words and she struggles to string together coherent responses.

But then she hears the vans pulling up. Vans filled with news agencies and their bulky cameras. She's paralysed by a flash of fear and she jumps apart from Lockwood as if burnt, tripping over her words as she forces out some lame excuse of needing to check on her team. Lockwood looks mildly concerned, but she pushes it to the back of her mind.

They meet again a week or two later. She's sitting outside a conference room, waiting for Barnes to finish a meeting, and she realises with a start that the man in the room she's facing is Lockwood. To be fair, she hadn't seen him in an indoor setting before, and he seemed nearly unrecognisable with his typically crisp shirt dusty and wrinkled, with his sleeves rolled up his forearms. She watches him laugh over something with one of his associates as they leave the room, and she drinks in the sight like a man starved. There is something so desperately appealing about the vitality in his face and jaunty movements.

As the smile fades, she recognises the exhaustion on his face; the kind that made her want to do nothing more than stumble home and crawl under the covers. But then he sees her, and he gives her a teasing smile that stokes her spirits. His associate gives her a tired wave and walks out.

"Waiting for me?"

She rolls her eyes and nods towards the conference room. "Waiting for Barnes. Going home?"

He jerks his head noncommittally before sitting down next to her. He looks oddly bare without his coat, and it feels almost too intimate to have him sitting this close to her. She sits up, alarmed.

"What, you need to see him too?"

"You look like you could use some company."

"Lockwood, it could be hours before he's done. Besides, you look like death. Go home, get some rest."

"Joke's on you, I always look like death."

She shakes her head but smiles despite herself. "You're incorrigible."

"Thank you."

They sit in silence for a while, long enough until her breathing evens out. She wonders if he's aware of the way his fingers drum restlessly on his thigh, or the ash coating the side of his face, or how both of those things make him utterly irresistible.

"How do you do it? Stay so young, I mean."

He considers his answer carefully. She takes in the sight of a Lockwood without a ready quip at the tip of his tongue. "I suppose it helps that I'm not singly obsessed with the dead, though it does get close sometimes. Who do you live with?"

"Oh, my family lives outside of London." Thank god. She couldn't imagine the looks on their faces if they heard half of what London's tabloids had to say about her.

"You live alone?"

"Yeah. But it's not so bad. There's a cat that wanders in the street below my flat at night." He doesn't look completely convinced, but he lets it slide.

"Really, I owe it all to my friends - oh, you'd love them. You should come over sometime."

"That's sweet of you."

"Our weekends are generally empty."

"Oh...I couldn't. I don't know where you live."

"35 Portland Row."

"Lockwood," she admonishes. "Don't you think this is something you should run by your friends first?"

"I've done worse."

"I'm practically a stranger."

"Then how else are we supposed to get to know you?"

Her mind tears her away from Lockwood's silhouette, to troubling piles of tabloids dragging her to filth. After months of them, she isn't sure where she ends and where the fabrication begins. She barely manages a whisper.

"I think you'd regret getting to know me."

She doesn't realise how tightly her fist is clenched until he brushes her wrist, and the tension flows out of her. His eyes are liquid and his touch is golden and she's paralysed with dizziness. In that moment, it was enough to be young and in love.

"Only one way to find out."

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

She takes him up on his invitation sooner than either of them expected. They had just finished a job at a house just a street over from Portland Row, and her team was walking with Lockwood & Co. on their way to the main street. She pauses as George fiddles with the frozen door while the rest of her team walk on, tiredly waving them good night. But just as she turns to leave, she slips on a patch of ice, falling into a pile of snow while Lockwood lunges for her.

"Dear god, you must be freezing. Come in and warm up."

"It's alright, I can catch a cab home-"

"Y/N, I am not above pushing you back into the snow."

Her laugh morphs into a violent shiver, just as Lucy walks over concernedly.

"Everything okay? Lockwood's not bullying you, is he?" She cracks a small smile, but Lockwood just impatiently ignores Lucy.

"Stay for breakfast. Spend the day. Lucy would love the company. Luce, tell her."

"It would be nice."

"I'm soaked through. I need a change of clothes."

"Lucy can get you a change of clothes. Luce, tell her."

"I can get you a change of clothes."

"I wouldn't want to be an imposition."

Lockwood inhales and turns to Lucy, who smacks the breath right out of him.

"I'm right here, Lockwood. Don't be ridiculous, Y/N, we'd love to have you over." Lucy exchanges a look with Lockwood, but it's so brief she wonders if she's imagined it, but it's just then that George forces the door open, and she gets jostled into their warm and dry home. Lucy helps her dry off and tosses her some clothes, including a spare oversized jumper, before bundling her and setting her down in front of the fire in the library.

It feels wonderfully cosy at first, and she only realises she's dozed off when she wakes up with a crick in her neck and beads of sweat on her forehead and neck. She pushes the blankets off her, sighing in relief as she starts to cool down. She hears the rustle of a page behind her and turns.

Lockwood is sitting in an armchair behind her, tie loosened and sleeves rolled up, a magazine on his lap. He smiles weakly at her, wincing as he rotates his neck. She was beginning to feel convinced that he ate, slept and worked in the same set of clothes. Her voice is gravelly with sleep.

"Still up?"

"Someone had to make sure you didn't roll into the fire. Besides, it hasn't been long."

She squints at the clock hung near the door. Unless the shadows were playing tricks on her, it was only a few hours from dawn. The glance he shared with Lucy earlier flashes in her mind, and she presses him about it.

"Say, you haven't told Lucy anything particularly saddening about me, have you?"

He waffles a bit. "I haven't said anything that isn't true."

"Lockwood."

"Fine...I might have mentioned how you live alone, and that you've only got a cold, dark home waiting for you. Alone."

"I didn't say that."

"So you're saying it's not true?"

She hesitates, and he quirks the corner of his mouth triumphantly. "It's no bother, Y/N. Lucy feels as bad about it as I do - George too. Just let us fuss over you for a while, I promise it'll soothe us."

She relents, but she's not happy about it. She watches him lazily flip through the pages with a becoming interest and decides that it's a nice change from the frantic energy running through him on cases. His eyes stay mostly fixed on the pages, but after a while the way he glances up occasionally makes her think his interest is waning. He looks at her strangely, and she unpleasantly realises that the jumper is likely his. She tugs at the hem, itching to take it off, but she isn't wearing a shirt underneath, so she settles for continuing to profusely apologise.

"I'm so sorry for burdening all of you-"

"Y/N, relax. As long as you're warm."

"Well...I'm awake now. And I won't stay too close to the fire. Aren't you going to sleep?"

"I'm a bit wired after the case. Might take a nap later in the day." He jerks his head towards the door. "My room's just down the hallway if you'd like to get some proper rest."

She flushes; talking about his bedroom while wearing his jumper feels too intimate to bear. "It's okay. I'd rather stay here with...you." She chews the inside of her cheek as soon as she says it, holding her breath as she gauges his reaction.

"That's a relief. I'd rather you be here anyway."

She doesn't understand how he says it so casually when she feels that she might run out of air. She tries to calm herself down, taking deep, long breaths. She could be normal if she tried hard enough. They spend the rest of the night like that, somehow never running out of topics to discuss. He tells her about Jessica. She tells her about her family. It's only as he gets up to get ready for breakfast that she asks him about the magazine in his lap. "What were you reading?"

Now it's his turn to look embarrassed. "Oh, er, I like to keep up with what's happening around town -"

"Is that...a tabloid?" She pulls out one of the magazines sticking out of the pile set to the side and blanches at the headline with a dramatically edited photograph of her. Shame burns the side of her face, and she wishes the floor would just open up and swallow her whole. She had stupidly assumed he hadn't heard of her before meeting her, but why shouldn't he have? The magazines beat her to making a first impression, just like they always have. Just like they always will.

"I can explain."

"No, no, it's fine." Was something wrong with her ears, or did her voice sound a bit too distant? "Lots of people read tabloids. It doesn't mean anything. Anyway, we should get ready for breakfast."

"Y/-"

"Lockwood. I mean it. Drop it." The cut-up look in his eyes is bad enough without an apology. What was he apologising for? For her being such For her being a laughingstock? He bows his head and shuffles out of the library. She stays there, frozen, sitting on the floor, until she hears George rattling about in the kitchen. She walks in, slightly disconcerted by the casual t-shirt Lockwood had changed into. So many of his hard edges and shadows in the the library seemed to soften into a more vulnerable outline that makes her regret snapping at him. She mumbles a greeting and George takes a long look at her. If he notices their matching eye bags, he doesn't comment on it, but while she's making tea, she hears a scuffle behind her and turns to see George standing next to Lockwood with the frying pan alarmingly close to his head.

"Eggs, Y/N?"

Lucy arrives soon after, and begins to spread jam on her toast despite George's aggrieved protests.

"Oh, Y/N, I hope you didn't spend all night on the hard floor. I didn't hear you come up to the attic."

"The attic?"

"Yeah, where the extra bed is." She brandishes her jelly-covered knife vaguely threateningly. "Lockwood told you about it, didn't he?"

The boy in question seems a bit too busy buttering his bread to look up. She mumbles an affirmative, but notices his reluctance to meet her eye for majority of breakfast. Still, she couldn't stay mad at him for long, and it didn't seem awfully polite to, either, not after he opened his home to her.

After breakfast, Lockwood left to scope out a potential client and George headed to the Archives for a bit of light reading, so she and Lucy spend the morning playing board games and watching crappy television while painting their nails. She hadn't felt so alive in months. After a few hours, Lucy suddenly remembers some paperwork she had to complete so while she's busy with that, she wanders around the stairs and hallways, reading every newspaper clipping and looking at every picture, eventually working her way down to the kitchen.

She hears a creak coming from the inside and looks in. Lockwood's returned from his excursion and he shrugs off his jacket, placing it on one of the kitchen chairs as she timidly steps in. He seems just as much at a loss for words as her. She tries to break the ice and, surprisingly, it works.

"Seems a bit full of yourself to litter the halls with your achievements." He gives her a small smile and she revels in the glimmer of success.

"Can't help that I'm especially gifted."

Emboldened, she takes a seat at the table as he pulls out an apple from the fruit bowl and a chopping board.

"Nasty business with the press, isn't it?"

She moodily fiddles with the thinking cloth. "Yeah, well. God forbid a woman be happy."

He looks at her like he's trying to figure her out. The attention makes her fidget nervously. They watch him slice the apple into halves, and then quarters, in silence. "Is that why you're so...highly strung on cases?"

"George tell you to talk to me?"

"Er, yes, but he didn't need to. I'm sorry about earlier, by the way. I have an uncanny ability of putting my foot in it."

"I'd never have guessed." She isn't even being sarcastic. She talks to the apple rather than him. "I hate it. They say all these...awful things about me. Not that I have to tell you." She blinks humourlessly. He sets down the knife.

"Y/N, if you think I believe a word those gossip rags have to say about you, I might be seriously overestimating your intelligence."

She swallows the lump in her throat. It's the nicest thing anyone has said to her in a long while. She never fully acknowledged it because that would mean admitting she cared, that she was weak. But she couldn't help it. She lived life forever looking over her shoulder, so wrapped up in what ifs that she could barely stomach what was, forever worrying that anyone would think it was true. Maybe it was true. Her self-perception contorts and convulses, until she feels strangely formless. But that was the beauty of the moment: hidden away in the dim light of the kitchen, with only Lockwood and God as her witness, she could be anything and everything.

Her hand trembles with repressed emotion. He steadies her by carefully covering it with his own.

And for one beautiful, transcendent moment, she thought she might love him.

She walks home in a pleasant haze, her senses enjoying the reprieve from their constant assault. She ambles by a florist, and she sees a rose. It reminds her of Lockwood. She buys the rose and takes it home, even though she knows she doesn't have a vase for it. Even after a day filled with the most fun she'd had in a while, a restlessness troubles her, making her feel feverish with some invisible affliction. She plucks the translucent petals one by one, holding them up to the setting sun streaming through her windows. She wonders what they would look like in his hair. She winces when one of the thorns break the skin of her thumb. She rubs the smear of blood onto her bottom lip. Looking up at the ceiling, her hair a mess, tangled with the rose petals strewn all over her wrinkled sheets, she realises what it means to be hopelessly and cluelessly lovesick.

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

She remembers the first time she cries in front of him. They were on a case at some billionaire's acres-large manor. She ducks under the tape cordoning off the area and freezes, seeing reporters unobtrusively yet steadily setting up their cameras. There had to be some sort of mistake, they're never here this early. Certainly not before they've even started the job. She feels her senses heighten and a faint buzzing teases her ears. She sees Lockwood glance at her and start walking towards her, and she all but flees in the other direction.

She stays a safe distance away from him until the rest of the agents arrive for their briefing. The billionaire's assistant hadn't arrived yet, so they were standing around one of the outdoor picnic tables in the front garden...right in front of the gathering sea of reporters. She tries her best to pay attention but there's a muffled quality to the discussion as she listens for shutter sounds, real or imagined. Her hands grow clammy and her breathing grows jagged as the ominous feeling in her stomach grows. Something very bad was going to happen and it was going to happen soon, she was sure of it.

As if in slow motion, she watches Lockwood reach across to pick up a file from the table beside her on the table, and she feels her panic reach a crescendo as she senses the ripple of excitement in the press. She flinches so badly before he completes the movement that he gets startled, backing away. The question dies on his lips as she walks away, clumsily adjusting her rapier to give her hands something to do. To stop herself from sobbing over the lenses in her peripheral vision.

The press are just as ruthless as they were the last time she made the mistake of not leaving the scene as soon as she had the chance. And still from the chorus of overlapping voices, one made her heart stop dead.

"Y/N L/N, what do you have to say for seducing London's most eligible bachelor?"

She looks around desperately, struggling against waves of despair that threatened to drag her down into the abyss. No one was safe, not even charismatic Lockwood, and it was all her fault for dragging him into her messy life. It wasn’t fair that news agencies chose her life to screw with. She loved him silly with bruised eyes and an aching liver, but she couldn't even look at him properly. She couldn't scrub the image of Lockwood's face from her mind. Hot shame spread from her spine up her neck, an unpleasant prickling sensation. She felt flayed and grotesque, a hundred different kinds of twisted and messed up. Promiscuous on paper, manic in reality, enraptured by what she could never have.

Lockwood finds her sitting on the patchy grass of the backyard, head resting against the wall with suspiciously red eyes. He thinks for a moment before sitting down next to her.

“Hey.”

She’s too busy holding back tears to respond. She despairs internally when she first hears his voice, wishing he didn't care enough about her to follow her. God, they were going to make her pay for this tomorrow. He speaks in a low, soothing voice, but there's an underlying disquiet that comforts her. She'd never have imagined him to feel rattled by the press like she did.

"It all happened so quick, even George didn't realise."

"Doesn't matter. They got what they wanted."

"We'll talk to the assistant as soon as she gets here. We'll refuse to work until they clear out."

She feels an overwhelming amount of relief, not just for his help, but just for him. Sitting here solidly, away from prying eyes, rumours and lies, he felt like a precious secret she wanted to keep. The relief doesn't last long until it gets poisoned into grief. She rasps out an apology.

"I'm sorry."

"What for?"

"Everything." She feels herself shutting down, unravelling at the seams. But then there's this warmth next to her and a solid, reassuring weight across her shoulders. She shakes with mostly silent sobs, not realising that she's crumpled his shirt from clenching it until later. She sniffles into his shirt like a child, and clings to him with the desperation of a drowning man.

He insists that she sits out for the case, and for once, she listens.

The next time they meet is a little bittersweet. She tells him she's being posted outside of London for a month. It's sobering news, even for him.

"A whole month. Well, it'll go by faster than you realise."

"I hope so."

"How're you feeling?"

"Nervous, I suppose." She was dreading it. She didn't know how she ever worked on a case before Lockwood. At first, she thought it was simply because he took attention from the press off her hands. But there was just something about his presence that made the tension coiled in her body unwind. She tries to keep her tone light, but something must have shown on her face because he sighs and throws an arm over her shoulder, steering her away from the crowd of agents, medics and reporters.

"Don't fret. You'll be fine, trust me. You'll have your teammates with you, Barnes is supervising and you know he can't stand the press, and I've yet to read a headline vicious enough to knock you down for good. You're stronger than you realise, you know." She nods glumly, dragging her feet along. She looks up when he pulls away slightly, frowning at her face. He rubs at the furrow in her brow and she feels her face heat up.

"I said to not fret. You have everything you need." That earns him a weak smile, and though he doesn't look entirely happy with it, he can see George looking around for him. She watches him walk back as he mouths 'one month' to her, trying to smile encouragingly. The sun has started to rise, and the dusk casts a soft purple glow on his hair. She mumbles her response to the wind.

"What if...all I need is you?"

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

The month drags by painfully, but it finally ends. She packs her bags and takes the first train to London, just in time to join Lockwood for a case after a bit of begging at Barnes' feet. The job is at another mansion, but somehow even more extravagant and sprawling than the last one. It's bathed in a soft bubblegum pink glow, spilling out into its lawns and hedges and fountains.

She watches him explaining something to one of her colleagues, making some light sketches on the report. He looks exactly the same if a little haggard, yet older somehow, and it tugs at her heart. She had heard that this was supposed to be the last of a particularly tedious string of connected cases, and it had clearly taken a toll on him. Her heart skips a beat at the boyish glow that washes over his features when he sees her.

"...and for the Limbless George was sa- you weren't supposed to be back till Sunday!"

She flushes, beaming excitedly. Part of her wants to hug him, but another part is too scared to, so she contends with her smile.

"We finished early, and I wore Barnes down eventually. Now, what's this about a Limbless?"

The case goes more than smoothly with the extra help of her and her team, and they end up finishing comfortably before midnight, though not without a few minor mishaps. She finds Lockwood with his sleeves and trousers rolled up, dangling his legs in the pool, scrubbing at his hands.

"Wet cement," he grunts as a greeting, looking peevishly at the not-so-clearly cordoned off patch of wet cement. "Ought to have told us. Someone could have gotten properly injured."

"Oh, who'd be silly enough to fall into that?"

"Let me rephrase that: Quill Kipps could have gotten properly injured."

She laughs, turning to add her own handprint next to his in the cement. She smiles coyly as she tenderly scrapes the residue of her palm. He leans in, then stops, sniffing curiously.

"Is that...smoke?"

"Had a bit of an incident with a salt bomb. Someone threw it in the wrong direction."

"Ah."

They're interrupted by a loud whoop from the other end of the pool. A couple of Fittes boys had broken into the liquor cabinet and were now the proud owners of three preciously high-end bottles of champagne. She tried to look at them reprovingly, but couldn't find it in her.

"Oh well. We'll put that down under property damage."

One of her teammates scurried over to clarify a discrepancy in her paperwork, and she leaves to sort it out. By the time she's back, Lockwood's tie is loosened and he's swaying along to some invisible music.

"Y/N! You've got to try some of this stuff, it's grrrreat!"

She shakes her head bemusedly. "Lockwood. How many glasses have you had?"

"Oh, just one." He blinks at the glass in his hand. "One and a half." He drags her in briefly, whispering into her ear. "Besides, what happened to being young?"

Her heart hammers as soon as she feels the tug on her wrist; she's never even touched him in public before. She scans the scene reflexively, but no one seems to have noticed. She supposed getting drunk and making ill-thought-out decisions was the youngest she could be, so she decided to have a little sip.

"Clink?"

"I don't think you're supposed to say it."

He makes a face, clearly more tipsy than he was letting on. "Whatever. I'm saying it."

Still, she humours him, and he looks at her with shameless adoration. Even while well on the way to getting drunk, there was an endearing tilt to his swagger and rosy cheeks that made his youth a delectable luxury. She takes a sip, then another, and then tries to drown herself in champagne, anything to distract her from the way he stole her breath, the fizz electric under her thrumming skin.

They return to where they were sitting earlier, watching some of the more boisterous agents splash into the pool. Someone manages to switch off the harsh floodlights overlooking the pool, washing everyone's outlines with a tangerine glow from the orange neon lights. They talk about their month apart, then catch the eye of the other in a way that makes them both look away, and the cycle repeats.

"I've missed you."

She can't tell which of them says it first, only that the yearning in her voice mirrored his. The look in his eyes scares her yet appeals to her daring all at once. He doesn't say anything, but he doesn't have to.

"We...I...couldn't. It'd go horribly wrong, and you'd hate me, or they'd double down and it'd blow up in your pretty face."

"I'll take my chances." He says it so casually that it stings.

"This isn't exactly bearable for me either, you know."

The background noise fades away, and suddenly speaking at normal volume is too loud. She whispers, as if he might not hear if she's soft enough. "You give me your bed and twist your neck dozing in an armchair. You stick up for me when I'm too weak to stick up for myself. You pull me in when I'm breaking down and hold my fractured pieces together. I can't help but love you." He follows her line of vision to the camera lens peeking through the wall of foliage, not as sneaky as it was trying to be.

"And if I didn't know any better, I'd say you were in love with me."

He inhales roughly, and she recognises his unsteady breathing.

"Are you...?" Lockwood's voice makes her tear her eyes away from the lens, and focus on his soft brown tired eyes.

"...Might as well. Right?" She tries to hide how badly she needs his acknowledgement. He searches for something in her eyes she's not sure exists. Her heart is in her mouth as he tenderly covers her hand, and suddenly she's sitting at the kitchen table at Portland Row again; unsure and raw and hoping against hope for a love like his. He strokes the back of her hand with him thumb, deep in thought, as if soothing her, or maybe telling her to stop, breathe and think about this horrible decision.

"They'll publish the most horrible things tomorrow."

"I thought that didn't matter."

"Not to me. But it does for you."

"It's worth it. You're worth it."

He closes his eyes, and she watches his eyes shift restlessly behind his eyelids, as if fighting a losing battle. "They'll give you hell for it."

She whispers into his mouth. "Damned if I do, damned if I don't. They're watching either way."

His lips twitch. Her eyes flutter close. She inhales the space between them, their noses softly bumping against each other as they tilt their heads.

Slut.

She leans into him and her lips part as he deepens the kiss. She feels the tangerine neon light burn into the expanse of her exposed skin from her neck to her shoulder.

Slut.

She feels a hand on her lower back as she wraps an arm around his neck, craning her neck upwards. The kiss is equally delicious and bruising, and she feels herself getting drunk on his touch.

Slut.

The pressure on her lips fade and he pulls away, giving her the choice to back out. In the span of a second he shifts from a hazy sunset to the deep aquamarine pool in front of them, and then she's leaning in and devouring him like they could never be close enough.

Slut.

Her mind holds the whisper like a promise.

[moonferry]

hello all. i was inspired by a line of dialogue harvey has when u marry him and decided to write a little drabble!

fic name: a doctor's worst nightmare

word count: 1459

pairing: harvey x gn!reader

warnings: hospitals, near death experiences, blasphemy, ooc swearing due to high stress/emotions

genre: angst. don't worry it has a happy ending!

characters: harvey, gn!farmer, abigail (briefly)

fic below the cut! i will also be posting this on ao3!

harvey hummed to himself as he continued to work on his newest model plane. he had been meticulously painting all the tiny details - all the way from the pilot in the cockpit to the silver detailing on the wheels - for the majority of the morning. he was so invested in his project he seemed to miss his spouse calling out that they would return later.

he finally finished his plane and set the delicate model onto a stand to dry. his stomach grumbled and he realized he had been much more invested in his project than he planned and he should probably have a quick snack. harvey trudged toward the farmhouse kitchen and was greeted by a small note which read: “i went to the mines with abby! i’ll be back by dinner, don't worry! love, farmer.”

harvey shook his head. leave it to his adventurous spouse to go into the mines, he thought. he did think it was quite odd that the farmer hadn't returned yet, though. didn’t they say ‘by dinner’? harvey glanced at the grandfather clock - which currently said 6:30 pm - and scratched his head.

before he could debate any further, a frantic knock came from outside. maybe the farmer is back? he thought as he went towards the door and opened it - peering outside. however, he was extremely surprised to see who was there.

“abigail? have you and the farmer finished your mining?” he asked, though he quickly noticed abigail looked much paler than usual.

“oh, harvey,” abigail spoke, her voice breaking in the middle of each syllable, “i'm so sorry.”

“hold on a second,” he paused, confusion washing over his face, “why are you apologizing? did something happen?”

abigail sniffled and harvey noticed that her eyes were bloodshot. she went quiet for a moment before replying, “it's the farmer. we need to go to the clinic right now.”

harvey felt as if the world was spinning around him. he clutched the mermaid pendant he had safely tucked inside his left shirt pocket - he always kept it there so the farmer would be as close to his heart as possible. his breathing went ragged and he had to lean against the door frame for support. of course something happens on the one day he doesn't go into the clinic.

he takes a second to compose himself and his breathing and then spoke with a calmness that felt almost alien, “let me get my things. i'll be right over.”

harvey had acquired an adrenaline-fueled almost super human speed as he grabbed his doctor’s bag and practically ran to the clinic.

his heart nearly sank when he saw the farmer: limp and spread haphazardly across the closest surface - which happened to be the floor. he was used to seeing the farmer with bruises, but never any this badly.

“help me get them into a bed. i need to properly examine them.” he instructed abigail. he didn't wait on a response before crouching down and lifting the farmer by their torso. the two placed the farmer securely onto the nearest hospital bed and harvey remembered the farmer’s note.

“abigail,” he started, turning towards the purple-haired girl, “what exactly happened when you two went into the mines?” he words came out almost accusatory, though he instantly regretted this when he saw the distress on abigail’s face.

abby sniffled again, rubbing her stinging eyes. “well, the farmer offered to help me with sword training..,” she began, speaking almost too softly for harvey to hear. “we started on the lower levels, of course, but i urged them that i was ready to take on a real monster… i.. i guess i wasn't. we encountered a really powerful one and it knocked my sword out of my hand-” she was interrupted by more tears and she recalled the events, “farmer jumped in to save me. they had almost defeated the creature when it exploded. they got caught in the middle of the explosion and got pinned under some rubble. we used all our strength to get them out and they told me to find you.”

abigail continued speaking through the tears - which were now streaming down her cheeks. her voice broke again, “oh, harvey. i'm so.. so sorry. it's all my fault. if only i had been stronger-”

“abigail, this is not your fault,” harvey reassured her. he glanced at his spouse, “if they hadn't been so damn heroic… no. this isn't their fault, either.” he was mainly talking to himself here.

he ran a hand through his hair with a sigh. “i think you should head home. leave this to me, alright? i’ll let you know if i have any updates.” abigail nodded and silently left the clinic.

harvey pulled up a chair and sat next to the hospital bead, his head resting against his palms and his elbows against the railing of the bed.

he sat there for a moment, listening to the heart monitor beeping steadily. he couldn't help but blame himself – if only he had been paying attention when the farmer left. maybe he could've convinced them to stay.

“oh, sweetheart,” harvey whispered, his hand moving to hold his spouse’s hand, “how could something like this happen?”

he had tried everything, yet the farmer’s condition didn't seem to be improving. harvey had spent weeks hunched over the hospital bed - his worry growing every second. he even neglected his own health, often forgetting meals because he didn't want to leave the farmer alone.

one day, something changed. the heart monitor continued to beep as usual before suddenly turning into one straight tone. the farmer was flatlining.

harvey felt his own heart constrict in his chest. the walls of the room felt as if they were closing in. this couldn't be happening. he couldn't lose them, especially after fighting so hard to keep them safe throughout their marriage.

“don't do this to me..,” he pleaded, tears welling up in his eyes. “yoba, you damn bastard! don't do this to me. don't take them away from me,” anger filled his voice and the tears began to stream down his cheeks. the salt burned his eyes, but he didn't seem to care. his calmness washed away. he was a nervous, upset wreck. this was his worst nightmare come true.

he laid his head down on the farmer’s chest - desperately listening and hoping for a heartbeat or the sound of breathing. for the longest time… nothing. not even the shallow in-and-out breaths that he’d grown accustomed to this week. he had almost given up hope before the faintest pulse came back.

harvey held his breath and waited for the pulse to grow stronger. at first nothing seemed to happen and harvey began to lose hope once again. then, harvey felt something press against the side of his face. he opened his eyes and saw the farmer had miraculously moved their hand and was currently cradling his face.

“oh, baby, you're okay,” harvey whispered with intense excitement and relief. he laid his own hand on top of the farmer’s and squeezed much harder than he meant to.

“harvey, you're going to break my fingers,” the farmer said in a matter-of-fact tone - as if they didn't just come back from the brink of death.

“don't ever scare me like that again!” harvey scolded, though he gently released the farmer’s hand. however, he quickly wrapped them in the biggest, bone-crushing hug ever.

the farmer chuckled at harvey’s smothering, though they winced and placed a hand against their still very bruised ribs.

harvey instantly noticed this and loosened his grip. he sat back down and more tears welled up in his eyes. the farmer placed their hand back on his cheek and wiped the tears away with their thumb.

“oh, harv, don't cry..”

“i’m just so happy you're okay. i was so worried the worst would happen.” he spoke, leaning his head into their palm. he closed his eyes and pressed a few kisses to their wrist.

this soft moment lasted for a few minutes before harvey pouted. “you are going to stay on bed rest, okay? no intense farm work and DEFINITELY no more exploring the mines for a while.” he scolded, though he was careful with his instructions.

“okay, doctor,” the farmer teased. they rested their forehead against harvey’s and closed their eyes.

“i'm serious, farmer.”

“i know, baby.”

“please be more careful. for my sake.”

“no promises,” the farmer joked, a wide smile spreading across their cheeks. they pressed a soft kiss against their husband’s lips - greeted by the familiar feeling of harvey’s mustache brushing against their upper lip.

“i knew you'd say that.” harvey shook his head. he brushed their hair behind their ear and gently kissed their forehead, “let’s get you home.”

[preciouslandmermaid]

🕸🕷 my heart is a hornet's nest 🕸🕷

Pairing: Insomniac Peter Parker/Spider-Man x Fem!Reader (code name: “Huntress” + she is Kraven’s daughter)

Rating: T

Summary:  It's been thirteen months since Kraven was killed by Venom. Despite everything, you're still in the city and helping a nerd - named Peter - in his garage try and save the world. It's hard to ascertain where your old life as a hunter ends and your new life begins. Somedays you can't even tell if you're moving forward or not. But, the pull you feel towards Peter is magnetic. And it's bound to end in catastrophe if you pursue him.

Even as part-time Spider-Man, Peter knows his relationships with others puts them at risk. He doesn’t want to throw you back into the carnage, into the fray, to the wolves you claim to be so comfortable around. He can't risk it. He can't risk you. And the long nights in his garage are really, really starting to wear at him.

Prompt: "Are you afraid of me?" / "Do I look afraid?"

tags: enemies to Lovers/enemies to friends to lovers, no use of y/n, secret identity, unresolved romantic tension, first kiss, light angst, slow burn, mutual pining !!

🕷🕷 ( read on ao3 ) 🕷🕷

Kraven snaps your name like a whip.

“You’ll oversee this one, huntress.” he says without looking away from the screen.

A mixture of pride and trepidation curdles beneath your skin. Kraven is trusting you, but he trusts plenty of his hunters. You lick your lips. The transfer of Martin Li. You promise Kraven that you’ll put the team together and leave before the hour.

No one questions Kraven’s decision. You don’t get special treatment purely because you’re his blood. In fact, if you look closely (which you won’t), you’d say that Kraven treats you worse than his other hunters. He expects—he demands – more of you.

There will be a target on your back when Kraven completes his hunt and finds a worthy enough predator to kill him. But that’s nothing new. You’ve had a target on your back since you were young enough to understand the way of the world; predator and prey, hunter and hunted, kill or be killed.

You lift your arm-- THUNK!—the throwing knife hits its bullseye.

“Huntress,” a hunter named Erik approached you, “you want five VTOLs?”

THUNK! This one is a little off-center and you blame Erik for distracting you. You exhale, balancing your weight, and lining up your shot. Erik is bold. Kraven named you the leader of Li’s abduction. He shouldn’t be asking questions. Your eyes narrow.

You pivot on your heel, fast as a viper’s strike, and flashing silver spins through the air. It’s beautiful.

Erik makes a strangled sound in the back of his throat.

Your throwing knife wobbles from where its pinned Erik’s hood to the wall. His eyes flick to the blade. He’s lucky you didn’t miss. Otherwise the blade would’ve sank into his throat or he would lack an ear for the mission ahead.

“That’s what I said,” you yank the knife from the wood, freeing him, “wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” Erik says, voice tight and clipped, and his eyes darken. You know he is loyal to Kraven, not you. If he managed to kill you – Kraven would be disappointed, but he wouldn’t mourn you. Nature is cruel and so is your father. You sheath your throwing knives while keeping one eye on the hunter.

Erik hasn’t left which means he could be planning his next move. You tense and wait for the inevitable blow. Come on, you think, try it. You’d be happy to fight off your frazzled, nervous energy. You should probably conserve your strength in case things with Martin Li go bad.

Erik nods, “huntress,” and leaves.

You roll your shoulders and return to the weapons cache. I’ll bring Martin Li to Kraven and he’ll have his wonderful fight. He’ll achieve his dream.

Nothing will go wrong. Nothing could. You’ve been planning this for months.

******

Peter wobbles to his feet, his head ringing. Whoever these guys are—they’re serious. The tech they’re using is insane. Invisible drones. Laser swords. What’s next? A few giant mecha-robots intent on crushing Harlem? He shouldn’t think about it – he doesn’t want to jinx it.

He stares into the face of the capable, dangerous stranger with smoke burning his nostrils and scalding his throat.

Dark soot clings to your clothes, your expression venomous and focused, furrowed and tight. The light frames you, bouncing off the east river in sparks, and refracting over the small throwing knives clutched between your knuckles. She’s fast, like really fast. Fast enough that he’s concerned you have a spider-sense of your own. Who the hell are these guys? Miles kicks a drone in mid-air and metal-on-metal crunches together like a compacted soda can.

Peter jumps before the blade can slice through him. It whistles through the air, hits and – literally bounces! -- off a metal pole. His lenses widen. He twists his body. His nerves ignite with impending danger, but he’s in the already dodging the first blade.

He’s Spider-Man.

He can’t stop physics.

Your second blade cuts through the air and burns when it cuts his shoulder. He lands on his feet, a sharp inhale drawn through his teeth, and resists the urge to check the injury. She can’t have that many knives on her!

Your lips quirk, “are you afraid of me?”

“Do I look afraid?”

“Hard to say,” you make a gesture around your face, “with the mask and all.”

“Where’s yours?” he propels through the air with his webs slung behind him, “I thought--” you deflect his punch, “most bad guys—” you stumble backward when he kicks your chest, but recover quickly, “want to keep their identities a secret.”

“I have no shame in who I am,” your leg swings over his head.

“So uhhh...who are you?” he quips. His palms land flat on the cold, metal surface and his spine curves, his body moving like a question mark, and avoiding the onslaught of your assault.

“Serious question!” he says a little louder this time while your silver knife dances through the light as it carves his webs into flimsy pieces.

A burst of green flares flash against the gray smoke. His heart flips. The raft jolts to the side. They’re going to drag the ship underwater! The heavy-duty spears punch through the metal as if it was made of tissue paper.

“We gotta get this ship free!”

Peter spares a final glance over his shoulder and you leap from the other side. Are you landing on another boat? A life raft? Are you going to swim away? He has no clue. He can’t spare any further brain cells on it though. He slides down the tilted raft toward the giant spears that function like fish-hooks into the industrial, military transport raft.

***

It’s been approximately thirteen months since Kraven met his end.

You’ve found that keeping count provides some strange, twisted comfort. You wake up, check your calendar, and strike another tally mark into the wall. It feels good to carve the line into the sheet-rock, little flecks of white catching on your thumb and falling like cremated remains onto the hardwood floor and clinging to your socks.

Sometimes you run into old hunters, vying for territory, and hoping to claim some scraps that Kraven left behind. Many, however, fled to Kraven’s homeland to play out the tragedy of a power vacuum and continue Kraven’s legacy.

None of them have impressed you. Not the ones that have sought you out, hoping to kill Kraven’s kin, and earn glory. And definitely not the ones who you’ve run into accidentally. Those are the worst. They’re cowards. They’re mice. You stumble upon them, trying to eat the crumbs off Kraven’s table, and your retribution is swift and bloody and a pain in the ass to clean up.

You wonder what Peter Parker would say if he knew. You pull your sweater over your head. Peter, the nerd running a research foundation out of his garage, happens to be your only...well, friend is the wrong word...but he’s your only something in this city.

You aren’t supposed to have ‘somethings’. Attachments, as Kraven would call them. Attachments made you weak. You thought it was hypocritical for your father preach this advice when he had a wife and multiple children. Not anymore though, you finish lacing up your boots, everyone’s dead now except for me.

The cassette clicks with a satisfying ‘CLUNK’ into the player and you slide your headphones over your ears. The player was a gift from Peter. No. Gift is the wrong word. It’s on a loan.

“What’s this?” You cradled the cassette player, “it looks ancient.” You twisted the sharp-grooved circles. They remind you of strange teeth. You click the play and pause button. It’s clunky. It’s right-angles and lackluster chrome and the buttons make noise.

It’s the antithesis of the technology you grew up with around Kraven.

You love it.

Peter rolls his chair over to you, “it’s not ancient. Maybe vintage. God, do we call it vintage?” he sounds so baffled that you almost smile, “you know, record players and vinyl are making a big comeback so it’s only a matter of time before Walkman do too.”

He doesn’t wait for you to respond, “do you want it?”

“Huh?”

“I’m not using it obviously.” He smiles, “I think I have a few cassettes lying around and there’s no shortage of music shops in Brooklyn.”

Your fingers tighten around the device. The wild part of you, the part that Kraven nurtured through violence and toxic loyalty, wants to throw the device on the ground. See how sturdy it is and compare it to the tactical, military-grade equipment you grew up with. How many pieces will it break into? A dozen?

You gaze into Peter’s earnest face. His eyes are warm, light mahogany. There are soft lines that kiss the corners of his eyes. You think when he is old, he will have many wrinkles around his eyes, and it takes a second longer than normal for your lungs to refill.

“I’ll borrow it,” you say, unable to accept his random kindness, “and return it before our work is done.”

“Great!” Peter coughs, rubbing the back of his neck, “I mean, that sounds good.”

The cassette clicks, whirring warm in your palm, and switching the song. The subway rushes past in a gust of tepid, moist air that smells both stale and greasy. You scan the crowd. The citizens range from individuals wearing jean jackets with sewn patches, to baggy street wear, to plastic bags on shoes, to gym athletics and smart watches.

Someone gets on the train wearing a camouflage parka. Your spine stiffens. Your fingers twitch to the weapons hidden inside your coat. Do I know your face? You shift your body and peer at the subway windows, allowing the ghostly transparent reflection to reveal the stranger’s face.

As you wait for the right angle, the right lighting, you consider your options. Tail them out of the train—could be a trap, but their numbers are never that high. Get close, press the blade to the artery in their thigh, let them see your face before you sink the blade in and leave on the next stop. The timing would be tricky, but not impossible. Not for you. Bail on Pete and spend the next several days tracking the stranger until you’ve found and confirmed their hideout. An ambush. Quick and silent.

The stranger coughs into their sleeve and your fingers fall away from your knife.

You’re glad Pete isn’t here. You’ve never traveled together and you likely never will. It’s safer that way. It keeps him out of your personal life.

“That’s the problem with attachments,” you mumble to yourself, “you start wondering what they might say if they knew you.”

*****

Pete rubs his eyes with his fists, “do you hear birds or is that just in my head?”

You don’t lift your head from the microscope, “it’s birds.”

He yawns. There have been plenty of late nights in his garage shared with you, but this one feels different.

Maybe it’s because of the mercurial light flickering along the planes of your face.

Maybe it’s the notes by your hands, the edges of your fingers smeared black from ink.

Maybe it’s the unplugged headphone wire dangling from your throat and brushing ever-so-often against your exposed collarbones.

Shit. He blinks, looking away. He can’t get mixed up. He’s grateful to you. You donated the notes first, but then pieces of Kraven’s equipment, and then...you came around more and more. You wanted to see what he was doing, wanted to see his progress, or ‘see how helpful your notes are.’ He likes it. He likes having you around.

But, even as part-time Spider-Man, Peter knows his relationships with others puts them at risk. He doesn’t want to risk you too. And it’s not because you can’t fight. To him, you’re finding your place outside of Kraven’s shadow and he doesn’t want to mess that up. He doesn’t want to throw you back into the carnage, into the fray, to the wolves you claim to be so comfortable around.

The sequences before him blur into gibberish. He peeks up through his hair back to you.

Your name is the first word out of his mouth, followed shortly by “you’re bleeding!”

“I tried to catch the sample,” your voice is laced with frustration, “I can’t believe I dropped it.”

“It’s fine,” he opens the first-aid kit that’s stowed beneath the desk, “let me see.”

***

You blink at Peter. Earnest, helpful, kind Peter. You cradle your hand to your chest. It stings, but you’ve faced hornets stronger than this. The tiny shards of glass bounce colorful reflections from the holiday lights strung around Peter’s garage. The wild voice tells you to dig the shards out with your nails.

The blood is starting to stain the hem of your sweater.

Peter doesn’t blink. He doesn’t flinch away. His offered hand holding the gauze doesn’t shake.

You swallow. Why isn’t he shying away from the woman made of shrapnel? Doesn’t he know you’re lethal?

“What?” his eyebrows lift, “are you afraid of me? Or is it medical care in general?” soft humor folds into his brown eyes, “I promise my co-pays are reasonable.”

His words shatter the stiffness of your muscles.

You say, “do I look afraid?” you extend your bloody hand to him.

His fingers curl lightly and gently around your wrist. He flushes the wounds with water before plucking the glass out with a pair of tweezers. His brow furrows in concentration. Your neck prickles and a tingling sensation travels down your spine.

You’ve seen his furrowed brow a hundred times. However, you’ve never experienced it as the subject. Peter holds an antiseptic wipe between his long fingers. His touch is unbearably gentle and you wish you had something to compare it to.

“This might hurt a bit,” the soft, low rumble of his voice is strangely intimate.

The words fall out of your mouth, “I’m used to it.”

“Are we going to unpack that?” He slides the wipe across your angry, throbbing skin.

“No,” your lips twitch, “unless you have a psychology degree I’m unaware of.”

You’re fascinated by the way his fingers move along yours, light and precise, carefully wiping away the blood and wrapping your hand in gauze.

He says, “maybe it’s time for a career change.”

You smile. “What career?”

Peter chuckles, “okay, I walked into that one.”

His eyes lift to yours and his jaw slackens, like he’s finally caught the creature stalking him in the woods, and his fingers twitch on your wrist. The charged moment hangs undisturbed in the air, sending signals through the ether and rearranging the flow of blood in your veins.

His cheeks flush rosy and sweet. The pink hue reminds you of that pivotal morning a few months ago when Spider-Man gave you a sunrise and Pete’s number and a hope for a different future. Your fingers curl into his. And the carefully wrapped gauze prevents you from feeling the warmth of his palm. The wild voice tells you to rip the bandages off and run home. Your knees bump into his.

There’s always so little distance between you.

It’s a small garage, after all.

You tilt forward and hear Pete’s sharp inhale. There isn’t a moment of hesitation. Not for you. You know when to strike, when to move, and when to hide. It’s been drilled into you since birth. Hesitation is a lack of courage, in confidence, and you’ve never lacked either of those.

Peter’s mouth collides with yours.

Your ever-present and paranoid guard slips and you close your eyes to savor it—savor him.

The pliant softness of his lips melds into yours and your exhale shudders between your lips. His hand slides from your throat and holds your cheek, his thumb pressed into your cheekbone, and your hip bumps into the side of his workbench when you stand.

Peter remains on the stool, his neck arched, and his lithe legs part for you to enter the space between them. The thrill illuminates your chest like a red flare against a black sky. His lips play against yours, eager and a little clumsy, and you clutch the front of his wrinkled cotton shirt.

He mumbles your name.

“Shh,” you nose skims along his, recapturing his lips, because you think words might ruin it. The hanging lights flash their merry little dance. There’s fragments of glass under your boots. Ink stains your fingers, blood stains your sweater, and Peter’s tongue stains your lips.

You’ve experienced blood lust. You’ve felt it pounding through your ears and sharpening your focus into razor-thin virulence. You’re familiar with the excitement of a good hunt, a worthy opponent, a well-matched fight. Spider-Man, you think, I’ve felt this with him. But those were mixed with violence, and blood, and bruises.

This – this moment with Peter – is wholly different. Your heart pumps the same blood, pushing it through arteries and valves, but your hands move to caress, to clutch, and stroke through the fine strands of his hair. Your lungs tremble, not in pain, but in elation. The passion rolls through you in waves of syrup and brushes your skin like branches of fir.

Peter’s phone buzzes – loud and incessant – and he groans before tearing his mouth from yours. His cheeks are ruddy, eyes bright, and his chest heaves with hungry gulps of air. You’re glad to know you aren’t the only one affected by the strong pull of – whatever this is – between you.

“Sorry, I’ve gotta--” he lifts the phone from the table, “hello?”

You watch Peter’s face while he talks on the phone. He’s too expressive. He’d make a terrible hunter. And probably a bad poker player, too. You want to kiss him again just for the hell of it. And feel the rise and fall of his chest beneath your palms, feel his breath mingling with yours, his tongue and the blunt force of his teeth.

“I have to go out, um, do you want to come with?” he tilts his chin toward the garage door, “we could – uh – get something to eat along the way?”

You hands twitch at your sides. Your coat, draped on the desk chair, is laden with hidden pockets for knives and darts and small vials of poison. An arsenal for protection, an arsenal for vengeance, the truth of your soul. A soul that Peter cannot – should not – bear witness to.

“Can’t.”

His expression deflates, but he recovers with an easy-going smile.

He shakes his head, “that’s cool,” and says, “another time then.”

You make a noncommittal sound.

***

You finish setting up the tripwire at your apartment door and wipe your palms on your sweatpants. The windowpanes glisten with raindrops, painting the empty corners dark blue, and blurring the myriad of ever-changing traffic lights.

You scratch beneath your ear, upsetting your headphones, and flop onto the couch. The cassette whirs like a little hamster running through its wheel as the song fills your head and blocks out the honking below. You’ve grown to like the city of noise, the city that never sleeps. It’s a concrete jungle. A unique hunting ground.

Tap, tap, tap --

You jerk upright and your head whirls to the noise. Spider-Man perches on the ledge of your window, his red and blue suit shiny and dripping. You cautiously close the distance and begin to disarm the trap before unlatching it. It creaks noisily as it slides open and old paint chips cling to the windowsill.

The cool wet air is tinged with the scent of exhaust fumes.

“Weird time to visit,” you say.

“I was in the neighborhood.” He slips through the window like a salmon and lands soundlessly on the hardwood floor.

You’re going to have to move. You don’t want Spider-Man keeping tabs on you.

“But this isn’t a social call,” he continues, “I need your help with something.”

You lift one eyebrow, “I’m not a mercenary,” then you add, “and even if I was, I doubt you could afford me.”

Spider-Man laughs. “It’s nothing like that!”

You fold your arms across your chest. Spider-Man gives you the vague details of a criminal that he’s had trouble tracking down, could use your expertise, and fighting skills, and so and so forth. It’s a good pitch, you’ll give him partial credit for effort, but you’re not interested in becoming a vigilante – or a hero.

“So, what do you say? We’ve teamed up before.”

Against the symbiote. But, your motivations were selfish. You weren’t helping Spider-Man or trying to save the city. You were weakening Venom.

“No thanks.”

“What?” His lenses widen, “seriously? After my whole speech and everything?”

“Try a power point next time.” You shrug, “I’m retired. No more fighting for me.”

Spider-Man glances around your apartment and there’s evidence of your hypocrisy across every surface. A case of black, tactical arrowheads sits on your coffee table. There’s several target posters hanging on the wall across from your couch with pockmarks embedded into the paper. There’s unfinished gadgets and an open toolbox on the floor near the kitchen where you like to eat breakfast and tinker.

“You’re a bad liar,” there’s a smile in his voice, “just this once, huntress, that’s all. For old times sake.”

You muster the energy to glare at him, but it lacks true heat. “You mean the old times when I was actively trying to kill you?”

Spider-Man shrugs languidly, “we all have bad days.”

That wildness, the hunter that lives inside you, under your skin and in the marrow of your bones is grinding its teeth and trashing into your ribs. It’s hard to determine where you begin and the hunter ends or if they’re destined to forever be intertwined.

You’re a wildcat, unable to be truly domesticated and all your attempts have been in vain.

But, then you remember the warmth of Peter’s lips, his gentle hands, and genuine laughter. You tell yourself, there is room for softness inside of me, for even tigers can purr.

You tell Spider-Man to wait while you get dressed.

“One time,” you hold up a finger, “that’s it.”

“One time.” he agrees with a nod.

Together, you rush into the monotone rain-soaked evening for your first hunt since Kraven’s death.

[musings-of-a-rose]

I'm having a Sparks and Benny thought here. Based on this pic. Both of them arrive at home from a Xmas party at Will's. Things got hot really quick.

Note this was supposed to be in your ask box. I messaged ya this thought. My bad! Holiday brain!

The Party

Pairing: Benny Miller x “Sparks” f!reader

Word Count: 1300+

Rating: Mature - 18+ ONLY!

Warnings: Just like ao3, “creator chooses not to use warnings.” If you click Keep Reading, that means you agree that you’re the age to handle mature themes. Also by clicking Keep Reading, you understand warnings may not be complete in order to avoid spoilers for the story. 

Notes: I miss the HELL out of these 2 so please continue to send in anything! Also I’m changing this up to a New Year’s Party because I couldn’t finish it in time for Christmas. And then I was even more late! Thank you for being so patient and waiting!! (This was not beta read)

**If you want to be added to the taglist, join here or let me know!

❤If you enjoy the fic, please consider giving me a warm beverage! (It is not required in any way!)

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**Reader is not described

Main Masterlist

Light Me Up Masterlist

Benny Miller Masterlist

“Did we really have to dress all fancy?” Benny whines, rolling his shoulders to shift the suit jacket a little. 

“It’s Will and Makayla’s first New Year’s living together and they wanted to be fancy,” I explain as I knock on the door to Will and Makayla’s place.

“I guess.”

“Plus, it’s my first as Mrs. Miller and I wanted to look pretty.”

Benny’s eyes soften as he looks me, the edges of his gaze darkening. “You’re always gorgeous, Mrs. Miller.” He grips my hips and pulls me to him, releasing one hand to tip my chin up, kissing me softly, the heat slowly warming.

“Get your own porch, asshole.” Will had opened the door and was standing there smirking. 

“You’re right. I’ll just take my wife home then,” Benny pulls me in the direction of his jeep. 

“Nice try. Makayla would kill me if you guys didn’t show up. Come on in.” He opens the door wide and motions for us to enter, fist bumping Benny as he walks past. 

Makayla had gone all out, everything sparkling in silver, gold, and black, like a modern day Gatsby party. People had already arrived and Benny steers me towards Frankie and Monica, Santi off in the corner making out with a girl, whom I shockingly recognize. 

“Is Santi with the same girl he brought to the bar a month ago?” I whisper to Frankie and Monica. 

She nods. “Yeah! I think this one is sticking around, surprisingly enough.”

We chat with them for a bit, Makayla flitting over for a few minutes before being whisked away on a champagne emergency. The music is going, some people getting up to dance. Will recruits Benny to help him with something in the kitchen, so I pull Monica onto the dance floor, whispering to her that we’re going to be menaces to our respective husbands. 

We start dancing to the upbeat song, hands on each others hips as we sway and move to the song, her spinning me around so my back is flush with her front. And that’s when I see him, Benny, emerging from the kitchen and freezing, his eyes on me as I dance. Judging by the light chuckle in my ear from Monica, I’m guessing she caught Frankie’s eye too.

“Wanna torture them some more, Sparks?” She says close to my ear.

“Hell yeah.”

I follow her lead, moving my body as she guides me, our hips moving in tandem as she pulls me closer to her. For good measure, I lift my arm, wrapping it around the back of her head, trying not to giggle when she squeezes just a little too much on my inner hips. And then the song ends, Monica and I laughing as she hugs me.

“That was way too much fun, Sparks.”

“Yeah it was. Did you see their-”

Suddenly, Monica was ripped from my grasp, Frankie’s hand firmly clamped around her upper arm, a smirk and a wink tossed my way from her as he steers her away through the group of people. 

“You think you’re so funny, don’t you?” Benny had snuck up behind me, his hands now on my hips, his nose nuzzling in my hair as he speaks low in my ear. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I was dancing, good sir.”

He chuckles and it makes goosebumps pop up down my arm. “Yeah. Dancing. Sure.” He  makes to pull me away, to find some secluded spot but then Will clanks a spoon on a glass and everyone turns, Benny groaning a little too loud so I elbow him softly in the ribs. 

Will puts his arm around Makayla next to him before speaking. “I just want to thank everyone for coming. We’re so excited to share our first New Year’s Eve with everyone we love and we’ve been working hard- ok. Makayla has been working hard. I just do what she says,” laughing flits around the group as Makayla playfully slaps his chest, leaving her hand on his toned pec. “But seriously. Thank you guys. Here’s to another great year!”

—----

The toast was had, the ball was dropped, the midnight kiss was a little too risque between you and Benny, Will not so covertly throwing an empty Solo cup at Benny’s head. 

“Ugh I’ve been dying to take these shoes off all night!” I groan, kicking my heels off and plopping down in one of our comfy chairs. 

“You looked hot though.”

“That’s the price of fashion. Pain.”

He chuckles as he removes his jacket, revealing that he wore a simple, plain black shirt underneath it, the fabric stretching and pulling as he tosses the jacket on the back of the couch and sits with a sigh. I look over at him, feeling warm watching his movements.

“Did..did you really wear a black t-shirt under your dress jacket?”

Benny looks down at his shirt, his eyebrows pulled together. “Should I not have?”

“No, no. I think it works.”

He brushes his chest and I almost come unglued. “Good.”

“Wanna see what’s under mine?”

His big blue eyes snap to mine. “Fuck yeah I do.”

I get up, standing in front of him as I pull my dress over my head, hearing his sharp intake of breath as I reveal his favorite lingerie set on me, complete with black garter belts.

“You…you had this on the whole time?”

I nod, moving to straddle him. He grips my hips, sliding his hands up to my ribs as he kisses my chest, his mustache tickling my skin causing me to chuckle. But then he grips me tight, standing abruptly and sets me in the chair, draping each of my legs over the arms of the chair. He kneels, his eyes dark and all-consuming as he stares between my legs. 

“Can you buy new underwear?”

“I think so.”

I barely get my reply out before he grips my panties, ripping the part that covers me, tucking the ripped ends up. His large hands squeeze my inner thighs and before I can say anything, his mouth is on me, warm and lapping, my legs trying to squeeze around him. He holds me open, his fingers digging deeper into my skin as I moan his name, electric sparks rolling over me as his tongue changes patterns. One of my hands grips the chair and the other moves to his hair, tugging hard and whining when his growl vibrates me. 

“Oh fuck! Ben, I -” The sounds he pulls from me are loud and grateful, Benny leaving his mouth on me to work me down. But I don’t have time to relax as he stands, pulling me up only to spin me, pushing my upper back down, the sound of a zipper loud in the quiet apartment. He drags himself through the wetness between my thighs before pushing and I slap the chair, trying to find something, anything to grip.

“Can’t believe you were wearing this the whole night and didn’t tell me,” Benny pants behind me, setting a rougher pace just hear the panted whines tumble from my lips. 

My hands scramble, still trying to find purchase as he presses harder, faster, but then he folds himself over me, engulfing me from behind, his large hands sliding down my arms, his fingers lacing with mine, holding my hands as he continues to push in further. I turn my head to the side, feeling myself hurtle towards the edge again as he brushes against that spot at the back of me. 

“Oh fuck, Benny! Please..please!” I come, tightening around him, his breaths panting out across my neck as he buries his face, turning his head slightly to bite my shoulder as he comes, his hips pushing in a few more times as he releases. His bite turns to kisses, nuzzling into my hair before he whispers.

“I love you, Sparks.”

I manage to finally catch my breath. “Don’t you mean Mrs. Miller?”

“Fuck!” He pulls out but stands, picking me up to throw me over his shoulder with a squeal as he stomps down the hallway, spending the next few hours showing me exactly what being called Mrs. Miller does to him.

—----

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