#yes I did suck my own thumb to figure out the logistics

[vixstarria]

A cut

Saw a post along the lines of Astarion running over to you in camp like a cat to a can of tuna the moment you accidentally cut yourself, and felt like writing a short little something. 

Would take place after you’ve let him feed on you, but before you’ve slept with him.  

Astarion x Tav, early Act 1, blood drinking 

Ever the night owls, you and Astarion were the last two still up by the campfire. He was reading some book he had picked up along the way, and you were sharpening your dagger. Just as he got up and was about to walk past you on the way to his tent, you cut your thumb on the blade. Not deep enough to need stitches or healing, but deep enough for an immediate rush of blood. 

“Ah! Son of a...” you winced.  

“How clumsy of you, dear. Shall I have a look?” you heard from Astarion, as he crouched down near you. 

“Oh what, you want some of this?” you cut to the chase, nodding at the bleeding wound. 

“...Do you want me to want it, darling? It would be rude of me to decline if you did,” he answered reaching out for your hand. You made a gesture as if to offer it to him, before stopping. 

“Wait. How do I know you don’t have rabies?” You jerked your hand back. “In fact, there’s no way your mouth is sanitary, who knows where you’ve been putting it.” 

“Oh please,” he rolled his eyes. “As if you weren’t about to stick it into your own filthy mouth.” His eyes returned to the thumb. “It’s about to start dripping everywhere.” 

“It is," you agreed. "And it would pain you to waste a single precious drop, wouldn’t it?” 

“You know, contrary to popular belief, vampires don’t lose their minds at the mere sight of blood.” He was getting annoyed. “Do you get excited and start salivating every time you see a potato?” 

“You’re right, I should just wipe it and bandage it up.” 

“Oh for hells’ sake, give it here,” he dropped his nonchalance, grabbing your hand and sticking your thumb into his mouth.  

You felt Astarion running his incisors along the flesh of your thumb to urge more blood out, followed by a feeling of his tongue running along the wound and a sensation of sucking. He looked so focused on his task that it was almost endearing. Thinking creature blood was still very new and utterly irresistible to him.

Then, as if suddenly coming to his senses, he glanced at you sheepishly, meeting your eyes, your thumb still in his mouth.  

You turned your hand so your index finger rested beneath Astarion’s chin, and withdrew your thumb from him, first slowly running it along his lower lip and leaving a subtle trail of blood, all while maintaining eye contact.  

“Well then,” you said softly. “You were heading to bed? I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

“...Yes,” he said, blinking. “...Right. Good night.” 

You smiled to yourself and returned to your tasks as he walked off without another word.  

[shoutogepi]

My Number One Hero

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𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 : 𝐓𝐨𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐨 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 : 4.6k

[ ✘ (𝐧𝐬𝐟𝐰!), ☀︎ ]  smut with a sweet, savory aftertaste

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 : dom!shouto, temperature play, edging, dirty talk, choking, begging, light degradation, cock/body worship, creampie

𝐛𝐢𝐨 : After months of careful planning and preparation, you finally get the chance to make your move on your favorite Pro Hero, Shouto. Upon learning you’re his biggest fan, he decides to give you the VIP experience by offering to accompany you to your hotel room for the night.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 : i said a smut, smut, smutty smut. smut smut smutitty smut. feels like it’s been a while since i’ve written porn without plot! i guess this has a little story, though, so it’s not just complete sin ;)

└───────── ⋆⋅✧⋅⋆ ─────────┘

  ─── ・°* ﾟ✧:* • ｡ﾟ:*･☽･*: ｡ﾟ•*:✧ ﾟ*°・ ───

🅂irens echo in the distance, faraway blaring interrupting the otherwise serene, chilly night. You can hear them through the open window as soon as you slip inside the room, having left it open hours ago when you made your way to the hotel bar; the very place that you would lay in wait for the target of your affection to arrive.

Lady Luck has smiled fortunately upon you tonight— it's all you could really ask for, at this point. You had done your research— you’d flown in for the Hero conference, booked your room in the same hotel that hosted the event, and even figured out his itinerary for the weekend. How you had managed to actually convince him to return to your room with you, you aren’t exactly sure, but you also don't really give a damn for logistics. Not when the telltale click of the lock turning sounds, and it’s just the two of you, finally alone.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Then he’s pressing your body into the back of the door. Strong hands seize your waist and thread into the hair at the base of your neck, pulling your head back so he can lean down and smother your lips with his. You let out a moan, receptive of his sudden onslaught of kisses. His tongue runs across your bottom lip before it parts the seam of your mouth, stroking yours in greeting. Your head is clouded with lust, everything about the man simply addictive. You’ve idolized him for so long, fantasized about him endlessly. And now that you’re given the chance, you’re going to absolutely worship him.

Before you know it, the kiss becomes frantic. His grip on you tightens, crushing your body between his powerful, slender frame and the solid wood of the door. A lean, muscled thigh splits your legs as he presses himself against you, like he’s desperate for every inch of your bodies to touch, to grind against each other. Your tongue tangles with his, your fingers coiled in his silky, dual-colored hair.

As he lets out a particularly throaty groan, your hips buck and your core brushes against the sinews of his sturdy quad, your head falling back to thump against the door while you moan out his name in response. “S-Shouto— mmph~”

His lips claim yours again, leaning down so he can force your mouths together harder as he flexes the muscle and rubs it between your legs a few more times before pulling back. You gasp as his hands unlatch from their rough grasp on you and instead grab onto the back of your thighs, long fingers curling into your plush flesh as he yanks you into the air. Your legs wrap around his waist automatically, your arms tightening around his neck and fingers fisting his hair roughly. You share a moan between kisses, mouths slotting to move in sync with one another as his feet begin to navigate toward the bed.

Somehow in the dark of your hotel room, he manages to stumble his way to his destination. The mattress creaks under your shared weight, your breath escaping you as your back hits the comforter, hair flying to fan out around your face. The moonlight illuminates his face, your heart rate picking up as you take in his strikingly handsome features. Without thinking, you reach out and run your fingertips along the edge of his jaw, eyes focused on the way your thumb catches over his lip. When you look back into his eyes, you find yourself pinned with his ardent gaze— the stray beams from the moon’s glow making his two-toned eyes look like galaxies with the sole intent to devour you whole. You can barely contain the wanton moan that dares to sound when he pulls the zip down the front of his hero suit, shrugging the material off and then tearing his undershirt over his head to reveal his chiseled torso to your wide, appreciative eyes. He allows a moment for your gaze to flit over every inch of shredded muscle, making sure you trace down his adonis belt and bite your lip before he speaks, confidence clear as day and ever-growing.

“Enjoying the view, my little fan?” Shouto rumbles, the hand that’s not supporting himself moving to tuck a stray hair behind your ear, then sliding down to rest threateningly on the column of your throat when you don’t respond.

You nod, unable to speak, tongue poking out to wet your lips as your hips wiggle underneath his narrow ones. Your legs are still locked around his waist, pulling his body flush against yours without any room for argument.  

He sighs and ducks his head into your neck, releasing his grip and allowing you to breathe as his lips start to plant wet kisses over the skin his fingers had just dug into. “As am I,” he groans when he rips your blouse open, the buttons flying from the seams and tinkling all across the hardwood floor. His eyes light up at the sight before him, not even acknowledging the intricate white brasserie that hides your tits from his gaze, eyes purely wandering across the swell of your cleavage and the soft skin of your stomach. It takes him a moment to realize your choice of undergarments, the white lace accented with a deep scarlet on the trim. He chuckles lowly, cocking a brow as a smirk lifts his lips. “Well you came prepared, didn’t you?”

“Just for you,” you manage to squeak out, still battling your shock that the Pro Hero is even here in your hotel room with you, let alone the fact that you can feel his hard cock pressing against your cunt through your clothes.

He ruts his hips experimentally against yours as a reward, savoring the whimper that slithers out of you and the way your legs squeeze around his waist, back arching off the bed. “That’s right, love,” the pet name sends shivers through your body, lashes fluttering against your cheekbones as you pant, “you did say you’re my number one fan, didn’t you?”

Your fingers dig into the sheets when he begins to kiss your neck again, warm lips trailing down to the tops of your breasts. “Yes,” you gasp, his teeth peeling the rim of your bra down, nose rubbing over the sensitive skin of your areola. “And you’re my— my number one h-hero, Shouto, ahh~” His hot tongue rolls over your nipple, taking the perked bud into his mouth and swirling it around playfully. The sensation makes your head spin, his hands coming to knead at your soft breasts. His thumb swipes back and forth across your other nipple, stimulating you further. Despite the generous attention he gives to your chest, your core itches for the delicious friction his hips provided again, trembling and leaking into your panties.

As if he’s reading your mind, he shuffles back onto his knees, making you feel small and prey-like under his sizzling stare while he tears your pants down your legs. You can feel his eyes taking in every inch of skin revealed, especially when he zeroes in on the wet line staining the middle of your panties, which match your bra and also sport his distinct red and white. Once the offensive material is rid of your body, he pauses as his eyes linger on your covered cunt, licking his lips. But then he gets off the bed, choosing to stand next to the edge of the mattress. “Get up, then,” he instructs, “Come show me I’m your number one with that pretty little mouth of yours.”

Your body is up and following his command within seconds, eager to please. Your knees hit the floor as you settle yourself so you’re hovering over his foot, face just a short distance from the part of him that’s entertained your late-night thoughts for months on end now. Tentatively, you place a kiss to the front of his pants, just underneath his belt buckle. Heat floods your cheeks when your lips touch the length of his hard cock through his clothing and it twitches in response, your hands drifting up the inside of his thighs on their own accord. Then they’re undoing his belt and zipper, restlessly tugging the cloth down his pale, solid thighs. You leave his pants at his knees, impatient to have him in your mouth already while you slide his briefs down to meet his pants.

Shouto chuckles darkly when his cock springs out of its confines, your expression revealing your shock and intimidation as you eye his impressive member. But lust dominates your hesitance almost immediately, your eyelids falling to half mast as you open your mouth and lick a long stripe along the underside of his cock, from balls to tip. His hand flies to your head, digits gripping your hair when you take the swollen, leaking head into your mouth.

Your tongue washes at the bitter pre-cum that’s pearled at his tip, sucking gently as you start to sink deeper onto his cock. If you could, you would smile at the choked sputter that Shouto makes. Settling yourself into position, your hips rock forward and your panties drag across the smooth rubber of the white boots he dons with his hero suit. You moan, his cock halfway lodged into your throat and vibrating with your noise of pleasure.

“Fuck,” Shouto moans, pulling you off his cock just to rub his wet cockhead across your lips. You open your mouth, tongue extending out to chase his heavy length and slip it back inside. He taps the tip against your outstretched tongue a few times, sliding the hard shaft up and down. “How’s it taste, baby? Does it taste like you’d imagined, hmm? You like having my cock in your mouth?”

You whine, just wanting to swallow him whole at this point, hips still gyrating back and forth to rub your slickening cunt against the top of his foot. “Tastes so good, my hero’s cock tastes so good, so big… please, lemme taste it, make you feel good.”

He bites his bottom lip, letting you take his cock back into your hot, wet mouth. He groans loudly when you ram his length deeper into your throat, nearly taking the whole thing into your mouth in one go. An elongated expletive hisses out of his mouth as he throws his head back, your head beginning to bob up and down his throbbing member. “There you go… just like that, love… that’s right, you look so pretty drooling for me.”

The fingers in your hair slacken their hold, allowing you to work his cock even faster, eagerness more apparent than ever. You’re sucking his dick with vigor, like your only goal in life is to make him cum down your throat. No matter how hard he tries not to show you how affected he is, he can’t help but let out the varied range of moans and sounds of bliss that your blowjob triggers.

Each noise makes your pussy twitch in your panties, the slow grinding against his footwear not doing much to satiate your growing hunger for the hero. Shouto clicks his tongue at the action, and although he tries to sound cool, his voice comes out heavy, affected. “Fuck, you’re even humping my boot, so desperate my little slut…”

His praise only makes you purr on his cock, sucking against his thickness with a smile. Just as you’re getting into a rhythm, Shouto pulls you back by the scalp abruptly, a string of split stretching to connect your lips to his thick cock. He only gives you a second before you’re in his arms again, and then you’re back on the bed, back flat against the comforter and legs peeled apart.

Your heart starts to beat faster, Shouto moving to sit between your legs. He’s naked now, white moonlight cast across his hips and making his erect cock glisten and catch your eye, your legs spreading wider in welcome of the sight. But he only laughs at you, shaking his head as his big palms come to coast up the backs of your legs. “Not yet, my little fan…” he murmurs, “gotta return the favor first.”

One hand wraps around your ankle and he closes his eyes, lips brushing along the front of your shin. Then he looks at you again, casting you a predatory gaze while his fingers creep up your thighs, eventually coming to tug at the soaked material of your panties. Once they’re off from around your ankles, he hums as he inspects the mess inside of them, thumbing over the wet patch whose existence is his complete fault.

“Seems only right for my number one fan to get this sloppy from merely sucking me off..” he comments while toying with your slick, eyes shooting over to yours momentarily. “Wonder how easy it would be to just slip my cock inside of you right now,” he continues, fingers resting on your thigh as his thumb parts your slit, calloused finger pad bumping over your clit and just barely dipping into your drenched hole. It makes you moan and shiver, and he smirks in response. “I think a real hero could get you just a little bit sloppier, though.”

You cry out when his mouth descends on you, warm tongue running up and down your slit. Your hips buck up but Shouto already expects that, his hands slamming them down before they can even lift off the sheets fully. Then he’s sucking at your clit, flicking his tongue against you, and finally diving into your cunt. His forearms cross over your hips as he pulls your hips into his arms, nesting himself between your legs so he can plunge his tongue deep inside of you.

He plays with you til you’re completely soaked, dripping for him and edged to the verge of cumming just from him fingering you one knuckle deep while his tongue flicks across your clit. “Shit, you’re wet for me,” he pants, breath ragged from going down on you for so long he’s starved himself of oxygen, “You fantasize about this or something?”

You give him a look. He only smirks and slides his fingers in deeper, all the way to the knuckles, rough finger pads rubbing along your gummy walls. “Yes,” you purr, pleased with the stimulation, “I only think of you when I touch myself, Shouto. You’re my hero, after all— the only one I want.”

He clicks his tongue and groans at that, leaning down to press a kiss onto your clit. “Just your hero?”

The sheets shuffle as you shake your head quickly, biting the inside of your cheek in anticipation. “M-My number one hero,” you correct yourself breathlessly.

Shouto hums. Then, his tongue dips into the pool of excess slick dripping around his knuckles, dragging the wetness across your bundle of nerves. He teases you and brings you back to the edge once more, this time much quicker than the last as his fingers dig into your insides, curling into you mercilessly. “Don’t even know if you deserve to have my cock in you, baby,” he sighs, eyeing how your hips tremble and follow his hand when he pulls it away. “You’re already about to cum from just this, huh?”

“No,” you deny, moving to unclasp your bra and fling it off to the side. Shouto eyes your naked chest, gaze directing to the jiggle of your soft tits as you gasp for air. “I’ll be so good, Shouto, please— whatever you want.”

He tilts his head, considering your offer. All the while, his slender fingers pump inside you, curving to press against your spongy walls and tickle someplace deep inside of you.

At his silence, you pipe up. Offer an olive branch, so to speak. “I won’t cum until you say so,” you promise, still panting from your latest, denied climax and desperate for more of his touch. “I won’t, just— you can’t touch my clit, please, otherwise I’m gonna— o-ooohh, fuck Shouto~”

He cuts you off by thrusting his fingers inside you knuckle-deep, reaching his long digits and scraping at your velvet insides with tidy fingernails. “You won’t cum,” he parrots amusedly at your determined indignation, “Mmm, baby… you shouldn’t make such promises so lightly… I think you’ve forgotten who exactly is here between your trembling legs.”

You whimper at his response, eyes shutting and nails tearing at the blanket beneath your straining body. “I won’t,” you repeat, sounding almost like you’re trying to convince yourself more than him. “I— I won’t cum, not til you let me, fuck, please Shouto. Need it— anything for your cock inside me, please. Pleaseee.”

“Hmm,” Shouto feigns thought, his digits still pressing into your pussy earnestly. The stimulation has you clenching on him, fluttering around him. But just like you say, you don’t cum on his fingers. Not even when he rocks his hand flush against your mound, long fingers reaching deep, deep inside you and making saccharine-sweet mewls pour from your lips. You take it like a champ, not allowing yourself to climax even when he begins to thrust his fingers rougher inside of you. He relishes your screams when he activates his quirk, digits becoming cold and contrasting against your heated, quivering walls.

“Aha— hnnggg, a-aHAaa Shouto! Oh my god!” You nearly cum when his hot tongue laps at your clit, his fingers still digging just as far into your soaking cunt. It feels so good that you don’t even admonish him for breaking the one rule you’d set; your brain too foggy from the building pleasure in your abdomen. The temperature is a stark contrast to the fingers squelching inside of you, sending you nearly straight off the edge he’s brought you to many times already. You’re much too close, but he wont stop, won’t give you a second to breathe. “Pleasepleasepleaseplease put it in, fuck, please fuck me Sho, please be my hero and stretch me with your fat hero cock, pleaseineeditsofuckingbadddd.”

Then everything stops. His hand retreats, as does his face, and you wail at the loss. You’re hurtling back to earth, feeling like you’re falling through the clouds and the atmosphere as the orgasm you were so close to experiencing fades away. But the bitter comedown only lasts for a second, because then Shouto’s tugging your hips down the sheets so the pink head of his cock presses flush against your dripping entrance. His hips jerk forward and you’re so wet that he enters you effortlessly.

A strangled groan rings the air in the hotel room, and you’re unsure if it was from you, him, or the both of you. His cock is hot and thick, filling your pussy to the brim and stretching you so deliciously. His length spears past the point of comfort, but the ache of penetration feels so terribly good that when you try to find your voice to complain, all that comes out is a long, erotic moan.

Shouto drops onto his elbows, trapping your open legs against the mattress as he begins to fuck you. He growls at the way your cunt suffocates his cock, squeezing and hugging him so well. Placing sloppy kisses on your throat, his thrusts begin to pick up. “Gonna fuck you stupid, love,” he swears as his hot breath fans your neck glistening with his saliva. “Fuck you so good that I’m the only one who can satisfy you— make you mine, my little fan.”

Your reply is a babbling of yeses strung together, eyes rolled back and legs pulling his hips as close to yours as they can. His promise sounds so good, his cock feels even better, and your pussy tightens around him— he’s bringing you to the edge yet again.

He can feel your impending climax, and it only stokes the flames of his ego. He smiles down at your fucked-out expression, but it turns out as more of a snarl. It doesn’t matter— you’re not even looking at him, trying your hardest not to cum right then and there from his ruthless assault on your g-spot. Moving his weight to one arm, he reaches down and starts to rub your clit, taking your nipple between his teeth at the same time and ravishing it with his quirk-cooled tongue.

“That’s cheating!” you sob but it turns into a moan, fingers clenching around his bicep in warning, your body thrumming with waves of building pleasure. Your pussy’s clenching onto him, trying to suck him back inside and milk him for all his worth, your mind too clouded with lust to really do anything in retaliation.

“But you seem to like it when I break your rules,” Shouto replies cooly as he lets your chilled nipple fall from his mouth, continuing to thrust into you, and having the gall to stare daggers directly into your crumbling glare. Each slick, powerful slap of your fronts coming together has your legs wrapping around him, your toes curling in preparation, heels digging into his firm behind. He can tell you’re teetering on the edge— honestly he's surprised you even managed to last this long.

There are tears of pleasure dotting along your lashes. Your hips are widening with every crash of Shouto’s hips against them, your body arching to welcome the ripples of pleasure each rough push against your g-spot produces. Then his fingers pull away from your clit again without warning, and you whine at the loss, orgasm stunted and sliding toward the drain.

“I do,” you gasp, hips jumping to chase his receding ones, and slamming his long length balls-deep inside of you. Shouto groans, pauses, and then grinds his hips and stirs his cock inside of you, teeth seizing his bottom lip hostage and eyes glinting down at you, daring you to say it. You’re so fucking close to just creaming all over his cock that you’re desperate, you don’t care if that’s how you come off in this moment. You need to cum. “I like it— Fuck, I love it, please— please be my hero, Shouto. Please, want you to fuck me and let me milk all the cum out your big hero cock please, I need it, Shouto— pleaseeee, ple—aHHA!”

Shouto savors the way you cry out when he pins the backs of your knees into the comforter, pulling himself up to sheathe his cock inside of you completely, then flattening you with his torso and crushing your hips with his. It’s so deep that it hurts, but the burn of your walls stretching around him makes tremors flutter through your pussy. You look at him through barely-open eyes, arms thrown up and hands digging into the blanket as you share a look of mutual understanding.

You’re absolutely done for.

One. Two. Three strokes of his fat cock inside of you and your cunt is throbbing around him, velvet walls hugging tight as your body shivers in euphoria. Shouto moans as you squeeze him ruthlessly, your body begging for his seed. You’re having an out-of-body experience, writhing with mind-numbing, brain melting ecstasy as Shouto manages to slip out of you partly, then shoves himself back into your soaking pussy just as deep. He swears as your body presses against him as close as possible, your hips hooking to nestle his cock deep inside your pulsing cunt. As if you’re not breathless enough, his rough fingers come to latch around your throat, squeezing the sides so you’re almost choking. Then he’s drilling into you without restraint, fucking you so hard you can feel your ass making an indent in the cheap hotel mattress. It’s everything you’ve dreamed of and more.

“Fuck, should I cum in my number one fan’s tight little cunt?” he taunts, watching how the desperation in your teary eyes shines brightly. “Would you like that, cutie? Want me to fill your slutty little hole with my seed, hmm?” Sweat runs down his chest and gleams in the moonlight, the crevices between his sculpted muscles shining as he exerts himself. “A-Agh— Bet you’d like your hero’s cum inside of you, huh? Dripping… fuck— dripping into you and filling you up nice and good, yeah?”

You nod wildly, jaw unhinged but unable to speak, his hand on your throat still just as tight. Your orgasm is just starting to fade, overstimulated tears glittering down the sides of your face. Shouto’s broken pants transform into a crescendo of moans, his hips slapping the backs of your thighs harsher than ever as he chases his own release. You whimper when a wild, savage growl tears out of his chest, movements stalling as his cock twitches balls-deep inside you, sticky ribbons of white spurting and volcanoing out of him. His hulking biceps pull your chest flush against his heaving one, the hand around your throat sliding to hold the back of your neck up so he can kiss you deeply through the throes of his orgasm.

Your tongues caress each other slowly, passion peaking as he holds you in his arms like you’re a delicate, glass figurine about to shatter under his weight. He’s panting, chest rising and falling swiftly in between kisses. When you’re satisfied with his affection, he lays your body down onto the comforter, removing himself from you with gentle precision. Then he comes to lay beside you, pulling you close so that your head lays on his broad chest.

“Thank you for playing along, baby,” Shouto whispers, scattering kisses across your warm cheeks. “You did so well, my love. That was a thousand times better than I ever imagined.”

You laugh wearily, hand coming up to trace his sharp jawline with your thumb. He leans into your caress, a hand covering the back of yours and squeezing gently. “My pleasure,” you respond cheekily, closing your eyes and attempting to calm your racing heart. “You were kinda hot, though— all dominant like that. You’ve got a surprisingly dirty mouth, mister.”

“Really?” he hums, seemingly pleased with your praise. “I thought you were the hot one, begging for your hero’s cock like that all cute and desperate.” He nuzzles his nose against yours, laughing lightly.

You smile and press a chaste kiss to his lips. “Mmm, well you are my hero, Sho. My number one hero… always.”

Shouto sighs happily at your confession, a shy smile spreading on his lips. “Aw, baby… now I’m hard again.”

That earns him a smack in the chest as you giggle at his revelation. Curious, you glance down at his cock, and sure enough, there’s a telltale shadow standing upright in between his hips.

“I wouldn’t mind a round two,” you suggest, turning to wink at him.

“Ready for some good ‘ole married people sex, then, love?” he suggests, a brow raising as his hand glides over your propped-up hip.

“So ready, my sexual-deviant husband.”

“Good, my naughty little wife. This time, you can call me the usual, then.”

You bite your lip, batting your lashes and looking up at him with a glint in your eye. “Yes, Sir.”

  ─── ・°* ﾟ✧:* • ｡ﾟ:*･☽･*: ｡ﾟ•*:✧ ﾟ*°・ ───

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make sure to let me know if you enjoyed!! thank you sm for reading my sho-hoes hehehe :) <3

➥ masterlist

𝐂𝐨𝐩𝐲𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 © 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐩𝐢 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟎. 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝.

[fics-not-tragedies]

Reckless Serenade [4]

It’s been 84 years... but a new chapter is up! It’s still @cyberpvnkss‘ request and I hope it was worth the wait 👀

Words: 1876; Warnings: angst & smut; Summary: After you spotted a picture of your father Santino tries to explain what kind of relationship they had and what kind of ‘business’ they got involved into.

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“You… you knew my father?” The words echoed in your brain and you gripped the edge of the table, afraid you’ll fall down in any moment. Your head was spinning, your heart was pounding and all you wanted now was some sort of explanation, the mood for steamy sex was long gone now.

When Santino remained silent you turned around and walked closer to him, almost shoving the picture into his face while pointing to your father, “You knew him?!”

He just sighed, his hand grabbing the picture frame and setting it aside on the bedside table, “Yes, bella, I knew your father” Santino spoke calmly, “we were… business partners, flew together on a various trips. He was one of my closest friends, the one from quite few I could trust, I was devastated when I heard that he died” he sucked in a sharp breath, his hands coming down to your arms, soft fingers squeezing them gently, “I couldn’t attend his funeral because of… let’s call it logistical issues.”

“Did you know I was his daughter when we started talking at your club?” You were shaking, your voice was too loud and it seemed like you couldn’t control it now, the words were coming out of your mouth without the presence of your consciousness.

“No, bella, I had no idea… The last time I saw you… you were just a little child. But now I see that this child grew into a beautiful woman.”

“You only saying that because I’m standing right in front of you fucking naked.”

“You’re not naked, yet. Bella your panties are still on your body and I wish they weren’t…” his hands slid down your arms and onto your sides, but you pushed them away and took few steps back looking up at his face with eyes full of tears.

His eyes are locked with yours and you become aware of how desperate he is in his tryings to play it all cool. Like the sight of you standing right in front of him hasn’t even bothered him.

But he’s not trying enough.

“I know how much you loved him and how much he loved you…” and you noticed the little crack in his voice when his gaze stumbled across your figure again, his hungry eyes trying to figure out what you’re thinking, “Every time we were out on a business trip he was talking about you… about his little principessa that he had to leave at home. You were his first thought in the morning and his last in the evening. He couldn’t shut up about you… I’m sorry for your loss, bella, I’ve lost many people in the past, yet I don’t know how it is to lose someone you truly loved.”

Those tiny wrinkles around his eyes when he squinted them not believing that the woman who he was kissing just few moments before was the child that crawled into his lap demanding sweets many years ago.

“Don’t you ever loved someone, Santino? Doesn’t your father loves you? You’re lucky, you still have him.”

“No…” he breathed, sitting on the edge of his bed, “My father loves me, because I’m his son, it’s not the same kind of love your father had for you… Honestly I-... cazzo… I wish my father was dead, I could finally run everything the way I want to, not the way ‘it should be’.  Rules are the enemy of the progress, bella. Your father was thinking the same, that way he got killed.”

“Wait… what? Everyone was saying that it was a road accident! What are you saying…” You took a deep breath still trembling, your chest became heavy, it felt like your whole body was about to collapse in few seconds.

“The closed coffin… hanno dovuto chiuderlo, your father was murdered bella, the bullet was still in his head when they buried him.”

“How do you know this? How do you know all of the details? We were told that he was in a car accident, a drunken driver pushed his car out of the lane and he hit a tree, that’s why he was dead, not because he was murdered! How can someone who works in a company that sells computer parts get murdered?”

“Your father told you we were in a IT industry? Stronzetto in gamba… we’re not selling computer parts, bella, that’s all I can tell you. I already said too much, I don’t want you to be in danger.”

“You’re putting me in danger when you’re not telling me everything…” Santino laughed at your words slowly standing up.

You look into his eyes only to see that they were watery and slightly red just like your own were.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t come here. I’m such an idiot. I really shouldn’t-...” he cut you off by pressing his lips to yours.

Stunned by his gesture you want to escape from his embrace at first. The warmth of his body, his hands on your back, smell of his cologne mixed with his sweat, how his lips taste like tobacco and old whisky, the way he kisses you like a long lost lover… all of those tiny bits blended together made you melt.

His arms wrapped around you as you stepped closer to him, pressed your body up tightly against his and kissed you determinedly, his hand cupping the side of your face to make sure you weren’t going anywhere.

He’d ignited a spark in you now and you wanted more, letting your hand run down his chest, clutching his shirt to keep him close, biting down teasingly on his bottom lip, giggling when he let out a soft whimper, only pressed up closer to you, his lips parting and you slipped your tongue past them to move it slowly with his, it didn’t take much to for him to give up his dominance.

“The perfume you’re wearing…” he breathed against your mouth, “It was a gift from me… every time we flew to Italy, me and your father, I bought them for you… because bella, you only deserve the best in your life.”

His hand moved up your side slowly, palming your breast, groaning into the kiss when you tugged on his hair again, leaning your body up into the touch of his hand but he pressed up closer against you, the wall digging into your back and you whined softly when his hips began grinding into yours and you could feel the hardness restrained by his tight suit pants, pulsing too close to where that need had started forming between your legs.

You drew back from the kiss, panting and dragging his head back slightly with his hair twirled around your fingers, making him whimper as his eyes fluttered open and he looked back at you with something else in his eyes that you hadn’t seen before, less was it confidence than need, lust…

“Mmm, do you like this?” You whispered, pushing your hips forward now to grind against him.

Santino nodded eagerly, pressing his forehead against yours and keeping you backed up against the bedroom wall while his hand was slipping beneath your dress, making you whimper when he nudged your legs apart, your knees growing weak instantly when he felt your wet folds through the fabric of your underwear, fingertips brushing up against the damp material and you pushed your hips forward again, trying to lean forward to capture his lips in a kiss but he held you just the way he wanted, forehead against forehead so he could watch your face as he pushed your underwear aside and you moaned loudly when his fingers came in direct contact with your skin, trying to buck into his touch again.

“Is this what you wanted?” He asked, and you wondered where the confidence had come from, how he’d switched from being so reserved, trying so hard to hold himself back, torturing himself to this, having snapped out of it and taking complete control of you now.

You gripped onto his shoulder, trying to steady yourself when his thumb came in contact with your clit, just brushing up once, just into the right spot that made you cry out, “P-Please…”

“Oh, bella... I know” he coaxed, feeling how your fingers were digging into his back, “I know you like that.”

“S-Santino...” You moaned feeling the heat consume your body, the waves of pleasure washing  all over your body. He slid his two fingers inside you and another moan escaped your lips.

“I like the way you moan my name, principessa…” he purred into your ear, curling his fingers inside you. Cursing loudly you gripped his wrist and started to fuck yourself on his long fingers. 

You ran your fingers through his hair, gently tugging at it, making him moan softly into your mouth, sending shivers up your spine and tingles down between your legs. Slipping your hands into the sleeves of his jacket you made him shrug it off, leaning closer to you as you began to unbutton his silky black vest.

“Those are gonna be dirty…” you mumbled against his lips when he dropped his vest down on the ground with his jacket.

“You’re dirty, bella�� he chuckled, biting your bottom lip playfully, “Fucking yourself on my fingers like that… only naughty girls do it…”

“Fuck…” you whispered.

He chuckled with satisfaction, beginning to pick up a slow pace with his fingers while his kisses trailed down your neck, stopping here and there over the delicate your collarbone before he pushed your bra down to press soft kisses to your breasts, twirling one of your nipples between his fingers while his lips sucked lightly on the other, his fingers buried inside you all the while, making you a moaning mess underneath him, “Does this feel good?” He asked, lifting his head lightly to look up at you.  

You nodded eagerly, your eyes tightly shut as you threw your head back, “S-So good … fuck…” your hand flew to the back of his head, your fingers twirling his soft locks around them as your sucked in another breath, humming when his thumb pressed down on you, adding to the pleasure, “Don’t … don’t stop…” you whispered, lightly tugging on his hair.

“Forse volete qualcosa di più grande, bella… ho davvero voglia di scoparti…” Santino rasped into your ear, his mother tongue making your knees become even weaker and you were glad that his other arm was carefully wrapped around your middle, pushing your body against him.

“I have no fucking idea what you just said, but I’ll agree to anything if you keep talking to me in Italian” you mumbled, letting him guide you towards his large bed, before you both sank down onto the soft mattress.

“I’ve said that I really want to fuck you, bella… may I do it?” He asked politely, his fingers pumping faster in and out of you.

“Y-yes… p-please Santi… p-please fuck me” you purred.

“Who’s the kitten now?” He asked playfully removing his hand from between your thighs. You were about to protest when he moved down on the bed, his lips kissing down your belly, “Before I fuck you, bella, I have to make sure you’re bagnata a dovere.”

[summer-jay]

Forfeit (Tommy/Alfie fic)

Ao3 Link

Summary: “What do you want, Alfie?”

The only reason Alfie glances at Tommy’s mouth that moment is because he brings the cigarette up again and wraps his lips around it, hollowing his cheeks as he takes the final deep drag. He probably lingers a second too long, because Tommy’s eyes snap down momentarily, and when they land on Alfie again, it’s a completely different expression Tommy’s wearing.

In which Tommy has to deal with his men's fuck-up and discovers many things about himself in the process. At some point, Alfie thinks it's about bloody time.

Rating: Explicit

A/N: For some reason, I’m really struggling with this one, but all the rewriting seems to be paying off. First chapter’s finally up!

Chapter 1: Speak (3028 words)

The warehouse is in fucking shambles.

It’s charred from ground to ceiling—what’s left of it, at least—oozing the sickly concoction of foam, water and ash from every crack. Nasty fucking view to have, this early in the morning. On the far side, the roof was blown to shreds, and the newly formed gaping hole lets the bleak London sun illuminate the space with sinister greyness and spiky shadows of the jagged remnants of the carcass. It could be almost nice, this exterior. Spiritual and apocalyptic in a way. But now the damp blackened wood sucks any redeeming qualities right out of the building and leaves it cold, dead and hopeless.

Alfie takes one last look at it and grimaces, getting in the car.

“Back to the office, boss?” Ishmael asks, to which Alfie responds with a little more repetition and emphasis than strictly necessary.

He actually preferred the sight when it was all jolly and alight mere hours ago. There was a serene pocket of time then, while the firemen worked to preserve the area around more than the warehouse itself, since Alfie could do nothing but observe the chaotic nature of the world make yet another demonstration. He didn’t know a thing back then. But he does now. And it leaves the same taste in his mouth as the stale scent of rotting wood and smoke.

It’s barely past seven when he instructs Ollie to make the call. Tommy must’ve been up and about for some time now, because he picks up immediately, and Alfie tries his hardest not to get any more pissed off at the whole situation than he already is. He’ll have to fucking deal with it now then. Fucking brilliant.

“He said he’s on his way,” Ollie appears in the door, and Alfie tears his eyes away from the record book that he isn’t reading.

“Hm. Alright then. Go kick those brainless fuckers back into our world in an hour. Ollie-” he calls when Ollie starts to turn “-leave ‘em intact for now, yeah? And tell David whatever I see on them, before Tommy Shelby arrives, yeah, I paint right back on his fucking face. With my own hands.”

Ollie furrows his brow but nods. Smart lad when he wants to be.

The door closes, and Alfie throws the record book on the table and falls back on the chair, stroking his beard absently and watching the sun rise higher and higher in the small window. Wrong day in every fucking regard, except, it shouldn’t be. Some months ago, he would’ve sunk his teeth into such a glaring opportunity to squeeze something more out of Tommy, just to see how far he could bend him without breaking. It’s a goddamn mystery why things have changed, although Alfie’s not quite delusional enough to claim he doesn’t know what exactly has changed.

He decides to wait and see. There have not been many fuck-ups on Tommy’s part in the past—none, in fact—and it makes him curious, despite the simmering irritation, to see what Tommy will offer.

                                                         . . .

For all Alfie’s tendencies to run his mouth like hell, he’s quite good at giving instructions, and, even more importantly, he’s competent enough to get them obeyed. He reaps the fruits of this ability now, when Tommy strolls into his office, fuming with irritation and knowing absolutely bloody nothing.

“So. Where’s the fucking fire?” Tommy asks as a way of greeting, letting the frustration into his voice, and it’s not that he can’t keep it locked away—he chooses to let Alfie see exactly where the fault with such scandalous disruptions of his morning routine lies.

Yes, that was definitely the right call to forbid Ollie to tell him anything over the phone.

Alfie looks up from the document he’s been staring at, taking in the sight.

Despite the pointed lack of urgency in his movements and the spilling annoyance, Tommy came. He’s sitting in Alfie’s chair now, guarded and so utterly stripped of control it sends a rush down Alfie’s spine. It suits him, this vulnerability. Makes him all sharp and volatile, and Alfie couldn’t deny himself this even if he tried—he wants just another moment of it to roll in.

He holds up a finger, taking his sweet time marking completely random figures on the paper with the air of undivided concentration, and Tommy predictably huffs, taking out his cigarette pack.

It takes a few minutes of silence before Tommy’s irritation starts threatening to break out, another minute he takes to wrench it under control. Alfie feels an infuriating urge to grin. Yeah, that’s Tommy Shelby alright, from head to toe, and it was a rather long time going about without him; so long, in fact, that something angry and hot curls in Alfie’s stomach at the necessity to deal with this ridiculous fucking situation right now instead of talking with Tommy like civilized people over a nice set of tea. Not that they’ve ever done that. Not that they will.

Right. Time for fucking business.

Alfie gives the paper one last dramatic swipe of the pen and looks up, propping his elbows on the tabletop and lacing his fingers under his chin.

“Chalton Street, actually,” he says easily, and Tommy’s hand pauses briefly halfway between the armrest and his lips. Alfie nods. “Yeah yeah, ‘s funny you should ask, mate, right, all that unsettling gypo foresight. You should’ve been a bookmaker or something.”

“I prefer not to tempt fate,” Tommy deadpans.

Alfie realizes a tad too late his gaze still lingers on Tommy’s mouth and jerks it up. “Mm, gentlemanly of you. Well, it seems to me, right, that she’d been tempted long before your intervention, mate. Cause she’s supposed to watch over fools, don't she.”

Tommy exhales the smoke slowly. “That’d be God.”

There’s the thing about Tommy—he bounces Alfie’s bullshit right back at him. Alfie feels dangerously close to getting lost in the banter. Which, as an absolute and extremely vital rule, never happens to him. It doesn’t help that Tommy’s bristling demeanour is now gone and forgotten, switching the gears in his mind to prying, negotiating and doing all other kinds of wonderful things that Tommy manages all at once when he smells fire.

Fucking bloody hopeless, Alfie thinks with marginal disappointment directed at his very self and cuts to the chase.

“Right, those new arrivals you sent, yeah, two of ‘em, they blew up my fucking warehouse tonight, mate.” It sits in the air between them for a second, Tommy still and blank as a sheet. Technically, no explosion took place, but it’s the result that matters in these things, innit.

“They got drunk,” Alfie continues, punctuating every word, probably more to himself than to Tommy, and fixes Tommy with a gaze he calmly returns. “On duty. On their shift. And decided to ease the inexpressible burden of sitting on your arse doing nothing, right, by playing with matches like little boys.”

“Was there anyone else with them?” Tommy asks without missing a beat.

“No,” Alfie lies. “Who knew they needed fucking grownups for supervision, fuckin’ hell, Tommy.”

It’s almost cruel, this satisfaction, when Tommy’s face hardens momentarily. He isn’t buying a word of it, and frankly, Alfie’d be fucking insulted if he did, but there is suddenly an infuriating void of retorts at his disposal, that is if he doesn’t want to dig this hole deeper. Tommy knows this. And he looks at Alfie in a way that very clearly conveys that he knows.

Alfie watches him flick his thumb across the edge of the cigarette for a while. Probably contemplating if he should push, if he has any leverage and, if he does, what it would cost him to use it.

“The insurance-” he starts saying after a moment, and that won’t do at all, that is not where Alfie wants the balance to reside for now.

“Fuck the insurance,” he scoffs. “It’s just un-fucking-acceptable. You send me men, right, Tom, and I put them to work, right,” he gestures helpfully, “and now I’ll need to attach my man to each your man like some fucking queer Russian doll, is that it?”

Tommy quirks an eyebrow. “Your men are not without vices.”

“My men, mate, those I find logistically more difficult to lay off.”

It’s an empty threat that Alfie half-heartedly expects to elicit a response. It doesn’t. Tommy blinks at the wall, unaffected and unimpressed to the whole world, except for how he clenches his teeth. It makes his jawline even more acute, and that, well, that might set Alfie on edge a little. How others fall for Tommy’s submissive charade is a goddamn mystery, because he seems utterly incapable of doing a thing with that cold piercing gaze that now ventures back to Alfie, not exactly shooting daggers but cutting alright. Alfie’s tempted to scold him a little more, figures that’s what drives him up the wall the most, just to draw a reaction. To see that fire spill over. He’s tempted to do many fucking things.

“Well, mate, what I tell you? No man is without vices, yeah.” He brings his hands back on the table, watching Tommy’s eyes track the motion automatically. It’s somehow getting the wrong sort of heated, this little domestic drama. Alfie resolves to ignore it for now. Needs to get to the fucking point. “Now, mate, can’t say I understand a thing about your lot in that town, batshit crazy stuff you do, yeah. But for the sake of our shared human nature, right, flawed and all, I might be inclined to let it rest, so to speak, in the ashes.”

“How fucking kind of you,” Tommy says evenly. He resolutely maintains eye contact, and fucking hell, if that’s his negotiations look, Alfie will blow his own bakery and find early retirement somewhere on the seaside.

That’s a kiss-with-a-blade-under-your-chin kind of look. It’s as if Tommy knows Alfie’s provoking him and absolutely can’t help it anyway.

Alfie realizes he got a little sidetracked and stopped talking altogether only when Tommy speaks up, on the exhale, a couple of long seconds later.

“What do you want, Alfie?”

The only reason Alfie glances at Tommy’s mouth that moment is because he brings the cigarette up again and wraps his lips around it, hollowing his cheeks as he takes the final deep drag.

It’d be a fleeting look, if it were any other fucking day under the sun. But now Alfie finds himself strangely fixated on the picture. He probably lingers a second too long, because Tommy’s eyes snap down momentarily, and when they land on Alfie again, it’s a completely different expression Tommy’s wearing.

Confusion. Inhale. Decision.

Then Tommy leans back on the chair and tips his head back slightly, suddenly almost bored.

Alfie normally prides himself on being a professional reader of men’s minds—never women’s but who the fuck is—and it still takes his powers a second to comprehend the sudden shift in the air.

“Well?” Tommy says, voice going lower than the intonation dictates, and deposits the cigarette stub on the edge of Alfie’s desk. “Let’s get it done.”

Let’s get what done, Alfie wonders, what the hell has Tommy got into his head this time, until, in a blazing, surreal moment, it hits him.

He realizes two things, to be precise, which would be three things if he chose to lie to himself about being oblivious to the very first one all this time.

He wants Tommy Shelby. He’s wanted Tommy fucking Shelby for a rather inconveniently long time, rather desperately at that, and he’s getting hard just sitting across the table from the arrogant fucker, because Tommy’s irritated, Alfie’s no better, and this whole thing suddenly looks much more appealing when he imagines it culminating in fucking rather than shooting. It’s not a problem worth freaking out over, in Alfie’s mind.

But the fucking, though, Tommy here thinks it to be the payment. That is the second thing.

What do you want, Alfie?

Alfie starts moving before reasoning manages to stop him—and not like it’s a rare occurrence. He circles the table, led by a sudden angry impulse to push, see if Tommy would actually go through with it, cause that, right, that wasn’t what Alfie meant by that fucking stray gaze at all. But it’s burning right through him, now that it’s on the table.

Tommy looks up at him through his long dark lashes and stays just like he is, open and tense. Tenser still as Alfie shuffles into his space, squeezes between him and the table, legs touching. For a second, he’s so stiff it feels like he’ll shatter, like a fucking ice statue, from the mere touch.

But Tommy doesn’t move. He blinks slowly and breathes heavily in the sudden silence, solidifying Alfie’s third insight.

Tommy Shelby would let him.

Alfie’s heart is pumping molten lead through his veins, and it’s simultaneously heavy and unconscious when he brings his hand down and strokes Tommy’s cheek, taking a hold of his jaw to tip his head even further back.

To shock him out of this glazed state he seems to be sinking into. To touch him. To push him until he does break, because this is just a stupid fucking assumption to make that Tommy would whore himself out for business, not to another man.

But Tommy doesn’t move at all. He seems to be falling in the precise opposite direction of Alfie’s whirling thoughts, going more wide eyed and responsive, and, by the looks of it, almost fucking surprised. At what exactly, Alfie can’t begin to contemplate.

Tommy lets him maneuver his head up and stares back, unblinking, pupils blown like spilled gunpowder against the bright blue. Alfie swipes a finger along his cheekbone. Tommy doesn’t bolt. Alfie steps closer, kicking Tommy’s knees apart, watching every muscle twitch on his face, waiting, nearly fucking snapping-

But Tommy doesn’t bolt.

He draws a shaky breath instead and says, with what sounds miles away from cold indifference, “I don’t have all day. Get a fucking move on.”

Alfie barely holds himself back from slapping him, because what in all circles of hell does that boy think of him. Tommy’s not a complete fucking idiot, after all. He must understand Alfie, among all the things that he is, is not that kind of a man. But here they are.

Alfie suddenly becomes acutely aware of his fingers on Tommy’s skin. Funny how this particular setting—Tommy under his hands, under him, with eyes burning and lips parted so prettily—would put him in a much less conflicted and a much more aroused state just a day ago. Just a fucking hour ago.

Which is not to say he’s not aroused. He’s fucking aching. But Tommy doesn’t want it now, except as a retribution for the cock-up Alfie can’t even clearly recall at the moment.

Alfie drops his hand so quickly, Tommy’s head bounces slightly before he catches himself. More confusion. Darting eyes, calculating what he’s done wrong. It’s not particularly difficult to return behind the desk, although Alfie’s body is screaming at him to come back, pull Tommy to his feet, tear that coat off and make Tommy come so hard he’ll be only able to see complete fucking darkness for minutes.

But as Alfie sinks into the chair, the picture of the guarded, enduring void in Tommy’s eyes makes him shudder with disgust.

Jesus Christ.

“What-” Tommy begins and stops when his voice fails him. He clears his throat, miles and miles away, composed and distant once again, and Alfie doesn’t even want to look at him now, isn’t sure it won’t shower from his eyes or something.

“Reckon a bakery in Birmingham would be fine,” he blurts out, inevitably turning to watch Tommy as he draws his eyebrows together. “Fine location, innit, secluded, far from any semblance of law or morality, yeah?”

“A bakery.” Tommy swallows, clearly trying to be inconspicuous about it and failing.

“Right, a small one, from your pocket and all. Would serve your men well, to learn some bloody discipline. Could relocate those two excuses for workforce of yours there, spare us all the necessity to behold their fucking faces.”

Alfie doesn’t need a bakery in Birmingham. Hell, of all the things he hoped to get out of this whole ordeal, this wasn’t even remotely close to the list.

He fumbles with his rings absently while Tommy gets busy picking himself up and straightening his coat.

He considers saying something. Easy and dismissive, something along the lines of ‘nah, you misread it, mate,’ which would be simple enough and also absolutely fucking ballistic, because admitting anything out loud at this point feels like a death sentence in neat handwriting—very tiny and very lethal.

By the mortified look gliding across Tommy’s face for a second as he swipes a hand over his face, he knows damn well he misread it.

“Right,” Alfie mutters to himself and then repeats, loudly enough to shake the whole damn building, “Right. So it’s settled then, yeah, no hard feelings. With the bakery, that is.”

“Right,” Tommy echoes. He sounds strange, almost lost, although it would’ve been impossible to notice if Alfie’d known him any less.

When Tommy goes to leave, Alfie doesn’t stop him, although the impulse, for some fucking reason, is there.

He slumps down in the chair, draws a long, deep breath and tries to process what has just transpired. In particular, what that look on Tommy was, right before he gracefully stormed out of his own fucking shipwreck.

Alfie can’t seem to find a place for his hands; he keeps shifting around, the persistent sensation of rough stubbled skin under his fingertips unchanging despite the position, until he jolts upright and grabs the cigarette that witnessed all this chaos with dead silence.

Alfie’s powers are suddenly kicking back in to tell him the fucking look was one of disappointment. Which is complete and impossible bloody horseshit. Unless, of course, it isn’t. And in that case, opening a bakery in Birmingham is a bad, bad idea.

[pomegranate-belle]

Fic or treat - Matt and Foggy during that one Halloween ep of Spiderman where people turn into the monsters they dress up as for the night (doctor strange helps sort everything out if I recall correctly)

I guess this is a recurring Halloween Thing (Buffy, Halloweentown, and now apparently Ultimate Spider-Man) and honestly I love it with all my heart and soul. So this got... Long. Also I just sidestepped the actual plot of the episode because Baron Mordo sucks eggs and I don’t care about him, lol

—

Foggy’s still adding the last touches to his costume and hasn’t put it on yet — that’s the only thing that saves him. But the second a blast of orange light radiates across the city, he knows something fucked-up freaky is going down.

“Oh jeez,” he mutters to himself, watching through the window as the energy continues to spread like ripples on a pond. “Matty, you might wanna go get your other Halloween costume.”

There’s a groan of pain from behind him. Foggy whirls around.

“Matt, what—”

But Matt doesn’t answer. Can’t answer, more like. He’s staggering around, hands clutched to his head. Foggy has no idea if it’s a direct effect of the freaky magic flooding the city or if whatever that magic is doing is overloading Matt’s supersenses, but either way he can’t just stand by and let his boyfriend suffer. He rushes over and wraps Matt in a hug — takes as much of Matt’s weight as he can, tries to cocoon him so his senses have time to settle or acclimate or whatever they need to do.

“I got you,” he murmurs nonsensically. “I got you, Matty, it’s ok, it’s gonna be ok, just breathe with me, buddy, just breathe—”

All Foggy’s reassurances are choked off when a clawed hand closes around his throat. He’s shoved backwards, into the wall, and Matt’s...

Matt’s gone.

In his place, the figure Foggy had been holding — that not a minute ago had been the love of his life — is otherworldly and terrifying. Its skin is cold to the touch, and flecks of gold freckle its face, creep down from its ears to the familiar arch of its cheekbones. It has Matt’s messy, dark hair but his eyes, still unseeing based on the way they don’t track, glow ice blue. It still wears the white tunic Matt had put on, but the cloth is clearly of finer quality. What was once a sparkly golden pipe-cleaner halo is now an aura of radiance so bright it makes Foggy’s eyes water. Oh yeah, and this thing’s got a pair of fuck-off enormous white wings instead of the tiny, goofy-looking faux-feather ones Matt had strapped on like a backpack not five minutes ago.

When it opens its mouth — Matt’s mouth — and speaks, the words are unintelligible and so powerful that Foggy instinctively stops trying to remove the hand from around his throat and claps his palms to his ears instead. He has an alarming thought — that he’s going to die here — and the very distant realization that Matt would be completely enraged about him giving up. But even if this... Angel. Thing. Even if it’s not Matt anymore, it was him. And Foggy has to believe the magic that changed him is going to be undone. There’s like a hundred fucking superheroes in Manhattan alone so like, it had god damn better be undone. And when it is, who knows if any injuries sustained will carry over? Foggy could never risk hurting Matt like that. He just couldn’t.

Jessica Jones does not have this problem.

Foggy learns that the second she comes bursting through the door of the apartment and discus-throws her unconscious vampire boyfriend right at Angel Matt’s unprotected back. Not that Foggy actually sees any of this — because, again, fuck-off big swan wings — but once he’s able to breathe again he’s also able to put the series of events together thanks to context clues. Flattened angel plus unconscious Hero of Harlem with an open, snoring mouth and especially pointy canines plus panting, disheveled Jess? The math’s not hard. He and Jess stare at each other in silence for a few seconds.

“You ok there, Nelson?” she asks at last, gruffly, before stepping forward to sling her enormous boyfriend into a fireman’s carry.

“Yeah? I’m good, I think. Mostly. Um...” Foggy points at the knocked out form of Luke draped over Jess’s shoulder. “How did you...?”

“Vulcan nerve pinch,” she says flatly, but doesn’t give Foggy the necessary space to determine if it’s a joke or not. “Now come on, you’re the one who knows every-fucking-body, who do we need to stomp to fix this?”

Good to know you saved me because you were concerned for my safety or something, Foggy thinks but is smart enough not to say.

“I don’t know who did it,” he admits, now that he has the time to think, “but that guy Strange who lives in the Village is supposed to be a wizard or something. Maybe it’s one of his baddies.”

Jess slams a fist into her open palm, murder in her eyes, then immediately has to break the pose to stop Luke from slumping onto the floor.

“Well he better fix it or I’m gonna kick his ass,” she insists, clearing her throat and straightening up again.

Foggy does not dignify this with an answer, and to further pretend he didn’t just witness Jess fumble Luke like a football he crouches down to check on Matt. He doesn’t seem to be unconscious, although at first it’s a little hard to tell based on the ethereal, retina-searing glow around his head. But upon inspection, the prone angel is in a pose Foggy knows well — Matt’s ‘I’m suffering and I refuse to move’ pose. Often adopted whilst sick or otherwise mildly inconvenienced, and never done while seriously injured. Which is good, Foggy supposes.

“Up and at ‘em, Matty,” he mutters, slowly and gently closing his hands around the angel’s and noting that Matt’s newly clawed nails are tipped in gold.

Matt gets to his feet without a fuss, just tilting his head to the side curiously. He sniffs. Once. Twice. Then flips their handhold so his fingers are circling Foggy’s wrists and pins him to the wall again. This time, though, instead of strangling him, he buries his nose in Foggy’s throat, sniffling at his pulse point like a weirdo.

“Hey! Murdock! Don’t make me come over there!” Jess snaps.

“It’s good, we’re good!” insists Foggy shrilly. “He’s um. He’s just. Sniffing me.”

“Fucking weirdo.”

But there’s no thud of Luke being used as a blunt weapon again, so at least she’s listening to him. After another ten uncomfortable seconds, Angel Matt pulls back. Slowly and gently, he lets go of Foggy’s wrists before combing the fingers of one clawed hand through Foggy’s hair. Then he smiles and speaks.

The expression, combined with the musical but incomprehensible words, is so beautiful that tears begin to streak down Foggy’s face. Angel Matt brushes them away with the side of his thumb.

Jess ruins the moment by groaning in frustration.

“Ok, we get it, gay love conquers all, can we get a move on before my boyfriend wakes up and tries to tear out my throat again?” she demands.

Which, to be fair to her, doesn’t sound like a great time. Matt’s wings flare angrily and he spits more crazy angel language at Jess that sounds like a threat, but Foggy is able to soothe him easily enough. After that, he tows Matt along by the hand like a particularly docile six-year-old and they set out without further incident.

—

The problem with having a huge city-wide curse fucking up everyone’s night is that getting a cab is impossible. On the bright side, Jess is one of the few people Foggy knows who actually owns a car. Then again, it’s usually hard enough fitting everyone inside that car without a potentially-murderous vampire and an angel with a fifteen foot wingspan to consider. They’re still trying to figure out the logistics when a horde of monsters descends upon them. Foggy counts two zombies — and there’s a frightening thought, are those guys contagious? — a werewolf, a ninja, and some kind of terrifying... Fish person. There’s lots of snarling, howling, and gnashing of teeth. Foggy really wishes he hadn’t been so preoccupied with Matt and had the foresight to grab his baseball bat on the way out the door.

“I don’t suppose you’ve got like, a tire iron in there or something?” he asks Jess as they’re backed up against her car.

“What do I look like, a mechanic? I’ve barely got gas in this piece of shit car.”

“Cool, great,” Foggy says, too strained to be as sarcastic as he wants since this is about as far from cool and great as it’s possible to get.

Then Matt squeezes his hand and lets go. Foggy scrambles to try and pull him back to safety, but his strides are long — too long for any normal human, like he’s gliding instead of walking. He doesn’t stop until he’s standing squarely between them and the monsters, and then he flares his wings wide enough to block them all from view. Foggy can still hear snarling, but he has to squeeze his eyes shut as the luminance around Matt ramps up about a thousand percent. There’s hissing, yelping, and the slap of feet on concrete, and the light turning the back of Foggy’s eyelids orange only fades after the sounds of retreat abate into silence.

“Holy shit, Murdock,” Jess mutters. “Maybe we oughta keep you like this.”

“Jones,” Foggy scolds. “Rude.”

He opens his eyes to find Matt now facing him as though waiting for something.

“What, Matty?”

“Fuck’s sake, Nelson,” says Jess, “he just saved our bacon — you gonna thank him or what?”

Matt continues to stare — for a certain value of stare, Foggy supposes — in his general direction expectantly.

“Um. Yes, thank you,” Foggy says, and probably because he’s gone completely insane, reaches up to pat Matt on the head. “You, um... Did good? Yes. Good job.”

Matt leans into the touch, beaming, and honest to god the expression is almost brighter than the glow of his halo. Jess makes a very rude gagging noise as she stuffs her still-snoring boyfriend into the trunk. Matt and his wings, even folded up, take up the whole back seat, so Foggy rides shotgun. With monsters of all shapes and sizes roaming the city streets, what would otherwise be a pretty boring car ride ends up feeling like a chase scene in Jurassic Park, but at last they make it. Foggy wasn’t a hundred percent on the address but Strange’s place is pretty hard to miss. It’s enormous and scary-looking and it’s got a big skylight in the shape of some round symbol that probably has magical significance.

There’s no answer when they knock on the door, except for a “doctor is out” sign that flickers into existence, along with a huge padlock — you know, just in case they weren’t getting the message. Foggy’s torn between being weirded out and being amused that the creepy mansion has a sense of humor.

“He’s not even home?!” Jess kicks the door, hard. “This is bullshit!”

She lets out a wordless, frustrated shout, and Luke startles awake. He’s on his feet almost immediately, eyes glowing blood red. Matt wraps his arms around Foggy from behind, casting huge shadows with his flared wings. But Luke? There’s no recognition of Jess there, except as food. None of the half-domesticated sentience Matt’s been showing, just snarling animal hunger. Luke’s such a chill, reasonable guy that the contrast is shocking and even if he hadn’t been held back Foggy wouldn’t have been able to do more than freeze in terror as Luke pinned Jess to the wall of Strange’s mansion and lunged for her throat. Jess, thankfully, is more of a fight instinct person than a freeze instinct one. Also she’s got superstrength. She catches Luke’s wrist and flips him like a pancake. Once he’s on the ground and winded, she really, genuinely does Vulcan nerve pinch him back to sleep, which is wild. Foggy had been leaning sixty-forty towards her being joking about that.

“Well,” he says awkwardly. “That was impressive.”

“Impressive? Impressive?!” Jess is laughing, but the sound is sharp and bitter. “It should’ve been me,” she growls, stomping back down to the sidewalk and kicking a stray soda can so hard it embeds itself in the wall of a building across the street. “Fuck. I hate seeing him like this. I’m already— half fucking feral, and he’s got that unbreakable skin. It should have been me! He’d probably just sit there calmly and let me try to bite him while he worked out how to fix everything, and all I can do is be a, a panicked fuck-up!”

“Jess!” Foggy scolds sharply, extricating himself from Matt’s arms to confront her. “You’re not a fuck-up. You kept Luke safe. You didn’t let him hurt anyone. You got us here. Look, if Strange isn’t home then maybe that means he’s out fixing this. That’s a good thing. You just need to take a deep breath. We‘ll rest here a little bit, then we’ll start driving back — dollars to donuts whatever big fight is probably going down right now is in, like, Times Square or something, because it literally always is with you super-people.”

Jess makes another frustrated noise that Foggy hopes isn’t going to end with him going through a wall, and then plops down on Dr. Strange’s porch. He settles in beside her, and Matt perches beside him. Luke’s still sprawled in front of them, snoring again. They wait quietly for a good ten minutes, and the tension fades from the air.

Foggy’s just about to suggest they get up and start heading back the way they came when there’s another blast of orange magic — this time running in reverse, moving in towards an epicenter instead of out from it. It washes through them with a disorienting whoosh and leaves behind two dazed boyfriends in simple, cobbled-together costumes.

Foggy’s never been so happy to see a lopsided pipe cleaner halo in his life. He kisses Matt full on the mouth. Matt kisses back eagerly but is also the first to pull away.

“Not that, not that I’m, um, complaining but... What was that for?” he asks, baffled but clearly amused. “And... Where are we?”

So then Foggy has to explain, while watching Jess rip the cheap plastic fangs out of Luke’s mouth and stomp on them repeatedly, exactly how the four of them ended up in front of Dr. Strange’s creepy magic mansion.

“So anyway,” he finishes lamely, “I guess somebody saved the day or something, but we didn’t do much.”

Matt shakes his head.

“You did wonderfully.” He takes a deep breath, the way he always does when he’s gathering himself to say something emotional. “I love you.”

“Love you too, angel,” Foggy says, and the flush of embarrassed pleasure that colors Matt’s cheeks in response is sweeter than any candy.

[goodproofingwater]

Transactional (Part 5) - J Cody x Reader

Word count: 1628 Warnings: graphic sexual content, mask play, talk of violence You followed his orders, walking toward his car and climbing in. You had expected him to call you into the back, to bed you over but instead he pushed his chair back and his pants down, his fingers finding their way under your dress to rub softly at your lace covered clit. You knelt sideways on the seat to allow him access and to watch him harden once more. The reload time was more impressive than anything.

“Oh princess you’re so wet…” he spoke, moving to stroke himself at the same time and you instantly replaced his hand with your own.

“It’s just tasting you Daddy, being able to finally feel you… god you’re so sexy..” you bit down on your lip, desperate to see his face but not knowing if he was going to keep the mask on the entire time.

You saw him lick his lips beneath the mask, his hand pushing aside your panties and a finger running along your slit to dip inside of you.

“Sucking me off really got you this wet, Babygirl?”

You bit your lip and nodded, spreading your legs a little so he had easier access, innocent features turning to pleasure as he pressed two fingers inside of you, fucking up into you in a way which mimicked how he thrust against your mouth.

“Oh f-fuck d-daddy..” you moaned, gripping the headrest and the dashboard, hips jutting against his fingers. In a moment you were empty, and you pouted at him momentarily before he used both hands to grip your ass, moving you to straddle him.

“I want you to ride me like you have been every night, baby..” he spoke, his hands pushing up your dress and looking down at your lace clad pussy. “Did you buy this for me?”

“Yes daddy..” you whispered, “I was gonna strip for you tonight before I rode you again…”

This was the closest you had ever been to him, and you could see some of his features through the plastic of the mask. Unfortunately it wasn’t enough to determine which cody this was, but you were past caring now. This man had driven you crazy the last few months and now you were on top of him, his shaft running along your drenched clit.

“Such a good girl buying all these things for me, aren’t you?” He purred, his thumb moving down to rub softly at your clit, pushing your underwear further to the side

“I’m always a good girl for you, Daddy…” you moaned and he nodded, licking his lips behind the mask.

“God I wish I could taste this pretty pussy. It’s so much hotter in real life..” he groaned, the hand which wasn’t busy on your clit gripping your ass hard.

“You c-can if you want daddy..” but you already knew the answer. That would require taking the mask off.

“Even if I could, I wouldn’t right now.” He chuckled confidently, moving his shaft to take over from his thumb to rub your clit before he moved it down your slit, slipping the head of his shaft within you.

“Oh God…” You moaned, hands gripping his shoulders before you sunk down onto him, his large member filling you up way more than the machine ever did, “fuck, Daddy… that machine really isn’t as good as the real thing.”

He gripped your hips as you began to bounce on top of him, pushing your dress further and further up your body until he eventually pulled it from you. He gripped at your breasts as you continued, and you were surprised at the control he was letting you have. He had been so demanding that you had expected total dominance from start to finish.

As if he knew your train of thought, a hand which was caressing your nipple so gently graced its way to your neck, fingers expertly finding the correct nerve and pressing down on it, restricting your airways and tightening you further, “You having fun, Babygirl?” He spoke, and you nodded, gripping at his arm as you continued to move on him, his shaft feeling so good that could couldn’t help the nefarious noises slipping from your painted lips.

“Daddy’s gonna teach you a lesson now, princess..” he spoke, wrapping his arms around you and leaning back slightly, lifting you from him and thrusting up into you harder and faster than you would have thought possible.

You moved to hold his face both sides of the mask, not daring to move it but you had to have some kind of contact, had to show him how much you desperately wanted to taste his lips and feel his mouth on your own. And so you pressed your lips slowly to the plastic mask, kissing it softly and then dragging your tongue along where his bottom lip would be. His grip on your hips told you just what effect it was having on him, and you would have continued if that grip didn’t elicit even harder thrusts up into you.

“Oh my g-god Daddy!” You moaned, arms moving around his neck to hold on as he fucked you so perfectly, his hips pistoning inside of you and skin slapping hard on skin.

“No matter how much you think you’re in control, it’s only because I fucking let you think you’re in control…” he moaned, his voice on octave deeper as he fucked you even harder, and he sat you back up so that your hips could meet his thrusts, the beautiful mix pushing you so close you could taste the brink of your orgasm.

“Y-yes Daddy.. I’ll do anything you tell me to, I’m yours…”

Your eyes fell shut as your head fell back, his cock pressing hard against your spot each time he thrust up into you, your body almost going limp as you gave up total control to him.

And then you felt lips on your neck, a long, hard love bite in progress on the nape of your neck not allowing you view of who those lips belonged to. God, he was going to show you his face. You had been so good that he didn’t care about the mask anymore. You were immediately nervous, terrified and excited of what you were going to see and you were glad that he had completely taken over at this point so you wouldn’t falter if there was anything wrong.

As his head fell back, your eyes ran over his swollen and parted lips, his azure hues boring deep into yours as he tried to figure out what you were thinking. He was beautiful. J Cody lay moaning softly as he pounded into you, his blonde hair a mess from where he had pulled off the mask. This was even better than you could have hoped. You had had a crush on J since you’d seen him around town, had been desperate to find a way to talk to him until you found out who his family was, and here you were fucking him in his car.

He sped up, his thrusts having grown uneven as you made eye contact for the first time and you watched the space between you as his thumb moved to rub at your clit again. His other hand moved your chin to look in his eyes, those beautiful blue hues dark with lust and authoritative even without words.

“Cum for me, Babygirl.” His voice was deeper now, the phrase so familiar but so different now you could see him asking you. Your head fell back again as he pulled down your bra, sucking a nipple into his mouth as you obeyed his wish, desperate fingers gripping his arms tight as they wrapped around you and held you in place.

His hips stuttered as he came inside of you, and he looked up at you as he did so, gorgeous waves of lust pulsing through his features. You wanted to kiss him, wanted to run your fingers through your hair but was that allowed? How did you go from here?

After a few moments of catching your breath, you moved from him to sit back on the passenger seat, grabbing your dress and slipping it back on.

“Did I do good, Daddy?” You spoke, looking over at him with innocent eyes. He smirked, biting his lip before he moved to touch your face, his thumb running along your bottom lip as he bit down on his own.

“You did amazing, baby.” He licked his lips once more, pulling up his pants and starting the car. “Now let’s get you home so I can taste that pussy hm? Maybe I’ll watch you ride that thing in real life and you can compare…”

He smirked, and you immediately began to feel comfortable around him, something that you hadn’t expected.

“Oh trust me, I already know you’re better Daddy..”

He smirked, letting out a short huff of breath as he made a decision.

“If we’re gonna continue with this we’ll need to talk logistics but… you can call me J when we’re not fucking… if you want.” You nodded, smiling at him. “But uh.. we do have to deal with something later.”

“Oh?” You cocked your head

“Yeah. I mean.. I was supposed to shoot you so you’re going to have to convince my uncles that you’re trustworthy. Maybe we won’t tell them that inside of shooting you, you sucked me off.”

Your eyes widened, your jaw falling slack as the seriousness of his words and the situation settled in once more. You had almost forgotten he was a Cody. The task which he made sound easy was a mammoth one, and you had no idea how to tackle it. What the fuck had you gotten yourself into?

[bert-thefrog]

No More Secrets - Part 1 - Bryce x Harper

*Warning: Smut. Much smut. Eep.*

“You could join me you know?” Bryce steps out of my shower, water droplets dripping from his hair and onto the bathmat.

“Pfft. We’d never get out of here if I did.” I bat away his attempts to kiss me where I stand in front of the mirror. “Get off you’re all wet!” I laugh, swatting at his arms as he tries to wind them around my waist, patches of water already forming on my dress.

“I’m sure we could be a little late.” He murmurs, sliding one hand between my legs, parting them. I shiver involuntarily at the touch, gripping the edge of the sink as his fingers trail further upwards. Harper, no. You cannot be late for work becaus-

“Bryce.” I protest weakly as he plants kisses down my neck, biting back a moan when his fingers begin stroking circles teasingly where I want them most. His naked body is pressed firmly against me, securing me between him and the sink.

“What was that babe?” He smirks, nipping at my earlobe; I gasp as he suddenly slips one finger in, then the other, pumping them with agonizing slowness while my knees threaten to give out. I can’t help but throw my head back with a groan as his thumb begins to make teasing circles around my clit, the familiar throbbing growing intense as he works. “You realize I’m going to have to change now.” I complain, shakily moving to undo my dress but he stops me, using his other hand to undo the buttons along the front. “My master plan worked then.” He chuckles, letting it slip down from my arms and pool around our feet on the floor. Fuck it, I’m going to be late for work. I think to myself, turning around and balancing on the sink edge for a moment so I can wrap my legs around his waist. “Happy eight months babe.” He chuckles, catching my lips in his own as his hands slide down my back and under to support me. “You’re so daft.” I roll my eyes, tugging his lip playfully between my teeth as he lifts me up, crossing the bathroom to push me up against the wall. The tiles are cool against my back as he kisses down my chest, leaving a hot trail in comparison. My nails scrabble down his back as he enters me, grunting with pleasure as I tighten around him. “Tell me what you want.” He attempts to pull away from me but I grab his hair, pulling it roughly. “I want you.” I cry out as he pulls my hips further apart, bucking harder against me. Yep. Definitely going to be late for work.

———

“So I was thinking..” I begin as the two of us drive to Edenbrook a little while later, dressed again and ready for work.

“Oh no, that sounds ominous.” Bryce teases me and I resist the urge to smack him, instead focusing on the road ahead.

“Shut up for a moment would you? I was thinking about our living situation.”

“Oh?”

“I mean you’re already at my house most nights, I have to restock the fridge twice as often thanks to these little sleepovers. Logically-”

“Harper is this you asking me to move in with you?” I can hear the laughter in his voice.

“Well.. yes. We’d need to discuss the logistics of it obviously but I just think it makes the most sense.”

“Always the romantic babe.” He quips as I turn into the Edenbrook parking lot, taking the space designated for me.

“So is that a maybe?”

“I’m definitely open to the idea. We can talk about it after work though, see you at lunch Dr. Emery?” Bryce smiles at me, leaning over the gearstick to lay one last kiss on my lips before hopping out the car.

“See you later Dr. Lahela.” I shake my head at his retreating figure, fighting back a smile as he turns back round to stick his tongue out at me before disappearing behind the automatic doors.

———

“You’re late Dr. Emery.” Tanaka frowns at me as I meet him in the halls.

“I know, I know. Sorry about that. Won’t happen again.” I pick up the case file he holds out to me, offering him my best smile.

“Let me guess. Lahela slept over?” I don’t miss the tiny smirk playing on my coworker’s face and as he leans back against the wall I can feel the heat rising in my neck.

“Can’t talk George, sorry about that. Like you said; I’m late.” I stride away, letting the office door swing shut behind me. I need to start getting up earlier if Bryce moves in. This morning was embarrassing enough. “Ah. Harper. So kind of you to finally join us.” Naveen and Ethan both sit in front of my desk, identical bemused expressions on their faces. You have got to be fucking kidding me.

“Boys.” I nod at them by way of greeting, “What have you got for me today?”

“Student with scoliosis.” Ethan all but drops the folder on my desk. “At this point a brace just isn’t enough.”

“Okay then. Let’s go meet them.” I pick up the file, scanning through the information inside while the other two men stand.

“Oh and Harper, try not to let Dr. Lahela distract you again before work.” Ethan raises an eyebrow at me, arms folded.

“Does no one in this hospital have anything better to do than sit around and gossip?”

“You were late. What else would we be doing?” Naveen jokes, holding his hands up in surrender as I narrow my eyes in his direction.

“Lets just go and talk to miss Ella.” I glance back down at the folder in my hands, following the others out the door.

*This takes place after Dirty Little Secret. I know this was a slow af chapter but getting back into the swing of things takes a girl a minute. I hope you enjoy. I’m ngl I suck at the actual hospital stuff. For which I’m sorry I must be as vague as possible. Let me know if you want to be added or removed from the tags*

*tagging: @msjpuddleduck @lilyofchoices @isabella-choices @lady-kato @chasingrobbie @omgjasminesimone @thisperfectmemory @rookie-ramsey @pen-bandit @ethanramseyposts @dr-casey-lahela @kay-teachoices

[missweber]

@lardo-week

For Day 6 of Lardo Week - Friends and Lovers

(Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5)

(FYI, I’ll start posting these to AO3 tomorrow after I get the last chapter up tomorrow and give everything a good scrubbing for lurking typos and the like)

the practical thing to do

It wasn't that Lardo wasn't earning money. She had two decent part-time jobs and had even picked up a couple of freelance assignments. 

One of the freelance assignments (painting the risers of a staircase in an old house-turned-bookstore to resemble shelves of children's books) had been fun and had paid fairly well, but it hadn't led to any nibbles from potential patrons.

She had time, she reminded herself. There was nothing wrong with working part-time for a gallery and for a local youth hockey organization. There was nothing wrong with creating some stability for herself.

But something was wrong.

"Can I vent?" She had timed her question for when Ransom and Holster were home and Shitty was at an evening seminar. As for She-Who-Would-Not-Be-Named, Lardo didn't really give a shit if she was home or not.

"Lay it on us, so we may ease your troubled mind," Holster intoned, affecting an air of wisdom and concern. Ransom didn't say anything, but he closed his laptop and put it aside so he could pay full attention.

Wanting to vent didn't mean knowing what to say. Instead, she just plopped herself down on the couch right between them. There wasn't quite enough room, but they made it work.

"I feel like a fucking parasite," she said at last.

The chorus of no no no! and we're fine with how things are divvied up, honest! weren't as comforting as they were meant to be.

"I'm venting, okay? That means you gotta let me vent! Don't..." She took a deep breath. "Don't just tell me not to worry, okay?"

Part of her could hear Shitty explaining how being told not to worry was sometimes the same as 'go away and don't bother me with your pesky emotions,' and that, she found comforting.

"My bad," Holster said. 

Ransom pulled her into a side hug. "Sorry about that, Lards. Go ahead. Why are you comparing yourself to a tapeworm?"

"Gross, dude," she and Holster said in perfect unison, and that led to a giggle fit that totally killed the mood.

"Now I'm not feeling ranty. I'm just going to whine instead."

"Would you like some wine with that wine?" Holster asked in a horrible faux-British accent.

"Oh, hell yes!"

The occasion apparently called for a bottle of good wine that had been 'liberated' from Shitty's grandparents, and the novelty wine glasses. Lardo noted that her glass said 'Wine is cheaper than therapy' and tried not to read too much into it. After all, Ransom's said 'I just can't adult today' and Holster's glass proclaimed that he was 'Sotally Tober.'

"So anyway, I feel like a total mooch. I know you guys say it doesn't bother you that I'm paying a smaller share of rent than you are, but it still bugs me. I feel... I feel kept."

"Does it help if we tell you we don't think of it that way at all?" Ransom asked gently.

She shrugged. "In theory."

Shitty, Ransom, and Holster had each told her over and over and over they didn't mind paying bigger shares of the rent. They all either had or made enough money to cover it, and how the hell was Lardo supposed to do art on the side if she didn't have the time or energy to do art?

"We've got your back, bro," Holster said as if that explained everything.

She knew it should. She wished it did.

"Did anything in particular stir this up?" Ransom asked. His eyes narrowed. "Shitty's dad didn't say anything again, did he? Or Claire?"

Holster shushed him, and cast furtive looks at the hallway. "Don't say her name! She'll know we're talking about her!"

Ransom leaned in close and lowered his voice to a whisper. "I know I always said I was team attic, but if the person who's hiding in the attic is you-know-who? Then fuck it. I'm changing my answer."

"Dude," Holster said solemnly. "What if she's actually a thousand roaches in a trench coat?"

"Huh. That actually makes a lot of sense."

Watching their back and forth helped more than their concern. "No one said anything, guys." Well, George had said something in an email, but not in the way the guys meant it. "Just some job stuff came up today that... well, it stirred some shit up."

The point of having a job was to earn a living. Yes, you should do something you liked to do, but you needed to be practical about it. Lardo's parents had never been poor, but for as long as she could remember, they always had to be mindful. She had never gone hungry, but her mother and her bà ngoại had.

They had always encouraged and celebrated her artwork, but they had also been very clear that she was expected to get a real job.

There had also been sly hints about how finding a husband with a real job was a possible alternative, but she forced the thought from her mind because while a wine hangover was bad, a rage hangover was even worse.

The three of them killed off a bottle and a half of wine. It was weaksauce compared to their kegster days, but while Lardo had gone to several classes hungover and still in her pajamas, she didn't think that would fly at the Newbury Street gallery where she worked.

Where she worked for now, at least.

"I'm done guys," she said with a yawn that was only a little exaggerated. "Thanks for letting me dump on you. And don't say it's no problem or anything stupid like that."

She really hoped Shitty got home soon. Now that she had vented, she actually wanted to talk.

It was good to crawl into bed. It was only half-made, as usual, but Duckie and Mr. Steggy were in their proper places as they should be. She smiled, remembering how Shitty had literally squeed with delight when she first introduced him to her childhood plushie.

She hugged both stuffed animals to her and fell asleep.

She was woken up what felt like just a minute later when a naked Shitty tried to pry Mr. Steggy out of her grasp.

"You're hogging the cuddle-buddies," he whispered.

"You snooze, you lose."

"Excuse you, but I was not the one snoozing, Ms. Duan."

She laughed and let Shitty take the plush stegosaurus. He slid into bed and snuggled close. She leaned in and kissed him deep, curling one hand around the back of his head so she could play with his hair. God, she was so glad he was growing it out again.

He ran his fingers down the curve of her waist and up the rise of her hip, but it was an inquiry rather than a request. She kissed him again, then pulled back. "Just this," she said. "And can I talk to you about something?"

She felt him tense defensively but then relax. The first had been automatic, the second, deliberate. "Okay?"

"First of all, yes, there is some money shit tied up in all of this, so I need to know it's okay to talk about money. Otherwise, this is going to be frustrating as hell."

It said something that all he did was nod in agreement. They had figured out quickly that their difference in background made financial discussions a big-ass mine field. They'd had a rough start, but now they used safe words more when talking about money than they did when having sex. 

Lardo thought more couples should follow their example.

"I got a solid lead on a job today."

His face lit up. "What! That's–"

She covered his mouth with her hand. "Let me finish, okay? And if you lick my hand, I will pluck your mustache out hair by hair. Nod if you understand."

He nodded. She removed her hand.

"Here's the problem. If I take this job, I'll have to quit the gallery job and cut back my time with the Rockets. Maybe even quit."

"Okay," he said. She could tell he had a question, but was holding it. For now.

"Starting out, it would mean less money. Not a lot less, but..." But it had been enough to trigger a crisis that required copious amounts of wine to solve. "And the commute would suck."

"Okay." 

He wanted to say he would fix it, that he would make up the difference. She could see it. But he stayed quiet, and she loved him all the more for it.

"But that would only be at first. Part of what I'd be doing is training to take on someone else's job when he retires next year. And it would be decent money. I...”

She let go.

“I thought that wasn't important to me! I know I'm worth more than the money I make! I know my art is damned good art even if it takes me forever to get to where I can do it full time! So what's wrong with me that I'm ready to throw away an art gallery job—a fucking Newbury Street gallery job!—so I can make more money a whole year from now!"

Shitty actually raised his hand sheepishly, as if he was a student in her class. "Um, so what is this job, anyway?"

That was enough to get her to laugh, and laughing gave her an excuse to wipe away the tears that had started to well. "Details, details... Yeah. George Martin said she's got an opening for an assistant equipment manager-slash-logistics person."

"George Martin? As in Jack's George? Falcs George?" Shitty's eyes were wide. "Holy guacamole doesn't even begin to cover it. So, what are you thinking?"

"In a lot of ways, it makes sense to keep the gallery job. No, it's not my kind of art." Honestly, it was more the sort of thing she imagined hanging in Shitty's grandparent's house. "But it's good experience to see that side of things for when I start selling my own things. And then there's the networking. It would be the practical thing to–"

She stopped, listening to what she was about to say, and hearing the echo of her mother's voice.

"Lards?"

"Yeah?"

"Would you still have time to do your art? If you take this other job?"

She shrugged. "Yeah. I don't see why not."

Shitty reached out and took her hand. He rubbed his thumb up and down her wrist, stroking and soothing. "When you said you would have to quit your gallery job and maybe not work as much with the kiddos on the Rockets, I almost said something."

She nodded. She had caught that.

"What I almost said was that you sounded more upset about cutting back your work with the kids than you did about quitting the gallery completely."

"Holy shit," she whispered. It was as if someone had pulled aside the curtain hiding Oz the Great and Terrible. 

She didn't like the gallery. She liked the idea of the gallery. She liked that even after she had decided that the world wouldn't end if she didn't get a job in the arts right away, this opportunity dropped in her lap. She liked what she had been learning from her boss and the new appreciation she had for mid-century American art.

What she didn't like was dressing up like she worked in a law office. She didn't like the way some buyers treated paintings like investment properties. She didn't like being a salesperson/hostess.

And she really didn't like how many clients reminded her of Shitty's grandparents.

But she loved her hockey kids.

"You're right. But..."

"But?"

She gently plucked Mr. Steggy from Shitty's grasp and set him on the nightstand. Duckie followed a second later, and Lardo wriggled as close to Shitty as she could. "But you've given me a lot to think about." She tilted her head so she could kiss his chin. "G'night." 

There was no need to make a decision just then, even though she was pretty sure what it would be. There were just a few things she had to think through, first. 

She felt like something big had shifted, or was about to shift, and that the future was going to be something she had never imagined. But that was okay.

She had Shitty. And in a different way, she had Ransom and Holster, and Jack and Bitty. 

And, as Holster had said, they had her back.

[firesoulstuff]

Being Human is Hard

An expanded version of this prompt from @agentmarymargaretskitz , because I got very carried away and wanted to write the whole thing.

Read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18315074

Gideon feels nauseous.

She has felt nauseous on and off for the past two days, yet she hasn’t actually felt the need to get sick. She isn’t sure if Rip’s noticed, she’s been trying to be discreet about it. She doesn’t think he’s noticed, it normally goes away by the time she should eat something. Actually, she isn’t entirely sure “nauseous” is even the right word to describe what she’s been feeling. She’s felt nauseous before, when she first became human and her body was getting use to actually being alive. This doesn’t feel like that. It doesn’t feel like her stomach is twisting and flipping over itself, but more of an achy feeling. Perhaps the term “stomachache” is more accurate to some human ailments than she previously thought.

Still, now she has reached the point in which she is making a conscious effort to stay standing straight the pain is so crippling, so maybe she should start worrying.

She manages to make it into the galley for breakfast and grabs a banana, she isn’t sure her stomach can handle anything more than that right now, even if she is hungry.

“You alright Gideon?” Zari asks when she lands heavily on the barstool next to her, and Gideon has to fight the urge to groan before answering her question.

“Yes Ms. Tomaz.” She says, wincing as she catches herself using Zari’s last name, old habits. “Or no, maybe not. I don’t know. I think something might be wrong with my body, I’ve felt sick for the last two days.”

Zari looks mildly worried by that announcement, though not so worried that she pauses in bringing her donut to her mouth. She’s been fine ever since she became human, for the most part, but Nora and John had still cautioned her to be aware of her body’s adjustment even as the months passed by, since they had essentially created an entirely new spell to give her full humanity.

“We should get you to the med bay.” Zari says, powder from her donut still coating her lips.

Gideon nods weakly, ordinarily she would probably put up more of a fight over going to the med bay for something as minor as a stomachache, but she is a little nervous about how it’s been getting worse.

She huffs, bracing herself for the simple motion of standing up, and with her palms pressed against the surface of the breakfast bar she pushes herself to her feet.

“Or not,” she hardly hears Zari’s quiet exclamation. “Um… Gideon?”

Gideon huffs, still leaning the majority of her weight onto the counter, but when she looks down at Zari she sees the other women staring at, of all things, her ass.

“What?” She asks, twisting herself and pulling at the fabric of her pajama bottoms because Zari’s face is one of almost worry, and she doesn’t understand why… until she sees it.

It’s like a bull’s-eye, nearly centered on the seat of her soft grey sweats; a dark red circle roughly the size of her thumb.

“What?” She exclaims, panic coursing through her as she tugs on the waistband of her pants, trying to twist the spot closer. Did she sit in something? But there’s nothing on the chair, and… Oh.

Oh.

Oh.

Thankfully Zari’s mind is processing this much faster than her own, as she is still coming to the realization of what the red spot is when her friend’s favorite red flannel suddenly covers it, the arms of it’s owner snaking around her waist and trying the sleeves to secure it.

“Ok, scratch the med bay, let’s just get you to the bathroom.”

Gideon nods, and suddenly her stomach pain makes a lot more sense.

They walk down the halls of the ship in silence, something Gideon is very grateful for. They pass by Ray, and Sara, but not Rip; thankfully, because he would likely greet her and ask where she and Zari are off to, and that isn’t exactly a conversation she feels she knows how to begin right now.

Of course, her luck runs out at the bathroom.

The door is closed, which means someone’s inside. Zari doesn’t hesitate to knock, though, and the voice that calls out “occupied” belongs to Mick.

“Gideon and I need to get in there!” Zari replies with a roll of her eyes.

There’s no response, but there is the sound of a deep-throated wad of spit being hacked up, followed by the sink being turned off. Mick comes out a moment later, scowling at them both before he simply pushes through them with a growl.

“Thanks Mick.” Zari calls after him, gesturing for her to enter the bathroom.

She does as she’s instructed, and she’s grateful that her friend follows her in before shutting the door. It isn’t like she’s a child with no idea what is happening to her, she is fully aware of what is going on and the methods of dealing with it, but at the same time she is still a little freaked out.

“Ok, um…” Zari drawls, “Do you… You know what it is right?”

“Yes,” She nods with her answer, a little anxiously. “Menstruation. Although I believe the common phrase for it is a period.”

“Good.” Zari nods as well, her hands settling on her hips. “Ok, have you ever had one before?”

She shakes her head, “No.” She confirms, “No, Ms. Darh- Nora, warned me that it could take time.”

If she got one at all. The whole spell had been a gamble, but the chances of her reproductive system working at all had been one of the biggest parts of that. Nora had warned that she couldn’t be sure about it, in any aspect, so this? This is promising.

Another wave of pain hit her right then, of course.

So it’s progress, no matter how much it hurts.

“Ok.” Zari says, turning her attention to the closet. She shuffles various things around until she pulls out one box of pads and one box of tampons. “Ok, do you know how to use these?”

She eyes the boxes, biting at her lip as she thinks that question over, along with her track record with doing things on her own the first time.

“Logistically.” She answers, very unsure of herself.

Zari nods and gives her a quick rundown of each product, and then leaves her with them while she goes off to fetch her some clean underwear and pants.

There isn’t a LOT of blood, which she’ll take as a good thing, and soon she’s all cleaned up with her soiled clothes waded in her hands, along with Zari’s flannel, and she’s back to following Zari through the halls.

“Does it always hurt so much?” She asks as they reach her room, and she really has no idea where Rip has been this morning but she is grateful she is still yet to run into him; she’s still processing this.

“Sometimes.” Her friend answers, while she busies herself in burying her old pants at the bottom of the hamper and, ok, maybe she stays bent over the edge of it for a second or two longer than necessary, but it just feels so good to crouch into the pain.

“It depends on the woman.” Zari goes on, “Mine usually hurt the day before and the first day, but moving around helps, and sometimes I take painkillers if it’s bad. I remember my first one didn’t hurt, or have any side effects for that matter.”

She scoffs at that as she forces herself to straighten up.

“Well lucky you.” She remarks and her friend smirks.

“I was also a lot younger.” She recounts, “You’re a full grown adult, your body can handle the side effects.”

Again, she scoffs.

“Try telling my body that.” With that she flops down onto her bed, because now that she knows what’s wrong with her she isn’t planning on moving unless there is an actual emergency, and maybe not even then. “This sucks.”

Zari chuckles at her proclamation.

“First day’s usually the worst.” She offers as a small condolence, “I’ll get you some pain killers.”

“Thank you.”

Once Zari leaves Gideon lets out a low moan, pressing her head deeper into the pillow. She feels a little stupid for not having realized sooner what was going on with her, but to be fair, she wasn’t even sure this was a possibility for her.

When the pain increases again she closes her eyes and presses a hand down firmly on her stomach, hoping to maybe alleviate some of the discomfort with pressure. It doesn’t work, not really, but it works enough that her thoughts start to drift to what this could mean for her.

It doesn’t necessarily mean that she can have children, but it’s a step in the right direction. Not that she wants children anytime soon; she and Rip have barely figured their relationship out. Not to mention she isn’t even sure if he wants children.

The door opens and she looks over, but instead of Zari standing there and holding the bottle of painkillers and another of water, it’s Rip; and he looks worried.

“Why did Ms. Tomaz ask me to bring these to you?” He asks, to which she chuckles before forcing herself to sit up with a wince.

“Nothing serious.” She promises, reaching out for the bottles and he comes over to the bed obediently.

Taking the painkillers is a test all in itself, she is nowhere near use to swallowing things whole and she actually spits them out at one point before she finally manages to get them down. She gasps once that’s finally done, and Rip is looking at her with the absolutely most worried expression she has ever seen on him, it’s kind of cute.

Still, she does have to ease it.

“I’m alright, really.” She promises, “I just um… I got my period today.”

His face goes a tint of red, and then, of all things, he laughs.

Not just a little bit. No, he stands up and barks out maybe the most genuine laugh she has ever seen from him, even doubling over from it.

“It’s not funny!” She protests half heartedly, standing up herself and regretting it instantly because the painkillers have not kicked in yet and OW.

“I… I know.” He manages between his bouts of laughter, straightening himself up and doing his best to compose himself, though the amused grin is still there. “I know it’s not. It’s just that I ran into Ms. Tomaz, and she shoved these things into my hands and asked me to bring them to you in your room, so I thought you were dying.”

She folds her arms over her chest and raises an eyebrow at him.

“She gave you a bottle of standard painkillers, and your immediate thought was that I was dying?”

He shrugs, “In my defense, Ms. Darhk and Mr. Constantine both did say to keep an eye on any seemingly random pain that strikes you, as it could be a sign of the spell failing.”

She nods; she often tries not to think about that possibility. It’s been getting easier lately, she’s pretty sure that if the spell was going to spontaneously fail it would’ve done so by now. Still, the idea frightens her, but as the pain flares up in her belly again and she sinks herself back onto the bed she’s convinced more than ever that it isn’t going to fail.

Seriously, how long does it take these painkillers to work?

“Being human is hard.” She groans, flopping back on her back with her hands on her stomach again because, ok, that pressure did help a little bit.

“Really?” Rip scoffs, clearly amused by her handling of this whole thing. “I hadn’t noticed.”

She lolls her head to the side, groaning and glaring at him.

“Shut. Up.” She’s blunt, because now not only are the painkillers still not kicking in, but he is being the exact opposite of helpful. “You don’t have to deal with this.”

“I know.” He says, a flicker of sympathy finally in his eyes as he ambles over to the bed and perches himself on it’s edge.

She nuzzles her head against his leg, one of her arms slinging over his knees to keep him close to her. Ok, so this part of being human sucks, but with Rip stroking her hair in the gentle way that he is she just might to be able to get through it.

So long as she gets some better painkillers.