#you’ll be safer I can’t bite

[muttcvnt]

woof, and bark even.

tip the dog

[lynk-zee]

hello!! i love you writing btw and i have an idea, tmi but i’m currently facing an online perverted stalker (he got me feeling scared) so i was wondering how the LnD boys would react to a reader facing the same issue T^T

if you don’t want to write for all the boys, just xavier is enough! thank you so much if you do decide to write this

Knight

Dude, I’m so sorry this is happening to you :(. I’ve had a couple stalkers before, not fun at all. Hope you’re safe 🩷

Warning: Stalking

You don’t know how he got your number. At first, it was strange messages about your hair. How pretty you looked in the sun. If the pancakes you had at that cafe were good. And that maybe you should both get some sometime.

But…Who was this person texting you?

You’ve never texted back. But that didn’t deter him from texting you more.

I love the way your hunters uniform looks on you.

Have you eaten today?

You looked lonely on that walk..

You were a strong hunter, everyone knew that. But the fact he seemed to know everything going on in your life at every waking moment started scaring you. And the worst part is, you could never find that fucker.

No matter how hard you looked, you couldn’t find a lead.Just people minding their own business. Was he tracking you? Was it your phone? But this was your work phone. So how was he stalking you—

“Are you alright?”

You looked up to see your boyfriend’s concerned face. He had taken you on a date to a local cafe for some coffee and egg tarts, but you seemed…distracted. Your fingers strummed anxiously, your bottom lip raw from how hard you’ve been biting it, and your eyes seem to dart this way and that looking for something. Scared of something. He’s never seen you so frightened before.

“Is something wrong?”

Do you tell him? Yes, he was your boyfriend, but he was so busy with work. And it’s just a stalker, you didn’t want him to think you were weak…

The sound of your ringtone made you jump. It was another text. From him. With a shaking hand, you pick up your phone and read it.

Bet he won’t make you cum like I would.

Hypersensitive to your feelings, Xavier snatched the phone away, eyes narrowing when he read the text.

“Who is this guy?”

You shake your head, signifying that you didn’t know. He scrolled up, scanning the countless texts this man has sent you, each one getting more and more graphic.

Xavier gets up abruptly, extending you his hand. “Let’s go.”

You nod, placing your hand in his, feeling just a bit safer as he guides you out the cafe with an arm around your shoulder. He takes you home, dropping you off at your apartment, pocketing your work phone. “Take tomorrow off. I’ll handle this.”

His tone leaves no room for debate so you can only nod and agree. Xavier’s countenance softens as he gives you a reassuring smile and leans over to kiss your forehead. “Don’t worry. Soon all these troubles will fade away like a bad dream.”

You had no choice but to trust him.

~~~

The next day, Xavier jumps through your balcony window after work, still in his Hunters uniform. Like a knight in shining armor. It startles you, but he only smiles, walking over in proud strides, greeting you with a kiss. “Hello, my love. You have nothing to worry about now.”

You give him a slightly skeptical look, but Xavier answers your confusion by placing your work phone in your hand. There was one notification. An apology from your ex-stalker. Tearing up with relief, you look into Xavier’s eyes, asking if it was true. He gives you a warm smile and nods.

“B-But how?”

“I have connections.” Xavier shrugs. “And access to things you don’t. But…Promise me that next time you’re having trouble that you’ll come to me for help? I can’t stand seeing you so scared…”

You wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him.

“Deal.”

[lemonlover1110]

Baby Steps

Satoru Gojo

[Chapter 25] Progress

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Pairing: Satoru Gojo x f!Reader

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For the past four months, Satoru has experienced being a father to the best baby in the world. Satoru quite literally cannot fathom the thought of loving someone more than he loves the little baby that’s strapped to his chest. And there’s nothing he loves more than hearing his little baby laugh as Satoru cuts up some strawberries.

“Is that funny, Seiji?” Satoru asks as the baby laughs, looking at how his father takes a strawberry and magically makes two of them. There’s no better sound than his baby laughing at Satoru doing the bare minimum. Seiji’s simply Satoru’s favorite human, he always will be. The same laughter emits when Satoru cuts up yet another strawberry.

“Satoru, aren’t you going grocery shopping?” You question as you walk into the kitchen to find him cutting up strawberries just to entertain your baby. He hums in response.

“Are you coming with?” Satoru responds and you shake your head. He’s noticed that you avoid going out. The most you go out lately is to the balcony of the apartment to take a breath of fresh air. He doesn’t want to call you out on it but it worries him.

“Do you want to take Seiji with you?” You ask him, and Satoru nods. Satoru insists on taking Seiji out, and while you try to say that inside Seiji is safer, Satoru just wants to show off his baby to the world.

“He helps me pick up ladies.” He jokes, making you roll your eyes. You’ve been dating– Not officially but you’re affectionate with each other and act as if you were dating. It’s like the beginning of your pregnancy, just this time you aren’t all too worried about labels. You’re both more focused on Seiji than anything; Satoru does want to make it official though, he just wants to make it special. “I was thinking… Maybe next week we can call Kaya to babysit so we can go on a date.”

“Depends on where it is.” You answer, and Satoru can’t bite his tongue.

“Why are you scared to go out?” Satoru brings up, and you shake your head. You’re definitely not scared to go out, inside it’s just simply safer. You chuckle.

“I’m not scared to go out.” You claim, but he really doesn’t believe it. The evidence makes it clear. You barely step out of the apartment.

“You know that we’ll have to move out eventually? We have to look for a house for the five of us, and I can’t exactly pick it out by myself.” He points out, and you end up sighing. “I know you refused to go to therapy but you should really consider it.”

“I’m fine.” You reply, and as the words leave your mouth, Seiji begins to fuss. It’s always funny to see Satoru bouncing to try to calm the baby down, Satoru’s hand going to Seiji’s tiny foot and caressing it. It doesn’t work, and he takes Seiji out of the carrier. You take the baby from Satoru and you kiss the top of Seiji’s head, “You wanna stay with mommy, don’t you?”

“He’s a traitor.” Satoru rolls his eyes. But only God knows that he would give up his life for that tiny little traitor.

-

Maybe Satoru is right, that’s all you think about while trying to go to bed. With Seiji you barely get any sleep, and you want to take advantage of every minute that you get to sleep, however, you can’t fall asleep even though you’re so tired. You’re just thinking about your son, how you’re refusing to go outside and how if you refuse to step a foot outside again, you’ll miss so much from his life. That’s the only thought that consumes your mind and it doesn’t help you sleep.

“Satoru.” You try to get his big arm off you because you hear your baby crying. Satoru is also exhausted; not only is he working but every time Seiji cries, Satoru tries to go to his rescue. Of course, he doesn’t have an unlimited source of energy so he’s bound to get tired eventually. Satoru rolls over and you get out of bed to get Seiji before he wakes up the sleeping kids.

You turn on the light of the nursery and smile as you walk over to your baby. You pick him up and kiss his forehead before walking to the rocking chair to feed him. You never really thought that at twenty one years of age you’d be breastfeeding your son but here you are. Worst of all is that you’re not even officially dating his father– No, worst of all is that you’d do it all over again just to be able to hold your son in your arms.

Once he’s finished, you smile at him. You were thinking that the older he gets, the more he’ll look like you but it feels like he just looks more and more like Satoru. You boop his nose before your hand caresses the little hair that he has on his head. Maybe it isn’t ideal to be a mother at such a young age, but you’d do anything for Seiji.

“I love you, Seiji.” You tell him and he coos. You can’t wait to hear him talk, but you also hate the thought because it means he’s just growing faster and faster. You want him to stay small forever but you also want him to grow up to be his own person. 

And you can’t stay locked inside forever while it happens. 

You rock him until he’s finally asleep again. You kiss his forehead before standing up and putting him in the crib. You turn off the light and walk back to the bedroom to go to sleep. When you lay in the bed, Satoru’s arm goes over you again. He cuddles into you, and a smile comes to your face.

“Everything okay?” He asks, his voice barely comprehensible since he’s three quarters asleep.

“He was just hungry.” You answer. His nose buries in your nape, and you feel a smile creep onto your face. “You were right, I should go to therapy.”

“Really?” He wakes right up, his eyes shooting open. You hum in response. He brings you even closer to him before asking, “Why?”

“If I stay inside forever then I’ll miss so much of his life… And maybe with that help we can start a relationship and whatnot.”You respond and you feel his lips on your neck.

“Aren’t we technically in a relationship? We’re sleeping in the same bed and we–” He begins but before he can finish the sentence, you cut him off.

“I mean… We weren’t technically in a relationship when Seiji was conceived. And do I need to remind you that you were dating Leiko while we–”

“Leiko doesn’t count, not a real relationship.” He interrupts you because he doesn’t like to remember that part of his life. It hasn’t been a year since it happened but he wants to pretend like it never happened. He did all that to protect you… And he wonders how the secret spilled. How Suguru got to know about you and your pregnancy. He wonders if he should really look for the person who spilled the secret because he’s vengeful and he doubts he’ll let the person live after you were so close to death. “I’m glad that you want to get help to be a better mommy to our son.”

“I’ll do anything for him.” You say.

“I know you would. I would too.” He responds. He kisses your shoulder before he tells you, “I love you.”

“We should go on that date.” You tell him, a smile coming to his face. And while you said that you wouldn’t have more kids, that was right after giving birth. The more time passes by, the less you remember the pain of giving birth, “If all goes well, maybe in a couple years we can have another baby.”

“I like that idea. We have to have a daughter so we can give her your name.” Satoru says which causes you to laugh. You do want a daughter. Your smile fades when you feel something on your back.

“Satoru… Does the idea of getting me pregnant turn you on?” You ask him as you feel his erection on your back. He tries to deny it as he lets go of you and rolls to the other side out of embarrassment. You go to hug him, kissing his cheek, “I’m flattered, really. Especially with how I look now.”

“How do you look now?” Satoru sounds completely confused. He turns again so he can look at you. You end up shrugging, looking away slightly embarrassed. His hand goes to your chin and he tilts your head up before pecking your lips. “You truly have never looked more beautiful. It takes everything in me to not pick you up and drag you in here. You’ve never looked hotter.”

“You’re flattering me.” You chuckle, and he brings his lips to meet yours. You can’t help but smile at him. He really makes you happy even if he irks you at times. 

“You’re really the most beautiful woman that has ever walked on Earth.” Satoru tells you and you have a stupid smile on your face. You wish you could fight it off, but it’s impossible. “I would knock you up right now if you’d let me.”

“Hmm…” You laugh before kissing him again. “I was about to have sex with you, but you scared me off.”

“I said if you’d let me.” Satoru insists, but you shake your head. 

“I’m just really tired right now, maybe tomorrow.”

-

“Alright, which one will hold Seiji?” Satoru asks as he holds Seiji with one arm, and the other holds a camera. Megumi points at Tsumiki while she raises her hand. Megumi saw the last mess Seiji made in his diaper, and he isn’t going to risk that happening to him. Satoru smiles as he hands Seiji off to Tsumiki. He makes sure she holds the baby right.

You told Satoru you wanted a picture of Seiji with the kids, and of course he’s trying to do so while you have your first therapy session. You’re in the bedroom, talking in the phone with them while Satoru tries to arrange the kids in the living room. They’re all wearing a cute outfit, a matching blue color. Satoru arranged the furniture so he could have a blank background for the picture of the kids.

“Stand next to Tsumiki and Seiji, Megumi.” Satoru orders as he gets the camera ready. He has to make it fast because he doubts that Tsumiki will be able to hold Seiji for too long. “Okay, smile. Say cheese.”

Megumi smiles, showing all his teeth and it makes Satoru roll his eyes. He won’t argue about it though. He snaps his fingers to get Seiji’s attention, and when he does he makes a stupid face to get the baby to laugh. When the baby laughs, Satoru snaps the picture.

He looks at the picture momentarily, but he only looks at his baby boy without caring to check how Megumi and Tsumiki look. Satoru picks up Seiji from Tsumiki’s arms. Then when he holds the baby, he looks at the picture: Megumi’s awful smile, Tsumiki blinked right on cue, the only person that looks adorable is Seiji. That’s all he cares about, the Gojos can’t look bad in any picture.

“Can I look at the picture?” Megumi asks and Satoru shakes his head. Megumi pouts his lips, and when Seiji sees it he laughs. That fills Satoru's heart up with joy.

“Oh, you’re just so cute.” Satoru kisses the baby’s cheeks. Then he holds Seiji up to blow a raspberry on his tummy, “I can’t wait to show your mommy the picture.”

“He doesn’t look like you, that’s why he’s cute.” Megumi says, and Satoru doesn’t pay any attention.

“Tsumiki, will you argue with your brother?” 

[yunwangja]

undercurrents | signal no. 12

masterlist | next signal

you turn your phone off and place it on the coffee table, feeling a surge of determination as you lock eyes with your friends, daring them to challenge you. their teasing had pushed you to this point, and now you were ready to prove them wrong. your gaze shifts to kuroo, who is laughing with bokuto about some ridiculous inside joke.

"i’m telling you, bo, the way you fumbled that last play was classic. i thought you were going to fall flat on your face!" kuroo's laughter is infectious, and you can't help but let the sound wash over you, even as you try to focus on your own turmoil.

you don’t like kuroo. you don’t like him like that. you don’t. and even if you did, you can’t. feelings for someone, in your experience, only lead to disaster. you weren’t cut out for it—the heartache, the vulnerability. it wasn’t that you thought kuroo was a bad person; it was that you were the problem. being an observer, an admirer from afar, was safer. there were no expectations, no risks, and no pain that way. it was how you’d kept yourself from getting hurt again.

bokuto excuses himself, spotting noya and bounding over to join him in a loud debate about who was better at a certain game you’d all played earlier. with bokuto gone, kuroo turns his attention back to you, a playful smile on his lips as he scoots a bit closer, draping an arm over the back of the couch.

"why are your eyebrows furrowed?" he asks, feigning concern. "still pissed off that i beat you at mario kart?"

you roll your eyes, a playful retort on the tip of your tongue. "no, your victory is stupid," you grumble, but your tone lacks any real bite. your gaze drifts around the room, landing on tooru, who is currently engaged in a petty bet with osamu over some trivial matter. your eyes linger on him as you remember the conversation with your friends, the one that led you here.

kuroo follows your gaze, his expression softening when he sees tooru. "do you want to talk to him?" he asks, leaning in teasingly, a smile tugging at his lips. "honestly, you’ve been doing better at keeping up a conversation with him lately."

you shake your head slightly, your eyes still fixed on tooru. "uh… maybe." you finally look back at kuroo, uncertainty swirling in your chest. "i don��t know," you murmur, reaching for a nacho from the coffee table, using it as a distraction.

kuroo’s smirk deepens. "come on. just tell me. what do you want?" he prompts gently, his tone encouraging. "i can give you a hand."

you hesitate, looking down before meeting his gaze again. the weight of your own confusion presses down on you, making it hard to find the right words. kuroo waits patiently, his expression open, urging you to continue. "go on," he says softly.

"i…" you glance at tooru once more, feeling the knot in your stomach tighten. "can i… ask him out?"

the words tumble out before you can fully think them through. but isn’t that what you’re actually trying to do? this was the simplest way to tell him. besides, how can you explain to him that you wanted to remind yourself that you liked tooru, and having feelings for him was absolutely impossible?

kuroo freezes, the shock flickering across his face. this wasn’t what he expected to hear from you, not after you’d sworn you wouldn’t act on your ‘harmless’ feelings for tooru. he recovers quickly, masking his reaction with a neutral expression as he looks between you and tooru. "wow," he finally says, scratching the back of his head.

"i mean… i told you from the get-go, y/n," he forces a small smile. "you can."

"i can ask him… right now, right?" you ask, the nerves creeping into your voice. kuroo nods, maintaining his smirk even as it feels like it’s cracking. "of course. i’m curious to see how you’ll do."

"yeah… okay…" you mutter, your heart pounding in your chest.

you’re scared. maybe you didn’t have to go this far, but you feel like you need to. deep down, you know you’re confused, lost in the swirling emotions that have been building up inside you. maybe, just maybe, spending time with tooru will give the answers you needed.

but a part of you insists. you have to still like tooru. you have to like him. you have to at least do this, even if he says no and you end up embarrassing yourself. you have to keep this act up, even if your friends’ suspicions turn out to be true. you have to be the girl who never crosses the line, who never lets herself get too close. for everyone’s sake. for your own.

you slowly stand up, your legs feeling heavy as you make your way over to tooru, who is still caught up in his conversation with osamu. as you leave, you don’t notice kuroo’s smile fading, his eyes darkening with an emotion he can’t quite name. he watches you walk away, a deep sense of loss settling in his chest, but he stays silent, letting you go.

here goes nothing.

notes

kuroo just wanted to have yn all to herself man :'( poor baby

POOR BABY

yn not doing the dolphin noises ritual with noya is BIG DEAL. that says a lot

if you were one of the people who have already read this last time... no you didnt <3 ugh

IM REALLY SORRY FOR THAT !! I HATE IT SO MUCH BECAUSE I LOVVED THIS SIGNAL AND I HATE I SPOILED IT IN ADVANCE

taglist: @lvtilzs @rarararararq @iamfontenlos @kurooswifeyy @secretsunsetsociety @kagsnumnine @yumiecheesecrackers @tojirin @jaynawayna @noxva08 @zahrawr-writes-fanfics @urslytherin @mawenskiblue @smellysluna @cccccccccccleo @winniethepooh-lover@akirqx @cupidsblonde

[thegingerwrites]

De-aged Obi-Wan ficlet, inspired by this gorgeous art of Pada-Wan

Anakin stares. He is utterly and completely awestruck by the sight before him. He must look like a kid again, with wide eyes and his mouth fallen open. Barely controlling a panicked urge to laugh, Anakin thinks that he isn’t the only one. He can’t help it now though. This is too much. 

His hair is long. That’s the first thing Anakin notices about him. His master’s hair is often fairly long, reaching down to touch his shoulders at the back. On long missions, it can get longer, unruly, but he always makes himself cut it before it grows long enough to tie back. 

Now, his hair easily reaches his shoulders on all sides. It frames his face with soft waves that Anakin aches to touch, run his fingers through and push back behind his ears. Is it redder now, somehow? Did his hair grow blonder over time and as white hairs began to gather at the temples? 

Anyway, looking at his master’s hair is much safer than looking at his face—soft and smooth, beardless and entirely unlined. His master’s lips are a gentle petal-pink, a dangerous thought that Anakin forces from his mind the instant it occurs to him. It isn’t safe to think that kind of thing about his master, especially when he looks like this. 

But looking elsewhere isn’t any better. His robes are structured to be broad across the shoulders, trying to make him look bigger there, stronger and more certain. All it does is accentuate just how small his master’s waist is. If Anakin placed his hands there, he bets his fingertips would touch. 

The Sith holocron must have changed Obi-Wan, made him younger. But just how young is anyone’s guess. Anakin thinks, briefly bordering panic once again, that they must be almost the same age now. Obi-Wan is about the same height as he always is, just slimmer, his muscles less developed and his movements willowy. 

They are almost the same age now. The fact does not help Anakin as he continues to stare, continues to look his fill at his young and beautiful master. 

“We have to go back,” Anakin says, still looking at Obi-Wan. 

Obi-Wan’s brow furrows, creating lines on his forehead that will one day become permanent. “We can’t—the entrance is blocked. Even if we could get past it, the whole cave system is likely unstable.”

But they need that holocron. They need to get Obi-Wan back to himself again. There is no way his master can be allowed to go on looking like that. Stars, all he’s doing is standing there, worrying his bottom lip—perhaps a normal tick for him, but one that is usually hidden by his beard—and the way it makes his perfect, soft pink lips go shiny with spit is indecent. Everything about him is obscene. 

Anakin takes a moment and decides on his orders. “Snips, see if you can scan the cave system. Rex, gather the men and get ready to excavate the entrance.”

“Anakin, there’s no need. I’m fine and we have to think of our mission here. I’ll comm the Council and have them start working on a solution. By the time we return to Coruscant, I’ll be myself again.” He frowns and thinks for a moment. “Though I suppose I feel rather like myself right now.”

Obi-Wan looks like he’s contemplating the benefits of remaining eighteen or nineteen for an extended period of time and Anakin has to put a stop to that line of thought right now. 

“You’ll be a liability,” Anakin insists. “Your body isn’t the same as your older self. You won’t be as good in a fight.”

Obi-Wan crosses his arms and fixes him with a look that Anakin can only describe as petulant. Kriff, was his master a brat at this age? Anakin wants to bite his young master’s pretty bottom lip. “It will take some getting used to, I grant you, but I’m hardly defenseless.”

No, not defenseless, but Anakin is prepared to fight the entire galaxy to keep anyone else from seeing his master like this. It’s like he doesn’t know what he looks like, the thoughts people are going to have about him, the thoughts Anakin is currently struggling with. 

But he does have a point. They were never meant to get so derailed by the ruins of the Sith temple. Their mission awaits.

“Fine,” Anakin says. Then he shrugs off his cloak and holds it out to Obi-Wan. “At least wear this.”

Maybe if Anakin obscures his master’s irresistible little waist and gets him to pull the hood up, he won’t have to fend off any unwanted eyes. Unwanted by Anakin, that is. Obi-Wan is Anakin’s master. No one gets to look at him or think about him the way Anakin is currently doing. 

Obi-Wan rolls his eyes but accepts the cloak and oh, no, Anakin has made a terrible mistake. The cloak is too big and it swallows Obi-Wan’s smaller frame. The sleeves are too long and there is too much fabric gathered up around his shoulders. His face peers out above the mass of brown fabric and he looks so adorable that Anakin can hardly stand it. 

“I’m going to go check on Ahsoka,” Anakin declares. There is no way they are leaving here without that karking holocron. “And you’re coming with me.”

[thebookshopofnightingales]

in the backseat of his car

Aziraphale x reader (x Crowley at the end)

summary: a quick trip to Scotland to retrieve a book quickly turns into something a little less innocent...

cw: 18+ only!! smut asf, dirty talk, the Bentley being used for unholy reasons, thigh riding, reader pronouns not specified but 'good girl' is used, very slight hair pulling, switch!Aziraphale and switch!reader, dom!Crowley, handjobs, hickeys/bruises

word count: 1.1k

A/N: my first fic! (on this account, anyway) and we're straight into the smut hehe. I may or may not have started a part 2 so let me know if you wanna read that too. happy reading😈

You and that sweet-talking Angel of yours have somehow managed to convince Crowley to let you borrow his beloved Bentley to the Scottish highlands. Aziraphale caught wind of a particular first-edition that he just had to get his wings on. He was practically begging Crowley to take his car, and you have never been to Scotland so hoped to accompany him. Needless to say, after some heavy praise and the two of you worshipping him in bed, he reluctantly agreed.

You admire the hilly landscape on your left, and the angelic being on your right.

“Darling, you’re staring again.” His eyes don’t leave the road as he speaks. Such a soft voice, you think. But only you know just how filthy his mouth can get.

“I can’t help it,” you coo, “you look so good driving Crowley’s car.” You bite your lip, of which Aziraphale catches a glimpse of. You know the smallest gestures that get him shifting in his seat. You smirk to yourself. Slowly, your hand caresses his gorgeous thigh, moving ever so slightly higher and higher, until-

“Oh-” Aziraphale releases a heavy breath once you reach his crotch, palming him over his trousers as you feel him beginning to harden under your touch.

“My sweet Angel is already getting hard for me.” You purr into his ear. He whimpers, and writhes in his confinements, groaning at the friction.

When he has become completely hard, you lick your lips and remove your hand. He audibly whines at the loss of your touch.

“God, what are you doing to me?” You’re not sure if he said ‘God’ because he hears you say it so much, or because he’s actually asking, but there are times when Aziraphale becomes so worked up that a blasphemy or two will escape his sweet lips. And you’re not complaining.

You leave Aziraphale high and dry for the rest of the ride, eager fantasising about what’ll happen once you arrive, every so often sneaking peeks at his full blown erection from within his trousers and the way he has a light shine of sweat over his beautiful face. You squeeze your thighs together in anticipation. 

You shift over to the driver’s seat while Aziraphale is retrieving his book, watching him through the window with your bottom lip between your teeth, ready to pull off as soon as he sits down. With so much energy and excitement pulsing from your head down to your core, you need him here and now. 

Except it can’t be here.

“My dear, why are you sitting in the driver’s seat?” Aziraphale asks through the window. “You know I’m a much safer driver. You drive like Crowley.”

“Oh, my angel, you’ll be fine. Now get in the damned car.” You reply with a knowing smirk.

You whiz through the roads, barely sparing a couple of oblivious pedestrians. Aziraphale hides behind his book.

Finally, you find a secluded parking area overlooking a beautiful Scottish view just as the sun has set. As the sky is growing darker, so are your eyes.

“Get in the back seat.” You order Aziraphale. He can’t help the twitch of his cock at your tone and does as you say. As you climb over to straddle his lap, he moves your hips so you're just straddling just one of his thighs. Your eyes widen with lust and you let out a small moan just at the idea of what’s about to happen. He leans his lips to your ear as he pulls your hair back slightly.

“I’m in charge now, my dear.” He whispers, before moving to kiss and nibble at your neck.

“Fuck, yes Angel.” You moan breathlessly as your head falls back. With a snap of his fingers, you are suddenly left in just your underwear. He grips onto your hips and begins guiding your heat over his thigh. The friction is delicious and you begin to grind harder against him, moaning at the sensation. Aziraphale lets out a groan at the sight of you like this, beginning to leave your wetness on his trousers. You can see the tent beginning to form, so you run your fingers over his clothed crotch and let them slide beneath the waistband. This time Aziraphale lets his head fall against the back seat and you descend your lips to his neck, sucking just under his ear enough to leave a mark. You kiss the bruise you’ve left and hum at the sinful sight of a hickey on your Angel. His grip gets tighter on your hips, surely leaving bruises of his own.

You begin stroking his length faster as you begin to reach your climax. He tenses his thigh more to intensify your pleasure. It’s all breathy moans and each other's names on your tongues.

He pulls your hand from his cock and leans it on his shoulder. He’s always enjoyed being able to truly bask in your pleasure with no distractions.

“Fuck, Aziraphale, this feels so good, I’m so close.” You’re breathless and moaning as you grind harder and faster. Aziraphale, one hand still on your hip, takes the other to lightly brush your hair behind your ear.

“Come for me, my dear. Fuck, that’s it. Good girl.”

His dirty words send you over the edge and have you coming undone hard on his thigh.

“Aziraphale, Angel, fuck!” You almost scream it feels that heavenly. You ride out your orgasm with your mouth wide and face contorted by pleasure. You collapse against his chest, lazily reaching back down for his still aching cock. He groans and deeply chuckles, and you can feel the resonance from his chest.

“I like when you let sin fall from your lips, Angel.” You purr, using your thumb to lightly tug on his lower lip. There’s so much lust in his eyes that you would never be able to tell that he’s one of Heaven’s ones.

“It’s because you tempt it out of me.” You feign shock at his remark. “Oh, come on, darling, you can’t pretend that you don’t have a little of the Devil in you.” 

You bite your lip. “And you wouldn’t have it any other way.”

A crackle of the radio interrupts the moment. Except you’re not expecting Crowley’s voice.

“Well, aren’t you two a salacious pair? Remember, I can feel everything that happens to and in this car. So imagine my surprise when I’m locking up your bookshop and suddenly I’m hard as a rock.” His words surprise you and your hand comes to your mouth, failing to hide your grin of excitement from your Demon’s words.

“Oh. Oh dear.” Aziraphale musters.

“Oh dear indeed, Angel.” You can hear Crowley’s gritted teeth through the speaker of the car and you chuckle with your lip between your teeth. “And don’t think I can’t tell that your hand is still wrapped around Aziraphale’s cock, my love.”

“Crowley, don’t be so- oh, Heavens.” Aziraphale moans as you suddenly tighten your grip and work your hand faster. 

Oh, this is going to be fun.

[anystalker707]

When he's a damn tease (Sanji version)

Pairing: Vinsmoke Sanji x [gender neutral] Reader Check out: (Roronoa Zoro's version) Summary: Headcanons about him teasing you because he knows you secretly like him (there are two versions) Tags: version 1 has gentleman sanji treating you like a royalty while you're shy / in version 2, he is that too, but you make him flustered

A/N: anon requested something regarding giving sanji a silent treatment--gonna work on this next

MASTERLIST

• Maybe it’s just immense luck, because Sanji apparently just started to be more lovesick at your sight after he caught onto some of your comments, such as “I feel like it’d be safer if Sanji joined our group” or “probably the best cook out there, really”, which aren’t even too different from what the others comment, but the fact that it was you saying it had him swooning and nose-bleeding more than usual

• You don’t really know how to deal with it, so your reaction most of the time is to look down and turn your head away whenever he is being that extra

• “Oh, you’re so cute when you’re shy, (y/n)-swan!” he says with heart eyes and hand clasped over his chest

• Sanji always has that stupid grin on his face whenever you watch him fight, making sure to you’re watching him while he puts on his best show—if it’s a difficult opponent, he’ll start ranting about how he can’t lose because he needs you back home and whole

• If you’re fighting with him, he’ll do his best to help you out and be the most perfect pair, very sweet, actually

• The others are worried, at some point, that you might not really return his feelings since he is extremely invested in you—Sanji does love cooking and fighting, but it seems to gain a completely different tone when it comes to you—and you don’t respond a lot, however, the worry fades away once they notice you keep every single note that Sanji leaves for you with the dishes and how you’ll even eat whatever he prepares you slowly to appreciate every bite of it

• Sanji doesn’t stop treating Nami, Robin and the other ladies well or fancing them, it just becomes different. It’s clear by the way he starts wearing that specific shirt just because you commented how nice it suits him, and the way he doesn’t start complaining when you walk into the kitchen during his alone hours—he actually likes having your company while he cooks

• Then, he wants more attention from you, what leads to the actual teasing

• Sanji will be seeking your approval almost the whole time just to make you react and, of course, because he loves your company and pretty much anything about you. It might be the simplest thing, but he will be there helping you out because you deserve it

• “Sanji, we need you to go buy stuff, we can’t have you watching the ship!” “...Only if I get to go with (y/n)-swan.” Sanji crosses his arms with a pout. At first, he was worried he would put negative pressure on you by saying that just to find out how amusing you thought it to be after he made a joke with it

• “You’re still here?” Zoro raised an eyebrow seeing Sanji still hadn’t left after the crew split up to gather what they needed in the new island; he was staying to watch the ship, so there was no reason for Sanji to be there, unless, of course... “Only with (y/n)-swan!” Sanji grinned in a smug manner that immediately turned into a mess the moment he saw you.

• And of course you go, trying to hide how flustered you are because you will hear a thousand comments like “oh, it’s a beautiful city! Such a beautiful view, but not as beautiful as you” before his eyes turn into hearts and he’s melting again because it ends up getting you shy

• Prepares every single dish you want. Once, he sits down next to you with your dessert in hand, but refuses to let you hold it. “You seem so tired, do you mind if I help you out?” He holds a spoonful of it in front of your lips, and despite how it makes your cheeks burn, you find yourself accepting it, much to his happiness

• Sanji may put on a serious and smooth posture to impress you, but he’ll either be a mess in seconds—like when the two of you are hanging out—or just internally, keeping that face when he’s confronting any enemy or scaring off someone who shouldn’t be too close to you

• He will hold your hand because it seems fit, always saying stuff like “I’m afraid you’ll get lost,” or just keeping it in his grasp after he holds it just to inspect “how lovely it is” and press a kiss to your knuckles—really just treating you like a royalty because he loves it even when you’re too flustered to even hold his gaze

• Also, Sanji might find out about it if you have a weak spot for him speaking French, so he will always be slipping some words in French in whatever he says to you. It might be the simplest thing said in the right way, just a “here’s your food, mon amour,” with a soft wink, and you’ll already be dying internally

.𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟.

• Another version in which Sanji is all over you, but doesn’t know how to deal with it because your reactions aren’t that easy to read, then you actually crack a genuine smile once in a while whenever he does something and you’re the owner of all of his attention

• He might be swooning over Robin and Nami that he’ll just stop and come right to you the moment you show up, asking if you need something

• Sanji is walking around with the first buttons of his shirt undone and handing out drinks until he puts on the best grin he can to hand you yours. “Even on such a hot day, you manage to be as beautiful as always, (y/n)-swan,” he comments while you get the cold glass from the tray he holds out. You smile in response. “Ah, true? It might be your eyes, Sanji! You seem to be handling it much better than me.” “Maybe, but my eyes are never mistaken, that’s for sure.” You let him win just that one time, eyeing his proud posture with a soft smirk

• Will do anything for you, whatever you want or think about (he may notice you’re bored and kick Zoro just because you think it’s funny when the two argue). You do recognize what he does, of course, but it’s fun to play around for a little, right? Tease him back

• Unlike Sanji’s teasing, yours will just lead him into situations that will actually fluster him to no end and/or never give him what he want, but it seems more like another reason for him to keep trying and trying, as if he will come up with the right response at the right time, even if you never let that happen

• “How does my dessert taste, (y/n)-swan? Probably very sweet, but not as sweet as you!” As much as you want to let yourself get lost in his compliments and just give up already, you’re not ready to give up on playing with him just yet. “Maybe as sweet as your lips, then?” It’s loud enough for him to understand, but not to make sure it’s exactly what you said. “Wh... What, (y/n)-san?” he mumbles, uncertain and with red cheeks, growing even more out of place when you just chuckle, never answering it

• He will get really jealous when he sees someone else hitting on you. Once, Nami decides to present you someone else so you can hang out with just to reach Sanji indirectly and you play along with it, pretending you don’t see him biting his shirt and dying in silence behind you until you question “how could I want someone else with Mr. Prince right there?” and he miserably tries to play it cool after that

• Sanji will get a little too frustrated at some point and try to make you jealous as well, but it doesn’t really go well because he thinks his flirting just doesn’t work if it isn’t with you, then he notices you’re observing him from the corner of the club and things just get worse, to the point he can barely face anyone when he’s walking away from whoever he tried to use to get to you

• You chuckle as you follow him, pulling him by the arm just close enough to whisper into his ear, “don’t play around, you know that when I catch you, there will be nothing left of you”

.𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟.

[wroteclassicaly]

Fallin’ For His Darlin’

(Gator Tillman x Female Reader)

Word count: 1,062

Pairings: Gator Tillman x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Language, mentions of trauma, wounds, pain, anxiety, and depression, vaginal sex, fluff, hurt/comfort, vaginal fingering, kind of dark!Gator, kind of soft/anxious too, etc.

A/N: So inspired tonight, listened to some mood music, feeling that fall vibe, haha! Hope y’all enjoy? I’m pretty happy with this one! And I can’t wait to see our boy in action 😭 P.S, forgive my shitty graphic making, I’m not good at that!

You’re not sure what time it is. Maybe midnight? You aren’t positive, because when his headlights find your garage door, floating in through your window like his own personal spotlight, his tires skid across the gravel of your lane, his car door heavily thudding closed, his boots crunching heavily over rough ground, signaling him closer… closer — time ceases to matter much. You’re meeting him eagerly over the threshold, his back slammed against the beat up wood, boots falling beside your sneakers on the entryway rug. Nothing can find you here, can harm you here, and what has lifelong permission to touch you, it’s always-only… him.

He smells as good as always. Spicy cologne and cigarettes, powdered sugar from the donuts he’d eaten for dinner (you are always on him to eat more), leftovers from your shared favorite diner — Angelica’s, still pressed into his crisp black t-shirt, as if he’d forgotten a napkin. His hair is usually in its less than pristine condition by the time he arrives at yours in the night hours. Doesn’t matter anyways, not with how you end up carrying on in front of your old fireplace (Gator’s a fan of your new cream rug, intricate floral patterns woven into it, loved by owners before, thrifted, and now yours), or on your couch. You’d never really gone to your bed, learning how those times nearly caused lines to be crossed, one ending with Gator falling asleep on your naked breasts, (the calmest he’s been in years, and you just watching him as the sun came up and cast a glow on his youthful head. he was lost, broken, beaten down).

Sticking to this, here in your living room, it’s safer, saner. But it’s not what you want. However, you’ll have him whichever way he offers. He’s Gator and you’re his sweet darlin’.

~*~

Your legs fall open, one wrapped up in his camouflage pant clad thighs. His fingers press deeper inside of you, thumb circling your curls, smearing the cream around in them, watching how it bubbles. You’re kissing him again, lips so soft on his chest, fingernails scraping through the thick tufts that rest on his chest, occasionally flicking his gold and silver chain overlays. You’d gotten him the gold pendant, something he could wear, a symbol for faith that Gator could attach his own meaning to, not having to wear because it meant what his father wanted it to. But it was safe enough that Roy wouldn’t question its meaning.

Your lips find that patch of skin by his left nipple, sucking it between your lips, before you bite down. Gator throbs in his pants, his spare hand squeezing your neck’s nape. Despite his fascination, he’s still a million miles away. “Why do you let me do this to you?”

It’s a default question, an answer you both know already. Why you let him love you like this, it’s so simple…

“These hands, what I do with them before I come here. I’m bad. And I could hurt you, you know?” He adds a little pressure that travels up your scalp in electric prickles.

You spread yourself wider for him, a third finger stretching you in a welcomed, boundary pushing burn. Your eyes meet the midnight murk that’s woven over his mossy pupils like a blanket to mask, face leaving that cove of his chest. Your finger reaches to rub along his lower lip, his tongue licking out to taste skin.

“You wouldn’t, Gator. You won’t...” Is your answer. As if you believe it more than you believe in any god or higher power.

He’s pushing, as he often does…

“And if I do?”

“Then I’d let you.” It’s plain and simple, your fingers leaving his mouth to wrap around his wrist and correct him to a deeper rhythm. This is not enough tonight. More. Fuck, you want him to swallow you whole, capture you, trap, and hurt you in the ways you welcome — how he can, ever so softly, but painfully blissful, like a fire to your fingertips, flames licking the skin, enough to sting, but never to take away in harm.

He’s fully hard, swollen, and he’s turning towards you, forcing you to him by your nape. Your noses bump into a brushing nudge, his hand leaving your cunt and pressing wet, calloused fingers to your jaw as he brings you into his mouth. He’s so warm, plush, his stubble has a scratching effect. He tastes like sweet sugar and Marlboros. He’s been smoking menthol, you note — what he switches to in the colder seasons.

He’s panting his next declaration over your mouth in a fragile concentration. “Would you let me put it inside of you, darlin’?”

Your thighs tighten together, pussy clicking noisily. You’ve never had penetrative sex with him yet, something so close for two childhood friends. But you’re ready to leap if he is, reaching for his hand on your jaw and squeezing over his knuckles. “What do you think I’ve been waiting for, Gator?”

~*~

Approaching Autumn glides in on the cool September rain of Sunday, leaves and earth filling your room with the harsh scent of two bodies connecting. Your blush curtains blow against the chipped, open window frames. Your nipples have hardened from the cool air, from dragging repeatedly across Gator’s chest hair, his necklaces dipping into your collar bones and the valley of your tits. He’s got your legs held around his waist, your hands pulling in his hair to mess it up, his nose finding yours, foreheads sticking with perspiration. The box of condoms lay abandoned at your bedside, a gamble in you, of which Gator is only ever willing to trust.

Your eyes tighten and close, his size making you feel as if you’ve never been touched or fucked before in your lifetime. Everything aches, everything is too much, all at once.

“Should I stop? You hurtin’?” He’s speaking to you in a way that makes tears gather in your lash line. He brushes them away with a rough thumb, then a trigger finger, almost immediately.

His hands let your legs drop to take your fingers in his own, directing one to his shoulder and the other around his waist. “Hold onto me?”

“I’ll never stop.” And you’re surging in for a kiss.

The rain hasn’t stopped when the sun begins to come up the next morning. And your boy sleeps soundly on your chest, uncaring. And that funny thing called time? Well, it still ceases to exist.

// Eat me paragraph //

[narcolini]

biting truth

frank castle x gn!reader, angst/whump, 2693 words

warnings for mentions of violence & injury, canon typical events

for day 9 of whumpril: pinned down | bruises | “who did this to you?”

a/n: just an fyi the fic contains some roughhousing that i would nevverrrrrr tolerate or think was suitable in an irl relationship but... its fiction and hes frank so . we ride

tagging: @hausofmamadas @cositapreciosa @drabbles-mc​ 

He’s moved it, he must have done. Probably thinks he’s protecting you, too, thinks that you wouldn’t even miss it. Like this is any safer, rooting around blindly for the touch of metal. He’s forgetting, obviously, that being with him is as much of a fucking threat as being him. That the target on his head reflects right back onto yours, red dot between your brows. All he’s done is strip away the one certainty you had. It’s okay, you thought, if someone comes, because it’s right there in the drawer.

‘Frank,’ you shout, pawing through the clutter in your bedside, ‘I swear to God, if you’ve touched my shit again.’

If shouldn’t even be in that sentence, because he has. He definitely has.

You abandon the pens and wires in the drawer, and reach for the laundry hamper, upturning a weeks worth of dirty clothes onto the floor. Nothing heavy falls out, so you don’t bother rifling through it afterwards. He’s not dumb enough to stash it in there, anyway, desperate as you are.

The bed is your next target; you grunt, lifting the mattress from the frame and shoving it diagonally. Opening up any hiding places that might lie beneath, but there’s no luck there, either. Just slats of wood and old shoe boxes. Fuck.

Before you can put it back and begin fixing the mess you’ve made, the war zone in your own bedroom, there’s a cough at the door—a forced one. Frank clearing his throat to get your attention. When you look up, he’s standing slanted against the doorframe, watching you scramble, arms crossed and waiting.

You can’t help but glare in return. ‘Where is it, Frank?’

He exhales, head tilting, like his day’s been any harder than yours has. ‘Where’s what?’

‘My fucking gun,’ you snap, because surely he knows, regardless of his ignorance to the rest of it—what happened, what you endured—that, he knows.

But he says nothing. He just continues to look at you, arms crossed, gaze steady. Forced patience like every father has. So, you carry on searching, moving around the wonky mattress to root through his bedside instead, which is despairingly empty. Un-lived in. He’s still not been in one place long enough to gather clutter like you have.

‘Now’s not the time to be precious,’ you snark, slamming the drawer shut again. ‘I want it back.’

You get a sigh instead of an answer. ‘You gonna tell me what happened?’ he asks. ‘To your face?’

It was only a matter of time before he noticed that. Probably clocked it as soon as you got home, really, despite the efforts you made to hide it. You’d hurried into the bedroom before he had time to ask, head down, face to the floor, but that was a doomed tactic to start with. Too unlike you to go unchallenged by him.

Now that he’s standing there, parallel, you can hardly hide the bruises on your neck, the dried blood under your nose. Can hardly convince him that it’s anything other than what it is—because he knows, he knows what a fight looks like—but you can play his game in return. You’re just as good at biting your tongue as he is.

‘No,’ you tell him, definite.

He nods, standing out of his lean. ‘Alright,’ he says, as if that’s the end of it.

But it isn’t, because you’re still at a disadvantage. You put your hand out, palm up, and step forward until you’re directly in front of him. Fingertips to his chest. The hall light sits behind the crown of his head, shining onto your face, highlighting the bruises. The blood. It doesn’t matter. ‘Give me the gun,’ you demand.

‘No.’

‘Frank.’

He shrugs, inviting the stand-off to settle. Head hard and jaw set. He could do this all day.

‘Fine.’ You’ll strip the apartment bare until you find it. He can even watch, if he likes.

When you try to move around him, he blocks you, his arm going up to grip a palm to the doorframe. You push against it, but he tenses. Pause to look at him, brow raised, and he just looks back at you, stubborn.

Really? That’s what he’s fighting you on, after everything, your right to own firearms? If it wasn’t so maddeningly annoying, you’d laugh. If you weren’t still running on adrenaline, and pain, and deep, untouched fear, you’d tell him so. You’d make him see how absurd he’s being, given the weapon that he is himself.

Instead, you duck under his barrier before he can stop you, and ignore the way he calls your name afterwards—like a curse—to hot-foot into the living room. It has to be in here somewhere. Even he wouldn’t dispose of it entirely.

‘Will you just talk to me?’ he complains, boots heavy on the floorboards. He’s hounding after you, of course, through the short hallway, between the couches, into the kitchenette.

Where is it? Where would he put it?

You open the cabinet under the sink, then slam it shut again.

‘You come home,’ he says, hovering behind, ‘with that shit all over your face, and you expect me to just ignore it?’

‘I expect you to trust me,’ you quip back. ‘The only person you ever trust is…’

You spin, piece slotting into the puzzle at last. It’s on him still. He hasn’t hidden it at all, because he’s the only one he trusts to use it.

‘Give it to me.’

He sniffs, stalling, then nods a fraction, hands propped on his waist. ‘When you tell me what you need it for.’

You dive at him, too sick of bickering to bother with anything other than action now, reaching for the back of his jeans. When your arms aren’t quite long enough to get there, you hook his belt loops instead, twisting him toward you. And that’s as far as you get, because, well, it’s Frank. You can never out-step him.

He grabs your biceps before you can try to reach it a second time, which—God—which triggers something you didn’t expect, a reaction like you’re there again, like you’re in between buildings downtown, struggling to get free, and you slap him. Not hard, but palms flat and directionless. Panic swatting to get away from him, his chest, his arms, anything besides working toward the gun; for a moment, you’ve forgotten about the gun.

You catch his face once before he makes any firm efforts to stop you, his head turning from the impact.

Then you’re against the wall behind, not roughly, but in a controlled way. Walked back and put there, with his grip on your arms light enough to leave wiggle room still.

‘Get off me,’ you bark, shaping guilt into anger. Too high to come back down yet, to realise it’s Frank, your frank, that you’re fighting against.

‘Not until you—hey. Hey!’ He drops his hold to your wrists, pinning them to the wall by your sides. Arms forced straight and motionless at last. ‘Stop,’ he instructs, voice taut in his effort not to shout, ‘stop it. Tell me what’s going on.’

You try him again, curving under his hold. Hips to his, spine arching, fists bumping the drywall. He doesn’t budge. He doesn’t even look mad.

‘Get off me, Frank.’

‘Who did this to you?’ he asks, looking more concerned than annoyed, despite the situation. His heavy brows sink together, his eyes scan your face like you’re something to be ret-conned. Worry printed behind the dark of them. ‘Tell me.’

‘I won’t.’

He hasn’t even seen the worst of the bruising, doesn’t really know what you’re protecting him from yet. You aren’t doing it to be stubborn, or mysterious, or to give yourself power over something he can’t reach. You won’t tell him because it’ll make things worse, because it’ll possess him beyond rationality and then you’ll have nothing left, just aches and an empty apartment.

‘Please just leave it,’ you try, attempting to soften him. ‘It’s dealt with.’

Again, he doesn’t budge. He adjusts his hold, bringing your hands up, elbows bent. ‘We can stay like this as long as you want.’

Your nostrils flare, and you know you’re looking at him with venom, because the plea didn’t work, and he’s a mule that won’t budge, and it doesn’t matter, right now, that you love him still, under it all, because he’s winning. He’s winning. You don’t have the same unwavering patience that he does—when it comes to you. His lungs are scooping in breaths, as riled up as you are, but his hands are firm, his grip steady. His jaw flexes as he waits you out. And he wins.

‘Fine,’ you concede, ‘alright. Just—get off me. I’ll tell you.’

He considers it for a moment before deciding you aren’t lying, then breaks free. Palms open, boots back. You rub your wrists, though they aren’t hurting, and flick him a sour look.

‘Well?’ he prompts.

‘Jesus, okay.’ It’s concern, you know, that’s drawn the urgency out of him. It’s the bruise under your eye, and the blood on your nose, staring back at him, but, God, if it doesn’t feel like a punishment. Like you’ve done wrong yourself, instead of being the victim in the first place. ‘It was Billy,’ you admit, and your voice pinches at the end like it might break. If you could give him a different name, any other name, you would do it happily. Easily. Saying Billy’s is like tugging the pin from a grenade and holding onto it afterwards. Waiting.

He frowns, speaking carefully around the word, ‘Billy?’

‘Yes, Billy.’

‘What happened?’

‘Well, Frank, he tried to snatch me to use as bait.’ You walk past him, aimless, and pause again once you’re by the kitchen island. ‘But he forgot to account for the fact I’m not easily fucking abducted.’

All that special, super secret, military service, and he didn’t even bother to look into your own history. Your training. You aren’t military standard, but you know how to fight well enough to have caught him off-guard. Which was all you needed, apparently.

‘He hurt you,’ Frank says. A statement, not a question, said to help him process it. You watch him chew it over in his head, and you know where it takes him. You had tried to avoid it.

‘No more than I hurt him,’ you reply, attempting to sound reassuring. ‘Was like fighting a fucking clone of myself.’

It’s not entirely true, because he had the up on you in terms of height, weight, intent—he wanted you to go with him, for the sake of his cause. For the sake of Frank. You just wanted to make enough of a scene that he couldn’t succeed. But it isn’t entirely false, either. You had got a swipe of nails cross his cheek, a knee to the soft of his groin. It was like cats, by the end, slapping paws at each other, biting ears. No rules and no tact, either. He couldn’t do anything once you’d found a crowd to push into, wouldn’t do something insane enough to get the advantage again, so you went.

‘I got into the Subway before he could stop me,’ you add.

You’d watched him from the safety of the carriage, doors shut firmly between the two of you, feeling victorious. Now, looking at Frank, it’s obvious your win was just a pause in the fight, a moment to catch your breath.

He’s flexing his hands, curling them in and out of fists. You watch him lick his lip, nodding, watch his expression change like he’s talking to himself. Working it all out behind his skull and you’re not invited.

‘You can relax, Frank. You’ve officially go the upper hand.’ Billy’s plan to get at him, to draw him out of the cracks, has failed. He can’t try it again now that it’s laid bare, spelled out for Frank to work around.

‘He tried to—’

‘But he didn’t, did he?’ You flap your arms, gesturing to yourself. ‘I’m fine. Crisis averted.’

The look he gives you in return makes you falter. Tugs your heart from under all the stress, the print of adrenaline, and reminds it of itself. What it beats for. He looks seconds away from darting out of here, like the moment of misjudgement before a deer leaps across the highway. Your gun is in his waistband already. His boots are on. It’d take him less than a minute to ruin everything, to be gone before you could stop him.

When you speak again, it’s with half the bite and conviction of before. More of a bargain, a plea, than anything else. ‘Don’t make all of this for nothing by walking into his trap anyway.’

It’s not your life you were fighting for, it was his. If Billy got you to where he wanted, you know how it would’ve gone down. A life for a life. Frank would’ve agreed to it without a thought, in a heartbeat, would have sacrificed himself before Billy even got a knife to your throat. Before a threat was even laid.

He’s thinking about it still. Wants to end this now, instead of waiting for the next play.

‘So what was your plan?’ he asks suddenly, half-scoffing. He can barely look at you as he says it. ‘You were gonna go out there, and kill him yourself?’

You don’t know what stings more, the doubt in his voice that you could, or the idea that you’d be dumb enough to try, knowing what he’d do in return if it all went wrong.

‘All I’m ever doing, Frank, is trying to protect you from yourself.’ You’re hissing the words out at him, forcing them through your teeth. ‘Forgive me, if I want to protect my own life every once in a while.’

You don’t want to kill Billy, you don’t even have the mental space to imagine it. You just want a weapon that would stop him the next time he tries, if he tries. You won’t be lucky a second time around. Billy wouldn’t make the mistake of underestimating you twice, especially now that you’ve left your mark on him.

Frank is breathing heavy enough for you to hear it, his chest up and down under the black of his shirt. It’s not frustration anymore, but fear. Control slipping out from beneath him. He can’t expect you to hide, or live in the shadows like he does. He knows not to ask it of you.

‘You shouldn’t have to do that,’ he says.

You sigh. You don’t need to answer him, don’t need to remind him that, well, yes. You do have to do it. And you’re far too deep into the mess of it all to step out of range now.

‘Billy won’t,’ he starts, though you both know he’ll be lying by the end of it. ‘He won’t come near you again. Alright? You don’t need to…’

You put your hand out again. Your voice is soft now. ‘It’ll make me feel better,’ you say, ‘please.’

He pauses, for a drawn out moment, with his gaze somewhere on the ground in front of him. Then he reaches behind, to pull the gun from his jeans, and passes it to you.

Billy won’t, he said, he shouldn’t. But he might, and that’s a truth that neither of you can try to hide from each other. A reality that sits in the room already.

‘Thank-you,’ you breathe, relieved now that it’s in your hand, and soon it’ll be back by the bed where it belongs. A safety net you hope you’ll never bounce in.

Frank nods, running his tongue over his gums. When he finally connects again, his eyes on yours, expression tired more than anything else, you smile. Or try to. He doesn’t match the gesture, turning to leave instead.

‘I’ll run a bath,’ he says, ‘get you cleaned up.’

‘Alright.’ 

You know how it goes. Clean, soothed, and back to argue about it all over again.

[so-long-soldier-writes]

Drunk Words Are Sober Thoughts

kai parker x reader

summary:  of course, on the night all your friends are hooking up, you get too drunk to take yourself home. walking home at night, drunk, and in mystic falls is not something on your bucket list, and to make matters worse, you can't help but feel a pair of eyes on you from a distance. so, feeling desperate, you call the contact given to you "for emergencies only," and hope that he shows.

tags: drunk reader, protective kai, drunken confessions, cuddling, fluff

word count: ~2.5k

You lean against the brick wall, exhausted and tipsy from alcohol consumption. You’re not ‘tripping over your own feet’ drunk, but definitely ‘shouldn’t drive’ drunk. The plan was to stay in the bar until you sobered up, but then Liv started kicking everyone out when the frat boys were becoming too rowdy, leaving you by yourself to make it home. She didn’t know that, of course, so you don’t blame her, but you can’t help but be a little upset by the decision. A bar that advertises to be open late should be open late, right?

Groaning, you check the time. It’s a little after midnight. Okay, so I guess it is late. Still though, you’re irritated. You walked here in the daytime, and now at night, you have to walk back. You look down the long alleyway, preparing yourself, when suddenly a shadow moves at the end of the street. Did I imagine that? The hairs stand up on the back of your neck, and a chill goes down your spine. An unsafe feeling surrounds you, anxiety making your throat feel tight. Pulling out your phone, you scroll through your contacts for help. 

“Elena’s with Damon, Caroline’s with Stefan, Bonnie’s with Jeremy, ugh! All my friends decided to hook up tonight!” You bite your lip. This is why you went out in the first place. “Okay, think: who can I call? Just to walk me home; just to feel a bit safer…” The longer you stand there, the more anxious you feel - as if the shadow’s watching, or planning an attack. “Shit, is this stupid?” You mutter out loud, finger hovering over a certain contact. 

Kai Parker. 

Stefan had you save the witch’s number for emergencies only. He was very specific about never contacting him unless you were desperate. 

You catch another glimpse of the shadow. “Pretty damn desperate right now.” Swallowing hard, you press the call button. The boy picks up after only two rings.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of getting to hear your voice?”

“Are you busy?” Your voice is shaky, but disguising it right now sounds impossible. 

“Why? Are you okay? Do you need help?”

The concern in his tone shocks you, “I-um, can you walk me home?”

“Of course. Where are you?”

“Scull Bar. In the alley out back.”

“Oh, princess, not the alley. You have to get out, and preferably close to a door.”

The pet name gives you butterflies, but you can’t focus on that right now, “but the bar is closed.”

“Doesn’t matter, you’ll still be at least a little safer.”

“Okay, I’ll try. But Kai?”

“Yes?”

“I think, um, I think someone’s watching me. I can’t tell. I’m scared.”

“I’ll be right there, I promise.”

“Okay.”

Terrified, you count the seconds until his arrival in your head. You did manage to move to the entrance of the alley, but a rustling made you stop dead in your tracks. It’s like a stand-off between you and the mysterious figure, though whatever, or whoever it is, has the upper hand. 

“Oh my god, please hurry,” you whine to yourself. Maybe he’s not coming, a part of you thinks. No, he sounded truthful on the phone. But it’s Kai, the voice argues back. “Shit!” You curse, hearing more noise even closer than before. 

“Hey, hey, you okay?” At the same time a new voice comes through, you feel hands on your shoulders, moving you further from the darkness. You scream, and the hands leave you instantly. “Shit, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t’ve touched you without asking, but I wanted to grab you before it did.”

“Kai?”

“Yeah, it’s me. Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“No, but I’m really scared!” Usually you’d try to hide your vulnerabilities around people like Kai, but right now, you’re too damn terrified. 

“Okay, I know. It’s okay. You’re safe with me. Come with me, alright? I’m gonna take you home.” Slowly, he puts his hands back on your shoulders and guides you towards the streetlight. “Do you see me?”

“Uh huh,” you say, trying to not cry.

“Okay, good girl. Can I take you home? You shouldn’t be out here alone this late.”

“Please. I’m here,” you show him your address, which you typed out on a notes app on your phone. 

“Okay, let’s get you home. Take a deep breath for me?” He guides you through a couple breaths, and then finally gets you to start walking in the direction of your house. “Do you want me to call a cab or just walk?”

“I’m not far, I’m okay to walk as long as you stay,” you say in between hiccups. 

“I’m not leaving you, I promise. We can walk.”

You immediately reach for his hand. The initial contact is electrifying, and you both pull back. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re okay. I’m sorry, too, I wasn’t expecting that.”

“I’m sorry,” you say again, for catching him off guard.

“Don’t apologize, princess. Here,” slowly, he takes your hand in his own, “okay?”

“Yes. Thank you. Makes me feel safer.”

Something in him suddenly wants to kiss you, but he holds back. “Good,” he says instead, “I hope you do. I want you to feel safe with me.”

“You always make me feel safe, Kai. I’ve just never been brave enough to talk to you. You’re kinda intimidating.”

Kai’s heart aches. All he wanted for nearly twenty-two years was to have his family intimidated enough that they’d treat him as an equal. But now, all he wants is to fit in with the people of Mystic Falls. Not doing a great job there, are you, Kai? A voice in his head says. 

“Because I mean,” you then continue, “you’re really, really hot, and really, really powerful.” Your words are slurring, but he can hear you well enough, “and Damon always tells me not to talk to you, and the only reason I have your number is because Stefan gave it to me for emergencies. And I even asked myself if calling you was a bad idea, because a part of me didn’t think you’d show, but still, I really, really wanted you to, because I want to like you, Kai. I can tell you’re trying to be better, but they’re being asses. And I wish I could talk to you soberly about this kinda stuff, but I just can’t because you’re too cute. That’s why you’re intimidating to me - you’re too cute for me to talk to. Anyway, thank you for saving me, because I was really scared and all my friends are hooking up right now.”

Kai tries to ignore everything you had just drunkenly admitted, and instead focuses on your last few words, “of course, princess. I would never let you get hurt.”

“Princess,” you mutter, “why do you call me that?”

You’re drunk. You won’t remember this conversation. It’s okay to indulge. 

“Because I think you’re cute, too, Y/N. I like you. You actually see that I’m trying to be better, and you treat me fairly.”

You walk in front of him, then begin walking backwards, dragging him along, “I like you, too, Kai. I like you a lot.” You put a finger on his nose, then trail it down his lips and chin. “And you have soft lips.”

He chuckles, but then physically moves your body so that you’re beside him again. He mutters something like, don’t want you to blindly run into something, and you immediately comply. “Thank you, Y/N. Is this your house?”

You stop and turn to face the house in front of you. “When did we get here?”

“We’ve been walking for a bit, cutie.”

“Oh. Wow. Yeah, I’m here. My dead parents’ house that I’ve inherited. Goody. Can you come in? Or are you busy?”

“I’m not busy.”

“Good, because I really don’t want to be alone right now.” You pull him up the porch steps and towards your door. “And like I said, you make me feel safe.”

“As long as you’re okay with it, I’ll come in with you.”

“Please, Kai. And if you want, I can find a mattress or a spare set of sheets for the spare room. Or there’s the couch, or you could even sleep with me, just please don’t leave!”

“I’m not going anywhere if you don’t want me to, princess.”

“Okay. Good. Um, thank you.” You bring him through the door, hands still on him, but now grasping his jacket. “Do you want the guest room? Or the couch?”

“I’m good anywhere you’d like. But can I get you a glass of water first?”

“Okay, sure. I’ll prepare the guest room for you.”

“Hey, wait, Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t bother with that, I’m fine on the couch.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I’m good. You need to get some rest. Here, drink this.”

“Okay.”

Twenty minutes later, Kai finally gets you in your bed, changed and ready. You gave him a spare pair of clothes and a toothbrush, too, and when he thinks you’re asleep, he gets ready for bed himself and settles down on the couch. Though only three minutes later, the stairs creak with the sound of you coming down them. 

“You okay?” He looks over to find you wrapped in a blanket - the one he just tucked you in with - and staring at him, tooth resting on your lip. 

“Can I sleep down here with you?”

Kai hesitates, but ultimately decides to let his feelings win. If comfort is what you need, then it’s what he’ll give you. “Of course.”

“Thank you,” you murmur, crawling onto the couch beside him. “You’re as soft as you look.”

“Thank you, princess. Go to sleep.”

“Okay.”

◇◇◇◇

“You called Kai?!” Elena’s voice rings through the phone, disbelief in her tone.

“Everyone else was busy fucking, I didn’t know what else to do! Stefan gave me his number for emergencies.”

“Emergencies are like dangerous situations, Y/N! Like, in desperate need of a witch and Bonnie’s not available!”

“Well I was in a dangerous situation, and desperate, and I didn’t know who else to call!”

“Why would you even go out alone?”

“Because I was bored, Elena! Everyone was hooking up, and I needed to do something.”

“Where is he now, Y/N? Is he gone? Did he leave after taking you home?”

“No, he’s making me pancakes.”

“What?!”

“I invited him in, and he slept on my couch, and now he’s making me pancakes.”

“Y/N! W-”

You cut her off, “I was really scared last night and he came to my side immediately. Then he walked me home, and was respectful the whole time and the whole night. And I was upset when I woke up and he wasn’t there, but he was just in the kitchen making coffee.”

“When he wasn’t there?! Y/N, what are you saying?”

“It’s no big deal, Lena, we only snuggled. I didn’t want to be alone.”

“That is big deal! You could’ve gotten hurt!”

“I would’ve gotten more hurt if I didn’t call Kai. But I did, and now I’m safely at home instead of dead in a ditch somewhere. And now, I’m gonna eat his pancakes, because he’s an amazing cook.”

“Y/N, don’t-”

But you hang up. 

“Sorry you had to listen to that,” you grimace. Your phone was on speaker because your hangover headache was too strong to have Elena yelling in your ear.

“It’s okay. I know how they feel about me. No use in covering it up.”

“If it’s any consolation, I don’t feel that way. As in, the way they do. And I know I was drunk off my ass last night, but I remember the things I told you.”

Kai turns off the stove and looks at you, fear apparent in his eyes. 

However, you crush his fear immediately, “I meant every word. You do make me feel safe, and I do enjoy being around you. You are really, really cute, and hot, and I wish I had the courage to tell you those things without getting drunk or hungover.”

“Wait, really?” There’s a blush on his cheeks that doesn’t go unnoticed. 

“Yeah… is that okay?”

The boy puts a stack of pancakes - decorated in strawberries and whipped cream - in front of you, then rests his elbows on the counter. “Perfectly okay. Like I said last night, I want you to feel safe around me, and I really do like you, Y/N.”

It’s your turn to blush now, along with a giggle, and soon you’re embarrassed, covering your face with your hand.

“Oh, don’t get shy on me now, princess! Look at me.”

You do, and immediately he boops your nose with his index finger. It’s cold, though, and you look down at your nose, and then at his finger, and realize there’s a dab of whipped cream on it. 

“Kai!” You laugh more, swiping it off your nose and sucking your finger clean. “You’re such a goof!”

“I just like seeing you smile,” he admits. 

“I know something that’d really make me smile, if you’re up for it.”

“And what’s that?”

“Kiss me.”

He goes quiet for a second, comprehending what you just said. His eyes search for hesitancy in yours, wondering if you had meant to ask that. 

“You don’t have to-” 

He cuts you off by reaching across the counter and grabbing your face in his hands. He’s gentle, though passionate, as he does, and his kiss is just the same. 

“Another thing I was right about last night: you do have soft lips.” He smiles again, but when he pulls away, you point at his chest. “You’ve got whipped cream on your shirt!” 

Looking down, Kai laughs at the dollop visible on his clothes. “Ah, nothing I can’t just-” and then suddenly it finds its way to your face. Before it reaches your nose again, though, you grab his hand and suck it off. 

“Good try!”

“I’ll getcha next time… again! Now eat your pancakes before they get cold, Y/N.”

“Okay. Hey, can you stay longer? Like maybe we eat these, and then we can watch a movie while I fully recover from this hangover?”

“Only if you let me take you on a date when you feel better.”

“Of course!”

“Then yes, Y/N. I’m not going anywhere.”

He takes his own stack of pancakes and sits beside you.

For the rest of the afternoon, you watch movies and talk, until one hour before seven, at which he leaves. Seven on the dot, he’s back at your house, a bouquet of flowers in hand, to whisk you away for the rest of the night.

“Now you don’t have to call me when you’re a little drunk, because I’m already gonna be right here with you.”

“I like the sound of that,” you giggle, cheering a shot to him. 

[bubblessunshinehoney]

Roommates pt3

Roomates Holiday Love

A/N:a little medley of some festive days with this trio.

Enjoy,

Cloudy

don't be shy, reblogs, comments, likes!

TW: mentions of sex, fluff, bucky and steve are a warning, overdose of cuteness and sugar

not beta read, english is not my first language, all mistakes are my own

headers: @christywantspizza dividers: @firefly-graphics

part 1 | part 2 | part 3

For the first time in your entire life, you didn’t spend Christmas with your family. The weather decided otherwise. The storm was too strong, and you felt safer to stay here. Your roommates and boyfriends decided to stay too.

And what a delight it has been. Even with the power down, you’re not cold or afraid of the dark. You actually had fun with it and…made an all lot of exercises.

Right now, you’re against a hard and warm chest, and you can smell pancakes being cooked and hint of coffee and hot chocolate. You try to stretch, but the arms around your waist bring you back against the chest.

“No”, says bucky.

“I’m not going anywhere, I’m stretching”, you laugh softly.

He groans and holds you tighter, murmuring “mine” under his breath.

Steve comes in and chuckles. “Oi, she’s mine too!”

Bucky grumbles a no and holds you tighter, you can’t stop giggling and waves at Steve.

“We have a grumpy bucky on Christmas day!” you giggle louder, when he tickles you.

“M’not grumpy, m’hungry…”

“Well, I have food, you grumpy man”, chuckles Steve.

Let’s just say…. you had the best Christmas day in your entire life this year. Between the food and the gifts, the laugh and the cuddles, you didn’t miss that much your family. You called them, to say hi and celebrate a little bit with them, but everybody was happy that you stayed there, the storm being very dangerous.

❤️🌹❤️🌹14th February🌹❤️🌹❤️

Well, can you believe this year you have not one but two valentines? And they are very romantic…more than on a normal day. You wake up with flowers (not roses, your favourites flowers), a hot chocolate and some French toasts. You don’t have the time to bite into the French toasts, that Steve and Bucky declare that they also need their breakfast. They disappear under the covers and let just say…an orgasm and French toasts are a good combination.

During the day, you surprised them too, when you declare you need your sticky snack. At first they don’t understand but Bucky laughs when he sees Steve getting bright red, while you grab his bulge. “My turn to have my snack”, you purr.

You were shy at first, after all the bad experiences you had, but the boys made you realise you had your voice and you could use it to say what you wanted, in and out of the bedroom. The more your relationship evolved the more you went bold when you wanted to have them. Bucky loves to see you like this, carefree and confident. Steve loves it too, and he realises that now he might be the shyest out the three of you now.

🐇🥚🐇🥚Easter fun🥚🐇🥚🐇

Bucky organised the easter egg hunt in the flat. The weather was shit, raining hard, windy and cold.

“It’s not your usual easter egg hunt, there’s special treat along the way”, he declares.

You and Steve look at each other, intrigued. “What kind of treat, baby?”, you ask, wrapping your arms around Buck’s neck.

“Oh, you’ll love it, doll”, he replies kissing your nose.

You and Steve start to look around the flat for eggs and other treats. When you found a egg, not a chocolate or organic one, you giggle. A note is attached to it, Bucky’s writing.

Now, let’s find the remote, shall we?

“Eh, why is there a remote attached to an chocolate egg?”, asks Steve from his bedroom.

“AHA! I think we have our first big treat! Doll has the right egg for the remote pal!”, says Bucky triumphantly.

Steve joins you with his eyebrows arch. “What does that mean, punk?”

“Well, I think, that…this egg is meant for somewhere else than our mouthes”, you giggle showing what you have in your hands.

Steve gasps and looks at Bucky.  “no, you did not!”

“Oh yes, I did! Who wants to try it?”

You laugh when you see the bashful face of Steve and the happiest smile on bucky’s.

“Let me find all the treats first Bucky!” you say while walking around the living room. Your strong brunette is quick to hoist you in his arms.

“But it will be funnier if you wear it, no??”

“And who’s gonna have the remote?”

“ME, duhhh, doll, I know all the places I’ve hidden the eggs and other chocolaty treats”.

He kisses you, trying to convince you and the egg vibrate in your hands.

“Oh gosh, sweetheart, if you do it…it’s gonna be so hot. Hottest easter egg hunt ever.”, growls Steve.

And it was actually the best and hottest easter egg hunt of your life.

[ilguna]

☼ the lakes (Finnick Odair) ☼

summary; you can't help dreaming of running away with your muse.

warnings; swearing, mention of violence, derogatory language, and death threats.

wc; 1.6k

notes; this is a songfic. the lakes by taylor swift.

–

As much as you hate to say this, with how everything is going right now, you can’t keep doing this.

There’s nothing that makes you second guess your choice of staying with Finnick more, than going to the Capitol together to mentor every year. You’ll go as a happy couple, without a single issue between you two, only to come home completely miserable, questioning whether or not it’s the right choice to stay together.

They know exactly what they’re doing each time you arrive. It didn’t bother you in the beginning, because you thought that tough skin never wears, but you were wrong. When they’re clawing at the same spot every year, it’s hard not to get sensitive over the topic, even with Finnick.

They’re hoping that you’re going to finally call it quits, and you’re getting close.

You don’t know how Finnick does it anymore. You get that he’s in the Capitol eye all the time, so he’s got experience when it comes to them fucking with him, but you thought that by now, there would be some urge to bite back and push them away. Especially when he sees how upset you get by their comments.

He likes to tell you that you need to stop worrying, and focus on the relationship more, that it’s easier to ignore them when you don’t care. His go-to question is, “What are they going to do about it?” Recently, you’ve been asking him, “What haven’t they done about it?”

You said you get upset by their comments, which is more than just words on the street, which you’ve gotten as well. They started off innocent enough at the start, where they told you to break up with him, you’re not good for him, they like him better single. And it turned worse, when they realized it wasn’t working.

You’re every vulgar name under the sun, apparently. And they own Finnick, which means that you’re not allowed to have him. If you don’t give him up soon, then your entire family’s going to be killed, while you watch. After that, they’ll kill you too, in front of everyone, where they’ll celebrate and throw a festival in Finnick’s honor.

You have received so many death threats, that you don’t bother to leave the Tribute Center without the Capitol escort or the stylists. You know that you’d be safer in numbers, and you stopped bothering to try and get away from that. 

They have smeared your name across every platform possible, picking out every single one of your insecurities, and ensuring that the magazines and newspapers got to you somehow. So that you’d have to see what the latest rumor there is about you inside of the Capitol.

There’s only so much Finnick can do. He had a conversation with Coriolanus, in hopes that he’d get his people under control. It worked for one summer, by the time you came around the following year, it’s like it was a contract that lasted for a single month. You were back to being afraid.

Finnick can’t stop mentoring, per Snow’s rules, and even though you’ve tried dropping out a couple times now, Finnick won’t let you. He wants you to be there with him, because you’re his partner in crime. You’re the person he wants to work with in the Capitol to bring tributes home. He doesn’t want anyone else.

“Come here, baby.” Finnick murmurs, pulling you into his side. He presses a kiss to your forehead, “Don’t let them do this to you again, please.”

“I can’t do it again, Finnick.” You tell him, “I won’t survive another Capitol trip. We won’t survive another trip.”

“It’s not that bad.” He says, you meet his eyes for a few seconds. He’s got his head tilted, mouth pulled into a frown.

“They threw a drink at me this time.” You emphasize, “During their interviews, I had to sit with wine on my dress. How am I supposed to help them when I can’t even go talk to sponsors without ruining their chance? It’s not fair for them!”

Finnick stares at the gravel wordlessly.

“It’ll be one summer, you can take Mags with you. They love her.” You watch his face.

“What happens when you decide you don’t want to do it the year after that? And so on? I’m going to be left alone to deal with those people.” He shakes his head, “You can’t go there without them hating you, and I get eaten alive every night. I don’t like it either, (Y/n). I’m just asking you to suffer with me.”

“They want me dead.” You stop walking, “That’s my safety, babe.”

“I’m sorry.” He brushes a strand of hair out of your face, “I really am, (Y/n).”

You gather your hair into your hand before tossing it over your shoulder, “I’ll meet you at home.”

“Where are you going?” 

“To clear my head.” You take a step toward him, he holds your jaw still to kiss you. When he pulls away, he gives you a half-smile before turning and walking away, going to Victor’s Village. You watch him go for a few minutes, before you turn to the left, and head straight for the woods.

It’s overgrown, the bushes and grass reach your knees easily. Your fingers brush over the top of the leaves, pulling them away from their position. When you move on, they spring back into place, bouncing from side to side until it eventually settles.

You like it out here. There are times you wish you grew up somewhere with more trees and less water. You’ve gotten lost here a few times, spending whole days wandering back home. The fences that were put up during the Dark Days are pushed back far, likely anticipating that the trees would get cut down and be replaced by houses or factories.

You’re glad that the forest has gone untouched here.

There’s a vague path stomped into the grass, one that you’ve taken before. You have two spots you like to go to, depending on which is closer and how far you want to go into the woods. Every time you come here, you’re upset in some way, and you unintentionally take your anger out on the flourishing plants that conceal you.

You love Finnick, you really do, but you can’t continue to sacrifice your happiness for him. And you are so genuinely afraid that you won’t be able to continue to be with him, if something doesn’t change, soon. The Capitol might treat him harshly at times, but they also praise the ground he walks on. He has no idea just how much you bottle to keep from upsetting him while you’re there.

If it were up to you, you’d leave and never come back. You’ve got nothing to lose, everything that had mattered to you is gone now. Snow took them from you to punish you for saying no to him. Finnick was the only one of the victors who bothered to check up on you after, because he knew what it was like to be isolated like that. 

Finnick is the only person you have left, without him, you’re nothing. You can’t afford to lose him to the Capitol. 

It’d be so easy for you to come out here and disappear, you’re sure that no one important would notice, like the mayor or the peacekeepers. They hardly care that you show up to the reaping each year, it would be Finnick that they’d be looking for.

There’s got to be some place to hide out here, beyond the fence. The trees are tall and thick, creating a dense forest. The leaves provide shade and shelter from the hovercrafts that fly by. There’s wild plants, and animals that you haven’t seen close up in a long time.

The further you go, the harder it would be to find you. 

It would be just you and Finnick, forever. There would be no Capitol, no one following you around with an opinion, trying to pin you down and pull you apart. Every moment could be yours, without someone coming along and ruining it. You could live longer in peace, than in violence.

Those windermere peaks could be a perfect place to cry without someone turning your tears against you. It could be home, instead of some distant fantasy. And you’ll go, but not without Finnick, holding your hand the entire way there. Your future, so close and so far at the same time.

There, the air is crisp and clears your mind. The shade is cooler, you could sit in it for hours. The grass tickles every inch of skin that it can reach. The sun shines brighter, no clouds there to hide it. The birds sing louder, there are no threats to quiet them anymore.

You could be there for years, no one would come to bother you. You’d stay so long that the wisteria would grow right over your bare feet, locking you to the earth for the rest of your life. 

You could finally be who you are without people telling you that you aren’t good enough for him. There’s no one to judge you, as you and your muse sit beside the lake, where all the lovers went to die before you. And you’d live in a small house, you and your family, where roses sprout out of frozen ground because the love you have to give is insurmountable.

You wish you were somewhere other than here.

[glimmeringtwilight]

Forgive Me, Forgive Me | Vampire!Diluc x Reader

i'll add a pretty banner in the morning but here's the halloween diluc piece! vampire diluc because I'm basic (it just Works! It just Works!!! I believe in vampire diluc supremacy). Reader is a monster hunter :]

Word Count: 3.6k

CW: AFAB READER, NSFT, noncon, blood, violence, injury, kidnapping, yandere themes, biting, aphrodisiacs (kinda), blood loss. Use of the word "lovely" as a descriptor for the reader.

Sometimes you wonder what would have become of you, if monsters didn’t exist.

On long, quiet nights like this one, you entertain the idea: what would you do? Where would you work? Would you travel? 

Sometimes you see yourself adventuring; traveling the world and helping others along the way. And though you do travel now, you’re sure it would be much, much different, without monsters to hunt and beasts to kill.  

You’d travel during the day, for a start– not hidden under the cover of nightfall, chasing down something with claws and horns and sharp teeth through the outskirts of a small, tormented town and into the forest. You’re sure many of the places you’ve traveled to in this line of work are beautiful in the daylight, but you’ll never know. 

You’d be able to sleep at night, too. Rather than sleeping during the day, in the scarce hours of sunlight that winter affords, and rising as the sun dips below the horizon. 

Life would be simpler. Safer. You wouldn’t need to bandage quite so many cuts and suck the venom out of quite so many bites. 

But it’s wishful thinking; an impossible fantasy, just out of reach. A neverending “what if.” 

So your nights are spent like this: on snow-dusted rooftops, cracked shingles and shifting bricks threatening to collapse under you as you look out onto the dark alley below. 

Tonight is especially cold; frost nipping your fingers through the thick gloves and a cold wind cutting through the seams in your coat to raise gooseflesh along your skin.  

Worse, though, is the silence. Usually in towns like this, there’s at least one or two drunkards stumbling home from the tavern, singing some disjointed, slurred tune. Or there’s the chirp of crickets, the distant call of an owl– something to fill the empty air. 

Tonight, there’s nothing. Just silence, stretching on for miles– as dead as the winter. 

That is, until-

Crunch. 

You duck low against the rooftop, peering over the edge and ignoring the cold bite of snow seeping into your jacket. It’s hard to see in the darkness– there’s not much snow to help reflect the waning moonlight– but you catch a glimpse of red hair as the figure of a man darts quickly through the alley. 

Vampire, they’d told you when you’d taken up this commission. Look for red hair. 

There’s your monster, then.

You jump over the ledge, into the alley, bending your knees as you land. You’re not sure if it heard you, but you don’t have the time to dwell on it, instead giving chase after the retreating figure. They turn a corner, you turn it a second later, and they’re gone. 

The shallow footprints in the snow stop a few feet in front of you, but there’s no sign of them. You turn your gaze up towards the rooftops overhead and there’s nothing still. 

Sighing, you do a quick sweep of the surrounding area, finding no trace that there’s anyone here but you. Whatever it is, is already long gone. Those Knights better pay you double for this, you think, as you clamber back up onto another rooftop and wait.

The night is spent watching from rooftops and seeing no other signs of life except for your own. When the sun starts to peek over the horizon again, you cut your losses and head for the inn. 

The next night, you swap your boots for something lighter, less noisy. It won’t keep out the cold, but you’ll live. You do the same with your jacket, swapping it for a darker and quieter material, hoping that tonight you’ll be able to sneak up on it before it slips away again.

You can see why the knights that supposedly protect this city can’t seem to kill the thing themselves– the skittish ones are always the hardest to catch. But you won’t let it deter you; you’re going to kill it, get paid, and then move on to the next town. 

There is one thing that bothers you about this whole ordeal: the Knights insisted, when they commissioned you for this job, that the most it’s ever done was bite people. A few of the townsfolk tell you that it watches over the city, protecting them from worse things. 

You’d scoffed. Yeah, right. All vampires ever know how to do, in your experience, is kill. They drink their victims dry; leave their corpses out to cool for some unfortunate soul to find in the morning. 

You feel bad for the poor, delusional townspeople who believe that. You know better– the only good vampire is a dead one. 

…Still. You wonder why it didn’t attack you, if it heard you coming last night. 

Tonight, you perch on a different rooftop, closer to the side gate of the city and hidden behind the cover of a smoking chimney. You tuck your nose into the collar of your coat to keep from breathing in too much smoke and to keep warm against the winter chill. 

It’s silent again tonight, too. You wonder if the vampire attacks have successfully spooked the drunkards into sobering up until it blows over. Maybe the Knights instated a curfew. 

It’s for the better, you think. At least there’s less worry of civilians getting hurt while you hunt it. 

Much like the night before, you sit in silence on the cold rooftop, straining your ears for a sound. And much like last night, you hear the crunch of footsteps in the snow, see a glimpse of red hair. 

Unlike last night, however, the figure doesn’t make it past the alley– instead, you hear a grunt of surprise, the shriek of wires pulling taut. Unlike last night, you also set a trap. As you jump to your feet and land in the alley, you see that it worked. 

A ways down, you see him struggling, tangled in a mess of wires. You quickly close the distance, drawing your sword. 

Vermillion eyes meet your own and you freeze. 

…You know him. From the first day you came here– you know him. 

When you’d first arrived, you’d stumbled onto his estate– he’d given you directions to the city. At the time you were surprised he was awake, so late in the night, but you get it now. The winery heir– what was his name–

“...Diluc.” Something like despair paints his features as you mutter his name, as though the dim recognition on your face wasn’t damning enough. “That’s what you said your name was, right?”

He doesn’t say anything– just shifts his weight, gets a knee under him. You raise your sword, realizing too late that the trap must not have triggered properly; he shouldn’t have his hands free like that–

Diluc stands, rushes towards you, and you hardly have the time to take in a stuttered breath before you’re being slammed against the wall on the opposite side of the alleyway. Your head cracks against brick, vision scattering with stars for a brief moment, but you force your sword upward, driving it just below his shoulder. 

The man hisses, grabbing you by the jaw just as you yank your sword free to attack him again, and slams your head against the brick a second time. 

You black out. It’s only for a few seconds, but when you come to, you’re already on the ground, sword kicked out of your reach.

He flips you over onto your stomach, taking ahold of one of your wrists. You feel nauseous. Your head swims as you strain to focus on the polished boots in your vision, to regain your senses. Sluggishly, you blink, feeling a tug on your other wrist. 

“I’m sorry,” He tells you after a beat. He sounds far away.

Gloved hands hook underneath you and you thrash, trying to bring your arms in front of you and realizing he must have tied them together. 

“I’m sorry,” He repeats, hauling you over his shoulder as you squirm and hiss, “I don’t want to do this.”

“Fuck you,” You spit, “Monster.”

“I know,” He says, solemn. “I don’t want to hurt anyone-” You stiffen and he rushes to clarify– “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Yeah, right,” Your vision is well and truly swimming by now, blurring sharply at the edges. It’s hard to get the words out, “And what– what of the townspeople… you attacked?”

His grip on you tightens, but he doesn’t reply, carrying you past the city gate now. It’s a struggle to stay conscious, but you fight to stay awake, if only to say your piece before he kills you. 

“You’re a threat. As long as you live, you’re a threat to these innocent people-”

You hear him shudder in a breath through clenched teeth. “I know.”

Do you? You want to say. You want to argue, to thrash and scream and make him regret not gagging you, since there’s nothing else you can do, but… You cannot fight off the exhaustion sinking in as the adrenaline dulls, as a throbbing, aching headache sets in; as the darkness fuzzing your vision overtakes the shrinking view of the city– of polished boots treading through snow. 

Before unconsciousness takes you, you realize something. 

…Where are the Knights? 

When you come to, you’re surprised to still be alive. 

What’s unsurprising, however, is the rope around your wrists and ankles, the gag forced between your teeth, knotted so tight you can feel a pressure headache building beneath the throbbing pain of what is already surely a concussion. 

You’ve been placed awkwardly on your side in what is undoubtedly a wine cellar, the smell of wine thick in the air. There’s barrels stacked on either side of you, reaching to the ceiling.

Through the slats in the shelves you can see rows and rows of barrels to your left, brick wall to your right. You think you must be in the back of the room, then, farthest from the door. To prevent you from escaping or to ensure nobody hears you down here, you don’t know. 

Nobody comes for you when you kick at the barrels, making as much noise as you can. Nobody hears you as you kick and kick and kick, praying that a shelf will slip, a barrel will fall and make a mess, a sound– but nobody comes. The ropes hold firm, unyielding to your struggling. There’s nothing to do but wait.

So you wait. 

You try to come up with a plan– something to get yourself out of this, but what do you do? In your line of work, the smallest mistakes can mean life or death. Ordinarily, the fact that you’re still breathing would be a victory in itself, but is it, anymore?

You’re locked in a vampire’s wine cellar. Nobody is coming for you. Nobody knows you’re down here, you’re sure, except for him. There’s not many reasons a vampire might keep you alive– the most glaring one makes your stomach churn with unease.

You need to get out of here. 

But with nothing left to do, you settle back down uncomfortably on your side and close your eyes. Sleep is a welcome reprieve from the heavy ache behind your eyes, in your jaw, and the stiffness of your joints. You dream of nothing. 

The next time you wake, you’re being coaxed into an upright position by gloved hands. 

“I’m sorry,” A voice says. You blink the sleep from your eyes, recognizing the vampire from last night. “I know this seems bad, but I swear I don’t intend to hurt you.”

He hesitates, a scrap of fabric clenched tight in one of his hands. Blearily, you wonder what it’s for, but you get your answer when he sets it over your eyes, tying a tight knot behind your head to keep it fastened there. 

Cold fingers replace the gloves, running tentatively over your scalp until they brush something raw and painful. You hiss through the gag and he pulls away, muttering another quiet apology. 

“I’m going to clean your wound.” He says. You don’t bother acknowledging him, biting down on the gag instead at the first touch of the damp rag against the injury.

“This isn’t permanent,” He explains as he dabs gingerly at your injury with the cloth- “I… just need some time to convince you to keep this secret.”

And if I don’t? You want to ask. You suspect you know the answer, anyway. The room lapses into silence, interrupted by the occasional hiss of pain that slips through your gag.

He’s gentle about it, for what little it’s worth to you given the circumstances. Gentle, but you don’t miss the shaky inhale as the rag’s pulled away, the flex in his fingers of waning self-restraint as he turns you around to get a better look at your wound. 

Nothing happens, for a beat. You can practically feel him shudder behind you–

“Forgive me,” He’s starting to sound like a broken record at this point, “I shouldn’t… but you smell so good.”

Immediately you jerk against the grip on your biceps, fervently shaking your head no, no, no. 

“It won’t hurt,” He promises, voice hoarse, hushing you when you muffle out a protest through the gag, “I’m sorry. You don’t know what it’s like–” Fingers card through your hair, tilting your head back while his other arm winds around you, crushing you against his chest and knocking the air from your lungs– “this hunger. Forgive me–”

You struggle as much as you can manage; you can’t let him, you can’t–

Cold breath against your throat, chased by searing hot pain. You scream around the gag, try to pull away, but he just holds you tighter. Blood drips down your neck, staining the collar of your shirt. You feel dizzy. 

After a few moments, the pain fades. It’s still quietly there– still the sense of something horribly wrong, the foreign sensation of fangs cleaving through skin, but it’s chased away by an unbearable heat spreading from where Diluc’s mouth latches onto your throat.

You go lax against him. Against your better judgement, you tilt your head back further, thoughts fuzzing with the way he groans into your throat. …Why were you so worried, again?

He pulls back just enough to rasp, “See? That wasn’t so bad,” against your neck. He sounds just as lost as you feel. 

You feel light. There’s a chill sinking in as he drinks from you, overtaking the heat as pins and needles start to spread through your limbs. 

Diluc seems remiss to pull away when you slump forward, lashes fluttering against your cheeks beneath the blindfold. The sensations are disjointed; faraway and distant.

Maybe he’s apologizing again, with the soft brush of lips you distantly feel against the weeping injury. It hurts again, raw and sore, but you can’t find the energy to care. There’s still a deep-seated ache under your skin, brighter than the pain of your injuries. 

Hands smooth over your sides and you arch against him, choking out a whine. It’s both too much and not enough, that low burning ember from his bite swallowed by the maelstrom his touch brings. 

The air is heady with the scent of your blood and wine, so thick you can almost taste it on your tongue through the gag.

“It’s okay,” The monster holding you murmurs, breathing heavy against your nape, “I know it hurts. I’ll help you through it.”

Were you in a more sober state of mind, you’d thrash and spit and curse him to the Abyss– shatter the faux concern he slips on like a glove. Instead, you lean into the hand that combs through your hair, shuddering at the curl of fingers against your hip. 

There’s a pause– cold breath and a mouth hot with your blood pressing against your neck as you feel his lips forming another apology, but it dies on his lips with your drying blood.

Diluc slides a hand underneath your shirt, cool digits sending electric shocks across fevered, clammy skin. His other remains at your hip, gripping it nearly tight enough to bruise while he mouths lazily at the blood weeping from his bite.

The sound that rips from your throat when those fingers find a nipple is obscene, but you’re too lost to care. The sensation of calloused fingers pinching and rolling your nipples into stiff peaks sends a bolt of heat straight to your core, almost unbearable in its intensity. 

He’s not apologizing anymore, either– no hoarse apologies against your ear as he pinches and tugs harshly on your aching buds. Perhaps he was never sorry. 

A rough hand finds its way beneath your waistband, cupping the heat of your sex. There’s a shuddering breath behind you, sucked in through gritted teeth. You can smell the blood on his breath still, stinging your nose. 

“Gods, you’re…” Diluc exhales heavily through his nose, raising gooseflesh along the back of your neck. The hand on your chest clenches again, fingers curling achingly into sensitive flesh. 

Your pants are tugged unceremoniously down your legs, stopped only by the rope still around your ankles. The action has the vampire curling around your further, blood and wine and the faint smell of smoke overwhelming your senses briefly. 

Diluc moves out from behind you, bracing a hand against your spine to gently ease you to lie back on the floor. The position is awkward– your bound arms ache from the position, your back forced into an arch. 

His touch leaves you and you’re left cold for a few torturous moments before you feel calloused hands digging into the meat of your thighs, nudging them apart as much as the rope will allow. He’s warm now, and you think it’s just from your own body heat for a moment– but his touch is almost searing; abnormally hot. 

Thumbs rub circles on the inside of your thighs as you feel Diluc settle overtop your legs, hooking one of his own under your knee to keep them spread. 

You hold your breath as his hand inches closer to your sex, stopping to fumble with the thin fabric of your underwear before that’s pulled down too– not as far, but enough to bare your dripping entrance.

He leans over you, shielding you from the worst of the room’s chill, as a calloused finger slides easily inside you. Immediately you clench down around him, gasping around the gag. 

“You’re so very warm,” He breathes, leaning down to scrape fangs dangerously against the unmarred skin on the other side of your throat. Another finger joins the first and you groan, arching up into him. 

Pleasure builds, sharp and hot, in your core– you nearly sob when he thumbs over your clit. Diluc’s mouth latches onto the crux between your throat and your shoulder, laving hot kisses against the sensitive skin there.

Another half-hearted apology spills from his lips before those fangs sink into your skin once more. His pleasured groan matches your own, the hand still clamped around your thigh tightening to a bruising degree.

When he presses a third finger inside you, your head lolls back, breath catching in your chest. Diluc curls his fingers inside you in time with the thumb rolling over your clit, and you tip right over the cresting heat that’s been building in your gut.

Euphoria washes over you, intense and bright and suffocating– you arch sharply into him, the gag muffling the pleasured sob that cracks from your throat. 

He eases you through it, pumping his fingers into your heat until you’re whimpering and trying to squirm away with oversensitivity. 

Diluc pulls his fingers from you, curling his other arm around you and turning you around to lie on your front. His coat is shrugged off and tucked under you, cushioning you from the hard floor. 

The heat cooling in your gut starts to sour as you come back down from the high, exhaustion and pain readily taking its place. The bites on your throat sting fiercely, the throbbing pain behind your eyes returning with a fury. 

Distantly, you’re aware of the vampire hiking up your hips, the motion jostling you and exacerbating the dull agony taking hold. 

You must make a pained noise, because Diluc hushes you, breath shuddering as you feel something blunt nestle between your thighs. “You’re okay– it’s okay.”

One arm coils around your thighs, pressing them together, and he groans against your ear. His hips cant forward, cock dragging over your sex with the movement and jostling you in turn. Pain throbs anew at the motion, drawing a pained whine from your throat.

“Lovely.” Hair tickles the back of your neck as he leans over you, panting. He sets a desperate pace, hips snapping against your own so hard it stings. “You’re so– nnh– so lovely.”

He’s uncomfortably hot against your skin. You realize you can’t feel your fingers, numbness creeping up your arms. You’re so, so tired. Each motion of his hips drags you back from the release of sleep that threatens to overtake you. You feel your blood seeping into his coat, the fabric turning tacky against your skin. 

Diluc’s hips stutter, something warm and wet splattering against your thighs. You hear him groan lowly, feel his weight slump against you after a moment. Why is he so warm?

“...I’m sorry.” His voice breaks you out of the light doze you’ve slipped into, but it feels like his voice slips right through you, like sand through a sieve. “It will ache, for a while. You get used to the cold.”

…What? Blearily, you try to focus– to shake the exhaustion sinking in like poison. It doesn’t work. As your consciousness fades, you hear him say:

“You’ll hate me for this–” He sounds exhausted, resigned as he says this– “but you can’t go to the Knights if you’re a monster, too.”

[bedtimegiraffe]

Aerin Diamond Scene Rewrite Fic

Very glad Kade pushes your character on their trauma from being kidnapped. However, I would love for a LI to comfort your character about the fact that they keep almost dying. (Shoutout to Imtura for briefly comforting MC about the upcoming life-or-death battle, but I want more.) Relationships are a 2-way street! So here’s a little rewrite of the beginning of Aerin’s pre-battle diamond scene. Enjoy!

To accompany this, I recommend the slow and sweet “You Matter to Me” from the musical Waitress. “Come out of hiding, I'm right here beside you. And I'll stay there as long as you'll let me.”

(I don't think there are any warnings to be given other than discussion of possible death.)

It takes some looking, but you eventually find Aerin in a room on one of the ships, pacing with such focus that he doesn’t notice you as you enter. It’s kind of cute how intensely he’s thinking. You speak up, hoping you don’t startle him too badly. “How did you end up here of all places?”

Aerin’s head suddenly turns in your direction, eyes wide. “Oh! I… I wasn’t expecting you.” His surprised expression disappears almost at once, replaced by one of relief. “Imtura offered me this cabin, as a matter of fact.”

“Really?”

“I thought she was going to punch me. But she said that if I was brave enough to come back, I deserved a good place to sleep.” Aerin grins at you sarcastically. “I suppose tripping is a form of affection.”

His brief smile fades as he waves you into the cabin, then resumes his pacing.

You bite the inside of your lip. He looks so nervous. You can hardly blame him for that. “Are you having second thoughts about coming back? Because you… you don’t have to stay.”

Aerin stops moving, turning to give you a searching look. “You would let me leave so easily, then? Even on the eve of battle?”

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy to see you again. Happy you’re here to help. But… things have been exceptionally dangerous since you left. I-” You take a shaky breath in. “I almost died. More than once. In those moments, I really wanted to see you again. But at the same time, I was relieved you were somewhere safer. And now that you’re here, I’m worried you’ll…” The thought hurts to even acknowledge.

Aerin’s eyes tighten with concern, though he covers it passably well. “Telling me you’ve been in incredible danger is hardly the way to get me to leave. And I did not come all this way to back out now.”

You suddenly feel desperate as the fear you’ve struggled to keep at bay forces itself to the front of your mind. “…Aren’t you scared?”

Aerin looks at you for a long moment, his gaze soft. “I’m not. Honestly, I expected to be frightened out of my wits. But for the first time, I actually feel prepared for battle. I trained all throughout my youth, but I never had a good cause to put it to. Just…” He frowns, looking toward the floor. “Baldur’s hunting misadventures. And then my misadventures.”

“That doesn’t mean you can’t…” You close your eyes, trying to collect your thoughts. When you open them, Aerin is right in front of you. Close enough to touch. “Nia died last time. The Blade brought her back, but it was an absolute miracle. I don’t know that we’ll get another one of those. I never used to worry about any of us like this, but we keep getting so close to everything just being over and I can’t…” You choke back a sob. As you struggle vainly to hold back a flood of tears, Aerin hesitantly puts his arms around you, slowly pulling you into a warm embrace. You cling to him tightly as you cry, like he’s the only real thing in the world. Your next words come out in a frantic rush. “I can’t lose you again. Any of you. I can’t be all alone again.”

Aerin doesn’t respond for a moment, just cradling your shaky frame and unconsciously running his thumb in a soothing path along your back. “I wish I could tell you what will happen tomorrow. But I don’t know. There is a possibility this will be our last night alive.” It’s a terrible thing to hear, but… a relief for someone else to finally acknowledge it. “But you won’t be alone. All of your incredibly capable and persistent friends will be with you. I will be with you. For as long as you’ll have me.”

It does help to be reminded that you’re not in this alone. None of you are.

You focus on breathing deeply until you’re calm enough to pull back and look at Aerin again. “How are you so relaxed about the fact that we could all die tomorrow?”

His face melts into a smile, fond and affectionate. “Because I’m fighting for our city and our people. For you.” He brings a hand to cup your cheek, forcing you to meet his suddenly serious gaze. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You smile at that, wiping the last of the tears from your eyes. “Thank you. For being honest with me about…” You take a deep breath. “What might happen tomorrow. And for standing by me.”

“Always.” Aerin gazes deeply into your eyes and, for just a moment, you forget that there exists a world outside this room. Then he blinks, a faint blush rising in his cheeks, and he pulls away. He gestures for you to take a seat on the edge of the bed.

Once you’re seated, Aerin sits next to you, close enough that your arms can’t help but brush. “I suppose I still owe you an explanation for running off the way I did…”

[talltalesandbedtimestories]

Take The Edge Off (Dean/Reader)

Title: Take The Edge Off

Characters/Pairing: Dean Winchester, Dean x Reader

Summary: Dean needed some backup.

Word Count: 1312

Tags: Shameless Smut, Hunting Partners, Sex After A Hunt, Sex in a Barn - No, not THAT Barn... Don't Worry.

Notes: Just a fun little quickie... literally. Posted on AO3 9-12-21

Those lips have been working me over for a good five minutes. I can’t decide what I’m in love with more in the memory we’re creating. What will I latch onto in the dark when I’m alone, reliving this moment?

Maybe the heat of his body, pressed into mine, pressing me into the wood slats of the barn wall. He’s warm like an outdoor fire in the fall, taking the chill out of the air.

Maybe the insistence of his mouth. There’s pressure there, too, but it’s not overpowering. Goddamn, those lips. I’m not proud to admit he’s caused me to gasp for oxygen during our tonsil hockey. 

He likes to tease and release his lips, leaning back for observation. The gaze is a heartbeat away from commanding I get on my knees. The moonlight, fluid and silky, slips over the curves and edges of his face.

He’s a fucking work of art right now, still and seductive. A half hour ago he was all bully, bulldoze, and brazen, slashing and burning a nest at an abandoned farmhouse.

Then he’s back to attacking my mouth and breathing me in. It only seems to fuel his need. And mine. I’m whimpering.

“This is one helluva way to celebrate a hunt gone right, sweetheart.” His lips trail down my neck. “And here I thought you didn’t like me.”

“Shut up, Winchester.”

He snickers. “How far we going here?”

I cup his growing excitement. “Enough to take the edge off.”

He groans. “You probably can’t handle all that.”

I bite his earlobe. “Try me.”

I’m tugged off the wall. A whooshing sound accompanied the barn door rolling open. I’m pulled by his massive hand clutching my wrist. Jonah’s horses shuffled about in their stables at the disruption and the overhead fluorescent light that blinked on. The earthy hay smell and lack of comfortable accommodations does little to squash how badly I want to rut around with this man.

His lips find mine again. I’m twirled in his arms like a ragdoll. I can hold my own with most other hunters. But, this man, I want him to take the wheel.

He palms my ass and scoops me up. On instinct, I gain purchase and scrabble up so my thighs curl about his waist, ankles lock behind for good measure. He moans into my mouth. I hold onto his shoulders for dear life, though I’ve never felt safer.

His tongue laps the inside of my mouth. I’m propped onto something and his erection rubs against my denim covered heat. His hands are free to roam about for a thorough pat down.

“You were really something back there.” He whispers the compliment, stroking his lips over my forehead. He strips my jacket off and runs a finger down into my cleavage. “Next time Sam’s out of commission, I should see if you’re available for backup.”

“You’ll have to take a ticket and get in line. I’m in pretty high demand.”

He grins and massages my camisole covered breasts. “I bet you are.”

Again, I take stock of the beauty. I want to have plenty of reference material. What will I cling to when my eyes close, all by my lonesome, in need of some pleasure, some respite from the chaos of this life?

Maybe the green glow and sparkle in his eyes as he traces down my body.

Maybe the pink glisten and pout of his lips after his tongue peeks out to wet them.

Maybe the stipples of freckles that cover his skin in random spots. I lock onto one on his neck only to find a host of others peeking out around the collar of his shirt.

He inches my shirt up and over my breasts. There doesn’t seem to be time for a full undressing, especially when he dives right in to suckle on one of my nipples. I arch my back forward, wanting to capture more screenshots. He’s pinging all of my nerve endings.

He straightens up for a few seconds. Oh, there’s something that will stick in my brain. An effortless peel of his jacket over those hilly shoulders and a smoulder in his eyes that might ignite me on the spot.

He whips the jacket onto the surface behind me, which I now realize is Jonah’s work table. He urges me down with his mouth on mine, his palms caressing and cradling my spine. Up again, his plaid layer is off in a flash and he tunnels out of the t-shirt with a forceful tug over his head.

Bulging muscles, tight tendons, and soft flesh in all the right places. So much lovely material.

I burrow the back of my head into the softened leather of his jacket. His smell wraps around me. I catalogue the mix of scents. I’ll never smell the combo of whiskey, gunpowder, and leather again and not think of this man.

I hear the ting of a belt buckle and an unzipping of his fly before he’s scrambling to do the same to my jeans. The cool air prickles my skin in contrast to his hands warming me up.

“Damn. Pretty all over.” He coos, then pulls a moan out of my throat when his tongue sneaks into my folds.

“Fuck.” I mash my lips together, naked and spread eagle on my hunter friend’s work table, listening to this man eat me out. He’s licking and slurping and sucking, rumbling moans against my flesh. I have no shame in expounding with commentary. “Uh, yeah, right there. Keep that up and you might get to the front of the line.”

He chuckles, then nibbles on my clit. “I could do this all night.” Suddenly my knees are much closer to my head, held secure by his hands and forearms, along with his face buried in my pussy.

“Jesus.”

He ravages me for a few more minutes. It’s the eye contact that pushes me over the edge as he flicks my clit with his tongue and fucks me with two fingers. I bite back the scream, then ride the wave of bliss back down. “Hm, bet that took some of the edge off, huh?”

I nod and stare at his mussed up hair from my hands running through it and the red flush on his face. “That’s not all you got for me, is it?”

He shakes his head and pulls me closer by the curve of my hips. “So much more for you sweetheart.”

The movement of his hand fisting his cock garners all my attention. It’s slick and slips between his crooked fingers and firm grip. He squeezes the tip and strokes all the way down to his balls. He’s rock hard and thick.  

Clicked and saved.

With a corny joke about safety first, he rolls on a condom and then coats the latex with my arousal.

The push inside is met with resistance. His eyes go wide. “Fuck.” He whispers. I beg him to give it all to me and he groans in agreement. The air punches out of my lungs with the slam of our bodies fully connected.

He gives it to me, again and again. I’m euphoric with the stretch and friction, plunging deep inside me with every stroke.

I’m lost in the way his face responds. Pursed mouth, then open gasping. Heavy lids, high in the moment. Then, it’s his voice begging. “Come on, baby. Come with me.”

I don’t make it that quick or easy for him. He’s pressed tight against me, mouths connected, when I finally let go and he follows.

His heart thunders against my chest. “That was awesome.” He nuzzles into my neck.

“I agree.” My fingers run across his sweaty shoulder.

“All after hunt celebrations should be this awesome.”

“I got it, Winchester. You like saying awesome.” I sigh.

“Sweetheart?”

“Hm?”

“I’m available whenever YOU need backup.”

[likecastle]

Ronance Femslash February - “go to sleep”

This is the first prompt I filled for Ronance Femslash February! The wonderful @crushcandles sent me the phrase “go to sleep.” Thank you, as always, for the Ronance encouragement!

You, too, can send me Ronance prompts for Femslash February, if you’d like! I’ll be accepting prompts all month and doing my best to fill them in a timely fashion, so please send some prompts my way! You’ll be able to find any other prompts I fill here.

“This is the part where we close our eyes and go to sleep,” Nancy says tersely, and it comes out harsher than she intended, but it’s too late to take it back. She’s always doing that where Robin is concerned, winding herself up tighter and tighter until she says or does something she doesn’t mean.

“Right. Of course. Obviously.” This is followed by a brief interlude of silence, and then Robin whispers, “It’s just . . . I wanna make sure we’re cool.”

Nancy huffs out a sigh, but she can’t help asking, “Cool?”

“Yeah.” She hears Robin turn onto her side and when Nancy opens her eyes, she’s startled by how close Robin is, as if the darkness has shrunk the space between them somehow. How can her eyes be so bright in this low light? “Like, this kind of thing can really screw up a friendship, right? Not that I’d know from personal experience. I mean, the whole thing with Steve is kind of an outlier in the sense that it actually made us better friends—that and being tortured by evil Russians. But historically, most of my friendships have gotten screwed up before things ever got this far, not that they ever would have, because if there was ever any actual chance of it happening, the possibility of it happening probably wouldn’t have screwed up the friendship in the first place, you know?”

Nancy definitely does not know what Robin is saying, but before Nancy can tell her as much, Robin continues.

“But the point is!” Robin stops herself, deliberately lowers her voice like she’s just remembered it’s the middle of the night. “The point is . . . I really like you. I like researching decades-old murders and impersonating college students with you. And I really like kissing you. But even more than that, I like riding around in your car together, and finding out how you like your eggs—poached eggs are disgusting, by the way, but I respect your right to your opinion even if it’s the wrong one. And I’d just, I’d hate it if I had to give all of that up just because you don’t want to keep kissing me. So I, um, I’m just hoping this won’t change things between us.”

Nancy closes her eyes again, because all at once, it’s too much—the way she can still faintly pick out Robin’s freckles even in the dark, the high line of her cheekbone pale in the shadows. “It doesn’t have to change anything.”

“Oh.” Nancy can almost feel the shift of Robin’s ribs against her as she lets out a sharp breath she was obviously holding. The gust of air as she exhales ruffles Nancy’s hair. “OK, good,” Robin says, trying so hard not to sound dejected. “Because I’d really miss you, I think.”

Nancy bites her lip. Her instinct is to leave it at that. She’s always turning away from the vulnerable choice—toward judgment, toward irritation, toward closing something down. It would be easier—safer—if they just stayed friends, if she let Robin think it doesn’t mean anything that she can still feel the starry tingle where Robin’s lips touched hers. It would be easier if she could keep what she wants separate from how she feels, just draw a line between the two and not let herself ask for more than she can have.

But the thing is, she does want it. She wants the tentative pressure of Robin’s fingers at her hip and the velvet drag of the inside of her lower lip. She wants all that and she wants the way Robin will lean into her space to point out a weird sign on the side of the road, the way she’ll talk for twenty minutes straight about an article she read about fatal familial insomnia. And Nancy’s not going to get any of that if she can’t overcome that instinct she has—even now—to turn over and pretend she wants to go to sleep. “I mean,” she says slowly, carefully, because she doesn’t quite trust herself not to say it wrong, “that we can still . . . drive around and get breakfast and listen to your pretentious music, even if we decide we want to keep kissing each other.”

Robin is silent—really silent—for a long time. Long enough that Nancy finally gathers up the courage to open her eyes again, to find Robin looking at her with such a searching expression that Nancy’s heart clenches. “Do you?” Robin asks, quietly. “Want to?”

“Yes,” Nancy breathes, and it’s not as hard to say as she thought it would be.