#and it stuck- i was already calling them Gala for short at the get-go

[cryptidofthekeys]

“Galaxy”

....Sooo I um, y’all... I forgot,, to post the thingy I had been working on, gjfkdlfgjd so im doing it now before I forget too,, its just a fucked up Cerberus lookin ass amalgamation of an animatronic,, three lads combined into one body

I SHOULD say,, this is just the base description, anything in side facts n shit like that can be subject to change when I write stories, I say that bc 9 times outta 10 I DO change some shit around when writing with all the things I make, this shit has probs already been done before like oh fusing them essentially into one body, lmao i dont,, really care, I just had my own vision in mind and voila here we are

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| Name: Galaxy

| Nickname: Gala

| Gender: They/It/He

| Age: Doesn’t have one, it’s literally an animatronic …er, well…

| Height: 20ft

| Species/Race: They’re basically three animatronics fused to one really messy body

| Occupation: Former Daycare Attendants, more so just guards and protects the Daycare (what remains of it anyway) now than anything

| Eye Colors: Moon has red and white eyes, Sun has blue eyes, and Eclipse’s eyes are just a dark orange void sorta thing (his pupils are a dark red color but you can see little white specks in them)

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| Appearance: I’m skipping straight here to explain all the details I need to, soo let’s start off with the left half or… Moon essentially- his face is just,, well normal in all honesty the only thing different is him looking v scratched and beat up and p dirty, same goes for Sun in those regards and even Eclipse- p much the entire BODY looks beaten to hell and back and dirty- And for smaller more intricate details for the damage, Sun’s missing two of his rays bottom left and upper right, the body’s got damage that makes them occasionally spark and it hurts all three of them, you cannot touch ANY part of the body that belongs to Eclipse.

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Reason being they’ll burn you p much (his parts are p much the middle torso, his arms, face, and then its legs but those are covered by pants but I still wouldn't risk touching them), I’m not changing much from like canon designs soo Moon is p much just the white n blue colors, right down to his blue starry pants that glow in the dark btw, Sun’s pants are the same ol striped ones, and Eclipse’s pants are just inverse colors of Sun’s essentially, a darker orange color (and he’s got black stars on them), also they still got the bells attached to their wrists, Eclipse doesn’t have any bells however.

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Moon has his sharp teeth and claws, Sun doesn’t have any of those things, and Eclipse has not just sharp teeth BUT their v crooked and jagged as hell, and basically they’re fucking fingers are just long claws (Moon’s torso is the upper one and Sun’s torso is the bottom one) also both Moon n Sun have their slippers p much from game, Eclipse’s is inverse color and has what is, well,, an obvious Eclipse marking on its shoes- The thing that connects them to the neck, basically okay imagine a pitchfork BUT with only three pointy bits instead of four, of course it’s a MUCH thicker-esque pole than that to support their weight, but those three poles connect their heads to the body.

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And if it wasn’t obvious, they basically have six legs connected to this one body, and of course six arms (Moon’s legs being left, Eclipse’s legs in the middle, Sun’s legs on the right and then for the arms, Moon’s arms being top, Eclipse’s in the middle again, and finally of course Sun’s arms on the bottom) speaking of their torso is actually fairly long (I mean we SAW how lanky those fuckers were in the game) and they need a big torso to support that body of theirs.

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Eclipse has rays much like Sun’s but they are that darker orange color (the top ray is literally bent and hanging on by a thread at this point) the bottoms of the rays has a dark red coming out of them essentially, they’re face is all black but on the edge of the circle it's got a white glow around it (p much like encircling the entire faceplate, that should make more sense) and his mouth is a bit hard to explain its VERY much different from Sun and Moon's mouth- its basically like when it opens its mouth- its a PURE WHITE void inside, the only thing you can see is basically the blackness that’s shaped into teeth, it might look like mere shadows but don’t be fooled, it can definitely tear things apart with those teeth. However much like the others- You can see the faintest outline of the moon part of the faceplate and of course the sun part of the faceplate.

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I dunno if I explained this part just yet but uh his fingers- er, well claws I guess are that dark red color meanwhile his arms, hands and legs underneath the pants are the darker orange color (he’s got some areas that look black too tho, whether its purely filth or part of they’re design who knows lmao) now I don’t know if I have any more details to cover bgfjkdlgfjd I’m so forgetful its why I don’t d o shit like this that often but the FINAL things I can think of are p much 1: Eclipse’s rays essentially are a bit more flowy-esque then Sun’s and finally 2: They have a long tail, it’s made up of all the other kinds of planets and then has a star at the end of it (the star along with the planets also glows in the dark, i just think its fun- there's no rhyme or reason for glow in the dark tail I just like the aesthetic)

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I changed a few things about Sun n Moon but not MUCH- I was more so invested in keeping my own Eclipse design, at least for in THIS AU in particular lmao (i did forget one thing, they have buttons going up the torso, Sun’s buttons being red, Eclipse’s Black, and Moon’s blue, both Sun and Moon’s buttons squeak, Eclipse’s do not)

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| Side Facts: Not going to bother with a personality part, but all you really need to know is that they’re NOT evil even though they look like an absolute monster, they aren’t evil- Now they COULD be misunderstood at first and that’s mostly because if someone ACTUALLY fucking enters the Daycare- After ALL these years?!? If someone ACTUALLY enters it would do everything in its power to make sure that person N E V E R leaves them again… …So kinda yandere-ish in a way but not intentionally evil, they’re just EXTREMELY lonely and have honestly a lot of trauma deep down, their scared of being abandoned again so SEVERE abandonment issues p much- They just want a new friend… They’ve been lonely for s o long now, won’t you keep them company~?

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…Oh I will say though they ARE super unhinged and feral gHGJKFLHGJFDKS- I mean that’s just them naturally, its AMPED up tho to a 100 considering their stuck in one body p much.

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P much- THE BEST WAY I CAN DESCRIBE IT IS THEY’RE LIKE A GIANT PUPPY WHO JUST,, DOESNT UNDERSTAND SHIT ANYMORE- like for example, they don’t understand boundaries, they don’t understand they could push things too far- They can be VERY clingy too btw, will show nothing but affection if they grow attached to you …But there’s always lingering fear even if you grow a relationship with them that you’ll wind up leaving them behind too, just like everyone else did…

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Needs A LOT and I mean a LOT of reassurance but in the end he’s very lovable, friendly, and sweet …can be grumpy sometimes especially if woken up which that’s a lot of Moon and then other times VERY energetic which is Sun, and then Eclipse? …It's just, well, Eclipse lmao- kinda a neutral ground

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Now… I won’t say they CAN’T be a threat but that’d mostly be the overprotective nature it can get if it grows attached to someone and he DOES have the capacity to kill or hurt ANYONE and I mean ANYONE if they are deemed a threat, and it's hard to stop them if they have deemed anything a threat… But usually, they- despite being unhinged and feral as fuck- They are nice and sweet, a giant puppy who just wants a new fren WHO W O N T LEAVE AND ABANDON THEM… HAHAHA… Ahem-

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As I stated earlier,, Gala usually guards and watches over the remains of the Daycare, that is their home, and sometimes when they get especially lonely they do love to look at the drawings the kids had made for them so long ago, it thinks fondly on those memories of the kids, laughing, singing, playing around- Having a wonderful time with their three friends, Sun, Moon, and… Eclipse… . . . Sometimes, he gets himself so upset with the memories- sure they are good and wonderful BUT it hurts that nobody has come around for, hmm how long has it even been? They lost track of time years and years ago…

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Galaxy doesn’t like mirrors, they DESPISE anytime they can see themselves, they don’t wanna see this body they're stuck in, they don’t want constant reminders of what happened… It just wants to go back to normal, all in their own bodies, it doesn’t want to be a monster… So needless to say it uh does have something like self-esteem issues and those can get pretty bad if he sees themselves in a mirror or any reflective surface, it’s just a constant reminder when they see their body what they have truly become.

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OKAY,, ASIDE FROM SAD AND DEPRESSING SHIT BC JFC I JUST REALIZED THERE'S NOTHING GOOD HERE,, Galaxy can be very loving and sweet when you grow close to it, despite such overprotectiveness and fear of abandonment, it can be very loving- Now sure they know they can’t touch you, not with the spark thing and of course Eclipse burning you, BUT you know- This giant lad will admire the hell out of you from a safe distance, brings you gifts and trinkets whenever he can (again, giant puppy) while their voice boxes aren’t what they used to be, they are v much happy to listen, sometimes the occasional voice will break through.

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You’ll hear either of their voices at times, Eclipse’s voice you unfortunately can’t understand anymore because its voice box is p much gone at this point so they mostly stick to sign language when they want to speak, sometimes when the others want to speak badly enough as well instead of hoping one of their voices gets through- They will also use sign language, you’ll hear many things on them actually, sounds of whirring, glitchy or just broken sounds, their voices, sometimes static, and then of course the occasional sparking sound.

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But I’m not going to lie… What they wouldn’t GIVE to hold you close to them, you cuddle you as closely as they physically can, but if they could do that well… It would NEVER let go of you, I’m not exaggerating you would genuinely be carried e v e r y w h e r e- even though they know not to get close enough to burn or shock you, they still don’t know boundaries at all,, jkfgljgfds they’re trying their best, like come on they haven’t had any animatronics let ALONE H U M A N S to interact with in god knows h o w long!

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…And of course you’re probably wondering, what the FUCK happened to these three? What happened to The Mega Pizzaplex? What- JUST W HAT THE FUCK HAPPENED?!? …Weeeeellllll…. If I told you that’d spoil the fuuuunnnn, silly~! >:] …AANNYYYWAYS~! He also loves to finger paint, tell stories, they attempt to sing lullabies but it never works …so they play it on somethin else instead lmao, or just play games in general tbh- it reminds them of their time spent tending to the children in the Daycare, it can cheer them up usually …And I say USUALLY for a reason btw.

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I suppose that uh Sun or Moon could hold you but then Eclipse gets jealous and angry bc he can’t hold you so they prefer to not pick you up or hold you or ANYTHING like that tbh, but now I will say, even though I won’t say how just yet, there IS a way to fix all their issues it’d just take fucking F O R E V E R considering they’re 20ft tall lmao

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Also shit I did forget to mention something appearance wise, that lil uh skirt lookin thing they have on p much- They have that BUT it’s literally combined- like in the front is Eclipse’s dark orange n black stars, left is Moon’s blue and starry one, and then finally Sun’s red and yellow stripes on the right.

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Btw VERY overprotective over any children that come around even tho the kids usually run away from them, but if a child were to stick around- that child will be protected- you will n o t hurt them, try it and you’ll suffer just sayin- cause uh there’s MUCH worse things they can do to you aside from burning or electrocution… 

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Another thing, goddammit im noticing so much shit i missed FHJVKLFGJKDS- but uh the ‘poles’ that essentially connect to the body are color coded ghjfkdjdks no reason for that either i just think it looks nicer,, Moon’s being blue, Sun’s of course is yellow, and then Eclipse’s is darker orange. Also those ‘poles’ used to not necessarily be polls- it uh let their heads stretch out a bit, kinda like something out of a literal fucking cartoon but considering its been years since they’ve been cleaned and repaired, they’ve got parts missing, damaged, some color has deteriorated, and they also even have some rust in certain areas, but uh those are just stiff ass polls now so-

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Oh yeah, Eclipse has little white sparkles on the palms of its hands (looks like stars shining on its palms) , Moon has well, moons on his palms, and then Sun well- obviously has Suns on his palms.

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They also have a good few wires sticking out of them too which is not safe but again, who's going to willingly volunteer to repair a 20ft animatronic that looks like T H A T!

#fnaf security breach #fnaf daycare attendant #fnaf sun #fnaf moon #fnaf eclipse #i called him Galaxy bc uh it was the simplest thing i could think of gjkfljgfd #and it stuck- i was already calling them Gala for short at the get-go #like i said- someones probs already done shit like this but I wanna do my own things too #so uh yeye-

[therisingkings]

I Still Hate You

With Damen out of town, Nikandros is forced to join Laurent at a gala. However, someone slips something into Laurent's drink that leads to Nikandros having to give him some "special" help. Don't worry, they still hate each other.

Read it on Ao3

*****

“Do not panic,” Laurent said, which made Nikandros instantly want to panic. He was leaning too close, his lips right by Nikandros’ ear. “But we need to leave. Right now.”

“What happened?” Nikandros put a critical inch between them.

They were at a gala, a celebration to bring in the new year. Veretain Industries was many things, but at least they knew how to throw a party. Nikandros had been sent on Damen’s behalf, since his friend was busy halfway across the country, cleaning up the mess his half-brother had made at the Akielon Industry.

“I’ll explain later. Just get us out of here.”

“Should I—”

“ Now, idiot.” Laurent was tense, his hands curled into fists at his sides. His glare got Nikandros moving.

Nik said his goodbyes as quickly as possible but didn’t bother to say anything to the host.  Henry DeVere was a piece of work. If Nikandros didn’t have to speak to him again for the rest of his life, he’d die a happy man.

Laurent stuck to his side the whole way out, which was odd. Off. When Laurent wasn’t cursing Nikandros, he was actively trying to push his buttons. The only reason Nikandros tolerated him was for Damen. He’d been Damen’s best man at the wedding. He’d promised he’d be there if Laurent needed him too.

So Nikandros gritted his teeth as they waited for their driver. Something was wrong, he knew that much, but Laurent, per usual, was keeping secrets. Maybe it was his uncle. Henry DeVere had made a rather passive aggressive speech at the beginning of the night about the future of Veretain Industries, all without mentioning its heir, who would inherit in less than six months when he turned twenty-one.

Nikandros turned to him. “Is it—”

“Get in the car.” Laurent shoved him towards it as soon as the driver pulled up. He slammed the door behind him and gave a curt order to take them to Nikandros’ apartment.

“Why are we going to my apartment?” Nikandros asked as they pulled out of the parking lot. “Yours is closer. He can drop you off first.”

“No.” Laurent closed the window to the front seats before leaning back. He undid his tie and the top button of his shirt in short, quick movements to take several deep breaths. After a moment of silence, he said slowly, “Someone, I think, is trying to make a fool of me.”

“Laurent, tell me what happened.” The city passed through the windows in blurs of golden and silver light.

Laurent dropped his head against the rest, then rolled it to press his brow to the window. “T’s so cold.”

“ Laurent!”

He swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing. “I may have been drugged.”

“ What? We need to call the police.” Nikandros was already reaching for his phone.

Laurent put a hand on his wrist. His skin was hot. “No. Just—Stop. Give me… a moment.”

Nikandros reopened the window and said to the driver, “Take us to the nearest hospital. Now. Go—”

“No! He’s overreacting. The apartment, please.” 

The driver’s brows pinched, his eyes flicking in the rearview mirror. “Sir?”

“Who fucking pays you?” Laurent slammed the window back shut.

“Overreacting? Are you fucking nuts? No, don’t answer that.” Nikandros pinched the bridge of his nose. “Something is seriously wrong if you’re saying ‘please.’”

“No press,” Laurent mumbled, and all the strength seemed to seep from him as he leaned back against the window. He closed his eyes. “I know this drug. It’s not fatal.”

“You really know how to reassure someone, don’t you?” Nikandros snapped.

“Your feelings are really the least of my concern right now.”

“Aren’t they always?”

Laurent’s eyes opened to thin slits. “Just shut up. Let me think.”

Nikandros clenched his jaw. “Fine.” He didn’t even care if the little brat died. Well, he did, but only because it would hurt Damen.

The rest of the drive was mercifully silent and short. Laurent’s condition didn’t seem to worsen, so some of Nikandros’ anxiety decreased. They went into his apartment building and in the new lighting, Nikandros could see the slight flush on Laurent’s cheeks.

“Are you absolutely sure you don’t need to go to the hospital?” Nikandros asked in the elevator. 

Laurent’s cool gaze slid over to him. He’d taken off his suit jacket in the car and now clutched it in front of him, hands white-knuckled. “I’m sure.”

The elevator door opened to Nikandros’ penthouse suite. Laurent immediately strode inside, then paused. He looked around. “Do you have cameras in here?”

“Why would I have cameras in my own apartment?”

“Good.” Laurent waited another moment, shifting his weight. Finally, he said, “I have dealt with this particular brand of poison before.”

Nikandros raised a brow. “Okay.”

There was another pause. “It is an aphrodisiac. One of the more powerful ones on the market.”

The blood drained from Nikandros’ face.

Laurent went on, as if now that the words were out, he needed to explain himself. “It’s called hakesh. A Vaskain creation. Old. I recognized the taste in my drink, but it was already too late.”

“Okay…” Nikandros absorbed the information. Had he and Damen messed with it before? No, he didn’t want to know that.

“I suspect… there may be people waiting for me at my apartment.”

Oh. Oh.

“What do you want me to do?”

Laurent held out a hand. “Give me your phone.”

“No,” Nikandros said immediately, pity flooding out of him. The last thing he wanted was those grubby little fingers on his personal data.

Laurent snapped said fingers impatiently. “Mine’s dead. I need to call Damen.”

Nikandros crossed his arms over his chest. “Charge it.”

Laurent turned and took two steps forward until he was in Nikandros’ face. “Would you like to explain to my husband how I was poisoned under your watch, or would you rather me soften the blow? It’s up to you.”

“I hate you,” Nikandros snarled and shoved the phone into his hands.

Laurent strode off in the direction of the bedroom, then slammed the door behind him. How he knew where the bedroom was, having never been there before, Nikandros didn’t care. 

He poured himself a healthy glass of whiskey and took a seat at the bar. He’d known Laurent’s uncle was evil, but this was a whole new level. Had Laurent drank more than he did, he could have humiliated himself in front of everyone at the gala. He’d just be seen as overly drunk, unable to control himself. 

It was cruel and twisted and stank of Henry DeVere.

The muffled murmur of conversation came from the bedroom. Nikandros took a large draw of his whiskey.

The door opened. Laurent emerged, another two buttons of his shirt undone, and handed the phone to Nikandros. “He wants to speak to you.”

Fuck. Nikandros was a dead man. He took the phone from Laurent. “Hello?”

Laurent retreated back into the bedroom and shut the door softly behind him.

“Nikandros.” Damen’s voice was hard.

Nikandros put his head in his hand. “Damen, I didn’t know. I’m so sorry. I—”

“Are you drinking?”

He set down the glass guiltily. “Yes.”

“Whiskey?” Damen knew him too well.

“Yeah.”

“Pour yourself some more. Drink it all.”

“What? Why?”

“Just do it.”

Nikandros did. He finished his glass, then poured another and downed it in a single gulp.

There was a shuffle on the other side of the line. Damen said, “You’re my best friend, you know that?”

“Of course I do,” Nikandros said miserably.

“And you’d do anything for me?”

“Anything.”

“Okay. I need you to fuck Laurent.”

Nikandros almost dropped the phone. “ What?”

“Look, I know it’s—”

“Hold on, hold on. I need another drink before we have this conversation over the damned phone, Damen.”

He put the phone on speaker so he could take the bottle. He debated chugging it, but the last thing he needed right now was alcohol poisoning. He settled for downing another glass.

Damen’s voice came from the speaker. “I know it’s a lot to ask, but we don’t have a lot of options here. I’ve got the earliest flight tomorrow, but I can’t get there any sooner.”

Nikandros set down the glass. He stared at Damen’s profile picture on his phone. 

“This drug, it’s got, uh, personal weight to Laurent. It’s not the first time it’s been used against him.” Damen sighed. “It gets very painful, very fast. The only way to ease that pain is with release.”

Nikandros sat back on his stool, head in his hands. “Why can’t he just jerk himself off, then?”

“He’s going to need the normal amount of stimulation, if not more. And he doesn’t like masturbating.”

“I did not need to know that.”

There was another sigh from the phone. “I’m really sorry. Fuck, I knew I should have stayed.”

Nikandros rubbed his face. “This is so wrong.”

“I know. But I…” Fabric rustled. “I’ve seen the way you look at him sometimes. He’s your type too.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that he’s your fucking husband, Damen. I would never…”

“I know.”

Silence stretched.

Nikandros tried to collect his thoughts, but they slipped like water through his fingertips. “Alright,” he said after a moment. “Alright. I’ll do it.”

“Thank god. Okay. Keep me on the phone. That’s the only way Laurent wants it done.”

“You owe me big time, got it, you asshole?” Nikandros stood phone in hand.

“Anything you want.”

Laurent was leaning against the doorframe leading to the bedroom. He tilted his head and went inside.

Nikandros followed. He found Laurent sitting cross legged on the bed, not looking at him.

He put his phone on the pillow and took off his shoes. 

“You okay, Laurie?” Damen asked.

“I’m fine.” 

Nikandros fidgeted. “I could put it on Facetime if—”

“No.” Laurent shifted backwards until he sat in the middle of the bed. He touched his brow. “I don’t want him to see me like this.”

“Okay. Uh.” Nikandros didn’t know what to do. “Do you want to just bend over or…”

Laurent gave an undignified snort. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Don’t aggravate him, Laurent,” said Damen sternly. “Nik, kiss him. You can start there.”

Nikandros put one knee on the bed, then had to pause and take a breath. 

Laurent arched a single brow.

So Nikandros moved forward until he could take the little devil’s face between his hands. He started off small, just a bare brush of lips. Laurent’s mouth was warm, at odds with the cold words that usually came from it.

Nikandros tilted his head. The kiss deepened and that wicked tongue was no less wicked than usual. Laurent instantly took control, one hand threading into the roots of Nikandros’ hair. Nikandros grunted as he was pulled by his head further onto the bed. He had to catch himself on his forearm to prevent from squishing Laurent as they laid down.

Laurent kissed him harder. He kissed a lot like Damen, which wasn’t surprising if Nikandros thought about it. Damen liked kissing. He’d told Nikandros that once, after their wrestling match had dissolved into a make-out session and some very heavy petting. Their youth had been full of instances like that, but that had been all it was: youth. They hadn’t kissed since college, with the exception of a very drunk threesome.

Still, Nikandros felt a tingle of familiarity. 

That is, until Laurent pulled back and snapped, “This is fucking boring. What are you waiting for?”

“I…” Nikandros had been, against all reason, enjoying the kiss.

Damen said, “Take off his clothes.”

Nikandros wasn’t sure who the order was for, but they both moved. Laurent sat up faster than Nikandros could sit back, knocking their heads together.

Nikandros blinked, then laughed.

Laurent chuckled too as he undid the remaining buttons of his shirt and shrugged it off.

“What? What happened? Why are you laughing?”

Nikandros dropped his own shirt on the floor. “Nothing, D. Just broke the ice a bit.”

“Oh. That’s… good, I think.”

Nikandros grabbed the waistband of Laurent’s pants and yanked those and his underwear off in one go.

Laurent splayed out on the mattress, completely at ease with his nudity. Nikandros took a moment to appreciate the display. Laurent’s revealed skin was creamy and pale, at odds with the tip of his cock, an almost angry red. It was his nipples that drew Nikandros’ attention: a dusty pink, the same shade as his lips.

Nikandros took a deep breath. “What does he like?”

Damen hummed and there was the clink of a belt buckle. “Hold him down when you kiss him. He likes the weight.”

So Nikandros did, taking control of the kiss himself as he pinned both of Laurent’s wrist beneath his hand. He delved into Laurent’s mouth and found the man more pliant than he’d been moments ago.

He trailed off, down the column of Laurent’s neck. “Can I—” he started to say at the same time Damen said, “Mark him up if you want. It drives him mad.”

Laurent made a noise in the back of his throat as Nikandros nipped and sucked at the sensitive skin until it blushed the color of ripened peaches. He shifted further, releasing Laurent’s hands so he could take a nipple into his mouth. Laurent jerked slightly, almost imperceptible, but Nikandros caught the message: not there.

He returned to Laurent’s lips, which were gleaming in the dim light.

“You’ll have to prep him,” Damen said as they kissed. “Three fingers ‘cause he tenses up fast.”

Nikandros pulled back to study Laurent’s flushed mouth. 

Laurent’s eyes fluttered open. “What are you waiting for?”

Nikandros stretched over him to fish through his nightstand. He retrieved a bottle of lube and a condom before sitting back on his heels. He gripped Laurent’s thigh and pushed it open, revealing his puckered entrance. 

Squirting some of the lube onto his fingers, Nikandros watched Laurent’s face as he eased one in.

His expression was carefully neutral, save for the blush that had begun to spread over his cheeks, then bled down his neck as Nikandros pumped for a few moments before adding a second finger.

He was tight, like Damen had said, and just the feel of the heat on his fingers had Nikandros’ cock hardening to full mast. He curled his fingers and earned the slightest arch of Laurent’s back.

Laurent’s eyes fluttered shut. “He’s taking too long, Damen.”

“Hush,” Nikandros snapped as he pushed in a third finger.

Laurent made a small noise and turned his head into the pillow.

“He has to take his time, sweetheart. We don’t want you to tear.”

Nikandros rolled his eyes. “He is anything but sweet.”

Damen’s chuckle was deep and hearty.

Laurent shifted his hips, pushing Nikandros’ fingers deeper inside of him. 

Nikandros withdrew slightly, slowing his movements. He smirked.

Laurent slung an arm over his eyes. “Can you please just fuck me already?” His voice was higher than it had been a moment ago.

Nikandros considered making him wait longer, but he didn’t want him to be in pain, despite all evidence to the contrary. “Damen?”

“Go ahead. Take him on his back.”

Nikandros removed his slick fingers so he could shed himself of his slacks. He rolled on the condom before kneeling back between Laurent’s legs. He applied more lube, to himself and to Laurent’s twitching entrance.

Laurent was still hiding his face, so Nikandros took the offending arm and pressed it back into the pillows beside the phone, intertwining their fingers. Laurent looked up at him with wide eyes, his plush lips parted slightly. Nikandros thought he looked like an animal caught in a hunter’s trap.

Nikandros guided the tip in.

“He likes it slow and steady,” Damen provided.

“Fuck.” Nikandros didn’t mean to say it out loud as he eased himself inside. “He’s so damn tight, Damen. He’s gonna snap my fucking dick off.”

“Laurent, sweetheart, you’ve got to relax.”

“It hurts, Damen,” Laurent admitted in a small voice that Nikandros had never heard before.

“I know, I know. But Nik is gonna make you feel better.” A pause, then, “Why don’t you kiss him some more?”

Nikandros dropped his head to do just that, but Laurent jerked his chin away.

“Don’t kiss me. I…”

Nikandros took his chin between thumb and forefinger, forcing him to meet his gaze. He’d never seen a man look so vulnerable. “I’ll take care of you,” he murmured, lowering his mouth to Laurent’s.

And this kiss hurt like a brand, but Nikandros couldn’t pull away. He licked lazily into Laurent’s mouth as his hips began to move in small, fractional thrusts until Laurent relaxed between them.

“Good boy,” said Damen as Laurent moaned into Nikandros’ mouth. 

Nikandros pulled out to the tip, then thrust back in slowly, savoring the heat around him. 

Damen’s face was still lit up on the screen of Nikandros’ phone. “He likes it when you grind down once you’re all the way in. Don’t be afraid to put your weight into it either.”

Nikandros obeyed and Laurent moaned again and Nikandros had been wrong: he could be sweet. There was no other word for the arch of Laurent’s back, the rush of his breath across Nikandros’ chin. Laurent’s free hand settled hesitantly onto Nikandros’ side, then his nails bit into the flesh there as Nikandros ground himself deeper.

They fell into a rhythm. Laurent’s own hips began to do little circles in time with Nikandros’ thrusts. Damen had fallen silent on the phone, save for the occasional draw of a heavy breath.

Laurent’s nails dug in harder, his face scrunching almost as if he’d tasted something bitter. He began to let out soft little, “ah, ah, ah”s with every movement that stuttered halfway through the sound.

“He’s close,” Damen said, then cursed. “ Fuck. Don’t speed up. Just keep that pace.”

“Yes,” said Nikandros.

Laurent’s back rose off the bed, his heels digging into Nikandros’ backside. Pushing him deeper, harder. Nikandros resisted the urge to pin his knees to his chest and drive him as deep into the mattress as he could. To pound into him until neither of them could form a coherent sentence. He had to keep his head on his shoulders. He had to—

Laurent came hard with a gasp, his legs shaking as he painted his own chest and belly.

Nikandros gritted his teeth and dropped his brow against Laurent’s. He fucked him through the orgasm, slow, balls tightening with every little shift that Laurent made. 

Laurent’s breathing was ragged, his legs like vices. He let go of Nikandros’ side to grip the back of his neck and said, “Come in me. Please, Damen, I—”

Nikandros fell face first into senselessness. He unhooked one of Laurent’s knees and forced it up. Leaning back, he snapped his hips brutally into Laurent’s, doubling the pace.

“Ah, fuck, wait. I just came. Wait, I’m—”

“Shut up,” Nikandros growled, leaning his whole weight into Laurent. The edges of his orgasm rushed at him, blinding him, pummeling him. He slammed into the hilt, groaning as his body trembled.

He breathed.

In the aftermath, that was all he could do. Dimly, he was aware of more spend now coating both his and Laurent’s torsos, as if Laurent had come a second time. Laurent’s breaths were like hiccoughs in his ear and for a moment, Nikandros thought he was crying.

He shot up. “Oh my god. Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”

Laurent curled into the hand Nikandros had instinctively placed on his cheek. Revealed, he wasn’t crying, but gasping, catching his breath. His eyes, when they opened, were the color of the spring Nik and Damen had swum in as boys. “I’m okay,” he whispered.

“Fuck.” Nikandros flopped onto his back. He didn’t even have the energy to take the condom off.

He was aware of Laurent rising and retreating to the bathroom. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Nikandros knew he should apologize, but his fractured mind couldn’t figure out what for. He hadn’t meant to lose control like that, even if he’d made Laurent come a second time. 

He rolled onto his side and discarded the condom in the bin under his nightstand. Cursing some more, he patted the bed for his phone, then realized Laurent had taken it with him.

“...Of course I will. Yeah, yeah, whatever. Love you too.” Laurent returned from the bathroom and tossed Nikandros’ phone at him. “Damen says ‘thanks.’”

Nikandros blinked, then blinked again as he found himself pushed onto his back. Laurent produced a damp rag and wiped his own come from Nikandros’ chest.

“You don’t have to—”

“Just shut up, please?” Laurent sighed, then threw the rag in the bin. He sat on the edge of the bed, clad in one of Nikandros��� shirts. “Damen also said you have to hold me.”

“I… what?”

Laurent nodded. “It, uh, yeah. And I’m not supposed to go home until he gets back. But I can leave if you don’t—”

“No. No.” Nikandros shifted over, making space. “He’s right. I’m not just gonna let you pack your shit and go like this was a one night stand.”

The last part just slipped out, but Laurent didn’t correct him. He laid down awkwardly on the edge of the bed, all long limbs and sharp elbows. 

Nikandros pulled him closer. “Are you okay?” he asked again, the words disturbing the hair at the base of Laurent’s neck.

Laurent nodded, then turned over in his arms. “Yeah. Are you?”

“Yeah.” They were practically nose-to-nose.

Laurent set a hesitant hand on his chest. “I wasn’t calling you Damen. I know the difference. I was going to ask him if I could see when he came too.”

“Oh. I hadn’t realized…”

“Really?”

“God, just go to sleep. I just know you’re going to harass me about it.”

A smile curled the edges of Laurent’s lips. “I still hate you, you know?”

“The feeling is mutual.”

#captive prince #captive prince fanfic #damen of akielos #damianos of akielos #kings rising #laurent #laurent of vere #damen x laurent #laurent x damen #my fanfiction #nikandros #laurent x nikandros #c s pacat

[threewaysdivided]

Hobson Heckled into Historical Haute-Couture

Continuing the Dan Jones & Dragons gala parade with Hobson, the Flower Crowns' oft-harried Halfling Warlock (played by the ever-wholesome Dan Floyd). Is he trying to massage away the realisation that letting his literally-half-brained patron choose his gala attire might have been a mistake? Is Valse giving him a headache over something else entirely? Did he use Detect Magic in a room full of powerful items and accidentally flash-bang himself? Yes.

More Flower Crowns Gala Outfits: Morenthal | Gelnek

As always, design talk under the cut:

But before that, a short story: I've been following Dan's content on Youtube for... oh jeez, that sure is almost a decade now, both on his current New Frame Plus/Playframe channels and back when he was the primary founder and narrator for EC. His old games education videos helped me get one of my earliest jobs in project work and introduced me to a bunch of media production concepts (like scope management) that would go on to inform some of my own storytelling analysis posts. It was a startling little moment of artistic ouroboros to realise I was mentally running through key points from Dan's own Pose Design 101 video as I was drawing his DnD character. Never expected things to come full-circle like that, but if you're seeing this, Dan: here's to you 🫡 If you're not Dan and haven't already, do go check out his stuff - it's all super well-produced, informative, funny and he's just an overall stand-up guy.

Now: onto the tiny little nerd and his passé party attire

This was a really fun costuming challenge, with a bunch of interesting curveballs thrown in the mix. Unlike the rest of the Flower Crowns, Hobson didn't choose his own party outfit: it was picked out by his patron after Valse kibbitzed him into giving up and letting a heroism-obsessed Fey call the shots. Dan cited Valse as having the fashion sense of Stede Bonnet-as-depicted-in-OFMD, briefing a vaguely 19th century-style outfit that had frilled sleeves and 'would have looked gaudy even when it was in fashion a century earlier'.

Actually dating his outfit was the first challenge. D&D settings are kind of an anachronistic uchronia, with classic swords-and-sorcery fantasy campaigns potentially pulling inspiration points from anywhere across the Arthurian era up to pre-war modernity. Which leads to the question: how do you make something seem dated in a setting where most everything looks vaguely ye-olde-fantasy? The other challenge was that, IRL, the 19th century (i.e Victorian era) was when menswear started taking on a lot of the shapes that would eventually become modern suit and top-'n'-tails fashion. Since Trilby was already going to be wearing classic top-'n'-tails formalwear, I decided to set Hobson's style earlier in the 1800s-1820s and pull in some 18th century Stede Bonnet flourishes to visually set them apart. This article provided some great reference images, and once I hit on the figured silk waistcoat I knew I had a potential starting point.

Colour-wise, I stuck with the burgundy-and-gold palette the Dans gave Hobson in his official gala stream art, since those looked good together and matched up with Dan J's tendency to draw Hobson wearing greens/earth-tones and Valse in reds/jewel-tones. The combination is a lot more colourful and richly saturated than is typical for this style of Victorian-adjacent clothes, which felt appropriate for Valse's gaudy tastes.

Fabric-wise, I figured a fun way to gaudy things up even further would be to lean into the silks and satins that were fashionable at the time, but make all of his outfit shimmery rather than just a single feature piece. As a bonus, silk and satin clothes tend be hot, inelastic and have horribly itchy seams if worn unlined, which felt like exactly the kind of thing Valse's all-form-no-function sensibilities would inflict upon the small, long-suffering fellow. Both these fabrics also have a habit of behaving hideously and ripping themselves apart when worn wet, which makes this a great outfit to, say, accidentally fight an Aboleth in. Poor Hobson.

Some other details, just for fun: 1. Hobson's sketch layers include a drawing of his un-removable cursed left bracer. He's pulled the frilly, puffy sleeve over it but you might spot hints of the shape and the gem if you squint. 2. The reference waistcoat I used had floral embroidery on it. Had this actually been a Hobson outfit, I would have converted them to his garland flower (Forget-Me-Nots), but since it was a Valse pick I decided to make them Senaliesse chrysanthemums; a flower given out to friends of the Feywild's Summer Court as a sign of protection and favour. (It also adds extra layers to Pocket mistaking Hobson for a denizen of the Fey, which is fun).

Close crop on the details because I'm very happy with how they turned out:

#Dan Jones and Dragons #DJ&D #The Flower Crowns of E'lythia #Hobson Bunce #Hobson (Forget-Me-Not) #A Party to Forget #Very fun challenge to communicate the character of someone posing in an outfit defined by a different character's style sensibilities #After so long learning from Dan's content it was really nice to end up using some of those lessons to draw his DnD guy #Albeit somewhat ironic as Hobson's pose is the one I've been the least confident about to date #Dan J. was *very* kind to Hobson with his official gala art #I have been less kind but considering what the 1800s had to offer I could have done MUCH worse to the poor small man #Me and my program's airbrush tools got VERY well-acquainted rendering all that silk and satin #Valse very nearly bedazzled the poor fellow #Pretty funny that my motivation with designing Gelnek's outfit was: this could be fashionable #And then with Hobson's it was: this could ABSOLUTELY be worse #Luckily Trilby was there to stave off the impending threat of a 1800s beaver hat and wasp-waisted jacket combo #In my earliest concept sketch he was going to be wearing some Elizabethan/ Shakespearean-era nonsense #which very much would not have been a good time for him #Another challenge with trying to put Hobson into something unfashionable is that Dan J drew him real cute with nice eyes #He could be wearing a potato sack and he'd still have terminal baby disease #This man's smallness absolutely destroyed me mentally (in the best way) #I put him next to Morenthal in a to-scale drawing and spent the next 30 minutes being VERY NORMAL about it #DnD #D&D #Halfling #Warlock #my art #fanart #3WD

[umbylievable]

Context for this au is here.

Please note that this is copied from my chat logs so the formatting is a little weird lol

Under a read more bc it's a little long and I hate to be the guy blocking the view in the tag

The moment he realizes he's attracted to the Joker, or Countess as he's now calling himself, is after parading him around at one of those police galas. They've retired to their own homes. Bruce is getting out of his suit, loosening his tie, when Alfred approaches his doorway with the slightest hint of a mischievous smile "Sir." "? I thought you'd gone to bed" "I had. But you have a visitor"

Before he can inquire further, Alfred steps out of the way, and Countess is left standing there sheepishly. Bruce sighs "Go back to bed Alfred. I'll see him out" "Very good sir. Good night"

As he departs, Bruce narrows his eyes. "What is it you want?" "Well you know how I insisted on wearing this gown because I liked how poofy the skirt was?" "I recall something of the sort yes" "well I can't get it off" "what?" "Harley was over earlier and she zipped me in. And I can't get out :³" "......oh I am going to get Alfred for this in the morning. Turn around you absolute pest"

Countess lifts his skirts and bouncily turns to put his back to the doorway, humming cheerfully. There's a wire hanger swinging from the zipper. Bruce almost laughs. Almost. "what the fuck?" "Oh yeah I tried to get it off myself first with this hack I saw on TikTok but I think I did it wrong."

"Oh you think?" Bruce takes a moment to extricate the hanger from the zipper, then tosses it aside. He focuses then on the zipper itself, and upon giving it a tug, finds that it's snagged on the fabric underneath. "Hold on. It's a little stuck" Bruce grips the top of the skirt with one hand and pulls, straightening it out, hoping to release the fabric from the track of the zipper. He underestimates his strength, or maybe overestimates countess's weight. Countess loses his footing and stumbles back into Bruce a bit. "Woah there big boy!" "Just. Shut up and stand up straight." "Yes sir." countess straightens up but doesn't move away. They're almost uncomfortably close.

Bruce pulls the zipper again, and with his grip on the skirt it slides free this time. His knuckles inadvertantly drag against the skin of Countess's back and for some reason the warmth makes his heart race. "There. Now go home." "Oh thank you!! It's a good fashion piece but not all that comfortable. I didn't wanna sleep in it" He turns around to face Bruce, his usual cheerful smile on his face, the day's makeup already gone, and there is something incredibly genuine about the moment. "Are you heading back out to do your batman stint tonight?" "Of course..." "Oh well good luck!! Knock em dead. Or er. Unconscious since you don't do the killing thing." He pats Bruce's chest like he's affectionately petting a trusted dog, and then turns around and bounces out of the room and down the hall. Bruce watches him go, and rubs his face. He's hot. This is unlike him. He hopes a tour around Gotham will clear his head.

It does. Temporarily. When he returns to the batcave, bruised but otherwise unharmed, he finds Countess at the batcomputer, legs up in the chair, twirling a little.

Bruce scowls, pulling off his cowl "what are you doing? You were supposed to go home" "I did!! See, I put on pj's." He holds him arms out in a demonstrative gesture, showing off what are clearly a woman's pajamas. The shorts are both too short and vaguely too tight. "Are those Harley's?" "Yeah she said she hated them so I could keep em!! They say 'cocked and loaded' on the ass uwu" "that's disgusting" "I thought it was funny"

Countess wiggles out of the chair "Anyway Alfredo went to sleep and I promised him I'd keep an eye out for you." "No you didn't." "Ok so I told him I'd left something here and then locked myself in the batcave but that second part was an accident."

Bruce sighs. "Well I'm home and I'm fine. Get out" "Locked iiiin." "Oh for fuck's sake. Computer, end lockdown protocol" The computer whirrs, and there's the sound of a heavy door unlocking "Lockdown ended" "Thank you. Sleep." "Very well. Entering low power mode" The light on the screen dims. Countess whistles "Fancy!! I was gonna try hitting a bunch of buttons but--" "It would have killed you" "Yeah that's what I figured!!" "Now get out" "You're so ornery when you come back from batmaning. You need an outlet for that stress" "Such as?"

Countess goes over and lightly dances his fingers up the front of the batsuit before bopping Bruce on the nose. "I'm available :³" it shouldn't surprise Bruce; this isn't the first time countess has come onto him, after all. He takes some kind of glee in the look of disgust that passes over Bruce's face after the fact.

But this time Bruce recalls the warmth of his back, the overly pronounced shape of his spine. He pictures the words on the back of those too-small shorts. There's the faint scent of sugar and cheap scented lipbalm. Something about it is...alluring, and he doesn't know why.

He briefly contemplates shoving it down. Ignoring it, like he does most of his feelings. But they're two consenting adults, he reasons, and it's late and everyone is asleep, and there are no witnesses here but the two of them (in case this inspires some kind of shame in the morning. At this point he's unsure).

Bruce allows a smirk to come across his face, and the look catches Sountess off guard. He withdraws his hand. Bruce grabs his wrist. Countess's eyes light up "Ooh you mean it batsy?" "Don't breathe a word of this to anyone" "Heehee if you're half as aggressive in bed as you are as batman I expect not to be able to breathe at all..."

#batman #batman au #batjokes #umby posts batman

[rosey100]

Previously a few weeks before the date

It was the Finales party for everyone who passed at the La Brisa Gala Gallery, For JJ that was the best opportunity to confess to his middle school crush,but things took a bad turn for JJ and long story short he was heartbroken. Varina who saw the whole thing that it wasn't going to let him go out like that and so when in the halls to find a crying JJ on the floor without missing a beat she knew what to do for him.

"Sorry for your little um... incident there...I ah."

*Sniffles* It fine *Sniffes* I know it wouldn't work out.

"Here I figure you need this."

*Hand JJ a tissue

Thanks*sniff*🤧

"JJ, I'm so sorry that-

"I..She was... Sh!t i was..I just thought she would be happy or have feelings for me at least."

"Guess she right, I was just dumb to assu-"

"Hold on! I know that you can be dull and bias intelligence and socially but you are not dumb for showing your feelings for someone to hurt you that way. "😠

"And I see- NO! I know that what she has no f##king say about you being at a prestigious party? My guy I can tell you half of the place is decorated by stuff that was here two years ago or something minus the chandelier and the buffet and for what I tell you half of year ago she was caught for cheating on one of her texts and I heard rumors that she was cheating on her last boyfriend with Shane George in the Lanes Loin mascot costume and they would both in the costume."

"Hmm😣

"What I'm saying is that you too good for her JJ, she just a pretty face with a ugly heart, spoiled, unconsiderate, lazy, floozy b!cth who think about nothing but herself and she's the dumbest one here.😒

*😞

"JJ I know about having to telling you're own feelings to someone but if they show you something truly different, they're not worth crying for than."

"Plus people change thought time and theirs no choice if they show you a differentiate or not, that doesn't make differences on what you do forward."😔☝🏻

"You think so? *sniff*

"I know so J, I mean you're one of sweet, caring, honest, cutest loyal person I ever met and she isn't coming up with a princes let's she want something out of them."

"I guess your right."

"Thanks VV🥺

*Lay her head on his shoulder

*Sighs "Your welcome J, I just hate seeing people getting stamped on for show themselves."

"Also one thing?"

"Yes?"😏

"Did you just called me Cute?!?"

"Wha...No I ..I was just.. Um..You Ah I!?!?!"

*Cartoonishly fastly stands up*

"Pff, Let go get ice cream or something this lame party food stuck anyway."

"Uhh but I thou-?"

"Come on already!"

(Ha she's firery ain't she.😏 )

**Gets up walking beside Varina to the exit**

#wild kratts #wk ship kids #jirina #jj z #varina varmitech #digital art #see what i did there #mean girls reference #tw: cursing #i litterally love it #pretty good for someone recovering from an eye infection #writer drop #imaginary legs split #plus: the Skater Boy song really made me for this

[inkandpen22]

The Princess and The Pogue (pt. 2)

Pairing: JJ x Reader / Topper x Reader

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: swearing, underage drinking, mild fluff 

Part Summary: After the Labor Day Gala, the Pogues take Y/N back to the Chateau. There, JJ takes the chance to finally talk to her and Y/N starts to show the group that not all Kooks are the same. 

Masterlist

JJ offers you his hand as you climb off of the HMS Pogue. He takes note of how soft your hands are, silently loving how tightly you're squeezing him. It makes him feel needed, but then he starts to wonder why would a girl who has everything possibly need him? You have the world at your feet and he only has loose change in his pockets.

The ride over to The Cut helped your intoxication ease up. You're still not confident enough to drive a car but capable of staying awake and be witty. You and the gang of Pogues approach the chateau, a place unlike anything you’ve ever been to. It’s colorful lights illuminate the yard and fire pit waiting to be used. JJ presses his palm to your back, worried that you may lose your footing, whether it be because of the uneven ground or your state of mind. Kiara leads the way into the house while John B and Pope linger behind, observing as JJ dotes on you. As he arm wraps around your waist slowly but surely, they exchange knowing looks. What JJ might see as progress, you view as a friend of Sarah’s being helpful. It’s not that you don’t find JJ attractive. You’ve noticed him around over a dozen times. You’ve always been friendly, but JJ has been nothing but reserved around you. You just wish you had spoken before tonight, under these circumstances. You figure he must view you as most Pogues do Kooks, as stuck up and spoiled. The screen door leading to the porch squeaks, breaking the silent stroll.

"OBX Princess has probably never been on this side of the island before," Kiara teases playfully as she enters the house to fetch you something to drink.

"I have actually," you state loud enough for Kiara to hear from the kitchen. "There's a little shop I like over here but even then, I will confess, it’s a rarity that I get to see this side of the island.”

“You talk about The Cut like it’s something worth seeing,” Pope jokes.

“Of course it is,” you reply though knowing he was only messing around. “It’s far more natural looking than what we call “nature” on the Figure 8. John B’s yard is more welcoming than the meticulously gardened one at my house,” you giggle lightly as you look around the porch. 

The three boys all exchange quick glances, surprised by your backhanded comment about your half of the island. They would’ve predicted that you’d have nothing bad to say about your well-do neighborhoods considering you’re supposed to be the ultimate Kook.

"Sorry, it's a little messy in here," John B apologizes as he begins to toss things- from bathing suits to cereal boxes- off the couch.

You still linger by the front door with JJ close beside you, watching his best friend fuss. "It's perfectly fine, John B," you assure the boy with a soft smile. "Thank you."

"You never clean up for us," Pope mocks his friend in passing as John B heads inside with his pile of clothes.

"Oh shut up," John B nudges Pope in the shoulder, making him fall back into the armchair. His action only making Pope chuckle harder.

Shyly, you step over to the old couch, taking a seat at the end closest to Pope. JJ rocks on his heels nervously, unsure where to put himself. He wants to sit next to you and place his hand on your leg but he also doesn’t want seem like a total creep. Awkwardly, he determines to lean against the frame of the screened-in-porch. He's thankful that your attention is focused on Kiara as she returns, handing you a water bottle.

"Thanks," you smile, earning a similar expression from the Pogue. She settles down on a folded chair across the coffee table from you, watching as you crack open the bottle lid.

"How are you feeling?" JJ checks as you swallow.

"My heart feels like it's in my throat," you confess, swallowing hard, wondering if that would help. "But the fresh air from the ride helped immensely."  

Pope frowns in the chair just beside you. "How many grams do you think you smoked?"

You shrug, starring off at the coffee table to think. "Couldn't tell you. It felt like I was in that locker room for ages though. I think Rafe buys his joints from a buddy of his from this side of the island," you glance between the three Pogues.

John B pops back out of the house. "Well, I suggest never taking anything from Rafe again," he exhales deeply as he settles down on the spot at the opposite end of the couch from you.

JJ internalizes a scream as he watches his best friend share the couch with you. ‘Look how easy it is you idiot!’ He thinks to himself. ‘All you had to do was sit next to her, it wasn’t like you had to put on a performance or anything!’

"Noted," you nod with a chuckle. Your brows scrunch together as you reach up into your hair. "Geez, this thing hurts," you huff under your breath. You begin to remove all the bobby pins your mom shoved into your hair and place them in your lap. She insisted on you having your hair up to show off the dress she picked out. Your hair begins to fall naturally in strands. Relief already spreads across your head.

JJ's lips part as he watches your perfectly shiny Y/H/C hair fall over your shoulders. If it didn't sound so creepy, he'd ask if you'd need help. He squeezes the wood panel behind him, suppressing his urge to run his fingers through your hair. "If you... uh..." he stammers, capturing your attention.

When your Y/E/C eyes meet his blue ones, it only makes him blush more. His fellow Pogues stare at him with a confused expression. Kiara wonders to herself what he was even trying to say. John B slouches in his seat as he turns his face away from you, begging for his friend to pull himself together.

JJ clears his throat, "if you... uh... want a change of clothes I could grab you something."

You nod, appreciative of his offer. "That would be great, thank you!" You hated this dress and everything required underneath it. You much rather be in shorts and t-shirts all day if you could. There's always been a piece of your that's been envious of the Pogues, it doesn't exactly matter what they wear as long as it's functional. Being a Kook means being done up 24/7.

JJ presses his lips together, giving you a sharp nod before jogging inside to find you something to change into. John B follows behind him, claiming that he's going to grab a case of beer for everyone. He watches as JJ has a quiet but expressive hissy fit all the way down the hall to the guest bedroom.

“Oh my God! Could I be anymore ridiculous!” The boy jumps up and down.

"JJ and Y/N sitting in a tree..." John B sings over his best friend's shoulder.

"Shut up, man," JJ grumbles, shoving his buddy away from him.

John B doesn't leave him alone, following him to his bedroom and standing in the doorway. JJ's room at John B's is utter chaos. He's in and out constantly that it's never been completely put together. All he has is a bed, an old butterfly chair from Kiara, and a chipped dresser. JJ's satisfied with though, as long as he doesn't have to go back to dad's house.

"You haven't stopped starring at her since I picked you guys up," John B snickers, watching his friend dig around his drawer for something clean. "Since when do you let people borrow your stuff?"

JJ stops his actions, pressing his palms down on the dresser. "She's... I don't know..." he struggles to find the right words as he focused down on his ring-covered hands. "I mean, you’re seeing it right? She's not like the other Kooks. I don't why she hangs out with those guys."

"Have you spoken to her before tonight?" John B asks, moving to sit on the end of JJ's bed.

JJ turns, leaning against his dresser with his arms crossed over his chest. "No, but you remember that night at the Boneyard?"

"How could I forget? You wouldn't shut up about her for weeks!" John B teases.

JJ grins, recalling the first time he ever saw you. "I didn't even know her name. Then, I saw her at the Cameron's here and there. I learned her name from Topper of all people. He called for her to join him in the pool. Whenever I was over there, she's smiled and waved at me. Then again, does that with all the workers the Cameron's have over there I guess. She’s just a nice person, treats everyone the same. I kept telling myself that the next time I saw her I'd talk to her... obviously I chickened out each time. Have you talked to her before?"

"Uh yeah, on occasion," John B exhales, trying to recall the times. "The first time I met her after the Boneyard, she and Sarah were tanning on the Cameron's dock while I was cleaning their boat. Topper and Kelce came over and Sarah went to go get them. I accidentally dropped a wet cloth on Y/N while cleaning off the side railings. Any other Kook girl would've had a fit, but Y/N just laughed. I don't know if she would've reacted the same way if Sarah and others were there, but I like to think she would've."

A soft smile appears across JJ's lips, his admiration of you only deepening. He envisions you laying out and the wet rag landing on you. No doubt John B freaked out and rushed out random apologies. You wouldn’t have been pretentious or hostile about the accident, that's not you. A reassuring smile would’ve immediately appeared on your face as you tell him it's alright.

"She tossed me the cloth with the brightest smile," John B continues with a soft snicker, proving JJ’s prediction. "And actually offered to help. Right when she was about to lend me a hand, Rafe and Topper came jogging down the dock. They got all defensive and led Y/N toward the house. It was ridiculous."

"I honestly hate those guys," JJ clenches his jaw.

"Y/N's cool though," John B tells his friend, pushing off his bed to stand up. "One of the most real Kooks I've come across."

"I can't believe I've never talked to her before," JJ huffs, tossing his head back.

"They're untouchable, you know? It's always been us vs. them," his buddy pats him on the shoulder as he heads toward the door.

"Not anymore. I don't care if it's impossible. I have to know her," he states with determination.

"She's here now, use that to your advantage," John B advises.

"Plan on it," JJ mutters to himself as his friend steps out into the hallway.

He had you here, within reach. JJ wasn't going to just let this opportunity pass him by. Topper, Rafe, the guys he hated that constantly have you in their hold aren't anywhere near here. He may never get a chance like this again. JJ's had this overwhelming feeling in his chest since he first saw you last summer. He knows you're meant to be his, not Topper's, not Rafe's, his.

As you and Pope continue your conversation about the history of the island, JJ appears in the doorway. He offers you a neatly folded stack of clothes ranging from an old AC/DC t-shirt that he stole from his dad to some old shorts of his that no longer fit. The Pogues wonder how long it took him to perfectly fold everything together. Your hands glide over his during the exchange and he ponders the sensation of your skin against his.

'You're so warm,' he thinks to himself.

"Thanks again, you have no idea how uncomfortable strapless bras can be!" You giggle as your rise to your feet to go change.

"The actual worst," Kiara agrees dramatically as she stands from her seated position. "Hey, I'm gonna come with you, I left my change of clothes in the bathroom!"

"Awesome!" You grin, following the girl inside.

Once you and Kiara have disappeared JJ plops on the couch next to where you would've been. He rests his elbows on his knees and hides his face in his hands. “Jesus and all that is good!" He yells, muffling the noise into his palms.

"What?" Pope laughs at his friend's expense. "Hoping she'd ask you to help undress her? 'Oh JJ, you're so sweet!' 'JJ, brush my hair!'” Pope mocks in a high-pitched voice.

“‘JJ, I loovvee you'," John B adds to the mix, pretending to pucker his lips at his friend.

"I think I'd actually go for a dive in the swamp if she asked me too," JJ concludes, coming to terms with how bad he has it.

"Just tell her! Put yourself out of this misery," Pope advises, earning a laugh from John B.

"It's not that easy," JJ groans, resting his head on the back of the couch.

"Why not?" John B presses.

"Because I don't wanna scare her off!" JJ snaps.

John B hosts a reality check for his friend. “Dude, you and almost every guy in the OBX are pleading for Y/N’s attention, including Topper and Rafe! You’ve seen how close Topper is to her, that’s what you’re competing with,” he reminds, making JJ’s heart sink. “Pull yourself together and impress her!”

“Be yourself of course,” Pope adds, ever the level headed mind. “But yeah you really need to step up your game. You’re sinking like the Titanic,” Pope mocks.

“It’s painful to watch,” John B adds with a laugh.

JJ exhales deeply, taking in his friends advice. How could he possibly compete with boys from the Figure 8. They’re your closest friends and have so much more to offer you. What you have with Topper is what JJ wants with you. Now he’s stuck wondering how he’s going to get it.

_______________________________________________________

After you finish changing, you find everyone outside. JJ swings in the hammock while Kiara and Pope sit on a log by the firepit talking. You approach the pair, feeling much better in JJ’s clothes.

"So, what did I miss?" You ask, clasping your hands together.

JJ didn't hear you coming, so when he glances in your direction and sees you in his clothes for the first time, he feels as though his head just exploded. His shorts are nowhere to be seen underneath the t-shirt that lands just above your knees. The collar is so worn that it nearly hangs off your shoulder, completely bare. Your loosely curled hair rests tucked over your one shoulder. He sits up to get a better look at you and nearly loses his balance in the hammock. The object rocks to the side and JJ curses loudly, catching himself from almost falling out. When he looks up, you and his fellow Pogues are staring at him, suppressing your amusement.

"Anyway...." Kiara breaks the silence and answers your question. "We were just about to start a fire. I actually promised Pope I'd help him find sticks-" she explains, rising from her seated position. "-He's afraid of going into the woods by himself," she adds in a whisper as she passes by you.

You giggle. “Anything I can do to help?" You offer.

"Nah, John B is looking for the lighter and more beer, so I think we're all good," Pope sighs and gives your arm a gentle squeeze. "Rest!"

As the pair disappear into the woods, you turn your head in JJ's direction. Right as he sees you turn, he falls back onto the hammock, pretending to have not been paying attention. You approach the blonde boy with a charming smile. JJ feels his heart skip with each shift of gaffle beneath your feet.

You stand over him, hands interlocked in front of you. "Can I join you?"

"What-" JJ's mind goes blank, forgetting how to speak English for a second. "Oh! Yeah! Yeah!" He rushes out, sliding over to the far side of the hammock to make room.

You lay down beside him, your body pressing against his. JJ finds it hard to breathe with you so close. You simply stare up at the stars. They're not as visible on the other side of the island with everyone's mansions blasting out so much light pollution. Your hand brushes against JJ's and he holds a ruthless internal battle. Does he hold your hand? Does he not hold your hand? What if you don't want him to hold your hand? But what if you do want him to?

"So, when you're not making drinks for Kooks, what do you like to do in your free time?" You ask the boy, not realizing that he's losing his mind.

JJ remembers what Pope and John B said, he has to pull himself together. He swallows hard, trying his hard to speak to you without stuttering like before. "Surfing mainly, hanging out with my friends, taking the boat out," he lists fluently, internally patting himself on the back. "What about you?"

"I love to travel, swim and go sailing," you name and there's a pause between you two.

JJ longs to hear more, but your mind begins to wonder as you stare up at the stars. JJ turns his head to the side, admiring how the glow of the Christmas lights in the trees shimmer against your tanned skin.

"Sometimes I'll be on my parent's boat by myself, and it takes every bit of me not to sail away," you mutter quietly, distant-mindedly. "It doesn't matter the destination. I find myself looking out to the horizon and dreaming of sailing out forever. I don't even think I'd look back..." When JJ shifts, you embarrassingly comprehend how much you rambled on. "Sorry, that just got really deep."

On impulse, JJ places his hand over your's giving it a slight squeeze. "No, no, I liked it! Tell me more?"

Your eyes flicker down to his hand resting over yours on your thigh. JJ hadn't even realized what he had done until he followed your gaze. He prepares to move it, but then you begin to flip your hand over, allowing your fingers to interlock. A rush of electricity rushes up JJ's arm from your hand. A wave of peace consumes him, something he hasn't felt in... well... forever. JJ watches as your eyes glide up and meet his own, the ones that made you awestruck on the boat ride here.

"What would you like to know?" You whisper into the small space between you two.

He shrugs, starting to feel relaxed around you and not a total spaz. "What else do you like? What's your favorite song? Movie? Show?" He lists one after the next.

You giggle at his enthusiasm, earning a grin from the boy. "Um okay..." you lick your lips, deep in thought, not noticing how the action made JJ swoon. "Well, that's kinda a hard one because I can't really select just one movie or song or show. What about you?"

He raises his brows, not having expected to answer himself. "I like The Beach Boys, Rusted Root, The Animals, Simon & Garfunkel-"

"Ah, Mrs. Robinson," you name with a smirk.

"You know them?" JJ looks surprised.

You laugh, kind of offended. "Do you think the Figure 8 is under the water like Atlantis or something?" You joke as your eyes fall shut with laughter.

JJ grins, glad to see you coming down from the events of earlier tonight. He was really worried for a while there. "I like your laugh," he mumbles before he has the chance to stop himself.

Taken aback, you turn to attention back to him. His eyes pour into yours with such admiration that it nearly makes you lose your breath. "I like your smile... when you show it," you add at the end with a smirk.

"I smile!" JJ pops himself up on his elbows, smiling with amazement at your remark.

"I think I may have seen it one time ever and that was earlier tonight," you describe with a giggle. "I always smile and wave at you whenever I see you with John B at Sarah's and you just ignore me. If you didn't help me tonight, I would've thought you hated me," you admit shyly.

JJ's face falters. He never realized that his shyness could make you think he ever hated you. If he wasn't kicking himself before, he surely is now. As you avoid his gaze, he lays back down beside you. Your eyes remain up toward the starry sky, too embarrassed to look at him.

Turning onto his side, JJ reaches out and tucks his fingers under your chin to make you meet his gaze. You do so, seeing his blue eyes starring into yours with a glimmer of guilt. "I don't hate you, Y/N... that would be... impossible," he whispers.

His words make your chest sink, but not with dread, with longing. How is it that this is the most you and JJ have ever spoken to each other? When you're with him it feels so normal, natural even. "Well good, I'm glad," you reply, feeling your cheeks warm up.

JJ leans forward, closing the space between you two even more. His brows scrunch together and his hand glides across your cheekbone. "You care about what I think of you?"

"Of course, why wouldn't I?" You wonder. You cared about what everyone thought of you, as every teenage girl does. Yet, for some reason, you care most about what JJ thinks. You suppose because of the circumstances of how you met. You'd hate for him to judge you or make assumptions because of a bad night.

"I'm just some Pogue," he shrugs, dismissing himself as nothing. "And you're..." he swallows hard, his eyes falling from your eyes to your lips.

"I'm what?" You press further, eager to hear what he has to say.

"The Princess of the OBX," he recites your nickname across the island.

You roll your eyes, focusing your eyes back toward the sky. "That name is so superfluous." You hated being called that. It made you feel like you were constantly on display, for everyone to gaw at, or worst, ridicule. Plus, it was Sarah's title first. It feels like you're always being compared to her, especially when you're out in public with Topper.  

"I don't know what that means but I bet it is," JJ snickers.

You giggle lightly at his confession. You appreciate his quickness to agree, despite not knowing what he's agreeing with exactly. Growing more confident as he talks with you, JJ gains the courage to reach up and brush strands of your hair away from your face. Subconsciously, you lean into his touch, your lips brushing against his palm.

"I like your hair. It's so shiny and soft," he compliments softly.

Your eyes flicker in his direction as you turn your head into his hand. "I like your eyes. I like how blue they are, they're the bluest eyes I've ever seen. They remind me of soft blue sea glass." They're intoxicating to you. If weren't so shy around JJ, you'd be staring at him every second.

"I like how nice you are, even to those you don't have to be," JJ names next.

"I like how generous you are, even to a Kook like me," you continue the exchange of compliments with a self-deprecated snicker.

"No, don't say that," JJ shakes his head repeatedly, disapproving of your remark against yourself. When you roll your eyes, dismissing his words, he slips his other hand from yours and brings it to your face too. "I like you!" He confesses, much to your surprise and his own. "...Even if you are a Kook," he adds jokingly under his breath.

Your heart races as your chest rise and fall rapidly. JJ's eyes flicker about your face, anticipating some sort of reaction. Even if it's a rejection, he needs to know what you're thinking for his sanity.

"I like you too," you lick your lips nervously. "Even if you are a Pogue," you smirk.

JJ chuckles softly at your play on his words and is in disbelief that this is happening. For a year he's been so obsessed with you and one night has opened you up to him. He's afraid that he'll wake up soon and it was all a dream.

JJ props himself up on his elbow again, bringing his other hand down your cheek to glide around the side of your neck. "I'd like to kiss you," he mutters a matter-of-factly, his eyes locked on your lips.

Gently, you bring your fingertips to his hairline, brushing his disheveled blonde locks away from his face. "I'd like that too."

Goosebumps course over your skin before JJ even brushes his lips against yours. The anticipation is enough to drive you wild. Despite wanting this moment since forever, JJ is hesitant to make a move. Slowly, he brings his face closer to yours, hovering mere centimeters from your lips. With hooded eyes, your focus remains on his lips, eager to feel them against your own. After reminding himself of how much he wants this, JJ swiftly presses his lips against yours. They're as soft as silk and taste of spearmint. Your fingers slip through his hair to the back of his head and your gather the strands into a fist, deepening the kiss. JJ releases a deep moan at the action. Needing more, he moves to hover over you. As his legs become intertwined with yours, he glides his free hand down your side to grip your waist. You bring your hands to the back of his neck, pulling him down closer to you. You feel as though you'll never be fully satisfied. His touch is like a drug to you.

"We got the sticks!" Kiara shouts as she and Pope emerge from the woods, startling you both.

"Got the beer!" John B announces he steps off the porch.

JJ breaks the kiss, flying up from his position too quickly. He loses his balance on the swinging hammock and sways to the side. "Oh fuck, here I go!" He swears, rushing to catch himself on the ground.

You yelp as JJ falls off the hammock onto the dirt beneath you. Followed by a thud, you lift yourself up, peeking over the edge of the swinging object. "JJ! You okay?!"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm good," he groans, his eyes squeezed shut as he catches his breath. "But I think my leg went the wrong way there for a second."

Kiara and Pope are oblivious to what just happened to their friend as they start up the music and fire. You slide off the hammock and land on your feet. "Here, take my hands!" You offer the hurt boy as he continues to exhale shakily.

"I don't think-" Before JJ can finish, he's flying up off the ground with a good yank on the arms from you. "Damn, Kook! You're strong," he compliments, making your heart race. Grinning ear to ear, he presses his palm to your lower back and pulls you into him.

"Are you sure you're okay?" You check again, worry woven in your tone and on your face.

"Absolutely Baby," he nods, leaning in to plant a kiss on your forehead.

"Come on guys!" Pope calls over to you, tossing sticks into the pit. He does a double-take, processing that he just saw JJ leaning down and giving you a kiss. "Did you guys see what I just did?"

"Yep," John B rushes out as he clears his throat awkwardly.

"A thousand percent," Kiara confirms, pretending as though she didn't.

"And here it goes!" John B exhales deeply to his fellow Pogues. Despite being happy that his best friend finally has his girl, he and the rest of the Pogues are well aware that a pairing like this comes with severe consequences. 

_________________________________

Masterlist

Tags: @starkeythinker @bethii1 @thegunnerkelly @cc13723things

#topper #topper outer banks #topper obx #topper imagine #jj maybank imagines #jj maybank fluff #jj mayback x reader #jj maybank fic #jj #john b routledge #kiara #sarah cameron #pope #obx fanfiction #obx jj #rafe obx #obx #outterbanks

[starkerforlife6969]

Starker - The Beach War

Peter loves the sunshine.

He loves the sand under his toes, the little shore-line waves bumping against his ribs, he loves the sound of gulls swooping low, but he loves the sunshine most of all.

Steve warns him not to spend too much time out in the sun. Steve buys him sunscreen and umbrellas and hats.

But if the damning red crest over the bridge of his nose is anything to go by- Peter takes little heed.

“I’m going to aerobics,” Peter chirps sweetly, pouring coffee into Steve’s mug and reaching for his headband on a Tuesday morning.

His husband, in slacks and a still-unbuttoned shirt, looks up from the morning paper with a small, curious smile. “Didn’t you go yesterday?”

Peter nods, “I like it.”

“Alright. I suppose you deserve to enjoy yourself. Now that I’m officially a ballot candidate, thanks to you.”

Peter smiles warmly, reaching over to kiss Steve’s mouth and wipe the toast crumbs from his husband’s chin. “We all collected those signatures.”

Steve laughs at his modesty. “It’s one step closer to stopping Stark from destroying this town. I won’t rest till it’s done, Pete. Bucky’s coming over today, to help with the campaign.”

“Okay. Well, there’s lasagne in the fridge left over, will you two be alright?”

“Yeah.” His blue eyes run over Peter’s face. “Have you been wearing suncream?”

“Yes,” Peter lies, but is it really a lie? He tries to. He does, at least like, 50% of the time. Maybe 40.

Steve accepts it easily, and kisses Peter again, and then Peter’s out of the door and into the sunshine and free.

***

Class is perfect. Adrenaline-pumping, vibrant, fantastic, and it fills Peter with energy and when it’s over, dripping with sweat as he heads into the cool, air-conditioned bliss of the mall and wiggles his toes in his shoes.

He’s free the whole day.

He’s going to spend it in the water. On the beach.

He buys a danish from the new mall store, and is heading for the automatic doors when it catches his eye.

A familiar face. Or rather, fifteen of that unfamiliar face, splashed across a display for the new colour tvs. Beck. Peter stops despite himself and watches through the glass as fifteen Quinten Beck’s lecture on how environmental restrictions are really just restricting progress.

Peter takes another bite of his Danish and warm icing dribbles down his fingers. He licks it off angrily. Ugh, Beck. He was a dick in college, and he’s an even bigger dick now. What did Peter ever see in him?

He scoffs, turning away, only to come face-to-face with-

Oh. Handsome. Very handsome. Peter can’t help but be a little winded at the tanned skin, groomed hair and expensive suit and then-

Oh. Shit. It’s Tony Stark. Is it? It must be. It looks like him from the papers, and the interviews and- Yes. Yes, it is. The camera’s, already flattering, still don’t do him justice. It’s Tony Stark. Standing right here, in the mall that he had all those trees chopped down to make.

“You seemed drawn to him, and then you scoffed. It doesn’t speak to you?”

Peter blinks. Stark’s voice is lovely. Smooth. Just how it sounds in the adverts. “Oh!” Peter hums, hastily swallowing his mouthful of Danish. Stark’s eyes are roving over him- not even subtly. What is he looking for? Peter shifts a little in his workout gear. These shorts are very short, he must look- there’s probably icing on his lips and- “I don’t- I wasn’t drawn to him.” Peter insists, “I just know him- uh, Beck. I know him in real life.”

“I see,” Stark grins, eyes all amused, “do you have one?”

Peter blinks. He watches Tony’s eyes dip over his form once again. Rest on his lips. Peter licks them reflexively. He knows Tony isn’t married, but- “I do. I’m uh- I’m married. Sorry.”

Tony laughs, and Peter feels his cheeks flush. “I meant: do you have a colour tv? I know you’re married.”

Peter frowns. How is that possible- oh. He glances at his ring and manages a little laugh. “Perceptive.” He hums.

Tony lifts an eyebrow, a little quizzically. “No.” He says slowly,  “I know who you are, Peter Rogers. I saw the “Save our Wave” campaign. You and your husband. Smart way to launch. Ocean in the background. You looked….radiant.”

Oh god. Tony Stark knows who he is.

Peter brushes his hair behind his ears and doesn’t know what to say. “Uh...thank you.”

Tony grins. “Good ad. But it won’t be enough. It can’t stop progress.” Tony steps forward, so they’re a little closer than what’s proper, and his voice drops into something lower. His fingers graze Peter’s bare shoulder. “But I’m not sure you want to stop progress, do you, pumpkin?”

Is he talking about his aerobics outfit? Or the fact he was watching colour tv? Or the fact that he’s in the mall, having just finished a mall class, eating a mall-pastry, and watching mall-tv? Despite the fact that he’s supposedly against the mall.

Peter ignores the ripple of goosebumps that spread across his skin. He lifts his nose, but Tony still towers over him. “I do not agree wih Quinten Beck.” He snaps. “I’m sorry, but we do care about the environment. And we’re not going to have our beach destroyed for another mall.”

He pulls away then, pushing past Tony.

“Peter,” Tony says, and he can’t help but look back. Tony stands there, stupidly handsome, hands in his pockets, and his voice is as cool as the ocean-breeze when he says, “If I were married to you, I’d put you in my campaign videos too. You’ve got a face that changes minds, sweetheart.”

Another furious, heated blush, and Peter bumbles out into the sunshine.

Beach. He needs to go to the beach. Stat.

***

Peter’s freckles always make their debut in the LA Summer.

He serves a pitcher of ice-cold lemonade as he, Steve and Bucky take lunch out on the patio.

Bucky and Steve are pressed close together. It’d be odd, if it wasn’t so commonplace. But Peter expects it now. They’re childhood friends. It’s fine, probably. He tries not to think about it too much. Because he knows Steve. And Steve is kind and loyal, and even if he wanted to- he wouldn’t cheat on Peter.

Unfortunately, Peter thinks Steve might want to. More and more lately, now that Bucky’s basically been living here to help with the campaign.

“Thanks, Sweatpea,” Bucky murmurs, as Peter refills his glass.

For the man who’s stealing away his husband, Peter should probably like Bucky less. “No problem, James. Do you guys want more pecan pie?”

“It’s alright, sugar. Steve and I will eat at the community luncheon.”

Peter blinks. He turns to Steve, who looks away bashfully.

“What?” Bucky asks, reading their faces.

“We were invited to the Harrisson’s gala this afternoon.” Peter points out, still looking at Steve’s face, “it’s a great opportunity to raise some funds-”

“It’s a stuck up crowd,” Bucky points out, not incorrectly, “not exactly who we want associated with Steve’s campaign.”

“Right,” Peter hums, because Steve had a choice between him and Bucky, and Bucky’s already won.

“I’m sorry, Pete,” Steve says earnestly, reaching his large hand across the table to take Peter’s. Bucky looks away. “I just feel the luncheon has a lot more to offer. You can go to the gala by yourself, can’t you? You’re more than amazing without me dragging you down.”

Not true. Peter thinks, because as much as he loves being free, Steve’s all-American home spun wholesomeness always leaves a trail of admirers.

“Okay,” he murmurs. “You guys have fun.”

He collects the rest of the dishes and takes them inside, unaware that he has a Bucky-shaped shadow until he’s corned next to the kitchen sink.

“I’m sorry.” Bucky says, bowing his head, and Peter half-smiles. “I wouldn’t have suggested it if I knew you guys had already-”

“It’s alright.” Peter says softly, “I think he would rather be with you anyway.”

Bucky’s eyes snap to his, ice-blue and frightened and hopeful. “Pete…” he says, voice a little raw. “It’s not…”

“You guys alright in there?” Steve calls from outside.

Peter ducks under Bucky’s arm, and it isn’t very difficult to make his voice bright when he calls back: “Just fine!”

***

The Harrison’s own a ridiculously nice estate, and Peter only feels a little out of place. He’s in the dark blue silks he brought with him to LA all those years ago, and Mr Harrisson greets him warmly at the door.

It’s...better than he thought it would be. It turns out he doesn’t really need Steve. At all, actually. He’s clever and he has his degree and he knows a lot about the environment. People like him. They respond to him. It’s-

“Just look at you,” comes a whistle, and Peter turns slowly to see Tony Stark in a tuxedo.

Fuck. It’s a very tasty sight. Tastier than the crab rolls being handed out, and they were pretty damn incredible.

“You’re just working the room, aren’t you, honey?” Tony drawls, voice dripping with appreciation and something low and dark and-

“I’m uh, I’m trying,” Peter manages, feeling his cheeks flush.

Tony looks like he wants to step closer, but he doesn’t. Peter kind of- maybe a little- wants him too. “And where’s your very lucky husband?”

“Oh, he’s...he’s not here.”

Tony’s eyes light up. “Really? Well, how about you and me get some air?”

The Harrison’s house sits on the beach, and Peter kicks off his shoes and is pulled down onto the sand as easy as breathing.

God, the ocean air. He rolls up his trousers, sinks his feet into the cold, trembling waves.

“Just look at you,” Tony hums, and Peter turns to see he’s being watched, and Tony’s skin looks even better lit by the sunset.

“You said that already,” he points out, feeling bolder, braver, now that he’s out on the beach.

“Well, maybe that’s because I can’t stop looking at you.”

Peter blushes, before stepping into the water a little further. “Are you going to join me? Or do you hate the ocean as much as you claim?”

Tony obligingly toes off his shoes. “Never said I hated the ocean. Don’t get me mixed up with Beck. I just know that sometimes we’ve gotta sacrifice things in the name of progress. Technology. The future.”

Tony pulls off his bowtie, slips off his jacket, and then comes and wades into his knees.

“Gotta sacrifice things,” Peter echoes, “like the ocean. Like trees. Who needs ‘em, right? They only give us oxygen.”

Tony grins at him. “You’re a firecracker, aren’t you, Peter? I thought you liked my mall. Or wasn’t that you? In that gorgeous little aerobics get up? Eating one of those danishes- to die for, aren’t they? Wasn’t that you, sighing at a colour tv?”

Peter scoffs because he doesn’t have a comeback, and he glances out at the horizon.

“You were mine, sweetheart, you’d be purring away with that tv at your feet. I’d buy you a hundred if you wanted ‘em. You wouldn’t want for anything.”

Jesus. Peter tries to stifle the flood of arousal that courses through him. “I’d be wanting for a husband that cared about protecting our coast line.” He manages, though it sounds a little weak.

“The coast line,” Tony hums, reaching a hand down to plunge into the water. “The beach. You a surfer?”

“No, I just...I like the beach, it makes me feel…” free “...it’s the beach. It’s nature. It’s not for us to bend and re-shape for another mall, Tony.”

Tony chuckles, “I do like to hear you say my same.”

Peter scowls, and heads back for the sand. A few splashes later, Tony follows. “You can’t...I don’t know, you can’t seduce me into supporting you.”

Tony’s hand grips around his wrist just before Peter reaches his shoes, and he’s looking up into very dark brown eyes, and a very, very appealing mouth. “I’m not trying to change your mind.” Tony murmurs, “I’m just trying to see where it is you stand. You like the mall, you didn’t mind the trees being cut down there, but the beach. The beach is where you have a problem. It’s your line.”

“It-it’-it’s not about me.” Peter stutters, feeling exposed, “My husband is the one running for-”

“And I am trying to seduce you. Have been since I saw you in that advert. Couldn’t get you out of my head. Thought they’d hired a model at first, and then I found out you were married to him. I couldn’t believe it.”

Oh. Warmth buzzes through his skin, flattered and delighted and giddy, Peter doesn’t know what in the name of hell possesses him to say: “He’s not going to be my husband for much longer.”

Tony’s eyebrows lift in surprise. Then he smirks. His hand is still wrapped around Peter’s wrist. “That so?”

A few other guests pull out onto the beach now, and Peter spots Mrs Harrisson in the distance.

“Save our wave, Mr Stark,” he whispers, unable to stop smiling, as he gathers his shoes and heads over.

***

He and Steve have sex that night.

It’s the best sex they’ve had in a long time. Passionate, erotic, and Peter knows why. It’s because he was just with Tony, and Steve was just with Bucky, and they’re both pretending.

Afterwards, still warm from the haze, they look at one another.

“I’m so sorry, Pete,” Steve whispers, voice-choked up, and Peter brushes away his tears.

“Don’t be. Where you are, it’s where I am. You and Bucky are made for each other.”

“You have someone too?” Steve asks. Peter nods. “Okay. Okay, but not till...not till after the campaign. Divorce…” the word makes him jerk a little, and Peter soothes him, “it could rock things.”

“After the campaign,” Peter nods, and they sleep in each other’s arms, and maybe it shouldn’t feel like everything’s going to be okay, but it does.

***

Steve annihilates Tony in the televised debate.

Peter knew he would. Tony is clever and pithy, but Steve is earnest, and kind, and people can see that. They can feel that. Tony handles it as well as he can, but it’s clear by the end of the interview- Steve is ahead.

Peter swims back towards the shore.

He’s still wet as he pads into the mall and heads for the pastry-store.

“I’ll get that,” Tony says, appearing from nowhere and handing over the money before Peter can fish his wallet from his ocean-wet shorts.

Tony’s hand is on the small of his back then, guiding him towards the food court, and soon Peter’s eating his pastry on a plastic red chair, and looking at Tony with wide, innocent eyes.

Tony breaks first.

“So, your husband’s campaign is a little stronger than I thought.”

Peter laughs. The sound seems to make Tony light up, and that just- Peter’s stomach tightens.

“My advisor’s are a little worried.”

“Steve is very good.” Peter agrees, taking another bite.

Tony leans across the table, and his cologne makes Peter want. “I’m better, though, Pete, is the thing.”

“Are we still talking about the campaign?”

“Let’s get dinner.” Tony says suddenly, “please. I know it’s early, but I am burning with it, Pete. I think about you all the time, I can’t keep staking out beaches and malls hoping to run into you.”

“What if someone sees us? What about Steve’s campaign-”

“It’d hurt mine just the same. Who gets the sympathy? The man being cheated on, or the man who slept with a married guy?”

Peter pulls the pastry apart with his fingers. “Just dinner?”

“At my house.”

Peter laughs, scandalised, “dinner at your house? How easy do you think I am?”

“Not easy at all. You’re fucking difficult, sweetheart. Look at what you’re wearing, fuck, it’s like you want to torture me.”

Peter tries not to blush and fails. His voice is gentle though, when he voices his main concern: “And what happens if once you’ve...once we’ve...what happens then? Curiosity satisfied, you might not want to see me anymore.”

Tony reaches across the table to touch Peter’s hand. Peter looks around worriedly, but nobody is paying them any mind.

“Is that what you’re worried about?” Tony whispers, more serious than Peter has ever seen him. “Peter, I would never get bored of you.”

“It’s happened before,” Peter says weakly, and doesn’t realise how true it is until it’s spoken aloud. The pain for the divorce yet to happen ripples across his chest. Oh god, where has this been? Someone loved him once, and then found someone else-

“I’m gonna crush him.” Tony vows, voice vicious, as soon as he spots the glitter of Peter’s tears. “I’m going to destroy his campaign-”

“No, no,” Peter insists, sniffling, and managing a small smile. “Steve is- he’s a good guy, Tony. A good guy with a good cause, you don’t need to,” Peter huffs fondly, “you don’t need to protect my honour.

“Alright,” Tony says, a little bit like he’s unconvinced, so Peter squeezes his hand.

“I want to have dinner with you. I want to feel your hands on me- I- I think about it all the time. And afterwards, I want...more.” Peter looks down at their hands. “You said you’d get me anything.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Tony whispers, “I’m going to give you everything you’ve ever wanted.”

***

The mall gets made.

In the next town over. The beach is saved. Steve wins.

They divorce.

Steve hugs him. Bucky hugs him. There’s a lot of crying, but then Peter’s being picked up in a ludicrously nice hot-red car, and there’s Tony and kissing and a house in Malibu right on the sand.

There’s a wedding, and teasing, and arguments. There’s sex. A lot of sex. There’s swimming and living and life under the sun.

There’s a thousand things. A million things.

And every day with Tony promises more.

When Peter wakes up, ready for the beach, Tony slathers him with suncream and for some reason it doesn’t feel like he’s trapped.

Maybe it was never about the suncream.

He still loves the beach. And the sunshine. And the gulls swooping low and the sand under his toes, but-

But he doesn’t need it to feel free. He feels free right here, in bed, tangled up with Tony and the promise of more.

#starker #physical inspired #background Steve x peter #no cheating #politician tony #80s setting #aerobics #Peter parker #Tony stark #Tony x peter

[w-ndrr]

distraction | diana prince x batgirl!reader (m)

a/n: this is nsfw! viewer discretion advised :) i also don’t write a lot of smut so i will try my very best. thanks for reading! <3 xoxo isabelle

summary: (possessive wonder woman x batgirl!reader smut) after diana and bruce’s little sister!reader have a falling out, they meet again at bruce’s little soirée and they do the thing >.<

word count: hold up idk yet (update ok now i know it’s 4.27k+)

warnings: AHEMMM the tiniest bit of angst, overprotectiveness, jealousy, possessiveness, make up sex? idk, smut; top!diana, fingering, oral, dirty talk?, hair pulling, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, marking, body worship, and her f*cking lasso

Gotham City was the pride of criminals and wrongdoers. At every corner of any street, there is always a victim at the receiving end of these crimes. It was dark place to be—to live in. The endless corruption in this city felt suffocating to be even a part of. You couldn’t imagine why a person would want to live here. Especially, with a clown always on the loose. But, the Batman has always come to save the day... Usually.

Batman was the shoulder the people of this crime infested city would lean on. Time and time again, he’s saved his city, delivering justice to the criminal element. But, he was a busy man. Under his vigilante persona, he was Bruce Wayne; he’s got a company to run, a public to satisfy and little sister to protect.

Unfortunately, having a brother like him, you followed a lot of his footsteps and decided to go save the city sometimes, too, which he passionately protested for you not to do so. You were Batgirl. And you told him that he’s got other bigger responsibilities like being a highly treasured member of the his little superhero club, the Justice League.

You’ve met the members of the Justice League. They were interesting people and they were friendly sometimes. One of them stood out, though.

Her name was Diana. Diana Prince. And you had fallen in love with her as did she. Her intelligence and determination to protect everyone was endearing. Not to mention, she was a beauty amongst beauties and you had willingly wrapped yourself around her finger.

Her love for you was undeniable. She wanted to protect you at all costs and if any harm had come to you, she would never forgive herself for not being there. She wanted you safe all the time.

But, as Batgirl, that was something you couldn’t promise.

Sometimes you would come home to her with fatal injuries and she would have to tend to your wounds. And every second, she loathed it. She hated it when you bled. She hated it when you came home with bruises and cuts. She hated it when you would cry when it was too painful.

And after almost two years of being together, the both of you fought and argued and screamed at each other. Out of anger, Diana had admitted to you being weak with no powers. She has faced many strong dangers and she believed it would be hard for you to stand against a villain who possesses powers from beyond. The words that spilled her mouth had shocked even her and she tried to take it all back but, it was too late.

You were livid. She thought you were weak, and you were angry. You stormed off and cried into the arms of your big brother. Bruce understood what Diana was thinking. At some point, he thought of you like that, too. In a way, he still kind of does. And that was okay. He’s your big brother and he should be protective the same way Diana should be.

It had been months since you spoke to Diana; the last conversation you had together didn’t go so well. You were still angry at her, but you also missed her. You loved being with her. Sometimes, because of it, you wanted to just forget about the whole fight and go back.

But, you’re not weak. And you knew that.

Lately, Bruce has been trying really hard to make your days better. He knew it would be hard to do so without the Amazonian. He also knew she was the key to making you happy.

So, he threw a gala in an attempt to get the two of you back together.

You hated parties, whether it contained solo cups, cheap beer, and blaring music or inconsequent polite conversation, canapes, and wine. You didn’t like them. You would usually put on an act as you entered the room; Bruce Wayne’s beautiful little sister. She was charismatic, a little cocky, liked to mingle, liked to drink. All which you are not.

Even though Bruce knew you wouldn’t want to go to a stupid party at the top floor of one of his hotels, it was the only way to get you and Diana into a room together without worrying about world problems. Bruce told her about the plan. You would be angry, she already predicted that, but she missed you. By the gods, she misses you so much. She would do anything to see you.

And when she did, her body ached for you. She saw you through a sea of business men and women and other important people she could care less about. You glowed in that beautiful silk gown and her eyes stuck to you like glue. Your stride, your confidence and your back, on full display, caught the eye of innumerable people in the room and she wanted to hide you—to keep you away from their lingering eyes. You belonged to her.

As she was just about to walk towards you, she heard your laugh. When she looked to the side, there was a man dressed in a fancy, three piece suit standing in front of you with a glass of champagne in between his fingers, just like you.

Bruce walks past Diana and before he could walk away successfully, she grabbed the collar of his suit jacket and pulled him close enough to talk.

“Who is that?” Diana pointed in your direction.

Bruce’s eyes darted to you then to your partner, “Oh, that’s Jamie Harris, one of the head scientists at my Biotech department... Also, (Y/N)’s—”

“Ex. Got it.”

Diana shook her head and sighed. You had only mentioned him once when you and Diana had talked about past significant others.

“What’s your plan, princess?” Bruce raises an eyebrow at the tall woman.

“What do you think I should do?”

“I would recommend just going up to her,” Bruce suggests. “Interrupt them before they doing anything big. You never know, he could be asking her out right now.”

The Amazonian nodded as she turned her head back towards your direction. Clenching her jaw at the sight of you and this short man, she walked over confidently with her eyebrows furrowed. When she got close enough, Diana had to clear her throat to grab both of your attention.

“Ahem,” Diana pursed her lips slightly before putting on a synthetic smile. “Do you mind if I interrupt?”

Diana watched as you met her gaze before immediately taking a large sip of your champagne with your soft, pretty lips. She sees your jaw clench and your eyes glance everywhere but her.

“Not at all,” the man exclaims happily, straightening his posture as he watches the woman that joined them. “Mind I interest you in a glass, Miss...”

“Prince,” Diana nods at him although she could care less about whatever comes out of this puny man’s mouth. “(Y/N). It’s nice to see you again.”

After preparing, you give her a fake smile and say, “I wish I could say the same to you, Diana.”

The Amazonian swears her she felt a sharp pain in her chest. She licks her lips and stares at the floor. She notices your foot tapping against it as if you were getting impatient and her eyes traveled from your feet, to the hand the rested lowly at the curve your hip, up to your collarbones, then to your neck that she missed to kiss so much. Diana felt her mouth go dry. You looked so good. All she wanted now was to take you away from this man and everyone else in this room just to have you all to herself. Her body ached to touch you—to feel your skin against hers.

But, this man was in the way.

“Ahem. Nice to meet you, Miss Prince,” Jamie gives her a smug smile and puts her hand out to shake hers. “I’m Jamie Harris! You can call me Jamie. A scientist working under Bru—”

“That’s great, Mr. Harris,” Diana says without even giving him a glance given that her eyes were practically glued onto you. “You look stunning, Miss Wayne.”

“She does, doesn’t she?” Jamie butts in with a laugh. “You should see her in the morning! Her does this curl thing and it looks ridicu—”

“I beg to differ, Mr. Harris,” Diana clenched her jaw even harder and glares at him. “In fact, I hope you are not criticizing her hair when you have the same do as Colonel Muammar Gaddafi.”

“I—Uh. W-Who—”

“ A dictator. I’m sorry. I forget you’re a scientist, not a politician—”

“Diana.”

Your voice held so much authority over her; it stopped her in her tracks and she stutters only for a moment before turning her head back to you. She swallows the lump in her throat as she studies the look on your face. Your eyes were bold, glaring at her with her brows furrowed.

“A word, please,” you tell her with a sigh. “Alone.”

Diana takes a deep breath in attempt to let out some steam. She feels your hand grab her arm to take her away from the crowds and out into a secluded hall. The moment you touched her, she felt like she was on fire. She followed behind you and watched the way you walk and by the gods, she wanted nothing more than to put her hands on your hips if you’d let her.

After you decided that it was far enough from the party, you turned around with your brows furrowed as you looked at her, her brows furrowed as well. You inhaled slowly as she crossed her arms over her chest. God, she was distracting. You shook your head and closed your eyes.

“What are you doing?”

“What are you doing talking to your—”

“Ex, Diana? What’s wrong with it?” you yell at her. “I’m doing the same thing right now, aren’t I?”

Diana is taken back for a moment. Sometimes, she denies that the two of you actually broke up. You watch her as she brings her long fingers up to scratch her neck slowly. God, it was distracting.

“(Y/N). I don’t like it when you talk to other people who are obviously interested in you,” the Amazon tells you firmly. “It angers me.”

“I can do whatever I want, Diana. The last time I checked, we’re not together anymore,” you step closer to her. “And I’m not weak! I don’t need you or Bruce to tell me what I can and can’t do. I know I don’t have powers like you or Clark or Barry. I know that very well. I know I have to be more careful than all of you because I don’t get a second chance. But, Bruce does the same thing everyday! Why can’t I? I’ve trained the same as he has. I’ve fought the same as you all have! I make my own choices. Diana, I’m tired of everyone treating me like I’m glass!”

After you were finished, you heaved for air and your eyes had brimmed with tears. You had barely taken a breath since you started talking. Diana had watched your chest rise up and down and to be honest, it was really attractive when you did. Diana mentally cursed at herself for thinking about you like that after you had poured your heart out. But, by the gods, you were so distracting.

Diana had only stared at you after your speech and it only made you furious. Rubbing your fingers over your temples, you closed your eyes and let out a sigh.

“I’m done with this,” you throw your hands into the air and attempted to walk past her.

Before you could get away, Diana places her hand on your upper arm and pulls you back. She wasn’t really thinking as much as she was doing. And you weren’t exactly prepared for this next move she had in mind; in fact, it’ll leave you speechless.

“Diana—”

Her lips pressed against yours, hardly wasting no time to slide them together with a tilt of her head. Her nose brushes against yours and you sigh into the kiss. God, you’ve missed her. Even if she made you angry, you’ve missed her so much these past few months.

Diana kisses you like you were the finest thing she’ll ever taste. She kisses you with so much force that it’s all you could think about. And when she slipped her tongue past your lips to meet yours, you almost fell weak at your knees, but she released the grip on your arm and pressed her hand flat on your back, pressing you against her front firmly. You held onto her shoulders as you moaned into her mouth. Gods, when you did, Diana aggressively fought the urge to take you right there in this hall.

Diana pulls her head back to look at you. Your lipstick was slightly smudged and your eyes were half lidded as you breathed heavily.

“I’m getting us a room.”

The Amazonian thanked Bruce in her head for throwing this damn party on the rooftop of one of his hotels. So, she dragged you far, far away from the soirée and into a bed.

Before the door even opened into the room, Diana had your legs wrapped around her waist as she carried you in. She almost wanted to kick the door down after struggling to get the keycard through the slot, but it didn’t even matter. She had pressed your back against the door, lips sliding over each other, as she slipped the keycard in.

The door opened with an electronic beep and you were met with a wide room with a large white bed in front of a large window looking down at the city lights almost seventy stories up from the ground. The view illuminated the room dimly and there was no need to even turn the lights on.

Diana closed the door with her foot and slammed you against the wall (as lightly as she could without hurting you). Your hands tangled up in her hair as she moves her lips from your mouth, to your jaw, and then down to your neck. She bit on you lightly before sucking passionately until a bruise formed. And she didn’t stop. She marked you all over your neck. After she would give you a hickey, she would run her tongue over it softly. She would kiss you behind your ear, underneath your jaw, and back to you lips. She missed you so much and she couldn’t wait to mark you all over your body like you belonged to her; and you did.

Diana easily ripped your gown off and slid it down from your shoulders (it’s fine, she’ll buy you a new one). You were pressed up against her and the wall behind you as you held her waist tighter with you legs. The Amazonian rested her head in the crook of your neck as her hand slid down from your waist to your panties. She felt the warmth and wetness through the fabric and it made her groan. By the gods, you were so wet. It turned her on so much.

“Diana,” you heaved.

She waited. It was all up to you if you wanted to continue because, fuck, once she starts taking you, she won’t stop. But, if you wanted to stop, she would stop.

“Diana, Diana,” you whined as you ran a hand through her hair. “Please. Please. Fuck, Diana... I need you.”

Diana immediately slips her hand into your underwear and pushes a fingers into you. She listens to you moan as she presses against your walls. Quickly finding your g-spot, Diana pulls her head away from your neck to watch your mouth open, to watch you gasp, to watch you furrow your eyebrows, and to watch you lean your head back against the wall.

You had said her name ten times already tonight and each time it turned her on. She couldn’t wait to get you to moan and scream her name as many times as she could get you to. She couldn’t wait.

“You sound so beautiful,” she coos. “I’m going to make you come and come until you can’t take it anymore.”

Diana slips another finger into you and you held onto her shoulders as you moan at the sound of her voice and the feeling of her long fingers pistons in and out of you quickly.

“You’re going to scream for me, my love,” Diana whispers in your ear. “You’re going to let everyone know who you belong to. Okay?”

“D-Diana,” you moan.

“Is that clear?”

“Yes!” you yell. “Fuck yes, Diana!”

Her fingers move faster and faster and it keeps you moaning for her. You get tighter and tighter and soon, Diana has to speed up and apply more pressure to bring you closer and closer to the edge. Searing sensations spread from your core and through out your body and the moment she pressed her thumb onto your clit, you come undone.

You can feel wetness gushing out of you with each flick of her thumb as your legs shake around her. Diana breathes into your neck as she listens to you pant for air with a shaky breath. She lets you ride out your orgasm only for a moment because she wants to move on to the next step.

You moan as you feel her fingers slip out of you with a squelch. Without breaking eye contact, Diana brings her slick fingers to mouth and licks your juices off, sucking on her fingers like a lollipop. By the gods, you tasted divine. She can’t wait to have more. You gasp as she leans in to kiss you again with the taste of you still on her tongue. Her kisses were far from controlled as she sucked on your bottom lip, biting it softly until you groaned into her mouth.

“Shit, Diana.”

Diana smiles and easily carries you over to the bed and lays on you on top it, near the edge. She stood in between your legs and before she does anything else, you watch her slide out of her dress smoothly down her skin. Her eyes never left your gaze. She was so turned on seeing you laid out on the bed, waiting for her to take you. The Amazonian climbs on top of you and kisses you passionately with a moan as your hands meet her bare back. In a swift movement, Diana slips a hand underneath you and unclasps your bra before sliding the straps down your pretty shoulders.

Her eyes hungrily roam over your breasts and your curves and Diana wastes no time to mark you. She leaves hickeys on your shoulders, down the valley of your breasts, and on your stomach. She was in love with the way you looked right now.

“You look so beautiful, (Y/N), my love,” she says, putting a nipple into her mouth. “Your body was made for me.”

She sucks on it for a seemingly long period of time before switching to your other breast. Listening to you moan as she ducked on your nipples gave her butterflies. She starts kissing your lower stomach at the moment and hooks her thumbs through your underwear, pulling them down at a painfully slow pace. When she finally pulls your underwear off, your entrance is met with the cold air.

“Nobody can have you but me,” she tells you firmly, running her hands down your sides. “You’re mine.”

Diana excitedly pushes your knees apart for each other, spreading your legs for her. She stared desperately, eyes swallowing the beautiful sight of your slick entrance. Your thighs were still wet from earlier and she wasted no time kissing up your inner thigh. They starts off as soft, light kisses before leaving hickeys on the inside of your thighs. You were so close to her entrance but she still hasn’t put her tongue on you yet.

“Diana, please.”

She hummed against you before dragging her tongue up your thighs, tasting your juices from earlier. She used her fingers to spread your pussy lips apart. Her tongue ran up and down your lips, lapping at whatever she could to simply gather your taste. And once she did, gods, she drove her head deeper into you.

All you could do was pant and moan as the woman, with her head between legs, devours you like it was her last meal. You run your hands through her hair before pulling on it when her tongue reaches a sensitive spot. And when you moaned louder because of it, she doesn’t stop stimulating that spot over and over again until you’re a moaning mess for her.

She lapped all the juices that were spilling from your entrance like she was starving as she her fingers kept you spread open for her. Diana’s lips wrapped around your lips and sucked as hard as she could before they moved to another much more sensitive area. She pursed right around the nub of your clit, sucking it into her mouth. She flicked her tongue against it causing you to moan her name over and over again until you came a second time on her tongue.

Your juices spill out of you and your legs tremble uncontrollably as your heavy pants were heard throughout the room, however, Diana doesn’t stop just yet. She continues fuck you through your orgasm, sucking on your sensitive clit before slipping two fingers inside of you, moving at a quick pace.

“Oh, my god, D-Diana! I’m—Fuck! Please—”

You’re screaming at this point as she continues to overstimulate you. Your hands desperately pushing at her head as your legs keep trembling. Pulling her fingers out of you, she pulls her golden lasso from out of nowhere and quickly ties your wrists up to the headboard. Diana spreads your thighs as wide as they could go once while holding your hips down as she goes back to lewdly sucking your clit. Slurping at whatever she tastes, she groaning in happiness as she covers your whole pussy with her mouth. Her hands reach down to grope at your the flesh of your ass and push your hips further into her face.

“God, Diana! You’re gonna make me come,” you shake your head as moan, “I’m coming, I’m fucking comin—— Diana!”

She pushes you into a third orgasm as you arch you back against the mattress and scream her name once again. Diana happily laps and swallows all of the juices spilling out of you before pulling her head up from between her legs. You came twice on her tongue already and you felt drained of energy.

“You taste so good, (Y/N),” Diana licks her lips; there’s a visible shine on chin where your cum was dripping from her mouth.

You don’t have the energy to respond just yet, so you lay there catching your breath. Feeling lips kiss you softly up from your stomach to your neck and jaw, Diana presses her lips softly against yours with the taste of you still on her tongue, but you pull away to speak first.

“What about you?”

“I only intended to making you feel good. Besides, your pleasure gives me pleasure,” Diana shakes her head and smiles, leaning down to kiss you again.

“I’ve missed you so much,” you murmured against her lips. “I barely lasted these few months without you. I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to go back to you so badly, but I’m going to stand my ground because—”

“(Y/N).”

She stops you from going any further, knowing it was the lasso making you talk. With a sigh, Diana looks away from your face and unties the golden ropes at your wrists and throws it onto the floor.

You gently place the palm of your hands on her neck just below her jaw, using your thumbs to turn her head and face you.

“I do miss you,” you quickly give her a peck, only for her to chase your lips with hers. “But, Diana, I need you to trust in me a little more. We all get hurt in our battles and we all come back stronger afterwards.”

You can feel her jaw clenching with your thumbs. Her eyes were closed shut and her breathing staggers a little bit.

Diana opens her glossy eyes after a moment as a single tear drops from her eyes to your face, “I am truly sorry for what I said. I don’t think you’re weak at all. You’re strong, (Y/N). And brave. And you’re willing to give your life to save people. I guess I’m just scared of that because—”

“I know, Diana. I understand,” you nod your head as you look up at her, propped up by her elbows so that she could hover over you. “I’m sorry.”

Diana shakes head rapidly and apologizes more. She puts a hand over one of yours which was caressing her face. She kisses the palm of your hand before finally giving in and puts her whole weight on you, placing her face in the crook of your neck where she kisses you softly.

“Are we okay?”

“Let’s just have this moment and deal with everything else later,” Diana smiles into your neck, seeing all of the hickeys she left on you.

You nod your head as your eyes start to get heavy. Closing your eyes shut, you let your self fall into a calm slumber as Diana’s voice was the last thing you hear.

“I love you. We’ll be okay.”

a/n: i’m sorry if this was kind of long and if there’s some errors bc i didn’t proofread this at all bc i’m fking lazy haha but thank you so much for reading!!

xoxo isabelle

#plz avert ye eyes children #ty #diana prince #wonder woman #wonder woman x reader #gal gadot #diana prince imagine #diana prince x reader #wonder woman 1984 #wonder woman imagine #dc #dc comics #justice league #batman #bruce wayne #barry allen #the flash #superman #clark kent #cyborg #arthur curry #aquaman #superheores #ww84 #steve trevor #imagines #headcanon #drabble #smut

[t-lostinworlds]

My Best Girl (Tom Holland)

a/n: this was supposed to be short and sweet yet here we are asdfghjkl i mean it’s still short but 2k isn’t necessarily a blurb ahah. this was written fairly quick but i hope you guys still enjoy it!

pairing: tom holland x female!reader trope/genre: slight angst & fluff summary: You hear people gossip in the bathroom about how Tom looks so good and how you basically don’t reach his level. warnings: not proofread, tom being a wholesome boyfriend, slightly steamy ending word count: 2.3k+ requested:

prompts: ~ “Talk to me.” ~ “You deserve so much better.”

masterlist in bio & pinned post

-:-:-:-:-

Galas or fancy parties have never been your thing, especially when they're littered with too many celebrities. Some of them are nice of course, sweet and kind, but some are a bit much, stuck in their own little bubble of fame. It was just the constant thing of one upping each other, who has the most expensive dress, which island did they visit just recently, whose yacht were they invited to, and so on.

It was not your crowd, at all. Yet here you were in a floor-length, black sleeveless dress, a V-neckline to match the low back and a high slit to show off your leg and your silver heels. The fabric was hugging you in all the right places while a strong arm was wrapped around your waist, warm fingers sometimes grazing the skin on the small of your back as you smile at this well-known producer who your boyfriend just introduced you to.

Your boyfriend who happens to be world renowned actor, Tom Holland.

"I need to use the bathroom," you whispered into Tom's ear, the lad cutting his conversation off briefly to meet your gaze, a charming smile on his lips and a loving glow in his eyes.

"Okay. I'll be right here," he hummed, giving your cheek a sweet kiss and your waist a gentle squeeze before he lets you go.

After asking around the staff for a minute you've finally reached the bathroom. You pushed the door open to find it completely empty which was a relief. You just didn't want to deal with any more gossiping or encounter any more "high class" people. You went inside one of the stalls and locked the door shut. Although, you didn't get a chance to even do your business when you heard three pairs of heels click against the tiled floor. You wouldn't have entertained it until they started to exchange words about a certain man.

"Have you seen how good Tom Holland looked?" one of them said, a sense of pride coursing through you because your man does look so good tonight, that until the same girl spoke again. "Do you think I could snatch him up for tonight?"

"Well he's got his girlfriend attached to his hip so your chances are close to none," a second voice spoke.

"That was his girlfriend?" the first one gasped exaggeratedly.

"No way, I thought it was his PA," a third girl said with a laugh.

"What a shame, he deserves someone who can actually match him," the first girl sighed.

"Someone who at least could afford a proper designer dress," the third one said.

All three of them laughed at that.

"I bet I could still get his number despite the girlfriend. I could just get him alone," the first one hummed, giggling to herself as if it was the best things she's said in her life.

Finally having enough, you fixed up your dress, took a deep breath to calm yourself before opening the stall door and walking out with your chin up. All three sets of eyes followed you as they immediately quieted down. Only brave behind the back, always cowards face to face.

You shot them each a wide smile through the mirror as you turned the faucet on to wash your hands. The three of them tried to return it but their lips only twitched as they stared at you in shock.

"With all the classy make-up and elegant dresses you'd think it would at least taint your personalities no? Be ladies with a bit of class and elegance but huh," you paused, rinsing off the soap and then turning the water off before grabbing some paper towels to dry of your hands. "What a shame," you tutted with a shake of your head, shooting them a sympathetic smile through the mirror. None of them spoke a single word as you threw away the paper towel and started towards the door with your head held high.

Before you grabbed the door handle, you turned back to them with a tight lip smile. "Oh, and this dress is worth more than all of you combined with how cheap your personalities are." You pulled the door open, though stopped midway through the doorway to look at them over your shoulder. "Words of advice, try and go for the single men, ladies, and maybe you'll get lucky. Although not guaranteed if you're a bit...desperate. Have a great night. I know I will, especially later with my man," you said with a smirk, throwing them a wink at the end of your sentence to properly get the point across.

But the moment you stepped out of the bathroom you felt your knees weaken, breathing turning heavy, tears burning in your orbs as you tried your best to keep them at bay until you were out from prying eyes. The words they've said have always been sitting in the back of your head, how Tom could leave you so quickly for someone who was up to his level. Someone more gorgeous, someone with a high status, someone who could actually match him in terms of looks and just overall fame. And hearing those words be said out loud, to hear them from actual strangers, it only makes them more real, the insecurities that's always been nagging in your brain. It only makes them more painful.

You rushed back out into the ballroom, holding your composure as best as you could. Tom was still in his place as promised, talking to the same person he did just minutes ago before you went and excused yourself.

"Tom," you croaked out when you got to him, not meaning your voice to sound weak the way it did. But it was already too late for you to try again when your boyfriend's eyes immediately snapped to look at you. Tom knows you like the back of his hand, one change in the tone of your voice and he immediately will notice that something was up.

"Hey, what's wrong?" he asked as he turned to face you fully, his hand coming up to cup your cheek so you had no choice but to look at him in the eyes. Tom's worry only grew some more when he saw your orbs glossed up with tears, features coated by nothing but utter panic.

"I'm going to go ahead and get back to the hotel room," you whispered. "You can stay—"

"No, if you want to go, then we're going now," he said firmly.

"But—"

Tom didn't give you any time to finish your sentence when he turned back to the producer he was talking to. "I'm so sorry but we need to get going. It was nice meeting you sir. I'll have my agent send you the details. Thank you so much," Tom said, offering his hand out to which the man shook with a smile, not at all minding that their conversation got cut short.

And with that, Tom took your hand in his and swiftly but gently guided you out of the ballroom.

"You didn't have to leave with me," you muttered as you both made your way back to the elevators, thankful that your hotel room was in the same building.

"No, but I wanted to. The night was getting long anyway," Tom reassured with a squeeze of your hand.

You stayed silent on the way up and even after you're inside the room. Tom's frown could only deepen when you sat at the edge of the bed with a shaky breath.

"Sweetheart, what happened?" he asked as he locked the door. You ignored him completely, hands gripping tightly at the fabric of your dress, keeping your head down as you tried to keep your breathing steady and your raging thoughts at bay, but much to no use.

"Talk to me," Tom said softly, frown deep on his lips as he slowly moved over to your shaking form. He crouched down in front of you, hands landing on your knees as he searched for your eyes but all you did was hide your face behind your palms. "Darling," he tried again, but still, you didn't even bother looking up.

Tom took it upon himself to pry your hands gently away from your face and letting his fingers intertwine with yours. His heart broke when you looked at him with nothing but utmost sadness and hurt, tears running freely down your cheeks as you whispered,

"You deserve so much better."

"Okay, who the fuck told you that," Tom growled, but you only frowned deeply at his reaction because you knew, with one look in his eyes that his anger wasn't directed at you. It was at whoever planted that thought inside your head.

"No one—"

"Y/N," Tom warned.

"Nobody told me it directly. I just heard some girls in the bathroom saying how much you're way out of my league and how I looked like some assistant when I'm beside you and they are right Tom. I can't wear any designer clothes or any expensive dresses to look at least presentable when I'm with you. I can't match how handsome you are because I look nothing like those models or those actresses—"

"Darling, have you even seen yourself tonight?" Tom cut you off, shaking his head in disbelief as he furrowed his brows. "Have you seen how many guys I've been trying to wave off of you? Have you ever wondered why I've never let you go even in the slightest? Why I kept an arm around you or a hand on your back at all times?"

You shook your head no with a frown, not really getting where he was going with this.

"Babe, you stole the whole room! They were so drawn to you all the damn time like fucking moths to a flame and I was getting so fucking annoyed at them for always staring at you like that," Tom said through gritted teeth, closing his eyes for a moment to take a deep breath and calm himself before his gaze landed back on you. He flashed you a bright, genuine smile as he gave your hand a squeeze. "But I also felt so proud because fuck yeah, look at how fucking gorgeous my girlfriend is. Look at how lucky I am to have her with me and guess what? Get wrecked 'cause all you lot can do is stare at her while I get to hold her in my arms and call her mine."

You didn't have a chance to response when Tom suddenly stood up to his full height, pulling you with him and away from the bed as he walked backwards. You followed him with brows furrowed in confusion, but he only flashed you a charming grin.

"To be honest you're the one who's way out of my league, I mean look at you," Tom paused just as he stopped moving, stepping to the side until you were face to face with yourself in the floor length mirror. "Look how fucking beautiful you are! Those girls are just jealous because my god love, you make my fucking heart explode!" he exclaimed, gesturing towards your reflection in the mirror. You tilted your head at him with a pout, fresh sets of tears coating your eyes but for a different reason this time. Tom sighed as he moved back to stand in front of you, one hand landing on your hips as the other went on your cheek.

"I don't deserve someone better you know why?" he hummed, brown eyes boring into your own. "Because you are already the best girl I could ever have in my life." Tom pressed his forehead against yours, giving your hip a loving squeeze before he lifted his hand up so he could cup your face lovingly with both hands. "You are my best, most gorgeous and amazing girl with a heart of gold to match. I couldn't possibly find someone better than you my love and fuck whoever thinks otherwise," he finished, nothing but utmost sincerity coating his voice and swimming in his eyes, words doing nothing but make you heart grow ten times its size.

Your bottom lip trembled as you stared at him all teary eyed, leaning even closer until you were able to capture his lips in yours, to let him feel through the kiss just how grateful you are of him. Tom hummed at the feeling, his hands sliding down your bare arms until he rested them on the small of your back, welcoming your kisses as he pulled you even closer to him.

"I love you," you whispered against his lips, fingers getting lost in his styled hair, tugging at them playfully making him let out a soft groan.

"And I love you so much, darling," he muttered, giving your bottom lip a soft nibble before he suddenly pulled away. One you met his eyes again, that's when you saw how they were already a shade darker than before.

Tom shot you a wide smirk before he pulled away completely, walking around you until he stood right behind, one hand taking home on your waist as the other went to hold your chin gently, turning your head to look back in front so you were once again face to face with yourself, right in the mirror.

He met your eyes through the floor-length mirror, his grin wide and mischievous as he ran his fingers down your spine, goosebumps erupting on your skin. You suck in a breath as he took hold of the zip on your dress right as he sucked on that sweet spot on your neck he's already memorized. He pulled the zip down gently, the fabric going lose around your body as you kept eye contact with him through the mirror. Tom hooked his fingers on the straps of your dress, slowly pulling them off your shoulders and down your arms until it pooled at your feet, exposing you to the cold air of the room. With his voice deep and husky, Tom growled lowly against your ear,

"Now, enough talk and let me show you just how beautiful you are."

~~~

>> come say hi and send some in!

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#tom holland #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland imagine #tom holland reader insert #tom holland x reader #tom holland one shot #tom holland writing #tom holland request #tom holland oneshot #tom holland angst #tom holland fluff #tom holland fic #tom holland x female reader #tom holland x you

[marveling-chrisevans]

Emergency Room || Chris Evans x Reader

Pairings: Chris Evans x Reader / Chris Evans x You

Warnings:  Just some Cute fluffy stuff since I haven’t written in awhile 

Words Count: 1183

Summary: Date night turned into a trip to the emergency room. sorry this is short. 

Tag-List: @patzammit​​​​ @torntaltos​​​​ @smoothdogsgirl​​​​    (tag list is also open so if you want to be tagged let me know, you can reply to this or send an ask) A/N: Hey guys sorry its been awhile this was my last term of school and it killed him. So here we are me trying to get back in the swing of writing. If you have a request let this girl know. 

Sometimes date night was a series of two different thing. Sometimes it's hanging out in the house, skinny dipping, other times its lavish gala’s. Tonight it was the latter of the situations.  A Lavish gala. It was actually the second one of the weekend. The first one was to raise money for Chris’s favorite charity, Christophers Haven. The second one was was just an event. You didn’t listen when he told you the morning before. 

Chris went off to set, brining his tux with him. You met him that night at the gala. You were running late as always.  You got there and he was waiting outside for you. You walked up and gave him a kiss “I'm so sorry I'm late the Uber guy got lost”. You mumbled to him basically because you hated being late and letting him stand there and await for you. Before he could reply someone stuck there head out of the door “Chris, y/n” One of Chris’s charity friends gestured for you to come inside. You took a deep breath as he looked at you “ready to do this?” He smiled and kissed your forehead “No do we have too?” You asked him with puppy dog eyes.   He shook his head and un did his tie “thank god no, lets never do anything we don’t want to do, come on lets make a run for it” You smiled at him “running? We can really just not attend, let's do it” she smiled at him as he held out his hand and you took it as you both started jogging away from the event. You were not as coordinated as most people. At these events you were usually in heels.  You. Guys made it about a block away before you started walking again. You quickly wrapped your arms around Chris and smiled laughing a little bit “running I n heals is harder than you think” you said back to him as the whole time you were running you were just thinking one step in-front of another, it wasn’t really till you stopped running when you stopped thinking about it. You let go of your dress so it wasn’t dragging on the ground “Can we get greasy burgers then go somewhere where the lights don’t hit the city and watch the stars?” You asked wondering if you could recreate one of your favorite dates. “Stop reading my mind” he said back to you as. He flagged down a cab. You took a step back and stepped o your dress causing you to roll your ankle. You tried to laugh it off as you fell on your butt on the streets of downtown LA. Chris quickly turned around hearing you laugh. “Babe are you okay?” You nodded as you took off your heals and got up taking a step and the pain that spread across your face. As he grabbed you. To support you, “okay come on lets get you to the emergency room” he said to you lifting you up butting you into the cab and you slide over letting him get in next to you. You turned so you elevated your ankle on his lap. “We don’t have to go to the emergency room we can go home, ill be fine” You said back to him. “Babe your ankle is already 2x larger than It was when you left home. We need to m make sure its not broken” He said back to you as he touched it slightly as you winced “see you won’t even be able to walk.. we are going to just go get it checked out” he said winning the battle as. You leaned back as you grabbed your shoes and the cab pulled into the parking lot area. Chris helped you out of the back of the cab. As you basically hopped in with him “we are way too over dressed to be in the emergency room Chris” You said back to him as he got you. Wheel chair and then checked you in. Chris smiled at you “well maybe don’t be clumsy, babe.” He said as he started to fill out the paperwork asa the two of you waited in the waiting room. About three hours later they took you back for an X-ray and into a room. “Babeeeee I'm bored” you said back to Chris. Was as you sat in this bed “come here let's watch a movie” now that a you were in a room you could actually had a tv.

Chris had taken off his jacket and given too you as you were cold from the ice they put on your ankle and took o ff his tie and unbuttoned the top few buttons of his dress  shirt. “Okay lets see   what’s on here” he said as he took the tv remote and hit the movies button. You shifted so you were laying on his shoulder as he turned on a random movie that Disney has made. Hours and hours had passed. It was a ER in a major city and a sprained ankle was low on the list of things they needed to worry. about. Here you were, best dressed in the ER, Fiancé of Chris Evans falling asleep on his shoulder as the doctor came in “Sorry. This took so long, our x ray tech was called into something serious. So good news it does not require surgery. But there is a hairline fracture in the bottom part of your Tibia. So, We are going to put you. In a boot, stay off of it for the next time being and no heels.” “Well thats a good thing I don’t like to wear them in the first place” You replied back to the doctor cutting him off “and you get to where this” A nurse in with a kit to make a soft cast on your foot till. You can go see a non emergency room doctor Chris smiled “do. You know what that means?” He asked looking at you “No it does not it does not mean that” you shook your head “don’t you even think about it” you replied as the nurse started to wrap your ankle “Oh but it does” Chris smiled as he watched them wrap your ankle and get you crutches so. You could go back to the house “Christopher Robert Evans” you smiled at him as the two of you had kinda silly fights over dumb. Stuff like taking care of each other when You are sick or hurt. “You are not I'm fine its not the first time nor the last time I can fend for myself. With these metal arms” you said back two him “Plus that nurse fantasy that I have. Not like a picture it  but maybe I. Won’t rule it out. ” you said once you were back home with him He picked you up and brought you into the house and set you on the couch where dodger greeted you “carefully bubba mom’s hurt. So no running under her for awhile” He said to the puppy. 

#chris evans fanfiction #chris evans story #chris evans imagines #chris evans drabble #chris evans x y/n #chris evans x original female character #chris evans x you #chris evans x ofc #chris evans x reader #Chris Evans #Captian America #Steve Rodgers #Marvel

[eggrestes]

ladrien fic recs!

there are SO MANY amazing ladrien fics i cant possibly cover them all but here are a few!

(all the ratings used are ao3 ratings)

((this is a very long post!))

FLUFF

Of Ivy and Sunlight by cyanise [ T, 1509 words, 1/1 ]

When Adrien takes to wandering the streets of Paris in ungodly hours, Ladybug has no choice but to keep an eye on him. Still, things are bound to get a little out of hand between two overloaded teenagers with a lot of love and not enough self-control. 

a lovely post-chat blanc fic :’) it has a great flow and is just soft and so sweet and it’s just perfect. gosh i cannot really say more other than read it!!! also almost all of their other stuff is also ladrien so do check it out!

This can't be happening by PlaPla [ T,  6,467 words, 1/2 ]

Ladybug is unsure whether accompanying Adrien to a gala as his not-date is the best or worst thing that has ever happened to her. But when their table mates turn out to be none other than her long time friends Alya and Nino and with Adrien acting weirder and weirder she finds herself with bigger worries than an unrequited crush.

a djwifi/ladrien double date? hit me up! i love identity shenanigans, ball dancing, ladrien, and djwifi and this is a perfect mix for me. i know it’s incomplete but it doesn’t end in a cliff-hanger really, the part 2 is just a promise of more so it doesn’t feel incomplete! PlaPla also has a short oneshot of ladrien going for a motorcycle ride.

Falling again by emsylcatac [ M,  4,506 words, 2 Works ]

They had been dancing around each other for a while now, and while fifteen year old Adrien would have been ecstatic at the idea of dating Ladybug in secret, twenty-two year old Adrien knew better. But Ladybug wasn’t making it easy. It was like… she, too, was falling for him. And that surprisingly enough, she didn’t mind.

* * *

Or Adrien trying (and failing) to keep things professional between him and Ladybug when the two of them partner up for a mission. Older AU

things are a little steamy~ here (don’t worry, it’s only implied it’s very mild and closer to a T rating than the M) but it’s a great mature take on their dynamics! emsy has more ladrien one-shots in her collection of one-shots!

i'd love to go on a date with you by sae_what  [ G,  6,480 words, 1/1 ]

Once it had been falsely announced throughout Paris that Adrien and Ladybug are in a relationship, Ladybug pays him a visit to turn him down gently.

Only, she doesn’t. And instead, she has a formal dinner date. With Adrien. At 8 pm. Tonight.

LADYBUG IN A SUIT!! aaaaaaaaaaaaaa. okay but for real it’s so sweet and also??? they are on a date!!! a rooftop date!! (too man exclamation marks oops)

Always Welcome by  chatonne-rousse [ T, 1,683 words, 1/1 ]

Ladybug knows that Adrien's window is always open for her to swing by and stop in, whether for video games or a chat or, like tonight, for soft kisses and sweet nothings.

He loves these visits. His girlfriend is always welcome. Always. (Especially for kisses.)

Written for Ladrien June, day 8: bluebell eyes.

established relationship, pre-reveal ladrien. there is something very home-y about this fic and it’s all about the comfort and quiet that i adore about it!

Five Times Gabriel Agreste Caught Ladybug in His Son’s Bedroom (and the One Time He Caught Chat Noir) by agrestenoir [ T,  1,923 words, 1/1]

Gabriel Agreste keeps finding Ladybug in his son's bedroom. As a super villain and father, this will not stand.

this crack fic is... honestly so hilarious. it’s all through gabrie-i-am-trying-to-parent-and-failing-a-lot-agreste’s POV so it is so much ridiculous! 

an uncurtain discovery by  Missnoodles [ T, 4,684 words, 1/1 ]

When he returns from school on Wednesday afternoon, Adrien discovers the darkness in his own home. He struggles to come to terms with it. To his utter mortification and delight, Ladybug is nearby to rescue him.

(He does not discover that his father is supervillain. That will happen on a different Wednesday.)

Adrien is being a cat and gets tangled in the curtains on his window and it’s utterly ridiculous. all the bug and the cat tendencies make it funnier and adrien’s inner monologue is just a cherry on top!

secret valentine by a_miiraculer [ T,  12,245 words, 1/1 ]

this is the moment that we will come alive brace yourself for love sweet love, secret love

If Adrien had known that getting himself stuck in a tree would end like this, he would've gotten himself stuck sooner.

A drabble series.

i just,,,, don’t have words for how much i love it! it’s ridiculous, it’s cute, it’s funny, it’s whole-some and just ladrien. the writer also has a M rated multi-chapter ladrien kissing (no the M is very much real here) and a heroic adrien and ladybug one-shot too! 

Those Benevolent Stars by peachcitt [ G,  23,696 words, 3/3 ]

“Will you come back?”

She looked up at the deep blue sky, as if she could somehow find the answer there. “I shouldn’t,” she said, shaking her head and looking back at him. But the stars were still there, caught in her eyes, and Adrien persisted.

“But will you?”

or

adrien meets his soulmate, a thief who calls herself ladybug. he falls for her, but she seems determined to maintain a space between them.

oh my god this au.... just no words!! it’s poetry and it’s tender and it’s about the yearning and just!!! perfect :’). Her current ongoing ladrien june fic is also akin to this (and the fic i linked before it) so do check it out too! (literally check out all of their works it’s so beautiful)

Flowers on the Window Sill by LNC [ G,  2,144 words, 1/1 ]

The first time Ladybug saw him, really saw him, the universe stopped.

this fic feels like poetry and it’s so lovely. LNC is always short and direct but it always hits right in the feels while also being hilarious. Her  other ladrien works are just as good and i highly recommend going through them because it fulfills all of the ladrien needs (along with Reiaji)

whatever a sun will always sing is you by komorebirei [ T,  32,980 words, 37/37 ]

“I didn't think you'd actually... do anything," Adrien admitted, cheeks prickling with warmth. "I-I mean, I never expected... I didn't know you watched my interviews.” That definitely wasn’t how he'd imagined confessing to Ladybug.

“Of course I do!” Ladybug squeaked. “Uhh, that is…” She looked down at her hands, nervously turning her yo-yo over, over and over. “Maybe you’re not the only one with a crush.”

(After an unexpected confession, Ladybug and Adrien start dating in secret. A progressive character- and relationship-study quilted from drabbles, with the intention of digging treasure out of the cove that is Ladrien. Written using kashimalin-fanfiction's kiss writing prompts from Tumblr.)

it does such an excellent job at exploring this dynamic along with the characters. it’s such a sweet fic, each chapter short and fun!

ANGST

whose woods these are (I think I know.) by  Reiaji [ T,  105,000 words, 25/25 ]

Four years after his future turns to cinders, Adrien is a servant in the house he was meant to inherit. Disowned by his father and abused by his stepmother, his days are filled with drudgery until he meets a masked huntress in the forest behind his father's chateau.

As his friendship with Ladybug turns to first love, he dreams of a future spent at her side.

Then, on the eve of the Princess's masquerade, he meets his guardian—and is granted a wish.

[Ladrien Cinderella AU]

Warnings: Child abuse, Graphic depiction of violence

this is absolutely gorgeous. it has so many troupes and so many amazing character arc and great build up and everything just flows so well. it left me in awe for weeks and i just. want to experience reading it for the first time again. look at this gorgeous art inspired by this! {and you have to read  leonard bernstein too because LETTERS and LADRIEN and YEARNING}

i would do it again (oh, a thousand times) by bugabisous [ T, 2,266 words, 1/1 ]

Knowing you can bring someone back doesn’t mean you’re free of the pain of seeing them disappear before your eyes. He can’t imagine he’ll be able to look at her directly without replaying every horrifying moment when he felt her slip away in a puff of smoke.

When it happens once again, he already knows he’ll be trying again. He just can’t give up.

it expands on adrien’s feelings in the episode desperada (my beloved <3) and it is just ouch. such great angst, such great potential. the kind of tragedy that it offers is unusual for ml (it gets only rivaled by chat blanc tbh). to rival this angst bugabisous also has a fluffy one-shot :)

when the world gets too heavy (put it on my back) by Taliax [ T, 4,720 words, 1/1 ]

Chat Noir isn't allowed to cry over his father. But even when he's just Adrien, Ladybug won't abandon him.

Hawkmoth reveal hurt/comfort + Ladrien

the plagg and adrien bond written is just perfect, and oh this hits right in the feels :’) it hurts all in the right way. tali also has so many other ladrien works in all genres too

By Your Side by omniousunflower [ T, 4,361 words, 1/1 ]

(Angry and alone, Adrien waits on top of the Eiffel Tower for his lady.)

“So, how did my kitty get stranded up here?” Ladybug asks.

Groaning, Adrien pulls his knees toward his chest and presses his face against them. “Because he’s stupid and impulsive.”

“Chasing pigeons, then?”

“No.” Shame burns in Adrien’s veins, white-hot now that Ladybug is here to witness his stupidity. “I threw my Miraculous, and Plagg wouldn’t get it for me.”

post-hawkmoth defeat, and adrien is not doing well at all. i am cheating because it is post reveal, pre relationship but it’s still ladrien. this fic is a roller coater of emotions, starting from a slightly crack scenario to a cute, awkward, hopeful ending.  More Than You Know is another of sunny’s angsty ladrien work!

Breaking The Rules (AKA The Ladrien Fistfight) by ThisKwamiNeeds_aNap [ T, 8,714 words, 1/1 ]

Marinette may or may not be dying, but she’s still going to do her best to fix every single problem in the world. She’s not expecting Adrien to be the one who tries to stop her. (Takes place immediately after Kwami Buster)

Warnings: panic attack, broken bones, PTSD. please read the tags!

*slaps this fic* this fic can fit in so much angst. it just?? left me in PAIN oof. it says ‘ladrien fistfight’ on the lid but nooo there is marinette is just having a freak out and it’s all so much??!! and it’s not just marinette there is adrien too and chloe and alya and- wow it’s amazing. love it so much it fills up my angst needs :’)

so that’s it for now! my personal commentary isn’t impressive nor does it do justice to the fic but i still hope you read a few of these!! happy reading!!

#ladren #fic rec #ml fic rec #miraculous ladybug #i know i dont do the fics justice but. oh well #lovesquare #ladrien #obviously check out the writers other workd too but this is ladrien so i am trying to give it a bit more emphasis #also i am so sorry i couldnt include more lesser known writers but unfortunatley they dont have ladrien uRGH anyway maybe sometime later! #i spend a lot of time on thi n got lazy so plz be considerate #also add recs if u want even self-promo is cool duh

[the-modernmary]

my best habit || aaron hotchner x reader (prologue)

Summary: When Aaron Hotchner ended your affair with him, saying that a serial killer was going after him and his family, you were content with the idea that you'd probably never see him again. Two years have come and gone since then, but when you get dragged into an FBI investigation as a key witness, you and Hotch are forced to come face to face with all the things left unsaid.

Warnings: Age gap (15-ish years), smut, degradation, unprotected sex. This story is 18+ older. This is not a story for minors.

A/N: Hello, hello!! I figured that since I've made a writing tumblr, I should post my story on here!! This is a multichapter story, so I am very excited to go on this journey with y'all!! I already have multiple chapters written and published, so these should be coming out VERY quickly. If you don't want to wait to catch up, you can read everything I have on ao3! This chapter starts as a flashback, and then the next chapter and the rest from here on out will be actual plot!

masterlist || read on ao3

“If you were waitin’ on the sunshine, blue sky

Cheap high, lullaby

Then my best habit’s letting you down”

- The Maine, “My Best Habit”

Two years earlier

Your eyes scanned the University Ballroom, your champagne glass practically ignored in your hand. You hated all these alumni networking galas and avoided going to them as much as possible. Old, sleazy lawyers with much younger women on their arm reliving their best cases with each other and expecting all the new law students to laugh when they were able to get their defendant acquitted because of some dumb technicality. It made you sick.

It didn’t help that you were already going in with a bad attitude. Your ex-boyfriend had dropped by your apartment that morning to pick up the rest of his stuff, and he decided that the best person to help him with that was the girl he had been cheating on you with. You caught them together three weeks ago, and you had been so stressed from midterms that you hadn’t even had the chance to go out, get drunk, and have wildly irresponsible rebound sex.

But you had to suck it up for the night, at least until you were able to get the answer you came for. After that, you could go back to your apartment, replace your too tight and too short dress with some nice pajamas, and watch trashy reality TV until you passed out on your couch.

You scanned the room a few more times until you caught sight of a tall man in a dark suit leaning against the bar. Bingo. You set your champagne flute down and ran over to him as fast as your heels could take you. Once you were just a few steps away, you quickly composed yourself and walked straight into his line of sight.

SSA Aaron Hotchner rarely came to alumni events here at George Washington Law School, citing that he wasn’t even a prosecutor anymore and had much more important work to do back at the BAU, but he was going as favor to his old law school buddy. Plus, it was either coming to this or going out to the bar with the team, and seeing as he had just signed the divorce papers with Haley, he wanted to be somewhere he wasn’t going to be profiled all night. The free champagne was also a bonus.

When you saw that his name was on the RSVP list, you knew that you had to go.

“Agent Hotchner?” you asked, giving him your best straight A student smile.

He refused to look up right away, not giving you the chance to charm him. “I’m not currently on duty. If there is a case you would like the BAU to look over, that’s handled by our media liaison,” he said absently, taking another sip of champagne.

You frowned but kept your hand out for him to shake. “That’s not what I’m here for, I-” You took a breath to compose yourself. “My name is Y/N Y/L/N. I’m a first year here- getting a joint JD and masters in forensic psychology. My goal is to become a prosecutor,” you pressed, and you were rewarded when he perked up in interest. He slid his drink on the table.

“Most law firms don’t usually want a prosecutor who’s going to empathize with the person you’re prosecuting,” he mused, and shook your hand, his grip just tight enough to pass as faux politeness.

You shook your head and clasped your hands behind your back, trying to ignore how warm his hands were. “I think the best prosecutors empathize with the defendants,” you admitted. “Isn’t that how you succeeded as both a prosecutor and as a federal agent? That’s actually why I came to you, I wanted to ask you a question... about my thesis,” you added quickly, figuring that the best way to get him to talk to you.

Aaron’s posture changed from half asleep to maybe listening, and your face went red. Sure, you only came to the event to talk to him, but you never thought that you’d actually get Aaron Hotchner to pay attention to you. “I didn’t empathize with the people I was putting in jail,” he told you, his voice ice cold. “That didn’t come until I worked in the BAU, and even now, I wouldn’t call it empathy. Just understanding of how they became the type of person they are.” He leaned sideways on the bar counter and you felt yourself shrink under his gaze. You shifted slightly and felt the hem of your dress move up your thighs ever so slightly. Aaron noticed too, if the lick of his lips was anything to go by.

You took his silence as your signal to ask your question. “You offered Jessica Michaelson a lesser sentence that had her released in just three years despite the fact that she murdered her brother in cold blood in his sleep. You had the evidence, why didn’t you push for premeditation?” you asked, and his eyebrow quirked upwards. “In the case The People vs. Michaelson,” you added unnecessarily, trying to break the silence.

“I know the case you’re referring to. I was the lead on it,” he reminded you, his voice edging on dangerous. “You know, most people aren’t interested in my days as a lawyer.”

You shrugged, hoping to appear more confident than you felt. “I’m not most people,” you agreed, biting down on your lower lip. His gaze was so intense, and it was affecting you in ways you couldn’t have imagined. It was turning you on, you realized with a start. It had been a while since you had last had sex, and it was driving you only slightly crazy. “But that doesn’t answer my question.”

Aaron grabbed a champagne flute from a server walking by, and shoved it in your direction. You grabbed it cautiously. “Did you read the police report on the case?” he asked, and you nodded wordlessly, taking a sip of the champagne. The alcohol was making you bolder, and you stepped towards him. “Then you’ll know that there was very little physical evidence tying her to the muder. We chose to offer the charge that would have stuck instead of risking her being found not guilty.”

You gritted your teeth together in an effort to calm yourself down. “She murdered four people within the six months after she was released from prison,” you reminded him.

That seemed to have struck a chord with Aaron, and his steely persona seemed to fade ever so slightly. He sighed exasperatedly; you were obviously getting on his nerves. “The prints and DNA that were collected and put into VICAP when she was in prison are what got her caught in the end, and that was the evidence needed to lock her away for life. We wouldn’t have gotten those prints without her original charge. It all worked out.”

You groaned and threw your hands in the air. “You couldn’t have predicted that, though,” you argued. “And people have been found guilty with way less evidence than you had in the original case. I think you just felt bad for her, considering her brother was a real piece of shit.” You were being difficult now, you knew that. But there was something about Aaron Hotcher that was pulling you in, and you wanted to see how far you could push him.

Aaron gave you a predatory grin and he stepped towards you ever so slightly, finishing his drink. He must have had multiple drinks too, judging by the soft flush on his face. “Oh, you do?” He seemed amused now. He slowly raked his eyes from your face, down your neck, and down the rest of your body, and you forgot how to breath. You knew that it was inappropriate and that he was a highly respected FBI agent, even if he was kind of an asshole at the moment. You also knew that the two of you were crossing lines that neither of you should have even been close to, but you shivered under the weight of his gaze all the same.

You shifted back and forth, your brain trying to process what was happening. “Yeah, I do. And I know that you transferred to the FBI after Michaelson was arrested again, which makes me think that this case was your breaking point,” you ranted, your hands becoming more and more animated.

Aaron chuckled, but there was very little amusement behind it. “Are you sure you want to be a lawyer?” he asked, cocking his head to the side. “Because you’re starting to talk like a profiler.”

You arched an eyebrow at him. “No thanks,” you said firmly, and he just shrugged before making a move to walk past you. You sidestepped in front of him, effectively blocking him from going anywhere. But it was obvious that he was done talking about this.

In your mind, you had two options now. You could keep pushing him about a case that he obviously didn’t want to talk to you about, or you could switch gears in your brain and have him help you solve your... other problem. Aaron was attractive, and you were getting tired of guys your age. You noticed the distinct lack of a wedding ring on his finger, but there was still a tan to show that it had been there. So either he was recently separated or just trying to cheat on his wife. You wanted to not care whichever it was, but a pang in your heart told you to be considerate. Besides, you did not want to get involved with another cheater.

“Must be hard to be at these events without your wife here to scare off all the lonely female law students,” you mused cautiously. You didn’t want to come on too strong, but the alcohol in your system was slowly clouding your ability to be subtle.

Aaron cleared his throat, obviously taken aback by the sudden shift in conversation. “I’m not married,” he said, too quickly and too defensively. So he’s separated, you thought, and you stepped closer to him.

His eyebrows furrowed as he tried to figure out your endgame. “Well, I would love to discuss your work as a prosecutor more when there are less… distractions around,” you whispered, your words breathy. “Tell me Agent Hotchner, do I make you nervous?” You sounded a lot more confident than you felt.

Aaron just smirked and grabbed your free hand, covering it in both of his, and the action was surprisingly soft, even if it was way too late for him to try acting suave. His eyes, on the other hand, told a whole other story. His pupils were so dilated that his eyes were practically black. “I face the worst people in society on a daily basis. Desperate law students don’t make me nervous. In fact…” He stepped towards you, looking around to make sure nobody else was looking. Aaron leaned in close, his lips brushing against your ear with every word. “I think that I make you nervous. And more than nervous, I make you very excited.”

Your breath hitched as he pulled back, a smug smile gracing his lips. You yanked your hand back to preserve what little dignity you had left, but it was too late. “Now, if you would like to discuss my prosecuting career more in depth, then you can set up a formal meeting with me at the BAU,” he continued, obviously proud of himself and the effect he was having on you. He pulled out a business card and upon further instruction, you realized that it wasn’t even his. Jennifer Jareu the name read. “Our media liaison will be able to help you organize that. Now if you don’t mind, I am going to retire for the night.”

Aaron finished the rest of his drink and brushed past you while you were still trying to get your thoughts under control. “Oh, and you’ll make a wonderful lawyer someday, I’m sure of it,” he called over his shoulder, and that snapped you back into action.

You followed, running around him and cutting him off. “And if I don’t want to discuss your prosecuting career?” you asked, batting your eyelashes at him. “What if I was interested in a… less formal meeting?”

That was all the permission he needed. Aaron grabbed your hand and pulled you out of the ballroom, the two of you moving so fast that nobody in the room even had a chance to put two and two together. There was an empty hallway just next to the entrance of the room and Aaron pulled you in that direction, pressing you against the wall and kissing you fiercely the second the two of you were alone.

There was nothing gentle about the kiss, but in a strange role reversal, he let you take the lead. It’s certainly not what you expected from Aaron Hotchner who, until now, had been controlling every aspect of your meeting. You realized then that this was his way of making sure you were okay with what was happening- giving you a chance to back out and change your mind. You just answered by tangling your hands in his hair, pulling so that he was at just the right angle to kiss you.

Aaron dug his fingers into your hips, hard enough to make you gasp out. You were definitely going to have bruises the next day, but you couldn’t be bothered to care. He shoved his leg in between yours and tugged on your lip with his teeth, which made you whimper involuntarily. He smirked against your lips, obviously proud of the noises he was drawing from you. You pulled on his hair harder as a sign of irritation, but that seemed to only make him more amused as he pulled away to laugh into your neck.

“Are we just going to make out against a wall like we’re back in high school, or are you going to actually do something worth my time?” you breathe, fighting to keep your voice even and light. It only halfway worked as he dragged his tongue up your neck to your pulse point. And then he bit down, hard.

It took everything in your power to stay quiet, especially as he softly kissed the newly forming bruise. His attack on your neck was relentless as he pulled your hips and back forth against his thigh. You whimpered as you desperately tried to get any friction from the simple movement. Your skirt was now dangerously close to being pushed so far up your legs that you would be completely exposed.

You pulled away first- you had to or your legs were going to completely give out from under you. You desperately tried to get your breathing under control and, to your annoyance, he looked perfectly composed. The only thing giving him away was his slightly swollen lips.

His fingers trailed up your thigh, getting so close to where you want him. “What would you like me to do then?” he asked easily, his voice almost sounding bored. You were speechless, like your brain had just short circuited. There were a lot of things you wanted him to do, but the words were lost on the tip of your tongue. “If you want something, you have to ask for it.” That was a demand, and he punctuated it by pressing his thigh further into you. You were sure he was going to have a wet spot on his slacks. He took the hand not in between your legs and grabbed your jaw forcefully, his thumb resting on your bottom lip. “Use your words, little girl.”

You realize that the two of you were standing on the edge of a cliff, and you had the power to decide whether or not to jump over. It gave you a strange sense of power. Logically, you knew it was a bad idea. He was too old for you, obviously going through some sort of relationship trauma, and wasn’t somebody you could talk to your friends and family about. But the less rational side wanted him so badly it hurt. You wanted him more than you’ve wanted anything or anyone in a long time.

You noticed your strawberry colored lipstick was smudged ever so slightly on the corner of his mouth, and that’s all it took for you to jump off the side of the cliff. “I want you to drag me into the empty classroom just down the hall and fuck me senseless. I want you to use me,” you moan before taking his thumb into your mouth and sucking.

The look on his face is something you’ll never forget. There was a mix of shock and arousal, but also something primitive; His eyes darkened when you told him to use you, and there was a fluttering in your stomach. You couldn’t tell if it was from excitement or dread. Maybe even both.

He removed his hands from your mouth and legs, only to place his hand on the small of your back. He began walking towards the classroom you had pointed out, much too slow for your liking, but he knew exactly what he was doing. “You’re going to regret asking me to use you,” he practically growls in your ear, each word increasing your arousal. “Are you one of those lonely female law students you warned me about? So desperate and needy for a real man to bend you over a table and fuck you until you can’t walk straight? Ready and willing to whore yourself out for the first man who gives you a second glance?”

Your breath hitched as you stuttered out your answer. “Y-yes, Agent Hotchner,” you whispered as he opened the classroom door and guided you in.

As soon as the door was shut and locked, he was back on your lips again, lifting you so that you were sitting on one of the desks with your legs wrapped around his waist. “Call me Aaron,” he mumbled in between kisses, and you were all too happy to oblige.

You were a moaning mess at this point as his hands pushed your dress up to your waist. His hands and lips were somehow everywhere at once and you were so hot and all you could think about was getting your damn dress off, but Aaron seemed to have other plans.

He ran his fingers up your lace covered slit and he just chuckled into your lips. “You’re so wet for me, already,” he groaned and you let out an embarrassingly loud moan. “And I’ve barely touched you. Do my words really have that much effect on you? Do you like it when I call you a whore?”

He hooked his fingers under the waistband of your panties and quickly pulled them down. You could feel his bulge pressing against you and all you could think about was how badly you wanted it. How badly you wanted him. Your hands moved down his chest to make quick work of his belt, and his pants followed after.

“Please, please Aaron,” you begged, desperately trying to create some friction against him. His fingers tangled in your hair and he pulled your head back so that you were looking at him.

“You’re so pretty when you beg.” His fingers slowly ran up your slit, not enough to give you any pleasure. He was teasing you and enjoying every second of it. “And I wish I could take my time with you. The things I want to do to you…” Two of his fingers entered you and you cried out loudly. “But somebody could walk in on us at any second. I’m sure they can all hear you moaning like a dirty whore, all for me. But you’d like that, wouldn’t you? So desperate for my attention and approval.”

His words turned you on more than you would have liked to admit. “Yes, Aaron yes. Please-” you were cut off by Aaron curling his fingers, hitting that spot that made you want to scream out in pleasure. But all too soon, they were gone.

He inspected his fingers, which were now covered in your juices, before bringing them to your mouth. “Suck,” he ordered, and you eagerly complied, wrapping your lips around his fingers and moaning at the taste of yourself. “I’ll just have to fuck you quickly here, and then you’ll be begging for more next time,” he groaned and finally- finally- entered you.

He didn’t give you time to adjust to him, thrusting roughly into you. He removed his fingers from your mouth and brought his hand to your neck. He didn’t put any pressure, but he wanted you to know that he could and would if you decided to get mouthy with him.

Your hands gripped the edge of the desk you were sitting on, your knuckles turning white. Your eyes started to close in pleasure as his hips slammed into yours, but they shot open as he tightened his grip on your throat. “Look at me. I want to see you when you cum,” he ordered, and you nodded the best you could.

“Yes sir!” you cried out, unsure of what else to say.

Seemingly satisfied with your answer, Aaron released your throat and moved his hand down so that he was stimulating your clit. You could feel the coil in your stomach tighten as your legs started to twitch. Aaron took this as motivation to slam into you even harder, relishing each time you gasped out his name.

His pace was unforgiving, leaving you gasping for air. Keeping your eyes open was a challenge, but you were able to do it with his soft mutters of praise. “Even brats like you can be good girls,” he groaned, his thrusts becoming erratic. “You just need somebody to fuck it into you.”

You were unable to respond coherently, so you just settled on begging even more, although you weren’t sure what you were begging for exactly. Aaron seemed to know, and he sped up his fingers against your clit. You wanted to scream out for him, but your voice wasn’t working. “What did I say before?” he asks roughly. “If you want something, ask for it.”

“Please… please can I cum?” you cried out, feeling yourself getting close to the edge. “Please let me cum around your cock!”

He nodded in approval and you had to muffle yourself in his neck to keep quiet. He fucked you through your orgasm, the overstimulation almost too much, but it wasn’t long before he was moaning your name, and you felt him fill you.

The two of you stayed like that for a few moments, both breathing heavily as the situation started to sink in. You just let a guy almost 15 years older than you that you just met fuck you in an empty classroom, and you really enjoyed it. Aaron, on the other hand, looked like he was going through a full crisis.

He pulled out of you slowly, and you winced at the feeling. He pulled up his pants quickly. “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, looking around the empty classroom. “I don’t have anything good to clean you up with.” A box of kleenex caught his eye and he grabbed a few tissues. It was better than nothing.

You chuckled nervously and waved it off. “It’s fine,” you promised, your voice coming out shakier than you expected, but he ignored you. He wiped the mess dripping down your thighs. You were cold. He must have noticed, because he took off his suit jacket and wrapped it around your shoulders.

“Are you okay?” Aaron asked softly, and it was a full 180 from the way he had just been talking to you.

“I’m great,” you admitted honestly. “Seriously, that was… great.”

Aaron smiled at you- the first real smile he had given you all night. “It wasn’t too much?” he confirmed, and you suddenly remembered what he had said to you earlier. ...then you’ll be begging for more next time. Was he planning on a next time? You wouldn’t have minded it.

You shook your head and slowly slid off the table. You took one of the tissues and wiped up the mess that was left on the table. “Not at all. In fact, I could take more. Next time.” Your voice was light and airy. Aaron watched as you picked your underwear off the floor. There was no way you were putting those back on, not when you had no idea when the floor was last cleaned.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” he teased, eyeing you carefully.

“Well I can’t keep it if I only have your media liaison’s number,” you reminded him, your eyebrow raised. Aaron chuckled and pulled out another business card, except this time it was his. You plucked the card out of his hands and inspected it carefully. “I’ll call you sometime. You can do all those other things we didn’t have time to do.” You were on your tiptoes now, whispering in his ear. “You know… my mouth can do a lot more than just ask for things.” As you spoke, you slipped your panties into his back pocket. You just laughed as you heard a soft gasp escape his lips.

You made your way towards the door, your legs wobbling dangerously underneath you. You were sure that you looked like a mess, but you didn’t care. All that mattered to you was Aaron Hotchner’s eyes glued to your ass. “Get home safe,” he told you and you let yourself smile. Maybe it was a bad idea to start sleeping with a recent divorcee, but the sex was great and you both knew where you stood with the other person. No feelings, just fucking out your frustrations and stress.

Oh yeah, coming to this event was definitely a good call on your part.

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x y/n #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner smut #my best habit #my writing

[catxsnow]

CIRCUS FREAK D.G.

Request: okay so i was listening to rewrite the stars and got the idea where the reader is a socialite from a very wealthy family, and she fell for dick grayson but her family doesn't approve because he's not a real wayne/rich. so can i request that? thank you once again!!🥺❤️

Warning: swears, having really shitty parents

A/N: That gif just melts my heart every time I see it. 

Word Count: 2k

Dick Grayson was an unexpected surprise in your life.

Your parents were the kind of people that expected you to marry a literal prince. They wanted you to continue the family legacy of money, power, and popularity. Generations of marrying important figures to keep the family name from being tainted. Your family took pride in their place in the world.

When they moved to Gotham, there was only one family that was going to be good enough for your parents: The Wayne's. Bruce Wayne was the richest person in the city - maybe even the entirety of the country. When you parents wiggled their way into his life and to his famous gala's, you were to be dragged along as well.

Your parents pointed out dozens of rich men, those who owned big businesses or were part of world affairs. They wanted you to talk to them, date them, and eventually marry one of them. It wasn't those snobby men that you were intrigued by. It was the man across the room with a genuine smile.

At the time you weren't aware that this was Bruce's oldest adopted son. He didn't seem like the rest. Dick wasn't trying to prove his worth by being there, in fact it almost seemed like he didn't want to be there at all. Behind his smile, you could see that he had places he'd rather be - but his kindness to others never faltered.

Out of all the people in that room, he was the only one that you wanted to talk to.

Dick felt your eyes on him. He looked up from the person he was having a conversation with and gazed at you from across the room. A smile lit up his face at the sight of how stunning you looked. He no longer cared about the man he was chatting with - he wanted to go talk to you instead.

That was how you met the love of your life. The second that he asked you to dance, you knew that you never wanted to let him go. You danced your heart away that night, twirling and spinning until your legs were ready to give out on you. Being with Dick... it was like floating in the stars.

You met with him again and again after that night. Every meet up seemed to last shorter than the previous, you never seemed to get enough time with him. There weren't enough hours in the day for you to be with Dick as much as you wanted to. He had cut down on his over time at work, even patrol to be with you.

He was in love.

You weren't like the rest of the snobby rich, young adults that attended these gala's. Unlike so many of these families that just wanted to make money, you wanted to make the world a better place. Dick respected that about you. While you were both trying to change the world in different ways, it seemed to bring you closer together.

Bruce knew who you were. He was aware of your parents and their appearance in Gotham. Thinking like a business man, he assumed that you were only interested in Dick for the money in his name. Upon meeting you, he could clearly see that wasn't the case at all. You were completely head over heels for him.

The issue arose when Dick was meant to meet your parents for the first time. Every man that you had brought home to them wasn't good enough. They drove him away until you were left heartbroken. As the son of Bruce Wayne, you assumed that they would approve of him. Even so, Dick was brave enough to stick around through your parents wrath.

Dick was dressed in his best suit. You were looped around his arm in your best clothes as well. The two of you stood outside the doors of the fanciest restaurant in the city. Your parents were already inside and waiting upon the two of you. Dick leaned down to give you a quick peck on the lips.

"Stop worrying so much."

"Aren't I supposed to be telling you that?" You chuckled. Dick rolled his eyes and led you through the doors. Truth be told, he wasn't nervous. Throughout all his years, he had impressed every set of parents that he met. Yours couldn't be that different. "Just... don't think of me differently after today, okay?"

"I would never, my love," Dick assured. You switched from having your arm around his to intertwining your hands. The server led you towards the table your parents were sitting in. They looked to be in a good mood. Hopefully they would keep it up when you arrived with Dick.

Dick Grayson should have been nervous. After knowing you this past half a year, he didn't think that anyone related to you could be cruel. You were the kindest person that he had ever met, always worried about everyone around you before yourself. He assumed that it was your parents that raised you like that.

He was wrong, very wrong. Your parents seemed to be angered the second that you two sat down at the table. Dick was on his best behavior. He made sure to give the biggest smile, shook their hands, and referred to them with the utmost respect. It didn't seem to matter, the second they laid eyes on him they weren't impressed.

When you told your mother that you were bringing a Wayne to dinner, they assumed you meant a real Wayne - not an adopted one. Bruce was far too old for you, Damian far too young. Tim was the one that they were expecting, even if he was considerably younger than you as well. Even if he wasn't a real Wayne, he was the one to run WE.

Dick Grayson was nothing but a circus freak.

A boy who was born from poor parents and grew up in the circus. He was the exact opposite of what your parents wanted of you. Even with being adopted by Bruce, it wasn't enough for them. You were tired of pleasing your parents. Dick was the love of your life, you knew it in less than a year of being with him.

"You're lucky Bruce Wayne adopted you. I suppose living in a circus you had no where to go but up," Your mother spoke. She sipped her wine, acting as if what she had said was a compliment. Dick's eyes widened in shock but he remained quiet.

"You're not a real Wayne, though, right? Like Bruce's inheritance isn't going to go to you, it'll go to his youngest, the blood son?" Your father pitched in. "(Y/N) are you sure you want this one? What about the other, the one running Bruce's company - at least he has something going for him."

"That's enough!" You raised your voice. Your parents were not-so-subtle about their dislike towards Dick. They shamed his upbringing, saying that he was lucky to be taken in by Bruce rather than continue his life in the circus. Though you knew their words hurt him, he stayed calm throughout the matter.

You on the other hand, couldn't hear anymore of it. "Who the fuck do you think you are to say those things? Huh? You're nothing but snobbish pricks who only want me to marry for money! I'm sick of it! I'm sick of seeing you on your high fucking horse thinking you're better than everyone!

"I'm ashamed to call you my parents. You don't care about Gotham or your own daughter! You only care about yourselves and money. Have fun being fucking miserable, I'm not putting up with your shit any longer. Never again."

The restaurant had gone silent. All eye were on your table, listening in to the scene that you were causing. Your parents sat there in shock. you had never showed any signs of aggression like that before. Not once in your life had you went against them so fiercely and so publicly. Unfortunately, they blamed this attitude on Dick.

Before they could say anything about your outburst, you grabbed Dick's hand and nearly dragged him out of the restaurant. You were beyond angry. So full of rage, humiliation, even guilt. You so desperately wanted this dinner to go well and it had gone anything but. Dick finally stopped you from racing back towards his car.

Tears spilled down your cheeks as he looked down to you. Without hesitating, he pulled you into a much needed hug. You sobbed into his chest, your heart aching for the words that your parents said to him. He didn't deserve that, any of it. Dick was too polite to stand up against strangers like that - especially when they were your parents.

"I'm sorry," You whispered. Dick kissed the top of your head before wiping away your tears. When you asked him not to judge you for your parents, he never thought you would mean to this extreme. Still, he kept with his promise. You weren't your parents, you were nothing like them.

"Don't be," Dick assured. He had gone through far worse things than some angry parents. He got broken, battered, and bruised every week - a few hurtful words shouldn't have fazed him. But seeing you so upset because you cared this deeply about him? That broke his heart far more than what your parents said about him.

"My parents are horrible people. They've always only cared about keeping the family name as an important figure. I've pretty much would be stuck in an arranged marriage if they got what they wanted," You squeezed your eyes shut, remembering the hurt looks on Dick's face as they spoke poorly about him.

Dick didn't know what to say. To be honest, he was still in shock over the events that had just happened between you and your parents. Firstly with how horrible they were, and secondly, how quick you were to stand up for him. You had only known him for six months and you were willing to throw away your relationship with you parents for him.

Realizing just how committed you were to this relationship sparked something in him. He knew that he loved you, and even if it was a relatively short time together with you, he knew he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you. Dick was completely and utterly in love with you.

"You're not a freak, Dick," you continued as he didn't speak. Without him saying what was on his mind you were left to believe that he was thinking the worst. He no longer wanted to be with, he didn't love you anymore. It broke you to think like that, you would do anything to change it. "You're not a Wayne, you're a Grayson. A Flying Grayson, that's the man that I love."

"I love you," Dick finally spoke his mind. Relief flooded you; that was what you wanted to hear. "You aren't your parents, I see that more than ever now. Just like how I'm not Bruce. We're meant to be our own people, to live and grow and discover who we really are. Right now, I know that I'm meant to grow with you."

"You make me a better person every day, Dick Grayson," You smiled up at him. Dick pulled you closer by your hips and lowered his lips to yours. He didn't care about the random people walking by you or the sound of car horns in the background, you were all that mattered.

It didn't matter if you parents didn't approve of him. He had your heart, and you hoped that he never let it go.

#dickgrayson #dick grayson imagine #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson #nightwing #nightwing imagine #nightwing oneshot #batfam #batfam x reader #batfam imagine #batfam one shot #dc imagine #dc one shot #dc #fluff #angst #fanfic #fic

[that-wimpy-cowboy-doll]

Dialogue prompt: Shieldshock (duh) and "You weren't supposed to see/hear that" (whichever version speaks to the muse more)

💕😘💕😘💕😘

Whoo baby this is late but I went with “You weren’t supposed to hear that.”  Hope you enjoy, bb.  Regrettably the overtly sexy stuff is only mentioned

Darcy did her best to stifle the flush burning its way up her neck, diverting her eyes from Steve Rogers marching his handsome heroic ass into the latest Stark Industries company party.

“He wasn’t even supposed to be here,” Darcy hissed, and brought her glass of champagne up to her lips, draining it.  “The last time I saw him, he said he wasn’t coming…”

But there he was, in all his tall glass of Captain glory.  Not unnoticed by many of Darcy’s coworkers, men and women alike, who weren’t even trying to hide the lust in their eyes as he made his way through the glass doors from the hallway into the event space. 

Not that Darcy could blame them. He looked damn good in a suit.  Looked damn good out of one, too, the last time she’d shoved his dress slacks down his thighs on her couch so she could take him in her mouth, make him lose control with his huge sexy hands in her hair and her name hoarse in his throat.

That was beside the point, though. The point of avoiding her famous fuck buddy in public was, well, 1) to protect his Super Duper Hero Complex by preventing her from being used against him by supervillains, 2) to keep the fuck buddy dynamic on a professional, non-work-involved basis, and 3) perhaps most importantly, to keep either of them from catching dreaded fuck buddy feelings. Any kind of public interaction lent toward making them feel obligated to each other, and that was something Darcy’d proclaimed absolutely not happening when they’d agreed to this.  No strings attached sex was fun, as long as they kept their passions strictly below the belt.

“I mean,” Jane started, as she always did, to remind her best friend of how stupid she thought the whole arrangement was, “it’s not like you’ll burst into flames if he says hello to you in front of other people.  That’s kind of...acting like a human being?  The last time I checked?”

If it was possible, Darcy blushed harder, not watching him be accosted by Tony near the bar.  “I don’t know, it’s possible I might spontaneously combust if he even fucking smiles at me in public...when we’re alone I can do whatever the fuck I want, but here…”

“You’re a whole-ass baby, you know that?” Jane deadpanned, hunting for the cherry at the bottom of her drink with the tip of her straw.  “Just be casual.  Like you are for the debriefing meetings.”

This was different, Darcy wanted to huff, knowing that she would sound like a whole-ass baby if she did.  Being casual with the person she rang for casual sex in their workplace, in the moment, was one thing.  They were still technically at work, sure, but this was a party - she was supposed to enjoy herself.

It was hard to enjoy herself in the same room as Steve Rogers without his lips on some part of her.

“I have...a problem,” she admitted slowly, her champagne glass far too empty for her liking.  Jane, meanwhile, wore an expression somewhere between unsurprised and unimpressed.  “I think I want to be exclusive.”

“Are you not already?”  The incredulity in her best friend’s voice was clear, but Jane propped a hand on her hip anyway to add to the effect.  “I haven’t heard about any of your Tinder escapades lately, and from what Thor’s told me, Steve doesn’t really have his eye on anyone else…”

“Just because we haven’t been fucking anyone else doesn’t mean he wants to be with me, too.”  He was closer now, shaking hands with some fundraiser coordinator Tony had invited; God, every bone in Steve’s body seemed more warm and genuine than the last.  “If I talk to him in public I’m going to want to kiss him in public, and that...crosses a line I don’t know that he’s cool with.”

“There’s this magnificent thing I’ve read about,” Jane said, her PhD voice in full effect, “called having a fucking conversation, Darcy.  I love you with my whole entire heart, don’t get me wrong, but I think if you just talked to him...you wouldn’t be on the fence with all this anxiety.”

That was easy for Jane to say.  The best sex of her life had wanted her pretty much the moment he’d laid eyes on her, had done his best to make up for his absences in the time they were able to spend together, and Jane’s heart, though preceded always by her big, sexy brain, lived on her sleeve.  She and Thor sorted things out without much fuss.

Darcy had known she was several leagues below Steve when they met, and had made an idiot out of herself walking directly into his giant rock-hard chest with an entire tray of coffee that splattered on his Very American uniform.  God only knew why he’d agreed to be her bang buddy a month or so later, but she had a distinct feeling it had more to do with what lay on top of her chest rather than the dumb dorky heart that beat under it.

He was making rounds, coming closer, so she changed the subject quickly, Jane performing her mightiest eye-roll while Darcy rattled off something inane about some singer who’d donated to the literacy foundation Tony and Pepper were heading.

“I heard Pepper wants to get Lady Gaga to perform at the ribbon-cutting,” Jane added helpfully, glancing into her emptied glass.  “Sounds pretty cool.”

“She was the one who got Weezer for tonight.”

Darcy’s heart stammered in her chest at the voice that had contributed that delightful tidbit of conversation, and the tall, muscular, suited body that accompanied it.  Steve’s smile glinted from under his perfectly trimmed beard, the velvet blue of his jacket and pants doing absolutely nothing for the growing whirlpool of want in Darcy’s stomach.  Christ almighty.

“Was she?” Jane prompted, looking, to her best friend’s dismay, like a cat with a mouthful of canary.  “Darcy loves Weezer, you know.”

Was this it?  Was she dead?  Had the gala all been some elaborate ruse planned by Stark Industries to murder her fucking dead on the spot in front of the hottest man she’d ever met?

If this was it, Darcy mused, at least she looked really fucking good.

“I didn’t know that,” Steve said, and now he was making eye contact with her, that knowing smile on his lips that could only be held by someone in his exact position.

“They were actually my first concert.”  She swallowed, her throat dry.  “Right after ‘Pork and Beans’ came out.  I was in college and I wore...way too much eyeliner, but in fairness I think I was in the majority there.”

Jesus Christ, stop fucking talking.

Jane smirked at the empty champagne flute in her hand.  “Here, I’m out, too, let me get you another one.”

Against her better judgment, Darcy surrendered the glass with only a furtive version of the eye-daggers she wanted to send her best friend.  Jane sent her a sly wink before tailing it toward the bar.

“Weezer.”  She swallowed again, doing her best not to notice the way his tongue dashed out across his lower lip, his eyes boring down into hers through those stupid long eyelashes.  “When do they come on?”

“You haven’t been seeing anyone else.”  It wasn’t a question, he was smiling a stupid cocky half-smile that she thought stupidly would look much better between her thighs.  “What was it Jane said…’no Tinder escapades’ - was that it?”

It felt like the blood had drained from her body.  “You...weren’t supposed to hear that.”

He stuck his huge hands in his pockets, gathering himself up to his fullest height.  Fuck, he was so big.  She couldn’t get enough of it.  “Well...you’re both right about something.  I’m not seeing anyone else either, and kissing in public could definitely cross a line.”

Great.  If the mortification wasn’t enough, now her heart felt like it had dropped into her stomach.  “Yeah?”

He stepped forward, his hand sliding to her favorite place, the small of her back with his pinkie just brushing into her ass.  When they were alone, this always felt like him laying his claim, showing her where she belonged, where he belonged.  But they weren’t alone.  Not even close.

“Yeah,” he murmured, dropping his lips to hers, slotting their mouths together.  Her eyes flew shut of their own accord, melting into him, the smell of his pine soap and fresh linens filling her nose.  Steve kissed like he fucked, like he did anything: full of passion, vigor, life.

For a moment, Darcy forgot they were in the middle of a gala, lost in his warm body pressing up against her, but when she brought her hands to his collar he pulled away slowly, releasing her bottom lip from between his teeth with a sly smile.

“Now that that’s out of the way,” he whispered, his nose still halfway touching hers, “you wanna dance to some Weezer with me, Darcy?”

She closed her eyes again, a tiny laugh escaping her in a short breath.  “Yeah, I’ll dance to some Weezer.”

#darcy lewis #steve rogers #shieldshock

[snackhobi]

pairing: min yoonji x reader / word count: 9.7k / genre: f x f smut, assassin!au

summary: a fic inspired by this post and that’s pretty much it-

warnings: sexually explicit content (NSFW), talk about death/assassination (nothing graphic dw! but they are assassins, so), mild violence, unnecessarily sexually charged lipstick application, face riding, fingering, multiple orgasms, oral (f giving/receiving), use of restraints, overstimulation, squirting, kind of dom!yoonji?

a/n: this is an entirely self-indulgent fic I wrote as a gift to myself for my bday, it’s a lil rushed bc I wanted it done for today! women are so very beautiful and I am so very weak, thank you ladies for all being so amazing ily. this was meant to be a short pwp and now it’s almost 10k but I have no regrets bye

--

la petite mort French literal meaning: ‘the little death’; also an expression used to refer to the brief loss or weakening of consciousness, specifically the sensation of orgasm as likened to death; an orgasm.

--

“It’s just unacceptable.”

The woman in front of you is clearly wealthy. Her dark hair is perfectly styled and her pale nails are perfectly shaped and her subtle makeup is perfectly flattering; she’s starting to get older but rather than shy away from it, she’s leaning into it, and she looks almost imperious in her beauty, eyes sharp and set of her lips severe. Park Dahye was born into wealth and has clearly thrived in the life that she’s been afforded.

“Mmhm.” You try not to yawn. 

“He’s flitting around with some young, silly thing on his arm, with no consideration for the family’s reputation— my reputation,” she continues. Her posture is perfect, from the set of her spine to her crossed legs to her folded hands that rest on her knee, somehow demure and yet highlighting all of her beauty and riches; the jewellery on her wrists and fingers, the expensive heels on her feet, the slit of her haute-couture dress, no doubt tailored for her and her alone. “I’ve already spoken to him about his behaviour, but he’s just ignored my warnings. We may have agreed on the divorce but we’re currently still husband and wife— has he no shame?”

“Awful.” You don’t even try to hide how bored you are, but Dahye is so quietly incensed that she doesn’t even notice as she launches into the next part of her queenly diatribe, and you muffle a sigh.

That’s the problem with rich clients. Sure, they’re willing to fork over stupid amounts of money to you, but they also think that their issues are of paramount significance— like they’re the centre of the universe and their problems are the only important ones in the world. Like you’re interested in what they have to say. Like this is the only job you’ll ever do that holds real weight or meaning.

For them, it’s a life-changing (life-ending) decision. 

For you? It’s another Tuesday.

“Yes, yes, that’s just so terrible, gosh, I don’t know how you manage it,” you say once she pauses to take a breath, using the opportunity to cut her off before she launches into another part of her articulate rant. “Anyway. Would you prefer if his death was embarrassing or quiet?”

For the first time since you’ve met, she seems unsettled. “Pardon?”

Namjoon is much better with people than you, smooth and charming with his boyish dimples. Normally any discussions would go through your handler, but this woman had demanded to meet you personally and had been willing to pay for the privilege: so here you are, with your relative bluntness instead of Joon’s winsome smile.

“You know,” you say, gesturing with your hands. “When they find the body. Do you want him to be caught with his trousers around his ankles—literally or figuratively, that’s up to you— or would you rather it seemed like something natural and unpredictable? Like a sudden heart attack in his sleep, for example.”

When it comes to rich clients, a lot of it is about reputation. When someone’s shuffled off this mortal coil, it’s not just that they’re removed from the equation, it’s also about the ripples that their death leaves in the high society that they’ve lived in. Does she want her (soon-to-be) ex-husband made a mockery of, or does she just want him out of the picture?

She can’t see your face, behind your mask as it is, but you can see hers in perfect clarity. For all that Dahye seems put together and almost impassive, you see the tiny flicker in her eyes. Ah. She’s not just mad because he’s ruining their reputation. She’s hurt.

Man, that sucks. Honestly you bet it’s easier being an assassin than a rich housewife. At least when it comes to backstabbing you can literally involve a knife to sort your problems out. (Well, knives are messy, but you get the picture.)

“I’d prefer something quiet,” she decides. “I’d worry that it could lead back to me, otherwise.”

You’d be offended at the idea that you’d leave any trace that could implicate anyone or that this man’s sudden death was in any way suspicious, but she’s paying you enough that you find that you don’t care. You take pride in your work, but for the amount of zeroes involved in the fee you’re being paid, you think you can take an unintentional insult or two. Or three. Or ten.

You like money, what can you say.

“Sure thing,” you say, giving her a lazy, two fingered salute. You’ve been reclining against the desk of the hotel suite, flicking the complimentary, heavy metal pen between your fingers, twirling it like the world’s most underwhelming baton. You straighten up and let the pen drop back into the pen pot—wait, no, of course it’s a handmade porcelain jar, an alarmingly well-made Joseon porcelain replica. Everything in here stinks of money. “RM will confirm where the money is to be deposited. Half of it now as collateral, and half upon completion of the job,” you say. “If you change your mind between now and then, we’ll be keeping the original 50%, but if for some reason something goes awry, you’ll receive that money back. Sound good?”

She seems surprised at your directness. “I—”

“Fabulous!” You clap your hands together, although the sound is muffled by your gloves. You’re not about to leave your fingerprints everywhere, geez. “Alright, time for me to skidaddle I suppose! I’ve got work to be doing, people to be watching, men to be killing!”

Dahye flinches imperceptibly, but by this point you’ve already slipped out onto the balcony and into the night.

--

Being an assassin is hard work.

Technically, everyone has the capacity to kill another human being. But killing as a job involves a lot more than just caving someone’s head in with a rock—that’s why Cain isn’t referred to as an assassin, what with how he’d just bashed his brother Abel with a convenient stone that happened to be lying nearby. He was just a straight up dick.

No, when you kill professionally you need to be familiar with an array of different techniques, each one far more sophisticated than the last. You need to know how to be stealthy, how to blend in as you watch your target, how to set up the scenes of their death in a way that doesn't arouse suspicion. Or, instead, how to set the scene up in a way that lets any onlookers know that this person had been offed by someone who knew what they were doing, and knew it well. There's a difference between being a killer and being an assassin and you are firmly in the latter category.

So, if your client wants her husband to be shuffled off quietly, then that’s what she’ll get.

They really have pulled out all the stops for this charity gala. Everything is shining, glittering and bright: the surroundings, the food, the people. Especially the people. The rich elite have come together for an extravagant and exquisite night of ostentation and luxury, all in the name of raising money for some needy cause. (You try not to think of the irony and/or hypocrisy behind that.)

It’s almost laughable how easy it is to blend in here. Namjoon had secured (forged) invitations for you both, and so you hang off his arm as you make a slow sweep of the room, trailing unnoticed after your target. You’re not planning to make a move right now but you want to feel out exactly what he’s like: the more information you have about the person you’ve been contracted to assassinate, the better. 

Plus it’s an excuse to dress up nice and eat free food— though that last part is mainly Namjoon.

“God, these canapés are so good,” Namjoon moans quietly to you, hoovering up the flaky pastry crumbs from his fingers with single-minded intent. You dig your fingers subtly into his arm.

“I thought we agreed on not eating tonight, Joon,” you mutter to him, although you say it with a beatific smile in case anyone is watching; the place is heaving with people but you’re always on guard. (Even if Namjoon is right. The hors d’oeuvres that are on offer do look incredibly tempting.)

“You have a glass of champagne,” he points out.

“And you may have noticed that I haven’t drunk any of it.” You titter, as if he’s just told a funny joke, and lightly slap his arm. Again, you’re fairly certain no one is watching, but you can never be too careful. “It’s all about creating a facade, Joonie. It’s what we in the business call a ruse.”

Even throughout your back and forth, you’ve kept your eyes on your man of the night: Park Minjae, a middle-aged businessman who’s been greeting people and getting swept up in conversation, all while a slip of a blonde clings to his arm, stuck to his side like a pretty limpet. She’s cute, sure, but she lacks the poise that Dahye has, so you frankly don’t get it. Then again, not everyone finds strong women as attractive as you do. Weirdos.

You’ve been focused on Minjae but your eyes have also been flitting around the room, drinking in your surroundings, drawing up a detailed map of your environment (of course you’d scoped out the building before tonight, but with all the banquet tables and chairs around the layout is a little different). The people, too, have been subject to your scrutiny, although so far they all seem summarily unimportant and uninteresting, just as you’d suspected. You lift your glass to your lips and pretend to take a tiny, demure sip, glancing up through your eyelashes to scan the room again, and you freeze.

Holy shit.

You take back what you just said about everyone being unimportant and uninteresting. 

The woman who’s just walked in is fucking stunning. Her sleek dark bob is unstyled, but perfectly frames her beautiful face: sharp eyes, soft nose, flushed lips. Her cocktail dress lets you see almost every inch of those perfect legs, the line of her thighs to her calves and— oh, you swear you could shed a tear of joy. She’s already tall and she’s made even taller by the heels she wears, towering above most of the men here, a fucking Amazonian goddess who looks powerful and undeniably elegant at the same time. 

(Thank you for your service, tall women.)

You don’t know who she is, but goddamn, do you want to. She’s scanning the room, and for a brief moment, your eyes touch. A tiny thrill shudders up your spine at the darkness of her keen eyes, that quick and astute gaze. 

It’s only the tiniest of moments that’s over as soon as it’s started. The dark-haired beauty looks away and is already disappearing into the crowd before you realise, and it’s only then you notice that you’re staring, utterly drawn in by her cool poise and presence. You’ve been frozen in place with the rim of your champagne  glass resting against your mouth, and your eyelashes flutter as you blink and glance down.

The imprint of your lower lip has been left on the glass, stark red visible against its edge, and you squeeze Namjoon’s bicep.

“How does my lipstick look?”

He takes one look at you as he swallows down another tiny vol-au-vent. “Like half of it is missing,” he says, and you frown.

“Ugh. I’ll go touch it up in the bathroom. Keep an eye on our guy, I’ll be right back.”

It’s not until you’ve made it to the toilets that you realise that you do not, in fact, have any lipstick in your ridiculously small clutch bag. When it comes to your actual work, you’re meticulous and thorough and well-planned, but for some bizarre reason, a tube of lipstick is never the top of the list when it comes to equipment. Unbelievable. (You knew you should have worn the 24/7 stuff, but it was always such a nightmare to get off.)

You’ve been so busy rummaging through your bag that you’re completely caught off-guard at the sound of a quiet voice from behind you.

“Lost something?”

Oh, fuck. It’s her, your dark haired and dark eyed beauty, meeting your gaze through the mirror when you glance up from where you’re resting your bag against the marble counter  (marble, marble, marble, it’s all marble: the floors, the counters, the sinks; why do rich people always love marble?). She looks altogether too amused at your plight and at how your eyes have widened perceptibly upon seeing her again. But can she blame you? Her presence is so graceful and commanding and she’s so dizzyingly attractive it’s insane. Surely she must get this all the time.

You stare for a little longer than is probably polite, and even behind her fringe you can see how one of her eyebrows rises.

“Sorry for staring,” you say once you notice. “You’re just so beautiful.”

She pauses as she takes in the compliment. You see how her eyes flicker over your face and settle on your mouth; your upper lip, tinted burgundy red, while the lower is faint and smudged.

“Lipstick problems?” She cocks her head at you, still staring at your lips in the mirror. God, she’s so hot.

“Can you tell?” You sound rueful as you glance down at the reflection of your mouth, touching your bottom lip lightly with a fingertip. “I forgot to bring any with me so now I’m stuck.”

She finally looks away from you. You hear a small, metallic click as she unclasps her evening bag— marginally larger than your own— and lifts out a small tube of liquid lipstick. “Would you like to use mine?”

Fuck yes you would. 

“Oh, would that be alright?” You finally turn around, and you have to tilt your head back to look at her, taller than you in her heels. Jesus Christ. She’s going to be the death of you. Why are women so gorgeous? Who gave them the right? “I’m not sure the shade will match, though?”

You watch her beautiful mouth curve up into a small smirk as she pulls out a tiny pack of makeup remover wipes from her bag, and you swear could propose to her there and then. Beautiful and tall and organised? Holy shit. What a woman.

She’s got her bag in one hand, while the lipstick and wipes are clasped in the other; her hand is held up in such a way that you think she means for you to take them from her, but when you reach out she shakes her head.

“I’ll do it for you,” she says. The quiet note of authority in her tone makes you go weak at the knees.

Thank god the toilets you chose aren’t the main ones, because it means there’s no one around to see how she tilts her head at the marble counter in the universal gesture of get on there. It’s entirely unnecessary, but you, of course, immediately comply. You brace your hands against the cold stone before hitching yourself up, careful with the draping folds of your dress; the cold touch of the stone is noticeable through the material of your dress, but it’s instantly forgotten when your enchantress steps closer. 

You spread your knees so she can stand between them. Holy shit, she’s even better up close. Her lashes are wispy but they’re the perfect frame for her gorgeous eyes, which are dark and intent. You suppress a shiver. You hold yourself still as she leans forward and around you so she can put her clutch and lipstick down, trying to ignore how close she is, but there’s no way she can’t realise what she’s doing. Your heart is pounding. You wish you didn’t have a job to do tonight because you would so much rather be getting, ah, acquainted with this woman rather than following some old businessman around.

The only noise in the bathroom is the sound of peeling plastic as she opens the tiny packet of wet wipes before she curls one around her finger, glancing at you through her lashes.

“Open,” she instructs.

Your mouth drops open immediately. She sweeps the wipe over your lips, bottom, then top, touch firm but careful, drawing away the red from your skin; you stare at her as she works, how her eyes are cast down as she stares at your mouth. She’s using her free hand to grip your chin and you feel deliciously powerless in her grasp. 

You purse your lips a little to try and help her, watching the way her eyes flicker as she pulls the wipe back over them— somewhat firmer, this time, with more intent. Lingering. The only barrier between her finger and your mouth is soft and flimsy, the texture of the wipe against your lips like cotton as it drags across them, and it would be so easy to pull it out of her hands.

She flicks the dirtied wipe aside, heedless of how it lands on the unsullied marble, before reaching for her lipstick. She twists the tube in her fingers, motions of her hands precise and deft, and you’ve never been so attracted to how someone’s uncapped something before. 

You watch her hands. (She watches you.)

Your eyes trail over the wand as she pulls it out, dragging the doe foot against the rim to catch the excess before turning it towards you, putting the tube by your thigh, near where your hand is bracing against the marble. She takes hold of your chin once again. You stay quiet as she starts to sweep the lipstick over your lips, painting them the same flushed pink as her own. Once again she’s staring at her work so you’re free to drink her in, almost drunk from her beauty, eyes catching on the tiny moles on her pale skin, the smallest freckles that are only noticeable because you’re this close.

The squelch of the applicator sliding into the tube is almost lewd in the silence of the bathroom, and this time you can’t suppress a shiver when she pulls your chin down to open your mouth so she can go back in again on your lips, drawing a sharp, crisp line. Tracing the edges of your lips, the flushed swell of them, the peak of your cupid’s bow.

She glances up. For a moment you’re both still, staring at each other, tension in the air palpable, but then she smacks her lips and you copy the motion, evening the application of the makeup on your mouth. 

“Perfect,” she murmurs. “One more step.”

A small, confused frown flits over your face. She’s put the lipstick aside but then she lifts a finger and points towards your still parted lips. You take in a small, shuddering breath when she speaks again and you realise what she means.

“You don’t want to get lipstick on your teeth, do you?”

Both of her eyebrows have risen and she’s looking at you like you’re being silly if you disagree with her.

“No,” you say. You’re not about to deny her. “No, I don’t.”

Your eyes remain locked. You lean forwards, taking that perfect, long finger into your mouth, dragging your lips upwards so that any excess lipstick is caught against her pale skin, a ring of deep rose circling her bottom knuckle; you curl your tongue around her, hot and wet, feeling the crease of her knuckles and pad of her fingertip against your taste buds as you slowly, slowly pull away. 

It’s undoubtedly indecent and risqué and you can feel the flush of arousal settling in your lower belly, an almost embarrassing flush of wetness leaking out of you at the taste of her skin. She, however, remains unmoved, although she lets her finger linger just for a moment on your bottom lip, almost rough against their softness— but before you can swallow those fingers back down and ruin her meticulous work, she pulls away, lifting the discarded wipe to sweep it around her finger, catching the lipstick you’d left on her skin.

“Done.”

She steps back and you feel like you can finally breathe, a breath so deep you can feel how your lungs fill, oxygen rushing to your brain so fast you feel lightheaded. You watch as she sweeps everything back into her bag, clicking it shut with a note of finality; the sullied wipe is cast carelessly into a tiny, chrome bin with a flick of a wrist, her every motion regal.

You slide off the counter. You still can’t take your eyes off her and you don’t want to. It feels like whatever heaviness was in the air has dissipated, gone in an instant with a turn of her head— normally you’d let it slide, even if you feel disappointed, but she’s just so magnetic. 

“Thank you,” you say. You can see yourself in the mirror now and to your complete lack of surprise, your lipstick is perfect. The shade is lighter than one you’d have chosen for yourself but it’s beautiful on her, of course.

“You’re welcome.” She’s in the middle of washing her hands, but she glances over her shoulder at you, and the firm set to her face lightens a little as she smiles. It’s a small, sly thing, and you realise with a start that she knows exactly what effect she has on you.

I’m coming back for you, you think to yourself. You have work to do tonight, but—

“What’s your name?”

She pauses. She shuts off the tap with a quick motion, reaching forward for a rolled hand-towel, a neat stack on a metal tray nearby. You wonder if she’s not going to answer but then she speaks, looking at you instead of the soft cotton she’s rubbing over her skin. “Yoonji,” she says. “I’m Min Yoonji.”

Min Yoonji is the most gorgeous fucking woman you’ve ever seen.

“I love your dress, Yoonji,” you say, and it’s true, you really do— but you’d prefer it if it was off. Not that you’re about to say that, of course.

She lets out a breath of laughter. “I know.” Oh, god, you love confident women. “What’s your name, darling?”

You have that same split second of hesitation, similar to Yoonji’s only moments prior. You use a codename when you work, of course, and you have a plethora of fake identities that you use and are intimately familiar with— but the idea of your real name falling off Yoonji’s flushed, petal lips? Woof.

“Y/n L/n,” you say. 

Oh, Joon would be so unimpressed right now, giving some mysterious woman your full, real name just because you think she’s the sexiest thing since sex, but whatever. What he doesn’t know can’t hurt him.

“Well, Y/n,” Yoonji says. You were right, your name sounds so good falling from her mouth, the mouth that’s turned into a small, almost smug smile. “I certainly hope to see you at the charity ball in a few weeks?”

“Of course.” Your schedule has been magically cleared and you’ll definitely be in attendance for whatever ball Yoonji is referring to, even if you have no idea what it is. You only come to these things if you have to for work but for Yoonji you’ll make an exception. You’ll make a hundred thousand exceptions. A hundred thousand quinquagintaquadringentillion exceptions. “I’ll make sure to remember my lipstick next time.”

And there it is, the thing that seals the deal, the final nail in the coffin: Yoonji glancing at you out of the corner of her eyes, a sharp, dark touch that shoots through you as her smile edges into hunger.

“Don’t worry,” she says. “I’m sure it won’t stay on your lips long enough to matter.”

--

The thing you’ve discovered about Minjae is that, with his divorce due to be finalised soon, he’s apparently lost any sense of routine and is revelling in his new found freedom, which is kind of irritating when you’re trying to tail the guy. Sure, you’re still going to take him out, but you prefer it when targets have some sort of schedule that they adhere to— makes it easier to set up a kill.

“You’re certain that he’s going to be here tonight?” You’d been sceptical considering how the guy’s apparently thrown his schedule out of the window, but Namjoon had been certain.

“Positive.” He’d said. “He’s there every Tuesday night. You’ll have plenty of time.”

The house appears to be deserted. The driveway is empty and all the windows and doors are locked tight. It’s just one of the properties that the Parks own in the city, and for all its size and lushness it appears as though this one is rarely frequented; you imagine that the cleaners and gardeners spend more time here than the owners themselves.

It doesn’t take you long to evade the watchful eyes of security cameras to pick a lock and slip inside. You're grateful for the dying evening light that helps cover your tracks from any onlookers from the street, although you imagine the high walls do good work at preventing people from seeing into the grounds anyway.

There’s still enough light to navigate through the house, the golden tinged sunset casting warm shadows across the spotless furniture and fixtures; you take a moment to let your eyes slide across a huge canvas hanging on a wall that spans two storeys, some impressionist piece that’s surprisingly ugly for all the talent that’s obvious in its brushstrokes. Maybe that’s why the Parks are never here? You’d certainly try to avoid seeing this thing if you could. Eurgh.

Even though the building is empty, you’re careful as you start to make your way forwards. You always place your toes down first whenever you take a step, soundless as you start to map the house out in your mind; there are so many rooms you can hide in, but you’d prefer to be close to wherever Minjae ends up. Saves faffing around later. 

You’ll overpower him, inject the toxin into his blood and wait for him to die before setting him up on the toilet— it’s surprisingly common for people to die while on the shitter, the strain leading to an untimely heart attack, especially in older people. The poison you’re using tonight will mimic the symptoms of a heart attack in the case the coroner decides a post-mortem needs to be undertaken.

(Being found on the bog might not be a particularly graceful way to die but when you’re dead it’s kind of hard to be embarrassed.)

You’ve eased the door open into a large bedroom, and you’re just inspecting if it looks like this room sees more use than the others when you pause. It’s deathly silent in this building, the air still minus where you glide through it as you move, but there’s a feeling in your gut, some instinct that makes all the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. You freeze, ears straining to catch any noise to let you know if there’s someone else here, when—

There. In the reflection of a burnished pot, the tiniest shifting movement.

You react almost faster than the eye can see. You spin to parry a hit that was aimed for your head, and the strength behind it shudders through your arms. You only have a second to take in the details of your assailant— dressed in dark clothing, masquerade style mask in place, a professional just like you— before you’re deflecting another flurry of blows, flipping backwards out of reach before spinning into a kick, hooking that burnished pot with your foot and sending it flying towards the other assassin.

They dodge it. You both ignore the sound of clattering metal as you lunge forwards, trying to catch them off guard after their sidestep— your fist makes contact with their palm instead of their face, your hand engulfed in theirs, and you startle at their speed. You might not be the strongest but you’re damn fast. 

There’s a pause, and you can only see a slither of their eyes through the sockets of their mask, but you can tell that they’re impressed. And honestly? So are you. 

The moment shatters when they use the hand they're holding to twist you, locking an arm around your neck and putting you into a chokehold; they’re strong, stronger than you, cutting off your airflow. You need to get out of this before you fall unconscious, but if they’re trained as well as you then they’ll know how to combat the usual ways you’d use to get out of this.

So, in a demonstration of your flexibility you kick a leg up, using the strength of your thighs and calves to slam it into the arm that’s around your neck. Your assailant lets out a noise of surprise and pain as you slip out of their hold and cartwheel across the room before spinning to face them.

There’s a beat. The air is tense. You get another chance to take in the details of whoever’s just tried to choke you out; you stare at her as she stares at you, the two of you poised and ready to strike, watching and waiting. 

Knives might be messy but of course you’re not unarmed. You have multiple sheathed weapons in your clothes, though you don’t make a move to draw any of them. Yet. “I suppose you wouldn’t tell me who your employer is, would you?”

Your opponent tilts her head. “You don’t know?” She sounds amused, even through her mask. “Minjae took out a contract on the assassin who has a contract on him.”

Your lip curls back from your teeth. The only way Minjae would have heard about your contract is if Dahye had told him. Presumably to try and shock him out of his behaviour, or something, who knows. “This is the last time I’m accepting a job from these rich old farts,” you mutter. 

“That’s for certain,” she says. 

She starts to move and you catch her arm just as she goes to unsheathe a wicked looking blade, knocking it aside before she overpowers you and you start to wrestle. It’s messy and graceless but sometimes you just have to fight dirty. 

Whoever this woman is, she still has the upper hand because she was expecting you and you weren’t expecting her; she knocks you onto the bed and pins you down, swooping the knife up from where it had been thrown onto the mattress. You go utterly still as she holds it against your throat, towering over your from where she’s straddling your waist and kneeling on your arms. Any sudden movement from you now could lead to your untimely demise— and, unsurprisingly, you absolutely want to avoid that at all costs.

Namjoon would never let you live it down if you were killed on the job.

You hum. “It seems like we’ve reached an impasse.”

She doesn’t respond. The knife doesn’t dip any lower, though; you’re undoubtedly at her mercy but you notice she’s careful to keep the knife still, hovering above the skin of your neck, but not making contact.

“Well,” you continue. “At least I’m going out the way I’d always hoped to.”

Even in the dying light and with how her face is covered, you notice her face shifting behind her mask— a silent, questioning raise of an eyebrow. You give her a cheeky smile that crinkles your eyes.

“In bed with a beautiful woman, of course.”

At this she huffs out a laugh. “Do you flirt with every person who tries to kill you?”

You’re trying to look as non-threatening as possible to keep that knife away from your jugular. The longer you talk, the longer you live, even if you can’t see a way to get out of this situation right now. “Only the pretty ones.”

The small laugh she lets out this time seems more like a scoff. “You don’t even know what I look like.”

“Please.” You roll your eyes. “Any woman who can fight like you and knows how to handle a knife? Automatically hot. I don’t need to see your face to know that.”

The knife still hasn’t moved. She continues to stare you down and you go tense when her free hand moves. She tugs the cloth of your mask down to reveal your face, the air of the room almost cold against the suddenly bared skin, your breaths free to curl out unhindered.

“Usually I like to be taken out to dinner at least once before we get this intimate, but for you I suppose I’ll make an exception.” You’re still grinning cheekily at her, but your mind continues to race as you try to think of a way to get out of this, especially now that she’s seen what you look like—but you suddenly notice that she’s gone very, very still.

“Y/n?”

The grin freezes on your face. Oh, you’re so boned. You’re so very boned. Like, yeah, you’ve been seconds away from death for the past, hmm, five minutes, but this is somehow worse. How the fuck does she know your name?

You’re given the answer almost immediately. She withdraws the hand from your chin and reaches for her own mask. Your eyes widen and your breath stutters in your throat once you see who it is.

“Holy shit,” you breathe.

Yoonji is staring down at you. She’s every inch as imperious and stunning as the last time you’d seen her— hell, even moreso now that you’ve seen what she’s capable of. No wonder you hadn’t been able to find out anything about her after you’d met at that garish charity gala. Because she’s untraceable, just like you.

“Well.” You stare back at her, not even attempting to keep the surprise off your face. “If anyone has to kill me at least I can die satisfied in the knowledge that it was you. Can I make a request? I’d be eternally grateful if you smothered me to death with your thighs. Just a suggestion, feel free to ignore it if you want.”

Yoonji cocks her head. Her bob is tied back, but there’s a loose lock of hair curled by the side of her face that shifts at the motion. Your fingers twitch. If she wasn’t kneeling on your arms you know you wouldn’t be able to stop yourself from tucking it behind her ear. Any excuse to touch her. “Do you always talk so much?”

“Hey, if it means I get to feel your legs around my face before I die, I’ll give a full fledged TED talk,” you say. “I have to admit, though. When I pictured us in bed together I didn’t think it would be like this.”

The knife still hasn’t moved from your throat. She continues to stare, as if considering what to do next, though her face remains impassive. “What did you think it would be like?”

“Well, you know. Less knives and clothes involved and a lot more making out,” you answer. “You, telling me what to do. Me, entirely at your command. Anything the lady wants, she gets.”

The human body is a fickle and strange beast. Ever since you discovered who’s straddling you, you’ve been growing wetter and wetter, even if you’re trying not to let on that you’re steadily growing more aroused— you’re still distinctly aware of the knife that’s only centimetres away from your skin, but somehow your body is more focused of the fact that the woman you’ve been daydreaming about is finally in front of you again. 

(Well, less in front of you and more on top of you, which is an admittedly preferable option, sans the knife involvement.)

You see how Yoonji’s eyes are darting over your face. No doubt taking in how your pupils are dilated, how your breaths are a little shallower, quicker— signs of fear and signs of arousal are surprisingly similar. You wonder if she can identify which it is. Probably. You’re not exactly very subtle in your attraction to her.

“I forgot my lipstick again,” you add, and Yoonji’s passive mask finally breaks when she rolls her eyes.

“Didn’t I say you wouldn’t need it?”

Even the way she throws the knife aside is gorgeous. The sharp undulation of her wrist as she sends the blade skittering across the polished wood floor is careless and fluid. Her hands cup your face as she bends down, and you send up a mental thanks to any god or higher being who might be listening before Yoonji presses her lips to your and your brain goes blank.

Apparently Yoonji likes it messy. One of her hands is grasping your chin in a mockery of the last time you’d met and she’d painted your lips— your mouth is open and she licks past your lips as you shudder beneath her. She’s still got her knees pressed into your arms, pinning you down, but you desperately crane your head towards her, chasing that kiss; you tilt your head to deepen it, and the whine that leaves you when she pulls away is almost embarrassing.

The sun has finally dipped below the horizon and the room is dark, painted in shades of grey and deep blue. You wish you could see Yoonji properly and you can’t help but wriggle a little underneath her, but then you watch her raise her hands and clap three times in rapid succession before the room floods with dim light. Sound activated lights? Damn.

Yoonji’s mouth shines, covered in a sheen of your mixed saliva, her pretty lips flushed rose pink; even without makeup they’re beautiful and their colour is deep, the blooming petals of a flower. Your eyes trail over her face, down her neck, over the fall of her chest and stomach— you’re both far too covered up in these stupid ensembles of yours and you want to strip the clothes off her. You want to see every inch of her beautiful, majestic body, bared for your lips and hands.

Fuck, she’s so gorgeous.

“Not to, um, ruin the moment, but my hands are going numb.” The weight of Yoonji’s body being pressed into your arms has pretty much cut off the blood flow to your fingers and you can feel the telltale sensation of pins and needles spreading through your skin. “Can I have those back, please?”

Yoonji lifts her knees just enough for you to slide your arms out from underneath them. You immediately shed your gloves and go to grab her ass but she gives you a sharp look and you freeze, slowly settling them on her thighs instead, which she allows with only the slightest raise of her eyebrows.

“Watch,” she commands, and who are you to disobey?

She reaches for the tie in her hair, tugging it out and letting her dark locks fall to frame her lovely, beautiful face. You hungrily swallow down each sight that she feeds to you, the skin that’s revealed as she shrugs off her layers of clothing. She unbuckles the weapons hidden underneath her clothes as she sheds them; she’s a veritable arsenal of firearms and knives, all cast carelessly aside until her upper body is finally, blessedly naked. You’ve been staring at her the whole time, the graceful column of her throat, the delicate lines of her collarbones, and your gaze falls to her breasts, small and perfect, nipples dusty pink and hard. You want to put your mouth on them.

“Holy shit, you’re perfect,” you say.

She smirks. You watch as she rolls her body, lifting up from her knees and standing up, towering above you on the bed—your hands fall to the mattress as she pulls her trousers down, tight material dragging against her skin as she slides it over the curve of her hips and down her long legs. There’s a dagger strapped to her thigh, which she unbuckles and lets fall to one side, but god, if she used it to kill you right now, you would die a happy woman. The image of Min Yoonji towering above you in nothing more than some flimsy underwear is one you want to take to the grave.

You can see how the material around her entrance is darkened with her arousal, and you feel your own body react to the sight, pussy throbbing, your own lower lips slick underneath all your layers of clothing. Yoonji hooks her thumbs into her panties and pushes them down, and you’re enraptured as you watch how the wetness clings to them, before that last bit of clothing is cast aside too. 

You moan, unable to stop the sound bubbling up in your throat. From how she’s standing above you, legs spread from how her feet are either side of your hips, you can see everything—how her cunt is flushed, how wet she is, her folds shining. You bet she tastes so fucking good.

You let your mouth fall open, tongue lolling out in a way that’s obscene. You see Yoonji’s eyes flicker as she traces the motion, the way she takes in your expression: wide, hungry eyes, parted lips, wet tongue. Your hands skim up the back of her calves as she shifts forwards and returns to her knees, her naked core so, so close to your mouth, and you dig your fingers into her skin.

“Bon appé-fucking-tit,” you murmur, and then you pull her onto your face.

Yoonji gasps. 

(You were right. She tastes so, so fucking good.)

You’re utterly shameless as you slurp up her juices, the wetness that continues to leak out of her as you bury your face into her cunt, tongue lapping over her entrance as your nose brushes her clit. Your hands have moved to the flesh of her ass and you encourage her to grind against you, rolling her hips towards your greedy mouth; you’re staring up at her, drinking down her reactions, the way her face twists with pleasure and the shuddering breaths she takes in, perfect little breasts jumping at the motion. There’s a flush spreading down her neck and chest, pale skin blushing pink, and it’s the prettiest thing you’ve ever seen.

You purse your lips against her clit, circling it with your tongue before dipping back down between her folds. Each time you breathe in all you can smell is her scent, heavy and dark, all your senses filled with Yoonji, Yoonji, Yoonji. When you hum against her, Yoonji arches her spine and throws her head back, so when you press your tongue into her you hum again, letting the vibrations shiver through her.

“Yes,” she gasps, rutting against your face. “Yes, yes—”

Her thighs tighten around your head. You redouble your efforts, watching her face as you continue to swipe your tongue up her slit and through her folds; you wish you could swallow each of the noises that are falling from her lips as she reaches the crest of her pleasure, the little gasps and moans each time you move your tongue in a particularly wicked way.

“There,” she says. “There, there, just like that—”

Your jaw aches but you don’t even register it, too intent on keeping your mouth open and hot and wet against her. It only takes a few more swipes and flicks of your tongue before she shudders violently, canting her hips towards your mouth as her legs go tense and she cums. She continues to straddle your face as she rides out the waves of pleasure, and you swallow down the wetness that flushes out of her rippling cunt, ignoring the throbbing between your own legs.

You can’t talk, muffled by her as you are, but your mind is singing. Look at you, you think. Look at how gorgeous you are. God, I could eat you out all day. (What a blessed life that would be.)

You can tell when Yoonji’s edged into oversensitivity, jolting when your tongue sweeps over her swollen clit; she settles back, knees spread as she rests against your heaving chest, legs tensing each time an aftershock shivers through her. Your mouth is open as you pant in air, but she watches as you swipe your tongue over your lips, catching the lingering taste of her on you, your chin opalescent with her arousal.

“Okay,” you say, breathless. “I’ve done everything that’s worth doing. I’ve peaked. Everything is downhill from here. You can kill me now.”

You’re only half joking, but your thighs instinctively go tight to rub against each other when you see how Yoonji’s eyes darken.

“I’m not done with you yet,” she purrs.

Yoonji might be naked while you’re still clothed, and so still armed, but she’s undoubtedly the one who’s in control right now. You are so, so okay with that. You watch with wide eyes as she shifts back, her hands grabbing the material of your jacket to tug you upwards, but before she can strip off your clothes you capture her lips with your own.

The taste of her is still heady and deep in your mouth and you nip at her bottom lip before pressing your tongue forwards. The kiss is already slick from Yoonji’s wetness and when you pull away, there’s a thin string of saliva that connects you for a moment before it breaks, which Yoonji wipes away from your chin with the pad of her thumb.

“Dirty girl,” she says, and you bite back a moan at the unabashed lust in her voice. Her grip on your chin is firm. “Did I say you could kiss me?”

“No,” you answer. “I couldn’t help myself.”

She tuts, as if disappointed, and every one of your nerve endings feels electrified, ready and anticipating whatever Yoonji is going to do next. “Such a shame,” she says. “You just can’t keep your hands or mouth to yourself, can you?”

“Can you blame me?”

Yoonji huffs out a laugh through her nose. She strips your jacket off in one sharp motion and then your shirt is similarly pulled off with single-minded intent, along with every other piece of equipment cinched to your arms and body. When you reach for her, though, she captures your wrists, her face stern.

“If you keep moving without permission, I’m going to take that privilege away from you.”

You don’t have to see your own eyes to know how your pupils will have dilated from that statement, blood thrumming through your veins, and you can tell Yoonji has noticed when her expression shifts.

“Oh.” A small, triumphant smirk appears on her face. “I see.”

You lift your arms up so she can pull your sports bra off (of course if you had known you’d been running into Yoonji again you would have worn something nicer). Rather than touch your heaving chest, however, she pushes you down onto the mattress, a hand around your wrists so they’re held above your head.

“Keep still,” she says.

She reaches for the holster that you’d had around your upper arm, lazily casting the knife aside before looping it around your wrists and pulling it secure.

Yoonji’s fingers ease under the nylon as she checks the fit. It’s tight, but not so much so that it’s painful or dangerous, and there’s a hushed moment when the realisation hits you— Yoonji and yourself are both skilled enough to know that you could easily free yourself if you wanted to. It would only take a little motion of your wrists and hands and you could slip them out of the makeshift cuffs in an instant.

You melt into the mattress. Yoonji’s eyes shift away from your wrists as she takes in the way you’ve gone utterly relaxed and limp below her, staring back at her. You see an expression flit across her face faster than you can see, before she slides down your body so she can push your legs apart.

You lift your hips to help her strip your trousers off. Her hand lingers on the concealed holster around your thigh, eyeing the small pistol nestled inside it, before that too is stripped off and cast aside. Her hands trail over the soft skin of your hips and stomach, eyes skimming over the bared length of your body before settling between your legs, the slickness of your inner thighs.

“You got this wet just from eating me out?” Her pretty mouth is curled into an expression that’s almost mocking, and your legs jolt as she runs her fingers lightly over your lower lips before rubbing her fingertips together to feel the wetness she’s gathered. “I haven’t even touched you yet.”

Your nails dig into your palms as your hands twist against each other and you shift your legs further apart. “Please, Yoonji,” you plead, shameless from desperation and arousal.

She laughs at your obvious hunger. “I suppose I should return the favour, shouldn’t I?”

You watch breathlessly as she lifts her fingers to her lips, swallowing them into her mouth to get them slick and wet. The motions of her tongue are languid as she licks across her fingers. You’re like a livewire, thrumming with electricity, and the sensation of her finally sinking one of those fingers into you sends sparks throughout your body.

Yoonji’s maddeningly slow. Your body takes her readily, her long finger gliding easily in and out of you, but she makes no move to speed up; you let out a small noise and she moves upwards to kiss you, as if indulging you, and you’ve just relaxed against her mouth when she plunges a second finger in.

She swallows your gasp as her fingers speed up, before she starts to kiss across your jaw, your neck, between the valley of your breasts and then closing her mouth over one of your nipples— she times the flick of her tongue with the thrust of her fingers, and then you feel how she takes her thumb to press your clit at the same time and you’re gone, falling over the edge faster than you’d expected. Your orgasm is fast but deep, your walls clenching tight around the fingers that continue to curl in and out of you, but she doesn’t stop.

“Yoonji,” you gasp. “It’s too— oh—”

Those two fingers continue to rub your sweet spot as you edge into oversensitivity but Yoonji doesn’t let up. She continues to lick and bite at the skin of your chest, putting her mouth to your other breast and circling the hardened bud of your nipple with her tongue before kissing down your stomach, your pubic bone, and then pressing her lips to your swollen clit.

You whimper. Her pace of her fingers has quickened, and she curls them each time she almost pulls them out, the squelch of their motions obscene as they slide through the cum of your first orgasm. She stares up at you, lapping at your clit with her tongue, and you can feel the saliva that’s dripping from her mouth and over your flushed core, every inch of you oversensitive but screaming with pleasure.

It’s almost painful, but you can feel an orgasm creeping through that ache; you wring your hands together and sob as Yoonji continues to finger fuck you without mercy, her pace almost bruising, the thrust of her knuckles against you each time she bottoms out just one more layer on top of that overwhelming pleasure.

“Yoonji,” you gasp. “I’m g-gonna cum again.”

She hums against you, and you make an incoherent noise at the feeling of that sound against your clit, almost too much— and then she presses one more finger into you, and that’s it, that slight burn and stretch sending you hurtling over that edge again. When you cum, your hips buck and you gasp, air rushing into your lungs before it escapes you in a moan of ecstasy; the only sensations registering in your mind right now are the ripples of pleasure spreading through your cunt as Yoonji pulls her fingers out of you, pressing down on your clit in a way that’s almost cruel, and you sob as your legs instinctively try to tighten but are prevented from doing so by Yoonji’s unyielding presence.

She’s staring down at you as you start to go lax, and you think she’s finished with you, but you watch with widening eyes as she takes her ring and middle finger to run them through your sodden folds. You sob again when those fingers plunge back into you, palm pressing against your clit each time she curls her fingers, and you squirm underneath her.

“Yoonji, it’s too much,” you cry.

“One more.” Yoonji’s leaning back and staring at you, taking in the sweat that’s beading across your skin, the tears that are gathering in your eyes and threatening to spill down your face and into your hair. “You’re doing so well, darling, you can give me one more, can’t you?”

Your reply is incoherent, a small noise that shudders out of the back of your throat. You’ve never been thrown so thoroughly into pleasure like this, overstimulated and aching, but there’s that flicker of pleasure still between your legs, growing each time Yoonji beckons with her fingers, curling over your abused sweet spot again and again and again.

“Just say the word and I’ll stop,” Yoonji says, the wet plunge of her fingers into your abused pussy so messy and loud but not enough to drown her out. “One word and I’ll stop.”

You don’t say anything. You just let your eyes roll back into your head as you cant your hips towards her, trying to latch onto that thread of pleasure that’s thrumming through you below all your screaming nerves, and the noise Yoonji makes is pleased.

“There we go,” she praises. “Look at you, so good for me. Pretty darling.”

You can feel how your pussy clenches around Yoonji’s fingers, how the coil in you is squeezing tighter and tighter, how another orgasm is somehow creeping up on you— you tilt your hips towards that feeling, towards Yoonji’s hand, and then she’s pulling her fingers out of you in an almost rough motion and you’re cumming harder than you ever have before.

“Oh, fuck!” You sob. 

It’s indescribable. The sensation rips through you as your back arches off the bed and you’re cumming and squirting and gasping and you can feel the wetness that slicks out of you, your toes curling as your brain goes blank from the staggering pleasure and static consumes every one of your senses. Your entire body feels like nothing more than a vessel for the ecstasy that’s shooting through your veins, spreading out from your core and to every corner of your insides and limbs.

It takes you a while to come back around, aftershocks wracking through your body. You feel sluggish and slow as your mind slowly clears, focusing on the sensation of warm hands stroking over the skin of your stomach and hips and thighs; your eyes flutter open and when you glance down you can see the shine to Yoonji’s skin, evidence of your pleasure painting her in a thin sheen of liquid.

“Oh my god,” you moan. “Holy shit.”

She smiles. “You were so, so good for me,” she says. She leans down to press a light kiss to collarbones and you shiver. “So beautiful. How are you feeling?”

“Like I’ve died and gone to heaven before coming back again,” you reply. “Oh, that was so good, Yoonji. I’ve never squirted before. I didn’t realise I could. God.”

Yoonji laughs lightly. You can’t help but watch the way it transforms her face, the way her chest jumps at the motion, every inch of her gorgeous and majestic and cute and pretty. “You did so, so well,” she praises, before she kisses you, her mouth so soft; you barely notice the sudden easing of pressure around your wrists as she releases you, more intent on the sensation of her soft petal lips against your own.

You stare up at her as she pulls away. Powerful, amazing Min Yoonji, kneeling between your legs, naked but not helpless. Definitely less vulnerable than you right now. And yet she’s still making no moves to grab one of the many weapons littered around the bed so she can finally finish her contract by completing the kill. It would be so easy for her.

The silence of the room is suddenly broken by a tiny buzzing noise. You both glance over at the sound, one that Yoonji doesn’t recognise but you do— the communicator in one of your wristbands, the one you use to keep in contact with Namjoon.

You watch the twisting of Yoonji’s body as she leans over the bed to hook the band with a finger before proffering it to you. You pause, but then grasp her wrist and lightly pull so she ends up pressed against you, softness of her breasts against your own, and you hold the communicator between your faces as you accept the call.

“Thank god you answered.” Namjoon’s voice is obviously frantic even through the tinniness of the small speaker. “Dahye cancelled the contract because Minjae wants to reconcile with her, but apparently he’s already put a hit out on you— tonight was a ruse, Minjae isn’t going to be there, you have to get out of there—”

“Bit too late for that,” you interrupt. Yoonji’s hair is tickling your cheek. “Don’t worry. I have it in hand. Send some flowers to Minjae for me, will you?”

“Flowers?” Namjoon sounds understandably confused. “Why?”

“As a thank you for taking out a contract on me,” you say. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m a little busy.”

“With what?”

“With me,” Yoonji says, and you hear Namjoon’s surprised intake of breath before you cut the line.

You end up laughing to yourself. “Oh, he’s going to hate me for that,” you giggle. Yoonji’s hand trails up your stomach and you continue to giggle at the ticklish sensation. Her skin is still slick against yours, and you suddenly realise how cold it is in the room, the air touching the cooling liquid that’s rubbed off against your skin, and you shiver. “Mm. I think it’s time to clean up. Want me to scrub your back in the shower? I give very good massages.”

Yoonji’s eyes are dark and warm before she presses her nose to your neck, lips soft as they touch the delicate skin of your throat. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

#yoonji x reader #min yoonji #yoonji smut #cypherwritersnet #bts smut #bts oneshot #one day I'll learn how to efficiently use tags... one day #joy.masterlist

[wonderwomanfantasy]

Alpha Bunny

I love Rumi so much I would be honored to write for her 

Alpha!Rumi x Omega!reader

word count: 1,800 (about)

warrings: Smut, ABO themes, degradation, oral, fingering, semi-public sex, I am aware her cannon hight is 5′2 but in my heart, she is 6′2 so go with it, please 

summary:

“Hey, Cutie,”  Mirko called bounding to stand beside you as you walked through the office building. Normally if an Alpha flirted with you would get flustered and blush but you were you used to Rumi flirting with you whenever the opportunity presented its self. 

“Good morning,” you greeted calmly,  “I have some paperwork to sign,” you added digging through your stack of papers for the ones you needed to give her. 

“Isn’t there anything else you need to give me, like your number?” She crooned with a crooked smile. you couldn’t stare at her for too long, she was too pretty with sculpted muscled covered in smooth brown skin and eyes that glittered like precious gemstones. If you weren’t careful you would actually fall for her. The last thing you needed was to complicate your office relationships. 

Most people already assumed you had slept your way into your current position, I mean how else could an omega be the manager of so many powerful heroes? it couldn’t be because of your intelligence and work ethic, no it must be because you were secretly sleeping with all of your clients. You didn’t need the rumors to have some backing.

So no matter how attracted you were to her, and how obviously into you she was, you would keep your distance. 

You pushed a stack of papers into her hands “get those back to me by the end of the day okay?” you told her cooly not braking your stride for a moment. 

“what’s up with you?” she demanded, normally you would at least give her a smile when she hit on you, today there was nothing. Rumi dropped her gaze and saw a scent blocking caller peaking out of the top of your button-up. finally, she realized that she couldn’t smell the normally sweet scent that always drew her to you. 

“your heat is coming up?” she asked more interested then she should be

“yes, I normally take suppressors but I have to go through this one, you sighed- which reminds me I’ll be working from home tomorrow,” you said curtly. Rumi wondered Jealously if someone else would be helping ease your pain.

“you can’t work during your heat can you?” She asked frowning her Alpha instincts already taking over her train of thought. If she was there she wouldn’t let you work or even walk, she would spoil you the whole duration of your heat, never letting you leave her side.

“I’ll do my best to,” you protested. your heat usually wasn’t that intense you were sure you could at the very least answer some emails. She opened her mouth with that same flirty look in her eyes but you cut her off. 

“Before you ask I will be spending my heat alone,” you stated firmly. 

“well, if you need help maybe I should just give you my number in case-”

“I have your number,”

“my work phone I’m talking about my personal number,” she purred. you rolled your eyes trying not to show how tempting that offer was. 

“Finish that paperwork and I’ll consider it,” you decided, stepping into your office and leaving Mikro in the hallway. She had never looked so eager to do paperwork. 

When Rumi was first informed you would be her new manager she was skeptical. She wasn’t known for being easy to deal with and had already scared off three other people. but you didn’t seem to have a hard time controlling her. wich wasn’t to say she hadn’t tried to drive you crazy.

“what if I don’t want to go to some stupid Hero gala, what are you going to do me? come on what’s my punishment Omega?” She jeered resting her foot on your desk and looming over you. you didn’t hesitate

“you’re acting like you have a choice, but you really don’t. I’ll drag you there kicking and screaming If I have to, Alpha,” 

The way you had hissed out Alpha had brought her up short. She had, rather obediently, gone to the Hero gala. that was the moment she had become infatuated with you. The pipsqueak omega who wasn’t afraid of her, who brought her to her knees.

Now you used her title as a trump card. If Rumi was ever really digging her heels in on something all you had to do was call her Alpha and she became a whipped little bunny. Although if she was being honest she didn’t mind being whipped if it meant she got to hear you call her Alpha. 

She thought about your upcoming heat, would you show a more submissive side? begging so sweetly to be taken care of, or would you still be bossy demanding she did what you told her too, only begging when she refused. the thought of you with some other alpha drove her up a wall. you were meant to be hers, and you would be given time. After all, she was the best alpha for you so why would you choose anyone else? She shook her head that was a dangerous place to let her mind start wandering. Start with the paperwork and go from there. 

It was a few hours past when you normally went home, but you were still sat behind your desk although not as properly as you normally did. your heat had hit early while you were still at work. you had to leave but you had no idea how you were going to get home, you couldn’t take the train, even calling a cab would be risky, wich one of your friends could you call like this? your skin was so hot, your jacket was discarded, your shirt unbuttoned and your skirt hiked up, showing off the pool of slick you had created in your chair. a chair that you would have to be replaced now. 

You ran your fingers over the stained fabric of your underwear pinching your puffed clit. you felt filthy for touching yourself in the workplace like this, but everyone else had gone home, the chances of someone walking in on you were slim. your breath hitched, the idea of someone walking in on you, playing with your soaked Omega pussy. you mewled pathetically rubbing yourself harder. 

your body ached, your walls clenching around nothing. just one orgasm. just one orgasm, and you would be strong enough to leave. you bit your lower lip and reached up to pull one of your breasts free from your bra, rolling your own pert nipple between your thumb and forefinger. If you had been paying attention you might have smelled the approaching alpha, heard the knock on your office door.  but when the door swung open it took you by surprise, 

You chirped in alarm trying to shove your tit back into your bra and your other hand flying off your crotch but you were to slow Rumi saw it all. She could smell the thick lingering scent of your heat that filled the room. She could see your heaving chest and soaked panties wich you were trying hard to cover with your arms. She dropped the papers she was holding and stalked towards you. 

“God, look at you,” she growled, Even though she was a rabbit, she looked more like a hungry wolf as she stalked toward you “Dirty little pussy need to be rubbed so badly you can’t even wait until you got home huh ‘mega?” She was teasing you, and you couldn’t help the hot flush that took over your face as you stumbled for words not sure if you should apologize or explain yourself you were too weak to tell her to leave, to keep denying your feelings for her. 

“you like that huh? you like it when I call you a Dirty girl?” she asked lifting you up out of the chair. “you want me to do something about it?” Her voice turned into a seductive purr. Still holding you aloft. she waited patiently for your answer even though you could see the mania hiding just under the surface of her lustful stare.

“Yes Alpha,” you managed before you were unceremoniously dropped on the desk your legs dangling over the side she was quick to toss both of your legs over her shoulders blazing a trail from your ankle to your inner thigh with her tongue, catching all the slick that had dribbled down your leg. 

“you taste wonderful Omega, can’t believe you’ve been hiding such a yummy pussy from me all this time,” she murmured ripping your panties clean off you in one harsh tug. your scent was strongest here, washing over her in waves, she was surprised she had held herself back this long. she buried her tongue deep inside of you without warning making you scream out. 

“I’m going to fuck you so good, so good and hard you aren’t going to even think about other Alphas, you are going to beg to be my mate,” she growled against your sex thrashing her tongue along your walls making you see stars. it was unfair, no one should be allowed to have such a strong tongue. one of her large hands came up pulling down your bra and fondling your breast pinching the nipple harshly. 

You cried her name like a mantra, urging her to keep up her perfectly placed attacks on your body. two fingers took the place of her tongue, you almost cried out at the removal of the magical muscle but then her lips were locked on your clit sucking on the sensitive nub making tears spring to your eyes. 

“I-I’m going to cum Alpha!” you yelped covering your face with both your hands. she growled possessively and wrapped her hand around both of your wrists pulling them down so she could see your face, a clear message that she wanted to see you cum. Her intense eyes never leaving yours as you came. her mouth didn’t stop as you bucked your hips up. you were shaking when she did pull away. cum dripped down her chin and was stuck in her hair but she didn’t seem to mind.  She kissed her way up your body, licking the tears off your cheeks before kissing you properly letting you taste your own slick

“you want more Omega?” she asked gripping your hips tightly

“Yes Alpha I need you,” you whimpered pathetically. her skin was so warm, her scent to alluring to say anything else, she laughed and tossed you over her shoulder before walking out of your office. you yelped all too aware of how exposed your body was. She wouldn’t be crazy enough to try and take you outside like this right?

“Relax baby we’re just going to my office, there's an inflatable mattress in there so you can get comfortable,” she explained like it should be obvious, she skirted her hands up the back of your legs and pushed two fingers into your pussy making you gasp.

“then I’m going to fuck you good and propper, then I can take you home and knot you as many times as you want, does that sound nice?” she purred moving her fingers in and out at a teasingly slow pace compared to what you had just endured. 

“Y-yes Rumi,” you wimped clawing at her muscly back. She bounded happily to her office, ready to show you once and for all she was the only alpha for you. 

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