#realized pocket cat wears thigh highs

[shroom-gloom]

termina doodles <3

#fear and hunger #fear and hunger termina #fear and hunger levi #fear and hunger daan #fear and hunger pocketcat #pocketcat #fear and hunger karin #fear and hunger samarie #realized pocket cat wears thigh highs #incredible holy shit #had to crop the levi pic cause i saw it got blocked from search results agh #full is on my twitter #and sorry i have brain rot #:D #my own art

[mrsshabana]

Ok, but hear me out... Gyutaro finding out that his roommate is a camgirl.

I can't stop thinking about your post of the glory hole, now it lives rent free in my brain. 10/10 five stars and a cat.

𝐆𝐲𝐮𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐨 𝐱 𝐂𝐚𝐦𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬

꒦꒷‧₊ Summary Gyutaro finds out that his roommate, you, is a camgirl

꒦꒷‧₊ Content Gyutaro x female!reader, 18+ MDNI, modern au, sex work, masturbation, sex toys

꒦꒷‧₊ Note This is such a devious idea... I love it! 😈🩷

Gyutaro has been your roommate for about 6 months now, and he's proven to be a decent roommate. You're good friends with his sister, so he really only did it to make her happy. And because he may be a bit of a pervert and couldn't deny the fantasies that came to mind when thinking about living with a cute girl...

However, he's always just admired you silently and never spoken to you much. Keeping to himself in his room. It doesn't take long for him to develop a crush on you though, but he's never going to tell you. You're far too pretty for him, way out of his league. He'd never recover from the inevitable embarrassment of being rejected by you.

He was browsing Onlyfans when he found your page. As soon as he saw you he thought, "Oh fuck, that girl is just my type..." He clicks on your page to get a better look at you and that's when he realizes that this hot chick he just found on Onlyfans is actually his roommate.

Immediately you get a notification that Toxicboy66 has subscribed to you.

You send him a sexy photo of you winking and wearing a push-up bra along with a message thanking him for his support. It's a generic message you send to everyone who subscribes to you, but Gyutaro thinks you did it just for him.

Yeah, he immediately locks his door and pulls his pants down, biting his lip as he strokes his cock to the thought of you. His eyes never leave the photo, staring at your gorgeous face and imagining cumming on your tits.

It's not long before his cock is twitching and he's emptying his load all over his hand and abdomen.

At first, he feels guilty for masturbating to a photo of you. You've always been really sweet to him and something about jerking off to you behind your back makes him feel bad.

But when he gets the notification that you started a stream, he can't resist temptation. And that's how he got addicted to watching you play with your pussy every Wednesday and Friday.

You start the stream by welcoming everyone who joins, wearing cute lingerie with thigh-high stockings. Smiling sweetly and talking to your fans while you wait for more people to join.

Toxicboy66: Hey Doll ;) you look really beautiful today

"Aw, thank you Toxicboy66! And thanks for joining my stream today!" You say cheerfully when you see his greeting.

During that first stream, he can't stop himself from jerking his dick till it's raw. He cums 6 times during the 2 hour period that you're streaming.

After that day, he became addicted to you. Religiously watching your streams every week, always on time too. His favorite thing is when you use the vibrator and let him see how your pussy aches to have something inside of it. Clenching around nothing, practically begging him to put his cock inside. Those are the streams when he cums the hardest.

But sometimes your streams really aggravate him. Not because of you, but because of the other men that drool over you. Gyutaro wishes he could just have you for himself. That he could be your only fan.

But for now, all he can do is try to donate more than everyone else so you notice him. And you definitely do.

Every time he joins your stream you make sure to greet him. Sometimes you even ask him what he'd like to see you do today. God does he love it when you let him pick which toy you use or which position you get into.

Gyutaro even buys his very first sex toy because of you - a small pocket pussy that he can easily hide under his bed.

He'll get on his knees, positioning himself on the floor in front of his bed. And he'll put his laptop on his bed with your stream playing. Then he'll fuck his pocket pussy while watching you use a dildo. He'll even thrust into the toy at a pace matching you, pretending that it's him fucking your tight hole. Hearing your cute little moans as he pleasures his favorite girl. It’s his ultimate fantasy.

And even after he cums inside of the silicone pussy, he always keeps going. His previous release making the toy warm and wet on the inside, just how he imagines you'd feel. He fucks it relentlessly, emptying load after load in the abused pussy until it's completely filled and overflowing with his sticky semen.

You know that Toxicboy66 is hardcore simping for you, but you actually don't mind. His comments are never creepy or make you uncomfortable like some of the other fans. You've never had a fan as dedicated as him before.

But you never suspect that it's Gyutaro. He makes sure that you never find out. Even though his love for you is spiraling out of control, he knows that he'd never have a chance with you in real life. So he stays in the shadows, hiding his admiration for you in big donations and small gestures like making you breakfast or cleaning the apartment.

Toxicboy66 is your biggest fan, and you have no idea that he's actually your roommate.

#gyutaro #gyutaro shabana #gyuutarou #gyutaro x reader #gyutaro x y/n #gyuutarou x reader #gyutaro smut #kny x reader #demon slayer x reader #kny smut #demon slayer smut #𝐑𝐞𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐬 ʚ♡ɞ

[milfgyuu]

Is That Allowed? Pairing: Joshua Hong x Fem!Reader Tags: 1.4k words, Fluff, Humor Prompt: “Does that even count as a costume? Or lingerie?" requested Anonymously Summary: Your costume is a bit risqué but it catches his attention.

Joshua doesn’t particularly care for Halloween.

It’s not a strong enough dislike that he ever makes a fuss over it but enough so that he turns down Soonyoung’s Halloween party every single year. He could still show up - drink and mingle, but he prefers to not to answer the same question over and over again.

‘What are you supposed to be?’

An adult. That’s what he was.

So anyone who knows him would wonder why in the hell he’s sitting in the party store on some shitty metal bench outside the dressing room, looking for all the world like he’d rather be literally anywhere else. He sighs, flicking through his texts, skipping past the open invitation for Soonyoung’s party that he’s ultimately going to refuse, per usual.

The curtain in front of him slides open and it takes him a moment to look up but when he does his eyes widen in alarm, immediate scoping out the nearby area and finding it empty.

The cat suit you’re wearing is skin tight, hugging every dip and curve and Joshua drags his eyes away from your lower half only to get caught on your upper half that clearly doesn’t fit the way it’s intended…or maybe that’s the intention and he’s simply fumbling for speech but you’re not really looking at him anyway.

“This material kinda sucks,” you frown, pulling at the latex.

You don’t wait for his response before disappearing behind the curtain, announcing that you’re going to try on the next one.

Joshua panics. He has no idea what the next one is.

He hadn’t been paying attention to what you were picking up as he followed you around the store. Too busy being bored and uninterested in the gory masks and shrieking animatronics - hands shoved into his pockets as he hummed in agreement anytime you showed interest in a potential costume. He didn’t even know what it was for. Hadn’t asked.

You invited him to go shopping so he said yes but you never specified what you were shopping for.

The metal rings attached to the curtain slide against the rod again and Joshua hesitates to look up, pretending to be interested in something across the store.

When you call his name he stills before dragging his eyes up to you standing in front of the mirror. It can’t be worse than the last.

It is.

His throat constricts as he takes in the red satin mini dress adorning your body. The fishnet stockings. The black garter with the red satin heart in the center sitting high up on your thigh.

You misconstrue the look on his face for confusion. “It’s Betty Boop.”

“It’s…short.”

Two words. That’s all he manages.

You pull at the hem, bending down to adjust the garter and nearly spill out of the top of the dress which elicits a long, shaky sigh, from your shopping buddy.

You frown realizing he’s right. Your torso is just too long for it to cover what it needs too.

Turning back toward Joshua you realize he looks like he’d rather be anywhere else and you bite your lip, feeling bad for taking up his time with your indecisiveness.

“I’ve only got one more and then we can go,” your voice is too soft and Joshua looks up, only focusing on your face.

“I’m not in a rush!” he quickly tries to reassure you. “You look great! I just wouldn’t want you to be uncomfortable in whatever you choose. Take your time!”

You smile down at him and he curses himself for letting his eyes dip lower for one brief moment.

“I might be a minute,” you tell him, stepping back into the dressing room, “This one looks a bit harder to get into.”

He’s hoping that means a lot of long loose drapery type material because he can’t handle another bodycon costume.

“Let me know if you need help!”

He doesn’t have a damn clue why he said it but your answering grin just before you shut the curtain lets him know you at least don’t think he’s a creep. He can’t be in a dressing room with you - he doesn’t know if he can ride home in the car with you knowing how incredible you looked in those costumes. That you’ve been hiding it all beneath t-shirts and long sweaters.

Joshua doesn’t hear you the first time you call his name and the second time you whisper-shout at him he glances up, but only your head pops out from behind the curtain.

You look apologetic for some reason. “I know you were probably joking, but I do actually need your help.”

He looks up and down the length of the store near the dressing rooms but there isn’t a single person in sight to assist you and so he nods and grips the metal bench so hard his knuckles burn before getting up and taking a few steps to stand in front of the tiny room. You peek over his shoulder and then tug him inside, making sure the curtain is closed completely.

The room is more like a stall with how tight the space is and Joshua swears he can feel your body heat from how closely you’re both standing. With your back turned to him you point a finger down over your shoulder indicating the problem. “I got some of the buttons myself but only made it half way. Can you finish them up?”

He looks at nothing but those damned satin buttons.

Quickly and carefully he fastens them, avoiding touching your skin at all costs lest he burn himself and be forced to carry the scar of the memory for all eternity.

As he clasps the final button he inches toward the curtain but you spin around just before his hand can pull the material back. “This feels perfect! What do you think?”

Joshua swallows hard and says his last prayers before looking down and it’s not enough to keep from choking on his saliva as he takes it all in.

It’s a classic playboy bunny costume but there is much more bodice and lace involved than he remembers seeing Elle Wood wearing in Legally Blonde. No there is much more see-through material and you’re lucky he’s not got laser vision because you’d be seared in half with how hard he’s staring.

“Does that even count as a costume?” he says, voice too tight, “Are we sure it’s not just lingerie?"

You chuckle as his reaction. “Of course it’s a costume!” you turn halfway and wiggle your rear at him, the attached tail bobbing along, “I’m a bunny! Soonyoung said the theme was sexy celebs and characters. So…ta-da!”

Of course. Catwoman. Betty Boop. Playboy Bunny.

He was going strangle his friend next time he saw him.

Joshua is lost in his own thoughts but he comes to when you poke his chest patiently.

Your smile is so shy, so at odds with the risque outfit you’re wearing. “I was really hoping that we could maybe go to the party…uh, together.”

Oh.

That he certainly hadn’t expected.

He never went to Soonyoung’s party but you were going and wanted him to go with you…

“Are you sure?” He doesn’t mean to ask the question so incredulously but you were so…you.

Bright, beautiful, bubbly, outgoing and he was…well he was good looking but that was about the only shining personality trait he held compared to your own.

“Of course,” you answer easily, “Why do you think I wanted you to come with me? I wanted you to like what I chose…to think I um…” you hesitate on your next words but muster a smile anyhow, “...that I looked pretty in it.”

Your shrugged shoulders are enough to bring Joshua out of his headspace and he smiles back at you. Genuinely.

“You look…amazing,” he says honestly and the tension in your neck and shoulders melts. “Yeah, um…I’d love to go with you.”

You press your hands together and hold them against your lips to stifle the goofiest grin. You’ll have to thank Jeonghan later for the idea because his plan worked just like he said it would but there is one more question to ask.

“I know you don’t like to dress up but I was hoping we might match…just a little.”

Joshua laughs, brows furrowing. “I don’t think they have that in my size.”

He waits as you turn and fumble with something on the tiny stool in the corner and when you spin back around he just has to laugh.

Jeonghan still teases him over his lockscreen two years later. The one he uses for the entire month of October. Your first Halloween together with you perched in Joshua’s lap and kissing his cheek at the party - and on your heads…matching bunny ears.

Thanks for reading!

Halloween 2022 | SVT M.List | Main M.List

→ Please do NOT copy, repost, or translate, any of my works here on tumblr or on any other platforms! All stories are copyrighted, Milfgyuu, 2019. ©️

#Halloween drabbles 2022 #svt fanfic #joshua hong fanfic #svthub #caratwritersclub #kdiarynet #kwritersworldnet #seventeen fanfic #lana writes #k-pop fanfic #svt joshua fanfic

[liaromancewriter]

Total Surrender

Premise: After following Cassie’s command to the letter, Ethan is determined to collect his reward.

Book: Open Heart (post series) Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Cassie Valentine) Rating/Category: Mature. NSFW – 18+ only Words: 1,550

A/N: I always meant to write a follow-up to Perfect Distraction, but didn't find the inspo until now. This fic was requested by Anon from @creativepromptsforwriting Smutty One Liners (prompt 5). Tagging for reblog to @creativepromptfills. I'm also using @choicesflashfics week 42, prompt 3.

Ethan Ramsey glanced at the street view outside and knew the hotel was only a few blocks away. He sighed in relief. The reunion dinner had been long and tedious, as expected. But he’d kept his promise and leaned into the experience.

Cassie Valentine would know if he hadn’t. Tobias Carrick might have been his friend first, but he was squarely in her corner now. He would’ve reported back as soon as the dinner ended. The bastard.

The cab pulled up outside the hotel entrance, and he tapped his credit card on the machine. Pocketing the card and receipt, he exited the car, marched into the hotel lobby and went straight to the elevator.

Most reunion attendees were at this hotel and the one across the street. He had no interest in socializing with colleagues at the hotel bar.

Besides, all he could think about was his wife in that tight red dress with the plunging neckline and gold necklace hanging between her breasts, beckoning him.

He could feel the anticipation building with every passing second. Cassie had issued a challenge, and he planned to collect his prize. All night long. She might think she’d gained the upper hand with her games earlier. But soon, she’d discover he was the hunter, and she was the prey.

In his eagerness to claim his reward, he didn’t notice the room service tray left outside the room next to theirs. His foot stumbled on the edge of the tray and metal cloche covering it, and the room keycard flew out of his hand.

“Christ. Fuck.”

His curses boomed down the empty hallway as he shook his foot to get the sting out of his stubbed toe.

Ethan stared incredulously at the dirty dishes and cutlery littering the carpet. The cloche was upside down, still spinning from where it had hit the wall with a loud bang.

He took a deep breath to rein in his frustration and bent to pick up his keycard and put everything back onto the tray.

“What are you doing?”

Ethan glanced up at the sound, and his dick instantly became hard as blood rushed to his lap.

His eyes trailed up, starting from pedicured feet with glossy red nails displayed enticingly in sky-high golden heels, making her dancer legs appear six feet long.

Before continuing his inspection, he stared a shade too long at the lacy triangle at the juncture of her thighs that left nothing to the imagination.

Cassie leaned against the open doorway, arms folded across her chest, wearing scraps of red lace that barely covered anything. Her hard nipples poked through the gossamer material. The tops of her breasts spilled over the low-cut bodice, held up with a flimsy ribbon.

Unlike earlier, the plunging neckline reached her navel, showcasing the diamond pendant hanging from a long, gold chain. He felt the flush spread across his face, and his throat suddenly became dry.

“Cat caught your tongue, Dr. Ramsey?” Cassie smirked, running one manicured finger down the exposed silken skin of her torso.

Ethan realized he was breathless and on the verge of howling. In his mind, he saw himself pounding into her, her cries loud enough to echo down the floor.

“Where are your clothes, Rookie?” he asked in a strangled voice.

“My spies reported that you behaved yourself tonight,” she said saucily, licking her lips. “I believe you were promised a reward for being good.”

“I get to fuck you into oblivion, you said.” Ethan straightened from the floor and stalked toward her.

“And yet, I find you playing…” she eyed the tray in mock dismay “…waiter in the hallway.”

“Anyone ever tell you, you talk too much?” Ethan said menacingly, looming above her.

“Make me shut up then,” she countered, placing one hand on her cocked hip.

“Gladly!”

His blue eyes glittered in challenge as he gripped her waist and carried her across the threshold, slamming the door shut with his foot.

Ethan set her down on the foot of the bed and stood between her thighs. He cupped the sides of her neck, his thumbs pressing against the underside of her jaw, and tilted her head back. Her blonde hair fell in a waterfall down her back, and her green eyes darkened with desire.

He traced the arch of her brows, the line of her jaw, the seams of her lips. The wide pad of his thumb settled into the small dent at the base of her chin.

“Open,” he commanded.

Her lips parted, nipping the edge of his thumb before her tongue darted out to soothe.

“Take me out. Put that sassy mouth of yours to good use.”

Ethan wondered if she’d object to the domineering tone and request, but she didn’t say anything. Her fingers quickly unbuckled his belt, unzipped him and shoved his pants and boxers down his hips.

Her fingers reached for him, fondling his balls and stroking him. He was already hard, but the sensation intensified when her tongue swirled around the head of his cock. She took him into her warm, wet mouth, sucking his length inch by inch.

His hands plunged into her hair, holding her in place, fingernails scraping her scalp. Unable to control himself, he pushed deeper, hitting the back of her throat. Once, twice, thrice. Hard.

She winced. Too late, Ethan remembered she didn’t enjoy that part and eased back before he hurt her further. She released him with a pop, and he loosened his hold on her hair.

“I’m sorry,” he said remorsefully. “I got carried away.”

“It’s fine,” she said, sucking in air.

“We can stop now. I don’t mind,” Ethan said solicitously, tenderly cradling her face between his hands.

“You always were a terrible liar,” she laughed before leering at him. “Tonight, I’m yours to take however you want me and as long as you can get it up.”

He quirked one eyebrow at her statement and stepped back.

“In that case. Strip.”

She complied but teased him by slowly sliding the straps down her arms. He growled and reached out to hurry her along. In his haste, the lace tore in his hand.

He thought he might as well finish the job. He snatched the edges of the no doubt expensive lingerie and shredded it in half.

Cassie stood before him in nothing but the gold necklace and high heels. Just as he’d fantasized all evening long.

“Get on the bed, on your knees, your back to me. Keep the heels on,” he added when she lowered her hand to remove them.

He stripped the rest of his clothes and joined her on the bed. Placing his hands on either side of her hips, he lined up his throbbing dick at her entrance, teasing but not penetrating. He wanted her needy for his touch.

“I’m in the mood for hard and fast tonight,” Ethan warned. “You might want to hold on to something.”

“I like it rough, remember?” Cassie said, throwing him a pleading look over her shoulder. “I want you. Fuck me, Ethan.”

His name had barely crossed her lips before he plunged deep within her in one swift motion. He set a rigorous pace, his balls slapping against her hips, her cries muffled by the sheets as the force of his thrusts pushed her head down.

Not content with that, he leaned over her, wrapped one arm around her from behind, just below her breasts, and hauled her up.

“Look at me,” he ordered, nostrils flaring as he tried to slow down. “Eyes on me.”

Cassie arched her back, almost rising off the bed, her back plastered against his front. She turned her head over her shoulder, and their eyes locked.

She bit her lips to hold back the sounds, but he pressed his thumb to the top of her sex, fucking her with his cock and fingers until her moans bounced off the walls.

“So close,” he panted, stretching her walls around his cock as he slid deep inside her.

His arm tightened around her, and he rolled them over so she rose above him, head thrown back. Cassie leaned in and kissed his lips, her tongue delving inside to duel with his. She pushed down while he thrust up. Their mouths mirrored the frenzied movements of their bodies below.

At the edge and unable to hold back any longer, he cupped her breasts and pressed his thumbs on each of her nipples, gently tweaking and rubbing them. Ethan felt her climax an instant before he exploded into an ecstatic release.

Breathless, they stared at each other as the high slowly dissipated, and sweat cooled on their heated bodies. Ethan gently brushed a wet strand of hair off her cheek and tucked it behind one ear. Cassie snuggled against his chest, and he folded her in his arms.

As he stared at the ceiling, he smiled, a long-forgotten memory emerging in the back of his mind.

It was their first visit to Dagger Mountain as a team, and they’d been snowed in. He and Cassie had secretly retreated to his room; one thing led to another. But after, she had nestled softly against him just like this.

And that, like now, was the best part of his night. And a reward well cherished.

-------------

All Fics & Edits: @annfg8 @bluebelle08 @coffeeheartaddict2 @crazy-loca-blog @doriopenheart @genevievemd @headoverheelsforramsey @lucy-268 @jamespotterthefirst @jerzwriter @lady-calypso @mainstreetreader @peonierose @potionsprefect @queencarb @quixoticdreamer16 @rookiemartin @socalwriterbee @takemyopenheart @tessa-liam @trappedinfanfiction

Submissions: @choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

Ethan & Cassie only: @cariantha @custaroonie @hopelessromantic1352 @mrs-ramsey @youlookappropriate

#open heart #ethan ramsey #open heart choices #choices open heart #ethan ramsey x mc #choices fic writers creations #cfwc fics of the week #choices fanfics #open heart fanfics #choices fanfiction #open heart fanfiction #ethan ramsey x cassie valentine

[blorbocedes]

Realizing i can terrorize you in your askbox too hehehe

LESBIAN princess cake for “stay with me a while longer” 🤩

lesbian princess cake just for you... and me from the angst prompt challenge

Nico's always dressed and is out of the motorhome before Jenson's barely dried her hair. It helps Nico wears her cropped blonde hair slicked back anyways, so leaving Jenson's motorhome with wet hair just looks like regular Nico. Jenson knows if she sleeps with her hair wet, she will get a migraine or a cold before race weekend and Lewis will smirk at her, offering to join him on the shaved head crusade.

Ron Dennis has different standards for his drivers and respectability, Lewis is expected to never grow out his hair -- while Jense's expected to never cut hers, keeping it mid shoulder length. Wouldn't want their female driver looking too much like a carpet muncher, or so she had overheard.

She did just finish eating Nico out, so not sure whether she was beating those allegations. Jenson had to act fast, the five minutes it took for Nico to come back from seeing stars, breathing slowly coming on an even, soft pale thighs splayed out with red splotches near the inside where Jenson left her mark -- Jenson couldn't waste her time stunned, wanting to keep her like that forever. Instead, she found Nico could be tricked and persuaded into staying longer if she had chocolate pudding around, maybe a warm cuppa. Nico would frown, staring at the peace offering like a threat before slowly acquiescing, slow blinks like a cat, and Jenson could get in an extra ten, fifteen minutes of cuddling; maybe make out again if she's lucky. Nico mostly liked to talk about engine upgrades, or shoes -- which was surprising considering how much she liked being barefoot, and Jenson was content to listen.

Jenson checked the tiny fridge in her motorhome and -- fuck, they didn't have pudding. Why the fuck didn't they have pudding, she had specifically asked--

From the corner of her eyes, she could see Nico to her senses, pulling up her panties from where they'd been at her knees to limit mobility when Jense fingered her open.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

She put the kettle to boil -- scrambling, looking for teabags when Nico was at the doorframe, bag in hand.

"Gonna head out now," she shrugged awkwardly, waiting for Jenson to kiss her forehead and walk her out -- their little routine of normalcy. Close gal pals, to the press who were savouring for a cat fight angle every-time the Williams went against the Mclaren, why let the only two female formula one drivers coexist in peace? Jense knew it bothered Nico more than her, the claims she was only here because of her father, the pressure of having to work twice as hard. Jenson had her World Championship title, she's made her history; Nico's yet to have her first win, and she whispers into her hair with complete faith it's coming.

That's why Jenson can never ask her to stay. It's wanting too much, when she already has it all. These pockets of time are all Nico's comfortable with -- she doesn't want to take more, and more, and more.

She wants more. "Why don't you stay the night?" Jenson breaks her imposed rules, asks a little high pitched. "C'mon, Britney, we'll make it a girls' night in." Jense tried to ease the tension.

Nico immediately frowns, and Jenson wants to kiss the frown winkles between her eyes. "I-- you know we can't." Nico's been spotted around the Mclaren motorhome a few times, people assume she's dating Lewis. Something about childhood friends and all. Maybe it would've been easier if she was with Lewis, even if they'd rip each other's heads off.

"For me?" Jenson asks, pleads really -- she's not above begging a beautiful girl — the most beautiful girl — to stay. "Just a little longer. Stay with me, please."

She's broken containment, their little hookup they did not put a name to. Whatever choice Nico made now, they couldn't go back from it; pretending this had no strings attached from either of them.

Nico opened her mouth to reply.

The electric kettle beeped.

#princess cake #my fics #f1 rpf #jenson button x nico rosberg #but they're girls 👩‍❤️‍👩

[nerdyafwriting]

Dickdami backing up this fic I posted as a thread on bird app thread just in case.

Also I made some art (one with wig, one without)

Rated E

Summary: Dick should have realized that purchasing a disguise for Damian was a bad idea before the kid put it on. Who can blame him for finding Damian's skirt as distracting as their targets?

CW: nsfw, underage Damian (age ambiguous), Dick realizes he's a perv for his little brother

It took Dick far too long to realize he had made a mistake. Maybe he had completely lost it. That was truly the only explanation for the fact that he had gone to a store to pick out the outfit that Damian was now wearing as he lounged in the leather office chair in the study.

Though Dick had been determined that dragging Damian to this party dressed like this would help them catch the group of creeps that was kidnapping Gotham's children, Dick wasn't sure he was qualified to catch pedophiles anymore.

Not with the way he was eyeing the skin that was exposed from Damian propping his legs up on the desk.

Fortunately, his thoughts were broken when Alfred rapped on the open door.

"Ready when you are, Master Richard," he announced, before turning to return to the limo.

"So, are we going or not?" Damian asked, crossing his arms and leaping to his feet. Even in heels, he landed elegantly on his feet and it struck Dick for not the first time that the kid was not at all unlike a cat.

"Hurry up. You said yourself that these perverts deserve to be in jail. We shouldn't waste any time."

Damian's heels clicked against the ground as he walked past him, following after Alfred as Dick buried the lower half of his face in his hand.

He knew Damian was only repeating words that Dick himself had said. But that was before his eyes lingered on Damian's legs as he walked out the door. Assuming they caught these guys, Dick deserved to go to jail with them.

Letting out a heavy sigh, Dick closed his eyes, hoping he could wipe the image from his eyes before he caught up with Damian.

Unfortunately for him, he caught him as he was sliding into the back seat of the car, his skirt catching on the door and flipping up to reveal the straps of a garter belt holding up thigh high lace stockings.

Dick cleared his throat as he climbed in after him, reaching over to smooth Damian's skirt down only to have his hand smacked away.

Damian tugged his skirt into place, covering his thighs and leaning an elbow against the door so he could rest his chin in his hand. Dick couldn't stop the smile that tugged up at the corners of his lips as his eyes dragged over the outfit shamelessly.

Dick's hand moved to Damian's cheek, brushing his thumb along the bone and pushing his hair back behind his ear. It was only a wig —Dick knew— styled in ringlet curls.

The blunt ends grazed Damian's jawline, softening the angles of his face and drawing out the baby fat that still sat on each of his cheeks as he turned to scowl at Dick, shaking his head so the curls fell back into place.

"Do you *want* to blow my cover?" Damian hissed, pulling out a compact and patting down flyaways.

Dick heaved a sigh, leaning into his own door and looking out the window.

As the countryside rolled into the edge of the city, Dick finally felt the need to get into character. He straightened his jacket, double checked that he still had a wad of cash tucked into his pocket.

He'd dabbed a bit of makeup on his face, disguising himself enough for this particular mission. If the rumors were true, his disguise didn't matter that much. Too many familiar names were on the list of suspects.

As long as they both played their roles, there would be little question about Dick's current character. Which was turning out to be much less of a character and much more of a demented personality flaw.

His eyes drifted over to Damian again, this time catching him unaware.

He looked more relaxed than usual, even as Dick could tell he was scanning each street they passed with a watchful eye. Even if he saw anything, there wasn't much they could do about it at the moment. At least not without blowing their cover.

It wasn't more than half an hour before they arrived at their destination, but the seconds dragged on like minutes. As incredible as Damian looked, at the end of this car ride, Dick was going to have to share him.

An inevitability that he was even less prepared for than he had been to see Damian dressed like this in the first place.

—♡—♡—♡—♡—♡—♡—♡—

Damian crossed his legs at the knee, leaning back into the leather seat cushions with a sigh. His gaze was focused everywhere except the person he'd agreed to partner with on this mission.

The outfit made him feel confident, and he felt himself sitting up a little taller in his seat because of it, wriggling in anticipation as the car slowed to a stop. Despite his confidence, he was playing a part.

The part of someone whose reason for wearing a frilly skirt and gloves had less to do with power and more to do with the absence of it. He told himself that was the only reason he accepted the hand Dick was offering as he crawled across the back seat of the car.

Dick never pulled his hand away, so Damian saw no reason not to keep their fingers loosely woven together as they talked toward the modestly-sized mansion. At least, modest in comparison to Wayne Manor.

Dick's hand lingered on Damian's lower back as he climbed the stairs to the front door, and for a few moments he imagined that he really was as delicate as his ensemble made him feel.

As they made their way into the smoke-filled parlor where a handful of men at least a decade older than his father sat puffing cigars, Dick's hand slid to his hip to pull him closer, squeezing hard enough that Damian wondered if he would give himself away.

Dick led Damian around the room with one hand as the other shook hands with men who's eyes trailed up and down Damian's figure. He knew he looked good, but it didn't make him any less eager to arrest these men.

From the hand that gave him a squeeze before reluctantly letting him go so the men could get a good look at him, Dick was equally eager to make it to the climax of their evening.

But to get there, they needed to gather evidence. The most difficult part of Damian's role proved holding the contents of his stomach down as each of the men looked him over. His cheeks warmed as he imagined Dick eyeing him just as hungrily where he stood behind him.

When voice directed him to turn around, he met Dick's eyes to see for himself. What he saw instead was his fierce gaze watching carefully for any signs of a threat. Damian raised a brow when he caught his eyes.

For the first time since they'd walked in the door, Damian felt like they were the only two in the room. Dick looked good like this —in a new suit he'd never seen him in before that gripped his hips in a way Damian had only imagined doing.

As pleasant as the moment was, all the blood drained from Damian's face as he felt a hot hand hovering near his ass. Almost as quickly as it caught his attention, Dick's silhouette came as a blur, pushing in front of him.

Wobbling more than he cared to admit on his heels, Damian stepped back and caught himself on his feet as the sound of skin hitting skin filled the hazy room.

Whatever character Damian had built since entering the building was gone in seconds. Dick threw the first punch, but there was no keeping in character after that. "I was doing perfectly, there was no reason to interfere, "Damian shouted as his fist collided with one of the men's faces, taking out the anger he felt toward Dick on the face at the end of his fist. "I would have evaded him on my own."

By the time they were finished throwing punches, they found a folder full of photos and names that were incriminating enough on their own. The police could deal with these assholes. Damian had more important things to deal with.

He only wished that they had driven themselves, so he could beat Dick to the driver's seat and speed off, leaving him behind to find his own way.

It wouldn't change the fact that he'd gotten all dressed up for nothing more than they could have gotten in his uniform, but at least Dick would feel a fraction of his frustration.

Instead, Damian threw the door open, sliding across the seat to the opposite side and resting his chin in his hand as he watched the city fade to countryside.

Damian's rage simmered until he felt Dick's hand as it slid across the leather. The moment Dick's knuckles brushed his, Damian's well-contained rage boiled over.

Turning fast enough that his curls smacked the window as he shot a death glare at Dick, he seethed at him for a long second before pulling his hand out of his grasp.

"If you merely wanted to see me in this attire," Damian growled as the limo rolled to a stop. "We never should have left the manor." The door clicked as Damian tugged it open, stepping out onto the driveway and slamming the door behind him.

—♡—♡—♡—♡—♡—♡—♡—

Dick's mouth hung open, a response dying on his tongue as he watched Damian storm up the front steps.

"It sounds like that went better than expected," Alfred said, raising a brow as he met Dick's eyes in the rearview mirror.

Dick let out a defeated sigh in response, opening his own door and following Damian inside.

He made his way toward Damian's room, prepared to knock on his door, but on the way there he passed his own door, which hung ominously open.

Knowing exactly who it was, he wasn't cautious enough as he slipped in. The door slammed closed behind him Damian crashing down on top of him and pushing him to the floor, his knees hitting the wood on either side of Dick's hips.

"You're a coward, Grayson," Damian hissed, cutting Dick off from the speechless stammer that would have otherwise spilled from his lips if they hadn't been subsumed by Damian's.

Dick's hands grasped for purchase on the nearest thing they could find —which just happened to be Damian's thighs. The pads of Dick's thumbs pressed into the snaps of Damian's garter straps, toying with them under his thumb as Damian flicked his tongue against Dick's.

Their bodies sought each other out instinctively. The part of Dick's brain that should have told him to stop turned off before he'd opened the door, even if what happened after came as a surprise.

As much as he wanted to continue —his cock throbbing to full hardness, filling out the twill his pants were made from and straining against his zipper— there were more important matters at hand.

Using every ounce of willpower in his body, Dick dragged his hands away from Damian's thighs, smoothing his skirt over them before placing his hands on either side of Damian's waist, helping him sit up on his knees.

Damian's brow creased, pushing his weight against Dick, but in the end he was sitting up on his knees, his skirt fanned out across Dick's thighs, hiding the satin panties that were barely hiding his growing erection.

"Let me see you," Dick gasped out, smiling as he indulgently dragged his gaze over the embroidery that decorated Damian's apparel.

Damian's eyes rolled up to the ceiling, letting out a frustrated huff and a pout even as he sat up a little taller on his knees.

"Do you even know how gorgeous you look like this?" Dick asked, slightly awestruck as he sat up, his hands darting out to steady Damian's hips as he dove forward. His hands slid up Damian's back, pressing his shoulder blades against the door and kissing the hollow of his throat.

"Of course you do," Dick breathed against Damian's skin, answering his own question. A growl escaped as he nibbled the tender flesh of his throat.

Dick's fingers toyed with the hem of Damian's skirt before bypassing it entirely, sliding his hand across his bare thigh and dipping his hands under the garter belt to tug the waistband of his panties down. Their lips connected in a mess of teeth and tongues.

Sucking Damian's tongue into his mouth, Dick's palms kneaded the exposed flesh of his ass. Even though they were still on the floor, there was nowhere in the world Dick would rather be.

Damian broke the kiss first, glaring at Dick with half-lidded, hazy eyes, his tongue darted out to clean the spit from his lips as he pushed at Dick's shoulder.

"Don't just leave me here on the floor, you twit. At least take me to the bed before removing my undergarments!"

Dick let out a breathy laugh, lifting Damian as he pushed himself easily to his feet, carrying him past the bed and depositing him into his office chair. It was that first sight of him in Bruce's chair like this that left Dick unable to resist him. It was only fair.

"Better, your highness?" Dick asked, dropping to his knees at Damian's feet and nuzzling his knee with his cheek to encourage him to open his thighs.

Damian rolled his eyes and spread his legs as he was directed, blessing Dick with a view unlike any he could have prepared for.

Dick's eyes stayed fixed on the exposed skin hiding under Damian's skirt as his thumbs popped the straps holding his stockings up one at a time, letting them snap against his skin in favor of tugging his panties the rest of the way down his legs and over the heels.

His breath caught in his chest as he drank down the full view of Damian like this —leaned back in the chair, his legs splayed carelessly, as his chest rose and fell with each breath.

It wasn't until he lifted Damian's ankle onto his shoulder, spreading his legs just a bit wider, that he saw the sparkle of something he would have chalked up to a trick of the light in any other situation.

In this one, however, he was determined to investigate. One palm slid over the sheer fabric of Damian's stocking as it trailed up the underside of his leg, crowding the space under Damian's skirt between his ass and the chair.

He gave one cheek a gratuitous squeeze, his middle finger darting out and only half expecting to feel the smooth edge of crystal under his fingertip. Dick's breath hitched, his finger pressing into the stone.

"This wasn't part of the deal," he said.

Fuck, this kid was going to be the death of him, he thought as he gave a testing press to the plug and drawing out a gasp from Damian in the process.

Damian shot a glare down at the man kneeling between his knees.

"I fully committed to the role," Damian explained, managing to keep his voice steady despite the way Dick's middle finger was toying with the rounded cut of the gem. "I do not need you to tell me how to deliver."

Dick couldn't help the affectionate smile that teased the corners of his mouth.

"And you performed beautifully," Dick said, his thumb brushing back and forth across Damian's inner thigh, teasingly close to the cock that was beginning to tent against his skirt.

"Let me make it up to you for cutting your performance short," he offered, pushing Damian's skirt up and brushing the pad of his thumb along the underside of his cock. It felt so small under Dick's large hand as his hand wrapped around him, stroking him to full hardness.

Damian's hips trembled and his hands flew to Dick's hair as he wrapped his lips around the tip, his tongue swirling around his slit and gathering precum on his tongue.

"I won't forgive you so easily," Damian warns, but little gasps spill out as Dick sucks him into his mouth.

Damian's cock doesn't quite hit the back of Dick's throat and there's more than enough room for him to flick his tongue along the bottom, moaning as he nuzzles against Damian's tummy.

A few more expert swirls of his tongue and Damian's gasps drag out into groans, his hands tugging at Dick's hair and drawing an eager hum from around Damian's cock.

"Wait —fuck— it's too much..." Damian's pleading now, but Dick doesn't stop.

He knows Damian will only be more pliant once he cums once, and Dick is determined to have him like putty in his hands. Damian eventually gives up trying to pull Dick away, his hips trembling as he seeks out more each time Dick slides his lips up to suck on the head.

Dick is painfully hard from the combination of sensations. Damian's skirt pooling against his stomach, the taste of precum pooling on his tongue from having his baby brother's cock in his mouth.

And its not much longer before he has Damian's cum streaking across his tongue as he cries out. Then, Damian's hands are in his hair again, trying to pull away.

"It's too much," he whines, wriggling back into the chair only for Dick's mouth to follow.

He sucks until he hears Damian sob from overstimulation. Letting Damian's length slip free from his lips, his tongue traces over the sac, which twitches against Dick's tastebuds as he makes his way to Damian's perineum and then down to his hole.

Damian is hiding his noises behind grit teeth as Dick lifts his hips and pushes his tongue against the tight ring of muscle. His tongue explores the new sensation, learning which prods make Damian quiver and purr.

When Dick glances up in time to catch Damian's hand flying to his face, the back of his hand covering his mouth, Dick doubles down on his efforts, his teeth scraping against sensitive skin as Damian's heels dig into his shoulder blades.

All of it feels so much better than it should.

Dick shouldn't enjoy defiling his little brother like this, but suddenly he has an overwhelming need to see the kid's bare thighs streaked with his cum.

Dick kisses Damian's thighs as he leans back, reaching for the lube he keeps next to his bed and pumping his hand full before returning to rest his cheek on Damian's thigh, his damp fingers seeking out his flexed entrance.

"You've gotta relax, babe," Dick murmurs, the kisses he presses against Damian's thighs to reassure him offered with a chaste innocence that hardly matches the invasive prod of his fingers.

"Do you want me to stop?" Dick asks, his voice gentle. It's a bluff, but Damian shakes his head anyway, the curls of his wig bouncing in the process. "Then breathe for me." That suggestion seems to help as Damian relaxes enough for Dick's middle finger to push inside.

They both moan as he does, and Dick's pants feel tighter than ever as he drags his finger back, memorizing the locations that draw breathy pants from Damain.

"You look so good like this, Dami..." he murmurs. "Too good for those pervs." Nevermind that Dick was just as bad.

It was, after all, him who walked into a store and shopped for the dress that still looked pristine from the waist up, even as under the skirt, Dick worked another finger in alongside the first.

"This wasn't the only one I bought, you know," Dick said, catching the way Damian's eyes widened at the admission. He curled his fingers forward and Damian's mouth fell open in a silent cry.

"Right there?" He asked, and the way Damian's cock dripped at the motion was all the agreement he needed. He swirled his fingers around Damian's prostate, drawing a strangled moan.

"Just get on with it already," Damian growled, pulling his legs in toward his chest as his hands gripped the crook of his knees, holding himself open in a lewd display that had Dick cursing under his breath.

"Fuck, okay," Dick said, unfastening his pants with one hand as the other stood ready to lube up his cock as soon as it sprung free from the confines of his zipper.

As he drags his cock across his hole, it occurs to him that Damian might not quite be as ready as he seems.

"Are you sure—" he starts, but Damian cuts him off.

"Just put it in already!" Damian whines, grinding his hips and taking the tip in on his own.

Since there's no way in hell Dick can stop now, he wraps his hands around Damian's shoulders, rocking his hips forward. As Damian's heat engulfs him, Dick's not sure who the noises they make are coming from, but also doesn't care.

Their bodies fit together better than they should, in Dick's opinion, Damian's arms wrapping around his neck and pulling him into a wet kiss.

Damian clawed at the hair at Dick's nape, whimpering against his lips as the new angle trapped his cock between their torsos. Dick's thrusts grew more desperate, his teeth sinking into Damian's bottom lip as he groaned.

He wasn't ready for this to be over yet, but the tension building in his gut told him he didn't have a choice. Damian's cock twitched between them, shooting an impressive amount of cum for his second round onto Dick's button down, but he didn't care.

For the first time, he understood why Bruce kept his old uniform in a glass case. That every time he looked at it, he must recall tugging their uniforms aside as they desperately rocked against each other. Dick would do the same with Damian's little dress if he let him.

Just like he'd promised, there was plenty more where it came from. Maybe next time he would even take Damian with him to pick out a few of his own. Though he wasn't sure they would make it out of the store if their present situation was any indication.

Damian felt limp in his arms as his head fell to Dick's shoulder.

"Doing so good for me, I'm so close," he murmured into Damian's hair. He was apparently not entirely out of it yet, since he tightened around Dick, milking his orgasm out of him with his soft little hole.

That was all it took before Dick was spilling inside him as Damian clung to the back of his shirt. Dick swore he saw stars in his eyes as he came down.

"You're way too good at that," Dick said, letting out a laugh under his breath as he stood, Damian still clinging to him.

Dick carried him to the bed so they could cuddle properly. Later, he would unfasten the buckles of Damian's heels and massage his ankles. He would roll the stockings down and kiss the soles of his feet. He would take that dress off one button at a time and buy a display case to put it in so he could remember this night every day for the rest of his life.

But for now, he would let the sound of Damian's breathing lull him into a comfort that his mind would undoubtedly replace with guilt the first second he was alone. For now, they were both happy.

#DickDami #fanfic #wip #fanart #oneshot #femboy

[pointreyesjournal]

The Perfect Ending to the Perfect Date : ep145 

Nothing is more disorienting than falling asleep drunk during the day and waking up in the dark. I’m groggy and barely awake. Cheyenne is wide awake and freshly showered.

Cheyenne: Mornin’ sunshine.

Me: Is it morning or midnight?

Cheyenne: It’s dinner time. Go shower stinky … I’ve got a surprise for you.

I take a quick shower and when I’m done, Cheyenne’s dressed and ready to go. She’s wearing a soft gray cashmere sweater over denim Daisy Duke shorts that are so short that the crease between her bottom and legs is just showing. With her sockless sneakers on, it’s the first time I realize how long her legs are. Her wide hips and strong thighs taper elegantly down to her slender calves and bony ankles. I’m reminded once again how womanly she is compared to my past girlfriends, who were about as curvy as two-by-fours.

It’s thrilling, yet uncharted territory for me.

By the time I’m dressed she has an Uber waiting to whisk us away.

Hidden behind a high garden wall and tucked away from the main highway in St. Helena is Goose & Gander. Occupying The Martini House, a craftsman style bungalow built in 1923, Goose & Gander offers fine American “pub style” cuisine made from produce grown in their own garden in Napa Valley.

The atmosphere is cozy yet bustling. The decor features lacquered wood that is stylistically between gothic and mid-century modern. There’s garden dining, but tonight we’re inside tucked into a dark, cozy booth. Cheyenne is firm and unwavering in her demands for tonight’s date. First is that no wine or beer is to be consumed. Liquor only, preferably from their signature cocktail menu. And second is that dinner this evening is her treat. No exceptions.

Once again, I am flabbergasted, and as Henrik said on the Facetime call, you honor the giver by accepting the gift. I order the “Five Boroughs” cocktail which is Redwood Empire rye, amaro, Rockwell vermouth, Leopold's maraschino liqueur and mocha bitters. It’s essentially a fancy Manhattan. Cheyenne orders the same.

Very cool.

We decide to share a petite filet with a couple of starters and then indulge in Basque Cheesecake with strawberry-rhubarb compote and chantilly cream for dessert. Rather than coffee to accompany dessert, Cheyenne orders a tasting flight of top-shelf dark rum to share. It pairs perfectly with the cheesecake.

I have no idea how she was able to plan this date on such short notice, but all I can think as I’m watching the light from the faux LED votive candle flicker in her eyes is that this is the happiest I’ve ever been in my life. I’m prone to daydreaming and sometimes when people are talking to me, my mind wanders off. But in this moment, she has my undivided attention. I am completely present for Cheyenne. Her words are like honey.

The check arrives and Cheyenne scowls deeply at me when I reach into my pocket and pull out a $100 bill.

Cheyenne: Absolutely not! My treat.

Me: May I leave the tip?

Being a waitress herself, she knows how hard our server works and as much as she would like to pay for the entire meal herself, she finds my generous tip endearing and accepts.

Cheyenne calls for an Uber, but as we’re heading for the door I’m startled like a cat seeing a cucumber when, out of the corner of my eye, I see a slender, bald man waving at me from a booth across the restaurant. It’s The Good Doctor and Anastasia!

I try to keep my cool, but my heart pounds as I’m gripped in fear, terror, and surprise. Cheyenne senses my uneasiness as we approach the table, but has no idea why.

The Good Doctor: Well look who we have here.

Me: Cheyenne, this is my doctor.

Cheyenne: He’s the one who helped you after the attack?

Me: Yes.

Cheyenne extends her arm offering a handshake. The Good Doctor accepts.

Cheyenne: Thanks for reassembling my Lego boyfriend.

The Good Doctor: My pleasure! All of the pieces fit together just as they should. You sir, look like you’re in fine fettle.

Me: I’m all healed up Doc.

The Good Doctor: You remember my nurse, Anastasia?

Me: Of course. How could I forget?

Feigning obliviousness I offer Ana a handshake.

Me: Doc, do you take all of your staff out for swanky dinners?

The Good Doctor: Hahaha, no. Ana’s not just my best nurse, she’s also my wife.

Over the past winter they got married and hearing it from his mouth causes my heart to skip a beat. I don’t know how much longer I can go on acting like I have no idea who she is, so I steer the conversation politely toward conclusion.

Me: Well, you’re a lucky guy. I’m sorry to interrupt your date. We really must be going, our Uber is waiting. So nice to see you again.

The Good Doctor: Take care, and we’ll see you soon for a follow-up.

Me: Thanks Doc, you take care of yourself. You too Anastasia.

Ana is speechless.

I cannot extricate myself quickly enough from this awkward situation and make haste for the door with Cheyenne on my arm. She takes my hand to steady herself as we walk down the front porch steps.

Cheyenne: Good god man, your hand is cold and clammy! Why are you trembling?

I keep marching us swiftly toward the Uber as I urgently explain the situation.

Me: Shy, you remember how before I got beat up by those bikers I got dumped by a girl?

Cheyenne: Yes …

Me: I thought she was single, but it turned out she was engaged and wouldn’t leave him for me.

Cheyenne: Yes.

Me: Shy, that was her. She’s married to my doctor!

In an instant the entire situation comes into perfect focus for Cheyenne as she pieces together the puzzle of my bizarre love triangle. Realizing that The Good Doctor is the only one of the four of us who has no clue about what actually just transpired, she forces me into the Uber like a Secret Service agent shoving a president into a limousine, and points her finger right in my face.

Cheyenne: You stay right here!

Then she storms off back into the restaurant. The next ten seconds feel like an eternity as I try to collect myself. She quickly returns and piles into the back seat next to me.

Me: Jesus Christ Cheyenne, what did you just do?!

Cheyenne: I just told her “Thank you for breaking my boyfriend’s heart.”

#novel #first person narrative #napa valley #goose and gander #love

[expectingtofly]

Claire Novak's (Surprisingly) Not-So-Lame Day

2k

this fic is written for @dean-has-great-taste as part of @starrynightdeancas' gift exchange. thanks sophie for organizing this, it was a lot of fun <33 and i hope you enjoy this, gen!!

*****

How did Claire find herself joining Dean, Cas, and Jack for an excursion to the mall?

Well.

Cas had texted her yesterday, with an extreme amount of emojis and emoticons that took some time to decipher, asking if she wanted to go shopping with him, Dean, and Jack. Apparently Jack needed new clothes and they needed a gift for Eileen’s birthday coming up, and maybe they could go bowling or something afterwards.

And normally she would’ve said no way because hanging out with old guys was lame and she didn’t like little kids, but she needed an excuse to get out of Jody and Donna’s weekend plans of cleaning out the garage. Plus, Kaia needed to study for a test—she actually enjoyed school, the weirdo—and had requested no distractions.

So that’s how she found herself sitting in the back of the Impala next to a carseat, listening to one of Dean’s old cassette tapes (which wasn’t too bad, but she’d never admit it).

“What’s that?” Jack asked, stretching against his carseat straps to jab at one of the pins Claire wore on her leather jacket.

“It’s the lesbian flag,” she told him. Cas looked back at them from the front seat, smiling.

“This one?” Jack pointed to the rainbow pin on her pocket.

“It’s the pride flag.”

Jack considered that for a moment before announcing, “I want one. And this one.” He pointed to the mothman pin on her lapel, then the big-eyed, green alien. “And this one... and this one, and this one.” (Alex said she had more pins than leather on her jacket, but sue her, she liked making her clothing her own).

Jack, it seemed, also liked… unique clothing. The kid was wearing rain boots even though the sun was out and overalls with embroidered flowers. He dressed weird, there was no way around it. But so did Cas, so there was probably no hope for him, poor kid.

“Okay,” she decided. “I know where to get you some.”

Jack beamed and swung his legs. “Don’t kick the seat,” Dean told him, and Jack pouted at him.

Claire was surprised Dean even let a carseat in his precious Impala. Pulling out her phone, she asked, “Can we listen to my music?”

Dean started to respond with a “Hell no,” but Cas spoke up first, “Of course.”

Dean spluttered as Claire connected to the bluetooth connector Sam had finally convinced Dean to install. The old man didn’t realize it was the 21st century, apparently.

“I wanna listen to Gaga!” Jack said, leaning over to look at her phone.

At first she thought that was some baby talk, then she realized Jack was into pop music. Ugh. But it would annoy Dean, so...

Leaning in conspiratorially with Jack, she let him scroll through her phone and choose which song to play. When “Born This Way” started filtering through the car, Dean groaned.

“Really?” he asked, sending her a glare in the rearview mirror. Mission accomplished.

Jack clapped along and Cas turned the music up louder. “Great choice, Jack,” he said.

Dean, for all his grumbling, didn’t turn down the music, and Claire caught him glancing at Cas, who tapped his fingers on his thigh to the beat. Dean looked like he was fighting back a smile and Claire rolled her eyes. Dude was so whipped.

When they parked at the mall, Cas grabbed Jack’s hand before he could sprint across the parking lot. “You have to look both ways,” he reminded him gently, and Jack nodded.

“Claire’s gonna buy me pins,” he said, jumping onto the curb.

“Yup.” Claire pat her jacket pocket. “Good ol’ credit card fraud.”

“Woah, now,” Dean started to protest.

“You and Sam are the ones who taught me!” Claire reminded him.

“We’ll pay for them,” Cas said, opening the door to the mall. Jack skipped inside, his rain boots squeaking on the tiled floor.

“We’re doing what now?” Dean asked Cas, taking his hand. Gross.

“Come on, Jack,” Claire said, catching up to the toddler. “Let’s go get you some style.” Over her shoulder, she called, “Meet up with you guys later.”

“Have fun!” Cas called.

“Don’t get kidnapped,” Dean added.

As they distanced themselves from the old geezers, Jack grabbed her hand, and Claire startled a little. “Do you like dinosaurs?” he asked.

Someone passing by gave them a smile, and Claire realized people probably thought Jack was her younger brother. She let him hold her hand anyway. “Sure.”

“What’s your favorite? Mine is the bon-ta-sore-us.” He sounded out the word carefully.

“Don’t know. What’s the one with the spiky horns?”

“Ti-ce-a-tops?”

“Yeah, that sounds cool.”

“That’s my second favorite!” He started jumping from one colored tile to the next. “And the T-Rex. That’s Dee’s favorite. And Dad likes the steg-a-sore-us.” He peered up at her. “Did you know he got to see dinosaurs? Right in front of him!”

“You know what that means, right?” He shook his head. “He’s super old. He’s basically a dinosaur himself.”

Jack’s eyes widened. “He’s a dinosaur,” he repeated in a hushed whisper.

“Yup.” Spotting Hot Topical, she headed that way. “You should tell him that.”

Inside the store, Jack let go of her hand to grab a stuffed cat. “Claire! Like yours!”

Claire rolled her eyes. “Yeah.” So, she still had the Grumpy Cat Cas had bought her. She wasn’t cruel enough to throw it away when the guy was trying so hard to make up for walking around in her dead dad’s body. Plus, the stuffed animal was kinda cute. Not that she was going to tell anyone that.

“Here ya go,” she told Jack, finding a box of pins at the register. She brought the box down to his level and Jack ran over to look inside.

“I want a Doc McStuffins pin,” he said, plunging his hand into the box.

“I don’t know if they have those.”

As they rooted through the box of pins, she heard familiar voices and looked up to see Dean and Cas walking inside.

“What are you guys doing here?” she asked.

“I like this store,” Cas said and Dean rolled his eyes. Among the pleather and black, Cas’ dingy old trench coat—over a Winnie the Pooh sweatshirt instead of a suit—and Dean’s ratty flannel and boots only looked more ridiculous. She took it back—even Jack dressed better than them.

“You guys don’t have to be in here,” she told them.

“What, we’re too old?” Dean asked defensively.

“Yeah, actually.”

Cas poked at a toy and it squeaked. God, could they be any more embarrassing?

“Dad!” Jack called, holding out a rainbow pin. “Look, they have soo many.” Cas joined Jack in going through the pins and Claire asked Dean, giving his outfit a meaningful look,

“Was the Army Surplus store too trendy for you?”

“Did they kick you out of Sephora for buying up all the eyeliner?“ Dean shot back.

Touché. In a truce, she held out a pin with the bisexual flag. She wasn’t really sure what Dean identified as, if he even gave it any thought, but guessed it was close enough. “For you.”

Dean rolled his eyes but took it. “I’m not weighing down my jacket with this crap, though.”

“No, ‘course not, that would mean having any sort of style.”

“Can I help you with anything?” asked an employee with two nose rings and jewelry up and down their ears— so cool. Claire saw the way their eyes flicked between them, probably thinking they made a weird group, and she took a step back, trying to silently communicate that yes, she was shopping with them, but no, she was not as lame as them.

“Just looking,” Dean told them.

“I like your drawings,” Jack said and the employee looked down at their arms which were littered with tattoos.

“Thanks.”

“My dad has a drawing. It’s Enochian.”

The employee—Wren, by the name tag—looked at Cas with new respect in their eyes. “Language of the angels. Sick.”

Cas looked pleased. “Thank you. It’s come in handy more than once.”

The employee went back to looking confused and, starting to walk away, told them to call if they needed anything.

“Do you want anything?” Cas asked Claire, and Claire looked through the box. She grabbed a pentagram pin and, seeming to copy her, Jack grabbed another one, clutching several pins already in his fists.

“You like bees, right?” Claire asked Cas, spotting a “Save the Bees” pin. She held it up for him.

Cas’ eyes brightened. “That’s a wonderful message.” He glanced back at Dean and frowned. “Dean, they’re not going to bite.”

Claire looked over to see Dean shying away from a few emo teens. “Look like it,” Dean muttered, joining them. Jack lifted up his hands, asking to be hoisted up. Dean set him on his hip and Jack showed him the pins he’d selected. He held a dinosaur pin to Dean’s collar.

“Do you want one, Dee?”

“He’s too lame,” Claire piped up. Not for the first time, she noticed the healed over piercing mark on Dean’s right ear and pointed to it. “Looks like he used to be cool, though.”

“Yeah, guess so,” Dean said dryly. His hand went to his earlobe. “Pierced it myself, in high school.”

“I think you’re still cool,” Cas told him, and Claire fake-gagged, making Jack giggle.

Cas took the pins to the cash register where Wren rang them up. Dean added the bisexual flag pin and Claire threw in a pair of spiky earrings, because, hey, they were paying.

“15.36,” Wren told them, dropping the pins into a bag.

“My dad’s a dinosaur,” Jack told them, trying to see over the edge of the counter. Wren raised an eyebrow, Cas looked surprised, and Claire stifled a laugh.

“Claire, help me,” Jack said, grabbing the bag from Cas as they exited the store. Moving to the side, Claire helped him attach the pins to his overalls. A smiley face, a pride flag, a grinning Stitch, a sunflower, a dinosaur, and the pentagram. The pins clacked as Jack tugged at his overalls, trying to look at them all. Overall, a chaotic look, but it kinda matched his vibe.

“Lookin’ good,” she told him, and Jack beamed.

“I’m like you!”

Alright, she wouldn’t take it that far, but, “Yeah, close enough.”

Cas attached the “Save the Bees” pins to his trench coat pocket and it ended up crooked. Rolling her eyes, Claire said, “Let me.”

She reattached the pin and stepping back to look it over, decided, “You could actually make that coat look cool if you added more stuff to it.”

Cas looked down at himself. “Thank you.”

“Nothing’s gonna save that sweatshirt, though.” Couldn’t let his ego get too big.

“Dean said he liked it,” Cas said, glancing back at Dean, who was shooting an evil eye at Claire. He quickly wiped it off his face and draped an arm over Cas’ shoulders.

“Yeah, it’s uh… Charming.” He guided Cas away from Claire. “Don’t listen to her, she still thinks sarcasm is a personality trait.”

“Screw you, old man,” she called. Jack skipped after them and she checked her phone to see Kaia had texted her: How’s everything going? They drive you crazy yet?

They’re so weird, she texted back. Then she added, They’re not too bad.

“Come on, Jack,” she said, hurrying to catch up with him, Dean, and Cas. “Let’s go get our ears pierced.”

“Yay!” Jack cheered. He grabbed her hand and tugged her down the mall.

“Woah, woah, you’re not doing that,” Dean protested like the wet blanket he was.

“You can get yours pierced too,” Claire told him, and he faltered,

“I don’t want, we’re not—“

“You know you want to.” She let Jack lead her away and Dean called after them,

“We're never bringing you shopping again!”

Grinning, she turned to shout over her shoulder, “You know you love me!”

#starrynightdeancas gift exchange #established dean/cas #claire novak #toddler jack #dadstiel #fic #spn #expectingtoflywrites #im gonna post this on ao3 as soon as i figure out a summary lol

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

dancing on dreams, m | myg

pairing(s): yoongi x reader, (very) minor jungkook x reader

summary: The wrong guy shows up in your car – Jeon Jungkook. Big sigh. He’s drunk out of his mind and blabbering away. Then the right guy who you’re supposed to pick up, Min Yoongi, says Jungkook’s apartment is on the way. Might as well drop off passed-out Jungkook and make sure he’s okay. Or Yoongi could fuck you on Jungkook’s bed. That also works.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language, tiny bit of crack; alcohol consumption; smut (fem reader, fingering, f-receiving oral, penetrative sex); fluff; non-idol!AU - friends with benefits / lovers? with Yoongi; you two fuck slightly on top of and next to sleeping Jungkook, tsk tsk; technically JK is in his red My Time outfit lol

repost, originally called ‘a–dick–ted’  and then I realized tumblr doesn’t like that lmao

--

now playing – don’t threaten me with a good time by panic! at the disco

“I’m not as think as you drunk I am.”

That’s what Jeon Jungkook slurred to you as he flopped into your passenger’s seat, the stench of alcohol so strong you recoiled. He was wearing a thin red blazer and his sheer black shirt was missing half the top buttons, revealing his tan, muscular pecs.

Also, he wasn’t supposed to be in your car.

“Get out.”

Jungkook hiccupped and squinted at you. “Noona! What’s up? I didn’t expect to see you here,” he continued, completely ignoring your annoyed look. “I thought you didn’t party.”

You narrowed your eyes. “That’s because I don’t. I’m picking someone up. Get out of my car.”

He shot two finger guns at you. “Eyy, that could be me.”

“It most certainly is not you, Jeon Jungkook. Now yeet yourself out of my car, please.”

He spread his legs, red slacks way too tight for him and his thick thighs and calves. He was wearing patent black leather oxfords as well. The only reason Jungkook bothered to look this good was to get attention. You sighed loudly. You shouldn’t have left your doors unlocked. You had been waiting outside the party house for only ten minutes. Lights and laughter boomed from the home, livening the late night. Too many drunk people were making out on the porch. It was a fucking mess. A minute ago, you were alone, playing on your phone, only to hear the door click and to see the wrong person saunter into your car.

Jungkook slapped his thighs and you flinched, looking away.

“Hey, I thought we were cool,” he grinned, tilting his head. His long black hair was half-tied back, curly from sweat. “I only tried to kiss you that one time.”

You rolled your eyes. “No, you tried to put your hands down my pants, you manwhore.”

Jungkook made a disgusted face. “Whoa, hey, no, no. I’m not a manwhore.”

Your eyebrows rose so high you thought they left your face.

“Your harem says otherwise.”

You pointed outside your car. Seven girls were clinging to the railing, staring at Jungkook in your car. Jungkook turned his head and grinned, waving. Then he abruptly shook it, turning back to you.

You gave him a deadpan stare.

He struggled to complete a full sentence. “What I’m saying is…” Five full seconds of Jungkook trying to conjure five brain cells and failing. “Yeah, okay, I kiss people and touch and stuff…” You were ready to punch him out of your car. “But I’m a…” Hiccup. He looked slightly green.

Then he opened your car door and stuck his head out, vomiting.

“Ugh, gross,” you frowned, repulsed. You looked around your car and found a half-full water bottle in your cup holder. Jungkook turned around and you shoved it into his face, shooing him.

“Rinse out your mouth before you speak to me again, animal.”

Jungkook stared at the water bottle and took it, grimacing. Then he unscrewed the cap, placed it to his lips, and took a big gulp, sloshing it in his mouth before gargling and spitting onto the grass. You looked away, shaking your head.

Ew.

Not to mention he just indirectly kissed you.

Double ew.

You heard him do it again and then noisily drink the rest, crushing the plastic with suction. You turned back to see Jungkook shoot the crumpled plastic bottle out your car.

“What the fuck? Why did you litter?” you scowled.

Jungkook looked out the window, surprised. “Oh. You’re right. Sorry.”

You narrowed your eyes. Out of your peripheral vision, you noticed Jungkook’s harem rush to the fallen water bottle, claiming it triumphantly like crows to a shiny bit of aluminum foil. Okay, well… at least it wasn’t litter.

He cleared his throat, pointing at you. “Anyway, as I was saying, I’m not a–”

“Dirty little fuckboy?”

His head jerked back, dark brown eyes narrowing at you.

“How do you read my mind?” he muttered.

You rolled your eyes.

“Anyway, I’m a virgin.”

You blinked at him and his half-open shirt.

“What?”

Jungkook grinned at you and gave you two thumbs up. “Eyyy.”

Your jaw dropped, but before you could say anything else, you heard a sharp tapping at the driver’s seat window. Two pointed, dark brown eyes squinted at you, frowning. Oh. The person you were actually supposed to pick up. His upper lip upturned a bit, giving him a kitten-like pout.

“Why is there vomit on the passenger’s side and why is Jeon Jungkook passed out next to you?”

You started your car and rolled your window down, grimacing at Min Yoongi. He was wearing a black and navy bomber jacket, white shirt, and distressed black jeans. Ah, his hair was black again. You always told him he looked best in black hair. He raised an eyebrow at you.

“I left my doors unlocked for you and he just waltzed in.”

Yoongi looked past you. “He looks dead.”

You snapped your head back. “He was awake a sec–”

Jungkook was asleep, mouth open, half-slid down the passenger’s seat. Absolutely gone.

You heard Yoongi open the backseat door and slide in. He smelled like whiskey and his pale face was a bit pink, but he didn’t seem as drunk as Jungkook.

“Well, he lives in my building, so I guess we’ll just take him home,” Yoongi said absentmindedly.

You shot him a pained look. “Yoongi, why?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know, it’s the moral thing to do?”

You groaned and began to drive.

-

“You have to help me carry him.”

“I most certainly will not. He’s your friend.”

“You will.”

Five minutes later, you and Min Yoongi were dragging Jeon Jungkook’s dead weight up three flights of stairs, absolutely hating life, and wondering why you decided to wear your heeled black ankle boots today. Sure, they weren’t insanely high, but they weren’t the right shoes for the job. Plus, your flared red miniskirt and gray cropped long-sleeve weren’t helping either. Your shirt had a cat graphic on it that said, “go away,” with two middle fingers.

You felt it described you very well, actually.

Finally, after having made it to the metal door of Jungkook’s apartment, Yoongi crammed his hand into Jungkook’s tight pants’ pockets, feeling around.

“Key’s on your side.”

“I’m not touching him any more than necessary.”

Jungkook raised his head for a half-second, eyes barely open.

“Where’d the party go?” he mumbled and then dropped his head into your shoulder. His chiseled jaw cut into your flesh, alcohol-stained breath against your cheek.

“Save me from this hell, Yoongi.”

Yoongi chuckled deeply and reached around Jungkook’s waist. The back of his hand brushed against your hip and you flinched, eyes flickering to him. His pink lips curved into a crafty smirk. You rolled your eyes and waited as Yoongi yanked Jungkook’s keys out of his pocket, unlocking the door.

“Come on, Jungkook, step please,” Yoongi murmured softly, nudging Jungkook’s legs with his own. Jungkook groaned, head lolling.

“He’s dead,” you muttered as the two of you lugged him into the apartment. “Let’s leave and let the Grim Reaper find him.”

Yoongi ignored your complaining. He lowered himself, throwing Jungkook’s full weight on you. You grunted, extremely disgruntled, as you fell against the wall, using it as support. You had to hold Jungkook’s upper arms to keep him upright, squeezing his hard biceps. His hips hit you in the lower stomach. Ow. Yoongi closed the door and locked it, meandering on where to put the keys, settling on the hook next to the door.

“I’m going to be crushed to death. Is this guy made out of rocks or something?”

Yoongi continued to ignore you, crouching down to remove Jungkook’s shoes. You sighed loudly, staring up at the ceiling. If Jungkook wasn’t Yoongi’s friend, you probably would have pushed him into his own vomit and let the she-wolves have him.

Alright, no, you wouldn’t have, but you weren’t happy about these current events either.

You jumped as you felt Yoongi’s large hand encircle your left calf. You jerked your head down to see him staring up at you, raising an eyebrow. His fingertips kneaded your bare skin slowly. You narrowed your eyes at him and he reached for the zipper of your black boot, sliding it down. One first and then the other, hand holding your calf the entire time. Then Yoongi stood up, dark brown eyes observing you with a spark of amusement. You thinned your mouth into a line and abruptly kicked your shoes off in his direction. Yoongi dodged you easily, smirking.

Jungkook shivered and slumped, his shoulder blades hitting your sternum.

“Motherfuc–”

Yoongi laughed, pink gums flashing, and grabbed Jungkook by the armpit, hauling him up.

“Let’s get him to the bed.”

“I’m ready to chuck him to the floor,” you hissed, rubbing your chest ruefully.

Using the last of your patience, Yoongi and you managed to dump Jungkook onto his bed. Thankfully Jungkook’s apartment was tiny and somewhat clean, so you didn’t have to go very far. You sat on the edge of the bed, panting, as Yoongi calmly removed Jungkook’s blazer and tossed it aside. He gently slapped Jungkook’s face, and Jungkook made a noise like a dying duck.

“Hm, he’s pretty far gone.”

“No shit, you think?” You prodded the soft navy sheets of Jungkook’s bed. They were pretty nice. Maybe you could find the tag and write down the brand later.

Yoongi adjusted the taller man so he was on his side. He looked down at him, pursing his lips.

“We should stay for a bit. Make sure he doesn’t choke.”

You groaned, slapping the bed impatiently. “Who cares, Yoongi? He did this to himself!”

Yoongi smiled, walking around the bed towards you. Jungkook started to snore. Very loudly. His dark hair was curled around his forehead, his long lashes fluttering.

“See? He’s not dead.”

You stiffened as you felt Yoongi stand in front of you, his hand tracing your cheek to turn your head to face him. Your eyes shifted from Jungkook’s sleeping form to Yoongi’s sly smirk. His slightly rounded cheeks were still tinted pink.

“Shh, don’t complain. I’m here with you,” he said softly, caressing your cheek.

You narrowed your eyes at him. “You owe me.”

He leaned down, eyes shimmering with amusement. “That I do.”

And then he kissed you, inhaling your scent and tasting like whiskey. You sighed softly into his mouth, licking his soft lips and pressing back against him. You forgot how it started, really. Perhaps a passing touch? An accidental brush of his fingers against yours? His knee leaning against your thigh for a little too long? Your hand holding onto his shoulder to grab something, maybe a little too tightly? Soon it had become a game of cat and mouse, sneaking hints of each other in innocent public gatherings. Your clothed breasts pressing against his back, trying to squeeze past. His hand brushing against your hip, fingertips tracing the waistband of your pants.

It didn’t really have a name. You two just did it, relying on eye contact, seeing the reaction of the other, spurred on by more and more dangerous actions, upping the ante. Shorter and shorter skirts, his fingers touching your bare thigh, making you shiver.

Yoongi placed a hand on your thigh now, sliding it up. You slapped yours over it, drawing back a little from his intense kiss.

“We’re on Jungkook’s bed,” you breathed, cocking your head towards the sleeping male.

Jungkook snorted in his sleep.

Yoongi grinned. “So?” His dark eyes dangerous, so dangerous. “Bet you still want it.”

He pulled his hand out from under you and put them on your knees, eyes locked with yours. You gave him a warning glare but he spread your legs, lifting your knees up and back. You fell onto your elbows, gasping as he tilted his head, licking his lips as he viewed the wet spot of your red silk panties.

“You wore the nice ones today,” he observed. “Excited to see me?”

You stuck your tongue out at him. “Maybe I just like being pretty for myself.”

Yoongi smirked, getting onto the bed, crawling over you. “You’re already pretty. You don’t need clothes for that.”

Your felt your ears burn at the compliment. You reached up to pull his head down so he could kiss you again, hungry, deep kisses as he lifted your hips, pressing the wet spot on his bare thigh where a massive hole had been ripped in his jeans. You moaned softly, feeling him grind into your soaking pussy.

“I love those jeans,” you whispered, grinning.

Yoongi chuckled. “Me too.”

Snoring Jungkook rolled over and his leg smacked against your elbow.

Yoongi reached down and eased your panties to one side, pressing his thigh against your bare slit. You whimpered quietly, rocking your hips into his leg, stimulating your clit. He continued to kiss you, light, feathery kisses, playing with your tongue and lips, gently nipping at your skin.

“Don’t you feel nice?” Yoongi purred. “Doing something wrong?”

You smirked, wiggling your eyebrows. “Isn’t that what we always do?”

Yoongi kissed down your neck, humming. Your elbow rubbed against Jungkook’s leg as Yoongi began to suck on your flesh, making your back arch. His tongue licked at your hot skin and he blew on it, sending shivers down your spine. He slid down, removing his leg, and replaced it with his hand, pressing it into your wet heat. You gasped, sliding down, arm pressed against Jungkook’s muscular thigh and calf.

“I love the sounds you make,” Yoongi whispered, breath tickling your skin. “Music to my ears.”

He slid a finger into you.

“A-ah, Yoongi…” You clutched the sheets, catching a bit of Jungkook’s pants in your grip.

He thrust it in and out of you, slow, pushing your shirt and bra up. Licking your nipples lightly, watching you tilt your head back, eyes closed. He inserted another into your tight, wet hole, feeling you clench around them, sucking him in.

“So sexy,” he mumbled around your nipple, pushing it with his tongue. “So fuckable.”

You gasped as he increased the pace, simultaneously sucking on your nipple. The wrongness of it all made it even better, pleasure mounting fast as you felt your stomach tighten, so close, Yoongi knowing all the best spots to melt you. You breathed his name, pussy tightening as you came, soaking his fingers with your slick juices, humping his hand slightly.

He thrust into you a few more times, slowly, before sliding out and placing them in his mouth, sucking off your taste. He smirked.

“Turn over.”

You exhaled before trying to roll to your right. Yoongi stopped you.

“Other way.”

You frowned. “Jungkook’s there.”

Yoongi grinned mischievously.

“Yoongi…”

He licked his lips, purring your name. So sweet, so enticing.

You let out a puff of air and lifted yourself to your elbows. You turned your head, seeing Jungkook’s head flopped to the side, mouth open. The sharp line of his jaw, his pouty pink lips, his closed eyes. Still very not elegantly snoring away, and yet you noticed the way his dark hair curled around his forehead, his tiny ponytail mussed from being asleep.

“He likes you, you know,” Yoongi said.

You snorted. “He’s upset I’m not trying to make out with him so he’s trying to touch my lady bits.”

“Same thing.”

You turned your head back, seeing Yoongi shrug out of his bomber jacket. “Did you know he’s a virgin?”

Yoongi’s dark eyebrows raised. “Oh? Interesting.”

You shrugged. “Well, that’s what he said in my car anyway. I don’t know if it’s true.”

Yoongi chuckled. “It probably is. Jungkook’s sappy like that.” He waved a hand dismissively. “Needs to be the love of his life and stuff.”

You tilted your head at him. “And you?”

Yoongi smiled at you. “I don’t need that. I only need you.”

Your heart tightened in your chest. “Hah, right.”

Yoongi leaned forward, pressing his lips to your forehead. “You think I’m lying, but you know it’s true. I always have the most fun with you.”

You scrunched your face and felt Yoongi grab your shirt, yanking it and your bra over your head. You puffed your cheeks at his insistence, but Yoongi grabbed your breasts, rubbing his thumbs onto your hardened nipples. You moaned into his mouth, kissing him back, tongue against tongue, drinking him in. He nudged you to your left.

“Come on…”

You sighed against his lips. “Alright, alright, you bad boy.”

He smirked as you rolled over, careful not to touch Jungkook’s thighs and placing your hands on either side of his hips. Your knees ended up in between his, tightly together. Jungkook’s sheer shirt had eased out of his waist, abs peeking out from the bottom. You swallowed, feeling Yoongi moving behind you, grasping your panties and pulling down.

“You shouldn’t try to fu–”

Your words turned into a gasp as Yoongi’s tongue swiped up your dripping pussy, licking it all up. Your arms trembled, cries dying in your throat as you stared at asleep Jungkook, trying not to make any sound. Yoongi began to noisily eat you out, shoving his tongue inside you and scooping out your juices, his hands spreading your ass. Your shoulders dipped, hands spreading outwards. He slid down a little, finding your sensitive bundle of nerves and licking at it roughly.

“Yoongi, fuck,” you hissed, arching your back. His tongue was too good, so good you almost forgot you were positioned above dozing Jungkook’s dick and abs. Jungkook sighed, turning his head the other way and resuming his snoring. If Yoongi’s tongue wasn’t going to make you pass out, then you were definitely going to get a heart attack if Jungkook woke up in the middle of this.

Yoongi’s mouth latched around your clit and he sucked, hard. Your shaking hips rolled into his face, raspy breaths rattling your chest as you struggled to stay silent, feeling your pussy leaking onto his cheeks, so wet you could hear it behind you.

“Oh, fuck, fuck,” you hissed, sliding down, nipples brushing against Jungkook’s clothed thighs. “Fuck, Yoongi, I’m so fucking close…”

If Jungkook woke up now, you wouldn’t have noticed because pleasure raced up your nerves, intoxicating you, Yoongi’s expert tongue licking and sucking on your clit, so wet and wonderful and tight it was taking over you. Your hand lost balance and your righted yourself, planting it onto Jungkook’s abs. The contours of his muscle molded to your palm as your hand slid up, low moan leaving your lips as you came again, Yoongi opening his mouth and sucking it out of you. Your body shuddered, fucking his face as your rode out your orgasm, nails curling onto Jungkook’s chest.

Jungkook moaned in his sleep, breathy and deep.

The sound brought you back to reality and you jerked your hand away, startled at you were touching him. Yoongi lapped at your pussy leisurely before straightening. You turned your head to see his very self-satisfied expression.

“Looks like dream Jungkook liked that,” Yoongi smirked.

You shook your fist at him. “I touched him!” you whispered angrily.

Yoongi looked unbothered. “A tragedy.”

You pushed yourself off the bed and stepped towards him, legs tangled in your panties. You irritably kicked them off before poking Yoongi in the chest. Now you were only in your red skirt.

“What was that for, huh?” you whispered heatedly.

Yoongi grinned. “Fun.”

He took you by the waist and pulled you to him, kissing you deeply. Now you could taste yourself and the whiskey, sweet and bitter, mixed with Yoongi’s lust as he led you with him. He pushed you back onto the bed, kissing you eagerly, smiling, making you smile too because Yoongi was so much fun, so naughty, and you would never know it from his usual bored expression when he was out in public.

Yoongi undid his jeans as you reached into his back pocket for his wallet, squeezing his ass as you did so. You took the condom out, still kissing him, still licking his lips, unwrapping it. He pushed his clothes down, freeing his cock and you rolled the condom down, moaning as your felt his hard length in your hands.

“Right here?” you murmured against his lips.

“Fuck yes,” Yoongi drawled. “Right next to your favorite drunkard, Jeon Jungkook.”

You laughed. “Alright, he’s annoying, but he’s not a drunkard.”

Yoongi thrust into you and you whined in pleasure, raising your hips to meet him. A playful smirk danced on his lips as he began to roll his hips into you.

“He’s not, but he is today and so I’m going to take advantage of it,” he panted, fucking you nice and slow and perfect, making sure to stretch you out, filling every part of you with his cock.

“Ah, Yoongi, you’re so good,” you gasped, tightening around him, heightening the pleasure. “Such a nice dick.”

He grinned wickedly. “Excuse me, I think you mean the best dick you’ve ever had.”

You smiled back, meeting his hips, slapping them together and making a deliciously sloppy wet smack. “You’re right, the best dick I’ve ever had.”

Jungkook rolled over a bit, exhaling serenely.

Yoongi dipped his head against your ear, moaning softly as he increased the pace, fucking you hard into Jungkook’s bed. “Think he can hear us?”

You chuckled. “You want him to hear us.”

“No,” Yoongi replied, far too mischievously to mean it. “But maybe he should, because your pussy sounds sexy as fuck.”

You sucked in a breath as Yoongi pounded you, falling back a little so your tits bounced. Yoongi’s dark eyes flickered down to you, sparkling with appreciation as you bit your lip, flicking and pulling on your nipples lightly, heightening the pleasure.

“I’m close,” he groaned. “Squeeze me harder.”

You did, tightening your core and he threw his head back, moaning silently as his hips slammed into yours, once, twice, and he came, loud smack of your hips meeting and his cock throbbing into your walls, spurting his cum into the condom and making it swell inside you. You exhaled hotly upwards, tipping your head back, Yoongi’s name drifting out of your lips in bliss.

He just felt so good.

It might not have a name, but it didn’t need one, because Yoongi’s eyes found yours and there was only ecstasy, perfect, lovely, wicked ecstasy of the mighty who had already fallen.

-

Jungkook woke up immensely groggily, head pounding, his sense of space and time completely and utterly fucked.

But he wasn’t dead, so… yay?

He frowned and rolled over. He was in a soft place. A bed. He breathed in deep. His bed. Nice. But he smelled something else. Jungkook squinted. He could see someone. He touched his chest, finding his shirt still on, barely. He still had his pants on. Oh, good. He didn’t accidentally lose his virginity in a drunken stupor.

He recognized that large pale hand. Jungkook frowned again, squinting harder. Yoongi-hyung? But the hand was over a pair of soft breasts, squeezing them together.

“N-noona?” Jungkook croaked.

You reached over and placed a hand over Jungkook’s eyes.

“Go back to sleep, Jungkook. You need to sleep.”

That’s true. Jungkook did need to sleep. This was probably just a dream anyway. No way Yoongi-hyung and noona were naked in his bed, tangled in his blankets. That would be nuts. Totally crazy. Jungkook drifted back into slumber, softly snoozing away.

-

second act. dreaming in reality a–dick–ted au

--

masterpost

extended playlist where did the party go by fall out boy the mighty fall by fall out boy

#yoongi x reader #min yoongi x reader #yoongi smut #min yoongi smut #bts smut #yoongi x you #min yoongi x you

[shiversdownyerspine]

14. Isolation

A long chapter, just for y'all. :>

We gonna get a lil sad, a lil sweet, and a lil weird and dirty. >:D

18+

You fold your grocery list and tuck it safely away. The brothers doubt that they'd experience any significant injury, but you won't be discouraged. It's good to be prepared, just in case.

The Commission did provide its field agents with training and adjustments once they had been employed, but the improved healing wasn't as...thorough?..as yours. Some first aid wouldn't hurt.

You'd decided once the brothers leave for the mission you'd get the shopping done. Otto and Oscar had almost seemed to sulk, but Axel had agreed with you that this would be more convenient. There wasn't all that much to grab and everything would be ready and waiting when they returned. Scooting from between Axel and Oscar you remind them that if there are complications they are free to return to you to restrategize, and you certainly wouldn't mind a surprise visit.

Oscar playfully pulls you back against him. "Aw, you're going to miss us?"

Squirming with a laugh you tease him, "Maybe a little."

The youngest Swede releases you with a pout, feigning hurt as you apologetically rub his back. With a grin you wander over to the pantry to double check the cat food supply as Otto heads to their guestroom to retrieve their guns. Tugging the bag you estimate there's a good couple months left before it's gone, so no need to worry. Though you will be grabbing a couple cans of wet food for the kittens as a treat.

Otto returns with bag in tow as you head out to the garden to consider what to plant for fall...carrots, onions, maybe cauliflower? Kneeling you reach for your sugar pumpkins, happy to see that they're coming along nicely and should be ready around Halloween time. Lingering among the plants you take a moment to relax and think, breathing in the cool air. Autumn is practically on your doorstep, and the gray skies and yellowing leaves herald its arrival. Winter won't be long now, and you will once again be keeping an eye out for a space heater.

Long ago you'd found an old used one available in town, much to your delight. It had lasted a single day before the thing let out this awful high pitched noise and died right there on your floor. You count yourself lucky that it didn't burst into flames. For a moment you had considered keeping it to try to fix it, but it didn't come with a manual and you didn't want to risk it burning down your home, so you decided to do away with it. Hopefully you'd find another space heater, but the town is old and you've yet to get lucky.

In the meantime, you have Axel, Otto, and Oscar to help you with the cold. Your cheeks flush; the touches they've been giving you have been working, though some nights your condition successfully rears its stubborn head. You have a feeling you'll have to start knocking on their door when Winter creeps a little closer.

You've yet to see what they've done with the guestroom, if they've put up any knickknacks from home or from their travels. Certainly you're curious but you won't invade their privacy. Maybe they'd prefer your room? The sofa? You don't mind sharing your bed, you trust them.

The creek of the door interrupts your thoughts, and you lift your head to see Axel motion you inside. Dusting your hands and knees off, you head in after him. Coats and jackets donned with packs strapped to the younger's shoulders, it looks like they're ready to go.

With your own canvas bags in tow, you walk along the dirt path with the Swedes to the abandoned bus stop. The vine tangled little shack is being overtaken by nature and is tucked back against trees and bushes, making it easy to miss. The windows are long gone but the door still remains, stubbornly resisting the wear and tear of time.

Before you get the chance to say goodbye, Oscar is pulling you into a hug and kissing you on the cheek. You wrap your arms around him in return. "Be careful, don't get into too much trouble."

"Only a little, here and there. Danger is..ah...spice of life." Oscar squeezes you again as Otto's hand rubs your upper back before lifting to stroke your hair. The two release you as their older brother clears his throat. Faces blank and eyes hard, they stride through the overgrowth into the little shack to wait for Axel.

The blue-clad man gazes down at you with scrutinizing eyes as the sounds of the forest ebb and wane. He steps forward and reaches into one of his coat pockets to retrieve a familiar item wrapped up in a familiar old cloth that you'd forgotten about. Your fingers curl around the 'gift'.

Grasping what you know is your paring knife, Axel's voice is a bit gruff when he declares, "For protection."

Touched, you step forward to reach for his empty hand and give it a little squeeze, smiling when his thumb sweeps over your knuckles. "Thank you."

His opposite hand cups the back of your neck as he leans down to press his lips to the top of your head, nose buried in your hair. The moment is interrupted by Oscar barking out one of the windows, "Pussa henne igen!"

Axel gives an exasperated sigh but takes a second to breathe you in, squeezing your fingers one more time before releasing you to join his brothers.

The three are gone with a flash of light and you're left standing alone. After a melancholy moment or two of eyeing the empty bus stop, you're turning your attention to your knife and unwrapping it to check the blade. But as the cloth falls away, it's the wooden handle that draws your curiosity.

A little symbol has been carved into the wood, but you don't know what it is or what it means. But for some strange reason you still feel a lump in your throat and a prickling in your eyes the longer you look at it. You remind yourself to ask about it when they return.

Your shopping trip was uneventful and you had successfully gotten everything on the list. The trek back to your home was lovely, though when you walked by the bus stop you had lingered a moment. When you entered your home and put away the groceries, the emptiness of your house was disquieting.

Efforts are made to distract yourself hour after hour after hour with relative success. The day fades into night and you curl up in bed to read your well-loved book of fairytale collections until sleep finds you.

The morning is quiet, but the cats keep you company. After lunch you take the opportunity to plant some of the carrot seeds you purchased. Towards the evening as you're figuring out what to make for dinner, you realize you can still smell Axel in the kitchen. It's bittersweet and you wonder at how deeply you miss your cooking buddy. After dinner when you're doing a load of laundry, you discover one of Otto's shirts in the dryer. As you're folding the garment, his scent grasps your heart and squeezes. The entire time you're wandering around your home, something in particular is gnawing at you, something is missing...Oscar's sneak attacks.

You drop on the sofa with a huff, shaking your head at how quickly you miss the three men. It's absurd, you're used to being alone...but at the same time it makes sense. You've gotten used to their company. As have the cats. Rubbing your temples, you watch a little television before heading to bed.

The next day is much of the same; distract yourself, do chores, care for the animals, read books, go for walks, tend to the garden and the forest, miss the Swedes. It doesn't take long for you to start worrying about them as well, if they're okay. Your home doesn't feel right and eventually, you don't feel right.

You feel...twitchy. And restless. And tingly?

The fourth day is a little easier, as is the fifth, but you still feel off.

On the sixth day your cats are crowding the living room windows. Not all that strange considering you live by a forest, who knows how many birds and little critters visit your home. Besides, more important things have your attention this morning; specifically, you feel the urge to bake.

When the front door opens you're in the kitchen messing around with baking sheets so you don't hear it. Maybe you'd have felt the cool air drifting in if your oven wasn't on. But you recognize Oscar's spicy scent a second before he pulls you back into his chest and nuzzles into your nape. He lets you twist around in his hold to hug him as the sound of his brother's boots grace your ears.

You wiggle out of Oscar's arms to pull Otto and Axel down for hugs as well, Otto with your left arm and Axel with your right. It's hard to tell whose hand is rubbing your back and whose is cupping the back of your neck but you don't mind. Noticing they still have their coats and packs, you welcome them back before telling them to make themselves comfortable.

The two brothers head for their guestroom and Oscar follows them after giving you one last hug...and scratching the chins of the cats desperate for the men's attention.

Your house returns to normal, but a little later you find you still don't feel quite right. Your condition doesn't really feel like this, so maybe you're just still feeling the absence of the Swedes? Only thing you can do is give it time...and pop on a cozy sweater, just in case.

The strange antsy feeling gets a little stronger one evening as Otto and Oscar play a game outside in your garden with a vicious looking knife. Leaning back against the side door to your kitchen, you watch as they throw the knife into the dirt at their feet, trying to see who can land it the closest. Apparently the game was called Mumblety-peg.

"Is this what siblings do? Assert...dominance over the other?"

Axel snorts, "For fun."

"...I see." Your next comment is cut off when the knife punctures Otto's upper thigh, courtesy of Oscar.

Immediately you're tugging Otto inside to sit at the kitchen table, the world fuzzing and voices fading as Otto removes the knife with a firm tug. Blood is staining and you're staring, focused and utterly silent before turning to Oscar. "You should have been more careful."

Oscar shrugs, "Not serious. Don't be...tråkmåns?..stick. Stick in the mud."

You know they have better strength, better stamina, and better healing. But while you were missing the three men, you had also been worrying about them...

Axel doesn't have a chance to reprimand his brother again before you're bristling and baring your teeth, "Well do excuse me for caring about you three. The first aid kit is in my bathroom. Get it now. Please."

Oscar blinks, surprise mingling with guilt and maybe a sprinkling of arousal at your feistiness. He follows your order, slinking down the hallway as he remembers the awful sinking feeling in his belly the one time they discovered a bullet buried in Axel's back that they had to dig out.

The eldest Swede watches the exchange silently, approving of this stern, no-nonsense side of you. Not to mention the 'please' you added at the end was cute. Even though you had reacted a little strongly to Oscar's shenanigans, it shows you care for them a great deal. You had worried for their safety while they had been gone. As you check Otto's wound, the large man admires the fire in you that is quietly sizzling down. You're deep in thought, forcing yourself to acknowledge that the Swedes are technically your mission so if anything should happen to them you would be notified. Sometimes it's hard to hear your voice of reason when it's warring with the paranoia and lack of trust in your employers.

Still, Oscar should be a little more careful. The youngest Swede returns with the kit and you apologize for snapping, that you know they heal more than civilians.

Feeling sheepish at having reacted the way that you did, you try your best to explain, "It wouldn't even take me an hour to heal from a wound like this. With my ability...if a wound lingers it's proof that it's severe. That something is deeply wrong. So...I just..reacted when I saw the bleeding. Before I could think."

You admit to them that you panicked a little...and yes, missing them may have had something to do with your reaction as well. Oscar apologizes to you, and when you raise an eyebrow, he apologizes to Otto as well.

That night when Otto pulls you down on the sofa with him to sleep, eyeing your sweater with a little concern, you decide it couldn't hurt. You've been feeling strange for quite a while, so maybe a dose of body heat is just the thing you need. Making sure the man was alright with the way you were positioned on top of him, minding his injury, you settle in with a deep contented sigh.

But you did not sleep through the night. In fact, you woke several hours later to darkness and that strange restless sensation that had been plaguing you for days now.

Otto's hand has slipped down a bit, fingers caressing the bare skin of your back that your sweater has revealed in your sleep. Your lips part with soundless pleasure at the gentle calloused warmth of his fingers, eyes fluttering when a tingle crawls up your spine...and down your arms and legs? Your brow furrows in confusion as your toes and fingers prickle and heat builds under your stomach before reaching a gentle simmer and lingering until...!

Startled, you shakily pull yourself up and stumble on your feet. You feel like you're wading through molasses, your head wrapped in fog as instinct leads you towards the safety and privacy of your bedroom. Entering your room, you whimper as you feel another wet rush that soaks your panties. Desperate, you lurch into your bathroom and rip off your clothes to find your inner thighs damp. With a trembling hand, you gingerly swipe your fingers through the fluid, not quite daring enough yet to touch the direct source. Clear and slightly sticky...hm.

You blink and look closer at the apex of your thighs...you're a bit swollen and flushed...and with a careful ticklish caress, find yourself to be somewhat sensitive as well. You're baffled, this looks to be simple arousal...well, deep arousal all things considered. As if to mock you, another shallow surge slicks your thighs and trickles down your legs. No, the small puddle your body is supplying isn't normal, your fuzzy head and lethargic body isn't normal, but you're not normal so maybe it's just...new? Something that's been delayed because of your long-term isolation? You've always lacked a menstrual cycle, so what are the odds this has some strange connection with it and your ability?

Without delay you hop in the shower, fiddling with the knobs as you begin to put the puzzle pieces together. The hot water that cascades over your skin is soothing, fighting back the earlier panic. Feeling quizzical, you once again gently slide your fingers down, pushing lightly over your clit as your eyes flutter shut with a soft sigh, touch lingering.

And suddenly it's not your hand, it's a much bigger palm cupping you possessively before fingers thicker than your own tease between your swollen lips and oh so slowly, a fingertip pushes inside, sliding to the first knuckle- A rush of juices from your cunt jerks you back to reality as you gasp, practically hyperventilating as you tear your hand away from your aching body to grasp at the tiled shower walls. ...Oh.

Maybe you missed your men more than you realized.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Pussa henne igen - Kiss her again!

tråkmåns - Stick in the mud.

#tua The Swedes #Axel x Reader #Otto x Reader #Oscar x Reader #Ikea Mafia #The Swedes #tua Swedes #the swedes x reader #umbrella academy swedes #tua Axel #tua Otto #tua Oscar #ikea mafia #No menstrual cycle for reader #She gets a heat cycle. >:D #Lollll you've been pining for months but not acting on it so your body is like... #Okay you need help? Lets give you and your men a big wet hint. #Splish Splash Motherfucker. :D

[bisexualdaemon]

mad woman: iii (nessian)

a/n: *taps mic* does this thing still work? OH hey! hello! yes, this fic is properly old now and probably everyone thought I abandoned it but joke is on everyone including myself lmao...turns out I love these two..and after acosf well I would 10/10 die for them. so here we go! a ride to be sure! people do be getting naked!

warnings: 4.8k of smut (like woah). language. guilt. 

Nesta wasn’t exactly sure what she was doing.

It had seemed like a good idea. Everyone in certain social circles knew the truth about Hewn City. Knew the dance club for the front it was for the shadowy bowels beneath. Here, she had thought yesterday morning, here she could be on even ground with him.

Him.

Cassian's hand was still in hers as she led them both down the long hallway toward room 3B. His words before hadn’t completely hidden his reactions to her clothes, her face, her body. She smiled to herself remembering the slight widening of his eyes. He probably thought he hadn’t reacted, but she knew. All men are weak. Just put on a dress and show some thigh and she knew she’d get his attention. Even if it was probably all for show. Cassian was a fine actor.

She thought back to four days ago. Or was it five, she thought. They had started to bleed together after the bender she’d gone on after wishing Cassian death on the phone with Amren.

Feyre was in her apartment for the second time in a week. An unprecedented occurrence. If the judgment in her eyes was any indication, she had come to check on things. Baby sister coming to her rescue. How rich. She stood on the carpet again, with her perfect heeled sandals and her tidy camel trench coat. Thankfully, she’d left the hat at home this time. Her arms were crossed tight against her chest as she surveyed the room.

“I see you’ve already made yourself at home again,” she observed, picking up a half-empty bottle of gin, “I’ll send Alis this afternoon.”

“I don’t want anyone else in my fucking apartment, Feyre,” Nesta cringed at the lingering slur in her voice.

“So you can drown yourself in this shit alone?” She held up an empty bottle of vodka in her other hand. “Nesta, it’s only been a few days since I was here the last time. Can you even stand right now?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Nesta sneered, settling back into the couch cushions. She couldn’t, but Feyre was a bitch for even asking, so she spat back, “At least I cope with my problems legally, High Lady.” In a fantasy world, smoke would have curled from her lips when she exhaled those last words.

Feyre stilled, breathing evenly. Nesta wasn’t sure if she was containing her rage or accepting the shame she had to be feeling.

“I see you gave Amren a call.”

“She didn’t tell you?” Nesta was surprised. Amren had seemed like one of Feyre’s inner circle, no matter how much money the High Lord and Lady may have given her.

“No, I told Amren that what you did with her number was your business,” she wrung her hands. She was….nervous. How odd. Feyre Archeron was a lot of things, but nervous was rarely one of them.

“Well,” Nesta exhaled, the anger fleeting like wind taken out of her sails, “yes, I called. Everything was very cryptic until someone showed up here who was not a therapist and started taking his clothes off. Honestly, what were you thinking, Feyre?!”

“I…” she hesitated, sinking down on the other end of the couch with Nesta, bracing her elbows on her knees, “I don’t know. I was desperate. I just want you to feel something again, Nes.” She hadn’t called her that since they were children. Nesta felt a little pang in her chest. I need another drink. “I know it’s...unconventional, but it really does help. Rhys and I...well, you know there’s a lot of stress involved in our lives.”

“So you fuck it out with strangers that you pay to keep silent??” Nesta asked incredulously.

“When you put it like that it sounds a lot seedier than it actually is, but,” she huffed, swallowing back some kind of emotion, “yes. There’s a lot of….relief, if you just give into it. Amren knows what she’s doing.”

“Are you and Rhys having problems?” It was the only explanation Nesta could understand for this. I mean it was one thing to hire a hooker if you weren’t getting any, but from the forced lunches and “sister dates” that Elain made the three of them go on, Feyre had always seemed to have a very active sex life.

“Oh, God, no,” Feyre visibly relaxed, caught off guard by even the implication. That made Nesta’s stomach relax. She hadn’t even realized she cared. “Rhys and I are fine, stronger even. There is power in giving up power, especially when you grapple with it on a daily basis. But this isn’t about me or Rhys.” Feyre leaned over and reached out to take Nesta’s hands, but stopped when Nesta visibly tensed at the mere idea of contact. “I’m really not lying when I say I think a little relief would help you.”

“Why do you insist I need help?” Nesta ground out through her teeth.

Feyre sighed and stood. There was something settling over her face, deep in her eyes. Sadness. “Suit yourself, sister.” She stood and, to Nesta’s surprise, took a swig from the half-empty gin bottle she’d pushed in Nesta’s face earlier. Her face screwed up in a grimace, “Jesus, how do you drink that shit?”

“I don’t even taste it anymore.” Nesta looked off, toward the window. Toward the empty corner where the wedding dress had hung for months. She’d taken it down that night after he had left.

That bone-deep sadness returned to Feyre’s eyes, “Alis will be here this afternoon.”

She left without another word.

Nesta sighed, catching Cassian’s attention, but she said nothing. She kept a steady flow of booze in her veins after Feyre left for three more days, sometimes just laying in bed for hours while the world spun. She saw Tomas, saw Elain, but most often she saw hazel eyes and bold, dark lines inked across a broad, tanned chest. Those were the torturous hours, when the desire would rise in her, when she would feel something just like Feyre said. Even if it made her soul burn. He was haunting her. He’d left her alone, angry and wet, for what? Because she refused to accept his “help”? Wasn’t this all just fucking anyway? What difference did it make how she responded?

The frustration had overwhelmed her until she finally realized that it didn’t matter how much she drank, he wouldn’t go away. She couldn’t chase him into a whiskey-soaked oblivion like she could the memories of her fiancé and her sister. He was real. He was still breathing. He was making her life a living hell.

He was going to pay for it.

So, she’d called Amren back. Had made him meet her here of all places. Had put on a dress and a pair of heels and more makeup than she’d been planning to wear at her own wedding. A costume. A mask. If he was going to “help” her, at least it wouldn’t seem like her that he was helping. She’d fuck him out of her life on her terms. Just once wouldn’t damn her to hell, right?

Nesta had never been to Hewn City before. Clubbing had never been her style. She was more of a library, bookworm kind of girl. But now that she was here, she kind of liked the secrecy of it all, the discretion everyone had whispered about. It made her feel like a character in one of her books, a different kind of escape than booze offered, with the rouge-tinted lights and shadowy, padded hallways. She could be anyone here. She would be anyone here. Anyone but herself.

“I think this is it,” Cassian’s deep rumble sounded behind her. They stopped in front of a painted black door, the marker flickering “3B” in the light of the candle sconce behind them. Nesta fit the key into the lock and turned it.

The room was cooler than the hall, but she wasn’t sure the temperature was what made her break out in gooseflesh. There was a massive four-poster bed in the center of the room covered in black satin sheets drawn back against a deep crimson comforter. Only a handful of hanging exposed bulbs lit the space, giving the boudoir decoration some industrial finishes. It was like a scene out of some vampire film noir. The light reflecting off heavy restraint cuffs at each corner of the bed only heightened the effect. A dark armoire loomed in the corner. Nesta was sure that if she opened it, she would find any number of instruments with which to tease and taunt Cassian with. This place was a sex dungeon and she had paid to be a mistress tonight.

Cassian’s mistress.

Nesta took a deep breath and settled into this new character, some confident woman who knew exactly what she wanted and knew exactly how to take it from a willing participant. She sauntered over to the foot of the bed and leaned back against it to look at him. He was so quiet tonight, looking around the room like she had, taking it all in.

“Cat got your tongue?” Nesta proded.

“No,” he hesitated, stuffing his hands into his front pockets like an embarrassed school boy rocking forward on his toes. It only lasted for a second before he hid it behind a smirk, “no, just a little….confused?”

“About what?” She crossed her feet at the ankle and let the deep slit on her dress fall open, revealing almost every inch of her long legs. His eyes widened momentarily before he cleared his throat. Was he….nervous?

“Well, uhh,” he was stammering now, the false bravado unable to keep up with the situation unfolding in front of him, “if I’m being honest, I’m not sure what to do.”

“You mean, Cassian, self-proclaimed sex therapist, doesn’t know what to do?” The teasing in her voice blushed his cheeks pink, “well, color me surprised. I thought it would have been clear by now.”

“It’s not that it’s...you’re…” he cocked his head, “different.” His eyes followed every inch of bare skin from her painted toe to the top of the slit an inch below her hip. “Something changed.”

Why does he make this so damn difficult?

“Yes, well,” she replied, biting her bottom lip for effect, “I decided that I want you to help me.” His head straightened.

“Do you?” He crossed his arms over his broad chest, emphasizing the size of his biceps. His nervous energy cooled in seconds, giving way to something else, something that had been simmering beneath the ice.

“I do,” she slipped back a little farther onto her palms, tilting her head back. She was a predator, setting a pretty, needy trap for him. If he got off on a savior complex, she’d play the part until she got what she wanted. “I just want to feel normal again.” She smiled internally as she watched her words wash over him. Watched him take a few deep breaths, watched him move for the first time since they walked in the room.

He kept his body closed, his arms a barrier between the two of them, as he stalked forward. Nesta stopped breathing, feeling his gaze shift from confusion and questions to calculated assessment. He paused in front of her and bent down, his hands sinking into the mattress on either side of her slim waist. The space between them was thinner than the air atop the mountains in Illyria.

“I think…” he looked her in the eye, no blinking, no touching, just a wisp of mint from his mouth, “that’s a load of bullshit.”

A rush of fury, so white hot it blinded her, licked down her arm. She raised her open hand and ripped it through the air.

Only to be caught in an iron grip.

“Ah, ah, dear Nesta,” his lips curled up on one side, “I like a little pain with my pleasure, but not without my consent.”

All she could do was stare him down as she huffed, imagining the breath leaving her nostrils in puffs of hot smoke. A caged dragon in pretty clothes begging to get out. But hell would freeze over before she moved first. She could feel the tension between them, feel the electricity pulsing through him where his fist gripped her wrist. Maybe it was her pheromone-laced delusion but she thought he might want this as much as she did. He wanted her challenge, her adamant wall. He wanted to break her, remake her. Little did he know that you can’t break what’s already broken.

Just a character, just a role to play...

“Oh, come on, Cassian,” she tried to free her hand but he remained hard as stone around her wrist. He hadn’t pinned her legs though. She slid one bare leg up the inside seam of his jeans. The muscles flexed and contracted underneath the well-fit fabric, higher and higher, until she reached the apex. He hissed. A feline smile spread across her face when she felt it, felt him, hard and begging for her. “I think you want this a little more than you’re willing to admit, more than you’re allowed to admit.”

His nostrils flared, barely imperceptible, but even the smallest changes in him drew her notice. Why? It was a question she didn’t want to even ask herself, but it kept coming, night and day. Why did this night feel like the edge of a dangerous cliff? Why did his agreement to come tonight feel like more than just a business arrangement? Why did the tension between them feel like her only anchor to this life? She pressed harder into him, needing to move, to get this over with, to fuck him right out of her head.

“Nesta.” His voice brought her back from those questions that haunted her like the inked lines hidden underneath his t-shirt. So close now, so close to her fingers, her mouth. She looked up at him, aware of her knee still cradled between his legs.

“Cassian.” Her voice practically sang. The song of his own personal siren.  

He was so still. If he hadn’t said her name she wouldn’t have been sure he was even breathing. He placed his hand between his groin and her knee and stepped backward. His pupils were wide, endless pools, black as tar and eating at the hazel surrounding them. He was drunk on the lust, drowning in it just like she was.

“Take off that dress before I rip it off.”

A bone-deep shiver ran from the crown of her head to the tips of her toes at the command, reaching back up to settle between her thighs. She flushed from the heat of his gaze on her skin as she stood, reaching behind her neck to loose the three pearl buttons between her pride and her desire. Fuck it. The dress pooled at her feet.

The corner of her lip tugged upward when she heard his breath catch. She wasn’t wearing anything under the dress. Lingerie had felt like too much and her regular cotton cheekies would have been too conspicuous beneath her close-fitting dress, so nothing had been the only choice. The right choice if Cassian’s jeans had anything to say about it, clearly growing tighter by the second.

Nesta backed herself onto the bed again, digging in with her heels to push herself toward the headboard as gracefully as she could while burning alive. And she was burning under his gaze. Every flick of his dilated pupils, from her bare legs, to her full breasts, to her smooth stomach, to her glistening cunt, she burned. When her head thudded against the carved cherry wood headboard, his eyes finally met hers. A low growl sounded in the back of his throat.

“See something you want, Cassian?” she asked, struggling to keep her tone innocent, indifferent.

“Depends, Nes.” She ignored the heat that pooled at the nickname, especially when he said, “what are you offering?”

She bit her lip at his words. And spread her knees open for him. Now, come and take it.

He went wholly still as pink creeped into his tan cheeks. He was fucking blushing at her cunt on display for him. A filthy thought entered her head and before she could shut it down, she reached between her legs and traced a finger over her slit. The low lights flickered in the reflection off the wetness laced there before her finger disappeared….

Right between Nesta’s wine-colored lips.

His eyes tracked that finger in and out of her mouth as she sucked and swirled her tongue around it, moaning at the taste of her arousal, the eroticism of the gesture. She released her finger with a pop and smiled wickedly at him.

“Want to taste?”

Cassian moved swift as a thunderclap, as if her words were paddles jumpstarting his heart into quick, heavy beats. He pulled off his shirt. Those thick, black lines of ink that haunted her dreams were on full display, curling around his biceps and across his broad shoulders. She wanted to trace them with her tongue, taste the salt on his skin. He didn’t bother with some cliché striptease. His fingers fumbled with his belt, fumbled with the top button and zipper of those tight jeans. He tripped out of them, splaying his hands across the rumpled comforter as he kicked his pants somewhere across the room, losing his shoes and socks at some point between.

She would have smirked at the clumsiness, questioned his self-proclaimed prowess as a sex therapist, if her throat hadn’t gone completely dry at the size of him. Even through his underwear there was no mistaking it—massive, just like every inch of the rest of his body. Of course, he had a cock to match.

He grinned, following her eyes, guessing her train of thought. The bed dipped as he crawled toward her, full prince of cats on display again. A man who knew what people saw when they looked at him and enjoyed that power, that raw sexual energy dripping from his every pore. With that glint in his eye, she was happy to play along—for now.

Every thread in the expensive duvet cover beneath her set a thousand sparks rocketing across her skin. His movements were measured, purposefully kept from touching her skin. He was so close she could feel the warmth radiating off of him with every inch forward, every inch toward where she wanted him. All of him. His fingers, his mouth, his cock. Nesta started to fidget with anticipation, ready for him to spread her open and take, take, take, but she wouldn’t beg. Wouldn’t reach or claw or whimper, no matter how much she wanted to.

Feyre might be paying, but she would own him before the end. Even if she had to sacrifice her soul to do it.

When his mouth finally made contact with her skin, a whisper of a kiss along the inside of her thigh, it was a struggle not to moan. Loud. She was strung tighter than a bowstring and he knew. Her traitor body was going to beg for him with or without words, so she opened her mouth instead.

“Gonna fuck me senseless, Cassian?”

His head jerked up from between her thighs, that feline smile turning her molten. “You know, Nesta. I think I’ll shut you up instead.”

Someone as big as he was shouldn’t have been able to move that fast. Shouldn’t have been able to cover her entire body with his and claim her mouth between one second and the next. His hands curled behind her neck to pull her firmly to him and devoured her. Their tongues clashed, dancing together, as she moaned into his mouth. Whether it was surprise or pleasure or both that pulled it from her, she wasn’t sure. The mint and adrenaline still laced his tongue, this time with a natural smokiness that she hadn’t noticed before. He licked at her, sucked at her lower lip. She nipped at him, teeth as much a weapon as her words, her hands. She dragged her nails down his naked back and drew a hiss from him, maybe some blood too if the tang of iron was any indication.

It only spurred him.

“You know these lips taste better when they’re not liquor-stained,” he panted. He studied her face, she knew it must be flushed from his kiss, and slowly ground his hips into hers, with the same bruising intensity he claimed her mouth, drenching himself in her through the thin fabric of his underwear. Those really need to disappear. Her fingers continued their violent path down his back to the waistband of his boxer briefs, the only barrier left between everything she wanted. Wanted, never needed. They danced around to the front of him and sought purchase.

Another moan, loud and throaty filled the space between them.

My God.

“Off, off, off, off,” she was chanting when he finally released her mouth to move down to her neck, surely to mark her like she’d marked his back. It was going to be tit for tat with him. “OFF,” she clawed at his hips. He raised up and smirked at her.

“You just have to ask, Nes.” His lips curled to the side, “maybe say please.”

She held his gaze. Please. It was a chant in her head but she couldn’t say it. He saw it there, the challenge, the struggle, but this was a battle of wills. And Cassian was a seasoned general.

He ducked his head and nosed at her jaw, along her throat, peppering her skin with close-mouthed kisses. “Just say the word,” he ground into her again, not nearly the friction she wanted. His hands found her peaked breasts and traced her nipples, slow circles at first, then quick pinches accented by his teeth at her throat. There was no pattern, no guessing, no preparation. Every nerve ending was a live wire, screaming for his touch.

Nesta Archeron was going to die here. The flames in her belly were going to consume her and she was going to die at a high-priced sex club. And maybe she should. It might be worth it. Rhysand would never live it down. She wouldn’t sacrifice her pride for an orgasm. But, as his hips did another slow roll against hers and he scraped at her neck with his teeth, her resolve imploded.

“Please,” she croaked. She felt his smile against her skin.

“What was that?”

“Please,” she said a little louder, still barely a whisper.

“That’s awfully quiet, Nesta,” he licked at her collarbone and made her eyes roll back into her head. “Makes me think you don’t really want it.”

“Please,” she repeated, her head thrashing, “please, PLEASE.”

“Okay, okay,” he pushed up to lean back on his heels above her. “No need to shout.” The tease in his voice forced an impatient growl from her. He cocked an eyebrow as he toyed with the elastic waistband on his underwear, slowly pulling it down below the defined V set low on his abdomen, revealing inch after inch of smooth, tanned skin, until finally they were gone and there was nothing left between them but sexual tension and a promise of release.

Her eyes raked down his muscled body, unable to keep her hand from reaching to touch the hard planes of his chest and abdomen, reaching lower. His fingers wrapped around her wrist.

“Uh, uh, princess,” her cheeks flamed as he lifted her hand to his lips and left a tender kiss on her palm, “it’s my turn.”

She blinked and his mouth was on her. His hair, tufted at the back of his head, bobbed between her legs as he lapped up the wetness that had been pooling since they started their games tonight. Since he first leaned against her door frame, if she was being honest with herself. His lips wrapped around her clit and when he moaned around her, she saw stars. Her toes curled. Her fingers buried themselves in his hair. Her knees bent to capture his head forever between her thighs but he caught them before she could crush him with the force of her pleasure.

It might have been hours, days. He held her spread open and licked and suckled and fucked her entrance with his tongue. Careful, slow strokes to stoke the fire ripping through her veins but not enough to send her to her peak. Her thighs began shaking; her fingers knotted into his hair and held his mouth against her. His name was a holy chant in this unholy place.

“Cassian,” she sobbed as a tear rolled down her temple and into her sweat-soaked hair.

He groaned and release ripped through her. Waves of pleasure locked her body in a silent scream, her head tilted back and her mouth wide open. He kept stroking her through it, his tongue undulating against her clit over and over as her body jerked involuntarily once, twice before relaxing completely, melting into a warm, soft puddle of flesh.

There were no words. No thoughts. Nothing inside her head except for the truth of it. No one has ever made her feel like that, forced that kind of pleasure from her. Her harsh breaths were the only sound in the room as Cassian traced patterns on her inner thigh. She blinked furiously, clearing her eyes of any emotions that might betray her. Looking down, she caught his eye and his answering smile made her forget her own name.

He was looking up at her, his cheeks pink from the heat and pressure between her thighs. His hair was a fucked out mess. He looked...content. As if her orgasm was all he wanted, like he could do it again and again and not care if she ever touched his cock even though she’d never wanted anything more in her life.

But...what if he doesn't want that?

She tensed suddenly. He was an escort after all. This wasn’t his choice. What if all of this is just an act? She knew she shouldn’t care. She was a paying customer and shouldn’t care what he wanted. What his desires were. She should just take her pleasure, satiate her own desire, and leave. That had been the plan when she came here. Hell, she had just been acting when this all started.

Until he gave her the best orgasm of her entire fucking life. Until he called her on her bullshit, got naked, and got on his knees for her. Until he made her gasp his name and fucking cry for the privilege.

This was wrong. She shouldn’t—couldn’t—

I don’t deserve this.

Her breath caught in her throat. I need to get out of here.

She sat up so quickly her head spun. Her fingers caught on the restraints attached to the headboard and she recoiled. What am I doing? Why did I think this was a good idea? Cassian jerked up from between her legs at the motion, the perfect window for her to rip her legs from his vicinity and swing them to the floor.

“Nesta, what’s wrong?”

She heard him, confused, still panting, but she couldn’t find the words to answer him. The panic was bitter, the taste in stark relief to Cassian’s tongue. Stop! Where is my fucking dress? Her head swiveled frantically. A slip of navy stuck out from under the armoire in the corner. She lurched forward, grabbing and pulling on the dress that barely covered her ass, left nothing to the imagination. What have I done?

“Nesta, what is happening?” Cassian was louder this time. Loud enough to draw her eyes. He was leaning on one elbow, wide-eyed and still painfully hard. At this angle, she could see the angry red marks across his shoulder, darkening with dried blood in some places. A damning souvenir for what she had done. A claiming.

She couldn’t ignore the voice in her head. A betrayal.

“Was—” he sat up and leaned on his knees, “was it not good?” Some unfamiliar emotion danced across his eyes as he waited. She stared and stared and stared. “Did I—“ he kept hesitating, “did I not make you feel good?”

It was the doubt, thick and traitorous, in his voice that made her silently turn around and walk out the door.

------ *runs away*

tags: @sleeping-and-books @greerlunna @sjmships @cupcakey00 @queenestarcheron @awesomelena555 @mysticalunicole​ @lordof-bloodshed​ @courtofjurdan​

#acotar #acosf #acotar fic #a court of thorns and roses #a court of silver flames #sjm #sarah j maas #nessian #nessian fic #nessian au #acotar au #acotar smut #my writing

[elisela]

touch has a memory & mine is you buck x eddie, for @buckleysbabe on her birthday ♥️ (ao3)

----

It starts small—just Buck’s hand wrapping around his wrist to tug him close when a crowd of people at Dodger Stadium nearly separate them as they meet in front of the stadium—but when Buck starts to let go, Eddie swings his arm in closer, presses their bare forearms together. It’s been weeks since they’ve spent time together; another earthquake and dozens of first responders injured across the city meant temporary transfers and shifts being changed from 24-72 to 24-48, and they somehow hadn’t found time for anything other than phone calls and texts for nearly a month.

“God, I missed you,” Buck says, and when he swings his arm up on Eddie’s shoulders, Eddie can’t help but lean into it. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” he says, forcing himself to pull back, embarrassed. “I knew you’d be late, Buck, we’re gonna miss the first pitch.”

Buck makes a noise and pulls him closer. “Yeah, yeah, there’s at least 200 more after that,” he says.

“That’s—” he wrinkles up his nose, thinking, “seven pitches per batter on average. Kershaw is starting tonight—”

“Eddie,” Buck sighs, “are you seriously trying to lecture me about baseball already? You know I need a beer before you start in on all this.”

Eddie elbows him in retaliation, but Buck still doesn’t move his arm, so Eddie elbows him harder, until he snatches it away and hits Eddie back, the two of them play fighting like children until they get up to the gate and Buck backs away, pulling the tickets out of his pocket, and Eddie misses the heat of his body even though it’s what he had meant to happen.

----

Eddie had never realized how much Buck touched him until he wasn’t anymore. His new crew at Station 69 (which had made Buck snort milk through his nose when Bobby had given him the—temporary—transfer papers) aren’t a close bunch; they have his number and he’s gotten a few texts on his off hours, but no one is spending their days off with him, sending him pictures of cats available for adoption and whining when he points out how much work an animal is, and certainly no one has shown up at his house unannounced with take-out and a new board game. And they certainly aren’t as touchy as his team; no one squeezes his shoulder as they pass by, knocks their arms together on the way to the truck, or sprawls against his side while they play video games on the couch. They’re perfectly respectful of his personal space, and Eddie fucking hates it.

He makes it three innings before Buck twists in his seat towards him and leans in with an intense look on his face, knee bumping up against Eddie’s. “Okay, tell me what’s going on.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Uh, Betts is on first and Hernandez is up to the plate, but he’s got two strikes and—Buck, seriously, haven’t I taught you enough about baseball for you to be able to follow this?”

Buck looks unimpressed. “I meant with you. You’re—weird.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“You know what I mean,” Buck says. “Is something wrong? Am I making you uncomfortable?”

“You are now,” he says, looking away. “Let it go. And don’t you dare start singing that song.” Buck huffs out a breath next to him, and when he doesn’t move away, Eddie stands up. “I’m gonna go grab more beers,” he says, ignoring the half-full bottles in the cupholders in front of them, and he flees.

----

Chris is going through a phase.

At least, that’s what Eddie hopes it is.

Twelve is apparently too old to be hugged by your dad, to let him give you a kiss goodbye, or goodnight—too old for anything except an occasional bump against the shoulder in the kitchen, or a fist bump a second before he opens the door to the truck to be dropped off at school.

If Eddie holds his arms out, Chris looks at him flatly. If Eddie follows him to his bedroom door at night to tuck him in, Chris draws his name out through several syllables and declares that he’s not a kid and definitely doesn’t need to be tucked in. If Eddie reaches out a hand to place on his back while they go out to dinner, or to a movie, Chris ducks out of his way and shakes his head.

The touch-aversion is killing Eddie.

----

In the sixth, Buck’s fingers brush against his as he hands him a plate of nachos.

In the seventh, Seager hits a homerun and his skin buzzes after Buck gives him a high-give, lacing their fingers together briefly before Eddie pulls away.

In the eighth, he squeezes past Eddie to use the bathroom, one hand on Eddie’s waist when Eddie stands to let him through.

After the ninth, he stays in his seat, looking over at Eddie thoughtfully as they wait for the crowd to thin out before leaving. “You gonna talk to me now? No one’s around.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” he says. There’s not. So what if no one has touched Eddie outside of calls in a month? So what if that sort of contact isn’t enough for him, if he craves the kind of touch Buck has so freely given him over the years? It’s not Buck’s problem that Eddie is touch starved, and he refuses to make it his problem. He just needs a little distance, because every time Buck touches him, it’s all Eddie can do to not plaster himself to Buck and take the comfort he desperately wants.

Buck groans. “Eds, it’s been a month since we’ve gotten to see each other and if you think I’ve forgotten how to tell when something is wrong, I haven’t. Did I do something? Did we make plans that I forgot about, or—” he reaches out and puts his hand on Eddie’s thigh, and Eddie stands up.

“Come on,” he says, “traffic’s probably died down a little by now.”

----

It’s not that he doesn’t know what his problem is, or that he hasn’t tried to solve it. He’d tried a massage—extremely uncomfortable once he’d realized that he was basically paying someone to make him feel good and couldn’t get the thought out of his head—gotten an unnecessary haircut, tried a pedicure.

Nothing worked.

He doesn’t want someone to touch him just because he wants it, he wants them to want it, too. He doesn’t want fingers digging into tired ankles, he wants someone’s palm to rest against his skin and stay there, to put down roots and make a home inside him.

He wants—deperately—Buck.

----

It doesn’t surprise him to see the Jeep’s headlights sweep across the front of his house a few minutes after he arrives home; he hadn’t bothered locking the door, knowing that ignoring four of Buck’s phone calls meant that he would surely show up.

But Buck doesn’t come in and make himself at home, just opens the door, leans against the frame with arms crossed over his chest, and says, “why don’t you want me touching you? Why didn’t you just say something? I would have stopped, Eddie.”

Eddie waves him in, but Buck stays stubbornly where he is. “It’s not a big deal,” he says. “Come on, let’s watch something.”

“It’s a big deal to me,” Buck insists. “I made you uncomfortable, and I—I’m really sorry, Eddie. I just—can you tell me why?”

Eddie tilts his head forward and pinches the bridge of his nose; Buck sounds hurt and small, and Eddie knows without a doubt that if he lets him leave feeling like this, they’re going to go weeks without seeing each other again, and the phone calls will drop off, too. He scrubs a hand across his face, takes in a deep breath and says, eyes still focused on the ground in front of him, “I haven’t—no one’s touched me in weeks.”

Buck is silent.

“I thought I might not be able to stop,” he admits. “I just want—” he stops, shakes his head. “It’s pathetic. I’m sorry.”

“Did you know if you hug someone for twenty seconds, it releases oxytocin?” Buck asks, and Eddie hears the front door closing before Buck’s footsteps sound across the floor. “There’s a surprising amount of health benefits,” he says, and Eddie looks up in time to see Buck’s hands reaching for him.

He goes willingly when Buck pulls him up, buries his head in Buck’s shoulder as he wraps his arms around him, and breathes him in. Twenty seconds—that’s new. They’re quick huggers, usually, lingering for a few seconds sometimes, hands on each other's shoulders or waists, but it’s—comforting. Buck is warm against him, and Eddie loses count when he gets to twenty in his head and Buck still doesn’t move except for the rhythmic sweep of fingertips along the back of his neck. He gives in and lets his body melt against Buck’s, lets his fingers creep up into Buck’s hair and run through the soft strands, gives up his dignity entirely and pushes the arm around Buck’s waist underneath the shirt he’s wearing and places his palm against skin.

“Eddie,” Buck sighs, and a shiver jolts up his spine, and Eddie blames that for the very stupid, very reckless thing he does next: slides his hand further up into Buck’s hair to hold his head still, tilts his own head up, and kisses him. He kisses him like he’s been wandering the desert for days and Buck has handed him water, kisses him like the last bit of air left in the world resides in Buck’s lungs, kisses him like he’s a sinner and Buck is his reconciliation.

His knees hit the back of the couch and he falls, Buck landing on his lap, and Buck only moves away to say, “this isn’t just because—please tell me this—”

“It’s not,” Eddie says, chasing after Buck’s mouth, “Jesus, you have no idea—”

“Kinda think I do,” Buck says, and he dips down to kiss him again. “Hey Eddie,” he says, hands framing Eddie’s face, thumbs brushing over his skin, “did you know that skin to skin contact reduces the amount of cortisol in your body?”

Eddie can’t stop touching him—hands on his waist, stroking up his back, digging his fingertips into Buck’s biceps as they kiss. He hums, reeling in his desperation, the desire that sings through his frantic heartbeat. “Got any suggestions?”

“I can think of a few,” Buck says, and his fingertips dance along the hemline of Eddie’s shirt.

----

Later—hours later—Eddie’s sprawled out on his front, head pillowed on Buck’s shoulder, fingertips counting out the steady beat of Buck’s pulse as Buck sweeps his hand gently up and down Eddie’s back. And he loves it, but—“you don’t have to keep touching me,” he says into Buck’s skin. “Don’t feel like—”

“Do you like it?”

“Yeah,” he says, quietly.

“Then let me keep doing it,” Buck says, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

#buddie #buddie fic #evan buckley #eddie diaz #two touch starved fools tbh #soft soft soft #happy birthday elisa!

[prettypurpleorchids]

Love To You

August Walker SongFic

Character Pairing: August Walker x Female Reader (non descriptive)

Word Count: 2,581

Warnings: 18+ Graphic Smut. Oral (male and female receiving), unprotected sexual penetration and some language. August Walker is warning enough.

A/N: A couple of years ago, I wrote this little fic for another character but as I was doing a readthrough of all my old stuff... I realized that this fit Mr. Walker to a T. I tweaked it a bit and decided to bring it back. Oh, and I really want to make love to August while this song is playing... just saying. 

Song: I Just Want to Make Love to You by Etta James 

I don't want you to be no slave.

I don't want you to work all day.

But I want you to be true,

And I just wanna make love to you.

You knew what you were doing.

The swivel and sway of your hips matched the music. The skirt you were wearing was riding high on your thighs and a light sheen of sweat was making your shirt stick to your body. But you didn’t care, you had a plan and you were going to see it through.

You knew he was watching.

The burning stare could be felt from your head to your toes. Of all the gyrating bodies on the dance floor, his eyes never left you. You liked this game. Cat and mouse. A hunter and his prey. 

You knew he liked it too.

This wasn’t the first time you have played this particular game. It was a form of foreplay. The build up. The tease. The knowledge of pleasure that awaits. It made you shiver just thinking about it. 

Love to you, ooohooo

Love to you.

You chanced a glance in his direction. He was holding a tall glass in his large hand, the amber colored liquor almost gone. He had a small smile playing on his lips under that bewitching mustache. One leg was bent at the knee, his foot resting on the other knee. He was leaned back in his chair. His dark curls were scraped back off of his forehead, most likely from raking his fingers through them. He looked casual. He looked relaxed.

But, you knew that wasn’t true.

August Walker was never relaxed.

He was electric. Mounds of pent up energy. It simmered just below the surface. 

It was exciting. 

Turning your back to him, you continued to swing your body to the beat of the bass. You ran your hands over your hips, up your sides and over your breasts. You outlined your curves in the flashing lights. 

You waved away any other man who approached and wanted to dance with you. 

This was only for him tonight. 

All I want to do is wash your clothes.

I don't want to keep you indoors.

There is nothing for you to do,

But keep me making love to you.

Closing your eyes, you let the music guide you. A sensual dance. Even in a room full of people, you put on a private show. 

You sank your teeth into your bottom lip. The anticipation was becoming too much to bear. But you were determined to win this game. 

A warm hand clasped your elbow. Opening your eyes, you fully expected to see another willing dancing partner. You were surprised to see August standing next to you. His eyes searched your face a moment before he released your elbow and grinned.

He then started walking through the crowd of people on the dance floor. 

He fully expected you to follow him.

You did.

Following the path he made, you watched his back. The move and stretch of muscles beneath his white t-shirt made your mouth water.

He stopped at the elevator and pressed the button. You stepped up beside him, waiting for the door to open. His arm brushed yours. You felt his fingers against yours. Neither of you looked at each other. 

You clenched your thighs together.

You loved this game.

Love to you, ooohooo

Love to you.

August stepped inside first, raising his arm against the frame so the doors would stay open as you entered. You watched as he immediately hit the button to close the doors and then push the correct button for his floor.

The heavy doors shut with a thud. Or maybe that was your heart against your ribcage…

In a flash, you were pulled against his hard body and your back met the wall with force. The breath whooshed through your lips a second before his lips crashed on yours. Lust washed through your veins, thick and hot. 

His lips coaxed yours open, his tongue diving in to dance with yours. It made you dizzy. The sensors in your brain firing rapidly. His hands skimmed your sides, stopping at your hips. There, they slid around to your ass, his large palms giving the soft flesh a squeeze. 

Raising your hands, you snaked them under his t-shirt. You were rewarded with a deep growl as you snared your fingers in his chest hair and raked your nails down his rigged abdomen. His kiss became more urgent, the fire rising.

Your skirt was raised until his hands met bare skin. His fingers dug into your flesh a little harder, lifting your feet off the ground. His body crowded yours as you wrapped your legs around his waist. 

August trailed hot, wet kisses along your jaw before landing on your neck. You opened your eyes with a sigh to see what floor number was shown on the digital display. Almost there.

And I can tell by the way you walk that walk.

And I can hear by the way you talk that talk.

And I can know by the way you treat your girl.

That I could give you all the loving in the whole wide world.

Clutching his shoulders, you moaned louder than intended when he pushed his pelvis into yours. The hard bulge in his jeans nestled against your hot center. Heat radiated through your body at the contact. You could feel the wetness soaking through the thin scrap of lace covering you and onto the fly of his jeans. 

He mumbled something into your neck, his lips scorching a path to your ear. His teeth sank into the soft lobe before he growled into your ear, “Press the stop button.” 

Blindly, you reached over and felt for the big red button. Finding it, you pressed it in. August held you securely against him as the elevator came to a jarring stop. He lifted his head to look at you, his eyes bright with lust, “I can’t wait, I have to have you now.”

All you could do was nod as he set you back on your feet. You wobbled on shaky legs, grabbing the handrail behind you for balance. Your combined heavy breathing was the only sound in the small space as August knelt in front of you. His hands roamed up your legs before disappearing underneath your skirt again. When they reappeared, he was pulling down your panties with them. 

After assisting you out of them, he stuffed them in his pocket with a wicked smile, “You won’t be needing these.” 

You sent him your own sexy little smile, “I wore them just to aggravate you anyway.”

He huffed out a laugh as he leaned forward. Your skirt was flipped up, baring your pussy to him. He licked his lips before pressing an open mouth kiss right above your slit. The scratch of his mustache and stubble made your skin quiver. A hand caught behind your knee, raising it to rest over his shoulder. You held onto the handrail tighter, bracing yourself.

August licked a long stripe through your pussy, stopping to give your clit a quick suck. Closing your eyes, your head hit the wall with a thunk.

He knew what you liked.

All I want you to do is to bake your bread.

Just to make sure that you're well fed.

I don't want you sad and blue,

And I just wanna make love to you.  

The noises he made were lewd. The sound was graphic. 

He ate you like you were the sweetest dessert. 

He licked up your juices. He flicked and sucked your clit. He speared his tongue inside your cunt. 

It was maddening. You couldn't stifle your moans any longer. They flowed through your lips with every breath. 

He centered his attention on your clit. The little bundle of nerves was so sensitive now, you saw stars. His tongue circled and swirled. Your body wound tight, your muscles straining to keep you upright.

A heavy weight settled low in your belly. The pleasure was too much. 

You shuddered and shouted. A brilliant light exploding behind your eyes. 

Your bones felt heavy as August licked you through your climax. He pressed gentle kisses to your thigh as he let your leg fall down his arm. 

Opening your eyes, you laughed at his smug grin.

When he stood back up, you gathered your strength and gave his shoulders a hard shove. He backed up a few steps, laughing at your attempt. Stepping forward, you shoved him again.

His back hit the opposite wall. He sputtered in surprise, but quickly realized your intent as you got down on your knees in front of him. 

Love to you, ooohooo

Love to you, oooh

You made quick work of the button and fly of his jeans, reaching in the open wedge to pull out his impressive cock. The length and girth never ceased to surprise you. 

He definitely lived up to his nickname of “the Hammer”.

You whimpered remembering how he felt inside you. You always felt so full and stretched. 

A big hand cupped your jaw, his thumb sweeping across your cheek. You looked up at him as you leaned forward and placed a teasing kiss on the tip. His nostrils flared with his quick intake of breath. You kept his gaze as you licked your lips, preparing them to take his cock. 

Wrapping your lips around the bulbous head, you pressed your tongue on the sensitive underside. His body tensed and he blew out a long breath. The hand that was on your jaw moved to the back of your head, anchoring you to him. 

Swirling your tongue, you slicked him up good. You sucked in as you retreated, giving extra attention to the weeping tip. When you took him in your mouth again, you took as much as you could. He was stuffed into the back of your throat. He moaned low, letting his body rest heavily against the wall. 

Starting a slow bob, you sucked him like your favorite popsicle. 

And I can tell by the way you walk that walk.

And I can hear by the way you talk that talk.

And I can know by the way you treat your girl.

That I could give you all the loving in the whole wide world. 

The hand on the back of your head started to guide your movements faster, holding you in place when he touched the back of your throat. 

You could tell he was losing himself in the pleasure. Right where you wanted him. 

Renewing your efforts, you purposely made pornographic sounds. You knew he liked that. 

He was close. The muscles in his thigh were tense under the hand that you had placed there. His breathing was unsteady and choppy. 

Right before you were sure he was going to come, he gripped the back of your head and popped you off his cock with an audible pop. 

You pouted up at him, but he paid you no mind as he hauled you up. He kissed you roughly before pushing you back. You watched in confusion as he stuffed himself back in his jeans with a grimace and a curse. 

Placing your hands on your hips, you waited for an explanation. August continued to ignore you as he released the stop button and got the elevator moving again. 

Opening your mouth to ask just what in the hell he thought he was doing, he stopped you with a glance. Then he hauled you against him again, roughly circling your throat with his long fingers. He kissed you with an intense passion before leaning back and resting his forehead on yours.

“I could hear them working on getting the elevator running again,” he whispered. “I wouldn’t have had enough time to fuck you how I want.” 

You shivered at his words. You were ok with that, you guessed. 

The doors opened on his floor. He clasped your hand in his and all but dragged you down the corridor with his long strides. 

He only fumbled with opening his door for a second.

Oh, all I wanna do, all I wanna do is cook your bread.

Just to make sure that you're well fed.

I don't want you sad and blue,

And I just wanna make love to you.

Once inside, he didn’t bother with lights. He locked the door and then in a flash, he was on you again.

Clothes were being shed with haste. You wanted to be skin to skin. Male to female. Soft to hard. He walked you backward to the couch. He sat first and then pulled you down to straddle his lap. 

You both hissed as your dripping cunt slid along his hard cock. 

He gripped your hips and steadied you over him, “Dance for me, baby.”

The raspy command made you moan. 

Bracing your hands on his shoulders and your thighs around his, you lowered yourself onto him. Your walls stretched to accommodate him. A pleasurable pain. Your wet cunt made the glide smooth and easy. You stopped to exhale the breath you had been holding when he was fully seated inside. The fit was so tight, you could feel every pulse of the thick vein in his dick. 

Rolling your hips, you undulated in a slow dance just for him. Each slow glide of his length in and out of your tight heat made you shiver.

August leaned his head up, capturing a hard nipple in his mouth. You rode him faster as he circled the bud with his tongue. 

His teeth bit into your nipple, sending a lightning bolt of pleasure straight to your core. He growled when you clenched around him. 

Your hips found a steady rhythm. And soon he was meeting you thrust for thrust. 

It was a frenzy. It was lustful moans and long sighs. It was whispered words of love and sexy talk. It was hurried kisses and nibbling teeth.

You rode him hard. Not so much a dance now. It was more of being lost in pleasure. Your climax snuck up on you fast. Fire licked through your veins and you came with a raspy cry. 

August buried his head against your breasts and thrust up into you a few more times before he was riding the high with you. He held your hips tight against him as he came. A shout left his lips as your quivering walls milked him of every last drop. 

Falling against him heavily, you both worked to get your breathing under control. His arms wound around your back, clutching you tightly. You kissed his sweaty chest and couldn’t help but laugh. Your body shook with it.

“Ah, fuck babe, don’t do that,” August rumbled with his own shaky laugh. His softening cock was incredibly sensitive, still nestled inside your heat.

After a moment, he wasn’t so soft anymore. You leaned up and looked down at him with an incredulous look and then frowned when you felt your combined juices slide out of you and coat his cock. 

“Again?” you asked.

He just shrugged as he flipped the two of you over. When he was settled on top of you, he grinned, “I have to make sure you’re well fed.” He thrust back into your welcoming cunt with a hard push. “I just wanna make love to you.” 

Love to you, ooohooo

Real love to you, ooohooo

Love to you, ooohooo            

#henry cavill #august walker #august walker fanfiction #august walker smut #songfic #love to you

[shnuggletea]

This is my entry for the Inuparents Day 2021! I was paired with a lovely and talented artist @kirrtash​. She'll be posting this fic with her art on her AO3 account for us. You can also find her Ko-fi account here! Make sure you check out her page for the AMAZING art that goes with this fic! I'm so glad I got to work with her; this was a true collab as I really felt she was working with me the entire time. I enjoyed every minute of this event! Thank you so much @inuparentsday​ for hosting and sharing with all of us! 

Link to AO3 HERE!!!

If you want more from this event (and trust me, you totally do) here's the Tumblr page! I would post the AO3 page buuuuutttt yeah I deleted mine lol! But there is one as well!!

Playlist is right here!!

TAGS!!!

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Chapter One

“Whatever you do will be insignificant, but it is very important that you do it.”

― Mahatma Gandhi

It was a cold night. The kind that made your skin tense as soon as you stepped out into it. It also had a tendency to make a man’s scrotum shrivel and seek warmth. Not something they liked to talk about… usually.

“God damn it’s cold! My balls are up my ass!” Toga said at a level that made it even more inappropriate.

Miya shook his head, the image of Toga dancing on his toes to stay warm filling his brain. “How unpleasant that must be for you…”

“No, seriously! And those are big balls…”

Sitting back from his scope, the Monk pulled his shoulder-length black strands back and tied them there. “Just because we’re on comms doesn’t mean you have to talk so loud. No one is supposed to know you’re there, remember?”

“Right, right, right,” Toga was silent save for his huffing, warming up his hands with his breath, “still fucking cold though…”

“For fucks sake, aren’t you a demon? The temperature shouldn’t bother you!”

Pulling the sight around, Miya zeroed in on the loud mouth, shifting on his toes just as he knew Toga would be. He lifted his gold eyes right at him, somehow knowing Miya had turned his sights onto him. “Yeah, I’m a dog demon. I’m just as if not more sensitive to cold than insensitive humans like you!”

“Say that a little louder, I don’t think the old lady across the street from you heard it.”

“She needs new batteries in her hearing aid…”

“You couldn’t possibly know that!”

“I do, she just told the Shopkeep when she went inside.”

“Can you focus? Use that extra sensitive hearing to find our target?!”

“Can’t find what’s not there, Miya.”

“Then keep searching, Toga!!”

It was silent again but only for a second. “Now who’s being too loud…” Miya growled, getting to his feet and pacing away to kick something. “Calm down, you’re going to have a stroke.”

“Why the hell do I put up with you?”

Miya didn’t need to see Toga to know he was smirking. “Cause I’m the best. And who else you got? Myouga?” As much as he didn’t want to, a laugh sputtered loudly out of him, one the dog demon would have heard even without their comms. “See? You need me and I need you. Now get back to your post.”

Sighing and groaning, he did as ordered; laying down on the cold pavement of the thirty-story building he was perched on. He wasn’t an idiot, Toga placed him this high to keep him ‘safe’ if they found who/what they were looking for. It had been over an hour but Miya knew better than to question Toga’s judgment. Or Myouga’s intel.

Toga was cursing the inconvenience of it all. Winter was by far his least favorite season and he swore the others knew it too. It was why they waited until the middle of the season and hours after sunset to pull this crap. It was all to mess with Toga and nothing anyone said would change his mind about that. The heat from playing with Miya flooded out quickly so he was back to bouncing on his toes.  It made his two blades smack against his thighs but that was a nice distraction from the cold as well.

Black toboggan on his head was large enough to cover his ears and his long silvery-white hair covered his neck. But it was his fucking hands and feet, his fingers and toes numb with cold. 

He hated cold feet. 

Humans passed and didn’t even glance in his direction. And why would they? Humans had no clue of his existence. Him or anyone similar (like Miya) were a secret from the world. Even though Miya was far from a demon; he wasn’t human either. It was that difference that had Toga placing Miya on the high building and far from the fight. If there was even a fight to be had. 

He wouldn’t be surprised if this was all a rouse to force him to stand out in the cold all damn night!

That was until he smelled it. “Miya… they’re here.”

“You’re sure?”

Toga glanced upward towards the tiny dot. If he were human, he wouldn’t be able to see the agitation on Miya’s face. But he wasn’t human and it was always there. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

He pulled out So’unga and moved to the outer edge of the alley he hid in, glancing around. “Toga, get back! I’m here to scout not you!”

“Even with that scope you still see shit.”

“Toga, it’s an order! Get back!!”

“I’ll be fi….”

Toga was cut off, ice splitting up from his feet towards his heart. Leaping back, he avoided impalement with relative ease. When he found the perpetrator, Toga didn’t hold back his laugh in the slightest. “Good to see you too, Snowflake.”

The cat demon was growling at him and it had just as much to do with the fact that she was a cat and him a dog as it did that he called her ‘Snowflake’. “That’s not my name!!”

“Right, right, right. What was it again?” Toga teased.

If she wasn’t wearing a black hoodie that covered up all her fur, it would be standing up in anger. “It’s Toran, prick!!”

She slung out her arm and ice followed in a path along the ground. Toga stepped to the side to avoid it; making it seem like child’s play. “Well that’s not very nice. At least my nickname for you is a term of endearment. Yours sounds like an insult.”

Toga had his lower lip popped out and Toran roared, pissed. “IT IS AN INSULT!!!”

Glancing around, Toga saw that his little distraction had worked; the street was clear of all possible casualties. They had all seen the display the kitty cat had made and smartly left the area. Which was good because now Toran was tearing up the whole area with her rage; jagged and angry ice breaking up the sidewalk and pavement as it shot upward without warning.

Toga jumped and dodged it all, keeping his hands in his pockets. “Ice. Just had to be ice.”

The already frigid air was made much colder with the glacier that surrounded them. A small arena of sorts, Toga released a slow breath and watched the white puff float away. 

Toran broke out of her thoughts of murder for a moment and spun to find him; realizing quickly (but too late) that it was just the two of them now. “What have you done?!”

“Me? You’re the one creating your own ice castle. You know, for an Ice Queen, you sure are hot headed.”

Toga smirked while the cat hissed, throwing out her arm again. Only this time the ice didn’t form on the ground. It shot out of her hand like a missile; long and sharp like a spear. Aimed right at his heart.

He moved out of its way with little struggle. “Careful there Snowflake! Pretty sure your Boss didn’t order you to kill me!”

Toran shuddered and then turned her head back and forth to work out the tension. “No. Not not you.”

The smirk that grew on her face had Toga dropping his. Spinning on his feet was a pointless gesture, they had comms after all. “Miya! Look out!!”

This was why Toran’s attacks were lackluster and easy to dodge. He had thought she was holding back to keep from killing him. But no, it was because her attention and powers were split; ice racing up the front of the building Miya perched on. It shot out of the top in deadly spikes completely destroying the top floors of the short tower. And Miya was silent. Myouga hadn’t told them the target but given the location Toga had assumed it was a human they were after. And he was half right.

“He’s a human with demon powers. Powers that are extremely dangerous for demons; a Black Hole. Why you’ve allowed him to not only live but also stay by your side is a wonder, Fighting Fang. He shouldn’t be allowed to live…”

“Miya has lived just fine by mine and your side for a time. You pick now, of all, times to kill him?!” Toga screamed.

Toran’s smirk grew to a grin and she shrugged. “Orders are orders.”

“Oh?” They both turned and found the monk, a little out of breath, but with his sniper rifle on one arm and his hand out at the ready. “Good to know my life is worth so little. But I knew that already.”

Toga rolled his eyes at the drama queen. Miya had his fist closed tight but the runes that covered the cursed hand were removed. He was ready to kill. 

“You won’t do that! Not with Fighting Fang so close! You don’t have the control to suck up only me!” Toran said while shaking with her fear.

Miya tilted his head to the side at her and glanced over at Toga. “That’s true. But he’s such a pain in the ass…”

“HEY!”

The monk used the small distraction to whip his rifle up and fire. He got Snowflake in the upper thigh and she released a loud whimper mixed with a roar. The shot to the leg didn’t slow her down as she leaped away over her ice walls.

Toga turned back to his friend, a lopsided grin on his face. “I knew you wouldn’t risk it, buddy.”

“I should have. She got away.”

Now at his side in a flash, Toga clapped a hand on Miya’s shoulder. “You got her in the leg! Without aiming!!”

“I was aiming. For her gut. I missed.”

“But not completely!”

Miya pulled away roughly from his friend and surveyed the damage. “Those nosy people are going to have a coronary when they get word of this.”

“Speaking of, we should get out of here. I’m sure they’re already on their way.”

Toga grabbed Miya by the collar and hoisted them both to another high building; one not destroyed and closer to the scene below. It was a mixture of cops and men in lab coats. Toga didn’t know how much Miya could make out from their distance but he was sure the ones in lab coats were the ones that were at the last mess they made. One in particular was hard to miss; his long black ponytail stood out amongst the others. And he was becoming a constant in their lives.

He was becoming a problem.

“Izayoi, take a look at this for me please.”

Setting down her notes and her pencil, Izayoi straightened her lab coat as she made her way to her colleague’s microscope. Quickly, she pulled back and tied her long black locks out of her way and leaned over. Her colleague had stepped back out of her way and said nothing; so there was no bias.

“This can’t be right. It appears… deformed.”

“Right? I thought so too!”

Stepping back, Izayoi took the sample’s file and began reading. “It says here it was taken from an incident on fifth and Topsail last night? But it doesn’t say anything about the incident or those involved.”

The woman next to her nodded in silence and Izayoi handed her back the file, hurriedly leaving the lab to the one down and across the hall. The man she was looking for was directing boxes that looked like they were filled with ice of all things. He glanced up at her and quickly signed the form in his hands and pushed the attendant off hurriedly. “Dr. Hime, how are you finding your new lab?”

Izayoi shook her head. “It’s fine, Dr. Setsuna, but I’m here about the samples you sent us?”

“What about them?”

“Well… what are they?!”

He chuckled at her and she felt her blood rise to her temples. “That’s your job to figure out, isn’t it?”

“Sir, all science aside, it’s difficult to ascertain much from a few drops of blood when we know so little about it…”

“Run it through the database and see if you get a match.”

She squeezed the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes. Izayoi liked her job, she really did, until it started to become some kind of cloak and dagger operation and Takemaru got promoted. “We already did that and it came up with nothing.”

“Of course it did.” Takemaru mused quietly.

“Excuse me?” 

Izayoi’s attention shot up to her boss but he shook his head with a fake smile. “Nothing. Just mark everything that you find in what you have, Izayoi.”

She turned and left quickly; part in frustration but also because it bothered her greatly when Takemaru spoke informally to her. Just because he was her boss now didn’t mean it was appropriate. Quite the opposite. With so much more going on, Izayoi let it go. For now.

Back in her lab and feeling safe, she looked over the blood sample again. Five had been taken and although they all looked the same they had different locations marked in their file. Izayoi looked again, taking the sample her colleague had away from her (and she was gracious to have it off her plate too). Switching back and forth, Izayoi looked over the DNA results again. They were inconclusive; the only recognizable strands reminded her of feline DNA while the rest were mutated or something. But she noticed one thing; although from different locations the blood was from the same person.

“Maybe the cat DNA is the answer?” She asked herself. The lab was empty as Izayoi got lost in her task. 

Even though all the same, she didn’t want to risk any more contamination, taking each sample and amplifying them. Polymerase Chain Reaction took a few hours so Izayoi left for the small cafeteria (more like a break room with a coffee maker and vending machines) for a cup of coffee. She had taken a seat at the small table in the middle when bodies hustled hurriedly past the door.

Leaving her cup behind, Izayoi leapt to her feet and followed as fast as she could behind the small group of overly excited Scientist. They went to the loading bay which was odd in itself. The loading bay was for supplies like chemicals and printing paper. Nothing exciting came through here except when her new genetic analyzer arrived. Izayoi doubted this many were excited over something like that. It was also far too late for a delivery; already nearing ten pm. 

Standing off to the side, she hid as she watched the large armored car as it backed into the loading dock. A few men in police uniform hopped out; Izayoi’s confusion and curiosity increased at the sight. One opened the back doors while the other stood right behind, his weapon up and armed. 

Everything that Izayoi could have possibly imagined dropped to the floor and shattered as a man walked off the truck. His long silver hair was pulled back and swung as he looked around at the group of men that surrounded him. It was pretty.

Izayoi shook her head of the thought, focusing on the man. His red jacket and dark jeans hid his body from her but he looked normal otherwise. He had drawn purple streaks on his face just under his eyes for some reason. She couldn’t see his eyes from where she hid or make out many details of his face but the purple was hard to miss. 

Her eyes traveled down to his hands; cuffed in front of him. He had long, sharp looking nails. And they looked thick and dangerous even from a distance. Her thoughts were interrupted when the man lifted his joined wrists and held his hands up. Everyone jumped except her as she watched with rapt attention; intrigued to just what the man was going to say.

“I come in peace.”

Her eyes rolled instantly and she let out a loud huff. What the hell was this guy even doing here? And why was the staff of Takemaru’s lab about to wet themselves with excitement?

She hadn’t seen him the entire time, too focused on the ‘specimen’ on the truck, but now Takemaru stood before the strange man with a wicked looking grin. He looked over the man in cuffs but said nothing to him, turning to his men who salivated behind. “Take him to the lab.”

They didn’t take the usual hallway. Instead they took the man the back way designed for deliveries. Izayoi stepped back and completely out of sight; sneaking down the hall and back to her lab. When the noise from Takemaru’s lab reached hers, she slowly left hers again and snuck down the hall. When she peeked inside, there was nothing out of the ordinary so she straightened herself and walked right in. Only to be stopped by Takemaru.

“Dr. Hime? What are you doing here?”

“I work here.” She said plainly. “I’m still working on those samples you gave me…”

“Oh there’s no rush. You don’t need to worry about them anymore.” He said, waving a hand at her like it was no big deal.

“I don’t need to worry?! Sir, I spent all day running them. I’m not about to drop them…”

“Fine, Izayoi, you do what you need to. In your lab.”

He was kicking her out and she resisted the urge to run from the informality; stretching on her toes to look around him instead. “Did you get a new project?”

Takemaru swayed and moved in her way more, blocking her view completely from spying the back of his lab. “It’s ‘need to know’.”

Izayoi seethed. Ever since Takemaru got promoted (over her) he acted like it was some kind of ‘boy’s club’. That’s what it was, all the men in the room moving around without issue while she was stuck in the doorway. She was sure that was how Takemaru got promoted instead of herself. Even with a few women on the board it was very much a ‘man’s world’ in the lab as of late. As much as it pissed her off they did give her a nice raise. And she loved her work as well as those who worked in her lab. 

She would put up with it for now until a better offer came along. As it stood, this was the only lab in town that could handle her caliber of study. Didn’t mean she had to pretend she was okay with it, huffing as she turned on her heel. “Whatever, Dr. Setsuna. Enjoy your new toy.”

Let them think they’re keeping their secrets. Izayoi was sure she would figure them out soon. She hated secrets. Secrets and liars her two main pet peeves. It was the reason she became a scientist. To discover all the secrets the world held and to uncover any lies. This was all just another mystery for her to unravel.

And unravel, she would.

#inuyasha fandom #inuparents day #izayoi x toga #cell mates prequel #cell mates universe #inuparents day 2021 #how to make a hanyou

[danny-chase]

Breaking a Promise - Read on AO3

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Titans (Comics), Nightwing (Comics), The New Titans (Comics) Rating: Mature Warnings: Major Character Death Relationships: Dick Grayson/Koriand'r, Dick Grayson/Joseph Wilson Characters: Dick Grayson, Koriand'r (DCU), Joseph Wilson Additional Tags: tw for self harm, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Angst, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Canon Divergence, emotional breakdown, Broken Bones, description of injury, star crossed lovers, Flowers, Canonical Character Death, it's Joey guys, I'm Sorry, Swearing, lot of f bombs, POV Dick Grayson, Dick grayson centric, Dick Grayson is bi, Dick Grayson is Bad at Feelings, Dick Grayson is Discowing, Dick Grayson Needs Therapy, Dick Grayson Whump, Angst with a Hopeful Ending, a little bit of fluff near the top, Gardening, when your gf is poly and ships you with someone else, Heartbreak, Heartache, no beta we die like -sobs- Joey, Hurt/Comfort, and then hurt/no comfort to follow it up Series: Part 5 of Bad Things Happen Bingo Summary:

The one where Dick Grayson has his heartbroken twice.

Full story under cut

Two years ago:

“Dick, what about this one?” Kor’i smiled sweetly, positively glowing in the sun. She gestured to a little potted plant sitting in the shade of the bottom rack. Her hair fluttered in the wind, seeming to sweep up his heart as well. Crouching, he gently bumped her shoulder, and she nudged him back. Perfect.

 “Why don’t we look over there?” Dick asked, pointing over to another shelf.

 “But I like this one.” She pouted, puffing out her bottom lip slightly. He glanced at the little sprout she picked out, his mind happily buzzing as he identified it without looking at the tag – botany lessons with Alfred had paid off.

 “Lamprocapnos spectabilis.” He began. Kor’i nuzzled her head on his shoulder, reaching out a hand to stroke the leaves. He grabbed the little tag sticking out of the pot. “This one is of the Valentine variety.”

 “Mmm.” She rested her hand back on Dick’s thigh, warmth spreading from the spot. “Tell me more.” He swallowed and complied.

 “They’re a perennial – they come back annually. They like full or partial shade, and are native to Siberia, Japan, northern China, and Korea.”

 “How big will it get?” She asked, rising to her feet, carrying the plant with her.

 “About yay high.” He spread his hands two feet. “But Kor’i, uh, I can’t just give that to Joey it’s-”

 “Commonly known as the bleeding heart?” She smiled mischievously. “I don’t see why not, your heart bleeds all the time.” She innocently widened her eyes, batting her eyelashes. “Or is it because it symbolizes love? Do you not love him?” Doubt was as clear in her voice as it was in her face.

 “I-” He stammered; he would never cheat. “I love you.” Heat rose to his face. “Only you.”

 Kor’i was perfect, she was so loving, always building him up, never tearing him down. Always healing, nurturing, growing seeds of her own – not just in him, she seemed to bring out the best in everyone she met. People basked in her beauty, and he simply basked in the knowledge of her presence. In being loved so fully, so openly and honest. Dick didn’t know if he could ever love anyone more.

 “Oh.” Kor’i looked thoughtfully at the clear cerulean sky. “I wouldn’t mind if you… loved someone else too.” He frowned.

 “I’m sorry if I made you feel like I did, but Kor’i, you’re the only one for me.” He stood, lightly pecking her on the cheek. She grinned, grabbing his hand, dragging him towards the checkout line.

 “I like this one, forget silly earth symbolisms, Joey would love it.”

 Dick sighed, following along anyways – she was right, of course, she always was – Joey would love the flowers, they were pals after all, he wouldn’t read too much into it.

   One year ago:

A cool breeze snaked its way over the hillside, finding its way around the rock at his back and through his hair – leaving him disheveled in its wake. A chill rain up his spine, goosebumps swiftly decorating his arms. He could feel his hair slowly rise up, standing in a desperate bid to retain heat.

 Dick wasn’t sure how long he’d sat there, knees tucked to his chest, head resting on his crossed arms. Too long likely. He should be back to the tower soon – he didn’t want anyone to worry, but after the mess on Tamaran, it was best for him to be alone right now.

 He was just… so tired. He’d already destroyed half his punching bags trying to fight the emotion out – which had worked to some extent, leaving his hands throbbing and arms burning. He sprinted as far as he could go before his legs gave out. It had dulled the anger and pain, leaving him worn out and exhausted. The dull ache in his chest returned just as soon as it had left.

He couldn’t bring himself to look at the night sky – he’d come out here for comfort – to watch the waves lap against the rocks from far above and gaze up at the stars. But the stars could never shine brighter than Kor’i, only serving to remind him of what he’d lost when he’d ventured too close to the sun.

 It wasn’t fair – Kor’i hadn’t loved Karras though they were together – legally bound, and he was here, light years spanning the distance between those bound by their souls.

 He never believed in love in first sight. Not until he’d met her.

 He’d always believed in love, though, from the time he was a child – his parents were living proof. It was foolish – his parents had died hadn’t they? Believing in their love until the bitter end, loving their lives, each other, him. It was love that kept them on the trapeze all those years, and that love had killed them.

 He sighed, maybe Bruce was right – love wasn’t something compatible with their lifestyle. He never shared himself so fully with others or lost himself so fully either. Always playing cat and mouse with his lovers, never committing, communing with another soul the way he had with Kor’i.

 He licked his chapped lips, tasting salt in the air. Light footsteps padded towards him. He curled further in on himself, not in the mood to talk. A rough woolen blanket dropped over his shoulders.

 It smelled like crisp green apples, mixed with a hint of cinnamon.

 Adeline Wilson had great tastes in laundry detergent – something she’d handed down to her son.

 Joey crouched next to him, wrapping an arm around him, offering warmth and comfort. Dick hesitated, mind screaming to recoil, run away – be alone and repress, but heart yearning for the warmth and comfort he always seemed to find in Joey. That same warmth reminded him of Kor’i.

 The desire for comfort won out, loosening up, he leaned against Joey’s shoulder. Joey’s chin nestled into the base of his neck; soft puffs of warm, wet air sent tingles down his spine. He raised his head a little dislodging Joey, feeling weirdly uncomfortable – but not displeased – just – he’d think about that later, now wasn’t the time.

 Joey quickly backed off, removing his arm. Dick gave him a side glance and for a moment, lost himself in kind emerald eyes. <em>He isn’t Kor’i</em>. Why was that so hard to remember?

 It took him a minute to process Joey signs. ‘Your hands.’ He followed his gaze down to his numb fingers. Upon seeing them he was hit by the realization they hurt like hell. He probably should have remembered to wear gloves, or at least wrap them, before taking his frustration out on punching bags.

 His right hand had swollen, both had bruises blossoming, his skin rubbed raw, blood freely dripping from busted knuckles.

 “Fuck.” He’d be out of the game for at least a month, if he was right about his right pinky – that was a boxer’s fracture. Tendrils of pain crawled out from the spot, his hands throbbing in time to his pulse. Dumb. Dumb, dumb, dumb, dumb. He couldn’t afford to make mistakes like that – the Titan’s needed him!

 Joey squeezed his upper arm, ‘let’s go’, he suggested, rising to his feet. Dick bit his lip, internally cursing himself for being such a dumbass. He shakily rose to his feet, immediately hit by a wave of exhaustion. Which in hindsight – he probably shouldn’t have sprinted until he dropped either.

 Joey wrapped an arm around his waist, bending slightly to stand under his shoulder and steadying him as the blanket slipped over his shoulders. They left it were it lay – more pressing matters to attend to, but Dick shivered in the cool night without it. He took a few wobbling steps forward – and dumb – his knees gave out.

 He never came close to the ground, instead, finding himself lifted into a princess carry. Joey smiled apologetically, with a little shrug. Dick sighed; this was embarrassing. He was eighteen – he should know better – Bruce had taught him better!

 “It’s fine, thanks.” He ignored how rough his voice sounded, instead concentrating on the throbbing from his hands, using the pain to block out the ache in his chest. He focused his gaze forward, not thinking about how close he was to Joey, how Kor’i used to carry him this way, how Joey smelled like honeysuckle and lilac, how this was everything he missed – and he just prayed he wasn’t falling in love again – he couldn’t be, no – he just... he was projecting. He just missed Kor’i.

 He ignored Donna’s concerned eyebrow raise as they passed her on the way back to the tower. Gar’s whistle as they crossed the living room. The way Joey was so delicate when placing him in the passenger seat of the helicopter, so careful to avoid eye contact, so mindful of his pride.

 In the brighter lighting he noticed stark red against Joey’s golden curls. A flower from a bleeding heart had made its way into Joey’s hair. There were gardening gloves in his back pocket

 His heart sped up as they took off, he felt weirdly lighter than before – though perhaps he was just dizzy from pain. Joey stared at him, his eyes darker than before, brow set determinedly, but looking pained and a bit melancholic.

 “What’s wrong?” Dick asked, feeling guilty for ruining whatever gardening project Joey had evidently come from. A lot was wrong, he was wrong, was asking a stupid question.

 The tips of Joey’s lips curled into a frown. ‘Do not do that again’ he pointed at Dick’s broken hands.

 Dick shrugged, it was a dumb move, he couldn’t guarantee he’d never break his hand again. He shifted his gaze back through the window. Joey tapped him on the shoulder. ‘Promise.’ Well, if it would keep Joey happy, he wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.

 “I promise.” He wouldn’t break his hand as long as he never broke his heart.

   Now.

He was a lot of things, but he wasn’t stupid, and he didn’t lack self-awareness. He knew how to bottle his feelings into a jar, create a vacuum seal, and tuck them away on a shelf. The thing was, he also knew eventually he had to deal with the things he compartmentalized.

 It had been a month since Joey died. He’d been putting it off. But today…

 The bleeding heart had wilted.

 The jar fell to the floor and shattered, his heart disintegrating into a million shards with it.

 A watering can joined the broken glass on the floor, before he knew what was happening, he was running from Joey’s garden, not knowing where he was going, not sure of his surroundings. His vision narrowed, relying on muscle memory and reflex to avoid crashing.

 Crashing was a good way to describe this.

 He was right there. Looked Joey in the eyes. Watched him become twisted and never even noticed that his beloved friend was going through things no one should ever go through, slowly destroyed from within, suffocating from a painfully sluggish death before Slade made the final move.

 “FUUUUUUUUCCCCCCCCCK!” Birds flapped away as he screamed at the sky, at the world for letting this happen. Joey never knew – he never told him – was too scared that this would – that he would –

 WHY DID THINGS HURT SO MUCH HE SWORE NOT TO LOVE ANYONE LIKE HER AGAIN-

 *CRACK*

 He broke a tree, feeling bone snap against splintered bark.

 He froze, staring at his right pinky, and laughed.

 So much for promises.

 Laughs turned to sobs, knees buckling as he fell to the forest floor – sitting on his heels before flopping to his back. Staring up at the baby blue sky, cumulus clouds drifted by without a care in the world, laughing at him, mocking him from the high heavens.

 Tears flowed freely, nature as the only witness.

 His heart wasn’t supposed to break like this, he’d locked it away long ago, he wasn’t supposed to care about people like this anymore, that wasn’t in the fucking plan. He’d restrained himself, time and time again, turned down offers, avoided hanging out – he did everything he was supposed to do to not fall in love again.

 And absolutely none of it mattered.

 Love had mattered – fuck love for being like this – fuck Bruce for making him believe he could live like him – fuck the world – fuck Joey – fuck Kor’i – fuck everything. Fuck whoever he was supposed to be, his training, his painstaking control of his emotions.

 He pounded the ground with his good hand, promises could be broken, but he wouldn’t break – not today – he didn’t have time. He could be dead today, next week, fuck – half the Titans were dead, Jason was dead, he couldn’t waste time like this - his life was going to be short.

 His life was going to fucking short and he needed to pull himself together – he had family to get back to. He had people he loved – if his heart was going to break anyways – he was so FUCKING stupid.

 Drowning in regret, he slammed the ground again, hard enough for the shockwaves to jar his broken hand. Feeling pain was better than feeling this – because fuck – fuck – he loved Joey. He loved Joey and Kor’i and they were both gone and nothing was okay anymore. Joey never even knew. Never even knew – and it was all his fault – and he never knew how much he mattered – never knew how when he smiled it everything around him dulled in comparison or how when they talked it was like he had known him his all life.

 He never knew.

 And would never know.

 He focused on taking painful breaths sobbing himself silly, laughing till he couldn’t breathe, and crying until he couldn’t feel. Time passed in a vacuum, hysteria waxing and waning until he ran out of tears to cry.

 He rolled over, pressing himself up, wiping his face on his shirt, ignoring the familiar pain creeping up his arm.

 He made a new promise because well, fuck the last one didn’t work out so he might as well start over. Giant pines towered over him standing tall as silent witnesses. He swore on the living along with the dead, any that would listen really – he didn’t care - he couldn’t keep living like this.

 “Whoever I love will know.” He whispered the words as a sacred oath, finding an odd sense of solace. He paused, letting the words hang in the air as if imbuing them with some sort of power.

 Stumbling forward, he made his way back home.

#bad things happen bingo #titans #batfam #ntt #dick grayson #joey wilson #koriand'r #dickkory #dickjoey #tw heartbreak #nightwing #discowing era lol #my writing

[dilly-oh]

Red Hoodie of Fate

The blaring of the fire alarm woke Kakashi from a particularly good dream about tacos. He bolted upright, cracked his forehead on the coffee table, swore horrifically, and stumbled to his feet, blearily remembering falling asleep on the couch several hours ago. He must have rolled off at some point, maybe when he’d been sprinkling some cheese on those delicious tacos- no, stop. Food later. Fire now.

Thank God the dogs were at Yamato’s for the night, otherwise he might never have gotten out of the apartment. Bisuke was scared of loud noises and liable to hide in the deepest, darkest corner of the flat, while Bull would refuse to budge after laying down for anything less than the apocalypse. Pakkun probably would have just puked in anxiety and made matters worse, while Uhei, Akino, and Guruko would have simply started howling along with the siren. Urushi and Shiba were the only ones who’d have listened, and that was only if he had treats, which he no longer kept in his pockets after an unfortunate incident he didn’t care to repeat. He made a face as he recalled the taste.

Pulling on a pair of sneakers and a frayed red hoodie from the floor, Kakashi stuffed his keys and phone into his pockets before throwing open the door and lurching out into the hallway. He couldn’t see any flames or smoke, but he wasn’t going to sit around and wait to see if this was legit.

Maybe it was the brat from downstairs, playing pranks again. Kakashi had caught him stuffing a cat into someone’s mailbox the other day, so he definitely wouldn’t put it past the little punk. It had better not be those two idiots down the hall smoking weed again. Doors opened all along the hallway as tenants began pouring from their own apartments, hurrying down the hall and clogging the stairs like sleepy zombies. Kakashi shuffled along with them, letting the river of half-awake people drag him down several flights and out the front doors.

Kakashi milled around the parking lot with the chattering crowd, shivering at the cool night breeze and stuffing his hands into the hoodie’s front pockets. With nothing better to do than stand around awkwardly waiting for the fire-trucks, he glanced about, studying his neighbors one by one.

There was the brat, tousle-haired and sleepy-eyed, clinging to his mother’s long red braid, still half asleep. Near him was the emo kid who never brushed his hair and wore nothing but black – Kakashi was tempted to ask which make-up tutorial he used for his smoky eye. The two pot-heads were in the back, leaning against each other, dozing in place. There were more - the old man who wrote dirty novels and sometimes asked Kakashi for his expert opinion, the married couple from the floor above, and-

There was a man standing in the middle of the parking lot in nothing but a towel. Kakashi did a double-take before it processed.  

He was dripping wet, water dribbling down his shoulders and pooling around his bare feet onto the pavement. Beads of moisture slowly made their way down the curve of his pectorals, glistening in the divots of his collarbone. Goosebumps had broken out over his tanned skin, pebbling his nipples, his long dark hair plastered to his neck and shoulders. He looked like some ancient Selkie come to seduce men to their watery graves, or a primordial God of the sea preparing to smite some mortals. And hopefully date him, dear God please.

Who the hell was that? Kakashi stared in shock, struggling to place him. He’d memorized every face in the building, and he certainly didn’t remember this Adonis, which was quite impossible. He had a whole grading system for every male in the building, and this knock-out would be graduating top of the class, Magna Cum Laud. Then the man turned his head and the light from the streetlamps hit just right, highlighting the faint slashing scar over the bridge of his nose-

Wait. Holy shit. Kakashi recognized him now, but could barely believe it. That was UMINO? Umino Iruka, the stuffy teacher’s aide who had just moved in next door like a month ago? The nerd whose idea of a good time was binge-watching a season of the Great British Bakeoff? Kakashi had given him a barely passing C+, having to dock points for the arsenal of pens in his shirt pocket and that one time he saw him wearing socks with sandals.

Damn. He’d totally misjudged him. This man was a BABE. The white towel only heightened his natural tan, accentuating the deep V of his hip-bones while the shadows played across his toned stomach. He looked…

He looked cold.

Umino stood stiffly upright, head high and without shame. In fact, he glared about, arms crossed, seemingly challenging anyone to make a comment or dare laugh. But Kakashi saw the goose-bumps on his skin, the subtle shiver of his shoulders. Summer had passed and, while winter was still a ways off, fall had begun muscling its way in. Kakashi wasn’t sure the clenched jaw was from irritation or to keep his teeth from chattering.

Kakashi gathered his courage and walked over.

“Hi,” he began, and almost stopped when Umino glared at him, eyes dark and daring. “Umino, right? Hatake Kakashi, from next door.” Umino studied him for a moment, then gave a sharp nod of acknowledgement. “Uh…want my jacket?”

“No, thank you, I’m fine,” Umino bit out with a tight smile, pushing some wet strands of hair out of his face.

Someone wolf-whistled. Probably the old man.

Umino slowly went red, the flush starting in his cheeks, then traveling down his neck to bloom halfway down his chest.

“…Yes, please,” he said quietly, gripping his towel in a white-knuckled hand. Kakashi fought back a chuckle and yanked the hoodie off over his head, inadvertently pulling up his shirt as he did so. Blinded as he was, he missed the flicker of Umino’s eyes over his exposed abdomen and prominent hipbones, the flush darkening a degree. Finally free, Kakashi gave the hoodie a shake and held it out, grinning sheepishly.

“Smells a bit like dog. Sorry.”

“S’fine,” Umino muttered, quickly taking it and pulling it on. It was a little too big for him but did the job, covering that delicious expanse of tanned skin and muscle. Kakashi stepped back and studied him for a moment, his mouth going dry.

Shit. It didn’t help at all. If anything, it made it worse.

Umino was now wearing his hoodie, which draped over his body but only made it to mid-thigh. The result was even more alluring and provocative than him standing there in a towel. Kakashi cleared his throat and snapped his eyes away, praying for a fire-truck to come peeling around the corner and hose him down so he could cool the fuck off.

“…You have a dog?”

“Huh?” Kakashi’s eyes snapped away from Iruka’s meaty thighs as he realized the owner of said thighs had just asked a question. “Oh! Yes. Dog. Or, rather, dog-zuh. Plural.”

“Plural?” Iruka frowned in confusion. “How many are we talking-”

“Eight.”

“EIGHT?!”

“Yup.”

“You have eight dogs.”

“Yup.”

“How did you even sneak that by the super?”

“Oh, she thinks I only have four. I have a friend who keeps a couple at his place. I just rotate them out.”

Umino laughed. It was a nice sound, even when he snorted a little at the end.

“So, what do you do?” Umino asked. “Other than harbor illegal animals, that is.”

“I work at the gym down the street,” Kakashi said, jerking his head. “I’m a fitness trainer.”

“Well, that would explain your abs...sssolutely horrible fashion sense. What are those track pants from, the 80’s?” Umino cleared his throat suddenly and jammed his hands into the hoodie’s pockets, frowned, then pulled out a crumpled wad of receipts for fast-food takeout. He stared accusingly at Kakashi for a long, quiet moment.

“…I’m allowed a cheat day,” Kakashi said.

“These are all from the same HOUR-”

“Gai bet me I couldn’t eat it all. I had to defend my honor.”

“Did you throw it all up afterward?”

“…I can neither confirm nor deny that. I can, however, confirm that I won the bet.” Kakashi winked cheekily, and Umino rolled his eyes.

“Do you…enjoy your job?” he asked, stuffing the receipts back into the pockets.

“It’s not bad. I mean, it could be worse, I could teach brats all day.” Kakashi shrugged. “What do you do?”

“I teach brats all day.”

…Dammit.

Umino’s grin was mischievous, though, and there was no hostility in his tone, so there must have been no offense taken.

“How’s that go?” Kakashi asked, genuinely curious.

“About as horrible as you’d think. I have them just when puberty rears its ugly head and turns them into angst-ridden monsters. My classroom in a cesspool of hormones and crying.”

Kakashi laughed aloud. Umino wasn’t anything like he’d thought. Both inside and out. It was incredibly refreshing, not to mention incredibly attractive.

Which is why he was quite disappointed when the first fire-trucks started to pull into the parking lot. He’d rather the whole apartment complex burn down if it meant he could stand out here, chatting with the hot teacher all night.

The fire, just a microwavable popcorn-bag gone wrong, was put out in minutes, the complex deemed safe by the groggy super, a busty older woman who was either hung over or still drunk at this unholy hour. Tenants began milling back inside, clogging the entrance in their desire to return to bed. Kakashi lingered in the back of the crowd with Umino, reluctant to part ways.

“Well, I suppose I should thank you for your hospitality,” Umino said lightly, reaching up to grasp the hoodie’s zipper. “You can have this back n-”

“Keep it,” Kakashi said quickly. Perhaps too quickly, going by the surprise on Umino’s face. “I mean…just for now. Till you. You know. Get inside and get dressed. You don’t wanna catch a cold.” He cleared his throat awkwardly, feeling his ears get hot.

“Oh…alright.” Umino's hand lowered and he gave him a shy smile, plucking at the loose red threads hanging from the sleeves, winding one around his pinky absently. “Thank you.” The quiet words warmed Kakashi, a delicate shiver traveling up his spine. Kakashi mumbled a response, then doubled over as the hyperactive blonde kid suddenly bowled right into him.

“Watch it, old man!” the brat shouted, dodging away.

“I’m not even thirty!” Kakashi barked after him, offended. “Friggin’ kid. Can you believe-” He turned to Umino and blinked.

He was gone.

---

A knock on the door woke Kakashi right as he was taking another big, crunchy bite of taco. He bolted upright, cracked the back of his head on the coffee table, swore horrifically at himself for not getting in the damn bed this time, and stumbled to his feet. Making a mental reminder to just go and eat some fucking tacos already, he lurched towards the door, tripping over the rug and falling against it with a loud thud. He fought with the handle for a moment before finally yanking it open, squinting at the light stabbing into his eyes from the hallway.

Umino stood there, not hot as hell towel-Umino, but pressed khakis and crisp button-up, array of pens and hair in a severe ponytail Umino, fully dressed and ready for the day. Kakashi, rather than feeling a twinge of disappointment, was surprised to find the man just as alluring covered from head-to-toe as he was three-fourths-naked.

“Good morning,” Umino said, horribly chipper considering the abominable hour.

“Mornin’. What’re you doing here so early?” Kakashi mumbled, rubbing his face. Umino stared at him.

“It’s 9 a.m.”

“Holy shit. Really?” Kakashi squinted down at his watch. “I thought 9 a.m. was a myth.” Umino’s mouth fell open. “You still haven’t answered my question, though.”

“Oh. Right. Um. Your hoodie. I have it,” Umino said quickly, tripping over the words. He was flustered and twitchy with nerves. If Kakashi were a predator, this was when he’d pounce. “I, um, washed it. For you. Here.” He thrust the jacket out, perfectly folded and smelling of lavender. Kakashi was impressed.

“What, did you wash it twice?” he asked, taking it in his hands and marveling at how soft it felt. The rich red color was much more vibrant, almost seeming to glow.

“Three times,” Umino replied flatly. “Then Febreeze.”

“Umino-”

“Iruka.”

Kakashi blinked, looking up to meet the other man’s gaze.

“You can call me Iruka,” he said, sincere.

“…Alright. I’m Kakashi.” Kakashi stuck out his hand, tucking the hoodie under his other arm. Iruka’s shake was firm, his hands surprisingly soft. He must moisturize or something classy like that.

“I want to thank you for helping me out last night,” Iruka went on, two spots of color appearing high on his cheeks. “I was in a rather…awkward predicament and even after I snapped at you, you still helped me despite my rudeness. I…really appreciate it.”

“No problem,” Kakashi replied easily, scratching the back of his head. Oh God, his hair must be a nightmare- no, wait. It always was. Nevermind then. “Any time.”

“So, um.” Iruka shuffled his feet a little, clearing his throat. There was that predatory instinct, niggling Kakashi to jump on him and go for the jugular. “I was wondering how to thank you, and I thought I could, maybe…make you dinner?” he finished weakly, glancing up at Kakashi from beneath thick lashes, then looking away again, suddenly shy. “I’m pretty good in the kitchen, so, if there’s anything you’d like…”

“Tacos,” Kakashi said instantly.

“…Oh.” Iruka deflated, a flicker of disappointment crossing his face. “Tacos. Really? I was hoping for something a bit more…challenging. Something that would allow me to show off my culinary skills a bit. But, I mean, if that’s what you want-”

“I like miso soup,” Kakashi said after a moment. “With eggplant.” Screw tacos. He could have tacos any day of the week. He’d take a bowl of cold cereal if it meant getting to spend the evening with this full-course meal.

Iruka lit up, his smile warm and inviting.

“Miso soup it is, then. I’ll have it done by tonight and bring it over. Does that sound alright?”

“Sure.” Kakashi waved as Iruka walked off down the hall, then slipped back inside and closed the door. He brought the hoodie up to his nose and inhaled the comforting scent of lavender, thinking how differently last night would have gone had he not grabbed the hoodie. What he would have missed out on. Fate, it seemed, really did exist.

Hopefully he’d be seeing more of Iruka…in more ways than one.

-End-

Months ago, I was chosen as a pinch-hitter for the Kakairuzine (I would step in if someone had to leave), so I completed two fics just in case they were needed. Since it wasn’t, I’m posting it here. Enjoy!

#kakairu #kakairu fanfic #hatake kakashi #umino iruka #red thread of fate #I know I wrote a Victuuri fic with a similar story but I just really like the trope #sue me #fanfic #red string of fate #iruka in a towel how can it go wrong