#all i can really do is bare with it until it's over or leave and they both kinda lead to the same place
CAN YOU PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE DO PERV ILLUMI i do not think there is enough perv illumi content on this app
He’s a perv
Perv!Illumi x Fem!Reader
A/N: sorry this is short and may resemble my other perv writings… but I hope y’all like it! Join my server
warnings: pervy Illumi, yandere behavior, masturbation, panty stealing, he’s kind of yucky, breeding, pregnancy
NSFW: @lightshowerrr @jungtoast @nenggie @pannacottababy @aliceattheart @atransmuter
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Illumi had never experienced sexual attraction before. Had he gotten some morning wood once or twice? Yes, but he rarely felt the urge to jack off.
That was… until he met you.
He wasn’t quite sure what made you so appealing. You looked ordinary, at least… you should have. Illumi had been surrounded by the worlds most beautiful women since he was but a boy… yet here he was, getting hard over a girl he had barely met.
Maybe it was your soft curves, or the ways your hips swayed when you walked… it could have even been your sweet voice, and those pretty, glossy lips that made him want to pull you in and taste the shiny lipgloss you were wearing…
Whatever it was, ever since he first laid eyes on you, Illumi’s body had been acting strangely. Even a whiff of your perfume could have his cock twitching, standing at attention and ready for you… it was quite embarrassing, or it would have been if Illumi had any shame.
No, the only reason Illumi his his overwhelming desire for you was because he wanted these feelings to go away as quickly as possible. He couldn’t fall for some nobody Hunter with nen weaker than all the other applicants that had passed with you. No, Illumi was supposed to marry the best of the best, a woman whose womb could bear a strong heir.
But… that didn’t stop him from acting on some of his urges…
Unfortunately, Illumi couldn’t seem to let you out of his sight. It was annoying, following you around as you did your little daily chores in town. He could hardly get any work done when you looked so cute. You didn’t even realize your panties were showing when you bent over to pick up a coin…
When he couldn’t be constantly watching over you, Illumi would steal little trinkets from your home to… keep him satiated. Used panties, your lipgloss, and clothing items that smelled like your perfume.
He’d wrap your panties around his cock as he jerked off, your cardigan pressed against his face. If he really focused, he could imagine your pussy tightening around him, your plump thighs pressing against him as he bounced you on his cock…
He’d cum buckets into your panties, then break into your apartment and drop them off on your floor, like a cat leaving a dead mouse as a gift.
After a while, his urges grew and grew, until your panties just weren’t enough for him anymore.
Wooing you wasn’t too hard, and getting into your pants was easier than he would have though. The fact you were a virgin was very surprising… but welcomed. After all, he was a virgin as well.
The second his cock sunk into you, he immediately knew that he could never let you go. To hell with a strong heir, he wanted you, and only you. You were the only one that could make him feel this way… soft, vulnerable, and so goddamn horny.
Poor, poor you, having Illumi fuck into you for hours on end, unable to pull out of your pretty, warm cunt. He fucked so much cum into you that you felt so swollen and full…
Even after he was done, he didn’t pull out. Instead, he held you close, kissing the top of your head. “You’re all mine, darling. I’ll have wedding preparations ready within a week.”
You were much too exhausted to argue… and you weren’t sure you could say no to Illumi Zoldyck… so you just slept, accepting your fate. You’d be taken care of, and would never have to worry about anything ever again.
Shortly, Illumi would have his now pregnant wife in his home, where she would be safe, and where he could ravish her whenever he felt like it.
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pervert p2 ♡ haechan
genre: smut ⭒ word count: 1.0k ⭒ link to p1
☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆
lee donghyuck has a filthy mouth and even filthier mind.
but somehow you can’t stay away from him; it’s nearly impossible when he makes himself present at every friend gathering, never missing the opportunity to give his daily dose of teasing—which had gotten progressively worse over the last few months.
like when you spent one afternoon at the beach; he’d looked at you from across the sand, biting his lip at the sight of you in swimwear. the sun warmed his bare arms, casting a honey-like glow onto his tanned skin.
he walked over to you, currently sat on a beach towel chatting with an enthusiastic jisung about the bowl of ramen he’d made the previous night. hyuck peered down at your unaware frame. “don’t you want to play with me?” he asked.
the boy sounded innocent enough, though you knew there was a double meaning to his words. he tilted his head while awaiting your answer, long fingers tapping against the soccer ball in his hold. you try not to stare.
“i’m busy.” you huffed and pointedly averted your gaze.
hyuck pouted. “why you won’t look at me?”
“it’s too bright.” you lied. “and i’m having a conversation.” you didn’t see the way jisung covered a growing smirk with his hand.
or when it was a particularly windy afternoon and hyuck didn’t hesitate to get his hands on you, toying with the fabric of your shirt after he claimed he was fixing it. he’d nearly gotten slapped in the process, though ran off to jaemin’s side with a satisfied smile.
then there was the time he’d caught you checking him out (in your defense, you were drunk and he was wearing eyeliner) and he pulled you out of the crowd, leaning forward to whisper in your ear. “pretend all you want, baby.” he chuckled lowly. “i know you want me just as bad as i want you.” you were too dazed to conjure a response. “keep looking at me like that and you’ll really be in trouble.”
the encounter affected hyuck more than he’d let on—didn’t stop thinking about you the rest of the night as he played the scene on repeat. as much as he loved to run his mouth, he was all talk, nothing more than the annoying boy that followed you around and cracked sex jokes. he knew his fantasies would never turn into reality and that the only action he’d ever get was from his own hand (and your stolen underwear).
until the pool.
you are currently trying to drown donghyuck though failing. he’s just laughing, sputtering water and avoiding your splashes. “you think mark’s cute, huh?” his voice raises in pitch as he calls out. “hey, mark? come here!” he shrieks when you grab his shoulders and try to push him beneath the surface.
“shut up!” you can’t help the giggles that escape your mouth, brain loopy from the hours of swimming. the boy barely budges, strong legs keeping him upright. “why do you like to make up shit?” you say. you roll your eyes and give up, though not before giving him a little shove—which only has him grinning.
“the others aren’t out here to save you. wanna do that again?” he raises an eyebrow.
“please—even renjun can take you out.”
“really? care to try then?” hyuck gestures. he’s got a taunting look that has your blood boiling. you’re not sure you can overpower him—not without doing something to take him by surprise. what was the best way to distract lee donghyuck? as you silently weigh your options, you realize he’s now staring at your torso.
oh.
“what do i get if i win?” you carefully ask, already starting to slowly creep closer.
he gulps. “what do you want?”
“how about you start by returning the underwear you stole?”
all the air leaves hyuck's lungs. fuck—he’d been caught. there was no point in pretending. “it was just once,” he swears. “okay, three times. shit—are you mad?”
you ignore him. “are you enjoying this?” even underwater you can see his growing bulge. “you like the idea of getting caught?” his jaw slackens at your words.
“are we—are we still playing?” hyuck eyes dart to the back door. he can see movement in the kitchen; anyone could come back out and see what was going down—see how pathetically turned on he was.
the last thing hyuck ever expects is for you to tug him by his swim shirt and kiss him. you taste even sweeter than he’d imagined (probably from the watermelon you’d inhaled earlier). his hands find the back of your thighs in an instant, wrapping your legs around his waist. he groans into your mouth at the feeling of you pressing against him.
hyuck kisses you back with such intensity that you forget entirely about your plan. you’re now trapped in his hold, any hope of trying to dunk him washed away as he lewdly sucks on your lips. somehow you’re the one caught off guard here—not the other way around. instead of underwater he was boldly moving his hips in a way that had your head spinning, forgetting all about the the game and your two-year rivalry.
“want to touch you.” he pulls away long enough to whine. “please. i’m going insane.”
you’re breathing heavy. “what makes you think i’d let you after the shit you’ve pulled?”
hyuck’s burying his face in the crook of your neck, kissing and sucking at the skin. “sorry. i’m sorry,” he mutters apologies. “i’ll be good from now on. promise.”
your core is clenching onto nothing, fingers digging into shoulders. maybe you didn’t dislike the though of him getting off to you. maybe when you’d discovered what his sticky hands had been up to, you’d purposefully invited him over to see what he’d do.
“what about the others?”
donghyuck smirks, tongue poking the inside of his cheek; he knows he’s got you now.
“is it bad if I say they can watch?"
a/n: I was going to wait a sane amount of time to post this but somehow it left my drafts so guess it's going up now
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shittysoundcloudrapper!jj was persuasive and he knew it. it took barely any convincing anyway, his pretty best friend was just so whipped for him.
“look all i’m sayin’ is all this could be yours.” he fans the money out, staring you down with the ghost of a smirk as you lounge on his bed. you push your mouth into the corner, considering his offer as you fiddle with the hem of your skirt. it’s not that you didn’t trust jj, you did — you’d just never been so exposed before. his friends would hear this song, strangers would hear this song — you almost couldn’t believe he was asking to record your moans as a backing track for his beat. as you think, your smile grows — the blonde creeping towards you until he’s stood right infront of you, looming over your curled seating position.
“c’mon mama, you smell that?” he caresses your face with the wad of money, running it over your cheek and beneath your nose. “yeah. that’s that paper. hard earned benjys. you wanna help me out, don’t you? know you do.” he cooes and you’re hypnotised, nodding your head with fluttering lashes. it’s times like this he was glad to have you under his thumb.
it’s later on in the evening that things are ready to commence. perhaps when you’d agreed to help jj out, he wasn’t quite clear on the task at hand. yes, he wanted your moans for his backing track — but he didn’t want you stood infront of a mic, awkwardly recreating a scene from pornhub premiums. no, he was after the real deal. authenticity. method acting, so he called it.
“‘cus like, i’on know what’s worse. a chick faking an orgasm when you’re fucking her, or faking it just for the sake of your music. nah, i think… we’re close enough to make the real thing happen. like — for artistic expression… purposes.” he explains as he sets up his little mic, pulling a pair of headphones over his ears to check the sound. “check, check.” he drawls into the mic before nodding in approval.
“so how are we gonna…” you furrow your eyebrows, always having been on the more innocent side of the sex spectrum. before you even get to attempt to verbalise your confusion, the blonde lifts his head — responding like it was no biggie.
“oh, i can totally go down on you. ‘f’thats cool.” his tongue darts out to swipe at the corner of his mouth and you feel your eyes widen. “really you just gotta lay there n’hold the mic. easy as shit.” he shrugs, finally sitting down and looking at you expectedly as you gawk.
“wait, really?” you giggle. you’d thought about it many times, jj maybank between your legs — but now it was all too real, and you didn’t know it would be happening so out of the blue, practically a business proposition. he’s in your space again, cupping your cheek in that way that was far too familiar to just be friendly.
“look — babe, you don’t gotta worry about things being weird, alright? i’m a munch, like actually — aaaand, are you tellin’ me right now, you would say no to a little head? i mean if you don’t want me to eat it you can always y’know, DIY—” he gestures a circular rubbing motion with his middle and ring fingers, alluding to getting yourself off instead. “little dj action. just need the moans to be real. m’going all out director mode here.” somehow, the thought of touching yourself infront of jj was more humiliating — so you shake your head, sucking on your lip in thought.
“no, you can do it.” you whisper and he grins.
“yeah? atta girl. what a team player.” your best friend praises before kissing you quickly on the mouth. something he always did, platonically — but now made your heart speed up a ridiculous amount.
as you lay back shakily on the bed, you think back on the lyrics scrawled in messy handwriting in the notebook he’d leave lying around — the contents pointing to him really being about that eating pussy life. something like ‘sucking all on her clit like it’s my lifeline — she asked to return the favour, already got mine’ underlined in red biro.
it’s a blur after he hits record, kissing on your thighs making you giggle and rubbing you until there’s a wet spot through the cotton of your panties. you know he’s smiling, because you can feel the upwards curve of his mouth when he starts kissing you through the fabric. you’re pleasing him just from letting out the sweetest whimpers, challenging himself to get you to moan louder for the sake of his song.
it’s not long before he’s got you bare from the waist down, legs fanned wide open with his arms round your thighs. by this point, he has to remind himself not to talk as to not disrupt the recording — and you’re doing him proud, not even having to try to release the most breathy, beautiful sounds that he knew would be perfect on the track.
you get pouty as soon as the whole things over, deciding your best friend was a total sicko. he’d gotten all kissy on you, wet lips smushed against yours, his eyes all hazy from arousal as he makes you taste yourself, murmuring about how you did such a good job for him before wandering off shamelessly to the bathroom to jack off. you get shy, still oozing your release onto his grey-blue bed sheets thinking back on the way you begged him to talk you through it. he was focused on his producing, but he couldn’t resist on whispering “there y’go pretty mama. lemme hear it, good girl.” whilst you cream on his mean fingers.
no one seems to think it’s a big deal but you, his friends john b and pope often lazing around his place smoking weed and playing on the playstation, totally unresponsive to jj sat sprawled on the couch with his laptop on his lap, chopping and editing away on some shitty producer plugin — your moans occasionally playing around the room as he clicks away, tongue between his lips in concentration, backwards cap snug over messy blonde strands.
the boys chime in with an occasional comment. “sounds dope, man.” pope hums out brainlessly as he stares at the tv, thumbing aggressively at the console joystick, the brunette beside him quick to agree.
“no yeah, sounds good.” he agrees, eyes even darting towards where you’re curled on the couch painting your toenails, trying to seem nonchalant about the whole thing.
when he drops the song, he promotes it everywhere — and whilst you asked for no credits for your… addition, it seems to go without saying that you’re the girl on the song, no one else even in question as wherever jj goes you’re seen hanging off his arm. his friends might not make a big deal, but you notice the stares when you go out.
rafe cameron has the audacity to corner you at the juice bar, wearing a smirk that just told you that he knew. “yeah uh, love your friends little song.” he stares you down, egging on a reaction. “been playin’ it on a loop for some reason.”
you avoid his eyes. “yeah, it’s pretty good.” you shy away, but he blocks your path.
“mm, for sure, yeah but uh, you— you know i could have sworn i recognised the… female voice in the back. got any idea who that might be or…?” his smirk only grows, licking his lips as he looms over you.
“nope…” the doe eyes give you away.
“huh, ‘cos it kinda sounds like a pretty girl i know.”
you run and tell jj, all sniffly and regretful — knowing that snitching on rafe to jj is only going to cause problems. his reaction is less defensive and aggressive than you imagined, instead leading you through to his bedroom by the waist.
“look, bae — people are gonna talk, alright? doesn’t mean shit. sure as hell don’t care about what rafe thinks.” he sits you down, standing above you as he curls a hand under your chin affectionately. “but hey, if the money wasn’t enough— think i can make it worth your while. y’wanna lay down for me, sweets? no mic this time. jus’ me and that pretty pussy.”
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Second Chances 18+
Yandere! Older! Damian Wayne / AFAB Reader
> romantic, 18+
> tw/cw: dub-con, manipulation into sex, gaslighting(?)
> request: Can we get damian gaslighting and manipulating a fem reader into sex when she tries to leave him please :? Like the typical "we've never talked about (insert issue) you know I wouldn't keep doing it if I knew it was upsetting you" and "let me make it up to you"
> a/n: this reader is captain fix-a-hoe i can't
> word count: 2187
> damian wayne is 21
You crane your neck away, but he takes it as an invitation.
“Damian, I…” you struggle.
His hands slide forward underneath your arms, kneading your chest. It does feel good, you regret to admit.
“Okay, okay,” you sigh, trying to inch away but his hands drag you back once more. Not by force, just by suggestion. By pulling the invisible strings that play your body like a fiddle, and it seems this morning Damian wants it to play his favorite song. You shrugged on your flimsiest robe on your way out of bed this morning, and nothing else. So here you were, paying the consequences.
“Mm, maybe later, Damian. I have–” you gasp at a wandering digit “–to run errands today.”
You hear a huff, feel an exhale hit the shell of your ear.
“Errands? Where? With who?”
The questions, absolutely dripping with disdain and suspicion, make something in you snap.
“Oh, that’s it– I want to break up!” you cry out, throwing your hands up. You bound out of his hold, whirling around.
Damian flinches backward as if struck. He had snuck up behind you in the kitchen, peppering kisses along the column of your neck. A sweet gesture, but too little, too late. Fuck waiting until you were better prepared – better scripted – to break up with Damian. You just can’t take it anymore.
Damian stares at you in disbelief.
“You... What?”
You sigh, annoyed at the squeeze of your heart at his dismayed expression. Life as Damian’s girlfriend had been great at first. Like, really great.
Despite his surly exterior and sharp tongue, Damian proved to be nothing less than devoted, adoring, and awfully caring. He was giving and generous. During dates and every minute besides, he was a perfect gentleman. None of your exes had ever opened doors for you. Or pulled your chairs out. Or guided you gently through a crowd of paparazzi with a protective hand on the small of your back.
Maybe it was his unique rich kid training that made him the perfect lover for you: the presence of a British butler in his developmental years paired with the strict assassin upbringing. Or maybe, as your friends claimed, you simply had standards below sea level and were lucky enough to fall for a man who could throw money around without blinking.
You didn’t listen to them, didn’t question your good fortune. You had been glad Damian was in your life. You had been.
“I want to break up,” you say, nearly a whimper. You look away from his shell shocked face. He must have seen this coming, right? How could he not see this coming? You two seemed to barely be getting along these days.
You recall green eyes narrowing after a glance over your outfit. “... I never liked her,” from a sneered lip, when you mention you’re going to your friend’s birthday party. The guilt tripping that occurred once you got home. The unsaid accusations of entirely untrue infidelity. You recall many more instances identical to that. How draining it all was. How you rarely seemed to go anywhere without hesitation, a niggling feeling bidding you to see how Damian felt about it first.
Without missing a beat, Damian’s jaw hardens. He folds his arms.
“You want to break up,” he responds in a clipped voice. “Why.”
‘Why,’ he asks. Though it was hardly a question. He was demanding you answer for yourself. Answer for your crime of daring to maintain agency in your life. How dare you dump him? You narrow your eyes.
“You… you isolate me,” you say, folding your arms and mirroring his stance. You wish you could get angrier. Damian could really bitch out in an argument when he wanted to. Fights felt more balanced if you decided to get angry too. If you didn’t let him kick you around. But any lingering fury has simmered into hurt at this point. Decayed into you prematurely grieving a good thing gone bad.
“You accuse me of things. You don’t trust me! Or worse, you do trust me, and still want to monopolize me because I’m something you own. I… That’s not good,” you blurt.
Damian isn’t moved. He taps his foot, and your eye twitches. “Is that all?” he says.
Perhaps you did have enough anger, after all. Before you can curse him out, Damian takes a step forward, like a piece on a chess board.
“If I had known I would have stopped. Immediately,” Damian presses, not looking very apologetic or thoughtful. He instead looks determined. He seems entirely like his old self, at the very beginning of your then-tenuous friendship. That was three years ago, and you liked to believe he had grown a lot since.
You roll your eyes. “Okay. Good to know,” you return flatly, unsure what he expects you to do with that information.
Another step, and he grasps your arm. Had it been anyone besides him, you would’ve felt fear. But Damian – for all his faults – could never hurt you. Even if he already has, you think drily.
His grip trails down to your hand, and brings it to his chest, above his heart. Your own heart skips a beat at the gesture. “I would have. You’re everything to me.” His heart beats under your palm. It beats for you, he always liked to say.
You cringe. Not at his words, but because of how they’re said. Damian wields them like a weapon. And they’re effective. You already feel guilt begin to fester.
You swat your hand away, scoffing and shaking your head. “It feels like half of the time, you say that to make me feel like shit. It’s… it’s manipulative.”
“Manipulative? So every time I’ve said I… care for you, you felt manipulated?” He looks at you, in a pitiful expression crossed between crestfallen and offended. You sigh, exhausted. That’s not what I meant, you want to interject, but he continues. “I feel… very deeply. For you.”
Even now, sharing his feelings was hard for him. You feel proud that he’s trying. You feel angry that he’s trying. You feel angry that you’re the bad guy. The croak in his voice makes you want to reach for him, but...
“Feelings… feelings aren’t enough,” you say mournfully. You hug yourself, because you need one. And giving one wasn’t his place anymore.
You two stand in silence in his kitchen, which you’ve shared together for a year now. You glance around. You spy your colorful cooking sets, corny His-and-Hers aprons that hang beside the pantry, the photos of you two at Wayne family holiday parties stuck to the fridge, and other paraphernalia.
You haven’t even left yet, but already you can see the ghost of you that will haunt this house. The hollow chill of guilt sweeps through your body, but you ignore it. You instead tread to one of the kitchen barstools under Damian’s watchful eye and settle on the seat.
“I’ll… I’ll stay at a friend’s,” you say, fighting admirably to keep your voice from cracking. “And I’ll have all my stuff packed within a week.” And you can keep the cat, you want to jest, but you luckily were born blessed with the skill of reading the room. Damian blanches, as if realizing, finally, what you were saying.
“You’re leaving.” God, his utter shock was not making things easier on you.
“We fight all the time now, Damian,” you reason, almost pleading with him. Why was he making this so hard? The entire situation seems so … undignified. ‘Unlike him,’ is what most people would say. But no, this is entirely like Damian. Always deceptively more delicate than what meets the eye. Always trusting you to hold his heart gently. Not rend it to pieces. Guilt swirls once more, while Damian’s shock yields to insistence.
“We fight because we’re in love,” he asserts. You are in awe of his cheeks flushing - what a pure display to be had during a break up. “People fight when they’re in love. Sometimes.” You frown, knowing he’s referring to his father’s failed relationships. What great role models, you scoff inwardly. You had zero desire to emulate that dysfunction.
“... Don’t you?” he says, a desperate lilt in his voice. You bristle. “... Love me?” And the way he says it breaks something in you.
You respond, the words like ash on your tongue, “Of course I... I do love you, Damian. But–”
“I love you, too,” he says quickly. “... so please, don’t leave.” You start to get up from your seat, unable to withstand anymore of this, when Damian falls to his knees in front of you.
You fill with mortification that Damian may start begging. And you don’t know if you can withstand that. He’s Damian Wayne. He who does not beg.
“... Please,” he begins, as if the word was physically taxing. For him, it probably was. Damian bows his head, dots kisses on the expanse of your thighs. Each kiss is loosening your resolve. Each a balm over bitter wounds.
“You haven’t given me a fair chance to correct myself. That… that’s not fair. That’s cruelty,” he whispers, along with other such mutterings that drive knives into your heart.
How heartless you were being. Were you going to give up on him so easily? Had he not shown he could change? The guilt swarms into an evil, dark monster. One you know you cannot defeat. You throw back your head, trembling from his butterfly kisses.
“Let me… let me make it up to you,” he says after he finds you writhing under his lips. You don’t know what to say, mesmerized by the need in his eyes and the promise in his words. “I can be better. I will be better.”
No, your mind begs you to say.
Yet looking into those green eyes, lost in its dark forest, you can’t deny him.
“... Okay,” you condone. Your okay is barely audible, weak and helpless like pollen in the wind. But it’s enough for him. It’s going to be enough for you, too. It’s okay. He’s going to change. He knows if he doesn’t, you’ll leave. You’ll leave.
You sate yourself with these thoughts, numb to Damian’s continued affection. You finally do realize he’s still licking at you, when a pair of hands gently separate your knees.
“Damian!” you exclaim, snapping your knees shut. Your robe flutters with the action as you look at him with disbelief. “D-Damian,” you say. His eyes flutter open at the calling of his name. You sharply inhale at the lustful glaze over his pretty eyes.
“Let me show you how deeply I feel for you,” he requests.
But you know this is … strange. Maybe even wrong, if the uncertainty in your gut meant anything. You had just agreed to mend your relationship. You didn’t need the throes of an orgasm to complicate and muddle your feelings.
“... Please.” His voice mutters into your thigh. You’re so close you feel the vibration of the sound, and your skin prickles over with goosebumps. That’s the third ‘please’ he’s said within the hour. It's usually three a day. “Unless," Damian says, brows pinched, "you do not want me anymore.” The look on his face makes you feel sick.
You don’t know how you can ever leave him in good conscience. Damian’s grown, yes, but he’s still that confused, frustrated boy from when you met. Still searching for acceptance and belonging.
“Yes,” you blurt. “I want you, but–”
“Then, ‘but’ nothing. You are mine.” You fill with heat, from irritation as well as arousal. It’s not as though you’d stopped being attracted to him, after all.
“I–” am not yours, you begin to combat, when Damian licks a hot stripe up your cunt that makes your mind blue screen.
“And of course, it goes back the same way. I am yours.”
Damian lowers his head, wasting no time in suckling on your clitoris. He knows exactly how you like it, after all. Your hands leave your side and find his hair. You pull on short raven locks, enough that it’s probably painful, but Damian doesn’t protest.
Damian hikes your legs onto his shoulders, and he’s off to work as if you hadn’t been about to break up with him just ten minutes ago. You feel whiplash. It’s all back to normal. You’re together. He’s between your legs. And despite his administrations feeling great, amazing – it also somehow feels like punishment.
He may need you, but you need him as well. Only he can make you feel like this. Only he has ever made you feel like this. The heavy tongue that’s probing into you, the hands whose thumbs draw circles on your skin – they’re his. The pressure building in your body, the pleasure being wrought from you – he causes it. The devotion, safety, security and love you have in your life – it’s due to him.
When you eventually finish in his mouth, you come with a whimper, eagerly being lapped up by the boy before you. He's right. You do belong to him.
And a growing part of your mind is having a hard time finding that so wrong.
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Unwanted: Chapter 21, Unacceptable - Pt. 2
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Fem!Reader
Summary: When your FWB relationship with your best friend Bucky Barnes turns into something more, you couldn’t be happier. That is, however, until a new Avenger sets her sights on your super soldier and he inadvertently breaks your heart. You take on a mission you might not be prepared for to put some distance between the two of you and open yourself up to past traumas. Too bad the only one who can help you heal is the one person you can no longer trust.
Warnings: (For this part only; see Story Masterlist for general Warnings) Language, Non-explicit sexual content (some over-the clothes stuff)
Word Count: 1.5k
Previously On...: Bucky saw you leave with Steve last night. He saw Steve leave your room this morning. And now he sees you wearing Steve's shirt. Of course, there's only one conclusion he came to.
A/N: A flashback!
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As soon as you and Steve got into the elevator to head down to your room, you were all over each other. Hands and lips exploring every inch of bare skin you could find. You barely managed to make it to your bed before you were unbuttoning his shirt, tossing it to the floor as your hands ran over his muscles.
“God, Pocket,” Steve moaned as he sucked into the skin of your neck. “Want you so bad. Wanted you for so long.”
You didn’t answer him, just moaned as his hand began snaking its way up your thigh to cup your covered heat. You stayed like that for a bit, kissing one another as Steve’s hand rubbed against your sensitive clothed flesh and you palmed him through his pants.
“I’ve been dreaming about this for so long, doll.”
The word, coming from Steve’s lips, froze you, your entire body tensing up as though you’d been caught doing something you weren’t supposed to. Sensing your loss of enthusiasm, Steve pulled away.
“Calling you ‘doll’ was a mistake, wasn’t it?” he asked, running a hand through his sandy hair.
Coming back to yourself, you put your face in your hands. “I’m so sorry, Steve, I can’t do this. You’re drunk, I’m high as fuck… it would be a huge mistake we’d both regret in the morning.”
Steve sighed, repositioning himself to sit up against your headboard. “Part of me says ‘fuck, let’s make a mistake,’ but the part of me that I know I’m going to listen to knows that you’re right. Besides,” he added, “as much as I lo– care about you, I don’t want to hurt Bucky.”
“Ugh,” you groaned, hitting your head against the headboard with a crack, “don’t say his name. I don’t want to think about him.”
Steve readjusted his positioning so he sat facing you. “What the hell happened between you two, Pocket? One minute, you’re both the happiest I’ve ever seen you, and the next you’re screaming at each other from across the conference table.”
You turned to face him, skeptical. “You act like he hasn’t told you everything already,” you said, not buying his ‘I know nothing’ act.
Steve shrugged. “He hasn’t. When the two of you started dating, he and I, we, uh, we made a promise that we weren’t going to talk about it, about the two of you.”
You rolled your eyes. “Oh, cool, so you just acted like I didn’t fucking exist?”
Steve looked abashed. “No! Not at all; I’m sorry– I should have worded it better. What I meant was, we didn’t talk about your relationship. Bucky knew how I felt. He loved you too much to step aside–not that I ever would have asked him to, anyway! But he didn’t want to rub it in my face, so he kept it private. He didn’t want to cause me pain.”
You snorted “Wish he would have afforded me the same courtesy,” you grumbled.
“What happened, Pocket?” Steve asked again.
You thought about it for a moment, torn between wanting to share the truth with someone who cared enough to ask, but also wanting, in a weird, sick way, to protect Bucky from having his best friend think any less of him. But you didn’t owe him anything anymore.
So, you told Steve everything.
You told him about the weird way Bucky had fixated on Jade’s profile when Tony had first presented it, how he had made so many sweet promises to be the best goddamned boyfriend, yet had broken them again and again.
You told him about Jade’s increasing demands on his time, and how he couldn’t seem to say no to her, his claims that he was only interested in getting to know her as a friend because of their shared Hydra history.
You told Steve about the sparring match you witnessed, the intense, almost sexual energy between them, and the way other agents had picked up on it. About the way he left you, alone and forgotten at Central Park. How he stopped in the middle of having sex with you to answer her phone call. How you begged him to understand how it was making you feel, but he promised you there was nothing there, that you were being irrational.
You told him about that horrible night when he’d brought Jade’s kinks into your bedroom, and the words he’d spoken because she told him that’s what she liked to hear. And you told him about what you found in his texts, about what happened between them on the Russia mission, how he had come home after and made love to you, had lied to you, betrayed you. You told him everything.
When you were finally done, Steve stared at you in silence for a moment. Eventually, he spoke: “I… I had no fucking idea, Pocket. I am so, so sorry.”
You shrugged. “It’s my own damned fault,” you said. “I should have never even slept with him in the first place. I let him break my heart over and over again, because I loved him so fucking much, and I was so scared of losing him. I did this to myself.”
Steve gently (for him, at least) knocked your shoulder with his own. “Hey,” he admonished, “stop that. You’re not the one who lied, who cheated. God, I can’t believe he would do that to you. He had the most perfect, amazing girl, and he just– Sorry.” Steve’s cheeks turned a shade of red. “If it makes you feel any better, I don’t think he loves her, or has any real feelings for her, not the way he does for you, anyway.”
You tilted your head. “It actually doesn’t, Steve. I could almost understand it, if he loved her. You can’t help who you fall in love with. But, if he did all this, without having any real feelings for her? It just means that he didn’t actually give a shit about me, doesn’t it? He was willing to give up everything we had, willing to break my fucking heart, for someone he didn’t really care about.”
“I don’t think it’s that simple, Pocket,” Steve said with a sigh. “I’m not making excuses for him, but Bucky’s been through literal hell. More than we’ll probably ever know, because there are things he just won’t share, and there are things his psyche remembers, but his waking mind never will. I know that, with Jade, Bucky thought he finally found someone who could truly understand all the trauma he’d been through, all the agony. It’s one thing for him to tell you or I, but we can never really get it. I think he came into this looking for a friend, and she was looking for something entirely different.”
You thought back to the suspicions Sam had voiced after the disastrous mission that had left Rhodey so gravely wounded. “Are you saying you think she has some kind of ulterior motive here, Steve?”
Steve looked at you, puzzled. “No, of course not. I just meant– I think she saw him, and she wanted him. I did end up watching the security footage from her tour, you know.” He smirked at you. “I heard what she said about him. I think that she saw an opening, a way to get close to him, and she took it. She used it to do whatever she could to drive a wedge between the two of you, and push him closer to her.”
“He’s not a puppet anymore, Steve” you spat. “He has agency. He’s responsible for his own actions.”
“I know,” Steve said placatingly. “I’m not saying he isn’t a complete dumbass. He made some terrible decisions. I’m just saying I think he had some bad influences working on him that may have pushed him in a certain direction he never would have taken without them.”
“It doesn’t excuse anything,” you told him, crossing your arms over your chest. “It just means I can’t trust him. That he doesn’t deserve me.”
“I’m not arguing with you, Pocket,” Steve said. “I’m just… I’m just trying to understand where he was coming from, why he would do something like that, when I know for a fact he loves you. Wants to spend the rest of his life with you.”
You scoffed in an attempt to hold back the tears that you were afraid were on the way. “Well, he sure has a fucked up way of showing it,” you said with a sniffle.
“Hey, come here,” Steve wrapped his arms around you and pulled you to his chest. “It’s okay. Let it out. This is a safe space, you don’t have to put on a brave face for me.”
And you didn’t. You let yourself cry all the tears you’d been trying to bury inside of you since you read those horrible text messages. You cried for what you had, and what could have been. And Steve Rogers, beautiful, amazing friend that he was, held you through it all, despite the fact that he was in love with you, and you were shedding tears for another man. He held you late into the night until you both drifted off into a fitful sleep, though for two entirely, very different, reasons.
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If your still taking requests can you write an platonic Bruce and Damian x Female reader.
Summary: Reader is working at a coffee shop one day,until bruce takes his son Damian out for coffee and meet the reader that was taking their order. They start acting strange when meeting her because she looks like Bruce's late wife Talia(Damian mother). They end up stalking and kidnapping her.
Ooooo I love thissss. I'm inspireedddddd. Okay, imagine this:
You switched shifts with your work bestie. It was well worth the sacrifice, especially since it's an oddly dull day. Rain was no stranger to Gotham, but this storm is something else.
The door's blown open multiple times, the entire front nearly flooding in an instant until you shoved it shut. At least you have something to do now. Your mind wanders to what the hell you're having for dinner tonight. Should you steal a muffin before leaving and catch up on the show you're watching? Maybe a movie would be better, less chance of binging multiple seasons throughout the night-
DING
Turning around, you move to close the door, but you're shocked to see a large person (?) enter the store. The father is completely soaked, black hair flat against his head despite the hat he's wearing. Then he pulls his coat open, revealing a completely dry boy.
Your heart melts instantly. That's so adorable.
"Welcome in! Glad to see you survived the storm," you joke, hoping to lighten the mood. The poor man looked like he needed it.
"Barely," he smiles, placing his coat on the rack. "London fog for me, with milk, and he'll have-"
"I will have the same, but with oat milk. Whip cream on the side... extra whip cream," his son interjects. His father raises a brow. "Please and thank you."
"You are very welcome," you smile, crinkling your eyes so they can see it behind the face mask. You lean forward, pointing to the table in the corner. "That's the warmest spot in the front. I'll bring out your drinks soon."
"I didn't-"
"On the house, now go warm up," you say, shooing them both off. "You'll get sick."
The boy goes to roll his eyes, but they catch yours. There's a flash of recognition in his green orbs, a hint of sadness dripping into it before he recovers. He nods dutifully and sits in the corner.
His father on the other hand stays put. He places a twenty in the tip jar, and you can only huff out a laugh.
"Defeats the whole purpose of 'on the house' but I won't stop you."
He chuckles, "Consider it a thank you. Our driver's stuck in traffic and you're the only one open."
"I'm surprised you can see the open sign at all out there. I haven't seen a storm like this since the defrost from that Freeze attack a few years back."
"I remember that one, pretty sure we had to renovate the sewage system."
"It's a good one. We haven't had a bad flood since."
There's a lull in the conversation. You look to your right. His son's staring at you from afar, that same haunting look in his eyes. Your heartstrings tug at that. What does he see that makes you familiar?
"Your little man over there is looking lonely. I'll get these drinks started."
"I'll leave you to it."
He steps away, his stormy blue eyes lingering on you for a bit too long. He joins his son at the table, their conversation hushed. Not like you can hear it anyway with the rain.
The London Fogs... check, but your mask got drenched when water splashed all over you. That was your last one, too. It's fine, not like you'd be interacting with a lot of people today anyways.
Now, this last part is really going to make or break this kid's day. Grabbing a small dish, you take out the whip cream and create a HUGE swirl of it. He's going to love it.
Minding the still wet floor, you place their tea cups on the table. "Here you are, and last, but not least, your extra whip cream. Hope you like it."
They remain in the shop for the rest of your shift, waiting out the storm until you have to close. Walking back to their table, you collect their dirty dishes. "I'm closing early. You still have some time, but I hope your driver arrives soon."
You smile at the boy, but as soon as your eyes meet the man's you finally recognize him... Bruce Wayne? Man, the storm did a number on him if it rendered him unrecognizable.
He shakes his head. "Multiple accidents, everyone's stuck until the rain clears. How're you planning on getting home? I hope you're not driving."
"No, no, I don't think I can be trusted to drive in this city," you joke, taking a step back. "It's only a little walk."
"More like a swim today," the little one snarks, wrenching a snort out of you.
"Good thing I'm here 'til close."
The air shifts at that. You're not sure why, but the warmth from the vents disappearing tells you everything right before the lights go out.
"Great," you sigh, blindly placing the dishes back onto the table. "Give me a moment, let me check-"
You feel a sharp pain in your neck, stumbling into the next table over as the rain becomes deafening. All it takes is a simple shove and your balance is gone, the floor raising to hit you in the face. Or was it you falling into it?
"She looks just like her."
"Yes, Damian, she really does."
BOOM and I thought I couldn't write anymore. Couldn't really fit the stalking in here, but c'monnnn use your imagination. Bruce and Damian probably saw this as a chance to finally get you.
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I keep thinking of naoya making a fool of himself around y/n and y/n just being confused (idk) like he tries to get her to like him but it doesn’t turn out well😭 , idk if that made sense sorry!!😔
Hello!!
Awww this was really sweet to think about, however I got confused in the end and made it somewhat of a happy ending lmao.
Well, I still hope you like it!! (If anyone wants angst tho, I do recommend reading my valentine's day special. But I too been wanting to write something heart clenching for a while, might get onto it....)
warnings: highschool au. naoya likes you but he doesn't know how to approach you. he is ridiculous.
Happy reading!!
A silly Naoya is more like an overconfident Naoya, the type of guy that will never stop bragging about ANYTHING just to make you look his way.
It's certainly worse when he's barely starting to acknowledge his feelings, getting to that point where he finally says "I think I like her."
To stand out and get your attention is something Naoya never thought he'd need to do, simply believing that his title as heir of the Zen'in and his outstanding achievements as sorcerer would've done the trick—but they didn't, and now, he had to put in the work.
Thus, the borderline ridiculous demonstrations of his persona, courtesy of Ranta's advice; though if it’s worth anything, this is not what he envisioned.
"Can you believe he didn't want to accept my assignment only because I didn't hand it over in a folder? That's so stupid, can't wait to get him fired as soon as I—"
"Wait, Naoya, Y/N's coming!"
"ANYWAYS I WENT TO THE MALL THE OTHER DAY TO THIS LUXURIOUS STORE AND BOUGHT JUST ABOUT EVERYTHING THERE AND STILL HAD MONEY TO SPARE, GEE WHY IS EVERYTHING SO CHEAP NOWADAYS??? AND PEOPLE STILL COMPLAIN ABOUT THE ECONOMY!! I JUST WISH I HAD SOMEONE TO SHARE ALL MY MONEY WITH—did she look??? Did she turn around to see me??"
Ranta sighs.
"No."
"Ughghhhhhhh what do I need to do to make her see me?!"
Though frustrated, he does not give up.
"—yeah, I think we're going to this super expensive resort for the weekend. I personally preferred to travel out of the country, but you know how my father is, lazy as always. If it were up to that old man we’d never leave the—and now??? Did that work?? Is she looking??"
But the results are the same.
Naoya would keep on trying, loudly proclaiming things that in his mind would eventually earn him your interest, or at least a simple glance….
Until he, eventually of course, tires himself out. Sorrowfully finding that his endeavors had been nothing but fruitless as you continue living your own life, without Naoya in your consideration.
You’re slowly becoming someone unreachable to his grasp, and while he doesn’t plan on giving up just yet, he does intend to take a break, maybe reconsider his possibilities… before coming to a conclusion where you might not be involved anymore.
And what better way to clear his mind than indulging in one of his favorite activities—secluding himself at the rooftop of the school building to read the newest release of his favorite manga.
Unaware that someone else might be there, coincidentally… the person he wished nothing more than to be with.
"What are you reading?" You'd ask upon noticing the intense stare of the young, somewhat handsome man, he’s giving his magazine.
"Do you mind? I'm bus—o-oh!" He freezes upon realizing it was the girl of his dreams talking to him, cheeks burning red as he closes the manga and looks away. “Don’t—Don't you know it's rude to sneak up on someone like that?!"
"Ah, sorry!" You chuckle, slightly embarrassed. "I didn't mean to startle you, it's just that you looked so concentrated, I couldn’t help but to be intrigued! Is your story really interesting?"
"...it is" Naoya murmurs, gaze returning to you—he almost glances away yet again at your closeness, but your beauty makes it almost impossible to do so. "It's the latest chapter, I waited a whole month to read it."
“A whole month…?” you repeat. “Wow.”
“Yeah, it was a long time—"
“Hmmm, not quite.” You teased. “I’ve waited years just to see the continuation of my favorite series! Talk about dedication.”
“Huh, well, I don’t think it’s the same—this felt worse because of how good it is.”
“Really? I don’t know, I can’t believe you—I have to see what you’re reading for that. You grin, he smirks.
“Is that so? Then don’t let me stop you from finding the truth.”
And Naoya happily obliges, both excited to share one of the things he enjoys the most with the person he adores most, as well as the fact that you’re finally setting your eyes on him! After all this time!
He considered it to be incredibly unexpected, and perhaps a bit silly how it came to be, unable to believe that it took so little to impress you.
But as soppy as it sounds, there is truth in admitting that there is no better way to get someone to like you, than by being yourself.
omg that was so fluffy agkjasjghasjkghjsa cheesy too ahahahahah damn I surprised myself for sure!!
Rest assured, you heard Naoya do all of those things and consistently thought "Is he ok? Why is he yelling?"
After the two begin to date you'll tell him how weird it was of him to do all that hahahah though... "You didn't have to do that, I already liked you." Naoya feels even sillier :^)
Anyways, I hope you liked it!! I'm sorry this didn't end up in a sad note, I read the request very quickly and ended up understanding you only wanted an interpretation of Naoya being silly—though I do want to write something sad between the two, him messing up and all that. Luckily, I have the perfect excuse for that through other asks hehehehehe
Thank you so much for sending in this ask and for your patience!! Take care, and hope to see you soon ❤️❤️❤️❤️
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Pairing: Stranger/Stranger (Adrinette, but they don't know that)
Words: 4k
Summary:
“Can I kiss you?”
It's costume theme night at the local bar, and Marinette finds herself a bit entranced by a pretty stranger wearing cat ears. She thought she would be content just watching, until Alya suggests she asks for just a little bit more.
Marinette chewed on the edge of her fingernail, trying not to be too obvious as she peered across the bar at the stranger on the corner.
They had met on the dance floor not too long ago, and she had been having trouble looking away ever since. He was attractive, despite the obnoxious cat-eared beanie tight over his blond hair, drawing her towards him in a way she really hadn’t felt in, well, ever. At least, not towards someone she barely knew. Not since the breakup.
The liquid in his delicate cocktail glass was dyed pinker by the spotlight he stood under, so she couldn’t tell if he was actually drinking anything as passion fruit-flavored as the color, or if it was just straight liquor. Her breath caught as he removed his hand from the water-beaded surface, lifting it to adjust the thick-rimmed specs he wore and reminding her of the sparkling green eyes she’d spied earlier.
Blond hair. Green eyes.
She wondered if it was some cosmic joke that this always happened to her.
Even the cat ears were suspect, but she was trying her best not to acknowledge that.
A hand landed on her arm, and she jumped before realizing it was Alya returning from the bathroom.
“Still staring?” Alya asked. She had forgone her eye glasses that night for the sake of ‘accuracy,’ providing Marinette a clear view of the humor glittering through her friend’s hazel eyes.
Marinette sputtered, readjusting the skewed heart-shaped sunglasses over the bridge of her nose. “Wh– What? Staring? Staring at who– I mean— Staring at what? Because obviously I’m not staring and even if I was I wouldn’t be staring at anyone, certainly not anyone handsome and charming and—”
Alya interrupted Marinette’s spiral with a laugh. “Right, right, right.” She shook her head, the red curls bouncing across her bare shoulders. “You weren’t staring at the guy you danced with earlier, and you haven’t been nervous and jittery ever since. I imagined all of it.”
“Yes.” Marinette nodded sagely. “Thank you, exactly. It was all in your head.”
Alya simply hummed, turning to get the bartender’s attention and ordering the two of them another round. With her friend distracted, Marinette couldn’t help but let her eyes wander again. The stranger was now scrolling through his phone. Oh no. Was he calling a taxi? Checking train schedules? Was he leaving?
Pain blossomed over her thumb and the taste of metal hit her tongue as she bit down just a bit too hard.
“Marinette!” Alya hissed, pulling Marinette’s hand away from her mouth and quickly wrapping it in a cocktail napkin. “What are you doing to yourself? Do you want to get kicked out?”
She was sober enough to feel the embarrassed flush cover her cheeks. “Sorry.”
Alya’s barely concealed eye roll was colored with humor. “You should just go over and talk to him.”
Marinette blinked owlishly. “And say what?”
“Ask him for a kiss.”
“What?!” She knew her shriek was loud enough to disturb the patrons on either side of them at the bar, but all she could hear over the pounding of the bass was the blood roaring in her ears. “Why would I do that?”
Alya just laughed. “Look at you” —she waved a hand at Marinette’s napkin wrapped finger— “biting through your nails because you can’t stop thinking about how hot you are for him.”
“I– I–” Marinette faltered, her mouth feeling like it was stuffed with cotton the more she tried to move it. “I am not.” At Alya’s raised eyebrows, she tried and failed to come up with another reason why not. “I– You know I’m not like that!”
“Normally, yeah,” Alya replied, shrugging, “but there’s nothing wrong with having a little fun, just this once.”
Marinette swallowed.
“And have you ever been so attracted to a stranger in your life?” Alya continued. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this wound up. Not since Adrien, or Luka, or– actually–” She stuck a finger in the air as if the thought had just struck her from above. “No, not Luka; it’s more like with Chat N–”
“Stop stop stop!” Marinette cut her friend off, throwing a hand over her mouth to stop up the words.
Alya licked her palm in objection.
“Ew! Hey!”
“You are so silly, M,” Alya laughed as Marinette pulled her hand away and dramatically wiped it on her shirt. “It’s not weird to have a crush on a superhero.”
Marinette chewed her lip, traces of the watermelon drink she’d had hours ago still tasting in the corner of her mouth. “You know it was more than that.”
A hand patted her shoulder. “Of course I do, but the point still stands.” Alya grinned, as sly as her own superhero persona would imply. “You deserve one night to not care. Treat yourself. You need to cut loose after, well, you know.”
Marinette couldn’t deny that since she had presented it, Alya’s idea was sounding more and more appealing. Though maybe that was the vodka talking. Or the desperation.
“He sure seems like your type after all,” Alya pressed, squinting her eyes as she studied him. “Tall, pretty, charming... blond.”
“Green eyes, too,” Marinette added, despite herself.
“What?” Alya laughed. She reached out a hand, flicking the frame of Marinette’s sunglasses playfully. “You could tell through these bright pink abominations?”
Her face warmed in embarrassment. “I may have, sorta, practiced discerning colors on my posters of Adrien with them before,” she admitted. She lifted her shoulders in a shrug. “His eyes look the same.”
Alya laughed again, full and delighted. “Marinette! Oh, there’s no one like you,” she said, grinning. “Now you really have to do it. I’m convinced it’s fate.”
It did feel almost divine.
Alya squinted once more, and Marinette wished her friend had listened to her when she told her to wear her glasses anyway. “He even kinda looks like—” She cut herself off with a hum, shaking her head. “You deserve to get out there again anyway. It’s been ages and I kinda think you need a rebound.”
Marinette wasn’t sure if she fully agreed with that statement, but she wasn’t exactly in the mood to broach the subject and down the mood.
“What if he laughs in my face?” she asked instead, sticking her lip out in a pout. It was meant to look cute, so maybe Alya wouldn’t push so much, but the fear was very much real. Sure, she and the stranger had had an amazing conversation, and their chemistry had been more intoxicating than her drink, but he was still that— a stranger. There was no telling what might happen if she walked up to him and asked for something so daring as a kiss.
“Marinette, look at me,” Alya said, placing both hands on either of Marinette’s shoulders. “You are hot. You are cool. And he is totally into you.”
Was there any explanation for the way her heart leapt straight out of her chest?
“Into me?” Marinette repeated. “What makes you say that? Are you sure?”
Alya smirked dangerously. “Well, don’t look now, but I may have caught him taking a few glances over here while your back was turned,” she explained.
Marinette, of course, looked. Her head turned at just the precise moment to catch his gaze in her own, and sure enough, the stranger’s jaw momentarily dropped upon making eye contact. He recovered quickly with a sweet smile, raising his glass in a cheers motion from across the bar.
Alya sighed, shaking her head. “Well, at least there’s another sign for you,” she said, amused. Grabbing Marinette’s shoulders again, Alya turned her back around to look at her face-to-face. “See? Repeat after me: I am hot.”
A bit dazed from the encounter, Marinette could do nothing else but exactly what Alya asked. “I am hot,” she repeated.
“I am cool,” Alya continued.
“I am cool.”
“He is into me.”
She choked, the last phrase a little rougher on liftoff than the others. “He is, guh– into me.”
“One more time, all together.”
Marinette closed her eyes, taking in a deep breath. She regretted it, as the smell of sweat and hops stung her nose. But the intake of air managed to ground her, all the same.
“I am hot. I am cool,” she chanted. “He is into me.”
“Yes!” Alya cheered. “Good job!”
The mantra was like a magic spell. Marinette opened her eyes, suddenly energized. Her stomach pitched a little, but it was full with excitement.
“Two cognacs,” the bartender announced, jolting Marinette from her reverie.
“Merci!” Alya picked up a glass, pressing it into Marinette’s hands with cool insistence. “Drink this, and then get over there!”
Marinette obliged, downing the drink in two big swigs. The alcohol no longer burned the back of her throat, settling in her stomach with a pleasant warmness. She replaced the glass on the bar with a firm clink, then sucked in another deep breath, wiping her upper lip with the back of her hand.
“Okay,” she said under her breath, hyping herself up. “Okay!”
“Go!” Alya gave her one more push, spinning Marinette around and pressing the heel of her hands into her shoulder blades. “Your prince charming awaits,” she sang.
Marinette stumbled forward, unsteady from Alya’s shove, but she quickly regained her bearings. Her blood pumped faster in her veins as she approached the other end of the bar. She swore she could feel every fingertip throbbing with her own pulse as she got closer.
Just a little kiss.
Plenty of people did that.
(Although, it wasn’t something she had ever considered doing herself.)
It wasn’t... weird to ask.
And like Alya had said, he was into her. The stranger probably felt the exact same magnetism she had. He would want to kiss her.
Right?
Steeling her nerves, she stood behind him, watching him swirl the liquid around in his glass. His head tilted towards where Alya stood by her lonesome on the other side of the bar, and Marinette’s heart skipped a beat in her chest as she wondered if he might be looking for her.
She smoothed down the synthetic purple wig as best she could, and adjusted the collar of her leather jacket. She almost wished she could dart off to the bathroom for a final appearance check, but she knew she would lose all her built-up confidence if she did. With butterflies brushing the insides of her tummy, she reached out a hand, tapping him twice on the shoulder.
The stranger turned, and she thought she might let herself believe his face really brightened when he saw her.
Nervously, she waved. “Hi.”
“Hey, Clara,” he said in a soft voice, somehow still audible over the loudspeakers. His smile was sweet and reserved. Her throat tightened up. “I was hoping you’d want to talk again.”
Marinette felt like the breath was stolen right out of her lungs. “You– You did?”
A hand reached behind the back of his neck in what must have been a nervous tick— yet another similarity to more than one of the loves of her life, oddly enough. “Yeah, I mean—” Was that a hint of red on his cheeks, or were her glasses fogging up again? “You– Uh, I loved dancing with you.”
The smile pinched her cheeks. “I loved dancing with you, too,” she said. “I had a lot of fun.”
“Wait a second,” Marinette said, her mind finally catching up to the last 60 seconds. “You called me Clara. I didn’t—?”
His mouth twitched into a grin. “Your outfit,” he pointed out. “Inspired by Clara Nightingale, right? From the ‘Heartbreak Disco Baby’ video?”
“You recognize it?”
The stranger’s face seemed to light up, even in the darkness of the bar. “Of course!” Marinette watched agape as his eyes scanned up and down her body, dare she say, appreciatively. “I’ve only watched that video about a million times and this is a perfect recreation.”
Pride swelled in her chest at the praise. “Thank you,” she replied. “I do take my costuming very seriously. My best friend even dressed to look like Sonia Auclair from that video.” She gave her loose hair a flip over her shoulder as she took the moment to seize up his outfit as well. “And you are—”
“Dressed at the very last minute,” he supplied bashfully. “I wasn’t exactly planning to come out, but luckily I had this beanie.”
“It suits you.”
His smile seemed genuine at her compliment. “You really think so?” he laughed, playing with the edge of the material. “Thanks.”
He was adorable. She bit her lip against the rising heat on her face.
“Heartbreak Disco Baby,” he repeated thoughtfully. “That doesn’t mean you’re a little heartbroken, are you?”
Adorable and considerate.
Now or never, she thought.
“Can I kiss you?”
As soon as the words left her mouth, her chest seized up. She said that. Oh god. She really said that.
The stranger’s face blazed a delightful shade of red, and Marinette wondered if they would match or clash were someone to compare the two of them. “Sorry,” he coughed. “I think I might have misheard you?”
She could run away. Back out right now, and save herself the mortification. Unfortunately, a flash of movement on the other side of the bar caught her attention, and she was met by Alya fluttering her fingers across the way. Marinette forced down a swallow.
“I asked to kiss you,” she repeated clearly.
When he only continued to stare at her, face crimson and eyes wide, Marinette slipped dangerously close to panic mode.
“Forget it!” she practically screeched. “You don’t have to do that—” She cut herself off with an awkward laugh. “I just— whew! Is it hot in here? I just— My friend over there told me I need to cut loose, and she told me to just go for it because I, well, I mean you’re very pretty— and we had chemistry…? Oh god, I said that— I mean, no, I stand by that, we do—” She covered her mouth, eyes wide in horror over her spew. “I swear I haven’t had that much to drink,” she admitted, rubbing her temples. “Sorry, I’ll go.”
“Okay.”
Marinette froze, slowly drawing her gaze away from the floor and back to the stranger’s face. “What?”
He rubbed the back of his neck again, the redness of his face having faded to a lovely pink that blended with the colored shades of her glasses. “Okay,” he said again. “I’ll kiss you.”
“You- You– uh. . .” Words didn’t seem to want to come to her rescue.
Luckily, the stranger did. He eased off away from the bar, facing her fully as he took her limp hand in his. With a gentle tug, he guided her to step closer towards him. “Is this okay?” he asked, his warm tone sending her heart fluttering.
She nodded almost too vigorously before she finally managed to rouse her tongue. “Yes, yes, it’s okay.”
This close, she could smell his cologne, a cluster of warm linens and nutmeg that sent a pang of recognition down her spine. His chest was firm and radiated a comfortable warmth that Marinette felt she could fold into. She followed his eyes as they dropped down to her mouth and back up again. Goosebumps raised over her skin as his hand glided up her arm, his face an image of patience. Until it changed to panic.
“Wait, oh no,” he gasped. “You’re not–”
“What?” She tilted her head in confusion, not really sure where this reaction had come from.
His mouth was a worried line. “Have you been drinking?” he asked. “Because I’m sober, and I don’t want to be taking advantage of you–”
Marinette cut him off with a snort. “I promise you, I am completely of sound mind, when I do this.”
Riding the sudden wave of confidence, Marinette mirrored his earlier movements, allowing her hand to trail up his arm and over his neck, warm skin beneath her fingertips. As she gently cupped his cheek with her palm, she pressed up on her tiptoes, rocking forward to sear her lips to his.
His breath fanned her mouth as he gasped into it, truthfully without a hint of the taste of alcohol, and his lips were pleasantly warm and plush against hers. She found herself quickly sinking into it, especially as a hand landed on her lower back and held her steady. Her other hand dove into the hair at the back of his neck, teasing the soft strands in rhythm with the glide of their kiss.
It was more than sparks and explosions and fire— all things she never expected she would feel while kissing a complete stranger.
She couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something achingly familiar— comfortable, her mind supplied— about the pressure of his mouth on hers, and the little hums she could feel vibrating over her skin. Despite herself, she cracked open her eyes and studied his face as he continued to kiss her.
Green eyes. Blond hair. Cat ears, puns, those lips. Her heart almost seemed to stop as she realized she knew exactly why the sensation was so familiar. She had felt this kiss before. It could only be Chat Noir, she realized, warmth flowing between her shoulder blades.
She pulled away, just a centimeter to breathe between them. “Mon Chaton?”
He blinked open dazed eyes, blinking at her as if waking up from a dream. “Chaton?” he repeated. His eyes widened. “My Lady?” His voice was breathier than she was used to hearing it, and it sent a thrill up her spine.
“It’s you.” She almost wanted to laugh. “No wonder we fit so well together.”
It only took a few seconds for her partner to recover from his dreamlike state. He grinned his cat-like grin. “We’ve always been the purrfect team, after all.”
“Oh my god,” Marinette groaned, pressing her lips to his once more to shut him up. However, his mouth remained shockingly slack against hers. She pulled back. “What’s wrong?”
Seemingly dumbfounded, he replied, “You kissed me again.”
Oh god. Oh, god. He didn’t want to kiss her now that he knew. She was such an idiot.
“I’m so sorry.” Hastily, she tried to push away from his chest, only for him to grab her wrists and prevent her escape.
“Wait, no. I just–” His mouth worked wordlessly, endless green eyes searching her own. “Are you sure you want to be kissing me? What about—”
“Adrikins!”
Marinette froze in place, the familiar voice sending a chill up her spine— one that was cold and bruising, rather than warm and thrilling tingles that her partner had sent up and down her back all night.
Her hands went limp, still caught in Chat Noir’s hold, as the spray-tanned arms of Chloé Bourgeois wound around his neck.
Chloé, dressed in a flowing gown that did not at all match the whimsical costumes in the bar, immediately launched into complaints, current company left unnoticed, or rather ignored. “Thank god, I finally found you,” she cooed. “I can’t believe you left me there with that cousin of yours and Tsurugi. Ugh.”
A pained expression flashed Marinette’s way before her partner turned his head to meet Chloé’s powder blue eyes. “You had Zoé, too, didn’t you?” he asked her.
“Ugh, you know I would rather it be just us two.”
Marinette was rooted to the spot. It felt as though her brain was misfiring in about a billion directions. And yet, somehow all those directions ended at the exact same destination: the stranger before her.
A stranger, she was realizing, that was not so strange after all.
In fact, this was probably a person she knew better than she ever thought she had.
Because if she added everything she knew up, carried the two, and multiplied by three, well...
It seemed like Chat Noir was Adrien Agreste and the two (three...?) loves of her life were actually just one.
Nervous green eyes peeked at Marinette, as if to check that she was still there. The redirection of his— Adrien’s, oh god— attention finally drew Chloé’s eyes east, and if Marinette thought she could make it out of this easily, she was quickly corrected when an appalled groan filled the air.
“Dupain-Cheng?” Chloé stuck her nose up in the air, somehow glaring at Marinette through only the corner of her eye. “What are you doing with her? I thought you two broke up.”
“It’s complicated,” Marinette said, at the same time Adrien burst out “Marinette?”
She took one look at his face before immediately casting her eyes away again, an angry red blush overtaking her cheeks.
What the hell what the hell what the hell.
She found herself almost wishing for an akuma alert to save her. Except, no. No, she didn’t, she realized, because she would still have the same man right there with her.
“Marinette?” Adrien repeated again, voice sounding almost far away, even in a room where her ears were already blocked from the loud music.
Shyly, she met his pleading eyes, pushing her sunglasses back up and onto the top of her head. His jaw all but dropped open as he watched her, recognition flitting through his eyes.
They were quite the pair, weren’t they? Marinette could have laughed. A pair of glasses and neither realized that they were talking to their own ex. And the fact that she had recognized Chat Noir’s kiss, but not Adrien’s... No. Nope. Not going to unpack that.
Chloé glanced between them, a look between disgusted and bored plastered across her face. “What’s with that reaction?” she asked. “Listen, if you’re getting back with this weirdo, I–”
“Chloé!”
Marinette had no idea where Alya had appeared from, but she had never been so happy to see her best friend throw an arm over the other girl’s shoulder. Chloé physically recoiled under Alya’s touch, attempting to lean away, but to no avail.
“Césaire,” she grunted.
Alya grinned, unbothered by the less-than-enthusiastic response. “Oh my god, it really is you! I could barely tell; forgot my glasses, silly me. How’ve you been?” she asked. “I want to hear all about the new campaign.” Over her shoulder, she threw Marinette a wink.
The realization that Alya was providing her a way out burst across Marinette’s skin. In a flash, she had wrapped her hand around Adrien’s wrist, bodily dragging him through the crowd and away from their classmates. He came along willingly, only slowing down to dodge around drunk patrons that stepped between them.
Eventually they found themselves comfortably alone in a quiet hallway leading to the bathrooms. The hallway was much brighter than the main floor, illuminating all of Adrien’s features in a way that she couldn’t believe she had missed before. Marinette looked up at him in question, squeezing his wrist tight between her fingers. “When did you get back?” she asked, too desperate for the answer to pretend like she wasn’t.
He looked worried. “Just tonight. I– I wasn’t sure if you wanted to see me.”
“Of course I did,” she murmured. She realized she had said it too quietly to be heard over the speakers when Adrien kept going.
“Everyone was asking questions.” He pressed a hand against his forehead, twisting her heart with it. “And just talking so much about my dad and England and... I don’t know. I– I had to get out.”
Her breath caught. She began running her hand up and down his arm to try and soothe him, saying, “I know, kitty, I know.”
“Zoé mentioned you and that’s when I realized I had to make a break for it.” He ducked his head shyly. “I should have figured I’d run right towards you.”
Marinette huffed out a laugh, her earlier conversation with Alya about fate and divinity seeming oh so relevant now. She let her hands rest on both his cheeks. “Yeah, seems like we’ll always be in each other’s orbit, doesn’t it?” she asked. “I just can’t seem to ever let you go.”
His eyes went shiny, and she wondered if he was about to cry. “Do you really mean that?” he asked, covering her hands with his own.
Her shoulders dropped with the tension she had been carrying. “Of course I do,” she replied, running her thumbs over the dark circles beneath his eyes. “I’m sorry about that night. I just didn’t want you to leave and I didn’t know how to say it.”
“I didn’t want to leave either,” he said with a watery smile. “Are you disappointed you didn’t get to kiss a stranger?”
She used her thumb to brush one errant tear away from his eye. “Considering I’d rather be kissing you, anyway?” she teased. “No, I’m not disappointed at all.”
His mouth twisted into a wry grin. “Not even about...?” He glanced back and forth down the hallway, as if checking for any listeners, only to look back at her with just an eyebrow waggle to voice his concerns.
Marinette giggled again. “Come here, kitty.” With a gentle tug, she guided his face down to hers, kissing him all over again.
If you enjoyed, consider dropping a kudos or comment on Ao3! <3
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Distraction: David Hale x Reader (NSFW)
Tagging: @kmc1989 @hatersaremymotivators @bennykk @kelpies-shed
Companion piece to Graffiti and Crime Wave
David is a distraction.
A big one.
You can feel his gaze on you as you transition into warrior pose, arms stretched up above your head as you shift your weight to your left leg, the one that’s positioned in front of you.
Currently he’s sitting in your bed, the sheets pooling around his bare hips as his back comes to rest against the headboard. The newspaper he was reading rests in his lap, forgotten.
“You’re hard again aren’t you?” You murmur, the edges of your lips twitching up into a smile as you hold the pose for ten seconds.
“Maybe you should come over here and find out.” He suggests with mischievous look in his eyes.
“After I finish this routine.” You promise and he exhales audibly as you move into the dancer.
This is his favourite pose, the one that really gets him going and he shows you how much by wrapping his hand around his cock and stroking it slowly. Already you can feel the heat building between your legs, the seam of your leggings rubbing in just the right place.
“You aren’t playing fair.” You say as you hold your pose, counting down the seconds.
“Neither are you.” He comments, his voice a little rough as he thrusts up into his palm.
There’s a flush creeping up his neck already and fuck, it gets you off seeing him like this. He knows it too, it’s in the way his chin juts up as he meets your gaze, his teeth biting down on his lower lip.
It’s a test of wills, who breaks first.
His jaw clenches, his head tipping back against the wall as he watches you.
“Fuck, you see what you do to me?” He mutters as his cheeks turn pink. “Don’t even have to be touching you and I’m about to come all over myself.”
It’s those words that make you crack, the knowledge that you can do this to him, that he lets you. He smiles as you approach him, that shit eating grin that says he’s won and it isn’t until now that you realise just how much you’ve come to love it, how much you love him.
He has you on your back, his lips on yours before you’ve barely climbed on to the bed. Every one of his kisses feels like sunshine on your skin as his calloused palms chase over your body, undressing you until your naked underneath him. He grabs the base of his cock, guiding it to your moist core, the tip positioned in just the right place.
“Are you ready for me?” He whispers, his lips brushing over yours.
It always comes down to this, that moment where he asks because for David this is always about you, your comfort, your pleasure.
“Always.” You murmur and he sinks in slowly, filling you until he’s buried all the way to the hilt. His mouth covers yours, stifling the moan that leaves your throat. Your fingers entwine as he begins to move in long, slow strokes, every single one raking over that deviant little sweet spot.
The ecstasy, it crashes through you in waves, each one washing over you, drowning you until the only thing you can focus on is the sensation of David inside you, loving you.
When the fall comes it’s all consuming, it steals away your breath, your sanity and everything else in between as your thighs tighten around David’s hips, drawing him deeper. He moans into your mouth, his release spilling inside of you as you grip him so fucking tightly it feels like he’s losing his mind.
His kisses are messy, languid, his hands caressing you every inch of you because he knows it’s intense when you’re with him, that you need to feel grounded in the aftermath.
The men before him, they never cared for you, they never loved you, not the way that he does. He tells you that as he lays there tangled up in you because he can’t hold back any longer. He can’t imagine a future without you in it.
“I love you.” He whispers, his thumb ghosting over your cheek as he looks into your eyes. “I have since the moment we met.”
Love David? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.
Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee
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But Daddy, I love him!
Written for @corneliaavenue-ao3's The Tortured Potters Department - Several Sunlit Daylights Fest
Ginny is extremely pleased with herself for having somehow managed to turn the candles in her room back on. She hasn’t done it on purpose, of course, nor has she premeditated it - she simply squeezed her eyes shut, wishing so very hard that she didn’t have to go to sleep, and upon opening them, she found her room dimly lit again. She’s started to display her first signs of magic lately, and she’s very proud of having caught up with her brothers in that regard, of being one step closer to them. Sometimes she finds herself dreaming that, if she keeps up with this pace and maybe if she manages to practice a bit, she’ll receive her Hogwarts letter early and she’ll be able to join Bill and Charlie there…
A gentle knock on the door distracts her from her thoughts, and her father enters the room, his glasses slid down the tip of his nose, his smile drowsy.
‘Ginny,’ he sighs, but still looking at her fondly. He seems to have decided to ignore the candles that are inexplicably lighting the room. ‘Shouldn’t you be asleep already?’
Ginny shrugs, a wry smirk painted on her face. She’s relieved that it’s her dad who’s found her still awake, rather than her mum. Her mum would hush her back to bed, not wanting to hear a single word - but with her dad, she knows she has more leeway, she knows that he’ll sit with her and watch her until she falls asleep.
‘Can you tell me the story of the Boy Who Lived?’
Her father sighs again, as he approaches her bed and sits down next to her. She scooches over, trying to leave as much space as she can for him to be comfortable.
‘Why do you like that story so much?’
‘Because,’ says Ginny, taking a big breath. ‘Well, because I love him, Daddy!’
Her dad’s eyes are bewildered as he lets out a hearty laugh. ‘Oh, you do now, do you? And why’s that?’
‘Because he’s all alone, his Mummy and Daddy died and he doesn’t have any brothers or sisters,’ replies Ginny, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. ‘Mum said that he needs everyone’s love, so maybe I can give him some, too.’
Her father looks at her tenderly, almost in disbelief, as if he’s wondering how they’ve managed to raise such a kind and loving soul.
‘You know what, Ginny, I think you’re quite right. I’m sure he could use some love from everyone.’ he tells her, gently stroking her hair. ‘Come on now, lay down properly and I’ll tell you the story.’
She beams at him, and soon falls asleep to the sound of words she knows too well; words about a dark-haired boy, a lightning scar, and the sheer power of love.
-
The storm has finally ended, and now a thick, shiny blanket of snow covers the orchard at the Burrow like a layer of frosting on her favourite desserts. She’ll be able to play outside tomorrow - building snow wizards and witches or snowball fighting with her brothers, and hopefully someone will enchant the snowballs just to add a little more fun to the game. But Ginny - elbows on her desk, head held between her hands, her eyes fixed outside the window - isn’t particularly excited about the prospect, or excited at all for that matter. Quite the contrary, actually - she is really, really furious with her brother for spending his second Christmas in a row away from home, leaving her alone once again. It was bad enough, last year - but, at least, her parents had taken her to Romania to visit Charlie, and she had become used to Ron’s absence anyway, so she had stopped holding a grudge relatively quickly. This year she’s home, and everyone else is home too, but Ron has chosen to stay at Hogwarts. He was not forced by the circumstances, or else - it was his conscious, deliberate choice.
The truth is that she’s not just angry about Christmas, but about the whole stupid term, too. After spending every single day of their lives together for ten years, and after waiting for twelve exasperating months just to join him, Ron has barely ever spent any time with her at school. She’s quite sure that he’s even tried to avoid her intentionally on a couple of occasions. To make everything much worse, it’s been rather challenging for her to make new friends this year - which is odd, she reckons, considering that she’s normally very outgoing and fun to talk to. She’d hoped that Ron could’ve helped, that’s all. But his new circle of very important friends doesn’t seem to have a spot for her now, and certainly it doesn’t help that one of these friends is -
Her heart sinks in her stomach. Somehow, she can’t shake off the strange feeling of disappointment over Harry not being here, either. She’d wished she were able to spend more time with him outside of school; she had even rehearsed a couple of things to say in his presence, and she was sure, so very sure, that she wouldn’t have blushed this time. Well, it hadn’t been her idea, actually, but she’d been positive it would’ve worked this time. The only friend she’s been able to make this year has assured her of that.
A casual knock on her door startles her, but she doesn’t turn around to check who’s entered her room. She knows all too well that only her father would bother to knock on a door that’s been left open anyway.
‘Ready to come down, Ginny?’, she hears his voice say, confirming her suspicions. ‘Or do you intend to keep sulking up here for a while longer?’
She feels a little embarrassed by his question but, when she turns around to look at him, she finds with slight relief that his glare isn’t harsh or judgemental.
‘It’s not fair, Dad!’, she complains. ‘Why did you let Ron stay at Hogwarts for the holidays?’
‘He wanted to keep his friends company. I think that’s actually very nice,’ her father calmly replies. She knows that by his friends he really means Harry, because she reckons Hermione has a nice family to go back to. Although, it’s rather weird that she decided to stay, too - maybe she also wanted to keep Harry company? She bitterly concludes that she doesn’t know, nor she ever will, because nobody tells her anything, nobody includes her in anything, she’s always left behind.
‘Harry could’ve come over too, couldn’t he?’, she then asks without thinking.
‘Well, of course we would’ve been happy to have him, but I’m afraid it’s a little more complicated than that.’
Not knowing what he means, she feels suddenly irritated, almost as if her father intended to suggest that Harry didn’t want to spend Christmas at the Burrow because of her. That would make sense, actually, given that she hasn’t been able to behave like a normal person every time they’ve been in the same room. What if she’s annoyed him beyond repair? What if he… hates her now?
‘But I really don’t understand why Harry wouldn’t want to -’
‘Maybe we should leave Harry and his business alone for the time being, don’t you think?’, suggests her father gingerly.
Another wave of humiliation rushes through her body, as she feels that her father’s just simultaneously exposed and dismissed one of her deepest secrets. But she has to defend it, doesn’t she, she has to stand up for herself -
‘But Daddy, I love him!’, she shouts, yet flushing, feeling more ashamed than ever.
Her father gives her a puzzled look, his lips pursed together in a thin line. ‘Don’t be silly, Ginny,’ he says matter-of-factly. ‘Come on now, go wash your hands, dinner’s almost ready.’
Ginny gives him another sheepish look as he leaves the room without uttering another word, but she doesn’t obey straight away. Instead, she quickly grabs her diary like it’s a magnet, suddenly feeling the urge to let out all her frustration, shame and dejection.
I love him, but nobody believes me, she writes, warm tears filling up her eyes. Nobody understands.
Within a few seconds, her words made of ink sink into the rough paper, and new ones slowly emerge in that all-too-familiar fashion.
I do understand you, Ginny, they read. I am the only one who does.
-
It almost feels surreal - to be home. To eat properly, to rest, to finally lower her guard; to escape from all the secrecy, the plotting, the sneaking around, and, well, yes, from all the punishments, the physical strain, and the emotional abuse.
She hasn’t realised how drained she’s felt until she sinks in her favourite plush chair in the living room of the Burrow, surrounded by her family, feeling warm again. She even manages to avoid the prying eyes, quietly dozing off for a little while. But then she’s awakened by a soft thump - something small and smooth has been thrown into her lap.
‘Is it true, then?’, asks George, while she examines the familiar coin he’s passed on to her. ‘Have you reinstated the D.A.?’
Before she can answer, her mother glares at her with fire in her eyes.
‘I should hope not, Ginny.’
Ginny feels a sudden rush of annoyance tingling her body. Always the last, always protected, always underestimated. Always meant to be left behind.
‘Of course we have,’ she says mildly. ‘They’re torturing children for fun, you know.’
‘And what do you do when that happens?’, argues her mother sharply. ‘Do you take their place?’
As she does not reply, her mother’s expression changes from indignation to pure horror, her gaze darting quickly between Ginny’s face and that faded blue turtleneck jumper she’s wearing for the first time in years. She’s noticed, then.
‘Take off that jumper, Ginny.’
‘No.’
‘I said,’ her mother pleads, now shouting in fury. ‘Take off that jumper, now!’
Ginny isn’t really sure whether her refusal stems from her desire to spare her mother from further suffering, to protect her from the cuts, the bruises and scars she carries on her body like medals; or whether it comes from her own pride, her will to show that she, too, can fight.
She storms off to her bedroom, slamming the door, and she’s surprisingly left alone long enough for her to lie down and enjoy some quiet, exhausted by her own anger. Her bed feels softer than she could remember, her room like her only sanctuary in all the chaos.
The knock on the door she’s been expecting is weak and hesitant, and her father enters the room cautiously, almost as if he expects something to explode at any moment. She takes advantage of the silence to observe him, to register every new line around his mouth, every new wrinkle around his eyes. He seems to have aged years in the span of just a few short months.
She raises her back and sits on the bed, still saying nothing. He breaks the silence first, watching her gravely, cutting straight to the chase.
‘Has your brother asked you to do this, Ginny?’, he asks, unable to fully conceal the bitterness in his voice. ‘Or Harry, for that matter?’
She shivers at the sound of his name, her eyes are now burning, but she doesn’t lower her gaze.
‘No, of course not.’
Her father exhales heavily, as if releasing a tension he’s been holding in his chest for Merlin knows how long, and sits down next to her on the bed.
‘Why do you do it, then?’, he asks her plainly. There’s no judgement in his voice, no resentment. ‘Why do you put your life on the line like that?’
This is when she immediately looks away, feeling a strange lump in her throat.
‘Why do you do it, Dad?’, she barely manages to say, her voice shaking.
He sighs again, defeated. ‘You should lay low, Ginny. You’re already very much in danger as it is, being a Weasley. No matter all the stories we’ve made up to cover for Harry, Snape knows that our family is close to him, and that means you as well.’
Ginny scoffs. A few months ago, she would’ve found such a comment insulting, belittling, maybe even a little heartbreaking. But now she’s so full of it - she’s so full of having to endure people passing judgements on what she is or isn’t for Harry, so full of having to pretend that they are nothing, so full of being scared to death that she’ll end up convincing herself, too. She can’t resist the urge to laugh at the absurdity of it all - or, even more so, the urge to let it all out, to say it exactly as it is, because she doesn’t owe it to anyone to remain on the sidelines, not her mother, not her father, especially not Harry.
‘Oh, it’s much worse than that,’ she hisses, her sarcasm tainted with pure spite.
Her father gives her a quizzical look. She fixes her glare on him now, her voice no longer shaking, her eyes no longer stinging with tears.
‘I love him, Dad,’ she says, then lets out another high-pitched laugh. ‘It’s sickening, isn’t it? It makes me fucking sick.’
He looks at her, transfixed, too appalled to scold her for her language. After so many years, it still surprises him. But there’s something different in the way she’s said it now, something that wasn’t there when she was five or eleven years old. Acceptance, disillusionment, anger, sadness. Maturity.
His eyes glimmer as if he’s just finally laid the final piece in one of his Muggle puzzles, and the full picture finally comes to life. He seems, somehow, to understand it all at once.
‘And he loves you too, I suppose?’
Ginny feels a familiar, but long forgotten heat creeping on her cheeks. For a short moment, it feels good to blush again.
‘I reckon he does, yes,’ she whispers. Those words feel weird exposed to the real world - she’s never acknowledged it out loud, and Harry certainly has never told her. Hers is just a hunch, a gut feeling, maybe an innocent hope, something she’s never dared to question. Now that she’s said them, those words don’t lose their meaning, as she feared they would - rather, they resonate even stronger in her, they just click, everything falls into place, but they don’t make her nearly as happy as they probably should have.
‘Don’t worry,’ she says bitterly, before her father can say anything. She reads it all over his face - the doubt, the concern, the suspicion. She shrugs. ‘He’s already taken care of it.’
For a short moment that seems suspended in time, they look at each other - a daughter that’s had to grow up way too soon, a father who’s understood that there are things he cannot shelter her from.
He then awkwardly pats her on her back, stands up, and leaves her room in silence, at a loss for words.
She, for one, is grateful that he hasn’t doubted her heart this time.
-
Their wedding is a rather small affair.
The marquee that had been previously used for Bill and Fleur’s wedding feels bigger than ever, now hosting barely thirty of them between their massive family, a handful of grandchildren, and their closest friends.
It has been Ginny and Harry’s desire to throw a modest party in the orchard, without making too much fuss, avoiding lavish and crowded celebrations. After all, the saviour of the Wizarding world marrying an internationally renowned Quidditch player is exactly that kind of event a horde of journalists and curious onlookers would throw themselves at, like a swarm of bees on a honey jar. So they’ve decided to keep it low and simple - just like their whole romance, after all.
If it were for Ginny, she would’ve got married wearing Muggle clothes somewhere deep in a forest, standing on a random rock, for all that she cares. But she didn’t want to rob her parents of the joy of walking their only daughter down the aisle, or her brothers of the opportunity of celebrating their only sister on one of the happiest days of her life. And Harry has happily obliged - ultimately, it is his family, too.
‘I just want to marry you,’ he said once, grinning madly, his green eyes flashing like the day he kissed her for the first time, that tenth of May of exactly five years ago.
And so here they are now, under the marquee, everyone either dancing, running around or mingling, champagne bubbling in their goblets (‘I’d still fancy a posh drink at my own wedding, thank you very much’), married at last.
Ginny smiles as she watches her (she feels heat all over her body to even fathom the word) husband trying to dance with her mother, his new mother-in-law, who is sobbing rather uncontrollably on his shoulder, dampening his new elegant robes. Harry has the most loving look in his eyes as he gently pats her on her back, and Ginny can’t help but notice that he’s a little choked up, too.
She’s so mesmerised by the two of them, so full of love, that it takes her a while to notice that her father has joined her, and is now staring at her with a knowing look painted on his face.
‘What?’, she laughs.
He grins at her tenderly, putting an arm around her shoulders.
‘You love him, don’t you?’
Ginny lets out another laugh. ‘Oh, d’you reckon? Whatever gave it away?’
Her father smiles again, wider this time, squeezing her tightly.
‘You might have mentioned it once or twice.’
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Fav lines game 💫
rules: share your favorite lines or paragraph you've written from one of your fics, posted or wip.
thanks for the tags @bidisasterevankinard @diazsdimples @tizniz @daffi-990 💖
since I'm indecisive and, like Stevie, do what I want, I'm choosing lines from each of my 'ships
Buddie - from honey, when you call my name
It’s okay. Eddie can ask for this. He can want this. Isn’t it just one of the (many) points Frank’s been trying to get across? That he doesn’t have to settle for the bare minimum of whatever life hands him? That he can request and desire and, most importantly, receive. And anyway, it’s Buck. Who would be more enthusiastic to give than him?
“I, uh, want you to have me,” he whispers. “I‘ve never. Not with another person, but. I want you to.” Jesus Christ, for all the confidence he started with he sure can’t seem to find any now.
“It’s okay if you haven’t. If you’re asking what I think you’re asking.” Buck presses a kiss to his hair. “You can have it. But I need you to ask me.” Another soft kiss, so light that Eddie could have imagined it. “Need to be sure.”
Eddie squeezes his eyes shut tight, only for a second though. Because he wants Buck to see, and maybe he wants to allow Buck to see him, here in this sacred space they’re creating. He tilts his head back, baring himself. Offering himself up for Buck to take.
Lutalia - from stay here honey (i don't wanna share)
“You’re not getting soft on me, are you?” Nat teases. “I might start thinking you want me for more than just my body.”
Lucy snorts and rolls her eyes. “This is a one-time thing. Don’t get used to it.”
“Well, if you’re interested…” She trails off, tracing a finger down the center of Lucy’s chest, over her abdomen, and dragging the sheet down as she goes. She pauses to rub the heel of her palm over Lucy’s neatly trimmed patch of coarse blond curls. Nat’s gaze turns darker, hungrier. Like she’d eat Lucy alive, which doesn’t seem like such a terrible thing. “I don’t mind going back to something more familiar. You know, in the spirit of putting you at ease.”
“How very altruistic of you.”
David/Patrick - from I know all your secrets
“Don’t go.” The words are barely more than a whisper. Still, David may as well have screamed them for as raw, vulnerable and hollowed out as he feels. He bites down on the inside of his lower lip, a pitiful, broken attempt to hold himself together. If Patrick wants to leave, David won’t stop him. He’ll stay frozen in place, stone faced and unyielding, until Patrick is gone.
Once upon a time he would have tried for nonchalant, but that act is no good anymore. Patrick doesn’t just mean something to him now – he is everything. Anything less and David will crack, bleeding his emotions everywhere until there’s nothing left.
Twylexis - from the with my heart in my lap wip
Twyla steadies herself, maintaining her hold on Alexis so they’re almost walking as one down the sidewalk. She’s a comforting line of warmth huddled against Alexis’s side. Her cheeks are pink and flushed from dancing, and her lips curl up in a satisfied smile.
“Wasn’t that fun?” Twyla stops abruptly to look up. “That was fun.”
“Yeah, doll. It was,” Alexis assures her, tapping a finger to the tip of Twyla’s nose and indulging in the soft chuckle it earns her.
“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather have gone with Tommy? He was having a really great time dancing with you.” Twyla’s giddiness turns to something more subdued and vulnerable that makes Alexis’s heart twist and ache.
“No, Twy.” Alexis presses a kiss to the crown of Twyla’s hair, then tilts her chin to drown in a mesmerizing sea of green. “Trust me when I say there’s nobody in there for me.”
np tagging @stereopticons @shortsighted-owl @eddiebabygirldiaz @actuallyitsellie @filet-o-feelings
@queerbuckleys @bi-buckrights @chaosandwolves @elvensorceress @fortheloveofbuddie
@bucksbiawakening @giddyupbuck @saybiwithme @honestlydarkprincess @hoodie-buck
@indestructibleheart @jesuisici33 @kitteneddiediaz @thekristen999 @ladydorian05
@lemonzestywrites @lizzie-bennetdarcy @loserdiaz @loveyouanyway @monsterrae1
@rmd-writes @shipperqueen6 @spaceprincessem @spotsandsocks @statueinthestone
@slightlyobsessedwitheverything @steadfastsaturnsrings @the-likesofus @theotherbuckley @thewolvesof1998
@vanillahigh00 @watchyourbuck @weewootruck @welcometololaland @wikiangela
@wildlife4life @your-catfish-friend @mrs-f-darcy @drowsy-quill @a-noble-dragon
@blackandwhiteandrose and anyone else who wants to 😘
ps: if you want tagged in stuff like this click here
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take me in your tender arms, roll me in the dirt
Sypnosis: It's not love, but Gage will take what he can (and remain in deep denial).
spotify play lover's dream by saints amongst sinners
[title is from cover me in roses in holden laurence]
word count: 1.3k
“Fuck, this party is boring,” They sigh, leaning on the counter and taking a swig of their beer. They were in the kitchen of some house party, the sound of some Spotify EDM playlist thumping in the background.
Gage glanced over, peeling away at the sticker of some off-brand beer, condensation dripping down his hands. “Yeah,” He chuckled, eyes darting to them, “We should’ve known the minute we heard this music. It’s downright tragic.” His eyes follow the curve of their smirk, searching for approval.
‘Down, boy. Your tail is practically wagging.’
Gage quickly averts his eyes, paying close attention to the way the ceiling light hits his beer bottle. He could barely look in their eyes most of the time, breathtakingly beautiful and full of promises. But now, when they were dressed in some tight top that left little to the imagination and showed just enough skin to leave him craving for more, Gage feared bursting into flames if he looked at them too long.
“I thought that parties now would be better than those booze-fests in high school but God,” They sigh, running a hand through their hair, “This is somehow worse. It smells like sex and artificial fruits everywhere.”
“That’s the vapes, I think. All the rage nowadays.”
They wrinkle their nose, “Fuck, that must be it. God, I can’t believe I got dressed for nothing.”
“I mean you look good,” He nervously forces out, taking a swig of his beer to fuel his confidence, “And maybe I could, uh, give that outfit the attention it deserves. Could think of a few ways to make it worth your while. Upstairs, maybe.”
They return the look with a surreptitious smile and throw back a sip of their own beer, letting the question linger in the stale, suddenly too-quiet kitchen. “Yeah? And just what do you intend to do to me upstairs, mister?”
It’s a game they play, sometimes at a frat party, sometimes when they message him in the middle of the night to come over, and they spend the hour making “small talk” before they inevitably end up in bed again. Always playing coy, dancing around what they really wanted. Teasing him and pushing him until he took the final step. It made Gage’s head spin.
“Oh? You want me to say it here? In the kitchen?” He feigns disbelief, placing his beer bottle down, placing it on his chest in astonishment, “You absolute heathen!”
Mocking, joking, in an attempt to break the blatantly brewing sexual tension.
He’s still learning to get over his people-pleasing propensities, learning to ask for what he wants directly and accepting the consequences. But it’s a work in progress, and when faced with his friends-with-benefits that he’s not in love with, his resolve crumbles and all he knows is to beat around the bush, to laugh off any sense of intimacy between them, to hide any semblance of yearning on his part.
“Hmm,” They smile, enigmatic as the Mona Lisa. Putting down their beer and moving to face him, they crowd him against the countertop, pressing their barely covered chest to his, eyes slowly dragging up, lingering, very pointedly, on his lips before meeting his gaze, “Me? A heathen? You’re the one who’s been staring at me all evening, don’t think I haven’t noticed.” The words whispered against his lips, softly, their lips grazing against his for the briefest of seconds before pulling away, like it was a secret only for the both of them.
Cause at the end of the day, that was all it was, wasn’t it? They were each other's dirty secret, whispered under the loud music of a frat party, said in the silent looks sent across the room. And Gage was fine with that, really, he was. The physical satisfaction of feeling them close to him, sending waves and waves of pleasure coursing through him, sneaking out of their room even before the sun had risen, hiding away in closets and watching them flirt with other people, just for him to end up in their bed again. He was absolutely ok with that.
That’s what he tells himself, at least, as he surges forward, closing the distance between them with one hand cupping their face, the other dropping down to their waist, removing any semblance of space between them.
They move in tandem, lips moulding and bodies pushing against each other. God, they tasted good, like beer and passion and wanton lust. He was addicted to the taste, addicted to them, their hands roaming his body, their body grinding against his. An erotic display of bodies moving against each other, grasping desperately where they could, tiny gasps and moans entirely too inappropriate for the back of some frat boy’s kitchen.
They part, eyes still closed, his lips desperately chasing theirs. “Shall we, uh, adjourn to the bedroom, my liege?” Even now, even when they’ve made clear their desires, will he continue to hide the hopeless pining of his heart. Because this isn’t what he wants, not really, no matter how much he lies to himself, tells himself otherwise.
He wants to kiss them because he wants to, wants to kiss them over morning breakfast, wants to be greeted with their sweet smile when he comes home from work, wants to learn the quiet, intimate, inconsequential details of their everyday life, wants to become so intertwined with them that he teetered on the very edge of losing himself.
Most importantly, he wanted them to love him the way he loves them.
But that’s for another night.
For now, he revels in their breathless chuckle, letting them pull him through the throngs of drunkards into some random’s bedroom. There, they push him onto the bed, grinning deviously as he lets out a quiet oof before climbing on top of him and continuing their heated kiss. His hands move to tug at their hair, swallowing the groan that falls from their lips while they move to slip under his shirt, cold hands against his warm body making him shudder.
“Watch the hands,” He breathlessly warns as they part, even as he quickly pushes his sweater over his shirt, “Oh- fuck- wait, my sweater uh- a little help please?” They snort, breaking the mood momentarily as they carefully manoeuvre his sweater over his head.
“Ok, ok quit laughing, asshole,” He complains, tugging at the hem of their tight shirt, “C’mon, off. S’not fair I’m the only half-dressed one here.”
“Wait.” They mutter, moving their head down to press a light kiss to his neck, forcing a gasp through Gage’s lips. They continue their assault on him, pressing soft kisses all over his body, marking him, smiling against his soft body as he falls apart under their ministrations.
And maybe one day, Gage will ruin this perfectly good arrangement, maybe tomorrow, maybe next week. But for now? For tonight? When they’re worshipping him like this, sweet praises falling from those kiss-bruised lips? When their hands are pressed against his sweaty body? Gage will tell himself that maybe, just maybe, they feel the same way he does, that they want him the way he does.
That maybe their heart also threatens to burst when they hear him laugh, that they search for him in every room without even meaning to. That every joke they tell is just to hear him laugh, that every love song seems to have that one specific line that so perfectly describes him, that they have a secret playlist for him that they listen to in the dead of night. That every kiss they press to his body is an admission of love, of adoration for his entire being.
He lets himself forget, momentarily, that this is all a dream, that in the morning (if they even stayed that long) this would be over; that the love and ecstasy he feels is only a means to an end for them, a temporary distraction for his aching heart.
For tonight, he forgets.
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More Cult's of Gotham nonsense! You know what happens when you let unsupervised tots wander around Rich Folks area Gotham in the dead of night? They stumble into old Weird Shit that some kinky dead Rich Folks left over! Like sex cults!
It was a fad!
And it may have been brief, but that MAGIC sure lingered! Whoops! Lack of street lights and recent rain? Mean one Timmy falling through a dirt ceiling into a Suspect Magic Circle(tm)!
He has Succubus Powers now.
The cost? Succubus dietary needs. Also he has hit puberty yet and is pretty sure he's Trans. He did not WANT the Succubus powers, creepy dead people! But here he is. With them.
The extra durability and extreme flexibility are nice. Food being basicly a "I mean, if you FEEL like it" sort of thing? Not great! He's HUNGRY. Luckily? Prostitutes. He can sit on the roof and... eat? He guesses? Not very filling, but it works.
Then! Jason is dead! D:>
The dramatics that follow! Bruce is a DICK but Tim's durability means no broken Timmy bones. But also... he never stays for dinner, dispite Alfred hinting he should. Goes of patrol route sometimes for odd "vantage points". Bruce notices him going BACK into the city, once or twice.
Eventually? He can't ignore Tim any longer. Has come to care for the Doll like little Robin. Obviously, he figures Tim's haunts out immediately. But why? Is he going there? It's clearly not to spy. Hmmmm...
He "accidentally" leaves the Bat computer unlocked.
Tim hasn't learned enough yet to spot the obvious trap. He takes his chance to look up anyone with Sex powers like him, how they feed. Bruce watching as he grows more despairing and frustrated with every Villainous match. Bruce is a Detective. He can put two and two together.
His dietary plans go right out the window. New concern. Pervs molesting his Robin. Or his Robin STARVING. Luckily? Brucie is hot shit. Gala time. But first, lessons on spotting obvious traps.
Tim gets dragged to Gala after party after swanky yacht get together. Rooms picked ahead of time. Tim hiding under desks as Bruce fucks someone onto of them. Snuck under the couch, as Bruce fucks a socialite against the wall right next to it. In the dresser, as Bruce and his conquest take the bed.
Tim most certainly does not go hungry.
But the longer this goes on? The more AWARE Bruce is of him. His little listener. His back up. His Robin. Is he watching through the cracks? Enjoying what he hears? Is it making him wet? Squirm and wish he could do something about it? Is he fantasizing it's him out here, under Bruce?
Bruce bets he would feel so good. Tight and perfect. Take him so WELL.
Bruce is trying very, very hard not to think about it.
Failing.
His fantasies getting filthier. His lust stronger. But he controls it. He DOES. Until some knock off Pollen nearly kills him. Doesn't respond AT ALL to their anti-agent. And Tim... magnificent, perfect boy that he is... is awkwardly, sloppily, taking him right to the root. He barely stops from bucking.
It's perfection.
He has to guide him through it. Teach him what make him feel good. God, he learns so FAST. Bruce is almost delirious by the time Tim scrambles into his lap. Balances carefully and starts to work his way down. He rolls them both forward and help him. Rutts and pants as works himself DEEP.
Tim is perfect for him.
And really, after that? Why bother with substitutes? When Bruce can feed him directly? Morning and night. Every, single, day. Pumping loads nice and deep, over and over, until he whines he feels like he'll burst. The a few more, because Bruce truelly can't resist. Tim needs to eat after all.
He's a growing boy.
-🐼🐼🐼
succubus tim is SO fascinating because tim is, unlike the other bats, not so deeply interested in sex- when he's propositioned by his first girlfriend he refuses and says its because they're young and that ariana is sort of vulnerable at the moment and doesn't really mean it. but this is a thing that happens over again for him whereas dick and bruce will frequently fuck people they're attracted to or have some running storyline in their comics over a girl they work with/are sleeping with/ etc. i mean even jason gets plot lines that are about how he fucks- but tim? not so much.
so HIM being a succubus out of all of them presents a really interesting scenario where he HAS to have sex or be near it in order to survive, where he's biologically compelled to seek it out, where (since its part of his being) he has an other worldly advantage over it because evolutionary speaking tim being so good that his prey keep coming back to him makes perfect sense.
but bruce trying to figure out solutions and help tim while avoiding letting anyone know or touch him and landing on forming a voyeuristic relationship with tim so he can get fed! hiding him in the room and choosing out partners that are nice and sturdy and capable of taking hours of fucking. the papers are exploding about bruce's 'renaissance' and how he hasn't been this sexually active since he was in his 20s. and unlike when he was in his 20s these articles making the rounds mean the other leaguers make a few jokes about it, not fully understanding why bruce is doing all this and committed to making sure his robin isn't starved or forced to seek out other ways to survive. ways that might involve strangers getting their hands on him which may not be an issue because bruce has noticed how as tim has grown older his appearances has started...drawing people to him.
more than once when out running errands with tim bruce has picked up on men following them around, their eyes fixated and locked on tim's form. bruce theorizes that similar to sex pollen, tim releases a kind of pheromone that will draw the sexually starved to him sort of like a plant releasing flows of sweet nectar to draw pollinators. tim's body is an unconscious hunter, aching to help provide and keep him alive by sending out a wave of pheromones whenever tim is the slightest bit hungry.
so bruce makes it his duty to make sure tim is well satiated, its the only way to keep him safe. and at first bruce treats it like just another duty. he seduces women, brings them to the prepicked room where tim is set up in, warms them up, listens to their little whines and presses his nose to their perfumed necks. it's not that bruce has never had mindless sex before- he has. and when he first started there had been some part of him that was so deeply humiliated and unnerved about having to...to perform with his robin in the room in listening distance. but bruce had NEEDED to do it, he'd had a purpose for fucking and needed to see it through. its not like it was all terrible anyway, he did get SOMETHING out of it. but...it was the afterward that really started getting to bruce. when he'd help the woman fix her dress then send her away, he'd wait 15 minutes then lift up the table cloth, look under the desk, or open the closet where tim was hiding and he'd find tim looking so flushed it was like he was feverish, he'd be softly panting with his soft mouth parted and little tongue visible, and he'd be lying there with his thighs pressed tightly together, a sweet wetspot visible between his dark slacks. often times bruce would need to reach in and pick tim up because he was so weak and loose limbed with his head rolling around seeming like HE'D been the one fucked. tim's skin would be lightly perspiring and when tim's legs moved and he made that little hitched breath sound, bruce would be able to hear the squelch of his little cunt, so desperately wet and wanting.
bruce's awareness of tim grows even while he's in the act he finds him self thinking more and more of tim, his eyes eventually drifting to his hiding place and wondering what tim's state would be, wondering if tim would be staring at him from a little crack in the door. bruce has to stop himself from grunting out a growled 'tim' more than once and just knows how close he is to crossing a line he can't come back from.
logically he knows it can't be all his fault, that the blame must lie with tim as well. that maybe proximity to him is warping something in his brain, that perhaps being the one responsible for 'feeding' tim has meant his body is slowly overwriting all of bruce's 'desire' neurons to fire off more and more at the sight and thought of tim. that it isn't REALLY bruce who is developing an attraction and desire for his young robin.
part of bruce believes that and maybe that's why the pollen anti-agent doesn't work. that this is tim's fault and so its tim's responsibility to fix it.
bruce, if he was lucid, would probably be horrified at his own actions or barging into tim's room and startling him awake by climbing into his bed. bruce had dismissed tim almost an hour ago since him getting dosed had made him unsuited for duty. typically the anti-agent worked immediately but now an hour later bruce had broken into drake manor and was now pawing at the bottom of tim's sleep dress, bunching the fabric up and pushing it away to reveal the little cotton panties protecting a pink little cunt.
bruce is murmuring something, panting hard from the pollen-venom in his bloodstream as he tugs the crotch of tim's underwear to the side and shoves in two fingers that slide in like a hot knife through butter. tim's little cunt stretches around him, already dripping wet and bruce holds back a groan because he knows this is going to be good.
tim is whining under him, bucking his hips and pressing them as close as he can get. bruce can see the cloudy eyed desire in his eyes, his cheeks pink, and his prefect little mouth parted. tim makes the sweetest sound when bruce crouches over him and presses their mouthes together.
tim's mouth is uncoordinated and unsure but he learns fast, meeting bruce's kisses eagerly and wetly, humming when bruce presses his tongue in. tim's little hand scrambles for bruce's cock, reverently touching and stroking it from where bruce has pried it out of his suit's pants.
bruce might be drugged up to the gills but he's not cruel and he knows tim has never had a real cock in him before. so he settles on his back, rests his head on tim's soft pillow, and plants tim on his lap. tim's underwear is soaked through and a little tug with a crooked finger and tim is hastily stripping it away leaving his cunt bare and naked an grinding desperately on bruce's cock.
bruce holds back groans at the feeling and sight, tim's chubby cunt lips are kissing both sides of bruce's cock, tim's hips grinding down and dragging it all along the length- back and forth and back. bruce can feel as his head presses the slightest bit deeper whenever tim's hole drags over the head.
bruce starts it with steady rolls of his hips, grinding up and meeting tim's stuttered rhythem, pressing up slowly, working his cock more closely, coating himself in tim's natural stickiness until- finally.
bruce breathes shakily through his nose when he feels his throbbing cock head pop into tim, as tim's hips tremble and he starts making gutted little noises while bouncing slightly and working his way down to swallow more of bruce's cock into him. it's almost comical how much bigger bruce's cock is compared to the little baby cunt tim is working down. the lips are a furious red, his cunt stretched fully open while steaks of wetness beaded up along where he and tim were joined.
bruce's palms almost wrap fully around tim's waist where bruce is holding onto to guide tim's descent and movements. tim doesn't know how to fuck, how to make bruce feel good, but that's okay because bruce can teach him. can carefully instruct him on how fast to go, how to bounce, when to tighten his insides, and how to roll his hips so he could grind his little button against bruce's pelvis.
it's good- there's no other way to phrase how it feels when he and tim fuck but it's good. bruce feels like an animal, some wild thing out in the meadow plains rolling around in the grass during mating season and just rutting hard and deep into a hot, wet hole. tim is grinding back against him, palms scrambling against his chest, around his neck, over his back to hold on as they mash their parts together.
tim is gasping into bruce's mouth, whining and making the sweetest little animal sounds as bruce uses his grip on his waist to slam him down to the root of his cock and grunt at the hot, twitching around him.
bruce doesn't let tim stop until the sun is peeking into his bedroom and even then tim keeps begging, asking in a desperate voice if they can still keep going. bruce's stamina has always been a problem- he's never been able to keep going to his full satisfaction.
...but that was with regular people. not succubi like tim.
it's not until afternoon that bruce and tim finally taper off. tim, for lack of a better word, was glowing. his skin looked soft and plump, his eyes looked clear and crystal- something about him just seemed to scream good health.
bruce hadn't even noticed how different tim looked until that moment. but he wasn't the only one.
bruce's body wasn't aching. at all. there was no twinge in his lower back, no cracking sound from his knees, his elbow wasn't clicking, and his back molars that he had a habit of grinding didn't ache. but also bruce wasn't tired.
he'd spent nearly a full day fucking his robin and he wasnt tired from the loss of sleep.
tim was whining under him like a puppy, trying to kiss him and press bruce's cock back inside him. to pacify him bruce does that, thrusting in and lowering down on top of tim, letting him feel plugged with his cock and comforted by the weight of bruce.
there clearly is no real substitute to this. bruce had been naive to think just letting tim listen in and watch was enough- especially since he clearly did so much better like this, they both did.
so they'd keep it like this. it was the better of the options but most of all it was what tim needed. and that's what this was all about. tim and helping him the best way bruce could.
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Before It Gets Too Late
PAIRING: tech x fem reader
SUMMARY: You spend a fun and special day with Tech, starting with a flying lesson that takes an unexpected turn. There’re fluffy times but mostly sexy times. (I’m trying to support and comfort my Tech people during this dark period.)
WORDS COUNT: 1926
RATING + WARNINGS: 18+, very spicy, porn with minimal plot, PiV, rough sex, probably bad flight mechanics
NOTES: This is installment twenty-two of my reverse harem “Bad Choices” smutlet series on Ao3, but I think it’s also a nice stand-alone Tech story. Although it’s written in second person, my heroine has a very established relationship with the Batch.
Everything was going fine until a large flock of flying creatures shot out of the canopy in a wide column directly into the ship’s path. You were too close to simply fly around them, and every other usual option you could think of would leave hundreds of them dead and the ship with possible light damage.
So without a second thought, you killed the thrusters while sending the ship in a tight turn, the nose pointed at the column. A quick tap of the port thruster has you cleared of the animals, with what you hoped were minimal casualties, then you reinitialized the main thrusters and resumed your disrupted flight path.
For a full minute, there was silence to your left. Finally, “It appears that flying lessons were unnecessary.”
“That was never the question,” you hedged. “You asked if I would like you to give me lessons. You didn’t ask if I knew how to fly. I answered honestly.” And this was your third time out.
“But with a glaring omission,” Tech huffs at you.
“Don’t be angry at me. I was very curious as to how you would be as a flight instructor, and I would not have received the same response if you had known.” What you do know is that this is logic he won’t be able to argue with.
He hmphs at you again, but you can tell he’s not really upset.
“That was an interesting maneuver you performed.”
“A modified ‘Tech turn.’ Seemed like the best option for minimizing death and destruction.” You pause for a moment, then you look at him. “It can’t be, right? The ‘Tech turn’…” You trail off as you see the corners of his lips turn up to an actual smile.
“That is not what it is called.”
“I’m going to fuck your so hard as soon as we land.”
“I was contemplating something similar.”
He doesn’t take the controls from you, but you sit quietly for a while.
“I’m not great at mechanics. You could teach me that?” you offer.
“Specifically define ‘not great’,” he asks.
“I definitely couldn’t fully repair this ship, but I am unable to give you a rundown of which systems I am deficient in. That’s the best I can do.”
“That…is acceptable.”
*
Almost as soon as the ship touches down in the tree-lined clearing, you are on each other. He lets you push him back down in his pilot’s chair, straddling him while your lips devour his with kisses. You groan in frustration as you try to divest him of his various layers of clothing, but you’re too eager and your fingers can’t find all the buckles and straps.
Want. Need. They course through you. You need his skin against yours. Finally, he takes pity, gently stops your fumbling, and slowly removes all the items covering his torso, your desperate whimpering doing nothing to hurry him. Then he lifts off your shirt. Your bodies crash together again. He kisses along your neck, down to your breasts, cupping them, licking your nipples. You throw your head back and cry out, your hands stroking over his head and neck; then fingernails scrape down his back, feeling his taut muscles.
“Against the wall,” you groan. Moments later, you’re both naked, and your back is to the one bare metal plate in the cockpit. Tech drops to a knee in front of you, places your leg over his arm, and targets your clit in a focused and aggressive attack.
“Fuck! FUCK!” you scream as, mere minutes later, you come. And then he lifts you, burying himself deep inside you, pounding into you, your pussy still twitching in pleasure.
Every rough, hard thrust is accompanied by his grunts, and you loudly proclaim your satisfaction, your voice echoing through the ship. You want Tech to do this, need him to do this, to take his pleasure from your willing body. He captures your wrists, pinning them above your head with one hand, his other hand gripping your ass, fingers pressed into your flesh, pinching, bruising. He kisses you, mauling your lips, and when he breaks away, you sink your teeth into his shoulder.
He gasps, releasing your wrists, and takes a strong hold of your ass and thighs, angling you for deeper, feral thrusts. Your arms encircle his neck and shoulders. You want him like this, desperate for you, as if no one else could give this to him. An animalistic groan emanates from him as his cock ravages you until finally a full throated cry signals his climax and he holds himself deep inside of you, and you feel his hot cum pump into you.
Neither of you move, the only sounds your gasping breaths as you each try to take in enough air.
“Mmmm,” you finally manage. “That was excellent.” You smile, then lick a drop of sweat from his neck.
“Yes,” he says, a slight gleam in his eye, “Quite satisfactory.”
*
You lie in a bunk together, your head on his shoulder, a hand idly stroking his chest.
“Why did you not disclose to me that you did not need flying lessons? Your skill level is clearly quite adequate.”
You suck in your breath. I wanted to spend time with you outside of my bedroom. I wanted to know who you are when we’re not fucking. I wanted to be on this ship with you when you could be focussed on me. I wanted… So many wants, as if you can’t be happy with what you have.
“It’s been a long time since I flew. I wasn’t sure that I didn’t need them…at least as a refresher.” You hesitate. “Are you angry at me?...slightly perturbed?
“I am not. And at least they were not a waste of time.” His fingers run up and down your arm.
“No,” you agree.
Tech looks down at you, watching your hand move along his skin. You have not asked him why he offered to teach you, which is for the best. Tech is worse at articulating his wants than you are.
*
You wake up alone in the bunk. It’s been awhile since the person you’d fallen asleep with wasn’t still beside you. The ship is dark, so it must be night. You get up, the floor cold under your feet, expecting to find Tech in the cockpit.
Instead, a drop-ladder is down from the midship overhead storage space.
“Tech?” You call up.
“Ah, you are awake,” you hear him say. “I was just coming down to collect you. Come up here.”
“Um, I’m naked?” You look around for your clothing and see nothing.
There’s a long pause. “It appears that I am nude as well…I do have blankets.”
You sigh and tentatively climb the ladder, then follow Tech’s voice to a maintenance hatch with another ladder that lets you out onto the ship’s fuselage. He takes your hand and leads you to where he’s laid out a large blanket over the cockpit. You feel awkward even though the warm night air is quite pleasant on your skin.
“What’s this all about?”
Tech helps you down onto the blanket, then points up. “The moons have just set, so we should have quite an excellent view of the Quadrillen meteor shower. I believe you expressed dissatisfaction with your ability to see this from the city.”
You look up and, after a few moments, you watch a meteor blaze across the sky. You hadn’t mentioned that you wanted to watch this to Tech. You and Crosshair had been discussing it. You hadn’t realized Tech was paying attention. You lie next to each other, mostly in silence, watching the light show.
“I must admit, I was skeptical at first, but this is quite a pleasant experience.”
“Skeptical? Why?”
“I have seen many natural phenomena during my travels in space. I did not think that the debris from a comet entering a planet's atmosphere would be particularly visually stimulating in comparison to what I have witnessed. But taken as a whole, this is quite an excellent experience.”
You laugh. “I suppose.” Smiling, you continue to watch as the little streaks fill the night, when suddenly three meteors scorch their way across the sky. You sit up excitedly and point. “That was amazing.” You look down at Tech. He has a slight smile on his face, then he pushes himself up and presses his lips to yours. His arms gather your body to him, one hand stroking in your hair, one at the small of your back. He takes your breath away with his kiss, drawing you down onto him.
This feels insane. Are you really going to fuck on top of the ship under the night sky? Turns out, yes, yes, you are.
You lie on him, enjoying the feel of his hot skin along your body. You kiss for a long time, until you can’t take it anymore, and whisper, “I need you. Please.” He helps you slide onto him, both of you gasping. You whimper; you’re a little sore but the sensation is too sweet. You lean forward, pressed chest to chest, as he pivots his hip to help you fuck him gently.
And when he carefully rolls you both so you can watch over his shoulder as the stars cascade out of the sky, you can’t help but think that this is all a little too ridiculous. He moves above you, long strokes that make your breath catch, and you cry out because sometimes he fits inside you perfectly.
You wrap your legs around him. “Yes, I like that. It feels so good. Just like that, Tech. Mmmm, just like that.”
Stars keep falling as he takes hold of your legs, angling you so his cock can thrust deeper. Your cries sound small as the trees surrounding you consume them.
You move together, one being working toward the same goal. Each stroke sends shivers through you until you feel your body full with warmth as a soft climax overtakes you, not nearly as intense as the one earlier, but somehow more satisfying.
He holds your hands, fingers intertwined, as he watches your face while the orgasm washes over you, drinking in those little noises you make that he so enjoys. He moves carefully as you finish, knowing you must be sore already, wanting you to still find pleasure as he nears his own climax.
And then you start whispering to him, “Come in me, Tech. I need to feel you inside me. I need it. I need you to come for me.” You move under him, insistent, demanding, so he has to surrender to you. He stiffens and gasps, his hot cum emptying in you. You wrap yourself around him as he collapses onto you, finally spent. You watch as the stars continue to fall through the blackness of the sky.
“We shouldn’t fall asleep up here.”
“Yes, that would be unwise.” He gingerly lifts himself off you. You roll and lie on his shoulder, watching the stars fall behind the trees. The air is cooling and you shiver. “Let us go back inside. You can continue watching from the cockpit, if you wish.”
“Tech.” He looks at you, while collecting the blankets. I wanted to spend more time with you, that’s why I lied.
“Thank you for tonight.” This was really special to me. I hope it was to you.
“Yes, this was very enjoyable.” He watches you as you climb down the hatch. I wish to do this again.
*
But wait, there’s more: https://archiveofourown.org/series/3945640
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did you guys know that, well, the cruelty is the point
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Spiralling AGAIN would you believe it
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