#at this angle it's hard to tell he's fifteen pounds

[nonhumen]

@chaosbled : It was a beautiful night, the stars shining high in the sky, & surprisingly warm out for that time of year. The weather was completely ill-suited to how he was currently feeling, dark blue suit ruffling in the breeze, the silver accents sparkling under the moonlight.

Chuuya checked the time on his watch & felt anxiety twist deep in the pit of his stomach as he paced around outside the restaurant. It had been over an hour. Where was he? He promised he’d be here. The redhead knew it was a bad idea, he’d made too much of a fuss about the stupid holiday. Why hadn’t he just been content with a normal night inside with the one he loved? Had he really sent Dazai running for the hills? Or maybe…

The ring box in his pocket felt heavy all of a sudden. What if Dazai knew what he had planned? Had the prospect of such a commitment sent him spiralling? Chuuya swallowed hard, deciding he’d give himself another fifteen minutes before he went looking. He’d check the rivers first, then the bars, then... Pulling out his cell phone, he felt nausea wash over him. Still no messages. He called Dazai again, & this time allowed it to ring until the message recorder kicked in.

“ Mackerel, will you please just pick up the phone? I know you’re getting these. I promise I’m not mad, okay? It’s just a dinner reservation, I don’t give a shit about the cancelling fee, just tell me where you are & I’ll come pick you up. ” Chuuya said, his heart felt too fast in his chest. He knew it was just the anxiety, but he couldn’t seem to calm down. “ Look. If I freaked you out with the flower delivery, the suit & the invitation, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to — I just wanted it to be memorable… Don’t do anything stupid, please. I — ”

He swallowed hard, feeling like something was lodged in his throat. “ Honey, I know what you’re probably thinking, & no, you can’t just piss me off enough to make me think you’re not worth it because you’re scared of letting people get too close. It didn’t work when we first got together & it’s not going to work now. So whatever plan you have, you can forget it. I know you’re probably sitting alone in the dark somewhere, scared as hell & you might have those Agency fuckwits fooled with your goofball routine but I’m your partner. So whatever you’re feeling right now, you don’t have to deal with that alone. ”

He felt the tears fall & wiped them away harshly with the back of his head, breathing shakily. “ You’re not alone, no matter how dark it gets in that big, stupidly smart brain of yours. You’re not alone because I’m there in the dark with you, & I’ll light the way for you, every damn time, I don’t care how often I get covered in your blood or soaked with river water, you know I’ll be there every damn time. I love you. Je t'aime plus que ma propre vie. ” His voice cracked, fingers tightening around the phone. “ So please, just… come home. Just come home to me. ”

eyes open slowly. there's a pounding in his head and it looks like the world is tilted on its edge. oh rather, maybe he is. focus comes back and dazai realizes he's laying down, neck twisted at an uncomfortable angle. trees... is he in a forest? the fresh smell of soil and grass clings to his sense as the memories slowly start to come back. oh right. fingers reach up to feel the rope still around his neck, following the line to a splintered branch. eyes narrow. the tree had been rotting from the inside. dazai sighs heavily. he tests moving is neck, noting how it is sore but, unfortunately, not broken. next, he moves to sit up and winces as fire shoots down his left arm. he must have fallen onto his shoulder and dislocated it.

not wanting to feel that pain any more, dazai remains laying in the dirt. instead, he fishes into his pocket and pulls out his phone to check the time. 21:30. and there are six missed calls from chuuya with one voice message. he flips open the phone, squinting at the bright screen as he calls up the message. he made him worry again. he went off and did something stupid again. but then, hadn't chuuya done something stupid too? dazai has been able to read chuuya like an open book ever since they were fifteen. it took him about a week to learn what had changed in chuuya in their four years apart. and he knew exactly what he was planning. special flowers, a new suit for him, a dinner invitation at one of the fanciest restaurants in yokohama... all for a holiday that chuuya has never shown interest in before? no, he wanted this night to be memorable for another reason. a reason dazai simply cannot give him.

chuuya once asked him if he was afraid of people. at the time, dazai had considered himself incapable of fear. he knows better now. he thinks he's been afraid ever since odasaku died in his arms. he's been afraid to feel at ease, to hold something close, to living thinking things can be okay. chuuya has given him all the things he's afraid to have. that unending love and devotion focused solely on dazai terrifies him. there is care in his own heart, sure, but he does not believe he can ever feel as intensely or as thoroughly as chuuya can. he thinks the redhead should be with someone who knows what to do with all of that love instead of someone who only knows how to squander it.

the message ends with a plea to come back home. he would if he could, but he's stuck in this position at the moment. chuuya really will have to come and fetch him this time. he calls him back and notes that he picks up on the third ring. ah, he's started looking for him already. " chuuya, listen to me. " his hollow voice cuts through the barrage of questions on the other end. " i'll tell you where i am but you have to promise me something first. " lips thin and he swallows the lump in his throat. " promise me you will go back to the jeweler's and return what's in your pocket first thing tomorrow. you... you'll never be enough. nothing ever will be. the pain of living will always be here. no matter what, what little happiness i find for myself will inevitably slip right through my fingers. " this moment, when it is so very hard to breathe, is dazai's natural state.

eyes close. " you can stay in the darkness with me as much as you like. you can even be my light out of it for a time. but when i finally release myself from this terrible dream, i will not leave you in my personal hell alone. what i mean to say is, i refuse to make you a widow. " the phone beeps at him to signal it has a low battery. " ah, you might want to track my gps before my phone turns off. i don't know exactly where i am; somewhere in ikego forest. " dazai pulls as much emotion into his voice as he can muster, trying to soften the blow of the much more painful words he had spoken. " i'm not too worried, you always find me. good luck! " he ends the call before he can hear chuuya protest, letting the phone fall into the dirt. dazai sighs heavily. he's so tired.

#chaosbled #𝐃𝐀𝐙𝐀𝐈 : ALL AN ACT / IC #𝐃𝐀𝐙𝐀𝐈 : THE ONES WHO SAVE ORPHANS / ADA VERSE #suicide tw #suicide attempt tw #hanging tw #happy valentine's day luna LMAO #he's so terrified of commitment it isnt even funny

[cinnabuntastic]

I'm gonna go to bed but I need y'all to take a moment or three to appreciate...

...himb's feeties.

#my cat #cats of tumblr #peets #cats though #proper little gentleman #at this angle it's hard to tell he's fifteen pounds

[little-spoiled-brat]

Congratulations for 100 followers! I love your writing 🥺

Can I please request prompt 16 from sfw and 21 from nsfw for Levi? 👉🏻👈🏻

WRITING PROMPT # 17:

"look at you, desperate little whore"

pairing: levi x reader - nsfw, minors dni

cw: a pissed off levi, slight bondage, impact play, teasing, degradation, dacryphilia, orgasm denial

- beg for it -

you absolutely love to pull on levi's strings, see how much he can take before he snaps and loses his patience with you. you were being such a brat today, talking back at him and not obeying his orders like usual. it was intentional, you just wanted to mess with him today but you were starting to think that you went too far.

"l/n, my office. now" levi said, his voice was deeper than usual. he didn't even bother waiting for you to follow him as he turned around and started heading to his office. you swallowed the lump in your throat, hearing your boyfriend call you by your last name told you loud and clear that he was done with your bratty attitude.

"levi-" you started, walking in his office but you were pinned to the wall by your neck. a gasp leaving your throat, levi's hot breath was slightly fanning your face.

"i'm so fucking done with your attitude, brat" levi growled, using one hand to skillfully remove his belt. you tried to grab his wrists but before you can even get the chance to, your wrists were pinned above your head in his iron-like grip.

"talking back at your superior and disobeying their orders" levi spat, his hand colliding with your cheek as a slight moan escaped your lips. levi yanked open your uniform shirt, a surprised gasp leaving your lips as he ripped the piece of clothing off your body before discarding it on the floor of his office. "everything else, off. give me your panties after"

you knew better than to disobey him especially when you had successfully pushed all of his buttons and he could no longer tolerate you. with a nervous gulp, you took off every piece of clothing that you have, giving your panties to him as he shoved it in his pocket and you stood naked in front of the stoic captain.

"levi, i-" you started but you were met with another slap to the face and his hand harshly gripping your jaw.

"i don't want to hear your pathetic excuses for your attitude, y/n" levi said, his grip on your jaw tightening a bit and you whimpered.

"on the bed. now" levi said, looking you straight in the eyes and making sure that you got the message loud and clear. you nodded, slipping past him to cross the office to get to your shared bedroom. levi followed you with his eyes and you cowered at the feeling of his gaze burning through your back.

you sat down on the edge of the bed, levi following you afterwards. he suddenly yanked you down to his lap, tying his belt around your wrist on the small of your back.

"levi, wait i'm s-" you were harshly cut off by his hand colliding with your ass, a whimper escaping your lips. he was really done with you now.

"count" levi ordered, yanking you by the chin to meet his eyes. your breathing got caught in your throat, seeing the lust in his grey-blue orbs. "o-one"

his hand collided with your ass once again, stinging pain spreading throughout the area he just hit. you closed your eyes and gritted your teeth. "two"

levi continued to spank you, three, four, ten, fifteen times until your ass turned to a pretty shade of red as you desperately tried to reach back and stop him.

"levi, please" you whimpered, tears welling in your eyes. he chuckled, rubbing his hand on the red skin of your ass to soothe the pain.

"aww, does it hurt?" levi cooed, running his hand through your hair. you looked up at him with teary eyes and nodding your head. he spanked you once again in reply.

"good" levi said, grabbing you by the arm and pulling you upwards. you didn't even had any time to react when you were suddenly thrown on the bed, hands still tied behind the small of your back and levi straddling your hips.

"levi-" you started, levi has punished you a lot of times before but he has never punished you when he was this fed up with you - and it made you nervous, really nervous. he pulled out your panties out of his pocket, shoving them down your throat as a muffled moan left you.

"tch. you're so fucking talkative" levi complained, his hands unbuttoning his uniform shirt and started eliminating his clothes, discarding them to the floor.

you watched him strip in front of you, his perfectly sculpted body was revealing itself to you one by one. the heat pooling around your core was getting too much to ignore, you could feel yourself getting wetter by just looking at him.

you moaned, trying to rub your thighs together to get rid of the unbearable feeling in between them. levi noticed as he got off of you and spread your legs apart. his mouth was attached to your sensitive clit within seconds.

your back arched, hands desperately gripping onto the sheets underneath you, muffled moans leaving your throat. your chest heaved up an down, your body filling with pleasure that was too much for you to handle.

"you're so wet" levi said and inserted two fingers inside of you, keeping eye contact as he used your arousal to slowly push his digits in. your face contorting into pleasure was a sight he never want to forget.

you whimpered, looking down at him while he pumped his fingers in and out of you and sucked on your clit harshly. it didn't even take you a minute until the knot in your stomach started to build up, quickly unravelling as fast as it built up.

your thighs unconsciously closed around levi's head as he growled into your pussy, curling his fingers inside of you to hit that spongy spot that had your brain melting as he yanked your legs apart again.

"levi, i'm gonna-" your muffled pleads reached his ear, pumping his fingers faster to help you chase your orgasm. the knot slowly started to break, thighs shaking from pleasure and eyes shut tightly.

before you could fall apart, levi stopped. your eyes snapped open at the denial of your release. you whined, wrapping your legs around levi to get him to make you cum.

"please" you begged, staring at him with pleading eyes and all you got in return was his cold and expressionless stare.

"i don't think you deserve to cum tonight. you really pushed me to my limits and you need to be taught a lesson" levi said, his hand fisting around his cock and teasing it on your clit. you whimpered at his words, bucking your hips to get some kind of relief from him.

”please” you repeated, eyes misty as you looked up at him. levi leaned down, his lips centimeters away from yours as he reached up and took out the panties that he shoved in there earlier.

“you’re not convincing me, brat” levi said, kissing the side of your lips and you whined. you can’t even get a proper kiss from him.

“levi, please. i’m not going to be a brat anymore just please fuck me” you begged, leaning up in attempt to connect your lips together but he pulled away.

“i still don’t think you deserve to cum” levi said, suddenly shoving his entire length in you and thrusted hard and fast with no warning. your hands fisted the sheets underneath you tighter, back arching from the pleasure of getting split open by levi’s girth.

“this is what you wanted, right? acting like such a fucking brat the entire day just to get fucked like the whore you are“ levi said, slapping your cheek and you moaned loudly in return.

his hands found the headboard above you, using it for leverage as he pounds your pussy mercilessly. it has you gasping for air, your boobs bouncing with every thrust of levi’s hips against yours.

“tell me, brat. do you think you deserve to cum?” levi asked looking down at you. you stared up at him, trying to process his words but unable to form any coherent thoughts.

”tch” levi growled, teeth gritting as he held onto the headboard tighter. so tight that you swore you heard the wood cracking from the pressure.

your eyes rolled to the back of your head when levi shifted his angle to hammer that same spongy spot inside of you, making your brain turn into mush even more.

“too fucked dumb to even answer” levi teased, empty eyes looking up at him as the strings of moans continously left your lips.

“l-levi” you moaned, feeling the knot building up once again.

“do you want to cum?” levi asked, looking you in the eyes to make it harder for you to think properly.

“y-yes”

”beg”

you whined at his words, eyes closing shut from trying not to cum without his permission.

“fuck, please. please let me cum. please, i’ll be a good girl for you just please let me cum” you begged, a tear falling down your cheek from how painful it was to fight your orgasm.

levi groaned at your words, pounding into you harder and faster than what you thought possible. you were practically crying, begging him to let you cum as it was starting to become overwhelming.

“levi! fuck, please, please, please” you moaned, head thrown back against the pillow as the knot in your stomach was starting to break.

you were about to reach your high when levi suddenly pulled out completely, ruining your orgasm. the pleasure was gone in an instant, broken whimpers leaving your lips from being denied once again.

”levi please, i’m begging you. please let me cum” you whined, tears stained your cheeks as you looked up at your boyfriend pleadingly. it was painful — so painful to be denied of your pleasure.

“captain, please”

levi’s cock twitched at the sound of you calling him by his title, it was rare for you to do that and walls, did it sound so sinful coming from your mouth.

without a second thought, levi shoved himself inside of you again. more lustful moans leaving your lips, it was a sound levi would want to hear at every second of his life.

the knot in your lower stomach built up again, chest heaving up and down in a rapid pace as levi abused your needy cunt more.

“levi. levi, please. please, i want to cum. don’t ruin my orgasm again, please, i’m begging you” you pleaded desperately, legs shaking uncontrollably and tears falling down your cheeks. levi chuckled, wiping away the tears on your face and running his thumb across your bottom lip.

“look at you, desperate little whore. cum for me, don’t hold back” levi commanded, strings of sinful moans of his name leaving your lips afterwards as you fell apart.

levi came to the sight of you, lips parted, back arched, eyes closed tightly. you were stunning.

you milked him dry, his warm seed spilling into you and painting your velvet walls a pretty white. levi slowed down, letting the both of you come down from your highs.

he rested his forehead against yours, catching his breath and placing sloppy kisses along your cheeks and lips. he pulled out after a while, the white substance flowing out of your abused hole.

levi chuckled smugly, grabbing a clean cloth to clean the both of you before reaching behind you to undo the belt that was around your wrists. you pulled him down once your hands were free, connecting your lips together in a passionate kiss.

“thank you” you said, burying your face into his neck. levi kissed your temple, laying down next to you.

“tch. brat” levi grumbled, holding you against his chest as you smiled tiredly and cuddled more into him.

“i should act like that more often”

”try and i definitely won’t let you cum the next time”

#levi ackerman smut #levi ackerman x reader #levi x y/n #levi x reader #levi ackerman #aot smut #aot x reader #aot #aot x y/n #attack on titan #snk smut #snk x y/n #snk x reader #shingeki no kyojin #snk

[j0ne-jjk]

Sex with the Members

Pairing: OT7 Characters: Seokjin, Hoseok, Taehyung, Jimin, Yoongi, Namjoon, Jungkook Genre: Smut Rating: M 

I originally put this together for an adult BTS group in another location online and it was so popular there, I wanted to post it here for posterity. 

As a reminder: these are OPINIONS. I do not know the guys, nor do I claim to have any actual knowledge of their intimate styles. So if you don’t like it, don’t come at me. 

Seokjin

Jin ultimately wants to ensure his significant other feels safe, comfortable, and desired. He makes it his priority to communicate to his partner how beautiful he finds them.

Jin would be kind and gentle, enjoying slow, sensual love-making over rough and fierce sex. He is constantly checking in with is partner, making sure they are doing okay and still feeling good.

Eventually, he would recognize that he has a praise kink - both for giving and receiving. 

Though not a deal-breaker, Jin would prefer his partner be shorter/smaller than he is so he can feel physically protective. 

To Jin, sex is just another way to express his love to his significant other. He would be willing to explore different kinks, seeing that as a time to create a deeper, more meaningful, trust-filled bond with his partner. 

During kink exploration, he would realize that he likes being choked, so that’s fun... 

Jin’s moans would be loud and slightly nasally. Lots of romantic pet names. He would love to hear his significant other’s moans as well and would encourage them to make noise. 

SEX PLAYLIST: sweet, sappy, Korean ballads.

Hoseok

Hoseok is made of pure sunshine and is always ready with a smile and gentle, encouraging word for his significant other. He would love the times they can laugh together until their sides ache. Hobi’s primary love language is Quality Time, and he would thrive on evening walks along a quiet riverbank, hand in hand, stealing kisses in the privacy of a grove of trees. 

In the bedroom, his sunny personality would continue to shine. Hobi would shower his partner with praise and find little opportunities for giggles throughout sex (slight tickling kink??). He would enjoy making up cute nicknames for his partner and himself in addition to the cute, sappy classics like “jagiya”. 

Hoseok is naturally humble and selfless and prefers to focus on his partner’s pleasure first, while forgetting about his own. When his significant other makes a move to return the favor, Hobi would break out in his signature heart-shaped smile, eyes twinkling with affection. 

Now, our sunshine isn’t necessarily vanilla. Don’t forget, this man is hella flexible, fit, and has killer dancer’s hips. Hoseok would use all of these to his advantage to alternate between pounding into his partner and rolling his hips at just the right angle to hit their sweet spot. 

Hobi’s moans would start out surprisingly low, back in his throat but move higher and more desperate as he gets closer to his release. 

SEX PLAYLIST: 90s rap.

Taehyung

Taehyung is a Daddy Dom, no doubt about it. 

He’s strict, regal, classy, and expects a well-mannered sub. Taehyung would be called Sir and would call his sub kitten or little one. 

He likes seeing his sub in rope or leather bondage and sometimes blindfolded. Taehyung enjoys using toys and light degradation (though nothing too extreme of course, he’s no savage). He will train his sub in edging and orgasm denial, loving the feeling of complete control that he has over them. 

Taehyung would be relatively quiet in the bedroom, more focused on giving instruction and listening to his sub. His moans would be deep and gravelly, much like his singing voice. 

Like any good Dom, Taehyung understands the importance of good aftercare and always tends to his significant other after sex, ensuring they return to a safe emotional space. As soon as the scene is over, Taehyung’s personality changes from demanding Dom to cuddly bear, ready to care for his darling. 

Outside of the bedroom, Taehyung is attentive and doting to his significant other. Of course, he can also be slightly pouty at times, but that can always be fixed with well-timed snuggles, hugs, and forehead kisses.   

SEX PLAYLIST: moody jazz.

Jimin

Listen to me when I tell you: Jimin is a freak in the sheets. It is a fact and no one can tell me otherwise. Some days he would want to be in charge, telling his partner exactly how to please him (power bottom, anyone?), and some days he would be the picture perfect pillow princess. 

Jimin would be willing to try pretty much anything, as long as it wasn’t gross. If he was with a girl, it wouldn’t be long into the relationship before Jimin would bring up his interest in pegging and strap-ons. 

Not shy, Jimin is the kind to send suggestive messages, nude photos, and even videos of himself playing when he’s away from his partner. 

He also loves getting head. Jimin will use his puppy eyes to ask for a blow job at the most inconvenient times. All he needs is a dark corner or broom closet and fifteen minutes and he’ll have his partner convinced and on their knees for him in no time. 

Though his hands are small, he knows how to use his pretty mouth to get his significant other off. Jimin is a fan of teasing and overstimulation (best of both worlds?) and is more than happy to spend quality time with his mouth between his partner’s legs.

Jimin’s moans would be loud, clear, and high, just like his voice. He would babble praises and curse continually, begging his partner to keep going as he nears his climax.

SEX PLAYLIST: dirty, sexy pop music.

Yoongi

It’s no secret that Yoongi is introverted but desires deep emotional and physical connection. He takes his time getting to know his significant other well enough to reach the point of physical intimacy. 

PDA is kept to a minimum, with the exception of hand holding- Yoongi loves holding hands. His large, piano-player hands fit perfectly around those of his significant other, his thumb rubbing gently over their knuckles, fingers squeezing occasionally as a soft reminder of, “I’m still here.” 

The best date is an evening in the Genius Lab, sitting side by side, shoulders touching, taking frequent kiss breaks (it “helps with the writers block”, he claims). Since music is the most important thing to Yoongi, sharing it with his partner is almost as intimate as physical contact. The first time Yoongi shares a new, unfinished song with his significant other, his hands and sweating and his body is trembling like the first time he had sex. 

In the bedroom, Yoongi is attentive, intentional and deliberate. He takes his time to learn everything he possibly can about his partner’s body and pleasure. Sex is slow and sensual, with both bodies pressed fully together to feel as much skin-to-skin contact as possible. 

Yoongi would be relatively quiet during sex, more likely to let out deep gasps and low groans. Occasionally as he reaches his high, his voice cracks in a particularly high-pitched moan, causing a blush to spread across cheeks. Being more of an auditory person, Yoongi would revel in his partner’s moans, encouraging them to make noise. 

Though he appreciates a good blow job, Yoongi actually prefers hand jobs because he can still kiss his partner. 

And of course, I’m not going to let you forget about that Tongue Technology... 

SEX PLAYLIST: underground Korean rap.

Namjoon

Namjoon’s main desire is to express his love for his significant other. Whether it’s a sweet mid morning text, a surprise lunch delivery, or (an attempt at) freshly baked cookies, Joon is always looking for ways to show his partner how much they mean to him. He’s the epitome of romantic. 

With Namjoon, it’s not “sex” but “making love”, and it is sure to be romantic and sensual. Joon wants to make sure his significant other feels beautiful, and enjoys body worship, both given and received. 

Kink exploration is somewhat rare, but Namjoon will try things out if his partner asks. He draws the line at anything that causes pain because it worries him to think that his clumsiness could surface, causing real harm to his partner. 

Aftercare is as important as the actual sex to Joon. He wants to bathe or shower and then cuddle while either talking quietly, watching a movie, or going to sleep.

Namjoon’s moans are deep and low, and during intimacy, his speaking voice is so deep it almost disappears. He speaks in both English and Korean, and groans out so many curse words, it’s almost like he’s invented some of his own. 

SEX PLAYLIST: 90s R&B and slow jams.

Jungkook

Jungkook sheds both his oversized clothing and bad boy stage persona in the bedroom. Always the maknae, he would want to be taken care of during sex. He would love being called “baby boy” or “baby bun” and thrives on praise. Degradation and harsh words would crush him and ruin the mood almost immediately. 

Sometimes bratty (by choice, of course), Jungkook would occasionally inform his significant other that “Kookie needs to be punished.” His favorite punishments include edging and orgasm denial, spanking, and choking. 

Of course, he did work hard for those muscles and has a strength kink for sure. One of his favorite positions is holding his significant other up either pressed up against the wall or with their legs wrapped around his slim waist, while slamming into them. 

Oral is another favorite activity, and Jungkook absolutely loves eating his partner out. It makes his heart so giddy to know that he is the one completely responsible for the pleasure his significant other is feeling. Getting head often makes him cum embarrassingly fast, turning him into a blushing, whining mess.

Jungkook would be very vocal during sex, begging, moaning, and whimpering. His sounds would be high and sweet, with lots of heavy breathing and gasps included. 

SEX PLAYLIST: Ariana Grande or dark, moody music.

#jungkook #jungkook smut #namjoon #namjoon smut #taehyung #taehyung smut #jimin #jimin smut #yoongi #yoongi smut #hoseok #hobi #j-hope #hoseok smut #rm #rapmonster #jin #seokjin #jin smut #bts smut #bts imagines #bts scenarios

[sugarmaplewings-fics]

Kissing / Making Out HC’s

Pairing: Kaminari x reader

Warnings: Just a ton of kissing, making out, and mentions of groping (I talk about boobs, uh oh). Still gender/sex neutral

Author’s Note:

Almost didn't have anything ready for this week, but this one only took me a few hours to write up, so here you go! This may end up being my Valentines Day fic. Idk, we’ll see. I haven’t been feeling well lately :/

Enjoy

-Sugar

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● I think this goes without saying, but

● Denki is an absolute s u c k e r for kisses

● As soon as you get together, he wants them constantly

● And who are you to deny him?

● He really doesn't mind PDA (he kinda likes it, actually, getting to show off that he has an s/o)

● So, unless you're uncomfortable with it, he'll kiss you no matter where you are or who you're with (especially around his friends)

● But as I said, if you're not interested, he'll respect that

● It just means he gets to love on you more when you're finally alone together!

● Kaminari loves your lips. Big or small, soft or dry, he's staring at them from across the room, just thinking about when he can kiss them again

● Boy is devoted to you, you don't leave his mind

● After he started dating you, Denki applies lip balm religiously

● He usually goes with vanilla flavors, but he also likes fruity ones

● And he makes special note of what you like. If he knows you'll be kissing soon, he'll pull out your favorite chapstick of his just to make sure he's extra tasty for you

● His 👏 lips 👏 are 👏 so 👏 soft 👏

● Every now and then they'll get a little chapped, but he's pretty good about exfoliating them when they do

● He wants to make sure you have the best kissing experience with him at all times, so he stays on top of things

● Not only does Denki like receiving kisses, he likes giving them as well

● Cheek kisses are his go-to. If you were to keep track, I'd say he'd give you a cheek kiss at least fifteen times a day, if he's around you that much

● Morning kisses, hello kisses, goodbye kisses—a lot of them end up on your cheeks

● But he also loves kissing your nose! He sees those as more intimate kisses, so usually he saves them for when you're cuddling together

● He just loves the way your face scrunches up in a grin when he does it >w<

● He loves to smother your face with little pecks, and he especially likes to tease you by kissing anywhere but your mouth until you get frustrated

● But he doesn't have that much self-control, so he may just kiss your lips soon enough anyway, if you're patient

● You can expect him to prelude a ton of kisses with either a joke or a pick up line. He thinks he’s being smooth (he’s really not), but he loves seeing you happy and giggling

● He also likes to zap you jus a teeny bit here and there. Never enough to hurt (he'd cry if he ever hurt you), but just enough to surprise you

● Sometimes he accidentally static-shocks you when you kiss, especially right after he used his quirk, so that can sting a bit. He always apologizes when it happens and offers you more kisses

● He likes sweet kisses, especially the ones during or right after dates, where he just gets to close his eyes and let the world fall away into nothing but your warm lips. He likes wrapping his hands around your waist to pull you close, and tilt your chin so he can get the perfect angle on your mouth

● Sometimes he smiles and giggles while you're kissing, and that can make it a little difficult to stay on his lips. But it's so darn cute, you have no intentions of ever telling him to stop

● He loves making out with you. So much

● He likes to “set the scene” if he has time, but it’s usually just dimming the lights a little (he's not above making out to music tho, so if you're interested, he'll be happy to deliver)

● But just having you in your or his room with him, on the bed with you on his lap, kissing you slow for all you're worth—

● Fantastic, easily one of his favorite parts of the relationship

● And he likes the hungry kisses too, where he pins you to the mattress (or you pin him; he's into both 👀) and it's all just sloppy tongue and teeth

● 😞👌

● If you allow it, his hands will be all over your body

● If you possess boobs (no matter the size), he's touching them

● With permission ofc

● I headcanon him to be a boob/chest guy (I mean, he loves all of you, but come on. Boobs. Need I say more?)

● Buuuut, he's also touching your butt. Homeboy's a groper

● He likes to grab handfuls of you wherever they may wander, squeezing your warm flesh around his fingers

● You may have to tell him at first not to do it so hard

● He's a hornee boi, so he likes to make out with you a few times a week. If you have to miss a couple of sessions, he'll get grumpy and you'll have to make it up to him (with extra kissies, ofc)

● If you were to pin him to the wall and passionately kiss him, he'd probably die from how hot he found it. Or he’d just short-circuit

● Any time you kiss him, he'll melt

● He loves kissing you, but there's something a little extra special about when it’s you initiating

● It makes him feel so loved, even if you just walk up to him and peck his forehead

● It's important to him not only that he loves you, but that you love him back just as much. That's what makes him go 🥺🥺

● He simps for one person and one person only now, and it's you

● Extra: He draws fanart of you and him kissing in his free time 👀 just little doodles in the margins of his notebooks. Aizawa always makes a face whenever Denki accidentally leaves one on his homework but otherwise doesn’t say anything

The overhead light is turned off, a screensaver on his monitor providing a soft glow to the bed opposite in the room. You're seated comfortably on his lap, his hands lightly resting on your ass.

He starts with simple pecks on your lips, each one lingering longer against your skin, heavier in pressure. He's soft but moist, warm underneath where his saliva had cooled in the temperature of the room. An electricity seems to dance between you, and you're not sure if it's just your imagination or if he really is using his quirk.

Finally his tongue swipes against your bottom lip, and you grant him access. Your fingers lace through his hair, displacing the black lightning bolt that had been shaped so perfectly among the golden-blond strands. His tongue comes into contact with yours, touching and licking before securing itself behind your teeth. You're drawn even closer to him, locked in a wet embrace as his hands squeeze.

He could never get enough of you, enough of this feeling. He was obsessed with the way his heart still pounded in his chest, obsessed with the way fireworks went off in his stomach no matter how many times he'd done this before. All it took was a touch, a kiss, a squeeze, and he was gone. In moments like these, you were the only thing that mattered. Not his failures, not his inadequacies, not the stress of school. Just you, and only you.

One of his hands moved to cup your cheek, keeping you close while the other slid down your thigh. He released your lips, only to come back for more more more, desperate to show you how much he loved you, how badly he needed you. A whimper escaped him, swallowed by the kiss but present nonetheless. You answered in your own pretty little moan, fingers alighting on the base of his skull to pull him ever forward into you.

He could stay here forever, drowning in your taste, your touch, your scent. What harm would it be?

Kaminari picked you up, turning you over and laying you down softly onto his bed. He quickly loomed over you, supported by an arm on either side of your head as he dove in for another kiss.

Forever was a long time, so maybe he'd start with tonight.

His thumb traced along your cheekbone, lips still pushing and pulling against yours. He loved the way you caged his hips in with your thighs, keeping him in place. Loved how your hands softly rested by your head on his pillow.

He paused, suddenly realizing just how lightheaded he was. Reluctantly, he pulled back for air, chest expanding and contracting with each soft breath. 

You were under him. He was so thankful it was you. He'd never witnessed a person so beautiful—never experienced lips so addictive, so kissable. You were intoxicating, the way your shining eyes locked with his as your own hand came up to trace his face.

Even in the low light, he could make out every feature he loved—from your nose to your cheeks to your chin, nothing escaped his gaze.

"I love you," you whispered to him, and just like every other time you said it, he knew it was true.

"I love you too," he whispered back, because that was also true. How couldn't it be?

He kissed you once more before shifting to his side, pulling you into his arms where he knew you'd be safe and warm.

'I love you' hummed through his every nerve as he showered your skin with his love—your forehead, your nose, your cheeks. All of it perfection in his eyes, and he wished nothing would change.

You nestled into his neck, your hot skin brushing over his own.

"Sleepy?" he asked, rubbing your back.

He felt you nod, and he couldn't help but smile. Burying his nose in your hair, he inhaled your scent. It was nights like these when he truly knew what the word 'comfort' meant, since he felt it to the very marrow of his bones.

Absolutely nothing could compare to the way it felt to have you fall asleep in his arms. Your breaths began to even out as his hands continued to wander, intent on caressing you and worshiping every inch of skin he was able to touch.

Even before he pulled the blanket over your shoulders, you were warm. Drifting off to sleep in his arms, his lips still lazily pressing kisses to your hair, you felt content.

══════ ≪ .·:·.♡.·:·. ≫ ══════

Taglist: @aahilovetheatre @basicaegyo @hyunmin-1404 @iiminibattlehero @katsugay @nabo39 @pyrofanatic @rainy-skys-and-bright-stars​ @sendhelpimstupid @sxngwoos-ash-box @xoxopam4​

#denki kaminari #kaminari denki #kaminari headcanons #denki headcanons #kaminari imagine #denki imagine #denki kaminari imagine #denki x reader #kaminari x reader #denki kaminari x reader #kaminari denki x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #reader insert #request fulfilled! #sugar fics #sugar hcs

[rattlerinthewheel]

Fruit Bat: Scud/Reader

He should know better than to irritate the vampire that’s already pissed, wounded, and starving—so you teach him.

For the Kinky Things Happen bingo square: vampires and discipline, at @pandoratriestowritestuff’s request for some Scud. Credit to them and @phoenixblack89, who talked about Scud getting spanked and choking on a donut, for the respective scenes.

- - -

You’re still pissed at him.

But it’s hard to give him the silent treatment when you need to get at the junk around the tables. Move, pass me that wrench, throw me that wire, is dry and distant, work-related; but turn that shit down, quit spewing crumbs, stop grabbing me, and other growls that aren’t related to the tech you’re fiddling with get read as some sign—to keep doing those things, but that’s sure not what your glares should be saying.

Well, it isn’t a surprise that he’s being a dumbass about it. A moron about a lot of shit, lately, the bandage on your arm can vouch for that. And it was an accident, sure, you wouldn’t usually blame him for aiming that UV flashlight at anything that swarmed at him on a job; but he’d been high and you’d called out a warning, dammit, and he still got you with it. Burned like a motherfucker, like acid.

His apology was huffed, high-sluggish, and rank like the shitty weed he’d been toking.

Maybe he’s realizing you’re really pissed, content with just your hand as company for a few days, because you haven’t taken a break even once from this group project—a net of UV panels you can drape over the van; they stay off for now, obviously—to get your hands down his pants, or his down yours.

But Josh—Scud’s dumb, and it pisses him off to be called Josh, so of course that’s what you call him—is definitely high, not as sharp as he’d otherwise be, and his logic is coming from his dick today. His brain would be screaming at him to not agitate the vampire that’s wounded and pissed.

He’s prodded at you the whole damn night so far, brushing your groin to grab a tool there’s fifteen more of scattered around that he can get to, angling his head in a way that makes the churning veins under too damn tempting, flat-out groping your ass when his first two tactics don’t get him anything more than warning hisses.

Except when he decides he doesn’t like a particular hiss you give, too much teeth for his liking, because when his hand drops from where it’s gotten in a squeeze it claps right back down across the ass cheek it grabbed. Fucking hard, too; "make peace, not war" your ass.

You whirl where he’s scrambling back to his side of the room, giggling, hands raised with his palms out like he can call a truce. Like he hasn’t been doing this shit all night and your hisses and menaced fangs are supposed to be equals, or something.

Well, they aren’t. And you feel like cashing in some payback.

"C’mon, baby, lighten up!" trails his getaway while you give chase. You don’t run after him, but Josh stumbles and darts around like you are. It’s one of the oldest hunting tactics, just following, while the prey tires itself out trying to get away. Vampires don’t need to use it, you could just as easily catch up, even with a bandaged arm.

But Josh wants to goddamn play, so you’ll follow suit. For now.

Smoker’s lungs, stoner’s, don’t let him keep it up as long as a guy his age could. Josh staggers, stumbles a last time like his clothes weigh fifty pounds, and drops on the steps up to another part of the workshop. By his couch and TV, the little nest he’s made for himself, and you don’t think that’s accidental; but you don’t plan to move things to that shitty couch, not anytime soon.

You walk right up to him, and Josh goddamn grins, leaning back on his hands and spreading his legs like he’s offering himself up like a damn meal. He’s still got one of those shitty donuts, and he takes a bite, still grinning, and flicks a crumb at your leg.

"You’re a child," you growl, getting a whiff of syrup lactic acids, probably burning his calves like battery; iron thumped in and out of his heart, jumping in his throat, flushing his face; that damn weed turning everything earthy, chalky like loam, but still good.

"I’m a delight," spews more crumbs with another giggle. "Besides, baby, you love it."

You do—when you aren’t pissed at him. "Love to kick your ass," you huff, toeing the step by his foot.

His hum makes you swallow. Fucking thirsty, you are, and that’s just the worst kind of trifecta for Josh to be near right now: starved, pissed, and wounded. Your nerves are shot, and his chase didn’t tire you, but it sure as shit reminded you of what hunts are supposed to take care of. And his hum, that sounds vaguely like a dying, helpless churr from a punctured throat...

Shit.

But the hum bubbles into a chuckle, as you’re stepping away to beat it and get back to work—so Blade doesn’t have you to stake and Josh to mend, or a drained corpse to bury—when you get a lazy kick to your calf and a teasing, "The little fruit bat running away? Afraid I’ll smack him again?"

You’re starving, agitated, and your arm throbs. It’s not a nickname you hate, but it sets off something.

You stop, turn back slowly, and flick your eyes to either side to make sure you won’t be skewered by stray junk out of place. All clear, so you skulk up, schooling your face into a careful, bland look that puts Josh on edge more than a scowl.

"Ain’t my ass about to get smacked, boy," is throttled with a snap of fangs and a low pounce, and Josh can only drop the fucking donut and yelp as you tackle him.

He gets a bit of ground, because his hand clamps right down on the bandages, making you bark at the bolt of pain. It’s been longer since your last drink than you admitted to Blade, before he left, and that doesn’t help. But Blade would’ve had you come with, otherwise, and you figured dealing with Josh was worth getting the panels for the van closer to field testing.

Because as much as you want to skitter up the wall and drop Josh from the rafters, most days, you don’t want to get back to the van and find a drained, stoner-sized juice box.

So it’s a little ironic that he’s sprawled over your legs, when the scuffle’s over. It’s not what you intended—to pin him to his stomach, straddle, and give a few smacks before letting him go—but you sort yourselves out. First Josh, and you wrap an arm over his waist to keep him down; then yourself, and you sit up properly so his ass is right where you want it.

These days, child rearing isn’t what you were accustomed to, and Josh doesn’t figure it out until he feels your hand settle across the seat of his cargo pants. "No fuckin’ way," is half telling, half laughing, and the weed probably has something to do with that second part.

Because the first part’s not amused, but just in case he doesn’t get it across that he’s not thrilled to be pinned this way, Josh starts trying to buck off your lap.

"Yes fucking way," you hiss, and your hand cracks down over his right cheek.

It’s loud, even for his human hearing, and goes off like a shotgun blast. Josh twists his head back, huffing. The scowl he tries to give doesn’t have the kind of impact he hopes for, when it twitches at the second swat you land, right over the same spot. Harder than the first, because you won’t have him scowling at you, goddamn brat.

"Hope you know how to sleep with one eye open," cracks when you get a handful of flesh, quieter when he hangs his head. The pants are thin, and you feel the warmth from the swats, hell, hear the blood fizz under the surface. "Get you back for this."

You frown, not at the threat, but another rush of blood you hear. Feel, even better, in your lap.

You growl and throw a withering look his way, because fucking seriously? "You gettin’ hardover this?"

You hear the bones grind, Josh gritting his teeth, when you give the spot you’ve hit twice now a slow rub. Christ, he is, and he’s halfway there by the time you’ve rubbed enough circles into the warmed skin that you have to strain to hear the fizzing blood. You should’ve guessed he was into this, not like he doesn’t rile you up to pin or chase him anyway, this even makes sense.

The swipe to his left thigh is sudden, vampire speed but not strength because you aren’t that cruel. Your ears perk at the sound it gets, when the crack settles again, but before you can ask if he’s fine you feel his thigh rise up into your hand. You can’t help but scoff, because Christ’s sake, you weren’t trying to get frisky with him—and that ship’s goddamn sailed, because you’re helping him get hard.

You’re getting hard, too, can’t be a hypocrite about that. Josh feels it, pushing up into his side, and when he twists his head back again he’s flushed and his mouth’s open. His eyes are glazed over, brow’s furrowed, you think, but it’s hard to tell with the mop of hair in the way. Dammit,and you get a handful of his shirt in your striking hand to keep him from toppling over, and unwrap the other to push the hair off his face.

You can hear his sigh just fine, but it thrums into your fingers where you keep them pushed into his scalp, warm, damp from work and running from you. "Done already, baby? Maybe we can switch," buzzes up your arm.

Shit. You aren’t excited for that, because if he’s going to get you back he’s damn well working for it. But you can feel him reacting to you, swamping your senses; a whine when your fingers curl in the bangs before combing out, his hips shimmying when your arm loops over again, the muscles of his hide clenching as you drag down his pants and boxers.

That last one gets a sharp breath that’s followed up with a sharper swat. You suck in a gasp yourself and tighten your arm, giving your hard-on friction to grind off of, as you run your fingertips over the barely-pink skin. Warm, hot, without the fabric, and it fizzles louder like damn fireworks, when you drop your palm over the left cheek.

"Baby? Not getting any, uh, urges? Know I look good ‘nough to eat normally, but—"

"Shut up," you snarl, and then you’re smacking him again.

It’s anger at this bullshit, your injury, your arm throbbing as Josh twitches against the hold you just double down on when you start laying down swats quick and hard. He could’ve killed you, and he was too damn high to realize it, to apologize, still hasn’t.

But it’s some twisted fascination, too, watching the barely-pink go hot pink, white in the beat after a blow before it blooms darker, then red. You hear the blood fizz, pop, and simmer with each shade the flesh darkens to. Ass goes slower than the thighs, more meat to them, and that reminds you that there’s something to grab so you do. Not after every swat, just to give you both a breather, and you groan when you peel your hand off each time and a five-fingered print flares white before reddening again.

"Hope you choke on those damn donuts," you groan, throaty, when you realize your aim goes off because Josh is rutting into your damn lap. "Quit moving, lemme."

He goes rigid when you grab a hot thigh and spread him open, shift him right so his cock isn’t snug against your leg, and start to stroke. Cruelly slow, but it’s not like he’s getting out of this without some discipline. But you wouldn’t exactly mind doing this again, either...

"No one’s dead, then?"

Josh yelps and finally does buck off your lap. You let him, falling in a heap with his pants still down to his knees, because you’re too busy cringing back from the circle of UV light pointed at the floor. On concrete, not too close to the steps, but you’ve had enough of that wicked light as it is.

Blade doesn’t look bothered by Josh’s undressed, red ass, or the wet spot he left on your jeans. Neither of you finished, just pre-cum, but you’re not keeping a nose or ear out to scent or hear if Josh does by accident in the scramble. You’ve got something else on your mind, that wicks away the lust and anger and drags hunger up your throat so fast you’re dizzy.

The IV bag’s tossed to you, torn into and drained in the time it takes Blade to fish out another from his bag. You hear the flashlight go off and pounce out onto concrete to burrow into the second one he gives over, then growl for the third you can smell when he doesn’t offer it.

"There a problem?"

Your growl sputters, and Josh must’ve gotten his pants back up because he draws attention to himself now. "All good, B. Just looking for some shit for the panels."

Blade doesn’t ask what shit required Josh’s nose being two inches from the lowest step, or being over your lap while he looked, but you go deaf to what they do talk about when the third bag’s thrown your way. By the time you finish, wiggling the puncture marks over your yawning mouth to get the last drop, Blade’s gone and Josh’s face wrinkles.

"Oh, now you don’t want to bother me?" you purr, all fangs, your arm hardly aching and your throat good and wet.

"Shit, dude, would table manners kill you?"

You purr louder, a chuckle, as Josh turns away and goes to hide on his couch with his TV. Close to dawn, anyway, and it’s better to have two pairs of hands for the panels. At least that’s what Josh will tell Blade, probably, if he asks why he isn’t working on it in the morning when you’re sleeping. You’re betting on Blade either calling him out, saying a sore ass doesn’t mean a day off, or just letting it slide. He’s not stranger to vampire strength, even if it’s never been applied to his ass.

Well, Josh can tell him all about it, and you wipe the blood off your face, purr throttling in a real laugh, as Josh decides to lay down on his stomach while he fumbles with the TV.

"Gonna get you back," he reminds you.

In the dim, barely-lit room, with just some cartoon to flick pale tones over the dark space, you lurk over and crawl up onto the back of the couch, balancing on your side, so you can lick your fingers clean and run them through his hair. You tune out the shitty TV to hone in on his blood, calming down, still sputtering around his warm ass. It’s white noise you lose yourself in, purring at his swears when he shifts and agitates the flesh.

#blade 2 #scud #scud x reader #male reader #vampire reader #prompt request #bingo fill

[cas-kingdom]

Little Traveller

A/N: Hope you’re all doing well. <3 (Also… that gif!!!)

Find the OC version of this fic here.

Title: Little Traveller

Summary: While staying at an inn, you sleepwalk, leaving a very uneasy Geralt to come and find you.

Words: 2088

Geralt of Rivia shot up in bed the moment the first knock at the door sounded in the room. He reached under his pillow and pulled out the dagger with practised ease, whipping it in front of him with eyes ready for anything.

The knock echoed again, along with an almost frantic “Mister Witcher!” and he allowed himself to relax only slightly, realising there seemed to be no visible danger. That relaxation was extremely short-lived however, as the moment he instinctively turned his head to the space next to him in bed and noticed it was empty, that fear rose up in his chest once more like a phoenix from its ashes.

He spun his head around, eyes already having adapted to the darkness of the room, searching wildly. That hand rapped against the thin wood of the door and he snarled, shoving the blankets off and swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

The creaking floor felt like ice under his bare feet, but he ignored it, grabbing up his sword leaning by the bedside table and striding to the door. He opened it harshly, and a woman immediately stepped back, gasping a little, hand poised to knock yet again. 

“What?” he snapped, a bite to his voice that would typically have sent anyone running. The woman, who he vaguely recognised as the innkeeper’s wife, thankfully took that as desperation, and quickly set to answering him.

“I’m sorry to wake you, Sir,” she spoke quickly, “but-but I saw your daughter come down the stairs and head outside. I tried to stop her and ask if she was okay, but I think she must be sleepwalking. She didn’t seem responsive at all.”

Geralt’s mind had been whirring since the moment the woman began talking, and by the time she had finished, he had already slammed the door shut. He briskly made his way down the corridor, sword in hand, the woman lingering helplessly still by the door. If he wasn’t so worried, he may have thanked her for the information, but his sole thought was on finding you and ensuring your safety, as it forever had been. The woman had said she’d seen you go outside, so he headed there once he’d gone downstairs.

“Fuck,” he breathed out once the bitter air hit him. His loose hair, tangled from his hours of sleep, blew about his face like a thin curtain as he walked briskly out into the cold, dark night. His sharp eyes began searching, darting this way and that, peering urgently through shadowy trees and along the cobbled paths whose stones dug unforgivably into his feet.

His main concern was that somebody would see a young girl walking alone and vulnerable in the dead of night and view it as a perfect opportunity to grab her up and take her away. It was utterly quiet outside, save for the distant hooting of a barn owl and the snuffling of what was likely a family of foxes nearby, but that of course could never rule out the possibility that the one place a stranger happened to be was also coincidentally where you had ended up.

An irritated and slightly fearful noise wrangled from his throat as he stopped in the middle of a deserted path, twisting in a circle, his palms growing sweaty even in the frigid wind. The loose tunic he wore flapped in the breeze, and he began to feel the first drops of an inevitable rainfall strike his skin.

For the first time in a long time, he felt his heart race abnormally, pounding against his rib cage as he continued to scan his surroundings. Sleepwalking. Never in your life had you sleepwalked, and yet here you were, your first time, and you were scaring him nearly half to his impossible death.

When a quiet cry sliced through the silent air, his head spun around, and his eyes just about made out the sight of someone stood by a tree. Quickly and with all the speed of nature and experience, he ran, feeling his heart skip a beat and yet die down the smallest bit at the same time, likely from relief from realising it was you. He made it to you quickly, dropping his sword to the floor once he was close enough. You clearly looked disoriented, and you were holding your left leg slightly bent at the knee, a hand grasping at the wood of the tree bark beside you. Just like him, you were in your sleeping clothes, though he could see your lips bluing and you were trembling like a leaf.

He slowed when he was a few feet from you, taking in everything. You looked fine, as far as he could tell, apart from the stunned uncertainty obscuring your face. Your eyes were glassy, probably the first of the tears brought on by overpowering confusion even within sleep, and he did not wish for them to get any glassier. He slowed his pace even further, watching you astutely.

Unsurprisingly, you jumped when you sensed someone beside you, and it took a few seconds for you to truly understand who it was, but the moment you did and a wave of realisation washed over your face, Geralt figured it safe enough to move closer. He’d heard somewhere that waking a sleepwalker wasn’t entirely recommended, and for that reason he had been prepared to follow you until you woke yourself, ensuring you didn’t hurt yourself or find yourself in danger. But it seemed you’d moved past the stage of waking up, and he could only thank the gods that he’d made it to you in time for that.

He knelt to the ground—you were short enough to only stand a little higher than him when he was on his knees—and gently grasped your forearms, watching with a slightly creased forehead as you slowly gazed around, attempting to make sense of your surroundings. You were frowning, and he could practically hear your heart racing like a rabbit before you spoke.

“Geralt…” you murmured dazedly. “I-I thought we slept at an inn.” You shivered as a breeze blew past you and he quickly yet cautiously pulled you into his arms, wrapping you up tightly in his hold and rubbing your back. You shuddered almost violently against him, tucking your head under his chin and shutting your eyes as your clouded mind worked away, turning stiff cogs and grinding rusty gears. You grasped onto his shirt, encasing your frozen hands in it to better warm them, not protesting in the least when he shifted to sit back against the tree you’d conveniently woken beside. You lay nested in his lap, a tiny ball of overwhelmed hesitancy, taking in your witcher’s warmth and trying to work out exactly where you were and why you couldn’t remember making the journey there.

“You,” Geralt said, still rubbing your back, “were sleepwalking. And you worried me.”

You opened your eyes, blinking. “Me?”

“Yes, you.” He moved his legs, bending them slightly, and frowned when he saw a small patch of red on his trousers. Peering closer, he could tell it was blood, and he knew it had not come from him. He looked down at you, brushing hair back from your face. “Are you hurt?” he asked, remembering the little cry he’d heard earlier which had alerted him to where you were, and the way you’d been holding your leg up. Before you could even answer, he slid his hand to your ankle and turned it gently. You winced against him, noticing the sharp stone sticking from the sole of your foot just as he did.  

“This is what happens when you go outside without boots on,” he said not at all maliciously, expression softening when he saw your face fall. “I was teasing, Y/N,” he assured you. “But I need you to hold still while I pull this out.”

Your face fell even more at that, and you buried it back into his chest with a pitiful whine. Geralt carded his fingers through your hair as a comfort while he moved you somewhat on his lap, holding your foot at an angle that would likely prove to be uncomfortable soon enough. It was a small stone, and he doubted the wound would require stitches or any further medical assistance than the strip of fabric he’d ripped from the bottom of his shirt to tie around it. The blood on your foot was drying, and the flow seemed to have stopped quickly.

Gently grasping the stone with two fingers, he silently counted to three before tugging hard, pulling it free in a second and garnering no more than a tiny jerk and a quiet mewl of pain from you. He was quick, letting go of you for a mere moment in order to tie the makeshift bandage firmly around your foot, but his arm returned to hold you once more.

More and more frosty drops of rain were falling from the visible storm clouds above, and Geralt knew he’d have to take you inside eventually, especially considering your body—and his, for that matter—wasn’t getting much warmer, but he knew to move you now would only disorient you further.

“I didn’t know I could sleepwalk,” he heard you mumble a second later.

“Anyone can sleepwalk,” he said.

“Did I really walk all the way out here while sleeping?”

“Apparently. A woman came knocking at the door, saying she’d seen you come outside.”

You cuddled up to him. “I feel weird.”

“Let yourself work it out,” he told you lightly. “Your mind’s not used to falling asleep in one place and waking in another.” You sniffled and he sighed, leaning his head back against the tree and praising the little protection it offered the both of you from the wind and the oncoming rainstorm. No doubt it would be a sight to see by anyone who happened to walk outdoors—a man and a girl, both in sleeping clothes and barefoot, looking all but unruly, sitting against an oak tree in the stormy night—and so he was grateful for the fact everyone normal was asleep.

“Sorry for scaring you,” you muttered barely audibly.

“It wasn’t your fault,” he assured you. “Though I still hope you won’t be making a habit of this. Maybe I should tie you to the bed to make sure you don’t wander off, hm?” He glanced down at you, amusement gleaming in his eyes, and you smiled around a yawn.

“That seems a bit much.”

Geralt hummed. “Perhaps a cage,” he suggested airily.

“You’d lock me in a cage?” You drearily opened your eyes to stare up at him accusingly.

“To save myself from being woken in the night and having to run out in the wind and the rain to find you?” He rose an eyebrow. “More likely than you think.” A light giggle left your lips and he smiled, resting his chin on the top of your head. Life with a little companion certainly was a life to be reckoned with. It was never boring, that was for sure. Though of course, you didn’t have to ask to know that he’d follow you to the ends of the earth, even while sleepwalking.

He shook his head as a drop of rain splashed on his nose and peered up at the sky to see more tumbling down from the grey clouds. Sleeping outside more often than not of course meant he—and you, for that matter—was well accustomed to the trials and tribulations of bad weather, but when you’d been wandering outside for who knew how long, was slightly injured, and a warm bed was waiting inside for the both of you, there really was no reason to remain outside longer than necessary.

And so he moved, working past your exhaustedly limp form in order to lift you up and into his arms before he stood to his feet, taking his sword in one hand and holding your with the other. Your own arms wrapped around his neck, and you rested the side of your head against his shoulder, staying as close to the warmth his body still offered as possible.

He walked slowly, his feet twinging a little with each step, but he didn’t find himself overly bothered now he had you in his arms. He turned to look at you, pressing a small kiss to your forehead.

“Let’s get you back to bed, little traveller.”

 Witcher Masterpost

#the witcher #geralt of rivia #geralt #geralt x reader #geralt of rivia x reader #witcher #the witcher x reader #witcher x reader #mine #reader fic #daughter reader #daughter!reader #sister!reader #sister reader #reader #the witcher fanfiction #the witcher fanfic #witcher fanfiction #witcher fanfic #the witcher imagine #witcher imagine #henry cavill #sleepwalking #yayyyyy

[tracybirds]

I was very determined to finish something today :D Yo all knw I’m back in lockdown which like... bro every time I try to write a thing that seems to happen so I’m snowed under again......................... Anyway, decided to finish up the exhausted Virg fic I began on Friday the 13th of August and how has it nearly been a month of lockdown already?? anyway I’m reposting the first bit with this, but wanted to say thank you to everyone who left comments on that snippet and encouraged me!! And big thanks to @gumnut-logic who read the first, slightly sleep-deprived first version of this before it underwent edits

It’s 11:30pm, my brain is no longer functioning, anyways, enjoy <3

 --------------

Virgil drags his leaden feet across the floor, still pink from the hot water, barely acknowledging Scott and Alan, chatting lightly together as he walks past them.

He’s not ready to sleep, but he’s not much good for anything else either.

He’s tired from the ground up. The exhaustion is only in his feet, his calves, his thighs, but it reaches up into his mind all the same. His shoulders ache, but it’s from good work and kind deeds, a balm for any residual overthinking.

He did good today, he knows it, can feel it in every torn muscle fibre.

He’ll just rest for a moment or two. Debrief can wait. John’s probably already written up most of the report.

He collapses onto the nearest sofa, but it’s more muscle memory than aim that lands him safely amongst the cushions.

“Cannonball!” crows a voice from somewhere above him, followed by a sharp yell of “Gordon, no!” and a crash that reverberated through his skull.

Then it hits him, and he launches himself sideways.

Gordon dives onto the sofa, arms and smile wide, as though he hadn’t just come off the same seven-hour mission plus bonus two-hour administrative argument with the nearest hospital who had just had their landscaping done.

And now, incidentally, redone.

Virgil glares from the floor.

“How’s it going, V?” Gordon says, still grinning.

“Ow.”

“Did you fall off the couch? You’ve gotta be careful about these things, you know.”

Short, sharp, monosyllabic words might be enough to fend off some lower forms of life, but Gordon is rather like moss, clinging to hard rock. Virgil opts to ignore him instead as he picks himself up with a groan.

A strong, sure hand grasps his arm and he accepts the extra leverage gladly, hauling his stiff muscles upright and stretching them carefully. He can see the chair Scott had leapt from halfway across the room. Alan isn’t even pretending he’s not laughing, the jerk.

Gordon is nestling, smirking as he burrows down into his cushions.

“Let it go,” he mutters, his hand now resting on Scott’s shoulder. He can’t handle a shouting match now, jackhammering into his brain after a day filled with enough pain.

Scott settles for pulling the cushions from under Gordon’s head and he falls back onto the hard frame with a squawk.

Alan’s laughter erupts again and Virgil doesn’t bother to smother his own smile.

Gordon sits up and his eyes are shining.

“Fine, fine, I deserved that,” he says, grinning up at Scott. “Now, get lost and put the large lump to bed, I checked the stats. There’s fifteen miles registered on his pedometer and he basically hauled three tons today.”

“Not all at once, Gordon, stop exaggerating.”

Gordon shrugs.

“I know the medical studies as well as you do. Sure, they might not think rescue work counts as overtraining, but science doesn’t lie.”

“But, people do,” Virgil says, scowling at him. Each word ripped more energy from his depleted stores. “And I was resting, thanks.”

Gordon lifts a finger, waggling it with a half-smile.

“A couch isn’t a substitute for a bed,” he says, dropping his voice to mimic Virgil’s own. “How many times did you say that to me?”

“When you had a broken back!”

“Right, that’s enough.” Scott steps forward between the bickering brothers. “Decompression time for you both.”

Virgil blinks, realising that he was stooping to an argument with Gordon. Gordon, who always fought dirty, twisting intent and laughing in a way he never could manage. He must be tired.

“Virgil, can you get up to your rooms alone?”

“Yeah,” he says, holding himself upright against the sudden wave of exhaustion. It was as though in remembering he was meant to be tired, his body had decided to lean into that realisation.

“And Gordon…” Scott pauses, eyeing Gordon who was still fairly vibrating with energy even after nine hours in the field. “Go watch a fish or something. Just stay away from each other.”

Virgil is already halfway out the door and his ears have been stoppered by weariness, the external world becoming fuzzy. He doesn’t hear Gordon’s quick reply.

He doesn’t hear Alan’s sharp cry either, doesn’t even register the way the world is tilting sideways.

He merely crumples on the floor in the hallway.

***

Virgil wakes slowly, awareness seeping into his bones and spreading outwards. His neck is propped up at an awkward angle; he’s resting on the pillows that he rearranges around him every night and they are much too high.

He moans a little as he shuffles, his neck creaking as it falls back in alignment with his spine.

The gulls call from outside his window, a high and keening cry. He can hear the light whistles of forest bird. The low murmur of voices unable to pierce the early fog of morning.

He doesn’t remember making it to his bed, but nor does he intend to rise from it.

 He wants to cling to slumber, doesn’t want to make conversation or move. But he’s already lost the game of sleep and settles for burrowing further into the light cotton comforter that had seen him through every summer of his life.

A rough hand on his shoulder greets him instead and he groans a warning as it flips him onto his back.

“Come on, Virgil, we know you’re awake.”

The voice floats down from above him. He grumbles deeply, unintelligibly, and turns his back on the inhumanity of it all.

A sharp poke pierces his clouded thoughts and Virgil growled as he opened one bleary eye.

“What?”

“Gentlemen, he lives,” crows Gordon, arms wide and ready to receive undying adoration for his proclamation.

“It’s been fourteen hours,” Scott says, grimly. “Time for a check-up.”

Virgil wonders at that. Fourteen hours of sleep, while rare in their home, was hardly reason for medical concern. He suspects though, that Scott already knows this, and doesn’t resist for fear that he’ll be forced to leave the warmth and comfort of his bed.

“The air’s stale in here,” he says instead. “I don’t sleep with my windows shut.”

“Arm,” orders Scott, and Virgil lifts it automatically, puzzling over his last memories which certainly don’t involve him shutting his windows. Or entering his room for that matter.

“I fell asleep?” he asks, suddenly.

“Right in the hall,” Gordon says, his eyes dancing with half checked laughter. “You went down like a ton of bricks.”

“It wasn’t funny.” Scott’s manner is terse, his shoulders tight and the deep crease between his eyes growing as he turns to glare at Gordon. “He could have seriously hurt himself.”

“He didn’t though.” He whips around to face Virgil. “And you’re welcome, by the way. I convinced Scott to let us put you here instead of the infirmary. Even woke John up to back me. I risked the wrath of John for you, he said you were physically fine otherwise you’d be waking in that cold infirmary and Scott would have a back spasm from sleeping in those terrible chairs. All for nothing too because you’re fine.”

Virgil stares at him.

He wants to argue with Gordon, the necessity of rules made for their safety niggling at the back of his brain. He wants to roll his eyes, tell him that the infirmary beds aren’t that painful, that the fluorescent lights that blink and buzz might be made for suturing and not sleeping but that they held their own kind of relief, of comfort.

He wants to thank him, for giving him this moment where he could wake slowly to the sounds of birdsong and crashing waves, unheard in the depths of the island. For that moment where he could lay still as the sun streamed in with warmth and good cheer.

He has a thesis of carefully memorised protocols warring with pure sensation of soft coziness and the luxury of a brother who loves him.

He isn’t sure which instinct is winning when he opens his mouth.

“You made me sleep on two pillows.”

The room blurs as the soft mound beneath his head is ripped away at lightning speed. Virgil hardly has time to hear the whirl of rushing air before the pillow connects with his head with a dull thud.

Gordon jabs at his arm.

“No appreciation, I tell you.”

“Gordon! Out!”

Virgil throws the offending pillow after him, chuckling at the sharp laughter that pierced the slammed door.

Scott isn’t smiling.

He pulls the sphygmomanometer tight around Virgil’s arm.

Virgil winces slightly, but says nothing. Not yet.

Scott’s movements are precise and ordered, with nothing to suggest he isn’t conducting a normal check-up at all.

But Virgil knows his brother.

“Hey,” he says softly, watching Scott stare at the dial. “I really am okay.”

Scott’s not listening to the blood pounding through his arteries, not even in pretence. Still, he ignores Virgil and pulls up a new medical report so he can stare intently at that in place of his brother’s gentle eyes.

“Scott,” says Virgil, leaning forward and placing a hand on his shoulder.

Scott shoves it away, his eyes snapping to Virgil’s.

“Why didn’t you call for backup?”

“You were off duty.”

“I don’t mean me,” Scott growls. “I mean, I do, I would’ve been there in a heartbeat if you’d asked. But you didn’t, did you? Not even Alan. Not even John.”

“John was helping,” says Virgil, sharply. “Just because he wasn’t on the ground, doesn’t mean he wasn’t working that same stretch of time. Why do you think Gordon had to wake him?”

“Stop side-stepping my point,” snaps Scott. “We’re a team, Virgil, you can’t work yourself to the point of exhaustion like that.”

“What choice did I have?”

“I should’ve been there, I could’ve-” began Scott, but Virgil merely raised his own voice.

“You couldn’t, Scott. What you’re angry about, I could turn right around and parrot back, you know. Don’t be a hypocrite.”

He fell back against the headboard, wishing he hadn’t woken up. Or at least that he wasn’t having this argument, not here and now.

And he recognises those eyes, the burning frustration at one’s own limitations and the rising fear for a brother mixed with torn compassion and understanding.

He’s mirrored Scott all his life, and it’s startling to see his own familiar expression on Scott’s face.

“Please, Virgil.”

He doesn’t say anything. He can’t make that kind of promise to Scott any more than Scott could to him. Not without breaking it.

Scott smiles sadly as he stands, accepting the silence.

He knows.

“Don’t even think about moving from this room for the next twenty-four hours. Just... get some rest, will you, Virg?”

He thinks he will.

#virgil tracy #gordon tracy #scott tracy #thunderbirds are go #i make no apologies for my rambly nature but also i'm about to fall asleep and that makes me chatty xD #also i get my first covid vaccine tomorrow viva la modern science get vaccinated kids #and adults i'm just used to only speaking to children sorry folks #ANYWAYS AGAIN THUNDERBIRDS AMIRITE :) #sometimes i fic

[mego42]

Are you working on any brio fic that we might get soon? :)

hey anon! unfortunately, i have some p crazy life stuff going on rn and haven't been able to write for a couple off weeks now for a bunch of reasons so i am currently effectively dormant, though hopefully not for long.

but here! have a (rough) (totally unedited) (nsfw) snippet from the thing i was working on before i took a break that may or may not make it into the final fic if i give in to my urge to do a total mulligan (i won't) (probably) (i don't think) (that would be insane) (laughs nervously)

“You still locked in for that seat on the Port Authority board?” Rio asks, his own voice light, almost giddy, making Beth’s pulse trip in response.

“Announcing it on Monday,” Beth breathes, and it hitches a little on the end when his hand slips between her thighs, gently nudging them further apart.

“Then we’re set up,” he says, his fingers ghosting over her swollen clit.

Beth sighs, her eyelashes fluttering. Her hips rock, chasing his touch. “So, what’s my cut?”

Humming, Rio answers her by pressing down, his fingertip circling, and Beth swears she hears static crackling in her ears as she jerks against him. “Li’l late to be negotiation’, ain’t it?”

“Please,” she gasps. “It all falls apart without that piece of paper. I can’t think of a better time. ”

He laughs softly and Beth can hear the warmth in it, the pride and approval making her glow, the firm, steady stroke against her clit setting her on fire.

“Thinkin’ fifteen percent, yeah?”

Beth’s eyes fly open and he’s grinning, his teeth bright white, pressing into the lush pink of his lower lip, and it’s only the repressed laughter sparkling in his eyes that keeps her temper at bay.

“You’re funny,” she says, the effect of her deadpan tone almost ruined by the whimper she just manages to swallow back when his hand slides lower, parting her lips.

“What? You want thirty?” The very tip of one finger teases her entrance, the heel of his hand solid against her clit, giving her something to grind against, and when she does, shuddering at the sharp, zipping bite of the friction across her over-sensitive skin, he smiles wider.

“Try again,” Beth says, her hands flexing against the sides of the tub, fighting the urge to grab his wrist and hold him against her, to beg him to stop playing with her, running his fingertips along her, around her, carefully staying just shy of what she needs.

“Forty’s pretty steep, ma.” He dips the very tip of his finger inside her, then out, drawing a straight line up to her clit and tapping lightly. When he scrapes his nail ever so slightly across the nub and not even her locked jaw and clenched teeth are enough to stop the thin, high-pitched noise that ekes out.

“Nope,” she says, still managing to pop the p.

Rio pulls back and Beth has to bite her tongue to keep from making a sound when his hand recedes. Arching an eyebrow, he purses his lips, mock stern, but Beth can see the way the muscle at the hinge of his jaw twitches, can tell from the gleam in his eye that he’s holding back a grin. This isn’t a new game, not really, they’ve been playing a version of it more or less since they first met—though it’s never been quite as fun as it’s become recently.

“Fifty for a piece of paper?”

“A piece of paper that leads right back to me.”

There’s something birdlike about the brightness of his eyes, in the angle of his head cocked head when he looks down at her. “Oh yeah? You puttin’ your name on it?”

Beth wrinkles her nose. “Deborah’ll know who asked for it.”

Now he’s shaking his head slowly. “Told you, darlin’. It doesn’t matter what they know, only what they can prove.”

The smile playing around the corners of his mouth just knowing enough that a lick of genuine irritation has Beth straightening up, the water sloshing against the sides of the tub as she reaches for her drink.

“Legally,” she snaps, taking a sip. “Knowing’s enough to make it hard to ask for favors.”

His shoulder lifts, drops, the slightest acknowledgment of her point at odds with the utter lack of concern in his tone. “Everyone’s got a price.”

“And mine’s fifty.”

The click of her tumbler against porcelain seems to echo, underscoring the finality of her offer. A sharp contrast to the soft lap of the faint currents his arm drags through the water as he runs his fingers along her inner thigh.

“Fifty’s a big number.” His eyes are dark on hers as his hand slips back between her legs.

Beth swallows back a groan as he strokes gently over her clit. “Not for a partner.”

“Kind of a one-sided partnership when you take into account who’s doin’ all the legwork.”

“Not my lane,” Beth bites out, the strain equal parts from his fingers—dipping lower, closer to the pulsing center of the fire crackling inside her—and the bright grin that flashes across his face, the victory of turning his words back around him, of him recognizing it, stoking the heat just as much as his touch.

“You need me,” she reminds him, her eyes darting back and forth, tightly focused to catalog every micro reaction. And she sees it: the way his eyes change, the deep, dark brown turning almost black, liquid, fathomless.

“Yeah,” he says, the low rasp of his voice as tangible as the rough scrape of the callus at the base of his thumb against the soft skin at the very top of her thigh. “I do.”

Then two of his fingers are inside her, a husky cry ripping free of the back of Beth’s throat as her back arches, sending water sloshing over the sides of the tub, dark patches blooming across Rio’s shirt and jeans. Her hands scrabble, slipping off the slick porcelain, as he slowly pumps them in and out.

“So, we have—” Beth breaks off with a ragged gasp when Rio hooks his fingers up, pressing into that one spot he’s so, so good at finding, but doesn’t let him deter her. “We have a deal.”

His teeth flash, bright and white and sharp, his knuckles pressing into the soft curve of her thigh as he re-angles his thumb, pressing it down on her clit. Beth’s pulse pounds and eyelashes flutter, everything in her begging her to let her eyes shut, her head fall back and give in to the electric heat spiking through her, but she refuses to look away until he says it.

And he knows, of course he knows, because somewhere along the lines they’ve started learning each other. It’s such a jolt every time, something bubbling, sparkling, rising inside her stomach, her chest, her throat, warming her from the inside out whenever she realizes it—that he sees her, knows her, understands her.

“Yeah mama,” he says, his voice a deep rumble that rolls over her, stroking her and setting her alight just as surely as his fingers working inside her. “We have a deal.”

#i love writing them negotiating #it's the back and forth for me #see monster for reference lmao #beth x rio #brio fic #my fic #shut up meg

[babbushka]

can you please please write a rough and filthy flip bit where you roleplay “chief zimmerman” and a detective who needs punished? Thank you and I love your work!!❤️🥰

Anonymous said: I’d love to request smut dialogue prompt 71 for our favorite detective please! I love sexy Flip action! Thank you 😘

(1.7k, NSFW: roleplay, dirty talk, mirror sex, PIV, choking, begging) 

Quietly, Flip closes the front door behind him. It’s cricket-hours out in the mountains of Colorado Springs where he bought his home, and even though it’s been years since you’ve gone to sleep without him home, he still thinks that if you had gone to sleep, he sure as shit doesn’t want to go waking you up.

Through the dark house he goes, up the stairs – avoiding the squeaky step and all – until he finds himself at the open door of his bedroom you share, where you’re lying in bed awake, reading a book donned only in your robe, by the glow of the bedside table lamp.

When you look up and see him smiling at you from the doorway, you can’t help but give him a cheeky smile back, a glimmer in your eye that tells Flip he’s in for something tonight.

“You’re late, detective.” You close your book and set it on the nightstand, crossing your arms over your chest. Flip hovers in the doorway, trying to guess what game this is that you want to play. There’s a couple different ones that you break out now and again, but he doesn’t have to guess for much longer, because you tap at your wrist on an imaginary watch and declare, “I told you to have that report finished by nine. And what time is it?”

“Nine-fifteen.” Flip lies. It’s much later than nine-fifteen, fuck what he would give if it were only nine-fifteen instead of the one-am that it actually is.

But he knows how to play this game, he wants to play this game, because he’s certain that tonight he’s going to win.

“And what are we going to do about that?” You challenge, still looking at him expectantly, waiting.

Flip shucks off his sherpa jacket, lets it sit on the dresser against the wall. He steps out of his boots, begins to unbutton the flannel that sits atop his ringer-tee.

“You could punish me.” He offers, although if you wanted to punish him for something, the bedroom would be set up a little bit differently than this.

“Do you want to be punished?” You watch him lazily as he unbuttons his jeans, pulls the tee over his head in that way that only guys ever seem to do, from the back instead of the front. You eye his firm solid stomach and lick your lips, “Or do you want to make it up to me?”

“Oh I’ll more than make it up to you, chief.”  Flip gives you a cocky grin, like he already knows he’s won, and you have half a mind to make him really work for it, but it’s one in the morning and you missed him too much to play too hard to get for too long.

“I was hoping you’d say that.” You bite at your grin, before reaching out to him with grabbing hands, wanting him close.

At once, Flip climbs up onto the bed and grabs at your ankles, drags you down the mattress as you laugh, breaking character just for a moment to cover your mouth and giggle. There’s a mirror affixed to the dresser, and he turns you to face it, kneeling behind you on the mattress, his hands already smoothing across your stomach, undoing the sash of your robe so that it falls away, showing off your tits.

"I’m gonna fuck you in front of the mirror,” Flip murmurs low in your ear, his hands rising up up up to cup and knead at your tits, voice deep and dark and gravelly as he continues, “I want you to see how pretty you look when you’re spreading your legs for me.”

Almost on instinct, your knees slide apart, and he presses his smirk into the crook of your neck.

“You think I’m pretty?” You bat your lashes at him through the reflection of the mirror, and one of Flip’s hands abandons your tits to go toy at your pussy gently, just enough to get you worked up.

“I think you’re the foxiest thing this side of the Rockies, ketsl.” He whispers, pleased to see how wet you are already, how badly you’ve been wanting him. “Let me show you, let me make you feel good.”

Nodding at him, you tip your head back so it rests on his shoulder, looking through your lashes in the mirror. You think it’s so fucking hot how you’re watching it, watching him pulls your hips into a position where he can push his cock through those slick folds and into your cunt, the both of you balancing on your knees on the mattress. One of your hands reaches behind you to tighten in Flip’s hair, as your mouth drops open from the feeling of being stuffed and stretched.

“Ohh, ah! Flip – ” You moan, eyelids fluttering shut as you let yourself sink further down onto his cock, until you can feel the head of it prodding up against your cervix in a way that’s halfway painful.

“Detective.” Flip kisses the corner of your mouth, because it’s the only thing he can reach from behind you like this, as he works to build up a steady rhythm, wanting to grab and grope you all over.

“Right, yes right, detective, oh fuck you’re good with that cock of yours huh? You whore yourself around to get out of trouble like this often? Fucking pretty women to get your way?” You babble, having missed him so much, saving up all these words for him to come home and listen to.

Flip pats at the side of your thigh, sucks on your earlobe as he rocks into you, grinds his hips up up up and down, thrusting hard enough that he can see your tits sway in the mirror.

“Only when the women are this pretty, and have pussies this nice and tight.” He growls in response.

Flip fucks you a little faster, and then a little faster still, until the mattress squeaks and groans underneath your knees. Flip wants to push you down onto your hands, but he can’t see it then, can’t see the way he fucks you so nice. So instead, he pulls your back flush against his chest, one of his hands hoisting your leg up for a deeper angle, the other clamping around your neck to keep you steady.

“Oh fuck, fuck, detective --!” You moan loud when he squeezes on the sides of your throat, restricts your air and gets you all lightheaded and dizzy.

The pleasure shivers through your body and you can’t help but shake rattle tremble sigh a little, moaning and groaning as he chokes you, fucks you harder and harder, keeps your eyes trained on yourself in the mirror.

“Watch ketsl, look, see how your cunt swallows my big dick down? Practically begging for it, aren’t you, slut? I bet you made me late on purpose so you’d get fucked, didn’t you?” He grunts, mean and harsh in your ear, and you melt, your knees wobbling, as he shoves his cock so far up into you that it lifts you up a little, knees coming off the mattress entirely.

“Mmmmmmmaybe.” You drool, out of your mind, gasping down air as he releases your throat, letting you breathe before clamping down again, his mouth on your ear.

“Can you feel how deep I am inside you? Feel me stretching you from the inside out? Gonna fuck you and ruin you for any other men, no one else will make you feel as good as me.” He whispers, his teeth grazing your earlobe, cock pounding into your pussy.

“Yeahyeah – yes, yes Flip!” You shout, and he doesn’t bother to correct you this time, because this time you’re coming all over his cock.

Releasing your throat, he covers your neck with kisses instead, gentle presses of his lips, long thick stripes of his tongue. He lets you fall forward onto your chest, your ass in the air for him to rub and fuck your cunt from. Flip does, oh he does, gives you a real run for your money with how long he holds out – but eventually, exhaustion from the day wins, and Flip can feel the hot tight curl of pleasure bubble up in the pit of his stomach.

“Let me come in you, so when it drips down your thighs you’ll know just which detective fucked you full.” Flip grunts, his way of saying he’s close.

“Yes, please, please come in me Phil, please I want it, god you’re so fucking good!” You beg, your voice breathy and raspy, desperate for him, wanting him to do everything he says and then some.

Flip grunts with a final few thrusts and spills his load into you, pumps you full just like he promised, until he’s got absolutely no energy left in his bones, and he pulls out, watching as his own come trickles down your thigh.

You both know you should clean up before succumbing to sleep, or at the very least, getting a wet rag to wipe the come and sweat off your bodies, but the closest available thing is your robe, and neither of you want to get out of bed for something different. So, Flip takes that and cleans you up dutifully, before making an expert throw of the robe into the hamper, and officially curling up next to you for the night.

“That Mrs. Zimmerman must be a real lucky lady.” You whisper, once the bedside table lamp has been shut off, and the crickets sing outside the window, out in the yard and in the mountains.

“You’re damn right she is,” Flip chuckles, kissing you softly, sweetly, “But I’m a way luckier man to have her.”

And in the quiet of night, he’s just about to fall asleep, his cheek resting on your breast just above your heartbeat, when you tug on his ear and very sleepily murmur with a blissed out giggle, “You really are late though, you know.”

#flip zimmerman #flip zimmerman/reader #flip zimmerman x reader #flip zimmerman/you #flip zimmerman x you #flip zimmerman smut #flip zimmerman imagine #blackkklansman #adam driver fanfic #adcu

[nicknellie]

Anonymous requested: I know in a post you said something about Alex getting sensory overload so for the requests maybe Alex getting sensory overload and Willie being there to do his best to help Alex out

Ahhh, I love this request so much! This is my favourite Alex headcanon that I have so I’m really glad you requested this. I wrote it as a mixture of what I go through when I get sensory overload and also what I’ve found through research so more people can hopefully relate. I haven’t proof-read it yet, but I’ll come back and do that later. Thank you so much for the request!

Title from All You’re Dreaming Of by Liam Gallagher.

TW: sensory overload, anxiety

When The World Is At Its Worst

Alex had three extremes: worrying himself so much that he overworked, worrying himself so much that he got nothing done, and worrying himself so much that he broke. Normally, he could cope with pushing himself too hard – at least that way he got things done, and when he ran out of errands to make himself run it gave him some time to relax and recalibrate. Getting little done was more stressful, but it tended to happen less often, so Alex didn’t see it as much of a problem. What Alex struggled with the most was pulling himself back together when he felt utterly ruined.

Sometimes – not as often as he worked too hard, but not as seldom as he worked too little – Alex would worry himself to the point where everything simply became too much. The point where every sensation was painfully overwhelming, distressing in a way nothing else really compared too. Lights shone too brightly, noises were amplified tenfold, and if something was touching him he could feel it like a hand clasped too tightly on his skin. His parents had said it was just him being sensitive, Willie had said it was probably something called sensory overload, but Alex just wished it didn’t happen to him.

The worst part was that it was usually caused by him working himself too hard, something he didn’t think he could have ever stopped if he tried. He would worry, which would make him work, which would worry him more if things weren’t going well, and then his mind would dissolve into a mess of disarrayed senses and feelings and it hurt. He would shut down, which only seemed to make his anxieties worse.

It hadn’t happened in a while though, so that made Alex feel a little better about the whole thing. Maybe, if he’d got lucky for once, those episodes were starting to go away. Maybe he didn’t have to worry about them so much now that they hadn’t happened in a few months. Maybe he could start to get on with his life as normal. He could hope, at the very least.

Exams week was coming up at Los Feliz. For Alex, when exam stress hit, it hit hard. He wasn’t even sure what worried him so much about exams. Perhaps it was the big fiasco that school always made about exams, having to sit in total silence with the threat of disqualification looming over you so much that it was nerve-wracking to even lift your head to look at the time. Perhaps it was the orderly rows and having an entire year group lumped in the hall together, making it feel so formal and suffocating and painfully important in a way it almost certainly wasn’t. Perhaps it was the unpredictability of it all, not knowing what would come up or what it would be best to revise.

It didn’t matter too much to Alex what was stressing him out – even when he knew what was causing his nerves, he had never been much good at combatting them. His strategy this time was to prepare for the exams as much as he could, force himself to soak in as much information as possible. He just wanted to give himself a chance to be confident that he knew everything because just maybe that would help him do well and calm down.

He had enlisted Willie to help him revise over the weekend. Willie was more than happy to do so – he had said he was looking forward to spending some quality time with his boyfriend even if it was just the two of them pouring over a biology revision guide for four hours straight. If Alex hadn’t been so conscious that he needed to be revising, he would have felt bad that he was spending time with Willie without spending time with him, but thankfully Willie truly didn’t seem to mind.

“Ten out of ten, hotdog,” Willie said triumphantly after Alex had given them his final answer to the quick quiz Willie had been giving him. “Third time in a row, too. You’re going to ace this test.”

Alex closed his eyes and rubbed his fingers against his temples. He didn’t say anything. Willie had sounded certain that Alex would do well for the whole day, but the truth was that Alex felt like he was guessing most of the answers and getting them right by pure chance. Either that or Willie was giving him the benefit of the doubt and saying he was right when he was actually miles off. Despite the fact that he had constantly shown he knew what he was talking about, he still felt completely clueless.

Willie didn’t seem best pleased with Alex’s silence. “Hey,” they said, gently taking one of Alex’s hands. “You know your stuff. You’ll be fine. And if you’re really that worried, you’ve still got the rest of the week to refresh your memory. We’ve got this.”

Alex hummed noncommittally. He heard Willie sigh.

“Why don’t we take a quick break?” Willie suggested, running his hand through Alex’s hair.

At that, Alex’s eyes shot open, he sat up and immediately stiffened, looking wide-eyed at a baffled Willie.

“No,” he said, “I don’t need to take a break. I’m not going to be able to learn all this if I take time out.”

Willie looked at him, his brown eyes sympathetic. “I don’t want to push you too hard. At least get up and get a glass of water – we’ve been sat in the same place for hours, it’ll do you good to clear your head.”

“I don’t need to,” Alex repeated. How could he get up and walk away when he still had five more topics to cover? When he needed to doublecheck he understood everything and still have time to solve some physics problems afterwards? He couldn’t just ‘take a break’. It would ruin everything.

“Are you sure?” Willie said. They didn’t look convinced, but Alex wasn’t going to back down. He knew what he needed to do and he was going to stick to it.

He nodded shortly and then flicked to a new page. “Test me on this,” he told Willie, who – with a reluctant sigh – began to ask him questions about the information.

The problem was that Willie’s suggestion had thrown Alex off-balance. Now all he could think of was not working and how that would be detrimental, it didn’t even cross his mind that it didn’t matter because he was still working now. He suddenly found himself unable to concentrate on the questions and the ridiculously long sciencey words Willie was using, his mind bogged down with practical methods and half-remembered equations that had nothing to do with what he was revising.

He quickly started getting questions wrong, saying the first thing that came to mind only to be told that the right answer was something he should have known because it was obvious. With each wrong answer he became more and more distressed, tears stinging his eyes, feeling stupid.

“Breathe, Alex,” Willie said. “Take your time with the questions, you don’t need to rush it. This isn’t the exam, it’s just you and me here. You have all the time you need.”

But, Alex wanted to say, I won’t have all that time when the exam comes and I need to get this right now. He didn’t get how Willie couldn’t see that. So he kept guessing, giving answers he was sure were wrong, but his mind feeling so fogged that he couldn’t think of anything else.

He didn’t even realise he had started crying until Willie reached out to wipe a tear from his cheek and the sensation wasn’t soothing – he could feel it so deeply that it almost hurt.

Without thinking, he shuffled across the bed where they were both sat, out of Willie’s reach. For a brief moment, Willie looked confused, but then they seemed to realise what was going on and he didn’t try to move any closer.

Alex hated this feeling and he had been so sure that it was going to stop happening. But he had clearly been wrong, because now that he was sat in a different place it felt wrong. The way he could see his bedroom, from a slightly different angle to before, felt so strange and so alien that it hurt. The bedcovers he was sat on now were too cold and coarse against his skin, so he pulled his legs against his chest. That moved his shirt slightly, and he became painfully aware of how the material felt, how it clung to his body like a second skin, and that hurt too. He realised that the lights in his room were too bright, far too bright, so he clamped his eyes shut and slapped his hands over his eyes.

He heard the ruffling of bedsheets, presumably as Willie got up from the bed. He heard him flick the light-switch off and pull the curtains closed – a click that he felt like a knife in his skull and a grating drag that pounded against his ears. He pressed his thumbs over his ears while still keeping his hands over his eyes, trying to block out the noise. Everything was too loud, too bright, too something to be comfortable. He couldn’t talk, he couldn’t move.

He felt trapped.

There was no telling how long it went on for. He couldn’t move his hands away from his eyes to look at his watch, not that it was really the biggest thing weighing on his mind. In fact, for the first time in hours, there wasn’t much on his mind at all apart from how he just wanted to go back to feeling comfortable. He wanted to hear without it being too loud, look at things without hurting his eyes, take that break Willie had suggested – and probably apologise to Willie too.

These things usually lasted quite a while. If Alex had to guess, it would have been about fifteen minutes since he shuffled away from Willie when he slowly took his hands away from his eyes and ears and drew in a great, shuddering breath. He blinked his eyes open and was grateful that Willie had turned the lights down. He looked over to where Willie was, perched on the edge of the bed, watching Alex’s face carefully. Willie raised his eyebrows, asking a silent question, and Alex nodded.

“Can I touch you?” they asked softly. Again, Alex just nodded, still not feeling able to speak.

Gently, Willie reached out his hand and did the same thing that had sparked the overload in the first place, wiping away tears from Alex’s cheek. This time Alex didn’t shuffle away, but he didn’t lean into Willie’s touch either; it wasn’t insufferable anymore, but it still wasn’t pleasant.

“What do you need me to do for you, Alex?” Willie asked.

Alex thought for a moment, then made himself reach out and take Willie’s hand. Willie held it tightly, knowing that light touches were often worse than firm ones. Alex let his fingers gently trail along Willie’s palm and their wrist. He looked tearily into Willie’s eyes and almost felt himself smile at the reassuring look on Willie’s face.

“You’re okay, hotdog,” Willie told him. “You’re through the worst of it now. Just breathe. Dry your eyes and breathe.”

He did as he said, wiping at the dried tears on his cheeks with the back of his hand. Willie squeezed his hand, close, reassuring, encouraging. He didn’t talk, he just let Alex calm down the way he needed to, saving most of the noise for when Alex was definitely ready.

“I’m sorry,” Alex croaked eventually. His voice box felt dry and scratchy.

Willie shook their head. “You have nothing to apologise for. You can’t help it.”

“I should be able to by now,” Alex protested.

“You might never be able to,” Willie said matter-of-factly. “That’s not a bad thing, it’s just something that happens to you. It sucks, of course it does, but this might be a part of you forever. You don’t need to apologise for something beyond your control.”

“It shouldn’t be beyond my control.”

Willie left a hesitant pause but then seemed to make his mind up. “Don’t let your parents get that into your head. Don’t let them make you believe that. I don’t care what they say about this – they don’t get it. Alex, there’s nothing about this that makes you weak or too sensitive or whatever it is they tell you. Lots of people get sensory overload, it’s not something alien or weird. It’s not something you can stop forever, so please don’t hurt yourself trying to.”

Alex looked at him, suddenly teary-eyed again. “I don’t want it to happen forever.”

“I’m not saying we can’t do things to make it better,” they replied kindly. “I’m sure there’s techniques that can make it easier to deal with, even if they don’t prevent it forever. Or maybe it’s time we looked at getting you some therapy or counselling. What do you think?”

“My parents would never let me get help like that,” Alex said, chuckling darkly.

For just a moment though, he let himself think about it. He let himself wonder what it would be like if he could see a professional and get the right kind of help. Maybe he would learn not only how to calm his sensory overload but also how to control his anxiety better in general. Maybe if he’d been getting the right kind of help before all this then he wouldn’t have had the exam stress anyway and he wouldn’t even be having this conversation. There were endless possibilities but he was sure he’d never see any of them come to light.

“If you don’t want to tell them about it then  we could wait until you turn eighteen,” Willie suggested, squeezing Alex’s hand again. “That way you don’t need parental permission.”

“That’s not for another three months,” Alex said petulantly.

“So?”

“So what if it stops by then?”

Willie raised his eyebrows. “Do you think it will have?”

Alex couldn’t have given an honest answer. He said nothing, just pulled himself to Willie and hugged him tightly. He felt their arms instantly loop around his waist, their hands planting themselves firmly on his back. Alex buried his face into Willie’s shoulder, holding him as close as he possibly could, all of a sudden wanting to touch him as much as he could.

“You’re going to be okay, hotdog,” Willie said, pressing a gentle kiss to Alex’s cheek. “I promise.”

“I believe you.”

*

Taglist (if you want to be added or removed just let me know): @ace-bookworm @williexmercer @willex-owns-my-heart @itstiger720 @the-reckless-and-the-brave @that-one-newsie @bluedarkness @lookingthroughmirrors @tmp-jatp @salty-star @julieandthequeers @lmaohuh @sunnysbright 

#at first i was gonna make the cause of the sensory overload the last thing that made me get it #then i realised that was frank sinatra and it seemed a little silly after that lmao #so this isn’t the most recent thing that gave it to me but it is the worst #based off something from like November? #tw sensory overload #jatp #willex #alex mercer #julie and the phantoms #willie jatp #willie x alex #alex x willie #willex fic #jatp fic #julie and the himbos #request #my writing #tw anxiety #emotional hurt/comfort #mlm ship #writing #fanfic #fan fiction #fanfiction #fic

[sarahjkl82-blog]

Artistic Instinct Chapter 2

Header thanks to the lovely @yespolkadotkitty​

Summary: Marcus Pike and OC Anushka Pierce have been selected to work on a 5 eyes (Australia, Canada, NZ, the UK and US) intelligence team to track down art forgeries as a part of taking down an international white terrorism cell. Marcus is trying to escape his broken heart, Anushka is just trying to escape what the world expects of her.

Word count: 2,595

Warnings: Language, mention of a death and blood, small injury.

Pairing: Marcus Pike x reader (OC)

This comes with a MASSIVE THANK YOU to the lovely @yespolkadotkitty , who read, re-read, pointed out the constant flipping between tenses and gave me the confidence to try to write something!

Thank you for all the love you showed me for the first chapter. I think I’ve added everyone who wanted to be on the taglist but please let me know if I missed you!

https://sarahjkl82-blog.tumblr.com/post/645670387553828864/artistic-instinct-chapter-1 -Link to chapter 1 if you haven’t read it!

Art isn’t paint. It is love.

Philip Hicken

Chapter 2

Dear Mondays, 

Go to hell. 

Love, 

Everyone

Headphones clasp your head with the Chemical Brothers pounding the same rhythm as your heartbeat, as you take the steps two at a time. 08:59:43. Just over fifteen seconds to get to your desk, fire up the computer, make a coffee and pretend that you have been at your desk for at least half an hour before your new job starts. Not that it’s a new job really, just a sideways shuffle for Stephens to get you out of his hair and into the hair of someone called Marcus Pike. 

Push or pull. Dammit. You have an awkward relationship with doors; you’d started your first day at training with a bloody nose and a black eye having walked headfirst into what you thought should have been a push door. That was how you and Hephzi had met, giggling about how the first mission was to work out doors and their two directions. Before you could make a poor decision, however-

“I got you, honey!” Andy sweeps the door open for you. 

“What the fuck would I do without you?” You place your hands on either side of Andy’s face and give him a massive kiss right on his lips.

“Is that how we’re going to greet each other on this team?” a broad, dark curly haired man questions. 

“Nush- this is Agent Kiritopa Morrison. Landed less than 12 hours ago from half the world away and fresher faced than all of us put together.” Andy shakes his head as he introduces the grinning New Zealander, who holds out his bear-paw-sized hand in a greeting. 

“Hah! You don’t know where this mouth has been!” You laugh nervously as your eyes nervously dart around the room.

“While I would be delighted if we all got along well, I think HR might have a heart attack if we become that close!” a rich baritone reaches across the room, making the occupants turn towards its owner. You allow your eyes to trail up the sharply tailored suit, the immaculately pressed shirt, to the half Windsor knot of his tie and the sharp line of a jaw lightly covered in a patchy scruff. Your face gives away nothing, your training paying off, as your mind catalogues  his dark brown, crinkled eyes and the deep set dimple in his right cheek. “Marcus Pike, pleased to meet you.” 

You accept his warm, offered hand with an eyebrow raised, “Anushka Pierce.” 

Marcus desperately tries to read your face. Yes, you are definitely the woman from the ridiculously thin file that he’d been sent. Your eyebrow is cocked at the exact angle as your photo, your olive skin darker than the photo- in fact, you are even more strikingly beautiful in person and Andy was right. Walls around you that would rival any high security prison. There was a fleeting moment of seeing your warmth and a playful glow in those eyes as you greeted Andy and yet, as soon as you clocked Kiritopa or that there was anyone else in the office, it was as if you took a step back and those walls rolled up like a tinted car window.

A gentle cough brings your attention from each other back to the small office space.

“This person furiously working is Agent Harper Gleason.”  Andy gestures towards a young, impeccably dressed woman, who barely raises an eyebrow at you as you pass her desk, which suits you down to the ground. “And you have already met Dian.” 

The Canadian smiles broadly at you, “Thank you so much for the Monmouth Coffee recommendation- it’s so good to find a decent cup here! Borough Market truly is beautiful isn’t it? Just felt like I could eat everything there!” She gushes at you at roughly a thousand words a second as your face twitches in surprised acknowledgment of her light-speed comments.

“Sounds like my kind of place,” the Texas-via-California accent intones, his eyes looking dead at you, desperately searching for that warmth that you so freely show Andy and obviously had started to extend to Dian. Your eyes are elsewhere, scanning the room for your desk, not noticing the eyes focussing on you. “You’re over here, Agent Pierce.” Marcus gestures to a clear desk setup. 

Your hands skirt over the clear top, enjoying the emptiness under your fingers. No mouldy coffee cups, PostIt notes or dubious stains. A fresh start. That is until Andy hands you a mug of steaming black coffee. You look up giving him a half smile of thanks and see him giving a nod in the direction of a semi opaque glass office to the right of your desk.

“Time for you to shine, chick. Meeting in Agent Pike’s room in two minutes.” Andy quietly said in your direction. 

As you grab your coffee, some splashes up over your hand, burning you and marking that once clear table, “FUCK!” the clipped consonants ring out across the quiet office, causing a couple of raised eyebrows. Marcus, who had been holding the door of his office for people to come in for the meeting, rushes the two steps over to your desk, taking your burnt hand gently in his to examine your injury. You fly back away from his touch as if it had scalded you worse than the coffee. 

“I am so sorry. I should have asked before touching you,” he apologises profusely, holding his hands up in front of his chest, “We will put a pause on the meeting until you’ve run some cold water over your hand. Your hand comes first, we can catch up on where we’re all at in five minutes.” 

“I’m fine. I’ll come through now,” your eyes can’t quite meet his as a wave of bewilderment washes through you. Why the fuck did you react like that? A bit fucking dramatic for a gentle touch! 

“No, I insist. Please go run your hand under the faucet, it’s looking pretty raw right now.” Marcus firmly yet kindly says to you, still trying to catch your eye to make sure that you’re okay. 

Despite his heartfelt apology, you can see that he’s squirming in those beautifully tailored trousers. Obviously the embarrassment of reaching out and touching you, had started to wane but the thoughts were still running laps across his face. You could try to put his mind at rest, it was his first day after all.

“Ok, give me a minute and I’ll be through.” you acquiesce, still refusing to look up at Marcus as you walk away from your desk. On reaching the door, you try to search through your mind as to which way Andy had opened it earlier. Holding your breath, you settle on attempting to pull it open. Phew, the door opens the way you hope so no bruised foreheads to add to the burnt hand. I mean, how much more can I embarrass myself on my first day? 

The bathroom, thankfully, had a sign denoting which way to open the door. Ever glad that you didn’t wear makeup thanks to your dark features, you splash cold water on your face and leave the tap running over the back of your hand. Taking some deep inhalations, you try to settle those butterflies in your tummy. Apart from seemingly endless raps on the knuckles that had landed you back in the lecture theatre, Stephens had been your only boss since leaving training and whilst you were nowhere near as close as you are with Andy, there is a dull ache in your chest as you think of him. That wonderful level of professional distance he’d always kept and yet, a paternal streak that came out when you needed it. Like when Kelly had been taken from you. 

How he’d held you tight in his arms as you’d screamed into his broad chest, both of you streaked in his blood. Still unable to hug him back despite Kelly being Stephens’ nephew, you stood there rigidly with your fists tightly balled at your sides, unable to grieve that man who was never yours. How he’d wanted you to take time off and yet, you were back at your desk within four hours- red rimmed, puffy eyes being the only give away that you had lost the man that you were never officially in a relationship with only hours earlier. If you searched your thoughts hard enough, you could still feel that squeeze of Stephens’ hand upon your shoulder, as you’d sat, staring blankly at your screen, trying to let the blue lights erase your thoughts. 

A soft knock at the bathroom door  brings you back to the here and now. Andy doesn’t wait for an invitation to enter, his long arms sweeping across your body like a seatbelt across your torso. Stooping slightly to rest his chin on your shoulder. You rest your head against his cheek. “I’m not going to tell you that I’m worried about you and I know that you’d rather run a mile than talk but know that I’m here,” he whispers gently in your ear. “Right now though, you need to give your face a scrub, tighten those shoelaces and get yourself in there, Nush.”

✪✪✪✪✪

Marcus looks up and smiles gently, his eyes crinkling as your Docs make your presence known on the hard floor, “Hey, your burn almost looks like the state of Texas- if I didn’t know better, I’d think you’d done it to get in my good books!” he kindly jokes. 

Did your mouth slightly turn up? A warmth spreads through him at the thought he might have raised a smile on your face. “Are you ready to start us off, Agent Pierce?”

With a barely audible exhale, your face instantly turns to the screen behind you, clicking straight back into field mode as if you hadn’t spent months in a classroom, “With the recent finding that at least 60% of the art currently on display and in the storage of Musée d’ Étienne Terrus, we seem to be hitting a new point in forgeries in the lesser known echelons of artists. Obviously, we are meant to be focussing our efforts on infiltrating the gang of forgers who seem to be trying to flood the market with modern masters but I can’t help but think there’s a link here too. He may be less well known but it almost feels like perhaps this was our group’s starting point.”

“Like their teething ring? This was their introduction before heading for the big boy artists,” Kiritopa stares closely at the images, “Did the ink of the signature really rub off after being touched by a glove?”

“That’s not even the half of it,” you explain, eyebrows raised, “It was found to have two signatures- one from Terrus and one from someone called J. Armengol. Another picture showed a roof upon a chateau that wasn’t renovated until thirty five years after his death and many of the watercolours were painted on paper with a weft so tightly woven that it wasn’t commonly available until after World War Two even though Terrus died in 1922.”

“The first sign we had of this group was when my DC team intercepted the Modigliani that was about to be sold at Sotheby’s in New York. The failings seem to be similar albeit a little less hard to see with the naked eye now,” Marcus adds as he scratches his jaw, then re-crosses his arms across his elegantly suited chest. “We found traces of phthalocyanine blue under an infrared microscope. Wasn’t allowed any coffee that day as we had to ensure really steady hands. My headache was immense!” 

Your eyes narrow at Marcus as you search his face for answers. Not with any malice but rather a confusion at his openness. Why would he share such random facts? Wasn’t he worried about mixing his personal feelings with work?  His eyes catch yours and with a barely noticeable nod of his head, he urges you to continue with your findings.

“Exactly, but I don’t think that was their initial entry into the scene. You don’t go straight into modern masters, you test the waters with lesser knowns where their catalogue is more questionable and easier to exaggerate. Whilst Terrus was a huge influence to Matisse and is generally seen as one of the predecessors of Fauvism, he is unknown enough that it is easy to “find” more works, stashed in an attic. His works are not out of the price range of smaller art collectors with pieces going for roughly £6000 so, it is- ” 

“So you teethe on these lesser known commodities before heading into the hotter pieces with larger price tags.” Harper speaks up. “And it’s the perfect way to fund extremist activities as it’s virtually untraceable once, if you ever reach the forgers. There’s rarely a path further forward but I’ve been working on trying to tie up links between some major known groups and their members as forgery isn’t a simple route for hiding or creating more money.”

Dian, who’s been sitting back in her chair watching all the faces of her colleagues as they batted their ideas back and forth, suddenly sits up and cocks her head, “There’s something in the fact that they’ve chosen artists from the first half of the twentieth century. Fifty years with two World Wars. I wonder if we’re looking at a group operating with ideals based on an extremely warped worldview that was prevalent at the time.”

You and Marcus speak at the same time, in a perfect chorus, “But Modigliani and Chagall were both Jewish!” 

“Hah! Great minds!” Marcus grins at you, his perfectly straight teeth on full display. “I think you’re onto something there, Agent Youngerson, but we need to dig a bit more. Perhaps, you can work alongside Agent Gleason to see if we can find those links. Agent Morrison, I’d like you to collate lists of all the known pieces by the artists, who have recently had forgeries intercepted. Please also tap into your agencies from home and see if they have any other information that will benefit us here.”

Your eyes dance up and down the table. And me? What is my role? Where do I fit in? You stare at Andy’s head in the vain hope he’d look up from his note taking and give you an idea of where you fit in the grand scheme of this investigation. Oh why won’t he look up? FOR FUCKS-SAKE, ANDY!

“My French is enough to get by, but I hear you are fluent, Agent Pierce?” You stop staring at Andy and snap your head in the direction of Marcus, who you swear is trying to read the inner depths of your soul through his eyes.

A lump forms in your throat. Goosebumps prickle your skin. Dread runs through your veins. 

Please don’t ask me to go back there. Please don’t make me go back there. 

“I’m meant to have a meeting with Interpol in Lyon tomorrow regarding questionable pieces by Soutine that were discovered in a warehouse bust thanks to a tip off.” Marcus continues and although he is sitting three chairs away from you, his voice feels like it’s coming from another room. “Would you join me - I feel your knowledge of French and keen eye for recent forgeries would really help? There’s a flight with seats still available for six thirty tonight at Stansted, Obviously, it’s last minute and I understand if you have other commitments but perhaps I can pick you u-”

“I’ll meet you at Check-In,” you interrupt as the wave of nausea rises in your belly.

Taglist: @astroboots @silverwolf319 @lunaserenade @danniburgh @leonieb @mrsparknuts @mouthymandalorian @disgruntledspacedad @the-ginger-hedge-witch @lv7867 @songsformonkeys

#marcus pike x reader #marcus pike #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #josé pedro balmaceda pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader

[miss-kittys-magical-library]

58 with Billy? 🤔

Rain on Me

(Billy Delaney x Fem!Reader)

Warnings: SMUT and language, the usual

A/N: We all know what happens when Billy takes a shower, he just has a different Jones girl to seduce now. As requested by @slutforrobbiebro from Intimacy Requests: #58 being locked in a small space. This is a continuation of "Shameless."

“Do ye really want to do this? In your aunt’s house?”

“You mean your ex’s house? Less gobbing, more kissing.”

“It's not exactly kissing is it?”

“I don't know, Billy. I'm not down there when you do it, am I?”

“Alright! When did ye get so touchy?” he rolled his eyes and rolled your knickers down.

Billy ran his hands over your knees and parted them. He braced themselves on the back of your thighs as he kissed your sex, tongue dipped just inside the entrance. He slid it backwards along your slit before planting soft little pecks up. Now he darted his tongue in and out in flicks around your clit, teasing it. His fingers kneaded your skin and gripped your ass as he worked his tongue faster.

“Fuck me!” you shouted louder than expected.

Billy didn't stop, but reached a long arm towards your face to cover your mouth. Playful, you bit his fingers and started to suck on one. Your hand wrapped around his forearm as you imitated giving him head. He growled but kept on faster.

His tongue faster than you knew it could travel in and out of you. The circles and snaking took your breath away until he hooked the fingers of his free hand inside of you. He alternated between fingers and tongue while your legs started to squirm. Your cries of pleasure drew footsteps.

“FUCK.. FUCK! Billy!”

“You cumming already?!” he sat back on his haunches, lips wet with you.

Before you could answer there was a loud banging.

“You perverts alright in there?” Alfie. “IT'S MY engagement not yours!”

“Yeah! Fucking golden, mate! I'm just..” Billy held his hands out in front of himself like an offering. He shook his head to indicate he was clueless how to respond.

“Sick! He's gone and vommed all over. Did Tom cook?” you popped the door open a crack. Eyes wide and innocent.

Alfie just blinked back at you his answer.

“Great. From here on Billy’s only or take away. Look I think he's gonna have to clean off. Gems won't mind if he showers right?”

“Oh no. I know what happens when that handsome Irish bastard showers in this house. Why can't you tell Alfie the truth? Quick shag? Pretend he's sick? I'll cover.” Alfie winked at you. Your cheeks pinked in response. “TOO RIGHT YOU ARE!!” he shouted. “Fifteen minutes, but I've gotta bring clothes.”

Billy was already starting the shower as Gemma shouted a very well-timed “Everything good, loves?” She was halfway up the steps.

You watched as Alfie stood in her way, “Nasty. Chunks everywhere. Come on let's have some wine.” Gemma tried to protest but agreed and they left.

You turned around and caught sight of Billy completely nude. He was standing in the shower, water cascading down his shoulders and chest. Your eyes wandered down to his waist and pelvis and..

“Come on, he said fifteen minutes,” Billy wiggled his finger at you in a come here motion. Mischief in his blazing green eyes, his cock stood at attention. “I'll drown doing this for ye.”

“Alfie said you used to drown in pussy anyways, what's one more?” You hastily stripped and joined him with a slam of the glass door.

Before Billy could protest, you tugged him by the neck down to your waiting mouth. His hands enveloped you and spread along your spine. One across your shoulders. The other in the small of your back. His erection hard against your thigh as your tongues and mouths warred with each other.

There was a back and forth with tongues as your hands roamed each other's bodies. Billy's down over your ass to lift you up into his waist. He broke the kiss and covered one of your breasts with his lips and tongued a nipple. He sucked it gently before nipping at it with just the ends of his teeth. You gasped as he did it again to the other.

You found yourself bent in an awkward position. Leaned almost in half backwards as Billy overtook you in his sudden eagerness. His hips, with a mind of their own, twitched as his cock strained towards your entrance.

“How the bloody hell are we going to do this?” you questioned. “We've never shagged in the showers before.”

“Damn,” Billy utterded. He rotated away from you to search for an idea. “There?” he pointed to a built in shelf.

“I don't think we'll fit in there,” your voice came out bemused. It was hard to talk around the water pressure without a shout.

“No! This,” he took your hands and stretched your arms straight up. Then he turned them palm towards the shower ledge and placed them both flat. His hands traveled the length of your arms to your ribs to briefly cup your breasts then over your waist and hips. They lifted you completely off the shower floor so your legs could wrap around his body.

“I see,” your voice lost in the deluge of water that pounded on Billy's shoulders and back as you sank onto his cock. Your own back hard against the shower wall.

The two of you found an uneasy pattern. Now you didn't have much time, your bodies slammed into one another as Billy buried himself in your walls. You started an odd bounce supported by the ledge and his arms under your ass. His fingertips dug into the thick of you as he pounded in earnest. Your bodies made a slapping noise due to the water.

Billy had primed you before and he was angled just right. His mouth consumed yours and inhaled your orgasmic cry so no one could hear it. He pumped a few times and you felt it, him spill inside of you with a spasm. One more time he thrust to make sure; his arms started to buckle from adrenaline drain.

You turned off the shower and went to push open the door. It was stuck.

“This cannot be right,” Billy tried to lift it off the track but it was grounded.

He shook and you pushed and started to argue.

“Like fuck I'm climbing over! You're agile like a sexy Irish cat, you do it.”

“Sexy..” Billy rolled his eyes for the hundredth time as he rattled the door. “As ucht Dé!”

“Is that.. Irish?!”

He shot you a look so murderous that you were grateful momentarily that every adult in the house tumbled into the bathroom at once.

“Is everyone.. Oh! OH!! Ohhh” Gemma showed a range of emotions from concern to confusion to shock to shocked acceptance.

You stood behind Billy as to cover your nudity best you could. He covered his cock and exhaled heavily through his nose. You pressed your forehead to his shoulder and prayed to disappear.

Just then Inca spoke up in her Swedish accent, “Oh yes y/n, I can see the Irish has a pot of gold at the end of his rainbow.”

Billy just covered his eyes too.

@rob-private

#robert sheehan #robert sheehan character fic #billy delaney #me and mrs jones fic #billy x reader

[elleonmybeloved]

The weather on the day of the competition was perfect, nary a cloud in the sky and a warm fresh smelling breeze blew throughout the city of Mondstadt. Everybody was gathered around the archon statue, in front of which a raised wooden platform has been placed as a makeshift stage. The person in charge of the event is just a person who owns an instrument shop in the city, but the real weight behind regulating the event is the group of knights of Favonius that stand guard in the area and enforce safety as well as the rules of the proceedings. There’s no panel of judges. It’s the audience who chooses the winner by writing the name of the bard who gave their favorite performance and placing it inside a wooden box to be counted by the host.

“Ooh, Paimon can’t wait! When are they gonna start already?” Lumine’s floating companion gives an impatient wiggle. “Oh wait, look, here comes the host now!”

The host steps up on the stage, and after a minute the swelling chatter from the crowd dies down to a murmur.

“Greetings citizens of Mondstadt, and welcome to another battle of the bards! It is my pleasure to announce that we will be treated to fifteen performances today. Each contestant will be performing two songs, one preexisting song of their choice, and one of their own. After they have all given their performances, you, the audience, may cast your vote for whoever most greatly moved your heart with their music.” He gives a break for applause.

“May the anemo archon watch over us all! Let the contest begin!” The host steps down off the stage and the first bard takes his place.

One performance after another, the city fills with music. Some chose upbeat, joyous melodies, others slow and mellow ballads, and even some that take a jazzy tune and encourage clapping and dancing from the audience. Lumine is amused to witness what she guesses is a bard commissioned by Stanley to make a song about him and his famous adventures.

By the end of that song, she and the crowd have already memorized the repetitive words and are joining in to shout-sing the great adventurer’s name.

“Good for him, I guess.”

“Paimon thought this was supposed to be emotionally moving music! Geez.”

“They never specified which emotion.” Lumine points out, but before Paimon can quip back, a hush falls over the crowd again as the next bard comes up.

The lanky teen in bright teal that takes the stage is surely Venti, but his prescence feels so different from what she’s used to. Lumine swallows dryly. He’s the one on stage about to perform, so why is she the one feeling nervous all of a sudden?

Venti begins with the first song- Lion Heart, the one about Venessa, the great hero of Mondstadt. The melody flows like the wind but the sound grows and flares like a fire in a grand way that makes her feel as if she herself has been transported back in time and is standing in the middle of a raging war. His voice is strong and unwavering as he effortlessly tackles difficult notes, and his lyre sounds more like the herald of a trumpet than some little church house harp.

When it’s over, the audience whistles and calls out loudly with applause. The man next to her is exclaiming that he has “-Not heard that classic song so masterfully done in decades!” And Lumine has to agree with the sentiment. He could end it right now and still be the one to go home with the prize.

“Oh wooow, who knew the tone-deaf bard could do that! And to think, Paimon didn’t believe him when he said singing was the only thing he did well.”

“Yeah.” She says, squinting at the stage. Venti is setting down his lyre and is taking... something, up to the stage. It looks a bit like a lute, but it’s curved in swirling angles and with it there’s a... straight bow? Nobody else seems puzzled by this, so she figures it’s an instrument native to Teyvat.

He gets into position and Lumine’s heart begins to pound in her chest. Here it comes!

It starts with a deep, resounding hum in a minor key, tamely going above and below the starting note of the chord. The instrument makes a beautifully layered, rich sound that supports the higher and lighter tone of his voice in such a nice way that she instantly understand why he chose to use this instead of his lyre. The melody begins mysterious, and she strains her ears to make out every word.

Venti tells the tale of a forest, ruled by a bird king, a white dove. His voice flutters like the flapping of wings.

The bird king loves his forest, but invaders keep coming in and threatening it. The kings friend, the lizard, drives off the invaders, but the venom of his attack drips to the ground and poisons the forest, causing all the plants to slowly wither and die. The bird king tries everything, but cannot cure the poison, and resigns himself to die with his beloved forest instead of abandoning it, and becomes poisoned as well.

The deep thrum of the stringed instrument waxes somber.

Then, a star falls from the sky, crashing into his forest with a great flash. To the bird king’s surprise, out from the crash site flows light that purifies the poison in the forest, eventually even himself, and the great lizard. He goes to thank the star, but encounters instead a lake of tears and ash.

The bird king asks the fallen star why it laments so. The star says she has lost her ability to fly, and cannot rejoin her friends that soar the heavens. Not being able to fly sounds like the most painful fate the bird king has ever heard, and his heart is moved to help the fallen star.

Lumine recognizes a theme that resembles her song in this part, and then the instrument and Venti’s voice swirl up to a new sound.

The bird king plucks a feather from his own wing, and plants it in the now purified ground. A flower grows, and from it, he plucks a fruit.

He offers the fruit to the fallen star, telling her it is a magical fruit that can restore her power to fly, but it will cause her much pain. She eats the fruit, and is engulfed in a great flame. From the ashes of the fire, she rises, no longer a fallen star, but a phoenix.

The music soars to a climax, shifting from a minor to major key in the last few notes. Then it’s over, and Venti lowers the instrument to take a bow.

The crowd is silent a moment before erupting into applause. Lumine doesn’t know how to feel. She can’t even begin to unpack the meaning of what she just experienced.

Another bard, the next contestant replaces Venti on the stage. Lumine somehow tunes back into the present.

“-and so before I begin my performance I have something to say.” The woman on stage couldn’t be much older than Lumine. There’s something familiar about her. “Unfortunately the song I was about to play has already been played.”

A confused murmur passes through the crowd.

“I got the idea to write a song about a magic forest after being rescued by some adventurers in the Whispering Woods. I worked really ha-“ Her voice breaks on the word. “Worked really hard on it and I was so excited to show it you all today. But I can’t, because he,”

She is lifting a finger at Venti. “Stole my song.”

The host steps forward with an uneasy expression. “That’s quite the accusation. Do you have any proof, Miss...?

“-Solia. Of course I do.” She says, and hands him her notebook. “Here’s where I wrote it. You can even see the drawing I made of the bird who inspired the Bird King.”

“This... does resemble the white cranes in the Whispering Wood.” He admits. Gasps and whispers come from the crowd. Somebody says they always knew Venti was a thief and several others hear that and murmur to each other.

Lumine cannot believe her ears. She can’t see Venti’s expression from here, and she pushes through the crowd to get closer.

“Is what she is saying true, young man? Please be honest.”

Lumine pushes through to the front just as Venti answers him.

“Uheheh, no. If this is meant to be a jest, I’m afraid I must protest.” He just looks really confused. “It’s not that funny.”

“Liar!” Solia cries. “It’s my song!”

Lumine realizes where she’s seen this woman before. Sitting at the base of a windmill, writing in a notebook, a week and a half ago.

“Actually, it’s my song.”

The host looks even more confused as Lumine climbs into the stage and strides over to stand in between Solia and Venti.

“And by that I mean, he wrote it for me while you sat underneath him by the windmill and copied what you heard word for word.”

“Uh, who are you?” Solia is thrown off beat by the exposure, face flushing rapidly. “His -his girlfriend?”

“Enough of this.” The host insists. One of the knights of Favonius is saying something to him. “This young lady is an honorary knight, appointed by Acting Grand Master Jean herself. Miss Solia, if you don’t intend to play your songs, please exit the stage.”

“Huh? But-“ Solia splutters through several half formed protests, but the knight steps towards her and she raises her hands. “I-I’m going.”

Lumine turns to Venti. He looks dazed, like he still can’t believe what happened. “Come on Venti.” She grabs his hand and pulls him with her off stage. “Let’s go.”

They’re a block away before she stops. She is still holding his hand.

She’s at a loss for words. “I can’t believe she did that.”

“It’s okay, Lumine.” He’s already soothing her. “I’m not angry! Eheh... but wow, I should’ve been more careful. I hope it didn’t ruin the song for you.”

“No, not at all!” She shakes her head vehemently, clasping both his hands in hers now. “It was really good. I was really moved. You were so good!”

“Hehe. Thanks.” He’s looking at her grip on his hands.

Lumine realizes and drops them like she’s been burned.

Venti retrieves them and presses one against his cheek and rubs against it.

The question she was about to ask sputters out at the bold gesture.

“You’re so cute.” He croons, and tugs her closer to him. His blue eyes shine with mischief and happiness. “Wanna play a game?”

“Play a- uh yeah, okay!”

“Close your eyes. Open em and you lose~!”

The way he is petting her is very distracting. Lumine closes her eyes and hopes she doesn’t look dumb. She can feel his breath on her face. Her heart lurches in anticipation.

“...”

She cracks an eye open, wondering what’s going on.

“Hey! Come on, you didn’t even last ten seconds!” He complains. “I’m good at this but I’m not that fast.”

The long parts of her hair are in his hands, one side half braided. She realizes he is giving her the same style as him.

“Oh sorry.” She says, and closes her eyes at his pointed look. Lumine holds very still. She feels repetitive little tugs at her hair one side, then the other. Is he finished? Feels like it.

“We match.” His voice is very close.

Pressure pulls her head forward by the braids in a gentle motion. And then there’s a swell of warmth as soft lips press firm against hers and a hand presses against the small of her back.

Lumine was sufficiently fooled into not expecting it, and a chorus of butterflies rise in her stomach as Venti pulls back and kisses her again.

Elation fills her at the confirmed prospect of his feelings and her cautiously withheld affection for him breaks free. Lumine presses a hand to the back of Venti’s neck to bring their lips even closer together.

They take turns swapping sweet kisses until they are both breathless and love-drunk. Venti isn’t there to hear himself win first place.

#genshin impact #venti #lumine #venti x traveler #good evening to my fellow venlumi shippers and them only #just kidding lol but anyways may I offer you some cuteness in these trying times? #I did my best with the song don’t drag me please