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acourtofmenandthirst · 3 months

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When The Night Calls

Tamlin x Reader

Warnings: smut, slight breeding, dubcon if you will, Calanmai, beastie tamlin (not abo or actual beastiality)

Word Count: 6.6K

This Tamlin x reader was inspired by @slutbugz (nsfw) on twitter!! I got permission to write this, and here are a couple pics that inspired me. Not Tamlin, but I mean come on how hot would he be like this…

Your mother tucked a warm cup of tea between your palms and curled a strand of loose hair behind your ear. Your father had spent a majority of the evening boarding up the windows and the doors, nailing the heavy wooden slats into the frame. The incescent sound of the sharp iron nails being driven into the trim with the steel hammer had you on edge all night - and even though he’d been at it for hours, you still weren’t used to the noise.

He’d all but buried you in the house, laying stones and heavy bags of sand in front of all the doorways to create a hearty wall outside your home. He’d then shut and locked all the doors, opting to nail wooden boards across all the openings, despite the metal latches already fastened in place.

Calanmai used to be a night spent outside, with singing and dancing, letting the magic run wild across the Spring Court hills. You could even feel it twist and twirl through your ankles and across your arms, like a warm wind. It was a party most Fae snuck out to join, once they were old enough, that is. The joyous feast and dancing around the bonfire lasted most of the evening, before the Fae females were lined up for the High Lord’s choosing.

It used to be an honor to be taken for the evening, a lustful night spent with the most powerful Fae male, in which her bodily sacrifice promised good yield and high power for the following year. Her family would be well taken care of, and her likeness would be celebrated throughout the town.

The High Lord had been rumored to be a great lover. A strong male, large and well built, with shining green eyes and oh-so-pullable blond hair. The females he bedded had lived on cloud-nine for the first few days after the ceremony, and despite their lust-blown eyes and the contagious smile across their plump swollen lips, none had ever uttered a word about the male’s performance. They didn’t need to, though, as even a blind Fae could tell all they needed to from their blissed out state.

While the Spring Court males had never been too pleased that their sisters or daughters could be whisked away by the High Lord for an eventful evening, it was considered a blessing by the Mother herself, considering it was her magic that coursed through his veins that night and chose his partner.

But it hadn’t been the same in the past few years. Not even with all the years spent under the mountain - you’d still had that one night of freedom, where Fae wine and music spread across the Spring Court hills. A night of tears filled with the promise of freedom - someday. Tamlin had bedded a lovely brunette that last evening, and though seemingly possessed by a darker magic (perhaps due to the circumstances set forth by Amarantha) the female returned to the crowd with shaking legs.

But it had only gotten worse after that. After you’d been freed from the confines of the mountain, at the hands of that once-human female, you’d expected the court to return to its plush green, with magic in the wind and happiness in the air.

But then the female left - well, she was stolen.

And then the High Lord became unhinged.

Later, when it was found out that she’d up and all but left him for the Night Court - that she had willed for the High Lord of the Night Court to take her from Spring - Tamlin had broken completely.

War waged throughout the lands while he remained bastardized and miserable. Lucien, the Autumn Court emissary, had left as well. The High Lord was utterly alone.

Calanmai was skipped that year.

The harvests suffered. There was so little food to go around; the salvageable fruits and vegetables were sold at market for one hundred times their worth. There was once a point where money and gold were valued and traded for nearly as much, but you couldn’t even buy meat with three solid gold necklaces - at that time, if it wasn’t edible, it was worthless. Your small family had barely made it through the year, keeping to themselves and rationing soup and bread.

Rumor had it, Tamlin had been seen around lately. He was spotted lurking in the woods, his unmistakable green eyes glowed against the dark brush. Word had gone around suggesting he’d be back for this Calanmai. He would have to return for the magic to be restored in the lands - and it would make quite the return.

You were glad, hoping he’d retake control of the court. You all surely needed it. But the sight of your father boarding up the house only made your bones itch.

The male hadn’t been seen in human form in over a year.

He undoubtedly had built up an unquenchable thirst.

You sighed into your tea cup, rubbing the

furrow between your eyebrows.

“We should’ve sought refuge in the Summer Court,” you father grumbled, more to himself than either you or your mother. He dropped a nail, causing the heavy piece of lumber he was nailing over the final window to fall to the wooden floor with a loud bang. Your flinch caused some of your tea to splash out of your mug and onto your hands.

Your mother responded regardless: “And give them what in return, exactly?” It was the argument they’d been having for the past month: leave the Spring Court for the week of Calanmai and seek refuge in Summer. But with the poor yeild and nothing to offer in return for shelter, your mother did not think it would be a good idea. Though, your father argued it would be better to sleep on the beaches of the Summer Court than to risk the High Lord stealing you for Calanmai.

While the argument ensued in the living room, you wandered off into your bedroom, unable to listen to the same conversation they’d already had a million times over. You lit the candle beside your bed, grimacing at the wooden slats that had been nailed over your large window, the moonlight shining in only through the slivers of space between the boards. You knelt on the floor beside your bed, sighing as you read the time on the clock beside your bed: 9:07. You only had three more hours until this night came to an end.

You pressed your nose against your palms, held together in prayer as your elbows rested on the bed. You silently prayed to the Mother for an uneventful evening: that your home, your mother, your friends, and your neighbors would all be safe. You prayed that the High Lord regained his power over the court, prayed for a strong yield, and prayed that whoever he did choose the evening would make it out safe and sound.

Through the muffled sound of your parents’ argument outside your closed bedroom door, you heard the wind ruffling the leaves outside. The tree on the otherside of your window rapped against the glass, the bushes shaking wildly as they were stirred up by the wind.

You furrowed your brows as you rose and neared the wooden slats, unsure of the storm that was brewing up outside. But as you neared the glass, peering over the boards, there was a dark figure climbing through the brush in front of your window.

A pair of bright green eyes glared back at you, dark in color but shining brighter than the moon. You were frozen in place with a gasp lodged somewhere deep in your throat. He did nothing but stare at you, his large figure shielded by the leaves. His head was furry - wolffish ears standing tall above his head and glinting in the moonlight.

He radiated nothing but pure power.

You stumbled backwards, nearly tripping over the back of your skirts. As you steadied yourself, though, he took one step forward. As you moved back again, feeling for the bedside table behind you, he took another forward, his chest nearly touching the glass of your window. You watched ad his chest broadened with each heavy breath he took. The cold air swirled around his head, the air nearly freezing cold.

He raised a large hand and his fingers rapped against the window, no doubt feeling how thick the glass is. Then his eyes narrowed, staring at you between the gaps of the wooden boards. He made quick work to tear down the moat of sandbags and stones on the ground at the base of your window.

Without another look back at the half beast - you ran, calling for your patents.

But your shouts were drowned out by the sound of broken glass and heavy breathing, the male grunting as he tore through the wooden boards, breaking them right down the middle, ripping nails out of the frame.

You lurched for the door, running out into the living room, following your parents’ confused calls, shouting for help. But somehow, the male was faster, and as he was right on your heels, you took one look back before heading straight for the kitchen.

The male was build like a stone fucking wall, muscles coiling around his chest and arms, stained red from the cold air outside. He wore nothing but a pair of thick looking trousers, stained with grass and mud - unlikely to have been washed within the past year. His head was covered by a wolf’s hide, brownish in color, with glassy brown eyes. The jaw had been broken, such that the lower half of the jaw was missing, exposing the male’s face to you. The wolf’s teeth crowded his face, intimidating sharpness mirroring the Fae’s own fangs that he barred in your direction. His blond hair poked out around his jaw, mixing with the fur that flowed into the hood down his back.

The High Lord had come for you.

You screamed, rounding the corner hoping to find something to defend yourself with. As you scanned around the kitchen, unable to find anything, you heard your mother’s scream, and his footsteps indicating that he was closing in on you.

“Son of a bitch - ” you heard your dad call towards him, only to be met with a feral growl from the taller male.

Without another look back at your family, you ran out the back door.

Straight into the woods.

You went as fast as your feet could take you, using only the moonlight as a guide into the woods.

You couldn’t hear anything over the wind whirling past you, mixing with the sound of your heartbeat drumming in your pointy ears. You wove through trees and hurled yourself over boulders and fallen branches, praying to all the gods that you didn’t slip on anything. You didn’t know if he was running on his own two legs or on all fours. Nothing would surprise you, considering the rumors of the shifter male - more powerful than any other Fae… you had no doubt he’d catch up to you eventually.

But why hadn’t he caught you by now?

You swallowed the lump forming in your throat and pushed your legs impossibly faster, arms pumping at your sides to keep your momentum going, every so often shooting out beside you to keep your balance as you tripped over slippery rocks and fallen tree branches.

It felt like you’d been running for hours, though you knew he wouldn’t have let you - after all, there were only a few hours left of the night, the Calanmai magic had to be sealed in before midnight. You had never run so fast or so far; you wove through trees, looking for the godsdamned river that ran into Spring from the Autumn Court - but you couldn’t hear it, let alone find it. You’d twisted and turned around the trees so many times that you’d lost track of where you were. You couldn’t find any of the trails; not even the moonlight could light up the ground enough for you to track any Fae or animal footprints.

It was still so quiet behind you, maybe you lost him when you slid between the narrow spaces between the trees, surely his huge form wouldn’t fit. In the dark, though, you missed all the claw marks on the tree bark, where the High Lord had clawed his way through the thicket. His lips spread into a grin as he could hear your racing heart from where he ran behind you.

You gulped down a deep breath and your hands coiled into fists. You mustered the strength to tilt your jaw to the side, the moon lighting your sights just far enough in front of you to confirm there were no trees in front of you to run into.

Your legs kept pushing as your head turned, eyes darting out to the side to look for the pursuer.

Then he lurched.

Your breath caught in your throat as it felt like your heart stopped beating completely. He’d been shadowing your every move, no more than a step away from you this whole time. Two big hands grabbed your hips easily, his long arms barely having to stretch out to pull you into his chest. His warm palms pinned your hips to his own, your back flush against his naked chest as your feet left the ground and he came to a sudden stop.

You let out a winded groan, your chest and legs burning from the sudden stop - but your bare feet were damn near thanking the gods as they left the freezing ground, no doubt cut up and bleeding.

The High Lord took no more than a few steps forward before he set you back down on your own two feet, a strangled groan leaving your throat when the dewy leaves met your open wounds. You clawed at his forearms and the backs of his hands, panic suddenly flooding through you.

But he kept his hips pressed up against your ass as you lurched forward, trying to escape his grip. But he simply laughed, the rumble of his chest vibrating into your back as he mirrored your movements.

He was so warm, though, and the cold was quickly sinking into your bones as you were held in place. The thin layer of sweat that coated your legs and the back of your neck was starting feel like you’d been doused in an ice bath. The only thing keeping your teeth from chattering and your chest from convulsing was the beast of a male behind you.

He adjusted his grip, holding you across the waist with one arm, as the other slid over your skirts, drawing a long line down your leg until he found the hem and hiked it up over your hips. You screamed at his quick actions, one of this thick thighs found his way between yours. His pants brushed against the apex of your thighs, the sudden pressure between your legs causing them to squeeze around his.

“Scream all you want,” he growled, the sound of your panting only causing his cock to stir in his pants. “Nobody can hear you.” His breath brushed against your ear as he leaned in close to whisper to you. You shivered when his hips began to rut against you, building up in presesure that you rocked on your tiptoes when his hips jutted against your ass.

There had been years where Tamlin had looked forward to Calanmai, the magic coursing through his veins turning him into a completely different male. He used to love the sound of the female’s blissful moans and cries falling over him in praise as he bedded them for hours. He missed how they’d pull at his hair, how they’d promise him anything he wanted, that he could take them however he’d pleased.

And this was how he wanted you, heady, desperate, rocking back against him as your legs dared to curl around his, fighting for him to be even closer to you.

Tamlin grinned again, biting into the crook of your neck, right at the exposed flesh from the neckline of your dress. It was soft, just enough for his fangs to press against your skin, to which the gasp that escaped your lips almost had him sticking his cock into you immediately.

You felt the fur against your neck, the matted coarse hairs from the wolf hide he wore poking against your sensitive skin as he licked over the bitemark he’d just given you. Your knees pushed together, feet leaving the ground as you rocked against his thick thigh. Tamlin kept his vice-grip on your waist as the other hand pushed up your dress until it was hiked up over your back. He then curled his arm around your front, reaching over your hip and the mountain of skirts around your waist. He rested you on his thigh, your toes now barely grazing the ground.

It took all of your strength not to rock your hips back and forth against his leg.

And turns out you weren’t that strong.

The heat radiating off him was like a drug coursing through your body, and the only way to keep it flowing was by rubbing your cunt across his hard-muscled thigh. The friction of your undergarments against his pants was addicting.

Tamlin laughed at how eager you were.

He let you have your fun, tucking his hand down your front, fingers sliding between where your pussy was rubbing against him. You gasped, his cold fingers sliding between you legs, prodding at your clit as you shifted back and forth across him.

Your hands flew out to the tree in front of you, sharp bark digging into your palms. But you couldn’t feel it, you were just using it for balance so you could continue fucking yourself against him.

The High Lord practically moaned as you let out a shaky sigh, watching you work so hard to get yourself off - before he even started. He curled his fingers upwards, relishing in the cry that passed your lips when your clit brushed against his fingertips. He dared to move his hand further between your legs, hissing at the way your warm cunt tried to envelope his fingers even through your underwear. He swallowed hard, trying not to focus too hard on your ass brushing against his hard cock in his pants.

So with a few quick passes between your legs, he pulled his hand away abruptly, ignoring the strangled groan that fell from you as your hips faltered.

You were so close.

He lowered you down so your own feet held you up, promptly removing his leg from between yours. You practically whined, pressing your knees and thighs together, clenching around absolutely nothing as you fought to feel something - anything.

Tamlin wasted no time in grabbing all your undergarments and tearing them off you in one quick motion. You screamed, the cold air hitting you all at once, shocking your system. But before you could even register the feeling, you felt his nose press against your bare cunt, his long tongue swiping across your folds.

“Oh my gods,” was all you could gasp as your hips flew backwards, meeting his face as he opened his mouth and began his assault between your legs. He chuckled again, you felt his lips curl into a smile before he kissed around your clit and bit at the fat of your upper thighs. He licked at your clit, back and forth in a quick motion before licking up your slit.

He moaned at the taste, the first woman he’d had properly in years, even. He wasn’t planning on eating you out, the only thing on his mind was burying his cock as deep into your cunt as your body could take, but at the rate his dick was growing, he knew he’d have to loosen you up at least a little before that.

But as his tongue pressed up into your hole, feeling your warm walls, he knew that no matter how long he’d spent opening your cunt up, you’d still be so tight around his fucking cock. The taste of your juices mixed with his own filthy thoughts of bouncing you stupid on his cock had him groaning, the vibrations tickling your thighs that had esentailly trapped him between your legs, unwilling to let him go again.

Not before you came, at least.

“You like this don’t you,” he growled through barred teeth. “Want me to use you for the night? You didn’t run very fast, like you wanted me to catch you, huh?” You felt his lips moving against your pussy as he spoke. You bit back a response, all thoughts and words caught in your throat as he continued to work at your clit.

You pushed further into the bark of the tree as you pressed yourself back against Tamlin’s face. You felt the nose of that godsdamned wolf hood press against your ass, which had you grinding even further into your High Lord’s face. He fell to his knees behind you, running his tongue against your slit and clit as you fucked his face. His hands found purchase against your hips, grabbing at your ass and quickening your pace as your legs shook around him.

You felt his tongue curl up between your legs, flicking at your clit as you were left clenching around nothing, yet again. “Please,” you groaned, brows furrowed, crying out as his tongue swirled around your clit.

His brows rose at your first word spoken to him, a broken cry that was nothing but music to his ears. “Please what?”

He licked another long stripe against your pussy, stopping his previous movements until you answered. You groaned out, desperate for more friction - if rubbing yourself against his pointy nose was all you were going to get, you’d take it. “Please - your fingers, something - ” you gasped as he nuzzled his nose against your clit. “Anything.”

The High Lord laughed, smile broad as he nipped at the skin of your ass. “You’re not supposed to be the one telling me what to do,” he replied, as if it was obvious (it was - but you were desperate). But he smiled and landed a harsh smack against your ass, which burned against your cold skin, right before he returned the assault of his tongue against your clit.

His long fingers dragged up your tight and swiped across your enterance a couple times before he slid them right in your wet pussy, curling upwards against your walls. You both shared a moan, your warm walls clenching around his two cold fingers the moment he pushed them into you. Tamlin pushed himself forward, and you hiked your leg up high enough for him to turn underneath you, now sitting directly under you with his back against the tree you held yourself up against.

He worked his fingers up and down inside of you as he kissed at your clit, swirling his tongue around the nub. His eyes found yours as your head hung forward, and his emerald eyes practically glowed under the darkness of his hood. They were not the eyes of a Fae, no - the wolffish eyes with glowing iris stared up at you, watching your every move as he curled his fingers up into the gummy spot in your walls. Your eyes shut and your knees buckled as he continued his movements, tongue now sloppily licking anywhere he could reach before returning to your clit.

He shook his face back and forth, absolutely devouring you, and the nose of his fucking hide brushed against your pubic bone. With a cry, you squeezed your thighs around his head, practically falling onto his face just to feel his tongue against your clit even harder. It was a welcomed by the High Lord, as his fingers did not falter once as you rode out your high, throwing your head back with a loud cry.

He moaned underneath you, drinking up your sounds and juices as you fucked his face and fingers. But with no time to even catch your footing, the male was back behind you, standing up and hoisting you back to your feet. You kept yourself pushed up against the tree as his one arm held you like before, the other working to push his pants off. He kicked them away before taking a wide stance and tugging at his cock. He let out a shattered breath as he lined the tip of his cock against your wet folds, both of you crying out.

The High Lord kept his arm hooked around you as he nudged your clit with the thick tip of his dick, your legs nearly shutting around him in overstimulation. He nudged your leg with a bent knee, lifting his foot to kick your leg out from under you, spread apart from the other. He tutted at you, leaning forward so his chest pressed against your back again. “Legs open,” he growled in your ear. “You’re tight enough as it is.”

You couldn’t even comprehend his words as he slid the tip of his cock into your wet cunt. He grunted as he drove his hips forward, the wetness of your pussy letting him slide right in, though your walls squeezed him so tightly, and he had to grit his teeth and hold himself back from slamming his hips up into yours.

You squeezed you eyes shut and groaned, feeling his wide cock stretch your walls. You cried out as you tightened around him the farther he drove his cock into you. He moved back and forth slowly, allowing you to get used to his size, before he couldn’t take it anymore. His dick was so hard, he’d been waiting for this moment for years, the Mother’s magic surging through him like adrenaline in his veins.

So he fucked you like it - without so much as a warning, he slid out of you almost completely, so just his tip was catching on the enterance of your pussy. You arched against him, tilting your hips backwards to try to fuck yourself back onto his cock. Before you could get any farther, his hips slammed up to yours, his balls hitting your clit from behind.

You screamed out, as his cock practically pierced you, and he continued to fuck you at a rapid pace. He moved so quickly that you hinged forward, curling over his arm still secured around your waist. You lurched forward at each press of his hips, moaning each time his cock nudged that sweet spot inside of you.

Your arms had fallen from where they were holding you up against the tree, completely hinged in half as your fingers clawed at his arms - this time out of pleasure. Your legs were too weak as you clenched around him, finally giving out as they began to shake with your impeding orgasm. Tamlin’s other hand gripped your hip so that he held you completely against him, bent in half, as he continued fucking you, now so much tighter as your legs fell together under you.

The High Lord let loose a string of curses as you squeezed his cock. He held your hips up, your toes just barely brushing the ground as he fucked up into you. His breathing was ragged as his chest heaved, groaning as you tried to grab onto anything you could. He never lost rhythm as he drove into you, your slick walls allowing him to slide in and out of you with ease. Your head spun as it felt like he was just getting bigger and bigger the more he fucked you.

Tamlin let you fall to your hands an knees abruptly - to which you knew you’d feel the pain of more if you weren’t completely focused on the heat between your legs. He took a knee behind you, legs spread around your side to shove his cock back into you. “Fuck, how are you so tight still?” He muttered to himself as he continued to fuck you, faster now that he didn’t have to hold you up.

You used all the strength you had left to push yourself up and turn your head behind you to take in the sight of the High Lord absolutely wrecking your pussy. His skin was glistening in the moonlight, the muscles across his broad chest straining as he moved his hips so smoothly against yours. His hair fell over his shoulders, sticking to his neck with sweat. His face was conceleaed, only his lips and sharp jaw poking out from the wolf hide’s unhinged jaw. Your gaze fell down his chest to his taut waist, where the blond hairs underneath his bellybutton grew to surround his cock.

Gods, you knew he was getting bigger.

The base of his cock was so thick, you weren’t even sure it would fit inside you anymore. He moved you quickly on his dick, in and out so you slid down just half of his length. It was mesmerizing, truly, the High Lord thrusting in and out of you ferally.

Then he fucking smiled.

His white teeth barred in a devilish grin, fangs practically shining as you suddenly wanted to feel them bite into your skin.

Then he slammed his hips fully into yours as he pulled your waist back onto him, bottoming out inside of you.

You fell forward with a cry, the stretch of the base of his cock almost painful as your pussy tried to accommodate him. You felt him against your cervix, stirring up into your stomach. You rested your forehead against your arm, protecting your face from the dirt and ground underneath you.

Tamlin’s groaned, breathing a quiet, “That’s it, take it,” as you felt his large hand flatten against your back. In your folded position, you arched even farther against him, where he swore he could feel the end of the depths of your cunt. He kept you arched, which you almost struggled to break as he continued to fuck into you.

He leaned over, other hand ripping a line down your bodice with what felt like a sharp claw, tearing your dress from your skin - so you were just as naked as he was. He licked a broad stripe up your spine before burying his head into your neck and biting your shoulder. You gasped, his sharp canine teeth nearly breaking skin. He offered you a repreive, leaving open mouthed kisses across your shoulder and neck - undoubtedly marking you.

His leg hinged around yours, allowing him to hump into you as you fell forward underneath him. You couldn’t bring yourself to look back at him, not with the force of how hard he was fucking you.

Like he read your mind - he pulled out of you quickly, his wet cock curling up against your cunt as he rutted against your folds a few times. Tamlin wanted to look at you just as much as you wanted to see him.

He gripped your hips and flipped you onto the cold ground so your back was against the fallen leaves and branches. He lifted your legs up so they were bent in the air, allowing him to slide right back in your ready and waiting cunt.

The hood he wore still covered his eyes, just his fangs visible. But you, on the other hand, were all spread out for your High Lord, so pliant and ready for his seed, writhing underneath him.

He truly didn’t know how much longer he’d last.

He knew you wouldn’t last, though, not by the looks of your blissed out face, mouth open and mews spilling from your lips. Your legs were shaking, and you were fighting the urge to wrap them around his waist, but again, like the damned male read your mind, he grabbed the meat of your ass and slid his hand around your thigh, curling them around him. He grinned like the fucking Cheshire Cat. Your hands landed on his shoulders as he leaned over you, hands planted on either side of your head.

He groaned, fucking you so deeply, body almost prone on top of yours now, cock going all the way into you. You met him thrust for thrust, locking your ankles behind him and using it as leverage to fuck yourself onto his big cock. He was close, meeting your quickened pace. “Desprate for your High Lord, huh?” He teased through clenched teeth. “Fuck yourself on my cock, show me how bad you want it.”

Oh you wanted it bad.

You were practically shaking as you continued to meet his thrusts, rocking your hips up and down. Tamlin’s eyes fell to your stomach, where he could see the indent of his cock poking through. He sighed at the sight, plump lips falling open. He couldn’t tear his eyes away, not as he felt his cock twitching and his balls tightening.

Your pussy was absolutely wrecked, stretched out to accommodate the girth of the base of his cock. You felt him rub against your walls, not an inch of your cunt untouched by his dick. Tamlin dropped a hand to your clit, feeling you struggle to take all of him. It became harder for you take his cock as your legs tighten around his waist, your pussy gripping down on his cock as you neared your orgasm.

Tamlin eventually lost all patience, slamming his hips into yours. You fell back completely against the ground, unable to hold yourself up any longer as your took his brutal strokes. He humped into you, his balls rubbing against your ass as he towered over you, fucking you quickly.

Your hips turned upwards and you took a sharp breath as the hairs at the base of his cock brushed against your clit. “You going to take all of it?” Tamlin growled, fucking you harder.

Your stomach coiled, legs shaking as you tried to shut your legs around him, but his body gave you no space to squirm around him. “Scream for my cum,” he moaned, falling forward and pressing his lips against your neck. “I know you want it. Tell me you want it.”

You did, so you screamed, crying out for your High Lord to fill you up.

He came as soon as you did.

His warm seed filled your cunt as he continued to fuck you, the lewed sound of your wet walls against his slowing pace made you shiver. His long cock was still nuzzled inside you as his hand drew up your waist and found its way up your chest. His fingers and thumb danced across your soft breast, swirling at your nipple before his hand danced along your collarbone and up your throat. He tilted your chin up, undoubtedly taking in all your features before his thumb swiped against your bottom lip.

He swore he’d never cum so much in his life. But never had he been presented with such a pretty pussy to fill up, one that would take him completely and be able to give all his seed to. You’d hold all of it - he’d be damn sure - as the swollen tip of his cock remained nestled deep in your cunt.

You were panting and twitching as Tamlin stilled completely above you, too enthralled in the feeling of your wet pussy coated in his cum to even try to pull out. His strong arms keep himself held above you, his face, shielded by the wolf hide, still only a few inches away from yours - but if you moved any closer, you’d certainly be knocked by the nose and teeth of whoever that once was. His blond hairs were clumped together at the ends, hanging over his broad shoulders, and you couldn’t see his eyes, surely dimmer now as the Mother’s magic was wearing out of his system, but you know they were glaring down at you from underneath the darkness of the hood.

The High Lord shifted, keeping his cock buried inside of you as he unhooked one of your legs to make room for him to slide down beside you in the dirt. You winced as he moved you, your pussy now beaten raw and sore as it shifts against the coarse blond hairs across his pubic bone. It’s the first time you’d heard his voice quiet, gruff but calm, as he murmured a quiet “Sorry.”

He moved for your hips to sit atop of his, his cock softening, but still far too big for it to slip out of you in this position. Your legs fell across his own, thick thighs shielding your softer ones from the hard ground. He tucked you in the crook of his arm, allowing you to rest against his chest.

His hood had fallen against the tree roots he rested against. It was your first look up close at him, the arch of his brownish eyebrows, the long pale eyelashes that rested along his high cheekbones when he blinked. His nose sloped into a sharp point and the hair framing his face was stuck to his bronze skin with sweat. You swore his chiseled cheeks were tinted pink, probably the cold.

You didn’t know that the male was actually just blushing, the feeling of your pretty eyes studying him made him nervous. Now that the haze fogging his mind had cleared, Tamlin was almost embarrassed with his actions, how he chased you through the woods and forced you against the cold hard earth. He’d never felt that way before - not in his many hundred Calanmai celebrations he’d had before. Perhaps he was a bit pent up, but maybe it was something about you that had him acting so primal.

You brought out the beast in him.

He clenched his jaw to keep himself quiet, unsure of what he should say - what would he even say to you after that? He usually never said anything to the females he bedded after the night was over, never had to - never wanted to.

You swallowed a shaky breath when his eyes met yours, and for the first time you’d seen him as a Fae male and not as a wolf. Those green eyes burned brighter than any leaf or flower in this forest. His gaze remained unwavering, almost in challenge. You bit your lip nearvously, his sights flickering down to your lips, now chapped and dry from the cold that swirled around the both of you.

He wanted to kiss you regardless.

But he figured he’d save that for the next time - when he’d hopefully be able to act like like a respectable male.

He studied you, and under the scruitiny of your High Lord, you spoke out nervously. “My parents wanted to seek refuge in the Summer Court.” You made no move, not to escape him nor flee the woods - if you could even find your way back home.

The High Lord scoffed, turning his head away to gaze up at the stars. His body remained still, one arm tucked under you, curling around your waist to keep your naked body flush against his own. The heat radiating off him kept you warm, both of you glowing through the thin layer of sweat coating your chests. His bright hair splayed out behind his head, blond locks mixing with the brown fur pelt that rested at the crown of his head and down his back. “To spare you of me?”

You would’ve missed the smirk that he fought hard to suppress if you hadn’t been staring at him to intently. His eyes danced across the constellations, studying them, and there was no doubt in your mind that he knew the names and stories behind each of them. His arm tightened around you, fingers gripping into the plush skin of your hips. You didn’t trust yourself to respond, just a nod of your head that he felt against the crook of his neck as you buried yourself further into him.

Tamlin licked his teeth behind his closed lips, barring his fangs but keeping them hidden from you. His voice was low when he responded, calm and confident: “I would have found you anyway.”

#acotar #tamlin/you #tamlin x you #tamlin oneshot #tamlin imagine #acosf #acomaf #acotar series #tamlin redemption #tamlin #spring court

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weird-is-life · 9 months

Note

I dont know if you’re still taking requests so feel free to ignore this lol :)

Spencer x reader angstttt all the way! Reader doesn’t work at the Bau and works as a model, however JJ confesses to Spencer right in front of reader bc she doesn’t know reader is his gf‼️ the rest is up to you sorry if it’s confusing

Hii, lovely ty for this request. I hope u don't mind I changed it a bit. Warnings: angsty, happy ending, pet names, use of y/n (1.5k)

You don't mean to overhear Spencer's conversation with JJ. It just happens. You've been seeing Spence for a lot more then a few weeks now and he still hasn't introduced you to his friends from work.

So with him forgetting his bag at your apartment, you decided that you could bring it to him to work. And maybe get introduced to his close friends, as well.

But seeing and hearing what you are right now. You are beggining to understand why he didn't rush to have you introduced.

Spencer is standing with his back to you talking to a pretty blonde ( which you know is definitely JJ). You are close enough to them to hear what they are talking about. You almost interrupt their talk, but then you hear JJ's words. She is full of kind words, pet names and sweet smiles. And to your horrible surprise, you realise, she is confessing her feelings to Spencer. But before, you can hear her say the 'L' word, you storm out of there, almost knocking over one agent on your way out.

JJ sees your accidental stumble and makes a weird face, which catches Spencer's attention.

"What is it?" he questions.

"Oh nothing, just some girl almost running Rossi over. Was my speech good? Do you think, that Will will like it?" JJ asks, but before Spencer can reply, Penelope comes running in.

"Guys guys guys, did you see what I just saw now?" she asks, excitement visible on here.

"What do you mean, Pen?"

"The super gorgeous girl, that almost just ran over Rossi, obviously, " she says in a 'duh' tone, "Since when has the Bau started hiring super models? I need to find out her name, I'd kill for the shoes she had-"

"Did-did you just say super model?" Spencer interrupts her, his eyes wide.

"Yes?" she asks uncertainly.

"Did she-" he describes your appearance, praying that it wasn't you and that you just didn't hear JJ's love confession.

"You know her? You must give me her-" Spencer is out of there, not even letting Penelope finish.

He runs out of the building like a mad man, hoping to catch you, he can't even to begin think about what you must be thinking now.

"Fuck!" he curses outside of the building, he knows you are long gone. He quickly returns to the office, eager to call you and to explain everything to you. He notices the bag, that he forgot at your place in the morning, sitting on his desk. It makes him feel even worse.

As he calls you, everybody - JJ, Rossi and Penelope - is looking at him worriedly. You, of course, don't pick up any of his calls, so Spencer tosses the phone on his desk and slumps down in his chair.

"Spencer, what's wrong?"

"I....-I fucked up," he sighs.

"What do you mean?" JJ asks.

"I mean y/n....she definitely heard your love speech," Spencer puts his head in his hands. His visible distress making JJ, Pen and Rossi even more confused and worried.

"Who's y/n?" Penelope is the first one to ask, "is that the model looking girl, that almost knocked Rossi on the ground?"

"She actually is a model," Spencer murmurs into his palms, he says it so quietly, but they all hear it.

"What?!" Pen almost yells, "how do you know that? You actually know her?"

Spencer lifts his head up, preparing mentally for what he is about to reveal. "I know it, because she-.....she's my girlfriend."

It's a complete silence after he says that. Everybody is staring at him like he has said the most unhinged thing ever.

"What are you still doing here then, kid? You gotta go to her," Rossi's the first one to speak up.

"B-but I can't just leave, what about Hotch-"

"We will take care of that, just go," Spencer doesn't need to be told twice, he is up on his feet, shrugging a coat on in a matter of seconds. He leaves the office with anxious thoughts and some encouraging words from his friends.

He sets off to your apartment, he knows you will be there, because you don't have any work right now. He gets to your apartment in record time and without hesitation, he lets himself in with a key you've given him.

He finds you in your bedroom, eyes red, face puffy and wet from crying, on a phone call with your best friend. It feels like a punch in the guts seeing you like that and it is even worse, when he knows it's because of him.

"Y/N?" he calls out your name uncertainly. You look up at him, eyes wide.

"Spencer, w-what are you doing here?" you ask, stiff as a board.

"I know you came to the office and i-"

"Please, just leave Spencer, i-i don't want to see you right now," you interrupt him, your voice hoarse from all the crying.

"Please, sweetheart. Let me explain-" Spencer begs, he knows if he leaves you right now there's no going back.

"Just go home, Spencer." You whisper, your voice breaking. You don't have the strength or a heart to shout at him to leave.

"No, I can't leave without an explanation," he stubbornly says," just give me 5 minutes, that's all I need, please."

You are very angry and upset with him, and you really really don't want him near you at the moment. You just want to curl up on your bed and cry, but you know Spencer, he has the kindest heart in the world. You know, that he wouldn't do anything to hurt you, especially not with cheating and you are most certain about it by just looking at his anxious face.

So you decide to hear him out, "o-okay, five minutes, that's all you get." You, despite your best friend's protests, hang up and listen to Spencer carefully. Tears still running down your cheeks and oh how does Spencer wish that he could wipe them away.

He explains how JJ's asked him for his opinion on her love speech for her and Will's wedding anniversary. She was worried it wasn't good enough, because she wanted Will to know how much she loves him even if they aren't together as often as they should be. So of course, Spencer agreed.

"-That's all it was. Nothing more, I swear. Even if JJ had those kind of feeling for me, i wouldn't care. Because there is only one person for me and that's you, nobody else," Spencer blurts it all out quickly, praying that you believe him. He doesn't think he can take it if you don't and decide you don't want to see him ever again.

Suddenly, you put your hands over your face, sniffling quietly, "I'm sorry."

Spencer is quick to cut the distance between the two of you. He sits next to you on the bed, his hands hovering uncertainly over you. He isn't sure, if you want his touch now.

"Sorry? For what, sweetheart?"

"For thinking that... -that you were cheating," you sadly mumble into your hands and Spencer feels like crying himself, too.

He softly pulls at your hands, until you reveal your tearstained face. He gently wipes away the wetness from your cheeks with the ends of his sleeves.

"No, I should be the sorry one. And I am. I shouldn't have let JJ tell me that o-or I should have at least mentioned to you, that she has a husband. I'm sorry, baby, I am such an idiot," he apologises, face twisted into a big sad frown.

"Yeah," you chuckle with a sniffle, he definitely is an idiot, even though he is painfully smart, "can-can I have a hug?" You question unhappily .

"Of course, sweetheart."

Spencer hugs you like his life depends on it and you don't mind one bit. It's a huge relief for both of you to be able to hold each other. Thankful, that it was just a big misunderstanding.

You hug for a long time, until your leg under you goes numb and Spencer needs to use the toilet. He looks at you, before going to pee and suddenly you feel bashful, "I know, I look awful."

Your face and eyes are red and puffy, hair a total mess, but in Spencer's eyes you are the most beautiful person in the whole world (because you are).

"Nope, you are beatiful as ever," he compliments you. He is looking overwhelmingly loving at you, that you think you might burst at the spot from.

"I love you, only you," he whispers as he leans in to give you a forehead kiss.

"I love you, too, Spence," you say and he only mouths 'I love you more' back at you as he runs to the bathroom.

Later that day, when you are all curled up at Spencer's side, he tells you all about his team, barely sparing any detail and promises to introduce you to them as soon as possible.

And it does happen. A week passes by and you find yourself being introduced to all his friends at one of the famous dinners at Rossi's.

They immediately love you. The girls pull you away from Spencer as soon as you step a foot inside the house to ask everything about you, as they fuss about how pretty you are.

Spencer watches you make friends with his Bau family with the biggest smile ever and you find yourself smiling through the whole evening, too.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid

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enkvyu · 9 months

Text

ask game — prompt from this request

“hit a leg so stanky it requires medical intervention”

your jaw unhinges and you gape at gojo and getou, both standing sheepishly in the morgue. “what are you doing here?”

gojo looks away, slumping into a seat and rattling the metal chair against the tiled floors. his left leg juts out awkwardly, a metal pole stabbed right through the muscle of his lower leg. the bleeding had stopped around the opening, but the sight was still a gruesome one to behold.

“i was hitting a leg so stinky it now requires medical intervention.”

getou makes a concerning noise, something between a chortle and a gasp that isn’t given the chance to reach its full potential as he slams a hand over his mouth. he coughs when you give him an incredulous look and shrugs away gojo’s pestering.

“you laughed!”

“we’re meant to be fighting.”

“that was twenty minutes ago. right now, we’re bonding over my shenanigans.”

the light atmosphere completely throws you off loop, especially as you struggle to pull your eyes away from the injury. though you've been trained in the way of medicine, flesh and blood was still difficult to digest.

you struggle to focus on your job as the boys begin bickering. as you slide on a pair of latex gloves, you mumble, “at least you’re aware.”

gojo eyes the shiny material and he hesitates when you gesture him over, patting the bed in front of you. “why do you need those on?”

“for medical inspection.”

“you cheated on your exam along with shoko, you can’t just use proper procedures whenever you want to. you're not even a real doctor!” he argues, edging backwards as you come forward. there's something satisfying with eliciting panic on gojo so you play around, pulling back the material so it snaps back in place against your wrist. "i'm serious, if you're operating on me just because i've got the pole of a trampoline stuck in my foot, i'm leaving."

"only you would think this is a minor wound." getou remarks drily.

"they say real friends are those that can sincerely clap for you when you do well." you say. "where's my thanks for cheating on my exam so i could heal you guys? without me, you would all be dead."

"i don't remember the last time you clapped for me." gojo mumbles.

you tilt your head at him. "when was the last time you did well?"

getou hides his smile behind his palm. "gagged."

it was easy to forget the two boys had been fighting only a few minutes ago, though gojo reminds you again by growling deeply at getou's statement, whipping around to level him with a glare.

"still haven't had enough? want to go for another round of eggs?"

"eggs?” you echo, picking up metallic tools from a clean tray.

getou answers you instead. "it's when one person curls up in a ball on a trampoline and the other person jumps around in hopes of cracking them."

gojo points to his leg. "getou might have cracked me too hard."

you finishing cleaning the tools necessary for the operation. nodding over to getou, he catches your message and lifts gojo up from under his arms. the white haired sorcerer lets him, though not without a frown.

the metal bed moves around a little as his weight is dumped on its surface, the wheels rolling around on the spot. when gojo doesn't immediately lie down, you push his shoulders and catch his head before it slams against the metal.

you slide the standing light across the floor and ready your hands.

"is that a hammer?" he inquires and you roll your eyes as if he was the stupid one.

"it's an orthopaedic mallet."

"what's the difference?"

"this is actually legal to use in surgery."

only now does gojo struggle. "you are not coming near me with that thing."

"scared?" getou taunts.

you crack a grin, handing getou the legal, medical hammer. "here, you can do the honors."

"he doesn't even have a medical license!"

you shrug. "neither do i. you mentioned that earlier, didn't you?"

gojo bites his lip, shrinking in on himself. "did i also mention how much i appreciate you?"

placing a hand on his shoulder, you deliver a heartfelt gaze. "no, maybe you should have done that sooner."

getou smiles over your shoulder, rolling up his sleeves. "this might hurt."

it’s only when getou begins using the mallet in it’s (definitely) intended purpose, that you realise you had forgotten to give gojo a dose of anaesthetics.

do i really think an orthopaedic mallet is used to remove a pole from a leg? no, absolutely not. was it the first surgical tool i thought of? yes. also, like gojo so kindly mentioned, you don't have a medical licence anyways so you probably just hammered the pole all the way through to the other end or smth. also google was not helping :(

#% ask game #gojo satoru #gojo x you #gojo x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #getou #geto #gojo imagine #gojo drabble #gojo scenario

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teecupangel · 5 months

Note

I really don’t want to add onto your pile of asks you’re working through but I had an idea I just had to send: the Ratatouille thing, but with like Altaïr controlling Ezio or some other combo of the ancestors congrolling each other!

Idk if Desmond’s there too or not, I’m mostly just imagining Ezio fanboying over being possessed by the Altaïr, while Altaïr is just acting annoyed at the whole thing but also fanboying himself over all the knowledge he now has access to.

And then imagine throwing the players into the equation. Just pure and complete chaos, somebody is screaming, guards are getting alerted and killed, and nothing’s actually getting done.

The Ratatouille AU where the ancestors can hear Desmond while ‘playing’, its more unhinged cousin, the Ratatouille AU where Desmond can hear us and the outside POV of Al Mualim thinking the Apple broke Altaïr. (I hope I didn’t forget anything else)

“It is truly an honor-”

“Yes, you’ve already said that.”

“Words cannot express-”

“Then don’t bother saying anything. No. Don’t open your mouth. I don’t have time for any of your insincere drivel.”

Ezio grew quiet as he stared at the open journal on the desk in front of him before he noted, “You are more easily irritated than I imagined.”

“Only when I’m around people who waste my time.” There was a half a second moment of silence before he added, “Or when the person I’m talking to is not saying what he truly wishes to say.”

Ezio rested one of his elbows on the table and placed his chin on his open palm, “It’s simply quite curious that the day I lost Desmond’s voice in my head is the day you tried to control me.”

“I was trying to connect to Desmond.” His voice was laced with annoyance and he took a deep breath before reminding Ezio, “As I explained before, it was never my intention to connect with you, Ezio Auditore. But now that I’m connected to you, I can’t even try to connect with Desmond at all.”

Ezio hummed.

Sure, he had been elated when Altaïr had introduced himself.

But, at the same time…

He had been worried.

According to Altaïr, he had learned of a way to connect to Desmond using the Apple after hearing a disjointed message that told him he should be able to do such a thing by forcing the Apple to do his bidding.

Altaïr was unsure himself because and he quoted, the voice ended the message with a ‘…. maybe? We believe in you, short king!’ which makes Ezio and Altaïr believe it was a message from one of the many voices that Desmond says he could hear.

Ezio had been worried because he lost Desmond’s voice a few days before Altaïr connected with him so he can’t help but think they were connected.

But both of them do not have any other clues other than the possibility that the Apple that he had been searching could hold a clue to why Altaïr had connected to him instead of Desmond.

And maybe Ezio himself could connect with Desmond as well…

Right now…

“Señor.”

Ezio closed the journal and put it on his bag as he quickly stood and turned towards the door.

“We will be docking in Barcelona shortly. Capitana told me to inform you that the guards will be checking the ship but they will start on the deck. They won’t be looking at the ‘place’ he showed you last time.”

“Grazie.” Ezio said with a nod even though the messenger could not see him, “Please give the captain my thanks as well.”

“I will, señor. Good luck.”

Ezio took a deep breath before he said, “As much as I would like to continue to look for the Apple, it’s important-”

“Oooohhhh. I don’t remember this cutscene.”

Ezio stopped.

That wasn’t Altaïr’s voice.

It was a woman…

“Hello?” Ezio asked as he looked around.

There was no answer.

Ezio opened his mouth-

“Are you one of Desmond’s voices?” Altaïr asked before he could.

There was a moment of silence before…

“Are… are you talking to me?”

“Yes.” Altaïr and Ezio answered at the same time.

The voice grew quiet once more before…

“Uuuuhhhh… shit. Did I… fucked my DS up???”

#it’s okay #i’m slowly getting to the end #sorta XD #yeah this is set on ac discovery #for a change of pace #and so desmond won’t be in it XD #don’t worry #the voices will grow in numbers once the player they got in contact with #starts talking to the others XD #there’s going to be a sudden influx #of people playing ac discovery #in different ways XD #assassin's creed #altaïr ibn la'ahad #ezio auditore #teecup writes/has a plot #fic idea: assassin's creed #ask and answer

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ritchiepage2001newaccount · 6 months

Text

WHY UNIVERSAL BACKGROUND CHECKS ARE JUST AS UNLIKELY AS EVER, UNFORTUNATELY

I'm a leftist (Libertarian-Socialist), who votes progressive, because I live under an "elected" government, and I had thought I had purged the MSNBC/CNN Nation from my friends list, but apparently not, as my timeline is just chock-full of media-driven hysteria over current events, so here's a primer:

"Liberals" who think their arguments are clever or relevant to the Second Amendment are exhausting.

They are not the left; they are just one half of the good cop/bad cop act of the corporate owned fire-hose of bullshit that is the corporate media, and corporate America's governing criminal cartel/duopoly.

Both cults "I like simple and ineffectual 'solutions', because they make me feel like I'm doing something, and I'm just stinky with fear."

There are over a hundred million legal gun owners, who some want to punish for somebody else's crime.

Well, there are some things to consider.

We've been a heavily armed country since 1621, and yet the epidemic of daily mass-shootings didn't begin until 20 April 1999 (Columbine), at a time when gun ownership was at an all-time low, and five years after Clinton's assault-weapons ban, so maybe guns aren't the variable.

Worth noting: One of the first things the "Pilgrims" did when they betrayed the Native Americans, was disarm "King Phillip" and his men.

Maybe, just maybe, dead school-children are the price of the neoliberalism practiced under the "Washington Consensus" of BOTH right-wing authoritarian parties since the 1980's? When your country offers you no prospects, and you become terrified of the future, what then? Fear can make unstable people do desperate things. Add to that a culture of celebrity, and what could possibly go wrong?

Another factor that goes completely unexamined, is the way Ronald Reagan and Tip O'Neill emptied our state hospitals onto our streets, and onto families ill-equipped to deal with the sometimes violent mentally ill.

Thank God, the "solution" is so simple…

Also, 84% of NRA members support universal background checks. The problem is, every time a bill comes up for a vote, Democrats add poison pill amendments guaranteeing defeat in the legislature (and the courts), and then they proceed to tell the TV cameras that "once again the GOP and the gun lobby have voted down background checks and defied the will of the people", or some such nonsense.

If you want to watch Dems sabotage universal background checks (while Republicans roll their eyes and face-palm) in real time, go here:

P.S. You can probably guess which one of these three groups I belong to (Hint: It's the one that's growing and actually decides elections):

LaborPartyNow!!!

P S The line, "You don't need 30 rounds to shoot a deer!" is not clever.

The Second Amendment has nothing to do with hunting tools, toys for hobbyists (target shooting), or even weapons for self-defense.

It's about ARMS!!!

It's about the individual citizen's right to arms, so they'll be prepared to join a militia, not the other way around. ‘Well regulated’ at that time, simply meant, ‘efficient.’ In other words, in order for a muster to be efficient, civilians needed to be already armed.

So the "collective rights" argument has a couple of problems that make it quite unhinged from history and reality.

1) As I've mentioned above, Americans have always been relatively heavily armed. How did that happen in a collective rights paradigm?

2) Contrary to what you were probably taught in school, by the time of the Confederate artillery barrage on Fort Sumter, the war over slavery had already been going on for over six years, and was fought entirely by independent volunteer militia's. Fort Sumter was just the beginning of official involvement by government troops. How did that happen in a collective rights paradigm?

3) In what universe do government forces need to have their right to arms protected?

4) Since when do National Guard members keep National Guard arms (Hint: they're kept at the armory, and have been since colonial times)?

5) Obviously, "Liberals" are stupid.

Again: #LaborPartyNow!!!

P P S That was ENTIRELY the point of the first fruits of dissent, the 10 Amendments we've come to call the BILL OF RIGHTS (which have become a beacon to aspiring democrats all over the world), to protect INDIVIDUALS from the government they had just created. #TrueStory

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ashlingnarcos · 11 months

Text

blood on vacation

David Barrón/F!Reader

written for @narcosfandomdiscord's smut alphabet, namely the July 2 prompt blood

tags: fistfight, absolutely unhinged preoccupation with bloody knuckles, fingering, oral sex

warnings: blood, probably unsanitary, reader is an OFC (Sabrina Tanaka), violence, this was not beta read and it kind of sucks ngl

length: 1.8k words

You’ve only been Mexico City for a week, and you’re already all vacationed out. It’s not Marcela’s fault. The two of you make no sense as friends—she, the trust fund kid formerly known as Marcelo who initially met you at your dad’s jiu jitsu academy, currently partying her way across the globe with an increasingly dodgy set of cousins, exes, and assorted other rich vagabonds, and then you, the standoffish sparring tutor forever known as Mr. Tanaka’s kid, with an unhealthy penchant for taking your skills to street wanderings, just to see if you could. She was whimsical and merry, spiritually curious and given to bouts of dangerously committed romantic pining, and you were stolid and practical and highly suspicious of anyone as eager to please as a car salesman, much less a preacher or supposed future lover. The one similarity between the two of you is that you both were born and raised in São Paulo, and could both kick hard enough to break bones. But the rest? Pure opposites attract chemistry.

She’s been generous on this trip, doing the rich girl thing in splendid style, and footing the bill for your part completely. She translates for you whenever she sees you getting lost—Brazilian Portuguese is similar enough to Mexican Spanish that you can kinda sorta understand what people are saying if they’re saying it slowly and doing overtime with the nonverbal cues—and does it naturally, not like it’s a chore or an opportunity to show off. She introduces you to her club kid friends with excitement, like she’s showing them someone really cool. She’s a sweetheart, Marcela is, and you’re more than happy to wingwoman her into a spot sitting on the lap of some baby narco named Ramón. But the good food aside, you’re still so alienated and bored that when a fistfight breaks out in the club, it come as a welcome change of pace.

There’s broken glass on the ground—Ramón’s older sister smashed a bottle over somebody’s head, good for her—so no ground fighting for you. And there’s too many people around to dedicate yourself to a hold. So you fall back on a motley bag of street fighting tricks, plus what you learned from a misspent summer at a boxing club, mostly just trying to stay upright and get your licks in where you can. It’s all fun and games until one of them slaps you, open palm. A punch would’ve been fine, but this? You hit his nose with the base of your palm, driving up to break it, then follow that up with a jab. Not satisfied yet, you sweep one of his feet out from under him, shove hard, and finally get him on the ground (broken glass be damned) in a hold that has him gasping fruitlessly for oxygen, his neck in the crook of your arm, his body trying to wriggle round and find an angle at which his elbow shots to your ribs will actually mean something. Unfortunately for him, when you’re pissed off, you could take it all the way to fully broken ribs and not care. Fortunately for him, nobody there actually wants anyone to die, so after a bit, several people pull you off him. One of them is Marcela, so you give it up. The fight has died down anyways; both sides are separating into bloodstained, wary-eyed groups.

Keeping steady eye contact with the man who slapped you, you lift your bloody-knuckled hand to your mouth, part your lips, and lick a long stripe of his blood off your skin. Slow and intentional and savagely self-satisfied.

As you turn to talk to Marcela, ask her where the bathrooms are so you can clean yourself up a little (Ramón is already yelling about partying the whole night through, and Marcela seems completely unruffled, so you doubt you’re all about to leave now), you catch a glimpse of something. Everyone here is preoccupied with their injuries, or other people’s, or the retreating crowd of interlopers, except for one man who seems to have witnessed your last threat. He’s dressed a little different than the others, in an oversized polo shirt. You remember getting a glimpse of him in the fight, thinking you might need to take him on next and grimly assessing that prospect as a dangerous one before he easily elbowed a guy who was heading for Ramón’s brother. So he’s not useless, and he’s not easily cowed. Just now, he’s looking back at your challenge of a glance with a flat-eyed expression that you can’t quite parse.

Hm.

No language in common and barely any friends, but you wanted a kill and you didn’t get one, and here’s another man. You’ll have to make do with another kind of death.

Inside the club bathroom, he hooks his fingers over the top of your jeans and tugs you forwards a couple inches. Commanding, but not a threat. Not trying to make you stumble, just getting you that much closer.

Regarding him with a curious, almost lazy look, you’re almost inclined to let him have his way, but then, as he goes to unbutton your jeans, his knuckles smear blood along your stomach. You close your hands over his wrists, and he pauses.

“Go wash your hands,” you say, slow and clear, lave as mãos. And he gets it.

You know he gets it, because he looks down at your hands, your bruised, swollen, bloody hands, and then back up at you in a way that makes his blank expression rather pointed. Oh, does the international man of mystery have a sense of humor after all?

“Do it,” you say, faça isso. That must not be close enough to Spanish, because he frowns a little. You give up.

You pull his hands out of your jeans, feeling a shiver go through you at the friction, and then you let go of him, walk over to the sink, and turn on the tap. As you lean back against it, the countertop digs into your thighs, suggestive. The dull pulsing thump of the club music outside gives the tiny bathroom a cloistered, cocooned quality. His dark eyes meet yours evenly.

You don’t move, don’t so much as lift an eyebrow. Silent. Yeah?

Yeah. He takes a couple steps forward and washes his hands, and as he does so he mutters something to himself in yet another language, English, maybe. As he dries his hands, he smiles. It’s a wry, private smile.

Two can play at that game. In your mediocre, third-generation Japanese, you say, “I have every intention of eating you whole” in exactly the same voice another woman might’ve said something sexy.

As he steps towards you, you could swear he says something that sounds like gostaria, dangerously close to I would like that, almost like he understands you.

You decide: no more talking.

Zero to a hundred. He tastes like beer and you, unfortunately, can’t get enough; your hands cup the back of his head, his neck, fingertips digging in as he finally unbuttons your jeans and shoves them and your panties down your thighs in one impatient motion. You could hop up onto the countertop, but why do that? This way is so much better, his wet hands gripping your ass, the swift coolness of droplets sliding down the back of your thighs, the low grunt he makes when he lifts you.

“Sorry, was that hard for you?” you say, but he’s two steps ahead of you. Got his palms warm on the inside of your knees, spreading your thighs and catching sight of just how wet you are for him. It’s his turn to be smug, clearly, but you can’t even be mad at it when he wears that smile so well.

He gets on his knees.

You should’ve known it’d be like this from the second you caught his eye in the aftermath of the fight. You really should’ve known, but it still punches an unwanted sound out of you, a small sound in the back of your throat, when he gets his face between your thighs in seconds, no hesitation, and starts to lick your cunt like it’s ice cream and he’s starving.

With the countertop digging into your legs and the mirror hard against the back of your head, your body throbbing with new bruises, you have no right to feel this good, but you do. With your fingers sunk into his hair and your eyes half-lidded, you feel like you could melt and slip right down that drain. For his part, he’s got you just how he wants you, with your legs parted wide to accommodate the width of his shoulders, his right forearm a bar across your belly. You have no fucking idea how or why he’s doing this—men who see you gone full destroyer don’t usually think to themselves, I want to make her feel good, they tend to think along much darker lines. They want to dominate you, and you get what fun you can out of the process of denying them that. But this? He got on his knees like it was his first choice. You do not know what this is, but you’ll take it. He slips a finger inside you, and you’re so wet that it barely burns at all. Two fingers. Fuck. He leans his weight into your stomach, across your thighs, to stop you from bucking up into his mouth, and that’s—that’s fair. It’s all you can do not to whimper, and your heavy panting sounds desperate enough. Three fingers and you do whimper.

He looks up, and you’re already bracing yourself, but no. There’s no sneer in it; there’s something else. All night, this nameless man has been quiet, unnoticeable, and then, once noticed, mysterious, but now you see him. The first look is caution, but the second? The second is all appreciation, like he could drink the sight.

That look hits you hard. You close your eyes, because you don’t want to see it, don’t know what the hell to do with it, and choose instead to sink deep into the sensations in your body as he wrings you out. A wave of euphoria hits you as you come, and it’s just the body, you know it’s just the body, but when it’s over and he has his chin propped up on your thigh, both of you looking exhausted, neither of you done, you get the weirdest urge to push his sweat-damp hair off his forehead. Little killer, you want to say. Damn near affectionate. (It’s just the body.)

The cops arrive at the club before you can manage to return the favor, and Marcela hates all interactions with the cops with a flaming passion, so you have to get her out even though in all likelihood Ramón will just have to flash them a medium-size wad of bills. Later, though, when you can, you confess all (most) of the strange encounter to her, and she gets the message out to him. Through which of the tiny terrors, you don’t want to know. Probably Ramón, a thought that does not fill you with confidence. But he gets the message anyway.

The message is: I owe you one.

#David Barrón x reader #Narcos mexico #narcos mexico imagine #narcos mexico readerfic #David Barrón #mine #nffalphabet #well. that happened.#was it good? no but we gotta make progress somehow. gotta start somewhere. etc

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x3no9 · 3 months

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Please don't repost or reblog without my name on this. This is my piece of fanfiction that I decided to put on here for funsies. I doubt anyone will like it enough to even finish it but here we go. Random Makarov x Graves thought...casually written.

"Who's the Bad Guy?"

By x3no9

Graves 22 has been inexplicably sent back to the 2009 timeline. People he has never seen before are calling themselves by names he is very familiar with, but they either look completely different or just a bit unnervingly different.

He is captured by Makarov, who somehow knows who he is. Graves is still completely clueless and when they pull the hood off his head to torture him, he sees Makarov standing there all cocky and intimidating.

Makarov looks at him...then looks again. Trying to figure out why Graves isn't Graves. He is but just not HIS Graves.

Graves looks up at him and says "Should I know who you are?"

It breaks Makarov's mind, his one eye twitches once. This man who should know all he has done and is capable of doing, DOESN'T KNOW HIM? Unable to accept dismissal at that level he slaps Graves just to threaten him.

It gets absurd to the point where Makarov arms himself to the teeth and states his iconic phrases. Graves just shakes his head lightly "Not jogging my memory, Russia boy." He states in his smooth Southern accent.

Makarov curses in Russian he is actually frustrated on a personal level. Meanwhile, Graves has legit fallen for him as he sees the amount of effort Makarov goes through to try and get him to notice him. He loves that very subtle dimple that forms on Makarov's left cheek whenever he frowns or smiles.

"I like your moxy, Makky. Want to join my private military outfit? You could fill the roll of unhinged, handsome foreigner."

Makarov wants to shoot him so badly but he can't. Graves is an incredibly smug and sexy American, the embodiment of America. He wants to keep him, possess him, wipe that arrogant smirk off his incredibly attractive face.

He has never given anyone a second look but he was looking at Graves. Brazenly, he cups Graves' scarred cheek in his gloved palm then gently slaps his palm against it, patting him like a puppy.

They lock eyes, Graves isn't smiling anymore and Makarov stopped a while back. Things get real.

"Wanna lay some sugar on me, boy?" Graves asks him.

The "boy" bothers Makarov. They are the same age, nearly the same height with Graves being a couple inches shorter. They are both short though in a world of taller men. Tailored for one another in that way, to be able to speak at the same level, eye level, nose to nose... chest to chest.

Makarov sees the wink Graves gives him. Mockery? Who would dare? No, it wasn't. Because as he angrily rips him from the chair by the tactical vest and bumps bodies with him, hard vest to hard vest Graves looks surprised. He wasn't expecting anger. Makarov lightens up a little, shoves him back down and runs his gloved hand through his slightly messy black hair.

Graves sees how soft it looks. Chaotic but soft and the more he looks, the more he wants to touch it.

"What?" Makarov asks, starring him down with his two different colored eyes. One as blue as the deepest ocean, the other green as a regal emerald.

"What do you mean...this thing about putting sugar on you?" He finally asks. The question was bursting from his chest and he couldn't resist asking.

"Give me a kiss." Graves tried throwing him off. Maybe get a rise out of him, see what this man who claims to be Makarov will do.

The henchmen in the room just left. Nothing to see and there was other work that their boss gave them to do. Lingering was disrespectful.

"I'll show you." Graves stands up. He isn't completely restrained to the chair.

Makarov takes a step back, hand slips over the gun at his thigh. Graves leans in, head a little tilted. He walks Makarov back a few feet, right against the cold brick wall. His hands are cuffed behind his back but he is taking the lead for the moment as Makarov is too curious about what his foe is planning.

He dives for it, plants a sweet, firm kiss on Makarov but because Makarov dodged it abit not knowing Graves' intentions, his lips end up close to Makarov's ear. He takes a deep breath, to get a whiff of his scent. He smells great, even with all the dirt and dust of battle on him.

Makarov raises a dark brow at him, staying in place.

"Do it again, cowboy." He looks right at him, right into his mind with an intrigued little smile.

Graves goes in to kiss him again, aiming for his cheek but Makarov's gloved hands are grabbing him on each side of his face. Makarov is going in for the kill, he kisses him square on the mouth. There is a hint of cherry chapstick. He pecks him again, favoring the lower lip then upper lip.

They both like it too much. Graves sighs a little in contentment as Makarov really presses his lips squarely against his own. Graves surprises him with a little lick and suck on the lips. He feels the deep scar on Makarov's lips with his tongue.

Makarov pulls back with a look of bewilderment. That felt like second base it was so eager and wet...and warm... and stimulating. He craves more.

#m/m #call of duty mw #cod mw #call of duty fanfiction #a quick scenario #makgraves #makarov x graves #phillip graves gets aggressive with his captor

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machiavelliann · 2 years

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My Favorite Things about The Batman (2022)

This is a list of all the things I liked about The Batman, after watching the movie four times in two weeks. Overall: fucking loved it.

The Ambience

Gotham City being so gothic. Really weird city landscape. The only parts that made me think NYC were the “Time Square” neon billboards at the beginning, and the bridges – which makes sense since it is an island city. Felt more original than just a nondescript miscellaneous Big City

At the end, Catwoman says she might try living in Bludhaven. Love the mention of other cities!

It felt so comic book! Like there was a super complicated plot, lots of different players, surprises, never being able to be fast enough. And like when the whole city floods? That is peak comic book. I loved it. All of it starting on Halloween? Loved it.

Felt like a super hero version of Seven – detective plot, thriller, danger, and super heroes. I thoroughly enjoyed it.

Three hours and it never felt like I was waiting for a scene to end. It just kept going.

Love the return to the more real-world villains. My favorite arcs will always be mobsters and fucking lowlifes, over aliens from another dimension (which is where I get so kind of tired of Marvel movies, even if I like them). But the evil when it's just guys, just men being fucked up and doing fucked up things. Deep inhale. I like gritty shit.

Themes

Juxtaposition of light and dark – he is in the shadows, and yet you can see everything. The beginning scene where he fights the thugs in the subway (you just hear his boots slowly approaching and then he appears out of nowhere); the scene where the lights go out in Penguin’s club and he’s fighting off the thugs to get to Falcone & Selina; the flare!! So good.

Long-lasting impacts of trauma!

BRUCE AND ALFRED. “God… I thought I’d mastered all that…” Learning that fear of losing someone isn’t a weakness to be overcome

Flare at the end. Vengeance shifting to the promise of hope. He isn’t the shadows. He is the night, but even the night turns to day sometimes. Batman becoming the beacon of god! Damn! Hope!!!! MY Batman. Jesus Christ.

Learning that being the shadows won’t get him what he wants (hello, Batman as wildly vacillating between beating the teeth out of a guy’s head and then escorting a little kid home to his mother) (that scene from JLA Animated where he rescues the little girl from the burning building – that’s MY batman)

Bruce being RIDICULOUS

Year Two, so he’s been working with Gordon for months now. The implicit trust between the two of them already. Gordon calling him “man” – “come on, man”. Don’t know his name, don’t need to, all ya gotta know is he is a good man. That works both ways.

The lenses were SICK – and with how fast he watches them, the facial recognition built-in. Sick toys. New stuff too.

His complete disregard when Selina is undercover in the Below 40 club within a club – like he has no disregard for his life, so he forgets that other people do.

Waking up in the GCPD precinct surrounded by cops. “I’ll get you on assaulting an officer.” “Actually you can get me on assaulting three.” Jackass. I love him.

GREAT SCENES:

Penguin calling Batman “sweetheart.” This asshole. Mega asshole. I loved it. Fuckin’ dick.

The UNHINGED car chase. 1000s in property damage. That explosion definitely killed ten people at minimum. Penguin just talking to himself like “this guy’s crazy!” The Penguins is gloriously greasy.

WHEN THEY’RE WRONG ABOUT THE FLIGHTLESS BIRD. And Penguin’s like “you idiots don’t know fkin Spanish?” “Don’t know the difference between EL and LA??” “NO HABLA ESPAÑOL FELLAS???!!!!” And Bruce just being dead silent and then going “U-R-L” (face palm). The fact that he and Gordon figure it out right then and there while Penguin’s still tied up next to them

Thumb drive. So like there were several moments where it was objectively funny and no one was laughing?? I felt like a serial killer giggling at Gordon’s face when they used the thumb to get a print to open it up. And then Gordon being like “Jesus that just sent all those emails from MY account. Oh christ good lord. I’m gonna get fucking fired”

I know men are stupid, particularly greedy men with power and ambition… but really… you’re going to tell all your dirty secrets to the girls who work at a mobster’s lounge? That really… it just really doesn’t add up lol. Like I get that while it’s Penguin’s place, it’s basically Falcone’s overall – and because they work for Falcone, they feel safer. But man, like they just met Selina and the DA’s dropping all this knowledge? Some people never learn. The DA was just SOOO pathetic

When they’re up there and Catwoman wants to kill Kenzie, and they’re all listening to the voicemail… and Bruce is ashen because he just learned that this is the man that his father went to for help, even if it didn’t ultimately turn out the way Falcone sold it as, and Falcone probably killed his parents; and Catwoman sobbing because she’s listening to her father murder Annika… THE PARALLELS. Kill me now. Catwoman silently crying as she heard Annika’s death? Tears in my GOT damn eyes.

And then there's Gordon just standing there like oblivious like “Ha HA! The puzzle has been solved!”

Kenzie saying. “No. We work for him. You think this election matters? Falcone’s the mayor. He’s always been the mayor.” Fuck. Damn.

Falcone being responsible for so much death, the Wayne's, Catwoman's mom, Annika, so much is on this man's shoulders. But it's never just him. There's always something more.

When Batman is leading Falcone out of the club and it’s like someone went and turned off all the music and turned on all the lights just to watch his walk of shame…. And like literally no one stops them lmao.

When Falcone’s getting arrested and he goes “don’t you know you boys in blue work for ME?”

Penguin being like “ME? Shoot FALCONE? After I literally pulled a gun and threatened to kill him? BULLSHIT”

Riddler as a fkin Reddit Discord f boi. Like QAnon incel bs. Worked really well.

My Theories

I was 75% convinced they were going to kill Bruce. Or like, not dead, but dark -- he's out of the picture, no one knows where he is -- and it isn't like in the Nolan movies where he retires, it's like Bruce and Batman are legitimately missing and no one has any idea where the fuck they are. Like before they revealed Riddler as pure incel obsessive boi in the Arkham scene, I thought he could be a darker version of New 52 Zero Year arc. If they were going to set up a sequel, I was picturing Riddler 1) floods the city 2) straight up takes over the city 3) turn the city into a weird u/dystopian green world where all the survivors are just like stuck, and Riddler comes over the intercoms every day asking people to solve his riddle or be thrown to their death. And like... Bruce is missing. And it takes a LONG time for him to come back. Like that would have been a cool set-up for a sequel -- Batman goes dark, the city has to react, and then he shows up in the sequel. (I like what they did -- I like the hope, and the growth potential, but that's where I thought they were going with it).

Falcone & Thomas Wayne: So like, I get the explanation. But I still wasn't 100% convinced. It was logical, but I think it needed more to sell it. Like I need more explanation for how they knew each other; bc even though Falcone has a lot of power, that was 20 years ago before he started using the renewal fund to get everyone working for him. So was he more low level back then? Or #1 in charge but not as murderous and obviously a criminal yet? Like what is the backstory there? I would be happier if I had that.

I can’t believe newly-elected Mayor Real wasn’t a bad guy lol. I was so ready for them to reveal some super crazy backstory. And then it turned out that not only was she good, but she was like actually good. Like on election night when she found out she won but before the Riddler bois showed up, she had the deceased mayor and his son with her, even after all that horrible stuff came out about him. That was a class-A act right there. It connected well to the theme of "there are good people in Gotham" and "hope is real" (haha Real get it) and "there is more than vengeance"

At the end, when Catwoman and Batman are talking... and Catwoman recognizes he isn’t in a place to commit to anything; Bruce knows it's true but he's still unable to stop yearning for what could be. Lot of room to build a relationship in future movies. Like they barely know each other, but wow what an explosive way to begin the relationship. I don't want Bruce and Selina together unless they have a decade-long cat-and-mouse game beforehand, lots of sexual tension, intense grappling, will-they-won't-they.

Interested to see how they handle Selina afterwards. Like I guess she’s gonna have to get a whole new suit, bc everyone saw her face lol. Gordon, those cops in the rafters of Gotham Square Garden, Batman. She better get a new look lmao.

#batman #bruce wayne #the batman #the batman 2022 #catwoman #selina kyle #penguin #falcone #gordon #jim gordon #alfred #riddler #cat and the bat #my headcanons #movieverse #only in gotham #gotham city #morality

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mostlymaudlin · 1 year

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Hi friend! I saw your post about the WIP game and I’m very intrigued by the one titled “timeywimey”

timeywimey my beloved <3

this was meant to be my big snowbaz magnum opus. and one day i really do want to return to it -- i have it all planned out and i think it could be really good! i was actually meaning to write it for COBB but then i was a dumbass and missed the deadline hahaha.

but anyway! the premise is basically that simon and baz, abt a decade post-canon, are in a little bit of a rough patch. not like "oh god are they gonna break up?" rough patch but just like... they're disagreeing abt something. but then thru a series of magical mishaps that involved me heavily researching the French win of the 1998 FIFA World Cup ( i cannot begin to explain this here), they get vaulted back in time to their eighth year of Watford. Not only that: but it's a TIME LOOP. so they're stuck in their 18yo bodies reliving the same day over and over trying to figure out why, and also coping with the fact that there's tension between them. AND ALSO fucking all over campus/living out other sexual fantasies lmfao because how could they not.

anyway. the pre-work i have done on this fic is unhinged. i have an hourly timeline of every event that happens on this day at watford, which includes the weather for each hour. IDK I JUST THINK IT WOULD BE REALLY NEAT IF I ACTUALLY WROTE IT!

i have a tiny bit written, so here's a snippet:

“We should head inside,” I say. “It’s almost four. Time for the rain.” He rolls onto his back so that he can look up at me with a frown. I smooth his hair off his forehead with my palm. Sometimes he complains when I do that — it makes his hair greasy. He’s letting me today. (Hair doesn’t matter lately. Not much matters anymore.) “Can’t you just magic them away?” Baz murmurs. He smirks at me, then pokes me in the stomach. “Worst Chosen One to ever be chosen.” I roll my eyes and pull at his hair in retaliation, but I’m smiling too. “I did move the clouds once,” I say. Baz’s smile drops, his brow furrowing. “What? Why didn’t I know that?” I pull his hair again. He frowns, so I go back to petting. “You don’t know everything about me.” “I bloody well do,” Baz grumbles, sitting up. He turns so that he’s sitting cross-legged in front of me in the grass. I take his hand, unwilling to break contact completely quite yet. (I’m sun-stupid and needy; I’m never ready to break contact.) “I kind of forgot about it until just now,” I say. Baz raises an eyebrow. “You forgot you controlled the weather?” “It was after the Humdrum attacked us. Eighth year, in Hampshire.” I pause, scratching the back of my neck. The memory bubbling up is unpleasant, but not unbearable. Baz’s fingers are cool in my palm. “You told me to run, and I flew away. I could see the forest smoking for the air, so I just sort of… pushed some rainclouds over it.” The sky is a deep grey now. It matches Baz’s eyes, which are open wide. His mouth hangs open just a second before he snaps it shut, shaking his head. “You’re unreal,” he says. I snort. “I’m a failed science experiment.” Baz pushes at my shoulders, and I let myself fall back onto the grass. He crawls on top of me, hovering over me with his hands on either side of my head. “Don’t start that,” he warns, then pressing a hard, brief kiss to my lips. “You’re a fucking miracle.”

and then they kiss in the rain :)

ask abt my wips!!

#my writing

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bitterarcs · 8 months

Text

Second cigarette of the day, and it hung flaccidly from between fingers. A play thing. Red embers continued to devour, yet darkening thoughts refused to blow away with the carcinogenic smoke produced at smoldering end. Reno hated it . . the smell of cigarettes, actually. As if the weakness of surrendering to a vice was not a pounding to ego, the odour which clung to hair, clothes, and skin continued to remind and reprimand. Realization permeated as deeply as the stench, even as the lighter was flipped open, as the flame danced in eyes, and as the cigarette was removed from the half crushed box. Plenty of time to back out, yet turmoil acted as ten different voices shouting within his mind.

At least with the deadly ritual completed, frustration at himself was singled out; one disappointed voice better than several deafening ones. Only a third of the second cigarette was actually smoked, another third was left to burn as he watched quietly, and the last third — it fell from fingers. With a shocking amount of precision, it hit his target three floors down. Gunners dressed in company issued sweats and tees had been taking a break from their training, gathered in a cluster of three within the training arena. Of all the horrid things to possibly occurred, none expected to have a Turk watch them, least of all drop a cigarette.

From his height, the red head was unable to see the extent of the damage, but the single gunner yelled suddenly and ran around while attempting to dislodge the cigarette which had slithered past collar. Depending on his mood, a burst of inappropriate laughter or an apology would have been issued; he said nothing. Several pairs of heated and confused eyes looked upwards, and the sight of an unusually stoic Reno washed animosity away from tongues with freezing water. Maybe he could indulge in his mindless sadism later. At the moment, he pushed himself away from the railing over looking the impressive training hall and casually walked ( not sauntered ) towards the double doors leading to the elevator.

Black duffel bag full of supplies was carried with his right hand, hanging over right shoulder, and left hand was shoved inside the pocket of his ebony trousers to toy with the silver and scarlet lighter. He fingered the cool metal until it absorbed the heat of his flesh. DING. A light hum of the elevator mechanism, and the large doors opened at the helicopter landing pad on the building's roof. Hand moved away from lighter and out from pocket to hang awkwardly at his side whereupon the agitated tick of fingertips toying with the stitching of leather glove commenced. Leather binding palms and knuckles were a second flesh. Suit . . he could have done without.

Tiny gravel stones gave way with each step he produced on route to the awaiting helicopter. No recognition was given to the pilot, loathing the fact they needed a pilot, as the duffel was tossed in the back without much of a care. The pilot had, of course, not done anything ill, but the sight of him caused tongue to click against teeth with displeasure. The mission details including the part where Reno was not to pilot the helicopter in order to keep an eye out on his burden refreshed within mind. Tseng's emotionless voice. The mission file. The vile stench of smoke. Fuck, I shouldn't have smoked.

Now he was going to be stuck in reeking clothes AND be at the side of an unhinged gremlin. When the news had broke, even Rude, the bald and stacked pillar of a man, had reacted. Of course it was only Reno who noticed the reaction, for the red head had been stunned in the subsequent moments. Was it a punishment? Apparently not, but Reno called bullshit. He had tried bargaining with Tseng, offering Rude's services in the stead of a man Reno had personally helped to subdue. He wasn't fucking clingy, and not every mission required the services of red and bald, but why ruin something which worked? Fucking Tseng. Fucking shaddy ShinRa departments. FUCKING SEPHIROTH.

The infallible pillars of the ShinRa Electric Company crumbled in an instant. No, it had taken a little bit more time, but the dramatics of the situation made everything appear like a sudden explosion. The SOLDIER program was practically annihilated, and the Turks and . . the other scraps followed to pick up pieces. Neither a pessimist or an optimist, Reno knew there would be no repairing the wounds created by Genesis, Angeal, Zack, and Sephiroth. Fucking SOLDIERs. No one had listened to Reno, and how right he had been. . . .

No, Reno hadn't precisely predicted the dissension and desertion among the SOLDIERs, but the Turk had never trusted any of them. Bunch of mako freaks, and once again Reno was stuck with another caliber of freak. The red hair was a hair away from pulling out lighter to set fire to something . . anything, when Nero and his walker appeared from the same elevators Reno had emerged from a minute earlier. Equally scoffing and grimacing at the sight, the mouthy Turk pressed back against the sealed pilot door and defiantly crossed arms against his chest. Once close enough, he cocked his head to the side and spoke,

( ❛ Anything I should know? Favourite treats? What times does he need to be walked to go potty? ❜ )

Reno was proud of that one, almost enough to erase the shitty fucking circumstances of the fucked up mission. The red head did not allow it to show in his expression instead he moved for the ajar door and jumped inside with swift agility.

( ❛ Alright, freak show. You better be able to handle heights. ❜ )

starter for @stagnantmako

#[ ⁰⁰⁷ ; a little bit of reno to spice up life ]#stagnantmako

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imaginedreamwrite · 2 years

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alpha!silverfox!Stucky x omega!reader — fluffy Drabble

The door shut with a soft click, and the two super soldiers had set their bags down in the front entrance softly, momentarily distracted by the sound of your footsteps padding on the floor above, to the steps and finally to a place where they could see you.

“Hey sweetheart,” Steve was already in the process of taking off his shield and setting it aside when Bucky had slipped his hand into his pocket to grab one of many surprised they’d gotten you, “missed you.”

“I miss you too,” you were still cautious, still slightly unnerved around them, and it showed in the caution behind your steps toward them.

“Got something for you,” Bucky had removed his hand from his pocket, attempting to remain ignorant to the way you had briefly flinched.

“A few things actually-“ Steve dropped the shield and studied you intently, eyes narrowing when his eyes settled upon the sleeve of your shirt.

“Give me your hand.” Bucky requested and extended his own, the object set flat in his palm.

“What is it?” You reached out and rest your hand in his, fingers grazing his wrist as you inches forward.

“Watch,” Bucky had had taken your hand and turned it over, then deposited the small object into your palm, “it won’t explode, I promise.”

There was a moment of bated breaths and speculation until two little wings had sprouted from the top and the object had taken off in a self propelled manner, flying a few feet before coming back into your palm.

“That’s amazing!” You beamed, happiness unhinged as you tapped the end of the object to make it fly again, completely unaware of how the alphas were looking at you. “Its a toy?”

“Technically yes,” Bucky followed you as you paced, managing to keep the object flying without it needing to fall, “but its-“

“Perfect.” You grabbed it gently and allowed it to fold up again. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Bucky had brushed your hair behind your ears and trailed your jaw with his fingertips, “beautiful omega.”

You opened your mouth to speak, only to immediately shut it when the sound of soft, gentle meowing had come from the stairs, and then immediate panic had taken hold of you as a white puff descended the stairs.

“You weren’t supposed to come out yet!” You scolded the kitten and turned sharply to pick it up gently, tucking it into your chest.

“Sweetheart, what did you do?” Steve was amused as was Bucky, at the wide eyed and panicked look on your face. “Did you adopt a cat?”

“Maybe?” You made no attempt to hide the kitten yet your bottom lip protruded with a pout.

“Baby girl-“ Steve started then sighed, and glanced at Bucky.

“Please don’t make me give her up! Her name is alpine and she’s so sweet! She’s a baby, look at her!” You crooned and scratched her cheeks, earning gleeful purrs.

“Honey-“

“Pwease…” you held the kitty up by your face with a pout, giving them the full effect of puppy dog eyes. “I never had the opportunity to have a pet when I was…where I came from I couldn’t…”

“We always said we were gonna have it all, Stevie. An omega, a house, pets and pups.”

Steve sighed and shook his head, resigning himself to not just an omega who loved animals but a mate as well. The two of you would surely come against him.

“Fine, we can keep the kitten but no more animals.” Steve knew it wouldn’t last, just how he knew Bucky was already in love with the creature when he had taken it from you and let it rest on his shoulder.

“Welcome home, we got a cat.” Steve grumbled, then smiled.

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chaotic-orphan · 11 months

Text

The Immortal Hunter : Part 4

Continuation of Always a ball

Read Part one here

Part two

Part three

I found this in my drafts and forgot about my vampire babies, so enjoy!

*~*~*~*~*

“What can I say,” Heath said easily. “I’m an honest kind of guy,” then he plunged the knife deep into Wolfe’s heart.

Heath relished in the wide grey eyed surprise of the bastard who had orchestrated his own demise. He wouldn’t admit it later on, but Heath even smiled.

He stuck the blade in nice and deep, and still holding the handle followed the momentum through, his other hand grabbing Wolfe’s shoulder and pushing him onto his back with Heath breathing heavily over him.

It was strange being a vampire. He had no heartbeat yet he swore there was something slamming against his chest, thundering euphoria around his body. His ears which shouldn’t have a pulse drunk on the thrill of the kill of another rotten bloodsucker. The hunter’s high was always a little unhinged, but in that moment Heath didn’t care.

His body responded as if it was still alive. Adrenaline keeping him going, not blood from last night’s party. He sucked in a deep breath through his nose, eyes closing in a moment of bliss.

He missed this.

“Heath?”

Heath’s head turned with a hyper energy to the sound, where his unfocused eyes found Killian tied to the chair staring at him with human eyes full of uncertain fear.

Killian shouldn’t be afraid, the voice in his head said. His heart still beats. He is sacred.

Heath stood from Wolfe’s body and turned full to face Killian now, ears honed in on his heartbeat speeding up. Which was ridiculous. Heath would never hurt a hair on his head.

Heath bowed to Killian, knife flat on his two outstretched palms.

“An offering,” someone said. Who wasn’t important to Heath. No all that mattered was that precious human life he saved. “I’ve heard of the hunter’s high, but I thought it was a myth.”

“The hunter’s high?” Killian asked.

“When a hunter kills a vampire when saving a human life. It’s like a high we could never begin to understand. This is his promise to you.”

“Promise?”

“You need to accept the knife to complete the ritual.”

A pause.

“Oh wait, your hands- let me…”

There was the sound of ropes being cut, then falling limply to the floor.

“I just take the knife?” Killian asked.

“No. Well yes, don’t take it from him. Just grab the handle. It’s like a thank you, if you wanna think of it like that.”

“I thank him for saving my life?”

“No. He thanks you for giving him the opportunity to slay another vampire. Do it. Now.”

A pair of black runners appeared in Heath’s view. Not that he could really register it. But he recognised them as Killian’s from the day before in a faraway part of his brain.

Then there was a warm hand on his, fingers wrapping around the hilt of the blade and Heath wrapped his hand around the owners hand.

Then it felt like Heath crashed back down onto his own body.

He looked up at Killian who looked down at him with a weary expression, as if he was afraid Heath might hurt him. Heath frowned, eyes flicking to Felix who stood behind the chair Killian was tied to watching the exchange with that awful cat like interest that made Heath’s stomach turn.

“Heath?” Killian asked, and Heath looked back at him. Heard his heart beating. He was still alive.

Heath got to his feet with Killian’s help, feeling very weak from the Hunter’s return. He looked down at Wolfe at his feet, blood seeping steadily into a stream from his wound.

“Ah fuck,” Heath muttered, looking over his shoulder at Felix. “I didn’t mean to kill him.”

Felix waved the death of his friend away as if it was spilled milk.

“Don’t be daft. Let’s have breakfast, I’m famished. Killian will you join us for breakfast? Please do. Actually, as your boss I insist. I’ll have the cook prepare some pastries. I feel like a nice croissant right about now.”

Felix kept talking and gesturing as he walked out of the door to the basement and waited there, holding it open for the others to follow.

“Are you okay to walk?” Killian asked after Heath let him go.

“Yeah. I’m fine. Don’t worry about it,” Heath said then took a step and collapsed. Killian was bent double trying to catch him, but before Heath hit the floor Felix had a hand under him, putting Heath’s arm over his shoulder and helping him out of the basement. “Shit,” Heath whispered as his head swam. The rush from the Hunter’s high zapping his energy.

“Hush, dear boy,” Felix said quietly enough so only Heath could hear, “I got you.” Heath didn’t have the energy to argue or repress the shudder at Felix’s old pet name for him, and just let Felix half carry him out of the room.

Felix didn’t turn as he said over his shoulder, “Chop chop Killian.”

Heath heard an immediate: “Yes sir.”

Then he zoned out knowing Killian was safe and let Felix guide him to the dining room.

Celeste was already at the dining table, knife and fork in hand, hair in a simple low bun and she didn’t as much raise a brow when the three men arrived. On the table before her was a small feast of pancakes, fruit, bread and pastries that still had steam rising from them.

“You’re just in time,” she said simply. “The pastries only arrived.”

Killian walked through the door after Felix and Heath. Following Felix around the table after he had deposited Heath onto the chair next to Celeste, and then sat at the head of the table on her other side. Killian sat opposite Celeste on the other side of Felix, her perfect eyebrows raised at that.

“Oh hello. You must be Felix’s new employee. I’m Celeste.”

“Celeste, Killian. Killian, Celeste. We’re all acquainted now let’s eat,” said Felix plating himself some pastries from the table and a side of grapes.

“I’m sorry you’re in debt to him,” she said as Killian sat down and Killian nodded in response. “You have a bruise on your cheek, and a cut… and blood on your shirt and nose. Felix, did you do that?”

“I would never.”

“No. A guy named Wolfe,” said Killian.

“Oh,” Celeste said her voice taking an edge to it as she looked to Heath at her side who was a little out of it. “You’re lucky to be alive.”

“I’ll remember that,” said Killian, taking a croissant and biting into it. “It’s all thanks to Heath.”

“Defender of the Humans that man,” Celeste said with a secret smile. She dropped her voice conspiratorially and added, “He must like you.”

“I don’t,” Heath said, voice raw, reaching across Celeste and taking a pancake from her plate.

“Now that’s a lie,” Felix said, eyes on Heath even as he continued talking with Celeste. “You should have seen him down there, Celeste. He was exquisitely noble.”

“When is he not?”

Heath grunted in response. Killian for his part was mostly famished and weirded out by the three vampires sitting before him. He ate quietly, every now and then grabbing something when his plate was empty as they fell into silence.

“Tell me,” Felix began, cutting a pancake with his knife and fork and easing a piece to his mouth, “Did you know he was the Immortal hunter?”

Celeste froze for a split second, imperceptible to the human eye, the brief halting pause in her limbs. A split second was all it was, but that was all it needed to be for Felix to notice. Silence descended on the table, even Killian stopped chewing as he noticed the change in tone at the table. Felix’s eyes were sharp as a feline’s as he watched Celeste process the information.

“Yes. I was shocked too. I would have thought he’d tell you of all people,” Felix said conversationally, as if he didn’t just drop the bomb of the century on her over breakfast.

“I’m right here,” Heath said. His eyes were shut, his head tilted back on the chair and staring at the ceiling.

“Would you prefer we talk behind your back?” Felix asked.

“I’d prefer if I didn’t have to hear your voice for another decade, Victor.”

“You wound me. It’s not even 9 a.m.”

“I’ve had a long day,” Heath said. He looked at Killian then from across the table. “As have you. Would you like me to walk you home?”

“Heath-“ Felix began but was cut off immediately by Heath’s chair scraping against the hardwood floor.

“Give him the day off. It’s my treat. Plus I’ll be here to wait on you hand and foot.”

Felix shrugged in response. “Fine,” he said in an exhale. “However me and Celeste will be talking about you behind your back.”

“As all good friends do. Come on Killian.”

Heath was out of the room before Killian had even stood up. He did so a bit awkwardly, bowing his head to Celeste.

“It was nice to meet you, Celeste.”

“Enchantée. Don’t be a stranger, Killian.”

Killian didn’t know what to say to that so he said nothing, just nodded again and followed Heath out of the house. He wouldn’t be prey to another Vampire’s stupid contracts and customs in the span of 24 hours.

Celeste waited until they were out of earshot to turn to Felix staring daggers into his face which Felix just blinked unfazed at.

“What do you mean Heath’s the immortal hunter? The immortal hunter can’t be a vampire? And that boy? You let Wolfe hurt him in your own house?”

"Wolfe is dead now, Celeste, so any disrespect he caused me in my house is currently bleeding out of him in my basement. As for how the immortal hunter can be a vampire," Felix said, taking a sip of wine and looking at her over the glass, “I have a few theories...”

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Continued here

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