inspired by a post i saw forever ago that was something along the lines of "tell me about your book while i kiss your neck" | 1k-ish, reader w breasts, boyfriend!steve, steve is distracting af and such a tease, not quite smut oopsies | 18+ only!!! mdni!!!
“Hi, baby,” Steve says softly as he emerges from the bathroom, hair still wet, wearing nothing but his boxers. His knees land on the mattress, and moments later, he’s crawling up the bed towards you, “Whatchya readin’?”
“Hey, bub,” you reply after a moment, too lost in your book to respond to his question right away, still not giving him your full attention as you turn the page, “It’s, um…” Your attention is stolen by the book again and you trail off, not answering his question.
“Babe?” he asks as he flops onto his stomach, slinging an arm over your middle. Drops of water from his hair spray over you, sprinkling the page of your book lightly, enough to make you let out a noise of protest. He huffs too, fingers pinching at your side lightly, “Pay attention to me!”
You let out a shriek of surprise, batting his hand away as you finally close your book, dropping it onto the bed next to you, “Okay, okay, ‘m sorry!”
“Are you?” he asks teasingly, raising an eyebrow as he props his chin up on your sternum, fingers rubbing softly over the place he pinched you; a silent apology.
“Yes! I promise,” you reply, holding your hand out towards him, pinky outstretched.
Steve’s finger wraps around yours, pulls your hand up to his mouth to kiss it once, as he eyes you seriously, a teasing lilt to his voice, “You know how serious pinky promises are, babe.”
“You have my full attention, Stevie,” you reassure him, untangling your fingers from his to brush them through his damp hair and out of his face.
“Good,” he grumbles with a huff, even though he’s smiling, cheek pressed into the soft fabric of your shirt. Steve’s only there for another moment before he’s pushing up onto his hands so he can hover above you.
His face appears above yours, his smile boyish and charming as always. There’s a glint of mischief in his eyes, but his name isn’t even halfway out of your mouth before he’s dipping down to press his lips to yours, kissing you as if he hasn’t kissed you in ages. You’re a little startled by the suddenness of it, but you absolutely are not going to complain, and you quickly melt into his touch.
Moments later, Steve pulls back suddenly, just enough to look at you, hand cupping your jaw. Your brows crease in confusion at the abrupt change, and even more so when the question he had stopped kissing you to ask is, “What’s your book about, baby?”
You blink, not expecting such an innocent question after the way he’s just kissed you, but he’s genuinely curious, and it makes your heart swell, “Oh. Um, well, it’s about—“
Your boyfriend’s lips are on your neck a moment after he asks, and it’s distracting enough that the words die on your lips as your eyes flutter closed. Ever attentive, Steve’s lips pause at the crook of your neck as he mumbles into your skin, “‘M listening…”
“Right,” you say, shaking your head a little, like that’ll help clear it. Your hands push up Steve’s arms, resting on his biceps as he resumes pressing kisses to your neck, “It’s about, um, this girl who…”
Only moments later, your thoughts trail off again, entirely preoccupied with the way Steve is nipping at your neck, hands wandering your sides slowly, deliberately, his fingertips creeping underneath the hem of your pajama shirt. Goosebumps prickle on your skin in their wake, trailing up up up towards your ribs.
Your book is long forgotten, teetering on the edge of the bed. Faintly, you wonder if you did anything to mark the page before you dropped it, but the thought is gone just as quickly as it’d appeared. Steve finds the spot on your neck that makes you turn into putty in his hands, and he knows it with the way your breath hitches, your fingers curling around his arms more tightly. There will be a mark there tomorrow, you’re sure of it.
You can feel the curve of his lips on your skin, his knowing smirk as he mumbles, “Book must not be that good, huh, baby? Can’t tell me anything about it.”
He doesn’t give you a chance to reply with his teasing kisses and the way his hands drift up to your breasts, taking your shirt with them. And just when you think he’s going to touch you, to give you the attention you’re so desperately craving, his hands continue their ascent, pushing your shirt over your head.
Steve tosses it to the side, discarded just like your book, leaving you in only your underwear. You squirm under his heavy gaze, desperate for him to kiss you, to touch you, to give you anything. You sigh his name, sounding more like an impatient whine, “Steve… please…”
He grins down at you, collecting both of your wrists in one big hand and holding them against the pillows. Leaning down, his lips brush yours, nose nudging into nose as he says with a teasing lilt, “Make ya a deal, honey…”
A questioning hum is all you can manage in reply as you fight against Steve’s grip to kiss him properly again. Your back arches off of the bed, hips searching for friction against his.
“Tell me ‘bout your book,” he pauses, planting another wet kiss to the underside of your jaw, “and I’ll give ya anything ya want."
"Anything?" you ask shakily as his kisses dip lower, brushing over your collarbone, and lower again.
"Anything," Steve confirms with a soft hum, eyes flicking to yours, dark brown glinting at you. He's barely able to contain his smirk as his head drops back down, tongue flicking out over your soft skin.
hi there! this is my first smut request, and I like your writing, so could you pls you put me down as 🎀 anon??
so as of lateeeee, dom!Nanami talking absolute filth to his girls pussy while he eats her out has made my head spin for the last couple of days…
would you please indulge me?!
nanami talking dirty while eating you out
cw. oral (f. receiving), cunnilingus, teasing dom!nanamin — MINORS DNI 18+
note. hiiii ofc, hello 🎀 nonnie ♡ i hope this satisfies you! i don’t takes requests, but i really liked the idea of this bc o_o that’s so hot, so here we are. (not proofread & it’s really short, sorry!)
“shhhh, sweetheart,” he whispers, breath fanning against your overstimulated heat. “how can i hear what your pretty lil cunt has to say when you’re being so loud?”
you whine despite his soft command. you crave the feeling of his lips, his vicious tongue, yet he deprives you, almost like he wants you to beg for it.
“ken, pl-please–” you cry, feeling his stare and the tickle of his pants. “fuck, please.”
“hmm? you’re a needy thing, aren’t you?” he chuckles, fingers coming to toy with your swollen pearl. “tell me, my love, what is it you’re begging for?”
he rubs at your clit with such gentle intensity, as if he knows exactly how to drive you crazy. “need you,” you reply, weakly.
he just laughs, dragging his fingers through your sticky, sodden folds. “so fucking filthy,” he says, staring at the webs of arousal the connect you to him. normally, the undivided attention would make you cringe and attempt to hide yourself, but it’s nanami. the heat from his gaze does nothing but soak you further. “making such a mess, sweetheart…”
you silently scream as he plunges two fingers into you, curling them immediately. “this is what this pussy needed, huh? just needed some filling?”
it’s not enough, you fear you could never, ever get enough of the loving man between your thighs. you don’t want to be greedy, but you just can’t help it.
“your… your mouth… please. need your mouth, too.”
he smiles, “my spoiled girl,” he says before wrapping his lips around your clit, moaning at the taste. “tastes soo good, my love,” his words muffled against you, vibrating you to your core.
you tangle your fingers into his hair, rocking yourself against his face in attempts to get more. it’s futile, though. he never fails to remind you that he’s in control here, so when you try to get more, he just slows his fingers down and pulls his face away from you.
“silly girl, you should know better than that.” he caresses your thigh with his free hand. “‘m starting to think you’re letting your pussy do all the thinking, honey. have you turned off the brain in that pretty little head?”
you nod, dumbly, blinded by feral need. you tug loosely at the blond strands and pray he lets you off the hook this one time. you hope he can see you’ve never wanted anything more than his addictive mouth and thick fingers. though he just might see it as you being an attention starved slut, but you don’t really care much.
“ken, give it to me. please, i need you.” you say in a half pant, half sob, arching your back off the plush bed. “‘m sorry, please.”
he’s not sure what you have to apologize for; but he finds it strangely endearing that you would say anything for him to get you off.
and you love the man before you because he’s never denied you. yes, he’s made you work for it, but at the end of the day, nanami kento would do anything for his pretty, dearest wife.
but nanami can have a bit of a foul mouth when it comes to you and your pretty cunt.
“so fuckin’ sloppy,” he mutters while diving into your heat. his fingers resume their previous pace, quick in precise. “c’mon, tell kento how it feels, sweetheart.”
his words are muffled, but you hear him loud and clear. you moan out his name and tug at his roots, thanking him profusely.
he curls his fingers into your spongy g-spot, mouth wrapped tightly around your clit like a suction cup. his tongue flicks so skillfully like eating you out is what he was born to do. it makes your skin glisten with sweat, your head spin and it makes that all too familiar knot form in the pit of your stomach.
he spews countless stifled praises and comments about how nasty you are for him all the way until he has you hurtling towards your orgasm. your sobbing when that white hot pleasure courses through you and has your entire body going taut. he rides you out, finger fucking and licking you till you’re writhing and attempting to close your thighs around his head.
“k-kento–” you cry when he uses both of his hands to pin your legs wide open.
“such a dirty girl, look at the mess you made,” he says while coming up for air, face drenched with your sheen. “guess ‘m gonna have to keep going till you’re all clean, hmm?”
Makki looks at you like you’ve betrayed him, on his side of the couch with his half-full beer can in hand. “That’s the best part!”
You shrug. “Dunno. Just never been with the right person, I guess.”
“That’s some bullshit. Guys don’t even know how to kiss a girl right? We used to hunt, you know—“
“Makki sucks at it, too,” Issei chimes, leaning against the other end of the couch with his own can half-empty. He nurses it in one hand, lazily plays with a curl in the other. “Can’t say shit.”
“What the fuck? I’m such a good kisser,”
“You—“
“Wait, why do you know how good or bad he is?” you ask, turning towards Issei on your left.
Over your head, he and Makki share a grin.
“Actually? Forget I asked.”
“Don’t be green, friends kiss all the time.”
“Yeah, sure.”
You slide your back down the couch, crossing your arms over your chest as you focus back on the movie playing on the TV. Your cheeks feel hot.
You’re aware of their legs craned out to rest on the coffee table, a set on either side of you. You’re watching them out of your line of view, but when Makki’s head cranes back over the couch to look at the man to your left, you lose track of them.
They’re bickering, you can tell. Issei keeps breathing out little laughs and Makki’s making obscene hand gestures, shaking the cushions when he tries to reach behind you and smack him.
It’s the fifth time the couch jerks that you groan, pushing yourself back upright to break them up.
“Can you not?” you groan. “I’m trying to finish the movie?”
“I’ll stop when he admits I’m not a shit kisser.”
“Too much tongue, babe.”
“I was drunk!”
You swallow. “You’re probably both good kissers, okay? Settle it at that.”
They quiet after that.
The room gets quiet, save for the wind coming through the window and the movie playing still. There’s a steady picking on fraying cushion behind you, no doubt from Makki’s antsy hand.
“You think we’re both good?” Issei prods.
“Sure. Whatever floats your guys’ boats.”
“You don’t sound convinced.”
“How would I know, Issei?”
The three of you— you’re close enough friends by now that silence is rarely awkward, but you’re not dumb. You know what hole you just dug.
Dig your grave and lie in it, or whatever.
“You wanna find out, then?” he asks, maybe a little quieter if you’re paying close attention.
Makki is hot against your other side, leaning ahead to see the both of you as good as he can. You slink back a little into the sofa— you’re in deep literally and metaphorically.
Issei slips his hand up your leg, watching your lips part the second he sets his eyes on yours. It stays on the backside, coming back up to skip over your ass, resting on your back.
His other hand is hot on the side of your face, tilting your chin up so you’re almost touching him.
“Can I show you something?”
You huff a quick breath, and nod even quicker.
Issei takes you whole, it doesn’t feel like just a kiss. It’s not just lips, even though it starts that way— it’s a graze of his teeth against your jaw before he steals your breath away that makes you slump down the couch, an exchange of power that gives your all to him.
He’s languid and slow, tongue taunting yours and his hand dauntingly large on your side. Makki’s slips beneath his and then under your sweater, nails scratching beneath your navel as they span over your skin.
You forget to breathe. He tastes like espresso and a good time. You lose track of whose hands are which. You don’t know anyone but them. You forget any other lips who have ever tasted yours.
When you reach up into his hair, knotting your knuckles in his curls, Makki takes the back of your neck and pulls you back. You’re looking at Issei, but he doesn’t look mad.
He’s smiling. You blink. You’re looking at Makki, now, and he’s smiling too.
“My turn?” He says it like a question. He might be saying it like he’s begging.
Makki moves so he’s just about on top of you, coming from above when you lean your head back to see him from below. He’s quicker than Issei, hard against your teeth and against your thigh, dizzying in how he pushes and pulls, rutting against you like he’s always wanted this.
Issei tugs your leg over his, smoothing his hand up the inside of it, skipping over where you’re too sheepish to say you want it.
It rests on your stomach, fingertips dipping beneath your waistband as Makki groans so low it vibrates in your throat. They’re playing give and take with you, back and forth like magnets, closing in and giving you space again like a corset.
Issei’s hand cups your chest and Makki’s rests on your throat. You’re being swallowed whole, and all you want them to do is spit you up and do it all over again.
Then, the storm breaks, and when you come to, they’re starry-eyed and staring at you.
“What?” you gasp.
You turn your head back and forth, looking between them like you’re checking your blind spots. You still think somethings gonna come out of nowhere and hit you; bring you back to reality.
“Nothing,” Issei shrugs. But, he leans back. “Do you wanna stay overnight? Save you a drive in the dark.”
They surround you. They encapsulate you differently, like smoke and water. You’re hot and all too aware of the things you’d say yes to.
Makki’s fingers burn against your shoulder, dragging the collar of your top down your collarbone as you nod.
Kit tags along with Elena and Damon to track down Jeremy to contact Rose to see who sired her. This results in a very frustrating scenario with Damon.
AKA the "there was only one bed" trope.
Pairing: Damon Salvatore x Self Insert (Kit) (Pre relationship)
Word count: 3,412
Author's note: This takes place during episode 3x19 in the canon, Heart of Darkness! Took some elements from the official motel scene and sprinkled them in here. See the tags for more ramblings about this one!
Divider credit.
"Are you sure they'll be alright?"
Kit kept her voice low, her eyes darting towards the shadowed edges of the motel parking lot. She was worried. Her stomach was tied in a tight, anxious knot that hadn't loosened since they left the batting cages. Damon had just killed Kol. Well, temporarily. The sickening crunch of the splintered baseball bat going through the Original's chest was still echoing in her ears. He was temporarily down, but he would wake up soon. What if he found them?
Damon didn't break his stride. His hands were tucked casually into the pockets of his leather jacket, seeming completely unaffected by the violence earlier. The Denver night air was biting, but he didn't seem to care at all.
"You worry too much," he said. His tone was perfectly chill.
Kit frowned, her boots crunching against the gravel of the exterior walkway. "I'm serious. What if he comes after us?"
Damon stopped outside the door at the end of the hall. He turned to face her, the flickering light of a neon sign catching the sharp angles of his face. "Relax. He can't hurt Elena, unless he wants Klaus to lock him in a box for another century. And he won't hurt you, because I'll be with you."
He said it so simply, like it was a fact. She pushed down how it made her feel.
"And Jeremy?" She prodded, wrapping her arms around herself.
Damon rolled his eyes, dropping his chin a fraction. "If we're being honest… Little Gilbert isn't really on my radar right now. Don't care what happens to him."
"Damon." She nudged him hard in the ribs with her elbow, her frown deepening. "That isn't funny."
Damon caught her arm, a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. "I wasn't trying to be funny."
Kit just glared at him, refusing to give in.
Damon held out for five seconds before he sighed, the sound heavy and dramatic. He let go of her. "Jeremy will be fine, too. Without him, we wouldn't be able to hear back from Rose. He's useful. Ergo, I will keep him alive. Happy?"
"Ecstatic." Kit grumbled.
Damon turned back to the door, shoving the keycard in and pushing the door open. He stepped back and gave Kit a mocking, sweeping bow, motioning for her to step inside.
Kit let out a huff and walked past him, flicking the light switch on the wall.
The overhead bulb hummed to life, illuminating a generic looking motel room. There was a cheap looking plush chair shoved into the corner, and a small round table right next to it. It was a mirror image of the room they had just left Elena and Jeremy in.
Except, this room only had one bed, not two.
Kit dropped her duffel bag onto the bedspread. She turned around slowly, her eyes narrowing as she locked onto Damon.
He was leaning against the closed doorframe, his hands back in his pockets. He raised his eyebrows, the picture of perfectly feigned innocence. "What?"
Kit pointed at the mattress. "There's one bed."
Damon's smirk returned. "Very observant. This is why we brought you along."
She groaned in pure, unfiltered frustration, dragging a hand down her face. "Why did you do this? Do you enjoy making things difficult?"
Damon brought a hand to his chest, his blue eyes widening in mock offense. "Me? Difficult? I'm hurt." He pushed off the doorframe and walked further into the room. "If you must know, this was the only room available close to Elena and Jeremy. It'll be a whole lot harder to protect all of you if we were in a room across the lot."
"Would've been easier if we were all in the same room," she grumbled back.
"Hey, I figured you wanted your privacy. You're welcome."
Kit saw the gleam in Damon's eyes. She knew damn well that this wasn't the only reason he'd gotten a single.
"Fine. Whatever. I call dibs on the bed," she said immediately.
"I'm sorry, I didn't realize this was a middle school sleepover," Damon teased, dropping his jacket on the back of the armchair. "We can share."
"You aren't even going to sleep," Kit shot back, grabbing her toiletry bag from the duffel. "Sit on the chair. Or the floor. Hang upside down from the ceiling like a bat for all I care. The bed is mine."
Damon only snorted, a sharp, amused sound.
"I'm taking a shower," she grumbled, turning on her heel and marching toward the small bathroom.
Damon waved a hand at her retreating back. "Don't use all the hot water. I'll keep your spot on the bed warm while you're gone."
Kit let out another frustrated groan, stepping into the bathroom and slamming the door shut behind her.
She turned on the shower, wincing at the high pitched squeal of the pipes. The water heat up quickly, but the pressure was terrible. She stripped down and stepped under the spray, letting the heat wash away the stress of the day. For a few minutes, she just stood there, eyes closed, letting the water beat down on her shoulders.
The hot water didn't last long. It went lukewarm as she was rinsing off her soap, and then to freezing cold before she was able to even use shampoo. With a sigh, Kit shut the water off and stepped out, beginning to dry off.
She unzipped her bag to grab her pajamas. A wave of horror washed over her.
When she had packed her bag before they left, she had fully assumed she was going to be rooming with Elena, or at the very least, they'd all be in the same room together. Elena and Jeremy wouldn't care that she brought her comfortable fleece pants covered in cartoon dinosaurs. Damon, however, would have a field day with this.
Kit weighed her options. It was either the dinosaur pajamas, sleeping in her jeans, or not wearing pants at all. She would never be able to get rest if she wore her jeans, and not wearing pants at all was out of the question.
"Damn it," she muttered under her breath. She swallowed her pride and pulled the pajamas on, the fabric instantly warming her cold skin. She threw on a worn, oversized tshirt. She gave her damp hair one last aggressive rub with the towel, and opened the door.
Damon was sitting in the armchair by the window. His boots were propped up on the table in front of him. His button-up shirt was completely open, revealing the pale expanse of his chest. He had a flask in his hand, the metal glinting in the dim light. Kit wondered if he had brought bourbon or blood along. Maybe a mix of both, knowing him.
He turned his head as she stepped out of the bathroom. His eyes lazily dragged down her oversized shirt, landing squarely on the dinosaur pajama bottoms.
A slow, wicked smirk played on his lips. "Cute."
Kit felt her face heat up. She grumbled something incoherent, keeping her eyes glued to the floor as she marched over to the bed. She yanked the heavy floral comforter back, practically threw herself onto the mattress, and pulled the blankets up to her chin.
"Goodnight," she mumbled, reaching over the click off the bedside lamp.
The room plunged into darkness, save the faint glow of the moonlight bleeding through the thin curtains.
"Night," Damon echoed back. She heard him unscrew the cap of his flask, and the creaking of the chair as he shifted his weight back.
Kit lay there for a couple of minutes, her eyes adjusting to the dark. She was looking at Damon. He really was handsome. It was a dangerous thought, one she usually tried to suppress, but in the quiet dark of the room, she let her mind wander. The sharp line of his profile was illuminated by the light outside. She watched the steady rise and fall of his chest, the tightness in his jaw, the way his throat worked as he swallowed whatever liquid he had in his flask.
After a few moments, Damon shifted his gaze. He caught her staring.
Panic spiked in Kit's chest. She needed to say something to cover up the silence.
"It would suck, being on the other side," she blurted. It was the first thing that came to her mind, lingering from the conversation from earlier.
Damon raised an eyebrow at her.
Kit swallowed hard, continuing before the lost her nerve. "I mean, Jeremy said Rose said she was fine, but… After a while, it has to get lonely. You can't talk to anyone. Can't touch anyone. Just… Wandering around. Watching your loved ones move on without being able to reach out. Forever." Her voice grew thick, a sudden, heavy sadness creeping into her chest. "I can't imagine being in that scenario. That fate seems so much worse than death itself."
The thought of being alone forever, untouched and unseen, scared the shit out of her. She rolled onto her back and closed her eyes, folding her hands over her chest, interlocking her fingers.
A second later, she flinched as the mattress dipped heavily beside her. The springs whined in protest. Kit opened her eyes to find Damon lying on his back right next to her. He had thrown one arm casually behind his head, his face turned toward her. Even in the dark, she could feel the weight of his stare.
"Being alone for eternity with nobody to bug me?" Damon murmured, his voice a low, rough rumble. "Sounds like heaven."
Kit snorted, the heavy feeling in her chest breaking just a little. She rolled her eyes and turned onto her side to face him, pulling the blankets tighter. "Out of everyone I know, I am absolutely certain you'd be the most miserable if you were stuck over there."
Damon smirked, his eyes flashing. "Oh, please. I'd finally get some peace and quiet away from you."
She kicked him lightly under the covers. "Asshole." He didn't even flinch.
The silence settled over them again, but it wasn't uncomfortable this time.
Kit traced the stitching of the blanket with her thumb, changing the subject. "Elena seemed surprised… When Jeremy mentioned the dream you gave to Rose," she said quietly.
Damon's jaw tightened. He looked away from her, staring up at the ceiling. He gave a casual, dismissive shrug. "Didn't notice."
"You didn't tell her?" she prodded.
"No," his tone was flat.
"Why not?"
Damon was quiet for a moment before answering. "It wasn't about her." Another pause. He let out a breath, turning his head just enough to catch her eye. "The only reason I told you was because you wouldn't leave me the hell alone. I just wanted to shut you up."
A small, genuine smile pulled at Kit's lips. She remembered that night. It was the first time she had ever seen him so vulnerable. What she saw from him that night… It was something he rarely let people see.
She rested her head on her arm, looking at him steadily. "Why are you so afraid to let people see the good in you?" she asked. Her voice was quiet, stripped of any teasing or judgment. She was genuinely curious.
She saw Damon swallow. She could almost see the inner workings of his mind—the rapid calculation on whether it was worth opening up a little, the instinct to deflect, the urge to push her away.
But for once, he was honest.
He turned his head fully to meet her eyes. The guard dropped. "Because when people see good, they expect good." His voice was barely a whisper. "I don't want to have to live up to anyone's expectations."
Kit blinked. she understood that sentiment more than he probably knew. She knew how it felt. The kinder you were, the more people took from you. The moment you fuck up, or set a boundary, or say no, you're suddenly the bad guy. For Damon, it was just easier to start off as the bad guy off the bat. It was safer.
Kit knew better. She knew who he really was.
She looked at him for another long moment, the intensity of his state suddenly making her feel incredibly self conscious. A flush of embarrassment crept up her neck. She scrambled to break the heavy atmosphere, rolling hastily onto her back with a loud sigh.
"Well," she said softly, staring at the ceiling. "I'm gonna try to get some sleep… Before Rose finds Mary."
Damon let out a low hum of acknowledgement next to her. "Sure. I'll wake you up when I hear something."
Kit hummed back and closed her eyes.
She did her best to fall asleep, she really did, but her mind was way too active. Thoughts raced through her head at a million miles an hour. She was still worried about Kol. She was anxious about whether or not Rose would find Mary. She was stressed about finding out whose sireline all of her friends were tethered to.
Mostly, she was all too aware of Damon laying inches away from her.
She had slept with him before. There had been nights where she was drunk and emotional, completely overwhelmed, where she had needed someone to be there for her. On those nights, she had been brave enough to ask him to stay, and he always did. He'd usually be gone by the time she woke up, and they would move past it like it didn't even happen.
But right now, she was completely sober. Her mind was clear. This was different.
She focused hard on keeping her breathing deep and even, trying desperately to pretend to be asleep. She willed her body to relax, but it didn't do much to slow down the frantic pounding in her chest.
As if Damon could sense her spiraling anxiety, she heard the rustle of the sheets. His voice came softly through the dark.
"You okay?"
Her eyes opened. She turned her head to look at him. He had rolled onto his side, propped up slightly on his elbow, staring down at her. His expression was soft, smoothed over by genuine concern.
Kit wanted to kiss him.
The thought came up violently, crashing into her brain without warning. Her eyes flicked involuntarily down to his lips, and a second later, his eyes dropped down to hers. The air in the room suddenly felt incredibly thick. She knew, with absolute certainty, that he wanted to kiss her too.
She knew what would happen if they crossed that line. Once they broke that barrier, there was no going back to the way things were, and she wasn't sure if she was ready for that kind of change. Especially not right now, when not only him, but all of her friends back home were depending on them finding what Original sireline they belonged to. This was not the time to complicate things.
That didn't mean she didn't want to be close to him, though.
Kit swallowed her nerves and scooted toward him across the bed, her movements hesitant. She closed the gap between them, tentatively bumping her forehead against his bare shoulder, silently asking to be held.
Damon went still for a second, but then he rolled back onto his back and wrapped his arm around her, pulling her against his side. He squeezed her close, the heat radiating off of his skin. Kit nosed his collarbone, exhaling a long, shaky breath as his warmth enveloped her. She threw her leg over his, tangling their limbs together, and rested her trembling hand flat against his bare chest. His heart beat a little fast under her palm, mirroring her own nervous pulse, betraying his relaxed exterior.
Damon took his other hand and covered hers where it rested on his chest, pressing her palm down a little harder. He buried his face into her damp hair, letting out a low, content hum.
"Thought you didn't want to share the bed," he murmured.
"Just… Shut up, Damon," Kit whispered back against his skin.
His breath tickled her hair as he let out a laugh-exhale through his nose. He didn't say anything else, only holding her tighter against him. Wrapped in his arms, Kit finally felt the tension bleed out of her muscles.
It only took about ten minutes for her to fall asleep.
The sudden vibration of Damon's phone against the wood of the nightstand sounded like a jackhammer in the quiet room. Kit shifted against him, a tiny, displeased noise escaping the back of her throat.
Damon flattened his hand against her back in a silent, grounding pressure. Stay asleep.
She settled, her face pressing a little deeper into the hollow of his shoulder. Her hand twitched against his chest before going limp again.
Damon grabbed his phone off the nightstand, squinting at the light. It's only been a couple of hours since Kit fell asleep. He sighed as he saw it was a text from Elena.
"Rose found Mary. She lives in Kansas."
Damon stared at the screen. Great. Another road trip. Mary being close by would have been too easy.
He tapped out a reply with his thumb, the screen casting a faint blue glow over his face.
"We'll be ready in 45"
He hit send and placed his phone back onto the nightstand, face down.
Forty-five minutes was a massive exaggeration. Whenever Kit woke up, she'd scramble out of bed, drag a brush through her hair for 30 seconds, get dressed, and be standing by the door in ten minutes flat. Fifteen, tops. Damon was already dressed, still in the clothes from yesterday. All he had to do was get his jacket on.
They could be in the car and on the road in twenty minutes, but the thought of moving right now and breaking whatever the hell this was, made his chest tight.
Damon let his head fall back against the pillow, turning his face just enough to press his nose into her hair again.
He'd seen the hesitation in Kit's eyes earlier. The want. He saw the exact moment she realized she wanted to kiss him, and the exact moment she painstakingly talked herself out of it.
He had wanted to close the distance anyway, to prove that she didn't have to overthink it, that she could just do what she wanted without having to feel that guilt. But he hadn't. He let her set the boundary, because he learned pushing her was the fastest way to make her run in the other direction.
It was getting harder to pretend.
They called this friendship. It was the safest word they used to categorize what they had. Friends didn't do this. Friends didn't lay awake in the dark, looking at each other the way they had earlier. His friends didn't quiet the violent noise in his head with a single touch. Only Kit did that.
Damon shifted a fraction, pulling her more securely against his side. She was so warm. His eyes focused on the wallpaper peeling on the far wall of the room.
Thirty-eight minutes left.
He wasn't going to wake her up until the very last second. He wanted this moment to last as long as possible, before they went back to pretending that friendship was all this was. He let her fill his senses— The warmth of her body pressed against his, her scent, the sound of her slow, steady heartbeat and breathing.
Twenty-three minutes left.
Kit stirred against him. Her breathing shifted, becoming less deep. She was waking up.
Damon stayed still, watching her eyelashes flutter before her eyes slowly opened. She blinked up at him, still half-asleep, her guard completely down.
For a few seconds, neither of them moved. She didn't pull away. Neither did he.
Then her eyes focused, awareness creeping back in, and he watched her remember where they were. What they were supposed to be doing. He heard the spike in her pulse.
"Rose found Mary," he said quietly, before the moment could stretch into something they both would have to acknowledge.
Kit nodded slowly. "How long do we have?"
"Twenty minutes."
She finally pulled back, sitting up and pushing her hair out of her face. The air felt colder where she'd been. He didn't like that.
"Okay," she said softly, not quite meeting his eyes. She almost seemed sad. "Let me get dressed."
Pairing: Damon Salvatore x Self Insert (Kit) (Established relationship)
Word count: 4,157
Content warning: Explicit sexual content, PiV sex, fingering, praise kink, brief body anxiety, creampie, uhhh it's just sex you know how it goes. It's their first time so it's nothing crazy!
Author's note: This is def too long and I could have cut some out and made it shorter but I think sex is a really important part of Kit and Damon's relationship and I wanted this fic to be special :) I was just in the mood to write this out because this moment means a lot to me.
Starting this under a read more from the get go because it sort of just throws you right into it!
Divider credit!
Damon's mouth was hot and insistent against hers, and Kit couldn't think.
She was in his lap, knees bracketing his hips on the bed, her fingers twisted into the front of his shirt. She didn't really remember how they got here, exactly—they'd been downstairs, and then he was kissing her against the wall, and then on the stairs, and now here.
Damon's hands were on her hips, his thumbs pressing into the soft give of her belly. Every time she shifted he pulled her tighter to him.
She rolled her hips down and felt him. He was hard, straining against his jeans, the ridge of his cock pressed right between her thighs. Her breath caught against his mouth and he groaned, vibrating through his chest into hers.
"Fuck," he breathed. His head dropped back a little bit. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide, and the way he was just looking at her made her stomach flip. "Keep doing that."
She did it again. A slow, deliberate grind. His jaw tightened and his fingers flexed on her hips. "Yeah, baby," he said, voice rough. "Just like that."
Kit kissed him again because she needed somewhere to put all of this, the want that had been building for weeks, since the first time he touched her and she felt it light up every nerve ending in her body. His tongue slid against hers, hot and filthy, and she whimpered into his mouth before she could stop herself.
Damon growled and his hands slid down to her ass, grabbing, pulling her harder against him. The friction was devastating. She could feel the heat of him even through the layers of clothing, the thick press of his cock against her center, and she was already so wet it was embarrassing.
He pulled back from the kiss, his lips slick with saliva and his breathing uneven. His eyes raked down her body, and she felt a flush creep down her neck and disappear under the collar of her shirt.
"Take this off," he said, tugging at it.
Her brain short circuited.
Kit's hands froze on his chest. The heat didn't go away—she still wanted him so badly that her whole body ached with it—but the familiar cold thread of anxiety wound its way through her ribs.
She knew what was under her shirt. A soft stomach, stretch marks, a body that definitely didn't look like the women he'd been with before. Before they got together she'd seen the women he hooked up with, and heard stories from the girls. He'd had a century of beautiful people, and then there was just… her.
Damon was watching her. His hands stilled and he tilted his head.
"Hey," he said. Quieter now. "Where'd you go?"
"Nowhere." She lied quickly, swallowing. Then, "I just—it's stupid."
"Probably." A teasing smile. "Tell me anyway."
She looked down at his chest rather than at his face, not wanting to make eye contact. "You've been with a lot of people," she said finally.
Silence. She kept talking.
"Obviously." She added, awkward and stumbling. "You've been with—I mean, you've had—you've been doing this for a while, Damon. You've been with people who look like—" She gestured vaguely at him. "You know. And I'm—" Her throat closed up. She looked away, her face flushing with shame. She was ruining this and they hadn't even started.
Damon sat up a little straighter, taking her chin in his fingers and tilting her face back towards him. She had no choice but to look at him.
"You wanna know something?" He asked.
She blinked. "What?"
"I've been thinking about this for months. What it would be like to get you out of your own head long enough to actually have you." His thumb ran over her lower lip. "I've thought about fucking you so many times I lost count. Every time you'd sleep over. Every time you kissed me. Every time you do that very deliberate thing where you bend over to pick something up and—"
"Okay! Okay." Kit laughed, putting her hand over his mouth to shut him up. His eyes smiled back at her. Her face burned for a different reason now.
Months. They'd barely been official for a couple weeks, and he'd been thinking about this for months.
Damon took his hand and took her wrist, pulling her hand from his mouth. "My point is, sweetheart, you think I don't know what you look like under there? I've thought about it more times than you want to know."
"Damon—"
He pulled back and stripped his own shirt over his head, tossing it somewhere to the side. The firelight caught the lines of his chest, his shoulders, the defined trail of the dark hair that went from his navel down into the waistband of his jeans.
"Your turn."
Kit held his gaze, her heart hammering in her throat. With a shaky exhale, she grabbed the hem of her shirt and pulled it over her head.
The air hit her skin and she had to resist the urge to wrap her arms around herself. She was wearing a plain black bra, nothing special, she didn't plan for this. Her belly was soft and round, the stretch marks along her sides silver in the low light. She could feel every inch of her exposed skin.
Damon's gaze dropped. She watched as his eyes traveled over her. His hands slid up her sides, palms flat, fingers spread wide. They skimmed over her ribs, her waist, her stomach. He traced one of her stretch marks with his thumb, following the line of it.
"Fuck," he said under his breath.
Kit's breath came out shaky. She didn't know what to do with the way he was touching her. It was deliberate, intentional, like he was memorizing every imperfection on her.
He leaned forward and pressed his mouth to her collarbone, open and hot. His tongue traced the jut of the bone. His hands slid around to her back, unclasping her bra with practiced ease that she'd tease him about if she wasn't so turned on right now.
The bra came off and she let it. His mouth moved lower, kissing along the swell of her breast, and his hand came up to cup the other, his thumb brushing her nipple until it stiffened under his touch.
"Beautiful," he said against her skin, and her whole body shivered.
His eyes flicked up to hers—just for a second, something sharp and knowing flickering behind them. Then his mouth curved against her breast and he bit gently, and she gasped.
"My pretty girl," he murmured, soothing the mark his teeth left with his tongue. His voice had gone low, almost lazy, like the words were spilling out of him without thought. "So fucking pretty."
Something hot and liquid pooled low in Kit's belly. She could feel herself responding to him in a way she couldn't control. Her flush deepened, and her hips rocked forward against him involuntarily. He caught her nipple between his lips and sucked, and whatever composure she'd been clinging to dissolved into a breathy moan. His other hand moved back to her hip, pulling her down against him again, rocking her against the hard line of his cock.
"That's it," he breathed. "Feel what you're doing to me, baby."
The words landed like an electric shock. Her fingers curled tighter into his shoulders and she ground down against him harder, chasing the friction. He groaned, mouthing at her neck, her chest, anywhere he could reach.
"Need these off," he said, tugging at her waistband. "Now."
He helped her off his lap, and the separation from him was almost painful. She shimmied out of her jeans, graceless and clumsy, nearly kicking him in the process. He didn't make a comment on it, he was too busy just looking at her.
She stood there in just her underwear, hyper aware of how her thighs must have looked. The urge to fold in on herself was automatic, but she braved it out and let him look at her anyway. Damon reached for her. His hand wrapped around her wrist and pulled her back onto the bed, guiding her down onto her back. He hovered over her and leaned down, kissing her deeply. His hand skimmed down her body; her collarbone, breasts, belly, the crease of her hip. He traced the line of her thigh, fingers dragging along the inside.
His fingers brushed over the front of her underwear, and she jolted.
"Mm." It was a low sound from the back of his throat. His fingers pressed flat against the cotton, feeling the dampness that had soaked through. He dragged his fingers along the length of her, slow. "At least I know you're enjoying yourself."
"Shut up," Kit breathed, but it came out shaky and desperate instead of annoyed.
Damon smirked at her. He pressed his fingers more firmly against her, finding her clit through the wet cotton. He rubbed a slow, tight circle, and her hips bucked off the bed into his hand.
"There you go." His mouth found her neck, sucking lazily at the skin below her ear. His fingers kept moving, making her squirm. "Show me what feels good."
She couldn't help it. Her hips moved on their own, pressing up against his hand, chasing the friction. A high, thin whine escaped her throat.
"There she is." His voice was pleased. He kept rubbing, attentive—firmer when she pushed into it, lighter when her thighs began to shake, always just enough pressure.
"Damon—" She gasped out. Every pass of his fingers over her clit sent sparks up her spine. Her underwear were ruined at this point, soaked through.
Damon pressed a kiss to the hinge of her jaw. "My sweet girl," he murmured against her skin. "Getting so worked up. You sound so pretty like this, you know."
Another whine tore out of her. Her hands grabbed at whatever she could reach. She was writhing under him, past the point of self-consciousness, past caring what she looked or sounded like.
"Please," she gasped. "Damon, please, I need—"
"I know, baby." He hooked his fingers into the waistband of her underwear and tugged. "Lift up."
She lifted her hips and he peeled her underwear down her thighs. The cool air hit her and she shivered, her legs falling open. She felt his eyes on her, and the exposure was dizzying.
He settled between her thighs. His hand skimmed up the inside of her leg, fingers trailing through her folds. Two fingers slid through the hot, swollen heat of her, parting her, learning the shape of her.
"So fucking wet," he breathed. "All of this for me? Aw, sweetheart, you shouldn't have."
He was teasing her. Even now, he had to be an ass. She turned her head to the side, pressing her face into her pillow. Embarrassment and arousal tangled together until she couldn't tell which was which.
His middle finger circled her clit directly now, and her hips jerked up hard. He held her down with a hand on her stomach. "Easy," he pressed a kiss to her hip. "I've got you."
His finger slid down and pushed into her.
She gasped. He was careful—one finger at first, slow, letting her adjust. He watched her face the entire time, reading every expression. His thumb found her clit and started a slow, steady circle as he worked his finger deeper.
"How's that feel?" he asked.
"Good." Her voice was barely there. "Real good."
"Yeah?" He pulled out, pushed in, a little deeper. His voice dropped lower. "You're tight. Relax."
He added a second finger and she exhaled shakily at the stretch. His thumb kept moving on her clit, steady and sure, and she quickly relaxed into him. He curled his fingers and pressed against her g-spot, and her vision went white around the edges.
"Oh—fuck—"
"Right there?" He did it again, watching her arch off the bed. He set a rhythm. Slow, deliberate thrusts of his fingers, curling up on every push in, his thumb circling her clit in tight motions. She risked a peek at him. He was looking at her with dark, hungry eyes. His jaw was tight, like he was restraining himself.
"So good for me," he said, low and rough. "Taking my fingers so well. You're so fucking pretty like this."
Kit whimpered. She could feel the tension building, a coil winding tighter and tighter in her belly. Her hips were moving with his hand now, rocking into the rhythm he'd set, chasing it.
"Damon—I'm gonna—"
"Not yet." He slowed his fingers, easing the pressure on her clit just enough to pull her back from the edge. She made a frustrated sound and he laughed, the bastard. "Not yet, baby. I wanna be inside you when you come. That okay?"
The words shot straight through her. She nodded, breathless.
He pulled his fingers out of her slowly. She watched as he brought them to his mouth and sucked them clean, his eyes never leaving hers. Kit felt like she was going to die.
Damon sat back on his heels and his hands went to his belt. She watched him undo it, the metal clinking loudly in the quiet room. He pushed everything down and kicked his clothes off the edge of the bed.
He was hard. His cock was thick, flushed dark, a small bead of precome at the tip. The sight of him made her mouth go dry and she felt her cunt clench.
He caught her staring and raised an eyebrow. "See something you like?"
"Don't be smug right now, oh my god."
"I'm always smug about this." He smirked. He was infuriating. He moved over her, settling between her spread thighs, and the full body contact nearly short circuited her brain. His skin was so warm, and the weight of him pressing her into the mattress made something primal and desperate light up inside of her chest.
He leaned down and kissed her again, deep and unhurried. His cock was pressed against her, hot, and every shift of his hips dragged him through her slickness.
"Tell me if it's too much," he murmured against her lips. He was being serious now, no longer teasing. "I mean it. I'll stop."
She nodded. "I know."
He reached between them. She felt the head of his cock pressing against her entrance, nudging, not pushing in yet. He held there, and his eyes found hers.
"Ready?"
"Yeah." She exhaled. "Please."
He pushed in.
He was slow, so slow. The stretch was a lot. More than his fingers, more than any toy she'd used on herself. She grabbed his shoulders, nails digging in as her body opened up around him. He paused every few seconds, giving her time. His forehead pressed to hers, and his breathing was ragged.
"Fuck, you feel incredible," he gritted out. His arms were shaking on either side of her head. "You okay?"
She nodded, not trusting her voice. He sank deeper, inch by inch, until his hips were flush against hers. They both went still.
"Breathe, sweetheart."
Kit forced air into her lungs. In, out. The stretch eased, the burn fading into something warmer, deeper and more pleasant. She shifted her hips experimentally and they both groaned.
"You feel—" He stopped and swallowed. "You feel perfect. Fuck, Kit."
He started to move. He pulled back and pushed in again, a slow, deep stroke that bottomed out and made her see stars. Her mouth fell open on a moan and his head dropped. His left hand found hers on the pillow and their fingers laced together—she was vaguely aware of the cool metal of his daylight ring. He sat up a little and his right arm hooked under her waist, his hand flat against the small of her back. He used the leverage to tilt her up slightly, changing the angle.
She cried out. The new angle had him hitting her deeper, sending sparks up her spine. He felt her clench around him, and his breath stuttered as his hips snapped forward a little harder. "Taking me so well. Made for this, baby. Made for me." He breathed.
The praise washed over her like warm water. She arched into him, her free hand sliding from his shoulder to the back of his neck, pulling him down into a kiss. It was messy, open mouthed and desperate.
His pace built slowly. He was controlled, starting slow, then gradually began to push harder, faster, reading the way her body responded and adjusting to it. His hand tightened against her lower back, pulling her up into him. The slap of skin filled the room alongside their ragged breathing.
"You sound incredible," he said against her jaw, his voice low. "Don't hold back. Let me hear you."
Kit hadn't been aware she was trying to stay quiet until he called her out on it. A soft moan slipped out in an exhale, louder than she intended, and he rewarded her with a hard thrust that had her dizzy.
"That's it." His lips dragged along her throat. "That's my girl."
Kit's hand squeezed his so hard her knuckles ached. He squeezed back just as hard, keeping her tethered while the rest of her unraveled.
He was picking up the pace now, the slow grind giving way to something more insistent. His hips drove into hers quicker, harder. The wet sounds of him fucking into her were obscene and filthy and Kit loved it. She felt every ridge of him dragging against her inner walls, and his hand on her waist felt like it was bruising in the best way.
"Shit," he groaned, his forehead dropping against her shoulder. His breath was hot and uneven against her collarbone. "You feel so good. Fuck, you have no idea. Been wanting this—been wanting you—" He cut himself off, his voice breaking on the last word.
Kit buried her face into the curve of his neck. The sounds poured out of her—moans and whimpers and his name, broken and breathless, muffled against his skin. She tasted the salt of his sweat on her lips. She pressed her mouth against his shoulder, his neck, anywhere she could reach, and she felt his whole body shudder above her. His responding groan reverberated through his chest into her body.
His thrusts were harder now, faster, a relentless pace that was knocking the headboard into the wall with a repeated thwack. Kit was thankful Stefan wasn't home right now. She wasn't sure she'd care if he was. She couldn't care about anything beyond the places their bodies were joined, the obscene slick sounds, the way his cock filled her up so completely she had no idea where she ended and he began.
"Damon—"
"I know." His voice was strained, barely holding together. His hand squeezed hers again before moving down between them. "Can feel you squeezing me, baby. You're close."
She couldn't even deny it. His fingers found her clit, slick and swollen, and rubbed tight, fast circles in time with his thrusts. The dual sensation was too much. Her thighs were shaking, and every muscle in her body pulled taut. His mouth pressed against her temple, hot and open, his breath ragged against her skin.
It hit her hard and sudden. Her whole body locked up, and the sound that tore out of her was something she'd never heard herself make before. She clenched around him so hard his rhythm stuttered, and a groan was punched out of him.
He fucked her through it, his pace going ragged, and she felt the moment his control broke. His thrusts went deep and uneven, grinding into her.
"Fuck—fuck, Kit—" His hands moved to pin her hips down to the mattress. He slammed into her a few more times, burying himself as deep as he could get.
She felt him come—hot pulses inside of her, filling her, and the full-body shudder that ripped through him. His groan was low and long, transitioning into a growl, and his hips twitched in small, involuntary movements as it rolled through him. She saw the veins around his eyes pop out for just a moment before receding, and it made her breath catch.
He collapsed onto her and her breath came out in an oof sound.
They stayed like that for a minute, breathing hard. Her grip on him loosened as the aftershocks faded and they came back to themselves.
Damon moved first. He pulled back just enough to look at her, his eyes unfocused but soft.
"Hey," he said. His voice was shot.
"Hi." Hers wasn't any better.
Her eyes burned. She blinked and felt the hot slide of a tear down her temple.
"Shit—sorry." She reached up to wipe her eyes but his hand got there first. He brushed the wetness away with his thumb, then pressed a kiss under her eye, her cheek, her forehead, the bridge of her nose.
"Sorry," she whispered again. "It happens sometimes."
"Don't apologize. You're fine." He kissed the corner of her mouth.
She could feel the trembling in her limbs subside, the deep, bone heavy exhaustion settling in now that the adrenaline was fading. Her body felt wrung out in the best way.
He pulled out slowly. She could feel the warmth of him leaking out. Part of her brain was embarrassed, but the louder part felt good about it. She felt claimed and full and his.
Damon rolled onto his side next to her. His hand immediately went to her hip, pulling her close, and she went without resistance. She curled into him, pressing her face against his chest, and his arm wrapped around her.
"You okay?" he asked. His lips moved against the top of her head, his hand rubbing slow circles on her back.
"Yeah." Kit closed her eyes. "More than okay."
"Good." He pulled back a little to look at her, scanning her face with that sharp, clinical attention thing he did that meant he was checking on her. His eyes dropped to her hips, where bruises were already starting to form from his grip. His expression flickered—something between satisfaction and concern.
"You bruise easy," he said, skimming his fingers over one of the darker spots on her hip.
"S'fine. I don't care."
He hummed. His thumb traced the bruise, gentle. "I can be more careful."
"Don't you dare."
She said it so fast that he looked surprised. That got a real laugh out of him.
"So," he said, and there was something in his voice that made her lift her head to look at him. The smirk was back, lazy and self-satisfied and entirely too pleased with himself. "How was it?"
Kit laughed. She couldn't help it—the audacity of him. He knew the answer, he just wanted to hear her say it. "You're not serious."
"Humor me."
She pressed her lips together, pretending to think about it. "Eight."
His eyebrows shot up. "Eight?"
"Maybe a nine."
"Maybe a—" He stared at her. "I just made you come so hard you cried, and you're giving me an eight?"
"Eight to nine. My last was like a five. That's a solid score."
"It's insulting is what that is."
She buried her face against his chest again to hide her grin. "I have to give you some incentive to do this again. I know how you are. If I say ten, you'll get complacent."
"I don't get complacent."
"You want to be perfect at everything." She tilted her head up to look at him, her eyes bright despite the exhaustion pulling at her. "So prove me wrong next time."
Something shifted in his expression, the teasing edge softening into something warmer. His hand came up to her jaw, thumb brushing across her cheek.
"Next time. Sure." He murmured. He kissed her forehead again before beginning to pull back. "Stay here. I'm getting you water. And I need to clean you up."
"No." She tightened her arms around him, clinging. "Don't leave yet. Stay."
"Kit—"
"Five minutes. Please?"
He looked at her, and whatever he saw in her face made him concede. He settled back down, pulling her closer, tucking her head under his chin.
"Fine. Five minutes."
She hummed against his chest, content, already feeling the pull of sleep at the edges of her consciousness. "Damon?"
"Hm."
"For the record," she murmured, her words already slurring. "I've been thinking about doing that too. For a while. Just wanted you to know. In case you were... Wondering."
He didn't say anything, but she heard him scoff, and she could almost see his eyes roll. His arm tightened around her, and she felt him press his face into her hair. His breath was a little unsteady.
who said it's true that the growing only happens on your own?
Summary:
Evan Buckley gets a meeting request from Captain Deluca after he's already withdrawn his transfer request, and his curiosity gets the better of him. It seems Captain Deluca has a future opportunity for him if he wants it.
Buck can't turn the meeting down. He withdrew his transfer request weeks ago, and yet, Captain Deluca from Station 122 sent him a meeting request for that afternoon. He can't say no, his curiosity stronger than anything close to being shaped like self-preservation. So, he tells Chimney that he has a meeting with someone at HQ and ducks out before driving from the 118 to the 122.
He isn't sure what the expect, honestly, since he's never been called to another station for a meeting. He's covered before, sure, when flu or food poisoning wiped out a whole shift, but he's never done anything like this before. So he parks out of the way of the bay doors, and heads inside. There's a probie whistling a Chappell Roan song as he's wiping down the station's engine, and Buck approaches.
"Hey, sorry to interrupt, I'm looking for Captain Deluca?"
"Evan Buckley," a voice says, and Buck turns towards it. The face he's greeted with startles him because he knows this man, but from photos, from framed moments frozen in time and set on side tables and lining entryways. He's never met Sal Deluca in person, and until this moment, he's never registered that "my buddy Sal" and Captain Deluca from the 122 could be the same person. "Glad to see you made it."
"Thank you for the invitation," Buck says, and Deluca gestures him from the open bay towards his office in the back. It's a small space, unimportant and cramped, but somehow it's comfortable at the same time as Buck takes a seat in the open chair across from Deluca. There's a photo frame tilted just enough that Buck can see Deluca and his wife with three beautiful daughters who all have Deluca's full grin, and Buck knows that all three of those girls call Tommy their uncle and their godfather. "It was a bit unexpected, if I'm honest. I already withdrew my transfer paperwork, I'm not looking to change stations anymore."
"I was curious about that change of heart myself, but that doesn't matter much to me right now. I'm here to offer you not a transfer into your same position, but a promotion of sorts."
"Okay," Buck says, and he understands the hierarchy of the stations. He could become a driver engineer or operator, and in fact he should before looking for the captain rank, but he isn't sure why Deluca would want to hand that to him. "And, uh, wh-what, what would that look like?"
"See, I'm a part of a program, it's a leadership training program, a mentorship between senior and probationary firefighters designed to help create camaraderie and help the probies be able to find a spot of their own in their houses."
Buck isn't sure what to say to that, and isn't sure how Deluca has landed on him to talk to about this. If you asked Ravi, he'd been a terrible mentor at the beginning.
"I think you'd be perfect for it, and I think we're wasting your potential keeping you stagnant in one place, in one role. You're meant for more, and I know a lot of Captains were vying for your transfer when you submitted the paperwork, myself included. Howie is really lucky to have you on his crew, but I think for you, as a firefighter, you need something more than just being on a crew."
since the links feature still isn't working unfortunately (idk if it's just for ao3 or other links too or if it's just my tumblr that's acting up), guess we'll have to do this the old-fashioned way
Finally posted chapter 1 of my (purely self-indulgent) deith rr au fic!! ao3 link is down below, if you check it out, hope y'all enjoy!
(for anyone who wants context on my characterization of Keith, here is the link to the post I made abt him!)
Summary: For their own reasons, Keith and Dave have no interest in being around each other, nor do they wish to be involved in anymore reality shows, but thanks to Sky issuing an ultimatum, they’re forced to participate in the Ridonculous Race. What’s worse? They’re each other's team.
Racing alongside familiar and unfamiliar faces with the world watching what they do, say, and even feel, as the cameras see memories tugging at old wounds and cutting in new ones, a notion more daunting than being on a reality show together looms over them—one that neither of them expect to think: that they may be gradually veering from what’s been familiar between them for as long as they've known each other and instead toward an uncharted danger zone.
You know what they say, there is a thin line between love and hate, and Keith and Dave are about to find out firsthand, step by step, just how unique both are to everyone—including them.
Read it here!
Chapter 1: None Down, Eighteen To Go (Part One): in which Keith and Dave meet each other in-person for the first time, and meet the rest of their competition in a reality show neither of them wishes to participate in. Meanwhile, Sky fights with internal uneasiness relating to her time in Total Drama Pahkitew Island as she tunes in from her home.
I had so much fun writing my first Resbang this year! And even more fun working with my artists, jgartist916 and thatguyhedge!
Check out their art here and here!
Thank you so much to our mods, @resbangmod , for keeping us all in line and hosting again this year!
Rating: Mature
Relationship: Soul Eater Evans/Maka Albarn
Tags: Dark Alternate Universe, Canon Typical Violence, Minor Character Death, Minor Original Characters
Summary: Soul is fed up with Maka’s recklessness, and is convinced it won't get them closer to their goals; Deathscythe status for him and 3 Star ranking for her. Their conflicting feelings on the subject simmer under the surface until they are pulled for their Ascension Assignment—they must fight and defeat a witch.
