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sodasback · 3 years

Text

Hickey

ER Nurse Rafe x ER Nurse Reader

Reposting from my deleted account with minor edits.

Not my GIF all credit to owner/creator @ketterdamz <3

“Rafe Cameron!” You scolded as you inspected your neck in the mirror.

“What?” He called pulling back the shower curtain.

“You left a huge hickey on my neck and my scrubs are not covering it.” You whined.

Rafe stepped out of the shower in all his naked glory and it was almost impossible to be mad at him ...almost.

“Take a picture babe, it’ll last longer” Rafe teased as he grabbed a towel and dried off. You ignored him teasing you for staring a moment too long and turned back to the mirror.

He came closer to you to look at your neck. “Ooh yeah, that’s a good one. Won’t make up cover it?” He asked, touching his finger to your skin. You swatted his hand away.

“No, I already tried” you sighed.

“Just wear your hair down today. No one will notice.” He dismissed.

“I don’t wear my hair down at work, it gets in the way and gets all covered in germs.”

“Well, looks like your options are to wear your hair down for one day or to have everyone see the mark I left and learn what a dirty little girl you can be.” He ended his sentence in a lower tone as he took your earlobe between his teeth lightly.

“Rafe” you breathed, “We don’t have time for this. We’re already late.” You said, shoving his scrubs into his chest while he pouted at you.

“Don’t give me that look. You’re the one who pressed the snooze button twice.” You told him.

Rafe groaned. Then, you and Rafe got in your separate cars and drove to the hospital, still trying to keep your relationship a secret.

Later at work, you had long forgotten about the mark on your neck and put your hair into a ponytail without thinking.

“Looks like someone had fun recently.” Estephany commented.

“Huh? What’re you talking about?” You asked in confusion.

“I’m talking about the hickey someone left on your neck” she said, pointing at it.

“Oh, no, it’s from my curling iron” you lied.

Rafe snorted. You turned to look at him with your eyes narrowed.

“Problem, Cameron?” You asked him.

“Isn’t your hair always straight?” He asked, knowing he was digging you further in your lie.

“So my flat iron then” You said with extra bite on the consonants, giving him a warning look.

“That is definitely a hickey!” Chloe exclaimed. “Come on y/n/n! Spill! Who’s the guy?”

“Is he cute? Show us a picture” Estephany encouraged.

“Yeah, Rookie, is he cute?” Rafe asked, obviously amused by the situation.

“Ehh he’s okay.” You said to the girls and then smirking at Rafe who shook his head with a smile, still amused by you getting grilled about the mark he left.

“The sex must be good. Leaving you with hickeys and shit? He’s kinky, huh?” Estephany pressed. And you blushed for a second until you caught Rafe out of the corner of your eye.

He had a proud smugness spread across his face.

“He’s pretty vanilla actually.” You shrugged, looking to Rafe. Now you were the one amused as he glared at you.

“Ahh boo!” Chloe complained.

Your patient was calling for you, “I have to go” you chuckled, walking away.

Rafe got called away to admit a new patient, leaving Chloe and Estephany smiling at each other.

“So they’re definitely together right?” Chloe asked.

“Oh yeah, for sure.” Estephany agreed.

After that conversation, you put your hair back down. But later you moved it off your shoulder while you were helping one of the techs put a new sheet on one of the stretchers.

“Oh damn girl. I heard you had a hickey on your neck. But shit, that’s gnarly.” Will, the tech, commented.

Rafe was priming an IV line for the patient next to you and you could see him holding back laughs.

“Shut up.” You told Will and Rafe, punching Rafe’s arm as you walked by and leaving Will to finish making the bed.

“Hey Dr. Bridges, how are you today?” you asked one of the younger ER docs that you had a good rapport with.

“Not as good as you apparently. I heard you have a hot new boyfriend. That is a large hematoma, dear.”

“Seriously?!” You yelled in exasperation. “Does everyone have an opinion about my hickey?!” you asked rhetorically, “I’m going to lunch. I hate all of you.” A chorus of chuckles came from your coworkers.

You walked into the empty break room. You looked at your neck in the reflective surface of the stainless steel microwave.

Rafe came into the break room with a huge grin on his face.

“Don’t say a fucking word.” You warned. “This is all your fault. Now everyone thinks I’m some sex crazed nympho!”

Rafe couldn’t hold back the laugh that came out. You looked at him with a deep furrow in your brow. “It’s not funny Rafe!”

Rafe wrapped his arms around your waist. “Baby, no one thinks that. They’re just teasing! You know that’s just how we all are.” He assured you, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“I’m getting you back.” You decided.

Rafe was entertained by your threat, “Looking forward to it, pretty girl.”

A couple days later you were sitting on the couch when you got a text from one of the night shift nurses you were good friends with.

“Hey I heard about your hickey lol who’s the guy? ...or girl?”

You glared at no one. And turned to see Rafe laying on the ground in the other room, stretching before he was gonna go run.

You straddled him and roughly pushed his chin to the side exposing his neck to you and swiftly sunk your teeth into his skin and sucked hard.

“What the hell are you doing, you little vampire?!” Rafe yelled at you and grabbed your hips, pinching them to get you to unlatch your mouth from his neck.

You pulled back and smiled, admiring the wet, red mark you left.

“Just getting you back for the other day.” You said simply and started to get up, but Rafe held your hips down and rolled so he was on top of you.

“You think you can just come over here and do that and I’m gonna let you get up and leave?” He asked, looking down at you.

“’Yeah’ seems like the wrong answer.” You said squinting your eyes in thoughtfulness. Rafe pinned your arms down and peppered tickling kisses all over you while you giggled.

“Rafe!” you squealed. Let’s just say Rafe didn’t end up going for a run, but he still got a workout.

The next day you were at the hospital and you got there before Rafe did. When he walked in you could spot the mark on his neck from across the room. No hair or makeup to cover it even a little. You smiled to yourself.

“Nice, Cameron” Will said, fist bumping him in passing as he took note of the mark. Rafe barely looked up and just returned the fist bump. You furrowed your brow in confusion as the scene played out in front of you.

“Geez Cameron you and Y/N seem to both have partners who like biting.” Estephany commented.

“Yeah, my girl’s a little ...overzealous sometimes.” Rafe said with a smirk, before glancing at you. And the conversation ended there. You rolled your eyes.

“You don’t look happy over here, Rookie” Rafe said, leaning on the wall next to you in the med room.

You turned to him in a pout. “They aren’t teasing you like they teased me! This is some sexism bullshit!”

Rafe smiled at you, “No, you’re just more fun to tease. You get all feisty and adorably mad.”

You took a step toward him, “Me being mad is not adorable! Don’t patronize me!” you warned.

“I’m not talking about when you’re seriously mad!” Rafe defended, backing up from you and holding his hands up to catch your’s. He backed into the wall behind him. “I’m sorry! You’re not adorable. You’re super scary.” Rafe tried to appease you.

“Stop pacifying me! You’re just making it worse” You punched his shoulder again.

“Ow!” He yelled. You gave him a dirty look, knowing he was trying to make you feel better by pretending your punch hurt. He dropped his fake pained expression and smiled at you.

“Y/N, you know I think the world of you. I have nothing but respect and admiration for you. I’m so happy to have a partner in life who does more than keep up with me; you set the bar babe. I don’t ever mean to patronize you. ...But you are pretty damn cute when you’re feisty and have an attitude. And you can’t even be upset about that because you’ve told me I’m hot when I’m mad too.”

You rolled your lips together knowing this was true but not wanting to admit Rafe was right. He pulled you close to him by your hips. “I swear, I’ll never leave a hickey on such a visible spot again unless you ask me to. I’m sorry you got shit for it.” He said pecking the fading mark on your neck.

“Thank you” you said quietly and smiled up at your boyfriend. “I’m sorry I left one on you too. Even though no one gave you shit for it.” You grumbled the last part.

Rafe chuckled. “Let’s go home and leave marks other places, pretty girl.”

“Deal” you smiled.

Taglist: @moniamaybank @abbyj1822 @october-cameron @hernameisnoell @railmerafe

#rafe imagine #rafe x reader #rafe fanfiction #rafe cameron #Outer Banks #ER Nurse Rafe #rafe x y/n #rafe x nurse!reader #outer banks imagine #outer banks fanfiction #obx jj

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havenoffandoms · 3 years

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Home (Wolfpack/Jaskier)

Based on Kashimalin’s 50 Types of Kisses prompt list.

Prompt: "Tucking their hands beneath the other person’s shirt, just to watch them break the kiss and gasp in surprise at the sensation of cold/warm hands on their skin."

Pairing: Jaskier/Wolfpack

Content Warning: Witchersexual Jaskier, Wolfpack, inappropriate (non-sexual) use of Igni

Read on AO3.

“Melitele’s tits, is it always that cold this time of year?” Jaskier asks, his teeth chattering despite being buried under a mountain of furs and blankets. Eskel huffs a chuckle at those words from where he’s stoking the fire.

“I’m sorry, sweet thing. The others will be here shortly. We’ll make sure you’re comfortable.”

Eskel’s bedroom at Kaer Morhen is always freezing during winter. For one, his room is one of the biggest in the keep, and features high ceilings as well as two outside facing walls. Heating Eskel’s room is challenging at the best of times, but his bed is the only one in the keep that can hold the three wolves and their bard at once. While the witchers’ mutations make them less sensitive to the cold, Eskel, Geralt and Lambert all have to work twice as hard to keep every fire in the common rooms and bedrooms going so Jaskier doesn’t freeze to death.

It’s a small sacrifice they’re happy to make if it keeps their songbird happy.

“What are Geralt and Lambert up to, anyway?” Jaskier’s tone turns slightly petulant as he demands to know his wolves’ whereabouts. Eskel puts down the poker before heading to the bed, discarding his leathers, gambeson and undershirt on the way until he’s down to his smallclothes.

“Don’t you worry, sweet thing,” Eskel croons as he slips under the covers, biting back a surprise hiss when he feels Jaskier’s cold body huddle against him, cold hands soon nestled in the pit of Eskel’s arms, “they’ll be up here soon. And while we wait, I know just the way to keep you warm.”

“Oh?” Jaskier looks up at Eskel through dark eyelashes, vibrant blue eyes flashing with that familiar spark of mischief that the wolves have come to love so much, “Well then, witcher, I suggest you get to work, because at this rate I’m afraid I’ll have no toes left when the others join us.”

Eskel dips his head down to capture Jaskier’s lips in a chaste, tender kiss which pulls a content sigh from the bardling. While Jaskier is distracted by the feeling of Eskel’s lips moving against his, the witcher casts a controlled Igni that leaves the tip of his fingers and the palms of his hands feeling pleasantly warm to the touch. Without breaking the kiss, Eskel slips his hands under Jaskier’s sleeping shirt, letting them rest just over his lover’s ribs. Jaskier breaks the kiss and lets out a startled gasp of surprise at the sensation of Eskel’s heated hands warming his skin.

“Oh,” Jaskier exhales huskily, his breath ghosting over Eskel’s lips, “oh, that feels lovely, dear heart.”

Jaskier dives in again for another kiss, this one a lot less innocent than their first exchange, and uses the element of surprise to his advantage to slip his tongue into Eskel’s mouth. The witcher rumbles deeply in his chest at the action, the sound coming dangerously close to a purr. Neither of them know how long they stay like this, kissing each other breathless while Eskel runs his heated hands over the expanse of Jaskier’s chest and stomach. The two are so lost in each other that they fail to notice the creaking of Eskel’s bedroom door as someone pushes it open.

Lambert slips into the room first, quickly followed by Geralt who shuts the door behind them after the two witchers let themselves in. Jaskier breaks the kiss long enough to wink at his two other lovers over Eskel’s shoulder, while the latter latches onto Jaskier’s neck instead. Geralt and Lambert are quick to join Eskel and Jaskier in bed - Lambert, the cheeky shit, manages to wiggle into the space between Jaskier and Eskel so he, too, can enjoy the older witcher’s heated hands on his body. Lambert always did hate the cold. Meanwhile, Geralt presses up against Jaskier’s back, effectively bracketing the bard between the three of them.

“No fair,” Lambert mutters indignantly, shooting Eskel a reproachful look, “you started without us.”

“Our songbird was getting impatient,” Eskel offers as an explanation, though he appeases Lambert’s moodiness by kissing the spot between his eyebrows, which is currently scrunched up in irritation. Lambert huffs in response, but doesn’t shy from Eskel’s attention. “Don’t worry, lil wolf, I can take care of you as well.”

Before Lambert can come up with a snide retort, Eskel’s hands are on him. The effect is instantaneous - Lambert melts under the touch, his eyes fluttering shut as he seeks more of Eskel’s touch. Lambert has always been more sensitive to the cold than the rest of them, though they never found out why. His witcher mutations didn’t seem to have made him very resistant to the harsh elements in general. Not that Eskel minds, of course. He’s more than happy to be Lambert and Jaskier’s personal heater.

“Settle down, pup.” Eskel throws an arm across both Lambert and Jaskier’s bodies. Once he’s sure that both Lambert and Jaskier are comfortably warm and have stopped shivering, Eskel settles down for the evening and pulls the furs over his lovers’ bodies. Lambert and Jaskier, now hugging each other in the middle of their nest, are out like lights. Geralt and Eskel’s eyes meet over their lovers’ sleeping forms, the two witchers sporting matching smiles.

“You should start using that trick more often with Lamb,” Geralt rumbles deeply in his chest, his gaze dropping to stare fondly at the two men between them, “sends the pup right to sleep.”

“I probably should,” Eskel muses as he intertwines his fingers with Geralt’s so that their hands are linked protectively across their lovers, keeping them safe even in their sleep. Eskel feels something warm unfurl in his chest at the thought. Geralt heaves a contented sigh as he rests his head on the pillow.

“Sleep tight, Kel.”

“Rest easy, Wolf,” comes the whispered reply as Eskel feels his eyelids grow heavier by the second. This, right there, is his own very slice of heaven, his sunshine after a particularly vicious storm. This, his lovers all together in one bed - warm and safe and sated - is exactly why Eskel makes sure to return to them every winter in one piece.

The life of a witcher on the Path may be lonely and filled with danger, but Eskel knows that his pack will always be waiting for him when he finds his way back home.

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wevegottogetaway · 3 years

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I love you

First I love yous...do I need to say more? Anyway, please don’t hesitate to reach out for anything, whether that be comments, requests, feedback or just to have a chat! Happy reading xx

It’s been three days of utter pandemonium ripping through your brain in complete disarray. Three days of pent up stress storming through your mind as you ran like a headless chicken to try and find a handle on a situation that frankly, you didn’t give a rat’s ass about.

It all started when your boss had called you in his office, his signature tyrant-resting face on, solid frown drafting his features in a look of severity. Well, this can’t be good, you’d immediately thought once you took a hesitant seat across his desk. You’d hoped for a benign reason behind the sudden meeting, and that the scowl on his face was merely a residual of some other trouble that had absolutely nothing to do with you.

Your prayers had fallen on deaf ears however, as the summoning proved to be a twenty minutes angry diatribe about how one of your most recent client had expressed their wish to withdraw from their deal and de facto, the company. Though it hadn’t been your fault per se, your boss didn’t have any reservations about reminding you of your supposed responsibility to keep your clients sated and on the company’s leash. He’d given you three days to fix it after that. Three days to persuade the client not to pull out of the deal, or you risked some serious downgrading if not redundancy.

You’d called Harry for support the minute you got home and spent the whole evening brainstorming the craziest ideas to him. He’d listened patiently, holding your hand on the table as you both indulged in the Thai take-out he’d picked up on his way over. That first night, you’d barely slept as you laid in his strong arms, back to his chest. Your reeling mind had still been trying to conjure up any sort of plan that would help you out of this chaos; but for each switch of the glowing red digits on your alarm clock, your hopes had dwindled some.

You hadn’t known then, but Harry couldn’t find rest either as he spooned you against him. You two hadn’t been dating long, several months at best, but already your distress was unbearable to him and every bone in his body ached to do something to help you. This feeling of powerlessness was crawling out of his skin and swimming around like a shark amidst his prevalent thoughts of support, admiration and love. Because, while he’d shown you the first and conveyed the second countless times in the past, the third had yet to tumble out of his lips, despite the confession burning their flesh a bit stronger every day.

What really had had his mind reeling though, was knowing that maybe, just maybe, he had the power to make this situation go away; and for each switch of the glowing red digits on your alarm clock, his hopes grew some.

Your earlier utterance of the client’s name had been ringing through his mind in faint recognition, an itch starting to fester at his fingertips. Dialing a phone number was all it could take. A couple choice words and if he played his cards right, the deal would be back on the table. He’d known interfering was arguably a bad idea, and truthfully he’d always made a point of honor not to use his connections to serve ulterior motives (his or anyone else’s), but how was he supposed to do nothing when the person that caused you trouble was in fact a friend of a friend that might reevaluate their stance if he pitched in with a bit of charm and compelling words? How was he supposed to stay idle, watch you dissolve in an anxious mess, if he wasn’t as powerless as he thought?

So he didn’t.

He’d originally planned on keeping you in the loop, but you’d been gone by the time his forest green eyes had fluttered back to consciousness the next morning. After a quick shower, a large mug of the coffee you’d left for him before running back to work, and locking your apartment with the spare key you’d given him a couple weeks back, he’d pulled out his phone. Two minutes was all it took for his friend to pass him your client’s number and without hesitation, he’d launched the call and brought his phone to his ear.

It took a bit longer than a couple of minutes for that conversation to take effect, but eventually his words hit their target. After all, his lovely nature could pierce through the most robust walls and stubborn minds. He didn’t even have to put on the charm that much, instead drawing earnest sentiments about your impeccable skills and rambling about how there was no better person to keep their account safe in the business. He’d gnawed at his lips the whole time, desperate to pull through but still scared to fail you somehow. You’d already been let down by the client and your boss, you certainly didn’t need your boyfriend added to the list.

The call had ended with their promise to reassess and consider your undeniable abilities in the equation, yet the next day you were once again convoked to your boss’ office with a snarly bark of your name. Puzzlement washed over you as you speed-walked after him. Why was he still so resentful with you when you’d gotten the client to reenter the contract?

Another twenty minutes of intense scolding provided you with that answer. With a disdainful gaze puncturing your poise, your boss told you that while your job was no longer on the line, you’d been given a firm warning about using your boyfriend as negotiator for the company’s dealings.

How he knew when you yourself weren’t aware of the fact, you didn’t know. In retrospect, your talk with the client had been suspiciously easy for someone who’d made their will to ditch the company crystal clear. You’d merely laid out your arguments, expecting resistance and some pushing, but were only met with a squinted look and cautious acceptance. Now you know your case had already been pleaded once, by the man who was taking more and more space for himself inside the chambers of your heart.

You didn’t quite know how to feel about it; didn’t know if you should be mad or grateful. You were specifically stunned because you knew it was out of character for Harry. Your boyfriend was the most generous being you’d ever met, but humility was even more so a prevailing layer of his beautiful nature. You certainly didn’t expect it, didn’t wish for it to happen again because you were always adamant not to ever use anyone for their assets. Yet there was a tingling, a mixture of discomfort and gratefulness, sloshing in the pit of your stomach.

This whole thing was a mind-fuckery of emotions you were too tired to process.

What you did feel though, was the pure frustration at your boss’ hypocrisy. You both knew he didn’t really care how you’d gotten the deal back, just that you did, but his intolerable disposition wouldn’t allow him to applaud your efforts and move on.

Wanting to put this all mess behind you, you bit back the retorts that you craved to force down his throat, simply nodded through his chastising charade, and leaped to your feet as soon as the dismissing words left his stupid trap.

Now that you’re making your way inside your home, your nose is hit by a waft of delicious aromas traveling from the kitchen. Your mind is still fuzzy with every trouble and startling revelation that transpired in the past three days, but as your eyes settle on your apron-clad boyfriend, you take a moment to appreciate the sight of his soft figure stirring the content of what must be a pan on the gas. His back is facing you, but you can hear the gentle humming under his breath, as he hasn’t registered your arrival yet.

After another minute of whistling, he finally twists around and his eyes almost pop out of their socket when they find your timid stance a couple feet away. "Jesus, pet, didn’t know you were home yet," he chuckles softly before taking in your somewhat moony features. Your expression is hard to pinpoint, your delicate traits blank of any emotions yet your eyes have the same sparkle that greets him every morning and every night when he pulls you for a deep kiss in his warm embrace. "Everythin’ okay, love?"

The query snaps you out of your semblance of trance, your head looking down to the floor to gather your wits before you level your gaze back to his. "Yeah it is. Umm, my boss called me in again today," your bite your lip, not knowing how to navigate the conversation. In all honesty, you just want to be done with the whole thing, would rather spend an evening full of cuddles and potentially mind-blowing sex, but you know this ought to be acknowledged.

"Oh," his brows pull together with the same confusion you’d experienced when your boss ushered you to his office. "Did he thank you for the big save?"

"Not exactly," you clear your throat bracing yourself and Harry’s face tenses at the realization about where this is going. "My job is safe and I’m still working on the account," hie loosens up in relief, but your next words have him stiffen right back up in alarm. "But I got a warning for a certain someone’s involvement in the company’s operations. Apparently, my boyfriend called the client on my behalf and forgot to clue me in…"

Your voice is calm and doesn’t carry any reproachful tone, but Harry’s pulse is suddenly speeding with dread regardless. The fact that he could have lost you your jobs is the only thing registering in his frenzied mind, as he sets the dish towel from his shoulder down on the counter and steps closer to you. His eyes are bouncing off yours in a frantic back and forth, as he gulps his remorse down. Before you can appease him with reassuring words, and show your lack of anger, he launches in an apologetic rant, enclosing both your hands between his palms.

"M’so sorry, love. I didn’t mean to put you in a bad position. Fuck I just- I kept thinkin’ I could help since your client was a friend of a friend. And, the more I thought about it, the more I kept thinking 'I can’t do nothin’. Cause I hate seein’ you in pain an’ I really want to be here fo’ you and I know this was probably the wrong way to go about it, but damn y/n, I couldn’t stand doin’ nothing, m’sorry-"

"I love you."

The words come fast but distinct, airy but firm, not an ounce of doubt laced through their utterance. An eerie silence permeate the small space surrounding them, as Harry tries to find his own words back. It took three of them to steal all of his, but in his defense they were the ones he’d been dying to hear and to deliver himself. His eyes are wide, blinking in total surprise. He’d expected irritation, disappointment perhaps, maybe even anger, but definitely not the sweetest words he’s been keeping at the forefront of his mind. "I- you do?"

You still have that wondrous look on your face, but this time a bright smile enlivens your features, "I really do." You take your hands out of his grip to hold onto his wrists and pull him closer to you. You have to look up since he towers over you but you’ve always liked that about your relationship; the way he always seems to dwarf you in his embraces, whether because of his height or his bear-paw hands. "I mean, don’t that again," you let out a soft laugh, "but I know why you did it, and I love you for it."

Harry smiles rivals your own now, as your hands smooth up his arms to clasp at the nape of his neck, "plus, my boss is a jerk anyway so, who cares?" You pull him in a loving kiss then and his arms wrap themselves around your shoulders in a tight lock. His lips are as soft as ever between your own, and you detect the faintest taste of pepper and other exotic herbs lingering on their edge, from his cooking endeavors. He’s always been one to have a taste or two while he’s working, whether that be in the kitchen or other rooms…and regardless, you always like it when you get your share from his supple lips.

He feels slightly distracted against your mouth though, his technique not as ravishing as it usually is. and before you can wonder why, he’s pulling an inch away from your swollen lips, hurriedly whispering your tender confession back to you as though the words couldn’t be out of his mouth and into your heart fast enough, "I love you too, pet. So much." His hands are cajoling your face, thumbs drawing soothing circles across your cheeks, and his beaming smile is melting your heart in a goo of pleasure after all the strain it suffered in the past couple of days.

"Fuck, c’mere, don’t ever wanna stop kissing you," Harry mutters against your lips before diving in for a real mind-bending, soul-shaking, tantalizing kiss this time. Just like that, all your worries and sorrow evaporate into thin air, only to be replaced by an intoxicating pink loving brume. You two definitely spend the most perfect evening with lots of cuddles and endless mind-blowing lovemaking. Screw everything else.

➪ Masterlist

#Harry Styles #harry styles one shot #harry styles writing #harry styles fluff #harry styles imagine #creative writing #reader insert #Harry fic #harry styles fanfic #love #romance #first i love you

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whatareyousearchingfordean · 3 years

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The One With The Merry Little Christmas

Summary: The chill at this year’s Lawrence City Fire Department’s Christmas party has nothing to do with the snow falling outside and everything to do with the Dean and Y/n.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 3.5K+

Warnings: Language, implied smut, angst (with a happy ending, no pun intended)

Author’s Note: Ah, can you smell Christmas in the air already? Cause I can! Anyway, this fic was written for @smol-and-grumpy ‘s SuperFriends Title Challenge, The One With The Friends With Benefits, and @janicho88 100 Followers Supernatural Christmas Celebration with, of course, Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas. These both kind of morphed into the same idea so I decided to combine them. I hope you guys enjoy xoxo and a very Merry Christmas -Alex

Check out Alexandra’s Library for more by yours truly!

Have yourself a merry little Christmas

Let your heart be light

From now on

Our troubles will be out of sight

Across the small town, snow covered the streets of Lawrence, Kansas, the massive, fluffy flakes continuing to fall as the street lights came on that evening. The town was quiet, the blanket of snow muffling the ambient sound in the winter evening. Just south of downtown sat the city’s one modest fire station. The golden brick building was glittering with red and white twinkle lights, the glow lighting up the street for a few feet in either direction. Music could be heard bumping on the sidewalk from inside the building, its inhabitants sure to be enjoying their company Christmas party.

Inside, the common room was filled to the brim with the entirety of the company and their loved ones. The kids were chasing each other around the bases of the fire poles. A few of the older ones knew enough to jump full force on the metal to pull open the chute at the top, entertaining the younger ones each time the plastic split open, their giggles chiming in with the festive holiday music the Captain had found in his playlists earlier that day.

Food and drink littered the expanse of the countertops. Anything one could have been craving was set out for the group to enjoy. Dean was pouring himself a soda since this was his year to be on shift during the party and he had to behave. The fireman had grumbled about it when he stopped by his best friend’s apartment to drop off the ingredients for her taco dip. The taco dip she had only agreed to make for him if he purchased the product. After all, the woman had already made a few dozen sugar cookies for the festivities as her own contribution this year. She politely reminded him then that he could get as pissed as he wanted next year. Not that her words much appeased the Winchester.

The first responder turned to his buddy and coworker, who was filling another bowl with his famous chili, and held up the red plastic cup with a mock look of disgust, “What is the point of Coke if it doesn’t come with any Jack?”

“A suga’ rush?” The Cajun drawled in his signature accent. Dean snorted, bringing the cup to his lips when the object was snatched from his hand before the two could meet.

“Hey--” he spun on his heel, coming to face to face with his best friend. Her eyes were narrowed as she looked over the rim of the cup at him. “Come on, you don’t want that, there’s no rum.”

“Sure,” the woman wet her lower lip before taking a sip of the soda that Dean had poured for himself.

“Satisfied?” He quirked an eyebrow at her, holding out his hand for his drink back.

“For now,” she admonished. “But I’m watching you, Winchester.”

“That’s hurtful, Y/n/n.” Dean placed his hand over his heart, giving his friend the puppy dog look that he had learned from his little brother. A peak of a smile tugged on the corners of her lips as she looked at him before it faltered once again. Finally, she relented and gave the drink back to its rightful owner.

“I’d say more like rightfully cautious,” the other firefighter chimed in on their conversation, earning an elated grin from the woman standing across from him. Y/n clapped her hands together like a child, her tongue peeking between her teeth as she bounced on her toes. Placing his arm over Dean’s shoulder, Benny added, “Right, Dean-o?”

“You two are incorrigible,” Dean lamented, shrugging his friend’s arm away from him. The pair laughed at Dean’s irritation as Y/n scooted her way in between Dean and the drink table.

Dean internally cringed as Benny chose then to walk away, leaving the two friends alone for the first time that evening. The thing was, the air between the two friends was actually colder than the snow that blanketed the town outside the fire station. He knew that Y/n was putting on a show for everyone in the station since she couldn’t get out of going to the party last minute, which he also knows she would have preferred. The woman was as much a part of their work-family as she was her own family. That was what happened when best friends were joined at the hip for over fifteen years. There was no way she was getting out of going without raising suspicion, and Y/n was too private of a person to deal with answering questions that her absence would have surely raised.

As much as people like to think they know the real woman, she only has ever fully opened up to two people in her life, her mother and Dean. No one else has ever stuck around long enough to try and break down that wall that she had put up around herself. If Dean wasn’t just as stubborn as her he might have stopped trying a long time ago, but he was determined to get to know the real woman no matter how hard she seemed to try to stop him.

In the grand scheme of things, he supposes that’s is why it was so easy for them to fall into their friends with benefits relationship. One post-breakup, alcohol-fueled night in bed together two years ago had begun the whole thing. It didn’t take them long after they woke the next morning to realize the cliche arrangement could be just what both of them needed. Even still, Dean could count on his hands how many times in total they had spent in the other’s bed.

The most recent of which just happened to be last night. Dean had stopped by with dinner for his friend and the ingredients for the dip he had conned her into making. A few glasses of wine later, as it usually did go, and the two of them enjoyed their time together. But it wasn’t the sex that was the problem, it was the conversation after.

Have yourself a merry little Christmas

Make the yuletide gay

From now on

Our troubles will be miles away

Dean ran a hand through his sweaty hair as Y/n climbed from the bed in search of her strewn articles of clothing. She picked up the various garments, throwing them in her hamper as she passed by it and into her ensuite bathroom.

“Why are you so quiet?” Dean’s voice carried across the room and over the sound of the shower starting. He pulled himself out of the bed and slipped on his boxer briefs as he followed after her.

The woman bit her tongue as she tested the temperature of the water. It was only a matter of time before Dean caught on to her charade. Some days she hates how well he knows her. It’s not that she wants to keep secrets from her best friend but it can be downright creepy when he basically reads her mind. “I’ve been thinking.”

“About?” he questioned, stepping into the bathroom as she climbed into the shower.

“How to tell you something,”

“Alright, you’re kind of scaring me, Y/n/n,”

Allowing the hot water to cascade down her face and body, Y/n took a deep breath before choosing to answer him, “It’s Sean.”

“As in douchebag Sean?”

“Dean, do you have to call him that?” she sighed, having already expected this reaction from him.

“Yes, because he is one. You know what, douchebag is the nicest thing I could be calling him right now,” Dean countered, leaning against the bathroom vanity, his arms crossing over his freckled chest at the mention of that prick’s name.

“He wants to get coffee,” her voice was low, knowing her admission was about to rile up the man on the other side of the curtain. She wasn’t even sure he had heard at first, that was until he whipped the curtain open.

“What?!”

“Jesus!” Instinctively, her hands flew to protect her modesty as her heart tried to escape from her chest. “Dean, what the hell?”

“I could say the same thing to you! Do you not remember what that jackhole put you through over the last year, because I do. He doesn’t deserve a second of your time.”

“You think I don’t know that? It’s just coffee, he didn’t ask me to move in with him?” Y/n spit back, her stance relaxing along with her heart.

“But you and I both know that all it takes is one look at those blue eyes and you’ll be putty in his hands. You can’t go.” The way the last three words came out of his mouth, the definitive tone behind, it them was enough to get her blood boiling underneath her skin.

“Oh, I can’t? Is that an order, Lieutenant?” The title rolled off her tongue, her eyes hardening as she stared at Dean. “Last time I checked you don’t get to tell me what to do.”

“You know that’s not what this is. Y/n/n, I only want what’s best for you. I don’t want to see him screw up your life again. I was there to pick up the pieces last time and I don’t want to do it again.”

“Well I can guarantee you won’t ever have to do it again,” her voice was low, her words steady even though her eyes were filled with unshed tears.

“You know that’s --”

“Get out!” she commanded suddenly, stopping him before he could say anything else. Her eyes scrunched closed, willing herself to not look at her closest friend, the one person she was supposed to be able to count on as he let her down.

“Y/n,”

“I said get out!”

Here we are as in olden days

Happy golden days of yore

Faithful friends who are dear to us

Gather near to us, once more

That was the last time the two of them said anything to each other until she walked into the fire station a little over two hours ago. He had to give it to her, she was putting on a good show, even messing around with him like usual. But he could see the truth in her eyes when she looked at him. Y/n was pissed, but most of all, she was hurt.

Dean turned around, leaning against the counter to face her. The woman didn’t acknowledge his presence, instead choose to continue with preparing herself a drink, one with a bit more whiskey than needed, but he wasn’t going to comment on that. “I’m glad you are here,” he tried instead.

“Well, I haven’t seen Sam and Jessica and the kids in a while, I wasn’t going to miss out on that because you are an ass,” she noted, still choosing to not look at him.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“No, you never do, do you?” She swallowed thickly, turning on Dean, the flicker of a flame telling the experienced first responder it was best not to stoke the fire. The two of them stared at each other for what felt like minutes to them, when in reality, it was merely a few seconds, the bubble they were in being popped by Dean’s niece running and crashing herself into his legs.

“Uncle Dean!” She cheered, reaching up with her short arms as he bent down to pick her up. He situated the little girl on his hip as she squealed in delight. “Can I have another cookie?” Her tone dropped, the small child looking up at her only uncle from underneath her insanely long lashes.

“How many is that now?” He asked her, the glint of a smirk on his face.

“Uh… two,” she held up two fingers, her argument completely unconvincing.

“Uhhuh, I bet,” Dean grumbled, but he knew in his heart he couldn’t say no to that face. “Okay, one more cookie, but you can’t tell on me to you Daddy. He thinks sugar is for suckers.”

“Promise.” The little girl held up her pinky to her uncle, one of the first things he ever taught the kid because he knew he was a sucker from day one and he was not trying to get into trouble with his little brother over it. Even if it never worked to his advantage.

Dean held up his pinky and wrapped it around hers. He shrugged to Y/n before taking his niece over to the sweets table. In reality, Dean knew the conversation needed to be over, it wasn’t the time or place, but if there was one thing he hated more than anything it was fighting with Y/n. It felt like a piece of him was missing when he couldn’t talk to her or see her, and if he was being honest with himself that kind of scared him. When he became so codependent on her he couldn’t be sure. It just felt like she had always been there, and always should be, right by his side.

Clara tried to steal a second cookie as Dean helped her pick out the first, but he knew he would be in it if he let her get away with that one, so he made sure it got put back. When he turned around to set the five-year-old down, he noticed Y/n was gone. He scanned the whole room and couldn’t find her anywhere in the mix of people.

As suspected, the little girl rushed right to her Daddy, who scowled at his brother. Dean offered a shrug and a smirk as he made his way over to Sam. “Don’t you start with me too.”

“Oh, it’s not me you have to answer to, it’s Jess because she’s the one that has to put her down tonight.”

“Eh, she’ll forgive me, I’m her favorite brother-in-law,” Dean waved off his brother.

“You’re her only brother-in-law.”

“Whatever. Did you see where Y/n went?”

Sam crossed his arms, his brows rising on his forehead, “Looked like she was headed outside.” Dean pursed his lips, two small dimples forming at the corners. “Did you two fight?”

“Is it that obvious?”

“No, but you are all brooding and pensive right now,” Sam moved his hand in a flourish in front of Dean as he spoke.

“Really?”

“Yeah, what’s going on with you two?” The taller brother pushed for Dean to talk, and he pondered his pros and cons of answering.

“Sean wants to have coffee with her?” Dean said, nonchalant.

“And?”

“And the guy is a dick, she deserves better.”

“Better? Like you?” Sam tried to hide the amusement from his features as Dean whipped his head from where he was staring at the door to his little brother.

“What?” Dean’s voice rose an octave at his brother’s question.

“Oh come on, I know you guys have been sleeping together for a while now.”

“Sam, it’s not what you think,” Dean sighed before running his tongue over his bottom lip. “It’s only happened a handful of times.”

“And?” Sam shook his head, trying to convey his meaning to his brother. “Listen, you guys have known each other for longer than I’ve known Jessica. You spend all your free time together. You are basically a couple which I would say without the sex but we all know you are doing that too, so basically a couple. Why can’t you just man up and tell her how you feel?”

“Cause I don’t know how I feel? It’s never felt like a relationship with her. It’s just always been easy.”

“That’s how it should be, Dean. The two of you are perfect for each other. I think you owe it yourselves to at least try.” Sam urged.

“And what if it all blows up?”

“What if it all works out?” Sam countered. “Every relationship is either going to end in forever or end in a breakup, but that doesn’t mean that you just don’t try. Take the leap, Dean.”

“I hate you, you know that,” Dean grimaced, knowing that his brother was right. While he had never thought of Y/n like that before they slept together the first time, he couldn’t ignore the chemistry they had together. She was his other half, he already admits to that, and he would be lying if he said it wasn’t amazing sex. Sam was right, how would admitting anything be different than how they already lived their lives together?

“Yeah, well, I’ll say I told you so at your wedding,” Sam clapped his older brother’s shoulder before running off after his toddler. Dean glared after his brother, he hated when he was right, mostly because Sam loved to say ‘I told you so’.

Through the years

We all will be together

If the fates allow

Hang a shining star

Upon the highest bough

The firefighter stalked off towards his locker to grab his jacket before following out the doors that lead to the side of the firehouse. If Y/n went out, that’s where she would be, sulking in the shadows. Cold air swirled in to replace the heat from inside as he opened the door, the rush of it sending a chill through his body. He zipped up the coat as he went down the few stairs, finding her sitting there on the stoop.

“Dean, I don’t want to talk about it,” She sighed when she looked up to see it was him that had followed her.

“Then just listen?” He quirked one brow at her, waiting for her invitation before taking a seat next to her. “I know that you are hurting and I wanted to start by saying I’m sorry. It was never my intent to hurt you.”

“I know that.”

“I just… I can’t stand seeing you so down. Sean hurt you badly and I didn’t want you to allow him to do it again. You deserve so much more than that.” Dean pulled his arms in closer to his body as the chill of the night set into his bones and the snow continued to fall around them.

“It was just coffee Dean, not a marriage proposal.”

“Yeah, and I hate that even more,” Y/n looked up then, confusion written all over her features. “Y/n you know that you are the most important thing in my life, next to my brother. Hell, most times you outrank him. When we fight, or you go out of town, it’s like there is a piece of myself missing, I have this hole in my chest that only you can fill. I guess I never really understood what that meant in the grand scheme of things.”

“Dean,”

“You know I love you right?” He cut her off.

“Of course I do. I love you too,” The word rolled off the tip of her tongue like honey. Like it was the most simple thing in the world. Because she did love him, and she had for as long as she’d known the eldest Winchester.

“But Y/n/n, I think I’m in love with you,” Dean held her gaze, his amber green eyes searching hers for the words she had yet to utter. The girl across from him could feel her chest filling with emotion, the confession by her favorite firefighter igniting something long dormant inside her.

“You do?�� Tears were threatening to overflow her eyelids, the feeling inside her needing to escape somewhere. She wasn’t in control anymore, her voice cracking with her words.

“I do,” he nodded, affirming his words to himself as well as her. “And it’s okay if you don’t feel the same way. I just thought that maybe we could give us a chance.”

“Us?” Dean nodded, at a loss for what she was thinking for the first time in a long time. “I like the sound of that, us.” Y/n repeated the words with a snort, a coy smile upturning one side of her mouth. Dean’s breath hung in the air as he waited for her to continue.

“Is that a yes?”

“Yes, Winchester.” The woman shook her head as he sighed, his body visibly relaxing next to her. Dean took his hand out of his jacket pocket, cupping her cold cheek in its warmth. A bright smile lit up her face as he ran his thumb over her reddened nose and down over her bottom lip. “Just kiss me already.”

“Is that an order?” He threw her words back at her, earning a fist to the chest. Her nose scrunched up as she playfully scowled at him. Dean felt her fingers wrap around the lapels of his jacket before she was pulling him to her, their lips meeting in the middle. Both of them were hesitant, this being their first kiss that wasn’t alcohol-fueled or rushed. Dean opened his mouth to her just as the alarm inside the firehouse sounded sending the two of them apart as if they had been electrocuted.

“I’ve gotta go,” Dean silently cursed the universe’s timing.

“Go save lives,” she patted down his jacket against his chest as her fingers unraveled themselves from the material. Dean pecked her chilled nose before getting up and running to the door, pausing as he pulled it open to turn back to her.

“Wait for me?”

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

And have yourself a merry little Christmas now

Forevers: @22sarah08 @akshi8278 @anathewierdo @atc74 @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @callmekda @dawnie1988 @deanwanddamons @ellewritesfix05 @emoryhemsworth @flamencodiva @foxyjwls007 @hobby27 @janicho88 @jensengirl83 @katehuntington @lyarr24 @malfoysqueen14 @miss-nerd95 @mrsjenniferwinchester @msmarvelouswinchester @polina-93 @sleepylunarwolf @stiles-stilinski-24-dylan @smol-and-grumpy @suckmyapplejacks @superfanficnatural @supraveng @talesmaniac89 @tranquility-or-chaos @waywardbeanie @winchest09

#superfriendstitlechallenge #Janichi88"s 100 Follower Celebration #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester fic #dean winchester #supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fanfic #supernatural fic #spn fanfic #spn fic #spn #alex writes #mine #the one with the merry little christmas

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bunkerbucky · 4 years

Text

A Pirates Life *Bucky Barnes x Reader*

Summary: A pirate!bucky x shy maid reader in which the readers friend is the adventurous princess that wants more outta life so she convinces reader to sneak away and they get caught up with pirates and bucky takes a liking to the reader and dubcon too please

Rating: EXPLICIT [18+]

Warnings: DUB-CON/NON-CON //M ORAL // INNOCENT READER// VIRGIN READER// PENATRIVE SEX (allusions to non-con to a background character)

A/N: Prompt for @sherrybaby14 writing challenge. Hopefully, this is good. First time writing Dub-Con, so please go easy on me. I know it need work!

Princess is named Amelia, if that’s your name then simply swap Amelia to another name. I’d appreciate if people could reblog, maybe comment? Thank you x

The ship was magnificent and huge, deep red wood and big black sails. It put all the other ships in the harbour to shame. It also brought an endless amount of fear and anxiety with it.

This wasn’t just some ship, it was a Pirates ship.

It was Captain James Barnes' ship. You’ve heard stories of him and his crew, the reckoning they bring on the wealthy and upper classes; but they weren’t bad-bad, at least, not to the less fortunate.

That doesn’t explain why you’re staring up at his ship in the dead of night. You warily glance Amelia, who is wearing a sort of mischievous smile on her face. You hated that she roped you into this, you could hardly say no- being her handmaiden that is, you had to say yes.

She’s not normally in clothes like yours, she’d never be allowed to wear anything less than her royal dresses. She’s the princess; always in fancy gowns and impressive jewels. You’ve known her for years, dressed her, bathed her and snuck out with her.

But this was possibly too far. Even for Amelia.

“C’mon, they're down at the brothel. Sneak on, stay hiding till they get to the next dock.” A perfectly normal plan it seemed. A dangerous plan.

You got onto the ship, it’s dark and there’s no one insight. You just had to find a place to lay low for, however, long till the next docking. Your hands tremble as you silently walk towards a door, walking down some creaky stairs. Amelia points towards some sacks, nodding for you to follow. You both settle behind the sacks, deep in the corner.

It feels like hours before loud, thumping footsteps crawl above you. They’re all back. You gulp and try to control your breathing. Hearing the commotion of them upstairs, the yelling and hustle.

You both feel the ship move, a slight swaying and you know now there’s no place to run. They’ll throw you off of the ship if they find you. The door opens, voices loudly talking to one another. You look at Amelia, who doesn’t even look fearful, she’s just silently sitting beside you. You hear them walk down and past you, going further down into the kitchen area than you two have.

It’s a few more hours, you're aching and cramped behind the sacks. Also hungry and incredibly thirsty. Neither of you had planned this far ahead, you glance at Amelia who mutters that they would be docking soon.

You wished. Not a few minutes later there’s boots, deep and thundering down the stairs. They stop and mutter something… then they’re walking towards the sacks. Hands lifting the heavy sacks and throwing them, as they stand you can see them. Tall, menacingly so, sandy blonde hair and facial hair. They run a hand through their hair before looking down, eyes glancing to you both and tilting.

“Stand up!” His voice is calm and demanding. You both stand up on shaky legs, his fingers make a come hither motion to him. “Coupla storroways,” he calls and two others show up as you both walk around the pile.

One grabs your upper arm and pulls you harshly up the stairs, Amelia right behind you. It’s bright outside, you squint your eyes to be able to see. Bodies of all men turn to look at you both, eyeing you both up and down, it makes your skin crawl.

“Get the Captain,” one yells.

“No need,” a deep voice calls from behind. You look over your shoulder and up, behind the ship's wheel is Captain Barnes.

He walks down the stairs, tight black pants and a loose red shirt tucked in, leather boots and blue eyes piercing at you both. He stands over you both, hands clasped behind his back as he looks at you. Head tilting down and raising a brow at Amelia.

“We’ve got royalty on our ship,” he declares loudly and you glance at Amelia. “Princess, it’s an honour,” the mocking tone has you looking down at your feet. “And you brought your handmaid?” You don’t look up, “so sweet, yet utterly fucking stupid.” He spits at Amelia. “I should throw you both overboard, no doubt your father's ships are on our tail. Thinking we stole you and we’ll be strung up like common peasants.” You look up as he yells in Amelia’s eyes.

She didn't say anything, but flinched back and looked at you. An apologetic look in her eyes, knowing that she has screwed you both.

Barnes stands up, looking at the guy who discovered you and shrugs. “Not everyday we get a princess though,” a smirk settles on their faces and your eyes widen. “Steve has a thing for the upper class girls, me? Not so much, but I can’t deny my good friend.” He looks around to his crew, a grin on his face, “can I boys?” He asked and they all roared to life, yelling at him.

He walks around Amelia, pushing the hair from her neck and then roughly pushing her to Steve. Loud hollers and calls happen through all the men, a shriek comes from Amelia as she’s pulled away. You go to follow but a hand grabs your wrist, Barnes shakes his head.

“You don’t wanna follow that crowd,” the muffled sounds coming from where you had just come from. You nervously look at him and he smiles. “Follow me.”

The hand on your wrist tightens as he pulls you in the opposite direction, opening a door and pushing you to walk down first. You get to the bottom and realise this is the Captain’s quarters, candles are lit and there’s an unmade bed to the left. A grand desk to the right, stacks of paper and (stolen) jewels littered the top.

“What’s your name?” He asked and walked around you, purposely brushing against you as he walked to a small bar. You mutter your name softly, “Y/N,” your name rolling off of his tongue. “Drink.” He passes a glass tumblr to you, brown liquor within.

To appease him you drink, coughing at the burning taste going down your throat. He chuckles as he watches you, eyes darkened as he takes a languid sip. He places the glass down, taking your glass from you and placing it beside his.

“Undress.” He sits at his desks chair, spinning it to face you, legs spread and elbow on the arm rest. You don’t move, embarrassment coursing through you. “I’ll cut the fabric from you, so undress.” He pulls a dagger from his boot and places it on the desk beside him.

Pushing the thought of never being naked in front of a man away. You begin to undress for him, your hands shaking as you get undressed. His eyes never leaving you, scanning around to every piece of newly exposed skin. His bottom lip is caught between his teeth as you stop at your underwear, he raises an eyebrow.

You swallow hard and get fully naked before him, he tilts his head and licks his lips and beckons you to him. You walk forward, a rough hand reaches out and grabs you, pulling you down onto his lap. He softly stroked your cheek, a grin coming on his face and his pearly whites on show.

“Where’s Amelia?” You ask in a shaky voice.

He brushes the hair from your face tenderly, “Having her own fun with Steve, don’t worry about her. She got you into this mess, didn’t she?” You nod once, “luckily I’ve taken a shine to you, you’d be with the princess right now. I’m possessive, don’t like sharing with my men unlike Steve.”

You don’t really understand what he’s telling you. You’ve been sheltered most of your life, never really being around men other than the male royal servants.

“Get on your knees,” You do as he says but with a frown, not understanding what he wanted her to do.

Eyes widening as he pulls himself out of his pants, an amused chuckle leaves him at your face. You’d had never seen one in person, you look up at him and he raised an eyebrow.

“Ahh, a virgin,” that only makes him smile more and his penis twitch. “I ain’t got time to teach ya, darlin’” gripping the back of your head with one hand and pulling you forward. “Open your mouth, I’ll guide you.”

Hands gripping his thighs tightly, opening your mouth and he shoves it into your mouth. You cough and choke around him, a muttered “relax” is thrown at you. Your spit dribbles down his cock, lubricating it more for your mouth. His hand pushes your head down, gurgling and slurping sounds coming from your mouth.

A deep groan comes from him, hand clutching your hair in a vice grip. Tears start filling your eyes as his hips start lifting up, cock hitting the back of your throat causing you to choke. You just wanted this to end, your throat was feeling sore and used, but the grunts coming from him was doing something to your own body.

“Fuck,” He groans and stands up, shoving his cock deeper down your throat, nose pressed to his pelvis. “You got such a nice throat on ya,” a wink being sent to you as he starts fucking your mouth in earnest. Both hands holding your head steady, feeling your hands trying to push him away via his thighs but he was stronger.

He pulls out of your mouth, you cough and splutter for air. His hand is still holding your hair, he yanks and you wince in pain. He forces you to your feet, pushing you to the desk and bending you forward. Your front pressed to the desk, you look over your shoulder and watch him.

Eyes widening at him stroking himself, “please.” You sob and he looks at you. A silent plea. “Stop.” But did you want him to?

You felt shameful, the Captain wanted you and not the princess. It made you feel special in a twisted sort of way.

Your hands are shaking, thighs quivering as you watch him. He grins and looks at you, eyes trailing down your body, he lifts a hand and swipes it through your folds, it causes you to jolt.

He tuts, “I don’t think you want me to stop.” He declares and lifts his fingers, glistening with wetness from your heat. “I think you want me to ruin this pussy, don’t you?” He steps forward and blankets your body with his. “You want me to take you, better me than my men.” He kisses your cheek softly.

A shiver goes through you as his cock brushes against your wet channel, your hands grip the desk tightly, he bites your neck and pushes himself into you. A strangled gasp escaped you at the intrusion and stretch. Your mouth has fallen open in a silent scream, you felt so stretched and full.

A hand is pressed to the back of your neck, he pulls his chest off of your back and pulls his cock out, only to slam back inside. The desk scratches against the wooden floor with each punishing thrust of his hips, tears flowing down your cheeks at rhe feeling- not knowing if you’re enjoying it or sickened by it.

A pirate is fucking you on his desk, a man that strikes fear into people. You shouldn’t be enjoying it, you’re not enjoying it.

“You’re so tight,” he groans from above, squeezing your neck. “So fucking wet and warm,” slapping his hips against yours with such furiosity. “So, good. Made for me aren’t ya?” He asked and picked up the pace.

All you could do was take it, take his hard and long cock, fucking into you with such force. The whimpers falling from you and soft cries, it seemed to only spur him on. A tightening feeling in your lower abdomen started to coil, an unfamiliar feeling starting to build up and send sparks down to your core.

“Gonna fill this pussy up with my cum,” he groans as his thrusts start to become sloppy and irregular. “I can feel you getting closer,” he groans softly. “Gonna cum on this cock, go on. Cum for me.”

His words doing something within you. A sudden jolt of pleasure rushing through you, eyes rolling back and a loud, high pitched moan leaving your mouth. Your pussy spamming around his cock as he continues to fuck you through it. He stutters and groans, hips stilling as you feel warm liquid shoot inside of you from him. A whimper leaving you as he grinds his hips into yours, milking himself of his cum in you.

Pulling out of you, you feel yours and his release slip down your thighs and coat them generously. You lay limp against his desk still, unable to move or really do anything. Arms wrap around you and you groan, he’s carrying you and then you feel soft, silk sheets underneath you.

“Get your rest,” he stands over you. “You’re gonna like it here, for once, you’ll be treated like a princess.”

You should feel dread and want to leave, but the way he strokes your cheek and looks at you, a dark but tender look… it makes you want to stay.

(First time writing Dub-Con, so if it was bad. I’m so sorry. I want to get better at it, we’ve all gotta start somewhere. Anyway, please leave a like, comment and reblog. I’m taking requests too - Lilith)

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes smut #dark!bucky barnes #bucky barnes imagines #bucky barnes x y/n #dark!bucky x reader

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ibijau · 3 years

Text

Time for some sad Nies that nobody really asked for :) But I got thinking about little nhs and how his father’s degrading state might affect him and... welp

warning for mentions of child abuse and victim blaming (by the victim himself)

Huaisang has to be pushed into the throne room by his brother, and half-dragged before their father. A-die said he was sorry, and got him a pretty fan for his trouble, but Huaisang still can't help feeling a little scared.

Thankfully, a-die is in a good mood today, and smiles when he sees his sons.

"Come closer," he demands, his eyes avoiding Huaisang's arm. "Come meet our guests."

The presence of those two severe men in white comforts Huaisang, enough for him to walk closer to his father. A-die is always calmer when there are people around. Still, Huaisang is grateful that da-ge makes sure to stand between him and a-die.

If a-die notices, he doesn't remark on it.

"Huaisang, Mingjue, these men are Lan zongzhu and his brother Lan Qiren," a-die announces.

On cue, Huaisang and his brother bow to the visitors. Huaisang’s bow is a little clumsy, but hopefully he'll be forgiven, on account of the sling.

"It is a pleasure to meet Nie gongzi and Nie er-gonzi," Lan zongzhu says with a calm and gentle voice, his eyes falling in Huaisang's arm. "May I ask what happened to Nie er-gonzi?"

It is, of course, the wrong thing to ask. Da-ge takes Huaisang’s hand, the one that isn't hanging out of the sling for his arm, and squeezes tight. Too tight, really, but not enough to break.

Huaisang knows now just how much pressure needs to be exercised for a bone to break.

He doesn't answer Lan zongzhu's question, of course. Neither does da-ge. They also, very deliberately, do not look at their father. It has to be a secret, a-die said, but he forgot to give them a story to tell people. Everyone in Qinghe Nie knows already, even if they won't speak about it, and Huaisang has kept mostly to his room since that day. It's not like he can train, not with his arm like that, and there's few visitors who need to see him.

"This is why I asked you to come urgently," a-die explains. "Ever since that incident, I've been… losing control."

Both his sons are startled to hear him admit such a thing in front of outsiders. Da-ge squeezes Huaisang’s hand tighter, still not enough to break anything, but getting closer to that. Huaisang wants to pull his hand away, but dares not. He's already made a-die angry the other day, he can't afford to upset da-ge as well.

The two men in white look at Huaisang with puzzled expressions that turn to shock when they realise what a-die is saying.

"This is…" Lan zongzhu starts, only to be interrupted by a-die.

"I was thinking of sending Huaisang to Gusu," a-die says. "He could study with you. He doesn't need his arm for that."

Huaisang gasps, and molds himself against his brother's side, terrified of being sent away. He wants to say that he didn't meant to make a-die so angry the other day, but da-ge has ordered him to be quiet around a-die from now on, and da-ge always knows best.

"He's too young," Lan Qiren snaps after a quick glance at Huaisang. "How old is he? Ten?"

"Eleven, but he's very mature. Qiren, this is…"

"Too young," Lan Qiren insists. "We can't throw him into lectures with boys of fifteen or more."

Lan Qiren turns to his brother, clearly expecting him to agree. Lan zongzhu ignores him, carefully watching Huaisang and his da-ge, as if trying to see something hidden inside them.

"How did it happen?" Lan zongzhu asks, his eyes on the sling.

"I lost control," a-die replies. "I'd rather not say more."

Huaisang is grateful to his father for not saying more. It was his own fault, after all. He's the one who acted bratty, even when a-die had been getting angry so easily since his sabre broke. If Huaisang had been better, if he had been quieter, if he had obeyed, than this wouldn't have happened.

But he wasn't good, not at all. So now his arm is broken, and a-die wants to get rid of him so he won't have to get angry like that again.

"If you send one of your sons away, why not the other as well?" Lan zongzhu asks, glancing at da-ge before turning his attention to a-die.

"I'd rather keep both of them," a-die says. "But Zonghui insisted, for Huaisang."

Lan zongzhu nods, as does Lan Qiren, as if this means more to them than it does to Huaisang.

There is something about Zonghui that is special, Huaisang knows. He hasn't figured out the details yet, but Zonghui is allowed to make comments about Huaisang’s education for some reason. No other disciple, no other cousin would dare to do that. But Zonghui can. Maybe because a-die and him are such good friends. They even slept in the same room, before things started going bad. Huaisang has some vague understanding of this being linked to dual cultivation, which only grown ups do. He thinks it involves kissing and being naked, but he's never dared to ask his father for more details, and da-ge says his too young to be told.

It doesn't really matter. Zonghui and a-die have stopped sleeping together after Huaisang’s arm got broken.

"If you want, we might have songs that could help," Lan zongzhu hesitantly offers. "How bad is it?"

"Not as bad as you think," a-die states in a tone that allows no questions. "I'm only doing this to appease Zonghui. It was an isolated incident, nothing more. It wouldn't happen again even if Huaisang stayed and behaved himself, but Zonghui is a bother right now and that's not helping my temper. If I can get some peace, I'll be fine!"

Something in a-die's tone makes Huaisang flinch. His father never used to raise his voice like that, but it keeps happening since his sabre broke. It happened on that day, too.

Huaisang would be scared if he were alone with his father. Thankfully, da-ge is there, holding his hand, rubbing circles against his skin with his thumb to comfort him. And those two Lan men are smarter than Huaisang, because they notice a-die's change of tone right away.

"Then we'll take your son to the Cloud Recesses," Lan zongzhu says calmly. "He's the same age as Wangji and Xichen, I'm sure they'll all get along. Do you want us to take him away today?"

"The sooner the better," a-die grumbles, pinching the bridge of his nose, as if his head were starting to hurt.

Just like that day, again.

The two Lan men seem to notice that, as well. They exchange a quick glance, just like Huaisang does with da-ge when there's trouble.

"If Nie zongzhu allows it, I'll go help Nie er-gongzi pack for his stay with us," Lan Qiren offers. "Perhaps Nie gongzi will help as well?"

A-die grunts, and waves his hand to dismiss them. Lan Qiren doesn't lose a moment and escorts the boys out of the throne room, leaving his brother alone with a-die. It'll be fine though. Lan zongzhu seems like a reasonable man, so he won't make a-die angry.

Lan Qiren is very quiet as they walk to Huaisang’s room. Once there, he orders a servant to fetch Nie Zonghui and sets to work, ordering Huaisang and da-ge to grab this and that to be put in a qiankun pouch.

As they work, Lan Qiren asks da-ge all sorts of questions. Sometimes about their father, and da-ge doesn't answer. Sometimes about Huaisang’s cultivation and education, for which da-ge is more willing to give details. From the way Lan Qiren watches da-ge, Huaisang gets the sensation it's not just the answers that interest him, but also the manner in which they're given.

Then Nie Zonghui joins them at last, and gets asked the same questions. Zonghui doesn't say how Huaisang’s arm got broken, but Huaisang, again, feels that the way he doesn't say certain things is almost more important than the things he does say.

Not that Huaisang can listen too closely. There are a lot of things to pack, and he keeps having to add things that Lan Qiren didn't think about, like the fan a-die got him, or those books he likes. Huaisang hesitates about taking his training sabre too. Lan Qiren didn't say anything about that, and he can't use it until his arm gets better. Hopefully he'll come home even before his arm is healed, so that won't be a problem… but since he's already not very proficient with a blade, if he stays too long without training, it'll show for sure.

Sabre in hand, Huaisang walks up to Lan Qiren who is urgently whispering about something with Zonghui and da-ge. They stop when they spot him, but Huaisang still caught a few words such as 'take care of him' and 'hide from the Wens'.

It turns his blood to ice, but he pretends he didn't hear, or anyway didn't understand. It's easier for everyone like that. Da-ge is so worried about Huaisang understanding too much, he never wants to answer his questions lately, says that it's better if he doesn't know certain things. Huaisang, with his broken arm and broken trust, understands too much already but he doesn't want to add to da-ge's burden by letting him know that.

A-die too was just very, very worried at first, when his sabre broke. Huaisang got his father to hate him by not behaving well enough, he's not going to risk it with da-ge.

"Leave the sabre here," Lan Qiren orders. "There's no one in Gusu who can teach you how to use that weapon, our sect uses sword. You'll start learning again when you come home. I'm sure it won't take too long for your father to call you back."

Huaisang nods, and puts away the sabre. Lan Qiren is right, it's only for a short while. A-die is going to get better, without Huaisang to pester him. And without Huaisang to worry about, Zonghui and a-die will reconcile, and they're always happy when they're together.

Of course, a little dark voice in his head tells him that maybe a-die won't want him back when he's better, that he'll be blamed for causing all of a-die's anger, but… No. Da-ge won't let that happen, da-ge will ask for his return when things are better, and since da-ge is the heir, when he asks for something hard enough, he always gets it.

It's just a little time away, and then they'll all be a happy family again.

#nie huaisang #nie mingjue #lan qiren #qingheng-jun #mo dao zu shi #mdzs #jau writes #I'm hoping to continue that one at some point with lxc being a good brother figure to nhs for the nearly four years he's about to spend #in gusu but we'll see how it goes #inspiration is a fickle bitch #I shouldn't be writing this but it really wouldn't leave me alone #nhs in gusu au

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sugasugawarau · 3 years

Text

Synopsis: You knew that Kageyama Tobio was not your soulmate - and that was why you could not help but succumb to the waves that lulled you away from the shores of fate + semi inspired by Eyes Blue like the Atlantic by sistaprod ft. Subvrbs. Also part of @yacoka‘s collab <3 (2.4k words)

Warnings/notes: Some angst near the end, soulmate red string au, gender neutral reader. No beta we die like Rex Lapis so if I ever feel like it this may be edited at some point asdahdhj idk LMAO

— Prologue

There are as many reasons to fall in love with Kageyama Tobio as there are fractals made by the ocean’s breath as the world inhales and exhales, flourishes and wilts, conquers and surrenders. It would not even be a hyperbole to say that in number, they remain unrivalled to the plethora of stars that stain the waves with their reflection and run deeper than the scars of lightyears that paint lines from Cassiopeia to Aquila.

After all, he is the darkest hue of navy blue.

Determination that moves in an orchestra of thundering waves, brandishing on its crest an admirable recklessness, heeding not for the need to call upon courage or confidence; polished instinct that endued one with the same awestruck feeling when facing the beautifully suffocating obscurity of their life in this world, a mixture of raw fear and the need to impart a piece of their soul in everything they do despite how fragile the skin shielding their heart is.

But the best part of loving Kageyama was that you were not - or will ever become - destined to be.

— Shoreline

Red.

It was a word that was always thrown about in conversations, the fuel to the catastrophes that were high school gossip chains, and the colour that held the mangled passion of the string of fate. Garishly predestined and easily tangled by unnecessary complications of jealousy and confusion, it is needless to say that you hated red with more passion than the love it emptily promises with a title as shallow as soulmates.

That was not to say you despised love. There was nothing wrong with love itself, a fact which you had decided firmly since the spry age of four years old. What was wrong was its combination with soulmates: a rigid formula, nothing like the walks with your grandmother on the bright summer roads littered with flowers as her calloused palm gently guided you, or the laughter you shared with your friends after a long run in the rain, hugging each other goodbye at the end of the day despite the muddy battle scars covering your arms and legs from falling countless times.

Your mind could have kept you engaged in your internal debate for longer if you were left to your own devices, but an awkward cough and the sound of a desk shifting towards your right brought you out of your reverie, bringing your drifting thoughts back to the classroom surrounding you.

Perhaps your look of confusion came off as hostile, for the dark-haired boy now sitting next to you looked at you with a slight glare that felt forced, an automatic effort to defend himself.

His tone of voice only confirmed your unconsciously off-putting expression as he gruffly stated, “Group project.” to explain his sudden presence.

“Oh. What’s the topic on?”

An awkward silence had ensued while you tried to calmly collect yourself by gathering a handful of pens from your pencil case after being caught in your heinous crime of not paying attention to your English teacher.

“You don’t know?” Came his reply, causing you to occupy yourself by finding extreme interest in a lime green highlighter you did not have any recollection of ever buying.

“Well, I clearly wasn’t paying attention.”

“You… weren’t?” The slight intonation in his tone was a stark contrast to your initial impression of him and caused you to look up at him, almost letting out an amused snort at his befuddled frown to which he furrowed his brows and shot a challenging “What?” in return. Realizing that he was genuine in believing that you were deep in thought over the lesson, a burst of laughter blossomed past your lips, attracting a few odd looks from your nearby peers and an abashed glare from him.

You paused to take a breath, a repetition of sorries stumbling their way out to appease the onslaught of nagging you thought would follow shortly. Instead, all the boy muttered was a simple, “You’re weird.”

“Sure, but that’s beside the point - were you paying any attention?”

“No.”

Seeing your face contorted to stop yet another bout of laughter to roam its way into the world as a result of his bluntness, he shot out of his seat and announced that he would go ask the teacher, unable to hide his puzzlement as he walked away. He would come to regret this decision when the teacher began to lecture him, earning more heads to turn his way as she scolded him before sending him off dismissively with a sticky note that you assumed had your now long-awaited topic.

Before you could thank him for enduring what could only be one of the worst things to experience as a high school student, he wordlessly handed the piece of paper to you and sat down.

“Kageyama, right? With this project, you’ll have me to thank for the A we’ll get,” you promised confidently, to which he responded with a halfhearted “Good luck.”

If he had been a close friend, you would have taken the small textbook on his desk and gently hit his head at his evident lack of belief in his capabilities, but settled for a clipped sigh instead. After all, you did not want to further contribute to the premature wrinkles Kageyama was making himself prone to with all of the brow-furrowing he did.

This is going to be one long month.

— Largo

Like how the ocean reluctantly caresses the sleeping shore as it wakes from its slumber during low tide, your lives slowly flowed together.

During the first week of your group project with him, he would greet you curtly, and on a few occasions, you would have short conversations about the outline of your book review.

And this singular week was enough to show that there was some (okay, maybe a lot) of backing behind the teacher’s warning about Kageyama’s dismal grade.

While you flipped through A Midsummer Night’s Dream, you would catch the all-too-familiar confusion on his face - it was written on his features so blatantly that it was almost comical, as if taken straight out of a shonen manga.

“You know if you’re stuck you can ask me for help.”

A slight scowl greeted you over the hedge of pages he had been burying himself in, followed by a biting, “Who said I need help?”

You could only roll your eyes in return.

“Please drop the prideful act. You've been glazing over the same page for about twenty minutes now."

After a few seconds of grumbling did he finally comply, and with your explanations, his bookmark was now comfortably sandwiched between the double-digit page numbers right as the bell rang. You hummed in satisfaction before returning your desk to your original spot, expecting him to rush out along with everyone else - so to turn around and see him still standing there was a bit of a surprise.

“Did you still need help with the last few lines?” You settled on asking, not really wanting to plague your break with work but offering nonetheless. Thankfully, he shot a look of disdain at the play as he stuffed it away haphazardly in his bag.

“No, I just wanted to,” he trailed off a bit, the tinge of red on his ears an out-of-character detail you decided not to comment on, “to say thanks, I guess.”

You smiled softly at the unexpected gesture of appreciation before giving him a teasing nudge which he stiffened slightly at.

“Well, I can’t have you bringing down my mark now can I?”

“Nevermind, I take it back.”

“Too bad, I have those words of gratitude stored nicely in my hippocampus already.”

From there, tutoring sessions with Kageyama became the norm, with you sometimes asking about his volleyball team after he had let slip that you were a better teacher than Tsukishima (something you would be sure to smugly share if you ever met the infamous middle blocker).

By the end of the month, all of the hard work - and a couple of all-nighters due to procrastination - brought forth an A as you had promised.

Even your relentless teasing, varying between “I told you so!” to “You owe me at least three meat buns now” which were all met with an annoyed “Shut up”was not enough to dim the smile he tried to hide.

— High tide

With the force of nature, the tide rose without warning; from goodnight texts to confessing to the first “I love you” uttered shyly between shameless souls, neither of you was sure where things began, but found comfort in such liberating chaos.

In times where he needed to be held, you were there, and the insecurities you would hide, he would turn beautiful. And today happened to be a day for both as you stared absentmindedly at his bedroom ceiling.

“Hey Tobio, what’s your take on soulmates?”

“We’ve been together for almost a year now, what do you think?” he put his phone down and turned towards you, “I could care less about soulmates or whatever else is worrying you enough to make your overthinking go into overdrive.”

“Rude, have some respect, it’s my profession after all,” you shoved him playfully as he snorted in reply, “It’s just... If your string ever appeared, wouldn't you rather-”

“Listen Y/n, did you know that I’m scared of dying but I’m even more terrified of the thought of living without you? I could never and don’t ever want to replace you. People can talk all they want, if I could find a love like ours without something as stupid as a piece of string then I don’t need a soulmate.”

“Really?”

With a flick to your forehead, he huffed in fake exasperation. “Really.”

“Huh, who knew you could be so romantic.”

“It's not romantic, I'm just being honest, idiot.”

“You sure could make do with some more lessons on manners and social tact. It's too bad you can't pick up on those as well as volleyball drills.”

Before he could retaliate, you enveloped him in a familiar embrace, burrowing your face into the large hoodie he donned.

It was effortless, his company.

— Ebbing away

But it wasn’t all romantic.

You fiddled with your phone as you waited for any sign that Kageyama had seen your messages, the pack of meat buns you had bought on a whim no longer letting off their fragrant steam. You knew he had an important match coming up against Seijoh, that he had to prove himself, that he lives hungrily and foolishly like no other. But his missing presence went beyond volleyball practice, keeping his distance from you even when he was right by your side.

Why am I stuck reminiscing about the past when we still have each other?

Why does every step I take towards him feel as if I’m only drawing myself farther away from him?

A carousel of rhetorical questions spun around your head as you stopped your slow pace towards Karasuno. You were not blind; you knew the rumours and dirty looks from your classmates were not something anyone could be immune to, that he tried his best to spend less time around you at school. The only conclusion you could reach was that he was ashamed: either of you, or the fact that he had begun to see his red string and could not bring himself to face you.

Ignoring the urge to let yourself cry, you glanced down at your phone once more, 8:30PM flashed across your eyes, followed by your empty notifications. There was no way he’d still be practicing at the school now and even if he was, you doubted he would be happy to see you. Maybe - no, definitely - it would be better to head home, and maybe stop by the convenience store you had bought the now misshapen meat buns from to get some tea and call it a night.

If only fate did not reciprocate your hatred towards it.

Stepping into the small store, the first person you are greeted with is none other than Kageyama Tobio. The whole situation was like a fever dream, and you would do anything to be able to let out a laugh and have him call you weird all over again. But all you could bring yourself to do was blearily stare at him.

He turned around quickly, as if not wanting to be caught before ushering you outside. “Y/n? Why are you here?” he hissed, a stiffness that he had recently adopted to his body language that you were now all too familiar with.

“What? Am I not allowed to go into any and all convenience stores I please?” You challenged, a part of you waiting for him to care enough to see how tired you were, to actually look you in the eyes for the first time in weeks.

He did not, opting to turn his head towards the door again.

“It’s not that, it’s just-”

“Just what? Tobio, what is up with you lately?” A pause ensued, broken by a small hiccup as your eyes dampened - God, how much more pathetic could you get than crying in front of some dingy convenience store - “Do you even love me anymore?”

How odd. You thought that by finally uttering the final question that had been dancing around your mind free to the world, you would feel better. That he would reassure you, as he always had.

Not that he would at last meet your gaze, grabbing your hand to look at the red string wrapped around your ring finger.

The taste of tears and Kageyama’s eyes as blue as the Atlantic all felt miles away from you as an orange-haired boy stepped out of the store, his mouth dropping into an o-shape when he saw that his string led to you, a disheveled mess arguing with his teammate.

“Kageyama…You knew? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I didn’t want to face the reality of it all. Because I was afraid of losing you.”

“But I wouldn’t leave you-”

“I know you wouldn’t but you should!” Kageyama’s furrowed brows, once a quirk of his that you were fond of, now elicited a sick turmoil in your stomach, “You have to. Please.”

You wanted to yell at him, let the blood pour out of any and all raw words of anger and hurt.

Who was he to decide what was good for you, to throw you at some boy you never met before, to give up?

Then again, you could never say you would not have done the same for him if you knew he had found his soulmate despite the sweet words he had told you so long ago.

So you let yourself go. For his sake.

#kageyama x reader #kageyama tobio x reader #kageyama x y/n #kageyama x you #haikyuu x reader

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mimithings97 · 4 years

Text

ABSTRACT ft BOB ROSS (M) - JJK

Summary: Paintbrush in one hand, joint in the other and you sitting on his dick is what Jeongguk wants. And what Jeongguk wants, Jeongguk gets.

Genre: smutPWP, timid crack, established relationship

Word Count: 6k

Warnings: jeongguks horny! getting high, body painting, fingering, oral (both receiving), edging, slight subJK, unprotected sex, cockwarming, masturbation (fem), dry humping

A/N: Jeongguk being on his Bob Ross thing to help us through quarantine had me inspired. Fr Bob Ross was a legend. This gets steamy btw

Also pls stay safe everyone and don’t be selfish. Enjoy x

*Masterlist Link*

*Bold italic is JK speaking Korean*

“Tap it off… and just beat the devil out of it.”

“JEONGGUK FOR THE LOVE OF JESUSSS!”

“Isn’t that fun.”

“...What? Just doing what he tells me to do.”

And he persists, batting brush to easel with a rate of knots only a testament to how fast he jacks off. It sends diluted paint across the room so you’re left as a life size dot to dot, with splatters lining your lips down to the hem of your shirt and it’s cold and wet, and this isn’t what you signed up for when he said ‘couples bonding’.

“I’m fucking soaked.” He scoffs, that man sized brain of his conjuring a classic.

“That’s what she said.”

You’re four hours deep, and four hours too many by your standards. Jeongguk was always an avid painter at heart, finding joy in the freedom of all things creativity, but he was also a perfectionist, a competitor. It led him from tutorial to tutorial, because, whilst he’s got portraiture down, his landscaping needed a little brushing up - mind the pun - and it was only an amount of time before you stumbled across a Bob Ross tutorial in all things serene and panoramic.

You shake yourself off in some attempt to help the splay of wet paint and to ease your job with the washing machine later, and lean back on your heels to gather your bearings. Yet, Bob still drones on despite your misery, and your boyfriend’s all too eager to comply with his every word.

“Jeongguk!”

He’s laughing off to himself, easily pleased in the scheme of all things pensioner humour, but murmurs off a halfhearted ‘yeh’ in your direction to ease where he knows you’re about to nag.

“Look at me!”

He does. And it throws you off a little because he eyes you once over, twice and a third time before settling his gaze on your breasts - easily pleased for many more things than just Bob Ross.

“You’re messy.”

“Yeh fuck I am! You listen to Bob more than you listen to me, cockless.”

He quirks an eyebrow, and shuffles so the laptop settled between both your easels can be paused, leaving Bob frozen in time and you to deepen your scowl.

“Yeh, um, cockless, cool... Bob tells me how well I’m doing and lets me hit paint brushes on wooden sticks. You don’t even let me feed Sassy nugs of weed when you sure as hell fucking know she’s a stoner cat.”

Jeongguk was deep into his second joint after he fucked the first two paintings up enough he put a lighter to the edge of each. He even questioned using them as a roach, and you became one step closer to pleading insanity to your landlord and bolting the fuck out of you joint tenancy. But then he got you high and you persevered.

Four more questionable and highly abstract paintings later, he’s got the hots for Bob, and you're left staggering on your words to rope him into lucidity again.

“Guk, he’s a virtual man with 4 million followers, don’t take it personally and-.”

“But-” You deadpan, and point your paintbrush with emphasis.

“And you know full well Sassy gets baked anyways off of fumes. The smoke gets in her fur as well and it was me” he looks innocently at you, muted by your outburst, “who got clawed when she had to be bathed. So tuck your balls away from Bob, and sober up!”

He’s quiet. As are you. And even Bob lies dormant off in your peripherals.

The room grows small as you size each other up, paintings left aside with the sole purpose of being witness to argument, and you think he might just look hot with his nipples standing cold against the open air and abs rolling beneath the line of his sweats.

He’s on the same wavelength:

“I can see your tits through that shirt.”

You take a quick peak yourself, eyeing from one to the other, ignorant of the double chin you’re exposing, but all in the name of making sure the ladies stand perky. He’s got a glint beneath the surface now when he eyes your chest, and the paintbrush in his hand falls a little limper.

“Yeah?”

“Mmm.” He tongues his lips. Hungry.

Self control in such a situation as this seems important. The ability to stand your ground no matter where your argument lies on the scale of idiocy. If you curtail into being seduced, he might still make you wash the shirt yourself, figure Bob Ross is a turn on and have Sassy seeing smoke rings by the end of the night. No. You’re not a pushover.

He’s an inch closer when you break the silence, the tumbleweed rolled aside.

“Turn it around. Let me see.”

“Ey?”

He’s horny and you’re not playing ball, something his brain can’t quite transfer to his dick yet.

“Turn yours around I wanna see how you did.” You give a nod in the direction of his painting. A spout of curiosity as to what monstrosity he’s conjured this time, but also a distraction, something for him to latch onto aside from your chest.

“I thought we wait til the end. It’s unfinished.” And one thing Jeongguk hates being is unfinished.

“Baby, Bob’s been overworked tonight and I wanna light the last spliff.” You air a finger and twizzle it, “give it a whirl.”

Being the competitor he is, Jeongguk plasters a smile and spins his easel, the pride practically radiating from him with the way he eyes the two trees and awkwardly sculpted sky. The clouds are askew and the lighting is directioned all wrong, in fact, it’s more a Picasso than a Mozart, blocks of colour screaming attention rather than the realism Bob was hoping for.

“What’s it abstract for.”

Jeongguk frowns because your tone clearly isn’t close to praise and that’s what he’s learnt to expect. What Jeongguk wants, Jeongguk gets. Tonight's seen enough of your short fuse, however, that he’s not in the running for your good books.

“Jagi-ya,” he pleads, “you know I speak in small English only when I’m stoned.”

You don’t even attempt to stifle the giggle. His eyes are round and his neck’s falling into his shoulders. A defence mechanism he’s well versed in because he knows it gets you in the feels. The jagi too.

“Yeh and this is how you paint when you’re stoned,” he eyes the work he’s made like your words have got him curious, like he’s never seen the capability of a weed induced state on canvas, “your lines get all boxy.”

He shifts, putting criticism to the test as he takes in his artwork from a new vantage point. In the meantime, the final joint lays naked and unused, almost sculpted like it was made for your fingertips. So you appease it’s calling and bringing tip to mouth, lighting the end until the embers begin to wisp away into smoke. Jeongguk breaths in like he wants it, but there’s an epiphany in sights instead.

“Mmm, it’s more like Picasso,” that’s my boy.

“Exactly!”

“...Bob doesn’t accommodate for high people.” He takes the joint when you offer it.

“Guk! That was a big word!” And he earns himself a kiss on the cheek, perhaps a hand to fiddle with his shoulders too, because those muscles aren’t gonna touch themselves.

He drags long and hard. A third joint kind of high taking hold from where his eyes grow thinning and his posture caves into your touch.

“Heard it on University Challenge,” you scoff at him. Since when was that on cable, “figure if I watch it enough I’ll be just as smart as them.”

“I’m not sure that’s how it works, bubs.”

Your hands grow fond of his skin, and it’s only when he leans away to trash the fumes away on a burnt out scrapped painting that you realise he finished all the weed. Guk’s a kid in a pram when it comes to sharing his green goods. He compensates with good sex though.

And it’s where his mind lies - beneath the thin layer of your white painting top, a scrap piece of clothing donned for only the messiest of times. He seems to find inspiration in the idea.

“Jagi.”

“Mmm,” the air buzzes somewhere between stoned and excited with how he eyes you.

“Let me paint you like one of my Korean girls.” It’s said in a tone laced with enough lust that you ignore the reference and are turned on by the novelty of being painted. And you know he doesn’t mean Jack and Rose kind of style.

You offer him a smirk.

“How d’you want me.”

Jeongguk nips at his bottom lip and lets his mind and dick go wild at the thought of free reign. The contemplating drags on, but when his eyes settle on how your pussy lies just south of the hem of your shirt, he’s struck a vision.

“Back, legs spread, and shirt off- wait, no, actually, shirt on.”

He’s easy to comply with in the circumstances of things stoned and shirtless.

Your head is light, limbs soft when they stretch against the carpeted floor and you’re so prepared to be a canvas you’re wondering if maybe Bob had turned you on a little. And everything grows that bit more ambient, strewn into background noise. The paints you’d used now only exist with purpose of your skin, the Sam Cooke vinyl, now on its fifth round, is merely a melody to curl your toes to and the chiaroscuro lighting serves for the curve of your cheekbones only.

He’d call you artwork if only it did you justice.

“It’s cold.” He readies you.

His forth fingertip is crimson red. You think it’s a tester for temperature until he runs it down your thigh. A bold stroke for a starting place, but Jeongguk was never shy with paints.

“Mmm, yeh, cold.”

“You like it?” He asks like he wants to be in tune with you.

“I can get to like it.”

What you mean is you can get to like your boyfriend, in his half naked glory, playing temperature torture on your skin.

He’s beautiful like this. A little lost in the high, but even deeper in the depths of you and your body and your lips and how you lay for him. A shy boy at first now with the pick of the litter. And he’ll take his pick wisely.

“So pretty.” You’ve got enough understanding to writhe in the praise, “Can I ruin your top?”

You are high, careless and ultimately curious.

“Yeh,” and the shirt was fucked anyways.

He pulls up the palette next to him, drawing a sketch with his eyes because paint doesn’t allow for takebacks and twiddles the brush in circles with practised ease.

“Close your eyes for me?”

“Ey?” You question.

“Please, just, for now.”

And you’ll blind yourself for the sake of surprise, but now you’re sure you’ll just end up playing guess the drawing through touch alone, a mimic of what Jeongguk does on your naked spine in the mornings when you’re allowed a lie in.

It’s cold, he’s right, that first stroke. And it dances close to where your breasts hang.

“Can I touch you down there too?”

OH fuck yes. Multitasking you can get on board with.

“Please.”

He’s straight to it. A quirk on the line he was painting down you because suddenly he’s got you pleading and wet in unintentional places.

“You plead so nicely for me, jagi. So good.” You gush to the tune of his native tongue.

It’s all at once. An overload of the senses. Sam Cooke a soulful prayer in time with your boyfriends hum. There’s a perfect juxtaposition of nimble fingers on your clit and a flat planed brush streaking unabashedly on the cotton against your nipples. It’s cold and hot and light and dark and everything in between. It’s sexy.

You delve headfirst into the pleasure of it all, throwing an arm over your eyes and allowing the moans to spew and your body to convulse a little every time you’re hit with a newly loaded brush. Your body brews up a tempest and yo-

“DONE!”

Oh.

You’re panting. Soaked to the bone beneath your silk panties, and when you open your eyes, everything is in disarray.

The lust felt when in the thrones of your imagination is suddenly scattered, albeit, Jeongguk still looks like a feast. Because Sam Cooke doesn’t sound so harmonic and your skin doesn’t glow as bright when you assess the masterpiece you’d been distracted by.

“YOU GAVE ME PICASSO TITS!”

Fucking Picasso tits!

You’re horrified. And Jeongguk looks like he’s won the lottery.

“Yeh. Jagi! Abstact!”

“It’s abstract…” you whine.

Tugging and pulling at the hem of the cotton in some attempt to render the mess undone is your stress ball . Something to help it or just unsee it. Anything. But it’s useless, because the display is etched in primary colours only, a demand for attention that your Vanish Ultra won’t even touch the sides on.

Your eyes fume when they meet his crescents, “and you gave me square tits you freak! I have perfectly good tits, underneath, and this top was clean before you violated it!”

There’s enough rage in you to stand and peel the wet shirt from your body, only to find a coloured imprint on your skin and bra that seeped through the thin fabric. Pick a younger man, they said. It’ll be fun, they said. Hildy can shove fun up her ass.

“Baby, it’s kind of funny.”

“Its not- its-,” he’s laughing. You’re exasperated. Both high. And maybe Hildy had a point once you let go of the burdens of sensibility and just crave what he’s having. Go, fat, high, fun.

“Gukkkkkkk.” So you end up whining. And, you don’t resist when he’s off his feet and drowning you in his chest, muscles vibrating to the tune of his giggles.

“Like, now, whenever we Bob Ross paint, I get to be reminded of the time I squared off your boobs then sexed you real good.”

You scoff from under his armpit, but refuse to depart from the embrace. He’s got a sweaty smell you only like on him and there’s nothing like Jeontits in your face.

“Never Bob Ross painting again and you’re not sexing anything, perv.”

“No?”

“Mm-hm,” he giggles over your dramatic head shaking, a true fan of you when he’s got you swaddled and in that high happy place. Jeongguk also, whilst he won’t admit it, likes owing you something. Likes poking and prodding at your sensitivity until he’s got something to make up for - he’s a people pleaser, what can he say.

So it’s a kiss here and a peck there. A mouthed map from shoulder to jaw before you’re the one to shift until your mouths align.

“I’mhard y’know.” Tongue deep into yours because he’s got nothing to hide.

“Mmm, and you’ll stay that way.”

But he really is oh so hard. His sweats hold little surprise under the surface because Jeongguk forgoes underwear on his days off and there’s a perk to his chest from his lunchtime weights set. It’s a self control that the weed in your brain isn’t quite abiding to.

“Jagi, come on,” the way his stance has a gain on your height means he can find friction where your groin lays. The perfect snuggle for his length to cant up into. He’s teasing himself, and pining for the quirk in you that’ll have him squirming later.

“Guk. You’ve stained my top. You’re not about to cum on my La Perla panties.” Yet he’s driving himself deeper into a painful withdrawal. And he can’t wait.

“You wore them without anything on your legs. You should know the risk,” his lips dance from collarbones to shoulder as he indulges in your skin, “You get me so hard, Jagi. So hard it hurts,” he’s biting whilst he ruts, “yet you tease me. How can you do that?”

Your resolve won’t crumble, but you may indulge a little. Press encouragement beneath his boxers and under the small of his back so he can carry himself away in the friction. He glows in it.

“Urgh, god.”

“Mmm, you still can’t cum you know that.”

Frantic. He nods frantic, and rolls his eyes back harder. He’s got balls so tight from the weed induced delusion that he’s lost in, but he knows you’ll have them blue and him mewling soon.

“Want it.” Submissive Korean sounds almost too good on him. He bows into your shoulder and grunts words, understandable in content, but so much more in context. An unfiltered, raw need he can only express in his way.

You almost give in.

Almost.

“Jeongguk, stop- stop.” He stills, and is pliable enough that you can cup his jaw tightly and meet him at eye level where he’s hazy. There’s a smirk nestled deep too because you let him go this far. And you got riled up in the process.

You eye him. Hairs flicking out from the thin headband he donned for painting and painting only. There’s a shine on his skin you can’t ignore and he’s so damn beautiful when he glows with want. Your man. A ‘my eyes only’ specimen except you get to touch.

So you do, hands to peck that draw up and down until you play peek a boo with his tip between the flap of his sweats. It’s the crimson that stains your thigh and the glossy look he’s edged himself to. You’re ravenous.

“Jagi, don’t just look. I’m dying here.”

You take one final glance, watch it bob when your nails scrape his abs and then quirk a look his way.

“Mmm, I’m still angry at you.” You’re not. Not really and never were. Just wanted something on him so you’d have him like you do now:

“Take it out on me” He doesn’t stutter. Doesn’t smile, smirk or indicate humour. Ready to risk it all.

“Lie on the sofa how you want it then… and them,” you once over the material on his legs with your finger, “off.”

He’s so compliant when he’s hard and no one will ever find you complaining at the notion.

There’s easles to dodge and paints that threaten to brim onto the wooden floors, but your apartment never had ‘perfect’ written on the lease, so you’ll let him settle his clothes haphazardly - teetering on messy.

You follow the path he’s strewn, bra off to join his boxers, until you settle your knees against his, shadow elongated on his face by the direction of the sunlight and hair swept over to one shoulder. His eyes follow your curves.

“Will you touch me now?” He’s craving and the concept has your mind whirling and eyes stuck on where he’s hard. You’ve only now come to notice the way he sits on his hands, wrists dug into the sofa from the pressure of his thighs. Filthy. It’s filthy that he edges himself for sport.

With a twitch at the side of your mouth because there’s a million and one different ways to have him crying, you descend so skin is on skin and he’s captive to you. Drunk in the way he looks. Nervous in the way his dick twitches.

“How d’you want me to touch you?”

“Any way, fuck, any way.. Please.” The pleasantries aren’t necessary. He’s at your mercy physically but this boy’s got a hold on you like no other, enough that what Jeongguk wants, Jeongguk gets.

“Here?” His dick is expecting when he sees your hand move in his peripherals. It’s sure and ready for your touch. But then you moan. Eyes roll back just like when he touches your cl-, “Is here good, Guk?”

“Oh fuck.” You’re two fingers deep and a palm to your clit. He’s taken note in the way you touch yourself before, mutual masturbation a 2 month-in kind of job, but this is different. Your pussy makes him salivate and the way you touch yourself makes him feel all too primitive. Like he’s never heard a girl moan before. “Jagi. Come on.”

It’s so damn hot to you that his dick sits there untouched, hips still glued as though he’s unaffected. You’re tuned in, though, to those things that tell you otherwise. The strain on his neck from where his bottom jaw clenches. English sidelined because he can’t think straight. His dick bobbing every time you hit an upstroke into yourself and the squelch rings out. He’s so damn horny, but he’ll wait on you. Knows seeking the end untouched is like drinking water after parching in the desert.

“So beautiful. You’re so beautiful. The way you touch yourself is beautiful too.” His eyes are fluttering and he can’t look away from you. It has you shamelessly moaning. “God I’m hard.”

You laugh, knuckle deep and feel the spasm of your walls. He’s really hard with precum immodest and when you meet his eyes again he’s vulnerable, too thirsty, maybe, for what he’s subjected himself to.

You’re left wanting, “I really wanna taste.”

“Jesus.” Jeongguk whispers under his breath, throws his head back for good measure because he’s got a visual before the main course has even happened. “You can’t be so shameless, it has me thinking things.” Vivid, things.

And his imagination plays out in real time when you descend onto the wooded floor. He stutters, splutters on his tongue when you’ve got long nails all up in his groin.

“F-fu- wait, Jagi, wait wait wait, jagi.” You’re an inch off, breath catching his tip and so close you can smell him. God you want a taste. “I’m- You can’t just.”

Ohhhh.

“You’ll cum?”

He’s not ashamed, embarrassed or anything in between. Just the longing for more, eating away at him, and knowing he’s a gonner in less than a minute if you’re to lick him.

“Just, fuck, Y/N. Just kiss me.”

You do. The head of his dick too appealing not to offer a peck to.

“Fuck.” He hisses it between his teeth and seeks refuge under an arm as to not concern himself with the way your tits look under him. “Not ther-” but not all cravings can be fixed, and you’ve got a mouthful.

His hand jerks out from where it situates beneath him. The dilemma as to whether his dick can handle the back of your throat, seemingly easier to combat if he can claw at his thighs. But you’ve fallen into a rhythm despite the discomfort of hard floorboards and empty walls, and he’s keening for it, low moans and harsh breaths when your throat constricts.

“Jagi, I real- oh shit, I really might cum.” You want him to. But the look that glazes over him when he’s edged is too good to wait for. Hit hits your throat deep, “fuck fuck fuck fuck,” hands thrown into your hair because he thinks maybe he wants you to stop.

But there’s the edge, and for a second he thinks he’s too far past it, balls tightened and his chest caves at the promise of lodging a load in your throat.

“Fuck!” You’re off him and shuffled back before he can cry wolf. Jeongguk helplessly grasps at his base, and screws his eyes tight to curb the feeling of blood rushing everywhere.

You’ve got a vantage point like no other. A vista genuinely for the ‘my eyes only’.

His chest violently rises and falls and his thighs shake at the same rate. It’s hard to reserve yourself from kissing up his legs, so you don’t, soft nips where the seam of his trousers would run and even though he was driven to maximum sensitivity, he wants you as close as you are.

You litter the expanse of his body until he can vent the lost orgasm into your mouth. A rage of tongues and spit that has your centre warm again. But he mellows out into you and plays seduction.

“Jagi.”

“Mmm,” you speak amongst the twine of lips.

“Let me kiss you.. Down there.” His eyes plague with sincerity. A wholehearted desire to taste you and taste you again, and you’re one to oblige.

The sofa, whilst a two generation hand-me-down, offers more comfort than the floor and you bask in being pampered when Jeongguk lowers your front to it, situating a littered pillow below you to accentuate the curve of your back. Your behind sits bare with panties discarded and you look beautiful enough he’ll tell you.

“Look at your body Jagi. How can you be mine?”

It’s unnerving being like this. Subject to alien words and a stare you can’t dilute. But it’s a package deal and Jeongguk doesn’t take long to offer the incentive.

“Smell nice too.”

He traces the curve of your back with his palm the same way he strokes you between your legs. Fluid and warm and...

“Goddd, that’s good.”

Jeongguk basks in all things praise. An inflation to his own high. So he hums approval into you as you begin to writhe.

You bite back the urge to push into him and seek a salacious end, frantic in the heat of lust, but Jeongguk keeps a controlled hold on you and eases the pressure away from the good spots, just so it’s better when he comes back for more.

“Mmmm, good, good there.” Where he’s spreading you and planting muscle deep. He doesn’t resist the temptation to go north either and explore tighter areas, and he hums a smile when he garners an entirely different noise from you because, fuck, that’s sensitive.

“Jeongguk, oh- I might cum.”

“Yeh?” He’s in you and around you and kneading at your cheeks like he’s rallying himself up. He is. Running his body in time with your movement so there’s a subtle rut to edge himself to.

“Yeh.”

“I want that. Bad.”

You’re loud and knocking on the door of something breathtaking, now that he’s left romance for dead. He wants you to cum, and hard

Fumbling an arm behind you until you can grapple onto the hairs of his head does little to prevent the sensation, the quaking and the tightening. He’s sinking a thumb against your rim and a tongue in your pussy and you indulge in it all.

“Shitshit oh my fucking god.”

He moans when you strike gold and pulse from every point of your being. Entrapped in that disembodied feeling where everything’s too good and all at once. It lags and Jeongguk’s hands purchase hard when you clench on his tongue.

“Shit.”

He lets you down easy though, mindful of all of the places that could be a cause for over-sensitivity - save that for another day - and nuzzles into your thigh.

The need to move lingers whilst you carry yourself away into the thrones of exhaustion, mind fizzing as you boyfriend sucks the meat of your ass with tempt. He’s wanting and you’ve got a craving to see him cum, but everything's numb.

“Jagi.”

“Mmm.”

You feel him before see him crawling up you, his front flush to you just as a means of exaggerating where he lays hard and in wait. He let you edge him and made you cum, a cause for a gold star among other things, so you flip over, careful not to knock him where it hurts, and pull at the straggling hairs the band can’t accommodate for.

“I want you. I want you really bad.” He feels selfish for feeling like it’s his right to claim an end. But there’s a genuine cause for concern that he’s been hard for so long, and will be as long as you lay bare and beautiful, and the biology of the situation isn’t just coincidental with his want.

But he kisses you soft and the sense of obligation dissipates into the desire to see him undone.

“You gonna fuck me?” He’s desperate to, and you laying pliant beneath him has his lust escalating quickly.

“Yes, yesyesyes jagi.” But as to not cum to quick he settles into stroking his length between where you’re wet. The sensitivity has lessened, but the rush of blood still is a cause for a grimace. Jeongguk kisses it out of you, settling into a rhythm of tongue then teeth then tongue then teeth. You’re lost enough, he’s sinking into your walls unhinged.

“Fuck.”

“God, how can you feel like this every time.” He’s driven to the edge of insanity with every feel of your walls, like a first time every time, uncharted territory he wants to explore as soon as he’s explored.

You grapple from the sweaty hairs that line his neck to where his muscles contract and sink now that he’s easing you into compliance. Not that it wasn’t easy to. But your walls, spent previously, make the glide a little harder in the promise that it’ll make him cum quick.

“You good? This good?” He caters for you in a strained plea.

“Amazing. God. A little faster.”

He’s sure to combust, purchasing his mouth on your neck and choking grunts into the skins there when his hips begin to snap and balls begin to ring an echo onto the four walls.

“Fuck jagi. Thank you. God, thank you.” He prays to your pussy as his abs clench in the knowledge that he’s teetering on the edge. Every run against you has him keening.

“Hold me.” He nestles his cheek to your hair until your breaths are synced, “don’t cum yet. Please, god-hm,” you choke, “don’t cum.”

“Oh god, oh god,” he’ll get you there, but he’s sweating out the urge to spill into you. He wants to see you done, hear you moan, have you every kind of euphoric. So he licks his thumb quick and has it in between you and on your clit quicker. A pressure and nothing more because he knows what hurts you.

He’s hissing at the strain, but you’re left in hopeless moans.

“Cumming, baby, cu- fuck.” There’s nothing stopping the assault of your walls on him as everything tightens and then releases. You quiver into him.

“Oh, you got so tight. Fuckfuck, oh god.” Jeongguk gives into it, too, when his body shudders and he pulls you tight, “ah,” spilling everything and it’s so hot but he’s heady enough that none of it matters.

You bask in that feeling for however long, lulling his shakes with a trail of nails through his hair down to his back, and nuzzle where your cheeks meet.

His back rises and falls and rises and falls and it’s all things soothing.

So you whisper lowly, “Guk.”

He shifts fractionally and huffs at the exertion of it all, body pliable and soft in and around you.

“Baby, we can’t fall asleep here.”

You know he’ll ask for a few more minutes, the true post orgasm baby that he is.

“Just a few more minutes.”

You laugh in the way of your predictable boy and snuggle him further now that he’s cocooned, the tingles in your toes eases and he might lay heavy on you but it’s comforting that his body moves to the puff of your chest. It’s like watching the clouds in the sky morph from one figure to another. Like the soft ticking of a metronome. Like counting sheep. And it’s easy to let ‘just a few more minutes’ trickle on and on.

What Jeongguk wants, Jeongguk gets.

#uneditedddd #bts #bts smut #bts jungkook #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook #jeongguk #bts jeongguk #jeongguk smut #jungkook #taehyung smut #filth #abstract #ripbobross #stay safe everyone #jungkook things

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buckybeardreams · 3 years

Link

Chapters: 1/1

Fandom: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: James “Rhodey” Rhodes/Tony Stark

Characters: Tony Stark, James “Rhodey” Rhodes, Sam Wilson (Marvel), James “Bucky” Barnes

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - College/University, Drinking, Protective James “Rhodey” Rhodes, James “Rhodey” Rhodes & Tony Stark at MIT, Bottom Tony Stark, Top James “Rhodey” Rhodes, Tony Stark is a Pillow Princess, Romantic Fluff, Short & Sweet, Minor Bucky Barnes/Sam Wilson, Blow Jobs, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Drunk Sex, Come Swallowing, Come Eating, Spit As Lube, kinda voyeurism, Bucky Barnes & Tony Stark Friendship, Sappy, Tony’s a brat, Rhodey loves to spoil him, Sweet Tony Stark, Adorable Tony Stark, 1980s, Established Relationship, Non-Explicit Sex, Light Dom/Sub

Summary:

Tony and Rhodey have been together since the end of freshman year at MIT and there’s no doubt in either of their minds that they’re in love with each other.

They’re perfect for each other in everyway.

Tony is wild and reckless and Rhodey is protective and doting. Tony likes to fly high and throw away all of his cares, but it’s okay because Rhodey keeps him grounded. After all, Tony may be the life of the party, but he’s definitely the light of Rhodey’s life and Rhodey wouldn’t have it any other way.

Word Count: 5886

AC/DC was blasting through the speakers, bodies jumping around, people singing along, nodding their heads or grabbing someone up close to feel them up. Tony was knocking back drinks at the bar with Rhodey, laughing over some joke that wasn't nearly funny enough to have them cracking up the way they were. Alcohol was coursing through their veins, their inhibitions all but gone as they refilled their shot glasses.

The room was dimly lit by black lights, but the walls were lit up with smattered white paint that glowed in the fluorescent lighting. Tony’s Black Sabbath shirt was lit up like a glowstick and his face was lit up with a grin. He let out a holler, climbing up on the bar top, bouncing on his toes to the beat, his hands reaching up to the ceiling as his bouncing turned into swaying.

"I love this song!" Tony screamed so Rhodey could hear him over the bass that practically shook the ground.

Rhodey's hand smacked against the bar as he cracked up again. They were fucked up and having a blast and when Tony fell off the bar and landed on his ass, Rhodey scrambling off his stool to check on him, Tony just popped back up and burst into a fit of giggles.

"I love you, Rhodeybear!"

Rhodey did his best to control the laughter that wanted to bubble back up and to switch over from party mode to must-protect-Tony-from-himself-at-all-costs mode. Rhodey tugged him close, nuzzling at his cheek.

"Love you too, Tones,” He murmured softly in his ear. “Why don't we go grab some snacks, hm?"

Tony sighed dramatically, wrapping his arms around Rhodey’s neck.

"You're no fun, Rhodey."

Rhodey just rolled his eyes.

"Come on, pretty boy. I don't need you throwing up all over me again, so let me get you something to settle your stomach."

Tony protested a bit, but otherwise let Rhodey tug him into the kitchen of - well, Tony wasn't entirely sure who's house they were at. Rhodey easily lifted him up onto the counter before rifling through the cupboards for something he could feed to his boyfriend. Tony was grinning, giggling intermittently and humming off tune even though the music was muffled by the walls.

"Thanks, honeybear," Tony cooed when Rhodey handed him a packet of saltines. "You're such a good provider."

Rhodey snorted.

"I know, I worked so hard to hunt down that prepackaged snack for you, baby," Rhodey said sarcastically.

"Mmhmm," Tony hummed in agreement, munching through a cracker. "You know pretty girls like men that can provide for them."

Rhodey raised a brow at him, nudging Tony's legs apart until he could nestle himself between them, his palms flat on the countertop.

"Yeah? And what about pretty boys?"

Tony's eyes sparkled and he tossed the saltines aside in favor of wrapping his arms around Rhodey's neck. Tony licked his lips in a way that he hoped was seductive and moaned softly in his ear.

"Us boys are totally self-sufficient, babe. We don't show emotions unless it's for artistic purposes. We love shaggy hair, bangles, and pants so tight it shows off our bulges and our tight asses, but we can provide for ourselves and all the pretty girls that hang off our arms just fine. Thank you very much."

Rhodey poked at his side and Tony giggled.

"Oh really?" Rhodey teased. "I was under the impression that it was only those neon shirt wearing, disco dancing boys that still want to provide for the pretty girls."

Tony threw his head back and laughed, happy and carefree. Rhodey loved that sound and he grinned at the beautiful boy pressed up close to him. He still couldn’t believe that Tony wanted him sometimes, but damn was he thrilled to be able to hold him close. His hands left the counter gripping at Tony's thighs and Tony's legs wrapped around him, his arms tightening around his neck and his hips lifting off the counter to rock against Rhodey.

Rhodey's lips fell to his neck, sucking on the pale skin and Tony whimpered, tilting his head to give him more room to suck and lick, his teeth nipping lightly right below Tony's ear and pulling a moan from his lips. Tony's hands clutched at his shirt and he ducked his head into Rhodey's neck, nuzzling against him sweetly and Rhodey groaned, tugging him closer, wanting to have Tony pressed up against him, wanting to feel all of Tony.

"Rhodey," Tony whimpered. "Need you."

"Shh, I've got you, baby. Why don't we head off to bed? I think the party's dying out anyways."

That was a blatant lie. People were still partying hard and probably would keep going until the day broke and people had to start worrying about the homework they would need to rush to finish, and the jobs they needed to get to so they could afford to continue being a university student. Rhodey was mostly saying it for Tony's sake, to appease his boyfriend, because Tony hated to leave the party.

Partying to Tony was a way of life, the best way to live life really, and Rhodey would do whatever he could to keep Tony safe while still letting him have all the fun he desired. Realistically, Rhodey wasn't great at telling Tony no. Especially when all Tony had to do was pout and Rhodey couldn't help but give him what he wanted.

Tony accepted the lie eagerly though, resting his head on Rhodey's shoulder when he was lifted into his arms. Rhodey kept one hand securely on Tony's thigh, even though Tony was clinging to him and definitely not going anywhere. He snatched up the pack of saltines in his other hand. Tony would probably want to eat more after they fucked.

Tony barely remembers the walk back to their dorm. He has a vague recollection of whining about the cold breeze brushing against his skin and Rhodey cooing at him like he was adorable or something. Tony was not adorable. He refused to accept that assessment. He was hot as hell and totally fuckable, but he was not cute or adorable or, God forbid, sweet. It didn't matter how many times Rhodey said otherwise, it just wasn't true. Tony refused to believe it.

Tony was pulled out of his thoughts by Rhodey laying him down on his bed. They used to be roommates, that's actually how they met in their freshman year at MIT, but now they had separate dorms. Tony's roommate Sam was probably still out partying with his own boyfriend, but Tony wouldn't be surprised if they showed up at some point. Not that Tony was concerned about them walking in on him and Rhodey. Tony was anything but prude.

He knew he looked great and he had exactly zero shame. Which is why he had been so willing to streak across the campus in broad daylight when Natasha dared him to. He hadn’t even been drunk at the time and he’d made a lot of new friends that day. There was no better ice breaker than hey, I’ve seen your ass before. Rhodey found the whole incident far less funny than Tony had, mostly because the dean threatened to expel him for it.

"What are you thinking about, pretty boy?" Rhodey murmured, brushing his fingers through Tony’s hair and pressing a kiss to his cheek.

Tony blinked, focusing on Rhodey and glancing around the room like he was only just acknowledging where they were. Rhodey was hovering over him and Tony felt safe under him. Rhodey was a solid presence in his life, always there, his love never wavering, a consistent source of adoration and on top of that he knew how to get Tony all soft under him. Rhodey damn near worshipped Tony's body and Tony never had to worry about being left unsatisfied.

Tony had a lot of sex in high school, but what he had with Rhodey was so much more than just sex. The sex was amazing, sure, but Tony was convinced that it was so much better because they really loved each other. That and the fact that they both had experience and knew what not to do after all their shitty hook ups and short lived relationships in high school. There was also the aftercare that had never really existed in high school for Tony. Rhodey always cuddled Tony up close and brushed his fingers through his sweaty hair, telling him how perfect and pretty he was. Tony loved that part almost more than he loved the actual sex itself.

The foreplay leading up to sex, the during, the after, it was all perfect with Rhodey. He was the perfect combination of protective and in control while still being caring and more than willing to spoil Tony. It worked out well for both of them, because Tony was a bit of a pillow princess and Rhodey was happy to do all the work for him.

Then there was their day-to-day relationship. The easy teasing, the shameless flirting, the banter and inside jokes that no one else understood. The way Tony's eyes sparkled when Rhodey walked into the room and Rhodey smiled softly the moment he saw Tony. The way Tony didn't think about anything before he did it and it only works because Rhodey overthinks everything. Tony was a wild child, bold and spontaneous and way too reckless for anyone's good. Rhodey leveled him out by being serious when the situation called for it, giving Tony his way whenever he could, and when he couldn't he would pull him close and kiss his pouty lips in apology.

They really were two parts of a whole and if Tony believed in soulmates he would believe they were meant to be together. Rhodey definitely believed in soulmates and he was convinced that his whole life had led up to that moment when his eyes locked with Tony's from across the room and his body lit up like fireworks. He knew from that moment on that nothing before that had really mattered except as a stepping stone that would take him to that moment with Tony. Tony thought that was ridiculous. He may be spoiled, but Tony was brilliant and logical, unless it came to dares and drinking, and he insisted that there was no solid proof that souls even existed, let alone that they could find deep and meaningful connections in other souls.

Tony may not believe in soulmates, but he did know that he loved Rhodey more than he would ever love anyone else and as far as he was concerned that's all that mattered.

"I love you, honeybear."

Rhodey looked amused but fond as he kissed Tony, soft and sweet.

"That's what you're thinking about? Loving me?"

Tony nodded, whimpering.

"Thinking about you, Rhodey. Always thinking about you," Tony breathed out softly, the words barely more than a whisper, a gentle caress against Rhodey’s ear that made his body light up all warm and fuzzy like he was warming himself in front of the hearth.

Rhodey's eyes were sparkling and he looked a little in awe like Tony had just gifted him the moon and the stars.

"Fuck, you're just the sweetest little thing, baby," Rhodey groaned, trailing kisses down Tony's jaw and neck.

"Not sweet, just horny," Tony corrected.

Even to his alcohol addled brain Tony knew that his statement fell flat. All the evidence pointed to him being sweet on Rhodey and though he would never deny loving Rhodey, he was not going to admit to being sweet. Rhodey snorted, letting the knee in between Tony's legs press against the hard line in Tony's skin tight pants.

"Yeah, I can tell, baby. You're so hard for me." Rhodey's hand groped at Tony through his pants, making him grunt and his hips jerk up into his touch. "Jesus, you're wet too, baby."

Tony whined, shutting his eyes tight as his cheeks lit up in embarrassment. There was definitely a sizable wet patch growing on the front of his pants and the fabric felt uncomfortable against Tony’s skin, but he was too drunk to really care about that.

"Rhodey!" Tony squeaked.

"Shh, it's okay, baby. You know I like it when you make a mess for me."

Tony made a sound somewhere between a sob and a moan and Rhodey just chuckled, shifting so he was in between Tony’s legs and settled back on his knees so he could undo Tony's pants.

"I got you, angel. You just lay there and look pretty for me. I'll take good care of you."

Tony bit his lip, his eyes hooded as he peered down at Rhodey, not even attempting to help him as Rhodey tugged his pants down. Rhodey cursed when he realized that Tony was going commando. Really he should have known. When Tony was wearing pants that tight he didn't like to wear underwear.

Rhodey didn't wear pants that tight, because he refused to have his junk pressed up against metal. Tony said it was worth it because they made his ass look so fucking good, but he had come to Rhodey crying on more than one occasion after catching skin while zipping up his pants. Rhodey was always quick to tug him into his arms and soothe him, but the moment that Tony had recovered from the traumatic experience Rhodey was teasing him about it. It never seemed to deter Tony from wiggling his way into another pair the next night they went out though.

As much as Rhodey loved the way that Tony looked in his skinny jeans, they sure were a pain to get off of him, especially since Tony was basically deadweight under him. Tony was just about as spoiled as it got, though to be fair Rhodey played into it by never demanding that he do anything on his own. Sometimes Tony liked to be independent and if he decided he was going to do something by himself then he was stubborn about it. On the other hand, Tony was equally as committed when he decided to not do something.

Tony's hand was above his head, brushing idly over the wooden headboard, only half paying attention to Rhodey undressing him. It wasn't until his pants had been thrown on the ground and Rhodey started to kiss his way up his leg, his hand wrapped around Tony's ankle, that Tony's focus snapped back to him. He squirmed as Rhodey got closer and closer to his weeping dick and when Rhodey finally wrapped his lips around it, Tony cried out.

Rhodey let Tony's leg fall back to the bed as he sucked softly at Tony's tip, lapping up precum, before pulling away and nuzzling at his balls. Tony's toes were curling and uncurling, his hands clawing at the sheets, and small moans and whimpers were falling off his lips. Rhodey was thorough in his exploration of Tony's body, sucking his balls into his mouth and worshipping them properly before kissing and licking at Tony's smooth thighs, sucking hickeys into the unblemished skin.

Rhodey loved how easily he could mark up Tony. He also loved that by the time the next weekend rolled around the bruises would be gone and Tony's skin would be a blank canvas, just waiting for Rhodey to turn it into a work of art. Everything about Tony really was a work of art all on its own, from his round ass that was perfect for grabbing at and his tight little hole, so pink and pretty, just begging for attention.

He was short, damn near pocket-size, his body was slim and he had zero muscle mass on him, but his skin was pale enough to glow in the sunlight and Rhodey thought it was just about the prettiest thing ever when he saw his hickeys adorning his otherwise flawless skin. Tony's hands were soft, just the slightest of calluses on them from tinkering in the lab, and Rhodey loved to feel them roaming all over his much larger body. Rhodey was strong, his arms muscular, and his abs hard, but Tony still liked to use him as a pillow, so Rhodey had no complaints about it.

Tony's eyes were just about the prettiest eyes ever, dark and never ending. Rhodey could stare into them all day and never tire of staring into their depths. Tony's hair wasn't exactly long, but it wasn't short either, and Rhodey loved the way it stuck to his forehead after sex, all slick from sweat. It should have been gross, but nothing about Tony was gross. Rhodey could spend all day brushing his fingers through Tony's hair, sweaty or not. Rhodey didn't really care one way or another.

He loved the curve of Tony's nose, the dimples in his cheeks when he grinned, the way he arched his back so pretty and how his hands and feet were so tiny compared to Rhodey's own. Rhodey loved Tony's cock too, large enough to not be tiny, but still slight. Rhodey's hands were large enough that it sure looked tiny when Rhodey wrapped a hand around it.

Bottom line was that Rhodey was head over heels madly in love with Tony Stark. Had been since the moment they met and he doubted that would ever change. Tony could be stubborn to the point of being damn near infuriating. He was a mess and had zero direction in life beyond the party he had been invited to next weekend. He was in his third year of college, but still hadn’t settled on a degree yet. Which mostly exasperated Rhodey, because Tony was brilliant enough to pass any class and clearly obsessed with engineering and mechanics and everything maths or science related, but he couldn't make his mind up for the life of him. Despite all of that Rhodey absolutely adored him to the point where it was a little ridiculous just how in love with this boy he was.

Rhodey took Tony back into his mouth and reveled in the way Tony damn near screamed, his back arching off the mattress and his hands trying to find purchase on Rhodey's head. Rhodey's hair was a buzz cut so Tony couldn't exactly hold onto it, but that didn't stop him from trying. Rhodey just grunted when Tony clawed at his scalp and grabbed Tony's wrists, pinning them above his head.

Tony pouted, because not only was he unable to touch Rhodey now, but Rhodey had pulled off of him again. Tony peered up at Rhodey, his lips all pouty and his eyes all round and pretty just the way Rhodey loved.

"Rhodey!" Tony whined.

"You're fine, Tony. You just gotta be a good boy for me. You can do that can't you?"

Tony huffed in annoyance, but pursed his lips for a kiss. Rhodey chuckled and gave him what he wanted, because he really hated telling Tony no. Tony smiled into the kiss, forgetting all about being annoyed. Rhodey had a way of distracting Tony to the point that he was truly astonished that he could ever think about anything other than Rhodey and his touch and the way his smile was so fond and his words so affectionate.

"Keep your hands up here, okay, angel?"

Tony hummed, nodding his head, and Rhodey squeezed his wrists lightly before letting go and sliding back down to suck him off. Tony dropped his hands a couple of times, but Rhodey had the patience of a saint and each time he would just pull off and grab Tony's hands, putting them back where he wanted them before continuing.

It really didn't take all that long before Tony was screaming through his release. Rhodey didn't pull off that time when Tony's hands returned to his head. He did grab his wrists in one hand, holding them securely to Tony's chest instead, but he didn't stop swallowing down Tony's load and his free hand slipped down, his finger swiping through the saliva that was making Tony's balls glisten, before pressing into him and milking his prostate.

Tony's thighs clenched around Rhodey's head as he finished, the last bit of cum dribbling out of his slit. Rhodey eagerly licked at it and Tony whined, his legs falling open. His muscles went slack and his limbs felt like jello, or noodles, or any other food related metaphor for feeling boneless. Rhodey showed him some mercy when Tony jerked away from his tongue, feeling way too sensitive to be played with. Even Rhodey’s breath, all warm and tingly, was a lot when it brushed over Tony’s dick. Tony was relieved when Rhodey turned his attention elsewhere, pressing kisses to his thigh and sucking more hickeys into the slightly less sensitive skin.

"Fuck, you're so pretty like this, baby. So pretty all laid out for me. So soft and sweet for me."

Tony would have protested against being called soft and sweet, except he felt like he was floating and couldn't really find it in himself to care. If anything it just made him feel kinda fuzzy and warm inside. So Tony just hummed in agreement and reached out for Rhodey. Rhodey cooed at him and crawled back up to kiss Tony. It wasn't exactly the most coordinated kiss, because Tony's tongue felt heavy in his mouth and he felt like he was moving in slow motion, but Rhodey thought he was so fucking cute all fucked out like this.

Rhodey gave Tony a few minutes to just enjoy the after effects of his orgasm, murmuring soft words in his ear and shifting until Tony was cuddled up into his side. His fingers brushed through Tony's hair while Tony drew patterns on his skin. His head was resting on Rhodey's chest and his leg was thrown over his hips. Tony felt like he was in heaven.

"You okay, pretty boy?" Rhodey asked softly.

"S'good, Rhodey. Feel good."

"Yeah? You ready for more?"

Tony whimpered, pressing his face into Rhodey's chest and clutching at his shirt. Rhodey was still fully clothed and Tony was still wearing a shirt, but Tony didn't care. The fabric didn't feel like it was hindering them. He still felt just as close to Rhodey, like they couldn't possibly get any closer than they were now. He knew logically that what he was feeling wasn't just about physically being close to Rhodey, but about feeling emotionally connected to him. Rhodey would say it was a soul connection and in moments like this Tony was almost inclined to agree with him.

"No, just want you to hold me," Tony mumbled.

Rhodey smiled, his eyes adoring as he watched Tony rub his face against his shirt before huffing and shifting until he could bury his nose in Rhodey's neck and sniff at his skin. Rhodey chuckled affectionately, gripping lightly at the hair on the nape of his neck.

"Like the way you smell."

"Yeah? What do I smell like? Sweat?"

Tony shook his head slightly.

"Just smells good."

"Well, I love how sweet you get after you cum. You're so beautiful, baby."

Tony just hummed in response and Rhodey held him close until Tony lifted his head and looked around the room.

"What are you looking for, Tones?"

"Crackers?"

Rhodey glanced over at the packet on the side table, but didn't hand them to Tony, instead he untangled their limbs, shifting Tony off of him despite Tony’s protesting whines and obvious distaste for the new seating arrangement. Rhodey was now sitting on the edge of the bed and Tony gave him the most offended look.

"C'mere, baby. Sit with me and you can have some crackers."

Tony pouted and made grabby hands at Rhodey.

"Want my Rhodey!" Tony whined.

"Aw, I know you do, angel. Come sit with me," Rhodey coaxed.

Tony just whined and Rhodey raised an unimpressed brow at him.

"If you want something you need to be a big boy and ask for it, Tony."

Tony huffed in annoyance, pushing up until he was sitting up and glared at Rhodey like he had done something especially cruel. Tony hated being told off and he hated not being given what he wanted, especially when what he wanted was Rhodey.

"Help me," Tony demanded.

Rhodey just clicked his tongue and Tony whined again, a high pitched needy sound that perfectly conveyed just how little he wanted to do anything on his own right now.

"Please, Rhodey." Tony made grabby hands at him again and pouted, batting his eyes in the way that he knew was irresistible for Rhodey to deny him what he wanted.

"Aw, do you want my help, baby? Here, let me help you," Rhodey cooed at him, standing up and scooping Tony up off the bed before settling back on the edge.

Tony curled up in his lap happily and opened his mouth expectantly, letting Rhodey feed him crackers until the packet was almost empty. Rhodey kissed away the crumbs at the corners of his lips before laying Tony back down and pressing his fingers into Tony's mouth. Tony sucked on them obediently, eager to have Rhodey open him up. Tony, despite what the media might say, really didn’t just have sex all the time. When you lived in the spotlight the way Tony did anytime you were seen with a woman you ended up on the headlines, people gossiping about your latest fling like they actually knew something.

In reality, Tony hadn’t slept with anyone but Rhodey since they started dating in freshman year and they didn’t even fuck every night. While Tony was the life of the party and definitely a social bug, Rhodey was much more studious. He accompanied Tony to parties on the weekends when Tony really let go and partied the hardest and it usually ended in sex. To Tony there wasn’t that big of a difference between a Monday morning and a Saturday night, except that Rhodey had classes on Monday mornings so there was no sex to be had. Still Rhodey convinced him to keep his weekday partying to a minimum.

Tony complained about it frequently, because it wasn’t like he was failing any of his classes. They all knew Tony could show up hungover to every single one of his classes and still be the top student. Teachers loved him, his peers were eager to be put in a group with him, and only half of that was due to Tony’s charm and never ending string of jokes and sarcasm. Tony was brilliant through and through and he could spend an hour on a paper and score better than the kid sitting next to him who fretted over it for an entire week.

As much as Tony whined and pouted he loved knowing that Rhodey cared about him. He wanted Tony to have fun and be happy, but he also wanted Tony to be healthy and drinking through a bottle of liquor every night just wasn’t healthy by any standards. Tony was also pretty reckless in general, but add alcohol on top of that and Tony, even as smart as he was, was more than willing to do the stupidest shit like make photocopies of his ass with Clint and hang them up around the campus or jump off a two story balcony, because Bucky swore he could catch him. Tony had luckily not got too injured since the bushes cushioned his fall, but he had definitely bruised more than just his ego.

So Tony could see some validity in Rhodey’s concern about him having a little too much fun sometimes, and quite frankly he loved that Rhodey cared about his well-being. No one else really cared about Tony that way. Sure his friends cared about him, but they also were equally as prone to making dumbass decisions with him that ended in Tony promising to never do it again while Rhodey fretted over him and scolded him. It was a little annoying sometimes, but also endearing and Tony wouldn’t change it for the world.

Rhodey pulled his fingers out of Tony’s mouth and circled them lightly around his rim, pressing ever so slightly.

“Rhodey?” Tony murmured, mouthing at his jaw.

“What is it, baby?”

“Want you.”

“You have me, Tones.”

Tony smiled, a light blush on his cheeks at the promise behind those words. He laid there, not entirely still because he couldn’t help but squirm around a bit while Rhodey worked him open, but Tony let Rhodey do all of the work. He knew that Rhodey would take good care of him, he always did. So Tony just let Rhodey have his way, only begging for more a couple of times when Rhodey was taking way too long. Mostly he let Rhodey have his fun though, knowing that Rhodey loved to take things slow and torment Tony by teasing him. As much as Tony whined and begged, he really did love it and Rhodey was very aware of this.

When Rhodey did finally pull his fingers out and replaced them with his cock, flipping Tony over and lifting his hips to slip inside of his thoroughly loosened hole, Tony’s mouth fell open in a silent cry and his hands clutched at the sheets. Rhodey started out slow, easing himself in and out until Tony was whining and desperate for more. Rhodey didn’t speed up much, but he made his thrusts harder, mouthing at Tony’s back and shoulder as he took him apart little by little. Tony was an absolute mess under him, moaning into the pillow and unsure of whether he wanted to press back into Rhodey and demand that he pound him into the mattress like he did last weekend, or just go limp and let Rhodey have his way with him.

Tony settled on a combination of the two, his muscles feeling way too noodly and his head feeling too dizzy for him to really want to put effort into holding himself up. So he let Rhodey hold his hips up, otherwise melting into the bed, more than happy to just let Rhodey run the show. He did beg for more though and whine when Rhodey just chuckled in his ear and told him to be a good boy and take what he was given. By the time Rhodey finished inside of him Tony was glistening with sweat and barely able to open his eyes. He did little more than whimper when he felt Rhodey’s hips still, his hands gripping at Tony’s hips hard enough to bruise, and Tony moaned at the feeling of his cum painting his walls and making him feel all hot inside.

It was almost too much and Tony was just glad that Rhodey didn’t try to get Tony off again, because he was not ready for another orgasm. His body already felt lit up and hot to the point of feverish and he was pretty sure that if he hadn’t eaten those crackers that he would have thrown up by now. Rhodey seemed to understand that Tony had reached his limit though and didn’t attempt to push him any further. Instead he just flopped down next to Tony and pulled him into his arms, cradling his head to his chest. Rhodey tried to cover them up, knowing that Tony’s roommate would probably show up soon, but he gave up on that attempt when Tony complained it was too hot and just shoved the sheets back off.

That’s how Sam found them, showing up shortly after that. Tony didn’t even lift his head in acknowledgement when the door opened. He knew it was Sam, because he was the only other person with a key, so he wasn’t exactly concerned about it. Besides, Tony was far too comfortable all cuddled up to Rhodey and his head had finally stopped spinning, so he didn’t want to risk lifting it back up quite yet.

Bucky tugged Sam into the room, giggling and flirting, seemingly unaware of Rhodey and Tony. Sam noticed them and definitely noticed that they were naked, but he really didn't care. This was definitely not the first time he had walked in on Tony in a compromising position. Not to mention that Tony had no shame where his body was concerned and tended to lounge around in nothing but a band tee, seeming totally unperturbed when it rode up to reveal a whole lot more than just smooth thighs. Sam was much more focused on his boyfriend who was ready for his own post party fun.

Tony decided it was worth trying to move since Bucky was there. Bucky and Tony hadn’t gotten along all that well when they first met. There was a very mild jello incident where they both insisted that the other had maliciously taken the last jello cup from the cafeteria that led to a not so mild rivalry. It wasn’t until a drunken night of partying a few months into freshman year led to them making out and then bonding over equally awful hangovers that they set aside their differences. They’d been thick as thieves ever since and they’re make out session morphed into a lasting friendship.

"Bucky! Sammy!" Tony tried to squirm his way out of Rhodey's arms. "Want my friends, Rhodey!"

Rhodey just chuckled at his whining and nuzzled against his neck like Tony was the most precious thing in the world.

"No, baby, you're not going anywhere while my cum is still leaking out of you."

"Rhodey!" Tony whined, reaching his hand out for Bucky who looked over at him and blinked in surprise, like he honestly hadn't noticed he was there until that moment.

"Bucky's busy, Tony. You can cuddle with him when we're done."

Tony pouted at Sam's words, but Bucky's eyes fell shut and his back arched beautifully off the bed when Sam pressed a spit slicked finger inside of him. Tony didn't get to focus on them for long, even though he definitely had no qualms with watching them together. Rhodey slipped down and settled back between his legs, pulling Tony's legs up over his shoulders and lifting his hips up.

Tony squealed in surprise when Rhodey licked at him, his head straining to watch as he sucked and slurped the cum out of him. His squeal turned into a moan and his head fell back onto the bed. Just like that Tony lost himself in pleasure again and when it was done and Rhodey had him all curled up in his arms once more, Tony was way too out of it to care about cuddling with Bucky. He was practically asleep and more than happy to be in Rhodey's arms.

Bucky was in a similar state when Sam finished fucking him and he mumbled something about cuddles being able to wait until the morning, making a vague gesture towards Tony's bed. Sam and Rhodey just chuckled and reached over to switch off the lamps on the side tables. In the morning Tony and Bucky got to bond over their shitty hangovers again, becoming reacquainted with the toilet bowl, before curling up in Sam’s bed while their boyfriends bonded over just how adorable they were and an equally strong desire to fetch them breakfast and water and just in general coo and fret over them.

Can also read on AO3

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itsmoonpeaches · 3 years

Note

You asked for ficlet prompts, so may I humbly offer: The first (and only) time Bumi was asked to babysit his siblings while Aang and Katara were out, and what went wrong.

When his parents told Bumi and his siblings that they would be out for the evening for some political dinner with important dignitaries from the Earth Kingdom, it started out as an exciting affair.

“You’re going to eat fancy food with stuffy people!” Bumi had exclaimed, bouncing on his toes in the hallway that led to the family section of the Air Temple. “Why can’t we come?”

Kya danced a little jig next to him, grinning widely. “Yeah, mommy, daddy! I want fancy food too!”

At twelve, Bumi was the oldest and therefore the sibling that nine-year-old Kya copied an inordinate amount. Not to mention—bless his tiny, unknowing soul—five-year-old Tenzin was a constant in both their shadows. The little guy could hardly tell what was up from down, and Bumi caught him running into the doors because he was too short to reach the knobs a few times. He lamented for his poor baby brother.

His dad leaned forward, laughing that stupid laugh of his. In Bumi’s head he called it, “the dad-is-trying-to-hide-something” laugh. Aang patted his fluffy hair, trying and failing to make the messy locks flatten. “Because you don’t want to be around crazy boring adults, do you?” he asked in a teasing tone.

Bumi shook his head, somehow mortified at the thought. “But you’re not boring!” he proclaimed. He pointed at his mom. “Mom is!”

Aang had laughed so hard that tears started to form at the corners of his eyes. Katara was nowhere near as amused. She had frowned and said, “Well, if you don’t want to be hanging around your boring mom then there should be no excuse for you not to stay here and behave! The other acolytes are here and if you need anything, they can help you. Your job is to look after your brother and sister and we are trusting you to be good, Bumi.” She glared at him, lips thinning.

Bumi shuddered, seeing the ice blue of her eyes. Okay, so no saying mom is boring ever again, he thought.

Aang raised an eyebrow, appraising Katara with a smile. “I think he’ll do a good job, don’t you?”

Katara huffed, and she was only appeased when his dad had pecked her on the cheek and told he that they would have an enjoyable, calm night. Bumi wanted to throw up.

“Oogies!” Kya pouted, and Bumi was inclined to agree. Little Tenzin hid behind Bumi’s leg and clung onto the fabric of his pants.

Katara sighed, hooking her arm into the crook of Aang’s elbow. “Well, what could go wrong?” she asked, almost to herself. “Let’s go, sweetie. Unfortunately, Sokka said he’s only attending because they’re serving too many finger foods, and he said he’s arriving early...you know what that means.”

“There won’t be any food left when we get there?” finished Aang.

“Don’t worry,” said Katara. “I told Toph to bar him from the tables if he gets past ten servings.”

“Oh, wonderful.”

His parents stepped out the doors together, formal robes swirling around them, and then the children were alone. It was at that moment that Bumi realized he had all the power in the house.

He placed his hands on his hips, straightening his lanky body into to something resembling a commanding officer. He tried to puff out his chest like he saw those Fire Nation military men do. He even added in a salute.

“Alright, cadets,” he shouted, voice echoing in the hall, “it’s time for dinner!”

Luckily, his parents had prepared a spread for them and even set the table so that the children would not have to. All the steamed vegetables were covered, the bowls of jasmine rice were out, the noodles were ready and plated, and there were pre-set cups of lychee juice next to each setting. Bumi was pleased to note that it looked like his dad his sliced and skinned some dragon fruit for dessert.

It started out fine, and Bumi was determined to keep it that way. He was planning on not making a mess because an angry mom scared the living spirits out of him and he did not need a repeat of that time he had decided that the decorative fountain in the front courtyard could double as a bath.

There were a few potential hiccups. Namely, Kya kept spilling wild mushroom soup all over her front, but Bumi remedied that by stuffing a napkin into the collar of her dress. The rest could come out in the wash later. At least, he hoped. The brown stain looked a little dubious.

Then, Tenzin started squirming in his seat for no reason. He kept scrunching up his nose, looking like a piglet. He rubbed at his nostrils, and Bumi was inclined to laugh at him.

“Whatcha doing there, squirt?” he asked, walking over to his brother’s side. He offered up a spoonful of stew, dangling it in front of his face. “Not liking the cooking? I’ll have you know that this isn’t sea prunes, so there’s no way you don’t like this!”

Tenzin struggled to reply, and Bumi thought he might in a minute, until the biggest disaster happened.

He sneezed.

Oh, but it was not just a sneeze. Why? Because nothing in this family could be normal, and really, Bumi should have known that something like this would happen when his parents were not around. Why not? The universe must have hated him that night.

The stew on the spoon flew onto the opposite wall, but it was not just the stew there that blasted to the other end, but the stew in front of Tenzin, the pot of stew that held the leftovers, every single plate on the table, all the cutlery and chopsticks, even the dragon fruit! In fact, the entire dining table was overturned.

To make matters worse, Tenzin sneezed again, and again. He rammed himself into the archway behind him, flipping his seat. Kya did not help at all. She threw the food that was already on the floor onto the other walls because she thought Tenzin was trying to have a food fight. When Tenzin sneezed a final time, Bumi was covered in squash and rice, and the glazed pottery that had been a gift from Aunt Suki had shattered into about a million pieces.

He did not have time to be amazed by the feat.

Tenzin looked absolutely miserable and started blubbering like a newborn, to which Bumi scrambled to comfort him. “Please, please stop crying! Here, have a dragon fruit!” he said frantically, waving a piece of it in the air. “C’mon!”

He ignored Kya who decided that waterbending the soup in wiggling circles above them was a good idea. He really should not have ignored Kya. It splashed on the three of them a moment later.

“Stop that! Mom is going to kill me!” Bumi shouted, still offering a piece of fruit to Tenzin whose face was covered in snot.

Bumi began to pace around the room, picking up pieces and chasing after Kya. Tenzin’s cries seemed to get louder.

It was at that moment that the doors swung open. His parents stood in the entrance, joking amongst themselves. His dad beamed and started talking to them. “Sorry we decided to come home early! It turns out that Councilman Riku was allergic to shrimp and that caused an international incident so—”

He cut himself off as soon as he took in the sight before him. A stunned silence formed between them. Aang blinked, opening and closing his mouth.

“So, um, I think Tenzin is an airbender,” said Bumi. He stood up as quickly as possible, hoping to brush off all the particles from his shirt. He knew he did not get them all. His smile was sheepish.

Katara started yelling. Bumi never was allowed to babysit again.

#ask #justoceanmyth #itsmoonpeaches ficlet #i am SO SORRY this took so long to answer!#I promise i was working on it the whole time but then life happened #this was fun to write though!#avatar #atla #kataang #kataang tag #kataang family #bumi #kya #tenzin #aang #katara #atla fanfic #kataangtag

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echo-bleu · 3 years

Note

Ooohh can I ask for something soft, intimate, and hurt/comfort-y featuring both 10 & 24 (together) 😚

Thank you for this prompt Anon, I really loved writing it! I love writing non-sexual intimacy. This ended up being a “Alec has an autistic shutdown” sort of fic so, I hope you like it. (1.6k)

Thank you so much to @eternallysilvermagnusandalec for betaing. The title is from Radical Face's The Mute which is a beautiful song Silver just recced me.

[CW: autistic shutdown, light self-harming stims]

Read on AO3.

Alec opens his mouth, trying to raise his voice enough to go over the racket of everyone in the room yelling at the same time, but he fails to utter a single word. He wants to clasp his hand over his ears and curl up into a ball – or better, run away to a quiet corner. The Institute’s chapel sounds like heaven right now. But he’s in the middle of a Cabinet meeting and he simply can’t afford it.

Instead, he stands up brutally, his chair screeching on the stone floor. The noise dies down immediately. He feels their stares on him, heavy and expectant. He tries to speak again, but his throat feels constricted, tears rising to his eyes. He blinks them away before they can show on the outside and clasps his hands behind his back tightly, digging his nails into his palm.

He knows how he must look, towering over them mutely, his gaze firmly on the table. He can’t think straight enough to change it. His head is ringing and he can’t make his words work. He hates this, but he can’t even move to flee.

“Let’s adjourn this meeting,” Magnus says, his voice low but authoritative. He makes a simple gesture, and everyone else nods. They file out quickly, with no more than a glance at Alec, who doesn’t move. They understand.

Somehow, they understand.

It should be the height of irony that Alec feels safer here, surrounded by Downworlders – Maia and Bat, Raphael and Simon, Magnus and Catarina, the entirety of the current Cabinet excluding Izzy who is in Idris on a mission – than he could ever feel in a meeting with the Clave. He dreads finding himself like this in front of the Consul or the new Inquisitor one day, unable to speak or make his body obey his commands. He doubts they would look kindly on him.

Magnus comes closer, staying carefully within Alec’s field of vision. He reaches out with one hand, but doesn’t touch Alec.

“It’s just us,” he says. “Do you want to stay here or go home?”

Alec rolls back on his heels. He wants to...he doesn’t know. He can barely keep his thought process focused for long enough to figure out the implications of either options, and more importantly, he can’t decide. Choosing is beyond him. He shakes his head with something that sounds too much like a whimper to his ears.

“Do you want me to decide?” Magnus asks.

Alec nods, his hands still clenched behind his back. He knows – they’ve discussed this before – that Magnus is doing his best to help while still giving him the ability to decide for himself, and he’s usually thankful for that, but right now it’s just frustrating. He’s stuck, and he doesn’t want to move, to change, but it’s the only way it’s going to get better.

Magnus has opened a portal in the few seconds it takes Alec to parse this. “Go on through, Alexander,” he says, and it’s what gets Alec in motion. He finally manages to unclench his hands as he steps through, gritting his teeth against the sensation of being sucked through – he hates it, but it’s over very fast, and a sense of calmness falls over him as soon as he’s back in the loft.

He finds himself facing the bay windows, but the curtains are drawn, so the light only hurts his eyes a little. The quiet makes him realize how taxing the constant buzz of noise is at the Institute, even when he’s not in the middle of a screaming match between disagreeing Downworlders.

Magnus deftly avoids running into him when he comes behind him, even though Alec has stopped right out of the portal without thinking. “Home sweet home,” he murmurs. “Can I touch you?”

Alec shakes his head immediately, hoping that Magnus won’t take it personally. His own clothes itch and burn his skin right now, distorting his perception of his own body.

“Alright,” Magnus says without changing his tone. “We can get you to the bedroom to rest for a bit. Does that sound good?”

Alec nods, more to Magnus’ tone than the content of his question. He trusts Magnus. He trusts Magnus more than he trusts himself, especially right now.

“Come with me, Alexander,” Magnus coaxes. “Bedroom.”

Alec struggles to make his brain process it, then to get his body moving past the petrifying exhaustion. He rocks on his heels a few times, his hands hitting each other almost beyond his will, knuckles against palm, hard. The pain sends a small jolt through his body.

Magnus flinches a little, but doesn’t try to stop him. “Come with me,” he repeats softly.

Alec walks behind him, stiffly, feeling like his body doesn’t really belong to him, like he doesn’t know how to move his lanky legs fluidly. He hits his shoulder on the doorframe, hard enough for the pain to register in some part of his mind. Magnus makes an aborted motion to reach out, but Alec flinches back against his will.

“Here,” Magnus murmurs. “You need to take off your shoes. Unless you’re ready to let me do it.”

Alec closes his eyes tightly, until he sees stars, and makes a hand motion he hopes Magnus will understand.

“By magic? I can do that. Your clothes too? You’ll be more comfortable in sweats.”

Alec nods, still standing too straight by the bed. Magnus makes a deliberately wide gesture with his hand, and both of their outfits change at the same time, Magnus into one of his workout outfits and Alec into the sweats he usually sleeps in. They’re both barefoot, and Alec flexes his toes, relishing and mourning the loss of his shoes at the same time.

Magnus lifts the covers on Alec’s side of the bed as Alec tries not to squirm inside the new clothes. The sweats are worn and soft, but the change is jarring all the same. He shudders and hits his fists together a few times to get rid of the crawling feeling.

“You can lie down,” Magnus says, taking a step back.

As soon as Alec’s knees hit the bed, he folds in on himself, melting into the mattress like a puppet whose strings have been removed. Magnus pulls the covers back on his body, deftly avoiding touching him, and adds Alec’s weighted blanket on top. Alec sighs in contentment as the weight settles over him, turning him into a puddle. His world shrinks until it’s bearable again, his skin no longer two sizes too small for his body.

Magnus gets under the covers on his side, sometime in the seconds – minutes? – it takes Alec to settle down. Alec doesn’t bother trying to track his movement, trusting him not to do anything painful. “Better?” Magnus murmurs, lower than he usually would, his hands inches from Alec’s face but not touching.

They’re both lying on their sides, facing each other, Alec curled up in a ball and Magnus stretched out. Alec nods and even manages a hum.

“Come here,” Magnus murmurs, scouting a little closer. “You’re trembling.”

Alec’s eyes sluggishly find his hands and he realizes that Magnus is right. He’s shaking. He’s cold – no, not cold exactly, but the tension seeping out of his body leaves him off-balance, unable to self-regulate. His teeth are shattering.

“Do you think you can handle me if I squeeze hard?” Magnus asks.

Alec thinks about it. It takes him too long, he knows that, but Magnus is patient. He waits without moving, expectant but not pressing.

Maybe, Alec tries to convey with a half-nod.

He braces himself. For a fraction of a second, as Magnus closes his hand around his, he feels like he might explode, but Magnus squeezes almost hard enough to hurt, and the pressure helps. Alec almost unconsciously pulls Magnus closer, wanting more of his warmth and his weight. “You want me to lie on you?” Magnus asks, not resisting.

Alec nods, since that’s what his body is clearly craving. They’ve done this before, and it’s a little hit-or-miss, but Alec has come to love it. Magnus is careful not to graze him as he climbs on top of him, deliberately digging his knees and elbows into Alec’s skin. It hurts, but in a way that appeases the urge to hit his hands or his head on something.

Alec does his best to avoid hurting Magnus himself by touching him, but his control is poor and Magnus gently replaces his hands a couple of times before they’re both comfortable. Alec melts under the pressure on his whole body, Magnus’ head tucked under his chin, his soft breathing giving him a rhythm to follow.

He should feel trapped, unable to move as he is, but he doesn’t. He feels...loved. Cared for. Magnus understands him without words. He’s the one person who doesn’t make him feel embarrassed when he shuts down like this, who just calmly and unquestioningly helps.

When he feels settled enough, Alec removes one hand from Magnus’ grasp and signs T-Y, as Magnus is not in a position to see the regular thank you sign. Magnus nods against his chest. “You’re welcome, Alexander,” he says quietly. “Want me to get off you?”

Alec shakes his head, his chin brushing against Magnus’ gelled hair. It tickles, and he lets out a small laugh, his free hand fluttering at his side.

“I’m staying right here, then,” Magnus says, a smile in his voice.

Alec closes his eyes, exhausted but feeling grounded. They both fall asleep within minutes, even though it’s the middle of the day.

#shadowhunters #malec #malec fic #alec lightwood #magnus bane #autistic alec lightwood #mine #echo's fanfiction #map out a world #Anonymous #asks

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lovehotelreservation · 3 years

Note

HELLO CHELL! It's my time as a Sylvain stan to make my summer comeback! (ㆁᴗㆁ✿) [왜 예쁜 날 두고 가시나 ? // Why are you leaving a beautiful woman like me behind? - SUNMI] Everyone in the idol community knew that you had a messy breakup with Sylvain (who cheated on you). And your amazing break up song was the comeback you needed. But now you have to dance the song with Sylvain on stage (think Taemin&Sunmi's dance) at an awards show! Things are SUPER tense in the practice rooms. Who knows what can happen?

BLESS U ETERNALLY FOR THIS GODLY PROMPT ANON I STAN U 4EVER AND LOOK FORWARD TO UR NEXT COMEBACK

HKFLAHFKA THIS ENDED UP SO HONKIN ANGSTILY HONRY 4GIVE ME

I HOPE U ENJOY!!!

It was going through the motions.

The twist of your hips, every facial expression to punctuate each melodious word that was meant to come out from your lips, your feet across the polished wooden floor based on muscle memory rather than the beat of the song.

So many months dedicated to perfecting and performing this exact choreography.

It was why you could run through the song’s dance with your eyes closed, as you were doing now.

However, given your upcoming appearance upon the bigger, grander stage of the esteemed Fódlan Awards show, a mere reiteration of your established for one of the biggest singles in your career thus far was not enough.

Not even an extended, remixed cut of your song was going to be enough to appease the audience.

As told by the higher executives at your record label.

You had to do something different.

Daring.

“We’re supposed to be in sync you know.”

Your eyes fluttered open.

And then, ever reluctantly, traveled up to a pair of twinkling brown irises, a cheeky grin, and a wild head of ginger red hair that never failed to seize attention.

Even given the circumstances, he still had it in him to sound so carefree.

Tall and gorgeous, broad shoulders that stretched out a short-sleeved white shirt that revealed toned arms and clung to a well-defined and chiseled torso, charming and captivating.

He was the idol that took the industry by storm with his talent and a subsequent controversy.

He was the man who once cradled your heart before allowing it to plummet to the ground.

He was Sylvain and he was to share the stage with you to perform the very song you penned in lieu of his unfaithfulness.

There was too much money behind his success. Your record label had to get him back in the good grace of the public, hence the ‘special’ arrangement for your performance, your feelings be damned.

And it was those forsaken feelings that made just simply looking at him too hard to bear.

Still, rather than humoring him, you only scoffed while continuing your routine: the both of you had to mirror one another’s movements, and you absolutely hated how his body continued to manage with remaining perfectly in sync with yours even if you attempted to slow or quicken each of your motions.

“If you’ve got time to talk while we’re supposed to be practicing, we can end this right here.”

His grin still remained in place, even as the shine in his eyes dwindled ever so slightly.

“I hear ya, I hear ya.”

The slowed music of the extended cut of your song’s chorus played, signaling for when it was time the two of you would point at one another before facing out to where the audience would be.

But rather than turn himself or allow you to do the same, he simply took a step forward, eliminating the space between you to grasp your wrist.

His lips were still quirked into a smile, but the words he then spoke were tinged with gruff melancholy. “You know how I am—I can’t ever appreciate a good thing even when it’s in front of me.”

Immediately, you tried to draw your hand back, but the hold that his hand--so much larger compared to yours--refused to offer any escape.

“Don’t you even start, you bastard--!” You lashed out, finding the sob that had been fighting to come loose from your lips beginning to viciously claw its way from the bottom of your throat. Not wanting to lose face in front of him, you were prepared to storm out from the practice room. Whether right over to your manager to demand once again to have a different dance partner, or outside to hail a taxi--anywhere was better than to share the same space as him.

He didn’t even flinch from what you said, the look in his eyes remorseful as it was determined.

“Call me whatever you like. Make more songs to let the whole world how I fucked up. I’ll take it—” One more step closer towards you was taken while the tone in his voice was resolute in its desperation. “--lose my whole career over it. If it means you’ll take me back, I’ll grovel right on stage when we perform.”

To cry from anger or to cry that there was a tug at your heart strings from his determination to patch things up.

Vehemently, you shook your head, again while attempting to break free from his grip.

“Embarrass me like that and I’ll never forgive you--!”

Your wrist was freed.

But your body was immediately seized into an embrace while his lips planted right onto yours.

The scent of his favorite cologne, the softness of his mouth, the gentle heat of his body.

How you’ve missed them so as you found yourself returning his kiss, the familiarity you tried so hard to escape from lulling you immediately back in.

Your mouths soon parted but Sylvain kept you near while he brought his hand to cradle your cheek, his voice soft in a murmur, “So is there a chance that there’s room for forgiveness?”

The word ‘forgiveness’ suddenly had your mind reeling back to the horrid morning of tabloid magazines with pictures of him spotted on a late night rendezvous with a model he did a recent photoshoot with, social media ablaze as the idol community bore witness to the drama unfolding, your phone bombarded with texts and calls from management, family and friends, and most of all, him.

A sentence tumbled out from your lips, one you’ve been meaning to tell him to his face for a long while.

“I hate you.”

Once more, he didn’t flinch. He just kept you near and within his reach as he spoke,

“Do you hate this then?”

Sylvain was kissing you again, longingly, urgently. You were squirming in his arms all the while melting in his embrace, all the while his hands began to roam around your body, seeking out the sensitive points on your figure that he devoted himself to memorizing during your relationship.

He was just too good.

And this only made things worse.

“Let me make it up to you, let me make it up to you...”

Those were the words he urged in a husky murmur as you found yourself carefully laid down on the floor with him hovering right on top of you. Clothes began to scatter across the floor of the practice room as he proceeded to devote nothing but reverence to your body by the earnest suckles of his mouth on your nipples to the fluid circling of his thumb over your clit. The playback of your track had since finished, with the sound of your moans mingling with his amidst the noise of skin meeting skin in brisk slaps.

Your bodies were pressed together, joined. He was sinking the thick girth of his cock in and out of you, at first slow and indulgent but only driven to pick up his tempo with the sound of your mewls while your legs hugged around his waist while your nails scratched along his ivory shoulders.

“That’s right. Scratch me up, call me a lowlife--get it out of your system. Just take me back is all that I’m begging here,” he hissed, shuddering as he planted his mouth right onto yours for another kiss, relieved by the lack of resistance from your end.

Together.

Together as you were entangled within one another.

Together as you both soon reached climax while desperately clinging onto each other’s bodies.

Together as the two of you laid on the floor, Sylvain holding you close and tight, his grip so firm as though any give would have you slip away from him once again. Tears slipped from your eyes, immediately wiped by his lips kissing them away as he murmured a litany of apologies.

For so long, you’ve done all you could to move on from the broken love that you both shared.

And here you were, going through the motions once again.

#sylvain jose gautier #fire emblem three houses #fe3h #reader insert #Hoechella #super freaknasty writing #Fic #Anonymous #management will return in a queue minutes

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the-hopeless-haze · 4 years

Text

Rebel Rebel (Part 1?)

Pairing: Janis Sarkisian/reader

A/N: okay this has been sitting in my drafts for months and I have no idea if I’m gonna continue this but fuck it???? Sorry for all the people who followed me for Barba lmao (I am continuing that don’t worry) but idk I just figured I may as well post this??? I have more of this written and I know how I wanted it to end but the middle is just not working and that’s why I never posted. But I just listened to Dead Girl Walking and I was reminded how gay I am for Barrett sooooo 😂 here you go? You’re welcome?? I haven’t edited this or looked at it since March so this may be a mess but... yeah

It was eighth grade, nearing the end of the year and you were anxious, unsure of why. Would your friends still be your friends next year? High school was going to be a lot different, you could just tell.

You saw your two best friends, Regina and Janis talking to each other down the hallway, where their lockers were, so you headed down there. Regina was probably inviting Janis to the end of year pool party she’d been planning. It was going to be so great to at least be with all your friends one last time, even if high school might take them away.

As you got within earshot, though, you realized Regina was being anything but nice.

“But are you a lesbian, Janis? I can’t have a lesbian at my pool party,” you hear Regina’s high pitched voice chirp. “You understand that, right?”

“Regina... I—“

“What? So are you?”

“Why are you asking me this? Did I do something?”

“I need to know. Don’t you get it? You not wanting to answer is pretty suspicious.”

“I am a space alien and I have four butts!” Janis yelled and ran down the hallway, leaving Regina to laugh. She makes eye contact with you. “Wow, I dodged a bullet with that, huh?”

“Why did you do that?”

“Don’t you get she doesn’t fit in? I mean, she likes girls, first of all. Second of all... she doesn’t get this stuff. Don’t you want to be popular in high school? I can get you there. We’re on top here. Everyone knows us. But this is child’s play.”

“But that was mean, Regina!” you said, your tone accusatory.

She shrugs her shoulders. “Sometimes you have to be mean to get what you want. And we’re not going to get it with her.”

“But she’s our friend!”

“Was...our friend. Don’t you care that she’s a dyke?”

You sighed, defeated. You wanted to tell her, no, you didn’t care... but you knew she’d stop being friends with you too. And her talk of being popular and being on top of the world... it sounded good.

You had many regrets about this day, and if everyone has a couple turning points in their lives, this was your first.

——

Regina was right, though. She got you everything you had thought you’d always wanted, but you never felt good enough and a lot of the time, you’re miserable. You’re constantly worried about your weight, whether you got enough instagram likes on your 1000th picture with the plastics, as you’d been dubbed, and whether or not you were dating one of the hottest guys at school.

Who would’ve thought the hottest guys were so dumb? You didn’t like any of them, really, and the second they asked to get in your pants, you dropped them like flies. So you’d gotten a rep for being somewhat of a prude, which Regina would sometimes scold you for.

Regina just got meaner as time went on, and sometimes you regretted not turning on her the first day she showed her true colors, when she’d sharpied all over Janis’s locker “SPACE DYKE” and even included it in the burn book she made over the summer once yearbooks came out. Regina would flirt with boys that she thought you or Gretchen liked, just to show you she could have them. Jokes on her, you didn’t like any of them, but you had to pretend or there wouldn’t be any gossip or any of the infighting that Regina seemed to love. It was the beginning of sophomore year now, and it was beyond exhausting.

And oh, the parties that started now! You hated them, just an excuse for everyone to get shitfaced and girls to make dumb decisions that made boys so happy even though everyone was too drunk to really remember them the next day. Regina is hosting one tonight, and here you are, in your skimpy, skin tight blue dress that you had to buy with babysitting money— since there’s no way in hell your mother would buy that for you. A sophomore hosting a party was unheard of, but Regina has a huge house and her parents went on vacation for their anniversary. She’d use whatever she could to her advantage.

All she wanted was to climb that ladder, and she didn’t care who got hurt in the way.

But here you were, dancing with the hockey player you were dating now... or was it football? You didn’t even care. You vaguely remembered his name was Mike and you told him you needed to go to the bathroom. You headed to Regina’s room and locked the door, thankful you got there early enough that there was no one trying to hookup.

You got lost in your phone for a while, and you found Janis’s Instagram profile. It was private, but there was her profile picture. She was so pretty now, not the awkward girl who tried to dye her hair blonde and wear pink just to fit in. She wore dark makeup in the picture and she wasn’t looking at the camera, and it fit her so much better. Even her hair, which she had let just grow out from the blonde she’d dyed it, looked great. You nearly send a follow request and then think better of it.

You remembered having hobbies, painting at Janis’s house until your hands were covered in paint, and you remember laughing so hard you couldn’t breathe.

Sometimes Regina was a good friend. Sometimes she was a great friend. She was there for you when your grandmother died over that first summer without Janis, and she held you while you cried... and you cried a lot. But sometimes she was mean to even you and it was exhausting. You know she cares about you, but you know she’d turn on you, too, if you gave her what she deemed enough reason to.

You can’t remember laughing like you used to in a long time. You can’t remember being passionate about anything for a while, either. The only time was in your classes, really, you loved chemistry but you had to keep it under wraps because if it got out you were too nerdy... well, that’s social suicide.

The thing about being a plastic was that you couldn’t be anything or do anything too extreme. You had to just be a shell of human being, a shell of a hot girl, just to appease everyone. The money you spent, or had your parents spend, on your bleach blonde hair and your makeup and your hot clothes and your nails and your purses and your shoes... and the hours you spent at the salon and the mall with Regina and Gretchen and Karen, it was completely exhausting. And then you weren’t allowed to have a personality outside of all of this, it was just, clothes! Makeup! Shoes! Boys! Parties! Popularity!

All things girls were supposed to care about, but really, there was no girl left in you to care anymore. You slip off your heels and lie down on the bed, remembering Regina holding you. That felt nice, her slender arms around you, her chin against your shoulder, and she smelled so good, like a hair salon and vanilla and cinnamon and... you just wanted to cry. Why couldn’t she be like that all the time?

The pillows smell like her shampoo and you inch up to place your head on them, ready to fall asleep, the bass from the speakers downstairs lulling you.

You awake twenty minutes later with your phone blowing up from Regina. “Where’d you go? Party’s not fun without you 😘” her most recent text said. Your eyes burn from the makeup you fell asleep in and you blink a few times before replying, telling her you were in her room and not feeling well.

“Bummer! I’ll be up in a few xo” she texts back.

You answer the door when she knocks, and you smile when she hugs you immediately. “(Y/n)! I’m sorry you’re sick! Did you drink something Kevin made? Because don’t.”

“No... I just... I don’t know. I’m sick of the parties,” you grumble as you pull away from the hug and sit back on the bed. She follows you, her pink dress clinging to her every curve, riding up a little as she sits down.

“Why?” She laughs. “This is what high school is about! You’ve gotta have fun. You’re only hot once.”

“But this... it’s not fun to me. It’s not fun to get wasted and have guys try and get in my pants and watch girls throw up.”

“But we can get everything we want. It’s what I always told you,” she says, rubbing your back, but her voice is hollow.

“I don’t have everything I want! I don’t even know what I want anymore, but I’m not happy. Are you? What are you getting out of this because I don’t understand.”

“Respect. Love. Fear. It’s all I ever wanted, really,” Regina says. “People either love me or hate me but they think about me. They think about you, too. Everyone who’s a sophomore knows us, and most of the upperclassmen do too. Doesn’t it feel good?”

You sigh. “I guess, sometimes, it does. But most of the time it doesn’t! I don’t like it, feeling like I have to do everything perfectly because everyone’s watching. And it’s only going to get worse because next year we’re juniors...”

“If it makes you feel any better, I’m not entirely happy either. I don’t like Jack.”

“Then why are you dating him?”

“Because. Free popularity and all I gotta do is be seen with him.”

“But... doesn’t he ask for more?”

She laughs. “Sure he does! But you have to be strategic with that.”

“Right..." you say, slightly sarcastically. You didn't really know what she meant.

Regina places a hand on your knee. “I know it’s been hard for you. But it’s going to be okay.”

“Do you wanna... just lie for a minute? I know you have to go back to the party—“

“No, I can stay for you,” she says, smiling softly. There was the Regina you wanted to be friends with all the time.

You both lean back on the bed, and her arms wrap around you tightly, her chin nestling on your shoulder. Here, you were happy.

“It’s all worth it, all the fighting to just get to the top to sit like this with you,” she says quietly. “We could never be made fun of for this because we can’t be touched.”

“What?”

“Don’t you get it? I... I don’t know how to say it. Just... trust me, okay?” You nod, not sure what she meant, but then she’s leaning over and turning your cheek toward her and she’s kissing you.

Regina George is kissing you.

It’s a quick peck, probably because she’s not sure how you’d react but it’s still the best kiss you’d ever had in your life. You don’t make any rational thoughts in the next few moments and you’re not sure if she kisses you again or you pull her back in, but all of a sudden she’s on top of you and kissing you harder, and slowly, the confusion sets in.

It almost feels too good to stop, but eventually your brain starts working again. “Regina... I... are you okay?” you ask as you pull away. “Are you drunk?”

“What? No. I wouldn’t get drunk at my own party, what kind of slut does that? No, (y/n)... I want you. Didn’t that feel good?”

“Yes... but... you kicked Janis out of the friend group for being a lesbian. Why would you do that if you were gay? You always said she had a crush on you. Why would that have been such a bad thing?”

Regina sighs and flops over to the other side of the bed. “I’m not gay. I mean. I don’t know. I definitely didn’t know back then but I knew Janis just didn’t fit in even if we took away all of the gay stuff. But if we talk about the gay stuff... then yeah. I was confused. Super confused. I didn’t know if I liked you or her and I knew I wasn’t supposed to like either of you. And then I saw the two of you together and you just... you had something I didn’t have, just genuine friendship, and maybe she had a crush on you. Either way I was jealous. And I had to get the two of you apart.”

“Regina... that’s awful,” you say.

“But then I tried to be nice to you! I just wanted to be friends. I mean, I didn’t think I wanted to sleep with you or anything. I just wanted to be friends. Karen and Gretchen are just stupid and I just don’t feel comfortable enough around them to be like this. To let go of the persona.”

“You haven’t been entirely nice to me, Regina. Plus you started this off by ruining my friendship with Janis.”

“I know. I shouldn’t have done that, but I was so... angry whenever she was around. I just... we could pass for straight. No one would know.”

“Regina... I can’t,” you say, biting your lip and trying not to cry.

“Do you... do you not like girls? Is that it? I’m so stupid,” she says bitterly.

“No, Regina, it’s not that, I mean... I don’t know if I do. But it’s just... I’m tired of living like this and I don’t want to have this secret to worry about. All we need is for Gretchen to find out...”

“But she wouldn’t. And even if she did, do you think she’d cross me? Cross us?” She grips your wrists. “Please.”

You start crying and you know you’re not going to be able to stop. If the circumstances were different, you’d love to date her. You think. “Regina. I don’t want to be popular anymore, and for that to happen, we can’t be friends and we... can’t do this.”

“But—“

“If you want to drop it... then... if you want to give up being popular, being fake... then... then yes. Come out. Apologize to Janis. But I’m leaving, and I’m not leaving with baggage.”

She nods. “I... I understand. It’s okay. But I need this! They’d tear me apart if I came out and I can’t be... I can’t be outcasted. I’m exhausted, too, you know? But it’s... it’s better than the alternative. I hope you don’t come to realize that.”

“Regina...”

“No, it’s fine. I really get it,” she says, smiling. “But I’m going to have to spread a rumor, something so they don’t question why you left the group.”

“I know. Just say I’m gay. It’s your trick.”

She starts crying then, sobbing, really, and your heart lurches. You lean over to hug her.

“You don’t have to be so mean.”

“Yeah. I do. Because if I’m not it’ll turn around on me. My mom... she’d never understand! I just... okay. I understand we can’t... be seen together if this is really what you want. But can you at least text me once in a while? So I know how you’re doing?”

“Of course,” you say. You hug her one last time, and she kisses your cheek. You leave the house with your head held high but your heart sinks as you realize this is the last time you’ll step foot in there.

——

Regina is meaner without you. She is hostile to Gretchen and Karen, and you can tell if they adored her at all before, that’s completely gone and they follow her out of fear that she’d make their lives a living hell.

Maybe it’s because she did go on and start the rumor you were a lesbian. Fair enough. You weren’t entirely sure about that label yet but it gave you enough freedom to maneuver this without having lame guys hit on you anymore. That may have stopped anyway since you weren’t competing with Regina for hottest in the sophomore class... but at least it stopped.

“So... looks like she did the same thing to you after all, bitch,” a female voice says as you slam your locker shut. You jump and look to your left to see Janis there... and your breath catches. She was all the more beautiful in person.

“Yeah,” you frown. “But hey... are you mad at me?”

Janis scoffs. “Kinda. But I know you weren’t to blame now. I mean, she did the same thing to you! And I hate Regina more than I could ever hate anybody. Also Damien made me talk to you.”

“Damien?” you ask. “Wait... that guy in musical theater?”

“Yes...” Janis says slowly. “How do you know?”

“He’s really good! I’ve gone and seen every play. Like, and sat in the back. But I’ve gone.”

“Wow. That surprises me. But you did used to love that sort of thing in middle school.”

“I think I made you listen to the Mamma Mia soundtrack at least 80 times.”

“Oh yes. Wait... did you know that they’re putting it on this year? It's the spring musical."

“What?”

“Yeah. Maybe you could audition now that the plastics aren’t holding you back. You have like one day to make up your mind though. I do scenery. Maybe I’ll see you around?”

“Where do you sit at lunch?”

——

It was an awkward reintroduction and the words are never spoken. Is Janis gay? More importantly, are you gay, or bi, or something? Does wondering if another girl is gay make you gay?

But aside from the utter confusion of possibly having a crush on your ex best friend, you’re enjoying life as an ex-plastic. You’re auditioning for the role of Donna, but even if you don’t get it you’re going to get a part since so few people actually signed up to audition. You’re drawing again, too, even if you were never as good as Janis.

Regina hasn’t texted you yet, but you’re thankful. If she did too soon you’d get pulled back from the progress you’ve made. But you’re also worried about her, and your heart lurches whenever you make eye contact with her at lunch and she looks away quickly.

But this was how life was going to be from now on, so it was time to get used to it.

#janis sarkisian #janis x reader #janis sarkisian x reader #janis ian #janis ian x reader #mean girls #mean girls broadway #mean girls bway #Yeah I made Regina gay #what about it???#that's my headcanon #no one in this musical is straight ok #idk i feel weird posting this but fuck ittttt

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missmonsters2 · 5 years

Text

Wicked Lips

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader/OFC

Prompt Request: Anonymous - “Try to stay quiet for me. Can you do that?” with reader as top

Warning: 18+ readers only as it’s filled with smutty goodness. Reader discretion advised, please be safe and responsible.

Note: This for the anon that submitted 3 in one ask. As you could submit up to 3 prompts per person, I will fulfill them separately :)

Count: 2039

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

It’s boring, you think.

You hate doing anything public relations related, it’s a waste of time having to try to appease politicians, CEOs, and get along with journalists.

Journalists are the worst, you think. They’re always nosey and have no boundaries. You’re lucky Tony deals with them accordingly, but even he has to play a certain amount of niceness to the public.

Though, you’ve lost count on how many times he’s told a politician or CEO to go fuck themselves.

Pepper certainly has her hands full.

You’re standing in front of some big-shot CEO currently, mind wasting away as he yabbers on about his new product launch. Still, you put on a half-grin, holding your champagne glass with your other hand shoved into your dress pants pocket, fiddling with the thick ring around your middle finger.

“It’s going to be amazing, the public is just going to go wild over it. Can you imagine? Just think about the--”

You’ve already drowned out his voice, eyes drifting past him as you catch Natasha’s eyes from across the room.

She’s standing with a journalist, a pushy one. You’ve definitely had problems with this journalist in the past with his lack of boundaries and entirely inappropriate questions.

Natasha looks at you, licking her lips subtly, and you cock your brow.

It’s always games with Natasha.

At least, it has been for the last couple of months.

Between hooking up post-missions and during training sessions, you’re hardpressed to try to define what you guys were.

But you were fine with that, there really was no rush for anything. You liked the games.

The night goes on as you fiddle from CEO to CEO, politician to politician. Eventually, you manage to catch a break at the bar.

“Rum on the rocks, please,” you tell the bartender, pulling at your tie knot to loosen it slightly before running your hands through your hair. She hands you the glass, and you sip from it delicately.

You’re at your limit. You’re about to find Pepper and tell her you’re done for the night. You’ve done your fair share of mingling.

You scan the crowd again, catching Natasha talking to Steve. She looks pretty done for the night, as well. She stands there slanted on one leg as the other comes through the slit of her red dress.

It’s entirely provocating, and you drink her in, from her toned calf all the way up to her defined collarbone.

You lick your lips, smirking when you realized she’s caught you staring at her.

Maybe the night isn’t quite done yet, you think as you walk out of the room, glass still in hand.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷ It’s not until after a while that Natasha decides that she’s done for the night too. The night is still young, but she’s already seen you live a little while back. Even though she’s used to it, she’s quite bored with entertaining politicians and CEOs.

She waves everyone a subtle goodbye for the night, leaving into the hallway. As she walks about to walk past a turn, she gets pulled sharply to the side. Natasha’s about to flip the person over her shoulder, but she comes face to face with you, your fingers on your lips as you give her a smug grin.

You pull her a little deeper into the hallway, taking a seat in the large cushion wingback chair, pulling Natasha onto your lap.

This was generally a restricted area to the general public, and you sure Natasha already had a few ideas of what you were planning.

“You’ve kept me waiting quite long,” you tell her, sliding your hand up her exposed thigh, the dress riding higher and higher. Your lips brush against her collarbone, and you feel Natasha shiver slightly.

Your lips feel cold from the ice you were sucking on from your rum while you were waiting for Natasha.

“Oh?” Natasha husks, “I wasn’t aware we made any arrangements after.”

She feels you smirk against her skin.

“Well, with you looking like this tonight and the amount of eye-fucking we’ve done over the past couple of hours would beg to differ.” You nibble on her collarbone while your hand slides underneath her dress, caressing her hip.

Your other hand is on her back, leaving feather-light caresses before it grips the zipper and drags it down slowly. You adjust your leg, so it’s tilted, causing Natasha to slide down, very much intentionally make herself grind on your thigh.

It causes her to gasp sharply. It’s been a while, Natasha thinks, knowing that you would know it too. Everything feels sensitive, especially with your cold fingertips leaving hot marks down on her body. She can’t help but shift her hips and grind herself again, groaning lowly.

You lick your lips as Natasha's head falls forward slightly, and you take advantage of the moment and attach your lips to her neck, sucking on the flesh there.

“Oh,” Natasha moans, and it’s unabashedly that you have to pinch her hip in warning.

“Try to stay quiet for me. Can you do that?“ You pepper kisses along her neck before you reach her lips and kiss her deeply. It’s an iconic mix as she tastes like pineapple juice from her fruity drink while you taste like rum.

You groan softly against her lips, her dress slipping down her front as there’s nothing left for you to zip down.

Breaking your lips from hers, you press open-mouthed kisses as you travel down to her chest. Taking a nipple into your mouth, you suck, feeling Natasha tense as she reaches to grip the top edge of the couch.

“Ah,” she whines, and you unlatch your lips, blowing cool air and watching the tip turn ridged.

Natasha is trying to find more friction as she’s grinding against your thigh. God, she wants to cum so bad.

Your finger works around until they’re pressed against her hot center.

“Fuck, nothing hasn’t happened yet, and you’re this wet. You must want it bad, don’t you?” You mumble against her chest. Your other hand is pressing firmly against her spine, just the way she likes it as you drag your hand up.

It feels like an icy fire against Natasha’s skin before your other hand makes it to the front to her chest. Taking the mound in your hand, you squeeze, your finger rolling over the hard pebble.

Natasha bites her tongue to hold the wanton sounds that want to come out, but she hasn’t been very successful.

Your fingers are rubbing her through her panties, just a slightly harder pressure every time you pass her clit.

“Don’t tease,” she grits at you, unsure how much longer she can actually take.

You merely half-grin before sucking on the exposed skin atop her chest. But when Natasha moans a little too loudly again, you stop and cock your brow at her.

She only looks at you, unabashed, and you know she has no intention of staying quiet, but you can’t let get away with blatantly ignoring you. Your other hand goes back to resting atop her thigh while your other hand reaches over to the glass of rum you had earlier. You fish out an ice cube, and without any warning, you place it against her stomach.

You watch as the muscle tenses and Natasha yelps with a slight jump. Your hand moves to her hip, and you grip it tightly.

“Wait--what are you--” Natasha stumbles, feeling the cold ice cube travel up.

“Punishment,” you murmur to her, focusing on your task. The ice cub leaves a wet trail of water that drips down against Natasha’s warm skin. Once the ice cube makes just under her chest, you lower your head, catching the ice cube between your lips and continue to push it up.

It travels between Natasha’s breast, and she’s squirming the best she can while you have her hips held in place. She takes a sharp breath when it goes up to her neck.

You push the ice cub all the way to her lips, and she takes it in her mouth.

“Hold that,” you command her. “If it drops out of your mouth, I’ll stop. Do you understand?”

“And if it melts?” Natasha asks, adjusting the ice between her lips. She can already feel it begin to numb her lips.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be finishing you off before then,” you smirk.

Now with Natasha unable to make too many loud noises with her mouth kept busy, you went back to your administrations. Your hand travels between her legs, rubbing her more firmly as you begin to leave hickeys on her neck.

Natasha makes a sound in the back of her throat, but she desperately keeps the ice cub between her lips. She can’t afford for you to stop what you’re doing.

Suddenly, the two of you hear a door open and footsteps clamoring out, but they’re around the corner and seem to stay there.

“No, I haven’t gotten anything interesting,” the two of you hear. You both instantly recognize the voice as the nosey journalist. He seems to be chatting with someone on the phone.

“No, I'm interested. Keep talking,” he says.

Natasha tenses, but you pepper kisses across her chest while your fingers slide her underwear to the side, and you stroke her, feeling her velvety wet folds.

Natasha hisses.

She’s dripping wet, and it’s coating your fingers as you stroke her, circling her clit, pressing against the hard nub from time to time.

Natasha’s breathing raggedly, and you can’t help but push her closer. God, she was simply lovely.

Your two fingers stroke her once more before entering her roughly.

“Mm!” She grunts.

“Hold on, I think I heard something,” the journalist says, and you stay still to let the quiet settle over once more.

“Nevermind, I think I’m just hearing things,” the journalist goes back to his conversation,

“Shhh,” you whisper against Natasha’s flushed skin. “You have to stay quiet, Nat. You don’t want him catching you in such a compromised position, do you?”

You begin to thrust while Natasha’s already riding your fingers.

“Just think of the headlines,” you muse, “Black Widow begs to be fucked by her teammate.”

You continue to thrust, meeting Natasha’s hips as she trembles in your arm. The ice cube is melting, sending water dripping from her lips. You lean forward to lick her bottom up, catching a drop.

Natasha drops her hands down onto your shoulders as she grips it tightly when you curl your fingers.

She’s whimpering and whining, her body writhing as she’s getting messier with her thrusts trying to chase her end.

“You’re so stunning, Nat,” you say against her throat. “I really couldn’t keep my eyes off of you tonight, just thinking of this moment, having you wet and dripping for me while I fuck you.”

Natasha screws her eyes shut, the ice cube almost melting to nothing. God, she has to hold in the sounds because she’s so close, and if you stop now, she might explode.

There’s a tight coiling in her stomach, and her entire body feels hot. Her hips are moving more messily, and Natasha comes undone when you swipe your thumb up and rub her clit. You smash your lips to Natasha’s, swallowing her moan as her whole body tenses, and you feel her back go cold for just a moment before she sags against you. Her walls slowly stop pulsating against your fingers as you drag them out, your hand messy from Natasha spilling all over you.

You lift your fingers to your mouth, licking them before putting them into your mouth.

Natasha watches you with half-lidded eyes, biting her lip seductively.

“You’re quite sensitive and loud today,” you comment, and Natasha rolls her eyes at you.

“It’s been a while since someone has been busy lately,” she snipes playfully at you.

You smirk, placing a slow kiss on her collarbone once more before you pull up her dress, lifting her up in your arms.

“Right, my bad. Let’s me make it up to you,” you tell her as you carry her to the elevator, passing the journalist who drops his mouth at the two of you. He’s not fast enough to pull out his camera as the elevator doors shut.

“Take us to my room, F.R.I.D.A.Y,” you ask politely, and the elevator starts to move upwards.

“This wasn’t you making it up to me?” Natasha asks, and you chuckle.

“Oh no,” you tell her, “I’m not even close to being done with you.”

#mm: my fics #genre: smut #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x ofc #natasha romanov x reader #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanov imagine #black widow imagine #black widow x reader #marvel reader insert #avengers reader insert #Avengers #avengers imagine #Avengers AU #marvel imagine #marvel mcu #Modern Avengers AU

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courtorderedcake · 4 years

Text

Majestically Too Far Beyond, CSSNS 2020

Emma Swan is a Witch who has made (And apparently makes) bad decisions. Helping a desperate Witch out of a weird situation doesn't seem like a bad decision, even against her, runes, a tarot reading and her friend's Snow druid intuition - until it is and the consequences are very real.

Killian is a Demon with a long history of persecution against him, and his denizens are not much better off. His Angelic brother is on a mission to rehab Demonic image to prevent violence on the streets of Hyperion Heights, as some sort of Holy mission deeply rooted in millenia of guilt. Witches and Warlocks use them for parts, Werewolves see them as a threat, Angels mostly still hold on to the ancient feud regardless of their treatise, Fae stay chaotic neutral, Vampires don't care for others affairs - it's a perilous world where hate crimes happen without consequence. After a disastrous meeting, he attempts to drown his frustration with a trip to the bottom of a bottle, but ends up falling in bed with a mysterious Witch in her tower home. Soon he's missing a hand, has only the vaguest idea of what happened from the mess of blood he's woken up to, and a mirror shows that some strange, different, Witch is pregnant with his child.

RATED M for Mature Themes. Written for @cssns 2020 Beta’d by The best team ever ( @jarienn972 @ultraluckycatnd @donteattheappleshook) and Art by @kmomof4

Read on Ao3 HERE. 1 | 2

Chapter 2 - House Evil Spirits to appease of,

Part of Emma was coming to terms with the new fact that she was pregnant, then just as rapidly she reverts back through the cycle of grief, sometimes not in order. The doctor had warned her this would happen when she announced that they would be keeping her for overnight observation as a safety precaution, dropping the news that her new pregnancy hormones would also make her feel even more upside down then she had ever imagined. It was one thing to be told, but feeling it was another thing entirely.

She had gone from laughing at the breakfast menu she was handed to crying over grilled cheese not being an option, to enraged at being brought bright blue jello with her 'breakfast sandwich' made of bologna and eggs. They could not have known the intense reaction the jiggling neon goo would have given her, her magic flaring and sputtering in turn as she launched it away from her. But then again, she doubted any of the staff had spent time in a No-Magic cell. Nausea bloomed as soon as rage subsided, the food on the plastic tray too similar to what had been served to her over those long years locked away.

Now irritation was playing through multiple emotions, a new nurse violently poking her with a needle, and running some sort of IV.

"You're giving me what -"

"A hormone treatment, and a magic suppressant."

"But I need my magic -"

"Would you prefer to shrivel up and die? You'll still have enough to do daily witch activities or whatever. This helps keep the extra at bay, and your baby healthy. It needs your magic."

"Oh. Great." She laughed, half crazed at the news and the nurse's treatment. "Just great."

"Mess with their kind, and well." She shrugged, eyeing Emma's body. "An Angel wouldn't do that to you. A Vampire couldn't, and the rest of 'em could, but you wouldn't have to suffer through all this nasty magic aftermath. You're just early enough for a termination though, thank Merlin."

"I didn't do this to myself on purpose . This was never supposed to happen, at least not like this…"

"Sure." The nurse rolled her eyes as she drew out the word, clearly being condescending. "It's never the Witch’s fault; I hear it every time I'm fixing them for blowing themselves in half for not reading a spell right. You play with dark magic, there's a cost."

Emma scowled, hot tears starting and streaming down her cheeks. Her anger and ferocity that was there just moments before had evaporated without warning into a deep resignation.

"Can my brother come to see me yet?" she asked, trying to keep her voice steady.

"After they question you, sure. He can come pick you up - You're done here." The nurse pulled off the empty bag from the IV stand, throwing it in the trash.

The doctor entered, waving a hello. Emma did not notice her, too busy staring at her bump. She joined the nurse as a machine beeped, helping to take out her IV and the pads on her belly. When that was done, Emma sat up, wobbling from her strange new center of gravity.

The doctor smiled at her kindly. "We'll have your test results in a few days to a week's time. You'll feel strange and sluggish the first few weeks as your body catches up to the rapid growth, your hormones, the magic, so on and so forth. From there, you may actually start to grow as normal until you'll need the next dose of suppression. We'll schedule that out for 4 months from now, checking in monthly, but if you grow suddenly, shrink suddenly, your extremities swell, or you begin to exhibit flu like symptoms, come in immediately. If anything seems off, just give us a call. We have a twenty-four seven nurse line should you have any other questions. Good luck!"

The doctor left without much more than a precursory glance back.

Snapping her gloves, the nurse glared over her glasses at Emma. "Leave when you are ready. We got you a different outfit; it's amongst your personals there."

The nurse left in a hurry, leaving Emma to dress herself in a large pair of green hospital scrubs, her new figure completely foreign as she rubbed her hands across the smooth skin. Her once flat stomach was distended, a slight curve that pushed out stretched skin. Her clothes in the plastic bag they had given her were dirty and looked damp. The clothing she was given would have been a small comfort if the stiff fabric didn't feel so much like her old prison uniform.

"Fuck," Emma choked out, gripping the chair for support. She felt dizzy, absolutely nauseated at the idea of a baby. Her baby. She was pregnant. Something in her felt warmth at the idea, a strange, creeping feeling of rightness mixed with calm. The rest of her wanted to claw at her skin, urging her to wake up from this horrible dream.

Every time she closed her eyes, she fervently wished this wrongness was a hallucination. But it wasn't; she was still swaying on her feet every time she opened her eyes again. This wasn't some sort of nightmare, there was a baby, some creature's inhuman child inside her. "Fuck. Fuck!"

Tears began to prick behind her eyes, her face heating as she sat down on the hospital bed with her head cradled in her hands.

( You can't cry over this. This happened because of your shady dealings.

You got a firstborn child alright. Yours. )

Swallowing hard, Emma tried to banish the thoughts bombarding her.

( A baby. A baby you can love and hold, who you will never abandon. Someone you can raise the way you weren't, a second chance. Put your armor back on - for you and your child. )

Emma bit her lip hard, swiping angrily at her tears. Bottling up the emotions, she took a breath, grabbed her purse, and walked down the hallway. To her great surprise, Elsa was waiting.

"Emma, oh my stars. This is - I have no words. I'm so sorry," Elsa whispered. Emma gave a half hearted shrug, her voice still trembling slightly.

"Yeah. Well. Can I go home yet? That's why you're here right?" Emma hated the anxious, pleading edge of her tone.

"No, not yet. You have to be interviewed by the inspector detective here and then you are free to go." Elsa approached and hugged Emma softly. "I got you a nice one though, he's one of my favorites. Jones. He's an Angel - literally and figuratively. He's saved me on so many cases, I can't help but sing his praise."

"Oh Elsa. Thank you." Emma hugged her friend tightly, both of them trembling. "I don't know what I would do without you."

Elsa scoffed. "I don't know what anyone would do. Joking aside, we are all going to be here for you, no matter what happens. It's not going to be like last time." Elsa pushed back a strand of Emma's hair, looking straight into her eyes. "You won't go through this alone. We're going to fight for you, and figure this out. Luckily, our major project is postponed anyway. Until they find the Demon Prince, the council is on a hiatus."

"I just want to go home. I don't know if I can handle everyone right now." Emma mumbled. "It's bad enough David probably knows, which means Snow and everyone else -"

"Please don't push us away, Emma. We know it's a lot, but going into the unknown like this," Elsa took one of Emma's hands, squeezing it lightly. "Having a family, having faith and love - it's the only way to get through."

"Miss Frost," a low voice called from a room nearby. Elsa led Emma to a small office, smiling at the large Angel who stood on one side of a desk. He returned her smile, until Emma met his eyes. His frown was slow, not suiting his features, even when his blue eyes sharply laser focused on Emma's rotund body. She could see his muscles tense, his golden tinged wings giving the smallest of flutters. "Miss Swan."

"I'll leave you both to it, then." Elsa smiled, inspector Jones weakly returning it as she closed the door to them.

Emma sat in the only chair on her side of the desk, landing with an audible noise in surprise. Her body was heavier now. Of course sitting felt wrong. Jones grunted before sitting in his chair, his presence formidable even with his wings unopened. He began jotting down notes, not looking up at her for a long, stretched pause of silence. Emma fidgeted uncomfortably, one foot bouncing on the floor.

"Stop that at once," Liam growled, his eyes narrowed.

Emma stopped, hissing out a nervous laugh. "Sorry, I just -"

"How did this happen?" Liam interrupted, gesturing at her with clear disgust. "Dr. Mullins indicates it was against your will? You haven't been sexually active to induce conception? Explain."

"Well, I um -"

"And I must remind you Miss Swan," Liam grimaced, marking something on his paper. "Lying to me is a crime itself. Perjury."

"Yes, I uh - I know." Emma nodded with a gulp. She took a breath, centering herself, and began to tell him the entire story of what had taken place with Gothel. He listened in absolute silence, writing the entire time as his frown only deepened. When she had finished, he continued writing in the oppressive silence, until finally flicking his eyes up to glare at her again.

"Is that all, Miss Swan?"

"Yes, then I, um, got the cramps -"

"Spare me the sordid details of the consequences your illegal activity most likely caused," Liam drawled, sarcastically. He leveled his angry, burning gaze at her, and she felt like an animal being cornered by much larger prey. "Now, I have some questions for you. Answer to the best of your ability, but remember -"

"Do not lie, yeah I remember," Emma said softly.

"Who says you Witches can't be taught," Liam sneered, his voice mocking. Emma felt irritation bubble up in her gut, her surprise that Elsa liked this asshole rising. If he was a good inspector, Emma never wanted to meet a bad one. "Now. What exactly did this Gothel ask of you in exchange for her firstborn?"

"Youthful beauty and a long life, I think," Emma stated, thinking hard. "She wanted to be young forever. I told her that it wouldn't be instant or eternal, that she would have to wait. Now I know why it didn't bother her."

"Did she mention any other rituals, Miss Swan?" Liam asked.

"No, but she did say that she was in a time crunch." Emma shrugged slightly. "I don't know if that means anything."

Liam looked at her with more vehemence, still writing furiously. "Did you feel any effects at that time?"

"No, I was surprised I didn't with the amount of magic that detonated. I checked myself twice to make sure, once with a warding bind even." The strangeness of the situation and her clear confusion due to it made her voice sound foreign to Emma's own ears. Did he know how much she didn't want this? "Nothing. Then boom, today I - today this. She showed her true colors at the end, did an evil laugh and everything."

Liam hummed disapprovingly, looking over his notes. Flicking his eyes back to hers, he glared with contempt. "Let me make sure I have this all correct. So, you and this other Witch do a forbidden and illegal ritual -"

"I had no idea it was going to be this illegal, I swear!" Emma began to feel panic, her heart racing. "I thought I was helping -"

"Sure, sure, even though you already have a record -"

"That was - That was different, I was set up and I -"

"It seems like you are awfully good at being set up, Miss Swan. So what did you get out of this?" The inspector looked at her in disgust, folding his arms against his chest. "A Demon child to experiment on? Heightened powers?"

"No! No, I had no idea she would - I didn't know - I thought later on that she'd give me her unwanted child. I didn't want another kid to be unwanted. I didn't know the parentage - "

The inspector interrupted with a loud scoff, leaning forward and leering at her. "Likely bloody story."

"Detective Inspector Jones, I swear to you, I swear it - I had no idea what… I had no idea this would happen. I never wanted this to happen. I never wanted to get pregnant, I still don't know what to do."

"If it is a Demonic child, even only a half-breed, the best thing to do is give them up." Something painful twisted in her gut, a deep feeling of dread and wrongness.

"I can't, I want to think about it and wait to look at options -"

"You can . You should . It will get easier the longer you are separated from the leeching thing." Liam's sneer turned into a look of pure disgust. "Don't wait, and get it out of you before it completely ensnares you in its unholy thrall."

"It's a child, sir, and my choice. I'm not making any promises -"

"No Demon has ever been innocent, not even a baby. They are inherently selfish, cruel, and angry. Your mixed breed baby will be the same." Liam looked down at his feet, his fingers interlaced as he rested his elbows on his knees. His voice had lost the cruel edge, and Emma felt her superpower activate. He didn't believe what he was saying, and as she watched him, she noticed how tired he looked.

"Inspector, are... Are you alright?"

"Miss Swan," Liam chuckled darkly, pinching the bridge of his nose before glancing up to look at her. "If I was in your position, I would worry about myself, especially if jail time was on the table."

Emma felt as if he'd slapped her, air rushing from her lungs as her heart beat rapidly.

"Jail time?" She asked in disbelief, "What about Gothel? Why are you demonizing me -"

"That is government business, Miss Swan." Liam stood stiffly, rummaging in his pocket. He fished out a card, carefully sliding it on the table towards her. "If you remember anything, contact us. Otherwise, we will be in touch. I'll have the nurse give you the proper paperwork and instructional pamphlets."

He turned, pushed the curtain aside, and Emma heard a soft whoosh of air indicating his exit. Looking down at her body under the scrubs, she cursed Eloise with every fiber of her being.

ﾟ・. ｡・. *✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ*⛧*.・｡*ﾟ.★.・.・✫*.・。.・゜

The first few nights were a string of blurry, anger, and grief strewn rampages. Elsa has taken her home, Emma unwilling to let David even see her until she had some space to take care of herself. She had sent a text, and after a lot of back and forth arguing surrounding his lengthy replies, David had conceded.

(She just couldn't right now.

Not right now. Not yet.)

A Celestial, or something similar. Most likely Demon, he had said.

Gothel had not only gotten her pregnant, but with some Demon child that could be claimed by its monstrous father for who knew what awful reason. Emma shuddered at the thought, hands protectively resting on her small swell of stomach. Pulling them away as they trembled, she cursed her body and the invader that was making her feel so attached to it. Demons didn't exactly get along with any of the other demographics, but Witches and Demons had the most volatile relations amongst any of them. Her own child might grow to hate her, all because of how much Witches persecuted Demon kind.

She could still… No. She would not terminate the baby this far along. Every part of her vibrated with the wrongness of the very idea, sending her retching into the kitchen sink. She gripped both sides of the basin, crying hot, angry tears as she came to terms with the parasite - the baby, the small baby, the life - occupying her body. As much as she tried to hate it, the only hate she could muster fell on herself and Eloise.

Part of her felt crazed, crying in her bathtub, nauseated and afraid of every implication and outcome. Laying her head back on the tile, she wondered about what she was going to do. Rubbing her new bump slowly, Emma traced the curve. Sixteen months. A doubly long second trimester, and extended third, all while it changed with her body. Mixed children generally presented like their non-Demonic parent, and the pregnancy bond would be fierce regardless of species. Although it was doubtful at this point it was even in effect despite her behavior and thoughts, Emma smiled at the thought that she already felt attached to her baby. Her own family.

Her brother was going to go insane, and her sister-in-law… Snow was always supportive and full of a positive outlook. Emma had teased her that it was an Elf thing, but her pointed ears would twitch as she blushed, and she'd mumble something about her plants helping. Smoking her pungent blends of cannabis could make anyone positive, and Emma was suddenly envious.

Regina and the coven would be on the defensive, taking over everything in Emma's life without quarter. That would be another comfort, their careful planning and patience having gotten her this far through her difficult life.

In the end, the coven, Ruby, and Snow were over shortly after her emergency summons, flying through her doorway. Ruby was a Werewolf Emma had befriended through Snow. While Regina disliked her, Emma didn't think she was any different than most humans other than her keen sense of smell and bluntness. It was these traits that immediately made it clear what was wrong. It would seem not everyone in their circles knew yet. That would take a few more days.

“Emma,” Ruby whispered, horrified, her nose wrinkling as tears filled her eyes. “What did… Who did this to you?”

"They think it is a Demon, but it's almost definitely Celestial, or something with a dynamic gestational period due to magic." Just behind Ruby, the rest of the coven began appearing, all staring on her porch as Emma ushered them in. "Until I find out the father, I don't know, although most likely it's Demonic."

Regina's head snapped up. “A Demon? Emma, what do you mean dynamic -”

The women went quiet when Emma lifted her shirt to show them her bump, explaining everything.

Emma laid her head in Snow’s lap after, feeling numb. Snow stroked her hair gently, looking at the others. Their coven was small, mostly women, but David and two other men were honorary members by means of dating or marriage. Anna picked at her braid, eyes wide, while Belle's mouth was still open from her earlier gasp. Mulan, Regina, and Merida were all business.

“I'll hunt the Witch and her Demon pet down myself, and bring him back here. We can take turns peeling away his skin -”

“Mulan,” Merida hissed, her curls bouncing when she nodded her head at Emma, who's eyes were welling with tears once again.

“I thought… I thought I was doing something good ,” Emma burst into tears, sobbing into Snow, and Belle excused herself to fetch the whistling kettle from the stove. Pouring everyone tea, they tried to figure out what to do.

“Well, you certainly can't go hunting skips,” Regina scoffed. “And this house, I mean, I get that you fixed it up but it's a dump -”

“Oh! David would be happy to have you back on the farm with us!” Snow lit up, but the thought of being around their saccharine relationship and the smell of incense, patchouli, and skunky smelling herb had her running for the toilet. The others talked and sipped tea, planning out things as Emma curled up on her bath mat. Maybe it was better to terminate, if the leap in growth hadn't made it too late. Would it be better to give it up? Her mind filled with swirling ideas, and Emma let herself get lost in her sadness.

Ruby snuck in a moment later, sitting next to Emma quietly.

“So,” she whispered quietly, and Emma cracked open an eye to look at her friend's face.

“So,” Emma rasped back, her throat raw.

“Apparently, you're going to go live with Regina in the Guest ‘Wing’, yes, not room, ‘Wing’, and work at one of Belle’s bookstores. I tried to chime in with what your input might sound like. They looked at me as if I'd eaten Anna's familiar. Not like Elsa would let me snack on knock-off Rudolph anyway. Miss Ice Queen has her fancy new council to lord over, so who knows. We could have some reindeer snacks.”

Emma snorted, a smile breaking across her face.

“Look,” Ruby started, running a hand through her hair to push back her straight brunette style. ”I know how important it was for you to be independent, Emma. I know you really cared about Neal, too. I just… There's something… There's something really off with this situation, and it's not just my nose saying that you smell weird, like dark magic weird, or my gut saying a Witch that makes contracts with Demons for a baby, knocks you up, then just up and vanishes is bad news. I want you to be safe. I called Graham on your telephone, and there's an opening at his precinct I think you might like. It’s mostly paperwork -”

“Rubes!” Emma laughed despite herself. “That's awesome, thank you-”

“Just listen. I want to meet this… Demon. I still have this feeling like something is really off, and you're neck deep in danger. Besides, you know, the Demon part of the situation. Are you sure that you can't remember, er… Well. You know?”

“No, it was literally one minute I was fine, then the next the worst period cramps of my life while I inflated. I was sort of Instant Knocked Up, just add magic or whatever.” Emma rubbed her temples, and Ruby sighed.

“Well, if it makes you feel better, Granny says that's most likely how I was conceived too.” Ruby flashed her a smile, and Emma laughed, hugging her friend tightly.

“I don't know what I would do without you, Rubes.”

“Look, I'm pretty sure Graham isn't into a menage et trois with a preggo, but I'll broach the subject.”

“You're ridiculous,” Emma laughed.

“You wouldn't have it any other way.”

ﾟ・. ｡・. *✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ*⛧*.・｡*ﾟ.★.・.・✫*.・。.・゜

Months passed slowly as Emma waited for the other shoe to drop. Work at the station was easy, filing reports and making coffee not troublesome at all. Liam apparently worked somewhere in the massive complex, but Emma made no moves to seek him out or head to the detective offices.

Her house was almost completely redone and brand new; the floors, walls, ceilings, and everything in between redone with the utmost care.

("I refuse to let you live like this and represent our coven," Regina ran a finger along the mantelpiece, grimacing when it came up dirty. "Are you sure that you have to live here?"

"What Regina means," Elsa shot her a glare as Regina shrugged, rubbing her fingers together, "Is that any of us would love to have you. Don't feel obligated to stay -"

"But don't feel like you have to leave either. David and I would love to help you fix up the place, maybe have you make a few rooms?" Snow encouraged. David nodded, his arms crossed across his chest.

Elsa clapped her hands excitedly. "Oh yes, you could make an apothecary room like the one you talked about, and a potion brewing room, a nice place to grow plants, a library -"

"And we'd all pitch in, if you wanted to make a nursery?" Mary Margaret mumbled, almost shyly. "I wanted to throw a baby shower for you since we found out, but I didn't want to overwhelm you like I feel like I always do -"

"Too late," Emma gritted under her breath, her friends already planning the event for her.)

Emma actually had eased into the idea; at first it seemed absurd that they were planning for this when the whole situation was so strange. The father was still unaccounted for, even as the test results made it clear that the baby was of Demonic parentage. Sometimes Emma thought she could feel something, a little tug, the eerie feeling of being watched, or an emotion that wasn't hers flitting through her mind, but she dismissed them easily. More often, she was fascinated by the lack of information on the bond her and this child were supposed to have.

Pouring over books, it was as if someone had removed or rewritten any passages about Demonic parenting, specifically with a non Demon parent. She had found minor information on the bond in a few books. It was supposed to be fierce, the instinct making women hysterical and unreasonable. It only got more intense when the father was around, cases of actions deemed feral surrounding the mixed couples she had managed to find. All of them had ended in tragedy, and Emma eventually found herself unable to stomach reading about them.

Or anything really, food was enemy number one on baby's list, unless it was deep fried, covered in sugar, or drenched in sweetness. Without shame, Emma had managed to eat and keep down an entire jar of marmalade with crackers.

When Snow, Elsa, and Ruby's grandmother had brought up the food options they would make if Emma would let them throw her a shower, she had caved.

( "I will make you a bear claw cake, mini grilled cheese, and onion rings, amongst other things," Granny grinned. "And I will crochet you the most darling blanket for your little girl."

Emma tried not to drool, or give in. "That's nice, but I don't think I want that many people here, you know? That detective is watching my every move, I feel like a whale, I never know which food will agree with me -"

"And I will make sure I have a never-ending hot chocolate drip for you." Granny's eyes twinkled, full of mischief. "With toppings."

"Including cinnamon?" Emma asked, unable to disguise the longing in her voice. Granny nodded firmly. "How did you know? Wait - did you say a girl -"

"I just know," she shrugged. "Call it a wolf's intuition." )

It was supposed to be small, just a few people and family, but somehow it had turned into a full on social event. Emma was grateful that she had added a few rooms in the days before, the space sorely needed regardless of how drained she felt. Even still, she loved the house. It actually felt like hers, the exposed beams and vintage fixtures mixed with tapestries, framed art, and treasured photos. Her herbs dried above a large sink, food was spread along a long bar and buffet sideboard, and people milled around her living room that she had adjoined to two more exact copies through her doors.

No need to be original there.

( Her private door stayed tucked away in the upstairs hallway, and it was unable to be unlocked by anyone but her.

That was more important than a few extra rooms she could collapse after these people were gone. )

Emma was a good sport for the first couple of hours, playing games, being paraded around to people who apparently were important in the city, and sipping hot cocoa. Elsa, Regina, Mulan, and Snow were putting emphasis on her innocence, and although it was a spectacle, Emma hoped it would work.

Two very terrible things ruined her mood.

At some point, Elsa fell away from Emma's side, returning as cake was being cut. Her face was pinched, irritability written across it as she glared down at the slice she's given.

"You okay?" Emma whispered, and Elsa blinked, looking up in surprise.

"Oh, yeah. I just - I thought my date might show up, but he's working." Elsa gritted out the last word, anger seeping into it. "He's on this case, and it's important to him because it's family related, but I want him to understand that I have family too, and I could help if he just -" Throwing up her hands, Elsa groaned in annoyance.

"I'm so sorry. I don't know anything about -"

"Emma," David pulled her up by her arm, looking around as if checking for something. "Kitchen. Now."

There's no time to protest, his grip strong and firm, dragging her into the kitchen.

"David, what the fu -"

"That detective was here, asking about you," Regina hissed, pointing out towards where guests milled. "We made sure he left, but he was asking questions."

"Questions?" Emma repeated, fear gripping her. Elsa walked in, listening to the conversation beside her.

"Like, if you had a history of criminality, if you knew and associated with undesirable magic users, if you knew who the father was or were protecting who did this to you," David said. The stillness around them seemed to tense just as they were.

"If he questions you, you make sure to tell him that you know nothing," Elsa whispered, trying to hold her hand. "Make sure you proclaim your innocence, and he'll believe you, he has to -"

"You think I haven't tried?" Emma ripped her hand away, looking at all of her friends with annoyance. "I agreed to this not knowing it was going to serve as some bullshit trial ball, where I'd be judged like this. I've searched everywhere for that woman, I have nothing to hide. She's disappeared, and not like a new identity in Guam disappeared, no. Like, off every plane of existence without a trace. It wouldn't matter if I did find her, because this is my kid. The bonds of the spell make her of my blood more and more every day. I can't just go back to the way things were - "

"What about the father?" Regina asked.

"I don't know. I know nothing about him or why he hasn't come. As far as I know, he might not. I don't know how he couldn't feel these binds. I know I feel something, but it could be because I'm practically mooing, I'm so huge, and I have these crazy urges. The hormones alone here are making me feel insane, even before you started in on me. Even before that asshole showed up because we have the entire damn city here!"

"I told you this was a bad idea, Regina," Snow mumbled. Regina glared in return.

"We - I just want you to know that no one will judge you for not wanting this, or for giving up the baby -" David said weakly.

"Shut up David," Emma growled out. Her hands rested against her stomach and she felt like she was going to fall over. "Right now, shut up and do not go down that road."

"Emma, it's making you feel attached," Regina said gently. "And if I'm agreeing with him, you know I - "

"I mean it, not another word. I'm keeping my baby, that's it. End all, be all. Say another word and I will curse your tomatoes," She pointed at David, then rounded on Regina. "And hex your wardrobe with bleach stains that don't come out. Try me."

"Fine!" Regina threw up her hands while David grunted.

The kitchen went silent, the tension palpable.

"We got you a really nice layette," Snow offered, trying to clear the awkwardness while smiling. "Come open gifts, and look at all this cuteness. "

Emma begrudgingly moved forward, her eyes widening at the mountain of gifts in front of her.

"Don't worry," Anna whispered as she pulled Emma down to sit. "I'm writing your thank you cards for you."

The crowd thinned after gifts, the night trickling on as the house emptied. If Emma had felt drained before, now she felt completely devoid of energy. The small crowd that's left hadn't bothered her, so when Snow and Regina asked her to do another walk about with them, it seemed safe enough.

She saw him out of the corner of her eye, his head nodding, laughing at something in his self absorbed sly little chuckle that makes her want to break his nose. She must have tensed because Snow was beside her and sucking in breath harshly through her teeth, the coven turning as if they could all feel the disturbance.

( Maybe they can, maybe the unbridled audacity of this man being here with another woman as he laughs with a martini glass in his hand is enough to share one collective experience of hatred. His eyes meet hers and he gives her a smirk that screams pity and humor at her expense as he lifts his glass toward her, mouthing congrats )

A figure cut in front of her, and her rage that feels like a sickening punch in the gut is coupled by this smack in the face - Neal's father grinned at her, his cane on the ground while both hands rest on its handle.

"My my my, Miss Swan," Gold smirked the same smirk that she wants to rip off his face. "When we heard, we were so surprised to not receive an invitation to this… quaint event of yours. Truly poor manners when our covens are no longer supposed to be at odds."

Regina and Elsa were there in front of her in a flash, Snow pulling her away, words being exchanged in hissed tones. Emma could barely hear over her heartbeat, over the sound of her stomach screaming at her to vomit.

"You can protect her all you want, but we know what she did. We know what it will be," Gold's voice slithered over her skin even in the bathroom. "You can't redeem her, and she will be the reason for all of your downfall. Enjoy your council while it lasts."

David shooed everyone out when Emma hastily retreated, the entirety of her patchwork family pushing inside to comfort her.

ﾟ・. ｡・. *✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ*⛧*.・｡*ﾟ.★.・.・✫*.・。.・゜

After the disaster of her shower, Emma began to feel the strange feeling of being watched even more. It became especially noticeable at night when she rocked in the nursery, sorting out piles of gifts. It felt like a presence sat beside her or hovered over her shoulder, and it began to follow her into her dreams.

They didn’t last after she woke, glimpses of a mirror, of the sound of pounding, a muffled voice that she can't make out.

The tip of the weird iceberg happened when Emma had gotten out of the shower, the steam in the room rising to fog the mirror. Dressing in pj's and heading back in to blow dry her hair, she had been dancing along to some new pop song by the Wolves of London, when her eyes caught the words.

On the fog of the mirror, her name had appeared backwards, joined shortly by the word 'Help' in a curling script that she blinked at in confusion before they disappeared.

( A baby, a Witch, and a Ghost. Just what she needs in the never ending chaos that has become her life )

Luckily, the Coven can save her ass again.

Regina glared at Emma, her judging silence lay heavily over the room. She crossed her arms, eyebrows pinching into further scorn, before asking again.

"You want me to do what?"

"Look, I know it's not your favorite thing to do, but you can and I don't have the gift or a guide like you do -"

"That doesn't make it any easier!" Regina threw up her hands, then gestured to her pantsuit clad form. "It's my body, and my mother is just -"

"I am begging you, Reg. Begging. You." Emma moaned, irritated. "The father is a complete mystery, there's a ghost in my house that I think has to do with him, and I'm scared it could be someone like…" Trailing off, she chewed her lip.

Liam's increasing push for her to choose adoption had thrown her off her game these last few weeks, his phone calls almost non stop. In a way, he was right. She wasn't the only parent, and she certainly wasn't ready to be a mom. She was no one, absolutely nothing. It wasn't as if she could raise a baby.

(Even if she wanted to, and the idea of her baby, her family enveloped in the family she chose and created, it made her feel nothing but happiness)

Regina rolled her eyes with a huff. "Fine. Fine!" she snapped, slamming her hands on the table. "I do this for you, and you owe me. I expect you to be at my whim for this."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"And I'm not doing it for long." She shuddered. "Every time I check out and she checks in, I feel so just -" She shuddered again, making a gagging noise.

(Regina had done it before for David and her, to say goodbye to Ruth. It had hurt, hurt so badly, but not as much as Cora cutting the reunion short to tell her daughter to do more cardio.)

"I promise, we find his grandma or cousin or somebody, maybe whoever wrote that on my mirror, get the lead, and we're done." Emma nodded.

With another sigh, Regina laid her hands over the table, palms up, and Emma laid her own over them. A lavender spark shot from their joined hands to the air above them, Regina's head falling back while purple smoke began to pour around the table, permeating the air. Regina shook slightly, before violently snapping her head forward and blinking.

"Emma Swan, to what do I owe the pleasure of being ripped from my study?" A higher, nasal, woman's voice spoke out from Regina's mouth. "My daughter feels chubbier, and her skin is just -" Regina touched her face, making clucks with her tongue. "Oh, she is a mess! Did she break it off with that awful Warlock? Ugh, is she stress eating? I try not to pry, but I know she ate at least one slice of chocolate cake when she was out this last week -"

"Cora," Emma gritted out, closing her eyes in frustration. "Cora, Regina is fine. If she wants to discuss her love life with you, she'll call you up on the Ouija. I need your help to find someone, and I don't know the someone."

"Well, aren't you in a pickle."

"Please Cora, it's not just for me!"

"Oh, you're not interested in Regina are you? Because you are much too low a class for her breeding -"

"Oh Merlin, no, no!"

"What is it then?" Cora sighed in a bored drawl. "I've told you I can't find your family if they don't want anything to do with you, I -"

"No." Emma let her chest fall, speaking quietly. "No it's not that. I remember from last time and I have a family now." Emma took a deep breath, pushing back against the hurt in her chest. "I need to know… I need to know who the father is, and I'm having trouble. I need you to see if you can reach a relative, or friend, or someone who knows why his offspring is inside me, as well as what it is. I got a visit from a ghost, so here we are."

"Oooooh!" Cora squealed. "An enceinte pregnancy Miss Swan? An illegitimate baby? A haunting? How very risqué and daring on your salary!"

"Cora!"

"Fine, I'll check. I'll want the details of this though, so don't spare any of the juicy bits." Cora winked with Regina's face, before the woman's body went slack. After a minute, her head lifted back up, blinking slightly. "Well, Emma, what a doozy this is. This woman will not stop talking, and it's absolutely ridiculous how impossible she's being, even if she is ancient looking. Yes, I said ancient looking - well don't get mad at me, I tell it how it is - oh, I don't care who your son is, he can't be that grand if he's knocked up this wreck. Sorry Emma dear, I love you, but I mean," Cora shrugged, unabashedly.

"Cora, ask her what her name is!" Emma hissed.

"What's your name then? Oh, that's interesting. Not as good as Cora, or Regina -"

"Cora!"

"It's Milah. And she's not his mum, she's - oh he's an ex lover of yours? Juicy juicy! Sounds like Emma dear might be getting leftovers then? Oh don't be like that -"

"I need a name Cora, this is so -"

"I'm trying Emma dear, the woman won't shut up about her sweetheart. No - Really? The scandal, but - well that is so weird! Milah says that he's been hidden somewhere and no one is haunting you, but… Ugh! She's speaking so rapidly - yes, I get it, but if he wants the kid he would have come to get it, or - I am listening to you, you're not listening to me! A mirror? You should look at one, why do I have to tell her about a mirror? I mean Emma's at most average, and look at her figure now. A child will do that to you." Cora sighed, and Emma stiffened. Cora seemed to nod for a moment, before Regina's face soured further.

"Don't get smart with me, you may be an old soul but you died far younger than I did!" Cora growled, her eyes slitting at some unseen target. She turned with her head cocked, looking at Emma with pity. "I'm sorry Emma, sweet little duckling, but this woman is a nightmare. She keeps screaming at me about how this Killian fellow is the father, but it's impossible for her to see him for whatever reason. Something about a mirror? She's also absolutely ancient, I haven't seen clothing like that outside of - Pre-Babylon? Is that the robe designer or…? Don't look at me like that miss bed sheet toga, I - Emma, this woman, I swear! It's just incessant chattering, really - "

"His name is Killian? Cora, wait, don't you -"

"I understand that you were crazy in love with him, trust me, you seem crazy Milah dear. Yes, Killian is his name. A Demon of lust for vengeance. Wow, Emma, what a winner!" Cora snickered, and Emma resisted the urge to shriek. "Well, I don't care if the beast is misunderstood, he's a Demon. How touching, now please - oh come now, Gothel in the tower with the mirror? Red spire, Troll falls? What is this, Clue? Do I look like a detective?" Regina's eyes rolled, Emma desperately trying to remember the snippets that might make sense. Gothel, tower, mirror, red spire, troll falls. Killian.

Cora grew louder, her voice rising in pitch.

"Oh, how dare you! I'll have you know your cheap robes aren't exactly chic either; you need a wardrobe update, badly! You look like a ten cent frat party attendee!" Cora spat, and Regina's face pinched tight. "Excuse me? More important things, WELL , I never - Oh you rude little tart, I've had enough!"

"Please Cora, no, I -" Emma attempted, but Cora flipped Regina's hair back, sniffing with haughty indignation.

"It'll be alright Emma, duckling. It seems that your little orphan persona is perfect to parent this little babe! Shut up! No, I'm done with you, you crazy broad. Go back to Bed, Bath, and Beyond and buy some new linens!" Cora hissed, her mouth curled in an ugly snarl. "Anyways, Emma, just accept that you can't ruin a child to be like you if you're giving them a home, even if their father is some failed Demon. Or something inspirational, I don't know." She shrugged, Regina's shoulders going up in a blasé dismissal. Her eyes snapped to look behind Emma, her face contorted in rage.

"Cora. I am begging you - " Emma tried again, but Cora's focus was elsewhere, on someone unheard and unseen.

"Shut it, shut up thread count Cleopatra!" Turning back to Emma, she smiled serenely. "Tell Regina to summon me later, I need to know how she is. And tell her no more sweets, especially if she ever wants to be a wife. Ta!"

Regina fell forwards, her body shuddering as the lights flickered, purple smoke dissipating into the air. She moaned lowly, cracking her shoulders and neck as she rolled backwards.

"Dammit!" Emma exclaimed, sitting up and violently stalking to the fridge. "Dammit, dammit, dammit!"

"Ugh, I can taste her perfume. Bring me a beer please," Regina groaned. Emma pulled a beer and a soda out of the fridge, giving the beer to Regina. "Emma, don't you ever say that I don't love you after that." Regina shuddered again, flicking her hand to open the beer and drinking down half of it in one go.

"I know you do. You just have… You're just abrasive with it. Like a big cat, or an alligator."

(Or a wood chipper wearing lipstick)

"Shut up, and tell me how it went. Was it worth it? Mother never is, but -"

"She, uh, well she got me some information to go on. So, that's something." Emma averted her gaze, licking her lips.

"She talked about my weight, didn't she," Regina sighed. When Emma said nothing Regina drank the rest of the beer and walked to the kitchen, depositing it in the trash. Pulling out a wine glass, she reached under her cabinet and produced a bottle of wine. Emma raised an eyebrow. "Don't even start on me."

"I wasn't going to," Emma whispered.

Laying her palms flat on the countertop and bowing her head, Regina looked up after a moment's pause.

"So, what now?" She asked.

Emma chewed on her lip, thinking hard. "I have his name, or at least I think I do. I think all that's left is to, well, summon him."

(Summon him, and say what? 'Hey, Mr. Demon, I'm having your kid and thought you might like to know', as if it would care, or want anything to do with her...)

Regina's eyebrows shot up. "Not alone, surely -"

"No. I would ask Snow, David, and maybe Mulan and Belle. I know Belle would be delighted, and she has the spellbooks."

"That actually sounds like a relatively good plan." Regina nodded, then took a sip of her wine.

"Don't sound so shocked, Regina." Emma grumbled.

"Miss Swan," Regina smirked, swirling the wine in her glass before taking another sip. "If you ever cease to stop shocking me with your antics, I'll assume I have gone to meet my mother and maker."

#Courtorderedcake #September #2020 #September 1st 2020 #cssns #CSSNS 2020 #captain swan au #captain swan #captain swan fanfiction #cs ff au #CS FF #My writing #MTFB #1st

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