#WITH SEASHELLS UP TO OUR EARS / playlist | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

merakiui · 1 year

Note

hi hi!! Thank you so much for doing this event!! TwT can I get sweet lollipops (abo friends with benefits to eventually lovers!!) with candy hearts (accidental knotting/pregnancy?) for our lovely alpha Floyd?

I hope I got that right! 💜

floyd leech x (gender neutral) reader cw: nsfw, abo/omegaverse, knotting, friends with benefits, omega!reader, alpha!floyd, heats note - thank you for checking in, dearest guest! enjoy your order! [lunar love hotel]

i. “this is just a one-time thing, okay?”

Celebrations at the Mostro Lounge are always extravagant events, luring in crowds so large the premises might resemble that of an overpacked sardine tin if it weren’t for Azul’s careful foresight. To avoid any unsavory issues, tonight’s celebration—a birthday party for a staff member—is strictly limited to Octavinelle residents and those working tonight’s shift, save for the exception that the birthday celebrant was permitted to invite friends from other dorms.

The lounge reflects this upbeat occasion, decorated in banners and streamers, confetti, and seashell-shaped light strands—all in pastel purples, blues, yellows, and pinks, colors resembling the shiny, waterlogged treasures found deep within the Coral Sea. There’s a buffet table that’s situated in the center of the room with snacks and desserts of all kinds, piled humorously high on silver platters that have not yet fallen over due to some special enchantment. Partygoers are scattered all throughout the lounge, some filling plates for themselves and others chatting around booths and in front of the massive aquarium, its aquatic illumination casting everything in cerulean hues.

You stand behind the bar drying and arranging crystal champagne flutes, a task so monotonous you’re lucky to listen in on nearby conversations to keep your brain perfectly sane. There are plenty of cloying smells that fill the lounge like helium inside a balloon, far more distracting than the scents of pastries and fruity, fizzy beverages. Your nose wrinkles at the distinctness of every alpha, omega, and beta in this room, some so robust you can practically taste them as they fog your brain with an unshakable haze.

Standing beside you, Azul works to mix and pour drinks, keeping up with each order in timely, flawless fashion. The clinking of glass and metal shakers brings you back to the present.

“You seem to be wearing quite the pensive look. A Madol for your thoughts?” Azul remarks without looking from the floor laid out before the both of you, his eyes scanning each and every partygoer, tallying them within his mind like they’re prey he’s preparing to net in one fell swoop.

You swallow a thick, awkward laugh, shaking your head to rid yourself of the cotton that’s been stuffed into your ears. Even the music spilling out of the speakers in loud, wild notes—courtesy of the birthday playlist assembled by the birthday boy and his friends—is muffled beyond comprehension, coming to you in a distant echo. You rub your shoe against the hardwood floor; it’s got a heartbeat, but that could just be because of the pounding music.

“(Name)?”

“Right. Thoughts. Madol. Yes,” you say with great haste, smacking your lips in a way that makes you look as if you’ve just tasted the air. And you are, technically, with every inhale and exhale. Amongst the many pheromones tinging the room, the ones that radiate from the alphas smell the most enticing. You blink through a sudden, all-consuming dizzy spell, head spinning. “I’m not thinking...about anything.”

Azul peers at you from his peripheral. “If you feel unwell, you’re welcome to take your break. I can handle things from here.”

“I’ll be fine...” You wipe sweat from your brow and tug at your collar. “Are you hot? It feels really hot in here.”

His brows knit together for a mere moment before a knowing glint flashes in his perceptive blues. It dawns on you, when he takes the glass from your trembling hands and sets it on the counter, that you are not as fine as you were a few moments ago. And both of you seem to have arrived at the same reason for why that might be.

“From one omega to another,” he murmurs, yet his voice sounds much clearer in this moment, “I suggest you take the rest of the night off before it catches up to you.”

You debate the suggestion, which is actually more of an order veiled within soft syllables, and you’re ready to insist you can power through it when your knees almost give out altogether when a particularly strong smell hits you. You slam your hands down upon the counter to keep your balance.

“This better not come out of my pay,” you mutter through grit teeth.

Azul barks out a laugh. “Why, I would never! We’re of the same sub-gender, after all. Naturally, we have to look out for one another.”

You try to roll your eyes, but it only makes you dizzier. You’ve done your best to ignore it so far, but now it’s impossible to not feel the slick that’s dampening your undergarments and rolling down your thighs in thick rivulets.

“Shall I send a beta to accompany you on your way back?”

“I’ll be fine.”

Azul looks like he wants to argue you on that, but instead he turns away to resume his current task. “Then I wish you a pleasant evening. Be safe.”

Pleasant, you think with bitter resentment. As if any of this is ever pleasant.

Luckily, the booming music and the absurd amount of scents within the lounge all but drowns yours out, allowing you to slip through the exit to follow the path that leads to Octavinelle's shadowed halls. The sprawling ocean looks much darker through the glass, as if it’s simply a liquid outer space or an endless abyss. Either one sounds equally terrifying. You stop your stagger-walk to lean against the cool surface, hoping to regain your sense of awareness. Shutting your eyes only makes you even more tipsy, so you press your forehead to the glass and exhale slowly.

It takes a moment for the world to stop tilting, but once it does you peel yourself away from the glass and continue to stumble onwards. In hindsight, you shouldn’t have decided to test fate when your calendar detailed your approaching heat, but that’s the least of your worries now. Not much can be done when it’s already upon you. Although you really wish it would have chosen to inconvenience you tomorrow when you weren’t set to work at the lounge.

The music is but a mere hum now, so distant it almost isn’t there, but you immediately forget about it when your shoe catches on something at the end of the hall, which sends you tumbling forwards. You land on frigid, unforgiving tiles with a harsh smack, and though the pain trickles through you it isn’t enough to distract you from the soothing scent of fresh rainfall. You blink through tears, forcing yourself to sit up, and find yourself staring into the face of Floyd Leech.

And he’s staring right back.

“F-Floyd? Didn’t you...” You inhale a deep breath, a poor move on your part because his smell encapsulates you entirely, and it almost knocks you over. “Kitchen shift... Azul put you on...food duty or...something.”

“Didn’t feel like it,” he mutters, looking bored and irritated all at once, as if your sudden arrival has disturbed his brooding in the dark. “Whatcha doin’ here? Thought you had a shift.”

You open your mouth to respond, but even that is too much for you; and so you slap your hands over your mouth, fixing him with a weak glare. Floyd’s never known just how strong his scent is, but you’ve always been able to differentiate it from the other staff members’ scents at the lounge because of how unmistakably Floyd it is. Unlike Jade, who dutifully wears scent blockers, Floyd could care less about the precautions most take to avoid any scent-related problems from cropping up. Sometimes you wish he was more like Jade, but then Jade never has any notable scent about him and that unnerves you more than the overwhelming nature of Floyd’s.

Floyd flashes his sharp teeth at you in a mocking grin. “Shrimpy looks so funny. Smells funny, too.”

You intend to put more vitriol into your glare, but his playful chuckle has you suppressing a needy, little whine. Your knuckles grow sore from how forcefully you’re clamping your hands over your mouth. If you don’t get back to Ramshackle soon, you’ll be a mess of sweat, pheromones, and slick and then that might draw unwanted attention. You attempt to stand, only to fail miserably when you sway on unsteady feet, and so you lower yourself onto your knees, glancing at Floyd’s colorful sneakers.

A breath shudders through you. The smell of rain and morning dew hangs heavy like cigarette smoke in the air. You can’t believe you’re about to verbalize your innermost desires, if they weren’t already blindingly apparent, but you can’t hold back any longer.

“Can you—” you swallow your inhibitions, far past the point of shame— “Can you help me?”

Floyd follows the length of his outstretched legs to look at you hunched over in front of him, your hands placed firmly on the floor to keep yourself from falling over.

His mismatched eyes hold mischief, but his face is neutral when he replies with: “Mmh... I guess. What do ya want help with?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” you snap, and he tilts his head at you like you’re a bewildering curiosity. His acquiescence is all you really needed to hear, though, because you’re already shedding your uniform suit jacket in a breathless hurry. “Please don’t get smart right now. I just need—” You’re not sure what you need specifically, but you do know you need relief. And he’s the only alpha within reach. “I just need you to help.”

“Okaaay,” he drawls lazily, waiting there with his back against the glass. His figure is framed in the bright luminescence from the jellyfish swarming in the great depths beyond, and you crawl over his long legs and into his lap. He peers at you, amusement twinkling in his gaze. “Shrimpy’s so funny tonight!”

You admire him through the lenses unique to a heat. It’s more akin to a drunken stupor—the kind of phenomenon that makes strangers look ten times more appealing than they normally do if you’re sober—and every rugged, dangerous edge that composes Floyd suddenly seems so perfect and safe. Your fingers curl into the lapels of his jacket, and you yank him towards you, your lips mere centimeters from his. There’s no indication that he feels the same spark as you, but in this moment there doesn’t need to be any life-changing sparks. As long as he’s agreed to help you, you’ll take his assistance and nothing more.

“Floyd.”

“Shrimpy.”

“Can you...” You wiggle your hips, impatiently fumbling to shrug out of the straps of your high-waisted suspender trousers. You’re not very successful in this endeavor, so you give up with a frustrated huff. “Please touch me. D-Down there...”

“Sure thing,” he says with a nonchalance that’s frighteningly alarming.

You were certain that an omega in heat made it difficult for most alphas to focus, let alone properly function, when there were so many tempting smells and sounds coming from them. But then Floyd isn’t like most alphas. Floyd is uniquely Floyd in every possible way. He doesn’t conform to the typical standards applied to other alphas. But it does sting a little to think that, with how undoubtedly cloying your pheromones must be, he isn’t affected in the slightest. He’s not even hard, which feels like a chip in your omega pride, but you’re too frantic with lust to dwell on it.

Floyd's rough hands grab your waist and he lifts you up slightly, pressing you flush against his chest so that he can yank your trousers down for easier access. The fabric bunches halfway at your knees, but that hardly matters in the moment. You’re certain the wet spot would have been noticeable if it weren’t for the dim lighting in the hall, and you’re secretly grateful for the lack of brightness.

“T-This is just a one-time thing, okay?”

“Whatever you say.”

You’re not sure why he sounds so disinterested, but you don’t care enough to ask. And when he slides your soaked underwear to the side so that he can thrust two slender fingers up inside your dripping hole, you slump against him, gripping his shoulders like he’s the only one who can keep you afloat amidst the turbulent sea you’ve found yourself in. With your face buried in the crook of his neck, where his scent glands are so close and produce the headiest scent you’ve ever come to know, you cum with a strangled, gasping cry, slick clinging to your thighs in translucent, stringy ribbons. Floyd doesn’t say anything, continuing to curl his fingers inside tight, wet, gummy walls, which leaves you shuddering and sobbing with ecstasy.

You lick at his neck, pressing lingering kisses to every available inch, breathing in his scent as if it’s your oxygen. Your teeth prick the surface of his skin, but before you can bite down he’s grabbing your chin with his free hand and smashing his mouth against yours in a sloppy, aggressive kiss. Your teeth click against his, and his tongue flicks past your lips, searching for yours. You meet him halfway, kissing back as fervently as you roll your hips against his hand, taking a third and a fourth finger in one thrust. He’s worked you open with delightful movements, scissoring you as roughly as he kisses, and when you break away to gulp down mouthfuls of air Floyd licks his lips clean of saliva—your saliva.

You’re not sure if it was possible for you to get wetter, but you do and you reach your second—or perhaps it’s your third—climax with a squeal.

“You can put it in. Please put it in,” you mumble, mind fuzzy with one single thought: If you aren’t fucked sore and senseless right now, you might never recover from this heat. “Please, Flo... Floyd, put it in...” You palm at his crotch, satisfied that there’s now a stiffness straining against his trousers, and you reach up to slide his suit jacket off his broad shoulders. “I need it. I’ll cover your shifts for a week—no, two weeks—three weeks! Anything you want—just need you inside me...”

Floyd hums his consideration. “Don’t wanna,” he eventually says, cutting off your whiny protests with another expert curl of his fingers. “S’too much work.”

That seems to sober you a little, and though your entire body is flushed with warmth there’s an odd coldness that seeps through. You lose track of how many times you cum, but at some point you must have slipped into unconsciousness from the exhaustion of it all. When you wake, the sun’s just barely peeking over the horizon, and you’re lying in your work clothes in your room at Ramshackle Dorm. You feel and smell so filthy, covered in slick and sweat that has dried sticky on your skin, but the worst of your heat has abated for now. You know this isn’t the last of it—that there’s more to come in the next few days and that you’ll just feel so foggy-headed until the true instinctual lust hits and you’re leaking through your undergarments like a broken faucet.

Groggily, you sit up, rubbing the crust from your eyes, only to flop back down.

Bath can wait, you think, yawning. It’s way too early for that.

You feel something bunched underneath you, and for a moment you think it’s Floyd. Though you’re not sure why he immediately pops into your mind, you’re given your answer when you pull the suit jacket out from beneath you. It smells pleasantly of a rainy morning, musky and earthy, a pleasant petrichor that could only belong to Floyd.

ii. “you smell like shrimpy. ain’t that good enough?”

Floyd is an elusive force. He appears and disappears whenever he feels like it—almost like a playful poltergeist haunting a house. If he wants you to find him, you’ll find him. Today, it’s not Floyd you find when you venture through the courtyard in search of him, but rather Jade. You suppose he’s better than no one, and if you look at him from the wrong angle he becomes Floyd. So this is the best you can do in this moment. Perhaps it’s convenient you don’t have to face Floyd because you haven’t even rehearsed what you’ll say to him—if you even want to say anything to him about that night.

“I’d like to return Floyd’s jacket,” you tell him in your best professional tone, offering it to him alongside a packaged pastry.

Jade gazes at your outstretched hands. “The pastry as well?”

“Please don’t be a smart-ass.”

He hides his sharp smile behind a gloved fist. “Is there a reason you’re in possession of Floyd’s jacket?” As if to be even more irritating than he already is, he adds, “And Floyd’s pastry?”

You avoid his stare, distracting yourself with the sight of your scuffed shoes. “N-No reason in particular...”

But Jade is not the type to drop a subject he’s found interest in, which leaves him thoroughly invested in this not-so-mysterious mystery. “No reason at all?” he presses, brows raising. “If I recall, Floyd’s been left without a jacket for a week. This is merely speculation—take it with a grain of salt—but you must have been indisposed for a few days to deal with...‘personal matters,’ as Azul had called it, hence why we didn’t see you at the lounge. Is it correct to assume you may have been burdened with a certain biological inconvenience?”

“Not true! He lent it to me. Yeah, lent it to me. That’s all there is to it.”

“And the pastry?”

“Oh my—Jade, please just take your brother’s jacket. You’re killing me here.”

“On the contrary, I haven’t yet twisted the knife deep enough.”

You groan, deflating before him like a boneless fish. “You already know why I have his jacket. Don’t make this difficult.”

He chuckles; you don’t see what’s so hilarious about this situation. “Well, I was made aware of specific details, yes. What was it you had told Floyd? Ah, right. You would cover his shifts for three weeks if he—”

“Ahaa, Shrimpy, there you are!” Before you can listen to the rest of what was going to be a highly flustering sentence, Floyd crashes into you from behind, wrapping his arms around you, while you nearly topple over from the impact. Thankfully, he steadies you with strong arms. “I was lookin’ all over for you!”

“What a coincidence. So was I.” You squirm in his grasp, holding his jacket and the pastry up for his viewing pleasure. “For you.”

“So that’s where it was! Thanks, Shrimpy! Didja take good care of it for me?”

You stare at him. Did he seriously forget where his own jacket was?

“I don’t know what flavors you like, but I got this custard bread for you.”

“Huh? What for? It’s not my birthday.” The arm curled around your waist tightens its crushing grip, persuading you to admit your reasoning before he squeezes and your guts spill out through cracked bone. “It’s not even a holiday. What gives?”

“It’s for your help that night. A thank you from me to you.”

He snatches both from you, draping his jacket over his shoulder, and inspects the packaging. “Hey, this looks yummy. Thanks, Shrimpy!” He digs something out of his pocket, takes your hand, spreads your fingers, and drops it in your palm. “I also got a little somethin’ for ya.”

It’s a golden canine tooth, most likely one that came from a beastman. There’s still some blood and gum sticking to it.

“Um. Thanks?” You choke down the urge to shiver.

Floyd giggles, looking quite satisfied with himself.

Jade stares at it, unsurprised. “May I ask where you acquired this tooth?”

Floyd shrugs, releasing you from his smothering hug. “Asked some guy where Shrimpy was and he kept dodgin’ the question. Had to pull the answer right from his mouth.”

“I see.”

You stuff the tooth into your pocket, wiping your palm against the fabric of your blazer, and grin awkwardly. “I appreciate the...gift.”

You’ve never traded a pastry for a tooth before. But, hey, there are firsts for everything, right?

“You like it?! I can get more for Shrimpy! Which ones do you like best? Gold? Silver?”

“No, that’s okay. One is enough.”

One is too much, actually...

Floyd hums his contentment, the scent of rain rolling off of him in happy waves. You inhale as subtly as you can. He smells good—perhaps much better now that you’ve toed the line of intimacy with him—however emotionless it may have been—and have had an entire week to familiarize yourself with his scent. It settles your frazzled nerves, allowing you a small fraction of confidence...that immediately shrivels when you recall how he’d called your scent funny.

“Do I...” You shrug your anxieties off, forcing the question out from the confines of your dry throat. “Do I smell bad?”

Floyd looks through you rather than at you. “Never said that.”

“You didn’t say I smelled good either.” You cross your arms over your chest. “For the record, I think you smell good.”

That prompts a tiny laugh from Jade. “As riveting as your human courting techniques are, I’m afraid I must be on my way. I wish you a pleasant afternoon, (Name). Floyd, I’ll see you at dinner.”

“‘Kaaay.”

You’ve never been more glad to see him and his troublesome smirk go, and you curse him six ways from Sunday with each step he takes, until it’s just you and Floyd standing in the center of the sparsely populated courtyard.

Floyd unwraps the pastry without much decorum, taking an obnoxious chomp from it while he waits for you. Crumbs stick to his face and gather on his uniform like sugar snowfall.

“So I do smell bad.”

“Don’t put words in my mouth, Shrimpy,” he says around a mouthful of pastry. “You smell like Shrimpy. Ain’t that good enough?”

What in the world does ‘shrimpy’ even smell like?

You tilt your head back and forth, unsure of what to truly say. “I... Floyd, your scent really helped me. Like, a lot. And I know you probably don’t think it did, but your jacket made things way more tolerable than they usually are.”

He’s licking his fingers clean now, nodding along to what you’re saying with bright, eager eyes.

You steel yourself with it’s now or never. “My budget has been low lately, so I haven’t been able to afford suppressants for the next few months. And between attending classes, working at the lounge, and keeping Ramshackle in good shape, I can’t lose a week’s time because of my heats. So... So what I’m trying to say—what I’m trying to get at here... I guess what I really want—can we make this not a one-time thing, but a monthly thing instead? If you helped me, you could cut my heats down to just two or three days. I can buy you more pastries if you want, or I can cover your shifts. Please just help me out again. I’ll do anything.”

It feels useless and pathetic to beg, especially since you know how mercurial he can be, so sometimes it’s as though you’re speaking to an immovable wall. In fact, you might have better luck going to Azul or Jade if you really wanted—

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay.” He grins. “Why not? Sounds fun.”

“So it doesn’t sound like ‘too much work’?”

“Nah. Shrimpy’s fun.” He crumples the empty packaging and stuffs it in his pocket. “And fun things aren’t work.”

“All right... If you say so.”

You aren’t going to push it any further, lest you risk annoying him and losing this chance.

iii. “most importantly, we’re just friends and nothing more.”

It’s raining today. Normally, watching gloomy weather unfold fosters unrest within you. But this time Floyd’s with you, lying sprawled in a cramped alcove in the library, all lanky limbs outstretched, while you flip through a textbook in search of anything that might give you more insight into how to cure heats or, at the very least, halt them in a way that doesn’t require expensive medicines. Floyd’s scrolling on his phone, a lollipop between his lips. He’d caught your scent on the wind and had gravitated towards it, and you’d smelled him the minute he stepped into the hallway to follow you into the library. You let him accompany you because there’s no shaking Floyd once he’s made up his mind.

With the lack of sunlight, the lighting in the library is dimmer than usual. It’s peacefully comfortable despite the rain-spattered windowpanes and the cloudy sky beyond ancient, dusty confines. You peer at Floyd from where you sit. He’s looking through an online shoe catalogue.

“Do you like shoes?”

“They’re cool,” he replies without missing a beat. “And the surface’s got lotsa cool designs and styles.”

Briefly, you glance at your worn pair in hopes that looking long enough will give you an idea for what to say next. It doesn’t work as intended, but Floyd doesn’t seem keen to continue chatting with you, his attention focused squarely on his phone screen. You return to the task at hand, skimming a few chapters on alpha and omega biology, information on betas, and even an in-depth analysis on heat and rut nuances. Nothing tells you of the panacea needed to rid yourself of your heats.

Defeated, you shut the textbook with a sigh. Floyd’s looking at you now, his phone swiftly pocketed. You slump in your seat. He smiles lopsidedly when he knows you’re watching him.

“All good?”

You nod, but your words contradict that. “I can’t find a cure for heats and it’s a little frustrating.”

“Why do you wanna cure ‘em? You got me for that, don’tcha?”

“Yeah. But… Actually, since you’re here, can we go over a few rules? My next heat isn’t scheduled until next month, but I’d like to set some boundaries before we do anything.”

Floyd pulls the lollipop stick from his mouth and twists it into a knot. “Lay ‘em on me.”

You nod, push the textbook away from you, and scoot your chair closer to the alcove. “You can’t bite.” You point at your neck. “Anywhere else is fine, but here is off limits.”

Floyd mirrors your actions, tapping the area where his glands reside with a hum. “I won’t bite.” His smile says otherwise, but you take him for his word.

“And no knotting.”

“No knotting.”

“No breeding either.”

“No breeding.”

“And… And no kissing.”

“No kissing. Gotcha.”

“You’re being surprisingly agreeable about this.”

Floyd shrugs. “It’s what Shrimpy wants.”

“Right. Okay. Well.” You wring your hands together. “Most importantly, we’re just friends and nothing more.”

“Just friends,” he parrots. “Nothing more.”

“Cool.” You nod to yourself, but it does nothing to dispel the awkwardness. “Awesome. Cool...”

Floyd pops up from the alcove seat like a reanimated corpse springing from a grave. He grabs your hand and tugs you up from your chair, all boisterous energy and laughter despite the vicious shushes you receive from nearby students.

“Let’s go swimming!”

You have no idea where this came from, but you allow yourself to be tugged from the library, abandoning the pile of textbooks you’d been perusing for nearly an hour. And though your spirits had been dampened considerably by the information, or rather lack thereof, you seem to forget about it while you watch Floyd splash freely around in the Octavinelle pool, swimming laps with such smooth precision. You dip your bare feet in the chilled water, entertaining him with a game of fetch, tossing a diving ring each time he brings it back to you.

And within no time your frown has lifted into a genuine smile.

Later, during your shift, Jade brushes past you. “Floyd has been in such a pleasant mood today,” he remarks, nodding towards his brother, who’s currently balancing trays as he happily skips from table to table, a whistle in his voice. “I wonder if something exciting has happened. Do share. I so dislike being left out of the loop.”

Knowing Jade and his affinity for omniscience, you suspect he’s already within the loop. And it’s not as if you could lie to him; he’d find out eventually when Floyd starts smelling more like you and you start smelling more like Floyd. So it’s best to be honest about it, even if it is a little uncomfortable admitting such a thing to Jade.

“Floyd’s going to help me with my heats.”

“Is that so? How kind of him. You have my most sincerest blessings.” Jade holds a hand over his heart. “Take good care of Floyd now. He can be rather sensitive, though he doesn’t seem it.”

“We’re not getting married, Jade.”

He smiles innocently. Your gazes are drawn to Floyd as he approaches with empty trays. He catches your eye and grins broadly, waving in a manner so ecstatic you’d think he’s just meeting you again for the first time in years.

“I wouldn’t be so certain about a hypothetical that has yet to be proven.”

“Then, hypothetically, I marry into the Leech family. What then?”

“I believe that would make us in-laws, no?”

“Right. And, hypothetically, my dear in-law goes missing and is never found again because he can’t keep his annoying mouth shut. What then?”

“You would have quite the crime on your hands. I don’t think the sea would show you much mercy.”

Floyd’s hands clap down upon your shoulders at that moment. “Whatcha talkin’ about?”

Jade’s grin sharpens into something predatory when he looks at Floyd, who’s resting his chin on top of your head. “We were merely discussing how we might dispose of the other should (Name) marry into the family.”

“Ooh! Shrimpy’s marryin’ Jade, huh?”

You and Jade answer in unison, though your responses are very contrasting.

“That can be arranged.”

“Absolutely not!”

Floyd pinches your cheek, cooing playfully. “I wouldn’t mind it. That means I’d get to see Shrimpy all the time.”

“Although, as honored as I am to consider a future with (Name), I believe Floyd would be a much better fit for you.”

“Huh? Why me?” Floyd looks at you more closely, inspecting you with narrowed eyes, and then he barks out a high laugh. “No way, Jade. You hafta like someone if you wanna marry ‘em.”

You twist out of Floyd’s arms. “And we all have to work if we don’t want Azul on our cases!” With a huff, you snatch the trays from under Floyd’s arm and stomp off towards the kitchen, listening to the twins’ laughter as you go.

iv. “shrimpy’s rule: no knotting.”

In the days leading up to your heat, Floyd is a leech, not just in surname but in the literal sense. He’s almost always hanging around you. From working the same hours at the lounge to accompanying you to and from classes to meeting you at Ramshackle first thing in the morning, he is your shadow. It almost feels like he’s attached to you by some invisible thread and can only go so far before he’s drawn back in by way of magnetic force. You thought it was weird, but then Floyd has always been weird and so this sort of behavior isn’t uncharacteristic. Rather, it makes perfect sense for him to stick to you like a barnacle. Why, you might ask? The simple answer is that he’s found entertainment in you and isn’t going to give up until he grows bored.

But the complex answer comes to you days before your scheduled heat, when Ace had none-too-subtly pointed out that you smell. He didn’t say you smelled funny, which had been a little soothing, but even Deuce had echoed his sentiment. You didn’t smell like yourself, they had told you. So you asked what you smelled like and without missing a beat they replied: “Like rain.”

You had laughed and then paused to consider what felt like an absurdity and then laughed again. Floyd isn’t your alpha and you’re not his omega. There shouldn’t be any reason for him to scent you. You shrug off Ace’s teasing and Deuce’s genuine curiosity in favor of focusing on your lunch. Lunch, you’ve decided, is much tastier than whatever confusion you were previously feasting on.

Unlike last month’s heat, you’re ready for this one. You wake and attend classes as you normally would, only feeling the faintest itch of what’s to come, but by your final class you’re woozy, struggling to stay centered while the lecture goes in one ear and out the other in a string of mushed syllables. You’re not completely gone when you shuffle out of class, ignoring the whispers that are thrown around, and you only truly perk up when a familiar smell hits you head-on.

Floyd leans against the wall, a casual smile pulling his lips apart. “My dorm or yours?”

“Yours,” you blurt, only to shake your head hastily. “No... No, not yours. Mine is better.”

He giggles and tilts his head at you. “Okaaay!”

Floyd hardly has any time to shut the door and drop your belongings on the sofa before you’re grabbing at him, clinging like a koala, and he gathers you in his arms and covers the distance to your bedroom. You’re quickly losing yourself to instinctual lust, shedding your articles of clothing as easily as you whimper his name. Floyd’s grinning as he follows your example, his eyes tracking your every movement. You flop onto your bed after you’ve discarded your rumpled uniform, skin hot and sticky with sweat and slick. Floyd’s pheromones fill the room at once, and you reach for him when he crawls on top of you, caging you between sturdy, muscled arms.

“Shrimpy smells funny again.”

“Knock it off, will you?” you spit, but the irritation doesn’t last long when you get another whiff of him and you throw your head back with an impatient sigh. “I don’t smell funny... Ace and Deuce didn’t think I smelled funny.”

“Yeah?” he prompts, palming your drenched hole, sliding two fingers past rings of wet muscle.

You shift underneath him, hissing out a breathy moan through grit teeth. “They said...” Another gasp. “They said I smelled like—” Your hands grip the sheets when he adds a third finger, lazily working you open with dexterous digits. “Like ra—aah—rain.”

“Musta been rainin’ that day.”

“N-No, you were... Your smell. You smell like—mmh. Like the rain.”

You don’t miss his tongue as it darts out to wet his lips. The lewd squelching of his fingers pumping in and out of you permeates the air, replacing any words he might have wanted to say. You shut your eyes with a blissful hum. Perhaps if you weren’t already so deep in your heat you might be able to sift through your thoughts with more coherence. But then, if you weren’t so deep in your heat, you wouldn’t be in this position in the first place, and so you probably wouldn’t get this far with your curiosity.

“Were you... Hah... Were you scenting me? I couldn’t tell because...”

Because your scent’s already so familiar.

Floyd doesn’t answer, but he does withdraw his hand and you whine low in your throat. Your displeasure is short-lived, though, for rough hands spread your thighs next, and before you know it he’s between your legs, licking a stripe up your slick-coated entrance. By instinct, you attempt to shut your legs, wanting to lock him there forever, but his hands keep you spread wide for him, and so you rest your ankles upon his shoulders while he continues to lick and nip, his razored teeth just barely scraping skin.

Suddenly, pressing him for answers doesn’t seem like your main priority when a long, thick tongue pushes its way into you at the next moment. He hums his enjoyment, and the vibrations ripple through you like waves in a pond. It’s much better than anything you could have accomplished with just your fingers alone, and you can’t stop the noisy mewls that fall freely from your lips, breathy and pitched in a way that foretells approaching orgasm. With the way his fingertips burrow into the pudge of your thighs to the way his tongue sloppily works in and out of you, the warmth in your stomach builds to an insurmountable level, and it isn’t long until you’re tipping over the edge. You dig your fingers into teal locks, pressing him firmly against your crotch, and cum with a strangled shout.

Floyd withdraws, his face glistening with your slick, and you shudder at both the sight of him and the faint ache of emptiness. He swipes a stray droplet from his cheek and samples it with a slow lick. You almost cum again, heat kindling within you once more.

“Ahaaa,” he exhales giddily, pupils blown so wide they eclipse his irises. “Shrimpy’s like a fountain today!”

You lessen your grip on his hair, chest heaving as you come down from your high, and tug him back onto the bed, hurrying to swap the positions before he can grab hold of you. You fumble with his still-hardening dick, coating your fingers with your slick and attempting to pump it with awkward, inexperienced strokes. Floyd supports himself on his elbows, eyeing you as you lean down to take the head of his cock in your mouth.

He hisses out a laugh. “Shrimpy’s not very good at this, huh?”

You want to snap at him, but all you can manage is a disgruntled scoff. You’ve entertained scenes like this in your dreams, in which you were skilled in all areas of sex, but now that you’re actually leaning over him, giving it your best effort to fit half of him in your mouth, you realize your dreams painted an ideal version of you that is not applicable to the real-world you. And that dents your pride a little. At least you can blame your sloppiness on your heat, which has you rushing through the motions in your impatience. Miraculously, your mouth manages to work some magic because his cock stiffens completely, curving up at an angle that you’re certain will hit the deepest spots within you.

You pull off of him with a wet pop and he giggles, reaching to pinch your cheek. Swatting at his hand, you crawl over him, straddling him, and brace your hands upon his chest. Floyd watches you, his arms folded behind his head, as he lies back and allows you to do the work. Your fingers wrap around the base of his cock, holding it steady while you align the soft, fleshy head with your hole. For a tense minute, you stare at the way the tip’s kissing your slit, oozing pre-cum. Had you been less omega-brained, you might have fretted over whether something so big would even fit, but right now all you need is to be completely filled to the brim.

Floyd unfolds his arms and rests his hands on your hips, seeming both amused and endeared to witness the emotions that shift on your face. Your eyes flick to his mismatched ones.

“Please...” You shiver, your hands closing around his larger ones. “Please, Floyd...”

You think that might have tempted him, for you’re hit with a stronger wave of his pheromones, but the thought is knocked out of your head when he lowers you onto his cock in a way that is uncharacteristically gentle. Your nails dig into his hands as slick, gummy walls swallow inch after thick inch. He’s concentrating on the way you stretch around him, groaning through clenched teeth, and he’s not even halfway in when you cum with a desperate wail. Floyd smirks up at you and, with his nails poking your hips, slams you down in one swift motion, spearing you entirely on his cock. You cry out your relief in delighted gasps.

“I-It’s inside...” you mumble, awestruck, as you press a hand to your stomach in an attempt to feel him. “It really—haah... Really fit...”

“‘Course it did,” he says pridefully. “I knew Shrimpy could do it.”

“Shrimpy only did it because of how wet—ah!” You nearly collapse when he thrusts up suddenly, the tip of his cock hitting a sensitive spot that sends pleasurable shockwaves rattling through you. You fix him with a weak scowl, but he isn’t looking at you. He’s looking at your hand intertwined with his while the other remains on your waist, keeping you steady. You loosen your grip for a moment before curling your fingers with a confidence only fostered by your heat. “C-Can I hold it?”

“S’not goin’ anywhere.”

You stick your tongue out at him and he laughs; and soon you’re starting to smile.

Swallowing your own heat-drunk giggles, you lift your hips slowly and ease back down onto him, shuddering at the way he fills you so completely. You do this a few more times while Floyd gleefully observes, and it isn’t long before you’re settling into a satisfying pace. He guides you up and down, watching you come undone with each steady roll of your hips. You’re a mess above him, fucking yourself silly while he meets you halfway with an occasional rough thrust, and you hold his hand so tightly you think you might tear it from his wrist. Floyd’s groans and grunts are music to your ears, spurring you onwards in your endeavors. You’re certain it’s just a byproduct of the heat, but he looks so enchanting beneath you, squeezing your hip and then reaching up to twist one of your perky nipples between his fingertips.

“Feels good?”

“So good,” you pant, breaths hot and wet. You’re overcome with the urge to pull him up and into your arms so that you can be even closer, but you’re too focused on feeling him deeper and so you never act on the temptation. “R-Really—mmph! Really good!”

He traces patterns into your stomach, giggling breathlessly. “I can tell. Shrimpy’s squeezin’ me soooo much.”

Neither of you seem to realize the base of his cock has swelled a considerable amount, but it’s brought to your attention the next time you slam your hips down and you’re stopped by his knot. You peer at it with lidded, glassy eyes and your omega instincts flare wildly, all messy bundles of nerves fraying at the idea that that could be inside you—that it should be inside you—locking you and Floyd together. You raise your hips, inches sliding out of you gradually, and you prepare yourself to take him—knot and all—when Floyd’s hand breaks from out of your hold to grab your waist, stopping your swift descent.

“Nuh-uh,” he chides, and you growl at him, almost animalistic with anger. “Shrimpy’s rule: No knotting.”

“This is—aah... Mmh... This is different. A t-trial run. This time...doesn’t count.”

“Hee hee. Shrimpy’s gonna regret it later.”

You squirm in his hold, begging him to keep moving through whimpers and whines, and he complies with a playful whistle.

“Please. Just once. Just once and then—”

“Mm, nope,” he says, popping the ‘P.’

“Floooyd...”

“Shrimpyyy.”

You sigh a sad, little sound that has Floyd’s eyes softening. His knuckle pets your cheek, oddly fond.

“S’just the heat talking,” he reminds you, and you lean into his warm, welcoming hand. “See? Shrimpy’s just followin’ instincts.”

He slides you off of him and your hole clenches uselessly around nothing. Within seconds, he’s flipped you so that you’re lying on your back and he’s above you. His teeth flash at you, sharp and bright, wild and untamed. You sandwich his face between your palms, adoring the way nasally laughter ripples through him. You’re glad he isn’t a mirror because if he was he might reflect an expression you don’t wish to confront at this very moment.

Floyd’s positioned himself and in one speedy thrust that nearly knocks the air from your lungs he slots himself inside, only this time you feel the overwhelming stretch of his knot as it fills you entirely, and you howl with ecstasy, linking your arms around his neck to bring him closer to your throat. Floyd moans lowly, resting his arm above your head and biting into the muscle so hard thin ribbons of blood streak from the punctures. Your chest is heaving, heart pounding out an erratic, heat-driven rhythm, and you cum around his thick knot with a strangled sob, tears running down your cheeks.

Within just a few more tight thrusts, Floyd’s emptied his creamy load inside, and you don’t have the sobriety to consider the weight of broken rules—rules that you had specifically put in place. You listen to his soft pants as he pulls away from his arm, saliva and blood stringing from his lips, and he licks it away with a swipe of his tongue. When he attempts to slide out, your face twists in discomfort.

“Hurts...”

“Aw. I’m sorry, Shrimpy,” he coos, adjusting your position so that he’s lying on his back and you’re resting on top of his chest, his knot still buried within you. His hand rests upon the small of your back, and he gives you a pleased, toothy grin. “Feel better now?”

“A little. Thank you,” you whisper, laying your head over his heart while the extremities of your heat ebb away, satisfied now that you’ve been properly filled and knotted by an alpha. His heart beats a steady thrum: buh-bum, buh-bum, buh-bum. The sweet scent of rain encases the both of you, easing you into a sleepy spell. You peer at the bite mark on his forearm and frown. “You bit yourself?”

“Didn’t wanna bite your neck.”

“Oh.” Your eyes flick to his, but he’s avoiding your stare, his cheeks tinged the faintest pink while he gazes at the ceiling. It’s a rare sight to see the Floyd Leech flustered and withdrawn; you wonder what’s the cause of this sudden shift in character. “You could’ve bitten anywhere else. I...wouldn’t have minded.”

“Didn’t wanna hurt you.”

“Oh.”

He’s looking at you now, the color on his cheeks fading, and a bashful smile plays at his lips. “Didn’t mean to break your rule.”

You reach up to run your fingers through his hair, petting him gently. “It’s fine. We’ll figure it out once we’re unstuck.”

His chest rumbles with laughter. “Whatcha wanna talk about ‘til then?”

“Um... Well, what’s a good stuck-together conversation topic?”

Floyd hums thoughtfully. “You like shiny stuff?”

You blink at him. “Yeah. Why?”

“Just askin,’” he says, but his eyes flash with mischief. He leans in until his nose is touching yours. “Cuz I like shiny stuff, and Shrimpy’s glowin’ right now.”

Your face warms considerably and you push him away with an embarrassed groan. His giggles are muffled in your palm. “Not when we’re stuck together...”

v. “rather, ‘honey rain’ has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

You’re in the process of discussing spring weather with Azul when Floyd rushes up to you, takes your hand, gently spreads your fingers open as if they’re petals, and drops something onto your palm. You expect another tooth or a stone or a crumpled flower—all items he’s been gifting you at random over the course of a few months; what you don’t expect is an eel keychain. Perhaps you should have, though. You’ve learned to expect the unexpected with Floyd.

“What’s this?”

“For you!”

“An eel...for me?”

He nods and holds up a shrimp keychain. Your face warms when the implication becomes clear.

“It’s cute. Thanks. I’ll keep it safe.”

Floyd beams at you and presses his lips to your cheek in a fleeting smooch. Just as quick as he had come, he’s retreating, skipping off in delight, his laughter echoing down the halls while he ignores your flustered shout. You know he wants you to pursue him, but you’re too embarrassed to give chase. Instead, you scrub at your cheek with a huff. He’s always kissing your cheeks and sometimes even your lips. You enjoy it too much to remind him of all the rules the both of you have since broken. They mean nothing now.

“You certainly smell pleased,” Azul remarks with a sly smirk.

“It’s better than smelling funny.”

“Floyd still hasn’t told you what you smell like?”

“No! And it’s really annoying!” You peer at the tiny plush eel in your hands, its beady eyes and stitched smile taunting you. “It’s always ‘Shrimpy smells funny’ and never ‘Shrimpy smells like something that isn’t funny.’”

“I can assure you your scent is not at all humorous. It’s actually quite pleasant.”

“Are you just saying that to be nice, or are you saying that to be nice?”

Azul shakes his head in amusement. “Can’t I compliment a fellow omega and, most importantly, a friend?”

“Can’t you admit the truth?”

“Details, details.” He waves the dig away dismissively. “It’s no wonder Floyd fancies you so. He adores sweet things.”

“Oh, do I smell sweet then? Like candy? Or maybe like a pastry?”

“You smell like floral honey.”

“Huh. That’s...definitely not a funny scent.”

“Not at all. Rather, ‘honey rain’ has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

You wonder if you should object. You wonder if you should try to claim that you and Floyd are still friends despite the evolution of your arrangement. Neither of you have admitted it, but it’s obvious you’ve stepped over the boundary of ‘just friends’ and have entered new territory—territory that’s so very akin to lovers.

But you only smile covertly. “Yeah, it does,” you mumble, tracing your finger over the eel’s tilted head. “It really does.”

#tw: abo #tw: omegaverse #tw: knotting #n/sfw #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #floyd leech x reader #floyd x reader #lunar love hotel 2023 #fluffy floyd hours #since the type of writing wasn't specified i decided to write a oneshot :D

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the-omni-princess · 5 years

Text

Frozen Heart [Epilogue]

Author: @the-omni-princess

Summary: After the war against Hydra, King Bucky comes home to take what has been promised to him since he was young, you. But he is not the same person as the young boy that you grew up with. Can she break through his tough shell and bring back the young man she once fell in love with? Or will she be forced to marry the monster everyone thinks he’s become?

Word Count: 1.7K

Pairing: King!Bucky x Fem!Reader (Royalty Au!)

Warnings: teeth rotting fluff!

A/N:

My beta @annaloveloki is literally the best and that's the t

working on a honeymoon drabble rn, but other than that, it’s the end of this series. My babies <3 lookout for another series, coming out eventually

[Series Masterlist] [Series Playlist] [My Masterlist]

----

Growing up, summer was always one of your favorite times of the year. Waking up early to search for seashells with Steve and Bucky or sneaking ice cream into your rooms as you made pillow forts were some of your fondest childhood memories. Now, you spent the summers running the Kingdom, listening to the people, helping as many people as you could, and taking a few weeks off vacation in the South when possible. In the five years since you’ve come to the North, the kingdom has prospered. A good harvest led to a great harvest, and despite a few hiccups and arguments, Bucky was right, you were a great leader for the people. He also did an absolutely wonderful job, listening to the people to build more schools, lowering crime rates, and taxing the nobles more heavily than the lower classes. Some scholars theorized that the kingdom was in the beginning of a new golden age.

So today, like every first Monday of the month for the past few years, you sit on your throne, listening to every person who made the trek to ask for help or thank you. Some days were easy, such as the days where most residents thanked you for the new marketplace that brought jobs to their town. However, some days felt darker, like the day a mother begged for help for her dying son, help she didn’t have the funds to pay for back in her village. Not sparing a second thought, Bucky watched as you helped the boy into Dr. Cho’s arms. The boy miraculously lived, and in response, you had immediately put into place a new health policy in the kingdom. Tax revenues were split, and the extra funds made it possible for the lower class to have health services for a much lower rate, and in some cases free.

The particular woman who was speaking to you, was bringing up an argument between her and her neighbor. A petty fight, really, but you listened nonetheless, giving your opinion. Bucky was the one who answered the next inhabitant's problem.

Usually the kingdom didn’t give you too much trouble, it was mostly the advisors who defied you, never liking your ideas. Bucky, bless his heart, tended to shut them down pretty quickly, his warm voice turning into ice, the protective wolf in him lashing out. Such as the time you shot down an advisor’s idea, one that would only hurt the lower class. His anger exploded, criticizing Bucky when he tried to come to your defense. “Do you allow her to speak that way for you?” the advisor, one you truly didn’t care enough to even know his name had spoken to his king in a harsh way.

Bucky merely snarled back, “Yes, I do, this as well as in many other things, you’d be wise to remember that.” His voice was cold, the first words in his head being growled out at the man. You had placed your hand on top of Bucky’s calming him. You could practically see the steam rolling off his head, something you definitely teased him about later.

You had kept your voice calm, though the advisors that knew you better than that could hear the venom in your words. “Thank you for your concern, sir,” you emphasized his lower title, “but I do believe your King and Queen can handle the problems of the people, and I do not believe I asked for your opinion on this matter.” You quickly dismissed the rest of the meeting, before adding, “And sir, do remember, I am your Queen. You are not my equal, and you will address me as such.” Eyes wide he quickly bowed and rushed off before you could change your mind.

A small squeal from your right pulled you from your thoughts of the past, two small children rushed into the throne room, followed by two blurs of white and grey fur. You son made it to you first, scrambling to hide behind you just as you stood from the throne. You held him close, just out of reach from Aurora and Raine who yipped happily. Your daughter, however, jumped straight into Bucky’s arms, curling up into her clearly favorite parent.

“Brooklyn, what have we said about chasing your brother down the halls?” You chastised softly, still trying to calm the shaking boy wrapped around your leg.

“To plway in the garden instead,” the five-year-old responded dutifully. Bucky tucked her hair behind her ear, just as Natasha rushed in, cradling a small baby in her hands.

“Grant! Brooklyn! There you two are! You shouldn’t run away from me like that!” Brooklyn just buried herself deeper into her father’s protective arms, pouting. Natasha was most likely regretting telling Wanda it was alright to leave all three children in her care, so she could spend time with her new fiancé, the Head Chef, Vision.

“I’m sowwy auntie,” the little girl sniffled, looking up towards the two of you with tears already brimming her eyes. You knew it was just to gain your attention, so you simply did just that. You gently took the babe from Natasha’s arms, cradling the four-month-old into your chest as your son still buried his face into your long white gown.

Bucky sighed softly, gently prying his daughter’s face from his chest. “What do we say, little princess?” he encouraged, making sure she knew he wasn’t mad at her as both you and him gave her the attention she wanted.

Brooklyn sulked again but carefully pushed herself out of her father’s arms, standing in front of her twin brother. “I’m sowwy, bwutha.” She sniffled again, her tiara tilted vicariously in her hair, and Grant pouted as well. You always loved how they wore matching pouts and eyes to their father, as it reminded you of when you were a child. Brooklyn was a ball of energy, and many of her tutors said her main issue was how she could never sit still. You secretly encouraged it, knowing how much energy your future little queen would need. Grant was always the quieter one, reminding you of when Bucky first came back to you. Calculating, quiet, but eyes wide and always taking in new information. The twins knew each other perfectly, and with one sad ‘I’m sorry’ look from Brooklyn, Grant pushed forward and the two hugged each other. They curled up into each other, even when they were babies they always found a way to be close together. Two matching blue eyes looked up at you for approval, wondering silently if it was safe for them to go back to their games. You nodded, and both scrambled to the gardens to play, two adult wolves and one Natasha rushing after them.

You turned to the crowd, holding the baby closer just as she woke up from the noise. “If there aren’t any more life or death situations, I do think it is time to wrap up for today. Food will be served down the hall for anyone who did not bring their own, follow the guards if you have any trouble finding it.”

Bucky stepped closer to you, wrapping his arm around you. “And thank you all for coming,” he smiled warmly before turning his attention to you, pulling you into his arms. “And how is my little princess doing?” he coed at the babe in your arms, who simply squealed and squirmed in your arms.

“I’m doing fine, thanks for asking,” you teased, grinning up at him.

“Ha, ha, very funny, but you are my Queen, this little cutie is my little princess!” he went back to cooing at the babe, thoroughly enjoying her little shrieks of enjoyment. “My beautiful Celeste,” he kissed her nose, grinning at her responding wiggle, “And My Northern Star,” he whispered before kissing you decisively on the lips. Tender lips against yours, and not a care in the world as you held your baby close, and Bucky held you even closer.

Slowly pulling away as Celeste squirmed for attention, you both couldn’t stop the smiles on your faces. A sudden spark in your mind made you smile even brighter. “Did you hear what Steve and Peggy are naming their child?” The two had gotten married not two years after your own marriage, and now (finally) were expecting their first child together.

“I suppose you’re bringing that up since you’re going to tell me, right?” He teased you back, his hands pressed against your hips, rubbing gentle circles into the fabric of your dress.

You nodded, biting back a smile, “Steve joked and said maybe they should name the baby James since you never have used the name anyway,” you paused, giggling as you saw Bucky’s face scrunch up, positively offended. “But, instead they wanted to name their child after Sam, since he says you stole his close friend and captain of the guard from him.”

Bucky gave you a small gasp, feigning a surprised look, ever the drama queen. “Me? Never!” He dropped the act in favor of smiling again. “Besides, he was the one who sent Sam in the first place, not my fault we became friends.” He shrugged, and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“You absolute dorks,” you kissed his nose playfully.

“But I’m your dork, y/n/n,” he whispered softly.

You nodded solemnly, like it was a big burden to bare. “That you are. Now, let’s go, My Love, we still have to pack for our trip to the beach house in the South.” You tried tugging yourself from his arms, but with a baby in your arms it was pretty hard to do that.

“I know, I know, our yearly vacation. Maybe this time we can give Brooklyn and Grant a baby brother?” he teased, smirking at the implications despite the obvious joke.

“Oh no, mister, that’s how last year’s conversation started. I just had Celeste, I am not doing that again so soon.” You gave him a look and he simply chuckled, pulling you closer as the two of you walked side by side through the halls.

“I’m kidding, My Love. Besides, we can have plenty of practice,” you couldn’t help the laugh that escaped your lips.

“Yeah, yeah, I love you too,” you nuzzled closer into his warm embrace.

“I love you even more, My Queen.” He kissed your head lightly and you realized how truly at peace you were. No more waiting, no more war. Simply two people in utterly in love, surrounded by their ever-growing family, having the time of your lives. Baby steps had become a literal phrase as the children grew up, and everything felt right in the world. Peaceful, content, full of happiness, your children’s laughter in the distance. You finally did it. The Northern Castle was finally a home again.

---

Tags:

Permanent Tags:

@minetticatinwonderland

Frozen Heart Tags: (To change your tag, please let me know :D)

@jsmith509 / @lumar014 / @littlemissporter / @kaylaphantomhive

@damnbuckyishot / @aveatquevale- / @booksbeforebois

@marvelgirl7 / @irreplaceable-spacexual / @mallorydoesstuff / @heartislubbingdubbing / @zeilenkrieg

Bucky Tags:

@cassandras-musings / @darkness-doughter / @novaddictx / @thedancingnerdmermaid / @mood-pancakes / @gracethegeek9902

For a tag, just reply/comment, if I don’t see it, just message me. Tell me what you think! Literally, any comment makes me happy! Like, comment, reblog, interact <3

#Frozen Heart #King!Steve #king!bucky #princess!reader #queen!reader #bucky barns imagine #bucky #Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #arranged marriage AU #childhood friends to lovers #royalty au #bucky barnes modern au #modern royalty au

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warmbeebosoftbeebo · 4 years

Text

The Slow Unfurling (continuation of the Slow Unraveling)

other parts here

does anyone want me to still do tags? if so: @greatheromuffinpalace @paypoulterer1 @anyh0w @anobsessioncalled @panicsinning @queerbrendon @prettyoddfiction @iwriteficsnottragediesladies @uriellybrendon @pageoftheclouds @brendonuriesbubblyass @ier0-must-die @itriedallthenamesiwantedaretaken @xfoxtalynx @spacesams00 @satanspuppet-x @1-800-hallelujah @ryrostan @tacobelltylerr @urie-dreams

just message me to be added or taken off the tag list. i was also thinking of pming people the link to the story instead? any preferences?

I love writing this and I love our boy! This is the most drawn out I’ve done teasing/flirting/touching in pg-ways with no sex except for in thoughts/dreams in a fic, I think, and I think our reader and our boy may be getting some blue bulbs and blue balls, respectively, that they take care of when they’re not together...

---

B loves coming over for two main reasons: you and Tessie, so he's over the next afternoon after he comes back from Hawaii. Tessie is really big and always excited to see him so she usually knocks him over, assuming he doesn't assume the position first, or is sitting on the couch or leaning against something, licking him as he giggles on his back, giving her pets, pats, smoochies, scritches...

You get distracted by his lips, let's be honest, especially as you get lost in your thoughts as the high hits you, Bad Religion, Lita Ford, X- Ray Spex, Against Me, Manic Street Preachers in the background, punk that gets broken up by Public Enemy, TLC, PJ Harvey, who is pretty punk herself too. You love how into the music he gets, even more than you tend to, although seeing him so gleeful, joyous, even campy and animated at times makes you even happier too, matching his pleasure.

He's darker than you now, and you wonder how much of him is tanned, imagine what your skin would look like on each other's, you laying on him between his thighs, wrapped around each other, kissing him, rocking your mound against his dick and balls... Giggling as you both sing along to Ain't 2 Proud 2 Beg. He purses his lips to take a drag, and you're thinking of them on yours, your skin, between your legs too after your playlist switches to Tori's Raspberry Swirl...

Being high makes him way less anxious too, relaxed. He's still surprised your parents let you smoke pot, in the house and everything, even after you told him they told you about how they used to use it too. You two munch on chips, fruit, chocolate covered almonds. He lays his head in your lap as you rub his belly and he makes whiny puppy noises, both of you bouncing to the Clash's Complete Control. You let Tessie in your room when the smoke clears through the window and switch to a calmer playlist. Suede's The Drowners, but still. The obvious homoeroticism is not lost on either of you, both of you grinning. You have a double bed so she can fit in with you, and you wind up petting his hair, neck, back as he pets a now calm her, her fitting some against his front. "You my lil pup, Bren?" He nods, ruffing, and nuzzles his nose against your thigh.

You think about bringing your plan slash resolution slash feeling the waters out up, but don't want to ruin the moment, Fiona Apple's Never is a Promise adding a lovely sadness to the sweetness. Then grooving to Bowie's Starman, B telling you sometimes he feels like a starman... He joined Ryan, Spence, and Brent in the Summer League, they changed their name to Panic! At the Disco, and he just became their singer. Letting that inner starman come out more, you tell him. “Just wonder if we'll ever get Ziggy Stardust, too?”

Your mom and dad get you a peach-kiwi-berry and cream pie for your birthday a couple days later—you've always preferred pie to cake—and your first cell phone for your 17th birthday, so you call B on it, inviting him over for leftover pie before you go to the punk house show. He brings over some presents from Hawaii: a couple leis, matching Hawaiian shirts for you and him, seashells, an alcohol he has to tell you how to pronounce a couple times, a book about Hawaiian goddesses, as well as an old guitar of his and sheet music for Tori Amos. And some dank weed. You are such a pothead now. You played guitar in class at your old school last year, played his at his place too, “now you've got one for your own.” All happy and nervous. You can tell he likes treating people, and he tells you that he loves doing this for his friends. You want to treat him back, but don't want to wait until his birthday all the way in April.

You sneak out to drink a couple times—no longer complaining of your love for fruity ones after you tease him back about the Capri Sun and other fruit juices he loves—him drinking it too. You mosh with him before you have to beg off because some guys use it as an excuse to be dickheads, too aggressive. He gets a couple pot brownies from Eric, and you sit with some friends like him, Amanda, Leah who are there too, eating them, drinking, chatting, getting into the music, or some combination thereof. Luckily there's a taco place a block away that's open late, so you two toddle over, tipsy, but not full on inebriated, him less so—“so I can be a good host.” You order a huge burrito with sweet potato, pico de gallo, avocado, black bean, peppers, rice... Doing that Austin Powers Scottish “Get in my belly!” line. Telling him he should eat his veggies too, dammit. He would look even cuter if he managed to gain some weight, the little bean. You nudge some of your burrito at him too as he eats his tacos. You both need it, even if he's the only one who needs more meat on his bones.

You spill some on the Hawaiian shirt and he immediately reaches over, wiping if of your breast. “Uh... sorry...” he pulls his hand away but you smile, tell him it's ok. Then giggling, you pat his breast too, saying that's how ok it is. Then smooch him on the cheek, before plowing that burrito down, only breaking to grin and look at him. You make it back a couple songs into the next group, but the last one's the best, you and B dancing at the edge of the crowd. You want to kiss him so bad, thanking him over and over, so you do: a peck on the lips. “You're the best, B.” You nuzzle noses with him, hugging him close, swaying, feeling so warm and happy and buzzed, aware your crotch is lightly on his thigh, but you don't pull away. Kind of in love too. You pull him to a loveseat for more cuddles, touching his hands, arms, hair, face, smooching over his forehead, cheeks, nose too—“cutest face ever, B”—back, thigh, petting, massaging, asking a couple times if it's ok, saying he can do it back. He does, more cautious than you are, probably more worried than he often is because you're still tipsy. Fuck, you want to... fuck him every which way into next week,

Walking to the bus stop, you keep touching him, holding hands, brushing shoulders, thighs, hips. You're glad your parents are open-minded, because “Wanna sleepover, B?” They thought he was gay before you told them he was bi, but they'd still be cool with him staying over, even in your bed.

Since you were sixteen, they told you you could have boys over, as long as you were careful, that your mom could take you to the sexual health clinic, that you could have fun in ways that you didn't have to worry about getting pregnant. That they didn't want to tell you you should do things, but they didn't want you hiding things. The few people who knew how they were were surprised you didn't take more advantage, with boys, sex, booze, drugs... You've not done drugs other than pot and booze, not even cigarettes, and there's only been two other boys, one good, one... not, and mostly clothed fooling around. Seems like kids with strict or completely checked out parents were the ones who chased those things, or fell into it.

They knew about those two other boys but not much detail, hell they already knew about you masturbating since you were a baby, and you've told them about crushing on B too, being all touchy with him, leaving out how turned on he got you, the dreams and fantasies... They told you about oral and manual stuff just in general terms, and you made out, grinded with Jax, came with him, wished you two were less shy so you felt free to continue with him, but B told you about outercourse, rubbing on each other, all these different ways, and in more detail...

You just wear shorts and a sportsbra to bed, and he wears shorts of yours and a tshirt. You want to say you'd be down for sleeping naked, but don't want to weird him out, or make him worry about you being too drunk/high to know what you're saying. You're just buzzed now; you know what you'd be saying, and are clearheaded enough to want it, like you'd want to say and do it completely sober too. You do ask him for cuddles and hair pets though, and he grins, nodding, so you gladly oblige on each other, humming and singing songs to each other to get the other to guess what it is.

You, cackling, wake him up with a slap on the ass after 10 because he's on his belly, sheet around his legs. “Couldn't help it, B. Dat ass.” He blushes, and you grin. “I could smooch it better?” He cocks his eyebrow, flushing, but smiling, a soft “you want to?”, so you kiss his lower back first, then the soft skin where your shirt is riding up on him. Then his clothed butt. It's so silly it doesn't seem like a wtf moment or like it's giving anything away.

He strips off, except for his boxer briefs, and grabs his clothes, saying he should've been home already, for family time. “At least I brought you breakfast,” you say, holding out the last of the pie. You feed it to him as you wait for the bus with him. As you see it approach, you kiss him closemouthed on the lips again, hold his hand, thank him for a lovely birthday. “Must be the best birthday ever, Bren, thanks to you.” He gets up and you hug him close. “Best boy ever, B,” you whisper in his ear, hands circling from his back to his ass. “That ok?”

“More than ok...”

Damn, you love all of him, including his booty. “Lovely all over. Butt, too” makes him blush even more than he already is, even grinnier than you.

“Th-thanks. Y-oh, God—you're great too. I mean, the best birthday girl. Uh...” Neither of you have time to finish, because the bus stops, and you tell him not to miss it so he doesn't get in more trouble.

When you're back in class the next day you talk each other's ears off about visiting his family, how everything and everyone in Hawaii is beautiful in their own ways, you wishing you got to see it too, saying you've only been to Scotland and England, also because of family, with their oceansides and hilly farms and castles. He's got a lot of Scot in him too. Chatting until Ms Eliot glares at you two for at least a second time, clearing her throat loudly.

You keep touching him even more than before, matching your birthday celebrations: his hair, imagining flowers in it, his almost brown now skin, thinking he'd get Hawaiian flowers if he got any tattoos like he sometimes talked about. Picturing him naked even, swimming, or covered in flowers, or only in a grass skirt, or the cloth skirts both sexes wore. Or kissing that couple he got a crush on in a matter of hours... Clearly, that beauty rubbed off on him too, making him even more gorgeous. Hand on his thigh, hip, even. When he smiles, remembering the lushness and from your touches, you melt. He promises you pictures soon, saying he first panicked because he thought he lost the camera (it was in his mom's things), then forgot to get them developed, then they couldn't do it over the weekend. He wanted to show them to you and tell you about it at the same time because he can't really do it justice, but couldn't hold off anymore.

You grab onto his hand, nudge your shoulder into him as you're walking in the halls. You sit next to him during lunch, thighs and arms touching, pressing. After, you play with his hair and he just melts into it as you sit in the grass after. He touches back, your back, arm, nuzzles into your hugs and lap. Let's out little moans as you play with the nape of his neck, scalp... You find the small of his back, and he likes there too, even able to feel those Venus dimples he has too, fingertips daring over that strip of bare skin, wanting to go lower... so you do, hand resting on his ass, thumb stroking, sometimes patting to a beat. Watching his blissed out face, lush lips. It's turning you on, quite a lot, thinking about some of the things you could get up to, but you don't stop.

People have assumed that you're either a) boyfriend-girlfriend or b) a gay and his fag hag for a while now, even a couple brother-sister assumptions, but this may be upping it a level.

#brendon urie fanfiction #brendon urie smut #brendon urie imagine #brendon urie fic #the slow unraveling #teasing #so much touching #slow burn

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