#does it matter that he has better taste in furnishings NO

[seravphs]

ੈ♡˳·˖✶ — GOJO x FEM READER 

Gojo deserves a trophy for winning his fight against Sukuna. You’re happy to deliver.

wc — 3.5k

tags — mdni, oral (m receiving) (sorry) but he makes it up to you, praise, possessive Gojo, vaguely inspired by fight club, violence (not towards reader), this is the result of me seeing the leaks so potential spoilers, banner art from Jen Mazza’s incredible Peripety collection, title from On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous by Ocean Vuong

You never get used to Getou’s lavish den of iniquity, no matter how long it's been since you were first indoctrinated. Indoctrination is the right word, because it's less club than cult. Once you’re in, you never get out. 

Hakari’s just finished throwing some stranger out on his ass when he spots you. He jogs a little to get to the warehouse doors before you can and pulls them open, grinning when you thank him and slip inside. There’s a certain level of respect afforded you as someone who runs in the right circles. 

It’s Getou’s name, of course. Yuuji and Maki and all of them, too. But mostly, it’s being known as Gojo’s girl that gives you the reputation you have. No one touches you without consequences. No one even looks at you the wrong way without consequences. Gojo’s the reason you can sail into this cage of violence and immorality without a care in the world. 

“Over here,” Getou shouts over the din as soon as you walk in. 

As the manager of this, whatever this is (half fight club, half business frat, full of the depraved elite), he likes to keep an eye on who’s in and who’s out. Both of the doors, and of consequence. You’re, of course, in. 

He hands you his drink. It’s something blue, tastes vaguely like gin. There’s an ice cube shaped like an eyeball in it, lining up with his weird tastes. You hand it back to him with a nasty shudder once you see the price tag, caught off the menu some politician is flipping through to your right. He’s making a killing off fleecing his spectators between the entrance fee and the drinks. 

“On the house, pretty girl,” he says. “Get whatever you want.” 

Even if Gojo has a soft spot for him, he’s playing a dangerous game. That doesn’t stop you from ordering, nursing your drink as you wait for the match to start. The rest of the audience sits on rickety chairs lined up in front of the makeshift ring. Getou guides you to the VIP booth at the front with only slightly less rickety chairs before he heads off. He’s a busy man, and there’s quite a lot to prepare before the match starts.  

At heart, he’s a businessman, priest costume be damned.  He certainly has the funds to pay for a better set up, but why would he? The ambience of this place does something for the crowd. The smokey lighting, the run-down furnishings, the suspicious stains on the floor - they all live for it. This place feeds off violence and corruption, a dangerous thrum through the baseline of it all promising depravity.  

You can’t lie and say it doesn’t enthrall you, too. 

Otherwise, you wouldn’t be as attracted to Gojo as you are. 

He leans against the ropes in one corner of the ring, a little too tall to relax fully. You can tell it’s irking him from the little tick in his jaw that you like to kiss away once his matches are over. His white hair is down instead of slicked up, a sure tell that he didn’t prepare for this. It flops into his eyes. He needs a haircut, you note fondly. 

He’s all long, lithe limbs and lean muscle. His shirt is already off, draped over the pole. There’s an easy confidence even to the way he waits, like a tiger stalking prey. It’s the attitude of a predator. He knows he’ll win. If there’s a doubt in the minds of anyone in the crowd, he’ll prove it tonight, just as he proved it for his past 5 matches. 

It’s a problem that Sukuna looks just as tough. He has the eyes, as Getou taught you to watch out for when he helped you place your first bet. You can always tell if a fighter is in it for the adrenaline or the money by looking at their eyes. Sukuna looks like he’s in it because he likes the taste of blood. You suppress the chill that goes through you. 

Gojo’s little prodigies are seated next to you when they arrive, three of them in a neat little row. It makes you smile. Megumi protests any assumption that he cares for the man who took him in after he was orphaned, but he shows up to every single match without fail. The trio follow their mentor around like little ducklings to their mother, hoping to soak up every last drop of strength. 

Megumi’s won 2 out of his 4 matches this quarter, a great showing for a rookie. Some might say his strategy is working. Gojo is, however much he goofs off, a relentless teacher. 

“Hi,” he says. “Sorry we’re late.” 

You pull him into a hug. “No worries! It hasn’t started yet.” 

Yuki’s collecting bets for this match. You personally think it’s a dangerous move on Getou’s part. She’s just as likely to skim off the top as she is to steal the whole box and never come back. Maybe she’d move to Singapore again. 

“Who are you betting on?” She asks with a grin. 

“Who else?” 

For the first time in a while, you find a pretty even split between Gojo’s box and his opponents when you go to submit your bet. Usually, no one bets against Gojo. 

“I’m just letting you know cause you’re a pretty girl,” someone leers at you. “But Sukuna has something up his sleeve. I wouldn’t bet on Six Eyes if I were you.” 

“Fuck off, Mahito,” Yuki says. She makes a move to put down her clipboard and he turns tail. You would, too. You’ve seen her fights. “He’s on Sukuna’s side. Don’t listen to him.” 

The lights dim, and the talking quiets into a whisper. No one wants to miss a moment. 

Getou’s the perfect announcer. He knows how to work a crowd. You don’t know who writes his speeches, if he prepares at all, but he always knows the right thing to say to drive them insane. They’re half-frenzied, foaming at the mouth. 

It helps that there are two legends in the ring. 

“Sukuna, the King of Curses,” Getou announces. The only light in the arena centers over the ring, spotlighting the fighters. The crowd goes wild. Personally, you think ‘King of Curses’ is a little cheesy. It can’t be worse than your boyfriend, though.

“Versues Gojo, Six Eyes!” 

Six Eyes is not what you had wanted him to call his alter ego. It’s not nearly as cool as Infinity, which is what you were pushing for, but Gojo’s insistent. Besides, it’s not like anyone will laugh at him. 

It’s Gojo, after all. 

He’s the golden boy of the crowds at these matches. Celebrities pay top dollar to see him fight. You know the appeal. When you were a kid, horror movies used to make you sick. You couldn’t watch a minute of a slasher without feeling the need to close your eyes, but Gojo makes everything different. 

He makes violence into an art form. The line of his arm as his right hook smashes into his opponent’s face paints a silver arc into your eyes. He makes fighting look like a dance, or sex. There’s nothing quite so alluring as watching Gojo go head to head with someone. 

He pushes into their space with the sort of grace that you wouldn’t expect from someone who packs so much brute force behind a punch, managing to execute the cleanest strike every single time. There’s not a single wasted movement in the execution of his attacks. 

Go-jo. Go-jo. Go-jo. 

The crowd is chanting his name. Gojo is encouraging them, making a lap around the arena while Sukuna seethes. He raises his arm, asking for more, more. 

More of their love. More of their adoration. More of their awe. 

Gojo doesn’t fight for the fame or glory, but it definitely helps.  

“The great Gojo Satoru,” Sukuna says, posturing. “You look weaker than the last time I saw you.” 

His last match was Getou, one of the rare matches the announcer will actually participate in. It’s an indulgence he only affords his best friend. It was also the closest one Gojo’s ever had to call, though he won in the end. He always does. He has had an uninterrupted streak of victories from his very first moment in the ring, something no other fighter can claim. Rather than deign to give Sukuna an answer, he calls to someone else. 

“You lost to this, Megumi?” 

Megumi makes a noise of irritation that’s barely restrained by Yuuji tugging his attention away. He’s rarely hotheaded except when it comes to Gojo, who delights in riling him up to see him fight harder. 

“I know he has it in him,” he told you once. “He’s just intent on keeping it down. You gotta pry it out of the kid with a crowbar.” 

“Maybe you shouldn’t be pushing if he doesn’t want to fight,” you had said, amused despite yourself. 

“Nah. It’ll be good.” 

You haven’t seen one of Megumi’s fights yet, but Gojo’s are always a show. 

Sometimes, the less experienced will try to circle their opponents, showing off that they know how to corner someone. They’re too quick to anger, having something to prove. That pride will be their downfall. Others who have a little more time under their belt stand stock still, waiting for the first hit. They want to show off. Their opponents come to them, so they can project the confidence of someone who doesn’t need to attack first. 

It’s all an illusion. If they were really confident, they would be doing what Gojo and Sukuna are doing - brawling. They get dirty quick, swinging at each other with all their strength. 

Sukuna goes for a left-right, smashing through Gojo’s left side with a preliminary feint and trying to needle in a right punch just after. Nothing gets through Gojo’s defenses. It leaves faint red marks on his arms, but not much else. His blocks are perfect, as every other move in his arsenal is. 

Then it’s Gojo’s turn. His jabs are quick and fierce, landing in quick succession. You’ve heard Sukuna never stumbles, but it’s a near thing now as Gojo presses him hard. He takes the impact of one of the heavier hits in his stomach, a bad place. 

You can practically see the cockiness oozing off Gojo. He’s just about hitting his flow state. 

When Megumi touches your arm, you almost snap at him, though you know he’s only concerned for you. With the way you’re white-knuckling the armrests of your seat, anyone would be. You can’t help it. You’re completely unable to look away from the arresting sight of his figure. The way he leans into Sukuna’s blows, dodging them at the last second. His perfect hands, the bruises they leave behind. They all leave an indelible impression on your heart, as they have from his very first match you watched. 

There’s a shocking beauty in this world that you would’ve never realized if he never brought you here. It’s only here, among the most primitive forms of beauty, that you can witness life at its utmost, just flashes of it, all the more enticing for its transience. Gojo’s pale hand catches Sukuna across the throat, cutting off his air. Sukuna scrambles to fling him off. 

The image remains in your mind, appearing behind your eyelids every time you blink. Gojo’s winning, pushing Sukuna towards his corner of the ring. He has him on the defense. Gojo has you enthralled. You’re hungry for more, hungry for the very sight of him. 

Then, there’s a sickening crack as Sukuna’s fist makes contact with Gojo’s jaw, right at the corner of his mouth. His head shoots left, following the impact. You cringe at the solid, meaty noise the hit made. The roar of the crowd goes silent. Megumi especially cringes at the sight. His hand goes to his own cheek in sympathy. 

You always love these until this moment. 

Even Sukuna seems stunned, as if he didn’t actually expect to land that hit. He reacts more slowly than he normally does, retracting his fist instead of pressing his advantage. It’s almost like he’s suspicious. 

Gojo spits blood onto the floor and straightens up with a sanguine smile. “My students are watching. Hope you don’t mind if I get serious.” 

After that, Sukuna doesn’t stand a chance. 

Left kick. Right kick. Left punch. Right punch again, and again, and again. Sukuna can’t fend him off. Gojo lands the same hit over and over, completely blowing through his defenses. At some point, Sukuna’s head hits the mat so hard it looks like the threat of a concussion. Gojo doesn’t waste his chance. He pins him down so he can rain blows down on him. Sukuna tries and fails to buck him off, cursing. 

It’s more than a fight at this point, it’s an execution. He makes crushing a man like Sukuna look like child’s play. It’s a show, and you can’t help but wonder if it’s for you, even as around you, the surge of the crowd is proving otherwise. They congest the barriers, begging for more. 

Gojo looks into the screaming crowd. Half of them are on their feet, jumping up and down, roaring his name or title alternatively. Even Sukuna’s side looks caught between fear and awe. He doesn’t care about any of them. 

When he realizes you’re watching, he strikes the final blow. 

A perfect arc of shiny white flies across the ring and lands on the cement outside of it. Instantly, people are scrambling for the memento. It’s Sukuna’s tooth. 

He doesn’t get back up. 

Only Gojo looks up, grinning like the devil. 

There’s a fire burning in your gut. He’s sweeping the crowd for your face; when his eyes meet yours, you make sure he knows exactly what he’s going to get once you find him in the locker room. He grins, splitting a just scabbed wound so blood begins trickling into his teeth. It’s messy, it’s gross, you want to lick it off his face. 

“Please just go,” Nobara says, pained. “I can’t watch you two eyefuck for another second.” 

You don’t need another invitation. 

No one protests when you push your way past the door marked “PRIVATE” in obnoxiously red letters. They’re used to you. Besides, no one wants to get in the way of Gojo’s girl and have him find an issue with them outside the ring. It’s bad enough when there are rules - a private fight with him is an absolute no go. If anything, they see you and know it's time to head home before they’re subject to a scene they absolutely have no interest in seeing. 

He’s waiting in his dressing chair, but he makes it look like a throne. 

Before you even finish closing the door, he’s on you. You have to scramble for the handle so you can lock it through the blinding haze of his kiss, the crush of his gentle hands on your waist, your jaw as he tilts your head up. 

“Are you here to give me my reward?” He says when he finally pulls back, gasping for air the way he didn’t in the match. He hadn’t even broken a sweat. Something in you delights at being the one to pull this side of him out in a way that even Sukuna hadn’t been able to. 

“Get back on that chair,” you say. 

“Oh, baby. You know I love it when you’re bossy,” he coos, and then he’s not acting so cocky anymore because you’re pulling his boxers down. No one can get him to shut up unless it’s you, on your knees. He cups your jaw possessively as you lick your lips. 

He can’t help it. You’re sweet and soft and perfect for him, everything he wants. It helps that you’re good with your mouth, the result of hours of practice. When his cock hits the back of your throat, his fist clenches in your hair before he can stop himself. Muttered sorries can’t compare to the way his eyes are rolling back into his head, the way his head is tipped so far back you can clearly see the bob of his throat when he swallows. 

The effect you’re having on him only makes his effect on you worse. Your cunt throbs, empty, but you’re determined to give him what he deserves before you give yourself any attention. 

“You’re making such a mess,” he mutters, low and guttural as he watches you drool on his cock. “Just look at you, baby.” 

The pet name makes your pace stutter. He laughs at you, because he may be sweet on you specifically, but your boyfriend is an asshole in general, and sometimes he just can’t help it. You make him regret it, licking up the underside of his cock, tracing a sensitive vein with your tongue. 

His hands are petting over your hair, as soothing as the quiet praise he drops, always some variation of ‘pretty little thing’ or ‘my good girl.’ You’re gagging, trying to fit more. You are good, you think as you struggle, hollowing your cheeks around him. So good, just for him. He moans and his hips jerk forward with a sudden spasm. It pushes his cock further into your mouth, hitting impossibly deep. Even when tears well up in your eyes, you urge him on, hand on his thigh. Given permission, he fucks into your mouth with abandon. 

When he pulls you off, you whine without shame. 

“Don’t be like that,” he coos - he’s always cooing at you, always softening his words, giving you the best of him. “I’m going to give you what you need.” 

He bends you over the vanity so you can see your face in your mirror. Your cheeks are warm and your eyes slightly watery. His hands have tousled your hair so thoroughly you look debauched. You love it, especially when he slips a hand under your skirt and flips it up. 

“Cute panties,” he snickers. 

They’re the same blue as his eyes. 

“You would like them, you narcissist,” you shoot back. 

Your voice dies as he pulls them off. You’re so wet it leaves a string stretching between the fabric and your pussy, only breaking once Gojo impatiently rips it off of you. You can’t even be mad, you’re so desperate for him. 

He slides a thigh between your legs and presses you open until you’re spread wide for him, on full display. One large hand grips your hip in a way that makes your brain go hazy and stupid, seeing the splay of his fingers across your flesh. Possessive. 

He slips two fingers into you gently. It’s still not enough. You knew before you came to this room that you were ready, that you prepared for him, but he always insists on opening you up nice and slow. It’s a pleasure for him to first see the way you fall apart on his fingers, riding them like you’re mad for it. He’s not big on delayed gratification until it comes to you, and then he can be maddeningly patient. He curls his fingers just right until your legs are trembling with desire. 

“Enough,” you gasp. You’re clutching onto his forearm with shaky hands, trying to push him away even as your cunt is sucking him in. Gojo raises an eyebrow at the mixed signals you’re sending.   

“I barely started,” he says, amused. 

“But I want it now,” you whine. 

He never refuses you. You’re so wet that he should push into you easily, but he’s big enough that it punches the breath of you anyway. He stays there, waiting, while you shake through a mini orgasm, lightning traveling up your spine and nerves as you shiver apart. 

“Told you,” he says, unsympathetic even as he pets your thighs for your comfort. “This is what happens when you get greedy.” 

Even being put in your place like this doesn’t deter you. Before long, you’re pleading for more again, begging for him to split you open on his cock. He groans, playfully put upon. When he accidentally bumps your clit, you clench down on him so hard it finally shuts him up. You’re so full of him you can barely breathe, his hips finally flush to your ass. 

“Perfect little cunt,” Gojo hisses, drowning in you. His face is buried in the crook of your neck as his hips snap forward. He’s too wired to be gentle but you want it, crave it. You need to see him like he was in that arena, a brutal machine. “Made for me, aren’t you?” 

You mindlessly hum your agreement as both hands pin your hips down to the cool surface of his dressing table. You feel so good you can’t even think straight, every single thought in your head centering on the tension in your core. When he finally, finally gives you what you need, fucking you so hard the table shakes, you cum so quickly you can’t even warn him. Your cunt spasms around him as your eyes flutter shut. If he hadn’t been holding you open, your legs would’ve snapped shut around him. 

“Good, sweetheart?” He asks as you come down from your high. “Because I don’t think I’ve gotten my full reward yet.”

#sera writes #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo smut #gojou x reader #gojou satoru x reader #ns.fw

[microwave-core]

We All Love O'Nare of the Glitterati <3

Listen, I know that she’s married to Boy Toy McGee, but she’s too perfect for an April Fool’s post for me to pass up, so let’s just assume that she’s not. Or maybe you’re just a side piece. Or he's the side piece. I never really decided.

______________________________________________________

Obviously, when you first see O’Nare, you fall head over heels for her, because who wouldn’t? She’s so wonderfully beautiful and charitable, it’s hard to resist her pull. And she, in tow, fell in love with you thanks to the positive energy radiating from your being.

Originally, she believed you to just be another commoner, a rare commodity for the likes of her, sparking intrigue. It wasn’t often that she got to interact with the common folk, leading to her seeking you out for your opinions about certain matters. She makes sure to pay you for your time, of course. She loves to spread charity to the commoners.

Once you both fall, it’s only a matter of time before she spills her true feelings for you. She never thought a commoner would be the one to catch her heart, but she wasn’t about to let such a catch slip through her fingers. Besides, getting with you would allow her to cherish you in lavish luxury, give you a life you deserved.

Being the President of Paldea Realty, she is often very busy, but loves to take trips with her dearest Billy in search of true beauty in the region, visiting both major landmarks for inspiration and remote areas to clear her mind. Bringing you along brings her great joy. She loves eating up your time, enjoying the positivity of Paldea’s landscape alongside your positive aura.

Alongside throwing you some cash when you join her, you will also receive incredible pearls of wisdom. She seeks to guide you through life, ensuring you walk down the path of beauty and positive energy rather than one that is dingy and dull. 

Battles are the true path to her heart. Despite all of her… eccentric tendencies, O’Nare strive to understand more about the world and people around her. Even if they may seem dull and small in comparison to her wonderfully lavish life, she understands that beauty and positivity can be found in all things if you look deep enough. And what better way to learn more about the people around you than to battle them?

Although, while she loves to battle and to spread riches among the less fortunate, she does hate to see her darling Arbolivia and Persian get hurt. Alas, it is a small sacrifice that she must put up with, making sure to use the best medicine and plenty of PDA to make it up to them after the fact.

Along with those two, I assume she has at least three or four Meowths in her egregiously sized mansion, with personal attendants to ensure maximum happiness. She prefers the Kantonian variant, but also appreciates the Alolan form. The Galarian form, on the other hand… she believes they deserve just as much love as the others, but she is also aware of the destruction they can bring to the objects around them, along with how much they shed. Although, if you wanted one, she would be willing to make an exception. Love is a powerful thing, after all.

Speaking of her home, it’s, as expected as of a billionaire, fucking massive and also terribly furnished. I hate to say it, but O’Nare has rich person taste, meaning her home is full of weird ass furniture. Inconvenient chairs and uncanny statues and rooms dedicated to niche hobbies that no normal person would ever think would need a full room to complete are littered all over her home.

Originally, I was going to peg her down as a sugar mommy, but I don’t think that’s quite the case (I also kinda gave that roll to Geeta so that spot was taken). You aren’t a sugar baby in this relationship, you’re a trophy wife. She dresses you in the finest luxury brands and styles and brings you to all kinds of fancy smancy rich people events to show you off.

No price is too high for someone such as herself. Simply name anything you want and she will get it for you, no questions. O’Nare enjoys the feeling of spending money on someone she cares for, so don’t be shy to ask for anything that may cross your mind, big or small. 

Of course, she will also shower you with gifts whenever she finds something you might like. She doesn’t care how expensive her gifts may be, so don’t even try to deny them because they seem too nice to just take without anything in return. Your love and devotion is a far greater gift to her than anything money could buy. 

Also it took me reading through the Bulbepedia page to realize that their names (Billy and O’Nare) was a play on billionaire woops.

#pokemon x reader #o'nare x reader #pokemon o'nare #your april fools headcanons milord #i got distracted while spitting this into a document watching asmr woops #its still done on time tho #so does it really matter? #anyways #i have got to get back to my farm wife bye bye

[theonlymadmanonmars]

It's cold out. Willy hates the Cold. It makes his joints hurt. Every part of him feels stiff. It reminds him of his mortality. Despite everything, His power, His plans, The fact that he can kill a man with a mere thought, Despite everything he's still Mortal. It's Infuriating.

He lights a fire and holds it in his hand. It does nothing to fend off the frost that's biting at every piece of his skin, but it's nice to be reminded that he can.

The castle is old and Creaky. Despite the renovations they've done to it nothing can account for the lack of insulation. Whatever. It's not like it matters. Willy is well aware of who he is and the power he holds. Mortality is temporary after all. Or at least it will be when he's done.

As if his day couldn't get any worse Barry decides now is the perfect time to approach him. Lovely.

“Hello William,” He says In an infuriatingly cheery voice.

“For the millionth fuckin Time it's just Willy!” Willy sighs and waves his arms dramatically ”W. I. L. L .Y! Willy. Not William!” He pinches the bridge of his nose exasperated. Barry has this unique talent for getting under his skin.

“Of course, of course,” Barry pauses his Grin spreading to his eyes “William,” He lets out a small chuckle.

Willy shoots him an icy glare. Of course Barry just keeps smiling at him, his zen masquerade never faltering.

“Do you want something?” He says bubbling with irritation.

“Well not particularly Dear, I just wanted to give you this”

He hands over a shiny crystal Cup that immediately starts shaking in Willy's grasp nearly cracking.

“Dont fuckin call me that–” He sticks out his tounge slightly as if the nickname has left a bad taste in his mouth– “What the hell is this?” Willy glares down at the cup. He sniffs it still slightly annoyed.

It smells like Apples and Pine. He read somewhere you should never accept a gift from an elf, But it is Barry. He doubts the man would ever stand against him and regardless he's sure that if he did Barry would not survive.

“It's Apple Cider, Dear.” He enunciates the last word as if to prove a point. “I know you don't drink”

He's right of course. Willy doesn't drink. His dad drank himself to death when he was twelve. The idea of drinking hasn't appealed to him since then. Of course he used to. When he was alive he let Ron pour his whiskey. Unlike his father however Willy was always a sappy drunk. That vulnerability did not appeal to Willy in the slightest.

“Why are you giving me this?” He looks up at Barry skeptically.

“It's winter Solstice Dear. The start of Yule. We're celebrating the return of light.” He swirls The liquid in his own cup around gently. “Me and Autumn used to celebrate together but as of recent events… Well drinking alone is no fun if you'd care to join me.”

Willy looks over at him confused. Him and Barry aren't exactly friends. Are they?

“Why would I celebrate with you?” He glares over at him. He really doesn't want to spend anymore time with him than strictly necessary. Barry's smile faulters slightly.

“It was just an invitation William. You don't have to accept it.”

“Fuck it. I don't have anything better to do” Willy doesn't want to spend time with Barry but there's not much worse than stewing alone in the cold.

Barry's smile meets his eyes. He tilts his head to the side as he offers a hand out for Willy to take. Willy promptly smacks his hand away and stands up on his own. Barry simply turns and starts walking to his room with Willy in tow.

The room is Infuriatingly well furnished. A large Bed with a Gold encrusted Wooden Frame sits directly in the middle of the room. The frame twisting and turning into one of his stupid perfect symmetrical trees. Surrounding the bed are all sorts of plants. Pink and Red Roses are littered throughout the entire room growing directly out of the floorboards. The walls have almost no empty Space on them. Each section is invaded by shelves holding Crystals and Candles that light up the room warmly.

Overall it's incredibly pretentious. Incredibly Barry. Willy isn't sure whether he should be impressed or annoyed.

Barry doesn't say anything he just sits on the bed and pats the area next to him.

“Did you just fucking Pat for me to sit down? Are you fucking serious?!” Willy glares at Barry, the pretentious Fuck continuing to smile at him.

“I didn't mean anything by it dear. I simply was inviting you to sit with me.” He says calmly.

Barry stares at him. Willy stares back. He realizes now that Barry's eyes are the exact same color as the leaves of the trees he's curated. A deep green with small flecks of Gold inside. They match perfectly with his impossibly long blonde hair.

“Are you going to sit down or not?” Barry asks prying Willy out of his thoughts.

Willy reluctantly sits down next to him.

“It feels like… even after almost four years of knowing you I know nothing about you,” Barry says as that genuine smile returns to his face. “So I think we should play twenty-one questions”

“That's intentional, That you don't know anything about me I mean,” Willy grumbles

“I'm aware,” Barry says simply “However I think we should get to know each other. Wouldn't it be valuable for you to have some Intel on me?”

He's right. He usually is. Not that Willy would ever admit that. It would just boost the man's already exceptionally high ego.

“Fine,” He huffs sitting up against the bedframe.

“Do you want to go first?” He says polite as ever offering Willy a large bottle of Apple cider. “Or do you want me too?”

He moves to sit next to Willy, sliding a hand onto his shoulder. Another thing Willy hates. The way Barry touches him feels consuming. It's almost Terrifying. Willy thinks It would be to anyone else. This man- Who's more monster than man really- Trying to devour him whole with just a touch. It’s Corruption, Abuse, Violence, Everything that Willy himself is. He doesn't move Barry's hand.

“I will.” Willy sighs.

He pauses deep in thought. There are so many things about Barry he doesn't know. What could be useful? You need to know everything about a beast before attempting to tame it. Especially one that plans to eat you whole.

He's thinking too hard. Willy has never had a friend before, and the man before him was one of the most annoying people he'd ever met. But… They were similar in a way. He could relate to Barry on a level he can't any other men. Monsters often find solace in each other after all.

“How do you know what this game is? Do you have this stuff in fae rune?” He finally settles on a more simple question.

Barry looks at him like he's a particularly interesting ant in an ant farm. Willy glares at him.

“Bill told me about it.” He explains. “He wanted to play it with me but-” he cuts himself off politely. “Well you know how Bill is.”

Willy snorts rolling his eyes. Bill was, to put it lightly, the most annoying person Willy had ever met.

“My turn then.” Barry says

He starts stretching. His casual yoga has always pissed Willy off. He pretends to think for about a minute, Putting a finger up to his lips.

“What's your astrology sign?”

“I'm a Scorpio.” Willy knows the bare essentials of Astrology. He learned very quickly that when it comes to magic, if Barry believes in something it’s probably not complete bullshit.

The Half elf grins his pointy teeth on full display. Every part of Barry is sharp in some way. His sharp chin, his pointy teeth, his long slender fingers ending in perfectly manicured claws, his pointy ears- the most pointy Willy ever has seen on a halfie, and his sharp cutting words. Every part of him is dangerous, a ravenous monster waiting for its next meal. Despite himself it always seems to leave Willy wanting more. More of him.

“-Compatible.” Is all Willy hears when he snaps back into the moment.

“Compatible?” He repeats dumbly not sure what else to say

“Our Zodiac signs. You’re a Scorpio and I’m a Leo. We’re compatible!” Barry says cheerfully as ever.

“What do you mean compatible?” He asks a slight snarl to his voice, his words dripping in a false venom.

“I didn’t mean anything in particular. It’s just an astrology fact” He says shrugging.

“Hm.”

There’s a long silence between them for a long moment Barry’s striking green eyes focused on Willys. It takes a long moment for Willy to relive why the talking has stopped.

“Oh. It’s my turn. Okay… Why did you marry Autumn?”

Barry grins seemingly much more satisfied with this question than the first one. He pulls his floor length blond hair out of the braid it’s usually confined in and plucks the flowers out one by one.

“Autumn and I were…” He takes a deep breath before continuing. “Dreamers. She wanted to change the world, as did I. I liked her quite a lot—“

“—Not loved?” Willy asks, cutting him off for the second time this evening.

“No. Not loved. I don’t believe I’ve ever loved anyone.” He cards his hand through his hair now shaking out any excess plants. “Regardless, I liked her quite a lot. She was my best friend. I showed her the beauty of nature and she taught me about the stars, tales of Gods old and new, and told me her dreams for peace among men. I promised to make those dreams come true. She loved me and I was very fond of her. So we were married.”

Willy looks at Barry for a long time. The way he speaks of his wife now is far more fond than any time he has in all the years he’s known him. It makes Willy’s whole body tense up.

“Things are different now of course. Had Autumn turned out differently the two of us could have ruled the world together” He lets out a deep sigh. “But unfortunately she found a way to disappoint me. Just like everyone else I’ve met except…” He cuts himself off.

‘“Except?” Willy inquires.

“Except for you.” Barry looks away from him staring intently at the Wall that infuriating smile still plastered onto his face.

“Hm” Willy doesn't say anything beyond that leaving unsaid words dangling in the air above them.

“How about you? What was your wife like?” Barry asks.

“She was an absolute bitch. She thought she was ‘chronically ill’ or something and did nothing but lay in bed. She was a lazy Bitch. She didn't ‘approve of my parenting style' but never wanted to help raise the little pussy.” He grumbles a familiar bite to his words mocking his now dead ex wife.

“She doesn't sound like she was the right match for you” Barry says gently.

There's something strange tugging at his words. As if there's more to the sentence. But Willy doesn't ask and Barry doesn't tell him.

“Yeah well she wasn't. She was… I don't know. It was better before she got sick. She was a bitch though.” He says definitively.

Barry tilts his head slightly to the side and hums softly.

“What's your favorite thing about yourself?” Willy asks with a smirk.

Barry can go on for hours about how great he is. How much better he is than anyone and everyone around him. He's insufferable about it. Right now, However, it could come in handy. He'd rather listen to Barry ramble on than reveal more information about himself the Half elf will definitely use against him.

“My intelligence. What's your favorite thing about me?” Barry quickly flips the question.

What the hell? Barry loves to talk about himself. He has a deeper agenda here. Something that Willy can't see. It's enraging.

“What are you playing at?” Willy questions, ignoring Barry's question?

“What are you talking about?” Barry asks plainly.

“What's your game here Oak?” Willy asks again. He sighs, Willy hates repeating himself.

“Whatever do you mean?” Barry isn't asking. He knows. He's playing with Willy.

Willy snaps. He flips around pinning Barry to the bed snarling down at him. Barry shudders under him, his practiced smile never wavering.

“You know exactly what I mean, you self righteous prick.” Willy growls out.

Barry does something unexpected. He grasps at the back of Willy's shirt the fabric rough against his fingers and pulls him down into a hungry kiss.

Everything about Barry is sharp. His kiss is no different. Sharp teeth desperately bite at Willy's Lips as Barry Claws into his back trying to swallow him whole.

It's messy it's terrible. It's terrible the way that Willy wants Barry to cut him open to lick his intestines and Bite his heart in two. To dig his fingers into his chest and pull out his ribs.

Barry has always been a beast. He has no empathy, He cares about nothing but himself. He's a ravenous monster all sharp edges and sharper words. So what could Willy do but let him devour him?

Barry pulls away gently Willy chasing his lips.

“What the fuck was that?” Willy demands

“We can talk about it tomorrow.” Without another word Barry pulls Willy down to lie on his chest.

Willy thinks about leaving, Walking out now and never having to face what just happened. Then again Barry is wrapped around him, hard edges softening. It fills Willy with an unfamiliar warmth. He settles into the bed wrapping an arm around Barry. He can stay, just for the night. After all, Willy hates the cold.

#dungeons and daddies #dndads #dndads fanart #barry oak #willy stampler #Warbear #warbear #Willy/Barry #purple trees #dungeons and daddies fanfiction #dndads fanfic #dndads fic #dndads Season 1 #dndads 1 #dndads s1 #im begging you to see my vison #please

[just-a-cybercroissant]

1, 7 and 21 pls!

~couple questions~ for when you need an excuse to talk about your characters/ship 😽

What do they think of each other's family? And how does the family feel?

Valerie and Johnny's families feel nothing, as these two are became orphans long ago (Johnny at the age of 16, and Valerie - at 16). Anyway, Valerie and Johnny show respect each other's parents and commemorate them regularly. However, the only Valerie's relative that Johnny despises is her late uncle Marcel, as it was him who exploited his own niece (who was traumatized by her parents' death) for his own need, and it was him who introduced Valerie to the criminal world which isn't a right place for such a melancholic figure like her. Although Johnny doesn't talk about that openly, as Valerie's used to speak about her uncle warmly.

For both of them, talking about each other's families is a show of trust as well, as they don't usually share their family stories to those they don't know.

7. What's their most and least favorite thing about each other?

In Valerie, Johnny most appreciates her ability to listen and hear. That is why he began to share with her his memories of Robert John Linder's past - about the war, about his parents, about childhood in Texas - about which he had never shared with Rogue or Alt. Valerie never looks at people through the prism of someone else's opinion - a rare skill for Night City citizens, mired in pervasive stupidity.

The hardest thing for Johnny is Valerie's conformity. As an ideologue, it's sometimes difficult for him to understand why Valerie's in no hurry to rush into battle with corporats. Valerie's philosophy is too mundane for him - she just needs a place to live in and her loved ones to be safe and sound, no matter who she needs to side with for this. But even with this, Johnny's ready to put up with it, as he cannot imagine his life without Valerie.

In Johnny, Valerie most appreciates his integrity and ability to fight for his principles. She has many questions about the methods of struggle, but this firmness of character has always attracted her to Johnny, perhaps because it reminded her of her dead father. She is calm with him, because for her, surprisingly, he has become the very safe harbor she always needed.

However, if Valerie appreciates Johnny's principles, then she sometimes has problems with his principles. Valerie is too far from the corporate struggle, because she believes that chaos and devastation can be worse than "Death to Corporats".

21. If they live together, how do they split household responsibilities?

Valerie is always responsible for cooking, washing and cleaning - not because there's sexism in their house, God forbids - but because she simply doesn't trust Johnny these choirs. She knows well that Johnny cannot run the household because of his utterly chaotic personality.

But this is not to say that he does nothing at all for the household. For instance, it is Johnny who gives the 'atmosphere' to their house. Since he has better taste than Valerie, it is he who 'chooses the garments' and furnishes the apartment. He is the one who looks after Nibbles (because it was his idea to give this present for Valerie). Reluctantly, he still helps Valerie with the cleaning, either because of a sense of responsibility that he cultivated over the years, or because of Valerie's playful threats that because of her tiredness he might not expect sex at nights.

#cyberpunk 2077 #tysm for asking! #that was fun to write #ask game #oc: valerie attal #johnny silverhand

[piquuse]

[Mysterious Risotto]

confusion was clear on dear queen's features, frowned brows staring down at very haunting mass of what he barely could tell it was risotto ... maybe. he was starting to doubt his own sight on the matter --wait, was that a fluorescent mushroom ?! " uh. when did this appear on the table. "

let's get hootin'!

          "...I think one of the Savanaclaw students forgot it here? That really tall guy over there, with the blond tail." Deuce's befuddled gesture eventually lands on one of the students who had ran up to join the rest of the crowd on the dance floor. "Oh wow, um, I didn't know Professor Amos could dance like that." He didn't think people's joints could bend like that either without breaking a bone. Yikes.

In the end, however, Deuce's curiosity gets the better of him and he leans in to inspect the rather peculiar-looking dish. It's barely been touched; a sign that there were in fact students attending the university with some of their survival instinct intact, even if it's been somewhat impaired. The smart idea would likely have been to avoid the dish altogether—but then again, Deuce had never claimed to be the sharpest spade in the shed.

And he's just so terribly, terribly curious about what such a bizarre-looking food would taste like... The mushrooms themselves don't look too peculiar (he thinks, at least) and as he continues to gaze at the food he can't help but feel...compelled, so to speak. Compelled to try a bite of it, just a one little nibble.

After all, he thinks, perhaps a bit naively, it was just a purple risotto, right? So against what would have been the better judgement, Deuce ferries a spoonful of risotto into his mouth...only to be surprised by the rich, savory flavor that almost seems to explode onto his tongue.

Shocked didn't even being to cover the spectrum of emotions that held Deuce in an affectionate chokehold. If he were a more erudite type, he had a feeling that even if he had run the gamut of appropriate synonyms to describe how he felt with that one bite, it wouldn't have mattered. Words weren't enough to convey how much he enjoyed this oddly colored risotto, so he would simply have to show it instead!

Newly resolved, he straightens abruptly and turns to face the Pomefiore senior with fervor in those sharp teal eyes, earnest intent lining his frame. "Schoenheit—!!" He begins, but as he opens his mouth to speak a fuzzy sort of darkness peppers his vision; his jaw goes slack in silenced surprise, and suddenly he is no longer at Night Raven University's First Annual Hootenanny.

Instead, he is standing in the living area of a modest little townhouse. It's neatly furnished, if clearly lived-in, and familiar. The architectural style of the interior design is something he would have described as being 'carefree and whimsical', in a way that should not but somehow clearly does manage to function properly. It's a familiar aesthetic, because it is the same sort of common style that was found in the Heartslabyul dorm.

Breathing in introduces the scent of roses to him, sweet in a way that only dried blooms achieved best. From behind him, somewhere outside the house, he can hear the sounds of a party, muted by the walls. From a different part of the house, however, Deuce can hear a woman's voice humming gently to a song that only she could hear. And just like the furniture, just like the roses, that too is familiar.

Warmth creeps into his chest like a vice, and he turns down the hall that he knows will lead into the kitchen, because he knows this house like how he knows who that voice belongs to.

          "Hey Mom, need any help?" Deuce asks, before pressing a kiss to her cheek the way he has done since he was a child. She's shorter than he remembers her being, the last time he saw her, but he abandons the thought as quickly as it comes. She laughs, but says yes.

          "It's just the cake that's left to bring out, but sure, you can carry it out for me." His mom explains, gesturing a hand towards the simple two-tiered cake that she had just placed onto the carrying tray. "Maybe I should have agreed to let that baker friend of yours take care of the cake this year after all. Then I wouldn't have had to clean all those dishes."

          "I'll let him know next time, then." He says, before carefully picking up the cake. "Okay, I think I got it... Can you get that for me?" He asks, once they've reached the backdoor, though she's already pulling it open for him by the time he's finished speaking.

The party he had heard earlier turns out to have been located right in their own garden. It's a small gathering, because there simply is not a lot of open space in the Spade household. Not that Deuce had ever bothered to bring any guests home in his youth in the first place, he remembers.

He...can't quite make out any of their guests' faces, which is disturbing, but something in his gut tells him that he knows these people even if he can't quite place them, and Deuce has always found some value in trusting his gut. With that settled, he lets the matter go for the most part and makes the join the rest of the party, but his mother stops him before he gets through the doorway. When he turns to ask why, he finds that he can't speak.

          "I'm proud of you, Deuce." She says, her matching teal eyes soft with a mother's love. "You're not quite there yet, but I know that one day, you'll get to where you want to be. So don't give up. When that happens, then you can come and join the rest of us here." Her hand brushes against his cheek fondly, and it feels like a goodbye but less of a bye forever and more of a see you soon. All the same, he doesn't want to leave.

But when he blinks, he’s suddenly back at the table with the mysterious purple risotto, and Housewarden Schoenheit is looking at him with an expression that says that he's about to give up on trying to reach wherever it was that Deuce's head had flown off to.

It's...jarring, actually. Because Deuce doesn't even know where he went just then, and doesn't even know where to start with explaining what he just saw. Not that something like that would stop him from trying, of course. But, well...

(It's hard to explain something like that when Deuce starts crying as soon as he starts to speak, y'know?)

#fielerex #nru_backthatbashup #` fairest one of all. (vil) #` messages. #long post #this...is longer than i meant for it to be #at this point i may as well be writing both deuce and his mother on this blog #anyways the risotto gets a 10 out of 10 from deuce #there isnt nearly enough mysterious risotto getting passed around smh #i meant to get to more inbox stuff but i just spent like four hours on this one alone so im going to go to sleep

[baejax-the-great]

Circannual rhythms are always a crap shoot in space, but if Shepard catches Garrus whistling down the hallways of the Normandy, she knows he’s about to refurbish their entire bedroom and it’s a race to hide her favorite pillows.

#mass effect #turian headcanon #garrus #shepard #shakarian #yes making fun of garrus being a bird is a hill I will die on #he's nesting he nests #does it matter that he has better taste in furnishings NO #this isn't regulation vakarian #you need to replace your pillows regularly shep #it's hygienic and don't these have better support anyway #you don't use pillows what do you even know about support #the asari on the citadel told me this was the hottest color for bedrooms this year #HOW WOULD SHE KNOW

[mandoalorian]

The Secret Of The Wish [Max Lord x F!Reader] SEX POLLEN

Summary: You’re a new intern for the Wall Street Journal, sent out to interview Maxwell Lord, a businessman who has suddenly found financial success in the oil drilling industry. When you ask him what does he owe his success to, he gives you a surprisingly honest answer: through the power of the wish. You make the mistake of humouring him, and playing along with his little story until he proves to you just how powerful wishing can be.

Warnings: 18+ SMUT (sex pollen in the form of wish granting therefore there is automatic dub-con) unprotected p in v, male oral, handjob, tit play, butt play, spanking, cockwarming, creampie, degradation, praise kink, office sex, power-shift, dom/sub dynamic, implied age difference, mutual pining.

Word count: 4400>

Masterlist

REBLOGS appreciated! 🤍

Black Gold Cooperative was booming with business. Even the outside of the building was swamped with hundreds of people who were desperate to get inside and speak to Mr Lord himself. Luckily, you were a journalist for the esteemed Wall Street Journal and your position in the company had earned yourself an interview with the successful CEO. The entire world had thousands upon thousands of questions for Maxwell Lord, and you were the lucky intern who got to meet with him on this humid Wednesday afternoon.

A tall blonde woman who you assumed was his secretary, led you to his office. All his employees seemed to be young, attractive and wore only the best designer clothes. It was almost intimidating. You couldn’t mess this up. You were conducting an interview with one of the most successful people alive - this could actually be your big break in the industry. Taking a deep breath, you made an attempt to swallow away your nerves before making your way into his own private office.

It was extensive in size, with large plants and statues in every corner and on every surface. Honestly, you found his taste in furnishings to be quite tacky. You knew it was just his way of bragging about how wealthy he was without actually saying anything. He was neck deep in paperwork and he hadn’t even noticed you were just standing there, in his office. Your eyes flicked across his messy desk, taking in the sight of multiple opened bottles of vitamins, colourful smoothies and other supplements. You made a mental note, not exactly pinning the salesman as a health freak. You’d been standing there for longer than you’d anticipated and he still hadn’t looked up, so you cleared your throat and prepared to grab his attention.

“Mr Lord… I’m here on behalf of Wall Street Journal, we’re doing a segment on Company Sudden Search....” you began to introduce yourself but a roll of his eyes and a flimsy yet disapproving gesture of his hand cut you off.

“Yeah yeah, I know,” he grumbled, taking a swing of his green juice before fastening the cap back on the bottle and pulling a face of disgust. If he thought it tasted so bad, why was he drinking it? Maxwell took a minute trying to compose himself for the interview. He’d waited his whole life to be interviewed by the Wall Street Journal and no matter how bad his migraine was… he couldn’t mess this up.

In fact… there was something about the way Maxwell Lord looked in this moment. His bottle blonde hair was sticking up in random places, probably due to the beads of sweat that laced his forehead. His tie was pulled open and his suit jacket was crinkled, yet he still made the effort to keep it on for whatever reason. He didn’t look like the persuasive, bright eyed salesman on the television, that’s for sure. You supposed all those studio lights could make anyone look different, but that didn’t necessarily mean he looked bad. He didn’t look sick as such, just a little disheveled. He kept rubbing his temples as if he had a killer headache. You considered asking him if he was okay, but that wasn’t why you were here.

The prolonged silence made Max Lord look up at you from the many papers on his desk. He was frowning, and if one thing was clear, it looked like he was having a bad day. It looked like he could do with some major stress relief. The first two buttons of his pinstripe shirt were open, and his collar was wonky, and honestly? You had to fight the urge to stalk over to him and help him out. You imagined running your fingers through his golden hair, caressing his face and letting your hands wander down his chest. You imagined whispering dirty little things into his ear until he ached for you. There was something about teasing a higher-up that you just couldn’t resist. Nevertheless, you cursed yourself for the inappropriate thoughts. You were a young intern for one of the most successful journalism companies… and shit, he was the CEO of what had suddenly become the richest organization in the world. He was a powerful man, more powerful than you knew. It would be foolish to mess around with a man like Maxwell Lord.

Maxwell took a shaky exhale and done what he could do best. Fake a smile. Feign confidence. Pretend like he was okay... like he had it together. He promised himself that he would not lose control of his power— he couldn’t— but this moment was only the start of his descent into madness. He never knew how hungry he could get... how satisfying his power could be, until he met you.

“Come here sweetheart,” his frown curled upwards into a smirk and his eyes began to gleam again, just like they did on his famous infomercials. His voice became a little louder, and a little more confident as he stood up and padded around his desk, pulling out a chair for you to sit down on. You hesitated, his change in attitude wasn't lost on you, but still, you obliged, and shuffled into the golden plush chair. The material was so soft and you struggled to suppress a moan. “Everything okay?” he asked you, placing a large ring clad hand on your shoulder and giving you a gentle squeeze.

“Yeah I just… I’ve never sat on anything so comfortable.” you confessed, shuffling around. Maxwell’s eyes lit up with desire at your comment and his gaze fixated on your face.

“Really?” Never?” he chuckled lightly, brushing his thumb against his lower lip as he took in your appearance. Just the shape of your perfect body was enough to initiate something primal in him. The tightness of your blouse and the vision of your short pencil skirt that cut off mid-thigh already had his cock straining against his tailored suit pants. “I can think of at least one more comfortable thing in this office for you to sit on.”

You’d be lying if you said you were unfazed by his little flirtation. If any other middle aged man had said something so crude to you, you’d have snapped back with something witty to put them in their place. But Maxwell Lord wasn’t any man and his charm alone had cast you under a spell. Your knees were weak and you felt like putty under his touch. Even when he removed his hand from your shoulder, you felt completely and utterly submissive to him. 

You cleared your throat and opened up your notepad. “I’m just here to ask you a few questions…” you told the businessman, biting your lip nervously. Maxwell nodded and sat on the edge of his desk, waiting patiently for you to get started. “So uhm, Forbes is reveling in the fact you’re self made… but not much is known about your past. We don’t know about your family or where you come from… is there anything relevant you’d like to share with the world?” you asked curiously.

And for the first time, Maxwell Lord broke his gaze with you and looked down at the carpeted floor. “There’s not much to say, really.” he said, but there was something in his tone of voice that indicated he wasn’t willing to provide any further details. Hoping you hadn’t struck a sensitive cord with him, you glanced back down at your notepad to ask him another question.

“I hope you don’t think I’m prying, but not much is known about your personal life. A handsome, wealthy man like yourself can’t be single, right?” you asked, even startling yourself over how over bearing you’d begun to sound. Maxwell let out a chuckle and quirked an inquisitive eyebrow.

“I’m single, yes. Tell me darling, is this Wall Street Journal or US Weekly?” he joked, and you felt a flush of heat radiate your cheeks. You knew better.

“I’m sorry. It was an unprofessional question,” you quickly backtracked. “Do you uhm… do you have a pen… I could borrow?” You asked awkwardly, feeling a little irked over how flustered his simple presence had made you. You'd been so nervous to actually meet with Max Lord, you'd even forgotten to bring something to write with. You were so embarassed. But Maxwell was hardly paying attention to your lack of organization, and instead he just smiled and grabbed a gold encrusted company pen from his desk. “Thank you.” you said timidly. “Can I ask you something?”

“That’s why you’re here… isn’t it?” he retorted playfully. 

“The interview is about Company Sudden Search and for some reason there are no questions about your company… just you,” you frowned apologetically. You hadn't come up with the questions, one of your executives had. You were just there to look pretty and milk as much information out of him as you could. “I guess the world is curious about you, Mr Lord. More curious about your private life than this empire that you have created. But Black Gold Cooperative had been off the grid for many years only prior to this week and now suddenly you’re the wealthiest company in the world. You’re the richest man in the US. And data shows absolute no correlation towards that. Your purchased oil wells were dry until one day they just weren’t. It wasn’t gradual, but Mr Lord, we are living during the Cold War and oil is as scarce enough as it is. How… how did this happen? You must know something.”

As you rambled on, Maxwell stared dead into you. You hadn’t been asked to say this, this was coming from your own interest. You had done your own digging about this (just like any successful journalist would), snooping into Maxwell’s business and finding out exactly which oil fields he owned and how much oil was in them in the first place. This wasn’t coming from the Wall Street Journal. This was coming from you. Maxwell never expected to be confronted with such a question. You were practically trapping him, but the way you could swindle the truth out of him was an attractive quality of yours. Not many people could get the truth out of Max Lord.

Maxwell chuckled lightly. He could tell you. It wouldn't make much of a difference. Besides, you’d be foolish to believe the truth. You’d think he’d gone insane. Had he gone insane? These damn migraines… he was drunk on power… his mind had become corrupt with the idea of fortune and success. And he needed this interview to go well.

Maxwell grinned, as charming as ever, and took both of your hands. “I made a wish.” he told you, like it was the simplest thing in the world.

You paused, unsure what to make of his comment. Was he making a joke? It didn’t sound like he was joking. In fact he sounded more serious than ever. “Like… upon a star?” you asked, giggling only slightly in attempt to make a judgement of whether or not he was just messing with you. Maxwell smirked and nodded his head. He’d expected that you wouldn’t believe him.

“On my journey to self fulfilment I locked into a secret, the secret of the wish. So I wished for it. Or, someone wished for it for me…” Maxwell explained, talking in tongue twisters. His fingers brushed over your knuckles. As you listened to him, he noticed the way your eyebrows knotted together in bewilderment. He was definitely serious about the wishing thing. But if he wasn’t going to be honest with you, then maybe this interview was more trouble than it was worth. Just as you were about to break away your contact with his hands, he continued. “Tell me what you wish for you and I will show you how it works.”

That was quite the proposal coming from him.

You blinked. “Uhm…” He stared at you, waiting for you to come up with some kind of answer. You supposed that you could always just humour him. “So you’re like a genie?”

“I’m Max Lord, sweetheart, and I can make your darkest fantasies come true as long as you just say the word.” he said, his voice dropping an octave.

The sexual tension between you both was undeniable, and it had been since you had entered his office. His already chocolate brown eyes had darkened considerably with lust. You pursed your lips together into a fine line and you tried your very best to ignore the fact that your lace panties were damp with arousal. You knew he was powerful. Strong… sexy. You’d been in his office for barely five minutes and he already had a hold on you.

“I suppose I’d want success in my career. It’s hard… being taken seriously, as a woman in journalism. It would be nice to just feel respected amongst my peers.” you confessed.

“The people at Wall Street don’t respect you?” Maxwell asked, and you swore that for a split second he sounded genuinely concerned.

“Uhm… I feel like I’m not really at liberty to discuss that. I’m sorry I shouldn’t have mentioned it in the first place.” you scrunched up your nose.

“Because you deserve respect, miss Y/L/N.” Maxwell promised you, his hand sinking down to caress your thigh. You gasped under his touch and looked up at the ceiling. “Is this alright… me touching you like this?” he cooed, tracing circles over your pantyhose.

“Mm.” you mumbled in agreement, your eyes fluttering shut as his fingers dipped under the hem of your skirt.

“So if you could wish for one thing… one thing at this very moment in time, it would be for success in your career? Is that true?” Maxwell quizzed, eyeing you up with curiosity.

No.

It wasn’t true.

In fact your career— this interview— was the last thing on your mind.

Fuck.

Silently, you shook your head. “So darling, tell me, what would you wish for?”

You sighed in defeat, remembering that you’d just humour him. It wasn’t exactly professional but he wasn’t helping you out either. Just go along with it, you told yourself. You finally looked back down at him and saw that his lips were moist from where he’d hungrily licked at them, his eyes fixated on your breasts and the way he could just about see the lace print underneath the thin material.

“I’d wish for you…” you shakily exhaled. And that caught his attention. His gaze flicked up to meet yours and he waited for you to continue. “I’d wish for you to let me use you to get what I want. You’re rich… powerful… wealthy…” A gust of air distracted you and a breeze blew through your hair. The windows weren’t open, the fan wasn’t on, and Maxwell looked completely and utterly spent over your revelation. It had just came out of nowhere. There was a few beats of silence and Max looked you up and down.

“What do you want?” he croaked meekly. He removed his hand from your thigh and his whole demeanor changed in a split second.

When you noticed how stiff his manhood was, and the way his precum had already leaked out onto the grey material of his pants, it stirred something up inside of you. He wanted this too, that much was clear.

And now, the roles had reversed. You were no longer the shy intern interviewing the big name CEO, you were a sexy journalist who’s nipples had hardened significantly and you had this fresh yet welcoming air of power to you. There were two people in this office and yet suddenly, you were the one in control.

Maxwell’s perfect, plush lips had parted and his dark eyes followed you as you stood up from your seat. He looked down at the wet patch from where you were sitting and gulped, imagining just how great it would feel to slide his fingers through your folds and feel your arousal himself.

All for him.

“I think you know.” you replied softly, sitting him down in the golden chair that you had once made yourself comfortable in. You pulled off his crumpled suit jacket and discarded his tie, throwing it haphazardly onto his already messy desk, and then sunk down to your knees, spreading his legs apart.

You began to palm at his erection through his pants, involuntarily licking your lips as your fingers danced around his growing bulge. “Ngh- fucking tease.” he groaned, his eyes snapping shut the second he felt you begin to work at removing his belt. You pulled down his zipper and reached into his pants, pulling his cock free. He wasn’t enormous, but definitely above average, and thicker than you’d ever taken before.

“You just need someone to make you feel nice, don’t you?” you cooed gently before licking a stripe up the base of his cock. “All this stress from work… huh? From making people’s wishes come true.”

“You… you have no idea.” Maxwell grunted, his cock twitching in your hands as you pressed a sweet little kiss to his head. His slit was still leaking with precum and you were desperate to get a taste of the CEO. You gave him a small kitten lick, relishing the saltiness of his seed. He was delicious.

This shouldn’t have been happening. Sure, Maxwell was hard before you’d even made the wish, but holy crap, he didn’t expect for this to actually happen. And neither did you. You assumed he was lying, just like he lied about everything else in his life. Afterall, who was going to believe a man who told you his success was owed to wish granting? 

“Mr Lord… you’re so big.” you sighed longingly before making an attempt to attach your lips around his cock. He looked down at you and let his hands grip the back of your head as you sucked on his sensitive tip. 

Who would've guessed that a good blowjob was exactly what Max Lord needed to feel better about himself?

Max felt like he was in heaven. He was already seeing stars. He’d been granting peoples wishes left, right and centre. He wasn’t necessarily touch starved but it had been a good few weeks since he’d gone without sex; his only motivation being to find and harness the power of the dreamstone. But you were giving him the best head he’d ever had in his life. It was like everything was pent up inside of him. His balls were tight and he was achingly hard and in a moment of pure lust, he thrusted his hips deep into your mouth. The sudden movement had you gagging and a trail of saliva mixed with his precum dripped down your lips. You pulled off him, gasping for air but quickly wrapped your lips back around him and taking his length even further than before. If he filled your mouth this good, you wondered how he’d feel filling your pussy.

“Not gonna last… fuck!” Maxwell cried, his cum shamelessly spurting into your mouth. His load was massive and he doubled out of you, the remnants of his seed spilling against your lips and down your chin. His heart was beating rapidly against his chest as he took in the appearance of you, down on your knees, in between his legs, with his milky white cum all over your pretty face.

Despite his orgasm, Maxwell was still hard. He still craved more. More of a release from you. It must’ve been your wish that created this desperation that dwelled inside of him.

“More,” he pleaded, his eyes round and doe-like. “Please, I need more.”

“Say less.” you whispered, unbuttoning your blouse and pulling down your skirt and pantyhose so you were simply just standing there in your white lingerie set. You looked so pure and innocent, and yet you were in absolute full control of this situation. You were the one dominating him.

“You said you wish to use me, so use me.” Maxwell begged as he extended his arms and made grabby fists, desperate for you to come over and help him out. 

He was right. This was your wish. You could play along with this for as long as you wanted. You removed your panties, unclipped your bra and discarded the garments, letting your breasts fall free. Maxwell’s jaw dropped at the sight of you and you stalked over to him. You straddled him and sat on his lap.

With one hand, you wrapped your fingers around his cock again and began to slowly jerk it, beginning a handjob which was more than pleasant for him. With your free hand, you grabbed onto his shoulder and steadied yourself, before stretching your body and pressing one of your breasts into his mouth. His lips latched around your tit immediately and he began to suck on your nipple as you continued to rub his cock. You moaned with pleasure, tossing your head back as his tongue worked at the hard little bud.

You subconsciously found yourself riding his thigh, dragging your dripping wet cunt along his expensive pants and making an absolute mess of them. He experimentally flexed the muscles in his thigh a few times, trying to gauge a reaction out of you and see how you liked it. His teeth grazed your breast and he let himself get a little too excited, peppering love bites all over your chest.

“Yes, that’s it,” Maxwell groaned. “Take what you need sweet girl.” he praised.

You whimpered when he flexed his thigh again and you felt yourself begin to reach your climax. You clenched around nothing and his cock was throbbing in your hand. You knew he needed more too.

You let go of him and he pulled his mouth off your tit with a ‘pop’. You cupped his face with both your hands and adjusted yourself slightly, this time so the tip of his cock was pressed against your entrance. You took a deep breath, preparing yourself for his stretch before sinking down onto his length, settling balls deep. “Fuck… Fuck fuck fuck,” you chanted, your eyes squeezing tight shut as he filled you.

“Move.” he gasped, biting down on your shoulder. You whimpered and tugged on his golden hair, sending him into an absolute frenzy.

“Fuck, Mr Lord… oh god please, you’re so fucking big.” you cried, tears of pleasure pricking your eyes. He wanted you to move, sure, but this was your wish, and you were more than happy to just sit on and warm his cock for a few minutes.

Your walls were tight and perfect around him, just like he’d imagined. You brought your finger down to your cunt and began to rub at your clit as his cock stretched you out. Your moans of gratification echoed throughout the extensively sized office and you felt your juices drip down his cock.

“So good,” he whispered. “Move, please.”

“Mmm,” you couldn’t even fumble out words, and your vision was nothing less than a haze.

He rubbed the pad of his finger against your puckered asshole before sliding it in. Your body tensed up at the intrusion but God did it feel good. “Fucking move.” he growled, biting down on your earlobe as he began to thrust his index finger in and out of you.

Maxwell brought a hand down to cup your ass and he gave you a rough spanking. “Move.” He repeated, this time his tone a lot more demanding and less polite than the first time.

And just like that— he was in control again.

You obliged, not wanting to irk him any more, and began to bounce on his cock. “Greedy bitch,” he grunted, spanking you again. “Fuck… thinking you can use my dick for your own pleasure, huh? Everything comes with a price.” he hissed as you rolled your hips over his manhood.

“Oh Mr Lord.” you sighed with every movement, as his cock pressed against that sweet spot inside of you.

“You just couldn’t resist it, could you?” Maxwell asked rhetorically, a villainous smirk crossing his lips. “One great wish and you wish to ride my fucking cock," He had a point. People had come to him wishing for Porsche's, political power,— and you, with your whole chest, had wished to be the one who could pleasure him. Help him let go. “Shit baby, you take me so well.”

Despite his growls of degradation you knew he wasn’t going to last long, if the way his cock throbbed inside of you was anything to go by. You didn’t mind though. He could disrespect you all he wanted. You were more than happy to be Maxwell Lord’s little cumslut. His little whore.

“G-gonna cum, oh fuck, please.” you screamed, pressing your fingernails into his back as you rode out your high.

“Yes,” he moaned wantonly. “Soak my cock.” And with those three words, you came undone, sat on top of the richest and most successful CEO in the world. “Are you safe?” he asked, his hips bucking up into your sensitive core.

“I am.” you confirmed, and without even asking for permission, he spilt his seed inside of you, ruthlessly painting your walls with his cum.

He kept his cock inside of you until it softened and slipped out, and you mumbled something incoherent at the loss of his fullness. Maxwell watched your chest as you heaved, making every attempt you could to catch your breath. He pressed a sweet kiss into your collar bone, and then up your neck and along your jaw. You relished the feeling of his lips against skin; post coital bliss fostering your every thought.

“You’re a good girl,” he whispered, rubbing the curve of his nose against your neck. “I grant you your wish, and in return, I give you the utmost success in your career.” he sighed, and for the very first time Maxwell Lord said something completely and utterly selfless. It was through no gain to him whatsoever. You didn’t deserve to be looked down upon by your peers and employers, he knew that much. And if he had the chance to change that, he sure as hell would. 

“You will achieve things no journalist has achieved before, you will be rich, and be the first to seize every opportunity.” he said in between kisses.

To you, he was just whispering sweet nothings into your ear, humouring your larger-than-life dreams and ambitions. But if there was one thing that Maxwell Lord admired in a woman, it was her aspiration and goals. If you were brave enough to waltz into his office as let him cum all over you, you definitely deserve this. At that moment, you had no idea that Maxwell Lord would change your life forever...

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#Pedro Pascal #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #pedro pascal x reader #Pedro Pascal smut #maxwell lord smut #maxwell lord #max lord #max lord x reader #maxwell lord x reader #ww84

[donutloverxo]

Make me

*gif is not mine*

The donut series - Part 8

Note - Idk wtf this is... Lol! Hopefully I can complete this series before the year ends. Just 2 or 3 more parts now.

Thank you so so much to @firefly-graphics for the cute dividers💖💖

Summary - You move into the tower with Steve.

Warnings - 18+ only please, smut (m/f), soft dom Steve, daddy kink, captain kink, praise kink, orgasm denial, spanking, punishments, Steve is pushy and possessive, some angst, (lemme know if I missed any)

Pairing - Steve Rogers x reader

Word count - 5.2k

Series masterlist

“What do you think you’re doing?!” You jerked when you heard Steve’s voice calling out to you, dropping your lipstick on your lap, your heart hammering in your chest.

You stared at his reflection in the dressing mirror. “God, Steve,” looking over your shoulder you glared at him, “Don’t you think you shouldn’t be sneaking up on me? Especially after everything that happened.”

His face immediately soften, muttering an apology to you, “But you’re not going out today.” He said in a tone that left no room for negotiation.

But you weren’t one of his agents or one to be bossed around. “And you get to tell me what to do, because?” folding your arms over your chest and mimicking his stance.

“Sweetheart, come on, don’t argue with me. It’s still dangerous for you out there.”

“What do you mean? I thought you arrested those guys. Who else would be after me?” you frowned.

He takes two long strides, standing before you and taking your hand in his “Clint has been interrogating them all night. They’ll crack soon enough and give up who they’re working for but we need to be careful till then.”

You sighed, “How long do you think it will be?”

“I don’t know, doll. Hopefully not too long.”

“Well, I can’t just stay locked up forever. Besides a locked door isn’t going to stop Hydra, I mean it didn’t the first time. So really what difference does it make if I’m in college or at home?”

“About that,” he rubbed the back of his neck, “how would you feel about moving into the Avengers tower?”

“What?” you blinked. You had heard of the Avengers living and working from the Avengers/Stark tower. It shouldn’t come as a surprise to you that Steve would possibly live there as well, but for some reason it did. “For how long?”

“Uh, we can give it a try and see how it goes?” he hesitated. He should’ve asked you to move there as soon as you told him you felt unsafe. The whole incident could’ve easily been avoided.

“I mean I wouldn’t mind living there, I think,” you shrugged, “it’s you I’m worried about.”

“What do you mean?” he tilted his head to the side, like a cute little puppy.

You got up from the chair, looping your hands over his neck and playing with the little hair on the nape of his neck, “You’re so cute and clueless, baby,” you cooed.

He huffed at that, puffing out his chest to show you how ‘macho' he is. Completely capable of protecting his girl from big bad guys no matter what.

“I just felt the tower is so unlike you. It’s so...”

Modern--was the word you were looking for, but that seemed too on the nose so you tried to think of a better adjective. You had only ever been to the tower a few times. The first was to make a delivery, when you met Steve for the first time, and then a few times at parties and little get-togethers. It was strange to think that you were part of the Avengers inner circle now, especially if you’re going to be living with them.

“So what?” he wanted to know.

“Just so not you, Stevie. I can’t imagine you living there.”

“We should’ve moved long ago. As soon as you told me about the stalker. I should’ve taken it more seriously.”

“Hey,” you traced his sharp cheekbone, “it’s not your fault. It’s nobody’s fault. Except the ones who did the kidnapping,” you scrunched up your nose, “they’ll get what’s coming to them though, right?”

“Of course, they’ll never hurt you or anyone else ever again,” he promised, kissing the inside of your wrist.

You kept looking at your watch. A gift from your mum for your high school graduation. It had a vintage feel to it, the thin leather strap making your hand look to delicate, Steve had always said that he liked it the best. He always did like you looking small compared to him.

The elevator dinged, “Exactly four minutes.”

“Hm?” he asked, lacing his fingers with yours as he walked towards ‘his' apartment. Or the apartment that was supposed to be his.

Tony had offered him boarding there when the tower was reconstructed months ago. He thought about it but eventually said no upon seeing just how big the apartment was.

Hell he had a whole floor to himself, which was too extravagant for him. He was used to taking only what he needed, if that.

More than that though...

You caught him looking at you, sparing him a sweet smile that crinkled your sparkling eyes.

More than that he didn’t want to live in such a large space all alone.

He would never share that with anyone, they’d laugh at Captain America being too scared of being alone. When he had the love and adoration of the whole world, a second chance at life and everything one could need to be happy.

But he still couldn’t bear the deafening silence of his lonely apartment. He’d get home from work, switch on the television so he’d have something to talk about with his colleagues, sip on a beer. It didn’t necessarily get him drunk or even taste all that great but it made him feel normal.

He never had to think about being alone in a strange new world all that much since he was often too busy. But he absolutely would not have an entire floor to himself. He’d surely go crazy.

“Four minutes for the elevator to get up here from the ground floor. It’s so high,” you marvelled at the view the floor to ceiling windows gave you.

“Yeah. They really should put some music there. They used to, back in my day,” he shared.

He wasn’t afraid of talking about his past with you. You never made fun of him for it, but instead listened intently and nodded. At most you’d tease him a bit... but he kinda liked that.

He punched in the code to his apartment, telling it to you, “Your birthday,” he winked, “it’s changed every twenty-hour hours.”

“That seems a bit excessive. This place is like a fortress, I doubt anybody could break in.”

He held the door open for you as you entered. Surprised to find the apartment already furnished.

“How did they manage to do all this so soon?” you wondered. Running your hands on the leather of the couch in the middle of the living.

The dark couch went well with the hardwood floors. A tall bookshelf to the side, it felt almost like a study, your fears of it being too modern and minimalistic for Steve’s taste were null, too masculine for your taste though. It seemed a lot like Steve’s old apartment. “Needs a woman’s touch.”

“You can decorate it however you like,” he said, hugging you from behind, he propped his chin up on your head.

“I don’t know... I don’t have any experience decorating apartments...” your voice small, scared of not being able to live up to his expectations. “Certainly wouldn’t do as good a job as you did,” your back leaned into his front.

“I didn’t decorate this, honey,” he chuckled. “Tony hired an interior designer. A few months ago but I didn’t want to live here then. We can ask him to call her again and then you can talk to her.”

“No, I don’t want to cause trouble. And it’s not like we’re living here for long,” you shrugged.

“What do you mean?” his voice stiff and although you couldn’t look at him you just knew he was frowning.

“Isn’t it a bit too soon to move in together?”

“But we were already living together.”

You sighed, “Yeah, but making renovations seems too... permanent?”

“You don’t want us to be permanent?”

You turned around, your heart aching at even the thought of hurting him, “That’s not what I meant, love... Isn’t it weird to live where you work?”

“It’s better this way. I can get home to you sooner,” he argued.

“Well, I suppose that’s true.”

“Are you having second thoughts about us?” he asked.

You immediately shook your head, “It’s a bit intimidating, but nope, no second thoughts.”

“That’s good then.”

You often dreamt all things Steve ever since you started dating him. Marrying him, even having a little boy wearing a mini Captain America suit for Halloween who looked eerily similar to Steve. You called him James after Steve’s late friend, you hadn’t told him about that though.

This morning you were dreaming of being whisked away in Italy, having your wedding to him by lake Como. You were wearing a traditional forties style gown, much like the one your grandma wore at your wedding.

Scrunching your nose as you were pulled from your beautiful dream when you felt something wet on your cheek. Rubbing it away with your palm, you moaned.

“Wake up, sleeping beauty,” Steve cooed, peppering kisses all over your face. Knowing that to be the best way to calm you before you snapped at him for waking you up so early.

You opened your eyes, rubbing your sleep away, “It’s still dark... I thought we agreed I’m doing school online,” you turned away from him, nuzzling your face into your pillow. “What time is it?”

“It’s five.”

“Pm?”

He snorted, “No. AM.”

“Oh my god, Steve!” you groaned, “What is wrong with you? That’s like...the middle of the night. Let me sleep in peace.”

“We have to train you. Come on I’ll teach you some self defense moves, it’ll be fun.”

“I doubt any amount of training will make me capable of fighting off hydra...”

“That doesn’t mean you can’t try,” he interrupted you, “I’m not taking no for an answer.”

“Maybe in the evening.”

“Morning is the best time to do it. Come on, it’ll be fun! Besides, we always do your thing.”

He did often let you pick the movie or drag him shopping so he could hold your bags and pay for your stuff. You knew he liked to work out and would like to have you do it with him. The only problem was--you literally couldn’t think of anything worse to do.

“Square your shoulders, honey,” he instructed as you followed, seeing an opening to punch him in his stomach, and because you were mad about being woken up at literally the crack of dawn you took it.

He managed to dodge it, obviously. And even had the nerve to be cocky about it as he smirked at you. “You’re so small, puppy,” he teased, patting your head.

You huffed, being almost a foot shorter than him. “Whatever.”

And then you recalled all the times you had wrestled your cousin, who was much bigger than you, when you were kids. Remembering a move that often worked on him.

You launched towards Steve, holding onto his midsection and trying to tackle him to the ground.

“Urgh!” you groaned but he refused to move even an inch.

Eventually you did give up, if only so you could stop embarrassing yourself. Helping, or rather just standing to the side and watching Steve as he punched the shit out of a bag.

“Go, Steve!” you cheered. Rubbing your thighs together at the sight of him all sweaty and of his bulging muscles. “You should bring me down here more often,” you sighed dreamily.

“Will do,” he smirked, pulling the velcro of his gloves, “Come on, it’s time to do some crunches, I’ll spot you.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No, please,” you tried to run away, even though you knew it’d be of no use, but he effectively caught you and made you lie down on the mat. Giving you a goal of two sets of twenty frigging crunches.

“I hate you,” you grumbled. Willing yourself to pull your upper body up despite the slight pain in your side, moving up as Steve pecked your lips. To give you an ‘incentive’.

“Stop lying, I know you love me,” he smiled.

Lying back on the mat after your first set, on the verge of giving up but Steve kept insisting that you go on.

You looked down at him. His skin barely had a sheen of sweet, blond strands kissing his forehead. He still had an amber glow to his skin even as you got closer to the winter months.

“You’re staring, sweetheart,” he reminded you.

“I’m sorry, I just can’t help myself.” Often getting lost in his beauty.

You smirked as you got a wicked idea, putting your legs over his, straddling his hips, “Have you ever wanted to do something in public?” you asked, as he simply stared up at you, completely dumbfounded. Rolling your hips against his, “I have, it’ll be fun and thrilling.”

“I... No,” he blinked, shaking his head, “We shouldn’t,” but even as he said it, he held onto your sides, pulling you closer to him. You giggled as you felt his hard cock pressing against your thigh.

“Oh my god, guys, come on.”

You yelped, holding onto Steve’s shoulders to keep from falling, looking to your side to see where the voice came from.

“We could come back if you want...” Natasha said. She didn’t look fazed by it at all, unlike her friend.

“No, we are not coming back! This is not what you use the gym for, Rogers.”

You looked at Steve, who was as red as a tomato, “Sorry,” he got up, helping you up as well, standing behind you to cover up his erection, he introduced you to his friend, “This is Sam.”

“Nice to meet you,” Sam gave you a nervous smile.

“We should get going,” Steve said, pushing you towards the exit. “That’s a sneaky way to get out of training,” he whispered in your ear as you walked back to the elevator, “It won’t work again,” pinching you butt, making you squeal.

“We’ll see.”

You hummed as you looked at your side of the closet, which was as big as your old living room, it looked as if you didn’t really have enough stuff to fill it out. You looked over at Steve’s side, even more empty... and “So boring,” you whispered under your breath.

“Right?” Tony nodded, as if agreeing with you.

Why he was there in the first place you didn’t know. You didn’t invite him, neither did Steve, he had said he just wanted to see how well you both were fitting in. With Steve gone for the most part of the past couple of days you were on your own to unpack everything.

Tony said he’d help you... but you had a feeling he was just snooping.

“What a grandfather sense of fashion he has,” he looked at your poor Steve’s shirts in disgust.

You took offense to that. “If anyone can pull it off, he can,” you huffed. Nobody insults your man.

“Really?” he quirked a brunette brow, “I don’t think so. I mean... I could probably. I can pull off anything,” he boosted.

“I mean, you could try them on if you like, but they’re probably too big for you,” you taunted him in mock sympathy.

“Ouch, guess I deserve that,” he said as he went through the box you had stuffed your make up in.

“What are you even looking for?” you pulled it away from him, glaring at him, “Don’t you have a company to run or a world to save?”

“Hey, Steve was the one who asked me to keep you company,” he held his hands up.

“Really?”

“Well, he asked Nat, which is basically the same as asking me. So I volunteered. He wasn’t happy about that though,” you smacked his hand away when he tried to pry into another box.

“Why would you volunteer?” Steve may have good intentions but having the billionaire hovering over you was only making you irritated.

“... to hang out I guess,” he confessed when he couldn’t really think of anything else to say.

You giggled, “If you wanted to be my friend you could’ve just said so!”

“No... no,” he shook his head, “I didn’t say anything about wanting to be friends.”

He was just curious about you. To figure out what Caps taste is. And to maybe get some hot goss about him. Not that being friends with you sounds like the end of the world, you certainly weren’t as insufferable as Cap.

“What would you like to do, fren?” you fluttered your lashes at him.

“Aren’t you supposed to be packing?”

“I’m bored of being cooped up. Lets do something fun!”

Steve smiled, a wide cheeky one, as he thought of all the things he could do with you and spend the remainder of his day with you. His stomach doing somersaults in giddiness.

“I could get used to this,” he said to himself before calling out for you. The thought of coming home to you everyday, so domestic and romantic. His smile dropping as he looked for you in the bedroom, the boxes sat scattered and unopened. All over the room.

He knew you were in the apartment before he even heard your voice, his super senses alerting him, “Oh, Steve!” you perked up. Giggling as you put your shopping bags down. “So, I might’ve made an oopsie.”

Plumping down on the fluffy bed, large enough to fit two Steve’s and still have room for you, taking off your real Louboutins. Since Steve gave you his card, you decided you wanted to treat yourself to them. But they were equally as uncomfortable as the fake ones.

“What?” he quirked a brow, his hands on his hips as he despondently shook his head.

“Well, Tony pointed out that your wardrobe is kinda...” you thought of a adjective that wouldn’t be offensive, biting your lip as you went through your vocabulary, “Old-ish?” when he didn’t reply you kept going, “and I might’ve maxed out your card... Tony offered to pay! But it didn’t feel right,” you jutted your bottom lip out, pushing your titts up together in an attempt to look cute.

“You went out? When I specifically asked you not to?” a rage simmering in his voice--which you didn’t quite like. Because who the fuck was he to talk to you like that?

“I had Iron Man with me. I think I was okay. You’re being annoying,” you rolled your eyes.

“Am I?” his hands now folded over his chest.

And you’d be frustrated with him acting as if he was your dad, sure you called him daddy but that didn’t give him the right to have authority over you while you weren’t naked, if he didn’t look so fucking good. With the veins propping on his forearms, light blond hair littered over it, his watch strapped on his wide wrist. You only stared him down in response.

“It would’ve been better if you had went alone instead. Tony is nothing but trouble,” he scoffed.

“I thought you wanted me to make friends with your team,” you countered.

“Are my clothes too embarrassing for you? Am I too old for you?” he tried to keep his voice from wavering, to hide some of his vulnerability, but he couldn’t, not to you anyway. “Is that why you didn’t tell your family about me?”

You gaped at him. That was the reason you hadn’t told your mom. She’d point out the obvious reasons, as she had just like you expected, him being from the forties would just make things harder for you both.

“I - ” you started but then stopped, “I like your clothes as they are. If you don’t like what I got you then we can return them. I just wanted to do something nice for you,” getting up and then walking towards him, kissing his jaw and stroking his arms to calm him, “you never think about yourself, I wanted to do that for you.”

“I wish that was true, doll,” he replied gravely. His lips pressed in a thin line as he looked at your sweet face, “But you have to apologize. For not following my orders.”

You snorted, taking a step back, “For the last time--you cannot order me around. I don’t care that you think you know what’s best.”

“Really? I’ve been working my ass off on trying to find the guys that did this to you and you are just hell bent on making my life harder,” he let out a dry chuckled, “say your sorry.”

“Make me.”

You regretted the words as soon as they came out of you, before you knew it he had you hauled over his lap, ready to spank an apology out of you.

“Ah!” you yelped at the unceremonious blow.

You did like it when he spanked you, you truly didn’t know why, but it made your pussy quiver. And honestly he didn’t do it enough. Only doing it once when you were late and weren’t able to call him.

Slapping your covered bottom a second time before stopping when he heard you moan, slipping a palm under your dress, being purposely slow to draw it out for you, to torture you in his own way, he pushed your panties aside, swirling your juices around your lips.

“You’re fucking enjoying this,” he growled.

You whimpered when he rolled your bundle of nerves between his fingers, nodding your head, already feeling yourself tethering on the edge.

“That’s too bad... I’ll have to be more creative,” he said as he withdrew his hand, making you writhe in his hold.

You looked at him over your shoulder, wiggling your butt to try to entice him before huffing when he simply stared at you, stoic as ever, “You’re no fair!”

“I’m doing this to be fair, sweetheart. I don’t enjoy it anymore than you do.”

A blatant, clear-cut, shameless lie. You both knew it. He loved thinking of ways to ‘punish' and executing them.

“What are you doing?” you asked as he placed you over his lap, your back to his broad front, his fingers working on the zipper of your dress. Pushing the sleeves down your shoulders.

“I’m going to fuck you till you admit that you’re sorry,” since he had no patience for insolence, placing a dubiously sweet and innocent kiss to your cheek.

“In your dreams,” you retorted but then shivered in his arms you let him roll your panties down your thick thighs, lifting up your hips to help him out, leaving you completely bare against him.

You bashfully rubbed your face against his button up, you felt his heart beating steadily, as his hands shamelessly explored your body. Grabbing and kneading at your breasts and hips, tracing the stretch marks on your thighs.

“Aren’t you gonna take your clothes off too?” you made yourself small.

You weren’t afraid of being so vulnerable before him, you had gotten used to it because you trusted him enough to not be intimidated by his perfect physique, but right now your whole body felt hot as you just wanted to cover up and give yourself some sort of modesty. Even if your desires and yearning for him was anything but modest.

“No, honey,” he answered, his fingers parting your weeping lips as he looked down to get a glance of it over your shoulders. Licking his lips at the sight of it, “Such a pretty pussy, doll. And all mine,” he rasped as he prodded at your hole with his middle finger before pushing it in, “Isn’t it?”

“Yes,” you nodded, trying to roll your hips over the erection pressing into your back.

He stilled your movements by holding onto your hips, warning you to stop, “Forever?” he urged.

“Yes, forever, god, just do something!” you wailed. Because whatever he was doing was not enough to satisfy you.

He hummed in thought, “I’m not a young guy. I prefer to take my time,” he pushed another finger in, stretching you out by viscously scissoring your cunt, all the while kissing your hair and your face.

He wasn’t someone who took only what he needed.

He didn’t need you.

Although it often seem to him as if you were like air--impossible to live without. He didn’t need you to live.

But he wanted you. More than anything else in the whole world.

He knew he shouldn’t keep you. Only being with you for a few months and he had almost gotten you killed but there was no way he could help himself.

“I’m selfish,” he whispered to you, pausing his ministrations to ruin your climax, “I’m selfish with you. I’m not as good as everyone makes me out to be,” he confessed. He didn’t know if it was right to do so, but he didn’t want to even consider the other option of letting you go.

“I figured out long ago that you weren’t all that good and boring,” you cried as he stopped again. Your hand holding onto his wrist as your sensitive cunt gushing juices of arousal all over your brand new sheets. “But I’m good, aren’t I, daddy?” you whispered, sultrily. “You can make me come--I’m always good to you. I promise I’ll suck you off after.”

“No.”

Tears welled up in your eyes at his rejection, he had never done that to you. To deny you so easily and bluntly. You thought he was the one person in this whole world who would do anything for you, you could ask for the moon and he’d probably try to give it to you.

Was he really that mad at you?

Your bottom lip quivering as tears welled up in your eyes, “You’re so mean,” you accused, loudly sniffing as you felt a tear drop down your cheek.

He blinked, his fingers stopping their assault on your swollen pussy as he took in your words. You could stomp all over his heart, even shoot him, do anything you want to him, he’d forgive you for it but he absolutely could not bear to see you cry.

“No, pup,” he cooed, gently removing his fingers as you whined, he kissed your forehead as he hushed you, “it’s okay, you’re okay, shush,” one hand under your neck and circling another under your knees, cradling your naked body close to his chest like a babe, he rocked you back and forth in an effort to sooth you.

“I’m sorry I was mean,” he whispered into your hair.

“You broke your pinky promise,” you held onto his neck. You were angry with him and at the situation but your body craved the comfort his gave you. “I can’t trust you now.”

His heart ached at that, “Don’t say that,” he furrowed his brows, kissing you all over your face, “I didn’t yell, puppy.”

“But you got mad,” you puffed your cheeks.

“I didn’t promise to not get mad. That’s a bit unrealistic...”

“No, you promised--no yelling, curing or meanness. Not calling me your 'good girl' or letting me come is mean! And cruel,” you reminded him, whimpering into his chest.

“Right, right. I’m sorry, that’s my fault then. I got a bit carried away... I thought you liked that you know?”

You hummed. You did like it when Steve was a bit rough, but you always knew he loved you with all his heart because you could see it in his eyes. The way he’d praise you for being so good for him, calling you his one and only, that he could never love anyone as much as he loves you.

But when he didn’t say that to you, when he refused to call you good, your soft heart couldn’t take the rejection.

“I do... but...” you hid your face in his neck.

“But what?” he urged you.

“But I also like knowing that you love me,” you spoke against his prickly stubble.

“Of course I love you. I’m sorry I made you think I didn’t, even for a second. You’re my sweet girl, forever and always,” he promised, rocking you some more, until your breathing becomes normal and steady again.

“You’re my daddy forever too,” you giggled, “or Captain, whatever you prefer.”

“If I had to pick I’d say Steve,” he told you. While it was nice to have you call him sweet name, nobody really uses his given name anymore. To have you call him that in your sweet girly voice, reminding him that he could be just Steve with you, was exhilarating.

“Okie, Stevie then.”

“Right, how about I draw you a bath? Afterwards we can go over the things you got me,” he perked up.

“You don’t have to wear them if you’re not comfortable.”

“I know, pup, but I want to. I want to get with the times. Can’t have anyone making fun of you for dating an old man,” he teased, swaying you some more.

“Hm, but...”

“But what?”

“I... um... still wanna come, so bad,” you whispered softly, rubbing your thighs together. “Will you make me come, Stevie?”

“Yes,” he replied immediately, “how would you like me to?”

“I wanna come around you,” you stated as heat rushed to your cheeks. “And I am sorry. I probably should’ve told you before going with Tony.”

“I know you’ve been cooped up, honey. I’m going to take a few days off so we can do whatever you like,” he said, working on unbuckling his belt, “But before that, I need to take care of my sweet girl, just like she does for me.”

Your hands feebly pulling at his button up, he took your queue and rid himself of it, along with his undershirt as your hands explored the expanse of his broad chest.

Pulling his length out, he manoeuvred your body till you over him, “Guide me in, sweetheart,” he instructed as you whimpered.

Grabbing the base of his cock, coating your slick in his pre ejaculate, you slowly sunk down on him. Not being able to fit all of him in, because he was as thick as a can of pringles, and oh so long.

You looked at him, too anxious to disappoint him, “Can’t fit it all in,” you whined.

“It’s okay, doll,” he stroked your back. “We’ll make it fit some other day,” he pecked your lips, lying on his back and pulling you down with him he snaked a hand between your bodies, working your clit up with his hand till he felt you convulsing and clenching around his length, gripping him so tight as you squirmed in his hold.

Whispering sweet nothings to you as you calmed down from your high. You wanted to do something for him too, to make him come, so you grinded your hips over his, shivering at the sick squelching sounds your joined sexes made.

But he stopped you by gripping your hips, “How about you just keep me warm for now?” he asked.

You hummed, “It’ll be hard...” to have him just stay inside you, and you knew he could stay hard for hours if he wanted to, and for you to not be able to do anything about it...

“I know it will be. But you’re my good girl, you can do that for me, right?” he tipped your chin up to make you look at him.

“Yes, Stevie,” you agreed.

Laying your head back on his chest, muttering a ‘sorry' whenever you accidentally clenched around him and following his orders like a good girl would.

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#the donut series #steve rogers x reader #chris evans x reader #steve x reader #captain america x reader #steve rogers x you #marvel x reader #avengers x reader #chris evans x you #chris evans x y/n

[yan-genshin]

- a/n: i’ve already written for kaeya in a very similar scenario here [x]- which was of the traveler leaving mondstat- so just to kinda specify the difference here, this is about the darling just leaving teyvat as in leaving the world- it doesn’t have to be the traveler really (let’s just... assume there’s other outlanders), but just thought i’d specify the difference! after all, leaving a country has much lower stakes than leaving the world. 

- warnings: general yandere content, nonconsensual use of drugs, implied physical violence

♥︎ diluc ragnvindr

diluc is stubborn. he doesn’t want to face his feelings- he’s too busy, he has priorities, he can’t let himself get too close to someone like that; he tries to suppress his “crush”, and it festers and grows unchecked, spiraling out into an unhealthy obsession wherein diluc doesn’t even notice how suddenly all he seems to think about is them

he should be concentrating on keeping mondstat safe. he should be putting his energy into doing what the knights seem to fail to do- and yet even when he’s slashing down enemies or getting information, his mind invariably always settles on thoughts of them. are they safe right now? are they in the city, or traveling the roads? if they’re out, are they staying clear from hilichurl camps? they aren’t hurt, right?

“master diluc, you called for me?” they come into the winery, weapon slung over their back. he frowns- they look disheveled, as if they’d gotten into a scuffle before getting there. he knows that slimes tend to frequent around the winery, much to his distaste- in theory, he’s well aware that they’re capable enough to fend off against some slimes, but it still leaves a bitter taste in his mouth to think of them being attacked by monsters. still, the sight of them calms his heart- he’d been gone for some weeks chasing down some information from some abyss mages, and the only thing he’d been able to think about was whether his... “friend” was safe. he’d never admit it if asked, but he didn’t actually have a real reason to have summoned them here; he just... needed to see them. it was fine; he could just say he wanted to discuss something. anything. it didn’t matter, as long as he could keep them close for a while.

even if he refuses to think about his own emotions, they keep growing. past crush, past love, morphing into obsession, stalkerish, feverish obsession. it’s not hard for him to get information of their whereabouts, but it’s just not enough. what can he do if he’s far away and they’re in danger? there’s nothing he can do by just knowing that- and he’s running out of excuses to invite them over and make them stay the night in one of the guest rooms, he’s running out of excuses to make them stick by him

he’s so caught up in his own dilemma of trying to keep them close, of keeping them safe (despite them being able to hold up on their own- he can’t trust anyone to keep them safe, not the knights, not themselves, if he’s not the one to protect them he can’t rest) that the thought of them simply not... belonging on teyvat never crosses his mind. not until they mention how they’ve found a way to leave

leave teyvat. just- leave the world, take flight and go far beyond where any archon- where diluc- can reach. and something in him breaks. it’s no longer him just wanting them to be safe; it’s something much more selfish, much more simple- he doesn’t want them to leave. and yet he tries to cover it up, to justify it: he needs to stop them for their own good. he needs to stop them; surely, they don’t understand what they’re doing, he’s right, he’s reasonable and calculated, he’s doing what he has to-

“i can’t let you leave.” diluc’s words are scarily serious. in his table, it’s just him and his beloved (that’s the word, that’s what they are; he’s in too deep to try and fool himself they’re anything but, not with the way his heart speeds up with them, not with the way his jealousy flares when they as much as speak to someone else). their eyes widen for a second, and then they seem to try and relax, perhaps trying to tell themselves diluc is cracking a joke. but diluc isn’t the type to kid around- and as his gaze digs into them, they’re suddenly painfully aware of the fact their weapon isn’t with them, their bag with all their belongings stashed away in a guest room. diluc notices their rising panic- he understands, he really does, but this is for their own good. “don’t try to stand too fast- you’re not making it too far. don’t worry, the drug in your drink isn’t dangerous. i just need you asleep so you don’t do something stupid and hurt yourself.”

if the people of mondstat knew their beloved darknight hero, knew that the handsome bachelor and wine tycoon diluc was capable of this- of drugging someone so he could lock them inside his own home- they’d be horrified. and he’s horrified, too; diluc isn’t even given the respite of deluding himself into thinking his actions are correct, but he can at least tell himself they’re justified. he isn’t- it’s not as if he’s forcing himself onto them, or hurting them, he’s just keeping them safe. he’s doing what he has to do.

diluc becomes almost condescending. at first he just takes away all weapons (if his darling has a vision he’ll be taking that too), keeping them in a windowless, but furnished, room. and then he takes away all objects he deems “dangerous”- perhaps he can see how depressed and hurt they are, how badly he’s destroyed them, and he fears they’ll try to hurt themselves in retaliation- any vaguely sharp or heavy object is taken away, furniture bolted to the ground, utensils taken away after every meal. “keeping them safe” may be what he claims he’s doing, but in reality, he’s almost infantilizing them, his twisted obsession and desire to protect them culminating in an almost bizarre behaviour in which he doesn’t show affection towards them but almost seems to expect them to all of a sudden give him the much-desired attention he craves

“you- why won’t you cooperate and understand? quit being so immature- i’m trying to keep you safe, don’t you get it?” the frustration in diluc’s voice is almost palpable as he looks at his darling. they’re huddled in the bed, refusing to speak or move. it shouldn’t be shocking- it’s been what, four months? maybe five, six? since he crushed their dreams of leaving the land, since he essentially took their life into his hands. he knows that what he did wasn’t good, but he just doesn’t understand why they’re acting like this. he’s decorated their room perfectly, no dangers and no sharp corners, highly-expensive furniture bolted to the ground, he’s given them books and harmless gadgets to entertain themselves with, he’s done everything he can to make a small safe heaven for them, and yet they’re so... ungrateful, flinching when he walks in, always crying. they’re lucky that diluc’s obsession doesn’t run a more violent course; he doesn’t consider using violence to finally make them answer, despite how easy it’d be to heat his hands just enough to hurt with his vision, despite how easy it’d be to finally make them realize how hard he’s working for them by reminding them how pain feels and how he’s making sure they don’t feel it- but no, he won’t. or at least, not yet.

♥︎ kaeya alberich

kaeya isn’t subtle about his attraction to them, but he never sends a clear signal- if there’s one thing he is not, it’s easy to read. when he first begins to find his mind full of thoughts about them, when he finds himself staring at them, throwing flirty comments with the intent to actually flatter and not fluster, kaeya takes it in stride as well as he can

... which is, shockingly, not was well as one would think. for all kaeya plays around as a “playboy” or “big flirt”, when it comes to actual feelings, he’s not experienced. in fact, he finds himself almost... hurting. he never gets too close to people, never leaves an opening for himself to get hurt, and yet he can tell he’s fallen hard for the outlander

feelings of jealousy and possessiveness seem to come in clutch, a rather ironic thing considering that while kaeya won’t tolerate even a compliment towards them, always stepping in and whisking them away, he seems to still be freely flirting with anyone he pleases- but really, it’s just a feeble attempt to keep up the normalcy. kaeya knows better than anyone how easy it is to form rumors, and he doesn’t quite want people speaking because he’s suddenly stopped his flirty behaviour and always hangs around one specific person

“could i perhaps bother you for a second? you see, jean asked me to go investigate some ruins near starsnatch cliff, but all the knights are busy right now. it’ll be a quick job, just come and go- care to accompany me? of course, i’ll treat you to a hot meal afterwards, as thanks.” kaeya is smooth and doesn’t falter as he speaks to them, watching as their face brightens at the mention of a warm meal. perhaps it’s mean of him to use that for leverage- as an outlander, they don’t have any home to call their own, often camping outside or paying for inns when the can afford to- and he knows very well a proper warm meal isn’t common for them. also, he’s lying through his teeth. he knows damn well there’s a ruin guard laying dormant in the ruins (that’s actually the reason why he’s supposed to go there, to get rid of it)- and with only two people, who knows how long it’ll take for them to get rid of the machine. but it’s fine- it’s just a little danger, it’s worth it for some time with them

the habit of lying to his darling to get them to do as he pleases is one kaeya can’t shake off. they aren’t naive, per se, but they can’t help but be a bit lost when it comes to cultural or historical things to do with the land, something kaeya is more than willing to use to his advantage. he doesn’t mind danger- doesn’t mind leading them right into a hilichurl camp so he can “save them”, doesn’t mind treking out right before a storm so they’re “stuck with him” on a tent while the weather clears out

there’s no formal relationship- kaeya never confesses, never decides to call them his partner- and yet it almost feels like he’s singlehandedly decided he’s dating them now. pet names, dates, affection; it’s all too much at once, and yet his smooth and tricky demeanour makes it almost impossible to turn any of it down. it’s as if he’s suddenly speeding up, going faster than before; perhaps because he fears they’ll soon try to leave mondstat- but oh, wouldn’t it be awful if the people began to talk about how they came in, seduced the cavalry captain, and then left? that’d be quite horrible, wouldn’t it? perhaps they’ll have to stay just a bit more- to clear things up and whatnot

“now, now, don’t be so hasty. where are you going now? you wouldn’t be thinking of leaving without me, would you?” the outlander seems to almost jump out of their skin as kaeya seemingly pops out of nowhere, sliding his arm around their shoulder. they’re at mondstat’s gates; they’d truly just meant to go out and train, to have a breather (to try and get some alone time, before kaeya dragged them off to do some weird quest or job), and yet the blue-haired captain had somehow caught them at the gate. they weren’t sneaking out; they had all the right to come and go, and yet dread pools in their gut, feeling as if though they’d been caught doing something wrong. kaeya chuckles, but the look in his eye isn’t quite as entertained. “i can’t say i’m a fan of you doing this, darling.”

when did his little lovesick fantasies evolve from just dreaming of kissing them and holding them to wanting to see them cry? when did the emotion he thought was love morph into the dark, unsightly obsession that churned in him, spurring him to keep manipulating and bending his darling to his will? it’s perhaps tragic that kaeya has never been one to bother himself too much with having good morals; he’s willing to do whatever it takes to get the results he wants in any scenario

and so hearing his darling shakily admit that they’re trying to figure out how to leave just spurs him on. oh, it breaks him, don’t get him wrong; kaeya’s had enough of being abandoned, of being tossed aside. and even though he rarely lets his heart be seen, in that moment, his darling sees him as vulnerable as he can be- crying, clinging to them. are they going to abandon him too, huh? toss him aside and leave him to fend for himself? it’s miserable and shocking; perhaps enough to temporarily stun his darling, to make them falter. it’s so easy to forget months of manipulation and pain seeing kaeya’s tears and hearing his sobs- it’s... too easy to tell themselves they “can stay a while more”

and that “while” might turn longer than they think. there’s nothing for kaeya to lose anymore; he can’t “move too fast” now, because he can either pounce or he can lose his darling forever. it’s a high stakes situation, and even if it takes destroying their weapons and any sort of power they have, even if it takes him locking them away in the basement to his home, it’s ok. it would have ended in this anyways and he knows it; eventually he’d have cracked, he’d have taken them for himself anyways. they just sped up the process

“you’re so cold to me, baby.” his tone is almost mocking as he tugs on the chain that’s connected to their neck, forcing them to look up to him. they’re wearing one of his dress shirts- he kindly gave them the option to either wear that or go shirtless, and then proceeded to coo over how adorable they looked, about how lovely and domestic it felt to have them wear his clothes.  as if there was anything domestic about keeping them locked in a basement, the heavy collar around their neck with a chain that connected to a sturdy metal bolt on the wall. one of his hands moves to caress their face- it’s cold, and his vision flashes, as if to warn them that if they try to jerk away or upset him, he isn’t above using his ice to make them sorely regret that. he relishes in the look of panic in their eyes (he’s so far gone from the version of himself he used to be, no longer entertained by the thought of regular affection, having now had a taste of how intoxicating it was to be in power, to see the fear in their eyes and to taste salty tears running down their cheeks). “won’t you give me a kiss? of course, i’d be glad to help you get... cooler, if you’d prefer to keep giving me the cold shoulder...”

#genshin impact #yandere genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #diluc genshin impact #kaeya genshin impact #yandere tw #drugs tw

[valdomarx]

“How about we go visit April again?” Geralt asks Jaskier one morning, projecting as much casual indifference into the question as he can. “She did invite us back, and we’ll be passing by that way soon.”

Just two good friends going to visit a brothel to share a prostitute. Again. No big deal. No need to scare Jaskier off.

The road they’re travelling winds through the countryside toward the town where they’d met April and this thing between Jaskier and him had started. Geralt thinks he’s been very cunning in maneuvering them back in this direction.

“Oh.” Jaskier’s body language doesn’t change, but his heartbeat stutters then picks up into a hammering rhythm. “Sure,” he says, inspecting his nails, outwardly casual. “That could be fun.”

Jaskier doesn’t look like he’s about to run, so Geralt is going to count that as a win. He nods, once, and holds back a smile that threatens to spill out in anticipation.

.

April greets them warmly, with a hint of sparkle in her eyes, and they’re herded up to her room. It’s the same as before, the same obnoxiously red furnishings, the same musty smell of sex, and she is as appealing and lovely as ever.

Geralt can’t help but notice the difference in himself though: the weight of everything that’s happened since then, the inconvenient magnitude of his feelings, his growing understanding of just how much Jaskier means to him. It makes him nervous in a way he hasn’t felt since he was a boy, and he stamps down the urge to fidget.

April cocks her head at him, curious, like she can see he’s different too. He gives her a lopsided half smile and she nods, understanding.

“Good to see you again, big boy,” she says as she pulls his shirt off and runs fingertips down his chest. “You been well?”

Geralt sneaks a glance at Jaskier, who is kicking off his boots in the corner. “You gave me a lot to think about. It’s been an... illuminating few months.”

“Illuminating in a good way?”

Geralt ponders that. Yeah, all in all, considering what he’s got from it. “In a very good way.”

April smiles broadly, like she's pleased by that answer. “That’s my man,” she says, patting him on the cheek, and Geralt feels a ridiculous surge of pride. She divests Geralt of the rest of his clothes in an efficient manner, and she doesn’t seem to object to the fact Geralt is staring at Jaskier the entire time.

“There we go,” she says once she has Geralt naked. “You entertain yourself for a moment while I see to your dear friend, yeah?”

That’s easily done. Jaskier seems nervous too, hopping from one foot to the other, though April sets him at ease. Geralt stares, hungry and unabashed, as she peels away Jaskier’s layers of finery to reveal supple, smooth skin beneath. Geralt is half hard already from the anticipation, and he fists his cock in his hand as he watches Jaskier’s shirt slide from his shoulder, the tantalising glimpse of firm muscle exposed beneath.

Jaskier’s eyes flick to his, then down to his hand where he’s working himself over, then back to his face, and the most charming blush spreads over his cheeks. Geralt feels the urge to look away, the old instinct of shame kicking in, but he fights it back. He’s looking at Jaskier, and he likes what he sees. He wants Jaskier to know that, even if he isn’t quite ready to put it into words.

April sets herself down on her knees in front of Jaskier, unlacing his trousers with deft fingers. Jaskier is still looking at Geralt, bottom lip caught in his teeth, eyes a little wild, and they haven’t even got started yet. It’s a good look on him, Geralt thinks as he squeezes a little firmer around his cock, slides his hand a little faster. 

April peels off Jaskier’s trousers and he’s finally, deliciously naked, his cock bouncing free and settling in a hard line against his thigh. Broad shoulders, slender waist, thick thighs, hard cock. He is a feast, and Geralt is starving.

“Lovely,” April says, cheerfully. “Get yourself settled on the bed for me, sweetheart.” 

On somewhat shaky legs, Jaskier does so, sprawling himself on the bed and propping himself up on his elbows. His cheeks are pink and his hair is mussed and he’s beautiful. Geralt wants to devour him whole.

April looks from Jaskier to Geralt over her shoulder. “You too, my man,” she orders, and Geralt feels like he’s looking down on his body from high above as he arranges himself on the bed next to Jaskier, close enough to touch but keeping his hands to himself, at least for now.

“Much better,” she says, taking in the two of them on the bed, apparently satisfied. “But oh dear! How foolish of me. I suddenly realise I have left an urgent matter unattended to downstairs. You two can keep yourself amused for a moment while I see to it, right?”

“Most certainly, dear lady,” Jaskier says, seemingly calm, but Geralt can see the blush spreading from his cheeks down his neck. “Let us not detain you. We will gladly wait upon your pleasure.”

“Such considerate gentlemen,” April says, pulling on a robe and heading for the door. She gives Geralt a tiny wink as she departs. 

The door shuts and a heavy silence descends on the room. Geralt glances to his side and gets a tormenting glimpse of Jaskier, so near and yet so far away. He forces his eyes back up to the ceiling, determined not to come on too strong.

But the hairs on the back of his neck prickle when he feels Jaskier turn and look at him, the heat of his gaze running up and down the length of his body. 

“So…” Jaskier says, carefully light. “How should we amuse ourselves while we wait?”

Geralt has been thinking about this moment for weeks. He has plans. He was going to be eloquent. He was going to use his words. 

And then Jaskier looks at him, and smiles softly, and every thought he’s ever had goes flying out of his head. 

So he acts purely on instinct: he puts a hand around the back of Jaskier’s neck, he pulls him close, and he kisses him with everything he has.

Jaskier is hot and responsive, opening his mouth to welcome Geralt in, and the taste of him is as intoxicating as it is familiar. He tugs and Jaskier rolls onto him, their bodies pressed together from head to toe, and heat sparks from the base of Geralt’s spine to the tips of his fingers where they are entwined in Jaskier’s hair. He feels like he could drown like this, and he would die a happy man.

“Mphgh,” Jaskier says against his lips, all his usual composure apparently deserting him. 

So Geralt kisses him again, and that seems to be agreeable. Jaskier scrabbles at him, hands everywhere at once, frantic and frenzied. There’s an edge of desperation to it which makes something inside him shift uncomfortably. 

“Hey.” Geralt pulls back for a moment. “It’s okay. There’s no rush.”

A storm of emotions crosses Jaskier’s face in a matter of seconds. “There isn’t?” He visibly composes himself, rolling back onto his side. Geralt wants to chase after him, but he restrains himself, gives Jaskier the space he needs. “I thought…,” Jaskier trails off. “Well, I thought you might change your mind again. It’s not easy to tell what you want if you don’t talk about it.”

Right. Talking. Words. That had been the plan. 

Geralt takes a steadying breath. He can do this. He can do this for Jaskier.

“Last time we were here, April said something to me,” he begins. Jaskier looks over and tilts his head, curious. “She said that next time, we wouldn’t need her.” Jaskier goes a little pale, and he opens his mouth like he’s about to start making excuses. But Geralt doesn’t need to hear them. “I finally understand what she meant.”

Jaskier shuts his mouth. “Oh,” he says, tentative, like he’s not sure how this conversation is going to continue.

“It was never about the girls, was it?” Geralt says, daring to run a finger down Jaskier’s cheek. “All this time, it was always about you and me.”

Jaskier’s smile breaks through like the sun peeking between clouds. “You figured it out.” Then it morphs into a teasing grin, and he punches Geralt in the shoulder. “Took you long enough.”

Geralt’s chest is so light he feels like he could float away. “It did. I’m sorry if that hurt you.” Emboldened and free, he wraps a hand around the back of Jaskier’s neck, and it fits like it belongs there. “I want you, Jaskier, and I think I always have.” It's so startlingly clear, he wonders how he could ever have doubted it.

Jaskier laughs, and Geralt wants to wrap himself in that sound. “You can have me;” Jaskeir says, and he can’t stop smiling. “Any way and every way you want. I’m yours, you great idiot, and I have been for years.”

And that’s…. that’s everything that Geralt wants, and more than he can possibly deserve. The nameless thing which has been furiously beating inside his chest feels like it’s about to burst free and carry him away with it. 

This time, Jaskier kisses him, and Geralt lets himself luxuriate in this, in what he wants, in his Jaskier.

“How do you want me?” Jaskier asks, voice husky, and the myriad implications of that question have Geralt’s head spinning. But he knows. He knows what he wants.

“I want you to fuck me,” he says into Jaskier’s neck, and Jaskier gasps like he’s been handed a wonderful gift.

“It would be, with not the tiniest bit of exaggeration, my absolute pleasure,” Jaskier says, stroking a gentle hand down Geralt’s side.

Jaskier sits up and there’s suddenly no contact between them and Geralt makes a noise which, if he was absolutely forced to confront it, he would admit was a whine. Jaskier pets him indulgently and rummages around in the nightstand by the bed and, heaves bless April and her preparedness, finds a vial of oil there. 

When Jaskier settles between his legs, Geralt is expecting something hot and heavy, the desire that’s been building between them for months sharpened into something rough and desperate. 

He never would have imagined, not in a thousand years, the way Jaskier bends his head to kiss his down his stomach and across his thighs, lips trailing so softly, the rough grit of his stubble just coming in abrading his skin, as if he’s mapping every inch of Geralt’s body, as if this is what he has wanted all along. 

It’s heady and astounding, the sensation of being the object of Jaskier’s singular focus. His fingers and his lips trace every patch of skin he can find, and it’s almost overwhelming. Geralt feels adored. He feels cherished. 

It’s almost too much, his blood is rushing under his skin, he feels like he’s sinking, like he might simply melt apart, and all Jaskier has done is lavish attention on him.

“Come on, Jaskier,” he pleads, all thoughts of shame left far behind. “Please.”

Jaskier pauses and looks up at him, eyes shining bright. “Oh, Geralt,” he grins, “you sound so good when you beg.”

He’s going to object to that, he really is, but then he’s distracted by Jaskier bending to lick a stripe up his cock, and he nearly keens with the need for it. 

“Patience,” Jaskier chides, coating his fingers with oil. “I’ll give you what you need.”

You always do, Geralt thinks, and then Jaskier’s mouth is back on his cock and he stops thinking all together.

The first press of Jaskier’s finger at his entrance is so soft he barely notices it, there and then gone again, back and stroking him in careful circles. With Jaskier’s lips stretched around his cock his entire body is loose and pliant, and it’s easy for Jaskier’s fingers to slip inside and open him up. 

He loves this, in truth. Lying here and allowing Jaskier to lavish affection on him. For once there are no monsters to fight, no jeering villagers to block out, nothing for him to do but let himself be pleasured. And from the rapturous look on Jaskier’s face as he works him open, he’s not alone in his enjoyment.

He gives himself over to it, lets Jaskier prepare him as he sees fit, nothing in his mind but safe, comfortable trust. The burn around Jaskier’s fingers turns to a stretch, and any lingering hesitation slips away.

When Jaskier deems him ready, he withdraws his fingers and Geralt whimpers. But before he can protest, Jaskier is drawing himself up, nosing at Geralt’s neck and pressing sweet kisses to his skin.

“You ready?” Jaskier asks and fuck yes, of course he is, but he feels a bubble of warmth expand in his chest knowing that Jaskier cares enough to make sure he’s happy.

“Been ready for months,” Geralt growls, and Jaskier just laughs because they both know that isn’t true.

“My dearest witcher,” Jaskier says, soppy for a moment and so very fond, kissing Geralt with a tenderness that has that strange feeling deep in his chest squeezing more tightly. He squirms a bit at that, the wave of emotions threatening to overcome him, but Jaskier’s arms are around him and Jaskier’s weight is on top of him and he’s here, he’s grounded, and he has everything he needs is right here in this room.

When Jaskier pushes into him, slow and careful, it feels like the two of them are melding into one, like he’s being spread open but only so that he can make room inside for Jaskier. The stretching feeling increases and his breathing stutters, but Jaskier is there, a hand on his face, whispering sweet words of comfort.

Once he’s settled deep inside Geralt they take a moment to breathe, forehead to forehead, and then Jaskier starts to move and Geralt can’t contain the noise that punches out of him. Small thrusts at first, the drag of Jaskier’s cock inside him sending flares of sensation, and then building in a confident rhythm, and Jaskier’s so good at this, so good to him, like he knew he would be.

“You feel,” Jaskier gasps, “Gods, Geralt, you feel incredible.”

Geralt can’t speak, can barely comprehend the words, focused as he is on the slick slide of Jaskier inside him, the glowing hum of tension and pleasure where their bodies meet, the heat of Jaskier all around him.

“More?” Jaskier offers, and Geralt has no idea how anything could be more than this but he’s oh so very curious to find out.

He nods, and Jaskier spreads Geralt’s legs further, lifting one of his knees so he’s even more open. He thrusts again, and at this new angle his cock brushes deep inside Geralt and sends a sparkling bust of pleasure throughout his body, leaving him clawing at the sheets, at Jaskier’s sides, at his shoulders.

“So good for me,” Jaskier says, and Geralt shudders all over. “So beautiful.”

Geralt buries his face into the pillow, overwhelmed by the sensation and affection in concert, but Jaskier keeps up a steady stream of praise and kind words, and Geralt lets it wash over him, lets himself be carried away in a haze of adoration.

He floats, he soars, and for a time all that matters is the grace of their bodies moving together and the bubbling, building heat between them.

“I’ve wanted you for so long,” Jaskier says, breathy now, and Geralt knows in his bones that it’s true, that all the times they’ve spent together have been leading them here, that he can have Jaskier now like they were always meant to be. 

Sweat is pooling at Jaskier’s temples and his thrusts are getting messy, erratic, and Geralt loves it, loves seeing Jaskier undone, loves knowing that he caused it. Jaskier reaches down and wraps a hand around Geralt’s cock, pumping him in time, and it really only takes a few strokes until the building pleasure explodes out of him in a pure, bright white light.

He comes gasping Jaskier’s name, and for once he holds nothing back.

“Oh,” Jaskier says, like a sigh. “Oh Geralt.” And Geralt feels Jaskier tense and come inside him, slick  and wet, and the thought of being filled with the evidence of Jaskier’s pleasure sends his head reeling as much as the orgasm did.

Jaskier’s arms wobble where they’re supporting him and he collapses in a heap on top of Geralt, pulling out with as much care as can be managed in this position. It’s messy and frankly it should be kind of gross, but Geralt feels nothing but elation. 

.

Some time later there’s a knock at the door, and it’s pushed open to reveal April lounging in the door frame and sipping a mug of wine. 

She takes in them both, sweaty and disheveled, covered in reddening marks and sticky with each other’s seed, and raises an eyebrow. “Glad to see you two sorted it out,” she says, taking another swig of wine. 

Maybe Geralt should feel self-conscious, but Jaskier seems to have wrung every emotion that isn’t cosy contentment out of him. He gives her a dopey smile instead. 

“The other girls will be thrilled to hear you finally got your heads out of your arses,” she says.

Jaskier rouses himself with a stretch. “Other girls?”

“Oh yes, we have quite the letter-writing network between brothels. We like to keep each other up to date on the comings and goings of our favourite customers.”

Geralt and Jaskier share a look.

“After the incident with Florence we all hoped you two would pull your heads out of your arses. Even had a little betting pool going. Shame that I didn’t win, but it seems you finally got there in the end. Congrats!”

“Delighted to hear we’ve been providing you and the other ladies of the Continent with entertainment,” Jaskier says with a grin. “Though let it never be said that we’d leave a fine woman such as yourself wanting for coin, so you’ll find your payment on the dresser.”

April picks up the purse and gives a satisfied nod. “Such gentlemen, and for such easy work. Tell you what, I’m taking myself off to the bath house for some pleasure of my own. How about I let you two keep the room while I’m gone? Seems like you might be needing it for a little while longer.”

Jaskier eyes him and licks his lips, and Geralt feels heat racing under his skin and crawling up his neck.

“That would be appreciated,” Geralt says, and he does not blush. “I’m sure we’ll find a way to pass the time.”

#geralt and jaskier's brothel adventures #the big finale! they are big softies both! #geraskier #my writing #the witcher

[kirishwima]

Your prompts are amazing, may I have a MC, who loves gardening and wants to live in a fairy tale-like cottage surrounded by nature, they are even saving money, however they are willing to give up this dream if it means they can be with RFA+V?

awe, sure! though not my style, i find the cottage-core aesthetic so sweet, and can really see the appeal of this kind of lifestyle ^^

RFA + MC who loves gardening and wants to live in a fairy tale like cottage:

Yoosung:

* Let's be real, when MC describes their dream to him he...doesn't see the appeal

* He loves the city, the amenities that come with living here-most of all the wi-fi, lol, but also the comforts of walking down the street to a convenience store, everything he needs within reach

* Yet...when he sees the way MC's eyes light up at the thought of living this way, how they keep bringing leafy plants and vibrant flowers into their shared apartment, making it into their own little magical place, he can't help but indulge. Would it really be so bad, to live a little further away from the city?

* He's cuddling with MC one day on the couch, when he brings up the topic

* "I was thinking...if we start saving up now, get a fixer-upper cottage for cheap and work on it, I can get a car to drive to and from work-I think we can make it work. Your-your dream, I mean."

* And the smile MC gives him? Makes all the effort they put into this plan worth it.

Zen:

* Oof, Zen..he'd be so split when thinking of MC's cottage dream.

* He wants to give them the world, and for him, these aren't just empty words. If MC asked him for the moon he'd find a way to bring it to them.

* Besides, he sees the appeal of this kind of a life. Being able to wake up every morning, away from the hustle and bustle of the city, no more sounds of motorcycles outside waking him up in the middle of the night, the view of a beautiful garden, grown and tended to by MC greeting him each morning...yeah, he sees the appeal.

* On the other hand, it's not so easy to just pack up their life and move into a cottage. He still has to be in the city every day for filming and practice, has to attend meetings and meet + greets...he could use the motorcycle to travel, but that'd hardly be convenient for them both.

* So he makes a decision.

* One day he comes home, twirling a set of keys between his fingers.

* He'd sold his motorcycle, bought a car-big enough to be able to fit a bunch of their belongings in the back, since a lot they'd be selling, buying new ones together to furnish their new home.

* It's not that he ever felt forced to do this-he just...knew it was time to take the next step.

* And lo and behold, only a year later, he wakes up every morning, the view outside the bedroom window-his and MC's bedroom, being the sight of the garden MC has been tending, MC sleeping quietly besides him. He wouldn't trade this for the world.

* ((Also I can definitely see him having a dog?? It'd be so cute, him coming back home from work to be greeted by his beloved MC and a big fluffy doggo jumping on him with joy ;u;))

Jaehee:

* YES YES YES

* At first she's hesitant-living in the city's all she's ever known, and what MC dreams of sounds...well, just like a dream. Too good to be true.

* Where would they find a cottage? How far from the city would it be? What's even the price range for one?!

* Yet she's so open to the idea-they've already pretty much made Jaehee's balcony a mini-garden, and she loves tending to it as much as MC so...if they were to have a garden, perhaps a vegetable patch in the back, MC's favorite flowers at the front of the house...being able to cuddle in front of a fireplace, living in nature, away from the hectic life in the city...would it be so bad?

* It doesn't take long for her to start looking up houses they could move into, imagining how the shared space between her and MC would be like, smiling at the thought of it-their space, not 'Jaehee's aparmtent that MC now lives in too'-she loves the sound of it much better than this.

* Soon they find the perfect space-a cozy home, further away from the city-in fact they move besides a smaller city, something between a city and a village, really, just far away enough to feel secluded, yet close enough to be able to walk to town each morning.

* They're quick to open up a coffee shop in town, a small cozy space usually frequented by locals, and the occasional passer-by who's travelling through the town. Oftentimes the rest of the RFA will visit them, and well-it's everything both MC and Jaehee could've dreamt of.

Jumin:

* Jumin...he's a little confused, but he's got the spirit

* When MC opens up to him, describes their dream home, he hums. "We can buy a cottage, visit it whenever you want-have someone tending the garden when we're not there so it doesn't wither"

* MC appreciates the sentiment but...it's not what they want. They explain to him that it's not the home that matters, so much as the lifestyle. They want to tend to the garden, want to grow their own vegetables and produce, want to be able to live off the land, keep the busy city lifestyle at bay-not to bar it completely, obviously, just...distance themselves from it.

* Jumin tries to understand, he really does, but for someone who only occasionally goes to a grape farm to relax and then come back to his usual routine it's not easy. It sounds far too idealistic...and in Jumin's case, it is. He would love nothing more than to live in a cottage with MC, but they both know with his work, that's far from feasible.

* He hates how easily MC agrees, how they seem so okay with letting go of their dream-all for Jumin, he...he certaintly doesn't feel like he deserves it. They reassure him that he does, that they love him and just want to be with him, regardless of the where, but still, he can't help but feel bad, wanting to offer to MC everything they could ever ask for.

* Eventually they come to a compromise; they buy a cottage together, with plenty of garden space for MC to work their magic on, where they'll spend all of their free time together. MC refuses to go there when Jumin won't be able to join them, and it warms his heart, to know they want to share this dream, this joy with him...so he does his best to get as much free time as possible (even when poor Jaehee begs him not to lmao)

Seven:

* Um??? Y'all I think that'd be his dream too???

* I know we talk about Saeran a lot and obviously, with Saeran there's no question that he'd be 100% down for this, but Seven...he wants a place to call home, a cozy place for him and MC where he can lay down roots, and I feel like, after getting away from his line of work, he'll want less to do with technology, probably will want to keep his home a little 'smart-less'. No need for talking doors and fancy security systems, not anymore.

* Not to say he'd go completely off the grid-I'm sure that even if the two move into a secluded cottage, he'll still find a way to secure the perimeter, still wary from his past, still afraid of what might come to catch up to him. Plus...he'd definitely have an office/gaming room in there lol, definitely would find a way to get the fastest Wi-fi available even in the countryside.

* But he'd love to learn about gardening, would create fun gadgets to help MC with watering and caring for their plants. I can absolutely picture it, him crouched down over a small growing bud in the dirt, pure joy on his face as he turns to face MC with a proud grin saying 'Look! I planted this one and it's growing!'

* Just. A homey life with Seven. AAAAA :')

V/Jihyun:

* Listen. Listen I know I'm biased towards him, BUT picture this:

* MC and V buy a fixer-upper of a cottage; it's in a state of disrepair, the wood moulded in places, no electricity nor running water connected to it, what was once a garden is now a dry mess of twigs and dirt-

* But they both look at each other, smile, and know-this is the one for them.

* Each venture into the cottage is like a date, laughing as they pull out planks of wood, replacing them with new ones, trying their hand at working out the electric panel themselves-poor Jihyun tries his best but eventually gives up, sighs, and with slumped shoulders calls Seven-who needs an electrical company when you got a tech genius of a friend?

* It's a slow run, but soon the fundamentals are fixed, the walls are painted, the wood is clean and solid-MC takes care of the most work concerning the garden, reviving it back to life. While at first they just clean the mess and lay new dirt, they soon see the fruit of their labor grow as buds spring to life, as flowers they planted bud, a climbing rose latching onto the side of the house.

* Eventually it's not a house, but a home, the way the sunrays hit through the window-panes, how little dust particles dance in the sunlight; it's the exact opossite of a minimalistic house, there's trinkets in every available surface, the top of the fireplace is littered with things the two of them have collected during trips and travels-ranging from weird-looking sea shells to gorgeously crafted souveneirs, photos of them and their loved ones adorning the walls. There's always a messy blanket or two draped over the couch, from the late nights they spend cuddling and reading or just chatting with one another. The kitchenette has a whole rack full of spices, a myriad of plants on the windowsill-most are herbs used for cooking, ones that Jihyun still has a hard time differentiating between-it's not uncommon that he'll put mint instead of thyme into his cooking, still...it tastes good, because it's cooked with love, and care.

*It's everything they both could ever dream of.

-masterpost-

#listen..V could ask me to move with him to antartica and id already be packing my bags no questions asked #any home with this man would be full of love and joy AND I STAND BY THAT #asks #anon #sry i went overboard with his hope u dont mind :3 #txt #fics #fanfics #mystic messenger #mystic messenger fanfic #mysme #mysme imagine #mystic messenger imagine #mysme reactions #707 #luciel choi #saeyoung choi #saeran choi #mysme unknown #mysme ray #yoosung kim #jaehee kang #jumin han #jihyun kim #burrito stuff #burrito talks #tag later

[delicioussshame]

Have more of Luo Binghe trying to rationalise buying his love interest.

Luo Binghe’s constant pacing is only interrupted by Shen-laoshi’s arrival.

From the look of it, his teacher is too occupied with taking in Luo Binghe’s penthouse to spare him much attention, which is perfect. It leaves him completely free to take in Shen-laoshi himself.

He hadn’t been wrong. Shen-laoshi is so thin he’s verging on unhealthy. The result of too much work and not enough home-cooked food, surely. Luo Binghe would be worried if he didn’t know it wouldn’t last. Shen-laoshi had always eaten every dish Luo Binghe used to bring to his tutoring sessions, the only thanks he could afford at the time, with every sign of enjoyment. Luo Binghe fully intends to rekindle that tradition.

“This is a bad idea.”

Luo Binghe is too fast; he steals Shen-laoshi’s small luggage before he can take it back. “Am I such a bad host that Shen-laoshi won’t even give me a chance to show him hospitality? He should at least let me serve him the meal I prepared for him. It would be a shame for the food to go to waste.”

He doesn’t smile when Shen-laoshi visibly hesitates. “Binghe still cooks? Doesn’t he have people for that?”

Luo Binghe would never let strangers handle his food in his own home. “I do. I’ve always enjoyed cooking, especially for others. It’ll be a pleasure to do so again.” It’s not a lie. He does enjoy cooking for others, as long as he cares about those others. The people he holds dear are just very few.

Shen-laoshi throws a longing glance at the door, but slumps in defeat. “Well, I guess it would be rude not to at least stay for dinner then.”

“And Shen-laoshi is never rude.” Luo Binghe starts for his room. “Here, I’ll put your baggage away.”

Shen-laoshi follows him in a hurry. “Binghe, wait! Where are you going?”

Could he settle Shen-laoshi somewhere less provocative than in his own bedroom? Yes, he could have. He’d thought about it. The last thing he wanted was to spook Shen-laoshi away. He does want to take his time, in his own way.

But he knows his teacher. He’d made Luo Binghe’s adolescence hell with his complete obliviousness to his student’s shamefully evident crush. If his interest is too subtle, Shen-laoshi will fool himself into thinking it’s platonic, which it never was.

Shen-laoshi freezes when he enters a room he has to recognise as Luo Binghe’s. “Binghe…”

Luo Binghe ignores him in favor of setting the luggage down beside a dresser. “This is yours. I did say you didn’t have to bring anything if you didn’t want to, so there are clothes in it and in the closet. Take whatever you want.” Would he love to see Shen-laoshi leaves his bathroom with wet hair dripping down on a shirt Luo Binghe had bought him? Why yes, he would very much enjoy that. Also, Shen-laoshi deserves better than the worn garments he was usually seen in.

But if it’s too much, too fast, he’ll settle for Shen-laoshi’s own clothes stored in his home, like they belonged there.

Shen-laoshi peeks into the closet gingerly. “…Binghe, that’s way too much.”

It is not. “It’s nothing less than Laoshi deserves.”

Shen-laoshi shakes his head. “I don’t know what story you’ve constructed about me, but Binghe must be confused about something. What I have ever done for you to think this all makes sense?”

Luo Binghe could spend hours explaining to Shen-laoshi how lonely he’d been as a child. Struggling to adjust after his mother’s death, terribly aware that what little money she left him wouldn’t last forever, the soothing presence of Shen-laoshi, the only adult willing to listen to him, had been a lifeline he’d needed more than anything. He’d promised himself he’d be the same for him, when he would be able to.

He could, but he’s afraid he’ll scare Shen-laoshi away. He’s been told before he can be a bit… intense. “Shen-laoshi will understand in time. Meanwhile, why doesn’t he follow me to the dining room? Now that you’re here, we should catch up properly. There is so much I want to share with him!” The urge to reach for him, to put a hand on his back or his arm to guide him makes itself known, but he restrains himself. Patience. He can’t spook his teacher, or he’ll run.

Shen-laoshi doesn’t fight the suggestion, meekly following along.

Dinner is nice and uncomplicated. Luo Binghe deliberately keeps conversation light, retreating to familiar grounds, his studies. After all, Shen-laoshi is the only reason Luo Binghe managed to ace the required entrance test. He should be made aware of the results of his hard work.

As he prattles on, he gets to see Shen-laoshi’s walls fall, piece by piece, as he forgets why he’s here to only focus on Luo Binghe’s words. Luo Binghe knows Shen-laoshi has always been fond of him. With insight, he can tell he was favored, maybe more than a teacher should favor one of his students. As long as Shen-laoshi can think of Luo Binghe as that student of his, he’ll happily let himself be entertained.

If he had time, he would have invited Shen-laoshi over to such dinners. He’d have taken him out to good restaurants. He’d have visited museums with him, taken him shopping, walked around the city by his side until Shen-laoshi would have accepted him, and then he would have confessed.

But that would have meant letting the object of his affection struggle through another summer of part-time jobs, tutoring gigs and calligraphy lessons that barely paid the rent. Shen-laoshi would have been stretched even thinner.

Luo Binghe couldn’t allow it.

He waves Shen-laoshi away after dinner, claiming work he has to finish before tomorrow. He, of course, would prefer to spend the rest of the evening with him, but the point of this manoeuvre is to let Shen-laoshi discover his house by himself. It’s a show of trust, demonstrating he has nothing to hide from his teacher.

It’s also a chance for him to find the room Luo Binghe always thought of as his.

He believes it will be obvious. The rest of the house has been professionally decorated, all tasteful whites with the occasional colorful accent.

Shen-laoshi’s study is all soft green and rosewood furniture, a more antiquated style Luo Binghe had always associated with his teacher. Nothing like the modern feel of the rest of the house. There are shelves, some stocked with classic literature, others empty, waiting for their proper owner to fill them as he saw fit. A fully furnished desk with the latest tech. A soft, huge couch Luo Binghe made sure he could sleep on comfortably if he wanted to. Large windows letting in the sun in the morning. A few plants Luo Binghe diligently watered so that they’d be radiant when Shen-laoshi first saw them.

A space just for him.

Luo Binghe thrills as he heard Shen-laoshi putters around the house, the muffled sounds of his steps on the hardwood floor or of doors opening and closing softly obliterating the silence he’s used to, reminding him each time that this is real, that Shen-laoshi really is here with him. It’s a good thing the work he has to do isn’t too demanding, because he could never focus in this state of elation.

He hopes his teacher likes the place, though he’d move in a heartbeat if Shen-laoshi found it lacking in any way.

After a while, the sounds stop. Luo Binghe supposes he found the study.

When, a few hours later, he closes his laptop for good, he does find Shen-laoshi sitting on the couch, engrossed in one of the books.

He smiles. The sight of Shen-laoshi making himself home here is very pleasing to his more possessive tendencies. “I see Shen-laoshi have found a way to entertain himself.”

Shen-laoshi startles. “Binghe!” He sets the book down. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude, it’s just-“

Luo Binghe cuts him off. “Shen-laoshi has done nothing wrong. All that is mine is his, and these books were always intended for him.” He opens the desk’s drawer and hands him the card. “He is welcome to purchase any book he wants to read, or anything else he lacks. He doesn’t have to restrain himself.”

The credit card is a crass reminder of their supposed arrangement, but there is no way around it. Luo Binghe wants Shen-laoshi to get all he desires, and money facilitates that process.

Shen-laoshi doesn’t take the card. “Binghe, I can’t accept this. This isn’t right.”

Luo Binghe is getting quite tired of Shen-laoshi’s refusals, no matter how expected they were. “Please do. It would make me so happy to know Shen-laoshi is provided for, for once. But it is getting late.” Luo Binghe settles the card back into the drawer, ostentatiously, so that Shen-laoshi knows where to find it tomorrow, when he’s alone in Luo Binghe’s apartment and wondering how to spend his time. Once he’s done, he offers Shen-laoshi his hand, keeping his face blank and his tone simply pleasant. “Will Shen-laoshi turn in for the night?”

He sees Shen-laoshi tense as it becomes impossible for him not to worry about what will be coming next.

The silence stretches on.

Luo Binghe breaks first. “Shen-laoshi doesn’t have to worry. He needs to recuperate. I wouldn’t keep him from his sleep.”

The hand finally settling in his still is a bit unsure.

Luo Binghe decides to ignore it, preferring to focus on its warmth and the fluttering feeling of holding Shen-laoshi’s hand.

“Binghe shouldn’t call me Laoshi in this context. It’s… He shouldn’t.”

“What should I call him, then?”

“My name, simply. Shen Yuan.”

Shen Yuan.

While to Luo Binghe, Shen Yuan will always be his teacher first, he can definitely learn to love the sound of his name. “Shen Yuan it is.”

Luo Binghe lets Shen Yuan uses the main bathroom while he uses a guest’s, and tries to steel himself for what will be coming next.

He doesn’t manage it.

Even if the pajamas Shen-laoshi are wearing offer him full coverage to the point of prudishness, it’s still Shen-laoshi standing by his bed, waiting for him to signal how to proceed.

Luo Binghe bites his tongue until he tastes blood as he himself settles down, and pats the space besides his.

There is no relaxation in either of them, though, Luo Binghe expects, for very different reasons. From this close, he can smell his soap on Shen Yuan’s skin. He can hear the faster-than-average rhythm of his breath. He can feel the warmth of his body.

But he can’t reach for it.

He keeps his antsy hands to himself, instead very deliberately turning off the lights. “Good night, Laoshi. Please rest well.” He needs it.

He doesn’t expect an answer, but the soft “Good night, Binghe,” he gets in response ensures that when he finally falls asleep, he does so with a smile on his face.

#The Scum Villain Self Serving System #Scum Villain #BingQiu #That AU where LBH and SY fail to negociate their sugar relationship

[needleanddead]

For that good Cass and Constance content: 89. What would they get into a petty argument over? 94. What does their room look like? 99. What would they wear to a formal event? Describe their outfit!

89. What would they get into a petty argument over?

Hair trigger temper activation for Constance: ask her what she's dressed up as, if she's in a play, or if it's a weird kink thing. She will lecture you about it, she does have the receipts to back it up, you will regret asking her about it.

Cass likes to start petty arguments for fun. He plays devil's advocate because he thinks it's funny. If you want to get him riled up, state an opinion about modern art. It doesn't matter what opinion, he's immediately on the opposing side and it will get heated.

(Cass and Constance's most argued about topics include: Constance not being creative enough with her surgeries, the proper way to hold a teacup, wine pairings, whether the jam or the cream goes on the scone first, and whether Cass should have to change out of his ugly sneakers before they go out for tea.)

94. What does their room look like?

Constance's room is very pink, very fluffy, very expensive. She has a taste for rococo-style furniture and has a bed that is both festooned with plush animals but also has a very fancy canopy that makes her feel like a princess. Her dressing table looks like it came straight from Versailles; there's more money contained in the form of dresses in her wardrobe than you would ever guess. She also keeps a lot of perfume bottles and expensive collectable ornaments on display. Everything is in various shades of pastel pink, baby blue and lavender.

Cass' bedroom is unimportant to him, honestly. It's a constant mess. If it wasn't bad enough that his whole house is rotting from underneath him, the window is cracked, a couple of the floorboards have given out, and there's a constant draft. He keeps a flat in town that's in slightly better order where his conquests get taken. That one's a little out-dated, having once belonged to an aunt and therefore being rather busy in furnishing style (lots of chintz, lots of dark wood) - but it's got a comfortable bed and electricity and water so what else can you ask for?

99. What would they wear to a formal event? Describe their outfit!

Constance knows that her attire isn't appropriate for everywhere, more is the pity. If she really has to go very formal, she's still as princessy and fussy as she thinks she can get away with, just in a slightly more romantic way; think pale pink gowns made of layers of chiffon with dainty sequins or pearls. She's more likely to go for a 'gown' than a 'dress'.

Cass finally gets changed out of the jeans. He can be a sharp dresser when he wants to be, and his wardrobe is expensive; his style leans towards something between preppy and bohemian. He buys a lot of vintage velvet blazers and jackets and vintage shops are a regular haunt for him. Has a frankly embarrassing amount of patterned ascots that get to see the light of day when he has to be formal. He's capable of going full formality; silk gloves, cravat, tailored suit - but he'd really rather not. He prefers something with a little more freedom.

#long post #cass tag #constance tag #ask game #thank you for the ask!!!! these two. their Rich People Problems #🦇 pip squeaks #food mention

[nitannichionne]

If He Was YOUR Fan Chapter 6: The Set Up (Henry Cavill x Reader Fan Fic)

“Tell me something.” Henry says softly as you put a small platter of appetizers next to him. He licks his lips and the simple gesture makes you press your thighs together for reasons you don’t want to think about.

You turn toward Henry as you sit in a seat next to him to watch TV. “Hmmm?”

“Why are you so…far away?” he asks. “We’ve sat on the floor, rode a motorcycle,” he sighs. “I don’t bite…well, not exactly. Why so shy tonight?”

You smile shyly. After touring the Poet’s Corner at Westminster Abbey and riding high with him over London lip locked with your leg wrapped around him, you are feeling a little exposed, a little vulnerable. He is seeing more from you than anyone has in some time. You let your feelings really show, and though it feels good every time with him, there is such a thing as spinning out of control and falling, things happening too fast and getting hurt. You don’t want that, no matter how much your body needs it, no matter how drawn you are to him. Your heart has been broken too many times.

He calls your name softly, and though there is a tender demand in his voice, there is also a plea in in his eyes, looking bluer than usual because of what he chose to wear. Once again, you respond to him, the plea and demand to come closer.

You straddle him and you feel him between your legs. You suppress a small cry of need and settle there but exhale heavily. You know you’re playing a dangerous game, but like a kitten who knows no better, curiosity gets the best of you. You take an appetizer and feed it to him, hoping to distract him by his hunger, but his eyes convey one of a different sort even as he devours it and chews slowly, not losing eye contact with you. He swallows and licks his lips, feeding you one, and then pours wine into a glass. He sips and offers you a drink after you swallow your food. As soon as you swallow the wine, he frames your face with his hands and brings you down for a kiss, lapping the insides of your mouth with deep and slow thrusts that make you moan softly. You suck his tongue as he turns his head to keep drinking from you, and you nibble his lips, lightly biting the lower one.

His eyes open slightly and he rakes your back. The sensation is delicious and you arch to him. The cross over top proves no barrier to him and he nuzzles your chest, planting wet kisses in the valley between your breasts before pushing your top open. Again, the next layer of fabric is nothing; he kisses your neck and pulls down the straps and the top just enough to bare your breasts, and rakes your back again.

“Henry!” you moan, your body helplessly grinding on his as his hands run over your backside and his fingers expertly find your slit through your skort and panties. His fingers need only push aside the fabric and he would have you. He strokes as his mouth captures one of your breasts in his mouth, swirling his tongue around the tip before gently taking into his mouth for a wet kiss that he repeats over and over.

You move in time with his hand shamelessly, aching with need as your head falls back so you can breathe. You pant and hear your own high pitched moans as he finally slips a finger into your panties and rubs your slit, still not entering you. You gasp, wishing he would come inside. This is too far, but you don’t know how to stop now.

“Shhh it’s alright, breathe, darling,” he whispers into you the hollow of your neck as he starts a rhythm.

You whimper, both your movements becoming more urgent as he grasps your hips and you grind together. You hold his shoulders as you shudder, your body pulsing with need as you fall forward and try to catch your breath. He is hard between your legs. You are both in need, yet somewhat fulfilled. You rake his hair, your head bowed next to his as you try to compose yourself.

“I want you to know I know,” he pants softly in your ear, his voice a growl. “I could have had you tonight. I could have taken you to my bed and that would be that. But the more I know you, the more I want your complete surrender, not a seduction.”

“Henry—”

He pulls you back slightly, and looks into your eyes as he whispers your name. “I believe good things come to those who wait, darling. That’s why I am a patient man, and I think you are a good thing.”

You hear your name called, jolting you from your memory.

“I don’t know what to do!” Stella says worriedly wringing her hands. “I got a job in catering, but I don’t have a place to stay yet! Everyone is in twos, and I don’t know what to do!”

“Maybe we can have her stay with us,” I suggest. “Maybe we can fit a third in with us.”

Hannah nods readily. “We’re at our rental now. Let’s see what we can do.”

The rental is set up like a dorm on one floor with two beds in each room and the other floor had single bedrooms that were so small one could barely turn around in it. You talk to the senior assistant, Michaela, and she basically says it’s up to us, but we may regret it.

You step outside to get air and look at the house and frown. Does that look like an attic or a…?

You race inside to Michaela. “Is the space over the garage taken?”

“Space? What space?”

You walk her outside and point. “That one.”

Michaela makes a call to the renter and finds out it is not furnished, but the bathroom and kitchen are equipped to work and the carpeting is down.

“If I furnish and decorate, may I have it?”

Michaela thinks you are crazy because that is way more than what you have agreed to pay, but gets an okay from everyone. Stella gives you her payment, and she takes your space. On a mission you set off to find what you need in a nearby town.

A guy named Archer and his brother Stuart from scenery decide to help you and Stella get the things you need, even set up the bed and couch for you. You only have two days before everyone had to be on set for work. Hannah opts out to help, but its understandable.

“You can tell me,” Stella whispers as she helps you hang the curtain to separate your bedroom area from your living room-kitchen. “You do know Henry Cavill, don’t you?”

You laugh, and say, “I went to a panel about his latest movie. I wish I knew the guy better!” That was no lie. You feel yourself giving in to him and you don’t know what to do. There was so much to consider since your last date one thing being if you know him well enough to really trust him.

“Well, if you did, this is going to be one interesting movie shoot.”

You frown. “Why do you say that?”

“Henry’s ex, Gracie Gray, is playing a role in this production,” Stella lets out a low whistle. “They were pretty hot and heavy at one time, so I guess it doesn’t matter.”

Your heart drops. Henry himself said he prefers women in the business; in fact, he seemed to have a habit of picking women based on that and proximity. The idea of being his flavor of the film tastes like bile to you and makes your stomach twist. You busy yourself with unpacking your things.

Stella turns you around. “Okay, what’s going on?”

“Nothing.” You say, but you feel a lump in your throat.

You finally finish the small living space aka hook up the wifi and TV. Happy with  the setup you log into Netflix. “Yes!”

“How much money you got left?” Stella asks as you both recline on the couch.

“Not much,” you sigh. “I’m gonna need this money to stay afloat.”

“It—” Stella looks around. “You did a great job—”

“We did a great job—”

“You measured the space, imagine possibilities and set it up in your mind,” Stella shook her head. “I can’t do that.”

“Yes you do it with food,” you argue softly. “Hannah does it with art.” Among other things, you amend silently. “I did it when I worked as an executive assistant in human resources for a company.” You chuckle at the memory. “Moving offices is a nasty business.”

“But I’d say this is the best space now,” Stella smiles. “And you have a private entrance! Maybe you can invite Archer up here sometime.”

Your eyes widen and you slap Stella playfully. “Archer? Come on, Stella—”

“He likes you,” Stella gives you a sideways shake. “It was so obvious.” She is quiet for a moment. “Unless you’re still thinking about the guy on the motorcycle-the look-alike?”

“He is a bit hard to forget,” you sigh, feeling bad for lying to Stella and promising yourself someday you’d come clean. “And time tells everything right?”

Stella crosses her legs on the table and closes her eyes to relax. “True enough. Let’s chill for a minute and then finish unpacking the kitchen, okay?”

You stare straight ahead. “Sounds like a plan.”

Things just got really simple or really complicated.

______________

 Thanks for reading, followers and readers, as well as my story tagmates:,

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#henry cavill #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill fluff #henry cavill fanfic #romance #superman #geralt #henry cavill x you

[lynnsaundersfanfic]

Grounded, Chapter 10: Dreams

A Coffee House Fic inspired by a prompt from awesomegreentie.

We started off with a T rating, but who are we kidding here? It’s me. So, the rating has been moved up to M at Chapter 5.

Chapters in Order:  Introductions - Invitation - Stroll - Alchemy - Dayspring - Distraction - Lost - Firelight - Monday - Dreams

Or, read it on fanfiction.net here.

Grounded  |  Chapter Ten: Dreams  |  by Lynn Saunders

The Tuesday before Christmas dawns cold and grey, and John watches the sunrise as he sits before the shop’s hearth with his morning tea, struggling a bit to meet the day. William looks surprised to find him there quite so early after closing so late the evening before, but he doesn’t comment on the matter. They really must hire someone else on, and soon.

Anna’s over a week gone, and John has scarcely slept since she’s been away. He trudges home late in the evenings, tie askew, and sinks onto the couch in his sparsely furnished flat to doze for a few hours before rising early to do it all over again. His split with Vera did not leave him with much in the way of quality furnishings, and what little he did take with him has mostly been used to lend a personal touch to the tasteful rusticity of the coffee house. The little shop is the first thing he’s truly been able to make all his own. But his apartment feels cold, the freshly painted walls stark and bare, and it’s not yet truly a home for him. It’s pale and blank, a new slate that he hasn't yet gotten around to writing on - not like Anna’s flat, which is warm and cheerful and utterly her.

He’s a bit surprised to find that it’s difficult to sleep without Anna snugged in safely against him. He craves her scent and the warm press of her body in the dark. He tosses and turns in the night, restless and brooding. But when sleep does finally find him, he dreams of a faerie with golden hair, her eyes blue as the sea. She awaits him eagerly in a small hothouse in mid-winter, dressed all in white. In the dream, their meetings are secret, and her love for him is certain. This morning, the taste of the dream maiden’s lips had lingered on his even after he awoke feverish and shaky, lost between worlds for a moment and struggling to remember which was real.

The church bell down the street chimes out the hour, and John rises and stretches. He retrieves his mobile from the mantle and sends Anna a photo of the blazing fire, then tucks the phone into his pocket with a small smile. He doesn’t expect her home for a few days yet, but it’s safe to say she hasn’t forgotten him. Two evenings ago, their goodnight phone call had ended with her breathlessly sighing his name.

I was thinking of the other night, he’d said. Of having you against the door.

He’s never been brave enough to give voice to such delicious thoughts before, never had someone so eager to listen. Her response to his secret whispers in the dark was the definition of unforgettable.

He finishes his tea with a smirk, then readies for the day, tying on an apron and washing his hands. He surveys the stock of pastries and resolves to make more fresh cinnamon buns, but it will have to wait until the morning rush dies down. For the next two hours, the bells on the front door jangle consistently.

Business is good. More than good. He feels utterly blessed to have this place, but beyond that he feels a sense of deep pride in his work. Is this what it’s like to love what you do? He realizes with a start that this is the first path he’s truly chosen for himself, rather than one he pursued out of habit, pressure, or obligation. In his old life, he might be tempted to focus on all the work that still looms ahead, or to wait for the other shoe to drop. He would’ve been too hesitant to venture into business ownership, too pessimistic. But more than anything else, being wounded showed him just how fleeting life is. That’s what made him put down the bottle and start living life again. And Anna? He certainly would’ve never imagined that he deserved the company of someone this lovely or, for that matter, someone this kind. Finally, he’s starting to believe.

Anna dreams of John in a different time. They sit at a long table in a bustling room she doesn’t quite recognize, yet she somehow knows it all the same. The room smells of coffee and warm, brown bread. Breakfast china rattles over bits of conversation. Beside her, John is clean-shaven and polished and proper. This image of him stands in stark contrast to what she knows he is capable of in the dark. He gives her a furtive glance, and she attempts to hide her flush behind her teacup. Her delicate wedding band is hidden safely away beneath her frock, nestled against her breastbone on a simple gold chain. Her cup clinks into its saucer, and she brings a hand up to absently trace the outline of the ring through the fabric of her dress. No one can know, not yet. John’s leg presses against hers beneath the table, out of view of the others.

The others?

But the room is gone now, replaced with the glow of a fire and the slip of fine linens against her bare skin. John’s thick fingers glide along her back as she rests, snugged against his chest. She’s long been sated, and now sleep calls. As her eyes drift shut, her mind flashes on the rustling of willow fronds and the taste of fresh cider, of mistletoe on the arch of an old oak door, of the earthy smell of a conservatory in midwinter and the sound of pottery shattering in the dark.

The company car rocks gently as it pulls onto Anna’s street, and her eyes blink open. Her mind fumbles for the thread of that intriguing dream, but the more she reaches for those memories, the further they slip away. John in an old-fashioned waistcoat and sleeves, she thinks with a grin. Something about a greenhouse… and then a feeling - one of bittersweet, quiet, and steadfast love. It is safe and warm, and… familiar? Anna shakes her head with a confused sigh.

The homes on Anna’s street are cheerful, dotted with wreaths and holiday lights. In the west, the sky is painted purple and crimson in the waning daylight. The car pulls to a stop at her door, and she draws the edges of her coat closed before stepping out into the nipping winter air. She’s so looking forward to being in her own flat and her own bed, to seeing her grumpy old three-legged cat… and her hot barista.

She checks her mobile - still no service. Ah, well. When she’d spoken briefly with John last evening, her plans called for staying in London at least another day or two. However, this morning’s presentation had gone surprisingly well, and when Mary spoke of sending Anna home ahead of schedule, she’d jumped at the chance.

The driver hurries around to help her with her bags, and she tips him generously before climbing the short flight of stairs to her apartment. Even with both bags in hand, Anna unlocks the door to her flat with practiced ease. Castle comes running and leaps onto the kitchen counter with a delighted chirp. She scritches him and shakes some crunchies into his bowl.

Tacked to the fridge is a note from Gwen.

I continue to be Castle’s favorite person to torment. The beggar knocked the treat bag off of the counter and ate half. He then vomited in the hall and stared haughtily as I cleaned it up.

XO, G

Castle blinks innocently from the kitchen counter, and Anna gives him a disapproving look. She makes a mental note to take her friend for drinks ASAP to make up for it.

Gwen has left the week’s mail on the countertop, and Anna sorts the contents quickly while she waits for the shower to run hot. She happily sheds her travel clothes and steps under the spray with a relieved sigh, washing the muck of the day away. Oh, but there’s so much to do. She needs to go for groceries and work on the laundry, to put the finishing touches on a project before the firm closes for the holidays. But as she lingers in the steam of the shower, allowing the heat to sink into the delicate muscles of her neck and shoulders, she finds it impossible to care about those mundane tasks. Her mind drifts instead.

She thinks of last week, of John’s long fingers moving between her thighs, patiently coaxing her pleasure. She had melted into his embrace, her slick back pressed to his front, her head lolled against his chest. He had turned her then, lifting her solidly against the chilly shower tile and marking her neck with his lips as he pushed into her. His strong arms held her fast while she sighed his name and dug her fingernails into his shoulders. His teeth had trailed behind her ear just so. She reaches lazily up to press her fingertips to the spot, daydreaming until the water begins to cool.

Yes, all the trappings of everyday life can wait. She has a very particular craving that only one thing can satisfy.

John rushes to open the shop’s door ahead of William, who is carefully balancing three full pastry boxes, their largest order of the day. He steps out to meet the chill of the December evening, and William follows, passing gingerly through the doorway. They work together to arrange the pastry boxes safely in the floorboards of the waiting car.

The customer is Beatrice, one of John’s mother’s friends from church, and she reaches up to pat his arm affectionately. “Thank you, Dear.”

He smiles down at her. “I hope you enjoy them.”

“Oh, the kids will love them!”

She waves to William as he ducks back through the shop’s front door. The neon ‘open’ sign blinks out shortly afterward, and they watch for a moment as William goes about closing duties without having to be asked.

“He’s a hard worker,” John says. “Thank you for sending him my way.”

“Oh, yes, I’ve known his family for ages, and of course with his mother’s passing he needed something closer to home for a while. He’s all his dad has left now.” She shakes her head sadly. “But, I’m so happy you two get on so well. I hear there was a less pleasant fellow working here who has recently moved on.”

John laughs. “Yes, but that’s fine by me. Better the two of us work harder than have a third who rocks the boat. But if you know of anyone else who needs steady work, please send them my way.”

She thinks for a moment. “I may have just the young lady in mind. She’s young and a bit new to church, but she seems reliable. She was such a help with the bake sale.”

He draws a card from the breast pocket of his button-front shirt. “Please have her come by. William and I are managing, but barely. As it is, he needs a large bonus… and a holiday.”

She chuckles, then takes a conspiratorial step closer. “Now, let me hear all about this Anna. Margaret tells me you two are quite the item.”

John gives a somewhat embarrassed chuckle. His mother definitely cannot be prevailed upon to keep any secrets. “Yes, I suppose we are.”

“You suppose?” She tsks with mock disapproval. “Well don’t you be shy. Bring her ‘round to see us for tea soon.”

He gives a vague promise, and John waves as Beatrice pulls away from the curb. As the taillights fade in the distance, he takes a moment to stand still, to close his eyes and simply breathe in the icy air. There’s been no new snow today, but there’s still a satisfying icy crunch underfoot, and he remembers his first stroll home with Anna, the first brush of her lips against his cheek. That was only two weeks ago, yet somehow this thing between them feels both ancient and new.

It’s a bit odd that he hasn’t heard from her today, and it dawns on him that he’s not been the least bit concerned about what that uncharacteristic lack of contact means for their burgeoning relationship. In the past, he’s had what Vera would have called a jealous streak. But underneath that superficial explanation was truly only worry, a deep-seated fear that he won’t measure up, that he’s undeserving. But he feels none of that with Anna. Everything between them has come so naturally.

He takes one more moment to enjoy the quiet solitude of the winter evening, then turns to help William close up for the night. But he doesn’t quite reach the door. His breath is caught in his throat, and for a moment he stops and stares, blinking in delighted disbelief. Anna. The streetlamps catch her golden hair even through the frozen haze of the December evening. She’s supposed to be miles away, yet here she is on his street instead, making her way toward him with a very particular look in her eye. He sees warmth reflected there, mischief, and an intoxicating, velvety undercurrent of desire. He catches her up in an embrace, and she giggles as he lifts her off of her feet. God, he wants so badly to be the one who inspires that sound from now on. He breathes her in, feels the thrill of it deep in his chest, then remembers himself and returns her gently to the ground.

“Why didn’t you say you were coming?” he asks with a grin.

“I didn’t know until today.” Her eyes dance as she reaches up to straighten his tie. “That, and my mobile has been out of service all afternoon. But… I’ve brought you something that may make up for it.”

At his quizzical look, she reaches into her coat pocket and brings out a sprig of mistletoe, twirling it in her fingers for a moment, raising an eyebrow. He tugs her close in response, kissing her gently in the arch of the shop doorway until she begins to shiver in his arms. Later, as he sifts his fingers through her hair in her bedroom in the dark, she’ll tell him she wasn’t cold, not exactly. It’s the intensity of his touch that’s making her tremble. But he doesn’t know that now, and he ushers her quickly into the cheerful warmth of the coffee house. Muted sounds from the kitchen radio filter down the hall, and he can hear the clinking of silverware as William washes the dishes. He presses another soft kiss to her lips before locking the door and pulling the shades in turn.

“I need to-” he begins, but she places a gentle hand on his chest with a nod.

“Finish your work.” She smiles up at him. “I’ll still be here.”

He brings the back of her hand to his lips for a moment, then turns to join William in the kitchen. Together, the men make quick work of the evening chores. Soon the dishes are dried and the countertops gleam once more. William finishes the mopping while John reviews the checklist for tomorrow, smiling at the sheer volume of holiday orders.

As he pulls on his coat to leave, William glances down the hall toward Anna, then gives John a nod of decided approval. “It’s good to see you happy, Mr. Bates.”

John clears his throat a bit self-consciously, but he’s touched. “I think I am, truly… for the first time in a long while.” He pauses just a moment before adding, “now, run on home. We’ve another early day tomorrow.”

“You two don’t stay up too late,” William says with a wink as he pulls his cap down snug over his brow and disappears through the shop’s rear door.

John only laughs and shakes his head in response.

When he returns to the front room with a cup of cocoa to share, Anna is warming herself by the waning coals of the banked fire. The shop lights are low, and the sight of her silhouetted in the amber glow of the stone fireplace tugs at a quiet, yearning place deep within him. Anna just feels so… familiar, his mind echoes. It’s as if they’ve spent countless evenings sharing a hearth and a bed, perhaps across times and places he will never know or understand, but always - always - with the same indescribable current arcing between them.

She smiles up at him as he passes her the mug, and he eases onto the sofa, drawing her near. She takes a sip and gives a satisfied hum that makes the fine hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. They watch the embers pop and spark for a moment as the kitchen radio plays on in the distance.

“How was London?” He presses a kiss to her temple.

“Good, actually.” She takes another sip of cocoa and passes him the mug. “Well, more than good, I think. It might mean a promotion.”

“Well done!” He squeezes her hand with genuine affection and pride, then adds cheekily, “Will you have a corner office, then?”

“No…” She grins up at him. “And nothing’s decided yet, but… on that topic, there is a favor I need to ask you.”

“Oh yes?”

“You see, there’s this company holiday party. Fancy dress and all that, and I’ll be needing a date…”

“Dancing and cocktails and a suit?”

“Well, probably not dancing… but the rest of it, yes.”

“No dancing? Pity, that.”

“I expect you’ll be relieved.” She taps his chest playfully with the back of her hand, and he realizes she thinks he’s joking.

He imagines Anna in a low-cut gown, his fingers gliding along the curve of her back as they savor the anonymity of a darkened dance floor. “Oh, I wouldn’t say that.”

John smiles conspiratorially and moves their shared mug to the safety of the little coffee table. He rises carefully, then pulls Anna gently to her feet. She smiles shyly at him as he takes her hand and leads her down the shop’s hallway in the dark. The familiar rooms are bathed in shadows, and she clings to his hand like a lifeline. In the kitchen, he pauses to adjust the volume on the little radio, filling the room with the mellow, rolling notes of a jazz piano.

“Come here,” he says, his voice rough and low.

She giggles as he pulls her easily into his embrace, and they sway together in the dark, his right hand perfectly fitted to the small of her back. Thank goodness for heels, she thinks dreamily. Moving together this way, she’s just tall enough to rest her forehead against his broad chest. He tucks her hair behind her ear and tips her chin up to meet him, stooping to graze her lips with his. His large hands slide beneath the hem of her sweater, blazing a path up the curve of her spine. She hums happily, and she feels his answering smile against her temple.

She finds the quiet confidence in his touch intoxicating. She’s enamored with the pleasing stoutness of his body, the thickness of his chest and shoulders, the way he gazes at her so intently as they move together. She’s never been this easily turned on, this revved up. She’s fallen hard and fast, no question, but this thought doesn’t alarm her. Instead, she feels emboldened by her desire. When she rises on tiptoe to kiss him, he tastes not just of cinnamon and chocolate, but of something deeper and richer, a comforting memory she cannot place. And as the song begins to fade, they hold fast to one another, lighting a fire between them as they dance together in the dark.

Author’s notes:

I’ve not written in a long while. I worry it shows. Thank you for being patient while I knock the rust off.

Anna and Bates dance to Turn Me On by Nora Jones.

Thanks to @awesomegreentie and @gelana78 for quick-beta!

#grounded #anna and bates #anna x bates #Banna #downton abbey fanfiction #anna smith #john bates #coffeeshopau #alternate universe #sticky

[imaginetonyandbucky]

The Buy In

Chapter 2: Taking Out the Trash

by @dracusfyre

“So who exactly are these cops hassling?” Bucky asked the next day as he met up with a man called Kenton at a bodega on 6th. “The shops? Dealers?”

“The ladies,” Kenton 'call me KT' said, shoving his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. KT was stocky and short, with an aggressive undercut and stud in his lip, looking more like an emo kid than a mob enforcer. “We don’t have dealers here.”

“Really? None?" When KT nodded, Bucky asked, "How come?”

When KT eyeballed him skeptically, Bucky said, “Look, it’s my first day, alright? I’m not from around here.”

“Everyone knows the boss hates drugs,” KT said, hitting the button for the crosswalk. “Like, hates. A few years ago he tried to run all the dealers out, but they kept coming back like weeds. Too much demand to keep them out for long, you know? So the boss figures, you don’t kill weeds by cutting them down, you kill them at the roots. So he started targeting the users, not the dealers. First, he bought up the local methadone clinic, set up a rehab house nearby, brought in a bunch of fancy docs. Puts the word out that anyone who wants to dry out can stay for free and gets a sweet deal when you get your ninety-day chip.”

Bucky frowned. “I remember that. The mayor cut the ribbon on the facility, right? I thought the city set up that clinic.”

“Ha!” KT said it like that, an actual ha. “The boss let them take credit for it, sure. But it was his idea and his money. Once he got the clinic up and running, he put the word out to all the dealers, making them an offer: sell him all your goods, give him your client list, and you get a new job that pays twice what dealing does.”

“What happens if the dealer doesn’t take the offer?”

“One day they find themselves on a cargo ship to Madagascar,” KT said, matter of fact. “Or Indonesia, or Kamchatka.”  Bucky doubted that but kept it to himself; it was way more likely that the dealers got dumped in the river while Stark’s organization sold the drugs at a markup. But it was a good story. “Stoners can stay if they grow their shit locally,” KT continued, “but the party bros looking for bumps gotta get it somewhere else. But God help them if they make trouble, because the boss sure won’t.”

“Huh,” Bucky said, noncommittal. “So what are we doing today? Waiting for the cops to show their faces again?”

“Pretty much. Gonna talk to the ladies, then we’ll hang around and see if the pigs come back and let them know that their behavior is not appreciated.” A few more blocks down, KT knocked on an unassuming red door and led Bucky into a whole new world. He’d known when KT said ladies that he’d meant prostitutes and had braced himself for the worst: bare mattresses on the ground, barred windows, dull eyes and needle tracks. But what Bucky walked into looked more like the Waldorf than any brothel Bucky’d ever seen during his brief tour on Vice. Bucky tried not to stare as he took in the thick carpet and tasteful furnishings around the room, with women scattered around in groups chatting. Along one side of the room was a classy bar with mahogany wood and brass furnishings that had a few customers already despite the fact it was barely 5:30. KT approached the bartender, a petite but statuesque redhead with pinup curls wearing a corset that had, if Bucky’s eyes weren’t deceiving him, knives where the boning would be.

“Evening, Widow,” KT said, and the bartender gave him a grin as she slid a beer to the man across from her.

“Evening, gents,” she said, voice pure Georgia drawl. “So did the Iron Man himself send someone down to check on his chickadees?”

“Iron Man?” Bucky echoed in confusion. “You mean the Mechanic?”

“You must be new,” she said with amusement, and KT nodded. “He’s got lots of names, honey. He likes getting them and giving them. Bet he gave you a name, didn’t he?” she said, crossing her arms and leaning on the bar to give him an appreciative once-over. The pose made her look like she was going to spill out of her corset; didn’t do a thing for Bucky, but behind them the man with the beer walked into the back of a couch. “What does he call you?”

Ridiculously, Bucky felt his ears get hot. “Blue Eyes,” he said. “Probably like Jimmy Blue Eyes, I guess, but I don't know why. My name's not James.”

“It’s cuz of them pretty blue eyes of yours,” Widow said, and she laughed as Bucky felt the flush spread to his neck. “He must have taken a shine to you.”

“We're here about those cops you mentioned,” KT cut in, giving her cleavage a glance of appreciation but staying all business. “Stop teasing the help and give us the rundown.”

Widow gave Bucky another sultry smile and stood up straight. As she picked up a glass and rag and started polishing, the Georgia peach act fell away; her movements going from languorous to brisk. “Like I said to the boss, it was Rumlow and Rollins again,” she said, and Bucky’s eyebrows went up as even the accent disappeared. “They must think they got a pretty strong krishna to keep coming around here. They’ve got some of the new girls rattled. Came in just the other night trying to get a 'law enforcement discount,'" she said with a sneer, "and the only way we got them out of here without violence is Hawkeye got them too drunk to know if they were coming or going.” Widow tilted her head towards a man at the far end of the bar who looked like he was passed out, hat drawn down low over his eyes. “I wouldn’t have asked for backup if they weren’t cops, but.” She shrugged, and Bucky understood. Low level patsani, or even higher level enforcers, could disappear, but not a cop. “They also wanted a cut of what we pay to the Boss and wouldn’t listen when I tried to tell them it didn’t work like that.”

���What do you mean?” Bucky asked. "Doesn't work like what?"

Widow and KT shared a look. “He’s new,” he reminded her, and Widow smiled.

“Around here you don’t pay up, you buy in,” she said. “You’ll see.” She stepped away to take an order before Bucky could ask another question, so he turned back to KT.

“What are we going to do about the cops when they show up?” Bucky asked. Most times dirty cops got away with shaking down illegal businesses for money because it’s not like a bunch of criminals were going to rat them out to Internal Affairs. “Ask politely?”

“I have a few ideas,” KT said, sounding unconcerned. Bucky waited for him to say something else, but he apparently didn’t seem like sharing, so Bucky grunted and turned to scan the lounge.

While they’d been talking, a few more men, johns, Bucky assumed, had trickled in and were in conversation with the women, each of which were giving every indication that the man they were sitting next to was the funniest and most interesting man in the world. Guess that was one appeal of this place, Bucky thought; a man would never strike out here, and they probably spent good money to maintain the illusion that they were getting laid on their own merits. “Are all of the Boss's brothels like this?”

KT looked around like he was seeing the place for the first time. “Yeah,” he said, lifting one shoulder carelessly. “Boss invests in his people.”

Bucky supposed that made sense. Better margins in higher end prostitution. Still, it was strange to feel like he was hanging out in a hotel bar, complete with tipsy-looking couples disappearing into elevators to hook up. It was after 9 when the cops showed, still, stupidly enough, in uniform. Bucky suppressed the urge to curl his lip in disgust; these guys represented everything Bucky hated about his job, full of arrogance and spite and a thinly veiled hunger for violence. They were bullies, pure and simple, and Bucky hoped he would have a chance to punch one in the face. He could get away with it, too, if he told his superiors it was necessary to maintain his cover.

KT saw them the same time Bucky did; as they came closer to the bar, he slid off his barstool and put himself in their path.

“Who are you supposed to be?” The lead one sneered, looking down at KT, who was a good six inches shorter than the officer. “Are you supposed to be protecting these whores? You?”  Bucky came up behind him to back him up and read the officer’s badge. Rumlow. He memorized his badge number and that of the second officer, Rollins.

“Welcome back, officers,” KT said with a faint smile. “How can we help you?”

“Last time we asked nicely for our money, and we didn’t get it,” Rumlow said, coming closer so he was looming over KT. “We also asked for some trade, and didn’t get that either. We’re not going to ask nicely again.”

“Let me buy you a drink,” KT said, taking a step backward and gesturing towards the bar. “And let’s have a conversation, yeah?”

“We’re not here for no fucking conversation,” Rumlow spat. “We’re here for our money and a good lay, not necessarily in that order.”

“Fine.” KT’s friendly tone disappeared and his posture changed, going from relaxed and open to a coiled, snakelike tension, ready for violence. Bucky had seen that stance before, in his hand to hand combat training class at the academy. “We’ll cut to the chase.” Widow was watching them intently, a throwing knife already in her hand. Movement out of the corner of his eye proved that the man, Hawkeye, wasn’t as passed out as he appeared to be; Bucky could see light reflecting off the barrel of something, aimed at Rumlow. “For you to be coming in here like this, swinging your dick around, two things gotta be true: you must have protection, some fish big enough that you aren’t afraid of the Mechanic, and that big fish knows you’re here and doesn’t care. If that’s the case, then your boss and my boss are going to have problems. But if either of those things is not true, you are in a world of shit.”

At that, Rollins stole an uneasy glance at Rumlow, who was still trying to stare down KT. It was quick, but it gave the game away – and KT knew it, because suddenly he smiled and relaxed, which made Rumlow scowl harder. “Busted,” he said. “It’s not going to be hard to find out who your protection is, officers. And I don’t think they are going to be happy that you are picking fights with the Mechanic. Am I right?”

“Fuck you,” Rumlow snarled, and swung at KT. But the smaller man was ready, and KT stepped to one side of the swing, then grabbed Rumlow’s wrist and pulled at the same time that he put a hand on the back of his head and shoved, sending the man stumbling. Textbook judo move, to Bucky's eyes. As his partner got his feet under him again, Rollins went for his gun but Bucky already had his hand on it, shoving back down into its holster.

“Let’s keep it a fair fight,” Bucky said in a low voice, and Rollins listened because Bucky’s other hand had a knife slid up under the bottom edge of his bullet proof vest.

“Don’t make this any worse than it already is,” KT was saying, Rumlow’s face bright red with fury. “The Boss will let bygones be bygones if you leave now and don’t come back, but if blood gets shed...” He shook his head.

Rumlow’s face was red and Bucky could tell that he was furious at having been humiliated by someone smaller and lighter than him. Bucky was afraid that he would go for his pistol, but instead he put his hands up like he was in a boxing ring. KT smiled faintly and just made a “come here,” gesture, and that’s when Bucky knew he was trying to piss him off. And it worked; Rumlow lunged, swinging with a tight haymaker that would easily have broken KT’s jaw.

If it had connected, that is. But instead of trying to block, KT dropped to one knee, ducking under the swing, and hit Rumlow in the dick with an elbow as he scooped his leg and stood, throwing Rumlow to the ground where he curled around himself, cursing incoherently with pain.

Bucky whistled long and low, smothering a laugh. KT laid that asshole out in seconds. He released Rollins and said, “You can have your turn now, if you want.”

“That’s assault on an officer,” Rollins snarled, trying to help Rumlow to his feet. “I should haul you down to the station for that.”

“Your buddy clearly started it,” Bucky said. “It’s not like you don’t have witnesses. I’d get out of here before he does anything worse.” Bucky didn’t know if it was the fact that Rumlow still couldn’t stand up straight or the way that everyone was staring at them, but Rollins seemed to know good advice when he heard it, because they did leave, shouting threats the entire way.

“Did you get all that?” KT called out after the door slammed shut behind them, heading back to the bar where the Widow’s knife had disappeared like she’d never drawn it in the first place.

“Every second,” Hawkeye rumbled, sitting up. The barrel that Bucky had seen was a high-end camera lens, not a gun; he’d been videotaping the whole encounter. “Uploading it to YouTube now. That should get them off the streets for a while.”

“That’s how the Boss likes to settle things,” KT said with satisfaction. When he noticed Bucky looking at him with confusion, he said, “Listen here, because this is important: the Boss doesn’t like us to kill people. We don’t do this whole ‘send our guy to the hospital, we send your guy to the morgue’ thing, got it? We send them to the poorhouse. The poor bastard gets so tied up in lawsuits, repossessions, revoked passports, suspended licenses, and investigations that he wishes he were dead. Then the Boss goes after the poor bastard’s boss, and that boss’s boss…mobsters, dons, whatever you want to call them, they don’t mind dying, but they never, ever want to be broke. You start threating their bottom line and they pay attention.”

“Seriously?” Bucky said skeptically. Stark’s file said that he had plenty of blood on his hands.

“Seriously. You might get a pass if you don’t start it, but if it happens again, he cuts you loose, and believe me, it doesn’t take the cops long to track you down. They are hungry for anything they can get on the Boss.”

“You don't say,” Bucky said blandly. "So now what do we do?"

"We're going to stick around until the ladies close up shop, make sure those two don't get any bright ideas to circle back." KT pulled out his phone and started typing in it as he got back on his barstool where the ice in his drink had barely had time to melt. "Hawkeye usually makes sure the clientele behave themselves, so you can have a drink, but don't proposition any of the ladies while you're working."

"Right." What a strange goddamn way to run a criminal enterprise. After a moment, Bucky took a seat beside him and accepted a drink menu from the Widow, whose mouth was curling like she could read Bucky's thoughts. 

"You'll get used to it, Blue Eyes," she said. "I got a good feeling about you."

#tony stark #bucky barnes #tony x bucky #winteriron #no powers au #dracusfyre