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mrsfrecklesmarauders · 3 years

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Wolfstar Part 2

The next morning, Sirius woke up with a huge grin in his face. He was a bloody idiot. Never in a million years, would he have believed his little excursion would turn up that way. But that’s what Remus provoked on him, he acted like an idiot.

Sirius rushed his fingers through his lips, searching for the lingering taste of Remus’. It had been wonderful, and Sirius wanted to do it again.

But the fantasy was over as James opened his curtains in a beat, making Sirius jump.

“The hell!”

“Good morning, Pads” James smirked “What?” he asked looking at Sirius’ shocked face “Did I interrupt a wet dream?”

James didn’t have the habit of being subtle or having manners. And that was exactly the reason why Walburga and Orion hated him. And that’s the reason, Sirius loved him.

“What?” Sirius tried not to blush.

Every ‘indecent’ topic was forbidden at The Noble House of Black. James was confident talking about them, since his parents had explained everything he needed to know without problem. Sirius didn’t understand how. He had pretended he was confident about those subjects: intimacy, kissing, sex, love… But none of it was real, because it had never happened to Sirius. Until now.

So yeah, Sirius did blush remembering the intimacy he had had with Remus last night.

“Oi!... You were!” And James noticed it too

“Padfoot…” James crossed the space between them and squeezed his cheeks.

“Arrrg!! Prongs!” Sirius protested

“Who is the lady who is stealing your dreams?”

There it was the affectionate James, kissing his head with no problem. Walburga would’ve looked at that scene with disgust.

“NOBODY!”

James wouldn’t understand. The complicate situation he was immersed in. James had shouted to the rooftops how much he fancied Evans. But Sirius couldn’t do that with Remus. Remus was everything that was forbidden. And Sirius was so afraid of the consequences. Even though he acted as he didn’t.

Sirius finally pushed James away, the latter laughing openly. Sirius buffed fixing his hair.

“What happened?”

Remus’ voice made Sirius’ heart beat fast. He wasn’t ready to see him. But there it was, his gorgeous morning face poking through the curtains.

“Nothing” Sirius said quickly, trying to avoid his gaze.

“Sirius had a wet dream” James laughed

Sirius rolled his eyes in desperation. If only James knew that the object of his affections was a few meters away, looking adorable with his oversized sweater, his hair was a mess since he moved quite a bit on his sleep, fact Sirius had learned for sharing a dorm with him for seven years. And Merlin, he wanted to run his hands through his hair, just like he did last night.

“Oh, did he?” Remus crossed his arms, smirking.

Sirius couldn’t avoid smiling back. “Probably”

“Aaarrg! And why do we have to know that?” Peter poked his head through Sirius’ curtains too.

“A little bit of privacy here!” Sirius protested.

“Hey, are you naked too?” James teased

“I always sleep naked!” Sirius hated blushing; he was usually the one making people blush. He probably wouldn’t be like this if Remus wasn’t here.

“It’s comfortable” he added when he saw his friends’ expressions. But Remus was different. He was bitting his lower lip. His eyes were moving through Sirius’ sheets, as if he could scan through them. Sirius’ cheeks were definitely on fire now.

Sirius covered himself with the sheets “GET OUT, WILL YA?”

“Yeah…” Peter left first

Remus blinked coming back to reality and run to the bathroom, probably blushing.

James laughed his ass out seeing his friend humiliated “Move it, handsome” he said patting Sirius’ shoulder “I want to tell you my improvement on Evans last night”

Sirius groaned ducking his face on the pillow.

As they went down for breakfast, Sirius found himself wanting to seat next to Remus. He took his seat beside him. James looked at him, usually they sat together.

“What? Can’t we change seat arrangements?”

James said nothing. Instead he went on talking about his evening with Lily Evans last night. Sirius was more aware of Remus’ heat next to him than James’ story.

“We are friendly now. We sat together and everything, well you saw, until you mysteriously disappeared last night?”

Sirius blinked “We came back to the castle”

“Yeah we were very tired”

“But you weren’t on the dorm when we came in” Peter raised an eyebrow.

Sirius panicked.

“We fell asleep in the Library catching up on homework” Remus said confidently. Sirius was so grateful.

“Him?” James snorted, pointing at Sirius.

“I want to be responsible” Sirius protested

If James or Peter found this suspicious, they didn’t show it.

“Anyway, I sat next to Evans. And she kept laughing at my jokes…”

“Just because they were silly” Peter interrupted

“Shut up, Wormy. I’m telling the story” James protested “Well, I started playing the guitar to show my moves and Lily kept trying to correct me, saying her dad was a guitarist or something. And our hands rushed…”

Behind the table, Sirius’ hand was so close to Remus’. His little finger stroke delicately Remus’ skin. Sirius’ heart began beating fast again. Remus’ lips curled a bit and his fingers found Sirius’, stroking them a little. Sirius swallowed. He dared to finally take Remus’ hand into his. And before they knew it, they were holding hands, fingers interlocked, under the table. It would be an insignificant gesture for anyone. But for Sirius it was so important and intimate. He just wanted to kiss Remus and shout in front of everyone at the Great Hall how much he loved him.

Sirius couldn’t give up his touch.

“Like I know we are just friends” James continued “But when I am with her, I feel like my heart is about to explode, you know?”

Sirius understood the feeling. It was happening right now. He squeezed Remus’ hand to let him know that. Remus smiled in response. And Sirius smiled as well. They didn’t look silly, it looked like they were just smiling for James’ words.

“Hello boys…”

Someone sat next to Sirius and he panicked, dropping quickly Remus’ hand.

It was Lucille. A Hufflepuff girl that had been after Sirius for years. Lucille and him had snogged a couple of times. She was good for that stuff, but then she wanted to talk about feelings and relationships. And Sirius didn’t understand why he wasn’t interested in any of that. But he was interested in all that, but not with Lucille, not with anyone. Just Remus.

“Lucy” Sirius winked.

But he wasn’t ready to admit that in front of everyone.

“I was looking around everywhere last night, Sirius” Lucille poked his arm “I was hoping we could hang out”

“Oh, didn’t you hear?” James mocked “He studies now”

“Shut up, James”

“Oh, speaking of which. Can you help me on my Transfiguration essay? You’re very good at it” Lucille pleaded

“And good at other things” Peter whispered. And James and him giggled.

Sirius was aware of Remus tensing beside him. But he was so afraid of looking at him, of telling the truth.

“Sure, Lu” he smiled “Shall we meet in The Library later?”

“Or maybe down at the Greenhouses” she said, and when she noticed the boys were giggling, she added “It’s quieter there”

“Oh, I see” Sirius winked at James and Peter “I’ll be happy to be of your assistance, as long as I receive payment”

Sirius didn’t know how to stop. He was acting like an idiot, and he knew it. But he couldn’t stop. James and Peter were amused. He felt Remus moving uncomfortably on his seat.

“Oh, thank you, Siri” Lucille exclaimed, kissing Sirius’ cheek “You’re the best” and she ran down the hall.

Sirius let out a big sigh.

“Is Lucille the girl from your wet dreams?” James laughed. Peter whistled.

Sirius simply shrugged. He focused his eyes on his plate with eggs and bacon. He wasn’t angry anymore. He was such a coward, avoiding Remus’ gaze.

“I am not hungry anymore” Remus said “Apparently nobody respects breakfast time”

And he left the Great Hall.

Later, that day, Sirius waited patiently until Remus got out of Ancient Runes, subject he had with Lily, Marlene and Mary. He was taping his foot nervously, rubbing his hair desperately. Hidden behind a statue like a bloody coward.

Remus and the girls came down the hall. Remus always made the girls laughed. And Sirius felt a rush of jealousy. He watched as Remus said goodbye to them. They disappeared through the other hall, and Remus walked towards him, as Sirius had predicted.

When Remus was close, Sirius took his arm and dragged him inside the nearest broom closet, locking the door behind him.

“What the…”

But Sirius cut him with a kiss.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry” Sirius whispered covering Remus with kisses “I’m sorry. I’m sorry”

Remus pushed him away. “Yeah you said that”

Remus didn’t look angry, he looked disappointed. Which was worse. Sirius had knot on his throat.

“You promised you weren’t going to be awkward about it” Remus said crossing his arms “Like last time”

After their first kiss, at The Astronomy Tower, Sirius had pretended he was too drunk to remember anything. Because he was so scared of the strong feelings he had. It had been different with other girls he had snogged, because there was nothing there. But the truth was that Sirius was so scared of being hurt, or worse hurting someone. Just like his mother had told him “Who would stan your mood swings, your tantrums, your stupid behavior? Just me. Your mother. And as much as you try to deny it, Sirius. You’re just like me. You are a Black and you will always be”

Sirius’ eyes started watering. And he hated when people say him cry. Orion always thought it was a sign of vulnerability and weakness.

Sirius hugged Remus, hiding his tears on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Moony” he whispered “I am an idiot”

Remus didn’t say anything. He hugged him back, stroking Sirius back.

And it was easier that way, because he had Remus on his arms, facing the wall. Sirius knew he would listen but he couldn’t say it to his face.

Sirius sniffed. He stroked Remus’ hair, and kissed his neck gently.

“I…have… very…strong feelings…for you” It had been so hard to say it out loud but there it was. And then he was confident to say the rest “I haven’t felt this way for anyone, just you”

Remus didn’t respond but Sirius’ felt his heart bumping against his.

“Do you understand what I am trying to say?” Sirius tried again, and he decided to face Remus this time. Remus was overwhelmed, his face illuminated by the poor lighting of the room.

“I fancy you” Sirius continued, his eyes filling with tears “I fancy you like James fancies Lily, or even more” he snorted “Maybe more. I don’t know what that makes me… but I am so scared of what others might say, or what would happen if they found out” my parents “And I am scared of hurting you, like I did last year for my stupid temper” Sirius started crying now “And I am so scared of losing you…” he was actually sobbing “I don’t want to lose you…” he shook his head “Not again” he covered his face.

He felt Remus’ arms wrapping him. And he wrapped his arms around his waist. Crying on Remus’ chest. That beautiful bastard smelled like chocolate and fresh parchment. Just like his Amortentia last term.

“I fancy you too” Remus whispered in his ear “Like Lily fancies James, because she was talking about him in class, you know?”

Wait, Lily liked James? Those words made Sirius cry even more “I am sorry. I am such an idiot”

“Hey…” Remus whispered “Hey, hey, hey” he broke apart and forced Sirius to look at him. Remus smiled and immediately Sirius stopped crying.

Remus laughjilyed and looked around “Looks like a pretty place to live, so cozy”t… I mean…”

“Hey” Remus interrupted “Kiss me”

“What?”

“Kiss me now”

Sirius was compelled because he needed Remus’ lips right now. They kissed softly three times. Remus grabbed his hands into his.

“We are going to solve this” Remus put his forehead against Sirius’. Then Remus smiled and began giggling softly.

“Are you making fun of me?”

“I am just very happy that you feel the same way I do”

Sirius snorted and giggled as well. He kissed Remus again. He might be scared of doing so in public, but right now, in the privacy of this broom closet, he was allowed to do whatever he wanted. Remus was his. Like run his fingers through Remus’ curls.

“Can we stay here forever?”

Remus laughed and looked around “Looks like a pretty place to live, so cozy”

“Shut up, asshole” And Sirius smiled before kissing Remus again.

#harry potter #marauders era #sirius black #remus lupin #padfoot #moony #uncle moony #wolfstar fanfiction #jily

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ikevamp-shrine · 4 years

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Hii i'm just wondering if you're taking regular requests? Like, not the nsfw ABC one? If you are, then can i maybe request a hc of how the boys would react when they're getting turned on from something MC does but she doesn't realize it? (If everyone is too much then just Arthur, Vincent, Isaac, Dazai and Mozart hehe) anyways, thanks in advance!

Yes I am still taking requests. (I really enjoyed this one) Thank you for requesting and if you would like me to do the rest of the residents just say so and I shall do as you ask. Enjoy.

Author: @ikevamp-shrine

Fandom: Ikemen Vampire

Character(s): Le Comte, Sebastian, Arthur, Vincent, Dazai, Mozart, Isaac

Pairing: x Female MC

Word count: 2183

Warnings: mentions of blood, character unwillingly being watched while naked, nsfw (barely though)

Le Comte

His body rocked gently with the carriage; the movement already lulling her to into a deep sleep. Moonlight trickled in from the window, caressing her skin like ghosts dancing across a marble floor. Her breathing is interrupted, speeding and slowing at times as is she was being pleasured. Her lips parted slightly to release a breathy moan, “…comte.”

The scent of arousal stained the air in the carriage as Comte’s face pinches in pain. “Ma Cherie,” he whispers; the wisps of his voice inaudible to any soul other than himself. “Such a wicked temptress you are.”

He reaches out; her skin warm against the cold pads of his hands. His fingers trace the curve of her reddened cheek, ghosting over the sharp cut of her jaw, dipping lower to kiss the rushing vein of her neck. His fangs pulsed, chest heaved, eyes stalking the female like a wolf would its prey. The pureblood hastily jerked back, hissing as if her skin had scalded him. A quick movement and fangs penetrated the tendon of his thumb, his eyes rolling closed as he reigned in some semblance of control. Releasing his hand, Comte panted, a thin trail of saliva connecting his abused flesh and lips as his nails raked tears in the plush seat below causing white feathers to float down like snow on a cold winter’s morn.

“You shouldn’t leave yourself so vulnerable to me, Ma Cherie… after all, I am a still beast,” he paused his smooth words to watch a ribbon of red seep from the healing marks on his flesh, “and you, a lamb ripe for the taking.”

Dazai

Her skin was flushed from the heat of the thermae, her features relaxed in a soft smile. The candle light illuminated her curves causing her to appear to be what Dazai could only define as a fertility goddess basking in the warmth of light, unbashful to any who might stumble upon the ethereal sight. Her soft breast surrounded by ringlets of wet hair raised as she placed a towel along the top of her head, shifting her hand along the white threads. Water droplets slid down her flesh forcing pale yellowed irises to stalk the clear liquid.

The mysterious turn of his lips seemingly permanently chiseled into the planes of his face dropped into a frown; the want to overtake and claim her body was demanding and too fresh.

Like a wounded animal lapping at its bloodied paw, the beast inside his heart curled, growling, daring anyone to approach him and his possessions. Blood dropped down his chin as his fangs chewed wildly at his lip. His cock raised, sliding against his thigh, swelling with lust and need for the vulnerable female before his trembling form.

Her eyes shot towards the widow mimicking the shiver sliding down her spine; her mind reeling with images of feral yellow eyes watching her, memorizing every dip of her body, but was greeted by a lone tree branch swaying gently in the breeze.

Dazai heaved against the trunk, nails clawing at the harsh bark, moans muffled by the tight palm of his hand as a wet stain slowly spread over the fabric of his clothing, concurring the cloth like the pleasure tumbling through his mind.

“How far I have fallen,” Dazai whispered, pleasure still rolling through his body, “she who was oblivious to the monster peering through the glass barrier will surely gaze at my dilapidated form with astonishment when the sun kisses the horizon. Innocence dripped from her womanly body like the water warmed by her flesh.”

Dazai smiled a broken smile only men who had been starved of all hope would recognize, “my, how these sinful fingers would corrupt that innocence she holds so close to her breast.”

Vincent

The stroke of his brush against the canvas was wild, vigorously hurried. The thought of losing the memory chiseled into his mind’s eye fastening his pace. His heart beat with a fury the painter didn’t know was possible as his breath stopped; the air only releasing from his lungs when the pounding in his head became too unbearable.

All she had done was smile, her lashing fluttering, colored orbs bashfully glancing away, a blush staining her cheeks as she tucked a stray piece of silken hair behind her ear. Behind the same ear that glinted with a sliver cuff matching both Theo’s and himself. Vincent’s eyes had widened in absolute disbelief in what he was witnessing. Beauty beyond humanly possible had stood before him; enchanting him, leaving him a slave for her touch.

Every emotion he possessed was being laid bare on the canvas with each brush of color against the skin of the canvas. He worked until red stained the sky, rising over the horizons like the god of war riding a flying chariot. His fingers throbbing with pain from the constant movement, never being allowed a break. He gazed at the painting like a lover would their other half. The oils still vibrant was moisture. Vincent craved for the color of her skin to be beneath his fingers, warming the rough flesh of his palms, not stuck, forever frozen in time, trapped in the same position for all eternity.

His cock strained against the confines of his trouser, lips being tugged into a pained whimper. The smell of linseed oil and turpentine refused to drown out the overwhelming scent of her very being still coating the insides of his lungs. His tongue traced over his fangs; the wonder of the taste of her blood running through his mind. His eyes rolled back as he imagined the softness of her body against his own. His soul was on the canvas- the act a declaration of his love and lust for the woman he had yet to call his.

“Will you ever look my way, I wonder,” Vincent murmured into the night. His words never being heard by another soul.

Arthur

The door creaked as Arthur pushed it open, stepping into the dimly lit room, the candle on his desk burned down to a nub from the hours of being aflame. It was well past midnight when he had returned from the tavern with Theo, he had told her not to wait for him, but she had tried to stay awake; that much was obvious with the scent of chilled coffee mixing with the sweet smell of her flesh and old paper staining the air. A dark mug placed beside her sleeping form on the nightstand as well as a book, forgotten, tucked between the pads of her fingers. Lips parted slightly to release soft, comforting snores, her hair flowing around her form like wings, the curve of her hips being insinuated by the wrinkled, white fabric of his shirt that clung to her slowly breathing body. The sheets of his bed bunched around her knees; the sweat lightly dampening her forehead a sign of overheating.

Arthur took a sharp inhale of breath at the sight of her heart shaped bottom peeking out from under the shirt. How he would love to see the flesh of her bare bottom rippling from his thrusts as he pounded into her, making her squeal with pleasure.

“Did you do this on purpose? You naughty little minx,” rumbled Arthur. His jaw clicking with movement as he advanced towards his desk, shaking his head to clear his lust filled mind. His stomach grumbled, mouth watering when he noticed the small, mesh pouch of packaged fudge resting on the wooden surface of his desk. Arthur threw his head back, groaning with pleasure, eyes drifting closed as he whispered, a content smile tugging at his soft lips “ass and fudge… damn I love this bird.”

Isaac

Isaac shifted his shoulders, forcing a crack to resonate down his back- a regular occurrence the entirety of the day. His form was hunched over his desk, his cheeks flushed, and brows furrowed in concentration; gentle metal clicking reaching her ears. The sheets were soft against her bare legs as she shifted, placing her book down against a nightstand; stretching her arms above her head.

“Isaac,” she hummed.

It took the physicist a few second before he recognized her voice slipping through the air. “Yes, my love?” He responded.

“Does your back hurt?” He didn’t realize she had left her place on his bed to tip toe behind him until her breathy whispers tickled his ear, causing him to jolt slightly.

“A little. The damned thing refuses to stay connected,” the chair creaked under him as he leaned back into his lovers hold, gesturing to the trinket pieces resting on the wooden desk. The warmth from her arms seeped into the skin around his neck while he continued, “I might have to ask Leonardo about it, unless I find-.”

Isaac was irrupted by the strong caress of female fingers shifting over his shirt clad shoulders. Her lips pecking once at the top of his head, thumbs tracing the curve of his tense shoulder blades, digging into his muscles in a pleasant motion.

“Wha-what are you doing?” Stuttered the pale haired man, his hands raising slightly off his lap in shock.

Her slow, relaxed sigh sent a pang of electricity straight to his slowly hardening member, “taking care of you. What else would I be doing?” The flirtatious tone of her voice paired with the warming friction of her fingers against his skin forced Isaac to tug at his tightening trousers; a low whimper being muffled by his teeth, an embarrassed blush warming his ears.

“…the gods help me,” he whispered.

Mozart

The piano was chilled as Mozart leaned against the whitened wood, her giggle forcing a small trimmer to befall his lips. The sweet taste of the chocolate paired with the strong hints of coffee filling slid over his palate like the words falling from hers, “do you like it?”

Her eyes were bright, humorous with a small, barely-there tint of insecurity as he swallowed, smacking his lips to further live in the taste. “It is alright, I suppose,” he mumbled.

She smiled softly, returning to nibble at the half-bitten piece of chocolate resting between her thumb and forefinger. “Ah, its melting!”

Mozart rolled his eyes at her disbelieving tone of voice, answering with his own, “yes. It does that. I thought you weren’t idiotic enough to not acknowledge that-.” His words were caught in his throat as he saw her finger disappearing into the cavern of her mouth; her cheeks hallowing slightly as she sucked at the digit. Her eyes stared at the floor in concentration, her brows being pulled together from the thoughts running through her mind. Slowly her finger reemerged, her lips releasing the flesh with a soft pop.

Mozart swallowed thickly. Denial ran rampant through him at the feeling of his trousers becoming tighter to a point it was somewhat uncomfortable. He could still see the melted brown on her tongue as it darted out, licking at her thumb like a snake scenting the air.

“Wolf? Are you feeling okay? You’re a little red,” her words were close, her breath smelling of cocoa as she placed her lips to his forehead, checking for fever. He sputtered, falling back to place his hands roughly against the ivory keys forcing a deranged concoction of notes to shift through the air, “do not- do not do that…,” he huffed. Wishing nothing more than for the earth to split and swallow him whole at the high-pitched crack of his voice.

Sebastian

His hair was a mess, water still dripped from his chin, his tie loosely dangling around his neck, his breath coming out in hurried pants as Sebastian launched himself into the kitchen, throwing himself into motion only freezing when his lover’s laughs penetrate his ears.

“I’ve never seen you this frazzled Sebastian,” she giggled walking over to him, taking the tie between her fingers and knotting the fabric. She had yet to notice the panicked scowl on his face.

“Why didn’t you wake me up? I don’t see how being late to wake is a laughable matter when it concerns the wellbeing of the residents.”

She glanced up, a brow raising slowly at his accusing tone of voice, “I woke up early and did your portion as well as mine,” she paused, placing a gentle kiss to his wet cheek, smiling gently, “you have been more tired than usual so I figured I let you sleep in.”

Sebastian took a deep breath, wrapping his arms around his lover and letting his head fall back, his eye lids closing as a low groan left his lips, “I love you.”

Her love-drunk giggle made him smile brightly; his stone façade non-existent as his lips locked and parted with her velvet hills quickly. Hands slid down his back to rest against his hips making a shiver run up his spine; heat pooling into his eyes at her affections. He growled lowly, nipping at the shell of her ear, “good girls get rewards, and you’ve been a very good girl.”

Breakfast was a little late that morning.

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5lazarus · 3 years

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The Most Boring Sex Party in All Orlais

Josephine and Leliana both admit the night they met ended with someone's smallclothes pinned to the Chanter's Board--but what happened right before?

Josephine says, “I have played the Game before, and understand its cutthroat stakes. But I must admit, I never thought I would witness the opening salvo of a coup at the most boring sex party of all Orlais.”

Read on Archive of Our Own here.

It goes without saying, but nsfw elements.

The food is bad and the shoes are worse. Leliana registers and catalogues the strain in Celene’s courtiers eyes as she des her rounds through the ballroom. The Game between the heirs to Florian is not going well, that Justinia already knew, but now Leliana can confirm that Celene is losing her backers. She wanders back towards the gardens, gathering halla statues as she goes. As she places them into the locks of the Fumeur, she catches a flash of bright silk. Quickly she draws her knife. The harlequin backs away, hands up, and whistles. “Do I get a prize?” she asks drily. The harlequin disappears in a plume of black smoke: no. Leliana wrinkles her nose. Someone is buying black powder from the Qunari, then. They’d certainly be interested in prolonging the incipient civil war, but are they actively planning an invasion of Orlais? She had heard a rumor from Cyril de Montfort, who of course would take the throne if both the Valmont line and the de Chalons line failed. Deep in thought, Leliana unlocks the door to the Fumeur, and drifts into the smoke. “Do you often go stepdancing, Lady Mantillon?” a maskless woman asks. She is very expensively dressed in Antivan colors, exquisitely tailored to let her move quickly. She has a stiletto at her waist. Leliana checks out her shoes: elegant leather boots with a tapered toe and a sharp lyrium crystal at the ankle. Intriguing: the scion of a merchant family, probably, trained as a bard.

Lady Mantillon pauses to allow a stream of blue smoke out of her mask. “I never miss a step,” she says. Leliana translates: she is sleeping with both of her stepchildren and her whole family knows it. How scandalous. But why is she advertising it? Why did the bard bring it up?

The woman grins. “Then allow me to ask your hand for the next dance, my Lady. I am fond of this fad from Ferelden.”

The Lady’s first husband, of which there were nine, died in the war between Ferelden and Orlais. Leliana almost smiles. What a gambit! And with the Dowager herself! She is interested, now. There is more to this Game than the jockeying of an Antivan merchant house to fame.

The Dowager smokes. “Sister Nightingale, would you care to join us? It is more enjoyable a troi. May I introduce you to Josephine Montilyet, heir to Yves Montilyet of the eponymous house.”

Josephine makes an exquisite butterfly curtsey. “It is an honor to meet a hero of the Fifth Blight,” she says.

Leliana giggles, delighted. “And it is an honor to meet such a dashing merchant-prince,” she returns, and makes the same curtsey. She likes the curve of her waist and the curls artistically tumbling from her very proper bun—Antivan naturalism at the court of Orlais. Josephine’s eyes linger similarly as her naked face, painted to look like she naturally has that rose-glow, and travel down.

“I adore your shoes,” Josephine says. “Inscribed Antivan leather?” She grins. “And the masterwork is masterfully done—what Circle did you commission?”

Leliana thinks, I like you, and the Dowager does too.

The Dowager takes them dancing in the Royal Apartments. Leliana tastes the old magic, ripped from the elves but still pulsing in the walls and locks of the oldest wing of the palace. Halamshiral was the capital of the Dales, and the humans have constructed their revelries on the bones of the old elvhen empire—sometimes literally. Josephine shivers as they pass through a suddenly cold hallway.

The Dowager looks amused. “Old ghosts, my dear,” she says. “But long dead. The wards are kept strong here. We keep a court magician.”

“Of course,” Josephine says. “In Antiva our places run hot instead.”

The Dowager laughs melodiously. “Too hot a summer parches the harvest.”

“Too cool a spring blanches the grain,” Josephine responds.

Leliana adds, “But a warm breezes soothes both the fevered brow and the chilled laborer, tilling for the harvest.” She is not quite sure she has her farming metaphors correct, but that is fine, because it is not like any of these women have ever had to even look at a plough.

One of the halla-gated doors suddenly flares with blue light, etching out words that whisper the language of the dead. The door opens, and there stands an elf-woman in House Valmont livery. She is studiously neat. She bows deeply, and moves to let them through. Leliana glances at her as she passes; she is radiating heat, and behind her mask her face is set in the relaxed smugness of the well-fucked. Josephine catches Leliana’s eye. She noticed it too. It will doubtless be a most interesting night.

The blue silk cools the walls of the Valmont drawing room, painted most exquisitely with lions that blink dismissively at the trio as they enter. Josephine steps closer to price them out, ever the Antivan.

“How much?” Leliana asks, amused.

Josephine glances at her. “How do you want me to price it? How much the weavers were paid, and then the painters of the Circle? The sailors of the ship that bore it? The middlemen, who raised their prices? Or how much the Empress paid for it?”

She’s never heard a merchant price their wares by how much the craftsmen were paid—only to complain, for overweening costs of labor. “Do you know how much the Empress paid?”

“It was a gift,” Lady Mantillon interrupts. “From her cousin, Florianne de Chalons. Briala!” Then the glowing servingwoman is there again, appearing on silent feet. Leliana is startled. She’s quieter than a harlequin! “Prepare for le ménage. I will bring les fleurs de la cour.” She turns to Josephine, her mask leering a smile. “I will have quite a show for you, ma chérie.” She sprinkles her sentences with Orlesian to remind them both than Common is a mere courtesy, and the language of Orlais shall haves its day. “While my niece is otherwise occupied.”

Briala’s Valmont-livery mask does not hide the slight smug curl of her lips. Leliana narrows her eyes. Briala bows silently and exits. Lady Mantillon follows her. Leliana immediately takes this as an invitation to browse, and begins rummaging.

“Lady Nightingale!” Josephine says, faux-scandalized. “Are you…snooping?”

“Don’t you want to know, too?” Leliana opens a jewelry box and finds a plain pewter locket, elvhen-make. “Look, isn’t this interesting?” When she tries to pry it open it stings her fingertips. “Hmm. Well, the implication is more useful than the truth.” She puts it back.

“What do you mean?” Josephine asks. “Surely you don’t—“

The Dowager Countess reenters, followed by les fleurs de la cour: Celene’s ladies-in-waiting. The Ladies Couteau, Colombe, and Fleur come in their blue silk finery and shining masks, with their own minor court of musicians and friends, and the party really begins.

There is, of course, the music, by a man who calls himself ZITHER!, the Virtuoso. His manipulation of the Fade through his enchanted lute leaves them all a little high and dancing a bit harder than their thin noble blood would normally permit. Leliana is watching one of Celene’s ladies-in-waiting—Couteau, by the giggle—paint the naked chest of Florianne de Chalons with real gold. Another is smoking opium, a pursuit Leliana once enjoyed. A trio is fucking lazily on a couch; one of them comes up for air to wink at her and wave. Leliana considers it, then discards the idea. The music is not quite right for a quadrille.

Josephine says, “Why isn’t the empress here? And where did the Dowager go?”

“Don’t you have a fortune to make?” Leliana says.

Josephine says, “Yes, and that is why I am asking: why isn’t the empress at a soiree in her own apartments? Why is it everyone but her? And what does the Dowager have to do with it?”

She has a point. Perhaps the opium-smoke in the air has addled her wits. Justinia needs her to be sharp, her knife in the dark, and so Leliana steels herself and refocuses, breaking herself away from the spell of the music.

“Well, then,” she says. “Then let’s snoop, Lady Montilyet.”

Josephine mock-bows. “After you, Sister Nightingale.”

She likes her, she really does. Leliana grins and leads the way. People notice them leaving, of course. This is Orlais and this is the Great Game. They will have to return after a reasonable delay before the bad gossip begins to circulate, but Leliana is confident in finding enough interesting secrets to satisfy even the bitchiest Comte. They pad silently down a long hallway. Leliana sees a flash of movement in a mirror and stops. Facing a bust of Prince Reynaud is a harlequin.

“Really?” Josephine whispers, unimpressed. “You’d think the Royal Apartments would be off-limits to this game.”

“Shh,” Leliana says. “I hear if you surprise three you get a prize.” Promptly she jumps on the harlequin, who whirls around, throwing their hands up.

“Don’t whistle!” Josephine whispers at them urgently. “We’re snooping.”

The harlequin’s eyes dart from Leliana to Josephine to the window, and then they disappear in a puff of smoke. Leliana sniffs at it curiously: more black powder. So Celene’s spymaster is dealing with the Qunari. Justinia will have to nip that in the bud.

Josephine says, “What do you think the prize will be? The Empress’s favor?”

Leliana thinks: an aversion of an Exalted March on Orlais, if their nobles continue to tie themselves to the Ben-Hassrath; the eventual admission to elves into the Chantry matriarchy, if Celene can stay perched on her throne for another twenty years and Justinia thirty; mages like ZITHER! walking freely in the streets of Halamshiral, without templar guards.

She says, “I hope it is something better than a handkerchief.”

Josephine says, “I can ruin a marriage with a well-placed handkerchief. What could I do with the empress’s?”

Leliana laughs aloud. “I like you,” she says. “You’re fun.”

“I wouldn’t play the Game if I didn’t enjoy it,” Josephine smiles. “Come, you said we were snooping?” Then a door at the end of the passage is thrown open, and light comes flooding in. Leliana crouches behind the statue the harlequin had claimed; Josephine tangles herself up in the curtains. Perhaps they are not so sober as they thought they were.

Celene’s voice sings, “Je t’aime, ma douce petite nymphe. Reviens vite!” The elvhen serving-woman hurries up the hall with a crumb-covered silver tea set in her hands, hair a little too perfectly arranged. She’s grinning to herself. Leliana turns to watch her leave. She’s not wearing underwear.

The doors close, Briala leaves, and Leliana says, “Josie, I don’t think the empress has any more favors to give.”

Josephine says, gleefully scandalized, “Are those her panties?”

“Mine!” Leliana says, and pounces. They were caught under the door; Leliana carefully coaxes them out, understanding that the just-fucked empress is lazing on the other side and it wouldn’t do to get caught. She waves them triumphantly at Josephine. Josephine looks back up the hall and gestures at her to hurry up—the gossiping is about to start, and they wouldn’t want to lose the Dowager’s approval for ditching her party. Leliana stows the panties in her pockets, and quickly, both of them giggling to each other, they return to le ménage.

“I’m bored,” Lady Colombe says. “Let’s do something dangerous.” The Comte du Brac stops licking her feet.

“We could sneak into the dog lord ambassador’s quarters and throw her a party,” Lady Couteau suggests. She is stroking, achingly slowly, ZITHER!’s tumescent cock.

“Please,” ZITHER! says. “A bit faster.”

This is one of the dullest orgies Leliana has ever attended. “What about the Chantry?” she says suddenly. In the background, Lady Fleur continues to peg Cyril de Montfort, who moans enthusiastically. This is certainly one way to keep the next heir to the throne in line, Leliana thinks.

“The Chantry?” Lady Colombe says. “Sister Nightingale, what do you mean?”

“Wax,” Leliana says. “It’s deserted before Lauds. And playing with Andraste’s own flame is both delectable and dangerous.”

There is a moment of silence, and then Lady Fleur yells in triumph as Cyril de Montfort finally, loudly, messily comes undone.

“The Chantry it is,” Lady Couteau says. She wraps her hand a little tighter around ZITHER!’s cock, who moans happily. “I can lead you there. Do you think you can last?”

“Yes, my lady,” he gasps. “Please.”

Lady Couteau smirks. “I do always like it when they beg,” she tells Leliana confidingly.

With some help from the sober servants—Celene’s maid Briala nowhere to be found—they bundle the nobles towards the Chantry. Lady Couteau leads ZITHER! by a string she has attached to a cock ring. They stumble through the well-trimmed hedges of the royal gardens towards the chapel. Everyone who matters is with them. Everyone else is asleep or having more fun. Cyril de Montfort is wearing Lady Fleur’s delightful leather contraption on his forehead. It does not make the orgy more fun.

“This is the dullest sex party I have been to,” Josephine whispers to Leliana. Leliana concurs.

“At least we have the empress’s panties,” Leliana says. She takes them out. “Or her serving maid’s.” They pause in the shrubbery, as the others enter the chapel, to study them properly. They are infinitely sensible, but Celene is a sensible woman, and made of finely woven cotton from northern Antiva. Leliana wonders if they could be Briala’s, but one cannot gad about in silk every day, even if one is the empress of Orlais. Alas, there is no trace of hair to mark to whom the panties belong.

“So,” Josephine says, “they’re either the empress, or the elvhen serving maid she is having a passionate affair with, an affair so passionate she abandons us to the most boring sex party of Orlais. What do we do with them?”

A noblewoman in exquisite shoes walks down the cobbled lane before the shrubbery and stops before the Chanter’s Board. Leliana and Josephine stop: if she goes inside, what revelries will she interrupt? If anything, the scandal would be that the ladies-in-waiting to the empress were so dull. They watch her pin something to the board. She turns around and smiles at them in the shadows. She raises her hands and whistles like a harlequin, and disappears in a cloud of blackpowder smoke.

“The Dowager Mantillon,” Josephine breathes. She takes Leliana’s hand. “All this time—truly the master of the Game!”

They scramble out of the bushes to check what she has pinned to the board. An exquisite piece of silk, on which House Valmont crest embroidered along with sigils against menstrual cramps and conception, flutters in the early dawn breeze.

“Those have to be Celene’s,” Josephine says. “But why did the Dowager want us to find them?”

“A gift for Justinia,” Leliana says. “House Valmont totters as its heir spends her time indulging her passions with a serving girl. The Dowager wants the Chantry to intercede.”

#dragon age fanfiction #dragon age fanfic #josephine & leliana #josephine #leliana #fanfic

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13lov · 5 years

Text

too hot to sleep. (m)

# pairing. fiancé!yoongi x reader

# genre. established relationship au, humor, fluff, smut.

# word count. 2.4k

# warning(s). fluff, reader doesn’t like cats yoongi’s cat, smut [marriage kink(?), unprotected kitchen sex, small hint of yoongi having a possession kink]. \\ will be edited at a later time so my apologizes for any mistakes

# a/n. this was originally supposed to be a drabble but i liked the prompt a lot...so this is the cute fluffy version but i’m also MAYBE gonna write a uh...rougher version. i tried to write an impreg kink since that shit is mad hot but it wasn’t working out for me :(

↳ summary. “ Umm can’t wait to get rawed in our kitchen when I’m living with the love of my life ” *soft ver.*

“You never listen to me,” you whisper to your fiancé’s sleeping figure, “I ask you to pick up the air conditioner on your way home from work,” you shove his shoulder in an attempt to wake him up, “but instead, you buy a new bed for your demon cat.”

Yoongi stirs in his sleep, turning himself to face the bedroom window. You can’t help but get annoyed at the fact even when he’s sleeping, your fiancé barely istens to you. Every ounce of annoyance fades away the moment you hear the soft sound of Yoongi smacking his lips together, a habit he developed whenever he was in the midst of a deep sleep. Even unconscious, he was still the cutest thing you had ever seen.

But, nevertheless, it was too hot for you to sleep. Your growling stomach also proves you’re otherwise too hungry to sleep as well.

Slowly and quietly, you retreat to the apartment’s tiny kitchen, striding past the various wedding decor that consumed your home in hopes Yoongi bought enough food for you to prepare a late-night snack.

He didn’t, of course, so you’re left to scrape up anything you’re able to find within the fridge and kitchen cabinets. Your struggle meal consists of bread, butter, and what you can only hope isn’t a few expired slice of American cheese. The only reasonable meal you’re able to make with these few ingredients is a grilled cheese sandwich, not that you’re complaining.

The only thing you do complain about is Yoongi’s cat, Pearl, hopping on the counter and knocking the loaf of bread to the marble floor. Watching the bread fall to the floor startles you, speaking that you hadn’t even known Pearl had woken up and followed you out of the bedroom.

You wave your hand at Pearl, as if you were swatting away a nuisance fly, “Get off of my counter, lazy.”

Pearl ignores you, getting more comfortable on the counter before closing her eyes. As silly as it may sound, you sometimes you feel as though you’re at a constant war with the feline; like she was competing for the role of being the number one woman in Yoongi’s life. You really can’t blame her much. Though, her attendance at your wedding (per Yoongi’s request) shall tell her who the true winner is.

“Fine. If you’re not gonna move then I’m gonna...” you’re careful to grab Pearl’s torso, not wanting to startle her enough to accidentally break something. You aren’t surprised when she makes no effort in making herself lighter to carry and instead drifts off to sleep. “...then I’m gonna let you just stay here.”

Everyone in this apartment loved to ignore you.

Still, there are other things more important than arguing with a sleeping cat at two in the morning.

Drawing your attention back to the task at hand, you put the stove on low heat before grabbing a pan from the cupboard and setting it on one of the burners. Grabbing a knife from the wooden block, you slice off a piece of butter and stir it in the pan, watching it dissolve and make the pan slippery.

Pearl meows as a way to tell you you’re being too loud and she’s trying to sleep, you blow a raspberry and tell her to get a job.

The literal cat-fighting has your bedroom door opening, Yoongi had finally woken up.

You’re facing the stove with your back facing him, so he takes the opportunity to rest his chin on your shoulder, raking his hands up your shirt and giving your breasts a small squeeze. “Guess who.”

You take the slices of white bread and carefully lay them side by side on the sizzling frying pan, “The ghost that haunts this apartment.”

With closed eyes, Yoongi chuckles, his laugh causing your shoulders to vibrate. “I sure hope he or she doesn’t like you that much. By the way, were you just telling Pearl to get a job?”

You aren’t even the slightest bit embarrassed that he heard your dispute with the animal, he was used to it by now. “If Pearl thinks she can live here rent-free and tell me to shut up while being job-less, she has another thing coming.”

“Ah, go easy on her,” Yoongi brings one had down to your waist, the other reaches over to scratch Pearl’s chin, “she’s my good girl — you both are.” He sighs through his nose, moving hair out of the way to plant a kiss on your neck.

“You both are,” you mock in a voice that sounds nothing like his own, “the worst days of her life were when you met me and when you proposed; please get her off of the counter.”

“You heard her,” Yoongi gently pats Pearl’s bottom, coaxing her to hop off, “up, up, up.” She does as told, of course; you roll your eyes.

“Why’re you up?”

“I can’t sleep, it feels like hell in this apartment,” you answer, using a metal spatula to flip both slices of bread on the pan.

“Oh, I’ll pick up the a.c. tomorrow, I promise.”

“Uh-huh, sure.”

It falls silent, but not awkward. You assume Yoongi is still somewhat tired; the boner pressing into your ass tells you otherwise. It’s early, both of you are still weak after having such a long day. You don’t want any teasing to lead to something that can’t be finished. “Yoongi, don’t—”

“I’m not doing anything,” he interrupts in a mumble, “just wanna talk. What’re you making?”

“Grilled cheese,” you try your best to focus on the food in front of you. Yoongi presses against your backside harder than before. You convince yourself it’s unintentional, but Yoongi knows exactly what he was doing.

“Why do you cook the bread longer?”

“Because I like the edges burnt.”

“Well, I don’t.”

“Good thing this isn’t for you then, yeah?” You turn your head slightly, enough to press a kiss on his forehead.

Yoongi grunts like an ungrateful child who doesn’t get their way, burying his face in the crook of your neck and using his teeth to nip at a sensitive area. You unwillingly toss your head to the side, giving him more access to your bare skin before coming to your senses and re-focusing on your food. “Make me one?” he questions.

“Maybe if you picked up the air conditioner like I asked you to...”

Yoongi hums, a hint of laughter laced with his tone. “Maybe there’s something else I can offer you in return.” The sudden husk in his voice as you raising a brow, intrigued at what he was planning on offering.

“Is that so?”

“Mm-hm,” he hums, moving his hands to your front, lifting your shirt up slightly as his index finger settles between the waistband of your panties and the area right below your belly button. “Yoongi, I’m trying to cook.”

“Okay...and...?” his finger continues its path downwards, you find yourself turning the stove down to an even lower heat than before. “What, I’m not allowed to touch you while you cook?”

He slips is finger in between your folds, moving around in teasingly slow circles. His boner is still pressed right up against your ass, seemingly get harder as seconds pass. “Not down there, Yoongi.”

“Why shouldn’t I? This,” he suddenly slides his index finger into your entrance, giving you no warning or seconds to prepare. The action had caused the metal spatula you once held drop to the floor, your fingers now gripping onto the marble counter, Yoongi chuckles at how quickly he managed to get a reaction out of you.

“...is mine anyway, you said so yourself” he continues. Yoongi’s breath was hot against your neck, his deep and lustful voice and the things they were saying only making you crave him more than you already did.

Yoongi’s words slip into the back of your mind once you’re starting to feel the pleasure caused by his finger alone. He notices how silent you are, barely letting out a moan as he slips in a second finger, making no effort to slow down the increasing pace he was thrusting them at. “Why’re you quiet now? Cat got your tongue?”

“Don’t mention that fucking cat.”

“Sorry,” he really isn’t, though. He loved to work you up like this, especially considering how easy it was. It was selfish in his case, seeing you even the slightest but frustrated was such a big turn on for him. In all honestly, he could name all the times he started pointless arguments just to end it with angry, passionate sex.

Yoongi rubs the pad of his thumb against your clit, all while his two fingers are still pumping. You’re so slick and wet around him, making it easier for him to quicken his pace; your eyes shut, mouth falling slightly open and a lustful gasp leaving you when he does. He curls his fingers, in that way where they hit your g-spot perfectly. You gasp at the feeling, and whine when Yoongi ruts his cock against your ass.

“Oh, fuck,” you mewl.

“God, I can’t get enough of you. I swear, we’re gonna fuck everyday once we get married.”

The moan you let out causes Yoongi to grin, moving his left hand up and under your shirt to grab one of your breast; squeezing a lot harder than before, this time rolling your nipple between his thumb and index finger. “Mm-hm,” he hums, “gonna put a ring on that finger, then put my fingers inside of you.”

You really could come right now, then Yoongi would put his cock in you and you’d come again; but, you don’t want to come twice in a row. It’d only make you tried and weak, and, truth be told, you’re still hungry.

“Yoongi.”

“Hm?”

“Fuck me.”

“You have such a bad mouth,” he teases, “just talk nice and I’ll give you whatever you want, _____.”

You sigh, “Please, fuck me. Want you to fill me up,” you sound so desperate, neither you or Yoongi seem to mind. He responds to your words, pulling his fingers out of you immediately, you nearly groan at the feeling of sudden emptiness.

Yoongi raises his hand to your sight of view, separating his fingers to make a V shape, completely in awe of how soaked you’ve made his fingers. “Open,” he says, and you do as told. He inserts them quickly, thumb underneath your jaw as if he was holding your head in place. Your tongue laps around his middle and index until you’ve successfully rid them of your juices.

Yoongi releases his fingers from your mouth, using his own to tug down his pajama pants and boxers enough to free his cock. The two of already know he won’t last long, but he’s way too hard to not even give it a chance.

He pushes your cotton underwear down a bit, grinning when you bend over slightly to give him a better view of your ass. He takes his cock in his hand, pumping himself a few times, watching pre-cum ooze from his practicality swollen tip. “Ready?” he asks, teasingly rubbing his head against your folds. It takes everything in you power to not back yourself onto him.

“Y—oh, fuck,” you moan. Barely giving you time to answer, Yoongi can’t help his impatient tendencies and was already easing his tip into your pussy. He swears at the feeling of you already starting to clench around him. It takes a few moments until he’s fully inside of you, not daring to move because of how wrapped around him. Truly, he could stay in the position forever.

But, he wasn’t in the mood to do cock warming. And he lets you know that with a sudden thrust that has you bent over the counter. You can’t say it doesn’t feel good, but it was surely unexpected considering how tired you assumed Yoongi would be.

A few more slow thrusts later and Yoongi’s finally moving at his desired pace, his large hands firmly gripping your waist. He presses his forehead against your shoulder, already feeling his orgasm approaching — he just knows he won’t be able to hold on longer.

“Baby, I’m—”

“Shit, Yoongi, I’m gonna come,” you interrupt. He’s glad you’re on the same page.

“Hold on just a little bit longer,” he says. Though it’s a demand, it comes out as a question you don’t mind saying yes to.

He’s groaning into your neck now, pressing harsh kisses against it and definitely leaving marks. When he closes his eyes shut, he feels completely wrapped up with pleasure and feels bad for neglecting your clit. He decides he’ll make it up to you later by going down on you. Right now, he feels way to good and won’t be able to focus on anything else.

His high is approaching and he knows yours is too just by the way your moans have increased in volume. “Oh fuckfuckfuck...fuck,” seems to be the warning that he’s going to come, and he does, filling you up completely. Your own orgasm happens seconds later and has you seeing stars.

The two of you are stood panting in silence for a minute, Yoongi still buried deep inside of you. He places a sloppy, open-mouth kiss alongside your neck, giving you various praises of how good you are to him.

“I love you,” he says, readjusting your panties before fixing himself properly.

“And I love you,” you turn around to kiss him, to which he groans into and pulls you in closer. “Now go pee,” he pulls away, giving your ass a small tap, “I’ll watch the food.”

Yoongi does as promised as you walk towards your bathroom. “You got a text!” you yell on the way there.

Confused as to who would be texting him at such an hour, Yoongi strides into the bedroom and snatches his phone from the nightstand.

hobi [ 2:44 am ]: u know the walls in this building are thin, why would u subject me to your porn re-enactments

“It’s just Hobi,” Yoongi informs you, smiling away at the text as he replies.

yoongi [ 2:44 am ]: oops

yoongi [ 2:44 am ]: lol

yoongi [ 2:45 am ]: we’ll try to be more quiet next time

“Is he RSVP-ing for the wedding?”

“I’ll ask.”

yoongi [ 2:46 am ]: are u coming to the wedding btw?

hobi [ 2:50 am ]: pull another stunt like this and i won’t even show up to ur funeral

hobi [ 2:51 am ]: on a completely unrelated note, put me down for the chicken

hobi [ 2:51 am ]: also, what kind of toasters do u guys like?

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thenextchapter22 · 3 years

Text

Use me as you please

Description: It was something the both of you had discussed when you began the relationship. Lucifer wanted you ready for him always. So you never wore underwear to bed or really anything, nude was the best way to sleep. You made sure to be open and prepared for him even when in slumber. Now, he was going to use you.

Warnings: NSFW, Bath Sex, Vaginal Sex, Blood Kink, Cock Warming, Hint at Somnophilia

Pairing(s): Lucifer/Reader

Word Count: 4,093

Link to my AO3: Click Here

Authors Note: Do NOT follow/repeat anything that happens in this fic. Please, this is only a fictional work and it is not healthy to do some of the things that are done in this. With that said, please enjoy~!

_+_

You were woken up by a soft touch to your neck. You groaned, curling back into the warmth of the body behind you. “Lucifer,” you sighed. “’s late…”

“Shhh, my dear,” he nibbled at your earlobe, “just relax.”

It was something the both of you had discussed when you began the relationship. Lucifer wanted you ready for him always. So you never wore underwear to bed or really anything, nude was the best way to sleep. You made sure to be open and prepared for him even when in slumber. Now, he was going to use you.

So you made no move to stop when he kneed open your leg, his bare thigh rubbing against your dampening pussy. You kept your eyes closed and felt the pressure of him against you as he pushed up to your core, while he licked and sucked your neck.

“Ahh-hah, ‘s good,” you sighed. He hummed in response.

His hand pulled your leg up and back to rest over his own, and his thigh retreated away. Cool air hit your clit and it throbbed at the temperature change. In replace were his fingers slipping between your wet folds. Two of them entered you swiftly, body clenching and hips jerking as you gasped. You were wet and open just enough for him. Lucifer harshly bit you as he fingered your inner walls, feeling your cushioned warmth throbbing around his two elegant fingers.

“More,” you begged lazily, rocking back into his nude body. You felt his cock hard on your ass cheeks and you wanted more filling you up. You wanted to feel his thick cock inside you, his hot sperm coating your pussy. “Want you in me, now,” you exhaled as he plunged deeper, hitting that special spot inside that made you cry out.

“Demand and you shall not receive, my sweet. What do we say instead?” He thumbed your clitoris ruthlessly back and forth as penance.

“Please, please fill me with your cock, Luci,” you cried out, your hand reaching back to pull his face deep into your neck. You loved when he attacked you there with his sharp teeth and tugged enough to break skin. You were no stranger to blood play, it had quickly become a kink when you started to lay with him.

He chuckled darkly and replied, “very well.”

You sobbed when he left you empty, but soon enough his cock was sliding in to the hilt, his balls pressed against you. Lucifer sighed in delight as he was seated fully in you. His hand gripped your hip tight, and you could not move. You both lay there, panting, unmoving. Feeling one another so hot and ready, your hand clenched into the sheet below. Your body was attempting to push back and down onto him but he was not allowing it.

His hot breathe tickled your cheek. “Ah, ah, stay still, let me feel you pulsate on my cock for a moment.”

You sobbed dryly. “Lucifer, please,” you begged once again. It was all you could do, you were at his mercy. So you clenched around his cock, hoping for more, wishing he would just move. The hand on your hip gripped tight and his nails scratched at you.

He tutted. “Naughty thing, you are, now lay still and be good.”

So you did as he said. Feeling him, listening to his breath. Your heart was racing and you felt sweat trickle down the nape of your neck.

“I love feeling your pussy. So heated and wet, always so tight and ready for me to fuck it raw.” Despite his words, he did not move a muscle to fuck into you.

Your body was trembling in need. “Please,” you tried again. He was cruel to you in the best ways, but this was too much. “Please move, please please I want—” You tossed your head back and cried as he suddenly pinched your clit and tugged. “Lucifer!”

He laughed at your pain-filled pleasure, the clenching of your walls clamped down on him as he pulled on your sensitive nub between your wet lower lips. “Good girl, you beg so nicely for me.”

Then, thank fuck, he was moving. Immediately you met his thrusts back, ready to be fucked. Your hand once again tugging his cheek down to have him kiss your neck, the other still tightly gripping sheets. He went gladly, always ready to leave marks on your body.

The thrusting was quick and sharp, and soon there was a swirling of pleasure starting to form in your belly. Lucifer flickered his nail on your clit casually as he roughly pounded you. The tightness in your core was overwhelming and you could not take it, you were going to climax soon.

“’m gonna cum,” you moaned.

“NO.” He practically hissed at you.

You screamed out your frustration with gritted teeth and clenched shut eyes. Why did he do this to you? No, you would not take it. You roughly pushed back against his cock and swiveled your hips. It was almost as if you were punishing him.

“Ah, my little one is upset, I see.”

His wet fingers were gone from your clit, and it throbbed from need. This was what you got in return for being naughty, trying to force him to let you cum. You waited with bated breath for what was to happen next as he never did things in halves.

The pressing of his finger to your puckered hole was sudden and a shock and you tensed, eyes opening in shock. But then he stroked over it gently and cooed into your ear.

Your throat was thick with saliva. “I-I—” you could hardly speak.

“Hush, let me feel all of you,” he licked the shell of your ear.

You were always clean and ready for him, it was a major rule when laying with him or even not, just being ready at all times. Never had you expected this. But yet, it was something you knew you would eventually receive.

He had paused in his thrusting, and you had paused in yours as well. The tip of his finger slowly slipped inside, your body pulling him in with the clamping of your hole. This was a different feeling, less wet but still full. Your body automatically pushed against his hand and he hummed against the skin of your cheek. A second finger pressed alongside, opening you other entrance more, and soon he was thrusting two in. Both were wet from your pussy juices. You could feel his cock brushing against them through the thin walls of your body. It was a fantastical pleasure you didn’t know you could feel.

Lucifer moved his hips, and started to fuck you once more. “Ahh,” you exhaled. Your lashes fluttered closed again. It felt so good to be so full of him.

“Rub your clit,” he ordered.

Your hand went down quickly to do as he said, and you sobbed wetly this time. So full, so many nerves being touched and abused. Your pussy was tight and your asshole was too. Spasm after spasm in your legs and stomach and holes from the pleasure overtaking you. His fingers spread you apart as his cock tore you open. Your bodies were rocking together and you could hear the pants you both emitted in time with each other.

Close, you were so close. Just on the edge of climax, you could feel the electric colors coming from behind your eyes and soon they would explode.

“Do not cum.”

You shook your head and complained with an open mouthed sob of “No”. That was too hard, you had to cum. “Please let me, please I need it,” the wet cry left your lips, and you felt drool slip out of you.

His voice was on the edge of demonic, and he growled, “You will listen or you will not cum at all.”

Your fingers stopped rubbing your clit to help the orgasm not occur, but he chastised you with a sharp tug of his teeth, and you felt blood well up and slip a few beads of it down your collarbone to drop onto the pillow. He was lost in pleasure, and you felt the intensity of his demon side surrounding you without actually having it pop out.

“Did I say you could stop touching yourself?”

You sniffed, tears coming to your eyes. “N-no, sir,” you responded, and your fingers went back to your abused and sore throbbing clit to rub it more.

“Hm. Disobey me again, little one, and I promise you won’t be cumming for a long time. I’ll get a chastity device for this dirty pussy,” he promised, thrusting harshly in reprimand. “I’ll fill you up and never again let you feel the sweet joy of release. You’ll only be here to hold my sperm in your open holes.”

Your body quaked from his words, but it was from fear and arousal. He was not a liar. “I promise I’ll be good,” you said through half sobs. He pulled your asshole apart wide, curled his fingers up to press against your g-spot from the other side. “AHH!”

You kept begging for release while he abused your holes with his cock and fingers. His tongue lapped the blood that welled up from his nick on your neck, warm and slick on your collarbone. The press of his chest to your back and his hair tickling your cheek, all of him against you felt so good.

The pad of your finger was sore from the attention it gave to your clit. The wetness grew more and more in your lower body, and you heard the wet squelch of it as fluids came out of you when he fucked your raw hole. The sounds made your cheeks burn hot.

“Your holes are so warm around me,” he moaned. “So inviting, perhaps next time I’ll fuck this tight ass.”

You grit your teeth and ground your hips against him. “Yes, yes, whatever you want!”

“Do you want to cum on my cock?”

You sobbed out loudly, “Please!”

“Then cum.”

You did, and explosively so. Body spasms and head spinning, your entire body was on fire. Your orgasm was the strongest you ever had. Your mouth was open with spittle spewing all over the place, your eyelids so tight you saw stars flashing light pops of electricity. It ran down to your feet, toes curling.

Lucifer pulled you in close, and his fingers never stopped pounding into your ass while his cock pulsated around you and filled you with his hot cum.

When the high left you, you came down slowly, panting and shaking. His fingers withdrew from you, but his cock stayed, clenching wet sore walls around him. Your asshole throbbed and it felt wonderful, little sparks of pleasure still hitting you.

He moved you to lay on your back, and you opened your eyes, finally seeing his face. It was blurry to you, but you saw Lucifer’s wonderful smile, and he kissed you soundly. You sighed into his mouth, titled your head up. You felt dizzy with emotion and sore in a fantastic way.

He nuzzled your neck, licking the blood that dried up. He groaned, the taste of it, he once said, incredible on his tongue. “Such a good girl for me. So pliant and perfect. Let me feel you a little longer, my sweet,” he said, turning to have you lay atop him. You felt some of his sperm trickle out of you.

Lucifer’s hands caressed your back, and it was comforting to have him surrounding you this way. You looked up into his eyes, red and heated. You smiled sleepily at him, and lay your head on his chest. Yawning, you kissed his abs one time, then closed your eyes and fell asleep with his warm cock still inside you.

__+__

You woke up with Lucifer buried inside of you. It was nice, albeit cold and sticky around your entrance. His cock was slightly hard too, and the full feeling made you a bit horny again. You were splayed across his body on your stomach, legs intertwined. Lucifer’s chest was moving up and down steadily, and his fingers combing your hair was a nice feeling. To be snuggled close and keep warm with his demonic body heat was great, you never got cold in his arms.

“Are you awake, my darling?” he whispered.

You yawned, shoving your face into his neck. “Yeah…. Sorta…”

He chuckled. “How about a bath, hm? We can get you all cleaned up.”

“’kay, sounds nice.”

He slipped out of you, then, and your vagina was a little sore as he left you. The used feeling went to your asshole as well, and it felt like a bruise that was poked but had a good tingle afterwards. It wasn’t uncomfortable completely. He mindlessly hushed you when you winced and groaned, and you wiggled your hips to shake the feeling.

His arms hooked around your waist and upper back and he lifted you as he sat up, your legs circling his hips. He kissed your head once, and then you both maneuvered to the bathroom. Lucifer sat you on the countertop nude, it was cold and shocking to your naked body and the bathroom wasn’t quite as warm as the bedroom. You felt your nipples harden, and you put your arms across your chest to warm yourself.

You watched Lucifer, who was also nude and stunning to watch bend over the claw-footed tub in the center of the room to turn on the water, the steam forming instantly. His body was strong and lean and chiseled. His cock was half-hard, and it hung between his legs perfectly. Your pussy clenched in remembrance of last night, and you idly rubbed your forearms against your perky tits to tickle your nipples, also squeezing your legs to feel your used clit pulsate.

Lucifer turned to look at you, and smirked. “Are you feeling okay, dear? You seem a little chilled.”

You shook your head, face red. “N-no, I just…” and you bit your lip.

He strolled over to you, your eyes straying to his cock again and back to his eyes when you heard him chuckled deeply. He stood in front of you, grabbed each thigh that you held tight, and spread them apart while they shook from his heated touch. He glanced down at your vagina and hummed, one brow raised. “What a dirty little pussy you have,” and you moaned as his fingers teased your puffy lips just so, your head lolling back. His hand brought your face to his with a tight grip on your cheek, and you stared into his darkening eyes as he practically tickled your labia with his fingertips. “Look at me.”

He stared at you, looked you over with heated observation. Like you were some sort of display. He smirked once he was done, your body burning red. He opened his mouth and kissed and bit your lips and neck ravenously, and your pussy was played with just enough to make you buck up but he pulled back so you couldn’t feel him enough. You sobbed against him, hands clenching and unclenching on the counter edges. He was always such a tease to you, he enjoyed it too much.

“You smell like me, full of my cum.” He sniffed your neck and licked the sore spot he made bleed before, and you whined, tugging his head down to the spot. He went gladly, it burned gloriously while his sharp teeth nibbled the bruising area. Was he secretly a vampire instead of a demon?

He stopped then, and you sighed in remorse. He glanced behind himself and then back at you. Looking unaffected by what just happened. “The bath is ready for you,” he said simply.

He guided you down off the counter on shaky legs. You stepped in with his help, and sighed at the warmth that enveloped you. The bath water was perfect. Lucifer smiled. “Is it warm enough?” he asked, tracing his hand across the water top.

“Mmhmm, its perfect, thank you.” You smiled at him and he kissed you sweetly.

He knelt beside the tub on his knees, and your eyes widened as he did so. Lucifer never, ever kneeled. And he was totally nude, but the tub skewed your view so you only could see his torso regrettably.

“Let me clean my mess,” he murmured. He grabbed a bar of soap and lathered up his fingers. Your face was burning from the intensity of his gaze, and his hand plunged into the water. He glided his fingers across your pussy, and you spread your legs for him, eye lids heavy. You were ready for him once more.

“Lucifer,” you breathed.

“Mmm, you’re all warm, let’s see what you feel like inside.”

His fingers sank between your folds and entered you, scissoring his two fingers slowly as he plunged deeper. Your vagina pulled him in. The warmth of the water and the feeling of his soap-lathered fingers rubbing inside of you made you feel extremely hot.

“Ah, yes, you’re swollen walls are burning around my fingers.”

You whined at his words, your thigh spreading and ass lifting up. “More, more fingers,” you asked.

He chuckled. “More, you say? Very well.”

He kept his hand where it was, but then once again you felt his fingers prodding your asshole. Two slipped inside, and your body tightened. His hand, aside from his thumb, was inside both your holes, two fingers in each. Spreading you, soaping you up. Filling you completely.

“I’ll get you all cleaned up, like I said I would.”

You cried out when he sank his hand as deep as it could go and twisted all four of his fingers. “Lucifer!”

Rhythmically he pounded your inner walls. The water was slopping around, and your legs and ass were lifting up in the tub. Your hands gripped the edges and your head tossed side to side. The steam in the room made your face burning hot, and sweat beaded at your brow.

He watched you. Listened to you. You were a puppet and he was playing with you, tugging at the right strings to make you cry out. Your pussy was wet, no doubt, but in the bath water it was impossible to tell how much it was leaking. And your asshole was so tight on his fingers, he never fully left your body but his knuckles teased your ridged walls and pucker with perfect twists and tugs.

Lucifer licked over your cheek, and kissed your shut eyes with sweetness that did not mirror the intensity of his fingering at all. “So good for me, such a good girl. Letting me clean your pussy with my soaped up hand. Your tight ass, too, it’s filthy and open for me. Such a dirty girl, but so good for me.” He sucked your lips into his mouth and tugged at your bottom lip harshly while his fingers pressed against your deepest parts, and you pushed against his mouth eagerly, moaning, wanting more of his touch.

“Open your eyes, watch as I fuck your pussy and ass with my soaped fingers. Watch me pull the filth from your insides.”

You opened your eyes to watch, bleary for a moment. Your chin was tucked to your chest to look below, and you breathed heavily, face burning and eyes too. You could just see around the slight soaped water his hand twisting and turning, and your pussy lips were swollen in the water. The image made your stomach clench in pleasure. You had no hair down there so you could see all. Your clitoris was bare and big, and you almost wanted to touch it yourself but he would definitely not allow it.

Lucifer had to have the ability to read minds because his other hand dipped into the water and he played with your clit like he heard your begging thoughts. He was lightly waving his finger over top of it like a tick-tock motion of a clock. Your hips pushed upwards, and you sobbed, eyes shutting again.

“I said open your eyes and watch.”

Your neck hurt from the abrupt tilt down to watch him pound into you, as if his words bound you to do his bidding, not the other way around, as if the pact roles were reversed. Your throat hitched. Your thighs shook so dramatically in the water it must’ve splashed enough to soak the entire floor around the tub. “Please,” was all you could say then.

“Always begging, aren’t you?” he teased. “Well, tell me what it is you want.”

“To cum, please,” you begged. Your eyes never wavering from your pussy as he wrecked it. Your asshole was tight, and your pussy was, too, ready to cum. Holding back, but it was so hard to do. You were atop a mountain ready to fly off and he wouldn’t let you yet. Cruelly keeping you at the edge of orgasm.

“I’m not done cleaning your dirty bottom, my darling,” he cooed. “Don’t you want to be clean?”

You nodded. “I do, I do,” you agreed. “But I wanna cum!”

He sighed, and tugged your clitoris between his fingers, nails clipping against it, and you clenched your teeth to focus your eyes on your pussy again. He would be angry if you didn’t. The pain was intense and it caused your eyes to water but you had to focus to get your reward.

“Good girl,” he praised. “You can stop looking now, if you wish. I know how hard it is.”

Thank fuck, you thought. You were panting, overheated and ready to burst. Why couldn’t he just let you cum? Your head tossed back and you exhaled heavily, pushing down in time with his thrusting. Soon, please soon. You were so close, it was too much to bare. You would no doubt get in trouble if he didn’t allow you to cum soon.

“Hook your leg over the edge,” he ordered.

You did, and the water dripped from your leg and foot onto the floor. Somehow his fingers got even deeper now, and your throat was tight and hot from holding back your orgasm. Your tongue was pressed to the roof of your mouth and your stomach tight as your asshole. The bathtub against your back and neck was not a soft pressure and no doubt would leave soreness in you later, but you kept rocking, uncaring, chasing the desire to reach your ecstasy.

“You cum when I say. Understand?”

You nodded. “Yes, yes I understand, Lucifer, sir,” you said through pants, rocking your hips into his fingers. They scissored you open and water rushed into you, filling your holes with heated soapy water. He caressed your inner walls more gently, and cooed at you while you cried.

He kissed your cheek, keeping his lips there as he looked down at you. “Soon, my sweet, I just want to watch you a little more.”

You let him play with you some more. His fingers teasing over you, in you, like he just discovered what you felt like. When it came to your asshole it was, you supposed. Your clit was large and sore and stinging with the need to throb with an orgasm. Then, his hand sped up, and his finger vigorously rubbed your clit. Your breath hitched and your muscles tightened. Close, you were so close. Almost there, and all you needed was…

“Cum now.”

Your mouth opened wide and you cried out. Your body spasmed, water sloshing about. It was intense and wet and long, your orgasm. He kept finger fucking you through it, kissing your cheeks and humming against your skin while your lower parts tightened and burned with great pleasure. The warmth of the water surrounding you made it feel fantastic, and you sobbed dryly when his fingers pulled from your holes.

He murmured about how beautiful you were, and how well you did. Stars were in your shut eyes and your head spun delightfully so. You came back a few moments later, the water was cooling now, to see him in a robe. You must’ve dozed off after cumming.

He stood above you with a smirk, arms crossed. “Well,” he said with amusement, “we may have to run another bath. This one is filled with your juices.”

“Lucifer!” you whined in embarrassment.

He chuckled at your response. “I wonder how many times we will need to re-fill this tub today…”

#mc x lucifer #obey me fanfic #shall we date obey me #shall we date obey me fanfic #obey me lucifer #swd #shall we date #om #swd om #obey me fanficiton #my fics #reader x lucifer

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dreamypeaches · 4 years

Text

sunday morning | pope heyward x reader

summary: after spending the week moving into your shared apartment, you insist pope takes a break and has a lazy day with you.

warnings: tooth rotting fluff, maybe one (1) curse word

word count: 1.4k

a/n: if you follow me, you know about my undying love for pope heyward. this fic is just one way of me expressing my love for him. please enjoy :)

One week since you and Pope started a new chapter in your relationship. One week of non stop moving, unloading, rearranging, eating take out on cardboard boxes, and pure exhaustion. Last night, the final box had been unpacked, and you and Pope were officially moved into your new apartment. Waking up early on Sunday morning, your body ached, arms sore from carrying heavy boxes and shifting furniture. You wanted nothing more than to just sink into the bed and sleep for twenty years. Pope, on the other hand, couldn’t sit still.

As per usual, he had a lot of his mind. He was starting medical school next month, on his way to his dream of becoming a forensic pathologist. Even though the start of the semester was weeks away, Pope wanted to get ahead of the game. He’d bought all his textbooks already and read through them twice. He was getting ready to go through them for a third time.

“Once for information, twice to understand, three times to see what I still need to work on,” Pope had said to you when you asked exactly why he needed to read his books so many times.

You thought he would take the day off, having worked just as hard to make your new apartment livable. But as the sunrise just barely peeked through the blinds, Pope was already up, sitting at his desk in the corner of your room, furiously writing notes. You sigh, ignoring the burning in your muscles as you crawl from the bed, padding over to wrap your arms around him from behind.

“Pope,” You say sleepily, drawing out the o, “do you really have to do this now?”

“Yes! The first day is going to be here before I know it and I cannot fall behind.”

You sigh, your finger tracing shapes on his bare chest as you nuzzle into his neck, placing soft kisses that makes him shiver.

“You can take one day off, baby. You have a month until school starts and I can guarantee you’re already miles ahead of those other idiots. Plus, you’ve been working hard all week to set this place up! Come, appreciate our home with me!”

Pope can’t help but grin at your last sentence. Our home. A place for just the two of you to share, where you could love and laugh and just be. He’d been waiting for this moment ever since you were teenagers, living on the Cut in the Outer Banks, hoping and praying that you would one day make it off that island.

Pope turns his head to look at you, admiring your sleepy smile and half awake eyes. Pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose, he nods.

“Okay. You’re right.” He places his pen in the center of the book, closing it and standing to wrap his arms around you. “What shall we do today, my love?”

You smile again, arms around his waist gently pulling him along with you as you move towards the bed.

“Absolutely nothing!” You push Pope onto the bed, his back landing on the mattress, then curl up beside him, wrapping your arms and legs around him like a koala. He chuckles at you, one hand coming up to trail through your hair while the other traces the skin on your leg.

“What about breakfast?” He asks.

“Later. ’S too early,” you mumbled, already falling back asleep. He sighs and closes his eyes, pulling you close to him and following you into unconsciousness.

The sun is shining fully through the window the next time you wake up. Once again, Pope is not at your side, but the smell of food wafting through the small apartment let’s you know exactly where he is. You sit up, arms stretching above you when Pope appears in the door way.

“Don’t move. You’re not allowed to move from that bed for the rest of the day,” He says, moving over to crawl onto the bed, pushing you to lay back down and hovering over you. He kisses up your neck and round your cheeks, making you giggle before he’s gone again. He returns a few moments later, a tray of food in his arms.

Placing it on your lap, his plops down next to you before turning the TV on, clicking buttons until the opening of your favorite show starts to play. He’d prepared both your favorite breakfasts, plated beautifully as if they were from a five star restaurant.

“Quite the spread, my love,” You say, giving him a smile. He just shrugs, cheeks heating up suddenly.

“Special day with a special girl deserves a special breakfast.”

The pair of you dig in, sharing sweet kisses in between bites and giggles at your favorite scenes in the show you’d already seen a million times. Once your plates are clean and bellies full, Pope moves to bring the tray out of the room.

“Promise me this is the last time you leave this bed today,” You say as we walks out.

“What if I have to pee?” He jokes. You just give him a look and he grins, pressing a kiss to your lips before hurrying away with the dirty dishes.

When he returns, he practically launches himself at you, collapsing onto of you and burying his head in your neck. His words vibrate through your neck, but the meaning is muffled and you giggle.

“What did you say?”

He looks up at you, eyes full of adoration, resting his head on his hand.

“I love you so much.”

You reach out, tenderly stroking his cheek, eyes flitting across his face as you take in every detail of the beautiful man who stole your heart.

“I love you so much,” You say, almost a whisper. He leans forward to kiss you. It’s tender and soft but full of the burning love you had for each other. He rests his forehead on yours when he pulls away, eyes closed.

“I’m glad we’re doing this. Everything is going to change next month,” Pope says.

“Not everything. We’ll still be together and I will still love you and you will still love me. Sure, life is going to get a little crazy, but life always does. I am sad that I won’t get to spend as much time with you, but that’s why we moved in together, right? So we can make the most of every moment we have. And I am so proud of you that it overwhelms my sadness. I can’t be sad when the man I love is living out his dream!”

Pope pulls back, eyes a little watery as he takes your head in his hands.

“A life with you is my dream. Forensic pathology is just a small part of that dream. And…” Pope trails off, looking suddenly nervous. He pulls away from you, hopping off the bed and rummaging through the dresser. He turns back to you, arms behind his back.

You sit up, brows furrowed together at Pope’s sudden change in demeanor. He kneels at the edge of the bed, pulling you so your legs dangle off and he is situated between them.

“I was going to wait until our anniversary in a couple weeks, but this moment is perfect and I can’t wait any longer. I’ve been waiting for this moment since you first kissed me on the hammock at the Chateau and I knew I would love you for the rest of time. You are the best thing in my life, Y/N, and I love you with my whole fucking heart. So…”

Tears are flooding your eyes and streaming down your face as Pope reaches down, revealing a small, velvet black box. He opens it, and you can barely see the beautiful, shining, perfect ring through your tears.

“Will you marry me?”

The lump in your throat won’t let you speak with out sobbing, so you just nod furiously, throwing your arms around his shoulders and pulling him in for a passionate kiss. Pope is grinning when he pulls away, tears flooding his eyes as he takes the ring from the box and gently guides it onto your finger.

He joins you on the bed, kissing you hungrily with all the joy in his heart. He’s hovering over you, your hands combing his hair as his stroke your cheek. He pulls away, both of you gazing at each other with pure adoration and content in your eyes.

“Thank you for a wonderful morning, Mr. Heyward.”

“There are a million more to come, Mrs. Heyward.”

taglist/moots: @ilovejjmaybank @broken-jj @vindictive-hearts @wtfkie @fttayla @jjmaybby @dontjinx-it @butgilinsky @rekrappeter @diverdcwn @rafecameron @prejudic3 @starlightstarkey @https-luna @sunnypogue @obxmxybxnk @jjmayybank @bluesiderudy @socialwriter @kindahavefeelingskindaheartless @peachydrews @outerbanksbro @poguestyleskye @softstarkey @bricksatanakinswindow @mdlyncline @poguemackin @downbytheouterbanks @ptersparkers @prkerspogue @moldisgoodforyou @outrbanks @girlsru1eboysdroo1 @tempestuousjj @stargazingstarkey @anxietyandtacos @uwubonebabie @joshy-obx @sortagaysortahigh @overly-b @highondrew @madelynsclines @cherryobx

#pope heyward x reader #pope heyward fluff #pope heyward fic #pope heyward imagine #obx fic #my writing

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hansoulo · 4 years

Text

ain’t it a gentle sound (the rolling in the graves) - pt. 6

Pairing: Horacio Carrillo/f!Reader

Warnings: tiny mention of canon-typical violence, fluff!!!! wow imagine that

Word Count: 1.15k

Gif Credit: x by @bobafvtt who is an angel baby that feeds my carrillo addiction

A/N: the ending of this timeline!!! not to worry tho more shall come soon 🤡also ive had “i really like you” by carly rae jepsen stuck in my head since i started this stupid thing and now u all finally get to see why

series masterlist carrd playlist

You looked beautiful when you slept. You always looked beautiful, it didn't really matter when or how or where, but here - in his bed under morning light - you were iridescent. He’d spend hours looking at you if you let him, mapping out every expanse of your skin until he was dizzy with it. With you. Everything with you is softer around the edges, backlight and glowing from the inside out until the entire world is tinged sunburst yellow. Before he had to leave and it was painted scarlet again.

Horacio didn’t want to think about that now, though. It was Saturday morning on a summer day and your arms were slung around his neck. Everything else could wait.

You moved your head from the pillow beside him to rest on his chest, eyes flirting with the idea of opening. Not yet, please. Let me look a little longer.

“What time is it?” you mumbled, slurring and quiet. Your eyelashes brushed his collarbones as you looked up, heavy-lidded and slow. His hands left your waist to cup at your cheeks, fingers skimming sandpaper-light as they smoothed away the furrow of your brow.

“It’s still early,” he assured you, tracing the shell of your ear. “Go back to sleep.” You nodded, your head a dead weight on your neck as you settled.

Your tone was humorous when you met him with a mock salute, whispered and apparently oblivious to the way he sucked in a breath through his teeth at the words. “Yes, sir.”

⫸ ——– ⫷

“Horacio” you spoke into the pillows, muffled by down and cotton. Turning to face him, you were met with the sight of his bare back, rising slowly as he slept. “Isabella’s crying.”

He made a non-committal noise in the back of his throat, the muscles in his shoulders rippling as he shifted. Snorting slightly at the sight of his bedhead, you contemplated the idea of grabbing a camera before getting up, your legs meeting the slight residual chill of morning air when you lifted the covers. The clock on his bedside table read just past six and you groaned, rubbing at your eyes with a sluggish hand as you walked towards the door. Twenty minutes later she was changed and sated, sleeping quietly again for what you hoped would be at least another two hours. Don’t jinx it.

Your bare feet met the cold tile of his kitchen floor as you stepped forward, mind still fogged over and molasses sticky. You could walk around his apartment with your eyes closed, though, so you weren’t too worried.

Coffee would be nice. Yes. Coffee. Motions slow and rehearsed, you opened the cabinet to bring out the mug with the chipped lip, white china smooth against your hands except for the single grained slope that had worn duller after years of rubbing touch. You leaned against the counter as you waited for the pot to fill, the rough granite pushing into your hip but doing little to wake you any further. The mug was filled shortly after and you forgoed any cream or milk, remembering how he only put in ungodly amounts of sugar. You took a hesitant sip, wincing at the heat and bitterness that stuck waxy to the roof of your mouth. You’d make another cup later. He could keep this one.

Setting the mug down on the small stand beside Horacio’s bed, you looked down at him. He looked handsome when he slept. Younger. Less stern, less hard and commanding the way you knew he could be but chose to quell. (Around you, anyway.) You brushed back the hair curling short on his forehead, biting down on your lip to resist the urge to grin like some love-sick teenager. It would be a little fitting, though. Love-sick. Drunk on it. A thing innocent but still shadowed, pressed down on all sides and smothering sweet. Like the faint trailing of a melody, echoing discordant on its reverb.

You lay back down, allowing yourself to be swallowed by the morning sun.

⫸ ——– ⫷

“Are we still just friends?” you teased, your fingers tracing mindless circles across his stomach. A kiss was placed at the crown of your head, slightly chapped.

“I don’t think we ever were just friends,” Horacio said with a small laugh, the words tickling and making you squirm. Humming quietly, you nodded.

“I guess not,” you agreed, shifting on the bed so you could turn and face him. “After all, I don’t think friends do this,” you said as your mouth scraped the stubble of his cheek, drawing out a small huff that fanned over your face. “Or this,” and you let it trail down to the curve of his jaw, the faint taste of salt sticking onto the dull grooves of your teeth.

You were gentle with it - with this broad, carved man that allowed your curiosities - light and saccharine to make up for all the time you had spent waiting, denying yourself of things readily given - a penance made all the more torturous by the cruelty of its beauty. But you were your own god now. “Or this,” you whispered as you finally reached his mouth.

Horacio’s chin dipped down, eyes tracing the swollen flesh of your lips as the pad of his thumb did the same.

You didn’t really believe in destiny but if it meant this, if it meant him, it was suddenly something more tangible. A body you could hold, arms that you knew would open, something that had somehow - slowly and without warning or notice - turned into someone.

“I like you,” you breathed.

“I like you, too.”

“No, I-,” you said a bit desperately, pleading. The words were hot honey in your mouth, dragged and longing for a thing you already had but were terrified of losing. “I really, really like you.” His small chuckle seeped through your hair, broad arms encircling your waist and pulling you in tighter. Lips met your temple, firm but still tender.

You pushed up from where you lay on the bed, hands splayed across his chest to steady yourself as you looked at the man beneath you. The words you had yet to say hung suspended in the air, enveloping the room in a hazy, gaseous thing that tasted bitter, a bit like almonds and copper, in the back of your throat. You leaned down, gulping air with another press of your mouth against his, open and slotting easy. It was deeper this time - insistent and repeating all the things you both already took as gospel. I love you. I love you. I love you.

You pulled back, shared breaths falling in tandem between two beating chests. Your voice was quiet.

“I love you.”

“I know,” he smiled, a hand coming to cup the nape of your neck, guiding your head down until his lips ghosted across the bow of your mouth, heady smoke and sandalwood exhales prompting your eyes to close. “I love you, too.”

#I REALLY REALLY REALLY REALLY REALLY REALLY LIKE YOU #AND I WANT YOU DO YOU WANT ME DO YOU WANT ME TOO?#horacio carrillo #horacio carrillo x reader #horacio carrillo fanfiction #horacio carrillo x you #narcos #narcos fanfiction #narcos tv show

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sassyandclassy94 · 4 years

Note

Hi, there! These last few days have been pretty chaotic and stressful for just about everyone around these parts, so I was wondering if maybe you could share any fun headcanons you might have about Emma or Nealfire? <3 Or even any AU ideas for the two of them? :0

Hi there!!! Thank you so much for this ask (these things excite me like crazy and they’re even better when they’re SwanFire-related!)! Things have been pretty stressful but I for one am feeling better about things - at least right now anyway. Anyhoo, I can’t wait to answer and share these!! You might wanna sit down though... it’s gonna be quite the list. *drags my notebook out from under my bed* Literally. Shall we get started? *cracks knuckles* Let’s go!

SwanFire Headcanons

SwanFire has (have? It’s late... I’m having grammar brainfades😖Or it was when I started this; now I’m too lazy to proofread. Bear with me) three children after Henry. All girls: Ivy, Ella, and Ruth (Ruthie).

Emma gets cold easily, resulting in her either taking a heating pad to bed with her, or letting one of her children sleep in her bed with her when Neal is out of town.

Baelfire/Neal reads out loud to his kids every night before they go to bed.

Though not as avid a reader as Neal, Emma still enjoys reading, her favorite genre being dark thrillers (Karin Slaughter, hello hello). Sometimes, though she doesn’t like to admit it, if the plot is particularly intense, she’s left a little spooked, resulting in her snuggling up closer to Neal after he turns out the light. (Cute, I KNOW!!)

Emma has a hard time relating to and comforting her second child, Ivy, because of their very different personalities.

They always let their children name their pets, even if the names are borderline preposterous.

Neal is a morning person while Emma is not (although she will be if she has to be); both are also night owls when they want to be...🙊

Neal is a fairly good cook (Emma? Not so much) and does most of the cooking (happily I might add). Sometimes, with the best intentions, Emma will try her hand at making something special and gets really mad and frustrated with herself for messing it up. (Baelfire will eat it anyway though, with a stupid smile on his face - that was inspired by one of LilRedSoupBowl’s fanfics but🤫)

*NSFW WARNING* Though it’s pretty much even, Emma initiates many of their ‘nights of passion’🙈 (she’s so bad...)

*MIST HAVEN* Baelfire is gone a lot because of the duties required of the Mist Haven Army which results in his and Emma’s fair share of nasty disputes (they fight as hard as they love) *STORYBROOKE and a nod to him and Emma being the only ones who were able to leave town* He’s out of town a lot because of having to go to different estate auctions (at least that’s what my dad told me...? I don’t know if that’s accurate or not) to find more antiques for his father’s pawn shop. In both worlds/realities, Emma just ‘survives’ while he’s gone. (A nod to my favorite mom/lifestyle blogger and real life OTP, Janene and Aaron Crossley)

Neal is very clumsy (in both worlds/realities), resulting in some awkward and laughable situations

Emma really enjoys soaking in a bath and it’s one of her main means of relaxing and de-stressing. While Baelfire’s main mean of relaxing and de-stressing is drawing and sketching

Emma hates beets and turnips with a burning passion and refuses to eat them. Even the smell of them cooking makes her want to gag.

Baelfire detests goats with a burning passion - so does Charming and they could literally rant about it all day long. Emma and Snow think it’s rather hilarious .

Emma has a pronounced scar just above her left breast from a wound she received when she was four years old. Regina tried (rather unsuccessfully) to wipe out the Charming line. She says she remembers the attack like it was yesterday.

*This is more a Mist Haven one* Bae and Emma named their second child Ivy because she was born a month before Christmas and ivy was one of the things they used to decorate for Christmas back then. (My best friend LOVES that one, if anyone cares, lol) Plus, I personally think ‘Princess Ivy of Mist Haven flows rather nicely.

SwanFire loves Christmas and always decorates for it on the first Saturday of November. Emma hates untangling they lights though and happily leaves all that frustrating stuff to Neal.

Every time Emma was pregnant Baelfire hoped for and insisted the baby was a girl (hey! He was right 3 outta 4 times - not a bad track record).

Neal is a fan of anything pumpkin. Pumpkin pie, pumpkin soup, pumpkin bread, pumpkin muffins, pumpkin ice cream (that’s a thing, by the way. A Byrne Dairy exclusive), you name it. If it has pumpkin in it, he’ll eat it. Emma thinks it’s kinda adorable.

*Trigger warning: miscarriage* Emma suffered two miscarriages within months of each other (the first one at 10 weeks, the second one at 16 weeks😭) between Ella and Ruthie🥺 which resulted in her going into a deep and dark depression. (I might make this one into a fic so I’m gonna keep it vague because of !SPOILERS!)

Emma’s a big fan of the show ‘Castle’ and hardcore ships Caskett (Castle fans!! Where you at???). Neal claims he could take or leave the show but he sure answers real quick when Emma leaves the room for a second and asks, “What did I miss?” He’s also super quick to laugh at the funny banters between Ryan and Esposito.

Their kids are tucked into bed by 8:30 pm every night except Friday, when they get to stay up till a big whopping 9:00 pm (LOL! So not a inspired by my own childhood)

Emma’s favorite movies are ‘Titanic’, ‘The Notebook’, and ‘A Walk to Remember’ and although she loves them, she also hates them because they make her cry every single time and she HATES to cry. Bonus: Every time she watches them with Neal she looks up to see him crying too... (It’s so cute when men cry over sad romance movies😍😭)

*TRIGGER WARNING: Menstruation* Emma’s time of the month is really unpleasant for her during her first three days - she’s a heavy bleeder and gets really bad cramps and back pain and won’t take Advil for it because all that does is make them come back with a vengeance the next morning. She’ll find relief in curling up on the couch in the fetal position with a heating pad pressed against her lower belly. Sometimes that’s the sight that Baelfire will come home to and when he sees that, he knows to kinda give her space. He’ll ask her if she needs anything but her answer is usually peace and quiet. (“Take the kids and just LET ME TAKE A FREAKING NAP!”)

That’s about all I can think of for now - I have a few others too but I’m not 100% comfortable sharing those on here yet (they’re a little NSFW) but perhaps someday🤗 Thank you so much for this ask, it was really fun and I hope you (and everyone else who sees this) enjoys them!

#SwanFire #Emma Swan #Neal Cassidy #Baelfire #my headcanons #like how do I even tag this though?#oh and I gotta give my sister some credit over this because most of these we came up with together over the last 2 and half years #ugh!!! is it wrong to say that your own headcanons are so cute?

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anoriginalbrilliantutterance · 3 years

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I'll try to tell you. Then go home and forget it. His name was Clifton and they shot him down. His name was Clifton and he was tall and some folks thought him handsome. And though he didn't believe it, I think he was. His name was Clifton and his face was black and his hair was thick with tight-rolled curls -- or call them naps or kinks. He's dead and, except to a few young girls, it doesn't matter. Have you got it? Think of your brother or your cousin John. His lips were thick with an upward curve at the corners. He often smiled. He had good eyes and a pair of fast hands, and he had a heart. He thought about things and he felt deeply. I won't call him noble because what's such a word to do with one of us?

His name was Clifton, Tod Clifton, and, like any man, he was born of woman to live awhile and fall and die. So that's his tale to the minute. His name was Clifton and for a while he lived among us and aroused a few hopes in the young manhood of man, and we who knew him loved him and he died. So why are you waiting? You've heard it all. Why wait for more, when all I can do is repeat it?"

His name was Clifton and he was young and he was a leader and when he fell there was a hole in the heel of his sock and when he stretched forward he seemed not as tall as when he stood. So he died; and we who loved him are gathered here to mourn him. It's as simple as that and as short as that: His name was Clifton and he was black and they shot him. Isn't that enough to tell? Isn't it all you need to know? Isn't that enough to appease your thirst for drama and send you home to sleep it off? Go take a drink and forget it. Or read it in The Daily News. His name was Clifton and they shot him, and I was there to see him fall. Here are the facts.

He was standing and he fell. He fell and he kneeled. He kneeled and he bled. He bled and he died. He fell in a heap like any man and his blood spilled out like any blood; red as any blood, wet as any blood reflecting the sky and the buildings and birds and trees, or your face if you'd looked into its dulling mirror and it dried in the sun as blood dries. That's all. They spilled his blood and he bled. They cut him down and he died; the blood flowed on the walk in a pool, gleamed a while, and, after awhile, became dull then dusty, then dried. That's the story and that's how it ended. It's an old story and there's been too much blood to excite you. Besides, it's only important when it fills the veins of a living man. Aren't you tired of such stories? Aren't you sick of the blood? Then why listen? why don't you go? The beer is cold in the taverns, the saxophones will be mellow at the Savoy; plenty good-laughing-lies will be told in the barber shops and beauty parlors; and there'll be sermons in two hundred churches in the cool of the evening, and plenty of laughs at the movies. Go listen to 'Amos and Andy' and forget it. Here you have only the same old story.

There's not even a young wife up here in red to mourn him. There's nothing here to pity, no one to break down and shout. Nothing to give you that good old frightened feeling. The story's too short and too simple. His name was Clifton, Tod Clifton, he was unarmed and his death was as senseless as his life was futile. He had struggled for Brotherhood on a hundred street corners and he thought it would make him more human, but he died like any dog in a road.

"All, all right," I called out, feeling desperate. "Let me tell it as it truly was! His name was Tod Clifton and he was full of illusions. He thought he was a man when he was only Tod Clifton. He was shot for a simple mistake of judgement and he bled and his blood dried and shortly the crowd trampled out the stains. It was a normal mistake for which many are guilty. He thought he was a man and that men were not meant to be pushed around. But it was hot downtown and he forgot his history, he forgot the time and the place. He lost his hold on reality. There was a cop and a waiting audience but he was Tod Clifton and the cops are everywhere. The cop? What about him? He was a cop. A good citizen. But this cop had an itching finger and an eager ear for a word that rhymed with 'trigger', and when Clifton fell he had found it. The Police Special spoke its lines and the rhyme was completed. Just look around you. Look at what he made, look inside you and feel his awful power. It was perfectly natural. The blood ran like blood in a comic book killing, on a comic-book street in a comic-book town on a comic-book day in a comic-book world.

Tod Clifton's one with the ages. But what's that to do with you in this heat under this veiled sun? Now he's part of history, and he has received his true freedom ---didn't they scribble his name on a standardized pad?

His Race: colored! Religion: unknown, probably born Baptist. Place of birth: U.S. Some southern town. Next of kin: unknown. Address: unknown. Occupation: unemployed. Cause of death: resisting reality in the form of a .38 caliber revolver in the hands of the arresting officer, on Forty-second between the library and the subway in the heat of the afternoon, of gunshot wounds received from three bullets, fired at three paces, one bullet entering the right ventricle of the heart, and lodging there, the other severing the spinal ganglia raveling downward to lodge in the pelvis, the other breaking through the back and traveling God knows where.

Such was the short bitter life of Brother Tod Clifton. Now he's in this box with the bolts tightening down. He's in the box and we're in there with him, and when I've told you this you can go. It's dark in this box and it's crowded. It has a cracked ceiling and a clogged-up toilet in the hall. It has rats and roaches, and it's far, far too expensive a dwelling. The air is bad and it'll be cold this winter. Tod Clifton is crowded and he needs the room. 'Tell them to get out of the box,' that's what he would say if you could hear him. 'Tell them to get out of the box and go teach the cops to forget that rhyme. Tell them to teach them when they call you *n***er* to make a rhyme with *trigger* it makes the gun backfire.'

So there you have it. In a few hours Tod Clifton will be cold bones in the ground, and don't be fooled, for these bones shall not rise again.

You and I will still be in the box. I don't know if Tod Clifton had a soul. I only know the ache that I feel in my heart, my sense of love, I don't know if you have a soul. I only know that you are men of flesh and blood, and that blood will spill and flesh grow cold. I do not know if all cops are poets, but I know that all cops carry guns with triggers. And I know too how we are labeled. So in the name of Brother Clifton beware of the triggers; go home, keep cool, stay safe away from the sun. Forget him. When he was alive there's only one thing left to tell and I've already told it. His name was Tod Clifton, he believed in Brotherhood, he aroused our hopes and he died."

#invisible man #ralph ellison #black lives matter #I do not know if all cops are poets but I know that all cops carry guns with triggers. And I know too how we are labeled.#Cause of death: a revolver in the hands of an officer on Forty-second between the library and the subway in the heat of the afternoon

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axiumin · 5 years

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BTS Reaction | Cuddle Bug

Sometimes, when all was said and done, all you wanted to do was cuddle up with the person you loved.

Jin

Seokjin’s eyebrows knitted in concentration as he played his video game. Clothed in just his hoodie and sweats, brow pinched with focus, and lips just the tiniest bit pouty, he looked far too cute. He looked far too cozy. And you? You felt like being cozy, too.

You had the good graces to wait until an unskippable cutscene before you padded over and unceremoniously climbed onto his lap, burrowing into the soft fabric of his hoodie.

Seokjin chuckled and automatically wrapped an arm around your waist to steady you. “What’s this?” he asked.

You rested your head on his shoulder and smiled up at him lazily. “Just cuddles.”

He shook his head fondly. “‘Just cuddles,’ you say. And I suppose you just climb into anyone’s lap whenever you feel like cuddles on your own terms?” Yet there was no heat in his words, and he settled back against the couch cushions to give you more room on his lap.

You sighed happily. “Not anyone’s lap,” you corrected. “Just yours.”

Seokjin chuckled again, and you watched with fond amusement as the tips of his ears tinged pink.

“Yes, well,” he said picking up his controller as the cutscene ended. “You bring me good luck, so I’ll let you stick around.”

You dozed happily against his warm chest as he continued to fight his way through baddies and bosses alike. Every time your good luck helped him win another battle, he thanked you by dropping a sweet kiss on the crown of your head. It was a win-win.

Suga

Everyone knew that a sleeping Yoongi was not to be disturbed. You’d seen plenty of empirical data telling you how bad of an idea it was to disturb a sleeping Yoongi. However, there were other things to take into consideration as well. Namely, 1) he looked really soft and warm, curled up on the couch as he was, and 2) he was your boyfriend, and that surely had to afford you some privileges, right?

It was a risk, but it was a calculated one. You thought you’d take your chances.

You stood beside the couch, waiting to make sure he looked perfectly asleep before delicately resting your knee on the cushion beside him. You watched, holding your breath, as the cushion sank beneath your weight. His face didn’t so much as twitch.

Slowly, you lowered the rest of your body onto the narrow strip of couch beside him. It wasn’t a comfortable fit and you were keenly aware that you were at risk of falling off the edge if you weren’t careful, but it was all about baby steps.

Just as you were evaluating how to best work your way under his arm, Yoongi spoke.

“What are you doing?”

You froze and looked at his face. He still looked like he was sleeping, but when you didn’t answer immediately, he cracked open one eye to glare at you.

“Uh,” you said intelligently. “Cuddling?”

Yoongi stared blearily at you. “You call this cuddling?”

Your body chose that moment to overbalance and nearly slip off the edge of the couch. Yoongi sighed and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you away from certain doom and right into his chest.

“Stop waking me up,” he grumbled. But he tightened his arms around you and you thought you saw the beginnings of a smile before he buried his face in your hair, so you figured he couldn’t have minded the disruption too much.

“Not a peep from me,” you promised, happily snuggling into his sleep-warm embrace. You stifled a grin into the fabric of his hoodie and tried not to be too obvious about congratulating yourself for a risk well-rewarded.

J-Hope

Movie nights were the worst— not because of the movies and certainly not because of the company, but because you were the worst. All it would take was just a few minutes of you sitting on the couch, cozy and warm and close to the person you loved, for your eyes to start drooping closed.

Hoseok had tried everything to keep you awake and engaged during movie nights— horror films, comedies, delicious snacks— but to no avail. Tonight, he’d even let you put on a movie you’d been begging him to watch with you for ages. You barely made it through the opening credits before your eyelids started to feel heavy.

See? The worst.

You tried to be subtle about curling up closer to Hoseok and snuggling into his chest, and at first he did nothing but wrap his arm around your shoulders and pull you closer. But perhaps after the second time you nuzzled into the fabric of his hoodie, he finally caught on.

“Babe?”

“‘M awake,” you mumbled sleepily, on the verge of nodding off.

Hoseok pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “You’re cute even when you lie so obviously,” he said, voice soft and teasing.

You grumbled in protest, but he just kissed you again and rested his head on top of yours. You quieted, and it didn’t take long for the warmth and comfort of his familiar hold to lull you to sleep.

Somehow, you never thought to ask yourself how you could sleep so soundly beside someone as energetic and loud as Hoseok could be. The answer was simple: he was a sleepy cuddler, too.

Movie nights were the worst. But nap nights? Those were the best.

You hesitated in the doorway of Namjoon’s studio. He was busy at work— as he had been for hours now— and you were reluctant to disrupt his focus. But as you watched him sigh and rub tiredly at his eyes, you figured that maybe a disruption was exactly what he needed.

You walked into the room and closed the door gently behind you. Namjoon was wearing headphones and clearly couldn’t hear you, so rather than call out to him, you decided to stand behind his chair and drape your arms around his shoulders. Without missing a beat, Joon slid off his headphones and turned his head to smile at you.

“Hey. What brings you here?”

You smiled and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “You.”

He chuckled, face tinging with a pleased blush. “Well, it’s a good thing you came by when you did. I’m not too sure about this one part of the song, and I wanted some feedback. Can you…?” He held up the headphones, and you stood up at attention.

It was incredibly rare for Namjoon to give you even a hint of any of his songs while he was still working on it. You’d had the chance to listen to his works in progress maybe three times throughout your entire relationship, and one of those times was an accident. And now for him to not only invite you to listen, but to seek your opinion? You were touched.

“Yes!” you cried, reaching for the headphones.

Namjoon chuckled. “Here, the cord’s kind of short. Why don’t you—” He pushed his chair away from the desk and patted his legs.

You wasted no time moving around the chair to settle in his lap. He waited until you were settled in, back leaning against his chest. He wrapped an arm around your waist, not because you needed the steadying, but just to hold you close. You took the headphones from him and put them on, and he reached over to his computer to press play.

The music washed over you. The steady beats and the familiar lilt of Namjoon’s voice grounded you in the moment just as much as the warm arm around your waist. You rested your head on Namjoon’s shoulder and looked up at him. He smiled back at you.

He didn’t say anything, but you didn’t need him to. You could already feel his love.

Jimin

Target acquired. He was sitting on the couch, about three meters out. Doing— something. You actually couldn’t tell from this angle, but whatever it was, it surely wasn’t too important. He was sleepy, relaxed. His guard was down. Easy prey.

The muscles in your legs coiled, ready for action. You started a mental countdown— three, two, go!— and made your move.

You darted around the corner and pounced before he could so much as flinch. Jimin yelped as your body collided with his, sending you both sprawling sideways on the couch.

“Got you!” you crowed, wrapping your arms around him.

Jimin recovered from the shock and laughed. “Yeah,” he said, somewhat breathlessly. “You sure did.” He wrapped his arms around you in return. “What are you going to do now that you have me?”

You hummed and made a show of thinking about it. “I think… I’m just going to cuddle you for a bit.”

Jimin’s face bloomed into a smile, a happy, lovely thing. “Oh yeah?”

“Yep! I gotta choose a befitting prize, after all.” You rested your head on his shoulder and smiled, as if to prove how pleased you were with your befitting prize.

Jimin chuckled. “I guess I can’t argue with that.”

He pulled you closer, nuzzling against the crown of your head. You may have claimed a prize, but as far as he was concerned, you were both winners.

“You comfortable down there?”

You’d found Taehyung in so many unexpected situations by now that you weren’t really surprised to find him lying flat on his back in the middle of the room, basking in a patch of afternoon sunlight. All the same, you couldn’t help but stop in your tracks when you saw him.

“Definitely,” he replied, not even bothering to open his eyes.

You considered this and, after a moment, shrugged. “That’s enough for me.”

You padded right on over and sprawled out on top of him, taking delight in the way he huffed when you settled heavily across his chest. You chuckled and nuzzled into his sun-warmed shoulder. “Wow, so comfy!”

But before you could get too settled in, he stirred beneath you.

“Ah, look what you’ve done!” he cried, lowering his voice to a dramatized rumble. “You’ve awoken me from my slumber! You must now pay the price.” His arms shot up, pointing at the ceiling for just a moment before swooping back down to wrap around your waist. A moment later, you found yourself lying on your side, Taehyung’s arms and legs wrapped around you.

“Oh, what a price to pay!” you chuckled, wiggling in his hold to no avail. “What ever shall I do?”

“There’s nothing to be done. You violated the law. Pay the court a fine or serve your sentence. Your stolen goods are now forfeit,” he said, voice still deep and mock-solemn. He graciously ignored your snort in favor of pulling you closer and burying his face in the crook of your neck.

As you lay there, pleasantly warm from the afternoon sun and the feeling of Tae’s smile against your neck, you decided that there were worse fates than this.

Jungkook

He was just sitting on the couch, watching some videos on his phone. He looked perfectly content, even chuckled occasionally. There really was no discernible reason for you to go interrupt him. None whatsoever.

Except for the fact that you were utterly bored and he looked wonderfully warm and you kind of wanted to know what he was chuckling at. Conveniently, you could address all three of those issues at once.

So, you set your own phone aside and got up from the armchair you’d been draped across to pad over to him. Jungkook looked up and had barely started to form a question when you settled yourself onto his lap and wiggled into the circle of his arms. You fidgeted until you found a comfy position, sitting with your back pressed against his chest.

“What are we watching?” you asked, looking at his phone.

Jungkook didn’t reply. He didn’t even move. You frowned and craned your neck to look at him. He was staring into the middle distance, eyes wide and face tinged pink even as a smile slowly grew on his face.

“Kookie?” you asked, eyebrow quirked.

He snapped out of it and looked back at you. Were you imagining it, or were his cheeks even redder now?

“Oh, yeah. Uh, we’re. Just. Watching some puppy videos.” He smiled, and you felt his muscles relax as he eased back against the couch cushions. He was still blushing, even as his expression turned from bunny-in-the-headlights to endearment.

You chuckled. “You know you’re going to have to get used to this eventually, right?”

Jungkook wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you close. “Get used to what?” He buried his still-warm face in the crook of your neck.

You chuckled and settled comfortably into his hold, taking the hint. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

#bts #bts imagines #bts scenarios #bts one shots #bts reactions #kpop #kpop scenarios #kpop one shots #bts requests #kpop requests #bts fluff #kpop fluff #namjoon #seokjin #yoongi #j-hope #jimin #taehyung #jungkook

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cake-in-a-tin · 4 years

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Spin the bottle and the Awkwardness after pt. 2

Part 2 to this Sirius sat on the Hogwart's express trying desperately (and failing) not to stare at Remus. He'd thought last term that Remus was good looking, but now? God, his hair was cut so Sirius could see his amber eyes and long lashes (why did he find Remus' eyelashes so hot? What was wrong with him?), and the scar running through his eyebrow. He also looked like he'd been working out, or something along those lines. Whatever it was, Remus was filling out the red t-shirt he was wearing much more than he had been doing last time Sirius saw him, and he looked much more in proportion to his height.

Right now, Remus was distracting Sirius by reading his book. Yes, that's right, simply the fact that Rekus was looking concentratedly at his book, chewing his lip absent-mindedly was causing Sirius to be extremely distracted. He was trying to have a conversation with James but couldnt help staring at Remus, and being reminded of their two kisses at the end of the previous year.

Over the summer, before he had gone to stay with James, in between mealtimes, visits to the park near Grimmauld Place to hang out with the muggles from the local area (something he knew his parents would disapprove of, but did anyway for the thrill ), and letters from James and Peter, Sirius spent a lot of his tume trying to write a letter to Remus, before groaning in frustration and throwing the scrunched up parchment into the fire. Some of his rejected letters looked as follows:

Dear Remus,

Hope you’re having a lovely summer. Mine’s been pretty bloody awful, but that’s not the point.

The point is that we really did snog, didn’t we? And it was good

(”Ew no, that sounds creepy.”)

Hi Moony,

How are you doing? Been gallivanting in the Welsh hills at all recently?

Just wondering if you liked me, like, liked me. It certainly seemed like you did when we snogged last term. Well, I like you if that’s any reassurance.

(”Aahhh! That’s just weird. Pull yourself together Sirius.”)

By the time Sirius had come up with anything half decent to send to Remus, it had been far too long since they’d seen each other, and snogged each other Sirius would always add in his mind, for it to mean anything. Hadn’t it? Sirius reckoned if Remus thought anything of it he would have written over the summer, so maybe the fact he had kissed Sirius with what had felt like actual feeling was just due to the fact he was drunk and a good kisser No, Sirius, you are not going to relive that second kiss yet another time in your mind...

Still, the fact that Remus had not written or shown any time of attraction since then was not stopping Sirius from getting mightily distracted by the fact Remus was now tugging at one of his golden brown curls, his freckled, scarred cheeks flushed slightly from the heat of the train and his bottom lip captured between his teeth, brow furrowed in concentration. Sirius wished it was his lip that was captured by Remus’ teeth. Nope. Not a good thought to be having, not PG in the slightest. Oh God, stop thinking about it Sirius.

Trying to distract himself from the fact he now very much wanted to snog Remus completely senseless and bury his hands in the other boy’s curls, Sirius tried to focus on James telling himself and Peter about his week after the two of them had left his house (they had stayed for just over a week with James, but Remus had been staying with his grandparents in Wales so couldn't make it. Sirius reckoned news that this was a good thing, because he had been in Remus’ presence barely two hours and could hardly concentrate). He just about managed to keep his eyes on James as he told him about how he had been out for lunch with his favourite aunt, Andromeda.

““Free day tomorrow, isn’t it?” Peter asked, slightly out of the blue, as he sometimes did.

“Yeah I think so...” James met eyes with Sirius, looked pointedly at Remus who was still decidedly engrossed in his book, and back at Sirius, with a questioning look in his eyes that said “spoken to him yet?” Sirius made the hand signal that they had created in first year, along with a few others, that meant “tell you later.” James nodded, then said, to fill the silence he had created by trailing off, ““I wonder if they’ll be letting us go into Hogsmeade?”

““That would be good. My mum asked me to buy some stationery and other rubbish when I next go down. She says there are no quills like the ones from Hogsmeade...” Peter mused.

The rest of the train journey lasted in very much the same manner. James and Peter holding most of the conversation, Remus reading his book, only stopping to have the occasional bite of chocolate and to chat with Lily when she stopped by their compartment, and Sirius staring at Remus, restraining himself from pushing the werewolf against the wall and snogging them until they were both breathless, When they finally got up to the castle, James pulled Sirius aside rather roughly by the side of his robes.

“Ow, piss off James, what the fuck?”

“Shut up you’re fine. Now, what is going on between you and Moony? Have you even spoken to him since you both kissed so passionately?” He wiggled his eyebrows at Sirius she snorted and turned slightly red.

“No, I have not spoken to him,” James rolled his eyes, “but he hasn’t spoken to me either!”

““Come on Padfoot. You really think Remus, Moony, who hates even asking questions in class for fear of annoying the teachers, all of whom love him dearly, that Remus is going to go out on a limb and tell you how he feels about you?”

“I-”

“Yeah, that’s right.” James was looking at him with a slightly stern expression on his face which made Sirius feel both like he was in trouble, and a wave of appreciation towards his friend. ““What are you gonna do about it then Padfoot?”

“I dunno. Talk to himI guess?”

“Oh! I know. Tomorrow I’ll go with Pete to Hogsmeade, I saw a sign over there saying we can go, and leave you and Remus the dorm to yourselves.”

“Okay. I have zero clues what I’m gonna say though.” James smiled at Sirius.

““You’ll figure it out.”

Sirius was so preoccupied about what on Earth he was meant to say to Remus the following morning, he barely payed attention to the sorting and Dumbledore’s speech at all, and hardly ate anything. Before he knew it they were up in their dorm and the lights were out, and Sirius was surrounvddd by the other Marauders’ deep breathing as they slept. He stared up at the scarlet canopy above his head and felt his mind wandering back to the party at the end of last term for what was like the thousandth time.

***

He was just a little bit tipsy when James had beckoned him over from where he had been dancing with Marlene and Dorcas. James has waved an empty firewhiskey bottle in his face, which confused him. Wow, it’s an empty bottle James. I want a full one dude.

“Spin the bottle.” James sang. Sirius felt his eyes widen - this was one of the reasons he loved parties. ““But-” James was still speaking (that was what he always seemed to be doing, especially at the wrong times), “with a twist.” Now Sirius was really interested.

“What kind of twist?”

“Well, I was reading this really obscure charms book, and I was messing around, and I’m pretty sure that the charm I’ve put on this bottle means that it will land on whoever the spinner is most attracted to.”

“James, you amazing man. I am forever in your debt.”

“Pads, you’ve been in my debt pretty much since we met.”

“True, true, but now I can see if Moony likes me back!”

““Exactly. And I can kiss Lily!”

And the , of course, Sirius’ spin had landed on Remus, as expected and what Sirius had been hoping for happened. Remus’ spin landed on him. And... well, it was pretty obvious why very soon afterwards.

***

The morning cane much too soon for Sirius’ personal preference. Could Dumbledore not put a spell on everything that meant mornings lasted about two hours more! Alas, James and Peter were locked in a fierce game of something that seemed to consist of throwing balled up socks at one another. Whatever it was, it was extremely loud and had rudely awoken Sirius and, from the muffled stream of swear words coming from his bed, Remus as well.

“Well,” James announced as he and Peter finally ended their ferocious battle, ““Pete and I are off to Hogsmeade. I assume we’ll see you two down there at some point.”

““Yeah, at some sensible time not fucking three am or whatever it is right now.”

“Ah, good ,o ring to you as well dear Moony.” And with that and a wink at Sirius, James and Peter left the dormitory, discussing something to do with quidditch Sirius thought.

It was weirdly quiet now that the other two had left, and Sirius supposed he should probably have that conversation he’d promised James he’d have. Remus has drawn the curtain of his beam and Sirius was impressed at his ability to act casual when he turned around to face the other boy, as in reality he was going just a little crazy at the sight of Remus just woken up. His eyes were half closed, those freaking eyelashes resting on his cheeks, and his hair messy from sleep.

““Hey, Remus?” Sirius guessed he should probably just go for it.

“Mmhm?”

“Um... we should probably talk.” Remus’ eyes shot open at this, and met Sirius’.

“About last term?”

“Yeah...” Sirius fiddled with his duvet to give his hands something to do.

“I-”

“So-”

They both started talking at the same time.

“Shall I go first? Remus offered. Sirius nodded, grateful to be able to see what Remus had to say before he completely embarrassed himself, as he had warrant to do with feelings.

““I just wanted to say I’m sorry.” Remus was blushing, “I git a bit carried away, I think, because I’ve been wanting to kiss you for ages but I know you don’t feel the same way, God, why am I saying this? You go before I say anything else awful.”

Sirius was in shock. Remus had wanted to kiss him? He kind of knew, because of James’ charm, but it could have been faulty, so it was a relief to hear it from Remus himself.

“Remus, you idiot, of course I wanted to kiss you.”

“What?”

“Yeah. The bottle was charmed to land on who you’re most attracted to.”

“Oh. Oh.”

“Yeah. I wanted to kiss you then, and basically all of yesterday. I want to kiss you now Remus.” Remus stood up and slowly stepped over to Sirius’ bed, as he also stood up to meet him.

“Really?”

“God, yes.”

Then Remus’ hands were cupping Sirius’ face, and he was leaning in and pressing his lips to Sirius’. Sirius kissed him back immediately, hard. He had been thinking about this while doing nothing for way too long now. He threaded one of this hands through Remus’ honey brown curls, and put the other one on the small of his lack, pressing closer, and making the most of finally getting to kiss the other boy. Remus was putting a hand on Sirius’ neck and the other plan was still on his cheek. Their mouths were slightly open and they were so close to each other closet than Sirius ever thighs they’d be. Finally, after what felt like years but at the same time not long enough at all they pulled away, if only a few inches. Remus’ forehead was resting on Sirius’ and they were both breathing in sync.

“Why didn’t we do that sooner?” Remus asked.

“I have no idea.” Sirius stood in tiptoes slightly to press another, shift kiss to Remus’ lips, which he returned.

““Remus?”

““Yeah?”

““Would you like to be my boyfriend?” Sirius beamed, lost in the soft expression in Remus’ eyes.

““Why of course. That would be lovely.”

“Well, we should probably catch up with the other two then.”

Remus kissed Sirius again softly and sighed.

“Yeah, I suppose. This is to be continued though.”

Needless to say, when Sirius and Remus walked into the Three Broomsticks hand in hand, grinning, James was extremely excited. Peter had an expression that read ‘‘of course” on his face, and Remus and Sirius just looked at each other, grinned and shared a quick kiss, happy to be able to do so without needing an excuse.

#wolfstar #sirius x remus #sirius black #remus x sirius #remus lupin #spin the bottle #part 2

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missnmikaelson-main · 4 years

Text

National Anthem 2. June 4, 2020 - Part One

She clutched the yellow legal pad to her breast and leaned back, propping her heel on the wall. With her weight balanced on one leg in a state of semi relaxation she ignored the myriad of noises that filled campaign headquarters in favour of the small television mounted in the corner above. Someone had helpfully turned the volume up, but she still had to strain her ears.

And if anyone asked she was making mental notes for the follow up article. She was not under any circumstances listening to the rise and fall of his voice and thinking about the very fine figure he cut in his suit.

Nope.

That was not what was happening.

Notes would have sold that story better, not that there was a story to tell, but if anybody asked she could easily cite the clearly labeled folders on her laptop since driving Caroline crazy only ever extended to her desk and packing habits.

She could have recited his platform in her sleep.

And if she bit her lip it was because she wanted to commit the televised interview to memory. It was not because he liked to gesture with his hands and she couldn’t stop thinking about the way those long fingers liked to deliberately graze her palm at every turn.

Nope.

Her skin was not tingling with memory.

She was not subtly rubbing her thighs together because three nights ago they sat beside each other at a dinner where she gleefully let him tease her and ruin yet another pair of underwear. She was not imagining those hands stealing under her skirt.

And she was not conjuring up wild dreams of what they could do to each other if they ever managed to get a little privacy.

Okay…

Maybe she was thinking about that last one, but in her defence it had been three months. Three damn months had passed since she joined the campaign trail. Three months had trickled by with all the speed of poured molasses while they flirted, while they teased, while he strung her higher than a kite.

“Many comments are being made on your accent.”

She tuned into the onscreen interview again as they wound down and approached the human interest portion that the entire country denied they eagerly awaited, though as far as juicy gossip went this morsel wasn’t that good.

“I’ve heard a few of them,” Kol chuckled.

And damn that laugh did things to her.

“According to all of my sources you were born in Northern Virginia, contrary to some commenters suggestions that you were not.”

“I can guess where those rumours came from.”

Elena could guess too. There were some opponents who thought they could knock him out of the presidential race by insinuating he wasn’t actually American, and she knew precisely which one. She also knew that the one starting that rumour knew how false it was.

“… but I assure you, Mark, I’m as American as you.”

“Can I ask how you came by the accent?”

“It’s not much of a story,” Kol shrugged, smiling that damn adorable smile that made him look so much younger. “My parents wanted the best education for us…”

“More like wanted you out of the house,” Elena muttered so low nobody could hear. She was still upset with Mikael and Esther’s decision twenty years after they ripped apart her childhood friendship. Luckily she got to reconnect with Rebekah and after everything they were stronger than before, but there had been years where she missed the blonde like crazy and thought their letter correspondence wouldn’t sustain them.

“They sent my siblings and I to an elite boarding school in the United Kingdom when we were young. Each of us attended until graduation and all of my siblings with the exception of one of my older brothers caught the accent. Haven’t been able to shake it. We often joke about it actually. Elijah never lost his own accent, yet he spent more time in the UK than any of us.”

She tried to hear Kol’s signature ‘darling’ with a heavy southern drawl and giggled.

“Something funny Elena?”

Her eyes snapped to the campaign manager and she shook her head. “Nah Josh, I’m just imagining Kol with a Virginian accent.”

“As fun as that sounds,” he rolled his eyes, “don’t you have an article to write. I’m sure your publication isn’t paying you to stand around and watch the news.”

“It’s already written,” she waved one hand.

“Including the new information you just heard?”

“That’s hardly knew information,” Elena shrugged, straightening up. “The Mikaelson siblings attended Westminster School London and spent summers and holidays at the family mansion in Mystic Falls, Virginia. Before that they each attended Mystic Falls Elementary School.”

“That’s more information then the Senator has ever given,” his eyes narrowed.

“Yeah, well,” Elena tucked her hair behind her ear, “he also has never said he once set off a glitter bomb in his little sister’s bedroom during a slumber party and put frogs in his oldest brother’s cereal.” She had no issue telling the tales of his pranks to Josh. Outside of the polaroids she kept in a shoebox under her childhood bed there was no physical proof and even if the stories got out they would only serve to make him appear endearing.

And she did not think he was endearing.

Nope.

She was not still laughing about the things he used to do in the summers before growing up. She was not thinking about the time he dumped Klaus’ paints over Rebekah’s hair and looked at her when she tried not to laugh.

“Is he giving you exclusive interviews or something?” Josh’s brows rose.

Phantom hands grasped her hips as ghostly touches grazed the column of her throat. She would not label that an interview, no matter how telling it was.

“I’m from Mystic Falls,” she explained. “His sister is one of my best friends and technically I’ve known him since I was five.”

“I take it your editor didn’t know that.”

“Not the details,” Elena tilted her head. From the corner of her eye she saw the interview wrapping up and turned her head to catch the last question.

“Anyone new in your life?” The way the question was phrased made it very clear what was really being asked.

“I meet new people on a daily basis with the campaign trail, but I sense that’s not the question you’re asking.”

“You got me. There’s been a lot of curiosity lately.”

Lately was an understatement. People had been snooping around since his last long term relationship; not that Mary could really be considered long term.

“So anyone new?”

“No,” Kol’s eyes flickered beyond his interviewer and directly into the camera until she felt certain he knew he held her gaze, “there is nobody new.”

Elena ducked her head and stared at the empty legal pad, hoping her hair covered whatever blush stained her cheeks. “I should go get to work.”

She slipped into a dimly lit hallway and shut the door, leaning against it as she did. She had just managed to get her heart under control when a smooth voice interrupted what she had thought to be solitude.

“Do my eyes deceive me, or are we finally alone?”

Her skin tingled as he moved closer and stopped a few inches away. She felt his body heat before she looked up through her eyelashes.

“It’s the main hallway in a major campaign headquarters,” she whispered, and her fingers were not smoothing down his tie. “I wouldn’t count on being alone for long.”

“Oh,” he sighed, “so I don’t have enough time to wrap you around my body and have my wicked way with you.”

“Probably not,” she meant for her voice to be exasperated, but it may have come out breathless as she imagined digging her heels into lower back and her fingers into his perfectly styled hair.

She cleared her throat and found her voice - the one that wasn’t indicative of the hot mess he made of her insides.

“I would hate to be the one caught defiling the baby of the house.”

“I hate that that name stuck.” He groaned, chuckling as he covered her hip with his hand.

“That’s what you get for being the youngest member ever elected,” she teased, moving her hand to smooth a non-existent wrinkle from his suit.

“There are younger members than me now.” His gaze flickered between her laughing eyes and parted lips.

“Maybe,” she conceded, “but you’re the youngest ever, and it doesn’t help that you look young.”

“You’re not about to call me boyish are you?”

She shrugged, smiling from ear to ear. “You look it in every interview. Young,” she reached up, trailing a finger over his jaw, “fresh faced… boyish…”

“I assure you darling,” he caught her wrist, twisting it to press a hot kiss to the sensitive skin, “that there is nothing remotely ‘boyish’ about me.”

“Really?” She shivered, letting her legal pad fall. It hit the floor with a soft thud. “Cause I have this picture in my head of a scrawny kid switching out the sugar for salt and catching a picture of his big brother’s faces.”

“Scrawny?” He gasped, mock offence etched in every inch of his face.

“Thin arms,” she nodded, “bony knees, and hair that sticks up in every direction. And of course that constant smirk that said trouble. I’m sure you remember me just as fondly.”

“I see a little girl with perfect curls and huge brown eyes, somehow always looking like a doll. Until she fell in the mud, anyway. I don’t recall you ever being scrawny.”

“You were at an elite boarding school and missed that phase,” her eyes sparkled. “And I remember you pushing me in the mud.”

“Technically I pulled,” he tilted his head. “You pushed me.”

“You pushed Rebekah,” she smiled, “I had to avenge my friend. And you were really skinny, so easy to push.”

“I assure you darling,” his voice dropped half an octave as he pressed her palm to his abdomen, “there’s nothing scrawny about me now.”

And she did not bite her lip because she could feel those abs that were still oh so lickable.

“Shall I show you?” Amusement danced in his eyes.

“Here?” Her fingers hooked in his belt loops. “And have the future President arrested for public indecency? Press will have a field day.”

“Only if we get caught,” he breathed, catching her chin with his finger.

His nose brushed hers and it would have been nothing to close that last inch, but before she could a door clicked down the hall and they were forced to separate.

He cleared his throat when there was a respectable distance between them and caught her dark eyes. “I can’t believe you’d bring all that up.”

“That’s what happens when you surround yourself with not new people,” she winked, hurrying to walk around him.

++++

She hooked her right leg over her left after toeing off the heel. It wasn’t like the bottom of her shoes were filthy, but there was always the chance that enough dust had collected to leave a telling line, and she couldn’t have that. Physical evidence wasn’t the point of teasing.

“So Elena,” Josh caught her attention from across the table, “did you get your article finished?”

“Almost,” she smiled her sweetest smile. In that moment, at this dinner, Josh was her new best friend, even if he didn’t know it. The seat he had snagged was the one she normally took, and while her skin ached for the covert touches that left her panting and barely able to string a sentence together sitting across the table had its own unique advantages.

And he was about to experience first hand what he had spent three months putting her through.

“I’ve got a couple of things left to proofread and then it goes off to my editor,” she cut a small piece off her chicken and popped it in her mouth.

“And I suppose you threw a few of those other details in,” he grinned, taking a drink.

“Other details,” Kol cocked an eyebrow, “what sort of details?”

“The truly sordid ones,” she let her eyes flicker over his features.

“What did you tell him?” His eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“She might have mentioned a glitter bomb, and something about frogs,” Josh laughed. “You didn’t tell me you two knew each other.”

“Elena and I go way back,” Kol took a drink.

“We do,” she nodded, letting her toes make contact with his thigh. The response she got was priceless and as close to dropped composure as she would ever get in public, and she wanted to make his eyes pop open again. “Kol and I go all the way back to knobby knees and skinned elbows.”

He swallowed and caught her ankle, but her flexible toes curled and gently stroked his length.

“Knobby knees, huh?” Josh leaned an elbow on the table.

“I refuse to believe I ever had knobby knees,” Kol shook his head, a fond smile on his lips. He brought his hand up to the table and focused on cutting his food into bitesized pieces.

And if he held the knife a little tighter then strictly necessary nobody mentioned it.

Just like she didn’t mention how feeling him harden beneath her toes was having the same effect his hand had on her thigh.

“Deny all you like Mikaelson,” she bit the corner of her bottom lip, “but I’ve got pictures.”

“Let this be a lesson to you Josh,” his brow lowered as he caught Elena in his gaze, “never start a potentially life long friendship with a journalist.” He turned, giving his campaign manager a quick wink as he stage whispered. “They keep everything.”

“And twenty-eight years later write a tell-all detailing the time he pelted me with paint filled water balloons,” she raised her glass in salute.

“In defence,” he held out his hands, “the paint was water based and it was really hot that day.”

“I was wearing white,” she gasped with a dramatic little shriek. And no, she was not thinking about her retaliation and the way the coloured water had beaded on his bare chest. “Everybody could see through my sundress.”

“I replaced that dress…”

“Because Rebekah made you,” her eyes sparkled while her toes applied a light pressure to his length.

“And you were wearing a bathing suit underneath,” he leaned across the table, gesturing to her with his fork, “it’s not like anybody saw your underwear.”

“How old were you two when this happened?” Josh tilted his head.

“They had to have been kids,” Marcel joined in, grinning from ear to ear on Kol’s other side. “Must have been back when you had those knobby knees.”

“I don’t know,” Cami tilted her head, casting her eyes from Kol to Elena. “Water balloons sounds more like adolescent antics, maybe pre-adolescent.”

Dishes clinked as a busboy scurried behind them.

“Well,” Marcel prompted.

“Oh,” Elena tipped her head back in thought. It had been so long ago, but she distinctly remembered the warm tingling feeling that she had not gotten when he tore off his soaked t-shirt. “When was that?”

“It was after that year you shot up four inches and started dating that Salvatore,” he supplied, mouth twisting on the name.

“Right,” Elena nodded. “I was seventeen, and you were nineteen,” she levelled her fork in his direction and turned her head towards Cami. “I’m guessing that’s a little old to be pelting the baby sister and her besties with water balloons.”

“A little,” Cami laughed. “Tell me you at least gave as good as you got.”

“Oh, I gave,” she grinned, pressing down with her toes. His thigh clenched under her heel. “Rebekah, Caroline and I got hold of his ammunition and drenched him from head to toe,” she lifted her eyebrows. “Then he shoved Rebekah in the pool.”

“I was out of water balloons,” he shrugged.

Elena was pretty sure she saw his jaw pull with strain, so she eased the pressure and reigned it in to the lightest of touches that resulted in little more than a tickle; and dammit, if that tickle didn’t travel straight up her own leg.

“Water balloons, frogs, glitter…” Marcel tilted his head.

“Don’t forget the sugar/salt incident,” Elena chimed in.

“So, what I’m hearing,” Marcel leaned back and steepled his fingers, “ is that you were that kid.”

“What kid?” Kol’s brows lowered, but the smile stayed on his lips.

“A little shit,” Cami supplied, and from anyone else it probably would have come off as an insult but the psychologist said it with affection.

“I was not a little shit,” Kol scoffed.

“I’ve got a handful of people on speed dial who can confirm that you were,” Elena grinned, making to reach for her cell phone.

“Leave my siblings out of this,” he rolled his eyes, “and I’ll admit that I maybe, just maybe, I was that kid.”

“You were that kid,” she tilted her head, “and the only reason you wanna leave Rebekah out of it is because she’ll tell stories from boarding school that prove my point. Also I’ve got more than your siblings; Bonnie and Caroline would gladly take the stand.”

“How has none of what you know found its way to the masses?” Marcel shook his head.

“Because we’re friends,” Kol kept his eyes on Elena.

“Surprising after everything, that I assume is just the tip of the iceberg,” Cami waved a hand between them, “you did to her.”

“Like I said,” Elena smirked, “I always gave as good as I got. And it wasn’t all bad.”

“No?” Josh toyed with his water glass.

“Nah,” she nodded. “He did help me study for my SATs and stepped in when my escort pulled a disappearing act during the town pageant.”

“Did you win?” Marcel asked.

“My friend Caroline did,” Elena shook her head. “She was more qualified, though I think Kol’s abysmal dancing is what really knocked me out of the running.”

“Excuse me,” he scoffed, “I’m a wonderful dancer. And I think I excelled at the near touch,” his fingers traced the air just above her ankle, “and flirting with the eyes.”

“You sound like Mrs. Lockwood,” she laughed. “He also taught me how to cook a decent meal that wouldn’t give my boyfriend food poisoning.”

“If I’d known back then that it was for Salvatore,” his mouth twisted again, “I wouldn’t have bothered.”

“I take it you didn’t like this boyfriend,” Marcel caught the second grimace.

“Salvatore?” Cami mused. “Damon Salvatore? Your opponent?”

“Those two have been competing for years,” Elena took a drink of water, “but it was Damon’s younger brother Stefan.”

“Not that I liked Damon much either,” Kol swirled his drink in his glass. “He always looked at you in a way that I didn’t like.”

“You almost sound jealous,” Cami laughed.

“Damon was an ass,” Elena blinked slowly. Something had gone down between one of her best friends and Damon, and though Caroline never went into details about it she had gotten the sense that it was really bad. The second her friend told her she had broken things off with him and was happy she hadn’t been involved long enough to gain deep feelings. He was the definition of a two-faced politician and the basis for her rule.

She was pretty sure that rule was out the window; assuming it had even gone with her onto the bus.

“Speaking from experience?” Cami tilted her head.

“Two dates, and during each one he ordered for me,” her eyes narrowed at the memories. She had given him a second chance after the first date went badly, blaming it on what she thought were first date jitters, but after the second when she had opened up to Caroline and let the name, that her best friend confirmed was the ass from high school, out she stopped taking Damon’s calls. “Let me correct myself. Damon is an ass.”

“Bring it into the present tense,” Marcel nodded.

“Something about that guy’s face in interviews just makes me cringe,” Josh agreed.

“Might I suggest a toast to knocking him out of the race,” Elena raised her glass.

“I’ll drink to that,” Kol clinked glasses with her, holding her gaze over the crystal as everyone drank.

“Shouldn’t you actually knock him out of the race first?” Cami asked, reaching for her own glass and staring at the wine.

“Here’s to soon knocking him out of the race,” Elena amended.

Her abdomen clenched with the whispered promise in his eyes. She thought maybe, just maybe, her words referred to more than politics.

Dinner continued with a side of light teasing through dessert until she had to lower her foot and replace her shoe. She rose from the table in a single, fluid, motion with the rest of the party and had to bite her cheek to keep her smirk hidden when Kol remained in his seat.

“Are you coming, or spending the night at the restaurant?” Marcel cocked his head to the side.

“Just finishing my drink, mate.” The look he shot her promised torment as he reached for his glass.

“Looks more like you're nursing it,” Elena said, licking her bottom lip. She lifted her jacket from her chair and slipped it on.

“Well, darling, this bourbon is amazing,” he sipped the amber liquid and made a show of appreciating it. “Truly astounding.”

“Enjoy it then,” Josh rolled his eyes and laughed while gesturing towards Cami and Marcel, “we’ve got competitor speeches to go over.”

“And by that, he means that I do,” Cami winked at Elena. “Got to find their weak points.”

“So what do these two do?” Elena stage whispered, pointing rather obviously to the pair of them.

“Verbally insult the competition, drink expensive liquor and make my job ten times harder and infinitely more fun.” She shrugged her shoulders and smiled. “It’s not a bad way to spend a Thursday evening. You wanna join us?”

“While that sounds like it would be highly amusing, and the chance to insult Damon Salvatore with like minded people is always welcome, I’ve actually got a little work of my own to finish up.”

“Then perhaps you’d like to drive with me instead,” Kol suggested. He stood from the table and folded his jacket over his arm to hold in front of his body while everyone watched Elena for a reaction.

“You’re gonna go way out of your way to drop her off at her hotel?” Marcel tilted his head.

Elena smiled softly.

“Since we’ve been in Washington the last few days and we’ll be here for at least another week, Rebekah offered me her apartment so I didn’t have to stay in a hotel. And since I was getting really sick of take out I jumped at the chance to have a full kitchen again.”

“And it had absolutely nothing to do with the king size bed, rain shower and jacuzzi tub,” Kol cocked an eyebrow.

“I never denied the tub was a draw,” she bit her lip as she smiled. “That thing would fit three people in it and has this sort of waterfall feature,” she looked at Cami while waving her hand in a sweeping arc. “Plus Bekah’s got the most amazing selection of scented candles, bubble baths and epsom salts, plus wine that I am encouraged to drink.”

“Damn,” Cami breathed, casting her blue eyes to Kol. “Do you think I can stay at your sister’s place? It beats my airbnb.”

“And the hotel by a mile,” Elena nodded.

“You’d have to take that up with Rebekah,” he nodded to Cami, “and it’s not out of my way. It’s very much in my way.”

“Rebekah lives on the floor below him,” Elena explained, “at least when she’s in town.”

“In that case, I guess we’ll leave you in Kol’s capable hands,” Marcel clapped him on the shoulder.

Elena lifted her eyes to stare up at the chandelier and bit her lip. “I suppose that would save me the cab, or asking any of you to go out of your way.”

“Elena,” Kol offered his arm, nodding to the others as they said goodbye.

She tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow and set off through the restaurant at a sedentary walk. Ahead of them Marcel held open the door for Cami. Josh stepped out last and the three of them disappeared down the street.

They weren’t far behind them and Kol steered her to walk up the street.

“Where did you park?” She rubbed her fingers in tight circles, feeling the tension in his coiled muscles.

His only answer was to take a sharp step to the left. He pulled her with him, yanking her almost violently to his body as his mouth covered hers hungrily.

And if another option existed outside of submitting to the cruel ravishment of her mouth she didn’t see it. And quite frankly she wasn’t sure she would have taken it because the way his tongue dominated hers made her toes curl in her high heels.

Not that he was affecting her.

Nope.

And she wasn’t clinging to his shirt for dear life.

Through her jacket she felt the impact of stone and the scratch of brick snagging her hair. The kisses shifted from punishing to searching, and she moaned into his mouth.

He ground against her hip and it was not having an affect on her.

No siree, no affect whatsoever.

She was most definitely not aroused enough to be dripping.

At least that was the story if Rebekah got wind of the incident and asked. But when he kissed her she definitely kissed him back, if only to see what it was like.

Why had it taken them so long to kiss?

Of course that excuse only worked the first time. She couldn't rationalize or deny how she carded her fingers through his short hair and hooked her leg around his waist.

She gasped for air, letting it fill her burning lungs the moment he pushed her further into the wall.

She had a sinking suspicion she would merge with the building material if she didn't merge with him and merging with him sounded like more fun.

“Kol,” she panted, biting her bottom lip.

He bit her throat in response, and that did get a response she could never deny. Her throaty moan could not be written off.

There was also going to be a mark on her throat.

Thank God for Caroline's obsessive packing that resulted in half a dozen stylish scarves.

“Kol,” she whimpered, rolling her hips. His length pressed deliciously against her. “I should really get back.”

“That eager to get away?” He growled, and damn if it didn't make her want to rip off his pristine white shirt and use that freaking tie to shut him up for a while. On second thought she might need two; one for his mouth and one for his hands.

Then again, she could use his belt for his hands. Or his tie for his hands and her ruined panties to shut him up; he’d probably love knowing just what he did to her body.

“I've got some work to do,” she ground down. Her hand held the back of his neck as she breathed hotly against his ear. “I thought you could look over my article.”

“Is that what you want me to look over?” He nipped at her ear.

“Amongst other things.”

@kol-and-elena-fanfiction @elejahforever @elejah-wonderland @cry-btch @geekofmanyfandoms @morsmornte @xanderling @bellemorte180 @iw1shiknew @blndbandt

#kol mikaelson #Elena gilbert #kolena #marcel gerard #camille o'connell #josh rosza #the vampire diaries #the originals #national anthem fanfic

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masquerade-reimagined · 4 years

Text

Right! So! Here’s that 💎Dirty 30 💎I was talking about the other day. Sorry that it’s the only thing I have to offer right now. Finding time to write has been difficult, as I haven’t had really any time to myself and I’m someone who desperately needs time apart from other humans in order to maintain my sanity. You would think this whole social distancing thing would be right up my alley, but that requires not being stuck in one place with the same people all day every day.

I also find it exceptionally awkward to write basically anything with my boyfriend sitting a foot away from me. Which is where he decided he needed to be most of this past week, for… whatever reason. I dunno.

Anyway. Whether or not this specific scene will make it into a chapter, I don’t know. I’m inclined to believe these will more accurately be exercises for me to gauge Kayde’s, shall we say, understanding of his emotions. This one, for example, is definitely not the first dream he has of Adrasteia, so don’t consider this as an immediate follow-up for Chapter 2. Or even 3. This is probably just before the Tournament of Flowers, or whatever the crap they call the joust, (y’know, Chapter… something or other), when he’s had the opportunity to get to know her better on a personal level, but hasn’t fully accepted the idea of being in love with her.

Here’s what you’ll find here:

NSFW content told through mostly suggestive language. (I haven’t decided how adult the language will get. Any opinions?) 18+

As with everything else on this blog, it’s M!Kayden x MC.

This is a dream, folks. It’s not an “actual” sex scene. How these two will behave when the time actually comes might be very different.

Microsoft Word tells me it has a count of about 2400 words, because nothing I write is short.

I don’t actually tag the people I’m supposed to. I’m horrible. Sorry.

These characters are not my own and are property of Pixelberry Studios but I’m not making any money off of this, so who cares?

It’s all behind the cut.

The sun streaked in through a gap in the flimsy curtains covering the window, the concentrated beam falling directly across Kayde’s face. He blinked blearily, rubbing the sleep out of the corners of his eyes. Pulling the sheets back and he started to get up when a slender arm reached over and pulled the curtains closed.

“It’s far too early,” the arm’s owner said sleepily, her low, sultry voice deliciously familiar. The woman snuggled her naked body against his, resting her arm across his chest. Her gentle breath was warm on his shoulder. He looked down at her, noting the way the red in her dark hair blazed like fire in the early morning sunlight.

He smiled and turned his face to kiss her softly on her forehead.

“It is early,” he agreed, gently lifting her arm and climbing out of the bed. “But I have to get to the palace.”

He crossed the short distance to his closet and began to prepare his clothes for the day. He could hear as she slipped out of the bed and padded lightly across the room. She wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed her lips against his back between his shoulder blades. Closing his eyes, he reveled in her nearness, the way she felt pressed against him, nothing between them but a narrow strip of air.

“Are you sure I can’t convince you to leave a little later?” she purred, her lips still against the skin of his back. She ran her hands over the muscles of his stomach and lower still, her nails tickling sensitive skin.

“Adrasteia,” he groaned. “You know I want to.” He sucked a breath in through his teeth as her hand reached his sex, still semi-erect from the morning. She worked her hand up and down, knowing exactly how he liked to be touched. He grabbed her wrist, stilling her.

“You have three seconds to get back into that bed before I take you right where you stand,” he growled. He released her, keeping his back to her as she ran back to the bed. She was just pulling the thin sheet over her long legs when he turned around.

He felt his chest tighten as he looked at her. God, she was beautiful. With her light brown skin, those gorgeous, expressive dark eyes, and auburn hair, which draped over her shoulders and down her back in long, silken curls.

She was sitting in his bed, her long legs curled slightly beneath her, the bedding clutched to her chest, barely covering her full breasts. He let his eyes roam over her body, then her face, finally meeting her gaze.

For a moment, they just stared at one another, both breathing heavily as the tension between them built. Then he caught a twitch at the corner of her mouth, and his eyes snapped to her lips just in time to watch his favorite smile slowly form.

He loved the way it started by pulling on just one side of her mouth, before gradually spreading across her lips. Sometimes it would grow into a grin, other times it would stop with her lips still softly closed. Either way, it drove him crazy, and he liked to think she only smiled that way for him.

She grinned at him this time, before pulling her lower lip between her teeth.

That was enough.

He reached her in two long strides and, grabbing her by her ankles, pulled her to him at the foot of the bed. She let out a surprised yelp as she slid, coming to a stop with her heels barely resting on the mattress’s edge. Resting his hands on her knees, he guided her legs apart and stood between them. She dropped the bedsheet, propped herself up on her elbows, arching her back and tilting her head to the side. Her hair fell over her right shoulder, revealing the left side of her neck, and he seized the opportunity to lean over her, pressing his lips against her smooth skin.

She sighed softly as he kissed her, working his mouth up her throat then down her jaw. When he neared her lips, she tilted her head to catch him, but he pulled away. With a wolfish grin, he ripped the sheet away and leaned over her again, gently pushing her down to the bed. She reached up, running her fingers through his hair and pulling him to her, capturing his lips with her own.

She kissed him greedily, hungrily, and he groaned when she pulled his tongue into her mouth, sucking gently. Keeping himself supported with his left arm, he trailed his right hand over her body, settling it between her legs. He wasn’t surprised to find her slick and ready for him, but he didn’t want to rush this. He would make her wait until she begged for the release she so desperately wanted.

“Someone’s eager,” he said, freeing his mouth from hers and slowly kissing his way back over her jaw and throat. She gasped when he pressed his tongue into the space above her collar bone and he chuckled low in his throat.

“This is what you do to me,” she said, practically breathless, arching into him as he moved lower, trailing feather-light kisses down her chest.

“I’ve noticed.” He brushed his lips across the mounds of her breasts. Her fingers went slack in his hair as he tended to one nipple, and then the other, licking and sucking at the sensitive bundles of nerves until they had stiffened to his satisfaction.

Gradually, he lowered himself to his knees, peppering her with kisses down the center line of her abdomen, out across the curves of her hips, before finally reaching her thighs.

“Kayde,” she said in a rough whisper as his teeth grazed the inside of her right thigh. Nothing was more erotic for him than hearing her say his name with such intense passion. If he could spend the rest of his life making her call his name like that, he would happily do so.

“Yes?” He kept his voice low, hoping the vibration against her skin would tease her further. It seemed to work, and she squirmed in place, her legs involuntarily closing around him. He pressed them back open, wider this time, and resumed his agonizingly slow descent.

Lips. Teeth. Tip of the tongue.

For serval long moments he teased her, inching closer to the place she longed for him to be, only to move away at the last second.

But she was good. She knew this game and stayed silent, save for the heavy, panting breaths she took. Oh, if she thought he would let her get away with that…

He watched her as he touched the damp heat between her legs, running his fingers over her with the lightest touch he could manage. Up, then down. Once. Twice. Three times. She shifted her hips, and he slipped inside of her for one quick moment.

“Tsk, tsk,” he chided her. “You’re getting impatient, Adrasteia.”

“You’re taking too long,” she said, and he heard the aching need in her voice.

“Mm. I know I am.”

“You’re a cruel man.”

“You asked for this,” he teased.

“I asked for you,” she said, pushing herself back up onto her elbows, her eyes finding his. The look of longing in her eyes was nearly enough to make him forget what he was intending to do to her. Nearly, but not quite. “Not to be tortured.”

“Lie down, Adrasteia,” he whispered.

“Kayde…”

“Lie. Down.” She did, and he rewarded her compliance.

Slowly, deliberately, he slipped a finger inside of her, sliding in and out until she was ready for him to add a second. Then, curling his fingers upward, he moved his hand, stroking her. It took only a moment before a low, soft moan escaped her lips, and he took that as a sign to increase the intensity of his ministrations. He returned his mouth to her inner thighs as he worked, biting gently on her tender flesh and allowing it to slip out from between his parted teeth.

Her hands found their way back into his hair and she guided him toward her middle, just above where his fingers pressed into her. He kissed her there, at her most sensitive point, and she sighed blissfully in response.

“So this is what you want from me,” he said, his lips brushing over her hot, wet skin. He didn’t wait for a reply before he buried his mouth in her, using his free hand to open her up to him, and pressing his tongue against her in just the right place. She cried out and quickly covered her mouth with her right hand, leaving the other to twist in his hair.

“No,” he said, reaching up to pull her arm down and uncover her mouth. “Don’t do that. I want to hear you.” He kissed her again and her fingers tightened in his hair. Closing his eyes, he let his tongue play over her; first in long, languid strokes, building the sensations slowly, then in quick, rapid bursts of pressure. With a sharp intake of breath, she arched her back, a long, low moan pouring out of her.

“Oh my god, yes,” she whispered, her voice strained. He felt her tighten around his fingers as he continued, bringing her closer and closer. “Yes, yes! Please, Kayde!” Her breathing was heavy and ragged. Her legs began to shake, the tension building inside of her – and then he stopped.

“Roll over.” The command came out in a ragged whisper. He stood up as she obeyed, turning onto her stomach. Taking her by the hips, he pulled her closer to him, and her feet found the rough wooden flooring.

She pushed herself off the bed, holding herself up as she shifted her hips back until she butted up against his thighs. His fingers dug into her hips as she wriggled against him. He leaned down, kissing her between her shoulder blades, just as she had done at the start. His need was evident as he pressed against her, the soft skin of her backside providing a tantalizing cushion.

He felt her heart racing in her chest as he cupped her breast, squeezing and massaging. Her head fell forward, and he kissed his way across her shoulders, raising goosebumps on her skin.

“God, you’re incredible,” he whispered, lips against her neck. “I just can’t resist you, no matter how much I try.”

“Then stop trying.”

“As my lady commands.” Trailing soft kisses down her back, he stood up slowly, his hand skating across her skin, from her breast down to her hip. Shifting back, he positioned himself between her legs, and pressed the head of his erection against her. She rocked her hips toward him and he slipped inside of her, slowly.

Words could not describe how she felt, and he gripped her hips to guide her back until he was buried in her completely. She moaned again as he filled her, clenching herself around him, and he drew a hissing breath. God damn, she was so wet. The knowledge that he had made her like this made him want her even more.

Tightening his grip on her, he pulled his hips back. “Ready?” he asked, not intending to wait for a response.

“Ye – oh!” He thrust forward as soon as she had started to reply, a low growl rumbling in his throat. She gasped, stumbling forward slightly as the force of his movement pushed her into the bed.

“Sorry,” he said with a small chuckle. “I guess it’s my turn to be impatient.”

“No,” she shook her head and shifted into a more stable position. “Keep going. Don’t stop.” Pulling back again, he repeated the motion, building a steady rhythm. She rocked back against him, taking him deeper. “Mmm, god, yes. Harder, Kayde. Please.”

Gritting his teeth, he surged forward, slamming into her with a groan of pleasure. “Damn it, Adrasteia,” he growled through his clenched teeth. “You feel so good.”

“Yes, just like that,” she said, as he thrust into her again. “Oh – oh my god.” Her breath came in gasps as he continued. “Don’t stop, please don’t stop.”

She cried out, her voice a whimpered squeak, as he picked up speed. She held out her hand, reaching for him. Careful not to hurt her, he clasped his hand around her wrist and held her arm against her lower back, stabilizing her as he moved against her. The mattress slammed against the wall with each thrust.

“Ohhh, yes,” she sighed. “I’m so close, please keep going.” He focused all of his energy on maintaining his momentum, pulling back and thrusting into her hard and quick, the sound of their bodies coming together mingling with her ecstasy fueled moans.

She was breathing more rapidly, her body tensing as she neared her peak. He secured his grip on her, holding her tightly in place as he waited for her to climax around him, the sensation sure to push him over the edge. Just a little bit longer.

“Come on, Adrasteia.”

Three. He counted down silently, preparing for release.

Two. Her breath seized in her chest, her knees locking as she rose up onto her toes. “Kayde…” she said, her voice barely a whisper.

One more, he thought, as he pulled back one last time…

There was a heavy knock on the door, and Kayde’s eyes opened slowly. His room was dim in the early morning light, the sun barely visible above the horizon. The knocking came a second time a few moments later. Kayde cleared his throat before trying to speak.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Wake up call, sir. As you requested.”

Ah. Right. “Thank you. Go get some rest.”

“Yes, sir.” Kayde could almost hear the guard salute before turning and walking away. He stayed still for a few minutes, staring up at the ceiling. Next to him, the mattress was cool.

With a sigh, he threw off the sheets and sat up, swinging his legs to the side of the bed. The wooden floor was cold beneath his feet, but he had long since grown accustomed to it.

He stood up and leaned into a long stretch, working out the stiffness in his muscles. Crossing to his closet, he dressed quickly, tugging on his boots and running his fingers through his hair to coax it into place. Opening the door, he cast one last unnecessary look toward his empty bed, then stepped out into the hallway, securing the door behind him.

#trm fanfic #trm #trm choices #trm kayden #trm kayde #the royal masquerade #choices the royal masquerade #kayden the royal masquerade #dirty 30 #kayden vescovi #kayden x mc #masquerade reimagined

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sam-bam-thank-you-maam · 4 years

Text

Early Morning Confessions - The Walking Dead (Negan x Reader)

Summary: The reader finds herself unable to sleep one night because she has realized, she is in love with her roommate. So she gets up to tell him.

Warnings: SMUT, Porn without plot, Unprotected sex.

Note: I hope you all enjoy this. I'm not sure yet if there will be more. Let me know if you want more? I may add a little bit of plot to this if I continue.I'm sorry if their are any spelling/grammar errors I edited this at 2 am when i couldn't sleep.Please don't be shy to leave a comment! Your thoughts mean the world to me and can only help me improve my writing!

_____________________

You lay in bed staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep. Taking a glance at the alarm clock on your nightstand you see 3:00 in big red numbers. Sighing you come to the realization that the reason you can’t sleep is your roommate down the hall. The man that has consumed your every thought since he moved in 8 months ago. Negan.

Sitting up you lay your head in your hands raking your fingers through your hair.

“I have to tell him.” you whisper into the darkness of your bedroom. With another sigh you toss the covers aside, getting out of bed, picking your robe up off of your desk chair and wrapping it around yourself to protect you from the nighttime chill of your house. You step into your slippers and pad gently to your door, opening it slowly to avoid it creaking.

Walking down the narrow hallway to where his room is you stop at his door, unsure. No stopping now Y/N. It’s now or never.

You briefly consider knocking, but if Negan is sleeping he won’t hear it, and surely won’t appreciate being rudely awaken. You’re waking him up either way, dumbass.

With another gentle sigh you turn the doorknob slowly, pushing the door open and stepping into the darkness of his room.

“Y/N?” his voice cuts through the silence.

“Negan. I didn’t think you’d be awake. It’s 3 in the morning.”

“Can’t sleep. What brings you here?”

“Can’t sleep.” You chuckle.

He switches the lamp on his bedside table on and pats the empty space in the bed next to him. It wasn’t uncommon for one of you to hop into the others bed at night to chat. You were basically best friends. Soulmates is more like it.

You sit down next to him, slipping your legs under the covers.

“What’s keepin’ ya up doll?” he says nudging your shoulder with his.

“Just a lot on my brain.” You shrug. Just say it Y/N! Tell him! “Uh I guess… well, uh, I-” he interrupts you by pulling you to him and crashing his lips into yours. It takes you a few seconds to realize what is happening and relax into the kiss, snaking your arms around the back of his neck and knotting your fingers into his hair. The hand he has resting on your check glides around to the back of your neck, while the other hand travels down to your waist to pull you in closer.

He pulls you over to sit astride his lap, letting out a soft groan when you roll your hips, making yourself comfortable on his lap, your lips never parting. One of his hands finds your hip, pulling your hips tight to his, while the other hand finds the tie on your robe.

You break apart from the kiss, foreheads pressed together, the room silent, except for your heavy breaths.

“Let’s get rid of this, shall we?” Negan mutters with a smirk as he pulls on the tie, loosening your rode and letting it fall from your shoulders. You slip your arms out of the material tossing it to the side. Your small hands find their way to his broad shoulders and it’s then that you realize that he isn’t wearing a shirt.

Your eyes trail down his chest, your fingertips following suit, tracing curves through the dark hair, across to the skull tattoo, grazing over top of one nipple, then across to the other, finally pressing your hand flat in the center of his sternum.

“Negan…” you whisper, your lips millimeters away from each others.

“Shh Y/N. I know baby, I love you too.” You let out a sigh of relief that you didn’t know you were holding and press your lips to his gently. He breaks the kiss to trail more across your cheek to your ear, “I’ve loved you since the moment you gave me a key to the house, doll.” he whispers before trailing more kisses down your neck to your collarbone. He flattens his hands out along your sides, under your camisole and slides his hands up your rib cage, taking the garment with. You lift your arms up so that he can pull your top off and toss it aside with your robe.

His eyes lock in on your breasts for a moment before he bites his bottom lip and squeezes his eyes shut.

“Fuck, I could look at your tits all day.” he says pushing his hips up into yours, his sizable erection giving you delicious friction at your center. He opens his eyes, warm hazel eyes gazing into your (E/C) eyes, and maintains eye contact as he dips his head to place a kiss on your nipple. His hot tongue pokes out to trace circles around the hardened bud, causing it to harden further and you shiver.

He wraps his plump lips around your nipple, sucking hard, and you let out a gasp, arching your back and pushing your chest into him. He chuckles before giving the bud another soft kiss and moving over to the other to give it the same attention.

Your hands find their way back into his hair and you pull his face back up to yours to kiss him again, his tongue snaking its way into your mouth.

He pushes his pelvis up into yours again, and this time you roll your hips back, grinding your core into him, searching for that warm friction again. His arms come to wrap around your waist, one hand grabbing your ass, and you keep grinding your hips against his.

“Negan” you rasp “Please!”

“What do you need, baby?” he slurs with a dirty smirk. His fingertips trace the waistband of your pajama shorts teasingly.

“You. Now!” you whimper grinding your hips into his harder for emphasis.

“Don’t have to ask me twice.” He chuckles before gripping your hips and flipping you onto your back, leaving you breathless.

You wrap your arms around him, your hands exploring the strong muscles of his back as he dips in for another kiss. He grinds his erection into your core and moan softly into his mouth. He kisses his way down your body, leaving teasing licks and bites here and there, Dipping his tongue into your navel before leaving small kisses from one hipbone to the other along the waistband of your shorts.

“Mmm lets get rid of these.” he says as he pulls your shorts down your legs swiftly, leaving you only in your pale green cotton panties. He places a soft kiss to your mound through your panties and you arch your hips up into him. He trails a finger up and down your center slowly, grinning. “As cute as these are, they gotta go too doll.” He hooks his fingers into them and peels them down your legs achingly slow, sitting back on his heels.

He brushes his hands from your knees to your ankles, before wrapping his slender fingers around one ankle, lifting your leg to place a kiss to the bone there. Then trailing kisses up your calf and over your knee, stopping mid-thigh to move over to your other ankle and repeat his ministrations.

When he finally, and slowly makes his way to the top of your thigh, you’re nearly trembling with your desire for him. He places a feather-light kiss on your pubic bone, looking up at you as he drags a finger through your folds.

“So wet baby. You’re practically dripping for me.” he drops another kiss to the top of your mound “Can I taste you Y/N?” he says with a grin, his tongue flicking over his bottom lip before he sinks his teeth into it. You nod frantically, threading your fingers into his hair and arching your hips up towards him. “Don’t mind if I do.” He slurs before licking a long stripe from your sodden entrance to your swollen clit, swirling his tongue around it a few times.

He suctions his lips around you and slips a finger into your core, curling it upwards, and you suck in a sharp breath. He makes smooth circles around your clit with his tongue, while he presses a second finger into you.

When he picks up the pace; tongue flicking over your clit faster, and fingers pistoning in and out of your sodden center; you let out a low moan and your fingers tighten in his hair. He adds a third finger, angling them, so they hit that sweet spot, and that is your undoing.

“Oh god! Negan!” you cry out, your back arching, toes curling, and your body trembling in pleasant agony.

He kisses, licks and strokes you through your orgasm until your body’s trembling stills, then kisses his way back up your body, placing a chaste kiss on your lips.

“Ready for round two doll?” he says with a cat-like grin, pressing his erection against your inner thigh.

“Yeah…” you hum, your hands exploring the expanse of muscle on his back and your legs wrapping around his hips to pull him closer.

He turns his attention to the swell of your breast, where he places a few kisses, then reaches down between the two of you to take his length into his hand and stroke himself a few times, before teasing his tip at your entrance. He teases the tip of his cock up and down your center, making you squirm, before dipping into your core smoothly and bottoming out.

You both let out a sigh at the feeling of him seated deep inside your heat. Your hands find their way to his shoulders as he leans down to kiss you deeply, and pulls out of you before thrusting back in at an achingly slow pace.

He slips his hand under one of your knees and pulls it up towards you so that the back of your knee rests in the crook of his elbow. This changes the angle, and he pushes into you deeper, hitting your g-spot with every thrust, and somehow you feel that familiar heat building again.

This slow, delicious torture goes on for a few more minutes before your body is shaking, wound so tightly like a rubber band ready to snap. But it’s not quite enough, you need something more.

“Negan!” you whimper. He presses his lips to your pulse point before locking eyes with you.

“What do you need baby?” he murmurs, his rhythm never faltering.

“I- I need… more! Faster please!” you grip his shoulders, hanging on for dear life, and he grins at you before gliding his fingertips from your hip to your ankle, pushing it towards you further and bringing your ankle to rest on his shoulder. He keeps eye contact with you as he sits back on his knees, strong hands gripping your hips, and fucks into you at a brutal pace. Your mouth drops open in a soundless cry and your back arches of the bed as you scramble for something to hold onto, something to keep you grounded. Your hand finds Negan’s on your hip, and he laces your fingers together tightly.

He brings his free hand to the center of your thighs, fingertips finding the little bundle of nerves there.

“Come on Y/N, give it to me. Come for me baby.” he grits out between thrusts, sweat beginning to bead at his temples.

His words are your undoing and you crumble beneath him, shattering into a million pieces. You cry out his name as your vision goes white, eyes squeezed shut tightly, and he follows close behind you, moaning your name as he stills above you, spilling white-hot ropes into you.

When you come down from the orgasmic high, your body feels like jello, and Negan collapses on top of you, your leg falling from his shoulder as he buries his face into the crook of your neck.

“Holy shit.” you whisper, combing your fingers through his now damp hair.

“Yeah, Holy shit doll.” he breathes into your neck, placing a kiss to your shoulder.

He rolls off of you and onto his back before pulling you into his chest and reaching over to switch the lamp off. He lets out a satisfied sigh as you cuddle into his side, head resting on his chest and one leg slung over his, and tightens his arm around you.

“Hey Negan?” you whisper into the darkness.

“Yeah doll?” he murmurs, stroking his fingers over your arm.

“Can I finish saying what I was trying to say earlier?”

“Yeah.” he chuckles, and even though it's dark, you can tell he’s wearing that signature smirk.

“I love you Negan. I really truly love you. I have for quite some time.”

“I love you too, Y/N.” he places a kiss to the top of your head.

“So what does this mean now?” you ask tracing patterns in the soft hair decorating his firm chest.

“It means, you’re fucking mine doll.” he growls squeezing you tighter.

You smile and lift your head up to kiss him, and get lost in his kisses until both of you are blissfully sleeping, tangled around each other like vines.

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If you would like to be tagged in any of my future works please let me know!

#The Walking Dead #the walking dead fanfiction #Early Morning Confssions #sam writes #sam bam thank you maam #negan #negan fanfiction #negan x reader #negan twd #twd #twd fanfiction #Jeffrey Dean Morgan #JDM #jdm fanfiction #negans thirst squad #jeffrey dean morgan fanfiction

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littledarlinwrites · 5 years

Text

Love and War and Snow

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Fluffy fluff

Word Count: 1066

So it snowed here today, which lead me to watching a certain Gilmore Girls episode, which lead to this. For my dear alliebeans💕 @all1e23 I hope you love it and feel better dear! (I'll add a keep reading link when I jump on my laptop in a bit!)

You could smell it. Your window was cracked open to combat the boiling furnace in the compound, and the boiling you could feel inside your own body, to give your room some kind of equilibrium. You tossed in your sleep without Bucky there. This was his third day gone on a mission, and as you turned to reach for him in your sleep you woke to smell the scent of oncoming snow.

Everyone always looked at you a bit perplexed whenever you said you could smell the snow coming, except Clint, who seemed to understand what you meant, which you attributed to him living out of the city. You couldn't quite explain, but there was just a feeling, a smell in the air that snow was coming, and your senses haven't let you down yet. You moved to your window looking for the brightest star before closing your eyes and making a wish. Snow was always your present, but this time you were hoping for something a little extra to come with it.

You woke in the morning, your nose stuffy, your throat scratchy, chest feeling junky, and your head aching and pounding. The snow would be coming soon, and it was all to reminiscent of the first snow when you were a kid, you had a terrible ear infection and had been stuck inside your room for at least a week at that point, until one day you made a wish, for something special, something just for you, and as you woke later that night you saw giant snowflakes falling quietly from the sky. The world enveloped in a peaceful stillness. Ever since, the first snow of the season always seemed like a special gift just for you, even though logically you knew that wasn't how any of it worked at all, you just couldn't help but smile at the sense of magic of it all.

Slowly you came to your senses and made your way to the bathroom where you kept your cold medicine. If your condition got much worse you would stop and see Bruce or Dr. Cho, but for now your well stocked medicine cabinet would do.

It didn't take long before you were asleep in your bed again hair damp from a shower, fuzzy socks adorning your feet, wearing nothing else but a pair of panties and Bucky's henley, even though you couldn't smell his scent on it at the moment.

Bucky made his way into your shared quarters quietly. F.R.I.D.A.Y. had alerted him to your condition and he didn't want to wake you until he had cleaned up and made you a cup of hot chocolate.

The snow had just started falling as Bucky pulled the whistling kettle from the stove, the aroma of warm milk, vanilla, and chili powder wafting through the air before he mixed it with the chocolate powder mix he had ready for you in your favorite mug. Bucky padded his bare feet softly to your shared room where you slept. Leaning over you he pressed his lips softly against your temple. He couldn't suppress the chuckle that escaped him as he saw your face scrunch up as a drop of water fell from his hair to your cheek.

"Kitten, time to wake up. It's snowing." As soon as the last word fell from his lips he saw your eyes flutter open.

"Bucky?" Your voice scratched out before erupting into a coughing fit. Bucky's brows drew together in concern as he helped you sit up and rubbed your back soothingly as your coughing subsided.

Bucky helped you sip at the mug of hot chocolate to soothe your throat. His worrying eyes intently watching you. He knew with modern medicine you'd be right as rain in no time, but it still didn't stop his heart from constricting in worry. That bone deep anxiety that he knew would keep him by your side until you were well again. He watched as your eyes gazed around the room, first at him, then the alarm clock that side on his side of the bed, then out the window at which a small gap escaped your lips. The first snow of the season.

"Bucky! It's snowing!" You whispered in amazed glee. A soft smile made its way onto Bucky's face. He just couldn't help it, your happiness was contagious. His face fell though when you began to get out of bed, your labored breath making his heart pound in his ears.

"C'mon Buck, it's snowing!" You said excitedly as you shoved your boots onto your feet after throwing on a pair of Bucky's sweatpants.

"Kitten, you're sick, why don't we just enjoy it from here?" He said as he began to worry his bottom lip between his teeth. The dumbfounded look on your face, almost made Bucky chuckle, almost.

"But it's the first snow! It's my present, please Bucky, please! Just for a few minutes?" You begged knowing he wouldn't deny you. You could be on your deathbed, and you knew without a doubt that Bucky would carry your frail body out to enjoy the first snow.

Bucky was silent for a moment, staring into your pleading eyes his resolve crumbling.

"Fine kitten, but I want you to wear my coat and your hat and scarf, and afterwards we curl up in bed and I want you to drink another mug of hot chocolate." He quirked his eyebrow at you with his request until you answered. A smirk donning your face.

"Oh darn, cuddling my wonderful fella and hot chocolate in bed? Whatever shall I do?" This time a laugh rumbles through Bucky's chest.

"C'mon, sweet girl, before it stops snowing." Bucky ushers you towards the closet to finish getting ready.

Bucky couldn't look away from you as you stared up at the sky. You looked absolutely breathtaking, even with a flushed face and a runny nose. Your eyes were filled with happiness and wonder. A shiver ran down your spine, even though the cool air felt blissful on your heated skin. Bucky came to stand behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his chin on your head. He almost didn't hear your whisper, but his heart stuttered with happiness in understanding your words.

"My present is extra special this year, my wish came true and I got to experience it with you."

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