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harleybeaumont · 1 year

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Mardi Gras Mayhem : Chapter 10 - Tariq

Series: Mardi Gras Mayhem (click to read each one in order!)

Fandom: TRR

Pairings: none, this is a guy’s weekend

Summary: The TRR lads celebrate Maxwell’s 21st birthday in New Orleans during Mardi Gras. What could possibly go wrong?

Chapter Synopsis: Tariq stumbles into a whole new world and undergoes an unexpected transformation.

Word Count: 1,990

Rating: MA

Warning: language, sexual innuendo

This is part of a collaboration written for @choicesprompts March 2023 prompt.

Chapter 10 - Tariq

Although he was initially surprised to be invited to Maxwell’s 21st birthday party in New Orleans, Tariq was excited. He may not have much time for friends these days, what with secretly getting his degree in fashion designing, but he still enjoyed the company of his old friends. Although the clothing Maxwell chose left much to be desired. As much as it pained him, he reluctantly put on the bright purple mardi gras suit made of the most ghastly polyester blend he had ever encountered, and the t-shirt bearing the words ‘Thick thighs, Mardi Gras vibes’.

Tariq was certain that he didn’t have ‘thick thighs’ but he knew better than to argue with an overenthusiastic Lord Beaumont. At least he could wear his best footwear and maintain some sort of fashionable appearance despite the clown suit.

Tariq stayed toward the back of the group as they made their way down the colorful streets, his eyes wide as they took in the most over the top drunken bacchanalia he had ever witnessed. Suddenly he was bumped quite forcefully into a woman wearing a mesh crop top, causing his hand to graze her breast. He gasped in horror, “Oh, my.. I apologize, my lady!”

The woman steadied herself with a hand on his shoulder, “Whoa there!” Thinking he was about to be slapped, Tariq raised his arms defensively, but the woman only laughed. “If you wanted a feel, cutie, all you had to do was ask!”

Tariq felt his face turn scarlet as he stammered, “a.. a f-feel?”

The woman and her whole group of friends laughed at him as they walked away, and Tariq turned to Neville wide eyed. “Where are we?!”

Neville turned his nose up and dusted off his jacket which was equally as hideous and colorful as the rest of the groups. “I told you coming to this ghastly city was a bad idea. We could be having tea with the Earl of Descoti right now, but no!” Neville poked his finger into Tariq’s shoulder. “You had to be sentimental over our old ‘friendships’ and go along with this tasteless frivolity.”

“Right,” Tariq sighed. It hadn’t been truly difficult to convince Neville to accept Maxwell’s invitation once he heard that the princes would be in attendance. Neville never missed an opportunity to suck up to the royal family.

Tariq winced as he stepped over a mysterious puddle, not wanting to ruin his favorite Italian leather oxford shoes. “Well, we should at least attempt to enjoy ourselves while we’re here.. Make the most of it.”

Neville scoffed, “As difficult as that will be in the presence of low-born, common-.” He sneered at a couple who was sitting on the curb counting their beads. “-scum.”

Tariq had had enough of Neville. That pretentious asshole was bound to be punched in the face by someone on this trip and Tariq didn’t want to be associated with him. It was no secret that he wasn’t fond of Neville.. Hell, he didn’t know a soul who was.

Tariq jogged ahead a bit and caught up to Maxwell who was grinning like a kid in a candy store. “So are you enjoying your birthday so far?”

Max slung an arm around Tariq, “Hell ya, baby! This is gonna be the best night ever! And I’m so glad you decided to come with us!”

Tariq felt a warmth growing inside his chest. Maxwell was actually happy to have him there? He didn’t just invite him as an obligation? “I’m.. glad I came too,” Tariq smiled.

Just then a stampede of people charged through the middle of their group! Tariq jumped back, trying and failing to avoid the bare breasts which were more or less thrust into his face. “Oh dear.. Pardon me.. Oh my..” He was pushed out of the way and by the time the herd dispersed he found himself down the street without a familiar face in sight. “Oh no.. oh no no no..” He frantically scanned the area around him but through the hundreds of faces he saw, not one belonged to his friends.

Don't panic. He took out his phone and dialed each of his friends.. No answer from Maxwell, Liam, Leo, Drake, Rashad, or Bertrand.. His finger hovered over Nevilles number, but Tariq shook his head and pocketed the phone instead. He’d rather be alone than with Neville.

He walked along for a bit, trying to find somewhere safe to sit for a while and wait. Surely after a while his party would notice he was gone and call him back. He heard loud cheering from a building ahead and smiled as he realized where he was- right across the street from The Golden Lantern! He had somehow made it to their rendezvous location! Sure, he was a few hours early, but at least he could sit and wait somewhere where he knew they’d find him.

The inside of the bar was just as colorful and festive as the streets of the parade. Tariq slipped into the only empty table across from a stage. There he settled in, preparing for a long, long wait. A waitress with a shimmering red dress and a tall updo made her way over to his table with a grin.

“What can I get you to drink, sugar?”

Tariq chuckled nervously. Everyone here was so forward and he didn’t know how to handle it. “I, uh.. I’m not sure.”

She sat down at his table and batted her long eyelashes at him. “Are you alone tonight?”

“Well.. my friends are supposed to meet me here later. So I’m just waiting for them.”

She gave him a long, intense look that caused Tariq to blush and look away. “Sorry for staring,” the waitress chuckled deeply. “Your bone structure is just.. stunning.”

Tariq met her gaze with a shy smile. “It is?”

“Of course! Have you ever thought of performing?”

“Performing?”

She looked around and called another waitress over. “Rosy! Get over here!”

Rosy flounced over in a purple sequined dress placing her hands on her hips. “What is it, Coco?”

Tariq eyed Rosy’s silver high heeled shoes in awe. He cleared his throat, “I’m sorry, but are those this season’s Manolo crystal ankle slingback pumps?”

Rosy and Coco’s jaws dropped simultaneously, and the latter spoke. “I knew this boy had something special about him! Not only is he stunningly gorgeous, but he also knows fashion!?”

Tariq had never been more confused and flattered in his life. “Well.. I am actually working on a fashion degree and I have a certain affinity for designer shoes, so-”

“You treasure!” Rosy pulled Tariq up, clasping his cheeks in her gloved hands. “We have to get you backstage! He needs to meet Mystique!”

As he was escorted away from the safety of his table and led through a door labeled ‘employees only’, he found himself in a sea of sparkling dresses on hangers, feather boas, high heeled shoes, wigs, and vanities well stocked with various shades of makeup. He felt like he was backstage at a fashion show. It was beautiful.

“Ladies! Get out here!” Coco called out and several half dressed women emerged into the room.

“Oh dear! I’m so sorry!” Tariq covered his eyes and spun around, mortified. He had witnessed more nudity on this trip than he had ever seen in his life!

“What do we have here?” A deep voice asked curiously and Tariq lowered his hands. When he looked at the person in front of him he saw a six foot tall woman with broad shoulders, makeup, a wig cap, and a gold dress. To the left of them, a man was changing out of a button up shirt and into a rainbow halter top.

For the first time since he arrived, Tariq noticed how tall the waitresses on either side of him were. The more he looked around, the more he realized how tall everyone in the dressing room was.

“Oh dear,” Rosy chuckled. “I think he just now figured it out!”

Tariq looked around, feeling embarrassed by his naivety. "This is a.. a..”

“A drag show, honey!” Coco laughed.

The others chuckled and Tariq couldn’t help but join them. “Oh my.. I’m sorry I didn’t realize! You’re all just so stunning and gorgeous and-” He stopped and blushed. It wasn’t like him to give compliments and speak so freely.

“Well you are a charmer. And that accent!” A lady in a blue feather crown stepped forward.

“Mystique, we found this little cutie at a table alone. He knows his fashion and I think he would be the perfect stand in for Honey Bee tonight.”

Mystique gently took hold of Tariqs chin and tilted his head side to side before breaking into a wide sparkling grin. “I think you’re right.”

____________________________________________________________

Before Tariq even realized what was happening, he found himself seated in front of a vanity mirror. The drag queens showered him with makeup and compliments alike, and he couldn’t bring himself to protest. He had never thought about dressing in drag before, but he didn’t hate it. In fact, once he saw himself in the mirror.. He liked it.

He looked gorgeous! His eyebrows were on fleek, his lips were plump, his cheekbones were higher than the Eiffel Tower, his jawline could cut glass! When Mystique placed the long auburn wig on his head and helped him into the floral mini dress, he felt like a new person! He had never felt confidence like he did in that very moment and he couldn't help but tear up.

Mystique grabbed a tissue and quickly blotted his eyes. “Don't cry honey! You’ll ruin your makeup!”

“Sorry,” Tariq sniffled. “I just..”

“It’s ok,” she smiled. “I understand. You’re divine! Now you need a stage name..”

________________________________________________

Tariq stood just offstage with Mystique and Lulu on either side of him, preparing to go out into the spotlight. What was he even doing? Tonight felt like a dream, but he had never felt more alive. The upbeat, pop music started and the announcer spoke into the microphone. “This one is for all the ladies out there who just wanna have fun!”

Tariq tried to calm his breathing. He only had an hour prior to get made over, practice dancing in heels, and rehearse a short routine! He didn't want to get out there and make a fool of himself!

The announcer spoke again, “Put your hands together for Mystique, Little Lulu, and our newcomer, Miss Manolo!”

The three of them filed onto the stage and Tariq froze. There were dozens of patrons in the bar cheering and clapping for them. Mystique leaned in and whispered in his ear, “you got this girl! Work those Manolos!”

Tariq felt a thrill go through him and suddenly he was transformed from mild mannered Lord Tariq to the audacious Miss Manolo. Girls Just Wanna Have Fun blasted over the speakers and he completely owned that stage! Working his hips, he spun, shimmied, and even did a bit of twerking. This was the most fun he had ever had in his entire life. Maxwell was right- this had been the best night ever!

Oh no.. Maxwell and the rest of his friends! He suddenly remembered they were all supposed to meet at this location very soon. He needed to get backstage and change before they saw him!

But then again..

There was no way they’d recognize him. And the other ladies had worked so hard to get him ready for the show. And damn it all, he was having FUN for once in his life! No, he wasn’t done enjoying this. He followed Mystique and Lulu as they made their way off stage and into the crowd. Tariq was surprised to find gentlemen and ladies alike thrusting dollar bills at him. They really liked him! He continued to dance and work the crowd without a care in the world.

#mardi gras mayhem #trr fanfic #trr #the royal romance fanfic #the royal romance #choices the royal romance #tariq #trr tariq

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i-am-bitterly-jittery · 2 years

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Five Times Someone Mistook Roman And Remus (And One Time They Finally Met)

+1. They Finally Meet

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] •

Word Count: 1834

Rating: Teen

Pairings: Dukexiety, Roceit, Logicality

Warnings: hangovers, swearing, mild suggestive language

~~~START~~~

Virgil’s plane landed at ten thirty a.m. and he got home less than an hour later.

He wasn’t surprised to find Patton passed out on the couch — he knew that Patton and Remus had gone to a club the previous night to celebrate Remus’s 27th birthday, and it was no surprise that Patton would choose to sleep here rather than trek all the way home after dropping Remus off.

What was a surprise was that the man sleeping in his and Remus’s bed was not Remus Duke.

Deciding that he was way too jet lagged to deal with this right now, Virgil ignored the sleeping Roman Prince, and headed for the bathroom instead.

He just needed a shower. Once he’d showered, he’d come out to find that it really was Remus and it was just the exhaustion getting to him.

He was sure he would.

He just needed to shower.

Half an hour later (it was really hard to leave the bathroom when you were afraid of what you might find) the man in the bed still wasn’t Remus.

Great.

~~~

“Good morning, Janus.”

Janus just hissed in return. It wasn’t fair, Logan had been way more smashed than he was last night! Why was he perfectly wide awake and put together while Janus had a massive hangover! Logan should have to suffer too!

Of course, Logan did go to the trouble of preparing omelets, toast, and fruit, so Janus couldn’t be too mad at him. He could try, though.

“We have a slight issue,” Logan said once Janus had had a little bit to eat.

“I don’t do issues until after noon,” Janus mumbled, shoving more eggs into his mouth.

“It is one-thirty in the afternoon,” Logan pointed out, rolling his eyes. “And I believe you will agree with me that this is an issue that will need to be rectified sooner rather than later.”

He gestured to Janus’s living room, so Janus reluctantly followed his hand.

Janus’s first thought was that there was nothing of note about the living room. Logan must have taken the couch when they’d gotten home from the club, so Roman would have just slept on the ground. And that was where he was, sprawled face down on the ground in the same position he must have fallen asleep some hours previous.

Janus’s second thought — which he would never ever admit to — was “the butts don’t match.”

The man currently passed out on Janus’s living room floor was, as Janus remembered observing last night, not wearing the same shirt that Roman had gone to the club in, but now that he was really looking at him, he wasn’t wearing anything that Roman had gone to the club in. He had on an acid green crop top with a mesh shirt underneath, black booty-shorts with the word “JUICY” across the ass, fishnet stockings, and bright green platform boots.

It was a difference he should have noticed last night, but he chalked his inattention up to the alcohol.

“Remus!” He groaned, face planting onto the table. “Fuck.”

“Quite,” Logan agreed. “I have sent a text to Roman asking if he went to his own home, but so far he hasn’t replied.”

“Fuck my life!” Janus whined into the table. “This is your fault.”

“You are the one who brought the wrong man home, I fail to see how this could be my fault.”

“A, you didn’t notice either and you were with me the whole time, so don’t think you can pin this whole thing on me; and B, you were so drunk last night that you took up all my limited attention!”

“I was not that drunk,” Logan sniffed defensively

“Of course you weren’t. You just keep telling yourself that. You were dead sober last night, noticed that I wasn’t bringing Roman with us, and just decided not to say anything; how very thoughtful of you.”

Logan glared.

~~~

Of all the places Roman expected to wake up, this was not one of them.

It looked like he was in the bedroom of a teenager who was deep into their emo phase. The walls — the parts that he could see anyway — were painted a dark purple, band posters and depressing art covered nearly every wall and the ceiling, but the thing that really gave away where he was were the photos of a man who almost looked like Roman (if Roman were an evil twin) covering the empty spaces on the walls.

He slowly made his way out of the bed and onto his feet, groaning the entire time — alcohol was evil!

Unsure of what to do he left the bedroom and found himself in a kitchen, face to face with two people — one he recognized and one he didn’t.

“Hey Roman,” Virgil sighed, sounding exhausted.

“Um, hi. Look, I don’t know how I got here?”

“I think Patton can explain,” Virgil looked expectantly at the other man who looked like he was about to be crushed by guilt.

“I’m sorry!” The other man — Patton — cried. “Remus and I went to a club last night, and then my glasses got broken, and I couldn’t see very well, and you didn’t protest when I dragged you out, and–!”

“Pat.”

“Right, right. I’m sorry I kidnapped you Roman.”

“It’s– uh, it’s fine. I mean, I don’t really remember. Uh, so then what happened to Remus?”

“Your friends took him home,” Virgil explained. “I’ve already talked to Remus, we’re doing a prisoner exchange in like half an hour, so I’ll get you some breakfast, and you can freshen up or whatever, and then we have to leave.”

“…yeah okay.”

Weirdest day ever. At least he was finally going to get to meet his mysterious doppelgänger.

~~~

Best. Birthday. Ever!

Remus vaguely remembered seeing Snakey and Specs at the club and going to say hi. He remembered Snakey calling him Roman and thinking that it was funny, he thought he’d corrected the other man, but apparently, he hadn’t since Snakey took him home with them.

Now he was on his way to the park with Snakey — whose name was Janus — and Specs — Logan — because Patton took Roman home instead of him, and apparently both of them needed adult supervision to make it back to their proper places.

When they got to the park, Virgil was already there along with Patton and a man who must be the mysterious Roman.

Ignoring Virgil for the moment — even though he really wanted to have a nice snuggle — Remus walked straight up to his doppelgänger. Roman seemed to have the same idea, and the two of them met in the middle. They regarded each other for a minute, tilting their heads this way and that before each declaring “I don’t see it!” before glaring at each other for daring to have the same thought.

“I swear, Virgil started. “If you two are actually twins and this whole thing has been some elaborate Parent Trap–!”

“When’s your birthday?” Roman asked him, still scanning him skeptically.

“Yesterday, I’m twenty-seven, the same age Kurt Cobain was when he died!”

“Oh, definitely not twins then; my birthday was a couple weeks ago and I turned twenty-nine.”

“Good,” Remus replied. “I wouldn’t want to be twins with a prep.”

It was mostly a joke, but he enjoyed the way Roman’s face turned red and twisted with anger.

“Well I wouldn’t want to be twins with some emo goth!”

“Excuse you, I am punk! Thank you very much.”

“The similarities are uncanny,” he heard Logan observe behind him.

But he didn’t pay Nerdy Wolverine any mind, he’d met Roman, and now there was only one thing on his mind. He bounced right up to Virgil and dragged the shorter man into a kiss.

Then, once he felt Virgil relax, he dipped him.

Virgil hissed, clawing at Remus’s shirt in a desperate bid to keep from falling — as though Remus would ever let him fall.

“I hate you!”

“Nah,” Remus cackled. “You don’t.”

Logan was shocked when the man he’d been talking to at the club turned up with Roman at the park. His mind thought back to the writing still present on his hand, a phone number followed by “if you want to keep mooning over the stars I’m all lightyEARS <3”.

Patton seemed to notice him too, he smiled brightly and made his way over.

“Logan! I didn’t know you knew Roman!”

“Nor did I know that you knew Remus,” Logan answered, somewhat dumbly.

“All roads lead to Rome, I guess,” Patton joked. “I really goofed last night; I don’t know how I didn’t realize he wasn’t Remus, even without glasses.”

“Yes, well Janus and I did not realize that Remus wasn’t Roman either, so you are hardly the only one to ‘goof’ here.”

Patton chuckled. “Aww sweetie, you’d had a lot to drink, I’d’ve been pretty surprised if you noticed.”

“I wasn’t that drunk!” Logan insisted (why did people keep saying how drunk he was? He was fine last night, it would not have been safe for him to drive, but he was in complete control of his faculties!).

“No, you were cute!” Patton reassured him quickly. “You’re really smart, I could listen to you talk about stars for hours. In fact, I heard that there’s a new planetarium opening next week… maybe we could go together?”

“I– um, that is I–” Logan stuttered.

“Say ‘yes’, moron!” Janus hissed behind him.

“Yes!” Logan blurred out quickly, flushing slightly.

Patton smiled and kissed him chastely on the cheek. “Then it’s a date.”

Logan’s blush grew darker, and Patton’s smile only widened.

“What!?” Screeched Roman. “Since when does Logan have a boyfriend! I want a boyfriend!”

That was the end of Janus’s patience. The time to act was now, while they were both sober and he was certain this was Roman.

He grabbed the collar of Roman’s shirt — the scarlet button-down he’d worn to the club the previous night — and yanked him down into a kiss.

Initially, Roman just stood there like a limp noodle, but just as Janus was about to pull away and apologize, he suddenly reacted, twisting his hand into Janus’s hair and deepening the kiss.

Someone was wolf-whistling, but Janus didn’t care because fucking finally!

It felt like an eternity before they were pulling away.

“Wow,” Roman murmured, stunned.

“I’ve been trying to do that for weeks!”

“Are you two quite finished?” Logan asked, having regained his own composure.

Janus’s only reply was to detangle one hand from Roman’s shirt to flip him off.

“That was cute and all,” Remus drawled. “But Roman and I need to fight now, I need to prove my dominance!”

“Oh, you think you’d win in a fight?” Roman demanded, fully pulling away for Janus, much to the other man’s annoyance.

“I know I would!”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah!”

“Fine! You, me, right here, right now, thumb-war, let’s go!”

“You’re on!”

“Why are you like this?” Virgil and Janus both demanded at the same time.

~~~END~~~

And so the fic is over, Roman and Remus will continue to be confused for each other, but Virgil Janus Logan Patton and Remy will know the doppelgängers well enough not to mistake them again

Doppelgänger taglist:

@royalty-of-all-things-snuggly @pixelated-pineapple @knight-shives @misunderstood-shadowling @minamishipsit2 @kaira-the-yellow-turtle

#sanders sides #ts sanders sides #roman sanders #virgil sanders #remus sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #janus sanders #dukexiety #intruxiety #roceit #princeit #logicality #doppelgänger au #thursday writes #my writing #sanders sides fanfiction

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sanstropfremir · 2 years

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Omg! I saw you briefly mentioned Tomorrow in an ask and I just finished the show. I have so many thoughts about it and not sure if they’re all good but I would love to hear your opinion about the overall show (especially the distinct costume design of each character and the set design!!). For a show that navigated some heavy material — it was full of such bright color and fun fashion decisions! Unsure if you talk about shows but I thought to ask because you always provide such interesting and thoughtful critiques.

THE COSTUME DESIGN IN TOMORROW!!!!!! it's soooooooooooo good it was one of the things that kept me watching bc yes there some glaringly obvious problems with the script. the production/set design are excellent too, especially for jumadeung. literally framing it as a company is a.....choice, but visually framing it with art deco style architecture a la the chrysler building is a smart way to keep it feeling outside time, because our brains still interpret art deco as a relatively modern style because of its scarcity and association with wealth, but in reality art deco is approaching it's centennial in just a couple of years.

ok i'm gonna talk about some major plot beats so spoiler warning for anyone who hasn't finished the show or cares about that kind of thing.

tbh i actually think the best costume design was in the scenes with all the team leaders because they were so quick and so infrequent but each of them had such a clear signature that tbh i spent like five minutes stopping and starting that first intro scene where we see everyone just to try and pick up all the little details.

other than that though, they do such a good job with koo ryeon, joong-gil and ryung-gu and interpreting how very old/essentially immortal characters would interpret clothing and what they would be comfortable in. jun-woong is fine, but the show itself kind of acknowledges by the back half that really he's the vehicle for the rest of their stories, so imo his design choices are all intentionally wallflower-y. but koo ryeon, joong-gil, and ryung-gu all share some key character traits: they're all extremely loyal, dedicated, defensive, AND they all lived their formative lives pre the invention of the zipper and stretch fabric. i know this sounds like a very weird point to make, but trust me on this one, i'll get to it. and all three of these characters embody all of these traits in their clothing. many of the creature comforts that we associate with fashion are very very modern, think within the last 100-150 years. zippers? the 1910s. spandex/lycra/synthetic stretch fabrics? 1958. hell, even the concept of sportswear and leisure clothing only started cropping up in the mid 1800s. for a lot of cultures and for long periods of history, clothing consisted of a lot of layers and a fair amount of internal structure, by virtue of fabric being a solid weave. for a significant portion of their lives, all three of these characters were wearing anywhere between two and probably five layers at all times, with koo ryeon and joong-gil for about 250yrs longer and also with much more intricacy due to their higher class. clothing plays a very big part into how someone presents themselves to the world, and it can be a protective measure. this might be a bit difficult for some to understand for some, especially in our modern 'comfort first' fashion culture, but the structure and weight of a lot of layers and the rituals around getting dressed a specific way can be both a defensive mechanism and also a physical comfort. you see it with older generations and their likelihood of wearing older styles/styles that were 'on trend' in their youth; think grannies who still get their hair permed and put on lipstick every time they leave the house, or someone like my grandfather, who never stopped wearing the same style of highwaisted slacks and dress shirts from the early 60s. and i think it's a very fair trait to extrapolate to characters who 1) have had particularly traumatic lives, 2) have spent a very long time wearing the same thing, and 3) have a textually noted extended/different understanding of time.

let's start with joong-gil, who exclusively wears a three piece suit post-becoming a reaper. this means he's wearing at least three well structured layers, and i'd be willing to bet that he'd be the type to wear a singlet/underlayer as well, which brings that total up to four. he's also frequently shown wearing an additional jacket (five layers) and gloves, another further barrier. given the fact that jumadeung appears to have 'westernized' aesthetically when korea was freed from japanese colonial rule***, three piece suits were still standard business attire. and he's very strict about his own dress code, he's either in white shirt and three piece or a black shirt and three piece. obviously this is also a physical manifestation of his discipline and dedication of the 'rules', as we can see that when he deviates from that uniform it is as a specific character point for him. the most notable instances of this are in the last episode, where he's wearing a turtleneck (but still a waistcoat) when jun-woong goes to try and reason with him, and then again later in the episode when joong-gil is taking his punishment in his shirtsleeves. and then for a third time at the very end of the episode, where his black three piece has been exchanged for a grey one, signalling his softening and the merging of his two selves (his pre-reaper self that wore mostly lighter colours, and his post-reaper self that wore mostly black).

unsurprisingly, koo ryeon is also a very defensive dresser. all the same observations from joong-gil apply here, but with koo ryeon instead of her being a dedicated rule-follower, her dedication manifests as rule-breaking in order to achieve her goals; as you can see she wears a lot of colours in counter to joong-gil's monochrome. but i think the most interesting of her visual 'rule-breaking' is that she doesn't particularly follow the convenions of 'feminine' coded dressing. this is most noticable in when the rm team goes on 'assignment' in different workplaces, where ryeon will wear nearly identical suits to jun-woong and ryung-gu (interestingly, it's pointedly not her wearing men's clothes, she's always wearing a 'female' version even if the cuts are virtually identical. you can tell bc the button closures are opposite). she also dresses very 'modestly', she doesn't show any skin at all and more notably, she doesn't wear anything form fitting. she favours boxy and bulky shapes with a predominance for longer lines and wider shapes on her lower body. now there's two reasons to speculate for this: the first is the same as for joong-gil, that she's very used to layers and a specific silhouette, especially considering that the shape of female hanbok is not even close to being form-fitting and has heavy skirting. and the second is that her trauma is directly tied to people's perception of her femininity. literally the reason ryeon died is because she was stigmatized for 'using her femininity to get out of an adverse situation' even though we are explicitly shown that that is emphatically not the case. thus her rejection of more western feminine silhouettes is directly related to how she wants there to be no question that the reason she is so accomplished at her job is purely because of her skills, and not for any other reason.

and ryung-gu! more similar to koo ryeon in style than joong-gil, but again they all share that propensity for numerous heavy and obscurative layers that echoes a more traditional style of dress. because ryung-gu is younger (literal age wise but also i'm pretty sure he died younger as well) there's a little more flexibility in his materials and cuts, and because he's of a lower class than koo ryeon and joong-gil, he tends towards less formal shapes too. although i would not describe koo ryeon as a 'formal' dresser, she wears a lot of blazers and two piece suits, as well as heavy wools and fabrics that are generally associated with business and formalwear. ryung-gu however, almost exclusively picks his shapes from garments that have a working class or blue collar origin; lots of jeans, informal but still structured jackets like bombers and denim jackets, and a fair amount of casual sportswear, practical wear, and synthetic fabrics. and although ryung-gu is framed as being rebellious like koo ryeon, unlike ryeon his rebellion always comes as an active response to something that upsets his internal or external systems. as a child he is dutifully and lovingly reverent of his mother, she's the centre of his world, and even as a reaper he isn't shown to have any real issues with authority. sure he clocks out right at eight hours, but that's not being rebellious, that's just following the rules to a technicality. it's only when his mother is taken from his life and he loses that external structure that he actively 'becomes rebellious', and even then i think rebellion is the wrong word; it's actually just self destructive behaviour that is 'morally' grey according to the wider societal system. when his story arc finally concludes and he has his mother back in his life (sort of), he visually sheds some of his more 'rebelliously' attributes by cutting and redying his hair to the 'standard masculine' haircut and showing up to work in a suit and/or less flamboyant patterns and garments. but he does still keep the same number of layers and shapes as he did before.

---

***when japan surrendered in 1945 it ceded all its territories to the us, so really korea was actually just colonized again. you can see in the korean war vet episode that in flashbacks joong-gil is wearing a western style suit as a reaper, which would have been between 1950-53, but in the comfort women episode he's still wearing hanbok, which would have been at the earliest 1930ish. also it would makes sense logistically as jumadeung is supposed to mirror the 'real' world. i also think this is where the framing of it as a 'company' comes from as well.

#OK I HAVE TO STOP NOW THIS IS WAY TOO LONG #non kpop questions #if more ppl start asking me about shows and stuff i might start a general media analysis tag #tomorrow #netflix tomorrow #tv #this show had like a TON of problems but i think the heart of it was really good and it was probably necessary?#like the fact that it was extremely empathetic is very important but also. it wasn't realistic at all #and also it was relatively kind to character stereotypes that don't normally receive kindness? like fat characters #AND the fact that ryung-gu is explicitly a recovered addict and still framed sooo empathetically is a huge deal #esp for a country with massive drug stigmas still #but the fact that christian morality is SO deeply baked into just the concept of the show is big oof. like huge massive very large OOF #anyways. here's my very long essay on defensive dressing and how immortal characters arent just gonna dress in the latest trends #text #answers #also further point about ryeon. i think the reason we rarely saw her as a reaper in the period between when jumadeung 'westernized'#and the present is bc it would be a huge betrayal of her character to dress her in something 'traditionally' feminine from that time frame #but they couldn't feasibly dress her as more gender-nonconforming because it would have pretty much instantly coded her as a lesbian #which i think they were actively trying to avoid #OH I FORGOT ABT JOONG-GILS CAMEL NUMBER IN EP5 #thats an important character beat for him tho too so it still fits the pattern #since its the first time he makes an effort to try and see a different perspective. even if it doesn't actually work and he regresses lol #anyways these three characters are sooooooo interesting and unusual and i really like all of them #yes ryung-gu is my favourite and no its not just bc he cries pretty! i have real reasons!!

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finelinevogue · 2 years

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Omggggg! Did you see harry's abs! like WOW. btw, could you write something abt his abs. like the reader being so in awe of him and his abs. probably make it smut. but like fluff as well. or maybe like the reader feels harry is so toned so reader feels self consoius. but loves the abs soooo much. looovvveee youuuu <3<3<3<3

i often feel self conscious about my abs - or in my case lack of - so i relate to y/n in this blurb :/

this is just pure angst n fluff

In the middle of the night was when you allowed yourself to think.

The dead of the night meant silence. It meant peace. It meant a soft ambience for you to sort through your thoughts, file those away which you’d dealt with and stamp red the ones which needed dealing with urgently. You let your mind filter through every worry and issue of the day, past and present, so that when tomorrow came you’d have a clear mind.

Often the thoughts were that about “have I paid my road tax?”, “is it someones birthday tomorrow?” or even “what will I be doing in ten years time?”. You answered any question on your mind, no matter how big or small. Any niggle, you tackled.

Tonight you’d already dealt with all of your worries, except for one.

You wouldn’t class yourself as an overtly self conscious human being, but when it came to your stomach it was something that really troubled you.

Having a flat or toned stomach was something that you’d always dreamt of. You’d seen girls at school, when they were getting changed for PE, and how perfect their tummy’s were. They were always remarkably flat and tanned and clean. Then there was girls who wore crop tops in public, so you could see their midriff. You weren’t jealous, but you just wish you could be more like them.

You wish you could wear a crop top with pride. You wish you could step out of the shower without fear of Harry walking in on you. You wish you could feel confident enough to have sex with Harry without wearing a t-shirt. You wish that you didn’t have a muffin-top, along with a few rolls, and instead had that gorgeous athletes body that Harry adorned.

Laying in bed now, you were staring blankly at the ceiling and silently crying over how much you wished you could look like someone else.

Harry was soft asleep and facing the opposite direction to you. His soft rise and fall off his back told you that he was in a peaceful sleep. It allowed you to cry without feeling guilty of keeping him awake.

Your hands kept rubbing over your stomach, underneath your oversized tshirt, and cupping the bits of fat that you hated so much. There were three separate rolls that you could count, along with the extra fat on your boobs too. You belly button felt none existent, not smoothed out and obvious like all those models stomachs showed. You knew the skin where you were pinching would be red, but you didn’t let that stop you. This was an issue with a red stamp on and you wanted to get rid of it before it completely consumed you.

Your mind drifted to thinking about Harry’s chest and how toned he was. How perfect his abs were and how toned the lines were. His chest looked like it had been sculpted by Aphrodite herself, just because she knew it would attract all of his lovers. It wasn’t the first thing that had attracted you to him, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t love it. You loved rubbing your hands down his chest, feeling the bumps and curves of the muscles. You loved how smooth and soft he was, the skin so beautiful you think him unreal.

“Are you crying without me?”

Harry’s voice pulled you away from all of your thoughts. You’d forgotten even where you were, until you noticed Harry now propped up on his side facing you. His eyebrows were furrowed with worry and his eyes looked sleepy. He looked perfect.

“No, no.” You sniffled, feeling awful that you’d just pikes him from his sleep. You shook your head and turned over on your side so that your back was to him. You folded your arms over your chest defensively and kept quiet.

“So the sniffles?”

“Allergies.” You replied softly.

“And what allergies are you allergic to again? It was unicorn dust last night and the sandmans sand the night before that.”

You often made up an allergy just to make the situation more light hearted and to also steer Harry away from asking too many questions. Often it worked.

“Stardust. Fell from the night sky.”

“If this were a Steven Spielberg movie I might’ve believed you.” Harry chuckled, making you smile, before you deny him edge closer to you.

His fingers softly touched your arm and ran down the length of it and back up again. He did this often when he wanted to comfort you and sometimes even himself. He always confessed you had the smoothest skin, but you always argued with him about that.

He let you soften to his touch before talking again.

“You don’t have to be allergic to stardust around me.”

“And how’s that?”

“I’m a pretty good cure.”

“‘Course you are. Any chance you can cure me entirely whilst you’re at it?” You laughed to yourself, but you could tell by the way Harry turned your body around so he could face you that he didn’t find it all too funny himself.

“Why would I ever need to cure you?”

You shook your head, staring back up at the ceiling again. You shook your head in answer to Harry’s question. You shook your head to rid your mind of self infective thoughts. You shook your head to try and rattle away the tears, but they still came.

Harry softly tilted your face back towards him. He kept his fingers on your jaw as he leaned in to hiss away the rogue tears falling down your cheeks. He didn’t care that they tasted salty, only that he could clear any pain away from you. It was evident that you were hurting and all he wished for is that you let him carry some of that hurt off of you for a while.

“Tiffany Low.” You whispered out loud.

“What, love?” Harry asked confused, but kept with you because he wasn’t leaving you now.

“Tiffany Low. 5’5. Beautiful hair and beautiful face. She was who every girl wanted to be in my school. Rich, pretty and popular.” You smiled to yourself. “The one thing I envied more than anything was how perfect her stomach was. I’d never seen something so toned and flat. God, she infuriated me when she wore tiny crop tops and bras. I remember seeing her and wishing I looked exactly like her. I looked at her with envy and jealousy, so much so that I tried everything I could to look like her. I went to the gym, I ate less and then less and less. I got up extra early just to do an extra ten sit ups every morning. I ran an extra kilometre for every week I looked no different. You know what happened by the end of school? Tiffany Low still looked as beautiful as Tiffany Low always looked and me? Well I just still me. A fat waste of space that couldn’t look more unappealing if I tried.”

Once you’d finished speaking it went silent for a few minutes. You questioned why Harry hadn’t said anything to you yet, so you braved a look over at him. He was just staring at you, shaking his head softly, as tears ran from his dewey eyes.

“Harry—”

“Please tell me you don’t think of yourself that way anymore.” He whispered. “Because I fucking love you, Y/N. I love you too much for those vile thoughts to infest your mind. I love your body, so much—”

“No, Harry—” You tried to cut in, tears falling down your cheeks again after Harry being so kind to you.

“Every part of you. I love. There’s nothing that I could flaw about you—”

“You don’t mean that—”

“Y/N stop. I completely love you, to the point where i’m absolutely terrified of waking up and finding out you were just a dream all along. When have I ever made you feel like you and your body weren’t with enough, because I would physically boil myself like a potatoe if I ever became aware of a time when I have.”

You smiled at his stupid joke.

“You’ve never.”

“But that doesn’t mean that i’ve done enough either. I cannot explain how beautiful you are. Y/N, I don’t even care if this is cringing you out to the point where your toes are curling and stomachs churning. I need you to understand the way I see you, because let me tell you that getting to love on you and your body, every day, is one of the greatest pleasures of my life. In fact it is the greatest. Your face? I would eat if I could, in the least cannibalistic way. Your arms? Strong as steel so to carry all the love I have for you around. Your legs? They are the reason I often have pinch me moments because, wow.”

“But my stomach—”

“Is my favourite thing about you.”

“But you’ve never seen it.” You furrowed your eyebrows, suddenly concerned that you’d accidentally let him see one time when you shouldn’t have.

“And I won’t until you’re ready to show me. I just love it for the thought of one day you housing a little you inside of it.”

Your eyes met Harry’s and you instantly understood what he was implying. You smiled so widely and swallowed back a fresh batch of tears.

“And a little you?” You questioned, bringing your face closer to his.

“If you want? Sure.” He chuckled.

“Sorry i’m so self conscious about my stomach.”

“Don’t apologise. Not for that. We go at your pace. If you never want me to see your stomach, that’s okay. Just know, though, that I love it just as much as every other part of you. It keeps you alive and healthy and that’s enough to make me happy.”

Your hand cupped the back of his head as you let your lips press into his. He took no hesitation when it came to kissing you. He pressed himself further and further into you, kissing all of his love into you. You felt him love you and it was more powerful than any other force on Earth.

“Maybe we can start small?” You whispered, pulling away shyly.

“How so?”

You took one of his hands and placed it on top of your tshirt on your stomach. Harry smiled as he got to intimately touch your stomach for the first time, knowing that he’d do whatever it took to get you to love yourself the way you deserved to be loved.

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fanfic #finelinevogue #harry blurb #harry oneshot #harry styles concept #finelinevogue harry styles #angst harry styles #finelinevogue blurbs #ask finelinevogue #anon response #finelinevogue masterlist #masterlist harry styles finelinevogue #fluff harry styles

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in-my-feels-probably · 2 years

Note

Can I request Sirius x Tomboy!reader were she likes him for a long time but doesn’t make a move because she think he would never see her in that way, but then she over heard Sirius and his friend play truth or dare and Sirius said he likes tomboys? Thanks!

Woman

Request: Can I request Sirius x Tomboy!reader were she likes him for a long time but doesn't make a move because she think he would never see her in that way, but then she over heard Sirius and his friend play truth or dare and Sirius said he liked tomboys? Thanks!

Hi! Thank you for the request, sorry it took so long to get out. I don't love this one as much as the others I've done for Sirius, but I've made you wait long enough. So I actually changed the game to truth or drink, and what the reader overhears too, I hope that's ok with you, it was just easier for me to write. I wasn't sure how to write a tomboy reader without it being too cheesy or stereotypical, I hope you like what I went with. In this imagine, just assume that Sirius usually goes for hyperfeminine girls, and that the reader is more neutral. Let me know if you want anything changed.

(Warnings: swearing, mild misogyny, slight sexualization, let me know if i missed anything)

—

You walked with your friends to Gryffindor tower, headed for the party. The girls came down to get you when they were finally ready. You hadn't taken nearly as long, opting for a more minimal outfit, makeup, and accessories, so you had decided to go for a walk while they got ready.

Most of the girls were in mini skirts, form fitting tops, and heels you were sure they'd regret wearing at the end of the night when they had to climb the stairs up to their dorms. They looked beautiful as always, you didn't doubt that. Flawless hair and makeup, their efforts surely paid off.

Mary tutted at you. "Y/N, I wish just once you'd let us dress you up for a party."

"Come on, Mary, she looks hot too. And definitely warmer, Merlin, it's cold out here," Marlene interrupted, coming to your defense. You smiled at her.

"She looks like Remus. Well, without the jumper," Lily observed, no malice behind her words, just an observation. Still, your cheeks heated up, and you cast your eyes down at your feet.

"Oh! I'm sorry, I didn't mean that in a bad way. I like how he dresses, he looks cool, like you," she desperately tried to salvage her comment, and you finally laughed, saving her the torment.

"It's fine, Lily. I quite like how Remus dresses. I am feeling a bit underdressed next to you all, though." You looked down at your clothes. An old pair of platform Doc's, straight cut ripped jeans, and a cropped band t-shirt. Cute, but comfortable, which you tended to value more, especially in the colder months like these. However, looking at the girls, you were beginning to feel insecure.

"Alright, alright. Mary, could I borrow something to wear?"

She opened her eyes wide, excitedly nodding. You cut her off before she could speak. "Wait! I'm not changing my top. Or my shoes, I like them how they are. You can pick what I swap out my jeans for."

She looked a little disappointed at her lack of not being able to fully make you over, and you rolled your eyes, giving in. "Fine, you can add some more makeup too. Just don't go too overboard, I still want to look like me."

She nodded excitedly, grabbing your wrist and pulling you all the way up to her dorm room, causing a few heads to turn in the common room. You spotted Sirius on the way up the stairs who had turned to see what all the excitement was about, and you fought the blush that crept onto your cheeks. He was one of your best friends, and you were comfortable around him, but you knew you were going to feel out of place at the party in your new outfit, and the added pressure of trying not to embarrass yourself in front of the guy you've liked for so long certainly wasn't going to help.

You pushed the thoughts to the back of your mind as Mary flung you into a chair and held your face steady while she added some extra makeup. She thickened the wings of your eyeliner, dusted some color on your eyelids and cheeks, and pulled out a tube of lipstick, smudging it onto your lips. When she was satisfied, she then rummaged through her clothes, pulling out a black leather mini skirt, eagerly tossing it to you and pushing you into the bathroom.

You quickly changed, fidgeting in front of the mirror, turning back and forth, analyzing yourself. You had to admit, the skirt looked nice, it had a certain edge to it that you liked, and you looked pretty, but still you were more comfortable in pants. You sighed, pushing open the bathroom door and stepping out.

Mary gasped. "You look so good! If Sirius hasn't been looking at you before, he certainly will now."

"I know I am," Marlene added, eyeing your lower half. You laughed, balling up your jeans and throwing them at her.

"Stop it, you two. Sirius doesn't like me like that. You've seen all the girls he goes out with, they're so effortlessly feminine and pretty. I have as much chance with him as I do with Marlene."

Marlene scoffed, gesturing to your appearance. "Your chances increase every day, my love."

You rolled your eyes. "Thank you for the charity. At least I can get you interested, Marls. He'd look at someone like Mary before he ever looked at me."

"Been there, done that." Mary giggled.

Lily stood up from the bed, grabbing your hand, headed for the stairs. "Alright, that's enough pity parties. Ladies, you look beautiful as always, Y/N, if Sirius doesn't look, he's an even bigger idiot than I thought he was. Let's go have some fun before one of the boys drunkenly burns something like last time."

—

You and your friends scattered amongst the party, walking through the growing crowd. You kept to the outskirts, staying away from the clearly already tipsy students. You spotted Remus, standing by the record player, and made your way over to him.

He raised a brow at you once he noticed you, but didn't mention anything about your new look. "I like your shirt."

You playfully rolled your eyes. "You would, wouldn't you. You gave it to me in third year when it stopped fitting. It's small on me too, now. I like it too much to give it up, though."

"Actually, it's Sirius's. His aunt Andromeda sent him a bunch of clothes and records for his birthday when she found out he liked muggle music. He'd hardly ever worn it so he gave it to me, and then I gave it to you. So it's him you should thank."

Your eyes widened, and your cheeks heated up. You self consciously tugged at your shirt, suddenly having your entire outfit feel foreign to you.

Remus laughed, throwing an arm over your shoulder. "I knew that would make you blush, you always do when I bring up Sirius. Are you ever planning on telling him?"

"Merlin, is it that obvious?" You said in a hushed voice, smacking him in the side for his comment said all too loudly.

"I picked up on it pretty easily, but it's not hard to be observant. I'm sure James is still oblivious, but he's only got eyes for Lily, so that might be an unreliable source," Remus replied, walking you in the direction of a few boys laughing in the corner.

Your eyes widened, trying to pry Remus's arm off you and move back, but he was too strong for you. "Oh, come on, you two need to get this over with, I'm sick of watching you eye each other. It'll be good for you."

You stopped in your tracks. "What?"

"Here we are. Sirius!" Remus called out, finally letting go of you as you stood in front of Sirius and a few friends. You spotted Marlene at the end of the couch, smirking at you and sending looks to Remus. They surely had planned this little endeavor, and you were already piling up the list of shit in your head that you were going to give them for scheming.

Sirius turned around, a smile growing on his face, his eyes looking you up and down. "Hey L/N. This is a new look. Except for my shirt. Lose a bet or something?"

You gave a halfhearted laugh, eyeing your friends who were giggling on the couch. "No, I let Mary change a few things, she's always begging to get me ready for parties. This is about as far as I was willing to go. Does it look like I lost a bet, is it that bad?"

"You look hot! Right boys?" Mary interrupted, followed by a chorus of whistles from her peanut gallery of boys she had attracted for the night.

Sirius quickly shook his head, turning your attention away from the boys. "No, it's not bad! Just different. New. You like it?"

You gave an unsure nod, and he gave you a sympathetic and reassuring smile. "Well, I like it, you look great."

"Thanks, Sirius. So, are you having fun?"

He grinned. "I'm about to be having a lot more fun. James is getting people to play some muggle game Mary mentioned earlier. 'Truth or Drink' I think she called it? I heard drink, so I'm all in. You playing?"

"Maybe later? I think I might need a few drinks before I'm ready for that game, it's an entertaining one for sure, but I'm definitely too sober to be spilling truths. Good luck, though."

Sirius quirked a brow. "That bad, huh? Sounds fun. I'll see you later then, Y/N?"

You nodded, smiling, and he turned to go find James. You let out a breath, shaking your head. So much for Mary's little plan.

—

You spent the next hour or two mostly hanging around Remus, having a few drinks and wandering around. Most of your friends had gone to play the game, and you had to admit, you were curious. You slowly made your way over to the group, hanging back just out of sight so you could hear but no one would see you just yet.

Mary turned to one of the boys that had caught her eye earlier on. "Truth or Drink? Is it true you pissed yourself in Slughorn's class last semester and spilled the cauldron over your lap to cover it up?"

He groaned, taking a sip out of his cup. Everyone burst into laughter, and you smirked to yourself. You were the one who had caught him and told Mary about it.

"Alright, that's enough! I was hungover from Sirius's party for his birthday, and I had to run to class. Slughorn wouldn't let me out of class till I finished my work. It's not my fault!"

The laughter continued, and he finally cut everyone off. "Speaking of Sirius, your turn. Truth or Drink? Y/N L/N looks fit tonight, don't you think? Didn't know she could clean up like that. She looks, I don't know...girly? Sexy? Whatever she did, it's working for me."

You held your breath at the mention of your name, listening to the silence that fell over the group. You debated leaving before you could hear his inevitably hurtful answer, but you couldn't bring yourself to move. You peeked around the group of people blocking you to see everyone staring at Sirius, whose eyes had narrowed at the boy. He glanced at his cup, before setting it down, looking up and grinning.

"She looks hot, yeah. But she always does, doesn't she? You're just noticing?"

A chorus of whoops from the boys playing was interrupted by the boy who asked. "Are you serious, Black? She always dresses and acts kinda manly. She's like...so not your type."

"My type?" Sirius questions. His casual demeanor was now rigid, protective over people speaking ill of you. You shifted nervously on the balls of your feet, listening in.

The boy laughed nervously. "Well, you went out with Mary. All the girls we see hang around you are so girly. Y/N isn't like that. Well, at least every other night she's not like that, she's pretty hot tonight. Look, I'm not trying to be rude here, it's just weird to me that you see her like that."

Sirius's grin was deadly. "Alright, mate, I'm gonna stop you there. I suggest you stop talking about her, and don't let me hear the rest of you lot griping about her either. And I don't have a type, a pretty girl is a pretty girl. Who gives a shit what they're wearing or how they act, it's no wonder none of you have got any game."

The boys sheepishly looked around at the group, and Sirius smiled, taking that as his cue. "Well, I've had enough of this, you lot can continue without me."

He stood up, grabbing his cup and turning in your direction, and you panicked, not having an easy escape route. Just as you turned to go and run up the dorm stairs, a hand caught your wrist.

You turned and locked eyes with Sirius, and by the look on his face, he knew you had heard everything. Shit.

You cleared your throat. "Sorry, I'll just go."

You tried to tug your arm from his grip, but he was unrelenting. Embarrassment crept through you, and you wouldn't meet his gaze. "Sirius, please–"

"Come with me. Please."

You glanced up to see Sirius just about as nervous as you had ever seen him. He was determined to get you to listen to him, and you knew there wasn't any getting out of this. You slowly nodded, and he slipped his grip from your wrist down to your hand, holding it tight as he pulled you through the common room party and out the portrait hole entrance door.

You reluctantly let him pull you away from prying eyes all the way to an empty bench at the front of an abandoned corridor, overlooking a courtyard and the castle grounds from a giant window. You sat down, fiddling with the hem of your skirt, while Sirius stayed standing, looking out the window.

"You do look really beautiful tonight, you know? I'm sorry you had to hear all of the bullshit they said about you," he finally murmured after a moment of silence.

You smiled to yourself. "Thank you, Sirius. And it's ok, I don't mind what they said. They're not exactly wrong, are they?"

Sirius quirked a brow, turning to you. "What do you mean?" His full attention was on you now.

You hesitated. "Well, I am kinda masculine. And I'm ok with that, I'm most comfortable that way. I used to get more insecure about it, and I would try to dress and act for how I wanted to be perceived, but I got a lot more comfortable with myself and where I fit on the spectrum between feminine and masculune."

You paused, and Sirius didn't say anything, nodding for you to continue.

"Being feminine isn't just created by being hyperfeminine, like how Mary is. And I adore her, she looks stunning in everything she wears, it's what makes her most comfortable. She gets a lot of attention from it, which is to be expected, and more power to her, I love her confidence. You'd know, she was one of the first girls I saw you interested in."

He chuckled, nodding, and you continued, letting out a sigh. "I've accepted that I probably won't ever receive that type of attention for the same reasons she does. Which is fine, like I said, I'm comfortable with the way I am, and I rarely get insecure about it."

Sirius listened intently, nodding as you spoke. "Rarely? When was the last time you were insecure about it? What for?"

You pursed your lips, speaking softly. "You."

His eyes widened, and you watched his face fall. "...Me? Why me, what did I do?"

He was getting worked up, and you quickly stopped him, grabbing one of his hands in yours to get his attention. "You didn't do anything, I promise! It's just...fuck, I can't say it."

"Say what? You know you can tell me anything. Please say it, Y/N." He squeezed your hand, squatting down so he was eye level with you.

You looked him in the eye, letting out an exasperated breath. "I like you, ok? I like you, and it's so stupid to even think you'd consider me. I let Mary do all this tonight because I thought that maybe you'd see me like you used to see her."

You could feel the tears welling up in your eyes.

Sirius's face softened, his eyes full of pity. "Love, I–"

You quickly wiped under your eyes, letting go of his hand, standing up. "It's fine, Sirius, don't worry about it, it's not a big deal–"

"Stop! Listen to me," he said, standing up and stepping closer to you. "I genuinely can't believe you'd let my opinion have that much effect on you, especially when you're so wrong about it.."

You shook your head, confused. "What?"

"I couldn't give less of a shit about what you're wearing, Y/N, that's why I didn't make a big deal over this earlier. You're absolutely fucking stunning, but that has nothing to do with what you're bloody wearing. Don't get me wrong, I like this look, but you don't look comfortable in it at all. I don't care what you wear, or how you act, I just want you to be secure in it. You're beautiful no matter what, don't you know that? Don't change yourself just because someone doesn't agree with that."

Your jaw dropped, and you stared at him, wide eyed. There was no way you were hearing him correctly.

He grinned, letting out a laugh. "I thought you were smarter than this, L/N. Of course I like you, too. Haven't you caught me looking at you? I wasn't exactly being subtle about it. You heard me talking about you earlier. I wasn't lying, I meant every word."

You shook your head in disbelief. "I thought you were just being nice. How come you've never said anything?"

"I say things all the time. I figured you weren't interested. If I knew you were beating yourself up over it, I would've done more a lot sooner."

You couldn't believe what you were hearing. "You're not messing with me, right? This isn't a joke? It's not funny in the slightest if it is."

He shook his head. "I wouldn't joke about this, love, I like you. All of you. However you choose to be."

His confident demeanor had been shed for a more vulnerable, serious one. He looked you in the eye expectantly, waiting for you to speak. You just shook your head, laughing to yourself as you closed the gap between you and Sirius, wrapping your arms around him.

"Thank you, Sirius. Merlin, I'm an idiot," you murmured.

He laughed, and you could feel the vibrations with your cheek pressed to his chest. Your stomach fluttered at the sound as you settled into him. He wrapped his arms around you, squeezing tight.

"Yes, but you're a pretty idiot. My idiot, if you want to be."

You leaned back just far enough so that you could meet his gaze. "Of course I want to be."

He smiled wide, leaning his forehead down to rest against yours.

—

A/N - Hi! Check my recent posts about requests and an update on me writing for more, hope you liked this one. I have a few requests currently that I'll be writing and uploading as soon as I get the chance. Thank you for the support!

#wattpad #harry potter #harry potter imagines #marauders #marauders imagine #sirius black imagine #sirius black x reader

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divine-mistake · 3 years

Text

it's messy inside, let me take your coat

Summary: “I can make you a drink,” you offer, leaning against the doorframe to your bedroom with your arms crossed over your chest, staring at him, “or I can come over there and you can kiss me drunk instead, ‘cause I’m already halfway there.”

Characters: Bucky Barnes/Plus-sized (f)Reader

Warnings: 18+ (mentions of smut, female nudity), strong language, alcohol consumption, copious amounts of fluff, soft and nervous Bucky Barnes, original female character friends, one-night stand, body insecurity, anxiety

Word Count: 8723

A/N: This story was written for @eurynome827 and her 2k follower challenge with the prompt "Mimosas and Bloody Marys at brunch." Thank you for hosting and congrats again on your milestone!

main masterlist | AO3

“Cheers!”

The flutes clink together, orange juice sloshing and spilling and dripping down the glasses and onto the table as your giggles fade into the background noise of the café’s patio. You tip your head back as you drink, mimosas bubbly in your throat like your own happiness, threatening to pour out of you and dribble onto your shirt, already tipsy.

“God,” Carissa says, throwing herself back into the metal chair, “I cannot wait to have his babies.”

Beside her, Kora claps. “I can’t wait to be an aunt! I’m going to spoil them all so rotten you’re going to want to throttle me by the end of it.”

“Spoil them all you want, I’m having eight of ‘em.”

At that, you go ahead and polish off your drink, carbonation stinging your throat, and while you set the empty glass down your hand goes up in the air, signaling the waiter for another.

Sara points at you. “I’m with her.” She makes a face at Carissa. “If you have eight kids I will make like your dad and bounce.”

Kora slaps her on the knee but the four of you descend into laughter anyway, and it’s easy and light and beautiful, like always. Washington D.C. can be pretty in this way—iron-wrought fencing and fancy metal tables and red patio tiling. Good food, better mimosas, best friends. There’s a breeze in the air that’s calling for autumn, scattering cloth napkins sitting in laps and spreading the scent of fresh baked bread.

The bags at your feet carrying your new shoes for the winter wedding that’s approaching rustle. That feeling isn’t just D.C. It’s excitement and love and adoration, too.

Carissa, bride to be, catches you in her gaze. “When are you going to finally settle down, huh?” She gestures across the table at you with her half-filled mimosa. Everyone else looks at you too, waiting for your response.

You shrug. “You’re having plenty of babies, I don’t need any.”

“I don’t mean babies,” she says. “I mean a human, a connection, something that isn’t an empty apartment.”

“You need—no, you deserve—someone to take care of you!” Kora adds. “You’re always taking care of everyone. Don’t you want someone to, y’know, take care of you?”

“I have plenty of vibrators in my empty apartment.”

Sara snorts, covering her mouth. The waiter delivers another round, thank god.

“What do you want me to say?” you ask, sighing. “You’re just bothering me ‘cause it’s wedding season and you want to set me up with your weird—”

“He’s not weird,” Carissa interrupts. “He’s tall and he’s mysterious which is exactly your type.”

“She’ll find someone when the time is right,” Sara says. “Just ‘cause we’re happy with our boyfriends doesn’t mean she needs one to be happy.”

“Thank you, Sara, my one-true-best-friend-in-the-whole-wide-world.” You force your glass against hers in a loud clank, turning the heads of all the patrons on the café’s patio before taking a gulp. Your face is already getting a little hot, the alcohol hitting you. This is why you aren’t allowed to pregame before you go to brunch anymore.

“We’re not trying to force you,” Kora starts, but her mouth is pulled into a concerned frown. “We really do just want you to be as happy as we are, that’s all.”

You smile at her. “I know.”

And you do know. You understand. It’s been years now since you’ve had anything real—anything worthwhile, to be specific. At some point, the relationships slowed down. Boyfriends became friends with benefits when you were working on your masters. Friends with benefits became ignored booty calls at two in the morning when you started your dissertation, on the road to get your doctorate. Now, you’re lucky to go home with someone from the bar, and they never, ever, come home with you.

It’s okay. You aren’t lonely. The right person just hasn’t landed in your lap, and maybe that’s kind of because it’s not open, but it’s just ‘cause you’re busy. You’re busy. Passionate. Need to change the world.

Love can wait.

The next mimosa is finished and you’re feeling a little fuzzy.

“I’m happy for you,” you tell Carissa. “I’m happy for all of you, and I’m happy with my life, and I’m happy that we’re all together and we’re celebrating and I’m happy that you all care about me enough to worry but I’m perfectly fine with how things are.”

Carissa smiles, but it’s got too much teeth. “I could set you up with Kie—”

“No, no setting me up with Kieran or Harry or Josh or anyone. But especially not Kieran.”

You’d already fucked him once and it wasn’t worth the experience.

“Fine! Fine.” Carissa busies herself with her drink. “No setting you up with Kieran.”

“Good. Now let’s talk about the reception!” You pull out your phone and open the planning spreadsheet, smiling. “So I called the venue for you about the tables…”

This is easier. Planning Carissa’s wedding, helping support her, being excited for her—that’s easier than talking about your love life. If anything, this is your love life. Taking care of the people you love, your best friends, having fun and being together and romanticizing the time you spend with them. It’s not just mimosas over brunch and a green spreadsheet for wedding planning. With them, it’s the wind in your hair and the sun making your eyes sparkle and the alcohol making all your insides feel effervescent.

It’s love. It’s perfection. It’s your own brand of happiness.

And sure, maybe it’s a little defensive, but this is easier than loving someone and trying to make them love you. It’s easier.

“Whose dress are we still waiting on?” Carissa asks a little later, mouth full of avocado and bacon and looking very un-bridely.

“Mine,” Kora says, a little guiltily. “It’s at the tailor getting taken in—again.”

“I have mine,” you pipe up, wiping your mouth of jam. “And god, do I look like a full course Michelin star meal in that piece. Like, we’re talking ass for days, legs for days, tits for—”

“Excuse me, ma’am, excuse me.” A man, towering over the café table makes himself known, dressed in dark clothes and wearing a look on his visage that you can’t name.

“—days,” you finish, swallowing hard.

“Excuse me, I don’t mean to interrupt,” he says with a smile, “but I’m raising money for uh, breast cancer awareness, and I was hoping you would donate and sign up for uh, a marathon we’re doing.”

You blink. “Sorry,” you tell him, “but we don’t carry cash on us.” With a small smile, you nod at him, your eyes passing over your friends and looking around the café to see if any of the other patrons have noticed what’s going on. None of them look bothered.

“Not even for breast cancer awareness? C’mon, girl.”

“We don’t carry cash,” Sara repeats with a deadpan, but her eyes don’t meet his.

He doesn’t look at her either, content to stare at you, and your skin crawls.

“What about signing up for the marathon?”

“Fine,” you snap. Anything to get him to leave you all alone. “How do I sign up?”

“You give me your phone number and I’ll text you the details.” His grin is a little wider now, edging a little closer to where you sit at the table. You’re regretting that third mimosa. You aren’t on your game. The panic running through you is covered in a champagne haze.

You scoff. “No way.” Immediately you grab your purse, digging through it, and you slam a handful of loose change onto the table in front of him. “Here—a donation. Now please leave.”

His face twists into a scowl, but he scoops the money off the table and pockets it.

“You don’t have to be such a bitch,” he suddenly says, and anger courses through you until you shoot up from your seat, chair skidding behind you. He’s tall—much taller than your short stature. But, fuck it, the alcohol’s dimming the fear and fueling the need for you to protect your friends.

When you glance over, Carissa is already gathering the bags, eyes wide. Kora has her arms wrapped around her middle, trying to make herself smaller, ready to run. Sara’s phone is in her hand, 9-1-1 already dialed.

And still, no one in the café is doing a goddamn thing.

“Excuse me?” You glare up at the man.

“I just wanted your number, you fat bitch.” He sneers. “No wonder you’ve got an attitude, you obviously don’t get laid.”

Really, you can sit there and say it isn’t the fat comment. It’s not the insult. You’re used to that, with your overly-generous curves and your soft jawline and the fact that you’re wearing a skirt showing off the cellulite running through your thighs like a creek and a crop top that lets everyone peek at your stretch marks. You’re used to it.

And, really, you could handle this better. You certainly have before ‘cause this isn’t the first time you’ve been hustled or the first time some creep has hit on you. Old men have been slapping your ass in public since you were sixteen. You’re hot, you get it. If you saw yourself on the street you’d want a piece of your own goddamn ass, too. It comes with the territory, but it’s gross. And it’s sad but you’re used to it. So it’s not him calling you a fat bitch.

It’s the comment about getting laid. It’s sore as fuck.

You grab your would-be fourth mimosa and drench him in it, the glass slipping from your fingers and shattering upon the patio’s tiled floor in an instant.

“Slut!” The man lunges for you and you jump away, bumping into the table and losing your footing. You fall to the ground as glass comes crashing down around you, spilling sweet-smelling alcohol all over you. Ouch. Your friends scream, but you can’t take your eyes off him.

And then a gleam of black and gold blurs past you and grabs the creep by his neck, throwing him down. Now, a tall, wide body dressed in a dark hoodie is blocking you, guarding you, sheltering you.

“Try it,” Mystery Savior says.

“Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit,” Carissa chants, calling your name.

Your hand is sticky when you wave her away. “Get out of here, I’m fine. Just go. I’ll meet you—meet you at Kora’s.”

“We’re not leaving you!” Sara shouts, but something, maybe adrenaline or fear or fucking champagne, is running through your blood vessels at high speed.

“Just go!” you scream back at her. “I’m not fucking kidding, go!”

Because if there is one redeemable thing about you, it’s the length you’ll go to keep the people you love safe. And Mystery Savior might have just choked a creep out for you, but he also choked a creep out for you, and that’s enough to get your heart pounding in your ears. You don’t know who the good guy is—if there even is a good guy here.

“Fuck,” the creep curses, but it comes out raspy as he grasps at his quickly bruising neck. “You’re a—” he wheezes, “—you’re a murderer!”

Mystery Savior holds up his hands, and that’s when you see it. The black and gold of a vibranium arm just peeking out of the sleeve of his hoodie.

This isn’t a murderer. Not a Mystery Savior either. This is James Bucky Barnes, the Avenger, holy shit. Definitely good guy. Probably. He’s reformed, the news talks about it.

“Caught me,” he says, voice monotone. “What are you gonna do about it?”

If you weren’t currently sprawled on the ground, covered in mimosa, and panicking wildly about whatever is unfolding right in front of you, the very buzzed part of your brain would really appreciate the smoothness of Bucky’s voice when he said that, the cool, calm, collected delivery.

You’ll file it in the back of your mind for when you go back to your empty apartment.

“That fat ass ain’t worth it,” the creep chokes out, scrambling to get up. As soon as he’s on his feet, poised to take off, Bucky moves faster than you could have imagined and grabs the guy by his shirt.

“I don’t think so, buddy.” You can’t see his face, but you think Bucky might be smiling.

A portly man, a little shorter than Bucky, pushes through the gathering crowd, eyes wide and panicked, face red, already sweating. When you glance at his golden nametag, it reads: Jason, Manager. Cool that the manager showed up this late. If Bucky hadn’t stepped in, you’d probably be in a pile of limbs on the ground by now. Also—is he going to comp your bill? ‘Cause at this point, you’re starting to think you deserve it.

Okay, not a good time to be distracted.

“Thank you for getting him, sir,” the manager says, a little breathless. “Winter Soldier, sir.”

“It’s Bucky,” he says, and then he shoves the creep toward the manager. “Not sure why you didn’t step in before he got violent.”

Exactly! Why did everyone just stand around and do nothing as some six-foot man hustled the four women sitting beside the street? You glance around again, seeing your friends have disappeared and now, both the wait staff and other café patrons, are crowded around your table. It’s a little unsettling how no one cared to even look at you until everything escalated.

As the manager grabs the creep and hauls him off toward the street to wait for the cops, Bucky Barnes relaxes his shoulders and turns toward you slowly, and it’s—well, for lack of a better word—it’s beautiful. He’s beautiful.

He looks nothing like the superhero in the pictures. Here, with the D.C. sun hitting him unabashedly, his slate eyes like glass marbles, the lines surrounding them wrinkled in concern, his tongue darting between his lips to wet the skin where his teeth bite down, a habitual sore, his short locks ruffled by the breeze or maybe the fight or maybe he just wakes up perfectly rumpled, here he looks like a man.

“You okay?” he asks, somehow nonchalant and still worried, and he holds out a calloused hand to you.

Or, well, maybe Bucky had been watching. And maybe that’s enough.

God, you don’t even know this man outside of his Avenger persona, the headlines you read on the news, the pictures you see on social media, but there’s just something about him that makes you want to trust him. Like he guarantees safety, and you know that no one, least of all an Avenger, can guarantee safety. Even if that’s their job.

Stop feeling safe around him.

But you take his hand anyway, his long, thick fingers folding over your own like he means to swallow them, and Bucky pulls you up as though you weigh nothing. In fact, he does it so easily that you crash straight into him with a yelp and his arms instantly slide around your waist to catch you as your knees go weak, buckling beneath you.

When you look up at him, your hands trying to find purchase in the material of his hoodie, he’s staring down at you with the hint of a smile.

“Thanks,” you say, quiet and a little stunned.

His lips crack a little wider. “No problem.”

For a few seconds longer than deemed socially appropriate, you stare at Bucky, captured by the changing color of his blue-gray eyes. And then, as if god is slapping you on the back of your head, you blink and remember that you are covered in alcohol and currently pressed against the chest of a superhero, and your eyes go wide as you quickly push away from him.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry,” you tell him. “I’m disgusting—you probably have orange juice all over you now, fuck.”

“Hey,” he says, his flesh hand wrapping around your upper arm to steady you, “it’s okay. Seriously though, are you alright?”

You open your mouth to say something and then shut it again when you realize nothing sounds like the right answer. Bucky waits patiently though, peering down at you, his grip a little more grounding than you wish it was.

“Yes?” you say, but it sounds like a question. “I mean, maybe? I’m—It’s not like I’m not used to this happening. I’ll be fine.”

Bucky frowns. “Used to it?”

You shrug. “Not all men are superheroes. Most don’t have good intentions. And I’m not even that pretty, can you imagine what other women deal with?”

It slips out before you realize it, the self-hatred you keep at bay.

“Not pretty?” Bucky’s face twists into something confused. “That guy assaulted you just to get your number. I’m not saying it’s right, but if you think you aren’t pretty, well that’s just wrong.”

Oh god, what are you supposed to say now? So stupid. If you had just kept your mouth shut, you wouldn’t have forced an Avenger—a really fucking hot Avenger—to give you an awkward compliment and now you have to scramble to figure out what to say. If you deny the compliment, you’ll look ungrateful. If you accept the compliment, that’s too egotistical. Too into yourself.

You’ve backed yourself into a corner here, and Bucky’s on the other side of the ring.

“Look,” he interrupts your inner monologuing, running a hand through his hair and glancing away, “if you don’t mind me saying it, you’re—well—you’re gorgeous. I hope you know that.”

Your mouth falls open and you stare at him, nervous energy radiating off him, and when his eyes shift back to yours he coughs.

“I mean, don’t take that the wrong way. I’m not—I’m not trying to hit on you after what just happened, I promise.” His eyes go wide, then, and he throws his hands out in front of him in a placating gesture. “That’s not to say I’m not! Not hitting on you. I mean, shit, I just think you’ve gotta be the most beautiful dame—woman, sorry—that I’ve seen in years.”

There’s something soft about it, something sweetly suffocating, like buttercream frosting in the back of your throat, about his nervousness. The gentle panic, the way his eyes go back and forth from the ground at your feet to your eyes like he’s checking to make sure he hasn’t said the wrong thing, but he just keeps putting his foot in his mouth like it’s a magnet to metal. It’s endearing. It’s real.

“Do you want to get a drink with me?” you blurt out, and Bucky blanches. “I know it’s only, like, noon but I need a drink. And I owe you. For saving me.”

He relaxes at this, another one of those small smiles easing its way onto his face, and his shoves his hands into his pockets like he wasn’t just panicking two seconds ago about calling you a dame, which if anyone else had done, you would have socked them in the mouth, but he’s like one-hundred-and-six or something and you kinda get it.

“The drinks you’re wearing ain’t enough, doll?”

A laugh breaks from your mouth and he lights up, grinning.

“Oh, that’s how it’s gonna be?” You can’t help the smile splitting your own lips. “Sure, make fun of the girl who just got hustled, easy prey.”

The way he looks at you is burning.

“I’m Bucky,” he says. “James Bucky Barnes.”

“I know,” you say with a laugh. When you give him your name, he almost looks like he wants to try it out, but he keeps it on his tongue like he’s tasting it instead.

“So, a drink?” he asks, a little cautiously.

“I’d like that.” Then, you look down and curse. “But I’m gross. I really need to go home and change.”

Bucky nods, but a look of disappointment crosses his face, there and then gone again, just enough to make your heart tighten into a painful brick weight atop your chest. Everything in your brain is saying no, don’t do it, don’t do it. But your heart hurts and it hurts for him, a man you’ve only met in news articles and awkward interviews until now, when he’s saved you from being slapped around by some creep or worse, and god, you have such a soft heart sometimes and it’s gotten you in trouble before but you can’t just ignore it.

“Do you like Bloody Marys?”

His eyes meet yours again and you’re drawn into the storm that swirls in his irises once again.

“Never had one,” he admits. “They don’t look much like a drink.”

“Well, if you’re interested, I have the stuff to make a really good one at home. And then I could change and clean up a little and still y’know, thank you for saving my life? I mean it’s not much, but—”

“Yes,” he says, his voice as sure and steady as it was earlier when he was in hero mode. “That sounds great.”

Oh, you’re fucked. You’re so fucked.

The walk back to your apartment isn’t uncomfortable, but it’s not easy. Bucky walks beside you like a forcefield, using his body to guide you through the throng of people walking along the streets without even touching you. He reminds you of a sheepdog. The thought almost makes you laugh more than a few times during your stroll.

He walks with his hands in his pockets most of the way, especially his metal one. And he isn’t much of a talker, not that you mind as long as he keeps answering the questions you’re asking him, like what kind of food he likes and what he thinks about sphynx cats and if he likes memes—of which his answers consist of anything, what the hell is that and why is it naked, and a resounding yes.

Bucky asks some of his own questions, though they are few and far between and a lot more cohesive and meaningful than your own. He asks about how long you’ve lived in Washington D.C., about what you do for a living, and about your friends.

“Why did they leave you there?” He’s staring at you when he asks, brows sharp and furrowed.

“Because I told them to,” you answer. “I didn’t want them to get hurt or anything. And I’m kind of the person that if I’m yelling, you better listen ‘cause I’m usually yelling for a good reason.”

He nods like he understands, but his lips are pressed flat. “They shouldn’t have left you.”

You shrug. “I wanted them to. I would’ve been more pissed if they hadn’t run off and gotten tangled up in the middle of everything.”

“You’re a good person,” he says, still looking at you. His face is softer, that hint of a curve in his mouth the only sign that anything’s changed.

You give him your own smile. “Maybe.”

It’s only once you get to the front door of your apartment that things shift and your stomach rolls, heavy and fluttering light all at once, a not-so-familiar-anymore anxiety chilling your skin. The keys in your hand jingle and you aren’t sure if it's because your fingers are shaking or not.

“It’s not much,” you say, beckoning him inside, “but y’know, it’s enough for me.”

Bucky steps through the door with a reverence, a caution, a carefulness that strikes you right in the heart. He looks out of place for a minute, like he’s never entered an apartment before. And then, as you kick off your shoes, losing the extra inch of height, smiling and gesturing for him to do the same, there’s something in him that snaps and bends and his shoulders fall, relaxed.

He toes off his boots, leaving them by the door, and suddenly there’s a different air in the apartment. Almost intimate. Comfortable.

Stop it. You don’t even know him.

“Make yourself at home. Can I get you anything? A glass of water or something?”

Bucky shakes his head as he follows behind you, slowly, his eyes roaming over your space. It’s really not much, you know that. A little more than a box with a bathroom and a bedroom attached, what with the living room and the kitchen being “open-concept,” a word you’re pretty sure was invented to sell tiny apartments for more money. You don’t even have a table to sit at—just a couch to plunk down on while you’re eating.

“I’m alright, doll,” he says, running a hand over the soft cushions of said couch. “You go change, I’m fine.”

As soon as you disappear into your bedroom, the door locked behind you, you lean against the wood and let out a sigh. This is awkward. What the fuck were you thinking? Asking an Avenger—Bucky Barnes—back to your apartment for a drink? A bloody mary? Who are you trying to kid?

It’s been years, literal years since you’ve invited anyone back to your apartment. In fact, you don’t think anyone besides your friends has even stepped foot inside. Maybe they haven’t even made it to the door.

Why would you invite him here?

In frustration, you strip your dirty shirt off and throw it onto the floor, shimmy-ing out of your skirt and kicking it toward the hamper just as well. You sort through your drawers, looking for something comfortable to throw on. Or maybe you should wear something nice? Something that looks similar to what you wore to brunch. But Bucky’s dressed in jeans and a hoodie. But he also looks like a modern god in just that.

Fuck. You are fucked. Why did you ask him back to your place for a drink? What did you think would happen?

You throw an old band t-shirt over your head and pull a black pair of loose shorts up over your hips, cursing when you realize they don’t even hit mid-thigh. Does that seem suggestive? Is Bucky going to think you want to fuck him if you walk out in these?

Do you want to fuck Bucky?

No. No. This is not what this is about. You invited him over because you owed him a drink and because you needed to change and because he seemed so damn sad when you said you couldn’t go out for a drink. So you asked him to come home with you. Oh, god, that’s so complicated. What have you gotten yourself into?

Stop. Just stop thinking.

But—you have to admit it to yourself—you want it. You want him.

Your friends’ earlier words repeat in your head. A human, a connection, something that isn’t an empty apartment. They aren’t wrong for thinking that it’s something you want. For most of your life, you’ve lived thinking that you shouldn’t need someone. But isn’t it okay to want someone? You’re tired of being alone. Bucky Barnes is the first man that’s been in your empty apartment since you moved in, and maybe it’s a bold move, but you know what?

You throw yourself out of your bedroom, probably looking a little too frazzled, and you quickly comb your fingers through your hair as nonchalantly as possible to fix the flyaways. Bucky’s sitting on your couch, looking lonely, his hands rigid on his spread knees.

He looks like he fits there, on your sofa, in your empty apartment.

“Look,” you say in a breath, catching his attention. When he looks at you, his eyes sweep over your body like he’s never seen a woman before; shy, timid, a little nervous, but there’s something else there. It’s the same thing that’s heating your insides right now.

“I can make you a drink,” you offer, leaning against the doorframe to your bedroom with your arms crossed over your chest, staring at him, “or I can come over there and you can kiss me drunk instead, ‘cause I’m already halfway there.”

Bucky’s eyes widen for a fraction of a second, and then a cocky grin is curling his lips up, his face brightening the entire apartment. You don’t know if your body is warm because you’re embarrassed at your own daring or because Bucky Barnes is so beautiful it’s criminal, but you know that there’s static and stretch in your limbs and desire pooling in your belly. Liquor and lust are chasing away whatever fears you had before.

“Really?” he asks, but there’s a teasing lilt to his voice that reminds you of what a fucking flirt he is, or that he can be, and you think butterflies might be taking up residence in your tummy.

“Really,” you mimic, wearing your own charmed smile. Bucky lets his head fall to the side as he looks over you, then crooks one metal finger at you, beckoning you to join him on the couch. With as much confidence as you can muster, you stride toward him, putting a little swing in your steps. Maybe you look crazy doing it, but it’s enough that his eyes flicker down to watch your hips, and it sends a thrill through you.

“This isn’t like me,” you tell him as you sink down beside him, as close as possible while still giving him space to bolt if he needs to. “I don’t invite strangers over to my house like this.”

He smiles and it’s warm and big and easy. “I’m glad you did,” he says.

God, his eyes are pretty. “Me too.”

With Bucky’s thigh pressed against yours, his hand resting dangerously close to one of your bare knees, knuckles brushing your skin every time he shifts, you’re melting into his touch and you don’t care. It’s intoxicating—not the alcohol, which you swear should be wearing off by now, but him.

“I don’t do this often,” you say again, like you need to defend your bold behavior.

“Does that mean I’m special?”

“I think so,” you murmur, only loud enough for him to hear being this close.

Kinder than you thought possible, somehow simultaneously suave but still a little nervous, and yet authentic to a fault, Bucky Barnes is a thousand and one contradictions. Nothing like you ever thought he’d be. And maybe that’s what gives you the courage, the thought that someone so hardened could be so soft. That someone who looks like him, chiseled and striking and like a charcoal sketching on stark paper, could turn red at your innuendos and your charmed quips. That there’s a chance he could be attracted to you.

This—This is the connection you’ve been waiting for. The person who makes you feel like this. Tipsy when you shouldn’t be tipsy anymore.

“I know we barely know each other, but I really, really want you, Bucky.”

Your shoulder is pressed to his shoulder, your chest nearing his chest, your chin tipped up to stare at his eyes, his nose, his parted lips. Bucky stares down at you, his Adam’s apple dipping and bobbing as he swallows hard. Your lips curl, threatening to giggle. He’s so damn cute. How can someone like him, an Avenger, a super soldier, look so cute?

But the hand at your knee finally creeps up your skin, his hot palm glossing over your bare thigh, resting a little higher than a friendly touch would go. He presses indents—not too hard, but not too soft—into your plush, silken flesh.

“You do?” he asks, tongue darting out to wet his lip and you want to follow it back into his mouth with your own.

To answer, you push closer, your hand coming up to drape across his neck, a little off-balance as you sit up on your knees.

“Mhm,” you hum, and that’s all he needs to grasp your thigh roughly and drag you over him, seating you upon his lap as a squeak of surprise flies from your lips. His hands fall to your hips as if your body was made for him to hold and suddenly you’re looking down at him and he’s looking up at you instead, and god, he’s staring at you like you’re heaven and earth and everything he ever needed to be saved.

“I want you too,” he says, exhaling as if you’ve stolen all the air in his lungs.

“Then will you finally kiss me?” Your nose brushes his and his breath ghosts over your mouth.

Bucky’s lips surge up to meet yours, swallowing the last sounds of your words like it’s the first drink of water he’s had in years, cool and refreshing and tinged with smoke, something uniquely him.

As your hands thread through his short locks, desperate to hold onto him in any way, his fingers begin to curve over your ass. You rock into him, pressing against him harder, sucking at his plush lips as his tongue skims over your top lip until you grant him entry. Bucky kisses like he’s trying to taste every single part of you and it sends waves of pleasure through your belly and to your core, where you grind down until you feel his hardening length beneath you.

Immediately, you start to strip him of his hoodie, divesting him of that layer to feel the soft shirt beneath—but only barely because it’s hell trying to pull his hands away from where they’re touching you.

And he’s touching you everywhere. His fingers roam over every generous piece of your body. The silken planes of your thighs where he’s pushed your shorts up, the wide canyons of your hips, the bumpy hills of your waist where your stomach is too big and too soft and where he slips his mismatched hands under your shirt to trace the lines of your stretch marks. It isn’t long until he brushes by the band of your bra and then he’s tugging at the hem of the shirt, pulling away from your lips long enough to rid you of it.

You take the moment to rid him of his too, and then you’re both topless, still sitting atop his lap and panting from lack of air. No words are shared between you before Bucky is capturing your mouth again. It’s only passion, frenzied and hot and wanting.

His fingers fumble with the hooks of your bra blindly as your teeth sink into his bottom lip, nipping and giggling and tangling your tongue around his. As soon as you hear the snap, you lean back and Bucky pulls it off you, flinging the offending garment somewhere else in the apartment.

Now, with your naked chest completely bared to him, you wait for it to happen. For his eyes to dart away, for the apprehension to cross his features, for the disgust to set it. The real reason that it’s been so long since you’ve invited someone into your empty apartment—into your empty life.

You’re scared.

Like you’re expecting the blow, you close your eyes and brace yourself, but you don’t cover up. You’ve learned not to cover up. You refuse to make yourself smaller, or prettier, or more tolerable for people. It’s why you don’t get entangled with one-night stands anymore, why you don’t ask strangers to come home with you, why you don’t let your girlfriends set you up with anyone. Because you refuse to make yourself something you’re not just to fit in, and that’s what always, always ends up happening.

Bucky touches you and it makes you flinch, his vibranium fingers a little chilly against the soft, warm skin of your stomach. He touches you and it’s electric, but you don’t open your eyes.

You’re too afraid to look and see the disappointment in his gorgeous blues.

His hands skim over your rib cage, sliding around the sides of your waist, his thumbs grazing the undersides of your breasts. You shiver at the contact. He continues his trail upwards, but then he lays his palms on your shoulders and caresses over your neck, his fingers finally finding the edge of your soft jaw to cradle your face. A shaky breath leaves you.

“Look at me,” he whispers, closer than you thought.

And no matter how much you’ll berate yourself over it later, there is something so safe about Bucky Barnes that your lashes flutter and your eyes open, and he’s right there, right there in front of you, staring at you with those stormy sea eyes half-lidded and glazed over with lust, his pink lips parted in awe, and you gasp at the intensity that strikes right through the center of you.

“You’re…” he trails off, swallowing nervously again. “Doll, I don’t think I know a word in English that describes you.”

Bucky presses forward, his chest brushing against your hardened nipples, stealing your breath and then sealing your lips with a kiss that isn’t like before. This kiss isn’t needy or wanting or filled with teeth and tongue and desperation. This time, his mouth moves with yours as if he’s trying to spell out a thousand words in twenty different languages to tell you how he feels, his lips leading yours in a dance that isn’t worried about an audience or the music or if you step on his toes.

When he pulls away, you wonder if your mouth is as swollen as his.

“You’re perfect,” he says with a finality in his tone that almost makes you collapse into his arms.

Then, Bucky wastes no time and captures a nipple in between those swollen lips, causing you to let out an embarrassingly loud noise in surprise. His metal hand finds your other breast, thumb stroking over the bud until you’re arching further into him. As his tongue traces patterns around one nipple, his fingers tweak and twist and pull its sister, and your hands grasp his broad shoulders in an attempt to hold on.

Finally, he presses gentle kisses over your rosy buds, all worn out by his touches, and then circles your breasts with more kitten licks and grazes of his teeth. Bucky’s hands settle at your hips again, fingers grasping your skin like he can’t get enough of the feel of you. He’s trying to imprint your body on his palms.

“I need to have you, doll,” he says all breathy as if he isn’t the one absolutely drenched right now. “Please. Please,” he asks so softly that you wonder if this is the man who even came to your rescue today, all tall and brooding. When you grind down on his lap again, feeling his hard cock beneath his jeans as he lets out a groan and tightens his grip on your waist, you realize you’re not the only one feeling the tension.

Still, there’s something cheeky left in you and you reach out to swipe your finger across his nose, effectively booping it cutely. A grin splits your lips.

“You need me?” you ask teasingly. “What if I need you instead?”

It’s like it sets something ablaze in him or something, ‘cause as soon as you go in for another kiss, Bucky stands up from the couch, his hands cradling your ass as you shriek and wrap your legs around him in reflex.

“Oh my god—”

“Now you’ve done it,” he grunts, burying his face in your neck to pepper kisses all over the stretch of skin that encompasses your shoulder, your jawline, even up into your hairline by your ear.

“Oh my god, put me down Bucky, I’m—you’re gonna drop me, I’m too heavy!”

“Heavy?” He chuckles against your throat and the vibrations almost make you shudder in pleasure. God, what is this man doing to you? “Darlin’, I don’t think you know the meaning of heavy.”

Bucky flashes you a wide, almost predatory grin, and you wonder where that soft, nervous boy went.

“If I wanted to,” he says, his voice low and steady, “I could fuck you right here, in the middle of the room, for hours.” He must feel the shiver that goes through your entire body because he’s laughing again. “But I want to fuck you into your mattress if that’s okay. Can I do that?”

Your throat feels dry when you whisper, “Yes. Please.”

He punctuates your plea with a heated kiss to your lips, his tongue tasting the citrus and bubble from your mimosas, the alcohol long since worn off. It’s all him that you feel, all him that intoxicates you, and all him around you as he walks you into your bedroom, not even straining under your weight, and dumps you onto the middle of your sheets.

There, he cages you, hovering above you to kiss down your body, already intent on tearing your shorts off.

“Bucky,” you whine. In the afternoon light streaming through the single window in your room, his eyes are a startling color you wish you could name, all clear and confident and crystal and god, god, his fingers are already exploring the slit of your core so lightly it makes you flush and want to hide, your inner thighs sticky and coated in your own slick from how hot he’s made you with such simple touches.

“You want me?” he asks as if he doesn’t know.

“Yes,” you hiss in pleasure, body writhing beneath him. Bucky leans down to kiss the shell of your ear, his tongue blazing a hot trail that makes you moan and buck your hips up to meet his, but he won’t have any of that.

“Good,” he says, “‘cause I need to have you, and I don’t plan on letting you go ‘till I’ve gotten everything you’ve got to give, doll.”

That nervous Bucky, all awkward smiles and panicked glances and sweet lines, he’s gone. In his place is this Bucky, assured and charming and suave and smooth and making your eyes roll back into your head until a scream is threatening to burst from your lips unless he swallows it with his own kiss, which he does, over and over again.

“I’m gonna ravage you, darlin’.”

You aren’t sure which one you like better—but is it greedy to say both?

As the light of a new day spreads through your apartment, you awaken easily, softly, but painfully. Someone’s pulled the blankets up to your chin and tucked them around you, and the thought leaves an empty feeling inside of you. When you stretch, every part of you burns deliciously, a memory from the hours spent in bed, on the couch, on the fucking counter after you’d eaten and he still wasn’t satisfied, and then again in bed.

And now, looking over at the space beside you, he’s gone. His clothes are gone from the floor. There’s no sound echoing in the building. He even left you tucked in, for god’s sake.

Your apartment is just as it always has been—empty.

With a groan, you kick the covers off and plant your feet on the floor, willing yourself to get up. The ache in your muscles is nothing more than a pleasant memory, an unpleasant reminder of the marks he left on you, his absence.

Stop it. You shouldn’t have even gotten attached to him in the first place. You knew what this was, and he did too, and it’s no wonder he’s gone this morning.

Get over it.

You swipe an oversized shirt from your dresser and throw it over your head as you stride out toward the kitchen, content to go pantyless for the day after the abuse you put it through last night. Yawning, your eyes screwed shut in another big stretch to warm up your overused muscles, you hear him before you see him.

“Mornin’, doll.”

Like that, your eyes snap open and he’s there, standing in your tiny kitchen in nothing but last night’s boxers, looking fucking glorious in the spotlight of the warm sun that’s streaming through the room and highlighting the counters.

“Bucky?” you ask, but it’s a little loud and a little shrieking, something you don’t intend. But all he does is smile at you, metal fingers tapping the plastic countertop, so at ease he just looks like he belongs there.

“I thought I’d make you breakfast but you have nothing in your fridge,” he jokes, leaning back against the drawers and crossing his arms over his bare chest.

You shift, embarrassed, looking anywhere but at him. “Yeah, I need to go shopping.”

A long stretch of silence fills your apartment and you’re unsure of what to say in order to break it. Bucky’s clearly watching you, drinking in the sight of your love-marked body, bruises peeking out of the hem of your shirt that barely skims past the tops of your thighs, and you remember you’re wearing nothing underneath.

And he’s here, right here, and you really aren’t sure why. It seems the two of you have almost switched places. Where Bucky was nervous and shy at first, he’s now confident and comfortable and you’re left with heated cheeks and a tongue-tied in knots. Whatever boldness that came over you all yesterday has fled.

It’s left a deep pocket of insecurity inside of you.

“Why are you still here?” you ask, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible, like you don’t care, but your voice shakes a little. He’s too far away to really tell, but you think a flash of hurt passes over Bucky’s brow.

“‘Cause you still owe me a drink,” he says as if it's obvious, a small smile still sitting so prettily on his mouth.

You blink, a little confused, but shuffle closer. “Bloody Mary?”

“Yeah,” he says with a deep breath, his grin growing bigger the closer that you come toward him. “Will you still make me one?”

You nod, toes finally crossing into the kitchen, and then you and Bucky are staring at each other. There are scratches left like the bones of a graveyard on his arms, and you’re almost sure if he turned around they’d cover his neck and back just as well. Seeing those reddened marks, similar to the bruises he’s left on you, makes you relax your shoulders just a little.

“Do you need help?” he asks, eyes sweeping over your barely covered form.

“No,” you say, heading to the kitchen which is little more than a countertop, a stove, and a fridge. “But you can keep me company.”

So this is what happens in the morning after. Bucky leans against the counter next to you, watching you with a burning intensity that nearly matches last night’s, and you pull all the ingredients out and line them up next to two glasses and try not to falter under his gaze. He looks at you like you’re this fascinating thing he needs to study and it bothers you, but only in the best of ways.

“Do you always stare this hard at your dates?” A smile plays at your lips as you crack open the tomato juice.

He doesn’t look away. “No,” he says, but he sounds unsure. “Is this a date, doll?” There’s something in his voice that you can’t figure out, faintly hopeful, fairly confused. Vaguely surprised, even.

You shrug. “Maybe.” Especially after all of yesterday, you would hope he thought so.

But Bucky shakes his head. “No.”

Ow.

That hurt more than you were expecting it to. Calling yourself his date had only been a joke meant to lighten the mood, ease him up a little, cure the tension swirling in the room. You guess you should have expected it, though. You owed him a drink—he didn’t owe you a date. It wasn’t supposed to be a date, anyway.

All you had done was sleep together, for fuck’s sake. This is why you hate morning afters. This is why you would have preferred it if he had been gone when you woke.

But was that even true? Because the relief you felt when you found him waiting for you in the kitchen was immense and hard to understand.

You open the bottle of vodka a little more forcefully than you intended.

“When we go out on a real date,” he continues, and your eyes meet, “I’ll be taking you out and treating you.” A slow grin crawls over his face that reminds you of his wicked mouth and what it can do and the sight makes your heart beat and beat and beat, faster and faster, like the wings of a hummingbird, quick quick quick.

“When?”

“When,” he affirms.

“That’s bold of you,” you say, popping ice cubes from a tray into the glasses.

“Maybe,” he says, “but I know what I want now.” Bucky shifts a little closer to you, his vibranium arm brushing by the bare skin of your soft one as you try and focus on not spilling the juice, but you can smell him and he smells like cedar and bergamot and smoke and clove. A smell that consumed you whole last night, surrounded you, drowned you in it.

He’s so close you can feel him inhale.

“I’ve lived a long time not knowing—not getting to decide—what I want,” he admits, his voice low and quiet and soothing your nervous heart. “So you can call it bold, but I call it right.”

The sincerity in his voice makes your hands still and you look up at him, eyes wide. In the soft white lights of your tiny kitchen, sharing the tight space with him so close, Bucky’s eyes are thunder and rain and lightning all at once, peace and chaos both, promising release and the sweet scent of earth and oil afterward.

“You don’t even know me,” you whisper.

Bucky leans closer. “But I want to.”

He’s so close, too close, close enough that he can surely hear the rhythm of your heart, unsteady and racing just for him. You could surge forward and kiss him, stake your claim once again on those pinkened lips that have held your attention from the first time you saw them, feel the stubble of his jaw rub against the soft peach fuzz of your own, let it remind you of how it felt against the apex of your thighs as he made you cry out over and over again, breaking on his tongue over and over again.

It makes you feel dizzier than any alcohol ever could.

But Bucky reaches over, past you, and takes one of the glasses from your hand, warm fingers brushing over your cooler ones. He holds it up, toward you, gesturing for a toast. With a swallow, hardly glancing away from his slate eyes to grab the other glass, you tap your Bloody Mary against his with a soft clink.

He watches you over the rim as he takes his first sip and you think he might be smirking. Then, he darts toward you and takes your lips in his own, tasting of spice and tomato juice and perfection, all Bucky, all for you.

When he pulls away, too quickly, he rests his forehead against your and looks down at you, staring into your hazy eyes.

“Will you let me stay?” he asks, like he doesn’t know what you’ll say. The soft, nervous Bucky is peeking out from behind his confident visage once again, his voice hopeful and frightened and the hand that’s gliding beneath your shirt and over your waist more timid than it was last night.

There’s a million things you can say. You can tell him to take you out to brunch instead. You can tell him you’re too busy. You can tell him that this was a one-night stand, it was only ever meant to be a one night stand, and that it was fun but you can’t afford to get attached to him and god, you know you’re going to get attached to him if he stays and that scares the ever-living fuck out of you. You can tell him that it’s messy here, inside your empty apartment, inside your empty heart. You can tell him that he could take up residence here. You can tell him so, so many things.

“Yes,” you say instead, and Bucky laughs against your mouth when he kisses you hard once more.

#Eury2kchallenge #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x plus size reader #plus sized reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fluff #mcu #marvel #bucky barnes smut #smut #divine masterlist

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reidgraygubler · 3 years

Text

carolina (spencer reid/reader

Title: Carolina

Request: no, but it was written for @spencerreidbingo

Couple: spencer reid/fem!reader

Category: smut/angst, with a tiny bit of fluff

Content Warning: SEXUAL CONTENT (praise kink, mild-innocence kink, daddy kink, fingering, oral (male & female), penetrative sex, unprotected sex/cream pie, grinding/petting, hairpulling, breathplay, multiple orgasms, possessive kink, orgasm denial), partying, drinking, swearing, large age gap (between two consenting adults), professor/student, post prison!reid, quick mentions of drinks being drugged (but not actually happening) (if I missed anything, please let me know)

Word Count: 9,064

Summary: Spencer thinks his peer is innocent. But little does he not, she’s not as innocent as he thinks.

A/N: it’s based on carolina by harry styles, bc im a sucker for a good harry song. This was written for @spencerreidbingo (i’ll have a separate post with more about that). this takes up the breathplay square on my card (pictured below). This is also the first time im writing a blowjob scene, so im really sorry if it’s not good. i also didn’t have a beta for this, so im kinda blindly posting this. and, lastly, this is a lot longer than i intended. i didn’t mean for it to get this long… it’s just a bunch of words my brain wouldn’t stop saying until i wrote it... i seriously hope you all enjoy this. thank you all for the love and support! check out my masterlist!

~*~* THIS DOES CONTAIN 18+ CONTENT!! *~*~

{***}{***}{***}

I kept my eyes low as I stepped into the lecture hall 5 minutes before anyone else. The professor was writing something on the chalkboard, so his back was facing the room.

“Uh, hello,” I spoked, stepping closer to his desk. He jumped slightly and dropped his chalk at the sound of my voice. I would have expected him to know students would be showing up earlier, considering it was the start of a new semester. And, I honestly would have assumed he was told a new student was coming. That’s not my job.

“Oh, sorry,” he turned around to face me. I smiled softly, watching

as he bent down to pick up the chalk. I cocked my head to the side, watching his backside as he stood back up. He pushed his hair away from his face. “You must be the new transfer,” he asked, resting the chalk on his desk, beside a pile of pens.

“Yep. That’s me…” I smiled, looking up at his face, keeping myself from further checking him out. I quickly offered my hand and gave him my name. “I know I’m early. I figured I’d get the syllabus from you now instead of after class,” I nodded as I adjusted my grip on my bag. He stared at me for a moment, his eyes lingering on my face and then down my body, and that moment felt like an eternity. I shouldn’t be mad or frustrated with him. I basically did the same thing to him moments ago.

I cleared my throat to get his attention once again. “The, uh… The syllabus?” I asked as my smile faltered slightly. He looked at me before looking at the pile of papers on his desk before quickly moving.

“Right, right, sorry,” he muttered as he began shuffling through the piles of paper on his desk. “Um, here you are,” he looked back up at me as he handed me a small packet. I looked at it for a moment before looking back up at the teacher.

“Perfect, thank you,” I spoke, my words kind of lingering because he never actually gave me his name.

“Right, sorry, Spencer. Spencer Reid. I won’t be a drill sergeant about the whole Mr., Dr., Professor. You can call me whatever you want,” he smiled as he placed his hands on the back of his chair. I held back my laughter and the wildly inappropriate joke that I wanted to make.

“Well, Professor Reid,” I smiled as I looked down at my watch, “I better go find a seat before your class starts. I can’t wait to be in your class,” I looked up at him before turning to find a spot. When I sat down, Spencer looked at me with a smile, before going back to writing on the chalkboard.

I quickly and quietly pulled out my books and pens as the other people in the class filed in and took their seats. Spencer quickly finished writing on the board before turning around to greet the class. And, even as he spoke to the class, and looked around at each of the other students, his eyes always landed on me, lingering for a moment before going elsewhere.

{***}{***}{***}

Five months. Five months into being in Spencer Reid’s class, and I have been suffering. I’m not a new student anymore. But the only friendship I’ve made is with my fucking professor, and there’s a certain level of tension between us. That tension was probably thanks to him staring at me during lectures, and me teasing him while he taught. It wasn’t too bothersome, but I definitely wanted something to happen. Unfortunately for me, I don’t think anything will happen.

So, can someone please tell me why I invited Spencer over to help me study for a test? It’s a stupid question too, that I already figured out the answer to… I even finished studying for the day, and I’m going to a stupid party. Maybe I could get him to go with… And maybe, just maybe, something could happen.

I nearly jumped when there was a knock on the door. It’s not that I forgot he was coming over. It’s that I was so wrapped up in doing my makeup and forgot what time it was. My mascara almost smudged when I jumped back. Thank God it didn’t smudge too terribly.

I grabbed my shirt off the counter and threw it on (not bothering to zip it), before running to the front door. I smoothed out my skirt before pulling the door open. And, there stood Spencer.

“Hope I’m not too late,” he looked down at me and smiled. Although, his smile didn’t stay for too long when he saw what I was wearing. He wasn’t disappointed though, no. He was… He clearly liked what he saw, I’ll just put it that way.

“Oh! Thanks for coming over, but I actually figured it out. I should’ve called you,” I looked up at Spencer as he stepped into my apartment. I struggled to zip the back of my blouse as I walked towards my room. I looked back over my shoulder and noted that Spencer was, indeed, still following me. “Can you zip me up,” I stopped in my tracks before giving up on zipping my blouse. It was a black crop top that paired well with the pale pink tennis skirt.

“Where… Where exactly are you going tonight? It’s a, uh, it’s a school night,” he asked as he lifted his hands. The cool metal of the zipper pressed against my back, causing a shiver to go through my spine.

“Uh, there’s this party,” I answered, stepping away from him and towards the bathroom, “Thought I’d go,” I looked at him in the mirror. Spencer looked around the bathroom, at the messy mess I had made on my counter. Different pallets of makeup and tools were strewn about, a varying amount of hair care products tossed here and there. It honestly looked like a bathroom of a pageant queen, and not a 20-something-year-old. In my defense, I had to dress to impress someone here in this stupid university.

“Is that, uh… Is that smart?” Spencer asked, leaning against the door jamb. I looked up at him as I put on some luxurious red lipstick. I smiled as I looked at him.

“I think it is,” I laughed as I picked up something else and turned to look at him, “You wanna come? I wasn’t invited,” I smiled wickedly as I looked at him. His face paled two shades as he looked at me. “Oh, c’mon, Professor, no one will know us there, and I can assure you, no one will even see us,” I looked up at him as I readjusted his tie. He looked down at me before swallowing roughly.

“I don-”

“I do need a designated driver,” I spoke before cutting him off. I walked past him and towards my room. Part of me wondered what he was thinking as I so rudely rushed past him, or cut him off, or whatever I was doing. I wished I could hear his thoughts. I wondered if they consisted of “The mouth on that girl,” or, “I should punish her for the way she’s acting,” or, my personal favorite, “I should put that mouth to good use,”

“How old are you again?” Spencer asked once I sat down on my bed. I looked up at him as I slipped my shoes on.

“22,” I smiled and stood up, “Why, is that important?” I smiled as I grabbed my coat and purse.

“Couldn’t remember,” he lied. We both knew he was lying. He even knew that too. Freaking walking computer is what he is. There's no way he conveniently forgot how old I was. “Are you going to be out late?”

“Why? It’s not like you’re my dad or anything?” I laughed, leading him back to the front door of the house. “I don’t plan on being out too late. I know there’s class tomorrow,” I shrugged as I walked towards his car.

We both stayed silent as he drove with the directions I was quietly giving him. I was pleasantly happy that we were both quiet, but what I hated was the sudden awkward sexual tension that was between us. If he didn’t have this… domineering personality over me there probably wouldn’t be this tension between us.

“Are you going to come with me?” I looked up at him as I unbuckled. He glanced over at me with slight disappointment in his eye. I felt a little bad, but I really wanted to go to this party, I wasn’t going to let my professor’s disappointment stop me. “Please,” I whispered. He sighed before unbuckling himself. I had to force myself to not verbally giggle with excitement before slipping out of the car. Spencer looked down at me as I twisted my hips to swish my skirt. I smiled as I entertained myself. I'm sure if I wasn't watching my skirt, I would have been staring at him, giving myself away.

“Steps,” Spencer muttered as we got closer to the porch. I looked up at him before looking towards the small staircase. I looked up at Spencer with a smile. He glanced back down at me, a worried crease in his brow. I looked down at my skirt and smoothed it out. I looked at the door as we stood close to it, I contemplated knocking.

“So, you weren’t invited to this party?” Spencer asked, looking down at me. His voice stopped me from knocking. Instead, I looked up at him and smiled back up at him. He raised an eyebrow as he waited for an answer from me. My smile grew playful as I looked back at the door, raising my fist to knock on it. “No answer?” he asked, still waiting for my answer.

“Oh, please, Professor Reid, I can get into the hottest parties in LA without an invitation,” I smiled at him. That was a little bit of an over-exaggeration. Most college parties I could get into. But not LA parties. Someday though…

The door swung open, and we were instantly met with loud music blaring through a speaker somewhere in the house. People’s voices and chatter carried all throughout the house, coming through the various rooms and clusters around. “Are you coming in to babysit me? Or, are you going to go back to your car to read the science of the mathematical phenomenon,” I looked up at him, offering my hand to him. I wasn’t exactly sure if that was a real book or not, but I wouldn’t put it past Spencer to read.

“I’m not babysitting you,” he corrected as he looked down at me with a disappointed look in his eye. I smiled and rolled my eyes.

“Are you going to come in and watch me drink and party and have fun, Professor… Or, are you going to go back to your car and read your silly little book,” I looked down at my hand, silently telling him to take my hand and come in with me.

“I, uh, I don’t think it’s exactly in the rules for a professor to party, let alone drink, with their students,” Spencer spoke before looking down at my hand. I dropped my shoulders and looked up at him.

“Fine then… Suit yourself,” I turned around and basically skipped into the house, leaving the door open for him. I made my way towards the loud kitchen and grabbed for a cup and bottle of whatever booze was nearby. I blindly grabbed for a bottle of Grey Goose and dumped it into the cup, no mixer, no chaser.

“First off,” Spencer’s voice came from beside me. I looked up at him and took a long sip of vodka. “You shouldn’t be taking drinks from people at a party,” he spoke, taking the cup from me. I looked up at him, then the bottle and a new cup. I was only a little annoyed that he took my drink.

“I… I’m young. I’m not dumb,” I grabbed a new cup and poured more vodka. I looked up at him and offered him a sip. “I know not to drink something given to me by someone I don’t know.” I scoffed before taking another long sip. I cringed a bit at how strong it was.

“Even then someone could slip something into a drink! Even if you did know them!” Spencer exclaimed, causing the surrounding people to turn and look at us. I dropped my shoulders as I looked up at him.

“If you look around, Spencer, you’re the only person that I know. So unless you’re the one slipping something into my drink… And, as an FBI agent… I don’t think you would,” I cocked my head to my shoulder. Spencer looked at me with a raised eyebrow. “You have more to say,” I added before taking a sip of my drink.

"And, secondly, you're not as innocent as I had originally thought you were," he watched as I brought the cup of straight vodka to my lips. He looked rather unamused with my talent for drinking straight vodka.

"You thought I was innocent?" I asked, nearly sputtering the liquid with my laughter. "Please! I've never been innocent in my entire life!" I shouted over the music. He raised an eyebrow at my statement, and suddenly I had the greatest idea in the world. "But maybe, just for you, I'll be a good girl," I smiled before drinking the rest of my drink in one go. Spencer looked down at me, his lips pressed into a fine as he stared down at me. Ohh, that definitely awoken something in him. I bit back my smile with my offer. Innocent… He thinks I’m innocent. Ha! I honestly don’t remember the last time I was innocent. And, honestly, just for him… I’d be an innocent, good, little girl for Spencer Reid any day, every day even. “I can be your good, innocent little girl,” I smiled at him and cocked my head.

"I don't… I don't think that'd be… appropriate," he spoke, his words very quiet. We both knew that even though it was inappropriate, we both wanted it. We both knew what we wanted to.

I glanced at him before pouring more drink for myself. "You should learn to pace yourself," he stated and changed the subject. He nervously looked at the bottle of vodka and then around the room at all the other people drinking. Or, he was just looking for a drink that wasn’t booze. Did he actually want to keep me safe, or was I just overreading him?

"It's a college party, Professor! I'm not going to pace myself!" I shouted just to get his attention back to me. His head shot back down to me. The level of concern on his face only made me feel a little bad, mostly because he was concerned for me. But, he should know… This is a college party. “Do you want some?” I asked, offering my drink to him again. I held it up to him, close to his lips. His face twisted up as soon as the scent of pure vodka hit his nose.

“No, no thanks,” he held up at hand to block the cup from his face. I pouted before bringing it to my lips. “Do you usually come to parties,” he asked, his eyes darting around the room. Part of me wondered if he wanted to continue that question with “Like this?” But, I was too busy keeping my eyes on his face, rather than looking around the room like he was. Although, I’m sure he was used to keeping an eye on his surroundings. I’ve never been too worried about it, I probably should… But hey, you only live once. Going to college parties with your 38-year-old professor, and drinking straight vodka, and not really caring about your surroundings proves my point of YOLO.

“If I don’t have class or anything to study for… Yep,” I looked up at him with a sneaky smile. The joke with that was his particular class had a test coming up soon, and I should be studying for it. He knew that too because he just announced the test this morning. Although, he did come to my home, to help me with said test. “But, I wouldn't show up to his class hungover. It’d disappoint him too much. And, he’d care too much about me to even focus on the rest of the class,” I spoke, answering the questions he was thinking. It’s not like I’ve shown up to classes hungover before. Granted, I’ve never shown up to his class drunk or hungover. Mostly because I didn’t want to disappoint him, and only him. Anyone and everyone else can go blow themselves.

“How do you know that?” Spencer asked, looking back at me with furrowed eyebrows. I smiled and stepped closer to him.

“How do I know what?” I cocked my head to my shoulder. I already knew what he meant by his question, but… I think teasing him and messing with him is fun. And, he knew that too.

“How do you know that you’d disappoint him?” he looked down at me, pressing his chin to his chest to get a better look at me. His hands were away from me, even though I really wanted his hands anywhere on me. I looked over at my hand and the cup I held before bringing it to my lips. I took a long sip, trying to finish the contents in one go. I tossed the cup over my shoulder and looked up at him with a lazy smile.

“Because being hungover, with the slight possibility of still being drunk, would totally disappoint him… And I would hate to disappoint him.” I whispered and shook my head. Spencer looked down at me with something in his eyes, and I loved the way he looked at me. “I told you, Professor, I’d be a good girl for you,” I cocked my head to my shoulder and smiled, “And only for you,”

“You’re drunk,” he pointed out an obvious fake statement. So, I cackled and shook my head.

“I had one drink,” I scoffed and waved off my in the air, “Most definitely not enough to get me drunk,” I flattened his tie out before gripping it tightly, “Like I said, I wouldn’t want to disappoint you,” I smiled before dropping my hand from his tie, “So, why would I show up to your class… Hungover…? I know you’d care… And I know it’d disappoint you. That’s the last thing I want to do to you,”

Spencer’s adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed roughly. He quickly looked between me and the room, then back at me, then around the room. I faked a yawn before looking away from him.

“I’m gonna go to the bathroom, okay, Professor?” I smoothed out his jacket before turning and leaving him alone in the kitchen. I smiled as I skipped away from him, my skirt swishing with my movement. I secretly hoped he’d follow me. But, a quick glance over my shoulder told me he was still in the kitchen.

However, when I finished my business and left the bathroom, Spencer was leaning against the wall right beside the door. I looked up at him and smiled.

“Follow me,” he muttered, grasping my wrist and pulling me down the various halls and past multiple groups of people. I giggled the harder his grasp grew on me and the faster he moved. I’m happy people were too busy with themselves to notice a 30-something-year-old man was dragging a 20-something-year-old girl down the hall, to which I can assume was one of the only open bedrooms. Fuck… I hope it's a bedroom.

He was a man on a mission. Not letting anyone get in his way. The smile that grew on my lips was pure excitement. I couldn’t help it. I’m sure we’re both getting what we wanted… I hope.

I let out an excited yelp when he shoved me into, exactly what I thought, an empty bedroom. I’m surprised he knew that there’d be an empty room. Most of them are occupied, with couples (or more) doing exactly what I hope we’re about to do. Which was fuck each other.

Spencer slammed the door shut, and quickly locked it before pushing me against it. I looked up at him and giggled like a fucking kid in a candy store. Again, I couldn’t help it.

Spencer was quiet, which led me to be quiet. The air in between us quickly grew hot and tense and thick. I really wanted this to move faster, but I wanted him to be the one in charge. I was willing to let this be slow and let him be in charge. So, when he grabbed both my wrists and held them above my head, I smiled so hard my cheeks began to hurt.

“Tell me what you want,” Spencer’s voice was low and deep as he moved close to me. There was little to no space between us. Which left little to the imagination, for me anyway.

I looked up at him, with the biggest doe eyes I could muster, silently telling him that I wanted the most, in the entire world, was to be on my knees, with his hand tangled in my hair, and his cock down my throat, or to be fucked so hard that I won’t be able to sit properly for several days. But, I couldn’t be that blunt. You gotta play up to that moment before you get it. I’m sure in the end though, I’ll get both things.

I swallowed roughly, trying to think of what to say, because, like I said, I can’t just be blunt yet. So, when I opened my mouth and words just came out, I was pleasantly surprised with what was said. “You’re old enough to be my father, Professor,” I smiled at him as he pinned me against the door. He pressed his hips against mine to keep me against the surface. I could feel a large bulge against my inner thigh, causing me to shiver. “Does that mean I get to call you daddy,” I whispered as I looked up at him through my eyelashes. He is the one who said I could call him whatever I wanted… And he did just ask me what I wanted, and I guess I wanted to call him ‘Daddy’. There was no guessing about him.

Okay, he wasn't exactly old enough to be my father. But he was a lot older than me. Most 20-something-year-olds aren't sleeping with men 15 years older than them… and most 20-something-year-olds aren't sleeping with their professor… I just wanted an excuse to call him 'Daddy'. And he knew that too. So, if we gave each other an excuse for that to happen, then that was all I needed.

I dropped my head to my shoulder to allow him to attack the space on my neck. He dragged his nose across my jawbone before stilling. His lips were just over my neck. As his breathing got heavier, it tickled across my skin.

“That does have a nice ring to it,” Spencer hummed as he dropped my hands and stepped away from me. I swallowed roughly as I stared at him. I missed having his body pressed against mine, and he knew that.

I looked at him as I brought my hands to his belt. "I thought you said this wasn't appropriate, Daddy," I whispered as I quickly undid the belt buckle, without looking. I almost couldn’t move fast enough to unbutton and zip his pants. If he wanted me to stop, he would have stopped me by now. “Can I?” I looked up at him, a plea in my eyes.

"You've changed my mind," he muttered, watching me with such close intent, “God, please keep going,” he spoke like if I did stop now he’d probably die. I looked up at him as I slipped my hand into the waistband of his boxers. He hissed as my fingers brushed against his cock. A small smile grew on my lips.

“Didn’t take much convincing,” I smiled as my fingers wrapped around him. A small groan fell from his lips as I looked up at him. When I pulled my hand away from him not even a moment later, he looked down at me with an alarmed expression on his face. I quickly spat on my palm before sticking my hand down his pants. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted this?” I whispered as I slowly stroked up and down his length. I couldn’t believe it was actually happening.

“I’ve wanted this since you stepped foot in my classroom,” his voice was low and gravely as he spoke. My breathing picked up a little bit as I looked up at him.

Okay… Maybe he did know how long I’ve wanted this. Because I also wanted this the second I stepped into his lecture hall. I wanted his cock in my hands and his hand around my throat. It only took-what, five months for this? I’ll make it worth the wait.

“Does that feel good,” I whispered, carefully picking up speed and adding the slightest bit of pressure in my grip. Spencer’s eyes fluttered shut as he swallowed roughly and nodded. I smiled before pulling my hand away from him, again. I slowly lowered to my knees and kept my eyes on his face.

Spencer looked down at him as he gently pushed his fingers through my hair. His fingers gripping hard on my roots before pulling hard. I smiled before very slowly pulling down his slacks and boxers in one go. I was only a little bit intimidated by his size, but the excitement I felt went straight to my core.

I took a deep breath and swallowed roughly before looking up at him. My mouth fell open, and my tongue stuck out, silently telling him that it was okay. Although I don’t really know why I was telling him that it was okay, we both knew what we wanted, and it was only going to take me doing one thing.

I made eye contact with him as I ran my tongue on the side of his cock. Our eye contact didn’t last long, mostly because he let out a moan and dropped his head back. I smiled as I licked across his tip. A sweet and salty taste was on my tongue.

My jaw fell slack as I carefully took his length into my mouth. I closed my lips around him before slowly bobbing my head, with my tongue swirling around the underside of his cock. I wrapped a hand around what wouldn’t fit into my mouth. And wrapped my free arm around his leg for support.

The sounds of his moans and grunts filled the mostly quiet room. Music, although muffled through the walls and door, could still be heard from outside of our own world behind the door and four walls.

“You were right,” he struggled to speak through groans, “You aren’t as innocent as I thought,” Spencer's hand had a rough hold in my hair as he held me against him. His cock was penetrating my throat, and breathing was beginning to get difficult. My eyes grew wet and tears grew in the corners of my eyes.

“You’re such a good girl,” he looked down at me as the tears started to roll down my cheeks. I wouldn’t be surprised if my makeup started smudging and I looked like an adolescent raccoon. “You look so pretty with my cock down your throat,” he struggled to let out a coo, before moving his hips closer to my face.

Everything about this moment, his hand in my hair, the sounds he was making, the way he smelled, being here… Was intoxicating. I’d give anything to be in this moment again. And I’d give anything to get this moment sooner.

My knees would hate me in the morning, I just know it. I could already sense the dreaded carpet burn before he even started. But, in all honesty, it’d be worth it. Walking into class tomorrow morning, with bruises and day-old wounds on my knees, just to see his expression.

As I began to pick up pace, the sounds Spencer was making started to become more urgent, easily telling me he was close. But, before he could finish, I pulled away from him, crashing into the wall to get away from his grasp. He looked down at me with a mild frustration on his face. I smiled before wiping my chin clean of spit.

“I guess chivalry is dead. Whatever happened to ladies first?” I asked, my voice a rasp from how raw my throat was. I looked up at him, feeling a certain level of sass grow in my smile. Spencer quickly tucked himself back into his pants before grabbing my hand.

“Come on, on your feet,” he muttered as he pulled me back up to a standing position. I nearly toppled over into him if he didn’t hold me upright. I looked up at him and smiled.

“Bed… Now?” I whispered, my tone showing how urgent I was. It’s not that I wanted this over with, it's that I wanted everything to happen to me all at once, and I wanted it to last for a long time.

Spencer nodded before cupping my face in his hands. He was harsh when he pressed his lips to mine, like his life depended on it, if he did kiss me now the world would end. I wrapped my arms around his neck as he started guiding me towards the bed. And when the edge of the bed hit the back of my legs, he pushed me back onto it. I quickly moved so my head was resting on the pillows. Spencer was quick to take his cardigan off and be over me.

“You’re not going to fail me, are you,” I joked as he quickly started leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses on my neck. He lifted his head and looked down at me with confusion on his face. “If I’m a bad fuck,”

“If you ask that again, or bring up class while we’re doing this… Then yes,” he muttered as he looked at me. I laughed as I pushed my fingers through his hair.

“Oh, shut up,” I laughed as I pulled him down to kiss him, again. One of his hands landed on top of my breast, carefully kneading it, causing me to moan into his mouth.

His hand slowly drifted away from my chest. I pressed my head into the pillow and looked up at him with a smirk. He carefully dragged his fingers up from my chest to the base of my neck, causing me to let out a shaky gasp. I wanted fingers and a hand around my neck, carefully cutting off my airway just right. Suddenly, I never wanted something so badly in my life. Something dark flashed in his eyes as he looked down at me like he knew what I was about to say.

“Do it… I fucking dare you,” I muttered, placing both my hands around his wrist. My nose twitched as I stared at him. “I said fucking do it,” I spat, pushing his hand down more onto my neck. My words slowly got cut off as the pressure in his hand and fingers tightened around my neck. A moan struggled to escape me, but did eventually fall from my lips. He seemed pretty happy with that.

“Is that good,” his voice was a growl. I looked at him and moaned.

“Harder,” I begged, my voice growing raspier the more I spoke. He smirked before allowing his grip to tighten. His other hand was still sitting on top of my hips, and I could tell where he wanted to put it. I’d be a dirty, rotten liar if I didn’t want his hand up my skirt. In fact, I’d love it if he did more than just his hand.

Spencer swallowed roughly before finally sneaking a hand up my skirt and resting it on my underwear. My grip around his wrist got tighter as he pushed past my underwear and past my folds. My eyes fluttered closed as another moan was strangled in my throat.

“You’re so wet,” he purred as he slowly moved a finger around my clit. I looked up at him, as I struggled to swallow roughly. A dark smirk grew on his lips as he watched me struggle for a moment. “Does that feel good,” he asked, mildly mocking me from earlier. His movements picked up speed just a little bit, and my body reacted, well tried to react.

“Oh, you’re such a good girl,” he looked down at me. His pupils were so blown I could nearly see my reflection in them. “Another thing you were right about,” he whispered as he slipped a finger into my entrance, and curled it just right. My vision slowly blurred before my eyes rolled into the back of my head. Another moan struggled to escape my throat as Spencer added a second finger.

My body was on autopilot as I lifted my hand and hit his wrist a few times, telling him that I desperately needed to breathe. When I reopened my eyes, I looked up at him a moment before he removed his hand from my neck. Worry and concern flashed in his eyes as I breathed. Air burned like fire in my lungs as I took a deep breath. As I exhaled a loud moan followed behind, easily telling Spencer and I that I had reached my first orgasm of the night. I just hope there will be more...

“You did such a good job, Princess,” Spencer whispered as he looked down at me. With his free hand, he brushed the tears away from my cheeks. He carefully withdrew his hand from between my legs and held them up to his face. He looked at them for a moment before placing them in his mouth, sucking and licking them clean. I took a shaky breath and nodded.

He very sloppily pressed his lips to mine, then on the corner of my lips, and down my jaw, and neck. With one quick movement, a loud rip filled the room, as he tore my shirt off my body. I looked up at him with shock in my eyes. To be fair, that shirt was flimsy, to begin with. I was more worried about leaving my chest so exposed as we left the party.

“Oh, I’ll give you my sweater,” Spencer muttered before attacking my neck and then down to my collarbones, and over my breasts. I gasped as he wrapped his lips around a nipple.

“Mmm, Daddy,” I whimpered as I shifted under him. I brought my hands back up to his hair, tangling my fingers in the hairs on his neck. When he sensed that I was growing restless (even though he just started), he quickly left wet kisses down the rest of my body

“I like the way that sounds coming from your mouth,” he whispered once he was in between my legs. I looked down at him just as he looked up at me. “Good on your end for wearing such a short skirt,” he smiled before pressing his lips to my inner thigh. A shaky breath tumbled from my lips as I looked at him. “Makes for easier access,” he added before going higher up on my leg.

“You’re not going fast enough,” I whined as he just kept kissing, or licking, or rubbing my inner thighs. It was honestly getting annoying. I kind of felt bad for him. Considering I’ve already cum once, and I got him close but didn’t let him finish.

“I’m not going fast enough?” Spencer looked up at me. I shot him a scowl as I shifted slightly on the bed. Spencer looked back down the apex of my legs before looping two fingers around the band of my underwear. As soon as I lifted my hips, he pulled my underwear off my body and chucked them to the ground beside the bed. “How’s this for fast enough,” he muttered, mostly to himself, before licking between my folds. A breath of air got caught in my lungs as my hands found their way to his hair, my fingers getting knotted up in his roots.

“Mhm, Spencer,” I gasped, rolling my hips up at him. He hummed, sending vibrations straight to my core. My legs wrapped around him, my heels digging into his back as my own back arched.

“Ohh, Daddy, please don’t stop,” I cried, pressing my head into the pillow beneath my head. My fingers pulled hard on his hair, pulling him closer to me. He hummed again as he pushed two fingers back into my entrance. My grip in his hair tightened, and I could feel my grip wanting to loosen.

My breathing picked up as a familiar feeling grew in my stomach. And all I could say was his name, and the suddenly loved nickname I had for him. He seemed to appreciate my reaction too, because he worked faster. Messy and wet sounds, mixed with my breathy moans and calls of his name filled the room, and my end was near.

“Fuck,” I shouted as I finally came undone. I could sense if I didn’t pull him away, he’d keep going, and going till I couldn’t take it anymore. And, honestly, that sounds great, but I think that’s for next time. I wanted him in me now. “Spencer, Spencer,” I cried as I tried to pull his head away, but failed so hard.

“Nuh huh,” he hummed, looking up at me. I took a deep breath and pressed my head into the pillow beneath me and threw an arm over my face. “Please, Spencer,” I cried as I bucked my hips at him, “Fuck me, please, fuck me, Daddy,” I moaned. He was going faster than before and was clearly trying to work me to the end faster too. It was hard to breathe, and speak because my words would just get stuck in my throat.

Although, when I did cum, again, for the third time tonight, Spencer did move away from my legs. He knelt between them, wiping his chin with the back of his hand. My body was shaking lightly as I tried to come down from my high.

“Please,” I whispered, lifting a hand up, trying to reach for his tie. He looked down at me with a smile and raised an eyebrow.

“Please what?”

“Please, Daddy,” I furrowed my eyebrows as I spoke. I could feel my voice becoming a little whiney. Spencer moved so he was hovering over me, his fingers gently brushing hair away from my face.

“Tell me what you want, Princess,” he whispered cupping my face in his hand. I looked up at his face, admiring his lips, and eyes, and nose, and the way his lips had a sheen from when he licked them clean and whatever was leftover from when he was eating me out.

“Please fuck me, Daddy,” I begged, begged. Spencer smiled before pressing his lips to mine for a moment. He sat up away from me to remove his sweater and shirt. My head was spinning from excitement, I didn’t even notice that he was totally undressed.

Spencer was back between my legs, looking down at me like I truly belonged right here. Or, like I was his to fuck with. Either way it was a good feeling.

“Ready?” He asked, his voice so low that I could hardly hear it over the bass of the loud music. I rapidly nodded my head, worried my answer was the wrong one. But it wasn’t. I desperately wanted this. Needed. I needed this.

Spencer hovered over me before putting an opened mouth kiss on my lips. I could hardly breathe as he rubbed the tip of his cock against my clit and entrance. I could feel a moan getting caught in the middle of my throat, my body not being about to handle anymore teasing. Until, he very slowly pushed into me.

“Oh, good girl,” he repeated. Those two words, constantly coming off his tongue. Making me feel good. The praise that I hadn’t heard in such a long time, that I longed for. Part of me wondered if he knew I wanted it. “Has someone not been taking care of you?” he asked, looking down at me. I stared at him, not trusting my own voice. My mind was too distracted with the way I felt, light and airy but at the same time full. So I shook my head.

“No, Daddy,” I whimpered and kept shaking my head. Spencer smiled before pressing his lips to mine.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got you now. I’ll take care of you,” he mumbled before moving his hips. It took him a moment to get a perfect rhythm. He lips attached to different spots on my neck, leaving hickies in his wake.

“Spencer,” I whispered as I moved my head closer to my shoulder to let him have more space.

“You feel so good,” he grunted as he moved his hips so he was deeper in me, “You feel so good, and you’re all mine,” he pressed his forehead to mine as he wrapped his arms around my lower back, pulling me closer up to him. My breathing got deep, my chest heaving with each breath I took. I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him down, closer to my face.

“Oh, be quiet,” I whispered before putting my lips on his. He smiled before passing his tongue between my lips. A moan fell from my lips, which he seemed to enjoy… Considering it was probably just music to his ears.

“I’ll only be quiet if you keep making those little noises,” he muttered against my lips. I opened my eyes and looked up at him. He smiled again as I knotted my fingers in the hair on the back of his head.

“Faster,” I breathed out, keeping my eyes on him. Spencer laughed lightly as he picked up the speed. My hips bucked with his, meeting at the right points. “Please,” I whimpered as I threw my head back more into the pillow. He pulled his arm away from my back and brought his hand between our legs, where we met.

“It’s okay, Little Girl,” Spencer whispered before pressing his lips to the side of my face. I let out a shaky breah and arched my body into his. I couldn’t believe how good I felt. I almost wasn’t sure if it was fair that my professor was better in bed than other men my age. He was more experienced, to be fair. “You can finish, it’s okay,” he kept his voice low. It almost sounded like he was giving me permission.

I nodded my head, breathing heavily through my nose. “Mmm, Spencer,” I moaned, loudy, as my walls fluttered around him and my release came. And a few moments later, Spencer thrusted deep into me with a grunt, filling me with his essence. His body collapsed on top of me whence he finished.

“Fuck,” I muttered, my fingers still tangled in his hair. My limbs were sore and shaking slightly from the rough movements. Spencer laughed lightly, agreeing with my statement. “We can’t sleep here,” I whispered, keeping my eyes on the ceiling above us. I wished we could just sleep here, mostly because I was exhausted after everything we did.

“I know,” Spencer replied as he slowly moved off and away from me. I looked up at him with wide eyes. “You’re messy now,” he muttered as he basically tumbled off the bed. I quickly sat up, just to make sure he was okay. Although I was happy he was okay, I quickly regretted moving as fast as I did.

“Your sweater,” I mumbled, reaching out towards where his sweater was lying. He looked down at it before picking it up to hand to me. He also grabbed a fistful of tissues and moved to between my legs, again. “Just give me your boxers,” I looked at him as he wiped the insides of my thighs clean. He looked back up at me, still cleaning my legs.

“I’ll give you a ride home,” he spoke as he tossed the dirty tissues to the trash. He grabbed his slacks and boxers, tossing me his boxers. I slipped them on under my skirt, and then slipped his sweater on.

“I’d hope so,” I whispered as I stood up. My body wobbled for a second, nearly falling over, before I caught my balance. Spencer looked back at me, looking at how fucked I looked. I mean, I probably looked about the same as him.

“I’d given you a ride home either way,” he said as he redressed. I looked at him with confusion on my face. Either way? So even if we hadn’t had sex, he would have given me a ride. I asked him and he said yes. So I would hope he’d given me a ride, even if we didn’t fuck.

Once we were both ready to leave this stupid party, that I didn’t even enjoy (well, I did, I was just in a different world), or was even invited to, we walked out. It was as easy as pie. And, since no one really knew either of us were here, I won’t be known as the girl who fucked the professor.

The drive home was quiet. Like, even quieter than the drive here. He didn’t even have the music playing. I wondered if it was my fault, if he was regretting what we had done. If I had known he’d be so regretful, I wouldn’t have wanted to fuck him. But, I guess its too late now.

When I looked out the window, I realized we were parked outside my apartment building. I looked down at my attire and looked back at Spencer.

“Thanks… Thanks for the ride… And thanks for the sweater. I’ll be sure to give it back to you… Eventually,” I looked up at Spencer as I pulled the door open to leave.

“See you Thursday,” he nodded at me. I looked at him before slamming the door shut. I scoffed before turning to walk up to my home. I couldn’t want to sleep.

{***}{***}{***}

Two weeks. Two weeks since Spencer and I fucked. Okay, not too bad. I don’t regret it, and I’m not afraid to say that. However, I think he might be regretting it. Considering he’d been nothing but ignoring me since the night of the par-Well, I wouldn’t say ignoring me since then. He did fuck me in his office the following Thursday. But, it’s still been two weeks since he last said anything to me. Fuck, I’ve never been so mad.

“Good morning, Professor Reid,” I looked at him as I skipped into his lecture hall. I heard his words begin to greet me back, but fail when he saw what I was wearing. “Best get to my seat. Excited for today’s lesson,” I readjusted the cardigan that hung off my shoulders before turning to go to my seat.

I could feel his eyes burning into the back of my skull as I walked away from him. Or, was he staring at my ass. Most likely my ass. It was my ass he was staring at. I was wearing a fairly short skirt, so that’s on me. But, I’d do anything to get his attention today. And it would appear I have gotten it.

His lesson wasn’t actually anything important. It was just revision for the test coming up soon. But, it was obvious he had other things on his mind, and I was very clearly one of them. It was honestly a little distracting if I’m going to be honest.

So, I was happy when he called the end of class 5 minutes early. Although that excitement was gone the second he called my name to the front to talk. I looked at the ground as I stood by his desk, waiting for the very last person to leave so Spencer and I could have our moment alone.

“What are you doing wearing that?” Spencer asked as soon as it was just us. I tried to ignore the fact that he was trying to take the sweater off me, and made my shoulders drop.

“What? This old thing?” I asked, pulling the cardigan that he let me wear around my body. I looked back at him and smiled. He was not smiling. “You gave it to me,” I scoffed, letting him take it off me without a fight. I watched as he folded it over the back of the chair before turning to face me.

“I gave it to you so your,” his words began to get jumbled up as he gestured to my boobs, “So you weren’t exposed in front of any-”

“So no one would see what belonged to you?” I asked, folding my arms over my chest. Spencer looked down at me, a flabbergasted look on his face. I smiled and cocked my head to my shoulder.

“I… I never said that,” Spencer shook his head.

“Yeah, but you thought it,” I scoffed and rolled my eyes. Spencer looked down at me. I could tell that he was trying to be the one in charge, kinda like how he was the other night. But it was so, so clear that he couldn’t be in charge. That he wouldn’t be in charge now. That this was just embarrassing to him. Maybe that’s just how our dynamic would work. Out in public, I was the loud one, the one who made everyone think that I was in charge in the bedroom. And, Spencer, in public, was the quiet, shy, nervous one, who was clearly submissive in bed. But in actuality, he was telling me what to do, when and when I can’t cum.

“Why were you wearing that?” he asked again, his voice pulling me from my very dirty thoughts. I looked up at him and smiled.

“Because you were ignoring me! I needed to get your attention somehow! And then I remembered I still had that,” I smiled at him. I wished I still had his sweater on, because it was actually quite cozy and warm. The look he gave me made me drop my shoulders, suddenly feeling ashamed about the current situation. So, I stared at him, feeling annoyed. More annoyed than I have over the last two weeks. “Do you regret it?” I finally asked, not really knowing if he’d be mad with my question.

“Pardon me?” He asked, raising an eyebrow as he looked at me. I shook my head and looked down at the ground. “It’s not that I regret it-”

“So you do,” I looked back up at him and dropped my shoulders again. Before Spencer got the chance to say anything, I cut him off, “Oh please, you loved shoving your tongue, and cock, down my throat,” I scoffed before looking at him. The expression on his face flinched slightly as he looked back at me from behind the desk. “I get to… I get to be your good, little girl, your princess for, what, a week? A day? 12 hours? Whenever the fuck you want... And I’m supposed to go back to normal life the next day? And… And pretend that nothing happened!” I stared at him and shook my head. Spencer looked over at the door and back at me. “Thinking it’ll never happen again!” I shouted. I didn’t mean to shout, honest. But I was starting to get angry. He made me feel something like I belonged to someone. And now I don’t feel like that.

“Will you stop talking for a second,” he muttered before stepping away from me and his desk. He walked over to the door and shut it. I crossed my arms over my chest and watched as he walked back over to me. “I never said you had to pretend as if nothing happened. And I never said that I regret it,” he spoke in a harsh whisper. I looked at him with mild irritation on my face.

“It sure fucking felt like it,” I spat at him.

“You’re all I think about… Christ, I’ve been trying to figure out how to tell you that. I never said you had to forget everything… Because I’ve been having a hard time forgetting it myself.” He looked up at me. I almost refused to look at him, but his voice was so soft that I had to look at him. “I never expected you to forget,” he added.

“Then why are you acting like it didn’t happen,” I stared at him before swallowing roughly, “You made me feel like I was wanted, that I belonged somewhere, with someone,” I spoke as I stepped closer to him. It was only a little bit closer to him, not as much as I wanted. But he stepped closer to me, making it so we were the closest we had been all day, in one large step. "You remind me of home," I added in a whisper. Spencer smiled and cocked his head to his shoulder.

“You do belong somewhere,” he whispered, resting his hands on my shoulders. I looked up at him, feeling my heart pick up speed, and butterflies appear in my tummy. “And that somewhere is with me,” he brought at hand to my cheek, allowing his thumb to rest on my lower lip. I looked up at him before he pressed his lips to mine.

I was honestly expecting him to say something else. I don’t know what. But I liked what he said, it made me feel really good. Like, I belonged with him, and nothing could change that.

taglist: @itsmyblogandillreblogifiwantto, @thebluetint

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drvrslcense · 3 years

Text

devils roll the dice (angels roll their eyes)

Masterlist | Taglist | Wattpad | Instagram | ao3

+ send your requests!

pairing: leo valdez x daughter of athena! reader

summary: you and leo are dared to skinny dip, what happens if your friends run away with your clothes?

warnings: skinny dipping (a bit of nudity), a few curses, mentions of sex (but not really?) - let me know if you see other ones!

notes: request; this takes place years after the events of hoo (toa never happened)

read this fic in ao3!

Leo Valdez is seriously annoying.

The way he smiles as if everything’s okay and his anger is not something you’re feeling like waves hitting you over and over - it’s just annoying. Why can’t he just get it over with and explode in front of you, use his fire powers and all?

With a scoff, you shook your head, averting your gaze from the curly-haired boy to the campfire in front of you.

Truthfully, this event was supposed to be just the seven - Percy, Annabeth, Jason, Piper, Frank, Hazel, and Leo. Percy invited you to enjoy this night with his friends. He found you earlier by this beach, kicking sand, and muttering how much Leo Valdez just pissed you off. And he just had the audacity to invite you to an event, saying Leo won’t be here. But here he is - grinning as he was roasting a marshmallow over the fire.

“So, Leo,” Percy turned to Leo. “Truth or dare?”

“Dare,” he grinned.

You saw Percy look at you, smiling, like a monkey who finally grabbed the banana from the tree. "Go skinny dipping with Y/N."

"What!?" I'm sorry, but were you just dragged into something that doesn't even include you? "No. I'm not skinny dipping, especially not with him."

"Wow," Leo said, standing up. "Way to hurt my feelings, Y/N."

"Like you have one," you rolled your eyes.

"So, are you doing this or not?" Leo questioned you, already raising an arm to remove his shirt.

"No, I'm not," you crossed your arms over your chest.

"Your loss," Leo shrugged, shirtless. Your eyes scanned over his body. Realizing what you were doing, you averted your gaze from him into the campfire. "Like what you were seeing?"

You can just feel him smirking across from you. "It's not even my dare, how do I lose?"

"It's a dare and you're involved so get on with it," Percy waved his hand dismissively, smiling mischievously as he took a sip of his blue coke.

"Do they really have to be naked?" Thank the Gods for your sister, Annabeth.

"Yeah," Jason echoed. "We're all going to be scarred forever when Leo goes buck naked."

"Fine," Percy sighed in defeat. "You can keep your underwear."

They all looked at Leo expectantly, who raised his hands up. "Oh no, I'm not doing it if Y/N won't."

"It's your dare, Valdez."

"Yeah, and?"

"It's not mine."

"But Percy said I have to do it with you."

"Ugh," you huffed, standing up to remove your clothing. "I hate you."

"Well, I don't exactly like you either," Leo quipped, unbuckling his pants.

You turned around, raising your arms over your head as you removed your shirt, revealing your balconette bikini top in Victorian blue. The matching bikini was a gift from Piper on your birthday last September. This is only the first time you wore this, but under a white cropped top and denim jeans, thinking you won't have to swim as it is mid-winter in New York.

Unfortunately, Percy is a pain in the ass and dared Leo to go skinny dipping with you.

Annabeth handed you a beach towel you wrapped yourself in. Despite the camp's borders protecting you from extreme weather, the air was still chilly, and it sent a shiver down your spine as it hit you.

You turned around and saw that Leo had the matching blue and floral printed towel wrapped around his waist. "Let's just get this over with."

You walked over towards the edge where the waves meet the sun, leaving Leo to catch up to you. "So, how are we doing this?"

"You just don't think," is what you answered as you threw your towel somewhere behind you, diving into the open beach and swimming as far as you can.

As soon as the cold catches up to you, you stand up; the water reaching your chin. You saw Leo standing still at the edge, looking stunned. "What are you waiting for, you elf?"

Leo only shook his head and followed you. You waited a few moments, looking around the vast ocean, with chattering teeth and ragged breaths. In mid-December, the water current felt like icicles hitting your body over and over in different places. You couldn’t wait to get back out on the shore and sit by the fire for warmth.

You feel something tug at your ankle, pulling you deeper. As you struggled to stay afloat, you kicked whatever it was, deciding ultimately more on your own survival than the welfare of some random sea creature. But it wasn't a random sea creature. Instead, it was Leo, holding a bloody nose as he surfaced beside.

"Fuck you, Y/N," he held his nose, ducking his head a few times to stop the bleeding.

"That's what you get," you shrugged, waving your arms to keep yourself afloat.

"Ugh," Leo groaned. "CAN WE GO BACK NOW?"

"Geez," you covered your ears. "You didn't have to yell that loud."

"YES," you heard Percy yell back, his voice like waves echoing throughout the ocean.

You looked at the campfire, only that it was like a dot of orange in the distance. Your friends were like moving shadows in the distance, dimly lit by the moonlight.

"Come on," Leo started swimming back towards the shore once his nose had slowed down its bleeding. You followed him, careful not to swim too fast and make your head squeeze tighter than it already was. As you surfaced on the edge, you saw Leo yell and tried to run after Percy, who was holding your clothes. “Hey! Get back here.”

Instead of answering, Percy just laughed and ran away towards the parking lot. Leo chased after him.

You stood up, shivering as the chilly air hit you, grabbing your towel and wrapping yourself with it. Instead of running after Leo, you took a seat in front of the fire, with your arm reached out and dangerously close to the flames. Who could blame you for wanting to feel some warmth?

“You could get burned,” Leo commented, making you look at him in surprise. You thought he was with Percy grabbing his clothes, but there he stood, wearing a towel wrapped around his waist. Your eyes dangerously drift down towards his collarbone, but you shook your head, focusing your gaze on the dancing flames in front of you.

“At least I could be warm,” is what you told him as your fingers still dance dangerously close to the flames.

“Here,” Leo offered you a hand, and you stared as if it was the most disgusting thing you ever saw. To be honest, it wasn’t disgusting. You noticed his fingers were long and slender and smooth - no calluses in sight. It must be a benefit from producing flames.

“What do I do with it?”

“Hold it.”

“No.”

“Your loss,” he shrugged, taking a seat across from you.

“So, where’s Percy?” You asked him.

“Gone,” he sighed, running his fingers through his curls. “They said we should work everything out and they’ll come to fetch us in the morning.”

Unbelievable. Still, what they had done didn't surprise you. It was like them to do something like this, you should have seen it coming. Instead, the temptation for a good time blinded you.

“Go on,” you told him. “Yell at me.”

“What?” Leo said in disbelief. “What do you want me to yell at you?”

“I don’t know,” you told him, shrugging. “What were you saying about me after we met?”

“I wasn’t saying anything about you,” Leo answered defensively.

“You so were,” you rolled your eyes.

“Really?” Leo scoffed, crossing his arms. “What was I saying then?”

“That I was rude,” you answered him, sitting up straight.

“That’s true,” Leo agreed. “You were rude. And you are being rude now.”

“Well, excuse me if I was being rude,” You laughed humorlessly. “I was busy and stressed that day. I was being chased by monsters all day until Grover and Percy found me, and I was tired."

“But that doesn’t excuse you from being such a jerk at camp,” Leo argued.

“Sorry I wasn’t feeling bright and cheery as you,” you retorted. “Gosh, you were annoying.”

“You think I was annoying?” Leo asked, offended.

“You were!” You stood up, clenching the towel that was wrapped around you. “You came in all Mr. Smiley Pants, greeting me with a cheer, and then you introduced yourself and told me your life story when I’m exhausted. Gods, Leo, I just wanted to rest that day.”

“But you didn’t have to be so rude about it,” Leo stood up too, walking to stand in front of you. If he thought he was towering over you, he was not. He was only a few inches above you, not even intimidating you with his height.

“What’s rude about ‘stop, I want to rest’ when you were all there smiling and I was a bleeding mess with monster cuts on my arms?” You fumed. “Not to mention, you were telling me that time you and your beloved Festus had to stop at a gas station.”

“And what’s wrong about that?” Leo raised his arms in frustration. “Festus was hungry, and I was out of Tabasco, so we had to take a quick stop at the nearest gas station for some motor oil.”

“Okay, you were out of Tabasco sauce,” You raised your free hand in surrender. “But is that necessary for a girl to hear when she’s bleeding out?”

“Oh, would you want me to tell you the story of how my parents conceived me?” Leo retorted. “Because I’ll gladly tell you! My mommy and my daddy-.”

“I want you to stop!” You yelled at him, getting so dangerously close to his face. Leo seriously frustrated you to no end. He can’t just keep his mouth shut. “I want you to stop talking for a long time. Maybe then, I could work everything out by myself and leave you here.”

“And what?” Leo taunted. “Face the woods alone? Ooh, too bad, Y/N, you could get killed.”

“I’ll gladly take that chance,” you said through gritted teeth. “Than be here with you.”

“Wow,” Leo feigned hurt, putting a hand above his heart. “Another girl who’d rather be killed than be with me. Only this time, I didn’t ask her out.”

“What, do you want me to ask you out?” The words that rolled out of your mouth surprised you more than they did to Leo, who looked at you with wide eyes. You felt your heart pounding in your chest, unable to think of anything to follow up on your previous statement.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think that you actually like me,” Leo said slowly, a lopsided grin forming on his face as he crossed his arms.

“Please,” you shivered as a strong chilly wind came, knocking you off of your stern demeanor. Leo grinned at this, knowing he had the upper hand in the situation as he didn’t once shiver from the cold. “You don’t know any better than a coked-up 2-year-old.”

“Oh, really?” Leo’s eyebrow shot up as if what you said was a challenge to him. “I know you’re cold right now.”

“Of course, it’s mid-December,” You threw your free hand in the air, turning back around to sit in front of the fire again. All this arguing with Leo has put you away from the campfire and near to the ocean, as you could feel the cold rushing winds more than the warmth of the fire. “It should be cold.”

“Way to point that out, you genius,” Leo followed you as you sat, taking a seat beside you. It was far enough so that your hands wouldn’t reach him in case you wanted to strangle him, but near enough in case you burned your hand and he had to help you.

You were still shivering even as you sat in silence in front of the fire. Leo was probably not helping the case as he kept getting awed by his own breath forming smoke in front of him.

“Could you please stop?” You said through shaky breaths.

“Here, take my hand,” Leo once again offered his hand. “Come on, I won’t bite. Can’t you feel the warmth radiating off of me?”

Out of options for warmth, you hesitantly reached out, your hand hovering above his, trying to feel any sort of warmth. Then you felt it. That rush of slight heat entered your skin and buried itself there. It felt much like holding a warm cup on a chilly day,

You took his hand, gripping it just to feel any warmth. It must have been a pretty uncomfortable position as both of your hands were stretched out, but you didn’t care as you could feel something other than the cold air around you.

You closed your eyes for a moment, trying so hard not to think about the fact that you were mad at him earlier and now you were holding his hand for warmth. You felt him scoot a little closer to you, as he pulled your hand a bit and felt him shift. You opened your eyes and narrowed it at him. “Sorry, my hand’s getting sore.” You sighed and just let him sit closer than the two of you intended.

You didn’t know how, but you didn’t fight the feeling of wanting to feel more warmth as you scooted closer to him - dangerously close, almost shoulder to shoulder. You let out a sigh as the warmth coming from him intensified a bit, as you laid your head above his shoulder. You didn't know why, but he didn’t make a move to push you away, not even a bit as he relaxed and laid his head on top of yours.

“Pipes, quick, grab a camera,” you heard Percy loudly whisper. It must have been morning as you hear birds chirping instead of crickets. The harsh sunlight met your hazel eyes as you opened them, making you immediately squint.

You heard a flash go off, and Piper’s voice rang out. “Oops. Sorry, my bad.”

“Whoever’s there should just get away,” you grumbled, snuggling against what’s beside you. Despite the harsh sunlight, your eyes flung open and quickly stood up, making your head spin, as you realized what - or who, for the matter - you’re snuggling. You stumbled as you clutched your head in dizziness.

“Careful there,” Jason gripped your arm, steadying you.

“What,” Leo groggily said, just waking up. “What happened?”

“We fell asleep, you idiot,” You threw a flip-flop at him. “It’s morning.”

“Oh,” Leo rubbed the spot where you hit him. “Oh, hey, guys.”

“Hey,” Percy greeted him with a smile. “Looks like you had quite a night, huh?”

“More like it,” Leo lazily smiled at you through squinting eyes.

Despite everything in you screaming to deny everything, you smiled at him. “Yeah. It was nice.”

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gwynrielsupremacist · 3 years

Text

TWISTER

suggested by: @imsointobooks

Read at AO3

Gwyn knew her friends were doing it on purpose.

She fucking knew it.

Gwyn, Nesta, and Emerie had been friends since they'd seen each other in preschool. Since then, no one thought of those three separately, they were a formidable trio.

Her companions knew that if they attacked one, you attacked all three.

They had decided to go to self defense classes because, honestly, the world sucks and you have to be prepared for anything.

And everything had gone great, they had signed up for classes. The problem was when they came to those classes and saw their coaches.

Damn.

Coaches weren't supposed to be that fucking good.

The first classes had gone well, they had been more destined to know each other than to anything else.

The problem was that it was impossible to try to pay attention to the exercises if your coach was that hot.

There were two of them, Cassian and Azriel. Apparently, the two had been thrown out of theie house as soon as they turned 18, and the best they did was fight, so they started a self-defense class.

Gwyn thought she remembered being told they boxed.

Well, that explained how they could have so many muscles.

Nesta said they even had muscle in their muscles, which was greeted with a laugh from the three friends.

But Nesta was not wrong.

According to her, she and Cassian knew each other before, having met at a party and, according to Nesta, she was sure they had slept.

She didn't know when or where, but she was sure of it.

And they hadn't been slow to go back to bed. Specifically, it had taken two months to get into each other's bed.

Gwyn didn't care about that, in fact, she liked Cassian, and loved that her friend was happy with him.

The problem was when she saw Azriel.

She was sure that Azriel was not interested in her.

But, Gwyn was interested in him.

And she was afraid of being friendzoned.

They were friends, talking to him almost daily, seeing each other four times a week for self-defense classes, and sometimes he even had invited her out to have a drink, but nothing more.

She had been that way for almost a year and a half.

And honestly, Gwyn couldn't take it anymore.

That day, she was assured that she was going to propose to Azriel. She might invite him for a drink, or she might ask Nesta and Emerie to help her have a moment alone with him.

They had stayed at Cassian's apartment, which had become Nesta's part-time house, since she spent more time there than at hers. The five of them had decided to have a party, with a lot of food, a lot of laughter, and a lot of alcohol.

And as much as her friends cheered her on, she knew that she wasn't going to make any progress with Azriel.

They flirted quite a bit, yes. In the relationship they had, flirting and bantering was never lacking.

But Gwyn didn't know if they were joking or if he was really interested in her.

Although, that man was never going to be interested in her.

Those were Gwyn's thoughts as she got ready in Nesta's rented house, alongside Emerie, who was putting on a good deal of mascara and lipgloss.

"In the end you go with Mor after being with the boys?" Nesta asked Emerie, while putting on tight black pants and a crop top, accentuating her full, round breasts. Emerie said no, searching in the wardrobe a dress she could wear that night.

She wished she had that body. She did not like her own, she seemed completely undesirable, with so many freckles, so few curves ...

"Gwyn, if you're thinking again that you don't like your body, I swear I'll hit you with the 24-centimeter heels." Nesta threatened, holding some gorgeous black party heels in her hand.

"Are you going to wear those? You'll fall in the middle of the sidewalk… ”Gwyn advised, putting on some blue eyeshadow, accentuating her teal eyes, the only aspect of her features that she loved.

"No, I'm going to take these to give you the hell out of you if you keep thinking you're not pretty." Nesta protested, dropping her heels with a crash. She heard Emerie curse when her eyeliner moved from the bump of her heels. Emerie shot Nesta a nasty look as she reached for some make-up remover wipes and brushed off the hideous part of the eyeliner.

Gwyn avoided answering, getting up from the chair she had been sitting in for at least 15 minutes to go to the closet, opening it with a huff when she saw that she had nothing to wear.

"Do you want me to lend you my miniskirt? I think I have one that is too small for me, it may take you..." Emerie proposed, smiling when she felt satisfied with her eyeliner.

Gwyn denied, rummaging through the hangers until she found baggy jeans and a white blouse that revealed much of her collarbones and the curve of her breasts.

Glad, she undressed in the middle of the room, looking for the strap to adjust the jeans.

"Today are you going to say something to Azriel or are we going to return to the same vicious circle of 'Hello, I like you very much and it is obvious that you like me too, but since we are both assholes, we don't realize it?'"

"He doesn't like me. Also, he didn't like one of the girls in our college class? What was that girl's name ...? " Gwyn thought aloud, not remembering the name of that lucky girl who had gotten the attention of the handsome Azriel.

"The day he eats your mouth we are going to pretend to be surprised." Emerie mused, picking up her purse and hanging it over her shoulder, adjusting her gold dress snugly, ready to step out of it.

Gwyn rolled her eyes, but a spark of hope began to glow inside her.

Maybe today was the day ...

Arriving at Cassian and Azriel's loft, they stood waiting in the entryway, the cool summer air cooling their already sweaty bodies.

Suddenly she heard passing, the door opening and coming out Cassian, in a T-shirt and jeans.

Smiling, he gave Nesta a tender kiss on her lips, and then smiled at the other two.

Emerie and Gwyn smiled back at him, but the latter was a lot busier looking for the other trainer.

Cassian grinned: "Looking for something, Gwynnie, or someone?"

Gwyn snorted grumpily: "Azriel wasn't coming?"

Cassian nodded, letting the three girls enter the loft to close the door to possible bugs on the street: “He's finishing his shower. We had a much longer boxing session than usual. "

Gwyn hummed, looking around the great house they had.

In sight was the living room, two immense sofas separated by a table, the television placed on the wall, televising some soccer game.

Suddenly, Gwyn heard a door open, and Azriel came out, flushed from the heat of the bathroom, already dressed in a T-shirt and sweatpants.

Making sure he didn't see her, she glanced over at him.

Hell, the shirt had stuck to his abs, giving her a very good view of what he had hidden there.

Gwyn shyly approached her coach, and when she was almost an inch from him, she gently touched his back, causing him to turn.

Az's face lit up at the sight of her: “Gwyn. I thought you weren't coming today."

Gwyn frowned, smiling: "Why wouldn't I come?"

Azriel led her into the living room, where Nesta, Cassian, and Emerie were already attacking the bowls of food that were on the head table to one side of the sofas.

“I thought Cassian had told me you had theater class. Apparently, I got it wrong. "

Gwyn nodded, almost drooling at how good all that food smelled and looked.

She grabbed an elongated bag with a foreign substance inside, and while she took a bite, she asked him, politely: "How are you doing your final college work?"

Azriel was a senior in veterinary college, and he had a final work to do on it.

Azriel sighed, earning a smile from Gwyn: “Fatal, I can't find any information anywhere and besides, I only have three weeks left to deliver it. Right now I should be upstairs, looking for information."

"I can help you find information, I am quite good at that aspect of doing work."

Azriel smiled at her, grateful, but she thought she saw, before he went to where his brother was, that the gaze had rested for a few seconds on her lips.

She quickly shook her head, dismissing that possibility. It must have been an optical effect. Yes, it must have been that.

She walked over to where everyone was, sitting next to Emerie and Cassian, Azriel finding himself in front of her.

"How are you doing your first year of university?" Cassian asked, eating a slice of vegetable pizza.

Nesta looked at him in disgust, grabbing a slice of pizza with extra cheese and barbecue sauce: "That pizza should be off-limits."

Cassian looked at her, disappointed: “This good one! Taste it.” He asked, bringing it closer to Nesta's mouth.

Nesta chewed it, made a disgusted face, and took a good bite out of her portion, while she chewed, saying, “This is good. Not that vegetable crap. Pizza is supposed to make you fat, not lose weight."

Emerie supported her, but decided to grab a burrito, passing one to Gwyn, which she gladly accepted.

And so it was for most of the night, talking and teasing each other, until the moment came when the food disappeared, leaving room for the bottles of alcohol.

Gwyn wasn't used to drink, so she got a shot of piña colada, one of the few licors she loved, while Nesta held a bottle of vodka caramel, which she shared with Emerie.

"We have to do something. It's still twelve o'clock and no one is sleepy, right? "

Everyone denied, even the black cat that had magically appeared in Azriel's arms.

Gwyn looked at him in shock, pointing, "Have you adopted a cat?"

Azriel nodded, stroking the feline: “He appeared at the veterinary clinic where I practice. They asked the students if anyone wanted to keep it and, well, I always wanted a pet so… I kept it. " He said, smiling.

Emerie asked to hold the cat, holding it carefully, while she stroked his head lovingly.

"Is beautiful. What's it called?"

"Black cat." Cassian replied, proud of himself, as he continued: “If I am going to allow a pet in my loft, at least it will be called what I want, so it is called 'Black cat'.

Gwyn looked at Azriel, confused and amused.

Azriel grinned, picking up the cat that Emerie offered him.

Gwyn looked at Nesta, discovering that she had disappeared at any moment.

She looked at Cassian, asking, "Where is Nesta?"

He looked up the stairs, frowning: "She said she was going to find a game to play together."

Gwyn made a sound of assent, suddenly watching her golden-brown hair flutter as she came down the stairs, a giant box in her arms.

Cassian cursed, leaping up to help her girlfriend get things down, while whispering something in Cassian's ear, both of them grinning mischievously.

The game couldn't be seen from that position, but she saw Azriel look dangerously at Cassian, who couldn't stop smirking.

When Nes put the box down, the name of the game came out.

Twister.

Emerie looked amused at her friend, while Gwyn glared at her.

Those two had ganged up on her.

Nesta took out the cloth from inside the box, as well as the little wheel with the different colors and positions in it.

Emerie got up, dragging Gwyn, whom she no longer found the game amusing.

“Emerie, Cassian, Gwyn and Azriel, you guys play. I'll be the one spinning the wheel. " She announced as she dropped the fabric to the floor, smoothing it out.

Gwyn glanced at Nesta, promising imminent death, but she did nothing but laugh, kindly asking Gwyn to stand in her place.

"Okay, whoever falls loses." Nesta warned, supervising everyone to get in their places.

Satisfied, she began spinning the roulette wheel.

"Cassian, right hand in red."

Cassian made a rather pathetic attempt to get to the red, deciding to go down when it was obvious he was failing at purpose.

"Cassian, disqualified!" Nesta yelled with a mischievous smile.

To which Cassian replied, shrugging his shoulders: "Wow, I'm really bad at these things." He mocked up, sitting next to his girlfriend.

Nesta turned the roulette wheel again.

"Emerie, right foot in yellow."

Emerie did.

"Gwyn. Left hand in red. " Gwyn could be pretty sure she hadn't moved the spinner, but she let her be, putting her hand up.

Cassian spun the wheel: "Az, right hand in green."

And so they continued, until Emerie lost, crashing down on top of Gwyn.

It was all laughter until Gwyn and Azriel were left alone.

And, although Gwyn thought she would be fucking uncomfortable, her instinct urged her to fight, she couldn't let that man win.

So she played, the flexibility helping her in many moments.

Until her winning instinct faded, realizing what position she and Azriel were in.

Gwyn had both hands extended, while her feet were together, but she had Azriel down, and she knew her breasts were fucking close to his face.

And the bastard laughed.

She looked at him, enraged and embarrassed.

She felt a wave of pleasure run through her body when he winked at her.

"Hiii, Earth calling Gwyn, left foot to green." Nesta mocked, grinning.

Getting into a much more comfortable posture, she moved, her lips forming a mocking smile, a good 12 inches away from Azriel.

"Azriel, right hand to yellow."

Azriel ran his hand from green to yellow, staying quite close to her left foot.

Looking defiantly at Azriel, she made the next four or five moves, she wasn't sure.

Of course, she couldn't be sure since Azriel, in some way she couldn't understand, was underneath her, while Gwyn was straddling his hips.

Azriel grinned, listening carefully to the next position.

"Azriel, right foot to blue."

He had smirked, while she tilted her head, not understanding what the hell had made to smile like that, until, when he was lifting his foot, he raised his pelvis minimally, making his crotch crash against the parts more intimate of her.

She almost felt faint as that prominent bulge passed through her core, teasing.

Looking at Azriel with a strong blush on her features, she heard Nesta's next command.

"Gwyn, left hand to red."

Gwyn swore she had heard a chuckle as she said that.

Fuck.

She couldn't believe that she had to put that fucking hand in that fucking color.

Stretching out as far as she could, she placed her hand on the blue panel, but she had a serious little problem with that position.

Now her breasts were, no doubt, practically on top of Azriel's face.

And, although Azriel wore a somewhat embarrassed grin, it was suppressed by the bright eyes of mockery and pleasure.

She knew her own eyes must be that way.

"Azriel, left hand to green." Emerie laughed.

Those little bastards were going to pay for it.

As soon as she took care of the overwhelming lust and pleasure she felt in those moments, her clit pulsing dangerously close to his cock, they'll pay for it.

Azriel waved his hand, and suddenly both mouths were less than an inch apart.

Their breaths were paralyzed at that very moment.

Damn, what lips the very asshole had.

They were red from having licked them so much during the night.

They seemed to share thoughts right then and there as Azriel lowered his gaze from her eyes to her lips, licking his slowly.

Her core tightened, noticing how her panties got soaked little by little.

Gwyn, feeling daring, lowered her eyes to his lips, biting her bottom lip.

What tension. She was using all of her damn self-control not to kiss him, at least not in front of all of them.

Gwyn frowned suddenly, suspicious of those three.

Turning quickly, she watched as Emerie ate popcorn from a bucket, while Nesta and Cassian appeared to be enjoying a romantic comedy.

Hint: the rom-com was Azriel and her.

In addition, the roulette that it decided where to put each person's hands and legs was nowhere to be found.

Realizing her terrible deception, she jumped up from Azriel's lap, pointing her finger at Nesta: "You little son of a bitch! You weren't using the roulette wheel!"

Laughing slightly, Emerie replied, "She hasn't used it since I've stopped playing." She scooped a bunch of popcorn into her mouth before handing the bucket to Nesta.

Gwyn stared at her incredulously, Nesta saying, smirking: I thought you'd find out sooner."

At the same time, she felt betrayed and grateful.

Well, she had discovered that Azriel wanted her. At least it was something.

She noticed how Azriel approached her silently, and she would have expected him to place beside her, wrapping his arms around her shoulders as he normally did with her, or saying something to ease the sexual tension that had been there.

However, he got dangerously close to her earlobe, licking it with the tip of his tongue and then tugging at it, whispering seductively, "Are you ready for round 2?"

TAG LIST (tell me if you want to be tagged/removed): @bookish-isha @imsointobooks @shisingh @feyretale @niaacotar @flora-shadowshine @tealnymph24 @trashforazriel @hlizr50 @meher-sumedha @heyovivi @positivewitch @greywarens-magician @sageofthegalaxy @valkygwyn @verifiefangirl @verifiefangirl-mainblog @snickerdoodlechittybangbang @genya-berdara @katekatpattywack @ddsworldofbooks @secretlovelybeauty @starbornsinger

#gwynriel #gwynriel oneshot #a prompt? maybe #part 2? maybe 😋#azriel #gwyn #valkyrie #acosf

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ejzah · 2 years

Note

Could you do a fic where the team or the new duo (Fatima and Roundtree) watch old footage tapes of Densi before they got together? Like security tapes and audio recordings from the bullpen or undercover missions, etc?

A/N: I’m not sure if this is quite what you wanted. Hopefully it’s ok.

***

Secret Files

“I hate paperwork days,” Kensi sighed, leaning her hand on her fist.

“It would be more fun if you took my suggestion,” Deeks said, closing a file and tossing it onto a thick stack on the side of his desk. Kensi made a face.

“I am not competing against you.”

“Is that because you lost last time?” Callen asked, without looking up from his own paperwork. He’d been silent for the last half hour, but apparently the potential for mischief roused him.

“Last time was not fair!” Kensi insisted immediately. “Jabbing a finger in Deeks’ direction. “He cheated.”

Sighing heavily, Sam asked,

“How is it possible to cheat on paperwork?”

“He stole from my pile.”

“I did not,” Deeks protested, feigning offense. “As a former lawyer and current NCIS Investigator, I am bound to protect the citizens of this country’s, uphold the law, and never, ever, steal paperwork from my side and partner.”

“Um, am I interrupting,” Fatima asked, hovering in the doorway and cutting off Kensi’s latest argument.

“No,” Sam answered quickly. “Please interrupt.”

“Ok.” Fatima raised an eyebrow, but wise enough by now not to ask more questions. “So I was cleaning up our online files and found some old video footage. How long are we supposed to keep video and audio files?”

“Huh, that’s a good question,” Callen said. “What are they videos of?”

Normally, Deeks didn’t think Callen would be terribly interested in Fatima’s video storage problems, but any distraction was welcome right now.

“Oh, I didn’t open them yet. Let me pull them up,” Fatima said, turning to the big screen. The folder she opened had several dozen individual media files and Fatima selected one dated October 2014.

For the first few seconds, the video showed the empty gym, focused on the center of the room..

“Well, this is fascination, but-” Fatima shushed Callen as Kensi and Deeks came into the picture, mid-conversation.

“Deeks, why would I want to go to your police man’s ball?” On-screen Kensi asked, unrolling a yoga mat on the floor. She wore a cropped pair of leggings and strappy sports bra.

In the bullpen, Deeks turned to Kensi, raising his eyebrows in a “what the hell” expression. She shook her head, looking mildly horrified as the 6-years-younger versions of themselves blatantly flirted.

“Uh, because I’ll be wearing a suit and look extremely sexy,” Deeks suggested on-screen. “Plus, there will be drinks.”

“That sounds suspiciously like a date.” She didn’t sound particularly upset by the idea.

“What if it was?” Deeks grinned, an hand on one hip as he watched Kensi.

“Mm, I’d need better inducement,” she said, standing suddenly and invading his space. He didn’t shift back, but one hand twitched like he had to stop himself from touching her.

“You’ll be saving me from being pawed by rich, elderly women?” he suggested. Kensi reached out fiddled and smoothed out a wrinkle in his shirt.

“Well, we can’t have you being pawed,” she decided, fingers lingering for a few seconds too long. “Make sure you wear a blue shirt and black suit.”

The video cut off abruptly as Kensi got to her knees on the yoga mat.

“So…” Fatima said into the ensuing silence. Her hands were clasped in front of her, expression one of embarrassment mixed with curiosity. “That was interesting.”

“Not really,” Sam disagreed with a sigh. “They’ve been doing that for years.”

“Actually, it used to be significantly worse before they got together,” Callen added.

“This was before you started dating?” Fatima asked.

“Yes,” Kensi replied defensively. “And we were not that bad. This was taken way out of context.”

“Exactly,” Deeks agreed. “And doesn’t anybody find it creepy that Nell saved a bunch of freaking videos of us? What’s up with that?”

“I’m more interested in what happened after the video ended.” Turning back to the screen, Fatima hovered over another file. “I wonder if it’s in here.”

“Fatima, please don’t,” Kensi begged, as a audio file started this time, Deeks’ voice filling the room as he whispered a series of highly inappropriate things to Kensi.

“And, I have no explanation for that,” Deeks said, sucking in a breath and a grimace. A very un-Kensi like giggle played from the overhead screen.

Sighing, she pressed her face into Deeks’ shoulder and muttered,

“I may have to shoot Nell.”

***

A/N: I hope this was enjoyable. Thanks for the prompt!

#ncis la fanfiction #marty deeks #kensi blye #densi #Sam and Callen #Fatima #anonymous prompt #ejzah fanfiction

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multi--kpop--fanfics · 3 years

Text

(Not) Such A Good Boy

sub!bf!Juyeon x dom!fem!reader (ft. Eric, Kevin and Hyunjae)

genre: smut, slight crack, a bit of fluff towards the end

contains: dom/sub themes, degradation, oral sex (f receiving), marking, biting, spanking, Juyeon is a brat on a choker and a leash, unprotected sex (be safe y’all)

Author’s note: This man right there has been wrecking my existence lately (I blame Kingdom) and this GIF screams sub!Juyeon so yeah, enjoy this filth

“Lee Juyeon, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me”, you scoff under your breath. You have been waiting for the past twenty minutes in the living room, outfit and makeup on point, since you were about to go clubbing with your group of friends. But apparently, your dear boyfriend had lost all sense of time, trying to get ready.

Visibly irritated, you storm to your shared bedroom, your heels angrily clicking on the wooden floor. “Juyeon, I swear to God-” you mutter and stop mid-sentence, only to see your boyfriend leaning on the door, fully dressed and a lop-sided smirk plastered on his handsome face.

“You called, babe?”, he asks teasingly and before rolling your eyes, you give him an once-over, processing his choice of clothes - a pair of tight black leather pants that were hugging his muscular thighs deliciously, a pair of black combat boots, a cropped black sweater with holes around his clavicles and a black belt-like choker around his neck. He was the epitome of the emo bad boy that all parents hated and all girls craved.

“Um, what is this?”, you question him with a pointing finger. "That, is my outfit for tonight", Juyeon states, the previous smirk still on his face, "What, you don't like it?". "Isn't it a bit unfair for me to wear not so revealing clothes all while you're dressed as an emo himbo?", you complain and he laughs, "An emo himbo? Wow, you're getting more creative with your descriptions, Y/N. You're right though, it's a sort of questionable outfit". You perk up at his response, hoping he'll change into something more colorful and less hole-adorned, only to be utterly disappointed, as Juyeon reached into the closet only to drape a black leather jacket on top of his broad shoulders. "Now we're good to go", he turns to you and winks with audacity. Brat, you scoff mentally and pick up the keys to unlock the door and finally leave your shared apartment.

"Finally! What the fuck took you so long?!", your friend Eric yells at you, trying to overcome the loud bass of the club speakers. "Your complaints to your friend over there, he was the one who took twenty minutes to get ready", you roll your eyes pointing to Juyeon, who was greeting Hyunjae and Kevin, your other friends. "Yooo, Juyeon, what's up with the collar, bro?", Eric amusingly points out. "It's a choker, you tasteless twat. But what would you know of fashion, since you only know how to wear t-shirts and ripped jeans?", Kevin comments and Juyeon mouths a 'thank you' to him. "Simple is the best, my dear friend. Besides, I've been getting all the girls, unlike you and your snake print jacket", Eric retaliates. "Excuse you, this jacket is a fashion statement!", Kevin bites back, feeling insulted. "Not gonna lie though, it does look like a collar. Will you put him on a leash too, Y/N?", Hyunjae comments in a snarky way, making Eric cringe in disgust. "Hyunjae, please go get some drinks, for God's sake", you reply with a dismissive manner. "Yes ma'am", he rolls his eyes and goes to the bartender.

You turn to Juyeon, who was extremely stiff after Hyunjae's comment. "You okay, baby?", you nudge him softly and he's brought back to reality. "Y-yeah, I'm fine, no worries", Juyeon replies, praying that the loud bass could cover his shaky voice. "Don't listen to Eric and Hyunjae, they have zero fashion sense, bro. I would wear that choker too, looks hella good on you", Kevin adds while pointing to the choker and Juyeon's smile is back on his face, "Thanks, bro, I really appreciate it", he replies with a chirpy tone.

The music suddenly changes into a slower jam and Juyeon smirks devilishly, as he winks at you and walks towards the dance floor. You watched as he starts swaying his hips and shoulders in the most smooth way possible, his half-lidded eyes never leaving yours. Eric and Kevin were whistling and cheering on Juyeon, all while Hyunjae was snorting at their antiques. You were simply lost in the image of your boyfriend dancing like there was no tomorrow. He wasn't just following the rhythm, he was riding it - and boy, was he good at doing so.

In fact, he was so good that he gained the attention of many people in the club. And you were lowkey proud, because that man was yours. However, a certain girl wasn't aware of that - hence why she approached Juyeon and started dancing with him. You were a bit jealous, not gonna lie, but the next moment made your blood fucking boil.

He had the fucking audacity to put his hands on her waist and dance with her - all while looking to you over her shoulder with the most smug expression on his face. That fucker, you mentally curse. This was definitely payback for everything you said before you left the house. You just knew it. You weren't even the jealous or possessive type of girlfriend to begin with.

But you'd be damned if you were to let a random bitch run her hands over your boyfriend.

Hyunjae catches up to your motions and he grabs you by your wrist. "Hyunjae, what the f-" "Shut up and listen to me. Going there and creating a scene will not end up well for you and you will give Juyeon exactly what he wants", he states and his words hit home faster that you expected. "Since when did you become so perceptive?", you raise an eyebrow and he chuckles, "I have my moments too, Y/N". "So, since your brain decided to actually function tonight, do you have any idea?" you ask in defeat and Hyunjae starts pulling you to the dance floor by your hand, leaving Eric and Kevin completely baffled. He then pulls you into his chest and leans in your ear to whisper

"Just dance, Y/N".

A Cheshire cat-like grin spreads on your lips, as you catch up to his ulterior motive and you start dancing with Hyunjae, hoping that Juyeon will notice the two of you. "Don't think too much about it, it will happen naturally", he adds, "You're too stiff, Y/N, just relax and enjoy dancing".

His words actually succeed in making you relax and you sway your hips more comfortably, actually enjoying the slow jams echoing through the club speakers. Under the dim lights, you lock eyes momentarily with Juyeon, who was licking his lips and his gaze was a mix of lust and death glares, the last one directed to Hyunjae. "Told you it would work", he comments, "You owe me this one". "Shut the fuck up, Hyunjae", you spit back and he laughs.

However, his laughter is cut short by a very jealous Juyeon, who has grabbed him by the collar of his shirt. "Next time I see you dance with Y/N, I'll break your fucking kneecaps", he growls and Hyunjae takes a step back, "She's all yours, bro", he raises his hands in defense and returns to the table. Juyeon then turns to you, his blood still boiling with jealousy, as you watch him with a proud smirk.

"You find this funny, huh? Dancing shamelessly with my friend?", he clenches his jaw. You then thread a finger through his choker and pull him close to your face, making Juyeon gasp. "Funny? No honey, I'm fucking fuming right now, because you decided to act like a brat and put your hands on the first bitch that threw herself on you", you retaliate, your chill facade slipping away. A sickly sweet smile adorns Juyeon's face as he watches every single movement of yours. He lowers his head, his lips hanging mere centimeters over yours and he slyly pokes out his tongue to lick your lips, hissing at the wet feeling.

"You're so fucking hot when you're mad, baby".

That was the last straw.

"Get your stuff, we're going home", you announce and he flashes a toothy grin. "Yes ma'am", he replies almost immediately and you return to your friends' table. "Guys, we'll be leaving now, hope you enjoy the rest of the night!" you announce and Eric looks between Juyeon and you. "Do I want to know what's going on?", he questions and Kevin pats him on the back while shaking his head as in 'no'. You both bid farewell to your friends and you walk out of the club, jogging towards your car. Juyeon whips out the cars keys and he opens the door for you, his gentleman-like gesture a complete contrast to his previous bratty behaviour.

The ride back home feels like it lasted for hours, when in reality, it lasted only ten minutes - maybe it's your sheer desire to fuck your handsome boyfriend to oblivion. By the time you entered your shared apartment, your lips were on Juyeon's neck, your hands roaming his toned body and his arms wrapped around your waist.

"You love acting like a bratty slut, don't you?", you sneer at him and he releases a breathy chuckle. "Yeah, and so do you", he whispers and he trails kisses upon your neck and behind your ear, nibbling your earlobe. "Are you going to punish me for being a bratty slut?".

You thought you came right there and then, 'cause fuck, he is so hot like this.

"Is that what you want? Fine then, you'll get the punishment you deserve, slut", you hiss while gripping Juyeon's jaw, your manicured nails raking his porcelain skin, "Don't say I didn't warn you", you whisper into his ear and he releases one of the lewdest sounds you've ever heard in your life. "God, you're a desperate little bitch, aren't you, Lee Juyeon?", you ask while removing the detachable strap of your bag and clasp it on his choker, creating a make-shift leash. "Only for you, baby", he replies with a sultry voice and half-lidded eyes.

You pull him by the make-shift leash, and you push him onto the couch, where you settle yourself on his lap, his hard cock straining his already tight pants. You remove his shirt, exposing his chiseled body. Wasting no time, you attack his collarbones with your lips, trailing red and purple blotches on his soft skin. You bite the juncture of his neck teasingly and he releases breathy moans, making you chuckle. You grind your clothed core on his bulge, and the sweet friction makes Juyeon mewl again. He tries to reach for your crotch with his hand, but you stop him by pulling the leash, making him gasp.

"No sweetheart, no touching tonight", you chastise him, as you pull back to remove your clothes and his pants, leaving the both of you only in your underwear. Juyeon's bulge is even more evident now, the thin material of his boxers having a wet spot, due to his cock leaking pre-cum. The sight in front of you makes your own wetness pool in your panties - your boyfriend on a leash, his perfectly styled hair now disheveled, his upper torso covered in love bites, his muscular thighs fully spread and his cock straining against his boxers.

"Baby, fuck, please do something", he pleads with bleary eyes. "Lie down for me", you order and he's laid flat on his back with one swift motion, his desperation showing. You remove your underwear and place your naked pussy right in front of his face. He reaches for your thighs with his arms, but you slap them away. "I said, no touching", you say sternly, "But-", "You should have thought twice before touching that bitch with your hands. Now, be a good boy and use your pretty mouth", you demand.

Juyeon pushes his wet tongue into your heat without second thought and he's lapping up your juices like a starved man. You can't help but moan with satisfaction, having him under your control like that gave you a huge adrenaline rush. You raked your nails from his torso to the hem of his boxers, the sensation making him moan and momentarily halt his actions. You slap his left thigh to alert him and his cock twitches, the vibrations of his moans coursing through your body as well. Juyeon now flattens his tongue against your folds with a faster tempo.

"You like it when I spank you, huh? Naughty boy", you smirk and land another slap, this time on his right thigh. Juyeon retaliates by sucking on your clit harshly, making you yelp from pleasure and you feel him smirk against your pussy. You find the leash and tug it, pulling Juyeon's face even closer to your core. "Behave, or you'll sleep without cumming tonight", you warn him and he whines, but resumes his efforts nonetheless. "Good boy, k-keep it u-up", you stutter as you feel your high approach with each passing second. His tongue is alternating between circling your clit and pumping in and out of your hole, the squelching sounds creating a pornographic scene.

You scream as you cum on Juyeon's face, your whole body shaking, as he helps you ride out your orgasm with kitten licks. You pull yourself together and turn around to face him, as he nastily licks his lips to taste your essence. "Sweet like fucking candy", he comments, "Want a taste, baby?". You pull him by the leash and crash your lips on his, tasting yourself, as your tongues dance crazily in a battle of dominance. "You're still acting like a brat, but since you did as I said, maybe you deserve to cum after all", you state and bend down to remove his boxers and free his painfully hard erection.

"Y/N, stop fucking teasing already!", Juyeon whines again and you slap his thigh again, "Where did your manners go, baby?".

"Please, Y/N..."

"Please what?"

"Please use my cock to cum"

"Fuck, such a good boy", you moan and spear yourself onto his hard cock, the sudden stretch tipping between pain and pleasure. You give yourself almost no time to adjust and you start riding Juyeon like a mad woman. He pistons his hips in unison, pounding into you with a speed neither of your brains are able to register. You put your hands on his broad chest for support and he holds your hips with his hands so tight you might get bruises the next day. Neither of you are able to contain your obscene moans nor form coherent sentences, way too lost in pleasure and lust.

"Fuck, Juyeon, you're such a good boy, so good for me", "Only for you Y/N, shit- only yours", he groans and his hips start to falter, signaling his upcoming orgasm. "I-I'm close again, nngh..", you mewl as you feel your insides clench around his cock like a vice. "M-Me too, Y/N please let me cum, let me f-fill you up baby", "Oh God, yes, fill me with your cum, babe", you moan loudly.

Juyeon moans with you as he stills himself, his cock twitching uncontrollably and flooding your cunt with his hot cum, painting your insides white. You collapse on top of him, panting heavily, the both of you sweating and spent, laughing breathlessly. You muster all the strength you have left in you to remove the choker from Juyeon's neck.

"Oof, thank you baby", he nods, rubbing his neck softly. You swipe a few dark strands of his forehead. You notice the marks on his neck the choker left and you can't help but feel a little regretful. "Did I hurt you?", you ask sheepishly and Juyeon smiles softly and presses a kiss on your nose. "No baby, you were perfect. We should do this more often, actually. You look hella sexy when you take control", he teases and you playfully smack his chest.

"So you intend to dance with random girls in clubs?", you ask and Juyeon smirks,

"No, but I intend to be not such a good boy for you".

#juyeon smut #tbz juyeon #lee juyeon #the boyz smut #the boyz fanfics #tbz #would you look at that #another juyeon fanfic

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jvwhyte · 3 years

Text

Amren and Varian. (Most underrated couple in Prythian):

(Side note: i still hate amren but her relationship with Varian makes me soft asf. If they aren't mates or at least get married or something istg me and SJM will be: 🤼‍♀️)

Quotes of them in chronological order:

“His attention was fixed wholly on Amren—as if he knew where the biggest threat lay. And would be happy to kill her, if given the chance.”

“I wondered what—who—she’d eat while here. Varian seemed like a good guess.”

“I was halfway down the wood steps when I spotted Amren and Varian—both leaning against adjacent pillars, both drinking wine, both ignoring each other.”

“I spied Amren perched on the ledge of a turret balcony, cleaning her nails. Varian leaned against the threshold of another tower balcony within jumping range—and I wondered if he was debating if he could clear the distance fast enough to push her off. A cat playing with a dog—that’s what it was. Amren was practically washing herself, silently daring him to get close enough to sniff. I doubted Varian would like her claws. Unless that was why he hounded her day and night.”

“Varian was studying Amren as if he was trying to solve a riddle she’d posed to him, and she paid him no heed whatsoever”

“Sprawled across the top like a snake lay a familiar necklace of diamonds and rubies. I’d seen it before—in Tarquin’s trove. “How … what?” Amren smiled to herself. “Varian sent it to me. To soften Tarquin’s declaration of our blood feud.” I’d thought the rubies would need to be worn by a mighty female—and could think of no mightier female than the one before me. “Did you and Varian … ?” “Tempting, but no. The prick can’t decide if he hates or wants me.” “Why can’t it be both?” A low chuckle. “Indeed.”

“Varian’s necklace was now beside her bed. As if she fell asleep looking at it.”

“I’d asked what, exactly, Nesta had said to him to get under his skin so easily. But Cassian had only snarled and told me to mind my own business, and that my family was full of bossy, know-it-all females. Part of me had wondered if Cassian and Varian might need to compare notes.”

“Amren’s eyes glittered like fresh silver. “It was a warning. From Varian. To prepare our own defenses.” Utter silence. “Prince Varian sent you a warning?” Cassian asked a bit quietly. Amren glared at him. “It is a thing that friends do.”

“Varian had not told him—of the message he’d snuck to Amren. Not a call for aid, but a frantic warning for Amren to save herself.”

“The royal family remains alive and well. Tarquin’s armada suffered losses, but Cresseida and Varian were unscathed.” Something tight in Amren’s face seemed to relax at the words—his careful, diplomatic words."

“The necklace of rubies that she wore, hidden, beneath her shirt. Gifted from Varian.”

“Varian glanced among us for someone who was not there”

“I rescind the blood rubies. Let there be no debts between us.” “Don’t expect Amren to return hers,” Cassian muttered. “She’s grown attached to it.” I could have sworn a smile tugged on Varian’s mouth.”

“Tell her …” The Prince of Adriata shook his head. “I’ll tell her myself the next time I see her.” It seemed like more of a promise—that Varian would see Amren again, war or no.”

“Varian. He didn’t so much as look at his High Lord, his focus going right to where Amren sat at the head of the table. As if he’d sensed she was here—or someone had reported. And he’d come running. Amren’s eyes flicked up from the Book as Varian halted. A coy smile curved her red lips. There was still blood and dirt splattered on Varian’s brown skin, coating his silver armor and close-cropped white hair. He didn’t seem to notice or care as he strode for Amren. And none of us dared to speak as Varian dropped to his knees before Amren’s chair, took her shocked face in his broad hands, and kissed her soundly.”

“Amren and Varian didn’t even bother to join us. No, she’d just wrapped her legs around his waist, right there in front of us, and he’d stood, lifting her in one swift movement. I wasn’t entirely sure how Varian managed to walk them out of the tent while still kissing her, Amren’s hands dragging through his hair, letting out noises that were unnervingly like purring as they vanished into the camp.”

“Amren’s small figure darted around a tent, wearing what looked to be Varian’s shirt.”

“Varian appeared from the rocky path, gasping for breath, splattered with blood. Amren smirked. “Like a hound on a scent.”

“She looked to Varian, a wry smile on her red mouth. “I watched them most—the humans who loved. I never understood it—how it happened. Why it happened.” She paused a step away from the Cauldron. “I think I might have learned with you, though. Perhaps that was a last gift, too." Varian’s face twisted with anguish. But he made no further move to stop her."

“Tears slid down Varian’s blood-flecked skin as we watched that spot on the sea where Amren had vanished.”

“And as Amren opened her eyes, as Varian let out a choked sound of relief and joy—”

“Amren and the Prince of Adriata hadn’t officially declared anything, but I sometimes dreamed of it, too—that moment when she had shed her immortal skin and Varian had fallen to his knees.”

“Fifteen thousand years, she had been stuck in this world. And had not loved, not in the way that could alter history, alter fate, until that silver-haired Prince of Adriata.”

“Amren strode for the nearest pile of presents. “I’ll go first.” “Of course she will,” Varian muttered, earning a grin from me and Mor.”

“But her delight turned quieter, more tender when she opened Varian’s gift. She didn’t show any of us what was inside the small box before offering him a small, private smile.”

“Varian’s fingers tangled in the blunt ends of her hair, as if to reassure himself that she was here, she’d remained with him.”

“Amren didn’t so much as blink in remorse, but Varian frowned at her. “What?” she snapped. The Prince of Adriata gave her an exasperated smile. “Haven’t we talked about this? About … being nice?”

“But the Summer Court prince watched Amren, his face tight with concern. He’d stay, go down defending her.”

TELL ME THEY ARE NOT THE MOST UNDERRATED COUPLE. IT WAS AN ENEMIES TO LOVERS SUB PLOT!! HOW CAN YOU JOT LOVE THEM 😭

#vamren #amren x varian #amren acotar #amren #amrenofvelaris #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acosf

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beelsnack · 3 years

Text

Bad Influence - Beelsnack's 666 Follower Special!!

(Technically I'm over 666 - shoutout to the porn bots)

But seriously, holy shit, there's a lot of you. Thank you all so much for liking my stuff, and for interacting with me and sending me good vibes and all of that. I hope I can keep giving you guys quality work!!

And yes, I am a nerd and I consider 666 a milestone for a blog for a bunch of demons. No, I'm not sorry.

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Lucifer: He couldn’t help but wonder when the change had set in.

When the human first arrived in the Devildom, they had been humble and meek. If anyone complimented them, they deflected it with the mastery and resignation of someone who had been doing it for far longer than they should have. And if someone thanked them? You would think their entire world was dissolving around them.

But now?

He extended a gloved hand towards them as they descended the stairs. Tonight was one of the rare nights where they had the opportunity to be alone without one of his brothers tagging along, and they had been planning this date for nearly a week now. They slipped their hand in his without any of the hesitation they would have shown at first. They knew they deserved his reverence.

“You look radiant as always, my dear,” he curled his fingers around theirs as they reached the bottom step, bringing the backs of their knuckles to his lips. “Surely there is no star in the sky that could outshine you.”

They laughed - his theatrics always did amuse them. “You do have amazing taste, after all.”

He chuckled as well, guiding the two of them to the front door. “Of course. Do you think the Avatar of Pride would associate with anyone less than the best?”

“Definitely not,” the wind that came through the door when they opened it blew their hair away from their face, and Lucifer couldn’t help but preen at the fact that he had helped that quivering little animal grow into the proud swan that stood before him.

“Speaking of the best, where are we going for dinner?”

“Don’t worry, my dear,” he laughed as they made their way out into the night. “You deserve the world, and the world you shall get.”

“Unless ‘the world’ means a steak dinner, I’m not interested.”

Mammon: “Come on, don’t leave me hangin’ out here!”

The curtain covering the entrance to the changing room rustled, and Mammon heard a faint “Fine, fine, just give me a sec!” before it finally opened and out stepped the human.

Mammon always thought they looked good no matter what they were wearing, even if it was one of his old t-shirts and a pair of shorts. Actually, especially if it was one of his old t-shirts and a pair of shorts. But seeing them decked out in his fashion brand - one he had both designed and modeled - was definitely making him feel some type of way.

He let out a low whistle when they stopped in front of the chair he had seated himself in. The results of his own shopping spree were tucked haphazardly into a colorful assortment of bags at his feet, but the human had taken a bit longer than he did picking out their stuff. And damn, was he glad they did, because otherwise he wouldn’t get the chance to see them modeling his clothes.

It was a private fashion show, just for him.

The outfit itself was pretty simple. A black fitted tee beneath a cropped leather jacket, a pair of faded dark-blue skinny jeans, and a pair of black sneaks with a gold stripe going up the side. But the thing that brought the whole outfit together was the long necklace with a topaz pendent resting against their breastbone.

“Well?” they asked, giving him a spin before striking a pose before him. “What do you think?”

For a moment, he couldn’t speak. The human wearing his clothes...it was the next best thing to them walking around with “I Belong To Mammon” tattooed on their forehead.

“I, uh...I guess you...um,” he swallowed thickly. “Ya look alright, I guess.”

“That’s tsundere for ‘you look hot,’ right?” they grinned before spinning around to look in the mirror. “Man, this is a whole look! I have to have it!”

If this had been a few months ago, the human would have waffled back and forth about whether or not to buy anything. It didn’t matter how much they wanted something, it was almost like they just couldn’t do anything nice for themselves. There was being frugal, and then there was deprivation. Now, though, was completely different.

“I wonder if I should get some shades to go with?” they mumbled, looking themselves over in the mirror. “I think that would really pull it together, don’t you?”

“Just don’t go for the Ray Bans, it’s a fucking scam.”

Leviathan: "Come on, come on, come on…"

Very rarely was Levi the one watching someone else play games, unless it was a stream. And as mind-blowingly awesome it would be to watch the human stream one of his current faves, he definitely didn't want other people seeing how adorable they looked when they were focused.

They had come to him with absolute determination in their eyes, begging him to help them out. There were a limited amount of UR armor sets in the event, and they needed to get their hands on one. And, well, what kind of friend would he be if he didn't help them out?

(The fact that he already scored the armor is irrelevant.)

So, here they were, camped out in the pillow nest that they often made for themselves when gaming in his room, laser focused on the screen with Levi giving them guidance. The event level was brutal, but they were in the final hours, so it was crunch time.

"Okay, this boss is easy once you know the attack pattern. Four regular slashes, a jab, then you've got about five seconds to get behind a pillar before it uses the AOE."

"Gotcha."

Even then, it was a long battle, and they had used up most of their healing potions by the time the monster let out an anguished roar and disintegrated into a pile of bones. The human held their breath as they moved towards it to gather their loot.

"Yes!!"

They practically leaped out of the pillow nest in triumph. There, right on the top of the loot list in shimmering gold font, and the UR armor that they had been coveting.

"I got it! I got it!" they cheered. "Levi, I finally got it!"

"Hell yeah you did!" the two of them shared a crisp high five as the results of the campaign loaded on the screen. It was updating in real time, so they could watch as the final moments of the event ticked away.

Levi knew what they were looking for. Early on in the dungeon, another player had done them real dirty, sniping them from a few levels above and then taunting them over VC about how they would never get the armor now. So of course that only inspired the human to work harder, and here they were.

3...2...1

Event over. Quickly, the human scrolled up to the beginning of the list, checking the names of all the players who scored the armor.

Levi sat next to them, chewing his lip. What was that person's tag again? He didn't remember.

Suddenly, the human let out a snort that turned into a full-on giggle fit.

"They didn't get it!" they cackled like a hyena. "Serves them right, the jackass!"

Levi was pretty sure it wasn't a good idea to laugh at the misfortune of others. But, he knew better than anyone that spite was a hell of a motivator. When they had first gotten themselves isekai’d into the Devildom, they had let demons walk all over them, Levi had personally witnessed a lower-level demon shove them out of the way to get a sandwich they had been reaching for, and the human just stood there and let them take it. But they had grown to be a little more selfish, and if they wanted something, they were taking it.

And maybe, just maybe, seeing them like that turned him on just a little bit.

Satan: "You want to come and say that to my face?"

Satan stood there in stunned silence as the human spun on their heel to look the demons right in the eyes. They had their back to him, so Satan couldn't see the look on their face, but whatever it was made the two lesser demons flinch.

"Hey, come on, Human, we were just joking."

"Yeah, no need to get all worked up."

They scoffed, and Satan knew them well enough to know that they were rolling their eyes. "Is that right? So you don't think I'm a...what was it? A fleshy meat sack who thinks they can get what they want by sleeping with the strongest demons in the Devildom?"

Another flinch. Satan chuckled to himself.. Did those morons really think they wouldn't hear them? Humans might not have super-heightened senses but they weren't deaf.

A small crowd had begun gathering around them, waiting to see what would happen. It wasn't every day one of the human exchange students squared up to a demon.

"You've got some nerve," the human drew themself up to their full height - which, admittedly, was laughable compared to most demons - and crossed their arms. "What do you think Lord Diavolo would do to demons who messed with his exchange students?"

"I believe there's a special spot in the Royal Torture Chambers for such demons," Satan came to stand next to them, and the other demons downright cowered. "If I recall correctly, there's an Iron Maiden down there."

"Ooh, cool!"

"Alright, we get it!" One of the demons cried, throwing their hands up defensively. "We're sorry!"

Satan opened his mouth to spit a curse at them, but the human beat him to it. "I've got Lord Diavolo on speed dial, so start running."

The two demons turned tail and booked it down the hallway, nearly crashing into Beelzebub as he turned the corner with a sandwich hanging out of his mouth. He stood frozen for a moment before he swallowed and turned to Satan and the human.

"Were those two bothering you guys?"

Satan cast a sideways look at the human before a wicked grin spread across his face.

"They took care of it."

Asmodeus: "Well, someone's feeling bold tonight."

The door had barely shut behind the two of them before the human was pressing Asmo against it, mouthing at his neck as their hands traveled down the front of his silk blouse. He shuddered gleefully as their breath ghosted against his ear lobe.

"I can't help it," they murmured, fingers skirting just beneath the hem of his shirt. "You looked so good out there."

"I look good all the time, darling," he hummed, reaching up to grab a fistful of hair to gently pry them away from his neck.

"You looked especially good," they huffed as he let go of their hair. "Dancing like that, I could barely wait until we got home."

"Aw, sweetheart, you should have come to join me." Asmo rolled his hips in an echo of the dancing he had been doing at the club, delighting when he felt them shiver against him. "We could have put on a show that would have captivated the whole Devildom."

"I don't think the staff would appreciate it."

"They would be too busy watching to care," Asmo giggled, diving down to capture their lips in a quick and dirty kiss. "Although I can't say I'm not thrilled to be getting a private show."

Beelzebub: “Man, this place has the best barbecue!”

Dinner dates were a pretty common thing for the two of them. Over the course of the human’s stay in the Devildom, the two of them had figured out which restaurants would put up with Beel’s appetite and which would visibly freeze when the Avatar of Gluttony entered the establishment. The Hellfire Barbecue was one of the good places, probably because Beel made sure to tip really well, and one time personally went into the kitchen to tip the chef. Or, well, he tried, anyway. He ended up giving the money to the human and told them to give it to the chef because he knew if he went in there he would devour everything. But the sentiment was still there.

Beel smiled down at the human as they wiped the barbecue sauce off of their face. “You finished all of it this time.”

“Huh?” they glanced at their plate. “Oh. Yeah, I guess I did.”

“You usually don’t.”

“I was really hungry, I guess.” they grinned sheepishly.

Beel distinctly remembered the human telling him that they always tried to save some food for later. Whether it was being resourceful or because they had a weird sense of shame around eating too much, Beel didn’t know, but he had never pressed in case it was a sensitive issue. But, seeing them indulge themselves and looking genuinely full and satisfied made him happy. And was probably his main motivation for taking them out to dinner so often.

Well, that and getting his own food.

“I like watching you eat.” Beel said, waving to the owner as he passed by.

“You...like watching me eat.” the human repeated, looking somewhat confused.

“You look so happy when you eat good food,” Beel smiled. “I like seeing you happy.”

Belphegor: Oh, how the tables have tabled.

“Come on, I don’t feel like dealing with Lucifer’s lectures today.” Belphie grumbled, tugging half-heartedly on the human’s arm that was flung around his waist. “We should get up soon.”

For all of his complaining, Belphie didn’t move. If anything, he snuggled down deeper into the bed. He loved when the human agreed to have a sleepover in the attic with him. They got uninterrupted cuddle and nap time, since nobody dared to come up to the attic except Beel. And Beel was almost always welcome to join the cuddle puddle.

“Five more minutes…” the human mumbled sleepily, burying their face into Belphie’s neck. The soft, contented sigh they let out tickled, and he squirmed a little.

“Aren’t you usually the one waking me up?” Belphie nuzzled his nose against their hair.

“But it’s comfy here,” they whined. “I don’t want to get up.”

“You just don’t want to do the presentation in class today.”

“Your point?”

Belphie laughed. “Can’t say I disagree.”

“I did all the hard work anyway,” they shrugged. “We’ll make Mammon give the report.”

“Sounds like a plan to me.”

The two of them settled back down into the nest of pillows. The human had almost drifted back to sleep when Belphie brought his nose down to theirs to nuzzle them together.

“You’re cute when you’re sleepy.”

“You’re cute when you shut up and let me sleep.”

#obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me levi #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me asmo #obey me beelzebub #obey me beel #obey me belphegor #obey me belphie

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