#the syrups or whatever so my apron gets wet and then my shirt gets wet and it feels so gross

[grey-sides]

it's boobies!

Unofficially this is for @chrisbitchtree who made a post about Steve loving Billy's tits. Officially this is for me.

~2700, nipple-play (mild, Steve's new to this, okay), blowjobs

Steve’s first argument to Robin against his potential bisexuality was that he was a boobs man. Loved fondling tits, squeezing them, putting his mouth on them, watching a girl’s nipples pebble up and get sensitive. Boobs. Boobies. Best of the breast. 

After she had gotten done screaming at him to stop saying boobies and describing how he would motorboat Farrah Fawcett, she had pointed out that not just girls had nipples. That everyone had nipples and everyone’s nipples could get hard and some guys had bigger tits than girls. 

Steve had just laughed, ignoring her pointedly because he had never seen a nice pair of tits on a guy before. Which was a lie, but Steve was weak and foolish and hadn’t realized. 

It serves him right that the next time he’s smacked in the face with the reminder that guys do in fact have nipples and potentially have tits, it’s because of Billy Hargrove. 

Fresh from the pool, hair still wet and clinging to his tank top. His nipples are visible through it because the water has turned it sheer. He should participate in a wet t-shirt contest, he would win. And. Well. His nipples are rock hard? And his stupid pecs are curving under the tank. Shit.

Steve flushes and thinks about sticking his head into the ice cream cooler. Maybe his entire body because he would make a nice hazelnut chocolate or vanilla chocolate chip. But Billy’s approaching the counter and he can’t ignore this. 

He plasters a fake smile over his face, keeps his eyes firmly fixed on Billy’s face and not his nipples. Or his dick which is showing through his dumb short shorts. 

“Harrington,” he drawls, leaning on the counter like he owns the place. A couple stray sprinkles stick to the hairs on his arms. “What’s good here?”

My ass, Steve wants to say but where the hell did that come from? He looks around for a moment and shrugs. “Lots, but it was much better before you walked in here.”

Billy rolls his eyes, drags himself over to lean against the glass of the ice cream cooler. He breathes on the glass, draws a dick with his finger. 

“Hey! You can’t do that!” Steve snaps, grabbing a rag and leaning over the glass awkwardly to wipe it away.

Billy smirks, licking his lips like a big cat. “You got anything dairy free? Trying to watch my figure.”

Steve glares at him, but he’s probably going to be a paying customer. He tucks his rag back into his apron and surveys the day’s flavors. “Strawberry sorbet, that’s about your only option.”

“I’ll take it, just a small cup, sailor,” Billy drawls, pushing himself up to lean on the counter again. He rests his chin in his palm and watches Steve flip his scoop out.

Steve is well-practiced, makes two perfect spheres with the sorbet, drops it into the cup expertly. He gestures to the row of toppings. “Chocolate sauce or anything?”

Billy has a toothpick in his mouth. Steve isn’t positive how long he’s had it in his mouth. “Sure. Two cherries too.”

Two cherries is against company policy, but Steve also stopped wearing his hat three days ago, so he probably doesn’t have room to argue. He drizzles the chocolate syrup on top, perfect rows, hand steady. 

Steve risks a glance at Billy as he fishes out the cherries with the tongs. He has his shirt pulled up, nipples on full display while he wipes the sweat or water or whatever off his forehead. He drops the tongs directly into the jar of cherries. 

Steve grimaces, puts the cup down on the counter so he can dig it out, getting cherry juice all over his hand. Billy snorts, turns around to survey the mall. It’s quiet today, mid-afternoon, the same ten pop songs have been playing all morning.

He gets the cherries on the cup and rinses his hand off, walking over to ring Billy up. “A dollar, twenty five.”

Billy picks up his cup, grabs the spoon and sticks it in his mouth. “Thanks, Harrington.”

“A dollar twenty five,” Steve repeats, staring hard at Billy. 

“Must have forgot my wallet,” Billy replies, stepping backwards, with his treat. “I’ll pay you back later.”

“Hargrove-!” Steve snaps, ready to climb over the counter to grab him. 

But Billy turns and walks off. He doesn’t run, but he moves fast and Steve is left to grumble and dig his own wallet out. Asshole.

***

Steve’s heading out to the employee parking lot, hoping he can get home and get in the pool. His feet hurt from standing all day which is really not something he ever anticipated. He’s an active guy and he’s grumbling about sore toes.

He looks up as he gets close to his car and frowns because Billy’s leaning against his car. The Camaro is parked next to Steve’s car, but Billy’s leaning against the beemer because he’s an asshole.

“What,” Steve demands when he gets up close, staring at Billy with irritation. His hair is dry and he’s changed into a black tank top. He still has shorts on, but these are dry too. His lips are as pink as the strawberry sorbet Steve served him. 

“I’m here to pay you back,” Billy replies, stepping away from the car with a smirk. He climbs into the Camaro and gestures at Steve to get into his car when he doesn’t move.

Steve scowls, but climbs into his BMW, he’s not sure what to do, if he’s supposed to follow Billy or Billy is going to follow him. 

Billy honks at him after a couple minutes, so Steve puts the car in gear and decides he’s supposed to go home. He turns the radio on, to relax a bit and not think about Billy potentially murdering him when they get back. 

Billy drives too close, practically tailgating him the entire ride back to Loch Nora. But as they get close to Steve’s house, Billy pulls away and Steve tries not to feel disappointed. Did Billy really just use him to get to Loch Nora so he can fuck some girl? 

Steve parks in the driveway, all the way to the right like his dad always tells him and heads inside. He takes the steps up to his bedroom two at a time and glowers at his reflection in his mirror. Stupid fucking sailor suit. Stupid fucking Billy Hargrove. Stupid.

He jumps when the bell rings and bounds down the stairs to see who it is. Standing at the door is none other than Billy Hargrove, cigarette perched on his lips as he leans against the wall outside the door. 

Steve tugs it open and scowls at him. “What? Did you get lost? Lisa is three houses down.” He points in the right direction, already moving to close the door. 

“Nah, I came to pay you back,” Billy replies, putting his foot in the door. He wedges it open enough to slide inside, looking around the house. “Nice digs.”

Steve doesn’t reply, crosses his arms as he follows Billy into the house. “What do you want?”

Billy half looks over his shoulder. “To pay you back.”

“So give me the two bucks, it’s whatever, man.” Steve holds a hand out. The faster he can get this over with, the better.

Billy ignores him, walking further into the house and looking around. He bypasses the living room and kitchen, heading for the stairs. “Bet I can figure out which room is yours.”

Steve sighs as he trudges after Billy. This is going to be a whole thing if Steve doesn’t put a stop to it soon. “Hargrove, just give me the money and get out of here.”

Billy pauses on the stairs, one foot half raised into the air. “Steve.”

He doesn’t add anything else, but it makes Steve stop. Because Billy never calls him Steve, only Harrington or one of a million potential dumb nicknames. “What?”

“Let me pay you back.”

Billy continues up the stairs, past Steve’s parent’s room and down the hallway to his bedroom. He pushes the door open, slinks inside while Steve trails after him. He hates this. Feeling off-balanced, like he can’t figure Billy out. 

When Steve gets into his room, Billy is sprawled on his bed, shoes on because he’s an animal. Steve swats at his foot and Billy laughs as he sits up to shuck off his sneakers. 

“Your bedroom leaves a lot to be desired. Can’t believe King Steve lives like this,” Billy chuckles, looking around. 

Steve refuses to be embarrassed about his room. Most people- girls, who come in here are too distracted by other things to care. “Can I have my money now?”

Billy looks at him lazily, flops back on the bed. He curls his fingers in the hem of his tank, pulls it up and over his head. He licks his lips, laughs a bit at Steve. “You know, I’ve always been more of an ass man.”

Steve makes a face, puts his hands on his hips as he stares at Billy. “So? I don’t fucking care.”

Billy drops his tank top on the floor, drags his fingers up the center of his chest, over to the right side. He circles his right nipple, huffing out a soft moan. “Saw you staring earlier.”

Steve’s breath catches in his throat. He licks his own lips, looks away. “You were making a mess in the shop.”

Billy moves his hand over to grip at his left pec. His jeans are already starting to tent. “Think you were gonna make a mess if I spent much more time there.”

“What?” Steve asks, cheeks flaming as he looks up at his ceiling instead of at Billy fondling his own chest. 

“You’re obsessed. Wanna get your mouth on these bad boys?” Billy asks, voice husky as he cups both his pecs. 

Steve drops his eyes to Billy, feels his heartbeat pick up. He takes a step back, has to deny, has to hide what he’s thinking. “No. I want my money.”

Billy pushes himself to sit, brushes his thumb along his left nipple, makes it hard and Steve’s jaw aches. He does want to get his mouth on those bad boys. “I won’t tell. Come on, show me what you were thinking about in the shop.”

Steve licks his lips again, takes a step closer to Billy. His heart is racing, he feels like he’s just finished a championship game. “What do you get out of this?”

Billy smirks, looks down at himself, the flush on his chest. “My tits sucked, duh.”

Steve nods, once, twice. He does a little half turn and pushes Billy back onto the bed. He’s wearing sweats now, a t-shirt, his sweats aren’t doing anything to hide how aroused he is. “Fine. We don’t tell anyone.”

Billy laughs, low and long as he falls back onto Steve’s pillows. His curls pool around his head and he lets his hands fall away from his chest. “Perfect. Knew I pegged you right.”

Steve licks his lips and presses his hips to Billy’s. He rolls them slowly, stares at Billy’s face for a moment before ducking down to tentatively lick over his right nipple. His skin is salty, musky, he smells like cologne. 

Billy moans above him, voice hoarse in the back of his throat as he throws his head back. He drops a hand in Steve’s hair and Steve is already too far gone to yell at him about it. 

Steve bites down on his areola, leaving teeth marks in the skin around his nipple. He sucks it into his mouth, laves his tongue over the bud. He rolls his hips down against Billy, sliding their dicks together. 

Billy laughs, delirious with it. He tugs on Steve’s hair and when Steve pulls back enough to look at him, his eyes are rolling back in his head. “That’s it,” he breathes. 

Steve blows cool air over Billy’s right tit, watching goosebumps dot the flesh as his saliva dries. He groans, feeling his dick kick in his sweat. He dives back down to bite at the left pec next. 

“Fuck, Harrington,” Billy praises, voice gone deep with his pleasure. He keeps rocking his hips up against Steve and gets his hands between them to open the button on his fly. 

Steve reaches down to tug the jeans down, tossing them to the side too. He continues nipping and sucking at Billy’s tit, watching the skin turn red with his ministrations. He pulls back to pull off his own shirt, letting it fall to the floor too.

“Got an idea,” Billy says suddenly, staring up at Steve. 

Steve looks at him curiously, wipes a hand over his chin because he’s drooling. Billy nods at his sweats and Steve scrambles out of them. Commando because his dick deserves to breathe. 

Billy nods a bit and pushes his pecs together. “Come up here, pretty boy.”

Steve stares at the picture Billy makes like this. It takes him a minute to get his act together and he quickly scrambles up the bed. Oh. Oh no one has ever let him do this before. 

He works with Billy to get his dick between Billy’s tits and starts rocking in little aborted thrusts. He’s too big to move all the way, but the sounds Billy’s making indicate it’s doing it for him too. 

“Fuck, cum on my face and tits,” Billy groans, his hips keep rolling against Steve, but he’s not really getting anywhere. 

Steve just grunts, puts his hands on either side of Billy’s to get a little more pressure. He’s been so worked up licking and biting and sucking Billy’s pecs, it doesn’t take long. Steve cums with a cry, shooting straight onto Billy’s cupid’s bow and then down over his chin and chest. 

Billy opens his mouth, sticks his tongue out to catch it. Steve lets go of his hands so he can pull his dick out and wipe it along Billy’s nipples, gets a line to stretch between the two of them. Steve slides back, dragging his dick along Billy’s torso as he approaches his cock.

Steve licks his lips and dives in, sucks the head into his mouth. He tongues at Billy’s slit, uses a hand to fondle his balls. His other hand sneaks up to twist Billy’s right nipple.

“Steve,” Billy pants, rocking his hips up so his dick gets forced a little further into Steve’s mouth. “Fuck.”

Steve hums around him and pulls back just in time to get a matching face full of cum. He licks at it too, closes his eyes so it doesn’t get into them. He feels filthy and wonderful and his head is ringing when he flops next to Billy. 

Hargrove breathes hard beside him, reaches over to drag the cum out of Steve’s left eye. He licks his thumb clean and grins crookedly at Steve. “Good enough to make up a buck, twenty-give?”

Steve laughs, puts a hand on Billy’s chest. “You get free ice cream for a month!”

Billy snorts, wraps his arms around his waist as he laughs. He’s practically curled over with it and he shakes his head when he gets himself under control. “You’re an easy lay, Harrington, I’ll give you that.”

And Steve is, but he smiles anyway and leans up to lick a path clear on Billy’s face. He bites at his earlobe when he moves away, tugging on his earring. 

Billy grunts and looks over at him. “You gonna be ready for round two soon, sailor?”

“Aye, aye, captain,” Steve teases, reaching over for his Scoops hat and dropping it on Billy’s face. He’ll have to lie and say he dropped it in the toilet or something because that thing isn’t leaving this room without getting covered in cum. 

#harringrove #lemon #greye writes #chrisbitchtree #fic #drabble #stranger things

[brokenkingdom-forgottenempire]

Never Regret

....took me a while to finish this long ass fic. Please don’t hate me. I wanted to write prequel fic for ‘Off Night’ and I didnt expect I’d spend days trying to make this fic....readable? 

WARNING: LONG FIC. POOR ATTEMPT OF SEXY TIME. AND MAYBE AWKWARD. Human flesh as plates. Drew does the sucking around here. Roman can just relax. Some errors. Uhhhh.....some cbt .. idk. Dont look at me. I kept on seeing gif of Drew low blowing Roman, alright? 

Okay, so here is my second attempt on trying to write sexy scene for McReigns! husbands vers au.

(08/12/20)

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It was raining all day. Grey skies since 8am. It was only 4pm now but the dark clouds made it looked like it was already late evening. A bit of lighting once in a while but it was not a compete downpour. It had been raining a lot lately, and Drew did not really enjoy it. He would go out to work and come back soaking wet. He hated it. 

Roman liked the rain. It was calming for him. He could rest his mind, the sound of low grumbling thunder somehow made him relax. He could stay in bed all day, snuggle with his husband, take a nap. The two of them a completely opposite about the weather but that was why they were so deep in love with one another.

Drew went out that afternoon to buy some groceries. Roman wanted to go along to accompany the other man but Drew insisted the Samoan to just stay at home. He did not want Roman to get sick again. He noticed how Roman could easily get sick lately too. It’s probably caused by the weather, Drew thought.

“Don’t forget to buy some desserts, babe,” Roman called out from the kitchen before Drew stepped out of the house. Drew just replied back ‘OK’ and walked out, dressed in just black t-shirt, jeans and raincoat. It was windy outside, he knew the umbrella would not help much in this situation but he brought it with him anyway.

A hour or so later, as expected, Drew came back with the needed things and food. Soaking wet head to toe. Roman was sitting comfortable in their couch in the living room. Knees tucked close to his chest, hair neatly tied into a bun, reading glasses on, he had his phone in hand, probably checking for updates on his social media account again. The Samoan lifted his head up when he heard the front door was opened, and failed to hide his smile when he saw a soaked, grumpy Drew. 

“Yea, laugh all you want. I’m fucking freezing and you didn’t even bother to help me grab a towel,” the Scottish man grunted as he placed the grocery bags on the floor. He tossed his ruined shoes at the side, grumbling how much he hated life sometimes especially when it had to put him in this kind of situation. Roman just shook his head, got up and handed his husband a towel he had prepared earlier. Drew just stared at Roman as he did. 

“You really thought I wouldn’t prepare anything for my own husband who sacrificed himself to go out and buy me food in this crazy weather? I’m hurt, Drew,” despite the last sentence, a warm smile graced Roman’s beautiful face. Drew did not reply and just moved his face closer to Roman’s to give the older man a quick kiss on the lips. A thank you. Drew did not say it, but Roman knew. 

“What did you get me for desserts?” Roman bent down to pick up the bags. 

“Ice cream, some cakes, chocolate and strawberry syrups just incase you want them on your ice cream. Also I bought this pie from the bakery you loved so much. The lady behind the cash register said hi,” Drew shamelessly stripped down in front of the door. He did not want to step on the carpet. Roman would kill him. Once he was completely naked, he wrapped the towel around his waist and looked up to see Roman staring at him. “What? Something’s on my face?” Drew reached up to wipe his face. 

“You silly, sexy, handsome brute,” Roman chuckled and slightly tiptoed to kiss Drew on his cheek. “Thank you for the cakes and pie,”. The Scottish man huffed, his large hand came down to rest on Roman’s ass and could not resist giving it a squeeze. The shorter man gasped at the sudden action but laughed as he slowly pulled away to prepare their dinner.

“Shower and dress warmly, dinner will be ready by then,” Roman was back inside the kitchen and Drew still had a smile on his face as he walked towards their room to do what Roman told him to. 

20 minutes later, Drew reemerged. He wore a navy blue t-shirt, slightly loose on him and grey sweatpants. He was not sure if the sweats were his or Roman’s but since when did he care. Roman had prepared the food, and they ate in peace, randomly talked about their work and friends’ updates. Once dinner was done, Drew helped out with the cleaning. 

Roman told Drew to wait in the living room as he took the desserts out of the fridge. Drew complied and waited patiently on the couch. The TV was on, and Drew just lazily flipped through the channels, nothing attracted him so far. When Roman came back with desserts, Drew dropped the remote as he looked at his husband. Roman just casually walked around inside their home with nothing but an apron. With lace. What the fuck. When did he change?!

“Oh, I forgot the plates,” Roman was about to get up to get some utensils but Drew’s sudden grip around the older man’s wrist managed to stop him. 

“What do you think you’re doing, Roman?” Drew’s voice became huskier than before. The Samoan had some guts to look down at him with his innocent, confused eyes. Drew did not wait for Roman’s replies as he yanked his smaller husband down, and Roman landed on top of Drew. Their positions forced Roman to straddle Drew’s thighs with the Scottish man’s hand rested on both sides of Roman’s hips. The tattooed man chuckled and bit his lower lip, his fingers playfully danced on Drew’s chest.

“Do you like it? Seth told me to get one. I got it months ago but I didn’t know when to wear. It’s a bit too small, I think, should’ve gotten a bigger size,” Roman looked down at his black with white lace apron he had gotten on the internet. He ordered L for size but it was meant for ladies, and he was a 260 pounds Samoan with muscles and tattoos. Some kind of maid kink whatever it was stated on the description. Seth mentioned something about it and though he did not really need it to seduce his husband, he wanted to try something new.

Drew’s silence made Roman looked back up to the man he currently straddled. Drew’s blue eyes seemed slightly darker than before. It got him worried, maybe Drew did not really like this kind of thing? Roman gulped and tried to move away but Drew’s strong hands held him in place. “Drew?” Roman’s soft voice did it for him. The Scottish man placed a hand on Roman’s nape and pulled him down for a deep kiss. The older man’s moan were muffled, his hands gripping Drew’s loose t-shirt. 

“You fucking tease. You’re going to regret this,” Drew breathed out before he claimed his husband’s lips once again. “I’m going to tear that ass, and I don’t want you hear you whining about it being sore tomorrow, or I’m going to tie you up for some spankings. Do you understand?” Both of his hands were back on Roman’s ass this time, squeezing and parting the cheeks a part, causing the other man to whimper. His teeth left marks on Roman’s neck. The Samoan could not say anything but a simple ‘Yes, sir,’. 

Drew lifted his smaller husband and gently laid him down on his back on the couch. He ordered Roman to stay still as he moved to grab something from the kitchen, and then came back with a can of whipped cream. Oh God, Roman thought to himself. 

“Drew, wait, are you-” Roman tried to sit up but Drew was quick to push him down again. The Scottish man’s hand moved down and gave Roman’s teat a pinch. His husband yelped in shock. 

“Did I tell you to move, Roman?” Drew’s deep voice forced him to strop struggling and just laid still on his back. “And just for trying to stop me, you’re not allowed to touch yourself or me. If you do, I’m getting the handcuffs out,” Drew did not wait for Roman to say anything as he ripped (not really, he just aggressively peeled off the velcro straps of the apron) the only fabric on his husband’s torso off, and dove down to attack Roman’s smooth chest. He bit and tug at Roman’s nipples drawing more whines and cries from the man below him. Drew grabbed the can of whipped cream and Roman could do nothing but watched as his Scottish lover sprayed out some cream on his chest then licking it cleaned. The whipped cream was cold on his heated skin. Drew continued to spray some more cream on his husband but now focusing on the hardened nubs. 

“Ah, Drew!” Drew bit down harshly on Roman’s nipple that was surrounded by the sea of ink on his chest as he cleaned the cream off the Samoan. It felt good. So good, Roman thought he could come just with Drew messing around with his sensitive nipples. 

“Fuck, you’re so sexy, Ro,” The Scottish man pulled back and wiped his mouth. Roman did not dare to move as his eyes followed his husband’s movement. Drew grabbed one of the cakes Roman had placed on the coffee table earlier before carefully placing the dessert on Roman’s belly. Drew knew how insecure Roman was when it came to his physique especially his abdomen area. While Roman did not mind Drew squeezing and groping his thick ass, he did not really like it when his Scottish husband paid too much attention to his ‘fat stomach’ (as Roman called it). Drew obviously hated it whenever Roman tried to push him away because of it. The Samoan was clearly blind if he did not notice how much Drew loved every part, every inch of his body. It was a daring move for Drew’s part but he would risk it all as long as Roman knew nothing on him was imperfect for Drew. 

The Scottish man could feel how Roman’s body stiffened the moment the cake touched his skin. Roman’s eyes darted down to Drew, silently pleading to have it removed. Drew was having none of it. Not this time. Drew moved up to kiss his husband.

“You never believed me when I told you I love every side of you. I know you still won’t believe me now even if I tell you, but Roman, I love everything about you. Your beautiful face, you ass, those killer thighs, your so-called fat tummy. Whatever bullshit you’ve been telling yourself for years, I’m ending it tonight,” Roman’s eyes turned glassy as he let his husband kissed him again. Roman could not find his voice so he nodded, trusting Drew to make him understand. Drew smiled down at the older man before he peeled off his loose t-shirt and sweatpants, throwing them on the floor. Then he moved back down to take a bite of the cake. Roman was trying to calm himself down as he watched his husband having his dessert using his belly as the plate. Drew smirked when he realized Roman would not struggle, he licked his lips once before he marked Roman’s skin with his teeth. 

“I love this so much,” Drew continued to bite and suckle the skin around his husband’s middle. “Such beautiful body, only for me to enjoy. No one else can have this. No one else can taste it. Only me,”. The Scottish man began to tease the bellybutton, licking down the navel and then came dangerously close to Roman’s hard on. Roman grunted when he felt Drew bit down on his skin again. The Samoan knew he was not allowed to hold Drew yet so his fingers had turned white from gripping the fabric of the couch hard. He bit his lower lip to stop himself from moaning too loudly as Drew continued to mark around his middle. He wanted to cry out whenever Drew bit his skin a little too hard but Drew seemed to acknowledge Roman’s movement and he would kiss the reddening skin as a silent apology. 

Drew sat back once he was satisfied. He took the cake off Roman and brought it up to his husband’s lips. Roman did not immediately accept the offer and looked up to Drew, waiting for permission. “Open up, baby,” Drew ordered softly. Roman complied. The Samoan opened his mouth and let Drew fed him. Once he finished the dessert, he continued to lick Drew’s fingers. The Scottish man did not hesitate to push his fingers inside his husband’s mouth, letting Roman licked the icing and cream away. 

As Roman was busy suckling on his fingers, Drew moved his free hand down to tap at the older man’s puckered hole. Roman whimpered in need and began to spread his legs apart further. Drew moved to settle between his husband’s thighs without removing his hand from Roman’s mouth. 

“Someone is already wet for daddy,” beads of cum began to leak out of Roman’s pisshole. Drew teasingly gave the head a squeezed and watched as the precum flowed out, dripping on Roman’s stomach. He laughed when Roman suddenly bucked his hips, needing more from his lover. His muffled whines and pleads were ignored as Drew began to use the fluid as lube. He scooped some precum using his fingers before he circled Roman’s hole again. 

“Drew, please,” Roman gasped out as he felt his husband’s finger tip teasingly pushing in. Drew did not even lift his head to look at the other man as he continued to slowly push through the muscle ring. 

“Ahh, fuck!” cried the Samoan when Drew suddenly pushed his middle finger in deep, his knuckle was resting against Roman’s spasming hole. The younger man did not stop as he began to move his hand, finger fucking his husband in several times before adding another finger to spread his husband’s needy hole further, drawing louder moan from Roman. 

“Please, please, please, please,” was all Roman could mutter. His own fingers dug into the couch, trying to strain himself. Hips bucking every time Drew mercilessly rammed his fingers in. 

“Please what, Ro?” Drew’s other hand reached up and grabbed a handful of Roman’s hair, yanking the Samoan’s head back, exposing his marked neck. Roman winced from the pain and pleasure that Drew gave him at once. When Roman did not answer fast enough, Drew slid his fingers out of his husband’s hole causing the older man to whine in frustration.

“Nooo...please, daddy.....put it back in. Please fuck me. Please wreck me open,” Roman panted out. Drew was still holding him down by his long locks. The Scottish man smirked evilly. Using his free hand, he flicked Roman’s balls, causing the man to yelp in surprise. “No, please, don’t,” The Samoan tried to move his hip away from the assault. Wrong move. Roman cried out when Drew tugged his hair back harder this time. 

“Did you just try to run away from me, Roman?” It was not really a question so Drew did not wait for replies. He gave the balls some gentle taps before flicking them again, eliciting more cries from his husband. Roman tried to close his legs but Drew would just order him to spread them out again. 

The Scottish continued to mercilessly punish his husband’s balls. From gentle slaps, to flicking, to taps and some hard slaps, even a pinch or two. Roman’s thighs were trembling. His breathing was uneven as he surrendered his lower half to his lover. Tears trailed down the sides of his face. Drew delivered one last slap at the sore balls and he watched as Roman’s eyes rolled, mouth hung open, fingers turned white as he held onto the couch for his dear life, hips lifted slightly, toes curled in, and his dick spurted out ropes of cum, creating big mess on his own abs and chest. Drew was loving every second of it. His husband’s dick twitched and spurted more white fluid as Drew’s fingers lightly stroked the spent organ. 

“Fuuuuuucckkkkk,” Roman moaned loudly when Drew tapped his pisshole with his finger and gave the sore head a swipe. The Samoan was super sensitive to touches now but knowing his husband he knew Drew was not going to stop yet, and he hated when he was right. Roman’s chest was heaving and trembling as he tried to catch his breath from the orgasm. Drew had released his hair after he came the second time. Roman watched through hooded eyes as his Scottish lover bent down to take the spent cock into his mouth, giving it a gentle suck but it was enough for Roman to arch his back, crying out ‘Stop!’ when Drew began to graze his teeth along the twitching organ. “No more. Please, no more, daddy, it’s too much,” he winced out.

Drew thought he had punished his husband enough that night so he let go. The Scottish then moved up to once again kiss his husband deeply on the lips. Drew pushed some hair off his husband’s sweaty forehead before he planted a kiss. 

“I’m not done with you yet, Roman,” The said man’s eyes grew wide as he stared back at his husband. Before he could protest, Drew flipped him on his front this time. The taller man stood up, grabbed both of Roman’s arms and held it on his back. Drew bent down to pick up the apron that Roman had dropped earlier and used the straps to tied the Samoan’s hands on his back. Drew moved their position so Roman’s ass was facing him and Roman had to bury his face between the pillows on the couch. Drew forced Roman to kneel at the edge of the cushioned seats and present his ass up. Drew kneeled so his face would be at the same height as Roman’s ass, he grabbed both of the cheeks and spread them apart to reveal the pink hole. The Scottish man did not waste time as he dove in to rim his husband’s hole this time. 

“Oh God. Oh fuck. Oh God, feels so good, daddy” Roman whimpered out. He could feel Drew’s tongue pushing in passed the ring and Roman pushed back. He was being tongue fucked by his husband. Everything just felt so intense, he got slightly lightheaded.

Drew stood back up again after he made sure Roman’s hole was relaxed enough for him. He placed his big girth against Roman’s entrance before he thrusted in balls deep. Roman’s scream was muffled by the pillows. His hips bucked and trembled from the sudden movement. “Please...be gentle with me, daddy. You’re so big,” Roman’s voice cracked as Drew began to pull out half way before slamming in again.

“Don’t fucking tell me what to do. You’ll accept whatever I give to you, slut,” Drew rammed his cock harder, drawing high pitch cries from his Samoan husband. He spread the fat cheeks further and shoved in deeper. 

Roman could not stop screaming as Drew rammed at his prostate over and over again. He was about to come again. He tried to tug his hands free from the bond but he could feel his muscles began to weaken from all the fucking. Drew’s thrusts became rougher and merciless. His heavy balls slapping against Roman’s hardening boner. After several thrusts, Roman came on the couch this time. His dick spraying out cum. He was crying from the endless pleasure. 

He knew Drew was close to coming as he felt his lover’s dick grew. Drew gripped hard at Roman’s already bruised hips, balls resting against Roman’s, he grunted as he came inside his Samoan husband. Roman’s body jerked few times when his inside was flooded by streams of hot cum. Drew thrusted few more times, letting his spurting cock softened inside the warm hole. He bent down, slowly grabbed his husband’s wet face and gave him a kiss. Drew finally pulled out after few minutes, he watched as the cum leaked out, trailing down to Roman’s balls before dripping to the floor. Drew then reached down to untie his husband’s hands. Once released, Roman drew his hands closer to his chest. His eyes closing as he tried to catch his breath again. He came a lot in only few hours. 

Drew sat back down next to Roman who was still kneeling. Carefully, Drew pulled Roman up to straddle his thighs again. Roman whimpered as he thought Drew was not done with him yet, but his Scottish husband just shushed him. He pushed Roman’s head down to rest on his bare chest, strong arms holding his lover in place. 

After some silence and Roman seemed to calm down a little, Drew spoke, “Are you alright, baby? Did I hurt you too much?” Roman just shook his head. Drew gently gripped Roman’s chin to lift his face up. Romans eyes were still glassy from crying, some hair messily plastered on his forehead. “You’re in pain?” Drew asked worriedly. 

“It was a good kind of pain,” a small smiled formed on Roman’s tired face. Drew chuckled and pecked his husband’s lips. “My hands hurt though....and my balls,” Roman reached down to cup his sore organ. The sacs were slightly swollen. Drew took Roman’s hand and kissed the mark around the wrist from the apron straps he used to tie him up earlier. 

“I’d love to kiss you balls too, if you want,” Drew said playfully. Roman rolled his eyes and hit his husband’s chest.

“No, you won’t. You ruined the apron, and my ass.. No more fucking until next week,”. Now, it was Drew’s turn to whine at how cruel Roman’s decision was. The Samoan ignored him and continued to bury his face in his husband’s chest. 

“You fucked me so deep, my ass will be sore until next week. Tomorrow will be our off night, and if you dare to put your dick anywhere near me, you can spend the night on this lovely couch alone,”. Drew pouted, quietly grumbling that it was not even his fault and Roman was the one who started it. Roman giggled at his husband’s childish reaction, but he needed rest. His ass needed rest. “I need to shower, I feel disgusting from the cream and cake you put on me,” Roman slowly moved off Drew to stand, he winced as he felt Drew’s cum began to flow out more and trail down his thigh. 

“I’ll help,” Drew offered. He placed an arm around Roman’s waist and guided him to their bathroom. He helped Roman to wash his long locks, chest and hole. Roman almost smacked Drew on the head when his lover roughly shoved a finger in his super sensitive and sore hole. 

Did Roman regret his decision to tease his husband in the first place though? Never, and best believe he would do it again. Maybe he would order some more things online too.

#Y's fic #Long ass fic #mcreigns #behold my awkward attempt of sex scene #damn this fic is long

[agerefandom]

Evenings of Eternity (Chapter Two)

Fandom: Good Omens

Words: 2,500

Summary: Crowley has been many things throughout the millennia, but he’s never been a child. He finds himself curious about the idea of childhood, and Aziraphale offers to help him explore that curiosity. (regressor!crowley, cg!aziraphale) 

Content Warnings: None I can think of! New, voluntary, and uncertain regression: Crowley and Aziraphale are still figuring out how everything works.

Notes: This is the final chapter for Good Omens so far, but I do plan to write more! Let me know if you have any specific requests or ideas for this fandom, and I’ll be happy to add them in ^-^

(Don’t forget to read chapter one if you missed it!)

In the end, they settled on a date and wrote it on the calendar, just like their weekly game nights. Crowley protested having it on the calendar in the kitchen, but Aziraphale found him staring at it one morning, drinking his coffee and smiling slightly.

The date grew nearer and Aziraphale made his quiet preparations, occasionally asking Crowley’s opinion on this or that. He was picking up some of Crowley’s nerves, hoping that everything would go well and he wouldn’t do anything wrong. From his research, age regression could be a very vulnerable experience, and Aziraphale didn’t want to make Crowley feel that he’d made a mistake trusting Aziraphale with it.

They agreed that for the first try, Aziraphale would make the plan. He would create a space where Crowley could be surrounded by the external factors of being a child, even if he couldn’t create a mental space for it yet. Discovering from scratch what childhood felt like wasn’t going to be easy, and both of them were aware of it. They agreed that there was no pressure on either of them, that both of them could step back at any time, and that it was perfectly alright if it didn’t work out.

Knowing all of that didn’t make it any easier to fall asleep the evening before, and Aziraphale found himself lying awake for an hour that felt like a century. Eventually, he managed to drift off to Crowley’s familiar rasping breaths beside him.

--

The late morning light shone into the cottage, the leaves of the plants casting shadows across the shelves and the floors. Aziraphale walked down the hallway, taking a deep breath as he paused in front of the bedroom door.

He was ready for this, for whatever the day would bring. If it was awkward and it didn’t work at all, that was fine. They had already planned a movie to watch in the evening as adults. If it did work and he was responsible for a five-year-old today, that was fine too. If it was anywhere in-between, he was prepared to adapt and ready to learn. Everything was fine, he just had to open the door, wake Crowley up, and start their day together.

He brushed his hands over his apron and then rested his palm on the doorknob, twisting it open and pushing his way into the dark room with a decisive motion.

“Crowley? Crowley, love, it’s time to wake up.”

“Hrrrn?” Crowley rolled over in bed, already twisted up in the sheets. He wasn’t a blanket hog when he shared the bed, but as soon as Aziraphale left he always made himself into a little burrito. It was adorable.

“Come on, sleepyhead.” Aziraphale sat down on the edge of the bed and ran a hand through Crowley’s hair, scratching gently at his head. “Breakfast is already on the table.”

“Oh nooo,” Crowley muttered, turning his head into the pillow so that his voice was muffled. “It’s today.”

“It is today!” Aziraphale said, continuing to pet Crowley’s head. “I made chocolate chip pancakes.”

“Sounds good.” Crowley’s voice was reluctant, and his face was firmly in the pillow.

“I know they’re your favourite, so I made them just for you,” Aziraphale told him. “Only the best for my favourite little one.”

Crowley finally rolled over, but only so that he could put his hands over his face and make an embarrassed whining sound. Aziraphale almost raised his eyebrows: it wasn’t a reaction he’d seen from Crowley before, and he hoped it meant he was on the right track.

“Alright, I’m opening the curtains, so keep your eyes closed!” Aziraphale said, rising from the bed and shaking out his skirt. He was wearing his favourite baking outfit, a yellow tartan dress with a floral apron tied around his waist. It made him feel like he was on the cover of a magazine, and he loved the colours.

He opened the curtains with a flourish, and sunlight came streaming into the room. Crowley had slept in late to give Aziraphale time to prepare, and the day was already nearing noon.

“Do you want to choose your outfit today?” Aziraphale asked, as if it was a question that he asked Crowley every morning.

“Yes,” Crowley said, and finally sat upright. He was so loveable in the mornings, his hair a mess and his pupils narrow slits against the light. “I want to choose.”

“Alright, do you want the blue shirt or the red shirt?”

“Red shirt.”

Aziraphale obediently pulled out one of the shirts they had bought together, a plain red t-shirt that wasn’t too far out of Crowley’s comfort zone, but was miles away from his previous outfits. “And shorts or pants, sweetheart?”

“Pants.”

Aziraphale had expected that, and he pulled out a pair of black jeans. Again, not too unusual, but still looser than anything else that Crowley owned. He scooped out a pair of underwear and a new pair of striped socks, putting them all in a pile at the bottom of the bed.

“Do you want me to stay?” Aziraphale asked, as Crowley reached towards the clothes.

“Stay,” Crowley nodded.

“Do you want me to help?”

Crowley shook his head, so Aziraphale waited and watched Crowley get dressed, tossing his silk pyjamas carelessly on the floor. He stood patiently by the door until Crowley had all of his clothes on, even his socks.

“That’s not where your pyjamas go, little one,” Aziraphale said, and Crowley blinked at him with genuine surprise before glancing back at his crumbled pyjamas. “Could you put them away for me?”

Crowley frowned, but he obediently picked up the pyjamas, folded them, and walked over to put them in the right drawer.

“Good job!” Aziraphale praised, holding out his hand. “We can make the bed later, I think it’s time for breakfast.” Crowley already looked slightly overwhelmed, so Aziraphale wiggled the fingers of his outstretched hand. Crowley immediately walked over to hold his hand, and Aziraphale guided him out through the living room and into the dining room.

“There are the pancakes!” Aziraphale said, pointing to a very large stack on the table. “Are you excited?”

Crowley nodded, although Aziraphale could tell that he was still more anxious than anything. Aziraphale pulled out his chair and let him get settled, before sliding two pancakes onto a plate and starting to cut them up. Trying to decide what kind of a child Crowley wanted to try being had been hard: being a baby, a toddler, a seven-year-old, were all very different from each other and equally foreign to the two immortals. They had settled on an older toddler for the first try, so Aziraphale carefully cut the pancakes into bite-sized pieces and added the maple syrup before setting them in front of Crowley with a plastic fork.

Crowley scowled at the plastic fork, but used it to stab a piece of pancake. Aziraphale beamed, proud of how hard Crowley was trying to push past his own discomfort and how little he was trying to hide from Aziraphale at this moment. It was going more smoothly than he had expected, and as Crowley put the first bite of pancake in his mouth, his eyes lit up and he started to eat the rest at a much faster rate.

Hiding his fondness, Aziraphale turned to the counter and began stirring together some chocolate milk, pouring it into a sippy cup and giving it one last shake before putting it in front of Crowley.

Another double-take at the brightly coloured cup, but Crowley picked it up soon enough and started sucking at it, clearly enjoying the chocolate milk. Aziraphale had more of a sweet tooth between the two of them, but he’d never seen Crowley turn his nose up at something that was chocolate.

“Is it good, sweetheart?” Aziraphale prompted, sitting down to his own plate.

“Uh-huh!” Crowley ducked his head after his energetic confirmation, seeming embarrassed. Aziraphale beamed at him.

“I’m glad.” Aziraphale tucked into his own breakfast, watching Crowley struggle with the blunt plastic fork. He had chocolate smeared across one cheek and on the back of his hand already. I’ll have to wipe that up, Aziraphale noted absent-mindedly, and was struck by a wave of newness, mixed with an odd nostalgia for something he’d never had.  

Sure enough, at the end of breakfast, Crowley’s face and hands were smudged with chocolate, and Aziraphale wiped him off with a wet cloth, dropping a kiss on his forehead when he drew away. Crowley squirmed under the attention, but even that was unusual. Crowley usually tapped on the nearest surface when he was uncomfortable, but now he was just wiggling back and forth slightly, his hands wrapping around each other. Aziraphale gave him a reassuring smile and rinsed off the cloth.

“Alright, love, do you want to go outside or stay in to watch some cartoons?” Aziraphale asked as he cleared the table.

Crowley thought about that for a few seconds.

“Outside,” he decided.

“Outside it is.” Aziraphale left the chocolatey plates by the sink for later and returned to Crowley, who was pushing his chair back from the table. “Up you go!” he said, scooping Crowley into his arms and propping him on his hip. Crowley, although tall, had always been quite light. It was easy for Aziraphale to carry him with one arm wrapped under him and another one around his back.

Crowley settled against him easily, curling his hands into the fabric of Aziraphale’s dress.

“Maybe it was silly to wipe all that chocolate off,” Aziraphale murmured to himself as he carried Crowley down the hallway. “You’re just going to get all dirty outside.”

“No I won’t,” Crowley said defiantly. His voice sounded no different from normal, but somehow Aziraphale could tell that he was finding an inner child instinct much faster than Aziraphale had expected.

“Alright, I believe you,” Aziraphale told him, and pressed another kiss to Crowley’s cheek before setting him down on the front-hall bench. “Do you want to wear your new shoes?”

“Yeah!” This got a more excited response than anything else had before, Crowley swinging his legs forwards energetically. “Lights!”

Aziraphale knelt down in front of him, his skirt spreading out on the tile floor as he reached over to pull out the sneakers. Undoing the Velcro, he guided Crowley’s feet into them one by one and then did them up. Crowley resumed swinging his feet when Aziraphale stood up, testing how tight they were. He grinned at Aziraphale freely, kicking his heels into the bench he was sitting on and laughing when the shoes lit up with bright red lights.

“Very hip,” Aziraphale assured him. “You’ll be the talk of the town.”

“Uh-huh!” Crowley popped up to his feet, a sudden surge of motion. Aziraphale stopped him before he could run for the door, offering him a pair of plastic-rimmed sunglasses with little car stickers where they hooked behind the ears.

“Here you are, it’s very sunny out there.” Crowley reluctantly slipped them on. “But still don’t look directly at the sun,” Aziraphale added. “It’s very dangerous.”

“I know that,” Crowley grumbled.

“Good. I like your eyes the way they are,” Aziraphale said, and put on his own running shoes before opening the door.

Crowley was out like a shot, running down the garden path and into the sunshine before Aziraphale could step outside.

“Don’t run too far!” Aziraphale called after him, and Crowley’s carefree laughter came back to him. Crowley was spinning in the sun, just outside the garden fence, his arms out-flung to either side and his face tilted upwards.

Aziraphale relaxed when he saw that Crowley wasn’t going anywhere near the cliffs, and turned back to close the door. He wandered down the path, checking on the flowers and the tomatoes as he made his way towards the still-spinning Crowley.

“You’re going to fall over if you keep that up,” Aziraphale admonished. They could consciously stop dizziness, of course, just like any other function of the bodies they inhabited, but he doubted that Crowley was in a space to do so at the moment. At least the grass looked nice and soft under his feet.

Crowley obediently stopped spinning, and then tried to take a step forward towards Aziraphale and fell over sideways with a comedic shout of surprise. His shoulder hit the ground hard, and he rolled to a stop on his back, staring up at the sky.

“Are you alright?” Aziraphale called, suppressing the urge to run forwards and make sure Crowley wasn’t hurt. They were made of tougher stuff than that, and there was no need to hover.

“I… yeah.” Crowley pushed himself up to a sitting position, and looked over to Aziraphale. “I’m fine.”

Aziraphale couldn’t put his finger on what had changed, but he was well aware that the tumble had jolted Crowley out of the relaxed headspace he’d found. He was back to the Crowley that Aziraphale was familiar with.

“Do you want to go back inside?” Aziraphale asked, still fighting the urge to run forwards and scoop Crowley into his arms.

“Yeah.” Crowley pushed his sunglasses up so that he could rub his eyes. “I think I’m done for today, if that’s alright.”

“Of course.” Aziraphale finally approached, sitting cross-legged on the grass next to Crowley. “You can be done whenever you want.”

“It was short,” Crowley sighed. “But it was nice.”

“Oh?” Aziraphale could feel himself brighten at the off-hand comment.

“I think I’d like to do it again, either with you or by myself.” Crowley rolled the hem of his t-shirt between two fingers. “It was nice.”

“I would be happy to do it again with you,” Aziraphale said. “I had quite a bit of fun.”

“Did you?” Crowley was watching him from the corner of his eye, unwilling to meet his gaze head-on.

“Absolutely.” Aziraphale nodded enthusiastically. “You know how much I love playing the housewife every once in a while, cleaning the cottage by hand. This was even better than that, I’ve never felt so… human.” There was no other word for the feeling, like all the centuries could fade away into a single lifetime, like there was nothing above and nothing below but only the here and now. As though there were no obligation to how they had been made, and only the life they created together.

“An angel who wants to be a housewife,” Crowley chuckled, lying back on the grass and letting the childish sunglasses slide back over his eyes. “Sounds like the plot of a terrible romance novel.”

“Hallmark card, romance novel… at least I’m not someone’s idea of a tragic gothic hero,” Aziraphale said, poking Crowley in the side and relishing his laughter.

“You get one novel written about you and they never forget it,” Crowley griped. “Stop tickling me and lie down, angel. The sunlight is warm and you’re blocking it.”

“Oh, if I’m disrupting your basking,” Aziraphale said graciously and laid down next to Crowley, shifting closer to him and letting Crowley wrap an arm around him. The two of them laid under the noonday sun, breathing in the seaside air and closing their eyes to better savour the warmth. Everything that wasn’t them and their cottage seemed very far away, and Aziraphale felt properly at peace.

#sfw agere #agere writing #agere fanfiction #agere fic #agere fics #agere fandom #nsre #agere community #good omens #good omens agere #good omens fic #regressor!crowley #evenings of eternity

[poorlittleangels]

Eating yourself sick

(Castor being taking care of by caring Aina after having been held and tortured. Unfortunately he can't help his hunger.)

"Hold tight, dear, it won't be long," Aina said from the small kitchen. She was making him his breakfast, a big bowl of porridge with maybe a bit of broth. Her pot of water was at a rolling boil as she hummed to herself, an apron over her long brown dress. The morning was calm and dew sparkled on every blade of grass he could see from his parted curtains. The sunlight fell grayish gold on the floorboards.

He rubbed his stomach, lightheaded with hunger. The past few weeks, he hadn't had much of an appetite. He could barely eat more than a few mouthfuls of whatever Aina fed him, though she gently pleaded with him to try some more. She worried about how thin and pale he looked, how his hair and nails were dry and brittle, how his skin looked stretched taut over his bones. He had just gone without food for so long - maybe once every few days getting tossed some stale bread and water - that his stomach wasn't used to much more, and Aina would sigh and put away the dishes, hoping he would feel better tomorrow.

Today, however, he awoke ravenous. He mentioned it to Aina, whose face alighted with joy for a moment before she went to make him something to eat. He laid there, knowing it would be rude to rush her, but all the same growing more desperate every second. His mind began to wander into decadence - he thought of warm, soft pastries, creamy soup, meat and vegetables and cake... He missed eating. His family and friends knew how he loved his food - he wasn't sure how he hadn't grown fat with how much he ate. At every meal he took seconds, or packed away the leftovers, sometimes asking if someone else planned on finishing their meal so he could scrape up some more.

Aina came in with a bowl of fruit she had been washing, setting it down on a nightstand while she rummaged in the drawer below. "Now where did I leave that..." A little more rummaging and she took out one of her hair barettes that she had misplaced. "There you are." She twisted and pinned back her long dark hair. "Oh, Castor, your breakfast will be ready in a few minutes." She left the bowl of fruit out, absent-minded as she was.

A few minutes later she brought out his bowl of porridge, along with her own breakfast, setting them down on a short table she moved closer to the bed. "Careful, dear, it's a bit hot. Don't want to hurt yourself." She gave it a stir. "I know how hungry you are." She looked out the window, narrowing her eyes. Then she smacked her forehead with her palm in exasperation. "My, I left the laundry out drying all night! I forgot to go get it after supper." She sprang up and hurried towards the door, grabbing the hamper. "I'm so sorry, go ahead and eat when you're ready. I'll be right back. My, I can't believe myself-" She shut the door behind her, leaving the room quiet.

Castor looked to his side. Aina had laid out a big bowl of steaming hot porridge with a spoon, and a little cup of chicken broth. It was bland food, but he knew it'd be delicious, as Aina's cooking always was. His stomach growled. He took a tentative bite. It was too hot, so he set the spoon aside to let it cool. As hungry as he was, he knew he'd burn his mouth.

Over on the table sat Aina's breakfast. A sticky pastry, covered in glaze, with its bakery wrapper half stuck to it. Aina had already taken a bite out of it, exposing the chocolate center. Next to it was a tall, frothy glass of milk.

It was exactly what he'd been dreaming of. Without thinking he leaned forward and grabbed it, too hungry to care if she'd miss it. It was sweet and flaky and buttery. He couldn't have stopped eating had he been tied and bound. In just a few bites he was finished, and licked the rest off his fingers. He reached for the glass of milk, and, steadying it in shaking hands, drained it in a few gulps. It was the best he had ever drank, fresh and rich.

His porridge had gotten cool enough to eat, and he ate messily, tilting the bowl and scraping it into his mouth. The more he ate, he found, the more his appetite grew. As though he was making up for all those days with nothing to eat, filling in the pangs of hunger with butter and sugar and dairy. He didn't care how savage he was being. He just needed to eat, to satisfy his stomach.

He moved on to the bowl of fruit, glistening and freshly washed. A few cherries, he popped them into his mouth without bothering to spit the seeds out. A peach, juicy and succulent. He tore through it all, not thinking. A tangerine, a few strawberries, whatever else, he tore into the soft flesh until his teeth were burning with all the sugar.

He startled at the clicking of the doorknob. He froze. A few moments passed, and nothing happened. He settled down, his heart still racing. In his hand was a fresh, ripe plum - he bit into it, breaking the skin, letting the sticky juice drip down his hands and chin. He had never tasted anything so sweet.

He didn't hear Aina coming in, opening the door with her knee, balancing the basket of clothes on her hip. She hefted it inside and sighed, relieved of the burden.

"My," she said breathlessly, "that's a lot of clothes." She started toward the bedroom. "Good thing it didn't rain last night, hm? I still can't believe I forgot."

She stopped in his doorway. "Castor?"

He looked up at her, struck by a wave of panic. He had the plum in his hand, the juices and seeds of the fruit all over him. Red cherry stains on his soft white shirt and sticky syrup on his fingers. He felt tears sting the corners of his eyes. Imagine being caught like this! He was less than human, just a hungry animal bent on ruining himself.

"Castor, dear..." She hung up her apron and knelt by his side. He let out a choked sob and let the other half of the fruit roll into the bowl. How had he been so stupid? Eating himself sick like a puppy finding a dropped piece of meat. He felt the raw shame spread across his cheeks, the same as when his brother teased him for eating so much, as when his mother shot him a disapproving look for taking an extra slice of cake. As when he got rude glances from friends for piling on an extra serving, not stopping to wipe his mouth. Just him, mannerless, disgusting, worthless. He wept into his messy hands. Nothing more than a sick, sad little glutton.

"Castor, what's the matter?" She pushed a lock of hair out of his face. She didn't sound condemning, but was truly concerned. Something about it made him cry harder. "Come, let's clean you up."

She ducked away to the bathroom and brought him a wet washcloth, wiping off his face, hands, and neck. She helped him change his shirt into a fresh, clean one, and replaced the messy quilt. The dirty dishes were taken and put in the sink, and she returned to his side to comfort him.

He wept into his sleeve, unable to bear her pity. She was disappointed in him, he thought. She must hate him. Poor, broken boy, couldn't control himself, needing to be watched all day and night like a misbehaving pet.

She sighed. "Don't cry. Shh, it's okay. What's wrong? Got too hungry? I promise I'm not mad at you."

He shivered and answered with more sobs, covering his face. Salty tears washed away the sweetness on his tongue.

"You know you shouldn't be eating fruit or milk, things like that. I'm worried it'll mess with you after you haven't been eating for so long." She gently peeled away his hands from his round red eyes. "It's not your fault, dear," she whispered. "You're hungry. Almost too much to bear, right?"

He nodded, wiping his nose on his sleeve. She offered him a tissue from his bedside.

"Don't blame yourself. I should've known, should've fed you more. I made you wait for your breakfast when I knew you were so desperate. I'm sorry, honey."

Her tone was sincere and tender. He knew she truly cared for him, forgave him. It reminded him of his mother soothing him to sleep when he was ill. He sniffled and wiped his eyes again.

He then seized up. Pain tore through his middle. He grabbed at his stomach, suffering through a wave of hurt that left him dizzy. The amount of food he had eaten was stretching his small stomach, not used to eating more than a mouthful at a time. It cramped and twisted, unable to digest the fruit and milk and sugar. How sweet it had been on his tongue, and how horribly sour it felt now!

Aina had turned away for a moment, beginning to put away the laundry. "Is your stomach okay? I'm afraid you might not do well with the milk-"

He squirmed and grunted, prompting her to look over. She dropped the dress she was holding and rushed to be next to him.

"Shh, that's it. Breathe through it." His thin, pale frame was shivering. He felt like he might be ripped apart from the inside. Every wave was worse than the last. Punishment, he felt, for his greediness and lack of self control. He deserved to suffer this badly.

She stayed by him, shushing him, stroking his hair to calm him. "I'm so sorry," he whispered, once he was able to speak before the gnawing ache came back. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry-" A tear fell down his cheek. He whimpered as his stomach churned. "I shouldn't have done that..."

Pressure was quickly building behind his throat. He felt bloated and his stomach bulged from his skinny body. He put a hand to his mouth, trying to breathe through the nausea. It was getting harder to take a deep breath.

He managed to whimper a plea for help, and Aina grabbed a basin for him. She helped to sit him up and place it in his arms, where he held on with shaking hands. He didn't want to throw up, not with his raspy throat and still-healing ribs. But it might be the only thing that could make him feel better.

He caught his breath in between cramps, an unsettling warmth still burning in his belly. Aina was rubbing his back in small circles and stroking his hair, making sure he could hold himself upright.

He doubled over again with pain and puked up a thin stream of bile. He spit and washed his mouth of the alkaline taste with a sip of water. The acid burned up his raw throat. Then, finally, he heaved and brought up a wave of smashed fruit, sickly and cloying in his throat, rotten and putrid. The smell alone made him gag even more. He brought up the pulp and skins and juice, the heavy, rich syrup and porridge, the milk. His ribs were bending and bruising, and his abdomen was already aching with the exertion, unused to working so hard. The forcefulness of the vomiting left him powerless. It was only after everything had come up that he could lay back, barely staying conscious, still dry heaving into a towel.

Aina quickly washed out the basin and brought him a clean cloth, wiping his face for him. She rinsed his mouth with water and gave him a few sips, just about a spoonful at a time, so he wouldn't dehydrate. The cool touch of her fingers on his pounding head was a welcome respite. His whole body was hurting so badly he lie completely still in hopes that the pain would pass.

"Poor thing," Aina cooed, wrapping a soft hand under his neck. "I'm so sorry you had to go through that. I know how horrid it must feel to be put in that much pain again." She lifted the glass of water and fed him another sip.

"It's my fault," he said shakily. "I'm too greedy."

"Dear, you were starved for months. Your body wants - needs - to eat." She smiled, cupping his cheek. "Now at least I know you're getting your appetite back. You're starting to feel better, even if today you were a little sick."

He nodded, rolling to his side. Her words made him feel a little better, even if he still hated what he'd done. Aina tucked him in to his shoulders and patted his head. He felt safe around her, taken care of, finally being able to trust that she wouldn't hurt him. For all that time the only touch he knew was cold, painful, meant only to harm. Now he found himself leaning into her gentle hands, content. His body was still hurting, stomach sore from overexertion. But he knew he was safe. That he was loved.

Before he knew it he had fallen fast asleep, napping as the sun rose.

#emeto #sickfic #overeating #vomiting #puke #whump #hurt care #h/c #caretaking #caretaker #my ocs #recovery #starvation

[tamakirishima]

lmfaoo im telling people to send but i can send something as well??? welll!!!! i would like a domestic zen fic/headcanon whatever you prefer bbs

Is that even a question? Of course you can! I’m always down to write anything for you

No joke, I was smiling almost the entire time I was writing this. Ugh I love Zen so much it pains me because he’s so perfect T_T Hehehehehe time for some Zenny Zen fluff! 

——————————————————————————————-

The smell of freshly brewed coffee and something sweet lingered in the air, waking you up from your deep slumber. You woke with a huge yawn, as your arms stretched above your head in between the sheets. 

“Zen?” you sleepily mumbled, reaching over to the other side of the bed. 

The space where Zen would have been was empty, with only a slight warmth on the blanket left. The raindrops made a therapeutic sound against the window, lulling you back to sleep until…

“GOOD MORNING!” 

You jumped up and fell onto the floor out of surprise. Zen always knew how to project with his voice. He was an actor, after all. 

“Morning.” you mumbled, rubbing your eyes. 

“Honey did I wake you?” Zen asked, peering into your face. 

His bright red eyes searched your brown ones to make sure you weren’t mad or grumpy. You smiled back and kissed him softly on the lips. 

“I’m glad I have you to wake me up. I’m awake.” you replied, making Zen smile to himself. 

“Well in that case, I’ll be taking these sheets away so you don’t fall back asleep!”

Zen swiftly took the sheets and blankets off the bed and marched back into the living room, before popping his head back into the room one last time. 

“Come out for breakfast, okay?” 

You couldn’t believe your eyes to what you saw laid out on the kitchen table. There were plates of bacon, crepes, french toast, and even a quiche of some kind in a pie dish. The coffee was brewing and a selection of tea and juices were spread across the table behind all the food. What was this-a hotel breakfast? 

“Uhh…Zen? Did you do all this?” you asked, a little bit dumbfounded. 

“No, I hired a professional chef to. Of course I did! I wanted my honey to wake up with a nice breakfast today!” 

Zen stuffed the sheets into the washing machine, carefully measuring out the detergent and softener levels and adding it to the machine before closing the lid. He kind of looked like a house husband just now, with his large navy blue apron wrapped around his body perfectly. You wondered how it would be if you two got married, when your thoughts got interrupted with Zen’s voice. 

“You ready to eat, sweetie?” Zen asked, hugging you and kissing you on the forehead. 

All you could do was nod and follow him to the table to start digging in. You’d never seen Zen like this, and you were shocked to your core. In a good way, of course. With one bite of the quiche, you were sent to the moon. It was something you would only taste from a top notch chef in a hotel breakfast. 

“This is SO good! Are you sure you didn’t hire a chef?” you asked, stuffing a forkful of the crepes into your face. 

“If you mean this handsome amazing perfect chef who is also your wonderful gorgeous boyfriend, then sure I did.” he replied, pointing at himself. 

You both laughed and finished up breakfast rather quickly. The mountains of food were now empty plates with a couple of crumbs and streaks of syrup on it, and you hadn’t been so full in a long time. 

“Since you cooked an amazing breakfast, I’ll do the dishes.” You said, picking up the empty plates. 

“Nonsense. I’ll do them myself. I want to use my homemade soap today to see how well it works.” Zen replied, taking the plates from your hands. “You just sit tight and rest up! A princess needs her rest.”

Homemade soap? Zen doing dishes? Zen cooking? Zen looking like a pro when he was washing sheets? He was better at chores than you were, and you didn’t know how to reply. The way his fingers glided over the plates and over the counter proved that this wasn’t the first time he was doing this. 

Zen’s been living alone and had to fend for himself since he left his parents, so it made sense that he was good at housekeeping. But how could you know he was THIS good? 

You walked over to your thoughtful boyfriend and hugged him while he was doing the dishes. 

“You do realize that your fallback could be a chef, right?” you spoke, unable to contain your happiness. 

Zen glanced at you from the front and nodded. 

“Of course I do, I’m amazing at it. But I would prefer to cook only for you.” he replied, “And I would hug you back but you would get all wet.” 

“I don’t mind. I was going to wash this anyways.” you muttered into his back. 

Zen turned around and slinked his arms around your waist, while your arms were lazily around his neck. The water dampened your shirt on your lower back, and you shivered from the cold. 

“See? I told you that you would get wet. We’ll wash your shirt once the sheets are done.” Zen said. 

You chuckled and grinned up at your boyfriend. 

“I should really husband you up. You’re amazing at all of this.” You said, half joking, half seriously. 

“Wait until you see me with an iron. I’m amazing at ironing.” Zen stated, proudly. 

“Even I don’t iron well! Ohmygod Zen, who are you?” you asked, laughing as you threw your head back. 

“A man who loves you so much that he willingly does the ironing for you.” 

You smiled and kissed Zen deeply on the lips. Today was going to be a good day. 

#mystic messenger #mystic messenger fanfic #mysme fanfic #mysme #mysme Zen #Hyun Ryu #Cheritz #mine

[imagine-loki]

Bruna

TITLE: Bruna CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Ch 1 of 5- In Which the Customer is not Always Right AUTHOR: staria ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine working in a coffee shop and having Loki as a regular customer. You screwed up his order the first time you ever prepared a coffee for him a few months ago so he really dislikes you but as time passes by he starts talking more to you and doesn’t seem to hold that big of a grudge anymore.

RATING: Teen?

NOTES/WARNINGS: There’s some mildly strong language like f bombs and such. This is a quick doodle of what Bruna looks like.

——–

I was in a hurry and needed everyone to get fuck out of my way. The morning was cool, the sun slowly rising  as I was quickly walking- no, running- to Midnight Cafe, a small coffee shop where I was currently one of the baristas. My phone alarm had failed to go off because I forgot to charge it, so of course I woke up an hour late in a frenzy with barely any time left to brush my teeth, put on the first thing I found on the floor and bolt out the door.

As I sped running down the street I double-checked what had I put on this morning: black leggings, a sleeveless oversized olive colored shirt over my black sports bra, and red keds… could be worse. I braided my waist-length teal colored hair on the way to work.

Not that I was proud or anything, but I was so used to doing this that I could do it in my sleep.  

I barely made it on time, but glad that I was not late for the third time this week. If I had to listen to my manager, Brad, say one more time that the early bird catches the worm, I was gonna have to bitch slap him around.

I put on my apron as I punched in my arrival time and immediately went to my work area so I could read the screen with all the orders and quickly start dispatching beverages.

My first order of the day was a cappuccino, a latte, and a frozen hot chocolate, so I began getting the cappuccino and latte ready while my best friend and coworker, Jessica, finished the frozen hot chocolate. She glanced at me and gave me a huge grin and I waved back at her, no need for words. That was my Jessica, always happy, always positive.

I really loved being a barista, it’s all about getting the orders ready as fast as possible during rush time, especially during the mornings. As a chronic over thinker this gives me a break to just be in the moment without analyzing every little detail around me.

It also gives me a break from hearing people’s thoughts here and there. Yup, I’m one of those. But nothing too bad, I just hear tidbits of people’s thoughts here and there. I swear, I’m the worst telepath ever, I have no control whatsoever over this thing. It took me the longest time to figure out that I was a telepath and not just hearing voices in my head.

Once rush began dying down and people began heading to their respective jobs, I decided to go to the back and get myself something to drink because I was totally parched. I got some cold water while secretly wishing it was something stronger like vodka.

As soon as I get back there’s a few orders waiting so I start to work on a coffee for a non-regular. It’s a double shot espresso with two shots of cream and spice caramel for Lucky. I chuckled to myself as I was getting the drink ready because some people have the silliest nicknames ever, I’ve seen worse but this one was still kinda dumb.

After the espresso machine finished brewing the coffee shots, I poured the coffee  in a bone white cup, I added two shots of cream and a few pumps of spice caramel syrup. I cleaned the side of the mug and got ready to hand it to the customer.  “Lucky!” I  yelled, “Order for Lucky!” while putting the drink on the pick-up counter area for the customer.

I was already adding whipped cream to a coffee when I clearly hear in my head a guy thinking about how stupid I must be to screw up his drink. The thing is I just make whatever it says on the order screen, not my fault that Amy, our new employee,  screwed up an order again for like the fifth time this week. Now I’m was gonna have to fix her fuck up. Awesome.

I was super mad but I slowly turned around, ready for whatever bullshit this guy was going to say to me. I see a guy glaring at me like I just insulted his mother. He was actually kinda hot in a goth kind of way. Tall and lean with bright green eyes, black hair, and pale skin plus tall all dressed up in a black three piece suit. He would have been my type, all dark and handsome, but I could tell he was an asshole which was an automatic turn off for me.

He just stared at me without saying a word and I wanted him to get the fuck out of my way as soon as possible so I talked to him in my sugary customer service voice.

“I’m sorry sir, is there anything I can help you with?” I said, I following the question with a super practiced innocent smile.

He sneered at me, and drily answered, “First off, my name is Loki, not Lucky.”

There was a dramatic pause before he gave me a very menacing smile and continued, “This drink is completely wrong. I was very specific when I said that I didn’t want any of those nasty syrups like spice caramel or whatever they are called.”  

The jerk then slammed the cup down making it splash coffee all over me.

“But here I am, drinking pure sugar.”

I grabbed a towel and began cleaning my apron as he continued, “I want a new drink before you give anyone else their drink.”

I wanted to throw the freaking coffee cup with the scalding liquid at him, but I really needed this job so I took a deep breath and settled with imagining different way to tell him to fuck off.

I threw the mug in the sink before quickly remaking the order without the spice caramel and handed it to him. He glared at me before leaving without even saying thank you at all. What an ass.

After he left I was just glad to be done with the idiot and got on with my day. I thought I would probably never see him again.

But of course I was wrong.

The next day at work I was busily making a latte and had completely forgotten about the jerk from the day before when I saw him come in the coffee shop. So much for not seeing him ever again.

Luckily for me, Jessica was the one that got to prepare his coffee. I get a tidbit of Jessica’s thoughts, she’s way too excited about being the chosen one to get the jerk’s order. He was hot alright, but again, an asshole.

He decided to stand right next to my prep station on the other side of the counter to wait for his coffee. I swear he went out of his way to stand there just to coldly stare at me, judging, waiting for me to acknowledge him. I tried to concentrate, willing myself to not listen to his thoughts but I heard loud and clear that he still thought I was the worst barista ever.

He was pissing me off so much that I accidentally dropped a hot coffee drink and got it all over myself. Make that two days in a row that I get a drink all over me thanks to him. When I turned around to grab a towel I couldn’t help but look in his direction only to realize he was giving me a smug look.

He used the moment to say, “It looks like you need to be more careful with those,” while pointing to the cup in my hand, “or you might get hot liquid all over yourself.”

Once more he made me want to throw a mug at him but Jessica gave me a stern look as she was handing him his drink. Sometimes I feel like she’s the telepath.

As soon as she showed up he completely ignored me and directed all of  his attention to Jessica. He thanked her while slowly nodding his head at her like she was fucking royalty.

He then tasted his coffee and dramatically sighed before saying, “Mmmm. Now this is how I like my coffee. Thank you for a perfect cup.”

He then glared at me before he walked to a table where he sat down. The asshole was really getting on my nerves.

When I turned to Jessica ready to start my rant I noticed that she was smiling like Loki had just asked for her maiden hand. I was so furious that I said to her, “Oh my God, Jessica, really? He compliments your coffee once and you get your fucking panties all wet? Jesus, I thought you had better taste.”

Her cheeks got all red but she quickly fired back by saying, “Ugh, Bruna, don’t be jealous. He said he liked the drink, nothing else. You can make Mr Dreamy Eyes his drink tomorrow if it’s that important for you.”

I sarcastically laughed before saying, “Fuck no! You can make him his coffee everyday for all I care! He’s such an asshole.”

As I said this I glanced where Loki was sitting only to realize he saw me looking at him. I tried to smile but he just scoffed at me before getting back to his book. He was too far away from to hear us but I felt like he knew we were talking about him.  

“Jessica, I swear, he’s the biggest asshole ever” I said, as I stopped working on the Flat White I was preparing, “Look at him all smug in that corner. Didn’t you see the evil look he just gave me?”

Jessica stopped pouring chocolate syrup to a drink, and said as she rolled her eyes, “Oh my God, really? He’s so not staring at you.”

She glanced in his direction, looked back at me, and continued,  “Are you going to obsess over him like you did with the woman that liked the plain untoasted bagels? Because that whole thing was not fun. There’s only so many rants that I can tolerate from you on the proper way to eat a bagel.”

“No! I was not obsessed! I just… really disliked her. She yelled at me once,” I said, then I  whispered, “She was a total bitch.”

Jessica guffawed and was about to say something else when Brad kindly yelled at us from the cash register area to remind us that socialization should happen after work. Someone was being crabby today.

We got back to full swing getting orders ready, not a single word between me and Jessica but I continued  thinking about Loki. I usually don’t let customers get to me but for some reason he was getting under my skin and I wanted to punch his smug face. I glanced at him one last time only to realize that he had been looking at me. He smirked and slowly went back to his book.

Oh yes, I definitely wanted to punch his smug face.

#Loki #God of Mischief #Submitted fic #submission #bruna #staria #chapter 1 #coffee shop #customer #screwed up #order #prepared #coffee #dislikes #grudge