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flowerxbunnie · 5 months

Note

Hiiii🤭 okay so I have a request for Matt. He’s usually the dominant one, but lately he’s been thinking about switching it up, so he wants you to be dominant and he’s all like a whimpering mess, and he got doe eyes cause he’s pleading….and uhh yeah WORK YOUR MAGIC CAUSE IK ITS BOUT TO EATTT. Get as crazy as you want 😏

In Charge

Matt x Fem reader

Warnings: SMUT. SMUTTTTTY SMUT. Sub!Matt, use of word mommy, etc

DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE NOT OKAY WITH SMUT OR ARE A MINOR!

Matt’s POV

I keep my eyes glued to Y/n as she clicks away at the camera, positioning it horizontally and vertically to catch as many angles as possible. Today we’re at the warehouse- she’s helping Chris with a photoshoot for the next collection for Fresh Love that’s dropping in a few weeks.

I sit on the couch at the back of the room and watch her work, moving ring lights to find the best lighting, switching lenses for different amounts of blur and focus, and a bunch of other things I’m not even going to pretend to understand.

Her tennis skirt is showing off her perfect legs as she maneuvers around the set, standing on her tiptoes to get upward angles every now and again. There is a sheen of sweat glistening on her face under the heat of the lights, her baby hairs a mess all over her forehead.

She bends down to unplug a camera charger and I can feel the blood immediately rush towards my dick as I catch a glimpse of her white lace panties. I have to adjust myself in my seat, my pants suddenly feeling tighter and constrictive. I can just imagine the way she tastes. I can see myself with my head buried between her legs. I can almost hear her whimpering my name and clawing at the sheets. I need to divert my thoughts towards something else.

“Alright Cooper, if you could grab the collar and pull it out… yeah like that! Keep the logo visible..” she trails off in a mumble as she stares into the viewfinder, biting her lip before clicking the capture button and bringing the camera back down.

“Chris, go sit beside him and let’s get a couple of you together,” she says as she brushes the hair off her face. “I’m gonna get some water right quick while you get settled.”

She sets the camera down carefully on a stool off to the side and turns towards me, a smile plastered on her face. She makes her way over and plops down beside me, reaching over me to grab the half full bottle of water I’ve been sipping on. I really hope she doesn’t feel the massive boner I’m trying to hide right now. Even just her elbow grazing against it is enough to make me sigh involuntarily.

“You tired baby? We’re almost done and then we can go home and take a nap,” she says while smiling innocently. She brings the bottle to her lips and takes a sip of water, and I watch as a singular drop spills over and glides down her chin. The aroused state of mind I’m in is planting so many filthy thoughts in my brain.

“Yeah, I am. But it’s nice getting to watch you work,” I say with a grin, putting my arm around her and pulling her in to plant a kiss on her temple.

“I’m glad you’re having fun. I swear Chris doesn’t know how to sit still or listen,” she giggles, “it’s pissing me off but I know how much this photoshoot means to him.”

We both look over as Chris goofs off and acts like he’s dribbling a ball before throwing a wadded up shirt through the hole of the ring light. It gets caught and doesn’t make it all the way through, sending the ring light crashing to the ground with a loud bang.

“Christopher! What the fuck?” Y/n tosses the water bottle onto my lap and quickly makes her way over to the mess on the ground, hands on her hips and staring Chris down. “I literally had just gotten the perfect angle for the lighting.”

“I’m sorryyy, at least it didn’t break..?” Chris laughs and gives a half ass apology, clearly thinking she wasn’t as mad as she actually was.

“What’s so funny? Get your ass over here and put the light back together.” Her tone becomes harsh and serious.

Chris just looks between the model sitting beside him and Y/n, obviously confused.

“Now.” She says, her annoyance growing by the second.

Damn, this bossy side of her is honestly really fucking hot. She’s usually super laid back and a go with the flow kind of girl. I’ve never been in a position where I had to watch her barking orders, but me and my little man downstairs are really enjoying this.

Chris huffs and walks over to the wreckage he had caused, getting down and screwing the ring light back onto the stand. Y/n stays standing, just glaring down at him and crossing her arms across her chest. Chris stands up and puts the ring light back on its feet, turning it toward the backdrop.

“Now go sit.” Y/n demands as she picks her camera back up and throws the strap around her neck.

Chris listens and goes to take his seat next to Cooper, his face red with embarrassment, but he quickly regains his composure and starts giggling and chatting loudly again as Y/n adjusts the lighting.

“Let’s get these last few shots and call it a day, alright? Chris, sit back kinda slumped and throw your arm over the arm of the couch… yeah tilt your head a little to the left,” Y/n says as she looks through the viewfinder, trying to recreate the vision she sees in her head. “And Cooper you cross your legs and act like you’re kinda mid-throwing your hood up…” she trails off, looking up from the camera at Chris who has already moved from his position.

She huffs and takes the camera back off, setting it down before stomping over to Chris. She doesn’t say anything, she just leans over and grabs his arm, placing it where she wants it. I can see up her skirt as she bends over and places her right arm on the back of the couch, her left hand grabbing his face and roughly tilting it to the angle she asked for.

Why am I wishing that was me? What the fuck is going on? I stand up and walk to the bathroom, not being able to watch anymore of this without my cock jumping out of my pants.

Y/n’s POV

“Alright good job everyone! That should be a wrap!” I say as I take the lens off my camera and put it in its case before turning around to stick it in Matt’s backpack. The black bag sits on the couch, but he’s gone. I make my way over and shove the camera case into the biggest pocket before zipping it shut.

“Hey, where’s Matt?” I call over to Chris.

“No clue. Think I saw him walk towards the bathroom. I’m gonna go play arcade gamessss!” Chris’s voice grows quiet as he strides in the opposite direction.

I walk towards the bathroom door and see it shut and locked, confirming Chris paid attention for once. I give it a soft knock and step back, watching the knob turn and Matt step out timidly.

“You ready to grab a bite to eat? I’m starving! We can come pick Chris up when we get back. He’s in the arcade so I doubt he’ll notice,” I giggle and grab his hand.

Next thing I know, Matt pushes past me and I’m getting pulled into the office across the hall, the door clicking shut quietly. He reaches around me and turns the lock before stepping back and raking his eyes over my body.

“I need you now, Y/n.” His tone is low and serious as his hand slides down his lower stomach before grabbing his hard on through his sweatpants.

I take a moment to process what’s going on before I flick my eyes back up to grin at him, stepping towards him and wrapping my arms around his neck.

“Did you get all worked up today, daddy?”

I watch his eyes shut as he steps towards me, his hands coming down to grip my waist. He opens them once again, but instead of his normal dark, lust filled eyes, I am met with the brightest doe eyed look on his face.

“As much as I love when you call me that, I need something else today..” he slowly blinks at me, hoping I catch the hint.

And I do, but why not play a little game and work him up a little bit more?

“What do you need, baby?” I ask in a loving voice, grabbing the hair at the nape of his neck and giving it the smallest tug.

His breath hitches and I feel his dick throb against my leg.

“I need you to b-boss me around.” he looks down at the ground, I’m guessing embarrassed because this is completely unlike him.

“Oh do you? You think you’d like that, pretty boy?” I grab his chin and tilt his face up to look me in the eyes, earning an eager nod from him.

“Tell me how much you’d like it.” I encourage him to be vocal, stroking the coarse stubble on his cheek with my thumb.

“I.. I would love to be on my knees for you, mommy. I want to make you feel good.” He removes a hand from my waist and puts it over my own on his cheek, leaning into my touch.

I’ve only ever been the submissive one in our relationship, so this is brand new to the both of us. But I can feel the heat between my legs growing stronger as he stares into my eyes, his lashes brushing his cheeks as he blinks slowly.

“I’ve always known you were a little slut,” I say with a chuckle, but the reaction it gets from him shows me he likes being called that degrading name. He lets out a small whimper and presses his erection into my stomach and it’s the hardest I’ve ever felt it, almost begging for release already.

I pull apart from him, stepping back and leaning my thighs against the desk in the center of the room. He’s standing there like a lost puppy, just frozen with wide eyes, waiting to be told what to do.

“Be a good boy and get on your knees then, Matty.” I say as I take off my crop top, watching his eyes lock onto my chest before he moves to stand in front of me.

He puts his hands on my waist and drops to his knees, his touch running down my thighs and stopping to grip the back of my calves. He looks up at me waiting for his next move.

“Take mommy’s skirt off baby,” I say as I reach down to run a hand over his hair.

His fingers slide back up my legs and hook into the band of my skirt, slowly pulling it down. I lift up off the desk and step out of the fabric, kicking it off to the side of the room.

He licks his lips as I spread my legs open revealing a wet patch on my panties, my arousal for him extremely obvious. I run my hand down my chest slowly, watching his eyes follow it like a laser as I bring it over my lower stomach and finally down to the white lace covering my pussy.

“P-please mommy, can I taste you?” He questions barely above a whisper, his hands coming back up to my thighs.

“Hands off.” I smack his knuckles with a loud pop.

He draws his hands away quickly, a blush spreading across his cheeks. He doesn’t remove his eyes from mine, just gulps and nods.

“You’re gonna be a good boy and watch mommy touch herself. Keep your hands in your lap.” I demand.

I sit up to pull my panties down and throw them on the ground beside him. His eyes flicker to them, almost as if he wants to reach out and grab them, but he doesn’t move a muscle.

“Look at you Matty, listening so well. Being such a good boy for me, hm?” I tease as I bring my fingers down to his mouth. “Suck on them baby.”

He opens his mouth and I slide my index and middle finger in, watching as he coats them in his saliva and swirls his tongue around them. I pull them out with a pop as he lets out a whimper, wishing for any sort of contact, even if just to have my fingers back in his mouth.

I bring my now soaked fingers to my clit, rubbing small circles and letting out a sigh. His eyes dart back and forth from my face to my dripping pussy, his mouth slightly parted in awe at the sight.

“Look at my little slut, you like it don’t you? You like watching mommy touch herself?” I moan out, bucking my hips against my own hand as I speed up my movements.

“Yes mommy, you look so pretty. I wanna taste you.. so bad, please..” he lets his head fall down in frustration, picking it back up to flash his doe eyes at me once again.

“Not now, baby. Keep being good and I’ll think about it.”

He whines and I see his hands press down into his lap, rubbing himself to relieve the ache, desperately needing any kind of friction.

I slip two fingers into my entrance, feeling myself throb as I take in the sight below me. Begging and desperate and ready to have his mouth put to use. I pump my fingers in and out, curling them and feeling my breathing pick up.

I remove my fingers and see them almost dripping with my arousal. Leaning forward, I swipe them across his bottom lip. He goes crazy over this, licking his lip and trying to taste every drop that he can get.

“Mommy you taste so good, please let me make you feel good, I promise I can make you feel good, please..” he almost has tears in his eyes as he lets out this string of whines.

I push myself up to sit on the desk. I part my legs and nod, signaling him to make his way to me, but he stays still.

“Get over here and make yourself useful, then.” I say harshly, and he immediately crawls towards me, sitting back up on his knees with his face inches away from my core.

“Crawling on your knees to taste some pussy, what a desperate whore.” I say before grabbing his hair and pulling him towards me, closing the distance between his tongue and my throbbing clit.

He immediately starts lapping and licking at my pussy, eyes wide open and looking up at me with need. He pulls back to see his spit mixed with my arousal dripping down my folds before coming right back to collect it with his tongue.

“Am I making you feel good, mommy?” He asks between licks, a completely pussy drunk look written across his face.

“So good, baby. Such a good boy, doing exactly as you’re told.” I praise as I begin circling my hips.

Whimpers and whines slip past his lips, his eyes shutting as he relishes in the moment. He flattens his tongue and drags it from the bottom of my entrance to the top of my clit, repeating this motion a few times before resuming his attention back to my sensitive bundle of nerves. He kisses it a few times before taking it between his lips and sucking.

I feel my stomach tightening and my skin feels fuzzy, my high quickly approaching as he continues sucking and licking at my pussy like a starved man. I pull his head back and he looks up with disappointment, his mouth falling open.

“You got mommy so close, Matty, but I need to cum on your cock.” I say as I stand up and help him to his feet.

“P-please, yes, I need to feel you..” he grabs at my breasts, squeezing them and sucking in a sharp breath.

I look around the room and spot a side chair catty cornered across the room, so I grab his hand and lead him that way before grabbing at his shirt. He takes the hint and pulls it over his head, revealing his skin that’s glistening with sweat. He unties the string of his sweatpants and removes them along with his boxers in one go. His dick springs up and splashes precum onto his happy trail.

“You’re so ready aren’t you baby?” I ask as I take a finger and collect the mess from his abdomen, sticking my finger in front of his lips.

I don’t have to say anything, he just takes my finger into his mouth and sucks away the mess he had made while nodding. I push him into the chair and climb onto his lap, my core sitting on top of his rock hard dick. I can feel the warm pulsing against my clit, causing me to grind myself against him in response.

“Fuck mommy, feels so good,” he throws his head back and snakes his hands around to grip my ass.

I smirk and grind down harder, a moan escaping his lips before he buries his head between my tits.

“Mm, such a slut letting me use you like this. And enjoying it too..” I tease, continuing to rub my clit back and forth across him.

His grip on my ass tightens and he bucks up against me, causing me to gasp at the added pressure. I decide I can’t continue teasing him any longer, so I sit up a bit and grab the base of his cock.

“Spit.” I demand, watching as he lets a string of saliva fall from his mouth onto his head.

I lower myself onto him slowly, digging my nails into his shoulders at the feeling of the fullness. I can’t help but moan as I sit fully down, his dick filling me up completely.

I grab his face and make him look into my eyes as I begin pushing myself up and down with my knees, taking him completely in and out of me in a steady rhythm.

He slides his hands to my hips and grips tightly, surely leaving marks. His mouth hangs open in pleasure, gorgeous panting and grunts escaping continuously. My thighs are burning and stiffening but I can’t stop, I love seeing him so needy and breathless underneath my touch.

“S-so close already mommy. Can I cum, please?” He pleads, looking into my eyes with his blown out pupils.

“No, I’m cumming first. You wait until I finish, got it?” I tighten my grip on his face.

“Fuck, I’m trying. I’m trying my best mommy, just feels too good,” he whines as his stomach tightens.

“I don’t care, hold it.” I bounce faster, releasing my grip on his face and gripping the sides of the chair for stability.

He takes my right nipple into his mouth, sucking and moaning as he drools down my chest. I can feel my stomach twisting into knots that are threatening to snap at any moment.

I drop down fully and stay there, grinding back and forth, feeling my clit rubbing against his pelvic bone. His head touches the deepest most sensitive parts of me, and this along with his tongue swirling around my nipple sends me over the edge.

I clench around his cock, rocking my hips as I ride out my high. He whimpers and tenses his body up, trying so hard not to let himself fall over the edge along with me. I take a few seconds to steady my breathing before bouncing gently again.

“Such a good boy for letting me use your cock. Felt so good Matty, so good for me,” I praise and watch him look up at me.

“P-please let me cum, please I can’t hold it anymore,” he begs, sweat dripping down his forehead as he struggles to hold back with everything he has.

“Go ahead baby, let it all out,” I coo, stroking the side of his face.

As soon as the words leave my mouth, he throws his head back and bucks up into me, pumping his load out as a string of curses leave his mouth. His stomach clenches and relaxes over and over, the orgasm taking complete control over his muscles.

He relaxes quickly after and throws his hands behind his head, his body hungry for air.

“Holy fuck, I’m dizzy..” he runs his fingers through his hair and takes a few deep breaths.

“Just breathe baby, it took a lot out of you,” I whisper before placing kisses across his collarbones, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

He stays silent as he slows his breathing, bringing his arms around me and pulling me against him in a sweaty embrace. We stay quiet and still for a few moments like this- naked, sticky bodies pressed against each other but feeling nothing but comfort.

“That’s the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen, Y/n. Holy shit.” He chuckles, the laughter echoing in his chest and rumbling against my ear.

“I think I liked it a little too,” I joke, looking up at him and giving him a lazy smile.

“I might let you be in charge more often. Maybe.” He emphasizes the last word before adding, “Now let’s get cleaned up before anyone notices we’re missing.”

#sturniolo triplets #sturniolo #matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo x you #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo imagine #matt sturniolo smut #sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo x reader #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo imagine

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burbur-49 · 27 days

Text

Scarred Love - Chapter Eight: Do You Wanna Know?

a/n: Took a long bit of writer's block, but I got it done!

Word count: 1,359

Cw: Ghoap x f!reader, soulmates, Simon's family, small mention of murder, a bit of angst with comfort(Tell me if I missed any)

Ch1, Ch2, Ch3, Ch4, Ch5, Ch6, Ch7, Ch8 ~ Masterlist

You laugh at Simon’s chiding. Your friends might be a bit over-the-top sometimes, but you still love them and their protectiveness of you.

“So, uh, when will I be meeting your guys’ parents?” You say as a way to try and bring the conversation back to what it was originally, “We’re already here in England, so why wait?”

“Well… You were given two papers right?” Johnny Questions.

“Yeap, one for England and one for Scotland. Figured I'd at least meet whoever's parents that are in England while I'm here.”

Simon looks away for a second, “... My Ma's no longer with us…” You see the sadness in his eyes and the sympathy given from Johnny.

“Could I still visit her? Let her know her boy's in a second set of good hands?”

“That's a good idea, Luv.”

Some of Simon's sadness disappeared and is replaced by something softer, something sweeter.

~The next day~

You've been riding in Simon's car for two hours now. It's an older car, one with a full row of seating in the front seat. You're seated in between Simon and Johnny. You half expected both men to place a hand on your thigh during the ride, but to your surprise they've both been really respectful to you, unlike men in the past. The radio is softly playing and you think you hear Take On Me by a-ha playing and Johnny humming to it.

Johnny taps you on the knee to get your attention.

“Lass, we’ve got about another two hours before we get to the ferry, if ye want ye can take a wee nap.”

“Got it.”

You nod and lean in closer to him, your side closer pressed into his. Johnny’s quiet humming is quite relaxing, the reverberations of his voice against your side makes you somewhat sleepy. You don’t think you’ve fallen asleep, but you’re awoken by a gentle hand on your shoulder lightly shaking you awake.

“C’mon Luv, wake up, we’re here.”

Simon’s voice, gruff, opposite of his touch, wakes you up.

“Hm?” You hum as you rub your eyes.

Once you’re fully awake, you grab the flowers you wanted to bring and your other items that you need. Johnny offers to hold the flowers for you, but you decline. You hold the flowers in one hand, and the other hand, well more like your pinky on that hand, is being held by Simon. You can tell it means a lot to him.

You go on a nice hike up the mountain, to a beautiful clearing, bare except for a singular tree in the middle and some flowers in the grass. Under the tree are four gravestones, the tallest one says “Liliana Riley, Loving wife and mother.”, the next on says “Tomas “Tommy” Riley, loving son, husband, father and brother.”, the one next to it says “Beth Riley, loving wife and mother.”, the last one has small picture of toddler on it and says “Joseph Riley, loving son and grandson.”.

“S'my mom, brother, sister-in-law, and nephew.”

Your heart breaks for Simon. His whole family is here, but gone. You hug Simon, the raw emotion flooding off the two of you. Simon wraps both his arms around you, its gentle yet strong; like he doesn't want to hurt you, but thinks you're going to get taken away from him.

It feels like forever goes by before the hug ends. When it does the two of you walk over to where Johnny has already set down the blanket you guys brought in front of the tree and graves. You divide the flowers and set some on each of the graves. Johnny places a little toy car on Joseph's grave, there's already around three there, it must be a tradition. You look at the dates on the gravestones, all on the same day.

The realization that they were most likely murdered saddens you even more. Tears prick at your waterline, threatening to spill over, to betray the calm facade you wanted to portray today. Your hands instinctively search for Johnny and Simon's, you grasp their hands in yours, not wanting to let go.

“S'okay Bonnie,” Johnny coos at you, “I wasn't much calmer.”

You lean into Simon and the hand that was holding yours wraps around your shoulders and pulls you closer to him. You want to ask what exactly happened to all of them, but you don’t. You leave it to him to tell you. The three of you spend a while just enjoying the slight breeze and quietness of the mountain top.

“I bet yer Ma’s happy tha ye brought us both, Si.” Simon nods in response to Johnny's comment.

~Simon’s POV~

I’m nervous. So, so nervous. Not even Johnny was this quick to ask to see my family, but then again he knew me before we knew we were soulmates. It took a while before I offered for him to ‘meet’ them. But now I’m driving to the ferry to let her meet them. It’s nerve-wracking, it truly is. What will she think when she sees the graves? Sees the date on the graves? Will she ask why my father isn’t there too?

I’m barely pulled from my thoughts when Johnny tells her to take a nap for the rest of the drive. I get fully pulled from them when I hear Johnny call for me.

“Si. Simon? Hon? Luv? Honey-boo-boo-bear?”

“Don’t call me that.” I say in annoyance, hating the overly sickly sweet way he said it just to annoy me.

“Whatcha thinking abou’?”

“I know he’s worried, I’ve been silent, more silent than usual, “Nothin’ hun.”

He clicks his tongue, “It’s not nothin’. Yer bein’ deadly silent over there. The only time you’re like that is if yer lost in yer own thoughts. So, what’s weighin’ on ye Si?”

I sigh knowing I can’t win when he’s onto me, “I’m just worried s’all.” I say as I reach for my pack of cigarettes.

Johnny’s hand stops me.

“Two things; We dinnae ken if she’s okay wit cigarettes, and just tell me, dinnae keep it do yourself.”

I groan and stop my movements of reaching for the cigarettes.

“Just what I thought when I brought you ta meet them, ya know? The date on the graves, the graves themselves, the absence of my father’s grave.”

“Oh Si.” He says as he reaches over and grabs my hand before placing a soft kiss on it, “If she asks, ye can answer or say yer not ready to, I’m sure she’d understand.”

She probably would. I think she would. I hope she does. Johnny’s made me at least somewhat calm.

~A bit later~

She’s still asleep… I should wake her up. I decide to wake her up by gently placing my hand on her shoulder and lightly shaking her awake.

“C’mon Luv, wake up, we’re here.”

My voice, a bit gruff, opposite of my touch, wakes her up.

“Hm?” She hums as she rubs her eyes.

She grabs the flowers she brought for them and we head to the ferry. The whole time I want to hold her hand, but we haven’t discussed boundaries yet, maybe just holding part of her hand will be okay. I link my pinkie in hers. I can feel her jolt in surprise, did I make a mistake? Then I feel her relax and curl her pinkie around mine… thank god.

Once we get there she looks over the scenery… And the gravestones. After a minute or two, she turns around and faces me, there are… Tears in her eyes? What surprises me more than the tears is when she hugs me; it’s tight, and warm… And needed. So, so needed. I hug her back, just as tightly, but a bit gentler so as not to accidentally hurt her; one arm around her waist, and the other holding her head. I look at Johnny and he gives me a sweet smile and a thumbs up as he sets down the blanket, once the two of us are done hugging, we sit on the blanket and I explain a small bit to her, all the while she hasn’t let go of my hand.

Maybe everything will be alright.

Taglist:

@under-the-dirt @littlebluespoon @actuallyhiswife @cassiecasluciluce @darling006 @cdej6 @whynotbad @kaoyamamegami @oooof-ifellforyou @aldis-nuts @fanngirl19 @zealouspursecowboydeputy @inarabee

#ghoap x reader #ghost x soap #ghost x soap x reader #soap x reader #soap x fem reader #ghost x female reader #soulmates #Scarred Love

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heli0s-writes · 2 years

Note

re: pushing yellow

would it be too much to humbly ask for a drabble or something elaborating on this? don’t feel obligated to or anything i just really love your writing and would love to read more!🤍

a/n: 1.5k of FILTH. JUST FILTH. RUN. Rough sex but you’re in love, etc. etc. From this headcanon. Please god don't read if you're not 18+.

brooklyn after dark masterlist

"push"

What the world knows is this:

Steve Rogers is a hero. Heroes are shiny, and perfect, and pure.

What they don’t know could fill oceans. Universes.

Steve Rogers is also one hell of a contradiction. Maybe he used to be 5-nothing and 90 pounds dripping wet, but he was always a fighter—always pushing buttons until they’d break. There were a lot of things he could do all day: run his mouth, argue until the goddamn cows come home, and take punches like he was made for fists to land on.

And he still does all that. It’s his job, actually.

But he doesn’t buy much into being shiny and perfect—and definitely not pure.

Sometimes the fight builds too high, traps him inside the kind of storm that rages and rages the only way he can escape is to rage back.

He’s got complexities behind the red, white, and blue. Today, it’s got a little more red on it, besmirched with blood across the five pointed star on his chest, the splatter reaching up to his forehead.

Post-mission and dragging his feet, he tosses his helmet onto the couch with a thump like it’s personally insulted him. You glance over your shoulder, a few steps ahead on your way to the shower.

“You alright?”

His cutting look shoots back, do I look any kind of right?

His hair sticks up in a hundred directions, gritty and stiff, as he ambles toward the kitchen sink where he runs scalding water and lathers up his hands with soap.

You try again, pretty worn out yourself. “You need a nap?”

With words this time, he declares, “I need to fuck.”

You know he gets this way occasionally, but he hasn’t in a while— then again, he hasn’t been walloped this good in a while either.

Fingers scrub at each other. Over his dirtied cuticles, under the nails, and he’s staring at you unblinkingly, at your own hair awry from the bike ride home, the partially unzipped catsuit you’re peeling out of, your pursed lips in a mixture of surprise creeping up your neck.

And what Steve wants is all over his severe expression. The sudden, decisive turn of his spiked adrenaline as his brain takes his battle system down a new road.

He nods at the empty space a few inches from the sink and it’s all you can do to keep from shivering.

“Jesus, Steve,” you attempt to tease, “on the counter?”

“On the counter.” After a beat, “Then the couch. And I’ll decide about the floor when we get there.”

“Give me the whole tour why don’t you?” Your smirk is a quivery, excited line.

“Planning on it.”

He touches two fingers to the marble and turns you around when you reach him. He slides the zipper down its teeth, shoves neoprene haphazardly to your thighs. He’s economical, doesn’t waste his time with anything but prep work. Gravity can do the rest.

Damp thumbs press up the line of your back, the rest of his fingers curling around your upper arms then shoulder as he kneads your muscles. His lips touch the nape of your neck, inhaling scents of gun oil and sweat.

You can see him clear as day even with your eyes closed. You know what he looks like, like this— intense, singular minded, driven. You’ve seen it when he fights, rarely when he fucks, but it’s not something you’d ever forget—wish you’d see more of once in a while, even.

His handsome, handsome boy face, brutal with determination.

Last time this type of thing happened, you couldn’t sit down without feeling it for fucking days. And he ducked your scowls with shy, petulant smiles like a kid caught stealing candy and not even a lick sorry about it.

He slots his hips behind yours, body heat undulating in waves. “Safe words?” Doesn’t even care for complete sentences.

You murmur, “Green, yellow, red.”

“Gonna push yellow.”

“Steve.”

“Color?” He nudges your thighs apart with a knee, feeling up your waist now, resting his grip at your ribs.

“Green,” you answer, “for go.”

He begins by cupping your breasts, then kneading, placing the hard ache of his cock against the meat of your ass. He’s silent, other than his breathing, steady and measured.

He takes himself in hand, pressing his way in slowly, accounting for how you shift to accommodate him. You’re wet, but it was quick. You hadn’t expected him to move so fast, but a mere few thrusts in and the tenderness of fitting him melts into a slow curling pleasure inside of your belly.

“You’re too tight,” he declares, breath in your ear making you tremble. “Gotta fix that.”

He licks his fingers, snakes then around your waist, between your legs, and smears a quick stripe over your clit. He starts to rub in circles, hard and fast, and presses his teeth to your shoulder.

Hips snap faster, and deeper, and your knees begin knocking into the cabinet doors.

Steve grabs the back of your neck. “Up,” and gives you precisely two seconds before he’s lifting you anyway, flipping until you’re on the surface and when the hell did he get your ankles around his waist?

He’s fucking you again before you can say or do much of anything, only throwing your head back to gasp and moan because it hurts good, like the burn of whiskey. Makes your body electric and wild. He digs his fingers into your hips and waist, deep, satisfied groans falling out of him.

You want to commit his face to memory. Your shining, monumental lover who’s so often reduced to one eagle-branded side of a coin is more complex than anyone would ever think. His beautiful brow is sweat-slick, his orator’s lips wet with spit, his mighty shoulders clenched tight as he thrusts into you hard enough to rattle the walls.

“You like it rough, don’t you, baby? You like it when I loosen you up with my cock, huh. Stretch you out?”

Your voice breaks as he pulls you as hard against him as he can and you can feel the tip of his head buried so goddamn deep inside your body it makes you scream a little. He only grinds more, rotates his hips in small circles to really make you feel it. And then he takes a hand, presses it down on your belly like he might touch himself beneath your skin.

You could cry. Your hero—perfect and delicious and filthy, laying claim.

He takes the back of your neck, squeezes until you let your head go slack. His lips hover over yours, hot air fanning out over your panting face. He licks into your mouth, lets his spit slide over your tongue and down your throat.

“Mine,” he says, and your toes curl. “All mine.” He fucks his tongue inside, cuts off your words and breath and you feel entirely possessed by him—loved and used all at once.

He slaps your tits, bites at your neck and collar and leaves marks all down your chest. His cock is sloppy wet and bright, bright red, fat and thick and as he reaches closer to coming, it swells up inside of you even more.

“Fuck,” you whine. “Steve, fuckfuckfuck.”

“Uh-huh,” he agrees, like your babbling is making any fucking sense, and smiles, eyes lighting up in approval at the way you twist in his hold, squirming and gasping. “Tell me what you’re gonna do, sweetheart. Tell me, baby. Be good and I’ll think about going easy on you after this.”

You clutch his shoulders, nails digging into his back. “I’m gonna take it, Steve. I’ll take it, all of it. Promise. Promise I’ll be good.”

“Then don’t move. Stay right there and don’t fucking back away from me.”

You can hardly hear past the blood rushing up into your head and your own stifled cries, but you know how loud it gets when he fucks you like this. His thighs are slapping into the backs of yours—heavy and hard and when his fingers curl around your neck to keep you still and filling you up with his cum, you muffle a shout into the palm of your hand.

You’re dripping sweat, trembling and whimpering against him while he continues to roll his hips, making a mess on the countertop that’ll get on the both of you, but he doesn’t seem to care. He just pushes back in like he’s trying to plug you up—trying to make you keep it forever.

“Was I good?” You ask when you catch your breath again.

“I think you can do better.” He kisses your swollen lips, his own puffed up and devilish with the rest of the night’s plans. Steve traces the sweat trickling down your chin with his tongue, takes a second to study your face.

“Color?” he asks.

You contemplate. Your legs haven’t stopped shaking. Your thighs are sticky with semen and sweat. Your heart feels like it’s going to beat immediately out of your chest and into your mouth. And you’d let Steve fucking eat it if he wanted. Let him take it into his universe and do with it what he wished.

You smile. You kiss him. You say, “Green.”

#steve rogers smut #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #marvel #mcu #reader insert

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mwolf0epsilon · 3 months

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Dogma and the Mouse Droid pt.10

Kix, just about finished stocking up the shelves with brand new supplies: Well, that's my shift done. Kix, straightens out his back before heading towards to medical officer's private office to sign off: I can't wait to get myself a sonic and a nap... Kix, pauses when he hears the doors to the medbay open up: ...And there goes that plan. Alright, what have you done to yourself then? -turning around to see who's come in only to come face to face with something heart-rending- Dogma, slowly limping over with a black eye and busted lip & nose: ...Sir... Kix, shocked about the state of the sargeant: Dogma? What the hell happened to you kih'vod? Dogma, doesn't respond instead staring down at what he's carrying in his arms: ... Kix, looking closer at the trooper only to realize what's upsetting him: Oh... Oh vod... Who did this? Dogma, holding a completely destroyed Buggy in his arms: ...I filed a complaint against a natborn intern for purposefully damaging GAR equipment a while ago. It appears they didn't take it well after disciplinary action was taken, and decided to teach me some kind of "lesson"... Kix, grabbing a medkit and rushing over to take a look at Dogma's injuries: They came after you? Dogma: No... They got a group of their allies and finished what they started. And then came to show me the end result of their transgression... Kix, frowning: A group of natborns went after a singular mouse droid, just to taunt you? Dogma, nodding slowly: That is what I've gathered. Whatever the case, I may be facing disciplinary action soon. My reaction to seeing Buggy in this state was... Not ideal... Kix, huffing: They hurt your friend, I'll assume you kicked their sorry shebs. I'd say that's a pretty normal reaction to something like that. Dogma, sniffling but still trying to keep a leveled tone of voice: He hadn't done anything to them to deserve this kind of treatment. I was the one who upset the intern. And yet... -clutching the broken mouse droid protectively- It wasn't fair to him. So I retaliated. Kix: ...Listen. Let me patch you up, then we'll both go to Rex and explain the situation. The captain will have your back kih'vod, he knows you'd never freak out and attack someone unless it was justified. Then we can head over to engineering and get Buggy patched up as well. Dogma, eyes beginning to overflow with tears as he considers Kix's offer: ...Even if the captain does prevent me from being punished too severely, there is no guarantee Buggy will return to working order. They... They mangled his processor pretty badly... Dogma, lip beginning to quiver and his throat clenching tightly: It'll be like... Like he's been rec-- Kix, setting down the medkit and carefully wrapping the distressed trooper in a comforting hug: I'm so sorry Dogma... Dogma, pressing his face to the crook of Kix's neck and finally letting himself break down:

#star wars #the clone wars #clone medic kix #clone trooper dogma #droid ocs #buggy the mouse droid #the intern wasn't lying when they'd promised to come after dogma again

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elvisabutler · 2 years

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heart's got teeth

summary: tired of never seeing your boyfriend after his hunts, you stay awake and interesting things happen.

rating: M, if i see a single one of you minors anywhere near this we are going to have a long talk about how you have got to wait until you're eighteen for this word count: 4697. i do not want to talk about it.

tw: blood, vampires, a bit of dirty talk, biting, bruising, hurting other people. it's kind of self explanatory when i mention vampire austin. blood kink. a lot of blood, like it's a bit much.

author notes: blame the discord, ana, gabby and basically any long haired picture of mr. austin butler. oh and that one pic from the dead don't die. yeah i am apparently going to write fix it fics, whole love letters to priscilla and elvis and reader inserts that are dirty af with maybe a fluff on the side. i don't know what this fandom has done to me?? also forgive me i am secretly a boomer when it comes to editing my tumblr posts, so if something messed up someone's got to tell me. also totally not beta read because i like to pretend i don't need one.

It should have freaked you out when he told you, he had thought it would freak you out when he told you after all not many people react to finding out someone they care about is a vampire. Sure, it's always a cliche that when you're dating someone you'd find it so cool if they were a vampire but that's for movies and television, not in real life. Except when Austin sat you down one night looking more nervous than you've ever seen him- with the exception of when he had been waiting to hear from Baz about Elvis- you found yourself joking from the moment he had told you.

"Is this why you have such a baby face? Not just good genes but being a vampire? That's just mean, Austin, you should have saved some for the rest of us."

The resulting smile and laughter you got back could have powered the entire west coast for years to come. It's that moment that told you you were in it for the long haul with him and that death itself would have to come between you. The problem was that Austin always needed more blood than you could give. You'd offer time and time again but it was always the same song and dance.

"Baby, I can't take that much from you," or "darling, I don't know if I could stop myself."

It was bullshit, in your opinion, you were a grown woman, if you wanted your boyfriend, the love of your life to feed from you so much you almost passed out then who was he to stop you. Besides maybe someone who might have known better since he had been a vampire for as long as he had and someone who knew how much blood he requires.

Okay so maybe you knew he had a point which is how you and him had come to the agreement that whenever he needed to feed an excessive amount beyond what you could take from your own vein by needle that he'd go out and take what he'd need from others only to come home to you and your life. It was a simple enough arrangement but Austin complicated it by never coming home when you were still awake. At first it didn't bother you because for all you knew he just lost track of time or it took longer to find willing victims who wouldn't spill his secret the second his fangs would enter their skin. However it kept happening over and over again and it seemed no matter how late you stayed awake you'd always find yourself in bed tucked into a clean and put together Austin Butler.

It was in a singular word- infuriating. He wasn't cheating, he wasn't gallivanting around, he was just doing what he had to do to survive but he wasn't letting you be a part of it. He was shutting off a part of his life- hell he was shutting you off from him actually sustaining himself so he could live a life.

Tonight was going to be different though, you had made sure of it. Austin had left hours earlier with a soft kiss on your forehead as he tried not to wake you up from a nap and you had woken up an hour or so later ready to stay up until the break of dawn if you had to because this was it, this was when you would see just how your boyfriend looked when he arrived home. In hindsight, this was perhaps the worst idea you had ever had in your life.

Austin knew better than to show up even remotely before midnight, knowing your night owl tendencies would make it impossible for him to sneak by you to shower without seeing him covered in blood that wasn't yours or his own. He chose 1AM, his usual time to open the front door slowly without turning on any of the lights. It was situations like this that made him thankful for his heightened vision at night, without it he's positive he'd run into every chair and bit of furniture between the front door and the master bedroom of the house. Normally he'll check to hear your breathing the subtle rise and fall of your chest to make sure you were asleep but tonight had been particularly rough and all he could dream about was the shower and your body curled up against his. He shifted a little as he stood for a second, trying to remind himself that he couldn't climb into bed just yet. Maybe once he did though, he could lick you awake and watch you- okay no he needed to shower first, then contemplate how he was going to wake you up.

You had heard the front door open and carefully tried to not move a single muscle until you heard the creek of your bedroom door open. The moonlight manages to illuminate Austin's silhouette enough that your tongue darts out to lick your lips. You've never known yourself to have a blood kink- maybe a small one like all girls- but seeing your boyfriend like this sends such a shock to your core rest you have to stop and remind yourself of the plan and stop yourself from just moaning. Austin's white shirt is ripped and covered in blood with his neck practically drenched. There's a part of you that knows you should be concerned about the amount of blood but all you can think of is how Austin had to have looked at the time to leave such a mess. It's in that moment that you can't help the huff of air that leaves your mouth just picturing Austin's face buried in another person's neck, sinking his teeth into them-

"Baby?"

Shit. You were caught. It crossed your mind to stay silent and try and fake being asleep but then what would be the point of you still being awake. Still you stopped yourself from answering immediately and waited to hear Austin once more.

"I can hear you breathing, darling."

"That's creepy, Aus." You replied back without even missing a beat. Not the smartest thing for you to do, but you also knew you weren't wrong in saying that.

His hand moved to the light switch by the door and he stopped just short of turning it on. He knew what would happen when he did that, you'd see him covered in someone else's blood and run away screaming. He hasn't decided if he wants to risk it yet, if he wants to lose you yet. Thankfully you chose now to be a smart-ass and he can't help but chuckle.

"You're up late, you're gonna-"

Rather than hear him lecture you about staying up late you cut him off with a simple sentence as you stood up and started to walk up to him. "I stayed up to see you." Your eyes drifted to the light switch. "Turn on the light, Austin. Please."

He never had been able to resist you when you said please like you had earned it. It was never begging, it was always a simple please knowing that he couldn't deny you with what you deserved. His head shook and he found himself trying to come up with excuses as to why he wasn't going to before he looked at your face and saw your eyes pleading with him. Later on he would blame his response on the thrill of his hunt still strumming a steady beat of "take take take" in his head but you both know there was something else at play and he found his eyes drifting down to your neck where he sees your arteries taunting him and he shudders just slightly before doing as you asked.

If Austin looked gorgeous in the moonlight, seeing him in the light of your room puts him in the realm of a Greek God. Your tongue darts out to lick at your lips and you found yourself moving in front of him and before he had a chance to stop you your cheek was rubbing against the blood on his neck. You nuzzle your way up to his cheek, placing soft kisses as you do and your hand snakes up to cup his chin so that he's looking at you. It occurs to you that your face looks like a mirror image of your boyfriend's covered in blood and you tried to bite back the slight groan that exits your mouth at the thought before realizing that no, he needs to hear what this is doing to you.

"Y/N," He chokes out, trying to look anywhere but you and your now blood covered lips. He has had dreams of this, dreams of you hunting with him and coming back covered in blood he could just lick off of you slowly, after all you two were busy people you couldn't afford to waste a good meal. He forces himself to swallow after his tongue darts out to wet his lips. "What are you doing? I'm- you've got blood on you."

You look up at him through your eyelashes, batting them ever so slowly, a grin forming on your face. "I do, don't I? Oops. I just wanted to touch you, kiss you, show you how much I missed you." Your tongue runs across your lips slowly, licking at some of the blood on them. "Is that a problem?"

Austin's eyes narrow in on your lips and your tongue before he just snarls, flashing his canines as he picks you up. Here you were teasing him, licking at blood he hadn't covered you in, blood that you hadn't gotten yourself covered in while hunting with him, blood that isn't yours or his and that just wouldn't do. No, you needed to be shown this side of him if you were going to flagrantly disrespect it.

You let out a yelp as soon as your feet are lifted off the ground. It wasn't completely unexpected, you knew you were teasing Austin and that he was only a former human, he had limits to the amount of teasing he could take but the snarl and the lift was making you realize you might have pushed too far. Your arms found themselves wrapping around his neck, trying to give yourself some leverage to do anything other than be carried along for the ride. It works well enough for you to be able to nip at his exposed bloody neck, trying to get him to speak or say something so you know that everything is fine. His hands tighten on your thighs and in what feels like a single second you find yourself pinned between the wall and his heaving chest.

"You- You can't- fuck, Y/N you don't know what you're doing to me," He nuzzles at your neck, taking a controlled breath, you'd say he's sniffing at you but you're honestly not one hundred percent sure. "Haven't ever drunk from you like this, you already taste so sweet, you'd taste like ambrosia from your neck, baby."

"Austin-" You start to speak before you feel his teeth grazing your neck, you're pretty sure he's not breaking skin, but you know there will be a bruise tomorrow. "You can- you can if you want. I want you to do it."

"Darlin," His voice sounds wrecked and you can hear him dropping the g in darling like he's still Elvis Presley. Your thighs reflexively clench around his waist when you hear it as you try to gain some relief. "You promise? Because I-"

"Do it." It comes out more forceful than you mean it to but something in your tone seems to spur Austin on and you find yourself being practically thrown against your bed. You scramble up the sheets almost like you're trying to run away before feeling Austin's hand on your ankle pulling you down to the edge of the bed as he starts to place kisses up your thigh, lifting up your nightgown as he does.Your hands find their way to his hair, pulling at the strands and earning a groan from him before he actually bites down on your upper thigh so very close to your center. The sensation of his canines piercing your skin causes your thigh and entire leg to tense up and Austin notices, pulling away almost immediately, his mouth looking even redder than it was before.

“You tensed up.” His chest rises and falls quicker than you’ve ever seen it and for the first time you realize just how much power you might have over him. He would do anything for you, wouldn’t he? It makes you want to do what you’re pretty sure he wants desperately. You want his bites all over you, you want both of you to be covered in your blood. Your eyes flicker down to his crotch and you see the outline of his cock in his pants hard and likely ready for you. Your thighs clench together before you rub them together ever so slowly as your eyes find their way back to his face.

“It was- I didn’t mean to, I didn’t know it would feel like that, you’ve never drank from me like this. I liked it, Austin.” You unclench your legs and open them up so that Austin can see what he’s doing to you- what the idea of him biting you is doing to you. “Come back here please.”

He waits a moment, almost appearing to consider the merits of not doing as you ask before he ends up on his knees with his hands finding purchase on your legs. It’s a startlingly submissive position but the more you look into his eyes the more you realize it’s not, it’s him relinquishing just a hair bit of power to you just until he can take over when he knows what you want. “I want to- Y/N, I need to know you’ll stop me if I hurt you. I don’t trust myself to stop-”

You move quickly to silence him with a kiss on the lips. “I trust you with my life. Show me who you are, Austin.”

It’s as if a switch is flipped in him and within a second there’s another bite on your thigh, another puncture of your skin and you find yourself leaning back and grabbing at the white sheets. His hands make quick work of your nightgown as you hear the tearing of the fabric, any other time and you’d care but instead you shiver at the sensation of the cold air reaching your already overheating body. You want to tell him to kiss you, let you taste your own blood on his tongue but you can’t manage the words as he nips his way up to your cunt. You know you’re wet, probably drenched if you had to guess but if you had any doubts the growl you hear from your boyfriend’s mouth confirms it before you feel his tongue licking a stripe up your slit and you feel his fingers opening you up. His hair is the first thing your hands head to as his tongue starts to trace small circles around your clit. God, you always have loved his mouth and what he can do with it, but now after just two bites you swear it’s heightening the feeling of his tongue and his fingers. He bites down very softly on your clit before enveloping it in his mouth, choosing to just lavish the attention only there as you pull at his hair, your chest heaving as you feel the warmth in the pit of your stomach growing quicker than you thought was possible. You’re pretty sure you’re muttering nonsense at the moment but Austin seems to enjoy it, letting out a small hum that makes your hand tighten. His head starts to move back like he’s going to remove himself from your cunt before you can actually come and you don’t want that. You whine, trying to use the leverage you have holding his hair to your advantage to no avail as he pulls away, his mouth slick with a mixture of your juices and your blood. It is the hottest thing you have seen in your life and a whimper escapes your lips before you know what you’re doing.

Austin smirks before kissing your thighs until he reaches your hip bone, taking another bite and allowing you to see the blood dripping from the wound and letting some slip out of his mouth leaving a trail up your body as he leaves marks across your torso. You want to feel the pierce of his fangs again, but it reassures you that there will at least be bruising that you won’t be able to cover up in the morning. His eyes settle on your face witnessing how you’re shuddering at the touch of his fingers and of even the hint of his teeth and he wonders why he's waited this long to do this with you, had he known you'd react like this he would have done it far sooner. He wants to move to your breasts but he stops himself and moves back down your torso, licking the blood he had spilled on the way up. After all, it'd be a waste to have your blood just covering you without him devouring it.

"Mm," He hums, pulling away for a moment to place a kiss on your lips, "just like I thought, you're better than any ambrosia known to man."

You didn't know what ambrosia tasted like but if the way he spoke with such reverence was any indication it must have been something phenomenal. As it stood your own blood tasted strange but you couldn't tell if that was due to the blood itself or the mix of it with your other fluids. You want to keep kissing him, see if you can taste any more of yourself on his lips and in his mouth but he pulls away, kissing and licking a trail down to your breasts.

"I'd bite you on here, baby, but I don't want to ruin these girls."His tongue darts out to lick at your left nipple, giving it a little flick before enveloping it with his mouth, his teeth worrying it as you try to reach in between your legs to touch your neglected clit. Before you can reach it, however, Austin's hand is batting it away and replacing it with his own. He doesn't do what you want him to do, instead just leisurely touching it, almost teasing it with just grazes of his fingers.

"Austin Butler if you keep teasing me-" You have to pause as he bites down with just a little more force on the underside of your boob, "I will find holy water and a stake to kill you with."

You feel the huff of his laughter against your chest before he moves to your other breast and cups your mound, completely ignoring your clit. He knows what he's doing and you know it just as well. He's in control, not you. You don't get to make demands of him and yet when he pulls away after leaving another mark on your chest, you grab at his hair and pull him up to your lips, smashing your lips against his and biting at his lower lip. It's then that he finally just crawls on top of you, pressing his pelvis into yours and giving you just enough friction to let out a groan of relief. Still, you want more and now that he's actually on top of you, you use the slight advantage you have to flip your positions.

He shouts mildly startled before his hands go to your hips. "Baby girl, I'll put you back up here if you get up and let me take my pants off. I want to fuck you, but I can't do that with pants."

You don't want to get up but the idea of getting fucked when you're both like this is intoxicating so you jump off and notice that you've already dripped blood onto the sheets. That'll stain. He makes quick work of his pants, his belt clinking to the floor before you have time to really think about it and you end up just allowing yourself to slowly straddle Austin, sinking slowly onto his cock. His hands move back your hips and he feels the warmth of your blood in one of his hands before realizing that was the hip that he bit already. He knows he shouldn't do what he's about to do, but he finds himself glancing at your mouth with the blood on it and your neck with the blood on it and he's reminded of the many visions he’s had of you bloody just like he is when he comes back from a hunt. Later on he won’t even bother to explain why he does what he does, but before you even realize it, Austin’s hand finds its way to your chest and what feels like all over your skin, you can feel the warmth of your own blood under your skin and on your skin and before you know it, your mouth is back on Austin, trying to devour his lips, your tongue meeting his own as you grind your hips. You can feel him trying to pull away but you move your hand to cup the back of his head, your fingers tangling in his hair and pulling him even closer if possible. He moves his hand to your breast, taking your nipple in between his fingers, pinching it and causing you just enough pain that you gasp into your kiss and he manages to pull away from it. You whimper at the loss but soon follow that initial whimper with more as his lips kiss a trail down to your neck. Austin’s mouths at one specific spot, he doesn’t use teeth, not yet, instead just wanting to see what he can cause before he bites. You hear him mumble what almost sounds like nonsense if you weren’t paying attention to your neck in between kisses.

“Gotta promise me you’ll make me stop, God I wanna turn you, want to live with you forever, drink from you like this forever. Cover you in blood. Claim you in blood.”

Everything he says should terrify you but all you can think is that you’ve never wanted anything more than what he’s talking about at that moment. Maybe that’s why you find yourself trying to expose your neck to him more with a small whisper. “Bite me, Austin. I want to taste myself on your tongue.”

Those are the magic words for him and in a flash you feel the pierce of his fangs into your neck and you swear you see stars. You keen as you feel your cunt clenching around him. You’re not coming, not quite yet, but you’re pretty sure if he even touches your clit you’re done for. He sucks for what feels like an eternity before pulling away with a snarl as he kisses you with such reckless abandon that all you can do is wrap your tongue around his, and swallow the blood that you find is still in his mouth. It ignites something in you that has you pushing him to lay down on the bed, making even more of a mess of your white sheets. Austin grasps at your skin as you bounce on his cock, trying to get the angle just right as he covers you in your own blood, smearing it across your skin like he’s painting a masterpiece.

“Jesus Christ, baby. Come on, ride me like this, let me feel you, feel how much you wanted this.” He’s practically slurring his words, the pleasure from him drinking from your neck and your cunt squeezing his dick combining into a haze. He wants to hold off on coming, wants to make sure you come first, but he can feel every bit of your body strumming in the air and his hands tense on your hips, trying to get you to stop moving. “I’m gonna come, I can’t-”

“Do it, come in me Austin, it’s fine, I want you to.” You’re not focusing on anything but the feel of his dick inside you and how your body is winding tighter and tighter and how for some reason you want to do this every night and how you want to taste his blood or more of your own. “Show me what this did to you, please. Please.”

That’s what does it, your final please has him tensing under you and coming with a groan against the sheets, trying to muffle it so the neighbors don’t wonder what is going on this late at night between the two of you. You feel the warmth of his cum and with only a bit of a stutter in your hips you move to grab one of Austin’s hands and guide it to your clit. Despite how his eyes have practically rolled into the back of his head, he gets the message, and starts to play with it, touching it in just the way you like while you slowly grind on his softened cock. You start to worry for just a moment that you won’t come but Austin sits up just enough with you still on him to nip at the other side of your neck before moving right back to his bite and taking just one more sip. Your cunt pulses around him as you come with a silent shout, your body suddenly acknowledging your mild blood loss and flopping almost immediately onto his body. Austin rolls you just enough off of him so that he can look at you from the side. His hand goes up to your hair and down to your still mildly bleeding neck.

“I’m going to take care of that, sweetheart. Won’t even know it was there.” He whispers, placing a light kiss there. “You need to drink some orange juice.”

You hum contentedly, your eyes shutting just a tad. You’re pretty sure Austin didn’t take too much from you, but whatever he did you feel might have worn you out. “A cookie too?”

Austin laughs, pulling out of you and slowly getting up. “A cookie too, since you look like I spilled three blood bags on you.”

It takes a bit of energy to glare but you manage before letting out a tiny giggle. “The sheets are probably worse.”

“They actually look like a Picasso painting, we should frame them!” He shouts as he walks to the kitchen, preparing you a glass of orange juice with a few cookies. When he arrives back, he finds you on your back looking up at the ceiling, seeming more content than you had been in ages. He sits down next to you and forces you to sit up to take a sip of orange juice. “I love you, Y/N, you know that, right?”

“Mmhmm,” You hum as you swallow the juice. “I know and I love you too. It’s why I trust you with my whole life.”

Austin just watches you for a moment and waits until you take a bite of a cookie to place a soft kiss on your lips. “Thank you.”

A tiny smile appears on your face because that’s exactly what you wanted to hear from Austin after this, just a tiny thank you for letting him do this, letting him drink from you. It was your choice, but you think he had forgotten about that for too long. It takes you longer than you’d like to admit to finish the cookies and juice but when you do, you set them on the side of the bed next to you. “So what do you say you run us a bath and we talk about what someone was saying about turning me? And forever.”

Austin flushes and looks down at the ground before looking up at you and biting his lip. “Your wish is my command, baby.”

#austin butler #elvis 2022 #austin butler x reader #austin butler smut #ally writes #i do not know what tags i need to use. i don't do this sort of fic normally.#elvis movie #vampire austin butler #vampire!austin #austin butler imagine

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delphi-shield · 4 months

Text

open hearth // leon s. kennedy

Leon x afab!Reader Smut wc: 5,661 mdni - 18+

i'm having technical difficulties help why is this fic such a problem child. bout to give up and send it to the dumpster. shout out to tumblr support for fixing this yay my stupid smut is in the tags now. loosely proofread and edited. merry christmas xoxo

summary: Leon doesn’t love crowds. He hates them, actually, but he’s braving the annual Christmas parade for you. Ever vigilant, he scans for threats, ensures the giant clydesdales aren’t secretly agents of chaos, narrows his eyes to be absolutely positive that Santa isn’t concealing a weapon. You have got to find a way to make him relax.

content: afab!reader, mindless fluff, leon’s pov, vague depiction of an anxiety attack, discussions of leon’s mental health, established relationship, secular celebration of christmas, chestnuts roasting on an open fire (literally), leon’s dissociating through a lot of this, fingering (reader receiving), piv (reader receiving), doggy, a singular spank (reader receiving), use of toys (reader receiving), creampie, switchy leon & reader. the smut starts about halfway through if that’s what you’re here for.

Life with Leon can be divided up neatly into ‘Can't’ and ‘Won’t’.

He had crawled home to you at five in the afternoon, fresh off an assignment in Manhattan. He can’t tell you the details, all wrapped up in red tape, and he won’t let you get acquainted with the new ghosts that will haunt the darkened corners of your apartment. You're dozing so soundly in the living room. Prettiest thing he’s ever come home to, curled up under a blanket, colorful lights of the Christmas tree warming your skin. His hands are cold and battered when they brush against your forehead, smirch your warm skin with the grime that never washes off his skin.

He’s torn between waking you and letting you rest. He needs the rest himself, and it would be so easy to pick up your sleeping form and lay you back down against his chest, to drift off into a nap in the glow of the Christmas tree.

But he won’t break a promise to you, not if he doesn’t have to. He promised to take you to see the Christmas parade - and for once, he’s actually back in time to make good on his word.

Leon checks his watch. Back in time, but not by much. The parade starts in an hour. He rouses you, a strong hand gentle on your shoulder. It’s almost meditative, watching the way you wake. The way you take your time, curling into yourself like a cat before you finally unfurl, the slow blink of your eyes struggling to focus. You’re here. You’re safe. You don’t jolt awake the way that he does. You don’t jerk at his touch. You’re safe from the monsters that stalk him. For once, he’s kept something safe.

Leon came back from Spain a little different, but he can’t- and won’t - tell you jack about shit, as usual. He’s not sure if he’s changed for the better or the worse. There’s moments where the light is back in his eye, where all his jagged edges seem to soften. It’s the first time he’s ever come back from a ‘business trip’, as he likes to call them, and been able to say he’d done something good. Something worthwhile, beyond the nebulous concept of his servitude - something tangible. A life saved, not a country served.

The light’s dim today, but it shines when your eyes lock onto him. You light up, every ounce of weariness fleeing your body at the sight of him. You rocket forward. Your arms are tight and warm around his neck, and he rocks backward at the force of your affection. A laugh passes his lips, pressed into the top of your head along with a kiss.

“I could get used to that greeting,” he says when you part. Not all the way, of course. Your hand rests on his wrist, desperate for the contact. Like you think he might float away if you don’t keep him grounded.

“You better not,” you warn him, the seriousness in your tone as convincing as it is menacing - not at all.

He urges you to get up and get ready. You’re going to miss the parade. Probably missed most of the craft fair already, but he’s privately glad that you hadn’t gone without him. An ache opens up in his chest to think of you going alone.

“We don't have to go,” you assure him. It must be the fifth time you’ve tried to give him an out. You’re hopping on one foot, trying to stuff your feet into your warm boots, but he still recognizes the guilt in your eyes. He’s felt it many times himself, and he’s tired of seeing that part of himself reflected in your eyes. He won't make you feel like you’re stealing time away from him ever again.

“I promised.” He adjusts your scarf for you once you’ve stopped hopping. There was nothing wrong with the way you had it done. It’s just another excuse to touch you. He needs those. He needs reasons, real or invented. Touch has never been easy for him the way it has been for you.

Ushering you into the car is easy. You don’t put up any real resistance, other than babbling about how you don’t mind driving, honest, because he must be so tired. What he feels goes so far past tired that it wraps back around into restlessness, but he won’t tell you that. It seems like the sort of thing that would make you worry more, not less. Besides - he wants to watch you from the corner of his eye while he drives. He wants to see your head sway gently to the Christmas carols on the radio. He wants you to point out overdecorated houses and coo over Christmas decorations.

Leon needed this. He missed it, the peaceful quiet between the two of you. It doesn’t last terribly long. When you see how awful the parking situation is downtown, you burst into complaints. He doesn’t mind those either, the ghost of a smile glued to his lips while he drives circles around every parking lot in a four block radius.

He has to parallel park - something that makes you so nervous that you grip his arm while he wedges into the parking spot. Sure, he turns a three-point turn into something closer to a 36-point turn, but the important part is, he didn’t hit anyone. Besides - he kinda likes it when you cling to him like that.

He likes it more than the way you’re watching him, that’s for sure. You look like you’re waiting for him to fall apart. In fact, he’s not sure you’re even trying to hide your worry this time, got your heart bleeding on your sleeve for everyone to see. You take his hand clumsily, your movements big and ungainly in your mittens, and guide him through downtown.

It gets worse when you actually arrive at the parade route. The whole damn city must be out tonight. Families with gaggles of children, some sat on their father’s shoulders, carolers struggling to be heard over the noise of the crowd. Your hand squeezes his. He fights down his irritation. He knows it’s irrational. He doesn’t want to take it out on you.

It’s just a lot.

Leon likes to walk around with his head held high, pretending that he has no long-lasting quirks from his career. He can handle it. That’s the kind of man he is. He doesn't think less of you for how little you can carry in return. His shoulders are broad, he reminds you. He can carry what you can’t - hell, he feels useless when you don’t let him.

You can see it in the way his eyes never stop roving, the way his fingers curl near his hip – he knows you can. You’re more perceptive than he gives you credit for. Might wear your heart out for everyone to see, but you’re observant as all hell. He keeps a hand glued to the curve of your waist, keeps his head on a swivel for all threats, real and imagined.

He’s just being cautious, he tells himself. There’s nothing wrong with being aware of your surroundings. Especially not in a big crowd like this. His trained mind whirls. It throws him off-kilter. He’s not on the clock, but he’s acting like it. Big celebrations like this are perfect targets for terrorists looking to make a statement.

There’s a rolodex in his head filled to the brim with the kinds of intel that would make you never want to step outside again. He can’t tell you that - not just for the sake of national security, but for the sake of your peace of mind.

You say something - something about a vendor, your hand pointing across the street. His head moves first, humming acknowledgement he doesn’t mean, his eyes following slow to see what you’re looking at. No clue. You’re looking at him expectantly, arm tucked in the crook of his, so he just nods, agrees aimlessly.

Leon’s all wrapped up in his head, standing shoulder to shoulder with the rest of the crowd, staring down at himself from above. Float after float goes by - horses, a flock of sheep decked out in festive trimmings, shepherded by a gaggle of men and boys dressed in anachronist robes - and he’s pretty sure he saw an actual, honest-to-god reindeer, but the static spreading from his mind to his limbs turns everything around him into a nauseating blur.

“Hey.” You nudge him with an elbow, tucking your scarf below your chin. “C’mon.”

Your words seem so muffled. He’s starting to wonder if that action hero lifestyle is already catching up to him. He’s got to get his damned ears checked. You curl your hand around his bicep and urge him away from the crowd.

He’s too slow to think to protest. You had wanted to see the parade. He can’t take this away from you, not when you had been so excited. The guilt claws at his heart. He tugs your hand to pull you back toward the crowd, but you dig your heels in and give him this stern look that all but forces him to yield. You drag him down a quieter street, where vendors are packing their things up, the crowds having fled to watch the parade.

If he could know your thoughts, he’d know you wished to press your thumb gently against the well of his eye and swipe away the darkness that hangs there, press a kiss to his bruised skin and watch his blush paint over the hurt. You press a hot chocolate into his hands instead. The warmth spreads through his gloves.

For a long moment, Leon just holds the drink in his hands. He rolls the paper cup back and forth, back and forth, walks with you as you pace the street. You pause to speak with a woman standing over an open grill.

The scent pulls him back to earth. He lifts the cup of hot chocolate to his face and inhales deeply. Sweet and chocolatey, Leon knows it’s probably Swiss Miss bought in bulk for the sole purpose of being handed out to parade-goers. He takes a sip, lets the cheap, watered down hot chocolate warm him. The noise of the parade is far away now, not just in his mind but in reality. The bells and the carols, the clop of hooves on cobblestone, it stays muted, but it doesn’t threaten to overwhelm him anymore.

His hand squeezes yours. You don’t stop speaking with the woman, but your eyes cut towards him, and your smile bright - a beacon that says welcome back.

For the first time, he realizes how cold his hands are. He slips the hand not holding the hot chocolate into the pocket of your jacket. He knows you’ve got a handwarmer in there. Lo and behold, he’s right. Your pocket may as well be heated.

Another scent stands out to him. His eyes focus on the dying embers still glowing faintly in the belly of the grill. An earthy, nutty smell drifts up to him. You’ve got something in your hands, he realizes - round little balls, their dark brown shells split and cracked, light golden interior peeking through.

You wave, say goodbye to the vendor, and tug him down the street - in the vague direction of the car, he realizes. Another stab of guilt. You’d wanted to see this parade so badly. He knows why you’re leaving.

“Try it,” you chirp, cheeks darkened by the cold air. You tip your hand towards his, drop one of the little nuts you're carrying into his hand. You smile so brightly, like you don’t realize that he’s ruined this for you. “It should be cool enough now.”

“What is it?” He asks, rolling it in his palm.

“A roasted chestnut. S’really good!” He looks over at you, fighting the urge to laugh. You’re already chewing the damn thing. He watches you slip the shell off of another chestnut.

“What are you, five? Close your mouth when you eat.” He bumps your shoulder with his, no heat behind his words.

He slips the shell off the chestnut, the way he had watched you do moments before. He pops it into his mouth and makes a noise of surprise. He’d expected it to be hard and crunchy, but it’s soft - buttery, almost. Sweet, in the same way as a sweet potato. He holds his hand out for another, and you drop it into his palm, chuckling triumphantly to yourself.

The walk back to his car is near silent, trading chestnuts and jabs back and forth. The restlessness that had filled his limbs earlier has melted into a sleepy, dull-edged tiredness that wears at his bones. He opens your door for you, guides you inside with a hand at the small of your back.

He wants to apologize. It’s all Leon can think about while he’s trying to get out of this goddamn parking spot. It takes him long enough. He’s crafting a script in his head. He knows exactly what he has to say.

But when you’re finally back on the road, he’s speechless. His tongue feels heavy in his mouth, laden with the sweetness of the chestnuts and oily against his teeth. He can feel his heartbeat in his fingertips again, the road melting away as he guides you home by muscle memory alone.

“Thanks for coming with me.”

God, you’re an angel, breaking the silence like that. He glances over at you, the pounding of his heart quieting in his ears at the sight of your smile, your eyes soft and your hair messed. Your hat lays in your lap, your mittens peeled off and tossed to god-knows-where for him to find later on.

Leon nods. He feels like kicking himself. How the hell did he ever pull you?

After a too-long silence, he says, “No problem. Sorry. For, uh –”

For making us leave. For ruining this. For not having my shit together.

You’re too nice to think any of those things about him. He knows that. That doesn’t mean Leon doesn’t think it about himself.

“Don’t worry about it. I had fun. Besides, I kinda wanted to spend time with you, anyway. Just you.”

He looks to you at a stoplight, tries to gauge if there’s any irritation hidden under your expression. You settle your hand on his knee. You smile blithely out the window, your eyes catching his in the reflection, crinkling at the corners when you smile wider. His heart pounds again - not panic, but a warm, comfortable squeeze.

He can’t believe he’s this lucky.

“We could watch a Christmas movie,” he offers. A small balm for the hurt he feels he’s caused.

You hum. Indifferent. You turn your head back to him as the light turns green, your hand sliding up to his thigh and squeezing. It sends a thrill through his gut, his breath catching. He wasn’t away that long, but it felt like forever without your touch.

“I was kinda thinking we could just hang out,” you say, your voice deceptively innocent. “I missed you.”

The car behind him honks. He wrests his thoughts out of the gutter, forces himself to actually drive. Your hand stays on his thigh, drifts even higher, your little laugh flushing all the blood out of his head.

“That’s, uh – yeah. Fantastic.”

The drive home is a blur. He tries to make conversation, honest to God, he does, but you’re so damn distracting. You know it, too. He can see that sadistic little twinkle in your eye. He’s lucky you’ve got enough mercy in you not to tease him while he drives. You’ve already got him wrapped around your finger, you have to know that by now.

Leon practically jumps out of the car. He should be embarrassed by the way you have him hopping around like some horny virgin. You slip out of the car with much more grace and press yourself to his side. His arm wraps around your waist, finds a way to tug you even closer while he fumbles with his keys.

The door is barely open, and you’re on him. He doesn't even have time to strip his jacket off before you press yourself against him. You urge his back against the door, shutting it with a thud. Your hands roam all over him, shucking his jacket off and letting it pool on the floor. Your lips press to his, trading the taste of hot chocolate and chestnuts. You move to his neck. His gasps are barely restrained. His pulse races under your touch. His head rocks back, smacks against the door and he groans. You chuckle, take his hand and pull him further into the apartment.

The backs of your knees hit the couch and he takes the invitation to tip you over the edge, his body covering yours without a moment of hesitation. Your lips are back on his skin, tongue laving a hot path wherever you can reach. Greedy. He shudders against the hands that grip his sides.

"Not too tired?" You ask between kisses. Your teeth nip at the thin skin of his neck and his breath damn near stops. He should tell you to quit. It's not professional. He's gonna show up to his next briefing covered in hickeys and then everyone will know how good Kennedy is getting it at home. He's not sure he minds. He thinks he wants everyone to know just how fucking good he's got it.

"No way," he says, his voice lighter than he meant. He wanted to sound gravely, masculine - instead he sounds like he's about to cum his pants. Goddamn, the things you do to him.

"How do you want it?"

Oh, so it's up to him now? He wishes you'd take the choice from him. You press your hips up against him and, fuck, he wishes you'd take everything from him.

You pull back, your lips leaving his skin, and the chill settles over him again, the distance between you too much for him to handle. His hands grip your hips, slide under you and tug you into him so you can feel the way his cock fills out his jeans. It's hot and tight and goddammit, he wants to be in you - in a better kind of hot and tight rather than this denim prison that's fucking killing him.

You press your hand to his shoulder, force the distance. You level him with a look, like a school teacher discipling a naughty student. (Hot. Gonna have to keep that one in mind, if he ever works the nerve up to ask you to try some roleplay. He’ll bet you could really wreak havoc with a ruler, rap it across his knuckles -- better yet, his ass, let the sting spike over his skin. Make him indignant or obedient - he won't know what sort of mood he's in until he's there.)

You're waiting for an answer. That much is clear. No more love bites until he speaks up. You're a dead weight in his arms and he knows how to make you come to life again.

He sits back on his thighs, hands turning you. "Face in the cushions."

"You got the energy for that?"

You don't even mean to be a brat, he’s sure. It's not an honest challenge. You just sound genuinely surprised. He nods. He's got all the energy for the world if it means being with you.

That gets you moving at least. You squirm under him, limbs awkward and trapped between his thighs. He peels you out of your jeans and rolls his eyes when he sees you've got a second pair of pants underneath.

"It was cold out!" You protest, raising your hips to help him get the layers off.

"It's not that cold out. You got long johns on under these, too?"

"Keep this up and you won't find out."

That shuts him up.

His stomach lurches, arousal hot and tight from the way you're swinging your hips at him. He fumbles with his belt, unwraps himself and tosses the packaging off to the side, where it lands under the tree with the rest of the presents. His fingers tease along your slit, nudging the wet patch you've left along your panties. He wants to bury his nose in you, surround himself with your scent and your taste, shake his head and burrow as deep as he can get.

But when his fingers curl under the elastic of your waistband, you click your tongue. He stills, frozen by your directive.

"Can you ask nicely?"

He wants to scoff. Impatience and irritation are bubbling in his gut, but your demand makes his cock twitch and he could have sworn he felt his fucking balls draw up.

"Please." He drones, fingers tugging at your panties.

"You can do better than that."

"I could just leave you here."

He's not going to do that. You both know that’s an empty threat. Leon grips the fullness of your ass, squeezes it under his palm. His hand draws back quick, a sharp smack filling the room. He hears you muffle your squeal into the cushions. He sees your fingers clench, sees you drag the nearest pillow closer, hugging it to your chest. So easy.

"Ask." That's not a request. It's a demand. You're doing your best to sound tough, your face buried in the pillow, ass still wagging at him like a bitch in heat. He hums, weighs his options.

"Can I fuck your pussy?" He presses his chest to your back, lets you feel the weight of him. You've told him so many times how you like that- you like the feeling of him surrounding you. You like being trapped under his weight, the way he pins you down. His cock strains against your clothed pussy. He wraps an arm around your waist, skims his hand up your chest, in the valley between your tits. His thumb strokes over a peaked nipple, plucks it to a point, and pinches. "Please. I'll make you cum first."

If the way your back arches is any indication, that may just have been the selling point.

"Gonna cum inside?"

"We'll see."

That must be your final straw. He's pushed you too far. You turn your head, cheek cushioned cutely against the couch.

"You cum inside or not at all." Your voice is firm, dark. He wishes he hadn't been so adamant on pressing against you, because he knows you felt the way his cock kicked. He sees your lips twist into a smirk.

Leon's in no mood to wipe it off your face. His baby wanted him to stuff that pretty pussy, who was he to argue? Give him five minutes to recharge, he'll paint your back, too. Maybe your chest.

His lips press to the back of your shoulder. The fingers pinching your nipple relent. He strokes your breasts reverently instead.

"Okay," he agrees, breathless. "Inside."

Your eyes linger on him, watching to see how serious he is. He does his best to look honest. His fingers smooth over his harsh touches, the devotion pouring from his fingertips. You grab his wrist, bring his hand to your mouth and wet his fingers for him, drink it down.

He leans back just enough to squirm his hand underneath the soaked fabric of your panties, slick fingers parting your folds again and again, pressing deeper each pass.

The way you sigh makes his gut tighten and squirm. He dips his fingers in you, the first sliding in so smooth that he adds the second after the first pump. His mouth lathers the nape of your neck with kisses, his breath hot and terse against your skin. Try as you might to seem unaffected, he sees the way that your skin pricks.

Leon sets a steady pace, works you up to three fingers. Gotta get you ready for him – though the way you moan and rock, you clearly needed this more than you let on.

"Vibrator's in the drawer." He knows a command when he hears one. Doesn't have to be told twice. His superiors always liked that about him, and you appreciate it too. He commits the way your voice quivers to memory, banks that one for his nights away. He leans back, opening the drawer of the side table. He doesn't even question it until it's on and humming in his hand.

"The side table, huh..?"

Leon’s voice wobbles with laughter. That's not where this little guy usually lived. His fingers resume their pace, pumping into you steadily. He presses the head of the vibrator just above your clit, watches the way that you squirm. He can't take much more of this, not when he sees your pretty, kiss swollen lips part and hears you moan like that.

“Got lonely without you,” you admit. Your voice drives him insane, heat pulsing through him with every pump of his heart. Got that airy, whiny quality to it, your thighs quivering like you aren't sure whether to squirm away or chase after all the sensation.

He crooks his fingers inside you, feels you squeeze him and pulse. His cock aches. You bury your face into the pillows to smother the way you moan his name. He needs another hand. He needs fist his hand in your hair and drag you up so he can hear you cry his name over and over.

Not now. Later. Focus, Leon. Your pussy's got him high, lost in the pull of your body. He keeps the vibrator firm to your body, doesn't let you run from the way he’s making you feel. Your back bows, chest pressing to the couch, and he chases you down, lips smattering you neck with sloppy kisses, nipping at your skin, encouraging you with sighed praises – “There you go, baby, just like that, let go, I got you, just let go, cum for me –” and the pride he feels when you shake under him, squeeze his fingers to hard he’s surprised he still has circulation, has him panting.

Goddamn. You’re dripping down his arm, pussy squelching so obscenely around his fingers. He lifts the vibrator away from your clit to give you a break, turns it down just enough to keep you wound up. Doesn’t want it to hurt - not this time.

"I have to be inside you," he groans. You whine, legs spreading wider. Your knee slips off the couch, and rather than put it back up, you brace your foot against the floor to stay spread for him.

"Yeah," you breathe out. Poor baby. That's all you can manage, isn't it?

He shoves his boxers down mid-thigh, fingers drawing out of you. He sits back and lifts his hand to his face, makes a show of licking your mess from his wrist and fingers. That little whine you let out drives him fucking crazy. His fingers curl, sticky with remnants of your juices and his spit, against your hip, leave a tacky wet splotch against your skin. He draws the head of his cock through the wetness of your pussy, slow and torturous. The glide is effortless. He hasn’t prayed in years, but thank god for your cunt.

His hips nudge, head teasing your messy hole, and – Jesus Christ – he just meant to tease you, but your pussy pulls him in, warm and wet around the tip of his cock.

He pulls out, his body and his brain screaming at him – traitor – for pulling away from you. What the fuck was he supposed to do? Blow his load then and there? Hell no. You’d never let him live it down.

You whine again, needy and insistent. The noise is muffled and frustrated in the press of the pillow. He needs more hands. Wants to pull your hair, force your head up from that pillow so he can hear you properly - but he's got to keep hold of your hips. He presses the vibrator back to your clit, and it’s got you squirming away from him. Leon was trying to buy himself some time to calm down, but this isn’t helping. He’s got to be inside of you right now, or he’s going to explode - and he promised he’d do that inside of you.

He positions himself at your entrance again, almost frantic. The first rock of his hips is clumsy, has him sliding up through the cleft of your ass. He tries again, slides through your folds again, the weeping head of his cock nudging at your clit. The vibrations ripple through his cock, and the whimper he lets out is humiliating. He swears under his breath. He doesn't have the control to pretend that was on purpose.

His hand drags from your hip to guide himself into you in a series of quick, jerky thrusts. Leon sighs, stairstepping, relief flooding his veins, when your walls finally take him. His pace evens out into something slow and steady. It's a struggle to remember to keep the vibrator where you like it, the way his brain is so fogged with the way you squeeze him. He leans back, hand on the globe of your ass, spreading you apart to watch the way you take him. So wet and messy, sloppy noises driving him crazy. This is the kind of shit that keeps him up at night, that has him fucking his fist and cumming on his stomach in some remote corner of the world, painfully far from you.

He tosses the vibrator aside, the way it skips and jitters against the floor lost to him in the chorus of your moans and the slap of his hips against your ass. Leon feels what little hold he has over himself slipping from his grasp. He can't control the way that his hips rut against you, the push of his cock against the velvet walls of your cunt. He could lose himself in you, spend all his days buried to the hilt in you, balls slapping, teeth wearing at your shoulder, burning memories of this moment into your skin.

His breath comes quick and hard, his forehead buried in the crook of your neck, his moans a litany of your name. He wants you, needs you, can't stop the way his pace has quickened to a frantic beat. His teeth find your earlobe, tugging insistently just to hear your moans sharpen into a keen.

You tighten and pulse around him, a gush of fluid slicking his cock, and he's not certain that he's still on this earth. Your voice breaks on his name and his vision blurs. His fingers find your clit in the haze of pleasure that clouds his mind. It’s a clumsy replacement for the vibrator, but they're his, warm, rough pads that press against you, send your head spinnin. Leon doesn't give you a chance to catch your breath. He wants you panting, breathless, boneless, wants you limp in the cushions below him while he pounds into you gooey cunt.

It doesn't take him long. You're whimpering and soft below him, trying fruitlessly to match his thrusts, your fingers clenching and unclenching against the pillow. He's lost in the haze of your body, and his orgasm almost takes him by surprise. He slows to a grind, rolling his hips deep into you again and again, the head of his cock pressing deep, his load spurting against your walls. His moan is broken, high-pitched - a whimper that will burn into your memory, your name sweet on his tongue.

Leon collapses against your back, his chest heaving. He tries to keep his weight off of you, but his limbs are too heavy. His hands slip down your sides, grasp your hips, and turn you, press your back to the couch.

"Good boy," you murmur. He huffs a laugh, kisses that teasing smile on your lips. You pat his shoulder limply.

Good, he thinks, still catching his breath. Got you all fucked out.

His hands slip back up your sides, craddling your ribs. His thumbs trace gentle arches across the curve of your ribs, his head nestled in the valley between your breasts. Your hand returns to his hair, much softer, petting him gently.

It feels like home. He's made it back. He won't leave, not for a while. He's not sure that he can. His eyes slip shut, the warm glow of the Christmas tree lights and the warm pull of your body lulling him into security. Dully, he remembers grab the vibrator from the floor and click it off. The silence that floods the apartment blankets over the both of you.

He doesn’t want to break the serenity of this moment. Your hair pet his hair, nearly lull him to sleep then and there. All his grand plans of round two, of making a mess of you, are slipping through his fingers in the warm glow of your apartment.

“You wanna open your presents now?” You ask him, voice heavy. Another swell of pride. It sounds like he’s worn you out. Maybe he could go for another round.

“It’s not Christmas yet.”

“I know,” you whine, “but I’m too excited.”

“I haven’t even wrapped yours yet.”

“Don’t care. Just open yours.”

He feels you squirm under him, trying to shuffle off of the couch. No doubt you want to fetch his gifts, force him to open them. Leon presses his full weight down onto you, pinning you under him.

“Nope.”

Your protests fall on deaf ears. He’s won’t give in, not this time. He already messed up the parade, he’s not messing up the gifts. He wiggles his fingers against your ribs, trying to silence your bargaining by making you squirm.

Your laugh fills the apartment. Leon smiles against your skin. That’s the sound that makes this place home.

#leon kennedy x reader #resident evil x reader #leon kennedy smut #resident evil smut #x reader #leon kennedy x you

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snackhobi · 4 years

Text

pairing: jimin x reader / word count: 9.1k / genre: smut (NSFW, 18+)

summary: you wouldn’t mind your cute neighbour being such a shameless fuckboy if a) the walls weren’t so thin and b) he didn’t seem intent on adding you as another notch in his bedpost.

but there’s only so much you can resist park jimin, especially once he gets that peach involved.

warnings: sexually explicit content, Jimin being completely shameless/a lowkey ho, messy peach eating, mentions of masturbation, oral sex (m + f receiving), overstimulation, protected sex, multiple orgasms (f), dirty talk and some cursing, hmm I think that’s it?

a/n: I was so close to calling this ‘jimin and the f*cking peach’ as some terrible homage to ‘james and the giant peach’ 😂🤧 as always I would like to thank @hobi-gif for beta reading this, putting up with me having a meltdown at her, and encouraging me to write smut at work rather than doing my job, ty queen xoxo

It’s official. Park Jimin is the neighbour from hell.

He’d tricked you, to start with. With those cherubic features, those doe eyes, and his cute little smile? He looks like an angel. A sweet, innocent angel, one who’d knocked shyly on your door and presented you with a small selection of chocolates when he’d moved into the apartment next to yours. Your heart had gone boom boom at the sight of that cute smile, the slip of teeth, the way his lovely face had scrunched up.

Nowadays, whenever you see that face, you want to punch it.

Well. Not punch it. Maybe slap it a little. Because Park Jimin is a fiend.

Your studio apartment is cheap for many reasons. The plumbing is creaky and the heating isn’t exactly great but those are small sacrifices for such low rent—ones you’re willing to make. Creaking doesn’t bother you and throw blankets exist for a reason, right? You get a balcony and a parking spot, which is more than you can say for a lot of other places in this price range, so you’ll take the negatives for these positives.

But you’d give up all the things you love about this cheap flat for some sound proofing.

Because Park Jimin fucks.

A lot.

He’d been nothing but lovely for the first few weeks. You’d barely been aware of his existence, minus when you could hear him in the bathroom—your flats are mirrored, rooms sharing walls, so you’d been washing your face when you’d heard his shower start up and then the sound of his dulcet tones drifting through the wall. That had actually been really nice; Jimin can hit some high notes, and it had been a pleasant backdrop as you’d cleansed your face. It had been another bullet point you’d added to the list of things you thought were cute about him (along with his face, his laugh, his smile), and you’d stupidly started to develop a tiny little crush on this boy-next-door, thinking him some soft, kind thing.

But then he’d started to have people over.

You’ve lost count of how many days you’ve had to listen to the moans and gasps that echo through your walls. You can’t escape from it. As a freelance programmer, you’re pretty much always working from home, so it’s not like you can get away from the sounds of pleasure that shudder through Jimin’s flat and into your own.

It’s never consistent, either. There’s not a single hour of the day that’s off limits to Park Jimin. Morning, afternoon, night; the boy is always ready to go, apparently. And judging from the sounds through the walls? He never leaves anyone unsatisfied either.

Which, like, fine. People fuck. You get it. You’re not judging. You just wish it wasn’t so loud. You have to sleep, for God’s sake. But it’s not like you can knock on a new neighbour’s door and be like hey, I appreciate you have an incredibly active sex life, but can you keep it down, please?

So you’d bit your tongue. You’d gritted your teeth to bear it. You’d still smile at Jimin if you ever passed in the hallway, acknowledged him with a small nod, exchanged pleasantries, all the neighbourly stuff that you’d do with anyone. You’d just invested in some good earplugs and thought that was it.

And then Jimin had started doing his morning yoga routine outside.

You start each day with a cup of tea on your balcony, watering your hydrangeas and enjoying the dawn sun that lifts up over the horizon alongside your plants. It’s a small, singular moment of quiet in an otherwise dull day and you treasure that serenity.

Well. Treasured. Past tense. Because Jimin has invaded this part of your life, too.

The first time Jimin had unrolled his yoga mat on the balcony adjacent to yours, he’d been dressed in a deceptively unassuming outfit—a loose white t-shirt and leggings that hugged every inch of his calves and thighs and shapely ass, which you had pointedly Not Looked At. He’d tilted his head at you with a smug little smile flickering at the edge of his lips, and when he’d greeted you good morning, you’d responded in turn, even if you were still annoyed at how he’d interrupted your afternoon nap the day before with the sound of his headboard smacking into the wall repeatedly. You were still fairly new neighbours and you still felt like you had to be polite, even if he was starting to fray your nerves.

And then he’d started to bend.

Now, you’ll be the first to admit that you don’t know much about yoga. But you’d swear Jimin was choosing poses that did the utmost to display his flexibility, the flex of his muscles and twist of his limbs, balancing his body on his arms before easing into a pose that had him bent in two, head towards his toes—and with how he had his back to you this meant you got full glimpse of his ass, straining against his leggings, the way his loose shirt slipped up his body to reveal the lines of his stomach and chest, how his face was still twisted into that little smirk even if it was upside down.

Staring at you.

You’d promptly stopped watering your hydrangeas and walked inside your flat, shutting the sliding door behind you.

Jimin is relentless.

He’s pretty and he knows it. All that shy, new-kid-on-the-block innocence he’d had initially is completely gone, and all he does is flirt, flirt, flirt. He winks at you. Stands a little too close whenever you talk. Lets his eyes flicker down to your lips, trail over every inch of you, lashes fluttering when he catches you watching, unashamed and unabashed. He frequently just… hangs around on his balcony. Not topless, no, but he may as well be, his thotty muscle tees doing nothing to hide him from your eyes.

(The worst thing, though, is when you catch him unawares. When he’s tired and clearly not expecting you to be awake, too, his eyes sleepy and his hair ruffled; a little vulnerable, a lot softer than he usually presents himself. Curled up on the small seat on his balcony with a hot drink in his hand, phone in the other, his screen throwing blue-tinted light over the easing lines of his features.

You wish Jimin was like that all the time. But the second he sees you, his eyes flicker, and his brows lift, and his mouth curls, and once again you rue the day you had a fuckboy move in next door to you.)

It’s not that Jimin isn’t hot. It’s not that you wouldn’t fuck him, either. But you have no interest in being some sort of convenient hook-up for him, purely there by circumstance, fate, whatever you want to call it. You dread to think of him sending you haha wyd x texts whenever he feels like having sex and you just happen to be nearby. So you weather all of his obvious come-ons and swerve him something chronic, even if he seems intent on making his attraction to you obvious.

You’ve been managing it for months. But as time goes on, your patience wears thinner and thinner, an atom-thick layer of fortitude the only thing keeping you from grabbing Park Jimin and kissing him and/or killing him. It doesn’t help that you haven’t fucked for a while now, and you’re reminded of this every time you hear another pornstar moan through the wall (the people Jimin brings home seem to like hamming it up for effect), every time you see another mosaic of hickeys laid across the column of Jimin’s gorgeous throat, every time you see the way his yoga outfits do nothing to protect the delicious shape of his body from your eyes.

You dig your fingers into your palms. It’s fine. It’s okay. You can handle Park Jimin and his overt sexual energy, oozing out of him almost every second of every day.

It’s a little harder to handle how he still seems sweet despite his fuckboy nature. How he picks your parcels up for you. How he lets you use his laundry detergent when you run out. How he lets you keep food in his fridge when yours breaks down and you have to wait for a replacement. How he sheds that fuckboy facade whenever it seems like you genuinely need help, how you’ve heard his soft phone calls through the wall, to his friends, his family, sweet and kind and supportive.

Park Jimin is a multi-dimensional being, for sure, and maybe you sometimes wish he was actually genuinely interested in you as a person and not as a lay, so you could peel back those layers to the lovely core at the centre of his being.

But it’s fine. You can handle this stupid yearning and pining. You can handle the knowledge that Park Jimin is a genuine gentleman who just happens to like fucking, is open in his desire for it, and is apparently Very Good at it. It’s difficult, but you can do it.

You can do it.

The date you set up with someone from Tinder ends up being disappointing and lacklustre. You’d escaped before dessert, unable to put up with one more second of this asshole going on and on about stocks, and investments, and trading, or whatever, cursing the day you’d decided to swipe on him. You’re so sick of your luck (or lack thereof) with guys. (At least the food had been nice.)

Of course Jimin sees you schlepping your way back into your apartment, disappointment obvious in the line of your shoulders and lips; it doesn’t take a genius to clock your date outfit, cute as it is, makeup and hair soft. But the night has barely begun and here you are, stepping back into your flat. Alone.

“Bad date?” Jimin asks, voice gentle, and you just snort.

“Just like the rest of them,” you reply with a small sigh, before shutting your door quietly behind you, missing the look on your neighbour’s face.

Jimin, to his credit, eases off after this. You’re not sure if it’s due to a misplaced sense of pity or something, but even if he still smiles and flirts lightly with you, it’s less… salacious. Still there, still obvious, just a little softer. You hate how this has you feeling grateful towards him, because he’s still got so many fuckboy tendencies that it should outweigh this gentler side of his flirtation, but your traitorous heart still goes gooey every time Jimin smiles at you.

But then.

There’s that fucking peach.

You’re just chilling on your balcony, sipping at a glass of lemonade in the warmth of the afternoon when you hear Jimin’s door sliding open. You flick your eyes over at the sound, watching the way Jimin slips out onto his own balcony, how he throws something up in the air and catches it with ease, a flick of the wrist, a curl of the fingers each time he catches it again.

He hasn’t had any fuckbuddies over for a while. A few weeks, almost a month. It’s the longest Jimin’s gone without having sex for as long as he’s started having people over and you’d been sort of concerned. Which, yeah, you know it sounds super weird when you think about it, especially considering how much you complain about Jimin to your friends—help, my fuckboy neighbour hasn’t fucked anyone in nearly a month so I’m worried if his dick has fallen off or something.

(Well, actually, you know his dick is still attached, based off the little gasps and moans he lets out whenever he pleasures himself in lieu of fucking someone else. You’ll take this secret to the grave but those noises that Jimin lets out have been the melody you use to reach your own peaks, although you’re a lot quieter than he is whenever you touch yourself, biting your lip and muffling the wet sounds of your fingers thrusting into your cunt under layers of blankets. You’d never give Jimin the satisfaction of knowing that the mental image of him fucking into his fist and cumming over his stomach and chest is what throws you over your own edge, toe-curling orgasms that shake through your body in time with Jimin’s own.)

Anyway. He looks loose limbed and relaxed when he saunters into view, utterly unsurprised by your presence behind your window box of hydrangeas, giving you his usual, sultry smile.

He’s started to ramp up his flirtations again. This smirk is one which you’ve learned not to respond to. You just stare levelly back at him, unimpressed as you start to water your flowers, which does nothing to dissuade him. It never does. He clearly revels in the challenge.

Jimin keeps his eyes locked with yours as he lifts his hand to his lips. You catch a glimpse of what he was throwing and catching—a ripe, flush peach, tiny droplets of water shimmering on its fuzz, freshly washed.

And then he starts to eat it.

The peach yields immediately to the press of his teeth. Juice bursts out of its softness, running down his lips, his chin; he makes no moves to wipe it away, the lewd sound of his slurps as he curls his tongue into the fruit, messy and sweet.

It’s shameless. He’s shameless. His gaze is unwavering as he stares at you, his mouth glistening with the peach’s juices, the only sound the wet smack of his lips and tongue as he licks up the honeyed liquid that drips from his skin, curving around the fruit as he swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing.

Water’s been trickling from your small can onto the hydrangeas, cascading over the plants; the soil is waterlogged now, but you haven’t noticed, fixated on the way Jimin is looking at you as he wantonly eats out this peach.

Drip drip, goes the watering can.

Drip drip, goes the peach.

By the time there’s nothing more than the pit in his hand, Jimin is a mess. His fingers and mouth and chin shine with peach juice, eyes dark and heavy as he watches the way you drink the sight of him in, the way his tongue slowly drags over his full lips, catching the sweetness that lingers.

The second he puts his tongue to his fingers to get the stickiness on them, that’s it. You watch the way he sucks his fingers into his mouth and promptly put the watering can down and turn on your heel to walk inside, slamming the balcony door shut behind you.

You’re done. You’re only human. You’ve spent months with Jimin parading himself in front of you, seen the way he contorts his body every morning in an unnecessarily complex sun salutation, listened to the way his voice rises when he cums; the peach is the metaphorical cherry on top, and you’re just. Over. It.

You hammer your palms against your neighbour's door, rap-rap-rapping on the wood, your blood rising and your heart thudding in your chest, every part of you tense, wound up, pent up. The door swings open to reveal Jimin, his chin still slick with sweet peach, lips curling up in a self-satisfied smile when he sees you.

“Park Jimin.” Your voice shakes and you hate yourself for it, hate the way Jimin’s eyes glitter at the sound, the little hitch in your breath. “You are a fucking menace, you know that?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he says. He leans against the doorframe, effortlessly gorgeous, hip cocked, head tilted. He lifts his hand, and there’s a heavy moment of tension as you watch him slowly swipe a thumb over the last remnant of juice on his chin, before his tongue lolls out of his mouth and he licks the final taste of peach from his fingers.

When you grab hold of his collar his expression shifts from something coy into something far more self satisfied, months of his brazen come-ons finally culminating in this—you, shoving him backwards into his apartment, kicking the door shut behind you.

“I swear,” you say. “I swear to God—”

“You swear? I can think of better things you could be doing with your mouth,” Jimin says, and then laughs when you scowl at him. “Damn, you’re so hot when you’re mad.”

“You are infuriating,” you bite out, and Jimin just laughs again, his whole body shaking, every part of him still loose and relaxed even as you continue to tighten your grip on his clothing, feeling every motion of his body under your hands. You hate how pretty he is, even now, utterly unafraid of your frustration—the brightness of his eyes and his smile, that undercurrent to it all, the way his hands slide so smoothly around your waist, your hips, sliding down to grope at your ass.

“I know,” he agrees, still giggling, and then he kisses you.

Jimin dives straight in, no holds barred, and you immediately melt into putty under his touch. He lets out a hum of satisfaction into your mouth as your hands go lax and slide down his chest. You can still taste the peach on his lips, his tongue, licking into his mouth.

You’ve thought about this mouth more times than you’d like to admit: the full swell of his lips, the little curve of his cupid’s bow, how it’d feel pressed against your own, and honestly? It’s so much better than you’d let yourself imagine it to be.

He nips at your bottom lip before soothing it with his tongue, and you bite off a gasp when he pulls you forward, grinding against you. You shudder. Jimin’s mouth is a pleased curve against your own before he pulls away, murmuring in your ear in a voice that’s equal parts sultry and sweet.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, kissing the sensitive skin of your jaw just under your earlobe, making you shiver. “Just relax. You’re always so tense.”

“Maybe that’s because my neighbour keeps me up all night,” you say, but your voice is weak, no strength behind your words, breath stolen out of you at the way Jimin starts to trail his lips down your neck, across your throat. “I find that constantly getting my sleep interrupted—oh, oh—”

Jimin sucks at the hollow of your neck, the delicate skin there so sensitive to his touch, the warmth of his lips magnified, every nerve ending alight with pleasure. Your hands have slid into his hair and you unintentionally tighten your grasp, fingers tugging at his dark locks, and Jimin bares his teeth against your skin.

It’s maybe a little embarrassing how wet you are just from a little making out. But after months of Jimin teasing you and putting you on edge, coupled with how long it’s been since you've had sex? You’re allowed to be a little desperate. All the small frustrations you were about to voice die on your tongue, slipping away from you as Jimin starts to walk you backwards with a confidence that shows just how often he’s done this—leading people to his bed, never taking his hands off you.

By the time Jimin eases you to lie down, you feel breathless. He hovers above you with that satisfied smile flickering at the edge of his lips, taking in the sight of you, finally underneath him—lips kiss swollen, exquisite, all the sharp words on your tongue softened and gone, goosebumps trailing down your skin. You tug at his collar, which catches him off guard; he sways forward and almost hits his face against yours, but before he can spend too long looking smug at your desperation you capture his lips again. You melt into the mattress, hooking a foot over his calf and revelling in the weight of him between your legs, your hips flush, and how hard he’s getting through those stupidly tight leggings of his.

When he grinds against you, the outline of his cock pressed up against your cunt, an embarrassing whine leaves your lips and trembles against Jimin’s own. Jimin goes still before pulling away from the open-mouthed kiss and when you see the expression on his face you slap a hand over your mouth, burning with shame.

“Oh.” He sounds delighted. “You’re noisy, huh?”

“Shut up,” you say, though your words are muffled against your palm. He grinds down again, a slow and deep roll of his hips that lets you feel how hard he is, and a noise shudders out the back of your throat, audible around your hand.

“It’s hot.” There’s that little smirk on Jimin’s lovely lips, every inch of him dripping self confidence. He knows how you’re entirely at his mercy, in spite of your words; your voice is weak. “You’re normally so quiet.”

“Some of us try to be considerate and think about our neighbours.”

Jimin just smiles, pulling your hand away from your mouth before gently kissing your palm, a motion that’s surprisingly tender and makes you pause.

“Trust me.” His voice is low. “I do think about my neighbour.”

Your breath hitches when he slides his free hand under your shirt, trailing his fingers over the softness of your stomach. He pulls the fabric up, letting his gaze rove over the bared skin. The way Jimin looks at you makes you feel like you’re the only woman in the world, like he’s never seen anyone prettier.

You wonder if he looks at his other fuckbuddies like this.

The thought slides away from you as Jimin dips his head and starts to kiss your throat again. You tilt your head back as his lips trail across the soft skin, his hands coming to rest under your breasts, contained as they are by your bra; once he coaxes you to sit up, it only takes him a few moments to strip your upper body, kneeling between your spread legs as he starts to trail his hands over the parts of you that are now bared to him.

“Pretty,” he says. You’d roll your eyes if he didn’t sound so reverent, and also if you weren’t distracted by the way he flicks his thumbs over your hardening nipples, your core clenching as he does, biting your lip to stop yourself from making a sound. A frown flits across Jimin’s face and he lifts one of those thumbs away from your breast, dragging your lip away from your teeth, letting his grasp linger so your lips are parted. “Don’t do that. I've been waiting for months to hear you properly.”

Before you can reply, he kisses you again, licking into your mouth and swallowing down the noise you make when he drags his hand between the valley of your breasts, down your stomach and settling between your legs, running his fingers over your cunt, the feeling dulled by layers of fabric even though he presses with intent. Your hips jolt at the sensation, and Jimin repeats the motion, dragging the fabric across your flushed lips.

“Jimin.” Your voice is a gasp against his mouth, and you can’t keep the pleading out of your tone, desperation bleeding into every letter of your words. “Please.”

He just hums, sounding pleased, and a breath of surprise escapes you as he pushes you back against the pillows. He wastes no time in getting to his prize, drawing a scattered constellation of kisses that trail across your chest, your nipples, your stomach, the line of your hip bones as you lift up so he can pull your shorts and underwear off. You’re entirely naked underneath him, bare and wet, cunt flushed and shining, and Jimin groans at the sight.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, fingers digging into your thighs as he pulls your legs wider. Your cheeks burn as Jimin stares at your pussy, but you can’t help but feel a pulse of self-satisfaction at the visible twitch of his cock in his stupid yoga leggings. “You’re so wet.”

You should probably feel embarrassed, but by now you’ve thrown all your previous inhibition to the winds. You’ve ended up somewhere you’d privately sworn you were never going to—in Park Jimin’s bed, leaned up against his pillows, laid out for him to touch and take and have, every inch of you desperate for it. There’s nothing in your brain or body but arousal and need. So instead of letting out a snip of a remark you just cant your hips towards him, another pleading sound slipping from your lips.

He gives you what you want. He dips his head and trails his lips and tongue down, down, down, wet and hot, until they press against your cunt. He looks at you with the same hooded eyes as earlier, motions of his mouth an echo of his peach eating, sloppy and messy; he’s unabashed in the way he slides his mouth over you, lips slick and tongue hot, sliding over every sensitive inch—sucking your clit, licking your folds, burying his face between your legs and drinking up every sweet drip of your juices.

You can’t help but make noise. Small gasps that slide into moans of pleasure, hitches in your breath that make your chest jump and your breasts shake; Jimin lets out noises too, muffled against your cunt, sounds that let you know he’s enjoying himself almost as much as you. It’s honestly pretty fucking hot, the way your own pleasure seems to turn him on, how he chases that feeling, eyes blown as he takes in every one of your reactions, repeating the motions that are affecting you the most.

The sight of him between your legs has you tensing. He continues to stare up at you, the curve of your stomach when you bow towards him, the fall of your breasts, which he slides his hands over, cupping them in his palms, pinching your hardened buds, layering sensation on sensation, never taking his mouth off you.

When he presses one finger inside, and then another, both thrusting firm and deep as he mouths at your clit, you tangle a hand into his hair. He watches the way your hips jump from the sensation of his tongue directly on your clit, and does it again, and again, your voice crescendoing from the explosion of sensation, how it’s too much, before he circles his lips around it and sucks messily. Your brain registering nothing but his lips and tongue against you, the hands that are trailing up and down your sides and still skimming across your breasts.

You’re not even aware of the words that are falling from your lips, oh fuck, yes, Jimin, there, oh, the way your grasp tightens in his dark hair, your hips bucking against his mouth as you can feel your orgasm approaching. The pleasure keeps building, flames fanning brighter and brighter as Jimin buries his mouth even further in between your legs, fingers speeding up as you gasp.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop,” you chant, voice getting higher. “I’m gonna cum, I’m cumming, oh—”

Your words slide into a moan as your back arches and your thighs tighten around Jimin’s head and you cum. Jimin continues to finger fuck you through it, your cunt pulsating around him as he keeps licking and sucking at your clit, his gaze fixed on your face as your eyes squeeze shut and your mouth falls open and every line of your body sings of the pleasure that Jimin has given to you. Even when your legs and hips start to jolt from oversensitivity and you cry out at each ripple of his tongue against you, he’s relentless, almost cruel in how he watches you writhe from a mixture of pain and overextended pleasure.

You're sobbing by the time Jimin pulls his mouth away from your cunt, tears pooling in the corner of your eyes, body shaking as you try to suck in air. He thrusts his fingers into you one more time, slow and deep, watching the way you turn your head into the pillow and muffle a gasp against it.

“I knew you'd look and sound gorgeous when you cum,” he says, and though you feel boneless from your post-orgasm high, you can’t help a little huff escaping your lips. Jimin clearly catches the sound, quiet as it is against the linen of his pillowcase, and takes your chin in his hand to turn his face towards you. His fingers are slick with your arousal, wet against your skin.

“You sound like you’re reading off the script to a porno,” you murmur.

One of his eyebrows arches. “Oh? You don’t think I’m just speaking my mind?” Those fingers move away from your chin and trace over the swell of your bottom lip; you let your mouth fall open and swallow them down, licking the taste of yourself off Jimin’s skin. “You don’t think that I’ve been thinking about how pretty you’d look as I fucked into you, begging for me to let you cum again and again?”

Your tongue stutters against his fingers and your core clenches at his words, the dark undercurrent underneath them, and Jimin’s expression shifts as he notices.

“You really have no idea, do you?” He runs his fingertips over your tastebuds, saliva starting to pool in your mouth, the slide so wet and messy. “Who do you think I picture whenever I touch myself? Who do you think I was wishing was in my bed every time I took someone else home?”

You nip at his fingers, running the edge of your teeth along his knuckles from equal parts surprise and disbelief at his words. You find it impossible to believe that he really means that, but then you realise—recently, on the few occasions you’d bumped into Jimin in the hall when he’d had one of his lays trailing behind him, for as different and unique each of them was, each one of them had shared some sort of trait with you. Hair colour, eyes, the set of their lips, the shape of their face; once, you’d heard a girl giggling through the wall before it had trailed off into a moan, and you’d done a literal double take at how much she’d sounded like you. Similar, but not exactly the same, a slightly off-tone echo of the sound that spills from your own lips whenever you laugh.

And the emptiness in his bed had only started after the night that he’d seen the way you’d trailed into your apartment with discontent heavy around your shoulders, disappointed at that awful Tinder date.

Oh, fuck.

“You’re shameless,” you say, words a little garbled around Jimin’s fingers, but you know he understands.

“No, I’m not,” he replies, a small smirk curling up the corner of his lips. It should be illegal: the way he has such soft features that can turn so quickly into something sharper and entirely sensual, eyes hooded, lips flushed, the column of his throat so lovely and graceful as he tilts his head to one side. “I just know what I want and don’t try to hide it. What’s shameless about that? I know you want me too, but you always deny yourself the things you want. Don’t you?”

You hate that you’ve been so transparent in your attraction to him. Because the truth of the matter is that for as much as Jimin frustrates you with his entire existence, you do want him. After all—you wouldn’t be naked underneath him, still trembling from the aftershocks of a deep orgasm, if you didn’t.

“You’re not always as quiet as you think, you know,” he adds, pulling his fingers out of your mouth and enjoying the way your eyes widen at his words. You thought he couldn’t hear you through the wall, but it seems like you were wrong.

Before you can say anything in reply, though, he grinds down. Without your clothes in the way you can feel the drag of his yoga pants against your cunt, how the wetness of your cum and Jimin’s spit soaks into the fabric, his hard cock hot, and you let out a whine. He still has yet to remove any of his clothes and you want to see them off so he’s finally naked. You’ve seen enough of his bare skin over the months to have a pretty good idea of what that looks like, but you want to see the real thing.

Jimin seems just as eager to shed his clothes, yielding to your grasping hands and carelessly throwing his top aside; you end up straddling his waist and kissing down his chest in an imitation of his motions earlier, letting your fingers trail over the lean muscle from his yoga and dance. When you tongue at one of his nipples and he gasps, you feel euphoric. He’s unfairly beautiful, from the lovely collarbones to the flex of his shoulders and arms and the line of his chest and stomach, delicate and somehow entirely masculine. You still sort of want to slap him, but settle with kissing the hollow of his neck instead, digging your fingers into his ribs as you roll your hips down against him.

His own hips buck up. You can tell that he’s desperate to be inside you, but you want to taste him first.

When you slide down his body and settle between his legs, you hook your fingers into the tight waistband of those stupid leggings and tug them down. Jimin hisses through his teeth as you let the material settle just under his hips, baring the top of his briefs to you, how his cock strains against them, the patch of wetness at the head, darkening the fabric.

You don’t strip him. Not completely. You just hook your fingers into those dark blue briefs and pull them down just enough to reveal the flushed head of his cock, wet with precum. You let your tongue flick out to catch that salty bitterness, and Jimin bites off a curse at the almost shy licks you start to lave across his slit, circling around the weeping head.

Hearing Jimin’s gasps without the wall in the way is honestly an experience. Before, whenever he had people over, they usually drowned him out, theatrical wails and groans overpowering his far more natural noises, but now there’s nothing to prevent you from hearing the way his breath hitches in his throat or the way he moans. Even the smallest things have him letting slip sounds, a noise escaping him as you coax him to lift his hips so you can finally, finally peel those leggings and briefs off, dragging over the hardness of his cock as you do. You want to take in the sight of him fully naked, give it the proper attention it deserves, but then you feel his cock throb in your hand and you can’t stop yourself from immediately lowering your mouth to it again.

His whole body shudders. You let your jaw fall open as you take him in, tongue curling around him, hands touching every part of him that isn’t in your mouth, making sure there’s no part of him that isn’t receiving attention. His eyes are wide under the mess of his fringe, hair falling over his forehead as he watches the way you run your lips down the side of his cock before sucking one of his balls into your mouth, circling his length with your hands, a twisting rise and fall in the motion as you drink down the noise of surprised pleasure that drops from his lips.

Jimin’s fingers have been tangled in your hair but he lets you control the flow. The sounds of you swallowing him down into your mouth as you bob your head are obscene, wet and messy, but you can still hear how his voice starts to rise, how his fingers tighten against your scalp, and you know he’s close when he tugs you upwards and drags your lips away from his cock.

Jimin pulls you towards him and you settle against his chest as you start to kiss again, shivering at the way he rolls his tongue in your mouth. This time when Jimin rolls his hips, there’s nothing between your skin and his, dragging the underside of his cock across your flushed lower lips, the slide between your folds and against your clit making you shiver.

“Condoms?”

You’re breathless, and Jimin quirks a smile at you.

“Top drawer,” he answers. Of course they would be, in easy reach whenever he needs them.

You lean forwards to reach for the bedside table and Jimin takes the opportunity to circle a hand around your breast and capture a nipple in his mouth, ignoring the way you bite back a surprised noise, staring up at you with almost innocent eyes as he sucks at your skin in the way he’s worked out that you like best. Your hands are a fumble as you pull a condom out of the pack, ripping the sachet away from the others, a bottle of lube rolling into your grasp. You try to focus on your task and not the sensation of Jimin switching attention to your other breast, cupping the swell of flesh in his hand and drawing his teeth gently across your skin.

“You’re insatiable,” you mutter, and Jimin laughs before he kisses between your breasts.

“I’ve been wanting to fuck you since we first met,” he says, utterly unrepentant. “I don't want to take my mouth off you.”

“Insatiable,” you repeat, but you’re flustered. Even if you know he’s not lying, and you’re naked and straddling his hips, the taste of his lips and cock now familiar on your tongue, it’s… kind of incredible to think that the gorgeous Park Jimin has been lusting after you for that long.

Or lusting after you at all, really.

But as you tear the foil of the condom, the look he levels at you is burning with desire, roaming over you, every inch of your nakedness, every movement of your body. His hands rest at your waist, thumbs rubbing over your skin as you hold his cock in one hand and roll the condom down with the other, letting your fingers circle his length, dragging your touch over the heat of him and revelling in the way he twitches. As much as you’ve thought of Jimin as a fuckboy, you know that he wouldn’t lie just to get someone in his bed, so as unbelievable as his words are, every single one of his actions backs up what he’s said: he wants you.

You don't notice how soft his gaze is as you take time to warm the lube in your hands, even though you’re desperate to feel him finally slide home. You've always been so considerate, even when he knows you've been frustrated at him, and that's evident now, in this small thing.

You spread the warmed lube over his covered cock, pumping it in your hand to get him slick and ready, loving the way he hisses though his teeth. He has to stop his hips from bucking up as you line his cockhead up with your entrance, his fingers digging into your sides as you hover in place.

“Come on,” Jimin urges. “Give it to me.”

“Insatiable,” you repeat, one last time, then you bend your knees.

You finally ease yourself down and onto his cock. You both let out moans; Jimin, finally feeling the wet heat of you around him, and you, falling into the sensation of him stretching you open, snug inside you, slowly splitting you open as you take him in, inch by inch, until you’re sitting on his hips and he’s fully buried in your cunt.

It’s been a while since you’ve had someone inside you. You grind downwards, rolling your hips, biting your lip at the sensation. Jimin’s chest expands as he sucks in a sharp breath, and you roll your hips again, a hand bracing on one of his lovely, thick thighs, the other resting just under his stomach as you lean back and arch your spine. You lift your hips, easy and slow, and then fall, Jimin’s cock dragging and pressing against your inner walls, a gasp shuddering out of your lips at the electric feeling.

Again and again, noises of pleasure drip from your mouth as you ride him, head tilting back at the sensations rippling through your body and across your skin, the apartment full of the sounds of your sex—the moans, the wet thrust of Jimin’s cock into your cunt, the praise that falls from his lips, months of feeling pouring from his lips. How pretty you are, how gorgeous, how well you’re taking his cock, how wet and tight you are around him; all the things he’s been thinking about, come to life, his hips snapping into yours as a sharp cry cuts through your lips at the sudden change of pace.

The pleasure’s been steadily building between your legs again, warm and unrushed, but then Jimin flips you without warning, fluid and graceful. Your eyes are wide as you end up on your back, Jimin’s hands braced either side of your head as he looks down at you with those dark, dark eyes of his. He thrusts forwards and your hands fly up to grab at him, your entire body shifting up the mattress at the force of his movements. His eyebrows are drawn together as he starts to drive himself into you, unapologetic in how aggressive he’s being, each thrust pushing the air out of your lungs in harried little gasps that shake the air between you.

The sound of his headboard slamming into the wall, a noise that’s been haunting you each time you’ve been trying to sleep or relax, is one you don’t even register. All you can think about is Jimin, Jimin, Jimin, caught up in the way there’s sweat beading across his forehead, strands of his dark hair sticking to it, the intense look in his eyes, the way his full lips are parted, small ah-ah-ahs falling from his lips in time with his thrusts, your body tightening around him each time he slides home.

You can’t remember the last time you were fucked this good. Jimin reads the language of your body with ease, knowing exactly when to lean back and trail a hand over your hips, circling his thumb over your swollen clit, the slide over that bundle of nerves messy from the mix of cum and lube and spit that’s laid slick across you. Each fluid roll of his hips is perfectly timed with the press of his thumb, your thighs going tense and your pussy clenching around Jimin’s hot cock as you start to reach another peak of pleasure.

“Cum for me, baby.” Jimin sounds breathless. “Let me see how pretty you are when you cum around my cock.”

Normally dirty talk seems so ham-handed and stuttering, but the words fall out of Jimin’s lips as natural as breathing, thoughtless. Stirring your arousal even further. He’s gripping your hips, pulling you down each time he presses up, and you circle your fingers around his wrist as his other hand is occupied with rubbing at your most sensitive part, tightening your hold as you feel another orgasm approaching.

“Jimin.” Your voice is a keen. “I'm so close, please, there, right there, theretherethere—”

You can't blame Jimin's other partners for being so noisy. The sound you let out is just as loud, maybe even louder, Jimin continuing to snap his hip forwards as you cum hard, a drawn out moan that crescendos as you pulsate around Jimin's cock, still hard inside you. He watches the way you writhe beneath him, tangling his fingers with yours when you reach for him and swallowing the end of your moan in a surprisingly sweet kiss, his lips gentle against yours as he slows to a stop before you become too sensitive.

Your voice is a quiet murmur against his lips. “How have you not cum yet?”

His eyes squeeze into a smile as he laughs, light and bright, the sound so sweet. “I've got stamina for days, darling,” he says, oozing that trademark arrogance you’ve gotten used to.

You clench as hard as you can around him and feel smug when he bites off a shocked curse, his smug facade broken. You can’t help but laugh at his expression, scandalised at it is, though your giggle cuts into a gasp when he pinches one of your nipples and then soothes it with his thumb. He seems amused by the look on your face and then laughs in turn, the two of you dissolving into laughter that’s edged with pleasure, your motions shifting his length inside you.

When the laughter trails off, Jimin stays smiling down at you. You draw your hands over his body, tracing all that smooth skin, and he touches the back of your hands with gentle fingers. There's a beat of silence but it's not an uncomfortable one, the air light after your shared giggles. It's… really nice. It's nice and soft and sweet, just like the expression on Jimin's face, tender, even if he's still buried inside you.

You feel so empty when he slips out, already missing the thickness of his cock when it seems as though he’s about to coax you to roll onto your front. Your hands are still linked with his and you tighten your fingers, making him pause.

“I want to see your face,” you confess quietly. It’s probably too much to ask of him but you feel like if you’re turned away from each other then you’ll feel like nothing more than a fucktoy. Just another warm body in Jimin’s bed. You don’t want that.

Jimin stares at you, surprise written across his features before his expression softens.

"Okay, baby," he murmurs indulgently. The small pet name sounds so sweet in his mouth. "We can stay like this."

He lets your hands go so that he can reach for a pillow that ends settled under your ass, tilting your hips up towards him. You’re not as flexible as he is—maybe you should start doing yoga too—but Jimin doesn’t push you far, hitching your legs up and draping your calves over his shoulders, leaning towards you so that the back of your thighs are warm against his chest. He's bent forward, face hovering above yours, so much skin-on-skin contact that your entire body feels warmed by him.

When he slides back in, you can feel the change in angle immediately. The head of his cock brushes over your g-spot and you suck in a sharp breath; Jimin notices, of course, aiming to hit it again, and again.

It feels good, of course. Amazing. But as much as you’d be happy for Jimin to make you cum again, you’d rather see him fall apart.

You dig your nails into his shoulder blades, turning your head so you can press kisses along the line of his jaw, murmuring into his ear.

“Are you going to let me see you cum?”

Jimin’s hips stutter as your words curl out of your mouth, warm against his skin. You’ve been picturing Park Jimin’s o-face for an endless amount of weeks and you’re ready to finally see the real thing.

“Cum on me,” you say, and then choke in a sob of air as Jimin responds with a sharp snap of his hips. “I want you to cum on me, Jimin, please.”

Your begging is shameless and you know it. Jimin’s face is so close to yours in this position and you can see how blown his pupils are, how his mouth is flushed from your kisses and how he’s been biting at them, his teeth digging into his lip as he starts to get faster, sloppier in his thrusts. It feels so good to know that you’re making him feel like this, that he’s reaching the peak of his pleasure with his body against yours, inside you, above you; he might have had other people in this position in the past, but right now it’s you who’s making Park Jimin come apart.

You urge him onwards with large, pleading eyes, rocking down on his cock each time he thrusts forward, begging the whole time. Pleading for him to cum, to give it to you, to cover you. Jimin obviously likes you loud and desperate, and you're more than willing to give him what he wants.

He slips out of you, fumbling with the condom and carelessly tossing it aside before he starts to pump his cock, hungry to reach his peak as he fucks into his fist. You let your legs fall open as you watch the way his body tenses, his brows drawn together and little breaths falling out of his mouth, barely audible over the wet slide of his cock in his hand. You run your hands over your body, across the swell of your breasts, down your stomach, dipping between your legs, trying to look as arousing as possible, anything to throw Jimin over the edge.

"I've imagined you cumming for months," you confess, words thoughtlessly falling from your lips. "On me, inside me, in my mouth—"

Park Jimin’s o-face is just as gorgeous as the rest of him.

You love how noisy he is. He paints your stomach with his cum, ropes of white spattering across the soft skin of your stomach and hips as he rides out his orgasm, moaning as he continues to milk his twitching cock. It’s so fucking hot, honestly, as is the expression on his face when you swipe your fingers through his cum and lift it to your lips, mouth filled with salt and warm.

“Fuck.” He’s breathless, panting. “You’re unbelievable.”

You let out a small scoff, but it’s edged with affection. “Says the man who was ready to fuck me six ways to Sunday,” you say. “If anyone’s the unbelievable one here, it’s you.”

“I can last longer, but you’re just so hot,” Jimin says. You respond by curling your fingers at him, beckoning him towards you, and you end up sharing a series of messy kisses.

You were, honestly, genuinely angry when you'd stepped into his apartment earlier, even if that irritation had been rounded out with arousal and desire. Now, though, you feel thoroughly boneless and content, loose limbed on Jimin's mattress, his lips and tongue moving against your own.

He leans too far forwards and smears his own cooling cum against his stomach. He doesn’t seem bothered, though. You’re the one who has to coax him to clean up, though with the way he looks at your still naked body, you know he would happily launch straight into a second round of fucking so he can add more cum to the canvas of your skin.

He really is insatiable, apparently, when it comes to you.

Even so, you wonder if Jimin’s going to kick you out now that he’s finally had a taste of you. He doesn't. He keeps you close, your body pressed against his side in a way that feels far more intimate than you would have expected.

“Are you hungry?” Jimin breaks the soft silence.

You’ve been trailing nonsensical patterns over his chest but pause when he says this. “Hm?”

“Are you hungry?” Jimin repeats, and there’s a cheeky smile flickering at the edge of his lips. “I have some more peaches in the fridge, if you’d like one.”

“That peach.” Your voice is an embarrassed hiss and your cheeks burn, but Jimin just laughs, boyish and bright as you slap halfheartedly at him. “That was just unfair. Who eats fruit like that?”

“Someone who’s trying to make it obvious that he’s imagining the peach is his neighbour’s pussy instead.” He’s so brazen. “And it clearly worked, didn’t it?”

It had worked. It's annoyingly effective, actually; thinking about the way Jimin had been staring at you as he tongue fucked that peach has arousal shooting through you, even after being so thoroughly fucked by him.

“Yeah, now you’ve had me,” you say. “What do you plan to do next?”

Jimin goes quiet. You wonder if you’ve misstepped, but then he sweeps his hand down the curve of your spine, goosebumps appearing in the wake of his touch.

“I was planning on asking if you wanted to go out for lunch,” he says, his voice so sweet, miles away from the fuckboy persona he usually puts on. This is the softer Park Jimin that you’ve caught glimpses of when he’s unaware, the side of him you wished he’d show more often—revealed to you, now. “Then, if you said yes, I was going to take you out on a date. If that date went well, then I was going to ask if you’d like to go on another one with me. And then another.”

One thing you know about Park Jimin is this: he doesn’t do dates. Each of his lays are one time affairs, no attachments made, no real connection beyond the physical act of sex. Your heart rate picks up.

“Obviously we’d fuck between dates,” he adds, raising his eyebrows at you in a way that’s so exaggerated that it makes you laugh. Of course. Jimin likes to fuck. “Unless you didn’t want to, but there are only so many peaches I can eat, you know?”

“So if I said I didn't want to fuck, and you ran out of peaches, what would you do?”

Your question seems casual and light but Jimin isn't stupid. He knows what you're really asking. Is he genuinely interested in something more exclusive, or would you just become another notch in his bedpost if he grew tired of waiting for you to spread your legs again?

"I can always buy more peaches."

You stare at him. He's looking at you levelly, a small smile on his face that's a little cocky but mostly warm. And, well, you know he's already gone without other partners for you, even before he'd gotten you in his bed. Park Jimin is serious about you, it seems. He'll wait.

You mouth at his collarbones, tasting the salt of sweat as you kiss and lick at his skin.

"After lunch, we can go back to my apartment, if you want," you whisper against his throat.

Just because Jimin's willing to wait doesn't mean you're going to force him to, especially as you're still as hungry for him as he is for you.

His hands squeeze your sides as you end up kissing again. You feel soft and ripe and sweet, easing under the touch of Jimin's hands and mouth.

"I still think you're a fucking menace, though," you add, and Jimin laughs so hard the bed shakes, still utterly unrepentant and entirely yours.

taglist: @beyoncesdragon

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shreddedparchment · 3 years

Text

A Wife for Thor Pt.23

A Royal Invitation

05/02/2021

Pairing: King!Thor x Reader Word Count: 5,960

Warnings: fluff, slight angst, language

A/N: I hope you all enjoy this one. It took me forever to get out after several life events that just couldn’t be ignored or put on the back burner. I had a lot of fun in the second half of this chapter and I hope y’all find it as entertaining as I did. Let me know what your favorite parts are! I’d love to know. As always, thanks for reblogging if you happen to do so. xoxo

Please DO NOT repost my stories on any other sites or blogs.

REBLOGS are always welcome!

The city is in celebration for three nights after you come home.

They’re not necessarily celebrating your return although that is part of why they’re happy, but the baby. The baby is already so loved. The baby is the city’s hope and future.

You can feel their exuberance when you and Thor take a walk through the city, flanked by Valkyrie with Loki on your left walking just slightly behind you.

He’s busy but smug and keeps his fingers moving swiftly across the screen of a tablet provided by Tony Stark who’d left the city taking Bruce with him back to the United States on Avengers business.

What Loki is doing, what's got him so glued to his tablet, you don’t find out until the evening of the first day of celebrations.

As your people’s cheers, laughter, and music filter in through the long wall of windows that Thor’s had thrown open to let the joviality in, Loki crosses to the long couch across from the one where you sit with Thor.

Legs thrown across his lap, Thor’s hands gently massaging your calves and feet, you lean back against the cushions that Thor set up against the arm for you.

The sitting room is long, rectangular and faces the East side of the palace. You can’t see the entire city and have more of a mountain view than on the West side where your rooms are and you can see the expanse of the ocean.

Like the rest of the palace, it’s decorated in a mixture of wood and silver steel. The chandeliers above are carefully carved and wired, the lighting kept dim. The seats are also wood but covered with soft cushions for lounging and restful naps.

There’s a slightly simpler look to this sitting room. Relaxed.

Before you’d taken your break from being Queen, you hadn’t spent much time in this part of the palace. Nothing had called to you. The garden had been the only spot you’d sought out but this sitting room is quickly becoming your favorite.

“I like it in here,” you confess, smiling at Thor who’s still squeezing your foot gently.

He smiles and meets your gaze, “Why’s that?”

“Because Jane was never in here,” Loki supplies, swiping left on his tablet then turns it to face both of you. “We’ve got more energy signatures. New ones.”

You and Thor sit up a little straighter.

“What quadrant?”

Loki purses his lips and then turns the tablet back towards himself cutting off your look at a map of the night sky.

“All of them. Whatever it is, it’s jumping around. I think perhaps they know we’re watching.”

Swallowing hard, you scoot closer to Thor, pulling one of your legs down as you twist to face Loki a little better. Thor takes hold of your thigh instead as it rests over his and wraps his other arm around your waist, eager to have you close.

Both of you haven’t stopped touching each other since your return last night.

“What does that mean? If they’re trying to confuse us, then they’re headed for us, right?”

“I won’t let anything happen to you or our little one, cherub,” Thor’s reassurance comes softly, his smile confident but soft. “Whatever this is, we’ll be ready for it. Have you sent the data to the others?”

“Sif is coming in for a debrief and we’ll send her to relay the specifics in person. It will need some explanation and Fandral will probably only skim the information if we send it to him via email.”

“We must have all of our troops trained for whatever attack is to come. I’m not going to let someone jeopardize our place here on Earth. We will protect our people but we will show the humans that we will defend them too from any threats to come,” Thor declares, his voice deep and determined, even angry.

He doesn’t like someone threatening his new home. Not after what happened to Asgard. The stress is in his eyes and you lean against him which you’re glad does what you want.

It distracts him.

“I had Stark build you a safe room. He called it a panic room, I think? So, should something happen, you’re to go in there and lock yourself in while we deal with any threat.”

You nod but push yourself back again to rest against the arm of the sofa while stretching out your legs again. It feels good and you sigh heavily as you rub your belly. Sitting scrunched up like that had been annoying.

“I have been training though. Even pregnant. At home, Loki would spar with me and help me with my technique. The short swords aren’t heavy anymore.”

Thor looks at his brother who sits smiling proudly at you before he notices the edge in Thor’s electric blue eye.

“It was all done safely. She and the baby were never in danger. I thought it was foolish to have her out there without her swords and the training to go along with them. Just because she left didn’t mean that she could slack off. Don’t give me that look. You know as well as I do that she needs to know. Even carrying your child, it’s important for her to know. One might even say especially because she's carrying the heir."

Loki’s voice grows steadily more subdued. Sad. Like a bad memory is playing itself over in his mind.

“I was too late, Loki,” Thor interjects, drawing your gaze to him too. He also looks sad. “And if you hadn’t been in that cell you’d have been long gone. Neither of us could have saved her. And you’re right. I know how important it is.”

Thor looks at you and takes your feet back in his hands, “I’m glad you trained. Once our child is born you’ll have to show me those skills of yours.”

Despite the playful nature of his taunt, you can see that he and Loki are both still in the depths of their grief. They must be thinking of their mother.

"So, these energy signatures, you still have no idea who could be causing them?"

The question is pointless. You know they don't know but it's something to say when all you can do is worry silently.

“I have theories,” Loki admits, exchanging a careful look with Thor. “But nothing concrete. Nothing that would put you at ease.”

“I don’t need to be put at ease, Loki. I need to know if there’s something to worry about. This doesn’t just affect our family but our people. If we need to warn them, we can’t be hesitant. Earth deserves a heads up, too.”

This is your job right? The voice of both your new Asgardian family and the people of Earth? This is why you were required to marry Thor.

Thor’s hand increases in strength around your foot as he tries to calm you.

“You’re right, cherub. Loki only means that there is no evidence to prove his theories so until we can find something to link these strange power surges to what he thinks it might be, then we should play this safe and hold off on raising any alarms. Isn’t that right, Loki?”

“Mm,” Loki agrees, nodding.

You frown, pulling your leg off of Thor’s lap to sit down properly and face both brothers. They sit up a little straighter in response to your own rigid back, your hands on your lap.

This isn’t right, whatever they might think.

“No,” you shake your head and watch as Loki puts his tablet down.

Thor scoots forward, reaching over to take your hand. You let him because he’s not trying to comfort you anymore. Instead, this reach is one of support and when you look at his singular eye, the patch on his empty socket gleaming softly in the dim light of the room, you can see he’s intent on listening and understanding.

If Jane has made any positive impact on you and Thor, it’s this. He’s really listening to you.

“Thor, you and the Asgardians are a unique people. You’ve all had it hard and I’m not trying to say that your struggles haven’t been difficult, but by nature, just by the very way that you all are made and born, you are stronger. It’s in your body’s makeup.

“For someone like me, if I were to jump from that open window, I would die. If you or any of the other Asgardians jumped from that window, you’d probably ache for a while, maybe a few would even get a few broken bones or cuts but they’d be superficial wounds.

“You know from experience how fragile humans are. Both of you,” the look you give Loki pulls his gaze down to his feet. “We’re unprepared for anything other than each other. We need more of a warning than you. We need time to prepare.”

It all falls into place in your head and with confidence you turn to look at Thor, turning your hand over to take his in your own hand.

With a quick squeeze, you scoot just a little closer to him, “Thor, I need to speak to the ambassadors. We need to schedule an official meeting to give them the rundown on what we’ve been doing here and what we’re keeping an eye on. Because, knowing Tony, I’m sure he hasn’t said anything to anyone outside of the compound?”

Loki sits back, crossing his legs as he shuts his tablet off, “No. Stark is as preoccupied about raising the alarm as we are. But now that you mention it, I suppose both we and he are not looking at this from a regular civilian of Earth’s point of view.”

“Y/N,” Thor calls your attention back to him, “This could backfire. We could be doing more harm than good by sharing with them the information we’ve gathered.”

You shake your head, “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I’m jumping the gun here. The last thing I want to do is cause a panic. But I don't think that’ll happen. It’s not like we’re going to leak it onto the internet. We’re going to meet with the ambassadors and provide this information to world leaders so that they can prepare the way they see fit. Trust me, these prime ministers and presidents and kings aren’t going to just announce to their people that some alien threat is on the way. They don’t want to look out of control or unprepared.

“We need to give Earth’s humans a chance to defend themselves. Even if they end up needing our help, they deserve to know.”

Loki and Thor are silent for what feels to you like a long time. In reality, you know it must only be seconds. However, this is the first time you’ve pushed back with them. This is the first time you’re speaking on behalf of the human race.

It makes you nervous and anxious. Will they let you be Queen in this sense? Or is it all just show?

They look at each other, staring and communicating silently before Loki gets to his feet and turns his tablet back on.

“Well, if I’m to set up a meeting with the ambassadors, NATO, and the UN I should probably get started.”

Your heart explodes with pride. They’re letting you really rule! You’re making a difference. True change. Your excitement mingles with a sudden terror as you realize that your choices are going to affect what will be millions if not billions of people.

Luckily, Loki’s words also serve to distract you from your trepidation.

“Wait, Loki,” you hurry to your feet and scurry to his side before ripping the tablet from his hands and hiding it behind your back.

“Hey,” he protests, reaching around you to try and grab it.

You hurry back to Thor and instead of sitting beside him you plop yourself onto his lap and sit as close as you can to trap the tablet between your bodies.

You can hear Thor’s heart begin to pound. Aside from those kisses yesterday, this is the closest you’ve put yourself to him since you got back. He’d slept with you in your shared bedroom, but he’d laid facing you and you him, a good six inches between your bodies.

He wraps his arms around you, placing his hands along the swell of your tummy. You can almost feel him glowing with happiness.

“As eager as I am to give Earth a heads up, I also think you need a break. The energy isn’t going anywhere and the Warriors Three and Sif are on the watch. Please do me a big favor and just take a day or two? You’ve been at it like crazy since I left the palace and it would make me so happy if my baby’s Uncle Loki would take a breather. He’s gotta be strong and in tip-top shape if he’s going to keep up with his future nephew.”

“Or niece,” Thor interjects. “She’s right, Loki. Rest. We’ll get back on this in two days and you can set everything up then. The city is roaring with celebration. Go out and enjoy it. You always loved a good party.”

Loki glares at the pair of you, “Using the future prince or princess is blackmail. And if I’m out there, what will you two do?”

Thor smiles at him, reaching between your bodies to grab the tablet from where it’s hidden. He sets it aside and his other hand trails over your side before wrapping around your waist to cup your bump again.

“I’m sure my queen and I will find something to keep us occupied. Making up for lost time, perhaps?”

Your neck burns but you grin up at Loki who fixes you with a knowing smile, “Of course. How silly of me. Well, let me not keep you from reacquainting yourselves with each other. If you have need of me, I will be around. Just call.”

“Have fun, Loki,” you call after him.

As he shuts the door, Thor tilts your head to the side, pulling you back against his chest fully so that he can kiss you without prompting.

“Sleeping beside you once more was dreamlike, cherub,” Thor tells you, low and full of want.

“And what would make it more real for you?”

“Shall I show you?”

And he waits, like the jerk that he is. He literally just dangles the carrot in front of you. His hard body pressed against your back, the heat of his legs seeping through your clothes to your skin.

His hands trace tantalizing circles around your stomach but make the slightest tickles to the fold of your pelvis. You hate him!

“Oh my god, hurry up, dummy.”

That’s all the invitation he needs. In an instant you’re in his arms as he settles you on the sofa, his hands already yanking and pulling at your clothes but when your tummy is exposed, he drops to his knees and worships your pregnant body with gentility and softness.

At least until you growl and yank him up to finish what he’s started.

~~~~~~~~~~

The sheets against your skin feel soft as silk. They’re slightly sticky but that’s more to do with your own body’s sweat.

“Why are you up?” Thor’s voice is heavy with sleep.

It’s thick and rough. It makes you smile and your ears burn because he sounds delicious and you missed mornings like this.

“I’m hungry,” you admit.

Thor tumbles from the bed, dragging with him the heavier faux fur blanket that sits at the foot of your bed for decoration usually. He wraps it around his waist and pulls the cord by the door.

“I already called them, puppy,” you assure him, and he smiles sleepily at you before moving towards you.

“I missed my term of endearment. Why a dog?”

As he reaches you, you open your sheet and his eyes roam the length of your naked body before he gets all handsy and dives into the sheet with you, eventually settling his hands on your bum. No groping, just resting. Then slowly he trails his fingers up along the sides of your back up to your shoulders and back down.

It leaves your skin full of goosebumps and you shiver. He misinterprets it and instead of stopping his stroking, he uses his flat hand to create friction instead.

“It’s not a dog, it’s a puppy. They’re cute and they’re kinda, I don’t know, like...clueless?” You laugh because that’s not the word you were looking for but it’s what comes out.

“Uh, excuse me, I have plenty of clues,” Thor argues, but he doesn’t seem offended.

“That’s not the right word,” you laugh again. “I don’t know how to describe it. I just want to squeeze you and cuddle you because you’re like this big blonde golden retriever only sexier.”

Thor makes his thinking face as he tries to pull up the picture of the dog breed you just compared him to, and he nods slowly.

“I think I can live with that,” Thor smiles down at you then leans to meet your lips.

You kiss him eagerly, your bodies both humming with anticipation even though you spent the last two days--practically--in bed.

Both of you know that there’s a time when this lust might not necessarily fade but dull a bit? Then again, it is Thor and he’s ravenous for you almost all the time.

You chuckle against his lips and he pulls back to look at you.

“What has you laughing so adorably?”

You let go of the sheet and before it can fall, Thor replaces your hands with his own to hold it up around you both. With free hands you’re able to trace the length of his arms, tracing the large curves. His skin is so damn soft.

You’re still not sure if that’s a Thor thing or an Asgardian God thing? What you know is that you love it and your fingers eat it up every time you touch him.

Whatever laugh or trace of humor you had falls away as you start to really look within yourself and examine why you’re so happy.

You shove your arms underneath his and wrap your arms around him, small whisper slaps of his skin as your hands are splayed out along his wide back. You press your ear against his chest. The thud of his heart is strong and slightly speedy, probably in response to your sudden shift in mood.

The swell between both of you, the little life kicking in response to your mood pulls both your attention for a few seconds before you find your voice.

“I missed you, Thor. More than I thought I would. Way more than I ever knew I could.”

The somber tone of your voice has him giving you a nice gentle squeeze. He likes having you right there right up against him just as much as you like being there.

“Well, you were very angry with me,” Thor reminds you. “I didn’t know your face could make those expressions. That day at your home?”

You hug him tighter, staring out at the small bloom of sunrise in the distance. It’s very slightly starting to glisten on the still ocean line.

“I was angry. But it was more than that.”

“I know,” Thor kisses the top of your head. “I hurt you. What I said, I-I didn’t mean it, cherub. I promise you. It was a temporary insanity. The moment you came into that room after I said what I did, I knew that I could never go through with it. And if you’d told me that we were expecting a child-”

“I couldn’t,” you sigh, leaning back to look up at him. “In my head, if I told you then after what you'd said that I was pregnant and you chose to stay with me, I would live the rest of my life wondering whether you chose me because you really loved me or because I was finally going to give New Asgard their heir.”

Thor’s face crumbles a little, brow scrunched, mouth pulled down at the corners as he shakes his head.

“I will always choose you. Not because you are the mother of my children, but because you are the love of my life. The one I did not expect. The one that I can never chance to lose again. I’m sorry that I ever made you doubt me.”

Staring into his eye, the intensity of his gaze, you know that he means what he says. He loves you.

Even though you can’t admit it to him because your reconciliation needs all of the positivity that you can both muster, in your heart, you can’t help but wonder if you can truly trust him.

~~~~~~~~~~

The days go by like routine after the Asgardians find that they have to go back to their jobs and lives.

As much as they all love a good party, Thor and Loki included if the last two days are any indication, they know they can't keep going and must get back to life as usual.

Thor at first makes an attempt to stay with you. The last few months of being without each other makes it difficult to be apart and for Thor especially, with the baby.

He hates leaving you. He wants to be there for every kick and every shift.

His largest grievance is that he can't listen to your laugh when the baby kicks and it feels weird. This you only find out because Loki, in his annoyance with the constant trips Thor makes him do to check on you when he's in his meetings.

Although you believe Loki, you take all of these little indicators of Thor’s love with ease but with the knowledge that it might very well be fleeting.

You try not to think about it and instead just allow yourself to enjoy the fact that Thor does indeed love you and you love him too. Even if it may not be forever. Even if it can change. Even if the future is now a little less certain.

Your meeting with the ambassadors approaches quickly. It takes a month to set it up. Longer than you'd thought and it doesn't take long to understand why.

"This is the third time they've pushed the meeting back," you gripe, moving over to Loki’s computer to look over his shoulder at the surprisingly very short email.

Please inform Her Majesty, the Queen of Asgard, that we are unable to meet with her as previously scheduled this week and will be in contact as to the next available day.

Should any true trouble arise, please tell Thor that we are more than happy to meet with him.

Sincerely,

Earth AMB Mark Coates

You're seething. You've never been this angry. Never this absolutely heated. Not even with Thor and what happened with Jane can compare to the absolute rage flowing through your veins.

"They don't seem to take you seriously," Loki realizes. "Because you're a woman?"

"Partially, probably," you growl as you move back around his desk to sit in the padded armchair by the window where you'd been watching Thor visit with the Valkyrie.

He's not there anymore though and you can see Hilde and her girls relaxing a little. Adjusting their armor, laughing, sitting and talking. Now that their inspection is over they can breathe.

Why they get so nervous you don't understand. Thor’s such a fanboy. He gushes about them constantly.

"What other reason might there be?" Loki asks, rising and moving around his desk to lean against it casually, hands shoved into the inky black pockets of his slacks.

His jade vest is unbuttoned and the sleeves of his dark gray button-up folded up to his elbow.

Summer is almost here and it's getting hotter.

You don't answer right away. Hands slowly stroking your belly, trying to calm down for the baby's sake. Feeling that upset can't be good for him.

You take a long deep inhale and with a heavy sigh release the stress.

"My Queen?" Loki urges, and you smile.

Realizing he's calling you by your title to reaffirm your place among them to make you feel better, you turn your smile on him.

"You've always been my biggest supporter. You and David," your smile falters. "I miss him."

"Is he still in Baghdad?"

"Yeah. He’s in deep so, no contact. I hope he's okay."

"You know, you do have a part time Avenger as a husband and the best magician for a brother-in-law. One word and we'd be happy to assist with your lawyer's extraction."

"Which is why I don't ask. If he needs help, David will let us know. He has his panic button."

The gift had been given to you by Tony who had made it for you to press when you and Thor had been estranged. An easy way to call for Thor if something should happen.

Your brother-in-law nods.

"I suppose it would be a little like nepotism. Fine. What should I do about the misogynistic email?" Loki wonders.

"He's not exactly a misogynist. Not completely anyway. The ambassador blowing me off has more to do with me specifically than it does with me being a woman."

This seems to set Loki off more than if the ambassador was doing this because you're a woman.

"What right does he have to snub the Queen of Asgard? Doesn't he know what that might do to relations between Earth and our people?"

You shake your head, smiling because his anger makes you feel better.

"No, he doesn't. Because to the world my marriage to Thor is show. It's a necessary political move. They don't care whether Thor and I love each other and Jane and Thor’s relationship was so publicized that it’s hard for them to accept that Thor might actually love me.

"Thor went to extreme lengths to protect Jane in the past. Public displays of affection like that aren't forgotten easily.

"To the ambassadors and probably most of the world, offending me doesn't mean an offense against Thor. To them, I'm a queen in name only. No real power here."

Loki huffs through his nose, standing straight with his hands at his waist before he turns to walk back behind his desk.

He stops for a moment, thinking hard you guess, then whips around and stomps towards you before shoving his finger towards the windows.

"I know it has been a while for me, but I can very easily open another tear in space over New York. Or wherever you need me to. I might need a bit of time to locate the power and forces to do it but I will show the people.of Earth what happens when they underestimate the love of the Asgardian people for their queen."

Leaning back in your chair, you keep your arms around your bump as you watch Loki make his threat.

"That's a bit much for a dude who just thinks that my political marriage is just that, isn't it?"

You keep your face clear of amusement, because it really is very sweet of him to be so upset for you. But you can't help the small smile that stretches your lips.

He deflates, moving to other armchair across from yours and sits but leans forward with his elbows on his knees.

"It's shameless disrespect, Y/N. We cannot let them get away with it. You are Asgardian now. A slight against you is a slight against this Kingdom."

"I know, Loki. But-"

Behind Loki his office door opens. It faintly creeks and through it pokes Thor’s searching gaze.

He looks confused as he scans the room until he spots the two of you and with a little skip in his step and a wide unfettered smile, he shuts the door and moves towards you.

"Hi," you smile at him widely in reaction to the loveable look on his face.

"Hello," Thor replies, his voice low and quiet as he leans down towards you.

"You finished early today," you observe, voice just as quiet.

"You know I hate being apart," Thor whispers and presses his lips to yours.

His kiss is so soft and slow.

He pulls away too quickly and as your heart stutters, you reach up to hook your hands into the sides of his chest plate and pull him back down for another kiss.

He'd worn his full uniform today for an early meeting and the inspection of the Valkyrie. He looks so good but with his hair growing in, now just past his shoulders.

He still has the two small braids you'd worked in on the left side of his head and he looks so good, you might jump him later. If you don't pass out for an afternoon nap.

He pulls away again, this time smiling brightly.

"Will I always get this welcome if I come home early? I might have to shorten my days."

You chuckle as he moves around you and stops by a side table where Loki keeps a few weapons on display on a stand. He starts to remove his harder pieces of armor and places them aside.

"What has you looking so stern, brother?" Thor asks, keeping his back to you both as he moves onto the leather pieces that keep his chain mail from shifting.

Loki sits back, sighing heavily as he considers how much to tell Thor.

"Something I should worry about? Come. Tell me and lessen your burden."

"He's upset for me. That's all."

You hear the clink of Thor's mail as it falls on the table then he's moving around your right to squat by your chair so that he's below your eye level.

"Upset for you? Why?" His look of concern is upsetting and pleasing at the same time.

You purse your lips and look at Loki.

"It might be easier if I showed you," he says then rises and moves to his desk to get his tablet.

Thor reaches out to place his hand on your belly and you place yours over his.

He smiles at you then leans down to kiss your tummy while you run your fingers through his hair and try to ignore the utterly breathtaking and heartaching butterflies that his sweet love on your baby gives you.

"I missed you," he whispers to you.

Again, your heart stutters. He’s so easy with his words. These declarations feel so good but that little voice in the back of your head also makes your heart ache.

You just smile at him. Unable to speak when you feel like you're glowing and grieving at the same time.

"Here," Loki holds out the tablet and Thor stands then takes it.

He moves to the loveseat across from your and Loki's armchairs and plops down before reading.

You watch him, admiring the out of armor look. His black leather pants are just as hugging as they always are. His top, a dark gray long sleeve made with breathable fabric leaves no room to wonder just how defined his muscles are.

He's Asgardian perfection.

He breathes in deeply then exhales loudly, a passing shadow of rage overcoming his Godly features before he tosses the tablet at Loki lightly who catches it easily.

Thor spreads his legs a little, tapping his heels as he throws his left arm along the back of the small sofa, his other hand resting on his thigh.

"Write the bastard and tell him I'm requesting the meeting then. Then my cherub and I will both be waiting to give him both the information he needs to warn Earth and a piece of my mind."

You look down at your feet, heart pounding and stomach tumbling with nerves.

You don't want to be the reason any rifts come between New Asgard and Earth. The whole purpose of the position you hold is to protect the citizens of this city.

"Thor," you warn, turning to meet his gaze only when you know you can handle it.

"He wants me to contact him, so I will. In fact, send a raven instead. Do the works. Scroll. Seal. And when they arrive, give them a royal welcome with trumpets and a guard."

"Thor…"

"They will not disrespect you and find warm welcomes in my home. You are my wife. My Queen! Even if all they assume is between us is political agreement, they should respect the title you hold. We may not be above them, but we do outrank them an they need to know that you are not to be messed with.

"The fact that I love you only makes my resolve stronger."

"Okay. I get it, puppy. And I'm grateful to both you and Loki for standing up for me. With your tempers, no one would believe you aren't blood related. Sheesh."

You gran hold of the arms of your chair and groan only a little as you push yourself up onto your feet.

"Oof," you reach back and place your hand on your waist.

Thor’s arm immediately extends out towards you. Beckoning you to his side.

It takes you a moment but you get your footing back and move for him. As soon as you're within reach his arm is around you, helping you sit down carefully.

He doesn't let you sit back all the way. He pushes you to your left so that you'll shift and sit angled while he sits up straighter and turns to face you.

With gentle but firm hands he starts to work out the kinks and knots in your back.

Unintentionally you moan with relief. Thor’s eyes are on Loki though.

"What was your idea?"

"I offered to open another tear in space above whatever city she deemed proper. With the allowance of time to find both the power to do so and the army to lead through it."

You can't see Thor expression but when he speaks, his disapproving sounds fake.

"I'm not sure even idly that threat is in good taste. But I understand the sentiment."

"Do you really want me to make all of that fuss to make the ambassador come and meet with you?"

"Yes. I think he needs to be humbled. He may be in a position of power and my Y/N may owe her marriage to their insistence and meddling, but she is Queen and they are speakers for Earth. They would not have jobs had we not come to live here. Their disrespect of our Queen is a slight on our people.

"The moment I took Y/N under my banner is the moment she became Asgardian from the tips of her cute toes to the top of her irresistible head. And with our child on the way, they should know better."

Loki gets to his feet and moves towards the door, "Very well. One royal invitation coming right up."

As he leaves, Thor’s focus is diverted completely to you.

"Does that feel good, love?"

You only moan in return.

Thor chuckles and keeps going for a few minutes longer before you push back towards him and he lets you rest your back against his chest.

You can't be scrunched forward too long before your stomach begins to feel squished.

You look straight up at his face and he smiles.

"Hi," you tell him.

"Hello."

You smile.

"Was the massage satisfactory?"

"Mmmm, it was great. Your hands are godly, puppy."

Thor chuckles at the pun but leans forward to kiss the tip of your nose.

"And you, my sweet cherub, are a Goddess. And I will make sure you are treated as such."

#king!thor x reader #thor x reader #arranged marriage au #royal au #thor odinson x reader #king!thor x reader fanfiction #king!thor x reader fanfic #king!thor x reader fic #king!thor x you #thor x reader fanfiction #thor x reader fanfic #thor x reader fic #thor x you #avengers au #marvel au #marvel fanfiction #a wife for thor #a wife for thor pt23

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alexa-crowe · 3 years

Text

Signs

Episode: “Je Souhaite” | Rated M | @today-in-fic | Warning: if any of the symptoms of pregnancy are squicky for you, it would be best to avoid this fic. Also, a reminder that we use Fahrenheit in the U.S., so don’t freak out at the wonky temperature stuff, my Celsius loaves.

Scully feels a little guilty for sending Mulder home last night after teasing him all day about what she was going to do to him in bed, but she blames her upset stomach on being “forced” to skip lunch that day. Scully had waved him off after three hours of on and off vomiting, feeling like she sent the entirety of her pizza and soda into the toilet.

She’d sent him back to his apartment so he’d stop hovering, his incessant chatter only magnifying the headache beginning to build at the base of her skull.

Mulder had called as soon as he got home, leaving a voicemail for her to please not come in tomorrow if she’s still sick. Well, Scully had fortunately felt right as rain when she woke up, aside from the minimal gnawing feeling in her stomach.

She regrets eating two bagels with lox and her real cream cheese now. This must be her punishment for breaking the rule of saving it for the fair amount of bad mornings she encounters. Her stomach’s mutinying again at the smell of Mulder’s black coffee and she can feel another toilet session coming on.

“Oh, God,” Scully whispers, all intent to apologize and press a soft kiss to his lips going out the proverbial door as she sprints out the real one and hauls ass to the bathroom.

She must have a stomach bug, Scully reasons, trying to even out her breathing as she folds some paper towels and wets them before pressing them against her face and neck. She’s suddenly feeling strangely hot, evidence of her sick flushed away.

Mulder knocks three times on the bathroom door. “Scully?”

“Yeah?” she sends back, splashing her face with water. She groans as she feels another gag coming on.

“I brought you some ginger ale and—and some Pepto Bismol. And Tums. I know you don’t like the Pepto but, you know, I figured this called for all the stops.”

She can imagine the look on his face as he hears her vomiting again. Scully checks her watch when it’s over. It’s still only 8:27 in the fucking morning!? How the hell is she supposed to make it through the rest of the workday like this?

The door hinges creak and she looks over at Mulder. “I told you not to come in if you’re still sick, Scully.”

“I wasn’t! I felt fine this morning, and then I walked in the office and smelled your coffee and...”

He leans against the counter and crosses his arms, puckering his lips as part of his exaggerated thinking face. Scully stands up straight and shoots him a look. Mulder shakes his head and puts his hands up. “Look, all I’m saying is that it looks like the same thing happened last night. As soon as we got out the ice cream, you bolted to the bathroom.”

She sighs and shakes her head. “What are you getting at, Mulder?”

“Just that you should go home and at least take a nap or something. If you stay off your feet for a few hours and relax, I’ll be happy. Nibble on some crackers, catch a soap opera...” Mulder shrugs. “You’re clearly sick, Scully. If not for yourself, do it on the chance that it’s contagious.”

Scully places the wet paper towel on the back of her neck, holding it there. “Fine. But only because it might be contagious.”

“I mean—that doesn’t make it better, but thank you nonetheless. Do you want me to drive you? What if there’s a random smell that sets you off on the ride there?”

She rolls her eyes but tells him, “Fine.”

—

Mulder’s assertion that certain smells have been setting off whatever’s going on with her stomach seem to be proven true when she comes back to the office after a few hours of rest and relaxation to the harsh sight of a man whose... whose mouth suddenly disappeared and had to be surgically recreated. Not a twinge from her stomach aside from shock butterflies.

Scully’s relieved that she’s been able to keep down her lunch. To be fair, it was crackers with a little cheese and a full two cups of water to make sure she was hydrated, but any food is good food. She proudly announces to Mulder during their ensuing flight the next day that it seems whatever illness hit is gone.

—

It’s not cold in Creve Coeur, Missouri—certainly not in Spring—but Scully’s feeling every degree of the breeze through the open windows like it’s in the thirties. She’s shivering the entire car ride to the Mark Twain Trailer Park, and noticeably enough for Mulder to glance at her with concern before putting up the windows and turning the heat up.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just a little cold.”

He frowns at that but lets it go until they hit a red light, when he leans over and presses his hand to her forehead.

Scully quirks her lips in a smile. “What are you doing?”

“Checking your temperature,” he replies. “You don’t seem to have a fever...”

“I’m fine, Mulder,” she insists, leaning into his hand for the few seconds she gets the light turns green.

“Alright, but if you’re still sick, Scully, then you have to promise me that you’ll go back to the motel, okay? I brought the meds just in case, if you need them.”

She smiles softly and places her hand on his arm. “Thank you.”

“It’s what a good boyfriend does.”

—

Her stomach bug really does seem to be gone, which is a relief. However, she’s now insatiably hungry for two things: Mulder, and the bagels from the bagel place two streets over from her apartment. Well, she consoles, one is attainable, at least. And, boy, does she attain it. They’re both breathing heavily by the time Scully’s through with him, and even though they’re sticky with sweat, she curls her body around Mulder’s anyway.

Her breasts are tingly, which has never happened after sex before, but she chalks it up to Mulder’s harsh treatment of her only a minute ago as she nuzzles his chest. She inhales and sighs happily. “I love the way you smell,” she murmurs.

He laughs and she feels it against her cheek. “Coming from the woman who made me start using a different deodorant,” he jokes, squeezing his arm around her shoulders. “Your nipples are darker.”

“What?” Scully props herself up with her forearm to make proper eye contact as her brows furrow.

“Yeah. I don’t know. They’re darker. Feel a little heavier, too. You didn’t notice?”

She shakes her head and laughs. “Unlike you, Mulder, I don’t spend hours studying my boobs.”

He shrugs and rolls them over so he’s hovering over her on his forearms. “Your loss.”

—

“Fuck,” she swears, digging around in her suitcase, fresh from her shower. She’s only got one hand because the other’s holding her towel wrap together.

“What?” Mulder asks around his toothbrush, exiting the bathroom. His tie is slung behind his neck and his suit jacket is waiting for him on the bed.

“I don’t have any panty liners.”

“Do you want me to go out and get some?” he asks, heading back to the bathroom to spit.

“Yeah, that would be great.” Scully walks past him into the still-warm bathroom and lets the towel drop as she uses the one wrapped around her hair to dry the wet strands.

“Alright. I’ll be back in a jiffy.” She drops the hair towel when he takes the singular step needed in the tiny motel bathroom to invade her space in favor of pulling him down for a kiss by the ends of his tie. “Mmm, settle down or the plan’ll be botched.”

“I was just thanking you,” Scully says, affecting innocence as she does his tie for him.

“For buying you panty liners? What would happen if I surprised you with some ice cream?”

“I would eat the ice cream.”

“Damn.” Mulder presses a kiss to the top of her head before heading out to put on his suit jacket. “Do you mind me asking why you need panty liners? Also! What brand?”

“Any with wings. And I need them because there’s been an unusual amount of vaginal discharge in my underwear and I don’t want to ruin any more of them.”

“Right.” He steps back in view of the bathroom and takes in her naked body.

Scully raises an eyebrow at him. “What?”

(Their books on pregnancy are buried inside their storage closets from a time best forgotten.)

“Nothing. I just like looking at you.”

She smiles at him, drying her hair again. “Get going, hotshot.”

—

Halfway through the flight home, Scully discovers something that makes her a bit worried. She’s not supposed to get her period until next week, so the blood on the liner she quickly tosses away with shaky hands can’t be because of that. She tries to forget about it as she walks back to her seat next to Mulder, but he must see something on her face that prompts him to ask if she’s okay.

“I’m fine,” she lies, managing to give him a smile. “Just tired.”

He seems to accept that and leaves her be. It’s not even a lie; she feels exhausted after everything that happened over the past few days. Scully makes a mental note to book an emergency appointment with her Ob-Gyn when they land, and closes her eyes.

—

“Dana,” Dr. Namin starts, disrupting her patient’s thumb twiddling.

Scully abruptly stands up as her doctor moves to stand in front of the exam table, computer and several documents in hand. “You don’t look concerned,” she says, following Namin to the exam table.

“Because there’s nothing to be concerned about at this stage except plenty of rest, hydration, and eating at least three good meals a day,” Scully’s doctor replies, opening up her computer and spreading out the documents. “We’ve done all the tests you asked for, but nothing came up. However, based on the symptoms you listed, I performed one more, and that’s where we found the culprit.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re pregnant, Dana. Plain and simple. Congratulations.” Dr. Namin slides one of the documents towards Scully, who takes it. “You’re about three and a half weeks along. You can take all the papers. There’s suggestions for all the prenatal vitamins you’ll need to take and how much water to drink in a day. Resources for managing symptoms, too.”

Scully nods dumbly, tears gathering in her eyes as she stares at the diagnosis. “Um, when should I come back?”

“Don’t worry about that right now, I’ll have someone give you a call with that information. Just relax and enjoy the news. I remember how much you wanted this, Dana. I...I don’t know how this happened, but the baby’s doing well. Minor bleeding is completely normal and you don’t need to worry. If it gets worse or doesn’t stop soon, then come back.”

“Okay,” Scully chokes out, smiling widely as she wipes away her tears and collects the documents on the exam table.

—

She spends a few hours at her apartment trying to figure out how to tell Mulder the good news but gets nowhere. In the middle of pacing around her couch, one arm unconsciously wrapped around her abdomen, her phone starts ringing.

“Scully speaking.”

“Agent Scully,” Skinner starts, and she immediately knows that Mulder’s done something stupid again, “could you check on Agent Mulder? He snuck into my meeting and was yelling at my chair.”

“Yes, of course, sir.”

“Thank you.”

Scully hangs up the phone and sighs heavily. Looks like God’s giving her a sign to just get it over with. When she enters the office, however, the woman Mulder keeps insisting is a genie is there, too. She licks her lips nervously and tries to ignore her.

“Skinner called me, Mulder. Is everything alright?”

Sitting at the desk, computer on, she has to wonder what he’s doing. “You don’t remember disappearing off the face of the Earth for an hour this morning?”

She gives her head a small shake as she tells him, “No,” truly starting to get concerned.

Mulder just shrugs with a little smile and gets back to typing with a nonchalant, “Well, I guess everything’s okay.”

Get it out, just say it, she thinks, trying to psych herself up. She sighs. “Mul—” But the woman’s still there in the office. “Could you give us a minute, please?”

“Sure,” the woman—Jenn, Mulder told her on the plane—says with a nod.

Scully steps closer to the desk, butterflies in her stomach. Jenn isn’t moving, and it’s making her annoyed, quite frankly. “Like, today?” she says, turning around, but the black-haired woman is nowhere to be found, not even in the annex. Scully turns back to her partner, extremely confused. “Where the hell’d she go?”

Mulder childishly imitates a genie disappearing and she feels the sudden urge to laugh at the thought that this man is the father of her child. “No...” she says, softening the guffaw trying to escape to a scoff-laugh. “It’s gotta—” She scoffs for real this time. “It’s gotta be hypnotism, or—or mesmerism, or something.”

And thus begins the verbal sparring. As he lists all the things he wants for the world, Scully thinks, again, of how this is the father of her child. Something suspiciously soft is trying to emerge from her heart as she responds, and she’s a coward to boot, so she leaves without telling him. Driving back to her apartment, Scully feels guilty at how little effort she put into trying to break the news to Mulder. She just—she doesn’t know what to make of the news herself, let alone how to explain it to him.

An hour into The Exorcist, hugging a pillow as she wishes Mulder was watching it with her, the phone rings. “Scully, do you wanna come over and watch a movie? I’ve got your favorite popcorn...”

She grins. “Of course. I’ll bring the drinks.”

—

They’ve both changed their clothes for the movie night, and when Mulder opens the door, they’re sporting matching grins. “Oh, zero alcohol content?” he faux complains, taking the case of six drinks into the kitchen. “Is this your punishment for me, Scully?”

She elects not to respond as she follows him and takes out the package of popcorn and a pot. “Can you grab the olive oil, Mulder?”

“Yeah, of course.” He puts four of the drinks in the fridge before reaching into one of the cabinets to grab the oil and put it on the counter next to the stove, which Scully’s turning it on.

“I’ll never understand why you won’t just microwave them. It’s faster.”

“Yeah, but if you do it in the pot, it tastes better,” she shoots back, opening the package and pouring the kernels into the pot.

“That’s just because of the oil.”

“Well, you can continue to eat shitty popcorn for the rest of your life if you want, but I’m going to eat my good popcorn.”

They turn to face each other as the kernels pop and hit the lid, a staring contest beginning. Scully wins when she licks her lips and distracts Mulder enough to get him to blink.

“Ha! I got you! I win!”

“That’s cheating!”

“I won!” she says in a sing-song voice, emptying the finished popcorn into the bowl.

Mulder shakes his head with a smile. “Why don’t you take the drinks and get comfortable. I’ll finish the popcorn.”

Scully nods and does as he suggests, but as she’s crossing into the living room, she pauses and turns around. “No butter, please,” she says, and he turns around with a scoop of butter in a bowl in his right hand, the handle of the microwave in the other.

“No... butter...?” She nods. “We always put butter on the popcorn, Scully.”

“Well, I don’t want butter this time,” she says, and makes her way to the couch, sitting down and placing the drinks on the coffee table. She hears Mulder sigh heavily and put the bowl of butter in the fridge before making his way to the living room, bowl of popcorn in hand.

He shakes his head as he grabs the movie case from the table and inserts it into the player. “Can’t believe you don’t want butter on your popcorn. Eugh. It’s un-American.” He steps around the table and sits down next to Scully.

She takes the case from where he left it and makes a face. “Caddyshack, Mulder?” she questions.

“It’s a classic American movie,” he insists, grabbing his drink and propping his feet up.

“That’s what every guy says.” Scully grabs her own and untwists the cap, tossing it onto the table. Mulder does the same, but his bounces off onto the floor, and she laughs into the bottle. “So, uh... What’s the occasion?” she asks, as if they still take the justifying movie nights thing seriously.

Last week’s was I thought you might need some help feeding your fish.

“I don’t know. Just felt like the thing to do. Cheers.”

Maybe it is time to turn over a new leaf, especially considering the baby growing inside her, cell by cell. They clink their bottles—“Cheers,” she says—and drink. Tell him, tell him, tell hi—

“I don’t know if you noticed, but I, um, never made the world a happier place.”

They nod together and Scully knows that this is the moment to tell him. She takes a deep breath. “Well, I’m fairly happy. That’s something.” A smile slides onto her face and she looks at him, a lot more than fairly happy now. “Actually, I’m ecstatic.” She gives a little laugh and reaches into her pocket for the piece of paper she’d stared at for hours earlier.

“Really? Is there a specific reason, or...?”

Scully pulls the paper out and looks at the blue highlighted text on the portion of the paper that’s not folded back for a moment before handing it to Mulder. “That’s why,” she says, voice trembling a little out of happiness.

She watches his face as the words sink in. He reads it again, murmuring, “Diagnosis: pregnancy (3.5 weeks),” as he does so, a grin spreading across his lips. “Scully...”

“I know,” she says, setting her bottle on the table, and before Mulder can say anything else, she cups his cheeks and kisses him, unwilling to fight the urge.

“Scully, this is wonderful!” He laughs joyously and kisses her again, setting the paper and his drink on the table. “I’m so happy.” He brings her into his embrace and buries his face in her shoulder for a long moment, both of them starting to cry. He suddenly pulls away and puts his hand on her abdomen under her shirt, his other arm still wrapped around Scully.

“I love you,” she tells him.

“I love you, too,” he replies.

#txf #fanfiction #msr #mine #wahhhh!!!!!#i love: them #i had so much fun writing this ksdjhfkjs like an inordinate amount

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neo-culture-mafia · 4 years

Text

Mafia!NCT 127 Reaction to You Coloring Their Tattoos

Hyuck + Mark in the Dream Reaction

not proofread yet

[ posted 09 / 10 / 2020 ]

Taeyong

He had no hesitation letting you color his tattoos. "Have fun, babe." He pinched your cheek and relaxed under the big tree you were both sitting under. Today was a cool and relaxing day as Taeyong had thrown all his plans away to be with you all day.

The dragon on his bicep was now stained in hues of purple and green with accents of neon yellow creeping up his shoulder. "So, besides today, how have you been lately?" His gaze swayed from you to the inside of his eyelids as he was drifting to sleep slowly. "Okay, I suppose. Work is annoying." You laughed and his heart twinged with love. "My students are definitely taking advantage of the wedding to slack off with their work." You chuckled and Taeyong took notice of the cool metal ring that laid on your left hand. It had never looked more magical than right now. The wedding was a fairytale story to think about in another time and place. It was the talk of the town. There wasn’t a reason the students shouldn’t be talking about it.

"They're kids. They're going to goof off for a while." He laughed and looked down at his arm. The color stuck inside the lines and stained your hands wildly. Your yawn brought his attentive eyes to your sleepy frame. "Tired, already?" He laughed as you could only shrug with a sheepish grin stuck on your face.

"Come here. Let's just rest for a little bit then." He pushed the markers into the grass and his arm wrapped itself around your waist as he pulled you down and into his side. You couldn't fight it as your ear was filled with the sound of his mellowing heartbeat. His fingers danced in your hair and danced along the curves of your cheekbones till he knew you were fast asleep.

He stayed awake just looking at your angelic features as the sight of his multi-colored arm shifted his focus. It was so meaningless to you but he loved it as he knew that it came from your heart and mind.

It was you-- perfect.

Taeil

"If I have to sit through one more of these stupid underboss meetings then I swear I'm going to go ballistic-" Taeil cut you off with a laugh. "I don't want caviar and fancy fish with wine! I want chicken nuggets shaped like dinosaurs with a coke!" You whined as he walked in the bedroom, one hand shoving the dress shirt underneath the hem of his dress pants.

"I know, cutie. Just a couple more meetings this week then I promise I'll take a week off and we can go and take a vacation." He pulled your hands and guided you to the bathroom where an elegant dress hung on the hooks of the door. Matching with Taeil was something you looked forward to with events like these. Yet, the event itself was throwing you off.

You got dressed and stared at yourself in the mirror. The thin red spaghetti straps danced on your shoulders as it contrasted with your dark black tattoos. The heels were uncomfortable as they carried you through the door and to the base meeting house.

You sat between Taeil and Johnny who decided to come alone and without his wife. 'lucky bitch' you thought. Taeil's hand protectively gripped the inside of your thigh. The stares of the foreign feeling underbosses littered across the room. Their aura made a shiver go down your spine as Taeil read out the news from Neo Culture's territory.

Your hand rested on top of his as your thoughts drowned out your husband's usually sweet voice. You traced the tattoos on his hand lightly with your finger. You grabbed an extra pen from Johnny's seat place and started to add onto Taeil's tattoos. The red and blue inks clashed with each other even though they laid right by one another.

Taeil gripped your wrist harshly to get you to stop but the spiteful feeling sparked in your head. You grabbed his hand with your other hand and forced it on your lap. You continued drawing and coloring the shapes and words with a vengeful attitude coursing through your veins.

A break was reached and all the underbosses were dismissed from the meeting room to the dining room where food was going to be served. Yet, once the room was cleared he grabbed your wrists once more. "What the hell are you doing?"

You automatically started to pout as you deemed that this wasn't fun anymore. "I was just trying to get your attention." You mumbled as you got up and walked out of the big wooden doors. Taeil sighed and took a deep breath. He looked down to see hearts of blue and red around your initials he had tattooed on his thumb. Tiny cartoon characters danced across his hand and he realized he was overreacting.

He got up to go after you and caught you walking slowly to the dining room. He came up behind you and slipped a hand on your lower hip. "I'm sorry, baby." Taeil sighed and kissed your cheek warmly.

You shook your head and leaned into him. "No, I shouldn't have kept going when you said to stop. I'm sorry." You confided as you both turned into the room where everyone was already seated. "Here, how about this," he whispered. "Eat a little bit of food then me and you can go out for burgers after everyone leaves." He said and the look on your face gave him the energy to get through the next hour and a half.

"Really?" You asked and he nodded. You grabbed his face and gently kissed his cheek. "Now you have my seal of approval." You laughed as you rubbed the faint mark of lipstick off of his face.

You sat down ready to shove down the nasty fish eggs and wine that was about to be served.

Johnny

Nobody understood how Johnny got you to be his wife. Everyone thought that the differences would've drowned out the connection. Yet, anybody who doubted was silenced when they spent an hour with you both. The strongness of Johnny seemed minimalized whenever you walked into the room. It was quite magical.

You and Johnny sat on the 127 squad jet, bound towards New York where you both would be staying for 3 months for protection. The family was threatened with the wives and partners coming under the harshest threats.

Johnny took you and didn't look back. You were working an 18-hour shift at the hospital and he came with no warning. Just grabbed you and left.

Jaehyun and his wife were on the way to Connecticut while Mark and his girlfriend were on their way to New York too. Johnny, Mark, and Jaehyun were to meet in New York in their respective spaces to set out a plan of action. After that, Mark would spend a month in New York, then go up to Toronto, spending his last months in Vancouver. Johnny is splitting the trip up into half in New York, the rest in Chicago. Jaehyun was taking his chances by staying in Connecticut. Yet, he said he wouldn't hesitate running West if needed.set out a plan of action. The sudden news threw you off guard.

You sat with Johnny in the back of the plane in dead silence. "I'm scared." You admitted. "Why?" He asked as he turned his phone off and threw it on the table in front of both of you.

You curled up on the couch next to him, latching onto his arm protectively. "Nothing is going to happen, sweetie." He came up to twirl your hair calmly as your heart started to race more. It was too quiet.

"Here, let's find something to do." He sighed and stood up, rummaging through the closets and storage of the plane. In a moment he returned with a pack of markers. "No paper." He frowned and sat back down with a tired sigh.

You reached forward to bring the thin cardboard box into your hands. You felt his hand rest on the small of your back as you pulled the markers out and twirled them in-between your fingers.

You looked to him to see his head leaned back and eyes shut. You grabbed his suit jacket and tugged. His head snapped up and it took him a minute to understand what you were getting at. "Oh." He sighed and shook the material off of his torso.

A simple t-shirt had been hidden underneath his blazer as you laid your eyes on his tattoos. He didn't have any hesitation as he rolled up his already short sleeves and got comfortable.

He was preoccupied with his phone as you hummed to yourself. You traced the sunflower in green and made tie-dye art on his forearms. Johnny was content with the silence and the fact he knew that you were okay and occupied.

"Wanna listen to some music, babe?" He asked as he opened his music app. "Duh." He clicked the playlist you had made for him and laughed as he watched you sing terribly into the marker. He studied your figure and facial expressions as you got caught up in coloring again. "This dragon is now going to have whiskers." You nodded but stopped quickly. "Or a mustache?" You looked at Johnny and he shrugged. "He'd look cute with some whiskers." You took the idea and plopped whiskers on the face of the dragon.

An associate who tagged along for the trip came into the back room with refreshments for the two of you. You both gladly accepted and were left alone again. "Gummy bears?" These are perfect. He threw the package at you but it went untouched as you kept drawing.

He could only laugh to himself as he opened the package for you and pulled a singular bear out. Johnny held it to your lips and was happy to you take it without much thought. You finally were happy with your artistic decisions and showed Johnny the finished piece.

"It's so nice, y/n!" He smiled and it felt like your brain was mush. You sat next to him with a content smile and a small yawn.

"Tired already?" at which you could only shrug as a response. "Then let's just watch some videos and relax." He kicked his feet up and pulled you so you were on his lap.

Johnny's phone played random videos as you latched onto him and went to sleep. He took some photos to set as his wallpaper and ultimately decided to join you in a nice nap.

(rrruuudddeee)

~~~

Yuta

"Yuta!" You called as you stepped into the large house. "I believe he's in the gazebo or his office, Miss." One of the worked associates greeted you at the front door. He grabbed the bags from your arms as you bowed politely. "Thank you so much." You were off towards the back of the house to find your husband.

"Yuta-!" You called as you rounded the corner of the house and into the back yard. The gazebo that laid just beyond the wood bridge that sat above the koi fish river-- was empty. You stopped and stared for a moment. You were sure that this is where he'd be.

"Up here, my love." A voice made you jump as you looked up to see Yuta at his office balcony. "Oh. Hi!" You waved as his eyes squinted in a smile. "How was your day out?" He asked as he brought his teacup up to his lips. "It was wonderful! I have something to show you!" You called and held up a small shopping bag in your hand. "I'll be right up!" You raced back into the house and up the stairs to where he already stood waiting for you in the doorway to his office.

"What's so amazing that you found today?" His eyebrow raised and you opened the bag quickly. "But first-" He interrupted you as he grabbed your face gently and gave you a passionate kiss. "What's this for?" You asked as he continued to stare at your face lovingly. "Just happy to see you is all." He smiled as his hands found their way into his pockets.

"Now, show me." He motioned to one of your hands that was stuck in the bag you held. You were brought back to reality and pulled the plastic package out of the bag.

"...Markers?" He asked and his tone of voice made you laugh. "Not just any markers. They're tattoo markers. They're safe for the skin." You corrected him and he rolled his eyes. "You're still on this?" Yuta asked with an amused expression. "Of course I am! This was the deal." You said shoving them into his hands so he could inspect the box.

He read the back and he had to admit...you were right.

"You said I could color your tattoos IF I found tattoo markers. Safe for the skin and everything!" He knew you did it...and that he had to hold up his part of the deal. "Okay fine." He sighed as he handed the package back. "Yay! Thank you!" You jumped and laid a gentle kiss on his cheek.

"We can do it later before dinner." He agreed and watched you skip happily down the hall.

---- "Finally! You take forever." You sighed as you moved your sunglasses up your nose. The grass tickled your bare legs as Yuta sat next to you. "I couldn't help it. Taeyong didn't want to hang up the phone." You stood on your knees and moved behind Yuta. Your hands gently rubbed his shoulders as his head fell in an exasperated manner.

"I hate to burst your bubble, Yuta. But, I called you out here for the deal. Not a massage." He whined as he flopped down on the grass, his t-shirt lifting on his back. His head rested on his folded arms as you silently cheered.

"If this stains, I will make sure to throw out all color in your life. Your life will be a dull kaleidoscope-" "Yeah, yeah, yeah. Whatever you say, you big baby." You laughed and opened your pouch full of the tattoo markers.

You lifted the back of his shirt more till the full picture was revealed. A full mural was printed on his back with black ink that curved and straightened out into different objects. A dragon with demons following was the full picture...a dark reality...that you were going to make colorful.

You sat on his lower back and got to work filling in the different parts of the dragon. Every once in awhile he would spasm and try to make you mess-up. Yet, with a tug on his hair, he would become limp and obedient again.

"I'm almost done." Was the phrase that almost made him weep with joy. "Finally." He let it slip and he felt a tug on his hair again. "Ow." He rubbed his head. He could feel you draw and move the felt-tipped weapons on his back.

"Finished." You cheered and grabbed his phone to take a picture. You showed it to him and ombre scaled decorated the dragon with the demon's faces were colored red and blue. It looked nice. He saw a couple of smiley faces hidden in there and felt like everything looked complete.

"Okay, my turn now!" He yelled and grabbed your arm. He pulled you to the ground and grabbed the black marker that was in your hand. "Yuta, no." You tried fighting him. "This wasn't apart of the deal." You thrashed but he pinned you under his body weight. "Excuse me? Sorry, I don't speak Japanese." His Korean rambled off quickly from his tongue. You decided to just deal with it as he took his time drawing a mustache on your face along with random doodles he could think of.

He finally stopped his antics and took a picture with his phone to look at afterward. "You look so cute, look!" He pulled up the picture and shoved it in your face. "I look gross man!" You ridiculed but he wrapped you up in his arms quickly,

"My gross man."

Doyoung

"I thought they were going to be here already." You whined as your head hit the wall behind you. "Oh, can you stop whining for once?" He groaned as he took off his bulletproof vest. The air seemed to be getting thinner as the seconds ticked past. He stretched his legs out so they touched the opposite wall of the tiny bank vault. The velvet flooring seemed sticky as it felt like your chest was getting heavier.

You stood up and went to the closed door. Kicking and banging seemed like the only viable option. You pounded and kicked as hard and as much as you could with no luck. Tears stained your eyes as you turned around to look for another option out of here. "It's getting smaller." You whispered and Doyoung took the opportunity. "You're right, y/n. I can feel the walls pushing in!" He yelled and started to thrash and roll around on the ground. You could swear that the walls were shrinking and coming closer together. You dropped to the floor with your hands over your head, ready to be crushed by the vault walls.

Doyoung was pissed and vengeful in the beginning but now he just felt bad. You sat there silently crying as you rocked yourself back and forth. Doyoung sat opposite of you and just stared, waiting for you to snap out of it, yet, there was no hope as he watched you bring your legs closer to your chest.

He pushed your shoulder and you backed away from him quickly. "Calm down. You're wasting our air." He deadpanned. You could only nod and wipe the tears away from your eyes.

"Wanna play tic-tac-toe?" He asked and you looked around, surprised he was asking in a moment like this. "Um-" He didn't wait for an answer and grabbed your legs-- pulling you closer to where he sat.

Doyoung reached into your vest you were wearing and pulled an assortment of permanent markers out. You wiped the rest of your tears and grabbed the orange marker out of his hand. He lifted the sleeve of his long shirt and created the grid in black ink. "Wanna go first?" He asked and you took the opportunity to land an 'X' in the grid.

He followed soon after you and in no time-- he won.

Another game and another and another till no space was left. An hour had passed and you were still stuck in the bank vault.

"Fine. You win this tournament. But, I know I'll win next time." Doyoung said laying back and closing his eyes. The sweat from his bangs dripped down the side of his face.

The bottom of his shirt lifted and you could see the familiar black ink on his side. "Stop staring at me like that, pervert. I have rights." He pulled his shirt down and you let a laugh rip through your chest.

"Chill. I was just looking at your tattoo." You said and he shrugged. "What about 'em?" He asked as his eyes closed once more. "Nothing. Just looking," you sighed, "I wanted to be a tattoo artist before all of this." You motioned around the velvet interior. One eye peeked open and he looked suspiciously at your figure. "Are you any good?"

You stood on your knees and lifted your shirt so he could see the piece you were in the middle of finishing. Dragon and koi fish laid on your ribs in red ink.

"Woah." He lifted himself closer and gently touched the healing ink. "You did this yourself?" You nodded as he inspected it for a good minute.

"Give me one!" He said and shoved the red sharpie in your hand. He didn't give you time before laying on his side in a straight line. He lifted the side of his shirt and waited patiently.

You shrugged, finding nothing else better to do. He already had black ink staining his skin so you decided to add on. It was another simple dragon but it fit his character and personality perfectly.

Time seemed to slow as he tried to take a sneak peek of the masterpiece you were currently working on. He planned to take a picture later and get it done, yet, it would have to be in secret.

All of a sudden, the door popped open and cool air filled the small compartment. "Welcome back to Earth." Chenle greeted. You capped the marker and grabbed your vest as quickly as Doyoung.

You both high-tailed it out of the bank and into the street where the van was waiting with open doors. Doyoung and you jumped and rolled onto the back-ground of the van and the door was slammed shut by Jaehyun.

"Sorry about that. Jungwoo spilled Sprite on the control panel." Jaehyun explained and a guilty-looking Jungwoo sat in the passenger seat, not making eye contact.

"Woah. You got a new tattoo?" Jaehyun lifted Doyoung's shirt up more to see the red dragon you had drawn.

"Eventually."

(tf is this?? i’m not even correlating the gif with the story...because what in the actual fuck is THIS????)

~~~~~

Jaehyun

He was a very demanding man with particular tastes. You sat by yourself in your underground shop when a swarm of men came in all at once. They lead the way for a man in a sharp business suit.

I'm about to get shut down...aren't I?

He looked at you for a moment before looking around and coming towards you. "Are you the shop owner?" His voice was smooth with undertones of threatening. "Depends on who's asking," I answered honestly, "If it's for ink work or compliments: me. If you have any problems then I'll turn you over to my manager, Lucifer." You wiped down the glass counter in front of you. His chuckle rang sliced through the thick tension.

"Lucifer." You sang and made kissy noises. A long black haired cat hopped onto the glass counter next to you, hissing at the men and laying on its back. His back stretched as his paws grew long and pointy nails only for a moment. "Oh be nice, Luci." You called and picked the cat up in your arms.

"So how can we help you today?" You smiled and the man looked at you and sighed. "This will do." He called over his shoulder and you heard a bang of your shop door. Men walked around you to your workroom and began going through your papers. "Do you have any affiliations with any gangs in the local or surrounding areas?" The man asked as you dropped the cat onto the glass.

"No." You blurted and it was met with a smile. "Well, you have caught the interest of Neo Culture-" "Oh hell no." You shook your head and came around the counter. You pointed towards the staircase that was capped with the 'exit' door. "Leave." You demanded, yet, he stood still.

"I don't think you understand how this works." His smile made you shiver. "You were picked. You can't just...refuse." He motioned to the room. "You are on Neo Culture property and territory. You will work for us in exchange for a pretty...hefty amount of cash-" "And a bullet in my head if another gang comes by?" You questioned with your arms crossed over your chest. "Well, you don't need to worry about that till they show up...do you?" His reasoning made you angry.

"I just want a simple fill-in today. And if you do well, then you'll be taken care of." He went into his coat pocket and pulled out a stack of paper. "Rent, bills, groceries, and spending money. Not to mention guaranteed protection from the most feared crime family in the Asiatic continent." He smiled as he handed over the piece of paper.

You looked at it and it was of a dragon that needed to be shaded and filled in. You knew that you needed to do this...or say bye-bye to your shop and dreams.

You sighed and looked at Lucifer who sat grooming himself.

"It's all clear, sir." One of the men popped his head out of the back curtain. The man smiled at you and stuck out his hand. "Do we have a deal?" He asked and you regretted the decision as you felt your hand reach itself out in front of you. "Deal." You sighed and you lead him back to the workroom.

He made himself comfortable as he draped his jacket across the waiting chair and unbuttoned the bottom of his shirt. He lifted his business shirt until a blank tattoo was shown on the front section of his ribs.

You got yourself ready off of what the paper described. Black and red shading with a black streak thrown across the dragon's eyes. 1-2-7 was bent across the dragon's stomach as 5 stars surrounded the head of the dragon mimicking a crown.

"Lucifer. Out." You called and the cat meow'd before walking out of the curtain. "Want to listen to music while I work?" You asked and he shook his head 'no' as he preoccupied himself on his phone.

You worked quickly and efficiently as he didn't dare look at your work.

2 hours went by and you were done. "Finished." You said standing up and disposing of the used needles. He stood up and looked into the body-length mirror on the other side of the room. "Woah." Was all you heard.

"This is good work." He said and you awkwardly smiled while coming closer to him with saniderm and healing gel. "Take off the saniderm underwater, so I suggest a shower and apply the gel gently. Change the saniderm at the same time tomorrow then after that you can wait up to 6 days after to change." You explained as you rubbed the gel on the tattoo and stuck a big square of saniderm on his torso.

"Why, thank you,-" "y/n." You cut him off and you could see him smile as you turned away.

"Nice name." He smiled, "Thanks...I guess." You shrugged. "Well, some other members will be in for some days to come. Money has already been left under your counter." He redressed as you cleaned up your station.

"I hope to see you soon, y/n." He smiled and walked off in an eerie aura. You heard your shop door open and close.

You rested your hands on your counter and let a huge sigh escape your chest. Meow.

You looked over to see Lucifer peeking his head in.

"I know. He was really weird."

(back tf up?? in the middle of a pandemic??)

~~~~~

Jungwoo

"Stop running away from me you tree!" You leaped from the couch and onto your boyfriend's back. "No! You'll never catch me!" He tried to shake you off of him, yet, you latched onto him as tight as you could.

"Damn your koala grip." He tried to swing his body around and throw you to the ground. Your hands went to cover his eyes as you began to panic. "Quit moving so fast!" You pleaded and he stopped abruptly. You scrambled off of his back and just sat with your legs outstretched on the floor.

You looked up at him with a look that could kill. "Just let me have fun." You pushed yourself off the floor and pointed a finger in his face. "You can. Just not on me." He moved your hand away from his face.

You groaned and sat on the couch in a huff. "You're no fun, Woo." You muttered and he couldn't help but smile at your pouty nature.

"Sure. Whatever you say, cutie." He said excusing himself down the hall. You heard the door to the bedroom close and you were left alone. You were going to color those damn tattoos even if it killed you. You turned on the TV and watched some shows. 40 minutes had passed and you knew that Jungwoo had to be asleep.

You snuck to the closet by the kitchen and threw the door open to find the bucket of markers. You grabbed your favorite out of the selection and were off down the hall.

The door was silent as you swung it open quickly. Jungwoo laid passed out on top of the sheets. His arms were folded underneath his head as you watched his chest rise and fall slowly...in a serene manner...but it was too calm. Chaos and fun were needed.

Tip-toeing was your best option as you swiftly made yourself over. You watched his eyes roam the inside of his eyelids as you realized he was completely knocked out.

You crawled on your space of the bed and uncapped the marker with a slight struggle. The pop made Jungwoo's eyelids squeeze and release quickly.

Your heart was filled with a mischievous attitude as you softly traced along the stars that were placed on his inner bicep. Pinks and oranges were plopped onto his skin as he laid unconscious.

A couple of cartoon characters and messages later you were bored. "Guess you are right. I really do have the mind of a goldfish." You mused quietly as you closed the marker and shoved them off the bed.

You laid across Jungwoo's torso and rolled onto him so he could wake-up. "It's like watching a toddler, I swear." He groaned as he grabbed you and didn't let go.

"I could've sworn that coloring would've kept you busy for at least an hour." He sighed and you just looked at him as if he had grown 5 heads. "I'm not stupid, y/n. Don't look at me like that." Jungwoo laughed and pinched your cheek.

He held onto your waist with one arm as he examined what you had drawn on the other. "Awe they're so cute." He mused and you looked at your work once more.

"Can I get a tattoo?" You asked and he only looked at you. "Do what you feel is right, but please...please think it through." He sighed and held onto you with both hands.

"Deal."

(ooo...fluffy looking jungwoo)

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secret-rendezvous1d · 3 years

Text

“already? do i really have that much of an effect on you?”

hello, hi!

here is the much anticipated part three to ‘you owe me’; the first part is linked here and the second part is linked here. the second scene of this story is simply all smut and nothing more than that - i tried to make it as realistic as i could so i apologise for how shocking it may read to you. i’ve not written smut in such a long, long time that i’ve lost the knack for it. i’m not the best when it comes to writing sex scenes and all that so i did try my best.

like, reblog and send in some feedback, please. it’s greatly appreciated and it helps me work out what you want to see and what you are after. if you want something specific then do let me know! i’d love to try and write something for you.

thank you. enjoy.

“already? do i really have that much of an effect on you?” spencer reid x female reader (reader insert imagine) word count; 3.4k

summary; after days of being teased by spencer, yn can’t control her feelings as soon as they arrive home and she doesn’t care where spencer suffices those feeling.

The plane ride home had been like any other journey home after a case had come to a conclusion.

Everyone scattered themselves amongst the confined space of the jet, with their own belongings to occupy them as they busied themselves for the ride home, doing anything to pass the time quicker. The coffee-maker was turned on upon their arrival and brewing a fresh batch of decaf coffee for them to sip at and to give them a little energy after been run ragged over the last couple of days, the fridge had been stocked with water for those who didn’t quite fancy a hot beverage and peanuts and other sorts of nuts had been left, in packets, for them to snack on throughout the duration. The blinds were ready to be pulled down but it hadn’t mattered because it was close to midnight and there was no outside light that would have caused them problems when trying to nap.

Hotch had taken his seat diagonal to Morgan in the collection of four seats, a small coffee mug in his hand as he sipped slowly at the liquid that burned his throat and made him feel a little more relaxed in his seat, his mind trying to not worry over filing the reports that would come in tomorrow morning when everyone had gotten some well-deserved rest. He was worn out from work and tired from working the longest days he’d worked and all he wanted was nothing more than to be at home with Jack, having a chat with mummy and tucking him in bed and reading him his bedtime story, before he conked out for the night and woke up feeling refreshed the next morning, ready for whatever was going to hit them in the next briefing. And Morgan, well Morgan did what he did any other time they were flying home; he was occupied with the headphones over his head, which played music that helped him divulge into his own world after a stressful day, knowing that he would be home and in his own bed before he knew it and not cramped up under a table and in to a seat that restricted his movements. The flight always bored him on the way home because, what could they talk about when they were exhausted from everything they had dealt with and had no reason to throw ideas around?

JJ slept in one of the singular chairs, curled up under the thin material of her FBI jacket because the plane felt a little cooler than normal and no one actually knew why, the other singular chair occupied by Emily who had found herself drifting in and out of sleep because of the turbulence that kept jolting her from the slim chance of catching some shuteye. A dream starting behind her closed eyes and being ripped away from her when the plane bobbed in the air under the cruel winds that were in the flight-path back to Virginia. Rossi was nose-deep in the book he had brought along to do research with, his laptop open on the table with a brand-new document opened up and a pair of hands that typed and typed and typed out the newest story he was close to sharing with the world upon his new book’s release. Eyes barely leaving the screen before him, the silencing rumble of the jet engines giving him the space to work with no distractions and no interruptions because everyone could barely string a sentence together and hope to hold a conversation, and every time he glanced around for a screen-break, he saw no open eyes watching him or staring into space.

Occupying the sofa had been Spencer and YN which, at the beginning of the flight, had caused some joking taunts and jeers because the team had finally gotten wind of what had happened before they were called in for the case and had an inkling in their guts that the moment, that had been so crudely interrupted, was bound to continue whenever they had the chance to start it back up again. But it wasn’t long before the taunts came to a halt and everyone drifted into their own worlds, leaving YN and Spencer to cosy up together, arms wrapped around one another, to nap - because YN had to drive home once they landed and Spencer really didn’t want her driving on no sleep because he knew of the possibilities.

And napping is all they did until they landed back in Quantico.

They said their goodbyes on the plane, whilst gathering their things and stretching the pained kinks in their backs and shoulders and necks, which was a strange thing because they all walked back into the unit together and stepped foot in the bullpen together and left things on their desks at the same time. A second set of goodbyes being shared, this time with hugs and handshakes and subtle nods being exchanged between the group of them, before they took their chance to escape.

Home was calling for them and they certainly weren’t going to ignore that.

“Are you hungry? I haven’t eaten since this morning and I could do with grabbing something to eat. Shall we grab something on the way back?” Spencer wondered, the elevator doors closing and shutting out the waving hands coming from Emily and JJ from the distance, shrugging their coats on being the last thing YN had seen before her view was restricted. Taking them down to the ground floor where they were expected to check-out of their duties only to re-sign back in during the following morning, his fingers laced with YN’s as they stood in close proximity in the largely-spaced elevator, “we could grab a burger from the burger van opposite? I know it’s not much and it should still be open but-”

“We have food at home, Spence,” YN assured him, squeezing his hand as the elevator came to a stop on the final floor and opened, revealing the ground floor that was empty of people. The tiled floors shining under the bright lights hanging from suspensions above, almost glaring and much brighter as it contrasted against the dark skies outside, squeaking footprints echoing around the large room as they exited the elevator and let the doors close behind them. For two in the morning, YN would have been surprised if anyone was still working into the early hours. “I just fancy a grilled cheese sandwich and a cup of tea, to be honest.”

“A grilled cheese sandwich?” Spencer gawked in surprise, coming to a halt and stopping her alongside him, eyebrows furrowed on his browline, “since when have you ever eaten a grilled cheese sandwich? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you make one, let alone suggest making one.”

“There are a lot of things you don’t know about me, Spencer Reid,” she grinned up at him and giggled when he looked a little surprised at her, his feet carrying on towards the exit and enticing her to follow (well, more like dragged along to start their way back to the doors again),, “I sometimes have one before I come to work, for breakfast. Don’t look so surprised, for goodness sake. They fill me up till lunchtime because we never know when lunch will be.”

“You don’t strike me as a greasy grilled cheese sandwich kind of girl,” he admitted, pushing the door open with his palm and letting her exit the building before him, hands still laced together as the cold air hit at their exposed skin. Her car was parked in a car-park opposite, just a short walk from where they had left the revolving doors of the bureau, in a space that had her name written all over it that kept it empty for her, in case of emergencies. “You’re more of a pancakes and syrup girl with strawberries and blueberries. All sweet and sugar, all things nice and delicious.”

“Oh, Spencer,” she tutted playfully, “I thought it was obvious that there’s a bit more to me than just sweet.”

She winked as she clambered into the car, seating herself comfortably in the driver's seat and swinging her go-bag into the footwell of the passenger side, starting the ignition to get the heating going as soon as possible so they could have a warm fifteen minute drive back to their apartment. She shrugged out of her coat and folded it in half, chucking it upon the back seats with her handbag following in suit, joining an opened and half-drunk water bottle that sat had been leaning upon the seat behind her for days. Spencer slipped his seatbelt on, clipping it in the clip beside his hip, setting his leather bag beside her go-bag (which had a couple of his folded shirts and a waistcoat in that she promised she would keep in good condition), feet squished up but he could deal with that until they got home.

“Let’s go,” she hummed, slipping the car into gear and pulling off in the direction their apartment was located, “I’m feeling rather hungry.”

“I thought you were hungry?” Spencer questioned in a state of disorientation, “we’re both hungry, baby. Come on.”

Her sudden actions of pushing him against the front door as soon as he had closed it behind him, of dropping their bags in haste so she could drag her hands down his clothed chest, of her lips barely leaving the skin of his neck had him taken aback. Really shocking, really out of the blue, yet he had no reason to push her away or move into the room like she hadn’t just playfully attacked him - he knew what she wanted, it was impossible not to know what she wanted, but this wasn’t exactly how he had planned on giving it to her.

“I mean, I am hungry but never said I was hungry for food, per se,” she admitted slowly, “I’m a little hungry for something else right now Spence and I’m hoping you can suffice that feeling. I know you can.”

“Is that so?”

She nodded and he allowed her face back into the crook of his neck, feeling her warm breath flush over the base of his neck, the bump of his Adam's apple twitched in his throat as he swallowed hard and let his eyes close in pleasure and pure satisfaction. It was nice for her to take charge every once in a while, showing him just what she wanted from him instead of him having to work out where she wanted him the most, and he was going to take full appreciation of the moment and she nibbled and bit and tugged at the skin of his neck.

“Yeah,” she puffed, a little out of breath as she littered kisses across the highest stretch of his chest, just below where his neck began and worked her way up the rest of the expanse neck on the side she had yet covered in bite marks and saliva, “I don’t care where, just- fill this hunger.”

“Already? Do I really have that much of an effect on you?” He wondered, asking with a hint of humour in his voice. His hands, that had been resting upon her hips, cupped her head and he let his palms mould into the curves of her skull, enough of a touch to bring her face to a place where he could look her deep in the eyes. “We’ve only just stepped foot through the door after working non-stop for the last few days and this is what you want to do at half two in the morning? Right here, right now?”

“You have no idea,” she whispered, arms snacking around his waist and pulling herself closer to him, chest to chest and their knee-caps pretty much touching, his crotch just a mere few centimetres from brushing against hers - and, if she moved forward just those mere few centimetres, she would have felt the effect she had on him. “I can’t wait any longer, Spence. Please?”

Almost having her beg for him, begging for his pleasure in the only way he knew how, was enough for him to buckle under her pressure and give in to her needs.

His hands came down to her jaw, the heels of his palms sitting underneath her chin, and she looked helpless in his eyes. She looked so helpless and vulnerable, her eyes wide and her lips in a squished smile between his hands, her tongue coming out to swipe at the bottom lip that had jutted out more prominently. Silently pleading for his silent confirmation that she could undo the belt from around his middle and let his trousers fall to the floor with the shake of his hips - she didn’t care that his trainers were left on, she didn’t care that his mismatched socks (that drove her crazy because there was never the same pair matched up once they’d left the dryer) were on show, she didn’t care that they were surrounded by a mess of their belongings - before she could pull his boxers down and release the cock that was begging for a release. Her fingertips teasingly dragged up and down his arms, shoulder to elbow from elbow to shoulder, her eyes full of inquisitivity.

He flicked her fringe out of his eyes and let the brief look down to the floor be all she needed to let her fingers work at undoing his belt. The clinking of metal colliding filled the room under the rhythm of her quick hands, his belt hanging loose so she could undo the button and the zip of his trousers, no need for a shake of his hips because the corduroy material slipped down his legs without any need of an aid. Her eyes darting down to the black boxers tight to his hips, a bulge so mind blowingly prominent that she couldn’t stop her hands from tucking under the elastic.

“Undress me,” she mumbled, her focus still on removing the boxer shorts from his legs, fingers curling around the elastic hem and giving them a tug down his thighs. His fingers awkwardly worked at undoing the buttons of her peach blouse, the ultimate urge to rip the material in two and have the plastic buttons flinging off in all directions with a promise spewing from his mouth that he would buy her a new blouse as a replacement was almost too tough to ignore, nimbly working away to reveal the peach-coloured bra beneath the material. Her breasts looked so perfect and blossomed in eyes. “You question your effect but you have no idea the effect you have on me.”

An arm snaked around her waist and up the expanse of her back, a thumb and a forefinger unhooking the bra (which was a skill he liked to be proud of - yeah, he may have been considered a nerd in high-school but he was a nerd that could do something better than those peers who showed authority to him with bullying), whilst his other arm stayed bent between their bodies with a finger and a thumb unbuttoning the button of her black work trousers. Her hips wiggling a little more vigorously than she necessarily needed to express but he wasn’t complaining; any chance to see both her bum and her boobs jiggle like jelly and he would take it.

“Fuck the foreplay,” she grappled for the back of his neck, bringing his lips to hers and connecting their mouths into a smacker that had them breathing in and out through their noses and had them doing everything with their eyes shut because they didn’t need to see each other to know their way around each other. His thumbs hooked into the lace of her knickers, slipping the soft material down her legs, leaving her half dressed on top and bare from the waist down, “show me how much you love me, Spencer.”

His arms wrapped around her waist, tapping her naked hip with the tips of his fingers, as a wordless indication for her to jump up and wrap her legs around his middle. Her arms bracing her weight and hoisting herself up, their lips barely detaching from each other as they worked hard on who could kiss the other more passionately, tongues in a battle as they let out gentle moans into each other’s mouths.

If she wanted to be shown then she was going to be shown.

She wrapped her fist around the girth of his cock and gave his length a couple of quick pumps, one after the other after the other after the other, until his hips were jerking forward and looking for more, pre-cum dribbling down her hand and sticking with a sticky sheen to her wrist. She could feel it and it only made her cravings for him deepen more than ever. Her legs wrapped tighter around his waist as she let his darkened tip, leaking and erect enough to do anything hands-free, slip between her folds and he filled her up so beautifully, so deliciously and he knew all the right spots inside her that had her squirming. With a swing of his body, he turned them around, her back colliding with the oak door with such a force that the wind had pumped out of her in the sound of a moan.

“You owe me, remember?”

Her whine that entered his ear had him melting under her touch, his mouth open with contentment and dragging down the stretch of her neck that linked with her collarbone, his hips working twice as fast as he gave thrust after thrust after thrust deep inside her.

The apartment was filled with moans and groans and lowly spoken profanities that masked the pleasure they felt in such an act of intimacy, pants and grunts occasionally flushing across her skin as he suckled at the skin beneath her neck and left another hickey behind. One that looked brighter than the others, which had bruised up over the last few days and were slowly disappearing, and the thought of covering it up with make-up and scarves for the rest of the week would have driven her insane if she wasn’t so invested in his cock thrusting deeply into her, having her toes curling each and every time he deepened the push of his hips. How could she think of anything else when he was so perfect, doing such a perfect job, with a perfect cock that was giving her such perfect pleasure?

He had dragged the teasing out for days; the kissing in the hotel room that gave her the impression he was enticing something to happen, the slip of his fingertips that ducked under the waistband of her knickers that had her thinking he was finally giving in, the smack on her bum when he walked passed her that only added fuel to the fire burning in the pit of her stomach. She was thankful that the anticipated round of sex had finally come, so she could finally come, and feel relieved that the period of teasing and whatever the female version of ‘blue-balls’ was finally over. And she was surprised that they had lasted as long as they had.

Her heels duck into the dip of his back, legs shaking around his waist as he brought her to orgasm, the illicit actions turning sloppy and slow and she could feel the jet-like spurts escape the tip of his cock and fill her up, each thrust now sounding wet as he groaned in her ear and lost the rhythm he had been following to greatly.

“How was that?” He hummed, a sheen of sweat covering his forehead, proof that he had done his best and he hoped she felt fulfilled and satisfied enough. His fringe stuck to his skin, curls standing in all directions and it would have definitely been considered ‘sex-hair’, but he looked cute post-sex and she wouldn’t have it any other way. She nodded, resting her chin on his shoulder, tilting her head so it came into the most gentlest of contact with his. “Yeah, I agree.”

They stayed there, standing against the door, for a little while longer. Her legs still tight around his waist like she was scared to lose him as soon as she let go, his cock still situated deep inside her and he could barely come down from the feeling of being erect because she felt so good around his girth; she took him so well, homed him so warmly and perfectly, and he just couldn’t bring himself to leaving that delectable wetness that swallowed him. She didn’t want to leave the comfort of his arms and he wasn’t ready to leave the warmth of her, not by any chance.

“I’m hungry now though,” she broke the silence and giggled, “reckon we could make grilled cheese sandwiches and eat them in bed?”

“You’re lucky Hotch doesn’t want us in early tomorrow,” he craned his neck back and looked at her, giving her nude bum a pat with his palms, her forehead coming to rest against his with a look in her eyes that only came post-sex and he found so gorgeously cute, “come on then. Grilled cheese and a cup of tea it is.”

#spencer reid #spencer reid imagines #spencer reid x reader insert imagines #spencer reid x reader insert fics #spencer reid x yn imagines #spencer reid x yn fics #spencer reid smut #spencer reid smut imagines #matthew gray gubler #matthew gray gubler imagines #matthew gray gubler fics #matthew gray gubler x reader insert imagines #matthew gray gubler x reader insert fics #matthew gray gubler smut #matthew gray gubler smut imagines

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iclaimedtobethebetterbard · 3 years

Text

of falling & skateboards

Fandom: Sanders Sides Characters: Logan, Virgil, background Remus & Janus Rating: Teen & up Relationships: Pre-romantic/platonic Analogical (first meeting), romantic Dukeceit (getting together), platonic Dukexiety. Warnings: Language, Remus is somewhat suggestive throughout because he’s Remus, minor injuries Word count: 4541

Read on AO3!

My writing masterpost

Starlight Universe masterpost

analogical week 2021 start - previous - here - next - masterpost

Summary: Virgil's friend Remus drags him to the skate park and promptly abandons him in order to flirt with Janus; at least Remus had the grace to introduce Virgil to Janus's attractive friend Logan, who is just as poorly versed in skateboarding techniques as Virgil.

Notes: Day 5 of Analogical Week 2021! @analogicalweek Remus uses he/they pronouns; at this point, Janus uses they/them. Takes place in my Starlight Universe, does not need context to read.

Virgil’s phone began ringing, making him jump. He fished it out of his pocket, planning to hang up until he saw the caller ID. It was Remus—one of his new friends. They’d met at a club Virgil had gone to during orientation, and they’d hit it off and started hanging out.

Virgil picked up the call. “Would it kill you to fucking text me first?”

“You don’t respond fast enough,” Remus said, sounding bored.

“Sometimes I’m in class, Remus!”

“Are you in class now?” Remus asked.

“...No.”

“So it’s all good, see!” Remus cackled. “Anyway,” they went on, steamrollering over Virgil’s objection, “you wanna come to the skatepark with me this weekend?”

That was totally out of the blue. “What?” Virgil asked after a pause. “Why?”

“So, my brother has this roommate, and he’s super nerdy and boring but I think you’d totally get along and he’s coming to the skatepark with me and you should totally come along and meet him!” Remus explained.

His voice was a little too self-satisfied. “What’s the catch?” Virgil asked suspiciously.

Remus gasped dramatically. “Can’t I just want good things for my friend?”

Virgil waited.

“Also he’s friends with Janus and he’s bringing them, which is obviously totally unrelated,” Remus added.

“Aha.” That made more sense; Remus had told Virgil way more information than he wanted to know about their crush on this Janus figure.

“So you’ll come?” Remus asked eagerly.

It wasn’t like Virgil had anything else going on this weekend. “Sure. I’ll come distract your friend so you can flirt.”

“Hey!” Remus yelped, loud enough that Virgil winced and held the phone away from his ear. “Listen, this is a win-win situation for both of us! You’ll love him. Promise. He’s so fucking boring and nerdy, you’re going to talk each other’s ears off. It’ll be great! Trust me!”

“Sure,” Virgil said, amused. “Text me the time and place. Text me,” he repeated for emphasis, and hung up the phone.

On Saturday morning, he met up with Remus and the pair of them walked to the bus stop. Remus had their skateboard with them; Virgil didn’t own one, but Remus had assured him that he could check one out at the park for a small fee if he wanted to.

“You did not say it was fancy,” Virgil accused as the bus pulled away from the stop.

“What?” Remus looked down at himself. “Oh. No, I’m just sexy, nobody’s supposed to be fancy.” He was wearing a gray sports bra—it was the first time Virgil had seen him without a binder on, but even in a public setting he seemed totally unbothered—and faded jeans with huge holes in the knees, as well as platform doc martens and an olive green bomber jacket with “HE/THEY” stencilled on the back in white paint above a pair of skeletal hands giving double birds. His belly button was pierced and he was wearing a chunky black piece with small silver spikes in it; they had fishnet gloves on their hands, a black choker with small studded spikes on it around their neck, chunky black and silver studs in the three piercings he had in each ear, and messily smudged black and silver eyeshadow. His dark green curls were pushed back into a tiny, low ponytail that did absolutely nothing to contain them or make them less messy. “Pretty sure this isn’t what normal people mean when they say fancy, anyway,” they added thoughtfully.

“Shut up, this is fancy. You’re being fancy to impress your crush.” Virgil elbowed them in the side. He was only wearing his typical combination of band tee, skinny jeans, and black hoodie; he felt positively underdressed next to them.

“Yes, I am very very sexy and this is my mating call,” Remus said with an easy shrug. “What can I say?” After a pause, they added, “Do you think it’ll work?”

Virgil snickered. “Sure. Whatever. You look very punk. I’m sure they’ll be very impressed.”

“Good,” Remus said happily. “Here, this is our stop.”

One thing Virgil had learned about Remus was that they had what seemed to be actually boundless energy, and it showed in the way they walked. They practically skipped, moving at a pace so quick Virgil had difficulty keeping up. But Remus was especially energetic today, and it got worse the closer they got to their destination. He was practically vibrating out of his skin by the time the park came in sight.

“There they are!” he exclaimed, pointing to two people standing in the shade of a tree and making conversation. “Jan is the gothy one, the nerd’s all yours.”

Virgil screeched to a dead stop and grabbed Remus’s elbow. “Dude.”

“What?” Remus looked at him with raised eyebrows.

“You didn’t say he was hot!” Virgil snapped.

“What?” Remus looked bewildered, looking back to the people he’d pointed out. His expression cleared. “Oh, right, I forgot you can be attracted to cis people.” He looked back at Virgil. “I dunno. Make out with him about it?”

“Jesus Christ—no! I don’t know anything about him, for starters?”

“Fuck first, ask questions later.” Remus grinned. “Or if you don’t want to, then just get over it. People are hot sometimes. No big deal.”

Virgil spluttered for a moment. “That is such terrible advice, please tell me you don’t actually—”

“No, no, I’m marginally smart sometimes, don’t worry about me. But I don’t know what you want from me, dude.” Remus shrugged. “This really seems like a you problem.”

“I need to mentally prepare myself before I talk to hot people! A warning would have been nice!” Virgil said, hiding in the hood of his hoodie.

“Mentally prepare yourself now, then,” Remus said pragmatically. “This is really not my fault, I simply am sexier than you at all times and it gives me the power to say no thank you to being attracted to cis people. How was I supposed to know you’d think he was hot? Like, if you get all hot and bothered by glasses and the walking personification of a college textbook, be my guest, but I don’t get it.”

Virgil groaned. “Actually, I’ve changed my mind, could you shut up about it forever starting now?”

“Oh, absolutely not, but your complaint is noted,” Remus said. “C’mon, let’s go say hi, some of us actually want to flirt with the people we think are hot.” They grabbed Virgil’s elbow and dragged him over.

“Remus,” Hot Glasses Boy said cordially (and dammit, he was tall, which was another thing Virgil found attractive). “This is your friend, I assume?”

“Yeah!” Remus grinned. “Logan, Virgil, Virgil, Logan. Apparently you’re hot. He’s emo. You’re both nerds, you should get along great.”

“Remus!” Virgil snapped, cheeks going hot with embarrassment.

“What? What?” Remus demanded, then elbowed past Virgil. “Hiiiii, Janus.”

Janus raised a singular eyebrow, looking for some reason amused rather than annoyed. “Hello there.” They eyed him up and down. “I like your jacket,” they added, very obviously staring at his chest in a way that Virgil suspected has nothing to do with the jacket.

Remus grinned and did a little twirl. “Thanks, I decorated it myself,” he said, wiggling his shoulders. “Wanna see me do a sick kickflip?”

“Sure,” Janus agreed, and allowed Remus to link his arm through theirs and drag them eagerly away in the direction of the skating area, already talking a mile a minute and beaming up at them.

Which left Virgil alone with this Logan guy and no idea what to talk about. He coughed, shuffling his feet awkwardly. Now that he was up close like this, Logan actually looked familiar, but Virgil couldn’t quite place him. Shit. Should he know him from something?

“Don’t we have History 104 together?” Logan said, breaking the silence (and saving Virgil from the approximately two dozen different social gaffes he knew he was probably committing by not knowing what to say) all at once.

Virgil breathed out a sigh of relief, because yeah, that was it; this was the guy who sat at the front of the huge lecture hall and always raised his hand (and his voice was unmistakable too, now that he’d spoken; Virgil would have placed him in another minute). “Oh, yeah,” he said. He had no clue how the guy recognized Virgil; it was a big class, and Virgil usually sat by the back. Maybe he noticed Virgil on his way in? Virgil guessed he sat kind of close to the door. It was possible.

“What do you think of the class?” Logan asked, and for some reason he sounded genuinely curious, not like he was just making small talk for the sake of it.

Virgil had absolutely skipped two class sessions and napped through another, but he found himself not wanting to admit it. “It’s alright, I guess. The professor’s kind of dry for me, but the readings are okay.” That was more or less true, although it was maybe the most positive spin on his opinion.

Logan nodded, adjusting his glasses and absorbing Virgil’s words like they were actually important information. “He is a bit long-winded sometimes. I wish he would be clearer about which things he intends to test us on.”

Virgil nodded vigorously. “Right? Like, what’s up with that? Why is he spending twenty minutes out of the hour telling us about, I don’t know farming practices, or whatever, if he’s just going to say ‘oh, but that stuff won’t be on the test, I just think it’s interesting’ at the end?”

“Well, it is interesting,” Logan said. (Virgil disagreed, but held his tongue.) “But I do wish he’d be clearer about what he intends for us to be taking away from his lectures ahead of time.”

Virgil nodded again, and there was a brief silence while he scrambled for something to say.

He glanced over Logan’s shoulder at the skating area; Janus was sitting on the edge with their legs dangling into the area, watching Remus, who was skateboarding back and forth at a speed that couldn’t be safe.

“So,” Virgil said, looking back to Logan because he was pretty sure he’d scream if he watched Remus tempt fate any longer, “you’re friends with Remus?”

Logan made a gesture that wasn’t quite a shrug. “I suppose so. He’s my roommate Roman’s twin, and the two of them spend a lot of time together, so I think I am friends with him by association. I’m much closer with Roman. Not that I don’t enjoy Remus’s company. I simply don’t know them as well yet.”

“Right, right,” Virgil said.

“How are you acquainted with them?” Logan asked.

“Oh, we met at a club during orientation,” Virgil said. “We hang out a lot. He’s pretty chill most of the time.” Well. “Chill” wasn’t really the right word to describe anything Remus did, ever. But it did describe Virgil’s feelings towards him.

“Ah, I see.” Logan nodded. “Do you know Janus at all?”

“Not really—I mean, Remus talks about them a ton, but we haven’t really met or anything,” Virgil said. “You do, though, right?”

“Yes, we were in the same group at orientation, and now we’re friends,” Logan said. “They and I like to deconstruct TV scripts together.”

That sounded incredibly nerdy, and Virgil wasn’t even sure what it meant. “Wow,” he said, not sure how else to react. “Fun?”

Logan smiled, and fuck, Virgil had managed to forget he was cute for a minute there, but it was back in full force now. “It’s lots of fun,” he agreed.

They made some more small talk—majors, hometowns, and so on. Logan actually paid attention to every word Virgil said, and he was surprisingly easy to open up to. He didn’t seem judgemental, instead accepting every word Virgil spoke as important. Virgil was actually starting to feel comfortable talking to him, which was… cool. Remus’s assessment of the way they’d get along evidently hadn’t been too off.

After a while, Logan looked over his shoulder at Remus and Janus; Remus had coaxed Janus onto the skateboard, and was pushing them back and forth, his hands clasped carefully around their waist and a huge grin spread across his face.

“Are you planning to try that?” Logan asked Virgil, gesturing at the little building off to the side that was renting out skateboards and safety gear.

Virgil hesitated. “I don’t know… are you?” he asked.

Logan made a considering face. “I might. I’ve never been on a skateboard before.”

“Wait, really?” Virgil asked. He hadn’t in a long time, but he’d been obsessed when he was twelve. He didn’t think that he’d been very good, but it hadn’t been for a lack of trying.

Logan shook his head. “No, never.”

“Well, we’ve got to change that,” Virgil found himself saying in spite of all the common sense that screams at him to not do something with such a high likelihood of making him look like a fool in front of a cute boy who was also turning out to be surprisingly easy to talk to, and thus a potential friend, which was honestly way more valuable than cuteness.

Logan looked pleased, though, like he’d been hoping Virgil would agree, so Virgil couldn’t find it in himself to regret the decision. “Together, then?” he inquired.

“Sure,” Virgil agreed, and they made their way into the building.

They rented a pair of skateboards and two sets of safety gear for the minimum time—thirty minutes, at $15 apiece, which was definitely higher than Remus had implied but Virgil did luckily have the cash to spare—and made their way out to the skating area.

Remus was now skating in tight, fast circles around Janus, who was holding perfectly still and calm at the lowest point of one of the curves built into the area. Virgil was pretty sure they weren’t supposed to be in the area without a skateboard of their own, but he also wasn’t about to tell them off and bring down the wrath of Remus upon himself. The two seemed engrossed in conversation, anway.

Logan led Virgil to a completely different space from that which Remus and Janus were taking up. Virgil was grateful; he didn’t feel like being made fun of, no matter how good-naturedly, by Remus at this time, and while Janus was likely interesting enough to keep Remus from following them over here, they would never have passed up the opportunity if Logan and Virgil had stayed anywhere nearby.

Logan stared at the skateboard he’d set down before himself on a flat space, looking vaguely perplexed. “You just climb on, right?” he inquired.

“Yeah,” Virgil said. “You can, like, kick off with your foot to move, and stuff. Kind of like riding a bike.” He instantly regretted the comparison, and tacked on a hasty, “Only, not that much.”

Logan made a small “huh” noise. “Interesting.” He cautiously put a foot on the skateboard and tested his weight on it. “Oh, I do not like that.”

Virgil chuckled a little, tugging at the strap of his helmet to make sure it was securely fastened. “Yeah, it’s a pretty weird feeling, huh?”

“The ground should be stable,” Logan said emphatically, staring at the skateboard that he was still barely resting one foot on with an expression on his face like it had personally wronged him.

Virgil snickered. “Can’t say I disagree with you there, buddy. But seriously, it’s not too bad once you get used to it.” He hopped onto his own skateboard as if to prove his point, but he hadn’t realized he’d set it up on the barest incline, and as soon as his second foot left the ground it rolled right out from under him.

“Are you okay?” Logan gasped, reaching to offer him a hand up.

Virgil half laughed, because that was the best option just at this moment, trying his best to ignore the wish to go hide in a hole in the ground until everyone left and then never talk to Logan ever again. “I guess I deserved that,” he said, trying to shrug it off. “Got too cocky.”

“You still shouldn’t get hurt! Are you okay?” Logan insisted, hands fluttering vaguely like he was resisting an instinct to check Virgil for injuries.

Virgil’s tailbone was a little sore, which he was absolutely not going to admit to Logan under any circumstances when he’d only known the guy for half an hour, but aside from that—“I’m fine,” he insisted, brushing himself off. “Uh, thanks for the concern, though. I appreciate it,” he added awkwardly.

“Are you sure? You—” Logan began.

There was a loud cry of “FUCK!” from just out of sight that was undeniably Remus’s voice, followed by a crashing noise.

“Oh, fuck indeed,” Virgil said under his breath, and scooped up his skateboard. “Come on.”

Remus was rolling over as Virgil and Logan came into view of him; Janus was already kneeling by his side, worry plain to see on their face.

“It was a very cool fall, don’t worry,” Remus yelled over at Virgil, pushing themself up on their elbows. “Ow, fuck.”

“That is not the part I’m worried about, idiot!” Virgil called back as Remus gingerly poked at his knees, which were both scraped and bleeding.

“No no, I’m fine, leave me alone, Virge,” Remus insisted hastily, making some complicated hand waving motions and glancing meaningfully at Janus.

Janus looked very put out by this. “No, you know what, I’m inclined to let him scold you! Why would you not wear knee pads?” they demanded, grabbing Remus’s elbow, helping them to their feet, and guiding them to the side of the rink with motions far gentler than their words.

Virgil paused, watching to see if Janus needed help, but now that it seemed they had it under control much more inclined to give into Remus’s wishes and let them handle it.

“Because anarchy,” Remus said, grinning up at Janus and leaning all his weight on them, legs shaking slightly.

Janus pushed him to sit on a bench with a fury that still managed to be gentle. “First of all, that is not what anarchy is, and second of all, even if it were, that’s still an objectively stupid decision to—”

“Oh, no, what a terrible mistake I’ve made,” Remus said with a shit-eating grin that told Virgil he knew the definition of anarchy perfectly well. “If only there were a smart, sexy nonbinary person around who knew all about anarchy, who could tell me what it really is while they tenderly bandage my wounds!” They cast themself back on the bench dramatically, draping the back of their hand across their forehead.

Janus flushed slightly. “You could have just asked,” they said, and though their voice still had an annoyed bite it was softer now. “You didn’t have to get hurt before I gave you more attention.” They sank to their knees on the ground in front of him, examining the scrapes on his knees.

Remus sat back up, reached out, and cupped Janus’s cheek in his hand, leaning far into their personal space. “Trust me, babe,” he said, and then something too low for Virgil to catch that made Janus flush a brilliant shade of red.

Remus grinned and sat back, his fingers slowly dragging against Janus’s skin as he removed his hand from their face. “I have a first aid kit somewhere in here,” he said in a more normal tone, digging in his pockets and procuring a small white plastic box. He hesitated, eyes flicking to Janus. “If you don’t want—”

Janus rolled their eyes and shook their head. “Give me that.” They grabbed the kit and flipped it open, pinning down Remus’s legs with their elbows. “Don’t move.”

Remus only rested his cheek on his fist, gazing down at Janus with a look on his face far softer and fonder than Virgil thought they’d ever admit to, should he call them out on it.

“So,” Logan said in a low voice to Virgil, “please help me out here. Are they dating? I can’t tell.”

“I’m so glad I’m not the only one who’s unclear on that,” Virgil responded in a similar tone, going to go pick up Remus’s abandoned skateboard. “I—I don’t think so? From the way Remus talked about this beforehand, I would have been sure not. But then they—” He gestured vaguely at Remus and Janus.

“Exactly!” Logan agreed. “I wasn’t even sure if Janus liked them back before we got here, from how they talked about him.”

Virgil snorted, watching Janus gently sponging Remus’s knees clean with a shockingly tender expression on their face, which up until now had been haughty. “That must have been a trip.”

“You have no idea.” Logan shook his head. “Alright. I will continue to allow it to be a frustrating mystery, since you don’t seem to have the answer either. Do you wish to attempt skateboarding again before we have to return these?”

Virgil glanced at his watch; there were only seven minutes left. “I dunno. It feels like Remus getting hurt kind of killed the mood for it a little, you know?”

“I can understand that,” Logan agreed.

They checked their skateboards and safety gear back in (Virgil deposited Remus’s skateboard next to the bench he was on as they went), and then made their way back outside. The sun was starting to reach just the sort of angle in the sky where it was annoying no matter which direction you were facing, so Logan and Virgil retreated to the shade of one of the nearby trees.

“Did you know,” Logan began, examining a fallen leaf on the ground, “that you can actually eat magnolia blooms?”

“Wait, oh my god, yeah!” Virgil sat up. “I haven’t done it before, but I really like making preserves.” It was a good activity for days when his anxiety just wouldn’t go away no matter what he did, because it took a long time and a lot of hands-on work that always helped to take himself out of his thoughts for a while.

Logan lit up, adjusting his glasses and peering at Virgil with keen interest in his dark brown eyes. “Really? That’s fascinating! Tell me more!”

That was honestly all it took to get Virgil to start explaining his hobby, and if he’d thought Logan had been paying attention to him when he talked before, that was nothing compared to this eager interest to learn that Logan was now displaying. He asked just the right questions to egg Virgil on and on, and occasionally interjected facts of his own, some of which Virgil knew and some of which he didn’t. It sounded like Logan didn’t have much actual experience with preserving food, but a decent framework of theoretical knowledge.

“I wish I could see what that looks like in practice,” Logan said at one point, as Virgil explained the way fruit jellying worked.

“I mean, I bet there’s videos on YouTube,” Virgil said thoughtfully.

“Yes, but it’s not the same, you know?”

Virgil turned this over. “Tell you what. Jellying is a lot of work, and I don’t think we could really do it in a dorm kitchen, but here. Give me your number. I’m down to show you some kind of preserving method. I’m sure we can figure out a way to make it work with what we’ve got.” He dug his phone out and opened it to a new contact page.

Logan’s eyes widened. “Really?”

“For sure, dude.” Virgil handed him the phone and watched as he punched his number in. “It’s been a while since I did any kitchen work anyway, I could use the destressor.”

“I would love that, thank you!” Logan said with an enthusiasm that was absolutely catching.

Virgil chuckled. “No problem.” As he reaccepted the phone from Logan, he noticed the time at the top of the screen. “Oh, shit, it’s nearly three. Do you have anywhere to be?”

Logan blinked. “Really? It doesn’t feel like it’s been long at all.”

“I know, right?” Virgil agreed with a small laugh. Talking to Logan was surprisingly enjoyable, given how rare it was for Virgil to really like the company of new people.

“I do have a paper due tonight that I haven’t started yet,” Logan said thoughtfully.

“Dude, what? Oh my god.” Virgil felt the onset of deadline panic setting in, even though it wasn’t even his own deadline. “What do you mean, you haven’t started?”

“Oh, it’s fine.” Logan waved his concern away. “It’s only three pages, I can do it no problem by then.”

“But, like, research? Drafts?”

“No, I already know it all. I can find sources to back me up easily. Trust me, I know what I can and can’t get away with when writing a paper. I only need to worry about drafts and research when it’s five pages or more. Anything less than that I can write the day it’s due and still get an A.” Logan spoke with an easy confidence that would be annoying in almost anyone else, but that somehow couldn’t quite manage to put Virgil off. Not after the absolute delight Logan had shown over the last half hour as he learned from Virgil.

“If you say so. I still hate that,” Virgil told him.

“That is what most people say when they learn about my homework methods.” Logan nodded. “Should we gather up our companions—oh.” His eyes widened as he looked over Virgil’s shoulder. “Um.”

Virgil turned to look too. “Wow. Uh.”

Remus and Janus were—well, to put it bluntly, they were making out. Much more extensively than was probably appropriate, given the public setting. Remus had Janus backed against a wall, with their legs around his waist as he held them up and kissed them, sloppy and desperate and gleeful, like he was on a mission to map and memorize the shape of their mouth. Janus was clinging to him tightly and kissing back like they’d never get another chance to.

“Um,” Logan repeated again, frantically looking anywhere but at their friends. “Well. That is. Something.”

Virgil laughed a little, also looking away. “Yeah… I mean. I guess now our question about dating is maybe answered?”

“I hope so,” Logan said fervently. “However, just at this moment, I feel a strong inclination to, ah, pretend I don’t know either of them.” He chuckled, but Virgil got the distinct sense he was only half joking.

Virgil snickered. “I mean, I feel like they’d deserve it at this point if we deserted them. Want to head back to campus together?”

Logan perked up. “Really?”

“Sure, dude. You seem pretty cool.” Virgil offered an awkward fistbump, and after staring wide-eyed at it for a brief second, Logan returned it.

“You seem cool as well,” he said. “Shall we?”

“Let’s do it.” Virgil got to his feet and followed Logan to the bus stop.

Virgil wasn’t normally one to get his hopes up, but he hoped this Logan guy would stick around for a while. He seemed like exactly the sort of person Virgil could have an amazing friendship with.

Taglist: @fivehargreeves05

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writerwrites · 3 years

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Yuánfèn | 02

Ch. 2: Retrouvailles: “An overwhelming feeling of happiness caused by seeing someone after a long separation.”

Summary: When you’ve lost everything and try to run away from your problems, you keep finding a way back to the one person who completely understands. Can you make another person happy with a broken heart?

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader Chapter Word Count: 3.3k Chapter Warnings: Smut - 18+ Only - Minors DNI, male masturbation, one night stand mentioned but not detailed, slow burn, grief, fluff

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The first week Steve took it slow, only texting you when you texted first or if he hadn’t heard from you at all. He’d taken your advice, balancing his time between preparing the team for another altercation with the Maximoff twins and finding out as much as he could about them. It was a welcome distraction from the lack of news on his hunt for the Winter Soldier. Natasha was the only one that seemed to notice that he would periodically glance at his watch or his phone and go quiet for a moment before getting back to work. When she finally cornered him, he felt like he should have seen it coming. Arms akimbo and eyebrow quirked, she called him out with no hesitation, “You’ve got a secret.”

“Don’t we all?” Steve could immediately feel the regret in challenging her, busying himself with packing up his bag to head to his room and shower after a long morning of training. Nat didn’t hesitate to follow suit, tagging along with her own bag as she took long strides to keep up with him, even slipping into the elevator before he could. “How’s the search for the Maximoff twins going?”

Nat stood in front of the panel before he could select a floor. “Who have you been texting? Finally ask that SHIELD agent out, Sharon, or is the moping about a certain fossil?” She raised an eyebrow, her fingers tapping her arm impatiently.

Sighing, Steve reached behind her and hit the button. “Neither. I’ve just got a lot on my plate.” Before she could make another snarky comment, he asked. “Clint went home. Did you check in on him?” Though he didn’t use the tone of encouraging her to mind her own business, as he respected the effort she was putting in to build their friendship, he couldn’t help but hope she’d drop the subject.

“Yeah, I’ve checked in. Clint’s good, just like Doc said he’d be. Cho’s kind of a genius and it’s a relief to know that there’s someone that can piece us mere mortals back together when we’re out there saving the world with you.” Steve nodded as he listened, like a captain listening to a report on one of his troops, but his shoulders went ridged with her comment about Dr. Cho. She reminded him too much of Tony and not enough of Dr. Erskine. Luckily, it went unnoticed as she stepped out of the elevator with him and they walked toward their rooms.

There weren’t many memories in Steve’s life, even before the serum, where things simply went black. Taking a beating from his brainwashed best friend was one of them. Steve could picture the metal arm pulling back, the sting of pain as the bones in his face shattered over and over, and could even recall the conversation between swings, but he knew there were moments that were just blank from the concussion- especially after Bucky pulled him from the water. The fading image of him walking away, the ache of being put onto a stretcher, the gentle touch of small hands on his swollen face as the hum of medical machinery tried to pull him back to reality. It didn’t happen for days, but there were moments when he could still hear her talking to him or someone else in the room and always gave his hand three small squeezes before saying her goodbyes.

Steve had been in his head, remembering the music that woke him up and Sam waiting there for him. They’d stopped at Steve’s door, closest to the elevator, and Natasha pretended not to notice how quiet he’d been until she finally added, “Clint’s probably going to take another week before coming back to work, but we’re going out for drinks tonight. Are you thinking about coming with us this time? Might help you clear your head.”

“I’ll think about it.” It was a surprisingly genuine response. He didn’t need to get drunk to have a good time with friends and knew Sam could use the break from hunting a ghost and was itching to see Nat again. There was no doubt in Steve’s mind that if he said yes that Kristen from Statistics would be there and he wasn’t going to open that door, let alone walk through it.

“Aren’t you full of surprises today.” With a slight smirk she kept walking toward her room, calling back, “We’re heading out at eight. Take a nap old guy.”

By the time he was alone in the shower, the idea of going out with the team seemed all the more appealing. Regardless of Natasha still trying to set him up with random colleagues. He was lonely and reaching one of those breaking points of needing to find some comfort to balance out a minute sense of normalcy to his bizarre life, be it good conversation or bad sex. The water cascaded down his toned body and he brushed away the beads of dew and bubbles of soap that trailed down the lines of his muscles before reaching for himself. A part of him that was still very much stuck in the 1940’s hated this need, always feeling some level of shame in finding comfort in the palm of his hand. Typically, these moods resulted in an act of non-sexual frustration, a stress reliever that was easiest to address with his fist and a punching bag.

He told himself that he wasn’t the kind of person to think of someone in particular that way during the solitary act. When he did ‘indulge’, his thoughts had always trailed back to the singular heated kiss with Peggy Carter. But now, with one arm on the tiled wall and the other stroking his length, Steve took an uncommonly slow pace and his mind went to the little things that he’d thought about over and over throughout the week. Small warm hands on his skin, her hand in his. How small would her hands look wrapped around him? How soft would she feel? The smell of her hair and the way she clung to him in a simple hug. Did she know how warm she felt as she held on so tightly to him? Steve gripped himself more tightly, strokes still slow and steady, as he worked out the loneliness with a twist of his wrist. Thoughts passing from little moments and his own stolen glances. The sound of her little hums when she was thinking or satisfied with a solution she’d come up with, how she always bit her lip when she was in a room full of people. Then there was the way she held her breath every time she managed to make eye contact with him as his hands moved over the lace panties she'd passed him to pack. Was she always wearing something like that under her scrubs? Did she do this, think about him getting off to the thought of her in them? The thought of the doctor slipping her hand between her thighs while she wore nothing but lace, scrolling through their messages, and thinking of him finished the soldier off. A long deep groan of her name echoed in the bathroom as he made a mess of the shower wall and floor.

Steve was panting, exhausted but satisfied, as the water washed all evidence down the drain. Slowly, he started to realize what he’d done, but the familiar weight of guilt couldn’t settle in as he realized he wanted something other than a past he couldn’t have. As he dried off, Steve tried to rationalize the thought away, they’d had a nice moment between two colleagues and she was undeniably pretty. It was easy for his mind to drift there, he thought, to think about someone who was naturally beautiful and kind when they were so wholly unaware of it. As he got dressed, Steve put a pin in it, telling himself that even if there was a little spark, she needed a friend. That thought alone seemed to settle the decision to go out or not for him. He chose to drag Sam along for Nat’s sake and make the most of it all.

Sam and Nat were hitting it off well, making Steve wonder what was really going on between her and Clint. The pair of them together had been a force and, despite not feeling ready to date- especially someone as modern as Lilian-with-a-lip-piercing from Accounting, he found himself heading out with her for the night. She was chatty and outgoing, and he found some relief in her questions about his past or job. It stopped him from having to open up on a deeper level when that wasn’t what they were doing. What they were doing was rough and exhausting. She was vocal about what she wanted; hair pulled, ass spanked, fast thrusts, and a firm no kissing rule. He obliged, getting his pleasure from the sounds of her own and his name on her lips, but by the third round she was exhausted and he was left thinking about how he’d never made love to a woman.

Slipping out of Lilian’s place with less awkwardness than he’d expected, Steve checked his phone. He still hadn’t heard from you all day, and it was 2 am in New York, which meant a new morning for you in Spain. He wondered if he should’ve asked Sam for an update on Bucky at the bar, but hesitated to reach out and ask at this hour. Despite socializing and the workout he’d just had, he was too in his head to go to sleep. Spinning his keys around his finger he found himself riding his bike over to the small, quiet apartment with books and a hungry fish.

As if you knew he’d turned up in your space, he heard his text tone just as he was screwing the top back onto the fish food. “I know you said that if I needed anything, to just ask. Probably didn’t expect a text this early and I’m guessing you’re probably asleep… this is so dumb and a big ask, but…” Steve stared at the screen, eyebrows drawn together as he wondered if the smartphone had eaten a text or had some feature that shortened longer messages that he didn’t know how to open. He watched the typing bubbles pop up again and waited, taking a seat at one of the two bar stools at your kitchen counter, the other containing a pile of your neatly stacked mail from the week. “I know I didn’t think I’d get through the goodbyes alone, but I managed. Thanks for the encouragement. It's everything else that I realized I just can’t do alone. The packing… all the pictures. There’s so many memories and I can’t take everything back to my place in New York- my place is just too small.”

Steve clicked the ‘call’ icon and waited for you to pick up on the other end. He thought about his mother’s funeral and how Bucky had been there for him, told him he knew he could manage alone but didn’t have to. His stomach twisted with emotion and then the call went to voicemail.

You didn’t expect him to see your panicked messages until later in the morning. You sat there, runny nose and bleary eyed, staring at the name on your screen. Five minutes, just staring, no text response, no new call- and then he was back, a FaceTime call this time. Pulling your hood over your head so he couldn’t see how disheveled you were, wiping your face on your sleeve, you answered with your face hidden mostly between your knees where you rested your chin and the hood. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.” The apology that excluded the ‘I’m sorry’ was still very obviously an apology.

“You didn’t.” You were unconvinced, his hair was a little mussed, clothes wrinkled. He could tell that it seemed like you hadn’t fully thought through what you were going to ask of him, so he offered up a different question.“What do you have left to do in Spain? We’ve managed to stay out of trouble over here, just for you.”

The soldier tried to study your expression, noticing the glimmer in your eyes that wasn’t just from the sunrise. “I have to pack up what I want to take home. I was thinking I could get a scanner and digitize the pictures, but I don’t know how long that will take.” You let out a puffed up sigh, “I don’t think I have the heart to sell the place, but I’m so bad at taking vacations that it seems like a waste to keep it.”

“Don’t sell it. If your gut is telling you to keep it, go with your gut. There are other options, AirBnB or renting it out.” You sniffled, burying your face further in your arms and legs, leaving Steve to stare at the view behind you. “I know I’m getting a sideways view here, but it looks really beautiful.”

That managed to squeeze a small smile out of you as you nodded and turned the phone toward the balcony to give yourself a moment to wipe away the tears and snot once more. “Yeah, under any other circumstances it would be a proverbial paradise. You probably need a vacation more than me.”

“You’re probably right.” Steve laughed softly, trying to coax you out of what looked like the tail end of a lot of crying. “Send me the location, I’m curious what’s around the place.”

With a long hum you sent him your location. “Not going to send Stark tech to stalk me, are you?”

“I’m sure if Tony wanted to keep tabs on you he was already doing it.” Steve clicked on the marker and looked around the place, its stone streets and little shops. “Doesn’t look like there’s any modern shops, as cute as all these little places are. Where are you going to find what you need to scan the pictures?”

“Oh, I hadn’t thought that far ahead. Just using my phone’s camera, I guess.” You looked at him as you watched the colors reflect off his face, blues and greens that mirrored the same flecks of color in his eyes. He probably didn’t even realize how beautiful he could look just staring at a phone. You relaxed a little, having someone to talk to for the first time in a week and let out a quiet yawn. “Is 8 am too early for a nap?”

Steve laughed and your face ached as you nearly smiled again. He bit his bottom lip, tempted to tell you that it was nice to see you smiling when he knew your heart was hurting, but he could already hear how cheesy it sounded and instead, chose banter. “Is 2 am too early to still be awake?”

“Go to bed. You know the second that you all even think you know where the twins are you’ll be on a Quinjet to find them. You can’t be pulling all nighters, even if you’re a super soldier. Doctor’s orders.” You added with a small smirk.

“Even if I headed back to the Tower this very minute, I bet I’d still beat Nat back. I think she left the bar with my friend, Sam.”

You knew Sam, just a little from one brief patch up. He had the same charm Steve had, clever and driven. “Nat and Sam? Good for her. He seems like a great guy and he could keep her on her toes.” With his phone so close to his face you couldn’t help but wonder, “Wait, it’s too quiet for you to be at a bar. Steven Grant Rogers, are you FaceTiming me from the bathroom of an O.N.S.?”

A part of you wanted to laugh, the thought of Steve just sleeping with some random person from a bar. Another part of you, the one that had a hint of a crush on the sweet guy who helped you when you were desperately in need of a friend, felt a pang of jealousy. “I’m not sure what an O.N.S. is, but I’m actually at yours feeding your nameless fish and named plants. You really got to figure out a name for him before I do.”

Somehow, a smile found your face, this big hero wanting to name a fish and zipping over to your place to feed him at 2 am. “If you’re too tired to head back to the tower, you can crash at my place. It’s late, you look like you could fall asleep at any moment. The bed’s clean, towels are in the bathroom cabinet, and coffee and it’s fixings are right over the pot. I’m not fancy enough for a Keurig, sorry.”

You watched him stop scrolling, his eyes meeting yours as you rambled. He didn’t look tired, he looked disheveled but perfect, as always, but it was cute to see him try to flatten out his hair nevertheless. “You forgot about the books.”

“I thought that was a given.” You stuck your tongue out before yawning one more time. “I’m serious though, best to stay off the road if you’re tired. Besides, the bills are paid even though no one’s there to use anything. I’ll probably be gone another week.”

Steve sighed, not in some defeatist way of you being right but, to your surprise at the mention of how much longer you would be gone, “One more week…”

“Feels like I’ve been gone for months.” You looked away, eyes stinging as the weight of your reality settled on your shoulders again. There was no one left in this world to actually miss you. The truth was that despite being in this beautiful place, you couldn’t help but feel all the more hollow and alone in it. If it wasn’t for the little check ins you would’ve never managed to drag yourself through the house, to the lawyers, or out to the shops to eat. “I’m not texting you too much am I?”

“Not at all.” He replied quickly, then worried it might have been too fast. He could tell you were off somewhere else, wondering if you heard him or if it even mattered. The way you clung to him just a few feet away from where he currently sat, a tight hug now in the forefront of his mind. Before he knew what he was saying, the thought spilled out. “I wish I could give you another hug. I know it’s not easy to do this alone.”

The confession choked you up, sniffling you nodded, “I wish you were here to give me a hug too. A1 hug game, big guy.” Despite the tacked on joke, tears silently spilled from your cheeks and you were eager to get off the phone so he didn’t have to hear the incoming wave of heavy breathless weeping. “Get some sleep, Steve. I’ll keep texting signs of life.”

He nodded, eyebrows knit together with concern and curiosity, “We’ll catch up soon, darling. Goodnight.”

Steve took you up on the offer, showering and climbing into your bed somewhere around 3 am with one of the other books that had been stacked on your bedside table. He hardly comprehended a single word, replaying the conversation as he drifted into a heavy sleep, overwhelmed by the sense of happiness in just seeing your face through a screen as he was surrounded by the comforting scent of you. For the first time since seeing Bucky, he didn’t dream of his best friend falling off the train or the dance he never had.

A/N: Thank you for reading! I would love feedback from you. Do you think these two miss each other? Are they crushing or just some horny adults? We shall see, we shall see!

Also, if it wasn’t obvious: In this house we stan bisexual Cap and ship Sam x Nat over Bruce x Nat.

As my followers know I have an obscenely demanding job, but I always try my best to keep you posted on if there will be a delay in a chapter posting. This series should be posting every Sunday until it finishes. Also, while I do keep Reader vague, I’m a Latina writer and I write fics I want to read.

Divider by the amazing @firefly-graphics

I will be reblogging with tags, send an ask if you’d like to be added either to the series or to my overall tag list.

#fic: steve rogers #steve rogers smut #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x you #writer: writerwrites

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nugnthopkns · 3 years

Text

tell you i miss you but i don’t know how

word count: 2.7k

warnings: insinuated fem!reader, a singular swear word, it’s kinda angsty i guess

recommended listening: the story of us | taylor swift

a/n: long time hockey fan, long time reader, first time writer. i’ve been thinking about posting for a while and decided to bite the bullet. no time like the present i suppose. tagging some folks i feel might be interested (but there’s literally zero pressure please feel free to ignore) @matbaerzal @davidpastrsnack @troubatrain @jamiedrysdales

Breaking up was for the best.

You repeat the phrase like a mantra. It’s the first thing you think when you wake up, in the back of your mind as you sit in your cubicle, and verbally repeated anytime you pass a mirror. Deep down you know it’s right; you and Tyson aren’t on compatible lifepaths, and that’s okay. You just wish it didn’t hurt so much to say goodbye. He’s an easy person to miss, with his infectious smile and quick wit. Tyson’s the only person who’s made you laugh so hard tears roll down your cheek; the one who always picked up a bag of pretzels on his way home from the rink so you could have a snack after work. Though you didn’t expect to get over him quickly, you had no idea you’d still miss him nearly a year later. Or that it would hurt so much every time you see him in public.

♠♠♠♠♠

The bar offers a reprieve from the brisk Denver wind. October has been unusually chilly so far, but the bodies packed like sardines in the open room create all the heat insulation you need. It’s a Friday night and you’re hoping to unwind after a stressful week at work. It’s audit season, meaning you’ve had to pull crazy late nights as you read over the financial records of the firm’s junior partners. Today was particularly terrible, with the computer system crashing, and you really need a drink. Your friends are supposed to meet you, but a text confirms that traffic is heavier than they anticipated and they’re running late.

Not wanting to waste precious time, you head straight for the only empty space at the bar. A bartender a few years older than you sees you approach and leans close to hear your order over the thumping bass. “Could I just grab a gin and tonic?” you ask, and she smiles before turning away to make your drink. A minute later a drink is placed in your hand and you scour the venue for a table. A small booth is available in the corner; the perfect size for your party. It turns out to be the perfect spot for people watching, and you casually sip your drink and occasionally scroll through instagram while you wait. A text from your friend alerts you everyone is fifteen minutes out. Though it’s pretty crowded everyone seems to be congregating on the dance floor so you don’t hesitate to leave your table and order a second drink.

This gin and tonic goes down easier than the first, and soon you’re on your third. There’s still no sign of your friends anywhere and the balls of your feet ache from the heels you wore to the office today. You abandon your plan to meet them at the door, firing off a text giving your location in the venue. Once sitting down, you take off your shoes and rub at your feet. Why did you choose today to abide by the dress code? You typically wore a discreet pair of sneakers and wished you could go back in time to change your shoe choice.

“I see you’re still drinking gin and can’t wear heels for more than two hours.”

His voice sends shivers down your spine. You look up to see Tyson smiling down at you, and the room spins around you. The entire reason you picked this bar was because it was the only one the boys didn’t frequent, but it seems they’re here anyways.

“I’m consistent,” you say, trying to keep your voice even. The sight of Tyson makes your heart clench. He looks good, glowing the way that means the team came out with a win and that he played well and put up some points.

Tyson nods to the empty seat across from you, and against your better judgement you allow him to sit. A small section of your brain thinks he’s going to confess he’s been miserable the last few months, that he’s still madly in love with you. It seems to be the part controlling the rest of your body. “That’s one thing that’ll never change. How’s work?”

You hum wistfully, wishing he wouldn’t make small talk. How is this so easy for him? “Busy,” you sigh. “It’s audit season so the department is swamped. The boys still causing issues?”

“They’re annoying as ever.” He smiles at you again. The sick feeling in your stomach doesn’t subside. Tyson gives you a quick recap of the Avs’ season so far, and you half pay attention. You’ve gone to great lengths to avoid seeing him: switched the way you drive home, where you hang out with friends, what grocery store you go to. It’s a little ironic he’d find you here of all places.

Idle chatter occurs for a while. Tyson’s talking to you like he’s reuniting with a childhood friend, not an ex-lover. As much as you find the conversation uncomfortable, you can’t turn him away. You miss sitting with him, talking about anything under the sun. Life hasn’t been as bright since the break up. No matter how hard you try, nothing fills the Tyson sized hole in your heart. In a twisted way his presence is comforting, a reminder of what once was. Eventually his teammates realize he’s gone missing and come to whisk him away.

“See you around Y/N,” Tyson says, a little bewildered because J.T is dragging him by the belt loops.

All you can croak out is a feeble “Yeah.” He doesn’t look back once he’s away from the table. You shouldn’t have expected him to; he seems to be doing fine. Well even. Every step he takes breaks your heart a little more, and you curse yourself for missing him and down the rest of your drink.

Your friends find you crying in the bathroom and usher you home.

♠♠♠♠

Despite being separated from Tyson, you’re still close with some members of the Avalanche extended family. Mel Landeskog continually reaches out, ensuring you’re doing the best you can given the circumstances. It isn’t easy when your ex-boyfriend is the pride of Denver, plastered over every billboard in a fifteen mile radius of the city. When she called to ask if you’d emergency babysit Linnea while she ran errands you jumped at the opportunity to help.

“Thank you so much,” Mel says, cooing to her daughter who’s comfortably placed in your arms.

“It’s not a problem,” you insist, “I’m just glad I can finally start repaying you for everything you’ve done for me.”

She shakes her head and rolls her eyes, telling you to text her if you need anything picked up at the store. You’re then left alone with the baby who is luckily one of the happiest you’ve ever seen. The first hour or so is spent entertaining Linnea with various toys and games. Her smile and laugh melt your heart, and your mind briefly flashes to conversations you had about children with Tyson. You push them from your mind, not wanting to lose your focus. The child in front of you is the one that matters, not the hypothetical one from times past. Around two she gets fussy; a bottle and quick diaper change satiate her.

“You having fun pretty girl?” you coo. “I’m not always the most exciting to be around.” She doesn’t respond; just looks up at you with heavy lids. You pull her closer to your chest, rocking gently back and forth on your heels. Within minutes she’s soundly asleep and you head upstairs to place her in the crib.

Back on the main floor, you settle into the corner of the couch. The baby monitor is on the coffee table and you keep your laptop at a low volume to ensure you’d hear anything. You sift through the mess in your inbox, deleting promotional emails and replying to those that need your attention. After killing half an hour, you quickly check on Linnea before scrolling through social media. According to twitter the Avalanche are on a six game winning streak and are looking to keep it alive. You honestly could care less about hockey anymore; it’s a painful reminder that Tyson is no longer yours. In truth you’re happy for the team because they work hard and deserve it. Other social media platforms yield nothing of interest and you soon feel yourself nodding off. Looking at the clock you realize there’s about an hour left in the baby’s nap, so you let yourself sleep.

A knock on the door startles you awake. Careful not to cause a commotion that could wake Linnea you head in the direction of the entryway. The knocking increases as you approach, and you open the door to a disheveled Tyson.

“What are you doing here?” You didn’t mean for the question to come off so rude, but it does.

He pays it no mind. “Is Gabe home yet?”

“No,” you sputter. “I’m watching Linnea while Mel stepped out.”

Tyson looks stumped. “He should be home by now. We had plans to unwind before the game.” You make no attempt to stop him from entering, and he takes his shoes off without another word. Aimlessly trailing behind him, you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding when he heads to the guest room. “I’m gonna take a nap, have Landy wake me up when he gets home.”

“Can do,” you sigh, but it falls on deaf ears. Tyson’s already got the door shut, and you imagine he’s climbing under the covers, blissfully unaffected by your presence. You can’t say the same. Knowing he’s less than fifty feet from you sends you spiraling. Flashbacks of pre-game cuddles grace the back of your eyelids, and you rub your temples furiously to get rid of the images. It doesn’t help. You want nothing more than to not be bothered by how much you miss seeing him. You miss the way his hands felt entangled with yours and how sweet his voice sounds in the morning. Being this hung up on a person so long after a relationship has ended can’t be healthy.

The baby monitor crackles, signaling the baby, and the only reason you haven’t fled, is once again awake. Linnea’s room is bright and cheerful; the perfect hideaway from Tyson. Sometime during your tenth reciting of Green Eggs and Ham Mel returns. She finds you upstairs and giddily sweeps up her child, missing her terribly even though she was only gone for a couple of hours.

“Did everything go okay?”

You nod. “She was a dream. The happiest baby I’ve ever seen. She might need to be changed soon though.”

Mel nods. “I saw Tyson’s car in the driveway, did he meet Gabe?”

“He’s actually asleep in the downstairs guest room,” you whisper, scared he’ll sense you’re talking about it, and by extension thinking about him, missing him.

“Oh. Shit.”

That’s the understatement of the year. “Yeah.” You quickly help put away the groceries before heading out, not wanting to disrupt the routine more so than you already had. Really though, you want to be as far away from the Landeskog’s as possible before Tyson wakes up. You’ll have to do a better job of avoiding him in the future, you decide on the way home. You’re heart can’t take seeing him this frequently – or at all.

♠♠♠♠

You would rather be anywhere than the Pepsi Center. It’s the first time you’ve been in the arena since breaking up with Tyson and you’re downright miserable. However, you promised your younger brother you’d take him to a game the next time he visited Denver with your parents and you aren’t about to break his heart. Ryan is borderline obsessed with the Avalanche and hockey in general. At eleven he’s showing significant promise and you know he works hard.

“Ry, slow down,” you huff, desperately trying to keep up with him. The kid is swaying through the throng of people at lightning speed, desperately trying to make it to your seats to catch warmup. Wanting to make the experience special for him, you purchased seats along the glass across from the Avs bench. Your brother halts, tapping his foot impatiently as you join him and match his stride.

Contrary to what Ryan thinks, your seats have not been stolen and warmup is just starting. His winter jacket is soon placed on the seat, revealing the too big jersey underneath. The number seventeen nearly sits at his elbow and the name-bar is askew because one side keeps slipping down, but your brother’s happy. He’s preoccupied with watching players do passing drills, hands pressed against the glass, and you allow yourself to look around. Virtually nothing has changed since the last time you were here. The banners are still the same, the energy electric. One small difference is your seating arrangement: the better halves’ box is no longer a luxury you have available to you. A quick glance in that direction confirms they’re enjoying themselves, laughing and no doubt in the midst of planning the next off-season wedding.

Ryan grips the hem of your sweater to get your attention. “Look Y/N,” he squeals, “Tys and J.T are coming over!” Sure enough, the two friends are making a beeline in your direction. Tyson waves and Ryan eagerly reciprocates. You’re reminded just how much he misses Tyson; they were the best of friends whenever they could get together. Another piece of your heart breaks in that moment, as you realize you aren’t the only hurting from the breakup.

“You’ve got him in the wrong jersey Y/N,” J.T smirks. “Think he’d look better with thirty-seven plastered all over.”

You roll your eyes. “I’ll remember that Compher. You got the spare change lying around to buy him one?” There’s no malice in your voice; you truly miss joking around with him.

Tyson throws a puck high enough to clear the plexiglass. “Ry-Guy, catch!” It lands unceremoniously at Ryan’s feet, but he beams as he picks it up. The two boys share a makeshift fist bump and quickly catch up with each other. It’s been over a year since they’ve seen each other at this point, and Ryan has so much he wants to talk about. J.T tells a joke that makes the younger boy laugh, and Tyson turns his attention to you.

“It’s nice to see you again,” he says, doing his best to convey his sincerity. The energy of the area and the adrenaline have Tyson shaking slightly, and he rocks back onto his blades.

You study his facial features as you inhale. He’s still incredibly handsome, just slightly more defined, like he’s growing into himself. “Likewise,” you exhale. You know you shouldn’t lie but you can’t help it; for Ryan’s sake you need to pretend that seeing Tyson doesn’t make you want to curl into a ball and cry. He smiles sadly, like he knows you’re putting on a show. He probably does – you’ve never been good at hiding your emotions from him. Has been able to see how much you hurt every time you interact?

Ryan recaptures Tyson’s attention for a few final moments before he has to return to the locker room. With a high-five and a promise to call soon he skates away, leaving your brother to gush about his idol. The game goes better than you could have ever imagined; the Avs gain a landslide victory and Tyson gets a hatrick. After each goal he points in your direction and Ryan goes berserk. You catch yourself smiling, proud of his accomplishment, before you realize you won’t be at the celebratory afterparty. That isn’t your life anymore.

The traffic out of the arena is terrible, and Ryan’s asleep in the backseat before you hit the interstate. In some sort of daze you think about what you’d be doing with Tyson right now if you were still together. Maybe you’d be getting ready to make an appearance at a club to celebrate the big game, but it’s more likely you’d be pressed together on the couch, watching a nature documentary to unwind. It’s moments like that you miss most; where you were both too comfortable and enamored with each other to care about your social obligations. A single tear escapes and flows down your cheek. One turns into ten, and soon you’re sobbing over lost love.

♠♠♠♠

Tyson Jost isn’t someone you could ever stop loving. He’s the human equivalent of the sun, and even now your life revolves around him. It’s centered on missing him, sure, but that’s a part of him nonetheless. You can only hope it gets easier to deal with.

#tyson jost imagine #tyson jost x reader #tyson jost fic #nhl imagine #nhl fic #hockey imagine #hockey fic #cwrites

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