#'asking for legal reasons' keeps running through my head now

[horsegirlwarcrimes]

found the original outline i wrote for this scene of WINRN and i cant stop laughing at it

[4mrplumi]

ZERO (iii) : SCAVENGERY . (ms/prev/next)

-> plot synopsis - you don't think you're as odd and horrifying as the news makes you out to be. but you have never much cared for the validation of others, and certainly not theirs.

-> batfamily x serial killer reader. playlist (wip) ask 2b added to taglist

-> tw; gn reader, guns, violence, child neglect, messed up legal system, mention of death, poor living conditions, bug taxidermy, everyone's a b, paranoia, ocd, full list on master list.

> a/n; the prologues are text heavy... i'll try more dialogue for the first chapter (next upload) and onwards. in the mean time, feel free to send asks and ideas, i'd love to discuss and tie up my own lose ends too. hope this suffices for the reader's relationship with the bat family!

“family business”, you squint at the sign, “12th sector conveniences, run by a family business!” the print on the plastic sign is misspelled, and fading away completely. red into pink, orange into pale yellow, and green into cyan. a lovely place to be at for what you’re doing.

family has always been an iffy subject for you, in your mind and verbal exchanges. you never humoured your friends’ prods at you to talk, and were especially vigilant about shutting down conversations about family.

you’d already brushed over the meaning of the word in your head, on terms with the fact that you would most likely never understand it in this lifetime, but the experience with it still stung. sometimes.

at ten years old, the landlord of your apartment, who’d let you stay for free since it was so horribly kept, passed away. it meant you had effectively no place to live, since it wasn’t legally in your hands anymore. nothing much about your situation was legal, but he’d argued your case for you for years, and the neighbours were supportive of it too.

gotham is a gritty place, and even with the varied dictionary of swears they used to poke away security, it was a little show of squishy softness from the people. 

after he died, your friends’ parents and your neighbours shuffled you around in their homes, month to month to keep you around. no one thought of calling fosters, or the police, since you were their kid as much as their children were. “love” was an odd word to use, people in your alley married for benefits and children were kept about for that reason too. there were exceptions, but the reason for your staying was obligation.

at eleven, you got caught directly in between a scuffle on the streets. the guys must’ve been waiting to put off steam, since it got bloody way faster than you’d ever seen. but honestly? you could’ve gone past it, it was nothing unnatural for the city, and having grown up in it on your own, you would’ve been fine.

but gotham was a city full of interruptions. buses, classes, going to the store for chips or even walking back home, you would be interrupted. by a gun, a fist, or if you were especially unlucky, the big old bat and his big old car. you wonder if you could’ve saved yourself all the trouble, the tax on your mental state and the worry you keep everyday of your life now, if you had just been a bit faster, fast enough to avoid the batman’s interruption. maybe, you would’ve been in the stairwell with your friends now, eating chips or running from old mister ford on the sixth floor.

you’d been put in the police station down the road, the same one your friend had thrown a brick through last week, while the caped weirdo, batman, told you it’d be alright. alright? you were fine. what did he mean, alright?

you’d nagged the officers to let you go, lying that people at home would be worried (maybe they were, you never got to know), but they’d sat you down and expected forced, timid compliance from you. these guys are always expecting better. one lady even had the gall to put on a show for you on the tiny tv in one of the “comfort-rooms” and you’d gone biting, screaming and struggling.

‘radicalised’ was what your landlord-uncle had called it. gotham’s people, even those not submerged in the high of crime, couldn’t help but grow up to be hard and rough at the edges, hating the people who put them here. the divide between the common people and the socialites was so jarring, so far. you didn’t want to comply with what these guys were telling you to do. all the adults hated them! why wouldn’t you?

it had taken two hours of watching a few pink-haired girls run around behind the screen, in cold, cold anger before you were let out. “a new home,” the lady officer had said, “safer.” it wasn’t until later that you got to know the reason they didn’t let you leave or shoved you in a care-home you could've run from, and instead pushed you into the manor; was because of your lack of legal documents. most noticeably, your birth certificate and the absence of your parents. 

you think now, that maybe batman had expected you to be broken, ruined and lonely like his other odd children. fact of the matter is, that you were fine. you were none of those things, until he intruded in your life. why he never let you go… perhaps he feared any resentment you held. you held none, until him.

the fight never left, you’d hissed all the way home at the old guy and the other man who’d come to pick you up, swiping at a hand offered to you. a new home? a new home? you had a home! they were waiting for you, you think, what do these people mean about a new home? why would you trust a badge and cap or a suit and tie, on their judgement of safety?

you want to go home.

the house they put you in was gargantuanly huge, your room the size of your old shared apartments. it made you sick. the ceiling was too high, and the corridors too long. admitting to fear was a sure way to get snuffed on the streets, and you didn’t admit to it, spending hours hiding in a bathroom alone, still too big for your liking. you hid and hid and you still hide. all the time.

when you got used to the place, pangs of loneliness and homesickness hit you. having never talked much, it was an unusual habit to reach out to someone. the flats you lived in used to be small enough for three people to have to sleep in the same bedroom. and the other four to crash on top of each other on the couch.

it’s different here, you’re alone. there’s no situation where everybody has to be together. you could tail along with the old guy while he cleaned, or stalk the boy who came to visit every month, but you avoided the man who got you here at all costs. you hate him, it would be betrayal to yourself to want to be around him. but seeking out company was too taxing, too new a thing for you. no one else came to you on their own, never needed anything from you. you were isolated. lonely. scared.

you weren’t forbidden from going outside, but always tailed by a security guard your “father” would set on you. the place where you grew up was blocked off your mental map too, a firm hand on your soldier from the boy, richard grayson, and his voice telling you it was off limits.

when you demanded a snarled “why?” with a dark, dark scowl, he’d just shook his head. an answer never came to you on its own, but it was quite clear you’d never be able to disobey.  so you scuffled around, lonely, the shadow of the manor on you making street-kids you’d get along with otherwise frown at you, everywhere.

a few months after your glorified kidnapping, another boy came into the polished picture of your family photo; jason todd. he was about the same age as you, with a noticeable and heavy gothamite-accent that you recognised immediately. though you still didn’t much enjoy seeking out the company of anyone in the house, jason’s was by far, the easiest to go to.

he was a surprisingly tender little kid, you’d expected a meaner, more similar to you type of guy, but it didn’t matter much. you’d sit in the same room as him when he studied, listen to him whisper under his breath about some composition of something, watch him run around in the garden after alfred to help him, gain the favour of the man, and wonder where he’d gone at night when you tried to stay awake with him in either of your rooms. the two of you were unalike, but the comfort of knowing rags better than rugs brought you together, just a bit.

towards the… end, he’d become more biting. more snappy, on edge. the change had come suddenly, and made you conflicted. on one end, you were delighted at his hostility, seeing a familiarity of behaviour with him. he was finally growing into the hardened shell. the other end just made you sad. what happened to the kid? to your brother? what happened to him?

it’s safe to say his death destroyed any neutrality you had for this place. when you’d seen bruce one night, he’d looked absolutely horrible, and you hadn’t understood why. you couldn’t much bother to ask, assuming it must’ve been bitchy-bad billionaire-blues, and the shock, the blunt punch that came to your gut at attending jason’s funeral the next day made you sick. 

dick had stood crying, his face in his hands, alfred had put an umbrella down to his face in what you assumed was sorrow, and bruce’s expression was unintelligible under the shadows that fell on it. you only stared, and stared, and stared at the stone of his grave, as though wanting to erode it, dig him out. jason. jason. a good soldier. 

soldier?

you were livid, entirely unable to express your emotions in any way possible, no outlet among your family, no friends, no social circle or activities to let out even the smallest sliver of your anger out. you hadn’t cried, mourning was never one of your customs, but you were so horribly angry. he was gone. gone.

what probably made it worse was that you never knew how he died. he disappeared one day, and came back dead the other. your only half-friend in your whole life, was gone, the sweet, helpful little boy, gone. your brother. gone. you shut off entirely, unwilling to accept dick’s offers to spend time together, snarling that his attempts at being a better brother to you would never undo anything that he’d ever done. with no knowledge on the cause of his death, you blamed everyone for jason todd’s story. 

dick had pulled away his hand, expression darkening, and did very pointedly avoid you from there on. thinking back, you wonder why he couldn’t excuse your grief. you were a child too. how did he manage to excuse everyone else?

tim drake’s arrival had been a thing of great disgust to you. he’d become an outlet for your fury, shoving past him in the corridors, muttering curses at him at the smallest issues, and flashing a scowl and a glare at his direction whenever he spoke. from the very beginning, tim knew about your distrust, your hatred of him, and avoided you in return to avoid trouble.

maybe you shouldn't have, and you don’t anymore to anybody, but you’d often go at him when you were at home. snarky comments on what he did, brushing off efforts he didn’t even present to you. you could see the slight effect it had on him, reclusivity, him thinking twice over his words. that on it’s own, and grayson’s narrowed glare and muttered “lay off, (name)” had almost made you guilty. 

almost.

he’d come to eventually just spit back at you, or ignore you, and you’d leave him be too. it’s just that the impact that period of time had on the both of you was irrefutable, and harsher exchanges would come out much easier from your mouth now. again, you wonder, why he couldn’t excuse you. you would take any hatred back from him, face the consequences of your actions and accept what you did was terrible. even if he never forgave you for being so unwelcoming to the little boy he was, if it meant that one day, tim drake would look your way without a scowl. but why did he never excuse you?

around this time, you took up many things. jason’s death had soured you against the crime in gotham way more than your arrival at the manor did, so you took to listening to the news and skimming through pamphlets. the common figures of the batman and robin had created a semi-permanent furrow in your brow, and you pitied the robin-boy who’d have to work along the incompetent, interrupting, annoying bat-hag. batman. 

the repetition of’ saves the day’, ‘exposes the scene’ and ‘back at arkham’ formed a slight obsession in you, and you had to know who these… geeks in costume interrupting everything were. if they could so skilfully weave through the riddler’s intricate puzzles, handle the joker’s lunatic schemes and avoid the bristling thorns of poison ivy’s attacks, how could they not put their minds to the little guy? the smaller problems?

 from stalking tim and watching his work methods, without his awareness, you picked up a pin and a photo, and got to work. school was never challenging, maybe initially with your lack of an uneducated pre-teens, but easy to catch up to with your abundance of time. with all the hours freed up from not having to do homework you’d already finished, you made it a personal goal to find out who batman and robin were. the man and the boy who failed you, jason, and all the kids down the road.

and you found out. in february, wearing a short sleeved shirt ‘cause the heating was always up, with a final thread of glittering blue thread, you found out. the anger that had built up over the years had started to die out, and snapped with a fizzle when you understood.

you hate them. bruce wayne, dick grayson, tim drake and even, even jason todd. you hate them all. incompetent fools. idiots.

a sense of emptiness lingered in you for days, a morose sense of nothing to do. you came across a video of a girl stuffing a hollowed spider with cotton, and gently placing it’s dangly limbs on top of pins like they were footrests. the spider’s paws were limp on her sides, but she looked alive. she looked alive, even after dying.

maybe it would’ve passed on a fleeting interest, if you had not come to the terms with the fact that rich people could do just whatever. without asking anyone, you’d gone out to buy a board and some bob-pins, signed your name off as someone else on the shop record book and left. two habits, hobbies, created on the same day. taxidermy and paranoia. 

you were not paranoid.

when you were now sixteen, bruce- no, batman, had gotten home troubled, more so that usual. it had peaked your curiosity, and you couldn’t help but eavesdrop through a micro communicator tim had so considerably left out in his room when you snooped through it.

the silhouette of a red hood trailed their conversations, troubling them with drugs and guns and knives. you’d found it all very amusing, minus the fact of his crimes. anyone who troubled the batman was amusing, but crime? you never excuse.

the relevance two months down that jason todd was alive, when you left the communicator on on a sleepless night, jolted you fully awake. a similar resurgence of not knowing, and fear, and worry engulfed you, much alike the same feelings you felt coming to the manor five years ago. 

you wanted to demand for answers, weasel out how, why, where he was. why he wasn’t coming home and why bruce was so incompetent at getting him back to the manor. but you couldn’t. no one could know you knew, no one could know you had that information, of their identities on them, and have that leverage over you. you bit your tongue. 

you never spoke to him, or saw jason face to face after his “rebirth”, catching glimpses of his voice on the mic’s that inputted into the oracle’s connected networks at night. you caught a glimpse of a large figure, draped in a leather jacket jumping out the window from the kitchen, but too late and too awkward to call out.

he’d gotten so tall. grown up. it hurts so bad, and you’ve never hurt before. never admitted it.

how had he managed to regain just the littlest bit of ties with the rest of the family, but not with you? you knew he snuck in on some nights, and he rarely ever came to the manor to talk to anyone, but how was it so easy for him to just, forget you? did he ever wonder where you were? did he ever want to see you again? you know he couldn’t, wouldn’t, but would he want to?

the pain that comes from seeing damian enter the manor is ten folds that. another little boy, falling to the bat’s trap of glory and growing up like jason and dick and tim, trapped. you want to warn him, but his kohl-lined eyes and scowling face makes it too difficult.

he reminds you too much of yourself, and that’s just about the scariest thing you know. self-importance and snarkiness. 

the worst thing? their tolerance. their excuses. dick’s grin at damian a day after the loudest scuffle, the meanest words you’d heard come from a ten year old’s mouth, him being excused. tolerated. tim excusing him, and bothered to still talk to damian even after all the insults and demeaning of his work, the tolerance he received.

bruce wayne’s hand on his shoulder, showing him around to help him adapt to the new, unfamiliar place. why had no one done that for you? why did no one excuse you, see if you were okay? why were you like this? what had damian done that you hadn’t, and what had you done that he didn’t?

“the blood son”, he had declared at you the first time the two of you spoke, “has come to show his worth to the family. remain on the sidelines from your unimportant and tarnishing stain on father’s name, or struggle against my defense.” you didn’t respond to his edwardian monologue, and left despite his appalled scoff at your indifference. the blood son. he had a family. you could never compare to the concern or the trouble they put in to be with him, because he was family.

family. 

you could’ve ignored damian if he didn’t come into your business so often. poking at the posters you’d put up to cope with the large, empty walls in your room, scoffing at the music you’d put on to drown out the ring in your ears from the silence and snapping your last nerve upon stealing a cricket from your board to bury in the garden.

you’d said nothing, quietly taking it back when he was faraway, straightening the legs of the insect with a motherly tenderness. he had soiled a lifeform put in your hands over his own sense of honour and humanity, effectively disgracing the ideals you had been raised on and live on now.

you knew of his upbringing, and you knew better his horror at your practice. but nevertheless, it was yours. he didn’t excuse you, he demeaned you, he didn’t consider you family.

he was not your family.

none of them were, and none of them will be. they’re self-prestiged vigilantes with overblown egos and no semblance of shame or understanding. they know nothing, and you can’t abandon a city so unfortunate to be in their care like this. they don’t know anything, because the ceiling they live under is too high to need to crouch and hide, and the corridor is too large for them to have to squeeze through when running.

a tap on your shoulder brings you out of thought, and your reply is a gruff “you’re late” at the girl in front of you. the salty green-white lights of 12th sector conveniences buzz on as you make your way inside, and garcia’s grin is too wide for someone so inconsiderate of your carefully mapped plans.

you hate your family, and their poor work. so you’ll have to scheme in different run-down hell holes to undo their messes. but order and control is important. if you’re in hell, why should you stop here? “one day”, your ‘girlfriend’ had said, “all these places you take me-” “you all,” you had interrupted, “i take you all” “-will be as clean as your nails, (name)”

you hope that she’s not mocking. and you hope she’s right.

> a/n; nothing much left 2 say! i notice my writing habits have switched up a bit, way less unnecessary words and stuffs. this is queued for tmrw so hopefully im not spamming anything. re-added the tags i left out for zero:ii too. idk when my next upload will be since my first exam is day after tmrw, but i wanna really write for the plot soon.

thanks for reading!!

taglist: @boredselkie @shirp-collector-of-fixations @randomlyappearingartist @bat1212 @maicenitas @xjesterxjacksx @heartjwonie @lucienneb1ue @vikkus-main @adornedlace @cuntiesweet @minorlyatfall @staarflowerr @ithoughtthinks @crazycaoticsimp

[written-with-clouds]

I Found Love (Where It Wasn't Supposed To Be) Pt. 1

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen/ Rhaenyra's Daughter!Reader

Summary: You and Aemond had always been close, even after he lost his eye and your mom moved your family to Dragonstone. What will happen when your grandsire dies and Aegon takes the throne from your mother? Will you and Aemond be able to stay together? Or will family drive you apart?

Authors Note: Cross posted on AO3, Aemond and Reader are of legal age during all spicy scenes.

CW: Uncle/Niece, Secret Relationship

Part 2 Part 3

Six years ago

“Aemond?” You whisper quietly. Your voice echoes back to you softly as it bounces off the stone walls of the hidden passages within the keep. For a while, the only thing you hear is the pitter patter of rats running and the squeaking from the handle of your lantern. And then you hear it, the sound of footsteps steadily getting closer. 

“What do you want?” Aemond asks, his own lantern swinging in his grasp from the speed of his steps. “Shouldn’t you be tending to your brothers.” He spat. 

“They’ll be fine. I wanted to check on you…” You reply, taking a small step towards him. Your brow twitches as you gaze at the jagged scar that now covers his left eye. “Does it hurt bad?” 

You move to reach for him, but he smacks your hand away. “What does it matter.” He states with no hint of question in his tone. “It’s happened. It’s over. Move on.” 

You bite the inside of your cheek, lowering your hand and taking a step back. Taking a measured breath you speak. “My mother has decided to move us to Dragonstone. We leave in the morning.” 

Aemond scoffs, crossing his arms. “And you asked to meet here to tell me that? Why? Do you expect a warm send off? After what your bastard brothers di-“ 

His head lurches to the left as you smack him squarely across the face. “What my brothers did was neither right, nor wrong. And you,” you jab a finger against his chest, “are no less innocent of this mess.” Taking a deep breath, you turn to walk away. Taking a few steps before turning around to face him again. “I had hoped that despite what happened between you and my brothers… that you might have considered me friend enough to miss me when I’m gone. Because I will surely miss you, Aemond.” 

You turn your back to him once again and continue back to your room. You can hear the sound of footsteps following your own but force yourself to ignore it. If Aemond was going to act as a child, you would let him. 

Just as you were about to push the door to your room open, Aemond’s hand closed around your wrist. He pulled you back by the arm and hugged you. Muttering something you couldn’t quite understand. 

“What?” You ask. 

Aemond pulls back slightly, “I said… I will miss you too… you are my friend, and I don’t have many of those.” 

You smile softly at him, pulling him back into a tight hug. You stand there for a moment, hugging each other, drawing out the moment as long as you can. 

“I will try to write.” You promise as you separate. He promises the same and you watch sadly as he retreats back through the hidden passages to his own room. 

Present 

Uncle, 

I am pleased to say that I will be in Kingslanding in a week's time. Though the reason is less than joyful, all the same I look forward to seeing you. Perhaps, if you can find time 

for your niece, you could continue tutoring me in Valyrian. I have grown quite profound, I think you will be proud. 

Niece, 

I look forward to your arrival. I shall make sure to have time set aside for you.

Stepping out of the carriage, you stretch. The ride had been long. Longer than normal you think… but perhaps that was because you were excited to be back in the place you had spent much of your childhood. 

Your mother had told you, Jace, and Luke that she would visit your grandsire before the proceedings regarding the successor of Driftmark. In the meantime the three of you were free to wander, so long as you stayed out of trouble, she had added as your brothers took off to explore the grounds of the Red Keep. Smiling fondly after them, you follow behind leisurely. The three of you wandered through the halls trading memories from when you were little. As you were exploring, you couldn’t help but notice the questioning gazes of the castle workers and the various diplomats that were milling about. Luke had noticed it too, if the insecure look he gave you was any indication. 

Eventually, the three of you found your way out to the training yard, Jace jogging ahead and laughing as he found a wall missing a chunk of stone. 

He spun around to face you and Luke, “I told you it’d still be here! From when you tried to use Ser Criston’s Morningstar!” He reminisced fondly, wrapping an arm around Luke’s shoulder as they went to inspect the weapons cart. 

Your attention, however, was drawn to a small crowd forming a circle. You walk over, finding a spot that allows you to see into the center of the growing crowd.

 Your lips stretch into a wide smile as you finally manage to see what’s happening. You watch as Aemond and Ser Criston spar. The sound of metal hitting metal rings out through the yard as Ser Criston swings his Morningstar, only for Aemond to deflect it with his sword. Aemond blocks another attempt with a wooden shield. Only for it to be knocked out of his hand, the wood splintering from the force of the hit. For a moment, they circle each other. Aemond twirls his sword, watching Ser Criston with a predatory gaze. Ser Criston moves first, swinging his Morningstar at Aemond. Your breath catches as you watch Aemond dodge each swing. He makes a sudden, calculated, attack and in just minutes the fight is over, with Aemond victorious and the top of his sword at Ser Criston’s throat. 

“You’ll be a force to be reckoned with in the tourneys, my prince.” Ser Criston stated. 

“I have no interest in tourneys,” Aemond responded, his eye locking onto someone in the crowd, “nephews, come to train?” 

The sound of the large outer doors opening draws everyone’s attention. Lord Vaemond Velaryon striding through, glancing at your brothers momentarily before continuing. 

The people gathered in the training yard begin milling about once more and the crowd disperses. You see your brothers making their way inside, likely heading to find your mother. You are about to leave when a voice stops you. 

“Sia ao jāre naejot henujagon lēda iā rytsas? (Were you going to leave without a hello?)” 

Smirking, you face Aemond. “Ao istan busy (you were busy), I didn’t want to distract you.” 

Aemond smirked back. Stepping into your space, his hands clasped behind his back, he leans down placing his lips by your ear. He was so close that as he spoke, his lips would occasionally brush against the shell of your ear. His voice was low and teasing.“Ao kostagon va moriot distract issa (you may always distract me).” He takes a step back and straightens up to stand at his full height. “I’ll see you in there. Do wish your mother good luck for me.” He taunts, sauntering inside.

You wander aimlessly through the Red Keep, your mind replaying the events of earlier. Ser Vaemond’s cruel words directed at you and your brothers, questioning your parentage. How he spat them out in front of the court, in front of the King, your Grandsire. You could still hear the echo of his voice as he loudly declared you and your brothers bastards. And the sound of a sword as, in the blink of an eye, Ser Vaemond’s head was sliced clean in half by Daemon. The image of blood splattering against the floor and the dull thud of his body was stuck in your head. Death was nothing new to you. Nor was blood. But you’d never been that close to either before. 

You are pulled from your thoughts as an arm shoots out from behind a wall banister, pulling you behind it into a hidden passage. You make an ‘oof’ sound as you are pushed against a wall, the stone cold and biting against your back even through the fabric of your dress. 

“Have you been avoiding me, ñuha dōna?(my sweet)” Aemond purrs against your ear, making you shiver. He has one hand placed against the wall and the other rests against your hip, trapping you between him and the stone. Pulling away from the side of your head, he gazes down at you, cocking his head to the side. 

You meet his gaze, your own head lifting slightly as you smirk. “Gaoman daor gīmigon skoros ao nūmāzma (I do not know what you mean), uncle. I have simply been walking the castle grounds.” 

“I have told you never to call me that… not when it’s just us.” He growled, lilac eye darkening. 

“Would you rather I call you ñuha dārilaros (my prince).” You tease. “Or perhaps you’d prefer to be called ñuha zaldrīzes (my dragon).” 

He snarls, hooking his index finger under your chin and bringing your face closer to his. “Skoros naejot gaomagon lēda ao (what to do with you),” he murmurs before closing the gap and kissing you. 

The hand resting against your waist tightens, his fingers digging into your skin as he pulls your body flush to his. Your hands wrap around his neck and tangle in his hair, moaning into the kiss as his thigh slots between your legs, pressing against your cunt. His hands slide down over your ass, massaging the flesh as he separates from your lips in favor of nipping and sucking on your jaw and throat.

“Aemond~” you pant, head thrown back and knocking against the wall. Your hands tighten in his hair, tugging it to make him look at you. His lips were kiss swollen and red. “No marks.” You remind him. His response is a low growl coming from deep in his chest as he reattaches his lips back against your neck. 

His hands guide you to rock against his thigh, a slow pull and push while he massages the flesh of your ass. A gentle grind back and forth as Aemond guides you in pleasuring yourself against him. Your moans echo around you, bouncing off of the walls as you roll into him. 

Aemond yanks the top of your dress down roughly, groaning appreciatively as your breasts are fully exposed to him. He drags his tongue up the center of your chest before moving to suck a nipple into his mouth. He gently nips at the hardened bud, making you hiss, before releasing it all together. Licking up the length of your neck to just under your ear, he whispers a question.

“Are you getting close, ñuha dōna (my sweet)?” He pauses, pulling back to watch your expression. Your eyes are half lidded and your cheeks are dusted red as your mouth hangs open and small puffs of air come out. “You are, aren’t you… I can tell. The way your hips keep bucking against my leg… your chest heaving as you suck down air…” Your breath hitches and you choke on a moan as Aemond shifts his leg closer. You rock against him feverishly, so close to your release. Your hands are gripping the leather of his shirt so hard your knuckles have turned white.

One hand reaches up and cups the side of his face, pulling him in for a feverish kiss. Aemond licks into your mouth, his tongue dancing against yours. You moan and whimper into him, grinding down against his thigh harder.

Abruptly, Aemond pulls away completely. You whine at the loss of contact, having been on the edge of release. You tug at his shirt, trying to pull him back against you, as you plead breathlessly. He simply chuckles at your desperation. 

“Hush, Issa jorrāelagon (my love),” You watch as Aemond slowly sinks to his knees in front of you, the violet color of his eye nearly completely engulfed by the black pool of his desire. He lifts your ankle off the floor, gently cradling it in his hand. Aemond places a soft kiss against the skin of your calf, then the side of your knee, the flesh of your thigh, working higher and higher, pushing the hem of your dress up as he goes. He hooks your leg over his shoulder, biting your inner thigh, laughing as you lightly shove his shoulder. Peering up at you through his lashes as he slowly licks through your folds before enclosing his mouth over your clit and sucking lightly.

Pulling away from you, he licks his lips. “Seven Gods~” he groaned, “Ao sylutegon sīr sȳz (you taste so good).” 

“Aemond!” you moan, one hand tangles back into his hair and the other rests against his shoulder. His tongue licks its way inside you, thrusting in and out slowly as Aemond uses the pad of his thumb to stimulate your clit. He hums against you as you tug his hair, the vibrations making your hips buck against him. You try to grind against his thumb but Aemond holds your hips still with his free hand. Your back arches off the wall and you jolt with pleasure. Each exhale comes out as a moan. 

“Bona's ziry, jorrāelagon (that’s it, love), let me taste you.” He purrs, replacing his tongue with two fingers. Slowly, Aemond curls his fingers inside you before dragging them out and repeating. The motion is enough to bring you pleasure yet not enough to tip you over the edge and he knows it, Aemond is watching every twitch of your body, every expression you make. He listens to the way your breath hitches, knowing you need more but not giving it to you. Your hips thrust back against Aemond’s fingers, seeking more pleasure unconsciously and you whine when he pulls his finger out completely. 

“You know what to do if you want more, ñuha dōna (my sweet).” He teases, smirking up at you. 

“Kostilus (please), Aemond. I want to cum.. I want you to make me cum.” You beg breathily, mouth falling open in a silent moan as Aemond thrust his finger back inside you. He sets a fast pace this time, thrusting his fingers in and out of you quickly while hooking them perfectly to brush against your most sensitive spots with each movement. 

“Sȳz riña, (good girl)” he praises before licking and sucking against your clit. Your body jerks and twists against him from the sudden intense pleasure. His name falls from your mouth like a prayer as you moan, unable to say or think anything but him. Your eyes roll back and you stutter out a small breath. Your body freezes, your muscles tensing. The hand in his hair grips it tightly, holding him against your core as you cum. 

Aemond guides you through it, whispering praises against your thigh as his fingers slow before pulling out completely. He stands, making a show of sucking your climax off of his fingers. The two of you stand in comfortable silence. You, catching your breath, and him, helping to situate your dress. 

“I missed you too,” You joke, breaking the silence surrounding the two of you. He chuckles softly from behind you, where he was relacing the strings of your dress. It was more a puff of air than a laugh. Finishing, he wraps his arms around you, spinning you to face him. He kisses you again, though this kiss is gentle, his hand cradling the side of your face. 

“I want to tell them. Tonight at dinner.” Aemond whispers, placing his forehead against yours. “I’m tired of hiding.. I want them to know you are mine.”  

You look into Aemonds eye, seeing the full range of his emotions and the hope he has of a future with you. It’s a sight only you get to see, “I want that too…” 

“But?” Aemond said, his shoulders deflating slightly at the thought of you not truly wanting to be with him. At the fear of this being no more than a secret for you, that you would be ashamed to be seen with him. 

“But maybe we should tell King Viserys in private… I’m  worried about the possible arguing between our families if we tell everyone at once.” “Then it’s settled, we will tell the King after dinner. When his spirits are high.” Aemond smiled, placing a chaste kiss against your lips. Separating from you he grabbed your hand, “until tonight, ñuha dōna (my sweet).” He kissed the back of your hand and turned to walk away.

The dinner had not gone as you had hoped. For a while, things were nice… amicable even. But then, Aegon made a snide comment to Jace about Baela and then about you, and all hell broke loose. 

Jace had punched Aegon square in the nose, likely breaking it. Aegon, in turn, shoved Jace down against the table. Luke had gotten up so quickly that his chair rocked back and clattered to the floor. You watched as Aemond blocked Luke’s path towards Jace and Aegon, where they were now throwing punches at each other. Aemond shoved Luke causing him to stumble back a few steps and his gaze quickly shifted to your own. 

You locked eyes with him, silently pleading that he not get involved. And in the seconds that he had not been watching your brother, Luke landed a punch directly against Aemonds jaw. You gasped, watching helplessly from your seat as the two sets of brothers were wrangled apart by the kingsguard. Standing you joined your mother as she worriedly looked over Jace and Luke. Your eyes glanced over to Aemond briefly and, as he met you gaze once more, you quirked a brow. Silently asking if he was alright. He nodded, quick and small, to reassure you before his gaze shifted back to his mother as she fussed about them. 

Before sending you and your brothers to your respective rooms, she informed you that come morning, you would all journey back to Dragonstone.

You quietly climbed out of the secret passageway into Aemonds room after listening to make sure he was alone. Quickly running to embrace him tightly. 

“Tonight could have gone better..” he jokes, hoping to hear your laugh. Instead all he heard was a shuddering inhale. 

“We lost our chance,” you murmur softly against his chest. “The king is probably asleep now.. and it’s far too late for him to accept any visitors in his room, kin or not.”

Aemond strokes your hair soothingly, “It’ll be alright, ñuha dōna (my sweet). We will speak to him in the morning.” 

“I am too leave come first sign of day.. my whole family is. My mother thought it best we leave before the King wakes, to avoid putting too much strain on him.” 

“Gaomagon daor zūgagon (do not fear). We will figure this out… I promise” Aemond moves, cradling your face in one of his hands. With the other he gently brushes your hair off of your shoulder, leaning down to kiss your neck. 

“Aemond… what are you-” 

“Shh, ñuha dōna (my sweet), let’s enjoy what time we have together.” Aemond purrs, his hands reaching behind you and pulling the laces of your dress loose. The fabric falls to the floor, pooling around your feet, leaving you bare. “By the Seven…Jurnegon ao, Issa jorrāelagon ao issi se olvie gevie mirre naejot mirre glaesagon (Look at you, my love you are the most beautiful thing to ever live).” Aemond dips, wrapping his arms around your thighs and lifting you. You laugh, bracing your hands against his shoulders as he carries you to his bed. You fall against the mattress with a ‘thud’, lifting yourself up on your elbows. You watch with half lidded eyes as Aemond slowly removes his shirt, tossing it to the side. 

He starts to undo his pants when you speak, “Wait,” shifting to your hands and knees you crawl across the mattress until you are in front of him. “Ivestragī issa dohaeragon ao (Let me help you).” Aemond watches as you slowly hook your fingers under the waistband of his pants, sliding them down his legs. You lightly drag your nails across his skin. The sensation makes his muscles tense. 

You meet his gaze as you take his dick in your hand. You slowly run your hand from base to tip and back before stopping. “Kostagon nyke emagon nykeā sylutegon (Can I have a taste), my prince?” 

Aemond growls out a swear, tangling a hand in your hair. “Open your mouth.” He guides you down the length of his cock, groaning as your throat constricts against him. Slowly, Aemond guides your head along his cock. He inhales sharply through his nose as you reach one hand up to grip the part your mouth can’t reach, matching the languid rhythm he set. With your free hand you reach between your legs, rubbing your clit between your fingers. You moan around him, causing Aemonds hips to stutter. 

“Seven… look at you darling… simply tasting my cock brings you this much pleasure?” He teases, “you’re so desperate for me aren’t you?” You moan around him again, your eyes falling closed. 

“Jaelagon tolī (want more)?” You moan around him, the vibrations causing him to groan. He pulls you off of him, pulling you up to stand. Taking your face in his hands, he kisses you fiercely in a clash of teeth and tongues. He tapped your thigh twice, signaling you to jump. He catches you by the underside of your ass. You lock your legs around his waist and wrap your arms around his neck. Aemond reaches beneath you, gripping his cock and lining it up with your entrance. In one thrust, he buries himself inside of your core. 

You break the kiss, throwing your head back and moaning as Aemond lifts your hips, bouncing you on him. Your nails claw at his back and you hide your face in his neck, moaning loudly. 

“Ao issi sīr ȳrda, issa dōna (you are so tight, my sweet), He moans into your ear. “You are practically sucking me in every time I pull out” 

“Aemond please– fuuck– It feels so good…” You meet his darkened gaze, panting harshly.  “Harder, I want you to fuck me harder.” 

He moans, hips stuttering before stopping altogether. Aemond pulls out, making you whine in frustration. Dropping you back against the bed, he hooks both of your legs over his shoulders. Quickly lining himself up again, he thrusts in completely with one snap of his hips, setting a fast pace. The force of his thrusts causing the bed to knock against the wall. Your hands fist the sheets beneath you as moan after moan is fucked out of you quicker than you can suck in oxygen. Aemond brings a hand down to your clit, rubbing it in time with his thrusts. Your body convulses, unsure if it should seek out the intense pleasure you are feeling or if it should move away from it. 

“Aemond! Nyke jāre naejot māzigon (I'm going to come)!” Aemond thrusts into you harder, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing around the room with your panting. 

“I am too, love..” He says between pants, his rhythm faltering. 

Your body tenses and your mouth falls open as a loud moan forces its way out of you. Your walls tighten around Aemond’s cock, pushing him over the edge. He collapses against you, kissing you passionately as he climaxes inside of you. 

The both of you lay there catching your breath. Aemond’s body on top of yours, wrapping you up in the perfectness of the moment.

News of King Viserys’ death arrived on the back of a dragon, by way of Rhaenys. Along with the news of Aegon's ascension to king. Your mother had gone into labor early, whether the news was the cause of this no one could say. 

For three agonizing days, you could hear her wails echo throughout all of Dragonstone as Daemon held council after council. Watch over you and your youngest siblings had doubled, there was no where you went that a guard did not accompany you. It was suffocating. 

On the fourth day, just as the sun began to set, a raven appeared on your windowsill. Attached to its foot was a small scroll. It read,

Meet with me, tonight, when the moon is its highest. 

The note had no name signed, but you hadn’t needed a signature to know it was Aemond who called for you. And so, that night you snuck out to the beach and mounted your dragon. 

It took no time to reach the small islet between King's Landing and Dragonstone. You could see Vhagar’s towering for as you approached. Quickly landing, you jumped off of your dragon.  

“Tell me Rhaenys is wrong.” You plead, quickly walking up to Aemond. “Tell me Aegon did not take the throne!”

“I cannot lie to you,” Aemond said solemnly, taking a step towards you as you took a step back. 

“Then why ask me here?” You demand. 

“Run away with me. We can leave this behind us, leave Westeros behind us.” He begs you, hands reaching out to take yours. 

You're shaking your head, tears already welling up in your eyes, as Aemond pulls you back to him. His hands cradle either side of your face, thumbs wiping away the tears that spill over.

“Please, (Y/N)..” his voice is small, afraid of your answer. “Please say yes.. say you want this as much as I do.” Aemond lays his forehead against yours, nuzzling against you. 

Your hands reach up to lay overtop of his, your eyes have closed as tears now run freely down your cheeks. “I..” you choke out, “Aemond I can’t.” You sob, your hands tightly gripping his. “I cannot leave my mother.. I wish I could say yes.. Aemond I do, please believe me… but I can’t.” 

Aemond shushes you, holding you to him as you sob. Tears well in his own eye and threaten to spill over as his chest tightens. Resentment for his family, your family, the situation you’ve both been forced into, threatens to explode out of him. 

Once your cries have lessened, and your breaths start to even out, you pull away. Placing a hand against his cheek, you pull him down for a chaste kiss. “Goodbye, Issa jorrāelagon (my love)..” As you remount your dragon and take off towards Dragonstone, you hear an anguished cry split through the air followed by the thunderous roar of Vhagar.

Part 2 Part 3

[svltzmans]

bet - h.m.

hope mikaelson x fem! reader

warnings: smut 18+! wrote most of this late at night (sorry if there are nonsense sentences) reader and hope drink a teeny bit (but are both of legal drinking age) <3

"truth or dare?"

hope erupts into laughter. she's sure y/n wasn't actually asking her to play a sleepover game invented by twelve year olds.

then again, y/n had suggested crazier things after a drink or two.

playing a party game on the floor of hope's bedroom was tame.

"i'm serious," y/n insists, before inadvertently starting to giggle alongside hope. "which one?"

"truth, i guess, i don't trust you to give me a dare," hope had to get on y/n's nerves a bit, considering she was the reason they were playing this immature game in the first place.

y/n feigns offense, bringing her hand to her chest in exaggerated shock. "you don't trust me?"

"not with this. now, what do you wanna hear the truth about?" hope quips, taking a sip of her beverage.

"how can i make this as scandalous as possible?"

"so i can't trust you with truths either?"

y/n can't help but laugh at hope once again, and before they know it, they're both laughing until they're out of breath.

"so, have you ever faked an orgasm?"

hope practically chokes on air, taken aback by the forward nature of y/n's question.

y/n continues to laugh. "sorry, too forward?"

"i mean, it's truth or dare. might as well make it interesting. yeah, i have."

"no way." y/n stares at hope with a doubtful look in her face.

"i honestly don't think i've ever... not faked one."

"what? you've never...?"

"i mean, i have by myself. never with anyone else."

y/n couldn't believe the conversation she was having with hope. they had always been close, but not quite this close.

hope hides her face behind her hands. "don't look at me like that!"

"that's just... pathetic," y/n laughs before finishing her sentence. "people still can't make a girl cum."

hope's breath hitches at the vulgarity of the conversation. she'd be lying if she said she wasn't enjoying the tension.

"well, they otherwise were winners i suppose."

hope's attempt to defend her taste in partners fails miserably, with y/n stifling a laugh.

"what, like you could do better?" hope interjects smugly, crossing her arms dramatically across her chest.

"i bet i could."

hope is sure y/n is joking. they had shared many laughs throughout the night.

but y/n is looking at her in a way that tells her she's dead serious.

and before she knows it, she's leaning into y/n, pulling her lips into her own.

y/n is swift at lifting hope off the floor and into her lap, hands firm on her thighs.

hope's hips inadvertently rock back and forth, gasps escaping under her breath.

y/n flips them over, hovering over hope laying on her back.

"strip," she mutters, with a sudden confidence.

hope is quick to oblige, shuffling out of her outfit in record time.

"you're perfect," y/n lowly mumbles. "spread your legs."

hope almost whines at her command before following it.

y/n rests her head between hope's legs, lightly kissing her thighs.

hope had never experienced so much care in this type of situation - or been so filled with need.

"my god y/n just hurry up- oh,"

hope's complaint is interrupted by y/n's tongue on her aching clit, her hands pushing her thighs further apart.

she whines when y/n pulls away, a smirk plastered on her face.

"already fucking you better than the others, huh?" she taunts, inches away from hope's pussy.

hope pulls her back in by the hair. "keep doing that. we have a goal here, don't we?"

"touché," y/n mutters before sucking hope's clit into her mouth.

"fuck, y/n. just like that."

motivated by hope's praise, y/n is unrelenting. she didn't intend to go easy on her.

"you're so good at that," hope mewls, running her fingers through y/n's hair.

hope presses her legs together, the sight of y/n between them making her moan.

she rocks her hips back and forth, letting y/n's tongue roll over her in a way that nearly sends her over the edge.

"i'm, i'm close, so close," she manages to growl, her back arching into y/n. "please don't stop, you're gonna make me cum."

hope is blabbering the words out, her brain only able to focus on the feeling.

y/n makes eye contact with hope, looking deeply at her with an expression of pure desire, throwing her over the edge.

hope lets out a raspy moan, her vision briefly going black. she swears she's on another planet by the time her body finally relaxes.

y/n smirks up at hope. "i won the bet."

"that you did," she responds, still out of breath.

[estellan0vella]

A Knight In Shining Armour Older Brother Sukuna AU HFBU

Sitting in the living room of Sukuna's apartment, you smile as you watch Yuji play with his toys on the soft carpet. The afternoon sun filters through the windows, casting a warm, golden glow over the room. Yuji's laughter fills the air, a sound that never fails to brighten your day. He's an energetic four-year-old with a boundless spirit, and ever since you started dating Sukuna, Yuji has become your little shadow, following you everywhere and mimicking your every move.

"Where's Suku?" Yuji pouts, his brow furrowing.

"He said he'd be back soon," you remind Yuji, who is currently engrossed in building a tower with his blocks. "He just went to get your favourite juice."

Yuji nods enthusiastically, his eyes sparkling with excitement. "Suku always gets the best juice!"

You chuckle softly, leaning back against the couch. Sukuna, despite his rough exterior and sharp tongue, has a soft spot for Yuji. Being his legal guardian and older brother, Sukuna takes his responsibilities seriously, ensuring Yuji is well taken care of. You've seen firsthand how deeply he cares for the little boy, and it's one of the many reasons you fell in love with him.

As you relax, a sudden, familiar sensation starts to build within you. It begins with a strange, unsettling feeling in your stomach, followed by a dizzying wave of disorientation. Your heart races, and you realize what's happening. It's a seizure.

"Yuji," you manage to say, your voice strained. "I need you to do something for me, okay?"

Yuji looks up from his toys, his face scrunching up in confusion. "What is it, Y/N/N?"

"I need you to stay calm and remember what Sukuna taught you," you say, trying to keep your voice steady. "I'm going to have a seizure."

Yuji's eyes widen with fear, but he nods, determined. "I remember. Stay with you, move anything dangerous, and call Suku."

You manage a weak smile, grateful for his quick response. "That's right, Yuji. You're so smart."

The next moment, your body begins to convulse, and you lose control. You're vaguely aware of Yuji moving swiftly, pushing the coffee table away and clearing the space around you. You feel yourself being gently turned onto your side, and through the haze of the seizure, you hear Yuji's small, trembling voice.

"It's okay, Y/N/N. I'm here. I'm calling Suku."

Yuji grabs your phone with shaky hands, dialling Sukuna's number from memory. He presses the phone to his ear, tears streaming down his cheeks as he waits for his brother to answer.

"Suku! It's Y/N/N! She's having a seizure!" Yuji cries into the phone, his voice a mix of panic and urgency. "Please come home!"

Sukuna's voice on the other end is sharp and immediate. "I'm on my way, Yuji. Stay with her and keep her safe. You're doing great."

Yuji nods, even though Sukuna can't see him, and he sets the phone down, keeping it on speaker. He returns to your side, his small hand resting on your arm as he whispers words of comfort.

"It's okay, Y/N/N. Suku's coming. You're gonna be okay."

Minutes feel like hours as the seizure runs its course. Yuji stays right by your side, his presence a comforting anchor in the storm of your convulsions. Finally, the seizure subsides, and you lie there, exhausted and disoriented. Yuji's face is the first thing you see when your vision clears, his eyes are red from crying but filled with relief.

"Suku's coming," he repeats, his voice quivering as he pats your head. "You're okay now."

You nod weakly, tears of gratitude welling up in your eyes. "Thank you, Yuji. You did so well."

Just then, the front door bursts open, and Sukuna rushes in, his face a mask of worry. He drops the grocery bag he's carrying and hurries over to you and Yuji. Without a word, he kneels beside you, his hands gentle as he checks you over.

"Babe, are you alright?" he asks, his voice low and filled with concern.

You manage a nod, still too weak to speak. Sukuna's eyes soften with relief, and he turns his attention to Yuji, who clings to your side, refusing to let go.

"Yuji, you did great," Sukuna says, ruffling his little brother's hair. "But I need to check on her properly now. Can you give us a bit of space?"

Yuji shakes his head vehemently, his grip on your arm tightening. "No! I wanna stay with Y/N/N!"

Sukuna's expression softens further, and he sighs, reaching out to gently pry Yuji's hands away. "I know, buddy. I know you want to stay with her, but I need to make sure she's okay. It'll only be for a minute, I promise."

Yuji bursts into tears, his small body trembling. "I don't wanna leave her!"

Your heart aches at the sight of Yuji so distressed, and you muster all your strength to reach out and touch his cheek. "It's okay, Yuji," you whisper. "I'll be right here. Sukuna just needs to help me. Can you be brave for me a little longer?"

Yuji sniffles, his eyes filled with uncertainty, but he nods slowly. Sukuna lifts him gently, setting him a short distance away where he can still see you. Yuji watches with wide, tear-filled eyes as Sukuna examines you, checking your pulse and making sure you're not hurt.

"You're alright, baby," Sukuna murmurs, his touch reassuring. "You scared us there for a minute."

You manage a faint smile. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Sukuna replies, his voice firm. "Just rest now."

Once he's satisfied that you're okay, Sukuna allows Yuji to rush back to your side. The little boy hugs you tightly, his tears soaking into your shirt.

"I'm sorry, Y/N/N," he sobs. "I was scared. I tried to be brave"

"You did everything right," you assure him, holding him close. "You were amazing, Yuji. So very brave. Like a knight in shining armour"

"Really?" Yuji sniffles out between his sobs and you nod. 

Sukuna watches the two of you, a rare, soft expression on his face. He sits down beside you, pulling both you and Yuji into a protective embrace. For a while, the three of you just sit there, finding comfort in each other's presence.

Eventually, Yuji's sobs quiet down, and he looks up at Sukuna with big, pleading eyes. "Can Y/N/N stay with us forever?"

Sukuna chuckles softly, ruffling Yuji's hair again. "I think that's up to Y/N/N, buddy. But I wouldn't mind it."

You smile, feeling a warmth spread through your chest despite the lingering exhaustion. "I'd like that too."

Yuji's face lights up with a big, beaming smile, and he snuggles closer to you. "Then it's settled! Y/N/N stays forever!"

Sukuna smirks, leaning down to press a gentle kiss on your forehead. "Looks like you're stuck with us, babe."

You laugh softly, the sound filling the room with a sense of peace and happiness. Despite the scare, you know you're exactly where you belong. With Sukuna and Yuji, your little family, you feel safe and loved. And that's all that matters.

As the evening progresses, Sukuna keeps a close eye on you, making sure you're comfortable and well-rested. Yuji stays by your side, his little hand holding yours tightly as if he's afraid to let go. You can see the concern in his eyes, but also a fierce determination to protect you, just like his older brother.

Sukuna heads to the kitchen to prepare dinner, and Yuji follows him, still reluctant to leave your side. Sukuna senses this and pulls a chair close to the kitchen counter, allowing Yuji to sit and watch while he cooks.

"What's for dinner, Suku?" Yuji asks, his voice a mix of curiosity and lingering worry.

"Something easy and comforting," Sukuna replies, glancing over his shoulder at you. "How about some soup and grilled cheese sandwiches?"

Yuji nods eagerly, his earlier fear slowly dissipating. "Yeah, I like that."

You watch the interaction with a smile, feeling a deep sense of gratitude for both of them. Sukuna is a natural in the kitchen, moving with grace and confidence that never ceases to amaze you. Yuji chats animatedly, his mood lifting as he helps his brother with small tasks.

Once dinner is ready, Sukuna brings a tray over to the living room, setting it on the coffee table. He hands you a bowl of soup and a sandwich, making sure you're comfortable before he sits down beside you with his own meal. Yuji nestles between the two of you, his small hands carefully holding his bowl.

As you eat, the conversation flows easily, the earlier tension slowly melting away. Yuji shares stories from his day, his enthusiasm contagious. Sukuna listens attentively, occasionally teasing his little brother in a way that makes Yuji giggle.

After dinner, Sukuna takes care of the dishes while you and Yuji cuddle on the couch, watching one of his favourite cartoons. Yuji's eyelids grow heavy, and he eventually falls asleep, his head resting on your lap. You gently stroke his hair, feeling a deep sense of contentment.

Sukuna joins you after a while, his presence a comforting weight beside you. He wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. "How are you feeling, babe?" he asks softly.

"Tired, but okay," you reply, leaning into him. "Thank you for coming back so quickly."

"Of course," Sukuna murmurs, his lips brushing against your temple. "I always will."

You smile, feeling the warmth of his words wrap around you like a blanket. In this moment, surrounded by the people you love, you know that no matter what challenges come your way, you'll face them together. And that's all you need.

[ladykailitha]

A Love Connection Part 4

Thank you to everyone who reached out to me about the drop in numbers. I appreciate you and will try to be patient as everyone seems to be really going through shit right now. Honestly if I wasn't a SAHM I probably would be one of those people.

In this we have Steve resigning himself to doing the game show, more of the kids, and we get to the actual game show! ka-shonk, I know!

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

~

“Meow!” Odie cried at the indignity of being shoved in someone’s face.

Steve carefully wrapped his little feet so Odie would feel more supported. He stritched under his chin and Odie began to purr.

Chrissy inched forward until she was close to Steve. “Steve, he’s adorable. Where did you get him?”

“I found him in a cardboard box out by the dumpsters,” he explained, never taking his eyes off the kitten. “It was starting to snow and I just couldn’t leave him there. He was wet, and cold, and alone.”

Robin’s shoulders sagged. “Of course you can keep him, dingus. I wouldn’t have said no even without the Sword of Damocles in the form of the game show hanging over my head. He’s adorable.”

Chrissy tickled his little toes and then looked up at Steve. “Why Odie? For the name?”

Steve blushed, grateful his head was already down so they couldn’t see his blush. “A couple of reasons I guess. To honor Garfield the goldfish, for one. But also because of the coloring the cream body and brown ears is so much like Odie’s.” Just then Odie twisted and tried to leap out his arms. “And there’s the fact he very likely has only one brain cell,” he deadpanned as quickly caught the kitten before he hurt himself.

Robin snorted. “So I see.”

Steve handed him to Chrissy and he allowed himself to be subjected to her neck scratches.

“So are we forgiven?” Robin asked, shyly. “We really didn’t think anything would have come of it. Though we were really building you up, talking about how you really deserved to find love and how your luck had run to catastrophic with those you dated. We made sure be really sweet about you.”

“I think that’s another reason why they picked you, Steve,” Chrissy said, walking over to sofa to cuddle with the new kitten. “You would be a perfect opener if not season finale. All you have to do is fill out the questionnaire and then they’ll tell you when filming is.”

“You’ll need about a week off,” Robin explained on her way to the kitchen to put the beer in the fridge. “It takes two days to film the first half of the episode and a day each for the dates in the second half. Then a whole day filming the choosing ceremony or whatever the hell they call it. They just want you there two days before for interviews and legal stuff.”

Steve sighed and ripped into the bag of gummy worms. “All right, you fill it in while I dictate.”

Chrissy and Robin cheered. Chrissy opened up her phone with the email and started asking the questions.

“Why would they even need to know my measurements?” Steve huffed about half way through. He had migrated to floor where he was using a gummy worm that had fallen to said floor to tease Odie with.

“Probably for costuming,” Robin said sagely. “They just can’t let you wear anything to their show.”

Steve wrinkled his nose, but allowed them to continue. Once it was all filled out most of the bag of gummy bears were gone and he was a little exhausted by it all.

He buried his head in his hands. “Fuck me. What even is my life right now?”

Chrissy and Robin shared a glance and then slid down to the floor where he had Odie curled up on his lap. They wrapped their arms around him and just held him.

He let himself be comforted by their support.

~

New Year’s brought new challenges, especially when he learned he would have to get a sub for his class the last week in March. They couldn’t have waited a week so that he would have it off for Spring Break? Which meant he had to tell Mrs. Byers why he needed the week off. Which meant Will found out. Which of course meant the rest of the little buttheads found out about it, too.

“Do you get to decide the questions?” Mike asked, one day while they were hanging out in the AV room, Mr. Jenner finally having been fired and Steve forced to take over for the rest of the school year.

He had come to class after the winter break, drunk off his ass, stoned out of his mind, and completely trashed his classroom. Thankfully the equipment had been locked up and not subjected to his rampage.

Otherwise the school would have had to have him arrested to recoup their lost.

Mike had actually started to warm up to him after it was revealed he was going on some dating show. Steve wasn’t sure how he felt about that, but he decided to count it as a blessing and move on.

“Some of them,” Steve confirmed. “The first question of what is your ideal date is standard, and is part of the game show setup, but mostly they want me to be able to answer the questions myself, and if I can’t there’s really no point in having the suitors answer them either.”

“Suitors is a stupid name,” Max huffed from the corner. She was forced to join the AV because it was the only after school program that ran on Fridays and her mom started to have to work late on those days.

Steve huffed out a laugh. “Yeah and what would call them?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “Contestants or something.”

“Eh, eh!” he said sounding like a buzzer on an old game show. “Boring!”

She cocked her head to the side. “Yeah, whatever, Mr. Catch.”

“Yeah,” Steve agreed. “I’m not sure what the would replace it with consider a lot of the other options are copyrighted due to other similar shows, but yeah. It sounds like I’m a fox and they’re the hounds.”

“What about Hitch?” Lucas suggested. “It plays on the Love Connection theme.”

Steve shook his head. “There’s an old movie called ‘Hitch’ and he’s a matchmaker. So I’m betting they didn’t go that route for that reason. Especially since this show is on its thirteenth fucking season.”

“Mr. Harrington!” Dustin scandalized. “You aren’t supposed to swear at school.”

“It’s after hours and we’re literally outside the school waiting for your parents,” Steve huffed. “Anyone here gonna rat on me?”

He looked around at the bright faces and knew that not a one of them were snitches.

When no one answered, he said, “Here, I’ll tell you what. Each of you come up with a question for me to ask my suitors and bring them by next week.”

All the kids cheered.

~

After Steve got in his questions from the kids, he sent them into the game show and most of the questions were approved. Some were simple Star Wars or Star Trek, others were fun questions like ‘what is your favorite sports team?’ to in depth questions like ‘do you consider yourself to be a good person?’ That last one was from Max. He loved that girl fiercely and only wanted good things for her.

He packed up his things and made sure that Robin would take good care of Odie. He was going to miss the little furball.

He was flown out to LA where the show was filmed. He was shown to a fancy hotel where he would be spending the week. He was told that the suitors were in other hotels are around the city so that they didn’t meet accidentally before the taping.

Steve’s first day was with legal and how much money he would be making for his appearance on the show. It was roughly three thousand dollars to make up for the fact he had to take time off from work. Other than that it was all about them footing bill for all his meals and lodging during his stay.

He wouldn’t get the money until it aired, which he thought was bullshit, but it was whatever.

Robin had been right about the measurements as they gave him a lot of clothes to chose from. Then whatever he picked would be doubled so that he could look the same on both filming days. Then he would have special date night outfits that would be picked based on where they were going for the date.

All in all not a bad gig. Steve definitely preferred teaching though.

Then they did all the pre-show interview stuff the next day. He got to talk about his school and the kids he taught. He got to talk about Robin and Chrissy and his adorable new kitten Odie. That part wasn’t so bad.

Then it was time for the first day of taping.

He got dressed in a cream colored suit with a light blue button up shirt. The shoes and belt were nice leather, too. He briefly wondered if he got to keep the clothes. He couldn’t imagine they needed to keep them.

He wasn’t told anything about the suitors before hand, but they knew a lot about him. Which felt a little creepy if he was honest.

He sat in the ridiculous little booth he would be in so he couldn’t see the contestants. This was because they didn’t want him to judge their answers based on their looks.

The host was Bob Newby. He was one of the best parts of the show, Steve thought. He was sweet and friendly and everything wanted out a dating game style host. He was in a dark grey suit and white shirt with a red tie. A tie he was currently stroking nervously.

Steve smiled at him and Bob blushed.

“I’ve done over a hundred of these things,” Bob admitted, “and I still get nervous.”

“Well that makes me feel better about throwing up breakfast this morning.”

Bob laughed. “So this is how it will go, we will film more than questions required so we can get a good bunch of questions and answers. We will be filming out of order. The rapid fire questions first. Then half of the questions for round one today to round out filming. Then the second half of the round one questions with all of the round three questions.”

“That’s a little weird,” Steve huffed. “But it’s your show, man.”

“Trust me,” Bob said, “this way is easier to film.”

Steve just shrugged.

“You ready?” Bob asked. When Steve nodded, Bob pointed at the camera and counted down from three with his fingers.

“Hey, everyone!” Bob said. “Welcome to a brand new season of ‘Love Connection’ where we help lonely people make that special connection. This season we will be focusing on getting all those fancy letters LGBTQ+ a chance at love. We have your gays, your lesbians, your non-binary folks, your trans people, and one very special ace lady just looking for love.”

The audience politely clapped.

“I’m your host Bob Newby and today we have one very lucky catch. Steve Harrington from Hawkins, IN. He’s a middle school teacher who recently became a cat dad, to the adorable Odie.” A picture of Odie sleeping on Steve’s chest under his chin is shown on the screen behind them. “He coaches basketball and the swim team. And yes he does look hot in a Speedo!” A picture of Steve in a blue Speedo and wearing a white jacket and his whistle.

Steve decided he was going to murder Robin and/or Chrissy for that photo alone. Especially when the crowd goes wild, complete with wolf whistles.

“He enjoys watching sports, swimming, and reading in his spare time,” Bob continued. “He has tried everything to get a partner in this hellscape we call modern life, apps, bars, clubs and not just the ones with a dance floor and sick beats. So he came to us, so let’s see if we can match him to any of our suitors.”

The audience clapped again.

“Suitor number one,” Bob said, “why don’t you tell us a little bit about yourself.”

“Hi, I’m Billy,” the first voice said, “I’m a professional surfer with a ton of sponsors. I’m the most decorated surfer both nationally and internationally. I like sex, sex, and more sex. Just kidding. I like other things too. I’m a big car guy and a bit of a foodie, too.”

Steve was grateful that they can’t see him because Bob and he shared an exasperated glance.

“Suitor number two,” Bob said. “Tell us about yourself.”

“Hey, I’m Tommy,” the second voice said, “I’m an investment banker at a prestigious company. I like sports, traveling, and deep sea fishing.”

Steve tilted his head and nodded. Not bad. He wasn’t sure about the whole investment banker thing, but the rest sounded good.

“And last but not least, Suitor number three,” Bob said, “tell us about you.”

“Hello!” the third voice said brightly, and Steve could almost picture a dorky little wave to go with it. “I’m Eddie. I’m a music producer with my own studio. I like heavy metal, all things nerdy, and camping.”

Steve smiled fondly. He sounded a lot like Dustin. He could only hope this didn’t have the ego to match.

“All right, everyone!” Bob said with a winning smile. “Let’s begin the Love Connection!”

~

Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

Tag List: CLOSED

1-@mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @zerokrox-blog

2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @cryptid-system

3- @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

4- @justforthedead89 @irregular-child @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji

5- @anne-bennett-cosplayer @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon

6- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

7- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

8- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33 @beelze-the-bubkiss

9- @dreamercec @wheneverfeasible @themoonagainstmers @garden-of-gay @little-birch-boy

[klaus-littlestwolf]

hi can you make a human AU for yandere klaus mikaelson where he is a businessman and he is the boss of his own company and he has a new assistant *y/n* and he obviously falls in love with her and finds any excuse to stay with her and one day they stay late at the office just the two of them and klaus manages to seduce her enough to fuck her hard against his desk and claim her as his own.

(There’s hints of Yandere!Klaus in this but it’s not too bad, he’s more Yandere in the sense that the boss is ‘taking advantage’ of his employee)

Warning:Smut, Dub-Con(ish-if you squint) and power imbalance

-Don’t Like=Don’t Read-

DD:DNE

It was strange to you how close he got at first, Klaus was constantly keeping you after hours, paying you overtime to help with the smallest things. He would be close as often as he could, touch you as often as he could and stare at you through his office window whenever he got the chance.

Honestly you feel like you should have reported him to Human Resources by now but…you love it.

Your boss was definitely attractive, and for some reason he wanted to constantly be around you. You didn’t really have a problem with it, doing your job and taking care of whatever he needed from you. Sometimes you just ended up having dinner with him in his office while you went over paperwork that could have easily waited until the next day.

Klaus seemed like he was trying to see just how far he could get. You knew the little touches were inappropriate, his hand lingering on the small of your back, wrapping around your waist, tucking your hair behind your ear, but he was so sweet and charming you couldn’t find it in yourself to complain. Klaus was hot, no denying that, but you never thought it went beyond a little teasing, you never thought he was as in love with you as he is. By the time you realized how serious it was it was too late.

‘Here are the reports you asked for Mr. Mikaelson. If that’s everything you need then I will head out for the day.’ You turned to walk back to your desk when his voice stopped you.

‘Y/n, I actually have something else to get done. Would you mind terribly staying and helping me? I’ll buy you dinner?’ He offered and you couldn’t refuse that sweet, hopeful face.

‘Fine, but I want Chinese.’ You teased and he just smiled.

Once again you stay with him finishing up paper work that didn’t need to be done yet, some of which never should have been anywhere near his desk, but you didn’t complain. You two worked and talked until almost 9pm when you began cleaning up for the evening and he seemed to suddenly realize how late it was. ‘Thank you for this Y/n, I appreciate how willing you are to help me. Most assistants I’ve had would never consider overtime…I also genuinely enjoy spending time with you.’ He admitted and you felt your cheeks heating up.

‘Well thank you Mr. Mikaelson. I’m glad that I can help, besides, overtime just means I can pay my bills faster.’ You joked, picking up the last files and moving to put them away in the file cabinet.

‘Are you having trouble? I can help you if you need-‘ you were stunned by his immediate upset at the idea of your money problems.

‘Oh no, I’m fine. It was a joke, really. I mean everyone has money problems, student loans, the normal stuff, no big deal.’ You brushed the subject off as quickly as you could before filing the last few folders. ‘Everything is finished, and legal should be able to find it all tomor-Oh!’ You gasped as you turned to find your boss directly behind you, jumping back into the filing cabinet in surprise.

‘Are you alright? I didn’t mean to frighten you.’ He spoke, reaching out to make sure you hadn’t hurt your head.

‘I’m fine…’ you mumbled quietly, trying to find a way around him but not seeing one and instantly hating your body for betraying you as you felt your nipples harden as his hands touched you, running down your arms and looking you over.

‘You’re perfection…you know Y/n, I’ve really become attached to you these last 2 weeks you’ve been here. I believe you deserve everything the world has to offer you, and I want to be the one to give it to you.’ His hand tucked your hair behind your ear and you were stood, frozen and in shock.

‘Mr. Mikaelson, I think this is becoming inappropriate and I don’t-‘

‘Come on Love. You know that I’m sweet on you, there’s no way you don’t. You’ve been enjoying our time together, I know you like the flirting and the little touches…well I love how you try to hide that sweet blush every time I compliment you.’ His thumb brushed down your cheek and you could feel how hot it was as your body continued disobeying you.

‘Please stop? I-I can’t-‘

‘Can’t what?’

‘Can’t lose my job for this-please stop?’ Tears sprung to your eyes as you tried to push passed him but his arm wound around your waist, and he quickly lifted you to sit on his desk.

‘You won’t be losing your job gorgeous, I like having you here. I want you to be mine, and if that’s what I want then who is going to object with me?’ You were stunned by that, he wanted you to keep working for him even after fucking you?

‘If people find out-‘

‘Let them. What are they going to say? I fell in love with my assistant and now we’re together? Now she’s mine? I enjoy the idea of working with you all day and holding you all night, don’t you?’ I looked up at him in shock, disbelief at the idea that he could be in love with me. ‘Oh Love, you didn’t think once was going to be enough for us, did you? We’ll have barely gotten started.’ The smirk on his face was dark and would have been scary if you didn’t already love him yourself. You had seen his dark side, the angry parts of him that come out in meetings with certain people, and you had seen who the only person to calm him down afterwards was.

You

‘You’re already dripping for me, aren’t you?’ He questioned as he pulled your ass to the edge of the desk and began pushing your skirt up your thighs. ‘I know you are, I know how badly this sweet little cunt needs me.’ You gasped suddenly, his forehead resting against yours now as you felt his hand grazing the inside of your thighs before his fingertips brushed against your panties. His other hand moved and suddenly he had ripped your panties in half, roughly shoving 2 fingers into you and swallowing your cry in a needy kiss. Your hands quickly moved to fumble with his belt, yanking it open and wrapping your fingers around his cock, stunned at just how thick it is. ‘I’m going to stretch you so good you’ll never want another cock again.’ His mouth devoured yours in his desperate kisses, hands now yanking his boxer briefs down and pressing the head of his thick cock to your dripping hole. ‘See how desperate she is for me? Sweet little hole is leaking all over my desk, I can’t imagine how wet your panties are when you go home every night-‘ you gasped loudly as he shoved himself into you completely, holding your waist tightly to keep your body flush against his. ‘So tight!’ He grunted, pulling back and shoving himself into you again, setting a slow pace and grunting against your neck as your arms wrapped tighter around his neck, fingers buried in his hair to hold yourself close to him.

‘Please sir-‘

‘Call me my name, love! Only my name from now on!’ He demanded, thrusting particularly hard.

‘Niklaus! Faster-Please?!’ You begged and he growled, pushing you down onto his desk, climbing on top of you and thrusting his hips faster now. You lifted your legs and wrapped them around his waist as he continued his desperate pace.

‘Do you know-fuck-how many times I’ve thought about fucking you over this desk?!’ You shook your head, tears springing to your eyes as you barreled towards your end. ‘Gonna bend you over it tomorrow, clearly gonna have to shove something in this needy little mouth with how loud you are. Fuck! Cum. Cum on my cock gorgeous, let me feel this tight little cunt squeezing me!’

‘Oh God Niklaus!’ You cried, your pussy constricting around him as you came, faster than you believe any man has made you before and dropping your head to the table, waiting for him to finish as well but he didn’t.

‘You look so fucking beautiful cumming for me, I need to show the world that perfect face.’ He pulled his still hard cock from you, watching with a dark smirk as your pussy dripped on his oak desk before he hooked his hands under your thighs and lifted you up, spinning you so your back was against his chest and moving to pin your body to the window surrounding his corner office. The cold window hardened your nipples even more as he forced you to look out over all the other skyscrapers. ‘Isn’t it beautiful?’ He asked, lips barely touching your ear and you could do nothing but whine. ‘This is just the first of the wonderful views I plan to give you while I fuck you senseless, the next will be time square in New York on the business trip next week.’ As he shoved his cock back inside of you, your hands pressed to the glass, pushing you back against him, your boss now slamming his cock into you like a desperate animal. ‘All mine now Baby, all fucking mine! Not gonna stop until I fill this body with my babies, God, imagine how beautiful you’ll be! Tell me your mine!’

‘Y-yours!’

‘Say It!’

‘I’m Yours! All yours Niklaus! Please fill me up, please?!’ You pleaded, your second orgasm ripping through you almost painfully and squeezing him hard.

‘Oh Fuck! Perfect, Tight, Little Cunt! Fuck!’ His teeth sunk into your shoulder as he came, filling you with everything he had before kissing the side of your face.

He pulled out and set you down in his desk chair, turning away and leaving you feeling exposed. Just as you were about to get up and search for your clothes he turned back, eyes warning you against moving before he knelt down in front of you and used wet wipes from his desk to clean you up. ‘You don’t have to do that, I can-‘

‘Don’t question me taking care of you Y/n, I meant what I said…you’re mine now.’ His voice was like a warning as he cleaned you off and helped you dress before cleaning and dressing himself which was extremely sweet.

You slept in his bed later that night, snuggled into your boss’ naked chest and content on the insanely comfortable mattress for the night. You were suddenly looking forward to the business trip to New York that much more…

Klaus Mikaelson Masterlist

[howdoyousleep3]

Prompt: Sex with a Stranger

Pairing: Shrunkyclunks (Modern Bucky Barnes/Captain America Steve Rogers) Word Count: ~6K Tags: shrunkyclunks, strangers to lovers, awkward flirting, stranger sex, public sex, car sex, blow jobs, anal sex, unprotected sex, clothed sex, porn with little plot, dirty talk, come as lube, size kink, feminization, multiple orgasms, coming untouched, Author's Note: I was truly planning on throwing my whole ass into Kinktober, but life totally and completely dragged me down lol. Hopefully I can contribute more because I have all the plans to, but I don't want to jinx myself. For now, here is a prompt I've been working on for years that hopped in my inbox a few years ago. This is for you, nonnie. 😉 Read here on Ao3

“I think this might end up being one of the greatest moments of my life, Cap…”

It was just supposed to be coffee. 

It was a simple and innocent enough request on Tony’s part, a cheerful inquiry about how Steve’s morning was going, how productive his run through the city at dawn was, which led to an invite for coffee. And coffee sounded damn good, as did the time spent away from the Tower, spent away from himself. 

Tony offered to drive, and although Steve barely fit into the passenger seat of the vehicle Tony chose to take— “They didn’t build this thing with your shoulder span in mind, buddy…”—  it seemed like a lovely way to spend an hour of his morning. 

But then Tony started talking about bikinis and broads and Steve had to stop and clarify—

“You asked me to go get coffee with you, Tony. Not...not a place with nudity or—” 

“Oh, my dearest Steven. You’re about to have the best coffee of your too-long life.” 

Steve goes through what he knows, filters through the limited 21st Century knowledge he carries and builds upon each day. 

He’s been to a few local places, ones that are open late at night that he has popped into when sleep doesn’t claim him. He is aware that Starbucks is incredibly popular. He’ll never get the sizing correct and has been told it is somehow both the best and the worst, but he thinks they have pretty decent coffee. Then again, he’s from a time where coffee’s intended purpose was to stimulate you enough to keep you awake for long working hours. 

Coffee is viewed very differently now.

Steve is about to tell Tony to turn around, to pull over and let him walk home because he really isn’t in the mood for any shenanigans, when Steve sees the sign— 

Java Juggs.

And then another sign of—

Bikini Baristas.

“Tony…” Steve warns, voice stern but it’s no match for Tony’s charming smile, his feigned innocence with a light, “Yes, Steve?” 

“Surely you are not taking me to a coffee shop where the women serving patrons their coffee are dressed in only their bikinis.” 

Tony nods his head, continues driving and follows the arrows painted onto the pavement of the parking lot that guide cars in the direction they should be driving, surely necessary only here given the...distractions. 

“Right, of course. Why would I do that?” Tony asks, tone serious, but when Steve takes one look out towards the incredibly small, standalone building merely the size of a shed, he has his answer. 

“Goddamnit, Tony.”

The women are indeed clad in bikinis. Steve has absolutely no idea how this business is legal, but he’s found out a lot of shit about the 21st Century is unexplainable and this must be one of those things. Steve is aware that a normal drive-thru window is small, coming up to most people’s chests, mid-torso, but these windows are much larger, dropping easily down to hip level. 

That has to be because of the baristas and their attire. 

There are only three baristas in the establishment that Steve can make note of. As they wait for the car in front of them to receive their coffee, Steve finds himself respectfully managing to take their appearance in while also not gawking. He will admit— these women have every reason to show their bodies off in the way they are choosing. They’re voluptuous and curvy, of varying shapes, two choosing to indeed wear a bikini. 

The redhead has chosen a white ensemble, complete with a bikini and a wrap of sorts around her lower half that makes it look more like a skirt, one that hugs her hips. The curvier brunette opted for a black bikini, also simple, and not a skirt per se, but Steve assumes it gets the job done. It looks like fishnets, hugs her lower half, stops right below the curve of her bottom. Steve can’t see the third barista but he can only assume she is dressed in the same kind of attire. 

“This is the best place in the city to come and get coffee,” Tony explains, and Steve is quick to furrow his brow. 

“Really?”

Tony scoffs. “Absolutely not. Come on, Cap.” 

Steve should just get out of the car and start walking home. 

“It isn’t terrible but, come on— it’s allowed to be shit. Look at ‘em!” 

Steve reaches for the door handle as Tony rolls the car forward, approaching the window, and that’s when he sees the third barista. 

Oh.

“Well look what the cat dragged in. Girls, your fave— Tony’s here.” 

“Hello to you too, Buckaroo. How are my favorite baristas doing, hmm?” 

Oh God.

Buckaroo is gorgeous. 

Since coming back to this life, Steve has not once been struck by someone’s beauty so suddenly as he is with the man at the window. 

It hits him in the very center of his being, feels like every inch of his skin is electrified where he sits cramped in this car. The man’s beauty punches him right in the dick, and he almost makes a noise, one Tony would surely hear given the compactness of this goddamn car.  He gets so hard so fast it knocks the air out of his chest but this is something more, something deeper.  

Where Steve was respectful with his eyes towards the two female baristas, he is anything but as he drinks in this other beauty. 

This man is young, his chocolate hair pulled up into an artful bun, the skin of his neck, of his entire body, making Steve need to damn near sink his teeth into his own fist to calm down. Steve just knows he’s soft, knows his skin has to be the most tender thing to press his fingertips into. And that thought makes him ache to touch this man. 

How inappropriate of him to have these filthy thoughts about a stranger.

But Steve can’t help it, damn him. 

He too is wearing a bikini, but his is crocheted into the pattern of two small, crimson stars that cover his nipples and are brought together by mere strings. His jean shorts are tiny, sit on his full hips low enough that the matching strings of the bottoms of the bikini sit high up on his hips. 

Steve finds himself wanting to bury both of his hands down the back of those shorts, to get two handfuls of what’s sure to be a ripe peach of an ass. The kid has to have an ass that matches the rest of him, one that Steve imagines himself sinking his teeth into even though he’s not once done that to anyone. 

Steve’s lewd and feral reaction brings a flush to his cheeks. He digs his fingers into the denim of his jeans. Is he sweating?

The stranger seems to be tall from where Steve is looking up and over at him, lithe and graceful and supple, and when he ducks his head, bends and rests his elbows on the windowsill, he knocks Steve out with one curl of his plush lips and a smack of his bubblegum.

“Who’d you bring along with you, Tony?” 

Steve feels his flush creep down his neck, one that is pronounced and intense. He adjusts where he sits, wiggles even. 

“Oh, right of course. This here is Steve! Told him I’d show him where to get the best cup of coffee in the city. Steve, Bucky. Bucky, Steve.”

“Oh yeah? Mr. Captain America himself? And you brought him here?” Bucky teases with a wink tossed easily in Steve’s direction before he purrs, “Heya, Stevie.” 

Steve is in love. 

He’s so in love he trips over his words, feels his blush darken impossible further and he makes an unexplainable gesture with his hand that he thinks will pass as a wave. He isn’t even sure if the words he uses are English, are ones Bucky can understand, but whatever he ends up saying makes Bucky giggle, face lighting up in a way that narrows all of Steve’s focus down to the way Bucky’s nose crinkles up cutely as he does so. 

Steve is really in love. 

“You want your regular, Tony?” one of the women within the stand asks with a holler and Tony nods, turning his curious gaze away from Steve to confirm his order. 

“Yeah, sweetheart— ten shots of espresso and then your Rainbow Unicorn blended drink.” 

Jesus. Steve doesn’t have enough time to be horrified before Bucky is speaking to him.

“What’ll you have, Mr. Captain?” Bucky asks, and Steve didn’t know it was possible for someone’s voice to sound like sex. In another life, one where Tony wasn’t mere inches from him and one where he had more instances of human interaction since coming out of the ice, he’d have a flirtatious response, one that would make it crystal clear for Bucky the direction of Steve’s thoughts. 

“I’ll uhh...do you guys have...have lattes?” is what he stumbles through instead. Tony immediately giggles, scoffs, but Bucky just smiles at Steve sweetly. 

“Yeah, big guy. We’ve got lattes. You want something sweet in that?” 

You. 

One word, just one word, that’s all he needs to say. Steve nods. 

“I’ll uhh...I’ll let you decide.” 

So close.

But Bucky hums, bites his lip, doesn’t miss a beat. 

“Too bad I can’t put a little bit’a me in your cup, huh?”  

Oh Christ.

Steve gulps, cheeks immediately flaring red, but he’s tired of fumbling over himself and his words, his wants. He ducks his head and looks right back at Bucky, mustering up just enough confidence to give him a solid once over before replying, “Yeah, that’s too bad.” 

Steve chooses to ignore Tony’s squawk and instead focuses on the way Bucky grins, the way Steve swears he sees Bucky’s cheeks glow pink. His stomach twists up pleasantly, butterflies joining in alongside the curl of heat. 

He can’t remember the last time he felt such validation before, especially that in the form of flirting. 

He floats through the rest of their interaction, eyes tracking Bucky as much as he can. He wishes to burn the various sexy images of Bucky into his brain, wants to pull them up later when he has time to himself with his fist and his cock. He doesn’t feel like as much as a pervert as he did minutes before, not with the way Bucky’s eyes meet his at every turn, a constant onslaught of further validation. 

He isn’t sure why he doesn’t ask for Bucky’s number before they drive off. He later blames it on the haze and heaviness of such an intense interaction, how he felt like he was wading through molasses in his mind as he watched Bucky wink at him as they drove away, still trying to memorize anything and everything he could about the brunette. 

He barely heard Tony’s chiding, his boisterous words that surely consisted of shit-talking him into the ground for his embarrassing behavior. He had no energy to dish it back, to stand up for himself in any way, especially when Tony mentions Bucky usually works tomorrow’s morning shift as well. 

“We’ll come back tomorrow morning and try that again because that was pitiful. Not only am I shocked you swing that way, I’m shocked at your absolute lack of flirting skills. I mean, could you not have at least…” 

Tomorrow morning. 

He’ll come back tomorrow morning, without Tony and with a clear head, all lack of self-confidence and pathetic attempts at flirting washed down the drain alongside his cum. Because there’s no way he’s spending the rest of the day doing anything but jerking off to images, thoughts, and scenarios of Bucky. 

Bucky, the curvy barista with the tiny red bikini and pinkest lips, the one who insinuated he wished Steve could eat him for breakfast. 

Fuck. 

Steve isn’t even ashamed in the slightest as he pulls into the drive thru the next morning, steady rain and darkened sky and all. 

After a day spent sitting on the shower floor alone with his hand and his dick, he spent too much of his night tossing and turning thinking about the way Bucky would feel under his hands to have any sort of shame this morning. Yes, he’s here to see Bucky; of course he is. Does it matter what kind of coffee he’s going to order? It does not. Is he going to ask Bucky out on a date or get his number? He absolutely is. 

He’s here without Tony, is alone without any added pressure, he’s thought of what he’s going to say— 

He’s going to do this. 

His planned out words are forgotten the moment it’s his turn to pull up to the window and he sees Bucky’s smile, bright enough to threaten to push all the rain out of the forecast.

He looks as ethereal as he did yesterday, glowing and angelic and delicious. Today he’s sporting a football jersey that is quite short, cropped and sits just below his chest, another g-string high on his hips that stands out because of his tiny denim shorts. 

Steve’s mouth waters at the same rate his dick turns to stone. He has to busy himself with putting the car in park so he doesn’t reach out his window and grab for Bucky right away, especially after Bucky purrs, “Heya, Stevie. Just had to come back and see me?” 

Steve takes a deep breath. He’s gotta start off strong. 

“Of course I did. How are you, Bucky?” 

His voice is perfectly confident. It’s strong and sturdy and smooth as he leans as casually as he can on his rolled-down window. Bucky meets him in the middle with his own lean against the open drive-thru window, cocking his hip and tucking his chin. 

“I’m good now that you’re here. My latte was that good, Captain?” 

Steve hums. He doesn’t even recall drinking the coffee Bucky made for him the morning before, but he knows it was perfect. He is more than intentional with the way his eyes wander before he answers quietly. 

“It was delicious, doll.” 

It’s the forwardness he was wanting from himself and the exact reaction he was wishing to get from Bucky. The tension between them finally snaps into place with strength that is so startling to Steve it has his heart hammering against his chest. He would be worried, would be backtracking and reeling himself in if it weren’t for the molten and seductive look Bucky is sending his way. 

“You want the same thing? Or do you want somethin’ a little different today?” 

Go in for the kill, Rogers. 

“Think I might want something even sweeter this time around,” he starts, pausing momentarily to watch Bucky’s tongue run along his bottom lip distractedly. “When is your shift over? How about I take you somewhere to grab something to eat?” 

That’s what people do, right? That’s not weird at nine in the morning? 

Bucky barely reacts to his proposition, but Steve can see it, the excitement of his words behind Bucky’s gaze and cool facade. He doesn’t even hesitate, doesn’t pull his eyes away from Steve’s when he raises his voice to speak over his shoulder. 

“Darcy! Can I take off early? You owe me.” 

Steve should have known Bucky was going to surprise him, to one-up him. He doesn’t hear what Darcy says in response, is far too focused on the way Bucky’s ass fills out his shorts as he gets quite the eyeful when Bucky turns around. He wants to take the strings of Bucky’s underwear that are resting on his delicious hips and suck them between his teeth. Steve hopes Bucky can tell where his eyes have been as he turns back around with a grin on his face that Steve can’t quite decipher. 

“I’ve got a hankering for somethin’ that isn’t food, big guy.” 

Steve doesn’t know what that means but has a sneaking suspicion it is alluding to something extremely sexual. He hopes it is. Steve’s mouth dries right up when Bucky hops up onto the window, throws a leg over it and straddles the window ledge with unbelievable grace. Steve doesn’t even respond before Bucky is peeking into Steve’s own window, looking into his car. 

“How big is your backseat, Captain Rogers?” 

Steve has ascended. 

He has once again left this life and instead of plummeting into frigid ice, he has been swept up into a flaming inferno. 

He thinks it’s all worth it now. Every shitty and bizarre thing that has happened to him in his life, both of them, has now been deemed worth it as he looks down between his spread thighs and watches Bucky suck down his dick like it’s the best gift he’s ever been given. 

Steve could have never guessed this is how his morning would go, that he’d end up in this random parking lot with Bucky pulling him into the backseat of his car and sitting himself right in Steve’s lap. Don’t get him wrong, it’s the ideal situation, everything Steve eventually wanted, but he thought this is what he’d get after a few dates, after some sort of courting. 

“I’m sure I’ll have some sort of appetite after I bounce myself in your lap the way I’ve been thinkin’ about for twenty-four hours now.” 

Steve had no objections whatsoever. Whatever Bucky wanted. 

“Knew I was gonna love suckin’ on your cock,” Bucky murmurs, voice like sex, dripping in arousal as he mouths at Steve’s cockhead before holding onto the base and smacking Steve against the flat of his tongue, then his cheek. “This isn’t a dick though— this is a cock. Look how big you are, Steve. Just big and pretty all over, aren’t you?” 

Steve’s intended scoff comes out as much more of a garbled whine than a huffed noise. “Right. M’not sure I’m the pretty one, kid.” 

Steve is reminded that he has never seen someone so beautiful in his life actually. He knew it after pulling up to that godforsaken coffee joint, but his realization is driven home in this moment, in watching Bucky suck him off like it’s a privilege, like it’s his only purpose. Even in this vulnerable, subservient position where he is threatening to suck the soul out of Steve’s dick, he’s breathtaking. 

Bucky’s eyelids are heavy with arousal, the curl of his mouth is the most sinful thing Steve has been witness to, and when said mouth is full to the absolute brim of Steve, he moans, makes the sweetest of noises like he’s lost in it. 

Steve almost wishes he could draw Bucky like this and he hasn’t felt compelled to draw with his heart in months.

 Maybe another time. 

“Don’t flatter me, Captain,” Bucky murmurs with a grin, flicking his tongue and mouthing at the crown of Steve’s cock in a way that has Steve’s vision swimming. 

“Steve,” he hears himself breathe, hand coming down to messily stroke a few fingers across Bucky’s cheek. “No Captain, not here. Not with you.” 

Steve’s insides feel all sorts of rearranged with the way Bucky looks up at him, with the seemingly nonstop stream of eye contact he gifts Steve with. He watches as Bucky’s eyelids flutter as he moans, dips his chin and wraps his lips around Steve, sucks. 

“Steve,” Bucky husks out sweetly before he’s swallowing Steve down again, letting him feel the back of Bucky’s throat. 

Bucky sucks cock like he’s a professional, like he’s an expert and he damn well knows it. He’s noisy with it, that perfect edge of sloppy yet succinct, complete with filthy wet noises that go right to Steve’s balls. Bucky moans around his mouthful, throatful, moves his hand in time with his mouth as he does so, slipping together so beautifully Steve has no choice but to drop his head back as he groans. 

The pounding of the rain on the hood of his car barely drowns out his noises. 

This kid doesn’t care that his chin is covered in spit, that his hand is coated in it as well, isn’t afraid to pull off and dive down to mouth at Steve’s sac, first one ball and then the other. Two seconds after Steve lifts his head up to look down at Bucky, he’s right back to dropping it back again, the feeling of Bucky’s tongue slipping behind his balls enough to make him damn near shout towards the roof of the car. Bucky huffs, whines as if he’s on the verge of a climax simply from making Steve feel pleasure he’s never once felt in his life. 

“I wanna make you come, wanna swallow your big load, Steve,” Bucky pouts, voice nasally and desperate in a way that has Steve gritting his teeth. It’s like he can’t bear the thought of pulling his mouth away from Steve’s dick, rubs his cheek against it, moans open-mouthed as he kisses at it between words. “But I want you to come inside of me more, wanna feel this fat cock fill my ass up.” 

Steve gasps, brings his hand down to Bucky’s head once more, this time with an edge of eagerness. He nods his head feverishly as he cards his fingers through Bucky’s chestnut hair, messing up his picture perfect bun as he guides Bucky to wrapping his lips back around his cock. Bucky obliges so gorgeously and eagerly Steve can’t help but moan appreciatively.

“Can...can come more than once. Can stay hard,”  Steve bites out, and he isn’t halfway through his choppy explanation before Bucky is moaning happily, damn near squealing around his mouthful. “You want both, Buck?”

He doesn’t need a verbal answer— Bucky gratefully sputtering and gagging on his dick is enough. 

It takes Bucky but sixty more seconds to make Steve come, embarrassing for him but something Bucky should most definitely take pride in. He sends Steve to the back of his throat, slide after slide, opening his mouth to not muffle the wet and filthy noises of his mouth working Steve over. 

When he comes, he feels his orgasm in his core, pleasure so sharp that it immediately leaves him struggling to take air into his lungs. He forces himself to not shove Bucky’s head down, to not take what little air Bucky has in his own lungs away from him. He fights through waves of his orgasm as he watches on as Bucky drinks him down, as he moans and swallows, moans and sucks, moans and bobs. 

Steve thinks he’s part of some sort of erotic show when Bucky spits bubbles of his mouthful of hot cum back onto Steve’s still- hard cock, whining pitifully when he goes to suck it off again, but Steve is beginning to think this is just Bucky. 

Bucky likes sex. 

Steve likes Bucky. 

Steve thinks he likes sex if it’s with Bucky.

His cock is still covered in his own cum when Bucky moves with pointed determination and a wet mouth from his spot on Steve’s floorboard. To say Steve is surprised even though he knows what’s happening is an understatement. He shakes his head uselessly. 

“It’s…do we…do you have a—” 

“No,” Bucky mumbles with a smile as he fumbles with his shorts. “No condom. I want you raw. I wanna feel you. I promise I’m clean, Stevie. Lemme feel you bare. If I get one chance with Steve Rogers; I want him bare.”

Steve is too overcome with the force of newfound arousal, a wave hot like fire, to reassure Bucky this will not be the last time they see one another. 

He manages to nod his head though, watching through hazy vision as Bucky moves to straddle him, reaching back to pull his excuse for underwear to the side. 

“Know you probably want me to keep my panties on, the way you’ve been eyein’ them. I’ll let you take them home when we’re done here. How ‘bout that?” 

Steve can’t stop his groan as it tumbles from his lips, and all he can think to say is, “But it’s…I’m messy,” as he feels about the cum still coating his erection.

Bucky moans, reaching behind for Steve’s cock, cum-covered and all. “It is messy, baby. But that’s the way I like it.”

Steve reaches another level of ascension when he hears those words, when he feels Bucky press the tip of his cock against his hole, when Bucky doesn’t so much as flinch as he begins to sit on him. 

Maybe it’s because he’s drunk on sex, maybe it’s because he can’t remember what sex felt like before this, but he feels the urge to confess his love for Bucky right there, back seat of a car in the pouring rain and all. He feels like he’s under a spell as he looks up at Bucky, as he takes in his flushed cheeks and glazed eyes, as he watches Bucky get lost in the sensation of being speared open by Steve’s cock. 

“Oh my god,” he hears himself slur, voice dripping in awe, and Bucky smiles— smiles— as he nods his head and lowers himself further onto Steve’s dick. 

It’s impossible for Steve to not reach for Bucky then, for him to not sit up with Bucky in tow and wrap an arm around his tiny middle. It brings their faces impossible close, forces Bucky's hands to come out and scramble for any kind of purchase as he continues to slide down onto Steve’s cock. When they land on his shoulders and then his face, his arms winding themselves around Steve’s neck, the intimacy nearly cuts off Steve’s air supply.

“Oh my god, sit on it.” 

“Steve…!” 

  “Oh baby, c’mon. C’mon…” 

They work in tandem to settle Bucky fully onto his cock, to make him as comfortable as possible with being split open. With the way Bucky bounces and sinks himself into Steve’s lap, it’s clear that he is experienced with sex. But there’s no doubt that Steve is incredibly well-endowed. In fact, Bucky tells him so, to Steve’s utter disbelief. 

“Steve,” he whines into Steve’s open mouth, voice so sweet it makes Steve’s bones ache. “Steve, you feel so big.” 

“I am big, baby— I am. But you can take it, right? Oh, you can take it.” 

He’s not once been one to talk dirty, not once been vocal in any past sexual encounter, but it feels natural with Bucky in his lap. 

Bucky nods his head frantically, wide eyes locked onto Steve’s as if hypnotized. “I can take it.” 

The fingers of his free hand come up to squeeze at the meat of Bucky’s ass cheek, smacking at it when Bucky all but squeals, encouraging him when words become hard and his vision blurs yet again. 

When Bucky’s ass settles flush against Steve’s lap, when he’s left gasping with how hot and tight and wet of a grip his cock is fully wrapped up in, they both share a set of moans, lips smearing messily against one another’s in an excuse for a set of kisses. 

Steve doesn’t even hesitate when he tastes himself on Bucky’s mouth. In fact, his cock pulses at the taste coupled with the reminder images of how Steve’s cum got into Bucky’s mouth in the first place. 

He’s coming to find he enjoys messy if it involves Bucky. 

What he expects to happen next is for the two of them to need to get used to the feeling of Steve inside of Bucky, for Bucky to need to wiggle and roll his hips to adjust to Steve’s size. 

He should know better by now that Bucky is set on surprising Steve at every turn. 

Because what Steve doesn’t expect is for Bucky to moan and press himself fully into Steve’s lap, chest to chest, , to spread his legs around him further and to pout, “Oh, my pussy’s gonna be feeling you for days, Stevie. Stretch it out so good.” 

Holy fuck. 

He lifts himself up in Steve’s grip, an arm around his waist and hand on his ass, and begins to give Steve the best ride he’ll ever have in his life, this one or any cursed one that comes after this. 

The way Bucky sucks cock is nothing compared to the way he rides one. His hips move like water, smooth but with ferocity that can only be compared to hunger, bouncing and rocking in a dizzying tandem. Steve gasps when Bucky adjusts and rises up on his knees, pulling his cock out of his ass and sliding back down onto it, repeating the motion with a guttural and cheerful moan. 

Between bouncing and rocking, Steve isn’t sure if he’ll make it out of this backseat alive. 

“Fuck, you feel so good, baby. Does it feel good? Does my pussy feel good?” 

Yeah— they’re going to have to carry him out of here on a stretcher. 

Steve’s thighs shake with the force of Bucky’s bounces, the sensation of the car swaying underneath them adding to the eroticism of the moment. He grits his teeth in an attempt to ground himself, yet all he can hear are the lewd noises of his cum slicking up Bucky’s pussy, easing his bounces and making it easier for Bucky to fuck himself down into Steve’s lap and onto his cock. 

He knows his grip on Bucky’s body has to be too tight, knows that if he isn’t actively thinking about his strength it can get away from him and cause great harm. 

But Bucky doesn’t seem to mind, not with how loud and how eagerly he fucks. The way his body moves, the way it bounces and jiggles in his lap and in said grip, warrants a tight hold. Bucky squeals against Steve’s mouth as he rocks his hips back and forth in Steve’s lap forcefully, finding his rhythm and that sweet spot deep inside of him. 

“Steve,” he all but begs, gasping and tugging at the hair at the back of Steve’s head. “Does my pussy feel good?” 

Validation. Bucky wants validation. Steve can do that. Moving to dig his fingers into the skin of Bucky’s hips, relishing in the shock and pain of Bucky tugging on his hair while his ass squeezes the life out of his cock, he growls through gritted teeth. 

“Pussy feels so goddamn good, Buck. Sweetest pussy v’ever fucked.” 

Bucky’s moan is different this time, more frantic, more emotional. It tugs at Steve’s balls. 

He wants more of that. 

He grabs a hold of Bucky’s ass cheeks this time, two overflowing handfuls that he spreads and spurs on, using his strength for good as Bucky shows more and more signs of his own climax. 

“You like how much my cock stretches your pussy out? You like bein’ stretched out like that?” 

Bucky’s movements become messier, less expertised, as if he’s been waiting for Steve to take over in order to feel. With Steve holding onto him the way he is and with him able to use his strength to fuck Bucky in his lap, Bucky winds an arm back around Steve’s neck, burying his face into the opposite side of it. 

“I love it,” Steve barely hears Bucky slur out. “I fucking love it.” 

“You love the stretch of me or you love hearin’ me talk about it?”

“Both. Both,” Bucky moans, messily sucking on the side of Steve’s neck as he continues to use Bucky’s body, his hole, like a toy. 

That’s all he needs to hear to push past his insecurities of being inexperienced. He lets the words flow, presses them right into Bucky’s jaw.

“Pussy’s so tight, Buck. Fuck. Never had a pussy as good as this. Squeezin’ the hell outta me. Bet it’s so pretty too. You didn’t even show it to me.” 

Bucky’s noises sound like garbled hiccups. Steve is hotter than hell for them. 

“That’s alright though— you can show it to me after this. Bet it’s even prettier all swollen and full’a my cum. Bet it’ll taste even better.” 

Bucky sobs.

“You filthy, bastard. I’m gonna come. Make me come, fuck me harder.” 

Yes. 

He picks Bucky up by the ass and pushes him back down onto his cock faster than humanly possible yet with ease, over and over again until Bucky’s noises are a constant stream, garbled and nonsensical. Being able to use his strength, the vice-like grip Bucky’s pussy chokes him in, the sweet noises Bucky lets out now into his mouth; it sends him all but sailing into his climax. 

“Come in my pussy. Use it for what it’s made for, Steve. Come in it, come in it. Come in my pussy. Fill it up and—” 

Steve blacks out. He isn’t sure if the ringing in his ears is from how hard he comes or from how loud Bucky’s fucked-out noises are, but the first spurt of his second orgasm has him blacking out. 

When he comes to, Bucky is writhing in his lap, wiggling against his front and in his grip, whining about his sweet pussy as he makes a mess of them both between their stomachs. Even through a seemingly watery haze Bucky is beautiful when he comes, free of touch and from Steve’s cock alone. Flushed cheeks, flushed neck, half-lidded eyes and a wet mouth; Steve’s never seen anything more bewitching. 

He can hear himself groaning, can feel the noise of it against the skin of Bucky’s neck when he pulls him close again, sliding his hands up and under Bucky’s cropped jersey. His skin is impossibly warm, impossibly soft. He turns and lets his teeth sink into the skin of his flushed neck, following through with his wish to do so when he first saw Bucky in the drive thru window.

Once he begins to touch Bucky, he can’t stop himself, his hands wandering and rubbing wherever he can, stopping briefly to play with the strings of Bucky’s g-string. 

He breaks the silence by clearing his throat and whispering gruffly. “I do think I want to take this home with me.” 

Bucky’s giggle is immediate and joyful. He pulls his head back, the effort of the movement obvious and sparking a deep sense of satisfaction in Steve. 

“I’m so happy you’re a freak too,” Bucky mumbles, voice raspy and fucked-out. “I was worried I would scare you away.” 

Steve slides his hands back down to Bucky’s ass, kneading at it and moaning at the still pleasurable feel of being inside of someone. 

“To be fair, I didn’t really know I was a freak. You brought it out of me.” 

Bucky purrs happily, squeezing at Steve’s chest and kissing his clean jaw. 

“Good. We can capitalize on that. Hopefully.” 

Steve’s heart soars happily, butterflies such a foreign feeling to him. He squeezes at Bucky further, getting another happy moan out of him. 

“We absolutely can.” 

To Steve’s pleasant surprise, Bucky seems to be in no rush to move from their entangled spot or from Steve’s car. With the exhaustion from using their bodies and the patter of rain falling from the dark sky, it becomes obvious to Steve that they could easily fall asleep here. 

And then Steve can’t help but recognize that he hasn’t felt this at ease with someone, this safe, with someone else since he rejoined this world. 

His grip on Bucky tightens at that thought. He’s unable to stop himself from turning his face and pressing his lips to Bucky’s neck. 

Bucky hums, rocking himself slowly in his lap. 

“Can you come more than twice in a row or…? How long between rounds?” 

Oh yeah— Steve likes sex and Steve likes Bucky.

[metranart]

Mikey x Reader x Draken (Tokyo Revengers)(Part 8)

Being a gang leader doesn’t leave a lot of free time and having hit the critical age of the hormonal teenager, Draken and Mikey are beginning to feel the raging urge of having some needs meet.

They knew what was to come, same reason why they kept you at arm reach. 

Now that their brains aren’t a pool of hormones and lust, they realized how instead of being gentle and tender as any first time should be, it was animalistic bordering primal. You basically drove them to the edge of insanity, and they willingly fell into the spell.

Spellbound still, they follow closely behind you, trailing your every move with attentive eyes, internally ready to chase if they need to, to restrain if is necessary and to beg if you force them to it.

All in hopes of keeping you for themselves. They want you to have their kids, share their dreams, conquer Japan along them—… not in that specific order but you get the idea.

You walk moving quickly but quietly. The idea to go find your own gang leader passes through your mind briefly, but you dismiss it. Draken and Mikey’s gazes are on you like a hawk.

If you miraculously manage to escape and go to Elliot's, -you sigh, long and breathlessly- imagining being beside him and under his protection. Your body tenses at the prospect of running away, maybe straight to a cop—

“Such a long sigh,” you hadn’t taken more than three steps when Mikey cuts short your plans by snaking an arm around your shoulders. “Tell me, (y/n), were you planning to run away?” 

 You wrinkle your nose at being discovered. His eyes study you as you stand frozen beside him. 

“Nah, my Babygirl is not such a dummy,” he states, voice heavy with sarcasm. “I wonder where you were off to?” Mikey continues, and soon Draken joins as well.

“Perhaps she fancies another restaurant,” the tall blond suggests, airily.

“Feeling a little peckish, are we?” Mikey replies, playfully, his attention solely on you. “—Looking for another sip of milk? You can have some of mine, if you like.” The Toman leader smirks at seeing you blush hard, and you can hear Draken chuckle.

Your injured hand is wrapped in fresh bandages, you feel exhausted and weak, your crotch is sensitive and your body aches. It might be safer to play along and then plan an escape route. 

His wicked laugh draws your attention back to him.

“My, my Kenchin... how very little our girl is.” Mikey notices, glancing back at his friend, taking in count how your whole frame is dwarfed by his. “Humor me, (Y/N). How old are you?” he asks, and you hate the sound of his patronizing voice. 

Drawing yourself up, you respond with as much pride and dignity as any gang member should have.

“Not old enough, Manjiro,” you snarl, trying to shake him away from you to no avail. “You just raped a minor—” 

Draken sighs, claiming the other side of the sidewalk to walk right next to you. Flanking you. 

“So very young, indeed.” The tall blond shares, calmly, “but so are we, and sex between teenagers is NOT legally rape…. more like mildly disappointing for society, but not jail time.” Draken patiently explains, and your fists clench, painfully. 

“That’s fairly horrifying, ain’t it?” Mikey croons and you bared your teeth at them, a mocking imitation of a smile. “Plus, you being our girlfriend, ummm-” he taps his lips thinking, “is not rape at all, it was our first time. Lovers sharing an intimate—” 

“Do NOT call me your fucking girlfriend, delusional asshole!”

You raise your voice, moving slowly to your right towards his left side, but he catches your subtle motion and mirrors it casually in his own. He laughs at you, then, and it absolutely prickles your skin.

“Delusional asshole?” Mikey repeats in a spoiled, childish voice, “-that seems like a bit too harsh, don’t ya think, baby?”

You are about to mitigate any kind of hope Manjiro Sano may be harvesting in that blond sick head of his when Draken towers over you, leaning so closely that you can feel his warm breath against your face.

“(Y/N), please, don’t presume that because we allowed a little disrespect, we will continue to endure it,” his eyes seem darker than ever up close, and your body's involuntary reaction is to try to run to which he catches your forearm in his firm grip in an almost lightning-fast motion.

“I can catch you-” he warns, a little upset by your foolish attempt, “I will catch you, and it’s quite unseemly for a girl to be dragged back like a spoiled brat, don’t you think?” 

Draken’s face is so close that you are only a breath away from a kiss, or head-butt him but neither would have a happy ending for you, so you back down and allow them to believe that you have given in.

“—And just like that all her fight is gone.” Mikey says between merry laughter, eyes creasing while he sticks his front to your back in a possessive hug. “Give her a break, Kenchin, she's just getting used to us.”

Graciously offering you his hand, Draken sighs and waits for you to take it, and after a couple of tense seconds, you do. As a sign of good omen between the two.

You can feel the bulge of muscles and the twisting veins that ran from shoulder to knuckles just by the grip of his hand, it's not bruising but is firmer than what you expected. You shudder, imagining those powerful hands locked around your hips, driving himself deep inside once again.... and you being unable to stop him, once again.

“Why me?” you ask, suddenly, ice dripping from your tone.  

Mikey’s arm is around your waist, light as a feather on the wind as he aids Draken to escort you to the restaurant. A blush creeps up your neck when Manjiro Sano choose to deposit a chaste kiss on your neck instead of answering you, and before you can even think of ask again, Draken does the same but on your cheek.

And you puff some air, outraged. “The least you can do is answer me—”

“And that's exactly what we just did.”

Draken cuts your outburst short to then fall silent. 

“Please,” you whisper, your voice hardly there. But their heads turn towards you slightly, and their attention makes you feel brave enough to continue. “Please let me go. I want to go home, I just want to go home, I’ll do anything! I’ll renounce to my gang, I’ll convince Elliot to…to…not do anything against you, I’ll do anything!” You stutter, finally reaching your breaking point.

“You have nothing to offer us.” Mikey claims in all calm smoothness, trying to pass some of that energy to you. You know they don’t care about any you have to offer, even so, you need to try. “Plus, you are not our prisoner, just our girlfriend-”

“What's the difference?”

The words leave you before you can stop them and both stop suddenly and release your hand and waist, turning towards you.

“Loving can heal—” Mikey proclaims, way too invested. You can clearly see in his eyes that he believes what he is saying. “—But you need to give us a chance to let us make up for what’ve we done, okay?”

Maybe this was their way of apologizing for violating you in every possible way.... did they believe that this could be erased and the three of you would end up being a happy polyamorous couple?

You stood quiet for a moment, staring into his startlingly beautiful dark eyes. He was handsome, and sometimes –like now– he even seemed kind enough, though his words were firm and good intentioned, you knew better than to listen to them. 

So, without answering, you turn from them coldly, taking a few testing steps ahead of them. 

“–Just walk.” You hear Mikey advise; gaze firmly set on your every move. 

“Don’t run… we won’t be able to stop ourselves if you run.” Draken warns, his voice tight as if is taking him a lot not to chase you down. 

You were only a couple of steps away from them, but you could see the tension that it caused them.

Testing your luck and their small slip of freedom for you, you visualized the restaurant and move faster, they compensate for the speed but still don't grab you or pull you. Leaving you some air to breathe. Feeling a little -tiny- more in control, you trot demurely until you reach the door, and turn around.

Genuine surprise showing on your face when you noticed that they hadn't chase you.

“Not even a day ago I trusted you.” You remind them, “you spitted in that trust with your more than reprovable acts-….” their blank faces were hard to read, “-I’ve yet to trust you since.” 

Both blonds nod, understanding what you are saying but still unable to process why you can’t understand them as well.

“She’s going to be a tough nut to crack, ain’t she, Kenshin?” 

The aftermentioned smirks, “if she weren’t we wouldn’t be so interested.”

Mikey snickers at that, opening the door to follow you inside. “Damn right.” 

Both gang members enter and just start to walk, you are already inside a booth occupying the long seat of the right and leaving just the seat in front as their only option. 

“Scoot over, (Y/N),” Mikey orders, “Kenshin and I are far too big to share the same side—” 

“I never hear you complaining when you had to share the same, small and diminutive, bed….” You snarl out, and he looks down at you. 

“I’m hungry and tired, even if you find it hard to believe,” the leader of the Toman confesses and for the first time you notice the bags under his eyes. “If you don’t scoot over voluntarily I’m going to be forced to put you on my lap-” 

You’re quick enough to swallow the gasp, and before it continues, you slide to the end of the booth.  

“Good girl,” Mikey praises, taking the seat next to you, sliding gracefully closer until feels the side of his thigh pressed to yours. Then he starts. 

“Communication based on threats will not help us grow our relationship,” Mikey begins to lecture you, and you feel your blood boil.  

“He’s right, little mouse,” Draken adds, taking the seat in front of you as he flips through the menu. “We ought to be civilized,” he instructs, offering you the menu, and when you take it, he doesn't let go, "do you think you can be civilized?”

Your lips purse, even so, you reply.

“Of course, Sweetie, whatever my dear boyfriend asks.” Your tone drips harsh sarcasm. 

“—I know you are doing it to spite me,” Draken begins letting go of the menu, serious facade yet soon his mouth curves into a smile. “… But you calling me your boyfriend really gave me goosebumps, doll.” 

A blush creeps across your cheeks when you frown, making it unable for them to know if its out of embarrassment or anger.

“Now I’m jealous,” Mikey pouts, “Tell me something pretty as well.” 

The blond asks unashamedly, as if your sarcastic comment were actually a show of affection. 

You ignore him, in order to read the menu and suddenly feel him take your hand nonetheless. 

You are about to snatch it back, violently, when you see him bowing, you feel the barest hint of his breath on your knuckles before he presses his forehead to them, instead of his lips. 

“I couldn't even bring myself to kiss your beautiful hand, my love—” he mutters, “Not when I can only think of kissing your lips.” 

When he look up, his eyes are blackened yet overflowing with a feeling that you refused to call love, and his tone as cold and composed as ever. 

“Knock it off, Sano.” You grunt, uncomfortable. “You can drop the act—” 

“It’s not an act, darling.” Draken cuts in, “It never has been.”

You try to snatch your hand away, but Mikey isn’t ready to let go, not without a token of affection. 

“Let go.”

He shakes his head. You sigh, burdensomely.

“You know what I ask in return.” He simply instructs. 

You would like to hit him but you are so emotionally and physically exhausted that you are reduced to saying.  

“Could my dear boyfriend let go of my hand?”

The blonde's eyes shine and placing a soft kiss on your knuckles before releasing you, he smiles.  

"Your boyfriend doesn't want to, but he will do it because he loves you." He announces and your nose wrinkles in disgust.  

You shake your head disapprovingly and he nods.  

“We love you.”

Draken adds.

“A lot.”

“You are delusional and confused—” 

"Whatever you feel, my love, we feel all the more," Mikey say slowly and clearly. His thumb reaches your cheek and brushes it, affectional. 

You flush a little in embarrassment, and he smirks, glad that you made his point easier. 

“The implication behind this blush tells me of how you don’t find us inadequate nor disgusting-” 

You seem to regret your involuntary body reactions, But unfortunately this only makes you blush more, much to the delight of both blondes.

“There’s hope,” Draken adds out of the sudden. 

“Yes, there is.” Mikey nods, “…. We only have to work for it.”

You're about to reproach him when his fingers gently fall on your lips, "and we will, gladly."

“You will fail.” You say in an icy tone. 

Both smirk, and Draken is the first to talk. 

“Wanna bet?” 

COMING SOON PART 9....

⭕️ In my PATREON you will find NSFW art of this story and lots of NSFW content from Tokyo Rev and other popular anime, exclusive smut fanfiction and more. Join our community and vote for the next smutty fanfiction.

[thezombieprostitute]

Panic Attack - Part 2

Summary: Your ex decides he needs to talk to you. Your friend, Walter Marshall, has other ideas.

A/N: Reader is plus sized. No other descriptors used.

Word Count: ~1.1k

Warnings: Abusive ex, Implied violence, Panic attack. Let me know if I missed any!

Part 1

It's been a few months since your panic attack that introduced you to Walter. Not wanting to appear too needy you limited yourself to just an occasional check-in text every week. Walter would always gently guide the texts into a conversation about your shared interests and the two of you really got to talking.

Sometimes, after chatting, you would cry from relief. You're not scaring him away. He doesn't downplay your interests as “childish” or “immature” like Bryce, your ex, always did. He was polite, even funny, about disagreements in canon. He really helped you feel safe talking about what you like. You weren't used to that.

You were feeling pretty good about yourself overall and it really helped you get through some rough days.

But nothing could help you prepare for Ransom showing up at the bookstore where you work. Ransom and Bryce had been friends forever. If he was here, Bryce was likely nearby. You try to head to the back office but you hear Ransom calling your name. Your manager has been on everyone about not ignoring potential patrons so you take a deep breath and face him.

“Mr. Drysdale,” you nod. “How can I help you today?”

“Oh good,” he smiles, mockingly, “you remember your place.” You take another breath to steady yourself. “Believe me, this isn't my first choice either. Bryce needs to talk to you but due to legal reasons, he needs an intermediary.”

“I have no interest in talking to him,” you reply calmly.

“Yeah, the restraining order made that clear. Still can't believe you got that. It's not like he ever actually hit you or anything,” Ransom scoffs. You struggle to control your breathing, fighting the tears. “Anyways, he's looking at being cut out of the will. But since his father always liked you, he figured you showing up with him to the old man's birthday party would help him secure his place.”

“No,” you reply simply. The shorter, more concise an answer you can give, the better.

“I'd reconsider,” Ransom growls. “The lengths someone like Bryce will go to ensure he's in the will? I could see him doing some...bad things.”

“His relationship with his father is not my problem,” you reply. “Now please, either purchase a book or leave.”

Ransom snorts, “I'm not buying this trash. But don't say I didn't warn you.” He turns and heads out.

You almost running to the break room, tears pouring down your face. You want to call Walter, ask him to help you calm down, but he's a police officer. No doubt he has more important things to take care of. You'll wait for tonight, your usual texting/call time.

Walter's phone starts chiming with the ringtone he has reserved for you.

“Hello, Sugar,” he answers with a smile.

“W-W-Walter,” you stutter, making him frown. “He-he's here. Bryce. He's, he's outside my door. Please help.” You're whispering into the phone and he can barely make out what you're saying but it's enough for him. Especially with the loud banging in the background that he can only assume is your ex trying to force his way into your apartment.

“I'm on my way,” Walter assures. His voice is calm, concealing the burning rage he's feeling. As he keeps talking to you as he gestures for a couple other officers to follow him. “Take a breath for me, Sugar,” he gently orders you over the phone. He hears your breath shaking and he continues, “grab the pepper spray and lock yourself into a room further into your apartment. Wait for me to signal the all-clear. Understood?”

“Y-yes, Walter.” You hang up and get moving. The panic is telling you to shut down. Just accept the abuse. The only way to get Bryce to stop hurting you is to let him tire himself out. But you've been working so hard on getting over these kinds of stress responses. He doesn't own your life any more. You do.

Doing your best to ignore his yells of “open the damn door” you grab the pepper spray out of your purse. The only room in your apartment with a lock is the bathroom so you head in there, locking the door and pushing the bathmat underneath to make it a little more difficult to open.

You can still hear the banging and, while you can't make out the words, you can still hear Bryce's yelling. You don't realize you've started rocking. You brain is in panic mode and you can't think past the impending pain. The punches to your stomach, your arms, places where you could hide the bruises. The promises of worse if you ever told.

The commotion outside suddenly gets louder and you curl up into the fetal position, covering your ears. You're not sure how long you stay like that, waiting for the pain.

There's a gentle knock at the bathroom door and you squeak in fear. “Sugar?” Walter's voice gently calls through the door. “Sugar? Are you in there? Are you okay?”

You lift your head a little, “Walter?” Your voice is barely above a whisper but he breathes a sigh of relief at hearing you.

“Yeah, Sugar, it's me. Can you open the door for me?”

“Bryce?”

“He's in handcuffs in a squad car outside. It's just you and me in the apartment.”

Slowly, almost painfully slowly, you get up, remove the bathmat and unlock the door. Walter wants to open it immediately but it has to be you who opens it. He doesn't want to scare you worse than you've already been tonight. You crack the door open and peek out. You see Walter's familiar broad frame, curly hair and beard, concerned blue eyes and open the door the rest of the way. You throw yourself at him, bringing him into a hug that he's only too happy to return. Your tears are flowing freely but from relief instead of fear.

He gently pats your head as he holds you, whispering to you about how brave, how smart, how quick you were with everything. He never stops reassuring you, even when your crying is too loud to hear him. His arms feel so safe, his voice so calming. It isn't long before you've calmed enough to gently pull away and thank him.

“If you're willing,” he starts, “I'll stay here and sleep on your couch.”

You shake your head, “I don't feel safe here right now. He knows where I live, that means his friends do. I...I don't want to be here for a while.”

Walter nods, “if you're up for it, you can pack a bag and stay at my place. And no,” he stops you before you can say anything, “it won't be a bother. At all.”

You hug him as more tears of relief pour out. “Thank you, Walter.”

Part 1

Taglist: @alicedopey; @delicatebarness; @icefrozendeadlyqueen; @peyton-warren; @ronearoundblindly

[izvmimi]

cw: mafia au. guns.

you exhale slowly, letting your trembling fingers tighten around the grip of a semiautomatic pistol. izuku is close behind you, the cloth of his shirt brushing against your back, the sound and sensation of his gentle voice tickling your neck. his hands reach around and hover over yours, hesitating for a moment before settling your grip.

"careful."

this isn't his very own gun, and while the two of you are alone, you're in a very public, very legal place, a shooting range, and despite the noise canceling headphones and the wooshing of your quickened pulse in your ears, you can still hear him speak clearly.

"i'm here, you're not going to hurt yourself," he assures you.

you trust him, but all of this is so new - the gun in your hands (and his), the target ahead of you in the shape of a man, and the new knowledge that the only reason why you're here is in case you need to be.

you don't want to learn, but you don't want to be a burden to him or an easy target. izuku understands this, and as if he's reading your mind reminds you,

"we don't have to shoot if you don't want to."

you shake your head, quickly. if you're going to know his secret and stay with him anyway, you're going to have to be prepared for the worst. even if he promises to be there, to keep you safe, you cannot keep the burden of your life in his hands. you know it would hurt him immensely if anything were to happen to you.

"tell me what to do again." you ask. you sound short, but izuku understands that some of it is anxiety.

"breathe first," he insists. just a little closer he moves, his lips graze your cheek, and you can feel a gentle heat run through your body.

"this isn't helping, izuku," you murmur, embarrassed.

"fineeee," he laughs, then shifts back, but the weight of his palms pressed onto the backs of your hands remains present if not slightly lighter. you widen your stance just a bit to compensate. he is right behind you.

"your hands are in the right place. keep your arms steady."

you bite your lip as you line up.

"when you pull the trigger-" he taps gently on your index, -"it's direct pressure not a jerk. you have to mean it."

you freeze.

"ready?" he whispers.

you nod again. he presses again, and the shot is fired, loud and strong, but he dampens the recoil for you. you can see the hole in the figure's center and your heart races again.

"fuck."

izuku looks much less affected than you do, tilting his head slightly as he observes the target. muttering under his breath, he says something about being too far from the heart, one arm crossed over his chest and the other fixed below his chin.

but you've run into him again, holding him tightly. he looks surprised as he catches you in his arms, trying to figure out exactly where the loaded gun is now, slipping it away from your hands and putting on the safety in a quick sleight of hand, before holding you tightly.

"babe, are you okay?"

you don't say anything else but remain buried in his chest.

"mm."

he doesn't ask you further, instead using his free hand to rub your back.

"good job, my love. i’ll make sure you never need to do it for real."

[motelsnleatherseats]

Co-Sleeping

“Dude, c’mon. Why is it weird? It’s not weird unless you make it weird, so stop making it weird,” Dean chided.

“You’re unbelievable. It’s weird because I’m your brother,” Sam stressed, the look on her face one of exasperation and mild bewilderment. Dean had suggested some out of pocket things before, some morally gray scenarios he was keen to partake in, but this was just a little too much for Sam.

“Technically you’re my sister now, but still! It’s not even your body, it’s like one of those Avatar type deals. Like a shell, or a suit of armor!” The ever so smug grin that spread across his face like his explanation was the gold standard made Sam roll his eyes so hard he could have pulled a muscle.

“This is a new low, even for you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Exactly what it sounds like. Barely legal high school girls, girls that are too wasted to barely form coherent sentences – I know you like the low hanging fruit, but just because I’ve got tits now doesn’t mean it’s a free pass for you.” Sam couldn’t believe this was even a conversation she was entertaining at this point. 

When she had come back to the motel room in a body that most definitely wasn’t his, Dean had jumped on the opportunity to make cringe worthy passes at her before Sam embarrassedly informed him that a witch got the drop on him. After a few minutes of Dean laughing his ass off and making jokes about the fact that he must have called him ‘Samantha’ so often that it must have had adverse effects on him, he went right back into the sleazeball tactics like it would somehow work on Sam.

“You’re such a prude sometimes, Sammy, I swear,” Dean sighed before he saddled up next to her on the edge of the bed. “Look, it’s kind of a blessing in disguise, if you think about it,” he tried to reason and Sam shot him a lame look. “I’m serious! We’re obviously gonna get you fixed up, but in the meanwhile, we can take advantage of it.”

“You mean you can take advantage of it. How does letting you use this body help me at all?” Sam inquired, eyebrows raised.

“Oh like you’ve been out there putting notches on bedposts. C’mon man, I know you’re not getting laid, and your bad luck is rubbin’ off on me.”

Sam scoffed, giving a shake of her head.

“I’m serious!”

“You’re blaming me for your dry spell. Nice, Dean.”

“I’m just saying. This way neither of us have to go out and field potential trips to the free clinic.”

Sam grimaced.

“Condoms, Dean.”

“You know what I mean. Plus this way I could hit it raw and not have to worry about anything.”

“Jesus Christ,” Sam griped, moving to get off the bed, but Dean was quick to follow, reaching for Sam’s wrist to keep her close. They were more eye level now, Sam’s height having decreased slightly in the biological change.

“C’mon, Sammy,” Dean practically purred and the change in his demeanor and voice disarmed Sam slightly. “You can’t tell me you never thought about it. What it would feel like to have sex as a woman. I’ve seen you watch me with girls before. You ever wonder what kind of moves I’ve got?” He asked with a grin.

Sam stared for a few moments with an indiscernible expression.

“You’ve told me what your moves are. In explicit detail. Ad nauseam.” 

“Yeah, and now you can find out firsthand.” 

To admit that Dean had made barely passing points almost wasn’t worth the shit eating grin he’d be wearing thinking that he got his way, but he was right. Sam couldn’t recall the last time he had felt the urge to satisfy himself in a way that required exchanging body heat with someone.

He and Dean had skirted the line a couple of times before with getting a little handsy with each other. It was usually in the dead of night, pressed up against one another for either warmth or comfort when one of them had a more difficult time dealing with whatever nightmare refused to give them restful sleep. For the sake of getting more than 3 to 4 hours a night, they had reverted back to the good ol’ classics of sharing a bed and running fingers through hair or caressing backs for the very real physical sensation of human touch.

They never talked about it afterward. Even the nights when the gentle press of lips descended from forehead to mouth. Apparently what was holding Dean back the entire time was the fact that Sam wasn’t a woman, but that was another Freudian problem to deal with another day.

It could just be something they both needed. It didn’t need to be weird.

“I swear to God, if you go around bragging about this like one of your conquests–”

“I’m not gonna brag that I fucked my brother when he was a chick, c’mon, I’m not stupid.”

Sam gave him a look that read ‘debatable’, but heaved a sigh afterward which Dean took as her admitting defeat.

“Alright,” he announced triumphantly. He may as well have been rubbing his grubby little hands together in victory. “So you want the whole pick up experience like at a bar or?”

“God, no, I’d never fall for any of that bull shit,” Sam replied, pulling her wrist free from Dean’s hold before she moved to sit back on the bed. “Let’s just get it over with.”

“Well damn, Sammy, you could at least act like you’re not doing me a favor,” Dean’s expression crackled slightly, knocking him a peg or two off of his ego.

“Sorry,” Sam murmured, rubbing her palms against the worn denim over her knees. “It’s just weird. I mean, not weird cause I feel forced or anything. Just weird cause it’s you. No, not like that. I mean.. It’s weird because I’m like this. I don’t know.”

“We’re just helping each other out. Like when we share a bed. We’re just.. sharing a bed in a different way now,” Dean reassured before he joined the other on the bed again, the outside of their thighs touching. He was right, Sam didn’t need to make it weird. It could just be exactly what it was.

“Yeah,” Sam replied as she worried her bottom lip between her teeth before she turned her head to glance at her brother. She suddenly felt nervous. He had thought about when something may eventually happen with the proximity they had been sharing in recent nights, but he never assumed that Dean would come right out and ask if he wanted to actually have sex.

“If it’s any consolation, you’re probably one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen,” Dean admitted with that softer tone of voice again. Sam’s cheeks grew warm as her stomach gave a little flip. Why did that matter? It wasn’t like Sam had ever looked like this before, and to be fair, Dean was attracted to anything with tits and a willingness to experiment.

“Really?” 

“Yeah, Sammy,” Dean retorted before he moved his hand up and tucked a lock of hair behind Sam’s ear. She watched as his jade gaze swept over her features. “You’ve always been beautiful.”

Sam could feel the tips of her ears grow warm from his words and the intensity of his stare. She could hear the quickening of his pulse in her ears. Was he always this soft with the women he intended to bed? She didn’t have much time to dwell on the thought before Dean had leaned in to push his full lips against her own.

It didn’t feel much different from the kisses they exchanged in the dark early morning hours, giving hushed sounds as if they needed to keep it a secret despite no one else being around. It was out in the open now, their desire for each other, even if it was circumstantial. 

Sam leaned into the meeting of their lips with a push forward of her chest, inhaling deeply through her nose as she brought a hand up and laid it against his brother’s neck with slender, feminine fingers. Lips parted and tongues met, the sensation familiar and comforting, but there was more of a heat behind it this time. She could feel Dean slide his hand along her thigh to her hip as he tried to diminish the remaining space between them, so Sam took the initiative and leaned back bringing him with her. 

Her head hit the pillow, hair splaying underneath her as Dean settled a top of her form. Her arms came up to encircle around his neck as she gave a soft moan against his lips while Dean fit himself between her thighs as they fell open on the bed. His hands were quick and Sam could feel him immediately dive under the material of her shirt, crawling up the expanse of a slender torso before a strong hand found the mound of her breast, groping as his hips rolled forward.

Sam gave a soft gasp against his mouth, the sensation making a heat tingle pleasantly through her. It was a little foreign, but pleasurable nonetheless, especially with the way Dean was kneading against it before he had toyed with her nipple, the bud hardening almost immediately under the touch. She took a deep inhale to arch her chest into the touch, her fingers moving through the short hair at the nape of his neck and up towards the crown of his head, rewarding him with a moan.

Dean’s mouth had parted from hers with a gentle tug of teeth to her bottom lip, moving his down over her jawline and to her throat, the soft plushness of his lips a welcome sensation. Sam let her head tip back some as she exhaled breathy sounds, the warmth that started to blossom in her chest traveling south quickly. There was a throbbing between her legs, different from the usual throb he was used to with different parts, but the pull of arousal was still the same.

Her shirt came up, breasts freeing from the confines of it before Dean’s mouth had latched to a nipple, giving it a suckle and a flick of his tongue, sending little pulses of electricity through her form. Even as a male, Sam had a sensitive chest, but this was 10 times the feeling.

Sam’s hand came down the slope of neck and down his back, dragging her nails between his shoulder blades as he let his mouth become intimately acquainted with her new breasts, lavishing them in hungry attention. A soft hiss was given when Dean released her nipple with a soft pop before blowing a gentle stream of air against the wet surface.

“So sensitive, Sammy,” Dean cooed at her with that stupid grin on his face and it made Sam squirm slightly.

“Don’t tease me,” Sam exhaled before Dean traded that grin to lick a stripe between her breasts before moving down, kissing over her stomach. Those butterflies kicked up again as Sam realized where his next destination was.

Things felt like they were playing in slow motion; Dean had undone the button of her pants, curled his fingers into the waistband of them and wriggled them over her hips and the curve of her ass. Her legs came up in the air as he glided them down her thighs and slid them off, discarding them over the edge of the bed. She laid there, legs bent at the knee, thighs spread with only a thin layer of cotton between Dean and a part of her she had never intended to explore. Had the predicament been swapped and Dean was hit with the spell, Sam was sure he’d have spent the next 24 hours groping his own tits and masturbating. 

Sam could feel her heart hammering away in her chest, and had she slowed her breathing, she probably could have seen the movement rippling over her skin. Dean was just staring, drinking her in, chest exposed and legs parted in a way that made her squirm again. She was about to complain about how awkward it was until Dean moved his hands to caress calloused tips of his fingers along her inner thighs.

She brought her bottom lip between her teeth as they ventured higher, one splaying a palm against the inner most part of her thigh just outside the hem of her panties while the other moved to draw his thumb against the material, up and down slowly, up and down so fucking slowly against her hidden slit.

Sam’s toes curled slightly against the threadbare sheets as heat pulsed under the pressure of his thumb. Her cheeks were hot with embarrassment so she closed her eyes and exhaled a shaky breath, trying to just focus on the sensation and not the fact that it was Dean touching her that way.

She gasped, eyes shooting open a moment later when there was a wet press against her panties. She lifted her head enough to witness Dean with his head between her thighs, dragging his tongue along the cotton. Now that was a new sensation.

“O-oh~” Sam moaned before she felt a rumble of a groan against her clothed pussy, Dean very clearly enjoying the act himself. Sam had to keep herself from closing her thighs against her brother’s head the more her panties became soaked, half from Dean’s eager tongue and the other half from her anatomy responding to the pleasurable feeling. Her hips began to move against the bed, lifting towards his efforts as she clenched behind the wet fabric as goosebumps erupted over her skin.

Dean moved to pull her panties to the side enough to grant himself full access to her glistening lips, giving himself a visual feast before his fingers had spread her open. Embarrassment hit again at how intimately vulnerable she was, so she brought a hand up to cover her eyes as she trembled lightly.

“So pretty,” she heard Dean speak before his mouth was suddenly on her. He had latched his lips to the fleshy mound, kissing it the way he was kissing her not but 30 seconds ago. She could feel every move of his lips before he was full on making out with it, tongue dipping to caress over her hooded clit and she brought her hand down to bite into the fleshy part of her palm under her thumb to stifle any more shameful sounds.

Her other hand found the back of her brother’s head again, nails scraping at the base of his skull as she writhed once more as his mouth trailed lower, now dragging his tongue through her slick folds, up and down, circling, massaging. 

Sam had always enjoyed going down on girls, sometimes more than the actual act of having sex, and they seemed to appreciate and sing his praises for it. Now he understood why. Dean had talked a big game about being able to make girls come from his mouth alone, but Sam always assumed he over exaggerated the amount of foreplay he brought to the bedroom. But here he was, living up to the reputation he swore by by writing a love letter with his tongue between her thighs.

Dean let the flat of his tongue glide from her opening to her throbbing clit before he suckled the sensitive folds between his lips, collecting her sweet juices and the build up of saliva before he swallowed it down with a satisfied groan. And then he encircled his lips around her clit and gave slow, deliberate suckles, causing Sam to suck in a breath that hollowed out her stomach, thighs trembling.

“Dean..oh fuck,” she moaned softly, breaths uneven and lewd as she gave up on covering her mouth or subduing the vocalization of her pleasure. It felt incredible, the amount of attention to detail, his thorough process of making sure every centimeter of sensitive flesh was tended to. She could feel her clit throbbing under the flicks of tongue, the pulsating felt all the way through her abdomen. The hand that was at her mouth came down to grope at her own breast, hips now making little circles towards the tongue so hard at work to get her to orgasm as she watched with her pupils blown wide.

And then he doubled down, his equally dark gaze now reaching up her body to hold eye contact, hungrily eating her out like baby brother pussy would be his last meal on Earth. It was too hot, too lewd, and Sam gripped what hair she could before she thrust her hips up, grinding against his unrelenting tongue. Her breath hitched, pleasured sounds rising an octave before that tight coil in her belly came undone, a flood of euphoria throbbing from her pussy, her entire body feeling the blanket of warmth from orgasm. He kept hitting that button over and over, the strong pulsing making her spasm uncontrollably until her thighs did close around his head as it quickly reached overstimulation.

Dean pulled back once Sam nearly crushed his head with her thighs, licking his lips to collect the mess that had collected there. He brought his hand up, running his fingers through the slick mess that earned a soft whine from Sam, the stimulation still too much.

“What’d I tell ya?” Dean asked, that grin back on his lips. Leave it to him to take it as a personal victory rather than just living in the moment.

“Okay, point proven,” Sam replied breathily as she worked on evening out her breathing, her head falling back against the pillow again as she exhaled one more calming sigh, body still pleasantly humming. Her thighs fell open further before Dean had moved up in between them, kissing up her chest again until he had moved to hover above her, getting one more grope of her breasts.

“Wanna know what you taste like?” He asked, dragging his teeth over his bottom lip to subdue a smirk. Sam’s hands came to run along his chest, cheeks still flushed pink as she let her eyes roam over his features. It was never a secret why girls fell for Dean so quickly. He had always been bordering the line between ruggedly handsome and pretty; gorgeous eyes and a pair of full lips, face practically perfectly symmetrical save for the small flaw of a slightly crooked nose, if it could even be considered a flaw.

Sam remembered when he broke his nose. They had been playing by the creek on a summer day, looking for the perfect skipping rock before he slipped on an algae covered stone and went face first into the shallow water. They had to reset it by hand and Dean put on a big macho show to prove it didn’t hurt despite the tears in his eyes.

Sam responded to Dean’s question by lifting her head and dragging the tip of her tongue in a slow curl upward over his lips, the act enough to make Dean’s eyes dilate again. It was a mild taste, nothing different than what he could recall with the women he had been with before, but there was something erotic about having them taste their essence in his mouth.

Dean re-engaged them in a heated kiss as Sam moaned into it, sliding her hands down until she could reach under his shirt and drag it up, breaking the kiss to pull it up and off of him fully. Her leg lifted enough to hitch a knee over his hip, pressing their groins together and giving her enough leverage to shift their weight so they could roll, Sam now straddling him.

“And here I thought you were gonna be a pillow princess,” Dean remarked with a flash of teeth as he tucked his arms under his head. So smug. Sam rolled her eyes before she fully pulled off her shirt, tossing it aside as her hair fell over her shoulders.

“I can still change my mind, y’know,” she warned, moving her hands to settle against Dean’s abdomen before she scooted herself back to let them descend to the waistband of his pants, the threat going unfulfilled as she began to work them open.

“Oh no, no, we don’t want that,” Dean replied as he watched, moving his hands back out from under his head to settle them against Sam’s thighs as she gave a short yank to the belt loops at his hips, bringing the denim down enough to grant her access to his boxers.

Her lithe body continued to shift down his thighs as she gave him an amused look tinged with heat as her palm slid over the outline of his cock under the thin material of his boxers. He was thick, thicker than Sam originally imagined as much as he hated to admit that he casually wondered what his brother was packing. A few firm caresses up and down were given before she withdrew him from behind the cloth barrier, letting the hot and heavy length settle in her grasp.

Her other hand came up to gather her hair, giving a twist of her wrist to put in it a messy bun with a little too much skill, like she had been doing it for years. Dean recognized it as the universal precursor to a blowjob and his dick twitched in her hand as his teeth dragged against his bottom lip, muscles already tensing in his abdomen in anticipation.

Sam leaned down to drag her tongue along the underside of her brother’s cock, slow and calculated, eager to see what kind of reaction and sounds she could wring out of him since he was so damn cocky about his own skill. She was rewarded with a soft hiss as the tip of her tongue teased just under the crown of his throbbing length, making circles with the slick muscle between her lips as she applied pressure below the crease of the head before she took it into her mouth.

Dean had reached to thread his fingers in her hair, but she reached up and swatted it away as she started the slow descent down his length, taking enough of it until it hit the back of her throat, silky head pressing against the give of her soft palette. A low hum was given around his cock before she began to bob up and down, making a show of the pull of her lips every time her head lifted, gazing up at him through her lashes.

She had gotten past the weirdness of it, finding it oddly comfortable to have Dean’s dick in her mouth despite the circumstances. In his mind, he had assumed the natural progression of things would ultimately end them up here one day, he just didn’t count on being a woman when it actually came to fruition. It could go one of two ways; they had crossed the line and sex would officially be on the table, or Dean would count it as a freebie and they’d never talk about it again.

Sam tried not to think of the aftermath of their spur of the moment tryst as she concentrated on working Dean’s cock to the best of her ability. He had considered himself talented with his mouth when going down on girls so it should have translated easily into sucking dick. She attempted to take him deeper and gave a small gag, but that only seemed to get Dean more excited since he lifted his hips and gave a deep groan from the depths of his chest.

Sam powered through the urge to cough or choke, willing herself to swallow down the build up of saliva and the growing saltiness of precome before descending further, allowing it to press down into her throat. She focused on breathing through her nose with her throat crowded, determined to take him all the way to the base. When her nose was pressed against the trimmed hair against his pubic bone, she swallowed hard and Dean shuddered.

“Shit, Sammy.. Wait, wait, don’t wanna come yet,” Dean spoke, voice thick and a little rushed. Sam lifted her head with a lewd slurp, mouth disconnecting as she took in a wet inhale, lips plump and glossy, a thick string connecting her to Dean’s arousal still. Her hand replaced her efforts, giving slow and languid strokes of his saliva soaked length, wet little shlicks audible in her efforts.

“Already?” Sam teased with a grin, licking her lips afterward.

“I always figured you’d be good at sucking dick, but goddamn,” Dean replied with a grin and Sam could feel her cheeks warm. So he had thought about it. How often, Sam wasn’t sure, but it was at least a passing thought at some point. “C’mere.”

Sam leaned down as instructed, fitting their mouths together with each other’s taste on their tongues, allowing them to mingle. She gave a soft moan as Dean’s hands came down to grope her ass, giving it a pull forward as he lifted his hips so that his rock hard cock was pressed against the wetness of her panties, sending another little shock of electricity through her body. She reached down between them to hold under her brother’s arousal, pressing it up better against her for more friction before she slipped her panties to the side.

Dean broke the kiss with a low groan as soon as the head of his cock was sliding between Sam’s wet folds, gliding up and down, eager to be buried in her wet heat. Sam took her time though, shifting to sit up fully now to grind her bare pussy against his aching cock with rolls of her hips that rivaled a porn star. She tipped her head back and shook her hair free, filling her lungs with air to push out her perky breasts.

Dean’s hands traveled from her hips and along the curves of her sides until he had his hands groping the supple flesh of her chest as he rocked his hips up, trying to angle so he could finally press inside, but Sam made him wait. She brought one hand up to grip Dean’s wrist, guiding it further up her chest until she could bring two of his thick digits between her lips, giving them an indulgent suck as they laid against her tongue, finally pressing down to allow her brother’s cock to ease into her wet channel.

Sam had no idea what to expect in terms of sensation, but she was wet enough and still reeling from her first orgasm at the mercy of Dean’s mouth that the pressure was only mildly uncomfortable until he pressed deeper. She sank down to fully envelop his cock, the girth and length of it filling her up in a way that was unexpected. She could feel her canal stretch to accommodate him, tight enough around him that she could feel every little twitch and throb as he fit like lock and key, earning a moan around his digits.

“Holy fuck, Sammy,” Dean breathed, his pupils blown so wide that his eyes appeared black. She squeezed around him to wring another pleasured sound from his parted lips, watching as his eyes fluttered. She slipped his fingers from her mouth and dragged them back down her chest, leaving a little trail of quickly cooling saliva against the flesh before she encouraged him to continue touching as he pleased.

“Feel like you imagined?” She asked equally breathy, her being the one wearing a bit of a cocky grin this time. Dean could only give a nod of his head as if he were hypnotized before he shook his head and licked his lips.

“Better, fuck, so fucking good,” he responded and Sam leaned over him, one hand near the side of his head to balance herself as she lifted and dropped her hips, starting a slow rhythm of taking him into stretched pussy over and over, giving a moan of pleasure.

Dean abandoned giving her breasts attention to slide over the curve of her ass to grip the back of her thighs as his feet planted on the bed, using the leverage to lift his hips as he dragged her down, getting deeper with every movement.

“Dean,” Sam whined softly between little gasps of pleasure, the sound only spurning Dean’s efforts as he moved her faster, giving quick snaps upward to clap his hips against her ass, wet and muffled as her slightly smaller frame bounced with the pace of Dean fucking her.

She could feel the desperation in Dean’s hold and his movements, her toes curling slightly as he brushed against her g-spot, sending white hot pangs of concentrated pleasure through her. She reached her free hand up to brace herself against the headboard, pussy dripping around the onslaught of thrusts she was taking. It felt hot, too wet, and it happened so suddenly when she realized that she came again, still sensitive from the talents of his mouth.

Only a moment or two had passed as she rode out the waves of it before they were moving again, Sam on her back once more. She gazed up at Dean with half-lidded eyes, cheeks flush as she panted before she quickly reached down to his hips, shoving his pants down further to signify she wanted them all the way off. Dean obliged and stilled his movements briefly to wriggle them down enough to where he could discard them without pulling out.

He balanced on his knees, one hand reaching for the thin waistband of her panties at her hip before he gave a rough tug, snapping the fabric free, caught now only on one thigh.

That act alone had her clenching tightly around him again, giving needy rolls of her hips before Dean had gathered one leg up under the bend of her knee, pushing up and back to get her nice and open. Sam’s hands once again shot up, bracing against the headboard as Dean began to thrust into her like a feral animal, using his weight to really make sure he was fully sheathed each time he dove forward.

“Dean!” Sam cried out, back arching off the bed as her head tipped back, each heavy thrust like a punch to the gut. It felt like he was rearranging her insides, trying to climb inside her, the touch of pain mixed with overstimulation causing tears to well in her eyes. She clenched her teeth, nails clawing at the headboard as Dean continued his rough treatment, earning a series of high pitched whines and stifled sobs.

Plap, plap, plap echoed with the sound of the headboard knocking into the wall, a symphony mixed with Sam’s cries and Dean’s grunts. She was practically spasming, the abuse to her g-spot making her body lose most of the control she had on it. “No, Dean, no, no, please,” she cried out, a broken string of pleas to get him to slow down his unrelenting pace. “S’too much, Dean!” She screamed out before she felt a hot splash inside of her and she convulsed hard, suddenly squirting a jet of hot liquid around his cock. Her eyes rolled back as she came for the third time, body feeling like it was on fire, still twitching and shuddering as her brother continued to pump a potent load deep inside of her. Her hands and feet tingled from the rush to her nerves, pussy an oversensitive mess as she tried to catch her breath before Dean had finally pulled out, globs of his release oozing out of her in a way that felt filthy. 

Her vision was blurred as she laid there like she had just run a marathon, legs jelly, breath ragged and head swimming. Her arms collapsed near her head before she felt Dean’s hands on her thighs once they had come down to the bed and she lifted her head to peer at him.

There was that stupid cock sure grin again.

“Oh my god, don’t say it,” Sam whined, letting her head fall back down to the pillow.

“I made you squirt!” He announced proudly, giving a victorious laugh like it had been some sort of competition. 

“Shut up.”

“I beat that pussy up, put that ass straight to bed!” 

She managed to lift a leg and use enough force to kick him away from her, but it didn’t ruin his good mood. He fell back on his haunches on the bed, giving another chuckle.

“Damn, Sammy. Was it good for you too? Oh wait, I think I know the answer to that,” Dean teased and Sam rolled onto her side, covering her head with a pillow for a moment, mumbling something her brother couldn’t hear.

“What’s that? I’m a sex god?”

“I said you better shut the fuck up if you wanna go another round before I’m switched back,” she announced after lifting the pillow so he could hear her properly.

“Oop-” Dean responded before he cleared his throat. “I mean, yeah, sure. Another round would be cool, or whatever. If that’s what you want.” She may not have been looking at him, but she could hear the smile in his words. “Shower? Yeah, yeah, shower, good idea,” he murmured before she felt his weight shift off the bed and heard him shuffle to the bathroom, moving to turn on the shower.

It was good, and Sam definitely needed it, but there was debate about whether or not it was worth it if it meant having to have Dean flaunt his sexual prowess for the next decade or so.

↳ can be found on ao3 here. comments and kudos super appreciated!

[pagegirlintraining]

“May never make it out” game

Post a 1-5 paragraph excerpt of a WIP / fic idea that may never make it out of your drafts but is near and dear to your heart

Thank youuuuu @enjoythesilentworld for tagging me in this💜 I was about to say I don’t really have any started fics that I don’t actively plan on finishing anytime soon, but then I remembered that back in summer, I started this airport AU thing that kinda got abandoned over other stuff. And well, I have too many other things already going on atm (as you well know 😏) but after reading through what I have so far, this one might not be lost forever after all.

First, though, here’s a song that fits almost too perfectly🥹

Now listen, my paragraphs tend to be on the short side so… let’s ignore that this is way more than five 🙈

“I, uh, I did like the movie”, Wille somehow managed to get out, pushing past the little voice telling him his voice was sounding much too high and kinda weird. “Enough so that it made me cry, actually. Which maybe isn’t the most reliable benchmark, since I also bawl my eyes out every time I watch The Fox and The Hound.”

Okay, so now he was confessing to crying over a children’s movie. Nothing more attractive than that. God, who’d ever decided to let him into public where there was a chance of running into incredibly cute guys and consequentially cramming his foot so far down his throat he doubted he’d ever get it out again?

To his utter surprise, though, gorgeous guy’s face lit up at his words, those missing ten percent of sunshine right back to where they’d been before.

“That’s a great benchmark then! I love that movie. Although I don’t think I’ve ever cried during it.”

Maybe it was the playful gleam in his eyes, or the fact that Wille now found himself faced with the full extent of his sunny smile again, but for a moment he felt all his reservations fall off of him as his expression rearranged into one of faux scandal.

“How have you never cried during that movie? Did you not see that old woman’s face when she left her little fox behind in the woods?”

That got him a shrug, complete with a little head wiggle that really was too cute to be legal.

“Sure”, gorgeous guy said, pursing his lips with a sincerity that was adorable enough to make up for the fact that it had momentarily replaced the smile. “But she’s doing it for a reason. She knows she can’t keep him as a pet. She’s letting him go because it’s what’s best for him.”

“That’s what makes it even sadder! She’s setting him free even though she loves him. Because she loves him. It’s beautiful!”

That got another chuckle out of gorgeous guy, one that promptly made the heart in Wille’s chest do a double flip.

“It is sweet, I’ll give you that”, gorgeous guy said, and then he simply remained where he was, looking at Wille with what looked to his easily excited heart like a mixture of hope and apprehension. It seemed Wille was taking too long to say anything, because after a moment, gorgeous guy visibly inhaled, almost like he was preparing himself for something uncomfortable.

“So”, he asked on his exhale, drawing out the ‘O’, “Mind if I sit?”

No pressure, but I’d be extremely excited to hear about your ‘may not make it out’ ideas and/or snippets @iwouldnevergetintofanfic @unfortunate17 and @purplehoodiesandclementines <33

[thewritetofreespeech]

Could I request Gojo with an s/o who's a sweet doctor that runs a back-alley clinic?

Besides medicine, s/o is also skilled in toxicology and botany which earned her a job at one of the best hospitals in Japan. However, her jealous older sister (who's her only living relative and former guardian) ended up shutting down the hospital.

He touched down in front of the clinic, down the alley just off the main highway of their bustling city, and let himself in. “[Y/N]-chan!!” Gojo called out. Helping himself to one of the lollypops at the front counter. “Are you here?”

“Back here!” She called out and Gojo walked back as he put the red candy in his mouth. “I’ll just be another minute.”

“What’s wrong with you?” Gojo asked the little girl, who clung to her bear and was being very brave while [Y/N] looked at her knee.

“I fell down.”

“Oh. That’s ok. Happens to the best of us.” Not him really, but his point was still valid.

“There! All done.” [Y/N] announced with a big smile. Then reached into Gojo’s pocket to take out one of the other 3 lollypops he had snuck into his pocket. “You were very brave today Kimi-chan. Now head home, and tell your mother you need to wash it once more before bed. Here are some extra bandages to recover it.”

“Thank you!” The little girl hopped off the table with her bandages, bear, and candy, then raced out the door.

“Another satisfied customer.” Gojo teased. Then he saw [Y/N]’s face when he turned around. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m going to have to close the clinic soon.” He was shocked by that. This clinic was everything to [Y/N], and had been their dream. When they were all still students at Tokyo Tech, they had never been interested in missions or fighting, but the healing aspect of their jobs. It wasn’t like they had had a spiritual awakening after tragedy either, like Shoko, it was what they always wanted to do. “My family….my sister really….” Gojo huffed through his nose. Of course it was. “She did some legal mumbo-jumbo so that my trust grandfather left me has been sealed. I can’t afford the kind of lawyer it would take to untangle it, and without that money I can’t run the clinic.” She sighed and ran her fingers through her hair. “I’ll have to come up with something in the next month or I really will have to close it.”

Gojo bit through what was left of his lollipop, and walked over to the watercooler to get a drink. The little plastic ice cubes she put in there to keep it cold, and for the kids, bobbing around as it filled his cup. “How much?”

[Y/N] gave him a little ‘hn?’, which was cute, and he repeated himself. “How much? How much money do you need to keep this place running?”

The look on her face was one of shock before she waved her hands. “No. Gojo, I didn’t tell you this to ask for money.”

“Who’s asking? I’m offering.”

“That’s still not the point. I have the money. It’s just my sister—“Is being the royal twat she always is.”

He remembers her sister, and not fondly. She was like any other member of a well to do sorcerer family. Stuck up. Superiority complex. And couldn’t possibly see a reason [Y/N] would want to help people instead of living in the lap of luxury like she did.

“You just tell me how much you need to get by and you can pay me back after we figure out how to unlock your money. Easy-peesy.”

[Y/N] still seemed awkward, but eventually told him a figure. Gojo was already pulling out his phone to wire transfer the money and doubled it. He knew her too well to know she was low balling him to be modest. “Ok! Now let’s go get lunch.”

“You’re buying me lunch?”

“No. You’re buying me lunch. You should have enough money to do that now.” He pretended to flinch when she punched him in the arm, but still followed up out. Hanging up her white coat along the way.

“Thank you Gojo.”

“Don’t mention it. No matter what ‘her highness’ says, you’re doing a good thing here. Not just for us, but for regular people. Looking out for the normies is what this job is supposed to be about.” He took another lollipop on the way out.

“You’re gonna rot your teeth, you know that?”

“Think you can take up back alley dentistry by then?”

[honeybeezgobzzzzz]

Ψ M is for Maraclea: Chapter Four

M is for Maraclea: Following an accident you had over summer break, you find yourself in limbo after being legally dead for several minutes. Now an outcast at boarding school, you end up finding comfort in a strange boy named Nigel. As winter draws near and tragedy strikes, your only reprieve from madness comes from a mind much like your own.

Warnings: Bullying.

To Note: Nigel Colbie x Fem!Reader, NAMED Reader for Plot Reasons, There Are A Lot of DARK Themes.

Word Count: ~2.8k

Previous | Masterlist | Next

You stack the music sheets, careful not to smudge the notes you’ve penciled in. The rehearsal hall echoes with the last strains of a hurried exit, leaving you, Susan, and Ethel to tidy up. You feel the weight of their glances, curious but not unkind.

Susan tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, her eyes darting towards you. “So, Michael still out with that flu?” she asks, trying to sound casual.

You nod, folding the sheet music precisely. “Yes. He’s pretty sick. They’re not sure when he’ll be back.”

Ethel frowns, straightening the chairs. “We can’t keep waiting on him. The play will arrive soon and if he doesn't practice with us the flow won't be right the right of the play.”

You agree silently, placing the stack of music onto the piano. “I shall be here should circumstance call for my fingers.”

Susan steps closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. “How are you handling it? I mean...with everything? The girls have been very unkind to you, even after I tell them to stop.”

You glance at her, unsurprising by her concern yet taken aback. It’s been a while since anyone asked how you’re doing. They always just assume. “It’s...the play helps to keep my mind busy.”

Ethel stops what she’s doing and looks at you directly, her expression unreadable. “You’re doing great, Mary. Honestly, better than Michael in some parts.”

You feel nothing at her off words of praise. Compliments are rare these days. “Thank you,” you murmur.

Susan shifts awkwardly before speaking again. “I think it’s good for you too. Keeps you out of your dorm and engaged. I would hate to see you locked up in our room all semester studying.”

You nod at Susan, appreciating her concern even if you don’t entirely agree. The dorm room has become your sanctuary, a place where the whispers and sneers can’t reach you. But you don’t say that. Instead, you offer a small smile, one that feels foreign on your lips.

“I’ll try to be more social,” you say, though it sounds hollow to your own ears. "For you."

Susan’s eyes soften. “That’s all anyone can ask.”

You turn back to the piano, running your fingers over the cool keys. The sensation is soothing, numbing. You start to play a few notes, lost in the familiar comfort of music.

“Hey,” Susan’s voice breaks through your thoughts, “how about we grab a coffee or something? You know, just us.”

You glance at Susan, her hopeful eyes meeting yours. “I can’t, Susan. I’ve got an exam to study for.” You try to sound convincing, though the idea of socializing makes your skin crawl.

Susan’s face falls slightly, but she recovers quickly. “Alright, but you should come next time. Promise?”

“Yes,” you lie smoothly. “You and Ethel go ahead. Enjoy the coffee.”

Susan exchanges a look with Ethel, then shrugs. “If you’re sure.”

“I am,” you insist, forcing another small smile. It feels more of a grimace.

They gather their things and head towards the door. Susan looks back once more, concern etched in her features. “Take care, Mary.”

“You as well,” you reply softly, watching them leave. With the hall empty, you let out a breath you do not know you hold. The silence and solitude is bliss. Blinking, you ensure everything is in its place—chairs straightened, music sheets organized, piano closed. The silence wraps around you like a comforting shroud.

You walk out into the crisp evening air, pulling your coat tighter around you. The path back to the academy winds around the lake, a scenic route that usually calms your mind. Tonight, though, a sense of unease lingers.

Halfway around the lake, voices break through your solitude. You see them before they see you—three girls from your class, notorious for their cruel jokes and harsh whispers. Jane, Victoria, and Charity

“There she is,” Charity sneers as they spot you. She lacks the most charity out of the three of them, “Zombie fish girl.”

You keep walking, eyes fixed on the path ahead. They were hardly worthy of your attention.

Victoria steps in front of you, blocking your way with a cool sneer. “What’s the rush? Got another play to practice for?”

“Or maybe she’s just in a hurry to join the fish in the lake," Jane chimes in, laughter bubbling in her voice. You stop and slowly raise your eyes to meet theirs.

"Please move." They laugh and Charity's smirk deepens.

You fix your gaze on Victoria, your eyes unwavering. “Please move,” you repeat, your voice steady but low.

Jane steps closer, her breath mingling with the cold air. “What if we don’t want to?”

You tighten your grip on your coat, feeling the rough fabric against your fingers. “I don’t particular care for conversation at the moment,” you say, keeping your tone neutral while moving to step to the side. "If you will excuse me…"

Charity laughs, a sharp sound that cuts through the night as she steps in time with yours. “Going so soon? We’re just having a little fun. Lighten up, Forbes.”

Victoria nudges Jane, her eyes gleaming with malicious. “Yes, Mary. Why so serious? You are always such a bore. One might think that you are a robot!”

"A robot zombie fish?" Charity offers with a twist in her lips. "I've never heard of that before. I suppose there is always a first."

The girls press closer, their laughter blending with the rustling leaves. Your pulse quickens, a throb of tension echoing in your ears. You feel the edge of the path under your feet, the ground growing softer as it nears the water. They are ever persistent.

“Why so quiet, Mary?” Jane taunts, her eyes alight with cruel amusement.

You take a step back, your heel sinking into the damp earth. The lake glimmers under the moonlight, an inky expanse that seems to call you. Another step and the cold water laps at your shoes. Such sweet ecstasy.

“Aw, look,” Victoria coos, “she’s scared.” Far from it actually.

Charity grins, her eyes narrowing. “What’s wrong? Don’t like getting wet?”

Your back hits a low branch hanging over the water. There's nowhere else to go. The water seeps into your shoes, sending a shiver up your spine. You gasp as the cold bites into your skin, but beneath that shock is a strange comfort—the numbness you crave.

They see it—the way your breath catches—and their laughter falters for just a moment. You grip the branch behind you, grounding yourself while your mind obsesses over the growing numbness crawling up your ankles.

“Look at her,” Jane scoffs. “She’s pathetic.”

Victoria steps closer, peering into your eyes with mock concern. “Enjoying yourself down there?” Oh very much, very much in deed.

The chill spreads through you, wrapping around your legs like icy tendrils. You draw in a breath, steadying yourself against the wave of numbness that overtakes you. You nearly shudder from the euphoria.

“Numb,” you say quietly, your voice barely above a whisper but firm.

Charity rolls her eyes and tosses her hair over her shoulder. “Let’s go,” she says dismissively. “The fish freak is not worth any more of our time.”

The three girls exchange looks before turning away with bored expressions. They walk off, their laughter fading into the night.

You stand there for a moment longer, feeling the water swirl around your ankles. The cold seeps deeper into you, but it’s a relief—a momentary escape from everything else. You take another deep breath and then slowly step out of the lake, your feet heavy and wet but grounded in a way they haven’t felt in weeks. And it was to only get colder.

You stand there, feeling the cold water seep through your shoes, chilling your skin. The numbness creeps up your legs, a familiar and oddly comforting sensation. You close your eyes for a moment, letting the cold wash over you. It's a welcome distraction from the constant noise in your head, the whispers and taunts that never seem to fade.

You draw in a deep breath, the crisp night air filling your lungs. For these few moments, you are alone with the cold and silence. No sneering faces, no mocking laughter—just you and the lake. The cold is an anchor, grounding you in the present.

After a few more moments, you reluctantly pull yourself away from the water's edge. Your feet feel heavy as you step back onto the path, each movement slow and deliberate. The wet fabric of your shoes squelches with every step, but you don't mind. It's a small price to pay for a brief respite.

You make your way back to the academy, the cold air biting at your cheeks. The path is deserted now, just as you prefer it. You walk slowly, savoring the quiet and solitude. Each step takes you further from the lake but not from the peace it brought.

As you reach the entrance to the dormitory, you pause for a moment, looking up at the building that has become both refuge and prison. You draw in another deep breath before pushing open the door and stepping inside.

The warmth of the dormitory envelops you immediately, contrasting sharply with the chill that clings to your skin. You move through the hallways quickly, avoiding eye contact with anyone you pass. You don't want to explain why you're soaked or why you've been outside alone at this hour.

Finally reaching your room, you slip inside quietly and close the door behind you. The room is dark and quiet, just as you left it. You peel off your wet shoes and socks, feeling the sting of warmth returning to your feet.

You sit on your bed for a moment, letting yourself adjust to being back inside. The numbness begins to fade slowly, replaced by a dull ache that reminds you you're still here, still alive.

You reach for a blanket and wrap it around yourself tightly. The fabric is soft against your skin but does little to chase away the lingering cold. You don't mind; it's a reminder of those precious moments by the lake when everything else fell away.

With a sigh, you lean back against the pillows and close your eyes, allowing yourself a few minutes of rest before returning to reality.

You jolt awake to the sound of tapping on your window. For a moment, disoriented, you sit up, the blanket slipping from your shoulders. The room is dim, shadows dancing on the walls as the moonlight filters in. The tapping persists, insistent and rhythmic. Your eyes dart to Susan, blissfully deep asleep in bed. The tapping continues.

You get up and move toward the window, your heart pounding in your chest. You pull back the curtain to reveal Nigel standing outside, his face illuminated by the soft glow of the moon. His eyes lock onto yours with an intensity that makes your breath catch.

"Mary," he mouths, his voice barely audible through the glass. "Come with me."

Without thinking, you crack the window open and lean your head out.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?"

"We're going on a train ride," he says simply, his voice low and steady.

You hesitate for a moment, blinking at his statement but then nod. Retreating back into your room, you shut the window and turn to grab a pair of shoes and a coat to cover your nightgown. Snatching your dorm key, you slip from your dorm room and quickly made your way down to the ground floor. When you exited the dorm building Nigel is waiting for you.

The two of you make your way to the train station in silence, the only sound is your footsteps echoing off the pavement. When you reach the platform, Nigel buys two tickets without a word and leads you to an empty compartment. You take a seat and sit in silence as the train begins to move. A sense of calm washes over you.

Oh how calming and peaceful this feels! No chittering girls gossiping about you. The calm peace makes you quiver.

Nigel sits next to you, his gaze steady and unwavering. "Do you always take their bullying in silence," he says finally, breaking the quiet.

Your eyelashes flicker as your mind mulls over his words. He must have seen you cornered by Jane, Victoria, and Charity. You stare out the window, the dark landscape rushing by in a blur. Nigel's question hangs in the air between you two, heavy and unavoidable.

“Yes,” you finally admit, your voice barely above a whisper but devoid of emotion. “I take it in silence. There's no point in fighting back.”

Nigel's eyes narrow slightly, curiosity lingering in his gaze. “Why?”

You sit there, the rhythmic clatter of the train beneath you. You feel Nigel's eyes on you, waiting for an answer. He doesn't push for an answer, just waits. You draw in a breath, steadying yourself.

"It happened over the summer," you begin, your voice barely above a whisper. "I went swimming alone in the lake near our house. I got a cramp...and I couldn't swim back."

Nigel's gaze intensifies, but he stays silent, letting you continue.

"I drowned," you say flatly. "They pulled me out, but by then... I was dead. Legally dead for several minutes."

You pause, watching his reaction. His eyes widen, and he leans closer, hanging on every word.

"They managed to revive me," you say, the memory making your skin crawl. "But something changed. It's like a part of me stayed behind."

Nigel's breath quickens, his fascination evident. "You...you died and came back?" His voice trembles with excitement.

"Yes," you confirm, your eyes meeting his. "That's why they call me zombie fish girl. Because it's true...in a way."

Nigel's face lights up with an intensity that makes your stomach churn. He reaches out and takes your hand, his grip firm and almost possessive. You like it, unlike the touch of others.

"You are...incredible," he murmurs, his eyes searching yours. "A living Maraclea."

You frown at the term, not fully understanding his obsession. What was so special about you? But before you can question it, Nigel moves closer, his face inches from yours.

"Mary," he whispers, his breath warm against your skin. "You're a miracle."

The intensity within Nigel's gaze makes your heart flutter. An odd sensation you don't mind. You can feel his breath against your skin, warm and inviting. A change from your crave of cold. He leans in closer, and for a moment, you forget everything—the cold, the bullying, the constant noise in your head. There's only him and the way he looks at you like you're something precious.

His lips brush against yours, tentative at first, as if he's afraid you'll pull away. But you don't. You stay still, letting the warmth of his touch seep into you. Your eyes flutter closed, and the world narrows down to this single point of contact. A warmth you like, a warmth you begin to crave.

Nigel's hand moves to cup your cheek, his fingers gentle but firm. The kiss deepens, and you find yourself responding in a way you never expected. Despite the numbness that usually clings to you like a second skin, there's a spark—something warm and alive that spreads through you like wildfire.

Your heart pounds in your chest, each beat echoing through your body as you lean into him. His lips are soft but insistent, coaxing a response from you that feels both foreign and thrilling. You part your lips slightly, allowing him to explore further, and a shiver runs down your spine at the intimacy of it.

It's your first kiss—something you've never really thought about before now. But with Nigel, it feels right.

There's no hesitation or fear, just a sense of connection that you've been missing for so long. You lose yourself in the kiss, the sensation overwhelming in its intensity. Your hand finds its way to Nigel's jacket, gripping tightly as if you fear this unsound warmth till slip away. You do. The cold that usually surrounds you melts away under his touch, replaced by a warmth that fills every corner of your being.

Nigel pulls back slightly, just enough to look into your eyes. His gaze is soft but intense, filled with an emotion you can't quite name but recognize all the same. He strokes your jaw.

"Mary," he whispers against your lips, his voice low and filled with awe. "You are perfection."

You swallow hard, trying to find words but failing. When was the last time you have been praised as such? You can't find words to speak. Instead, you press your forehead against his, closing your eyes as you savor the lingering taste of his kiss.

For once, the numbness recedes completely, leaving only the warmth of Nigel's touch and the promise of something more.

Date Published: 6/9/24

Last Edit: 6/9/24

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[onetimetwotimesthreetimess]

If you still want prompts, I need more drunk Alec in my life

I’m always up for malec prompts babygirl. Especially drunk Alec is a babe. I haven’t written canon malec in a while so here’s them being dorks as always.

_______________________________________________

“No matter how far, don't worry, baby.

“Just call my name, I'll be there in a hurry

“You don't have to worry,” The voice yells through the loud pub as Magnus steps through the portal.

His eyes glances through the crowd to find his idiots but it doesn’t take him long, takes him barely a single second because said idiots are on the stage, yelling on the karaoke.

Magnus cuts through the crowd to reach at the centre when he hears his name called.

“Magnus!!” He turns to see Jace waving towards him excitedly, Isabelle standing next to him, jumping and shouting at the stage.

He reaches the two of them and asks, “On a scale of 0 to what happened on 15th May; how drunk are these three?”

Jace chortles, smacking at his shoulder and Magnus punches him back.

He’s not drunk enough to take up with Jace’s incessant habit of treating him like a ‘bro’ when he’s drunk.

“Clary is a solid 15. Simon already puked seven times. And Alec, Raziel, Alec is worse than Izzy on 15th May.”

Magnus turns towards the stage, where the three idiots, with his main idiot in between stand, yelling and singing loudly.

Alec‘s unbuttoned his top two buttons, his hair is a mess—the sexy, hot kind, and he has an arm loosely around Clary, who looks as drunk as him. Simon is also there, with his hot nerd face that’s getting hotter ever since he got engaged with Izzy but Magnus for the life of him cannot care—even if he tries to look at anything but his Alec.

There’s just something about him right now, the carelessness that he’s been missing for a while, since he’s become to Consul and their world has gone to shit.

Right now, the man looks like he doesn’t have a care in this world and while Magnus loves Alec in his serious consul mode, this, this is how he wants his Alec to always look like.

With his cheeks flushed and a million dollar smile on his face.

Like always, the same way it’s been happening for a decade now, Alec feels his presence in the room before he even sees him and he tracks how his husband’s eyes wander across the room, searching for him.

And then they land on him and, somehow, Magnus isn’t sure how, doesn’t think it should be legal but the smile and happiness on Alec’s face increase tenfold. It cracks his chest and threatens to burn him.

“Magnus is here!!!” Alec yells, excitedly.

Clary and Simon look in his direction and wave at him too.

Alec pulls away to get to him but Clary stops him, eyes all fiery as she speaks, “Finish the song first.”

Magnus chuckles at the small pout that Alec makes before his husband launches back into the song, only this time, he’s staring directly into his eyes as he sings.

“Cause, baby, there ain't no mountain high enough.

“Ain't no valley low enough

“Ain't no river wide enough

“To keep me from getting to you, babe,” Alec sings with a stupid smile and Magnus’s face softens at him, his cheeks widening.

The shadowhunter finally escapes Clary’s grasp and jumps off the stage; infront of him and Magnus thinks Alec’s going to kiss him now, with the proximity as he comes closer but the man shouts in his ears, “Cause baby, there ain’t no mountain high enough.”

Magnus laughs loudly, before winding his arms around Alec’s waist who in turn places his arms around Magnus’s neck.

“Hi.”

“Hi, my darling.”

Alec’s hair is all wet and Magnus runs a hand through them, pushing them in place but they fall on his face again. The man is skipping on his feet happily.

“Alec, brother. That was fucking amazing,” Jace wipes fake tears, or wait—Jace wipes actual tears off his face as he pulls his parabatai in a hug.

His husband hugs his parabatai back as tightly as he can and the two have a moment in the middle of the pub for no bloody reason.

He shakes his head in affection at the two idiots, but he’s glad Alec has that, he’s always admired the relationship the two shared.

Alec Lightwood will always love Jace Herondale more than his own life.

“Why are you two morons hugging like you were separated in a war,” Magnus comments because he can. Alec turns towards him and jumps in his arms again.

“Hi.”

Magnus chuckles. “Hi again.”

Alec lays his head on Magnus’s shoulder, nuzzling in a way very familiar to Chairman Meow.

“Magnus.”

“Hmmm.”

“I have to tell you…tell you something.”

Magnus runs his fingers through Alec’s hair. “What is it?”

Alec pulls back, and peers at him. “I’m very drunk.”

A breathless peal of laughter leaves his body and he kisses Alec’s forehead. “Oh, honey. I know.”

He grabs Alec’s face in his face, his gorgeous gorgeous face, free of any troubles and caresses his cheeks. “You look very happy, my love.”

Alec beams at the words.

“I am happy.”

“I like you when you’re this happy,” he whispers against his mouth and thumbs over his eyebrows, over the frown lines that are usually there.

“I like you all the time.”

Magnus rolls his eyes.

Asshole.

“Don’t try to one-up me while I’m being sappy, Alexander.”

Alec giggles and Magnus wonders why and how on earth has he not kissed Alec yet. So, he leans in to kiss his husband. He brings their mouths together slowly, exploring like he can’t create an exact replica of Alec’s mouth if he wanted to.

“Oh fuck!” Alec explains suddenly, pulling back.

“What?” He whines.

“We forgot Max and Rafe.”

“We did not forget. More important, you did not forget,” Magnus assures him. “They’re with Cat.”

“Oh,” Alec says, then beams. “Okay.”

“What do you want to do tonight?” He asks.

Magnus wishes he can give Alec more nights like this—more nights when he can just ask Alec what he wants and Alec has the freedom to say yes. When the burden of saving an entire race isn’t on his broad, and sexy shoulders.

“Marry you.”

He snorts.

“What?” Alec pouts. “Will you marry me?”

“No.”

Alec puts a hand on his chest. “Wow.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“Is that why you won’t marry me? Because I’m an idiot.”

“Yes.”

Alec pauses for a second, thoughtfully.

“If I say ‘I’ll try not to be an idiot’ in my vows, will you marry me then?”

“Nope,” he grins.

“Pretty please?” Alec flutters his lashes and Magnus feels his heart in his mouth.

He recalls a time when Alec was shy, when every single smile was rare, when the shadowhunter boy with the sure and steady heart didn’t understand the effect he had on Magnus. When he was careful in every step he took.

When he didn’t know how much Magnus’s ass was obsessed with him.

It’s not the case now.

Now Alec knows.

Alec knows how every breath he takes, every action, every gesture, how it makes Magnus fall in love with him even more. He knows how to capitalise on that now.

“Please, baby.”

“Have you forgotten that we’re already married?”

Alec rolls his eyes, the first of his night surprisingly. “Of course I remember.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“You want to do it again?”

“Yep.”

“You’re a dork.”

“Is that a yes?”

“No.”

“MAGNUS!!!!!!.”