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sapphirecobalt-1 · 3 years

Note

“The paint’s supposed to go where?” destiel, for the prompts! <3

The paint’s supposed to go where?” + Destiel, courtesy of @contemplativepancakes. Thank you so much for your patience <3

Rated M(ish). 2.5k

"The paint's supposed to go where?" Dean asks, shooting Cas a look that's half confused, half incredulous, and half horrified, which is one too many halves but Dean's never been good enough at math to care, especially not when his roommate of several years is staring at him like he’s stupid but doesn’t want to say anything out of misplaced politeness (it’s okay, Cas, Dean knows he’s an idiot, no need to sugar coat it).

Cas scrunches up his brows and it’s clear as day he’s confused about Dean’s confusion. "On...your...body?" He asks more than says, speaking slowly and it's a testament to how well Dean knows his best friend that he understands the meaning behind Cas' words. Is this okay? Are you sure you want to do this?

Dean glances back and forth between Cas and the paintbrush in his hand. “I thought you wanted to paint me?” he asks, uncertainty coloring his tone.

“No, I asked if I could paint on you.” Cas clarifies.

Dean doesn’t know jack shit about art, it’s why he’s a STEM major, but now he’s starting to wonder if he shouldn’t do that either, because really, who in their right mind would trust a person who can’t tell the difference between painting someone and painting on someone with an electrical system? Not Dean, that’s for damn sure.

“You want to...paint on me?” Dean repeats back to him, slowly, and as an added bonus even points to himself as if Cas could possibly be referring to anyone else in the empty studio.

Cas blinks. Then, he nods, patience and exasperation fighting for dominance on his features. In the end, understanding tinged with disappointment wins as he says, “if you’re not comfortable with this, I understand...”

“No,” Dean’s mouth blurts out before his brain has time to process Cas’ comment. “I said I’d help you with your project and I will.”

“Are you sure?” Cas asks hopefully, fidgeting with the paintbrush in his hands.

No. “’Course I am.”

Cas’ face lights up in appreciation and the butterflies in Dean’s stomach flutter up a storm cause they clearly have nothing better to do. Still, the look on Cas’ face when Dean accepts his challenge is enough to put the misunderstanding behind them and let go of his uncertainty.

Until it’s time for Cas to paint on Dean.

When Cas originally asked Dean to help him with his assignment, Dean thought he’d pose for a couple hours and Cas would paint him like a 16th century monarch (never mind that Dean wanted Cas to paint him like one of his French girls). And he was cool with that, hell, he even looked forward to it (spending time with Cas, that is, not holding the same position for who knows how long). Dean even did some stretches and practiced holding various positions for several minutes.

Nothing could have prepared him for Cas scooping up some brown (”it’s not brown, Dean, it’s called ‘Burnt Umber’”, whatever the hell that means) paint on his brush, walking into Dean’s personal space like he owned it (he did, good God he did), and painting broad strokes onto Dean’s pale, freckled chest. Dean shivers the second the cold paint touches his skin and Cas barely gives him time to adjust to the temperature and weird sensation of bristles on his skin before he goes to town painting...whatever the hell he’s painting.

Cas furrows his brows and Dean watches him stick his tongue out in concentration and it’s the cutest thing he’s ever seen.

“So, uh, this paint safe for people?” Dean asks fighting a shiver that has nothing to do with the temperature of the paint and everything to do with the way Cas gently places his hand on Dean’s waist as he paints jagged lines across Dean’s chest.

Cas pauses to look up at Dean. “Of course.” he answers. “I would never ask this of you if I knew it wasn’t safe.”

Dean distractedly nods his understanding, his attention split between the sparkle in Cas’ clear blue eyes and the unfamiliar yet warm feeling ballooning in his chest. He looks away and forces himself to pay attention to his surroundings, afraid he might say something stupid if he continues staring into Cas’ eyes like that.

As far as college level art classes go, this one’s no different than most. It’s got several easels, canvases, paint brushes, and tubes of paint scattered all over the floor, tables, and open drawers. The sunlight streaming from the three floor-to-ceiling windows light up the room more than the dollar store bare bulb hanging from the ceiling. The dark grey walls are littered with murals in various stages of completion: sketched out, drawn, half painted and painted. Dean briefly wonders where the artists are and why they never finished before his eyes land on the creepy skeleton in the far right corner. It doesn’t have eyes, but Dean swears Michaelangel-Bones (as the art students named it for reasons Dean will never understand) stares at him.

Having had his fill of the offending decoration in the corner, Dean turns to face Cas only to frown when he doesn’t immediately spot his friend. Motion captures his attention and he looks down to see Cas, on his knees, in front of Dean, getting some green paint before carefully painting small strokes across Dean’s stomach, one hand on his waist.

Dean’s brain stops working and his heart, doing the exact opposite, pounds so fast he’s surprised it doesn’t beat out of his chest like they do in cartoons. But why would it, when it’s too busy pumping blood down south?

Dean tears his eyes away from the incredibly attractive sight of Cas on his knees and faces Michaelangel-Bones as if the skeleton’s gonna help him keep it in his pants. Although, weirdly enough, thinking about the disturbing skeleton whose not-eyes follow him around the studio actually does help Dean squash down his inappropriate thoughts about his roommate. Just to be on the safe side, he conjures a few very unsexy images (the time he accidentally walked in on his parents doing the horizontal tango, him and Charlie pigging out at the local buffet, stuffing their mouths and making gross faces at one another) all in an effort to get Little Dean under control.

Once his thoughts, feelings, heart, and Little Dean are all under control, he risks glancing down at Cas.

Cas who’s carrying on, painting God-knows-what on Dean’s stomach, casual as can be, completely oblivious to Dean’s internal monologue, seemingly unaffected by being practically face-to-face with Little Dean. He’s staring at Dean’s pudgy stomach with the same intensity as earlier when he was painting Dean’s chest.

All of Dean’s hard (heh) work making sure Little Dean behaves himself almost goes out the window when he notices Cas is sticking his tongue out a little in concentration and Dean wishes he was using his tongue for something else.

Dean berates himself for going down that road before thinking unsexy thoughts again, Don’t think about that, think about the time we didn’t realize Miracle was a girl until she had puppies. He better get his thoughts about Cas under control before he runs out of unsexy thoughts and Cas ends up coming face-to-face with Dean’s feelings for him. The last thing Dean wants is to make things awkward between them by being forced to admit he’s been in love with his best friend for years because said friend notices his boner.

"Done with the front," Cas chimes in. Thank God, Dean thinks, the torture is over. Dean's heart rate begins to slow down a bit and his thoughts settle. He relaxes.

That is, until Cas says, "Now it's time for the back," his voice a bit deeper than usual, giving Dean a nervous yet appreciative smile and Dean's heartbeat spikes all over again.

He returns Cas' smile, hoping he doesn't look as nervous as his friend did while trying not to let his mind run wild with possible explanations for Cas' nervousness.

Instead, Dean focuses on Cas and his friend walks around him, deliberately not facing Dean, squeezes out some light blue and some yellow paint onto his clear, paint-covered pallet, cleans his current brush and gets a new one.

Dean clears his throat. "So, uh, whatcha workin' on?" He asks in an effort to distract himself, fidgeting with the hem of his jeans. It's not that he's not interested in what Cas is doing, whatever it is he's doing, it's just that he really needs a distraction from the heat of Cas' hand on his waist.

"I'm painting a tree on your chest and the rest of the garden on your back." Cas responds just as his brush begins to paint long, broad strokes across his tailbone.

Dean shivers from the touch which only makes Cas squeeze his waist and now Dean's shuddering for a completely different reason.

"Dean, I need you to stay still, please." Cas reminds him, stern but not unkindly, pausing his process while Dean gets himself under control.

"Sorry." Dean replies. Once Dean is still, Cas continues painting across his back. It tickles a little as the bristles leave trails of cold, wet, and slightly slimy paint over his muscles.

Dean feels more than sees Cas’ precise brushing motions, feels Cas’ hot breath heat up the goosebumps adorning his skin and his breath hitches.

Cas stops painting.

Dean looks over his shoulder to find Cas already staring at him. He meets Cas’ gaze and swallows. “Everything alright, Cas?” Dean speaks softly into the space between them, which, Dean notices, isn’t much.

“Dean, I...” Cas trails off.

This close, Dean can see his friend’s dilated pupils and he’s certain his are, too. “Yeah, Cas?” Dean asks softly and tentatively, worried that if he speaks too loudly it’ll ruin the moment between them, pop it like a bubble. He swallows again, somewhere in the back of his mind wondering when his mouth got so dry.

Cas responds by leaning into Dean’s space and all his thoughts about his feelings for his roommate ruining their friendship fly out the window as Cas lightly rakes his nails up Dean’s side, over his shoulder blade, and down his arm.

Dean shudders in response, loving the feel of Cas’ hand on his body, although he wishes the guy would put both hands on him.

Cas’ hand slides down his Dean’s arm slowly, as if afraid going any faster might scare Dean off.

Once Dean feels Cas’ hand in his own, he intertwines their fingers and squeezes his hand as if to say I’m not going anywhere.

The soft look in Cas’s eyes becomes so intense, Dean’s surprised his pupils aren’t heart-shaped like in cartoons. Nevertheless, he returns Cas’ heart eyes and he swears he stops breathing and his heart stops beating in his chest as the world around them disappears.

No more sunlight streaming through the windows, no more Michael Angel-bones staring creepily at Dean, no more cold, wet paint drying slowly on his skin; only him and Cas and the small space between them that keeps getting smaller and smaller until their lips brush.

He distantly hears Cas’ paintbrush clatter as it falls on the floor but Cas runs his now empty hand through Dean’s hair and nothing else matters except closing the all but nonexistent space between them.

He’s not sure who moves first, only that one second there is a space between them and the next second Cas’ chapped, pillow-y lips are on his.

The angle is awkward and hurts Dean’s neck but it’s worth it because the kiss is sweet and gentle and everything he’s ever dreamed of and more.

They part only when they run out of breath and Dean rests his forehead on Cas’. They keep their eyes closed a little while longer, still a bit dazed from their kiss.

After a few moments, Dean slowly turns around. He opens his eyes and takes in the sight of Cas' unruly hair, heart eyes, the tiny blush coloring his cheeks, and his spit-slicked lips. Gazing into Cas' eyes, Dean finally understands what that funny yet warm feeling ballooning in his chest is.

Love.

"I love you," Dean blurts out, his mouth moving faster than his brain can keep up. He looks down at Cas' shirt collar, unable to meet his gaze, afraid of what he might see.

"I love you, too," Dean looks up at Cas' wavering tone. Cas' eyes are watery and Dean wipes the single tear streaming down his face.

"You - you do?" Dean whispers in disbelief. Somebody pinch him because he must be dreaming if his hot best friend actually reciprocates. "L-love me? Like, love me, love me?" Dean clarifies. It's stupid and he's well aware it is but he has to know, he has to make sure Cas doesn't mean it in the friend way.

"Yes, Dean," Cas answers in a steadier voice with a chuckle and Dean's heart soars. "I love you, love you."

Dean wraps his arms around Cas' neck and pulls him in for a desperate kiss.

Cas must have been expecting it because he wastes no time wrapping his arms around Dean's waist and giving as good as he’s getting.

They make out for several minutes, only pausing to breathe, letting their lips do all the talking, their kisses saying everything they've never dared speak out loud.

Eventually, Cas breaks the kiss and Dean whimpers at the loss of contact. As they separate, Cas’ shirt peels off of Dean’s chest, which feels really tacky. Dean and Cas wear matching grimaces as they take in the paint on Cas’ shirt. It’s the mirror image of the tree and grass painted on Dean’s chest except the edges are smeared making it look like a blurry photograph.

Dean stares at Cas’ shirt a little longer before the realization that he ruined Cas’ painting hits him. The color drains from his face as he looks at Cas with wide eyes. “Your painting, Cas, man, I am so sorry —”

Cas meets his look and his grimace gives way to a small smile and he lifts one shoulder in a shrug, as if to say what can you do? “Dean,” he interrupts, putting a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “You don’t need to apologize.”

“But I ruined your —” Dean tries.

“Dean, it’s alright.” He reassures. “You didn’t ruin anything.” A pause. “And if I recall correctly —” he smirks as his cheeks fill with a rosy pink color, “— I am equally to blame for ruining my project.”

Dean glances at Cas’ discarded paintbrush on the ground, rubbing the back of his neck at the memory of them making out moments ago. “Still…” Unconvinced and a bit guilty despite Cas’ reassurance, Dean prompts.

“Besides,” Cas grabs his hands. “I have more important things to do.” Cas gives him a very heated and suggestive look. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

Dean swallows, hard, and nods a response, speechless at Cas’ words. He’s never really seen this side of his roommate and best friend but he is not complaining and plans on taking full advantage of this newfound discovery.

And in the middle of the day, in the middle of the art classroom, he does just that, Cas’ painting long forgotten in favor of doing another kind of project.

#sapphirecobaltwrites #Destiel fanfic #inbox asks #fanfiction prompts #college au #asks: contemplative pancakes #artist cas #model dean

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dontshootmespence · 4 years

Text

Liquid Courage

Summary: Spencer and Y/N have a movie night with some drinks that turns into a whole lot more.

Words: 1,080

Warnings: Drinking, anal sex, lube, bit of frottage, hair pulling, dirty talk.

A/N: An anon request for a Spencer x Male!Reader smutty type thing with Spencer in the more dominant role and some hair pulling and dirty talk.

Spencer has the most unassuming voice, silken like honey as he asks Y/N if he wants a beer for their movie marathon. He glances over to see Spencer bent over, looking for Y/N’s favorite beer, which he keeps in stock in addition to his own. The way his shoulders clench when he reaches toward the back of the refrigerator makes Y/N’s cock twitch in his pants. He hates how much he wants the team’s resident nerd.

Grabbing a pillow, he inconspicuously places it over himself when Spencer returns with their beers and turns the movie on. They're both sitting there in pajama pants and no shirts and Y/N wants nothing more than to forget that the movie exists (Lord of the Rings is king, but just not right now) and kiss him.

Over the last five years that they’ve known each other, Y/N could swear that sometimes he sees Spencer giving him looks too - the kind that linger just a little too long, filled with just a bit too much intrigue - but instead of doing anything about it he just lets insecurity take over until he goes home alone with his deepest thoughts unrealized. Because is the risk worth the friendship?

Every time Spencer lifts the bottle to his lips it makes Y/N’s resolve wane more and more. As the movie moves forward, they continue to drink, going fairly quickly through a 12-pack that has them both a little giggly and little more relaxed than they normally might be.

It’s about two hours before Spencer pauses the movie to search for another beer or two while Y/N goes to the bathroom. Inside, Y/N can hear containers scraping along the refrigerator’s shelves, bottles clinking against each other. When Spencer grabs what Y/N assumes to be the bottlenecks, he imagines Spencer’s hand somewhere else and lets out a small whimper that thank god Spencer can’t hear.

Pulling his pants up, he washes his hands and imagines something completely unsexy, like his grandma or grandpa, and goes back outside. He’s so consumed with ensuring that Spencer doesn’t find out what’s been going through his brain that he runs right into him and topples to the floor.

“Oh shit!” Spencer says, quickly placing the bottles back on the counter and extending his hand. “You okay?”

Nodding, Y/N reaches out for one of the beers to distract himself, but Spencer doesn’t move. Their arms touch and a shock works its way down Y/N’s spine. “Spence?” He asks shakily. He doesn’t want to move in and kiss him and have him be reading the signals wrong. “You okay?”

Spencer clears his throat and grabs Y/N’s hand, tentatively pulling him closer. “Can I-?” The words get caught.

“Yes,” Y/N replies. “I-”

Nothing else comes to him because Spencer crashes their lips together and pushes him into kitchen wall. Moaning, Y/N slips his hands around Spencer’s waist and revels in the feel of his skin. His body’s soft and yielding but no less strong, lips and hands compensating as they rake down the sides of his neck.

“Jesus, Spence. I, forever-”

“Shut up and kiss me.”

He laughs into Spencer’s mouth and allows his hands to roam, palming the dips and curves of his lower back and ass. “Bossy.”

“You have no idea.”

“Really?” Y/N’s mind was racing with possibilities. He’d always noticed a confidence in the youngest agent that the other’s overlooked, but he hadn’t imagined this, and all because of him.

Spencer slipped his hand from the side of Y/N’s neck and into his hair, tugging it back from the roots. “Yes. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve imagined you like this. Pupils dilated, breathing heavy, my lips on your neck. I’ve also imagined your lips around my cock.”

“Oh fuck,” Y/N groans, biting down on Spencer’s lip. “You’re gonna kill me, Spence.”

“Have you thought about it? Tell me.”

For a moment, Y/N hesitates, but he gasps when Spencer pulls at his hair again and a fiery need rolls through him. “I’ve thought about my lips around your cock. Sucking you off like my life depends on it.” He grabs Spencer’s ass and pulls him close, speaking into his mouth. “I’ve thought about grabbing your ass like this as you fuck me. Want to see if you can exceed my expectations?”

Without a word, Spencer spins Y/N around and guides him toward the bedroom, instructing him to lie down and take his pants off. He’s shy at first, but when Spencer’s eyes fall on him again the need is too strong and he doesn’t care anymore. “Want you, Spence.”

When Spencer kicks his pants to the side, Y/N stares in awe. He’s hard and full, perfect, hanging heavily between his legs as he crawls onto the bed and over him. As Spencer nips at Y/N’s pulse point, Y/N reaches between them and grabs both their cocks, rubbing them together while Spencer marks his neck with bites that will undoubtedly be visible by morning. “Need you to fuck me, Spence.”

Clumsily, Spencer reaches into the nightstand for his lube and spreads some in his hand before massaging it into himself and Y/N’s ass. He pushes against the tight ring of muscle. There’s a slight bit of resistance, but the moment he’s past that point, Y/N’s body sucks him in greedily. “Go ahead and fuck me.”

Each word out of Y/N’s mouth makes Spencer even more desperate. Grabbing Y/N’s hands, he puts them above his head and rolls his hips, fucking into his ass with long, thick strokes that build to a quick crescendo. Just like in his daydreams, Y/N grabs Spencer’s ass and pulls him closer with each thrust, grunting into neck as Spencer times his thrusts with pulls on his hair.

“Need to fuck you hard.” Spencer manages to say.

Although it wasn’t posed as question, Spencer stills himself and waits for Y/N to say something. “Do it. Bury yourself inside me.”

Y/N swears he can hear Spencer mutter something like ‘jesus fuck’ before pulling almost all the way to thrust back in even harder. With whatever leverage he can find, Y/N bucks down into Spencer’s thrusts and scratches at his back when Spencer buries himself inside him and cries out.

As Spencer’s coming down from the high, he laughs softly into Y/N’s neck and nibble on his earlobe. “Hell, Y/N. Can’t tell you how long I’ve wanted to do that.”

“Can’t tell you how long I’ve needed it.”

#spencer reid #spencer reid x male!reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid smut #dontshootmespence #liquid courage

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thirstybtsthoughts · 5 years

Text

Pairing: Idol Jungkook x Stylist Noona reader

Warnings: Smut

Words: 1136

Summary: Jungkook comes off stage to find he’s in need of some help with a certain something in his pants.

Note: Just felt a little inspired by Jungkook’s bulge in the Black Swan performance so I wrote this instead of doing my uni assignments as I should have been! I know this concept has probably been done a hundred times but whatever. I’m practicing on my writing so any feedback is welcome!

.........

As the boys came into the dressing room one by one after performing Black Swan, you waited patiently for Jungkook so you could help him change into his next stage outfit. The only problem was he was nowhere to be seen.

“I thought he was right behind me” Jimin shrugged when you asked him. “I’m sure he’ll be here soon, maybe just got caught up with something”.

You waited around 10 minutes before starting to worry and went to look for him. He wasn’t in the toilet and wasn’t anywhere on set - no one had seen him.

You stopped as you were walking past the unused dressing rooms - you were sure you’d heard a moan come from behind one of the doors. You cautiously opened one to find a startled jungkook sitting on the sofa, hastily closing the zipper on his trousers.

“Oh noona!” He mumbled somewhat sheepishly.

“Jungkook? What are you - oh...” you stopped as you looked down to see the very obvious bulge he was failing to cover up with his hands right now.

You hid a smile as you questioned him. “Aaw Kookie, do you have a little problem down there? Or should I say a big problem?” You stifled a laugh as you recalled the generous clothing size requirements when it came to his crotch area.

“Ah please don’t laugh! It was the clothes, they were rubbing me up when I was dancing and now it won’t go away! I can’t go into our dressing room - if the others see this I’ll never hear the end of it!” Jungkook hid his face in a pillow out of embarrassment.

“Well you need to do something about it fast because I need to get you into your next outfit. Think of something unsexy, like Yoongi’s morning voice” (it was the first thing that came to mind, but totally untrue – Yoongi’s morning voice was incredibly sexy). You were about to leave to give him some privacy but – “Noona, wait…can you help me?” He was looking at you hesitantly with his adorable bambi eyes, sitting up with more confidence as you gazed into them. You couldn’t resist that face… and you had to admit, the thought of getting him off turned you on.

“Ugh… this is a one off, okay? And no one must know – I could lose my job for this. Trousers and underwear off baby boy.” You decided to make the most of this moment and tease him – he hated being called baby boy, you knew as you’d heard his hyungs play around with the nickname to his dismay. “Don’t call me that” he grimaced.

You walked over and straddled his thighs without hesitation – something he was not expecting as he leaned back onto the sofa in surprise, being careful not to touch you inappropriately, all confidence he had a moment ago gone.

“It’s okay Kookie, just relax and enjoy it.” You whispered as you took his hard length into your hand, starting to stroke up and down (god, he really was well endowed). Jungkook whimpered, leaning his head back as you held tighter onto his cock, spreading the precum from his tip along it. You placed your other hand on his shoulder to keep yourself balanced and focused on putting your strength into the hand that was gliding up and down his cock, aiming to get him to cum as quickly as possible. His whimpers started to turn into heavier moans, the veins in his neck standing out as he whined under you. The sounds he was making right now were absolutely delicious, you were getting hotter just watching him - and when he moaned “noona” breathily, you felt wetness pool into your underwear. Jungkook coming undone beneath you by your hand was without a doubt insanely hot - your mind ran through the possibilities of having him under your control like this more often.

“Come on Kookie, cum for me” you said in a low voice, deeply affected by his moans and gasps. You quickened your pace on his hardness as he writhed under you, placing his hands on your thighs.

“Ah – uh – noona, I’m gonna…” he started to say, seconds after you had already realised he couldn’t cum on either of your clothes or the sofa. Fuck it, you thought as you got on your knees in front of him and took his cock into your mouth. You didn’t have to do much, he started to spurt into your mouth after you deepthroated him twice, your hand still stroking him to squeeze out every last drop of cum onto your tongue before swallowing.

Your legs were shaking slightly as you stood up and fixed your hair, looking at him expectantly. He stared back at you in awe. “Holy shit noona that was so hot, damn” he smirked as he ran a hand through his hair, all confidence in himself apparently returned.

“Get over it baby boy, it can’t ever happen again” you said as he scowled at the nickname. “Hurry up, we’ve wasted enough time in here, you need to go and get changed. The others are probably ready.”

You couldn’t tear your eyes away from him as he stood up and pulled up his underwear and trousers, he noticed as you bit your lip, clenching your thighs together.

“Are you okay noona? Do you need me to help you out there?” he smirked again, looking towards your covered wet core. You pondered … you were already in this deep… there would be no harm in him helping you cum too right? Besides, you were marvelling at how hot he looked right now after having cum because of you. You would be stupid to say no really. Your mind was hazy with lust as you found yourself letting him lay you down on the sofa and pull your skirt up, your panties off, and move his head down between your thighs…

…..........

You finally returned to the dressing room (in a more relaxed state) where the rest of the group were having their make-up done.

“Noona, did you find Jungkook? We were starting to worry” Hobi questioned.

“Yes, I found him, he was talking to the camera director – wanting to have a go with the cameras – typical of him, right?” you rolled your eyes as you told the convincing lie. Hobi laughed and easily took it in. When Jungkook came trailing into the room, you immediately took him away behind the screen to give him his next outfit.

“Noona, what if these trousers have the same effect on me… will you help me out again? This time with your pussy?” he looked at you, eyes gleaming with hope and mischief, then laughing as you punched his arm lightly. He had started to think too much of himself after turning you into a whimpering mess using his mouth and fingers just minutes ago. Maybe you would never hear the end of this from him… but was it really a bad thing…?

#bts #bts smut #bts jungkook #jungkook #Jungkook smut #Jungkook bulge #black swan #Jungkook thirst #jeon jungkook #jjk #jk #jk smut #baby boy jungkook #noona reader #idol!jungkook #Stylist!reader #my stuff

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daddyzanchez · 5 years

Text

An early Christmas-smut gift from your Daddyzanchez! I am wishing you all a great holiday with food, family, presents and love.

2000 words - erotica - F/M, Christmas, lingerie, dirty talk, vaginal sex, fingering, creampie

Link to story on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21921793

A Very Rickdiculous Christmas Present

When December started, Rick would usually start complaining, and when you tried out several techniques to get him into the Christmas spirit, like singing carols whilst cooking (much to his annoyance), he would usually say that the only spirit he could get into was that of vodka and then, with a shit-eating grin, he would hold out his little metal flask, a look of triumph on his face, before taking a sip.

“Rick,” you sighed, standing in front of him and pressing your hands into his chest, “It’s Christmas. We’re going to your family’s house on the 25th, aren’t you just a little excited?”

“Chri-christmas is a wa-waste of time, might as well just have a pain-in-my-ass family dinner and bring a present,” he scoffed down at you, looking almost bored at the topic that usually had people on the edge of their seats in excitement, “Some guy walked on water and now people want to sh-share gifts to celebrate him? Don’t they know that they stole the whole concept from the Germanic peoples in Europe?”

“It brings people together, Rick,” you replied, hands sliding up to cup the back of his neck. You slide your fingers into the hair there, earning you a tiny smile from Rick.

“So do funerals,” the answer made your smile fade and you sighed, rubbing his shoulders again, but Rick’s expression didn’t change a bit.

“But it is about being with your family in a happy way and there’s also the joy of giving,” you tried again, pulling gently at the lapels of his lab coat. You pulled him down towards your mouth, but he hovered just above your lips. He was drunk; his breath smelled like alcohol and it made you crinkle your nose.

“Y-you love the joy of receiving more,” he snorted and you let go off him with an annoyed sound and a roll of your eyes. Of course, he would turn a talk about Christmas into an innuendo. He let out a dry laugh at your face, “Sorry, baby, but the Christmas spirit is non-existent in me. I-I-I plan on being in the garage while we’re there, rather than listening to Jerry painfully trying to remember the words to s-several Christmas songs sung by Sinatra.”

“Is that a challenge? Getting you into the Christmas spirit?” You winked at him, taking a few steps back to look at him properly. He seemed genuinely surprised that you hadn’t backed down already; apparently, he was not used to a person crossing him.

“Try me,” Rick simply replied, fishing out his flask, “You’ve already attempted at persuading with tedious stuff.”

“Are there any rules?” You put on a sly smile, tilting your head.

“There are never any rules,” Rick took a disgustingly large gulp of alcohol. He looked arrogant as he looked down at your face, too sure of himself to even think that you wouldn’t play dirty. Oh, how wrong he was.

The day at the Smith’s house passed just as Rick had said it would; him in the garage and the rest of you in the kitchen, snacking on the food whilst Jerry complained about maybe ending up not having enough for the actual meal if you continued, but as much as he was annoyed, he still hummed along to the radio.

Rick sat down at the table to eat, only to leave again immediately after. Even Beth couldn’t convince him to stay, and later, you saw her giving you a slight look of pity as you were unwrapping presents, “Sorry about him. I sometimes don’t know how you can stand him.”

“This? You know how he is, rambling on and on about the capitalist system making Christmas into a highly commercialised holiday, Beth,” you laughed, “I made a bet with him though, so we’ll see if I can manage to get him into Christmas spirit.”

“Rick? Christmas spirit? Right...” Jerry scoffed in the background. You turned to him, holding in a laugh as you laid eyes on the ridiculously ugly Christmas sweater you had given him.

“I have my ways,” you smirked, sending him a wink and Summer looked horrified as if she saw right through you.

“Oh my God, gross,” she mumbled, getting out her phone to hide behind it. You just laughed again.

“Oh God, get the image out of my head,” Jerry cried and Morty soon caught up on what you had been implying.

“That’s gross!” Morty followed along, Summer snickering at her brother’s disgust.

“So that is why there’s no present from you under the tree for him,” Beth pointed out.

The two of you (mostly Rick) had agreed on going home for the night. The car ride had been pleasantly silent, your head resting from the constant attention you had to give to the Smiths. Though Rick was silent too, he was silent in another kind of way, as if he was waiting - you figured that despite Rick having made such an effort to tell you how much he despised the holidays, he still danced around you after realising that he had yet to have gotten a present from you. What he did not know, was that you were his present.

After you both came home, Rick immediately stripped to his boxers and went to bed. You kissed him whilst mumbling that you would be right there with him soon.

Now, you were finishing up in the bathroom and Rick was unaware of what you were doing. Never in your life have you ever had such trouble putting on lingerie; especially since lingerie made you feel embarrassingly unsexy to begin with.

You looked at yourself in the mirror, and after what had seemed like an endless battle, some part of you laughed at the fact that it would take a moment, well, maybe a few moments at the most, before it was off again. The set was christmassy; a big bow covering your breasts and after trying three different approaches, you had managed to make it cover you up nicely and leave something to the imagination - at least until you pulled the bow and it unraveled.

I should have practised this beforehand, you thought to yourself as you walked awkwardly down the hallway and the walk to your bedroom seemed eternal. Whoever thought it was a good idea to make sexy christmas outfits clearly did not care about comfort at all because things were definitely going up places they shouldn’t and when you finally stood in front of the door, you had to reach down and pull a piece of silk ribbon into place.

Taking a deep breath, you opened the door and Rick, who seemed to direct his attention at you to say something, only opened his mouth to shut it again. He was speechless and you grew nervous; the pose you had tried to strike faltering a bit, “Rick…”

The surprise on his face was there for several seconds, and you could have sworn that in the dimly lit room, you could see a blush creeping up his neck to his cheeks. Finally, he started to crawl across the mattress to sit on the edge of the bed, and whilst his eyes went over your scandalous outfit, you felt beyond relieved that he had not laughed at you.

“Hoe, hoe, hoe, aren’t I lucky?” Rick whistled at you and you could only start giggling, taking a few steps as he beckoned you with his finger, “I-is this my present?”

“What does it look like?” You walked over to him as close as possible and by instinct, he reached out to place his hands on your hips.

“Can I unwrap you?” Rick asked, his hands running up your body to brush his fingers over the red silk of the bow “Now?”

You pondered the question for a moment but then gained a boost of confidence; you did look sexy after all. It made you push him down onto his back and straddled his hips, and before he could protest, you leaned down to whisper at him, “Unwrap me? That’s not how we do it here, I want you to rip it off of me, Rick.” Fuck if your skimpy little outfit was torn, you had already agreed with yourself that you would not wear it ever again. In fact, you wouldn’t mind seeing Rick tear it to pieces before he fucked you senseless; that was how much you hated it.

“Rip it, baby,” you cooed when his hands came up to bunch themselves up in the fabric. He looked hesitant for a few seconds but then pulled the outfit apart, the noises sending a shiver down your spine.

“Oh my,” Rick smirked as his eyes traveled down your now fully-exposed body, “Just what I wished for, h-h-how did you know?”

“I know you like the back of my hand, baby,” you removed the remaining pieces of fabric, throwing them onto the floor before leaning down over him to brush your lips against his. It was not exactly a kiss, but it also was not, not a kiss, “Now tell me, what does my baby want for Christmas? I could suck your big cock? Let you fuck me on all fours - sit on your dick, ride you? You’re free to choose.”

“Fuck,” Rick groaned beneath you, trying to arch his back so he could meet your mouth with his own, but you pulled back as he got closer.

“Choose,” your voice was smug as you knew that when he had blood running to his dick, he could barely think, let alone make a choice, “I know what I want but this is about you…”

He seemed to pull together all the brainpower he could muster, and if it had been you, he would’ve sent you a remark on how he could practically hear the cogs turn in your head. Don’t strain yourself, he’d say.

Suddenly, he managed to manoeuvre you onto your back from where you had been on top of him. Finally.

“There we go,” you cooed up at him as he knelt in front of you. You let your legs fall open to make yourself irresistible, reaching down between them to spread yourself open with two fingers. You could feel your heartbeat in your pussy, sensing a tingle as you grew wet from him starting to come closer, “S- what is it gonna be?”

“I’m still deciding,” he mused, crawling to position himself between your legs. He shooed your hands away, cupping your whole cunt in the palm of his hand. It made you want to grind against it, but he was too busy inserting two fingers into you and twisting his wrist so he could press them upwards against your g-spot.

“Decide- oh, decide faster,” you shivered, eyes fluttering closed to focus on the two digits slowly making their way in and out of you.

“I thought this was for me,” he teased, reaching up with his thumb to rub your clit in small circles. You felt yourself get more and more aroused, his fingers in your cunt starting to make an obscene wet sound.

“This isn’t exactly doing anything for you,” you arched your back as he pressed his fingers upwards again, “I think you’ve misunderstood… I’m yours tonight. You can do whatever you want.”

“Fine, y-you want it like that? If you wanted to be treated like a little toy you got me for Christmas, you should’ve just said so, baby,” Rick pulled his fingers out of you again, leaving you empty without as much as a warning. His change of character was exciting, a little frightening even, as you weren’t sure what was next. It had you incredibly wet.

With a pleased grunt at the gasp you let out, he grabbed your hip to flip you onto your stomach. Fuck yes.

He spent little to no time making sure you were comfortable, keeping up his promise that you were not the centre of attention right now, but merely just an item that he could get off on; a pretty little thing to stick his cock in. It meant that you felt his big cock slide inside of you in the next moments, causing you to gasp and curl the sheets between your fingers.

“Fuck,” you swore with gritted teeth and Rick simply chuckled behind you, moving slightly on the bed and you could feel every jerk of his body inside of you.

You slowly felt his weight on top of you, reaching back to cup the back of his neck to get him as close as possible. He let himself be pulled down, moving your hair out of the way and pressing a lazy kiss to the back of your neck.

He then started fucking you, showing no intention to take it slowly and build up the tension smoothly. He was rough with you instead, crashing his hips against your behind and sending you nearly flying forward from underneath him.

You quickly learned you had to hold on for dear life if you didn’t want to tumble onto the floor at some point. Though the whole ordeal made it impossible to find the power to do anything but cry out - the feeling of his thick cock inside of you overpowering every other point of interest right now. It burned too deliciously

“Rick!” You chose to call out his name to stroke his ego, then added a bit extra as soon as your head wasn’t swimming from a particularly hard thrust, “It’s- ah, it’s so good, baby. No one fucks me like this.”

It resulted in you feeling a hand come up to fist itself in your hair as soon as you had finished the sentence. He had liked that then, and you suddenly felt his damp breath against your ear. He tugged harder at the tufts between his fingers and made it clear that he wasn’t doing it to be playful. Had you said something?

“You make it sound like there’s m-m-ore guys than me,” he half growled and half moaned. There it was: Jealousy over nothing. Usually you would’ve told him off, but right now it was sexy… The possessiveness that was triggered by a meaningless attempt at dirty talk. You wished you could see his face; the sweat dripping from his brow as his hips ground into you, his intense eyes and utter disgust at the idea of you being with someone else, followed by the need to remind you who did it best.

“Even if there was, I’d come crawling back for your cock,” you chuckled breathlessly, struggling to get through your sentence as you felt your cunt clenching around him, “No one compares. No one can make me come like I’m about to quite like you.”

He swore as he sped up, wanting to come as much as you, “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you confirmed with a wanton tone to your voice. You could feel your orgasm building, your toes curling and above you, Rick’s breathing was laboured and only getting more frantic.

“I’m gonna come,” he announced. You reached up to grab at the back of his neck like before, pushing your behind against him so he could go deeper. He hit the perfect spot.

“You better fucking come in me,” you demanded, seeing stars, “Shit… There, oh my God, there!”

Your words turned into incomprehensible babble as the first contraction of your orgasm washed over you like a wave. You clenched around him rhythmically, coaxing his orgasm to time with yours.

It worked. You heard your name being yelled in the next moment and felt a hot gush inside of yourself with Rick coating your walls with his come. He might have said that what the two of you had just done had only been for him, but he stayed inside of you - knowing you loved the intimacy - for as long as he could muster until he softened and slipped out.

“Mhm… That was lovely,” you murmured when he rolled off of you. He chuckled in response, reaching for the box of tissues that was strategically placed on his night stand and handed a bunch of them to you.

You turned onto your back and wiped yourself down as well as you could before getting out of bed to clean yourself in the bathroom. You spotted the torn fabric on the floor, deciding to get rid of it tomorrow.

When you finally crawled into bed again, Rick was already under the covers and on his side. He was waiting for you, and much to his delight, you scooted as close to him as possible.

He kissed you on the lips, “Merry Christmas.”

“Wait…” Your face turned smug, “What did you just say?”

“You h-e-eard me, and I am not repeating it.”

“You do know that you’ll never hear the end of it, right?” You felt giddy, pulling the covers over yourself as well.

“Goodnight,” he grumbled.

“Don’t you mean Christmas-night?” You teased.

Rick sighed.

#rick and morty #rick sanchez #rick sanchez x reader #rick sanchez fanfiction #rick and morty fanfiction #My writing #our rick

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spacecadetcity · 4 years

Text

is it gay to call a robot gorgeous? please respond.

word count: 2,167 prompt: #33. docs: (may be easier to read). sunny (oc)/sunstreaker

if sunny went back in time to about a year and a half ago and told himself that she was going to not only meet the giant robots he insisted existed, but that he would move in with them, and then also fall in love with one, his past self would not only believe him, but would also possibly explode.

“..which would of course start off a chain reaction of paradoxes- paradoxes? paradoxi? a chain reaction that would cause an endless loop where because i go back in time, past me explodes, which means that i don’t go back in time to tell myself, which means that i don’t explode, which means…”

“hey, sunstreaker. think your human broke. it just started rambling to itself.” a metallic voice called out, snapping sunny from his self-created trance. of course. he stared over at the bot that had spoken up, trying to recall the name.

red face, white helm- two little wings that poked out over his shoulders and helped increase speed in vehicle mode, mostly blue and gray. tracks?

“not my human, tracks. besides, you’re one to speak. how about that kid, raoul?” was the given response.

tracks huffed, “what, and let him waste his mechanical talents elsewhere? if the kid wants a mentor, i should say i am the best suited.” tracks stormed out of the rec room, and sunny snickered.

“what were you mumbling about anyway? more nonsense?” sunstreaker walked over to the counter where sunny stood, holding a hand out for the human to step on. sunny sat on the hand for a moment, taking care to toss her sneakers off and dump them in the backpack he carried around. the golden mech was notoriously picky about his appearance, and it had taken sunny less than a day to figure out the quickest way to gain sunstreakers favor was to make sure he would never dirty the bot.

she swapped his socks as well, and then carefully stood on the hand with fresh socks. he was rewarded with a small smile- just a quirk upwards, really- and sunny beamed.

“thinking about the eternal paradox that i’m guessing i escaped. where are we going?” sunny held on to a digit with one hand to keep his balance as the autobot left the room and headed down one of the halls. the other hand held tight to his red ‘visor’, special glasses that he never went without.

“outside. i’ve got no duties, and there was…” sunstreaker continued speaking, but sunny’s mind drifted as they made their way through the halls. though he had questioned the yellow-orange color for the ship originally, sunny found that it often reflected onto the bots paint. for sunstreaker, it turned his already beautiful golden-yellow paint into a metal sunset of orange and yellow.

a finger poked her in his side, breaking him of her thoughts.

“hey. sunstreaker to sunny. did you hear anything i said?”

sunny gazed up at the mech with a sheepish look on her face, “sorry. was thinking about how pretty it is when the orange reflects off your paint.”

sunstreaker stared at her for a few moments before starting to walk again, a low whirring in the background. it took a few minutes for sunny to realize that it was the mechs’ fans, and that he wasn’t walking just because he wanted to get out faster. sunny, a simple human, had flustered sunstreaker. an autobot. the prettiest autobot, though tracks would grumble and beg to differ.

quickly, sunny fished his phone from one of his pant pockets and opened the browser app up. she scrolled through the open tabs quickly until he found what he was looking for, quickly typing a message up and posting it before putting her phone away. they were almost outside, sunstreaker having stopped by the door to have a quick conversation with the night guard.

white-green face, green helm, had a big missile on the side, pretty sure he was a jeep. hound, sunny mused to himself, pretty sure this one was hound. he was distracted from their conversation by the buzzing of his phone. the notification was from the post he had made earlier, and he eagerly opened it back up.

>aliens dm me asked in cars & transportation 10 minutes ago:

is it gay to look at a giant robot walking in the halls of an orange ship and think that it's gorgeous how the orange reflects onto his yellow paint and becomes a moving sunset or..

>rt.66bossdriver replied 1 minute ago:

this is a thread about car paint jobs, please stop posting here. this is the fifth time. we will ban you next time.

sunny frowned, leaving a thumbs down on the answer and opened a messaging app instead. it opened into one of his most visited chat groups, but she spent no time in it, instead choosing to close it and scroll through his few direct contacts until he came across the one he wanted.

sunnybunnyhoney today at 12:32 am

york my fucking heart is broken

york they’re going to ban me from the forum if i ask about being gay again :(

newnewyorkyork is typing…

newnewyorkyork today at 12:33 am

bro that is supremely unsexy. i will thumb down them. sending u bro kisses

sunnybunnyhoney is typing…

sunnybunnyhoney today at 12:33 am

:pleading_face:

york i am asking skyfire to pick you up so we can double date

sunnybunnyhoney today at 12:34 am

sunstreaker has a twin :flushed:

this base is full of single bots i promise you there is at least one dilf

there’s also a jeep who is a total nice dude in like

the cute college nature frat boy way

newnewyorkyork is typing…

newnewyorkyork today at 12:36 am

:flushed: :flushed:

love how u knew i would be up at three am <3 <3 <3

sunnybunnyhoney is typing…

sunnybunnyhoney today at 12:337am

bold of you to think i know time zones <3 <3 <3

oh fuck my beautiful sunstreaker is done talking to hound

hound is the nature frat boy i’ll slip him your number

gotta go <3 <3

newnewyorkyork is typing…

newnewyorkyork today at 12:39 am

you get yor fucking robot!!!

sending u sexy vibes!!!

sunny grinned at the last message, and quickly pulled his backpack off and dug around until she found what she was looking for- a king-sized marker and a large cardstock sketchbook. quickly, he scribbled yorks’ number down and folded the paper into a sloppy airplane, tossing it in hounds direction. as sunstreaker turned the corner, sunny caught a glimpse of hound holding the cardstock, looking confused.

“so what are we up to? a thrilling late night drive?” sunny asked as the two stepped away from the base, walking until the dirt road finally met with the pavement of a road that had been closed off to give the large bots some privacy and ensure they wouldn’t squish any stray humans.

“don’t move after i put you down. i don’t want any dirt or anything like that in my interior,” sunstreaker warned, laying his hand down flat so the human could carefully get off. the ground rumbled under sunny’s feet as sunstreaker took a few steps back and transformed, rolling up close so he could get in without having to walk.

sunny sat on the edge of the seat, carefully brushing her socks off before turning and sitting back in the seat, the door closing behind her and the seatbelt buckled her in. sunny disguised her amusement at the caution sunstreaker took by taking his special visor off for a moment, and using his shirt to pretend to clean them.

“are you gonna tell me where we’re off to yet? or is it a surprise?”

“it’s a surprise, so shut it. take a nap or something, we got about forty minutes of drive ahead of us, unless some cop gets pissy,” sunny could imagine sunstreaker rolling his eyes- his optics- in annoyance, “i’ll just say it’s some autobot business.”

sunstreaker fell silent after that, and the only sound between them was the ambience of the drive. it didn’t take long for the yellow lamborghini to rise above the speed limit, but the drive stayed smooth. sunny dozed off shortly after they started, waking up for a moment when sunstreaker jerked to the side and swore something under his breath. drowsily, sunny mumbled something about cybertronian sounding cool as fuck before he fell back into a light doze.

“we’re here, wake up,” sunny blinked awake to the sound of sunstreakers’ voice and rubbed his eyes. it was still dark out, though the area was illuminated by a set of tall street lamps. carefully putting her outside sneakers on, sunny stepped out of sunstreaker’s interior and looked around the small parking lot. it was empty apart from them, likely due to the time.

“we’ve got a short walk before we get where i want to be. stay close, i don’t want to have to hunt you down in the dark,” sunstreaker spoke moments before he transformed. sunny watched, transfixed as always, as the brilliantly yellow vehicle shifted and changed until he was standing at around twenty feet tall- almost three times sunnys’ size. without waiting for an answer, he started off to the side, following a path that sunny hadn’t realized was there.

she followed after him, not particularly bothered by his blunt demeanor. all it really meant was that sunstreaker didn’t want him wandering off and getting lost, at least not without the autobot having an idea of where she was. silently, the pair continued on the path until the forest started to thin out into an open field on a large hill

the scene was breath-taking. sunny could see the shape of mount hood farther off, lit up by the moonlight. it shone brightly down on the landscape below the hill as well, lighting up the pine trees that scattered around. the sky itself though, was almost indescribable. it looked so vast and deep that sunny truly felt small for a moment, caught up in the cold dots in the sky.

“come sit over here with me. hound was going on and on about this stargazing spot, thought maybe i’d like to take you,” sunstreaker had settled onto the grass nearby, and once sunny had come closer, the yellow bot lifted him onto his shoulder.

both were quiet for several more moments, faces turned upwards to see the sky. having grown up in new york, it always blew sunny away at just how many stars there were, or how the pictures that one would find on the internet weren’t always doctored. places with less light pollution just looked like that. sunny turned to make a comment to sunstreaker, and found his breath taken away yet again.

sunstreaker noticed him staring at him rather than the sky, and the autobot looked at him from the corner of his optic- sunny loved that work- silently asking what the human was looking at.

“s-sorry it’s just.. it’s like the moon has come at the perfect time to highlight your face just right- it starts at the tip of your nose and just brings all your other features out. it’s like…” sunny struggled with his words a moment, unsure of how to phrase it for a human let alone a robot from another planet, “it’s like your face is effortlessly working with the moon?”

it was silent between the two of them for a few moments, and sunny worried he had said something wrong, had upset the beautiful mech. instead, sunstreaker’s lip quirked upwards in a small smile, and he carefully brought up a finger to pat the human on the head.

“well, you don’t look so bad yourself, squish. trying to boost my ego even more with these compliments?” sunstreaker replied before turning his gaze back to the sky, sunny doing the same. they stayed there for a few more hours, until the sky started to lighten and the stars faded.

content with where he was, sunny had started to doze off. briefly, he woke to sunstreaker returning to his alt mode in the parking lot and coaxing the mostly asleep human into his interior. the ride back to base went by in a matter of seconds, and sunny only struggled back to wakefulness as sunstreaker carefully wrapped him up in a large blanket they kept for him.

“ go back to sleep, sweetspark,” there was a tenderness in his voice that sunny didn’t often hear, and he hummed sleepily in response. he rolled over in his wrap, and felt a large metal finger ghost along his side before retreating.

when he woke and asked if the mech had carefully placed a kiss on his face the next day, sunstreaker denied it, though the soft look in his eyes gave it away. it was a look reserved for sunny and sunny alone- not a look when any other mechs were around.

#taylor made this #no shame :).#don't be an ass though. don't like oc pairings with canon characters? just move on.

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nerianasims · 4 years

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Billboard #1s 1979

Under the cut.

I discuss Michael Jackson’s life and actions a little bit underneath here. So be warned if that’s something that will upset you.

The Bee Gees -- "Too Much Heaven" -- January 6, 1979

Uugh. When The Bee Gees weren't releasing bad, bloodless, falsetto disco, they were releasing bad, bloodless, falsetto lite "rock." Also the lyrics are about how love is soooo hard to get, so they're special since they have love, and yuck. Nonsense and glop.

Rod Stewart -- "Do Ya Think I'm Sexy" -- February 10, 1979

I laughed out loud when I saw this next on the list. People can't have taken it seriously in 1979, right? It was seen like "I'm Too Sexy", yes? Even though Rod Stewart was a "serious" singer -- come on, this is a ridiculous song. It isn't about the narrator; it's about two people meeting on a dance floor and then going to have what's probably a one-night stand. But when Rod Stewart sings the chorus, it sounds like it's about him. It's a highly unsexy and very silly song.

Gloria Gaynor -- "I Will Survive" -- March 10, 1979

The joy I feel listening to this song. It's the best disco song. The bright piano flourish opens to Gaynor's amazing voice and phenomenal singing ability. She sells her anger at the guy who's "back to bother" her, along with the assertion that she's now totally confident and is gonna do great without him, will all her life to live and all her love to give. The lyrics are great, which is incredibly rare for any dance song. The music is great. And Gaynor is perfect. You can belt it in the car and it drives people to the dance floor. Just an amazing, incredible song.

The Bee Gees -- "Tragedy" -- March 24, 1979

The real tragedy is that The Bee Gees shat up disco. What could it have been if not for their influence? There were disco singers and groups who escaped it, but Barry Gibb and Friends' clogging of the charts kept out so many worthy acts. Lots of synth on this song, and synth can be really cool (I'm a diehard fan of The Alan Parsons Project), but the Bee Gees made it boring and turgid. Then that damned falsetto. I don't care about the lyrics, I just want to not hear the Bee Gees again ever.

The Doobie Brothers -- "What A Fool Believes" -- April 14, 1979

The guy the song is about thinks he's going to get an ex back because she was nice when he met her again. He's a fool, and "no wise man has the power to reason away." The music's good, too, a sort of mild rock. "Yacht rock" I suppose. The sentiment is kinda country music though. Good song, anyway.

Amii Stewart -- "Knock on Wood" -- April 21, 1979

What is that in the background? A synth sound, obviously, but it sounds like -- a washboard? I have no idea, but it's annoying. This is a cover of an older soul song by Eddie Floyd that's pretty good, but they wreck it here. The amount of gunk clogging it up is painful. Also Amii Stewart doesn't modulate at all, her voice is a constant blare. Headache-inducing.

Blondie -- "Heart of Glass" -- April 28, 1979

The 80s are coming. Blondie does interesting things with synth here, the beat's irresistible, Debbie Harry's voice is unique, and the lyrics are about an ended relationship that was "a pain in the ass." Not some huge broken-hearted thing, despite the "heart of glass" lyric. Just... done, that didn't work, moving on. Not that the lyrics particularly matter here. It's all about the interesting, different-sounding music.

Peaches & Herb -- "Reunited" -- May 5, 1979

If synth can sound more synthetic than usual, that's how this song begins. It's about a couple getting back together, but it doesn't sound like they were ever in a lot of pain or that they're really excited now. There's some neat guitar stuff. It could be worse. But mostly it's bland.

Donna Summer -- "Hot Stuff" -- June 2, 1979

It's a disco song, but with a lot more rock in it than disco usually has. Maybe that's why it's survived so much better than most disco. The narrator wants one of her lovers (of whom she obviously has many) to answer the phone so that she can get laid. It's the ballad of Romance Sims. It's fun.

Bee Gees -- "Love You Inside Out" -- June 9, 1979

Well, ew. This guy's whining that the woman he loves has too many lovers but he's the one who will "love you inside out," whatever the hell that means. It sounds like a serial killer. She needs to dump him, and also probably move and change her name. And, of course, there's Barry Gibb's horrible orchestration and falsetto.

Anita Ward -- "Ring My Bell" -- June 30, 1979

Disco, of course. He's been gone for a while and she's singing to him "you can ring my bell." So, they're gonna celebrate his homecoming with lots of sex. The lines "You can ring my bell, ring my bell/ (Ring my bell/ ding-dong-ding)" repeat a couple hundred times. The background synth sounds are painfully repetitive. Like something on The Prisoner used to brainwash people. And Anita Ward sings in a Betty Boop-ish sort of childish voice that I also find annoying. It's not Bee Gees bad, but it's bad.

Donna Summer -- "Bad Girls" -- July 14, 1979

"Bad girls" are not the same as "sad girls." Sorry, this song might be fine or even good, but that one line has always bugged me way too much. So does the police whistle.

Chic -- "Good Times" -- August 18, 1979

Disco about how "happy days are here again" for now. The lyrics are obviously pretty shallow, but at least there is a line about how it won't last forever. That's not my problem anyway. My problem is that the chorus bores me, musically. Like, it hurts. There are two notes I think? And the beat is the same throughout. I always sort of ignored this song before, but on actively trying to listen to it, I have started to hate it. It doesn't interact well with my brain chemistry.

The Knack -- "My Sharona" -- August 25, 1979

This became a hit again when Reality Bites came out. So I danced in a convenience store to it my freshman year of college. We were "of the younger kind" then, considering I was 17. That made me like the song better -- it was about me! Rock isn't supposed to be clean, and you're really not supposed to take it as advice. The riff is amazing, and I love this song.

Robert John -- "Sad Eyes" -- October 6, 1979

I've never heard this song before. The music box sounding intro lasts a while and lulls you into complacency before the horrible falsetto kicks in. Not only extremely 70s white man falsetto, but an entitled brat of a man breaking up with a woman and being put out that she's looking at him with "sad eyes." Incredibly bad in an incredibly 70s way. I can see why I've never heard this song before. It's absolutely terrible.

Michael Jackson -- "Don't Stop 'Til You Get Enough" -- October 13, 1979

Sigh. All right, now that he's an adult, gotta tackle Michael Jackson. He was a rampant and, as far as we know, unrepentant child molester. He destroyed people in the most personal way possible short of actual murder. (Phil Spector is still worse.) He was murdered through at least extreme malpractice by his doctor. He was forced into stardom as a child himself. And he was a huge, massive, incredibly gigantic star, even after he became a punchline. I was never a big fan, but like most children of the 80s, I loved some of his songs and spent a lot of time doing the moonwalk, or as close as I could get. I feel an immense amount of pity for him, along with utterly despising him, along with admiring his talent, along with being sickened by the fact that Hollywood and the music industry knew and no one did anything about what he was doing. All in all, I end up at this place: Child stardom must end.

Okay, now for the music. This song takes forever to actually start. Also I have actually never heard it before today. Probably because it's falsetto. Jackson's falsetto is obviously far superior to Barry Gibb's, but it's still falsetto the whole song. The riff is great once it starts, and everything about the music should be good -- but, falsetto. The whole time, as far as I can tell. I can't listen to all of it. Whose idea was it that falsetto should ever be anything other than an occasional few bars? Was it Frankie Valli? I'm gonna blame Frankie Valli.

Herb Alpert -- "Rise" -- October 20, 1979

It's a jazz-funk instrumental and it's pretty good. Piano, guitar, trumpet, some kind of glittering thing -- xylophone? Bells? The people laughing like it's a laid-back party are annoying, but not enough to wreck the song. If this doesn't play on every cruise ship ever, they're missing a trick.

M -- "Pop Music" -- November 3, 1979

I saw the title, and thought I didn't know the song. Then I heard the first bars of the song and went, "OH this one." It's New Wave. I love a lot of New Wave, but this one's on the purposefully shallow end, rather than the Eurythmics end. The lyrics are nonsense, but the beat is pretty irresistable. Which makes it a dance song, whatever its intent. One of the lines is, "Dance in the supermarket," so it probably was intended to be danced to. In any case, I find it pretty forgettable, but fine.

The Eagles -- "Heartache Tonight" -- November 10, 1979

I've heard this song before, but not often. I'm not sure if it's about sex before a breakup or about cheating. Don Henley does not have Elvis' voice, though he seems to be trying to reach that level. Real power is required for the chorus, and Henley lacks it. If this were sung by Freddie Mercury, we'd have something. Queen also would have brought more musical interest generally. But as-is, it doesn't work for me.

The Commodores' -- "Still" -- November 17, 1979

Lionel Richie was still the frontman/ writer for The Commodores here. Should I explore why I can't stand Lionel Richie's music? I'd have to listen to it more to fully understand. It always sounds totally insincere to me. The songs themselves are too slow. This one doesn't have a bassline. It's so polished and gloopy. And in this song, that pause between "I love you" and "still" is both highly predictable and entirely phony. I managed to listen to the entire song, and I rolled my eyes throughout, but especially at that last whispered "still." Oh he's just so sad puh-leaze. Crying his way to the bank.

Barbra Streisand and Donna Summer -- "No More Tears" -- November 24, 1979

I hate Barbra Streisand's singing and like Donna Summer's. I wish this were just Donna Summer. If it were, I'd probably like the song. It's slow for almost 2 minutes, then becomes disco. Streisand isn't able to do as much self-loving in a fast dance song, but it's still there. I tried to find a version with just Donna Summer and failed. So, I dunno, the fact that I can actually listen to the whole thing makes me think it's the most tolerable song with Barbra Streisand in existence. But it would have been so much better without her.

Styx -- "Babe" -- December 8, 1979

Styx was prog rock, but watered-down, simplified prog-rock. Lite prog rock, as weird as that is. But they still had that massive theatricality of prog rock, which I like, and they were great for places like Pine Knob. Outside of those massive arenas, they don't work for me. Dennis DeYoung, the writer and singer of this song, belts the whole way through. Yeah, he hits the notes, but he doesn't seem to realize you're supposed to sometimes modulate, even on a power ballad. Meh.

Rupert Holmes -- "Escape (The Pina Colada Song)" -- December 22, 1979

If you take this song seriously, you're likely to hate it. It ain't that deep. It's a goofy song about a goofy thing -- both he and his wife are bored and want to cheat, so they write personal ads, and lo, they answer each other's personals! Though how that happens when they're the blandest Reaganite yuppies ever, I'm not sure. Maybe it's because they're both full of themselves ("if you have half a brain.") I enjoy this song because it is catchy, silly, and totally non-serious. I do not like pina coladas, btw.

BEST OF 1979: "I Will Survive" by Gloria Gaynor. WORST OF 1979: "Love You Inside Out" by the Bee Gees

#billboard number ones

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ceealaina · 4 years

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Title: Everything You Do Convinces Me More - Chapter 2 Collaborator Name: ceealaina Card Number: 3088 Link: AO3 Square Filled: A4 - Pining Ship: Stony Rating: Explicit Major Tags: Pranks and Practical Jokes, Explicit Sexual Content Summary: Steve likes to prank people. And then he and Tony hook up. There's some kind of connection to the two events in there somewhere. Word Count: 9383

Steve sighed heavily for the fifth time in an hour as Tony flicked the ‘page’ on the document he was reading on his tablet. Truthfully he hadn’t actually read a word in more than twenty minutes, but he continued to focus on the screen, pretending to be fascinated by whatever he found there. He could feel Steve’s eyes on him, staring at him over his empty breakfast plate, but Tony didn’t dare look up at him for even a second, certain that if he met Steve’s gaze he’d start laughing and ruin everything. He grabbed for his coffee mug, taking a long sip to hide the quiver of a smile in his lips.

Eventually Steve couldn’t linger over his long-finished breakfast any more, and he pushed his chair back from the table, sighing again.

“Jesus Christ,” Tony heard Clint mutter from the toaster.

“I’m going for a run,” Steve announced to the room at large. “And then I’ll be around the tower. If anyone needs me.” He got mumbled affirmations from Sam and Clint, and waited a long beat. “Bye Tony.”

“Bye Cap,” Tony said, trying to sound as absent as possible, and oh god, he couldn’t look up, he couldn’t, he couldn’t, he was going to start to laugh. He choked it back down, swallowing and biting at his lip until he heard Steve leave the room. Then he composed himself enough to look up and stare at the door longingly for a long minute before swallowing back half the coffee in one go and hopping to his feet. “Shit, I’m so late,” he said for Sam and Clint’s benefit. “Pep’s gonna kill me.”

He was just outside the door when he heard Sam and Clint both groan, Clint grumbling something about drowning in sexual tension. Tony bolted, and managed to make it to the stairwell before he burst out laughing, having to sit on the step to catch his breath.

***

Twenty minutes later found Tony not at SI or in the lab, but straddling thick thighs, fingers running through soft hair as he made out with Steve, the two of them sprawled in his favourite recliner.

“Is this what we’re calling “a run” now?” he teased, pulling away enough to appreciate Steve’s heavy eyes and swollen, red lips.

“I mean…” Steve’s eyes sparkled mischievously as he dragged his tongue slowly along his upper lip, knowing exactly what that did to Tony. “It’s technically still exercise, just… a different form of exercise.”

Tony giggled a little, shifting on Steve’s lap to press in closer, kissing him again. “I don’t know, Steve,” he hummed between kisses, shivering a little as Steve’s big hands wrapped around his thighs, pulling him in tight until they were pressed entirely together, Steve’s hips arching into the contact. “So far there hasn’t been that much exercise involved. Kissing only burns like 90 calories an hour.” He moaned softly as Steve nipped at his lower lip. “And running is like — oh — like 100 calories a mile. And you can run what, 26 miles in an hour, when you’re not even trying that hard? So, so…” He trailed off for a second, nails digging into the back of Steve’s neck when long fingers slipped under his waistband at the back of his pants. “So we’d have to — fuck, Steve — have to kiss for like 28 hours to burn the same amount of calorieees.” His voice trailed off into a high-pitched whine as Steve’s finger slid down the cleft of his ass, making Tony’s toes curl.

“Mmm-hmm,” Steve said, sounding faintly amused as he kissed over Tony’s neck. “Fuck, I love it when you talk science in bed.”

Tony huffed out a laugh, squirming against Steve. “Technically… technically it’s math.”

Steve made a face at him, biting down on his earlobe in retaliation and making Tony groan happily at the feeling. “God, the attitude.” He shook his head, laughing even as he spoke. “You wanna burn more calories, Shellhead?”

He didn’t give Tony the chance to respond before he was abruptly standing up. He nearly upset Tony on the floor, catching him at the last second and smirking at the shriek Tony let out.

“Ingrate,” Tony grumbled, no heat in his voice as his thighs tightened around Steve’s waist. Steve just laughed and bit at Tony’s lower lip as he moved them towards the bedroom. He kicked the door open, which absolutely did not make Tony squirm against him, and all but tossed him on to the bed. Tony was still giggling when Steve climbed up over him, framing him with his body and grinning down at him before kissing Tony again. “God, you feel good,” Tony moaned, head tilting back as Steve ground down against his dick. Then he snorted with laughter. “Did you see Clint’s face when you made that sad little sighing sound?”

Steve groaned, the sound decidedly unsexy. “You are not thinking about Clint right now.”

“What?” Tony blinked up at him with wide eyes, the hint of a smirk playing around the corner of his lips. “I can multitask!”

Steve arched an eyebrow at him and then was yanking Tony’s pants down over his hips in one quick movement, shoving his legs up and settling quite comfortably between his legs with his mouth hovering over Tony’s silk boxer briefs, pulled tight around his hard cock.

“Tony,” he said. “You’re not thinking about Clint right now.”

Tony shuddered beneath him. “Sure thing, Cap,” he said, grinning and arching his hips up. “Whatever you say.”

***

A couple of days later, Natasha walked into the gym and stopped dead. “Uh.”

In a rare moment of speechlessness, she glanced behind her and then up at the ceiling, half expecting Clint to be hanging from the vents, recording her. When there was no one else to be seen, she looked forward again, frowning at the sight of Tony, splayed across one of the crash mats and staring aimlessly up at the ceiling. One hand was resting over his chest and he gave a long, drawn-out sigh.

“Uh,” she said again, and then shook her head. “Tony? You alright?”

“Hmm?” Tony startled, like he hadn’t even noticed her coming in, and then shook his head. “Sorry, I was just… Thinking.”

Nat wrinkled her nose, blinking up at the speakers. “Is this Air Supply?”

Tony hummed along to a few bars of All Out of Love before looking over at her. “Yeah, I guess so,” he admitted before falling back into silence. Nat shook her head.

“Didn’t you have a meeting this morning?”

“Yeah,” Tony admitted with a heavy sigh. “I wasn’t feeling it, so I cancelled.” He blinked at her. “Sorry, did you want to work out?”

“That is generally what people do in the gym,” she agreed, giving a pointed look to his current position.

“Right, of course. I’ll go.” He hauled himself to his feet with a forlorn sort of look over to the doors. “Sorry, I was waiting… Thought somebody…” He trailed off and cleared his throat. “Anyway. Have a good workout, Nat.”

Nat waited until he was gone before pinching the bridge of her nose and swiping a hand over his face. “Jesus fucking Christ,” she muttered before setting out to take on the heavy bags extra hard. “If those two aren’t already fucking, I’m gonna throw them both off the roof.”

***

Steve was going over some case files when Rhodey walked in. “There you are!” he yelled, making Steve stare up at him with wide eyes. Before he could respond, Rhodey was tossing a notebook down on the table beside him. “What the fuck is this?”

“Oh.” Steve zeroed in on the book and felt his cheeks heat up. It was a joke, but it was still a little embarrassing. His ‘diary’ was filled with terrible poetry and ridiculously detailed descriptions of how much he loved various aspects of Tony that most people wouldn’t even notice. In his defense, Rhodes was the last person he’d expected to find it. “Uh, where…” He cleared his throat. “Where did you get that?”

Rhodey arched an eyebrow, looking totally unimpressed. “It was by the pool. Laying it on a little thick there, aren’t you Rogers?”

“Uh. What do you mean?” Steve asked, not quite able to meet his eyes.

Rhodey made a noise like he was embarrassed on Steve’s behalf and then picked it up, rifling through until he found a particular page. “Tony’s eyes are so beautiful, I could drown in them. They’re like chocolate syrup, melting in the coffee he drinks so much. They’re so warm and inviting, and I love the way they sparkle when he laughs, the way his skin crinkles up around them. There’s so --,”

“Okay, okay!” Steve burst out, not sure if he wanted to laugh, or melt into a puddle of humiliation. He groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Please stop.”

Rhodey tossed the book back down into his lap. “Not even Barton is gonna buy that shit.”

“It’s not shit,” Steve protested automatically, before picking up on what he was saying. “Wait. You know?”

Rhodey rolled his eyes, but there was the hint of a smile on his lips. “I’m sorry, was I not supposed to know that you two have been fucking for months? If anyone knows what Tony looks like when he’s smitten and getting some, it’s me.”

Steve rubbed at the back of his neck to hide his smile. “He’s smitten?” he asked, feeling his cheeks flush all over again.

“Good lord, you two are disgusting, and absolutely meant for each other.” Rhodey grinned at him. “But Rogers, you hurt him, and I will end you.”

Steve couldn’t help grinning back. “Square deal.”

***

Steve was back in the big communal kitchen with Clint and Sam when Tony walked in, typing on his phone with one hand, the other occupied with a tray of coffee. Fucking with the team or not, Steve couldn’t keep his eyes from trailing down Tony’s body in appreciation. His suit jacket had already been abandoned, and Steve let his eyes linger on the curve of Tony’s ass before he ducked his head to hide the stupid smile spreading across his face.

“Hey Shellhead,” he said to the table before finally composing himself enough to lift his head. Fortunately, Sam and Clint took the flush of his face as embarrassment -- he didn’t miss their shared eyeroll. “How was your meeting?”

Tony positively beamed at him, and god, Steve was so going to drag him to bed later. “Rocked it,” he told him, pleased, before scoffing just a little. “Come on, Cap, was there really any doubt?”

“Nah,” Steve admitted, eyes still locked with Tony’s. “You’re amazing at everything you do.”

Their eyes stayed on each other for a few moments longer, and then Steve realized that they were probably being a little obvious, especially when he noticed that Sam and Clint had progressed to full-on nudging each other, waggling their eyebrows and looking back and forth between the two of them. Tony seemed to realize the same thing at the same time, and in almost perfect unison they looked away from each other again. Steve cleared his throat to keep from laughing.

“Hey!” Tony said brightly. “I brought coffee for everyone.” He set the take-out tray in the middle of the table, but then yelped when Sam reached for one. “Oh no, wait, sorry. That one’s for Steve.” He gave him an extra smile. “Put in that caramel syrup you like.”

Steve resisted the urge to glare at him. He hated caramel syrup, the taste too sweet for his hyperactive taste buds, and Tony knew it. Sam knew it too, but as he opened his mouth to comment, Steve kicked him discreetly in the ankle and ignored his wince as he beamed back at Tony. “Thanks, Tony! That’s fantastic.”

He took a long sip, bracing himself, but warmth that had nothing to do with the coffee spread through him as the taste of hazelnut -- his actual favourite -- flooded his mouth. Good lord, he loved this man.

They made small talk for a few minutes, long enough for Steve to finish his extra-large coffee, and then he excused himself, leaving the empty container on the table. He lingered in the hall because he couldn’t help himself, wanting to listen.

Clint went to throw his own empty cup in the garbage, grabbing Steve’s as he went, but Tony grabbed his arm before he could. “Ow!” Clint whined, more on the principle of the thing since Tony hadn’t actually grabbed him that hard. “What the fuck, Stark?”

“I’ll, uh. I’ll take that. Steve’s cup.”

Clint arched an eyebrow at him as Tony yanked it out of his hand. “It’s empty.”

“Yep.” Tony agreed. There was a long, awkward moment of silence, Clint and Sam both staring at him, and then Tony cleared his throat. “Anyway, is that Pepper I hear arriving? Better run, you know how I hate paperwork. Bye!”

He practically ran through the door and Steve grabbed him in the hall, pushing him up against the wall and kissing him before Tony’s laughter could escape and give them both away. “Really, Tony?” he asked. “An empty coffee cup?”

Tony grinned up at him, eyes sparkling, and squirmed a little as Steve loomed over him. “Well.” He shrugged, unrepentant. “Your lips touched it.”

Steve snorted. “That’s not the only thing my lips are gonna touch,” he growled. Then he clapped his hand over Tony’s mouth as he cackled in delight. “You’re a menace,” he told him, laughing himself. “You’re going to get us caught. Come on, we’re going to bed.”

“Oooh,” Tony teased as Steve practically dragged him down the hall. “An afternoon delight. My favourite.”

Steve ignored that, not letting go of Tony’s hand until he had dragged him to his own suite of rooms, marginally closer than the penthouse. Tony was laughing the whole way, loving it when Steve got all demanding like this.

They managed to make it to Steve’s bedroom without getting caught, more and more of a miracle every day, and Steve immediately shoved Tony onto the bed, crawling on top of him and smothering his laughter with more kisses.

“You know,” he said conversationally when he pulled back. “A fella could take the fact that you’re still laughing the wrong way.”

Tony laughed harder, but his fingers were drawing tantalizing equations over Steve’s back. “Sorry,” he told him, not sounding it at all. “I’m just… Happy.”

Steve felt a stupid smile creeping across his own face. “Well. I’m glad I make you happy.”

Tony snorted. “It’s not you,” he told him, obviously lying. “I just like… Pranking the team.” He couldn’t seem to stop smiling though. “Jeez, Rogers. Vain much?”

“Oh right, of course. It’s the team. My mistake.” He ducked his head, sucking a bruise into Tony’s collarbone that finally stopped him from laughing, tossing his head back with a low groan. His legs tightened around Steve’s hips, hands sliding lower to pull up the hem of his t-shirt and scratch his fingers over his back. Steve grinned against his skin, flicking his tongue out to soothe the sting and delighting in the way Tony shivered beneath him at the touch.

“That better not be above my collar,” he grumbled, but he was grinning, his voice already rough with want. “I have important meetings, Rogers. Gotta be presentable, business appropriate. I have a reputation, you know?”

Steve huffed out a laugh against Tony’s neck, making him shiver again at the sensation. “When in your life have you ever cared about being business appropriate?”

“I resent that,” Tony told him, face open and bright. “I think you better make it up to me.”

“Oh yeah?” Steve kissed his way down Tony’s neck, unbuttoning the top button of his shirt to give him more access to skin. “How would you like me to do that?” he asked, smiling smugly when he felt Tony’s hips rock up against his.

“Jesus, Steve,” Tony grumbled, still laughing. “Just get inside me, already.”

Steve grinned, but he didn’t do it right away. Slowly, he unbuttoned Tony’s shirt and kissed his way down his chest as he went. He took his time, teasing Tony’s skin with fingers and teeth and tongue until he was a panting, squirming mess beneath him, hands scrabbling over Steve’s cotton-clad back.

“Steve,” he whined, dragging his name out and bucking his hips up to grind their cocks together and make them both groan. “God, you’re such an asshole.”

Steve lifted his head long enough to smirk at him before arching up to close his lips around a nipple, tugging at it with his teeth until Tony was hissing out a breath.

“Okay, okay,” Steve laughed. “I’m sorry.” He leaned back, tugging his shirt off over his head and preening a little at the way, no matter how many times they had done this, Tony’s eyes caught on his chest, a soft, involuntary, pleased noise slipping past his lips. Ducking his head to hide his smile, Steve busied himself with hauling off Tony’s pants, then squirmed his way out of his own, laughing when Tony’s attempts at ‘helping’ ended up with him groping Steve’s ass, and the whole thing taking twice as long as it should have.

“God, you’re a nuisance,” Tony muttered, like it was somehow Steve’s fault. Steve bit his upper thigh in retaliation, then patted the side of his ass.

“Come on, pass me the lube.”

“Fucking finally,” Tony crowed, arching up — and conveniently bringing his dick closer to Steve’s mouth in the process — to rummage around in the nightstand. Steve licked a bead of precome from the tip of his cock, unable to resist, and distracted them both enough that the bottle of the lube bounced off his forehead when Tony tossed it at him. Laughing, he squirted some onto his fingers, wiggling them at Tony.

“Ready?” he asked, grunting when Tony just planted a foot on his chest and shoved him. He didn’t move, of course, just snickered to himself before sliding a finger inside without hesitating. Tony groaned, going boneless beneath him, and Steve rubbed over his prostate just to hear the noise he made.

“Steve, Jesus. Another one, come on.”

And really, Steve was tempted to tease him, make him beg, but he was hard as hell, and he could never resist when Tony got all demanding like this. Giving in, he added a second finger, scissoring them quickly until he could add a third and Tony was panting and twitching beneath him.

“Okay,” Tony gasped out, his voice hoarse and needy and just how Steve liked it. “Okay Steve. I’m good, I promise. Get in me.”

Steve pulled his fingers free and Tony fumbled for the lube that Steve had lost in the sheets somewhere. Before he could say another word, Tony was squirting some into the palm of his hand, sitting up to reach between them and close his fist around Steve’s cock, slicking him up.

“Oh, fuck,” Steve ground out, fingers clenching in the sheets as his head dropped and his eyes clenched shut. “Jesus, you feel so good.”

“Yeah?” Tony’s grin was obvious, even with Steve’s eyes closed. “‘Bout to feel a whole lot better,” he promised. “Come on, Steve. Come on, come on, come on.”

He was still stroking over Steve’s thick length as he goaded him, twisting his wrist and dragging his thumb over the spot that made him shudder, and it took Steve a minute to catch his bearings as little tremors of pleasure slithered through him. But then he got a hold of himself enough to pry Tony’s hand free, closing his hands around both of Tony’s wrists and pinning them to the bed by his head. He smirked at Tony, arching an eyebrow and all but daring him to protest, and when all he got back was a delighted grin, he couldn’t help kissing him again, all hot and open with probably too much tongue, but perfect all the same.

Steve took advantage of Tony’s distraction to push into him without any further warning, loving the way he could feel the breath rush out of his lungs. Steve didn’t hesitate to slide all the way inside him, not stopping until his balls were pressed against his ass and Tony had broken off the kiss to tip his head back, nails digging into Steve’s back hard enough to leave bruises.

“Fuck,” he groaned, arching his back to try and pull Steve even deeper. “You feel… Feel so good, honey.” He made a choked noise as Steve pulled back and thrust into him again, dragging it out so that Tony could feel every single inch. “Yeah, just like that. Faster, Steve,” he mumbled, not seeming to care that he was contradicting himself from one sentence to the next. “Come on, baby. Fuck me like you mean it.”

He lifted his head to give Steve a wink, and who was he to deny an order like that? Shifting them slightly, Steve folded Tony in half and pulled his legs over his shoulders -- not missing the squeaking noise that Tony made at how easily he manhandled him -- and began to fuck him hard and fast, bed rocking with each thrust like some kind of cliche.

Steve couldn’t have said how long he kept it up, his body hot and overwhelmed with the sound of Tony moaning beneath him, the feel of him all tight and hot around his cock. He drove into him harder and harder, could feel his balls pulling up tight and his toes beginning to curl, and he was just beginning to think that he couldn’t hold out any longer when Tony let out a desperate, whining noise between his teeth.

“Steve, I’m gonna…” He scratched at Steve’s back again, like he couldn’t figure out what else to do with himself, and despite how close he was to his own orgasm, Steve couldn’t help snorting into his shoulder. That earned him a smack, and Tony’s teeth closing around his earlobe just a little too hard. “Come on, you bastard.”

Somehow Steve found it in himself to hold on just a little longer, to lift his head and give Tony a shit-eating grin. “Sorry, what is it you wanted?” he asked and then, before Tony could work himself into a tizzy, he was closing his hand around his cock. “This?”

Tony couldn’t answer, vision going sightless as Steve tightened his fist, every one of his thrusts fucking Tony’s cock up into the tunnel of his palm and fingers. An instant later Tony was crying out, spilling over Steve’s fingers and his own chest and stomach. His entire body tightened around him, and Steve groaned, letting go of him to plant his hands on the mattress and fuck into him a handful more times before he was following suit, burying his head with a groan as he came deep inside him. He was still panting into Tony’s neck when he felt him patting over his back in a way that was probably supposed to be soothing, but missed the mark entirely.

“I can’t tell if I love you, or hate you,” Tony told him dryly, Steve’s resulting laughter shaking them both.

***

Afterward, Steve lay stretched out on his back with Tony sprawled across his chest, fingers trailing absently over his skin.

“Hey,” Steve told him, rubbing a hand up his spine. “I found a notepad, and I wrote your name a bunch of times with hearts all around them. Left it right beside the controllers for the next time Clint and Thor play video games.”

Tony started laughing, hiding his face against Steve’s chest and making him twitch as the vibrations of his beard tickled his skin. “Come on, Steve. If you really wanted to sell it, you’re supposed to write our last names hyphenated together.”

Steve hummed consideringly. “Steve Rogers-Stark, huh?”

“Uh, excuse me?” Tony snorted. “Clearly we would be the Stark-Rogers...es.”

“Oh, of course.”

“Trust me, Steve. I know these things. The flow works much better. It’ll look fantastic on the business cards.”

Steve burst out laughing at that, nearly knocking Tony onto the floor in the process. “Right,” he managed, practically choking on his laughter. “The business cards, of course. Clearly the most important thing to consider.”

Tony huffed, pretending to be put out even as he snuggled further into Steve. “Clearly,” he muttered.

They settled into comfortable silence for a few minutes, and Tony was nearly dozing when Steve spoke again.

“Steve Stark-Rogers. I think I like the way that sounds.”

Tony went still beneath him, holding his breath. “Do you?” he asked. “We could… I mean. That could be a thing.”

“Might give the game away,” Steve pointed out.

“Maybe,” Tony admitted, but then he was lifting his head to beam at Steve. “But think how badly we could troll the team.”

@tonystarkbingo

#tonystarkbingo2020 #tsb2020 #stony #pranks and practical jokes #troll steve rogers #troll tony stark #tony stark #steve rogers #bottom tony #fic #my fic

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intim3ate · 5 years

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Kinktober Day 2 - Underwear | Dave/John [Homestuck]

Dave Strider visits John Egbert. John Egbert answers the door in his underwear. Dave Strider makes a bad decision. But that bad decision may actually turn out to be the best decision of his life.

Second Kinktober fic. I... just really like DaveJohn and I guess that never stopped being a thing. It is kinda wild that I’m writing Homestuck in 2019, though.

Writing Dave was really fun. I super got into his rambling.

Fair warning: this was based on a joke I came up with for myself. Dave time travelling to jack off and not get caught? Um, yes pls.

Not a commission, but I’m doing kinktober commissions all month! Info can be found here. Please check it out!

AO3 Link | Commission Info | Patreon | Leave a Tip?

------

Sometimes John forgets that Dave isn't straight.

Even after that long, excruciatingly bad talk they’d had years ago, and all the excruciatingly awkward talks and reminders since, John still hasn’t quite gotten a grasp on his best friend’s sexuality. He still tends to think in terms of gay-straight-nothing-in-between, which… isn't exactly ideal most of the time.

Except sometimes it totally is.

Sometimes, John forgetting that Dave is not-a-heterosexual is the greatest blessing a man could ever be cursed with. It means that, on occasion, John would do things without thinking, like change a shirt he spilled his drink all over right in front of Dave, or put an arm around his best friend when he’s really excited about something, or grab his hand to show him something cool, or not care about sharing a bed when they end up having an impromptu sleepover. It’s great because it means Dave can enjoy John going all stupid sexy Egbert on him and perv on his best friend and John won’t even realize. On that front, at least, life is good. Sometimes.

Other times, it’s incredibly inconvenient. Like right now, for instance.

Dave stands outside John's house, hands in his pockets as he waits for the door to swing open and John to smile at him with that adorable buck-toothed grin of his. He hears motion from inside the house, which means John is around and didn’t forget about their hangout plans, but as usual it seems like the goof spent his time dicking around with fake arms and magic chests and shit instead of getting ready.

"Just a minute!" John calls from inside. Dave hears the pounding of feet rushing down the stairs, and then suddenly the telltale click of the doorknob turning..

The door swings open. Dave’s mouth goes dry.

"Hey! Sorry about that,” John says, the smile Dave had so looking forward to seeing going completely unseen due to his eyes being drawn… elsewhere. “I'll just be a sec. Come on in though, make yourself at home!"

Dave doesn't trust his voice not to crack, so he doesn't say anything; he just nods, cool as a cucumber, cool as a corpse six feet under arctic ice, cool as a penguin's ballsack. Wait, do penguins even have those?

Who fucking cares about penguins , Dave thinks to himself as he watches John Egbert run up the stairs completely naked but for the silky pair of hip-snuggling, ass-framing, rump-hugging pair of boxer-briefs he has on.

Fuck.

Dave looks helplessly up the stairs after John, trying in vain to get the image of his best friend's perfect ass (framed by what is quite possibly the sexiest pair of men's underwear Dave has ever seen) out of his mind. Since when does John go for the fancy stuff? Where are his stupidly dorky and distinctly unsexy goofball slime boxers? Have his hot mom's luxurious lifestyle choices finally rubbed off on him?

Oh, god. Did she pick those out for him?

Dave bites down on the inside of his cheek almost hard enough to draw blood in a desperate attempt to distract himself from the mental image of John and Jane trying on underwear together. Jane twirls her finger to tell John to turn around, and he does, and she makes a comment about how they match the bra and panties she has on and no, no, no, bad, do not think about your best friend and his foxy as hell mother half-naked together--

He can't stop it. Sure, he can shut the thought down, but the damage is already done. He's uncomfortably aroused, dick already half-hard and starting to pitch a tent in his jeans. The timing couldn’t be worse; he can still hear John upstairs, moving around, and fuck Dave no stop thinking about his ass swaying in those stupid gorgeous unreasonably sexy boxers--

He's just beginning to debate his options (get the fuck out of here or get the fuck out of here ) when a noise catches his attention. From somewhere next to him a door clicks open; Dave turns to see who else could possibly be in John's house right now, and...

"Oh hell no," he says, the moment he comes face-to-face with himself. " Fuck no. No way. Fuck this, this isn’t happening, I’m not--"

"Sorry man," Other-Dave says. "You know how it is."

No, he doesn’t. “No, I don’t,” Dave insists, but the denial only lasts about half a second. Deep down he really does know exactly how it is. “We swore off time travel for good, remember? When was the last time we even -- or I even, I guess, since obviously you just did it so you could hide in there and, what, jerk off to my -- our -- best friend’s completely delectable ass?” He cuts himself off, catches himself. “No, wait, I mean--”

“God I really did say that then, huh. Rose is right; just can’t stop with these freudian slips, can I, it’s like a freshly-waxed floor all up in here but nobody put out the sign--”

“Just forget about me saying that, okay, because neither of us needs to keep thinking about John’s sexy, I mean, uh, not sexy -- his really really un- sexy ass--”

“Agreed, or it’s gonna be bonertown all over again--”

Dave stops monologuing and stares at his future self like he’d stepped in a particularly gross-looking pile of ecto-slime. “Fuck, dude. I don’t know how either one of us ever could have thought, or will think, the term ‘bonertown’ is cool.”

Future-Dave shrugs. “Hey man, I’m just repeating what I heard myself say an hour ago, cut me some slack.”

“Okay yeah, fair, but my point still stands: after today we’re officially retiring the whole time travel thing, and for real this time, and also the word ‘bonertown’ is officially out of both our vocabulary.”

“Sweet, glad we got that one all figured out.”

“Right.” Dave offers himself a fist-bump and future-him takes him up on it. Their knuckles only just brush when they hear the door open upstairs and the quick, haphazard footsteps of John Egbert on the landing heading for the stairs. “Sorry about that Dave, I’m all good now!” “Shit.” Future-Dave grabs Present-Dave by the shoulders and attempts to shove him into the study. “Don’t let him see you! And, uh…” He glances over his shoulder at John coming down the stairs, and Present-Dave temporarily stops struggling to follow his gaze.

Damn . He swallows thickly, throat suddenly dry again at the sight of John tugging his shirt on over his head as he comes down the stairs. Is that a goddamn treasure trail ?

“Have fun,” Future-Dave says, and with one last shove, Present-Dave tumbles into the bathroom and lands flat on his ass. The door clicks shut in front of him.

Dave rubs his injured rump indignantly, and for a second considers getting up and opening the door, but he stops himself when John begins to speak. “Didn’t mean to make you wait,” he says, voice muffled through the door. “I wasn’t expecting you to get here so early. Guess I just took a little too long in the shower…”

“Ffffffuck,” Dave whispers to himself. He leans against the door and lets the back of his head thump against it, eyes slipping shut as he attempts to take stock of whatever the hell just happened. He can’t, though, because that last little TMI-tidbit forces images of John in the shower jump to his mind totally unbidden.

What could have been taking him so long in the shower? Was he just taking his time washing his hair? Was he shaving? Singing? Or was he just really careful to make sure he washed himself everywhere ?

Dave bites his lip. He considers fighting himself for a second, fighting the thoughts of John lathering up under the water and getting himself nice and soapy just for the suds to slough off his skin and wash away down the drain, but he figures that there’s no point. He’s already here, might as well make use of the time he’s apparently bought himself.

So Dave gives in. He breathes in deeply and lets himself imagine John washing himself, lifting his stupidly toned arms to scrub under them, lowering them and crisscrossing them over his chest to lather them up. He imagines John bending over to scrub his legs, lifting one to make sure he gets the soles of his feet.

Dave imagines he’s watching John do all this from behind so that this way he can get a front-row seat to the beautiful spectacle of John’s perfect ass, but then he changes angles again when John straightens up a bit. Now he watches from the side -- no, the front -- no, three-quarter view -- as John reaches between his legs and lifts his dick to...

No, okay, that’s enough of that, the washcloth is gone and John is just straight-up touching himself. He wraps his hands around the base of his dick with both hands and slowly tugs upward, starting off nice and slow so Dave can get a good look. He bites his lip with his big dumb adorable buck teeth and moves his hands faster, unwilling to be patient with himself when nobody’s around to see him. Well, Dave is around to see him, but in this fantasy, John thinks he’s alone. It feels more natural that way.

Dave doesn’t stop to linger on the thought of how natural it would be for him to be peeping on John’s alone time, but again, it’s his fantasy, so whatever he says goes.

John leans against the shower wall and his breathing comes out heavy. He keeps jerking himself off, faster now, the water easing the slide of his hand (one hand now; the other one is at his neck, squeezing it and massaging it gently because Dave knows that the Heir of Breath has a deliciously ironic asphyxiation fetish). It moves up and down over his dick rapidly; he thumbs at the head on every upstroke, and damn if the way he sighs at that isn’t the hottest thing Dave’s ever not-heard.

John’s probably getting close now. No, Dave decides. He definitely is.

Dave shimmies out of his jeans and swallows a groan at the relief of his dick finally having room to breathe. He cups it in one hand and begins to rub it a little, massage it just like John was in his fantasy, just to get it used to -- oh, no, that feels really good actually, to hell with easing into it. He slips his hand into his boxers and goes right for the head, squeezing it and running his thumb over it, again just like John.

“Yeah,” Dave breathes, imagining it’s John whispering instead. Fantasy-John bites down even harder on his lip to try and muffle his cry when he comes -- no, fuck that, he opens his mouth wide and tosses his head back and groans the sexiest strangled groan Dave can imagine. John comes in his hand, but he keeps on stroking even after he’s done, and Dave wonders if he’s going to go for a second orgasm, but he decides that’s a bit too much for now and skips ahead to the next part.

John is in his bedroom now, clad in nothing but a towel and his glasses. He’s still damp from the shower, hair dripping a little bit as he walks over to his dresser to pick out something to wear. No, fuck the towel; John drops it and stands there completely naked, once again allowing Dave another look at his perfect ass.

“Nice,” Dave mumbles under his breath. He jerks himself a little faster.

Meanwhile, John rummages through his dresser. He’s got a concentrated look on his face, which Dave will freely admit to himself is probably pointless in this scenario, but he really likes the way John’s nose wrinkles and his eyes narrow when he’s focused on something, so it stays. John is a man on a mission, and he will not stop until he’s found what he’s looking for.

A-ha! John says as he pulls out the same pair of gorgeous silk blue boxer-briefs Dave had seen him wearing earlier.

He grins to himself and squeezes a little harder. Now they’re getting to the good stuff.

Dave sucks in a shallow breath through his nose as he watches the John in his imagination put the underwear on. Just like before, it hugs his ass, accentuates the curve of it in all the right ways. And when he turns around, oh . That is a nice little bulge John’s got going on in the front there.

Dave licks his lips. Yeah, he’s pretty sure that’s what he wants now. He pictures himself opening the door to John’s room and entering it, eyes locked on John’s behind his shades.

Dave? John asks. What are you doing here?

I think you know, Dave answers, and it’s so fucking cheesy, but nobody’s here to critique his dialogue, no matter how much he knows Rose would want to and oh god no he stops that train of thought before it can even leave the station.

You were taking too long to get ready, so I thought I’d see what was holding you up , Dave says instead, and yeah, that’s better. He walks forward to meet John and reaches out to touch his hips, sliding his hands over them. He makes no move to hide how openly he’s staring at John’s dick. In fact, he makes it even more obvious: Dave licks his lips, both in his fantasy and in real life.

Right, I forgot how impatient you could be. John’s gaze turns sly; his voice lowers an octave. Well? Are you satisfied, then?

Not even close. Dave leans in and presses his lips to John’s, and John kisses him back hungrily, wrapping his arms around Dave’s shoulders and tangling them in his hair. He pulls his friend close, so close Dave doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to escape. Which is fine; he doesn’t think he wants to.

When John pulls away, his tongue still hangs halfway out of his mouth, a thin line of saliva connecting it to Dave’s. He smirks, eyes half-lidded, and in the real world Dave almost chokes. He claps a hand over his mouth to muffle the noise and jerks himself off faster. Fuck, he could probably get off to that look alone.

But that’s not what he wants. He wants more. Wants it all.

“Fuck me, John Egbert,” Dave says, both aloud and in his dream.

And John does.

John yanks Dave to him by the collar, fisting his fingers in it and pulling hard. He crashes their lips together and pulls Dave down on top of him to straddle his lap, and Dave goes readily, grinding himself down on John’s--

He pauses. Opens his eyes. Thinks for a second and comes to a decision. This isn’t going to feel nearly as good if he doesn’t go all the way, he figures, so Dave shimmies out of his boxers and sits on the floor of the study completely naked from the waist down.

Welp.

He glances at the desk a moment, wondering if he should raid the drawers for lube, but figures there's almost a zero percent chance of there being any and he doesn't want to distract himself from his fantasy for too long anyway, so he pops two fingers into his mouth and sucks on them, imagining instead that they're John's fingers. In his imagination, John leans back on the bed as Dave sucks, pushing his fingers in deeper and deeper, but never forcing them too far. John is considerate, but even his patience has its limits.

Dave pulls his fingers out of his mouth and reaches underneath himself. He takes a deep breath and pushes one finger inside himself, then the other, surprised at how easily they go in despite the poor choice of lubricant. Dave doesn't want to think about how or why he’s so loose already or what that says about him, so he doesn't.

He returns to his fantasy. Now he's sitting on John's lap, impaled on his best friend’s thick, wet cock. John is still wearing the underwear, but he's slid it down enough he could pull his dick free over the waistband. It can't be comfortable, but it's so, so damn hot. That's John, though: always willing to go the extra mile for a friend.

Is this what you want, Dave? John asks, and Dave nods frantically, a whispered litany of "yes, yes, yes " spilling from his lips as he thrusts his fingers into himself and jacks off faster and harder than he had been before. The John in his daydream laughs.

I don't think it is! he says. I think you want more than that.

"Fuck, Egbert, you're balls deep inside my ass and plowing me like your own personal sex farm, what more could I possibly want?"

John grins and lifts Dave up, grabbing him beneath his thighs and hefting him into the air. He lifts and drops Dave on his cock a few more times for good measure, and Dave clings to him like a lifeline. John giggles -- fucking giggles -- and turns around to throw Dave on the bed. Somehow, he never fully slips out, and Dave is both impressed and on the verge of desperate horny tears at the thought.

Once they're in a more comfortable position, John leans over Dave and brackets him with an arm on each side of his head. Dave looks up at him and is met with what is perhaps the sexiest expression he's ever seen: John, looking like he's half a breath away from losing himself completely, eyes narrow and sweat dripping from his temples, a sultry grin spreading over his lips as he says, Is that better, Dave?

"Fuuuuck yes," Dave hisses. He bucks his hips forward into his hands, thrashes back against his fingers. He's so goddamn close.

Good boy , John says. A shiver and a whimper simultaneously tear through Dave as he realizes that he did not realize how badly he wanted to hear John call him a good boy. His good boy.

Dave takes in deep, ragged breaths through his nose as he imagines John leaning down to kiss him. It's messy -- John would be a sloppy as fuck kisser, Dave just knows it -- but that just makes it better, because it means that when John pulls away Dave can lick his lips and still taste him lingering there.

He can’t stop himself: he moans. “Fuck, John …”

"Huh?"

Dave’s eyes fly open. His hand moves from his dick to his mouth in record time to stop himself making any more noise, because that was John Egbert’s real, actual voice . All the white noise from the other room pauses; Dave hadn't even realized he could hear music playing from the living room until now. “What was that?”

Dave stays silent, waiting. Waiting...

He hears himself answer John through the wall. “Nothing, it's just, uh, y’know…”

He doesn’t hear the no doubt weak-ass excuse his future self gives to cover up for this atrocious blunder, because Dave’s brain is suddenly filled with the full realization that John is, in fact, only one room away from him, which means that if he isn't careful, he could get caught. John could hear him jacking off in the study and come looking for him.

The risk, the daring, the audacity of it all hits Dave like a ton of bricks and, buoyed by the thrill of trying not to get caught, he goes back to jacking himself off. He doesn't bother with that fantasy anymorel he just thinks about John walking in on him from the other room, seeing him with a hand on his dick and two fingers up his ass, and saying You know, if that's what you wanted, you could have just asked...

Dave bites down on his tongue to stop himself crying out as he comes. He doesn't think he's ever come so hard in his life -- not alone, anyway -- and it screams through his body like a banshee, deafening him and whiting out his vision until there's no longer anything left of himself to release.

It takes a while for him to catch his breath, to come back down from his high, but when he does, Dave takes quick stock of himself: he's a mess, sweaty and sticky with cum, his hair all ruffled at the back and his shirt riding up his chest. He doesn't even care, though, because he's just had the best goddamn sex fantasy and solo orgasm of his life, and it was with the target of said fantasy sitting in the next room over, none the wiser.

Yeah. He's going to be jacking it to this memory for a long-ass time.

He tucks that thought away for later and pulls up his sylladex to fetch a clean towel. Dave tidies himself up, recaptchalogues the towel, and pulls out his trusty timetables.

"Didn't think I'd ever be using these again," he mumbles to himself. Then, with a knowing smirk, he spins them and jumps back in time, back to the moment his past self knocks on the door.

"Fuckin' worth it."

#homestuck #davejohn #johndave #john egbert #dave strider #r: e #fanfic #kinktober

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banditthewriter · 6 years

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Mile High Club - Billy Russo

Prompt: Could you please write a Billy Russo story inspired on maybe something to do with the Mile High Club??? Thank you sweetheart :3 Prompter: @ladyblablabla

Here ya go love! As you can see, I’m really creative with the names of my stories haha. Also should just go ahead and explain that I’ve never been on a plane so like, grain of salt here people!

Warning: Smut! Plane smut! Smut on a plane! I feel like this could end in being arrested or something, so be smart.

Tags are at the bottom. Let me know if you would like to be added to one of my tag lists!

*gif is mine*

Enjoy!

***** "It's perfectly safe," Billy promised as he watched you tap your fingers on the table. "I fly all the time for business and I've never had a problem." You looked up from where you were staring at the table top and frowned at him. "Are you making fun of me?" "Of course not," he said with a grin, reaching out to wrap his fingers around yours. He tapped his thumb against your hand a few times before he gestured to the surrounding airport. "Fear of flying is probably one of the most common fears; I just didn't realize you were one of the many people who had it." "I don't know if it's a fear of flying or just the unknown." At his curious look, you shrugged your shoulder a bit. "I've never flown before. How am I to know if it's scary or not?" Billy smiled and leaned across the small table to press his lips against yours. You sighed into the kiss but a voice over the announcement system calling for first class tickets for your flight made you tense again. "Come on. We'll try getting you liquored up," he said with a wink as he grabbed your hand and your carry on. You had never flown before and had definitely never flown in first class. There was one other person in the area and she popped a pill and put in some ear buds before claiming a seat and a pillow in the front. Billy led you to your seats and both of you got comfortable. Sitting like that in a seat more luxurious than your couch at home with Billy beside you tapping out a few last minute things on his phone before takeoff, you could almost forget you were on a plane. Once Billy put away his phone, he reached out and grabbed your hand. He easily thread his fingers with yours, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. "You didn't have to agree to this trip you know," he said as he smiled at you from over your joined hands. "I would have been just as happy to stay at home with you for the week or drive upstate somewhere." "No, I want this. I've always wanted to go to Europe and this trip is going to be amazing. I just have to get over my fear of flying." Later when the plane first started to move, Billy kept your hand in his. He kept his voice low and even as he told you that nothing was going to happen to you. If something happened and the plane did crash, at least you were with Billy. Once the plane was in the air, it wasn't as bad as it had been. If you kept your eyes averted from the windows, you weren't even able to tell that you were in the air. The flight attendants thought that it was adorable that Billy was taking such good care of you. You had to admit that it was pretty cute. About halfway into the trip, the plane hit some turbulence that had you digging your nails into his wrist. Billy covered your hand and looked over at you, smiling without judgement. "What do you need?" "Distract me," you begged with your nails digging into his skin. "Please, please just distract me." Your eyes were clenched shut as you tried not to breathe, mind swirling with all the bad possibilities. Just as you were about to ask Billy if he could talk you through it, you felt his lips press against yours eagerly. This was distracting and had the added bonus of being something pleasant. This kind of distraction wasn't what you had on your mind, but you were more than okay with it. You grabbed the front of his shirt to hold him closer to you, licking into his mouth while one of his hands pressed gently against your neck. "Whoa, wait a minute," he said as he pulled back. It made you realize that you were trying to crawl into his lap almost; he must have done a really good job at distracting you. You hadn't even realized that the plane had stopped shaking. "Sorry," you whispered, embarrassed as you started to climb off of him. The woman in the front of the plane was snoring so loud that you could hear her from your seat and no attendants were visible, but you still couldn't believe what you had almost done. "It's uh, it's fine," Billy said, coughing as you settled in your seat. He looked uncomfortable, shifting a bit and pulling on his pants leg. You caught a glimpse of the fact that he was hard in his jeans and you gasped, averting your eyes immediately. "Oh like you haven't seen it before," he said with a laugh, leaning in to nuzzle your neck. "Can't help that it barely takes more than a touch from you to set me off." You laughed and turned your ahead to accept another kiss, this one softer and gentler. Billy tipped your head to kiss the tip of your nose as well as he leaned back into his seat. "I uh," he said as he looked around at the basically empty cabin, "should go take care of this." "Wouldn't it go away on its own as long as we're not doing anything? Think unsexy things." Billy laughed, linking his fingers with yours and giving your hand a squeeze. "Babe, just knowing you're next to me is enough to make sure I'll stay hard enough to crush diamonds. It'll be quick, trust me," he said with another laugh as he started to stand up. "Billy, I... I don't want to be alone," you said as you gripped his hand hard, chest heaving as your breathing started to come out in panicked bursts. Realizing that you were still scared, Billy sat back down and pressed a hand to your cheek. "I'll stay," he said as he wrapped his arm around your shoulders and pulling you towards his chest. "Gonna be an uncomfortable few hours, but I'm not going to leave you when you need me." You let out a sigh of relief but immediately felt bad. Billy was obviously uncomfortable and you still had a few hours before you got to your destination. You knew you couldn't handle him being out of sight even for the few minutes it'd take for him to get off. Maybe... You cast a look towards the restrooms. No one was around. Okay, so someone might notice, but you'd just have to take that chance. Mind set, you stood up and grabbed Billy's hand. He asked what you were doing but you just shushed him, dragging him towards the restrooms. He seemed to get on board about the time you touched the door. Once you were both in and he had locked the door, he had you pressed against the door and his lips on your neck. "Figure if I can't have you leave me alone while you handle this, I might as well handle it for you," you said as you lifted his head for a kiss. Your skimmed your hand down his front, cupping him through his jeans and giving him a little squeeze. He groaned into your mouth and you smiled as you pushed him back against the opposite wall. There wasn't much room available for all of the things that were currently swimming through your head, but that wasn't going to stop you. You sank to your knees, undoing his belt and the button on his jeans. He hissed out a breath as you dragged the zipper down, working his jeans down just enough so that his hard length was visible through his briefs. "Crush diamonds you say?" You sucked on him through his briefs, leaving even more of a wet spot where the head of his cock was pressing. "Let's see what we can do about that." You pulled the band of his briefs down so that his cock was revealed. With a smile, you circled your tongue around the head of his cock a few times. He was breathing heavily and you linked one hand with his as you held the base of his cock with the other. "God you look good like this," he said as he used his free hand to brush your hair back a bit. "Not gonna last long." With a hum of understanding, you sank further down onto his cock, tonguing against his shaft. His head thunked against the wall, groaning as you swallowed around him. His fingers tightened in your hair, his hips giving aborted little thrusts, and you knew he was close. Bobbing up and down on his cock, you peered up at him through your eyelashes. He was right on the edge and you knew what you needed to do to drive him over it. Taking a deep breath through your nose, you went as far down as you could until the head of his cock was poking the back of your throat. His panting was getting heavier, curses falling from his lips, so you started to swallow around him. It was enough to get him there, his cock spurting in your mouth. At least the cleanup would be easy this way. Once he started to soften in your mouth, you pulled back and pressed a kiss to his hip. "You're good to me," he said as he lifted you off the floor, kissing you hard. He pulled back long enough to tuck himself back into his briefs and pull his jeans back up. "Your turn?" He spun you around and pressed you against the wall, his hands moving to the edges of your dress. He dropped to his knees, bunching your dress up with one hand as he pulled your underwear down with the other. "Billy," you groaned, breath coming out in bursts for a reason that had nothing to do with fear. "Love the way you say my name," he said with a smile, lifting your leg to drape over his shoulder. Before you could even think of something to say back, he spread you open and licked at you. His lips sealed around your clit as he included his fingers. Two pressed inside at the same time, causing you to cry out. He pulled back and shushed you before he went back to it. Between him licking and sucking on your clit and the fingers he was fucking into you, you were coasting at the edge of your orgasm. Sucking him off had gotten you most of the way there and so this was more than enough. You gripping his hair as you rode his face and fingers, your orgasm crashing over you and making your body shake. At least you didn't scream out. That would be one way to get put on a no fly list. He sat back and grinned up at you, grabbing a paper towel to wipe his hands and his mouth. "That was probably the fastest I've ever made you come," he said as he threw away the paper towel. He leaned in for a kiss and you moaned at still being able to taste yourself on his lips. "We should head back out there before we get caught." You put your underwear back on and both of you fixed your appearances. He went out of the bathroom first to check that the coast was clear. Satisfied, in more ways than one, he grabbed your hand and led you back to your seats. Once situated, Billy linked his fingers with yours and pressed a kiss to your knuckles. "We should fly more often," he said with a grin. You laughed and leaned over to rest your head against his shoulder. The orgasm had done wonders to calm you down so you weren't shaking anymore. Not for that reason at least. "Well we will have a flight back in a few weeks," you reminded him, peering up at him with a grin. Billy laughed and tipped your face up so that he could kiss you. "I'm sure I can think of a lot of other ways to distract you."

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write-havoc · 6 years

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The Glasswing Butterfly Part 2

Summary: Chuck has never thought of herself as anything special. Just an average beta living her life next door to a womanizing alpha named Negan. But her life, and Negan’s too, are turned upside down when Chuck suddenly presents as omega.

This is a non-zombie AU featuring A/B/O dynamics.

Fandom: The Walking Dead AU

Pairing: Negan/Original Female Character

Status: Ongoing

Contains: swearing, smut

Intended for readers 18+ of age only

Masterlist in my bio

The next week is unpleasant for both Chuck and Negan as things escalate between them. The few times that they meet at the elevator, the one inside always makes sure to close the door before the other can enter. And after some of Chuck’s clothes go missing from the laundry room, she purposefully stops Negan’s clothes in the washer and piles them on the floor sopping wet.

And of course, Negan makes sure to bring a different woman home every single night, even making sure to call the ones he knows are screamers. And every night when Negan would start to go at it with whatever woman he had for the night, Chuck would start to play another one of her unsexy playlists.

Sure, it ends up in lost sleep and frustration for the both of them, but neither one wants to relent as long as the other one is inconvenienced. This is war, after all.

Chuck yawns as she sits at her desk waiting for her new couch to arrive. Her old couch was pretty much just a wooden frame and some loose cushions, so she got rid of it herself fairly easily earlier in the day. But her new couch is a proper one, and will require some delivery guys to get it in her apartment. And they should be arriving any minute now.

Unfortunately for Chuck, Negan happens to run across the men from the furniture store before their job could be done.

Negan had seen Chuck head out to the dumpster with what looked like the remains of a very cheap couch. So when he sees two beta men in coveralls carrying a new couch through the hallway, he puts two and two together and figures out where it’s headed.

“Hey, guys,” Negan calls out to the men with a wave of his hand. “Chuck told me to tell you guys to just leave the couch out here. She had a fuckin’ family emergency and had to run out.”

The delivery men halt their motion and set the couch down. “Who’s Chuck?” one of them asks as he straightens back up.

Shit. ‘Chuck’ is a nickname. I don’t actually know her real fuckin’ name , Negan thinks.

“My neighbor,” he points to Chuck’s door, hoping that will be enough to convince the guys. “We all call her Chuck. She told me she was expecting a fuckin’ delivery.”

One of the guys picks up the delivery slip to look it over. “That’s the right apartment number. Charlotte Langdon, apartment 54.”

“Charlotte, yeah. That’s Chuck.” Negan plays it cool but can’t hold back a little smirk at how easy it was to deceive the beta men. “She said you can just leave it right here.” He points to the wall beside her door.

“You’re gonna help her get this inside?” one of the guys asks a little hesitantly. He has a job to do, but questioning an alpha can have unpleasant consequences.

“Of course,” Negan lies. “Me and her are thick as fuckin’ thieves. We’re like family. Don’t worry about it.”

The delivery men shrug at each other and move the couch to the wall, then turn to leave. Negan watches them go and when he’s sure they’re gone, he walks up to Chuck’s door and knocks.

Chuck is expecting the delivery, so she doesn’t even look through the peephole before answering. When she sees that it’s Negan standing there instead, she rolls her eyes.

“What do you want?” she hisses.

Negan just smiles back. “Your couch is out here.”

Chuck peeks her head out the door and sees the piece of furniture she ordered, but the men that are supposed to get it in her apartment are nowhere to be seen.

“Where are the movers?” she asks.

“Oh,” Negan looks off toward the elevator, “I told them you had to leave on a family emergency and that you wanted the couch left in the goddamn hallway while you were out,” he responds smugly.

“What?!” she snaps back. “Why would you do that?!”

Negan just turns away with a shrug and walks down the hall toward the elevator. “Have fun with your new couch, princess!” he calls out.

“Gah!” Chuck growls. “You’re such a jerk!”

Negan gets to the elevator and gives Chuck a final wave before the doors close as Chuck glares at him. He knows what he did is a little bit of a dick move, but he figures that the girl will call someone in to help her and they’ll get the couch in her apartment pretty quickly.

But Negan is unaware that Chuck doesn’t have anyone to ask for help. Her mother is busy at work and the only other person she could possibly ask, her uncle Aaron, is working out of the country at the moment.

Chuck takes a deep breath and tries to steel her already frayed nerves.

I can do this , she thinks. I can do this by myself. I do everything by myself. This is no different.

After an hour of struggling, she still doesn’t have the couch in her apartment. What’s worse is that it seems to be stuck in the doorway. But Chuck is trying her hardest not to let the frustration and anger get to her, though she can feel it just under the surface.

She steps back and surveys her options logically. Maybe she could twist it. Or turn it. Maybe she needs to pull it out and try again at a different angle.

“Did ya have some trouble?” the most unwelcome voice rings out from down the hall.

Chuck flips around to see Negan exiting the elevator and sauntering toward her. But she doesn’t engage him. If she just ignores him, maybe she can get this done without freaking out.

Negan is making that very difficult though. “You need help, princess?” He chuckles. “I’m not offering , I’m just asking if you do.”

Chuck still ignores him and tries to pull at couch to get it unstuck. Despite her best efforts at remaining stoic, tears of frustration start to fall down her cheeks. Not wanting Negan to see her upset, she makes sure to turn her head away from him.

Negan doesn’t see her tears, but he actually does start to feel a twinge of guilt as he watches the girl struggling all by herself. He honestly didn’t expect her to have this much trouble, but that twinge of guilt isn’t enough to stop him, though. He stands back and leans on the wall by his door, looking completely casual with his arms crossed in front of him. “You’re doing a great job,” he jibes after watching her for a few minutes.

Chuck can’t take it anymore and lets out an inadvertent sob. She still tries to work through it, though, not wanting Negan to get to her this much. But as she’s trying to pull on the piece of furniture still wedged in her doorway, she loses her grip. This causes her to tumble backwards and land on her butt with a thud.

Negan initially steps forward to her, but stops. When he realizes that the girl is now crying heavily with her forehead propped on her knees as she squeezes them into her body, that twinge of guilt builds. And Negan doesn’t like that one bit. So instead of doing the right thing and helping her when she very clearly needs it, he turns away from her and goes back into his apartment, trying to escape the thing that is making him feel bad.

Negan can’t seem to force himself further into his apartment, though. He leans his back on the closed door and listens as the girl next door cries her heart out in the hallway. The harder she cries, the worse Negan feels about the situation. But he still doesn’t really take responsibility for it.

This is as much her fuckin’ fault as it is mine , he rationalizes. She’s the one that started this shit.

But no matter how much he tries to convince himself, he can’t push that guilt down. When he finally decides to actually do the right thing and help her, he puts one hand on his doorknob and looks through the peephole. He sees that the girl has actually gotten the couch unstuck and is finally pulling it into her apartment all on her own.

He lets out a sigh and drops his hand from the door, his guilt not dissipating even a little bit.

That night, Negan sleeps alone.

There’s a little coffee shop a block away from Chuck’s apartment that serves as a meeting place for Chuck and her mother. Every week, Diane would travel the hour or so to eat brunch with her daughter and catch up. Since Chuck doesn’t have her own car, Diane is always the one to make a trip. But she doesn’t mind.

Chuck is her only child and Diane loves her very much. But she worries about her. Chuck had difficulties growing up, what with her father passing and then with the discovery of her physical deformity. It caused Chuck, who was already naturally sensitive and shy, to become even more so. Chuck had closed herself off to everyone because of it. It had even gotten so bad that Diane had taken Chuck to see a counselor. That had helped Chuck. Or rather, it seemed to have helped Chuck. Diane had always had a sneaking suspicion that the sessions had only made Chuck better at hiding her pain.

When Chuck had decided to move away from home, Diane wasn’t exactly happy about it. She knew that her daughter was growing up and needed to make her own life, but she still felt like it would be better for Chuck if she stayed at home with her. Ever since then, Diane has tried her hardest to protect Chuck and make sure she is happy. But sometimes, she feels like she is failing.

“You okay, sweetie?” Diane asks when Chuck goes quiet.

Chuck puts a smile on her face. “Yeah. Just tired.” That’s not the whole truth. All day, she’s felt... not right. Restless, jumpy, fatigued. She can’t exactly describe it, but she didn’t feel... normal.

“Negan, still?” Diane asks with raised eyebrows.

“Yeah. He’s still being a dick about everything.”

“Maybe you should find a new place to live.”

Chuck lets out a heavy breath. “I can’t, Mom. Despite Negan, it’s a perfect apartment. It’s a good price. It’s in a good part of the city and it’s close enough to the office that I can take a short Uber when I need to go there.” She runs her finger over the rim of her cup. “And there’s nothing else available around here anyway.”

“Well, I don’t like what you’ve been telling me about your neighbor.” Diane takes a drink of her coffee and sets it back on the table. “I could talk to him-“

“No, Mom,” Chuck interrupts. “He already says I’m a little girl. Sending my mom after him would just prove his point.”

“You can come home, Chuck. Just get away for a few days. You don’t look very good.”

“Gee, thanks, Mom,” Chuck responds sarcastically.

“I just mean you look tired, sweetie. You need some rest.”

“I’m okay, Mom. Don’t worry so much.” Chuck raises her cup to take a sip, but it falls from her hands and shatters on the floor as a sharp pain travels through her abdomen. It’s quick and fades fast, which leaves Chuck confused as to what it was.

“What just happened?” Diane asks, concerned for her daughter.

“I-I just got a pain in my stomach, but it went away.”

Diane instantly thinks of everything that could be possibly wrong with Chuck. “What kind of pain?” She reaches over the table and puts her hand on Chuck’s forehead. “You’re hot.”

“I am?”

Diane has a very bad feeling about this. “I think I’m gonna take you to the hospital. You really don’t look good.”

“Don’t fuss, Mom.”

Diane stands from her seat and motions for Chuck to stand, too. Chuck obliges, though she lets out a huff before doing so, and follows her mother to the door. But before they exit, another sharp pain erupts in her lower abdomen. And this one is so bad it makes Chuck double over and collapse to the ground.

“Chuck!” Diane gets down on the floor beside her daughter, who is yowling in pain. “Someone call an ambulance!”

People start to crowd around them with hands over their mouths to stifle their gasps. Diane looks up from her daughter to tell everyone to back off, but snaps her head back down when she feels Chuck starting to violently shake underneath her hands.

“Oh, god. She’s having a seizure.” Diane quickly goes into nurse mode and moves to cradle Chuck’s head, making sure she doesn’t hit it off the ground. Even though it’s hard, she keeps it together to try to get her daughter through this.

Chuck opens her bleary eyes and looks around the unfamiliar room. It’s unbearably white, so obviously a hospital room. And her whole body hurts.

Did I get hit by a truck? she wonders. But there aren’t any casts on her limbs. Or bandages or even bruises.

Chuck looks off to the side and sees her mother sitting in a chair beside her. She is studying something on her iPad intently, not even noticing that her daughter had woken up.

“Mom,” Chuck croaks.

Diane instantly whips her head up to look at Chuck and scoots her chair forward to lean over her. “Hey, sweetie,” she coos as she starts to gently run her hand over Chuck’s head. “How are you feeling?”

Chuck clears her throat. “Like I got hit by a truck,” she answers. “What happened? The last thing I remember is sitting with you in the coffee shop.”

Diane takes a deep breath, not knowing how to explain to her daughter that her life is going to be completely different from now on. “You’re gonna be just fine, okay?” is what she settles on.

Chuck doesn’t like Diane’s tone as she says that. “Okay...? Am I, though?”

“Yeah. You’re gonna be okay.”

“How long have I been here?”

Diane hesitates to answer. “Four days.”

Chuck is shocked. “Four days?! Was I in a coma?!”

“Not a coma. You were just sedated.” Diane takes a deep breath to calm herself. She has to tell Chuck.

Luckily for her, the doctor comes in at that moment, taking the pressure off of her. The doctor is a middle aged beta with short gray hair and a kind face.

“I see you’re awake,” the woman says to Chuck. “I’m Dr. Bailey.” She reaches out her hand to shake Chuck’s then turns to Diane. “How long has she been awake?”

“A few minutes,” Diane answers. “I didn’t tell her...”

“Tell me what?” Chuck looks from her mother to the doctor.

Dr. Bailey starts to explain. “You have something called Holden-Sawyer Syndrome. It’s very rare, but it’s been fairly well documented and you have a classic case.”

Chuck gasps. “Oh, god.” She has never heard of this thing, but she’s sure it’s probably serious. “Am I gonna die?” she asks as tears well up in her eyes.

Diane grabs Chuck’s hand and squeezes it. “Honey...”

The doctor gives Chuck a soft, reassuring smile. “You’re not going to die, Charlotte.” She moves to stand closer to her patient. “Holden-Sawyer Syndrome affects omegas. It causes delayed presentation and that presentation is usually very hard on-“

Chuck cuts the doctor off. “I’m not an omega.” She looks back to her mom. “You and dad are betas.”

Diane nods. “It can happen, an omega from beta parents.”

Chuck looks back to Dr. Bailey, still confused. “I’m a beta.”

“No, Charlotte.” The doctor sits down on the edge of Chuck’s bed, facing her. “You’re an omega. Your young appearance is pretty typical of an omega. And you’re underdeveloped sex organs were a textbook feature of HSS. Sufferers almost exclusively are assumed to be betas with congenital defects of the reproductive organs.”

Chuck shakes her head. “No...”

The doctor continues. “You’ve probably been having some symptoms in the last few weeks or months. Emotional instability and pain or soreness in the lower abdomen mainly. But also, maybe some weight gain as your body changes into the more classic omega hourglass. You’ve sort of... gone through puberty again as your reproductive organs rapidly develop and your hormones start to flow.”

Chuck is completely in shock. Even though everything the doctor is saying is what has happened to her, she still can’t believe it. “I can’t be an omega,” she mutters almost to yourself.

“Sweetie, you’re an omega,” Diane says simply. “You smell like an omega. You’re an omega.” She knows it’s probably shocking to Chuck, but her daughter has to accept it, the sooner the better.

Chuck blinks several times, trying to wrap her head around it.

Dr. Bailey jumps back in. “HSS comes with some... challenging features that we need to discuss. I’m sure in your high school health class, you learned about heats and how they can be painful and disruptive for some omegas. In HSS sufferers, heats are extremely painful and can be dangerous if they aren’t sated by an alpha. That’s why you’re here and that’s why we had you sedated for the duration of your presentation heat. While you were out, we gave you medicine to control your core body temperature to make sure you didn’t overheat. It wasn’t an ideal solution to your heat, of course. But given the fact that you were unaware that you needed an alpha, it was the only way to deal with it.”

“What about suppressants?” Chuck asks. She remembers learning about them in those heath classes she took. “Why didn’t you just give me some?”

Dr. Bailey clears her throat. “No one is exactly sure why, but HSS sufferers tend to have severe allergic reactions to suppressants. Even the holistic ones.”

“So...” Chuck tries to put it all together. “When I get my heats, I’m gonna have to spend them in the hospital?”

“Chuck...” Diane starts, but Dr. Bailey jumps in.

“Ideally, an alpha would help you through it.”

Chuck stares at the doctor for a moment, processing what she just said. “Alpha? You mean...” she looks from Dr. Bailey to her mother, then back again, “knott...ing...?” she asks quietly.

“Yes,” the doctor answers simply.

Chuck takes that in. “I can... have sex?” She had always accepted that sex was never going to happen for her. But now, the possibility is being dangled before her.

“Yes. There’s no reason you can’t now. You have perfectly normal omega reproductive organs,” Dr. Bailey explains. “You can have sex and even get pregnant. You’ll also get a monthly menstrual period, probably starting next month sometime.” She gives Chuck a soft smile. “Your mother told me that you don’t have a boyfriend and I wanted to stress that, unlike some omegas that use beta males to get them through their heats, that’s really not an option for you. An alpha is really your best bet for sating your heat. Being hospitalized is, of course, an option. It’s not something that you need to avoid at all costs, but if you choose to spend your heat here, you will be here for the entire duration. And you will be groggy for a few days afterward. Knotting will most likely shave about a day or maybe two off of your heat and you can get back to work and your life much sooner.”

Chuck shakes her head. “How am I gonna get an alpha? I-“ She clears her throat. “No alpha is gonna want me.”

“Oh, sweetie.” Diane doesn’t know what to say to her somewhat naive daughter. She knows that alphas will certainly want Chuck no matter what. There are far more alphas than omegas in the world, so many alphas never truly mate with an omega. But Diane doesn’t want just any random alpha to scoop her daughter up because she can take their knot. She wants her daughter to find love and have a happy life with a mate that will be good to her.

Dr. Bailey cuts in. “Your first heat can come anywhere between three months and a year after presentation. But I know that finding an actual mate can take longer than that. There are other... more temporary options, though.” She produces a business card from her pocket. “This company is very reputable. You can meet with prospective alphas and choose who you want. They are very accommodating to an omega’s wishes, as well.”

Chuck studies the card. Alpha For You is spelled out in a fancy font with various numbers underneath it. It suddenly hits her what this company is. “Alpha for hire?” She looks over to her mother. “Alpha prostitutes ?”

“I know, sweetie.” Diane takes the card from Chuck. “But you don’t have a lot of options.”

“It’s something to be considered,” Dr. Bailey comments then stands from the bed. “Your mother has all my info. I would be very happy to take you on as a patient permanently.”

“I can’t keep my old doctor?”

Dr. Bailey shakes her head. “It’s illegal for general practitioners without an omega certificate to treat omega patients. That’s why they called me in here. But I’m not the only option, if you’d like to search around.”

“No,” Diane cuts in. “We’ll be happy to have you as Chuck’s doctor.”

“Okay,” the doctor smiles. “I’ll have a nurse come in with the discharge papers.” She pats Chuck on the leg. “Get some rest at home and call us in a few days to set up a follow up.” She shakes both Chuck’s and Diane’s hands and leaves.

“This can’t be happening,” Chuck mutters.

“Look, sweetie.” Diane grabs her daughter’s hand. “You’re healthy. That’s all that really matters.”

“I don’t know how to be an omega, Mom.”

“You don’t have to ‘ be ’ an omega. Just be yourself,” Diane responds. “I know this is a lot, but you’ll get through it.”

“I have to call work,” Chuck realizes suddenly. “I missed four days.”

“I already called them and said you were in the hospital. You’re going to be behind on your work, but your boss was very accommodating. He said you’re one of the best coders they have and he just wants you healthy.”

“Did you tell him all about this?”

“No. He doesn’t have to know. I’ve been looking all this omega stuff up for four days. You legally don’t have to tell anyone your presentation anymore. And legally, no one can ask you. So your boss, your landlord, the bank... no one needs to know.”

Chuck looks up to the ceiling and rubs at her eyes. “This is insane.”

The nurse comes in with the papers to sign and Chuck and Diane leave the hospital. Instead of going back to Chuck’s, though, Diane drives them to her house. But Chuck isn’t complaining. She really doesn’t feel like taking care of herself at the moment, so any help from her mother is greatly appreciated.

After the couch incident, Negan doesn’t give his neighbor much thought. For two days, anyway. He starts to realize that the girl next door is being unusually quiet. Not that she was every really loud before their whole war started, but he would always hear music or the tv going when he’d walk by her door. He’d even hear her singing through the wall of his bedroom every once in a while.

When another day passes with not a peep from the girl, he starts to actually worry. She had undoubtedly been very upset the last time he’d seen her. Would she actually hurt herself?

Negan can’t get the thought out of his head, so he heads across the hall and knocks on the door. No response.

“Shit,” he says under his breath and knocks again.

Yeah, the girl annoyed him a little, but he didn’t want anything bad to happen to her.

“Goddamn it,” he mutters again and heads down to the landlord’s apartment to see if they can check on the girl.

Sheila answers the door after Negan knocks on it. She and her husband Bill had owned this building for thirty years. When Negan had applied to live here ten years ago, she was wary. They had never had an alpha tenant before then. But they had let Negan take the apartment and he proved to be a fine tenant. He paid rent on time and no one seemed to complain about him. That includes Chuck. Sheila was never made aware of the childish war between Negan and the girl next door. And Negan’s nighttime activities went unnoticed by the previous tenant of apartment 54, who happened to be very hard of hearing.

“What can I do for you, Negan,” the woman greets.

Negan isn’t exactly sure how to go about this. “The girl next door to me... I wondered if you could fuckin’ check on her.”

Sheila chuckles, already knowing that Chuck isn’t home. “I didn’t think you were the caring type.”

Negan grimaces at the woman. “Will you just-“

Sheila doesn’t let Negan finish. “Her mother told me she would be gone for the week. She’s sick.”

“Okay,” Negan spits out then turns to leave. So the girl isn’t laying in her bathtub with her wrists slit. That’s what he went to figure out, so... mission accomplished.

After convalescing in her mother’s house for a few days, it’s time for Chuck to go home. Physically, she feels back to normal, but mentally, she is still reeling. Her mood swings had gone away, which Chuck is thankful for, but she’s still a little anxious about what all of this means for her future.

When Chuck and her mother get to her building, Chuck sees Negan standing in the open elevator. Negan sees the girl next door, too, and for a moment, he thinks about shutting the doors on her, still thinking about their petty war. But he doesn’t go through with it, instead he holds the doors open for the girl and the woman she’s with, who Negan assumes is her mother.

Diane thinks at first that she should lead Chuck to the stairs instead of sharing an elevator with Chuck’s alpha neighbor. But they’re already headed there and the man is holding the doors for them. But once the three of them are trapped inside the enclosed space, though, Diane realizes that her first instincts were right.

Negan’s body responds before his brain can process what’s happening. His whole body stiffens and his pupils dilate at his proximity to this girl. His skin breaks out into goosebumps as his hair stands on end. When he instinctively sniffs at the air, he finally realizes what’s happening.

Omega is the only thing going through his brain.

At the same time, Negan is having an effect in Chuck, too. She had always thought that he smelled good, figuring it was some sort of expensive cologne that he wore. But she realizes now that it wasn’t. It was all him and now the smell is almost intoxicating to her. But she knows that it’s just because he’s the first alpha she’s smelling in her new omega state, so she hangs her head and moves as far away from Negan as she can.

Diane sees all of this happening and doesn’t like it at all. When Negan makes a move to step closer to Chuck, Diane places herself between him and her daughter, holding her hand up to stop him from advancing. Negan instantly snaps his gaze to the older woman’s, the animalistic part of him wanting to push her away so he can get what he wants. But the fearsome look in her eyes actually sobers him some.

Despite the fact that the beta female would have little chance of successfully fighting off an alpha, Diane knows that she would absolutely fight tooth and nail to protect her daughter from anything. Negan seems to realize all this, and steps back away from the women to face the elevator doors.

It seems like it takes forever for the elevator to get to the fifth floor, but once the doors open, Negan all but runs out and into his apartment. In stark contrast, Diane and Chuck exit the elevator slowly, making their way down the same hallway to Chuck’s apartment at a somber pace.

Chuck plops herself down on her couch and lets out a sigh as soon as they get inside.

“I’m gonna make you something to eat, okay?” Diane calls out from the kitchen.

“Okay.” Chuck leans her head back on the coach and closes her eyes for several minutes, going over everything that has happened in the last few days and all the information she has had to absorb.

“I want you to move back home,” Diane states plainly as she finishes the peanut butter and jelly sandwich for her daughter.

Chuck turns around to look back at her mother. “What?”

Diane places the sandwich on the island and looks Chuck in the eye. “I think you should move back home. You’ll be safer there. We know all our neighbors. They’re good people.”

“I don’t want to move, Mom.”

“Just listen to me, Chuck. I don’t trust Negan with you. He’s an unmated alpha and you’re an unmated omega.”

Chuck laughs. “Negan hates me, Mom. He’s not gonna want to ‘ mate ’ me, if that’s what you’re implying.”

“He’s an alpha , Chuck. He doesn’t always think with his upstairs brain.”

Chuck lets out a huff. “That’s a little bigoted, don’t you think.”

“If it gets you out of harm’s way then I don’t care.” Diane points to the sandwich to prompt Chuck into eating it.

Chuck takes the hint and moves to sit down at the counter to eat. “You can’t lock me up, Mom. I just want to live my life normally.”

“I’m just worried about you.” Diane runs her hand over Chuck’s shoulder length hair.

“Trust me,” Chuck takes a bite. “Negan doesn’t want anything to do with me, no matter which brain he’s thinking with.”

Diane nods, though she thinks that Chuck is being naive about Negan’s intentions. She saw it in his eyes in that elevator.

Diane knows that she can’t force her daughter to move back in with her, but she can do whatever she needs to to protect her. When Diane exits Chuck’s apartment, she marches right over to Negan’s door and knocks on it without Chuck knowing.

Negan answers his door and sees Chuck’s mother glaring up at him. His gaze instinctively flicks to Chuck’s door, but Diane stops that pretty quickly by roughly taking his chin in her hand and pulling his face down to look at her.

“No,” she says forcefully, but quietly. “I want you to stay away from my daughter.”

Negan thinks that’s a pretty reasonable request coming from the pretty middle aged beta. Especially considering that one whiff of the omega next door had him acting like a newly presented alpha that didn’t know how to control himself. It took him a good twenty minutes before his higher reasoning came back and he started to actually question how the girl next door had been a beta one day and an omega the next. Well, twenty minutes and rubbing one out.

“Listen to me, Negan,” Diane continues when Negan makes no effort to say anything. “I’m a nurse. I work in a hospital. And off the top of my head I can think of four different drugs I have easy access to that would kill a man and leave no trace for the police to find. So keep that in mind if you ever even think about touching my daughter. Got it?”

Negan has to give it up to the beta. She has humungous lady balls coming over here and confronting him like this. But he’s pretty sure her threat won’t stop him. He can already feel himself being pulled to the omega next door.

But he gives her a nod anyway. “Got it.”

“Good.” Diane turns away from Negan and heads for the elevator, still wondering if she had done enough to keep her daughter out of harm’s way.

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