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kentos-filmcamera · 3 years ago

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mary (nanami kento x fem!reader)

“ y/n’s the girl that i wanna kiss

she’s got big red eyes and big red lips

she’s got big sharp teeth and big fat hips

y/n’s the girl that i wanna fuck

she’s got leather heart and leather gloves

she’s the only girl that i wanna love “

pairing: nanami kento x best friend fem!reader

summary: nanami kento was your best friend. he was also obsessed with you. not until he gets confronted about it, he decides to finally do something.

wc: 3.9k

warnings: nsfw (MINORS + AGELESS BLOGS DNI FOR FUCK'S SAKE), college AU, she/her pronouns, afab reading, mentions of alcohol consumption, weed usage (both smoking and edibles), dumbass pining, reader is a femme fatale practically, sub!nanami (*evil laugh*), reader is implied to be chubby if you squint, oral (f!receiving), face sitting, riding, mentions of contraceptives, pussydrunk!nanami, nanami has an awakening lol, creampie.

inspo: mary by alex g, michelle by sir chloe, and this tiktok that started it all.

A/N: no no no LISTEN LISTEN, twenty-seven year old nanami kento can be the buff pleasure dom y’all want, but twenty-year-old nanami kento in college is skinny, scrawny, SUBMISSIVE and BREEDABLE, idc what anyone says go argue with the wall. anyway thank u my loves @cherryshigaraki n @kireirengoku for letting me participate in the Wanna Ruin Our Friendship collab, i’m a bit early on the deadline but the words just flowed so 🙈 excuse me for the long ass intro and being a teacher's pet by being early with the deadline.

Nanami Kento wasn’t an outcast in any sense of the word. He had a small, tight-knit group he stuck with. But his social skills are not something anyone would be proud of. With his friends studying different majors than him, he was forced into a world of people. As nice as they would be, he wasn’t welcoming them in any way; he resisted them. He swore he didn’t need anyone else, he didn’t want to throw off the inexistent balance in his life.

You were different, though. You shared an elective with him during freshman year, and boy, were you something else. At first, he wanted to swim against the current, resisting your greetings, borrowed pens and coffee cups that were just what he needed after the eight AM business management one lecture and before you both went into the only class you shared; he didn’t need any favors from anyone. But you were a driven character, only wasting your energy to take a plunge towards what you wanted. There was no way in hell he was going to allow himself to slip out of your fingers so easily. Regardless, you weren’t special to him. Yet.

He turned his face away from welcoming warm smiles and made them turn cold in confusion. But the way you led him on to be your friend was like a roaring empty ocean turned into a lazy river. It was all so sudden, the way you laughed and your bright eyes drew him in. Almost violently, he found himself hanging out around your dorm almost daily, skipping out on going to see his friends to support you at any activity your faculty had. Then, after around a year of knowing each other, you invited him over to hang out with his friends, called him your best friend, and going out for rides for late-night dinners became almost a routine.

The title you had given him made the feelings constantly swarming around his thoracic cage unbearable, especially in moments where he noticed you doing the most mundane of things: as he saw your serene expression while the wind blew strands of hair right in your face but you didn’t care, or when you invited him on an adventure and took his hand in yours so he could feel your heart thumping against your breast, reckless smile but oblivious to the way his pupils dilated when maintaining eye contact with you. His lack of closeness with the general public made it so much easier to hide his feelings from everyone… or at least mostly everyone.

“So, you like her,” Yu Haibara concluded, staring up at his roommate who was trying to find something inside his closet. He wasn’t even questioning, he was confirming it. It was something all his friends had been talking about for months, but he was the only one who was able to bring it up. It was the first and only time someone had turned a mirror to face him and his truth.

“Huh?” Nanami turned to see his best friend from over his shoulder. “What are you even talking about…” He mumbled, scratching his head as he concentrated on the task at hand. His face remained as it had been for the last thirty minutes, but alarms flashed in his mind. Was it too obvious? Did you know too?

“Of course, you would die before going to a party without any of us there. You’re going because A) she invited you personally and B) you super like her” Nanami kept quiet before Haibara continued chirping about his friend’s future with you.

He pushed the conversation away, to the depths of his mind, as he sprayed on cologne, as he put on his shoes, as Gojo gave him a ride to the place and as he walked straight into the kitchen to pour himself some liquor in a cup in case it was bound to be a long night.

“Hey, Kento!”

All his inner peace came to a screeching halt. He couldn’t fight the thought as you greeted him, your lips tinted red with lipstick, eyes matching according to the blunt that was being passed around, and that cheeky smile that made his insides light themselves on fire. Things felt different. It was different, having finally someone to confront him about his pathetic year or so of hopeless pining for the wild flame that danced around him constantly, taking him on edge.

“Hi…” He breathed out, taking in the sight of you as you got up, skirt rolling up your thighs slightly. He looked away, lips pressed before you stood in front of him. A delicate hand found its way to his jaw, forcing him to look at you. His eyes scoured your face, that same cheeky grin he now felt ridiculed in. He had only two sips of the ridiculously strong drink and already wanted to blurt out all his feelings and find out what that Maybelline lipstick tasted like, or if it was going to stain his lips to match yours.

“I’m so glad you came!” You took him in for a hug. He breathed in your perfume, almost as strong and inebriating as a cologne. “This is my roommate’s sorority and I don’t like anyone here, so I thought I might as well spend some time just us, and take advantage of the free drinks and weed” Your pointed nails ran up his arm, your other hand fixing the collar of his shirt lazily.

He gulped, the heat rising in his neck following the ghost of your soft fingertips. Nanami found himself suddenly intolerant to your affections, the closeness you always displayed seemed foreign now. “Sure thing” He nodded, brushing your hair away from your face. He made it seem so casual, but his fingers lit up with electricity at the contact.

You excused yourself from the smoke circle and took his hand, softness against dullness, walking on par towards the kitchen. You chatted with him over all the ambiance, but the words were muted out with the burning desire to kiss you, his large hands cupping your artificially blushed cheeks. At the end of the day, he was always driving himself insane. Not Haibara with the pressing questions, not his group of friends with raised brows, not you with your mixture of a manic pixie dream girl and a femme fatale nightmare of personality and looks, but just him.

You scoured the kitchen, searching for something as you instructed him to pour you a vodka Redbull, more Redbull than vodka. He obliged, used to you drinking ‘gasoline’; or at least that’s what he called the weird things you consumed at parties. You smiled when you found a tray of brownies, grabbing a small corner for the two of you. “C’mon, it’s too noisy down here”

To Kento’s dismay, you dragged him to an upstairs bedroom, sitting on the balcony with your legs extended and shoes resting on the railing. You patted the chair next to you as he stood there in the darkness of the room, trying to overlook how your skirt slid down your thighs because of the position your moonlit legs maintained. His years of a poker face never failed him, and he just sat down next to you without any other words in between the line of tension that extended and spread itself in the atmosphere the two of you shared.

Even though his grey matter had been cracked open and scrambled into a pan like a pathetic egg mixture, he still found himself leading an easy conversation with you, cheeks heated from the warmth the alcohol intake gave him. You talked about everything and anything, catching up on the little details of life that the other might have missed out on during the approximate two days you had spent apart.

Eventually, he realized his cup stood empty as you chewed out the ice. Unfolding his long legs, Nanami boosted himself up from the chair, only to be held back down by your tight grip “Don’t” You commanded, and blindly obliged before an explanation. “I’ve dug two graves for us my dear” In your hand, you held a corner of a weed brownie wrapped in a napkin and a macabre smile.

As a college student, Nanami Kento didn’t experiment too much. Unless it was around you. You made him feel safe and secure and would take care of him if he had a bad trip (and you have done before). Besides, the corner divided into two was only enough to relax your bodies to sink into whatever surface you sat or laid into, making him feel even more secure. He split the treat for the two of you and indicated for you to open your dark red lips for him to place the edible on your rosy tongue he so desperately wanted dancing around his own. You gladly obliged, tongue tinted in lime green from drinking sour apple mixer. With a giggle, you offered to do the same to him, toying around with the chocolate pastry before he almost bit your fingers down, earning a belly laugh that made his own stomach do somersaults.

The weed, the cheap vodka, the comfort of the bed you now laid in, your perfume, the faded music all were stimulating him into smiling with half-lidded eyes, breathing in slowly and out his nose. And with the stimulation came the lack of censorship. The filter he held tightly against his tongue, almost constricting him, left the second your fingers placed the brownie in his mouth delicately, and continued to dissolve as one particular effect coursed his body; he got so horny when consuming edibles. It was a lethal concoction, but he wouldn’t realize it until later on. “Let’s play two lies, one truth”

“Hm, yea? I don’t think that’s how it goes, but sure” You sat up, scratching your head lazily. “Shoot”

“I broke my right arm in third grade, I really really like you, and I have three nipples” He breathed out, watching as you moved your head side to side like a confused puppy.

“I’ve never seen you naked, so it doesn't seem plausible.” You thought out the options, trying to push away the fluttering in your chest. ‘It’s not real, it’s not real. You’re just high,’ You told yourself, avoiding looking at the blonde. He was your best friend… or did you ever think of him that way? What was the whole point of the chase, after all? “You broke your left arm… So, that leaves us with…” Your breath shivered for a second, a microsecond of weakness “We’re best friends, it would be concerning if you didn’t like me”

“I don’t think you understand” Nanami shook his head, propping his upper body up with his elbows to look at you, pupils visibly dilated. “I don’t care what happens to our friendship anymore. Not a day goes by that I don’t think about kissing you” He said, and suddenly this all seemed like a terrible idea. Horrible, horrendous; all the names in the books. Nightmare fuel for him going from now on.

You turned to him, eyelids droopy but for a whole different reason now. “Oh, would you kiss me? Really?” You purred, moving your hair aside before crawling back to his side. Nanami gulped and nodded, feeling helpless under your hypnotizing gaze.

“You sure?” You hummed, your nose bumping against his, eliciting him to raise his head to look up at you. He nodded again, his breath hitching against his throat. The cold room warmed up exponentially, the tension straining to the point of almost snapping painfully like a rubber band. “I’m not that convinced…” Oh my, were you teasing him? You knew he was desperate, his body language displayed it; the way his legs bounced to place you directly between them and his uneasy eyes staring up at you.

“Please…” He breathed out before you sucked the breath right out of him, taking his lips into yours. The kiss was soft, shy even. You were experimenting a bit there, measuring your moves as if they were counted by the minute. Nanami followed your moves easily, just as he did with everything else, making you sigh in satisfaction.

You held his face between your soft manicured hands, caressing his cheeks highlighted by the moonlight sneaking in from the ajar balcony doorway. “You’re so handsome…”

This time he took the initiative and crashed his lips against yours, wanting to gain control. Poor innocent Kento, he sure wasn’t clear you weren’t going to let him get his way. You rocked your hips on his lap, earning out a gasp. Bingo. Nanami’s hand instinctively reached under your skirt to hold onto the plush of your ass, gripping desperately as you rocked your hips, clothed cunt running against his restrained cock.

You both moaned against each other’s lips, tearing the kiss apart but close enough to feel your hot heavy breathing against his. “Hm, more…” He panted, his fingers blindly trying to remove your skirt, the screech of the zipper filling the stuffy room.

“More what?” You pulled back, unbuttoning the shirt he was wearing. He watched as you undid the buttons slowly, even though it wasn’t intentional, it was driving him insane.

“More you” He huffed skin perking up at the touch of your warm fingers down his somewhat toned abdomen. You smiled in a way he didn’t recognize, but had heard about; it seemed like an urban legend, and at the same time, the place he belonged to. You nodded and removed your jacket, throwing off the baby tee somewhere along with it. He followed suit and removed the whole button up and slipped out of his pants with a force he could easily rip them. Your mini skirt didn’t leave much to the imagination, but nowhere in Nanami’s subconscious, he would have formulated the image of your almost naked body against his, electrifying warmth between the two.

Nanami’s hands roamed your body, fingertips overwhelming your senses. You sighed, your head resting on his shoulders, allowing him to be curious. You breathed heavily against his clavicle, his shy fingers massaging your breasts and running down your stomach, making you whine. “You’re so good f’me…” You mewled, his hand sneaking under those lacy black panties that barely covered anything.

It was surprising the effect he had on you, making you ache for more and let all your guard down. He gathered some slick before rubbing gentle circles on your clit, the moans he was earning made his eyes widen in an attempt not to panic. His thoughts won the tug of war in his mind and he abruptly stopped. “Something wrong?”

“Sit on my face, please” He blurted out. You opened your mouth but he interrupted you once again. “I don’t care if your thighs suffocate me to death, I’ll die happy” Nanami looked at you with pleading eyes, holding your hands in his. Your stomach sucked in and you suddenly got all nervous; that was a first. “Please…” He leaned in to kiss down your shoulder.

“Since you’ve asked so nicely” You grinned, hand resting on his abdomen, allowing yourself to be caught up in the whirlwind of his affections as he spread kisses down your neck and shoulders.

Nanami laid down completely on the bed, long torso extended all through the comforter. You didn’t even have the chance to remove your panties before being pulled over by the strength you didn’t even know your best friend had. The words stuck to the back of your throat as his starved, lusted look on his eyes didn’t go unnoticed, the confidence you got stripped away from in a moment of intimacy came back thundering like the heartbeat filling up your eardrums.

His flat tongue ran over your slit, collecting all your arousal to no avail as the action only brought more clear slickness to run down his chin. He hummed before lapping his tongue against your swollen clit, earning something that resembled a pleasurable shriek, his arms now holding you in place as he ate your pussy, a big smile on his face between the breaths he took while sucking your clit, eliciting the lewdest sounds out of you.

“Fuck, how are you so good at this?” You sighed, one of your hands traveling down to grip him by his hair. “Stay still” You commanded, before grinding his hips against his tongue displayed out for your pleasure. Your breathing quickened as the pace did, the familiar emptiness in the bottom of your stomach getting ready to explode and spread shivers throughout your whole body. “Hm! Kento, ‘gonna cum” Your grip tightened on those blonde strands of hair, his arms guiding your pace back to speed as you lost it yourself, the orgasm washing over you like the most violent wave in a turbulent sea.

For a second, the room stood still. It was just the two of you again, positions as you had when you first laid down, minus essential articles of clothing. And that moment still seemed so far away as your best friend had just finished giving you the best orgasm of your life.

Suddenly, the atmosphere changed when Kento kissed your thigh and propped himself against the headboard, cleaning the glistening juices running down his chin and cheeks. He licked his lips, tasting for one final time the delectable meal he just had, his heart leaping around his chest in a mixture of the thrill, lust, drunkenness, and the effects of the marihuana wearing off.

“Wanna play another game?” You suddenly brought him back to his consciousness. By the sounds of the party, probably around thirty minutes had only passed since one of his wildest dreams just came true, even though it felt like months he had his face stuffed between your thighs. He hummed in agreement, leading you to ask “Truth or dare?”

“Dare” He watched as you sat up and faced him, but there was a certain distance between the two of you that was killing him.

“I dare you to let me ride your dick” You looked at him so casually, but the words hit him like a truck. He blinked several times and looked around the room before his eyes landed on you, trying to realize if the molly was laced and this whole time he had been off his ass, hallucinating your glistening pussy muffling the moans of pleasure eating you out brought from the deepest parts of his body.

“If you don’t want to, it’s okay” You hummed, slipping off your ruined panties and the bra which your tits were already spilling out from. Your body now rested next to his, hot heavy breathing against his neck. He nodded, whining at the feather touch of your lips on his sweaty skin. “Hm? What was that? Use your words”

“Please, please ride my cock” The pleads made your cunt flutter, your hand sliding down his boxers, pumping his dick coated with precum. Nanami moaned, flustered from how touch-starved he was. “But… let me take you on a date after, okay?”

A genuine smile blossomed, feeling your stomach flutter, the sentiment running down your intestines “Sounds amazing… but not as much as those pretty, pretty moans' ' You sighed contently, slipping off the undergarment enough to free his cock, flushed tip leaking more and more clear stickiness by the minute. Hovering over him, Kento watched and felt how you rubbed him up your slit but never slipped inside, teasing the both of you.

Each time Kento tried to thrust into you, he pumped your hand, but it wasn’t enough. The heat your core was emanating from up close was driving him insane “Just— please, put it in, I can’t take it anymore”

“Can’t take it? Baby, we’ve just started” A laugh left your lips, a shining smile growing on your face. Nanami gave you a pleading look that softened your features, and you slowly lowered down his length, a tiny gasp coming from the back of your throat; the action squeezed out a moan of relief from the two of you.

“Y-you feel so good,” He said between gasps, surprised by the warm feeling. The high and drunkenness left his body in an instant, eyes focusing on your face. Eyes wide, chest heaving up and down as you rolled your hips, drawing out long and steady circles. His hands found themselves on your hips, helping you maintain the pace before you felt accustomed enough to start bouncing up and down.

The noises of the party were long forgotten after the pornographic mixture sounds filled the room. Your cunt was making obscene squelching sounds, harmonizing with the sounds of the sweaty skin coming in contact repeatedly. Head thrown back, tits bouncing beautifully, you were practically using his cock to get yourself off, pace thrown off by the feeling growing slow but stronger than earlier. There wasn’t a complaint floating around on his mind, or anything in that matter. Nanami’s head was far away from reality, just feeling how your pussy milked his cock so well drove him mad, to the point he didn’t think about anything but falling apart under you, tears filling the brim of his eyes.

“I’m— ‘m close” Kento slurred, struggling to form coherent words, hands digging into the skin on your hips. What was he supposed to do now? This was the first time he was without a condom and he usually just did what he was asked, whether it was pulling out, leaving it inside, and then checking the condom, or—

“Cum inside me” Your words brought his thoughts to a screeching halt. “You know I’m on the pill” When he looked up at you, you were deadly serious, staring directly at him with your eyes almost shooting hearts at him. “Please”

Nanami’s hands ran up your back to softly push your body to rest against his “I’m so glad you invited me here, by the way,” He whispered, looking at your beautiful face stained with somewhat smeared mascara.

“Yea?” You chuckled, moving your hips up and down as he started thrusting into you. “I’m just glad you don’t have three nipples”

“Yea” He nodded and kissed you tenderly, your chest resting against his. The tug of your hands on his hair sent him over the edge, the orgasm washing over the two before collapsing next to each other. Catching your breath and analyzing the situation, the effects of the substances you consumed aside, a shiver cursed your body as you realized: you fucked your best friend, and you actually loved it. The realization had hit Nanami midway, but you had a bit of a delayed response. This didn’t mean you didn’t think about it many times before, you were just a bit shocked by the power you had within yourself, more so over this man.

Still panting, you turned around to check the time. 1:35 AM. At the same time, a stomach grumbled next to you. You had forgotten how weed made Nanami oddly hungry. “It’s kinda late, I think the diner outside of campus is open, though” You sighed, turning around to find Kento hypnotized by the ropes of white leaking and rolling down your thighs. “Nanami-san?”

“Please let me cum inside again” He looked at you with glistening eyes. You stared back at him and started laughing, before rolling over to his side, holding his arm and running your finger up and down slowly. The motion made him feel at peace as he looked back at you.

“Take me out on that date first, dummy!”

taglist: @megumischubbycheeks

#im giving myself head after this im proud #nanami kento #jujutsu nanami #nanami smut #jjk nanami #nanami x y/n #nanami x you #nanami x reader #jujustu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #kento nanami #wrof collab 🍡#the film camera gets borrowed — 📸 colabs #the film camera snaps a pic — 📷 gee writes

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foodieforthoughts · 4 years ago

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Down in History

Summary: Your first award function with Henry as a couple.

Pairing: Henry x Reader

Word count: 1.3k

Warnings: Fluffy comfort

A/N: This is a birthday fic dedicated to the wonderful Lisa (@killjoy-assbutt-1112). Babe you deserve the world and here's to me trying to make your day a little brighter. Hope you enjoy and I'm sorry I'm a day late. 🙈

Also, thank you to @the-soot-sprite for helpful writing tips and @infinite-shite for listening to me talk about this. ❤️

Song inspo:

Title: Down in History

I looked out the window as hordes of paparazzi lined outside to snap a picture of their favorite celebs. The police tried to contain the crowd, failing miserably like I was failing to contain my growing anxiety.

Closing the curtains, I turned to the beautiful dress hanging on the mannequin. It was a gift from Henry for our first red carpet event tonight. I ran a hand lightly over the satin dress, feeling the silky fabric glid smoothly beneath my touch. The bodice was embroidered with silver crystals, glinting as the light caught in them.

I chewed on my bottom lip and wound my arms around my body. I was nervous beyond explanation. The media had dissected our relationship left, right and centre. They had scrutinized Henry for being with a girl who was nearly two decades younger than him, again.

"Miss," Maurice peered from behind the door, her cat-eyed glasses perched low on her nose. "We need to start getting ready." She informed and with a nod from me, she entered with her posse behind her.

I sat on the swirling chair they had placed in front of the mirror. While the ladies got to their work, I took the opportunity to look into my relationship with Henry.

As soon as our meetings became more frequent and the paps started getting more content, our faces started to appear on blogs and websites. My life became an open book with everyone trying to pull it apart piece by piece, commenting on things they had no business getting into. I had a fair idea about Henry's 19 year old ex-girlfriend and how much slack he had gotten for it. It was the sole reason why I was reluctant to officially date him even when he persistently asked for it.

After months of running into each other every day on our daily morning runs, Henry had finally stopped me for a chat one day. I had been a bubbling bundle of nerves when he had asked my name. The sexy Hollywood heartthrob seemed like he had planned on bumping into me that day for his questions seemed like he had memorized them. I wasn't the one to complain and when he had asked if I was free for coffee, I had agreed in a heartbeat.

"He's in the other room, miss. Maurice insisted that this room should be Female Central."

"Where's Henry?" I asked, turning slightly in my seat to look at our assistant sitting on a chair typing on her iPad. "I didn't see him since morning."

"Guilty." Maurice commented as she curled the ends of my hair to fall down my shoulder in waves. "Are you nervous?" She asked, talking to me through the reflection in the mirror.

"Very. I think I'll pass out even before I reach the red carpet."

She tapped lightly on my shoulder. "Don't worry. I heard Henry tell his friend he's not going to leave your side the entire night."

Despite all his efforts, I had once almost broken up with him. Henry had been away for filming and I had stayed back at his house. Somehow my location had gotten out to the public and I had been chased by the paps and fans, asking questions about Henry. I had locked myself in his house, too afraid to go out and when Henry was unavailable for calls because of the time difference, I had been a crying mess. In the heat of the moment, I had texted him that once he is back it is going to be over for us. After a long call later in the night, lots of crying and soothing, we had pulled through.

I felt a flutter in my heart.

Henry had been the most supportive boyfriend in the world. He had been with me through thick and thin, gently easing me in his life. He had promised me that whenever possible, he wouldn't let anyone harm my image in anyway. And he had rightfully held his promise. He had assigned PR representatives to look after my public image and gone as far as to make a big celeb gossip blog retract their article spreading personal information about my life.

Maurice eased me into my dress with the help of her assistants and started making the necessary adjustments to it. I stood with my arms out, looking at myself in the mirror and marveled at the image that looked back at me.

I worried about how people were going to perceive me tonight. They were going to complain how the dress had lost its charm because it was on me. Or they would comment how I look like Henry's child, like they always did. Or maybe this time they'll comment on the way my body was built.

My eyes welled up in tears and I sniffed, looking up and trying to not ruin the makeup. A knock on the door, distracted me from my inner turmoil. I waited for one of the ladies to open it and when they did, the sight in front of me nearly took my breath away.

Henry looked daper in a suit, made to perfectly fit his body. His eyes softened as he took notice of me and he entered through the door to walk towards me. "What's wrong baby?" He asked and took my hands in his.

Maurice and her assistants were done with their work on the dress and they quietly left the room to give us some privacy. I felt my lips tremble as the self doubt began clouding in my mind.

"I-I'm scared." I muttered. The welling tears in my eyes were threatening to fall down.

"But why? I'll be by your side the whole time. You don't have to worry about anything." He reassured me, walking me towards the bed and making me sit beside him.

"They are going to comment on our age," I mumbled quietly, twirling my fingers in a curl, refusing to look at him.

"I don't care, baby. And you shouldn't either. What's important is that we love each other and I accept you for who you are."

I weakly smiled at him as Henry kissed my cheek. The tears were threatening to fall but I managed to blink them away. He held my hand, gently circling his thumb over my skin in circles. I heard him sigh and run his free hand through his hair.

"What?" I asked, worried he had something running in his own mind.

"I was going to do this after the event, but-" He said before sliding down the bed and on his knee.

My mouth fell open, stunned at the turn of events. I stared at him wide eyed as Henry fished out a signature blue Tiffany&Co box from his pocket. He smiled sheepishly at me as I could only stare at him.

"Henry, what are you..."

"Baby, I love you. I have been searching for a person like you my whole life. I have never been happier before in my life. I don't care what people say, all I want is to spend the rest of my life with you." He pressed his lips, trying to breathe calmly. "Will you marry me, baby?"

Henry opened the box leaving me mesmerized by the beautiful double halo diamond ring sitting on the plush velvet cushion. But it wasn't the ring that made me cry, it was the love that seemed to be overflowing from within me for this man. I didn't care about the ruined makeup, nor the sobbing mess I was becoming.

I barely could nod a 'yes', before Henry with tears in his eyes smiled brightly up at me. He sat up and pulled me in for a hug as I wound my arms around his neck. He kissed my lips softly, before he pulled the ring out of its box. I bit my lip and watched as he slid the platinum band on my finger, overwhelmed by the rush of emotions as it sat snugly around my slim digit.

"Now, let's go to the event and let everyone know that you aren't just my girlfriend, but also my future wife." Henry said before kissing me until I couldn't breathe.

#Henry Cavill #Henry Cavill fanfic #Henry Cavill x reader #Henry Cavill rpf #Rpf #Lisa's birthday fic

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h0neyjaehyun · 4 years ago

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☁︎ 𝐀𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐥 𝐅𝐨𝐨𝐥𝐬 ☁︎

Summmary // The title is pretty self explanatory.

Characters // Talia Flores + Nct 2018

Era / Year // April 2018

Word Count //

Note // I got inspo from Multifandom-01 -Nct Nari also Chwe Boyoung on their second blog.

It was 2 days before April 1st, Tali always dreaded that day. Knowing Haechan will try to pull her in one if his pranks like he tried last year. She peaked out of Mark's room as she stayed the night at 127 dorm because of schedules. She scanned the hallways eyeing if she could see the maknae. She sighed in relief and walked out quietly to grab ice cream she has been craving.

She made it to the kitchen grabbed a spoon and her ice cream and climbed onto the counter. She smiled happily eating her ice cream.

"Bub?"

She froze, she knew who that was, the person she has been avoiding and he knew why. She turned as a smirk grew on his face. Tali groaned and her head went limp as she now has to face her demise.

"I finally have you alone, you've been avoiding me for the whole week and when you leave to get what? Ice cream, oh I should have known. Money never works on you but ice cream will." He shook his head in disappointment that he didn't think about that before. Tali pouted knowing that was true, ice cream is the way to her heart.

"What do you want Haechanie?" Tali sighed turning to him while he still has a smirk on his face.

"Well, I think we both know what I want. All I need you to do is agree." He mechiviously smiled, Tali eyed him not know where this is going.

"What is your plan Lee Haechan." He smiled even more grabbing something from his pocket and putting it on the counter top she was sitting on.

A pregnancy test that was positive. Tali's eyes went wide.

"Before you ask no, I didn't get anyone pregnant, this is a fake one I bought from the internet." He clarified before Tali could ask him questions. Tali groaned already knowing what he's about to ask her giving him a dirty look.

"Don't give me that look, just once pleaseeee~" He begged.

"I don't kno-"

"Pleaseeeee~" He whined moving the ice cream from her lap and replaced it with his head. He gave her puppy eyes and a pouty lip. Tali bit her lip and looked at the pregnancy test and looked back down at Haechan and sighed in defeat.

"Fine."

Haechan face lit up in excitement and hugged her. While Tali hugged him back rethinking her life choices.

"Thank you bub you will not regret this." He smiled at her, kissed her cheek as an apology as they both know she is gonna regret this and left skipping down the hall to his and Taeyong's room as they were sharing at the time.

Tali looked at her ice cream that was slowly melting, she pressed her lips together into a tight line already regretting her decision. She hopes they know its a prank, and not forget its April 1st. She sulked and picked at her ice cream and decided to call it a night. She cleans up and went back to Mark's room thinking she's doomed.

It was April 1, the day she had dreaded. She looked at her phone and groan as Mark raised her eyebrows at her as he was already awake next to her.

"What's with you?"

"Nothin just a bunch of work to turn in tonight."

"I thought you finished."

"I did but..." she turned to him pouty which he found adorble.

"I don't feel good about these beats or lyrics as I would the others, and I dont have time to test more things out." She said picking at her pillow while Mark sighed at her.

"Hey, they will like it, even if you don't, I'm sure its good." He ruffed her hair making it more messy than it is. Tali smiled at his attempt to make her feel better but thats not even why she is dreading her day. They got up and went to the kitchen where she met the others. She made eye contact with Haechan who quickly attached to her.

"Ready?" He smiled at her innocently. Tali sighed and grabbed the test and put it in her pocket and glared at him alittle. She was going to the bathroom when Taeyong called out for her.

"Tali where are you going?" Tali froze a little and turn to give him a soft smile.

"I need to use the bathroom thats all." He nodded and continued to do what he was doing. Tali held her breath and went in the bathroom. She put the test in the trash not completely hiding it but enough it looked like she attempted to. She flushed the toilet and looked at the mirror.

She huffed and she ran her hand through her hair. What has she gotten herself into, she washed her hands and left the bathroom to help Taeyong with the food.

For a good 30 minutes everything was fine. Normal, bickering here and there, Tali was enjoying the peace until she heard a thump in the bathroom. Her breath hitched and looked at the direction of the bathroom then side eyed Haechan who looked alittle too excited for her liking.

They heard foot steps come rapidly to the kitchen with a wide eyed WinWin with something in his hand. Tali stared at his hand while he stared at her.

"Whats wrong WinWin?" Doyoung asked getting up when he halted when WinWin held up a positive pregnancy test. Everyone's eyes went wide processing and connecting the dots and slowly turning to Tali while she had her mouth open as well.

"Hi?" She awkwardly smiled.

"Tali...is that yours?" Taeyong asked softly. She didn't know if it was from disbelief, not to scare her or to scare the members.

Tali slowly nodded.

"WHAT." Everyone yelled in unison, she started to be bombarded with questions.

"WAS IT FORCED?"

"DID YOU GIVE CONSENT?"

"HOW LONG HAVE YOU BEEN PREGNANT?"

"DID YOU EVEN USE PROTECTION?"

"I THOUGHT YOU WERE ON BIRTH CONTROL?!"

Everything was happening so fast. Haechan called the dreamies, WinWin texted Ten who was with Lucas, Kun and Jungwoo. She was moved to the living room sitting down with Taeyong holding her hand and Mark on the other side, then Haechan behind her. Everyone came in panicked while Tali was there spaced out.

Kun and Ten came in worried with Lucas and Jungwoo not knowing how to feel. Dreamies came in worried about their noona.

"ENOUGH!"

Everything went quiet as Doyoung catched their attention.

"Tali."

Tali looked up at Doyoung who had worried eyes.

"First question was it forced?" Tali rapidly shaked her head, and the guys sighed in relief but some were turning red at the thought of their female member doing the deed.

"Okay, second did you use protection?" Tali nodded as well.

"Well that didn't work." Chenle commented, Renjun slapped the back of his head.

"Tali most importantly." Tali looked at him nervous about his question.

"Whose the dad." Tali froze....oh no. Tali bit her lip and shaked her head. The guys looked at her surprised that she's not saying whose the dad.

"Tali its okay to tell us." Taeyong whispered rubbing her hand to comfort her.

"Don't worry we are not gonna kill him." Johnny reassured her.

"No promises." Yuta whispered, but Taeyong glared at him shuting him down. Tali bit her lip still not spilling. Lucas looked at Tali but then looked at Mark who was holding her hand, he seemed to be nervous....too nervous.

"Mark." Everyone's attention went to Mark and Mark's eyes went wide. In that moment Haechan wanted to laugh his ass off on how well this prank was going.

"What?"

"Mark." Mark turned to Doyoung scared even though he did nothing.

"Did you get Tali pregnant." In that moment Tali wanted to laugh she's not gonna lie. She could see the confusion and fear in Mark's face she felt bad but at the same time wanted to laugh.

"N-no."

"Lee Mark did you get her pregnant, did you sleep with Talia?" Johnny asked sternly, Mark looked at Tali and Tali looked back at Mark wide eyed.

"No not in that way, she just slept in my bed I slept with her, beside her I mean. I slept with her-"

"No Mark isn't the father and I didn't sleep with Mark." Tali cut Mark off before it can get worse for him. The sighed in relief since it would be a bad impression for the father not saying anything.

"So who the fuck is the father?" Ten asked now confused because the only bed they know she has been is Mark's and hers.....but thats not true.

"Tali, where were you last weekend?" Ten asked, he recalled Tali going out with friends last weekend for one of their birthdays. The members started recalling too.

"Tali is one of your friends the father?."

"Ha no." She found it amusing they thought she would sleep with them right now, she has slept with atleast one yeah but she hasn't since.

"Then who Tali?" Kun asked getting kind of frustrated. Renjun looked around scanning the room and remembered something and looked at Jaemin. Him and Jaemin made eye contact and Jaemin went wide eyed and shook his head. Renjun didn't buy it.

"YA, Na Jaemin did you put a baby in Talia?" Renjun asked flabbergasted. The members remember the recent events, and the could possibly be true. Taeyong fully turned to Jaemin while Talia went eyes wide again looking at Haechan who was now smirking a little.

"Ah no, no I would already have claimed the child." Jaemin said defending himself. The member nodded but still keeping an eye on him.

"Tali whose the dad?" Yuta now demanding. Tali gulped, not knowing if she should reveal if it was a prank or not. Jaemin now also scanning the room to see Haechan having a hand on her shoulder. He looked at his face closely observing it. He can see him holding back a smile or some sort of grin.

"Lee Haechan!" Jaemin pointed at him accusingly. Haechan turned and went wide eyed. Then pointed at himself for clarification and Jaemin nodded.

"Did you do it, Ive seen you clinging on Tali a lot. Kissing her cheeks, like me but a lot more clingy." He accused Haechan. At this point it could be literally anyone. Everyone has secrets, no one shouts out I've had sex, or who they have a crush on, so it could literally be anyone in the industry or local.

Johnny looked at Jaehyun and raised an eyebrow at him. Jaehyun noticed and shook his head a little.

"If I had sex with her, or anyone I would have told you. I always tell you!" Jaehyun whispered aggressively to Johnny, Johnny held a laugh as it was true.

"So Haechan was it you, because obviously Tali isn't gonna say anything." Kun said in an obvious tone. Haechan bit his lip and a nervous laugh came through. Everyone went wide eyed.

"LEE HAECHAN YOU GOT TALI PREGNANT." Taeyong yelled out no where. The members looked at him in surprise. Haechan ran to the kitchen while Taeyong ran after him and Jaemin and Renjun followed behind also wanting to hit Haechan for being a imbecel.

Tali looked at the other and nervously chuckled which catched their attention.

"Ha, um April Fools?"

Everything felt like time stopped.

"What."

Tali looked around and gave a nervous smile. All the members grabbed their phones and checked the date.

April 1st

"Are you fucking kidding me." Doyoung hanged his head and put a hand on his heart.

"This was a prank?" WinWin asked still surprised.

"Yeah, the pregnancy test is fake, Haechan ordered it off the internet." Tali smiled apologetically.

"So Haechan put you up to this?" Ten asked, looking like he was about to kick Haechan's butt.

"Yeah, he cornered me in the kitchen while I was enjoying my ice cream." Tali nodding remembering the night. All she wanted was to eat her ice cream.

She heard Haechan yelling in pain while Taeyong, Jaemin, and Renjun pulled him back to the living room.

"Lee Haechan, just try to be a good father." Renjun pleaded while shaking Haechan's shoulders.

"Guys, good news its a prank, April fools." Johnny nodded his head questioning his life choices. Taeyong, Renjun and Jaemin looked at Tali wide eyed.

"Yeah, but I was forced." She added point at the boy who just got done being pinched. They looked back at him annoyed.

"Ha, April fools." He did jazz hands while smiling awkwardly.

"Ah nope you are doing the dishes for a 2 weeks for that scare and Tali." Taeyong turned to her with a sorry face.

"You have a phone call." Tali was confused, then she heard ringing. She got out her phone to see 'Christopher' she closed her eyes.

"Which one of you guys told this man I was pregnant?" Johnny slowly raised his hand, Tali looked at him like are you dumb face. She took another deep breathe.

"Hell-"

"Ive met bread smarter than you."

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lookforanewangle · 3 years ago

Text

sweet child o’ mine || spn || 2.5k || ao3

tags: canon typical mentions of violence from the slice girls, brief mention of blood

a/n: throwing this out into the void before I inevitably get sucked back into dc stuff tomorrow, so. here you go: a quick bundle of scenes of dean and emma, and a little deancas, and a little dean and jack. takes place around a year?? after the end of s15 (minus the finale because we don't accept that as canon in this household) title is from, you guessed it, sweet child o’ mine by guns n’ roses.

also! brief mention of the leviathan takes inspo from @/demenior’s fic series the love it takes which you all should go read asap 👀

Emma shows back up on a Tuesday.

The scuffle from the direction of the War Room draws Dean’s attention away from the long list of house listings he and Cas have been going through. Find a Fixer-Upper, Cas had said. We can make it our own. Dean was all for that, but finding their house, thee house, was taking longer than he’d like.

He thought nothing of the noise at first; Eileen may have come over or Sam may have been moving around artifacts again, or maybe Cas was back from the Farmer’s Market.

At Sam’s sudden shout, however, Dean goes running.

He whirls around the corner, gun whipping up to aim at whatever threat lay ahead. Sam is on his knees, blood dripping from his nose, and there’s a girl holding a blade to his throat. There’s something familiar about her, but Dean can’t place it. He doesn’t waver in his stance.

“Who the hell are you,” he demands, “and how did you—”

Dean falters, then, memories flooding back from a one-off hunt years ago. A one night stand, a sudden surprise. He pales as her face finally clicks.

That's his daughter.

“Not another step,” she snarls, fingers fisting tight in Sam’s jacket to hold him in place. Sam shifts his hand towards his pocket, and Dean pulls himself back to the present. He moves his supporting hand away from the gun and up to the side, placating, as he slowly lowers the gun to the ground.

“Woah, no no no, hey, no one’s gonna hurt anyone,” he rushes gently, catching Sam’s gaze with a look. Don’t. He turns his gaze back to hers and sets the gun on the floor. “I’m putting the gun down. Just let him go.”

“He killed me!” she spits, blade pressing deeper against Sam’s neck. “I can still remember the look on his face, and you had a gun on me too.”

“I know,” Dean says, chest twinging at the memory, “and I regret how I acted, Emma. It’s— it’s Emma, right?”

At the mention of her name, her fingers loosen on the knife and she inhales sharp and quiet. Dean takes that as a promising sign. He exhales.

“You...you remember?” she breathes. Dean can only nod.

“If I could go back and change that day I would,” he says. He risks a half step forward. Emma straightens and retightens her fingers.

“Don’t,” she warns.

“Emma,” he says, hands still up and placating. He fights not to lunge forward and tear the knife from her grip. He takes a breath. “Please. Let him go.”

“And why should I?” she demands. “So he can kill me again?”

Sam wisely stays silent.

“He won’t, I promise you. He was pretty messed up the last time you saw him. We both were, really. But I need you to trust me,” Dean pleads. “We...we’ve changed. I know you won’t believe that, but it’s true.”

Emma says nothing, but she gazes at him intently, as if looking for the truth behind his words. Dean slowly lowers a hand out to her, facing up.

“Just give me the knife,” he continues, palm open and waiting, patient. “Please.”

She searches his face a moment more. Dean waits.

“Fine,” she says finally, and Dean can hear the tremor in her voice. She shoves the dagger hilt into Dean’s palm.

“Thank you,” Dean says, soft.

He closes his fingers around it and moves it away, placing it on the map table. Sam stands and steps out of reach, coming to a rest just to the side and behind Dean. Dean and Emma just look at each other, assessing.

"Sam, why don't you go see if Cas is back," Dean says. There's a pause. Dean can feel Sam leveling him with a look.

"You sure?"

"Yeah," Dean says and spares him a quick glance and a nod. "Go on."

"All right," Sam says, hesitant. He glances between them, unsure, but he leaves them be.

"Take a seat," Dean says once Sam is out of earshot. He lowers himself into his own chair, hoping she’ll follow suit. "We have a lot to catch you up on."

“Where the hell am I?” Emma bursts, hands fisted at her sides. She doesn't sit. “What even is this place?”

“Home,” Dean says, lips quirking for a moment. He can hear the tell-tale flutter of Cas’s wings in the kitchen, arriving back from the farmer’s market, the low timbre of Sam’s voice as he speaks with him. Dean’s fingers itch for Cas, restless and wanting.

“You’re home.”

“You’re locking me up?”

“Listen, kid, I'd rather not do this, either, but you did try and kill us last time you saw us. And again today,” Dean says matter-of-factly, leaning against the doorway, arms crossed.

“I was ordered to slaughter you, and return with your hands and feet,” she says.

“Well, that’s gruesome,” Dean says.

“I didn’t have a choice,” she whispers, glaring at the room as if it’s a prison sentence. She doesn’t take a step forward.

“You always have a choice,” Dean counters, insistent. “Maybe not then, but you do now. We made sure of that.”

Her brows furrow in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“We...might have killed God,” he confesses, shrugging helplessly. “He was a dick.”

She stares at him.

“You killed...God.”

“Yup,” he says, popping the ‘p.’ “It was a whole thing. Don’t worry about it.”

They stand in silence, glancing looks at one another in turn. Emma doesn’t step into the room. Dean doesn’t push. When he was younger, he may have forced her in against her will, locking the door behind him until morning and walking away from her desperate pleas to let her out. He’s grown, though. Changed. They’ve all changed, him more than most. His dad’s voice still rages in his head from time to time on the worst days, about how he’s grown soft, and wouldn’t last a day in the field.

But he’s made it this far. Their little rag tag group has beaten every adversary they’ve come across, even God, and over time they’ve all grown. They’re family.

Emma, however briefly they’ve known her so far, is family. Or she will be, if she wants to be.

Dean sighs, and strides in alone.

“Change of plans,” he says, tugging on the corner of the mattress. Emma watches him from the doorway, confused. “Help me with this, would you?”

“I don’t like this plan,” Cas says with a grumble after dinner, eyes squinted in distrust as he watches Emma from the far side of the doorway. She’s perched at Dean’s desk, flipping through the various papers and books with mild curiosity.

“I'm not locking her up, Cas,” Dean murmurs, chest panging. “We didn’t do right by her the first time around, and I’m not going to treat her like we did before. We’ve learned since then, and I’m— I’m not—”

“Dean,” Cas interrupts, reaching out to grip his fingers. Dean squeezes back. “I trust you. If you think it best, then we’ll go with it. But I will be listening in case anything goes wrong.”

Dean’s chest warms.

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he answers with a smile, leaning over to peck Cas’s cheek. Cas’s free hand drifts upwards, catching Dean’s jaw to tilt him down into a full kiss. Dean hums.

“Love you,” he murmurs against Cas’s lips. Cas mimics his response as he presses his nose to Dean’s and vanishes in a flutter of wings. Dean opens his eyes to Emma’s face screwed up in disgust, cringing in the chair.

“What,” he asks, challenging.

“Gross,” she comments. “Why do you kiss if you’re incapable of copulating?”

Big words for a...shit how old is she? Dean muses, brain stalling out. One? Two? How many years is that in Amazon years?

“Because we’re in love, kiddo,” he says finally, shutting the door behind him and collapsing onto his bed with a sigh. Sam will be by to lock it before bed.

“Gross.”

Dean just laughs.

“Are...are you awake?” Emma whispers into the dark, hours later. Dean shifts, turning his head towards her voice up on the bed. He refused to let her sleep on the floor, regardless of the fact they’d both be on a mattress. She doesn’t have memory foam. She deserved to experience it at least once.

“Yup,” Dean whispers back.

“Oh,” she breathes. She pauses. “I, um. I’m hungry, I think.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes,” she answers, hesitant. “Sorry. I know it’s bad timing.”

“Nothin’ to worry about,” Dean answers, raising himself onto his elbows to find her. She’s sat up against the headboard, knees pulled to her chest. She looks so young.

Dean’s chest pangs.

“Luckily for you,” he continues, standing and heading to his desk, “I happen to be one of the best at picking locks.”

He rifles around in the top drawer for a moment. Eventually he finds what he’s looking for and turns around with a smile, lock picks in hand.

“Have you had those the whole time?” she asks, not moving from her spot on the bed. Dean shrugs.

“Didn’t want to give you the chance to do something you may regret,” he answers. “Clearly that wasn’t something we needed to worry about though, unless you’re faking right now?” he asks, eyebrow raised in suspicion.

“No.”

“Well, good on that then,” Dean answers. He waves the lockpicks in his hand.

“Ever been on a jailbreak?”

“I saw you once,” she says over a bowl of strawberry ice cream, “in Purgatory.”

“Oh,” Dean says, memories flooding back of the horrors from that long, long year. He tries to remember ever spotting a young girl in the vast, grey-colored woods. “I never saw you.”

“Good,” she says, corner of her mouth lifting up in tired amusement. “You weren’t supposed to.

“I got very good at hiding,” she continues, stirring the melted soup of her ice cream around her bowl. “I may have been bred for fighting, but some monsters are... too much for one girl to handle.”

“I, uh. I know what you mean,” Dean answers, setting down his spoon as his stomach churns at the thought of her scared and alone in Purgatory of all places. He’d seen how terrifying some of those monsters could be, the sheer magnitude of the Leviathan in particular. He’d had Benny, at least, and eventually Cas, but her on her own…

“Were you on your own the whole time?” he asks carefully. She doesn’t lift her gaze from her bowl. Dean waits.

“For the most part...yes,” she answers. “Making friends in Purgatory is, um.”

“I know,” Dean rasps. They sit in silence. Dean’s not hungry anymore.

“There were other Amazons,” she says after a while. Dean glances back up. She carefully doesn’t look at him, stirring her ice cream around and around her bowl. “We didn’t necessarily see eye to eye.”

Dean doesn't know what to say to that.

“I don’t want to be like them,” she says in a rush. She clamps her mouth shut, eyes wide with terror in her gaze, as if Dean would react poorly to her statement. Something about her fear strikes a nerve in him, reminds him too much of a little boy trying with all his might to please his father.

Dean wants to go kill a few more Amazons.

“You don’t have to be,” he reassures her. He reaches out and places a comforting hand on her wrist. She flinches at the contact, but doesn’t pull away. Dean holds. “Emma, you can be whoever you want to be. Family shouldn’t dictate who you decide to be.”

“Wasn’t your father a hunter?” she asks, wary.

“He started hunting when I was little,” Dean answers carefully, “and raised me into that. Just like you, I didn’t have a choice, then. But things have changed. They’re complicated, for sure, but I— I am not my father. You don’t have to be like your mother or sisters. Or, uh, like me either,” he says. He rubs his free hand across the back of his neck, self-conscious. He clears his throat.

“The point is,” he continues, “is that whatever you want to do and whoever you want to be is entirely up to you. You’re welcome to stay in the Bunker, if you’d like, or uh, head out on your own, I guess, if that’s what you want. I don’t want to keep you trapped here. We’re gonna get you a phone first, though, if you decide to leave. You may have shot up like a weed, but you’re still a kid, just like Jack.”

“Jack?”

“Long story,” Dean says, waving his hand as if shooing away the conversation, “you can meet him later. I just. I don’t want you to be alone, again. Not when you don’t have to be.”

“I’d like that,” she says, slow and careful, mulling over her words, “to...to stay here, I think. At least for a while.”

“Yeah?” Dean asks, stress sliding away. “We’re a pretty rag-tag group of fellas. Though Eileen comes by often; you’d like her, I’m sure.”

“Yeah,” she answers with a shy smile. “Yeah, that would be nice.”

She ends up in the room just down the hall from Dean. He takes her shopping the next day, much to Sam’s hesitation, but Cas only offers a knowing smile and turns back to his crossword of the day. Dean figures Cas been where Dean is now, both with Claire and Jack, to an extent. He’s gone through many similar struggles.

Now it’s Dean’s turn.

Jack confesses to being the one to bring her back.

“Almost everyone else from our family got a second chance,” he explains when Dean finally corners him later, bribing with peanut butter cookies, “I figured she should get one too, even if you barely knew her.”

“That was sweet of you, Jack,” Cas says from over Dean’s shoulder, hand slipping beneath Dean’s jacket to rest comfortingly at the small of his back. Dean leans into the gesture.

“It was,” Dean agrees. “Thank you, Jack.”

Jack beams.

When they find their fixer-upper, Dean triple-checks that there are enough rooms for everyone. One for him and Cas, one for Jack, one for Claire, one for Sam and Eileen whenever they come to visit—

And one for Emma.

She disappears for a while a month into staying with them, heading out with Claire to help figure herself out. It’s not until her first hunt (against Dean’s best wishes) where she kills for the first time that her rapid aging kicks in. She settles somewhere in the mid-twenties range; Dean doesn’t know for sure. It’s a bit too reminiscent of Jack, but they’re all used to weird magic things by now, and no one questions it.

She leaves often, these days, coming into her own over time, but Dean is proud of who she’s grown into the past few years since Jack brought her back.

She always returns home, though, and Dean welcomes her with open arms every time.

***

tagging a lovely emmanatural advocate: @borntodiedean

if you’d like to be tagged, just lmk! <3

#emma winchester #emma supernatural #spn #dean winchester #castiel #destiel #deancas #spn fics #supernatural #supernatural fics #emma spn #lyss writes #take it I don't wanna look at it anymore #I need to read more emma fics so I can get a better grasp on her but I think I did pretty okay here #idk lemme know what you thought!!

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bopbopstyles · 4 years ago

Photo

ROSE COLORED GLASSES: By Your Side (an extra)

SERIES RATING: R (cursing, smoking, alcohol use, violence, PTSD, and sex)

WORD COUNT: 8.3k

CATEGORIES: boxer!Harry, gang/mob!Harry, 1920s!Harry, Peaky Blinders!Harry (?)

As the daughter of the most powerful man in Birmingham, there were expectations of Cicely King: an advantageous marriage to save her father’s business, for one. But Cicely had never been one to follow orders. So when she woke up after an accident in the home of Harry Styles, the illusive boxer, she took it as an opportunity to escape her life. What she didn’t intend on was falling in love with him.

MASTERLIST | INSPO TAG | SERIES MASTERLIST

a/n: hello i am back with more RCG, my children, my loves, my everythings. i got a request for a wedding blurb and these two immediately came to mind. enjoy peak softness, some smut, and just general big RCG energy. this is an extra, set months after the end of part two. enjoy some Hicely and come talk to me in my inbox about them!

pls reblog and share with your friends 💕✨

Harry could hardly hold it together.

The church pews in front of him were full with their neighbors and a few people from Cicely’s life before they had met, but by and large it was the people they had met since she had found him. Wide-brimmed hats and plenty of color, everyone in their Sunday best for a wedding between the infamous Harry Styles and his beloved Cicely. But it wasn’t the people that had Harry’s heart pounding.

It was the fact that he was about to marry the love of his life.

Harry had never really believed in fate—not after he had lost so many people, after he had been dealt bout after bout of pain. But then he found Cicely on a road in the middle of a thunderstorm and fell in love, and suddenly fate was the only thing that could’ve possibly explained it. How he had fallen in love in a matter of days, how he had let her in as he had never let anyone in before, how she matched his every trait and complemented him perfectly. Soothed him in his darkest moments, challenged him when he deserved it, pushed him when he needed it, and loved him every second of every day. Walking out of the ring and into her arms was a kind of peace he had never known; waking up to her body curved against his quieted his mind in the ways he never knew he needed.

And now she was about to be his for the rest of time.

He shifted from foot to foot, wiping his sweaty palms on the heavy material of his black suit jacket. Josiah had bought it for him—claimed it was his wedding gift to the couple, making sure Harry had a nice suit. It was the nicest piece of clothing he owned, tailored to perfectly fit the cut of his body and one look at it showed how expensive it was.

Frankly, he felt uncomfortable in it.

“Harry.” He turned his head to where Jack stood, his best man, flanked by Josiah and Tommy. “Stop worrying, you look like you don’t want to be here.”

“I just hate fuckin’ waiting,” Harry said under his breath. “Didn’t think I’d have to stand up here with all these people starin’ at me.”

Jack gave him a look of sympathy and understanding. “She’ll be here soon.”

As if right on cue, the music started up, the church organist playing from their corner as they did every Sunday. Except this time, it was for Harry and Cicely. Then, the doors to the room pushed open, and Harry felt his breath catch, the rays of the Saturday afternoon light streaming in the stained glass windows as Pippa stepped into the chapel, tossing rose petals onto the aisle way. It had been one of Cicely’s few requests for the wedding—that Pippa be their flower girl and Clarence their ring bearer, her affection for the neighbor children evident.

The little girl walked down the aisle grinning ear to ear as she dropped petals on a slow interval, soft coos from the audience at the sight of her pale purple dress that Josiah had purchased for her, wanting her to have a nice new dress for the wedding of his close friend. Behind her entered Clarence in a suit that was slightly too big on him, but held room to be grown into, also a gift from Josiah. His eyes were on the floor in front of him, as if he was nervous that he was going to trip on the tile.

Finally, the love of Harry’s life entered the room in a cloud of white and sunshine.

Her white satin dress glinted under the mid-afternoon rays, the floor-length material gathered at her side, a dip at the neckline that hinted at the cleavage Harry had run his fingers along the outline of only the previous day. A white cap sat on her head, the perfectly curled curves of her blond hair peeking out from underneath, and a long white see-through and embroidered train falling to the ground as she moved towards her. Long sleeves gathered at her wrists, where her dainty hands held a large bouquet of flowers, ones picked out by her mother, who stood at Cicely’s side.

In the months since Cicely had returned to Harry, she and her father hadn’t reconciled, but she had faithfully sent letters to her mother to keep her updated on her life. She had sent her an announcement for the wedding and her mother had replied saying she would attend, and asked to help plan. Through the process, she had demonstrated how much she loved her daughter, and when Cicely asked her to walk her down the aisle in the place of William, her mother cried. Now, she stood next to her daughter in a deep purple dress, a smile of joy and pride on her face as she guided Cicely down the aisle towards Harry.

Harry didn’t know if he had every seen someone more breath-taking than Cicely in this moment.

Well, she always took his breath away, but her she was in her wedding dress walking towards him with that wide smile that was reserved only for him, her brown eyes glowing with joy under the bright light of the room. His eyes trailed down her figure, taking in the sight of her and memorizing every curve of the material and the sight in front of him because he never wanted to forget what she looked like on the day she married him.

To even have a woman as magnificent as she was marrying him felt like his life’s work accomplished. He could never be more proud than he was to be her husband, because there was not a single title that meant more to him. No matter how many matches he won, nothing could ever top marrying her. Despite the fact that a year ago he hadn’t even known her, it felt as if he had been waiting for this moment for his entire life.

And now that it was here Harry couldn’t believe how lucky he was to have Cicely King walking up an aisle to become his for the rest of time.

Distantly, he heard the organ playing in the background as she reached the front of the chapel, her mother helping her adjust her veil around her. Her hands were covered in silk white gloves that when up her forearms, and then she finally stood within arm’s reach, he couldn’t resist immediately grabbing hold of them, desperate to touch her even if it was through fabric. She was beaming at him, and when her thumb brushed over his knuckles, his heart clenched. He couldn’t find the words to describe this moment, the sight of her in front of him, about to marry him.

But then he did. He found the words when he repeated his vows, his gaze never breaking hers. “I, Harry Styles, take thee, Cicely King, to be my wedded wife, to have and to hold,” the word wife falling off his tongue like butter, a term meant to be there. “From this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do us part, according to God's holy ordinance; and thereto I pledge myself to you.”

He saw the tears at the corner of her eyes and admittedly, there were a few in his as well. He wondered if she could feel the way his hands shook ever so slightly as he said the words, his voice cracking a bit as he said “I pledge myself to you.” They had been able to choose between pledging their faiths to one another and pledging themselves to one another, and for Harry it was an easy choice.

She was his life. There was nothing else in the world he was loyal too besides her. The church, the country, the King, not even Josiah—none of them were more worthy of his life than she was.

The chapel was quiet when Cicely began to speak, the sound of her soft and loving tone filling his body as she recited her vows. “I, Cicely King, take thee, Harry Styles, to be my wedded husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do us part, according to God’s holy ordinance; and thereto I pledge myself to you.”

Her blog hair curled into her face and Harry resisted the urge to reach up and push it behind her ear, the light blush on her cheeks making him break into an even wider smile. He didn’t think he had ever smiled this much—he didn’t smile very much before Cicely. But she made him laugh when she woke him up in the morning with kisses on his cheeks, smile when she walked up behind him and hugged him tight, grin when he saw her walking towards him with books she’d bought and wanted to share with him. Just simply being around her made him want to constantly be smiling.

Next to him, he heard the priest introduce the ring exchange, and Clarence moved towards where he and Cicely stood, presenting the simple wedding bands they had picked out. Cicely had been the one who insisted on their simplicity, telling Harry as they laid in bed one morning that it didn’t matter how expensive the rings were, it was what they represented that mattered to her. Told him that she had spent her life caring about people’s perceptions of herself and she didn’t care anymore—she wanted a ring that was hers and was from him, and that was all.

And that was how she had ended up with the engagement ring she wore now, and the thin band he now held in his palm as he recited the words to the ring exchange. “With this ring,” he said, taking in the sight of her looking at him with nothing but love in her eyes, “I thee wed.” He slipped the ring over the silk glove on her hand, the metal nestling between the folds of the silk, fitting her just as well as the glove she wore.

Then, Cicely picked up Harry’s ring and he saw it for the first time—a wide silver band, and when she turned it slightly he saw an inscription glint on the inside. She had gotten an inscription on it, he thought to himself as she held it in her palm. For some reason, that thought made his chest tighten, and it only got tighter when she began to speak. “With this ring,” she said, rotating his hand so it was aligned with the ring, “I thee wed.”

It felt no heavier in weight than the other rings he wore, but the meaning behind it made it more precious than the other metals he wore. The fact that it was what represented his bond to her made him vow immediately to never take it off unless he was fighting, to wear it with pride for the rest of his life.

With their hands clasped, the priest pronounced them husband and wife, and Harry’s love chuckled softly when the words You may now kiss the bride were spoken. Harry had never moved fasted in his life, not caring who surrounded him—he slipped his hand to her waist and tugged her into his chest, desperate to feel her body against him. His home, his love, his life, everything in the world that mattered existed in the body of a single person: her.

The sound of her giggle when his lips met hers made it all the more perfect. The taste of her lipstick and her mid-day tea, the scent of her perfume that had imprinted itself in his mind. When he kissed her, nothing else mattered—she was his, finally.

As they pulled away, just an innocent and chaste kiss unlike the ones they usually shared, Cicely pressed her fingertips to his cheekbones, brushing softly against his skin. She was all he could see, her features filling his faze, and he had never seen a more stunning sight. The joy in her expression overwhelmed him—how could he make another person feel that way? How could he make her feel that level of happiness? How could he be the reason for the smile that was so wide it blinded him?

It boggled his mind, but when she kissed his lips softly, one more time, a chuckle rising from his best man, he knew why: because she loved him just as much as he loved her. There wasn’t a soul on the earth who could illicit an emotion that would surpass the feeling that rested in both of their chest as they stood in the chapel. They were meant for one another, crafted and sculpted to fit each other’s nooks and crannies, designed to match.

A cheer rose up from the crowd—one he knew originated from Josiah’s men who were too rowdy to keep themselves together any longer than they had to, but he didn’t mind. It made Cicely laugh, and that sound was one Harry would’ve fought in another war just to hear one more time.

“Did we just get married?” Cicely asked him, just loud enough so he could hear it, her fingers intertwining with his as they turned to face the crowd.

“I think so,” he answered, squeezing her palm in his. “How do ya feel, Mrs. Styles?”

The corners of her lips turned up and she pressed her arm closer to his. “Happier than ever before.”

After the ceremony, there was at the pub, the first one Josiah ever bought and where the beer was always free for Harry, and by extension, Cicely. They closed the place down for the night and the barkeep was constantly carrying pints around the place, the barmaid laughing and handing drunken men and women their beers from across the bar. In the corner of the room, sat Harry and Cicely in the booth, his arm slung around her shoulders and a rare grin on his face.

They had decided to leave on their honeymoon the following morning—they wanted to celebrate with their friends. Friends who had become their family, who had protected and fought for them every step of the way. They would have plenty of honeymoons if Harry had it his way, the memory of their time along the sea one of the brightest days of his life. It paled only in comparison to this day, the day when he married his love.

Cicely still wore her wedding dress, mainly because Harry refused to let her change, and her fingers crawled up the material of his pants stretched tight across his thighs. “Our friends are menaces,” she said under her breath and Harry snorted in response.

It was a sound she rarely heard outside of the comfort of their home. This Harry was the one she had pulled from his shell, the one who laughed and smiled and tickled her until she swatted at him to stop. To experience him like this out in public meant something, even if only Cicely knew it. It meant he didn’t feel like he had to hide anymore or pretend. That he could simply live for the first time in a very long time.

“I want another pint,” she told him, pressing the pads of her index and middle finger into the inside of his thigh, earning her a wide-eyed glance from Harry.

“Do ya now?” He replied, rotating his upper body ever so slightly, just enough so that he could face her full-on. “When I met you, you’d never even had one before, and now you’re askin’ me for another.”

He shook his head and Cicely leaned in slightly, the drunken haze of her mind letting the barrier she usually kept up between them in public falling. “I was corrupted, I suppose.”

His eyebrows lifted at her words, surprised to hear his normally innocent girl say such a thing. “Were ya now? And who by?”

“A man,” she answered, running her fingertips along the seam of his pants. “A man with bloody knuckles and a soft touch.”

Even though she meant it to be tantalizing, Harry couldn’t help the tug the words had on his heart. He had always feared what he did for a living would scare away the most precious thing in the world, but she managed to find his humanity amidst all of the pain he caused. “That man must be quite lucky,” he told her with measured breath, his hand heavy on her shoulder, “to have the honor of touching you.”

Cicely’s eyes didn’t leave his as her hand crept to his knee, running her finger in a circle along the inside. Harry gulped at the pressure and watched her closely as she leaned in, closing the space between them. “He is,” she said, “but he’s not doing it nearly enough right now.”

Just as he was about to respond, a glass slammed down onto the table and he looked up to see Tommy standing there, grinning ear to ear. “The newlyweds!” He said, spreading one arm out. “To Mr. and Mrs. Styles!” He raised his pint and the entire pub cheered, echoing his words as they took a drink.

Cicely had the wherewithal to smile and wave, but Harry was too distracted by what she had said. Suddenly, it felt like his purpose in life was to touch her, to feel her skin against his. And she was wearing too much fabric—the long sleeves, the gloves, the long skirt. He couldn’t see her in the way he needed, and the need was something carnal inside of him. The desire to touch his wife.

His wife.

“You’re my wife,” he said out of the blue, drawing her attention back to him.

“Pardon?” Perhaps she couldn’t hear him over the boisterous singing that had taken over the pub, but Harry couldn’t hear anything bu her.

“You’re my wife.” When he said the words he ran his thumb across her cheek, from the apple of it to her ear, before sweeping his digit down to the hinge of her jaw and the slope of her neck. “My wife.” He said in a whisper, as if in awe with the concept, the reality of it settling in for the first time.

Reflexively, she leaned into his palm, resting her head in his touch. “My husband,” she answered. “I can’t quite believe it.”

The smile he gave her was soft, the edges of his mouth curving upwards only barely, but the real smile was in his eyes. The sea of green that she swam in every moment of her life, the edges of his irises that she bathed in in her dreams. “Will it feel more real in the mornin’?”

“I don’t know,” she told him, because she didn’t. She didn’t know what the morning would hold for them, other than a train ride to a cottage where they were staying for a fortnight. “Perhaps.”

Gently, he rested his forehead against hers. “I don’t think it’ll ever feel real,” he whispered. “I can barely even process that you’re real sometimes, much less that you’re mine.”

This was something they battled constantly—the fact that Harry constantly feared losing her. It had happened once and neither of them wanted it to happen again, but for Harry it was his darkest nightmare, the one that rattled him to his core. Sometimes, they bled into the daytime and he struggled with the concept that she was truly there with him, that she wasn’t a figment of his imagination or an angel come to take him away.

Cicely had grown used to it, though, as much as it hurt her. She was used to his requests to remind him and she did so gladly, reciting their story in the darkness and the light, no matter what time of day he needed it. Sometimes he would call her on the telephone he had gotten installed so she could speak to her mother, and he would beg her in a broken tone to remind him, to remind him of reality. He’d call from the boxing ring, breathless and mind whirling, struggling to piece it all together and she’d help him. She didn’t mind. She only wished that one day he would understand that she felt just as lucky to have him as he did her. That he was just as precious to her, that she would fight for him for the rest of her days, that he was worthy of every second of joy they experienced. It broke her to see him in pain, and sometimes he struggled to understand that—that she loved him just as deeply as he loved her.

To remind him on this occasion, she lifted her hands to cup his face, and pressed a soft, chaste kiss to his lips. “Just as you are mine, my love.” Her fingers combed through his hair, the locks that she kept cropped to his preferred length. “And I will love you for the rest of my days.”

The pub around them continued to celebrate their union as the happy couple existed in their bubble, impenetrable from the love and adoration flowing between them. Cheers and song lasted well into the night, until the beer nearly ran out and Jack finally forced everyone out, the sounds of joy spilling into the narrow streets of Balsall Heath. The place where two people fell in love, despite who they were and the barriers that stood in their way.

The place where Harry and Cicely fell in love.

Josiah demanded that Harry and Cicely let one of his men drive them home, saying that newlyweds didn’t walk home after the pub. So instead they ended up getting dropped off at Harry’s home, the black car pulling away from the curb and leaving them alone in the dark, quiet night. They still lived in the same home, the same green-wallpaper and small kitchen, but Cicely had made a few updates.

“C’mere,” Harry said, wrapping his arm around her waist and tugging her body into his.

“What are you doing?” She said in a harsh whisper when he picked her up, her legs draped over one arm and the other tightly gripping her upper body.

“What does it look like?” He asked, unlocking the door and pushing it open. “‘M carryin’ my wife across the threshold.”

Cicely giggled as he stepped inside, crossing the threshold that they had each crossed an innumerable amount of times, but for some reason it felt different. It felt different between Cicely’s white wedding dress hung from her body as he set her on her feet, and she held the her veil in her hands so it didn’t drag along the floor. It felt different because when Harry’s hand pressed into her back, there was a new ring present on his fingers—one that she had placed there.

Inside, the home was still Harry’s, but by this point it was Cicely’s as well. Photographs sat on the hall table, ones of the two of them—one from a horserace they’d gone to, Cicely laughing into Harry’s chest as he held her, another of them at the sea. She’d even put up one of her and her mother in the living room next to the one of Harry and his family—who hadn’t been present at the wedding, as much as she had tried to force him to invite them. The bookshelf was littered with Cicely’s favorite books and her many bookmarks laid on various surfaces in the house, random scraps of paper that she would tuck between pages. On the floors were rugs that she had picked out at the markets, warming up the house that was now her home.

In the kitchen was new cutlery and plates and glasses, ones without nicks at the sides. The pantry stayed stocked because suddenly it wasn’t just Harry who ate dinner at the small dining table every night, it was Harry and Cicely. Her favorite tea was tucked in next to his in the drawer, and she’d sewn napkins from their old curtains which she had replaced, claiming they needed more color in their home.

Upstairs, she’d replaced the sheets with a pristine white and the duvet cover was now a dark blue, a soft material she had searched high and low for. In the armoire were her clothes lying next to his, her dresses hung up in the wardrobe and her shoes right alongside his. On the bedside table was Cicely’s favorite photograph: one she had had Pippa take on their front steps when they’d gotten back from the sea, a rare smile on Harry’s face as he looked at Cicely, their eyes both filled with love.

Now, Cicely leaned against the banister and looked at her husband, her eyes drawing down his body as he locked the front door behind them. “Why are ya starin' at me?” He asked, stepping towards her, the whiskey and beer making his accent more prominent and his words clipped at the end.

“Hmm,” she murmured, sliding her palms up his suit jacket. “I was looking at my husband.”

“Were ya now?” Harry’s voice was rough as he said the words, his body closing in to hers and pressing her flush against the banister, her back digging into the spindles. “And?”

“And,” she replied, her hands slipping down, fingertips brushing over where she knew the barbells sat under his clothing, taking joy in the hollow groan that fell from his lips. “I think I’d like to undress him.”

The sounds that slid from Harry’s mouth were sinful, a combination of curses that she would never allow him to say in front of their children, her name, and wordless, broken, moans. “Would you like to do that here or upstairs?” He asked, leaning in and brushing his lips to her jawline, nipping at the thin skin that covered her bone, reveling in the gasp that left her. “Your choice, love.”

She pushed back his jacket, not so far that it fell off his shoulders, but enough that she could run her hands up his dress shirt. Then, with a steady gaze that left him gasping for air, she hooked her fingers in each of the buttons of his shirt, popping each one with precision. “Partly here,” she answered once she had access to his chest, her fingertips pressing into his warm skin, his mind going haywire no matter how many times she had touched his bare chest. Then, she leaned in and her soft lips met his sternum, leaving a trail of kisses and pulls on his skin, the pop of her lips when she drew away the only sound other than the light exhales of her name in the air. “And partly there.”

Harry would let her do anything. That had been established long ago. He was a mere mortal to her holy aura, just a scrap of paper in a book of poems that were all her compositions. He was hers to do as she wished, and he never desired to be anything else. “As you wish,” he rasped, eyes darkening when her leg hooked around his calf and tugged him closer.

It was as if a gun had been shot off, one of the ones that were tucked into the jackets of Josiah’s men—suddenly they were hands and lips, a flurry of touch. Cicely couldn’t get enough, her desire to touch him having built up all day and was bursting at the seams. All she wanted was his bare skin under hers, to touch him and feel every rise and fall of his body. So when she hooked her hands under his shirt and tugged, neither of them cared that the remaining buttons were still clasped and that they were pulled free from the thread. Neither of them minded when they fell to the floor along with his suit jacket and his shirt, the fabric long forgotten in favor of Cicely touching every inch of his chest.

“Ci,” he whispered when she licked across his collarbones, drawing a path and humming his name under her breath. “Ci, Ci, Ci,” he chanted, her name the only thought he could process at the sensation of her so close yet so far away.

Her tongue dipped into the hollow above where his bone jutted out, and then down, nibbling at the skin absentmindedly before dipping her head and sucking harshly on the swallows on his chest. She had a mission—she wanted to lick and pull on her favorite part of him, the piercings adorning his nipples, the very things that had so intrigued her the first time she had seen them. And when she did, Harry did the same thing he always did, gripped her hips in his wide palms and clenched his jaw, barely holding himself together.

Warmth spread across his skin as she licked up, down, and in a circle over his right nipple, a rumble from her throat making goosebumps rise on the area surrounding it. Her thumbs brushed up her sides, the feeling of her touch overwhelming his senses—he could smell nothing but her perfume, the smoke in her hair and the lingering beer on her breath. She was sweetness and Balsall Heath all rolled into one—she was home, the only home he had ever truly known, the only one that ever mattered. She was his, to have and to hold, for the rest of his days.

And he would never let her go.

Cicely could’ve stayed there for hours, neck bent as she licked and pulled at his nipples, the cold metal beneath her tongue and pressed against her lips, exploring the sounds he made and the way he touched her body. But Harry’s fingers curled into her hair and pulled her face up to look at his, their eyes meeting as their chests rose and fell.

“Love,” he murmured, irises blown out as he looked at her, thumbs brushing up her neck gently. “I need ya.”

She didn’t even need to reply, she just pulled on his neck and connected their mouths finally, the press of Harry’s lips to hers pushing every other thought in her head to the side. He consumed her, the imprint of his body against hers as he held her close, the pull of his teeth on her bottom lip, the soft chuckles leaving his mouth when she squirmed in his grasp. “Harry,” she said, words caught in her throat when he drew a line down her neck of searing kisses. “Upstairs.”

His head bounced up at that. “Yeah?”

“Mhm,” she answered, raising her ankle that was around his calf higher so it was hitched around his knees. “Want my husband.” Her sentences were incomplete, but they always were when they were like this. When their minds went blank, devoid of anything other than one another, their souls intertwined.

Harry’s eyes softened at her last word, hands falling from her ribcage to her hips. “Can I carry you?” He asked, knowing sometimes she liked to walk herself, but other times she didn’t mind it when placing all of her trust in him. Sometimes it made her feel powerless, the feeling reminding her of that dreaded day in the streets with her father and the police. When that happened, Harry let her lead the way, let her hold all the power in the moment so she didn’t slip into the depths of her mind as she sometimes did.

Tonight, Cicely said yes, the word light in the near-darkness of their entry hall. They’d turned on no other lights when they had entered, but they didn’t need them. They could describe one another perfectly without light, having memorized each other’s bodies long ago. But more than that, they could sense one another’s moods—Cicely knew what Harry wanted and needed, and vice versa.

They could survive in the dark.

They had before.

Harry carried her up the stairs of their home, Cicely’s lips sweeping across his shoulders like wildfire, hands curled around his shoulders as he held her in his arms. When they reached what used to be his room, and now belonged to the both of them, he set her down on the floor, knowing he would need her standing to undress her.

First, he bent to his knees and removed her heels, the white satin ruined from the mud in the streets, but he knew she didn’t mind. He placed them next to where she stood, balanced on the kitten heels, and then stood back up. “Turn ‘round for me,” he said in the quiet of their room.

She followed his directions immediately, turning so the back of her wedding dress was revealed, her veil forgotten somewhere downstairs. Harry’s fingers swept down her back, Cicely’s breath constricting at the sensation, and then popped each of the tiny buttons on her dress, revealing bit by bit of her skin.

“Beautiful,” he whispered, perhaps to no one but himself, but Cicely heard it. He said it every time he saw her like this, even if it was just the sliver of skin above her stockings, it was beauty to him. To see her bare skin was a sight he would never forget, and he always reminded her of how to him, she was the most stunning creature on Earth.

Then, his lips met her spine, and Cicely sighed, heavy and wet in the room, her hands reaching behind her to hold onto something—she caught the top of his trousers and curled her forefingers into them. “H,” she rasped.

“I’m tryin’ to savor you,” he said, humming against her skin. “Let me, please, love.”

She couldn’t refuse him, not when it was a request such as this. So she let him continue on his adventure, murmuring praises into her as he popped each button, imprinting his love on her skin so it would never leave her. It was like a tattoo, like the black ink on his body, except instead of ink it was the wet heat of his tongue and a trail of searing kisses.

Harry couldn’t tear his eyes away. He knew he was torturing her, but he knew she enjoyed the words he spoke and the way he touched her body. How he pushed the material off her shoulders and let it fall to the ground, the light weight of the silk hitting their wooden floors in a whoosh of air. And in front of him stood his love in nothing but delicate white lace. “Ci,” he whispered, fingers crawling down her exposed back, brushing over the back of her brassiere and down her spine to where the tops of her underwear laid.

Slowly, she turned, her body just a hair’s distance away, and he saw the rest of her body—the rise and fall of her breasts, the softness of her stomach, the angles of her hips and the length of her legs. The flush of her cheeks and the glow in her eyes meant only for him. “Your turn,” she said, and popped the button on his trousers, which were all that remained of his wedding attire.

“Wait—“ he said, grabbing her hands. “My shoes, forgot my shoes.”

She giggled and the sound pulled them out of the heat of the moment for just long enough for Harry to poke her side and fall to his knees, untying the laces of his boots and pulling them off, letting them fall to the side next to her heels. “Done?” She asked when he rose back to standing.

“Impatient,” he mumbled, pushing the hair back from her forehead and behind her ear.

She laughed softly, air from her lips hitting his chest. “Perhaps a bit.”

“Oh?” It had taken them so long to get to his point—where Cicely felt comfortable asking for what she wanted, feeling confident in situations such as this. What had changed was the realization that their time had no end date, no expiration, that they had forever together. There was a sense of calm and comfort in that discovery, and it had allowed her to open up a part of herself she never had before, the part of her that toyed with him and prodded and taunted him just as much as he did her.

Cicely returned to the task at hand, her hand brushing against his cock and smiling when Harry jerked under her touch. Then, she pulled down the zipper on his trousers, and let them fall to the ground. He was wearing boxers, a rarity for him, if she was being honest, but she decided to leave them for the time being.

For a breath, they stood and stared at each other, eyes searching one another’s and taking in the moment. And then, Cicely sat down on the edge of their bed and scooted backwards, her underwear riding down on her hips slightly as she moved, and laid back.

Harry couldn’t breathe for a moment. Despite sleeping with her every night, his body curled up against hers, he never tired of the sight of her spread out in front of him, of how she reached out for him with one hand, waiting for him to join her. He took her hand and his knees hit the duvet, inching towards her, his knees on either side of her body as he made his way up.

“I love you,” he murmured, resting his forehead to her cheek, head bent and eyes shut. He did this sometimes hen he was simply overwhelmed with his emotions, unable to even put them into words. His eyelashes fluttered softly against her skin, and her hands swept up his back, nails lightly scraping across his skin to calm him. “I don’t—I—“

“Me too,” she answered, knowing what he meant without even needing to hear the words.

He lifted his head, took one look at her face, and closed the narrow space between them, lips slotting between hers. Gently, he lowered himself, needing to be closer to her, wanting his skin pressed to hers, and placed his knees between her legs. He laid flush against her and Cicely loved it, adored how he let his weight drop to her, how he let himself go in her arms. Her knees moved upwards and her ankles hooked around his lower back, and when she did so, they both groaned, the feeling of their centers brushing lighting a fire in both of their bellies.

She needed more. Anything he could give her, she needed. She wanted it all, every part of him, forever. “For the rest of my life,” she murmured when his lips met her jaw, then her neck, and down to her chest. “I’m going to love you for the rest of my life.”

Harry pulled back ever so slightly, just enough to be able to see her fully. “Rest of my life,” he agreed. “Only you, Ci.”

With that, they were clamoring for one another, Harry unclasping her brassiere and pulling it away, her hands tugging down his boxers, desperate for him. It was as if it was their first time all over again, even thought it was anything but—they’d had one another so many times they couldn’t remember a night without each other since Cicely had returned to him. They didn’t know how to sleep apart, in fact.

When Harry pulled down her underwear and bent to lick into her, Cicely pulled on his hair softly, making him meet her gaze. “No,” she said gently, “need you.”

He looked at her, at the desire in her eyes, and moved back up her body so he was hovering over her. Then, he pulled her leg up so it slotted around his hips, and ground his pelvis into hers ever so slightly, just enough for his length to rub against her folds, her fingernails digging into the skin of his chest where he was bound to have marks tomorrow, but he didn’t mind. She would be the only person he would be seeing for days, anyways.

“Please,” she begged, voice breaking, fingers tugging on the skin at the back of his neck to pull him closer. “Harry.”

The way she said his name had him unraveling for her. “Okay, love, okay,” his forehead fell to hers, pants of air leaving both of their mouths, and they could hear nothing but each other. He reached between them, pumping his length roughly, desperation seeping through his body.

Her hand met his all of a sudden, palm enclosing around his, and she built a harsher pace, one that had him bucking against her hips and hissing through his teeth. When his eyes found hers again, she licked her lips slowly, and then she shifted, brushing his tip against her entrance.

She was wet, like she always was for him, and it made Harry’s hands curl in the duvet, trying to anchor himself as she slipped him inside of her. Every time she was warm, wet, and tight, accepting him willingly, her body arching into his and sighing in relief. “Ci,” he groaned, eyes fluttering shut as he pushed fully into her, feeling her walls constrict around him. “Fuck, love.”

And then he began to move, knowing she didn’t need much time anymore—from the way her fingernails dragged down his shoulder blades, he knew she was wound up as tightly as he was. He wondered if she had been thinking of this all day as he had, of having her alone, of having her to himself finally.

Now that he did, he never wanted it to end. The sound of her breathy moans in his ears, how she panted as he pushed slowly in and out of her, building a gentle rhythm because the emotions taking hold of his body wouldn’t allow for anything more. He wanted to show her with each press of his body how much he adored her, how she was his everything, how nothing could ever compare to her. She was chanting his name, mixed in with I love you and it broke him, a stray tear slipping from his eye that she kissed away, littering his eyelids with gentle caresses of her lips.

Cicely couldn’t think, much less find the words for how she felt in that moment. She had loved Harry from the beginning, had known he would be hers for just as long, and yet this felt new. This feeling of permanence; that no one could take him away, that he would always be hers and no one else’s. As he thrust into her, his face slotted against hers, their cheeks brushing every time he moved, not a centimeter of space between them, she didn’t know how it was possible to love someone this much. For it to overtake her every sense, for it to permeate every bone in her body, every part of her soul. He was everything to her.

“I love you,” he echoed in her ear, repeating it over and over again as his hips met hers. “Love you so much.” He was unabashed in his confession, needing her to know, and she did.

Her fingers found his hand, parting his digits so she could nestled hers between them, and he gripped her hand. She tucked her head, pressing searing kisses to every part of his face and neck she could reach, and Harry’s mind was short circuiting. He knew he wasn’t going to last long, but she was making it impossible for him.

How she was holding him inside of her, how she curled her body into his, how she held onto him like she was sinking and he was her life raft. Her bare skin on his, the brush of her breasts against the barbells tucked into his nipples, making his entire body even more sensitive. How she sucked harshly on his jaw, most definitely leaving a mark that she would giggle at in the morning when they woke up.

“Closer,” she begged suddenly, her request reminding him so vividly of one of their first times together. “I need you closer, Harry.”

He would give her anything she requested, and that one was first on his list. So he picked her up, just as he had many times before, arms curling under her back, and sat back on his heels. With her situated on his lap, her legs draped around his waist and her arms around his neck, there was nowhere either of them could escape to, their entire worlds caught up in that one moment. “Better?” He asked, pressing her hips down onto him more.

Her head tipped backwards and he took advantage of the exposed skin, nipping and sucking on her pulse point. “Perfect,” she rasped when he thrust up into her. Then she cursed and he smiled, loving when she let completely go and her posh self disappeared, replaced with the real Cicely who had no walls. Not for him—they’d broken them down long ago.

“Not going to last much longer,” he murmured, face nestled into the crook of her neck, buried deep into her hair. “Sorry, love.”

“Shh,” she said, squeezing at his hips as he pushed deeply into her. “Me either.” He was keeping the pace slow and it was killing her, but also making everything more intense, her boy craving each and every time their hips met. It was as if she couldn’t get enough, clawing at his back when he drove harshly into her than before, a mumbled apology leaving his lips.

“Ci,” he begged, not even sure what he was begging for, just her. Her. Something more, some more shred that she could give him.

She knew immediately, carding her fingers through his locks of hair and scratching at his scalp, a murmur of his name in his ear, and then she tightened around him. Her climax was rushing towards her in a storm, the sweat between their bodies and the press of their skin heightening everything about the moment, the hushed tones of love and desperation in their throats. “Stay inside me,” she whispered, lips brushing over his cheek.

“Wha’?” He asked, eyelids fluttering. He was so close that she felt it, his long eyelashes on her skin.

“Want it inside,” she repeated, not even really knowing the words for what she wanted, but hoping he understood.

“I—love, that means—“ A baby, he thought to himself, his hands tightening around her waist. They’d spoken about it, both knowing they wanted it, but they had said after the wedding. And now, he supposed, it was after the wedding.

“I know,” she said softly. “Please, H.”

His forehead rested against her clavicle, utterly overwhelmed. “Okay,” he said, voice hoarse from the prospect of their child mixed in with the love already rushing through him. It was too much—he could feel himself rapidly nearing his end, the buck of his hips speeding up. “I’m—“

“I’ve got you.” Cicely’s hands swept across his back and peppered his hairline with kisses, her legs tight around his waist. “I’ve got you, darling.”

Darling. That word was one she used rarely and only in private, but that made it even more meaningful. It made his heart clench, and when he lifted his head to let his eyes meet her, he was done for. She was crying, light tears streaking down her cheeks, but her eyes were filled with nothing but love, not a trace of heartbreak. No, she was crying for joy. From the knowledge that this love, it was unending.

That was what did him in. It was what had him stuttering in her grasp, body shaking slightly as he came inside of her, ropes brushing her walls, his thrusts slowing. He brushed her bud, not wanting to leave her behind, and their names mixed, one from each of them. Promises of love, echoes of adoration, reminders of what they meant to one another filled the room.

Cicely’s body was shivering in his hold, her high leaving her body mush. She could feel him inside of her, and she quite liked it, if she was being honest—liked having a piece of him left behind.

Her hands cradled his head and she gently said, “I love you, Harry.”

He didn’t even need to say it back, she could see the words written in his every feature, but he did anyways. “I love you, Ci. Always.” Then, he kissed her, letting their lips tell their story again and again.

Later, they laid in bed and whispered about their future together. He couldn’t help but sweep his palms over her belly where one day their child would rest. Before Cicely, Harry didn’t know if he would ever be a father. But now, it was the only path that was certain. A path with her, their child, their family, that was all he wanted. The rest of the world was meaningless without them.

Cicely’s fingers intertwined with his as they lay there, the clink of the metal of their rings softly sounding in the room. “Thank you,” she said.

He looked at her, curious. “For what?”

“Everything.” She didn’t have words for all of the individual things he had given her, and she hoped he would know what she meant.

And he did. He knew it all, every part of her, and adored each piece. He pressed a light kiss to her knuckles, and tucked her in closer to his chest, a silent answer that there was nothing to thank him for. That he would do it all over again with every reincarnation, that they would find each other again every time. After all, they were meant for one another, two halves to a whole.

Harry and Cicely, Cicely and Harry.

Until the end of time.

series taglist: @autumn-sunflowers @afire-hes @harrydobedirectioning @harryinsweatersandbandanas @vapingisntmything @frindgeyy @froggystyles @magical-mischief-makers @heslilac @ursogoldenshan @hhh33-3l @grace-ful-gold @tbslenthusiast @smirkingstyles @taeboonie @samjo1986

#harry styles fan fiction #harry styles fic #harry styles one shot #harry styles drabble #harry styles writing #harry styles x reader #harry styles x mc #harry styles smut #harry styles x peaky blinders #harry styles peaky blinders #peaky blinders fic #1920s harry styles au #harry styles au #historical harry styles

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notveryglittery · 5 years ago

Text

mice on venus (1.1)

summary: gee, those forest ravines really pop out at you, huh? wc: 2k / ships: romantic royality, qpr prinxiety, romantic analogical. warnings: falling off a cliff, injuries, janus is a lil rough around the edges but sometimes u gotta be when living in a dangerous blocky world... author’s note: i couldn’t sleep last night... bc brain was making this... and also @thoriffix makes nice minecraft art... so yeah, minecraft sanders sides au? i have no clue what i’m doing besides having fun :) not too much knowledge of the game is needed; you can look at it as a basic adventure au. enjoy!

mice on venus (1.1) (you are here) | far (1.2) title inspo: (spotify link) (youtube link) idk if this will go on ao3 but here’s a spot for editing

— — —

Patton’s voice tears from his throat in a raw and terrified shout. "Roman!" He screams, hands outstretched uselessly, as Roman tips backwards over the edge of a ravine, and disappears.

Logan is there, barely a second later. He rifles through his bag, finds what he needs, and throws it with all the force he can muster. Gravity won't let it hit the ground before Roman does, but it will help when it arrives nonetheless. He hurries to stand, turn, and face —

"What happened?!" Virgil asks breathlessly, daggers drawn and at the ready.

"Roman fell into a ravine," Logan answers with so little tact that Patton would scold him for it if he were paying enough attention to overhear. The color in Virgil's face drains. "I threw a Splash Potion of Healing after him," Logan reassures without pausing, "but we need to get down there."

"I knew I should've stayed home," drawls their final party member, sounding awfully bored despite the situation.

Patron does hear this and he rounds on Janus with fire in his eyes. "How could you be so cruel?! Roman might be dead!"

Janus raises an eyebrow. "Were you not listening just now? Our local brewer lobbed a potion. Roman's seen worse. He'll be fine."

Patton's lower lip trembles but it's hard to tell whether he wants to cry or to berate. Maybe both. He looks for Virgil, only to find him at the ravine's edge with a bucket. Water is flowing from where it's been poured, creating a safe passage for them to traverse down in once safe.

Roman, meanwhile, is falling.

His only warning had been the horror dawning on Patton's face and even then, it came after his foot met air instead of solid ground like he expected. For some inane reason, his first thought as he went plummeting was "who put this ravine in the middle of a forest?" Next, it was panic and "AHHHHHHHHHHHHH—"

With the wind stinging his face and his blood roaring in his ears, Roman knows he has mere seconds to figure out how to make this suck less. He struggles to right himself until he's facing the ground that is rushing up to meet him. He pulls his shield from where it is strapped to his back and thanks Jeb that he'd had the foresight, as their fighter, to give himself something sturdier. The rickety thing the others use wouldn't have done much for him here but the curved, solid iron plate he tucks himself into should absorb most of the impact.

That doesn't mean it doesn't still hurt like hell. He can barely cry out with how his breath is knocked out of him. Pain shoots up his ankles and legs, lighting every nerve along the way. He tilts over, gritting his teeth and trying to see beyond the stars that swim through his vision. He isn't safe… There could… Mobs…

Glass shatters next to him and he flinches from it. Please not a witch, please not a witch, please not a witch —

As opposed to the nauseous kick of poison or the heavy weight of slowness, however, warmth of healing washes over him. In his shock, he'd forgotten anyone had been with him but of course, Logan would have been right behind Patton, with his emergency potions. Relief floods over everything else. He isn't alone. He has help.

"— an idiot!" is the first thing Roman hears when he comes to. He opens his eyes to see Virgil pacing beside him, flailing his arms, and apparently mid-rant. It's probably Logan at his feet, wrapping his ankle in a splint. Ah… the pain from it being jostled must've woken him… He's glad he doesn't remember it.

"Honey," Patton's voice whimpers, close to him, choked and scared and none of that will do —

"C'mere," Roman croaks, reaching for his beloved. Patton catches Roman's hand and holds it almost too tightly. Roman isn't sure which one of them is shaking. He brings Patton's hand to his lips and kisses his knuckles. "I'm okay, sweetness. Don't cry. Please. You know a smile will help me recover better than anything."

"That's not true," Logan pipes up, deadpan.

Patton gives him a tremulous smile anyway.

"Learn to watch—" Virgil stops. Freezes. Looks up. "Oh. Great." He's rifling through his supplies before the others even have time to ask him what's wrong.

The sudden realization of dimming light answers them well enough, though. Janus wastes no time in beginning to help Virgil, moving with him to the ravine's wall to back their makeshift base against. Sunset brings with it monsters and they certainly aren’t in the best place to handle that.

"You need to sleep before you get back on your feet," Logan tells Roman as he packs away his med kit. "No adventures for at least three days."

Roman gasps, as if Logan has just told him his birthday is canceled.

"Logan's right, dear," Patton intervenes, pulling one of Roman's arms over and around his shoulder. He helps him stand slowly, making sure Roman favors weight on his less injured ankle. "It's okay, I'm gonna stay with you! It'll go by so quick, you won't even know it happened."

Roman wants to complain further but he’s lightheaded from his now-vertical position. With practiced ease, Virgil and Janus have a lean-to set up to keep them safe from the nights terrors. Unfortunately, there’s only enough materials for two beds. Fortunately, they sleep in shifts anyway. It takes some coaxing to convince Roman that he doesn’t need to stay awake for one but once his head is on the pillow and Patton is combing a hand through his hair, he’s out.

Logan sits up for the first two hours. Forty minutes in, Janus leaves to explore the ravine. The others know better than to even try stopping him. He returns, laden with coal and iron ore.

“Roman’s shield is gonna need repairing,” Janus says matter-of-factly as he takes over for the next watch.

Logan groans. “I suppose, at least, the painting will keep him busy while he’s grounded.”

“He’ll last…” Janus pauses, considering. “I give him no more than a day and a half.”

“If he wants to sustain his injuries, sure.”

“Bet you he’ll try stealing an Instant Health potion.”

“Not if he knows what’s best for him,” Logan snaps.

Janus smiles with too many teeth which isn’t to say he has too many teeth, just that normally his smiles are close-lipped. Logan scowls before ducking into their small shelter to try and get some rest.

The next two hours pass without trouble. Virgil takes his turn. The howling screech of an enderman startles Logan awake but just as quick, Virgil is peeking in on the party and waving the concern away with an ender pearl clutched in his fist.

“Didn’t wanna pass up the opportunity,” he whispers, before returning to his post.

Patton sets up for the last watch. Virgil makes Logan take the free bed, which doesn’t take much convincing seeing as he’s half-asleep already. Roman begins to toss and turn so Virgil sits on the ground beside him, reaches up, and holds his hand.

“Sap,” Janus says from the corner where he’s been making torches.

“Have you slept at all?” Virgil asks instead of taking the bait.

When Janus doesn’t answer, Virgil frowns. “How long has it been?”

Another round of silence.

“J, what the fuck? We don’t need phantoms on top of everything else!” Virgil raises his voice without meaning to. Logan stirs at the sound of it; he’s always been a light sleeper.

“Hush,” Janus hisses. They wait a few moments more until Logan has settled. “I will when we get back home. I’ve got at least one more safe night.”

Virgil’s glare sharpens but he doesn’t push any further. Janus goes back to his crafting but Virgil notices now how slowly he works. Instead of staring and letting his concern build, Virgil leans back and shuts his eyes, focusing on Roman’s warm hand in his.

Sunrise means a quick breakfast of bread and crisp apples. They share amongst themselves before Logan and Patton take down the lean-to. Janus returns to the top of the ravine, making sure to dispatch any mobs lurking in the shade of the trees. Virgil remembers the leads Patton had brought with him, for if they had come across any horses, and suggests tying Roman to one of them, just in case things go wrong on the swim up the waterfall.

Roman, ever full of bravado, insists he would be just fine on his own. Looks of concern and frustration come from his boyfriend and queerplatonic partner, respectively, and he quickly gives in without much fuss. Janus joins them again and offers to build a ladder back up, especially since there’s no short supply of wood; Logan disagrees, worried that it would take too long and they’d be caught out once more at nighttime.

Eventually, they do all get up and out of the ravine. Roman’s splint needs redoing now that it’s wet and heavy but afterwards, they are on their way home. He relies heavily on Patton and Virgil to help him, careful to not put too much weight on his injured foot; he hates needing so much help, but he supposes it’s mostly alright, what with Patton keeping him entertained with stories and Virgil teasing him about dumb little mistakes made in the past.

Slow going as as they are, they make it just as the sun is beginning to set. The lanterns are lit at the village they had set up nearby roughly a year ago and their neighbors are gathered at the bell for gossip and trade. Patton wants to swing by to say hello and offer some cake but Roman is really struggling beside him now.

“Oh, sweetpea, you must be so tired,” Patton murmurs, shifting so that he can take more pressure off of Roman. “I’m gonna get you the best dinner… And hot cocoa, too, how’s that sound?”

“We haven’t got a steady supply of cocoa beans yet,” Roman says without much conviction.

“I’ll cocoa bean anyone that tries to stop me,” Patton insists.

Virgil stifles a laugh behind his hand and pretends he didn’t hear the thinly veiled threat disguised as a pun. He makes a note to kick their search for a jungle into first gear and wonders if Janus would be up for a trip to the west. It is the least explored direction and their terribly empty maps remind them every day. In the meantime, he’ll help Patton to get Roman comfortable and settled. He makes sure Janus goes to bed that night, keeping him company until he’s well and truly deep in sleep.

After one last sweep of the perimeter, Virgil retires to his and Logan’s room. Logan is waiting up for him, reading by candlelight. Virgil changes into his night clothes and slides in under the covers. Logan is warm and, with a fond eye roll, compliant as Virgil tugs at his sleeve until he eventually puts his book away. Logan lays on his back with Virgil splayed half-across his chest; the sensation has always put Logan at ease, having his partner’s presence so physical and grounding and there.

“Will Roman be okay?” Virgil asks in a voice so small that Logan almost doesn’t hear him.

“Like Janus said, Roman has been through worse.” Logan hesitates but not long enough for either of them to actually start thinking about it. “As long as he is careful, which I’m sure Patton will help him be, he’ll recover in no time.”

The tension flows out of Virgil in one slow exhale. “Thanks, L.” He shuffles deeper into the blankets and Logan’s embrace. “Love you.”

“And I you,” Logan responds with a hum, pressing a kiss to the top of Virgil’s head.

#sanders sides fan fiction #royality #prinxiety #analogical #ts deceit #dani writes #minecraft au #sanders sides #romantic royality #qpr prinxiety #romantic analogical

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straight-into-the-animus · 4 years ago

Text

A Place For Crows To Rest Their Feet (French Fryes)

Cause some people were interested in the idea of older French Fryes apparently and I thought I’d try my hand at it.

Song title and fic inspo from Marbles by The Amazing Devil

Read on Ao3

Arno felt old.

Well, he was old. It was made sure of that when at his last milestone birthday that everyone decided to overload the cake with candles representing his age. He had been able to laugh it off as a joke then. But now everytime he looked in the mirror and saw a new wrinkle near his eyes and mouth, he scowled.

When he saw his favorite music being relegated to the classic station, he flipped the channel.

And when it was cold and rainy and shitty outside and he had difficulty getting out of bed, he grumbled.

Jacob always just laughed at his perturbed expression and would say that they didn’t need to get out of bed anyway and would snuggle in for a few hours more.

Even though he knew Jacob never meant anything by the things he said, it still made him feel bad. His husband was only a few years younger than him. But the problem was he didn’t look that bad, and if he felt old he never told Arno. He was already aging like fine wine. Arno felt like aged milk.

Jacob had noticed once before, when Arno pointedly avoided looking in the mirror while they were hip to hip in the bathroom getting ready for the day.

“‘ou a’righ’?” He asked around a toothbrush.

“Hmm?” He asked, toweling off and looking over as Jacob spat out the paste and washed his mouth out before trying again.

“You alright?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I dunno. You just seem… off. Didn’t even hear one ABBA song in the shower, either.” He smiled a bit, trying to get Arno to copy. Which he did, but it was gone rather quickly.

“I’m fine, mon amour. Just tired, still.” He wrapped the towel around his waist, pecked Jacob’s cheek and made to leave, but got pulled back. Jacob kissed him deeply, the taste of mint still on his tongue and making Arno hum; his husband’s mouth was still practically sinful after all this time. Jacob pulled away and then went back in for one more peck on Arno’s lips, leaving both of them smiling.

“Love you.”

“I love you, too.” Arno said, meaning it completely as he left to go get dressed.

He tried to make sure that was the end of it, or at least to keep it out of sight of Jacob. But then his pride went down like a kick in the balls when he woke up one morning and saw the roots of his hair turning gray. Like ash gray. Like old gray. He’d gone out to the shops immediately and found the darkest box color for his hair that he could and shoved it in the back of their linen closet the minute he came to his senses.

Really, it was a bad idea. If he did it, he’d have questions no one wanted to hear and explanations he really didn’t want to give. And Jacob would find out anyway. But it was an impulse purchase he didn’t think through and so he hid it until the time was right, if it ever would be.

And then Jacob noticed him as he entered the living room and let Arno in on their small couch to watch whatever inane reality show they both liked, and then he forgot about it, because how could you remember anything at that point?

It didn’t take too long for his husband to find it out, though.

“Care to explain this?” Jacob said, coming into the dining room where Arno was trying to clean, and Arno turned too quickly at the tone in his voice and stubbed his toes on the thick table leg.

“Merde-!”

“Jesus, Arno- Don’t try and die on me now.” Jacob went over quickly as Arno sat in one of the chairs, placing something on the table as he pulled up the other chair next to Arno’s. Arno waved him away and curled up his hurt foot to rub it.

“Don’t touch it.”

“Drama queen. Do you need me to get the first aid kit? Or do you think you’ll live?”

“You’re hilarious. Have I mentioned that before?”

“Only on days that end in “y”.” Jacob replied, and Arno stewed a bit. It didn’t take long for him to look over at whatever it was Jacob had brought into the room, and he grew a bit pale. Jacob, of course, because he had such a great eye when he wanted to, noticed immediately. “Figured it was yours.”

Arno didn’t grace him with a response at first. But the silence wouldn’t give.

“I found some gray hairs.” He mumbled.

“Yeah… Those tend to happen when you make it a few decades.”

“It doesn’t mean I have to like it! I don’t want to get old, Jacob. I’ll be… Gross, and senile, and you’ll hate me.”

“Please tell me you’re joking. You are joking?”

Arno flexed his hurt foot and quickly set it down, making to leave but stopped as Jacob grabbed his wrist and sat him back down in the chair.

“You know what I like so much about you getting old?” Jacob didn’t wait for Arno to answer. “It shows you made it.”

Arno almost made a rebuttal, but stopped when he tried to parse through the words and actually think about them.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’ve known you for decades.” Jacob still held Arno’s hand, rubbing his thumb over the back of it. “Since Uni. And you did the dumbest shit. I’m surprised we’ve gotten to this point without you needing a liver transplant.”

Arno looked down. He knew exactly what Jacob was talking about. He had been twenty two and having daily panic attacks about leaving university to actually be a person. Most relationships with girls and some guys were limited to one quick go in bed and then he was gone in the morning.

Jacob hadn’t been much better off emotionally, or financially, but at least he knew how to handle his shit better. They made an interesting match that way.

“You’re getting old because you’re alive. And I get to see that.”

“Is this supposed to make me feel better?”

“Yeah, it is.”

“Well it isn’t.”

Silence overtook for a few minutes as Arno looked down and Jacob studied him.

“Then I guess you must really hate me looking old.” Jacob said.

“I could never. And the difference is, you look good. You still have cute waitresses flirting with you despite the ring.”

“You mean from the diner last week?” Jacob raised an eyebrow. “Leanna had to be forty. And she was just being friendly.”

“She certainly wasn’t giving extra ketchup to me.”

“I would’ve given it to you.”

“So generous.”

“One of my best qualities.” Jacob murmured as Arno’s eyes remained dropped. A hand moved up to Arno’s cheek, and he realized Jacob’s pointer finger was tracing the lines near his mouth and the crows feet on his eyes. “Didn’t marry you for nothing, you know. I knew what I was getting into. And even if you turn out to be a grumpy old hunchback who can’t walk, I would still choose you if I had the choice.”

Arno felt his eyes start to glass over the longer Jacob spoke. It wasn’t some great speech. It was simple, and short, and matter of fact, and just… Jacob. Just as he had been for decades. And it sounded just as sincere now as it sounded when they were much younger men and first said they loved each other. And it was as sincere as when they had finally gotten married not even a decade ago. Arno had a shaky smile and squeezed Jacob’s hand, allowing the other one to keep exploring the tracks in his face.

“‘Sides,” Jacob purred as he leaned in closer, a gleam in his eyes, “being older just means you’re full of experience. And how could anyone say no to that?”

“Jacob-” He didn’t even know where he was going with his sentence, but it hardly mattered when he felt a warm pair of lips on his neck, making their way up his face. He turned his head at the right time and caught Jacob’s lips with his own. They both smiled, a soft thing.

“I love you.” Arno said.

“Love you too. Drama queen.” Jacob smirked as Arno rolled his eyes affectionately.

“Maybe stop putting up such high standards and I’ll consider taking a step back on my quest for perfection.”

“Sorry, I can’t. I gotta put in work to keep you in love with me. Sure as hell it isn’t my personality keeping you locked up.”

“Certainly not.” Arno snorted, leaning in and resting against Jacob. The man held him for a minute before speaking again.

“You believe me yet? That you’re good? And we’re good? Even if you get old?”

“I’ll work on it.” Arno admitted. Whether it was what Jacob wanted to hear or not, he was still welcomed in and let to rest for a while longer.

“Let’s move this to bed so we don’t stiffen up, eh?”

“You’re not going to carry me like you used to?” Arno asked teasingly as Jacob helped him stand up out of the chair. The man shrugged.

“Can’t. I’m too old.”

It wasn’t funny. It really wasn’t. But Arno laughed until he coughed, anyway.

They ended up throwing the box color out with much prejudice. And when Jacob started growing his own gray hairs, looking like a salt and pepper shaker, Arno just ran his fingers through each one while they watched inane reality television.

So. I ended up creating a whole other backstory for these two but found I couldn’t fit it in to the story, lol. If you’d be interested in that as well, let me know.

I hope you enjoy! If you do I have a Masterpost here and more ideas for writings and prompts here, so feel free to request! If you’d like to support me, I have a ko-fi here but absolutely no pressure on that front. Have a wonderful day and thank you for reading!

#assassin's creed #french fryes #arno dorian #jacob frye #my writings

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crystalwillow · 3 years ago

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Picnic

Pairing: Tatum Mendoza x Kennedy Paige (F!MC)

Word count: 1.1K

Summary: Tatum and Kennedy have been together for almost 5 years now, and Kennedy has prepared a special date afternoon to celebrate their anniversary.

When Kennedy Paige started secretly dating her bodyguard and childhood best friend, Tatum Mendoza, five years ago she never would have thought they would make it this far.

In her head she thought her mother would be horrified when she found out and forbid them from seeing each other ever again. So it was a surprise to both of them when she was welcoming to the idea. As long as her daughter was happy, that’s all that mattered to her. After the hell-ish year she had endured at Vancross University all her mother wanted was for her daughter to have happiness, and if that came in the form of Tatum then so be it. Kennedy didn’t mind that he couldn’t be her bodyguard anymore because to her, him serving the title of boyfriend was the best thing she could think of.

Since leaving Vancross Kennedy travelled with her mother to learn what it takes to be a good leader, even though taking her mother's place as president isn’t what she wanted, learning about leadership was going to be vital for when she started her own business after her year-long break.

Three years later she is one of the most successful young people in the world with her clothing and perfume franchise. She’s working on bringing out a makeup line, and is also now celebrating her 5 year anniversary with Tatum, who has moved on to being a security guard at a local mall.

------------------------------------

“So you’ll be there? 2pm. Yeah… I’ll be waiting for you. I love you too, Tate. No! I’m going to keep saying it until you stop cringing.” Kennedy giggles “Okay, I’ll see you later. Bye!”

She beams as she places her phone back in the pocket of her jeans and continues setting up the picnic blanket in the garden as her mothers kitchen staff carry out 5 trays of food, one containing some of the couples favourite fruit, two containing meat and cheeses, one full of desserts, and the last carrying sandwiches.

“Thank you so much for helping me out guys. And send my compliments to the chef, please.” Kennedy beams.

“Of course, it’s no problem. Five years is a long time and we can all see how much you mean to each other.” one staff member smiles.

Kennedy nods and smiles back as they turn and head back inside whilst she sets the trays out as she wants them and covers them over to avoid any flies or other bugs spoiling the food. Once she is satisfied she heads inside to the cellar where she selects a bottle of wine and 2 glasses before heading upstairs to collect the present she got for Tatum. After placing them outside she relaxes on the blanket as she pulls her sunglasses over her eyes, sighing in contentment.

The morning passes by in a blur and soon Kennedy is taking a shower and getting ready for the picnic with Tatum. Just as she settles in position outside, Tatum steps outside with his jacket hooked on one finger as it hangs over his shoulder. As he gets closer, Kennedy beams happily until he comes to a stop in front of her.

“Hey.” he speaks almost quietly as his hand meets her waist naturally, pulling her closer.

“Hey yourself.” she beams back as her hands come to rest on his chest, fiddling with his tie.

“How are you?”

“I’m good. How was work?”

“Pretty uneventful today. But I did stop by that jewellery store you like on my way out and picked you up an extra present.” Tatum smiles and takes a small gift wrapped box from his pocket.

“You want me to open this now?” she asks and he nods in response.

Kennedy steps back and carefully rips into the paper then opens the box then lets out a small gasp as she looks inside.

“You didn’t. You got me the- Tatum.” she chuckles as she tears up a little. “You got me the charm that completes my collection?”

“It was the last one they had. Told me it was a lucky buy as they don't know when or if they’ll be getting more in stock.”

“Awww. Babe.” Kennedy beams and pulls him in, pressing a sweeping kiss to his lips. “I love it. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” he replies as he returns the kiss. “Now, as much as I know you want me to just sit down and relax. I would like to go and take a shower, change into something a little more comfortable to lay back in the sun with you.”

“Yeah, of course! I’ll be here.” she smiles back up at him. “You go shower.”

Tatum disappears back inside and re-emerges an hour later wearing navy denim shorts, a white t-shirt and tan cardigan paired with some white air force style sneakers carrying a box as he approaches Kennedy who has now set out the full picnic beside the blanket.

“You didn’t say there would be food.” Tatum chuckles as he gets within range of being heard.

“Well, I thought it would be a nice surprise. I know how much you like to eat in a way that’s more snack-like and not one big meal. So I took the chance to put together a picnic for us now and thought you could order dinner for us later.”

“Ah, so that’s the catch.” he laughs as he sits down, “I’m buying our late night snack.”

Kennedy grins as she looks him up and down, stopping as she gets mesmerised by his jawline. Noting her gaze in his peripheral vision he smirks slightly before slowly turning his head to face her.

“You really need to work on your subtlety, you know.”

“Why would I want to do that when we’re in private?”

“You remember the incident that happened that year at Vancross before we went public as a couple.”

“Oh gosh, don’t remind me. Please.” she begs as she lies back.

“You look gorgeous by the way.” he smiles

“Why thank you, handsome sir.” she smiles at him.

He smiles back and then they burst into a fit of giggles a couple of minutes later.

“You’re adorable, Miss Paige. Has anyone ever told you that?”

“Mmmm… I can think of at least one person.” she smiles up at him.

"Flirt." He grins and nudges her playfully.

"Naturally" She smirks in response.

----------------------

Author’s Note: I have been really struggling to finish this one. I’m thinking maybe I’ll take a break and replay FA when I can afford VIP again, get more inspo and make this into like a mini universe/series type thing. But at the end of this they were intimate before going to bed and ordered from a restaurant where they got a range of different things to eat over the next couple of days. The 5 year anniversary was a success and they are happier than ever! Where do you want to see me take Tatum and Kennedy next?

#playchoices #pixelberry studios #choices: stories you play #choices fanfiction #choices fanfic writer #choices fa #choices foreign affairs #foreign affairs tatum #tatum mendoza #tatum x f!mc #choices fa f!mc

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bbugyu · 5 years ago

Text

a knight's honor + choi seungcheol

he hadn't expected rescuing you to be so simple, and you had been waiting for him in more ways than one.

part one | part two

wc.5868 | smut, flangst, royal au, princess!reader and knight!cheol, its like tangled meets shrek, i recognize that thats awful but i cant help it, this is (again) some soft dirty shit, title kinks, begging, overstim, kinda edging?, unprotected sex (its like ye olden times ok pregnancy was magic and stds were curses), pls have safe sex irl, cream pie, unrealistic representation of how virgins have sex but thats why its erotica, vague mention of sexual harrassment of minors (wanted to include this just in case), cursing (this should be a given at this point)

this was originally meant to be a goofy drabble based off of this post from @hansols-yoda-boxers and then i predictably got extremely carried away and wrote something way too angsty, only carried a couple of comedic elements, and then doused it all in porn with too much plot. thanks for the inspo, mercy!

seungcheol swiftly rode through the oversized halls of the castle, leading the dragon further from the living quarters. further from the tower. further from you. he knew you had waited for someone like him to arrive, and he felt awful for making you wait even longer, but dragons were far too long living to be slain. they were meant to be outsmarted.

his trusty steed galloped, only slowing to turn sharp corners, causing the dragon to crash into the walls as it tried to follow. the halls got narrower, and seungcheol said a word of encouragement to his horse as it neared a closed wooden door.

the door burst open with an explosion of splinter and hooves into a nearly empty dining hall, and the dragon crashed into the doorway and clawed desperately at the floor as it tried to fit its too large body through the narrow opening. as it realized its folly, it tried to back out, but the force at which it was chasing seungcheol had wedged its body further into the doorway than expected. he grinned victoriously, patting his steed's neck and urging it towards the other hall entrance as the dragon roared in his wake.

and again, he rode, as fast as his horse would take him back to you, his almost too long hair blown back by the speed. a smile creeped onto his face. had it really been that easy? they could be back to the royal castle by sundown. he was never one to brag, but he wondered how so many could have failed before him if all he had to do to succeed was lead the dragon away until it trapped itself.

he was a well revered knight at home. he was smart, strong, and he knew how to speak diplomatically. he had climbed ranks young, younger than any before him. the king had taken a liking to him years earlier, so much so that he had delayed seungcheol's mission to save his daughter in fear that he would fail. not because he didn't believe in him, no, seungcheol had always been their best bet by far, and he had argued to be sent sooner, but the king had always denied his requests. because no one in eight years had ever succeeded. because he saw seungcheol as the son he had never been given. because he refused to lose yet another child to the foul beast.

he flew off his horse at the base of the stairwell, giving her a reassuring pat and eyeing the stone walls that were stroked with bright colors and patterns. his fingers followed the painted seam of a leaf before he hopped up the first few steps, hand landing on the hilt of his sword, unsure if he would truly be able to save you without a fight. the stairs wound upwards, and seungcheol lost track of how many steps he had taken less than halfway. even still, the discomfort of the hike dissipated as he approached a large wooden door, and he took the last few steps quickly in anticipation.

he almost tested the handle, then thought better. he leaned against the door with a hand instead, listening. "princess?"

he heard wood shift against stone. "who goes there?"

your voice even sounded beautiful though the thick wood of the door, with a lilt that he almost recognized. "my princess, i am sir seungcheol, a knight of your father's table, and i've come to rescue you from this abandoned castle."

there was a pause, then he hurriedly backed away from the door as he heard approaching footsteps. the door swung open inwards, and he was doused in the sunlight that streamed from the room you lived in.

you were beautiful, he thought. even more beautiful than the legends said. perhaps they had tried their best, but seungcheol knew they hadn't seen you like he could now. he remembered when he was lucky enough to have met you briefly at a spring festival, back when such things happened in the kingdom. before you were taken and the happiness had left. he remembered the way you smiled and danced with him as only a child, but being viewed through his wide, curious eyes, wondering why the kingdom's only princess had held his hand and swung him around her in the plaza. his heart felt light as he saw the same features upon your face, matured and even more lovely than ever. he wondered if you remembered him, too, despite knowing that you had danced with likely a hundred others, though only some of them as young as he had been. he was so caught up in thinking about how he may be the first in the kingdom to see you since your taking, he hardly noticed the look you were giving him, one hand on the door and the other on your hip.

"you didn't kill her, did you?"

seungcheol blinked. "k-kill her?"

"penelope. the dragon," you specified, despite feeling as though you truly shouldn't have to. "you didn't kill her?"

his hand left the hilt of his sword, and he kneeled, bowing his head as he remembered who you were to him. "no, my princess. slaying dragons is not something i would do willingly."

you stared at him, his dark hair grazing over his eyes as he looked back at you in awe, and your gaze softened at his words of respect to the powerful race. no one had ever made it this far, not the entire time you had lived in this castle. when he had arrived, you were with penelope in the garden, and she spotted the horse riding dutifully towards the castle. you questioned her noises, then watched her gaze, quickly mounted her back and allowed her to take you back to your tower as the horse neared. you had heard penelope when she roared in the distance - the same roar she gave when you had to help her untangle from a chained chandelier last week - and you had wondered how he trapped her. how he outsmarted her. although, you thought. it was before midday, and penelope had always been slightly slower in the mornings.

nevertheless, there was a handsome man kneeling before you, with a proven heart of gold and a penchant for calling you his princess, and you had been feeling particularly lonely as the recent weeks dragged on.

you reached down for his hand, which he extended to meet yours. he kissed the back of your hand briefly before rising to his feet again, his eyes never leaving your face. "princess, if i may speak freely-"

"you may," you said, looking up to him expectantly.

"you are the most beautiful being i have ever laid my eyes upon. are you sure you're not a goddess?"

you felt your chest set aflame at the compliment. "sir seungcheol, if i didn't know you were a knight, i would say you were courting me."

you smiled when his eyes got big, realizing his mistake. "milady, i apologize, i did not mean to-"

"hush, my brave knight." his jaw clenched when you purred the words to him, pulling him by the hand into your living quarters.

he looked about the round room, taking in as much of it as he could. the ornate canopy bed opposite the door, against the only flat wall in the tower. where the walls jointed on one side, there was a steep staircase leading up to a lofted area, and on the other, a door. the windows were large and let in lots of light, one of which was pushed open to allow a breeze to waft through the room. large bookshelves curved along one side, with a ladder expertly positioned under the section you were currently reading through. the tall walls were covered in paintings, some old and sunwashed, while others were as vibrant as the blue sky, and many that fell somewhere between. a hobby you had picked up with time, he supposed, before he remembered the similar paintings he had seen at the base of the stairwell. had you been brave enough to venture down there, as well, when you had run out of space here? he noticed a table to his right, at which there was an askew wooden chair. that must have been where you were sat when he arrived, and he moved towards it, finding a notebook and a quill. he looked away from your neat handwriting, not wishing to invade your privacy, before hearing you shut the door.

"i've never had visitors."

he stared at you as you closed the small gap between the two of you. "i-"

"you didn't mean to visit, i know," you said, fingers running up the chainmail on his forearm. "you meant to rescue. but alas, sir seungcheol, i may have once been prisoner here, but the fearsome penelope has grown fond of me. i have been free to go for years."

he watched your face, his fingers itching to reach for you. "my princess, what keeps you here, then? so far from the kingdom that loves you?"

you exhaled lightly, realizing you hadn't spoken to anyone but a dragon about anything for far too long, much less these feelings. perhaps sir seungcheol wasn't the worst person to confide in, if he had made it past your tenacious penelope. "i was still so young when i was taken, but even then, my parents only ever spoke of me as a pawn for the kingdom." your voice was quieter than you intended, and you noticed seungcheol's shoulders tense, not wanting to react poorly to his king's action, but unable to not empathize with you. "i was a disappointment from birth for not being a son. all they wanted me for was to marry someone from a powerful family. that was my role to them, and the sooner the better. when i was taken, i was almost thankful." you thought a moment, and seungcheol watched you like he was on the edge of his seat. "fate bought me some time."

"my princess, i'm sorry," he paused, hesitating. "i didn't realize the hardship-"

"how old were you?" you asked, interrupting him before he could claim you had a hard life. you didn't. you knew that. you were luckier than most. "were you a knight before i left?"

he looked down at you, your eyes large as you questioned him. "n-no, i pledged because of your taking."

you smiled vaguely. "you joined to save me?"

seungcheol's eyes hid from yours suddenly. "yes, i suppose that is why," he said, adjusting his belt and the equipment that hung from it. your eyes flicked downwards as he cleared his throat. "it happened a week before my sixteenth birthday. i volunteered as soon as i could."

you watched his adam's apple bob as he swallowed, still avoiding your gaze and instead staring at the paintings adorning the walls. sixteen was the youngest anyone was allowed to enlist, but none that joined that young ever got knighted. you thought of the dedication he must have had at such a young age, but you remembered that you had befriended a dragon at the same age. "you're not much older than i, then."

his lip folded under his teeth, eyes on a deep purple painting of the dragon - penelope, you had called her. "i know."

just then, the floor shook with a low grumbling roar. your eyes went to the window. "sounds like penelope escaped your trap."

seungcheol's hand went to his sword immediately, and you pushed his hand away from the hilt.

"please, sir seungcheol," you gave him a teasing look. "she only bites if i want her to."

he looked at you, hearing the gust of strong flapping wings approaching. "do you want her to?"

you smiled. "not at all."

you went to the window as the dragon approached, the tower being cast in darkness as her wings obscured the windows and shaking as she gingerly gripped it, her head poking in through the opening. he wondered how often she did that. if the tower was at risk of collapsing from her visits.

"are you okay?" you asked, placing a hand on her snout. "he didn't hurt you, did he?"

seungcheol swallowed hard as he watched you, doing his best to not show fear. he had spent six years training to, against his better judgement, slay the so-called "ruthless" dragon that had killed many knights before him, yet here you were, baby talking to it. and it was chirping in response. he allowed the two of you to exchange words and grunts for longer than he felt comfortable, but he truly wasn't in much of a state to stop you.

"well, go on, then," you said finally. "go take a nap, you had a hard morning, we shouldn't get any more visitors for a few weeks."

the dragon let out a gentle roar, and sunlight flooded back into the room as it left, flapping away. he approached you as you watched her, and he wondered if you intended to stay here forever.

"she only kills people with wicked hearts," you said quietly.

seungcheol stood beside you by the window, watching your profile. "she can sense them?"

you nodded, and he thought of all the brave men that had come before him only to never return. he had idolized them, once, when he was too young to understand, but he knew she was right. they only dreamt of the riches saving her would bring them. men the age of your father bragging that they would bring you back for you to be made their queen, giving them the kingdom. you would be indebted to them, they had said. he wondered how the men that had sworn to protect the kingdom and its inhabitants could speak such vulgar words about the one and only princess, especially when you had been only a child when you were taken. seungcheol was the youngest knight among them, the youngest to be accepted of any trainees, even to this day. bottom of the pecking order. he knew if he said something, he would never get the chance to save you for the right reasons. to try. to succeed. so he had kept his mouth shut for far too long. now, he thought, they had gotten what they had deserved.

"i've been waiting," you sighed, turning to look up at him, his gaze shooting away from yours on instinct. "for a man with a good heart. a man smart enough to be worthy of my hand."

seungcheol stared at the open window as you walked behind him, trying to understand your words in a way that did not mean him. "p-princess, i don't think i under-"

you tugged at the ties of his armor, remembering well the way your home army built it. he jumped, grasping at the metal chest plate before it clattered against the ground. "sir seungcheol, why don't you stay a while?"

he leaned the chestplate against the wall and spun to face you, brows furrowed. he had sworn to protect and serve you blindly, giving up any family he may have dreamed of having in the past. he had rejected courtship in favor of being fully prepared to die in an attempt to save you from your prison. and when he found you, my god, he couldn't have been more blown away. you were more stunning than he could have ever imagined, a radiance to you that was indescribable. he wanted to take you home, to the kingdom he called home. to your parents, the king and queen, and to reunite the royal family for the first time in nearly a decade. he wanted to see the way he had imagined your face would light up at the reunion. but you…

your hands landed on his chest, now only covered by a cotton tunic, your fingers splayed across the toned muscle beneath the fabric. "i've… never had visitors…"

your repeated phrase read like a plea, and his hands instinctively went up to hold you in comfort. your eyes met his again, and he begged to any god that would listen for a way to say no. but the way your gaze held his, your small hands against his pounding chest, the way your teeth briefly pulled back your lower lip…

he prayed for forgiveness for breaking oath before he raised a hand to your jaw, leaning down into you.

your fingers gripped at his tunic in anticipation as your lips met, and you sighed happily at the contact. his lips were soft and plush against yours, and you considered how lucky you were that the knight smart enough to reach you was also incredibly beautiful. his eyelashes brushed against your cheek before he pulled away, and he held your face near his.

"my princess, why me?" he searched your eyes. "i've already sworn my life to serve you. you could have any prince in th-"

"oh, hush," you smiled briefly. "my dear, sweet, noble seungcheol. you being the one to reach me has been service enough."

though seungcheol would never desire to oppose you, he disagreed. he had so much more to do for you. he pulled your waist into him, kissing you deeper. you moaned into his mouth, and he thought you sounded more angellic than any choir he had ever heard. his fingers dug into the fabric of your dress, and he wondered briefly how much you wanted from him. how horribly would he desecrate the oath of knightship for your sake? everything in him yearned for you, a feeling he had never fathomed before. how could he possibly say no, when your body was against his, begging for him to say yes?

you pulled at the strings holding his armguards, letting the chainmail and leather clatter to the floor on either side of you, and seungcheol watched you, swollen lips parted slightly, as you unthreaded the corset of your dress.

"seungcheol?"

his dark eyes met yours, an involuntary reaction to you calling him casually shooting straight to his groin. his hands were on your waist when his tongue shot out to wet his suddenly dry lips. "how can i serve you better, princess?"

you smiled slowly, pulling your hair away from your nape as you spun in his grip. "help me out?"

seungcheol's voice may have wavered slightly when he said "of course," but his motions were anything but hesitant. you briefly wondered if he had done this for any women before you, taking down their dress ties and coaxing the material off their shoulders like he did yours. or, perhaps, you thought excitedly. perhaps he just had a sister at home, or he had aided his mother in the past, and this would be something new for him, as well.

the tunic and corset fell from your form, leaving you in a thin slip and your undergarments, and you turned again, stepping out of the fabric around your ankles to push into seungcheol's chest, pushing him towards the bed in which you spent every night alone for far too long, your lips desperately seeking his. his fingers gripped around your waist, and he felt the warmth of your beautiful skin on his fingertips through the cotton material that kept him from seeing all of you, and it ignited something in him.

seungcheol slipped an arm below your hips to lift you slightly, swinging you over and walking you to your neatly made bed. his clothes, he thought. he had ridden through mud that morning. he sank to his knees as he placed you at the foot of the bed, not wanting to bring the taint of the outside world into the sheets you dreamt upon. you held him, down on one knee between your split legs, as his lips trailed down your neck, and his hands ran down the curve of your hip in a hurry. your hands never left his neck, his nape, his shoulders. you felt him tense at your vocal reaction to his touch. you adored the way he touched you. like you were a sculpture. a beautiful form in clay, and he had to swipe the pads of his fingers over every inch to make sure it was right. you were nothing less than perfection to him, and he had to make sure his sculpture represented the curve of your waist well, and the way it met your breasts, then down your spine and over your hip, feeling around your ass before running down your thighs. you sighed and moaned, making his fingers tense on whatever flesh he was grasping at those moments, and you wondered if all of it would feel this good.

"seungcheol," you said suddenly, hands cradling his skull as he paused his hushed praises of your collarbones to look up at you. "i'm not asking this of you as your princess."

a small smile tugged at his cheeks, dimpling them, understanding what you wished to clarify. "princess," he addressed, but with a dark tonal change that had you tingling for contact. "i'm not doing this as your knight."

you only managed to smile at him briefly before he dug his hands under your slip, pulling the cotton over your head. he tossed it somewhere behind you, but it didn't matter, because you didn't even have time to be annoyed that he was severely more dressed than you before his mouth dipped to your core.

you gasped, hard, the feeling of his tongue on your clit through your panties, and you grasped at his hair desperately. seungcheol only grunted when you stuttered out his name, and he only looked up at you, still tasting at you through the fabric. "christ, seungcheol, i'm sensitive."

he nodded, lulling you into a false sense of reprieve as he pulled away, but it almost felt like pity when all he said was "you taste too good," and all he did was pull your panties down your thighs. you didn't see where those got discarded, either, because you were too distracted by the stars that danced across your canopy, you back arcing over your bed at the feeling of seungcheol's tongue pressing into you, his lips latching around your sensitive hood and making you squeal out repetitions of his name, gripping at anything you could. his hands held your thighs up, out of his way, but in a position comfortable for you, letting you settle your legs where it felt best. he could feel your walls tensing around his languid muscle, and your grip on his hair, right at the crown of his skull, made him throb in need. you cried out loud, and if you were capable of coherent thought as you came hard, and directly on his tongue, you would have been asking why it never felt this good when you had gotten yourself off. maybe seungcheol was the answers to your prayers after all.

his eyes met yours again when you finally managed to open them, and he licked a wide stripe up your pussy. you could almost focus on his pupils, dilated in lust, and he tugged at the ties around his riding boots. he pulled you to sit up as he stood, pressing your lips together again. you moaned, tasting yourself on him, your arms instinctively draping themselves around his shoulders as he hurriedly undid his belt buckle. you adjusted your posture, and you were tugging at where his tunic was tucked into the belt he was stripping away from his body, pulling it over his head as soon as he dropped his equipment on the ground. you were on your knees at the foot of your bed, your hands skating up his gorgeous torso, still not over how insanely lucky you felt to have been found by possibly the most perfect man in existence.

then, when he shoved his pants down his hips and his undergarments went with it, you were absolutely positive he was the most perfect man in existence.

his member was hot and heavy, and you had to swallow to stop yourself from drooling onto yourself as you sat back. you reached for it, and seungcheol hissed at the contact as your fingers wrapped around the shaft. his lips chased yours, hips inadvertently thrusting into your hand while he kicked off his boots. when he stopped, so did you, and his eyes opened to look your face up and down.

"princess, this would likely be punishable by death if i were any other knight."

you knew he was right, but you now knew that the two of you held all the cards. the tiniest detail he had implied - only punishable if he were any other knight. your father liked him. and he had saved his beautiful daughter and heiress to the throne. anything could happen from here, and you two would end up on top. you smiled, only enough for him to barely catch it as he caught his breath, then kissed him briefly. "let's make it worth while, then, shall we?"

seungcheol's stomach clenched at your words, his grip on your hips tight. he gave you a need filled kiss before flipping you onto your stomach, lifting your hips until your knees settled at an angle on either side of his legs. he held himself at your entrance, gathering your leaking juices on the head of his already red hot cock as you moaned helplessly into your blankets, your full chest pushing into the mattress. your hand skated down to him, brushing over his fingers on your hip before he grabbed it and pushed your hand against your back. you whined, trying your hardest to push back onto him despite him holding you off.

"you'll hurt yourself, princess," seungcheol warned, eyebrows crinkling as he tried to stave off his want to snap full into your velvety cushioned walls, only dipping himself into you a centimeter at a time. you could only whine again, then gasped once when his full head popped into you.

"please, seungcheol, please please," you begged, tears threatening your eyes as they stinged with want. your fingernails dug into his hand. "i need you. all of it. please."

he groaned at your pleas, his hips jerking ever so slightly as you moaned in response. he let go of your hand to grip your hips with both hands, and you scrambled, using your newly recovered limb to push yourself back into his hips. you screamed into your blanket as seungcheol let out a choked moan, suddenly fully sheathed in your warmth. you were breathing heavily, mind swimming at the feeling of him stretching you out wide, and all the incredible places he was hitting. it hurt, slightly, but god it hurt good. he paused, praying to god he didn't cum just from the feeling of you around him - he needed this, and he needed a lot of it. he would never forgive himself for cutting it off early.

you were gasping as you pushed your palms into the bed, moving your body forward and pushing back again, really savoring the way his thick cock fit snugly in you, the way it fucked into a sweet spot you had never reached before. your babbling became less coherent as seungcheol recovered his ability to move, pulling you back into his thrusting hips with a pleasantly tight grip around your waist. he leaned forward over you, pinching at your nipples before letting one hand roam down your stomach to your core. you yelped, your elbows buckling as his finger brushed against your clit. you collapsed into the mattress, though he was holding your hips up to where his met them repeatedly, and you moaned, desperately trying to lift yourself off of your own face. his other hand pulled your hair away from your neck, gripping it in a loose ponytail as he kissed your shoulder blade.

"you're the most perfect thing i've ever seen," seungcheol said breathlessly. "the most perfect thing i've ever felt."

you pressed your neck into the blanket, desperately twisting and trying to see him as you were steadily climbing towards a second release. you wanted to say something equally as poetic and sensual, but when his dark eyes found yours, and you moaned in the same moment, you had already said the most sensual thing you could have. and then, you swore you saw a dark smirk on his lips before they hungrily mouthed at yours.

you squirmed beneath him gasping and curling your toes as he pounded into you, the sound of his hips against your ass echoing off the far wall vaguely. your release came fast and hard, the same way he fucked you through it, and seungcheol used every ounce of discipline he had to keep himself away from ending this as you pleaded for him to cum with you, voice cracking as he snapped into you.

you were somewhere between babbling and crying, your vision blurred from a combination of the way his cock felt like heaven and the moisture that had accumulated in your eyes from the orgasm, and your hand grasped at his as it clumsily rubbed against your nearly spent clit. you laced your fingers with his, pulling it up to your breast, and he rolled a nipple between a finger and a thumb until you were pushing yourself back onto him again, desperate for more of what only he could give you.

you could only gasp when he pulled from you completely, your pussy aching as it stopped accommodating for seungcheol's considerable girth. your hands gripped at his shoulders as he rolled you over again, and you easily aided him in repositioning you on the bed, giving him ample space to toss you around as much as he wanted.

you attached your lips to his neck, starting to crave him deep in you again, if only he would just let go. you wanted to feel him chase after his high with no concern for you. you needed to feel his cum stain your walls. your open mouthed kisses down his pulse as you begged for him to just lose himself in you, and god did that sound delightful, but he didn't want to be done yet.

his still slick cock bumped into your clit, making you squeal against his shoulder, biting down briefly. his arm nearly buckled, and you registered the reaction just in time to bite down on his pulse as he pushed into you again.

with his knees on either side of your hips, he was curled over you, pulling your thighs down to sink you onto his cock. you wiped at his hair, slick with sweat now, and you imagined how lovely he would look in your mosaic wash tub in the room behind your bed, lit by the moonlight streaming through the window as you sat on his lap, taking in as much of him as you were now. you hoped he would be okay with staying long enough to fulfill some of your wandering youthful fantasies. his lips landed on yours again as you gripped at his hair, noises falling out of you as he split you in half.

he sat up, making his member curve into you addictively, and your back arched slightly in reaction. he ran his hands up your torso, curving around your breasts, playing with your nipples, rolling his hips gently into yours as you let out some of the most explicit and seductive moans seungcheol could have ever hoped to hear. you rolled your hips over his and he grunted, brow twitching inwards as he stared down at you. you looked back up at him, then rolled them again, making him drop his head. you pulled a deep moan from him with another roll, and as you continued your motions, his cock bulging into all your pressure points, you were whining for release as he was letting out short gasps, brows knit together. he suddenly laced his fingers with yours, then pulled your hips onto his abruptly with his palm on your thigh, and you shook with pleasure as you felt hot rope after hot rope make a complete mess of your cunt, your walls pulling him deeper, cum seeping out around the dick that took up too much space in you.

"fuck," he groaned, wiping back his damp hair as your nails scraped down his chest. "i didn't want to cum."

your mouth was hanging open and your eyes were only half lidded, and seungcheol thought he had never seen a more appealing expression in his life. "i needed you to."

his soul returned to his body as your words sent a rush of arousal into his body again, and he briefly wondered if he would ever stop wanting to be in you. he pulled one of your hands from his chest to place too gentle kisses across your knuckles, and he pumped into you slowly, white streaks leaking out as his cock steadily refilled the space. he pulled out, using a hand on his cock to collect some of the leaking cum and pushing it back into you. you practically wailed, fingers digging into his thighs as your messy cunt pulsed around him.

"s-s-" you whined, the name unable to be vocalised as he pumped deeper into you. "sss- s-!"

"yes, princess," he panted, a hand wrapping gently around your throat. despite there being no pressure, the warmth of his hand on you made you groan. his voice was low and harsh, like gravel. "am i serving you well?"

"s-sir," you gasped, finding the title easier to force out than his name in that moment. "i'm-m gon- god, s-seungcheol, i'm gonna-"

the hand on your throat slipped between your neck and the plush pillow, lifting your face up to be directly under his, and you watched him glower at you with a gap between your lips. "then cum, baby."

and with his chocolate eyes on yours, you quaked below him, clawing at his back and squeezing him tight. soon his lips were a comforting presence on yours, and your toes curled aimlessly with the backdrop of your ceiling as your face burned red, embarrassed by his ability to egg you on so successfully.

"you are incredible," seungcheol said finally, kissing at your squeezed shut eyelids. "how lucky am i that you saw something in me."

your eyes opened slowly, heat still radiating off your cheeks from your orgasm. "sir seungcheol, i think we may have been destined to cross paths."

he thought of the brief time you had danced with him at festival. the reason he dreamt of being a knight. the way your father took favor of him. the way his entire adolescence had been spent training to rescue you. perhaps, he thought. perhaps you were right.

and whether you were or not, when his lips met yours again and his hand caressed your cheek, you were once again nothing but putty in his hands. his fingers felt like they were designed to specifically hold your body, and he was that much closer to believing you were his destiny.

#this is a doozy #seventeen scenarios #seventeen imagines #seventeen smut #choi seungcheol imagines #choi seungcheol scenarios #choi seungcheol smut #scoups imagines #scoups scenario #scoups smut #i wrote dis #this is fun :)#im sweating #cheollie

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illfoandillfie · 4 years ago

Text

What You Want Me To Be

FUTURE MANAGEMENT MASTERLIST

Pairing: Roger Taylor x Fem!Reader

Summery: Roger makes a suggestion that leads to a little role reversal

Warnings: SMUT (18+), hypnosis, bimbofication, sub!roger, dom!reader, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex,mild feminzation/sissification - specifically through appearance

Words: 9222

A/N: So this was a request from my 1000 follower celebration. It took me roughly a year to actually write the damn thing but I’m really glad I finally did it! At first I wasn’t quite sure how to write himbo Roger but I think I did an alright job... I just hope he’s dumb enough lmao. Also this took a bit of a turn into a kink I didn’t think I was actually into so I’m not sure what came over me but thank god it did.

Song title is taken from Closer To You by The Cross (yet another song by them with big sub energy). Inspo for the hypnosis parts came from a few “intro to hypnosis” videos that are on youtube but the biggest inspo was THIS sleep hypnosis asmr that popped up in my feed months ago.

Taglist: @laedymoon @vee-ndetta @kellypenac @labessieisallama @deakyclicks @jennyggggrrr @drowseoftaylor @hannafuckingsucks @i-cant-hangout-im-drumming @queenmylovely @supersonicfreddie @taron-egrotten @johndeaconshands @borhapbois @stardust-galaxies @ohladymoon

“I have a proposition for you,” Roger said out of the blue as he pulled himself up to sit on the kitchen bench. You looked up from the pot of soup you were keeping an eye on, watching that it didn’t boil over, “What sort of proposition?” you asked with narrowed eyes. With Roger a statement like that could lead to just about anything and you were instantly suspicious. “What if we…filmed ourselves having sex.” The wooden spoon you’d been holding clattered against the side of the pot as you dropped it into the soup, “You want to make a sex tape?” “Yeah, does that excite you?” He raised his brows suggestively. “Maybe a little. What inspired this idea?” “Well what’s the point in owning a video camera if we don’t put it to use?” he laughed, “Plus I guess I was thinking it’d be kind of hot to film you when you’re all bimbo-y,” That was certainly not what you’d expected. A sex tape was one thing, maybe a thing you could get on board with if the right precautions were taken, but a tape of you under his hypnosis was a whole other question. “Close your mouth, love, unless you want to catch flies,” He laughed again, “What do you think?” “What I think...,” you took a breath, struggled to find the right words, “I can’t believe you’d ask that of me.” Roger seemed a little taken aback at your suddenly negative response but quickly recovered, “If you’re worried about someone seeing it then there’s no need. It’s not like we’d show anyone. It’d just be for us, when we’re away from each other or, I don’t know, just for fun. You could see yourself when you’re all spaced out. I know you’re curious about it and this would be your chance to see yourself like that.” He was right, you were curious. How could you not be? You knew what it felt like to be in that headspace, knew what it felt like to go blank and to obey whatever was asked of you, but you didn’t know what it was like for Roger, why he enjoyed seeing you that way as much as he did. “Just think about it for a second, think about how fucking hot that would be. And really you’ve got nothing to l-” “Don’t. You can’t just say that and expect me to suddenly agree to whatever you want. I’m not a bloody puppet you can control with a magic phrase.” “That’s not what I was trying to do!” “We both know what that phrase means in the context of this relationship Roger. Nothing to lose,” you scoffed, “Nice fucking try but this isn’t a question of getting me to be less inhibited or convincing me it’d be fun or brainwashing me into agreeing.” “I didn’t mean it like that, you know I wouldn’t do-” “And I don’t care how hot it would be for you. Do you have any idea how scary the thought of us filming that is? How vulnerable I am when I’m like that?” “Of cou-” “No, you don’t. You don’t or you wouldn’t have ask- Fuck,” you swore as the forgotten soup that had been bubbling away began to boil over. Turning the knob until the stove was off you quickly focused back on Roger, “This isn't the same as spanking or, or being restrained or anything like that. I’m literally giving up part of myself every time we play with hypnosis, giving up control in a way that is so…complete. I know we have backup triggers in place so that I can safeword if I need to and I know you wouldn’t abuse your power over me, but fuck Roger. Asking me to go into that headspace while you record proof of it, asking me to be that vulnerable for an audience, even if that audience is just us, is asking a fucking lot.” You sighed and looked over at the pot, “I’m not hungry anymore, I’m going to have a shower.”

“Y/N wait,” Roger slid from the bench and tried to take your hand but you shook him off and headed upstairs to the bathroom where you could think in peace without Roger’s concerned eyes or a ruined dinner to distract you. You worried you’d overreacted; it was only a suggestion after all. Not like he’d been saying you should film it right that second. He’d only been feeling out your interest. But it was also undeniably bold of him to consider making that request, seemingly without considering how big of a request it was.

You took your time in the shower, let your heart stop racing, let your mind calm. You still didn’t know what you were going to say to Roger. Maybe you could compromise, film something that wasn’t quite so exposing. Ruling it out completely didn’t feel right, not when it was something Roger was interested in trying and he’d been so supportive of trying things that interested you. And it wasn’t like you didn’t understand why he’d find the idea exciting. It was risqué in a way that made it thrilling. A light form of danger like having a quickie in the bathroom at a party – knowing there's a slim chance someone will see you but also knowing you can lock the door. Plus there was that element of an ego boost, seeing yourselves on tape, proof that he was as good a lay as he’d always claimed, proof you fit together as well as you felt you did. And if that had been where the suggestion stopped, just you and him in front of a camera, that could have been fun. But then he’d gone and said the b word and turned it into something else, something performative and invasive and terrifying. You only left the shower, thoughts still jumbled, when the water began to run cold. Wrapping yourself in a towel you headed towards the bedroom to find your pyjamas. Roger was already there. “Can I at least put some knickers on before you start in on it again,” you said, failing to keep your tone civil. “Can you stop trying to bite my head off when I’m about to apologise?” You turned away from your closet and crossed your arms over your chest, pinning the towel in place, as you waited for Roger to continue. “I’m sorry I didn’t consider the magnitude of what I was asking. And I’m sorry I said that phrase too. You’re right, it does hold a lot of context for us and I never want you to feel like I’m trying to manipulate you or to exploit your hypnotic triggers to get my way.” You sighed, all the fight leaving you with Roger’s apology, “It’s okay, I know you didn’t mean it that way. I’m sorry I stormed off like that. It’s just a lot y’know? Even thinking about filming that. There’s a reason you are the only person in the world who knows that I get off on that kind of thing. I had chances to tell exes and never took them because none of them would have got it, but you made me feel safe enough to share it and you understand it.” “I thought I did but you’re right, I don’t know what it’s like for you-" “No bu-” “But maybe I should.” “-t really I shouldn’t have expect- wait, what?” “Maybe I should know. And not because I’m trying to change your mind about the sex tape but I- I guess it doesn’t feel fair that I get to put you in that state without fully understanding it.” “Are you suggesting what I think you’re suggesting?” “If you think I’m suggesting that you hypnotise me, then yeah, that’s what I’m suggesting.” “Really?” “I’ve thought about it before. You mentioned it once a few months ago, about turning me into your bimbo,” “That was a joke,” you said incredulously. “And a very funny one. But I kept thinking about it a bit anyway and then tonight...it makes sense to try it, don’t you think.” “Rog, I don’t know,” “Just consider it, please? I would like to understand what it feels like for you when you’re tranced. And I think if we both had an idea of what it was like from the other side it would just make it better and more fun.”

“Okay, I’ll consider it.”

“Thank you,” Roger stepped in close to you, laying his hand on your cheek as the other settled on your waist, “I just want to look after you,” “You already do,” you lay your hand over his, keeping him pressed against you as you leaned into his touch. “Then I want to make you happy,” “You do that too,” “You’re an argumentative missy aren’t you,” he said with a shake of his head. “You wouldn’t like me half as much if I wasn’t,” Roger laughed and let his fingers fall down to toy with the top of your towel, threatening to pull it loose, “Can we kiss and make up now? You’re already almost dressed for it,” his sweet smile and soft laughter was infectious, making it impossible for you not to join in. As the moment faded he caught your lips, still smiling, “I love you,” “I love you too.”

Later that evening, curled up in front of the TV with Roger’s arm loosely slung around your waist, you dared to broach the subject again. “Did you really mean it about me hypnotising you?” “What part of everything I said made you think it was a joke?” “Okay, I guess what I’m really asking is are you sure you want to try that?” You readjusted yourself, turning to face Roger more, “For one thing I’m not sure I could take charge the way you do. And you remember how long it took us to get it to work on me, right? I don’t know that I’d be capable of doing it to you.” “Well to be fair to us, part of why it took so long to make it work was that we had no idea what we were doing.” “Mmm yeah, that’s true,” “But we know more now. And it doesn’t have to work straight away, we can take our time with it and try out different things.” “And what about me not being good at being the dominant one,” “Love, I think you’re selling yourself short. I’ve seen you handle the people who work for you, I’ve listened to you control a conversation even with those dicks who try to talk over you constantly. I know how bossy you can be, and I mean that in the best way possible. All you need is to know what you want and to tell me and it’ll happen. Anything else – the dirty talk and stuff – that's gravy.” “I can be kinda bossy, can’t I?” you laughed, “Yeah, maybe I could try it.” “You wanna give it a try right now?” “Now?” your heart began racing at the thought. “Nothing big or serious. But I'm feeling very relaxed and mellow right now, figured it might be a good time to start.” “Um, okay, yeah.” “Just do what I normally do to you,” You pushed yourself to sit up a little and Roger shifted to lean his head against your stomach. With a breath to calm yourself, you brought your hand to Roger’s hair and began raking your fingers through it the way he liked. He hummed softly. “I, um, I don’t know what to say,” Roger looked up at you and smiled, “Remember how we first started, the inductions we tried? Just talk me through what you want to happen. If it works, I’ll drop right to sleep when you tell me to, and you can suggest I cluck like a chicken or act like a mime or whatever you want. Then it’s just a matter of waking me and watching it happen.” “It sounds so easy when you say it like that,” “It kind of is once you get the hang of it. Or maybe you’re just an easy subject,” “Are you still feeling relaxed?” “Mmhmm,” Roger looked up at you and smiled, “You’ve got this, love,” You took a breath and tried to copy what you’d seen Roger do so many times before, the calming, confident way he spoke, as you continued to stroke his hair, “Focus on me, baby, just focus on my voice. Feel your eyes get heavier with everything I say. Feel yourself relaxing more,” Roger hummed softly as his eyes fluttered shut. “That’s right, just relax, you’re doing so well baby. Feeling so nice and calm and relaxed. And just sinking deeper and deeper. Sleep, baby, nice and deep.” Roger’s eyes tightened and his lips twisted into a slight frown. “It’s okay baby, just relax for me.” “Sorry,” Roger said, opening his eyes, “It’s not working,” “I knew I wasn’t going to be any good at this,” “No, you’re doing well, it takes a bit of getting used to it all. Also the TV’s still on which makes it hard to focus. What you were saying was good though, maybe throw in some more repetition. And I think there’s something about how you’re saying it that isn’t working. You need to sound more confidant, like you actually believe it’s possible.” “Okay, noted. Um, can we try it with you sitting up? Then I can try some other stuff I remember from when you were learning, the forehead tap induction and the arm drop thing.” “Brilliant idea,” Roger pushed himself to sit up on the couch, getting comfortable as you stood to turn off the TV. You dropped back into the seat beside him, crossing your legs under you as you faced Roger. Once again you centred yourself and tried to conjure up the confidence you’d been missing. When you felt ready to try again you reached for Roger’s hand, tracing your fingertips over his palm, along the length of each finger, his thumb, the back of his hand. “Okay, here we go. I want you to relax for me, focus on your breathing, feel each breath filling your lungs, nice and deep. And feel the air leaving you as you breathe out again. And then back in, big deep breath. Feel yourself relaxing with each breath, feeling sleepy. That’s right baby, in...and out...and in again. Each deep breath making you relax more and more.” Roger’s eyes were shut, leaning his weight against the back of the couch as he breathed in time with your words. “That’s right,” you brought your hand up to his forehead and gave him a small tap, the way you remembered him doing to you the first few times he put you under, “And sleep.” Roger’s head slumped forward. “Good boy. That’s right, now keep breathing, keep relaxing. Deeper and deeper with each breath.” You couldn’t help but smile at seeing just how you were affecting Roger, how loose his shoulders were, how heavy his head hung. Maybe you were starting to understand why he enjoyed it. “That’s right, just let yourself relax, let yourself feel loose and calm. In a moment I’m going to lift your arm a few inches and drop it back down into your lap. Let me do all the work. All you need to do is stay nice and loose and limp and relaxed. And when you feel your arm drop down, you’ll notice how much more you can relax.” You reached for Roger’s arm again, taking it by the wrist, and tried to lift it just above where it rested. “Relax for me baby, nice and loose.” Once more you tried to lift his arm by the wrist but again he tensed up. With a sigh you tapped on his forehead again, “Wake up Roger,” Roger lifted his head and smiled at you, “that went better.” “Right up until you wouldn’t let me lift your arm.” “I didn’t?” “Nope.” “It’s harder being hypnotised than I expected,” he shrugged, “But we can try again, right?” “Yes, definitely. Maybe after I’ve had a bit more warning though, some time to prep.”

It took another couple of weeks for you to find an evening when you both felt up to trying again. But the break gave you time to prepare. You found an old library book Roger had never returned from when he’d been researching hypnotism and skimmed through it, making a few notes of things to try and how to try them. When it came time to test them you and Roger took up your spots on the couch once more as you got him to breathe calmly and focus on you. You dropped him into the trance with the same forehead tap you’d used before, since you knew it worked, and talking to him with as much calm and as much confidence as you could muster. But once more, as you attempted to lift his arm, you found him resisting. “Nice deep breaths baby, relax and let yourself go loose. You’ve got nothing to lose.” You were almost surprised when Roger made a small humming noise as you reached for his arm again and found yourself able to lift it a couple of inches into the air before dropping it back to his lap. “Doing so well for me baby, being so good, just let yourself sink deeper. Deeper. That’s right, nice and relaxed.” You played around with a few of the deepening techniques the book had suggested to strengthen the hypnosis, asking him to slowly and softly count to ten, asking him to repeat mantras. You had to cover your mouth to keep from laughing when you realised it had worked. You’d successfully hypnotised Roger. “Very good baby. Now in a moment I’m going to wake you up but when I do, you’ll feel as if you’ve been glued to the couch. You won’t be able to stand up and the more you try the harder it’ll be, okay? Three, two, one,” you tapped his forehead again, “wake up.” Roger raised his head, blinked a few times as he readjusted to the light. “How was that?” “Really good, I felt more comfortable not being in control that time. Still a weird sensation though. It doesn’t feel how I thought it would.” “How so?” “I guess I expected to like black out completely but that’s not really it, is it? I still feel...alert?” “I know what you mean. It’s like you still feel like your awake even though everyone talks about sleep and it kind of doesn’t feel like its working, right?” “Exactly! What about for you?” “It all worked I think. You resisted a bit at first but I kept talking to you and got you to relax more and everything was fine.” “God that’s hot,” “I know right,” you laughed, “actually, do you mind getting me a glass of water, I’ve been talking a fair bit and my throat feels a little scratchy,” “Sure thing love,” Roger nodded, flashing you a soft, dreamy smile, as he braced his hands on the edge of the couch. But as he tried to stand the smile slipped from his face and his brow crinkled in confusion. “You okay Rog?” “Yeah, uh, just,” he tried to stand again, “I can’t ge- Y/N you fucker,” “I wanted to see if giving you a suggestion would actually work,” you laughed, “apparently it does.” “Alright you can stop this now. Please,” “Sleep,” you tapped on his forehead, watching as his head dropped forward once more,” “When I wake you, you won’t feel stuck to the couch anymore, you’ll feel entirely normal and be able to stand with ease. Wake up.” The tap brought Roger’s attention back to you for a moment before he pushed himself to his feet successfully. “Thank you,” “You’re welcome. How do you feel?” “Like normal. That was great though.” “It’s fun isn’t it, being put under like that,” “Almost as fun as putting you under.”

You laughed along with Roger as you headed to the kitchen, “I do feel more confident about it all now though. But I’m still not entirely sure how to do the next part and get you to go all bimbo-y.” “The trick is to try a longer induction. Just talking, almost like a conversation. I find it makes for a better drop than the suddenness of a forehead tap or a click or anything like that. I guess because there’s more opportunity to make you feel like it’s all your idea, which granted it often is. But it gets the brain to accept the bimbo-ness more easily. The only time I might use a quicker induction is if we’re playing with fractionation but that’s more advanced, and we want to keep this fairly basic.” “Easier for both of us then. Do you have a script you follow?” “Not exactly. I mostly wing it but there are a few things I tend to try and use. If I can tie it into something you’ve said, that always helps. Like if you say I’ve had a shitty day at work and need to stop thinking about it all, then I’d talk to you about letting go of the day, forgetting about work, stuff like that. If you say you want to play because you’re bored, I’d say something about how you can’t be bored without a brain or how taking dick is a good way to fill time or something like that. It builds on your existing feelings and makes everything stick better. Repetition is always helpful, counting, ummm what else,” Roger clicked his tongue thoughtfully, “You respond really well to touch so I try and play with your hair or rub your back as I talk just to focus your attention. Oh, of course I try to say you’ve got nothing to lose, or variations of it, at least a couple of times. Partly because that’s one of the trigger phrases I set up when we started doing this properly but also because, well, y’know, us.” “I think I can remember all of that,” “Don’t overthink it, love. Just say whatever comes to mind in the moment and go from there. You can always adjust what you’re doing as you do it.”

The next few attempts you made at hypnotising Roger were spent trying to get the hang of the longer, more conversational inductions. You tried the same methods he adopted, running your fingers over his arms and through his hair as you asked him to count his breaths, talking to him about his day or whatever was on his mind. Another time you tried something more traditional, getting him to watch one of his old necklaces as you swung it before his eyes. You had some mild success, able to put him under long enough to make small suggestions but not all of the suggestions worked. The real breakthrough came on a drizzly Saturday afternoon, sitting across from Roger on your bed, as you tried not to get too frustrated with how hard you were finding it to hypnotise him. “Love, don’t worry. You’ll get the hang of it. Honestly, hypnosis and drumming are kind of similar because-” Roger kept talking but you’d stopped listening, struck by a sudden idea. “So if you think of it like that the,...wait, where are you -?” “Just give me two seconds,” You quickly sped down the hallway and around to Roger’s office slash music room. Sitting on the shelf that hung over his desk – neat excluding the open notebook, the visible pages covered in lyrics that had been crossed out and scribbled over, and his journal where he kept track of all his meetings and other goings on – was what you were looking for. An old metronome Roger had been given to help him learn how to keep time on his first ever drumkit. Obviously unused now, though he held onto it thanks to a slight sentimental streak and the idea that one day he may be able to teach your children how to play. He seemed surprised to see it in your hands as you re-entered the bedroom. “Well,” you said as you placed it on the bedside table, “I figure that, since you’re so musically inclined, having a rhythm to focus on might help you drop. I hope this thing still works.” “Worth a shot,” “If this does make it easier to drop you, what, um, what should I do?” “Are you asking how to initiate sex with me?” “So you do want to take it in that direction? You don’t want to start smaller? We haven’t done any of the prep stuff with setting safe word triggers and all that.” “We hadn’t done any of that the first time we had sex while you were all bimbo-y, it was only after we decided to play with it more regularly that we add all the safety precautions. “Yeah, I know, but-“ “I don’t think you’ll be doing anything too kinky, right?” “I wasn’t planning on it,” “Exactly. It’s not like there’s going to be restraints or anything like that. Just good old fashioned missionary or whatever you decide. And you know I trust you.” “I just want to make sure you feel okay with it all. I know how important it is to feel safe for hypnosis to work,” “Y/N, it’s fine. If you can turn me into a dumb slut, please do. That’s kind of the whole point of this. Also, if we don’t fuck now then I’m just going to try it on before bed anyway.” You laughed and nodded, “dumb slut it is. Now, can you sit over here for me?” Roger nodded and scooted along the bed, turning to face the metronome as you set it ticking on a slower speed. When you were sure it was working you hopped onto the bed beside him, walking on your knees until you were kneeling behind his back. “You mean I don’t get to watch you?” Roger pouted over his shoulder, throwing an arm behind him to try and find your hand. You caught his flailing limb and gave it a squeeze as you took a breath and tried once again to summon the right voice, “No, I want you to watch the metronome,” gently you pressed on the side of his jaw, encouraging him to turn and face the metronome, “follow it with your eyes. Watch as it swings back and forth. Back. And forth. And listen to my voice. Watch the metronome, listen to me. Of course, you know what a metronome is for, don’t you?” Roger nodded, though his eyes remained glued to the swaying device. “Of course you do. You know it’s for helping to keep the correct tempo, tempo, tempo. Especially for anyone just starting to learn an instrument.” You spoke close to his ear, trailing your fingers down until you were resting your hands on his shoulders, “But today it’s going to help you learn something else. Or, rather, forget. Focus on the beat as you watch the pendulum. Back and forth, back and forth. That’s right, just like that. Focus on the beat, focus on the pendulum. Every click of the beat pushes your focus deeper and deeper as you watch it swing back and forth. Swinging and clicking. Clicking and swinging. Just like that. Let it take you deeper. You’ve got nothing to lose by going deeper. Good boy, keep listening to the beat. Every click pushes you deeper, every click. Deeper. Click. Click. Click. Deeper and deeper. And every time you sink deeper, you find it harder to keep your eyes open. Feel your eyes wanting to close with every click. Click. Click.” Roger rapidly blinked as he tried to keep his eyes open, humming in agreement. “Don’t fight it baby, just listen to the beat, listen to my voice. Your eyes are getting more and more heavy. Getting more and more tired. With every sway of the pendulum, back and forth, back and forth.” Roger’s head nodded forwards as his eyes slid shut. “That’s right, just like that. Being so good. You know there’s nothing to lose by following my instructions, getting sleepier and sleepier. I’m going to count you down now. Ten. Keep listening to that click, click, click. No need to fight it, baby. Listen to the clicking, listen to my voice. Nine. Letting go of all control and all your thoughts. Eight. Letting your brain empty. Every click makes your brain emptier and emptier. Nice and easy. Seven. No room for thoughts. Just the click, click, click of the pendulum and my voice, my instructions. Six. Nothing to lose by letting go of your thoughts, letting your brain empty. Becoming so good and dumb for me. Five. And as you feel your head empty, as all your thoughts fly out of your brain with that clicking, you feel something else. You feel hornier and hornier. Four. With every click, click, click, feel more and more leave your brain. Hornier and emptier, emptier and hornier. So easy and dumb for me. Nothing left to lose. Nothing in your head except for me. Two. Good boy, nice and deep and dumb and horny. One.” You paused for a moment but Roger didn’t stir, just kept breathing deeply, eyes shut. Trying not to panic that you’d done something wrong you gave him a final instruction, “When you feel ready, when your head feels empty and dumb I want you to wake up okay?” You fell silent again, nervously rubbing your hands over Roger’s shoulders as you waited for him to respond.

Thirty seconds or so later Roger slowly lifted his head, blinking his eyes open. You breathed a sigh of relief and stood up to stop the metronome. Roger looked at you, frowning slightly. “Hey, baby, how do you feel?” you asked, bending down to look him in the eye. “Um,” he scrunched his nose up, “head…heavy.” It was odd to say the least, seeing Roger, who was normally so quick witted and intelligent and well-spoken struggle to put together two little words, “Is that all?” “No?” He thought for a moment more, face breaking out into a grin, “Good. I feel good.” “I knew that you would now,” “You did?” “No, like the song Rog. I Feel Good by James Brown?” You moved back to the middle of the bed, taking a seat, cross legged, Roger watching closely and imitating you. “Song?” “You play the record constantly.” “Record?” “Fuck. This really worked,” you laughed, excited that, seemingly, you’d managed to pull it off. “What?” Roger cocked his head to the side, face once again crinkled up in concentration as he tried to understand. You had to laugh again, “Sorry baby but you look very cute when your confused,” Another smile crept onto Roger’s face. “What’s got you so happy?” “You said I’m cute,” “Okay well, you’re still Roger then.” “Am I still cute?” “Absolutely,” you giggled, “Can I ask you some questions?” Roger nodded rapidly. “What are you thinking about right now?” “Cunt.” There was no hesitation, no trying to find the right word this time, “I love cunt. Your cunt most of all.” “Some things don’t change,” you muttered more to yourself than Roger, “Any other thoughts?” This time he thought a bit harder, smile getting bigger as he voiced each one “Orgasms. Making you wet. Cunt.” “Christ, am I this one tracked when I’m tranced?” “What?” “Nothing baby. I have another question for you, what can you tell me about the drums?” you were curious to see how deep the hypnosis went, and because the drums were such an integral part of Roger’s life, his psyche, thought that it would be a good indication. “Umm…. Drums are,” he drew the word out as he thought, “loud. Loud and...fun.” “Can you tell me anything about playing the drums?” Roger concentrated for a moment, expression shifting to worry, “No?” “That’s okay, I’m just checking something. How do you feel now?” “Still good. Also...” “Also what baby?” “Horny? Yeah, horny.” It was like Roger had only just become aware that that’s what the feeling was, “Very horny.” “Very horny? That’s a good feeling though, isn’t it?” Roger nodded again, enthusiastic agreement. “And what should we do about it?” “Ummm,” “That’s okay, I’ll think of something,” you winked at Roger sending him into a fit of giggles. It was hard to wrap your head around seeing him like that but hearing him laugh helped. He wasn’t as giggly as you knew you were when you were tranced. Roger always mentioned the giggling after you’d woken back up, said it was one of his favourite things about bimbo you, how amusing you found everything. But he was a different breed of bimbo. You’d been expecting more laugher if you were honest since that’s how he got when he was drunk. (Well, he either fell about laughing and acting like a child, or he was suddenly ready to debate anyone about anything, depending on what and how much he’d had, but you could hardly expect someone with no braincells to even know what a debate was, so you’d expected laughter.) He was definitely happy, though, just smiley more than giggly. And he was very agreeable if the speed and enthusiasm he showed for your questions was anything to go by. You’d have to be careful when you eventually let him touch you or else he’d explode from happiness. The biggest difference though was his voice. He’d never had a terribly deep voice but now it was lighter than normal, less rough, more vapid. Nothing he said sounded certain and coming from a man who was normally sure of himself and who spoke like it, that was a big difference. But it was all quite arousing really. Knowing you’d been able to put him in this state, knowing that all his thoughts were directed at you. The very small part of you that got jealous and clingy purred at the notion. No band to share him with, no friends, no fans. He was all yours. And he was thrilled about it. “Are you ready yet?” “So impatient baby,” “Mmmmaybe. I want to touch you,” “You can in a minute,” you laughed at his eagerness, “I’m just not quite sure what to do with you. Normally you’d be the one bossing me around and I spent so much time worrying about how to turn you into a bimbo that I didn’t consider what to do with you once you were under.” Roger gave you another happily confused look though he was momentarily distracted by drops of rain running down the window behind you. You had to tap his knee to get his attention again. “Alright, alright. I’m pretty horny myself and I think I’d like to get off so….” You considered your options for a moment, “You always like making me go down on you when I’m all brainless and stupid, so I think that’s what we’ll start with. You can eat me out.” Roger jumped to his knees, practically bouncing with excitement as you lay back and let your legs part. “Thank you,” he said as he quickly tugged off your pants and underwear. “Such good manners,” Roger hummed as he buried himself between your legs, pushing them a little wider. His enthusiasm continued; his whole attention focused on your pussy as he dragged his tongue along it. “Jesus, you don’t muck around,” you laughed, getting comfortable. Roger mumbled something against you. “Speak up Dummy, can’t hear you.” He lifted his head long enough to say, “you taste good,” before licking along your slit again. “You’re so cute with a head full of cunt,” Roger hummed in agreement which made you laugh though it turned into a gasp as his tongue brushed past your clit. Without thinking you brought your hand to rest against the back of Roger’s head, twisting his hair around your fingers. He barely noticed, much more concerned with making you as wet as possible with just his mouth, both of his hands gripping your thighs tightly. It was different to most of the times he’d gone down on you. Normally there was an element of teasing to his head game, even if it was just a casual lazy session. There was always the threat of being edged, even when you knew neither of you were in the mood for that. Kisses and grazed teeth on your thigh when you wanted his lips elsewhere, as if he were just reminding you that you liked it when he took charge. And that was fun. You enjoyed it a lot, wouldn’t trade it for anything. But there was something to be said for this version of Roger. This brainless version who wouldn’t even consider teasing you, who only wanted to make you feel good, who didn’t have any motivations outside your pleasure. He was meticulous, seemingly determined to touch every erogenous spot you had, every nerve ending. Sucking and licking with such fervour and glee that the sound made you dizzy. When he did something that made your breath catch in your throat or, even better, pulled a moan from you, he made sure to repeat it, taking your half-formed expletives as praise. And then he’d find a new spot to make you moan. By the time he decided to focus his attention entirely on your clit, you could feel how wet you were on the inside of your thighs. You were sure you would have been making a terrible mess of the sheets if Roger hadn’t been devouring every drop. “Just like that Dummy,” you panted, “fuck, don’t stop” Roger took your words to heart, tightening his lips around your clit and refusing to move until your legs clamped tight around his head as you came. Even after you relaxed again he didn’t stop entirely, dragging his tongue through your creamy arousal until you physically pushed him away. He pouted in disappointment. “Don’t look so sad baby. I just need a little break because you were so good,” “Oh!” He beamed dopily at the praise, “Thank you!” “How are you feeling?” “Um, I made you feel good so I feel good.” You laughed, “You’d do just about anything if I said it would make me happy, even something like hump the mattress, wouldn’t you?” Before you’d even finished speaking Roger had repositioned himself and begun rutting against the mattress, “Like this?” “Fuck,” “Can I lick your cunt again?” You were tempted to say yes but you still felt sensitive and besides, other ideas were forming, “no, not right now. I just want to watch you for a minute.” “Okay,” he sighed. “Does that feel good Dummy?” “Yes,” “Don’t cum,” “Okay,” "You look very pretty like this,” you indicated his messy hair and the sheen of cum and saliva that still coated his chin, “But something’s missing. When I let you hypnotise me I always dress for the occasion. Stop.” Roger stilled once more, sitting up to watch you as you walked over to your dresser and dug through the draws. “What’s that?” “Shhh Dummy, just sit. Show me that pout again,” Roger sat still as you swiped the hot pink over his lips. “This is a shade called Bimbo and it suits you. You look very pretty,” “Thank you!” he blushed at the praise. “I think you could look sluttier though. Clothes off, except your undies.” Roger stood and began stripping off his shirt immediately, dropping it to the floor as he hurried to unbutton his jeans. “Aww you’re so hard baby. No wonder you wanted to hump,” “Can I touch you now?” “You can kiss me,” “Really?!” You didn’t even have time to confirm the suggestion before he was diving on you, pressing his lips to yours excitedly.

When he finally let you breathe, the lipstick was smeared across both your faces. “Much sluttier,” you laughed, getting only another of his confused looks in response, “Hump the bed again Dummy, show me what a good, dumb slut you are. Good boy,” Roger whined at the friction, but you ignored him, pulling your shirt and bra off before you settled back on the bed, right in front of him, letting your legs spread. Roger whined again. “Do you see how wet you’ve made me?” you asked, running two fingers between your lips, “just from knowing how brainless you are. I get it now, why you like seeing me act like a dumb fuckdoll. It’s fun. Powerful. You wanna touch me so badly, don’t you? Practically drooling,” Roger nodded, “can I?” “No, you can watch for now. Make sure you slow down or stop if you feel like you’re going to cum.” You made sure his eyes were on your pussy as you slowly spread your wetness up to your clit and back down, teasing yourself a little before slipping two fingers into your hole. “Keep watching me Dummy,” you slowly pushed the fingers deeper into you before pulling them back out and then repeated the motion. Roger’s hips sped up in time with your fingers, though he slowed again before long, always mindful of how close he was, only wanting to be good and follow your instructions. By the time you could easily slide three fingers into yourself you’d decided it wasn’t enough, you needed him. “Stop baby. Good boy, good Dummy. What do you want now?” “Your cunt.” “I should have known.” “What does that mean?” “Don’t you worry your pretty little empty head about it. Now lie down for me, baby, on your back. I’m going to reward you by riding your cock,” Roger beamed again and hurried to do as you’d asked. You passed him the pillows from the top of the bed and told him to prop his head up. “I want you to watch Dummy. Watch me take you, watch how deep you fit inside me.” Roger nodded and gave you another dopey smile as you pulled his underwear off and crawled over his lap. His eyes went wide as you lined him up and slowly started to sink down on him. “You watching pretty boy?” “Yes,” “How does it make you feel?” “G-good.” “Yeah? It makes me feel good too,” you leaned forward to kiss his stained lips again as you sank a little lower, his breath hitching, “You’re being such a good boy. Maybe I’ll let you finish in me and then clean up the mess with that pretty mouth. Would you like that?” “So much!” You grunted as you sank lower still, Roger bottoming out and groaning quietly. After a moment to adjust you began to leisurely grind on him, circling your hips, rocking back and forth. He reached up and spread his hands on your chest, eyes wide as if surprised by his own movement. “Nice to see you diversifying your interests,” you laughed. Roger fell into giggles too, though he clearly didn’t understand why. His breath hitched as you quickened your pace, building up a faster rhythm, but his attention kept bouncing between his hands on your breasts and where he was disappearing into you. “Breathe baby,” Roger let out a breath, panting softly. “Such a dummy. Can’t even remember to breathe,” you felt yourself clench and Roger’s head dropped back against the pillows, his eyes rolling and mouth falling open. The sight of him looking so dazed, with hot pink lipstick smudged from his lips to his chin and his hair in a wild mess, made you moan. “You l-look so f-f-ucked out Dummy. Cunt drunk. Fuck it’s hot. You’re s-such a hot sl-ut,” you raised yourself higher, dropped back down harder, riding Roger roughly as you drew closer to the edge. But you needed more. His hands still lay on your breasts, squeezing and palming them lightly, but he let you grab one and reposition it, bending it towards his own mouth. “Suck,” Dutifully he took the fingers you offered him, coating them in his saliva before you pulled his hand back towards you, placing his wet fingers on your clit. “Th-at’s right Dummy, such a-a good f-uck toy. Gon-gonna get me off,” Roger nodded, moaning as you fucked yourself on him until you reached the peak, your release making you shake. You slumped forward, letting it wash over you, trying to get your breath back as you listened to Roger’s own ragged breath and small whimpers. “Sorry baby,” you said, leaning in to kiss him softly before easing yourself off of him, “are you okay?” “Yes,” he smiled though you were still a little worried. Once glance at is cock was all it took to see just how painfully hard he was, tip flushed a redy-purple. “Are you sure you’re okay? I don’t want to push you too far, I want this to be fun,” “I am having fun, silly,” he giggled. “Yeah? You like being my fuck doll?” “Mhmm! I love it! I’m a good dumb doll,” “You are baby, so good. Do you want to cum now?” “Maybe?” You chuckled to yourself, understanding exactly why he was unsure. You remembered what it was like, the confused mix of feelings. Knowing that an orgasm would feel good for you but still not wanting it unless you also knew it would feel good for your Sir, “It would make me happy to watch you cum,” “Really?” “Very much. Would you like to make me happy?” “Of course!” another grin stretched over Roger’s face and you couldn’t help but grin back. “Alright but first I want you to stand up and go over to my closet okay,” Roger nodded as he rolled out of bed. “Now open the third draw. No not that one Dummy, the next one down. There you go. I want you to have a look and find a pair of panties you’d like to wear.” You watched as Roger looked through the draw, considering your underwear as if this was the single most important decision he’d ever have to make. He picked a pair out, discarded it, furrowed his brow and looked again. There was obviously some sort of criteria in whatever was left of his mind, but you’d be damned if you could figure out what was influencing his opinions. Eventually he settled on a lacy pink thong, stepping into it at your word. “Good choice baby. Do you like how it feels?” Roger gently let his fingers run over the scrap of material along his hip and down over his straining cock before nodding happily, “feels...naughty,” he started giggling when you laughed. “Naughty is a good way to feel,” you crooked your finger and Roger followed, standing in front of you, waiting for his next instruction, “and it’ll feel even naughtier when your pretty cock cums in those pretty knickers. Do you want to ride my thigh like a pretty, dumb slut?” “Yes please,” “I can’t get over how fucking adorable you are when you’re like this.” you shuffled back a little, stretching out your legs and leaning back on your hands before tapping your thigh, Roger bouncing with excitement as he settled in place. He let out a soft oh as he began grinding on your thigh, rubbing his dick again you. “That’s right pretty boy. I think next time I might dress you up from the beginning. You’d look very pretty in my lacy knickers with your head between my thighs.” Roger whimpered again, hips jolting as his cock twitched. “You like the sound of that Dummy? Gonna make a mess on my thigh thinking about how good it would feel to lick my cunt while I tell you how pretty and slutty you look? C’mon Dummy, cum for me. Be a good brainless doll and cum to make me happy.” “Yes. I wi-ll, yes-s” Roger muttered, concentrating so hard on keeping his rhythm and getting to the edge. He moaned when he reached it, his movements becoming stuttered and jerky as he soaked the fabric, cum spilling from the gaps in the lace and being spread across your skin as he kept rutting as best he could. “Good boy, good Dummy,” you said, pushing your fingers through his hair, leaning in to kiss his jaw and then his lips.

While he was recovering, getting his breath back, he lay down beside you, grinning again, delighted and proud. You quietly praised him some more as you pulled off his underwear. “Might have ruined these,” you said, throwing them into a corner of the room before turning and restarting the metronome. “What’s that sound?” “It’s a metronome,” you explained, resuming your spot beside Roger, stroking his arm, “I want you to close your eyes and listen to the noise, listen to that click, click, click. And as you listen, you’ll start to remember, start to bring back all your thoughts and all your control. Click. Click. Click. Feel your mind coming back, rising up, up, up, out of the deep sleep. Coming back to yourself, back to normal. No longer so deep and dumb and horny. Just normal, just Roger. Every click makes you feel more and more like yourself. Every click makes it easier to remember, easier to think. That’s right, feeling more like yourself.” You wished you’d thought to ask Roger about this part, about waking him back up, a little fearful that you’d get it wrong and he’d have lost something important, “Nothing to lose by coming back to yourself, nothing to lose by remembering. Bringing back your mind and your thoughts. That’s right, coming back up. No longer deep and dumb and horny and easy.” You kept going until Roger opened his eyes and sat up, shaking his head as if to clear it. “Rog? Feeling okay?” You asked nervously. “A little fuzzy but pretty great,” he said, smiling as his eyes settled on you, “That was fun,” “And you remember everything about playing the drums?” “Of course,” “Thank god. I wouldn’t know how to explain to the others if I’d accidentally erased that for good,” Roger laughed and shook his head again, “The fuzziness does go away eventually right?” “Yeah it does, give it ten minutes, maybe a little more since it’s your first time. It’s just your brain readjusting.” “Okay,” he reached out to grab your hand, “What about you though? How did you find it being in charge?” “Um, yeah, I definitely liked it more than I thought I would.” “You seemed to take to it like a duck to water. Have I still got lipstick on?” “A little bit,” you chuckled, “I can get you a makeup wipe,” “In a minute. Let’s just cuddle for a bit, talk about it all,” “Yeah alright,” you let Roger pull you against him, your head leaning on his chest as your thumb slowly rubbed back and forth on his stomach, “You were okay with that stuff right? The lipstick and my knickers and all that,” “Definitely into it. More than I ever thought I would be. But I kind of think I should remind you why you enjoy being all subby for me before you get carried away. I could turn your brain on for a bit, make you put those panties on and wear them for the rest of the day. I’d get you to suck me off too but you’d have to stand still while I came into the knickers while you were wearing them. Gotta keep them topped up for you.” You squirmed a little at the thought, “Maybe I’ll have to buy you your own set of pretty lacy underwear to wear next time. And your own lipstick.” Both of you fell into giggles. “Wait, if I was the domme, shouldn’t I be the one cuddling you,” “Love, I wore pink lipstick and women’s underwear today, I need to maintain some of my masculinity. Besides I like holding you anyway.” “Alright,” “No, but, I do think I better understand you now, why you wouldn’t want to be filmed like that and what you meant when you said you were vulnerable. I mean, while I was under all I cared about was what you wanted. It didn’t matter how it felt for me, just how it felt for you. Which is kind of scary from both perspectives really. I suppose you have to trust that if things did cross a line into something you weren’t comfortable with, your subconscious wouldn’t let you do it, at least without putting up a fight.” “Yeah that’s definitely a concern but remember we have the safeword triggers in place so I can stop things if I don’t want them, and if you ever want to be the hypnotised one again then we can do the same thing for you. But, all that being said, I um, I was kind of thinking that maybe it wouldn’t be so bad after all. Filming ourselves. With me as the bimbo. You were right, it would be hot.” “You know you don’t have to say that to try and impress me or make me happy or whatever. I really do get it. It’s insane how easy you become to influence under the trance and you really do have to have full trust in the person doing it to you. I wouldn’t necessarily want proof of that on video either.” “No, Rog, listen. I am in. As long as we’re careful about what happens to the tape afterwards, then I want to. Seeing you all mindless was so hot and I kind of really want to see myself like that too. It’s hard not to be curious about that. And I want to see what you do too – how you talk to me and interact with me because on one hand I already know and have watched you do it so many times, but it’s always been while you’re putting me under or while I’m already under so I’ve never really paid attention to how you do it. I’d love to see it from the perspective of someone who isn’t a mindless doll that can’t stop thinking about dick. Especially if we do want to play more with you being the bimbo. I don’t know, I could pick up some tips from it maybe.” “If you really want to then I’m in too. We’ll need to talk about maybe redoing the safeword triggers because I want us to be sure they work and that they aren’t fading with time and that they’re still strong enough. And of course, we’ll be super careful with the tape. We can talk about that too. I’m happy to do anything you need to feel secure. I’d destroy the tape after we watched it if you wanted.” “I don’t know if we need to go that far. I might want to watch it more than once,” “I love you. Adore you,” “Shut up,” “Nope, you are the most incredible woman and the most amazing partner,” “It’s a sex tape Rog, nothing to get poetic over,” you rolled your eyes teasingly. “If I can’t get poetic over sex then what’s the fucking point of poetry?”

#my writing #my fics #roger taylor x reader #roger taylor imagine #roger taylor smut #me watching asmr videos on youtube jotting down fic ideas ksdhkjfs #anyway #☁️#I hope you like it!!

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letsperaltiago · 5 years ago

Text

don't blame me, love made me crazy

Written upon request for #58 from the 101 fluffy prompts-list:

"We’ve become the clingy newlyweds you always complained about. "

Read on ao3

Every like and reblog is appreciated <3

Also, tried to just... slowly approach smut and idk I’m so scared!! Send help or inspo! 😅🤧

“What was that all about?” Amy complained to her husband as she closed their front door behind them and kicked off her shoes prior to neatly lining them up by the door. Behind her trailed Jake who automatically copied his wife’s actions looking at her with an equal amount of wonder as he didn’t hold the answer for her question. “We didn’t do anything out of the ordinary?” she threw him another question meanwhile her jacket was removed as well, hung on its designated crook to reveal the flowy, burgundy, flower-patterned dress she’d been wearing for the evening at their friend’s house.

“I don’t know, Ames,” he tried to calm her down, which was always easiest if he didn’t make a big deal out of it – when he was calm he had a better chance of rubbing off on her. But alas it had been very clear from the moment the subject had been brought up at the dinner table that Amy was not going to let go of it until resolved: a stubbornness, a will to succeed that Jake deeply admired and loved but also, at times and in some certain contexts, had his apprehensions about.

“Are we that horrible to be around as a couple?” from where Jake had his back turned on the living room as he took off his leather jacket, he could hear Amy slump down onto the couch loudly flaunting her disappointment in what they’d been told tonight.

It, of course, had occurred to them both that they were married. Very much so: everything from all the meticulous planning of the big day to it being completely butchered by a bomb threat to then still getting married in front of the precinct? Oh yes, they were definitely so very married. And they both adored this new take on their love to the moon, probably even further, and back. But at tonight’s monthly Nine-Nine family-dinner, the first since their wedding in May, they’d suddenly been made aware of the fact that the newly attained degree of their relationship had reached a whole new, very specific kind of vibe: They were told that it made their “already borderline sickly affectionate affinity even more intolerable” (quote Rosa) and made them “professionally and personally challenging to be around when together” (Holt’s addition to the matter at hand).

“I’m sure they didn’t mean it like that,” he slumped down, joining Amy on their couch before instinctively slinging an arm around her shoulders both as to comfort her but also by sheer selfishness, because not touching Amy Santiago at all times was a crime. She, just as him not being able to resist her spouse’s touch, leaned into it placing her head in his shoulder. “You know Holt and Rosa. They have their ways of handling emotional subjects, but they never truly mean to hurt or upset anyone.”

“Maybe…” she huffed but her husband’s attempt at convincing and comforting her didn’t seem to be quite enough. She needed the thrill and satisfaction of a solve, which meant she needed to treat the matter at hand like an open case – an investigation. She abruptly sat up straight automatically causing Jake’s arm to slide off of her “… but I’m pretty sure we didn’t go overboard with anything?” Amy turned her head to look behind her expecting an answer, but her still leaned back, somewhat disturbingly unaffected husband, looked at her with raised eyebrows and discreetly amused eyes. You’d think he’d worry more than he appeared to do, Amy couldn’t help but think…

“Honey, I know you have this need to control everything, which 99% of the time is both admirable and adorable, but right now you’re just riling yourself up about something that isn’t that deep. They all love us and in the end they just want us to be happy. Even if we get a bit lovey-dovey at times,” he confirmed his little explanation with a warm smile.

“I don’t give a hoot, Jake!” Amy exclaimed totally disregarding Jake’s actually pretty reasonable words. “We’re going to run through every second of that dinner and pinpoint every couple-y interaction we’ve had!” She got up and ran towards her little library/office-room.

“We?” Jake questioned mid-yawn, trying to follow her with his eyes until she disappeared into the other room, left behind surprised by his wife’s sudden initiative. A initiative which he appeared to be have been dragged into.

“Yes,” Amy yelled from the other room. “We’re going to write down every single couple-y thing we did at dinner tonight, from the second we walked into Terry’s place to the time we left, and prove that we aren’t that bad!”

Mostly just wanting to give into the tiredness and desire to just go to bed and cuddlee with his wife, but also knowing he wanted to stick to Amy’s side for this, hopefully keeping her tendency spiraling a bay, Jake tiredly rubbed his eyes trying to push aside the incoming feeling of exhaustion. And as if on cue, the second he lied down stretching out on the soft material of their couch, Amy marched back into the living room with notebook and pen in hand. When she sat down on the floor abreast Jake’s head, between the couch and the coffee table placing her appliance on the surface before her, Jake then noticed how she’d pulled her before lose, casual waves into a high pony tail – she nor the magnitude of Amy’s mission was to be messed with.

“Okay, so…”

From his admittedly relaxed and not as intensely engaged position Jake could, by an inch over her shoulder, catch a glimpse of the now open notebook where Amy’s elegant handwriting was preparing a neat list to be filled, appropriately titled List of reasons why we’ve been “too much”. Jake chuckled to himself allowing his eyes to rest just a bit, sneak closed, as he of course would stay awake with Amy but physically couldn’t fight his body’s tiredness entirely. Being there physically would surely be good enough.

“Okay, so we arrived at Terry’s house, separately, very important to note…” she scribbled down before continuing, “…since you worked a bit later, thus came directly from work with Charles so we couldn’t have possibly done anything there…” Amy started scribbling down until Jake chimed, or rather muttered, in himself.

“But since I’d missed you for those few hours after you left work, I walked directly over to you and kissed you in front of everyone before saying-“

“Hi, beautiful wife…” Amy finished his sentence quoting the moment from earlier by memory with a defeated voice upon realizing this wouldn’t be a moment in her favor. She quietly wrote it down not feeling like further commenting. “Okay, but that isn’t uncommon for us… or just any couple in general!”

“I know, babe,” Jake yawned.

“So no reason for them to be upset about that… Anyways, then we stood in the kitchen while Terry and Charles finished cooking dinner, had a glass of wine… Pretty innocent if you ask me-“

“Until we touched glasses and toasted to our 23 days as husband and wife before sharing another kiss,” Jake added sheepishly earning himself another discontent grunt prompting the sound of scribbling.

“Whatever… Let’s move on…”

And thus they did indeed manage to run through every moment, every second, every turning point of the night while Amy dutifully and neatly as always took notes and, internally, realized that she hadn’t really been aware of a lot of the amorous moments between her and Jake - they sort of just happened, naturally, like a consistent love-pattern. Taking up multiple pages of the notebook, the list clearly reflected this, but Amy still seemed somewhat in denial. Or at least right up until she added the final period to wind-up her final bullet point: J jokingly grabbed A’s butt while yelling “Wifey-butt!” when walking to the car after dinner.

“Oh my god…” Amy complained as her body hopelessly slumped back against the couch where Jake was still resting while also being very much dedicated to his wife’s project dismay, since he was the one who 9 times out of 10 would remind her of forgotten moments, stolen kisses and loving gazes she’d forgotten about.

“I can’t believe it,” she twisted her torso as to look at her husband behind her genuinely expecting a horrified expression matching hers alas instead being met by tired, adoring eyes and a grin that was impossible to hide when his wife’s despair upon realization was this cute.

“Why are you smiling?” she frowned mostly frustrated by the situation but also confused by her husband’s lack of shared sentiment.

“We’ve become the clingy newlyweds you always complained about,” he mumbled the side of his face pressed against one of their throw pillows. “It’s cute. That’s all.”

Amy immediately felt defensive about the accusation, mostly because she knew he was right but that wasn’t exactly the expected outcome when she’d set up this little private investigation of her. “I have not complained about-“

“Oh, you’re so cute when you try to disguise the truth, babe,” he kept grinning. If there was one thing Jake loved it was teasing. Something he loved even more? Teasing Amy Santiago. And something he loved even more? Teasing Amy Santiago when she was in a miffy mood.

“I’m serious! When have I ever complained about a bit of PDA ever? People can do whatever they want,” she had now fully switched, made a 180 turn, in her seat on the floor and looked directly at her husband with a challenging demeanor. Jake was not about to let an opportunity of this greatness like this slip away that easily: he was definitely going to get the most out of it.

“I know it’s hard to face the truth,” he said nonchalantly, definitely playing her, meanwhile he switched to lie on his back as he let out an exaggerated yawn and laced his fingers together behind his head as extra support – and also to look that more pleased with himself and the situation. “But the Jake Peralta boyfriend gone husband-experience can do these sort of… crazy things to a woman. It’s totally cool, honey, if you’ve just been unconsciously swept away by the rush of having me as your husband. It’s out of your control and that’s okay.”

As well as Jake knew he could push her buttons Amy knew just as well, if not even better, that there were many ways to knock Jake off his cocky perch. This, suddenly, was much more important than what anyone thought of them, or her trying to solve the matter, because them being those clingy newlyweds she always complained about meant she always had her husband wrapped around her little finger. Perhaps, she had to admit, it was hypocritical of her to think like this, when she’d been the one whinnying about random couples’ #twomonthsofmarriage-posts on Instagram (Like, who cares about your two months of marriage, Karen?), and the one to roll her eyes upon overhearing some random woman mention her husband 23 times during a 5-minute conversation at their local coffee shop: she was now that annoying Instagram-couple and coffee shop-woman, all in one… A supreme-annoyingly clingy-wife.

But coming to the realization that, perhaps, she was a hypocrite was her learning from her mistakes, right? That was a good thing.

Either way she didn’t really care because, from where she was still planted on the floor before him, Amy could physically feel her brain have a change of attitude as it shut out any previous doubts and anxieties about what other thought of their marriage, their way of loving each other, and instead replacing it with the sudden brutish need to, first of all, shut Jake up, and second of all, rebel against exterior opinions about them.

She was definitely turning to her annoying newlywed-ways to make her husband shut up.

“I guess,” her before frantic tone was now suddenly completely gone and replaced by a sultry, confident tone matching the new-sprung darkness in her eyes. “But then this…”

Jake’s before tired demeanor was swallowed along with his pride the second his always beautiful, and also incredibly hot wife, pushed herself off the floor and mounted the couch to straddle his hips, more precisely the exact area where he knew she knew there would be no opposing her, with the sleek movements of a lioness sneaking up on its prey. It especially threw him off even further when she repositioned herself, innocently pretending to ‘just get comfortable’, thus applying just the right sultry movement and amount of pressure to this most vulnerable area.

“I guess this…” she made sure the ‘s’ was clearly hissed directly into his ear as she, leaned down over him, slowly bit by bit, started to build him up by allowing her hips another grinding motion thus sending electricity through his entire body, before rounding off her pending taunt, “… is not in my control either then.”

There were no to make it past Jake’s gaping lips, all caught up in tangles in his suddenly very dry throat, although the hitch in his breath in reaction to the movement of her hips couldn’t’ve escaped her in a million years. She had him right where she wanted him.

“Is it?” she taunted again unbending her torso back up to sit up straight.

His hands which had before been resting carefree behind his head escaped its spot finding a new home on her waist, gently tracing up and down its curves like a potter shaping soft clay into artwork.

“Ames,” he whimpered upon the sensation of feeling her hands being placed on top of his to guide them downwards, past the narrowest part of her curvature, and fixed on the fullest part of her hips – where she wanted them to be. For now, that is. By instinct, being very familiar with his favorite kind of handful, Jake’s fingers dug into the fabric-clad flesh not caring whether or not he’d leave marks: her uniform would surely cover it in the morning.

“I’m sorry, I just don’t think I can control it when you’re around me, husband,” she definitely felt his body quiver at his still somewhat new title and, God, how sinful of a meaning that simple word had suddenly gained in the moment. Having fulfilled their duty of guiding him to where she wanted his touch, Amy’s hands made their way off of his before torturously sliding up his torso to play with the first, top button of his dark green flannel – one of her favorites on him… and, of course, off. Meeting her secret expectations his hands reacted to her undressing him by sliding his hands down further behind her to then, instead of her waist, grab the curve of her ass, additionally allowing himself to pull her abdomen into a soft motion against him in the desperate need of the friction she’d already given him a foretaste of. Pride was not a thing he contained much of around Amy Santiago-Peralta: was he going to let her make him unravel at the seams so easily? Absolutely. Would he be down for whatever direction she planned on taking this in? Without a doubt, even if it meant just making out followed by some cuddling, although he was currently rock hard and internally praying that she wouldn’t stop the course of things any time soon.

Her fingers popped the last button of his flannel, and with a simple look, she wordlessly ordered him to sit up straight, which he dutifully did, thus allowing her to push the fabric off of his broad shoulders before proceeding to abandon it on the floor. It might’ve been her favorite flannel on him but she liked it even more on the surface of their carpet. Thinking that she had full control of the situation, Amy was definitely startled at the sensation of Jake’s teeth taking a bite into the sensitive skin of her neck, the extra tender area right beneath where her jaw met the side of her throat and whether it was what he’d set out to do or not, he surely extracted a long, deep sigh from her now, between the fondling and the bites, much more agitated body. Seemed as if Jake Santiago-Peralta was back on track after being knocked off his feet for a moment, and though she did immensely enjoy having the upper hand, there was something about Jake fighting his way back to dominance that undeniably had her body feel some kind of way.

She obviously couldn’t, it being physically impossible, see it for herself but oh how she could feel the way her husband’s teeth and lips were painting colorful love-bruises on her more than usual tan and crisp skin (Thank you very much, 2 week honeymoon in Mexico). Although, before her mind could wander off to create a mental top 5-list of most effective ways to hide said up and coming hickeys, her awareness shifted to the feeling of her husband’s purposive hands grabbing the skirt of her dress, pulling it up to bundle droopily around her waist, and earning him a tiny hitch in her throat to be felt where his teeth were still attached to her.

All the teasing, the control she’d gained in counter to his cockiness, had with the snap of the fingers dissolved into the shameless abandoning of herself, giving in to the fervor he so powerfully incited within her.

“Stop worrying,” he slowly ran his hands up under the bundled material before redirecting his hands back to hold onto the soft pulp of her ass, this time the only barrier being the fabric of her panties, earning him a tiny squirm telling him she slowly began to unravel at the seams – just for him. His lips targeted a new area: hers. “You’re my wife. I’m your husband. No one gets to decide what can and can’t do.”

As if to enhance his point, making sure she wouldn’t forget anytime soon, there was a brief moment where he drew back just a few inches to look directly into her eyes with passion still burning in his. Meanwhile one hand had left her behind and instead purposefully grabbed her jaw, making sure to keep the grip somewhat soft as to not hurt her but still firm enough to make sure she would look back. If he hadn’t had a certain agenda in mind he would’ve let the image before him bring him to his knees: Amy, messy hair, swollen lips, dark eyes, ruffled and barely holding on dress. But he had to stay firm and focused. His hand didn’t let go of her jaw and she dutifully complied deeply turned on by the discourse of the events and this persona Jake had chosen to bring out. Usually she loved having the upper hand during sexy timez, but somehow, seeing how Jake was handling her when her mind was spinning out of control, his sudden craving for dominance came like a blessing in disguise.

His lips crashed with hers, and being distracted like she was by his mesmerising dominant persona, it took her by both storm and surprise thus not being able to hold back a pure, honest moan holding so much pleasure. Only the way his fingers teasingly traced the lace on the edge of her panties could come near taking her attention away from what, in the moment, felt like her life’s hottest kiss.

“Understood?” he breathed into her lips barely able to with the lack of air in his lungs. She nodded grasping desperately at the soft white fabric of his undershirt.

“Good,” he growled, pleased by the newfound wet fabric between his wife’s legs meaning he was certainly doing something right: he had her exactly where he wanted her, both physically and mentally, and he had his now slick fingers as proof.

“Now,” he continuously toyed with the fabric, feeling up her heat before slowly edging the pantie as far down as her bent legs straddling him would allow. “You’re going to rip that list out of your notebook… ” his lips slid away from hers redirecting to nibble on her ear lobe. “Then you’re going to throw it out… ” a kiss to the shell of her ear followed behind, setting up his final act of persuasion. She was so far gone under the influence of his touch that she didn’t even care to disagree with having to throw out 20 minutes dedicated research, ink from her favorite pen and quality paper from one of her best notebooks.

“… and then your husband is going to take you to your bedroom and fuck you so hard you’ll forget the others even said anything at all. I’ll make sure you never complain about being newlyweds ever again.”

#peraltiago #jake x amy #jake peralta #amy santiago #jake and amy #fanfiction #fanfic #peraltiago fanfic #oneshot #b99 fanfiction #b99 #Brooklyn Nine-Nine #brooklyn nine nine

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mypoisonedvine · 4 years ago

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exposing myself here... can i ask for a director’s commentary for dishonorable discharge?... it’s my favorite thing you’ve written

ayyy no shame in that my friend, I honestly think it’s my most popular fic ever even if it doesn’t have the most notes just because so many people are still talking to me about it and I’m not mad at alllll

(ask me for director’s commentary on any of my fics)

sooo I don’t even remember how the idea started... it just sorta Happened. I guess I was curious about how fucked up bucky might’ve become after war even if he hadn’t been captured by hydra or any of that stuff. I never explicitly say this but it’s basically an au where he doesn’t fall off the train but otherwise is pretty much the same. he was still kidnapped and tortured... and I sort of imagined it like he had spent so much time thinking about coming home to his sister that the wires in his head sorta crossed and he ended up becoming infatuated with her/attracted to her. and then he’d been lonely away from home so long and he just wants a kiss...

although, that said, he does say in the fic that he had an interest in her since before he left. and in my mind, he isn’t 100% accurate in saying that. it’s more like he was a bit too close to her before, but after getting his brain melted by hydra he thought he had been in love with her the whole time which wasn’t really true. but there was definitely something going on from the beginning, including on the reader’s part; she definitely had this weird possessive thing with him, and that was discussed a bit when he talked about how she was jealous when he lost his virginity to someone else way back when. and she was but it was very complicated. you know when you’re young and you have a crush and it makes your blood boil just to see them talking to anyone else, getting attention from anyone else, giving attention to anyone else? yeah, it’s kinda like that.

and the nickname ‘jamie’... that’s really one of the best things about the whole fic if i’m being honest! and he calls her sissy which I very much considered cutting cause it’s icky but it’s icky in a hot way so I kept it. I used the nicknames as a constant reminder of the unique bond they share; nobody else calls him jamie and nobody else calls her sissy. almost like they have their own secret language, and as we all know, he’s gonna use secrets against her whenever he can.

(and now a brief interlude from talking about my incest porn to teach you a recipe for eggs)

a lot of people ask what it means to have your eggs basted! it’s a slightly old fashioned way of cooking eggs, as opposed to scrambled or fried or sunny side up... basted eggs are cooked by breaking the egg into a pan on medium-low heat, and then spooning water into the pan alongside it and covering with a lid. if done correctly, the whites will be completely cooked in just a couple minutes while the yolk remains runny. perfect for those of us who hate our sunny side up/over easy eggs with uncooked whites. a variation on this is to cook the egg in butter as well so the egg has a browned, lacy underside. and if you don’t know what lacy eggs are i’m so sorry.

(end interlude)

it’s only mentioned in passing, but the reader is bucky’s adopted sister, not biological. I didn’t do this to make it any less taboo... I just did it make the fic more inclusive to any type of reader. it might be sort of ironic to be worried about inclusivity in your incest porn... but it mattered to me. I’ve had a few people act like this makes the fic less dark and those people got blocked because it made me uncomfortable when they talked like that. “oh it’s okay because she’s adopted” um it’s NOT okay, on any level; it’s okay to write and read it because it’s fiction, obviously, but the actions within the fic are not justified by their level of biological relation?? even if they’re total strangers it’s still noncon so... yeah, I really didn’t like comments like that, and I don’t like the implication that they are any less siblings just because she is adopted. it might change the context slightly that they aren’t biologically related but I promise you they are 100% family through and through.

and finally, the title... I considered not calling it that but I just had to because the double entendre was too good even if it’s cringy as fuck and you know what, people don’t seem to mind it so much.

I get a lot of requests for a sequel and as of yet I still have no intention to write one. I did do a brief continuation for a sleepover request but personally I just don’t have any inspo for what the next part would look like. a lot of other incest fics have basically done what I would do with it so I don’t have much to add to the story at this point. but that said I have a lot of love for this fic and it’s definitely one I would cite as a “quintessential mypoisonedvine work” if I was trying to advertise my blog’s most iconic/representative fics!

thank you for asking I clearly had a lot to say about this one!!

#creme-bruhlee

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honestlyhufflepuff · 5 years ago

Text

Nesting and Resting

Jam Week Day 5: Home. Summary: Steven gets a little too into decorating Connie’s dorm. Word Count: 2203

Steven surveyed the dorm room, trying to figure out what it was missing. He was sitting on Connie’s loft bed, the highest vantage point of the space, trying to get a feel for the room’s flow. The first place his eyes were drawn to was the plush Papasan chair by the bay window- mostly because of who was in it. Connie lay curled up under a white faux fur throw, dust particles dancing around her in in the setting sun. The golden light illuminated the errant hairs of her thick ponytail to make a glowing crown. She looked like a small bird in a nest of wicker and cotton.

The chair took up far too much floor space in the modest room, but Steven insisted they could make it work by raising the bed to make room for her desk underneath it. He said he just wanted to be sure she felt comfortable.

Connie kicked out her legs, dangling them over the edge of the giant chair’s cushion, and looked up at Steven.

“It looks great,” she said with a tired smile, “We’ve done enough decorating for today. I don’t think it could feel any more like home.”

He sighed, tearing his gaze away from her to scan the room once more “I know, there’s just something I’m forgetting.”

She groaned and threw the blanket off her.

“I know you’re tired,” he cooed from his perch on her bed, “Take a nap. I’ll be quiet.”

“No, I’m hungry,” she popped out of the chair, “Let’s go check out the restaurants near campus! I saw a really good looking boba tea place on our way in.”

“I’m really not hungry yet, and I want to finish some stuff in here. Why don’t you grab some stuff from the kitchen, and we can go out to Boba afterwards?”

She sighed, looking like she wanted to say something about his decorating obsession, but thought better of bringing it up when she was getting hangry.

“Fine,” she said, “but we are getting boba afterwards. Promise?”

He nodded and reached out to squeeze her hand, “Promise.”

He sat still as she left, and he could hear the indistinct chatter she was having with one of her new suite mates.

The room was lush and bursting with stimuli that elicited comfort. Connie had kindly endured months of dorm inspo videos on TubeTube as Steven picked her brain for what she would like the most. A Pothos Ivy and a succulent of green pearls were cradled in macramé that hung from the ceiling by the window. The new plants looked so small and fragile in the pots at the nursery, but one kiss each from Steven sent streams of emerald growth almost down to the floor. He wished growth in humans was as easy as that.

The bay window was easily the best feature of the room and looked out on a courtyard filled with crisp fall leaves and bustling new freshman. The sunlight filtering into the room was softened by gauzy white curtains, that faintly glowed with twinkle lights. Not many dorms were lucky to have so much natural light, but Gale was an old, uppity university with a certain standard of living expected by the students. Even with Connie’s mom being a doctor, they could not have afforded it easily had Connie not gotten a full ride scholarship. She was the Valedictorian of her high school, an ethnic minority, a classically trained violinist, and a woman going into STEM. Apparently, all those things meant she practically had colleges fighting over her, and she was a shrewd bargainer. Gale was her dream school, but she acted aloof until they offered her a single unit dorm, a bunch of sweet collegiate merch, and meal vouchers to try nearly every restaurant around campus at least twice.

No colleges were fighting over Steven. He sat on top of a blue and white striped comforter with the college’s regal crest emblazoned on it. Connie’s drawers and wardrobe were filled with blue, a way for Gale to mark her as theirs. Even Steven wore a blue hoodie from her with the school’s name stamped to his chest, but he was not theirs. He was hers. All this blue crowding him was from a new phase of her life, one that involved him being two states away.

Throughout the room, the blue warred with the pink- with remnants from the past. On top of the Gale comforter was a throw pillow made from one of Steven’s old pink t-shirts. The gold star in the middle was more faded than he remembered when contrasted next to all the vibrant, new, blue items around it, including the stuffed poodle that rested on top of it.

Steven thought a poodle was a stupid mascot, and carefully rearranged the pillows on the bed so that the star was more prominent.

He looked for other pink things in the room. Connie’s sword was mounted above her bed, ready to grab at a moment’s notice, although she would probably never need to. He ran his hand along the artfully crafted hilt, a surge of confusing nostalgia settling in his chest, and felt pained when his fingers came away with dust on them. Was it normal to miss a time of war when people were constantly trying to abduct or kill you?

A massive pink shag rug covered most of the hard wood floor. Connie loved it the moment she saw it in the store because it reminded her of Lion’s mane.

Steven climbed down the ladder at the foot of the bed and wiggled his toes in the rug’s fibers. He wandered around, brushing the tops of the items that composed Connie’s small, new home with his fingertips. There was the noisemaker he got her for when the old pipes and creaky floors in the colonial dorm building were too creepy at night. He turned it on and found the sound of the ocean, hoping that one was her favorite.

There was the bar cart in the corner stashed with tea, mugs, and snacks. There were the tiny potted succulents and air plants in corners where more energy flow was needed. There was a hanging stack of organization cubes filled with linens, cleaning supplies, and toiletries. Then there was her desk, under the bed. That was the part of the room she wouldn’t let Steven touch, as she was more particular about her study area than anywhere else. The entire upper half of the wall under the bed was covered in cork board, which was scattered with pictures from their childhood pressed in by little star thumb-tacs, and interspersed by Connie’s fanart drawings, photos with her family, and with friends from school. Next to the picture board was a dry erase calendar, blank and crisp before being filled with responsibilities. By her desk there was a short bookshelf filled with all the fantasy novels she gushed over with him as a child, as well as new titles that were too technical for him to understand.

He was looking at some old, silly pictures of them when his eyes were drawn to the desk. Amongst the lamp, the laptop, and the new textbooks already tabbed and highlighted before the semester started, there was a mug of writing utensils with a familiar bracelet looped around a portion of them.

He lifted the small loop of pink plastic, held it under the lamp, and cupped it to his face, shielding out the light to try and make it glow once again. He knew the glowing properties had left it long ago, but for some reason he felt compelled to try, just as Connie had felt compelled to keep it even when its designed purpose was over with.

Steven had been doing a lot of work on himself the past few years, trying to not constantly feel aimless or abandoned, but as tears began to well up in his eyes, he couldn’t help but think he was backsliding. It was normal, his therapist had said, to feel sad about his best friend leaving for college. Was crying over an old glow bracelet normal, though? Was it one step away from spiraling out of control again like what happened back when he would glow pink at the slightest exacerbation of his insecurities?

Just the thought of going back to that stage of his life sent a jolt of anxiety through him, and he clutched the bracelet to his chest as he plopped in Connie’s desk chair with his knees pulled up under his chin.

“Steven?” Connie stood in the doorway, two bowls of steaming ramen noodles in her hands and worry on her face.

He must have been quite a sight, he thought to himself, tearing up and huddled in the corner over an old glow bracelet with calming ocean noises playing.

“Hey, Connie!” He wiped his face quickly before he looked up at her, “You didn’t have to make me anything!”

“It’s the least I could do for you making my room look like it belongs on a Mumblr aesthetic blog or whatever.”

She placed the bowls on her bar cart and trailed her hand down Steven’s arm until she was grasping the hand that held the bracelet. He was sure she’d noticed the red and the wetness in his eyes, but she didn’t mention it.

“You said you wanted to finish stuff in here. What were you working on?”

“Nothing,” he sighed, “It’s perfect. I guess I was just looking for something wrong with it so I could have something to fix. Sorry- you know that’s a thing I do.”

“I know,” she said, and booped his nose, “but at least you’re aware you were doing it. Now eat your ramen.”

Steven obediently took his bowl and slurped up the warm, wavy noodles. “You sure you can feel like this place is home?”

“You mean a place away from you?”

He nodded.

“Well, I know the twin bed is a little small, but you could always sleep in the Papasan. Just live here and we won’t tell anyone.”

“What if your dorm police find out?”

“Again, Steven, they’re called Resident Assistants. And if they come by you could just shapeshift into a cute emotional support cat or something.”

“Nope!”

“What?”

“I don’t do cat shapeshifting. No way.”

Connie laughed and slurped up another noodle so fast it splashed broth in between her eyes. It was second nature for Steven to wipe it off with his thumb without either of them missing a beat in the conversation.

“Ok, so the place is a little cramped for you to live in my dorm, but you could always live here in Blue Haven. If you wanted to.”

“What? And just leave everything back in Beach City?”

“I understand if you don’t want to, but all the coolest things you’re doing in Beach City you could also do here.”

She hid her face in her bowl and came back up with her cheeks red as she looked at him again.

Steven did have a lot going for him, even if college might not be his thing. He had a successful vlogging TubeTube channel. It was an eclectic mix of space adventures with Lars, pranks with Amethyst, original music and covers from animes, reaction videos, cooking tutorials, and music tutorials. He had no idea how he got almost 9 million subscribers, but it was enough to support himself easily without his dad’s help.

He was giving music lessons, which was a rewarding way to help people.

He even made emergency calls to the hospital when Dr. Maheswaran needed a spit healing, but they’d found out the hard way he couldn’t overdo that, and it wasn’t exactly a board-approved practice.

He couldn’t think of any reason he couldn’t do those things in the same town as Connie. Being in such a culturally vibrant college town could be good for connecting with other content creators.

“Also,” piped up Connie again, “you’re a space prince with a magic Lion who could easily warp you back for a visit once a week- or more if you got the right treats for him.”

“That’s true,” Steven said, “Lion only shows up when he wants to, though.”

“Well, I guess if you really need to you can just take your car like the rest of us lowly humans.” She winked at him.

“Heh, yeah. So, do you want me to move here?”

“I want you-” she stood up with her empty bowl and bent down to kiss his forehead, “-to do what you want to do. We’ll make it work either way. I’m sure this place will feel like home after a while, when I make some friends and get to know the campus.”

“Maybe,” he smiled at the idea, and plopped the rest of his ramen into his mouth, savoring the salty flavor.

“There’s no time to decide now about moving now,” said Connie, “because there’s something more important we have to do.”

“Hmm?”

“Boba?” She raised one eyebrow at him.

“Boba,” he agreed.

They strode out of the dorm, leaving Connie’s sword, instead ready to take on the world armed with bubble tea.

#jamweek #connverse #i did way too much research on yale #just so i could make up a college named gale #steven universe fanfic

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snarkwriteswrasslin · 5 years ago

Text

wild winter | right now; baron corbin [m]

PROMPTS USED:

LOCATION:

–uhh… in an elevator. against a wall.

TYPES OF SEX:

– sloppy dirty sex

– heavy makeout, grinding

– fingering / hand job

– first I Love You ( Baron said it first dawww.)

DIALOGUE & GIF INSPO

– “ You’re already turned on…?”

– gif inspiration for this is [ here ]

WARNINGS: uhh.. unprotected sloppy standing elevator sex. Fingering and handjobs, Baron being a bit of a sweet goofy cheeseball, shh!, bite marks, heavy making out…

PAIRING: Baron & Gemma

[ for more of them read this fake fic title : ditched under the mistletoe… this is somewhere towards the middle of their whole ‘story’ btw. I just haven’t written anything else for them… yet.]

The club was not his scene at all. If it weren’t for the lure that was Gemma dancing, he’d have told her hell to the no, he’d have begged out of this, literally anything. But all she had to do lately was turn on that begging pout and Baron Corbin turned from stone to putty in her hands.

Oh, he’d die a thousand slow and miserable deaths before ever coming close to admitting it to anyone, especially her, but the fact remained.

“Oh come on. Stop pouting and leaning on the wall you giant wallflower.” Gemma’s giggled command drew him from his current state of brooding while nursing a bourbon. He eyed the floor and then her again, leaning in, his hand at her hip to guide her completely against him. “They’re playin the wrong music for me to even consider gettin out there, princess.”

“This song fucks, okay?” Gemma informed him, suck popping a cherry flavored bubble as she dared to tap her foot at him impatiently.

Baron chuckled, shaking his head no and he held firm.. For all of two seconds. When Gemma started to walk her fingers up his chest, he groaned and bit his lip, trying not to react. When she started to rub against him, those hips swaying ever so slightly, staring up at him with the most innocent of smirks the entire time, his hands ventured down, gripping a double handful of her ass and squeezing, bucking himself into her right as she was about to rub against him. Gemma rose to tiptoe, her arm around his neck, fingers tangled lightly in the ends of his hair. “I thought this song was wrong for you to dance to, hm?”

“Well you’re the one who said, and I quote, this song fucks.. And fucking is a good thing, yeah?” Baron’s voice was the perfect velvet rasp against her throat as his mouth ventured boldly down the front of it. It didn’t matter that what he called dancing was more or less Gemma practically draped over his giant frame and standing on his feet to do so or that Baron Corbin had about as much rhythm as Carlton from Fresh Prince and maybe slightly more than Urkel from Family Matters. She lowered her hand, resting it over his heart and he squeezed her ass harder, drawing a squeak from her. “What’s on that chaotic little mind of yours, darlin?” Baron’s stubble grazed against her collarbone and she shivered while biting her lip. Every fucking time… He did this every fucking time he wanted to get out of something. She stared up at him with the vaguest hint of a smirk as she slowly shook her head no.

“Oh, we’re not leaving yet. I know exactly what you’re trying to do here.” Gemma purred, her lips lingering right over his pulse as she breathed in the scent of his cologne and smiled against his skin.

She wanted just one fucking night where he didn’t use sex as a diversion to get out of something he didn’t want to do. Just one.

“Aw, c’mon!” Baron grumbled, pouting because his attempt to get her to agree to leave hadn’t worked this time. Now he was going to have to figure out something else because clearly, she was catching onto him.

“Baron, you’re being a whole ass manchild. Just dance with me.. One more time… Please?”

Baron eyed her, a grumpy expression on his face that quickly turned to a smirk as he formed a plan of his own. Oh, he’d make her wish she’d taken him up on his offer to leave now. She wanted to dance?

Fine, they’d dance.

“Okay darlin.”

Gemma eyed him with a brow raised. She placed the back of her hand against his forehead and shook her head. “Okay, you don’t have a fever… You’re up to something.”

“Hey! I’m not always ‘up to something’ when I agree with you, princess. Sometimes I do it cos…” and he was dangerously close to saying those three words but at the same time, he was determined not to be that guy, the one who fell too hard and too easy and wore his heart on his sleeve. It wasn’t who he felt he was.

But he wanted to say it so bad.

“Because you’re up to something.” Gemma pouted, teasingly poking out her tongue at him as she rested her cheek against his chest and let out a contented sigh. “This feels nice.” her voice was giggly and muffled against the fabric of his tee shirt and Baron cleared his throat. The three words were still there, threatening to burst right out.

If he opened his mouth, he just knew they were coming out.

The thought had him tensing just a little and Gemma felt it the instant he did, raising her head to look up at him. “Everything okay?” with that soft and concerned look in her eyes. The same one that almost had him blurting out his true feelings on live television earlier when she’d pushed her way down to the ring just to make sure he was okay, post match against Roman Reigns. She shook her head. “You have got to stop thinking about shit that happens on the clock, do you hear me? Hey.. Focus, you giant goof.” Gemma was teasing gently, cupping his face in her hands, pulling his mouth against her own, rubbing herself against him. Her general thought process was that maybe if she made him focus his attention on her, then he wouldn’t think about it and get angry or upset all over.

He honestly disliked the whole gimmick but he’d never let that on. He missed the whole Lone Wolf idea he’d started with.

“If this is about that match earlier..” Gemma started, sighing as she shook her head.

“It actually has nothing to do with that.” Baron muttered quietly as his tongue parted her lips and he pulled her up his body so that he wasn’t bending too far and she wasn’t having to stretch herself out so much to kiss. Her legs circled his waist, squeezing and his hands gripped her ass doing the same as Baron deepened the kiss to a point where Gemma was starting to get dizzy from lack of oxygen.

The song continued to play in the background. Gemma whimpered into the kiss when she rubbed herself against him just a little harder and felt how hard he was through his jeans. Her fingertips raked his scalp and she went from mildly turned on to dripping wet as his mouth broke from her own to bite clumsily down her throat.

But she couldn’t just leave it alone.. That look in his eyes and the way he kissed her hard enough and dare say desperately enough to swell her lips and start them bruising when the kiss broke. “Oh? Well something is wrong..” she frowned as she tried to puzzle it out.

“Nothing is wrong.” Baron promised, grumbling lightly because she couldn’t just let it go. Very like her, actually. “Do you wanna dance or not, princess?” he didn’t mean for it to come out so impatient, but it did and he winced. “Sorry, just.. Maybe you’re right. Maybe it is earlier.”

… just say the words, damn…

The thought wouldn’t just be pushed out like usual and it wound up with Baron pulling her into another dizzying and bruising kiss. A step backwards had them sitting on one of the velvet covered couches that lined the wall closest to them and now Gemma was in his lap. She broke the kiss, backing away to look at him a few seconds as if she were contemplating something, but he was pulling her mouth back against his hungrily, his hand venturing up the ultra short hem of the little second skin fitting black tube dress that currently encased her body and showcased her curves and made him want nothing more than to pull her into a private and darkened room and rip it right off her body. One of her stilettos hit the floor with a quiet thud, followed by the other, the fact going unnoticed by both parties. Baron’s hand was now cupping her cunt, squeezing and he sucked in a sharp breath when he realized that she was practically dripping already. It only pushed him forward, his mouth dancing down the side of her neck, his teeth latching on to sensitive skin there and making her shiver all over as he left an even bigger mark on her.

By the end of the night, even if he didn’t say the words.. She was going to be covered in bite marks and handprints and little bruises here and there.. And preferably so damn sore that she didn’t dare ask him if he wanted to go out to another nightclub the next night because she wasn’t going to want to move.

And if he managed that, he’d happily carry her everywhere. Since he secretly enjoyed doing it and he often made up any excuse just to grab her up and put her over his shoulders or slide her up his body and let her wrap herself around him and cling… or scoop her up and carry her like he was carrying her over the threshold.

That last thought caught him by enough surprise that he actually stopped what he was doing and blinked a time or two.

“Baron?” Gemma questioned, her voice soft and panted against his mouth as she tried to take his face in her hands and guide his mouth back to her own. Baron’s hand stopped squeezing and rubbing her cunt and she pouted because at least with him rubbing and squeezing like he had been, she’d been getting some form of friction. When she went to rock herself right over the bulge strained and about to burst through the denim of his jeans, he chuckled and slyly shook her head no, muttering against her ear, “I thought you wanted to dance.”

“I do, but..”

“But?”

Gemma pouted and leaned in, rocking herself back and forth over his lap as his hand ventured up higher, to the waistband of her panties. She felt the second he ripped them away, tugging the torn fabric off her and shoving them into his pocket with a softer version of his usual smug smirk. “But I also want you. There’s just somethin about the way you’re touchin me and stuff right now, I…”

“I know, darlin.” Baron’s mouth buried just above the top of her dress, below her collarbone and as she rocked against him, he bucked himself up into her. “This is the only kind of dancin’ you’re really good at anyway.” Gemma sighed and giggled softly, making Baron give that cocky smirk as he stood.

“We’re leavin.”

“My shoes!”

Baron grumbled but let her hop down long enough to put her shoes back onto her feet and then he was pulling her back up his body all over again, and heading towards the nearest exit out of the club and into the lobby of the building.

His intentions had honestly been to at least attempt getting her upstairs to their room, but between what he was fighting to keep himself from saying and her just… Being the ultimate temptation, he couldn’t just wait a few lousy floors. So, the second they were inside an elevator, he was pushing the brake. Gemma eyed him, giggling.

“Baron?”

“Want you so fuckin much, princess. You don’t know what you do to me, do ya?” he grabbed hold of her hand and guided it down the front of his jeans, bucking against her palm. Gemma swallowed hard, nodding. “I… kind of felt that earlier.”

She got the feeling that Baron was trying to say something else entirely. Something that might just make him uncomfortable. She stared up at him a few seconds, head tilted slightly, gripping the waistband of his jeans as she tugged at the hem of his black tee shirt, tugging that upwards and over his head. Baron plucked it from her hand and placed it over the security camera aimed right at them.

“And I know what I do to you.” Baron muttered huskily as her back met the wall because he was pressing into her so heavily. His hand slipped back up the hem of her little black dress, squeezing her cunt, staring down at her as he breathed heavily. By now she’d gotten her hand into his pants and her hand was circling his cock, pumping long and slow and careful. His fingertip brushed between dripping folds as he nipped at her ear when leaning down “You’re already turned on…? I barely did anything.”

“You’re surprised?” Gemma panted as she rocked her hips against his fingers as they worked her open and buried past the knuckle. “ You’re just good like that.” she gasped, her strokes getting erratic as he added a finger and started to rub at her clit, working his fingers over the circle of nerves.

“I am, huh?”

Gemma bit her lip, staring up at him a second or two. “You don’t need me to tell you that.” she started, but stopped mid sentence, just… watching the look in his eyes. It wasn’t just sheer blind lust tonight like usual… there was something else there, something deeper lurking beneath the surface. Before Gemma could do what she’d been heavily considering, hitting her knees in front of him and tugging down his pants to blow him like she was dying to, Baron had her hand out of his pants and he was shaking his head, biting his lip. He withdrew his own hand from beneath her dress and raised the fingers just buried deep in her pussy to his lips, groaning as they slipped between, his free hand on her chin, fixing it so that she had to watch his reaction to tasting her, a lewd growl slipping out as he lowered his jeans and boxers and tugged her dress up to around her waist, raising her thigh so that it was wrapped around his waist, his hand gripping it there as he drove into her deep and slow, muttering breathlessly against her mouth, “I’m gonna make it up to ya later, princess. Just.. Fuck.. I need you now. So much, baby girl.” Baron’s breathy growl as his mouth crashed against her own had Gemma whimpering as he started to fuck into her a little faster, his hips snapping against her, her hips meeting his eagerly. “Fuck, oh fuck, Baron.. I love it when you get like this.” her head fell back against the wall of the elevator and she gripped his shoulder, digging her nails into his skin as he sank his mouth down onto the opposite side of her neck to the one he’d already left littered with marks.

Before he could stop himself from saying it, it was out. “Fucking love you, Gemma. So much, baby. Fuck. It’s all I can..” he started to thrust deeper and slower to keep himself from coming, groaning at the way it felt to feel the excess juices from her thighs covering his cock, dripping out of her lazily. “Think about lately.”

Gemma gripped him tighter, mouth crashing against his mouth as she muttered back, “I love you too.” a whimper dying on her lips as soon as her saying it back seemed to unleash something in Baron and he was really driving into her hard and deep, his hips smacking against her own at an almost bruising pace as he let his mouth linger over any part of her he could get it on. She guided his mouth back down to hers and her breath caught in her throat as she felt him filling and stretching her even more, bringing her dangerously close to an almost blinding orgasm. Baron felt her tighten around his cock and he growled the command against her lips, “C’mon, princess. Let go… Wanna feel…” as his tongue pushed between them, parting them and dominating her tongue in a slippery and sloppy and biting kiss. Her hands were all over him now and Baron muttered against her mouth, “Ever kissed somebody when you were gettin off? Because I haven’t.. And I wanna try.” his grip on her thigh slipping slightly only to have him correct that and grip it tighter, raising her leg a little bit higher and causing him to bottom out just as her orgasm shattered through and she deepened the kiss, her teeth clenching his bottom lip between as she muttered a quiet, “Don’t stop, fuck.. I wanna be filled up.”

“Oh you do, hmm?” Baron responded, letting her cling to her as he fucked her straight through her orgasm and right into his own, his cock throbbing and filling her up with his release, their juices mixing and dripping as they clung to each other, kissing and biting and trying to come down from it all.

Gemma tugged down her dress and Baron pulled up his jeans, tucking himself back into his pants, buttoning and zipping them and Gemma leaned against him heavily, trying to get herself together, staring up at him intently. He seemed more at ease.

“ I really meant it. Like… i didn’t mean it to come out like that, just…” Baron’s gaze dropped to his biker boots and Gemma took his face in her hands, making him look at her instead. “I know you meant it. I did too, by the way… I hope that means you’re gonna… Carry me?” she asked carefully, watching his lips turn upwards into a smile as he nodded and bent, scooping her up into his arms.

She winced as his arm brushed against her back and he eyed her in concern. “You okay, princess?”

“That rail dug into my back.. It’s whatever, I was not about to ruin the mood, it felt entirely too good to stop.”

“Damn right it did, princess. I’ll look at it when we’re in our room, ‘kay?”

“Okay.” Gemma mumbled as she pressed a gentle kiss against his lips and muttered in a quieter tone, “You’re an actual softie. I like it.”

“Only for you. Everybody else can get fucked, honestly.” Baron shrugged it off as if it were nothing but honestly, just hearing her say that had him grinning like an idiot on the inside and definitely put him more at ease given what he’d said in the heat of the moment and meant with everything in him….

#baron corbin fanfiction #baron corbin fanfic #baron corbin fic #baron corbin oneshot #baron corbin imagine #// no one under 18+#// fourseasonsofsm*tselfchallenge #// sm*t here #// in an elevator #// sloppy s*x ftw

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