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discordantwords · 2 years ago

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wip wednesday!

I was tagged by @7-percent to share some of the WIPs I'm currently working on. Thanks for the tag!

Rules: post the first few lines or the summary of as many WIPs that you care to expose to the reading public. Tag others if you are curious to see what they are working on.

Oooof, I have so many WIPs. A lot of them are little more than ideas that I've jotted down that will never see the light of day. But let me pull out a few of them.

Nothing to Celebrate (currently posting on AO3)

Here are a few lines from the next chapter, which has been slightly delayed as I (and everyone else in my house, this has been a hell of a week ::sob::) recover from Covid, but should be polished up and posted by the end of the week:

It is CCTV footage, grainy, black and white. John and Mary, weaving their way down the street. They look quite cosy, tucked up against each other. In spite of the blurry picture, Mary's dress and coat are unmistakable, as is John's moustache.

Time in a Bottle

This is the next fic in line, a very belated FTH gift for @khorazir, and should start posting once Nothing to Celebrate is wrapped up. Sherlock and John investigate a case tied to an old bottle, and might get the chance to make some wishes.

I have a big chunk of this one drafted already, but I'm playing around with the structure and trying to decide on the best starting point for the story. The timeline is going to get a little twisty and convoluted before the boys get their happy ending.

"First order of business is to find out what you've drugged me with. Though, if you're so inclined, you can save time and simply tell me." She laughed, a startled sound. "Drugged you?" He smiled tightly, set the vial aside. "Tea?" "No, thank you," she said. "Do people frequently break into your flat to drug you?" "On occasion," he said, and flashed another insincere smile. He dug his mobile out of his dressing gown pocket, thumbed out a text to Molly. "As you've just admitted to breaking into my flat, perhaps we can dispense with the pleasantries and skip to the part where you tell me what you're after."

Untitled Amnesia Fic (current working title is Strangers Forever)

This one will get written. I've been picking at it off and on for the last year or so. Set in a world where Sherlock's plane does not turn around at the end of HLV.

Sherlock is undercover doing reconnaissance work for Mycroft in the US. Thanks to what he believes was an accident, but which was actually an intentional procedure, he has no recollection of the last ten years or so of his life. John finds him and things unravel from there.

I'm so excited for this fic, but also intimidated by it, which is why I've been poking at it for so long. It's angsty turned up to 11. Intensely, painfully angsty. And I will warn upfront that there is no miraculous return of memory-- everyone involved must simply find a way to carry on.

Here's an excerpt:

There are ashtrays balanced on nearly every flat surface. He picks one up, sets it back down, surprised at his own nervousness. "I'm—" he starts, and swallows. Tries again. "I'm in the midst of a fascinating study on tobacco ash. Do you have any idea how many variations—?" "Two hundred and forty-three," John says. Sherlock swivels to look at him, delighted. "You know ash?"

And another:

"I think it might be nice to have an arch enemy," Sherlock says idly. He is feeling whimsical, and he lets a smile pull at the corner of his mouth. "I've often thought about it." John does not smile. "You had one. It wasn't nice."

Untitled Harry Wedding Fic

This is another one that I've been poking at for a while. It's meant to be two chapters. I've had the first chapter written for years, but stalled out on the second. Something just feels wrong about it. I hope to figure it out one of these days, because I quite like what's already been written.

Set sometime post S4, John bumps into Mike Stamford again. Mike lets slip that he's attending Harry's wedding that weekend… a wedding John knows nothing about. He's hurt and embarrassed and makes plans to crash the wedding. Sherlock invites himself along.

"This was supposed to be a nice day," Harry said. "Hm. Yeah. Seems perfectly nice." She turned to look at him, lips pressed into a tight white line. He stared back, but his resolve refused to hold. He just felt tired. Tired and sad and sorry. He sighed, looked down. "Harry—" "I'll have them find you a place at one of the tables," she said. Her voice was clipped. "I ought to pitch you out on your arse. But." "Two," he said. "What?" "Two places." "Sorry," she said. "Did I hear you correctly? Not only did you crash my wedding, but you brought a date?" "He's not my date," John said. He cleared his throat, looked away.

Golden Ticket

Yeah, it's a Willy Wonka AU.

"Sherlock Holmes," Mike said. "The genius behind it. Completely mad, of course, but—" "Mad. Genius. Yeah, got it," John said. He vaguely remembered hearing something about Holmes, years ago. Before Holmes Candy had blown up bigger than Cadbury, or Moriarty, or even Hershey over in the states. "Young guy, right?" Mike laughed, but there was no mockery in it. "Oh, you have been out of touch for the last few years, haven't you?" He smiled, shook his head. "Yeah, that was him. Showed up out of nowhere, no formal training, no background in the industry, completely blew the competition out of the water. Every bloody shop in London carries his stuff." "Okay," John said. Mike was right, of course. Holmes Bars, with their purple and gold packaging, were damn near ubiquitous. And he supposed the story of Holmes' out-of-nowhere success had a certain appeal, though why Mike had chosen now to bring it up was more than a bit perplexing. Mike smiled at him, an encouraging smile. John frowned, back, looked down at his cane. "Right. So what's . . . funny about him?" Mike took another sip of his coffee. "Well. He had some kind of nervous breakdown three years ago. Guess all the success went to his head. If you were overseas you might not have heard about it, but—" "Not really the sort of thing I'd have followed, overseas or not," John said, glancing past Mike towards the path once again. He wondered if it would be terribly rude to invent a forgotten appointment. "No, trust me, you'd have noticed," Mike said. "It was bizarre. He put out a string of limited edition candies—I mean—there were these lollies, right? Where each flavor represented a different level of decay—" "What?" John looked away from the path, back at Mike. Mike nodded. "Yeah. Not joking. And if I remember our anatomy classes correctly—and mate, you know as well as I do that's not something I'm likely to forget—he absolutely nailed it." "Why would anyone—?" "They were puzzles, you know? You were supposed to work out by the colour and taste how long the victim had been dead and where they'd been found. There were a few different ones, and eventually all these websites set up where people speculated over it and eventually solved the mystery of what each one was supposed to be." John blinked. "Man buried in shallow ground for a week. Woman floating in salt water for three days. Man in deep freezer for—" "Yeah, all right, I get it," John said. Then he shook his head. "No. I don't get it. He . . . flavored his candy with corpses?" "No, he flavored his candy like corpses. Caused quite a stir! But it was genius, really. A bit mad, but—" "Mad genius. Yeah. So you've said." "Anyway, around the same time that was going on, he started to get paranoid. It was in all the papers. Lots of speculation about drugs. He went on these public tirades about spies in his factory, stealing his recipes. Said Moriarty was out to ruin him." "Sounds like he did a right job of that on his own," John said. Corpse-flavoured candy. Honestly. "Well, he disappeared. Shut down his factory, just like that. Sacked all his staff. Cancelled all of his pending orders" "Shame," John said flatly. "But," Mike said, his eyes lighting up. "Five days ago, the factory started up again. Candy started shipping out worldwide. No one knows how. Or why."

I'll tag @thetimemoves @saki101 @algyswinburne and anyone else who sees this, if you'd like to share some of what you've been working on, consider yourself tagged!

#sherlock #wip wednesday #my wips

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tossacointoyourhotmess · 2 years ago

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I don't mind spoilers at all actually! I'm very curious and tho I know there will be changes I feel like the main points will stay the same? possibly? And I'm very thankful to you for taking time and replying to me❤️

Do you feel like Lou is doing the same thing here with the interview? Trying to make Lestat show himself and eventually reconcile?

Do you have any predictions when it comes to the show? I think they green lit season 2 as well, no?

I'm happy to answer! ❤️ Book spoilers under cut again cause some in the tag won't want to see

Some of the main points have already changed, particularly regarding Claudia. Hopefully they won't change many more.

1. In the books, she's a 5 year old plague victim that Louis, in his extreme hunger, feed on. He flees after he thinks he's killed her only to find that Lestat has saved the girl so that Louis doesn't have to feel guilty. Louis doesn't want her turned, but he doesn't want her to die either, so Lestat turns her. But there was an ulterior motive as well; Louis was leaving and in a great bid to make him stay, Lestat makes him a daughter. Lestat is the girlfriend that baby traps their partner, true story . In the show, Louis is her grand saviour, saving her from the fire, taking her to a very reluctant Lestat who is then pressured by Louis into turning her. Book Louis never puts blame on Lestat for making her. Show Louis does, and it's not fair, because he's the one that wanted her turned. He's blaming Lestat for doing something that he pressured him into doing when he knew he was reluctant.

2. She tries to kill Lestat. She's unsuccessful, but a very good attempt is made. As in the last answer, in the books, she does this because of her immense frustration. She blames both of her fathers for turning her but she only tries to kill Lestat, not Louis. In the book, Merrick, we see her ghost, and she tells Louis that she chose him because she knew she could manipulate him into helping her kill Lestat, and she also knew she'd never be able to convince Lestat to hurt Louis. So she kept the one she could wrap around her little finger, and tried to kill the one she couldn't. Lestat never actually did anything to trigger the attempt on his life, she just snaps. However, the show is absolutely justifying her attempted murder of him. So it has actually removed quite a large chunk of Claudia's characterisation by making him this violent and giving her a very justified reason.

3. Daniel is a much younger man in the books, about 19 or 20. He ends up being turned into a vampire by Armand who becomes his lover (Louis is back with Lestat at this point, and a lot of the vampires are very polyamorous anyway). Not sure how that will work with Show Daniel, especially if they cast a canon compliant Armand. Armand is about 600 by present day but he was turned at 16 so will forever look like a teenager. With Book Daniel, that wouldn't look weird, but if they do that with Show Daniel, it's gonna look very questionable. Side note; I love the theory that Rashid in the show is going to be revealed as Armand. That would be wild.

I hope Louis is doing the interview for the same reason. It would make for a faithful adaptation if the purpose of the interview was to draw Lestat out of hiding, and it would also lead into The Vampire Lestat season, which will probably be season 3 now. Yeah season 2 has been greenlit, and it's going to deal with the second half of the first book. So we should see SPOILERS Louis and Claudia searching for vampires in Europe, finding them in Paris, the introduction of Armand and his vampires, the death of Claudia, the brief appearance of a very scarred Lestat (he heals fully over time, but is still recovering when he turns up in Paris), Louis living with Armand, and Louis seeing Lestat again briefly (which Louis says in his book happened, and which Lestat in his book flat out denies happened). Or it's possible other events from the same point in the timeline will happen simultaneously but since this is still being told from Louis' POV and he won't know about them (i.e. Lestat is thrown off a tower by Armand just after Claudia's death but Louis didn't know about that until he read Lestats book), that's probably not likely.

I'm curious to see how it's going to go.

#interview with the vampire #the vampire chronicles

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cozy-the-overlord · 3 years ago

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Miles To Go Before I Sleep

Part 3 of Cozy’s Fluff-To-Angst Fun and Games

@fablesrose said:

Alright, break my heart.

A lover softly combing their fingers through your hair as your head lays in their lap, quietly drifting to sleep with a hum.

Summary: She could accept this fate, did accept this fate, if it meant that he would escape safe and sound. But Loki could never let her fall alone.

Word Count: 1,663

Pairing: Loki x Sigyn

A/N: So this is based on a dream I had a while ago ... it’s weird. I know it might not make any sense, but my dreams never make any sense lol, so I was kind of trying to channel that a bit. The title is from Robert Frost’s “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening”-- I debated about that for a while, because I know this story doesn’t really fit that poem thematically (like ... at all), but the atmosphere it creates is sort of what I was going for? Kind of? Idk this story is a trash fire.

Also please let me know what you think of the ending! I’m genuinely curious to see how people interpret it ...

Thanks for reading!

Warnings: Drowning? (but no death)

Tags: @lucywrites02 @silver-lupines @whatafuckingdumbass @the-emo-asgardian @imnotrevealingmyname @electroma89 @lokislittlesigyn @moumouton4 @theredrenard @justdontmindmetm

If you want to be tagged, feel free to send an ask/message :)

Read it on Ao3!

At first, she thought she was dead. That moment when she first hit the water, the icy crack that shattered her vision as millions of tiny needles pierced every sliver of skin and cut straight to her bones—surely, she must be dead. No body could survive such raw cold.

But she wasn’t. She was alive for now, alive enough to scream as freezing water rushed down her throat, up her nostrils, through her ears, ripping her apart from the inside until there was nothing left but ice.

Can’t breathe—

The surface sparkled above her with a mocking glow. She knew how to swim, but when she tried to kick her legs only dangled in the water, useless chunks of lead pulling her deeper and deeper with each failed flail. Her arms weren’t working properly. Her fingers had turned to icicles.

No, she wasn’t dead, but she was dying.

The thought electrified her, and she tried another half-hearted thrash for the surface even as her chest swelled with water. She didn’t want to die. Not like this. Somewhere, deep down, she was ashamed of her fear. She hadn’t fought the drop. She had given herself up to death’s eternal slumber. Why was she panicking now?

But this was different. She had made peace with the fall, yes, but the water did not hold the same mercy. Please. She gasped for the surface, not even sure who she was pleading with.

Please, not like this.

She wasn’t expecting an answer.

And yet one came.

In one moment, she was spiraling down into the blackness, in another, the light was flying towards her in a halo of bubbles, a familiar arm tight and firm around her waist.

Somehow, the air she heaved into her lungs was even colder than the water below, the frigid wind that whipped across her cheeks threatening to take her skin with it. She coughed out a waterfall, the panic that had been frozen in her throat finally freed from its floodgates as she sobbed and shook against his chest.

His.

Sigyn gagged on the realization.

“You—you—” But her voice only burned, too raw for speech. When she attempted to twist around to see his face, he only held her more tightly against him as he pulled her to the embankment. She pulled at his collar with numb fingers.

“You were supposed to run,” she choked. “Loki, you were supposed to run.”

Loki said nothing. He scooped her up like she weighed no more than a feather, his ruby eyes staring off at something only he could see as they trudged through the snow. She realized suddenly that she was shivering, teeth chattering like a pair of castanets, and she gulped as she tried in vain to hold her frostbitten hands still. Loki’s grip around her tightened.

“We need to get you warm,” he said. “You’ll freeze like this.”

What he needed to do was drop her and get as far away from her as possible, but Sigyn’s voice wasn’t working properly. Really, very little was working properly. Her vision was going fuzzy in the corners, the steady sound of his wet boots crunching against the ice was starting to fade into an indistinguishable buzz.

She only noticed they had stopped when the fire crackled to life—a vibrant, vigorous warmth that washed all over her, and she found herself bathing in the glow of dancing flames despite her better judgment.

“Loki!” she whispered weakly, fighting to cling to her last dregs of reason. “The smoke— he’ll find you—”

Loki lay behind her, holding her to his chest with a touch so gentle she barely felt it. His fingertips danced across her temples, stroking clumps of wet hair from her face as they went.

“You’re so beautiful.” His voice was soft and safe, a warm blanket wrapping her up and sheltering her from the world.

She inhaled. Her chest felt numb. “What’s going to happen?” She hated that she sounded so small, like a frightened child cowering at a storm. But surely what they were facing was a storm of its own? Sigyn knew very well who it was pursuing them. She knew he would stop at nothing to retrieve what he wanted.

It could only be a matter of time …

But Loki was unconcerned. “Don’t worry, darling,” he soothed. “Don’t worry. It’s all going to turn out right.”

“The tesseract—”

He hushed her gently. “Everything’s going to be just fine.” He hummed as he combed through her hair, a tune that Sigyn almost recognized, something innocent and nostalgic. It was something from a lifetime far away, dancing on the edge of her memory. She found her eyelids slipping closed, even as she fought to remain awake.

Can’t sleep now. Can’t leave him …

“It’s all right, my love,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. “You can go. I promise I’ll be all right.”

And so, she gave into his words, and the world faded to black.

…

When they found him, the fire had gone out. Loki was hunched alone in the snow, watching little flecks of ice crystalize on his blue skin. He didn’t bother to stand as they surrounded his makeshift camp. Why should he? He was weary, and besides— it didn’t matter now.

The Mad-Titan loomed over him, his golden armor sparkling with frost as he regarded Loki with a kind of patronizing amusement.

“And so the Jotun blesses us with his true colors.”

Loki fixed him with a heavy-lidded stare, breath whistling through his lips in a silver vapor. He was too exhausted for words. Besides, what was there to say? Everyone here knew how this was going to end.

At least, they thought they did.

“I’m surprised at your choice,” Thanos grinned. It was a spider’s smile, one that said he wasn’t surprised at all. Loki pressed his nails into the palms of his hands. “I thought for sure you had chosen to run.”

Yes. Sigyn had thought so too, had wanted him to flee. He had seen in her eyes, that peaceful resignation as she accepted her fate.

As if he could ever let her fall alone.

Thanos knew it. That was the frustrating part. He knew Loki would jump in to save her or die trying. He knew he’d give up his life, give up the tesseract, give up every living creature in the universe if it meant keeping her safe …

It didn’t matter now. Sigyn was free from harm, far outside the Titan’s reach, and the tesseract …

“Hand it over, princeling.”

Loki only smirked. History may call him Silvertongue, but oh, sometimes silence tasted so sweet.

Thanos’ eyes narrowed.

They dragged him to his feet in an instant. Loki didn’t fight it. It was only a matter of seconds before the realization would strike, and he for one was enjoying the anticipation.

The Titan towered over him. Loki fought the urge to laugh. He clearly thought himself intimidating, but his tiny eyes glaring out from beneath his helmet only made Loki think of an overgrown cockroach wearing armor.

Still, he bit his tongue.

“I’ll ask only once more,” Thanos leaned towards him, practically spitting in his face. “The tesseract. Hand it over.”

Loki didn’t flinch.

“My lord—” It was one of his Children, hunched over a datapad with a molded tension in his shoulders.

Here we go.

“What?”

“It’s not here.”

“What do you mean it’s not here?” Thanos snapped. “He has it!”

The man inhaled a shaky breath. “Forgive me sir, but he doesn’t. Here—” He held the tablet to the Titan with trembling hands in frantic supplication. “It’s not on his person. It’s not even on this planet. There’s not even the slightest trace of its gamma signature on this side of the galaxy!”

Loki grinned.

…

She awoke in her bed, cocooned in the snug embrace of her favorite fuzzy blanket. The rain pattered on the roof outside, a soft hum that almost soothed her back into slumber. Still, she pulled herself from sleep’s clutches and yawned, stretching as she sat up.

Such a strange dream.

It seemed so distant now, all wrapped up in warmth. She could only barely recall the last dregs of icy panic, floundering in a frozen river. And the man who had pulled her out …

She chuckled to herself. If only every nightmare ended with a tall, dark stranger rushing to her rescue. Although memory of his face eluded her, she couldn’t forget the feeling of his arm around her waist, so strong yet so gentle at the same time, clutching her to his chest like it was his sole purpose in life to hold her close. She sighed. Her subconscious had been kind to her last night.

A loud yowling from down the hall startled her from her reverie—the cat, demanding his breakfast. She frowned at the clock and jumped when she realized how late it was. Oh well. Can’t spend all morning fantasizing about handsome dream-men. Time to get up.

There was a song stuck in her head, she realized suddenly. It took her a moment to place it. Some silly jump rope chant from elementary school that she hadn’t thought of in years.

She giggled. How obscure is that?

Another meow reverberated through the apartment, an impatient edge to the cry. She groaned, throwing back the covers.

“Alright, alright, I’m coming!” One of her slippers was missing from its usual spot. She frowned. “Tigger, did you steal my slipper?”

Tigger only let out another screech, and she huffed. That damn cat was always snatching everything she left out and stashing them under something—he was a veritable hoarder.

“Fine,” she yelled, making her way to the kitchen slipperless. “Be like that, you little thief—”

So distracted was she by the cat, she didn’t notice the faint blue glow emanating from the tangled mess of her bedsheets.

#loki marvel #loki fanfic #loki angst #loki x sigyn #loki x ofc #logyn #miles to go before i sleep #cozys fluff-to-angst fun and games #cozy writes

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flames-bring-a-ton-of-ash · 4 years ago

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Irresistible Danger - Part 51

Synopsis: After being caught outside the compound on your own, Negan decides to punish you in the best way possible ;)

Words: 3,279

Warnings: nsfw, smut, swearing

ID Masterlist can be found HERE

Masterlist of all my fics can be found HERE

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Author’s Note: Holy crap, can y’all believe I dove back into writing this fic after almost two years with no updates?! I’m still shook over it haha. I will say that this fic has gone way off canon at this point (I haven’t watched the last few seasons of the show and also didn’t finish the last few issues of the comics). However, I’ve had a vision for certain characters and events for the last how many years, so I don’t plan to change them just to try and fit canon. I also now realize that while I tried to make “you” as nondescript as possible, there are physical traits and actions of her character that haven’t been as inclusive of all potential readers as I had thought when first starting the fic 5 years ago. I apologize for that, and plan to be more aware of those things with any reader characters I write in future fics. My plan is to post a chapter update every Friday from here on out, until it’s over, so fingers crossed I can accomplish that. Enjoy! :D

Cloud Nine

You surfaced from the depths of sleep slowly, rather than the more abrupt jolt to consciousness that usually started off your days. Feeling cozy and relaxed, a slight smile tipped your lips in contentment. It didn’t take long to realize that the reason for your positive mood was the large, warm body with which you were currently sharing the tiny, twin-sized bed.

Eyes blinking open, you took in the delightful sight of masculine bare skin. You were curled up against Negan’s side, cheek cushioned on his chest and both legs were wrapped around his nearest thigh. The bedsheet was pulled up over your back and ended teasingly right above his hips. One of your hands lay palm-down on his stomach, fingers twitching slightly in delight at the feel of the hard muscles beneath the soft skin. You could tell from the curve of his body that he was sitting with his back reclined against the rickety headboard. You might’ve found his positioning odd, but you were still a little hazy from sleep and so could only feel happiness at not waking up to an empty bed, like last time.

You were on cloud nine after talking things out with him last night. Being able to work through a conflict together had been major progress, and you had been proud of yourself for laying down your boundaries regarding your here-to-stay friendship with Ben, as well as standing your ground regarding the situation with Trixie and the pregnancy test. It was important that Negan learn to trust you when it came to situations such as those, and it seemed as though that message had finally gotten through to him last night.

The fact that he had even come to your room and taken the huge step of apologizing for his hasty reaction still had you a bit in shock. The evening had panned out much differently than your original plan of going to bed angry. Instead, you had gone to bed very satisfied, and then woken up next to the man who was very quickly becoming essential to your daily happiness.

He must’ve felt you shift against him, one hand coming down to rub your bare shoulder as he gave a soft, “Mornin’, doll.”

His raspy morning voice sent tingles down your spine, even as your brain fought to stay awake. It still felt way too early to be sitting up and conversing, so instead of returning the greeting, you buried closer into his side and grumbled, “What time is it?” The words were muffled against his skin, nose pressed into his chest hair as you inhaled the glorious male scent of him.

You felt him lean over towards the side table. He must’ve been checking your watch, because he replied, “‘Bout 6:50.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“Language.”

“Hmph. Do you always get up so early?”

“It’s more productive than sleeping half the day away and being late to everything.”

That got more of a response, as you finally lifted your head to glare up at him for the jab. However, he didn’t notice, as he was too focused on the book held in front of him. It was then that you realized why he was sitting up in bed, a smirk crossing your face at the novel he had open and was intensely reading. You felt a spark of desire low in your belly, the sight of a sleep-tousled and naked Negan lounging in your bed while reading Harry Potter an unexpected, but welcomed, aphrodisiac.

“Thought you didn’t read ‘fucking kid books’?” you sarcastically asked, quoting back his initial description of the series.

You received only a low grunt in response, his eyes not leaving the page. You weren’t offended, since you’d probably react the same way to someone trying to interrupt a reading of Harry Potter. In fact, you were a bit jealous that he got to experience the magical world for the first time. His curiosity must’ve gotten the better of him when he saw it lying on your bedside table, and it appeared as if he had already read a small chunk of it.

He didn’t seem to notice you staring, his attention still focused on the book. In fact, he held the page a scant few inches from his face, eyes squinted into slits. The sight was a tad humorous, though you wondered how long he had been struggling to see the words.

“I thought you needed glasses to read?” you asked.

“Fuck, you always so full of questions this early in the morning, doll?”

You pinched his side hard enough to make him jump and growl out another expletive, before giving him a saccharine smile and lifting a brow expectantly when he glared down at you.

Attention finally taken off the book, he reached over and plopped it down on the side table before rubbing his eyes with both palms. “I do. Felt like it took me a fucking hour to get through that last page.”

The fact that he had continued trying to read and hadn’t easily given up, despite his struggle to see the words, told you more than anything how much he must’ve been enjoying the novel. A warm thrill settled in your chest at the thought of him taking an interest in something he usually wouldn't bother with simply because you enjoyed it.

The warm thrill morphed into more of a low heat and traveled down your body as your gaze refocused on his bare skin. Moving the hand on his stomach upward over his chest, your fingertips traced the outline of the tattoo on his left pec.

“What prompted you to get this?” you asked, curious if there was a meaning behind the skull and criss-crossed rifles.

Giving a low chuckle, he replied, “Youth and stupidity.”

Giving a huffed laugh in return, you trailed curious fingers over to the other tattoos on his arms, inquiring about each one as you went. Some had a story behind them, others not so much (you had tried not to roll your eyes when he explained that the revolver on his right forearm was the same one he had handled once and thought was ‘fucking cool as shit’). He also had a few scars on his upper body, some from before the apocalypse but most from after. You listened intently as he opened up about each one, drinking in as much personal information about the man beside you as possible.

Not wanting to stop the exploration just yet, you pushed up on your other elbow and journeyed over his throat, tracing his Adam’s apple before running your fingers delicately through the surprisingly soft beard framing his gorgeous mouth.

Capturing the questing hand in his own, he brought your fingers to his lips. The breath caught in your chest when he kissed the mostly-healed scar from the knife injury you had acquired a few weeks prior. Heart beating frantically at the gentle gesture, you smiled up at him when he released your hand and allowed it to resume exploring.

“So,” you tried for calm and casual, fingers moving up to lightly trace his ear before diving into his thick hair and mapping the streaks of salt within the pepper. “What are your plans for today?”

It took him a few seconds to answer, his eyes having fluttered closed as your nails gently massaged his scalp. You smiled at his obvious enjoyment of your touch, at how he had lowered his walls in this moment and was allowing himself to be both physically and emotionally vulnerable.

“I wish they were to stay here and enjoy this fucking delightful body of yours all day, but I have a meeting with my Saviors at eight.”

The thought of spending an entire day frolicking in bed with Negan caused a dreamy sigh to leave your lips. His eyes opened and zeroed in on your mouth at the sound, that magical tongue of his coming out to lick his bottom lip as he added, “Though, that’s still about an hour away…”

At that, he quickly rolled over so his lean body was pinning you into the mattress, his lips cutting off your squeal of surprise before it even left your throat. The hand still in his hair tightened, causing him to give a low groan and grind his hips down into yours. You tried to make a mental note of his reaction to the touch, but seeing as how there were no barriers keeping his quickly-hardening erection from pressing into your thigh, all higher levels of brain function quickly flew out of the room.

Bracing above you, he leaned down and started kissing your neck, a move guaranteed to make you melt. When his mouth descended over the curve of your breasts, you tried to lift your head to watch his downward progress but a sharp pang of discomfort at your scalp made you wince and try to jerk away, which only succeeded in making the pain even worse.

“Ow, wait!” you blurted, causing Negan to instantly freeze and look up at you in alarm.

“Doll, what-”

“You’re on my hair! Move your hand!”

Quickly realizing his mistake, Negan moved the hand that had accidentally been pinning a large chunk of your hair, and by proxy your head, to the mattress.

“Fucking hell, I’m sorry, doll,” he cursed, making as if to lift his body off you entirely.

Now wanting his faux pas to ruin the moment, you pushed his shoulders sideways and hooked a leg up over his hip before commanding, “Roll over.”

He hesitated for a moment before relenting, the two of you somehow able to switch places on the narrow, twin-sized bed without falling off. Once the semi-awkward resituating was done, he was on his back and you were straddling his hips. The move caused the sheet to fall off, exposing your entire body to his gaze. Based on the way his eyes grew hazy with lust as they took in your bared curves, not to mention his obvious erection, it was safe to say that he didn’t mind this change in position one bit.

Warm, calloused palms drifted up over your thighs, hips, and the sides of your waist, before cupping breasts that were begging for his touch. Leaning down, your already-hardened nipples pressed into his palms as you kissed him hungrily. Shifting your hips, you started rubbing forwards and backwards over the erection pressed between both your lower stomachs. You moaned into each other’s mouths at the sensation, pussy lips parting around his girth so that your wetness coated his cock, the fat head bumping against your clit with each slide.

“I think I like being in charge,” you purred.

Giving a dark chuckle that sent shivers down your spine, he replied, “Enjoy it while it fucking lasts.”

Planning to do just that, you reached over to pluck a condom off the side table, incredibly grateful to whatever deity helped you successfully open the foil packet and smoothly roll the latex down over him on the first try. Tossing the empty packet over the side of the bed, you wrapped slightly trembling fingers around his swollen cock and lifted your hips, lining him up with your entrance. Maintaining eye contact, you slowly slid down his length, mouth falling open on a whimper at the feel of him parting overly-sensitive flesh that was still a bit sore from the activities of the previous night. Despite Negan’s initial threat over you stealing both coconut oil from the kitchen and condoms from his room, his only “punishment” last night had been fucking you relentlessly into the mattress until you had multiple orgasms and could barely even remember your own name.

In spite of the slight burn as sore muscles again stretched around his thickness, you didn’t stop until he was fully seated inside. His cock felt so big in this position that it was almost overwhelming, but you sat up so that your hands were braced on his chest and used your thigh muscles to start a slow up and down rhythm.

His fingers reached up and pinched your nipples, causing you to clench around him. He groaned at the sensation, gaze becoming more intense when you slightly picked up the pace. It felt magnificent, but at the same time you craved more of the hard, rough friction that he had given you the night before. Body trying to find that friction on its own, your hips swiveled in a circle as you sank back down, which must’ve felt just as amazing for him as it did you, since he gave a strangled moan at the same moment his hands immobilized your hips in a bruising grip.

“Alright, doll. My turn.”

That was the only warning you got before he braced his feet against the mattress and moved up in you, hard. Falling forward onto your palms with a gasp, fingers curled into the bedsheet and hips writhed in pleasure when he repeated the move. He continued the sharp, deep thrusts, watching your face closely before wrapping a hand around the back of your neck and pulling your mouth down to his own. His tongue thrust into your mouth possessively, as if trying to claim as much of you at once as he could. The pace was brutal yet unhurried, each thrust feeling like a deliberate attack on your sanity as his movements drew fire over your skin and consumed you, body and soul.

Pressing down into him while leaning forward caused your clit to grind against his lower abdomen in the perfect way with each thrust, building up the orgasm that had previously hovered just out of reach. Breaking the kiss with a cry, you saw the expression of intense concentration on his face as he continued to move your bodies together in perfect rhythm. Breasts pressed into his chest and mouth panting at his ear, your body gave into his, letting him drive you up and over the edge, into the abyss of pleasure.

“Negan,” you moaned, muscles tightening then releasing as the orgasm washed through you. His answering grunt and curse signaled his own release, though he continued his driving rhythm through it all, wringing each drop of pleasure from your body until it collapsed limply on top of his.

Resting your head on his shoulder, you again traced over the tattoo on his chest, waiting for your heartbeat and breathing to slow back down to normal. Glancing up his body, you found him already looking back down at you, a relaxed and satisfied grin on his lips that was only witnessed behind closed doors, when the two of you were alone. His hand idly stroked over a piece of hair laying on your shoulder, the gesture making you think back to earlier when he had accidentally pinned you to the mattress, and the resulting ungraceful maneuvering to switch positions in a bed that was entirely too small for two adult bodies. A light laugh escaped you that caused Negan to raise an eyebrow in question.

“Just remembering your super smooth move from earlier,” you teased. You wouldn’t admit this out loud, but it was actually a bit of a relief to know that even Mr. Harem-of-Wives, Sex-God Negan wasn’t always flawless in the sack.

“Making fun of me, doll?” he growled.

“Maybe.”

Whack. The loud crack, accompanied by the slight sting of sensation against your left asscheek, caused you to jump and look at him in wide-eyed shock.

“Did you just spank me?!” you exclaimed.

“Maybe.”

Before you could form an appropriate reply, he silenced any retort with his lips. Shallow creature that you apparently were, the move worked, and when he pulled away a long minute later, your brain conveniently forgot why you were supposed to be coming up with a retort in the first place.

Negan glanced over at the side table, where your watch sat. Also looking over, you saw that it was now almost 7:30am, which meant he had half an hour to go back to his room and become presentable for his 8am Savior meeting. You were curious what the meeting was about, but didn’t want to ruin the perfection of the morning by bringing up a potentially serious topic.

“Much as I hate to say it, doll, duty fucking calls.”

Your expression must’ve showcased more than you thought, since he gave a chuckle and said, “How about I make it up to you by finishing our fucking chess bet?”

Interest instantly piqued, you sat up on his chest and replied, “The third outing?! Can we go today?”

He looked at you consideringly, before giving a slight nod and agreeing. “We fucking could, but I won’t be free until the dinner hour.”

Much as you didn’t want to skip out on your duties, even if it was with the leader of the establishment, you also weren’t about to turn down more alone time with Negan, especially outside of the Sanctuary.

“I could meet you at the front gate at 5?” you suggested. That would give you just enough time to make sure dinner was fully prepped and almost ready to serve, since the community ate their meal from 5 to 7pm. It lessened the guilt, since you wouldn’t be completely leaving Ben and the staff short-handed.

“Works for me, doll,” he said, gently rolling you off his body and to the narrow strip of mattress free beside him.

Biting your lower lip to keep from gasping at the empty sensation when he pulled out his now-flaccid dick, you watched him rise slowly from the bed. You took possessive pleasure in viewing his naked body, thighs clenching at the sight of him stretching muscular arms up towards the ceiling with his head tipped back. The pop of his back and resulting grunt made you comment, “I think from now on we might be better off in your bed. I have no clue how we even managed to fit in mine all night.”

“Thank fucking god. If I have to spend any more nights in that fucking thing, I’ll be stiffer than a cock in a brothel.”

Rolling your eyes at his that’s-so-Negan one-liner, you pulled the sheet up over your chest and settled in to watch him get dressed. You felt a bit like a voyeur when he removed the condom, tied off the end, and tossed it into the little garbage can. You felt a lot like a voyeur when he leaned down to pick up his boxer briefs and the sight of his bent-over ass almost made you whimper out loud.

“You sure you can’t skip the meeting and stay here?” The words left your lips before your brain could even stop them.

Turning to look at you, the desire must have been written all over your face because that muscle in his jaw ticked and he ran a hand down over his beard in obvious frustration. You swore he started to take a step back towards the bed, but he caught himself and instead returned to the task of getting dressed.

When he was done putting on the navy tee and dark grey pants, complete with his signature black boots, he did finally come back over to the bed. Leaning down, he cupped a warm hand possessively around the side of your neck and placed a heated kiss on your lips before slightly pulling back and saying in that sinful, husky voice, “5 o’clock, doll. You better be ready for me.”

With that, he straightened, crossed the room, and let himself out. As the door clicked softly shut behind him, you replied with a dazed, “Yes, sir.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

#negan #negan fanfiction #negan smut #negan fanfic #negan fanfics #irresistible danger #ash writes #twd #the walking dead #negan x reader #negan x you #slow burn #twd negan #the walking dead negan

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winter-fox-queen · 4 years ago

Text

Albatross

Summary: Frankie wants to give you your dream vacation, but he’s not sure if it is worth the price.

Warnings: Female reader. (He calls her his girl, and she wears a skirt in one scene.) Angst. No smut. I thought I would finally write smut, this was going to be a very different story where they were AT the place already, but. No. Angst with a nice ending because I can't leave Frankie to suffer too long.

Thanks to @autumnleaves1991-blog -- you are awesome and this picture is lovely.

1,870 words.

Frankie didn’t lie to you. Not about this, at least.

Well.

Not really. He was working extra, taking extra shifts. Except for right now. Right now, he was in a cabin in the middle of a state forest, one of the very few things he’d bought with the money. A place to hide. To be at peace.

It was not working. The money felt like a weight. Half of each share had gone to Redfly’s family. Half had gone to each man. He’d hoped for freedom. This was anything but.

I shouldn’t have hidden it in the cabin. He once watched a TV show about Escobar, seen that one of the caches of money he’d hidden outside had gotten moldy. So Frankie had gone into the cellar. Dug up a section of the dirt floor. Made a proper hiding place, kneeling in the dirt, mixing up quickcrete and placing stones until the cellar was paved in with stone pavers. Three were loose. Only one had a reinforced box with another box and a bunch of money that could change his life but he can’t even look you in the eye and explain that he has it.

So here he was, sitting on the weathered wood bench in front of the cabin you did not even know he owned, resting his cheek on his fist, looking at the cabin of his damned dreams like it was a haunted death trap from a B horror movie.

He signed, grabbed the magazine he’d dropped on the ground earlier, flipping it to an article you’d been sighing over when you thought he wasn’t looking. The ultimate romantic getaway, with tiled pools and greenery and luxurious accommodations and candlelight dinners.

“That’s pretty,” he’d said over your shoulder as you looked at the main picture of the article, a swimming pool tiled and beautiful – all Middle East and mysterious looking, making you think of romance and beauty.

“I love it,” you admit. “I’d never get to go…but it is beautiful. Have to win the lottery.” She grinned at him.

He looked it up online, curious. Frankie the pilot/mechanic couldn’t afford it. Not even with extra shifts and only one beer on Fridays and watching every penny.

The other Frankie could.

So that was why he found himself in the cellar. If you knew which paver it was to start from, and which direction to go, it was just a knight chess move, probably obvious and stupid, but he did not trust himself to remember any other way. He pried it up carefully so not to scratch the stone and give away the hiding place.

He stared at the hole. The carefully wrapped money. He fumbled for his phone, and by some miracle the call went through.

“Hey Frankie.” Pope’s voice sounded tired, but warm. Not quite there.

“If you really, really love someone, is it OK to lie to them?”

Pope didn’t think before he replied. “Of course not.”

“If you really, really love someone and want to do something to make them happy, is it OK to lie about where you got the money for it?”

That stopped Pope. Pope, instead of being split focused was now, 100%, listening. “Frankie…”

Frankie, waiting, crouching by the hidden safe, phone to one ear, other hand relaxed on his knee. Waiting. Frankie was very good at waiting.

Pope sputtered a little, tried to think of what to say. Finally. “Yeah, Frankie. It’s OK.”

It’s what he wanted to hear but it wasn’t the truth and he knew it. “I’ve never loved anyone like I love her. I’ve never wanted anything in my life like I want her, want her happiness. But there’s this whole chunk of my life that she doesn’t even know about. I look at this damned cabin and I think, she’d love it up here. Her car broke down and she needed to buy a new one, and I could have bought her a fucking car so she wouldn’t have to worry about payments.”

“I know,” Pope muttered, but Frankie is on a roll.

“And the one damned thing I’ve ever seen her really, really want and it’s this damned vacation and I can give it to her. I can fucking pay for it, but if she finds out how it’ll ruin everything. She won’t be able to enjoy it. The memory will be ruined. I can’t fucking win. What good is it, if I have this, and I can’t even use a little of it to make my girl happy?”

Pope, picking words, both because he’s not sure what to tell Franlie and because he is paranoid about anyone (doubtful) listening in. “Maybe…maybe that is the good. You can’t…make it better, right? But you can…clean it. Make good memories for your girl. Do good things for the people you love.” Pope sighed. “I can’t…I can’t bear it, either, you know? I save it for a rainy day, but…”

“I didn’t think the guilt would last so long,” Frankie said.

“No.”

“Maybe I should tell her.”

A pause. “I can’t think of any way to tell that story without things going to shit.”

“I don’t like lying to her.”

“No.” Another pause. “Please don’t tell her unless you know you can trust her.”

“She won’t blab.” Frankie glared at the phone.

“Don’t get insulted on her behalf. Everyone you love could get hurt…including her.”

Guilt seized his heart so hard he wondered if he was going to have a heart attack, right there.

“You OK, man?”

“Yeah. Yeah.” He said through numb feeling lips. “I’m ok.”

He slipped his phone in his pocket, reached in, and took what he thought he could use, and carefully hid everything again.

Then he got very devious.

You can put up to 15,000 on a prepaid Visa gift card. He went to a place where people were smart enough not to ask questions, or even care. One of those places where you want to wash your clothes after you leave.

Then he called the resort. “Look, I have these friends…” he said, “I want to treat them, but they can’t know who I am…” The prepaid card was as good as a credit card.

And then he went home, and waited for you to check your email. Sweating.

And, obscurely, jealous of himself. Super fucking jealous of himself, the more he thought about it. Like, he hated the mysterious benefactor who was about to make the love of his life so happy.

He wanted to be the one. Wanted your eyes to light up and know it was because he’d been able to provide for you, he’d been able to make this happen. He closed his eyes and swallowed it. It was stupid and selfish…what did it matter, who got the credit as long as you got this? As long as it made you happy? Frankie would be there, seeing your smile when you stood next to that glorious tiled pool, watch you dabble your toes shyly in the water, as if to ask, can I really have this?

And it did.

“Frankie!” You came in, sat on his lap. Your arms were warm around him, you made a soft and perfect armful as he wrapped himself around you, let your lips peck happy kisses all over his face.

“What is it, baby?”

You pull back. “You know. The trip.”

Frankie raises his eyebrows, all innocence, starts to protest, but you silence him with another kiss.

“I know, baby, who loves me enough to put so much effort into planning things like this. The surprise is nice, but you know I’m not dumb.” You toss aside his cap and run your fingers through his hair, scratching his scalp gently, and Frankie sighs softly, his eyes shutting a little. He opens them again when your hands cup his cheeks.

You look very serious. And a little sad. Which hits his Oh Shit button, hard.

“You didn’t have to go to all this effort, baby. You really didn’t.”

“Well, I…” he tried to think of something to say, but settled for, “I love you. I love you so much, you don’t even…”

This earns him a kiss on the forehead. Then you say, “I know how you got the money.” And his blood runs cold. Before he could marshal some sort of reply, you continue, “Come on, Cat. Long hours. Extra shifts? I know that the people down at the field are not the most upstanding of people. But…baby, it’s so dangerous.”

It doesn’t take him much to put the pieces together. “You think I’m running drugs?” It comes out as an incredulous squeak.

You nod. “It makes sense. This dream – literally a dream vacation – is not cheap. And I never expected it. You know that? I enjoyed day dreaming about going with you because I love you and I want to take you all over the world…” You sigh. “I just want to see the beautiful things of this world through your eyes.”

This time, Frankie does the silencing, with a gently thumb over your lips. “Sweetheart, I didn’t…”

You kiss the pad of his thumb. “You gonna try and tell me this money came on the up and up? Baby, I know how much you make.”

You look at each other for a long moment. You, work skirt hiked up so you can straddle his thighs, sitting closer to his knees, Frankie, his hands gentle on your hips so you don’t fall.

“I could tell you,” he says, softly. The words running underneath But I don’t want to and you might not like it.

You are sharp. That’s one of the things he likes about you, how much you see. It’s also one of the things that scares him the most. Finally, “Are you in danger?”

Frankie shakes his head, once.

“Is it…is it the reason why sometimes you get so sad?”

One nod. A little smile. He watches you digest this. Make a decision.

The delicate hands come up to frame his face again. You look him right in the eyes. “You are a good man. I don’t know what happened, and maybe, someday, you can tell me. But you are good and kind and I love you.” And you kiss him again, this time so fiercely that his thinks it’s going to bruise, and he’s fine with that.

You lean back again. “Humph. Well. If you’d not already paid for it, I’d probably save the money to pay on the car.”

“No take backs.” He grins despite himself.

“Rats.” You grin back. Slide off his lap. “Now to call Darla and see when I can take off, and then we are buying you a new swim suit.” You bounce on your feet, then turn to go for your phone.

Frankie leans back against the cushions with a groan. “I do not need…”

You peek around the doorframe. “You are not going to a five star resort in purple swim trunks with catfish on them!”

“They were a present!” he calls after your retreating form, and grins at the ceiling.

It’s going to be alright, he thinks, feeling lighter. It’s going to be alright.

#frankie morales x reader #frankie catfish morales #frankie morales x fem!reader #writer wednesday #pedro pascal #my fiction

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castieltrash1 · 5 years ago

Text

dangerous territory → clint b.

gif credit (x)

summary → clint stays behind during a mission, leaving you alone with him in the avengers building. seeing him sprawled out on the comfy lounge room couch gives you some naughty ideas -- only adding to the tension your relationship already has.

word count → 6.7k (literally wtf)

warnings → i ignore the entirety of iw/endgame except for clint’s makeover, extreme sexual tension, smut; switch!fem!reader, switch!clint, couch sex, oral (both recieving), fingering, slight overstimulation, dirty talk, praise

a/n → literally idk if i should be ashamed or not but im Horny 4 Hawkeye!!! oopsie !! also there are like .3 smut fics for him on here and im determined to fix that

---

Quiet was not a word you’d use to describe the Avengers Facility.

In fact, with Steve’s loud orders, Bruce’s lab explosions, and Sam’s boisterous laughter -- not to mention the never-ending petty arguments that managed to revert the Avengers to 11th graders in their first debate club -- it was the farthest thing from quiet.

But, now, with zero disagreements and zero distractions, you’d been able to enjoy the building all to yourself. Almost. Of course, the one time you got to avoid a mission, you ended up falling into an even worse situation.

You’d covered for Wanda last mission, and she’d insisted on paying you back for the newest one. It wasn’t high stakes by any means, but the work itself had countless components and everyone who was nearby -- or at least on the planet -- had been called in to fill some role.

Everyone, of course, except you. And Clint.

Suddenly the idea of being stuck in the Quinjet with everyone’s post-mission moodiness sounded very appealing. You could feel a headache growing as you wandered around the kitchen, doing anything and everything in your power to avoid him. He was not supposed to be here. Hell, he didn’t even like stepping foot in the place unless the world was in immediate danger.

Of course, you weren’t the only one to notice his odd attitude. Natasha gave him a confused look when he mentioned staying behind, but decidedly hadn’t commented, almost like she’d already pieced together the reason for Clint’s actions. Knowing her, she probably had. But, even Wanda shot a glance that worried you -- though you seemed to be the only one to catch her squinted green gaze before it disappeared. You weren’t sure you wanted to know what she saw in his mind.

Sure, you had a couple of ideas as to why he would choose to isolate himself with you, but you tried to not let those thoughts consume you. The others wouldn’t be back till midday tomorrow -- if all went well -- and you were not about to spend the next 36 hours soaking your panties with stupid fantasies.

Unfortunately, even when ignoring Clint, your mind was still focused on him. When you passed by the gym or shooting range, antsy to get your daily work in, one quick thought of seeing Clint’s arms -- tensed as he loaded his bow, muscles straining and eyes focused on his target -- was enough to have you quickly walking in the opposite direction.

But, now, as you make your way into the lounge to relax, you can’t find it in yourself to care. You have just as much of a right as Clint does to walk around whenever and wherever you please. In all honesty, you feel even more entitled considering you’re the one actually living in the tower (at least most of the time.)

He’s exactly where you expect him to be -- he may be fast and quiet on his feet, but you’ve been keeping tabs on him, for your own sake.

It’s a bit odd seeing a book instead of a bow in his hands, but you’re not entirely sure you should be focused on how his fingers wrap around the thin pages, thumbing the corners so gently--

“Done avoiding me, are you?”

Well, shit.

His gaze remains on his book -- though the very few pages he’s turned assures you he’s not paying attention to whatever riveting story Tony has stocked his shelves with.

“What are you talking about?” you ask. There’s a moment of temptation to take a seat next to him on the couch, as close as possible. To feel his strong arms around you, smell the raw masculine cologne he always wears a bit too much of -- heavy on his neck and sharp jaw that you know your lips could curl around so perfectly if given the chance.

You swallow heavily and take a seat in the chair across from him, sinking into the expensive fabric.

“Tony picks good furniture, right?” Clint sighs, book closing without so much as a dog-ear mark as he leans back.

It’s silent for a second, and you’re entirely sure you’ve missed a part of the conversation during your mini black-out, but Clint doesn’t seem bothered in the slightest, waiting patiently for your answer. You consider it a small win and accept the change in topic with an awkward laugh.

“Yeah. Didn’t think price made such a big difference.” There’s a firmness to the chair that keeps you from sinking, and mentally, you consider if it’d be strong enough for other activities. “How much you wanna bet he spent on each of these chairs?” you question, genuinely curious. “I gotta guess at least two grand.”

Clint’s cool eyes glint playfully. “Three,” he challenges with a smirk that sends a shiver down your spine. “Though, you should really try this couch. Definitely my favorite thing here.”

There’s just a hint of suggestion in his tone -- the kind that you’d miss if you weren’t trained in reading people. It’s not unexpected, though. You’d have to be a fool to not recognize the exact same longing stares, the same lingering touches that Clint offers you. But, that’s what makes it all more intimidating. It’s an unspoken thing, and at this point, that’s what feels most convenient -- even if your lonely nights spent moaning his name are growing far too common for comfort.

Still, you can’t exactly ignore him, and his eyes follow you closely as you make your way to the couch, falling into the comfy cushions with a huff.

“Wow.” You laugh. “No wonder you’ve been spending so much time down here.”

Clint raises an eyebrow. “So you have been paying me some attention. Interesting.”

If he notices you shift as far to the other end of the couch as possible, he doesn’t mention it.

“Don’t take it personally, Barton,” you huff. “I’m used to keeping an eye on everyone around here.” It’s not entirely a lie, but he manages to see right through the half-truth regardless.

“So you avoid everyone, then?” There’s no hurt or misunderstanding in his voice, not even confusion. He knows what you’re doing, knows why you can’t bear to look him in the eyes for more than a few seconds.

“Still don’t know what you’re talking about,” you deflect, closing your eyes and letting your head fall back onto the couch.

He just chuckles, a low sound that makes your stomach clench unconsciously. You expect him to keep pressing you, work you up until you spill your guts, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t even say a word as you hear the rustling of paper and feel the couch move slightly as he shifts.

You turn your head towards him and open one eye, then both as they go wide. Clint has taken on a whole new level of comfortable, feet perched on the coffee table and one arm resting on the back of the couch while his free hand flips through the same first few pages as before.

In all honesty, you suddenly find yourself happy that Steve and Tony are gone -- otherwise they’d be scolding Clint for his manners, and most definitely not ogling his firm legs in those tight, black jeans.

You drag your gaze back up his body, stopping near the hem of his shirt, where his new position has allowed for the fabric to ride up his stomach. It’s just a sliver of skin but the image is enough to make your heart race. There’s a faint dip in the muscled hip line leading to his jeans, and if you stare extra hard, you can see the light trail of thin hairs disappearing under the fabric.

Swallowing heavily, you quickly look back at Clint’s face, holding back a gasp as he stares back at you.

“So,” you fill the silence before he can, mentally thanking Natasha for her training on keeping your composure. “How’s that book of yours?”

Clint just grins for a second -- you both know he’s caught you. “It’s alright. Not the most interesting thing in the building right now, though.”

You gulp. “Yeah… The place is big. Lots to explore. I don’t think I’ve even seen every room--”

“I have a feeling you know that’s not what I mean,” Clint cuts you off with a chuckle, and you send him a challenging glare.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you scoff.

He hums, before his tongue peeks out to swipe across his bottom lip. “You’re sounding awfully like a broken record today.” His icy, pale eyes return to his book, and you watch as he lifts his thumb to his wet lips, tongue darting out the lick the tip. You can practically feel the action, and almost whine in disappointment when his hand returns to flip the page.

Clint is downright grinning at this point, and you know he’s taking in every breath, shift, and blink of yours. “But, I know you’re not actually confused,” he continues. “In fact, I’d argue you like this game of ours a bit more than you should.”

You know if you brush it off again, he’ll drop it. He’s too nice to make you uncomfortable, and his statement hangs in the air with a heavy weight.

“You know, Barton?” you shift from your spot on the couch, eliminating a good chunk of the space between you and him. “I think you’re smarter than most people give you credit for.” He raises a brow, and you would believe his undisturbed look if you didn’t see his fingers twitch against the spine of the forgotten book.

“Tell Nat that,” he jokes, and you grin. Seeing that little crack in his facade, the way he fills the conversation with a joke, the discreet but heavy swallow he tries to hide -- it’s all enough to power you to move closer, until there are mere centimeters between you two.

“Hmmm, I don’t think I’ll be telling Natasha anything from this conversation of ours.” Keeping your attention on the slight tense of his jaw, you push the book from his hands, and he immediately drops his feet from the table to discard it in their place.

You pause for a second, glancing at Clint’s lap then back at him, and he doesn’t hesitate to reach out and grab your hip.

“Get over here already,” he groans, both arms wrapping around your waist to situate you in his lap. His hands are warm and firm and everything you could have ever imagined, and you automatically roll your hips down onto him. There’s a pleased moan from you both, and his own hips jolt in a way that sends you even closer to him, until your chests are touching.

He immediately dives for your neck, scruff tickling the sensitive skin as he breathes you in deeply. “I gotta admit,” he murmurs, letting his lips graze the bottom of your jaw in the most sinful way, “you look so much better sitting here than standing around in the kitchen.”

You drag your fingers through the long hair on the back of his head, tugging it playfully. “You’ve been watching me, Barton?”

He hums, squeezing you just as teasingly. “I do a lot of staring when it comes to you, babe.”

You pull him from your neck by his hair, and he looks up at you with the most mischievous glint in his eyes. The nickname makes you undeniably flustered, but you force the embarrassment away.

“I don’t know about you, but I think that’s what you call creepy,” you mumble, leaning down so Clint can feel your words against his own lips. He immediately darts forward, but you pull back with a sly grin, watching his eyes darken at the action.

“I think,” he growls, catching you off guard as he pushes you back onto the couch, making you jostle as you try not to fall off the edge. He steadies you with a large hand, and you only jolt again when he uses his free hand to spread your legs, caging you in as his hips drop between your parted thighs. “You’d be a hypocrite for saying that.” He drops back to your neck, and you can feel his smile before his teeth sink into your skin lightly -- just enough to make you gasp.

He continues to litter your neck with kisses, and you watch in awe as his toned arm tenses by the side of your head -- the thick black lines of ink rolling as his muscles flex.

“And what are you gonna do about it?” you taunt, back arching as his tongue darts out to lick a stripe up to right below your chin. “You gonna fuck me?”

Clint bites the edge of your jaw in retaliation to your words, before he pulls back just enough to stare at you with a lustful gaze.

“Not yet, baby. Not that easily.” One of his hands trails up the front of your thigh, before it busies itself with the hem of your shirt. You try to hide your disappointment, but Clint notices it, of course, and just shakes his head. “Don’t worry, I don’t plan on letting you leave this couch anytime soon. You’ve made me wait long enough for this… I’m gonna take my time with you.”

He finally presses his lips to yours, and you hungrily reach and tug until he’s as close as possible -- until you can feel the denim of his jeans scraping deliciously against your thighs as you tug his bottom lip between your teeth. It’s messy and entirely uncalculated, and your nails catch in the wrinkles of the back of his shirt while his own fingers tug impatiently at the bottom of yours.

You part from him for a second, and his own greedy mouth follows yours, only managing to press against the side of your lips. “You act like you’ve made this easy for me,” you retort, and his chest rumbles against yours as he chuckles.

“Oh honey, I think I’ve made it quite obvious I’ve wanted to fuck you since the day you walked in here.”

“Clearly, not obvious enough.”

Clint huffs, warm breath hitting your cheek. “What’d you want me to do? Huh?” He shifts so his words make their way directly to your ear, each syllable accentuated with a puff of hot air. With him this close, neck just below your nose, you can take in the heavy smell of that sharp cologne you love so much.

His calloused fingers dip beneath your shirt, but instead of the obvious trail up, his hand trails down to play with the hem of your shorts. “Tug these little things off in front of everyone? Show them all how worked up you get me wearing these? Is that what you want?”

Your hips lift in a silent plea, and you groan. “They’re comfortable.”

“Maybe for you, but I find myself very uncomfortable when you wear them.” He snickers, and if you weren’t so turned on, you’re sure you’d roll your eyes. Only Clint Barton could make a joke about untimely hard-ons during a time like this.

“Then why don’t you take them off?” you groan, and he shakes his head while muttering something about you being bossy.

Still, his words betray him as he tugs the fabric down your legs, as slowly as possible while his eyes drink in the new area of exposed skin. “What part about taking my time with you did you not understand?” The corner of his lips tug in that mischievous way of his, and you have a sneaking feeling his patience is as fleeting as your own.

Proving your point, Clint tosses your shorts over the back of the couch with a grin, then pushes you further up the cushions. You’re almost sitting, shoulder blades knocking the arm of the sofa while your legs bend at the knee to accompany Clint, who scoots back. It’s the perfect and most disastrous angle to be at as you have to both feel and watch his deft fingers trail up from your knee.

You’re a hundred percent sure the effects of your arousal are extremely obvious, but he doesn’t comment on the wet patch of your panties -- though you see his eyes focus on the area between your legs for a second too long before his gaze flickers back to your thighs.

His calloused fingers trail the edge of fabric around your legs, rough skin providing a type of friction you can’t begin to explain. His touch is fleeting and he changes the amount of pressure with every swipe of his thumb, always pushing just enough to let you know he’s holding you down. That you can’t escape him -- as if you’d even think of trying to do so.

“Your legs are so sexy, you know that?”

You let out some type of pleased whine, a sound that Clint relishes as he tightens his grip on your thighs. “Make the prettiest sounds, too,” he continues, and then his fingers are right there. One hand holds your left leg down, while the other covers your panty-covered core. His thumb rubs into your desperate, throbbing clit, and you use your little amount of freedom to push your hips up, wanting, needing more.

Clint immediately presses you back down, and you watch his tattoos shift just slightly as he adds more weight to his hand on your thigh.

“Please, please.” You revert to begging at your lack of movement, losing all shame in regard to your desire. It’s obvious you need Clint -- any excuses or lies from before long forgotten. You need his movements to speed up, the slow circles of his thumb providing barely enough friction.

He just chuckles, but relents a little and you downright purr as the thin fabric of your underwear drags against your tingling nerve endings. It’s impossible to move under Clint’s weight, but all the muscles in your lower half flex and twitch as they desperately search for release and relief.

“How about…” Clint trails off, fingers moving upward to grab the waistline of your panties, “we get these off?”

You’re sure if you nod any faster you might make yourself dizzy, and Clint just smirks in that knowing way. That way that lets you know he has you right where he wants you. Right where he’s been waiting to have you.

The article of clothing is soon flung behind his shoulder just like your forgotten shorts -- and you can only faintly remind yourself to make sure you grab everything before the others return. Though, at this point, you think anyone could walk in on Clint between your legs and you’d still be begging him to make you cum -- audience or not.

“Fucking Christ,” Clint groans, palms sliding between your thighs to spread them, giving him a full view of your glistening core. “I swear, you’re gonna kill me.” Seeing his flushed cheeks, mussed hair, and greedy fingers, you’re not sure you can reject that statement.

He removes his hands for just a second, but you don’t dare close your legs, and he has the audacity to wink. Before your mind can even process the action, though, he’s pulling his shirt off, arms crossing over his chest as they show off in their full glory. Hips, stomach, chest, arms -- they’re all exposed so quickly and your eyes drink in the features as fast as they can. Clint throws the shirt to the side -- you have a feeling he’s utilizing his perfect aim to create a clothing pile -- but you just stare at his shoulder, where the ink spreads to areas you’ve never had the chance to see before. The olive green accents contrast against his tanned skin, which has gained a light sheen from the sweat of his arousal.

As he leans back down, Ronin’s portrait stares you dead in the eyes -- quite literally. If you didn’t know the deeper meaning, you’re sure you could mistake the skull as a danger warning to the man pressing a kiss against the inside of your knee.

Short hairs chafe your legs as Clint makes himself comfortable, pressing his jaw against you. When his hot breath dances over your center you almost squeeze your thighs together, but he’s there to push them apart with a chuckle.

“No, no…” He pulls away barely, and you take in a deep breath to calm yourself. “You’re gonna give me what I want, ok?” His fingers are gentle, and so are his eyes when he glances up to you. He’s hopeful, pleading almost, but stays respectful. “If that’s ok, of course.”

You almost want to cry, because how could he think any differently, but you just nod. “Please Clint, touch me.”

He sends you a lopsided grin, and then he’s right there, pressing a kiss against your clit. The feeling is completely different from before, lips slick and soft unlike his rough thumb. All the air in your lungs leaves your body as you let out a sigh of relief, body finally relaxing as it gets the touch it needs.

You reach down and your nails scratch his scalp lightly before you grip his hair in a tight hold. He nuzzles against your hand and groans against you, and the feeling of control makes your blood run hot through your veins. One of the most powerful men on Earth is between your legs, sucking softly on your clit like it's the only thing he could ever want.

He traces circles on your thighs with his coarse fingers as he warms you up with gentle licks and the occasional curl of his lips around your most sensitive area. You let him have the satisfaction of your spread thighs, but you periodically tug on his tousled locks to remind him that he’s the one between your legs. It’s the perfect balance of dominance -- the type that makes your head spin and your eyes roll back into your head.

Clint presses another kiss to your clit before traveling lower and the intimacy of the action makes your skin flush. You can tell he’s not going to be holding back for much longer though, if the desperation of his descent is any indication. His fingers join his attack as he spreads your folds, tongue dragging the entirety of your core.

“So good, baby. So fucking good,” he mutters, mouth impatient as he covers as much skin as he can at once. It’s fast and downright dirty as he presses his tongue into you, eliciting a groan from your parted, panting lips. You’re dripping at this point, and he laps up the mix of saliva and arousal with a yearning thirst.

It’s all so overwhelming. His fingers are digging into your skin -- likely to leave faint marks -- and the scruff framing his jaw scrapes and leaves your skin burning, while the softer locks between your fingers are a comfort to steady you.

The heat building in your body is entirely unbelievable, and your back digs into the couch as you arch into Clint, desperate for all he’ll be willing to give you. You press him closer, and he moans at the power in your hands -- the control you have despite him hovering over you. It’s a mental trip for you both, your stomach and pelvic muscles clenching as they react to his generous, eager giving.

“God, Clint, gonna cum.” The words barely feel like they’re coming from your own body, jaw slack as you tremble in his hold. His index finger presses into you slowly, while his thumb replaces his tongue on your clit. The change of stimulation has you reeling, your grip on Clint loosening as you feel his warm words against you.

“Kinda the point, sweetheart.” Your eyes are squeezed shut, but you know Clint is smirking -- you can practically hear it in his voice.

His finger curls to press against your front wall, and he rubs it gently once, twice, before he lets the digit drag out, sinking in again even slower. The leisurely thrusts continue as his tongue returns to circle your clit, his cocky words from before silenced as he puts his mouth to work. Your breath grows heavier, heart rate increasing with every second. His middle finger joins the first with a steady push, and you clench desperately as they curl and press and rub and reduce you to nothing but putty.

You’re right there and Clint knows it -- somehow he knows it. His fingers move faster, harder, and his lips wrap around your clit with even greater determination. There’s a shift, fingertips grazing the perfect spot as he sucks desperately and it’s over. You’re crying out his name, thighs shaking and you clench and flutter around his never-ceasing fingers. There’s a moment where all senses leave you and all you can feel is Clint, and the spread of warmth between your legs. Your ears ring and your own moans become faint background sounds.

And then, you’re pulling his head back, his tongue still trying to work your sensitive clit. He fights your tug on his hair but you must be begging because he finally relents with a huff. You can hear his breathing, and you feel his shift as he leans back over you, fingers still working you through your high.

“Look at me,” he demands, and his free hand drags down your cheek. “C’mon, open your eyes.” He forcefully grabs your chin, and your eyes open too quickly for your mind to process. It’s all so bright and you have to blink away the splotches of color coating your vision. Clint takes up the entirety of your view, lips wet and eyes dark. “There you go, baby.” He’s grinning and panting and his fingers are still fucking moving.

You whimper and glance down -- as much as his grip on your jaw will allow -- and the view of his tattooed arm between your thighs, veins pulsing as he fingers you is imprinted in your mind permanently. It’s a never-ending high that goes on for a second too long before Clint finally, finally eases his fingers from you. They’re practically dripping with your release, and he wastes no time bringing them to his glossy mouth.

It’s hypnotic to watch as his lips close around his fingers, nostrils flaring as he sucks them eagerly. They come out clean, and his chest rumbles with a groan. “Can’t get enough of your taste. Fuck.”

It takes a second for you to catch your breath, chest heaving and shirt clinging to sweaty skin. But, there’s finally a moment where your legs feel somewhat solid, and you take advantage of the opportunity, bending your leg to put the bottom of your foot on Clint’s bare chest.

He shoots you a confused but intrigued look, and you respond with a lopsided grin as you push him backward, until he’s the one stumbling to find a spot against the arm of the couch. Faintly, you consider the move would be much sexier with a pair of heels digging into his skin, but this will have to suffice for now. Maybe next time -- if there is a next time, of course.

“Now, what are you up to, baby girl?” Clint is practically vibrating with excitement as you gather the strength to push yourself off the couch, ignoring the slight twitch of your exerted thighs.

“Take your pants off,” you say, with little shame. “Now.”

You’re not sure you’ve ever seen someone get undressed so quickly and the hastiness of Clint’s actions leave him with very little coordination. It takes him three tries to get his belt undone, and he pokes himself with the metal prong when his eyes return to glance at you.

Raising a brow, you put your hands on your hips, and he speeds up. The button and zipper take him twice as long, but the sound when he finally tosses his belt and jeans off to the side is well worth the wait.

He licks his lips, looking up at you -- waiting, watching. Your earlier thoughts regarding his legs are heightened tenfold as you take in his toned thighs and hard cock in-between. He’s thick, the bulge pressing against his boxer-briefs making your heart skip a beat. The mere idea of him stretching you open has you growing too impatient for what you have planned.

“Keep going.” You swallow and hope your voice doesn’t sound too shaky.

Clint’s quick fingers make work of the fabric, and you focus on finishing yourself off. You pull your shirt off and let it drop to your feet before your hands move to unhook your bra. You’re barely sliding the straps down your arms when you hear Clint huff, and you look back to him.

“I wanted to do that,” he almost whines, chest puffing.

You roll your eyes but laugh, and toss your bra to him. He catches it with a wink, before throwing it behind him. Immediately, his gaze drags over your chest, excruciatingly slow. You know he’s taking in every inch, every natural mark that decorates your torso. Normally, you’d feel odd being examined so closely while still being at a decent distance -- but Clint is observant and his eyes are hungry.

Finally, his dark eyes reconnect with yours. “You gonna come sit or should I just grab you?” His tone is playful and daring, but you hear the hint of arousal that suggests he wouldn’t be opposed to tugging you into his arms. You don’t have time for games anymore, though, so you stand between Clint’s legs, and he pats his thigh playfully.

“Hmm…” You bite your lip and shake your head, eyes glistening with mischief. “Not yet…”

You make your descent to your knees perfectly paced, fluttering your lashes as you look up to Clint from between his thighs. He cusses and his arms fall limply to his side as he resigns himself to the torture he knows you’ll be sure to deliver.

“I thought you wanted to take your time,” you tease, fingers sliding up his thigh. Your nails against his skin have him tensing, muscles quivering.

He groans, and tosses his head back. “That was before I made you cum. Just wanna fuck you now -- make you shake again.”

You pinch him. “Sweet-talking will get you nowhere, Barton. You should know that.” But, you still let your palm graze over his hard cock, twitching at your touch. He’s firm and warm, and when your fingers wrap around his length, you realize how deliciously thick he is, filling your grasp fully. The length is there too, just enough to not be intimidating, but the girth has your core throbbing.

“Fuck, Clint,” you groan, giving a slow jerk of your wrist. “You’ve been holding out on me.”

He’s pulsing in your hand, skin flushed and precum beginning to drip from the head of his cock. It coats your hand on the second stroke, easing the drag. Soon enough, he’s practically glistening, and your mouth waters. You have to taste him.

He calls your name, voice trembling, as your tongue darts out to flatten against his tip. “Oh God, please.” He’s flushed, from his cheeks to his tensing thighs, and you’d grin if you weren’t taking him deeper into your mouth. Another part of the burning, fervid desire deep in your veins lights up as your lips wrap around him -- tongue greedy for more as it laps everything it can reach. A growl reverberates through his entire body, and the sound makes your thighs clench.

You spare him a glance, and he looks destroyed. Sweat gathers on his forehead and the veins in his arm pulse as he grips the cushions to stay steady. Sane. Calm.

His knuckles are white and you relieve them by grabbing his left hand in your own, thumb rubbing over the back of his palm. He’s squeezing you like you’re his lifeline, and you reward him with your free hand around his base.

“Fuck fuck, I’ll cum too fast with you doing that,” Clint grunts, and you watch his chest heave as he tries to steady his breathing.

You pull off him with a line of spit, breaking it with your hand as you use the saliva to glide your fingers. He’s still throbbing, and you trace his underside vein with your wet thumb. “I thought that was the point, right?” You repeat his words from earlier with a grin, pressing a kiss against his thigh as your hand speeds up. He’s so close and he needs it so badly, but he finally pulls his hand from yours to grab your moving wrist.

“Not until I fuck you.” He pants, and begrudgingly removes your hold from his cock. “And a couple times, at the very least.”

Your heart races at the mere thought of as many rounds as you can handle, with Clint making you cum again and again. Still, you stand slowly, silently hoping he’ll push you back to your knees and cum down your throat.

But he doesn’t. He watches closely as you straighten out, and you quickly move to straddle him. “Fine, but you’ll let me ride you, understood?” Your thighs brush over him with the lightest touch, and with just one solid movement, you could have him sinking into you. But, you wait. You watch as he swallows heavily, eyes hooded.

Clint gives you a lopsided smile. “No complaints here, babe.” And with that, you reach down to hold his length, pressing the tip against your clenching, wet, core. He gasps, but you shift just slightly, until he bumps your clit. It’s too much and too little all at once, and you let out a soft cry as he jerks upward, precum coating the swollen nub. You reward yourself with one more drag down from your clit before letting the head of his cock push into you.

You’re immediately clenching around his length, and Clint’s calloused fingertips dig into your hips as he helps steady you. It only takes a couple breaths and a slow spread of your thighs to take him fully, arousal coating his cock quickly. He barely holds himself back from rutting into you right away, but you rock your hips and grip his shoulders regardless.

“Fuck,” he half-groans, half-whimpers. “You’re so fucking wet.”

Your nails dig into his skin as you roll again, letting out an incoherent babble of his name as your clit gains friction from his own warm body. You can feel your own wetness dripping down your thigh onto his, and it has you shuddering. It’s so dirty and your fingers move to Clint’s hair, desperately clinging at the long strands. His forehead presses to yours, and he smells like the most dangerous concoction of sweat, cologne, and mint toothpaste you’ve ever had the honor of inhaling.

You join in an almost-kiss that’s all teeth, but he brushes his tongue against your cupid’s bow in a much gentler way, and you know he can feel the shiver that runs down your spine in reaction. He squeezes your hip gently in reassurance, and then his grip on you tightens. It doesn’t hurt, but you can feel the years of arm workouts, and you know there’s no way to escape -- as if you’d ever want to.

Clint’s knee jerks and then he’s thrusting up into you with such force it leaves you breathless. He holds you down and all you can do is gasp and hold him tighter as he pushes into you harder and faster. Every shift provides a new angle and friction as his tip stimulates your sensitive walls.

Your thighs shake desperately and you can hear the wet slap each of his movements provide as you coat his cock in warm slick. He grins at the sight, one hand drifting from your hip until it reaches your throbbing clit.

“Look at you,” he coos and punctuates the words with a rough circle of his thumb.

Your chest heaves as you gasp, but the lack of Clint’s hold gives you a second to grind against him. He grunts as you do, and you chuckle breathlessly against his parted lips.

“And look at you.”

He retorts by way of another rub against your clit, and your laughter quickly turns to a drawn-out moan.

“You look so pretty when you’re about to cum.” He pants between every word, but he’s determined to deliver the compliment that makes your face too warm. You’re not sure how he knows you’re so close -- it must be way more embarrassingly obvious than you thought -- but you can’t find it in yourself to care. Not when he’s letting his cock drag inside you slowly, with a hard thrust every few seconds. Not when the pressure on your clit is changing so rapidly you can’t breathe.

When you do cum, with a broken cry and shaking torso, Clint doesn’t let up. He goes faster, harder. It’s a never-ending high that turns your brain to mush, and your body into even less. Your thighs burn and your toes curl but all you can feel is the delicious length buried deep inside you.

It’s only during the beginning of the cool down that you tug a little harder on Clint’s hair, and roll your hips a little more. “C’mon, Clint, please. Please fill me up.” His chest rumbles against yours with a throaty growl, and you continue to ride out your orgasm as he fucks into you with a few more desperate, shaky thrusts.

He cums in you thick and warm, with a groan of your name. It tumbles from his lips sinfully, and you commit the sound to memory. The rasp of his tone and the sight of his wet, swollen lips.

It’s not until he eases out of you slowly, and you feel the drip down your thigh that you’re grounded and reminded of exactly where you are. On a multi-thousand dollar couch. Owned by Tony Stark.

“Oh my god, Clint.”

His eyes are closed and you’re sure he’s about three seconds from sleeping for eighteen hours, but he manages a tired smirk. “I know. That was good.”

“No! I mean yes. But that’s not what I’m talking about.”

He half-opens one eye. “What?”

“I think we stained the couch.” A quick glance between Clint’s thighs all but confirms it, and you’re not sure whether to be proud or embarrassed by the very large wet spot staining the blended fabric.

“I can’t believe that’s what you’re thinking about right now. After everything that just happened.”

You playfully slap his shoulder as you roll onto the cushion next to him with a huff. He nudges you back with his arm before clearing his throat, and letting out a butchered impression of your voice. “Oh Clint! Your dick was just so amazing!-”

“Oh my god!” You cover your face but nothing stops the laughter that rumbles through your chest -- even if he’s got your tone completely wrong. He just chuckles and wraps his arm around you, pulling you into his side with a sigh.

“How much do you think we’ll owe Tony by the end of the day?” He looks down at you with a playful glint in his eyes.

“What do you mean?”

He rolls his eyes, but presses a chaste kiss to your hair. “C’mon, you don’t think I haven’t planned out every surface we still need to fuck on before they get back?”

“Clint!”

“See, you keep screaming my name but for all the wrong reasons.” Now you can feel his grin against the top of your head, and it comes into view as he stands with you still in his grasp. You’re not sure how he maneuvers it, but he’s got you in his arms before you can even blink, and the look he sends you tells you not to complain or even question it. He’s not even out of breath -- all things considered -- and when you glance in the direction he’s heading, your eyes widen.

“You have got to be joking…” You squirm in his arms as he sets you down on the table used for almost every meeting, and the mere thought of defiling it forever makes you squeeze your legs together shyly.

But, Clint is quick to spread them, all with a cocky grin and a far too confident tone.

“I don’t know about you…” He begins, as his fingers trail up your thigh. “But I think we could reach ten thousand by midnight.”

If you distantly hear FRIDAY warn adamantly against it -- neither of you mention it.

“Better get started then, Barton.”

---

1K notes · View notes

wichols · 3 years ago

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Hello everyone! 2021 was absolutely wild! If you are new or have been here since the beginning of 2021 you should remember that I was doing monthly wrap ups (except for the later half of the year, we don’t talk about that.). But now that the year is complete it is time to do the yearly wrap up! If you don’t know what I am talking about, then buckle up! I started an excel spreadsheet so I could document everything that I had read in 2021, mostly because I had consumed so much fic in 2020 that I was having a hard time remembering what I had and hadn’t read. To all those who have stuck around even though I have fallen off the face of the earth. It was a year of trudging through the mental health hellscape. But the fun thing about all this information and charts is that I can chart when I was having really bad months and recognizing some months that actually weren’t all the bad. Thank you for however you have chosen to interact with this blog and over on my AO3. So if charts, graphs, and numbers aren’t your thing just stop here! But for those who would like to judge my taste and poke around my brain in the form of charts and graphs, keep reading! (Also I include some fic recs at the end of the post if you were curious about some of my favorites and longest read fics of 2021!)

Writing Stats:

Total Published Works: 6 (2 being tiny micro fictions) Total Published Word Count: 18,813

March was the most productive month for writing reaching 21,651 words in total.

Total Writing Word Count: 59,952 (Though I more than likely exceeded over 100k with the amount of Discord Rps I picked up at about the middle of the year.)

Reading Stats:

Total Read Word Count: 12,241,999 (This was mostly quantified by reading works through AO3, though again, I did pick up reading Twitter threads for fun in the last quarter of the year so I am actually estimating my word count to being closer to 12,275,000.)

So for my first time doing an excel spreadsheet for this sort of thing I decided to keep it simple, just so it didn’t feel like so much extra work to keep up with it. The spreadsheet was organized by title (but if it was incomplete I included chapters read in that sitting), rating, word count, ship, and a primary tag (this got super messy because I wasn’t so much worried about consistency which was a real issue when it came to making readable graphs). Also some portions of the graph are a little wonky because I was also keeping up with weekly chapter updates and reusing the same identifiers multiple times. So first up we have ratings. And to no one’s surprise Explicit was the biggest chunk. Some of this was because of being horny on main I suppose but a decent chunk was also explicit because of reading potential triggering or problematic content.

Next we have ships!

You see that giant blue chunk? Victuuri...consumed my soul. But also I was just following some awesome authors that were posting banger after banger! How could I not follow along?? And if you were curious here is the entire list of ships I had read. Anyone else a multishipper? Cause same!

Next we have tags! And honestly, judge if you want but I like what I like!

And lastly a nice little bar chart of fic word counts!

You see those three highest bars? I just couldn’t help but include them in this post too!!

Let Me Fall For You by HuntressFirefall

Twitter: @HuntresFirefall (Victuuri, Canon Divergence, Explicit, 397,436)

Summary: Victor Nikiforov was on his way to becoming a Living Legend in the sport of figure skating. After hitting his stride and winning back-to-back World Championships, the sport's biggest star was the overwhelming favorite to win gold in his third Olympics on home ice in Sochi, Russia.

But when Yuri Katsuki pulls off the upset victory in Sochi at the young age of 21 and takes the gold, Victor begins to see his world and the people in it in a very different light -- and it turns out they see him differently as well.

No longer knowing who he can rely on and finding he didn't know those close to him as well as he thought, when his skating career falters Victor makes a shocking choice that turns his world upside down in ways he did -- and didn't -- expect.

Those Under the Same Stars by PerpetuallyPerturbed Twitter: @PerpetualPrturb (Bakugou Katsuki/Midoriya Izuku, Omegaverse, Mature, 325,553)

Summary: When Katsuki Bakugo left Izuku Midoriya five years ago, he thought it was for forever. He put aside dreams and wishes of the omega to focus on his career. He was going to be the best hero, after all. He couldn't have an omega getting in his way. So when he's stopped on the streets one day by a pup begging for help for his mom, he isn't prepared to face what he gave up, and what the consequences of his actions were.

Now with a traumatized pup to take care of and the horrifying thought that he's going to watch Izuku die because he wasn't there to protect him, Katsuki knows he's going to have to do better. He's going to be the best alpha ever and protect and serve his family, as he should have done years ago. He just hopes it's not too late.

The Rules For Lovers by ADreamingSongbird

Twitter: @SongbirdRimi

Tumblr: @adreamingsongbird

(Victuuri, Royalty, Mature, 323,342)

Summary: Prince Yuuri Katsuki has a duty to his country, above all else (his desires, his dreams, and his happiness included), and he knows this alliance will help to ensure the safety of his people. That’s the only reason he accepts Prince Nikiforov’s hand in marriage. The pleasant surprise, of course, is the part where they fall in love along the way. The unpleasant one, well…

That’s a long story.

And as a little bonus this story also has a podfic in the works!

Found Here By esbielle

Twitter: @esbielle

Tumblr: @esbielle

Favorite Completed Works:

For He Had Eyes and Chose Me by theangryuniverse

(Victuuri, Omegaverse, Explicit, 100,110)

Twitter: twitter.com/myangryuniverse

Summary: Heavy is the head that wears the crown.

It is a truth that is universally acknowledged, and it is a burden that threatens to suffocate Victor every single day.

But as duty calls and traditions demand to be fulfilled, a young man named Yuuri comes into Victor’s life like a breathtaking force – and with him, the potential to shake the kingdom to its core.

Never has Victor played a more dangerous game.

Never has the price been so enchanting.

Presence by kakikaeru

(Victuuri, Dalai Lama AU, General, 24,934)

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Summary: Atop his platform the Kuninotokotachi smiled, raised hands that were white and clean. He spoke clearly and evenly in his own flowing language, giving benediction and reassurance to the camp of refugees that had been accumulating in this village in Calabria in the last four years. Victor didn't know Japanese, didn't understand what was spoken, but the soft voice washed over him like a river, seemed responsible for the gentle breeze that blew into the proceedings and disrupted the intentions of the merciless sun. A young man in blue under a white umbrella, with his eyes shining, and a smile in his words.

Christophe tugged on his elbow. "Did you hear me, Victor?"

"Mm?" Victor shook his head, trying to clear it.

"I asked if you were ready to meet him."

Victor Nikiforov, reporter for the New York Times, goes to Italy to interview a shinto priest in exile, and makes a friend.

The Noblest Form of Affection by lucycamui

(Victuuri, Victorian, Explicit, 38,143)

Tumblr: @lucycamui

Summary: The duty of a valet appears deceptively simple on the surface: his sole job is to wait upon his master. Yuuri prides himself on his skills as a valet, but will the challenges and heartaches that come hand in hand with serving the lovely and eccentric Mister Nikiforov prove to be too great a hurdle?

A Ticket to the Ballet by Multiple_Universes

Tumblr: @witharthurkirkland

(Victuuri, Ballet, Explicit, 104,460)

Summary: Victor grew up to think that he always had to deal with all his troubles on his own. He never asked himself why he was doing something and he never thought of himself as lonely, but one day there he was – wondering what was the point of it all. And along came Yuuri Katsuki – one of the best ballet dancers the world has ever seen.

Room for Cream by Shippeh

Twitter: @Shippehbitch!

Tumblr: @shippeh

(Kirishima/Bakugou, Omegaverse, Explicit, 117,267)

Summary: Fated mates don't exist, but Bakugou doesn't have any other explanation for the way his heart twists when he sees him- Kirishima, a brilliant, vibrant Omega behind the coffeeshop counter, all bold smiles and sharp teeth, wearing a collar with glittering spines. Bakugou's quickly swept up in him, forced to figure out rituals he's never bothered with before and desperate to impress.

Kirishima's more than just a perfect barista, and Bakugou's in way over his head- but he's an Alpha ready to drown.

The Giver and The Given by ItaminoSakka

(TodoDeku, Royalty, Mature, 78,221)

Summary: “I’m the son of your enemy.”

“We don’t have any enemies,” Midoriya said, his sad green eyes on Shouto’s mismatched ones. “And even if we did, we wouldn’t treat them like this.” He stood, holding out a hand toward Shouto. “Come. Let’s rid your body of the signs of its journey.”

As Shouto looked up into Midoriya’s face, Bakugou could see the wonder and pain in his eyes, as if he were glancing up into the sun, both blinded by and in awe of its brightness. He smiled a little to himself; it was an appropriate response to the wonder that was King Midoriya.

In which Todoroki Enji does the only good thing he's ever done for his son, and sends him to the Bakugou-Midoriya kingdom as a prisoner.

Killshot by surveycorpsjean

Twitter: https://twitter.com/zanzimez

(EndHawks, Mafia, Explicit, 43,475)

Summary:

You hear a lot of names in the streets. If you’re smart, you remember them.

#2021 Wrap Up #All the things I read in a year #Less writing more reading

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flutteringabyss · 3 years ago

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Yonder World - Behind the Scenes Update

Hello everyone! We hope you had a lovely Thanksgiving if you celebrated it this last week, and just a lovely week in general regardless!

Today we’re back for a now weekly update. That isn’t to say we won’t bring news at other points in the week, but Saturdays we’re looking to accumulate how things have been going and share that with our curious fans. Which would include this decision!

Visual Assets - A set of sprites for our 4 announced characters are ready to go, including special care being given to our MC Vellus, as she’ll be holding a special and consistent spot on the screen, rather than coming and going like the others. We also have the same artist creating our CGs, with the first already in the works.

We have many of our basic backgrounds already, but some more intricate and specialized pieces, as well as item assets, are being created by the team. Several sets and items are already made, which more planned in the near future.

GUI assets are still being designed and smoothed over, ensuring everything is uniform and that all text will be comfortable to read. Several buttons have unique looks to add that little bit of story flavor.

Programming - We have an amazing employee who has been testing and researching with Ren’Py to find the best solutions to what our team needs! We’re trying our best to make the designs intriguing, thematic, and still simple to understand. This has meant a lot of experimenting with things such as button types and placements.

Writing - The basics from start to finish are already understood by the writer and editor. A frame for the story has been created through our opening act, which will become the future demo.

Marketing - Always a difficult topic to tackle, especially for small indie teams like those of us at Fluttering Abyss. Currently we are using multiple social media platforms to share out information. Each has their own way of operating, and may even have unique opportunities, such as a giveaway being run on Twitter! We’re also looking at future possibilities on platforms such as Twitch, and joining Dev talks with other VN creators.

Twitter: twitter.com/FlutteringAbyss

Discord: discord.gg/qWCkKnjFAG

Reddit: reddit.com/user/FlutteringAbyss

Conclusion - Well, that was a nice chunk of info! Of course, if you want more, or to be involved in conversations during creation, please do check out the other social medias! We’re so excited to bring you Yonder World, and are working hard to see that happen.

So, as we wrap up this update, let me share with you a test screenshot with one of the specialized settings that were made this week. Young Vellus has been snooping around, and seems to have found something interesting.

You can’t help but wonder, who does this desk belong to? And what is in that box? Will you open it? Do you dare?

See you all next Saturday! o/

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keelywolfe · 4 years ago

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FIC: Snowdrifts ch.9 (spicyhoney)

Summary: Parenthood is constantly giving Edge new challenges, but something being wrong with Snow was one he wasn't prepared to face.

Tags: Spicyhoney, Rescued Child, Babybones, First Time Parenthood, Idiots to Lovers

Read it on AO3

Read it here!

~~*~~

If there was one skill Underfell ingrained into Edge from a very young age, it was that no matter the turmoil in his soul, he needed to keep up with duties.

He was long accustomed to ignoring any troublesome emotions that might be fluttering about like a bothersome insect, securing them behind a wall of cool calm until there was an opportunity to deal with them. There were times when the chances were few and far between and there was the occasional burst of a reaction that was beyond his control, (the recent destruction of Alphys’s lab came to mind), but generally, he had a handle on it. There was little room for mistakes.

So, despite his worries over Snow, Edge focused on making lunch. Stretch always came home first to eat, with Red and Blue usually an hour or so later. Occasionally Red didn’t return for lunch at all and on those days, he was always suspiciously exhausted, and with a fair handful of G for his efforts, whatever they were. Eventually that would warrant a closer investigation, but for now, Edge was carefully saving whatever money was left over from what he gave Blue.

Blue had been more than a little disconcerted when Edge gave him money for rent and even tried to return it. Edge insisted by simply refusing to accept it back and ignoring every attempt. Eventually, he reluctantly accepted the coins and if he used it to fill the refrigerator with a pointed amount of groceries, it was his money to spend. Besides, Edge was using the food to feed the Swap brothers. It all worked out even in the end.

Lunch today was a thick stew and crusty homemade bread, both recipes Edge found in one of the librarby books he’d recently borrowed. The stew was perhaps a little saltier than he’d prefer and the challenge of kneading bread dough with a child in constant need of his attention left it somewhat on the chewy side, but he was still proud of the results. Proof that he could do this, that the others could depend on his housekeeping skills.

Not that Stretch ever seemed to doubt him. He took the bowl Edge offered and ate hungrily, dipping his bread right into the stew and biting off messy chunks. His manners might be lacking, but his appreciation was very welcome.

Snow was secured into her highchair and her bowl of unseasoned carrot and potato stew also made its way into Stretch’s hand. He spooned up bites to her in between his own and the sight of his easy expertise when it came to feeding her made something soft and warm settle into Edge’s chest that had nothing to do with the stew.

That warmth evaporated with Stretch’s next words. “eat up, kiddo. undyne said we can come over anytime, we’ll head over after lunch.”

“Already?” Edge blurted. He’d known he would have to come to terms with the necessity of it, but so soon?

“no time like the present, babe.” His expression twisted into a rueful grimace, distracting Edge from his surprise over the unexpected endearment. “kinda thinking we should get in and get out of there before red gets home, yeah?”

That…was a very wise assumption. If his inclination was to keep Snow far away from Undyne and the lab, then Red’s would certainly be much stronger, possibly ranging near to homicidal levels. In this case, it was probably better to beg forgiveness if and when he found out. At the very least, Red was more unlikely to kill him.

Knowing what was soon coming made what little appetite Edge had fade. He managed to eat a few bites from his bowl with dogged determination, to no avail; it only made nausea start to churn. He finally took his bowl to the kitchen and scraped it into a container for later. Letting it go to waste was out of the question. He set the dirty dishes on the counter along with the few from breakfast, fighting his natural inclination to wash them. There was no time right now. If they were going to see Undyne, then they wouldn’t be leaving empty handed.

Edge turned on his heel to stalk out of the kitchen, ignoring Stretch’s curious glance and leaving the two of them to their meal as he headed upstairs. In one corner of the bedroom was a box neatly filled with unused baby items they’d been given. Edge dug through it, tossing too-large outfits aside and ignoring the mess he was making, until he found what he was looking for. A small bag with a hideously disturbing colorful creature embroidered on the side. From his little experience with surface creatures, he was given to understand it was a giraffe and if such a thing truly existed, it must be a miserable creature, indeed. From the bulging eyes on a lumpy head set on a snake-like neck, all the way down to its horsey hooves, it was far stranger than any Monster he’d ever met.

Edge ignored the nightmarish creature; he’d chosen the bag out of necessity not aesthetic, and he set it on the bed to pack it full. Two extra outfits, one suitable for Snowdin and the other for a much warmer climate, toys, some dry cereal in containers that he kept upstairs for any essential midnight snacks. Even as he carefully wrapped up a bottle of water, he knew none of this was necessary; they were going to Hotland, not the moon. He simply couldn’t help himself, the urge too much to resist. The agitation inside him was mildly soothed by the sight of the filled bag. This world of abundant supplies was laying its offerings at his feet and for Snow’s sake, he’d accept them, along with whatever price was eventually attached.

Stretch said nothing when he came back down with the bag bulging at his side. He simply wiped Snow’s face with a damp cloth, adding his dirty dishes to the ones already in the sink before helping Edge dress her in her snowsuit. Between the two of them, they corralled her squirming limbs into the coat with minimal effort. Stretch stayed quiet, making no protest of Edge silently lifting her into his arms, holding her tightly enough at first that she whimpered a protest. He only retrieved the bag as Edge loosened his grip and followed them to the door as Edge strode determinedly out.

Out on the front stoop, Edge hesitated, unsure of which direction they were heading. It was the first time he’d ventured outside with her since their very first days here, when he’d gone chasing after Stretch, and Snow was already waving her mittened hands excitedly over the new scenery. The air was growing heavy with an incoming storm and almost he protested they shouldn’t be traveling in it. He bit back the impulse. They’d hardly be going off the beaten path and if they were waiting for fair weather in Snowdin, the child would be ready to start school before they left.

Stretch took the lead, stepping past him and jerking his head to the left.

“c’mon, we’re going to have to take the riverperson express,” Stretch said, hopping easily down the steps to the icy ground. “i don’t want to shortcut with her, she's a little young and i don't know how a quick trip through the void might affect her. besides, the last thing we need is to stimulate her magic. crawling is enough to deal with for now, if she ends up flinging around bones, we’re gonna need better insurance.”

“Agreed,” Edge murmured. As cold as it was, that shouldn’t be too far a walk and once they were on the boat, they’d be stripping away her suit before they were halfway there.

But as they set off, his estimation on the timeframe quickly changed. He hadn’t anticipated the sudden interest of the entire town of Snowdin. He should have, people had been asking to see the baby for weeks, and her sudden appearance was quickly noticed by passersby. Word traveled quickly, making the local Monsters crawl out of their homes, shops, and whatever woodwork was about to have a look. Soon there was a crowd of eager faces surrounding them, cutting off their path.

Instinct demanded an immediate defense and Edge fought off the urge. They were curious children and equally inquisitive adults, none of them meant any harm. Reconciling that knowledge with his own reflexes was difficult, made worse by Snow’s cheery burbling as she squirmed in his arms, eager to get down and meet this colorful new group.

A hand on his arm made him jerk, nearly lashing out, but it was only Stretch, his phalanges cool and soothing on Edge’s wrist as he tugged it lower, silently urging him to dismiss an attack he’d hardly realized he was summoning.

“easy, edgelord. let me handle this,” Stretch murmured. He moved slowly, cautiously telegraphing his every move, to take the baby from Edge. Edge released her reluctantly, letting his hands drop to his sides and unable to keep them from curling into fists as Stretch raised his voice, “hey, guys, i know you’re looking forward to some snow and tell on our newest addition but we’re on a schedule today. This’ll have to pacify you for now.” He held Snow up high and she squealed in delight, her little limbs flailing in glee. A collective sigh rose in the crowd, their expressions mirroring hers of pure delight. Stretch spun around in a full circle, dancing the baby in the air and giving the entire group a glimpse of Snow, then lowered her. “sorry, folks, that’s it for today. opening day is soon, buy a ticket, you’ll get a better view!”

The crowd reluctantly dispersed, with the child who’d given Edge the bag of clothes calling loudly back, “you were right, she is cute!”

“there.” Stretch deposited Snow back into Edge’s arms and gave him a guilty look. “sorry. i know you’ve been wanting to keep her under wraps, but—”

“No, it’s fine,” Edge took a long breath and let it slowly out, trying to make the words true. “We couldn’t keep her hidden forever. I’m grateful that all they wanted was a glimpse.”

“eh, they aren’t gonna push.” Stretch sounded suspiciously confident of that.

“Why?” Edge asked bluntly.

“huh?” Stretch blinked at him. His pale eye lights were so like Snow’s and like her, the innocence was suspect.

“Why aren’t they going to ask?” Edge repeated.

“oh, you know,” Stretch waved a hand and started walking, leaving Edge to follow at his heels. “people here aren’t like that. c’mon, let’s get to the riverperson.”

That was a carefully constructed attempt at distraction, but Edge was accustomed to wordplay from a far more devious source. “What have you told them about us being here?”

Stretch only shrugged with increasingly unconvincing carelessness, “oh, not much.”

“But you’ve told them something, you had to.”

He walked a little faster and Edge widened his strides to keep up. When it became apparent that he wasn’t going to let it go, Stretch let out an aggravated sigh, his head ducked low. “look, all they know is you came from a rough situation. that’s it. there’s plenty of gossip, i can’t do much about that, but not like anyone is gonna guess the truth. people here are pretty nice, you know, but we get bored and you three are a tasty new slice of gossip. they’re gonna be curious, so i tried my best to give you some space. that’s all.” Every word dripped with defensiveness, a memory of their past antagonism, back when they’d been fucking despite their attraction instead of because of it. Before all of them came to live here.

Snowflakes were starting to fill the air, puffs of white that landed on Stretch’s hunched shoulders, standing out against the bright orange of his sweatshirt. In his arms, Snow reached out to touch a flake that fell on his sleeve, giggling as it melted away under her mitten and Edge hardly noticed. The entirety of his focus was on Stretch.

He was trying so hard to help, not just for Snow, but for both of them. All the baby supplies that came so quickly, finding clothes for Edge and coming up with excuses for him to keep them, making sure the townsfolk stayed at bay until he was ready for them.

The memory of Stretch’s sleepy confession of love was still lingering at the back of Edge’s mind where it had been for weeks and he couldn’t say what emotion was sitting deep in his own soul, but it was comfortingly warm.

“Thank you,” Edge said, softly. Stretch was too far away to touch and instead, he pressed a light kiss to Snow’s temple, leaving a trail of them down to her chubby cheekbone. “I appreciate the consideration.”

“yeah?” Stretch turned and met his gaze uncertainly.

“Yes,” Edge said decisively. “Come on, let’s get her out of the cold.”

He took the lead and walked on ahead, leaving Stretch standing in the newly falling snow. He didn’t know his way entirely around Underswap Snowdin yet, but he could assume that the Riverperson was right up ahead. After a moment, he heard the renewed crunch of footsteps behind him and the three of them made their way to the river together.

~~*~~

Snow loved the ride on the ferry. Edge tried not to let his nervousness over taking her on such a risky means of transportation show as there wasn’t much alternative. Walked to Hotland could take days and since Stretch’s normal means of conveyance was out, this was the only method left. He kept firm grip around her as she twisted around, taking in the blur of the passing water and stone around them. Stretch was sitting next to him, looking as if he hadn’t a care in the world, but Edge could feel his magic was roused and had no doubt if Snow somehow wriggled loose, she’d be very quickly caught up by a quick burst of blue magic.

Strange to see that of all the people between worlds that he’d met, the Riverperson was the least changed. Perhaps they were taller, and he didn’t think he was imagining the higher pitch to their voice, but the cryptic remarks were the same, as was their peculiar boat.

When they arrived at Hotland, Stretch climbed ashore first and Edge handed Snow to him. He’d been about to step on solid ground himself when that high, sweet voice spoke behind him.

“Love unqualified searches for a connection.” Startled, Edge turned around to look at the shrouded figure at the bow of the boat. There was little in the way of a view, not so much the shadow of a face or a hint of hands. It was possible that the cloak itself was the Monster. They seem to be waiting, an air of anticipation heavy in the air.

“Thank you?” Edge offered, warily. The Riverperson made a sound like an exhale and said nothing else.

Uneasiness was crawling up Edge’s spine but that was hardly a new sensation when it came to the Riverperson. Edge ignored it and stepped on to solid land, already sweating by the time his boots touch the hardpacked earth. Nearby, Stretch was kneeling on the ground as he stripped off Snow’s warm outer layer, or tried to, teasingly scolding as she twisted and laughed.

“…no time for you to be a squirmy wormy, little miss,” Stretch was saying. He glanced up as Edge walked over and his eye lights slid briefly, knowingly, to the Riverperson. “everything okay?”

“Of course,” Edge said crisply. He gathered up the little snowsuit and bundled it into the bag before scooping up the baby, balancing her on his hip. If Underswap was still similar if opposite to Underfell, then the lab wasn’t far.

Time to get this over with.

tbc

#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus #drifters

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prideful-sins · 5 years ago

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A welcome distraction; Lucifer x GN! MC Smut

Prompt:“If I have to stop what i’m doing, you wont be able to walk for the next week.”

This ends on a sort of opening to a 2nd fic so let me know if you want a part two where he does fuck the life out of you.

Tags: SMUT, Blowjobs, Gender Neutral MC, Cum swallowing, also bottom-ish Lucifer because I love him

Word Count: 2.1K

Masterlist | Buy Me A Coffee?

—

It had been a boring week in The House or Lamentation, your usual flirting with the brothers to make Lucifer jealous had hardly been seen. You weren’t a bad person for doing it, merely the fact that whenever he saw you do it he got jealous and would fuck you into oblivion, but this week Lucifer had been swamped with work. Filling out reports for Diavolo, forms from RAD, and working through his own school work to keep his grades. An all around boring week.

You sat on the couch in the common room, Asmodeus was next to you scrolling through hundreds of his selfies for a ‘throwback Thursday’. You had taught him about it on Monday and heard nothing but what he wanted to post but now that the time was here he wasn’t quite so sure.

“MC which one?” Asmo was just so excited about thee two selfies, that looked the same.... exactly the same.

“That one?” You pointed at the one on the left and Asmodeus’ face dropped, “okay okay. That one?” His face lit up and Asmo hugged you.

“I knew you’d agree with me!” You nodded along as Asmo got up and pranced away, smiling as he looked down at his D.D.D. and, once again, the room was quiet. Your eyes darted around the empty room trying to find things to do but all you wanted was to see Lucifer.... and you know what? You were going to go and see him.

A light knock echoed within the halls, you stood before Lucifer’s study and waited for his voice.

“Who is it?” His voice was soft and inviting.

“It’s me.”

“Come in” you smiled and opened the door. Lucifer was sat at his desk with papers and documents surrounding him, his cloak shrugged off and a few buttons of his shirt loosened with no tie in sight. “Hello love” Lucifer’s voice was a warm welcome, his nickname for you sending a shiver through your stomach and up your spine.

“Hello darling” You closed the door and walked over to you boyfriend, his eyes following you as you came closer. Your hands locked together behind your back in a playful manner.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Lucifer looked back down at his work and continued writing, it was some sort of report for Diavolo and you saw your name written on the paper.

“Are you writing about me?” You circled around the desk and placed your hands on his shoulders, fingers pointing towards his chest.

Lucifer gave a light chuckle before replying, “Indeed I am, just a weekly report of how your school work is going and how you’re faring with us”

“How I’m faring?” You leaned down, dragging your hands down Lucifer’s chest, and nuzzled your nose into the crook of his neck. Lucifer smiled and leaned his head on yours. “I’d say I’m faring rather well” your voice was muffled from within Lucifer clothes, your hands slid even further down and your fingertips grazed along Lucifer’s thigh, he shifted slightly at the contact and made a curious noise.

“Is that truly what you wish for right now?” Lucifer voice was inquisitive, you could feel his eyebrow raising via his words alone, and you were sure there was a smirk on his face.

“Whatever you could you mean my dear Lucifer?” you played nonchalantly to his accusations as your fingertips continued caressing his thighs, a small and chaste kiss placed upon his neck, which earned you a satisfied moan.

“If I have to stop what I’m doing, you wont be able to walk for the next week” Lucifer’s voice dripped with a sultry tone, he lifted his head up and continued writing his report.

“Who said you had to stop?” You pressed another kiss onto his neck as you whispered your reply, fingers delving further into the insides of his thighs, Lucifer’s back shivering at the invasion.

“You make a valid point” with Lucifer’s approval you stood up and circled around him, before kneeling down and looking him in the eye.

“Out.” You instructed, Lucifer merely looked at you with a quizzical brow, “your chair. Out.” Lucifer obliged, albeit slightly unwillingly. His chair slid along floor with a high squeak as he sat on the edge, his knees wide apart and eager for you to fill the space. You crawled forward and placed your hand upon his inner thighs, thumbs teetering along the seams to his crotch.

Lucifer continued to look at his work, trying to ignore you as your hands worked their way to his waistband, you bit your bottom lip and unhooked the buttons. Lucifer moved his hips around and lifted himself up to make it just a little easier for you both.

He was already semi-hard, his cock tenting within his underwear, a little constrained by the fabric. You placed your hand on the top and began rubbing softly, his body visibly tensing at the feeling, a hard breath betraying his calm composure. You could feel him getting harder at the contact, the way his hips rolled just a little to make the strokes last just that little while longer.

Lucifer growled as your hands moved into the waistband of his underwear, the contact of his skin making you more eager to feel more of him. Slowly you slid the fabric down, his neatly trimmed pubes coming into view as you continued to undress his lower half. More and more of his shaft came into view and you licked your lips eagerly, your heart speeding up as you became restless.

Lucifer’s dick was released, and you bit your lips once again, hand grasping the base of his cock and massaging slightly, the flesh getting harder and harder as you pumped him. You leaned down and licked one of his balls, a soft hiss coming from Lucifer as his body tensed up, you smirked as you continued to lick and suck at Lucifer’s balls, your hand now closed around his fully erect penis, with a little precum dripping out of his slit.

“You ready?” You whisper bringing your mouth to the tip of his penis, tongue poking out from your teeth in a cheeky smile.

“Indeed I am” Lucifer continued to look at his work, a slight flush upon his cheeks as his quill scratched against the grain on the paper. You smiled and placed your tongue on the underside of the head, and licked your way along his slit, precum pooling on your tongue as you took it into your mouth and swallowed.

After swallowing you placed your tongue, once again, on the base of the tip and began swirling it around. A shift in Lucifer’s breathing notifying you that what you were doing was working wonders for him right now. You continued to lick around the tip as your hand massaged the base of his dick, pubes intermingling with your knuckles as your thumb rubbed circles along a vein.

Lucifer bit his lip as a sigh escaped his composed face, a soft hum as his hips began to grow restless. Your tongue continued to swirl and twirl around his head, your hand now pumping his shaft slowly, spit drooling down your mouth as your hot breaths tingled upon Lucifer’s skin. He was getting visibly restless, your teasing throwing his composure out of the window. You placed your tongue flat on the base of his head and moved it down the shaft a little, another sharp breath inhaled by Lucifer as your tongue moved further down his dick.

Seeing Lucifer get visibly uncomfortable with your teasing was amazing, his cheeks dusted rose and his bottom lip reddening from his gnawing teeth, waiting in anticipation for you to take all of him in your mouth, and you started to. You moved your head down and took the first few inches into your mouth, tongue flat on the base and wrapping around all of his flesh, the warmth surging within your mouth as your own desires began to drive you crazy.

A soft hum vibrated through Lucifer’s dick as you moaned into your pleasures, lips wrapping around his flesh as you bobbed your head up and down his thick cock. His chest was heaving as sweat began to pool at the base of Lucifer’s neck, he reached up, and undid some more buttons to cool himself off a little but it wasn’t working. Your head moved at a faster pace, moving further down his cock until his head was hitting the back of your throat and even then, you still had a few inches to cover. Your hand wrapped around the base and massaged those left over inches, other hand resting on his inner thigh.

Those cute and adorable noises Lucifer made, the small grunts and soft moans, drove you wild. Your head became faster and faster, he had dropped his pen and weaved a hand within your hair, head leaned back with a face of pure ecstasy. Your eyes looked up to appreciate the view, and what a view it was. These moments where Lucifer wasn’t in control, he could let his walls down and just enjoy himself with you.

Lucifer’s thighs began tensing uncontrollably, his hand clutching a chunk of your hair unintentionally, and his breath ragged and unrhythmical. Your head continued bobbing up and down as his dick started twitching, veins pulsating as Lucifer lost his composure more and more.

“MC I’m-“ you cut him off by humming an affirmative tone, telling him that no words were necessary as your eyes looked at his. He was desperate and dishevelled, he stared down at you with half lidded eyes filled with lust and adoration as you continued to pleasure him relentlessly. Lucifers moans were always quiet and reserved when you went down on him like this, like he was scared to show you how much you were pleasing him, terrified that he was making a horrid face that would make you realise how weak for you he really was. He’d always throw his head back so you couldn’t see his weakest moment with you, you didn’t mind and had told him in the past just how much you adored seeing his face when he came, and last time you ordered him to show you his face the next time he came, pact marks really came in handy.

Lucifer hoped you had forgotten about your past orders, he felt his head become unmovable as stars blurred his vision, the heat from within his abdomen coarsing throughout his entire body as Lucifer stared into your expectant eyes. You continued sucking him off, tongue wrapped around each bump and vein that his dick offered, and you stared into his eyes waiting anxiously for him to release into your mouth. Lucifer jolted once more as his brows furrowed and his eyes watered, he bit his lips and was panting like a dog in heat. His hand had been moved from your hair and was planted firmly in your shoulder, his fingers digging into your clothing and skin and likely to leave a light bruise.

“Ahh~ ha~” Lucifer’s hips twitched forward and his cum spilled into your mouth, the liquids hitting the back of your throat and seeping down the tube, a light gag and cough as you adjusted to the load. He looked directly at you in his weakened state, a tear rolling down his cheek through his dishevelled locks, and his mouth open with ragged breathing and desperate moans. You swallowed his cum and removed your mouth from his dick, the last dregs of his seed seeping out and ripe for your tongue to do some last minute clean up.

Finally free from the binding of your order Lucifer lay his head back and rested his arms on the arms rests of his chair, softly panting as his dick became more flaccid with the lack of energy.

“It seems,” you remarked as you licked some stray semen from the corner of your mouth, “you had to stop what you were doing”

Lucifer gave a breathy chuckle to your statement and nodded along “indeed, and let’s not have it be said I’m not a demon of my word” he leaned forward, his eyes glistening and a toothy smirk radiating lust. His hand cane to your neck and he pulled you up, not choking but dominating, and you happily obliged. You returned his smirk and placed a hungry kiss on his neck, disobeying his non-verbal order and taking control.

“And what are you going to do about that?”

“Make sure you won’t be able to walk for the next week, get ready MC”

#obey me #obey me!#shall we date #SWD #Obey me Lucifer #Smut #Bal writes #NSFT//#NSFW//#Obey me Asmo

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y0itsbri · 4 years ago

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it's pizza night at the gallagher-milkovich household!

word count: 2k

usually they order a couple pizzas from some local joint: thin crust chicago supreme for ian and deep dish meat lovers for mickey, though they steal pieces of each others' all the time (even if mickey has to pick off all the onions from ian's chicago supreme.)

but tonight ian wanted to do something different. the tomatoes and bell peppers from the garden were finally looking ripe. ian, with his green thumb, had spent most of spring and summer nurturing a row of plants in the community garden of their apartment complex. mickey had thought it was boring as fuck at first when nothing seemed to be changing, but eventually seeing the plants shoot up and seeing ian excited about all the new growth gave him a paternal kick somewhere from deep inside him. he even found himself wondering how the plants were holding up after a particularly bad thunderstorm one night. for fuck's sake -- was he a plant dad now? when the fuck did this happen?

and if they were going to make their own pizzas with ian's fresh vegetables, they sure as hell weren't going to cut any corners with the store-bought dough. though mickey would never admit it, he was getting pretty good at baking, which was something ian was both a little jealous and very proud of. at this point, mickey was basically a pro specifically at making orange cranberry bread (which ian had become immediately hooked on for a few weeks after jill brought over a loaf as a 'sorry-my-boyfriend-pissed-off-mickey' gift) and also at his favorite peanut butter chocolate chip cookies (mickey has such a sweet tooth, and ian has no idea how he hasn't had more cavities.) surely pizza dough couldn't be too much different than the rest of mickey's pretty impressive baking skills.

after work wednesday evening, mickey emerged from the shower with just a towel wrapped around his waist. he peeked out into the living room expecting to see ian zombified on the couch with the usual two boxes of pizza balanced across his legs. however, mickey was thrown off a bit as he spotted ian behind the kitchen counter rummaging through cabinets, occasionally opening the fridge, and proudly wearing his "i like to get high (quality ingredients)" apron, which had been a very appropriate birthday gift from lip.

"what's with all the ruckus in here, big bang," mickey teased. ian's wild eyes calmed a beat after they had finally noticed mickey standing in the doorframe. he checked out his husband up and down once over as a mischievous smile blossomed on his face.

"it's a surprise, but i'm gonna need you to put some clothes on," ian announced, even though his darkening eyes were saying quite the opposite.

mickey was rather hungry and curious about the shitstorm of a mess in the kitchen, so he decided not to push his luck with ian's lustful gaze and instead obediently turned around to pull on some sweatpants while mumbling something about "can't be too good of a surprise if i have to put on clothes." ian smirked from behind him.

mickey swaggered back to the kitchen wearing one of ian's old rotc t-shirts, hoping it would get enough of a rise out of ian for him to enthusiastically take it off late in the night. as if ian needed a reason.

"alright, alright, tough guy. what's the big surprise?"

ian slid his arm around mickey's waist and pulled them flush together as they stared at the array of ingredients sprawled out.

"Pizza," he stated as if it were a simple fact.

mickey's brow furrowed. there clearly wasn't any pizza on the counter. "where's the fuckin' pizza? or did you get too high," he teased, poking at ian's apron.

"ha. ha. very funny, babe. just high quality ingredients, remember?" ian winked and mickey smirked, musing at his dork. when mickey didn't counter him again ian cleared his throat and continued, "no, but for real. ya know how i've been growing vegetables in the garden here?"

mickey nodded. as if he could forget.

"well, for pizza night i was thinking that we could make our own with some of the vegetables and i was hoping," he dragged out the word and squeezed mickey's waist, "that you would make the dough, seeing that you're the star baker of the house."

mickey rolled his eyes. he didn't know where ian got the impression that he was the next best thing to a professional baker when he would usually just take the easy way out. especially when he was hungry and it came to pizza night. but he was secretly very excited to try the food that ian had spent so much time cultivating.

"yeah, man, let's get it." mickey leaned over the counter to turn the bluetooth speaker on and connect his phone, 'wait by the river' by lord huron playing. he grinned as he allowed ian to slide his hand down his arm and lace their fingers as they swayed together for a moment before pulling away and promptly getting to work on food prep.

ian hummed while he washed and chopped the vegetables, occasionally making comments about how he can't believe how colorful they are or how they had grown from nothing. mickey entertained his comments while he made the dough, "well not quite nothing. there was the seed and the sunlight and the shitty ass soil and you watered it a bunch and stuff. all that love ain't nothing." ian warmly smiled at how casually his husband talked about all forms of love now.

once everything was cleaned and diced and the dough was divided into two equal slabs, they got to shaping their crusts. mickey, being the little shit that he is, had extra flour on his hands and wiped some across ian's cheek. he took off behind the counter and into the living room before ian was able to even get out an agitated "what the fuck, mick!" ian was soon on his heels though and tackled him into the couch, wrestling and straddling him and pinning mickey's arms above his head with one hand and smearing flour from his own hand across mickey's cheek as he struggled.

"payback's a bitch," ian teased through his fits of laughter as mickey's face was twisted up in utter disgust, "oh c'mon, mick, can't take it?"

"you know exactly what i can take, asshole," mickey wiggled his eyebrow as he grumbled lowly. ian's face dropped in complete shock as he was taken off guard, and his grip loosened. mickey used that moment of weakness to flip ian off of him and straighten up his shirt as he stood, no mind to the floured handprints placed haphazardly all over himself, and definitely not entirely from his own hands.

"great, so pizza, then?" he smiled over his shoulder at a disheveled ian as he went to go shape the dough, innovatively using a can of beans as a rolling pin.

ian joined him behind the counter and smacked his ball of dough. "hmm"ed and paused. mickey turned to investigate the curious glint in ian's eye when he heard and felt a similar smack on his own ass.

"oh my fucking god, ian. we're never going to get anything done. i'm fucking starving," he groaned.

"as if you didn't start it!"

mickey paused for a moment. sure, fine, yeah. ian had a point with this one, "whatever." he poked ian in the side and then turned back to his pizza. after they were rolled out enough, ian picked up the spoon to put sauce on.

"nah, man! what the fuck are you doing?" mickey snapped, more with urgency than actual agitation, "we gotta cook them for a little bit first before putting all the shit on there, ya know?"

ian put his hands up in innocence and slowly backed away from both the pizzas and the oven, "my bad, chef, carry on."

mickey flipped him off before slipping the two crusts into the oven for a couple minutes. while they waited, ian picked up mickey's phone and pulled up a youtube compilation video of gordon ramsay 'critiquing' his chefs.

"hey mick, this is you in the kitchen."

they watched for a couple minutes as ian laughed his ass off.

"oh fuck off, you'd burn the place down without me," mickey retorted, carefully pulling the crusts out of the oven. ian just rolled his eyes and resumed playing the music from a spotify playlist that mickey totally did not have named 'date night🥀.'

they took turns spooning sauce with chunks of fresh tomato onto their half baked crusts and then sprinkled on some grated cheese and pepperoni, which they had picked up at the farmer's market on their last trip with a couple of the women in their complex they had accidentally befriended.

as much as mickey ate like a broke college kid when he was left to fend for himself most days, he really didn't mind vegetables (except for fucking onions -- those could rot in hell.) despite this, ian still looked on astonished as mickey piled on the veggies just as much as his pepperoni. that was really saying something.

mickey glanced up, "what, popeye? like you're the only one that gets to enjoy the shit from the garden? i gotta taste for myself all the hype that went into this!"

a look of pure adoration flashed across ian's face as he laid a smooch on mickey's forehead. mickey's felt fucking butterflies in his stomach. he thought that being married to the guy would make those feelings simmer down, but as if it was even possible, the flames burned even stronger.

as they waited for their pizzas to cook in the oven for the final time, they giggled like lovestruck teenagers as they wiped the flour off of each others' faces, making an even bigger mess than they started with, as mickey's hair was now dripping wet. they then cleaned off the countertops and packed the extra ingredients in some blue-lidded tupperware set that debbie had recommended.

ian got two beers out of the fridge, "special occasion," he reasoned. mickey scoffed. as if they needed a reason to get fucking smashed.

soon the pizzas were done, and only slightly burnt at the edges, "adds flavor," mickey reasoned. as if anything mickey actually put effort into cooking would be less than perfect.

ian sliced the warm pizzas as mickey grabbed a couple plates, pausing in his steps to not-so-subtly stare at his husband's biceps flex with the force of the pizza slicer.

they didn't even bother to put on a tv show in the background as they ate. mickey's phone was still playing some chill, lowkey romantic music, and they were just excited to dig in. at this point mickey was fucking starving. mickey quite literally moaned as he took his first bite. ian snapped his head to stare daggers at mickey, watching his throat intently.

"shiiiit. that good, huh?" ian murmured.

all mickey could manage to do was nod as he swallowed.

"might have to do this more often," ian suggested as he took a bite of his own slice. shit. this was good.

"good job growing this shit, man," mickey praised through a mouthful. he swallowed, then added on teasingly, but actually oh-so-serious, "might wanna try growing some mary jane next year if you keep it up with your green ass thumb."

"sure, mick." ian took a sip of his beer. ian would agree to anything mickey would ask of him right now, tipsy on both his beer and his fondness of his husband. as if he could read his mind, mickey reached his hand out to rest on ian's thigh, squeezing once before resting it there for the remainder of dinner.

they finished off the beers and pizzas in bliss, leaving the dishes near the sink to be tomorrow's problem. they didn't even make it out of the kitchen before ian started to tug on the hems of mickey's shirt.

#a portrait of dumbass domestic bliss #yes it was pizza night at my house tonight #i have nothing against onions unlike our dearest mick #they have a pizza slicer but not a rolling pin - priorities #my posts #shameless #gallavich #shameless headcanon #gallavich headcanon #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #shameless fanfic #shameless fanfiction #gallavich fanfiction #gallavich fanfic #fic #fanfiction #ian x mickey #ian x mickey fanfiction

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