#and so maybe we need to be looking at the words less literally and take them as how society has treated them

[gonzoinamaskandcape]

victor hugos liberal use of concepts such as "beauty" and "ugliness" causes some problems in terms of how certain characters represented, and in particular who is representing them. these concepts are things that are not easily defined. (and yet somehow we frequently end up with pretty ppl r blond and ugly ppl have dark hair, among other things) i fully believe that people in general need to be more comfortable with the idea that not all characters need to be conventionally attractive. i also think that its weird what gets put in the "ugly" and "pretty" boxes and think that those require a bit of brain searching.

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Yandere Fantasy Villain

Imagine you’ve been transported to a DnD-Fantasy-like world. Quests, adventurers, and mystical beasts are everything you could dream of. You’ve already established your little troupe; becoming an important cornerstone of the group. Whatever your class, you’re excelling at they really rely on which is why things go badly when you meet him—-the recurring villain of this world.

“Oh my–oh my Zoth.”

“What? Do I horrify the little hero!?”

“No, you’re–”

“Worse than you imagined?”

“No, you’re–”

“(Y/n) stop freezing up!”

“You’re the most beautiful creature I’ve ever met!”

The group is horrified as they plan a tactical retreat, finding it easier to thwart the Fantasy Villain’s attacks which are suddenly less frequent.  The group just assumes you’ve been enchanted because since you’ve locked eyes with him you’ve been unable to stand on your feet. Wide-eyed and breathing heavy you just can’t stop the heat climbing over your face and ears as you replay the moment you met over and over. 

“You realize he’s a part of the ugliest most horrible race known to all of Azarothan.”

“If that’s ugly then I’m dead!”

“M-maybe he did enchant them?”

Meanwhile, the Villain’s returned to home base, shedding his armor and dismissing his entourage. Sat on his throne he replays the words you’ve said to him…over and over….and over again. His ears are turning a deep blue and he can’t help the involuntary reaction of the volcano attached to his castle bubbling with excitement.

“They-they think I’m beautiful?!”

He’s reeling with an overflow of energy and unknown vigor when he recalls your awestruck face as you fell to your knees clutching your enchanted tool. He can’t stop the thought of you in that same position but in a different setting. Cursing his lacking imagination he concocts his usual magic to spy on the troupe with his crystal ball but this time he’s focused solely on you. 

“Surely they’ll brag about the enchantment they left on me…..and maybe talk about their own infatuation again.”

It strokes a different kind of pride when he hears you deny being cursed. The feelings are mutual. He’s over the moon all four of them. You have to understand the Fantasy Villain has never been told something so flattering. 

“From another world….figures. This world could never make such…a perfect soul.”

Since their upbringing, they’ve been met with nothing but scorn and hatred. Vowing to rule and change the world that did that to him. If others did express interest it was because he had power or was literally about to kill them. Your reaction, your unadulterated feelings for him, the tug at his soul is the only sign he needs before his objective changes. 

“I wanted to rule the world so I could change the world for me. But now I’m going to change the world so I can rule with them.”

He means it. The troops are given new orders, the deadly nightmarish beasts are given new tasks, and he’s already concocting a million different plans to attain you. He watches the crystal ball relentlessly trying to hear and see as much as he can to learn more about you. He realizes very quickly that he really hates those adventurers of yours.

“C’mon (Y/n)! Just because you’re attracted to the enemy doesn’t mean he isn’t trying to destroy the world!”

“Yeah (Y/n), you’ve got to get your head in the game. We need you!”

“I–your right…sorry guys…I just don’t think I’ve ever seen someone who fits my preferences so perfectly.”

“You don’t even know him!”

“But one look in his galaxy-like eyes and it felt like I did.”

He really hates them. Listening to them talk you out of your feelings for him. Before you arrived they were minor pests. Simply a small roadblock that he would eventually crush to shatter the hopes of the people when they needed them most. Now they were just obstacles in the way of his goal–you.

“Sire those adventurers you told us to keep an eye on are on the move. Should I give the order to attack?”

“No…summon the siren I’d like to take a different approach.”

He gets incredibly crafty, despite only meeting you once he can tell you aren’t heartless like he. He’s certain should you find him to be responsible for the death of anyone you’ve met you’d reject his love. So he’ll make it his plan to slowly break your little troupe, such spunky and erratic individuals may be just the only tool he needs.

“My orders, My Ruler?”

“Join their group. Do what you like with whoever you wish. 

“?”

“Bring discord how you see fit.”

“Yes, My Ruler!”

His plan is perfect and the group isn’t nearly suspicious enough to reject his double agent. Who’s presence triggers the cracks that this group had always had. When the group splits apart needing to cool off you’re left alone, a perfect chance for a moment with you. 

“Hello, little hero.”

“Whoa, what are you doing here? My troupe’s not too far! A-a-a-nd I–I’m willing to fight this time!”

“That’s a shame because I came to speak to you.”

“Really! Ahem, I mean about what?”

“About those words, you said to me….I wonder did you know what they’ve ignited.”

Taking advantage of your easily lowered guard, he speaks the truth. Coming in close enough to feel the heat escaping from your armor, he’ll share the tale of his past. Which as he predicted makes you so sympathetic and just as willing to sing his praises as the moment you met. 

“But you’re not ugly or horrid like they all say.”

“No?”

“I think you’re beyond handsome. One of the most ethereal beings I’ve ever met.”

“Do you truly think so?”

“I know so… I’m just sorry no one else has told you that.”

“I’m happy it was you.”

When you let him dive in for a kiss, naturally you accept it. Returning his vigor in kind if not with sympathy or just your attraction, you miss how he places a magical mark on your neck. Or how he casually enchants your armor to protect you better. Or how he influences the flora and fauna of the forest to curve in the direction you came from essentially blocking the path back to your camp. When he reluctantly releases you he further promises he’s never letting you leave his grasp. Promising to one day have you on the throne beside him.

“I must return and so must you. Your friends will worry.”

“Oh…you’re right.”

“Don’t sound so sad, we’ll meet again.”

“Not just in my dreams.”

“Not just in your dreams.”

He leaves not only giddy with love but with a new plan in mind. He prepared to be faced with a struggle, to have to fight for your affection as the enemy you’d be fighting. But he wasn’t prepared for your heart to be swayed so easily. Licking your remnants on his lips, he knows that you can be deceived, and conveniently so can the rest of the world.

Fantasy Villain devises that if the history of his race’s banishment and exile were portrayed in a certain light. You could defect to his side without guilt and if some of the more stubborn adventurers were to also agree that’d make things so much easier. Pretending to be persuaded to sign some peace treaty after being gifted enough land to rule over with you beside him didn’t sound too bad.

Even if that didn’t work the Fantasy Villain has decided you will rule beside him whether he has to trick, drug, or force you to be his. Though he adores the honest love in your eyes when he looks at you and he’s going to do whatever he needs to have it. 

[sectumsempraaa]

Roadtripping

Pairing: they’re all in love w/ you lol x fem!reader

Word count: 1.9k

T/W: none

Featuring: Draco, Theo, Mattheo, Lorenzo

Summary: It’s a three day weekend at Hogwarts, and you want to make the most of it. But roadtripping with a bunch of Slytherin boys (who would do anything for you) means bickering, flirting, and a road-side emergency.

A/N: Some silly nonsense I came up with today. Needed a little fun 🤭

“Absolutely not.” Draco commands, his tone as stern as ever as he jangles the car keys in his right hand.

“Come on, you stubborn twit. You always drive!” Mattheo complains, his voice like that of a cranky teenager.

“There’s a reason for that, Mr. I-Swear-I-Won’t-Speed-Again,” Draco responds as the two of them bicker in front of the castle, waiting for the rest of the gang to meet.

You make your way downstairs with Theodore and Lorenzo, both of them helping to carry your luggage, despite your insisting that you were fine on your own.

It’s a three day weekend at Hogwarts and the Slytherin crew has decided to roadtrip for it, an idea you proposed that was met with immediate enthusiasm.

But let’s face it, you could suggest swimming with sharks and these boys would do it. Oh, you’re asking? Then the answer is yes.

You pick up on Draco and Mattheo’s argument as it becomes less distant. You roll your eyes, laughing to yourself as Theo and Enzo drop the bags next to the disagreeing couple.

“It was ONE ticket, TWO years ago, and-”

“One deep, unforgivable scratch on MY passenger door.” Draco sneers, lunging towards Mattheo as the argument intensifies. “You think I’m putting your clumsy arse behind the wheel with precious Y/N in the car?”

Yeah. It’s time to step in.

“Matty, baby, maybe we should take the backseat on this one. But, literally.” You interject with your soft, angelic voice and a comforting hand squeezing his shoulder.

The second he turns to you, his expression melts into a state of calm. His eyebrows relax as the corners of his mouth turn slightly up.

“As long as you’re back there with me, sweetheart,” He suggests, each word laced with a child-like hope.

“Sure-” you start, before you’re interrupted by Theo.

“What the hell gives you the right to assign seats? Especially for Y/N, who should obviously be next to me instead,” Theo retorts.

“And why’s that? So she can hold your hand when you get car sick?” Lorenzo mocks while holding his stomach and laughing, earning a middle finger from Theo in reply. Lorenzo continues to plead his case.

“I’m the perfect shoulder height if Y/N wants to take a nap. Therefore, she’s sitting next to me.”

“Can’t nap on them if they’re dislocated.” Theo grimaces as he takes an intimidating step towards Lorenzo.

You can’t help but giggle at the ensuing debate over something so trivial. At this point, there’s no use in trying to interfere. You stride over to Draco who silently observes the others with a permanent scowl.

“Hey, should we go warm up the car?” You ask, wrapping your hands around his arm.

“And make them drag all the luggage over themselves?” He suggests.

“You read my mind, Malfoy.” You smile, your agreement earning one from him in return. A wave of peace washes over his features, an effect you commonly have on the boys.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think you should sit in the back.” Draco says as you give him a knowing look on the walk to the car.

“To keep the storm at bay in the backseat?”

“That, and I think the whole lot might implode if they can’t access you. You just tell me when you need a break from babysitting.” He playfully nudges your side, placing a gentle kiss on your temple.

You both turn to the sound of the boys moaning and groaning while struggling to carry all the bags to the car.

“Meeting adjourned?” You joke as the boys catch their breath. Mattheo pipes in to respond, pointing a finger at you.

“You. Backseat. Center. Now.”

—

And so the trip begins.

Well, it would have started sooner if Enzo hadn’t needed two rest stops almost immediately, blaming it on his alcohol consumption from the night before. Followed by Draco demanding him to “just hold it,” which resulted in many verbal threats.

“Which one of you foul gits has the aux cord right now?” Mattheo asks with annoyance from your right side.

“We’ve been listening to this classical shit since we bloody left,” Theo snarls from your left as he stretches an arm around you, fiddling with the fabric on your shoulder.

“Guys, it’s Draco’s car, so it’s only fair he gets to choose.” You defend your driver despite it ending with pouts from the others. You can’t help but notice the blush forming on Draco’s face.

“It’s the radio, you blubbering idiot. You can change it if you like.” Draco offers.

Lorenzo’s hand almost immediately reaches for the knobs, turning it to classic rock and boosting the volume way too high for anyone’s liking.

“My god, turn that trash down, Enzo!” Theo yells from the backseat, completely ignored by a headbanging, dashboard-drumming Enzo. “Fine then,”

Theo leans forward, hoisting his whole upper body over the front seat in order to turn it down.

“Y/N, darling, you need anything?” Draco asks, catching your eyes in the mirror.

“I’d take a stretch. Oh, and a snack!” You reply, to which all heads turn to you like you’re some kind of genius.

Mattheo gasps with excitement. “Brilliant brain this one has, yeah?!” He laughs as he places his finger under your chin, guiding your gaze to meet his. He gives you a wink, acting like no one else in the car even exists.

Draco agrees, informing the group of the next rest stop in nearly 20 miles.

To this, you sigh and let a yawn escape you. Mattheo’s eyes light up as you remove his hand from your chin and wrap it around yourself, sinking into his side as you close your eyes.

Seemingly in unison, the other three boys observe your movement with looks of envy raging in their eyes. Even Draco, who should be keeping his eyes on the road, scoffs and mumbles to himself.

“God damnit, I should never have put her back there.”

“Mind if I nap here for 20 miles?” You ask Mattheo, knowing full well he would never deny you.

“You can nap here for eternity, love. I’m not going anywhere.” Mattheo wraps his other arm, both around your waist now, and shifts so the back of your head rests on his chest. Theo chimes in with his reaction.

“Great, so I’ll just sit here on the verge of illness and watch the girl of my dreams take comfort on this half-wit.”

“Yup.” Mattheo responds with a smug, shit-eating grin.

—

You awaken suddenly to a loud thud, jolting you from your small nap. A groan from Mattheo leads you to believe he was asleep, too.

“Great mother of fuck!” Draco blurts out, gaining everyone’s attention.

“Shit, Draco, what was that?” Lorenzo asks as Theo looks out the window to investigate. His head turns both ways before landing on the culprit.

“Mio dio… flat tire, mate.” Theo announces to the rest of the car.

You’d just barely made it to the next rest stop before driving over some glass on the road that unfortunately has you pulled over on the side of the road now.

The whole crew gets out, Theo looking relieved at the lack of motion. Draco bends down to take a look at the tire, his hands grazing its surface. He takes a long, determined pause.

“Is there… a spell for this?” He asks sheepishly.

“You’re joking, right? You can’t use magic out here.” Theo answers, gesturing to the busy highway passing by you. He saunters over to you, pulling you in his arms.

“Sorry, bella. I’ll buy you a snack after we fix this.” He rests his head on top of yours as you breathe in his scent.

An idea occurs to you, luckily, just as Lorenzo picks a fight with Theo over who’s buying you lunch.

You walk back to where Draco is and kneel beside him as he continues to observe the tire with defeat in his eyes.

“Draco darling,” you start, instantly winning his affection. His ice blue stare melts into yours as you rest a hand on his knee. “Do you have a spare?”

“A spare what?”

Your eyes close briefly in impatience, willing yourself to understand his privileged upbringing. Instead of asking again, you stand up and proceed to check the trunk for a tire. And to your surprise, you find one.

The other boys are too distracted trying to come up with solutions and trying to flag down other cars to notice your initiative. Draco helps you roll it to the side of the car, looking hesitant as you kneel back down.

“Tools?” You ask.

“Tools!” He affirms, quickly making his way back with a box of everything you need. “You sure you know how to-” he starts, cut off by your annoyed glare.

“Are you underestimating me, Malfoy?” To which he merely shakes his head and swallows, regretting his question and watching you return to the task before you.

“Can I help?” Draco coos, his eyes filled with apology.

“You just sit there and look pretty. Oh, and make sure those morons don’t get run over.” You joke, throwing a wink his way. He stands up and gathers the other boys, assuring them you’re going to be on the road again soon.

“You’re making her change the tire?!” Lorenzo yells, completely appalled.

“She’s our only hope right now, Enzo. You want to walk the extra eight miles to fetch her a sandwich?” Draco grits his teeth while scolding the boy. You give Enzo a shrug and a sympathetic look in return.

After a solid fifteen minutes, the new tire is installed and ready to go.

You find the boys sitting in the field, laughing uncontrollably and generally… enjoying each other. Which, for the first time on this trip, is extremely refreshing.

“Hey lovebirds!” You call from the side of the car, gesturing to your job well done. All four heads turn, once again, in unison in your direction. Mattheo the first to physically stand up, running over to you and nearly tackling you over.

He lifts you up and spins you in his arms while the others admire your finished product. Lorenzo pipes in first.

“Jeez, Y/N, where’d you learn to do that?”

“Gods, and I thought I couldn’t fall more in love with her.” Theo swoons.

“I told you she has a brilliant brain,” Mattheo remarks.

“While the lot of you were having playdates in mansions, I was out in the country. My father taught me how to get out of almost any situation.” You respond, the group looking at you like they worship you.

“C’mere you gorgeous thing,” Draco beckons, the rest of them crowding around you for the first and only group hug they’ve ever performed.

“Our fucking hero, principessa.” Theo declares. “We wouldn’t last two days without you, you know.”

“Oh, I know.” You state with the utmost confidence and a dramatic eye roll.

The tightness of their arms envelopes you, and you realize suddenly this might not have been the best idea. Your small celebration is quickly ambushed by the boys.

“Who’s touching my arse?”

“No one wants to touch your arse, you idiot.”

“Hey, don’t talk shit about Matty’s arse,” Theo joins in.

“Oh, that’s rich coming from you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?!”

“Aren’t you supposed to be buying us lunch?”

“No, I’m supposed to be buying Y/N lunch.” Theo grabs you and pulls you away from the group, earning a playful yelp from you.

“My brilliant bella. What would we do without you?”

You look back at your boys; your helpless and immature, yet loving and fiercely loyal boys.

“I have no answer for you, Theo. I don’t want to imagine a life without you.”

🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍

[misserabella]

omg!!!! can we pleaseeee get a part 2 of come over w abby it was literally the best thing i have EVER read ilysm for making that, i didn’t know i needed it until nowhdjjsh <33333

come now

pt1 (come over)

synopsis; abby ran away. but she couldn’t keep herself away from you for too long.

cw; +18 content! minors dni!, party, drinking, smoking, drug usage (weed), mentions of other girls, jealousy, hickeys, teasing, arguing, public! touching, kissing, making out, hate and needy sex, tit and nipple play, dom! abby x sub! reader, fingering (r! receiving), cursing, hair pulling, chocking, strap on usage (r receiving), recording with phone, cum eating, mommy kink, breeding kink, multiple orgasms, praising, praise kink, possessiveness, squirting…

you can feel her eyes on you. you were sweaty, dancing in between that pile of college students that needed a getaway for the weekend. you had so much alcohol on your veins, mind fuzzy and skin warm. she looked good. with a pair of green cargo pants and a tight fucking black shirt. her shiny blonde hair was down on her back, and in between her fingers stood a blunt, a glass filled with alcohol on the other hand. she was resting against a wall, two of her friends talking.

she was supposed to be paying attention, but she couldn’t catch a word when you looked like that. the party was filled with pretty girls of all years, but jesus christ, none of them took her breath away like you did.

after that night, in which she had finally been able to make you moan her name, to have you on her sheets, she had ran away, leaving before you would wake up to god knows where. now it had been a week, a week in which you’d seen abby with all types of girls.

you couldn’t help but scoff at it. of course. you were furious. confused. but at the same time you couldn’t help but want to kick yourself. it had been that easy. as easy as a little call and she’d had you dicked down. had she lied? had she just used you? you were pretty much the last girl she had not yet fucked from the whole school. maybe she just wanted to complete the list. well, now it seems like you were just one more of them.

your whole body had burned. snapping at ellie when she’d dared as ask what had happened. you couldn’t tell her that you had fucked abby anderson, even less that you had liked it.

you were burning up.

your pride eating at you to not stare. to forget about that night. and you had tried. tried multiple nights to forget about her, but al you could do would be roll on your sheets with the reminder of her touch. of her tongue.

you could cum with her name on your tongue. it was awfully easy. and you hated her to her guts for it.

abby did too. she had caved fucking in. she had gone and fucked you. she had promised herself she wouldn’t. ever. you were trouble. you made her feel things she didn’t like to feel. you made her smile when no one else was watching with your little stupidities —she was always staring at you, you just wouldn’t see it—, and made her want to punch herself at the many times you left her awake not being able to take you out of her head.

she could still remember the jealousy of the first years of high school. when cute boys and girls would approach you. she so knew you should be hers. but she was supposed to hate you. she had to. she couldn’t like you. not you. you couldn’t give her butterflies and make her go weak in the knees with just a smile. she wouldn’t have it. wouldn’t accept it.

but you had cracked her. you seem good at it.

the thought of ellie williams in between your legs, her fucking place, had made it impossible to not beg you to come to her. to tell you what she felt. she needed you. and each day, each second was torture. she was meant to break. you had broke her.

with your sweet fucking voice begging for her, your soft moans and your taste. she had tasted heaven. a very dangerous drug. and she couldn’t get addicted.

of course. she had girls asking for one night everywhere, but not even the prettiest one of them all could make her forget about you.

at how beautiful you’d sounded. how good you had taken her cock and made her cum.

she couldn’t ignore you. couldn’t fucking make herself turn to who she was before it all.

your dress was rilling up, soft plush of your thighs showing for her hungry eyes. there was alcohol shining on your lips. and she wanted to lick it off. she was high out of her mind.

but she knew. she knew she couldn’t go another day without it all.

you looked so hot on your tiny dress and high heels, sweat shining on the skin that she had branded before. she wandered if you worn anything underneath. if you’d gone out to try and drip for someone else.

she couldn’t help it. she wasn’t really paying attention to the girl that had been staring and talking to her through the whole night. her eyes were on you, and that fucking girl.

you didn’t knew where your friends were, you didn’t actually care with the buzz in your head and the soft kisses that some girl was leaving on your neck. her hair was soft, short, brown. and her eyes were dark. she was beautiful. and you were desperate. it was easy to fall on her arms with the need to forget abby.

but suddenly. there was that pine scent, and those warm hands gripping your hips. you felt on your back the hum of a harsh “go.” and next thing you knew was that ava was disappearing.

your blood was boiling as you turned around to face anderson. abigail fucking anderson. with her hooded eyes, sharp jaw and big arms. the alcohol was quickly evaporating from your blood. you pushed away. “what the fuck anderson?”

“anderson?” she inquired. “what happened to ‘abby’?” she smirked and you rolled your eyes. “i liked that better.” she leaned in, and you gasped when she got a grip on your hips, pulling you against her. “even more when you were moaning it.” your body shivered at her words, warm on your ear. “who’s the girl, hm?” she inquired, and you scoffed.

“could ask you the same, don’t you think?” she gritted her teeth, and you looked into her eyes. she was staring at the hickeys decorating your neck.

“what? you jealous sweetheart?” she inquired you, and your stomach jumped at the nickname. you could remember her telling you to cum, fucking you harsh and deep. ‘why don’t you come all over my dick, hm? let me see you fall apart.’

your cunt throbbed, and you felt your slick pooling in between your lips. fuck. no. not again.

“i’m not the one coming back to you.” you muttered on her face. and you saw a vein pop on her neck. suddenly, there was a a harsh grip cupping your jaw. she was close. so close you could almost taste the weed off of her lips.

“careful.” she warned, voice low. so low your knees almost wobbled, your throat almost got ripped with a whine.

“or what? you’re gonna beg?” you pushed her. again. just a little further. just a little more. and that’s all she needed to finally do something about it.

the hand on your jaw circled your neck, tugging you against her lips. she groaned on your mouth, and you whimpered, her tongue pushing inside as her fingers left bruises on your hip. the kiss was angry. all teeth and tongue. she felt the same. she still made your hands shake as you pulled on her hair, still made your chest tighten up and your stomach drop.

“fucking brat.” she growled, kissing down your neck, biting over the hickeys glowing on your skin. she needed to put hers over them.

“fucking dick.” you answered.

“yeah, i’m sure you miss mine, huh?” she chuckled on your ear. “fucking you open. you looked so pretty crying on it. so sweet begging…” you moaned, your hips thrusting against hers, feeling the bulge of her strap under the denim.

“shut the fuck up.” you seethed.

“why don’t you make me, pretty girl?”

you did as soon as your mouth was crashing against hers. she grunted, biting down on your lip.

“oh fuck abby.”

“was killing me seeing you with that girl. couldn’t stop thinking about her fucking you like i did, getting the chance to see how good you look when you cum, make you cry…was driving me crazy.” she confessed, making you whimper. “just wanted to come here and fuck you with my fingers. show her and everyone here who you belong to.” you moaned, her teeth nibbling at your neck, her free hand now on stomach, trailing down your stomach. “you’d like that baby?” you nodded. “i beg you would.” you whinedwhen her hand cupped your throbbing and dripping cunt. the distance in between you so little no one could see as she pushed your panties aside, thick fingers spreading your lips and glistening in your arousal. “fuuck. you’re soaked, doll.” she smirked, at the gasp you let out, at the way your thighs clenched. “is it for me?” she inquired and you nodded. “words.”

“yes, abby, fuck…”you sighed, your hips thrusting against her touch.

“upstairs.” she ordered, tugging from your hand and making you whimper when her fingers left you. she was quick to find an empty room on the second floor, pulling you inside and closing the door. it felt like the next breath you took came from her lips. she tasted like weed and alcohol. so sweet and bitter.

“take this off.” you begged, pulling from her black shirt, and she was quick to push it over her head, toned stomach and chest exposed for you to see, her tits perfectly cupped by her sports bra.

“you’re drooling.” she smirked and you rolled your eyes.

“shut up and fuck me.”

“fuck i missed you.” she muttered against your lips, and you whined. “you and that fucking mouth of yours…” her tongue pushed against yours, spit dribbling down your chin as you let her pull from your dress, leaving you in a cute set of lingerie that had her almost falling to her knees.

you were pulling and pushing at each other, ending up on the double bed, your legs at either sides of her thighs, straddling her lap.

her hands where on your hips, her lips on your breasts. you were grinding down against her, looking for some kind of friction, relief.

“wasn’t the other girls enough?” you teased her, although you needed her so bad you were hurting. in answer she pushed down your bra, taking one of your nipples into her mouth as she left a harsh spank on your ass.

“watch your mouth.”

“watch yours. last time it ended on my pussy.”

she scoffed, and now she was pushing your panties aside, fingers meeting the amount of slick that now soaked your cunt. you hissed. “you mean this pussy? the one dripping for me?” all breath got punched out of your lungs when she harshly and suddenly plunged inside two of her fingers, starting to quickly thrust and curl into you, hitting your g spot over and over again. you moaned. “what?” she teasingly asked, looking at the way your mouth hung open and your eyes squeezed shut. “what was that?” she smirked, seeing how easy you became a babbling mess for her. the wet squelches of your pussy filled her ears. you were so tight and so warm inside. “that’s what i thought.” she whispered against your chest, biting and sucking one of your nipples.

“oh fuck abby.” you cried out. you were already so fucking close it was embarrassing, hips thrusting against her fingers so they could reach deeper.

“this is my pussy, not yours. you hear? mine.” she growled, and you moaned. “say it. tell me it’s mine.”

“it’s yours, abby. yours. fuck!”

she cooed. “look at you. what is it, princess? so obedient… got the brat fucked out of you?” you whimpered, feeling your walls fluttering, your g spot being tortured by her thick fingers. “you’re so close already… so close to cumming all over my fingers, aren’t you baby?” you nodded. “come on, be a good girl and give it to me.” you let out this low moan as you followed her words, soaking her fingers in white strings that made her groan. “that’s it. atta girl…” so warm… she fucked you through it, making you make this little choked out sounds that had her soaking her boxers.

you were a mess, all flushed and droopy fucked eyes with glossy bitten lips, watching as she pulled her fingers out and pushed them inside her mouth, humming at the taste. you pulled from her, kissing her, her tongue letting you get a taste of yourself. she turned the two of you around, and one of your hands palmed her strap, making its back bump against her clit and her groan. you kissed her neck, biting and sucking on her skin. “oh fuck.” she sighed, bucking her hips onto your touch.

“abby, fuck me please…” you tugged from her pants, and she nodded —you didn’t need to ask her twice, she was almost panting at the thought of fucking your pussy on her cock—, kissing you as she quickly got rid of her pants and underwear, the strap already on and low on her hips. it was big, and had a lot of ridges. you almost drooled.

she didn’t wait to align herself with your entrance, lubing the tip of the strap with your cum to push inside. your back arched, the sting of her cock stretching you out inch by inch making you let out this beautiful whimper that had abby feeling dizzy. “fuck. pussy taking my cock so good. i’m gonna shape you to my dick. gonna ruin you for anyone else. you’re mine.” she pulled back, your tight walls sucking her in before she would thrust inside up to the hilt, bruising your cervix.

you screamed her name. she was relentless, groaning as the back of the strap would brush against her throbbing clit, her slick making it easy to glide through her puffy folds. you two looked like animals in heat, your hips fucking against her in need for “more, more, more…”

abby groaned, you were basically fucking yourself on her cock. using her to get off. and fuck if that didn’t turn her on.

she took her phone from her pants, the flash of the camera recording making you hum.

“look at you. riding my dick. desperate little thing…” you moaned. she was pointing the camera exactly to where your cunt stretched around the strap, to the mess you were making of her cock and your thighs due to how fucking wet you were. “i should send this to the whole fucking school. make them know who you belong to, hm?” you moaned, the thought of it turning you on so badly you almost came, nodding.

“yes, abby, fuck…”

she groaned. “tell them. tell them who you belong to.” your back arched at the feeling of a light slap against your clit, making you cry out.

“you! you!”

“that’s fucking right. you’re mine.” her thrust became harsher, the sounds of your cunt engulfing her cock making your thighs shake. it was embarrassing, how much you were enjoying this. how badly you needed her. “fucking mine.” your tits were jumping with every thrust of the snap of her hips, your voice breaking at the feeling of the tip bumping against your g spot over and over and over again…

you were a babbling mess, slurring her name. “abby, abby, abby, abby…”

“what is it, baby? gonna cum? gonna be a good girl and cum for mommy?” she smirked, biting down on her lip at the broken whine you let out. “you like that? like to be mommy’s good girl?” you nodded, your eyes rolling to the back of your head when her fingers found your clit. “then cum. cum for mommy.”

you let out a scream, your high hitting you so hard your ears rung. it seemed to never end. it just got bigger and bigger and bigger as you soaked her cock, your moans getting higher as you rode the best orgasm of your fucking life.

“holy fuck.” she threw away her fucking phone. she wasn’t thinking about sending that video. no fucking way. it was for hers to fuck her cunt when she’d get horny. it was hers. you looked so desperate. no one else could see you like this. she wouldn’t let them.

“mommy…!” you whimpered when her thrust only became harder, her hands gripping your hips in a bruising hold that had you begging it would leave marks. she grunted, feeling her high getting closer as well. “too much! it’s too much!” you cried out. you were so sensitive, coming non stop on her dick, your back arched and nipples swollen due to her sucking. you looked so fucking beautiful it hurt.

“take it.” she growled. “stop being a cry baby and fucking take it.” you gasped when one of her hands pushed down on your stomach, on the bulge her cock made. “can you feel it? feel how deep i’m in, baby? how deep i’m fucking you?” you were crying, it was too much. but at the same time not enough. you babbled her name, pushing on her hips. she manhandled you, choking you down onto the mattress. “stay fucking still.” the lack of oxygen and the feeling of her strong warm hand pressing just the right spots made you fall apart.

“abby, i’m gonna…!” you tried to warn her, but before you could, your thighs were quivering and you were screaming as you squirted all over her thighs and strap, soaking the clothes.

“fuuuuck.” she groaned, looking at you fall apart, cumming over and over and over again. your nails dug on her forearms. “gonna cum, baby. gonna fill you up.” she grunted. “gonna fill this tight little pussy with my cum. gonna leave you dripping for a fucking week.” she was a babbling mess. she was so close. so fucking close. she could feel it growing on her lower stomach, the back of the strap rubbing against her puffy and swollen clit.

you nodded.

“please. please. cum inside. need it inside.” you pleaded, and that’s what made it for her.

abby soaked the back of her strap with a moan, rocking her hips to help the two of you ride your orgasms in between moans and whimpers.

when it finally was over, after what felt like hours. her hips came to a halt, deep inside your cunt. she was panting on your neck, sweat coating your bodies. you two were speechless. fucked out of your minds.

she kissed you. deep and slow. wet. her tongue was warm and lazy into your mouth.

“i meant it.” she muttered against your lips, looking straight into your droopy teary eyes. “you’re mine.”

-

a/n: 🤘🏻

[heechwe]

not a bad thing | 𝖍𝖛𝖈

୨୧ pairing: hansol (vernon) chwe x fem!reader ୨୧ word count: 6.6k ୨୧ genre: fluff, smut ୨୧ tags: friends to lovers, light drug use, fingering, oral (f receiving), mutual masturbation, penetration, cockwarming. ୨୧ synopsis: Just because you've been friends for so long doesn't mean Vernon isn't keeping some secrets from you, and you're determined to confront him about it.

“Simple but still cute, or spontaneous and fun?” 

Vernon, sprawled out on his back on your bed, looks up from his phone screen in absolute confusion. He’s wearing a rainbow beanie with his plaid button-up and denim jeans, contrasting your leggings and baggy t-shirt. He always acts unaffected by how good he cleans up when he wants to, but you shake the thought out of your head and wait for his answer. “Come again?” he asks.

You’ve been holding out the red and black cropped, long-sleeve shirts for two minutes for your best friend to see. Maybe he would immediately pick one or take his time deliberating, especially with the cutout in the shirts’ centers meant to reveal hints of cleavage. However, the realization that his attention was stolen long ago by some meme in your friend group’s group chat has you huffing and flinging the shirts at the edge of your bed. 

It isn't the first time you've gotten nervous before a date, and it definitely isn't your first runaround with Vernon being out of touch with both his current and past conversations. Still, you value his advice more than anyone’s. Only you need it in an hour before your date arrives, and he’s being less than helpful. “Pick which one you like, idiot,” you whine.

“They’re literally the same shirt. The only difference is the color,” Vernon retorts. He rolls his eyes and resumes his endless scrolling.

“Exactly! I need to know which color you think I should wear. That way I give off the right impression.”

“And what impression exactly are you trying to give?”

“I don't know! Ready to have a good time but not looking to go too fast. Fuck, if only they had a shirt for that.” You rub your temple, contemplating if going on this date was the right decision.

The day Mingyu offered to set you up with his friend, you had half a mind to shut him down. His insistence on this blind date was too much to say no to, though, and going without any romantic or sexual interests for months seemed to take its toll on your resistance. While Vernon wasn't outwardly against the idea, he decidedly brushed it off with a disinterested hum and didn't mention it once until today.

Once he sees the defeat on your face, he caves, leaving his resting spot to grab you by the shoulders. It’s unsaid, but he practically asks outwardly for you to look him in the eye, so you do. “Listen. This guy is gonna like you no matter what color your shirt is. And you wanna know why?” You shrug, deflated. “Because anyone who can't see how hilarious and gorgeous you are is blind, and we don't hang out with blind people.” Vernon crinkles his eyebrows together and sighs. “You know what I mean. Like, metaphorically blind and shit.” 

You laugh. “Thanks, Han.”

You turn away from him to stare at the two shirts still spread out on the bed. “But back to this. Which color do you like more?”

After waiting a few seconds for his answer, you look over your shoulder. He’s miles away, lost in his thoughts again. The look in his eyes and etches of his face are traced with puzzlement, and when you call his name to get his attention and snap him out of it, it’s still there. No matter how hard he tries to hide it with a tight-lipped smile. “Black. Simple but still cute,” he says, his voice soft as he uses your words from earlier, proving he was still listening. 

Satisfied, you grab the top and turn, ready to make a beeline for the bathroom to get dressed. You stop short when you almost bump into Vernon on your way. It's only then you realize how close the two of you are. Less than a foot apart, to be exact. “I gotta get dressed, weirdo.” You try to sound humorous, but the breath accompanying your words sounds bated and unexpectedly airy.

In that second, all while you trace the outline of Vernon’s lips with your eyes, you wonder if maybe it would be so bad to skip the date altogether and do something else. Anything else. As long as you didn’t have to leave the house or Vernon.

“Right,” he whispers, but has no intention to walk closer to the bedroom door. Slowly, his eyes go a fraction wider than they normally do.

Like a silent cue, he steps away and fumbles over his words. “Okay well, good luck and—Sorry, I just—I’ll see you at Seuncheol’s after. You can tell us how it went. That is if you want to!” He stutters, right as he hits the back of his head against the door.

“Hansol! Are you okay—“

“Yeah! I’m fine!” He takes his beanie off to rub the sore spot. “Don’t worry about me. You don’t wanna be late. I’ll see you later!” He races out of the apartment, mumbling and clutching his head. 

While you curl your hair and put on your favorite pair of jeans for your date, your mind goes back to the look in Vernon’s eyes and the thoughts that raced in your head before he took off. And you speculate about what those two things mean, and if they mean anything at all.

“He didn’t even kiss you? What a dumbass.” Vernon mumbles, grabbing his mocha latte. He takes a vigorous sip, humming at the warmth it brings.

“I know. Now pass me a Splenda packet, please?” You pout. Well-adjusted adults would normally be at home and in bed at ten in the evening. But for you and Vernon, you decide on hanging out in your favorite late-night coffee shop for pastries and cold brew. It was better than sitting around at Seungcheol’s, the usual festivities of weed and alcohol not hitting the same way. You both settled on an alternative to fill your time instead.

“How did it go exactly,” Vernon asks, his voice garbled from the cheese danish he stuffed into his mouth.

“Well, I made it to the restaurant and he was there already, which was nice. But as soon as we started talking about ourselves, he was so flat.”

“What do you mean?” His eyebrow furrow, clearly confused.

“He was just very one-dimensional.”

“How so?”

“I mean, he was either talking about accounting, his accountant friends, or his work projects. Maybe it was better that he didn't kiss me. It might have been as boring as his capacity for communication.” You both share a laugh.

“So, I guess this means you don’t want a boring guy who presses his suits and plays golf on the weekends,” Vernon teases with a grin. You shove him playfully in the arm.

“That’s not the point! I mean, yeah, I don’t mind if a guy is serious, but I want someone who makes me laugh too. Who I don’t have to worry about liking my jokes but also sets a table or buys me flowers once and awhile.” You sigh.

While on your diatribe, Vernon grabbed your vanilla bean frappuccino. In a second, he has your straw in his mouth for a long sip. He smiles when he passes your drink back to you, unapologetic. “Someone who steals your drink for himself?”

You throw a napkin at him in retaliation. “I hate you!”

“Everything okay here, miss?” The barista asks, his name-tag shining against the dim lamps surrounding the cafe.

“We’re all good—Joshua—thank you.” You give him your best smile, to which he flashes his own at you. His teeth sparkle as much as his name-tag does, you think to yourself.

“Just Josh, please. The only one who uses my full name is my mother.”

You two exchange a chuckle, and you notice Vernon is not laughing or smiling at all. His eyes are mere slits, you can barely see the brown in his irises. His mouth follows in the same fashion, but downturned at the corners if anyone was paying close attention.

Joshua hands you a packet of chocolate-covered almonds, and he blushes. “They go really great with the frappes.”

“Oh thank you, but I didn’t—”

“It’s on the house. As long as you keep coming back.” Joshua turns to walk back to the coffee bar, suddenly tense as he leaves you and Vernon at your table.

Looking back to your best friend, you can see why. The original expression on his face has changed to pure anger. Vernon looks like he wants to blip the poor barista out of existence, and his long, hard stare in the guy’s direction might just make his wish come true.

“What’s wrong with you dude?” you ask Vernon directly.

When he turns to look at you, the stone in his expression softens a touch. “That guy seems like a creep.”

“He was just being nice!”

“He gave you a pack of nuts. Who does that?” He scoffs outwardly, and you can’t help but laugh. “What? You know I’m right.”

“Next time a cute guy gives me a snack, I’ll make sure you vet him first.” You wink at Vernon, but he remains hard-pressed. “Come on, don’t be jealous!”

“Of coffee boy? Please.” Vernon shrugs off your comment and crosses his arms. Something unreadable passes over his face for a brief moment. You would ask him about it, but you know the man is anything but overly emotional or easily vulnerable.

You try anyway. “Han, what’s wrong?”

He shakes his head and gets up to throw away his coffee, half unfinished. “Nothing, I’m fine,” he lies, looking away from you with a cold lilt to his tone. “Let’s get out of here.”

The sound of Vernon’s voicemail causes you to grunt in frustration, the beginning of the message you practically know by heart now. After the stint in the coffee-shop, Vernon walked you home without a word and hasn’t interacted with you since then. After being left on read for the past three days, you are all kinds of antsy. Normally, he would text or call instantly with a reason, but it’s been nothing but silence on his end. Your black phone screen makes you rub your temples. What did you do wrong?

“At this point we should send a carrier pigeon,” Lisa says with a shake of her head. 

“She’s got it bad, babe,” Hoshi comments with a wink in your direction. He kisses Lisa on the cheek on his way to their kitchen. 

When things went wrong, it was second nature to confide in Lisa and Hoshi. Two childhood friends turned dance prodigies and then inseparable lovers? They sounded like the plot of a bestselling romance novel. And admittedly, you wish you could find what they had. Why did you have to encounter so many red flags and road blocks?

“I mean, we all know you’ve been down for him for…three years now?”

“Shut up, Soon!” You exclaim, blushing. “I just don’t know why he’s gone AWOL on me.”

“Maybe he’s in a mood. You know him,” Lisa responds.

“Not like this. This is the longest we’ve ever gone without even sending an emoji to each other,” you say with a frown. You scroll through your conversation, the endless blue bubbles making your stomach sink further.

“He’s gonna be at Wooz’s tomorrow night for that party,” Hoshi says with the slam of the fridge door. You nod your head, already aware. Hoshi smirks. “Corner him there.”

Vernon was closer friends than you were with Woozi, someone you knew in passing because of his relationship with your best friend. But you had been to the guy’s apartment many times before. It wouldn’t be weird to attend, sans Vernon. Right?

“Fuck it,” you think out loud. “Lisa, can I borrow an outfit?”

The party is in full swing by the time you arrive. Chan answers the door with a grin, patting you on the shoulder when you step through the threshold. Woozi and Seungcheol are karaoke battling in Woozi’s living room while the rest of the partygoers are either drinking beer or in circles puffing and passing.

You decline when Minghao tries to hand you his half of a joint, a dopey grin plastered on his face. You want to be sober when you confront your best friend for leaving you in the dark for half of the week, even if you know it’ll take the edge off of your nerves.

When you find Vernon, he’s grabbing a hard lemonade from the spare cooler on top of Woozi’s counter. His eyes, the usual white around his irises pink from the party favors, go wide when he sees you. “Fuck me,” he says out loud.

“Yeah, fuck you is right,” you bite back. “Why haven’t you been answering your phone?”

His mouth is agape, giving no attempt to provide an answer. no answer. You get angrier the longer the seconds go by without one.

“Okay, how about an easier question: Why couldn’t you respond with a thumbs up or something when I asked if you were still alive?”

He runs a hand through his hair in frustration, another curse leaving his lips.

“Fine. Keep being weird about whatever the fuck is wrong. I wanted to try and make sure my best friend was okay, but he can’t even give me a solid explanation as to why he’s being a dickhead.”

Vernon takes your hand and walks quickly with you in tow. The people you pass move out of his way before they get body-slammed, some of them confused while others are too drunk or high to care. 

When you make it to a bathroom off of the hallway, Vernon closes the door behind you and locks it. He takes a second before turning to you with a solemn expression. 

“We can’t be friends anymore.” The words that leave his mouth break your heart to pieces and steal any semblance of air from your lungs. You didn’t expect to come into tonight and lose a friend, especially when you were unsure of what you did to cause Vernon to feel that way.

Your eyes begin to water with tears, but you don’t let them run over. “What the fuck do you mean?”

“I’m saying I can’t keep doing this.”

“Doing what?” Your voice grows thin. You’re confused how every word from his mouth sounds more sure than the one before while you’re falling apart.

But, even though he keeps up a composed posture, you can tell something inside of him is cracking. His bottom lip is caught in his teeth and his hands are fidgeting, two signs something is bugging him beyond his will.

“Please just tell me what I did wrong and I can fix it. I can’t help make this better if you don’t tell me what—”

In a second, Vernon has your back pinned against the bathroom counter. His lips capture yours in a bruising kiss, giving your quick gasp no time to leave your mouth. He swipes his teeth over your bottom lip while his hands roam from your waist to the expanse of your hips. Soon enough, his tongue is inside of your mouth. He holds your neck with one hand while the other sits on the back of your thigh, hitching it up to press your leg against his side. 

He feels the warm skin of your thigh in his palm and the center of your legs against him, making him groan. His touches and the sounds leaving him make you moan in kind into his mouth, and he swallows it blissfully.

When you separate for breath, you look deep into his eyes. Vernon’s expression brims with naked emotions, ones undecorated and unprepared, ones he cannot hide anymore. “If that’s the only time I got to do that when I’ve wanted to for so long, I had to make it count.” His confession should feel like a shock, something you were not ready for and quick to play off as an after effect of the joints he’s been smoking for the past couple hours, but it doesn't.

Instead, you accept it, with open arms and without a first or second thought to the contrary.

You soak in his words willingly, knowing for certain your heart wasn’t just wishing for someone. It was always wishing, comparing, waiting…for him. And now you have him, in this bathroom, terrified you feel anything less than what he feels for you.

Before he can step back, you take his hands in yours to prevent him from taking them off of your body. How could he think you could stop now? “Han, I need you to touch me more,” you whisper.

Vernon drops to his knees and rubs his hands up and down your thighs, his eyes requesting permission to hike up your skirt. Instantly, you nod.

He raises the denim up over your hips, meeting the cotton of your underwear with his mouth. As soon as his lips are on you, the cloth barely separating him from your clit, most of your coherent thoughts become lost to the wind.

Once he takes his fingers and moves your underwear to the side, you know you’re about to lose the breath in your lungs as well. His tongue licks a long stripe up your pussy, taking in the length of you with ease to maximize your pleasure. Your body quakes from how good he is at running his lips and mouth across you. You take in heavy breaths to try and steady yourself, but it’s no use.

Your best friend is eating you out too well and you have no idea how to function properly. You clutch his head with your hand and move your hips in time with the patterns of his mouth. The throes of your orgasm are so close, and it may just break you.

Vernon prods a finger at your walls, and you feel your body shake harder. “Han, I’m gonna come. Please don’t stop.” He hums against you and takes that as the green light to insert the digit completely.

A couple of strokes to the inside of your gummy walls and his tongue lapping at your clit makes you fall apart, whimpering quietly as to not have the people right outside the door hearing you climax.

Coming down, you sigh in pleasure. The sound morphs into breathless laughter. “I love you,” you finally say with a frail tone, but those three words have never been more true than right now.

The smile on Vernon’s lips revealing his gums and teeth is almost too radiant to stare at. It reminds you of butterflies, especially the ones that still flutter in the small spaces of your chest when he looks at you so reverently. Gently, he takes your cheek in his hand and says, “I love you too, pretty girl.”

You don’t leave the bathroom for another five minutes, spending that time in awe of what’s transpired and soaking in the feelings and love you’ve expressed to each other, all while you feel the bass of a Childish Gambino song beat against the bathroom walls.

The shuffle into your apartment is so quick you don’t hear Vernon close the door and lock it behind you. Even though you spent enough time pressed against each other in Woozi’s bathroom, the sticky and sweet feelings coming back to you in flashes, Vernon did not let go of your hand the entire walk home from the party. “It was so cold outside, I’m sure my nose is red.” Looking in the hallway mirror, you frown. “Yeah. I look like a reindeer.” You pout, falling into a fit of laughter. 

Vernon chuckles, releasing his hand from yours to place on your cheek, his fingers oddly warm. He kisses the tip of your nose lovingly. “You’re a cute reindeer, if that helps,” He says. Stepping away from you, he takes off his jacket and places it on the coat-rack. “A few minutes with the heater on and it’ll feel like summer in here.”

“Don’t make me sweat, weirdo.”

“I kind of already did, but noted.” Vernon smirks, and right after the next giggle leaves your mouth, you stop to watch him.

Despite knowing how he tasted and how the timbre of his laughter felt against your neck, you knew those things didn’t compare to the candid moments that made you love him. He didn’t take notice of the squinted shape of his eyes reading his phone screen, or even the press of his hand against your back to make you feel safe. But you did, every instance more clear than they’ve ever been before. They were so minuscule on their own, but when they were all stacked together in every year and tear and smile, it was a wonder how you didn’t know you fell in love with him so long ago. 

You don’t have to tell him you feel that way, though. He can see it in the stillness of your eyes, in the small and tender smile painting your mouth, in the red tint of your cheeks. He has felt the same too many times to count. You claimed his heart for all the reasons he claimed yours. Of course, it took you both almost half a decade to realize it.

He steps closer, a breath separating your bodies. Taking your hand in his, he kisses each finger before pressing his lips to the knuckles. You grin wider and rest your head on his chest. It’s a tiny marvel to feel the steady thrum of his heart against your ear, all the times being strictly platonic. Its tempo is a soft rhythm that has sent you to sleep on multiple occasions during sleepovers and movie marathons. Now, it’s as if the rhythm sounds different, beating with an entirely different meaning. You suddenly feel shy with him this close, the silent actions speaking for themselves.

“Are you tired,” he asks, lips brushing the curve of your scalp.

You shake your head. “No. I’ve never felt more awake.” You look up at him, a realization at the forefront of your mind. While you may have been together all night, and your mutual confession in Woozi’s bathroom was barely two hours ago, it feels like a world away since you last touched him. Intent, charged with what needs to be spoken and doesn’t, too vivid to go unnoticed.

Like the blunt release of a bowstring, it’s a sudden rush of lips gravitating to each other. The sensation is a mix of headiness and affection. In you, it’s the pull of your hands on the brown waves of Vernon’s hair and smiles slipping in between his kisses. For him, it’s the swipe of his tongue against your bottom lip to let him in, let him guide, and the reverence of kisses across your throat saying the words he knows are on your mind because they’re on his too. I love you and I want you and I need you and I don’t know how I’ll ever stop.

You make contact with the heat of Vernon’s skin when his sweater rides up, revealing the dips of his hip bones above the waistline of his pants. You spread your hands up and underneath the material to feel more of him, the warmth you desire, and the home that resides there. In his own desperate fingers, you realize he’s also exploring the places in you where he finds comfort and love.

The two of you stumble into the bedroom, caring almost as little as you did entering the apartment. You’re both so focused on each other the rest of your surroundings seem to be background noise, but Vernon does nod when you mention birth control. The back of your legs knock into the mattress, but you don’t mind with his lips at your neck, kissing and occasionally biting. He detaches his lips from your skin to tug abruptly on the hem of your skirt, wanting it gone. He rests his hands there, the request for permission clear. Once he takes it off, you raise your arms to let him remove your top as well. Once you’re clad in your undergarments, you help him with taking off his sweater in a haste, reaching for him again when the fabric finally falls to the floor. The renewed closeness seems to snap you both from your trance.

Your gaze reaches up to his eyes, and his are filled with patience and adoration. “We don’t have to rush, you know,” Vernon murmurs. He could easily let the time speed past him like he did earlier, certain there will be more moments like this to cherish at a slower pace. However, he can't deny he wants you as close as possible, determined to not let his words or actions go unsaid anymore.

You nod, running one hand against his chest while the other curls around the back of his neck. You place featherlight kisses to the column of his jaw as he unclips your bra. Each clip feels tentatively released, as though he’s slowing the two of you down like he wants to remember every moment. Maybe he feels this will only last until the morning, but little does he know that there's no way anyone or anything could be worth giving him up, not as a friend and definitely not as a lover.

He finally unbuckles his belt with determination and lets the metal clank on the wood floor. The only clothing left between you is your underwear, still damp from your previous activities, and his boxers. Immediately, you wrap your arms around each other when the busy work is finished, a clash of teeth and tongue following. A muddled moan escapes your mouth and reverberates against his throat when his groin brushes yours and his hands find your breasts. He rolls one nipple between his index and thumb while he squeezes your other breast with his opposite hand, teasing your skin with the pads of his fingers. The skin puckers and swells at his ministrations, the sensitivity between your legs growing again, wetness pooling there and leaving you aching.

The mattress dips underneath your weight when you fall onto it. You grip Vernon by the waist, but he only takes your hands away from his body and intertwines his fingers with yours. He’s all gravity, his seriousness palpable. The faintness of a smirk sits on his lips, but he shows no intentions of smiling. His boxers seem to grow tighter against him, but you don’t look away from his eyes. “Come here, Han. Please,” you whisper, spreading your legs wider, in hopes he can see how deep the ache he’s placed in every part of you goes. Vernon kisses each one of your palms before releasing them.

“Show me first. Show me how much you want me.” You bite your lip and use your hands to lower the cotton fabric of your underwear until it comes off. Your right hand trails up your body and lands on one of your breasts, squeezing and testing. No matter how you touch yourself, it doesn’t make up for the feeling of Vernon’s hands on your chest. His breath hitches when you press your opposite hand to your clit, a garbled moan unraveling on your tongue.

You tease yourself in small circles, enjoying the expanse of wetness you feel, and press your thumb to your clit again to make your hips roll. It feels like it should, a nice reprieve from the short time you’ve spent without any physical contact. But the lust-blown color in Vernon’s eyes, turning the brown irises that you love almost black, is what makes raspy sounds of pleasure leave your mouth. You want his hands instead of yours, as well as his mouth and his body on you, but his stare is enough to keep you going for him.

To amplify your torture even more, Vernon tugs at the waistband of his boxers until they fall at his feet, his cock fully erect. With the bottom of your lip stuck between your teeth, you run a finger up and down your slit at the thought of him on top of you, underneath you, and more. You release a whimper when he runs a hand up and down his cock, the tip swollen and leaking pre-cum already. You remain there together, sharing heady gazes and touching yourselves with slow and painfully gratifying motions, suspending all of the tension of the night into the air until one of you drops it. A loud, broken groan escapes him in response to the contact of his hand against himself and your body begging to be touched. If only he would let go and touch me, you think to yourself as you feel a satisfying clench in your belly.

“God, I can’t wait to be inside of you,” he says, the last words catching in his throat.

You stop to sit up and grasp the head of his cock, running your hand up and down the girth to replace his. It causes Vernon’s body to shiver exquisitely, and you revel in the way your touch affects him almost half as much as his affects you. You whisper, “You don’t have to wait.”

Those words prompt him into action, pressing his free hand to your cheek and diving for your lips. The two of you fall flat onto the bed, and when his tongue enters your mouth once again, you can’t hold back. You grind your body against his, feeling the press of his erection at your center. “Please, I want you to fuck me so bad.” In the midst of your arduous haze, Vernon’s mouth turns into a wide smile, one you forgot you could miss so much.

You laugh at the beautiful twinkle in his eyes, lust laced into the sound. “What?”

“Aside from you telling me you love me, you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to hear those words”—he brushes an index finger along your lips—“come out of your pretty mouth.” You bite on the tip of his finger, and he pulls it away with a smirk. He replaces it with his lips, using his hand to align and direct the head of his cock to your entrance.

He has no desire to rush, though, a slow, languorous push of his hips to press his cock inside of you following a soft kiss to your temple. But with a sudden jolt of his next thrust that makes you yelp in pleasure, you can tell that desire is starting to wane. “Sorry,” he says, “fuck, you just feel—“

“I know,” you agree. He’s so patient and loving, but the way he fills you and drives in and out, you want nothing more than for him to grips your hips and make a mess of you. After trailing a string of kisses from his cheek to his neck as he continues trying to restrain himself with drawn-out thrusts, you say, “I don’t want you to go slow. We have time for that later.”

“I just—Are you sure?” His eyes reveal all of the yearning he has felt and the doubts that still linger in his mind, the exposure of his feelings almost too much for you to bear. You kiss his lips once again, hoping all of your reciprocated emotions pour out of you and into his reservations to drown them out.

“After tonight, I’ve never been more sure of anything.” Vernon nods and places his hands on your hips, the pressure exemplary. You wrap yours around the nape of his neck.

With a sharp and hard thrust, you moan into his mouth, loving how he pushes himself into you to the hilt. He continues his pace without slowing, loving the smack of his and your hips against each others’ and the way his body connects to yours.

“Fuck,” you whisper in unison, dragging your nails up his biceps and shoulders as he grips your hips harder. You may find bruised skin tomorrow morning, but at the moment, you love how tight his hold is on you. You wrap your legs around his lower back so he can angle his thrusts, and it feels like drowning and burning in the same breath.

From the chest to the hips, there’s an array of points where your bodies meet. With an overwhelming feeling of fullness pervading your body, you’re certain now there was never a time for anyone else to claim your heart when he had claimed it for his own long ago. You close your eyes to enjoy the thoughts bursting at the forefront of your brain alongside the build of your release, but the press of Vernon’s hand against your chin makes you snap your eyes open.

He pushes in deep, filling you to the brim once again, hitting the sweetest spot within you that has you digging the heels of your feet into his skin. You keep your eyes locked with his, but the way he presses down against your body and the new feeling of his hand against your neck makes it difficult to keep your focus on anything besides the profusion of sensations he’s giving you. You pull him in for a deep kiss, all while you push your hips back against his. This time, you capture a groan from his mouth with your lips. The hand against your neck shakes as his hips stutter, the established pace falling off.

In the midst of his lips being attached to yours, You notice the tinge of a whine accompanying his groans and how labored his breathing becomes. You press your fingers to your clit, rubbing circles into your flesh to follow him to his release with your own.

At this point, you cannot tell which sensation feels the best: Vernon’s tongue flicking against the roof of your mouth, his cock sinking into you, his hand pressing lightly against your windpipe, or the drum of your fingers along your center. Regardless, you love the filth and sweetness of each one, and how you’re sharing the same sensations with the man you love. It’s all you could ask for. You cry out when you finally orgasm. Clenching around him, you hold on to every second of the white hot bliss that coats every space of your skin.

Vernon lets out a long string of moans when he releases, filling you up and spilling inside of you. His thrusts come to a halt, pushing his hips one last time to milk what's left of his climax. Breathing fast, you press your forehead to his. Your heartbeats are drums, beating hard and clashing against each others’ tempos. With time pressed against each other, your bodies sticky and his cock still inside of you, they slowly find their way to a soft beat that compliment each other. Vernon huffs out a breath into the space of your neck, and you kiss his temple before he can raise his head and look into your eyes.

“I love you,” he says, panting, his face lit up in the dark. It’s as though he’s found rapture in the solace of your bed and in your arms, and you would not fight him on the sentiment because your smile mimics it tenfold.

“I love you, too.” You kiss him long and sweet, the damn taste of his mouth a new and unending craving.

He pulls out of you to grab some tissues from the bathroom, but not leaving without pecking your nose, which makes you giggle more than it should. He comes back to bed and wraps himself around you, and you breathe in his scent as he rubs soothing circles into your back. Despite that, you still yearn for more of his body against yours, too touch-starved to go back. “Han?”

“Hmm?” He asks, raising his head from the crook of your neck to look into your eyes.

“Could you…I don’t know,” you fumble, unsure of how to get your point across. In trying to find the right words, Vernon seems to understand as a small, boyish grin spreads onto his face. You two discussed your kinks lots of times, sometimes for the fun of it, and Vernon knew some of yours were based solely on your desire for connection and intimacy. And how could he say no to you now when all you wanted was to be close to him?

Wrapping a hand around his cock, he hisses from the lingering traces of sensitivity. He strokes himself a few times before he grows hard again and sinks himself inside of you. While he shudders from feeling you take him so well, he doesn’t roll his hips and you don’t rock back against him. You only press your bodies closer together, love and fullness coaxing you to sleep in tandem with the sound of Vernon’s heartbeat.

The sun bleeds through your curtains, and normally you would trudge to the window to close them shut and fall back asleep peacefully. This time, though, you don’t mind it when you see the rise and fall of Vernon’s naked chest in the sunlight, all while feeling his arms wrapped around you. You know you could watch him sleep all day, the gape of his mouth so kissable and the warmth of his skin calling to be savored. However, those thoughts come to a halt when the sudden desire to grab something to drink hits you. Hating to leave him, you press a soft kiss to Vernon’s temple.

You take an old button-up of his from your closet and tiptoe to the kitchen to grab a glass of water. You know your bed is a room away, but you gulp down the drink to make it there faster. Of course, when you walk back into your room, you see an awake Vernon with a hand propped behind his head. His eyes are droopy, but a sugary smile sits on his lips nonetheless, taking in your article of clothing. “Is that my shirt?”

You grin, a blush creeping on your face. “You left it here, so that makes it mine.” On some level, you had worried this morning would be awkward no matter how many times you had said you loved each other the night before. Still, the ease of falling into your shared banter and routine comforts you. 

“Point taken. You look cuter than I do in it, anyway.” 

Vernon pats the empty spot next to him you were previously occupying, and you have no qualms crawling back into it and into his arms. “Does that mean I can wear all of your shirts when I want? I mean, since I look so cute in them,” you joke, kissing several spots on his jawline.

His hand creeps up to your shoulder, and thanks to the lack of buttons fastened together, he slides the fabric down until one of your breasts peaks out. “As long as I’m the only one who sees you out of them.”

“I think we established that last night.“ You giggle into his neck. “But, to reiterate, yes. You’re the only one I’ll share all of my terrible jokes with, take with me to Taco Tuesdays, and get undressed for.”

Vernon smirks. “That’s what we do anyway, minus the last part.”

“Well, call it an added bonus then, since we’re in love and all.”

The laugh that leaves his lips stops your heart, and you wonder if it’s possible to pack away a sound in your mind for every good and bad day, just to recall this moment. “Deal.”

With that, he places a kiss on your lips as the sun continues gleaming through your window.

You spend the rest of the early morning that way, wrapped up in each other and not bothering to dress. After another post-morning sex nap, you two spend the rest of the day cuddled up on your couch with Chinese takeout, reminiscing about the past, but ready to find out where the future takes you both. Lucky for you, with the way Vernon looks into your eyes, loses his train of thought every time you kiss him, and finds it again when you smile, the future has the potential to be pretty beautiful.

[majinbangus]

I literally just wanted a sugar daddy/mama!au. Maybe I'll talk about sugar daddies!141 x sugar baby!reader after this. I am not an expert in sugaring, so bear w me here. readers age is not told either, but i imagine reader to be younger than price.

Times are tough; the 141 need funding the government isn't willing to cough up. Price's solution? Getting them a sugar mama.

-

You never expected your profile to be picked. It was a silly thing you signed up for in a moment of weakness when you were feeling sad and lonely, wallowing after a messy break up. You even forgot about it after a week, throwing yourself in your self-made business, working when you didn't have to, but you needed to bury yourself in it. It's no surprise you forgot all about your little profile, but it is a surprise when you see a missed inquiry from a Mr. John Price about a day old.

Hello, darling. I've never been on this side of the message before, but my boys and I don't have many options, and I needed a solution fast. I saw your profile and I think you'd be a good match for us. We're a package deal, the four of us. You don't have to pay us exactly, we just need some funding for our work. My boys and I are willing to provide you with any type of company you desire. We don't mind sharing and we take care of what's ours. There are other little details we can go more in depth later, although I might not be able to tell you everything. I'd like to hear what you have to say and any questions you may have. Hope to hear from you soon, Capt. John Price

Everything about the message is... strange... to put it kindly, but you can't help but feel this Capt. John Price is being sincere. Maybe that's a naive, lonely part of you that's convincing yourself that the message is real and not some scam. Maybe you're desperate enough to believe someone- four someone's!- actually have an interest in you.

For what you can give them, but you're not entirely innocent either. This Captain Price- you assume he's military- said he and his boys will give you what you need, and if he's a man of his word, maybe they can distract you from all the noise in your head.

You stare at the message. It wouldn't hurt to take a risk, would it? You can always block the man if he ends up being a creep.

It takes you an hour to finally work up the nerve to craft a small message back to the man. It takes less than a minute for him to respond.

Glad to hear from you, darling. I'll tell you everything you need to know.

-

The rules are simple.

You fund them with enough money each month they need it for however long they need, and they'll give you all the companionship you want. Whether that's sexual or not is up to you. It doesn't matter to them, though John informed you that if it is sexual, you would need to discuss any limits with the other men yourself. With him, you got to briefly stutter through your likes and dislikes, and he did the same, after discussing all of the rules and expectations.

You don't know if you should be thankful or not when he listened with such intense focus. Like you were briefing him on a mission or whatever it is captains like him do. It makes you nervous. He makes you nervous. Not quite in a bad way, but you've never done this before. The idea of paying another person, well this task force, in exchange for some company to fill your pathetic void feels kind of... sad.

You almost talk yourself out of this whole crazy thing, but you're also kind of curious what could come of it. If John and his boys will really be able to distract you and make you forget how lonely you are.

Being alone, being lonely, never really bothered you before, but after your last relationship... It opened up some old wounds and this sugar arrangement could be the perfect distraction. If only for a while. You'll take whatever you can get at this point.

You look over the messages John sent you, lingering over the pictures he sent of him and the other three men. Well. Two men. John told you this Simon guy would show you his face himself if he wanted to. You don't know if it's a sexual thing or not or something else entirely. You were too afraid to ask, and you don't really know if you want to know. But the other three are handsome, if the pictures John sent aren't fake.

You're still not entirely sure you should trust him. Trust that you're not gonna get all your money stolen. The site you signed up on is reputable for sugar mamas and sugar babies. You couldn't find a bad review written about it. Only positive testimonies with positive outcomes. That could be suspicious in and of itself. Hopefully, you didn't make a mistake.

John said that he would meet you next week when he had time off. Alone. In a public space, but alone. He said he didn't want the boys to overwhelm you, and you're grateful for his consideration because you would have been overwhelmed if you met all of them at once.

You still have time to cancel, if the nerves get to you and you chicken out. John even told you you could back out any time you wanted. But. You want to do something different. You need to do something different. Get yourself out of your head and focus on anything else that doesn't make your mind feel like static.

These men can help with that. This'll be good for you. Probably.

As long as this doesn't end up with you mysteriously disappearing or getting murdered, you'll be content with whatever happens. Besides, it's good to do something out of your comfort zone, and what better way than becoming a sugar mama to four military men who can give you all the company and care you could ever want? Hell, that sounds weird to think about.

There are still little things you have to work around, such as their schedules, but John promised that at least one of them would always come when you called. Already, that gives you more comfort than he could ever know, and perhaps that's foolish of you, but it truly meant a lot when he told you that.

You scroll down to the last message John sent and feel something in your gut flutter.

Can't wait to meet you, Mama.

-

this might an anthology of sorts. maybe have some loose plot to it. idk.

[mead-iocre]

Marshmallow Keychains | Alexia Putellas x Reader

synopsis: want that cute (overly expensive) jellycat? Lucky for you you've got a very generous girlfriend.

warnings: none . But it is my first time writing for Alexia so consider that your warning lol

wc: 1k words

“Oh my god–  baby look at this one!” You hold up a small pink bashful bunny, showing it to you the girl beside you. You and Alexia were in London as your footballer girlfriend has a few days off of training. 

“Si. That’s nice, mi amor” She said in the most monotonous tone ever, but you didn’t mind her less than enthusiastic response, you were far too enamoured with the soft stuffed bunny in your arms. 

You put the bunny down and move on to the next adorable thing that catches your eye. “And they’ve got marshmallow keychains! These are so cute!” You've been roaming the store for a few minutes now, caressing and cuddling all the soft stuffies, much to the entertainment of your girlfriend. However, these marshmallows are different. The two marshmallows, one white and one pink, were holding hands and smiling sweetly at you. “I need them, Ale” 

Alexia just stares, seemingly unmoved by the cuteness of the little marshmallows with little faces. She raises a perfect eyebrow at you, unconvinced. “Do you, amour?”

“Okay maybe I don’t need it– but I do want it…” You look down at the cute keychains in your hands. Turning the price tag around, you visibly wince. If you were to buy two, that would be nearly £50 British pounds for two small keychains. You move to put the marshmallows back on the shelf, hoping they’ll still be in stock when you can willingly afford to splurge on them, but your girlfriend grabs them from you. 

“I’ll buy it for you” Alexia says sweetly with a kiss on your cheek. The bright smile you gift her has Alexia feeling like she’s on top of the world. Over the years that you've been dating, you've gotten used to Alexia literally throwing her card at you whenever she could. She knows that you can afford to buy things on your own, you've got a job that you loved and it pays well, but gift-giving has always been her love language. She liked taking care of you and you gladly indulged her. While you did not care much for designer clothes and luxury bags, you loved the little things– like the silly little marshmallows keychain that Alexia currently has clutched in her hand. 

You look around the rest of the store where there are shelves and shelves of stuffed animals. Rows of Jellycats lined the shelves, each one seemingly more adorable than the last.You gasp suddenly, grabbing onto your girlfriend’s tan arm nearly startling her. “LOOK OVER THERE–“

Leaving her behind, you literally sprint over to the shelf not the other side of the shop and pick up the object that caught your eye “A sandcastle with a little face– oh muy amable” You coo at the yellow stuffed toy in your hand. You snuggle the sandcastle in your arms, rubbing your cheek against the soft material. 

“muy suave, amor” Alexia corrects gently once she has made her way over to you. Unable to resist how cute you look, she lays a sweet kiss on your cheek. You’ve been learning Spanish, attending language classes and regularly being flown out to Barcelona by your very generous girlfriend. She insists that regularly exposing you to the culture and the environment will allow you to pick up the language quicker. It’s also part of the Spaniard’s plan to get you to move in with her as soon as possible– but she would never admit that to you willingly. 

The shopkeeper restocking a shelf nearby noticed your excitement. "Ah, you’ve found our special edition," she said with a warm smile. "We only received a few of those. It’s part of a summer series they released.”

You gasp and turn to Alexia with that look on your face. The look that can get you whatever you want– one that your girlfriend was very familiar with. Before you can say anything, Alexia is already rolling her eyes and reaching into her back pocket for her wallet. 

Smiling the biggest smile in the world, you reach a hand towards her gold amex card that she dangles in the air before she pulls back just before you can grab it. You pout at her. 

“Do not pout, mi amour.” Tugging playfully on your ponytail, she lays a quick smooch on the side of your neck knowing exactly how ticklish you are. You try to swat her away, but not before she somehow manages to steal one more kiss from you. “I just wanted to be sure– that’s all you’re buying, si?” 

With that, you turn to the kind shopkeeper from earlier with the biggest smile on your face. “Do you have any more limited editions Jellycats? My girlfriend is feeling very generous today” 

You both leave the shop with one big bag filled with seven new jellycats to start your collection, but with barely a dent on Alexia’s card. On your crossbody bag dangles the marshmallows keychain, and another pair is nestled inside the shopping bag that your girlfriend insists on carrying for you. 

A week later Alexia walks into the locker room, her boots in one hand, and her training bag thrown over her shoulder. She walks to her locker, putting her bag down on the bench. The locker room is loud with chatter, the girls catching each other up on what they got up to during the break.

Mapi is walking over to her locker right beside Alexia when something new catches her eye “¿Qué es eso?”

Alexia stops what she was doing and looks to where her teammate is pointing. “…Jellycat.”

At first Alexia had protested, or at least she tried to. You loved the marshmallow jellycat keychain so much, and made sure to hang it on every bag that you wore out– even when you would borrow one of your girlfriend’s very expensive, fancy bags. You could be using one of Alexia’s Louis Vuitton bags and the marshmallow keychain would be hanging on the side.

Alexia, on the other hand, was less than enthusiastic to use her keychain. During checkout, she had thrown in a keychain for herself last minute, thinking she could get away with you just knowing she has one just like yours. However, you insisted that she had to use it. You explained that the marshmallows would be sad if they were left behind just collecting dust on her bedside table. In response, she rolled her eyes and grumbled something about you being “a pain in the ass”— at least according to the little bits of Spanish that you could understand. 

The following morning, your girlfriend left you in bed– you with your messy hair, flushed cheeks, swollen red lips, and her with her hair neatly in a ponytail, and her training gear on. You watched with a smile on your face as Alexia left the house with a very familiar keychain dangling against the side of her Barcelona training bag. 

need me a rich athlete wife who can spoil me with jellycats too

also im really loving these shorter blurbs because it allows me to just write whenever im inspired without worrying about a low word count.

the euros final is tonight, if you care lol. may the least shittiest team win x

-- kisses, butter.

*This work is my original creation. Please don’t copy, share, or translate it without asking for my permission first. Thanks for respecting that!

[parfaitblogs]

so high school ❀ s. reid x reader

in which you're a little too drunk, and your boyfriend is here to help.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader genre: fluff tags: established relationship. idiots in love. alcohol/drinking. reader is wearing makeup and a dress. reader's bsf referred to by she/her if that means anything? fade to black (no literally. they fall asleep. "awwww" the crowd says). semi nudity but it isn’t sexual, he’s just changing her clothes. word count: 1.6k a/n: shoutout to the affectionate yapper drunks we're the best. this was in fact written whilst i was intoxicated like two weeks ago at a party. the sober proofreading clean up was BRUTAL. but i did it. "we're proud of you lia!" we all say in unison. this was the fluff i was talking about in this post. i still don’t remember all of that night but i remembered enough to finish this fic!

You had too much to drink. Way too much.

Not that you'd admit that out loud — you just haven't eaten a lot! you protested when your friends had scolded you. But they saw the sixth drink of the night get downed in mere minutes, on top of the drinks you had all drank before even leaving the house. That's when your protests turned into pregaming too hard, which turned into, okay maybe you're right, which eventually led to you sitting on the curb outside the club you had gone to.

Your knees tucked to your chest, your fingers fiddling with the phone charm hanging off the device, head leaning on your best friend's shoulder, who was waiting with you for the real thing you were scared of. 

Your boyfriend. 

Not actually scared of him, but he was very aware of how much you have had to drink — courtesy of your awfully typed drunk messages throughout the night that consisted of hiiii and i love youuuu and an incredulous amount of blurry photos of you and your friends.

He had indulged in your antics for an hour or two, amused by your attitude. But you said something briefly about being tired, and he had realised that you had had one too many, and offered to pick you up. Which, as your friends slowly started agreeing that they too were tired. you decided it was for the better.

You were rubbing your eyes — despite the makeup on them, successfully resulting in raccoon eyes, as you so graciously called it every time it happened (Spencer had adopted the phrase too, and loved to say it whenever you were crying with mascara on. It was a good way to cheer you up, usually). 

You heard his car before you saw it — the God awful sound of his 1965 Volvo engine was loud, even over the music from the bustling clubs around you and your friend.

Then you saw it pull to a stop half a block away, and your lips pushed out into a pout as you — very awkwardly — pulled yourself up to a standing position. Thankfully, Spencer had already made it to you by the time you felt prepared enough to take a step, because his arm was slipping around your waist and keeping you upright milliseconds before you could fall. 

"Hi," you chirped, grinning up at him. 

"Hey there," he said, brushing the hair that had stuck to your face back, glancing over you, assessing your condition. "Do you remember how much you've had?"

"Yes, wait," you huffed, holding our hands out in front of you. "I had the tequila shots at home, then the vodka sunrise when I got here, then we all did a round of shots, then—"

"—So, you've had too much," he cut you off, and you solemnly nodded your head. He looked past you at your friend, who was in just as much of a state as you. "Does she need a ride home too?"

If you were any less intoxicated, you would've smiled at the offer, as you usually did. Probably the best part about dating Spencer Reid — he was so likeable, he was close with your own friends. 

You called her name, asked the question, and confirmed you had heard her answer with a nod when she explained she was waiting for an Uber home. 

"I can drop her home," he pressed, eyebrows furrowing. "She's on the way. It's no problem."

But her Uber had arrived soon after he spoke, and both of you knew she'd just be losing money if she cancelled it now.

"I guess you're stuck with me," you said, at the same time he began to tug you along in the direction of his car. 

"How terrible," he mused.

"Agreed."

He helped you into the passenger's seat, pulling the seatbelt over your body — despite your insistence that you could do it, clicking it into place. He wound down the window with the handle, which you graciously leaned your head against once the door had been closed for you.

You didn't really register the time between being in the car and getting to Spencer's apartment, the final drink you had drank settling into your body and disengaging you from the world around you until he was leading you in past his door (you hadn't even noticed he unlocked it?) and towards the bathroom. 

"This isn't your bed," you had complained when he helped you up onto the counter, rummaging in the cabinets behind your head — his hand on the back of it so you wouldn't accidentally lean back and hit them. 

"You're very observant," he replied, leaning back and nudging your legs apart so he could stand between them. 

"Thank you."

You felt his breath on your face as he laughed, eyes following his each and every movement whilst he wet a cotton pad with micellar water. You smiled at that.

You had told him — in passing — a month ago that you could never go to bed in your makeup. No matter how exhausted you were. You were usually quite good with it, though you hadn't been in a state since then where you might've forgotten it until now. 

And he remembered.

"Close your eyes," he said, and you obeyed immediately, your tongue poking out between your teeth as you grinned. "Why're you smiling?"

"You're taking my makeup off."

He hummed, silent for a few seconds as he pressed the cotton pad to your eye. "I should get you drunk more often. You seem to notice things a lot better."

"Shut it."

He laughed, again, and you found yourself joining as he pulled the cotton pad away from your eye, allowing you to blink it open. 

"Oh, you look so pretty like this," he mused, and you knew your makeup was everywhere around your eye. He forced your eyelid closed again, so he could keep wiping the smudged makeup off. 

"You're so mean to me," you grumbled.

"Why do you say that?"

"Just 'cause."

"Just 'cause?" he repeats back to you, and you nodded your head, providing no other explanation. He seemed to accept that, because he didn't say anything else as he moved to wipe off your other eye.

Eventually your makeup was off, and he helped you off the sink, turning you around so he could find the zipper of your dress. 

Which had you laughing and turning around to face him. 

"Take me on a date first, Dr. Reid," you said, catching his hands, and he stared at you in disbelief for a few moments.

He was stronger than you were, and while he usually didn't make a show of proving it, when he did, you were a swooning mess. 

Like currently, as he didn't say anything, a sigh escaping his lips whilst his hands found your hips and turned you back around. One hand held you firmly in place, as the other tugged down the zipper of your dress.

"I'm getting you some clothes. Please, stay here," he said, his voice so close to your ear your knees wobbled for more than just your lowered control over your bodily functions. 

Despite the want to defy him, like usual, you stayed put, eyes flickering around the bathroom you had been in so many times before, your dress pooling at your feet. 

He returned with a t-shirt, resting it on the sink as his fingers found your bra and unclasped it, ignoring the way you danced your shoulders, wickedly grinning at him through the mirror. 

"What?"

"I think we're moving awfully fast," you said. "I would like you to take me on a date first."

"I have seen you naked plenty times before," he answered.

"I held my tongue all the other times."

"I'm sure you did."

He tugged the shirt over your head, manoeuvring your arms through the holes, considering you were an expert at going limp in the worst of times, it seemed. 

"And," he added, spinning you back around. "I have taken you on a date. Many. Thirty-three, to be exact." 

"Thirty-four is the magic number I make my boyfriend's wait until they see me naked for the first time," you replied.

"I see. I will work on making it thirty-four, then."

"I think you just want to see me naked."

"You've figured me out," he poked your side again, causing you to crunch your body out of the way with a laugh. "C'mon, let's get you into bed."

You were incredibly complicit, nodding your head and bouncing on your heels in front of him, taking a dive into his bed and finding refuge in the side you always slept on — decorated by the (singular) silk pillow case you had forced onto his bed. Because it is so much better for your hair, as you had argued when he denied you of purchasing him one as well. 

He thought it was stupid. You had the evidence to back you up. So then, he didn't like being wrong and threw a tantrum about it. Or something like that. 

You stared up at the ceiling, staring at the constellation above your head, that was resting comfortably on his chest. He had rearranged them six months into your relationship, Orion mapped out on his ceiling with glow in the dark stars after you had briefly mentioned liking the constellation a lot. He said it took him a week to get it right, but he wanted to do it for you. 

You tear up a little every time you see it. Which is perhaps too often. 

"Did you have fun tonight?" he murmured, fingers entangling in your hair.

"I did," you responded, voice overwhelmed with exhaustion, followed by a quiet yawn, that he caught too. "You're tired."

"You're giving Sherlock Holmes a run for his money tonight," he said, and you huffed a singular laugh. "I am tired," he then added. "So are you."

"I am," you agreed. 

"Goodnight, angel."

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated dearly ♡

[shiinata-library]

Imagine them telling you they love you

Thorin, Fíli, Kíli, Bilbo's reactions when they tell they love you

A/N: My imagines become more and more ficlets and we now have 4k words of it… Make you comfortable, and enjoy!

[ 📚 Main Imagines Masterlist 📚 ]

Fíli

On a cold winter evening under the lonely mountain, two princes are talking over an ale, one of them in a better mood than the other. “I should never have done that,” you hear Fíli sighs, his face hidden in his arms crossed on a table. “It’s too late, brother,” Kíli laughs as he drinks his ale.

It has been a while since you’re friends in this pub. There is only one pub since the rebuilding of Erebor was still ongoing. The place is busy, and princes or not, Kíli and Fíli drink here every Friday night. 

When you entered, you wanted to surprise them and you were waiting for the right moment to join them, but you didn’t expect they would talk about you. Especially about this subject…

“You were drunk, both of you,” Kíli resumes. Fíli gets his head off his arms and sighs again “Drunk or not, you don’t sleep like that with your…”. Someone shouts in the pub while he finishes his sentence. “As if you regret it,” Kíli laughs. “Stop that Kíli!” Fíli shouts seriously.

They should change the subject now, right? But, should you really join them after that? Then you hear “There are things I regret in my life, but this is the worst and you–”. A group of happy dwarves shout a new time their happiness while you freeze. Kíli is looking at you, as surprised as happy to see you. He speaks to his brother while you already start to run away. You don't see Fíli hit the table with his fist even less standing up so suddenly that he spills his beer all over his brother.

You literally run away until you're almost home. In two streets, you will be in the cosy place Thorin gave you under his mountain. Your steps slow down as you realise how stupid you are to think everything could be the same after àthat. You suspected that Fíli avoided you since you spent a night together, and you have your answer. It's clearly unnecessary to talk more to him. It was a mistake. Period. 

Maybe it could be different if you could have talked the next morning. If only he wasn’t a prince, he wouldn’t have early duties every morning. Especially when he was in your bed! Who sends a guard to fetch someone in the bed of his… his what anyway? You’re just his friend. Well, “was” now.

When you’re almost arrived at your place, you hear your name shouted from afar. You could recognise this voice everywhere, so you quickly hide in the first street you see. Except that before being a prince, Fíli was a warrior, and you can’t escape a warrior that easily… Even though you take another way to go home, someone grabs your wrist when you arrive at your front door. Of course, it’s Fíli. And not a happy Fíli. Everyone who’s walking in the street is looking at you since everyone knows Erebor’s heir.

“Listen Fíli. I don’t want a drama. Like you said, let’s forget. And if you don't want to see me again, well, I understand,” you say as you try to get back your wrist. “No. We need to talk. Let's inside,” he simply says as he opens your front door and leads you inside.

After lighting a few candles, you put the last one on the table. You barely turn toward Fíli that he is already in front of you, not leaving you the time to say anything. He clears his voice and you notice how he is nervous. You never see him like that. Not even when he speaks to Erebor’s people officially. “First, I’m sorry I didn’t come earlier to talk to you since that night. I had a lot to do but the main reason is I was ashamed.” You repeat the last word he said, unstable to keep your surprise. Yet, he continues, his eyes looking at the candle, “I should never sleep with you. We were drunk.” “Yes, we were drunk, but not enough not to know what we were doing,” you say seriously. His eyes turn now to yours, “Yes, maybe, but I should court you first.” He runs a hand on his face as if it could help him to breathe better while your heart starts to beat stronger. When his eyes come back to you, your heart stops beating. Were his eyes always so mesmerising?

“We, Dwarves, always court their One first. I know Men do differently, but I shouldn’t touch you like that. But your dress… Mahal, you were stunning in this dress that night. I behaved like an idiot… Mahal, I really do blame myself,” he pauses for a breath. A murmur escapes your lips, “their One?”. Something changes in his eyes. You swear they looked at your lips before coming back to your eyes. “Am I your One?” you eventually ask in a quiet tone. “Yes, you are. I have loved you since I saw you. But I also know Men’s mores and I don't expect anything from you,” he declares in a serious, almost sad, tone. “You love me?” you stupidly ask, still stunned by his words.

A smile appears on Fíli’s face. The first smile since that night. A chuckle escapes his lips as his fingers find your cheek, warming it with the memories of what they have done to you. “Are you just going to keep questioning me?” he laughs, his moustache’s braid bouncing. You laugh too, the whole tension vanishing. “Even if I’m of Men, I only sleep with the person I love,” you shyly say. That's all it takes for Fíli to kiss you, this time with  all the love he has for you.

Kili

Since you joined Thorin’s company, you have made friends with Fíli and Kíli. The time you enjoy the most is after dinner. They tell stories about their childhood in the Blue Mountains or some anecdotes about everyone while you tell them about your world. Like them, you can’t stay quiet for a long time, so most of the time the others shout at you to go somewhere else to talk. Which you do. 

Fíli is always the first to go to sleep. That’s why the others don’t make fun of him when you barely can open your eyes in the morning when it's time to leave…

Talking with them at night has become routine and when you arrive in Rivendell, without having to worry about the next day, you spend your first sleepless nights with them. After some time, Fíli doesn’t stay with you late less and less since Thorin seems to need him more and more in the morning.

As the quest goes on, you can’t speak with Kíli in the evening. Fatigue, injury, watches, cold, danger, it seems that everything is trying to avoid you to enjoy your evening. Little by little, there comes a time when you can’t remember the last time you had a long conversation with Kíli and you miss it terribly. During the day, you make some jokes but it’s not the same.

So, as soon as you’re feeling safe, you can’t keep your tongue, you and of course Kíli. The first night at Beorn after Gandalf introduced everyone, you and Kíli spoke all night. So much time to make up! Fíli joined you for the first hour, but he quickly abandoned you.

The next morning, it takes you some time to remember where you are. You hear some voices from afar, but according to the bright sun, it must be late, especially since everyone is already up. Everyone except Kíli still sleeping next to you. Well… Behind you. His arm around your waist. His hand on your stomach. His head buried in your hair… He is too close, right? You can even feel his breathing in your neck. Should you stay like this? You definitely can’t move without waking him up, and you don’t want to wake up in this position. Especially with your cheek as red as a tomato.

But… Breakfast is calling you. As soon as you try to move his hand, his arm holds you stronger, your back pressed against his hard chest. He eventually grumbles, “Don’t move.” You chuckle, “But they won’t leave us anything to eat.” He laughs too, but doesn't seem to move. You wait, trying to find a good idea to wake him up until he says in a sleepy voice, “I want to wake up like this everyday…”. You stay still a moment before turning to him and joking, “Without breakfast?”. His answer doesn’t wait, “With you. In my arms. Every morning.”

Oh. Well. You want it too, but it sounds complicated, right? A woman of Men, a Dwarf prince. Plus, you’re poor. Oh and useless as well. You still don’t know what you’re doing in this quest.

Tired of waiting for your reaction or your answer, Kíli suddenly sits up, his arms crossed on his chest, his hair in a mess, but above all, his frowning eyebrows. “I was saying that I love you, you know?” he says in an upset tone. “Don’t joke with that Kíli,” you sigh, starting to feel hurt with a joke like this so early on a morning that was starting off so well. He already joked about this in the past, flirting with you randomly. He even already kissed you without saying anything afterward. Well, maybe because you almost died and you didn’t have the time to talk about this but…

“I’m not joking! I truly love you!” Now he’s not frowning, his eyes look sincere. You want to believe him. “But you always joke about that,” you grumble in a pouting face. “Not about this. Never. Amrâlimê, I kissed you after we ran from the gobelins because I was so scared of losing you. I couldn't see you and I thought you had stayed behind. When I saw you, I couldn't control myself…” You stop pouting, hoping he says the truth. “Really?” you ask in a shy tone. “Really,” he confirms, a smile widening on his lips. You can't resist a smile like that. “Because I love you too, and if you lie, I’ll–” Of course you can’t finish your sentence. As soon as Kíli hears your words, he leans over you and kisses you. He begins slowly, barely brushing your lips, but when you kiss him back, his ardour takes over. As one of his hands keeps him from falling on you, the other one begins to touch your hip. Even though you would love to continue, you were thinking of stopping him when the door of your makeship dormitory opens. “It's nearly midday! Time to get up, night owls!” Fíli exclaims until he sees what his brother is doing. “Alright, pretend I didn't come,” he says as he turns towards the door. “But I won't be able to hold the others back for long.” He closes the door behind him, leaving you and Kíli laughing like teenagers caught in the act.

Bilbo 

During the quest, you easily became friends with Bilbo. He is a charming person, and you and he have a lot of things in common. Little by little, you understand your feelings for him were more than friendship, but you stayed quiet about it, the quest was too important to think about anything else. After the success of Erebor's quest, Thorin, the new king, offered you and Bilbo to live under the lonely mountain. Bilbo missed too much his home to stay here. Yet, he promised to visit them one day. For you, the choice was harder. The mountain seemed great. You would be glad to help with the rebuilding, but without Bilbo, it wouldn't be the same. So you decide to follow him. 

It's obviously impossible for you to live in the Shire, so you have settled in the closest Men’s town: Bree. You have found a correct job and people are nicer than you would have thought. For visiting Bilbo, it's 6 days walking from door to door, but you quickly decided to use a horse. (You really miss trains and buses…) So now you live two days' ride, you visit him when you can. Bilbo offered to visit you in Bree, but with his ponies’ allergy, you prefer coming to the Shire. 

The Shire is beautiful, even more than all Bilbo told you during the quest. He always finds something interesting to show you. Hike, food, drink, festivities, landscape, market, watching the sky with Old Toby,... You enjoy every time you spend with him. At first, Hobbits looked at you strangely, but now, you could say you have drank tea with all of Bilbo's neighbours. Lucky for you, the closest inn of Bag End, the Green Dragon Inn, has one room at Men’s size, which you found weird until Bilbo explained it’s usually Gandalf’s room.

One summer evening, you’re dining in that very inn with Bilbo after a long hike in the east, on an outside table, the wind glowing softly on you. “I’m glad you’re here,” Bilbo says as he finishes his meal. “You always worked during the summer’s festivities and I always wanted to see you.” “Oh, no. Don’t tell me it begins tomorrow…  But I’m leaving tomorrow!” you sadly sigh. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” “I thought you knew,” Bilbo says as it was obvious. “It’s the same dates every year. And you saw the tent and everything under the Party Tree, didn't you?” “I thought it was over... Wait here, I'll check with Mr Whitfoot if I can stay in the room tomorrow night.”

Unlike usual, Bilbo is unable to read your face when you come back to your conversation with Mr Whitfoot, the innkeeper of the Green Dragon. “The bad news is I can’t have the room, but the good news is because Gandalf reserved it,” you smile bitterly,  already regretting not going to the summer festivities with Bilbo.

“You can stay at Bag End. I have enough room for you,” he said with a little nervousness in his voice. You notice his embarrassment and you don’t want to impose yourself at his home. “I don't want to disturb you, I’ll think of it tonight and I’ll answer you tomorrow morning,” you explain with a smile. “You won’t disturb me at all, but alright, we’ll talk tomorrow,” he says, finally smiling again like usual.

Of course, you accept to stay at Bag End. The festivities, Gandalf, sleeping in Bag End, just next door to Bilbo’s, waking up together, eating breakfast together, like a married couple. Alright, let’s stop now!

Gandalf is still the same. You spend a part of the night chatting with him and Bilbo, with some other curious young hobbits. At some point, after eating and drinking too much, you both decide to go back to Bag End. The night was very fun – despite Lobelia intervention when she learned you were staying in Bag End. In Bilbo’s smial, you still can hear the laughs and the music from the Party Tree. “You’re sure I can stay here? Your cousin, Lobelia didn’t seem happy about it,” you joke as you’re taking off your shoes. “According to the latest news, Bag End is still my home,” he grumbles as you’re unable to hide your smile, enjoying his reactions every time you talk about Lobelia. “She can say whatever she wants, it’s my home!” He could have grumbled a long time if you hadn’t burst out laughing. “Alright. I get it,” he sighs before laughing with you. You both are tipsy and you continue to laugh until you reach your room.

“If you need anything, I'm just in the room next door,” he smiles as you enter the guest bedroom. If you weren’t as tired and as tipsy, you would have noticed the room has changed. The room is at your size. Both the ceiling and the furniture. “You know your home by heart. I could make tea with my eyes closed!” you laugh, not noticing Bilbo’s cheek becoming pink at your words. “But thank you for letting me sleep here. Nights are not cold, but I never say no to a bed when I can have one!” “You’re welcome. Don’t forget to wake up early if you want breakfast,” he says, smirking. You can’t count how many times you miss the first breakfast in the Shire.

Do you wake up late? Yes. Of course. The bed is so comfortable, the room is so quiet, the smell is so good… with a little touch of bread, tea, jam, egg,... You jump out of the bed and hurry up to the kitchen. Bilbo is smiling, “Good morning.” Has Bilbo been waiting for you? It’s the first time you have breakfast with him since the quest is over, and something feels different now. The table looks so perfect. How many times have you dream of waking up here like that? 

“Do you want tea?” he asks as he takes the kettle off the heat. “Good morning,” you murmur as you sit down on a chair at your size. As you’re half-asleep, you don’t notice you’re still in nightdress, light for summer nights, but Bilbo did. Oh, he did, and that’s why he shakes his head as he repeats his question. “Yes, absolutely!” you exclaim with a broad smile. “I never saw a table like that for breakfast! So many dishes! Bombur would be jealous of your cooking skills! I’m glad to be hungry! Everything looks so good! Can I try each plate?” you ask with great enthusiasm, perhaps a little too much. “Oh, sorry. I’m very loud for a morning. It’s rude and annoying…” Bilbo sits in front of you with two cups of tea. Despite your behaviour, he looks happy. The morning rays of light gently illuminate his hair and face. You could easily get used to this every morning...

“Not at all. I've had mornings noisier than this,” he smiles as he sips his tea. “And yes, you can eat everything you want.” “Don’t say that or I’ll really eat everything,” you laugh as you spread jam on your buttered toast. “I don't even have a third of this table in Bree, when I have breakfast. I mean, at home.” You still don’t use to live in Bree as your home.

“I can make breakfast like this whenever you want,” he says in a too serious tone for a morning as you’re savouring one of his cheeses. “I’d love to, but I don’t think I can stay another night. I have to go back to work,” you say, a little sad not to enjoy another night here, and another breakfast. A long silence makes you feel that something is wrong. Bilbo is too quiet for such a morning. You raise your head from your plate to see him looking at his tea, turning his spoon in his cup endlessly. “If you stayed here, you could have breakfast whenever you like,” he says quietly. You’re about to repeat your former answer, but Bilbo doesn’t give you the time to do it.

 “I wasn’t talking about tomorrow. I mean, yes, I’d love you to stay tomorrow, but I meant for all the mornings. I mean. Oh Yavanna, I’m ridiculous…” As he talks, he gets so upset that he gets to his feet and comes to stand in front of you, one fist clenched and the other hand pointing at you with his spoon. He breathes a last time before looking at you, his eyes eventually softening. “If you want to, I would love you to live in Bag End with me.”

You’re speechless first. Then, “I can’t. I mean, I’m of Men. No one wants somebody like me here,” you sigh as you look at your feet, feeling your tears welling up. “I want to,” Bilbo says, determined, as he takes your hands. “And I'm sure all the hobbits you know won't object. The whole Shire has realised a long time ago how I felt about you and they've all accepted you already.” “Your feelings?” you suddenly ask, your eyes searching for an answer in his eyes before his words. Yet, his eyes frown. “I wouldn't ask you to move to Bag End if I didn't love you. I'd even offer to make you a breakfast every morning, I don't know what more you need…”

At this point, you can't hold back your laughter. Before his upset face, you react quickly. Pulling on his hands, he steps towards you close enough to feel his fringe caress your forehead. “I need a morning kiss, and I’d stay here forever,” you murmur. His cheeks become redder than ever and his hands become sweaty, but when he decides eventually to kiss you, his lips are softer than you had imagined. Softer and sweeter.

Thorin

Tonight is the first night you spent with Men since Bree. Lack-town is still an unwelcome place for you and the company, but Bard and his family are very nice with you. With Sigrid’s help, you’re warm now and you don’t smell fish anymore. The children are already sleeping as some of the company. You don’t know how to thank Bard since you don’t have money like the others, so you offer your help in the house. After helping Sigrid with the dishes, you ask what you could do, and she explains they have some damaged clothes that need stitching and she has no idea how to do it.

So here you are, sitting in the corner of the table, in the light of a candle, mending some clothes. Everyone is busy with their own business when Thorin sits next to you. You first don’t notice him, focused on your task. He put a warm tea next to you before speaking. “Do you want to be my Queen?” he says, as serious as ever. No one reacts, pretending to be still busy. “Queen of what?” you chuckle, still focused on your task. “Queen of Erebor,” he answers after making sure that Bard was no longer there to listen in. You don’t notice how serious he is, all it takes for him to ask you that here, in front of the others. He is not the type of person who expresses his feelings in front of everyone, so you don’t take it seriously. “But there is no Erebor,” you say, not seeing how troubled he is with your answer. “Not now,” he continues after a long silence in which the crackling of the fire is the loudest sound. “But Erebor will be with us soon.”

A smile appears on your lips as you finish what you have planned before going to sleep. After you take the tea that Thorin gave you, you turn to him. Now you notice how serious he was, how sad his eyes are despite his calm behaviour. You take a moment to repeat the conversation in your head. He is about to stand up when you exclaim, “Wait, wait, wait!” You put your tea on the table, then raise your hands in front you.  “You want me as your Queen? Wait. But you. That what you said? But. I’m confused,” you heart is beating too fast to say a correct sentence. When Thorin sees that your hands are shaking, he hesitates to take them. “I know I’m good in organisation and papers, but that shouldn’t be a reason to title me as a Queen. Should you choose someone you love? I thought Dwarves only chose to spend their life with their One. Oh, maybe royalty doesn’t work like that.”

A laugh echoes in the room. Bofur gets Thorin's blackest look of his life. But for you, his eyes are sparkling and a smile eventually appears on his lips. A genuine smile. “That's correct. I want my One as my Queen,” he says, his eyes not leaving yours. Now your cheeks are burning and you stop breathing. Do you really properly understand what he is saying?

You try to say something, but your words are blocked in your throat. Staying with your mouth open makes the future king chuckling. At the end of the room, you hear two dwarves sneezing exaggeratedly, “Heiswaitingforananswer” then “Notinthreedays”. Fíli and Kíli earn the same look as Bofur, but you don’t see it. As you only realise everyone in the room is looking at you, you suddenly stand up. Understanding you, Thorin stands up too, takes your hand and leads you outside.

As it’s dark and late, no one would see you, but the most preoccupying thing is the cold. Before you say anything, Thorin puts his jacket on your shoulders. “Tell me if you’re cold,” he says seriously, but his jacket is so warm that you already forget about the weather. “Do you really mean it? Why do you think I’m your One?” you shyly ask as you close the too big jacket on yourself, taking advantage to hide your burning cheeks. When you look back to him, you’re surprised to discover a new facet of Thorin. An (cute) embarrassed Thorin is in front of you. “Mahal, how should I tell you?” he begins as he runs a hand on his face, stopping on his mouth. “I know you're my One because I love you. And this is why I want you to be my Queen.” He swallows his saliva with difficulty, waiting for an answer from you that doesn't seem to be coming. “But maybe my feelings for you are not mutual, and if I offend you in any way, I apologise,” he says as his eyes sadden gradually. 

“No!” you eventually cry out as you grab his hands, surprisingly warm. You already touch them a few times, but never like that. “It’s mutual. Your feelings. I mean my feelings,” you sigh, trying to compose yourself. “I don’t know why you’re telling me this in this Men’s town when we’re almost at Erebor, but–” He cuts you off, “I don’t want you to stay here with your kin. I saw how you look at the town and… that man.” You frown, firstly because he stopped you while you were talking, secondly because he doesn’t trust you. “What man?” “The one who lets us stay in his house,” he grumbles.

“If you let me talk, Thorin Oakenshield, you would know that I love you too, since the first time I saw you! About Lake-town, I know nobody here. They are not my kin. The company is my family now!” you hurry to say before the conversation takes a bad turn. You truly love him from the start, but you obviously never hoped for anything. “Are you sure I’m your One?” you ask again, making him eventually smile. He realises one of your hands to run his in your hair. “I've never been so sure of anything,” he tenderly says. As he looks for a place for a braid, you can’t remain motionless. A step is enough to access his lips and you take that step. At the beginning, you feel Thorin’s surprise, but it quickly progresses into a sweet, lovely kiss under a snowy night.

[pupkashi]

gojo can’t wait to marry you, but he will for the sake of one folder in his phone

a/n: i want to marry gojo, sue me!

wordcount: 703

masterlist

satoru would take your engagement ring everywhere he goes with you. he’d have it stuffed in his pants pockets or jacket and you never once suspect a thing.

he’d have so many pictures of you turned around and him holding the ring right behind you, clueless as to what the man you loved was holding a mere foot away from you.

there’s pictures of the two of you at home, making dinner, cuddling in bed, cleaning, teaching the students, at the beach, on a walk, on dates, literally anywhere anytime, and all of them have the beautiful ring in the velvet box, wide open and facing the camera as you stare in the opposite direction, oblivious.

he’d always try his luck, but he was cocky enough to somehow always get away with it, only once almost getting caught when you turned around faster than he thought you would, but you were too amazed with the fireworks to notice him throwing the small box into the bushes next to him (he then had to act like he lost his phone to go and pick the box up again).

there’s a chilly breeze that picks up over the two of you as you scoot closer together under the reds and pinks of the sunset, the grass around the two of you rustling with the wind, clouds floating peacefully.

you’re getting up and grabbing a blanket from the picnic basket, back facing satoru. “thank god we brought these blankets! I didn’t expect it to get so chilly so quickly,” you sighed, fingers melting into the plush fabric of the blanket.

satoru is quick the pull the box out of his sweater pocket, snapping the picture and ready to put it away before you turned around.

time seemed to freeze in the seconds that he took to look at you, radiating and glowing in the suns golden rays, the world painting you in all its colors. maybe it was the sounds of the birds singing or the pair of butterflies that flew past you. or maybe it was the overwhelming sense of love and home that he felt in the moment.

satoru didn’t move, he stayed on one knee, the box wide open and facing you as you turned around.

“i love you, sweetheart,” he smiles, the look on your face knocks the wind out of him as his cheeks begin to hurt a bit from how wide he’s smiling, “i knew after we’d been dating for six months that you were the person i want to spend my life with, that you were all I’d ever wanted and all I’d ever need.”

there’s tears welling in your eyes as he continues to talk, heartfelt words and vulnerability as his hands shake slightly. your mouth is still covered by your hands, mouth slightly agape from shock as your heart beats out of your chest.

maybe it was the swans swimming in the lake besides you, maybe it was the two butterflies from before landing on his shoulder before fluttering off again. or maybe it was the way the sun painted him golden, his blue eyes staring at you, snowy bangs falling perfectly on his forehead, your body warm with love as you nod your head when he finally asks the question.

“will you marry me?” his voice is a lot less confident than usual, a relieved laugh leaving him when you engulf him in a hug, your face burying itself in his neck as before pulling away and crashing your lips onto his.

“of course I’ll marry you angel boy,” you laugh, sniffling a bit as he wipes the tears from your face, taking your hand in his and slipping the ring on.

you can’t help but admire the way it looked on your finger, it was everything you’d ever dreamed of. soon enough you’re staring back into satoru’s blue eyes, giggling as you cup his cheeks and bring his lips to yours, laughing when he grabs you by the waist and spins your around.

he shows you the folder of pictures later that night, and you can’t even be mad at him. not when you realize he had bought the ring the day after your six months.

taglist (send an ask to be added!): @chilichopsticks @anime-for-the-sleepless @4sat0ruu @safaia-47 @nanamikentoseyebags @fushironi @nineooooo @the-mom-friend-dot-com @gojoshooter @sat6ru @beautiful-is-boring @sweetheart-satoru @luna0713hunter @torusmochi

[winterarmyy]

I Knew It Then

A series of random Bucky Drabbles that I can't let go but don't have the brain to make the whole complete plot of.

Summary: If it was supposed to be a casual thing, then why does it hurts so much?

Pairing: avenger!bucky x female!reader

Words: 4.8k++

Warnings: angsty, maybe a tad too angst. a bit fluffy, if you search for it, and everything in between. non-descriptive sex scene but definitely contain adult (18+) contents. so, reader discretion.

Inspiration: @buck-star asked in a community post, “The sentence is: 'And then we were standing in front of one another again…' How would you continue it?” and this is my answer.

Read my other works here: Masterlist

Bucky adjusted the sleeves of his jacket; a dark leather, matching the gloves he was wearing. Underneath was a charcoal coloured shirt; his pants was dark-wash jeans, frayed slightly at the edges. It was an effort to blend into the festive sea of people. Despite the spring air of Central Park, his style remained a mixture of shadowed past and muted present, a mix that barely fit in with the brightness of the day. 

The launch of the Avengers statues was a grand event; a reminder of battles fought, lives saved, a place for the public to show their gratitude and admiration. Honestly, in Bucky’s opinion, all of this was a little bit over the top. In which, Steve agreed. They both think that they were undeserving to be sculptured and displayed like this. 

Even the Avengers are human, excluding Thor, they were mortals; unfit to be worshipped as they are now. Yet, after being coaxed with quite a diplomatic, exaggerating speech about how ‘the people need a hero to look up to’, Steve ended up convinced. Not that it matters, but Stark was the one who gave that speech.

Nonetheless, Bucky couldn’t really object to the decision, but he did stated that he will not participate in the event with the rest of the team. And they can’t really do much about that, forcing him to will be equivalent to kidnapping and Bucky had literally filed a police report for it before. So, they won’t take their chances. 

The cheers and thundering of applause rippled through the park, filling every space with a strange blend of solemnity and celebration. Bucky lingered on the edge, hands shoved deep into his pockets, shoulders tensed beneath the weight of too many eyes while his own focused on his team on the make-shift stage near the statues. 

He preferred it here. No red carpets. No standing in front of flashing cameras with a smile that would never sit quite right on his lips.

With less aliens around and Hydra in hiding, this should have been a familiar scene; the Avengers posing and the people cheering. But for Bucky, the novelty had long worn off. The noise washed over him like waves lapping against a shore he couldn’t care to meet.

Shifting on his feet, his fingers brushing against the worn leather of his gloves, as if the urge to retreat was creeping under his skin. The cheers, the bright flashes of cameras, all blended into a muffled hum that made him wonder how soon he could slip away unnoticed.

Until he saw her.

She stood beneath the shade of a blooming cherry tree, the soft pink petals floating down around her as if nature itself wanted to frame her as a living art. 

Y/N. 

Bucky's breath was caught somewhere between inhaling and exhaling. Her mere presence had left him frozen. Then, the noise of the crowd slowly fading, the applause turning duller as his heart pounded in his chest, each beat harder, louder, until it drowned out the world around him. For a few painful moments, he felt as if his heart might force its way free from his ribcage, breaking him apart in the process.

She wore that sundress again. The light fabric swayed gently with each breeze, caressing her figure, the pastel colour that reminded him of the flowers he used to get for her. It was the same dress she’d worn that day; the day he realised falling for her wasn't a choice but a reality that had already happened. He swallowed hard, memories surging in torrents. Her laughter echoed in his ears, the way her eyes lit up when she spoke about things that mattered to her. 

Now however, beneath the sweet sundress and that familiar grace, there was a darkness under her eyes. Shadows etched into her delicate skin, sadness lingering; still and silent, behind the gaze that once held nothing but warmth. Bucky's jaw tightened as he took it all in, every unspoken truth laid bare on her face. He knew why; he’d heard whispers through mutual acquaintances. About the heaviness she tried to mask, about the pain she tried to live through. 

Seeing it now, in the flesh, was so much worse.

It broke him. 

Again. His chest ached, a raw wound ripped within his chest; for every moment she suffered and every part of him that couldn’t fix it. Bucky wanted to look away, but he couldn’t. It was as if an invisible vine had him rooted on earth, willing him to witness the toll their separation had taken on her. How ironic, he thought bitterly. For someone once considered a ghost by the world, he was all too aware of how haunting it felt to see her pain in living colour.

The bar had been crowded that night when they met, laughter and music clashing together in a storm of contagious intoxication. Bucky found his usual spot in the corner, however unusually alone this time. His shoulders hunched beneath his leather jacket; his gloved hands nursed a drink he wasn’t truly interested in. He was simply another brooding man in a bar, trying to swallow his own bitterness, trying to forget. Elena’s words, his ex’s words, echoed in his mind; taunting and cold, leaving a metallic taste on his tongue.

“Mind if I sit?”

Her voice cut through the noise. He’d looked up, barely masking his surprise. The woman standing before him was... a force of nature. She didn’t wait for his permission and slid into the seat beside him, a confident smile tugging at her lips. 

She was so bright, so unapologetically there. 

It almost felt disorienting. Her eyes sparkled like she’d already decided he was interesting and wasn’t about to change her mind. “You always brood like this, or is it a special occasion?” she teased, tilting her head.

“Special occasion,” he replied dryly, a hint of sarcasm colouring his tone. “Guess I’m lucky, huh?”

She laughed, loud and unfiltered, drawing curious looks. “I’ll drink to that,” she said, raising her glass to him as if they were old friends sharing a private joke.

Bucky fought to suppress the twitch of his lips. He wasn’t sure what to make of her. “What brings you to this fine establishment?” he asked, his voice flat but not harsh. “Looking to rescue sad souls like me?”

“Rescue?” She leaned in, eyes dancing with mischief. “Please. I’m here for the entertainment value.”

“Brutal,” he said, but he couldn’t help it; the corner of his mouth lifted. A real smile was threatening to form.

Y/N, as she introduced herself a few moments later, was a whirlwind of honesty and charm. She spoke without hesitation, as if every thought had a right to be voiced. She teased him about the gloves he refused to take off, made a biting but hilarious comment about her friend’s taste in men as she watched her and the man grinding it on the dance floor, and then, out of nowhere, zeroed in on him.

She gestured to his drink. “Let me guess. Your ex. She, or he, I don’t judge…” A tiniest smile curved on the corner of his lips. “She.” he clarified which was replied with a glint of interest in Y/N’s eyes. She nodded, “Okay, she left you for someone who didn’t know how to brood so attractively.”

Bucky choked on his drink, laughter erupting before he could help himself. It was warm and a little bashful, completely genuine. He hadn’t laughed like that in... he couldn’t remember how long.

Y/N was not expecting much tonight. She was literally dragged by her friends to ’go out, meet people, get laid’. Truthfully, she wasn’t really expecting anything more than a few hours of banter and maybe some fleeting connection, just enough to make her smile. Witty remarks, a few drinks, teasing anyone interesting enough to engage; that was her aim. 

But when she saw him, brooding in his corner, a storm trapped beneath layers of leather and cold eyes, curiosity overtook reason. She wanted to know if he would entertain her. 

And he did.

Bucky or as he introduced himself, James, was sarcasm wrapped in shadows, his words carrying a sharpness that wasn’t meant to hurt, just to deflect. She found it oddly endearing, a defence mechanism she recognized all too well. She wanted to pull more from him, so she leaned in, laughed too loudly, pressed buttons she guessed would make him react. 

At first, it was just fun.

But then he smiled. God, when he smiled, her world tilted; much against her will too. It was like the first hint of sunlight breaking through a dense, dark cloud. His laughter was warm and unpracticed, spilling out of him as if it surprised him too. The moment stretched, just for a heartbeat, but it was enough. 

Her heart momentarily shuddered. She could feel the heat rise to her cheeks, blooming a soft pink she couldn’t hide. So, she covered it with more wit, more charm, desperate to keep that smile there a second longer.

“I’m kidding. Kind of,” she said, eyes softening as she studied him. “But seriously, imagine missing out on you. That’s just sad at this point.”

But underneath the humour, there was a flutter of something much profound. It wasn’t supposed to happen. Her heartbeat raced and she felt exposed. How ridiculous, she thought, to be undone by a smile; a real one, genuine and imperfect, just as raw as her own attempt to draw it out.

The concept of time blurred after that. Drinks flowed, words tumbled out like secrets they didn’t know they were sharing. Banter turned into stories, laughter into pauses that spoke louder than the music blaring around them. At some point, she reached for his hand, not caring that it was gloved or why. Her fingers lingered, hesitant for half a breath, before resting there as if they’d been doing so for years. 

The air thickened and inches shrink.

When he kissed her, she found herself kissing him back with a need she hadn’t recognized before. It wasn’t about filling the void; at least, not only that. It was about the way he leaned into her touch, how he kissed like it was the last act that could hold him together. It was raw and open and imperfect and she was high on it.

Despite the fleeting, breath-stealing kisses they shared prior, Bucky had only meant to see her safely to her home. That was the plan, the line he swore he wouldn’t cross. But when her lips met his again just outside her apartment, everything unravelled. Her kiss was insistent, needy in a way that mirrored the ache deep inside him. She pulled him in, the door closing behind them, shutting out the world and any remnants of restraint he had left.

They stumbled to the bed, still fully dressed, every touch and kiss growing more urgent. Her hands found the edges of his jacket, fingers seeking to peel it away. But when she tugged, he pulled back, his breaths ragged. “Wait,” he murmured, eyes cast down. His hesitation was a stark contrast to the flames between them moments before.

She paused immediately, her gaze softening. “What’s wrong?” Her voice was gentle, careful not to push too hard but unwilling to let him slip away either.

“I’m not who you think I am,” he said, the words thick, heavy.

A crease formed between her brows. “What? Your name is not James?”

The question, so genuine and earnest, pulled a laugh from him; short, almost incredulous. “No. I am James, but…” He ran a gloved hand through his hair, avoiding her eyes.

“But…?” she prompted, leaning in, her attention unwavering.

“My name is James Buchanan Barnes,” he said, each syllable weighted.

For a moment, she was silent. He could see her piecing it together, searching for the meaning behind his words. Then understanding dawned, slow and certain. “You’re…” she began, just as he said, “The Winter Soldier.” But what came from her lips was, “The Avenger.”

They stared at each other, the tension snapping into something fragile, almost surreal. “What?” they both said in unison, the word a mix of disbelief and irony. 

The absurdity of it cracked something inside him, and he laughed; a real, deep laugh that felt like a release. She joined him, their laughter intertwining in a way that felt like a mutual understanding. At the moment, Bucky realised that she didn’t flinch or shrink back. She met him where he was, without hesitation. He felt a pull; unsettling but oddly comforting; and, for a split second, he let himself believe that maybe, just maybe, this could be different.

The humour melted into something more intense as she leaned closer, her hands found his again. “I want this, James,” she whispered, peeling away his glove. She cupped his cool, metal hand, pressing his palm against her cheek. The contrast of warmth against vibranium made his chest tighten. “I want you.” she spoke almost breathlessly; her eyes gazed up at him with an endearing plea.

His eyes darkened with a mix of desire and something much softer, “I want you too,” he said, his voice low, unguarded.

They moved together, shedding barriers with every kiss and touch. When their clothes finally fell away, they explored each other with as much urgency and wonder. Every touch, every movement was deliberate, almost desperate. He wanted to memorise her reactions. He wanted to give as much as he could.

It was raw and consuming, a night spent discovering each other. There was nothing mechanical, nothing detached. For hours, it was just them, bodies moving in unison and their moans and groans of pleasure mingling in a symphony that can challenge a siren’s song.

He found himself lost in her, in the way her skin felt beneath his, in the way she moaned for him. He couldn’t hold back, not when she responded to him with such hunger, her body moving against his with a need that matched his own. 

Every touch felt like a revelation, a new discovery, and he was pulled deeper into her, into the warmth and the rawness of the moment. It was as if time itself had stopped, and all that mattered was the heat of their connection.

When morning came, the light creeping in through the blinds, they lay bashfully, tangled in the sheets. For a few moments, there was only silence, a comfortable quiet punctuated by the slow return of reality. He turned to her, the words were heavy, he knew it, but he continued, “I’m not ready for… anything serious,” he admitted, hating the way it sounded, but knowing he owed her the truth.

She met his gaze, her expression soft and understanding. “That’s okay,” she said. “We don’t need to label it. It can be what it is.”

“Casual?” he asked, a hint of humour back in his voice.

She smiled, a touch of mischief in her eyes. “Casual.”

They both laughed, the sound soft and real. Whatever this was, for now, it was enough.

The next few months, their ‘casual’ arrangement became something she thought about far too often and yet tried to pretend wasn’t pressing too deep. The sex was undeniably great, almost maddeningly so. It wasn’t just the way he touched her, though that alone was enough to steal her breath; the careful, deliberate caresses that made her feel cherished and desired all at once. 

It was the way he explored her as if every inch of her, the weight of his attention, the way he moved with a mix of tenderness and hunger, as if he couldn’t decide whether to worship her or devour her. And maybe that was why it was so intoxicating; because she was falling for him, whether she wanted to admit it or not.

It wasn’t just the physical connection; it was everything in between. She fell for the way he could be painfully serious one moment and then crack the most unexpected joke, a hint of dry humour lighting up his eyes. She fell for the way he made sure her tea was always brewed just the way she liked, even though he claimed to be terrible at domestic things. 

She fell for his unspoken kindness; the way he would slip a blanket over her when she fell asleep on the couch, or his habit of standing protectively between her and crowded places without even thinking about it. It was all so subtle, so Bucky, and it deteriorated her defences bit by bit.

And Bucky on the other hand, tried not to let himself be too vulnerable around her. But Y/N had a warmth that made it hard for him to stay closed off. She didn’t push; she was just; a steady, comforting presence that felt like safety. Sometimes, without meaning to, he’d spill pieces of himself. 

Like the night he told her about Elena; the betrayal, the gaslighting on how she cheated on him because of him; it was his trauma and depression that had driven her away. As if she was trying to make it worse, as if she had a vendetta to isolate him from everyone else. 

And Y/N had listened without judgement, her eyes soft with compassion. “That’s not on you,” she had whispered, her hand covering his. “She was the problem, not you.” When the weight of his past grew too heavy, she was there.

And when she opened up about her own scars; the ex who wouldn’t leave her alone, the fear that lingered in the shadows; Bucky listened, fierce protectiveness hardening his features. That night, instead of touching each other’s body, they caressed each other’s innermost scars. They’d talk late into the night; their words heavy, but never too much for the other to bear.

And ever since their dynamic was a shifting dance, effortlessly dirty and playful one minute, his lips teasing at her neck, their words to each other were dripping with sin. The next, they’d be soft and tender, his forehead pressed to hers as they simply breathed together. And then there were the quiet, deep moments; when silence spoke more than words, and they found comfort just in being close, in the simple act of not being alone. 

It was everything, all tangled together, and it made it so easy, too damn easy, to fall in love with him. She knew she shouldn’t, but with Bucky, it felt inevitable.

Then, one in those blissful days, after another night of incredible sex, Bucky laid beside her, his chest still heavy with the aftermath of their intimacy. His eyes traced the soft curves of her form as she rested, her skin glowing in the dim light. 

She looked almost ethereal; untouchable, like something too perfect for him. The weight of her presence next to him was both comforting and painful, tightening his chest with a longing he couldn’t name. Shifting slightly, he cleared his throat, his voice rough when he finally spoke, the words slipping out before he could stop them. “I’m going back to Elena,” he confessed, the statement hanging heavily in the air. 

For a moment, there was something in his eyes; a flicker of hesitation, of conflict, as if he desperately wanted to hold onto what they had, as if saying the words was a battle he was losing with every breath. 

But whatever war raged within him never fully translated in the way she saw him. To Y/N, his words felt resolute, laced with a kind of tenderness that made it hurt even more. He seemed sorry; deeply, genuinely. But the weight of his decision pressed down between them, undeniable.

She went still for a moment and he could feel the tension radiating from her. The way her body seemed to freeze, her breath caught in her throat. She didn’t respond at first, her gaze distant, focusing somewhere far away as though she needed a moment to process. Bucky’s chest felt heavy with the weight of his own words, the urge to take them back gnawing at him. 

Yet he kept his expression neutral, as if none of this hurt him. He needed to see this through, even if every second felt like he was tearing himself apart. “This…being here with you, touching you like this… this will be the last time,” he added, the sound of his voice was low but remained adamant.

Y/N had always known, somewhere deep down, that this day would come. They had both agreed that what they had was casual, temporary, nothing more than a passing thing. They had agreed their connection was fleeting; simply a series of borrowed moments. But even as she tried to convince herself it was fine, she knew better. 

Nothing about what they shared was truly casual. They’d been there for each other in ways no one else had. When the world had been cruel to him, scrutinising him for his past as the Winter Soldier, she’d been his quiet strength, the one who never judged him, never flinched. And when her own demons resurfaced, casting shadows over her life; he’d been the one there, standing between her and her doom. He had been her rock, just as she had been his. 

They were each other's strength, each other's solace.

'Has it ever really been casual?' But she couldn’t voice those thoughts. She wouldn’t burden him with her feelings when he already carried so much of his own. She wouldn’t beg for more than he could offer. 

With a soft breath, she forced herself to smile, her fingers brushing over his cheek, committing every moment to memory before it slipped away. “Will this make you happy?” she asked, her voice steady, though pain lingered beneath the surface.

Bucky’s heart twisted, but he nodded, the lie coming too easily. “Yes,” he said, his voice lacking conviction even as he tried to seem sure. He averted his eyes, hoping she wouldn’t see past the facade.

Her smile wavered, but she fought to hold it in place. She wanted to show him that she was fine, that she wasn’t falling apart. But as she pressed her smile into place, a single tear slipped from her eye, tracing a quiet path down her cheek. She wiped it away quickly, but it was already there; a silent confession of the pain he couldn’t see.

“Then, I guess this is goodbye,” she whispered, barely audible.

She leaned in, her forehead resting against his, her breath warm against his lips. And then she kissed him; softly, deeply, as if it would be their last.

Because, in this moment, it felt like it was.

The days blurred into weeks, and then months, each one dragging by with a dull ache that Y/N couldn’t shake. She buried herself in work, refusing to let her mind linger on what she’d lost. When that wasn't enough, she picked up freelance gigs; anything that kept her mind too occupied even thought about pain and the aching emptiness Bucky’s absence had left behind. 

It was easier that way; easier to drown in deadlines and endless to-do lists than to confront the hollowness. And through all this time, there were not a single call, or texts from Bucky. Just silence. Rationally, she knew it was for the best. He was a hero, after all; his life pulled him in a thousand different directions. And she told herself she was fine.

But late at night, when the world grew quiet, she could still feel it; the loss that crept into her bones and refused to let go. Most of the time, she'd catch herself staring at the ceiling, replaying the touch of his hand, the sound of his laughter, the way he had looked at her as if she were his whole world, even if just for a moment. She tried to shake it off, to convince herself that it was all just an illusion, but the hole in her chest ached too deeply to ignore.

Time passed. The headlines told of his deeds; how he saved countless lives, how the public finally began to accept him, to see him not just as a relic of violence and pain, but as a hero. She should’ve felt proud. Maybe, on some level, she did. But every article, every broadcast, every mention of him only twisted the knife deeper. 

At times, she’d pause whatever she was doing when his name flashed across the screen. It was a reflex, a sudden, uncontrollable urge to reach for something she could never have. She’d feel her chest tighten, her emotions were a blend of pride and pain. Why did she feel like this, like she wasn’t needed, like she was somehow unwanted by the man who had once looked at her like she was everything?

Even then, she couldn’t help but feel proud. No matter how much it hurts, she was happy for him. She remembered the sleepless nights when his past came alive in nightmares; when he’d thrash and murmur apologies with a voice cracked by guilt. She could still feel the weight of him in her arms as he clung to her in the dark, his breath shuddering against her neck, whispering, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry.” The memory of it made her chest ache; the rawness of his pain had always cut her deep, but it had also made her want to be his safe place, his haven.

She thought of those nights often. The way he’d hold her as if she were a shield against the ghosts that hunted him, how he’d bury his face in her shoulder to block out the world’s judgement. She’d whispered reassurances, stroked his hair, and wished she could take away every ounce of his pain. Seeing him now, standing tall, saving lives, and slowly being accepted by the world; it filled her with a bittersweet pride. 

He deserved every bit of recognition, every chance to rebuild himself.

But the cost of that pride was the deep loneliness that came with it; the reminder that he was out there saving the world while she was left to save herself from missing him. She wanted to be enough, to be the one he leaned on, but it was clear now that his path led somewhere she couldn’t follow. So she pushed forward, forced herself to be strong, and told herself that being happy for him was enough.

When the crowd at the Central Park continued to roar with excitement, time seemed like it stopped for Bucky and Y/N. And then they were standing in front of one another again, the air between them held a weight, as if every word left unspoken all those nights was pressing against the space between them. Bucky’s eyes flickered; momentarily shocked, yet he didn’t falter. 

Even then, Y/N saw it. She saw the look in his eyes that she knew too well, the look he had when it was just them, wrapped up in stolen hours that no one knew about. She forced a smile, warm and soft, the very same that she used to give him in those silent times, when their skins were pressed against each other, and everything else didn't matter. 

His heart ached with a need he thought he’d buried. He thought he had let her go. He kept telling himself he was not in love, that she was just someone to keep his bed warm, to fill the empty space his past had left behind. At least, that was what he told himself, over and over, like a mantra meant to dull the edges of the truth.

But deep down, he knew it was a lie; a desperate deception crafted to shield him from the vulnerability clawing at his walls. He was not fooling anyone, not himself at least. Each night he spent denying the way his pulse quickened at the thought of her touch, each time he claimed he felt nothing, the thin layer of defence cracked beneath the weight of untold longing. It was easier to lie, to pretend he didn’t care, than to face the reality that she had carved her place inside him, far deeper than he wanted to admit.

Now, seeing her again, smiling at him as if it didn't shatter her heart when he left, it was like he’d been hollowed out. 

And the time that seemingly stopped, abruptly resumed to its pace when they walked past each other. No words crossed their lips, but their eyes spoke a language that was theirs alone; a language that carried echoes of every touch, every laugh, every shared moment.

‘I miss you,’ their gazes whispered, even as the distance between them widened with each step.

They kept walking.

That night, Bucky found himself in front of her apartment. When she opened the door, it was as if she was expecting someone. Not him, but someone. Her breath caught in her throat when she saw him standing there, broad shoulders taut and expression unreadable. 

For a second, neither of them spoke. The sight of her; dressed in a fitted dress that draped elegantly over her figure, accentuating every line and curve, stole the air from his lungs. It was the kind of dress she used to wear when they’d go out on a date, the kind that never failed to send his thoughts swirling in the gutter. No thoughts, just lust. 

She looked stunning. Ethereal even. But, painfully out of reach.

Y/N blinked. Shock, confusion, and hurt flashing in her eyes, as if the memories of what they’d had; and how it ended, came crashing back all at once. “Hey… James. What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice tight and Bucky was never used to it.

He swallowed hard, his eyes drifting to her lips and lingering there longer than he intended. “Out for a date?” he murmured, evading her question, the words tasting like lead.

“Yeah…Kind of.” she replied, guarded. Silence stretched between them, heavy with unsaid things. Finally, he spoke again, his voice a low rasp. “Can I come in?”

She studied him warily, the hurt in her eyes morphing into something sharper. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea, James.”

“Please,” he said, and the desperation in his tone softened her resolve just enough. She stepped aside reluctantly. “You gotta be quick,” she said, almost dismissively. “Josh is on the way.”

The mention of another man’s name was like a knife twisting in his chest. Bucky forced himself to stay still, to not let his expression betray him, but inside, he felt raw, the bitterness coiling deep.

Once inside, she crossed her arms over her chest, a defensive barrier between them. “Talk,” she said flatly.

He paced, trying to find the words. “It wasn’t real,” he started, voice thick. “Me and Elena getting back together; it was a mission. She was suspected of being a mole.” he paused as he studied her reaction, ” We couldn’t risk telling you. We had to make it look real. ”

She stared at him, eyes wide with disbelief, as if trying to grasp the whirlwind of his sudden appearance. “You’re here for that? To explain yourself?” There was incredulity in her voice, mingled with raw, exhausted pain that came from reopening old wounds.

“Yes.” Bucky’s voice was firm but edged with something close to desperation. “We managed to capture her.” He took a deep breath, his gaze searching hers. “We had to keep the mission under wraps, Y/N. We couldn’t risk word getting out… not after what happened with S.H.I.E.L.D. We couldn’t have another Hydra situation, or anything that even looked like it.”

He paused, the tension in his jaw tightening. “It turns out her plan was to isolate me. To make me even more vulnerable than I already am, before they…” His words faltered, heavy and incomplete, as if finishing the sentence would make it all too real. 

But he didn’t need to say more. Y/N’s eyes widened slightly, the realisation clear in her expression. She was smart; too smart not to piece it together. She knew what Bucky feared most. He’d be dragged back into Hydra’s grasp, or worse, used as a pawn by some other twisted organisation. 

It was a fate too cruel to name, and he could see in her eyes that she already understood.

Her brow furrowed, processing everything Bucky had explained thus far. A mixture of confusion and anger flitting across her features. “So that was it?” she demanded. “I was just collateral damage?”

“No,” he said quickly, the word breaking from him like a plea. “No. It wasn’t like that. I wanted to protect you. We all did.” He hesitated, voice dropping to a rough whisper. “I did.”

She scoffed, a bitter edge cutting through her words. “Unbelievable. I smiled at you one time, James—one time—and you think you can just come back into my life like you own it?”

The accusation hung between them, and the depth of her frustration was like a dam bursting. He recoiled slightly, horrified by the thought that he’d hurt her so deeply. “No,” he said quickly, shaking his head. “That’s not what this is. I didn’t want to just—”

She cut him off with a sharp, biting word. “Bullshit!” The accusation hit him like a physical blow, but he pressed on, desperation bleeding into his tone. “I just wanted to tell you the truth,” he said, his voice tight with urgency. “That it was all fake.”

“Fake?” She echoed the word with a harsh, bitter laugh that rang with disbelief. It stung him, sharp as a slap across the face. “It looked pretty damn real to me, James. You don’t think I saw the pictures? The headlines? How you were with her?”

“It was a cover, Y/N. I didn’t have a choice.”

Her eyes flashed, anger and betrayal burning bright. She took a step toward him, as if the weight of her hurt couldn’t be contained. “You didn’t have a choice? You had a choice when you came to me, when you told me it was over. When you ripped my heart out, did you have a choice then?”

Bucky flinched, the impact of her words like a physical blow, but he held his ground. “I was trying to protect you.”

“By hurting me?” Her voice cracked, raw and trembling. “By tearing me apart?”

Silence crashed over them, heavy and suffocating. Her chest heaved, each breath ragged. “By leaving me behind?” she whispered, her words dripping with the weight of every unspoken wound. “By pretending like what we had meant nothing?”

He stepped closer, the space between them suffocating and electric. “It wasn’t nothing,” he said, his voice quivering. “It was everything. You were everything.”

She shook her head, tears slipping down her cheeks unchecked. “I don’t believe you.”

With a trembling hand, Bucky reached for her face, cupping her cheeks as though she were something fragile. His thumb brushed away her tears, his touch reverent, aching. “I love you, Y/N,” he breathed, the confession breaking through the dam of his restraint. “From the start, when we laughed about that ridiculous introduction; me, calling myself the Winter Soldier and you insisting I was an Avenger—I knew it then.”

He swallowed hard, blinking through tears. “But it wasn’t just that. It was how you saw me; not the killer, not the broken man, but me. The way you’d smile at me, like I was worth something. The nights you stayed awake, holding me when I couldn’t breathe, when the nightmares felt too real. The way you’d whisper that I wasn’t alone. No one ever did that for me. No one.”

He paused, the rawness in his expression deepening. “I knew it was too late when I realized I’d been in love with you for a while. It hit me that day at Sally’s, remember?” His voice grew softer, distant with memory. “It was spring. You wore that sundress you bragged about getting for next to nothing at a thrift store. The sunlight made your hair glow, and you laughed at something ridiculous; a dog chasing bubbles, I think. I couldn’t stop looking at you. It wasn’t just the dress or the moment. It was the way you made everything feel… lighter. Like I could breathe again. Like the past didn’t own me.”

He let out a shaky breath, his thumb tracing along her jawline. “I realized then that I was in deep. That it was more than just a moment. And it terrified me, because I thought I’d ruin it. Ruin you.” His voice cracked, weighted with a mix of love and regret.

His shoulders shook as he let out a ragged breath, the tears spilling over. “It’s the way you laugh, the way you fight for everyone you care about. How you make me feel like I’m more than my past… God, I tried so hard to keep you safe. Even if it meant pushing you away. But it killed me, Y/N. Every day.”

She stared at him, stunned and raw, her own tears falling. His hands cradled her face gently, his touch trembling. “I love you,” he said again, more desperately. “I love you for every moment you gave me hope when I thought I couldn’t be saved. I love you for being there, even when I didn’t deserve it. And I don’t want to lose you again.”

He leaned in, their faces inches apart, his tears mixing with hers as he whispered, “I’m so sorry. For everything.”

She closed her eyes, letting his words wash over her, feeling the sincerity in every broken syllable. For a heartbeat, it seemed she would turn away. But then, her voice cracked, trembling with everything she’d buried. “I love you too,” she breathed, voice shaking. “I never stopped.”

His forehead touched hers, their breaths mingling, raw and vulnerable. Slowly, their lips met, soft at first, then deeper, a kiss that spoke of everything they had denied and everything they still longed for. In each other’s touch, everything else faded, leaving only the truth between them.

End.

Read my other works here: Masterlist

A/N: i was planning to do a descriptive smut scene at first, but after piecing everything from my draft and re-reading the overall flow, i don't think it's suitable to include it in this. perhaps another time, a side/extra story maybe. i hope y'all okay with that and enjoy your reading 🥺

[tumbleweed-run]

Want

(18+, Explicit) Kinktober 2023 Day 7: virginity

“There you are, I was wondering if you’d changed your mind,” Gale tried to make sound light, a little joke between the two of you but you could hear the undercurrent of tension in his words. 

“I’m sorry,” you said earnestly, letting your hand rest on his shoulder as you sat. “I got caught up asking Wyll something.”

That was a lie, and one you felt a little guilty telling him, but the real reason you were delayed was a bit more embarrassing. You’d been sitting by the fire going over conversations in your head. Or rather, how to have a very specific conversation. One you still weren’t exactly sure how to approach. 

The truth of the matter was, physically you were a virgin. Even though you’d had mind-blowing, life-changing, astral sex with Gale just before fighting Ketheric your body was still very much the virgin it had been before that night. 

Gale, of course, didn’t know that fact. It wasn’t something you advertised to potential suitors. 

It wasn’t that you were some prudish untouchable. You’d had your fair share of odd groping as a teen (and adult) and were intimately familiar with your own body. You’d just never had actual sex using your body. 

That was an odd distinction to have to make.

You weren’t ashamed of it, it was just something that didn’t happen. Some people never had the opportunity to try certain foods or go certain places, you’d never had the opportunity to have sex. Or rather, you had the chance a few times, but the partners were decidedly less than ideal. 

You realized that keeping this fact from Gale was becoming increasingly like keeping a secret. You needed to tell him, and you needed to do it before he decided to take advantage of the relative quiet of the journey from the Shadowlands to Baldur’s Gate. 

“You seem quiet,” Gale prodded, bumping his shoulder into yours. 

“A lot on my mind,” you admitted vaguely. You bumped your shoulder into his but stayed there, leaning into his warmth. 

Gale hummed in agreement. “It’s odd this calm before the proverbial storm.” 

You felt him press a kiss into your hair. 

“I need to tell you something, but you can’t make a big deal about it,” you said eventually after allowing yourself to sink into the comfort of the moment. 

You felt Gale’s body stiffen, no doubt anticipating the worst kind of confession. Though at this point you weren’t sure what Gale would consider the the worst.

“Alright, I’m intrigued,” He said very neutrally. 

You took a deep breath and sat up right, giving yourself the space for this. “Just to be clear, that night, our bodies weren’t actually… involved.” You were hopeful maybe you were wrong and you’d just missed all the awkwardness because you’re mind was literally somewhere else. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Gale’s head cock to the side. “Ah no, they weren’t,” he agreed, unknowingly dashing your hopes, “it looks a bit strange to an outsider, I admit, but alas our corporeal selves were exactly where we left them.”

“Why?” He tacked on after a pause. 

“Well, that would mean that I’m still technically a virgin.” You made your admission rather quickly, words bumping into one another as you spat it out, hoping to get this odd conversation out of the way. 

Gale was unusually quiet and when you finally turned your head to look at him you saw about a thousand emotions cross his face. 

“You’re a…” he trailed off.

You waited.

“Virgin?” his voice had risen almost comically. 

“Yes,” you confirmed.

“But you’re-”

“Yes, I know how old I am,” you interrupted rolling your eyes at him. 

“You mean you’ve never…?” Another incomplete sentence from your usually verbose wizard. 

“That would be what that means, yes,” you confirmed… again. 

You sighed and turned your body so you could look at Gale easily. “It’s not that I’m some innocent. I’ve had the odd kissing session in a dark room, its just never gone any farther. Not to mention I’m concerningly familiar with my own hand and also that one odd pillow in my…”

You trailed off as you watched Gale’s eyes darken. He cleared his throat and shifted. Idly you wondered which of those revelations had affected him so.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He sounded almost hurt. 

“It never came up,” you admitted, “first, you were at risk of blowing us all up and then we ended up having sex astrally. I would have told you if we’d been… physically involved,” you assured him, fighting with yourself as to how exactly word things. 

Gale seemed to absorb this information with acceptance. “Well I guess that means my plans for tonight are off the table.”

“What? Why?” You sounded genuinely alarmed, surprising even yourself. 

Gale smiled a small, exasperated thing. “My love, I can’t have you bedded properly for the first time in some wood in the middle of nowhere.”

“You absolutely can,” you insisted.

He chuckled and took your hand. Normally you would have seen a similar move as patronizing but there was nothing but love and adoration shining from Gale’s eyes. “We can be together astrally, again.”

“No,” you huffed pulling your hand away, growing frustrated. This wasn’t why you’d told him. “I want you,” you insisted, “I want you, for real. Here.”

Gale shook his head again, “but you deserve-”

“Gale,” you moved up onto your knees so you could hold his face between your hands, “this is about what I want. And what I want is your actual physical cock inside of me, here in this clearing. Tonight, preferably.”

Whatever Gale had been expecting, that confession wasn’t it. His mouth dropped open. 

“Are you sure?” He asked eventually. 

You nodded, vigorously, “yes.”

“Then I will give you what you want.”

You leaned forward and kissed him. Gale gathered an arm around your waist and laid backward, pulling you with him. You laid across his chest, eagerly allowing yourself to get lost in kissing him. 

You shifted, slotting your body between his legs. Gale groaned when your thighs brushed against his cock, already half-hard. Taking advantage, you pressed your tongue between his lips. His hands slid down your back to your ass, cupping it he pulled you up and closer. 

“How many young lads did you lead into dark corners, only to leave them with their hopes dashed?” Gale teased when you two finally separated for air. 

You laughed. “I never said I left them unfulfilled.”

Gale shook his head with an amused smile. “I assure you every lad who left without bedding you was unfulfilled in some regard.”

“I think,” you smoothed a hand against his chest, “you think too highly of me.”

“Not possible,” Gale reassured. His expression changed as you watched, from playful to something more sincere. 

“What have you done with others?” He asked all of a sudden. 

Now, you felt you might be a little offended. “Gale, I wasn’t saying that-”

“No, no,” he shook his head, “I don’t care if you’ve had a thousand cocks in your mouth. Confused, perhaps, but I want to know specifically what has been done to you that hasn’t come from your own hand… or pillow I suppose.”

“Oh,” you felt a little sheepish now.

With out warning his hands slid to your thighs and he lifted you, pulling your legs apart, forcing you to straddle him. You could feel his cock pressing against your core. You fought down the urge to grind against it. 

“Has anyone ever made you come with their mouth?” Gale asked then.

You shook your head, a warmth crawling down your neck at the thought. 

“Their fingers?” He continued. 

Again, you shook your head. “Twice I've had someone’s hand down my pants,” you admitted, “but it was awkward and they never really did much.”

“Maybe you’re lucky,” Gale mused, “boys tend not to think beyond their own needs.”

“And men are any different?” You challenged. 

Gale’s eyes darkened as he looked at you now. “Not all, but this one, yes. Your needs are mine.” He rolled his hips up then, grinding his cock against you. 

“Oh,” the sound felt like it was punched out of you. Happily, you rocked your hips back down against him. 

Gale’s hands went to your hips, holding you from doing anything further. You tried to roll them again and frowned when he wouldn’t let you. 

“I promise I will pay as much attention to your pretty cunt as you can stand,” he started, “but I need you to promise you’ll stop me if anything makes you uncomfortable.”

There was an edge to his final words, and you knew anything less than an agreement that he’d leave you untouched. 

“I promise,” you repeated. 

“Good girl,” He rewarded, his words shooting straight to your core. You absolutely did not look at him in an attempt to hide that knowledge from him. His chuckle let you know it had been unsuccessful. 

He released your hips and you ground down on him once more. 

In a testament to Gale’s self-control, or perhaps his determination, his hands moved to the ties of your trousers. When he’d finished opening them, he rolled you both so he was above you. He sat back on his legs and slid backward before working to shimmy your bottoms off before discarding them in a pile nearby.

He gently pushed your legs and you laid back, allowing him to bend your knees. He gently pushed at them so they dropped to the side. You shivered both from the complete exposure of the position he’d put you in and also from missing his warmth on you. 

“Fingers or mouth?” Gale asked, hands sliding down your thighs, ever closer to where you truly wanted them. 

“I believe I said cock,” you retorted. 

A light pinch was delivered to your thigh and you jumped, startled but not actually in pain. “Soon,” Gale promised, “for now, though, those are your options.”

“Mouth,” you answered with almost no hesitation.

Above you, Gale smiled, apparently pleased with your answer. “Do you want anything? A pillow,” he asked rather than doing what you’d asked for. 

“I want,” you answered a bit snappier than you’d meant, “for you to touch me.”

“Some day, I will have you without risk of interruption.” Gale wasn’t really talking to you it seemed. Still, you wondered what he meant by that. You hoped something wicked. 

All thoughts left your mind when you felt his fingers spread you open even further. You were about to remind him you’d said mouth, unable to resist the urge to push against whatever side of him you were seeing, when you felt his breath hot against you. That urge fled, just as quickly as your thoughts. 

You cried out when he swiped his tongue between your folds. Quickly you pulled your arm across your mouth, aware the camp wasn’t too far off. Gale didn’t seem at all concerned though as he began tracing maddening paths with the tip of his tongue. 

Somehow he was touching you where you wanted and yet seeming to avoid it all together. A growl ripped out of you in frustration and you tried to slide down closer to his mouth. An arm flew across your hips quickly, preventing you from moving anywhere. You were about to say something, beg even, when his tongue finally found your clit. You cried out, free hand threading itself in Gale’s hair. If you couldn’t move closer to him, you could at least pin him to you. He didn’t seem too bothered by this thought, tracing his tongue down you again, this time pressing it inside of you. 

“Shit,” you cursed hips ineffectively trying to grind down again. 

Gale, in some act of benevolence or maybe because he was enjoying your reactions, move his arm from across your hips. He instead pushed his hand under your ass forcing you to tilt your hips up towards him. He moved his attention back to your clit. You felt the walls of your pussy begin pulsing around nothing and you whimpered.

“Fingers,” you gasped, pulling your arm from your face. 

Gale either didn’t hear you or was ignoring you. A few more seconds of attention to your clit and then his teeth gently nipped against it. 

“Fuck,” you cried out as your orgasm hit, once again pulling Gale against you. You couldn’t help but shamelessly grind against his face as you came. 

He stayed there, tongue licking broad stripes up and down your center until you stilled. Only then did he gently disentangle your hands from his hair and sit up.

He knelt between your still-spread legs, a hand gently cupping your cunt. He was watching you closely, pleased with whatever he saw he gently began kneading against you. 

“Will you fuck me now?” You asked unable to help the way your hips chase up at the contact. 

He shook his head. Briefly, you were mesmerized by the way his beard, glistening with your wetness, reflected the light. 

“Why not?” You whined, which wasn’t exactly how you’d meant to say that. 

Gale chuckled before leaning over you to press a kiss on your lips. You could smell yourself on him, taste it even when he pulled away. Far from being turned off by that fact you found yourself wanting to kiss him again. 

“Fingers, first,” he said and demonstratively slipped a finger beneath your folds to press against your entrance. 

He easily pressed the finger into you, finding no resistance when he did. Gently he began pressing it in and out, every time he ground the heel of his palm against your clit until your hips were rolling with his movement. 

His eyes never left your face when he began pressing a second finger into you. You nodded, trying to pull them deeper but he only continued pressing the new digit into at a slow pace. 

“Gods,” you moaned when his fingers were pressed into you completely. 

“Not quite,” he answered with a wry smile. 

You were quickly distracted when you realized he was refusing to move his fingers in you. He was just grinding his hand to your clit, and while it felt amazing it wasn’t what you wanted. 

“Gale,” you whined rolling your hips in an effort to get some movement inside of you. 

That was his aim, apparently. Gale held his hand still and allowed you to fuck yourself on his fingers. You grew brazen, chasing after the grinding sensation as well with a roll of your hips. He watched you with a scrutiny that had your body flushing. Gradually you realized he had begun gently scissoring his fingers inside of you, pressing you open wider each time you pulled away from them. 

His fingers were thick and you felt yourself clench around them at the thought of what he’d (hopefully) be replacing them with. You realized, in a passing thought, that you’d struggle to watch his spell casting in a normal way ever again. 

You felt another orgasm building and with great effort stilled your own hips. 

“Please,” you groaned out, “I want you inside me. Please, I’m ready,” you were shamelessly begging. 

“Yes,” Gale agreed before finally thrust his fingers in and out of you a few times and then with drawing them entirely. 

He was quick about removing his own trousers. His cock sprung free and slapped against his stomach, in the moonlight you could make out a bead of precum on the tip.

Your mouth watered. 

Gale didn’t allow your thought to wander any further before settling between your legs. One hand hooked around the back of a thigh and hiked up your leg against him. 

“Tell me if this hurts, despite what you’ve heard it doesn’t have to,” he said leaning over you, bracing himself with his free arm. 

You would rather die, you realized as you nodded a lie to him. 

The head of his cock pressed against your entrance, but he didn’t move any further. It appeared he’d also put you in a position where he could keep you from pushing down on it. You wondered if it was forethought or simply a coincidence. 

When he pressed inside your head collapsed fully against the ground. He was certainly bigger than anything that had been inside you before, his thick fingers included. Painstakingly Gale began pressing into you. His movements were slow and controlled, making sure to keep you immobile. The sensation was uncomfortable but not painful as he stretched you even further. 

You couldn’t help but be grateful, now, for his refusal to fuck you immediately.

When he bottomed out, hips pinned against yours, he groaned head dropping forward. You felt the muscle of his thigh tremble against yours. You were secretly pleased as he struggled to maintain his composure. 

You tried to wait him out, trust him as he had only thought of you so far, but your patience only extended so far. Experimentally you clenched around his cock. 

“Shit,” he groaned, hips stuttering as he restrained a thrust. 

“Please,” you whispered once again fluttering around him, “please.”

Gale pulled out only a little before slowly thrusting into you. It wasn’t much but your eyes rolled back. 

He kept it that way, small shallow thrusts until there was almost no resistance when he did. Then, he began working back further before thrusting into you. He was grunting with each thrust, head hanging low so his forehead was resting against your chest. 

“Gale,” you whined unable to take the coddling much longer. 

It seemed his restraint was hanging on by a thread because his hips snapped up against yours, much harder than any previous movement. 

“Yes,” you cried out in response. 

Gale began truly fucking you then. He was mumbling something against you but the sound of your skin slapping against one another was drowning him out. Your own hips were moving now, too, the hand on your thigh had loosed so he was not longer holding you still. 

“Touch yourself,” he said, voice strained, finally loud enough for you to hear. 

You were able to slide a hand between the two of you. Instead of touching yourself right away you pushed your finger further down enjoying the sensation of the slide of his cock in and out of you. 

Abruptly Gale pushed up so he was sitting back on his knees. Both hands sliding under your hips in order to tilt you up so he never slid fully from inside of you. 

“Now, please,” he groaned out and you realized he was holding back his own orgasm. 

Hurriedly you found your clit with your fingers, this new position making it easier. You rubbed quickly and efficiently in a way you’d long learned would bring you off. 

“Beautiful, you’re so beautiful,” Gale babbled above you. “Come for me, I want to see your face this time.”

It was his words more than your fingers that pushed you over the edge. You whimpered and he began thrusting harder as you squeezed around him. 

Gale came with a shout, eyes screwing shut. He pinned your hips together once more as he spilled inside of you. He rode out his own orgasm like that, hips rolling slightly with each pulse. Once he was done, Gale gently lowered your hips back to the ground, allowing himself to slip out of you.

You extended your hand up to him and when he took it you pulled him down against your chest.

“Next time I think I want to ride you,” you told him after a moment of quiet. 

Gale laughed before tilting his head up to capture your lips in a kiss. 

[suzukiblu]

. . . anyway LISTEN I told 'yall November was gonna be "obligatory sugar daddy Tim/sugar baby Kon AU" month, and I really did not INTEND to post my daily words for it again this year but also, like, fuck it, we ball. No promises I will update EVERY day this time around but again: fuck it, we ball. ( also uhhhhh I've been writing this fic kinda-sorta-semi out of order lately but there is still a significant chunk of word count I'd already written that I would've pre-gamed and posted YESTERDAY if I'd thought I was gonna be doing this, sooooo hope nobody minds us kickin' off the month with like an extra 5.9k on top of the 1.6k of obligatory sugar that I ACTUALLY wrote today behind this here cut? yes? no?? Bueller???? )

get sugared, Super-boytoy. Tim, you just . . . you just do your future-supervillain best over there, buddy. you just do what you can with yourself. prev: (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“I wanted to,” Tim says again, and Kon glances away and bites his lip, turning the flowers by the stem again. 

“It’s, uh–pretty,” he says, then clears his throat. “I mean, it’s–cool. Thanks.” 

“If I can’t bring you fresh ones, well . . .” Tim shrugs. Kon glances back to him, and very briefly presses one of the orchid blooms against his own mouth. His face is still all flushed and his eyes are still a little soft, and it’s . . . it makes a picture, alright, even if it's not one Tim's specifically set up to take. Especially with the gold eyeliner and his blue eyes both matching the orchids. 

Tim didn't plan that, obviously, but he thinks it makes up for the sapphire versus ruby thing.

“Um . . .” Kon trails off, biting his lip. Glances down at the orchids from under his lashes. It doesn't make him any less of a picture, for sure. “So, um–do you wanna see the ‘something nice’ I got?” 

Tim blinks, immediately thinks of the most embarrassing option that Kon could possibly mean, and desperately tries to fight back a mortified flush at the idea. But, well–everything he can see Kon wearing is something he remembers buying him already, so . . . 

Oh god, he needs his brain to shut up right now. Immediately. Right now and immediately and forever. 

“Sure,” he says like a normal person, trying not to panic. “What is it?” 

Kon, thank god, pulls a little rectangular package inexplicably–and inexpertly–wrapped in newspaper comics out of the same coat pocket he tucked the jewelry box in. There's plain white string tied around it in a bow. 

Tim . . . blinks. 

If he didn't know better, he'd think Kon had . . . 

“I, um, got you something?” Kon says, and Tim stares blankly at the package. He–what? “For once, anyway. Well, I guess, uh, technically you got it for yourself, and actually this is kinda stupid maybe, you can literally just get yourself whatever you want whenever, obviously, but I just thought, uh–” 

“You got me something?” Tim repeats in surprise. Kon turns pink and shoves the package at him. Tim is too bewildered not to take it. 

“I thought it’d be, uh–fun,” he says, biting his lip and still very visibly blushing. “I mean–that we could have some fun with it. Y’know?” 

Tim stares at the package for another moment, then looks up at Kon. Alright, this maybe isn’t exactly the vibe he was going for here in terms of who’s paying for what and who’s giving things to who, but . . . well, Kon apparently used his allowance for whatever this is, at least, which gives him a reason to have wanted the allowance, so . . . he can work with that, he figures. Like, it’s an “in” to work from; a step in the process. 

He can’t tell what Kon’s gotten him from the shape of the package, though the edges are hard even though it doesn’t feel like it’s in a box or anything. “Have some fun” isn’t much of a clue, though he supposes it does imply something interactive. Maybe it’s a game of some kind, or–

Tim unties the bow and splits apart the clumsy seam of the comic-page wrapping paper with his thumb, tugging through its layers to reveal the package’s contents, and Kon flushes a little darker and watches him just a little bit nervously. 

Tim doesn’t actually know what to say. 

“I just thought, um, a real one’d probably take better pictures than a phone can,” Kon says sheepishly, slanting his eyes away and half-hiding his face behind the orchids. “I made sure the battery was charged and the guy at the store said it's got a lot of storage, I guess, so . . .” 

“You got me a camera,” Tim says blankly, which is the most bewildering possible thing that Kon could have gotten him short of, like . . . no, it’s pretty much just the most bewildering possible thing that Kon could have gotten him. By far it’s the most bewildering possible thing that Kon could have gotten him. 

“You like taking pictures, right?” Kon fidgets a little, then smiles just barely shyly as he glances back at him. Tim's heart skips a few beats. Or more than just “a few”, maybe. “So, um–I thought maybe we could go do that . . . somewhere. You know, after dinner.” 

“Oh,” Tim says, blinking at him a little stupidly. It’s not a particularly good camera, honestly–like, it’s a perfectly functional model for casual amateur use and a decently reliable commercial brand, but he’s got much better ones that are all professional-quality. He hasn’t used any of them in a while and most of them are admittedly a few years old now, but . . . yeah, this was a hundred bucks max, if that, and his cheapest camera was over five hundred. 

Note to self: raise Kon’s allowance. 

Also, apparently now his favorite camera is the kind of camera civilian amateurs just take random family photos on. Apparently that’s a thing. 

Tim really doesn’t know how to feel about the fact that Kon not only remembered something he mentioned having an interest in, Kon bothered to actually get him something he thought he’d have an interest in. That is really, really not the dynamic he’s been encouraging here, for one thing. And also, why even would Kon do that? Like–really? 

“Thanks,” Tim says sincerely, turning the camera over in his hands and feeling incredibly embarrassed about all of this. “I love it.” 

“Cool,” Kon says, biting his lip around a smile. His face is still a little pink and he looks all soft and pretty like that, especially with the flowers still in his hand. Tim really was not prepared for Kon having “soft and pretty” in his repertoire. Like, that was not a thing he ever expected to see from his cocky, crowing brawler of a teammate. 

Kon’s only a brawler because he thinks he’s supposed to be, though, Tim’s pretty sure. Like–increasingly sure, at this point. 

He really, really needs to figure out how to get Kon to tell Robin more about his TTK. Or, like . . . anything about it, apparently. Just literally any single thing, at this point. 

“Thank you,” he says again, inspecting the camera assessingly and making note of all its functions and ports and the generally obvious basics. “We could go take some shots around downtown later, if you’re up for that?” 

Kon turns bright red, and Tim doesn’t understand for about half a second before remembering–the last time Kon had talked to him about taking pictures, he’d offered . . . 

Oh Jesus. 

Tim is either incredibly stupid or–actually, he doesn’t even know. Lucky? Embarrassing? The dumbest moron alive who didn’t even realize he was being flirted with again? All those things and several even worse ones? 

Kon had offered to let him take spicy pics of him the last time they'd talked about taking pictures, whatever “spicy” means to Kon–brash, impulsive, shameless Kon–and Tim’s the idiot whose first thought upon Kon following up that conversation by very literally giving him a camera was to go take pictures of fucking downtown.

He is the most useless “sugar daddy” to ever sugar. 

Well, to be fair, it is Gotham downtown, so it’s very–

“I like taking pictures of streets and buildings,” he blurts belatedly, fumbling to sound like just the oblivious idiot that he is and not some kind of weird fucking perv who’s trying to get Kon arrested for public indecency. Jesus, he’s stupid. “And people-watching is interesting too. You know, stuff like that.” 

“Oh,” Kon says, and looks several ways at once, including both a little relieved and a little disheartened, which . . . okay, Tim would literally die if they actually went somewhere to take spicy pics tonight, so is unfortunately unavoidable. He’s not trying to make Kon not feel–attractive or anything, but he needs at least twenty-four hours to make a plan and also two or three or seventeen contingency plans before . . . anything like that happens. Ever. Even in theory. “Um–yeah, sure. That sounds cool.” 

“Cool,” Tim says, still desperately pretending to be an idiot. It’s not hard, on account of the fact that he very much is an idiot. 

Kon pauses for a moment, then perks up a little, seeming to think of something, and asks–“When’s dinner?” 

“Our reservation’s in forty-five minutes,” Tim says, double-checking the time on his phone just to be sure. “Well, forty-six. I figured that’d let us take our time walking over and maybe we could window-shop a little on the way.” 

And also shop-shop a lot, if Kon gives him literally even the slightest indication that he wants or needs something. Just if it comes up or anything. That’s all. 

Tim definitely did plan their route to the restaurant to cut straight through the middle of the downtown shopping district, either way. 

“We could’ve just met there, dude,” Kon says wryly, but grins anyway, glancing down at the orchids in his hand again. “Forty-six minutes, huh?” 

“Yeah,” Tim confirms. 

“And you like taking pictures of streets and buildings?” Kon asks, his grin turning just a little bit sly. Tim frowns briefly in confusion, not sure what the grin’s about. 

“Yeah,” he says. “Gotham has a lot of really interesting architecture and design. Like, it’s an old city, and one that’s been pretty resistant to updates in a lot of areas or just not had the money for those updates. So you get a lot of places with a lot of character and it’s basically the bastard child of gothic and art deco design with a side of industrial warehouse, depending on the part of town you’re in. Like, Crime Alley and the Diamond District have very different vibes, but they’re both very Gotham vibes, if you know what to look for. It’s–” 

Kon is grinning really widely at him, for some reason. Tim realizes he’s rambling like a moron and turns red. 

“Uh,” he says, repressing a wince. “Yes. Yeah. I like taking pictures of streets and buildings.” 

“Cool,” Kon says, and then he carefully packs the orchids back into their box and it back into the gift bag and transfers the chocolates and jewelry back into it too, then grins even wider at him as he hooks the bag’s handles over his arm and into the crook of his elbow. “Don’t drop the camera, babe.” 

“Wha–” Tim starts to say, and then Kon grabs him by the arm and pulls him into the closest alley, which is terrible survival instincts for Gotham, oh god, but before Tim can say anything about that Kon’s wrapped an arm around his waist just tight enough to just barely lift him off his feet and bolted straight up into the air with him. “Shit!”

Tim doesn’t drop the camera because he’s held onto cameras while falling off literal buildings before, but definitely only because of that. Muscle memory, or whatever. Also he’s been snatched off his feet by Bruce and Dick plenty of times and thrown off rooftops by multiple rogues and thugs over the years and these days gets regularly dragged around by Bart, all while holding very important things he could not afford to drop, so it’s not like either the sudden jolt or the effort to keep his grip on the camera are as disorienting as it otherwise would be. Just . . . 

Ugh, Tim realizes, absolutely unimpressed with himself upon realizing that the breathless feeling he’s having right now is not actually related to the swift and sudden increase in altitude, but is actually just because it’s Kon holding him. 

He is an idiot, isn’t he, he reflects resignedly. Just an actual literal idiot. 

Jesus. 

“Whatcha think?” Kon asks with a grin as he comes to a stop in mid-air with him. He stops very suddenly, but Tim notices a distinct lack of jarring with said stop, which implies Kon’s got his TTK around him again and probably completely around him, which means–

Oh god, Tim thinks, and very quickly makes himself stop thinking about that. 

“It’s cool,” he says, because a normal civilian would think flying was something interesting and unusual, but it’s hard to act too excited about a move Kon probably pulls on literally everyone he–

“I meant the view, babe!” Kon says with a laugh, and Tim . . . blinks. 

And then he looks down. 

They’re hovering a few thousand feet up, and downtown is already lit up bright in the early evening gloom. And Kon . . . 

“Streets and buildings, as ordered,” Kon says, grinning wider with a smug, cocky look on his face. 

Oh no, he’s hot, Tim realizes with dread, and then blinks again. Stares down at the city below, past the whipping wind and down into the busy streets and the bright, dazzling lights cutting through the murky gloom. He’s seen Gotham like this a thousand times, obviously, because of course he has–he’s been climbing these rooftops for years, and every night he runs across and swings back and forth between them and utterly fails to learn how to do more than a double backflip. 

One day, he promises himself distractedly, and then looks back at Kon. 

He’s seen Gotham like this a thousand times, but never just because someone thought he’d like it. Like–not like this, he means. Dick's shown him a few particularly special or exhilarating views over the years, yeah, but . . . definitely not like this. Not for a reason like this. 

And definitely not while peacocking all smug and pretty dressed up in clothes that he bought him and holding him close enough to kiss. 

Kon’s expression turns a little sheepish; a little soft. Not quite shy, but . . . 

“Do you like it?” he asks, his voice pitched a little quieter, and Tim has the much worse and even more dread-inducing realization of oh no, he’s CUTE.

He swallows, briefly, and feels his face burn. 

“Yeah,” he manages in an almost-normal voice. “I like it.” 

Kon grins at him, brighter than any city light, and Tim barely keeps himself from dropping the camera after all. 

“Thanks,” he attempts awkwardly, making himself focus on the camera and resisting the urge to take an immediate shot of that city-light grin. 

Then he takes one anyway, because of course he does. Kon laughs in surprise, then makes a face at him teasingly. 

“Hey, you can buy this face in any cheap gossip rag, focus on the fun stuff,” he jokes, jerking his head towards the city below. Tim looks searchingly at him for a moment, and then for obvious reasons snaps another picture. Kon flushes a little again. They probably won't even come out from this close, but . . . 

“You’re the most fun I’ve had all week,” Tim says, which is definitely too honest but clearly necessary to make a point of saying. Kon turns redder, ducking his head and grinning around his bitten lip. 

“You don’t have to say that kind of thing to me, man,” he says, and it comes across almost like a reflex. Tim hates . . . yeah, just literally everybody Kon’s ever known in his whole entire life, actually? Like, pretty much everybody? Bart gets a break because he grew up alone in VR and is therefore terrible with people and the girls get a break because they haven’t known any of them that long, but everybody else can just take a long walk off a short gutter, in Tim’s opinion. 

Especially any “everybody” from Cadmus. 

Or Metropolis, at this point. 

“I’m not saying anything I don’t want to say,” he says simply, and goes to the effort to frame a few shots of the skyline so Kon will know he appreciates . . . well, not the angle, exactly, but the thought. 

Technically he is usually on top of a building when he’s doing this, so the angle is actually a slightly different one than he’s used to–not that he’s been taking photos lately, just–not the point, really. Kon got him a camera and brought him up here because he clearly thought he’d like it, and damned if Tim is gonna do anything to make him think he doesn’t. 

He has better cameras for things like this–aerial shots and night photography and long-distance and the like, and better cameras for closeup candids too–but he already knows these pictures are all going to be exactly what he wants them to be, even the ones that don't come out. 

Or especially those, maybe. 

He's not sure how he'd explain that feeling to someone else. 

Kon flies them around, staying out of sight behind the light pollution and among the shadows of the buildings, and Tim takes . . . a lot more pictures than he needs to, actually. He was just trying to make sure Kon knew he appreciated him thinking of him, but actually . . . 

Well. 

It’s fun, that’s all. 

It’s . . . been a while, kinda, since he got to spend this much time on just photography and nothing else. Or–any time at all, really. 

Not that this is nothing else, obviously, given that Kon’s holding him and it is very, very hard to concentrate on anything besides that, but it is the kind of a view a standard civilian never gets, and it’s kind of nice to be flying for non-work-related reasons, for once. Like . . . novel, he guesses. A different experience. 

Technically he and Dick do “fly” together just for fun, sometimes, but that’s different. Like–so many kinds of different. It helps them in their work–keeps the rooftops familiar and them both in shape and in sync–but he can’t take photos when he’s trying to keep up with Nightwing across the rooftops of Gotham, and it’s not like Dick’s carrying him either. 

Also, it’s much less flustering and difficult to concentrate through, because again, Dick is not carrying him, and also Dick doesn’t do things like wear clothes he bought or do his eyeliner and paint his nails for him. Or, uh . . . anything like that. 

Also, definitely the “spicy pics” thing is not at all a thing, with Dick. Like, not even slightly, in any way whatsoever. And they’ve also never made out in a changing room or the back of a planetarium or– 

Look, there’s a lot of ways it’s different, okay? 

A lot of ways. 

“I'm not boring you, am I?” Tim asks a little bit sheepishly as Kon lands them on a ledge just behind one of the bigger gargoyles, tucked in tight in the shadows between it and the building it's perched on. “We can probably still fit in some window-shopping before dinner, if you want.” 

“Oh my god, dude, I promise we can do things you don't have to spend money on,” Kon says with a laugh as he lets him down on the ledge. “Though if it helps you technically did spend money on this, given how I got the camera and all.” 

“It's your allowance,” Tim says, because he wants to make sure Kon actually gets that. “You can spend it however you want.” 

“Well, I spent it how I wanted,” Kon says, and then steps closer into his space with a smile. Tim ends up sitting on the gargoyle’s back as Kon leans down to kiss him, and it's not like he's never kissed anyone while perched on a gargoyle before, but somehow it feels like something new anyway. New and electric, bright and easy and smeared with the city lights and thrilling in its shadows, and– 

Kon breaks off the kiss, though he keeps a hand on Tim’s arm, probably to make sure the squishy untrained civilian won't accidentally fall off the ledge and get splatted on the concrete. Tim barely holds himself back from chasing his mouth. 

“It's cool, anyway. Um, doing stuff you're into with you, I mean,” Kon says, looking a little soft and almost-shy again, and never mind, Tim not only needs to chase his mouth, he needs to set up a damn manhunt for it. “You're real cute when you get excited, man. I mean, uh–just–” 

The manhunt is going to require a very significant budget, Tim notes. 

Then he kisses him again, obviously. Kon melts down into it–into him, really–and wraps his arms around his neck, and Tim feels several kind of ways about it. Admittedly, it's the easier option with him sitting on the gargoyle and Kon leaning over him, but Kon's put his arms around his neck a couple of times now, and, well . . . 

That's just not something he would've expected from him, he guesses. Not “cool” or masculine or badass or . . . whatever, exactly, Kon thinks he's supposed to be. 

So Tim . . . likes it, he thinks, that Kon doesn't seem to think he needs to be like that around Tim Drake. 

Robin’s sure as hell never seen Kon in eyeliner. 

Robin's loss, Tim thinks. 

. . . maybe he's compartmentalizing a little too much these days, but still. 

Kon makes a very, very soft little sound between their mouths and then laughs, and Tim promises himself he won't stop at Gotham: he'll take over Metropolis for this asshole one day. Even if that means putting up with Lex Luthor and Superman. And also, like . . . everything about Metropolis. 

He'll figure it out. Supervillainy is still a long-term plan, so he's got time. 

Anyway, if he gives it to Kon after he takes it over he won't have to put up with it, so it's whatever. Sugar daddies do that kind of thing, right? Get their sugar-ees a city? 

. . . okay, definitely not. Like, very definitely not. 

“Okay date idea, then?” Kon asks as he leans back a bit and does a very bad job of biting back a smile, his face a little flushed and arms squeezing a little tighter around his neck. 

Tim will get him Metropolis if it kills Lex Luthor. 

“Very okay,” he says, smiling back at him. Kon grins, his face turning just a little bit redder, and then kisses him again. Tim has absolutely no complaints about that. Ever. He can’t even imagine a complaint he’d have about that, in fact. 

Worst case scenario, he’ll get them in at another restaurant if they miss their reservation. 

He really doesn't know what else he's supposed to do about how easy Kon blushes. 

They definitely spend too long making out against the gargoyle and Tim definitely lets himself get too riled up during it–and does not think about tactile telekinesis or any kind of related passive perception while he does–but by the time he’s the one pressing Kon back against the building, he really doesn’t care anymore. 

The fact Kon is even willing to let him do that when there is literally no way Tim could ever actually pin him anywhere without a way to sabotage his powers is . . . really, really distracting. Just–so distracting. 

Jesus, Tim thinks, breaking off just long enough to catch his breath for a moment. Kon pants softly against his mouth, which sabotages that even worse than kryptonite would sabotage TTK. 

Jesus, Tim thinks again, and then crushes their mouths back together. 

He doesn’t need to breathe that often. 

Kon makes a softer, breathier sound this time, and Tim does not let himself make it weird by letting his hands wander anywhere outside of second base territory. Frankly he’s not sure second base territory isn’t him making it weird, but Kon started it, so hopefully it’s not? Like–logically it’d follow that Kon wouldn’t touch him anywhere he doesn’t want touched, right? 

Well–hopefully, anyway. 

The air feels tight, Tim notices suddenly, like the feeling of sinking into deeper pressure when underwater but all at once, and then realizes–oh. 

Uh. 

Okay. 

“Um,” he says, and immediately the feeling of pressure vanishes as Kon jerks back and claps a hand over his own mouth. Which is mostly him pushing Tim back, given their position, but he does crack the brickwork behind him a little. 

Whoops, Tim thinks. 

“Sorry!” Kon blurts. “Sorry, sorry, that’s–sorry! I just, uh–got a little too into it. I won’t do it again.” 

“It’s really not a problem,” Tim says, with absolutely no idea how to take the idea of Kon getting “a little too into it” when kissing him, or the idea that getting a little too into it apparently involves getting wrapped up in TTK a lot more noticeably than making him bulletproof at the museum did. “I mean–it didn’t hurt or anything, I was just surprised.” 

“I–yeah, I know, it’s just–weird,” Kon says, still looking mortified. “So–sorry. That’s all.” 

“I don’t mind weird,” Tim says, because actually the idea of being temporarily at least as invulnerable as Kon is while making out with him implies being able to devote a lot more attention to said making out, as opposed to keeping half an eye out for snipers or rogues or random rooftop criminals. Not that he’d stop paying any attention to that, obviously, just–yeah. Well. 

It’s a little tempting, that’s all. 

“Uh–you don’t?” Kon bites his lip, still looking a little embarrassed. 

“It kind of just felt like scuba-diving, but with less equipment involved,” Tim says with a little shrug, keeping his tone light because “seriously, you have no idea how much I’d like to not be compulsively keeping an eye out for snipers right now” isn’t a very “civilian” thing to say. “And I’m not about to complain about you enjoying kissing me that much either way.” 

“Oh,” Kon says, and flushes a little. “Uh–really?” 

“Really,” Tim says, smiling at him again and tugging gently at the lapels of his jacket to pull himself back in. Kon blushes, and grins, and meets him halfway for the kiss. The sensation of pressure wraps him up again, gentle but undeniable, and Tim feels several kinds of ways about it. 

Maybe even a little bit safe, or at least as safe as anyplace outside the Batcave ever gets. 

Tim knows there’s no such thing as being perfectly, completely safe, but getting all wrapped up in Kon’s TTK and kissed for it makes it hard to remember that. 

Very, very hard. 

They spend a much longer time making out this time. Tim is vaguely aware that they still have a dinner reservation to make, but . . . well, he did pad the time to allow for window-shopping, so even with the time they spent flying around taking pictures, it's probably fine? 

Yeah, no, they’ve definitely missed their reservation by now. Probably way past missed it. Just so, so far past missed it. 

Weirdly, Tim doesn’t care as much as he should, even though he really prefers when things go to plan and also needs Kon to feel appreciated and like he got properly spoiled and taken someplace nice. He’s going to have to figure out something else on the fly, though, because he really does needs Kon to feel appreciated and also needs the excuse to get him more used to getting money spent on him and–

Tim remembers that he needs to breathe more than he's currently breathing and breaks off the kiss. Kon half-chases his mouth with his own, audibly breathless himself. Tim is not equipped to handle Kon breathless. 

That might actually be more flattering than the TTK thing. Or, uh–flustering, maybe. 

Both, maybe. “Both” is probably accurate here. 

Jesus, Tim does not know what he did to deserve Kon getting breathless over something he’s done to him, much less all soft and pretty and–

They have definitely, definitely missed their reservation. Usually Tim has a better sense of time than that, but usually Tim doesn’t have Kon wanting to make out on a Gotham rooftop with him, Like, he thinks he can forgive himself a little bit of disorientation on that one, considering. 

. . . as long as Bruce never finds out he messed up that bad, anyway. Because Bruce would definitely not like hearing he’d messed up that bad, TTK or not. 

Probably especially involving the TTK, actually. Probably Bruce would not take “yeah I let Superboy get distracted enough to unconsciously wrap me up in his Kryptonian-level superpowers while he wasn’t in full control of them and actually, like, encouraged it, kinda? like, explicitly encouraged it, actually”. 

Yeah, Bruce would not like that. 

“Um,” Tim says, and clears his throat a little awkwardly. “So, uh–hungry yet?” 

“You could say that,” Kon murmurs, then flashes him a sharp, wicked grin with his eyes slit open just enough to fix on Tim’s mouth. Tim spares a moment to compartmentalize just enough to not lose his mind about that, then makes the mistake of licking his lips anxiously, sees Kon’s hooded eyes go hot at the sight, and immediately fails to not lose his mind. 

“Uh,” he manages, and then decides they don’t really need to get dinner just yet and maybe they could just, like–no, no, Kon is definitely not getting enough calories from that stupid barely-legal underground lab’s stupid definitely-not-health-code-compliant cafeteria, Tim is not gonna be a bad enough date to not get his date a respectable amount of calories. That is just not a thing that he’s gonna, like . . . thing, as a thing. Or whatever. 

Not like Superman’s been bringing Kon casseroles or anything, the prick. 

“Um, I–uh, might’ve let us get a little too distracted, sorry,” Tim attempts after a moment of mental fumbling, making himself push back from Kon a little and pulling his phone out to check the time. Yeah, they have definitely missed their reservation. Very, very thoroughly have they missed it. 

Dammit. That is not Bat-quality situational awareness. 

“You think that was just you, man?” Kon asks with a little laugh, just barely ducking his head and biting his lip. It is . . . very distracting. As is his face. And his hands, which are still loosely on Tim’s back, and his TTK, which is still loosely . . . basically everywhere, yeah. Just–way too many places for Tim to be rational about, basically. 

“I mean, I was the one who made the reservation,” he says, clearing his throat awkwardly as he does his best to at least fake rationality. “So, uh, I should’ve been paying attention to the time. I can see if there’s someplace we can still slip in, it’s a little last-minute for a Friday but–” 

Kon kisses him again. 

Tim was saying something, he’s reasonably sure, but he couldn’t remember whatever it was with a gun to his head. A gun to his head while out of his suit and without Kon on the same floor as him, to be clear. 

Kon leans back and grins at him, all bright and pretty and cutting right through the shade and shadows of Gotham like a spotlight-signal lighting up the cloud cover. Tim remains vaguely aware of the fact that he was doing . . . something. At some point. In theory. 

God, Kon is so pretty. So, so pretty. And everything he’s wearing is something Tim bought him, coat and clothes and jewelry and all. Just–all of it, as far as he can see. 

Tim does not let himself think about what else Kon might or might not be wearing right now. Just–that way lies madness, and also Kon not getting a decent dinner and decent spoiling. 

. . . there’s probably some other ways Tim could spoil him, technically, if he just– 

Tim does not finish that thought. 

“You’re so fucking cute, daddy,” Kon says, still grinning just as signal-bright and pretty at him. Tim is not prepared for literally any of that and nearly melts right off the ledge into an incoherent mess of street pizza. 

“Uh,” he says, swallowing roughly. “We should–are you hungry yet?” 

Kon laughs, for some reason. Tim very quietly and carefully burns alive, and then Kon floats up a few inches and ducks around him and back out into the open air, leaning down to grin at him and reaching to–probably he’s intending to pick him up again, Tim’s brain is vaguely aware, but the rest of Tim is thinking more like hurr durr pretty boy, which is definitely why he ends up reaching up to cup Kon’s face in his hands and tug him down for another kiss, pushing himself up on his toes on the edge of the ledge to reach him easier. Kon makes a soft, breathless little noise, then laughs in delight and kisses him back. 

The wind is cold and sharp and the evening sky is all heavy dark clouds and hazy light pollution and Kon’s wearing clothes Tim bought him, some of which Tim even suggested to him, and he put on makeup and painted his nails to come see him and he’s got a gift bag of little things Tim picked out for him hooked in the crook of his elbow and he liked all of those little things, and they’ve not only missed but obliterated their dinner reservation, and they’re half-on a ledge high above the street and kissing and Kon is just so pretty.

And Kon also bought him a camera and brought him up here because he thought he’d like it and called him “cute”, which are all facts that Tim is definitely going to have to compartmentalize to fully process later, or else he really will melt right off the stupid ledge. 

The spicy pics thing, also, is a thing. The spicy pics thing is, uh–very much a thing. 

Tim is maybe just never gonna process that particular fact in, like, self-defense. 

Ever. 

. . . god, he’s going to have to process that fact at some point, isn’t he. God. That is . . . that is a whole thing that he is going to have to do. Like, effectively and well and throughly.

Maybe it’s not too late to just go supervillain right now, actually. Maybe Kon would be open to, like, minionhood or something. Lots of supervillains put their minions up in their lairs, right? That’s totally a thing, isn’t it? 

Ugh, no, Kon deserves a place he can really feel like is his place and also he has not laid near enough groundwork to get Dick to switch sides. Like, Alfred would, obviously. Alfred will be on-board the second the rusty crowbar and shrapnel bomb plan comes up and will probably have useful notes to add. But Dick is gonna require some more long-term finessing and Babs definitely won’t come if Dick doesn’t and– 

Kon laughs into the kiss and cups Tim’s face in return, which is incredibly distracting, and then squishes his face, which is incredibly annoying. 

“Hey!” Tim sputters, and Kon laughs again and leans back just enough to grin at him. 

“You are so weird, dude,” he says. “I can literally hear you thinking.” 

“. . . that’s not me being detached from the situation, I–” Tim starts, unable to repress a wince, and Kon just grins wider, grabs his wrists, and tugs him off the ledge and–oh, okay, that’s a weird sensation, Tim notes, because gravity does absolutely nothing at all to him until Kon’s pulled him into his arms and wrapped him up in them again all easy and secure. . 

So that’s . . . yeah, no, “incredibly distracting” isn’t actually gonna cover this one, considering. 

“Uh,” he says, blinking a couple of times. That. That is definitely not how Superboy holds Robin. 

Frick. 

“I just gotta keep you better attached, right, daddy?” Kon purrs–really purrs, his chest briefly vibrating against Tim’s–and then grins wider at him again with eyes that are, unfortunately, literally goddamn sparkling right now–thanks, gold eyeliner, Tim didn’t need those higher thought processes–before giving him another quick little kiss that Tim actually would like to turn into a four-hour make-out session and maybe also a sleepover and–

God he needs to remember how to compartmentalize. He really, really needs to remember how to compartmentalize. 

Also he needs to kiss Kon’s literal friggin’ brains out, the smug friggin’ asshole.

Mid-air makeouts are the worst possible idea Kon has ever inflicted on him and Tim would sooner fight Killer Croc without his utility belt than point that fact out to him. 

He winds his arms around Kon’s neck and kisses him back, and Kon makes this tiny little–not pleased, not content, but actually happy-sounding noise and kisses back harder. Tim feels gravity stop being a particularly relevant concern again and feels like he’s floating in deep, heavy water but also like he’s the lightest he’s ever been in his life, and it is . . . it is a feeling, alright. 

Kon is a menace. Kon is a problem. 

Kon is so, so damn cute. 

“You are an actual literal brat, baby,” Tim mutters slightly more feelingly than he means to, and Kon’s laugh comes out a little breathier this time and he ducks his head to the side and his face flushes and–

No. Nope. No. Tim needs to not learn anything new about himself or Kon tonight, or, worse, anything about him and Kon. That is just not a thing he has time for in his schedule. He’s got to fit in an anxiety attack and three full files’ worth of casework this weekend, for one, plus his science presentation and that make-up book report, and also come up with someplace else nice enough to take Kon to dinner tonight. 

“So, uh–dinner?” he says very quickly–self-defense, again–and Kon bites his lower lip and grins around it, his face still turned just a little bit away. Tim pretends they’re not effectively pressed together from knee to neck right now. Pretends valiantly. “I mean–um, if you’re hungry yet.” 

Kon laughs, ducking his head lower, the dangling gold teardrop hanging from his ear gleaming warmly in the murky electric city light. Tim goes through multiple stages of emotional processing to keep himself from kissing his neck right behind that earring and completely forgetting about not only dinner, but all his homework and casework and even the anxiety attack. 

Does Kon laugh this much around Robin? 

Tim really doesn’t feel like he does. 

He also doesn’t tell Robin very important things like the fact that he can make other people bulletproof on a whim and map out an entire mall just by standing in it, which is objectively much worse and potentially dangerous a thing not to do, but also Tim is already positive he’s going to miss that laugh like crazy every time he sees Kon with the mask on. 

Robin doesn’t get to see Kon like this at all, even when he lets the asshole eat both stupid boxes of cinnamon bread. 

“Dinner, yeah,” Kon says, grinning again and then taking off backwards across the sky, apparently unconcerned about their chances of hitting a building. Tim’s not really in a proper carry so much as just stretched out against him and wrapped up in his arms, but given the nature of how Kon’s powers work, an actual carry is obivously not really a concern, so . . . 

Oh, Tim realizes as Kon tips back just enough to be reclining in the air, still flying without any apparent care or concern for the aerodynamics of the situation or anything but staying more or less out of view of anyone on the street below. 

Avoiding the street view is good. 

The part where now he’s essentially laying on top of Kon is . . . less good, maybe. 

Maybe he won’t have to convince Kon to go supervillain, at least. Maybe Kon’s already there. 

“Where to, daddy?” Kon asks with a smirk, keeping one arm looped around Tim’s waist and folding the other behind his own head like he’s laying out in a lounge chair on the beach. Tim thinks longingly of smothering him and also of getting him to take down his TTK so he could bite a hickey or five into his neck. Maybe six. He could probably do six. 

Or seven. 

“Northeast towards Broad Street,” Tim says as he tips his head in the appropriate direction, then pulls up the camera again and snaps a quick shot of Kon’s smug smirk, which immediately breaks into a surprised laugh as the other flushes again. 

He takes a picture of that too. 

“You flirtin’ again already, man?” Kon asks with a sheepish little laugh, like the bastard has any room to talk. 

“The position’s pretty good for it, that’s all,” Tim says with a level of casualness he absolutely does not feel. Kon flushes darker and bites his lip again, still just barely grinning. Tim, ethically, has no choice but to take a few more pictures. 

“Oh my god,” Kon says, laughing again and unfolding the arm he has tucked behind his head to hide his eyes behind instead. Tim is maybe a little bit too aware of the line of his throat under the neck of his shirt, without his eyes and the sparkle there to be distracting him into a useless stupid mushbrained might-as-well-be-a-civilian, observationally-speaking. “I’m not a building, you absolute nerd!” 

“I said I liked people-watching too, didn’t I?” Tim points out reasonably, though mostly his brain’s occupied with the question of–“Hey. If you let down your TTK a bit, could a baseline-DNA human give you a hickey? Like, is that physically possible, or are you too Kryptonian for that?” 

“Oh my god,” Kon repeats, laughing harder even as the flush on his face spreads down his neck. Tim wonders how warm that might feel under his mouth. “I, uh–dunno, man. Maybe?” 

Tim silently resolves himself to finding literally any excuse to conduct that experiment and moves a hand to cup the side of Kon’s throat, eyeing it consideringly. Kon makes a slightly weird noise and visibly swallows, and Tim belatedly realizes that he’s paid literally no attention whatsoever to whether or not they’re about to hit a building or a flagpole or a roof this entire flight; he just assumed Kon had it handled. The Bat-paranoia kicks in and he glances up reflexively, and just as reflexively slides the pad of his thumb across Kon’s pulse. Their flight path is clear; they’re high enough to avoid most of the buildings in this area. Definitely still gonna need to keep an eye out for radio towers and billboards, but . . . 

Kon swallows again, the gesture a little bit rough this time. Tim feels the other’s throat flex against his palm. That sure is . . . that sure is a thing that Tim feels right there. That invulnerable throat flexing right there against his palm, and maybe not necessarily having to be invulnerable, if Kon didn’t want it to be. 

. . . . . . he already said he didn’t have time to learn anything new about himself tonight, dammit.

[galactic-magick]

For You: AU!Claggor x Reader

Summary: In the alternate timeline, Powder encourages you to admit your feelings for Claggor.

Words: 800+

Author's Notes: Adult alternate timeline Claggor is fine af so I wrote this short oneshot. Also I just needed to write something more lighthearted and cute after writing that devastating Viktor fic earlier. Enjoy <3

“I don’t get why you can’t just tell him,” Powder huffs, shuffling through her drawers for a particular brush. She glides on eyeshadow in your favorite colors, endlessly teasing you while she works, “It’s obvious he’s liked you since we were kids.”

“Oh, like finally admitting your feelings to Ekko was so easy,” you roll your eyes, causing her to scold you for opening them. “Besides, that’s not even true. He probably just sees me like a sister.”

“Look,” Powder tilts your chin up as she applies blush to your cheeks. “As someone who was actually raised as his sister, I can promise you he treats you differently. I catch him staring at you all the time, and he goes out of his way to be nice to you. Like, he literally made a new hybrid flower for you for your last birthday. What is it you’re not getting?”

“He gives plants to everyone, I don’t think I was special,” you shrug, pressing out your lips so Powder can swipe on some gloss.

“You’re a lost cause sometimes,” she sighs with a laugh. “Come on, it’s time to make our entrance.”

-

The Innovator’s Competition is crowded as usual, with loud music and ambient lights showering the entries and guests. Powder meets up with Ekko while you go to grab a drink and browse the inventions.

People start dancing, and you sway back and forth a bit to the beat. You don’t particularly want to third wheel right now, so you make do on the sidelines. You’re closer to the snacks here, anyway.

“Wow, Y/N. You look beautiful.”

You whip your head towards the voice, your mouth stuffed with one of Jericho’s famous, sloppy appetizers.

“Oh! Hi, Claggor!” You swallow as quickly as you can and wipe your face with your sleeve. “Sorry, um, thank you.”

“Anytime,” he chuckles. “How come you’re not out there dancing?”

“I...I just don’t like dancing alone,” you say, your eyes darting back to Powder and the other couples and friend groups on the dance floor.

“Well let’s go then,” he extends his hand to you.

You smile and take it, weaving through the crowd as he pulls you towards the middle. You see Powder give you a thumbs up before your attention is back on Claggor, and suddenly the crowded room feels less overwhelming.

You let lose, showing off your most ridiculous dance moves without a worry in the world. That was the thing about Claggor, he always made you feel safe, like you could be yourself whenever he was around. There is never a glimmer of judgment in his eyes, never an inkling of unkindness. He’s been your most stable and trusted friend for years—he played with you, explored the city with you, mourned with you, rejoiced with you. He’s just that kind of guy, with a heart of gold that never wavers.

But if you told him how you really feel—how you’ve felt since you were young—things might not be the same.

-

After the competition, Claggor takes the scenic route while walking you home, showing you a couple new gardens he’s been working on around the city. He hopes that one day plant life can be the key to the pollution problem in the underground, a dream that isn’t too far off with the latest hybrids and prototypes he’s made. It’s fascinating, and you’ve always admired his natural talent with nature.

He picks you a flower from one of the gardens, the kind he knows are your favorite.

“For you,” he says, slithering the stem into your hair. His hands, his face—it’s all so dangerously close now. You can feel his warmth, feel his gentle gaze.

Maybe Powder’s right, no man who saw you as just a friend would look at you like this.

You take the chance and close the space between you, kissing him quickly before stepping back to gauge his reaction.

He immediately pulls you back in, grabbing you by the waist and kissing you harder. You wrap your arms around his neck, fingers twiddling with his soft wavy hair.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do that,” he says, your lips barely moving apart.

“I think I have some idea,” you giggle.

“Would you look at that, what did I tell ya?” You see Powder and Ekko coming around the corner, clearly ecstatic about this new opportunity to tease you. “Finally.”

Claggor keeps holding you close as you fire back, “Did you follow us just to say ‘I told you so’?”

“Nah, I didn’t even know you left the party yet,” Powder laughs. “But boy am I glad I saw this!”

She keeps walking with Ekko, whispering and chuckling as they go. You and Claggor can’t help but burst into your own fit of laughter as well, basking in the hilarity of the whole situation.

“We’ll never live this down, will we?” Claggor smirks.

“Absolutely not.”

[satorusugurugurl]

Inhaled everything on ur masterlist in 1 night, my boss asked me why i looked like i got no sleep 😅. (it was WELL worth it) 😴 MAY I PLEASE REQUEST a Suguru Geto X chubby reader i am so normal for geto and ur fics plsplsplspls

You're writing is FANTASTIC it makes me feel all fuzzy jdjfjfjdkf

- 🍭

Berries and Chocolate!

Summary: Suguru loves summertime because his beloved chubby girlfriend wear a shorts!!

Characters: Geto Suguru x AFAB!Reader

Word Count: 2,163

Warnings: smut, making out, body worship, a little food play if you squint!

A/N: As a chubby girl myself I loved writing this! Sure fun sexy and sweet (edit: it would help if I posted the story!! Lolol I'm sleep deprived!!)

Geto Suguru loved summertime. He got to take trips to the beach with you and the girls, and work was less busy, and you wore shorts. Let’s rewind a bit. You rarely wore shorts, tank tops, or dresses, all because you were insecure about your body. You had a big butt, thick thighs, and a tummy that Suguru loved. He thought every inch of you was perfect. However, we’re still insecure despite that.

Suguru would always try to hype you up, telling you how beautiful you were and buying you dresses he thought would look amazing on you, but you never would cave. From fall to early spring, it was always tights and sweaters. Which you looked amazing in! You looked beautiful in a hoodie and a tank top. But your boyfriend would be lying if he said he didn’t love it when you were short and spaghetti straps.

There was something about seeing your plump skin, how your thighs rubbed together, how he could see your breasts spilling over your bra. Your tummy, your thick thighs were. Everything about you was perfection to him. Despite him telling you that on multiple occasions, you still got shy, insisting to leave your shirt on when you had sex. Of course, your boyfriend wanted to see every inch of you, but he wouldn’t push you if you weren’t comfortable doing it.

However, your insecurities melted away when the days got longer and hotter, and the sun would blaze down on you. Because in the summer heat, you wore the least clothes you could. Making your boyfriend go feral, seeing your plump, perfect body. Seeing you hardly usually played the same way it always did. You were thrown over his shoulder and getting fucked within an inch of your life. Even though you both ended up a sweaty mess afterward.

Today was the hottest day of the year thus far. It was hot and humid, making the temperature rise. Thank God he always carried an extra hair tie because sweat was running down the nape of Suguru’s neck, making him groan. The heat was almost unbearable, but the prospect of getting inside the cool apartment had his feet moving faster across the hot pavement, longing to get inside and cool off, climb the stairs, hurry towards your shared apartment, eager to see you and chug down an ice cold glass of water.

“I’m home,” he announced as he kicked his shoes off, dropping his jacket to the floor before locking the door. We need an answer into the cool apartment, looking around. “Princess?”

“In the kitchen!” Chances were, if you were in the kitchen making dinner, there was a 50-50 chance you were using the stove or oven. If either of those were involved, he knew the apartment would increase in heat. After a long day of being out in the sun, he had had enough to last the whole week.

“Hey.” Rubbing his hand at the back of his neck, he said, “Maybe we could buy something for dinner?”

He found it as chili as the rest of the apartment. “Oh, I’m not making dinner!” His eyes followed the sound of your voice, and holy fuck; you were hot.

You were standing at the kitchen island in Black booty shorts that rode up, showing the curves of your plump ass. The band of your shorts dug into your hips, making some of your spill over the edge. You were topless, literally topless, with no shirt, no bra, just a white apron hooked over your neck and tied around your waist. Seeing your bareback on full display, Suguru’s jaw was on the floor.

“I’m making some chocolate-covered strawberries.” Your thighs jiggle as you reach over the counter, grabbing a ripe red berry from a bowl. “It’s going to be a nice cold treat for later.” When there’s no response from your loving boyfriend, you turn slightly to look up at him, showing off the side of your bare breast. “Sugu?”

Before you can even register what’s going on, Suguru has you pressed against the counter, making you gasp out, as his hands quickly work to untie the apron from around your waist. His hands grip your plump hips, gripping them and massaging them eagerly, pressing his fingers into you. His lips press against your neck, nipping and licking at your skin as his hands ever so slowly trail up and over your stomach. Gently, fingers brush over the stretch marks that line your tummy before trailing up higher and higher until his hands grope your entire breasts.

The feeling of his lips against your neck, his hands groping your breasts, and the feeling of him rocking his hard erection of your ass makes you dizzy. Your fingers, speckled with chocolate, grip the edge of the counter, holding it tight for support as Suguru rolls his hips roughly against yours, his cock throbbing inside his pants. His eagerness makes your mouth go dry as you tilt your head back, giving him more room to lick and nip at your sensitive skin.

”So fucking beautiful.” Suguru grunts against your skin, causing goosebumps to rise in his messy kisses. “Princess, you’re so fucking breathtaking.”

The desperate tone in his voice leaves no doubt in your mind that he speaks the truth, from the hoarseness behind his words to the desperation in his touch. Your raven-haired boyfriend was enthralled by you, leaving you a messy bundle of limbs. Whenever he got feral like this, your mind would go blank, jaw slack as you averted from his peering eyes. Every time he would look at you, there was a raw desire that always had you squirming eagerly against him because you wanted him just as bad.

“S-Suguru—“A wanton moan passes through your lips as he twists and pulls at your sensitive nipple between his thumb and index finger. “W-What’s gotten into you, baby?”

The twisting assault on your sensitive buds comes to a stop as Suguru somehow manages to pull his mouth away from your neck. “What’s gotten into me?” His warm, calloused hands leave your breasts, tugging the apron off completely before turning you around to face him. “You.” His hands are on your hips again, lifting you onto the kitchen island and sitting you on the cool marble counter.

Like clockwork, your hands reach down to cover your plush tummy from his view. His hands gently wrap around your wrists, pulling your hands away, allowing him to take you in. Your tummy rolls slightly as you sit up straight, and the stretch marks that line your stomach and thighs also line the sides of your perfect breasts. His hands grope the soft flesh of your tits, squeezing them and massaging them gently and trying to put his appreciation of your body into every gentle squeeze and caress of his touch.

He was obsessed with you and your body. There was no doubt or question about that. When Suguru touched you, you could feel how much he adored you. The erection in his pants told you how much he wanted you just the way that you were. Where you saw insecurity, he saw perfection.

“Me?” You gasp out as he slides your panties and shorts to the side, revealing your wet, dripping cunt.

“Yes,” he snarls loudly against your ear as the handrails back up to your breasts, squeezing them together. “You all of you, you’re perfect.” Heaps his tongue over both your nipples before sucking on both of them. “Mmm~”

The feeling of his warm, wet mouth and circling your sensitive buds has your back arching up against him: your plump stomach, his muscular chest. For a second, you almost pull away. Thinking that you won’t wear, they did such an exquisite specimen as himself with your body. When Suguru feels the slight shift of your weight, when you’re about to move away from him and his mouth, he releases one of his hands, wrapping around your body, pulling you flush against his chest, grinding his hard cock over your exposed pussy.

He watches slick coats his pants in his string of arousal. The sight of your wetness coating his still-covered erection sends shivers down his spine. He loves watching the way your thighs jiggle with each thrust against your clothed core. But he loves the sharp moans and inhales of breath that escapes your chest as your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him closer to your incredibly sexy body.

With a sharp pop, Suguru pulls himself off your breasts. “I love you, my beautiful Princess,” Suguru whispered as he pressed his forehead against yours.

“I-I love you too.” The words come out in a breathless, singsong voice.

“God, I want you so bad.”

“Oh—“ Suguru watches your smaller hands work to unlatch his belt and unzip the zipper, “you can have me~ all of me~”

Suguru excitedly pulled his cock out, eager to please his Princess. With a smug grin, he grabbed her thighs before sliding your hips to the edge and grinding up against you. "God, you're so fucking soft~ Fuckin' love you~let me worship your body."

“I love you too~” you purred like a cat in heat. “Fuck~ yes, you can worship me.” Gentle hands grip your boyfriends shoulders. “You always make sure to do it~.”

He chuckled, nodding as he kissed down your neck before up to your mouth, pressing chaste, eager kisses against your lips. "Oh, I plan on it, princess~” Sliding a hand down, Suguru guides his cock slowly into your pussy. Hissing at the wetness that coats his tip, he pushes himself inside the tight muscles that pull him further inside.

“Oooh, good God.” Your back arched, pressing against his chest. You whimpered as the smell of fresh berries and chocolate flooded your senses. Suguru pushed into you, grabbing the counter and shifting the bowls. “Suguru~”

Suguru moved one of his hands to grip your back, forcing you to arch into him, and he thrust upwards, burying his cock deep into you. "I'll worship you every day, princess~"

“Oh, holy fuck!” You squeaked out as your eyes rolled back. The pleasure that rocked through you made stars twinkle behind your eyes. “Ooooh, my fuckin’ god.”

Your sweet, loving boyfriend laughed against you, kissing and biting at the soft skin around her shoulder and neck. "Oh, you're fucking delicious, baby~" his arm tightened around you while his other hand groped your hip, massaging you as he snapped his hips forward.

“Suguru~” A warm, rich laugh escaped you as you glanced down at him, the rays of the afternoon sun reflecting off your hair. Reaching into the bowl next to you, scooped up some white chocolate before smearing it all over Suguru’s lips. “Oooh~ I can’t wait to taste you~”

The feeling of you smearing chocolate against his lips made him growl, your beauty, and the dirty innuendos coming from your lips. He bucked up into you like a madman, desperate to make you cum, desperate to fill you up with his cum. "Fuck—fuck—Ahn!!" He growled, his cock throbbing inside you as he slammed his chocolate-covered lips against yours in a bone-chilling kiss.

Screams of pleasure flooded Suguru’s mouth as you cried out. Your toes curled as the taste of your boyfriend and chocolate washed over your tastebuds and lingered with the faint traces of strawberries. The intensity of the kiss, the feeling of his cock slamming into your g-spot and cervix, has you squirting as you came. You dug your fingers in his hair as your body arched against Suguru’s. Fuck, fuck he felt so good. It was intoxicating, so much so that you rolled your hips, eager to feel him cum inside you.

Luckily, you didn’t need to ask or beg for him to do so. Watching you come undone, feeling your plump legs, stomach, and breast jiggle, and the aftershocks of your orgasm. It was enough to send you tumbling over the edge. Suguru let out a roar of a moan against your mouth; your pussy tightening around him was just too much. He cummed inside, his hand tightening around her hip as he emptied his balls inside of you.

Sitting there in post-orgasmic bliss, you hummed in pleasure, your chocolate-covered finger running down his biceps. “Fuck~ Suguru~.” Your kiss-swollen lips pressed against his cheek as he recovered his senses.

"You have such an amazing body, Princess.” Suguri practically purred, kissing your neck and shoulder with a slight grumble. “God, you're fucking beautiful ~ I love every inch of you.” He threw you over his shoulder, grabbing the bowl of strawberries before stacking the chocolate on top. “Say it’s laundry day, right?”

“Ahh!” you giggled, looking over your shoulder at him. “Yeah! I just haven't changed the sheets yet.”

“Good, because we're about to make them dirty.” what could Suguru say? Your plump, beautiful body always had him ready to go!

Forever Tag List:

@darkstarlight82 @pandoness @nealeart @simp-plague @sugurubabe @chilichopsticks @reap3erslov3

[knavesflames]

hiii 🩷 i saw that you like raiden... i was wondering if we could have a fem!reader sucking her strap 🫣 maybe while wearing a collar & leash, and some praise from raiden?🩷 (she probably isn't good at it, but she tries!!)

- 🍰

Hi 🍰 anon!! Sorry this took literally so fucking long :( I also forgot to include the leash and the collar D: either way, reader sucking strap… yummy

Word count: 1022

Contents: reader sucks The Strap, mentions of praying, devotion to a god, yeah

Nsft utc!

For someone who meditated in isolation for 500 years, her skills in bed are.. about what you’d expect. She’s clumsy, unsure, but all she ever seems to want to do is please you. On occasion, when you request something she’s unsure she can fulfill, she orders the Shogun instead. Even though the Shogun is different, more robotic, less emotional, only saying and doing what she is programmed to, Ei watches, memorising the way she had memorised the Mosou No Hitotachi all those years ago. Of course, you’d much rather Ei do it herself, but the fact she’s a powerful god, the slayer of orobashi, means nothing when she’s alone with you.

“I do not understand your request. You want to.. suck it?” She asks softly, a tilt of her head causing her purple braid to sway gently with the movement. “I do,” you murmur, your finger gently tracing the vein on the strap she had so carefully crafted for you. Made from pure electro energy, it gave the perfect buzz when she needed it to, but only when she wanted it to. You loved it, and it gave you what you needed. Plus, the sounds you made when you were both alone in Tenshukaku sounded better than anything she had ever heard. “I think it would be fun. I think.. I don’t know. I want to try it.”

“I do not wish to hurt you, my petal. If you require the Shogun, you really must say—“ you cut her off with a firm shake of your head. You don’t want the Shogun. Quite frankly, you’re sick of the Shogun. You don’t want to look up, mid groan, only to see the puppet with its emotionless eyes. You want the woman you love, the god you worship so dearly. You’d be a liar if you said you hadn’t gotten on your knees in other ways for her, kneeling at the shrine and praying for unholy things. You wonder if she hears your prayers (she does. She listens with her mouth slightly open and her breath quickening, and yet, she can never do anything about it). You assume she does not. You love her anyway.

“I see. You do not wish to engage with the Shogun any longer.”

“No. I do not worship a puppet, I worship the divine being stood in front of me. Do the thing.”

“What thing?” Again, she’s confused. You sigh. You wonder why she has to be so clueless for a god so old and smart.

“Make it vibrate. I want you to feel good.” Ei’s problem is that she can’t accept pleasure. At least, not from anyone but herself. Long mediation sessions that only include thinking about the faces you make every time she hits the right spot, or kisses the right place. Watching over you with the omnipresence she so happily flaunts as you touch yourself to the thought of her (and, on occasion, being tag teamed by her and the Shogun. You’ll never ask).

“Oh.” Speechless, is the god who is so feared and respected by the nation. The nation who seems to have no idea how shy and flustered she can truly get. “Right. If you wish, then I shall oblige. Anything for you.”

When she fastens the hand crafted strap onto herself, her own breath hitches at the slight sensation. Neither of you know exactly how to work this situation with the small vibrations, but the fact you can feel your heartbeat between your own legs and the way you notice you can’t take your eyes off of it, you know that it’s the only thing you’re thinking about, and damn the archons if you don’t get to. Tentatively, you let your tongue move across the surface of it. Her violet eyes pierce down at you— she doesn’t mean for it to be, but it’s slightly intimidating nonetheless (maybe that’s what you like). You see the softness that lies beneath anyway.

“I think you need to hold my head, it’s— it’s big, and I’ve never done this before.”

“Hold your head? Is that not violent? I will not injure you for pleasure.” She states, but when you gently explain that it’ll help, her hand slowly moves to your hair. Her fingers, smooth despite the centuries of fighting, weave through your hair before gripping a small handful. Looking at you with her eyebrows knitted, waiting for a sign of consent, she stands still. When you give that sign, a murmured “please”, she begins to help your mouth and throat adjust by pushing you down. She’s gentle, almost a little too gentle, but the second you make that tiny little sound, she gasps. Your own eyes flutter to hers, a silent look of consent.

She’s hesitant at first, her hand barely guiding you, but when she starts losing herself at the sight of your eyes (beginning to water with what can only be described as tears of pure, unadulterated devotion), she lets herself loose, gently testing the waters with a roll of her hips. At the pleased choking sound you make, she does it again, and again, until she builds a rhythm, her breath coming out in little pants and stifled groans. Her lip is bitten in any attempt to hide the fact she’s enjoying this more than she thought she would. When a small whimper finally breaks through, she lets her head tilt back. Ei has decided she can’t look at you any longer or she’ll probably cum at the sight of you with spit on your chin and wet eyelashes.

Ei is a sensitive being, believe it or not. Unfortunately, for her and her ego, she does, in fact orgasm at the sight of you, the vibrations secretly doing nothing for her. She lies, and tells you that the vibrations did the trick. You know, it's different. You say nothing. You wouldn’t dare disrespect your god and accuse her of deceit.

And of course, when she notices the fact you’re throbbing, her hands gently pry your thighs apart, her braid tickling your ankles as she brings you to an eternity of pleasure.