#and soon they’re flushed and hard telling her all about their fantasy of dragging you away | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

wowcatboys · 3 years ago

Note

Thinkin' bout denji in hs... just imagining him in the gym closet right across from the basketball court just him deep inside his fem classmate.. she knows that he's just using her because he's excited to finally get someone under him, but she can't help but be thrilled to see her crush flushed above her while knowing very well they could be caught in any second

moans!!

(PLS NOTE: DENJI IS 18 HERE)

Taste of Trouble

Pairing: Denji/Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3024

Everyone tells you that Denji is a mistake.

You know what they mean, even if the phrasing leaves a sour taste somewhere in the back of your throat. His tests always get handed back to him face-down, he sleeps his way through a detention at least twice a week, and whenever he walks by you in the hallways you always catch a faint whiff of cigarettes clinging to his collar (he claims his older brother smokes and that he's never even touched a cigarette, but you don't know if you believe him or not).

He's trouble, for sure.

Everyone would call you stupid, and silly, and when you’re sitting on the locker room floor bawling your eyes out over Denji asking Makima to the school dance instead of you (because everyone knows he’s going to), no one’s going to hand you a tissue. They’ll all just roll their eyes and say you should’ve known better.

You don’t care. You’d tugged him into the equipment closet anyway, and when the door snapped shut behind you two you’d shoved him up against it. That was your first taste of trouble; Denji’s body trapped against the wall, his eyes wide with surprise and his breath caught in his throat.

And goddamnit, you think you just might be addicted.

His instincts are good, even if his hands are clumsy. As soon as he’s processed that holy shit, there’s a girl trying to get her tongue down my throat, he snaps into action. His hands immediately find your ass, and he squeezes you—hard— through the plaid of your uniform skirt. Denji swallows the moan that it drags out of you. It slips down his throat, and you chase it with your tongue.

He tastes so good. Like mint chewing gum with a hint of spices from his lunch. His tongue against yours is soft, at first. But when you push against him, he pushes back. His mouth overwhelms yours, easily, but it’s not like you’re putting up much of a fight. Your lips open wide to welcome him in, and the tip of his tongue licks a broad, warm stripe along yours. It sends a shiver down your spine, and you’re frankly shocked that your knees don’t buckle right then and there.

“Uh, hey,” he whispers against your damp, panting lips. In the back of your mind, you’re half-worried he’s going to reject you; leave your panties moist and pupils blown, desperate in the darkness of the gym closet, because you’re not who he really wants. The other half of you is worried he won’t reject you, because honestly, this is a rabbit hole you don’t know if you can climb your way out of, if Denji pulls you in.

“Can I take this off?” He asks, his fingers darting up to fidget with the top button of your shirt.

So he’s not going to reject you. For a half-second, you’re torn. It’s not like you want to be his second choice, just filling in until he figures out…whatever-the-hell he’s trying to figure out with Makima. But fuck, it’s hard to think when Denji’s so close you can feel his breath fanning across your neck. You’ve played out this exact fantasy in your mind countless times, but…

You look down at his fingers, still toying with your top button. He’s hesitating, sharp teeth pulling at his bottom lip. When you catch his eyes, they’re bubbling with a lot of things—nervousness, shock, perhaps a little disbelief, like he’s pretty sure he’s about to wake up halfway through math class with a raging boner and never be able to look at you the same again. But most of all, you think you see excitement. Some kind of sharp hunger. And it’s all for you.

Fuck it, you decide. You’ll sort through your complicated, messy feelings later. For now, you’ve got your crush pinned up against a door, and that’s all you need.

You break away from him just long enough to grab your shirt and pull. Denji’s eyes go wide as the buttons fly off, scattering across the closet. In the back of your mind, you breathe a silent prayer of relief that you wore a cute bra today—something red and lacy. The kind of thing a boy like Denji would just about explode over.

“You can touch me,” you breathe, leaning into him. Your hand slides over his face, thumb running over his warm, red cheek. For a moment, it almost feels like intimacy. As if you’re not about to fuck your crush in the dark of a gym closet, crammed between the spare basketballs and a cold cement wall. If you weren’t so horny, or so hopelessly infatuated with this boy, you might be a little disappointed about how this is all playing out. But you’re not.

Denji’s not either. He looks like he’s in heaven.

“For real?” He asks, eyes wide, and you stifle a laugh by pressing your face into his warm neck.

“Yes,” you say. Your fingers gently find his wrists, guiding him to the swell of your chest. For a moment, he just stands frozen still, deer-in-the-headlights style, like touching your boobs has erased any and all forms of thought from his mind. So you leave his hands lingering over your soft, warm skin and reach around to unclasp your bra.

It slips gently off you, falling to the floor. The tension sings through the air so thick, now, you think you can taste it on the tip of your tongue.

“Fuck,” Denji breathes, looking at your bare chest in wonder like it contains the secrets of the universe. Instinct quickly kicks in and he kneads the soft flesh. The light scrape of his callouses swimming across your smooth breasts pulls a gasp out of you, and you arch into him. Goosebumps ripple across your skin. Before long his thumbs find the sensitive patches of your nipples, and he rolls his short fingernails over them curiously.

“Fuck, Denji,” you whine for him. It sends a blush, bright red, straight to his cheeks. He’s good, and the way his hands move is sending shivers down your spine, but fuck; you’ve been dreaming about getting him alone like this for months, and you’re already soaking a wet patch right through your underwear. You need him now.

Your hand slips down his chest, sliding down until your fingers brush against the firmness hidden inside his uniform pants. A strangled noise bubbles past his lips, some almost-embarrassing mix of a moan and a breathless gasp. Denji bucks against your hand, rolling against the delicious friction. You can’t hold back a smirk.

“Does that feel good?” You purr, voice dripping with smugness, and he nods quickly.

“Uhhhhh, yeah,” he forces out, struggling to speak past the lump in his throat. His whole face is burning red now, and his eyes, wider than ever, are locked on your delicate hand rubbing firm circles across his crotch. “That feels pretty—uhm, shit— pretty freakin’ good.”

You don’t waste time, quickly popping the button on his pants and sliding down the zipper. Just as your hand slips past the waist of his boxers—

Bang!

The gym doors slamming open send the two of you scrambling apart. Voices flood into the gym. Your heart jumps into your throat as you realize the squeak of court shoes is approaching the equipment closet. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Every step closer sends a chill down your spine. A bead of sweat collects on your temple. Denji’s holding his breath. As the realization hits you, nausea swirls in your gut. Somebody’s gonna see your titties, and you’re gonna get expelled, and you didn’t even get any dick.

Denji quietly shuffles in front of you.

“Hey,” he hiss-whispers, under his breath, and you barely bite back the urge to tell him to just shut up, for the love of god, or they’ll hear you! “Uh, don’t ask how I know, but if you climb into the big thing with all the volleyballs in it you can get completely hidden and nobody can see ya.”

So, so many questions. You settle for what feels like the most important at the moment.

“What about you?” You hiss, frantic.

“Don’t worry about it, just—”

The two of you freeze as the door handle shifts. You don’t breathe. The handle keeps turning. Denji nudges you behind him, and if you weren’t so focused on freaking out, you might’ve thought about how it’s a little bit sweet that he’s trying to cover you up. The handle’s almost all the way turned, now. You screw your eyes shut. Denji winces. The door clicks.

…And nothing happens. The handle jiggles aggressively for a few more seconds, but then you hear a grunt and a frustrated swear word.

“Dudes, totally forgot Coach started lockin’ up the equipment closet ‘til practice starts,” a voice calls, muffled, from the other side of the door. “Let’s just go kill time in the locker room.” There’s a chorus of groans, but they quickly retreat.

You thank your lucky stars that you remembered to lock the door before you’d started attacking Denji’s mouth. Both of you heave a heavy sigh of relief, listening to the squeak of basketball shoes recede into the distance until the gym doors slam again.

“Shit,” Denji swears, frantically tugging off his uniform shirt. “Basketball practice starts in like, ten minutes.” He holds the button-down out to you, and you just then remember that you’re missing all of your buttons. Wouldn’t that confuse the janitor next time he has to sweep up in here.“We better dip before Coach Kishibe shows up.”

He reaches to unlock the closet door, but your hand quickly settles on top of his. He looks back at you, a question written in his face. You catch your bottom lip between your teeth, just enough to be suggestive, and hook a finger through the elastic waistband of his boxers. Answering a question with a question. Even if you’re both horny high schoolers locked inside an equipment closet, you’re both aware this is a line you can’t un-cross. Your hand against him asks permission, but it offers your own, too. “Whatever this is,” your touch says silently, “I’m okay with it if you are.”

“There’s a lot we can do in ten minutes, Denji,” you murmur.

He’s silent, for a moment, and a cold chill tumbles down your spine as you start to think that maybe he’s rejecting you after all. You scan his face, searching for some kind of yes or no tucked away in his eyes or the curve of his mouth, but he just looks shell-shocked. You’re about to admit defeat and slink, ashamed, out of the closet when his rough hands close around your shoulders.

Before you register what’s happening, Denji’s strong arms are spinning you around. Now you’re pinned against the closet door, eyes wide and breath stuck in your throat. You don’t have time to process before his lips are catching on your neck, sucking hot, wet patches of red into your skin. A whine tumbles out of your lips, something desperate and needy. Your knees feel more like jelly with every swipe of his tongue.

“Well, c’mon then,” he urges, his fingers slipping down your arms and brushing the hem of your uniform skirt. “Don’t wanna waste the time that we have.”

You nod. That’s all it takes for him to flip up the hem of your skirt. Denji runs a hand over the crotch of your panties, and you tremble against the friction.

“Holy shit,” he says. “You’re soaking.”

Your face explodes in a firetruck red blush, and you turn away from him.

“You did it to me,” you snap, defensive. Denji’s not bothered. Deftly, he closes his strong hands around your hips and turns you around again. The door is cool as your face presses gently against it, but it does little to help the almost unbearable heat running through you, settling deep in your core. Your breath hitches as he grinds against you firmly, and you feel the hardness of his cock rubbing against your ass. Delicious friction.

“Um, if you’re ready…” Sheepishness leaks into the edges of Denji’s voice, but goddamn it you don’t have time for that. Your clit’s pulsing almost painfully with need. You’ve never wanted—no, needed—something so badly. So you don’t give him the chance to be shy. You reach back, greedy fingers freeing his dick from his boxers, and line him up with you. In one smooth motion, you roll your hips back and take him inside.

He swears, way too loud, when sinks all the way inside. For half a second, you’re worried that someone heard and is about to come running. In the back of your mind you picture one of the basketball players coming back early, swinging the door open—catching an eyeful of Denji buried in your cunt, with you all sweaty and twisted up and gasping with pleasure.

Pure heat spikes down to your core. Would it really be so bad if everyone saw? If everyone thought Denji was making you his, fucking the thought of any other boy right out of your mind? You side-eye the lock, pondering.

No. Common sense rears its ugly head. You will not unlock that door.

Still, just the thought makes heat drip from between your legs. Maybe next time—if there is a next time—you’ll just forget to twist the lock behind you.

You can’t think about it long, because Denji grips your hips vice-tight. Slowly, he pulls back, adjusting to the sweet grip of your tight, soaked pussy. Then he thrusts. Hard. Fast. Your vision blurs as he sets a punishing pace. He’s going to kill you if he keeps fucking you this hard, you’re sure, but you can’t even bring yourself to care. You cry out his name, unashamed, almost sobbing.

“You feel so tight around me,” he praises behind you. “Fuck, so good.” Between the rough slapping of skin-on-skin and the building pressure in your core, your vision’s almost blurry. You feel like TV static, somehow, all electric and sporadic and fuck, you don’t care what anything feels like as long as he just keeps you pinned under him like this.

“Denji,” you whine, begging. “I’m gonna cum.”

“Mmhmm,” he grunts. He doesn’t stop, slow down, let up. For a moment you see the spark in his eyes that says he doesn’t much care; that he’s just happy to have a girl under him to bury his cock in.

You want to be upset, but you can’t. You’re too close to the edge—you’re right there. All it takes is a few quick circles rubbed around your clit and you’re crashing into your orgasm, head-first. Quickly, you clasp a hand tight over your mouth. You know the whole school will hear you screaming Denji’s name if you don’t. Your whole body trembles, pure electricity pulsing through each and every nerve ending and leaving you positively fried.

Denji fucks you through your orgasm, whining as your cunt flutters tight around him. You can tell he’s nearing the edge, too, from the way his thrusts speed up. His hips snap against you sporadically. The sinful clap of skin rings faster, almost violent. You feel your legs about to give, but he just keeps pounding faster, harder, holy shit—

“Hey, ‘m gonna—” he grunts a warning, but you don’t let him finish. You’re already sinking to your knees, mouth wrapping around his cock.

“Shit,” he whines, and his rough hands instantly wrap through your hair. He pulls, and tugs, and he doesn’t stop thrusting all rough and desperate down your throat. Tears puddle up around the corner of your eyes, but you stay still and take it for him. The taste of you slick over the warmth of his dick is too good to resist.

He cums with a choked gasp. Denji keeps you flush to him with a hand fisted in your hair, and it’s everything you can do to keep from gagging as your nose brushes the courseness of his pubic hair. Heat washes over you as you feel him drip down the back of your throat, and you swallow his orgasm greedily.

You set him free with a wet pop and he staggers back, a blissful smile painted on his face. You’re a total mess right now, you’re sure; shirt ripped down the middle, hair in rough tangles, face red and tears lingering in the corner of your eyes. Fucked out, soaking, the saltiness of cum lingering in the back of your throat.

So this is what trouble tastes like.

You could definitely go for some more of that, as long as Denji’s the one giving it.

“So,” Denji clears his throat and pulls his pants back up. He snags a spare practice jersey from a bag tucked away in the corner, and hands his uniform shirt out to you. When you reach out to grab it from him, your fingers brush. For a moment, they linger on each other, soft and warm. It’s nice, you think. Very nice.

He fills the heavy silence with a quietly-asked question. “Was that a one-time thing, or…”

He’s dusted in sweat, hair all messy and cheeks flushed pink. His sharp teeth are catching the swollen flesh of his bottom lip, and his mouth is twisted at you in a smirk that’s somehow both playful and sheepish at once. His eyes shine at you, like this…whatever it is, this rough, messy touching in the darkness of an equipment closet, is his favorite dirty little secret. He’s so…indescribable. Everything bad and everything beautiful at the same time. All at once, the tender feelings you’d pushed down while he was moving inside you bubble up to the surface, catching and sticking in your throat. It feels so bad, and so good, and you try not to call it love in your mind. In that moment, though, even through the fog of all the other warring feelings swirling in your mind, you knew one thing for certain.

Denji is a mistake you’re going to make over and over again.

#chainsaw man/reader #chainsaw man x reader #chainsaw man #denji x reader #denji/reader #chainsaw man imagine #chainsaw man imagines #csm #NSFT #high school bad boy Denji do be giving me some thoughts!!

149 notes · View notes

softboywriting · 3 years ago

Text

Meet The Parents | Billy Russo

Summary: You introduce Billy to your parents and it doesn’t go as well as you hope. [Billy Russo x F!Reader] [Assistant!Reader Trope] [Alternate Timeline - Castle family not mentioned/never happened] [Fluff] [Problematic Parents/Divorced] [Parents Fighting] [Language] [Flirting] [Flashback/Nightmare]

Word Count: 3.8k

A/N: This is a follow up to my first fic Little Moments but can be read separately as a stand alone story. I may be doing several in a series with these two.

---

The office is quiet, and has been for the whole day. Billy has been out at a client meeting since you got in. Anvil is becoming quite popular in the private military market, having taken on three new contracts in the last two weeks. You're proud of Billy, he works hard to win over his clients and offer top of the line service. As the primary contact for all contracts and placements, you've gotten busy too. More business means more expenses, and more employees to keep track of. You don't mind, it keeps you active and engaged. There is nothing more you hate than just sitting around staring at the wall or watching cat videos for the billionth time.

"Hey sweetheart."

You glance up from your work and see Billy closing the office door behind him. He's dressed up, black and grey patterned silk shirt, expensive black suit, the tailored jacket over his arm. He looks positively delicious if you do say so. Those shirts are the best thing you ever convinced him to wear.

"Hey yourself. How'd the meeting go?"

"Shitty." He sneers and tosses his jacket on his office chair. He begins unbuttoning the sleeves of his shirt to roll them up to his elbows. "The guy brought his daughter."

"Okay? What does she have to do with anything?"

Billy raises his eyebrows in an 'are you shitting me' expression. "His daughter is a model. Not naturally talented mind you, paid for by her daddy. Clearly he thought havin' her there would sway me into acceptin' the number he offered for the contract you wrote up. Like he's doing me a favor."

You stand and walk around the desk, eyes going up and down his chest. "You didn't do anything did you?"

"What kinda man do you think I am?" Billy walks you back against your desk, pinning you in with his hands on the top behind you. He drops his head to yours and stares at you with those dark endless eyes. "You think I'd fuck around?"

"I know you won't, you're too gone for me." You run your hands up his back and he arches against you. "Did she try?"

"She tried. Even sat on my lap."

"In front of her dad?"

"Mmmhmm." Billy drops his face to your neck and mouths at your skin. "I don't mind a little show and tell but even I got boundaries. Parental peepshows are off limits."

You laugh softly and he brings one hand against your lower back up to pull you against him. "Take it easy. You know the rules. No relationship stuff while I'm on the clock."

He groans, pulling his head back to look at you. "I need to touch you though. I don't want her lingering on me."

"I know." You step out of his hold and he lets his hand drag across your back as you escape his grasp. "Just another hour okay? I've gotta wrap a few things up."

Billy pulls his tie loose and unbuttons the top of his shirt. "Why did I ever make these rules?" He sinks down in his chair and spreads his legs, lolling his head against the back. He really is such a tempting little tease. How could you resist a man like that? Truth be told it's hard.

You take a seat behind your desk and focus your eyes on the invoices on screen. "You made them because you want Anvil to remain professional and not a playground."

"Bullshit."

"Your bullshit."

Billy bites his lip and gives you that look. The one that says he isn't to be messed with, that he's gonna get what he wants no matter what. And oh it's so tempting to get up and go sit on his lap in that chair. It's always been a fantasy of yours. One you haven't gotten to full fill due to his rules. He's really only cockblocking himself.

"C'mere."

"No, Billy."

"C'mon, be bad. Break my rules."

"No! You're such a jerk!" You laugh and he chuckles playfully. "We have dinner with my parents after this anyway. I'm not breaking your rules and getting all messy before we go see my parents. You hear? Parents."

"Always such a good girl."

"You like it."

"Damn right I do." He pushes up out of his chair and crosses the office to cradle your head and press a chaste kiss to your temple. "I'm gonna go home and get ready. Anything you want me to lay out for you? I think you've got a few things at the apartment."

"The blue dress. I picked it up from the cleaners last week with a few suits. It should be in your closet."

"The one I bought you a while back for the client dinner?"

"Yeah."

"Isn't that a little revealing for a parents dinner?"

You raise your eyebrows and he narrows his eyes.

"You're a monster." He presses his lips to your ear. "If you keep teasing me I'll have to put you in your place."

"I guess I'm a glutton for punishment."

"Oh sweetheart, you have no idea what you're askin' for." Billy kisses your cheek and steps away. "Playin' with fire will get you burned."

You smile innocently. "See you later."

"You're terrible." He goes to the door and stops, looking back once more. "But I love you."

"Love you too Billy."

"Ugh," he groans, slapping a hand over his chest. "Say it again."

"Love you?" You giggle and he acts even more dramatic, pretending to swoon against the door. "What are you doing?"

"Being you."

"Wh- you son of a bitch! Get out!" You throw your squishy stress ball at him and he cackles as he runs from the office. What a child.

_____________________

"Oh, this is your boyfriend?" Your mother asks in actual surprise. As if you weren't meant to have a man that looks like Billy Russo. Truth be told you had never dated anyone half as attractive, not to you anyways. "He's so...well dressed."

Billy takes your mom's hand and kisses it politely. "We're all well dressed here ma'am. You look lovely too."

"Thank you." She flushes and giggles.

Billy gives a warm smile and tugs you closer. His hand on your back is radiating heat, its comforting. He knows you're tense. This dinner will be a strain on your nerves and he had been warned how difficult your parents can be.

"Your father should be here soon. I told him not to be late." Mom says huffily, eyeing the doors to the restaurant. You've met up with her outside and you're currently waiting for your dad to arrive. Your parents have been split for ten years and it's been hard, but not as hard as it would have been if they had divorced when you were still a young child. Well, you like to think that anyways. They waited, held on to their shit until you were graduated and old enough to understand that some people don't remain in love.

Billy leans in and presses his lips to your ear. "Are your parents going to fight? This place is very nice, I don't want to cause a scene."

"It'll be fine. They can hold it together for a few hours. I hope. Just don't mention their personal lives. It's a sore spot for mom. Dad isn't single anymore."

"Gotcha."

"Sorry I'm late." You turn and see your dad walking towards you. "Some asshole parked his Rolls Royce just on the line and I hardly squeezed into the only spot open beside it."

Mom scoffs and rolls her eyes. She bites her tongue but you know what she would say. Some comments about his truck being too damn big and a gas guzzler.

Dad puts his hand out for Billy. "You must be the lucky guy!"

Billy takes it and smiles a beautiful, toothy, shit eating grin. "Billy Russo, the asshole who parked his Rolls Royce a bit close to the line."

The way Dad's face turns pale and then red with embarrassment makes the whole evening worthwhile up until then. "That's yours?"

"One hundred percent. Bought and paid for."

"That's a beautiful piece of machinery. Expensive."

Billy leans his head on yours. "I only go for the best."

"Well you know I-"

"Oh shut up already, let's go inside." Mom says and grabs your dad's arm. "Always babbling on about shit when we've got things to do."

"Y'know what-" the conversation fades as your parents head into the restaurant. You're glad. It is bound to be petty anyways. Always was with them. Bickering children they should be called.

"Relax." Billy says in your ear, hand traveling up and down your side. "I can win over your parents for one night."

"You could charm anyone into anything and I've seen as much. You're a silver tongued sn-"

Billy catches your jaw in a light hold and presses a kiss to your lips. Your hand slides up into his hair and he grins into the kiss. "Easy now. We've not even gotten seated yet."

"Your fault."

"Usually is."

____________________

You stare at yourself in the reflection of the bathroom mirror. Dinner wasn't going so great and you had barely made it through an appetizer and drinks.

Your parents couldn't stop arguing, Billy was trying his best to charm them but apparently they're uncharmable, and you were left to play referee for your parents against each other or them against you and Billy.

It is a whole mess and you want to just leave, just walk out say fuck everything and go to Billy's apartment and go to bed. You haven't even had a chance to tease Billy like you were planning, hell, you've barely gotten a word in that wasn't defending him or fielding your parents insults they continuously hurdled over the table at one another.

The door rattles on your left and you clear your throat. "Occupied!" You shout and it stops.

It's a single use bathroom, not a multi-stall type set up. So the person outside would just have to wait until you were done having your crisis. Maybe not so fair to them but you'll be damned if you won't let yourself have a moment.

The handle turns and you back into the sink as the door opens. To your surprise it is Billy, not some worker with a key. "What the-"

"Your parents are insufferable. How the hell did you grow up with them? I mean I was in a group home and a few of the adults weren't great but holy shit they weren't my parents."

"I'm sorry."

Billy closes the door and shakes his head, taking your hands in his. "Don't be sorry for their actions. Never apologize for anyone but yourself."

"I knew this would happen. I just thought that maybe...I don't know...maybe they'd be different. Maybe they'd be proud of me, of you, so they would get along for two fucking hours."

"Sweetheart, you're nearly thirty, you're still seeking your parents approval?"

You laugh joylessly and bite the inside of your cheek. "You don't understand. You can't understand."

Billy brings your forehead to his lips and he rubs your back. He's always so affectionate with you, careful to hold and to love you like a man who never received it himself so he wants to make sure those he loves receives it tenfold.

"I understand seeking approval, but there is nothing you need approval for. You're an adult with a good job, a place to stay, an outstanding boyfriend with his own company. I'd say you're doin' alright honey."

You let out an actual little laugh, and he does too, bumping his nose against yours. "You're so full of yourself."

"You like that?" He bumps again, eyes on yours. "I said it to get you to giggle."

"You know it's a little true."

His lips meet yours in a warm tender kiss. "Confidence is sexy."

"It is."

"I could tell your parents there's a work emergency." He slides his hands over your ass and pulls you flush against him. "A real pain in the ass employee is causin' trouble."

You smile into his lips and he smiles back. "Oh yeah?"

"Mmhmm."

He chuckles softly and cradles your head to his chest. "You can't choose how your family acts. Remember that. It's up to you to decide how you act, and if you want to deal with them."

"I know."

"Do you?" He runs a hand over your hair, tangling his fingers in the strands briefly.. "I know it's different for you, I can distance myself easier since I didn't grow up with proper parents. Maybe I'm cold, or indifferent but-"

"Stop." You dig your fingers into his side and he falls quiet. "Don't compare your childhood to mine. It's not fair. I don't want you to begin resenting me because-"

Billy gives you a look that is all warning and it silences you instantly. "I would never resent you for having parents and growing up like a normal kid should. I ended up in a shit situation and that is no one's fault but my own mother's. She is the only person I will ever resent." He softens, leaning in and kissing your nose. "Do you wanna ditch or go try to make something of this dinner?"

You swallow harshly and look at the door. Ditching would be easy, but the repercussions would be insufferable. Your mom would never stop calling about it, your dad would hold it over your head forever. It would be more of a disaster to leave than it would be to stay. No matter how valid the reason.

"We'll stay. I can try and redirect the conversation."

"That's my girl." He pats your cheek. "Proud of you."

"T-thanks."

Billy takes your hand and interlocks your fingers with his. "I'll take care of it. I can get them to shut up."

"If you can get a word in."

"I have my ways. Don't worry."

You cut him a look as you exit the bathroom and head for the table. "What are you-"

"Don't worry." He presses against your ear and guides you down to sit at the table.

Your parents are still bickering.

"Hey!" Billy says firmly with his hands on the table, not a yell, but enough to get his point across and the attention of your parents but not many others.

"Yes?" Mom asks surprisingly quietly.

Billy smiles and it's all venom, beautiful venom. You know this look, these eyes, that deadly grin. He isn't fucking around and the way he can express that so physically subtly astounds you. "The arguing is going to stop. The petty comments are going to stop. We're going to sit here and have conversations like adults, or you can leave and your daughter and I will have a nice dinner."

"Wh-" Dad starts but doesn't get any further.

"I am not goin' to repeat myself." Billy stands up straight and raises his eyebrows, daring your parents to say another word. The tension is thick, you can hardly breathe. Never did you think you'd have to witness Billy being like this with your parents of all people.

You grab a roll from the basket at the center of the table and pick at it. "How's work been, Dad?"

Dad clears his throat. "Good, busy. People always need an electrician for something. I did a school the other day, new classroom."

Billy sits beside you and lays his hand on your leg, thumb stroking your skin gently. He leans in and whispers "I told you don't worry." He turns his attention back to your parents. "So you're an electrician? Contractor?"

"Yeah, I work for Mundun Electric. Union job, pays well."

"And you?" Billy looks to your mom.

"I'm a medical receptionist. Clarke Center Hospital."

Billy smiles. "That's incredible. You're both hardworking people it seems, I see where she gets her work ethic. She's incredible, the best I've hired for Anvil."

You chew your lip and look down, flushed. "You're just being nice."

"I'm serious." He holds your hand up and kisses your knuckles. "I admire your dedication and the hard work you've put into making Anvil a success. Without you, I don't know where I'd be. Probably buried in paperwork."

"So you work for Billy? That's how you met?" Mom asks and you nod.

Dad raises his eyebrows.

"Dad, don't start."

Billy cuts a glare at your dad. "Don't start what?"

"Nothing." Dad says nonchalantly, eyes going to somewhere else in the room. "I just think inter-workplace relationships are never a good idea."

You squeeze Billy's hand and he just smiles oh so sweetly. "Dad, it's fine. Billy and I are both professionals. If things don't work out we'll make it work for the sake of the company."

"He'll fire you and you'll be looking for a job yet again." Mom pipes up, rolling her eyes. "See, things like this are why you can't hold a career."

"Mom!"

"Alright." Billy says firmly. "We're done here. Ma'am, sir, with all due respect you can both go fuck yourselves."

"Excuse me!?" Dad bellows and your mom looks flustered at the use of language. "You have no right-!"

"Actually I do." Billy stands and guides you to stand with him. "I'm going to love and care about your daughter the way she should be. You two are self absorbed monsters who should have never had a child, let alone forced the one you had to live through a loveless marriage. The fact that you cannot manage to sit here and have dinner with her and myself, which mind you has left quite a first impression, is sad and disappointing."

You grab his hand and you're shaking. You don't even know what to say. It's like Billy is telling them everything you've wanted to for your whole life.

"C'mon sweetheart." He puts his arm around you and guides you out of the restaurant. You know there are people staring but it's fine. It's over now.

"I'm s-"

"Uh uh." Billy puts his finger to your lips. "No apologies. Here." He shrugs his suit jacket off and puts it around your shoulders.

"Thanks."

"You wanna get out of here before your parents come out. Go get some burgers or something?"

You can't help the little smile that tugs at the corner of your mouth. "Pete's Diner?"

"Anywhere you like." He takes your hand and walks you toward the parking area. "Fuck this fancy bullshit anyway. I never understood the food they serve."

"Me neither. A hamburger and fries with a big ole pickle is good enough for me."

Billy opens the passenger door for you. "You're a girl after my heart y'know that?"

"I think I already have it."

He leans in and kisses your forehead. "That's for damn sure."

_____________________

Midnight you wake up crying. A nightmare, a reoccurring one as it would be. Though it is more of a twisted memory than a nightmare in actuality.

You are always around seven or eight years old, it's nighttime, you've been in bed for an hour and still not asleep. Downstairs your parents are awake, their disembodied voices float through the old floors. Their voices grow louder, shouting, screaming at each other. A glass shatters and you crawl under the bed. Footsteps come closer in the hall, heavy and slow.

The dream shifts. You're not a child but an adult. Under the bed is smaller now, the footsteps grow louder. The door opens and you scream when your foot is grabbed and you wake up crying.

"What's wrong?" Billy asks, sitting up in bed abruptly and turning on the light, hand instinctively going for the nightstand where you know a weapon is stored.

You had stayed the night, both of you decided it was best to stay together while you decompress from your tragic meet the parents dinner. Didn't matter in the end though. The nightmare still came.

"Just a bad dream. I'm going to get some water." You push back the blankets and plant your feet on the cold floor. It's a nice shock to the system, reminding you this is reality.

Billy's arm snakes around your waist. "Care to share with the class?"

"It's nothing. Just a nonsense dream about old crap."

"Your parents?"

"Yeah. Um, just a dream." You yawn and pat his hand on top of your stomach. "I need water."

"Grab me a bottle?"

"Sure."

You end up in the kitchen, looking out at the New York skyline. His place is so beautiful. It's luxurious, and you can't get used to it. You lean on the island and sip a bottle of cold water from the fridge. You don't think you belong here.

Then the dream comes creeping back in. Rationally you know that dream is never going to become a reality. Not with Billy around.

"Hey."

You look back to see Billy walking in with his sleep pants low on his hips. He scrubs a hand over his face before meeting you at the island.

"Sorry, I just got caught up in the view."

"It s'okay." His arms wrap around you and he presses his face to your neck. "I love you." He whispers softly into your skin.

"Are you alright?"

"Mmm."

You thread a hand into his hair and scratch at his scalp. It elicits a hum that's nearly a purr against your back. "Do you ever feel like you don't deserve this? Like everyday you can't comprehend that you're loved."

"I didn't think I could fall in love before I met you, yeah. I'm familiar."

"Oh."

"Wasn't expecting that?" He chuckles, flexing his fingers against your tummy.

You shake your head and he kisses along your jaw. "Billy, stop," you giggle as his short beard tickles your skin.

"No way." He starts walking you back away from the island counter and toward the bedroom. "I've got a disease and if I don't kiss you all the time I'll definitely succumb to it."

The two of you tumble onto the bed and he straddles your hips, mouthing at your neck and chest relentlessly.

"It's three in the morning. We need to go back to sleep."

Billy hums and settles on top of you, nose in your hair. "Sleep is for the weak."

"Then I'm weak." You trail a hand up his back, fingers flitting over his shoulder blade. His skin is so soft, so warm. "Thank you by the way."

"For what?"

"Being here when I had a nightmare."

"Of course." Billy pets your hair, stroking it down against the pillow. "I've suffered my share of them alone. I'm glad you were here so you weren't."

"Me too."

"Go to sleep." He kisses your cheek and rolls off to the side. His arm curls around you and pulls you close. "Love you."

"Love you too."

_____________________

*****Note: none of my works should be posted anywhere outside of my linked accounts. I do not give permission to repost with or without credit to my accounts. Please notify me of any reposted works.*****

Header image by delicate-venus

Thank you so much for reading, please reblog to support content creators. -A

#billy russo #the punisher series #the punisher #the punisher netflix #billy russo x reader #ben barnes characters #the punisher fic #billy russo fic #billy russo fanfic

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lesbobiwan · 3 years ago

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Hi!!! Congratulations on 100 followers 👏🎉🎉 could I request 79 with torrent company? Or any other clone groups that you have in mind 😳👉👈 (also i wanna say your wrecker fic is 🔥🔥🍆💦😩😩 so good🙏)

thank you so much!!!! thank u so much about that comment for my wrecker fic that was my first time writing for him and i was very nervous!!

#79: “Look at you, grinding against everything, you’re really desperate for it. Aren’t you?” + Torrent Company (this is my first time writing group sex so i hope its okay haha)

warnings: group sex, hair pulling, a little bit of manhandling, some degradation so pls be aware if thats not ur thing, p in v sex, a little bit of anal fingering, spit roasting (whew)

You would have never imagined yourself in this position. At least, not without a hefty amount of alcohol.

Yet, here you are, stone cold sober, surrounded by a group of men you've fantasied about for months.

Had it not been for the aching bite on your neck left behind by Fives, you would have thought you were dreaming.

Jesse's hand fists in the back of your hair, pulling your head back to showcase the length of your neck, "You're not getting bored, are you?" he teases, grinding the length of his cock against your ass.

"No," you shudder against him, rolling your hips back against him. His hot mouth was making it hard to focus on anything in front of you, which was a damn shame because it's not everyday that you have four naked men in front of you.

Smack!

Echo's hand makes contact against the meat of your inner thigh, sending your world into stark focus. The haze from Jesse's mouth clears away at the shock of pain.

"Then why don't you tell us what Jesse asked you?" Kix asks, hand pumping his cock as his eyes narrow on Jesse's thigh slipping between your legs.

Immediately, you grind down against the muscle of his thigh, whining high in your throat at the friction.

"You don't know?" Fives asks, hand shooting out to grab your jaw. The tips of two fingers slip into your mouth, pressing hard against your tongue. "You too cock dumb already to tell us what Jesse said?"

Heat floods your face. It should be embarrassing. All of these men hearing you get called cock dumb and watch you rub your cunt like a shameless whore with someone's fingers in your mouth should make you want to curl up and die. All it really does is make you want more.

You shake your head as best you can with Fives hand around your jaw and fingers in your mouth. You don't know what Jesse asked you, you want to confess, I just want someone to touch me.

Jesse's thigh disappears from between your legs just as soon as it appeared. "Good girls don't get to rub themselves off when they can't answer simple questions," he whispers in your ear before pushing you not unkindly to the bed.

You gasp as your body bounces across the mattress. The comforter is fluffy enough to press against your clit when you sit up. Bolts of pleasure race up your spine as your drag your clit across the mattress.

"Fuck," you whimper, eyes fluttering shut. Your hands fist in the covers and you grind down harder.

If they won't touch you, then you'll have to do it yourself.

You're leaving a sticky spot on the covers behind you, and the feeling of the fabric catching on your clit is the only thing you can focus on. It's as if everything else in the room has faded from existence and and it's only you and your impending release.

You're so close to coming that you don't even realize the scratch of a chair sliding against the wood of your apartment floors. You don't notice how the rest of the men have fallen silent.

There's only you and your release that's building building building —

One hand tangles in your hair and lifts.

Your eyes flew open and you ragged gasp echoes through the room. Your hands fly up to grab at the wrist holding you up.

Rex stares back at you.

He's been silent enough since the night started that you might be able to say you forget he was here, but that would be a lie. Rex's presence was heavy in the room, and you knew it was an unspoken rule that the other men would do nothing without Rex's say so.

"Look at you," Rex breathes, dark gaze trailing down your heaving breasts to your soaked and dripping cunt and finally to the slick spot you left behind on the comforter. "Grinding against everything, you’re really desperate for it. Aren’t you?”

Rex turns your head to force you to look at the rest of the boys and you're suddenly struck with the feeling that you're prey.

You're prey and these five men are going to eat you alive. They'll devour you whole.

You look forward to it.

"Please," you whine, arching in Rex's grip and reaching out towards Echo, who looks as though he's fighting a war with himself just to keep his hands to himself, "touch me?" It's pitiful and pathetic, but you think you just might convince Echo to step forward.

That is, until Echo's eyes flit to Rex's behind you and his back straightens and feet cement themselves to the floor.

"You're desperate for a cock in your pussy, aren't you?" Rex hisses in your ear, pressing his body flush to your back. His cock is like a red hot brand against the small of your back.

Fuck, you want it in your mouth.

"She's gotta learn the rules first," Fives pipes up, fisting his cock and twisting on every upstroke.

Your mouth is dry and the words are almost hard to spit out against your desire to swallow each and every one of their cocks, but you manage. "R-rules?"

Kix smirks, kneeling down on the bed just far enough away that you would have to strain if you wanted to touch him. "The captain always goes first."

Rex's hand leaves your hair to press between your shoulder blades, forcing your head and chest into the mattress. His broad hand and fingers splay across your back, keeping you perfectly pinned.

Your chest heaves even more. Like this, you're completely exposed. Your swollen and dripping cunt is on full display for Rex behind you and Kix's cock is right there in front of your mouth — all you'd have to do is stretch your neck a little and open and your mouth.

Rex's thumbs open your pussy lips even more, "Look at that," he breathes, grinding his cock against the back of your thigh, "you're soaked for us, sweet girl. You want my cock that bad?"

"Yes!" you sob, canting your hips back into him.

His hand smacks down against the meat of your ass cheek. "'Yes,' what?"

Heat floods your cheeks. "Yes, captain," you groan into the sheets, "please, give me your cock?"

One of Rex's hands leave your body to line the tip of his throbbing cock against your entrance. He slides it up and down the length of your folds, getting his cock nice and wet to push into you.

"Kix," he barks, voice firm and not to be disobeyed, "why don't you keep her mouth busy?"

Kix's grin is feral above you, "With pleasure, Sir,"

Rex's first thrust has you choking on Kix's cock. The captain's hands are like iron against your hips, holding you in place and forcing you to just lay there and take it.

You give up trying to provide suction around Kix's cock and instead resign yourself to just pressing your tongue along the underside of it every time he thrusts into your mouth.

Rex's hand on your hip trails inwards, and your whole body stiffens when his thumb presses against your asshole.

"What do you think, sweet thing?" Rex leans down to whisper in your ear, "D'you think you could take one of us in here?"

Your cunt clenches around his cock and all you can do is moan around Kix's length.

Fuck, you don't know but you'd certainly like to try.

Rex groans as your clamp down around his cock, "Fuck, you like that idea, don't you? You want one of the boys to stick their cock in your ass, huh? Have you so full you'll be walking funny for days?"

Yes! you want to cry out. You want to scream as Rex's cock drags along that magic spot with every thrust but all you can do is choke around the cock in your mouth.

"Echo, you bring what I asked you to?" Rex asks, hips not slowing down for a second.

"Yessir."

Rex smacks a hand down against your ass, jolting you even further onto Kix's cock. Your nose is pressed against the hairs at the base of the medic's cock, and Kix's groan vibrates through his chest.

"Good," Rex grins, "then grab it and get over here."

You can't focus on anything. Your world is nothing but the punishing thrusts of Rex and the heavy feeling of Kix's cock deep in your throat. You can distantly hear Jesse and Fives fisting their cocks above you, and you want nothing more than to grab them and do it yourself, but Rex is using you like a doll.

A cold, slick finger presses against your asshole.

Echo.

You moan around Kix's cock as Echo slides the tip of his finger in.

"That's right," Rex murmurs, hand sliding around your front to circle your clit, "You're going to be full of us by the end of the night. Fuck, you're squeezing my cock so tight,"

Kix's hips start to stutter, "'M gonna cum, pretty girl," he warns, "you gonna swallow it all?"

You whine as best you can around his cock.

Yes, you want to assure him, I'll swallow every last drop.

You think the message gets across.

Echo slips a second finger in your ass just as Kix cums down your throat. Your jaw aches as you swallow it down, sticking out your tongue to show Kix the proof, and exhaustion threatens to creep up your spine.

But Rex isn't Fives and Jesse aren't done. Echo isn't done.

And you get the feeling that no one is done until Rex says they're done.

Maker, you never want this night to end.

#100 follower celebration #torrent company x reader #YEAH BABY

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gamerwoo · 4 years ago

Text

[Tales from the Pack] Chan: Homewrecker (Part Seven)

Characters: Chan x female reader

Genre/warnings: werewolf au, fantasy, angst, a little fluff at the end????

Word count: 2,568

Summary: Chan caught your attention as soon as your eyes met across the market. Something about him drew you to him, and you knew you were meant to be. However, you were already taken and arranged to be married on your next birthday, so you could never be together.

Previous | Next | Homewrecker Masterlist

The two packs sat in the living room, waiting for the time to move. The plan was that most of the wolves were to stay at the house to protect the mates, while Chan, Soonyoung, Jihoon, and Minghao were going into town to get you. Jiung’s pack would be waiting on the edge of town in case the wolves needed an easier escape. Everyone was relatively silent except the four alphas that were murmuring to each other. Jia was clinging to Minghao tightly, the two whispering to each other in Mandarin.

Chan’s heart was beating so quickly, he thought it would break his ribs. He was both excited and nervous – excited to finally have you all to himself and have you free of that awful man, but nervous because he didn’t know if anything would happen to you or the pack. His eyes never left the clock, waiting for it to be fifteen minutes until midnight.

Back at Jiung’s, Rin, Kyung, and the mates were on standby just in case the pack had to relocate quickly. A handful of Seungcheol’s knew where Jiung’s house was located, so they’d be able to direct the rest of the pack there. Jiung’s place had plenty of extra clothes, supplies, and the like just in case. They were prepared for almost anything.

Finally, Soonyoung stood, “It’s time to go.”

Chan shot up, all ready to leave. Jihoon sighed, shoving himself to stand, while Minghao took his time, saying his goodbyes to his mate. Nobody had ever seen Jia cry since being split from Minghao, but tears filled her pale blue eyes as she looked in the direction of Minghao, cupping his cheeks while she sobbed quietly in her native tongue. Jun stood behind her, placing a hand on her back.

“Junhui will take care of you until I come back,” Minghao told her, putting his hands over hers. His heartbreak was written all over his face, “and I promise that I will come back to you, my Jia.”

The two said the same thing to each other in Mandarin, which the pack could assume was some form of “I love you”, Minghao pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead before going to join the rest of the werewolves at the door. As he walked past Seungcheol, his fingertips brushed against the back of the alpha’s hand before he left.

“Try to be safe,” Seungcheol requested, holding onto Jooyeon’s hand. “I want you all to come back, okay? That’s an order.”

“Technically, you don’t control us,” Soonyoung pointed out with a lopsided smile, trying to lighten the mood.

“We’ll come back,” Jihoon assured before shoving the few of his group out of the door.

Jiung let the rest of the wolves from his pack leave before he glanced at Seungcheol, a warm smile on his face, “I’ll bring them all back, Seungcheol. I’ll do whatever it takes, I promise.”

Seungcheol nodded, “Thank you, Jiung. Really.”

And with that, the group was gone.

You had no way to tell them, no way to let anybody know what was coming. You paced your room until your mother called for you to go to sleep already, and then you just sat on the edge of your bed, staring at your window. You knew what was waiting for the wolves when they got here, but you couldn’t do anything to let them know. All you could do was wait for them to get here and for all hell to break loose. There was nothing you could do.

The minutes ticked by slowly, and you didn’t sleep at all. You couldn’t bring yourself to relax no matter how hard you tried. Your thoughts continued to go back to Chan and his pack that just wanted to help. They were just trying to do good, and you were going to get them all in trouble – probably killed.

If you didn’t decide to drop in at Donghae’s to give him a basket of baked goods like your parents requested, you wouldn’t have known his plan. The basket was supposed to be a congratulations on the marriage, thought you didn’t see any reason to celebrate. However, when you were led into Donghae’s office to wait for him, you saw the blueprints for the plan, as if he knew the wolves were going to try to save you. But there was no way he could have a solid idea, but you knew Donghae was no idiot, and he clearly saw just how much you meant to the werewolf pup. This was just precautionary, but his assumptions were correct.

Finally, you saw Chan through your window, tugging the glass open and crawling in silently. Behind him came three other wolves, only one that you recognized. The other two looked around the room warily, unsure of who could be lurking around.

Soonyoung, however, gave you a bright smile as he adjusted his shirt, “Hello again, _____.”

“_____,” Chan breathed, pulling you to his chest.

However, you immediately pushed him away, panic in your eyes, “Chan, we have to leave now; they’re coming.”

The shortest wolf stepped toward you, his golden eyes hard, “Who’s coming?”

You were babbling the explanation, your fear causing all of your words to rush together and come out at once, “Donghae and his men; they assumed you were coming. He has men watching my house, they’re going to be here any minute to–”

“Shh,” the one with black hair held a finger up to signal you to be quiet, his eyes slowly looking around like he was straining to hear something. “…I hear something.”

The rest of the wolves stopped to listen too before you heard your front door creak open.

Chan’s head darted to look at the other three wolves, “We need to get her out of here. Now.”

“There’s definitely men already surrounding the house by now,” the black-haired wolf stated.

“What about the tracker?” the shortest of the group quizzed, gesturing to your arm.

“It’ll have to wait. Chan, how well do you know the layout of _____’s house?” Soonyoung wondered.

“Very,” Chan nodded.

You could hear footsteps coming up the stairs…

“We’ll distract them,” Soonyoung began shoving you and Chan to stand by the door so it would block you from view when it swung open, “and you take _____ on your back and run back to the pack, got it?”

They stomped down the hallway…

“But Soonyoung–”

“Our priority is to get her out alive, Chan,” he stated, his serious tone and look something completely opposite of how you remembered the playful wolf. “You’re the fastest, and you can get her out of here without anybody catching you. Minghao has Seungcheol’s strength, so the three of us will be fine. Just trust me.”

They were right outside the door…

“Jump,” Chan whispered.

You hopped onto his back, holding on as tightly as you could.

The three werewolves tensed, eyes shifting to a glowing silver you’d never seen before. You gasped out loud right before the door was flung open, almost whacking Chan in the face.

“Where’s the girl?” a gruff voice demanded.

You could just barely see around the corner of the door, but from what you saw, the shortest wolf lifted his hand, his palm out toward the door. Then he swiped his hand away toward the wall before you heard a loud thump.

“Chan, go now!” Jihoon ordered.

The wolves barely saw the blur of Chan take off with you on his back, leaving through the open doorway. The three knew there was a good chance they fucked themselves over, but the life of an innocent human who got dragged into their problems was their number one priority.

“Signal Jiung,” Jihoon said flatly.

Soonyoung let out a loud howl that could be heard throughout the town. Everybody probably knew werewolves were in the town now, but what did it matter anymore? If they got caught, the townsfolk would know about it tomorrow when their heads were placed on stakes anyway.

Jiung definitely heard the howl, and signaled for his pack to go. Since his entire pack was made up of special wolves, he knew it shouldn’t be too difficult to overpower some guards, even if there were a large quantity of them surrounding the house.

“Don’t kill if you don’t have to,” Jiung barked as they approached the house, “but do whatever it takes to get their pack out.”

Chan stopped in the middle of the forest when he knew he was far enough from town. He set you down on your feet before turning to look at you, holding your face in his hands. He was breathing heavily, but not like he had been running as fast and as long as he was.

“Are you okay?” he asked. “Are you hurt?”

“No,” you shook your head, but you weren’t who you were worrying about. “But your pack. What will happen to them?”

“They can take care of themselves,” he promised, though he looked like he was also trying to convince himself of that. “They have extra help, and they have powers, too. They’ll be okay.”

Chan took a few steps back, letting his hands drop from your face, “I’m going to shift to speak to my pack and see what’s going on at home. I want you to get on, and hang on to me as tightly as you can, okay?”

“What if everything’s bad at home?” you wondered, unsure if Donghae would’ve known where the pack lived.

“Then we’ll go somewhere else that I know of,” he promised, “someplace safe. I promise to take care of you, _____, no matter what.”

In a swift movement, Chan was right in front of you again, cupping your cheeks, and his mouth pressed firmly but sweetly on yours. Your heart fluttered as you melted into the kiss, leaning into his warm body. You didn’t even realize how long you’ve wanted him to kiss you until that moment.

He pulled away too soon for your liking, his cheeks flushed a soft pink. You didn’t have time to admire how adorable he looked, though, because he was shifting into a wolf before your very eyes. His clothes tore off the bigger he grew, and various shades of brown fur covered his body.

As soon as he was in his wolf form, Chan could hear the thoughts of Jeonghan.

‘Chan! Oh, thank god!’ his brother seemed relieved to hear from him, but it wasn’t the kind of relief Chan thought it was, ‘Do not come here, Chan. Take _____ to Jiung’s.’

Chan hadn’t even noticed you climbing onto his back, too focused on his thoughts, ‘Why? Jeonghan, what’s wrong?’

‘They’re here,’ he said, ‘The guards and the hunters…they’re here. They found us.’

Chan let out a soft whine, which worried you, but he raced off into the forest anyway. You didn’t know it, though, but he was going in the opposite direction of his home. He couldn’t help his family, he had to keep you safe. But his heart ached thinking that something could happen, and it might be his fault for not being there.

There was a girl waiting on the porch of a large farmhouse, holding clothes in her hands. Chan lowered himself to the ground so you could get off before he walked up to the girl. You noticed she had eyes like Chan’s.

“Hi,” she smiled, “my name’s Kyung. Can you tell me who you two are? I’m not familiar with your pack’s wolf forms.”

You looked to Chan, unsure if this was somebody you could trust. He just nodded once slowly, so you faced the foreign-looking girl, “I-I’m _____, and this is Chan.”

“Ah, you’re the girl they’ve all been worried about,” she nodded with a soft laugh, setting the clothes on the railing of the porch. “Well, I’m glad you’ve made it here safely. While Chan changes, I’ll bring you inside and warm you up a bit. The night’s pretty cold.”

Your hand went to Chan’s fur, holding onto him. You weren’t about to trust a stranger after what just happened. You wanted to stay with Chan because at least he was familiar and somebody you knew you could trust. But he nudged your back with his nose, urging you to follow Kyung.

She offered you her hand, so you cautiously took it since Chan seemed to trust this girl. She led you inside, leaving Chan to shift and dress himself outside. She sat you down on a couch in a nice living room, and another girl walked in and handed you a large mug of hot tea. You gave them thankful smiles before taking a sip.

“Do you happen to know anything about the others?” the second girl asked.

Kyung frowned, “Jimin, she just got here.”

The other girl, Jimin, nodded, “Right, sorry.”

Jimin went back into the kitchen while Kyung knelt down in front of you, “Are you or Chan hurt?”

“No, but–”

Chan walked into the room, his face full of concern, “She’s being tracked.”

Kyung whipped her head around, “Who is?”

“_____. We were supposed to remove it before we left her room but we didn’t have the time. They’re tracking her right now.”

You didn’t see the way Kyung’s eyes widened, but you saw the fear in them when she turned back around and called out for somebody named Rika, and somebody else name Chanseong. A short girl and a taller boy entered the room together from the kitchen.

“She has a tracker in her,” Kyung told them. “We need to get it out.”

“No, we can’t do it without Joshua!” Chan spoke up, afraid of them causing you a lot of pain. At least with Joshua, he could get rid of the pain quickly. He practically threw himself on the couch beside you, wrapping his arms around you. “He’s a healer; if we just wait for–”

“Do we have the time to wait?” Kyung asked, looking up at the two who came from the kitchen. “What if more people come here?”

“It’ll take them hours to get here, especially in the dark,” Chanseong assured her. “We should wait for their healer.”

“We need all the medicines for any wounded, anyway,” Rika nodded. “We’ll be okay, Kyung.”

“Rin’s been rubbing off on you,” Chanseong chuckled, trying to lighten the mood.

Rika and Chanseong retreated back into the kitchen, and Kyung just sighed as she stood up again. She tousled her dark curls before turning around to go down another hallway.

“I’ll go wait for others,” she said before leaving.

That just left you and Chan. You couldn’t stop worrying about your tracker now, though there was nothing you could do about it until the healer showed up. So you just laid your head on Chan’s shoulder and observed the quiet room.

Chan sat beside you, keeping his arms around you, even when Jimin returned with a cup of tea for him which she just set on the coffee table. He couldn’t stop thinking about how he had to now tell you that you were his mate. He already got you to a safe place – well, you would be totally safe once the tracker was out of you – so now he had to confess. But considering everything that had happened, he decided that was a conversation for later, at least.

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blahkugo · 4 years ago

Text

Biggest Fan

DABI x HAWKS x READER

Music! AU inspired by THIS photo set...or, the one in which Dabi, Hawks, & Endeavor are a famous rap group, and the reader gets VIP treatment.

NSFW begins after the ~~~ for those of you who don’t care for plot!

Warnings: 18+!, SMUT, cursing, threesome, rough sex (? not sure what your definitions of the word are but they do be slapping you around…), just pure filth basically

You’ve been squealing into the phone for the past ten minutes. Honestly, you can’t believe the words coming from your best friend’s mouth, even after asking her to repeat them a fourth time.

“Babe, even if you weren’t my agent, I would have found a way to get you in,” Rumi scoffs into the speaker, unphased by your relentless questioning. Though she’s always been a bit impatient when it comes to your antics, she knows how big of a deal this is to you. “How could I not? You talk my ear off about them.”

“I owe you for the next thirty years!” Your screech turns the heads of a few other customers, and you can feel the irritation radiating off the glare of one particularly peeved woman seated near you. But who cares? You’re too excited for a few middle-aged drags to dampen your mood.

“Remember what you just said the next time I try to skip out on an interview,” her laugh echoes loudly; she must be at the studio.

“Yes! Whatever you want, Twinkle Toes. It’s yours!” She begins to grumble at the use of the old nickname,

“How many times have I told you not to-” You catch the scowling woman turning towards you.

“Got-to-go-text-me-the-details, love you!” The parting phrase comes out a hurried ramble. Unbothered as you are by a few stares, direct confrontation definitely isn’t worth the trouble. You’re out of the bistro and in your car before anyone can open their mouth.

The cup of iced coffee you press to your flushed face does nothing to curb the elation threatening to bubble over from inside you. Rumi really has outdone herself this time. Being that she’s both a long-time best friend and client of yours, you know just how hard she’s been working to book a job of this caliber. Images of the two of you icing sore feet after hours of grueling practices spring to mind, making your bad ankle throb. If you could tell your younger selves who they are now— an internationally acclaimed dancer and a talent manager with a novel’s worth of influential clients— they wouldn’t believe it. And the work was paying off in more ways than one. Soon, Rumi will be making her music video debut...and you’ll actually be in the presence of your favorite artists, Suns of Icarus.

The rap trio’s been all you can talk about forever. No, like really, forever. Even back at arts school, Rumi had to talk you out of choreographing dances to their music practically once a week. You can still hear her promising you that your 70 year-old ballet instructor did not, in fact, want to see you pirouette to a song that's chorus consists of Hawks saying the word “pussy” over and over again. Usually the memory would drown you in embarrassment (especially considering the story is Rumi’s favorite icebreaker), but now even that can’t hamper your mood. You sigh cheerily, pulling into your reserved parking space. Tomorrow, you’ll be surrounded by your idols.

“Are you sure I look okay?” You ask for the third time in an hour, tugging at the hem of your silk tank. Though you’re wearing your favorite suit, you can’t help but feel out of place in the large dressing trailer. After all, it’s not every day that you accompany your clients on their gigs. Your job is getting them the gigs, and usually you prefer it that way.

“(Y/N), quit stressing! If you looked any hotter the guys would have a heart attack,” your best friend bellows loudly. “Doesn’t she look smokin’?” She questions the hairdresser who, apart from a nod and reassuring smile, you can’t quite understand over the sound of the blow dryer. “Who’s the bad bitch that got me this job in the first place? Oh right, that was you,” she pumps a manicured finger towards you to echo the claim, “so woman up!”

She doesn’t put her finger down until she sees your face soften. It’s not like she’s wrong. “Professional smooth-talker” is basically your job description. In Hollywood people are afraid of you, the woman who can make or break a career. Who are you to let a couple of talents get you riled up? You allow your body to relax in your seat. Even if those talents are the group of boys that you’ve been crushing on since you were 16. Recalling that fact has you scrambling out of the trailer, face beet-red yet again.

“I’m going to grab something from the coffee cart. Be right back!” The door shuts behind you with a loud thud. Rumi should be spending this time going over the routine, not talking you down from the ledge you’re attempting to throw yourself off of over a few stupid guys. Besides, you’ll probably receive a polite greeting at best. The world’s favorite musicians have more important things to do than indulge your fantasies.

Having iced coffee and a bagel in your hands is all you need to feel the tension in your shoulders dissipate and your smile return; truly a working woman’s comfort meal. The spring in your step is restored as you walk back to the trailer, too entranced by the savory goodness to properly hear the voice that hollers from your right. You do, however, hear the scolding that follows the catcall,

“How many times have I told you not to hit on people that work for us, birdbrain.” Your entire body swings towards the familiar nickname and a piece of bagel nearly falls from your mouth. Not even a few feet away, Dabi holds your favorite vocalist in a one-handed headlock, attempting to ruffle the blonde’s hair while keeping a cigarette balanced between his own fingertips.

“Not the hair, man! The stylist’s already had to touch it up twice today!” Hawks’ shrieks are muffled beneath the bicep of his counterpart.

“Go apologize,” The lanky man shoves Hawks towards the spot your feet are now cemented to. Though he’s reprimanding him, you swear you detect a hint of amusement in his tattooed face. “I’m sorry about him, sweetheart,” he calls, lips contorting into a smirk that should be illegal. You feel your thighs press together on their own; the situation isn’t made any better by the pretty boy walking towards you, hands threading through his golden locks in an effort to fix the havoc Dabi wrought.

“My bad,” he flashes you an award-winning set of teeth you’ve previously only had the pleasure of viewing through your laptop screen; somehow they’re even pearlier in person. The glimmer of a tiny gem catches your eye and you notice one is sealed to his canine, only dazzling you further. “I meant what I said though, you’re gorgeous,” his hand moves from his own hair to twist a piece of yours between his fingertips. The lack of boundaries leaves you feeling stupefied, but he doesn’t let up, going as far as wrapping the lock around his polished index finger. God, even his hands are pretty...What if they were trailing the inside of your thigh and— Your mind shouts at you to behave, a fruitless undertaking when the object of your adolescent desires is touching you ever-so softly.

“Um- I- Thank you?” The stuttered phrase comes out confused. Where the hell is the professional smooth-talker side of you when you need her? “I’m Rumi’s agent and uh- I-I’m a big fan!” Heat blazes through your face and chest; you’d slap yourself for the outburst if they weren’t here.

“Oh, really? She told us all about you!” He waves a hand towards Dabi. “Oi! Matches! She’s not an assistant, she’s Rumi’s manager!” The gloomier man extinguishes his cigarette before making his way towards the two of you, smug expression wavering only when he glances at Hawks. A short wheeze leaves the blonde when his chest is smacked lightly by his partner.

“I told you not to call me that.” Dabi turns his attention towards you. “(Y/N), right?” He sticks a hand out to shake and you quite literally drop the remains of the bagel to reciprocate the motion, a move that makes you redden and him snicker. “Rumi told us you’re our biggest fan,” his sly grin tells you your loud-mouthed best friend had probably spilled too much information their way. Oh, she’s definitely going to get an earful later.

He doesn’t drop eye contact the entire time he’s speaking to you, and you find yourself enchanted by the deep sea-blue of his irises. You would literally swim in those pools if given the chance. Only when Hawks clears his throat do you realize you’re still shaking his friend’s inked hand. After dropping it rapidly, you urge yourself into composure out of pure distress.

“Sorry, I’m honestly a bit starstruck. I’m sure Rumi told you how much I love your music,” you finally sound a bit like your usual self.

“She didn’t really mention our music, did she Matches?” Hawks chirps, dodging Dabi’s fist this time.

“No, I don’t think she did, dipshit,” he spits the insult through gritted teeth as a final warning. “But I do remember her telling us something about being your first two crushes...or was it your ‘sexual awakening’? I can’t really remember the term she used…” Your knees almost buckle at the obvious teasing, and you silently swear to murder Rumi when she’s done shooting this video. It’s evident that the mockery is highly amusing to them— the glints in their eyes border on ravenous.

Because you’re not typically someone whose presence is taken lightly, the thought of being toyed with by a few arrogant men has your blood boiling. You’ve already dealt with too many pretentious assholes who don’t believe women, especially younger ones, belong in management; you didn’t claw your way to the top of the industry for all of that hardship to go to waste. Ever the more perceptive of the duo, Dabi seems to realize the shift in your mood.

“Relax,” he reaches a hand towards you before thinking better of it, choosing instead to tug at the thin, silver piercing adorning his bottom lip. “We’re only teasing. She didn’t say anything like that, obviously.” You stare at him incredulously, arms crossing your chest. “Why don’t we give you a tour?” Though he’s the one who makes the offer, it sounds as though he’d rather be doing anything else.

“We’re not really assholes, promise,” Hawks jumps in, crossing his fingers over his heart in a show of good faith. “This one just gets too big headed around beautiful women,” he points at the heavily-inked man, who simply rolls his eyes at the accusation. You’d thought the blonde was…well, nothing more than the stereotype his hair color implied, but he’s sharper than he seems. It appears that unlike Dabi, who comes off curt and ungenuine, Hawks’ wit stems from his charm.

You can’t help but think of how the two of them compliment each other beautifully. That’s probably why their entire fanbase thinks they should be dating. With that ludicrous thought, your exuberance returns. After Hawks assures you they don’t have to be on set any time soon, you find yourself taking them up on their offer. They seem to be a handful, sure, but how long have you dreamt of spending uninterrupted time with your favorite members of the group? Besides, it’s only a tour. What could go wrong?

It’s apparent only five minutes into your time together that Hawks (despite his insistence you call him Kiego, it’s difficult after years of referring to him by the stage name) does not know the meaning of personal space. He spends the better part of the tour hooking an arm through yours, touching your hair, or pestering Dabi. While some may take this over-familiarity as a sign of disrespect, it feels more to you as though he’s simply comfortable in his skin.

Rude or not, his bold actions do nothing but spur your heart to beat out of your chest. Every time he guides you towards an attraction with a cheerful comment, you swear his fingers purposefully dash under your layers of clothing, brushing faintly at the skin of your waist in a way that makes your heart (among other parts) flutter.

“And as I’m sure you know, we’re filming this music video mid-tour,” his hand flits away as swiftly as it skimmed you, prolonging the torture of wondering whether his movements are purposeful or a figment of your twisted imagination. After showing you most of the fabricated scenery— and even the gorgeous, cherry-red convertible that was rented— for the video, you’ve arrived at the group’s infamous tour bus. You once read that most of their concerts end with the vehicle being mobbed by ruthless fans, one of the sole reasons you’ve never attended a show. Someone as busy as you doesn’t have time for all the horrid traffic the mobs cause. “Wanna see inside? It’s actually pretty roomy.”

You nod, eyes trailing towards Dabi, who’s busy stomping out the most recent cig he’d been puffing on. Aside from the occasional chuckle at your flustered blunders or annoyed curse thrown towards Hawks, the taller man had kept mostly to himself. His indifference confuses you, makes you wish you hadn’t reacted so bitterly to the loose smile and banter he offered you upon first meeting. At the same time, part of you is irritated by his standoffish personality. From what you’ve seen so far, his remarks serve the single purpose of humiliating others for his own amusement— a stark contrast to the misjudged softy he’s portrayed as on camera.

You’re guided onto the bus and Dabi follows, cursing under his breath at something or other. Sociable as he is, Hawks begins to chatter again, seeing no issue in being the center of your attention. You realize the space is much roomier than it seems. State of the art technology allows the bunk beds to fold back with a press of the button, leaving room for a decently sized couch. It’s also much cleaner than you would expect three young men living on the road to allow.

“And the lowest one was my bunk, just in case you’d like to see it again later,” he whispers the sentence as though it’s his best kept secret, wagging his thick brows exaggeratedly to key you in on his joke. “Hey, why are you laughing? I’m totally seriou–” The doors swivel open and your giggles are cut off by heavy footsteps and a booming voice,

“Oi! Keigo! What the hell do you think you’re doing?” You have to crane your neck to see the pillar of a man’s scrunched, stoic face. Endeavor, the pyrotechnic-obsessed “hype man” and third part of Suns of Icarus’s trio, stands a few feet from you, clearly exasperated by something his bandmate has done. Hawks must know precisely the reason for the bottle-redhead’s tone, because his face pales.

“Enji, we made a new friend!” He pulls you into his chest in an obvious attempt to shield himself from the giant, but your face heats at the close contact regardless.

“You were supposed to be on set for your solo scenes ten minutes ago,” he crosses his sculpted arms, “so let’s go.” The lively man is being whisked away by the larger one before he can utter a word of rebuttal. “Nice to meet you,” he calls casually to you over his shoulder.

“Dabi, keep (Y/N) company! I’ll be back!” Hawks shrieks with a dramatic flare. The man was truly born to be an entertainer.

An unbearable awkwardness envelops the two of you once you’re alone. Without his best friend around, Dabi drops any semblance of amiability, but it’s not as if he was trying very hard before. He plops down on the couch and pulls out his phone. You sit as far away from him as possible, but realize you don’t have your own device to keep you busy. After a few nervous minutes of twiddling your thumbs, you attempt to break the silence.

“So, Haw– Keigo and Endeavor use stage names, why don’t you?” You spout the first question that comes to mind, hoping it’ll spark an interesting conversation.

“Dabi is my stage name,” he answers curtly, without looking up from his cell.

“Oh...but– even your bandmates call you by it?”

“Yep. Don’t care for my real name,” his eye roll sends ice through your veins.

“Excuse me,” you snap, “have I done something to offend you?” The frustration in your tone wins you eye contact, at least.

“Nope.”

“Unbelievable….I’m going to need your publicist’s information.”

“Huh?”

“Well, anyone who can make you seem like the world’s most ‘misunderstood heartthrob’ on camera certainly deserves a pay raise, dontcha’ think?” His eyes drop to send a steely glare your way, but you’re too fed up to feel intimidated. You smirk at him, a single eyebrow raised in twisted satisfaction. There’s the bitchy self you know and love.

“You don’t know the first fucking thing about me,” he sits up, “but I know everything I need to know about you.”

“Oh? Enlighten me then, sir.”

~~~

“You may think Keigo likes you, but he likes everyone. You’re, what, thinking you’re special because he’s throwing some attention your way?” Dabi inches closer. “Hoping he’ll get in your panties?”

“It’s not like that at all–”

“Don’t lie. The idea of being with someone you’ve idolized for years is thrilling, isn’t it?” The heat that rises on your cheeks is enough to confirm his suspicions. “He doesn’t like to see people for who they really are, but I know your type...just another tramp that’ll use him and move onto the next,” his smug expression returns after that little rant. Paired with the tattoos covering most of his face, he appears every bit as wicked as the skeleton his ink emulates— devilish, even.

“You’re wrong.” You can’t think of a proper argument when he’s so close to you, basically breathing down your neck.

“Am I?” His hand trails up your clothed thigh, and an unwelcome shiver crawls up your spine. “So you’re going to stop me when I do this, right?” Then, he kisses you.

It’s not at all soft, or compassionate, or anything resembling your naive teenage fantasies of the artist in the slightest. Rough, slender fingers wrap around your jaw and yank your lips to his. He doesn’t stop at a peck either, choosing instead to assail your mouth with all of his pent-up rage. The cool, hard metal of his lip ring strains against you, a pleasant contrast to the quick heat traveling the rest of your body. You want nothing more than to prove him wrong— to throw him off you, tell him to go straight to hell— but he takes your bottom lip between his teeth and- God, it just feels so good. Your mouth parts in a breathless moan and Dabi takes the reaction as an invitation to swipe his tongue against your teeth. With your bodies melding together violently, the make out feels simply a continuation of the intense argument you were having moments before.

Pulling you between his lap, he shifts you so that your back is flush across his chest. Nimble fingers make quick work of your clothes. You just barely raise your hips so that he’s able to take your pants off with ease, but you’re sure he notices the eager movement. When you’re left in nothing but your panties, you feel the rumbling of his solid body behind you as he laughs, the sound bitter and pleased all at once.

“Oh you really are a whore,” he chides. “Who’d you wear these for, hm?” He runs his fingers across the band of your red lace thong.

“Not you,” you bite back, feigning disinterest towards the dangerous position he has you in. The asshole’s not going to get to actually hear you admit defeat so easily. One of his hands kneads your chest and the other grabs your cheeks harshly, pushing them together so that you’re unable to speak.

“Not me? Take a good look at yourself, sweetheart.” He lifts your head upwards and your breath hitches; the entire ceiling of the bus is covered in a dark, reflective surface. “Who has you naked in their lap right now?” he whispers onto your neck, licking a long stripe upwards until his teeth graze your ear. You watch fervently as he strokes his digits across one of your perked nipples, tweaking the bud roughly. “Who are you being such a slut for?” He’s aware he won’t get a response because his left hand still grips your face, demanding you watch his every move.

Dabi then snakes his fingers down your midriff tortuously slowly, brushing lightly in a way he hasn’t touched you yet; as if the skin there is delicate, worthy of his valuable adoration. The ink traveling his arms makes him appear so ethereal, so sinister and compelling, that you can’t help but let out a muffled mewl. Once he reaches your panties, his fingers dart beneath the material and the tender moment is lost. An onslaught of pleasure wracks your body when he begins to draw quick circles on your clit. He lets go of your cheeks, now sore and reddened from both pressure and bliss.

“I’m going to ask one more fucking time,” his fingers glide against your soaked slit, “who are you being such a dirty slut for?” You contemplate not giving him the answer he’s looking for, and part of you is sinfully curious about what may happen if you enrage him further; however, that idea is put to rest immediately when he snaps his head up to look at you through the mirror, blue eyes pooling with lust and a hint of something animalistic. That stare, paired with the relentless strokes across your clit, provokes your moaned answer,

“F-for you, Dabi.” He uses his free hand to insert two, thick digits inside you.

“Say it again.”

“I’m- fuck– a s-slut for you,” you practically sob out. You press the back of your head into his shoulder harder, squeezing your eyes closed and biting your lip.

“Not going to keep your eyes open? Fine.” The fingers are removed from your clit and you’re about to let out an unsatisfied whine, only for him to grab the back of your head and mash your swollen lips to his once again. Then, after another brief caress of your abdomen, he’s back to touching your sensitive bud. All of your moans are silenced by his mouth, and you feel the vibrations of a low groan from his own throat when your ass grinds against his clothed member. When your stomach pulls taut you know you’re seconds away from feeling that all-encompassing pleasure, the tidings of an orgasm so close to washing over you.

“Oi, Matches! You didn’t throw her out did you?” Hearing Hawks’ voice call out from the front of the bus has you reeling your lips away from Dabi, and though he slows his movements, he doesn’t remove his fingers from your core. Rather than push you away, he takes the other hand off your clit to hold you tightly against him. “(Y/N)? Dab–”

For a few seconds, the only sound you can hear is your own heart beating out of your chest. Takami takes in the scene in front of him— your bare body splayed across his best friend in the lewdest of positions. You know your face is blooming in embarrassment as you wait for a reaction, for his face to drop in disappointment, anger, anything. Instead, he smirks.

“Starting without me? That’s no fair,” the golden-haired boy actually pouts, but there’s something deeper swimming in his eyes, something almost bloodthirsty. Though this is happening right in front of you, you can’t truly believe it. Dabi relieves the pressure of his arm from your chest.

“Look Kiego, the whore’s fucking drenched for us,” he lifts his fingers towards the beautiful man in front of you proudly, as if showing off a trophy or a new toy. Then he pops the damp fingers in his own mouth, humming at the taste of you. Hawks’ tongue dips out of his mouth, darting across his bottom lip.

“I want a taste,” he leers at your bright panties, now soaked through. You think you must have died and gone to heaven, what with the two Adonises staring at you as if you’re their last meal. Hawks kneels at the foot of the couch, brings his face right up to your navel, and licks a long, cold swipe. His digits toy at your waist like they were earlier, except this time the movements are decisive and fierce. Just as he’s about to tug your panties down and place his mouth where you want it most, Dabi seizes his jaw and pulls his partner into a long, sloppy kiss. You let out a sigh at the view and— teases that they are— the sound doesn’t go unnoticed by either of them.

“Is watching us turning you on?” Dabi taunts cruelly.

“Looks like she’s a bit of a pervert, hm?” Hawks retorts, sliding a finger across your clothed slit. The movement causes your entire body to quiver, your senses on high alert. Without another word, he leans down again, shifts your panties to the side, and takes your clit between his lips. The way he laps at you hungrily makes you believe your initial judgment of him was completely inaccurate, and when he inserts two lengthy digits inside you, the thought is confirmed. Hot, white pleasure consumes your body as your core clenches around his digits. He simply cocks an eyebrow at you and chuckles darkly, holding you tightly against him by your waist so that you’re unable to wriggle away. Gone is the lovable persona you were introduced to, replaced now by someone entirely foreign, deviously lewd.

“Fuck, Hawks,” you whimper, greedy for more.

“Thought I told you to call me Keigo,” he scolds beneath you, biting the inside of your thigh so that a sharp gasp leaves you.

“I-I’m sorry, K-Kei–” You’re cut off mid-moan when Dabi kisses you, wrapping one slender hand around your throat and squeezing. His other one threads through your hair and tugs harshly. A painful hiss leaves you but the sound only makes him pull harder, smirking against your lips.

It’s as though they’re competing for your attention. If one of the men evokes a sob or whimper, the other attempts to outdo him— and they have no regard for your body, becoming instead the battleground for their lascivious rivalry. You lose yourself in the intense sensations, unaware of time or its passing, instead focusing solely on the coil tightening in your abdomen. Every gasp, every moan, only pushes them further, and soon your legs are shaking as you feel yourself nearing the delicious edge.

Just as you’re about to let go, allow yourself the mind-numbing relief of an orgasm, Kiego withdraws his fingers. Rubbing your bruised thighs together is a desperate attempt at friction, but the momentum is completely lost. Your core clenches around nothing, and you cry out, hopelessly bitter at the emptiness between your legs.

“Sorry, princess,” his hair is sticking up, golden locks tousled from the harsh grip of your fingers. And yet he still looks perfect. He wipes your juices off his chin with a thumb, “but that’s for starting without me.” Despite the apology, he sounds absolutely delighted at your loss. You whine again, hoping it’ll change his mind. “What do you think, Dabi? Should we let her cum?”

Hearing his name, the tattooed man takes his attention away from your chest and the onslaught of purple marks his lips’ were just peppering on your throat.

“I don’t think so,” he tweaks at one of your nipples, eliciting a soft groan from you. “I want the bitch begging for it.” Dabi pushes you away from him and stands to unbuckle his belt. “Besides, don’t think she’s done enough to earn it.” You should be outraged at the way they decide your fate as if you’re not even present, but in reality it only thrills you, your clit throbbing at the lack of control.

“You’re right,” your idol sneers, canines bared and gleaming as he unzips his own pants, “and I wanna see those pretty lips wrapped around me.”

They switch places, shifting you so that your breasts are pinned against the couch between Kiego’s legs. Dabi grinds his hips against your clothed center, and you mewl at the long-awaited friction, hard member straining against his briefs.

“Get to work, princess,” Kiego calls to you, boxers down to his knees. You can only balk at the sight in front of you. His cock is thick and long, essentially everything you could’ve ever hoped for, but that’s not it.

Rather, it’s the shiny, silver ball pierced through the shaft and poking out from the top of his head that stops you dead in your tracks. He notices your eyes widen at it, but only snorts, wrapping your hair around his hand and yanking you roughly towards him.

“Oh, that little thing?” Now he’s shoving you against his length, using your face as nothing more than a means for friction. “Just a drunken dare from Matches.” The nickname provokes the other man into leaving a stinging slap against your behind. And just like that, the angered man drives himself into your cunt.

“I told you,” slap, “not to,” slap, “call me that.” With each thrust into you, Dabi releases an onslaught of pent-up anger onto your rear, the biting pain causing you to cry out around Kiego’s member.

“Yeah sweetheart, just like that,” he leans his head back against the couch with a deep groan. “Such a pretty little whore, choking on my cock.” One of his free fingers shoots out to wipe at your tears, hand moving ever-so-lightly to cradle your jaw. The gesture might have been sweet if his other hand wasn’t forcing you down further to swallow him whole.

“Mmmph–” you scrape carelessly at Kiego’s thighs in an attempt to secure yourself, moans coming out garbled with his cock down your throat.

“Not done with you yet, slut” Dabi still pounds into you relentlessly. You’re overwhelmed with the feeling of being stuffed from both ends, knees on the verge of giving out until he fastens his hands around your thighs, pulling you into him with even harder plunges. “Fucking take it.” Something hard and cold grinds inside you, and you’re acutely aware of the ridged piercings now pressing against that perfect, spongy spot in your heat.

When he reaches an arm around to rub furiously at your clit, you’re sobbing. Kiego’s deep, golden eyes watching you, Dabi’s unrelenting fingers and thrusts, it’s all too much.

And then you’re finally letting go. Legs shaking, mind wracked with white as you clench your eyes shut. Your mouth moves away from Kiego’s shaft, only concerned with riding out your high. The tattooed man behind you doesn’t stop his movements either, still pressed deep inside you until your tongue lolls out of your mouth and you’re tapping furiously at his waist. Kiego smiles, taking himself in his hand and slapping his cock against your cheek while he strokes himself.

“That’s it, baby,” he smooths your hair back, grunting. “You look so pretty when you cum.” He pumps himself a few more times before he finishes, sticky liquid spurting across your lips and into your hair. You reach around to grab at Dabi’s waist again, willing him to stop. He removes himself from inside of you only to flip you around and your cunt clenches at the feeling of emptiness.

Pulling you into a long, winded kiss, he swipes his tongue across your bottom lip to taste Kiego’s release. Then he’s pushing you to your knees once more, hands threading through your hair roughly.

“Suck,” he scowls down at you. Though you’re breathless, still reeling from your orgasm, the simple command spewed at you has your lips wrapped around him in a second.

He isn’t as girthy as Kiego, but just as long. A trail of piercings go down his length, and your tongue brushes against the cool metal while you wrap your fingers around the area you can’t reach. You stare up at him through thick lashes, piercing blue eyes ogling you as you take him further in. His hand is still perched on your head, but he makes no movement to push you down— instead, basking in your slow seduction.

You’re sure you look a mess, dried mascara down your cheeks and still covered in Kiego’s cum, but Dabi only revels in the power he has over you, positively thrilled at the way you no longer fight for dominance. He breaks eye contact only when the blonder man tugs him into a kiss, deep and passionate, and the sight only urges you to swallow him deeper.

“I like her with her mouth so full,” Kiego whispers against Dabi’s lips.

“Just as long as the bitch isn’t speaking,” the other man groans, rutting into your mouth so that you know he’s close.

Soon he’s pulling out of you to pump his shaft, your mouth wide open so that the head of his cock brushes against your tongue. Kiego reaches down to move Dabi’s hand, grabbing at his partner’s length so he can stroke it himself. It doesn’t take long after that for the brooding man to cum, head thrown back in a loud grunt while the tantalizing male next to him coaxes him through the orgasm. Kiego angles him so that his hot, white liquid gushes onto both your face and tongue; you suck at Dabi’s head until he forcibly pushes you off him.

“Fuck,” he sighs, running a hand through his sweaty locks. “Knew you were good for something.” With that final statement, he turns away from you, pulling his pants back on and returning to his spot on the couch as though he wants nothing more to do with you.

Kiego walks away as well, and you’re sure you’re about to be kicked out now that they’ve had their way with you. A part of you is angered, but a larger part is still processing what just happened, savoring the earth-shattering orgasm the pair blessed you with.

You look for your discarded clothing, trying to compose yourself so you’re able to get out of their way as quickly as possible. Kiego walks back into the common area, wet rag in hand. He doesn’t speak until he pushes you into the couch, rubbing the clean towel over your face softly.

“So, you’re coming to our concert next week, right?”

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

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@mindninjax @rat-suki @bakatenshii @yukiimanic @theygottheircages @lookslikeleese

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flannels-and-fannypacks · 4 years ago

Text

WTWT: The Sequel | Part 3/5 [Reggie Peters]

pairings: reggie peters x fem!reader

words: 4.6K words

warnings: angst, swearing

A/N: hey babes it’s drea today :))) send in all your memes and remember to like, comment, and reblog! (especially reblog because sometimes we get tag banned :/// love you all and thank you for reading!)

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"WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU DON'T HAVE A LABEL?!" Rose exclaimed loudly causing you to cover her mouth with your hand and Ray to try and stifle a chuckle.

Your cheeks were red from embarrassment as you tried to explain yourself. "I mean that Reggie and I are taking things slow. No labels, no commitment. It's the perfect compromise."

Rose raised her hands to her temples, massaging them lightly. "So you're telling me," she began in a low voice. "That you and Reggie have confessed you still love each other, kiss, and slept in the same bed all in one week and still refuse to put a label on your relationship?"

You nodded. "See? You get it now!" you said cheerfully.

Rose shot you a glare. "Ray, do you happen to have your Rosary on you?"

Ray raised an eyebrow. "Is now really a good time to start praying?" he asked.

"No, but I plan on strangling the poor girl until she sees God so maybe she can think straight-" As soon as Rose stood up, you shrieked, staggering back until Ray pulled Rose back.

"Okay, none of that," Ray said, pulling Rose back down onto her chair. "No one is attacking anybody, you hear me? Even though I'm equally frustrated with (Y/N) and Reggie's snail pace to get back together, it's better than nothing."

You gave Rose a pointed look, making her mouth an un-child friendly sentence to you.

"Rose?" Ray said, giving his girlfriend a shove.

The girl sighed. "Fine, better than nothing," she repeated in a dull voice.

"Thank you," you said gratefully. You glanced down at your watch. "Ah, I have to go now. I promised Reggie I'd meet up with him for lunch." Rose wiggled her eyebrows teasingly but you stopped her. "No labels" you reminded her, making her sulk in her chair.

"No labels," she sighed dramatically.

Unbeknownst to you, once you left the vicinity, Bobby, Luke, and Alex entered the studio, under Rose's instructions of course. They had a plan. They always had a plan.

"So what did she say?" Alex asked.

"Yeah does my daughter have a boyfriend or what?"

"She said no labels," Ray answered for Rose and the boys yelled in protest.

Typical.

"But guys!" she exclaimed. "I have a plan. We are going to convince them to get married."

"Not that I don't love the idea," Bobby started. "But how in the flippity flying fuck are we supposed to do that?"

Rose rolled her eyes, leaning against Ray, who had an equally mischievous grin on his face. "We're going to lie and say we're getting married," she explained simply, stealing Bobby's water bottle and taking a sip.

Bobby glared at her, snatching the bottle back. "Do you really think they're going to fall for that?" he asked. "I mean, this is Reggie and (Y/N) we're talking about. Sure, Reggie might be able to be fooled, he adores Ray and will listen to anything he says. But (Y/N)? She's a bit too clever for that."

"Mama didn't raise no fool," Luke added while raising his eyebrows.

"I think this is big enough to fool her," Ray said, pulling out a large diamond ring from his pocket. "It was my mother's before she passed, family heirloom on my father's side." he explained and the boys' eyes went wide at the sight of the very large rock.

"I could pay my tuition with that," Rose sighed sadly. "But I guess using it as an accessory will have to do especially if it manages to get those two who are in denial together forever."

"So how do you want us to play this?" Alex asked, finally speaking up and voicing his support for the plan.

Rose wrapped an arm around Ray, pulling him close. "I will tell (N/N) that Ray proposed and ask her to be my maid of honor," she began. "Knowing her, she'll probably sweep all the planning off our plates and take it on hers. That's when Ray comes in to talk about wedding stuff with the boys. Your job is to butter Reggie up, make him realize how amazing married life would be and let him come to the conclusion himself that he needs to ask (Y/N) to marry him and while she is all caught up in the romance and fantasy of it all she has to say yes,"

Alex let out a low whistle. "That's impressive, Rose," he complimented. "If this actually works, I owe you one."

"You can just save me a dance at the wedding," she shrugged her shoulders. "Hope you're as good of a dancer as you were back in high school."

Alex's face flushed as he ducked his head. Luke smiled, "Okay, so all we need to do is get them and break the news. But where are they, anyway?"

"(Y/N) never said where she was going," Rose pouted. "I need to put a GPS on that girl. She never answers my damn calls."

"Reggie told me he was going to that diner down by the beach before he headed out. I bet you that's where they're going for lunch." Ray noted.

"You're lucky that cowboy loves you," Rose chuckled, pressing a kiss to Ray's cheek.

"And I'm lucky you love me," he said back with a dazed look on his face.

Bobby cringed at the two. "At this point, why lie to them? Just get married already," he whined.

—

You walked down the street, hand in hand with Reggie. You had just finished lunch, and insisted on walking by the beach to relax a bit. He smiled to himself, swinging your intertwined hands.

"What's with that look on your face, Flicka?" you asked curiously.

Reggie raised an eyebrow. "What are you talking about?"

You laughed, shaking your head. "You have...that smile on your face," you began to explain.

"And how is my smile now any different from the others?" he pressed, genuinely interested in what you had to say.

Humming, you tilted your head in thought. "I don't know how to explain," you sighed. "But you seem happier, and your eyes are a whole lot brighter than usual."

Reggie stopped walking, tugging you back with him. His hand found its place on your waist as he pulled you close. "Aw, you pay attention to my eyes?" he teased.

"Don't push it, Flicka," you warned.

Reggie only smiled, pressing a light kiss to your lips. "Wouldn't want to, Cookie."

"This is going to be a nightmare to tell my parents," you whined, laying a head on his shoulder, holding his arm in your hands.

"Oh come on, it can't be too hard," he shrugged.

"Yeah, you're not the only one who lied to your parents," you said with a nervous chuckle.

"Okay now I'm concerned, what did you tell them?"

"They thought I was still on speaking terms with you after everything. I don't know I just think it'll be weird if I say we're back together or whatever this is,"

"Then don't," Reggie shrugged. "Plus then I can have you all to myself,"

"Don't push it," you said again in a sing-song voice.

"(N/N)!" you heard a call from down the street.

"Oh God it's Rose, hide me," you begged, curling into Reggie.

Reggie laughed, "What's the matter with Rose?"

"She's gonna make me label our relationship and I don't wanna,"

Reggie rolled his eyes and instead called Rose over to you.

"Hey Rose what's up?" he asked while you looked at your friend with terrified eyes knowing she could probably kill you at any second.

"Okay, craziest thing happened," she exclaimed, sounding all giddy and happy, waving her hands around.

"Rose are you okay?" you asked.

"I don't know, am I?" she asked, showing off her left hand, adorned with a large diamond studded ring.

You squealed in excitement, taking Rose's hand and bringing it closer to your face. "No way!" you screamed. "Ray proposed? I've been waiting for this day!"

"It happened so quickly!" Rose told you energetically. "One thing led to another and now I'm engaged!"

You wrapped your arms around Rose, hugging her tightly. "I'm so excited for you two!" you exclaimed. "Oh, I'll be counting the days until your wedding day!"

Rose pulled away, her arms still wrapped around you. "Oh, but I have to ask you something," she said, her giddy voice turning serious. "Will you be my maid of honor?"

You screamed once again, practically throwing yourself on top of her. "YES YES YES!" you yelled in her ear. "I promise you, Rose, I will make sure your wedding goes off without a hitch. Just leave all the planning to me."

"(Y/N), I couldn't ask that of you," Rose said, her cheeks red.

You shook your head. "Trust me, I want to do this. Just let me know when you're free, and I'll drop everything, okay? Actually- do you want to plan this now, or-"

"That sounds phenomenal!" Rose cut you off. The girl turned to Reggie. "Maybe you can talk to Ray? I know he definitely needs a hand with his part of the planning."

Reggie beamed at the two of you. "Sure, I'd love to," he replied. "I'll give you guys a lift back to our apartment then head to Ray's if that's okay?"

You walked over to Reggie, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "You know I love you, right, Flicka?" you told him giddily. "Like, a lot."

"I love you, too, Cookie," he smiled. "Like, a lot."

—

The drive to your apartment wasn't too long. You had been dragged out of the car by Rose, who was excited beyond belief to start planning her wedding. And although that was a momentous occasion, Reggie couldn't help but be confused. Rose was never the type to plan early, as she was spontaneous and much preferred to "go with the flow." But Reggie didn't think too much into it.

Reggie parked his car in the parking garage before making his way up to Ray's apartment. There, he found all the boys gathered together, celebrating Ray's engagement.

"Reggie!" Bobby exclaimed. "Come on, join us!"

Reggie raised an eyebrow in confusion as Bobby and Luke pulled him down to the couch. "Did you all know before me?" he asked curiously.

The boys shared a look before Alex took the wheel. "He proposed in the studio," he explained smoothly. "We all happened to be there." Reggie pouted before nodding, seemingly buying his lie.

"Oh, hey Reggie!" Ray exclaimed, entering the room. "I didn't hear you come in!"

"Congrats Ray! This is amazing, I'm so happy for you and Rose," he smiled, giving Ray a big hug which he accepted wholeheartedly

Ray grinned. "Thank you! To be honest, I can't wait to get married," he confessed. "I just knew Rose was the one, and had to propose to her." Reggie listened intently as Ray continued. "Have you ever gotten that feeling when you're with the one you love, and everything just feels alright? Like you know that when you're with them, everything is going to be okay? Just that balance in your life?"

"No," Bobby answered lamely, making both Alex and Luke subtly smack him behind the head.

"You have a girlfriend man!"

"Not that I don't want it," he quickly corrected. "I, uh- Alex! Answer the question."

"Yeah, I feel that way with Willie," Alex grinned. "I think he's the guy I want to spend the rest of my life with. Such a crazy realization to come to,"

Although it was 'for the plan' Alex wasn't lying. Willie was special.

"I've felt that way before," Reggie spoke up softly. His fingers played with his shoelaces as he sat cross legged on Ray's couch.

"Really?" Ray pressed slightly. "I'm guessing it wasn't that short stint you had with Leslie," he joked.

"No," he fought back. "Definitely not Leslie."

Alex leaned playfully against Reggie. "Then maybe it's a certain college student?" he suggested.

"One that, well, I don't know, can plan an entire Christmas party in one hour?" Luke added.

"And doesn't know how to get shit from the top shelf?" Bobby piped up. He ducked before Luke and Alex could hit him again.

Reggie smiled to himself, ignoring the antics of his best friends. "My Cookie," he whispered. "My sunshine, my light...My everything." The boys went silent, leaning close to listen to Reggie. "To be honest, I don't think I'd be here if it weren't for her. She's...absolutely perfect and she doesn't even know it. She just has this ability to make everything okay with just her smile." Reggie opened his eyes to see his friends staring back at him. His cheeks instantly turned red. "Oh, sorry, I was rambling again-"

"No, man," Ray cut him off. "You wanna talk about it? I mean no better time, planning can wait,"

"You guys sure?" he said. "I-I mean (Y/N) and I aren't even labeling anything yet, and I mean you just got engaged Ray, this is about you,"

Luke patted his back supportively. "Yeah, I'm sure (Y/N) and Rose have all that planning covered," he joked.

"Go for it, Reg." Ray confirmed and gave him a nod.

Reggie took a deep breath. "You said that when you're with Rose a-and Alex with Willie, you feel like everything is balanced? When I'm with (N/N), I don't feel any of that. I don't think of anything around me, I just feel complete. Like everything that surrounds us ceases to exist and it's just her and me." Reggie ran his fingers through his hair. "I just want to spend the rest of my life knowing that she'll be by my side every step of the way, you know? Kind of like how Luke is with her, I guess."

Luke shook his head. "The way I care for my daughter is definitely different from the way you care about her, Reggie," he told him. "And just letting you know, you have my blessing."

Reggie laughed. "I'm not proposing to her any time soon, Luke," he told him.

Alex raised an eyebrow. "Really? Why not? I mean, with the way you talk about her really says it all."

"No way, she's not ready," Reggie sighed. "She doesn't even want to put a label on our relationship."

Luke shrugged his shoulders. "I know my daughter better than anyone else here," he began, making Reggie roll his eyes. "I know that look in her eyes when she looks at you. She's in love, Reggie. All you need to do is give her that extra push."

At that point, Reggie still seemed unsure. Luke gave his friend a supportive smile. "You two are made for each other," he told him. "No matter what happens, you two always find each other in the end. There's no denying that what you have is special, something that no one can compare to."

"Look Reggie, I know all about giving (Y/N) time, and that works up to a certain point, we're not saying go ask her to marry you now, but it wouldn't hurt to start thinking about it," Ray explained. "Plus I think the wedding fever might give you a hand. She might be asking you to marry her," Ray joked and all the boys laughed.

Reggie leaned back against the couch. "Maybe," he finally answered. "Maybe."

—

Something was off. Both you could tell from the thick tension between you two. You and Reggie sat by the lake you two went to when you were kids. Reggie sat stiffly with his legs crossed as you wordlessly picked at the grass.

Every Friday, the two of you promised you'd meet up at this special spot just to let loose and talk. Something was definitely wrong, but the both of you didn't say anything. You two just needed each other's company more than anything in the world.

But how can a person lean on someone who's already crumbling? Already hanging by a loose thread?

"So," you croaked, voice thick with tears. "It seems like the both of us are going down to shit, so who should go first?"

Reggie didn't laugh, which caught you off guard. "You," he murmured.

You took a deep breath, wiping the grass blades off your things.

"You know things were going kind of down hill with the house..." you started. "Well we reached the bottom of the hill," Reggie glanced over at you in confusion until you finally explained further. "My parents lost the house. They-they're going back to Canada."

"W-What?" Reggie's mouth ran dry. "Cookie I-I-,"

"No it's okay," you sniffed, wiping away your tears, trying to push down the sadness. "We all knew it was coming, you don't have to pretend like you're surprised."

"(Y/N) can I... is there anything I can do? A-And what's gonna happen?"

You shook your head firmly, biting down hard on your lip until it drew blood. You didn't want to say it. Saying it would make it real.

Reggie seemed to connect the dots, just from the look on your face. "No," he breathed. "You can't, (Y/N), I-"

"There's nothing that can be done, Reggie," you told him, voice cracking slightly. "I have to go with them. T-they need me."

Reggie took your hands in his. "But I need you, Cookie," he told you desperately. "Dammit, I've been silent all this time. Please, please let me be selfish just this once. Stay for me, Cookie, please stay for me."

Your hands slowly slid out of his. "I leave next month," you said in response. Your voice was dull, not like the lively pep it always had.

Reggie shook his head repeatedly. "(Y/N) you're the only thing that's keeping me sane. Everything's falling apart, but (Y/N), you're the only constant in my life. I-if you left me, I don't know what I'd do. (Y/N), tell me what to do, please."

"Let me go," you whispered. "Flicka, let me go, but never forget me, okay?"

"Cookie it's not just you," Reggie choked on his words. "Mom and dad," he covered his mouth with his hands to stifle a sob. "They're going through with the divorce, it's all my fault,"

You grabbed Reggie's hands firmly in your own, forcing him to look into your eyes,

"Reggie this is not your fault. Don't you dare think that,"

"But it is! I told them to do it! I didn't have any faith in their relationship, m-maybe they could have fixed things, maybe we could have been normal. I would have them when you leave,"

"Reggie your parents weren't meant to be together," you hushed. "Everyone knows that, no one better than them. Darcy and Diana are good people; they just don't work together, except when you came along of course," you tried to lighten the mood, wiping away a few of Reggie's tears, pressing a kiss to each cheek. "The best thing they could have ever given the world is you Flicka, I don't want you to forget that. Divorce or not. Me moving away or not. Just forget it all for a minute, be with me,"

Reggie nodded and you let him hold you tight in his arms, overlooking the calm and peaceful water by the lake. His arms were snaked around your waist from behind, his face buried in your neck, tears staining the sweatshirt you wore that you had stolen from Alex. You wondered if he might let you keep it, to remember him by.

You wanted something from everyone. To make sure you'd never forget.

The only person who knew so far was Ray; you had a shift right after you spoke with your parents and it was too much trying to keep it all in. He gave you his rosary, without a second thought or question. Placing it in your hands before pulling you into a hug, tighter than he'd ever held you before.

If you could have disappeared in that moment you would. At least things would have been perfect. You could have Reggie by your side, but instead either you or whatever was going on in life pushed him away. It caused so much pain, so much unneeded pain.

"Hey Flicka?" you sniffed.

"Mhmm?"

"You remember that time we came to the lake that summer in third grade and I convinced you there was that monster in there cause I thought it was gonna scare you, but... you just went right in the water and tried to look for it so you could be its friend?"

"Yeah what about it?" he asked, a small smile coming over his face.

A quiet sob escaped your lips. "I just miss when times were easier, you know?" you whispered. "When all our worries consisted of were making friends and Ms. Markson's stupid math assignments."

Reggie's grip around you tightened. "I always thought those take home quizzes were useless," he laughed softly. "But I miss those times, too."

Silence filled the air once more. Your left hand found Reggie's squeezing it tight. Reggie couldn't help but look down at your intertwined hands and feel a mix of emotions bubble in him.

"You know," he said in a hushed tone. "When we were together, last year? I remember bringing you here after you passed your finals exams. I'd never seen you happier, o-or relaxed. I remember..." Reggie choked back his tears. "I remember thinking that day, "I'm going to marry this girl." I-I'm going to marry the girl who can't sleep without a nightlight on, or eat jelly sandwiches without those disgusting gummy worms in them." Reggie closed his eyes, trying to imagine the memory vividly. "I'm going to leave everything behind, all the worries and doubts, and start a family with her. I don't care if she wants one or a dozen, because I'd do anything to see her smile..."

"Reggie," you whispered, turning to cup the side of his face.

"I told myself I was going to make you the happiest girl in the world," he told you with a shaky voice. "Because you've made me the happiest guy in the universe."

You kissed him softly, you kiss bittersweet with the taste of salty tears. "I would have said yes if you asked me," you told him, smiling weakly.

"I would have planned the wedding right there," he let out a broken laugh. "A wedding under the stars, just like you said when we were kids. Something small, with only our friends and parents."

"It would have been the perfect wedding, Flicka," you said, sniffing loudly, "Luke would've forced me to make him co-maid of honour,"

"Ray would've taken our photos," Reggie added on, his chin tucked in your shoulder.

"And Sunset Curve would've played at least one song,"

"Now or Never?" Reggie suggested and you both let out a sad chuckle.

"Maybe we could've sung something together too," you mused, your fingers playing with the back of the collar of Reggie's shirt.

"You would've done that?" he asked, pulling you an arms length away so he could see your eyes. Your beautiful (e/c) eyes he could have looked at for ages.

You shrugged and nodded, "No better time to make it our thing right?"

"Yeah," Reggied said breathlessly. "I just wished we had more time. Or the ability to go back to the past to fix every mistake so that maybe we wouldn't even be having this conversation right now."

You shook your head. "I don't want that," you told him in a quiet voice.

Reggie's eyebrows furrowed together in confusion. "You don't?"

"I don't," you said simply. You leaned forward so that your forehead was resting against his. "I don't because I have total faith in the universe that we'll be brought together again. Maybe in a couple of months or years, but I know I'll find my way back to you."

Reggie let out a pitiful laugh. "You have so much faith in something that gave you a shitty life," he mumbled.

"You should take a few notes from that, Flicka," you told him. Your phone began to ring. Sighing you glanced down at it. "That's my mom, no doubt. She wants us to start planning to get ready to leave soon."

As you stood up, Reggie grabbed your hand and pulled you back. "Can't you stay a little longer?" he asked. "I don't want you to leave so quickly, not when we're both like this."

You smiled before reaching behind your neck and unclasping the horseshoe necklace he had given you years prior. Placing it in his hand, you kissed his knuckles softly.

"Cookie, I can't take this," Reggie fought. "I-I want you to have it to remember me by. I couldn't take it from you again,"

"Remember what I said about the universe bringing us back together," you told him. "We're going to see each other again, I know it." You kissed his cheek, stepping back after. "I love you, Flicka."

You turned on your heel and walked back to your car. Reggie watched as your figure shrunk as you walked farther, until you disappeared altogether.

"I love you, too, Cookie."

—

"Okay, where do you keep the whiskey?" Bobby asked, looking through Ray and Roses' cupboards for any source of alcohol.

"I thought you would have been happy about this," Alex said sarcastically. "She's going back to Canada,"

"Oh shut up Mercer," Bobby sneered at his friend. "She's actually leaving. She left. For real, just when we get her back. How is that fair?"

"It's not," Rose shook her head and curled into her boyfriend's side. "It's not fair,"

Reggie was sitting alone on the floor, his back to the couch that Alex and Luke were sitting on, staring aimlessly at the wall ahead of him.

"What do you need, Reggie?" Luke asked. "Lady Bunny was our friend, but she was your second half, I can't imagine what you feel like,"

"Pretty shitty Luke, not gonna lie," Reggie pursed his lips. "If I had just said something, maybe a week before, maybe years before, we could have been together now. I-I..." his voice faded into a sigh. "What am I supposed to do?"

Ray, who had been quiet up until that moment, sat up straighter and looked down at the black haired bassist.

"You go after her," Ray said firmly. "Go meet her, spend the summer. Hell stay with her Reggie this is (Y/N) we're talking about. Screw California that doesn't matter if you aren't with her,"

"But the band-,"

"We'll be on tour anyways, you can just come join us, it can't be that hard," Alex encouraged. "But at least you'll be with her. It's not fair to take you away from that. She's your Cookie for crying out loud."

"I have half a mind to come with you," Luke chuckled with a small sniffle.

"Me too," Rose added. "I really thought something was gonna happen and she was gonna stay,"

Bobby finally entered the room, a bottle of white wine in his hands. "Will you all stop moping?" he said to the group. "I get it, we all get it. But sitting on our sorry asses collecting nothing but dust isn't going to bring her back to California."

Alex wiped a stray tear away with his sweatshirt sleeve. "Weren't you sad, like, a second ago?" he asked.

Bobby rolled his eyes. "That's life," he told him. "You're sad for a couple of seconds, then boom, alcohol." Bobby took a swig of wine before cringing. "This shit is horrible. Anyway, Reggie, you have the opportunity. You have the support. Now wipe those damn tears and get your girl."

Reggie pursed his lips and looked down at his hands before slapping them on his thighs,

"Who the hell's gonna take me to the airport then? I've got a flight to catch,"

"Oh no you don't honey," Rose shook her head. "Not like that, let's pack you a bag first, we're not that stupid."

A smile adorned her lips. “When you get your girl, you’re doing it in style.”

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supercantaloupe · 4 years ago

Text

@dimension20alphabet prompt fill #6: Flowers

title: A Little Fall of Rain - campaign: Fantasy High: Sophomore Year - 1882 words - set post-fysy

Aelwyn learns a new way to grow.

The window of the wizards’ tower overlooks the backyard of Mordred Manor.

There’s a small graveyard plot, its grass overgrown. There are a few trees, as old and strange and history-filled as the rest of the house. There’s a hill that gently slopes down to the edge of the woods, a short walk into which you’ll reach a creek. But you can’t see that from the window; just the hill and the trees and the messy grass.

Aelwyn spends a lot of her time looking at that yard, when she’s home-where-it-does-not-feel-like-home. Plain and drab and sad. Her sister and her friends go to school and the adults go to work, but Aelwyn spends most days home alone. She can hardly stand to look at that empty yard for another second.

So, she decides she won’t.

She goes to the library one day, and spends hours browsing the shelves and reading, taking notes. She comes home in the evening when the library closes with a stack full of books, and stays up late reading them in bed while her sister trances in the bunk below. The next day she scours the garage and basement and storage of the manor for tools, anything she can scrounge together. She gathers them out back in preparation, leaning them against the wall outside. The next day, she goes out again, borrowing cash from Jawbone to get the items she’s missing. She thinks about stopping by the mall, too, for the right outfit, but Sandra Lynn catches on and gives her an old pair of boots and overalls for free.

The next day, she gets up early, and gets to work.

The first few days are nothing but digging, ripping up grass and sprinkling fertilizer and turning the soil until there are new, neatly defined beds outlining the house and the yard, blank canvases.

She loses two days to a spring thunderstorm, one raining her out all day and one sunny but swamped with mud, setting her progress back at least a few more days. She feels like tearing her hair out, and throws a trowel across the yard in frustration.

She comes back the next day, pulls the trowel out of the ground from where it’d stuck, and gets back to work. She spends hours one day lining the beds with rocks to keep them neat and pretty, and checking the levels of soil temperature, nutrient balance, everything. She makes a chart in her notebook, portioning out where everything will go.

The next day she spends ten straight hours planting. Her only break, around noon, is when Jawbone comes out and brings her a sandwich and a lemonade and practically begs her to take a rest. She obliges, if only to quiet the distracting growl of her stomach. He has to come back out and drag her in when the sun goes down for dinner, despite her protests. When she washes up to eat, it takes her two minutes of scrubbing to remove the dirt stubbornly caked into her fingernails.

If there’s anything good to come out of being an unemployed, out-of-school teenager slowly and painfully rebuilding herself from trauma, it’s that Aelwyn has a lot of free time. Free time she spends every day out under the sun in her new garden, planting seeds and sprouts and monitoring their progress, new greens popping up row by row. She covers the beds with mulch and straw to protect their roots, just like the books say to do. She waters them every morning, and curses when the rain comes and renders her work redundant. Her delicate elven skin starts to burn in the sunlight, even after she takes to wearing a wide-brimmed hat, but after so long it just starts to tan instead. Now when she washes in the evening she sees someone her parents would have hated – face sweaty and flushed, hands caked in dirt and callouses from work – and it feels good, in a strange way. There is a satisfaction in going to bed each night, climbing up onto the top bunk and collapsing in the pillows with the deep-set, satisfied exhaustion of hard work in her bones.

Her garden starts out well enough, neatly arranged and manicured and ready to go. Then days pass, and weeks, and there is not much more to show. Nor is there enough new work to sustain her breakneck pace. Aelwyn stares out the window of the wizards’ tower and grows restless and frustrated again. She’s doing everything right. She’s double checked every book in the library about it. Why aren’t they growing? Why isn’t it perfect?

The manor’s inhabitants have long since figured out Aelwyn’s project, and her dedication to it, and they respect it. They don’t bother her when she’s working and they don’t offer to help, an interference. But visitors don’t always get that so intrinsically, and the Bad Kids have a lot of friends. There are the girls who live here, and then their male partymates, and occasionally other guests. The half-orc brings a satyr girlfriend along often, most times he visits.

“I like your garden,” she says. Aelwyn is sitting on the back porch, staring broodily over her stunted plants. She glances over her shoulder at the satyr unkindly, she who has broken the unspoken rule against disturbing her in her yard.

Aelwyn grunts and turns back, scowling. “I don’t.”

“O-oh,” Zelda says nervously. “I’m sorry, that was stupid. It’s, um, it’s just…fine?” she stammers to correct herself.

Aelwyn huffs. “They won’t grow properly. I’ve done everything right.” She gestures in frustration at the neat rows of plants, manicured but underwhelming.

“Some people, uh, some people just don’t have a green thumb,” Zelda says. “I mean, like, satyrs are supposed to be, like, really in touch with nature and stuff, right? But I can’t even keep a fern alive in my room, it’s like, crazy,” she continues. Aelwyn grunts again. “Have you tried talking to a druid?” Zelda continues. “They’re supposed to, like, know a lot about plants, right?”

“I don’t know any druids,” Aelwyn says bluntly. She’s talked to Sandra Lynn; a ranger is as close as she can get, but Sandra Lynn doesn’t know any more about gardening than Aelwyn does.

“I could ask Danielle for you?” Zelda offers. Aelwyn turns again and looks at her, confused. “Danielle Barkstock. She’s, uh, my party’s druid.”

“Danielle Barkstock,” Aelwyn repeats, placing the name. “She was one of those girls in the crystals.”

“Um,” Zelda says. “Yeah. Um. We all were. Uh…we formed an adventuring party together after…that.”

Aelwyn laughs once, no humor to it. “I’m sure she would love to help me out with my pathetic little shithole here.”

“I could ask her for you,” Zelda repeats, sounding intensely nervous again. “I don’t have to tell her it’s for you.” Aelwyn looks her over again. “Sorry, it’s a crazy, stupid idea, I’m just…ignore me, haha, it’s stupid–”

“Would you?” Aelwyn cuts her off, sounding uncharacteristically soft. Zelda blinks, then nods.

A few days later, all the Bad Kids and all the Maidens are over at the manor for a party. Aelwyn pointedly stays out of the way, spending the afternoon in her garden. She hears the back porch door slide open and looks back to see who’s there. Zelda, and a half-elven girl with flowers braided into her hair. Actually, there’s a third with them: a small silver fox.

“You must be Aelwyn,” the half-elf says.

“You must be Danielle,” Aelwyn returns coolly. Danielle descends the porch steps and wanders through the garden, observing Aelwyn’s work silently. Aelwyn waits, kneeling in the dirt, for any kind of feedback. “You’re a druid, then?” Aelwyn says, breaking the awkward silence. Danielle nods. Her fox wanders between the plants, sniffing them as it goes. “You know what’s wrong here, then? Why they won’t grow?”

“I know more about animals than plants,” Danielle responds neutrally. Aelwyn shuts up and looks down. “But I think I have an idea here,” she continues, finally looking at Aelwyn. She turns around and meets her gaze, hopeful if restrained. “It’s too perfect. You have to step back and let them grow on their own for a bit.”

Aelwyn’s brow furrows, confused. “I’m doing everything the gardening books say to do.”

“Then stop reading books,” Danielle says simply. “Plants are living things. They’ll tell you what they need if you let them grow and listen.” With that, she walks back to the house, her familiar following at her heel.

Aelwyn blinks, dumbfounded and confused, and offers a feeble “thanks” as she goes. Danielle holds up a hand but doesn’t look back.

It feels strange, and foreign, and wrong to sit back, but Aelwyn forces herself to heed the druid’s advice. She returns the gardening manuals to the library. She spends time in her garden still, but without tools in her hands. She lays in the grass and looks at the sky. She drinks tea and reads under the shade of the tree. She keeps the grass in the graveyard plot trimmed.

It does take a few days for her to notice, but her plants do start to grow again. They creep beyond the boundaries she’d so carefully delineated for them, and she fights the urge to trim them back. She watches and listens to them closely, not with the eye or ear of a drill sergeant but of a parent, a real one, a loving one, one like Sandra Lynn who offered her overalls and one like Jawbone who brings her lunch and lemonade and asks her to rest. She finds what the plants ask for, and she gives it to them; plucks insect pests from their stems, prunes diseased leaves, ties them to stakes so they can grow tall, waters them when they’re wilting.

By summer, it is no longer just green. Aelwyn wakes up one morning and looks out the window in the wizards’ tower, and for the first time, she sees pink. The next day, yellows. Soon, there is a rainbow of flowers blooming all over the yard, of a variety and vitality Aelwyn has never seen before. Her old home had a garden, sure, but it was too manicured, too neat, too formal, too artificial, and never was she allowed to tamper with it; that’s what hired landscapers were for. Mordred Manor has no hired hands; Aelwyn has her own.

Jawbone and Sandra Lynn meet her in her garden one day. It’s sunny and hot out, and Aelwyn is watching the bees and butterflies flit from plant to plant, drinking their fill of sweet nectar. They say how beautiful it is, and Aelwyn agrees. They tell her how proud they are of her work, and she agrees. They say they’re proud of how much she’s grown. (At first she thinks they mean the plants, but she realizes after what they really mean.) And they thank her for livening up the manor, and bringing some color out to the yard.

When they go inside, Aelwyn gets up, and grabs her shears. She finds the best blossoms from the best plants and carefully snips them off, tying their stems together in a bouquet with ribbon. And she sends them to Danielle, with an apology and a thank you.

#fantasy high #d20alphabet21 #fantasy high sophomore year #aelwyn abernant #fanfic #dimension 20 live #dimension 20 #danielle barkstock #zelda donovan #let the poet bless this round #remember when these were supposed to be short? lol #no proofreading! we die like men! I have to be on a train ten minutes ago!

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spiltscribbles · 4 years ago

Text

The One With The Princess Leia Bikini

~Notes: This gets sorta smutty.... :S

Send Me A Friends Episode/Storyline? | Rebogs Ar Love, Reblog Are Life!

Sirius tosses a glare at an indignant James sitting across the counter from him, affronted on everything he has ever stood for.

“Brooklyn Nine Nine is way better than some stupid, ruddy drama about doctors.”

“Take that back you prick!”

“’S true!”

”Gray’s Anatomy paints the manic highs and lows of their jobs with dignity and realism.” James argues with an imperious tilt of his head. “The storylines don’t even compare!”

“There was a bomb at their wedding!”

“There was a bomb lodged in someone’s arsehole!”

Sirius opens his mouth to retort, but stutters on his words when one of their ducks steps out of his room, spitting up something green before he begins to peck at the sofa cushion.

“Good morning Pronsie,” James crows, walking over to cradle him into his arms and kisses the top of his head.

“Mate, you have to stop feeding him the peanut butter, ’s making them crazed,” Sirius tells him sagely before taking a spoonful out of the jar for himself.

“They’re just demanding,” James sniffs, perking up once Lily walks into their apartment. “You agree, love, don’t you?”

“What?” She asks, single brow kinked as she grabs a bottle of water from the fridge, still dressed in her athletic wear from her run. “That your ducks are demonic.”

“See!” Sirius shouts.

“They’re just a wee bit ill, poor things,” James says with a cluck of his tongue, gingerly petting Prongs’s feathers and wandering over to Lily for a quick peck to her sweaty forehead.

“Ill in the heads,” Sirius retorts lowly, grabbing for his discarded Guinness.

James casts him a heated glower, never halting his gentle caresses to Prongs’s feathered back. “Maybe I should call Mum, she’d know how to help.”

“Oi, right, because your veterinarian mother has nothing better to do.”

“She likes the marauders wanker!”

“Okay, did not come here to interrupt one of your lover’s quarrels,” Lily sighs, forever suffering, as she loosens and regathers her hair anxiously, tying the red main into a messy topknot.

“Rude,” Sirius and James chorus with the same peeved inflection.

“I’m exhausted you berks! Dorcas has been staying at our place ever since Marlene went on that tour around the continent to find new athletes for the firm to sign.”

“Oof, is it nasty?” James asks, gently placing Prongs the duck to the ground and straightening back up.

“She’s in a real strop over it, yeah. Re’s with her now.”

“Lils, you underestimate Cas,,” Sirius snorts, bending down and giving into Prongs’s silent plea for a snack, holding out a chunk of peanut butter for him to nibble at. “She’s not gonna let something so temporary fuck her up. They’ve been going out for over a year now.” Sirius studiously ignores the little nagging voice in his own head— one that frighteningly sounds like Mrs Potter of all people— Tooting at him that he’d certainly not be this nonchalant if Remus had to go on some research sabbatical in Rome or Athens for half as long as Marlene’s three month stint.

“You are so full of it Black,” Lily sneers, and he really wouldn’t be surprised if she’s somehow secretly found out how to read minds on her downtime from the restaurant.

“Dorcas is a diamond,” James says cheerfully. “I’m sure she’ll be right as rain soon enough.” As if right on queue they hear a booming crash coming from across the hall in Lily and Remus’s apartment. “Or erm— Maybe she won’t?”

"Prats,” Lily mutters lowly before pivoting on her heels leading the way for the three sum to frantically scramble and follow suit.

Sirius is all levels of confused once they walk in only to findDorcas starfished flat on the ground with her curls still soaked from what must’ve been a shower and grasping tight to a pink hairbrush. Remus’s standing over her with his hands on his hips, and lips pinched ever so slightly, the face he gets when he’s trying to figure out how to solve a particularly difficult dilemma. And it might be smarmy of him, but Sirius can’t help feeling a little parched when he sees the way Remus’s drenched T-shirt clings to his perfect form— near see-through.

“Is everything okay?” Lily asks as she steps closer, frowning bewilderedly.

“We just had a bit of an incident when Dorcas saw a clunk of blonde hair in the brush that Marlene shares with her.”Remus explains, excepting the kiss Sirius offers him in hello. “And well, ahem then she found a garment that Marlene had left behind… And well things escalated.”

“I’m going to be alone for forever,” Dorcas moans, making his point for him.

“I love it when you’re the dramatic one, Cas,” Sirius crows, narrowly dodging the aforementioned brush that Dorcas launches at his head. “Nice aim!”

“Leave me so I can whither away!”

“Nonsense, love, you two will be fine.” James interjects good naturedly.

“Let’s get some frozen yogurt, yeah? Get your mind off of everything,” Lily suggests lightly, helping pull her up by the hands with Remus, Sirius’s own never leaving Remus’s back pocket.

“Can we go to the place with the jellybean toppings,” Dorcas asks with a pout, head resting on Lily’s shoulder— dark tresses falling into strawberry blonde.

“Course, sweetheart,” she assures with a glowing smile.

Breathing in deep, Dorcas nods slowly, stretching her neck just slightly so to kiss Remus’s cheek in thanks before she lets Lily cart her off into her room to get changed.

“I better put the marauders into their crate if we’re going to be out long,” James announces, effectively leaving Remus and Sirius finally, blissfully, alone.

“Is this the part where I tell you that I thought you only get wet when I’m around?” Sirius asks cheekily, rounding on his boyfriend with a smirk already painted over his face.

“You can,” Remus relents with a one armed shrug. “But only if you want to not speak with me for the rest of the day.”

Sirius lets out an endeared huff, head shaking slightly before he dips down to greet him properly. “Morning gorgeous,” he beams, cupping his hands around Remus’s face before kissing him nice and thorough.

“I missed you last night,” Remus says, foreheads pressed up against each other as his hands wander up and down Sirius’s back muscles appreciatively, landing on his forearms with a small squeeze.

“I had to concentrate on that proposal for the new tube stop that Moody wanted by today.” Sirius tips back his head, toes curling ever so slightly at the way Remus is mouthing along the column of his neck, nipping at the hinge of Sirius’s jaw with particular focus. “And believe it or not Messr Lupin, but you prove a formidable distraction."

“Is that right?” Remus smiles against his skin, pressing him even closer. “And did you finish all that paperwork, architect Black?”

“Hmm, you’re getting off on this shit, aren’t you?” Sirius can’t help but laugh, especially when Remus pulls back, blinking up owlishly at him. “Oh don’t give me the innocent act, gorgeous. I’ve been able to see through that since the first night we met.”

Remus’s face turns a fetching pink, snickering slightly as he presses back up against him. “Can’t. Help. It.” Remus says between another round of peppered kisses on the lobe of Sirius’s ear, the hallow of his cheek and corner of his mouth too. “You’re brilliant.”

“You’re touched in the head, just a ball of hornyness.” Sirius accuses, tugs him close once more and slants their lips together while one hand slings around Remus’s narrow waste and the other begins to knead into his ass muscle. “Shall we take this back to your room? Do this properly without any clothing?”

Remus flushes, fingers toying with the collar of Sirius’s shirt as he swallows down, hard.”Could you— Erm, could you maybe wear those glasses you use sometimes for when you’re reading those long contracts?”

Absolutely preening,, Sirius cards a hand through Remus’s caramel curls, scraping his nails gently against his scalp. “And the professorial kink makes another appearance in the bed ladies and gents.” He announces to the empty room, as if he’s a twentieth century gameshow host.

“I wouldn’t go so far as to call it a kink, per se.” Remus argues haughtily, cheeks infused red, and teeth sunk into his bottom lip.

“‘S okay gorgeous, I think your swottyness is rather cute.” Sirius goads, pecks Remus’s mouth lightly before dragging him off to his room to finally get at some bare skin.

“It’s not because I’m a swot that I like seeing you like that,” Remus harrumphs, watching as Sirius sheds off his top before sitting leisurely on the bed, feeling bloody incandescent when Remus mounts his lap, nuzzling his nose against Sirius’s neck with his arms resting against his broad shoulders.

“I’d wager you have dirty librarian fantasies too,” Sirius laughs through the kisses, thrusting upwards so that Remus’s bum bounces slightly against his hardness, fucking miraculous.

“Hah— Hmm,” Remus breathes a bit more laboredly as he settles back down. “And what if I do,” he asks primly, unwittingly making it so a thrill runs down Sirius’s spine with the thought of his boyfriend— the bloke who is most certainly the love of his god forsaken life— picturing the different ways he wants Sirius— above him and under him, all around him and deep inside of him. And Christ, what a beautiful thought.

“’S not a problem with me goldilocks,” Sirius tells him with a slight catch to his voice, not having expected that the idea would effect him so thoroughly. “Tell me do you like me stern? Maybe you turned in some late books and I had to teach you a lesson.”

“If I’m being honest, love, you don’t talk much in the fantasy,” Remus laughs when Sirius bolts upwards, flipping him so that he’s beneath Sirius and his hair is fanned on the pillow like a gilded halo.

“Fucking lies,” Sirius slips a hand through the hem of Remus’s sweats, unsurprised to find that he’s not wearing any boxer briefs, knowing full and well how Remus prefers to sleep in the nude.” “You love it when I’m waxing poetic about you, and when I’m harsh at you. When I tell you about how your mouth is meant to suck my cock, how I want to put you over my lap and spank that perfect little arse of yours.” Sirius wraps his hand around Remus’s length, twisting it slightly before starting to pump, absolutely beaming at how he’s already begun to get Remus to get that oh so beautiful glazed look over his eyes, turning him undone with a few strategic touches and perfectly crafted, perfectly illicit mutterings. “When I call you gorgeous and a filthy little slag and when I fuck into you even after you’re already spent.”

Remus’s hips rock up, eyes squint shut when Sirius uses his free hand to thumb at one of his delightfully pink nipples and pinches it for good measure while he quickens the pace of his hand sliding up and down Remus’s shaft. “Tell me how much you crave that, love. How much you love being good for me, how much you love it when I show you how.”

“Sirius— Hold on,” Remus begs, voice coming out in an almost whine— haggard and breathy and high pitched— while both his hands knot into Sirius’s dark hair, quaking so hard that Sirius knows he’s got him on the edge.

Tenderly, he dips down his head, lips pressed against Remus’s ear and hot tendrils of breath skirting against his skin. Shh, ‘s fine, baby,” he promises him, stroking him through the climax. “’S okay, just let me take care of you, yeah?”

“Oh God! Fuck! Fuck— Sirius!” Remus chokes out, hips thrusting rapidly as he chases that relief and slumping back once his orgasm quite literally pulses out, coating Sirius’s hand and abs and some on Remus’s jumper too.

“You really are gorgeous,” Sirius tells him with a smile, gingerly kissing the lids of his still shut eyes before grappling for the little baggie of wet wipes they’ve begun keeping in Remus’s night stand drawer for moments like these.

“I hate how you could do that to me,” Remus tells him with heavy breaths as Sirius cleans up, taps his side lightly so Remus rises up his hips and Sirius tosses his pants to the corner, followed by Remus’s now spoiled jumper. He really couldn’t wait to get his hands off of him after a day apart.

“Oi! ‘S not my fault that the thought of me as some stodgy librarian is what gets you going, Moonbeam.” Sirius rebukes, pulls up the comforter so that it pools around their hips, while he lies back leisurely with Remus’s head propped up on his chest.

“We’re breaking up,” Remus tells him flatly, tracing small circles against Sirius’s tanned skin, interrupted by intermittent pecks.

“Cruel,” Sirius pouts, still carding a hair through Remus’s mussed curls, can’t imagine ever living without this, not after so many years of never ending yearning and countless almosts and taking one step forwards before being pushed two back so many times that it made them bloody barmy.

But they’re here now. Sirius has Remus in ways he never thought he’d ever want to claim a person— and lets himself be claimed in the same ways right back. Sirius knows Remus and all of Remus’s little quirks— loves him all the more for it. He knows the way Remus likes his tea when he wakes up at three in the morning and can’t go back to bed, how it’s different from the tea he prefers to drink in the afternoons. Knows the way Remus licks the lip of the mug before every sip. Sirius knows Remus’s favorite book for each of his various moods, and knows that on those quiet days— the ones when Remus doesn’t like talking much at all— that Remus only needs time, needs to know that Sirius’ll be there when he wakes up the next morning with sunlit smiles and kisses that taste like violet skies and cinnamon scones and promises meant to be kept.

And of course Sirius will be there, of course he’d have Remus in any and all ways that he’d let him— He knows it in his bones that Remus feels that same crippling sort of devotion for him right back, knows that it’s a once in a life time sort of ordeal. He knows that he’s grateful for every breath they share with one another.

“”A man could take only so much smugness from his boyfriend,” Remus tells Sirius petulantly, the words belied by how he tenderly kisses his chest.

“No but Remus, darling, tel me. Who makes more of an appearance in the sexy thought time? Librarian me or the image of me in the rugby kit.”

Remus moves to flip him the bird while he nips at the patch of skin he was just lapping at with quiet reverence.

“Ouch!”

“I hate that I told you that.” Remus fumes, actually embarrassed looking as he pulls away from him.

Sirius is frantic when he circles his arms around Remus’s torso and brings his body back to lie over his own. “Nah, no, gorgeous, I like it. Gets me going. The idea that you’re so lost on me that you picture me in those different outfits.” Sirius tells him, pressing a kiss of apology to the temple of his head.

“’S not weird Sirius!”

“Course it’s not baby,” Sirius soothes, hand caressing his side meaningfully.

“You’re bloody fit— you know that! ’s totally normal that I’d wanna wank off to my beautiful damn boyfriend.”

“Completely, no one’s arguing against you, baby.”

“Hmm,” Remus huffs before springing up suddenly, pinning Sirius with a suspicious glower. “So what, you don’t ever picture me like that? In your favorite sorts of fantasies.”

Sirius throws back his head, laughing at how distressed he looks. God he’s in love with such a bellend. “Cor! Remus, me calling you Prince Ponce all those years before we finally just shagged wasn’t simply because you had a royal scepter up your arse that I wanted to replace with my prii—“ Remus shoves Sirius hard enough so he won’t finish that line, and honestly? Valid.

“So what? That’s all?” Remus fumes, settling away from him once more. “You’ve only ever imagined me as some sorta golden boy you wanted to get your grubby hands on?”

“Course not, love, there’s like hundreds I think of.”

“Like what?” Remus needles, and Sirius feels his cheeks burn scarlet as he has to avert his gaze, knowing precisely what his top fantasy is and too nervous to actually say it out loud.

“Oh c’mon Sirius,” Remus sighs, obviously having read the doubt blotched all over his face. “I’ve seen you piss while eating an ice cream cone in a public beach, and that was before we began even dating.”

“’S not my fault that Marlene got stung by that bloody jellyfish!”

“We’ve crossed the possibility of being embarrassed in front of the other long ago,” Remus continues as if Sirius hadn’t interrupted.

“Ugh fine,” Sirius grouses, tossing himself back on the mattress. “But you swear not to poke fun?”

“You have my word,” Remus says evenly, and gestures at him to continue.

“Okay— Well you don’t know this because we met so much later. But when Jem and I were younger— back in secondary school, maybe.” He coughs only slightly, gaze razor focussed on where he’s tugging on a stray strand of string hanging off the comforter, feeling suddenly very hot under Remus’s appraising gaze. “We, erm. Ahem. We were really bloody bored this one weekend so we watched the Star Wards prequels, you know. Just because everyone’s seen them and all.”

“Mmm, right. I don’t know where you’re going with this though.”

“I’m getting there tosser,” Sirius harrumphs, still doesn’t meet his hazel eyes, even if he’s a bit brassed off.

“All right, well don’t let me stop you.”

“Right, well— Hah. You know the Empire Strikes Back,” Sirius asks tentatively.

“Course I do,” Remus nods, faltering just slightly once he pieces it together. “Oh.”

“’S just a thing I’ve thought about since I was like thirteen—“ Sirius explains lamely.

“And you’d— You’d like to see me in that get up?” Remus asks, voice betraying his inhibition.

Sirius has a mild heart attack thinking of Remus— his Remus— in that golden bikini and doing it just for Sirius and Jesus fuck he can’t even breathe. “Yeah— Yes, ahem, I would really like that.”

“All right,” Remus says with a nod and Sirius’s not really sure what he means by that. Whether it’s a thank you for sharing or a you have my permission to think of it or what, but he doesn’t get the opportunity to ask when there’s the sound of something else crashing in the background followed by the muffled curse of a voice that is so painfully Peter that it hurts.

“Right, well let’s see if he’s broken anything, shall we?”

A week goes by.

Sirius never really thinks of the conversation they had, supposes it was merely a passing fancy for Remus to be validated that Sirius has those same heated thoughts about him. (Which of fucking course he does. Remus’s the epitome of what it means to be beautiful. A God damn angel— Of bloody course Sirius is completely lost on him. But hey, it might’ve been just one of those insecurities of his, a hurtle that needed to be past over for them to proceed in their relationship. So yeah, whatever.) Sirius doesn’t think of it again.

Though the refrain from that is thrown out the God forsaken window on a typical Wednesday morning in the office, when Sirius gets the Snapchat notification that quite literally turns his brain into a stew of slush.

There’s a meeting with Benedict Carro who’s asked the firm to build his newest golf club in Devon, and Sirius is just collecting some of the charts and preliminary sketches from his desk for the impending meeting with the old git. So he really doesn’t think much of it when he sees his phone light up with a message from Remus, is expecting it to be a picture of his adorably scrunched up face or of a new addition to his ridiculous collection of candles, or maybe even of the ducks wandering across the hall like they’re occasionally want to do.

What Sirius most certainly does not expect to see is a fucking photograph of two distinct costumes lying on his bed, and the line “Look what came today,” written on the black bar.

“Mother of God,” Sirius thinks that he might be in the midst of an actual fucking seizure, feels his heart palpitating irregularly and his breaths catching and his insides fucking imploding all at once.

He can’t believe that this is a thing that is happening. That Remus went out and bought them just to surprise Sirius with and now he’s teasing him mercilessly because Sirius’s in love with a wicked fucking mastermind. And just, holy fuck.

Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!

“Mr Black, Mr Carro and his associates are here,” Sirius’s newest assistant— Benjy Fenwick, says in a tone that makes it obvious that he’s been trying to get Sirius’s attention for quite a while now and is about fed up. Sirius is really tempted to flip his phone around and show him a photograph of how insanely sexy Remus is, then he’ll surely understand the reason why Sirius’s been dissolved into a puddle of pure longing for the day to be over. But he ultimately reasons that wouldn’t be exactly appropriate, technically being Benjy’s boss and all, even though they’re nearly the same age.

But yeah— not a good look.

So he hurriedly texts back that Remus is the absolute devil incarnate before shutting off his phone and following Benjy into one of the meeting rooms in the back— trying to muster an air of nonchalance even if the image of Remus in that God damn Princess Leia bikini, is permanently scorched into his every thought.

“Sirius spent the rest of that afternoon sending admittedly explicit texts to Remus about all the things he wants to do to him that night, and practically sores back to their building when he leaves work.

Thankfully Remus had taken care of getting the place to their selves that night, so all Sirius has to do now is jump around from foot to foot in his room, beyond jittery in anticipation of Remus finally coming out the closet dressed in Sirius’s greatest fantasy of all time.

“Is the music absolutely necessary?” Remus calls out through the closed door.

“Yes,” Sirius says in a tone that’s about two octaves higher than his usual speaking voice, so beyond flustered. “’S for the ambiance Lupin!”

“Oy, if I had known this was such a thing for you, I would’ve done it earlier,” Remus snorts, walking out in a white bathrobe that gives nothing away as he eyes Sirius in the Han Solo outfit he got— complete with a fake blaster pistol and its holster. “You look so cute.”

“You’re a God,” Sirius tells him in aw, reaching a gentle hand over to run through his dark, tawny curls.

Remus rolls his eyes, but Sirius catches the smirk he’s wrestling down on his lips. “I love you.”

“I know,” Sirius breathes, padding up closer to him and kissing Remus slow and thorough, a tender hand caressing his cheek.

“God save the queen, that reference actually did something for me,” Remus chuckles, but Sirius can’t respond, has permanently lost all ability to function or piece together words once he spots how Remus loosens the knot on his robe and slinks it off to reveal miles and miles of bare skin, only slightly concealed by the golden bikini of his fantasies, even complete with purple little frills that dangle off the hips.

Sirius realizes that he must’ve been gaping by the way Remus waves a hand in front of his face, “Earth to Sirius? Is this not how you pictured it? Did I get the wrong model or—“ Sirius shuts him up with a heated and desperate kiss that leaves them both breathless by the time they separate.

“Remus, please, for the love of God, get on that bed and wait for me to decide what I want to do with you."

With a small grin turning up the corner of his lips, Remus nods eagerly, perching up on the edge of Sirius’s bed and blinking up at him— practically imploring for Sirius to finally just have his wicked way with him already.

Sirius mildly thinks that he doesn’t deserve such a gift, but gets distracted when Remus separates his legs a little further and he can spot the way his dick is poking out the metallic colored panties, throbbing with anticipation.

“Budge up, I want your back against the headboard,” Sirius demands lowly, and Remus is quick to comply.

On his knees, Sirius shuffles up close enough to clamp his hands on Remus’s inner thighs, pulls them further apart as he smacks a hard kiss to Remus’s mouth, slowly moving to nose at the edge of his cheek and ear as he tells him in a very quiet, very deliberate tone to keep his hands above his head. “You’re a good boy, baby, so I won’t tie them, but you’re gonna keep them up there and you’re not gonna move them, okay?”

Remus, already completely flushed, nods vigorously. He prefers staying quiet when they get like this— Sirius would ordinarily prod at him a little to get some words out, but he’s far too distracted right now.

He kisses across Remus’s protruding collarbone, thinks of how swan like and gentle his features are. How Remus’s a work of art and how he wants Sirius more than breathing, how that’s splayed all over his face, especially now. And God, how heady of a thrill.

Sirius kisses down the line of his chest and stomach muscles with slow precision, nuzzles against the material of the bikini before he nearly breaks the left strap trying to get at Remus’s left nipple, teeth grinding and playing with the ball— biting a little harder when Remus whimpers, trying to cant his hips upwards.

Sirius pulls back, pinching his side lightly. “Stay still,” he reproves, excepts it wen Remus quietly apologizes, ducking his head down to the other nipple now, his hands tenderly petting against Remus’s sides as he sucks on it with the same ferocity.

“Sir—Sirius, please,” Remus begs from above him, head tossed back to show off the long trail of his beautiful neck.

“You’ve been teasing me all day, baby,” Sirius tells him in a voice that’s barely above a whisper, beginning to mouth against the light feathering of pale hair that runs down Remus’s torso, leading to his dick.

“I’m sorry,” Remus tells him, bottom lip worried between his teeth.

“Shh, it’s ok, I got you,” Sirius kisses the point right beneath his naval, and he ducks down to what he was trying to get at in the first place

“Turn around,” he tells him, words clipped. “ON all fours.”

Remus looks relieved to finally be able and do something as he tells him “Yes,” and flips over, already rigid with anticipation.

“You’re so good for me, baby,” Sirius tells him, places a hand on the small of Remus’s back for leverage as he kisses the smattering of freckles that dance over Remus’s thighs. God he has such amazing thighs, strong and elegant and Sirius’s favorite thing is when he gets to kiss them like this, to nip at them and hear the little, abrupt inhale that Remus sucks in at the touch. “Stay good for me, okay,” Sirius tells him as he takes his hands and he spreads open Remus’s asscheeks, revealing the little, dark hole Sirius has spent many a night moaning exaltations towards.

Softly, and with hot breaths Sirius pulls to the side the weak material of the thong, peppers kisses all around Remus’s ass before dipping down deeper and lapping a tongue against the tiny, fluttering ring of wrinkled skin.

“Sirius, please,” Remus moans pushing closer to the hot sensation.

“I got you, sweetheart,” Sirius tells him, lips pressed against him as Sirius kisses the entrance adoringly—tongue plunging inside deeper, harder, slower. And he loves this, the sensation of it, of Remus coming undone in his very hands.

Sirius is about to wrap a hand around the length of him, to stroke in tandem with his worshiping with his mouth, but suddenly there little moment of bliss is cut by the sound of insistent and boisterous knocking.

“Ignore it,”

“It could be important,” Remus argues weakly, obviously all levels of regretful as he peers over his shoulder.

“Fuck it, who cares, ’s my flat and they can sod off!”

Remus presses his lips together, looking like he might agree, but then comes a new round of rapping, and Sirius sees the resolve in his face.

“Oh bloody hell! Fine!” Sirius fumes, scrambling up. “But if it’s someone trying to sell me shit, I’ve got the legal obligation to punch them in the face!”

“Of course darling,” Remus smiles at him, and it’s the only thing that gives Sirius enough strength to swagger towards the front and open the door without already being in mid shout. Though, what he doesn’t expect to happen is to find his adoptive mother of all fucking people on the other side.

“Mum?”

“Sirius? Love?” Dr Potter greets, eyeing him worriedly with a tsk, bringing a small, brown hand to his forehead as if to take his temperature and making it so Sirius flinches back. “Why do you look all red, and honey it’s not October yet, what’s with the outfit?”

“Mum!, why are you here!” Sirius asks instead, avoiding the question all together, voice completely strangled.

“Oh, well James called me to check up on the ducks this Friday, but I was in town with an old girlfriend, so I reckoned I’d just pop over, see if you guys needed anything for me to bring you.” She explains blithely, still looking up at him with concern. “Your taking care of yourself, aren’t you dearest? You’re not working too hard?”

Sirius panics, tries to think of a perfectly plausible excuse besides the obvious— So but of course that’s right when Remus decides to shout from the bed. “Sirius who’s at the door?” And no! Jesus no!

“Remus? Lovey?” his mum calls back.

“Oh— Erm. Dr Potter.” Remus has stepped out of his room now, mercifully already back in his robe. “I didn’t know we were expecting you,” he says with a pale color tinting his pillar, like he’s about to be sick.

Okay, yup, Sirius’s erection has died forever now after hearing Remus speaking to Sirius’s bloody mother dressed like that.

Fuck his life.

“Are you boys okay? Did I— Did I interrupt something?”

“Mum! James is just out to dinner with Lily! We’re fine, honest! And erm, we can’t wait to see you Friday night!”

“Oh dearest, I’m sorry I didn’t realize you guys— ah dressed up—“ Dr Potter flushes, but there is definite amusement glittering in her eyes, and that’s right when Sirius slams his hand against his face and retreats back to the bedroom, barely hearing it when she bids farewell to Remus and tells Sirius to call her tomorrow.

“I reckon we won’t be continuing?” Remus asks, a total giggle to his words. Holy fucking shite! Everyone in his life are such pricks!

“I’m jumping off the balcony!” Sirius screams back in response, plunging his head into the pillows and contemplating everything that’s brought him to this point.

~My Wolfstar FIC Masterlist~

#WOLFSTAR #REMUS LUPIN #SIRIUS BLACK #SIRIUSXREMUS #REMUSXSIRIUS #Marauders #harry potter series #spilt ink #this is trash tbh #plz clown me #I also edited it from an old Firstprince one shot but I'm not writing Friends AU for them anymore #or like never really started lol #so I fixed it #for My OTP #FIC: Friends AU

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wtnrscap · 4 years ago

Text

Cursed Words- Daybreak

Pairings- Bucky Barnes x Reader, Natasha Romanoff x Bruce Banner, mentions of past Natasha Romanoff x Clint Barton.

Summary- The fourth time it happens, you find out what you’ve been doing by accident, but don’t know how to help. Bucky refuses to talk about his feelings until you give him a proposition, something to work for. And for the first time, it feels to Bucky as though things are finally going the right way.

Warnings- (18+) Mentions of blood, death, injury detail, PTSD, panic and anxiety attacks. Fluff. Swearing. Dirty talk, dirty fantasies. Eventual smut.

A/N- This is gonna be a leading onto a longer chapter with more triggering subjects. I like to think the plot is gonna start moving forward now because I think it’s been a bit slow. Taglist is open.

Cursed Words Masterlist

The clock on the wall taunts Bucky. Moving so slowly he thinks it might start going backwards. He keeps his eyes trained on it, counting the seconds down till she lets him go. It was only an hour but it could of been 100 years for all he knew.

She shifts in her seat, her eyes on him, her face calm, waiting for a moment that would never come. She wanted him to talk, admit his feelings, but Bucky had been brought up in the 30s, where men didn’t do that. Being the eldest of four meant he often didn’t have time to worry about his own feelings and when he started looking out Steve, selfcare went out the window. It was strange to him, to be sitting in this prison of white walls, with someone asking him how he felt.

The timer on the coffee table rings out, high-pitched and she sighs, crossing her arms, “You can go now, James.”

He hated that she called him that. He hates the way she talks to him. He hates her. He knows nothing about her, not even bothering to learn her name but he knows he hates her.

“Do I have come tomorrow?” he asks, already knowing her answer. An unnecessary glance at her schedule and a nod of the head, “Yes, James.”

“I don’t see why-”

“Captain Rogers wants you to talk about and explore your past. You haven’t done that. You have come here everyday for 3 weeks and we have sat in silence. You need to work with me here.”

Bucky’s face twists and he turns, leaving the room with a stomp. He hates Steve. He hates everyone who tells him to talk and let it all out. But he can’t hate you. The reason for his being there. He’s tried to hate you, but he just can’t do it. It’s impossible to hate you.

Allison opens the door before you’ve even had the chance to knock. Her face says it all and you sit down with a grumble, “Doesn’t he realise that the longer he keeps up this silence, the longer he’ll be off missions? He’s an arsehole.”

“He knows,” responds Allison, “He’s just been through a lot and it’s hard for him to open up.”

You cock an eyebrow, “You don’t need to talk all therapist to me. He’s being arsehole because he knows he can.”

Allison tucks Bucky’s file under her arm and sits next to you, “Actually... I think he’s needs some... motivation...”

“Motivation?”

“Look,” Allison sighs, “As a therapist I can’t bribe people to open up to me and I’m not supposed encourage other people to bribe customers to open up to me but I think Bucky needs some help. You like him, right?”

“Yeah...”

“So give him a proposition. Tell him if he makes an effort in our sessions, tries to talk to me and tries to get better, then you will let him take you on a date.”

Your eyes widen, “Allison! I don’t even know if he likes me like that!”

“I mentioned you once and his eyes lit up like fireworks. The boy likes you. There’s just something holding him back. That’s what I’m here for. But he needs a push. Someone or something to force his hand. I think this could really work,” Allison stands and looks down at you, “At least think about it.”

A relaxed atmosphere had settled in the games room of the compound. A rare day where everyone was home, a day where the Avengers wanted to be surrounded by each other. Sam, Steve, Tony and Rhodey were fighting over snooker while Vision, Bruce and Thor caught up over stories of Asgard. Nat was creating crazy drinks from behind the bar, overlooked by Bucky, and you were sat with Wanda and Pepper, playing a a surprisingly calm game of Uno. You liked to revel in these moments, when everyone was together and happy. A shout from across the room jolts you, “You cheated, Capsicle!”

“I did not! The ball fell in by itself. You’re just a sore loser!”

Tony rolled his eyes, “Whatever, I’m done with this... this... GAME OF LIES! Let’s play truth or dare!”

The whole room groaned, but it took only minutes for everyone to gather on the leather chairs, an empty beer bottle on the table. Tony span it and every eye watched as it landed on Sam. Poor Sam, he looked like a deer caught in headlights. Tony grinned wickedly, “Truth or dare, Birdbrain?”

“Dare...?”

“I dare you to kiss the person you find most attractive, and if isn’t Cap, then I’m gonna be very disappointed.”

Sam scanned the room, his eyes bristling over Nat, Wanda, Pepper and eventually landing on you. You groan as he stands and makes his way over, “Please don’t... Sam, please...”

His lips connect with yours in a surprisingly good and respectful kiss as the room cheers. Sam pulls back with a flush, “It was you or Pepper and I really don’t feel like dying today.”

“You mean me and Wanda weren’t even considered?” snaps Nat with glare and Sam flushes even more as he spins the bottle. After a few turns it lands on Steve who quickly spits out, “Dare.”

“Take your jacket and shirt off. Give the people what they want.”

To anyone else, that wouldn’t have been so bad, but to Steve, it was a nightmare. Stripping off was reserved for the bedroom and the swimming pool, not for late night entertainment. But he took it like a man and soon you were shamelessly eyeing his body. He spotted it quickly, “Stop drooling, Y/N!”

“Am I not allowed to appreciate a good-looking man?”

Steve rolled his eyes and span the bottle, looking fairly relieved when it landed on Bucky, “True or dare, pal?”

Bucky shrugged, “Dare.”

“I dare you to tell us your biggest fear.”

A chrous of moans circulated around the room at how rubbish the dare was but Bucky had gone pale, prompting everyone to think that it might not be so bad. Steve interrupted quickly, “You don’t have to tell us if-”

“It’s fine. My biggest fear is that Y/N will keep saying my trigger words. She keeps saying them without knowing and they keep activating Winter. It’s why I run from her. It’s easier than to admit that I’m scared of turning into the Winter Soldier permanently. The words only effect me when she says them. My therapist would probably tell me that that means something deeper.”

The room had gone silent. Everyone was either staring at you or Bucky. Without thinking, you dived across the room to Bucky, “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! I didn’t know! I thought you were running from because you hated me!”

“I could never hate you! The therapy is supposed to be helping me move forward but I just don’t wanna talk to her. I feel like I’m taking one step forward and two steps backward.”

The therapy... THE THERAPY!

You grab the bottle and pass it to Nat, “Spin the bottle and make sure it lands on me. When it does, ‘i’m gonna say truth. Ask me about the proposition.”

Nat raises her eyebrows but does as she’s told, angling the bottle so it lands on you, “Truth or dare, my dear friend.”

“Truth.”

“Tell us all about this very interesting proposition.”

You face the group, one hand on Bucky’s leg, the other rubbing your bottom lip anxiously, “If Bucky makes an effort in therapy, if he talks to Allison and tries to get better and if Steve gets the word that he is moving forward...” you turn to Bucky with a small smile on your painted lips, “I’ll let let you take me on a date. A date where you’re in control. You pick the time, the place, what we do, it’s all up to you. But you have to make an effort. You have to want to get better. And I really hope you do, because... I would love a daybreak date.”

Bucky flinches violently, almost tipping you off the chair. Quickly, he grabs you with a flush, fighting himself as the face looms through the darkness. But it’s like a tunnel now. One end is darkness, and the Winter Soldier with all the deaath and despair while the other is light and you, your hand outstretched, offering him a chance at redemption. He’s never seen a light before, and the hope spilling out almost kills him. He has a chance.

“Bucky?” your sweet voice drags him out of his thoughts and he locks eyes with you, “Bucky, are you okay? Did I say a word?”

Bucky nods his head and you sigh deeply, “I’m so sorry. But does that sound like a deal?”

“Doll...” Bucky whispers weakly, and the pet name makes you shiver, “I don’t know if I can-”

“But I know you can. I trust you. And I’ll wait. I understand that this isn’t going to go away in a few weeks. Just... agree to it... Please...”

A huff from across the table makes you look up to see Tony rolling his eyes, “Hey, Farquaad, a beautiful girl offers you a chance to get a date with her you don’t refuse, you agree!”

Bucky’s eyes are wet and he wraps his arms around your neck, hiding his face in your hair, “I agree. I wanna get better for you. If you believe I can, then I will really try.”

The room erupts into cheers, Steve patting his friend on the back with a smile while Nat screams, “Finally! I thought you two would never get past the awkward sexual tension phase!”

You smile widely as a laugh from Bucky vibrates through your body. Allison was right. Bucky needed a gentle push, and this was it. You know the problem isn’t solved, but it’s a start.

Bucky pushes the bleak out of his mind. The horrible images of blood, death, and trauma begin to fade. They’re not gone and they won’t be gone for a long time, but they’re going and he has a chance to get rid of them forever. He knows he has to grasp this with both hands. And with you by his side, he knows he can do it. He knows he could always do it.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky fanfiction #sebastian stan #avengers #bucky barnes fanfiction #marvel imagine #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes series #bucky barnes imagine #marvel fic #marvel fanfic series #marvel #avengers x reader #avengers x you #the avengers #avengers x y/n

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luxaofhesperides · 3 years ago

Text

there in the tower.

A Sleeping Beauty inspired dark fantasy fic.

for ORV RARE PAIR WEEK 2021 @orv-week; day one, prompt: fairy tale

also on ao3.

. . .

They say that the dragon is guarding a princess. After all, dragons will always kidnap princesses and no one else. Who else is so valuable? So important in the kingdom? So weak? So when the dragon flew through the sky and curled around the base of a large tower, it seemed obvious that there was a princess inside, awaiting rescue.

Here’s the thing, though: Na Bori is not a princess.

She’s a seamstresses daughter, a common girl who doesn’t attract much attention from others. So why had the dragon taken her?

Of course, Lee Jihye had no way to know for sure that Na Bori was taken until she actually goes to the tower, but Na Bori had disappeared and a dragon appeared the next day. There were investigations, of course; nobility keeps track of their daughters and what bloodlines they marry into. Every princess and noble girl in the continent is accounted for. People have speculated that there may be a missing princess, perhaps born out of wedlock, or a sickly, weak girl who had never been introduced to society. And then they wondered if they should even bother rescuing the kidnapped girl if they weren’t respectably nobility.

Lee Jihye had to run out of town because of that one. Apparently starting a bar fight and smashing a chair over a marquis’ son is a bad move.

The barely suppressed panic thrums in her chest, filling the empty spaces between her ribs as she continues her journey to the tower.

No one has seen Na Bori since the dragon appeared. No one had looked, either. Who would care for a seamstresses daughter? But Lee Jihye has been besides Na Bori for years, has grown up with her, has never known anyone so bright and clever and kind.

The thought of Na Bori gone forever, trapped in a tower because no one cared to look makes her furiously blink tears out of her eyes. No one else is looking, but Lee Jihye. She would never stop until Na Bori was safe by her side again.

Here’s another thing: Lee Jihye is not a knight. She is training to be one, under the instruction of an old warrior who has settled down to live the last years of his life in peace. There are other knights and princes traveling to the tower, fighting beasts and bandits in order to rescue the poor maiden trapped besides a dragon, hoping to gain glory and honor for their deeds. Lee Jihye just wants her best friend back.

It’s easy enough to avoid them; Lee Jihye’s been dodging them for weeks, knowing she’s too tense to handle anyone’s company. These nobles are planning to gain fame or riches or a wife out of this. The last knight who had said something about pitiful women always clinging to their saviors got his teeth knocked out and a concussion from how hard Lee Jihye punched him. She left him lying on the side of the road, fists shaking as she desperately tried to erase thoughts of Na Bori married to a pig like him.

The less time spent with others, the better.

She cuts down another branch in her way and dives deeper into the forests that surround the castle.

“But what if you get sent far away?” she asks, stabbing her needle especially viciously through the fabric.

Lee Jihye is rather happy that Na Bori doesn’t want her to go. The rare occasion where Na Bori clings to Lee Jihye instead of the other way around are moments memorized and held onto fondly. She knows that there is no one in this world closer to her than Na Bori, knows that she’s the person who knows Na Bori best, but it’s nice to hear that she’s wanted.

Smiling, Lee Jihye reaches out and takes one of Na Bori’s hands, stopping her from tearing through the fabric. “I’ll still come back,” she promises, “Where else would I come home to?”

“And if you get hurt?”

“I’ll just get strong enough that nothing can hurt me.”

Na Bori is mollified, and it shows in how she relaxes and finally sets down her sewing. “You still have a long way to go then. Strong knights don’t cry over a little tumble down the hill.”

Lee Jihye flushes and scowls. “Hey! It was my first assignment and it was a steep hill. I hit a lot of things on the way down! It hurt! If anything, it would be weird if I wasn’t

crying when she wakes up. Lee Jihye faintly hears Na Bori’s voice whisper, “Crybaby,” but it’s only wistful thinking. Forcing her aching body up, Lee Jihye wipes away her tears and prepared herself for another agonizing day cutting through the thorny and impossibly large brambles that block entry to the tower.

“Okay,” she tells herself, “You’re almost there. Na Bori is waiting for you, so you can’t give up yet.”

Many of the others have turned back. She no longer sees other groups making their way to the tower. It’s been eerily silent for the past two days.

If she had been anyone else, if she had been sane, Lee Jihye would have turned around too. The entire area felt unwelcoming, downright hostile sometimes, and made every nerve in her body scream at her to turn around. A heavy pit of despair grows in her stomach and the hopelessness it causes makes her physically sick a few times.

Still, Lee Jihye presses onwards.

The longer it takes, the more she worries, her brain providing morbid images of Na Bori’s body rotting in the tower, or being eaten by the dragon, or any other terrible thing that could happen to kidnapped people. It has Lee Jihye on the verge of a nervous breakdown, and she’s been teetering on that cliff for a few days now.

There’s no doubt that the area around the tower is full of dark magic. It gets into her head, twists around her bones, squeezes the air out of her lungs and slowly suffocates her each day. It gives her nightmares, makes her relive memories that feel like they’re happening again, like Na Bori is there with her only for wakefulness to destroy the illusions. Lee Jihye has only been in this dark magic infected forest for two days. Na Bori has been missing for a week and a half.

The fear she feels for Na Bori and what she’s had to endure only makes things worse.

Lee Jihye hacks through another large thorny bramble and continues in deeper, ignoring the weariness that makes her want to collapse and never get up. Thorns have caught on her with each step she takes; most of the cuts clot up quickly, but the rest leave a trail of blood to guide her back out.

The tower doesn’t look any closer.

She lifts her heavy arms to cut through another branch.

Na Bori shrieks and jumps onto Lee Jihye, clinging with all her might. Startled, Lee Jihye stumbles back a few steps, trying to regain her balance without dropping Na Bori. She wraps her arms around Na Bori, holding her up, and looks around for the source of her distress.

Crawling across the road is a centipede.

Lee Jihye can’t help but laugh, easily carrying Na Bori away from it, continuing down the road to her house.

Na Bori, still holding onto Lee Jihye and making no moves to get down, smacks her shoulder. “Don’t laugh!”

“I can’t believe you call me a crybaby when you jump into my arms as soon as you see a bug.”

“It’s a perfectly reasonably fear! Nothing should have that many legs, or those weird eyes, or pincers, or--ugh!” She shudders, scaring herself by imagining the very things she hates about bugs.

It’s cute, how insistent she is that bugs are weird, gross, and wholly unnatural. Lee Jihye has listened to these complaints for many years, and she wouldn’t mind listening for many years more.

“Don’t worry,” she says, adjusting her grip around Na Bori’s waist. “I’ll always be here to rescue you from the evil, scary bugs.”

Na Bori tucks her face into the crook of Lee Jihye’s neck. Her warm breath sends shivers down her spine; it takes everything in her not to stumble or drop Na Bori.

“My valiant knight,” she says, and Lee Jihye can hear the smile in her voice.

Who needs kings and queens? The only person she ever wants to dedicate her sword to is already in her arms. And if asked, Lee Jihye would gladly dedicate the rest of her life.

It’s just. There are little moments between them, where Lee Jihye thinks Na Bori also wants more, wants to push the limits of their friendship into new territory, but what if it’s just wistful thinking? They’ve shared what feels like their whole lives together, and there’s no guarantee that Na Bori wouldn’t leave one day. But if she stayed… If she stayed, Lee Jihye would give

up and let the brambles consume her body. She doesn’t know how long it’s been, how far she’s gone. Dreams and reality feel the same and she can’t quite tell which is which anymore. The tower is still the same distance away it was when she first saw it rising above the brambles.

Everything hurts. Her ears are ringing. She’s been bleeding sluggishly for days now, always torn apart by new thorns. There’s no point in trying to patch herself up when the next set of brambles is ready to rip her flesh apart.

The tip of her sword drags through the dirt. She’s given up trying to cut a path through to the towers. Instead, Lee Jihye settles for twisting between the branches, uncaring for the thorns that reach out for her greedily.

Whatever dark magic saturates this place is slowly killing her. Lee Jihye doesn’t know much about magic as she’s never had a talent for it, but she knows enough to understand that this is incredibly powerful and dangerous magic.

What does it have to do with Na Bori?

The answer is: nothing good. Who cares about the specifics? All Lee Jihye has to know is that the magic is going to (if it hasn’t already) hurt Na Bori. The need to save her from this, to bring her back somewhere safe, is what keeps her going despite how painful it is.

As much as her body screams at her to give up and just lie down until she withers away, Lee Jihye pushes forwards, ignoring every ache and cut and bruise.

She will get to the tower.

Na Bori will come home.

Their hands bump together and they both reflexively jerk away. The air between them is awkward for a moment, then Na Bori laughs and picks up the last apple slice and brings it up to Lee Jihye’s lips.

"Here,” she says sweetly, and Lee Jihye takes a bite, watches the juice trail down her fingers and wants more than anything to lick it away, to press kisses against Na Bori’s nimble hands, wants

to cry, to scream, to just be done with it. The tower looms above her, no closer and no farther, mocking her and she twists herself through another bramble, wincing as a thorn drags along her arm, beads of blood beginning to

fall into the river. The colorful leaves line the banks of the river and Lee Jihye watches as Na Bori carefully shifts through piles of leaves, searching for the mushrooms that she needed for dinner.

“Jihye, come here!” she calls, waving her over.

And Lee Jihye goes, as she always does. “What is it? Did you find

a way in, but it’s all just stone. No doors, no windows, just stone. She finally got past those horrible brambles, and now that she’s at the tower she can’t find a way in. It’s too tall for her to climb with her how exhausted she is. There’s no way up.

Lee Jihye can’t help but cry, screaming in frustration as she presses the heels of her palms against her eyes, trying to breathe through the sobs that force themselves out of her chest.

The magic has only gotten stronger. Dreams, memories, reality, it’s all mixing together. One moment she’s walking through town with Na Bori, the next she’s trying not to gut herself on a large thorn. One moment she’s cutting down a branch and the next she’s waking up then walking past the brambles then waking up and seeing Na Bori smile then waking up and waking up and waking up but she can’t remember falling asleep.

Is this a dream? Is she awake? Is the tower before her real or is this just another illusion?

She’s come all this way. She can’t go back, not without finding a way in that fucking

tower over her and Lee Jihye is sobbing as she watches they push Na Bori into the river. The one holding her back is laughing meanly, saying something about how no one would care about what happens to them, just two poor common girls who only have each other, bet their parents wouldn’t even notice them gone.

N a Bori is coughing up water in-between insults, and Lee Jihye whimpers as her arm is twisted more and more and any more will hurt her, will break her bones, their hands are too big and strong and no one is coming to save them and

"Get up Jihye!”

There is a dragon curled around the tower. It’s smaller than what she expected. Smaller than what she remembers. It stares at her, but it doesn’t attack.

It looks just as tired as she is.

“Hey,” Lee Jihye rasps out. “I just want her back. Please.”

The dragon huffs and drops its head to the ground. There is a collar around its neck, digging into its flesh. Dried blood colors the edges of the collar, and Lee Jihye feels sick to her stomach. Whatever magic is taking place here is vile enough to hurt a dragon, a creature of pure magic from the core of the planet.

Killing the dragon would be an act of mercy.

Lee Jihye approaches. It watches and doesn’t move. Its golden eyes are so tired; the dragon has already given up.

She raises her sword.

They are seven years old when they first meet. The new seamstress in town is delighted to see that her daughter will have a friend her age. She waves the two of them off to play and goes back into her store, ready to get started on mending clothes.

Na Bori grins, bright and lively; it’s the biggest smile Lee Jihye has ever seen, and she’s instantly enamoured.

"Hi! I’m Na Bori. Wanna play?”

"Sure! I’m Lee Jihye, I live down there,” she points behind them to the cluster of houses near the fields, “and you’re the first person I’ve met who’s my age!”

Na Bori doesn’t waste any more time talking. She grabs Lee Jihye’s wrist and drags her along. It’s the first touch she’s felt from someone outside her family that didn’t hurt. She’s gotten used to hiding from the local bullies and crying when they were done with her, but Na Bori’s hand around her wrist is what makes her feel like she’s splintering apart.

It’s a good feeling.

She follows along behind Na Bori, and remembers that kind touch whenever she thinks about why she loves Na Bori so much.

The collar falls to the ground. It was hard work cutting through it, but just because Lee Jihye doesn’t have a talent for magic doesn’t mean she can’t use it. It’s all about mana direction and intent. This forest is full of mana that feels rotten and wounded, but it is mana nonetheless, and Lee Jihye has spent days in it. It’s easy enough to focus on the memory of the first kindness another child showed her and use that to fuel the intent of help rather than harm .

The dragon blinks and some life returns to its eyes. It watches her carefully as she sheathes her sword and wipes the sweat off her brow.

“I helped you get out of the collar. Please help me too.”

And it does.

The dragon nudges its nose against her stomach and lets her climb on. She holds onto it’s large horns as it ascends and circles the tower. There is a single window in this entire tower, up at the top, and it is there that the dragon stops, using its claws to dig into the stone walls and cling to the tower so that Lee Jihye can climb in through the window.

It rumbles at her softly, and Lee Jihye pats its nose. “I’ll be back soon.”

The inside of the tower is dark save for the light that comes in through the window. It’s full of books and bones, strange symbols drawn on the wall and the floor. There is a man collapsed against a table, gaunt and covered in dried blood. His chest moves, the only sign that he’s not dead, and symbols are cut into his skin, turned black from channeling dark magic.

Lee Jihye doesn’t hesitate to run him through with her sword. He dies silently, not knowing the danger he was in the moment he stole Na Bori away.

That is, if Na Bori is even here. If she isn’t, Lee Jihye is going to have a breakdown, then go out and continue her search. But she’s sure that Na Bori is here.

She has to be.

In the back is another set of stairs that winds up, and Lee Jihye climbs them, leaving her sword out just in case.

It’s much darker up here, but still Lee Jihye can make out the bed and a person lying in it. There’s a table besides the bed, full of sharp objects she doesn’t know the use for, and small vials of blood. Dread fills Lee Jihye and she approaches the bed to get a closer look at who is on it.

Na Bori sleeps peacefully.

Her arms are bare and full of healing cuts. Lee Jihye collapses, half-laughing half-sobbing in relief. She reaches out and shakes Na Bori, trying to rouse her from her slumber, but Na Bori doesn’t stir.

She’s as still as a corpse.

Lee Jihye shakes her harder, then pats her cheek. “Bori-ya? Hey, Bori-ya, I’m here. I’m here to take you home. Wake up, will you? Please, wake up.”

Na Bori remains motionless. She’s never been a deep sleeper, or a still one. Seeing her so still and silent terrifies Lee Jihye.

“Please,” she whispers, grasping one of Na Bori’s hands and pressing her forehead against it. “Please, wake up.”

Lee Jihye sobs. She went through all this and now that she’s here, it doesn’t matter. Because Na Bori is stuck in a magical sleep that Lee Jihye can’t wake her from.

Desperate, Lee Jihye pulls on the rotting mana around them. Blood drips from her nose as she pushes herself through exhaustion and pain, letting the decay take root in her body as she tries to use magic to break Na Bori out of her enchanted sleep. It hurts so much, behind her eyes, in her throat, around her heart. It hurts but there’s nothing else she can do, so Lee Jihye keeps pulling the mana in, then pushing it into Na Bori through their joined hands, wishing wake up wake up wake up come back to me please I missed you so much please come back I want to go home please don’t make me leave you .

She’s not made for magic. Doesn’t really know how to use it and it takes a toll on her body. She barely notices that she’s stopped crying. She just doesn’t have the energy to make tears.

Lee Jihye resigns herself to death. Better than leaving without Na Bori. She slumps over, slowly losing her strength. Na Bori sleeps on.

They were supposed to have a future together. She wanted to find the courage to confess to Na Bori, to make a life with her, to become a knight for her. She wanted so much but she’ll never get it because their story ends here.

These are her final moments. She’s allowed to be greedy. Lee Jihye leans down and kisses Na Bori; their first and last kiss. She presses her lips against Na Bori’s mouth and just stays there, tired and weak.

Na Bori takes a breath.

And she kisses back.

"Why do you want to be a knight? Isn’t it scary?”

Was it? Lee Jihye had always thought the stories of adventures and fighting monsters was really cool. She says as much to Na Bori, who scrunches up her nose.

“But what if you get hurt or run into a really scary monster?” she asks, clutching the skirt of her dress in her fists, knuckles white.

“Then I’d fight back and come to you so you could help me! Being a knight might be a little scary, but I’d also be strong enough to defeat any scary thing that I find.”

“Would you save me if I was in danger?”

Lee Jihye grins and grabs Na Bori’s hand to link their pinkies together. “I promise that I will always save you.”

Na Bori has to support Lee Jihye as they both stumble down the stairs and make their way to the window, where the dragon is waiting. It coos at them, concerned, and Lee Jihye manages a weak smile that seems to reassure it.

They somehow manage to get onto the dragon, holding onto ridges of its back as it takes off and flies them away from the oppressive force of black magic.

“Jihye?” Na Bori murmurs from behind her, arms wrapped around Jihye’s waist as she leans against her back. “Thank you for coming to save me. I kept dreaming of you and our promise.”

“I told you didn’t I? I’ll always save you.” Lee Jihye wishes she could be cooler when she says it, but she’s exhausted and the relief of having Na Bori with her makes her voice small and weak.

Na Bori presses a kiss to the back of her neck. “Sleep. I’ll take care of you until we get home.”

Feeling like a child again, experiencing her first kind touch from another, Lee Jihye relaxes against Na Bori, and lets herself drift off as her heart splinters and fractures, then comes together whole.

#orv #orv week #omniscient reader's viewpoint #orv fic #lee jihye #na bori #lee jihye/na bori #my writing

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ao3bronte · 4 years ago

Text

Obey

4 | 5 | 6

Warnings: Characters are aged up but still drinking underage (legal drinking age is 18 in France). Wild parties, hypnosis and NSFW themes will ensue.

This chapter includes explicit sexual content. Reader discretion be advised.

Below deck...

“Marinette…” Luka chokes on his words, his hands unable to stay idle. He cradles each of her breasts in his palms and brushes his thumbs across her nipples, powerless to tear his eyes away as she inhales against the feeling, so new and addictive. He does it again and again until Marinette is mewling, the pace of her hips increasing, and when he finally looks up at her face again, it’s with the implicit understanding that if they go any further, there will be no holding back.

“I want it,” she throws her head back as he grasps her breasts and squeezes, “It feels good.”

Luka doesn’t have the ability to answer, his tongue thoroughly tied as he pulls one hand back to unfasten the button of his jeans. She watches him as he tugs the zipper down his length, exposing a sliver of his bright purple boxers beneath.

“Are you sure?” his voice hitches as she shimmies backwards, giving him a chance to push his jeans down his thighs. She nods as he steps out of them, gnawing on her lower lip.

“I’ve thought about this moment,” she admits, unable to keep herself from telling the truth even if she tried. The old Marinette had certainly mulled over her first time, with the boys in her fantasies alternating between Luka and the forbidden boy she was determined to let go of, “And I want it to be with you.��

“Oh god,” Luka babbles, barely able to stop himself from shaking. His hands twitch at his sides before reaching out and settling on her hips once again, “Can I?”

“Yes,” she whispers, shivering as he hooks his thumbs into the straps of her panties and drags them down her bare legs. When he looks up, he falls back onto the bed and locks eyes with her, his expression wrecked and helpless all at once.

“Your turn.”

It takes a moment for Luka’s brain to catch up with her words, her gaze impossible to shake as he blindly pulls his boxers off. His erection bobs and Marinette’s eyes widen as she catches a glimpse of something she’s only seen in a textbook.

“Marinette…” He squirms under her gaze, bashful at the prospect of being completely naked in front of her. His hands start twitching again for something to do and he drives his fingers into his bedspread and clenches, the sheets bunching while he tries to fight for his composure, “I…”

She silences him with a kiss, quelling both of their nerves as she slides back into his lap. He cries out a little as his cock brushes against the skin of her belly, sending a lightning strike up his spine.

“Remember what I told you?”

Luka pulls away and melts like putty in her arms, “Please…”

“Yes,” she breathes, “And whatever you do, don’t hold back.”

Intelligent. Clever. Bright. Luka is all of these things, although he doesn’t always show it. At first glance, he looks like the kind of rough-and-tumble twenty-something who grows pot in his bedroom window. But beneath the surface of his smile, Luka’s brilliance roars in like the tide and brings melodies in its wake, only for his heartsong to suck you into his orbit like a rip current. Marinette feels like she’s floating in the whirlpool of his soul right now, their bare chests pressed against each other, their bodies entwined as he falls back against his bedsheets and she falls with him for the very first time.

“I really don’t know what I’m doing,” he murmurs against her lips, his cheeks flushing with a mixture of lust and embarrassment as she brackets his hips with her own.

“Neither do I,” Marinette admits in kind, bracing herself on her hands and knees above him, “But that’s never stopped me before.”

Luka’s lips curl into a smile as he combs his fingers through her hair, lost in the wonder of her gaze. She’s always burned the brightest of the two of them and he’s addicted to the light she sheds on his life, even while they’ve been apart, “True.”

“And we’d still be together, you know…” Marinette brushes her thumb across his cheek and presses a quick kiss to the corner of his lips, “Maybe we could figure something out.”

Luka feels his blood burn like it never has before, “Do you mean that?”

“You’re going on tour soon,” Marinette sits up straight and runs her fingernails down the planes of his chest, “And Le Papillon can’t akumatize you if you’re in Berlin or Bangkok. You can still be mine, if you want to be.”

“Yes!” Luka cries out before he can stop himself, excitement and joy welling up in his chest. The surge of adrenaline spurs his body into movement and he lets his instincts take the wheel as he flips them over and pins her underneath of him, kissing her recklessly, “You won’t regret this. You’re mine .”

Marinette’s eyes widen with surprise at the sudden change of scenery and keens as Luka leaves a trail of wet kisses along her neck, her collarbone, the swell of her breasts. He draws one of her nipples between her teeth and she squeals at the newfound sensation that tingles all the way down to her toes. She knows why the old Marinette put this off for so long but now that the new Marinette has taken over control, she can hardly come up with a single argument to stop her from making love to him tonight.

“Does that feel good?” Luka asks, his expression hopeful as he rests his chin against her sternum. He waits until she nods before flashing her a toothy grin and going back to town like he was born to please her, to run his tongue and teeth against the sensitive skin of her breasts. She likes it when he circles her nipple with his tongue and she tells him so, burying her fingers in the shaggy blue hair at the nape of his neck to guide him.

“Use your other hand,” she whispers, a breathy gasp escaping her lips as he does exactly that. He swirls his thumb over her other nipple until the nub is impossibly hard and sensitive in a way Marinette can hardly stand. It’s like she wants more but she also wants him to retreat and her mind sings with the contrasting sensations, sending all sorts of strange and addictive signals to the apex of her thighs.

“Can I...?” he pulls away from her breast and his eyes easily betray his intentions, his lashes casting downwards as his gaze locks on her navel. She mumbles a shaky yes and suddenly she’s awash in a flurry of anticipation and need as he leaves wet kiss after wet kiss along her belly, tinted with hunger. He laves his tongue just below her belly button and his eyes suddenly bear the question they’re both too overwhelmed to ask; she can’t quite verbalize it, her nerve endings on fire, and hopes that spreading her legs as widely as she can answers his concern.

“Oh god,” Luka murmurs, having only seen this kind of thing through the screen of his computer. He’s orgasmed a thousand times to the tune of burying his face between her thighs and having her fall apart against his tongue. He doesn’t want to waste a moment — this time between them too fleeting to ignore — and peppers kisses against the inside of her thighs to try and reign himself in.

To Luka, Marinette has always been a puzzle to solve and this moment is no different as he parts her lips with his fingers and flattens his tongue against her core. She’s making those lovely noises again, the ones she’d been mewling over and over when he’d been kissing her breasts, and he pays close attention to their modulation and tone. He repeats the motion and draws his tongue up and against her clit, blooming with pride as she all but begs for him to do it again.

And who is he to deny Marinette, the heroine of Paris and his childhood crush for years ? She could ask him for the world and he’d present it to her on a platter, utterly committed to her every want and need.

He draws on what he’s watched on the internet, the amateur videos he jacks off to now and then in the solitude of his bunk on the tour bus. It’s always her he thinks about when he shuts his eyes and rolls onto his back, taking himself in his hand and pumping furiously on the nights where he can’t sleep. And now, lapping and sucking and fucking her fervently with his tongue, he knows he’ll never have to look at porn again. Not with this memory, with her taste on his lips and her cries of passion in his ears. She’s ordering him, begging him to go harder, faster as he slips a finger inside of her, the tight resistance of her entrance doing all sorts of wonderful things to his imagination.

“Please,” Marinette wrenches her knees upwards and Luka can sense that something’s about to change. She’s wound like a live wire and her heartsong is absolutely singing with harmonies he’s never heard before, building into a crescendo at five times the forte. She’s cresting at the decibel of a Jagged Stone concert and the giddy feeling in Luka’s chest swells as her thighs clench around his ears. He’s written songs about this moment as she clenches around his fingers and gasps his name like a supplication, tossing her head back into his pillow.

(And he’ll write a thousand more.)

She melts a few moments later, her eyes lidded and lovely as she beckons him back up towards her. He follows, completely under her spell and perfectly happy to be under her control.

“I’ve never felt like that before,” Marinette whispers, nothing but honest beneath the influence of Mesmer’s power, “I’ve...it’s so much different when it’s with someone else.”

Brimming with newfound confidence, Luka claims her mouth in a wrenching kiss, “Are you admitting that you touch yourself?”

“Well...yes,” Marinette gasps, the sting of his teeth on her lower lip quickly soothed with his tongue, “Once or twice. I wanted to know what it was like.”

“And now you’ll never have to wonder again,” Luka says, his cock brushing against her inner thighs. Marinette’s eyes sharpen with focus as she worms her hand down between their bodies. She caresses his side and slowly explores the vee of his hips before pausing, hesitating as her fingers brush through the tuft of black hair below his navel. She’s never done something like this before but she heeds Mesmer’s every word, every temptation; she is their Queen and she will show them what it means to be her lover! When she emerges on deck, thoroughly fucked and proudly his, everyone will see the true Marinette. She’s not innocent, not anymore. She’s a woman on the brink of destiny, a hero with the weight of the world on her shoulders and the weight of her lover holding her above water. She’s a force of nature and a sexy one at that if Luka’s whimpers have anything to say about it, mewling into her ear as she wraps her hand around his shaft and slides her palm from root to tip.

“I want you,” she whispers, intoxicated by his raw expression as she guides him towards her centre. He braces himself and draws the lobe of her ear between his lips, nearly deafened by the cadenza of this moment. He wavers, his apprehension of hurting her niggling at the forefront of his mind but there’s no stopping now; it’s just her and him and the need to obey Mesmer’s decree to allow themselves to be free from reservations.

“Let me know if you need me to stop,” he hisses through gritted teeth as he slowly pushes inside of her. Her slick, tight heat almost stops his heart right then and there and he’s never felt so good, so high, so utterly entranced as he feels right now, listening closely to her voice between the blood pumping through his ears. He pauses twice, sensing her tension and kisses her in the hopes of distracting her from the pain, her taste still heavy on his tongue.

“You can...move now,” Marinette takes a deep breath as he slowly drags his hips back and pushes them forwards again, committing to a steady rhythm almost immediately. She times her inhales to his inner metronome and soon the sting dissolves into a torrent of pressure that feels better than she could have imagined. The sensation of his cock rocking into her is addictive and she doesn’t know how to describe the friction except she never wants it to end, hooked on the slide and catch of his hips as his thrusts begin to accelerate in tempo.

He’s lost, panting and sweating as he tries desperately to clamber for control. He wants to make this good for her but she feels so so so good and he’s helpless to her whimpers and moans in his ears, a siren’s song that’s dragging him beneath the waves upon waves of pleasure she’s given him. He didn’t think his first time would ever be this good but, then again, he never thought Marinette would come back to him and make every single one of his dreams come true.

“Mari…” he groans against her lips, his rhythm stuttering. It feels like being struck by fireworks and lightning all at once as he comes inside of her, the sensation surging through his fingers and toes. His mind blanks for a moment and Marinette kisses him happily, catching every prayer with the sweetness of her tongue. Eventually, he braces himself on his elbows and flops onto his side, dragging her over into his embrace.

“I love you,” he murmurs, still buzzing somewhere in the stratosphere. She smiles and pecks him on the nose before burying herself in his arms.

“I love you too,” she says and she’s not even remotely surprised that she means every word. Mesmer gave her the opportunity to speak freely, to make decisions with a clear mind and admit everything she’s ever held back. A relationship with Luka wouldn’t be easy and they’d have to find a way around the long nights alone…

...she wonders if Luka would be willing to share.

#miraculous ladybug #lukanette #mlnsfw #Marinette Dupain-Cheng #luka couffaine

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artificialqueens · 4 years ago

Text

Off Limits, Chapter 7/7 (Bitney) - Veronica/Albatross

A/N: Hey guys! This is the companion story to “No Strings Attached.” Both ships are in both stories, but generally, “No Strings Attached” is Willaska-focused and this one is Bitney-focused. (Link to all chapters in order.)

If you like anything about this story, it’s really @aqalbatross who deserves the thanks, because she’s the one who came up with the idea and convinced me to come along for the ride. Thanks for twisting my arm, Albie. You’ve been super fun to work (and argue) with during the creation of this story. <3

Also, thank you from the bottom of my heart to wonderful betas for this story: @artificialpuddle and @opalescent-cheetah, and a special shout-out to Dartmouth420 for giving the most motivating, sweetest feedback on every single chapter—I hope you enjoy the little cameo I included for you. XO

Chapter Summary: Welcome to the supersized final chapter, where Courtney and Bianca navigate their new relationship, and find out that they’re not the only ones in their apartment living out a romantic comedy.

TW for a moment of controlling/domineering behavior that immediately gets shut down

***

Courtney hovered over Bianca on the bed, practically salivating at the sight of her all disheveled--blouse open, skirt unzipped and pushed down around her thighs, lipstick smeared, normally perfect hair mussed against the pillow. The dark green of her bra and panties looked sinfully gorgeous against her skin, just as Courtney knew it would. Courtney felt almost dizzy as she tugged on her clothes, pulling off her skirt the rest of the way and helping her wriggle out of the blouse.

She pulled one of the lacy bra cups down to reveal her breast, swirling her tongue around the nipple and then blowing on it gently, watching it harden. She took the now stiff nipple back into her mouth and sucked hard, eliciting a moan.

“Baby…” Bianca panted, her own hands sliding up Courtney’s thighs, under her dress.

Courtney continued to press wet kisses over Bianca’s chest, reaching behind her to unhook the bra, watching as her perfect tits spilled out. She was so beautiful, so deliciously sexy, Courtney felt her breath hitch as her eyes roamed greedily over Bianca’s curves.

“Please…” Bianca was trying to ease Courtney’s dress up.

Courtney sat back on her heels to assist, pulling the dress over her head and flinging it aside into the pile of discarded clothes. She slid her hands over Bianca’s body, desperate to touch every inch of her. Bianca seemed to be of the same mind, fingers raking down her ribs to her waist, knuckles brushing teasingly over the front of her cotton panties, which Courtney had now soaked through.

“God, you’re so wet,” Bianca groaned. Finished with teasing, she stuffed her hand down the front of Courtney’s panties, stroking her, pulling gasps of pleasure from her. Her fingers slipped inside easily, curling against Courtney’s g-spot as goosebumps broke out all over her arms.

A low moan escaped Courtney’s lips as she fucked down into Bianca’s fingers, knuckles turning white where she gripped the sheets. Bianca’s spare hand rested on her ass, kneading it, helping her to guide the rhythm of her frantic hips.

Courtney buried her face in Bianca’s neck, losing herself in the scent of her perfume, the familiarity of it only spurring her on as shivers rippled down her spine.

“Fuck, Bianca…” she moaned, trembling on the edge as she began to lose her grip on reality, the room spinning as she hurtled into the dizzying recesses of pleasure, clinging to Bianca for dear life.

The sound of Bianca’s name dripping from her lips was perfect. She breathed in the moment greedily, swallowing up her moans as spasms began to rip through Courtney’s body, working her faster and faster. The ache in Bianca’s arm soon burned in the best way, and she pushed through, not stopping until Courtney had collapsed in a heap beside her.

“Was that good, baby?” Bianca pressed a kiss against her temple, smiling at the weak murmur of agreement that escaped her.

Bianca couldn’t help sucking her slick fingers up to her mouth, already addicted to the taste of her, addicted to the feeling of her panting, sated body pressed against Bianca’s in the narrow bed. She sighed happily, one arm curled around Courtney’s shoulders, stroking her sweat-dampened skin.

After a few minutes, Courtney lifted her head and said, “You keep doing that.”

“Keep doing what?”

“You know…” Courtney's eyes lowered bashfully, cheeks still red.

“Making you come?”

“No. I mean, yes, but…” Courtney bit her lip. “I was trying to make you come.”

“Well...I don’t know what to tell you, babydoll,” Bianca smirked. “I guess you have to work faster.”

“Is that a dare?” Courtney’s eyes glittered as she rolled back on top of Bianca, fingers trailing down her collarbone.

“Well, I-” Bianca let out a small gasp as Courtney gently pinched one her nipples between her fingers, a thigh pressed against her, tongue invading her mouth.

She arched up, body thrumming with need as Courtney nibbled against her neck, hot mouth moving swiftly down her body.

Bianca threaded her hands into Courtney’s hair, pretending that she was still in control as she guided her head down. Courtney slipped her fingers underneath the lacy underwear, dragging them down slowly over her thighs.

“You are so fucking hot,” Courtney said, warm breath making Bianca shiver.

She raised her knees, allowing Courtney to pull the panties off, abdomen tight with excitement as she settled in between her legs, fingers dancing up her thighs.

“Yeah?”

“Mmmhmm…” Courtney bent down and placed a light kiss against her, just below her belly button.

“Courtney-”

“Yees?” Courtney drew out the word, nuzzling a cheek against the tenderest spot of her inner thigh.

Bianca gulped.

“Am I doing something wrong?” Courtney asked, suddenly looking a bit insecure about the whole endeavor. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No, I just...I don’t want you to feel like you have to.”

“I want to. Really,” Courtney insisted. “I’m dead sure.”

Bianca chuckled softly, finally letting her body relax completely. It felt strange, the surrender, but also like exactly what she needed.

***

Later that night, folded in Bianca’s arms, playing with her fingers, Courtney found her mind wandering, the pesky insecurities that she’d been pushing aside all day rearing their ugly heads. Thoughts she’d never had before with anyone she’d been with, like where is this going and does she like me the way I like her and how do I measure up.

“B...can I ask you something?”

“Sure.” Bianca nuzzled into the back of her head.

“How many girlfriends have you had?”

Bianca laughed.

“I’m serious!” Courtney squeezed her hand.

“Well…I haven’t exactly had any...formal arrangements,” Bianca finally said.

“Oh.”

“You know, I just never had much use for the word ‘girlfriend.’”

Courtney turned around to face her, cheeks warm and a little flushed as she asked, “Do you think you would ever...want one?”

A grin spread across Bianca’s face and she asked, “Why, you wanna be my girlfriend?”

She looked adorable, but Courtney couldn’t tell if the expression on her face was because she was teasing, or because she was actually into the idea.

“Do you want to be my girlfriend?” Courtney countered, heart racing.

“I asked you first.”

Courtney swallowed. She knew that she was being silly. This conversation probably should have waited a bit. But biding her time was never Courtney’s strength. She was more the “shut your eyes and leap” type.

“Well…I know it’s probably too soon to label it. I just wanted to know what you think about...us. Eventually.” She bit her lip, cheeks now burning with embarrassment.

“Okay, and I asked you what you wanted.” Bianca’s dimples deepened, and Courtney couldn’t help touching them.

“I don’t want to pressure you,” Courtney said. Her voice felt small and stupid and she squeezed her eyes shut.

“I don’t feel pressured,” Bianca said, pulling her closer. “And you still haven’t answered. Do you want to be my girlfriend?”

“Yes,” Courtney admitted, face pressed to Bianca’s shoulder, her words muffled.

Bianca cupped her chin and pressed a sweet kiss to her lips.

“Good.”

“You don’t think it’s too soon?” Courtney searched her dark eyes.

“It’s a little soon. But...you’re a lot hot. So...”

Courtney laughed, feeling her whole body melting against Bianca with a relieved sigh. This was all she wanted, this closeness. To know that Bianca wanted her, that they were on the same page. It was never like this with boys; any boyfriend she’d ever had had been a fleeting whim, some guy who chased her until she finally said yes, and then quickly grew bored of once the novelty wore off. With Bianca, she found herself, maybe for the first time, subject to a kind of uncontrolled, soul-crushing desire. The whole ordeal was incredibly embarrassing, not to mention an emotional rollercoaster.

“Are you happy?” Bianca whispered against her mouth.

“Uh huh...now I know what to call you when I tell my mum.”

Bianca lifted one eyebrow. “What exactly are you planning to tell her?”

“Everything! We’re very close,” Courtney said.

“Everything?!”

“Well, no, not everything.” Courtney buried her face back into Bianca’s neck with a giggle, and Bianca wrapped her up into a hug.

“Perfect.”

***

Courtney had plenty of choice opinions about the United States, but one thing she would never complain about was how big and elaborate American Halloween celebrations were. She loved all of it, but especially the costumes, getting to live a fantasy for a night.

And this year, she’d convinced Bianca to do a couples costume, something she’d always wanted to do. (She was a little surprised, and a lot grateful, at how easily Bianca went along with it.) After a trip to both a Halloween shop and a high end vintage store, they’d settled on Bonnie and Clyde, Bianca pulling her sewing machine out from under the bed in order to perfect the tailoring and make sure all the details were accurate, really getting into the spirit.

Courtney loved her costume--a form-fitting sweater, pencil skirt, and jaunty little beret. But she loved Bianca’s Clyde costume even more. She’d never in her life seen anything as sexy as Bianca in high-waisted pin-stripe pants, suspenders and a fedora, coat slung casually over her shoulders.

She sat at the desk chair, gazing lovingly up at Bianca in her suit as she bobby-pinned her beret securely in place, and it was all she could do to keep from drooling. Alaska stood in front of her makeup mirror, putting the finishing touches on her Morticia Addams look.

Willam opened the door to announce that she was ready to go, and immediately rolled her eyes. “Goddamn, this is some gay shit.”

“I know, aren’t we cute?” Courtney replied, shrugging benignly.

“Sure,” Willam said, as if she was one to judge, standing there in her sluttiest dress and pair of 6-inch heels.

“What are you supposed to be, anyway?” Courtney asked her, one eyebrow raised.

“A person who’s gonna get laid tonight,” Willam answered, as if it was obvious. She turned her attention to Bianca. “And you…you look…”

“What?” Bianca bristled, clearly ready for an insult, crossing her arms.

“Kinda hot?” Willam finished.

“That’s what I said!” Alaska exclaimed from across the room.

Bianca opened her mouth, about to toss out a sarcastic reply, when Courtney snaked her arms around her waist, pulling her into her lap.

“Totally hot,” she whispered.

“Ugh, you just ruined it,” Willam said, flouncing out of the room.

There was something especially thrilling for Courtney about being back at Sierra’s, with Bianca for real this time, everyone in the club knowing that they belonged together. She hung on to her arm, only half-listening to the conversation her roommates had struck up with Raja and Manila, mostly just gazing at Bianca with heart eyes and thinking about how sexy she looked in her suit. And making a plan of attack for exactly how she was gonna rip it off later. She already knew that some kind of special underwear was involved--she’d seen the bag that morning, emblazoned with the logo from a vintage shop downtown, but Bianca had stopped her before she’d had a chance to peek, telling her that it was a surprise.

She looked back at Manila, who was finishing a story, saying, “...but she really needed those chips, I guess it was worth it!”

The rest of the group burst out laughing, Raja covering her face with her hand as Manila leaned in to kiss her cheek, and Courtney realized that she had no goddamn clue what they were talking about. But no matter. Her eyes wandered around the crowded club, spotting a welcome sight on stage--Adore and her band setting up. She squealed happily, squeezing Bianca’s hand.

“Omigod, that’s Adore!”

“Great, my favorite person,” came Bianca’s sarcastic reply, and Courtney laughed. After all, everything had worked out, so why would she be holding a grudge?

“She’s cool. You don’t like her?” Raja asked, head tilted curiously.

“Well…”

“We should go say hi,” Courtney said.

“Pass.”

“Come on,” Courtney cajoled, wrapping her hands around Bianca’s arm. “Don’t you think we should thank her?”

“Thank her for what?”

“For being cool, and kind, and helping us actually admit our feelings?” Courtney raised her eyebrows.

“Please,” Bianca scoffed.

“Fine, don’t come, but I’m gonna go say hi,” Courtney told her, and turned towards the stage.

Bianca grabbed her sleeve, sternly saying, “No, you’re fuckin’ not.”

Alaska gasped slightly, eyebrows shooting up, and Willam lifted her drink to muffle her incredulous laughter. Even Raja and Manila looked scandalized, eyes wide as they watched the drama unfold.

“Ohhh shit,” Manila whispered, fingers digging into Raja’s arm.

Courtney turned back to Bianca slowly. Normally, she didn’t mind her girlfriend’s overbearing, Type-A bossiness. In fact, she found it cute. But this was over the line, and everyone else seemed to agree. Just because Courtney was easygoing did not mean that she was a pushover, and if Bianca thought she could order her around, or forbid her from talking to someone, she had another think coming.

There was a heated moment as Courtney stared Bianca down, no one saying anything. Courtney could feel Bianca’s grip loosening, see her hard expression faltering as her cheeks grew red.

“I mean...uh...just kidding?” Bianca finally stammered out, letting go completely, forcing a guilty smile.

“Good one,” Courtney said simply, turning and heading to the stage without a second glance. She smiled to herself when she heard Bianca’s footsteps behind her, catching up.

“You know, maybe...” Bianca said, clearing her throat, “maybe we should both say hi.”

“Right.” Courtney slipped her hand into Bianca’s to show her that all was forgiven, feeling rather victorious as she bounded over to Adore, waving up at her. “Adore! Hey! Happy Halloween!”

“Heyyy!” Adore cried back. “Omigod, you look so fuckin’ cute!”

“Thank you. You do too!”

Adore was dressed as what appeared to be a goth zombie cat. She pawed the air with one fishnet-clad hand and said, “Meow.”

Courtney giggled, adding, “I didn’t realize you guys were performing tonight, I’m so psyched to see you again!”

“Aww, thanks! I’m glad things worked out with you guys, you-” She paused then, doing a double-take, looking Bianca up and down, finishing with a simple, “Damn.”

Courtney giggled again, wrapping her hands around Bianca’s arm, proud to be with her and happy that she was getting exactly the reaction she deserved to that costume. Even cuter was how all the attention seemed to catch her off-guard, clearing her throat and shifting around, the faintest blush coloring her cheeks.

“Um...We wanted to say thanks, for looking out for Courtney when I was, uh-”

“Being a fucking idiot?” Adore supplied.

“Yeah.”

“It was my pleasure,” Adore said, smiling sweetly. She gave both of them another once-over, then asked, “So...what are you guys doin’ after the party?”

Bianca’s spine stiffened and Courtney laughed, telling her, “Relax, she’s kidding.”

“I’m totally kidding,” Adore said, then after a beat shook her head and caught Courtney’s eye, mouthing, ‘I’m not kidding.’

Courtney giggled some more, enjoying the attention from Adore just as much last time.

“Is that Alaska calling us?” Bianca asked, tugging slightly on Courtney’s arm.

“No? Adore, I wanted to ask you if you-”

“Coming, Alaska!” Bianca called loudly to no one, pulling Courtney away.

Nobody believed Bianca for a second, but at least she’d made a small effort. It was better than nothing.

“Bye, Adore! Break a leg!” Courtney tossed one last glance at Adore, giving her a half eye-roll, receiving a flirty wink in return.

“Byeee!”

After some wheedling and pouting, Courtney convinced Bianca to dance, and now she got to feel her up on the dance floor, the thought of jealous eyes on them making Courtney’s heart hammer in her chest.

“Are you having a good time?” Bianca asked, as Courtney fingered her suspenders.

“Mmhmm...are you?”

“Yeah. But you know what would be better?” Bianca murmured.

“What?”

“If all the rest of these people were...somewhere else.”

Courtney shivered slightly, Bianca’s eyes on her doing all kinds of things to her. She gazed up at her, feeling like the luckiest girl alive to be getting undivided attention from someone so perfect, so beautiful.

“What people?” Courtney finally asked, eyes falling closed as Bianca’s lips found her neck, letting the world fall away, music and lights and bodies around them blurring into an indistinguishable swirl of energy. The only thing that mattered was Bianca, and her hands, and her lips, the frantic pulse of their heartbeats in sync.

“Let’s get out of here.”

***

As well as they knew each other before hooking up, there was still a lot that surprised Bianca about Courtney. New little quirks and qualities she was constantly learning about. But maybe the most welcome surprise was her voracious sexual appetite, how her constant hunger made Bianca feel more desirable than she ever had before.

Tonight was no exception, as Courtney pulled off her costume in a desperate rush, eyes taking her in. She’d selected a cream and powder-blue vintage lingerie set, decorated with almost demure eyelet around the edges, a sharp contrast to her tailored costume. Courtney kneeled over her, looking hungry and wild-eyed, like she wanted to swallow her whole.

“You like?” Bianca asked softly, and instead of words, the answer she got was a pained whimper, Courtney capturing her lips in a kiss that left her breathless and reeling.

“Do you know how sexy you are, B?” Courtney whispered, hands wandering over her body. She seemed to be working hard to slow her own breathing, chest heaving slowly.

“Look who’s talking,” Bianca said. She pushed Courtney’s blouse off her shoulders, revealing her own dark burgundy lipstick mark from earlier, and then unzipped her skirt with shaky fingers. And fuck, she was wearing Bianca’s own underwear, a lacy red pair, and it was so hot Bianca could barely hold it together. “Shit.”

Courtney smiled down at her and began to slowly undress her, pressing kisses to every inch of bared skin. Bianca threaded a hand into her hair, the other gripping a handful of sheets.

“Don’t forget to-”

“Relax,” Courtney said with a smirk. “I know what you like.”

Fuck. Tingles rippled through Bianca’s body, and it was a few long moments before she could gather her wits, raising herself up on her elbow and forcing out a sarcastic reply. “Excuse me, ma’am, it’s been three weeks, how are you this cocky?”

Courtney grinned adorably, turning her lips towards Bianca’s thigh, sucking gently at first, then harder, bringing a faint mark to the surface of her skin. When Bianca tightened a hand in her hair, pressing her head down, Courtney actually looked up at her and laughed.

“Nice try.”

“Fuck…” Bianca huffed out a sigh, falling backwards. She watched Courtney through heavy-lidded eyes as she continued to tease her, peppering her thighs with kisses soft as butterfly wings.

And then, she proceeded at the most infuriatingly leisurely pace--treating her body like an endless buffet spread out before her, making sure to taste everything before going back for more. Bianca’s chest heaved, choking back her whimpers so as not to reveal how well it was working.

It was her own damn fault. Bianca knew that. Of course, everything she’d said about going slow was to blame for the current torture that she was suffering through. She just didn’t anticipate Courtney catching on so quickly, besting her at her own game so completely.

Holding back wasn’t possible anymore, and she let out a moan, body arching into Courtney’s hot mouth, grinding against her tongue, unraveling completely in her arms. Soon she was gasping, slick with sweat, and still Courtney didn’t let up, sucking kisses up her stomach, fingers sliding easily inside her as a mouth closed around her nipple.

“Fuck, fuck…” Tears collected in Bianca’s eyes as she came once again, blonde hair clutched in her hands. She was so far gone that she barely noticed Courtney’s lips traveling up her collarbone, didn’t comprehend what she whispered into her ear. “...What?”

“I said,” Courtney repeated, punctuating her statement with a soft kiss on her pulse point, “Thank you for being such a good girl for me.”

The only response Bianca managed was a breathy sigh, then a sharp gasp as Courtney eased her fingers out. She put them into her own mouth first, then gave Bianca a naughty look, sliding two fingers past her parted lips.

“Taste how fucking delicious you are…”

Bianca obeyed, shivering with pleasure.

“There you go…” Courtney cooed, before adding again, “Such a good girl.”

“Are you patronizing me?” Bianca asked groggily, turning her face towards Courtney, eyes struggling to stay open.

“Yes...do you like it?”

The truth was, Bianca liked all of it. She liked how easy it was for them to switch roles, how Courtney kept her on her toes.

She liked the late-night cuddling and the stupid couple’s costume and bringing a huge bouquet of pink roses to Courtney’s first Cabaret performance. She liked how easy it was to put a smile on her face, to make her laugh, how they constantly found new things to bicker about. She liked standing in the grocery check-out with fingers laced together, cooking dinner side by side, and the comfortable weight of a head on her shoulder while they curled up for movie night.

She liked Courtney’s dry sense of humor and her infectious enthusiasm, her surprising self-assuredness. She liked her softness and her sense of whimsy, how they always had fun together no matter what they were doing. She liked how much Courtney cared about things, how she’d get indignantly angry at litter and engage in heated political debates in the middle of house parties.

Most of all, she liked Courtney.

One evening, while standing at the stove, she glanced up to see Courtney chopping vegetables for their salad, making that cute, dumb face where her tongue poked slightly out of the side of her mouth, and she was struck with a new thought. A warm feeling bloomed in her chest as Courtney put a piece of red pepper into her mouth.

“Hey…”

Courtney looked up questioningly, the pepper dangling from her lips like a cigarette, and Bianca knew that she needed to blurt it out before she lost her nerve.

“I love you, you know.”

Green eyes went wide, and there was a split second of nausea, Bianca not knowing what to expect. And then before she had a chance to blink, Courtney had closed the distance between then, sweeping her up into her arms. The kiss that followed sucked all the air out of her lungs, made her dizzy to the point where she had to grapple for the counter to stay upright.

“I love you too, B, I love you so much…” Courtney murmured against her mouth, immediately going in for another urgent kiss. Hands slid up to cradle her face, thumbs stroking her cheekbones.

“Yeah?” she panted.

“So, so fucking much.”

Bianca wrapped her arms tighter around Courtney’s waist.

“Well thank fuck for that.”

***

Courtney wouldn’t lie: her grades had suffered this semester. There was a good month where her head was entirely in the clouds, so wrapped up in the honeymoon bliss of her new relationship that she avoided any and all responsibilities, procrastinating and putting things off, until so much work had piled up that catching up felt like a daunting task.

But catch up she did, working her ass off during much of November. Between her classes, the play, and Bianca, she barely had a moment to stop and look around. Maybe that’s why she missed all the signs.

Or, maybe they were just real good at sneaking around.

Either way, it came as an absolute shock when she found out about Willam and Alaska. At least, at first it was a shock. But an even bigger shock was the way Willam blushed and stammered when Courtney interrogated her. They’d known each other for over two years, and Courtney had never seen her so self conscious. It was actually rather adorable.

The more she thought about it, though, the more obvious it seemed. They’d had a special bond from the beginning, a kind of affectionate camaraderie that must have made them perfectly compatible. And when she reported the news to Bianca, her girlfriend seemed to agree: it just kind of made sense, didn’t it?

Formally, officially switching rooms also made sense. They set aside Saturday to do it, but it ended up taking less than an hour, since so many of their things had already migrated. Looked like they’d be able to make it to brunch earlier than they planned.

“Do you want to push the beds together?” Courtney asked, stripping off her yoga pants and t-shirt to look through her closet for something to wear. She’d seen Willam and Alaska doing just that with the beds, and thought it was probably a good idea. They’d certainly have a lot more space.

“Nah…” Bianca wrapped her arms around Courtney’s waist from behind, pulling her onto her own bed and wrestling her onto her back. “I kinda like being stuffed into a twin bed, it gives me an excuse to snuggle you.”

Courtney giggled, surrendering fully to the attack. She reached up to touch Bianca’s cheek.

“Nobody would ever believe how snuggly you are.”

“Nope,” Bianca told her solemnly. “And don’t tell. It would completely destroy my boss-ass bitch reputation.”

“Hmm...but isn’t the true boss the person who can admit how much they like snuggling?” Courtney raised an eyebrow, challenging her.

“Don’t try those backwards logic mind tricks on me, missy.” Bianca tickled her ribs until she was laughing so hard she gasped for air.

“Okay, okay…I give up!”

Bianca grinned, dimples deep in her cheeks, and lay down beside her, a head on her shoulder, nose tucked against her neck. It was a perfect, lovely moment. Except...Courtney let out a deep sigh.

“What’s wrong?” Bianca asked, taking her hand and placing a kiss inside her wrist.

“Why do you think something’s wrong?” Courtney asked.

“Because I know you, and that wasn’t a happy sigh. So...tell me what’s wrong.”

“Well…” Courtney hesitated, not really wanting to share her current, embarrassing thoughts. “It’s kind of dumb.”

“I mean, most of what you say is pretty dumb, so…”

Courtney chuckled weakly, and Bianca lifted her head.

“That was a joke.”

“I know. I’m sorry, I-”

Bianca brushed a light kiss against her lips, so gentle, and then Courtney couldn’t stop the tears that began trickling down her cheeks. She sat up, hiding her face in her hands.

“Babydoll...please tell me what’s going on.”

“It’s so stupid,” Courtney said, still covering her face, feeling silly and childish. “I just...I’m gonna miss you next week, when you go home.”

“For Thanksgiving?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m only going for 4 days,” Bianca reminded her, nuzzling her cheeks.

“I know! I told you it was stupid,” Courtney laughed, letting Bianca kiss away the tears. “I feel like a fucking idiot.”

“You’re not an idiot. You’re sweet.”

“I think I must be getting my period,” Courtney said, shaking her head. How could she be getting this upset over a long weekend apart? Since when had she become such a co-dependent, emotional nightmare? “I’m sorry.”

Bianca cocked her head to the side, and for a few moments, Courtney couldn’t bear to meet her gaze. When she finally did, expecting to see a judgmental grin, or that signature smirk, both of which she would fully deserve, she was surprised to instead find warm brown eyes, soft with compassion.

“You should come with me,” Bianca said.

“What? Be serious.”

“I am serious.” Bianca sat up, reaching for her laptop. “It’ll be fun! I think you’d like New Orleans, and as it’s bound to be nicer than whatever sad little event the International Student Center is planning.”

Courtney rubbed her eyes. “Bianca, you can’t possibly be-”

“Look, there’s still seats left on my flights,” Bianca said. “It’s a shitty connection, but it’s cheap. So...wanna come?”

“You really mean it?” Courtney whispered.

“Definitely. It’ll make the weekend ten times better to have you there.”

“And your mum won’t mind?”

“She’s got 5 kids and 6 grandkids, you think she’ll notice one extra person?” Bianca asked.

“That’s true...I assume I’ll blend right in.”

Bianca let out a cackle, shaking her head. “Perfectly. Does that mean yes?”

The smile on Courtney’s face was making her cheeks hurt. She crawled over to Bianca, throwing her arms around her neck.

“Yes. Definitely yes.” Courtney smiled, tears finally drying on her cheeks, leaning a head on Bianca’s shoulders as she purchased the tickets. She fingered the zipper on Bianca’s sweatshirt and asked, “Do you think your family will like me?”

“They’ll love you.”

“Because you love me?” she asked, batting her lashes.

“No, they could give half a shit about my opinions. They’ll love you because you’re infuriatingly lovable. It’s one of your most annoying qualities.”

Courtney giggled, pressing a series of kisses to Bianca’s face. “I love you too, B.”

“Done,” Bianca said, setting the computer aside and turning towards Coutney with a grin. “Are you happy?”

“So happy,” Courtney whispered, capturing her lips in a sweet, soft kiss.

“Good.” Bianca rested her forehead against Courtney’s, dimples deep in her cheeks.

“So...are you excited to fuck me in your childhood bed?” Courtney asked, and Bianca burst out laughing, flipping her onto her back.

“You filthy bitch…” Bianca growled in her ear.

“Does that mean yes?” Courtney asked, lashes fluttering.

“Hell yeah.” Bianca began to trail kisses down her jaw, and Courtney sighed happily, feeling like a giant weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

Bianca had already said that she loved her, but a piece of her had been stressing, privately: what did Bianca mean by that? Did she love her the way Courtney loved Bianca? Now, she felt like she could finally bask in the blissful knowledge that they really were on the same page. Courtney raked her nails up Bianca’s back, under her sweatshirt, eyes falling closed as Bianca’s lips moved to her neck, fingers slipping under her bralette.

“Hey, bitches, are we doing brunch or what?” Willam banged open the door. “Oh my god, can you ever just stop?”

“Yeah, soz. We got distracted,” Courtney said with a grin, still laying down, making a very halfhearted attempt to cover her chest.

“Clearly.”

“Well...oops,” she laughed, then furrowed her brow in confusion. “Bill, what are you wearing? It’s November.”

“Yeah, in California,” Willam said, slipping on a pair of sunglasses. She was dressed in a floaty little sundress with spaghetti straps and a pair of platform sandals.

“You’re gonna freeze!”

“If she wants to freeze, let her freeze,” Bianca said, then added, “Give us like 20 minutes to get ready.”

“You can have 15! I want a mimosa, goddammit!” Willam barked, shutting the door.

“Joke’s on her,” Bianca murmured, lips grazing Courtney’s pulse point. “‘Cause I only need 5.”

***

“Hmmm...I don’t know what I want,” Courtney said, looking over the drink menu. It was such a beautiful day with such great company that she’d forgotten to look until the server, a harried looking girl called Michelle, appeared at their table.

“Bitch, just pick something!” said Willam. “Some of us want to start day drinking while it’s still daytime.”

“I’m sorry!” Courtney laughed. “It’s just that today is so special, and-”

“Ugh,” Willam groaned, and Alaska hushed her gently with a hand on her thigh.

“-And I need something appropriately celebratory. Not a boring old mimosa. Although...I mean I do like champagne…”

Bianca reached over and lowered her menu, telling the server to, “Just bring her a bellini.”

“What’s a bellini?”

“You’ll love it,” Bianca promised. “It’s peach juice and prosecco. Sweet and bubbly.”

“Just like you, Court,” Alaska added with a grin.

Despite the sneaking suspicion that she was being mocked, Courtney looked up at Michelle and nodded. “That sounds perfect.”

She nodded, giving a quick salute and then scampering back inside.

Courtney scanned through the menu again, determined not to make them all wait for her when it was time to order food. She quickly made a decision and then closed the menu, looking around at her friends with a happy sigh.

In spite of the chilly Autumn breeze, the sun was bright in the sky, warming them gently. It was so nice to be together like this, finally, as couples. She tilted her head, realizing that Alaska’s turquoise pleather motorcycle jacket was very familiar.

“Alaska, I love your jacket.” Courtney took a delicate sip of her water.

“It’s Will’s,” Alaska said.

Courtney rested her chin in her hand, gazing at Alaska and Willam with heart eyes, unable to hide her grin.

“I know! It’s sooo cuuuute...”

“Calm your farm,” Willam said, pointing a fork at her.

“That’s so Aussie!” Alaska giggled, leaning over to press a quick kiss to Willam’s cheek. And to Courtney’s absolute delight, a pink flush crept into her face.

She turned to Bianca, lashes fluttering, wrapping her hands around her arm.

“Should we share clothes, too?”

“Oh yeah. I really want to wear your hipster Coachella shit,” Bianca said, gesturing to Courtney’s palazzo pants and crop top covered in pink pineapples.

“You’d look adorable as.”

“That’s so Aussie,” Willam cut in as she sucked on an ice cube.

“Come on, imagine how good your ass would look in these pants,” Courtney said.

“Yeah, no thanks.”

Courtney bumped her shoulder lightly, lips turning down in an exaggerated pout. “I’m serious!”

“Okay, well, you can borrow my sweater if you want?” Bianca finally offered.

“Perfect,” Courtney laughed. She laid a head on Bianca’s shoulder, shifting her gaze back towards Willam and Alaska, who were engaged in what they probably thought was a very sly game of footsie.

The best part was Willam’s face--the almost shy expression on her face every time Alaska touched her. In the more than two years that Courtney had known Willam, all she’d ever heard was talk about sex in the crudest possible terms--nothing whatsoever about romance. Now, seeing her sneaking peeks at Alaska from behind her menu, cheeks flushed, Courtney couldn’t help but watch her happily, a dreaming smile tugging at her lips.

After awhile, Willam finally caught on to being watched, looking up to catch Courtney’s eye.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I just...like seeing your soft squishy parts,” Courtney said.

Willam clutched her chest in mock offense. “Are you calling me fat, you dumb slut?”

“Yeah,” Courtney laughed, blowing a kiss across the table.

Willam scoffed, burying her face back into her menu, attention now completely focused on Alaska.

“Do you know what you want this time?” Bianca asked, kissing the top of her head.

“Yes, why?”

Bianca gestured to Michelle approaching the table, then spoke up. “Hi, I’ll have the French toast combo with scrambled eggs and fruit?”

“Sure thing.” She turned to Courtney.

“Can I get the kale salad with extra avocado?” Courtney asked. “And, uh…”

“You want fries, don’t you?” Bianca asked with a wry grin.

“For the table!” Courtney said, giving Bianca her best puppy eyes.

“Yeah, right,” Bianca laughed, then said to Michelle, “And an order of sweet potato fries.”

As they handed over their menus, it became clear that Alaska and Willam had no idea what was going on, still hidden behind their menus, giggling. Bianca cleared her throat loudly.

"Uh, if you two are done playing footsie, would you mind telling poor Michelle what you want to eat?"

Alaska’s head snapped up, eyes wide with surprise, a guilty expression as she locked eyes with Michelle, tapping a pen against her little notepad.

"Sorry," Alaska said, blushing slightly and handing over her menu. “Huevos rancheros, please.”

“And for you?” Michelle asked Willam.

“Uhh...a garden salad and shrimp and grits. But no grits.”

“So...just shrimp?” Michelle asked slowly.

“Yes.” Willam said.

“Alllright. I’ll go grab your drinks.” Michelle turned and left, heading back inside.

“You know, the south would never allow that ‘no grits’ business,” said Bianca, disapproval all over her face.

Courtney smiled to herself, reminding her girlfriend that, “I feel like the south probably isn’t too keen on a lot of things we do.”

“Fair,” Bianca laughed, dimples deep in her cheeks.

When the drinks came, Willam immediately downed her mimosa as expected. Bianca, on the other hand, began to season her Bloody Mary with extreme concentration. First, she squeezed in the lemon, then added a healthy amount of pepper and quite a bit of hot sauce, tasting it carefully every time she added anything.

It wasn’t until Courtney covered her mouth to muffle her giggles that Bianca caught on that she was being watched.

“What?”

“Nothing. You’re just cute.”

Bianca narrowed her eyes, and for a second, Courtney thought that maybe she was annoyed. But then her dimples appeared as she replied, “You’re cute.”

Courtney climbed into her lap, loving the feeling of Bianca’s arms securely around her waist. She leaned forward and kissed her lightly. Their drinks now forgotten, Bianca kissed her back, lips moving to her neck and then slowly up her jawline. Courtney sighed happily, in no hurry to go back to her drink, perfectly content to just bask in the moment as Bianca nuzzled her cheek.

“Alright, this is getting embarrassing,” Bianca finally said, picking up her Bloody Mary, brown eyes sparkling.

Courtney grinned and kissed her neck one more time, taking a moment to inhale the sweet, fresh scent of her perfume before picking up her own drink, fingers pinching the stem of her glass delicately.

Bianca tapped Alaska on the wrist.

“You know, you’re a really good person,” she said.

“Oh?” Alaska cocked her head, bracing for the punchline.

“I mean, adopting a stray.” Bianca gestured to Willam. “Most people would be worried about diseases and shit, but you...you’ve got a good soul. Bless your heart.”

Alaska crossed her arms, leaning forward with a challenging grin. “So if she’s a stray, what are you?”

“Oh, I was raised by wolves,” Bianca admitted, and she and Alaska both cackled gleefully.

Courtney watched them, cheeks hurting now from the permanent smile on her face, turning her attention to Willam to beam at her once again.

"Ugh." Willam met Courtney’s eyes, shaking her head. "I know that look."

"What look-" Courtney gasped.

"You're gonna give a speech or-"

"No!"

"-make a sappy little toast aren't you?"

Courtney scoffed before smiling mischievously. “Well…”

"Knew it."

Courtney stuck her tongue out at Willam, then said, “It’s not really a toast. I just wanted to say…” She grinned at Alaska, then back at Willam. “I'm really happy we got to spend this semester together. And next, too. I can't imagine finding better friends, or roommates, than you guys."

"Gross," Willam said, suppressing her smile as she took a sip of her mimosa.

"I think it was sweet, Court," Alaska said, not making the slightest attempt to hide her own dazzling smile as she looked right at Courtney, holding out her glass. "I'm glad we get to spend this year together, too."

Courtney reached across the table to clink glasses, then leaned back, snuggling into Bianca’s arms.

“Hey,” Bianca whispered softly into her ear, “What do you say we ditch the other whores and go make out in the car?”

Courtney burst into giggles, twisting around to press a kiss to Bianca’s lips.

“Well, if you guys are determined to be sappy bastards, then at least we should get a good pic,” Willam said with a resigned sigh.

“Yay!” Courtney clapped, jumping up and pulling Bianca into her own seat beside Willam, already striking a pose.

"For Instagram?" asked Alaska.

"Of course," Willam said. She held up her phone, Courtney and Bianca leaning into the frame, Courtney making her best supermodel faces, giving all kinds of angles.

"What's the tag gonna be?" Bianca asked, cracking up as she caught Courtney’s eye in the camera screen, kissing her cheek.

“CouplesGoals,” Willam announced, her smile deepening as everyone burst out laughing.

The final photo was a bit of a mess: Alaska’s head on Willam’s shoulder, her eyes half closed, mid-laugh; Willam with a smug smile, arm around Alaska, pulling her close; Courtney’s head thrown back in glee; Bianca’s grin in profile, face buried in Courtney’s neck.

It wasn’t the best photo, or best angle for any of them. But for once, Willam didn’t demand a retake. And a few weeks later, when Courtney framed it, she didn’t care about any of the imperfections: only that it captured a moment of pure joy with some of her favorite people.

#rpdr fanfiction #bitney #bianca del rio #courtney act #willam belli #alaska thunderfuck #willaska #adore delano #college au #lesbian au #friends to lovers #smut #fluff #mild angst #off limits #just friends #veronica #albatross

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haljathefangirlcat · 4 years ago

Note

Okay, pls tell me about this: "heartfic au"

As you MAY have already guessed ;) it’s a fic inspired by @janiedean’s beautiful ASOIAF heartfics.

For those unaware: one day, an anon suggested Janie write an ASOIAF fanfic set in an AU where, after suffering too much pain and trauma, people’s hearts (represented by glowing spheres of light) may crack and bleed and, eventually, spontaneously disappear from their owners’ chest to reappear wherever their soulmate is. Said soulmate then takes care of the heart, trying to heal its wounds and/or stop its bleeding, until they’re finally able to give it back. And then, ofc, romance and (more) hurt/comfort ensue. I think the initial prompt was JB, because iirc that’s what the first heartfic was? But Janie also wrote similar fics about other ships, like Davos and his wife getting Stannis’ heart or Sansa getting Sandor’s.

Janie has said on a couple of occasion that she’s fine with other people using the same concept, since it was that anon who came up with it. I decided to write Arthurian fic about it because the whole idea was just screaming GALAHAD/MORDRED!!!! over and over at me.

Basic plot is “kid!Galahad gets a cracked, bleeding heart and figures it’s that of a damsel in distress he will have to save one day because ofc, he’s Miracle Boy and everything, but oh no, all the ballads say brave noble knights marry the damsels in distress whose hearts they heal, and he has to stay Pure to find the Grail!! ... but hey, maybe they can be just friends?? Then he grows up, goes to Camelot, starts this weird friendship (?) with Mordred as the two Local Subtly (Or Not So Subtly) Ostracized Awkward Prophesized Bastards Of Very Important People, and realizes it was never about a damsel at all. Cue DRAMA on both sides (”WAIT HOW DOES IT WORK DOES THIS MAKE IT BETTER OR WORSE I MEAN CAN WE HAVE LIKE A PLATONIC VIRILE FRIENDSHIP OR DO WE HAVE TO --” “OH GREAT I’M NOT GOOD ENOUGH EVEN FOR MY GD SOULMATE NOW” and a bunch of other stuff) until Galahad leaves on the Grail Quest and experiences a lot of horrible shit until his own heart goes to Mordred to protect itself, proving they truly ARE meant to be together and prompting Galahad to refuse the Grail and ascending to Heaven (after a lot more internal turmoil, probably) so he can come back to him.”

Here’s a peek from a scene I’m particularly proud of:

As it turns out, he wasn’t lying.

Mordred can’t deny it as he stares at the thing Galahad took out of the chest under his bed, the thing that was in the leather pouch, the thing wrapped in wool like it was fragile and precious. The thing in Galahad’s hands, held gently, shivering like a branch in the wind, glowing like live coals, pulsating – no, not pulsating, beating.

The void in his chest longs for it, aches for it, covets it. No. No, it’s more than that. It’s not just desire but a need, a hunger. It makes him helpless before it, pulls him towards it like a riptide, and it’s all he can do to struggle against it and resist it, holding his arms rigid by his sides and not moving an inch from his position.

«It’s yours,» Galahad say, uselessly, and he opens and closes his mouth and lowers his gaze like he doesn’t know what else to say.

«Yes. It’s mine,» Mordred replies, just as uselessly. Then, after a moment, he adds: «Those are even my colors.» More because he’s just noticed than for any other reason. His bewildered tone probably makes his words sound even more foolish. But he won’t blame himself for that too much, not right now, because the first thing he noticed was the redness – the blood. The splotches of blood and the many, ragged scars. Hard to notice anything else, after seeing that.

His heart is an ugly thing. That’s not surprising, at all, but he chokes back bitter laughter all the same.

Galahad’s head whips back up at the sound, and he looks startled and a bit confused. «Uh. Ah, yes, that’s true. I hadn’t thought… or, mh, noticed…» He stops, frowning.

Right then, a thought strikes him like a slap across the face, part hope and part dread and entirely stupid. «Gaheris has silver and purple in his arms, too.» Mordred hesitates and bites his lip, feeling inexplicably like a child about to confide some secret that’s at once all too important and too silly to be exposed, and then continues: «Not only that, but the silver reminds me of Orkney’s sea in winter… and that purple, of a flower that blooms sometimes on the heaths near the sea. My brothers and I all used to play on the coast as boys. They already did it long before I was even born.» Another pause. «As for the flower, I think we all picked it for our mother at least once.» And now, its color is dirtied and muddled by bloodstains.

Galahad shakes his head. «I’ve never thought too much about what the colors might mean. But I’ve also never felt like it could belong to any of your brothers.» There’s a light flush on his cheeks, now, a thin note of something that’s almost stubbornness in his voice. Mordred is aware that he could use that to tease him.

He doesn’t feel like teasing him. «Still… how can you be so certain?»

Galahad blinks and then stares him right in the eye, and suddenly his chest is tight, full of something that itches and stings and prickles under the other man’s calm, blue gaze. «Aren’t you? Don’t you feel it’s your heart?»

He does. He does, and that’s just the problem. The itch grows more intense, more unbearable with every moment he keeps his mouth shut to avoid answering. He drops his gaze to the thing that’s still in Galahad’s hands, the thing that’s calling to him and only him and seems to be beating faster and brighter the more he looks at it and does nothing else, almost like it’s yelling at him in its own way for making it wait so long.

«What if I don’t want it,» he says, and his voice sounds rough and weak to his own ears.

«Why wouldn’t you want it?» Galahad asks that like he honestly can’t think of any reason why, like this is the first time anyone in the whole world has ever said anything like what Mordred, not-so-secret bastard prince and prophesized kingslayer and kinslayer of Camelot, has just said. Maybe it is. He’s pretty sure he’s never heard any songs about any beleaguered damsel who simply told the dashing hero at the foot of her dreary tower, oh no, my good sir, you may keep it, I was fine without it and I will not need it anytime soon.

But Mordred is not a vulnerable maiden or locked up against his will and at the mercy of a cruel brother or uncle or eagerly waiting to be rescued since he was half his current height, so he steels himself and tries again: «What if I’m just fine the way I am now? What if I don’t need it, after all? I’ve spent years not feeling anything, I’m used to it.»

He looks up in time to catch the flash of naked hurt that crosses Galahad’s fine features, briefly replacing startled incredulity before it turns into barely concealed worry. «Are you sure?» Then, he seems to really think about it… and the fingers of his right hand start stroking the thing, lightly and unthinkingly. «I… I can imagine something has happened that you may not want to remember. Maybe you’ve felt things you don’t want to feel again. But is this really better? Would you really keep living like this?»

The spark of anger mixed with spite that flares up in his gut – at Galahad’s questioning and his assumptions that he can imagine and that he knows what living like this is like, those soft caresses that feel so impossibly familiar and intimate when at most they should be irritating or even disturbing in their presumptuousness, the way he feels himself ache for entirely new reasons – tempts him to say that yes, he would, and yes, this is better. It has to be. Has to be better than this ridiculous, confusing, terrible mess that Galahad’s dragged him into. Had he never come to Camelot, or least, had he never come to him with truths that sounded like bad jokes and his honest, open gaze and their stupidly engaging arguments and the quiet evenings spent together hiding away from everyone else and…

«Aren’t there things you’d like to feel? For your family, or your friends, or…»

Mordred sighs. There were lots of things, back when he had first given up his heart and spent his every waking moment wishing to get it back somehow. That was years ago, though, and after some time had passed and he had finally figured out that wishing never helped with anything, all of them had started to seem less desirable, less important… just, less. They didn’t matter anymore, and so he didn’t want them then and doesn’t want them now. And yet… it seems foolish to even think about it, like he’s slipping back into stale old fantasies and half-forgotten, senseless hopes, but… maybe there are a couple of new things, now.

He sighs again, this time trying for a slightly exasperated but mostly careless tone, and holds his hands out in front of him as soon as he’s sure they’ve stopped shaking. He swallows and says: «Alright, I think I’ll give it a try. But know that I might just throw it out again and then you’ll be stuck with it.» He tells himself that he’s not afraid. He is, of course, but he’s such a convincing liar, he knows he can convince himself. It can’t be too hard, right?

Galahad grimaces, and that’s not too encouraging, even if he’s quick to school his features before he slowly, almost gingerly reaches his hands out to him, too. Mordred has half a mind to snap at him and say, look, I was only jesting, I’m not saying you’ll really have to keep it or that I’d care if you left it on the wayside or threw it into a well, but then he worries that the bile might blend with actual pity and so he says nothing except for: «How am I supposed to do this, then?» The songs, of course, skip the boring technical details.

Galahad fits the glowing sphere between his palms like he’s putting a newborn into the cradle, touches his fingers to make them curl over it as if he’s afraid he’ll drop it. The sphere is light as a breath, yet somehow solid, and warm like a living thing… which it truly is, all things considered, although that thought still feels a little absurd. Galahad’s skin is warm, too. «I’m not sure,» Galahad admits. «I’ve… never done this before.»

«Yeah, well, neither have I.»

#wip meme #my fic #otp: whether sinner or saint #lordhellebore #ask

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justlightlysedated · 5 years ago

Text

monsters stuck in your head

for @vlamito, for being amazing always ❤❤

Michael's mom has told him stories about how humans are monsters.

How they hate and slaughter those who are different from what is considered the norm. How even their own children aren't safe. How they make laws to control the women of their species. How they put too much importance on the material and don't cultivate the bonds between people. How their military and its members were the worst of the Worst.

Living on a planet inhabited by humans wasn't a choice, but a necessity.

Michael had witnessed the atrocities that humans did to their own kind behind the screen of a television, wars for money and oil and the decimation of millions of acres of rainforests and the way they're killing their planet, slowly but surely, and refuse to listen to those who know better.

The Antarians kept to themselves, and they were human enough, normal enough that they weren't bothered.

Eccentric communities like the one they formed after their ship crashed and they found each other again, were not uncommon, and as long as they didn't bring any unwanted attention to themselves, they were left alone.

The problem was that Max fell in love with a human.

A human girl with long shiny black hair that is always catching the sunlight and big brown eyes and a red stained mouth with a bright white smile.

Max waxes enough poetic that Michael could write Liz his own love letter and say it's from Max.

Michael is supposed to prevent this from happening, but when both Isobel and Max want to leave, there really was no choice but to follow them and make sure they didn't get into any trouble that would cause the Commune any unwanted attention.

Michael follows them with his eyes getting more comfortable behind the wheel of his truck as they get out once he parks at the Drive In without even telling him when they'll be back.

Isobel goes straight to the refreshment stand where she leans forward and says something to the girl behind the counter (who looks too much like Liz to not be her sister) who gives Isobel an interesting look before she nods her head and Isobel grins and leans against the side of the booth so she's not blocking the customers.

Michael loses Max but finds him easily by looking for long glossy black hair. He finds Liz easily enough even though she's short, sitting on one of the picnic tables on the other side of the parking lot of the Drive In. Max is sitting down beside her already deep in conversation.

Michael becomes slightly disappointed when he doesn't spot the curly hair that belongs to Liz's friend Maria, she's fun to banter and flirt with and always has a story from the bar that makes Michael laugh.

She's the only human he's met who makes him think about maybe breaking the No Fraternizing with Humans Rule, but he doesn't think the amount of trouble they'll be in if they're found out will be worth it.

There's a loud tap on the window of the passenger side, and Michael looks over, annoyed because Isobel would've just gotten into the truck if she'd come back and freezes.

The guy leaning against his truck looks like he literally walked out of every wet dream Michael had from age twelve to fifteen.

From his big brown eyes lined in black to the inquisitive tilt of his eyebrows to the piercing hanging from his nose, like an arrow pointing to his mouth, stained black like he'd been wearing lipstick and it had gotten smudged off.

Michael feels a throb of want deep in his belly and inhales deeply, startled, thinking, fuck.

"Hey," he says as Michael tries to get his brain working properly and not stuck in his preteen fantasies.

"I know you're probably wanting to be alone, but I'll split this sixer with you if you let me watch from back there."

He lifts a six pack of beer that are so cold you can see the condensation, and motions with his chin towards the back of the truck.

Michael's eyes drop to his hands, long thin fingers covered in silver rings, wrist wrapped in black rubber bracelets, and his fingernails were painted glossy, black.

Michael could feel his mouth water.

He swallows hard and nods his head slowly.

A smile breaks out across that face and Michael feels like a shooting star is buzzing around his head, knocking things out of place, and dazzling him into stupidity.

"Thanks," he says. "I refuse to sit with the Lovebirds."

He points with his chin over in the general direction of the picnic tables and Michael glances over and spots Max and Liz making eyes at each other.

He realizes with a jolt that this must be Alex, but when Liz had said her other friend Alex couldn't make it because they were working, Michael had totally expected another girl.

Not the boy still leaning against the passenger side of his truck and raising an eyebrow when Michael looks away from Max and Liz.

He inclines his head towards the back of the truck and Michael scrambles to get out of the front seat.

He makes it to the back of the truck as Alex is opening up the tailgate and setting the pack of beers right in the middle of the space.

"I'm Alex," he says smiling and Michael's brain short circuits again, and he forgets his real name not to mention the human name he'd been also given at birth, and he has to stop himself from saying, I know or something else equally embarrassing.

Michael swallows and opens his mouth to respond when Alex pulls himself up on the open tailgate, the move making his tight black shirt expose a strip of the pale skin of his stomach.

Michael forgets his name all over again and blinks slowly when Alex just continues to watch him with an eyebrow raised.

Michael is usually way cooler and a whole lot smoother than this.

But that all seems to fly out the window everytime that Alex does something, like smile or move or speak or breathe.

"Michael," he blurts out, and then sits down hurriedly grabbing one of the beers and twisting it open.

Beer wouldn't really do anything to him in terms of actually making him not sober, but it did leave behind a pleasant buzz if he drank enough.

The movie starts soon enough, not leaving any time for the silence to get awkward and for Michael to blurt out something embarrassing.

Michael is halfway done with his beer when he realizes that they're watching one of those horrible evil aliens come to take over the world movies.

Michael swallows the rest of his beer as Alex makes a rude noise with his mouth as a human says something totally xenophobic.

When a fake alien head gets exploded, Michael grabs a next beer even though he can see that Alex isn't done with his first one, and leans back against the side of the truck to watch Alex instead of the movie.

He makes it through half of the beer in his hand before Alex's, bitch please expression startles him into laughter.

Alex looks over to him, cheeks flushing in embarrassment, but he gives Michael a look.

"It's ridiculous," he starts and it sounds like a well worn argument. "If aliens were even amongst us, we wouldn't know. Humans have not been able to find a planet with life. I doubt aliens coming here wouldn't be advanced enough to hide from our satellites."

Michael drinks the rest of his beer so that he doesn't laugh, because Alex is right.

"What?" He asks as Michael lowers the bottle. "You think aliens wouldn't be smarter?"

"Oh I'm sure they would be," Michael drawls feeling a slight buzz. "Humans are dumb."

Instead of looking at him weird, Alex raises his beer in agreement and drinks the rest of it, reaching for the second one, and giving Michael a look when he realizes that Michael just finished his second.

Michael just gives him a smile and grabs his last beer. "You did say we were splitting it."

Alex just inclines his head in agreement and opens the second beer.

He goes to look back at the movie and Michael continues to watch him.

Alex drinks his second beer faster than the first, and when he grabs his third, Michael takes the cardboard case and tosses it towards the back of the truck, sliding over a bit closer.

He sees Alex freeze and dart a look at him out of the corner of his eye, before he seems to look at the screen even harder.

Michael doesn't know exactly why but he finds himself struggling with the urge to get closer, to touch Alex.

He never feels this desperate for contact, even when he's suffering through the high spikes of arousal that come with his mating cycle.

Alex makes an incredulous noise and looks at Michael freezing immediately when he realizes how close Michael is.

Michael blinks in surprise and inhales sharply and his mouth waters as Alex's scent floods his senses.

Smoke and wood and blackberries and something sharp and bitter that reminds Michael of nail polish remover.

Michael can't find the will to force himself to look away, and Alex unfreeze, inhaling sharply as his eyes drop from Michael's eyes to his mouth, really deliberate and obvious.

Michael feels another pulse of want deep in his belly, and he wonders if there was something other than alcohol in those beers.

"Can I kiss you?" Alex asks voice soft and trembling, eyes still not moving from Michael's mouth.

Michael's mouth feels like the Sahara and he can feel it in his bones that the water that will quench his thirst can be found in Alex's parted lips.

Alex starts moving back, eyes darting to Michael's and then away. He inhales as though he's about to say something else when Michael finally gets his brain motor functions working.

He swallows hard and moves in close, pressing his lips to Alex's before Alex can move too far.

Alex makes a soft, surprised noise against Michael's mouth before he moves, pushing against Michael and sliding his hands into Michael's hair, dragging his fingers through Michael's curls as though he was born with the Guide to Turn Michael On imbedded into his brain.

Michael's fragile hold on his self control snaps.

He reaches for Alex and tugs him in, fingers pressing into the back of his neck as he pulls until Alex is draping one of his long legs over Michael's lap and pulling himself in closer with his hold in Michael's hair.

Michael forgets where he is or why he's there.

All he knows is Alex, and his lips parting to Michael's as he opens up for him eagerly, moaning when Michael licks into his mouth, and his fingers wrapped around Michael's hair, tugging insistently and sending sparks of pleasure down Michael's spine, and his leg, heavy across Michael's lap, right against his rapidly hardening dick.

As Michael drags his hands down Alex's back, and Alex moans and kisses him back, wet and noisy and hot as fuck, he wonders if Alex will let him Michael push him down on the back of his truck and let him sit on his dick and ride him until the movie comes to an end.

Someone hits the back of Michael's head hard, and Michael jumps, biting down too hard on Alex's lip.

He pulls back hissing as Michael turns to glare at the only person who would do something like that.

Isobel is standing in front of him raising an eyebrow in judgement, as though her lips and the area around her mouth aren't stained red.

He looks back at Alex who is watching Isobel with wide eyes, blood welling from the small cut on his lip.

His eyes dart to Michael and Michael just rolls his eyes mouthing the word, sister since that's how he had been introduced to Liz, and Alex blinks rapidly a few times before he licks his lips and smiles at Michael, small and sweet.

"Give me a sec," Michael says deliberately looking at Alex's mouth for a long second letting him know that he's not done.

Alex's smile widens even as his cheeks go red and he ducks his head down shyly and then he points towards the concession stand with the side of his head.

"I'll go get us some snacks," he says before he leaves, lifting one hand to his face.

Michael finds himself wanting to do the same. To touch his lips and feel them, wet and swollen from Alex's mouth.

"Wow," Isobel says slow and mocking, snapping Michael out of his daze and reminding Michael that she's still standing there.

With Isobel there and Alex walking further away, the reality of the situation sobers him up a little bit.

What did he just do? And with a human.

Isobel is saying something along those lines since Michael has always been incredulous at best when it came to their involvement with humans.

Michael looks over to where Alex is standing in line at the concession stand and is looking back at him.

Alex licks his lips, and pulls the bottom one into his mouth. His eyes go half lidded as though he's remembering something good.

Michael licks his lips, tastes the blackberry of Alex's lipstick and thinks once again, fuck.

#malex fic #inspired by that when is a monster not a monster gifset #because i kind of see it the other way around #and then i started writing half of this au in the tags of your gifset #this is the sweet beginning to a 100k romeo and juliet styled fic that i will prob never write #hope you like it 💖

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justice-for-shayla · 6 years ago

Text

Overly Passionate

A/N: Here it finally is! Thank you so much for 400 followers!

Summary: You’re torn between a crush on Elliot and a crush on Shayla, despite the fact that they’re together. Shayla proposes a solution that everyone likes.

Word Count: 2600

Warnings: Smut (18+ Only!), Extreme Bisexual Content, Threesome

Tag List: @r-ahh-mi, @queen-rogerina-mercury, @sammbubble, @karla-s-main

Sometimes hanging out with Elliot and Shayla was awkward. Not just because Elliot was terrible in just about every social situation, or because Shayla was a chronic people-pleaser who was constantly trying to keep every interaction pleasant, though neither of those helped.

No, it was mostly your fault. You made things awkward because you liked Shayla. Or Elliot. One of them, definitely, though your mind was usually torn between the two. And they were dating each other. Never mind that you couldn’t even pick which useless crush to have, there was no way for either of them to go anywhere if you did manage to pick.

But they were pretty much your only friends, so you kept showing up at Elliot’s shitty apartment whenever either of them texted to ask if you wanted to smoke.

And now you were laying there, trying not to feel awkward, leaning against the far corner of the couch as Shayla sprawled across you and Elliot, her head in his lap.

“Tell me a secret,” She said, her voice slow and high and just a little giggle-y from the weed.

Elliot, as usual, seemed just a little disconnected from his surroundings. “Hmm?”

“Tell me,” Shayla repeated, even slower this time, “A secret. Something interesting.”

“I don’t have any secrets,” Elliot lied, so blatantly that you couldn’t help but laugh.

You nudge him with your elbow. “Come on, Elliot, spill it!”

He shrugged. “I don’t know.”

You roll your eyes, realizing that he was going to need more convincing. “Okay, how did you lose your virginity?” It was a random question, and probably a dangerous one to ask, considering your feelings for him, but you were curious.

Elliot took a long hit off the blunt, probably trying to avoid your question. “Just some girl, first week of my freshman year of college. I don’t even remember her name.”

You frown, caught in a wave of sympathy for the poor girl, who-- like you-- had missed out on a chance with Elliot.

“What about you, Y/N?” Shayla said, reaching up to trace a line down your cheek with the tips of her fingers. Shayla was always super touchy when she was high, but it always caught you by surprise. A hot flush crept up your neck and you don’t know whether to flinch away or lean into the touch.

“How did I lose my virginity?” You say, your words coming out sluggish and a bit strained. You’re far too aware of Elliot’s heat next to you, and Shayla’s weight on your lap. More something in you whispers. Ask for more.

“No, tell me a secret.” Shayla repeated. “Something good.”

“Um…” Were you more sober, were you smarter or a little less bold, you probably would have told some benign story about shoplifting when you were a teenager, but you were high, and you were stupid, and you were brave, so you said. “My secret is that I have a crush on you?”

“Me?” They both said at the same time, with varying degrees of disbelief. Shayla seemed pleased, though not overly shocked, while Elliot seemed merely baffled.

You were starting to regret your words. “Well, Both of you really. I don’t… I mean, I couldn’t pick.”

“Aw, that’s so sweet,” Shayla grinned and tossed her slender arms around your shoulders, squeezing tight. You were keenly aware of how close she was, her breasts pressed against your chest and the floral smell of her hair wafting around you.

You swallowed hard and looked at Elliot over her shoulder. He was staring at both of you with an intense, inscrutable expression.

Shayla detangled herself from you and sat up, leaning against Elliot. You couldn’t believe how casually she touched him; you were always nervous, sure that he would flinch away and hate you if you tried anything more than the gentle taps and teasing nudges you sometimes did.

“You know,” Shayla said, looking at you closely. “It might be fun if you joined us.”

Too many emotions flooded through your brain, stopping you from speaking for a long moment. You couldn’t name them all, but you knew you were exhilarated and terrified and whatever that dark feeling was from childhood, when the big kids spoke to you and you weren’t sure if they were making fun of you or not. “Are you… really?”

Your eyes went again to Elliot’s. What was he thinking about all this? He hated being in a room with more than one person, you doubted he’d want to be in a bed with two other people.

But you wanted this so bad. All your mixed up, tangled crush feelings were beginning to make sense. You didn’t want Elliot or Shayla. You wanted them both. You wanted Shayla’s bright energy, and Elliot’s steady intensity. You wanted to find your place somewhere between them both.

“Elliot,” You said slowly, “Would you… would you want that?” You didn’t want him to just be okay with it. You wanted him to want both you and Shayla as much as you wanted them.

It seemed like such a long shot; too much of a fantasy to ever even begin to come true, but Shayla put her hands on your chin, drawing you into a soft kiss. It surprised you so much you forgot to close your eyes for long enough that you saw Elliot watching you.

Was there heat in his eyes? What was he thinking? You had to shove those thoughts away so you could focus on kissing Shayla while it lasted. She was eager and curious, her thin fingers tracing lightly down your shoulders and all over your back while you wound your fingers through her wild hair.

She pulled away first and you relinquished your grip with some regret. You chewed on your lip and glanced at Elliot, scared of what you would see.

“My turn,” He said softly. For a moment you thought you’d imagined it, but he reached forward and pulled you towards him, dragging you close so that you toppled and almost fell into his lap. He caught you and kissed you, hard and sure as you could feel his need pressing into your leg.

At first, he fumbled with his hands, not sure where to put them until you grabbed one and settled it on your ass. After that, he was less shy about where he touched you, skimming his hands over you neck and back, daring once to brush one over your breast.

Unlike Elliot, Shayla was not content to just watch, and she moved forward to lift your shirt off of you. You broke away from Elliot for a moment so she could pull it off, but went back to kissing him as soon as you could, while Shayla slid her lips over your neck, stopping to scratch her teeth across the thin skin between your neck and shoulder.

You pulled away before you completely melted into their hands, gasping as you broke apart. “Wait, I--”

“Are you okay?” Elliot asked, whatever calm he’d found with you disappearing into alarm.

“God, yes, it was more than okay,” You said, “It’s just, I haven’t done this, and I want to make it, I don’t know, good, so… what should I do?”

“Whatever you want,” Shayla said easily. “It doesn’t have to be complicated.” She laughed a little. “You’re just like Elliot, always thinking.”

You blush furiously and look at Elliot who seems only marginally calmer than you, and that’s probably because of the drugs. He shrugs and pulls you back towards him and you hide your burning face in his neck. He slides his hands slowly down your back and whispers in your ear, “There’s nothing wrong with thinking.”

He runs his hands up and down your sides and you tilt your head so you can kiss his neck, pressing your lips against a rough spot he missed while shaving. You can’t believe that any of this is real, especially when Shayla reaches out and draws Elliot into a kiss right over your head.

If anyone deserves attention lavished on them like that, you know that it’s Elliot, so you tilt your head again, resuming your careful, light kisses down his neck and jaw while he kisses Shayla.

The circles he’d been drawing on her back slowed and instead he started more intense exploration, finally dragging his hands over your clothed pussy. You jolt towards him, then flush at your obvious eagerness.

Shayla pulled away from Elliot and kissed your shoulder. “You’re doing so well,” She whispered.

Elliot rubs over you again and you didn’t answer Shayla because you’re grinding up into Elliot’s hand, a little more desperately than you would have liked, but it’s been a long time and it feels so good.

You feel Shayla smile into the skin on your shoulder as she sinks her teeth into it in a bite that’s a little less than gentle and almost undoes you. She reaches up and unhooks your bra, pushing it off your shoulders so she can squeeze your breasts.

“Is this good?” She whispered into your ear.

You can’t reply, letting out a little moan and pressing closer into Elliot. He pulls away slightly, breathing hard. “It’s too much.”

Before you can express concern, Shayla nods, lifting her head from where she’d been lavishing attention on your neck. “Alright, want to watch for a while?” She smiled wickedly at him.

He nods, returning the smile and moving away from the two of you to get a better view. You turn around and kiss Shayla, perhaps emphasizing your moans a little more than you normally would to give him a show.

Shayla does the same, leaning closer and dragging her hands down your bare back, pulling a very real, low moan from your throat that sends shivers down Shayla’s spin. You pull her close, dragging her onto your lap and kissing down her slender neck, nibbling on the delicate skin.

She hums, winding her fingers into your hair and grinding her hips down on yours. “You’re so beautiful,” You whispered, almost unconsciously.

Smiling, she leaned in and kissed you playfully. “Bedroom?”

You nod a little too eagerly and jump up as she stands and stretches, tugging her shirt off casually and dropping her pants on the way. Elliot follows you both into the room and sits on the bed as Shayla lays down.

You kiss her long and slow, drawing everything out even though you’re aching with need, desperate for more touch. You’re desperate for other things too though, and so you put your needs to the side for a minute and slide your lips down her throat, between her breasts and over the smooth skin on her stomach.

You stop above the waistband of her underwear, looking up at her. She’s breathless and laying back, panting. You glance at Elliot, locking eyes with him as you drag the fabric down her legs and discard it. You keep looking at him as you take the first, long taste of her.

His eyes go glassy as he watches and you feel a low, erotic blush of pride that he’s reacting to you, to what you’re doing.

You only indulge the feeling for a moment before getting to work, teasing and tasting Shayla as you learn what she likes. She reacts strongest to light touches, barely flicking your tongue over her clit and tracing your fingers up her thighs.

As you’re working on her, watching as her legs twitch and tense when she starts to get close, Elliot moves behind you, reaching under you to unbutton your pants and pull them off your legs.

He presses kisses along your back and it feels so good you almost forget what you’re doing, but you quickly resume your task when Shayla lets out a frustrated whine.

“Keep going, Y/N,” Elliot said. “I want to watch you get her off.”

Christ. You never would have guessed Elliot was even capable of dirty talk, much less good at it. He slides his hand up your thighs, slipping one finger between your folds.

“I’m close,” Shayla hisses, “Give me more.”

As hard as it is, you try to ignore what Elliot is doing, slowly thrusting one finger in and out of you, just enough to keep you worked up, but not nearly enough to get off, so that you can give Shayla all your attention.

You push two fingers into her and match Elliot’s pace, humming against her clit and circling it with your tongue. It doesn’t take much after that, and you feel her muscles clench around your fingers as she shouts your name, bucking her hips against your face while you stroke her through her orgasm, leaving her panting and gasping. She grips your hair, holding your face where it is until she’s spent.

Elliot pulls you up and kisses you, sharing the taste of Shayla on your lips while she recovers. “Your turn,” He whispered, sliding a condom on and turning you around so you’re on all fours while he lines up with your soaked entrance.

You’re looking Shayla in the eye when he enters you, staring as she recovers from an orgasm you caused while he thrusts into you, setting a slow, almost lazy, pace.

You try to buck back into him, desperate for more. You’re still aching, but not nearly close enough. “Elliot, please.”

Shayla sat up, still breathless and sweating, but unable to resist joining the action as he’s fucking you. She kneels in front of you so she can kiss you roughly, holding your jaw and thrusting her tongue into your mouth.

It’s so perfectly overwhelming that you can barely control yourself as your moans get louder and your thrusts against Elliot get more erratic and desperate. “More, please,” You beg again, hoping this time you might get what you need.

Thankfully, he obliges you, picking up his pace and driving himself into you even harder. “I’m getting close.”

You know that no matter who finishes first, you won’t go home unsatisfied, but you want to come on his cock, so you reach down to play with your clit.

Shayla stops you. “Let me do that.” She kissed you again and reached between you, stroking your clit. “How’s that?”

“More, harder,” You hiss. “Please.” Your instructions were for her, but Elliot takes them too, snapping his hips against yours so hard it might have hurt, but you’re so worked up it just feels good. It just feels /right/.

It takes only moments after that. It would have been impossible to hold off your orgasm and god you don’t want too. It washes over you hard for a moment you’re drifting, only half conscious as the pleasure washes over you, fireworks and thunder and every powerful thing racing through your blood and short-circuiting your brain.

Elliot cums while you do and you’re so lost in your orgasm that you only barely notice. Your muscles fail on you and you collapse onto the bed, curled up and waiting for the aftershocks to fade while you let the world spin around you.

“Wow,” Shayla said, running her fingers through your hair.

“Incredible,” Elliot said, still panting. He flopped down on the bed next to you, feeling around next to the bed for a cigarette and lighter.

You nod, too sleepy and blissed out to say anything.

“Is everyone okay?” Shayla asked, ever concerned with other people’s happiness.

You nod. “I’m perfect.” Your words are a little slurred.

She smiled and leaned over to kiss you. “Good. Thanks for doing that, Y/N.”

“Thank you,” You say, almost comically emphatically. “That was… amazing.” You reach over and take Elliot’s cigarette so you can have a drag. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, that was really good.” He smiled lazily and took his cigarette back. “We should do this again sometime. I liked watching you. I liked fucking you.”

You flush, already growing wet again despite your recent orgasm. “Oh, god yes.”

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