#i NEVER noticed that they have so many little moments

[starfilmz]

close to you | rafe cameron

summary: you and rafe are together and no matter how long you two have been together, he still gets jealous. even if you’re admirers are 80% girls.

a/n: basically the jealousy trope but girls. bc i love girls :D

navigation

rafe cameron wasn��t the type to get jealous. at least, that’s what he told himself, day in and day out. but when it came to you—his girlfriend, the one person who had him wrapped around her finger—he couldn’t help but feel a pang of something every time a group of girls swarmed around you.

it was always the same. the way they’d giggle, whisper behind their hands, and act like they had some secret world he wasn’t a part of. he didn’t mind the guys; they were easy enough to brush off. a few sharp words and they’d back off, retreating into the background where they belonged. but the girls? it was different. they didn’t look at him like they were trying to size him up or steal him away. no, they acted like he wasn’t even there.

and that, to rafe, was a problem.

“you look good today, yn,” a girl would say as she sidled up beside you, eyes lingering just a little too long.

"thanks," you'd smile, not noticing the way rafe’s jaw clenched. you were always polite, always kind to everyone, but it did little to ease the tension in his chest.

he’d stand there, arms crossed, waiting for the moment to pass. but it never did.

“i can’t wait to see you at the next surf competition, yn! i’m sure you’ll crush it like always.” one of the girls would chirp, grinning like she had just made the most profound statement in the world.

rafe’s fingers dug into his palms as he glanced over at you, a possessive, yet proud look flashing across his face. he had to remind himself that it was because of you that all these girls were so…obsessed. you had that effect on people, on both guys and girls alike. it didn’t matter how many times he told himself he should be happy for you, that you deserved all this attention—there was still that sharp edge of irritation whenever you were in the spotlight.

“yeah, can’t wait to see you in action again,” another girl added, leaning in a little too close to you.

rafe resisted the urge to step in, though the thought of it brought an all-too-familiar feeling of frustration. you weren’t just his girlfriend—everyone knew that by now. yet somehow, you seemed to be this magnet for attention. people loved you. especially the girls.

but it wasn’t just the compliments or the giddy talk of your next competition that bothered him. it was the fact that these girls seemed to have no problem showing up at boneyard parties just to catch a glimpse of you.

“i heard yn's gonna be at the party tonight. i’m so excited!” one of them said to her friend, eyes practically sparkling. “i’ll be there early so i can get a good spot by the bonfire.”

rafe rolled his eyes, his hands curling into fists. you didn’t even notice them, didn’t care about any of this. you were just trying to enjoy yourself, trying to live your life, but it was like everyone wanted a piece of it. and most of all, they wanted a piece of you.

finally, rafe couldn’t hold it in any longer. as the girls continued to talk and laugh around you, he walked up, his presence undeniably commanding. he slid his arm around your waist, pulling you close, his face a study in controlled frustration.

“let’s go,” he muttered under his breath, just loud enough for you to hear. the girls hesitated, looking from him to you with a mix of confusion and intrigue.

“rafe, don’t,” you whispered softly, reaching up to touch his arm, trying to calm him down.

he gave you a tight smile, but there was something unspoken in his eyes. his possessiveness wasn’t something he liked, but when it came to you, it was almost uncontrollable.

“i’ll catch you guys later,” he said, his tone colder than usual, and with that, he guided you away from the crowd.

as soon as you were out of earshot, you let out a soft laugh. “you’re a little dramatic, you know that?”

“i don’t like them around you,” he admitted, his voice low but serious. “it’s not like i think you’ll do anything, yn. but you’re mine. and i hate how they act like you’re some prize to be won.”

you raised an eyebrow at him, a teasing smile on your lips. “and i’m supposed to be okay with you making a scene every time some girl talks to me?”

“you’re my girl,” rafe repeated, his eyes narrowing with that familiar intensity. “why would i want anyone else thinking they can just get close?”

you shook your head, a playful smile curving your lips. “you know i don’t belong to anyone, rafe. but i’m with you. only with you.”

he snorted, the tension in his shoulders easing a little. “that’s not the point. the point is—i’m not sharing, not now, not ever.”

“we’ll see about that,” you teased, pushing his shoulder lightly as you continued to walk away from the crowds.

rafe couldn’t help but laugh, even though he was still a little irritated. at least, for now, you were his—walking beside him, oblivious to the crowd and the chaos you left in your wake. he could live with that, for now.

“just don’t let them get too close next time,” he grumbled, eyes scanning the horizon as if daring anyone to make another move.

you rolled your eyes, but there was something in your expression that softened. “okay, rafe. i’ll try. but i can’t promise anything.”

“yeah, yeah,” he muttered, but the smile tugging at his lips said it all. for now, at least, he had you all to himself. and that, for him, was more than enough.

[mejaemin]

nonchalant- jeon wonwoo

wc: 0.9k

summary: clingy wonu /ᐠ - ˕ -マ

warnings: streamer!wonu, writer!reader, fluff, not proofread !!!

an: i can think of so many ways to make a pt.2 to this… will i? nope!

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the letters on your laptop’s keyboard are surely to start fading any time soon, but it’s worth it. especially right now. there’s yet to be a single time where you’ve felt this much inspiration in your entire career, so you refuse to let this go to waste. your eyes flicker to the notebook sitting next to you, information on the paper translating in your mind and being typed out into coherent sentences on the document.

you’re really proud of what you’ve written so far. you had your boyfriend read your unorganized thoughts you had set out for the plot and what not, and he thinks it’s good too. once your brain felt ready to start writing the real thing, your fingers were flying. you slipped your headphones on, essentially blocking out the entire world as you worked. you started when it was still light out, and you’ve only gotten up to use the bathroom, really. it’s dark now, and although he’s not working quite as hard, you can still sense your boyfriend moving around the house, making commentary as he pre records gaming content.

he’s left you alone so far. he’s not the type to nag you too much about taking care of yourself, especially when he’s already learnt his lesson about interrupting you when you have one of these moments of inspiration. not to mention he has times like this too, even if it was for something like a long term livestream. still, he treats you how he would want to be treated in the same situation. by that he means undisturbed… with the occasional interruption, of course. he likes to have his game time but if he isn’t filming he still wants to be with you.

your phone is on do not disturb, keeping wonwoo’s obnoxious friends and their instagram reel notifications from disturbing your work, so when a message notification dings through your headphones you know who it is.

won🖤: Are you almost done yet?

won🖤: I’ve finished recording.

you: no, sorry love :( i still have some left in me.

you: just a little more, okay?

won🖤: Just a little more. I try not to be that guy, but you really should stop soon. Eat something

you reacted with 👍

setting your phone down, you crack your knuckles with a sigh. you were reaching the end of your inspiration spark, so you really wanted to rush to get whatever you could in. it’s extremely rare that this happens, and you couldn’t stress it enough. you’ve got deadlines to meet, and for this to happen to you was literally perfect. you’re basically set, and might even be able to take a day off tomorrow.

you’ve gotten back onto your groove, putting the music on high while you work. you’re typing word after word, paragraph after paragraph flawlessly. everything you’ve been mapping out for weeks is finally coming to fruition, and it’s doing so perfectly. you’re so zoned in that you don’t notice when wonwoo comes in, only taking note of his presence when the weight shifts on the bed and his head lands on your shoulder.

you pause, pulling the headphones off your head. “do you need something?” you ask, hand instinctively coming to brush through his hair.

he looks up at you, and you’re sure he doesn’t notice the way he’s pouting. it’s rare that he’d be like that voluntarily. “how far are you? you’re almost done?”

“mm, i don’t think so.. sorry. i really need to make the most of this or else i’ll never get this finished.” you kiss the top of his head, and as soon as you put your hand back towards the keyboard he grabs it.

“you’ve been sitting here all day.”

“yeah, i noticed. but i’ll do just a little more, ‘kay?” you kiss his crown and return to work.

you finish the second to last plot point you had mapped out, and now you’re just revising what you done so far. even by your own standards you’ve done enough, and since wonwoo is indirectly begging you to spend time with him (in his own way) by clinging to your side, you suppose you can stop for now. it hasn’t even been that long and you can see him looking from his phone to you every three seconds. it’s cute really, how he’s trying so hard to be nonchalant about it when he wants to spend time with you so bad. every time he wants your attention, he sort of hovers around you and stares at you until you give it to him. he’ll never say it out loud, but he’s definitely going to be obvious about it in other ways.

you shut your computer and set it on the night stand, turning towards him fully. the corners of wonwoo’s mouth twitch as he tried to hold back his smile, but you know he’s happy that he’s won.

“you’re done now? are you gonna go back to work, or are you really done?” he asks, sitting up and readjusting his glasses.

you giggle at his cuteness, kissing his cheek. “yes, nonu. you’ve got my full, undivided attention now, ‘kay?”

he’s already up before you are, rambling about how excited he is to spend the rest of the night with you, even if it’s already late. he’s walking into the kitchen to make ramen for you, talking about eating it together while watching something, and then stopping to ponder about what to do after. you trail behind him, a smile on your face. your nonchalant, black cat boyfriend who uses very few words will throw it all out the window if it means getting your attention and keeping it for a good moment.

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[benispunk]

Ticklish

logan howlett x reader

Maybe you discovered Logan was ticklish. Maybe you used it to your advantage.

TW: it's pure fluff, it's a little bit funny and the end is a tiny bit suggestive. let's just say Christmas came early this year...this was written this morning when I woke up and it's fully inspired by my own post

Masterlist

Every morning before getting out of bed, you and Logan had a quiet ritual. These stolen moments of peace were rare in the chaos of the mansion, where every day brought new missions, training, or too many kids running around. It was the one time you could just be. No responsibilities, no noise— just the two of you.

This morning was no different. Your head rested on Logan's chest, his fingers combing gently through your hair, while your hand traced slow, lazy patterns on his chest. It was a small act of intimacy, but one you both cherished.

Lost in the rhythm, your hand absently wandered lower, brushing against his side. Suddenly, Logan jerked like he'd been electrocuted. His entire body tensed, and he shifted away so abruptly that you sat up, startled.

“Logan, what’s wrong? Did I hurt you?” Concern laced your voice as you reached for him.

He cleared his throat, his usual gruff tone tinged with embarrassment. “Nah, you didn’t hurt me. Just… don’t do that.”

You blinked, confusion evident on your face. “Don’t touch your sides?” You tilted your head, studying him as if trying to solve a puzzle. He refused to meet your gaze, instead settling back into bed and opening his arms to you, clearly ready to move on.

“Come here. We don’t have much time left before breakfast,” he said, his voice low and coaxing.

But you didn’t move. The way he avoided eye contact and the faint flush on his cheeks told you there was more to this. You narrowed your eyes playfully. “Logan…”

“Don’t,” he warned, catching the glint of mischief sparking in your eyes.

You smirked. “Are you… ticklish?”

The look of horror that crossed his face confirmed everything. He groaned, running a hand over his face. “Don’t you dare,” he growled, but the threatening tone only made you laugh.

“Oh my god, you are!” you exclaimed, grinning like a kid who just uncovered a juicy secret.

“I mean it, sweetheart. You’ll regret it.” His expression was deadly serious, but the twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed him.

Still laughing, you raised your hands in mock surrender. “Relax, Logan. I’m not going to tickle you. It was an accident— I didn’t know!”

He gave you a skeptical glance, clearly trying to decide whether you were trustworthy. After a tense moment, he let out a heavy sigh and opened his arms again. You nestled back against his chest, your fingers returning to their absent-minded pattern-drawing. His hand resumed its place in your hair, but his body remained slightly tense, like a predator waiting for an ambush.

The silence stretched comfortably for a few minutes before your curiosity got the better of you. “How did I never realize you were ticklish?”

He let out a quiet chuckle. “Because it’s a secret, and I’m careful. You’re lucky you caught me off guard.”

You laughed softly, your breath warm against his chest. “You know, I can keep a secret… but I can also use it against you if I want.”

His hand froze in your hair, and you felt his heartbeat quicken just slightly beneath your ear. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Wouldn’t I?” You tilted your head up, giving him your best innocent smile.

His eyes narrowed suspiciously, but when your hand wandered dangerously close to his side again, he didn’t notice until it was too late. Your fingers pinched his ribs lightly, and the sound that escaped his mouth—a startled yelp—was priceless.

“Y/N!” he growled, but he was already moving. In the blink of an eye, you were flat on your back, your wrists pinned above your head as he loomed over you.

“What was that little scream you just did?” you teased, bursting into laughter as he glared down at you.

“You’re playing a dangerous game,” he rumbled, his tone low and menacing, but the faint smirk tugging at his lips told you he was more amused than angry.

“Well, in that case…” You grinned up at him, eyes gleaming with defiance. “Maybe I should do that more often.”

Logan shook his head, clearly trying to hold onto his serious facade, but it crumbled under the weight of your laughter. The corners of his mouth twitched before he finally broke, leaning down to capture your lips in a heated kiss that left you breathless.

When he pulled back, his lips hovered over yours, his voice gravelly and teasing. “You sure you want to keep playing? Because I’ve got other ways to make you behave.”

You arched a brow, your smirk never wavering. “Oh? Like what?”

A low growl rumbled from his chest, and before you could blink, he nipped at your bottom lip, making you gasp. His hands trailed down your sides, slow and deliberate, his touch feather-light but enough to send a shiver through you.

“Keep testing me, darlin’,” he murmured, his tone dripping with suggestion. “You might not make it to breakfast at all.”

You bit your lip, trying to fight back a grin. “Maybe that’s exactly what I want.”

His smirk widened as he leaned closer, his voice a whisper against your ear. “Good. Because breakfast can wait.”

XXX

[frillydolle]

need pitfighter vi getting jealous of people eyeing up nice reader at the bar and pulling you into her lap and marking up your neck in front of everyone😇

mean pitfighter vi x sweet female reader

꒰ 𝝑𓏲 ꒱ vi is touchy , even a little possessive , suggestive near end!

the colour of their names gave me a subtle idea. . .

after a huuge win, vi decided that u two should celebrate with drinks at the last drop. it's not like the two of u would have to wait for such a long time since, by now, everyone knew who vi was. she's gained a.. interesting reputation in the undercity.

and so she's holding ur hand guiding u through the crowd of people, taking u to a slight secluded booth just for the u both but unbeknownst to u, many people were looking at the two of u.

well, more so looking at u.

u were a pretty girl, a happy, bubbly, sweet girl. like u didn't belong in zaun, more like piltover. people couldn't help but look of u, even some of the men within the bar were oogling at u, as ur dress flowed gracefully with each step u took as u followed vi to the booth.

u were completely different to vi, but everyone says that opposites attract, don't they?

and ur at the bar, waiting on the drinks. no one in the place even dared to talk to u, and u know why, it's not like u felt someone's intense gaze om the back of ur head. like a hawk watching its prey. and u didnt mind her gaze too much, in fact, it made u feel all funny inside, like u adored everything moment. vi kept her gaze fixed on u, making sure that no one dared to talk to the pretty girl. her pretty girl.

with that bubbly, sweet smile plastered on ur face as u walked ur way back to vi, placing the two drinks on the table before her hand wrapped around ur waist, pulling u to her lap in one swift motion. and your heart skipped a beat-

“theres my pretty girl, did i make ya proud?” “'course you did, silly! i just worry 'bout you so much, vi..” and a small giggle left ur lips.

soon, she pulled u closer and started kissing ur neck. and u, being the most loveliest girl she's ever meet, moved ur head slightly just so she could gain more access. a stray of giggles following ur actions. and that made her smirk, increasing the kisses that made their path to ur collarbone back up to ur neck.

“vii! what are you- dont put ur hand there! they'll see us!” “..i dont care, i wanna make sure they all know you're mine.”

her hand retraces just from the underside of ur breast, back down to ur sides. her lips trace back up to ur neck before she bite down, just slightly, enough to leave u a bite mark. a lovebite, to be more specific. she wasn't a girl to share specific why would she not let everyone know that ur her girlfriend?

“you're just so pretty, make me want to mark you up in front of everyone here... not like they'd notice.. or care.”

god, her words sent down to ur lower abdomin, the way she talks to u could be so... filthy, knowing her true intentions and yet, u have never complained once!

she gave u another one. and another one, and then another one after that.

“let me take you when we get home, yeah?”

[lechrts]

Could’ve Fooled Me. ✷ Ollie Bearman

Pairing: Ollie Bearman x Schoolmate!reader

Summary: When Ollie does something “probably stupid.”

Word Count: 2.1k

Vera's Voice! this was so stupid not gonna lie. Jusr. Just read idk. Lmk. Bye. have fun.

Your dynamic with Ollie had always been a strange one. A mix of heated arguments and undeniable chemistry that made everyone around you raise an eyebrow.

He was infuriatingly confident, with that perpetual smirk like he already knew the answer to a question you hadn’t even asked yet.

You weren’t sure when your mutual distaste turned into something resembling... whatever this was. It wasn’t quite hatred anymore, but it wasn’t exactly a friendship either. It was more like a magnetic pull—one you both resisted fiercely.

Until, of course, you were paired for a history presentation.

So cliche.

“Fate’s a cruel thing,” You muttered under your breath the day your teacher announced the pairings.

Ollie shot you a grin as you plopped into the vacant seat beside him. “You know, if you wanted to spend more time with me, you could’ve just asked.”

You rolled your eyes, but the sharp pang in your chest at his teasing felt alarmingly like excitement.

It was supposed to be simple. You’d meet at his house, finish your slides, rehearse your presentation, and be done with it.

In and out, no distractions.

You stood outside his door, the chill December air biting at your fingertips as you hesitated. The nerves in your stomach were new, unsettling. It wasn’t like you hadn’t argued with Ollie a hundred times before. It wasn’t like you hadn’t sat next to him in class, stolen pens from his desk, or rolled your eyes at his sarcastic comments.

This just felt... different.

When he opened the door, wearing a plain sweatshirt and grey joggers, hair messy like he hadn’t bothered to tame it, you almost forgot how to speak.

“Are you gonna keep standing there, or are you coming in?” He asked, leaning casually against the doorframe.

“Just soaking in the joy of this moment,” You replied sarcastically, stepping inside with mock dramatics.

When he led the way to his room, you were shocked to see how neat it was. It smelled faintly like him—some mix of cedarwood and mint that you hated how much you noticed. The space was tidy, a little more put together than you’d expected, with a sleek desk by the window and shelves lined with racing memorabilia.

“Wow,” You said, gesturing to the small shrine of karting trophies, back from when he still raced. “How modest of you.”

He smirked, sitting on his bed. “What can I say? I’m amazing.”

“And humble.”

“And humble,” He echoed, grinning.

You rolled your eyes, plopping down on the carpeted floor next to his bed and pulling your laptop out of your bag.

“Alright,” You said briskly, needing to focus. “Let’s get this over with.”

But working with Ollie was, as expected, impossible.

You closed your eyes, counting to three.

Do not murder him in his own home.

Do not murder him in his own home.

Do NOT. murder him in his own home.

“Fine. You pick the font,” You said, shoving the laptop toward him since he had been pestering you about the title screen for the past ten minutes.

“Gladly.”

He leaned over, now sat beside you ever since he joined you on the floor many moments ago. You hated the way your heart jumped when his arm brushed against yours. It wasn’t even a full touch, just the faintest contact, but it sent a ripple of awareness through you.

“So!,” He said after a moment, his voice annoyingly casual, “Why do you hate me so much?”

“I don’t hate you,” You said automatically, though it came out a little sharper than intended.

He glanced at you, one brow raised. “Yeah, right.”

You sighed, focusing on the textbook in front of you to avoid looking at him. “You’re just...distracting.”

“Distracting?” He repeated, his tone shifting. He leaned back slightly, but you could still feel the weight of his gaze. “How am I distracting?”

“Because you never take anything seriously,” You said quickly, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. “You joke about everything. It’s like nothing gets to you, and it’s—”

“It’s what?” He pressed, his voice softer now.

“Annoying.”

He didn’t respond right away, and the silence stretched, thick and heavy. When you finally glanced up, he was watching you with an intensity that made your stomach flip.

“What?” You asked defensively, suddenly self-conscious.

“Nothing,” He said, leaning back against his bed. His smirk was gone, replaced by something unreadable. “You’re just....”

He shook his head, looking almost embarrassed. “Never mind.”

Your chest felt tight, like the air between you had shifted into something you couldn’t name. You tried to shake it off, focusing back on the slides, but it was no use.

When you reached for your pen, he reached for it at the same time. Your fingers brushed, and you both froze.

Neither of you moved, the air suddenly crackling with tension. His hand was warm, his touch hesitant but lingering.

“Um.. ” He said quietly, his voice lower than usual, clearing his throat as if he had something to say.

Your heart was pounding, so loud you were sure he could hear it. “Hm?”

He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Do you really think I don’t take anything seriously?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “What are you talking about?”

“I mean it,” He said, his voice steady now. “Do you actually think I don’t care about anything?”

The vulnerability in his tone took you by surprise. You hesitated, then shook your head. “No. I just think... you hide it. Behind all the cockiness and idiocy.”

He didn’t deny it. Instead, his eyes searched yours, like he was trying to figure something out.

And then, suddenly, his hand was on yours again—not hesitant this time, but deliberate.

“Um.” You cleared your throat. “What are you doing?” You whispered, your voice shaky.

“Probably something stupid,” He murmured, and before you could respond, his lips were on yours.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t soft. It was everything you’d been holding back since the day you met him—frustration, anger, and all the butterflies you refused to admit you felt. His hand cupped your cheek, pulling you closer, and your brain short-circuited as the world tilted on its axis.

You kissed him back, your fingers tangling in his hair before you could think better of it. It was messy, intense, infuriatingly perfect.

When you finally broke apart, both of you were breathless, the rosiness on both of your cheeks clearly evident.

“That,” You managed, voice shaky, “Was definitely stupid.”

“Yeah?” He said, grinning despite the pink tint to his features. “Then why’d you kiss me back?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came.

Because he was right. And, worse, he knew it.

You sat there, blinking at him, your brain still catching up to what had just happened. Ollie was looking at you like he’d won something—smirking, flushed, and utterly insufferable.

“Well?” He asked, his voice annoyingly smug. “No witty comeback? No insult? Should I be concerned?”

You narrowed your eyes, shaking off the daze. “I’m just... processing the fact that you have the audacity to act like you weren’t the one who kissed me.”

“Oh, I absolutely kissed you,” He said, confidently admitting it as he straightened his posture, “But you kissed me back…”

“With enthusiasm, might I add.”

You scoffed, though your cheeks were burning. “You’re delusional.”

“Am I?” He leaned closer, his smirk widening. “Because I’m pretty sure you had your hands in my hair. Very passionately..”

“That doesn’t mean I wanted to kiss you!” You argued, pointing at him.

He tilted his head, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Right. You were just being polite. Kissing me back to avoid hurting my feelings?”

“Exactly,” You said, chin tilting up. “It was a momentary lapse in judgment. A... reflex.”

“Hmm,” He mused, clearly not buying it. He tapped a finger on his lips, pretending to think. “So, if I kissed you again, purely as an experiment, you wouldn’t kiss me back?”

Your stomach flipped at the way he said again, but you refused to let him see it. “Exactly. No hesitation. I’d push you away immediately.”

He raised an eyebrow, leaning closer still. “Immediately?”

You hated how his voice dropped, soft and teasing, like he knew exactly what kind of effect he had on you.

“Yeah,” You said firmly, though the word came out weaker than you intended.

His eyes flicked to your lips, then back up to meet your gaze. “Prove it.”

“What?”

“Prove it,” He repeated, his voice low and challenging. “If you’re so sure you wouldn’t kiss me back, let’s test your little theory.”

Your breath hitched as the space between you seemed to shrink. “Your ego is insane.”

“Maybe,” He said, grinning, “But, you still haven’t moved.”

And damn it, he was right.

You hadn’t moved.

In fact, you were leaning in ever so slightly, your resolve crumbling under the weight of his presence.

“Ollie,” You said, your voice more a warning than anything else.

“Hm?,” He hummed back, and then he kissed you again.

This time, you had no excuse. No reflex, no momentary lapse in judgment. You kissed him back because you wanted to—because, for once, you didn’t want to fight it.

But you weren’t about to let him have the last word.

When you broke apart, his hands still framing your face, you couldn’t help but smirk at him. “Happy now?”

He let out a breathless laugh, resting his forehead against yours. “Very.”

“Well, don’t get used to it,” You said, pulling back slightly.

He cocked an eyebrow. “Oh, I’m definitely getting used to it.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re a terrible liar,” He shot back, brushing a thumb along your jawline.

You swatted his hand away, though your heart was still racing. “This doesn’t mean anything, you idiot.”

“Sure,” he said, his tone so casual it made you want to throttle him. “It’s just two people who hate each other making out in my bedroom. Totally meaningless.”

“It was meaningless.”

“Right.” His grin was maddening. “That’s why you’re still blushing.”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “I hate you so much.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do.”

“You just kissed me,” He reminded you.

“That doesn’t mean I don’t hate you!”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

You glared at him, but it was no use. The butterflies in your stomach betrayed you, fluttering wildly every time he smiled at you like that.

“Well,” You said finally, attempting to stand up and closing your laptop, “This has been a colossal waste of time. I’m leaving.”

“Oh, no, you’re not,” Ollie said, grabbing your wrist and pulling you back down. “You’re not running away from this.”

“I’m not running away!”

“Then stay.”

You hesitated, your pulse quickening. “Why should I?”

“Because,” he said, his voice softening in a way that made your heart ache, “I like you. Even when you drive me absolutely insane.”

You stared at him, the weight of his words sinking in.

You wanted to argue, to deflect with some sarcastic remark, but the sincerity in his eyes stopped you.

“Fine,” You said after a long moment, your voice barely above a whisper. “But only because we still have work to do.”

His grin returned, but it was softer this time, more genuine. “Sure. Work.”

You straightened back up, opening your laptop and pretending to focus on the screen, but you could feel Ollie’s gaze burning into you. He leaned against the edge of his bed, his smirk far too knowing.

Far too confident.

And then, after a few moments of tense silence, you sighed and closed your laptop with a sharp snap.

“Hm,” Ollie drawled, his voice dripping with amusement. “Giving up already?”

You shot him a look, your heart pounding so loud you were sure he could hear it. “We both know we’re not getting any work done tonight.”

His smirk faltered for a second, replaced by something softer, something that made your breath hitch. “Yeah,” he murmured, his voice low.

Before you could overthink it, his hand cupped your jaw, pulling you toward him. And then his lips were on yours again, and this time there was no hesitation, no awkward fumbling.

It was pure, unrelenting gravity.

You kissed him back again, with everything you had, your fingers finding the back of his neck, pulling him closer until there was no space left between you. He tasted like spearmint gum and something undeniably him, something you couldn’t get enough of.

Ollie’s hands slid to your waist, pulling you closer, like he couldn’t stand the distance. Your heart raced.

“You’re ridiculous,” You mumbled against his lips, barely able to catch your breath.

He grinned, his forehead resting against yours. “And you’re impossible.”

“And yet, here we are,” You shot back, your voice breathless but still laced with defiance.

“Here we are,” He echoed, his fingers brushing along your jaw before tilting your head back for another kiss. This one was slower, deeper, like he was taking his time memorizing every detail.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you knew this was a terrible idea. But in that moment, with Ollie’s lips on yours and his hands keeping you grounded, you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

When you finally pulled away, your lips swollen and your heart pounding, you stared at him. He looked just as dazed as you felt, his hair slightly tousled, his lips red from kissing.

“Yeah,” You said, breaking the silence, “We’re definitely failing.”

Ollie laughed, his smile so wide and genuine it made your stomach flip. “Worth it.”

You groaned, dropping your head back and covering your face with your hands. “This is such a mess.”

He laughed, tugging your hands away so you had to look at him. “Maybe,” He said, his tone softer now, “But, it’s a good kind of mess.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t stop the small smile tugging at your lips. “You’re such an idiot.”

“Your idiot, maybe,” He teased, leaning down to steal one last kiss before you could argue.

“Oh, hush it.” You laughed as the antics continued anyways.

And even though you would never admit it, you didn’t really mind whatever this was.

Could’ve fooled you.

likes, comments, & reblogs appreciated! ^_^ let me know if u wanna be apart of my permanent tag list!!! :3

tags! @planetpedri @halfwayhearted @wdcbox @freyathehuntress

[winchesterwild78]

On the Eleventh Day of Christmas

Master List

Characters:  Ben/Soldier Boy x Reader

Warnings: Language, Self esteem Issues, Light Smut, Pregnancy,

A/N: Day 11 of my holiday fics. I hope you enjoy this short series. I’m really excited about it. All work is my own, please don’t take it. Reblogs and likes are welcomed. 

I do not own the rights to the characters I use, these will not follow the story lines of the series the character appeared in. This is a work of fiction.

I gave Ben’s mom a name in this even though she’s not named in the series. 

Written fast and edited fast, please overlook any errors. 

Minors DNI 18+

I sat on the couch touching my swollen belly. Feeling the little kicks of my baby girl growing inside me, I smiled. 

Ben and I had been married for over three years and I finally convinced him to try for a baby. 

I desperately wanted to have his baby. I’d wanted to since the moment I met him. Well, maybe not the exact moment, but pretty damn close.

He and some of Butcher’s team showed up at my office to take care of some business and he was focused on my co-worker, April most of the time. She’s gorgeous, long legs, thin, long blonde hair and very busty. 

I’m the complete opposite, well I do have boobs, but many exes said it was because of the extra weight I carried around. 

I was a little jealous of April, especially when Ben finally asked her out. She giggled and said yes, then they left. In the middle of the day they left to go on a “date”. 

Hours later when she came back her stockings were gone, makeup smudged, and her hair was really out of place. 

I felt a pang in my chest and couldn’t figure out why. I heard April giggle at her desk as Ben whispered something in her ear. 

I sat at my desk trying to focus on the mountain of work I had to finish before I left for the weekend. 

I grabbed my coffee cup and sighed, it was empty. I stood and walked to the breakroom. Hearing her giggle over and over in my head made me feel worse. 

What the hell is wrong with me? I’ve never formally met him, but everyone knows who he is. There was something about him that made me want to be with him and only him. It was crazy. 

I was lost in my thoughts trying to figure out how to push him out of my brain. This feeling of wanting him was crazy. I’d never even spoken to him. I didn’t hear the heavy footsteps behind me as I bent over to grab the creamer from the refrigerator. 

“Damn, now that’s a gorgeous view, doll.” My eyes went wide and I stood and turned. There he was, looking incredible. His voice sent a shiver down my spine. Which he noticed because of the smirk it drew on his face. 

I bit my bottom lip, unsure of what to say or do. I turned back to my coffee and started to finish making it. 

“What’s your name, doll?” “Y/N, and you’re Soldier Boy.” “Ben, you can call me Ben.” “Nice to meet you Ben.” By this point I was turned and facing him. 

Taking in his perfectly trimmed beard, his strong jaw, his piercing green eyes, plump lips. Oh god I could feel myself getting aroused and my heart rate picking up.

He stepped closer, “You okay, darlin’? Your heart is pounding.” I just nodded and my breathing became shaky. 

He stepped closer, inches from me, “You sure about that?” I made eye contact with him and held my breath. Oh god I would have his babies right now.

He asked me questions about myself and my life, and I just freely gave him everything he wanted. Hell I would have given him anything he wanted right there in the breakroom. 

His hand gently touched my cheek and I leaned into it. I bit my lower lip. I’d never felt like this with anyone. 

As he was closing the distance between us, April walked into the breakroom. She gasped, “What is this? Soldier Boy, what about us?!” She didn’t call him Ben, interesting.

He turned and looked at her, “There is no us doll. We were just having a little fun.” Her face turned red and her jaw clenched. 

She looked at me, “So you think you can seduce THE Soldier Boy? Girl please. I’m half the woman you are. Why would he want you when he’s had me?” 

I felt the pang grow in my chest. The cruelty of people making fun of my weight wasn’t something new to me. It's been happening since my teen years. Even now as an adult the judging looks, the snide comments and sideways glances seemed to be a constant. This time however, it hurt to my core. 

She was right. Why would he, a man built like a Greek God want me when he’s had her and so many other beautiful women. 

I felt the sting of the tears in my eyes. I turned away as I felt the tears fall. 

Ben crossed the room to her and grabbed her shoulders, pinning her against the wall. “Don’t ever talk about her like that again. She’s gorgeous and twice the woman you are, and she’s mine.” 

I lifted my head and turned to look at him. His eyes met mine and instantly softened. Did he really just call me his? What the hell?!

He let April go and she left the room. Ben walked back over to me and his thumb gently wiped the tears away. “God you’re beautiful, Y/N. Even with a red splotchy face.” He chuckled and I smiled. 

“Ben, why did you tell April I’m yours? I’m not.” “I know, darlin’. I want you to be mine. I can’t explain it, but I feel drawn to you. I understand if you don’t feel the same. We did just meet and I did just fuck your co-worker.”

There it was again, that pang of jealousy filling my soul. I couldn’t ignore it.

That was over 4 years ago, and the day I took a chance on Ben. Fast forward to now, and here I am sitting on our couch in our house, watching him fight with the Christmas tree and lights on Christmas Eve. 

“Why the fuck do we need a damn tree up, Y/N? It’s Christmas Eve.” I rubbed my belly, “It’s for her, Ben. Plus a Christmas tree with twinkling lights is beautiful at night and I can’t do it alone.”

“She’s not here yet, why does she need a tree?” I rolled my eyes, he could be stubborn sometimes, but I knew he was in trouble once our daughter was born. That rough, tough, grumpy man will turn into mush when she’s here. She already has him wrapped around his finger. As evident by the extravagant nursery he created for her. 

I tried to get off the couch, but being almost 9 months pregnant it was proving rather difficult. Ben stopped what he was doing and walked over to help me up.

He helped me stand and chuckled, “What’s so funny, Ben?” “Nothing, I love seeing your belly swollen with my baby. Even if you can’t stand on your own anymore.” 

Emotions and hormones got the better of me and I started to cry, “I know, I’m fat. I’m so sorry I look like this and you don’t want me anymore.” 

Ben’s eyes shot back to mine, “Don’t say that! You’re so fucking beautiful and you’re giving me a baby. I love every (he kissed my lips) inch (he kissed down my neck) of (he kissed my collarbone) your (he gripped my hips) body (he kissed the top of my breasts that peaked out of my shirt). 

My cheeks flushed red and I felt my arousal growing. Sex with Ben was always amazing, but since I’ve been pregnant it’s been different and at times primal. 

As soon as Ben found out I was pregnant a primal instinct in him took over. His need to protect became stronger. When we had sex he was gentle but dominant at the same time. As my pregnancy has progressed we’ve had to be creative with positions due to my growing belly. Ben’s favorite recently was me on top or he behind me, cradling my belly. 

Ben began kissing me deeper and walking me backwards towards our room. “Ben, we really should finish the tree.” “Nope, I’m gonna finish what I started.” He practically growled. 

Once in our shared room Ben began removing my shirt and pants. His hand slid between my legs. “Damn, sweetheart, you’re dripping wet.” I smirked as I felt my arousal running down my thigh. 

Ben began to undress as I sat on the side of the bed. I tried to grab the blanket to cover myself, but he pushed it away. He lifted my chin, “Please don’t, you’re so beautiful and I love every inch of you.” 

I bit my lip. He always had a way of making me feel so beautiful and desired. One of the many reasons I fell in love with him. 

Ben undressed and laid back on the bed, motioning for me. I laid beside him, the best I could and his hands trailed up and down my body. 

“Ben, I need you.” He grinned, “I need you too baby.”

My hand slid down his torso and to his thick, hard cock. My thighs clenched together. 

He helped me up and I straddled him. Taking his length in my hand and I lined him up to me. We both moaned as he bottomed out. 

His fingers are holding onto my hips and digging into my skin. I moved my hips as he thrusted up. Each thrust pushed me close to the edge. I knew I wasn’t going to last long. 

“Ben..I’m so..close.” “Mmm, let go baby.” My body responded to him and before I knew it I was cumming hard. 

“Damn baby, you soaked me.” He chuckled. I felt the warmth of my release all over me and him. The bed became soaked under Ben and I kept feeling it. 

I stopped moving. “What? What’s wrong, Y/N?” “Ben, I think my water broke.” 

Ben helped me up and I could still feel the liquid coming out of me. “Y/N, you’re not due for about 2 weeks.” “I know, I just think we should go to the hospital.” 

Ben cleaned off and helped me get dressed then got himself dressed. He helped me to the car and I climbed in. 

Arriving at the hospital we saw a ton of people waiting to be seen. Ben stormed up to the front desk, “We need a doctor NOW! My wife is in labor and she’s not waiting out here with all these sick people.” Ben growled. 

The nurse looked up at him then over at me as the contractions started. 

She grabbed a chair and had me sit. Ben was by my side as they pushed me to the labor and delivery floor. 

Once I got changed and hooked up the doctor came in and confirmed I was in labor. 

Ben began pacing the floor. “Isn’t it too early?” Ben asked the doctor. She shook her head no and told him everything looked perfectly normal. 

“Normal?! She’s having a supe baby and she’s 2 weeks early. There’s nothing normal about that!” 

The doctor looked at Ben and then back to me. “How are you feeling?” She asked me. “The contractions aren’t that bad yet, but they are getting closer together.” 

She glanced at the machine tracking my contractions and nodded. “Well, let’s check to see how dilated you are.” 

Propping my legs up in the stirrups she checked my cervix. I winced in pain and Ben was at my side holding my hand. 

“Can’t you be a little more gentle doc?” Ben’s voice boomed in the room. 

“Ben, it’s okay. She didn’t hurt me. It’s just uncomfortable. Baby, you have to calm down a little. I need you, she needs you.” 

He ran his hands through his hair, “I know. I just don’t like to see you in pain and I caused this situation.” 

“Benji, look at me, please. She is worth all the pain in the world. Before too long we will be holding her in our arms and all of this will be over.” Ben’s eyes softened and he kissed my forehead. “Sorry doc. I know I can be a dick sometimes. She’s just everything to me.” 

The doctor nodded and smiled, “I understand, and your reactions are perfectly normal. I promise you I’m going to take care of your wife and baby.” 

He nodded and she left the room leaving us alone. 

There was a comfortable silence between the two of us as we listened to her heartbeat fill the room. She was less active as the contractions came closer together. 

A few hours later the doctor came in and said it was time. I took a deep breath and grabbed Ben’s hand. 

“Are you ready to meet our daughter, Ben?” He smirked and nodded. 

After what felt like forever the sound of a tiny cry filled the room. The doctor laid our baby girl on my chest and Ben cut her cord. It was love at first sight. 

She had a great set of lungs, sandy blonde hair and piercing green eyes like her father. 

When the nurses took her to clean her, measure and weigh her, Ben was standing over them. 

He kept asking questions and the nurses were so sweet answering him and even let him help. 

“Why are you wrapping her so tight? She looks like a burrito. That can’t be comfortable for her. Is she breathing? Why’d she whimper?” 

I giggled seeing him hover. The nurse handed the baby to Ben and he walked over to me with the biggest, proudest smile on his face. 

It reminded me of why I fell in love with him. His softer side not many people get to see. 

He sat down beside me and smiled down at her then at me. “You did amazing, sweetheart. Look at what we made. She’s perfect, just like her mama.” 

My heart filled with so much love and joy, seeing him hold her. He was made to be a father. 

“Ben, we have to name her.” “Yeah, we do, but how do you give a name to someone so perfect? I can’t think of one that does her justice. It has to be perfect.” 

I smiled, looked over at the time and realized it was Christmas Day. “Ben, how about Noelle?” 

He looked at me and then down at her and smiled. “It’s perfect. Noelle Grace” 

I smiled. Ben didn’t talk much about his mother, but I knew her name was Grace. “Perfect” I smiled at him. 

He handed her back to me and I held her tight. “My little Noelle Grace. Merry Christmas, baby girl, and Merry Christmas, Ben.” 

Ben leaned down and kissed me and then her, “Best Christmas present ever. Merry Christmas, Y/N. I love you.”

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[supercap2319]

A/N: This could be given as a sequel to my last Fiyero Tigelaar fic.

: readmore:

Y/N watched as Fiyero approached him, Galinda hot at his heels. The Winkie prince gave him an easy going smile. This adorable little bookworm would soon be his. Fiyero thought to himself. There wasn't a person alive who could resist him once he turned up the charm.

“Hello, there.” Fiyero wiggled his fingers as Y/N shut his book and laid it down, giving Fiyero an annoyed look. “Hello.” Y/N’s greeting was about as warm and welcoming as a winter frost. Fiyero didn't seem to mind or notice as he gave a small bow. “You're Y/N, correct?”

“Yes, that's correct.”

“Well, allow me to introduce myself. I am Fiyero Tigelaar of Winkie–”

“–I don't really give a damn who you are.” Y/N said.

The whole student body shared a collective gasp of shock. They had watched as Fiyero approached Y/N, only for the Upland boy to reject him. What was wrong with Y/N? Even Galinda was appalled by her brother's actions. “Y/N, how can you be so rude?” She admonished. “Fiyero is new here, and you're…you're…”

“You're a breath of fresh air.” Fiyero smiles.

“What?!” Everyone asked. Even Y/N was shocked by the Prince's unbothered attitude of how Y/N addressed him. Fiyero nods and smiles. “Yes, a breath of fresh air if you will. I've been to many schools to get swarmed by people who only say things that I wanna hear. It's refreshing to have someone have their own opinion for once. Tell me, Y/N. What are you doing out here?”

“Reading?” Y/N held up his book. “I trust you've seen one before. Or know how to read.”

Once again, Fiyero laughed as if Y/N’s snide comments didn't bother him in the slightest. Galinda gave an awkward chuckle as well. How could Fiyero be so nonchalant about being insulted? Especially his intelligence. “Well, I suppose I've never had a penchant for reading , but perhaps I haven't been introduced to the right book to captivate my attention.”

“Perhaps not.”

“Why don't you show me to your local library? I'm sure I could find something there with your help.” Fiyero smiles. His blue eyes were dancing with mischief and fun. Before Y/N could tell Fiyero to go jump off a cliff, Galinda stepped in. “Oh, we would be certainly delighted to show you around. Wouldn't we, Y/N?” Her smile was tight, and anything other than a ‘yes’ from Y/N would make Galinda upset.

Y/N sighed and stood up, trying to ignore the triumph smirk Fiyero was giving him at the moment. He began walking towards the Shiz building, not checking to see if Fiyero. “The library is this way, Prince Twinkie.” He continues towards the building as Galinda pulls a smirking Fiyero along. Oh, he was going to like this little bookworm.

They walked into the library, where Y/N spotted his dear friend, Elphaba, and waved as Galinda gave Fiyero a tour of someplace she's never even stepped into before. It was kind of hilarious to watch as Galinda addressed all around. “And this is the book place. There's a collection of rare books around here somewhere. And some medium rare as well.”

“He's looking for a book, sis. Not a steak.” Y/N said.

Fiyero chuckles. “Well, there's certainly many to choose from. What would you recommend, Y/N? A good adventure book? Perhaps something with a little bit of fun?”

“How about a book on the studies of why some people act brainless?” Y/N suggested.

“Tell me. What do you do for fun around here?” Fiyero ignored Y/N’s jab, and walked closer to the other male, smirking at him. Did this guy always have to smile at everything? “You ever been to the Ozdust Ballroom?”

“The Ozdust Ballroom? Are you insane?” Y/N asked.

Galinda gets in between them. “I mean, isn't that place somewhat illegal?” She looks around to make sure no one is listening before whispering. “And scandalocious?”

Fiyero nods. “Yeah, it is both of those things. Yeah. It's also not far from here, which is another plus.” Fiyero said as Boq, the Munchkin boy, trips and drops some of his books into the floor. Fiyero stifles a laugh as he looks down at him. “Whoa. You all right?”

Boq grunts as Y/N helps him up. “Yeah.”

“I'm Fiyero Tigelaar.” He looks at Y/N and winks. “Winkie Country.”

“Oh, Oz.” Y/N and Galinda both say for different reasons. Boq stood up. “Boq Woodsman.” He gets on a stack of books to be at the same height as Fiyero. “Of Munchkinland.” Galinda grabs Fiyero's arm and leads him away from Boq. Great. Excuse me. Good to know. Um, what were you saying again about the Ozdust and fun and you and me?”

“I was thinking of inviting you, and your brother to the Ozdust tonight.” Fiyero said.

“Unfortunately, it's against Shiz rules to go into town after dark. Sorry, Prince Twinkie.” Y/N said, but he didn't sound very sorry about it. Fiyero didn't seem to mind though. “I see that, once again, the responsibility to corrupt my fellow students…” He puts his arms around both Y/N and Galinda as she gasps. Y/N rolled his eyes. “...falls to me. Excuse me.” He grabs a book from a nearby girl, and he accidentally drops it to the floor. Y/N bends down to pick it up, but Fiyero puts a black riding boot on top of it. Y/N looks up as Fiyero shakes his head no.

“The trouble with schools is…” Fiyero began.

“Not a damn song.” Y/N whispered to himself. It seemed like everyone at this school could sing and dance like some sort of musical theater show you'd hear about in the Emerald city. Not in the Shiz library. “They always try to teach the wrong lesson.” Fiyero throws a book over his shoulders, and it lands with a thud. “Believe me, I've been kicked out of enough of them to know.”

Y/N believed that. Fiyero did seem like the type to cause so much mischief and chaos at the schools he previously attended, that they had no choice but to kick his ass out. “They want you to become less callow, less shallow. But I say, why invite stress in? Stop studying strife. And learn to live the unexamined life.” Fiyero easily charmed the librarian as he winked at Y/N, showing off. “Dancing through life. Skimming the surface Gliding where turf is smooth.” He gets on the table and in a very proactive pose starts to jumble around another student's head. Life's more painless for the brainless. Why think too hard, when it's so soothing? Dancing through life. No need to tough it. When you can slough it off as I do.”

The young Upland boy watched as Fiyero Tigelaar of Winkie country, start a whole musical number inside the library.

[ghostgirl-22]

omg! omg! omg! do you have ideas on older jealous art? like what if he saw patrick on the date with helen at the hotel instead? or maybe saw patrick on a date with another man (grosu? 👀) and got really upset but didn’t understand why!

Oh yes, oh yes….<3

I think Art goes in the sauna, yes that sauna. But it’s before they ever meet up the night before they play the final.

CW: NSFWish, 18+

Summary: in which Art has a Karen moment because how dare you try and take his man—that he really doesn’t want (he promises). And no he doesn’t know what he’s weirdly sexually confused about. But it’s not that.

-/-/-/-

Art’s winning again. He’s mostly playing kids who are just so happy to be there or sad older guys who are so jaded and defeated about the idea of playing him that they’ve beaten themselves before Art even has to do anything. But still he is winning and it does feel good.

He’s trying to put the idea of Patrick out of his mind. Tashi tells him every single day, “He’s never going to make it to the final. He’s gonna choke. That’s his thing.” But Art notices every round he wins Patrick wins too.

His body is sore and he always feels better in the heat but being who he is in the tennis world he usually waits till really late at night to relax in the sauna. He’s sure no one else is going to be there so he’ll get a moment of peace and quiet without any of the younger players gawking over him or asking him career questions. But as soon as he pushes open the door he realizes he’s not alone at all. Patrick’s sitting on the bench and he’s not alone. He’s got some guy kneeling between his legs. The guy quickly gets to his feet when he hears the door and Art recognizes him vaguely from the draw. Victor Grasi or Grossi. Something.

The guy wipes his mouth on the back of his hand and Patrick—very slowly— pulls the towel over himself, offering Art a smirk.

Art can feel his skin heating up. He wants to turn and run but he can’t move. His stomach is suddenly swooping around like he’s riding a rollercoaster. He didn’t know Patrick did stuff like that… with boys.

“What’s up Donaldson?” Patrick says brightly, like Art didn’t just catch him with some stupid pretty boy between his legs. “I’ve been meaning to come see you.”

Art glares at him still struggling to form words. He hasn’t seen Patrick this close in so many, many years. He still smiles with his eyes but they crinkle now with age and around the edges of that smile he looks like he might be tired(sad?). And not just from lack of sleep. His hair’s shorter, skin darker the way it always was in the summertime. It makes all his freckles that much more visible. Art hates to admit the facial hair looks kinda good on him.

His body looks good too… Art’s eyes drift downward over where the towel is covering his very hard dick.

”I am so sorry Mr. Donaldson I’m a big fan. I think you are so talented. Not many Americans can win on clay,” Whatever his name is saying with a thick accent Art can’t place. It pulls Art out of whatever daze he was in. God was he just staring? Why was he fucking staring? He looks at Patrick’s face again and he’s looking at Art, amused. Smug.

Art’s annoyed all over again.

“And your game against Padilla.” The kid is still talking. “That was so good. I rewatched it twice. You’re so—“

“Thanks,” Art interrupts, his tone clipped. He’s not sure why he’s suddenly irritated with his presence. This dumb kid, probably 24 or 25, pink cheeks, perfect body just on his knees for…

“Didn’t he beat you yesterday?” Art asks, meanly, with a smirk.

His pretty little face goes stormy and Art feels a cruel internal joy when he sees it.

He mutters something in another language but Art’s certain it’s a swear word.

“I just—it was a bad day. I’m ranked much higher than him.” The kid tries to recover but he’s clearly embarrassed.

“Sure, exactly. It was just a bad day, Grosu,” Patrick chimes in, smiling as he rubs himself idly. “Lemme make you feel better.”

“You’re no good for me, Zweig.” The kid mutters.

“That’s not what you said last night,” Patrick smirks up at him.

Art’s jaw sets with irritation. Especially when Patrick’s grabbing at the kid’s waist and pulling him closer. Art’s not trying to look but for whatever reason his eyes trail back down. Probably because Patrick is just so insistently hard. And he’s touching it, just casually touching it.

The weirdest part is the way Art can feel his own balls tightening. It makes no fucking sense. He can’t possibly be getting hard. He’s one fucking step away from talking to his doctor about Viagra because he can’t get it up for someone as fucking beautiful as his wife and right now on a random night in the middle of the sauna is when he’s just ready to go. Brilliant. It’s like the universe just enjoys finding new ways to fuck with him.

The kid has forgotten about him, mesmerized by Patrick. Letting Patrick just touch him, all over. Art feels like his blood is boiling hotter than the room. He hurries outside without another word before the way his cock is swelling becomes visible to them. Not that they fucking care.

He’s barely made it into the locker room toilet stall when he’s leaning against the door jerking himself stupid. The whole thing is so fucked because in his head he’s imagining Patrick’s hands all over him. Touching him. Fucking him. Not that stupid pretty boy loser. Fucking loser. Fucking loser. Fucking loser. His mind chants over and over, not sure if it’s about the kid or Patrick or himself. All the while his hand is racing over his dick, so desperate until he’s coming hard, spraying his load all over his hand and the toilet seat. “Oh fuck,” he gasps.

Because what the fuck is he doing? He’s too old for this shit. Mind games and lust and weird teenaged flirting. He needs to go home to his wife and kid. He’s a grown up. He has responsibilities. Patrick’s still a fucking child. Just doing whatever he wants. Just fucking whoever he wants. Like Tashi. It’s been years and it still stings. And now some stupid fucking boy sucking his dick when anyone could just walk in. It’s offensive. Art should probably complain. Tell that loser kids coach or whoever he’s working with that he needs to focus and maybe not fuck around with someone like Patrick Zweig. He cleans up quickly and hurries to go wash his hands.

He spots movement behind him in the mirror and turns to see Patrick walking from the lockers towards the shower. Naked. With only a towel on his head. God how long was he in here? Did he hear Art?

Patrick stops to smirk at him. He’s not hard anymore which means he probably fucked the kid. It’s still so fucking big even when he’s soft. Art swallows. “What do you want?” He manages.

“Nothing. You just look pretty flushed. Are you okay?” He says, grinning (like he knows what Art did). “I thought you went home.” He wraps the extra towel he’s got draped over his shoulder around his waist, covering himself and Art relaxes a bit.

“I am going home,” Art says. “Where’s the dumb kid?”

Patrick laughs, “You know he’s 27, right.”

“Well he’s still a loser,” Art shrugs. He doesn’t care. He hopes he never sees him again. (And that Patrick doesn’t either).

“God, must feel good to walk around with all that power. He got so in his head from your little comment. He wanted to go home. Didn’t even want to finish. It’s like he didn’t even remember how much fun we had last night after drinks.”

Art’s not sure how to take any of that. On one hand he’s mildly satisfied that he sent the kid into a tailspin, but still fucking irritated that he… that he what… that he got to fuck Patrick in the first place? This is so fucked. He can’t want this. He cannot want this.

“Well you’re not dressed yet.” Patrick continues, casually. “You sure you don’t want to join me and clean up in the shower?”

“I uh— uh—“ Art stammers, while he white knuckles the towel on his waist, his heart rate picking up and the distant feeling of arousal that he’d just conquered incredibly stirring again. He wants this. Fuck he wants this. “No I—“

“I’m just teasing,” Patrick shrugs, interrupting before Art can finish. An oddly melancholic expression flitting over his face. And then immediately back to being his usual carefree (careless?) self. If not a little more distant. Formal. “Good night, Donaldson, see you in the final.”

“Good night,” Art says, feeling his stomach sink just a little bit. He wishes he didn’t— but he believes it now with 100 percent certainty that Patrick is right— that they’re both going to end up there.

(Sorry anon that this took so long and also I apologize if this is what you were looking for. It’s been hectic so I didn’t have much time to get to into it— also wanted to leave a little space for canon to canon lol. Art is still so mad that he’s attracted to Patrick he needs to hurt him more 😭)

[narutouzumakiarchive]

How to deal with the homophobic and horrible ss, nh, sh etc. stans? Just reading their content makes me feel gaslighted and makes me want to quit my little sns blog, because I feel isolated.

First of all, I'm sorry you feel that way. The best thing to do is honestly to just ignore them. The canon ships, in particular, are horrid and are consequently routinely subjected to lots of criticism by people outside of the carefully constructed echo chambers of canon shippers. SS/NH fans cope with this by harassing SNS shippers who have been a particular source of insecurity for the entire run of the show. There's a reason why they routinely steal from the sns dynamic to prop up their ship and have to rely on fillers and novels and databooks, etc. instead of working with the manga.

This brings me to my next point. Part of the reason they are so emboldened is because the "victors" are the ones who write the story, and they've used this to control the narrative and recontextualize what actually happened during the original run of the story. So, something you should know is that SNS fans have always been right about the core of the manga.

While there were obviously endgame SS/NH believers, the idea that Sasuke/Sakura and Naruto/Hinata were mutually in love was not a unifying factor in those fandoms.

In the Naruto Collector Book 3, there was an interview in which Kishimoto himself acknowledged the fact that Sakura and Hinata's feelings of love were unrequited. This interview is practically lost media, and is conveniently never discussed but the book is still available. The collector series has other interviews with Kishimoto as well.

But the main point is that this interview was released in 2007, long after we were already into Part 2 of the manga. This firstly debunks the idea that there was a secret budding love story that was sabotaged by SP, though you don't need any interview to tell you that Sasuke literally only thinking of Team 7 during Sakura's love confession, or Naruto not reflecting on any special moments with Hinata was proof enough of the lack of romance. More importantly, however, this is connected to my point about belief in "true love all along" was not a unifying factor in the SS/NH fandoms. Many of them were aware of this interview (see the respective examples of a SS fan and a NH fan reacting to it below) and thus spent their time taking solace in databooks and writing longwinded posts about how mutual romantic development weren't required for endgame.

What DID unite solo/multshipping SS in particular was the belief that Sasuke considered Sakura special, and thus, she would be the one who helped heal his heart. And this belief is where the real "war" between SS/SNS lied. If you look at old SNS posts, you'll see that there was never a unifying belief that SNS would be canon either, for obvious reasons. You'll notice that many posts were prefaced with some variation of "regardless of the nature of their bond...." because it wasn't so much what they were to each other rather than how significant they were to each other. You'll see a lot of posts about them transcending traditional relationship categories.

So this was the primary context in which SS and SNS fans argued. You can see below just some of the drivel that SS came up with. They have always been relentlessly insecure harassers who used to attack SNS fans for simply seeing the direction in which the manga would go.

They ignored Naruto making Sasuke's heart beat repeatedly, they ignored Naruto being tied to Sasuke's sharingan transformation — which later in the manga was explicitly called out for being the reflection of the heart that SNS fans postulated it was. They ignored the fact that Sakura was rendered fungible [a fact you can see reflected in the interview below when Kishimoto discusses what makes Team 7 special and completely evades mention of Sakura] and that Kishi usurped moments that could have been special for Sasuke and Sakura by including Naruto (eg. Sasuke bringing up not wanting Naruto to worry in the FOD, Sasuke thinking about Naruto to keep the curse mark at bay as well despite the fact that Sakura was the one who was explicitly worried about him, Sasuke including Naruto and talking about precious nakama in the fight against Gaara despite the fact that Sakura was the only one in mortal danger, etc.). They ignored the fact that Sasuke quite literally hierarchially ranked Naruto as a more intimate friend than Sakura. Harassed SNS fans for pointing out the basic setup in the manga that served to reinforce SNS fans' interpretations because they constructed a version of the manga that was wholly centered on the special and unique "bond" between Sakura/Sasuke.

All this lasted to the war arc. They twisted themselves in pretzels to argue about how Sasuke leaving Sakura to burn in lava and outright stating that her and Kakashi's lives didn't matter was him repressing his super secret feelings of care for her while attempting to downplay the mutual affection displayed in the SNS bond. Even the more "neutral" pro team 7 SS fans looked for ways to subtly denigrate SNS' bond. Sasuke makes no mentions of Sakura when the 10 tails is about to blow up the shinobi alliance? Who cares because at least Sakura's face doesn't have a cut across it (yes, they really did misinterpret pro SNS moments where Sasuke individuated Naruto as negative). And they did all this while making anti Sasunaru clubs and hiding in forums to complain about how SNS was getting too much focus in the manga (something older fans can attest to) because deep down many of them saw the writing on the wall.

Now SNS fans, on the other hand, displayed the critical reading skills that the SS fandom lacked — and I don't mean that facetiously. They picked up on the fact that it was significant that Sasuke lost control of himself when Naruto showed up. They understood the significance of Sasuke specifically asking about the status of the 9 tails given the prior context of Sasuke specifically needing to kill Naruto because he wanted to become stronger. They recognized that Naruto was specifically singled out with a cut precisely because he was special by picking up on the patterns peppered throughout the text. They also respected the Team 7 bonds established in Part 1 — they had no need to undermine it because there was a confidence in Naruto/Sasuke's relationship being special — while understanding the disadvantage in the fact that Sasuke and Sakura dynamic always included a "we" (see example from a 2008 analysis below). They knew there would be a reconciliation in which the tension between duty and desire would be resolved and would lead to Sasuke accepting his heart/inner child which would lead him to Naruto.

And lo and behold, 698 came and SNS fans were validated while SS fans were livid and angry. They complained and harassed SNS blogs and threw tantrums and cried about the manga being retconned. It's so easy for them to pretend they knew everything in hindsight, but the receipts don't lie. There has never been anyone more in denial about the core facts of the manga than SS/NH fans. Don't let them prevent you from supporting SNS. The SNS bond was validated.

Even to this day, they have never gotten over the fact that Sasuke confirmed their worst nightmares which is why they have to cope by literally cropping Naruto out of panels (Look at the 97 likes — and this is tame for them), spreading poor translations, and taking glee in the idea of Kishimoto not being the arbiter of canonicity, so they can take refuge in material not written by him, because they hate what he did write.

As I type this, they are getting made fun of in different languages and SS fans are coping by pretending that anyone who points out the dysfunction of their implied no kiss couple has has no literacy and is ignoring 700 chapters of development, the development in question being Sakura still acting infantile while Sasuke remains indifferent.

Why should you feel isolated because you want to support the main bond when SS fans even have to lie about the poorly written filler novels that were expressly created FOR them (eg. Sakura forcefully kissing Sasuke and then Sasuke immediately grabbing Naruto and leaving Sakura to fall off the motorcycle they were all riding on; A scene SS fans repeatedly lied about and repeatedly misrepresented).

Unfortunately I've nearly run out of images and I didn't even get to finish highlighting all of the lies of SS or discuss NH fans the way I wanted too but please, don't worry about the hate and the homophobia. A significant part of it is them lashing out because of insecurity.

Then and now, nothing has changed.

They hated the fact that Kishimoto wasn't concerned with Hinata's unrequited feelings and patiently waited for Sasuke to fade into oblivion so Naruto and Hinata could ride off into the sunset. When that didn't come, and Naruto prioritized Sasuke even after Hinata's confession, they took to harassing SNS fans. All they have is a retcon movie that Kishimoto wasn't even devoted to, which is why, in addition to lionizing scenes from the film, they even have to read panels incorrectly to achieve some satisfaction.

SNS is amazing and enough to keep me occupied, but another way of dealing with the hatred and homophobia (which is the main point of this post) is remembering why it's so rampant in the first place. The reason you feel gaslighted is because they are literally trying to rewrite history (these people have even lied about how much their novel sold and had to be corrected by a sale tracking account).

I haven't even scratched the surface, but you can see a few more examples here, here, here, and here. Giving in to their bullying is how the liars win. Don't let them!

[papasbaseball]

The Wizard x Reader (Wonderful Wonderful Girl) | Chapter 6

Pairing: Wizard x F!Reader

Rating: Teen (Rating to Increase)

Warnings: Power Imbalance, Boss/Employee Relationship

Summary: Being a maid in the Royal Palace of Oz is not half so bad. Despite the meager wages, everything else is provided for you for an honest day's work. It can be unnerving working for the most powerful man in Oz, but you are able to avoid him most of the time. This changes during Lurlinemas, your paths soon becoming inextricably intertwined.

Word Count: 2,514 of 15,526

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The carriage is at least twice as tall as the team of the six horses that pull it. It is flanked on both sides by four riders each that sit astride sleek black light horses. The carriage horses are spotted in such a way that the dapples trail in long and winding lines that create a dizzying effect when all eight of the steeds lock footsteps as they pull up to the palace. The parade of the highly ornamented blue and gold carriage and horses catches my eye from the sideboard that overlooks the main turnaround as I pour myself another cup of coffee. I bring my cup and saucer back to the oversized table where the Wizard and Humak Tigelaar sit, figuring that it must be some expected dignitary of the day.

"What?" The Wizard says, eyes still on his newspaper. "No coffee for me?"

I smile politely, trying to set the cup down with as little clinking as possible – he'd told me a few nights ago that I made far too much noise and was more like an animal at the table than a lady. "I didn't know you wanted more."

"Well... I could use a little bit of sugar," he says. He's looking at me over the tops of his golden-wired readers and somehow I think he's not talking about coffee anymore.

I feel aware of Humak’s eyes on the Wizard’s attempt to embarrass me and I push the coffee away, busying myself with the last bit of sausage that I was ignoring. "I saw a carriage pull up in the driveway," I say, cutting the piece of meat into smaller and smaller bites. Anything to change the subject.

"What?" the Wizard says. He noisily folds the newspaper into quarters, and soon he's out of his seat headed for the window. Despite his unnerved demeanor, I take a moment to admire how nice the white sleeves of his shirt look against his fitted deep green waistcoat. I'm pulled back to the table by Ambassador Tigelaar.

"Did you see who was in it?" Humak says timidly.

"No. Just some blue and gold carriage with some funny looking horses," I say. This causes Humak to push out of his chair and waddle after the Wizard toward the window. I take a bite of sausage, watching the two of them press against the sideboard to get a good look at the turnaround.

The Wizard soon hurries back over to the table, a panicked look on his face, and grabs his jacket from the back of the chair where it had been hanging on one of the wooden spindles. He lowers his voice and tells me, "You... uh, come with me." He's waving his hand frantically in a motion that is urging me to hurry up with my plate. I set my fork and knife down, placing my napkin on top. The Wizard directs his attention to Glafly, who had been standing by the door, waiting for Humak to finish his breakfast. "Uh... Glafly, take our ambassador back to his room. I have to inform our Wizard of some business."

Glafly nods and approaches the quickly deflating Humak Tigelaar as I am being pulled out of the room by the Wizard.

We wind our way through the Emerald hallways, taking passages I have never seen or noticed before. When we reach the throne room, I am out of breath. He pulls me through the many ropes of different shades of green that are obscuring a face made of many sheets of metal. I have never formally had an audience with Oz, but when I was elevated to working with the Wizard himself, Esmet had explained to us that the Wizard we worked for was not the reality for most people and that we were sworn to this secret under penalty of death. This metal giant must be that reality, I think.

"What's going on?" I ask, still winded. He drags us up a small metal staircase until we're standing on some kind of golden scaffolding that has a control panel and wires and warm lights illuminating the whole contraption.

"You, doll... just- just stay here and be quiet, okay? I gotta..." He doesn't say anything else, rather dashing back down the staircase.

The control panel glows with temptation. There are all sorts of buttons and wheels, levers and knobs, and they are all just itching to be pressed. I reach for them, but think better, snatching my hand back at the thought of what punishment might come from playing with them. Ever since the trip to the children's home with Bruno, I had been more mindful of the things that I said and did, worried that they might come for Fileah because of my words and actions.

I don't have to withstand the temptation for long as the Wizard quickly scrambles up the stairs again. "You didn't touch anything, did you?" he asks.

I shake my head, trying to hold fast to his quiet rule.

"Good girl," he says. He points to a corner of the scaffolding away from the control panel. "Just sit tight over there. This will be over soon."

There's the sound of the great doors opening and then shutting, what sounds like several footsteps, and then he flies into action. It's impressive how quickly he moves about the levers and wheels and the rest of the equipment as if he were still a spritely man of 20. He raises a microphone to his lips and a terrifying booming fills the throne room.

"I am Oz... the Great and Terrible." I can see the Wizard's lips moving, but it is not his voice. The voice breathes as if it were some nightmarish pipe organ, echoing in the confines of the throne room.

There is a pause, and then a voice that is light and somehow handsome speaks up. "I am Prince Fiyero Tigelaar of Winkie Country, heir to the Arjiki throne."

The Wizard is moving with ferocity again, and the ghastly voice booms once more. "Why have you come to the Emerald City?" This time, the ending is punctuated with an explosion. I jump and grip the spindles of the scaffolding, feeling a gust of heat that blows through the soft green vines.

"I received a letter. Is that not invitation enough?" Fiyero says.

"No. You must leave and do not come back," the booming voice says. Several blasts of heat punctuate that sentence.

I'm tempted to crawl from the spot I've been told to stay in, just long enough to get a glimpse of this Prince Fiyero, but think better of it. I need to remember not only to be on my best behavior for Fileah's sake, but also so that I can go visit her before Lurlinemas like I promised.

"I'm not leaving here without my cousin," Fiyero says. "You’ll find you'll be very sorry if you do not let him go."

I slowly creep up, steadying myself against the back railing, and through the eyes of Oz the Great and Terrible, I can see not just one, but at least a dozen or more men, surrounded by the Wizard's own elite Emerald Guard.

"NO ONE THREATENS OZ THE GREAT AND TERRIBLE!" The voice cracks like thunder and the explosion from the heat – which I can now see is from canons that breathe fire all around the room – knocks me back to my seated position in the corner. Once my legs stop shaking, I rise again to see the entourage that Prince Fiyero has brought with him is not standing quite so tall and sure either.

"Then let's not threaten," Fiyero says. "We can talk this out as friends."

The Wizard doesn't dignify that with a response besides another blast of hot air.

"We can just talk it out then," Fiyero says.

"There is nothing to talk about," the voice booms. “You must leave.”

"Your Ozness," Fiyero says, "Let's be honest: You want your firewood for your city, I want my cousin back. Even if you turn us away, nothing is to stop us from staying in your city until you let him go-"

"You will be removed," the voice says.

"You could," Fiyero says, "but you won't. It would make too much of a mess. Then you would have no wood and a mess on your hands."

The Wizard seems to be considering this, realizing what I am also realizing: it is too late. Whoever has let this smooth talker into the gates will probably disappear by tomorrow, never to be seen again, because Prince Fiyero is right: there is no way to end this mess-free besides negotiation.

A light blinks on the panel, and the Wizard curses under his breath. His hands move lightly across the panel, not putting as much force behind his movements as earlier. He speaks into the microphone again.

"We will negotiate, but until then you will be my guests," the voice says.

"A lot of good that did my cousin," Fiyero says. "Our guards will also be your guests."

"Yes, yes," the voice says, practically cutting him off. I can see a panicked look on the Wizard's face. "Guards, please find room for Prince Fiyero and his company. We will resume negotiations tomorrow. Tonight you will be our guests of honor."

I can hear a grunt from one of the Emerald Guards. Footsteps fill the room once more, and the Wizard keeps his hands on the control panel until there is the echo of the large doors closing once more. He slumps to the floor, back against the control panel, trying to catch his breath. An exhausted hand feels around at the top of the control panel and slaps a red button that creates a whirring sound that leaves us in complete darkness except for a few emergency lights.

I try to make sense of all that just happened, looking at him for any sort of answer. A weak but genuine smile spreads across his face.

"So what'd you think?" he asks me.

I try to find the words to express my awe of it all: the fact that I've witnessed what an audience with the Wizard of Oz looks like, even from the inside, the way he could bring a group of the finest soldiers in Oz to their knees. After a pause, I manage, "It was... incredible."

"Well you know..." he laughs sheepishly, "I am Oz the Great and Terrible."

"So how does it all work?" I ask.

"What? The..." he gestures in the darkness of the control platform. "All this?"

I pull myself up by the back railing and go to the now darkened control panel. The light that was once blinking has turned a solid red. Above it, there is a gauge labeled as "Fuel". I can't make out much of the buttons and levers in the dim light, but many of them have had bits and pieces of their labels worn away, some fully disappeared. Even if someone wanted to operate this machine, it would only truly ever serve one master. I look down at the Wizard, a smile on my face. "Can you show me?" I ask.

He's looking at me with an excited glint in his eyes and a genuine smile as he picks himself off the floor. The room is still toasty from the heat of the several fire blasts, but he steps behind me and I feel warmed anew as my back presses against his chest. His hands ghost over mine, and I can feel old scars that have healed with time as they guide my hands to unseen buttons and levers.

"It's out of gas," he says gently, "but if it had the juice..." Our right hands touch a group of buttons. "Here are the eyes. You can open and close them using the up and down buttons. Left and right are for brightness... It's a little fanciness I added." I press the buttons, even though they don't do anything, and I can hear their quiet clicking in the silence, followed by a snort from him.

"You said they'd be your honored guests tonight," I say.

"Mmm yes, " he says, guiding our right hands back to a wheel. "I'm having a Lurlinemas party tonight. Ironically, they couldn't have picked a better time to come busting down my doors – this is how the fuel is fed into the machine." Our hands spin the lifeless wheel. Nothing happens on account of the power being shut off. "I suppose he could have picked a better time when we weren't short on wood."

"I didn't know you were having a Lurlinemas party tonight," I say.

"I wanted to surprise you," he replies. The starched cotton of his sleeve presses against the bare skin of my arm as he guides our hands to a stout lever. "Here's where the fire comes from." We pull the lever and it springs back by itself. Nothing happens.

"What are you going to do about negotiating with him?" I ask.

He laughs and I can feel it fully – even if it is half-hearted – through the way his chest rumbles, his gentle breath that ruffles my hair, the way his guiding hand unsteadies. "You know, you ask a lot of questions..."

I had never considered it before, but his answer makes me think that even he doesn't know what he’s going to do. I'm pushing my luck with the topic of Fiyero and his guards, so I turn to look at him. His face has been completely shrouded in darkness, the glow of the emergency lights only touching the back of his head and shoulders. "How do you move the mouth?"

His breath catches, and for a second, I think that he's forgotten. "The lever here," he says, clearing his throat as he guides our hands to a well-worn wooden handle that is near the bottom of the control panel. "To speak you just..." Our right hands grab the microphone and bring it to my lips. I hold it there, unable to think of anything to say. Should I pretend to be him? What could I possibly say that would be worth hearing?

His right hand leaves mine and I can feel his thumb drag along my jaw until it touches my bottom lip. "Speak," he says lowly.

There goes my stupid heart again, pounding as if it had beats to spare. I know he's toying with me, but I can't help but shut down. My hand shakes as it sets the microphone down and I slip out from between him and the control panel. "I need to get ready for tonight."

I don't even wait to hear his reply before I fly down the scaffolding stairs, away from the rush that could lure any girl: the rush that comes with the touch of a lover in the privacy of a darkened corner. I run back up the flights and flights of stairs into my cold and not-so-fancy cell, where I'm greeted by Emily and a green velvet dress, already picked out.

[ceo-of-sloppy-women]

No grave can hold my body down; I'll crawl home to her

chapter 6

Chapter 7

“Sevika, slow down!” you demand, your legs straining to keep up with her broad strides. She’s storming through the street towards the grocer, weaving through people and dragging you behind her.

She huffs, slowing her pace marginally, still practically stomping toward the grocer. You eye her with concern – she had been fine a moment ago when she found you, granted she had been grumpy then, too, but not this grumpy. If she notices the weird look you’re giving her, she doesn’t call you out – in fact, she doesn’t say anything at all. She just keeps on power-walking to the grocer, dragging you along behind her by a hand around your arm. If you were more fool-hearted, you would almost call her jealous. Not that you’d call her out on it; you’re fairly certain if you did, her anger would come to a head, and she’d tear a strip off you in public. Or make you sleep in the Last Drop.

You’re not quite sure which is worse.

There aren’t many people in the grocery store, which puts you at ease. The street is swarming with people, and the quiet relief of the store feels like an oasis in a desert. Taking your time, you pick out everything you can think of without Sevika’s help (the most input she gives is when you ask yes or no questions about her cooking implements). Various breakfast items, what you’ll need for dinners, and, of course, tonight’s dinner. You decided to cook with steak, baked potatoes, baked beans and roasted carrots. Much to your delight, the baked beans had been canned by a local resident! You were beginning to doubt if canned beans really lasted longer than nine years.

Sevika remains silent and stormy throughout the entire grocery trip. Even as you’re marvelling at various canned foods, jerky, farm-fresh raw meat and vegetables you thought you’d never see before. No matter how many potatoes you shove in her face, grinning from ear to ear, Sevika continues to grouch. At least she carries the shopping basket for you.

Then, you grab a jar of honey off the shelf… or at least try to. She snatches it out of your hand and places it back on the shelf.

“We have honey at home, darling,” she growls, glaring down at you.

“Oh, so she can speak!” you huff, not quite willing to cave and let her smooth the last twenty minutes over. She can’t just sulk in silence for as long as she wants and then tease you with the pet name Grayson used!  

“Don’t need to waste my money on my own honey,” Sevika mutters, pushing you forward by nudging your back with the edge of the shopping basket.

You huff out a sigh and keep walking, picking up a few more things as you head to the till. Mostly, some spices and garlic to add a little flavour to tonight’s dinner. The silent treatment takes two, and if she wants to be a grouch, you can match her level.

The young woman working the till isn’t sure what to make of the two of you. She tries a friendly greeting, but when neither of you gives her a response more than a head nod, she fumbles, trying to make light conversation while awkwardly checking you out. When neither of you responds, she clams up and avoids making eye contact. The groceries are bagged and purchased in silence – a silence that follows you home.

Sevika puts away various groceries as you swipe back the ones you need for dinner. Her eyes sparkle at the steaks as if she’d expected you to keep them for another day or something foolish. Yet, when you don’t comment on her reaction, she storms off with a glass of whiskey as if she’d been waiting for you to bridge the gap. You, of all people! You weren’t the one throwing a hangry hissy-fit over nothing!

You place a chair in the entryway to the kitchen. It’s not much of a deterrent, but it gets your point across.

Luckily, cooking requires love and concentration. The Sevika’s grumpy attitude melts away from you like the butter in the carrot’s dish. Popping the window open, you let the chirping of birds and someone playing the guitar in the distance filter into the house. It lightens your mood considerably, giving you something to listen to instead of the tense silence of the house. Still playing the silent game, you resist the urge to hum along as you dance about the kitchen, grabbing spices, pots, pans and cooking utensils. A very generous spoonful of honey is added to the carrots and the baked beans, as well as the steak pan. Periodically, you hear banging as Sevika storms around the house restlessly. You shrug it off – if she really wanted back in the kitchen, she can come apologize.

It isn’t until you’re adding the steak to the pan, letting it devour the bubbling butter, salt, rosemary, honey and garlic, that you hear a cough at the entryway to the kitchen. You tilt your head slightly to find Sevika standing just behind the chair. She’s clutching her barely touched glass of whiskey to her chest, shoulders shrunk forward, head bowed, and wearing clean clothes. A button-up plaid shirt with red and black stripes, a white tank top, a purple carabiner and a pair of blue jeans with more than a few holes in them. She’s definitely playing dirty – the unbuttoned plaid shirt draws your attention to her white tank top tucked into her pants. The same white tank top that does nothing to hide the fact she’s not wearing a bra underneath it, her nipples pressing indents into the fabric. If she hadn’t pissed you off so thoroughly, you might have jumped her bones then and there, potential rejection be damned.

“Can I… come in?” she mumbles, as if it isn’t her kitchen, in her house, and you’re not cooking with food she bought with her money.

“Why should I let you?” you bristle, your defensive attitude from earlier rearing its ugly head. You refuse to let her win – even going so far as to purposely fix your glare on her face and nothing else.

“Because… I’m sorry,” she spits like the words taste foul on her tongue.

“For?” you push, minding the steaks so you don’t overcook them.

She sighs heavily, staring down at her drink and swirling it in her glass. There’s a long, silent moment filled only with the hiss of the steaks before she looks up at you, eyes wet around the edges and her lips pursed into a mournful frown.

“For giving you the silent treatment. I shouldn’t have done that – I know how you are with crowds and people and all that. I know better than that,” Sevika whispers, barely audible over the steaks as you flip them over. Your heart aches at her words despite your brain screaming at you to be upset with her. She’s extending an olive branch, are you really petty enough to cling to anger after an apology…?

You scrutinize her for a moment longer than you should, letting her squirm under your gaze until she ducks her head again. It satisfies the prickly thing in your chest that is still upset at her. Finally, you relent and ask: “How do you like your steak cooked?” 

“Rare,” she grunts, moving the chair aside. When you make no move to stop her, she steps into the kitchen, sighing a little that she’d read between the lines correctly.

Her fingers cradle your hip as she looks over your shoulder, glass set off to the side. You can feel her press against your back, the lightest touch that consumes you like wildfire as she hums with approval.

“That looks perfect, sweetheart.”

“It better be, took me so long that it’s dark out now,” you say, nodding your head to the window where the stars are twinkling. “I’m sorry, Sev’, we might not be able to see your bees tonight.”

“Nah, I’ve got two headlamps, we’ll be alright. The bees won’t care much if we take a little peak at them when the sun’s not out… unless you’d prefer to wait until tomorrow? We could always go before my patrol – if you’re alright with getting up before my patrol, that is. It’s pretty early in the morning.”

“How about we smoke something tonight and see the bees tomorrow? I’ll have to get up with you anyway. Vander and Silco told me to partner up with you until my printing press is ready,” you inform her, plating the steaks. They don’t need that long, especially if Sevika wants hers rare.

You let the wording hang in the air, unintentional connotations lacing your poor choice of words.

“Printing press?” Sevika asks, skipping over the accidental bait entirely. You groan internally – she can press her boobs against the back of your neck, but she can’t take the hint that even your subconscious wants to eat her pussy?!

“I used to be an archivist before the apocalypse. I’m already trained in preserving old texts; it’s a fitting job to reprint old books and make new ones. Mostly survival guides and the like –“ you take the carrots out of the oven – “Grayson’s making me a printing press for free if I’ll reprint her romance novels.”

Sevika nearly chokes on the sip of the drink she had dared to take. “Yeah, uh, printing press is a good idea,” she chuckles awkwardly, face flushed red.

“I think so too – it will be nice to have something new to read! I miss books… though finding lesbian romance books was always way too difficult. The market was always oversaturated by straight romances, but finding a good lesbian one felt like a needle in a haystack,” you continue, plating the carrots, beans and baked potatoes.

“Right,” Sevika coughs, scratching the back of her neck. “Had better luck finding a book than a girlfriend, though. Lot of casual, not a lot of commitment back then.”

You nod your head in agreement as you pass her a plate. “Not like it’s much easier to find a girlfriend now,” you giggle, pilfering the silverware drawer for a spoon, fork and knife.

Sevika mumbles something too low to properly make out. You only catch ‘I’ and ‘change.’ The clatter of the silverware as she grabbed herself a set didn’t help either.

“What was that?” you ask innocently.

“Said we should eat outside, back porch’s got a table on it,” she says, face remaining impassive as she nods her head to the door.

“We’ve got to get you a dining table,” you sigh, shaking your head as you step outside.

“Didn’t need one before. Can’t cook,” Sevika grunts, following you outside.

You find an old table outside with a few chairs around it. They’re plastic lawn chairs – the kind that won’t break down for thousands of years. They look to have recently been hosed off, scrubbed down and “redecorated” with various spray-paint colours. You recognize Jinx’s handiwork from a mile away, giggling a little as you take a seat. At least the table is wooden, so it doesn’t buckle under your knife as you cut your steak. Far better than you would have fared trying to cut a steak on your lap in the living room.

Sevika sits down across from you, tucking into her steak. You don’t even notice you’re watching her with bated breath until she freezes, a spoonful of beans halfway to her mouth and furrows her brow at you.

“What? Something on my face?”

“Oh! Shit – sorry! It’s… been a while since I cooked for someone. I guess I wanted to make sure it didn’t taste like ass,” you confess, ducking your head a little to shove a carrot into your mouth. You have to bite your tongue to hold back a moan – your carrots really have been missing honey for the past few years.

Sevika is quiet for a moment, the only sound between the two of you is the clacking of silverware. You shove steak into your mouth to prevent yourself from devolving into a rambling mess of apologies pre-emptively in case she doesn’t like you’re cooking.

“Can you cook dinner every night?” Sevika practically moans, and you blink at her with wide eyes. “I, er, your cooking’s really good. Better than my shitty attempts. Way better. If you get your own place, I might just come over every night for dinner.”

“Well, Silco did say the printing shop will take priority over a house of my own… so I can cook dinner as long as you keep buying the groceries.”

“Careful making promises like that, or I might not let you leave,” Sevika jokes, chuckling to herself as she takes another bite of steak.

You try not to fixate on the fact she said, “if you get your own place,” or how she doesn’t even try to weasel her way out of sharing her house with you. You’re pretty sure if you do fixate on it, it will end with you stripping down to your birthday suit and crawling across the table… which would be super embarrassing and definitely get you kicked out of her house. In a desperate bid to distract your brain, you shove more steak and beans into your mouth, doing your damndest to focus on the taste of your delicious cooking and not the sight of Sevika’s nipples poking out from under her shirt.

Sevika does the dishes without even being asked. You try to help by drying them, but she shoes you away, instructing you to take a seat on the couch and relax. You find yourself fidgeting in your seat, wanting to do more. Dishes clatter in the sink as Sevika rinses them off, putting them away in their various homes. It comes to a head quickly – you bolt from your seat and dash upstairs. The least you can do is change out of your clothes into something more… comfortable (as a little payback for Sevika dressing down). You throw on a sundress that complements your skin and almost reaches your knees, paired with knee-high socks you usually wear under your long underwear in the colder months and a cute but nonchalant hairstyle that frames your face. Satisfied with your little ensemble, you head back downstairs and take a seat on the couch.

It's much easier to wait when you’re giddy with anticipation for when Sevika walks through the door rather than worrying if you should have insisted on helping. You fidget with the dress, adjusting it so that it rides up slightly on your thighs and that the sleeves hang off your shoulders. Maybe it’s a little much… maybe you’re still trying to get some payback after her silent treatment.

When Sevika finally does come to join you in the living room, she freezes in the doorway. For a long and tense moment, she doesn’t speak, and you’re worried you somehow crossed a line. Then her lips split in a smirk and she crosses over to behind the couch. The barest touch of her finger tilts your head back as she looms over you.

She opens her mouth to speak and then a nervous tremor passes through her. The smirk falters into a smile, and she asks: “Do you want to go out for a smoke? I’ve got some stronger stuff than you had last night.”

To say you’re disappointed would be an understatement. Yet, you try not to let her see it – the nervous tremor lingers in your mind, making your heart ache. If she feels more comfortable playing this game of cat and mouse, who are you to force her to move faster? Especially when the game is oh-so fun.

“Is that a promise? I haven’t been able to afford the stronger stuff in ages,” you giggle, resting your head against her inner arm as she continues to tilt your face back.

“’Course it is. Do you take me for a liar?” Sevika gruffs, and you giggle again, kissing her inner wrist gently before standing up. She swallows thickly, pulling her hand back to her side slowly.

“Well? What are you waiting for then?” you ask before flouncing your way to the back porch.

Sevika takes a minute before joining you, making you wait outside in the cool night air, watching the stars in civilization’s warm embrace. You get comfortable on the porch swing, letting it rock back and forth with a soft smile on your lips. The backdoor creeks open, and you barely lift your head as Sevika sits down next to you tentatively. Glancing to the side, you realize why; without thinking, you had only left enough space to your right, forcing her to sit with her most vulnerable side facing you. Her amputated arm doesn’t bother you at all. However, this is clearly bothering her. In an effort to reassure her, you squish closer, resting your head on her shoulder. She freezes for a moment, eyes flickering down to you with a pinched brow, dubbie held between her frozen fingers.

“You going to light that or what?” you grunt, hoping normalcy will smooth the tense moment over.

“Impatient, are we?” Sevika chuckles, placing the dubbie between her lips. The lighter flickers in the dark night, illuminating her face in a warm glow for the briefest moment.

She takes the first drag, blowing it out through her nose. You take it from her fingers as she passes it over to you, pulling a long drag that curls up into the sky upon your exhale. Sevika slowly starts to calm down, relaxing into the porch swing as you melt into her side. Eventually, her head slumps to the side and rests on top of yours as both your bodies become tingly and light. When the dubbie burns out, she squishes it into the ashtray and closes her eyes with a satisfied hum. You mimic her, swinging your legs over top of hers so you are partially sitting in her lap. She chuckles and rests her hand on your legs, thumb stroking your bare skin. Worming your arm along the back of the porch swing, you play with the hairs growing at the base of her skull, twisting them around your fingers.

The night chitters and stretches on, coyotes howling in the distance, horses braying in the stables, and crickets chirping. You sigh with relief, shutting your eyes and letting the safety of Zaun wrap around you. Sevika hums in agreement, kissing the top of your head absentmindedly. In your chest, your heart flutters at the gesture, wanting to push up and meld your lips against hers until your bodies become one. Instead, you remain cuddled up against her side, hand slowly snaking around her torso to hold her waist.

“Sevika,” you start, and she hums in acknowledgement. “I know this is a personal question – so you don’t have to answer if you don’t want. But… everyone keeps avoiding me about how you lost your arm –“ Sevika stiffens against you, her thumb ceasing – “You don’t owe me an explanation. Honestly, I won’t bring it up again if you don’t want me to. I’m here to listen if you do, though.”

“Jeez, you really know how to ruin a perfect high,” Sevika jokes, huffing out a forced chuckle.

“Sorry, you don’t –“

“Nah, it’s alright. Kinda one of those things I don’t like telling people, and I don’t like being asked, but you’re cute, so I’ll let you get away with it. So long as you promise not to tell Jinx.”

“Why?”

“Because she thinks I lost it in the explosion saving her and Vi’s asses, and that’s how she’s going to remember it until she’s old enough to not feel guilty about what actually happened. This is something her dads and Vi decided on – I’d tell the little shit if I didn’t think they were going to murder me for it,” Sevika explains soberly, squeezing your knee.

“I won’t tell her, I promise,” you murmur, continuing to play with the tiny strands of her hair.

“Good,” Sevika grunts, nodding her head. “I lost it back when the world went to shit. I was working at the bar when a few of the patrons turned into the gone. Back then, we didn’t know what an incubator or stumbler even was – people came in sick or ravenous all the time. They paid their tabs and tipped well, who were we to turn them away? But, then that ravenous hunger turned from any food to anything and all of a sudden, Silco was screaming because a patron just tried to eat his leg. Vander got his gun; I ran upstairs to get the kids. That message came through just moments after I’d gotten them from their beds. Powder saw it – er, Jinx used to go by Powder… it’s a long story – anyway, Powder saw the message and started freaking out. I was so focused on her breakdown that I didn’t notice Milo and Clagger were…” she trails of and reaches for another dubbie, her fingers shaking.

You help her light it, your heart aching in your chest. You hadn’t heard those names mentioned before. If this story is going where you think you aren’t sure, you want to know. The infection had two stages before it got bad: incubators and stumblers. Incubators are just sick – fighting off the infection but not yet succumbed. They can’t turn anyone. Stumblers are trapped in their own bodies, ravenous and eating anything (even garbage) with the exception of flesh. It wasn’t until they worsened into “the Gone” that they started eating flesh, with many widely speculating that the person they once were no longer existed.

After a beat, Sevika continues, passing you the dubbie: “Milo and Clagger had been sick for a while before then. We had thought they’d gotten better when their appetites returned. It wasn’t until… it wasn’t until I was up there, too distracted by comforting Powder, that one of them lunged at me, and I knew. Vi helped me fight them off, but I could see in her eyes that those were still her brothers – adopted be damned. We hadn’t even noticed that Powder had grabbed one of her experiments until she had lugged it at the ‘people’ attacking Vander downstairs. Then it all went to shit. I grabbed both of them, trying to shield them from the blast as the bar went up in flames. Vander and I barely got everyone out in a frenzy of adrenaline. Grayson showed up with a police van and shouted us to get in – we didn’t think twice; the bar was burning, and the world was ending. Thought it was a police evacuation at first, until she admitted she’d stolen the van to get people to safety when the police system crumbled. We drove all day and night to get out of that city, the car deathly silent until we were sure it was safe to breathe.”

Sevika’s voice starts to waver, and she breaks off, taking another heavy drag before continuing: “We stopped at an abandoned town for supplies. My arm was killing me, so I rolled up the sleeve and found a fucking bite mark sprouting purple veins. Silco caught me, and the two of us shared a horrified look – we used to watch old zombie movies together on the bar’s shitty little TV during slow days. He kept the kids distracted while Grayson and Vander cut my arm off. We didn’t want to worry them that I was going to turn and they were going to lose yet another family member. So, we told them my arm had been too damaged from the explosion to keep without putting me at risk. Over the years, Powder interpreted that as meaning she’d blown my arm off while saving everybody. We let her think that – it felt cruel to tell her that she’d gotten me infected. Especially when we caught it in time.”

“I’ve never heard of someone preventing infection through an amputation,” you mumble, unsure what to say to that. You know Sevika would not appreciate you saying, ‘I’m sorry that happened to you,’ but you didn’t want to seem like you were avoiding her story.

“Guess I’m just lucky,” Sevika shrugs, offering you the dubbie. You take it and inhale a small drag. “Thanks for listening, by the way. Not many people around I can tell that story to. Not many I want to tell. It feels good to tell someone who wasn’t there when it happened… I swear, sometimes Vander still looks at me as if I could have saved Milo and Clagger. It’s not as if I chose to leave them there! They were infected, and taking them with us would have meant endangering Jinx and Vi! It’s just…” she trails off with a frustrated sigh.

“You wish you could have done more for them? That you’d know before and helped them in some way?” you finish for her, passing her back the dubbie.

“Yeah. That.”

“I know how you feel… my parents were infected. They were – they would have had a better chance out here than me. Mom knew about plants, gardening and survival skills. Dad knew about building, camping and hunting. Some days, it feels like it should have been them instead of me. Some days, I wish I hadn’t circled back to their house and found them…”

Sevika squeezes your knee: “It isn’t either of our faults. Life just happens. Things go to shit and there’s not much we can do about it.”

“We can keep living, that’s a start,” you point out, resting your head on her shoulder again.

“Yeah… that’s all we can do,” Sevika murmurs, exhaling smoke. “You got enough ammunition for tomorrow’s patrol, or do we need to stop by the arms storage before heading out?”

You giggle at how she breaks the tension once more with a non sequitur. “Don’t worry, I’ve got everything I need for tomorrow. Thanks for checking.”

“Would be pretty fucked up if you got bit tomorrow after all that,” Sevika grunts with a light shrug.

[honeyfarts666]

A Party Most Vile

Lucius Verus x OFC

Mutual non-con, slavery, public sex, aftercare, shame

Read it on Ao3 or under the cut ↓

Summary: Lucius is brought to a villa to be the entertainment for a party. But it will be a different kind of performance than what he's used to.

Excerpt: The hostess took the girl’s hand and brought her to stand in front of Lucius with her back to the platform. The girl was a pretty, young thing; she couldn’t have been more than eighteen. Her long, black hair was loose about her shoulders. Timidly, she stole a glance at Lucius and their eyes met for a single moment before she quickly glanced away again. Her eyes betrayed how frightened she was. But she stood firm despite her fears. She didn’t shake or tremble once. Not even as the hostess pulled off her robe and exposed her body to the entire room.

@perplecta

Roman women were almost as perverse as Roman men. Sometimes more, depending on the situation. This, Lucius quickly discovered, was on such situation. Macrinus brought him to the villa of some Senator. The Senator was nowhere to be found, but his wife was hosting a lavish party. The entertaining room was a large hall. All the guests sat on cushions in a circle around a raised platform in the center. The guests were exclusively women, all noble patricians donned in the finest linens, with their curls pinned up in elaborate styles. When Lucius was brought into the entertaining room, several of them squealed in delight like little girls. The women laughed and whispered amongst each other, constantly turning back to Lucius to steal another glance.

As the hostess approached them, Marcinus slapped Lucius’s shoulder and said, “Give them a good show!”

Before Lucius could respond, the hostess was in front of them. “My, Macrinus! Your specimens never disappoint, but I can already tell this one is special.” She was a middle-aged woman. Her chestnut hair was strewn with a few streaks of gray. Smile lines fanned out from the edges of her eyes. She would have been lovely if she didn’t try to conceal her age with so much make-up.

“He is,” Macrinus agreed. “Try to bring him back in one piece!” Macrinus and the hostess laughed.

Lucius was deeply confused. What was his purpose here? He could see no other man for him to fight. And even so, he was certain the women gathered were not here to see a gladiator battle. As he wondered, the hostess wrapped her hand around his bicep and squeezed. She ran her hand up his shoulder and down his chest, savoring the feel of his lithe body. Lucius was caught off guard. Had he been brought here to fuck this woman? He was so distracted, he didn’t even notice Macrinus leave the hall.

The hostess took his hand and said, “Come,” before leading him into the center of the circle. The other women quieted when it became clear the show was about to start. His chest was already bare, but the hostess let her hands wander down to his waistline and untied the knot that held his britches in place. Without any fanfare, the hostess let his britches fall around his ankles. Silently, Lucius kicked them away. At the sight of his bare body, another gasp leapt from the gathered women. “Go on,” the hostess encouraged him, “Let them see you. Give them a little spin.”

Numbly, Lucius spun in a slow circle. The last time he had been naked in front of a woman, it had been his wife the night before she died. He had only lain with two other women before her, and he had no desire to know any other. But it seemed that he wouldn’t have a choice. These ravenous women were demanding sex, and there would be no escape for him. In the back of his mind, he worried that he might not be able to get hard in front of so many eyes. But more than the audience, he felt no desire whatsoever for the aging woman before him. The sheer fact that she would organize such an event repulsed him.

But the hostess made no move to undress. Instead, she clapped her hands twice. Instantly, a slave girl walked forward into the center of the circle. The hostess took the girl’s hand and brought her to stand in front of Lucius with her back to the platform. The girl was a pretty, young thing; she couldn’t have been more than eighteen. Her long, black hair was loose about her shoulders. Timidly, she stole a glance at Lucius and their eyes met for a single moment before she quickly glanced away again. Her eyes betrayed how frightened she was. But she stood firm despite her fears. She didn’t shake or tremble once. Not even as the hostess pulled off her robe and exposed her body to the entire room. A blush colored her cheeks and she shut her eyes as the noble women whispered remarks on her body. Lucius was certain the other women must be jealous. She was easily the most beautiful woman in the room. She had no need for the thick make-up or gaudy jewelry that caked the noble women. Her breasts were small but perky. Her rosey nipples peaked through her long hair. Her skin was a gentle, olive tone and it looked so soft. Unbidden, Lucius felt his cock stirring. Shame poured through him upon the realization. How could he feel desire at a time like this? He was no better than the demented women that watched them.

The hostess picked up a small jar in one hand and then took Lucius’s cock in the other. Lucius exhaled sharply through his nose and repressed a gasp. He had been so wrapped up on the slave girl that he had lost focus. The hostess poured oil from the jar over his cock and gave him a few steady pumps with her hand. Lucius gritted his teeth, trying desperately not to give away how good it felt. Even still, his cock quickly became erect and he felt lust coursing through him. He couldn’t deny it. Even if his mind knew better, his body wanted a good fuck. It had been so long. As the hostess gave him one final pump, she leaned next to his ear and whispered, “Show us how a savage takes a woman.” As she pulled away from him, Lucius couldn’t help but turn to her and meet her eye. She gave him a devilish smile and nodded before she backed away and took a seat among the women.

Lucius instantly understood her meaning. They wanted to watch him rape the girl. He tried to think of a way out of the situation. But his mind was blank. He was stuck and the only way out was forward. The girl glanced up at him again in frightened anticipation. He didn’t want to hurt her. A sweet girl like her should be fucked gently on a soft bed. Not on a hard platform in front of an audience. But she was stuck just as much as he was. It would be better for both of them if he got this over with as quickly as possible. He set his jaw and took a step forward, eliminating the space between them. The girl gave him a pleading look of uncertainty and he knew he wouldn’t be able to do this while looking into her soft, doe eyes. With a deep breath, he put his hands on her hips and forced her to turn abruptly. She let out a soft gasp but didn’t fight him, for which he was grateful. He didn’t think he would be able to stomach forcing himself on a girl who was kicking and screaming.

She was perfectly submissive to him as he bent her over the platform. She quickly scrambled to pull her knees onto the wooden beams. She put her ass in the air, spreading her legs just enough to grand him access. The action reassured him that she wasn’t a virgin. She must have been fucked before if she knew how to position herself. He hoped it hadn’t been another party like this one. As much as Lucius would have liked to spend a few minutes sinking his teeth into the flesh of her ass and getting her nice and wet for him, he knew that wasn’t the reason they were there. He waisted no time and lined his cock up to her entrance. She flinched when she felt his length slide along her lower lips. He pushed in, but the oil made his cock slip out and slide up to tease her bud. The girl let out a low moan and unconsciously ground her hips on his length. He readjusted. He held the girl’s hip with one hand and his cock with the other as he pushed into her. She was tight. She was so fucking tight. And warm and wet and perfect. She let out a beautiful, little cry as he pressed his entire length into her.

Lucius tried to block out the noise of the women whispering around them. He tried to not let his eyes focus on them. He pretended they weren’t there. That was easier than accepting the reality of his situation. He chose to lose himself in the feeling of the girl. Her softness, her hot cunt gripping him like they really were lovers. His first few thrusts were slow and gentle. Opening her up so he wouldn’t damage her. But he couldn’t ignore the hostess’s request. They wanted to see savagery. And he also couldn’t ignore how much he wanted her. Desire burned in his chest and threatened to burst. She felt like she had been formed by the gods just for him. He picked up his pace, holding her with a hand on each of her hips. She bowed her head and arched her back, taking him so well. She released beautiful, little mewls of pleasure each time he thrust into her.

If the party guests wanted to see savagery, then he would give it to them. He grabbed the girl’s hair in his fist and pulled. The girl gave a startled cry and many of the guests gasped in delight. Lucius pounded into her relentlessly. Her over-arched back gave him easy access to the depths of her cunt and she tightened even more. He strained not to finish right then and there. She was practically begging for his seed with how tight she was. Then, she let out the most perfect moan he had ever heard. Somehow, he drove into her faster, pounding his cock into her tiny, little hole. His balls slapping her bud with each thrust. He knew he was about to come at any moment. And then, the girl let out a sharp cry and her walls clenched around him. She trembled and quaked, fighting the pleasure even as it overtook her. He thought she had been tight before, but he didn’t know the half of it. He could barely move his cock at all. He was stuck inside her as she came, pulsing and gushing her sweet wetness all over his cock.

And with that, he couldn’t fight his release anymore. He tumbled after her, thrusting his cock in as deep as he could go. He wanted to feel all of her and he wanted her to feel all of him. His cock twitched again and again, letting out ropes of his hot seed deep within her ripe cunt. With a desperate moan, he felt her body relax. Her grip around him softened and he could move again. He thrust in and out lazily as the final drops of his spend left his body. He released his grip on the girl’s hair and she slumped forward.

The gathering of women burst into applause. Lucius was sharply thrust back into reality. He glanced around the room, and the lustful, smiling faces nearly made him sick. He saw the hostess stand and bow to the applause, as if she had anything to do with it. He turned back to the girl. The girl that he was still inside of. She had one cheek pressed against the wood of the platform and the other was turned up where he could see her. Her eyes were closed, but a single tear trailed down her cheek. The horror of what he’d done settled over him. Slowly and gently as he could, he pulled out of her. The girl whimpered but kept her eyes closed. He put what he hoped was a comforting hand on the small of her back and rubbed slow circles into her skin.

“Ladies,” the hostess announced, “Hanno, the savage of Numidia!” Even more applause fills the air. Lucius could barely hear it. He could barely feel anything. He looked down at his hands and saw they were shaking. Then, he heard the hostess saying, “Clear the room for the next pair!” He understood then that he was supposed to leave. He turned to walk toward the door, his only thought was to bring an end to this nightmare. Then, he heard a thud behind him and many of the women laughed cruelly. He turned over his shoulder and saw the girl sprawled on the ground. Her legs had given out under her and she lay helpless on the floor. The laughter of the women enraged him and his heart ached for the girl.

He turned and walked back to her. He knelt down and lifted the girl into his arms. She was a small thing and was hardly any burden for him to carry. She cringed slightly when he first put his hands on her, but she quickly melted into his embrace. She put her arms around his neck and buried her face there. He walked from the hall as quickly as he could. Leaving that vile party behind. No one stopped him as he walked through the door. Nor when he turned down another hall and then another. He didn’t know where he was going, but he only knew that he needed to get away. Far away.

Eventually, he entered an empty room. It was a small, storage room and there was only a little light that managed to filter in from down the hall. Lucius sat down in the corner, feeling more protected there. The girl was shaking in his arms. She trembled and then her tears started flowing. She sobbed against him and all he could do was hold her. He stroked her shoulders and hair, praying that she found his touch comforting. He didn’t want to hurt her any more than he already had.

He buried his face into her hair, feeling the soft strands and smelling the lavender water she had bathed in. And then, he felt himself shaking in time with her sobs. He cried too. He felt hot tears drip down his face and land in her hair. She must have felt his tears, for she nuzzled her cheek against his neck and sighed. It was a sad, little noise. But there was affection in it too. They didn’t need to speak. She understood that he hadn’t wanted this either.

Lucius wasn’t sure how long they sat there. At least an hour. Maybe longer. At some point they had stopped crying, but neither had felt compelled to move. Despite what had happened, it was the only intimacy Lucius had known since coming to Rome and he wasn’t ready for the moment to end. He wasn’t ready to sever the fragile connection they had formed. It felt wrong. Suddenly, a servant came into the room to get something. When the servant saw them, he gasped. Lucius picked up a small jar and threw it at the servant’s head. The man ducked and the jar smashed on the wall behind him. “Get out!” Lucius bellowed and the servant scrambled out of the room.

The girl let out a whimper and nuzzled against him again. Lucius knew that it was only a matter of time before one of their masters were summoned. He held the girl as tight as he could, stroking his hand over her exposed back. Trying to give her comfort. Knowing that their time together would be over soon. “What’s your name?” he whispered to her.

The girl shifted and looked up at him. Her eyes were still frightened, but she had calmed down. “Naevia,” she replied quietly.

He said her name to commit it to memory, “Naevia.” Then, after a moment, he replied, “I am Lucius.”

Her brow furrowed slightly, but she nodded, “Lucius.”

They settled into silence again. Naevia rested her head against his shoulder, and he rested his cheek against the top of her head. They did nothing but listen to each other breath.

Less than ten minutes passed before Macrinus entered the room. He walked in cautiously. Lucius glared up at him and held Naevia even tighter. “Hanno,” Macrinus said slowly, “Let the girl go and get up.”

Lucius tore his eyes away from Macrinus and glared at a crate in front of him instead. If it had been Naevia’s mistress who came to get them, he would have bent more quickly. He didn’t want her to be punished. But Macrinus could see that it was all him. It was his defiance alone.

“Hanno,” Macrinus warned. But still, Lucius kept his eyes fixed on the crate, intent on ignoring his master to his own detriment.

“Lucius!” Macrinus said firmly. That got his attention. Lucius’s eyes snapped to Macrinus’s. He had no idea that his master knew his true identity. He saw the sick gleam of victory in Macrinus’s eye. “Get up and put the girl down,” his master ordered.

Lucius’s breath came heavily through his nose. He knew if he resisted any longer, there would be serious consequences. And if Macrinus knew who he was, he could inflict untold damage. Slowly, he gathered Naevia into his arms and straightened his stiff legs. Once he was standing, he let Naevia’s legs down to the ground but kept one arm wrapped around her back. For her part, she didn’t seem to want to leave him either. She clung to him and pressed her naked body into his. Macrinus lowered his brow and gave Lucius a look that let him know he was still not obeying. He released the arm around Naevia and she whined at his loss.

Macrinus nodded to someone standing just outside the door. Two slave women entered and pulled Naevia away from him. Naevia cried, but she allowed herself to be pulled away. She glanced at Lucius one last time as she was escorted through the door.

Lucius and Macrinus were left alone. Macrinus gave Lucius a baffled looked and asked, “What was that?” Lucius couldn’t respond. All he could do was breath. If he did anything else, he was afraid he would snap. “You performed well enough,” Macrinus continued, “And then, you run away with the slave girl?” Macrinus waited for a response but Lucius didn’t give him one. “What has gotten in to you?” Macrinus demanded.

Lucius swallowed hard and said, “You know my name?”

Macrinus gave him a sickly smile and replied, “Yes, I’ve known who you are for some time. It was fairly obvious after your mother came to visit you.”

Lucius gave him a curt nod. He should have known a visit from the former emperor’s daughter wouldn’t go unnoticed. It was foolish to hope his identity could stay a secret. He had never felt more exposed in his whole life and it had nothing to do with his nakedness. He was completely under Macrinus’s thumb.

“Clearly,” Macrinus continued, “This experience hasn’t been good for you. So, we’ll keep you in the Colosseum from now on, alright?”

Lucius nodded in response. That, at least, was some small relief.

-

A guard put Lucius in irons and shoved him into the carriage that had brought him to the villa. Macrinus watched with one eye as he said his farewells to the hostess. As an afterthought, he turned back to her and asked, “The girl Hanno bedded?”

The hostess hummed in response, “What about her?”

Macrinus grinned and said, “I’d like to buy her.”

AN: HELLOOO!

You know, I never really noticed Paul Mescal before this movie but now I am lowkey obsessed! What can I say? I love a man covered in blood! Anyway, I just really wanted to write a fic for Lucius that incorporated all the trauma he must have been feeling. But also something that is pornography because I am a sinner lol

[edosianorchids901]

A Lie Agreed Upon

@flashfictionfridayofficial prompt - "noticing small things"

Cw: PTSD, depression

Sherlock Holmes noticed practically everything, especially the small things. It hadn’t taken Watson very long to become aware of that feature of his new roommate.

He had only assisted Holmes with one very interesting case, and listened to him chatter about a few simpler ones, but it was abundantly clear that this was a man who paid attention to all that happened around him. Even when it seemed as if Holmes was lost in thought, he picked up on so many small details that it made Watson’s head spin.

And if Holmes noticed all those small things, as he surely did, then he must have noticed that Watson was utterly falling apart.

Falling apart wasn’t new. The wounds that Watson had suffered in war had plagued him since, and a bout of fever nearly claimed his life. Nightmares struck often, and he sometimes slipped into what seemed to be waking dreams, dreams of the battlefield.

Holmes must have noticed. They had been living together for nearly two months now, after all. But he hadn’t pointed it out, or even shamed Watson for his weakness.

That was not to say that he ignored the problems completely. Sometimes, Watson awakened from a nightmare to the sounds of his favorite violin music being played downstairs. And when his leg and shoulder nearly incapacitated him, Holmes would casually fill his pipe or pour his tea. This, too, was never commented on.

Watson said thank you, of course, and received a quick flash of a smile in return. But no questions, no judgement, no pressure.

Another month passed in the same fashion before something changed. As he sat in his armchair reading, something came loose in his mind, and he tumbled back to the battlefield. To the blaze of agony in his shoulder and leg, screams of the dying, stench of blood. He couldn’t find his way home.

A hand settled on his uninjured shoulder, a featherlight touch. “Watson.”

Watson jolted out of the memory, trembling and gasping. He looked up at once, and found Holmes hovering beside him. Intense eyes gazed down at him, full of concern.

“I’m all right,” Watson said quickly. There were tears on his cheeks, and he wiped them away with a rush of shame. “I’m fine, my dear fellow.”

Holmes blinked once, studying him, and squeezed his shoulder so gently that it was hardly perceptible. Then, with a quick smile, he sprang into his own armchair and sat cross-legged. “I have just received a fascinating telegram regarding a possible case, Watson. Would you care to hear it?”

“I should like to, yes,” Watson managed, still shaken.

Immediately, Holmes launched into reading the telegram, and Watson relaxed. What a relief it was to be with someone who would allow him the small lie of pretending to be all right.

---

John Watson was not, in comparison to Holmes, a particularly observant man. He had no ability to distinguish between types of mud or tobacco ash, and was startlingly unaware of vital things like footprints.

In comparison to most people, however, Holmes found Watson refreshingly bright. And not only bright, but eager. He may not understand the significance of a slightly deeper left print, but he happily listened to Holmes’ explanations. And when he listened to the explanations, some of that dreadfully haunted look left his eyes.

He had also proved surprisingly attentive in some matters. He noticed when Holmes was struggling to eat, and would often coax him by offering something more tolerable like biscuits. He even seemed to quickly become aware of Holmes’ patterns of mood, and struck up interesting conversations during the blacker moments.

In short, Watson might not notice every small detail, but he noticed enough to try to help. And that left Holmes with little doubt that he noticed when the despair of inactivity became so severe that Holmes fell apart completely.

This was one of those horrible, long stretches between cases. Darkness closed in, each action seeming increasingly meaningless. Why bother eating, or drinking, or even sleeping? It was not as if Holmes had anything to do. It was simpler just to lounge in his armchair, suffering. At the moment, he did not even wish to play his violin. He wished only to weep, and did so.

Anyone could have noticed this change in behavior—had they been paying attention. In Holmes’ experience, most did not. Mycroft did, but their parents had not paid enough attention to the mere existence of their own children to notice any change in habits. Most people were similarly unaware.

This did not trouble Holmes much, as there was nothing that they could do anyway. So when Watson’s bed creaked upstairs, and his footsteps thumped unevenly across the floor, Holmes attempted to find the willpower to collect himself.

He could not. He managed to stop crying, but even raising a hand to wipe his cheeks seemed utterly beyond him. No matter how much he wished to do so, he could not force himself to move. The melancholy was too strong, weighing him down.

Watson came into the room, and paused. Holmes kept his gaze down, hoping that Watson would assume he was lost in thought.

But then a hand settled on his shoulder, the touch careful. Watson had noticed that he did not like to be touched, it seemed. “Holmes? Are you all right?”

It was not a demand, merely an expression of concern. Holmes managed a quick smile, although not eye contact. “Yes. I’m all right.”

It was an utter falsehood, but Watson did not press. After picking up the ignored newspapers, Watson settled in his armchair with a groan. “Now, let’s see what we have in today’s agony column. Would you like me to read to you?”

Holmes gestured that he should, and settled back to listen. There were many ways of expressing care, and sometimes the best was to permit the occasional lie.

[smittenmeraki]

I am currently laying in bed with a fever unable to sleep and Jerejean is haunting my brain...

I can play this lil scene in my head where Jean has been kinda off all day. Flinching away from everyone, hesitant to look anyone in the eyes, nearly shoved Jeremy to the ground because he accidentally snuck up beside him. After they get home Jean goes straight for his room, not bothering to turn on the light, he just hides away behind a mostly closed door. Jeremy notices the crack letting a little light in and takes it as an invitation. 'He cant really want to be alone if he didnt lock us out, maybe I can do something' so Jeremy creaks the door open and Jeans sitting on the floor, back against the bed with his head on his knees.

"Do you want to talk about it?" He doesnt respond "I cant help if I dont know the problem." He stirs a bit at this but doesnt move.

"This. You, the girls, I dont know how much i can handle" Jeremy barely hears him, he doesnt ever actaully open up, not fully. The panic sets in because Jeremy cannot mess up this opportunity, hes letting him help. But he doesnt understand what he means, so he walks over and sits across from him.

"What did we do wrong, so we can fix it. The last thing we want is to hurt you"

"Thats it, you haven't. I keep waiting for the other foot to drop, for someone to snap. I am Jean Moreau, I have never had...this. Kindness, the feeling of being..."

"Loved. Jean you are loved. By me, by Cat and Laila and Kevin. The pretty girl in the picture and I'm sure so many more. I know that must be terrifying given what you have endured, but that doesn't mean its bad. We will teach you how to be loved." Jeremy reaches out to him, gently making him look up. "You are going to be okay. Maybe not now, but one day" Jean looks up at him with tear filled eyes, so close to breaking. Unable to think of any other proof he could give him, he gives him a soft kiss on top of his head. Jeremy doesnt miss the jagged breath Jean takes and for a moment he thinks he messed up, but in the quietest voice hes ever heard from him, Jean asks "again?" So he does, he kisses his forehead, then his temple, his cheek, the other cheek, then he pulls his hands up and litters kisses over the scars on his knuckles.

"You are Jean Moreau" another kiss to his left hand "and you do not have to be scared." He leans forward and kisses his nose, "You are my Partner," the scar on his eyebrow, "you are Cat and Laila's roommate," The tears fall, "you are not a raven," he kisses those away, "and you are not what they did to you." Holding his face in his hands Jeremy makes him look him in the eye, "You are Jean Moreau and you deserve to be loved." To this, he lets it all out, breaking into a silent sob and he wraps himself around Jeremy, so he pulls him closer, puts a hand in his hair and whispers "I got you" over and over until he falls asleep.

I don't even know of this would be in character, I am not lying when I say I am delusionally sick, but I really hope we get another, more in depth moment of Jeremy conforming Jean (or vice versa 👀) 19 was a rough age for me and I didnt go through a quarter of the truama he did, he honestly needs so many more hugs.

[solarhysm]

DUST OF US #DRABBLE - JUNGKOOK AND YOU TALK ABOUT THE FUTURE

> synopsis: 7 years ago Y/N broke Jungkook’s heart when she decided to end their relationship without an explanation. When they meet again at a friend's wedding, after almost a decade, Jungkook needs answers to move on.

> pairing: Jungkook x reader

> genre: romance, ex to lovers au

> warnings: explicit languages, violence, smut, cheating, nsfw, angst, +18 minors dni !!

> word count: 1K

MAIN STORY HERE.

*french writer, i apologize in advance for my awful english!

AGE: 19 years old.

Trailing your fingers along Jungkook’s arm, you roll to your side to face him. His eyes are closed, enjoying the warm breeze of the beach. You spend your afternoon in the water and now you’re both laying on the towel, still slightly wet and sticky from the salt. Propped up on your elbow, your eyes trace his features.

“Are you sleeping?” You ask softly, your thumb brushing his bottom lip before his tongue licks the dry skin of his mouth.

“Yes.” He mumbles, and you roll your eyes, leaning in to nuzzle your nose against his cheek.

“It’s our last week in Busan,” You whisper, and he opens an eye to look at you.

“Really? I wonder how I didn’t notice,” He says sarcastically, and you slap his chest playfully. Jungkook huffs dramatically, pretending to roll on his side.

“You’re not funny.” You groan, sitting up to stare at the shore. “It’s a big step. We’ll only see our families during the holidays.”

Jungkook sighs and sits up too, pressing a few kisses to your shoulder before resting his chin on it. You’ve spent your whole life in Busan, and now you’re leaving for Seoul to pursue your medical license and open your own tattoo shop. Jungkook, meanwhile, has applied to a few universities in Seoul, but since he’s on the waiting list, he decided to find a job so you two could live comfortably.

“Are you sad to leave your father?” He asks softly, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you closer to his chest.

“A little.” You admit, taking a deep breath. “But we’re building our future, right?”

“Yeah.” He smiles, tilting his head so you can meet his gaze. “Together. Think about it: you’re upset now, but imagine your father’s smile in a few years when we visit him – with a bunch of little monsters.”

A slight smile curves your lips, and you turn to face him, raising a brow.

“We’re about to move in together, and you’re already thinking about kids?”

“What? A man can dream.” He teases. You shake your head, and wrap your arms around his shoulders, nuzzling your nose to his.

“Yeah? How many?” You play along, earning a grin from him.

“Hm… I don’t know. As much as you want. You’re the one who’ll have to bear them, so it’s your choice.” He replies, making you fall in love with him all over again.

“Two,” You suggest, and he smiles, leaning close enough to brush his lips against yours without fully closing the distance. “A girl and a boy.”

“Like your brother and you?” He whispers, and you hum in agreement.

“But not with too much of an age gap. Maybe just one or two years apart.” You explain, as his fingers race gentle patterns down your spine.

“I hope our daughter won’t end up expelled for pulling a girl’s hair and breaking her nose.” Jungkook jokes, and you roll your eyes.

“She buried my face in my food.” You retort, making him chuckle. “I didn’t even know her or her boyfriend before that.”

“I know. And for what it’s worth, I think that guy had a crush on you and his girlfriend found out. I still can’t believe they bullied you until we graduated.” He says, you twirl a strand of his damp hair around your finger. His damp hair falling over his eyes is cute.

“They called me a whore for a whole year.” You remember, with a sigh. “I can’t believe he lied about something that never happened.”

“Right? You were closer to the Virgin Mary than to a cheap whore.” He jokes as you shake your head. “But honestly, I won’t have to worry for our daughter if she fights like you.”

Jungkook had to deal with them the moment they hurt you. He got expelled for that, but it was worth it.

“Oh god, hopefully she’ll be more like you.” You laugh, your fingers tracing shapes in the palm of his hand as he leans to kiss the corner of your lips.

“I still hope she’ll look just like you.” He replies softly, smiling and you roll your eyes. “I can’t wait to meet her.”

“Slow down. We’ve both got degrees to earn and life to build before even think about kids.”

“Of course. I’m not saying we’ll have them next year.” He chuckles, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “But maybe in like… ten years. When you’ll have your shop and I’ll earn enough money to buy us a nice house in a good neighborhood. We’ll be married, a cat or two or – three, and a baby on the way.”

“And a dog,” You add, looking at him affectionately. He’s always wanted a dog, he  already has picked the name out.

“And a dog,” He repeats, nodding as he kisses your nose. “And I’ll marry you.”

“Really?” You raise a brow, amused.

“Of course. I’ve known I wanted to marry you since we were sixteen.” He hums, tightening his arms around you. “I think about how beautiful you’ll look in your wedding dress sometimes.”

“Sappy.”

“Shut up. I’m a romantic guy at heart.” He rolls his eyes, his lips brushing against your shoulder. “I love you, Y/N. I want to spend my life with you.”

Your eyes soften at his words, and you cup his face, pressing your lips to his.

“And I want to spend my life with you, Kook.” You whisper before leaning in for another kiss. “I love you.”

You lean back against his chest, the two of you staring out at the ocean. You know you’ll miss having this view every day, or going to the beach every summer. But you’re excited to see what the future holds for you and Jungkook.

“You know,” Jungkook says, his nose brushing the crook of your neck, his fingers tracing patterns on your stomach. “If I’m being honest, getting you pregnant kinda turn me on. When I think about coming inside you and filling you with— ”

“Gosh, you always know how to ruin the cute moments.” You groan, rolling your eyes.

just a little something before christmas, i see you soon with chapter 05! (you can already read it on kofi!)

DUST OF US MASTERLIST.

WATTPAD.

buy me a coffee<3 (every chapters/drabbles are posted as soon as i'm done writing them.)

FOLLOW ME ON TWITTER (LINK) FOR UPDATES!!

[bisexualbrainrots]

well I did not expect the support the what if it's getting tbh, a bit overwhelming, so here's 2/4 of the bucktommy scenes from 3x09, a steamy little treat for y'all.

1/4 if you want to read it first.

“Oh, fuck,” Buck was breathless when he took Tommy’s shirt off and finally got to take a look at his body. In the almost three years they’ve been working together Evan Buckley had never, not once, seen Tommy without a shirt on (the exception being calendars). It was a bit ridiculous given the amount of times they would all find themselves in the locker rooms or the showers.

Tommy smirked, propped up on his elbows “Like what you see?” Buck would’ve rolled his eyes had this happened before their kiss, but now all he could do was stare at the older’s body, mouth watering.

“Yeah… a lot, actually” he looked up at Tommy, his eyes dark with a lust that made the blue in his pupils almost indistinguishable. Kinard almost moaned at the sight, but he contained himself, gulping hard.

Buck’s eyes were scanning everything: the broad shoulders that Tommy definitely had a hard time fitting into most of his shirts on without stretching them, the strong arms that had carried so many people during emergencies, those huge hands Evan was sure would fit nicely around his neck, the pecs he desperately wanted to bite into, and the abs that seemed to have been carved by gods and not countless hours at the gym.

His gaze went somewhere he’d only heard in stories, mostly by Chimney, but never got to see in real life. It was a mix of pink and red still, even after all those years, and it made Buck’s heart ache from becoming aware of how it could’ve taken him, and that they wouldn’t be in this moment had one thing gone terribly wrong.

Buck’s left hand brushed the tissue gently, like it was this delicate thing, “I heard about the scar before but… I never thought that this was how it looks like, does it, does it still hurt sometimes?”

Tommy thought about it for a second, it has been a while since somebody asked, “Not like before really, I mean, there’s moments of the year where I have to massage it but otherwise— oh” it was like all the air had been sucked out of his lungs the moment Buck’s lips dived in, kissing the scar with such care as if the tissue was going to break any minute. Tommy was squirming, overwhelmed, clearly not expecting Evan to treat him that way.

It didn't get any better when Buck's kisses extended throughout the area, passing through the lines of his abs to his ribs, ascending through his pecs where Tommy moaned when he felt Buck’s teeth sinking in. He writhed when the younger’s tongue licked his neck, sucking a little at the pulse point which made Tommy hold his hands tightly on Buck’s waist, it was surely going to leave marks.

“Evan…” the way he said his name had Buck grunting, grinding down so hard it made both of them sigh.

Tommy chuckled “You love it, don’t you? You love to hear your name out of my mouth, don’t you Evan?” Buck’s only response was to swallow his own moan with Tommy’s mouth, not letting the older prepare for his intruding tongue, who made a similar sound as him in return for the kiss

Buck was grinding frantically, slick chests from the layer of sweat covering them, his knuckles white as they held onto the armrest, he wanted— he needed to get closer to Tommy. He stilled, his hands went down towards Tommy’s belt, shaking a little as he tried to unbuckle it, which made the older stop their heated kiss to hold their hands together, stroking them with his thumbs.

“Do you want me to—?”

“No, I… I want to do it” despite the shakiness of his hands, Buck took no time with the belt and fly, and tapped Tommy’s hip so he would raise them. He gulped hard when he took the jeans and boxers, and almost all of the air in his lungs was out the moment he slid them down, revealing every inch of Tommy to him.

His brain stopped working for a few seconds, which Tommy took notice of and helped him to get rid of the clothes, throwing them aside. The older took Buck’s hands and let them rest on his thighs while the younger settled kneeling between his legs.

Tommy looked at Buck, feeling a little vulnerable since he was the only one fully naked “I know I’m not… perfect, but—”

“You’re gorgeous Tommy, everything about you is,” Buck blurted out, still entranced by the sight of Tommy: a blush rushing to appear on his cheeks and chest, and a glimmer on his eyes. Buck quickly took off his own jeans and threw them somewhere around the living room before reaching to kiss the older’s pelvis as his hands moved towards the inner thighs, and looked at him to make sure he had his approval to continue.

When Tommy nodded, maybe a little too enthusiastically, Buck stopped for a few seconds to bite at the other’s hip, which granted him a whimper and a hand to be placed on his head. He smiled and licked at the bitemarks, trading a few more kisses on the area before his hands reached for Tommy’s cock, one hand handling the balls while the other the shaft.

“I know I don’t have a… frame of reference,” Buck chuckled, looking up at Tommy who was grinning, his eyes looking at the younger with endearment, “But I know what I like so, tell me if there’s anything you want differently”

Tommy bit his lower lip when he felt Buck’s wrist twist, and rested his head on the cushion he had placed on the armrest a few moments ago “Okay, baby”