#i love it.... its a very outdated word but sounds so good on the tongue

[patchesjam]

English isn't my first language and that was the first time I've ever seen the term "fangled". What a funky word, I'll add it to my vocabulary immediately

i love you anon mwah but also sorry i spelt it wrong, its all one word

[moonctzeny]

Softer than velvet

pairing: magazine co-editor! mark lee x fem!y/n

genre: smut

warnings: office sex

word count:  2,926

summary: “Mark is a co-editor in the fashion magazine you work for, monopolizing everyones attention with his looks, including yours. Prompted by his vast knowledge about lingerie and his tendency to want to rip them apart, you invite him in your office, and you definitely put him to work”

a/n: inspired by the legendary scene from ‘Community’ and a discussion I had with my bf and best friend about lingerie.

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

He looked dashing again, as always. 

While Monday morning finds most employees in their tousled bed hair, dark eye circles and crooked buttons from hasting to be on time, Mark Lee looks like he jumped out of the fashion magazine you worked for. He was an editor, like yourself, yet the way he confidently strolled through the hallways, capturing everyone’s attention, had executives and employees alike toying with the idea of having him in their bed.

Mark’s shoulders looked even broader in the white shirt he had chosen for the day, neatly ironed and held together with a bright coral tie. A suede brown vest, that would look plain weird on anyone else that would dare pull it off, showed off his tiny waist perfectly, short enough for the workers on the welcome desk to whisper in admiration about his ‘cute perky butt’.

As one of Mark’s many secret fans, you wanted to join in on their giggling, but as his coworker you had to keep yourself from indulging in those dirty thoughts that kept creeping in your head. It was hard to deny this sweet distraction, that perks you up in excitement and turns up the heat of your body.  Like now, that he makes his way towards you in the main lobby, and you wonder how nice his pink locks would look between your thighs.

“Good morning, y/n”, he says when he’s finally standing in front of you, and you almost spill your mug filled with instant coffee in the sound of his raspy morning voice.

“Lee”, you address him almost coldy, but your smirk as you take a sip of the hot liquid gives you away. You can’t stop yourself from checking him out, his new high-end belt begging to be tugged on and used in other ways that it was originally made for. He bites his cheek when he notices your eyes laying on his crotch a second too long but he decides not to mention it.

“Are you going on a cigarette break soon?”

You sigh, rolling your eyes before making sure to lower your voice. “Didn’t you hear yesterday’s briefing? New boss is trying to cut them and apparently so must we. No smoking allowed here anymore.”

“Then you chose the wrong outfit”

He seems satisfied with the little yelp you let out, internally scolding yourself for getting so worked up over his compliment but hell, there’s nothing more you want than to fuck that smile off his face. If that’s what he wanted that’s what he’d get, but you refuse to look all fucked out here in the open just from the mere words of Mark Lee. Not when so many of your assistants were watching.

“We got assigned the lingerie issue together”, you change the subject and start walking towards your offices at the end of the floor. “ I need you to show me your picks later”

“It was hard finding anything worth including, except for Savage X Fenty nothing new is in the game. The La Perla designs are so outdated, and don’t get me started on Fleur du Mal.”

“Wow, you seem to know a lot about lingerie, huh?”, you exclaim, genuinely impressed, and you let him bask in his pride for a little. He runs his fingers through his hair and you catch a whiff of his shampoo, its scent coupled with his cologne highly addictive.

“I love fashion, and it’s kind of my job so I have to keep up. I’m not really a big fan of them, though.”

You raise an eyebrow at his confession, and halt as you arrive outside his office that is a little nearer than yours. Your body is leaning up against the wall, in a way that accentuates the curves of your body and Mark doesn’t try to be discreet in his staring. He might as well raise his hands, go through the layers and layers of palpable sexual tension between you and run them all over your body like you so desperately want.

“Don’t get me wrong, they’re pretty”, he starts, and you’re not sure if he’s addressing you, your lips or your decolletage.”But if we were getting down to business and I saw you in lingerie, all I’d think about is how to rip it off of you”

It takes every ounce of self control in your body and the thought of how much you need your salary not to pounce at him, and start removing his clothes right then and there. The masks of professionalism have vanished and so has your patience with him, so you fix his tie, tying it up a little tighter than it needs to be and you love the gasp that leaves his chapped lips. 

“Since you are so knowledgeable Mark, I’m not sure if the lingerie I’m wearing is off-season. How about you come to my office later to hand me your picks and give me your honest opinion?”

He chokes on thin air, the angry veins on his neck twitching from the lack of circulation to his head as he huffs out a chuckle. 

“I’ll be there before the meeting starts”, he promises before slipping inside his office, his hands brushing yours as he slides past you. You bet he thinks he’s smooth, but his reflection on the glass door of his neighboring office betrays him, catching him in the act of staring at your ass as you walk away. You wink at his reflection and he winces when he realizes, but you’ll forgive him. This sweet distraction in the name of Mark Lee was all you needed this boring Monday morning, and you can’t wait to see if your coworker is as skillful as he talks himself up to be.

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

The wait wasn’t long, but it sure was painful, your mind wandering at the conversation you had with Mark this morning and eyes checking the time every five minutes. You’d almost miss his figure in your absentmindedness, standing outside your office, nervously shifting his body weight from one leg to the other. 

The glass separating your office with the main hall was tinted, with a few stripes of clear glass on the very top, giving you a limited view of the people hurrying past. Through those lines you also saw Mark, hesitating to knock and giving himself what looks like a pep talk. You think it’s adorable and decide to take him out of his misery, getting up yourself to open the door.

His mouth drops open when you do, looking like a deer in the headlights with his big doe eyes and binder that is placed -strategically- over his crotch. You smile politely and motion him to come in, your meetup not seeming strange to any passerby, as you have worked together many times in the past. The moment he turns the knob behind him to close the door, Mark drops the designs from his hands, pictures of lingerie flying in the air and landing across the carpeted floor. You barely manage to turn the lock before he pushes you backwards with a hand on your jaw, until you feel the wood of your desk digging against your ass.

You close your eyes and immediately are braced with the feeling of his tongue entering your mouth, the strong aftertaste of cinnamon candy tingling your tastebuds. Bringing him closer by his tie, you let him lift you up the table, legs wrapping around his waist and you verify that he was, indeed, already hard behind that binder. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to do that”, he murmurs in the kiss and tugs on the roots of your hair suddenly, forcing your head to tilt back and thus expose your neck.

His breath is hot over your collarbones and the feeling of his hardness is driving you insane, so you let your blazer fall from your shoulders before taking off his vest. Mark helps you out by loosening his tie and starts to unbutton his shirt, but you stop him when his chest is almost half-exposed.

“Don’t take it off, you look sexy like that”

He blushes from your compliment, momentarily letting go of his surprisingly dom persona.

“I thought I was supposed to examine your outfit though?”, he asks cheekily and you remove your blouse, revealing the teddy that’s been hugging your body.

It’s black, with a mesh body and velvet lining over the cups and crotch area. The adjustable straps help your boobs look full and round, the velvet strips that are going down, parallel to your body lines, make you look as curvy as ever. 

Mark looks a little lost, like a kid in a candy store and he clears his throat before speaking up again. 

“I need to feel the fabric”, he states, almost too seriously for the situation you were both in currently and he runs his fingers from your belly button upwards to your abs. His fingers toy with the lace adorning the cups and he finally squeezes your boobs. He chuckles at the naughtiness of what you’re doing right now, breaking character, and you’re reminded of how young Mark really is. You free your right boob from its constraint and the sight of your nipple, hard and erect for him, immediately sobers him up. 

His mouth has stayed open in his trance, and you take advantage of it by placing your fingers over his lips, then slowly pushing them in. With his tongue wetting your fingertips, and his big eyes glued on you, waiting for your next move, he really resembles a puppy, and you gloat in the sudden gain of control over him.

When you feel that he’s had enough, or rather, that you’ve had enough, you push your digits out of the comfortable rim of his mouth, coating your nipple with a light layer of his spit.

“So?”, you mewl seductively, “what do you think?”

“It needs to be softer, I think”

You stop massaging yourself, tilting your head in confusion by his critique.

“Softer? What is softer than velvet?”

Mark smirks back at you, hand leaving your breast and travelling south. 

“I can think of something” 

He finds the buttons over the crotch of the teddy, the pieces of fabric they’re holding together damp with your arousal. You shiver when you feel his fingers easily gliding through your folds, teasing your entrance and pinching your clit.

A whine leaves your lips as he removes his fingers momentarily, falling on his knees in front of you. Suddenly remembering where you are, you stretch your body a little in your paranoia, checking if anyone is standing outside your office, witnessing your dirty meetup. But Mark is quick to bring you back up to heaven, with a flick of his tongue over your clit.

“Mmmm, so soft”

He looks so fucking delicious looking up at you, tie discarded on the floor now and lips coated with your wetness and his spit. You can feel the scruffiness of his 5 o’clock shadow slightly scratching the inside of your thighs that are so sensitive and shake in pleasure. Reaching your hands back for any form of stability you knock down some of the stationery, but how can you care when Mark draws circles with his fingers on your entrance?

He pushes in his index, then his middle finger as well, setting a pace that is as slow as it is sinfully pleasurable. Your small office is filled with the sounds of his kissing and slurping, but you can’t ask him to be quiet when you struggle to lower your moans as well. The feeling of the soft pads of his fingers massaging your walls and his tongue sucking on your pussy makes you light-headed, your nails digging in the wooden surface and desperately chasing your high. Your orgasm hits you like a wave, and you bite your fist so as not to make a sound, but Mark’s not done yet. 

He places one hand sturdily on your hips, the other cupping your left boob, successfully helping you keep your balance. He keeps lapping up your arousal, sucking on the swollen bud and you swear you see stars. You’re thrashing around in your overstimulation, too close to screaming from pleasure and you grab Mark’s hair to push him away. 

His eyes are blown out from arousal, mouth gasping for air and chin wet with your juices. The desire to have him is animalistic, and you force him up by his collar, replacing his place on the floor.

“My turn”

Unbuckling his belt in swift moves, you manage to free his member from his boxers, bright red and leaking for you. Placing his tip on your tongue, you can taste the saltiness of his precum, and Mark sighs at the warmth of your mouth. You rest your hands on his thighs, looking up to see his pretty face contorted in pleasure when you swirl your tongue around his length. 

“Oh my god, just like that”

Determined to return the favour, you gulp around him, his cock hitting the back of your throat. You ignore the burning feeling on your knees and throat and keep him there, until tears are threatening to spill from the corner of your eyes. After bobbing your head over his cock, listening to his swears over and over again you can tell he is close, and you start jerking him, slowly picking up your pace.

He lets out a guttural groan when you start palming his tip and he slaps your hand away, taking his dick in his own grasp. “Show me something worth cumming for. I want to see your body”

You fumble with the cups of your lingerie, trying to free your boobs but it’s hard, with the straps getting in the way and the fabric being too sturdy to stretch so far. Mark gets impatient with you taking so long, so he crouches forward, bunching up the mesh in his fists and ripping it in half.

Shocked yet turned on by his action you let the garment drop from your body, leaving you in only your skirt that is bunched up over your hips. Passing the mounds on your breasts you let your hands move lower, and you start to play with your pussy for Mark to see. You’re still so sensitive from your orgasm earlier and you let him know, moaning his name as you expose yourself fully for him.

As he moves his wrist frantically over his shaft, his eyes are glued on your lower lips. They are a raging red at this point, and he’s losing his mind over the look of pure lust painted on your face. He wishes he could paint it with something else but he knows you’re in the workplace, yet nothing can keep him from entertaining the thought.

“Where do you want it?”, he huffs out just a second before he’s reaching his own high and you open your mouth, giving him a silent invitation. He moves his hips closer to you, tapping his tip over your eager tongue and he watches intently at the ropes of cum that are slowly filling up your mouth.

You raise your thumb on your lips, collecting the drops that are spilling from the corner of your mouth and you swallow before Mark can even hand you the metal bin next to your desk. He seems to be in complete ecstasy, chuckling for no reason as he puts his softening member back into his underwear and helps you back into your clothes (or whatever is left from them).

“I’m sorry for ripping your lingerie”, he mumbles finally and you want to coo at how cute he sounds, “I’ll buy you a new one, I promise”

You laugh lightly, helping him at picking up the pictures of the lingerie pieces that are scattered on your floor. “It better be one of your picks”, you tease him, waving the burgundy set you were holding and he licks his lips, picturing you in it.

“Sure. How about I give it to you over some dinner this weekend?”

His offer excites you, so you nod in agreement, and you shuffle awkwardly in the heavy atmosphere of the room. As you pick up the last picture, placing it neatly inside Mark’s binder, you feel his hand wrapping around your waist, bringing you close against him. Instinctively, you kiss him, allowing yourself to get lost in the movement of his lips, that mostly taste like you and you nibble at them lightly. Mark was in the middle of squeezing the softness of your ass, humming in appreciation, when a beep comes simultaneously from both of your phones. It’s the meeting he was talking about this morning and you groan for having to let him go.

He hands you a piece of gum when you both enter the hall and you take it, praying that no one will smell his cologne all over your skin, or notice that you’re going commando under your clothes. One of your co-workers and Mark’s buddy, that you address with a nod every time you cross paths in the office kitchen catches up to you, and throws an arm over his shoulders.

“Mark, my man, you’re glowing today! Wanna grab a bite after the meeting?”

The boy turns his head in your direction, giving you a once over and winking your way, before answering with a smile that is so evident in his voice.

“Nah, thanks. I already ate”

[heavenbarnes]

what’s your poison?

Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings/Contains: a cheating ex boyfriend, alcohol, unprotected sex (please use protection), oral sex (female receiving), handjob, dirty talk, swearing, joking during sex cause i’m fun, pulling out onto stomach, bucky has a dog, new zealand english cause i wrote the start on my phone

Word Count: 5.5k

if you try and tell me you’ve never fallen in love with your bartender before, i hope you know you’re a liar! anyways, this is fun and it doesn’t mean anything so enjoy (so i guess this is technically an au, but could also not be cause there is references to in-canon shit) x

You wouldn’t say you were proud of finding solace in a bar, especially not one with those tacky red neons and a floor sticky enough to have you frozen in place.

But here you are, perched up on that high stool by the window, notebook spread open in front of you with a pen resting on your lower lip.

Funny thing about heartbreak, the world doesn’t stop moving around you, even when you wish it did. So when you come home to your roommate fucking your boyfriend, you still have to live in that house cause finding rentals is near impossible.

And when living in that house feels damn suffocating, you have to sit in the bar down the street doing the work that is kicking your ass, because people don’t stop filing reports when your heart gets broken.

Wasn’t the first time the world made it blaringly obvious that it didn’t revolve around you, but sometimes the ignorance is bliss.

Scribbling out yet another data set, you knew your life wasn’t about to get any easier, but even you had to admire your own perseverance. So did Astrid, the sweet waitress that was swapping your empty glass with a full one.

You smiled at her, picking up the drink and giving it a sniff, screwing your nose up slightly. “You’re very kind but this smells strong and I’m still working.”

“It wasn’t me, I’m just the messenger,” She returned your smile as she cleaned the little drops of soda from your last drink. “Bucky figured you needed it by the look on your face.”

Casting a glance over Astrid’s shoulder you caught eyes with the bartender, the one who’d already been looking at you but turned away once you caught his eye. You lent him a smile nonetheless, just in case he was looking.

Stirring the drink with your paper straw, you came in to take a sip, immediately feeling the flavours flood over your tongue. Bucky was onto something, you definitely needed this and about 17 others after it.

“Tell him I say thank you.” You gave her a sheepish little grin as you took another sip of his creation.

The thing about Bucky was, he didn’t say a hell of a lot but he was a god with his hands. Not like that, like when he was shaking cocktails. But you were sure he was probably good in that way too.

Six foot three and broad in just about every way, long hair and that brooding kind of look on his face. He might’ve been the reason you picked this bar out of the ten or so others littering the stretch.

He’d quietly mix your drinks with those large hands (even his prosthetic hand was big, dark metal glinting under the neon lights), always making you exactly what you needed. Sometimes, if you timed it right, you could see him watching you out of the corner of your eye.

That should’ve been weird, quiet guy that won’t even introduce himself to you watches you from across a bar. But Bucky made it different, something in you liked the way he stared.

Astrid had been the only one you told about your now ex-boyfriend, but from your hospitality experience, word spreads quick behind a bar. You didn’t mind, it got you free drinks and kindness from the other waitresses as they swirled around you.

Beanie, who was studying business on the side, would sit with you as you worked out your spreadsheets. She asked you mountains of questions that never got annoying, felt nice to be valued around here.

Every day that you left work, you’d sneak back to your apartment, avoiding your roommate by timing it with when you knew she’d be at the gym. Quickly changing your clothes, you slipped back out into the city and headed for the bar.

You kept it quiet with where you spent your evenings, not wanting your boss to think you had a problem with all your time spent there. But you knew that it was very seldom there was actually alcohol in your drinks, mainly just new mocktails Bucky was trialing and testing on you.

That’s how the two of you communicated, he’d make a drink, a waitress would bring it over, you’d sample it and she’d feed the feedback back to him. A rather outdated system that could be solved by you both picking up your nuts and speaking to one another.

But that’d mean hearing each other’s voice, incredibly intimate when you’ve drawn it out this long. You’d have to have something to talk about, be alone in each other’s presence, admit that there was-

Now what was there?

Every night of every week you were there until closing, walking with Astrid to her car, Bucky trailing a few steps behind the both of you. He wouldn’t say it out loud, but he was making sure you both made it safely. As soon as you both got in, he climbed on his motorcycle and wouldn’t see him again until the next evening.

The moment Astrid dropped you at your apartment, you’d sneak inside, thanking the gods that your roommate was asleep so you didn’t have any awkward hallway interactions. Instead, you lay in the centre of your bed and strangely enough, you thought of your bartender without a voice to even put to the man.

The next evening you were there, you found your mind straying from the work in front of you and heading into the conversation of the waitresses floating around you.

“No, but she’s like gorgeous,” Beanie groaned, putting her notepad in the pocket of her apron. “Bucky is so lucky, she’s just a dream.”

Your ears pricked up at the sound of his name being dropped, and without being able to control it, you found yourself travelling to a million different realities. Of course he had a girlfriend, a man that looks like that and makes a Singapore Sling that good cannot be single.

There was truly no reason to be sad right now, he wasn’t yours and never was. But maybe you enjoyed him paying special attention to you, especially after what the last guy did to you. Astrid did tell you that Bucky was a bit stone cold sometimes, he never used this special treatment on anyone else.

So here you were thinking you were special, and here was the universe pulling you into line again, reminding you in no uncertain terms that the world didn’t revolve around you.

You drank Bucky’s mew mocktails, but they didn’t taste as fun when you knew they weren’t genuine. Sure maybe the care was genuine, but there wasn’t anything behind it. You screwed up your face when you heard your own thoughts, you sounded like an actual fuckboy right now.

Gone are the days of alarmingly handsome men being able to gift a Moscow Mule in peace, no sex attached. You just had to go and set the women’s rights movement back a few years.

You scolded yourself silently, taking another sip of the drink and enjoying Bucky’s talents. You weren’t even in the headspace for a new man at the moment, so where were you getting off hoping the guy was single?

Lifting your head towards the bar, you found those blue eyes back on you. He stuttered for a moment, realising he’d been caught staring, so he lifted his eyebrow almost to say “what do you think?”

A smile formed on your face of its own accord, lifting your hand into a thumbs up you mouthed back “pretty damn good.”

And for the first time since you’d been coming here, you saw it. You saw the corners of Bucky’s pretty lips turn up into a smile as he nodded, looking awful proud of himself.

God damn it, your brain knew you weren’t ready but your heart didn’t seem to give a fuck.

Another night at the bar and as you came inside, your eyes went to your normal seat, only to find somebody already sitting in it. After a long day at work, you couldn’t help the childish groan drift out of your lips.

“I know,” Astrid caught you mid grumble as she started walking you over. “But there is a seat right here at the bar.”

Putting you in a stool, she wiped down the surface in front of you so you could lay out your papers to keep working. She gave your shoulders a squeeze and happened to hit the right spot, maybe it was her girlfriend you needed to be jealous of.

As she went to leave you be, you heard her call over her shoulder. “Bucky, she’s here.”

Your head snapped up, heat rising in your cheeks as Astrid scurried away to serve her tables. From the service door, a large frame took all of it up as Bucky appeared before you.

Watching the way his eyes scanned the room, they fixed on the spot you usually sat at before his brow furrowed in confusion. It wasn’t until his gaze drifted down and caught you at the bar, he nearly jumped in fright.

If you didn’t know any better, you’d think Astrid tells him when you arrive every night, like it’s something he looks forward to. You gave him a smile and a pathetic little wave as you tried to calm yourself down. The man has a girlfriend, he isn’t waiting for you.

Bucky smiled back, seemingly looking just as nervous as you felt. He quickly raised one finger, as if asking you to wait, before he spun around and started grabbing different bottles from the back shelf.

As you watched him work, you smelt a breeze of perfume drift past you, one that had become familiar. You reached out and grabbed Beanie by the wrist, deciding now was the best time to put yourself out of your misery.

“Bucky’s girlfriend must be the luckiest person on earth, with a man who makes drinks like that.”

Beanie scrunched up her nose in confusion, looking between the two of you.

“Girlfriend? You know something I don’t?”

You studied her gaze, matching that look of lacking in understanding.

“He must have a girlfriend, right?”

“Oh, the only woman in Bucky’s life is his dog, Daybreak,” She laughed, turning on her heel to leave. “You should see her, she’s gorgeous.”

A dog, a fucking dog. You’ve been stewing every night for about a week over a fucking dog. A curt laugh slipped past your lips and you didn’t even try to stop it, top tier stupidity and you actually deserved it.

Bucky turned to look over his shoulder, caught off guard by your chuckle as he’d missed the whole conversation over the noise of the bar. He just smiled, stirring the glass in front of him before sliding it across to you.

Sniffing it first, like you always did, it smelt heavenly like winter mint. Taking the first sip, it went down ridiculously well and you nodded in content before flashing Bucky a thumbs up. He placed his right hand over his heart nodding back to you. Your silent communication always said enough.

Bucky made you two more of those minty little things as you kept studying your spreadsheets. The bar patrons moved around you as the hours ticked on and you were so enveloped in your work it made you jump when you heard your name.

That and the voice that the word floated off of.

Turning in your stool, your ex boyfriend stood before you with his hands clasped together. Shaking your head, you went to spin back around but he stepped forward, hand reaching for your upper arm.

“I know you don’t want to see me but please let me explain.”

“Normally I’d say ‘fuck off’, but I’d love to hear an explanation for how you ended up fucking my roommate.”

He grimaced at the sound of you throwing his mistake back in his face. But truthfully, if he didn’t like the sound of it, maybe he shouldn’t have cheated.

“I know I fucked up, it was so stupid but it didn’t mean anything.”

“When did it stop meaning something? The third time? Maybe the 15th time? Please, enlighten me.”

A part of him seemed shocked, that you weren’t folding like a hand of cards and letting him take you home. Stupid boy should’ve realised you were a whole person before he met you, you’d go on without him.

“Alright, I know I deserve all this but I just want my baby back.”

You almost responded, your mouth opened to say something- anything, but someone else cut you to the chase.

“Your baby back? This isn’t Ruby-fucking-Tuesday’s, but you’re more than welcome to get the hell out of my bar.”

Turning behind you, you saw large hands gripping the wooden legs, squared up and unafraid. It didn’t register with you that this was the first time you’d heard Bucky’s voice until it was too late. A shiver shifted down your spine as you watched the way he stared the other man down.

“And who the hell are you?” Your ex had always been stupid, never knew when to stop running his mouth and keep it away from other girls.

“I’m the one that’s been keeping ‘your baby’ company each night since you fucked up so bad.”

Not to set the women’s rights movement back another few years, but there was something quite lovely about being fought over. Picking your drink back up, you sipped it slowly as you watched Bucky refuse to back down.

“You don’t know the first thing about her.”

“I know she’s far too smart to be wasting her time with you, so I won’t say it again, get the hell out of my bar.”

Your ex looked to you, stupidly thinking he’d find reprieve with you. Shrugging your shoulders and turning your gaze to Bucky you finally spoke. “This is delicious, you really are gifted.”

And with his tail tucked between his legs, you watched your ex trudge out of the bar, silently hoping that would be the last time you saw his sorry ass.

The only thing about him leaving was the silence that now sat between yourself and Bucky, having to come to terms with the fact your quiet little knowings have now become incredibly loud.

Still sipping away at your drink, thankfully Bucky found the notion to speak first. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to get involved-“

Thinking he was finished you spoke up. “Please don’t apologise, I loved it.” As you were speaking, he finished with, “I really care about you.”

That shut the both of you up, back to quiet as you looked at each other across the bar. Patrons kept milling about around you but the world seemed to stop for you. In your own head, you asked for a sign, a sign that you should risk it all.

Bucky’s tongue came out to run across his lower lip and you swore you saw stars.

That wouldn’t normally stand as a sign but you were fine with a reach, you’d already decided he could’ve sneezed and that would work.

“You know, uh,” You cleared your throat, placing down your now empty glass. “I’ve always wondered what it was like to be on a motorcycle.”

Bucky nodded slowly in understanding, pulling the rag off his shoulder and placing it against the counter. “I’ve always wanted to show you what it’s like.”

“What time do you clock off?”

“Now, now’s good.”

The sound of your stool scraping against the wood floor drew Astrid’s gaze up as she moved through the crowd between the tables. Stopping beside your usual spot, she stood beside the man who’d taken your seat that night.

“Thank you, Albert,” She passed him the twenty dollar note. “It was about time they got moving.”

There was something incredibly intimate about being within close proximity of Bucky, let alone having him sat between your legs as your arms closed even tighter around his waist. You swore he zipped in and out of traffic on that bike just so you’d get even closer, and you were reasonably thankful for it.

Going from only hearing his voice moments before to being so close to him you could smell the Calvin Klein aftershave? There was a lot going on and it was enough to make your head spin. So you chose to relax into him, as much as you could with the helmet locked around your head.

You were nearly going to pout when you arrived at his house, but the moment he stretched his hand out to take yours and walk you in, he wasn’t leaving you with much to feel sorry about.

Now, there are many dangers about walking into a single man’s apartment, mainly the state it could be in. Bucky’s was beautiful, dark furniture and well looked after, everything was tidy and it actually smelt nice. You’d think he was straight out of the 40′s with manners and charm like this.

As you gazed around in awe of the first male apartment you’d been in without a fist-sized hole in the wall, you felt something brush against your legs. Looking down, you found a husky nearly at your hip height, bright blue eyes like her dad’s.

“Daybreak, go easy on her.” Bucky sounded from the kitchen, he’d already made his way in and started fishing around.

“That’s okay, you’re even more beautiful than I was told.” You cooed, your voice immediately catering just for her as you scratched around her ears.

“They told you about her?” Bucky chuckled as he worked, two highball glasses in front of him and a dark liquor starting to pour.

Your cheeks glowed hot as you thought about whether or not you should tell him of your monumental fuck up from earlier. Maybe he’d laugh? Or maybe he’d think you were a sociopath? Better to get it out now you supposed.

“I heard them talking, and I thought they were referring to your girlfriend, so they just cleared that up for me.” You caught Daybreak’s eye, busying yourself with her so you couldn’t see the gorgeous man stood a metre away and laughing at you.

“Yes, my incredibly fluffy girlfriend with disgusting breath and a habit of standing on my back when I sleep.” He shook his head, squeezing lime into the glass along with what you thought might’ve been bitters.

“Hey, whatever you’re into, I’m not going to judge!” You put your hands up in defense before going back to fluffing Daybreak’s coat.

Bucky stirred the drinks before sliding one across the counter top to you. Raising back up, you gratefully accepted it as he began to speak again. “You weren’t jealous were you?”

Your eyes widened, thinking on it for a moment with as much expression as possible. Avoiding the question entirely, you took a sip, feeling the warm ginger taste roll through you. 

“What do you call this one?”

“Answer my question and I’ll tell you.”

Narrowing your eyes, you bit the bullet. “I might’ve been a little jealous.”

“This one is called a ‘howling commando’, why were you jealous?”

“Raunchy name, I love it! What was the other minty one called?”

Bucky’s grin widened as he knew exactly what game you were playing, he couldn’t deny he was looking forward to a little tussle.

“Answer my question and I’ll tell you, those are the rules.”

You scrunched up your nose before giving in, he was hot and he had rules, there was simply no denying this man. “Maybe because you make me want to do very bad things to you.”

Bucky’s jaw went slack, but the corners of his mouth tweaked up into a smile as he thought carefully on his next move.

“The minty one is called a ‘winter soldier’, can you tell me what those very bad things are?”

Wrapping your lips around your paper straw, you kept your eyes closely fixed on his as you shrugged your shoulders. You drew back, letting the straw rest in the centre of your tongue as he followed your movements with intrigue.

“Or maybe I could just show you?”

With a swift movement, Bucky cleared the table with one hand and the other snaked around your waist, pulling you tight to his chest. You felt his lips glide across yours, as soft as you’d imagined and that bite of alcohol resting just past them.

Your hands came up to fist at his shirt, tugging him down so you could slip your tongue in and against his. He brought his other hand down to rest just behind your knee, picking you up in a swift motion and placing you against his kitchen counter.

Legs locking around him, you pulled him in as you gripped at his flannel over shirt to push it off his shoulders. Bucky took the hint, stripping the shirt off before getting onto his t-shirt. He stood before you bare-chested and beautiful, so much so that your breath caught in your throat.

A hint of a smirk started on his face but you shook your head, not prepared to let him have the joy of catching you off guard. You took his jaw in your hands and brought him back to your lips, reveling in the feeling of him on you.

Feeling his hands go for your waistband, you lifted your hips to let him get rid of your bottoms, the cold of kitchen tile against the backs of your thighs.

“You are so fucking beautiful, been thinking of you since the day you walked into my bar.”

Giggling into his mouth, you ran your hands down his neck and into the hair at the nape, tugging slightly. “I could say the same about you, pretty boy.”

You could’ve sworn Bucky growled, but you weren’t given enough time to dwell on it as he began to ease you back until you lay against the counter. His fingers went to the band of your underwear, slowly easing those down your legs.

Here you were, spread out in this mans kitchen like dinner and he was going to eat his share. A shiver ran through you that you could pinpoint to excitement as you felt his breath gently ghost over you.

His hands ran from your thighs all the way up to the hem of your shirt, sliding it up your body and underneath to palm at your chest. You knew he had big hands, it was one of the first things you noticed, but you weren’t prepared for how good they’d feel when he held you.

The moment you felt his mouth come down against your pussy, your whole back arched off the bench. You gripped at his forearms, nails digging in slightly as you rolled your lower half into his mouth. His tongue came out, running along your slit and moving against your clit.

You’d definitely been swindled into a shit deal with your ex, it never felt anything like this and Bucky had only just started. His name fell out of your throat as his tongue sped up, moving back down to your entrance and making your eyes nearly rolled back in your head.

Bucky pulled back one of his hands for only a moment so he could hook your legs over his shoulders, before he grabbed back at your breasts. The contrast between the rough skin of his fingers tweaking at your nipple, and the smooth metal on the other was driving you wild.

“How are you so good at this, what the fuck?” You babbled, back going up against as he flicked the tip of his tongue at your clit.

He chuckled into you, the sounds vibrating off of where you were most sensitive and hitting you straight in the core. You’d never had a man pay this much attention to you, know exactly where to go and what to do. It was damn near overwhelming and this was the bare minimum, god you’d been missing out.

Bringing one hand down, he pressed two fingers to your clit as his tongue moved back down. The pressure of his skilled digits against you and the speed of his tongue, you were doing your best to cry out his name but it wasn’t coming out right. Your brain couldn’t keep up with everything else.

Pressing your foot into his shoulder, you slipped your hand into his hair, locking into the roots and tugging tight against them. A moan fell out of Bucky and straight against you, rocking your pussy up against his lips. You had to forget everything you thought you knew about men. 

This was a man and he was going to change your life.

He swapped his fingers, slowly sliding them into you as his tongue moved back to your clit. The minute he bent those metal digits up, still pumping his wrist and working his mouth, it was all over.

You clenched down around him, his name flew high into the air as you shook against him, your wetness covering his chin as he moved to lap it up. Like a good boy, he let you get your breath, pulling back and cleaning off his fingers with his tongue.

“Don��t do that in front of me, you’ll make my heart stop.” You joked, throwing your arm over your eyes.

Bucky chuckled, taking a knee in each hand where you’d clamped your thighs together, slowly easing them apart. He tugged you along the bench until your legs were wrapped around him again.

“I can’t believe I just came, and that hard.” You admitted, finally able to cope with it all.

“That’s kind of the point, pretty baby.”

“Yeah but you haven’t even?”

The soft little patterns Bucky was tracing on your thigh came to a halt, almost making you whinge. He looked down at you with an expression of pure confusion before speaking up. 

“Wait, did your ex never make you come during foreplay?”

“Are you kidding?” You snorted, propping yourself up on elbows. “He barely made me come during sex.”

Bucky shook his head, looking physically wounded by what you were telling him. “Oh baby, this isn’t even for pleasure anymore, this is an act of service.”

You snorted at him, gripping his arms so you could pull yourself up to sitting. He tugged you even further until you were flush against him. His face was so close to yours, every part of him was so close.

“You’re being goofy, you’re lucky I think you’re hot.”

It was his turn to laugh, before he slipped his hand down, undoing his belt with a little of your assistance. As he shuffled his jeans and briefs down, you brought your hand to wrap around his length, and it nearly put you back on your ass.

So soft and remarkably beautiful for a dick, it was heavy as all hell as you wrapped your fingers around. So thick and built for two hands to stroke it, you knew that no matter what happened from here on out, you wouldn’t be forgetting about him soon.

“I knew you had a big dick, I could tell from the way you walked,” You said, spitting into your hand so you could stroke him. “But this is just fucking unreal.”

Bucky tried to laugh but you twisted your wrist at just the right time, it filtered off into a moan as his head dipped into the crook of your neck. “And you say I’m the goofy one.”

“Is baby getting all shy, can’t handle the fact he’s hung like a fucking horse?” You teased, running your fingers over his head.

Sucking in a breath, his hands came to grip your hips as you kept jerking him, simply enjoying the way he felt in your hands. “It is far too early for me to be telling you that if you keep talking like that, it will make me come.”

Dropping your mouth open, you turned towards him but ended up nuzzling your nose in his hair. His shampoo smelt incredible, not like a 3-in-1 but like an actual shampoo.

“Bucky, you are a fucking freak, I’m going to have so much fun with you.”

Pulling back from your neck, he gave you the toothiest grin before tipping his head back with a heady moan that made your pussy clench. He looked so beautiful moaning for you, completely at your will with his cock in your hand.

There was something so refreshing about this, your ex never let you have fun during sex, it was always so boring and so incredibly serious. You’d never laughed so much, played so much, and still come so hard your vision whited out.

Bucky took your hand off his dick, wrapping his own it as you tipped your hips back slightly. He lined up, laying his head against your entrance where you needed him most. He slowly slid in as your arms wrapped around his shoulders and gripped tight.

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as he moved in, the stretch and burn something you hadn’t felt in a wee while, it took over you as he did his best to be gentle. You were starting to understand the meaning of “rearranging guts” as he got to the hilt.

You paused for a moment, breathing through as Bucky strained with all his might to not move. He’d never felt something so fucking tight and so fucking warm, he would lay money on it that you were made for him and he was always meant to find you.

Finally, you tapped on his shoulder and signaled him to move. He rolled his hips into you, the first few thrusts to find his rhythm before he really picked up. Your ankles crossed over above his ass, keeping him as close to you as you could as his speed increasingly picked up.

“God, this pussy feel so fucking good.” He groaned, hands coming down to lift your shirt back up.

You pulled it over your head, throwing it behind you with your bra as his hands immediately gripped back onto them. Lowering slightly, he brought his mouth to one of your nipples, lips wrapping around and sucking gently as his hips never let up.

Raking your fingers through his hair, you thought about those incredible noises he’d made moments before. Tugging gently, you earnt yourself another moan that rippled through you as you rolled your hips back into his.

“Bucky, faster,” Panting out your words, you gripped him tighter. “I want you to fuck me like you mean it.”

Bucky’s eyes cast up to you, locking with yours and in an instant he changed. One hand gripped your hip and the other braced against the counter as he surged forward into you. A rippling cry travelled out of your chest and broke in your throat, a pathetic moan replacing it.

“You calling me nasty but I think you’re just as bad as I am, hmm?”

You smiled up at him, leaning back slightly so he could watch the way your tits bounced for him as he fucked you. “I never said I wasn’t, I was the one who wanted to do the bad things.”

Bucky lent down, nose to nose with you and lips nearly touching. “You weren’t the only one who was thinking like that.”

His lips caught yours again as his tongue moved straight into your mouth. He pulled you back onto him and made your whole body tense up on him, a ridiculously good rhythm that was making your legs shake.

Slipping a hand in between you, his fingers worked quick against your clit as you tried to match his movements. Everything was becoming increasingly difficult as you could feel your second orgasm working its way through you.

“You’re so good, you make incredible drinks and you’re really good at this too.” You cried, gripping onto his forearm as your back arched up.

Hearing him chuckle through his staggered breaths, his fingers only picked up against where you were most sensitive. “You make spreadsheets look sexy, holy fuck.”

You would’ve laughed, it was a pretty good one, but the orgasm that tore straight through you only allowed you to cry his name. Pussy locked tight around him you nearly left the table as everything broke inside you. The tension that’d he’d created was cut and you came with a near scream.

Bucky coaxed you through it, telling you how pretty you were, how good you looked. All you could do was whimper for him, aftershocks moving through you as he worked closer to his own end.

You opened your eyes to see him in front of you, fisting his cock above you as he panted your name. You’d never heard or seen something quite as good as this, he was something else entirely.

He came with a cry, painting across your stomach as he fell against the bench top. The both of you frozen in time, collecting yourselves and letting your brains set back to normal. Propping yourself back up, you looked at the gorgeous man lent over the sink.

“I know you’ve just put in the hard work,” You reasoned gesturing to your state. “But I could really do with another drink.”

[deifiliaa]

I'm going down a Cho rabbit hole rn!! Do you have any Cho fic recs?? I'd love to read more Cho

hello anon, welcome to the rabbit hole, just wanted to let you know that this is one of those asks i dream about getting because cho chang? oft-overlooked-and-underappreciated-in-fandom cho chang?? why yes i would LOVE to stand on this soapbox and talk endlessly about her and my favorite writings that feature her <3

i get that a lot of the pairings featured in these fics/drabbles are very not mainstream lol but please don’t let that scare you off because honestly?? these are all a mix of fun, brilliant, stunning, transcendent stories and i have spent approximately a million hours thinking about each one of these because the character building and emotional payoff and dimensional portrayal of cho is overwhelmingly just so satisfying. so capable of filling that void canon left. so chef’s kiss.

gonna do my best to pick a line from each fic/drabble that i think does a good job of capturing its ✨ essence ✨ so. here we gooo. (mature/explicit fics noted with an asterisk * ).

record scratch * by @provocative-envy — modern, best man and maid of honor au (cho x marcus flint)

“You and Cho—my best and dearest and most precious friend in the world, Cho—you know each other, don’t you?” Marietta asks, just a bit too sweetly.

There’s a beat of awkward silence, then, and Cho very responsibly avoids the heavy, frantic weight of Marcus’s gaze, which has suddenly—coolly—intently—snapped over to her.

“so it starts at the tail end of the war...” by @provocative-envy — canon divergent au (cho x marcus flint) 

“i don’t want to get away,” she tells him, wincing at the strain on her vocal chords. “this is–this is it, can’t you feel it? this is how it ends.”

good behavior by @provocative-envy — canon divergent, postwar au, also the sequel to the above drabble (cho x marcus flint)

Well, his “muggle integration counselor” needs to be able to find him.

“marcus flint knows a lot about destruction...” by @provocative-envy — high school au (cho x marcus flint)

“I’m bad at math,” he blurts out, jaw working as he folds his arms over his chest. He feels defensive. Frustration prickles a familiar dance across his scalp. “This is, like, my third time taking trig. They always—I get lost when that fucking—when the circle thing with the dotted lines shows up.”

tick tick boom by @provocative-envy — superhero au (cho x marcus flint)

Cho Chang now works for the nonprofit across the street, a legal defense fund for superheroes who aren’t lucky enough to have corporate sponsors or full-fledged PR teams.

Marcus sees her, occasionally.

heads or tails * by @provocative-envy — thief acquaintances au (cho x marcus flint)

“We aren’t jack shit, sweetheart,” she mimics obnoxiously. “Yes, I know.”

His nostrils flare. “What’s the fucking problem, then?”

flying before falling by andtheyfightcrime — canon compliant (cho x cedric diggory)

Cho sniffs, "Maybe we just think there's more to hello than sticking your tongue down someone's throat." Cedric groans at that and says, "You shatter my illusions, Chang. We could have been in Hufflepuff together."

fifty ways by andtheyfightcrime — canon compliant (cho x cedric diggory)

Being in like with Cedric is a lot like being friends with him, only with more private smiles and demure nods.

big head boy by @cocoartistwrites — university au (cho x percy weasley)

She makes him nervous, with her shiny hair and her firm, straight brows and her piercing dark eyes and the haughty way she argues with him, and how she slams everything he says, how she sounds like his sister, Ginny, sometimes, when Ginny hears him talking, how assured she is, how angry, how sometimes she argues with their tutor – their brilliant, famous tutor – once, memorably, calling him an outdated sexist pig and –

“the thing about cho chang...” by @provocative-envy — zombie survival au (cho x cormac mclaggen)

Out of everyone? Back at camp? That he could’ve gotten trapped in a fucking abandoned Bass Pro Shop with? While a horde of fucking razor-talon zombies mashed their rotting gray faces up against the tastefully organized display windows?

Cho Chang would not have been Cormac’s first choice.

the sweet spot by @provocative-envy​ — modern, celebrity au (cho x cormac mclaggen)

His smile is authentic in ways that she doubts he’s aware of, in ways that she doubts he’s even capable of understanding, and it unnerves her a little bit, having all that energy, all that intensity, all that smug, self-fulfilling excitement directed right at her, totally unfiltered.

hiding in plain sight by @mxrcusflint — high school au (cho x cormac mclaggen)

Cormac McLaggen, she thinks, has probably broken more hearts than earned A’s.

descent (or how to stop being a national hero) by watername — canon divergent au (cho x viktor krum if you squint, but also not really)

At the second task, when the competitors dive beneath the lake, he drums his fingers against the railing and wonders what kind of person inspires such loyalty.

when the lights go out by thatdarkhairedgirl — second war resistance au (cho x viktor krum)

He missed her. He’s known her for less than a year and he missed her.

flights of fancy by namelessamelie — canon divergent au (cho x draco malfoy)

“You don’t have to defend him,” he interrupted, cutting her off. “Potter’s not as wonderful as he’d have everyone believe, and you know that better than anyone.” Then, before he’d fully thought it through, he added impulsively, “One hero isn’t a replacement for another.”

caught by blood sugar love — canon divergent, postwar, rebellion au (cho x draco malfoy)

Cho blinks. "I mean... I-I sit, and I think about it. How much you've ruined everything. It's really amazing, when I tally it all up. How much you owe. Especially if your father dies."

the sporting life * by blythely — canon divergent au (cho x pansy parkinson)

Cho wins but it's probably because on the last match point Pansy is looking at Cho rather than at the ball.

seeking * by Gelsey — postwar, ministry au (cho x charlie weasley)

“Fucker,” she said, righting her clothes in quick, economical movements, though her hands were trembling. She tossed her hair.

a moment’s silence (happens grace, happens sweet) by disinclinant — second war order au (cho x charlie weasley)

“I’ve no idea who you are,” Charlie replies, amused and vaguely charmed by this explanation of how she knows him through the process of elimination.

moon walk * by @provocative-envy — modern au (cho x antonin dolohov)

She stares at him for a minute, blatantly astonished and visibly apprehensive, and then she blushes. Hard. Gnaws on her lower lip and sweeps her eyes from his face to his chest and—very, very quickly—even lower.

even the score * by themidnightguardian — olympics au (cho x ginny weasley)

It’s a tepid rivalry at best—something that’s fierce on the field and almost entirely absent off it—and they’ve only spoken a handful of words to each other since their college days, but when it comes to women’s soccer, the Chang-Weasley rivalry is the hot gossip because it’s the only gossip.

Which is why twitter loses its shit when they both make the Olympic team.

that’s what she said by @provocative-envy — hockey au (cho x ginny weasley)

“Hey, why don’t you like me?”

Cho’s face twitches oddly. Defensively. “Why don’t I—excuse me?”

playing favourites by Slumber — postwar, healer au (cho x oliver wood)

The first time Cho catches Oliver Wood wandering St Mungo's ward nowhere near his own, he at least has the grace to look embarrassed.

[solarwonux]

~ 7:28pm ~

warnings: smut, exhibitionism, dirty talk, blow jobs,

note: pls don’t take all of this literal this is a work of fiction, and please do not engage if you’re underage. other than that enjoy and lmk know your thoughts. 

masterlist

For nearly an hour since you arrived at the library. Seokmin hadn’t been able to keep his hands to himself. At first, you didn’t mind. It was Seokmin the guy who despite just being friends with and occasionally fucking each other from time to time, always had to touch you in some way, shape, or form. Whether it be secretly holding hands underneath the table. Placing a reassuring hand on your lower back whenever he sensed something was wrong. Or simply just having his arm wrapped around your shoulder while the two of you studied, or at least attempted to. 

Now though sitting next to him, his head placed on top of your shoulder as you attempted to finally finish reading the book you needed to read for your research paper. His overly affectionate self was getting on your nerves. Especially because his innocent touches against your body had started to become needy and desperate. 

“Min, for once can you stay still.” You sighed placing your highlighter in the middle of your book and closing it, setting it aside. He let out a whine and kissed your shoulder before lifting his head up. “I can’t...I need you.” He whispered leaning forward and capturing your lips with his. The kiss full of soft desperation and his arm around you got tighter. You sighed against his lips feeling yourself get reeled in like magic. A skill he possessed and knew how to use to his advantage. “Touch me please.” He mumbled against your lips his tongue swiping across your bottom one asking for access. And you, of course, granted it to him, whimpering lowly as you felt his tongue massage yours, deepening your kiss even further. 

In the midst of your heated kiss, Seokmin managed to find one of your hands and placed it against his clothed crotch. His hard-on prominent in his tight jeans and you felt yourself getting turned on. More so because this wasn’t the first time the two of you had acted on impulse in the back of the library. It was, in fact, the reason why the two of you kept meeting up her every Wednesday after class, knowing very well no one ever dared to look back here as there wasn’t really much to look at. Except for the couch, the two of you were occupying and the endless shelves of outdated encyclopedia’s. But the thought of possibly getting caught by one of the library assistants was what kept the two of you coming back. 

He moaned into your mouth as you started to palm him slowly. A smirk forming on your face as you felt him grow harder underneath your hand. You always seemed to weaken the tough soccer player and it sent sparks of arousal through your body. 

Seokmin pulled away panting. A string of saliva hanging from both of your mouths, as the two of you, eyed each other with a strong sense of hunger and lust. Quickly he closed the laptop that had been laying open on his lap untouched for almost two hours and set it aside. “What do you want?” You bit your bottom lip and unbuttoned his jeans. Your hand snaking its ways inside them and grabbing his hard cock, squeezing it gently. 

“Your mouth baby.” He breathed out his thumb grazing over your bottom lip teasingly. You smiled giving his digit a gentle peck before taking him out of his boxers. You sat up on your knees sending him a wink before kissing his cheek softly. Your lips trailing down the side of his face stopping by his ear and biting it, earning a low from him. You giggled leaning down and spitting on his hard length, running your thumb over his head slowly spreading the small beads of precum that had quickly formed over it, along with your spit. 

“What are the magic words baby?” You teased, sticking your tongue and lapping over his slit. He threw his head back bucking his hips into your hand. You shook your head letting out a sound of disapproval as you moved your hand at an agonizingly slow pace. A frustrated sigh leaving his mouth as he bucked his hips up, thrusting himself into your hand once again, this time harder than before.

“Don’t care right now angel, just need your mouth.” 

“Where are your manners Seokmin.” You tsked, moving your head down and blowing onto his red angry head. Sending Seokmin into shambles as he trusted into your hand once again. “You’re scolding me on manners when you’re about to give me a blow job in the back of the library.” He scoffed placing a hand on the back of your head and pushing you down gently. Your swollen lips ghosting against his cock and he swore he could see stars from how needy he was. 

“The longer you take, the longer it takes for you to get what you want.” You stick your tongue out running it over his slit again. Soft whines falling out of his lips as you prolonged his neediness. “Fuck please baby let me feel your mouth on me, please.” He begged, threading his fingers in your hear pushing you down again. 

“As you wish, Min.” You wrapped your lips around him, massaging the bottom ridge of his head gently before taking him in as much as you could. He groaned throwing his head back pushing on your head a little more before you tapped him on leg signaling you couldn’t take any more of him. You relaxed your jaw swallowing around him before starting to move your head. Your hand moving along with it as it pleased the rest of him that wasn’t be able to fit in your mouth. 

Seokmin let out low moans, the feeling of your hot, wet mouth wrapped around him always made him feel weak in the knees. Especially when he would look down and you were staring at him with this innocence that contrasted your sinful actions. He loved listening to the slurping sounds your mouth would make bouncing of the silent library walls. A reminder to keep himself from screaming out your name in pleasure. It felt like mission impossible, but he loved it. It sent a special rush of adrenaline through him that he could only get when he was on the soccer field or at your mercy. 

“C-Can you take more?” He breathed out, his grip on your head getting tighter and you almost felt a headache start to form from how hard he was tugging at your roots. You pulled away, spit on your chin, eyes watering as you moved your hand faster against him. To him, you looked like a renaissance painting and he couldn’t wait to finish the masterpiece he had started to create. 

“Yes, give me a second.” You nodded reaching over and giving him a peck on his lips before going back down. You licked the underside of his cock, your tongue toying with the prominent vein that was bulging out. The sight alone was enough to make you come untouched, something only he could manage to get you to do. Your other hand snaked in between your body and finding his balls, massaging them gently as you left open-mouthed kisses up his cock. Finally taking him inside your mouth again. 

A desperate guttural moan escaping his lungs and you almost feared that you would get caught. But you were feeling so good watching him come undone because of you that stopping was out of the question. So, you pushed yourself farther down him, gagging when the tip of his cock hit the back of your throat, and you could feel him start to get close as he pulsed against your tongue.

You pushed yourself farther, feeling the tears pool at the corner of your eyes. His hips had started to desperately thrust into your mouth, fucking you making you moan around him. The vibrations sending a wave of pleasure through his body and he felt the coil in the pit of his stomach start to build up. You fondled with his balls and tried relaxing your throat as he held you in place. His thrusts had started to become sloppy as he got closer to his orgasm. You continued to gag around him, digging your nails into his clothed thighs. You looked up at him, watching his face twist in pleasure and you felt the pool of heat that formed between your legs start to trickle down your thighs. 

“Gonna cum baby, let me cum in your mouth please.” 

You moaned, your saliva running down your chin and your tears falling against your cheek, but your look of innocence remained. And it was enough to send him over the edge, spilling his bittersweet cum down your throat. Your eyes widening as you felt it hit your taste buds, sending a shock of pleasure up your body. He pulled himself of your mouth, placing a hand underneath your chin and raising it up to meet his lust-filled eyes. “Let me see.” He panted, his thumb playing with your bottom lip as you opened your mouth. His sticky white substance resting on your tongue as he leaned down and kissed you, pushing his cum further into your mouth with his tongue. The act alone making you come, your body convulsing against his as the waves of pleasure crashed through you like a tsunami, making Seokmin smirk in satisfaction. 

He pulled away holding you close to his body, planting a small kiss against your forehead. You let out a laugh shaking your head in disbelief at how fast Seokmin managed to change in seconds. He smiled widely before stuffing himself back into his pants looking around to see if anyone had waltzed their way to the back of the library. Your hearts settling down when you noticed no one had even bothered to satisfy their curious minds and see what the library kept hidden in the back. 

“Can’t believe you just sucked me off in the back of the library?” He grinned pecking your lips repeatedly. “And I made you cum untouched again, honestly my skills are impeccable.” He beamed, the cockiness in his voice was enough to get you on your knees again. 

“What are friends for.” You teased moving so you were sitting criss-cross apple sauce on the couch. 

“Since when have we ever been friends?” He questioned moving his hand over to your hair smoothing it down. “As far as I’m concerned we’ve been more than friends for a while.” He whispered, his eyes changing into something hopeful. 

You smiled feeling your cheeks heat up as you nodded. “I think you’re right, sometimes I want to scream how much I love you to your stupid face.” You confessed, the shyness overcoming your body as you saw Seokmin’s cheeks warm up. It was wild seconds ago you were confidently giving him head underneath the terrible fluorescent lights of the library. But now as you confessed your true feelings to him and as he did the same to you. The two of you turned into little high school students confessing to crush for the first time. 

“Sometimes I want to scream how much I love you and tattoo it across my chest.” He challenged, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you closer to him. You laughed shaking your head, resting your forehead against his chest. “Please for the love of God never do that.” 

“What? Scream how much I love you...I mean I wasn’t going to cause we’re in the library and that would most definitely get kicked us out if I screamed in here.” 

“No Seokmin,” You whined hitting his chest lightly. You raised your head pouting, his smile getting wider as he saw how endearing you looked. “Tattoo you love me across your chest...never do that please.”

“As you wish my love.”

[amphtaminedreams]

Paris Haute Couture Week S/S 2020 Plus a Little Jacquemus: Okay, Dior DID Suck (Part 1/2)

Hi to anyone reading,

Oh my god. I completely forgot there was also 2 haute couture weeks. I FEEL SO OVERWHELMED. Here I was getting all geared up for the F/W 2020 shows and suddenly it’s Jean Paul Gaultier’s last show and everybody’s (predictably) buzzing about the Jacquemus collection. I can’t keep up. But Haute Couture week is a lot less intense than the RTW shows so I suppose I should be enjoying this relative peace whilst I can. 

I remember my last post about Haute Couture week opened with me defending Maria Grazia from the wrath of the internet; if Jacquemus is social media’s Lord and Saviour, this woman is the Antichrist. She’s Michael Langdon minus the dramatic flair. But the thing is, I genuinely really liked the Dior collection last time. Maybe because I was newer to the discipline of scouring Vogue Runway, but the lack of originality didn’t bother me; it was still something I’d die to wear, gothic yet delicate and relevant for 2019. 

That being said, this time round, I have to open by doing the exact opposite and concurring: this time round, Dior was in fact, utter shit.

I feel mean saying it but...really? These were the slightly more salvageable outfits and my favourite of the bunch, and to be honest they don’t really capture the full extent of how outdated this collection was to me. I know that the concept behind the show was this idea of the divine feminine but Greek Goddess has been done SO many times. If you’re gonna go down that route, you have to bring something new, elevate it in some way. It can’t be THIS generic.

I can’t believe that in 2020 we’re really seeing plaited hairbands. The individual dresses are basic, but not so much the problem as the styling; they look like outfits I would’ve put together back in 2012. That’s not an exaggeration. I think even 2013 me would appreciate that you need to make things a little twisty. 

The colour scheme is pretty, don’t get me wrong, and I like the cowl necks-the white dresses are the highlights. I think the concept of this collection was conceived with all the best intentions. But as a designer you need to take risks and I don’t see one single risk here; there isn’t anything that wouldn’t already be sold in your local H&M. Dior is such an established brand, Maria Grazia has room to do whatever she wants. And yet it just comes across like she’s out of ideas. 

You’ve got to look at a designer like Ulyana Sergeenko:

When I say elevated (but still in the vein of wearable), I mean something like this. To be completely honest, I hadn’t heard of Ulyana Sergeenko until I saw shots of this show on Twitter. But what a perfect mix of kitsch and glamour. The influences are clear: Priscilla Presley, Barbie, Jackie O, Valley of the Dolls, the rich stay-at-home wife of the 60s, the Alessandra Rich/Scream Queens-esque sorority girl, Paris fucking Hilton. It’s exaggerated and it’s tongue in cheek with total grounds to call it trashy-there’s a corset resembling a Benjamin Franklin, ffs-but it’s all done with a wink and a nudge. And in all honesty, I just think it’s beautiful. Can you imagine Frances O’Sullivan (@Beautyspock on IG) in one of these looks? It would be worthy of the Rose McGowan cultural reset meme ten times over.

Everything is feline, from the very literal cat silhouettes and cat headed boa, to the makeup and the hair clips. It reminds me of the last RTW Ralph and Russo show but with even more attention to detail. And look at the STAGE. If this collection were a song, it’d be Disco Tits by Tove Lo. And no, I’m not just saying that because one of the dresses actually does feature a (cat shaped) disco tit. Like these are the clothes I dreamed of putting my Bratz dolls, and for null I’m sure, myself in. Absolute perfection. Plus, I’ve loved Coco Rocha since she was on The Face with Naomi Campbell; she is, after all, to thank for the iconic “check your lipstick before you come for me” line. Girl is really the martyr for all purple lipstick lovers, cut down in her prime by a pissed-off Naomi. 

Onto Alexandre Vauthier, which I also really liked. An interesting yet effortless blend of the old and the new, the masculine and the feminine, if I could sum this collection up in one word, it would be cool. I know, it’s not the most descriptive, but it pretty much sums up how I feel; I’m not AS gassed about it as I am about Ulyana Sergeenko or this season’s Elie Saab (wait for it), but it’s a fresh offering, even if the styles aren’t the most groundbreaking. Stand outs for me are the almost petticoat like, debutante dresses which have Elle Fanning’s name written all over them.

I was hard pressed to find favourites in the Armani Privé collection if I’m honest. I’m not saying it was awful, all I know is that it just isn’t my style. It’s all a bit TOO tailored for my liking, and kinda reminds me of the Zara pantsuits my Spanish teacher used to wear. In other words, I find it to be a bit dowdy. On a positive note, the colours, fabrics, and beading are all stunning, so I see that a lot of craftsmanship clearly went into it; I think my biggest issue is the styling and the shapes (or lack of) on show. I’m very much getting a 20s, flapper vibe and whilst that’s an era that fascinates me and that I appreciate was cutting-edge at the time, I’ve yet to see it be bought into the 21st century in a way that doesn’t look stiff or costume-y. 

Then there’s Azzaro. At the complete opposite end of the scale to Armani, it doesn’t look expensive, which I’m sure isn’t something any designer previewing their collection at haute couture week is striving for. BUT that being said, I’d be much more likely to wear something from this collection than I would from Armani Privé. I mean, I have no shot at ever wearing either but ya get me. 

Whilst I’m sure it or something similar has been done before, the mesh diamanté dress is exquisite and I’m a huge fan of the stacked gem chokers and belts. The whole collection looks like something a London socialite who parties by night but (deep breath in) plays in a shitty band so fancies herself a bit of a rockstar by day would wear (exhale) and as much as that doesn’t sound like a compliment, I mean it as one. I’m talking about the kind of person you’d see smoking outside a bar and think “I wish I was them but I am potato lol”. I mean, as far as faux fur and fedoras are concerned, I’m gonna find it hard to completely slate a collection so this is pretty up my alley.

Chanel was a huge step up from their last RTW collection, imo, and probably on par with their last haute couture offering. It’s that same blend of preppy Chanel detailing (i.e the exaggerated collars, the checks and the lace) and practicality, only even more austere this time round.

It’s funny because when I looked back on original notes on this collection, before I’d even done any research into the context, I saw that one of the things I’d written was “giving me Victorian orphanage madame” as well as “something something Amish” and I wasn’t THAT far off base. The collection is, after all, supposed to be a tribute to the nuns who raised Coco Chanel at the beginning of the century in an Abbey-cum-orphanage. This makes me really happy; I know not everyone’s a fan of Virginie Viard’s nods back to the past and the brand’s origins but as a history nerd, I definitely am. 

There’s also definitely a lot of things that can be translated into high street trends here: the combination of decorative white socks and black shoes is something I’ve seen making a comeback already, tulle is always a winner (I actually don’t mind it as an overlay, I think it’s pretty, sue me) and I have no doubt we’ll be seeing these dramatic collars creeping back onto tops and jumpers throughout the year. It’s been a while since they were a thing anyway and we all know how cyclical fashion is.

Another high note for Elie Saab this haute couture season; if I was an expressive person, I probably would’ve audibly gasped as I looked through this collection. It is SO FUCKING MAGNIFICENT. The colour scheme, the baroque prints, the floral sequinned embroidery, these are Cinderella style ballgowns taken to the next level. Elie Saab really is the definition of opulence and I’m not at all mad about it. Please, somebody put Lana Del Rey in one of these, PLEASE. Remind her how much of a princess she is and get her out of those “soccer mom” looks.

I’m so stuck between this collection and Ulyana Sergeenko as my favourite, and the latter might just pip the other to the post, purely because of the staging and extravagance of the presentation itself. 

Georges Hobeika was predictably phenomenal. Like, I’m not going to lie, I am easily won over by some sequins and tulle, I’ve never claimed any different, and if you can expect that from anyone, it’s this guy (ignore that phrasing making me sound like his proud mother). The colour scheme is very spring appropriate and so is the 3D flower detailing, and if there’s anything good to take from Ascot and English royal weddings, Georges Hobeika knows it’s the hats.

It was another strong year for Givenchy too:

Though Claire Waight Keller is also fond of the extravagant details along the lines of feather and tulle, it’s always done in a more organic way; the details are always more reminiscent of nature, something created by accident, than they are suggestive of painstaking attention to detail, the image of someone hunched over a dress beading for hours on end à la Georges Hobeika or Elie Saab. That is not a bad thing at all; if anything, it makes Givenchy more interesting to study and gives you more to think about. Sometimes a dress takes you a bit longer to fully appreciate, but I’d say that only lends to its memorability. This year’s willowy, billowing, and at times coral-esque structures  remind me of something I can see being worn down an Iris Van Herpen runway, set apart by that delicate Givenchy finesse. And side not: I know this post is to talk about the clothes, not the models, but I got super excited over seeing Sora Choi and Adut Akech walk too. 

Guo Pei is always fun to look at. I mean, this collection is giving me half Matryoshka dolls, half It’s A Small World Christmas edition and I can’t hate on that. 

And then there’s Iris Van Herpen, who knocked it out of the park once again. At this point, I wouldn’t expect anything less. Every outfit looks like something that could be exhibited in the Tate Modern (I know, it’s a basic opinion, but it’s true: TATE MODERN IS THE BEST MUSEUM IN LONDON), or honestly, the Design Museum, just for the genius that must go into the way these dresses move. Honestly, if I can see a goddess wearing anything, it’s more one of these looks than anything in the Dior collection. Like wife of Poseidon or something; I know it’s not very feminist of me to not know the Greek Goddess of the sea’s name but I only know who Poseidon is because I was a Percy Jackson fan back in the day so let me live.

It’s not like the whole under-the-sea theme is particularly new, Zimmerman did something similar last RTW (I think? Correct me if I’m wrong), but these constructions could’ve grown out of the sea bed themselves, which is more of an original take than “oo, blue and white and frothy hemlines!”. Additionally, we’ve got these dresses with the overlapping almost plaited fabric that are-we’re sticking with the goddess references here-fit for Persephone ruling over hell. As for the Grudge-looking dress (fourth down, far left), I could be reaching, but is anyone else seeing that as a nod to the oil spills polluting our oceans? Because that would just add yet another layer to this collection. 

Regardless, it’s all impeccable and I’m in love. Iris Van Herpen as a MET Gala theme. Make it happen.

Anyway, to end on a high note, that’s it for this post! 

Sorry it’s such a sudden cut-off but Jean Paul Gaultier was due to be my second to last to review and due to it being the final show, there’s an onslaught of photos that would not fit with what’s already in this post. Plus, I’d rather start a post with Jacquemus then end it as I feel like there’s a lot of hype around his collections online right now so 1). it’s clickbait (for what, I do not know, as I’m not exactly making any money off this blog, just losing my sanity as it transpires when Tumblr accidentally terminated it earlier today and I had a minor breakdown) and 2). this Steve Buscemi meme is the most accurate representation of only 21 year old me to grace the internet:

I will aim to post part 2/2 in the next week, including JPG, as I just mentioned, the Jacquemus co-ed show, Margiela, Valentino and more, and as always, thank you for anyone who read until the end! You are an angel:-)

Lauren x

[etoileholland]

La vie en rose

Pairing: Tom x female reader

Warnings: none, just fluff

Word count: 2.8k

Summary: while at a museum in Paris, you meet Tom, a boy so beautiful that the masterpieces pale in comparison to him.

A/N: This was originally a series that I made for @scarletxwidow​ back in 2017 (long before I ever had this blog), but I recently found it and decided to give it a new life. I have another part to this story written out, would anyone care to read the rest? Let me know! And as always, please let me know if you would like to be added to the taglist.

(The photo is not mine; all credit goes to its respective owners)

Wow, it’s even more beautiful up close. You thought, admiring the Monet painting that encompassed the entire wall. Her eyes traced the swift veridian brushstrokes, appreciating the tranquility of the water surfaces encapsulated onto the expansive canvas.

After university you had booked a plane to Paris to experience the art and the culture firsthand. One of your first stops was to the Musée de L’Orangerie, to see Monet’s “waterlillies” painting. You had worked different odd jobs and saved money to afford a plane ticket, but it seemed well worth it.

It was a particularly rainy Tuesday night and the museum was practically empty. There were a few people around, but the rain was so bad that it seemed like everyone had stayed home. The museum had a dreamlike feel to it, with the beautiful paintings adorning the walls, and the room was so quiet that you could hear a pin drop; it was surreal to say the least.

Your ears perked up when you heard a tour guide explaining a painting to a couple at the other end of the room. Looking over at the elderly couple, you noticed that they walked hand in hand; something that had warmed your heart instantly. It was rare to see love that has stood the test of time, but then again, it made sense in a city that’s known for love. The tour guide quickly finished reciting the history of the painting, motioning to the couple to follow him to another section of the museum, leaving the hall silent again.

Sitting down at the bench that was in front of the waterlilies painting, you set your bag down next to you and pulled out a well loved book that you had purchased at a used bookstore back home. The book, titled ‘guide de visite’, was slightly outdated, but went into great depth of the paintings here at the museum. You had immediately fallen in with the book, having read it many a time, each time vowing to yourself that you would see these paintings in person. Flipping through the delicate pages of the book, you stopped when you found the descriptions for the waterlillies painting, becoming entranced with the printed text.

Face buried in the book, you hadn’t noticed the figure standing behind you until he had moved into your peripheral vision. Shifting your gaze slightly upwards, you saw that the person was looking over at you. You observed him curiously, noticing his curly brown hair that was lightly tousled, and his long black and white tweed overcoat. He seemed around your age, and had a certain allure about him. He smiled when your eyes met, but instead of smiling back you averted your gaze back to the painting.

“Excuse me love,” his soft voice lightly echoing through the empty room, “would you mind if I sat next to you?” He asked, standing there as he awaited your answer.

Nodding your head yes, you carefully picked up your bag and set it gently on your lap. He was close enough for you to smell his cologne, his sneaky side glances not going unnoticed by you. You could feel yourself blushing as you tried to keep your focus on the painting instead of the handsome boy sat right next to you, which proved to be quite difficult.

Nervously touching the watch on his wrist, he cleared his throat, before saying, “I was admiring the Monet, but it was taking away from your beauty.” His cheeks were pink as he smiled, as he was scanning your features to make sure that he didn’t weird you out with that comment.

Flustered, you brought the book up to your face so that he wouldn’t see you blush, and you uttered out a small “Oh, um thank you.”

“I’m Tom, by the way.” He said, smiling as he waited for you to say your name, which you did.

“Enchanté.” He said as he continued to admire your features. You didn’t know why this very good looking guy was paying attention to you, let alone admiring you, and the thought of that alone left you feeling flustered.

The two of you sat there for a while, taking in the painting, but him sitting so close to you made you feel slightly uncomfortable. You cleared your throat as you stuffed your book in your bag and stood up.

“Wait, hold on a second.” He pleaded, “I just need to know one thing.” He asked while you nodded, sitting back down next to him.“You’ve been looking at the painting for a while, is it your favorite?”

“Definitely. It’s just do beautiful, you know? The colours blending together beautifully, and the brushstrokes are just pleasing to the eyes.” You let out a small laugh, and all Tom did was smile.

“Do you know a lot about the other paintings here?” He asked, his voice soft, along with his gaze.

“Yes, actually. Years ago I purchased this,” you motioned to the book on your lap, “and it tells of a lot of the paintings here. Although, some of the pieces aren’t here anymore but it’s nice to have a little piece of history, I guess.” You smiled nervously, mentally telling yourself to not sound so nerdy. Tom smiled softly at you, enjoying how passionate you were about art.

“So you’ve probably memorised the whole book then if you read that on a long flight.” He responded in an effort to keep the conversation up.

“Yeah, maybe so.”

He smiled again, and his smile was so adorable that in turn, made you smile too. Maybe he was the real masterpiece here, you thought. The masterpieces in this room don’t compare to his beauty.

“Well then,” he paused, nervously looking down at hands, “maybe do you mind being my tour guide? My brother Sam brought me here but then ditched me to get coffee with some American girl, can you believe it? It was his idea to drag me here but then left me the first chance he got. Typical.” He let out a small laugh, and you mentally thanked whoever Sam was, because if he didn’t leave Tom, then you probably wouldn’t be talking to him right now.

“So I’ve been wandering around, admiring the art, but it would be nice to be with someone who really understands art.” He hinted, his eyes twinkling under the museum lighting. You didn’t realise that he was closer to you than before, but you didn’t mind.

“Well you could have gone with the tour guide, I’m sure they know more than I do.”

“True, but the guide isn’t nearly as beautiful as you, darling.” He responded, the ‘darling’ rolling off his tongue like caramel. Thank god you were sitting, because if you were standing you would have melted into the floor.

“Well, alright then, follow me.” You said, gathering your belongings, while Tom held out his hand for you to grab so you could get up. His hands were soft yet firm, and as you stood up you let go of his hand immediately. He frowned when you let go of his hand too quickly for his liking, so he stuffed his hands in his pockets and followed right behind you, as you began your tour.

You two made your way around the museum, admiring the Picasso’s and the Matisse’s. You had your book open as you showed him the pages, reading the description from the book to him as you two admired the paintings. You often caught him staring at you instead of the art, and you playfully pushed him. “Oi mate, pay more attention to the artwork.” You exclaimed as you mimicked his accent.

He laughed, throwing his hands up like he was surrendering. “I can’t help but stare at how beautiful you are, and how adorable your accent is. The artists would understand that I’m basking in the beauty of the real artwork here.” You two blushed as you uttered out a small “thank you,” and continued the tour.

At that moment, one of the museum workers came up to you and Tom and spoke. “Excuse-moi mademoiselle et monsieur, le musée ferme ses portes dans quinze minutes. Merci beaucoup.” He left as swiftly as he came, leaving you both as Tom stood there puzzled.

“What did he say?” Tom asked as he looked over at you, and you replied, “The museum is closing its doors in fifteen minutes.”

“Oh, that’s a shame.” Tom said as he rubbed the back of his neck, looking down so that you wouldn’t see his visible frown.

“Mmhmm.” You added, clearing your throat.

You were sad in knowing that your nice afternoon with Tom was coming to an end. You were enjoying his company, and it seemed that he was enjoying yours as well. The workers were ushering you two closer to the entrance, turning off the lights in the back part of the museum to signify that it was closing.

“Darling, thank you so much for the lovely day, and for being such a good tour guide. I should probably call Sam to make sure he’s alright, and to see if he needs saving or not.” He laughed, although there was a hint of sadness laced in his voice.

“Thank you as well, I had a really nice day. And thank you for letting me ramble on about the art pieces.” You laughed, and Tom just looked at you and smiled.

“Of course, I could listen to you talk about art all day.” He said, and you felt that you were blushing again. You played with your hands nervously as you two walked towards the front entrance of the museum.

You made your way outside, noticing that it was still pouring, so you and Tom stood underneath the awning so that you wouldn’t get drenched. You were about to speak when someone interrupted you.

“Do you need a taxi ride home, mademoiselle?” The doorman asked you.

“Yes please.” You responded. He nodded and went to the curb to hail you a taxi.

You were hoping that he would have a hard time hailing a taxi so that you and Tom could speak some more.

“Do you need a ride back home?” You asked Tom as he nodded his head no.

“Not yet, Sam said he was going to a café right next to the museum, and I think it may be that one right there.” He pointed at a quaint café right down the street. “I should call him and make sure.” He said glumly, realistically knowing that this may be your last encounter together.

Tom contemplated asking for your number, and as he worked up the courage to do so, the doorman ran back with an umbrella in hand. He opened it and motioned for you to get underneath it.

“The taxi is here for you, mademoiselle. Have a safe travel.”

“Okay, one second please.” You turned to Tom and placed a small kiss on his cheek. “Thank you for everything, hopefully we’ll see each other soon.” You said, as you handed him your museum book. “You can have this to remember me by.” You waved to him, being led away by the doorman, towards the taxi.

Tom admired the book, knowing that it was one of your favourite things. He looked at you one last time as you turned around and waved goodbye. He waved too and stood there, holding the book close to his chest. He sighed as he watched the taxi drive away, knowing that he would probably never see you again.

——

The next day was bright and sunny, and you decided to go shopping at the Champs-Élysées. It was a famous street lined with expensive stores, and although you couldn’t afford much, you wanted to walk around and at least pretend you could. You also needed a distraction from Tom, knowing that you may never see him again. Paris is a large city, and for all you know, he could’ve flown back home. And even if he was still here, the chances of running into him again are quite slim.

You took a taxi from your hotel and made your way to the eighth arrondissement, staring out the window to take the whole city in. To say it was breathtaking was an understatement; words couldn’t describe the beauty of Paris.

After a short taxi ride, you first went to Ladurée to try some of their famous macarons, as well as to have a cup of coffee. You walked into the small café and was immediately hit with the aromatic smells of macarons and desserts. You found a small table to sit at, and ordered an espresso and an assorted plate of macarons.

You pulled out the Great Gastby from your bag, and made yourself comfortable. You imagined how F. Scott Fitzgerald must have felt back in the 1920s in France, and wondered if he had sat where you are now, writing little pieces of stories on a napkin and enjoying the ambiance. From outside, you could hear that a street performer was playing “la vie en rose” on a violin, and in this exact moment, everything was perfect.

You basked in the sunshine and listened to the conversations around you. There was more English spoken here than at the museum, which made sense, since this was a tourist hotspot. One thing you didn’t notice, however, was a familiar voice of someone a few tables away.

“You know, I never thought I would say this, but I’m glad you ditched me at the museum.” Tom said, grinning.

“Hey I’m glad I ditched you too, the American girl was cute. Her company’s much better than yours anyway.” Sam laughed as Tom tossed a piece of macaron at him.

“I mean it though, it was seriously perfect yesterday. Well, almost, at least until the doorman whisked her away into a taxi. I didn’t even get to ask for her number.” He said, flipping through the pages of your book. He carried it around with him, in hopes that he would run into you again.

“I know, you gushed about her all day yesterday. I get it, she’s like your soulmate or whatever.” He scoffed as Tom flicked another piece of macaron at him.

“I’m serious though, she was perfect. The masterpieces paled to her beauty in comparison. I think even the Mona Lisa would be jealous of her.” He sighed, sinking dramatically down into his chair.

“God I wish I had asked for her number sooner, like right when I first met her.”

After hearing that, Sam shook his head. “No because then she would have thought you were a creep or something, and you know, she wouldn’t be entirely wrong.” He laughed as Tom shot him a glare. He slumped backwards into his chair, staring up at the ceiling as he placed his arms over his face.

“God you’re dramatic.” Sam stated, staring at Tom, who let out a small groan. People sitting around them were staring, and Sam poked Tom in the stomach, causing him to shoot back up in his chair.

“I hate you, you know that?” Tom retorted.

“No you don’t, you love me.” Sam grinned as Tom rolled his eyes.

“Okay, I’ll try to be more help to you. What did she look like?” Sam asked, looking over at Tom who now had a smile on his face.

Tom described in great detail your height, hair color and what you were wearing. He described how your hair was up in a ponytail, with little strands of hair framing your face, and how there were light flecks in your eyes. He gushed about the freckles on the bridge of your nose and how when you laughed, your eyes crinkled. He mentioned how you loved to read and that you loved art, and that you weren’t from France.

He rambled on as Sam looked around the café to see if anyone met his description. He saw you sitting in the corner, reading your book and eating your macarons, and Sam had a feeling that may be you. You matched the description, but he also noticed that your bookmark was the admittance ticket from the museum they went to yesterday.

“So basically the girl sitting over there?” Sam smirked, and Tom quickly turned his head to see who he was referring to. He snapped his head around so quickly that he practically gave himself whiplash.

“Yes exactly!” He exclaimed a little too loudly, and the the older ladies sitting by them glanced at him disapprovingly. He jumped up, nearly running into the server as he made his way to your table. You didn’t even notice Tom standing in front of you, until he slightly cleared his throat.

“Oh, hello.” You said shyly while grinning at him. You motioned for him to sit down across from you, and he didn’t hesitate to do so.

“Hey.” He answered as he tried to keep his composure. “Must be fate, huh darling?” He added, popping one of your macarons into his mouth.

——

Mes anges (taglist): @scarletxwidow​ @sunflowerhollands​ @fangirlwithasweettooth​ @musicalkeys​ @lmaotshollandd​ @taciturnspidey​ @graceluvsyouu​

[sugar-petals]

Hi, I was wondering do you have any ideas on how exo biases reflect in us the same way our bts bias does?

ok so, this goes after the same “how we pick our bias based on our struggles” / “what gift of ours they reflect” format.

kyungsoo

what you believe you lack: ability to maneuver throught the trials and utter chaos of life. you find it hard to keep cool, set bounaries, and do things precisely your way. you long for being a compelling, subtle, and collected character who handles everything thrown at them. you often wish human nature would confuse and faze you less. you wish that everyone just does their job and won’t cause upheaval. you wish all was better regulated and things taken care of.

your potential and gifts: you’re a devoted family person and aspire for peaceful living. meanwhile, a part of you is highly logical and assertive. you are extremely efficent and always the one to arrive at the finish line first because you’re so focused and single-minded. your smile is innocent. people think you’re cool for liking RnB. you’re great with animals and a genuinely good friend. you’re loyal.

jongdae

what you believe you lack: you assume you’re naturally unintelligent and don’t fit in, have nothing valuable to say even when you try very hard. you think others will exclude or step on you and not consider your opinion. you’re anxious that you end up silenced and scorned at, made a sheep. you fear that you’re not outstanding or interesting at all in any regard, or live up to high expectations.

your potential and gifts: a meme machine, someone who truly pursues what they want. you are humankind at its most brave when you realize that you can direct circumstances to your wishes more than your former powerless self thought. you can go against any outdated norm you want and get away with it. people like you for being a renegade, not for taming yourself and biting your tongue. people support you when and because (!) you speak the truth.

yixing

what you believe you lack: a shield to protect you from how invasive reality is, all while you’re afraid to lose touch completely. you feel left out or squarely pushed to be on our own devices. you feel discriminated against or entirely underestimated. you feel like you could never achieve a sense of pride or show your true colors. you want harmony and fairness but are proven otherwise everywhere you look.

your potential and gifts: you are dignified, sexy, cool, smooth, and talented. show stopper potential right here. you cannot be overlooked because you are a royal. you have a sense of justice and treat everyone with the same base line of respect. you’re deep. you are cute and the least likely to annoy an introvert or sensitive person which you can interpret as a certificate for a sound character. you work hard and take things seriously.

suho

what you believe you lack: the skill to make everything happen the way it should. in fact, “shoulds” govern your life. life made you disappointed and a misanthrope. you know that you can still be frustrated and overworked if you have everything others wish they had. the dark side of responsibility or your attempt to seize it is eating you alive. you wish you had real support and encouragement.

your potential and gifts: that patience is something only surpassed by water washing down a stone. you believe in etiquette, you’re the old school and you’re damn right, manners are there for a reason. also, yes, you are attractive and look very elegant to others. you are welcome in every household. other people may disappoint you, but you are no disappointment to others.

baekhyun

what you believe you lack: you’re emotionally, sexually, romantically, and socially deprived to extreme degrees. you often feel a sense of numbness, coldness, loneliness, demotivation, unimportance and lack of purpose in the greater scheme. your worldview is cynical bordering nihilistic. you find it hard to connect meaningfully and never feel you know the right thing to say/do. you are conventionally attractive but got left behind in the dating race. you isolate yourself. you have severe body image issues. you depend on others valuing you more than the average person and feel bad because you think it’s a bottomless pit that nobody can fill, not even you.

your potential and gifts: you’re the determining factor in a social setting. others admire you. in fact, they are obsessed. your ambition is boundless. you know how to protect yourself. you’re a professional, invoking jealousy and awe wherever you go. other people do love and respect you, you’re just way out of their league for them to word it your way. you have the midas touch, all you pick up as a project turns to gold.

minseok

what you believe you lack: organization and sweetness in life, something to stir things up. you’re feeling like you are caught in eternal boredom and chores and it’s driving you insane. hell, you are against this entire system, the rat cage is turning you into a hypervigilant. you wish for more diversion in your life. you want to really raise the roof but are haunted by a terrifying restraint from within yourself.

your potential and gifts: you can bring order to things and speak frankly. people see that you are a dark horse, understated but still always to be reckoned with. people like you for your curiosity, constructiveness, and ease to be around. they feel safe and comforted around you. you don’t seem to age since years. you are great at all leisure and ever-pleasant.

jongin

what you believe you lack: what you beat yourself up for is that you feel like a slob who can’t engage others no matter what you do. you feel isolated, un-dateable, weak, always pushed to the fringes. you think you need to be nicer, fitter, sexier, fiercer, and more popular and adapted to be accepted. you wish you had more pizzazz and appeal. you never thought you could cause a stir or get any attention. you retreat from the world a lot and rein in your energy.

your potential and gifts: even if you’re not actively athletic, you do have it in you. your body is in better shape than you accuse yourself for day by day. you get one with music and naturally stand up for yourself. others can’t do you no wrong. despite what you say to yourself, you have nice skin. you’re always the most passionate person in the room.

sehun

what you believe you lack: excellence — you assume you’re always meh in everything. or vice versa, you have unacknowledged expertise, something you can’t make a reality. you feel like you’d have to take life more seriously but you’re just floating on, closed up, annoyed, overlooked, even cast out. you wish you knew the balance of speaking your mind and acting with compassion. 

your potential and gifts: people think you’re cute no matter what you do. nor do they criticize your moral standards unlike you assume they do. they think you are nice and forthcoming all while being what you are, a badass bitch. you are universally envied and well-known in your circle, believe it or not. people would kill for your silhouette.

chanyeol

what you believe you lack: you think your life has been going down the drain ever since. everything feels dull. deep down, there’s nothing else but sadness and exclusion from all the important things. you wish you had more overview and a bigger emotional and physical presence. you wish more people would love and support and hype you. you hardly find excitement these days, it’s all dragging you down

your potential and gifts: even if you might feel lost in social situations, you still have your aims and you should very well stick to your motives. you are fine-tuned to people and help others out. you can safely leave the rocket science in florida: you don’t have to be a born sunshine, superman, or a model to get by. a good heart and a dose of charm is enough down the line. the secret to a happy life is not in looks nor attitude but how you uplift others.

[enigma-im]

More Than Just a Line of Code Pt.1

Robot x Female Character. Tracey Romero recieves a bot from her Auntie Carol. Little does she know that he isnt just some everyday house bot.

Rating: Teen Relationship: Robot X Female!Human Warning: fluff, exposure of genitals, pg13 at most, robot and human relationships

Word Count: 3835

Part 2

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I walk up the steps to my two-story bungalow. Juggling the keys in one hand while adjusting the phone against my ear.

"Two weeks, tops! You can’t expect me to give you quality when you take away my clock," I chided. I unlock the door and head inside. The voice on the other end rants out some excuses and reprimands. It was idle threats, just some big dog talk. I throw the keys onto the side table, missing the bowl I bought for them.

I roll my eyes as I toe my shoes off," Let me explain how this will work if I do what you are asking. First, I will be rushed, I’ll work late with a fishbowl of coffee beside me at all times. Then after about three nights of this, I'm going to get sloppy. Which for me is still really good work but it’s not the best. I always promise my best but only if you work with me on this. So I ask you, do you want it done or do you want it done perfect?". I waited in the foyer for his answer. I already knew what he was going to say. No one wants subpar work, it’s understandable. He is paying big money for my expertise and it would be foolish of him to deny me now.

After a moment I heard the beautiful sound of his begrudging approval. I fist pump, "Two weeks and you will have the best software on this side of the Mississippi. The Tracey Romero guarantee.". With a few words, I hang up. I smirk down at my phone before shoving it into my pocket and walking to the kitchen.

I shimmy around the kitchen, dancing to my own music." I got the extend, I got the extend," I sing. I grab some bread and make myself a sandwich while still patting myself on the back.

I didn’t need the extend, his software was mostly done already. His team did a great job. It just needed some touching up then to be properly tested. Take about two afternoons at the most. I just wanted to go on break and get paid for it. Call me a con, it’s just a living.

-

As I sat at my computer, I heard the chimes of my security system. Then the quick thuds from the front door. I huffed as I pulled up my front door camera. I saw my front porch and a man walking away from the steps to a van.

"Someone has a package," I quirked to no one. I hopped off the chair and headed to the front door. Once I opened the door, I looked down at a huge box crate. It was as generic as they came, even had the large text of the word 'Fragile" on every side.

"Well, I have no idea how to move this," I mumbled as I tried to push it with my foot. It was heavy for sure. I bent over to try to pick it up, but it mostly just hurt my back. Rubbing my spine I pondered how to get this thing inside.

I would consider myself smart, maybe even a genius. I was a straight-A student, graduated top of my class at CMU in Pittsburgh. So using my beautiful mind I came up with a way to move the box. I pushed it inside.

Using a pry bar in my foyer to open the crate. The nails were removed smoothly, and the lid slid to the floor. Looking inside I first noticed a large black dome near my knees. Looking down from there I saw a large trapezoid shape then the rest was submerged in the shredded bits of cardboard. After a few moments of observing I figured out what it was.

"Of hell yea, it’s a robot," I shouted with giddy. I dropped to my knees and shoved my hands around the head. In most standard bipedal robots the on switch was near the neck. Right towards the faceplate. "Come on, momma wants to play with her new toy," I chuckle. With a flick, the faceplate turned on in a blinding light. It switched off quickly but still left me seeing stars. I jerk back when it jolted forward. It sat up straight then the soft sound of buzzing echoed in the room. I waited patiently for their system to boot up.

I got off my knees and walked around to watch it. Its face was blank, it just had the reflection of light. Showing off the dust and pieces of cardboard it laid in. getting bored I looked over at the lid to see who sent me a full robot. Even though robots are common it didn’t mean they were inexpensive. I make good money; I live very comfortably. Still buying a robot would set me back and make me eat nothing but microwave dinners for a month.

As I found that it is my aunt who sent it, I noticed the bot was staring at me. I turned at looked up at them and still, their faceplate showed nothing. I waved at them as I sat up. To my amusement, they waved back, but more jerky motions.

"Do you talk," I ask.

It dropped its hand, "Yes."

"Then mind introducing yourself," I smile. Its head tilted to the side for a second then back to normal. It faces plate lit up with a standard face. It was cartoony but it was most likely meant to be comforting. No one wants a robot with a mean-looking face. It smiled wide at me then dropped it to neutral. I quirked an eyebrow and they copied me. "You copying me," I chuckle.

"imitating, but yes," he answers. His voice isn't obstructed like in most bots. It sounds basically human, normal even.

"semantics, either way, I'm Tracey. Who might you be,” I greet. I try to coax them into introducing themselves.

"You are very appealing," they look me up and down.

I snap my fingers catching their attention," Getting off track, doll. Name please."

"Yes, I am D-4N1-3L," they finally introduce. I mumble out their text to myself.

"Daniel," I offer. They nod. "Alright, Daniel, do you mind if I call you a he?"

"He," he cocks his head.

"Give ya male pronouns. Or would you rather them/they," I clarify.

"He," they repeat, "I'm a man."

"Alright then Daniel, shall we get you out of that box," I stand and offer a hand. He looks at it before cautiously grabbing it. I don’t need to offer actual help because he stands on his own. He steps out of the crate and I get a good look at him. His build is standard if not a bit retro. Most robots I've seen are completely covered in their shielding plastic. Hiding all of their technical bits. Yet he has his joints exposed and everything else covered. His neck showed his wiring and the air cylinder that limits his neck movement. To anyone else, he would look like junk, some outdated pieces of hardware. But to me, oh to me he looks terrific.

-

I leaned against the island in the kitchen, watching as he wanders around. He snoops through my cabinets, investigating everything he finds. I look down at my phone that's ringing near my arm. I have set out to call my aunt about Daniel. I placed it on speakerphone so Daniel could listen if he felt inclined to.

After the fifth ring, she picks up. "Whose got three thumbs and is excited you called? This aunt," there was a confused pause," This would be funnier if you saw me, I'm holding a thumb right now. Either way what's up Chica?"

"If I didn’t know you were a mechanic id assume the worst about that severed thumb you are presumably holding," I eye Daniel as I answer. He was currently messing with the microwave. Pressing buttons and jumping when he turned it on.

"besides my possible dismemberment what do I owe this pleasure," She asks. In the background, I could hear some loud tinging noises. Probably in her workshop, or she does in fact have a human finger. Then probably a different workshop if that were the case.

"Well, I’ll give you a hint," I lean on my elbow.

"Oh goodie, I love games. Three hints," she chuckles.

I can’t help but chuckle as well, "alright three hints. Its long, hard, and came in a box."

"Tracey," She scolds, " I don’t believe you should talk about that kind of thing with your aunt. It seems more like a mother conversation."

"I don’t know, mom would be upset that I have him in the house," I answer vaguely.

"Oh, batteries not included? Who needed powered boyfriends when you can get the real thing," She jokes.

I shake my head," we both know battery-operated is better. Humans don’t tend to vibrate.". This caught Daniel's attention.

"I can vibrate," He informs pointing to his face.

"I'm sure you can, doll," I look up at him.

"And who is that," my aunt asks.

"My new boyfriend, best model out there. Even has same-day delivery," I joke. Daniel cocks his head and his electronic eyebrows furrow.

"A robot," she asks before it clicks," Right! The robot, god I'm a terrible creator. How could I forget my baby boy."

"Terrible mother indeed," I click my tongue," tsk, tsk. Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of him.". I look up at Daniel again and give him a wink. He turns his head as a pink color shines from his screen. "Aw, he blushes," I coo.

"Of course he blushes, he has a full range of emotions. My best work if I do say so myself," she pats herself on the back," Practically human."

"So it’s an A.I.," I ask," here I thought I was getting a butler. But I shouldn’t be so disappointed, I got a new friend instead."

Daniel turns his head to look at me," friend? I thought I was your boyfriend."

"We can talk about that later, doll," I answer.

"Aw, breaking up already. Poor Daniel, only been alive for a year and now he has his first broken heart," My aunt coos.

"We are talking about its later Carol, I'm sure it will be fine," Daniel says to the phone.

"You have me on speaker," My aunt asks, "Hi Daniel darling, how do you like Tracey's place?"

"It is cozy, living here would be most joyous," He answers.

"that’s a great sweetie. be nice to Tracey, ok?"

Daniel cocks his head," Why wouldn’t I be anything but?"

"No reason, sorry I doubted you," She apologizes.

"Well, I'm going to get off. Just making sure that you did indeed send me a bot. you can never be too sure," I call out.

"Oh absolutely. Love you baby, take good care of him. He is a sensitive bot, you may forget that he is more than a robot sometimes," She warns.

"Goodbye Carol," Daniel calls out. With that I press end. I cross my arms and lean forward. We both look each other over, observing in the silence.

"Do we need to talk," He asks with an adorable head tilt.

"About what," I answer with a question.

"Us. Are you breaking up with me?" I can’t help but laugh. This only confused him more.

"We aren't together, Daniel. That was just a joke I made with aunt Carol," I answer. I step away from the table and walk around to the fridge.

Daniel stepped away from the table as well and laces his fingers together. It was interesting, robots generally don’t have nervous ticks or idiosyncrasies. Auntie did a good job with him.

"Well, that I won’t lie and say that I'm unfavorable to that," He dropped his head. I was a bit confused about his reaction. He is a strange robot.

"You want to date," I ask. What did she program into this guy? It got my brain moving, how could anyone get a robot to seem so human. Most had applications built in to pretend to empathize with someone, but this was too detailed.

He looked up with a wide expression," Yes."

"Why?"

Daniel looks me up and down before walking over. He takes a hold of my hands and intertwines them.

"You are very appealing," He mimics his earlier words. I pull my hands from his and stare up at him confused. A strange robot indeed.

-

I sit at my computer with my legs crossed. I hunch over my keyboard and stare with my mouth partially opened. I'm working on pulling up Daniel's code and programs. He is currently hooked up to my tower with a bunch of cables. He is sitting patiently, if not happily, against the wall. His 'eyes' were darting around the room, taking in all the area has to offer.

"What is a battery-operated boyfriend," He cuts the silence. I jerk away from the computer, not use to having someone around in my office.

"what? Why do you ask," I blush.

His eyes focus on me, "you said it earlier, I was curious. Technically I'm a battery-operated boyfriend but I'm assuming it isn't me you were referencing."

I can’t help but smile," I guess you are a battery-operated boyfriend. But you are correct, I wasn’t referring to you."

"Then what is it," he asks again.

I look back to my computer, "I'm not going to answer that." I glance over at him for a second and see him pouting. Another curious attribute.

-

I stare amazed at the lines and lines of text. His code was so long, even too long. There were programs for such minor things like when to twitch his finger or raise an eyebrow. Looking further I found a curious program label 'Surprise'. Of course, I clicked on it, I'm only human. Looking it over I was nosy to turn the function on.

"Oh, this is new," Daniel mumbles to himself. I look over as he raises his hands from his lap. Looking down I see a protrusion.

"Oh indeed," I say shocked. He was majority matte black with traces of blue deep in his wiring. The protrusion was more on the blue side and had the lining of matte black. It was definitely an eye-catcher.

-

"Why does he have a cock," I nearly shout into the phone.

"Cutting to the chase, I guess. No foreplay, but I'm going to guess there was some if you found this out," My aunt jokes.

"Not funny, I looked through his programs. Also seriously, you named it surprise," I sneer. This was extremely uncalled for. Auntie has always been a mischievous person. Last year she spiked the punch at the family reunion to 'spice up the party'.  But this was too much. "Seriously, you sent me a sex robot? Not to steal your joke from earlier but I feel this would be a better present for mom," I scold. Mom divorced dad about five years ago, this seemed like a better gift to a lonely mother than a 25 y/o.

"First off, ew. I don’t want to think about my sister's sex life a-"

I interrupt her, "And you want to think about mine?"

"Do not use that tone with me. You haven't had a boyfriend since high school, you bury yourself in work. You convinced yourself that it’s enough, fulfilling even. Excuse me for thinking of you. Also, I will make this clear, I made his A.I. as a little side project. He was not for you till after he was made. His personality seemed perfect for you, so sue me for being kind," Carol snapped. I grabbed the bridge of my nose and sighed.

"Fine, I'm sorry. It was kind of you to think of me but It's a bit much that you added such a personal feature," I say calmer.

"I know you will find some use for it, till then please don’t treat him differently for it. I'm sure he doesn’t know what it’s even for," she pleads. I sigh again, this is just weird.

"Alright, I will still take good care of him," I relent. He is but a vessel for my aunt's ignorant kindness.

"I'm sure you will," she laughs.

"Goodbye carol," I hang up. I drop my phone onto the kitchen counter and exhale. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Daniel peaking his head out from my office.

"Are you angry with me," he asks. I look up at him and can’t help but smile.

"Of course not, just surprised," I answer. It was honest, I can’t be mad at him. I've known him for a few hours and I already adore him. He has such wonder for everything around him that makes my jaded self feel humble.

-

A few weeks with Daniel have been both tiring and rejuvenating. He asks so many questions that I gave up answering them and just introduced him to the internet. I got curious one day and checked his history, he goes on a lot of tangents. Now that he can answer his own questions online, he has moved on to asking about myself. He would ask about my interest or my job. Even comment on things he likes about me. For a robot, he was a bit of a flirt. His favorite thing about me was my hands. He said they were 'gentle and talented'.

We currently stood in the kitchen. He watched me as I cooked, he says he enjoys watching my human rituals. He can’t eat so he just likes watching me eat.

I stir the pot of food as I call out to my home bot," Home, play 90's hits." There was a chime then the music began to play softly from the speakers. Daniel looks around the room a bit confused.

"what was that," he asks her.

"My home bot, it controls some electronics around the house like lights or locks," I explain. He nods his head.

I get into the music and shimmy a bit as I finish off my meal. I slide towards my cabinet and pull out a bowl. With a twirl, I slide the bowl to the stove. Shaking my hips I pour a large helping of soup. Another twirl and I turn to Daniel. His face had its pink cheeks and wide-eyed expression. I set my food down and stare curiously. Why was he blushing?

Before I could ask, I caught sight of his blue swelling. I raised my eyebrows in shock and acknowledgment.

"I'm sorry," he stepped closer to the island to hide himself from view.

"N-No needs to be sorry," I stutter," I'm just curious why it decided to make itself known."

He turned his head as he continued blushing," Y-you."

I point to myself," Me?"

He nods, "You w-were dancing around. You have a firm r-rear."

"O-Oh, thank you," I blush. For the time he has been here I have never witnessed his, um, member. Since the first day it has never come up, pun intended, it’s never been noted again.

"Have you ever, um. Have you ever had this happen before," I ask a bit nervous. We have flirted a bit but I'm still off-put of using him. To have a boyfriend was simple, but to fuck him felt wrong. It was a bit taboo to keep a fully functioning robot around as a sex toy. Even if he seemed human, he wasn’t.

"Yes," He answered short.

"When," I look up at him.

"Depends. Sometimes when you bend over, other times when your shirt drops a bit too low. Most the time is when we sit together on the couch," He answers calmer than earlier.

"When we watch movies," I ask. We watch movies every weekend, I never noticed anything. Not that I would be looking at his crotch.

"Yes," He steps around the island and stops on the side. His crotch still blocked but he was in arms reach. "when u start to daze off and you rest your head on my shoulder. I feel the tingle and I want nothing more than to touch you," he smiles. He places his hands on the counter, not moving them but keeping them where they are. Daniel was leaving me to decide.

Daniel is very smart, never doubted it. Yet he still surprises me with his emotional intelligence. It’s easy to program a robot to see patterns or understand words on a paper. To explain an abstract concept like emotions was hard. You can fake it, but it always comes across as wrong, almost psychopathic. In Daniel, it came off as authentic. It felt real, like he honestly felt those things.

I bounce my finger on the counter as I stare at his hands. He still waited on me.

"You want to touch me," I ask softly. I look down at his fingers. One hand was stretched a bit farther than the other. His hand was sideways, his fingers were slightly splayed.

"more than anything," He murmured. His index twitched a bit.

I skidded my fingers across the table and let our fingers tap against each other. He didn’t move more than his fingers, leaving me with the choice still. Daniel was really smart indeed. I moved closer and grasped his hand, intertwining our fingers. I could hear his body make a low buzzing noise and his chest expand slightly.

My other hand grabs his free one. I pulled him around the table and towards me. Releasing my grip, and him reluctantly doing the same, I reach forward and hug him. I rest my hands on his lower back and my head on his chest. He does his form of a sigh again before wrapping his arms around me. He rests his head on mine and we just stand there.

This feels nice. I can’t remember the last I hugged someone. It had to be over seven years ago when I dated that saxophone player in high school. This felt better though, Daniel was warmer. I ran my hands up his back along the cylinders that controlled his back. I leaned back and looked up at him. I reached for his neck and pulled him down. I kiss him where his lips were on the screen. The whirling in his chest became a bit louder and his hold on my back gets a bit tighter.

I pull back with a shy smile. It felt silly to kiss a screen, but his reaction made it less so. He smiled at me too, even had his adorable blush on his screen.

Daniel led his head down and tapped his screen to my forehead. He pulled back after a moment and looked down at me.

"You look pretty when you blush," He mumbles.

"I could say the same thing about you," I smile.

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There is a part two. Also i did a lot of unnecessary research on this. even the name of the main character is shared with a famous programmer John Romero. He designed games like Doom or Wolfenstein. But check out my Archive page.

[thebestpersonherelovesbucky]

Blood is Thicker Than Water

Summary: Steve Rogers is a vampire slayer. Bucky Barnes is a vampire. They’re not meant to be no matter how hard they want to change that.

Characters: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes

Word Count: 4.5k

Tags: angst, blood, mention of past abuse, pining, star-crossed lovers, boys in love, ambiguous ending

written for @captain-rogers-beard​‘s  Flex Your Writing Muscles Challenge June 9th prompt

Prompt: Vampires

“I hope you haven’t been waiting too long, slayer.” 

Steve glances up from his beer, his heartbeat picking up at the sudden company. All the noise in the bar probably isn’t enough to cover the sound of it either so no doubt Bucky can hear it with those perfect ears of his. 

He tries to avert his gaze but can’t. He never can. Bucky is just so striking in every way. Five years ago, when Steve first laid eyes on him, he thought he’d been carved out of his own dreams. He’d never seen anyone like him. Long, lean limbs. Those lips the color of sin against his smooth, alabaster skin. Fluffy hair the color of a fawn and twice as soft. And his eyes. Good God, his eyes.

Steve had tried to dismiss them as gray. Just the color of a dreary day before it storms. But the more Steve’s seen them, the more he looks into them, the more he needs to acknowledge how wrong he’d been.

They aren’t gray. They’re silver, though, really, neither word does them justice. They are so solid, so bright, the exact lustrous color of a polished shard of a precious gem, and when Steve looks closer like he does just now, he sees the swirls of glittering onyx black and tinges of blue at the edges.

“You always keep me waiting,” Steve says, hoping to keep his voice even. “What else is new?”

Bucky’s mouth curves up in an amused grin as he helps himself to the seat across from Steve. 

“Is that a turn of phrase,” he asks, “or are you really asking?”

He wasn’t asking, but now that Bucky brought it to his attention, Steve does want to know. 

“It’s been two months,” Steve says. “What’ve you been up to?” 

Before responding, Bucky pulls a flask out from beneath the folds of his overcoat, adjusting his silk cravat so that he doesn’t suffer the horror of having anything out of place. Always so impeccably dressed no matter how outdated some of it might be. 

A touch of a more romantic time in history, Bucky always says. I can’t blame the world for losing its taste, but that doesn’t mean I have to.

Steve can’t help watching as Bucky takes a sip. A hard lump lodges itself in his throat when a bright red sheen left itself on Bucky’s lips. As if knowing Steve’s watching, Bucky makes a slow, sensual show of licking away the remnants.

“Want some then, slayer?”

Steve forces himself to look away. He tries to clear that lump but catching himself locked in Bucky’s gaze again doesn’t help with that. Bucky smirks. 

“I’ve kept busy,” Bucky finally answers the question at hand. “Teaching, actually.”

“Teaching?”

“Mhm.” Bucky nods. “Artistic Representation of the Underworld, The Bible as Literature, and War, Lit, and Politics of the Italian Renaissance. Took over for a few professors at the university when they suddenly needed some…time off.”

Time off. That probably means Bucky made a very convincing suggestion. A simple whisper in their ear that now would be a perfect time for a vacation. Very hard to resist the suggestive power of a vampire, especially when unaware of it. 

Taking a handful of peanuts, Steve chuckles with a shake of his head. He unshells one of the nuts and pops it into his mouth.

“All things you have personal experience with.” 

Bucky rolls his eyes. “I’m not that old, slayer. I was not around for anything written in the Bible.” 

Steve doesn’t know Bucky’s exact age. In fact, he’s not even sure Bucky knows his exact age anymore. He does know that he was around for the Renaissance and shows up in a few, more obscure, paintings from the era. 

“And you, Steven?” Bucky asks. “What sort of trouble have you been getting yourself into lately?”

“None.”

Eyebrows arching, Bucky clicks his tongue in that knowing sort of way and Steve shrinks into his shoulders. He knows that look. Knows he’s done something that’s about to get him scolded.

“No?” Bucky says, and waits for Steve to amend his answer but, for the life of him, Steve can’t think of what answer he’s looking for. “Then what’s this I hear about you jumping out of a glass elevator?” 

“You know about that?”

“Everyone knows about that.” When Steve doesn’t say anything else, Bucky huffs. “Would you care to share why you jumped from forty stories?”

This accusation makes Steve wince. Yes, he did jump out of a glass elevator, and from a very high height, but he did have a good reason.

“I was surrounded,” Steve argues, “by vampires. What’d you want me to do, let them–”

The growl in the back of Bucky’s throat cuts him off and Steve snaps his mouth shut. 

“Are you being a smartass, Steven?”

“N-no, Bucky.”

“Good,” Bucky grumbles. “Why were you there in the first place?”

Steve scoffs. The answer to that is obvious and Bucky already knows it. It’s painted beneath the skin of Steve’s forearm. 

It is in our blood, to slay every last one

“You know why I was there,” Steve whispers. “I had to be there.”

“Killing more of my brethren?” Bucky asks. “More monsters like me?”

Eyes dropping to the table, Steve’s brow furrows and he slowly shakes his head. 

“I don’t think you’re a monster, you know that.” Steve looks through his lashes to see that Bucky’s crossed his arms. Still waiting for an answer to his more pressing question. “I wasn’t there hunting. I was there doing research.” 

Bucky’s head tilts slightly to the side. “Research at a public building?”

“That’s right. I got wind that there was a Hydra Coven there.”

This makes Bucky fall back against his seat with a more understanding, if not surprised, look on his face. He drums his fingers across the table, those manicured nails tap, tap, tapping as he does. 

“I see.” He’s dropped his gaze. Seeing things Steve can’t. A time before all this. Before he knew Steve. Before they were a them. “And did you find him?”

“No. But his War Dog was there. Gives me reason to think he’s in town, too.” Steve twists his lips. “I guess you still won’t tell me where he is.”

“You guessed correctly.” 

“You’re impossible.”

Bucky sighs and peers up through thick lashes. That look makes Steve’s heart pound even harder. So innocent and anything but at the same time. 

“Steve,” he says, softly, “you’ve got to stop this. You’re going to get hurt.”  

“I’m a slayer,” Steve mutters. “It’s my job.”

Slayers have been around almost as long as the vampires they hunt. People born with the innate ability, the strength, the speed, to hunt the hunters. They joined forces to hunt together under one banner they called the Black Rose for the same sole purpose, pursuit, calling.

Generations have continued their sacred mission: kill all vampires. They’ve handed down one message: despise all vampires. They valued one truth above all others: all vampires are evil. 

Each new generation is taught the arduous and painstaking art of slaying at a young age. Steve, like all slayers before him, had these three absolutes instilled in him ever since a vampire killed his mother when he was just three-years-old. 

But Sarah Rogers, a slayer like him, hadn’t been part of the Roses, he learned later. Sarah Rogers, like Steve after her, defected. Became a traitor. Wanted to raise her son full of tolerance and acceptance. And would have, had she not been killed. 

Of course, the Roses took him in after her death and never spoke a word of this, indoctrinating him into their way of life. 

Vampires, he believed, were vicious bullies who preyed on the weak. They murdered and maimed for the thrill of it. They were mindless animals that didn’t care about the pain and grief they left behind. 

A belief that changed drastically ten years ago when Steve had been sent to Romania–how so very cliché–in search of a particularly nasty coven. Only when he surprised them in a predawn attack, Steve didn’t find a coven of monsters. He found a family, the matriarch and sire willing to die if Steve promised to spare the others. 

Steve couldn’t bring himself to kill them. Any of them. It wouldn’t’ve been right. He hadn’t gone back to the Black Rose after that. If he did, and if he told them when he’d found and done and now believed--that maybe not all vampires were the monsters they thought--they’d just brand him a traitor. Which they did anyway, eventually. When they found out what he’d been doing.

The inner workings of the underground vampire world are just as convoluted and corrupt as any human governing force, including the Black Rose. Steve had been raised and taught to fight injustice. He didn’t like bullies. To him, it didn’t matter what they were or where they came from.

Vampire or human, they all deserve someone to fight for them against oppression and persecution. 

For the Roses, however, life is black and white. Good versus evil. Right and wrong. Vampires, to them, are a blight on humanity. Something unnatural. They refuse to see what Steve had come to discover that night all those years ago. Steve isn’t so sure they weren’t the ones actually responsible for his mother’s death.

Plenty of vampires are content to just live their lives. They hold jobs. Go to school. Have homes. Families. Friends. They don’t all kill those they fed from. In fact, most don’t.

Other slayers have joined Steve and his cause. So have vampires. Enough that they could officially call themselves a team. People who know of their existence like to call them the Avengers. A bit much, in Steve’s opinion, but who is he to argue on such matters.

“Steve,” Bucky murmurs, reaching across the table to place his hand over Steve’s wrist. His skin is slightly cold to the touch. “You don’t have to keep doing this. I’m okay.” 

Jaw tightening, Steve turns his hand enough to lace their fingers. Across from him, Bucky’s gaze lifts to meet his. 

“I do have to,” Steve replies. “He needs to pay for what he did to you.”

That last part is just a slip of the tongue. Steve doesn’t mean to say it. He does mean it. With all his heart. But his dedication isn’t meant to be reserved only for Bucky. In this, though, he can’t help it. Not after what’s happened.

Taking his hand back, Bucky drops his gaze to the table and sighs, his countenance vastly different than when he first sat with Steve.

“But he’s my sire.” 

Bucky says this softly. Almost to himself even though Steve knows he’s meant to hear it. There’s a part of him--albeit a very small part--that sympathizes. He doesn’t understand, and unless he’s ever turned himself, he won’t ever. 

It’s a strange relationship, the one between a sire and their vampires. The bond between them is said to be unbreakable except by death. Steve’s seen just how wonderful that bond can be. The protectiveness and companionship and love. 

But he’s also seen the abuse it can lead to as well. The mistreatment. The manipulation. The loss of free will. Steve has witnessed vampires forced to do horrible things they’d never do all because their sire took control of their mind. 

The same way Bucky’s did last year.

And many times before they met. 

“I don’t care,” Steve mutters through clenched teeth. “He hurt you.” 

As if this means absolutely nothing to Bucky, he shrugs and takes another swig from his flask with a shake of his head.

“He’s my sire, Steve,” he says in a way that makes Steve’s stomach turn, a way that suggests it’s simply okay to be hurt by his sire based solely on the fact that he’s his sire. “It wasn’t the first time. It probably won’t be the last. Definitely not a reason for you to be throwing yourself out of an elevator.”

“Bucky--”

“Because you do realize that you’re neither immortal nor invincible,” he reprimands. “My blood gives you strength but you still have limits.”

He did have limits. Not many, but some. Bucky’s blood gave him strength. It gave him speed. It gave him heightened abilities altogether. But, just as Bucky said, it neither made him immortal nor invincible. 

The only reason Steve ever consumed vampire blood in the first place was out of pure necessity. Without it, he’d’ve died. Bucky saved his life the day they met. 

Steve clears his throat and tugs on the neck of his sweater. He knows what Bucky’s doing. That he wants to change the subject. 

“You saved me once,” Steve says. “Why won’t you let me do the same for you?”

“By allowing you to kill my sire?” 

“He’s cruel, Bucky. He is manipulative and vindictive.” Steve’s jaw stiffens. “He’s the monster.”

Bucky blinks. A smirk curves up one side of his mouth. “Do you expect an argument?”

 “Then why do you always defend him?” 

“He’s my sire,” Bucky says again. “I don’t expect you to understand.” 

It’s unusual, the way Bucky both hates and loves his sire. He’s never physically tried to stop Steve from killing him yet he still defends him. 

“I wish I did.” 

Steve shakes his head. He’s not exactly lying. He does wish he could understand. If he did, maybe it would make this easier.  

“Why don’t we just get down to business, shall we?” Bucky asks. “You did have your reasons for wanting to meet with me tonight, I assume.”

Of course, he has a reason. He always does. One more than any other. Steve wants to see Bucky, always. If he ever decides to join him by his side, to stay with him and the Avengers, it’ll be the happiest day of Steve’s life.

Until then, Steve can only remain satisfied with the small doses a year he gets. When Bucky agrees to meet with him. Sometimes overnight. Sometimes a little longer. And Steve knows, with absolute certainty, that he’s safe. 

 ~~

Bucky believes Steve when he says he wishes he understood. To be honest, Bucky wishes he understood the bond between him and his sire as well. It’s a physical presence. A constant reminder that he feels all the time. His heart may not actually beat any longer but that tie he feels to his sire is close. It gets weaker when they’re apart. When they’ve not seen each other in some time, but it’s still there. Just…dulled.  

It’s always there, though. 

A tether that binds them together. 

Or a chain that Bucky is incapable of breaking. 

It’s warped, the way he feels about his sire, and he knows it, but he also knows it’s the same for most vampires. He has no love for the man. He won’t particularly care if Steve does kill him. In fact, he’s sort of hoping he will. Bucky just can’t bring himself to take an active part in seeing it happen. 

“What is it you’d like to know?” Bucky asks. “Aside from where my sire is.” 

Without another word on the subject of sires, Steve sets a manila folder down on the table and pushes it in Bucky’s direction. Bucky opens it. Finds pictures of a vampire in a prominent role of the human’s government. He smirks. 

“Senator Stern, huh?”

“Did you know?”

“Only that he was a vampire.” Which Steve undoubtedly knew as well. “Is he Hydra?”  

“According to new intell, yeah.”

This presents something of a problem. While the Black Rose wants to eliminate all vampires, Hydra wants to enslave humanity. With an agent of the Hydra Coven so high in the government, there’s no telling how far they’ve infiltrated. 

“Okay, well.” Bucky slides the folder back to Steve. “I’ll find out what I can. In the meantime, have you had any luck with the Roses?”

The first time Bucky Barnes ever saw Steve Rogers, Steve had been lying in a pool of his own blood. The scent of it had caught Bucky’s attention when he’d been walking down the midnight streets of London. He followed it. Found the infamous slayer that had defected from the Black Rose. Bucky knew him on sight. Most vampires did. 

Steve had already lost too much blood to be turned that night, so Bucky did the next best thing he could think of short of trying to get him to a hospital before he died. He probably could have gotten him to a doctor, but if he survived that way then questions would have been asked. Suspicions raised. Police called. A world of trouble for both of them. 

So Bucky cradled the slayer in his arms, hoped he didn’t cause him too much extra pain--by the way he tensed and gasped and cried out, Bucky’s hope was for naught--and bit his own wrist. He held it to Steve’s lips. Steve shook his head and mustered up enough strength to push the offer away.

“N-no…” he groaned. Dangerously pale and trembling all over and dripping in perspiration. “I don’t wanna be--”

“Relax, slayer,” Bucky said. “This won’t turn you, only save your life.” 

That was Bucky’s first brush with Steve’s stubbornness. When he brought his wrist, blood dripping out of the bite, back to Steve’s mouth, he shoved it away again. Bucky scoffed.

“Don’t be ridiculous, slayer,” he scolded. “Just drink.” Eyes drifting up to meet his, Steve whimpered when he tried to move. “C’mon, now, you’re in pain and you’re going to die. Let me save you. You’ll be no worse for wear when you come to next, I promise.” 

Bucky could see the conflict that waged through him then. Steve didn’t want to die. He also wasn’t sure about accepting help from a stranger vampire and in such a manner. No doubt he heard all sorts of rumors about what it meant to drink a vampire’s blood. 

Some were completely convinced that consuming vampire blood would turn them. Which was wrong. Without their venom to complete the process, it wouldn’t happen. Some thought it would make a human their slave. If that’s ever happened in the history of ever, Bucky wasn’t aware of it. Some said it would kill a human outright. That one made no sense. There didn’t seem to be any point in killing a human by having one drink blood when feeding from one would do the job a lot quicker. 

This time, when Bucky lifted his wrist again, Steve took it and drank. 

And drank.

And drank.

He drank until he moaned against Bucky’s cold skin and shivered pleasantly in his arms and finally collapsed. Not out of fatigue or weakness. From the rush. The adrenaline and overwhelming sensitivity caused by Bucky’s blood spilling into his veins. Something similar to when Bucky was turned, though not nearly as intense. 

The next time Steve opened his eyes, he stared up at Bucky with lust and hunger in his eyes. Another feeling Bucky knew. When he first woke up in his sire’s bed, all he wanted to do was fuck. Then fuck again. And fuck some more. 

Steve wanted to as well. Even begged him. They did fuck, eventually. Not that first day. Not when Steve only wanted it because of the rush of endorphins and increased hormones. 

They will again, Bucky hopes. 

“No more than you have,” Steve replies. “It’s black or white with them. They don’t see any of the gray.”

“But they leave you alone?”

Steve shrugs. “For the most part.”

He’s unconcerned with them, Bucky knows, except for when they might do harm to a coven simply minding their own business. Because according to the Black Rose, they’re all monsters. 

When Steve doesn’t say anything else and doesn’t indicate that he has any other news he needs to share, Bucky taps his hands at the edge of the table and pushes away. He can’t just sit around waiting for the slayer he’s in love with all day.  

“You’re leaving?” Steve asks when he stands. “Already?”

“Did you have more business to discuss?”

Years of practice make it easy to keep the sacrifice out of Bucky’s voice. It sits there, though. Right in his throat. But he knows better. Knows better than to want what he can’t truly have. He’s a vampire. Steve is a slayer. They are eternal enemies no matter what shifts between them. It’s natural. The natural order of things. 

How they feel about each other--or how Bucky feels about Steve, anyway--doesn’t change generations of beliefs. Even if Steve does love him, which Bucky suspects he might in his own way, they don’t work. Bucky’s life is eternal. Steve’s life, while prolonged by his slayer blood, is finite. Steve has no desire to be turned. Bucky has no desire to be without a mate his entire existence. 

Together, they make two halves that will never be a whole. 

“N-no,” Steve says, just above a whisper. “Not really. But…when will I see you again?”

“Sooner I suppose,” Bucky tells him, “rather than later. I’ll be around.” He walks away from the table then, about to disappear in the crowded bar. Bucky waves over his shoulder just before he’s swallowed by the throng of humans. “Au revoir, slayer.” 

People part for him. An instinct. A chill that runs up their spine. A shiver that runs down their limbs. A sinking feeling that runs through their bellies. 

As an apex predator, however, one right look--a smile, a beckon, a reach--his prey would follow him almost every time. Bucky hasn’t fed on warm blood for quite a while, choosing, instead, to buy it from those who collected and bottled it.

So as not to give in to temptation--too many bodies in one place made the scent of blood hard to resist--Bucky hurries outside. The second he’s out the door, he lights a cigarette. He isn’t exactly sure why he still smokes. It gets nothing out of it other than the comforting and familiar rise and fall of his chest as he breathes it in. Then again, it won’t harm him either, so he reckons there’s no point in giving it up either. 

It’s snowing tonight. Soft, gentle flakes that glide out of the thick clouds above and glisten in the moonlight. Bucky’s feet don’t make prints in the bit of snow that’s settled softly on the ground. Other prints are there. People. Together. All sharing their loneliness in the company of others. Not like Bucky, who walks alone, not even able to leave his mark behind. 

Unlike his sire, Bucky misses Steve when they’re apart. This has nothing to do with any physical link between them. Despite the bit of Bucky’s blood that runs through Steve’s veins, it’s just an ache within him. If Steve chose to walk away and never meet again, Bucky’s unbeating heart would break, but there’d be nothing he could do about it. He wouldn’t either, even if he could. 

Bucky knows all too well what it means to have his mind wiped and new images placed within it. To be at the total mercy and control of another. It’s one sin he’d rather not tick off. If there truly is some sort of afterlife for him, he’d rather not be totally corrupted.

Still, he wants to be near Steve, but knows it’s a fool’s errand to chase such a desire so he doesn’t. Regardless of Steve’s beliefs, Bucky knows what he is. He’s a monster. And monsters don’t get happy endings.

Cigarette between his lips, Bucky sighs, and heads for the end of the block. Before he gets there, he can hear the unmistakable sound snow crunching under the snow. An instant after his ears make out the sound, his nose recognizes the scent. He can’t help the way his mouth tugs itself into a smile.

“What are you doing, slayer?” he asks, turning as he does. “I thought you said--”

“I lied.” 

Steve doesn’t pause. He doesn’t hesitate. He captures Bucky’s face between those strong, slayer hands, and kisses him. He kisses him like this kiss will have the passion and love to drown out all the voices that try to destroy them.  

Eyes still closed when Steve inches away--leaving his brow against Bucky’s--Bucky breathes him in. That sweet, sunshine that radiates from his every being. The warmth of his touch. The sound of his heart beating...thump thump thump. 

Steve is breathless and panting. Bucky is not, though, he remembers such a sensation. The way the world could so easily take his breath away when he was alive. Alive in an entirely different way. 

“Stay with me,” Steve whispers. “Please. Please, don’t leave me, Bucky.”

If Bucky’s heart could beat, it’d be trying to break free from its prison he’s locked it in beneath his ribs. Bursting from his chest to declare to the entire world how much he loves this man and the world would kneel before them in wonder and awe. 

But Bucky lives in a world rooted in reality, while Steve--Steve and his dizzying optimism and ideals and warmth--lives in one rooted in fantasy. They don’t belong together. They are nothing but two hearts forever out of beat. 

Over Steve’s shoulder, Bucky can see the trail of footprints he left in the snow.

One set of footprints. 

“I can’t.”

Bucky remembers crying. He can feel it deep within his gut--a hurricane rushing through his chest and up his throat, even though no rain can no longer fall. 

“You can.” Steve, forehead still against Bucky’s nods. “All you have to do is say yes.” 

A tear does slide down Steve’s cheek. He understands the enormity of such a request. The sacrifice. The struggle. The risk. 

“Please, don’t, Steve,” Bucky says. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”

“I do. I do know. I’m asking for forever with you.” 

Gaze lifting to meet his, Bucky brushes a thumb at the corner of Steve’s mouth. Steve, eyes closing, kisses the finger before Bucky takes it away. 

“Forever is a long time, slayer.”

“Yes,” he agrees. “And I want to spend it with you.” 

Bucky breaks away from Steve and all his kindness and tenderness and all the peace he holds out in offering. He shakes his head and begins to walk away, leaving Steve and his confession hanging in the air to crystalize and crash to the ground. Before any shattering can happen, he pauses. Catches his breath which does not really catch for he has no real need to breathe. But he pauses and catches his breath nonetheless. 

He goes no further. He doesn’t go back. Instead, Bucky stands there, holds his hand out, and waits. Steve’s fingers slide between his and they walk hand-in-hand. To where, Bucky’s not sure. Toward forever, maybe. Whatever that may be. If it can be at all.

As they do, Bucky glances over his shoulder. Sees in the snow only one set of footprints beside the empty spot where his should be. 

“What is it?” Steve asks. “What are you looking at?”

“Nothing,” Bucky whispers as he turns to face forward again. “Nothing at all.”

And they say no more than that as they walk together into the all-consuming night of their forever.

[anangelicday-mrwolf]

Wolfsbane : Noblesse Fanfic (post-ending)

(previous chapter)

Chapter 33 – Nice to See You at Last, You Rat

“Lady Lunark...?”

The voice could not be softer, but the werewolf warrior jerked as if she were touched by fire.

In turn, she caused an almost identical motion in the young warrior who addressed her.

“Uh... Your order, please...”

She turned her head, doing a terrible job of hiding that she is dreadfully keen on her leader’s mood.

Lunark directed her eyes towards the two rookie warriors, who were just as conscious of her as they stared in waiting.

They happened to be standing in one of Union’s facilities, officially dubbed as “dispository.”

Based on the Union dictionary, “disposal” comes with a definition different from its counterpart in the civilian world.

The process of disposing something does exist, but irredeemable, permanent disposal is a highly rare case in Union.

Because it is Union belief that even the most useless, outdated file or source could one day shine in the future.

For this reason, every file or source deemed “to be disposed of” follows two steps: (1) its online copies are deleted, and (2) it is duplicated into physical, hard-copy format to be disposed-slashed-stored.

And this is when a dispository comes in handy.

Although she was once an elder of the Union, Lunark could not remember the last time she was at a dispository.

She was back to her main task: discovering and shutting down Union’s facilities, especially those that were in possession of Crombell.

She remembered how she could only suck her thumb as she came across one facility after another already shut down by someone else.

However, for once she landed upon a facility with its doors locked, not sealed for good.

Which is why the three young warriors assigned for today’s mission seemed clueless about what to do.

“First we must get rid of all evidence that could hint our presence. Judging by the location and the order of shutdown for each of the facilities we ran upon, the rat who had been ahead of us all this time will be here. So let’s get ready for our guest.”

The warriors immediately got busy, and so Lunark was given time to get engrossed in her thoughts.

Her reasons were hammering her head that she should not let herself get distracted when she is outside for business, but her head was beyond her control.

She could not help but recall once again the conversation she had prior to this trip.

*****

In spite of the invasion by Union’s weapons against noble heads of clans and failure in initial activation of QuadraNet, werewolves regained peace.

Or rather, they could shake off the confusion, which unfortunately did not apply to everybody.

For instance, a certain werewolf who ended up thwacking her human crush’s lips with hers was still very far from peace.

The problem was that she had to make it so obvious that something was bothering her, and wherever she went she made the occupants tiptoe with nervousness.

In the end, Muzaka summoned her in privacy for a talk.

“Are you really planning to zip your mouth for good?”

“...I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about, my lord.”

“Playing pretend, are we? Well, I should’ve known, based on your atmosphere for the past few days.”

Her eyes were sore, and her tongue was tied. However, her head had never been nimbler.

‘What do I do? Did he notice that I’ve feelings for Frankenstein?’

Lunark was aware that Muzaka does not take kindly the relationship between human and wolfkind. She would not be surprised to find out that he was outright opposed to the idea.

And she would rather make herself Maduke’s stepdaughter than to have Muzaka look into what lies in her heart.

Plus, she knew Muzaka would rather give Maduke a peck on his face than to offer his blessing for her and Frankenstein.

“Is it because of Frankenstein?”

And just like that, Lunark started to wonder if she should start calling the dead werewolf daddy.

Muzaka smirked at how Lunark’s face turned stony.

“Honestly, it’s not that hard to guess. There were only a very few changes in our land lately. Union’s invasion. That blondie’s visit. And trouble with the QuadraNet. But since that blondie happened to have gone around the time you changed, anybody would be able to guess he did something to you. So, is it because of him?”

Despite knowing that silence is definitely not the remedy right now, Lunark could not utter a sound.

Muzaka, on the other hand, was quite unfazed by her silence, which made her question whether she should take it as a good sign.

“I’m sorry, but I say no.”

Muzaka yielded what Lunark had been predicting from him all this time, although the fact that she saw this coming did not stop her mind from crumbling to pieces, to the very bottom of her stupefied body.

“I know I don’t get to play a vote in your relationship. And it’s not like I have power to officially ban you from a relationship. But if I dare give an advice, I do not think this is recommended, Lunark. And I’m sure you know why I can’t say yes. Racial difference serves as no bars in love. I truly loved Eileen, and Ashleen was a gift like no other. To me, they were my entire world.”

Lunark could feel her heart throb as she watched how Muzaka spoke of their names without the slightest flinch.

She could not imagine how many rakes in heart and how much the magnitude of pain he would have gone through until his own family’s names turned mellifluous upon his lips.

Which is why on the other hand, she felt guilty as hell. She actually made Muzaka bring out his deceased family.

“However, our story did not meet a happy ending. Yes, there were bastards that intentionally set fire upon our path. But it does not change the fact that our story is a masquerade of blood, tears, and death.”

Muzaka’s voice remained as placid as it was, but Lunark could not even dare make a face that she wanted to comfort him.

“And as far as I know, I am the starting point of our kind’s taboo regarding relationship with humans. It’s been alive ever since my first era of reign. And I do not wish to see you suffer even little by eyes and ears against relationship with humans.”

“My lord...”

This time Lunark spoke; she did not want to keep her mouth relieved of its duty for the rest of their meeting.

Nonetheless, she could not manufacture any sound afterwards.

“And I have a practical reason as well. As you’d know, Frankenstein is in no situation to get involved in a relationship. Let’s be frank here – and I’m not trying to accuse you – you don’t think you can strike up a good relationship with him at this moment, do you?”

Lunark’s chest seized even harder; this time Muzaka sounded much more legitimate.

“And it looks to me that your feelings are already taking effect upon you. Need I remind you, you’re a warrior – the most influential one, next only to Garda. You should know that you have tons of work allocated to you, and I believe you’re smart enough not to make yourself a hindrance in our kind’s pathway due to unrequited love. However, should you make yourself a hindrance because of your feelings, I must take proper measure as your lord.” 

Muzaka sounded strict, stern, pulling down Lunark’s head even further towards the ground.

Lunark even felt dizzy because his words were as veritable and unbreakable as they could be.

The only reply she could produce was a confirmation, a gratitude, and a promise to be careful.

Her reply was halfhearted, but he would anticipate her to stay true to her words.

And she knew that. She knew that awfully well.

*****

Now that she returned to her field work, she could see that Muzaka was right.

She happened to be agonizing over her feelings at the very scene where she is supposed to get bustling.

She virtually scolded, slapped, and slammed her head to knock it off. She recognized the problem, and she wanted to fix it.

Alas, an elephant is bound to dance in one’s head the more they try not to think of it.

‘Frankenstein... What would you tell me if you figure out what’s with me?’

Would he poke fun at her with that oh-so-impish face, making a condescending show of how he did not expect her to fall for him?

Or would he snap at her that he will have none of her feelings whatsoever?

Lunark could only roll her eyes in her shoes, hopelessly tied to her heart racing to the far end away from her head. That was when the new warriors returned to her.

“Lady Lunark...”

“We just finished the job.”

“Now what should we do?”

Lunark barely managed to hide her wince and answered them.

“Now let us wait. Brace yourselves, all of you. It could take us hours, days, or weeks until we get what we want. But we are not leaving empty-handed. This time we will catch that rat still going about and nipping away what should be our duty.”

Lunark regained her stance as a senior warrior, tall and proud and authoritative.

The new warriors, overwhelmed by her posture, bowed their heads in mixture of anxiety and motivation.

“Now, positions, everybody. You know what to do.”

The three werewolves sang “understood” in synchronization before they jumped into the air, and Lunark followed suit, sneaking into the corner of the dispository that provides the best view of the entire space.

She wished, however, that they would get to stay as long as possible.

She knew that there is no good in taking so long until they could leave.

Yet she wanted to return as late as possible; otherwise she would get to meet Frankenstein again rather too soon.

Lunark grit her teeth in the lowest volume she could pull off, feeling how her lips would boil with heat every time she thought of him.

Sadly for her, it turned out that Lady Luck was certainly not on her side for the day.

She could hear clicks of heels, drawing nearer and growing bigger every second.

In reaction, her muscles tensed with automatic alertness.

After she waited to make out the profile of someone who had been ruining werewolves’ tasks all this time, she got to stare at and scan from head to toe the said someone.

Then suddenly, the visitor’s head violently rotated to a corner of the dispository, and Lunark’s eyes enlarged as she reminded herself who happened to be hiding there.

Bam! Came a thundering noise and a groan of pain.

“What are you? Who do you think you are to spy on me? Well, doesn’t matter. I don’t know how you found me in this place, but you saw my face. Which means you just earned yourself a death sentence.”

Clenching the least competent warrior in the room by the throat, the unknown figure sliced the air with her other hand.

Thud!

Dust and wind were whipped up one more time, along with the impact from Lunark’s feet, when she jumped in just in time to stop a potential carnage.

“And who do you think you are to lay that filthy paw of yours on our warrior? I hope you’re ready for your consequence.”

The woman’s eyes twitched, in clear recognition of the former 5th Elder.

“Nice to see you at last, you rat. You might wanna call your parents right now; you won’t be going home tonight.”

As Lunark bickered, Helga did not even cringe, instead squinting her eyes in a way her eyeballs would bulge out with hostility.

(next chapter)

At last, Muzaka noticed lol. And at last, Lunark found Helga. I may be the writer, but I feel kind of bad for throwing Lunark into two troubles at once. I really wish I can write something fluffy for her very soon! By the way, “dispository” is my creation for this fic. There is a reason why I came up with this facility; however, I will save the reason why for later, for as of now it could serve as a spoiler. Please stay tuned to find out why!

[nire-the-mithridatist]

Sharing a bed in a cottage by the sea

Have manmaid!Jaime, my love. To everyone else, prompt me!

×××

There's a big clump of kelp on the beach, and in it is a naked man.

Brienne crouches and touches his neck, feeling a pulse. He is cold, clammy, but the pulse is there, beating true. There are five parallel lines on the side of his neck—she tilts his head, and the same lines are there. He hums at her touch, too weak to be heard over the sound of lapping waves, but strong enough that the vibration of it travels through his throat and warms her fingertips.

So he's alive. Good. She lightly slaps his cheek, and the lines on his neck flutter and Brienne realizes that they are gill flaps. She watches his chest rise and fall, lean muscles, a swimmer's frame, and the kelp that blankets his lower body.

Carefully as to not touch anything too private, she begins brushing the kelp away, and she recoils when abrasive scales scrapes against her palm. Brown mottled skin peeks out from between strands of kelp, and there, and there, jutted shapes that can't be anything but fin.

"Merfolk," she says, as though she can't believe it if she doesn't say it out loud. As though there isn't a half-shark half-man right there in front of her.

He groans in answer and open his eyes and they are green like sea glass, like a broken fragment of a beer bottle that has its edges washed away by the sea.

He is very beautiful. Even the sea-wet hair sticks to his face in an artistic way, like some sort of sea god.

"Leave me," he says, hoarse.

Brienne frowns. "Can you get back into the sea yourself?"

He smiles a terrible smile, sharp teeth on display. "I cannot get back into the sea at all. I'm afraid I've been banished."

There are so many questions, chief of them all, how are merfolk even a real thing, and so Brienne's brain does what it does whenever it is overwhelmed: act first, ask later.

She hoists the merman up, heedless of his sandpaper shark skin scrape her arm red and bleeding.

"Let go of me, wench!"

Brienne snorts. "What century are you from? No one uses that word these days." She walks toward her cottage, a small thing that was all too empty since her father passed.

"I don't keep human years," he says. "We keep our own years: before plastic and after plastic."

That's ridiculous. And yet, horrifying. "You're joking."

"Not at all. Your invention has caused many a death among our own. A small faction of our people think you're waging a war against us. The rest just think you're ignorant. Though," he peers at the bag of trash she's got hanging from her shoulder, and the trash picker attached to it, "some of you do try to minimize, if not undo, further damage. Little good that will do."

"I don't know, I'd say I broke my personal record in trash picking today."

He barks out a laugh. "Yes, I bet you never found a merman before. Which, speaking of, where are you taking me? Not the dreaded aquarium, I hope."

"I've got a tub for you to soak, merman, so you don't dry off. We'll figure things out after you're no longer in danger of a sunstroke."

"I was looking forward for that," he says, forlorn.

"How stupid. Just because you can't be in the sea, doesn't mean you can't live."

"And do what?" he demands. "Sip water through a plastic straw out of a plastic bottle?"

"For a start. We'll figure it out."

"There's a we."

"Yes?" There's him, dead or worse if she leaves him alone, and there's her, always doggedly trying to make a difference or save the wildlife, which now somehow includes a very mouthy shark.

"You're a very stubborn wench."

"I keep telling you, that word is outdated by at least a century."

The rest of the walk has him trying to flop off her arms like a sad limp fish, him pretending he would bite her with his serrated teeth, which she ignores because she knows his threats are empty, and him resorting to insult her with a tongue as sharp as his teeth.

His insults come further and further away as he is weakened by the sun and lack of water, and Brienne has never been gladder to see home.

With some careful manouvring, she manages to open her front door, then the bathroom door, and she drops him into her spacious tub and opens the cold water tap.

He sighs, closes his eyes, and when he doesn't protest she lets him soak as she rummages in the medicine cabinet over the sink for some gauze and antiseptic. She's beginning to feel her arm sting, now that her self-assigned task is completed, along with the many questions she pushed away emerging once more.

But now, first aid. Sitting on the toilet, she goes to work. A hiss escapes her as the antiseptic hit the scrape, and she gingerly places gauze and tapes it in place with medical tape, and her focus is broken as the merman says, "Sorry about that."

"You can't help what you are."

"No," he agrees. "Nor can I help what I'm becoming." He gestures to his body.

Brienne sees it. His gills are closing, turning into smooth skin. His teeth blunt and even out. His tail turns to the approximate shape of legs. His—huh.

She looks away, and she tries to sound casual as she asks, "Why are you turning human?"

"Part of the banishment. If a human saves me, I will be one of them. If no one does, seafoam."

"I'm sorry."

"You're not," he says. His teeth begins to chatter.

Alarmed, Brienne jumps to her feet and help him out of the tub. His legs are too weak to stand, or maybe he doesn't know how to. She carefully drops him on the toilet, and as he sits there, arms around himself, turning blue, she takes the nearest towel and dries him off. He's shaking, cold, too cold for a human. She never considered that his temperature might not change along with the rest of his features. It seems like a death sentence almost as certain as turning into seafoam.

When he's sufficiently dry, she carries him to her bed. She takes the electric hot pillow she keeps around for bad period days, plugs it in, and tells him to hold it. He curls around it, and she pulls the cover over him. She takes off her sand-stained jeans and her hoodie, leaving her in boy shorts and a tee. She gets under the covers and wraps herself around him from behind, for once grateful for her large frame.

Brienne isn't sure how long it's been, but his shivering finally abates, and he gains enough lucidity to turn to face him. In the back of her mind, she thinks, he's naked.

"I'm sorry," she says, "that you have to go through this. And I'm sorry for not letting you turn into seafoam, or die of hypothermia."

"I don't even know how to be a human."

"Trust me, most humans don't either."

He quirks a smile. "And you?"

Brienne gulps. She finds his interest panic-inducing, somehow. As though she should want his approval. "I collect trash in the morning. I work in the afternoon."

"What work?"

"I write children's stories." Like ones about mermaids, though mermen are less likely to be mentioned.

He makes a noise of understanding. "And at night?"

"I make dinner. I eat. I read a book, most days."

"And your friends? Your family?"

"There's just me," she says, helplessly. Shame creeps up to her face, warm. What does it say of her that she has no one?

"Not anymore," he says. "If you had to make me live, then you should take responsibility and keep me alive. And since I don't even know how to walk yet..."

"Oh," she says.

"Yes, oh," he says, mocking. "And since we will have to endure each other, now, I should like to know what to call you."

"I'm—Brienne."

He grins even wider and his arms snake around her waist, and unlike his legs, they are strong. He pulls her, flush against his front, the heated pillow between them. "Good morrow, Brienne. My name's Jaime." He leans close to her.

Brienne scrunches her eyes shut by instinct. The bed shifts. His breath washes over her cheek.

He says, and she can hear the grin in his voice, "Please don't deny me your eyes. I've been denied one ocean already."

[quakinginmystilishboots]

Not Her Nature

Read on AO3

Unwrapping the MRE with the outdated, from her perspective, S.H.I.E.L.D. logo, Daisy couldn't help a little grimace. She was hardly a fussy eater – growing up in the system, living in a van and now dealing with a semi apocalyptic crisis every Wednesday really taught the value of adaptability – but the damn things had enough bad associations to make her regret not spending a few more minutes in the pantry, digging for something else.

They looked exactly the same as the ones they had found in storage in the Lighthouse when they had traveled back from the post-apocalyptic future to their then present, which was actually their past now, but in the future, except maybe not anymore, and wow, if that train of thought didn't do a number on her already developing headache.

Time traveling-induced headache or not, the field ration was just as tasteless as its decades old counterparts they'd had around those very frayed weeks she really preferred not to think about.

It hadn't been the years, then. Just their nature.

Noticing the coffee pot in this new but actually old Lighthouse's command center was cold, she casually used her powers to heat it up in seconds and poured herself a cup.

“So that's your gift.”

Daisy jumped. Some super spy she was. Good thing May wasn't here to see it.

Her mother was standing behind her, a serene expression on her unmarred visage, with just a hint of curiosity and amusement. God, this was weird.

“Forgive the intrusion, I didn't mean to startle you.”

“No, it's alright. I'm supposed to guard you, anyway”. Daisy shrugged, sipping on her newly re-heated coffee. Almost as bad as the field ration. She fished for more sugar.

“It didn't help the taste, did it?” said Jiaying, with the faint of a smile. Daisy chuckled.

“Nope. I probably should have made a fresh batch. There's tea, though...I can heat up the water if you'd like?”

“How do you do that?”

“It's vibrations. I can sense them and manipulate them”, she explained, keeping it basic, because it was a fair bit more than that.

“You vibrate the water molecules and that produces heat” her mother nodded, understanding not quite replacing curiosity. She didn't follow up on her offer of tea, so Daisy went back to her unappealing meal. Jiaying's presence wasn't improving it.

Logically, she understood, and better than ever now, how what her mother had gone through had broken her... but, five years later, the betrayal still felt raw. As the nagging doubts. Her biological parents had been monsters. She had told herself they had become that way, that it wasn't their nature and therefore not hers, either. Yet the part of her that never really dealt with heartbreak and just run away from it, sometimes literally, hadn't fully moved past it.

“Any word from your friends?”, Jiaying asked, bringing her back to their present situation, hunkered down at the Lighthouse while the team was flying to Afterlife.

“Not yet. They should be landing in about an hour”.

Worry and frustration revealed the lie of Jiyaing's serene countenance.

“I wish we didn't stay behind. My people are in terrible danger and I'm hiding”. She said, as much to Daisy as to the empty room.

“Generals don't fight on the front lines.”

“We are not an army.”

“We were meant to be.”

As soon as she said it, Daisy mentally kicked herself. She shouldn't even be mentioning any of this but the entire situation was throwing her off balance and then some. Meeting her own mother, five years before she was supposed to be born. Her own mother, who she had wished for the first 26 years of her life. Her own mother, who had tried to kill her. Her own mother, whose skeleton she had dug up in a desperate attempt to save the person dearest to her. Sometimes, Daisy seriously wondered how her life was even real.

She was also not a fan of the “staying behind” thing. As she had told Mack. Repeatedly. Unsuccessfully.

She refocused on Jiaying.

“It's not what we chose to be. Our people have lived secluded for centuries. We have kept ourselves from the world, never involving in its troubles. The world is not inclined to return such courtesy, it seems.” Her mother's piercing gaze found hers again. “You and Elena, is that what you are, though? Soldiers?”

“We help people.” If the older woman recognized the defensiveness in her tone, she didn't comment on it. Her eyes once again turned to the room that was buzzing with 1980s computer noises and a cacophony of contrasting vibrations Daisy was becoming acutely aware of.

“When I was younger – Jiaying started, her tone more wistful than Daisy ever remembered – I thought our gifts should be shared, used to help the world. We can do so many wonderful things.... but they are also dangerous in the wrong hands, and there are always wrong hands. Yet, it is comforting – she added, looking back to Daisy with a smile – to know that our people can be warriors for the benefit of all”.

Daisy felt herself nodding. That sounded...nice. Or maybe it did because of who was saying it. Jiaying's smile turned pensive.

“I have lived a long life and I could live an even longer one. Experience is important but so are new perspectives. My daughter... when she was born, I had wished it for her. To one day lead our people where I couldn't take them. I feel so naive now. I did everything wrong”.

Daisy wondered idly when it had become so hard to control her heart rate. Or breathe.

“I don't think you should blame yourself”, she offered tentatively.

“Shouldn't I? I wasn't able to help her control her gift and I couldn't make her believe she was safe with me, that I would protect her, that I loved her too much for anything else. It is my failure. It is my responsibility”.

“People are responsible for their own choices.” Daisy shot back brusquely, perhaps too much so. If the conversation had been uncomfortable before...

“What if the choice they have isn't fair? Her gift hurt her when she kept it inside and hurt others when she couldn't. What would you do if that was your choice?”

Daisy bit her tongue, holding back the snarky reply – I wouldn't follow a sadistic bastard looking to destroy everything – on the tip of it. She stared at Jiaying, seeing the pain of a parent who feels they have failed their child. A whirlwind of conflicting emotions – bitter hurt, anger, hopeful relief, longing – engulfed her and almost overwhelmed her. Compassion won out.

“When I first got my powers, I wasn't able to control them and it would hurt me to try. My... family... they didn't know how to help me. Eventually I found people who could – and she was my family, too – but they weren't as... well-meaning... as I had thought – you manipulated me, lied to me – I was blind to it for a time – until someone had to die for me to see the truth – but it wasn't too late – not for me, at least – it's not too late for your daughter, either”.

“Thank you, Agent Jones. You have a kind heart”.

Daisy felt herself staring again, rooted in place, her meal forgotten. The blaring of sirens broke the spell.

“We've been breached”.

***********************

Nathaniel Malick was dead. His body, twisted, broken and shriveled, was currently stored in a black bag, in the Lighthouse's morgue. The battle had been brutal, laced with a yearning to hurt her foe Daisy hadn't felt since facing Hive. In the end, she hadn't killed him. Towering over him, his limbs broken, she had hesitated, questioning her reasons. Then Jiaying, who she had thought he had murdered, had touched him. And it was over.

“This is how I heal”, she had explained, apologetic. Daisy had just nodded, focusing on slowing her heart down.

Later, before the Afterlife survivors were flown to the village in Hunan where Jiyaing had been born and where Daisy would, too, if the events of the past few days hadn't irreparably altered her mother's life trajectory, they met again – for the last time? – in the Lighthouse's hangar.

“I knew your gift felt familiar”, Jiaying told her, no physical trace of her recent brush with death. Malick had spilled the beans, one last attempt to fuck with her life.

“I'm sorry I lied to you. We are trying to protect the future” What's left of it, anyway.

“I understand... but I am glad to know the truth. And to have met you. Your story, about your powers...”

“I made it up”, Daisy replied, too quickly. “I'm sorry. And please don't ask me... anything else. ”

“You were being kind. Thank you. And I won't. It's enough to feel hopeful again”.

Daisy stayed very still, willing her face into the kind of unemotional mask May was a master at but she had never quite managed.

Jiaying didn't question it, letting her eyes linger on her surroundings. “I had never taken an unwilling life before. It's... worse.”

Daisy understood that feeling. “The world is better without him. Believe me.”

Her mother nodded, mirroring her conviction. “I do. Your sister... I won't ask you what I know you cannot promise me. Just... she is young and she is lost.”

“I know. I will try.”

“Thank you.”

Watching the Quinjet take off, Daisy felt a measure of hope, too. It wasn't nature. And maybe not being born wouldn't be so bad if it meant it wouldn't be life, either.

[leeloooonfire]

Chapters: 1/1

Fandom: 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Kim Namjoon | RM/Min Yoongi | Suga

Characters: Kim Namjoon | RM, Min Yoongi | Suga

Additional Tags: Smut, Blow Jobs, kink bingo, Dom/sub Undertones, Hook-Up

Series: Part 1 of Namjoon Kink Bingo 2020

Summary: One night, Namjoon and Yoongi are hooking-up.

Read the story after the break or on AO3. Kudos and comments are very much appreciated 💜

4) Aggressive submissive/Dominant Bottom

The moment Namjoon opened his mouth under the guy's lips and let his tongue curl around his tongue, he knew.

He knew he would be bossy.

Min Yoongi, the guy had said when they started to talk with each other at the bar, nursing their drinks almost entirely quietly after Hoseok introduced them to another and then left them at the bar to dance with Seokjin in the mass of sweaty club visitors.

Sometime after Namjoon's third drink and silently watching his friends shimming their bodies to some halfway decent club music, he and Yoongi started to talk about their mutual friends, the bad taste of the beer in this place and then, rather oddly, how much they would like to hook up.

It went kinda like this:

"They look stupid," Yoongi had said, rolling his eyes when Seokjin waved at them, circling his hips suggestively.

"True, and the beer tastes like shit." Namjoon had agreed, trying to avert his eyes from Hoseok's body rolls, which lead his eyes automatically to his too tightly clothed crotch.

"Is that why you're drinking Whiskey?" Yoongi had asked, voice drawling a little bit and Namjoon had to lean to him for better understanding.

"Yeah, it's the only decent drink to enjoy here." Namjoon had nodded, taking another sip from the brown liquid and tried to not make a face.

"Why did you come to the club if ya don't like it?"

"Wanted to get laid." Namjoon had shrugged his shoulders and grinned at the other man beside him.

Well, and after that, it spiraled downhill. Or up, depending on how Namjoon would view it the next morning.

Yoongi had sent him a glance, licked his lips and then suggested with a husky voice for them to crash at his place if Namjoon wanted.

And Namjoon wanted because Yoongi had nice eyes. Sharp and full of something, Namjoon couldn't name, couldn't pinpoint. He also had very nice lips. Plush, pink, soft doll-like looking lips Namjoon wanted to taste, to nip at and feel against his body.

So, they'd paid for their drink, told their friends good night and then left.

They made it barely into Yoongi's flat, door slamming shut behind them and the other man biting into Namjoon's lips, coaxing out one groan after another.

Strong fingers curled into Namjoon's neck, roughly tugging at the hair until their lips disconnected and he laid his neck bare, sighing quietly.

"You wanna fuck me?" Yoongi almost growled against Namjoon's ear, licking the exposed skin, making him shudder in the process. He could feel his heart beating almost violently and imagined Yoongi could feel his pulse under his tongue as well.

"Yeah," He whispered back, gripping Yoongi's hips tightly, pulling him as close as possible, "Yeah, I wanna fuck you so good."

"What if I wanna do you? What if I'm not into bottoming?" Yoongi retorted and Namjoon could hear the smirk in his voice, raspy and so fucking hot. He opened his eyes to look at the man.

"I don't care," He said after a moment, realising it had been a little bit presumptuous to assume the other man would take him like a good boy - just because of what exactly? Their high differences? Because Yoongi looked softer than he actually was, with his high cheekbones and beautiful lips? Because Namjoon normally liked to fuck into a wet heat more than let someone fuck into him?

"Whatever you want," He added, leaning down a little bit again, rubbing his legs between Yoongi's and feeling the hard dick pressed against his clothed leg. Too much fabric, he thought while searching Yoongi's lips again, wanting to taste the sweet, but rough taste again. Alcohol, cherries, human - he tasted so good, addicting, Namjoon could barely suppress the passionate moan.

Yoongi bit down on his bottom lips again, pushing him against the wall, finger still in his hair, "What if I want you to fuck into me, but not give you control? Would that be ok?"

And although he still sounded sure of himself, his voice clear, Namjoon could hear the slight uncertainty in his words. Did he make some bad experiences? Did his previous partners think they could dominate him just because Yoongi was willing to let them fuck him?

God, this was so fucking outdated, it almost made Namjoon angry. Just like those stupid 'Are ya a bottom or a top?' questions he sometimes got from strangers in bars or on tinder. Damn, what do they even expect him to answer? 'Wanna try how good I'm going to pound ya ass?' Not exactly what he should say, but this stupid heteronormativ thinking made him just so frustrated. Switching was possible, also for het pairings, and clear roles such as top and bottom, alpha-omega was straight out bullshit. Porn, fanfiction, you know?

Also, loving some good old-fashioned dicking didn't automatically mean the person was a sub, same vice versa.

Images of Yoongi fucking himself on his dick, taking control, being the one on charge, maybe even take Namjoon's wrists and pin them above his head made his cock jump excitedly, precum smearing in his underpants.

"You wanna stay in control?" He whispered against Yoongi's lips, finger digging into the soft globes of his ass, hard and probably leaving some purple fingerprints.

"Yeah," The other's voice hitched and when Namjoon brushed his nose along his collar bone, he made a sound oddly similar to purring. God, Namjoon liked that very much.

"Where's your bedroom?" He asked, nipping at the pale skin. Instead of getting an answer, Yoongi pushed him against the wall again and then started to tear at his clothes.

"Take it off," He complained, hands flying over the fabric in a desperate attempt to get rid of Namjoon's leather jacket and shirt, buttons springing open. Carefully, the other man dropped to the floor, looking up to him, nuzzling his crotch, grinning slightly, "First, I'm gonna blow you right here and then you can fuck me."

"Fuck," Namjoon moaned, feeling Yoongi's breath already on his stomach, shirt tucked under his arms and long fingers were working on his belt.

"That's the spirit, baby," The other murmured, licking over his hipbone and down, down, down. It didn't take him long to get Namjoon out of his trousers, cold air hitting his hard, leaking penis, but then a soft, hot mouth was there. Lips closing around the head and a rough tongue licked, almost shyly over the slit, gathering up every last drop of precum.

"God, yes," He moaned louder, head falling back with a loud noise and his hand found its way into Yoongi's ash-blond hair almost automatically. Yoongi was more than just skilled with his tongue. The man was a genius, making Namjoon babble words stringed together to incoherent sentences like he'd never learned how to use language properly in the first place, " God, you feel so good. Shit, yes right there. FUCK ."

He'd never felt that good, never felt a tongue at his dick and thought he might pass out any minute because it was just too fucking good.

"I want you to deep-throat me and come," Yoongi's cheeks were pink and pout on his lips even more prominent than before, dark red and shiny with spit and precum, "Can you do that?"

"Fuck, yes," Namjoon growled and pushed his dick between Yoongi's lips again, deeper until he felt the other's throat constricting around him, but instead of holding Namjoon back, Yoongi gripped his hips and pushed him even deeper, harder.

After he was finally completely settled, Yoongi's nose brushing his groin and he was breathing hard. God, it felt so good and Namjoon reached for Yoongi's chin to lift him a bit, "Look at me."

And Yoongi did, cheeks bright pink by now and a few tears at the corner of his cat-like eyes, but they were heated. There was a fire, hotly burning and that was a first for Namjoon. He'd never met a person so sensual, so full of passion and so utterly in control.

Whenever he gave any heads, he felt powerful as well, but he never felt in control, never did he feel like he was the one leading while someone was fucking his mouth, but Yoongi?

Yoongi left no doubt that he was in charge, that he was the dominant one between them and fuck, if this wasn't one of the hottest things Namjoon'd ever experienced.

Yoongi swallowed around Namjoon's twitching cock, tongue pressed onto the underside of it and the other must feel how aroused he'd become.

"So good, you feel so good," He whined, gasping when Yoongi started to bob his head a bit, taking him deeper while one hand wandered up to pinch his nipples.

Soon enough, Namjoon wasn't able to even say anything anymore, whimpering with every movement, every swallowing, while his heart was running a mile a second in his chest, almost jumping out of his throat.

He'd never been this vocal before, never let noises spill out between his lips as loud as he was doing it now. His free hand came up to his lips, trying to cover the harsh panting with the back of his hand, but Yoongi reached up and pulled his wrist down again while letting go of his penis.

"Don't you dare," The blond rasped out, voice utterly wrecked and the thought alone that he'd done that made Namjoon's knees buckle, "I wanna hear how good I make you feel."

"Yoongi," He whined, squeezing his eyes shut, "Please."

"Please what?"

"Please, I wanna come."

"Then stop restricting your noises and look at me. Look me in the eyes."

Before Namjoon could reply anything, Yoongi's lips were back and the other man was pushing his dick back into the wet heat. Their eyes were locked and even if Namjoon would have wanted to close them, he couldn't. He wasn't able to look away from Yoongi anymore, taking his face, his expression in and how his sharp eyes narrowed when he gulped down a soft sigh instead of realising it. One hand dropped down on Namjoon's leg, running up his skin carefully and then Yoongi cupped his balls gently.

"Oh god," Namjoon mewled, he actually mewled and fumbled with his hands for something, anything to hold onto. Gently, Yoongi lead Namjoon's hands to his neck and head, making him grip into the blond hair again and when Namjoon finally started to hold on to him properly while also thrusting into his open throat, Yoongi purred.

The vibration almost sent him over the edge, but the hand on his balls tightened and Yoongi raised a cooky eyebrow.

Not yet , he seemed to tell him and for a moment Namjoon didn't know what the other was intending to do and if he was able to hold it in for much longer to even enjoy it properly, but then Yoongi's hand released his balls and slowly went further. Rough fingertips brushed over his perineum, making him groan out loud and Yoongi purr in return.

The pressure behind his balls got stronger, Yoongi massaging his prostate from the outside and sending blinding pleasure through Namjoon's veins.

"Can I? Please?" He stuttered and finally, Yoongi nodded.

It took Namjoon only three more swirls of that skilled tongue until his orgasm rushed through him, hot, white and all-consuming. He knew his grip on Yoongi must be a bit too harsh, cum spurting down his throat, but through his pleasure he could feel Yoongi purring, swallowing every last drop.

"Oh my god," He whispered when he finally came down from his high and Yoongi let go of him, "Holy fuck, you're like a god."

The other man chuckled, voice absolutely broken, a needy roughness that made his rapidly softening penis twitch again, "Thanks for the compliment."

Namjoon extended his hand to help Yoongi up again, knees creaking a little bit and he felt bad for not taking him into his bedroom, but Yoongi was licking his lips sheepishly, grinning brightly.

"That was nice," He said, stepping a bit away from Namjoon and opened the zipper of his jacket he was still wearing.

"It was."

"Wanna go to bed and fuck?"

Namjoon couldn't help but laugh at that, nodding earnestly, "Definitely."

[enchanted-prose]

#17 Blackberry Night ii

this wasn’t in my original outline for the series but here we are

Word count: 2,358

Characters: Tobias, Amarinda, Jaron, Imogen

Notes: huge shoutout to my darling beta, and also to my girl lu for being a tobias/amarinda stan

Enjoy!

Tobias didn’t always enjoy grand parties. They were too loud, too crowded. He picked at the color of his pale gold coat. Good thing he and Jaron decided to enter the great hall at different times, otherwise he’d be hearing comments about how poor he looked in the color he’d chosen.

Jaron’s leg caused too much pain to bear with talking to pompous nobles, Tobias and Harlowe both agreed to do the talking. 

The more nobles Tobias spoke to, the more he realized how much he didn’t fit in.

It was easy to ignore the divide between Tobias and the other nobles when he wasn’t around them. He avoided speaking to them unless he absolutely had to. Typically it worked. 

Some time ago, Roden explained how he was able to avoid unwanted conversation. He frowned slightly, lowered his brow, and always kept his posture straight. Nobody wanted to talk to somebody who had business to attend to.

However, Roden was far more intimidating than Tobias. It took several tries before Tobias was able to successfully avoid being cornered and questioned by a noble.

Too many people were at the Blackberry Night festivities, avoiding conversation was impossible.

When would he see Amarinda?

She was much more gracious at declining an invitation to tea from the eel eyed lord of Eberstein. When Tobias declined invitations, he felt rude, and was probably perceived as rude. He tried to avoid stepping on as many toes as he possibly could.

He was running out of excuses.

“I am so sorry Master Powys, my wife and I already have existing plans.”

“Ah! I can’t attend, I agreed to give medical attention to the poor in lower Drylliad!”

“Amarinda and I are going to be assisting the queen with washing her new cat, it’s been scheduled for months.”

“Unfortunately, Bymar holds a festival for their patron saint of cheese that day, and we can’t miss honoring him and risk ruining all of Bymar’s cheese product.”

There was no sign of Jaron or anybody else Tobias could talk to. He tugged at the sleeves of his coat. Glittering dust floated from the ceiling and was caught on the creases in Tobias’s coat.  The dust clung to his lashes.

It was more of an annoyance than a pretty thing.

Tobias rubbed the glitter out of his eyes, and threw himself into the crowd of dancing guests. He’d find Roden near the sweets table, he was sure of it.

Though his confidence took a blow when he reached the table and found no sign of his friends.

Now lonely despite the sea of people, Tobias made his way back into the center of the room, hoping that by some fluke he could locate Jaron. 

Both sides of the great hall were lined with trellises covered in plants; they formed tiny rooms complete with swinging trellis doors. One of them shifted ever so slightly. Jaron had to be hiding in there. He had to be.

Tobias wasn’t sure who he’d turn to if he was wrong again.

He’d almost managed to ignore the sudden wave of silence. Everything halted, from the dancers to the musicians. Nobody said a single word.

 His wife was responsible for the sudden reverence in the great hall.

 Amarinda walked down the stairs with her arm linked with Imogen’s. Her tardiness was easily excused; she captured the attention of everyone in the room.

One of the trellis walls wiggled, and Jaron’s head poked out from behind it.

The musicians began to play again, this time their piece started with a shy intro, playing with the softness a doe carried as she walked through the woods.

His face burned. You’d be a fool not to agree that Amarinda’s brilliance rivaled the legends of Carthya’s magical residents.

Her chestnut hair tumbled down her back, a gold net covering the top and sides of her head, framing her face in the process. The gown she wore boasted a high collar and wide, sweeping sleeves that threatened to brush the ground. White rosebuds clung to the hem, trailing up to bunch together at the edge of her gold bodice.

Jaron had forced his way over to Imogen; Tobias didn’t remember seeing him move.

 Was it allowed?

Was he allowed to speak to such an ethereal-

Of course he was! Amarinda was his wife!

Tobias pulled up the collar of his coat, smoothed back his hair, and marched through the bowing crowd. He’d married her, it was allowed. He’d married her, it was allowed.

“Somebody will write a sonnet about the way you look tonight,” Tobias blurted once he’d finally reached Amarinda. “After I have, of course.”

“I do love poetry,” Amarinda’s moonbeam smile was all too intoxicating. “Especially if you wrote it.”

“You look- you look absolutely stunning. Not that you don’t already always look stunning, it’s just- ah, I don’t know. Not quite sure of what I can say. If I wrote stories of magic and enchantresses, you’d always be my heroine.”

“And you’d always be my hero, Tobias,” Amarinda countered. She reached for his hand. “Dance with me?”

He took her by the waist, “I thought you’d never ask.”

The music grew louder; other couples joined the dance. Jaron and Imogen, Kerwyn and Mistress Orlaine. Several other young nobles twirled along with the rest. Tobias bit his tongue, praying his cheeks would return to a normal shade.

“I heard you used Saints Brigge and Naoise as an excuse to not go hunting with Master Previn,” Amarinda said.

Ah, Saints. Tobias’s face only burned fiercer. “I couldn’t think of anyone else, and I know how important Bymarian cheese is to you, we can’t risk their anger.”

“You’re absolutely right we can’t. Cheese carries far more value than we give credit.”

“I hope you’re not angry about not going hunting, you weren’t with me, and I wasn’t sure what to do.”

Amarinda laughed, and clung to Tobias’s shoulder as he dipped her. “Hunting is fun with the right company, but Master Previn has outdated views. He probably wanted us to accompany him so he could tell me about why I need to stop promoting trousers for women.”

“Maybe we should go hunting so you can wear trousers to anger him.”

“As funny as that would be, I’d rather face anger because of a declined invitation than turn Master Previn away from the crown. There are better battles to fight.”

“Battles like forcing Jaron to sit down and rest?” Tobias nodded towards Imogen, who was limping Jaron to one of the trellis walled spaces.

She nodded, “Exactly like that.”

Tobias raised their clasped hands, and guided her in a circle around himself. He remembered the first time he’d danced with her; truly, genuinely danced. It wasn’t as grand as Blackberry Night, and it never would be. They’d danced around the fire while smuggling Amarinda to Bymar during the Avenian war. Fink served as their musician by drumming on a log.

She’d taught him the steps to a Bymarian barn dance.

He practiced them in the privacy of his chambers after the war ended, only to be caught by Roden, which led Tobias to teaching Roden the same steps and a silent pact between the two of them to never speak of the experience again.

Roden occasionally served as Tobias’s partner when he couldn’t get the steps right. Tobias led, but he didn’t feel like he could ever truly lead a dance when his partner’s size rivaled that of a war torn bear.

Every practice session paid off when Tobias had the chance to lead Amarinda across the floor into the sounds of Bymarian pipes and drums.

Although the same couldn’t be said for Roden, who’d practiced the woman’s part too long and couldn’t quite get the man’s steps. 

He’d never forget the way Amarinda glided across the great hall’s stone floor after their wedding.

“I’ve been considering asking Jaron for a few days’ leave,” Tobias blurted as the music changed to a light reel. He tucked his left arm behind his back, and held his right as straight as he could while still holding onto Amarinda’s hand. “Just to escape to the countryside. Libeth, maybe.”

“Are you still thinking about the attack the Faola led against you?” Amarinda frowned.

“No, not really. A little, actually, but not often enough to put pressure on my work.”

It wasn’t quite a lie. Tobias had been in enough mishaps to understand when he was safe and when he wasn’t. The day after he’d been attacked had been-

Unpleasant.

He woke up the morning certain that somebody was watching him, only to find that Fink was waiting at the foot of his bed to deliver a message. Every creaking door reminded him of the way the Faola’s saber slipped from the scabbard. 

But he’d been safe in the castle the entire time.

Eventually, he recognized that. Recognized that he was no longer in danger.

And then he was able to continue on with his schedule as he always did.

“Where would we go?” Amarinda asked, pausing with the music.

Tobias shrugged, “Anywhere. To the south, to Mendenwal. I’d even go to Eberstein, even if there’s not much to do there.”

All he needed was Amarinda and he’d be fine.

Although a book would be nice too.

There was nothing more pleasant than the summer sun lazily pushing its way through trees while Amarinda was curled up in the crook of his elbow, reading the old tales of knights and vengeful spirits.

“Mendenwal is always very nice this time of year,” Amarinda mused, reaching to cross arms with Tobias as the dance continued. “There’s a village I’ve heard of that plants fields and fields of tulips. I’ve always wanted to go see them.”

“Then we’ll go,” said Tobias.

“And leave Jaron to his own devices?”

“He has Mott, Roden, and Imogen.”

“I don’t- I don’t know if I’d be able to look at flowers and eat chocolates knowing those three don’t have your voice of reason. Especially not after this most recent attack,” Amarinda took several steps back, a frown tugging at her lips. “I don’t think I can dance any longer, Tobias, there’s a lot of things on my mind.”

Tobias held out his elbow for her to take, “Then tell me what they are.”

They’d spent many a late night discussing Feall. Discussing Mireldis Thay. Saints, they’d even discussed Jolly, but that conversation quickly turned into a debate about a mandolin’s superiority to a lute.

He hadn’t had the chance to ask her how she felt about Renlyn’s confinement.

Amarinda soon took the lead, bypassing the trellis rooms and heading straight for the gardens outside. 

Distant music from the taverns fought for control against the uniform notes coming from the castle. The garden remained largely untouched, they were magnificent on their own with their immaculate shrubs and bursting vines.

And it was much less crowded than the great hall.

“I’ve been considering asking Feall about his relation to Mireldis Thay. He’s claimed so often that she wants to kill him, but perhaps he wants to kill her/ first,” Amarinda said. “Renlyn and Feall have been nothing but civil to each other. He accompanies her to lower Drylliad and when she wants to walk at night. Why wouldn’t she kill him during one of those outings?”

“To preserve her name so she can return to normal life once her goal has been reached,” Tobias shrugged.

“That’s what I thought. But why? Why does she want him dead so badly? And Renlyn never outright confessed to being Mireldis Thay, she was dancing around the question, almost like she was telling us what we wanted to hear rather than what we all needed.”

“We’ll speak with Feall when he can string together a coherent sentence, I promise,” said Tobias. 

“I’d feel much more comfortable leaving knowing we’ve done all that we can to help.”

How could he argue against that?

Tobias just didn’t want to admit that he was afraid that maybe there wouldn’t be a clear end to the Thay’s mess.

People disappeared all the time, they stole names, became new people. Tobias was ready to move on. He didn’t want to waste time searching for ghosts.

Especially after Renlyn’s humiliatingly calm reaction to being accused of treason.

He’d been so sure that Jolly’s hints were true. But perhaps Jolly’s claim to love Mireldis Thay more than he feared any king carried more weight than Tobias expected. Fear changed a person. It made them say things they’d never dare to think of just to feel safe again.

Jolly’s inability to tell Tobias where Mireldis was hiding technically fell under treason. He was aiding an assaulter of the king.

Would he really risk his neck for a woman he’d never been seen with?

Jolly of Angelmarr, a troubadour.

Tobias looked at Amarinda. A slight frown tugged at her lips, and her nose was crinkling as it always did when she was deep in thought. Intelligence burst from her dark eyes. She was forming a plan. A quiet plan; one that would bring her the best outcome at the lowest cost.

He knew he loved her more than he feared any king.

“We’ll fix what we can and then we’ll go to the tulip fields in Mendenwal,” Tobias slipped his arm around Amarinda’s waist, pulling her nearer to him. “And we’ll eat chocolate and say we’re going to be calm and not get involved in some whirlwind adventure and do the exact opposite.”

“Can we bring Jaron and Imogen? And Mott? And Roden?” Amarinda asked.

“If that’s what you want. We can turn it into a grand party, I’d do whatever you asked.”

“Even grew out a moustache?”

The thought of a line of hair covering his top lip made Tobias snort. “I’ll draw the line at a mustache.”

“Good,” Amarinda smiled. She reached up, and trailed her pointer finger along Tobias’s chin. “Mustaches are incredibly unflattering, and I’d make you shave it immediately anyways.”

He’d think about mustaches over dark deeds done by dark ghosts of the past any day.

The distraction was a welcome one.

[foreverwayward]

“Happy Birthday, Dean”

Dean x Reader

Word Count: 1764

Warnings: fluff, smut, and language 18+

Summary: the reader surprises Dean with a very “special” birthday gift.

Prompt from @gypsyjucar

Dean sat on the couch of the motel room, fidgeting with his hands in the silence. The cream sofa smelled of old leather, but it was the cheap kind that had a hint of a plastic scent.

In his sweats and a black knit long sleeve, the hunter picked up the outdated magazine on the side table with an exasperated sigh. He flipped through the pages not even really paying attention to its contents. After only a minute with it, Dean tossed it back onto the countertop.

The bottom of the bathroom door lit up with the light illuminating from inside, and Dean could see the shadow of movement block its glow.

“Hey!” he called gruffly. “You comin’ out any time soon? I’m gettin’ antsy over here.”

A sweet chuckle came from the bathroom in response. “Dean...you can wait a couple of minutes.”

“‘A couple minutes?’ Woman, you’ve been in there for way too long.” Dean stood and huffed. “It’s my birthday and you said I was gonna get my present. Don’t make me come in there.”

The door slowly opened and Y/N stepped out, leaning against the frame wearing nothing but black lace lingerie. The thong panties revealed one of Dean’s favorite parts of her body; the teddy top revealing her stomach and breasts. Her hair fell in soft curls down her shoulders and back, her bare feet shifting on the ground.

Dean turned in her direction and froze. His jaw slightly fell in shock and arousal as he studied her from bottom to top. Once his eyes found hers and seeing them filled with lust, Dean melted. His brow creased and he exhaled heavily.

“Happy birthday, Dean.”

A deep rumble filled the hunter’s chest. “Oh, fuck me…” Dean drug out.

“Oh, we’ll get there.” Y/N sauntered in his direction, never breaking eye contact. Though they had been together countless times before, Dean felt like a teenage boy as his heart raced with anticipation. Her hands seductively reached up to his firm chest and she hummed as she took pleasure in the look on his face. “I sent Sam out for a couple hours, so...looks like it’s just gonna be us for a while.”

“Thank god,” he moaned as his arms wrapped around her tightly, pressing her against him as his lips crashed into hers. Dean’s hands roamed her body hungrily. It was as if he had never touched Y/N before; like he was exploring her for the first time.

Dean guided them both toward the bed, backing her up as he laid her down. His warm body immediately crawled on top of her with one hand around her back to keep her close. The Winchester’s free hand cupped the side of her head as his fingers laced into her locks.

It never ceased to surprise Y/N how he could be so soft and gentle and yet so dominating all at once. Dean’s touch always made her core ache and the sound of him moaning into her mouth made her panties wet.

Pulling away, but only slightly, Dean looked her over once more. He eyed the ribbon that kept the teddy together and smiled mischievously. As his fingers danced over the strip of fabric, he bit his lip. “Think it’s time I open my present.” Y/N giggled with a sultry look before Dean leaned in. Grabbing the ribbon in his teeth, he slowly tugged it untied. He reached up and parted the top one side at a time revealing each of her breasts. Dean’s tongue shot out over his bottom lip as he basked in all that she was. “God, you’re perfect,” he murmured finding her lips again.

With firmer hands, Dean cupped her right breast and Y/N melted into his touch. His free hand reached down and covered her mound as she bucked up in response. Dean felt the slick between her legs and nearly growled. “This for me, sweetheart?” he asked intently.

Y/N panted as Dean’s finger teased her slit through her panties. “It’s always for you…” A devilish grin crept up the hunter’s face and he pushed aside the fabric keeping him from the warmth between her legs. Y/N’s head fell back and her mouth dropped agape as he teased her aching clit. “Dean…”

“That’s right. Say my name again, Y/N…”

“Dean…”

Dean’s finger painstakingly rubbed down until it teased her entrance. “Say it again…”

Y/N gasped. “Dean…”

As he pushed his large digit inside, he leaned into her ear. “Again.”

“Dean!”

“Mm. I love that sound.” A pleased chuckle came from his throat as Dean began to move deeper inside her.  The wet from her pussy dripped down into his hand as it squelched from his movement. He grinned. “But, I think that sound might be my favorite,” Dean whispered with a growl. Y/N moaned in pleasure and her hips began to move against his hand as another finger filled her. With a wiggle of his fingertip, Dean brushed against her sweet spot. “There baby?” And with a deeper push in, Y/N inhaled sharply. “That’s my good girl.”

Dean’s eyes went dark as he quickly pulled out from her and made short work of pulling up her hips to yank off her panties. Y/N squealed unintentionally as Dean hooked her legs over his shoulders.

Before his mouth reached her soaked center, she panted. “It’s your birthday, Dean. Shouldn’t I be the one taking care of you?”

His gaze flickered up to her as Dean returned his fingers to their rightful place inside her. He watched her reaction before telling her, “today, I get what I want. And what I want, is to eat you until you scream my name.” Dean’s mouth immediately went to work and Y/N grasped at the sheets. his warm lips and tongue sending her on a high like nothing else.

“Oh, my god…”

Animalistic sounds of hunger came from deep in his throat as he gently teased her aching core. Dean lapped up every bit that dripped from her like a man starved.

It didn’t take long before Y/N felt her orgasm begin to build. The high was like the climb of a roller coaster before the drop and she awaited it with the same anticipation. Feeling her tighten around his fingers, Dean pulled away to ask, “you gonna cum for me, sweetheart?”

Y/N whined and began to shake. “Oh, god...I’m so close.”

“Let go,” he commanded.

His deep and intense voice sent her over the edge as she screamed his name just like he intended. “Dean!”

As she rode out her orgasm, Dean continued to swallow everything she gave him. “That’s it, baby. Keep going.” When she began to squirt, he moaned and wrapped his mouth over her, consuming his prize. Y/N cried out with the intensity of her climax and shook as Dean held her still.

She twitched as he began to lick and kiss her softly, cleaning up his mess and letting her come down.

“Fuck,” Y/N whispered through her rapid breathing.

Dean licked his lips. “Oh, Y/N/N...you ain’t seen nothin’ yet.” He stood to undress, never taking his eyes off her glistening body. Once bare and his erection aching as it sprung free, Dean reclaimed his spot on top of her.

Cradling her head, Dean looked deep into her eyes. Once the tip of his hard cock reached her entrance, Y/N’s eyes closed awaiting his thrust. “Look at me…” he said gently.

As her eyes opened to stare into his hunter green gaze, Dean’s hips snapped up as he filled her completely. Y/N moaned feeling Dean so deep inside her; the intensity of her first orgasm making her far more sensitive.

Dean grunted feeling her swallow him whole. “Fuck...you’re perfect.” He stayed in position as he let Y/N adjust around him and slowly began to grind into her.

“You feel so good,” she cooed. “Don’t stop.”

Dean answered with a sexy laugh. “I don’t plan on it.” His speed and intensity grew as he found his pace.

“More,” Y/N cried. Every time she was with Dean, she craved all of him. The ache afterward would be worth it and serve as a reminder of where he had been. The tension in her belly grew once more as Dean’s dick slid in and out of her, touching every nerve. Y/N whimpered feeling that climb once more.

The hunter seethed through his teeth as she squeezed around his thick shaft. “Mm, you already there?”

“So...close…”

Again, Dean hooked her legs over his shoulders, driving himself deeper into her. Y/N’s breathing became erratic and she scrunched her face in bliss. The sweat from Dean’s chest dripped onto her and he dove in to get lost in her kiss once again.

With a hot breath over her lips, Dean heaved a euphoric sigh. As he plowed into her, Dean gritted his teeth as he locked eyes with Y/N. “Are you mine?”

“I’m yours, Dean…”

“Then be my good girl and cum with me.” The two saw stars as Dean’s final push sent them both into ecstasy. He held himself deep inside as they rode out their orgasms; small squeals falling from Y/N’s lips as her pussy grasped him tight.

Once their moment had passed, Dean fell onto the bed next to her and closed his eyes as he struggled to catch his breath. A content chuckle rumbled from him. “Happy birthday to me.”

Y/N laughed and licked the sweat from her lips. “Sure it wasn’t my birthday?”

“Oh, sweetheart. You aren’t ready for your birthday gift.” Dean’s face softened as he pushed her hair from her face. A coy smile tugged at the corner of Y/N’s mouth as she turned onto her side and leaned on her hand. “You know I love you, right?”

Y/N leaned in to capture his lips with a soft and tender kiss. As she pulled away, she smiled. “I love you too.”

Another kiss followed that deepened quickly and Dean stopped to stare at her with a sinful expression. “You know, we still have hours before Sam’s back.”

Y/N grinned as she stood from the bed. “You exhaust me, Winchester.”

“Oh, I’m just getting started.” As the two shared a playful glare, Dean hopped off the bed and ran towards her. “Hey!” Y/N squealed and laughed as he chased her into the bathroom. “I’m not done with you yet!”

------

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