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selfwriting-sugarquills · 4 years ago

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70 Fred Weasley headcanons in celebration of 700 followers:

(plus an extra one, for the heck of it lmao)

You guys, thank you so much for 700 followers! I appreciate every single one of you and writing for the twins has been such a blast so far, much to the thanks of all of you <3

Find the 70 George Headcanons: Here

Fred has always been really good at sleight of hand stuff, as a kid, he could do card tricks with ease, steal baked goods from his mother’s kitchen and later on since his allowance wasn’t exactly anything to brag about, he’d steal sweets from honeydukes' on Hogsmeade trips, with the help of George, he’s not proud of it but in his defence, he was a stupid teenage boy at the time.

Fred is incredibly competitive and will hold onto anything you challenge him to for way longer than you might think. He’s definitely the type to “race you” anytime you’re headed to herbology, care against magical creatures or Hogsmeade together.

As the man himself said in the deathly hallows, Fred doesn’t like the idea of a big grandiose wedding ceremony, he’d prefer something more low-key and simple, where the focus is more on having fun and celebrating instead of neat seating plans and meticulously chosen decorations. Some flowers and booze will do, he’ll provide the fireworks - In essence, he only needs his S/O and the rest he couldn’t care less about.

George may be better at cooking, but Fred makes a damn good pancake and he will forever pride himself on that.

Fred is the more jealous, overprotective twin. He’s aware of this and tries his best not to let it go to his head but he can’t help it.

Fred snores, I’m pretty sure it’s canon that both twins snore, but Fred is louder and, as mentioned in my last headcanon post, a very heavy sleeper meaning it’s more difficult to get him to wake up so he can stop, your best shot is trying (and probably failing) to turn him over.

Fred is also a very restless sleeper, he’ll toss and turn, and occasionally dream about quidditch. I’m saying you might want to be aware that he might confuse you for a bludger in his sleep, don’t worry though, he’ll always apologise profusely and make it up to you with a lot of kisses (and maybe a bit more than that, if you’re keen ;))

Fred has an extensive caffeine addiction, which is unfortunate cause he’s quite hyper already but he can’t function properly until he gets his coffee in the morning, and then again in between lessons/at lunch and then again late in the afternoon. Sometimes, if he needed to write an essay that was due, he’d drink coffee at like nine pm. He knows he won’t be able to sleep because of it, please, Y/n, he’s accepted his fate.

I personally always imagined the twins as having ADHD, idk why it just fits their characters. Fred is for sure the more outwardly fidgety and intrusive, this gets less and less with age, as it does for a lot of ADHD people, his inability to focus remains the same though.

Fred loves being outside, he’s the first of the Weasley siblings to suggest a game of quidditch or just going outside for walks, hide and seek in the woods near their house. He absolutely loves taking his dates on walks in parks or at the beach and when he has kids he plays with them in their yard, building snowmen etc.

Fred probably suggests at some point that the whole family should go camping, and he’s actually really fun to camp with. He’ll tell the best scary stories by the campfire.

In regards to children, Fred wants a lot of kids. Like at least three but would be willing to have more if his s/o wants to. He just really likes the dynamic of a large family since that’s what he’s used to.

Fred’s favourite flavour of sweets is anything sour, the sourer the better, because of this he can handle it really well and he loves handing people some of his ridiculously sour candy and watching them squirm.

He also really likes spicy food, he’s a bit of a daredevil so don’t challenge him to eat anything because he will eat a whole chilli and nearly die.

You know he’d be really casual about it too, lol, like sweating and crying but just leaning on the counter like “*pant* what? hot? no not at all *deeeeep breath* I can ha-aw-rdly taste it!”

One thing about Fred is that he’s oddly squeamish, like seeing his brother’s ear blown off isn’t so bad (if you don’t take into account the emotional trauma that is), but a needle for a blood sample or a vaccine? oooh, he’s gonna need a big juice box and a cookie and his s/o’s hand to hold if he’s gonna make it through. He also has a thing about leeches. One time at Hogwarts they were mentioned in a lesson and he thought he was going to faint the entire time.

Fred’s broken five bones over the years, four are from quidditch: his left arm and two ribs, and then the other arm from trying to do an elaborate stunt on the stairs in the burrow and falling down two flights.

Fred loves to sing karaoke (because I cannot get that damn clip of James singing karaoke out of my head) though he particularly enjoys doing a very poor job on purpose.

Fred is such a good liar that on several occasions he’s given presentations in school and gotten good marks for them despite having bullshat his way through the entire thing.

Like seriously, he’s that guy in the group project who only looks at the slides like five minutes before the presentation and then just turns on a full charming newscaster voice on the professor to the point of them being genuinely convinced (albeit a little confused) that what Fred’s saying is true.

This is also why Fred loves playing card games like poker: he’s really good at bluffing.

Speaking of poker-face, he’s really quite good at teasing in public (if you’re into that sort of thing *wink*) because no matter the dirty deeds he might get up to under a table, his face remains as regular as always (safe for a little smirk to his lover every now and then)

Fred always wanted to learn an instrument, he thought it’d make him cooler when he was a teenager, as an adult, he just really wants to recreate that clip of the trombone-playing dad with the sunglasses, or maybe serenade some cows with jazz or something.

Fred was never a big fan of the uniform thing, so he always tried to make it his own, whether that be tying the tie differently, or having his sleeves rolled up; it’s not much but you gotta take what you can get when you’re literally dressed the same as everyone else.

Fred might make fun of his dad’s interest in muggle things but secretly he loves it too. He has spent a lot of hours in the shed with Arthur, assuring everyone that it was just to have some quality time with his dad but he would still pay close attention when Arthur explained things to him.

Fred had a whole business of selling candy from Honeydukes’ and joke products from Zonko’s to second and first years before he and George started dabbling with their own products, he could get you a butterbeer too but it’ll cost you an extra three galleons.

Fred really likes glitter, George has a thing for lace, anything that glitters on his s/o makes Fred weak. If you want to get your way just put on some glittery eyeshadow or lipgloss and watch him spin.

Since he loves things that glitter and gleam he loves buying his s/o jewellery, he loves seeing them wearing them as little tokens of their relationship.

Did someone say slight possession kink? oops not me

Fred is incredible with numbers, this is pretty much canon and has been explored but I’m just amazed at this boy’s wit AND intellect. I have a slight headcanon that if he ever goes on a proper first date with someone where a bill is involved, he impresses his date by calculating the tip after just a glance.

Even if Fred has a longstanding reputation of not caring about school, when he has kids he does want to help them with any coursework over the summer and Christmas breaks, he’ll even study up on his old books just to be able to help out in any classes he didn’t take/didn’t pay attention in.

Fred would, in general, be an amazing father. He’s goofy and playful most of the time, though he’s serious and incredibly caring whenever his kids are in a bad mood or have problems. He knows that he’s not the most outwardly emotional of the twins but he makes sure his kids know they can always talk to him about anything.

Fred is incredibly messy. His room is usually a cry for help and he only cleans it when it gets to the point where it distracts him from focusing on work.

No worries though, his S/O doesn’t have to do all the housework for him, he’ll do it. He just needs to be reminded that he needs to every once in a while.

Fred has a really bad temper, he doesn’t know where he gets it from but he tends to get angry easier than George, though Fred is better at letting it out so it doesn’t continue to bother him.

His bad temper does mean that he used to brawl more with siblings as a kid, and it wasn’t unusual to see him with scrapes and bruises as a kid, much to Molly’s dismay. Fred didn’t mind though, he thought it made him look tough.

Fred is more likely to get caught sneaking around because of his brash nature, he tends to forget just how quiet you have to be to avoid Mrs Norris in the corridors.

Fred is certainly not an early bird but his favourite time of day is, in fact, the morning when the sun’s coming up. He only knows this because of Wood’s ridiculously early quidditch practices but there’s something about the way the world looks when it’s bathed in soft golden light that just hits different to Fred.

Fred is a great team player, as much as he seems like he’s more selfish than George, if it’s regarding a team activity (like quidditch or a battle of sorts) he’ll completely lose all focus on himself and only try to ensure other’s safety and victory. This is also why he plays as a beater, he’s not afraid of getting hit at all when he’s focused on getting the bludgers away from his teammates.

So if his s/o ever needs it, he’ll be there to help with anything: Needs to take a day off from work to take care of his sick s/o? no problem. Needs to stay up with his small child because his s/o is exhausted and needs rest? On it. Something as small as carrying groceries or books, making a cup of tea when the other is busy or doing the dishes is all on the list of things that Fred will happily do for his s/o, and often without having to be asked, he’ll just do it.

Fred’s boggart is seeing his family members and/or his s/o hurt beyond what he can save. Essentially his worst fear is being helpless when he needs it most.

One of those times was when George lost his ear. The first night when George was lying practically unconscious on the couch with blood everywhere was the worst night of Fred’s life, he truly felt so anxious and helpless and angry that he vomited and ended up passing out next to the couch after staying up till sunrise watching his brother like a hawk.

He didn’t just sleepwalk when he was younger, he also often experienced nightmares, it’s only George, Molly and Arthur who remembers anything about this.

They got less and less the older he got and he assumed that he’d never be bothered by them again until after the second wizarding war and the battle of Hogwarts.

I don’t like to headcanon that he dies cause he didn’t and that’s final lol. I do, however, headcanon that Fred still gets hurt, since everyone in the explosion beside him seemed to sustain minor injuries, I just think that to even out with George losing his ear, he hurts his leg and needs a lot of retraining/a walking stick. I think that’d be a more fair/unfair ending for Fred who’s always full of energy having to have to adjust to living slowly for a little while (not permanently, I couldn’t do that to my boy).

The boy has anxiety sometimes, ok. (just let me project for a second)

He didn’t know how much tension he usually holds in his body until he drank alcohol for the first time and felt his entire body loosen up and was like “huh this is new.”

He doesn’t use alcohol to deal with it though, he prefers just talking to George about whenever he feels is stressing him out and that helps. A massage from his s/o to loosen him up doesn’t hurt either.

Fred prefers to talk to his dad about his problems more than he prefers to talk to Molly, generally.

His favourite body parts on his s/o: Shoulders, hips, hands.

He loves to kiss, just in general, but he also loves kissing his s/o’s nose, forehead, neck, shoulder, etc. as little gestures of affection.

He def. has a bit of a size kink, he loves being taller than his s/o.

If Fred could have any pet he wanted, he’d probably want a dog, the bigger the better. He doesn’t think he has the time for a pet though.

It was his idea to start breeding pygmy puffs, it’s the closest he’ll get to having a pet.

I don’t know why but I feel like when Fred and his s/o are expecting and his s/o goes into labour he just panics. loses it, drops the binkie as we say in Denmark: Freaks the fuck out, if you will. He’s definitely the pacing and wringing his hands together type, though he probably tries his best to keep himself composed and chill during the whole thing whilst simultaneously hyperventilating.

Fred doesn’t cry often but he sure as hell wept with pride when he held all his kids for the first time.

Despite the notion that the twins often slip in a joke version of a sweet treat or something similar amongst the snacks at parties, Fred is strongly against tampering with drinks. He knows the connotations it holds and he doesn’t want anyone to be afraid they’d put something in it. If he wants you to test out their truth serum or a love potion, he’ll just ask you flat out and if you don’t want to, he’s not going to continue asking.

Most of the detentions Fred has gotten from Snape come from times he’s spoken back to him when Snape’s been giving another student a rough time. He doesn’t regret it one bit.

If you ask Fred what his proudest accomplishment is, he’ll probably say that it’s having had enough restraint to not punch Umbridge in the face every time he saw her.

On the note of Umbridge. It wasn’t her detentions with him that got his blood boiling, it was when she punished little kids (a la Nigel) for doing practically nothing, he understands that to an extent and by comparison, setting off a bunch of fireworks inside a building would harbour a harsher punishment, but making twelve-year-olds bleed for running in the halls or playing music or just doing things that twelve-year-olds will inevitably do, is something Fred doesn’t understand. That year pretty much any kid younger than him, or anyone who was too afraid to stand up for themselves, became Fred and George’s little siblings, and they’re very protective older brothers. Umbridge can vouch for that.

He struggles with a lot of insecurity in his relationships, he always puts on a front of being extra funny and outgoing when he’s in a new relationship because he’s secretly afraid that the way he is isn’t good enough and that eventually, his s/o will see through him and leave because they don’t like the softer, more serious side of him.

Fred is the godfather of all of George’s kids but is also the godparent of Hugo, Lily and Lucy.

Fred loves business meetings, he sees them as a good challenge to practice his smooth talk.

Fred spent his first salary from the shop on the most expensive bottle of champagne he could find and a new suit.

Fred tried to get into whiskey, feeling like it’d make him a cool business owner type of man, so, with his second salary, he went out and bought a fancy-schmancy bottle of whiskey and the whole getup with a bottle and some cool glasses, and then invited Lee over to try it with him and George.

They did not like it. Fred thought it tasted like what he imagined gasoline tastes like so they mostly used it as decorations, not having the heart to mix it with something.

Fred doesn’t necessarily like PDA, it depends on what you mean. He likes being secretive. Pulling his s/o into an empty classroom, nook, hallway, secret pathway etc where anyone could wander in at any time and snogging her senseless is one of his favourite things to do.

Fred knows how good he looks in his quidditch uniform and will absolutely use it against his s/o. (they’re gonna get spicy from here on so read with caution if you're in public)

Fred prefers giving more than receiving oral.

He has a lot of energy, did you not think that would rub off (no pun intended) on his sex drive? He can go pretty much any time and place, and typically last at least two rounds.

Also, his favourite position is having you on top. Okay, I'm gonna stop now.

#selfwriting-sugarquills 700 follower celebration #fred weasley #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley headcanons #fred weasley fanfiction #weasley twins #weasley twins headcanons #hp headcanon #harry potter headcanon

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chrisevansgoodgirl · 5 years ago

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the closest i’ve been to a bar was at ballet class

summary: just some smut building up to 🎟🩰(that’s a ticket and ballet slippers in case you aren’t reading this on mobile)

pairings: reader x natasha romanoff, reader x steve rogers, reader x carol danvers, reader x ...someone 👀

word count: a little under 12,000

warnings: everything. as usual, all kinds of sex in here. i can’t remember all of it. some is pretty rough so avoid if that is not your thing.

a/n: so...i may have added a fourth and bc i’m a jerk, i’m not yet tagging who... but i’ve been thirsting for this character so hard lately and idk why! i’m done tho, i swear! no more. none.

a/n2: so, obviously there is no show here and they have yet to find out about each other but i started writing that but this all happened first and it would have been like a billion words. so part 3 will be coming!

a/n3: part 1

Your ballet instructor was Natasha’s number one enemy. It had started almost instantly. As with her experiences in ballet, she felt that your instructor was someone who simply needed to be watched. She said ballet instructors were hardly ever completely honest, they always had ulterior motives.

You highly doubted your instructor—a 38-year-old woman with an amazing husband and three adorable children—was up to no good. But you couldn’t take another lecture!

Natasha liked to remind you that she had been at this for a long time. Sure, she was paranoid, sometimes. But other times, she was very much correct and that was enough for her. She just wished you would put your guard up sometimes.

So she claimed, anyway. And she was convincing, but at the end of the day, she was glad you weren’t jaded and cynical. It meant she got to take care of you. It meant that she got to protect you in all the ways she knew how—threats, murder maybe.

She was waiting for you at your apartment around noon after practice was over. Her eyes sought out any signs of stress. You knew you looked tired—a big show was coming up, that same show you knew was going to conclude this whole sneaking around thing you had going on. You also knew there was a huge bruise on your shin and arm that she would be furious about when she undressed you.

"Hungry?" she inquired. No 'hello', no 'I missed you', but Natasha liked to save that for when you were falling asleep. She really thought you wouldn't remember how sappy she'd gotten in the morning. You let her pretend because the alternative was no sappiness.

"Starving. Are we going somewhere?"

"Let’s stay in, I’ll make something."

You opened your apartment for her and she waltzed right in. She directed you to change as she headed for the kitchen.

You didn’t have the energy to try to hide the bruises. It was better to get it out of the way. Besides, were you going to say no when she wanted to fuck you?

You chose a tiny bra top and a pair of tiny shorts. Maybe your ass would distract her.

She was at the counter, waiting to see what you came out in. A box of pasta in front of her, a few jars and a saucepan off to her side. It wasn’t anything too crazy but you were okay with that, and at least she wouldn’t get to tease you in that restaurant she loved taking you to.

Concept: picture that scene from a movie where the rich, white man has his favorite restaurant that he takes his billions of too-young, way-out-of-his-league dates to and the staff is used to not mentioning any of the terrible things they see to his wife. Now, take that vision and place it on Natasha. Subtract all the dates and the wife and that Natasha was out of your league, and that had you sitting at her usual table of her favorite overpriced, noisy, terribly lit restaurant at least once a week. At least you were starting to make friends with all of the hostesses and most of the servers. But they weren't naive, they knew when Natasha was, in a sense, in a mood, and they knew when to be succinct but still helpful. That was what made part of The Incident possible—

"What is that bruise?" she demanded, startling you out of your thoughts.

You contemplated the innocent act for a moment, but you'd rather be dismissive. It was just quicker. "Nat, I'm fine—"

"Did you get that in class?"

"No."

"Where, then?"

You sighed. "When I was leaving class. I fell walking down the stairs."

"Because you’re so tired!"

"I am not that tired," you protested.

"Y/N—"

You sauntered over to her, sliding in between her and the counter. "I guess I am a little tired but only because I’ve had some trouble falling asleep lately."

She already knew where you were going, but she would never refuse one of your challenges. You weren’t in charge, she was, and you wouldn’t know that if she was too soft with you. She sighed, "why is that?"

"Because you haven’t fucked me in so long."

She rolled her eyes.

"When you tire me out, I sleep like a baby. Without you...I have to tire myself out and that can take forever."

She sighed, knowing she was not going to get you on a different path. "Forever, huh?"

You nodded. "I mean...I can think about you when I do it. Your mouth, your fingers... But it’s not the same."

"And how often, exactly, do you think about me?"

It was the closest she was ever going to get to asking where she stood with you. She knew there were others but she wanted to hear that she was special compared to the rest. She was, so special you couldn’t put it into words. But that didn't mean Steve and Carol weren't special in their way as well. You figured they were going to have a hard time wrapping their mind around that when they found out about this. A competition? Sure, they could understand that.

"Very often," you promised. "I missed you."

You craved them exactly as you had gotten used to having them in your life. The mornings had you longing to be with Natasha, staying in bed late while you thought about how she wasn’t going to be walking you to class or waiting for you after. Nights were reserved for Steve when you realized how empty your bed felt and wanted to have one of your under-the-covers conversations with him—a trend started in the winters when he would unintentionally wake you up because he was trying to slip out of bed, it was your way of keeping him there for just a little longer. Then there were weekends, random mid-days, and every Thursday night that Carol had you set aside just for her so she could take you to Maria's for dinner.

Natasha's hands settled on your hips. "I missed you, too. But that doesn’t mean I don't want to hit your damn teacher."

"Why waste time?"

"I’m nearly retired," she countered. "I have the time."

"No, you really don’t." You slowly removed your shirt and then shimmied out of your shorts before kicking them away. "All of your time needs to be spent on me, not worrying about my teacher."

Natasha always looked at you like she’d never seen anything quite so beautiful regardless of how little time elapsed from the last, but there was something different this time. For the first time since she’d met you, your skin was an unpainted canvas. Steve and Carol had been gone as well and that meant there were no bruises anywhere because there was no one else.

Natasha liked marking you up because Steve did—not that she knew that, but it was a possessive outlet for them both. Steve’s marks were always bigger, bigger fingers, bigger love bites, she’d known instantly that he was a man—random, inconsistent. Hers were smaller, healed quicker, but no doubt sent the message that you were fucking a woman. Something she wanted to be known to whoever else was sharing your bed.

She lifted you onto the counter, leaving your hips hanging over the edge as she dropped to her knees. Immediately, her mouth was set to your inner thigh where she nipped at your skin and kissed after. She never once took her eyes off you as she switched legs..

You wouldn’t beg, even after the eighth time she made that switch. You knew she had her plans and not even you could change them. That didn’t mean you weren’t dripping and squirming, cursing her for being so thorough, however.

She shoved your legs apart wide as she stood, dipping down to run her tongue through you slowly, just once.

You shuddered when she caught your clit. "Natasha—"

"Hush." She eyed your pussy, then the rest of you. "You are delicious, baby. I can’t believe I had to go so long without tasting you." She chose your hip bones to mark up next but finally, slid two fingers inside you. She didn’t move them, she just wanted to fill you up a little.

You clenched around them several intentional times and she didn’t bat an eye. She was trying to drive you crazy; she hadn’t said it but the second you tried to take, if you rolled your hips, if you grabbed her arm and attempted to rush her, she would make you wait longer.

She trailed up to your breasts, small kisses scattered without pattern before she started to bite and suck until your skin was numbly tingling. You knew her game was over when she pressed her lips to yours.

You wasted no time, opening your mouth for her tongue and moaning out of the sheerest need. There was just something about Natasha’s lips that could always get you weak. They were beautiful to look at but they felt even better gliding across your skin, kissing, sucking.

She was the one who pulled away, turning down to look at her fingers still inside you. "You are soaking my hand."

Now you grabbed her forearm, pulling her fingers in deeper. "Fuck me, please."

She acted as if she was thinking about it, arched her eyebrow and curled her fingers once, twice, and then yanked them away from you.

Your eyes widened up at her. What the hell?

"Go sit at the table while I finish making the pasta."

Your mouth dropped a little. "Um...?"

"Hurry up," she ordered.

She was serious, dead serious. You slid off the counter, leaning down to reach for your clothes.

"I didn’t tell you to get dressed," she pointed out. With her hands on your arms, she stood you back up and turned you around. You went to move away but she grabbed your ass and leaned down to kiss your cheek, then gently urged you forward. "Sit down, stop pouting. Be a good girl or else I won’t be fucking you, understood?"

No, hell no, not understood. At all! But you didn’t say any of that as you moved for the table. No, no, no way in hell.

Steve teased, even Carol had her tendencies to make you wait, but Natasha was different. After that first time in the studio, she had never again made you wait for something that you wanted. She gave and gave until you shamelessly flaunted how spoiled you were to anyone who would listen—mostly the ballerinas from class. It was that Natasha didn’t need to be as in control as them, it was that it didn’t need to be some power struggle.

Maybe she was trying something different, but that meant that you could do that, too. Instead of sitting in a chair like a boring mouse, you turned to her and sat on the table instead.

She was pouring the box of pasta in the pot, but she turned up to arch an eyebrow at you.

You lifted one leg, then the other, setting the arches of your feet on the edge of the table. You were obscenely spread for her and she acted as if that wasn’t unnatural.

You brought your hand down to your pussy, two fingers slowly tracing circles around your clit. You watched her watching you the entire time, there was never a break in her resolve. But you were too far now to just quit, besides that was more than likely was her feigned indifference was trying for.

She didn’t stop making the pasta either, but that was how you knew you were winning. She was trying to speed dinner along because she was going to remind you that she was in charge.

It was so cute that they believed that. You worried that she may not let you finish that night, so even if you wanted to give her that little bit of obedience you could manage, you weren't convinced it was in your best interest.

Your hand began to move frantically as you cried out her name because you were just mean like that. Your eyes closed and your head fell back as you took in two of your fingers. Your hips rose to grind against the heel of your palm, around that time you were almost certain you’d heard something clatter in the kitchen.

Your finish was little more than a show, an end you’d drawn yourself to many times in their absence but one that you played up. It felt as good as it could have but you needed them, nothing else could suffice. That didn't mean you weren't acting like it was the best orgasm you'd ever had.

You came down quickly and did so without a word or even another glance at her. You climbed off the table, sat in a chair, and looked at her once more.

She looked down at the counter in front of her and shook her head. Yep, you were in major trouble, but you deemed it well worth it.

After an uneventful meal, she took you to the bedroom where she edged you ruthlessly. She was trying to get you to apologize for misbehaving, but you refused. Well, until she told you that she wasn't going to give you the presents she brought you back from Paris. (Later, you opened a new pair of thigh-high boots and a diamond choker with a dangling charm of cursive letters spelling out angel.)

And finally, when you gave in and apologized, she herself was worked up beyond comprehension and set your cunt over her face so she could eat you out until you were crying and delirious. Thankfully, she didn’t stop even though you begged her to, not until she was satisfied.

That was the first night Natasha stayed over. She kept her arms wrapped around your bare torso to keep you pinned to her as tightly as possible. You felt her running her hands through your hair until you fell asleep, enjoying the sound of her breathing in the quiet room.

In the morning, you woke first. You were able to watch her sleep for a while, surprised by how peaceful she looked. And you were caught off by how good she looked in your bed, her red hair fanned out over your pink pillowcases, the sunlight filtering through the blinds and layering her in gold light.

Her arms were slack around you, her right falling away as you sat up. You situated yourself on her side, crossing your top leg over her hip. You took her hand in yours, guiding two of her fingers to your already wet pussy.

You teased your clit for several minutes, careful not to wake her just yet. When you were ready, you slid down on two of her long fingers. Still, she was not woken by you.

You rolled your hips desperately, moaning every time your clit swept against her palm. You felt her fingers curl on their own and moaned louder, an attempt to get her conscious.

When her eyes shot open, they focused on you instantly. You continued to fuck yourself on her fingers, setting your head on the pillow next to hers and staring in her eyes.

"Fuck," she whispered. Then she was up and urging you onto your back. She spread your legs wide and slotted herself between them. She started slow, hands groping your breasts as she dragged her pussy against yours.

She was deliciously slick, you could feel her cunt dripping onto yours. Wet sounds filled the room, along with the small, desperate noises that spilled from your open mouth.

When she knew she was close, she used your thigh as leverage, moving quicker. It was a breath-taking scene when Natasha got lost in pleasure. She shut her eyes, tilted her head back and her red curls lined her back, her breasts bounced hard because that was how she was fucking you. She didn’t stop until you were both screaming each other's name and coming.

She collapsed on top of you, mouth lazily seeking out yours. "That’s the best way I’ve ever been woken up."

You smiled.

"Turn over, let me see your gorgeous ass."

You waited until she stepped off the bed to roll over, eagerly sticking your ass out for her. She had never asked you to do this so you were excited to see where she would take it.

You heard her get back on the bed and then felt her hands gripping your ass hard.

"You have such a beautiful ass."

You smirked, glancing back at her.

She set her body flat against your back and you titled your head just so you could kiss her. She began grinding her cunt against your ass, nipping at your lips as she moaned. One of her hands slithered down between your pussy and the mattress, her fingers circling your sensitive flesh skillfully.

Her soaking pussy brushed over your ass desperately, you could feel her soaking you all the way down the back of your thigh. She got herself off on your skin, never once easing up on your clit even though you’d finished and were terribly oversensitive to her touch. Instead, once again, she stopped only when she wanted to.

And if you thought that would be the end, you didn’t know her very well. She sat up and brought you with her. She took your hips in her hands and situated you over one of her thighs, her front pressed to your back once again. "Come on my thigh, baby, don’t stop until I tell you to."

You leaned over, using your elbows to keep your balance. You rode her thigh hard, making sure to give her quite the show of your ass. When you were reaching your end, you grabbed one of her hands and set it over your ass. She took the cue immediately, grabbing you, digging her fingers in.

When you finished, she shoved you flat onto the mattress. You were only half aware of what she was doing behind you, still floating from your orgasm. You snapped right out of that when you felt her lips against your ass. She kissed you several times before you felt her tongue against your hole.

You startled, hands fisting in the sheets. You were definitely surprised, you guys had never even approached this topic. But just as soon as you had felt her, she was gone. She turned you back over, kissed up your body, stopping only to worship your breasts. When she reached your mouth, she gave you an out-of-place chaste kiss and sat up. "Seriously, we need to get out of bed or I'm never going to stop fucking you."

When Carol opened her apartment door for you, things quickly changed. She gripped your arm and walked you to the couch where she forcefully sat you down. One thing was clear: she was in no mood to hear you speak.

"Stay." She headed to the kitchen where you heard cupboards being opened and slammed shut, the fridge a few times. Mostly, she was just walking around.

Perhaps you should have been scared, but you were just wet. So fucking wet.

She came back with a beer, glanced at you, then began pacing. "You’re..." she trailed off and shook her head before taking a long drink from the bottle in her hand. "I mean, I can’t even..."

It was definitely a mistake to laugh.

Her eyes widened and she turned to you, a clear warning, but one that you would not heed. "Just try to make me understand," she finally settled on. "What possessed you?"

"Well, you were gone for quite a while."

"So, you missed me?"

"Of course."

"So, you decide to be a brat?"

Was that supposed to make you regret acting out? It was a somewhat humiliating thing for her to call you but you didn’t dislike it. "Well, you weren’t paying enough attention to me."

Again, that sharp look that you were sure was supposed to make you backtrack. "I only pay attention to good girls, girls who behave."

You hummed, standing. "I suppose I should go home, then."

"Sit down," she growled.

Instead, you tossed your purse on the couch and slowly removed your jacket. Nat had left you covered in marks but she was secure enough in her place with you that she didn’t need to do so in a way that would inconvenience you. She understood you were a ballerina so she left your neck, shoulders, and chest mostly untouched. Your breasts, stomach, and thighs were another story, but you were still in a tiny ass skirt that allowed Carol to finger you in the car before you’d arrived at another little gathering Maria was having—who had more parties, her or Tony Stark? She was giving him a run for his money.

Which was where you’d started acting out. Carol had picked you up around noon and you were as sweet as could be. But around 3, you were suddenly hit with the realization that you wanted to be fucking her more than anything else. It started with a text about how you had taken off your underwear. She was having none of it, she told you this was not happening. You let her know that the scrap of lace was in her purse.

You sent a picture 30 minutes later. She warned you to stop. You sent a video showing her just how wet you were for her, then told her all the things you wanted her to do to you. All the things you had missed while she was away.

In total, you sent her 27 texts, 2 videos, and 7 pictures. You’d received 4 responses, but the final one was completely out of place. Show me your ass. You obliged but then nothing. She said nothing, she requested nothing further.

Did you feel as though you'd gone too far? Not exactly. Carol was definitely into the most public shit, making possible for the second part of The Incident. You still blushed thinking about that day.

She rolled her eyes at your display of disobedience, bringing the bottle to her lips once more. "Strip."

You didn’t need to be told twice. First, it was the shirt, and you paid no mind at all to what Natasha had left you with, but you noticed Carol's lingering gaze. Next, you pushed your skirt down and stepped out of her pumps you’d borrowed. You loved wearing heels when you were out with Carol, she was taller than you without and sometimes it brought you to her level or made you just a tad taller.

She made her way closer to you, setting her bottle on the coffee table off to her side. Abruptly, she grabbed a handful of your hair and pulled you closer to her. "If you wanted me to get rough with, princess, all you had to do was ask."

You didn’t have time to respond before she was kissing you, greedy and demanding. But just as you reached up to touch her face, she yanked back and turned you around with her hands on your shoulders. She grabbed your hair once more and forced you down toward the table.

You were on your knees, bent over the edge, your breasts flat against the freezing glass. Your cheek was pressed so hard against the solid surface you almost couldn’t open your mouth to speak. "Carol—"

"Silence."

It was a while before you heard her move, she got down behind you and kept one hand on your head as the next began to feel through your folds.

She slipped one finger inside you, pulled back, then added another. She curled up against that spot that always made you buck your hips wildly, even though now you were digging into the sharp wooden border of the table she’d bent you over.

"You know how to drive, right, princess?"

You paused for a moment, confused.

"Answer me."

"Um, yes?"

"You know that when you reach a traffic light, green means go and red means stop, don’t you?"

"Yeah..."

"So, right now, bent over this table, your soaking cunt filled with my fingers, you are...?"

She was speaking slowly as if you were a child that could barely comprehend this conversation. Never mind that you were definitely getting lost and her fingers were turning your brain to mush. It was another humiliation tactic and you felt yourself blushing. She’d never been quite so...formal. "Green?"

"Are you asking or telling? Green means that you are still my desperate little whore that needs to be fucked hard."

"I’m green," you assured.

"And if at any point you feel like you need me to slow down or you are beginning to get worried or uncomfortable, if you need any verbal communication, you’re yellow. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"And you understand if you need me to stop, if I’m hurting you or you don’t like what’s going on, you can tell me you are red and you know I won’t get mad at you?"

"Yes."

"One more time, what are you?"

"Green."

She pulled her fingers from inside you. "Arms on the table."

You hurriedly obeyed, gripping the edges hard. Carol never really spoke to you like this, it was all spoiling you in attention and affection. This was something else, something you hadn’t anticipated when you started this game.

She brought her hand down on the right side of your ass, your hips stuttered forward and your gasp and the echo of the smack filled the room. Your cheeks burned and your eyes filled with tears. It didn’t hurt, she was experimenting, but you knew it would eventually.

"And what are you now, princess?"

You swallowed, willing your voice to stay even. "Green."

She finally let go of your hair and you tilted your head a little just to get the pressure off your cheekbone. She repeated the slap on the opposite side with just a bit more pressure.

You shuddered and blurted out the same color. Your skin was stinging but you felt yourself growing wetter, your slick running down your thighs now.

She had you in this cycle until she found enough force that it was barely manageable. Tears were running down your cheeks, landing on the table and she had to hold you up on your knees because you no longer could.

She hummed. "These marks are going to be pretty in the morning."

You realized then where this came from. Had you come to her with the same attitude but without all of those marks Nat left you covered in, you probably never would have pushed Carol to this point. They had both officially found their ways to be just the slightest bit possessive.

"You sorry?"

You snorted. "No...are you?"

"Excuse me?"

"You should have fucked me at the party if you really wanted me to stop sending you pictures and videos."

She rolled her eyes. "Stay here. I'm not joking."

You smirked as she stormed off to her bedroom. You knew what she would be coming back with. She returned naked, save for her strap. A smooth red dildo hung between her legs, one of the larger ones she owned.

You went to stand up but she clicked her tongue disapprovingly.

"Crawl over here."

You lifted your eyebrows—crawl? Hadn't she just called you ‘princess’? But you could be a ‘whore’ since she called you that, too. On hands and knees, you made your way to her.

She reached down to grab your hair, pulling you up to stand on your knees. She said nothing else as she used her other hand to press the tip of the dildo against your lips until you opened your mouth. A struggle that ended with the sounds of you choking on the piece of silicone down your throat.

The rest of the night was spent on the couch. She made you ride her strap until you physically couldn't continue, which ended up being a bit after two in the morning. She didn't tease or edge, she allowed you to come as many times as you wanted to, in fact, she ordered it—unstated, but the threat that would come from not playing her game was clear.

She didn't help, however, she stayed still underneath you and didn't say a word. She just watched you, watched as you pathetically attempted to get her to break. You would kiss her, take her fingers and suck on them, place her hands over your breasts. A few times, you even got up, turning your back to her before sinking back down on the dildo, knowing that she would love the sight of your battered ass.

Steve understood your love of ballet.

Sure, Natasha knew what you were talking about and related to you somewhat, but she also had her opinions about ballet and sometimes she was a little closed off about your dancing. And hell, Carol would support you doing anything. Tap, softball, book club, Broadway, murder, she just wanted you to be happy.

With Steve, well, he sort of understood interests that left you a little battered and bruised. His new obsession (TM) was patching you up through those unanticipated injuries and wrapping your feet before you practiced at home to prevent injuries. It was a careful 20-minute process where he was utterly focused on making sure you were completely protected. And either he paid tremendous attention to you—his skills at quickly prepping your feet was enviable—or he had a thing for ballerinas. You were okay not knowing.

When he called you and told you he was coming over, you noticed something in his voice. It was different, not that usual sweet and doting tone, but you'd heard it before. Steve was always confident and assertive, but this was...something else. Something more. When he told you that you needed to get dressed in nothing more than a leotard, you wanted to be a brat and flat out refuse, maybe just tease, but you didn’t. You had enough sense to know that it wouldn’t get you the results you wanted.

You also had reason to be nervous. Carol had left you some nice marks. They didn’t really hurt anymore, but they were there. There was also no false illusion about what they were. Steve would know and you just weren’t sure how he would feel about them. Most of your ass was covered with what you were wearing but there were still the especially dark areas that could be seen through your one-piece, and there were a few bruises that extended the cut of your outfit. Not to mention, there was no way to hide what Natasha left on your upper thighs.

But you just decided to act like it wasn’t an issue. He was the one who said he couldn’t be your boyfriend, right? He couldn’t get upset over others leaving marks behind. At least that was what you kept repeating to yourself as you walked toward your barre in the corner of your apartment living room.

You began going through your usual warm-up routine, only glancing at him when you felt you wouldn’t be caught. He was laid out on the couch, eyes following your legs as if he hadn’t seen you do this a dozen times already. He was already hard, made more noticeable by the one leg draped over the edge of the cushions. His hand was on his thigh, fingers twitching just barely. The control he was trying to maintain was clear on his face, through his sharp blue eyes, his set jaw, and furrowed brow.

It was silent the entire time and your nerves were growing. Eventually, you would have to turn around and he would have the perfect view of your ass. He’d already noticed your thighs, you saw him eyeing you when he was prepping your feet for the pointe shoes. But he didn’t say anything and he wouldn’t, because he wasn’t allowed to. Right?

With a finishing soutenu turn, you were facing the opposite direction. You heard him sit up but then it was completely silent, minus your breathing and your shoes brushing along the floor.

When you were done, you stayed put. You’d gone as far as teaching him a lot of ballet vocabulary because he knew what he wanted to see and after your warm-ups, he would often direct you. It was always somewhat thrilling—apparently, you both shared this depraved ballerina kink. Maybe there had been role play—maybe he was the casting director and you were a desperate ballerina auditioning for a role, willing to do anything to get it, and maybe he pretended he had a million and one critiques for you, and maybe instead of having the talent, you got the role after you sucked him off.

“Face the barre. Run through your pliés.”

You turned to your side, pretending to be focused on keeping your hips squared and your pelvis locked. You could do pliés no problem, but the alternative was meeting his stare in the mirror and you were too nervous to do that. You completed the demi-pliés slowly and the grand pliés much the same. Normally, he would speak during this step, knowing that he wasn’t going to distract you, but nothing.

You waited for more instructions but they never came. You felt his arms wrap around your waist and you startled—you hadn’t heard him get so close.

He just held you for a moment, pinned your back to his chest as he kissed the side of your face. His hands began to squeeze your breasts and you melted into him eagerly. But soon, gentle touching became rough grabbing and all you could do was watch him in the mirror. He looked at you like he was starving and he touched you like it had been ages.

One of his hand dropped down and grabbed your ass. You held on tighter to the barre, shuddering. "What do you call him?"

Because you just didn’t know what was good for you, you laughed. "Are you jealous?"

He gripped you harder, bringing down his other hand to join. "I don’t need to be. What do you call him?"

'I’m not fucking another man," you informed, amusement still clear in your tone. Steve Rogers jealous, you never thought you’d see the day.

"Then what do you call her?"

She had you call her captain, but you couldn’t exactly tell him that. "What do you want me to call you?" you purred. "Sir?"

"No."

You hummed. “Master? You don’t strike me as the type, but you’re weird enough that I wouldn’t be surprised."

"No."

"Then I’m not sure what you want, Steve." You did know, you’d always had the suspicion since he liked to take care of you and loved calling you baby girl.

"I won’t ask you again," he finally said. He didn’t much care what you were doing with other people, but he did have a special liking to your ass. Maybe he was just mad that someone was spanking you before he was.

When it came to Steve, you knew how to get under his skin. You always knew just what to say to shock him and he could pretend all he wanted that he didn’t love when you would say the filthiest things to him, but you knew better. And after he just handed you this, how were you supposed to resist? "I don’t think I’ll have enough time to answer."

He lifted his eyebrows. "Oh, are we on a clock?"

You shrugged, leaning back to set your head on his shoulder. "Well, yeah, if you want to fuck me before mom gets home."

He scoffed, averting his gaze forward.

You knew you’d caught something though, his hands tightened on your hips and his jaw was doing that thing.

"You are sick."

You snorted. "And you’re hard, so."

He turned you abruptly, pinning you between his body and the barre. "Fine, what’s the story?"

You hummed. "You met my mom in a bar, you liked her, you started this all with the purest intentions. But then you stayed over one night, and there I was. You’ve tried fighting it—"

"But you don’t make it easy," he sighed.

You smirked. "I’m sorry, daddy. Really."

Any last reluctance he had was destroyed when you called him daddy. "Well, baby girl, daddy really isn’t okay that you’ve been letting so many other people fuck you."

You shrugged. "Maybe I was practicing."

He scoffed, fully aware of how you were intending to turn this. "Practicing. For what?"

"You. I just wanted to make sure I was good when you fucked me."

He hummed, turning you away once again. "And are you?"

"Good?"

"Mhm."

"The best," you promised.

"Baby, I don’t know how I feel about sharing you. What if I wanted to be your first?"

"I—"

He brought his hand up to your neck and you fell silent. "Daddy is really disappointed."

Rarely did Steve commandeer your scenes. Mostly, he pretended that he was just humoring you, then he fucked you well enough that you weren’t in the position to tease him afterward. It was a great system. But you weren’t complaining that he was suddenly changing things.

"Are you sorry for letting me down?"

You nodded quickly. It was surprising how naturally he could commit to this character.

"How are you going to make it up to me?"

"I’ll do anything," you promised.

He took his other hand, palm sliding over your ass. "Have I ever told you how much I love your ass?"

"No."

"I do... you ever had your ass fucked?"

That was a huge no. The men you had been with up to that point, prior to Steve, did not meet your standards that well. There was lacking trust, skill, most of them couldn’t define 'foreplay' if their lives depended on it. And after, well, Carol was the only one who liked straps so much and she’d never brought it up.

"No."

"No?"

You were about to repeat the answer when his hand came down on your ass. It (illogically) was the last thing you were expecting and you pathetically squeaked before you could stop yourself.

"You know what I want you to call me. Correct?"

"Yes, daddy. No, I’ve never been fucked there."

"You want daddy to fuck you there?"

"Will daddy forgive me?"

"Maybe."

Pouting, right now? Steve Rogers knew no bounds. "Yes, daddy, I want you to fuck me there."

"Spread your legs and hold the barre."

You hurriedly did as he asked, watching his face in the mirror. His eyes were focused on your ass, the way you moved, the way you were teasing him by leaning over just a little.

First, he moved your suit aside and buried two fingers inside you. You were obscenely wet, something he chuckled at.

You would have blushed, had you not already been. He pumped his fingers in and out, ordering you to watch, even though you couldn’t see much with your leotard in the way. When he added another finger, you squirmed a little, trying to get more comfortable.

"Does that hurt?"

"A little, daddy." It always hurt, taking Steve was always an adjustment process. The first few times, uncomfortable, an orgasm without his fingers rubbing quick circles around your clit was impossible. You were getting used to him, it was still a stretch, you’d just grown to like that ounce of pain because you knew how much pleasure was going to follow.

"Well, imagine how they’re going to feel in your ass. Then imagine how my cock will feel. Worried?"

"No, daddy. I like it when you hurt me."

He thrust his fingers a tad indelicately and your hips jerked.

Ass—obviously you’d said that to get a rise out of him, but still, rude. You had completely soaked through your thick suit by the time he pulled his fingers out, and not a single finish to show for it. But you figured he knew what he was doing, he’d probably had experience with this before so you were fine letting him run the show.

He pulled the material over your ass so he could watch you take his fingers.

"Take it off, daddy," you pleaded, voice all weak and breathy. You were pathetic.

"Can’t, baby. If your mom walks in, you can’t be naked."

You whined unintelligibly. Was he serious right now?

"Don’t misbehave," he warned. "I don’t want to have to punish you. Understand?"

"Yes, daddy." You set your forehead to the bar, angling your head so you could still see his face.

"Are you ready?"

You nodded slightly. "Yes, daddy." You startled a bit when you felt his finger, taking a breath when he told you to. The first finger didn’t hurt but you felt impossibly full—he was right, how were you going to take him? There was a sting when he got to his knuckle but he told you to relax so you tried.

His opposite hand reached through the suit where he pressed his fingers flat to your clit and began to massage them over you, back and forth, with a toe-curling pace and pressure. He pumped his finger in and out of your ass until you were crying out about your approaching orgasm. His finger felt different now, better, and you weren’t sure any finish had ever built up so intensely.

Before you could find out, he stopped touching your clit, dipping his first two fingers down to tease your entrance. It was then that he decided to add another finger to the one working on opening your ass for him. He was quick about it, slid one finger out, shoved two in.

You threw your head back, moaning loudly.

"Starting to feel good, baby?"

"Yes, daddy." Maybe just the looming promise of the right kind of pain, but not necessarily good. Not yet.

He continued his pattern of edging you until he had four fingers inside your ass. Your legs were shaking and his other hand was completely soaked. He never stopped talking, telling you about all the times he had thought about fucking you like this, how he touched himself during these fantasies, how he was going to make you feel better than you’d ever felt.

Steve wasn’t the most forthcoming man. He didn’t lie, never, but sometimes he kept things so completely to himself and you never had a clue. When did this obsession with your ass start, and how? And if Carol had never spanked you, would he even be doing this now? What other fantasies was he keeping to himself?

"Do you want to go to your bedroom, doll?"

"Not yet."

"Do you want your mother to catch us?" he joked.

You snorted. "Maybe I do."

He leaned over you, kissing the side of your face. "You know, I’m just saying, if you really did have a mom and I was your stepfather and was trying to fuck you on a clock, we would have definitely been caught by now."

You couldn’t possibly refrain from smiling. "You’re such a dork, Steve."

He smiled a little. "You think you’re ready?"

"Yes."

He arched an eyebrow at you. "Don’t drop the act now, baby girl."

You scoffed. "Yes, daddy. I’m ready." You watched him in the mirror as he moved his pants out of his way, something he eventually had to remove his fingers to do. You immediately missed that full feeling.

He adjusted your leotard out of his way once more, opposite hand leading his cock to you. He pressed in just barely, allowing you time to adjust or to protest if this was a failed experiment. You guys had had a few of those. Beyond handcuffs, he did not like tying you up. You guys actually weren’t overly into public sexual situations, save for the final act of The Incident. And phone sex was something that only occurred in times of true desperation. This would not be making the same list.

He folded his hands over your hip bones, pulling you back further on his cock. Your mouth dropped and your eyes slammed shut. It didn’t feel natural, it was like your body was trying to push back at him but well, Steve was nothing if not stubborn. He just kept pushing and pushing until your ass was flush against him.

It felt like an eternity when he started to pull out and then another eternity when he thrust back in, but you enjoyed every second. You felt high by the time his hips were moving easily, steadily. It was this maddening feeling like you were on the edge of something really good but he wouldn’t touch you anywhere else and it just wasn’t enough to finish. You suspected he knew that.

His hands moved up your hips and your waist until he could grab your shoulders. He stood you up, his hips stilling, your back flat to his chest. Just when you thought you he couldn’t get any deeper inside you. He pressed his hands up until he closed around your breasts. He pinched your nipples through the material, lips brushing against your ear as he spoke.

"Let’s go to the bedroom."

He would have a much better angle to watch, of course. Two months prior, you were days away from a huge audition so you were either at the studio or at home practicing. One night when you arrived home at nearly 10, it just felt like something wasn't right. Like someone had been in your apartment, nothing looked off. You just felt it.

You didn't lock the door behind you, just in case. You kept hold of your phone. You hadn’t spoken to Natasha that day and you worried she wouldn’t answer, she didn’t generally stay awake so late. And well, it wasn’t like Steve was a stranger to your AM calls or texts. But Carol lived closer and would have been there in a second if you’d needed her.

You made yourself move, tomorrow was another busy day. You flipped on your bedroom light, nearly sprinting straight back out when you saw flowers on your bed. But fear was quickly replaced with all sorts of confusion.

It looked like an expensive bouquet and there was a card right next to it. And see, these were not roses or daisies, these were dahlias—dark red, full, extra flowers. And who was more extra than... As the card read—ding, ding, ding. Steve Rogers.

When you’re not so busy, we’ll try it out.

Fear soon returned. Oh no, you thought to yourself. What could he have possibly done? It took you only three more seconds to find a full ass mirror over your bed. At the moment, you were stunned, but once more, pulled yourself out of it with your insistence of sleep. You did not have time for this.

However, when you were in bed, your phone charging next to you, you just couldn’t fall asleep. Of course. You had to call Steve. He’d broken into your home, or allowed others to break into your home, without your permission. All to put a fucking mirror over the god damn bed? He was insane, you realized.

"Hey, doll."

He sounded so smug. "You’re sick."

"Hmm, does that mean you don’t like it?"

"That means what I said: you’re sick."

"Take your clothes off."

You snorted. "Who said I’m wearing any?"

As mentioned, this wasn’t your usual routine with him. Steve loved seeing you, feeling you—phone sex just didn’t cut it. But who knew when you would have time for him next?

"There are many toys in your bedside table, pick one now."

You eagerly obliged, spreading your legs and fucking yourself with a vibrator he’d used on you several times. He told you to watch, to not take your eyes off the mirror.

The mirror added to discovering that Steve Rogers liked role-play had been some of the most pleasant surprises of your life. It was fun for both of you, never a question about when or where. When either of you wanted it, the other was always up for it. You’d thought it was just a one-time thing after the ballet incident, but then he found handcuffs in your room, which believe it or not, you hadn’t actually been using for sex. They were sex handcuffs, but they were just part of your costume to the Valentine's Day party Carol had taken you to, thrown by the lovely Maria.

Regardless, he asked you about them and you dismissed them. He then “arrested” you for “being a brat”. That got you bent over the kitchen counter as he fucked you from behind. He had you beg him to let you go but didn’t stop until his cum was dripping out of you onto the floor.

Then he’d noticed you were struggling in one of your classes and offered a prize for doing well on an upcoming exam. Of 50 questions, you’d only missed 4. He laid you out on your bed and told you he was going to eat you out. After the first time, you attempted to pull him up to you, gasping about how you needed him inside you, please Steve. He grabbed your hands and held them down, ordering you to call him professor Rogers.

Then there was the loose sugar daddy scene. He’d bought you a diamond choker on one of his trips away and it was stunning. You felt spoiled and wanted him to feel the same. You got on your knees and stayed there until you were sure your jaw was going to suffer permanent damage if you kept your mouth open that wide for much longer. It was three days later that he sent you a screenshot of your Instagram post about the diamond choker and told you to get dressed exactly how you were in the photo. So, in a rose pink wig, a tiny pink satin dress, a dangerously high pair of red heels, and the diamond choker. He didn’t use your name when finally got to your apartment, he called you baby and made you ride him, fully dressed, until you couldn’t sit up on your own.

Then there was the time Steve Rogers actually sent you the address to a sex shop and told you to meet him there. You’d had no idea until you pulled up to the building but you knew immediately that you were going to enjoy this. He asked you to help him find toys that his wife would enjoy—you told yourself you could play along, but you definitely needed to smack him upside the head later. When he got you in the car, after a little back and forth, you being somewhat mouthy, he placed one of the vibrators inside you and wouldn’t turn it off. His fingers paid attention to your clit the entire drive home.

Your payback for that was you dressed as one of his former chorus girls. A designer at the university that you’d met because she always made the costumes for the show was all too happy to help. You sent him a picture of the outfit then flipped the skirt up to show him you weren’t wearing underwear. The absolute last thing you expected was for him to show up in one of his suits. He was wild almost animalistic, he made you scream so loud that three different neighbors came to check if you were okay. Which had been a great source of pride to him.

Then you bought a stripper pole. It took 7 entire classes before you had any idea what you were doing. Though he appreciated it, it was a requirement of patience that he did not want to execute. Natasha, though,

Natasha loved watching you dance. Carol had the same problem as Steve but if you let Natasha, she would watch you for hours.

When you woke up, it was because Steve was getting out of bed. You glanced at the clock, 4 in the morning. He was getting up for his run, then he'd head out to the tower for another day at the office.

He fucked you again before he left. He had you on top of him, chest to chest, his arms wrapped tight around your back, one hand on the back of your head to hold you to the bend of his neck. He liked to do this with the mirror. He liked holding you flat against him and then watching your ass as he fucked you fervidly. He had become wild and insatiable since the mirror's arrival.

Natasha liked to lay you down, tie your legs to the bedpost, sometimes your arms, and would spend hours teasing you with her mouth. Sometimes, when she knew you weren’t too tired, she would tell you to finger yourself and she would stay next to you and watch in the mirror for as long as you would allow it.

Carol liked making you ride her and you couldn’t deny that was a beautiful scene to watch play out from above. She also liked to turn you away from her, settle directly behind you, drape your leg back over her hip, and fuck you with one of her straps.

They had their shared interests, that was undeniable. You still blushed every time you thought about The Incident. It occurred four months ago. They’d been on a short trip; not even a mission, they’d promised, they’d told you it was more politics than saving the world. The first one you saw when they got back was Carol.

She had texted you while you were out with friends and asked where you were. You informed her that you would be shopping alone after lunch. She joined you because she had a present that she just couldn’t wait. It was a vibrator that she could control from her phone. She never used it while you were walking, concerned that you may actually fall and hurt yourself but if you stopped to look at something or sat down for even a second, it was on.

Natasha had taken you to the restaurant. She told you to go to the bathroom and take off your bra and panties and she handed you her purse to place them in. She made you sit down next to her, slipped the same vibrator inside you, then made you sit on her lap for the entire night. She let you watch her phone, let you know when she was going to speed up or slow down, and all she did the entire night was sip on her wine and keep a tight hold on you so you couldn't move away from her.

Two days later, Steve made you wear it to class. Not ballet class, actual classes where you would be sitting down. It was so random when you would feel it and it was terrifying as he wasn't there. You never knew when or where, or if you were standing up and reading! You wanted to hit him when you got back to your apartment and he was waiting for you. You didn't, but you were really upset. Mostly because he hadn't let you come the entire day.

You wanted to know why? You’d asked, but their answers were dismissive and it wasn’t like you could elaborate on what you actually meant. You weren’t just asking why, you were asking why all three? It was just one of those answers you weren’t going to get while you were still keeping secrets from them.

When Natasha showed up after Steve left, it was two hours before class. You were still in bed checking social media when she slipped under the covers and made you come with her mouth and fingers. You’d taken a shower since Steve left, fortunately.

She kissed up your body and settled on top of you. You undressed her, kissing her bare skin as soon as you exposed it, her arms, her chest, her stomach, her legs, her ass, her cunt. She wanted you on top, grinding against her as she watched in the mirror.

She walked you to class and you fingered her in the dimly lit hallway before she left. She picked you up afterward and made you eat since you simply did not have the time to before class. She walked you home, set up her phone on the table next to the couch, sat down, sat you on top of her, and made you ride her fingers. Sometimes, Natasha wanted videos.

In between your second and third lecture classes, the biggest gap in your day, Carol texted. She picked you up in her car and drove out to some hiking trails that she felt were empty enough. In the back of her car, she had you pressed down to the seats, ass up as she fucked you with her strap. She held the side of your face down against the leather, not so much that it would stifle your screams.

When you finished, she made you clean the seat with your tongue. You could distinctly tell the difference between her taste and yours. She watched you as she removed the strap, taking the dildo and fucking herself with it.

She laid back and let you on top, directing you to sink down on the dildo as it was still buried in her pussy. You didn’t stop taking it until your pussy was against hers, thankfully it wasn’t one of the longer ones in her collection. Leaning over, you used the side of the car to keep your balance. She rose onto her elbows, nipping and sucking at your nipples as you ground your wet center against hers.

This was a regular day, one you had grown to love, one you were completely obsessed with. You were scared. You felt that the likelihood of them all being okay with this was low. But you were not so scared that you would ever lie to them. Withhold information? Sure. Lie? Out of the question.

You'd finally confided in the ballerinas. They'd always known about Natasha because she was at practice all of the time, but you only told half-truths about Steve and Carol. You didn't actually want them to know that you were sleeping with three Avengers. Maybe it was because everyone was drunk, but they promised you that Natasha adored you and she wouldn't leave you.

Okay, but what about Steve and Carol? You were stressed, really stressed. During the preparation period for shows, when training was intense, the ballerinas often went out on Saturdays and got wasted and talked. This was why you were in a loud night club with dancing and alcohol, and no one who was going to stop any of you from getting in trouble.

You were impaired but you were not a bad friend. At the bar, you counted all of your friends. They would likely be leaving with someone as they had all found someone to dance with, you would make the rounds in a minute. It was a rule, if they wanted to leave with a guy, that guy had to give you his number. You would verify it right then and there by sending him a text, then they could be on their way.

It was one in the morning when the girls started leaving. You had a drink at your side and five new names (proven by ID) and numbers saved in your notes.

"That's sweet."

You turned to your left, eyebrows shooting up. Gorgeous blue eyes, long brown hair, and beautiful fair skin. Wanda Maximoff was either sitting right next to you at a bar or you were completely imagining her. Given your drunken state and your current obsession with her, it was possible.

"Well, they don't exactly agree...I read stories about guys and bars and how to avoid getting chopped up into little pieces."

She smiled a little. "Who makes sure you get home?"

"I live close."

She hummed. "Were you heading out?"

Yes, you should say yes. You should leave because this could not happen. You didn't know how to explain that you were sleeping with three of them! And Wanda was wearing this red dress that was really tight and so low cut, so, how would you explain four?!

"Maybe...after I finish my drink."

She eyed your glass for a moment. "I'm Wanda."

"I know. I'm Y/N."

"I think you're the first person who's recognized me all night."

"You're stunning. I don't know how anyone wouldn't recognize you."

She smiled slightly, turning back down to her glass.

There was something so wrong with you. Instead of leaving, you just wanted to sit there and drunkenly flirt, clearly.

"Can I buy you another drink?"

No, say no! "Sure."

It was two drinks later, technically three drinks later, since you finished your drink and then she bought you two more. Things were starting to get...closer. You guys were closer. You'd started out at a normal distance, at least you assumed, but the next thing you realized, you were centimeters away from her.

She had her hand on your arm and she'd stopped ordering drinks. She was ready to leave or almost ready to leave. You hadn't neglected your duties as the best friend. You had 12 names and numbers in your notes but now you were realizing that you were all alone and if you wanted to do something, you could.

You'd talked about yourself a little, the usual. You were a student, you were a ballerina. However, you left the part out about your apparent gambling addiction! She didn't share much and you didn't think that was odd, the others didn't for a long while. They had to be a lot more guarded than you. You completely understood.

Wanda glanced at her phone when the conversation died down, or when you stopped babbling like the intoxicated fool you were, before looking back at you. "Can I be honest with you?"

"Yeah." You should still be saying no. You should try being honest. You should say: I'm sleeping with three of your team members and I should go home. But god, she really was fucking stunning.

"Do you have a girlfriend?"

"No."

"Do you have a boyfriend?"

"No."

"I do. I have a boyfriend that I love very much...but sometimes, there are things that I want to try. Things that he doesn't want to try."

"Are you...referring to me?" That was a stupid question, you were almost sure. But was she? Was that what you were supposed to be picking up?

She scoffed. "In a sense, yes. I do think you are beautiful and you're nice, and really cute. I want to have sex with you, but it can't be a relationship. My boyfriend is offering me an open arrangement... I'm still with him, very committed, but sometimes...I would like to call you and meet you. Does that sound like something you would be okay with?"

Should you be offended by how many Avengers didn't want to be in a relationship with you at this point? You may end up dwelling on that later, but now, you were thinking about having sex with her. She looked soft and sweet, very unlike Carol, Steve, and Natasha. You weren't saying she was better or worse, it wasn't like you were comparing them to rank them.

You were just acutely aware of the fact that they were so dominant and you were not. Wanda didn't seem to need that so much, she seemed like she would be fine just having sex. Meaningful sex, but not too meaningful. Soft sex, but not boring. In fact, it sounded like she wanted to try something different, and maybe you wanted to also.

So, you said yes. Mostly because it reminded you that Natasha, Steve, and Carol all said they were not able to be in an actual relationship with you. You were getting ahead of yourself, maybe they wouldn't care at all. Maybe it would be a complete non-issue, and you shouldn't miss out on having sex with Wanda if you don't have any proof that they'll react negatively.

She kissed you the first time while you were both still sitting at the bar. After you'd given her your consent, she set her hand to your cheek and pressed her lips to yours. It was all soft lips and tongue, no teeth, no power play. She tasted like alcohol and lip gloss, at least her mouth did. You wanted to know what her pussy tasted like, which you didn't fail to whisper to her when she pulled away.

She immediately took your hand and led you out of the club. It wasn't terribly cold as you waited for the Uber she sent for. She was just a bit taller than you and wrapped her arms around your shoulders as she leaned down again to kiss you. Your hands started at her hips but soon began to roam, her ass, her waist, her back, her shoulders to pull her down closer.

By the time the driver showed, you were both completely flushed and very ready to find a bed. She was taking you to a hotel. You figured that was best, no need to add any more people to the list of individuals who randomly show up at your apartment without calling or texting.

She kept her hand on your thigh the entire drive there but didn't dare move it underneath your dress. Another point of difference between her and her teammates. Any of the others and you would have already finished at least twice.

Getting up to the room was a blur. Thankfully, she did all the talking. You weren't sure how to function under this kind of calm, steady build. It was always fast and immediately, but Wanda was taking her time and making sure everything was how she wanted it.

When you finally got into the room, she didn't bother turning on the light. She curled one arm around you, the other pulling your hair off to the side as she began to kiss your neck. She held you against her as she walked forward. There was a bed that you supposed was big enough, a small bathroom, a sad excuse for a kitchen, a huge window with dirty curtains shining light on the mattress.

None of that really mattered, anyway. She led you closer to the window, stopping only when she wanted to remove your dress. It hit the floor, she peeled the curtain away from the window, and her hands were all over you. "Is this okay? I like the moonlight tonight."

She waited for your confirmation before she ran her hands up and down your sides, a teasing touch before she grabbed your breasts. She was still kissing your neck, gentle and open-mouthed.

You turned your head upward, catching her mouth. She opened her lips for you instantly and you took full advantage of that with a slow but sloppy kiss. Her fingers trailed down from the middle of your chest, straight down your stomach, and all the way to your pussy.

She hummed when she felt you were wet. The brushes against your clit were faint but somehow it was enough, it didn't take long at all for you to unhurriedly fall apart. Your legs were shaking and your mind was even more blurry than before.

You turned to her to slip her out of her dress. You kissed across her collarbone, then over her chest, glancing up as you closed your lips around one of her nipples. Her eyes fluttered shut, her head fell back, and she opened her beautiful mouth to moan.

Your hands on her hips, you directed her to the bed. She sat down first, grabbing your arms to pull you down with her. Your naked skin was flush against hers and all you did for the longest time was kiss. Hands buried in each other's hair, quiet moans and gasps filling the room, all the while just building up to this intense scene.

When you sat up, she remained on her back. She pushed your hair over your shoulders so she could see your chest and your face. She was right about the moonlight, it washed over her so well.

You kissed her chin, off to the side of her jaw, then down her shoulder and arm until you reached her hand. You took it in yours, the same with the other as you lowered onto your knees on the floor, intertwining your fingers. There was no prelude, you simply took her with your mouth.

She cried out your name, arching her back and squeezing your hands. She tasted sweet, smelled musky and a little like vanilla. You kissed down the length of her soaking cunt, sliding your tongue into her entrance.

"Oh, fuck," she gasped. "Do that again."

You obliged, releasing one of her hands so you could rub her clit with your fingers. She took her newly freed hand and grabbed your hair. She pulled you down harder, rolling her hips up slowly, trying to get your tongue in deeper.

Not even a minute later, she was making you aware of her approaching orgasm, "I'm close, suck my clit--please, fuck! Suck my clit."

You ran your tongue through her as you brought your hand down, you closed your lips around her and began to suck hard. You pressed two fingers inside her and pumped them in and out, moaning when you felt her clenching around them.

She was shaky and smiling as you lazily licked her through her finish. She pulled you up as soon as her brain was working enough to tell her arms to pull you up. "And how do I taste?"

"Amazing."

She smirked.

You had to figure her boyfriend wasn't much for going down on her since she was looking at you like you were the reason the sun would rise tomorrow morning.

You laid on top of her but she quickly rolled over, legs slotting so you could grind against one another's thigh. Her slick center against your skin was almost enough to make you finish. Again, her mouth was on yours and nothing was hurried. You canted your hips, catching your clit on her soft leg, and she did the same.

Soon, your hips started to gain speed, you were close and could tell she was, too. The sounds of wet pussy slapping against thigh nearly drowned out the desperate screams and whines you both made.

You completely soaked her thigh with your orgasm. As she continued pursuing hers, she reached down, hand gliding between you and her wet skin. She brought her fingers up to her mouth, humming and sucking on them. "I can't wait to have you sit on my face." Then she closed her eyes, her hips stuttered, and your leg felt much hotter.

She didn't waste any time at all, she rolled back over and hauled you on top of her. Your hips jerked when you pressed against her, still sensitive from the last finish. She didn't seem to mind, she just placed both hands on your hips and moved you relentlessly against her.

"Hands behind your back, lean onto the mattress," she instructed.

You quickly did so, relieved to have some type of balance.

She loved watching your breasts bounce this way, loved watching your eyes roll to the back of your head. And she especially loved when you sat up again to grab her hands, an attempt to pull away from the overstimulation. She didn't allow it, she kept her grip tight and pulled you in faster as she rolled her hips up.

#natasha romanoff x reader #steve rogers x reader #carol danvers x reader #will tag the fourth a little later bc i believe in surprises #my writing

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carnalpleasure · 4 years ago

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this one turned out way longer than i expected and it’s too long to post under a cut??? idk how tumblr works ok. but you finally get a lil taste of warlock!richard🔥😏 or would it be hawthorne!richard ?

anyways i think this ones pretty cute and im even more excited to go write the next part <3 thank u to everyone thats read this far 🥺 ILY

Light My Fire

The Warlock Council had been eagerly anticipating the arrival of their newest student. They’d planned to meet Richard bright and early that morning, but Michael insisted on letting him sleep in and rest up. So Ariel reluctantly postponed the meeting until all the classes were done for the day. And yet, they still were late to arrive. The master warlocks were quickly losing patience as they sat in their usual conference hall, once again debating on whether or not Richard even belonged there.

“Baldwin, you’re being naive,” John Henry said, his frustration evident in his voice. “The boy doesn’t possess any powers, he is being possessed,” he urged.

“How can you be so sure, John Henry?” Ariel interjected. “You said the same thing about Michael and look at what an asset he’s turned out to be.”

“I’m still not convinced on that one yet either,” John Henry muttered.

They had been debating this ever since Ariel received the tape from a frightened nurse at the clinic. She didn’t want anything to do with Richard anymore after seeing that footage, but she didn’t have the heart to turn him into the authorities since they couldn’t prove he was responsible either. Ariel and Baldwin only wanted to believe that the young boy was a powerful, promising warlock. While John Henry and Behold were less optimistic, believing it to be just a typical case of demonic possession.

Just as John Henry was taking out his pocket watch again to check the time, the tall arched door creaked open, echoing through the halls of the hallow room. Michael walked in first while Richard stood hesitantly in the doorway, his messy bangs partially hiding his face. Michael turned back to him, nodding for him to follow. “Come on,” he said softly, coaxing him in. The quiet brunette rushed to his side, like a shy little kid clinging to his mom’s leg in the grocery store.

“Richard! We’re so glad you made it! How was the trip?” Ariel perked up as soon as he saw the boys, quickly forgetting all about the argument. He walked right up to Richard, putting his hands on the boys shoulders and giving him the biggest, fakest smile the pissed off boy had ever seen. He quickly took a step back, pulling away from Ariel’s grip and giving him a look of pure hate and disgust. He hated this guy already. He was so arrogant, the way he talked, treating him like an old friend when he’d never met this man. But putting his hands on him? That irritated him more than anything.

Ariel was either oblivious to his anger, or he was ignoring it. But he moved right on without skipping a beat. “Well then, gentlemen. Shall we proceed with the first test?” He looked back at the other three warlocks, as if waiting for applause. His voice was rich with excitement as he returned to his seat at the table. He seemed overeager and it made Richard uncomfortable. He scooted closer to Michael, shooting him a nervous look. The anxiety was nearly radiating off him at this point.

Michael put his hands behind his back, like how he always stood when he was observing something of importance. But he had a different reason for it this time. He snapped his fingers to discreetly get Richard’s attention, signaling him to take his hand. The brunette reached for his hand right away and the boys locked fingers behind Michael’s back without the other warlocks ever noticing. It helped a bit, Richard’s heart rate started to slow and some of the tension melted away.

The four master warlocks were sat at the table like a panel of judges. They all remained straight faced and silent as Ariel took over, proceeding with the test. “Now Richard, since it is your first time using magic, we’ll start small. Today’s test will be a simple one. Any level one warlock can eventually master this.” As if on cue, Baldwin produced a single candle and set it on the center of the table. Michael let go of his hand then. He moved his hand to the small of Richard’s back and lightly nudged him forward.

“Pyrokinesis,” Ariel announced, “The ability to-“

“I know what it means,” Richard interrupted.

Ariel paused, his enthusiastic smile turning cold. This boy was testing his patience, although he’d never show it. Ariel was a master of masking his emotions. “Such a smart boy,” he said dryly. “Well then, let’s see if you can figure out how it’s done. Light the candle.”

Richard froze. That’s it? No directions? No magic spell? How the hell do you start a fire with nothing? He wanted to find out how just so he could burn this ridiculous place down.

Michael’s hand returned to Richard’s lower back, the small touch assuring him he was still right by his side. “Concentrate,” Michael’s tone was soft and soothing. “Think of the wick as someone that’s hurting you, think about how you would focus your rage towards that person, then direct it there.” Richard tried to listen to his words but he couldn’t focus on the candle, or on Michael. All he could feel was the pressure building. These four powerful men had all eyes on him, waiting for him to practically perform a miracle. His heart started to pound again, his hands shaking, feeling like his skin was crawling.

Without thinking, he turned around and ran for the door, stumbling into the hallway and trying to remember which direction they came from. Michael immediately went after him, “Hey, wait. Come here,” he pleaded, reaching out to grab him gently by the arm. Richard tried to shake him off and pull away but Michael grabbed him with both hands and pulled him into his chest where the brunette collapsed in his arms instantly. He buried his face in Michael’s chest trying to hide his shame. His burning red cheeks and watery eyes gave it away. Richard never cried unless it was tears of rage.

“I’m not like you, I can’t..” he grumbled into Michael’s chest. The blonde had his arms wrapped around him, running a hand through his soft brown hair soothing him almost instantly. “You’re just nervous,” Michael replied, his tone soft and forgiving. “Let me help you,” he whispered pleading, his lips brushing against Richard’s ear lightly as he spoke. Richard’s whole body started trembling at the sensation. Feeling the boy’s sudden reaction gave Michael an idea.

He ran his hand carefully up Richard’s chest to his neck, slowly letting his fingers wrap around the boy’s throat. Richard’s eyes went wide, completely taken by surprise as he felt Michael’s grip tighten, forcing him to look up at the blonde. The look on Michael’s face was seductive yet sinister as he leaned in, painfully slow, pressing their lips together and kissing Richard for the first time. Ever. Richard had never been kissed before by anyone and the brand new sensation sent sparks flying. Literally.

Every candle in the entire corridor burst into flames and the whole room was suddenly illuminated in a bright orange glow. The chandeliers started to swing violently and the hallway was filled with warmth. They pulled away from the kiss just in time to see that last of the light show. The candles flickered wildly and the last sounds of crackling fire echoed through the halls.

“Did you do that?” Richard asked, looking up at Michael in shock. He started to get angry, feeling like he’d just fallen for a trick. But the blonde shook his head, beaming with pride as he looked back at the boy. “No, baby. That was all you.”

A look of confusion crossed the brunettes face, his brows furrowing together as he took a moment to process what just happened. After a minute his eyes shot up to meet Michael’s gaze again. “How did you know it would work?” he asked.

Michael smiled, “Magic is a feeling. I just needed to make you feel something.”

Richard thought about that answer for a moment before reaching up to steal another kiss, surprising Michael yet again. Then he grabbed the boy by the hand and dragged him back into the meeting room where the Wizard Council had begun packing up their things for the day.

“You came back,” John Henry said dryly. “We were beginning to think you checked back into the clinic.” Michael wanted to burn the guy’s face off for even saying such a thing. He shot John Henry a look that was just short of demonic, it was a warning more than an intimidation.

“I can do it now,” Richard professed. His body was still buzzing from the kiss and he felt more sure of himself than ever. The only thing that could possibly feel as good as this, would be wiping the smug looks of their faces now.

“You’re late, we don’t have time-“ Baldwin started to shut him down but Ariel waved a hand, signaling him to be silent. “Let’s be fair now, Baldwin. Give the boy another shot. Why not.” Ariel sounded sarcastic and uninterested, as if he didn’t believe Richard.

“Really, Ariel? What’s the point?” John Henry asked, taking out the pack of cigarettes he always carried in his breast pocket. He put one to his lips, but before he could even reach for his lighter, the tip of the cigarette sparked, lighting up and glowing cherry red. It took John Henry by surprise and he inhaled too quickly, sucking in a harsh cloud of smoke and coughing.

The other warlocks all turned immediately to look at Richard, looks of shock and disbelief on their faces. It wasn’t as big as the display Michael had just witnessed in the hall, that’s for sure. But it definitely got the point across and got their attention. Ariel’s face lit up and a smile formed from ear to ear.

“That was excellent, Richard! You passed your first test!” he said with a laugh, his ego skyrocketing as his suspicions about the boy were affirmed. It was a small display of power, yes. But it was a sure indicator that the power was there. And that was all Ariel needed to know to officially induct him into the prestigious school.

“It’s settled then! Tomorrow morning. You’ll start attending classes with Michael right away. The two of you have a lot of studying to do.” He put a hand on each of the boy’s shoulders, giving them a tight squeeze and looking at both of them like a proud dad would stare into the eyes of his sons. It made Richard feel unsettled, and Michael feel adored.

He dismissed the meeting then, sending the boys back to their room to get plenty of rest for tomorrow’s next test. As soon as they were out in the hall, Michael snaked his arms around Richard’s waist, pulling the brunette in close for another kiss. Richard put his hands on the blonde’s face, running them up into his hair and grabbing a fistful of his blonde curls roughly. “Come on,” he mumbled between kisses, “let’s go make some magic.”

💕taglist: @sexwon131 @jimmason @whatcodysaid @theneverendinghunger @angelicmichael @langdons-butterfly @thewarriorprincessxo

#michael langdon #michael x richard #the last time i saw richard #ahs au #ahs apocalypse #michael langdon fanfiction #michael langdon fic

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scriptura-adrepticius · 7 years ago

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Energetic - Justin Huang

ksjdhgjksdg i really like songfics but i’m bad at writing them i hope this was okay???

Pairing: Justin Huang x OC/reader

Series: Types of People

sunrise boy and blazer girl

credits to @wildeflower and @schrodingersjellicle

Genre: fluff, songfic, party!au i guess??? idk

Triggers: mentions of drinking, nothing underage or really bad tho

Word Count: 3.6k

Justin is your energy, and you are his.

Masterlist | Types of People

justin is a b a b y whAT IS THIS

youtube

Your lips and my lips

I can feel it more and more, the hot air in this place

Shivers travel all over my body

Now we’re gonna start our story.

The lights are dim, it smells like alcohol, and the sounds of drunk laughter and loud music blare in his ears.

Justin smiles.

This is when he feels alive.

The music pumps through his veins as he laughs and shouts with his friends, not touching the alcohol but watching other people get drunk. It’s mean, perhaps, but it’s a source of entertainment.

And Justin loves entertainment.

He’s looking around, laughing at something Zeren just said, when he sees you.

Your hair floats around your face, your head thrown back in a loud laugh that reaches Justin’s ears even across the noisy room. Your eyes are closed, a smile on your face, and though your movements are wild, they are controlled.

You don’t seem drunk, which makes Justin curious. He doesn’t drink- he mostly comes to parties to hang out and dance. But it’s rare that he sees someone who seems to be the same way.

Justin watches, eyes fixed on you, ignoring his friends. It feels like the world is in slow motion when you open your eyes, looking around, and finally rest your gaze on him.

The smile you toss isn’t flirty or suggestive. Rather, it’s fun and confident with just a touch of shyness, and before Justin knows it, he’s walking over to you.

Up close, you’re even more beautiful than he thought. His gaze strays to your lips, and a shiver runs up his spine.

“Hey,” he says, smirking slightly. “I’m Justin.”

Undaunted, you return the smirk, eyes flashing. “I’m Yanghui.”

“Yanghui,” he says, a smile tugging at his lips. “Pretty name for a pretty girl.”

Justin expects you to turn away, to cringe, to glare like everyone else does, but instead, you toss your head back and laugh, a loud and cheerful sound that has his heart pounding.

“You’ll have to do better than that, Justin,” you reply, eyes teasing. “I know a few people who could give you a run for your money.”

“Is that a challenge?” Justin raises an eyebrow.

You raise your own. “Only if you want it to be.”

The party is still going on, the music shaking the floor, drunken shouts filling the room, but even with all the noise, Justin can only focus on you.

“And if I do?” he asks, wetting his lips slightly. He doesn’t miss the way your eyes flit over the slight movement.

A slow, amused smile spreads across your face and you tap on your phone, pulling up your contacts app. You hold the device out to him.

“Then,” you laugh, “let’s see where the world takes us.”

I don’t know why, without knowing

I’m falling for you

Breathtakingly, baby

I don’t know why

This moment right now

I can’t stop this feeling no no no no

You’re not quite sure what possessed you to hand this new boy, Justin, your phone. You’re not quite sure what possessed you to get his number. You’re not quite sure where this is going to take you.

But what you are sure of is that Justin is breathtaking, that he is interesting, and that he leaves you wanting more, more, more.

More.

He taps in his number, the bright light illuminating his handsome features. And then he hands the phone back, smiling, before tossing you his.

You raise an eyebrow, holding it up. “You sure?” you ask one more time.

Justin smirks. “Yup.”

You laugh, tapping in your number. “I hope so.”

You save your contact, snapping a quick photo for your profile picture, before handing the phone back to Justin. And though you try to avoid touching him, your fingers brush his ever so slightly as he takes the device, and a tingle travels up your arm.

Heat snakes up your cheeks, and you will yourself to hold down the blush. “See you around, Justin,” you say, patting his shoulder before disappearing into the crowd.

Make me feel so high

I’m going crazy, I can’t stop

You make me feel so high

I’m so crazy, the moment you look at me

I’m so attracted, pull me more, baby

I’m feelin’ so energetic

Tonight, just us two, out of control yeah

I’m feelin’ so energetic

It’s one in the morning. Any reasonable minor wouldn’t be out right now, which is why, despite his whining, Justin is being dragged home by Zhengting. He shuts up after a few minutes, though, walking briskly next to his elder friend.

Zhengting looks at Justin, confused as to why the boy isn’t pestering him like no tomorrow right now. He notes the faraway look in Justin’s eyes, the slight smile that plays at his lips.

Zhengting doesn’t know it, but Justin’s thinking about you.

He’s thinking about how your eyes flash with confidence, how your body moves with the beat of the music, how you throw your head back to laugh loudly. He’s thinking about how your fingers touched when you handed back his phone, how he gets lost in your gaze, how his heart jumped when you patted his shoulder before disappearing into the crowd.

Justin is enamored by the way you move, the way you speak, the way you just have this raw energy that gets everyone around you fired up in excitement.

You made Justin feel alive. You’re crazy, you’re wild, and yet you’re restrained just enough that you aren’t indecent.

Your voice rings through his ears.

“Then let’s see where the world takes us.”

Justin’s heart pounds, thinking of those words, thinking of the glint in your eyes when you spoke them. Any other person might have called you a flirt, but somehow, Justin doesn’t think so.

You’re not a flirt, you’re just… you. Friendly. Outgoing. Teasing. Energetic.

At least that’s as much as Justin gathered in the short time he spoke with you.

Zhengting raises an eyebrow when Justin doesn’t respond to his questioning looks.

“He’s gone crazy,” he mutters.

And honestly, Justin agrees.

Until the moment my heart stops

I’ll protect you, I won’t go away

This isn’t just a momentary promise

Now tell me baby

You tell me how to feel

You’re at another party, sitting at the bar. The bartender prepares a mixture of water in its solid and liquid forms for you with a relieved smile, stating that he’s glad someone’s taking care of themselves.

You shrug, taking a sip. “First off, I’m underage. I’m just the designated driver.” The bartender - Ruibin - looks at the large X on your hand before nodding. “Ah.”

“Also, I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t like the headache that came with being drunk,” you add. “I’d rather just have fun, then go home alert.”

“You seem sensible,” Ruibin says, smiling. “Keep your wits about you.”

Drunk customers come up to the bar and Ruibin hurries away to serve them, leaving you to sip at your water in peace. The atmosphere is energetic, and you nod your head with the beat as the music travels through your veins.

If only Justin were here, but he said he couldn’t make it today. You’d have someone to talk to. But no matter.

A smile spreads across your face. You feel good.

That is, you feel good until someone stumbles onto the stool next to you.

You glance over, disinterested, faced with a really, really drunk-looking guy who’s staring at you with a bit too much enthusiasm for your liking.

Immediately, warning bells go off in your head and you lean away, hands curling protectively around your cup.

“Hey,” he says drunkenly.

“Hi,” you reply cautiously.

“You’re pretty.”

“… Thanks?”

He just stares at you for a few long seconds, making you very uncomfortable. You kind of want to toss your water into his face.

“Want to go home with me?”

If there was a facial expression that equated to absolute disgust, that would accurately describe your face currently. You shake your head vehemently. “No!”

“Why not?” He leans closer and you nearly fall off the bar stool trying to get away. “You’d have a good time.”

“Didn’t she say she’s not interested?”

Surprise hits you, then relief, and you hop off the stool to stand next to Justin. His hand encircles your wrist protectively, glaring at the guy. “Leave her alone.”

Said guy scoffs. “You’d choose this scrawny rat over me?”

“Scrawny rat?!” Justin looks ready to fight.

You shoot him a warning look. “Yeah, I would,” you say to the guy before dragging Justin out of the bar.

“I thought you said you couldn’t make it today?” you ask once you’re outside, the fresh night air hitting your cheeks.

“My appointment got cancelled, so I figured I’d come.” Justin shrugs.

You smile. “Thank god you did, or I don’t know how that -” you jerk your head to the bar - “would have escalated.”

Justin just kind looks down, embarrassed. Your smile grows wider, and your heart thumps.

It’s cute seeing the flirty boy getting embarrassed.

“Come on, let’s get out of here for a bit,” you say impulsively, tugging on his arm.

“Aren’t you the designated driver for your friends though?” Justin asks, looking down at your hand.

“We can just walk around,” you say. “They won’t be out for another hour at least.”

With that, Justin agrees, and you walk with him in the cool night air.

Uh 1 2 3 and 4, don’t like those other guys next to you

Who am I? A killer who only protects you

Just like that, I kill it, yeah

“You should be more careful,” Justin admonishes. “Who knows what could’ve happened if I wasn’t there?”

“I would’ve disappeared - I’m good at that -” you retort, “or I would’ve called the bartender over. He was a nice guy.”

Justin’s eye twitches.

Nice guy.

“And anyway,” you continue, unaware of Justin’s jealousy, “you’re starting to sound like Zhengting.” You make a face.

Despite his prior feelings, Justin can’t help but laugh. “He’s finally rubbing off on you,” you say in mock disgust. “My god.”

You look over at Justin, who’s still not completely adept at hiding his feelings. “Jealous?” you tease, smirking.

Justin chokes on air. “Jealous? What are you talking about?” he scoffs. “As if.”

Yeah, he’s jealous. But he’d rather die than admit it.

Your raised eyebrow tells him you see through his weak deceptions, and he rolls his eyes in response. “Okay, so what if I was?” he asks childishly. “I’d rather keep you to myself.”

You throw your head back and laugh, the sound echoing in the dark streets. Justin loves it. “There’s no need to be jealous, Justin,” you say. “I wouldn’t go with any other guy except you.”

“Not even Zhengting? Or Chengcheng?” he teases.

“Zhengting? Are you crazy?” You snort in disbelief. “He’d probably make me wear ten jackets if we went out together. He’d nag me the whole way there, wherever we were going. And Chengcheng would eat all my food.”

“I eat all your food,” Justin points out.

“No need to remind me,” you grumble. “But you eat less than Chengcheng, so it’s a little more okay.”

See, it’s moments like this where Justin looks at you in your natural, confident glory and wonders just why you ended up being friends with him. He’s blessed, truly, though he’d probably never actually say that to your face.

“Something on my face?” Your voice brings Justin out of his daze, reminding him that he’s been staring at you for at least a minute straight.

Great, Yanjun’s rubbing off on me.

“Just your beauty,” he teases.

Justin wants to believe that’s a blush on your face when you laugh and hit him, but it’s too dark for him to actually tell.

Still, he can hope.

I’ll hold you in my arms and be on alert

But throw your worries to the basement

Whatever we do, we are one now

That word will linger around our ears

You hug yourself, trying to replicate the feeling of Justin’s arms wrapped snugly around you.

You fail.

A sigh escapes your lips and you fall backwards onto your bed. “Why?” you whisper.

Why do you feel this way when Justin isn’t around?

Why do you feel so happy when Justin is around?

Oh, right, it’s because you like him so much you want to spend your every waking moment with him.

“Fuck,” you complain to the dark room. You have no worries about anyone hearing you, because your parents aren’t home and won’t be until next week.

Workaholics.

You roll over, wrapping the blankets around you until you’re huddled into a tight burrito. “I wish he was here,” you murmur.

When Justin’s around, you feel free. Your worries seem to fade from existence. You can laugh, you can cry, you can be you.

But when you’re in this house…

You sigh again. Perhaps it’s bad of you to say this, but you really, really dislike your parents. You could probably say you hate them.

“Always making me shut up in their presence because they’re so tired…” you mutter. “But why are they tired? Always fucking working.”

They never have time for you. And it’s not even that you’re poor. You’re rather well off.

They’re just married to their fucking jobs.

You snort. “A polyamorous relationship between my parents and their jobs.”

Your phone buzzes with a text.

From: Huang Minghao

You up?

You smile, sitting up.

To: Huang Minghao

Yeah. Anything wrong?

From: Huang Minghao

No. Just figured you couldn’t sleep again.

“Boyfriend material,” you laugh.

What, are you supposed to be ashamed to admit it? You definitely wish Justin was your boyfriend. Despite only having known him for half a year, you can confidently say you are head over heels for this boy.

But though you’re not afraid to admit it to yourself… well, admitting it to Justin is something completely different.

You’re confident. Or at least you act like it. But like everyone else, you’ve got a lot of hidden insecurities that aren’t letting you confess just yet.

Honestly, you’d probably end up being one of those girls who confesses their love when they’re drunk. Or when their tongue is loose from lack of sleep or something. You snort.

Then something hits your window. You whip your head around, squinting in the darkness before flipping on a lamp. Another clack sounds, and you look outside.

Your jaw drops.

Make me feel so high

I’m going crazy, I can’t stop

You make me feel so high

I’m so crazy, the moment you look at me

I’m so attracted, pull me more, baby

I’m feelin’ so energetic

Tonight, just us two, out of control yeah

I’m feelin’ so energetic

Within minutes, you’re dressed and outside the house, berating the boy for being so conspicuous while he just grins and holds you close. Eventually you run out of breath, choosing to simply lean into his side.

“Why did you come?” you ask.

“I was attracted to you,” he replies cheekily. “We’re like opposite poles. I couldn’t stay away.”

You snicker, slapping his arm. There’s a little silence.

“So what do we do now?” Justin finally asks.

You scowl. “Shouldn’t you answer that question? You’re the one that came here.”

“I didn’t really think this part through,” he admits, running a hand through his hair. You roll your eyes and shake your head, half-laughing. “We could go up to the rooftop?”

“Sounds good.” Justin grins, his smile brighter than the moonlight. “Lead the way.”

I’m feelin’ good

I wanna touch

This unstoppable feeling is like freedom

I’m feelin’ good

I wanna touch baby

Hurry and come to me tonight yeah

It’s a clear night, with few clouds obscuring the moon and the stars. You spread a blanket and sit down, patting the area next to you.

Justin slides an arm around your waist and leans his head on your shoulder as he sits. “Are your parents still not home?” he asks.

You roll your eyes, a cynical smirk twisting your lips. “Won’t be until next week.”

Justin’s heart feels for you. He’s not too good with words, so his grip on your waist just tightens a little to remind you he’s there. You smile a little more genuinely, and he feels a little more at ease.

“Doesn’t matter,” you say. “I don’t care about them.”

“That’s a good mindset to have.” Justin nods approvingly.

“Not caring about my parents?” You raise your eyebrows. “A lot of people would disagree.”

“Well, I’m not a lot of people,” he shoots back, pushing your head. “And you know what I mean. It’s a good mindset to not care about those who don’t care about you.”

You nod. Then there’s a short silence.

“Enough deep shit,” Justin finally says, tugging out his phone. “Let’s dance.”

“On a rooftop?”

Justin nods.

“At night?”

“It’s technically morning.”

“Fine. In the dark?”

He nods again.

A smirk spreads across your face. “I like the way you think, Justin.”

Alright

Uh huh, work your body

Come it’s time to have fun, let’s dance

Even if your nice shoes get dirty

Move it, quickly, hurry up

Justin’s phone isn’t the loudest source of music, but you don’t mind. In contrast to all those parties you’ve been to where the music is so loud you can feel the ground trembling, this is much more intimate. You like it.

You and Justin move your bodies weirdly, slipping over the roof tiles in the dark, falling into the blanket, laughing with abandon as the hours pass. It’s so stupid, the way you two are ‘dancing,’ but that just makes everything better. Sweat sticks your hair to your face and your shoes get dirty from the grime of the dirty roof, but it’s all okay. You’re having fun. Despite it being late at night when you should be sleeping, Justin energizes you, makes you able to laugh, able to dance to just one more song.

Too soon, the sky is gray and the first light of dawn is peeking over the horizon. A slower ballad is playing on Justin’s phone, and you sway around with him, your hands on his shoulders, his hands on your waist.

You’re in a sort of sleepy stupor due to the slow music and the fact that you haven’t slept all night. Your tongue is loose, so you don’t realize the magnitude of your words (at first) when you ask, “Justin, do you care about me?”

Almost immediately you’re alert.

Fuck.

You knew it. You are one of those girls who confess things when your tongue is loose. You kind of want to tip yourself off of the roof.

There’s a silence in which you feel waves of shock radiating off of Justin and waves of embarrassment radiating off of you. “Forget I said anything,” you mumble, trying to pull away. Justin doesn’t let you, though.

“W-why did you ask that?” Justin asks just a little too loudly.

Your mind goes into overdrive. Does his loud voice mean he’s not interested? Or is he just surprised? Fuck, you really shouldn’t have said anything.

“Just, uh…” You stumble on your words, unsure what to say. “I… um… you told me I shouldn’t care about people who don’t care about me.”

Justin nods slowly. You continue.

“But I care about you a little too much.” You swallow hard. “So… tell me now. Do you care for me in the way I care for you? So I don’t have to stay in the dark.”

Silence.

You bite your lip. “I get it if you don’t,” you whisper. “It’s okay-”

“Hey, let me talk first, okay?” Justin’s voice is uncharacteristically gentle. “First, where did the confident Yanghui I knew go? Smile for me.”

You do your best to lift the corners of your mouth into a slight smile.

“That’s better.” Justin coughs, a tint of red covering his cheeks. “If the way you care for me is in the… romantic sense, then I care for you in the same way.”

You can hardly believe you’re hearing him say this. “Really?” you whisper. Your heart feels like it’s going to thud out of your chest.

“Really,” Justin confirms.

(You make me feel so high)

Ask questions later

So other guys can’t look at you

(I can’t stop)

So anyone can see that we make it so cool

Let’s start now, you know I mean

As the gray light of dawn turns into a rosy pink, Justin pulls you down on the blanket again, allowing you to snuggle into his side. You drift in and out of sleep, lulled by the way his thumb rubs circles at your waist, the way he plays softly with your hair.

He looks at you, blushing and smiling. Thank god you can’t see him right now, or you’d tease him forever.

How could he not care for you? With the way you pull him in, the way you energize him? It feels as though you’re his life source, and though he knows he’s young, he doesn’t think he’d mind being with you forever.

“Let’s go inside,” you whisper, eyes still closed.

Justin’s forehead creases. “Is anyone going to be upset that I’m there?”

You open your eyes slightly, looking up at him. “Hell no. My parents aren’t home, and the only other person home is our hired help who keeps telling me I need more friends. She’ll be ecstatic to see you.”

Justin laughs. Only you could still manage to be this snappy when you’re tired.

“Alright then,” he says, pulling you up. He wads the blanket under his arm, whirling you around to face him. “Let’s go.”

“Wait,” you murmur, looking up. “Look.” You point at the pink sky. “It’s so pretty!”

Not as pretty as you. The pickup line runs through Justin’s mind, but he refrains from saying it so as not to ruin the scene in front of him.

And you look so beautiful, standing against the rose-streaked backdrop of the horizon, that Justin can’t help but pull you in for a kiss.

I’m so attracted, pull me more, baby

I’m feelin’ so energetic

Tonight, just us two, out of control, yeah

98 notes · View notes

softderekhale · 8 years ago

Text

um hi i’m new here so here’s a lil fic i wrote

*waves nervously* so i’ve run this blog for a while and posted a couple tiny fics literally like two years ago, but i want to get more active with my writing. the inspiration for this randomly struck, and 3k later... i hope someone enjoys! <3

also on ao3!

sterek, AU: royalty, arranged marriage. 3k, M-ish? idk, there are dicks but no actual dick action. boners. there are boners. mating, biting, mention of blood.

Compared to the months his sisters had spent frantically preparing for the wedding, the ceremony seemed to fly by in a sweaty, anxious daze. It felt like only moments passed from when Derek donned his crown and wedding jacket in the early morning to the evening’s festive banquet, where the wine flowed freely and his new husband’s amber eyes sparkled as he regaled the court with tales of his youthful misadventures.

Marrying Stiles wasn’t an inconvenience by any stretch of the imagination, but as Derek paced around his room later that night awaiting his betrothed’s arrival, he realized how woefully little he really knew about the inner workings of Beacon’s crown prince.

As the second child of Queen Talia, his ruler and Alpha, Derek always expected that an arranged marriage could be a possibility. He just hadn’t really been paying attention, occupying the years with studying and training until suddenly, a little over a year ago, his mother and eldest sister, Laura, approached him about the possibility of marrying Stiles.

“The union would be primarily political, but I would never require anything of you that would cause undue distress,” his mother had assured him, holding her only son’s face in her hands. “Stiles has grown into a truly lovely young man, and his intellect — gods know we could use a strategist like him to keep Peter in check.”

Derek had smiled, and spent a week or so in thought before requesting to meet this brilliant young prince of whom his mother spoke so highly. It felt like a good idea at the time, but Derek’s nerves kept him a wreck the entire week Stiles and his brother had spent visiting Triskele. Though their private conversations were few and far between, Derek was immediately taken with Stiles. His mother had been absolutely correct — Stiles was impressively well-read, and his sense of humor crackled and sparked in a way that attracted Derek down to his core. When he nervously broached the topic of betrothal two nights before Stiles’ departure, he almost fled and vomited — or vomited, then fled —when Stiles confidently agreed. He chose me, Derek still thought nearly every day leading up to the wedding. He’s going to be my mate.

When Stiles arrived in Triskele a fortnight before the wedding, Derek’s heart skipped a beat upon seeing him for the first time. Laura and Cora delighted in teasing their brother about his obvious infatuation, but also graciously escorted Stiles around the palace so Derek wouldn’t have to entertain him alone.

Now, though — it was done. They were married, and entertaining Stiles — in every sense of the word — was Derek’s responsibility. What was Stiles expecting? Did he plan to consummate the marriage tonight, according to his people’s tradition? Did he wish to share chambers with Derek at all, now or in the future? How many blankets did he like to sleep under? Was he an early riser, or did he grudgingly extricate himself from his bed mid-morning like Derek? Could— A soft knock at the door stilled Derek’s racing thoughts, and he halted his pacing to hesitantly move toward the door. The banquet had finally been winding down when Derek had taken his leave, and he was certain Stiles had come to see him. Derek took a deep breath, and opened the door. His new husband stood on the other side, hands clasped behind his back and keen eyes searching Derek’s face.

“Good evening, husband,” Stiles said, smiling playfully at the words.

“I… Hello. Good evening,” Derek stuttered.

“May I come in?” Stiles inquired patiently, nodding toward Derek’s room. Way to go, you idiot, Derek scolded himself. You can’t even invite your own husband into your quarters?

“Oh, um, yes. Yes, of course.” Derek stepped out of the doorway, running a frantic hand through his hair as Stiles stepped into his modest bedroom. Stiles’ gaze flitted around the room, noting the maps and sketches tacked to the walls and the carefully organized books stacked on his desk.

“This is the first time I’ve been in here, you know. I like it,” he remarked, smiling encouragingly at Derek. His smile faltered, however, when he noticed Derek’s obvious nerves.

“Is everything alright, Derek?”

“Yes,” Derek said emphatically. “I just… You… You make me nervous,” he admitted, mustering up his pride in order to speak honestly to his new husband.

Stiles laughed, a bright, unexpected sound that filled Derek’s ears and assuaged his bubbling nerves. “I’m not very intimidating on sight, Derek, but I’m flattered.”

“I… I want to get off on the right foot. With everything. I want…” Derek faltered, searching for the right words to express how much he cared about making Stiles feel valued.

“What do you want, Derek?” Stiles asked softly, golden gaze meeting Derek’s. Derek took a deep breath before releasing the slew of emotions he had kept pent up for months since officially promising his hand to Stiles.

“I want you to be happy. I want you to like me, to like living here. I want to know you, to really know you and understand you, and I feel like an idiot but I’m standing here and you’re my husband and I don’t even know what you like in bed or if you want to bed me or—“

“Derek.”

Derek refocused his gaze on Stiles’. “Breathe with me, darling.” Darling. Derek was going to assess that later, when he had remembered how to inhale and exhale in a predictable pattern once again.

"Derek," Stiles said again firmly, holding his gaze level with his husband's.

"Everything you swore to me today — to care for me, protect me — did you mean it?"

Derek's brow furrowed. "Yes," he answered plainly. Of course. How could the answer be anything but yes? Stiles was whip smart, witty, terrifyingly insightful, beautiful—

Stiles smiled easily and cupped Derek's cheek. "That's why I chose you, Prince Derek Hale of Triskele in the northern reaches. Do you think you're the only proposal my father or I ever received for my hand? But I knew I had finally found my partner the moment I met you. I... I just knew,” Stiles said, gently running his thumb over Derek’s cheekbone.

“I knew you would make me happy. I knew that I would want to get to know you, and spend time here with you and your family. It makes me nervous too, not knowing what you like, but you should never doubt that I want you, Derek,” Stiles said firmly.

A weight Derek hadn't even been aware of lifted at Stiles' admission, and a tiny spark of jealousy flared in his stomach at the idea of anyone else spending the rest of their lives with his prince. "I knew too," he said in a whisper, leaning into his husband's caress. He let his eyes flutter shut at the warmth of Stiles' touch, confident in displaying his infatuation now that he knew it was shared.

“I honestly didn’t know how tonight would end, but I knew I wanted to see you before I went to sleep,” Stiles admitted.

“Do you…” Derek swallowed, his nerves a lump in his throat. “Do you wish to consummate the marriage?”

Stiles looked at his husband appraisingly, carefully moving to clasp Derek’s hands in his. “I would like to do so, hopefully soon, but I absolutely can wait until we’re both ready, if that’s what you need. You just have to tell me, Derek. What do you need?”

Derek licked his lips, gaze raking over Stiles’ face. What gods known and unknown are smiling upon me? How did I get so lucky?

“Our people, Lycans, place value on connection above all else. I know my mother already discussed it with you,” a conversation I will not dwell on, “and… I’d like to give you the mating mark.”

Stiles smiled at his husband. “I’d like that too, husband. I trust you.”

Derek’s heart surged yet again, pleased with the knowledge and respect his human husband possessed for Derek’s people’s traditions. “Okay,” he said. “I’d like to start with that.”

Stiles nodded, gaze falling to Derek’s mouth. "So," he murmured, "How do you want me?"

Derek exhaled sharply, willing his eyes not to flare blue at Stiles' intentionally suggestive inquiry.

After a moment of consideration, he stepped back. Stiles' hands fell from his, and he stood before Derek with a look of patient intrigue. “Take off your boots,” Derek said, the end of the sentence rising into a question. He knew how he wanted Stiles, but he wanted his husband to know that his consent was paramount as well.

Stiles quickly removed his boots and socks, tossing them next to Derek’s own. He stood in front of Derek expectantly, watching as he stepped forward to close the short distance between them.

Carefully, Derek reached forward unclasped the heavy, blood-red cape he knew was the traditional marriage garment of Stiles’ mother’s people. He didn’t know how Stiles’ mother had died, but he knew what it meant to him to proudly carry her culture alongside his own. Our children will know, too, Derek thought absently, gently laying the garment down safely on his desk chair.

He turned back to his husband, who was watching Derek intently with a soft smile playing at his lips. Derek unfastened his own overcoat, nearly sighing with relief as he discarded the thick, brocaded garment.

He reached over to Stiles next, gently tugging at the bottom of his soft white tunic. Stiles lifted his arms expectantly as Derek slid the garment over his head. Derek’s hand brushed his husband’s side as he did so, and he noted with pleasure the stutter in Stiles’ heartbeat when their skin made contact.

Now shirtless, a mix of lust and nerves visibly bled into Stiles’ otherwise assured demeanor. His cheeks and chest were flushed, and Derek found it hard to keep his movements even and measured as the smell of Stiles’ arousal rolled over him in waves.

Derek allowed himself to touch his husband, placing a hand on the side of his neck and another brushing against his hip. “You’re beautiful,” Derek whispered, heady with desire at the warmth of his husband’s skin and the quickening pace of his heart.

He stepped back to remove his own tunic, pleased that Stiles simply watched. He was allowing Derek to undress him, to set the pace in spite of his own maddening arousal, and Derek’s wolf preened at the intuitive understanding shown by his mate.

He turned his attention back to his husband, aware of the way Stiles’ throat bobbed as Derek unfastened his breeches. He slowly moved them down Stiles’ legs, pressing a guiding hand to the small of his back as he stepped out of them and kicked them away.

Derek moved back to admire his husband, both men standing proudly before one another. He flushed as his gaze traveled down Stiles’ body, clad only in his thin white undershorts. They were tented obviously in the front, Stiles’ cock hardened and pressing against the insubstantial fabric. Derek flushed with pride once more — Stiles was clearly enjoying this too, if his erection and blown pupils were any indication.

Derek stepped forward to speak softly into Stiles’ ear. “Can I pick you up?” he asked, swearing he could feel Stiles’ skin practically vibrate so close to his own. “Yes,” Stiles murmured, locking his gaze with Derek’s. Derek carefully placed an arm behind his husband’s knees and another behind his back, quickly gathering Stiles into his arms. Stiles laughed as Derek easily picked him up off the ground, a sound Derek deeply wished to hear every day for the rest of his life.

Derek knew Stiles wasn’t ignorant — he understood the significance of what Derek was doing. It wasn’t a requirement by any means, but physically carrying ones’ mate to their marriage bed before claiming them was a symbolic gesture of protection and provision for Derek’s kind. After closing the few short feet to their bed, Derek crouched down and carefully deposited Stiles on his side. In the oldest customs, a wolf’s mate would lay face down to receive the bite, but Derek had never desired that. He carefully laid his body behind his husband’s, moving one of his arms under Stiles’ head and the other over his waist. His free hand found his husband’s, and he laced their fingers together. Finally, he lined up his hips behind Stiles', allowing him to feel that he was aroused to hardness as well.

Derek brought their entwined hands to Stiles’ chest, feeling the strong, singing thrum of his heart beneath them. He was ready.

“May I?” he asked, marveling at how warm and solid Stiles’ body felt against his. Stiles relaxed against him and nodded in assent. “Yes.”

Derek finally allowed his fangs to drop, an icy blue haze clouding his vision and his sense of his husband's scent sharpening even more acutely. He touched his teeth to Stiles' skin so he knew to brace himself, then swiftly pierced the soft flesh in the claiming mark of mating.

The bite lasted no more than a few seconds, but Derek felt the moments still and swirl around him in a drawn out haze. He knew magic existed — knew his new husband could practice it, even — but he had never paid much mind to the stories of mating magic or soulmates. As soon as he anchored himself to his newly wed husband, however, Derek felt a certainty and connection settle in him — one that couldn’t be described like any emotion he’d ever felt before. He thought, he knew, that Stiles felt it too. He felt it in the way his lungs retracted sharply as his heart skipped a beat, his fingers tightening around Derek’s and the smallest whimper escaping his lips. He didn’t fight the bite, even subconsciously. His body moved closer to Derek’s, an implicit sign of the trust he placed in his new mate. Derek felt a new spike of attraction and affection bloom in his chest, and carefully retracted his fangs from the soft warmth of Stiles’ neck. He allowed himself a moment to pause, breathing in the scent of his new husband as deeply as he could. He felt dizzy, heady — he wanted to say something, anything, to Stiles, but couldn’t find the words. He settled instead for squeezing Stiles’ hand, and firmly pressed his lips in a kiss above the bite before pulling away.

Stiles glanced back at Derek, seemingly unsure what Derek wished him to do next. Derek stilled him with a gentle hand to his arm. “Let me.”

Two beads of blood had welled up on the back of Stiles’ neck; the bite was not intended to pierce too deeply, but some blood was inevitable. Derek reached for the cloth he had left on his bedside table, grateful for his foresight in the scattered hours before the wedding. He hadn’t expected Stiles to make any demands one way or another, but he had still wanted to be prepared for however the night ended up. Derek dampened the cloth in the bowl of water next to it and carefully pressed it to his husband’s neck. When Stiles flinched at the touch, Derek dropped his hands away immediately — Did I hurt him?

“Sorry,” Stiles murmured with a laugh. “’s just a little cold.” His bright amber eyes found contact with Derek’s, a soft smile — that damn smile — playing at his lips.

Derek stroked away the last of the blood, cupping his hand around the back of Stiles’ neck to drain any residual pain. “Are you — does it hurt too badly?” he asked, brow furrowed in concern.

“I think I’ll survive, husband.” Husband. The word, simple as it was, still stirred a deep satisfaction in Derek. Stiles was perfect, and he was his husband. Stiles rolled onto his back, hitching himself up slightly onto his elbows. Derek knew Stiles was simply shifting to a more comfortable position, but he couldn’t help but notice the way his husband’s cock still pressed against his shorts. His gaze flicked back up to Stiles’ face, and he felt his cheeks redden as Stiles gnawed absently at his bottom lip.

“What’re you looking at?” said Stiles, voice breaking huskily.

Emboldened by his husband’s display, Derek leaned forward, bracketing himself over Stiles. “You,” he whispered, eyes moving pointedly to Stiles’ lips as their faces hovered inches apart.

As soon as the word left Derek’s lips, Stiles surged forward. His mouth knocked against Derek’s, but he barely felt the awkwardness of the movement as their lips pressed together. Stiles whimpered again, and Derek dropped his weight off his arms and pulled them onto their sides so they were facing one another. He quickly pulled his husband into another kiss, reveling in the sensation of Stiles’ lips, muscles, scent, sweat — he felt completely enveloped.

When Stiles pulled away, his pupils were blown. He clutched Derek’s arm as if it were anchoring him. A soft exclamation escaped his lips — “Wow.”

Derek couldn’t help but laugh, drunk on lust and affection. “Wow,” he agreed, capturing Stiles’ lips in another soft, gentle kiss.

Stiles held his forehead against Derek’s, smiling softly over his husband’s mouth. “I think I’ll stay in your bed tonight, if that’s alright,” he said.

Derek pulled him closer, the lengths of their bodies pressed together. “Our bed. And it’s more than alright.”

Fin (for now!)

#sterek #sterek fic #sterek au #sterek royalty au #my fic

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