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fredheads · 11 months ago

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can i get uhhhh 2 and 17 and 21 and 24 for the kisses prompts 👀

Yes you can beloved!!! 🤲💖 Only unlike you I started writing each separate and it was taking a very long time bc of work so here is two and I will reblog with two more later ❤️

Hand kisses and tearful kisses under the cut 😊 ft a school dance and a really fucked up bachelor party

2. hand kisses

“Don’t you look handsome!” Bunny Andrews exclaims as soon as she opens the door to find FP on her doorstep. She holds the door wide and ushers him in, beaming at his thrift-store suit jacket whose sleeves ended at his forearms like he’d shown up in a three-piece tux.

“FRED!” she calls up the stairs immediately. “FP’S HERE!” Bunny turns back to FP, blue eyes glowing as she looks him up and down with her characteristic warm smile. “Look at you,” she says, pinching his cheek gently. “I know why Fred’s going stag to this dance, but you can’t tell me a handsome man like you couldn’t find a date.”

FP smiles awkwardly, fiddling with a loose thread in his suit pants for lack of anything to do with his hands. Fred’s recent fight with Hermione - culminating in her keying their van in the high school parking lot - had attained almost legendary status in their town by now. Of course, there had been a whole lineup of Riverdale girls waiting to take her place on Fred’s arm at the winter formal, but Fred had asked FP instead. In the eyes of everyone in town they were going stag together, and the plans they had for the back of said van at Miller’s point tonight were between just the two of them. But it still feels embarrassingly close to the truth to be standing here in Fred’s foyer with a suit on, waiting for him to come downstairs so they could show up to a dance together.

“No one I liked,” he offers with a shrug. Mumbling and shrugging is his go-to with adults as much as it is with his own peers, but Bunny, unlike the rest of the town, isn’t put off by it. She wraps a slender arm around his shoulders and pulls him to her side affectionately.

“Come on, FP. I know the truth.”

FP suddenly feels sick, looking up sharply from where he’s been contemplating his less-than-shiny dress shoes. “You do?”

“Sure do.” Bunny combs his hair back with her fingers, attempting to push it into place. “You’re too good of a friend to let my boy go alone.”

FP grimaces a smile as she parts his hair for him, trying not to let the heart attack he’d almost had show. “FRED!” Bunny yells up the stairs again. She shakes her head at FP before she checks her watch. “Honestly, that boy. The last time he was early to something was the day he was born. He was supposed to be an August baby, you know. He couldn’t wait. Oh! While we’re waiting, let me go get the camera.” She smiles apologeticaly and squeezes his arm. “I know I’m being an embarrassing mother, but you’ll want these pictures one day. Mark my words.”

She zooms off into the kitchen just as FP hears Fred’s bedroom door open upstairs. He glances up at the staircase that leads to the second floor just as his best friend comes into sight on the landing.

Fred smiles at him - huge and beaming - the second their eyes meet, and any minor incovenience FP felt about his tardiness vanishes like it had never happened. He starts down the stairs, and all the breath gets sucked out of FP’s lungs. He stands still on the hallway carpet, frozen, feeling his heart pumping, his head buzzing and his ears ringing as though all the sound has left the universe.

Fred’s in a black suit with a crisp white shirt and bowtie, every inch of his outfit dazzlingly bright and looking as though it was made to fit his body. His hair is parted perfectly and gelled back, not a strand of brunette out of place. His face is clean and rosy and glows like a candle, but rather than having a childlike effect, it emphasizes the masculinity in it: his jawline, his brow, the lines of his cheekbones. He’s so handsome that it feels unfair, and the smile on his face just makes it worse. That smile makes FP’s stomach float and his knees turn to butter.

He didn’t know a human being could be that handsome, so audaciously perfect and spotless and stunning. He feels like his jaw is hanging open. His eyes roam greedily over every inch of Fred, not ever coming into contact with anything less than perfection. Suddenly he feels tiny and shy. How could he ever think he was good enough for this person?

He’s frozen in place as Fred walks towards him, hand on the banister, grinning his gorgeous smile like he has no idea he’s putting the stars in the sky to shame. No idea he’s the very picture of masculinity right now, or that he’s more beautiful than anything FP ever thought he deserved to see. His brown eyes gleam like mahogany in the twinkling lights from the living room’s christmas tree.

When he stops before FP, whos only just gaining feeling in his limbs again, he drops effortlessly into a bow, grasping one of FP’s cold hands and bringing the back of it up to his lips. He looks up at FP through his eyelashes as he kisses the skin, the press of his lips leaving a patch of burning heat. Then he straightens up again, each movement as precisely calculated as a dance, and drops FP’s hand with a smile just as Bunny comes back in the room with the camera.

FP can feel himself blushing, which is not something he does often. His face and the skin of his neck feels like its on fire. Fred winks at him before he turns to his mother, who fusses immediately with his bowtie and his hair. “Go stand next to the tree,” she orders them, and FP allows Fred to pivot him into place, heart still pounding hard, and all the more so when Fred wraps his strong arms around him from behind and clasps his hands over FP’s stomach. The smell of his cologne envelops FP as Fred puts his chin down on his shoulder, grinning for the camera. At least FP assumes he is. He’s focusing all his energy on trying to breathe normally with Fred’s body weight pressed up against his back, hoping the way he feels like shaking all over inside doesn’t translate to his body.

Bunny tuts. “Fred, can’t we take a nice photo, please?” she scolds him as Fred’s freshly-shaven cheek collides with the side of FP’s face, nuzzling there like a cat. “FP’s been waiting for you, and you’re goofing off.”

“Just take one like this,” Fred urges, breath tickling FP’s earlobe, his hands never moving from where they’re cradling the hollow of FP’s stomach. Bunny sighs, and the camera flashes obediently, a soft click undoubtably capturing FP’s face in the same red as the Christmas ornaments forever.

“Now stand next to one another, please,” she orders, so Fred’s hands slip obediently away from FP’s belt, and FP takes the deepest breath he’s taken all night. They pose as any straight guys would: hands in pockets, arms folded, chins tilted confidently, FP pretending with all his might that his knees aren’t still weak from when Fred kissed his hand. It shouldn’t feel this way - he’s had Fred’s mouth on most places on his body by now. But that hand kiss had nothing to do with the kind of sex they had all summer in their van - not that he was complaining about that. But the way Fred had kissed his hand had nothing to do with sex at all.

That hand kiss was romance. That kiss said I want you and only you.

Now he gets it. How Fred gets all the girls.

You’re so stupid, the familiar voice of self-hatred speaks up in FP’s mind as the shutter clicks. It doesn’t mean anything to him. He’ll ditch you at the dance for the first girl he sees.

But he catches Fred’s eye and sees him smiling; Fred who chose him tonight, who kissed his hand like he was one of those very same girls and who made him feel special and beautiful in his four-dollar suit. Fred who’s all his until the sun goes down.

And the voice gets a little quieter, just for now.

21. tearful kisses

“What was it like?” Fred’s shifting the wood around in the campfire, eyes glued to the embers. His voice comes out flat, but at least they’re talking. That’s something. They’d exhausted small talk in the first few hours he’d been back, and the drive up to the campsite had been choked with painful silence, years of things sitting between them that neither was ready to say. Here was an olive branch. “Basic training?”

“I wasn’t really there for long,” FP admits. It’s the first time he’s admitting that out loud. The old shame closes over his heart like a fist, but it’s a little easier saying shameful things to Fred. Always has been. He kicks at the bottlecap he’d dropped onto the dirt. “Kicked me out about six weeks in. Dishonorable discharge.”

“Six weeks,” Fred repeats. When FP looks at him he sees something in Fred’s face that jars him right back to high school: hurt. His brown eyes are full of pain, and there’s an upset surprise there too, a bit of the shocked, wounded look Fred used to get when FP would disappoint him. But there’s something cold in them too, something darker than FP remembers. The injury in his gaze seems to change almost immediately into sad resignation. “Then where did you go?”

“Around. But I wanted to come back,” FP clarifies, understanding Fred wasn’t really asking about his travels. “I did. I meant to. But I wasn’t ready.”

“You wanted to.” Fred repeats quietly.

“Are you just going to repeat what I say?”

“You joined the army for six weeks,” Fred replies, his voice dripping with venom. “It’s been seven years. My dad was dying. I had no one left. And you left after six weeks and went around.”

“I needed the time-”

"I NEEDED YOU!"

Fred screams it. A ringing silence follows, in which an owl screams somewhere off in the dark. Fred stares at him across the flickering fire and then quickly turns away, wiping his face furiously with his hands.

“I needed you,” he repeats, voice ragged as glass. “I needed you, FP.”

FP looks down at his boots, the hand gripping his bottle of beer in a death grip. Contemplates the fucked up tragicomedy of his pathetic little life. How no matter what he tried to do, it always fell short. Fred’s still turned away from him, and that makes it easier to say what he does next.

“I never stopped loving you, Fred. I left so I could stop, but I didn’t.”

Anger lights in Fred’s face, enough that he turns immediately back to him and looks FP square in the eye for almost the first time since his train had arrived. “Oh, don’t say that. Don’t you say that now.”

“What does it matter now?” FP asks, digging in his heels. He shrugs, though his shoulder stay hunched up by his ears, betraying the nonchalant gesture. His hand trembles on the bottle. But he means what he says. “You have Mary, and I’m glad it worked out like that. It’s good for you. She’s good for you.”

“You don’t get to tell me whos good for me,” Fred answers. His tone is calm, but the words tremble with a thick undercurrent of danger. Of rage. “You don’t get to sit there and say my life worked out for the best. You weren’t here! You don’t know anything about my life! You weren’t here when my dad died. You weren’t here when everyone left for college. You weren’t here all those nights I CRIED OVER YOU!” He strikes both thighs with his balled up fists, his face turning crimson in the firelight. “All those nights I worried you were DEAD! The times I wished I WAS DEAD! You weren’t here all those days and months and years that I drove back and forth from that construction site wondering why the fuck you ran away from me! What the fuck my life was even for! You weren’t here when I was fighting to put food on the table for me and my mom because were are the only ones left after my dad died. You weren’t here when it happened, when I NEEDED MY BEST FRIEND! FUCK ALL THE REST, YOU WERE MY BEST FRIEND, FP!” He screams the next words, cords standing out in his neck, hurt in every syllable. “I NEEDED MY BEST FRIEND AND YOU WEREN’T THERE!”

Fred sniffs, his voice breaking on the last word. His face is red, tears streaming down his cheeks as fast as he can wipe them away. FP feels sick just watching it.

“And now, what?” Fred stammers, wiping his face. “After you broke my heart? After you said we could never be together? You come back and you say you still love me?” Fred throws his hands down, tears running freely down his face. “You still LOVE ME? THAT’S WHAT YOU HAVE TO SAY? SEVEN YEARS LATER?”

“Just forget it then!”

“I can’t!” Fred screams, his voice breaking. “How could you say that to me when you know that I can’t!”

“Why not?” FP yells back.

“You know why I can’t. You know.” Fred puts a shaking finger out in his direction, keeping FP at arm’s length. “Don’t you come here the day before my wedding and ask me to say it.” He runs his hands through his hair and over his face, scrubbing away the tears. “I can’t get married tomorrow,” he whispers, more to himself than FP.

“Don’t you dare,” FP says quickly. That’s not why I came here. I didn’t come to blow up your marriage-”

Fred gets up and slaps him. There’s not a lot of power behind it, but it’s hard enough to snap FP’s head around, a red mark stinging raw on his cheek in the cool air.

“That’s great,” Fred says in a voice that’s cold and unfamiliar. He massages the palm of his hand with his opposite thumb. “You come here and tell me you’re still in love with me the day before my wedding, but then you say you don’t want me after all. That’s just like you. I don’t know why I expected anything else.”

“It’s not that,” FP says through gritted teeth. “I'm not good for you. We've always known that.”

“Is that the self-loathing the army was going to train out of you?” Fred folds his arms, looking older and stronger in a way FP doesn’t recognize.

“I thought about you every day, Fred,” FP says, looking up at him. “All seven years.”

“STOP IT!” Fred shoves him with both hands, then. FP falls off the log he’s sitting on and lands on his back in the dirt. He stares up at his best friend, whose silhouette is dark and solid against the sky.

“You come back and you talk to me like nothing's changed between us. Like I haven't lived a whole life without you. Like I haven't finally moved on. I was finally happy, FP.”

“Then why invite me to your wedding?”

“Because I thought about you too,” Fred says, his voice breaking. “Of course I thought about you. You're my best friend. You're supposed to be.”

FP stares up at him. His pulse is beating furiously in his neck. Fred crouches down, and for an insane moment FP thinks he’s going to climb into his lap and kiss him. But he just reaches out and offers a hand. FP takes it, and Fred pulls him gently to his feet.

“Fred-” FP says softly, his own throat closing with a lump.

“Stop it.”

There’s a muscle trembling in Fred’s jaw when he turns his face away. For a moment he looks so much like Artie that FP feels like he’s dreaming. FP stands there, staring at his profile, the tears spilling over his cheekbones that he doesn’t have a right to wipe away anymore. He can hear himself breathing in the quiet of the woods. And then just when he’s about to step back to give Fred his space, Fred turns and seizes him by the ears and kisses him, so hard that pain explodes in FP’s nose from where their faces smash together.

#Fred andrews #Fp jones #fredsythe #riverdale #parentdale #My writing #Prompt fill

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ubemango · 4 years ago

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delicacies of the season (m)

part 3: days apart

note: hey!! What’s up!! first, I officially have named this series!! it’s right up there for ur viewing glory! ok anyway here’s something before I disappear for the next four weeks because I am drowning in school!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! also just a side thingie for this story: I’ve already established that oc isn’t on birth control but here I’m implying that they’re doing natural planning (i.e. fertility awareness where the person who menstruates keeps up with their cycle and thus only has sex when their cycles allows for it). PLEASE DO NOT DO THIS UNLESS YOU KNOW THE RISKS!!!!!!!! Oh Lord putting your impregnation chances up to God?! I couldn’t do it. But also this is fanfiction and nothing bad will happen to this couple so let’s all just... suspend disbelief for a second ok

PAIRING. taehyung/reader GENRE. romance, farmer au RATED. M WORD COUNT. 2.5k WARNINGS. kitchen sex, unprotected sex, dirty talk, a good ol’ creampie bc wot is the ubemango experience without one :/ SUMMARY. Taehyung missed you.

Auntie Gaeul comes over when the rooster crows to tell you to check out the passion fruits today. They’re ripe not because she’s seen them but because she just knows. Call it the Elder Instinct for Ripened Foods. You tell her you’ll give her half the harvest, and she swats at you before she leaves.

“Stop being so polite, I’m not that old,” she spits in jest. “And make some of that honey iced tea your grandma makes. If there’s extra, then I’ll have some.”

Taehyung would probably like some, too; he chugs down anything with passion fruit like he’s about to go into hibernation. And when you come back home from the fields with a basket-full perched heavy on your back, you resolve to make some tea right away to bring over to his house to see if he’s there. You haven’t seen him in five days—his cousin had the stomach flu, and his aunt needed the extra help with tending to the livestock. Being the eldest nephew (and the only one who can drive a motorcycle) had him obligated right from the get-go.

“Grandma! Can you show me where you put the honey jars, I can’t remember where they are. And can you help me peel these—um. You’re not Grandma,” you stop.

Taehyung looks up from where he’s perched on the stairs of your awning, flicking bits of strawberries to the ground for Danbi to eat. Your little puppy scrounges it up so fast she nearly falls over on her fluffy bum.

“I told her to go play bingo with the rest of the granny crew, someone’s betting chicken feet,” he says. You smile wide when he trods over to you for a short kiss, slipping the strap of the basket off your shoulder to put on his. The hand he keeps low on your back is as warm as the ten AM sun. “Hi. I missed you.”

“I was just gonna go see if you were home,” you say. He smells like the wind. Something you’d scrunch your nose at but he makes it work. “When d’you come back? How’s Daeshim now?”

“An hour ago. And he’s better. He ate up all your ice cream, only thing he could keep down.”

You frown. “Poor baby.”

“I know. You gonna clean these now?” He nods his head toward the water basin, carved rock he’d installed for you on your third anniversary.

“Yeah. Can you start? I’ll just wash up quick,” you offer. Suddenly you’re aware you’ve got an ugly shirt with oil stains and holes in random places—nothing Taehyung minds, but the occasion probably deserves better.

“Got it, boss,” Taehyung says. He slaps your ass before you run to the bathroom. A familiar signal of his intentions but he’s too polite to bring it up so quickly.

“Hey!”

“Hurry up,” he calls. As if you’re going to take another five days to get back to him but you get it. You missed him, too; a little more than you’d like to let on. Your grandma is great company but she watches her TV too loud and she hates when you’re not there to sit with her because she might need your help switching channels. It’s a miracle you didn’t jump Taehyung the second your eyes landed on him.

You change into whatever shirt you’ve tossed on the floor that looks semi-presentable. It’s too early for your sweat to reek like it does under the afternoon heat, but you spritz some perfume on your neck anyway. Just for upkeep, because you’d be lying if you said you weren’t anticipating sex, a sloppy makeout session at the least. Danbi’s too hyper to be left alone, plus your grandma likes making surprise visits at your house because she’s a forgetful woman.

By the time you’ve come back from scrubbing the dirt and dead ant bits caked under your nails, Taehyung’s a third of the way through the basket, tossing the clean passion fruit into a bucket Danbi is trying so hard to climb into. She yelps when her fat paws slip at the edges.

“Danbi! Mama’s gonna be mad if you get hurt. I’ll give you some later.”

“Go play with your toy,” you call out to her. “Danbi! Go!”

Her ears perk up at your command, and she pants and pants till she decides to go in the complete opposite direction of the ball and into the patch where all the potatoes are. She hasn’t hit her teething phase so you’re safe from her snuffing anything out with her mouth. It’s her fur you worry about. She’s such a nice shade of white amongst the semi-wet dirt, it almost hurts seeing her get soiled.

“Like a little cotton ball,” Taehyung says. He points to the bucket. “This good?”

You nod—it’s enough to have extra for Auntie Gaeul. “Yeah. Wanna carry it to the kitchen like a good man?”

“As if I’m not one already,” he snorts, grabbing the handle. “Danbi, come!”

This is how it always goes. Taehyung ogles from over your shoulder (usually he’s off to the side but he’s a lot clingier, not that you mind) while you do your business because you don’t trust him with a knife. Not since the time you’d tasked him with chopping garlic and he’d nearly sliced his palm open when he tried crushing them first.

And now you’ve got a new addition to the routine: Danbi sniffs around the dried leaves for the fire, sneezing when she breathes the ash in too hard. You hear her collar jiggle as she explores the earthenware stacked on the side. You made sure Taehyung left the door open because she gets antsy fast.

“Can I just say that I have a thing for seeing you use a knife,” Taehyung says, hands stroking your tummy because he’s got nothing better to do.

“You’re really bad at hiding how turned on you are.”

“Who said I was trying to hide?”

You laugh. “What are you trying to get at, mister?”

“I’m saying I missed you,” he says simply.

“So that’s why you kicked Grandma out the house,” you tease. Taehyung splutters in your ear.

“No! They really are betting chicken feet. What do you think I am?”

“Horny.”

“Ugh.”

You turn your focus back to the chopping board. Taehyung lets the sound of the knife smooth down the goop of the insides fill the space.

“...Are you mad if I am?” He whispers tentatively.

“Oh my god. It’s ten in the morning.”

“You think my dick cares?”

“You think I care?” you joke.

Taehyung gasps. Like his heart just shattered from your vitriol, but all you want is to finish cutting up these damn fruits before you’ll allow his hands to touch you. “Wow. You—? Okay, fine.”

“Wha—”

“I appreciate your hard work,” he coos. He wraps himself around you even tighter, traces a slow kiss on your neck. “Really. But don’t pretend you didn’t miss me too.”

“I never said I didn’t.”

“You’ve got a fucking mouth on you.”

And that gets you to shut up. Taehyung only swears when he wants you to stop talking. Not for the sake of real anger but to show you he’s got something brewing, and you’re here to take whatever it is he’s about to give you.

“I just wanted to be a good fiance and visit the one I love the most after five days because I missed them so much.”

His teeth catch the lobe of your ear. Biting down softly because he’s still aware you’ve got the knife in your hand, but you’ve lost all motor skills the second he started his little bit. You drop the handle slowly. At the last second you push all the shit you’ve laid out on the counter to the farthest corner. Something tells you this space is being defiled this morning.

“Good. Are you wet?”

“N-No.”

“Then we’ll have to do something about that, huh.”

You watch his hands glide up, and you’re half-expecting him to fondle you gently, the way he teases you when you think he’s taking it slow. But instead he goes right for the kill: using those long fingers to pinch right at your tits just to get you to gasp into the feeling. You roll your eyes shut, let your head fall back on his shoulder.

“You like that?”

“Mhm,” you whine.

“Take your shirt off for me.”

You’ve never exposed yourself to kitchen utensils and rice wine on the pantry shelves before but Taehyung makes you want it. He shows his appreciation for your compliance with another hard grope of his hands, this time with his mouth sucking on your neck too. Craving your skin like he’s been absolutely deprived. The calluses on his fingertips rub your nipples raw.

“You smell good,” he croons. “Come here.”

You nearly tip over from how fast he spins you around, but he catches you easy, tongue on yours in the next second. The desperate tug of his lips on yours, the smack of your spit when he pulls you in deeper, all the intricacies of needing someone else to save your own sanity—it culminates here, and now your ass is up on the cold of the counter, Taehyung pulling back from one last kiss to drag that same heat down your body.

“Please let me eat you out here, holy shit.” He tugs at your pants, slides your underwear down with it. Mouthing hungry at your mound because you haven’t answered him yet, so you just groan a quick please, yes and he doesn’t even look at you before he presses his tongue inside you.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, the guilt of ruining this space with your (embarrassingly) uncontrolled libido is raging. But you could care less with the way Taehyung swipes his tongue around your clit, gets you clawing at his hair for brief respite. You’ve most definitely exceeded wet boundaries. His chin practically shines.

And he knows it’s because of him. Not just from his mouth but the knowledge that he wants you trembling towards a heady orgasm, the kind that consumes you whole. His laving gets bolder with every stroke, every moan you try to keep stifled but it’s useless. “Taehyung. Oh my g-od, fuck—no d-don’t use your fingers, I’ll come.”

He laughs, adjusts your thighs so you’re not cramping. “Think you’ll tap out?”

��I wanna come on your dick,” you pants.

“Oh my god,” he groans. “You’re perfect. Oh my god. I’m so fucking hard. Can I come inside you?”

“Yes yes yes yes, just get inside me already.”

Taehyung’s foot gets caught on his pants when he shoves them off, nearly crashing face first into your pussy again. And he laughs and you snort and when he’s naked waist-down he kisses you again, a little slower this time, a breather for just a moment.

“I know it’s only been five days but I missed you. A lot.”

You trap his hips with locked ankles on his back. “I know.”

“It’s just—I had to shovel so much horse shit—”

“Oh don’t say that!” You bat at his chest.

Taehyung snickers. “Sorry. Ahh, I don’t know what to do with myself.”

“You can stick your dick inside me and we can go from there,” you suggest.

“I like the way you think, missus.”

It’s almost laughable when he sinks right in. No resistance, just the slick of your arousal and his spit, an unholy mixture for this thick sacrilege. Taehyung’s eyes stay locked on the sight.

“Fuck yeah. Oh baby…”

If it’s got him uttering curses this early in the round then you’re definitely worse off. You’ve got one profanity for every inch he’s claimed inside you, all lined up behind your teeth but you don’t have the brain capacity to get them out. He fucks you straight to incoherence.

Your delirium keeps you mum. Taehyung will make up for it. He slots his hand up the back of your thighs, hits deeper when you arch through the pleasure. “Holy fuck that’s so good,” you whine. “Taehyung—oh god.”

He doesn’t say anything. Just pants hard with every moan you’ll give him, and you watch the sweat glow on his collarbone, the thick of his neck. Places you claim with your mouth when you lean forward because it’s too hard to keep balance without his gravity.

Taehyung breaks when you bite. “Sh-it. Oh fuck you’re so hot. ‘M not gonna last, shit.”

“You’ll fuck me when you come?” you plead, hold his gaze. He’s just as gone as you are. “You’ll fuck your cum inside me?”

“Yeah baby. I’ll give it to you. So fuckin’ good.”

He never lets up. Just keeps that steady fucking, stiff with every drive into your slick till he adjusts your knees with one push. Pussy open to the angle that gets you begging for his thumb on your clit because it’s right there. You fall back on your hands, no steady grip because Taehyung’s faltering too.

“Oh—!” You flutter your eyes shut to pending ecstasy. “Tae—please—harder—right there right there don’t stop!”

“You gonna come for me?”

It’s a rhetorical question. You know he sees the way your chest collapses, the rub of your clit in quick gestures for your high. He’s got you right in his hand.

“Fuck—ohhh yes!”

“Ugh,” he whines. It’s nearly lost to the ringing in your ears, the clench of your pussy from his pounding. You cream him so good when the orgasm’s strong enough, pulsing hot, the rough intensity. And that’s not lost on him when he cries: “God your pussy’s so wet. Holy shit.”

Usually you’re spent by the time your vision’s cleared to the sight of Taehyung fucking you through it. But he’s promised you something, and you’re greedy for it.

“Come inside me,” you urge, guiding a hand through his hair, pulling hard at his nape. He keeps his eyes on his dick priming you for those final strokes.

“I’ll fucking come,” he snaps. “You ready? I’ll come so good for you baby. Come so fucking—good—!”

He stiffens with a shout, grinds his teeth, lets his orgasm splash inside with so much heat you mewl. And he keeps minimal movement, thrust for soft thrust because it’s too much with the squeezing you tease him with.

“I.” Taehyung clears his throat, panting to a stop. “I… wow.”

Your ass is rubbed raw against the counter. But you’ll risk it again to see the glint in his eye when he pulls out and watches his cum drip down your hole, onto the floor for you to clean when your legs aren’t jelly.

“Wow,” you repeat.

“Do… Am I… Am I ovulating?” He looks genuinely confused. “I don’t… I’ve never been that horny before.”

You snort. “Five days felt like forever, huh.”

Taehyung kisses you slow. “If it means we get to fuck like that again then I’m going to the city for a month.”

“Hey!” You pinch his arm, using his bicep to stand up, tiptoeing around the mess on the floor. “God. Help me clean up here, please. And where’s the dog?”

(Danbi sleeps peacefully in the wicker basket, head lolled on one of the passion fruits. You make sure to bring her over to Auntie Gaeul’s for extra snacks.)

#bts smut #taehyung smut #v smut #bts scenarios #taehyung scenarios #v scenarios #ubemango fic #f: farmer!tae series #f: delicacies of the season

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beggingwolf · 4 years ago

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omg I would love for you to break down that scene from TKK where sid goes into heat unexpectedly and geno rescues him from the Czech alphas!! (yes I have read and reread it a million times bc it is absolutely delicious.) (also this is jes @ticklefighthockey - can’t send from my hockey sideblog!)

hi jes!! thank you so much for asking!! I love that scene too

this is, uh, a behemoth. be warned:

He’s being led on a tour of the rink, after the Russians have embarrassingly lost to Finland and before the Canadians are set to battle with the Czechs, when Zhenya stumbles upon him.

I enjoy, in retrospect, how Zhenya and Sid’s emotional states are so different coming into this interaction. Even going back further than this specific day, Zhenya-in-Helsinki is bored and understimulated and out of his area of expertise and his alphaness is chafing at him. Meanwhile, Sid is overstimulated and anxious and fearful and in denial about/trying to hide his omeganess. Their designations are really on display here: Zhenya is brashly an alpha, Sid is shamefully an omega, and I Just Think That’s Delicious.

It’s a flash, something deep and slumbering in his brain that alights like gas touched by a flame. One moment he’s listening to a very calm scout for the Superleague talk to him about Ovechkin and the potential a future Team Russia has, and the next there are yells echoing off the hallway’s walls and a figure racing towards them. A hook nestles into Zhenya’s intestines and his long leg moves, jerked along with the rest of him as he trips the running blur.

The omega falls; Zhenya reaches for them, and before Zhenya can stop himself, his big hand grabs the omega by the back of their neck. The omega seizes up, and Zhenya can’t breathe as his grip tightens and then shakes.

This is the, like, one part of the fic where Zhenya’s alphaness overwhelms him in the same way Sid’s omeganess overwhelms him. Sid is repeatedly at the mercy of his biology in the fic, and though he works to overcome it (and eventually settle into it), Zhenya doesn’t share that struggle—except for in this moment. I like how it equalizes them for a fraction of a second. Immediately after, the power imbalance flares to life and they’re on unequal ground, but for this moment, they’re both at the mercy of their bodies. It’s a huge aspect of what I enjoy about a/b/o.

Sid likes Helsinki.

I love this jump cut, personally. I think it’s cheeky of me and fun and, after hooking the reader with Zhenya’s side of things, allows me to do what I enjoy most: babble on about juniors!Sid. Let’s fast forward to where the narrative catches up with Zhenya’s POV:

Sid is last out of the showers after practice. He doesn’t normally linger, but he had spent so long staring at how Carter’s traps and deltoids flexed as he washed his hair that he stalled and told everyone he’d catch up.

Sid’s discomfort with his designation almost takes precedence over his relationship with his sexuality in TKK. They’re inextricably intertwined, but Sid really spends more time thinking about being an omega than he does fantasizing about alphas—perhaps largely in part due to his first ~meaningful~ physical interaction with alphas ends up being a near-assault followed by a formative, if unhealthy, scruffing at the hands of Zhenya. I hope I put in enough to show that Sid is eyeing the alphas around him with intent and that it’s disrupting his routines. Builds the tension. Primes us for what’s about to happen.

“Get out of there soon, Crosby, the Czechs are going to need the locker room in ten!” Durocher had called out to him, and Sid had made a sound of acknowledgement.

He’s not proud to jerk off in the empty communal showers. Once he’s come, he desperately tries to forget the fantasy of being shoved up against the cold tile, the slickness between his thighs being put to good use. His cheeks are flaming red and he’s mortified at himself as he washes the evidence off of his hands. In a rush he towels himself off and gets dressed in his team sweats, grabbing his bag of gear and jogging for the doors.

Yeah I’d be mortified too, Sid.

He opens the door and runs face-first into a chest.

He chokes on his own spit as he smells it, the sharp, overwhelming scent of alphas, plural, and looks up at the huge Czech defensemen that he’s spent two afternoons watching tape on.

The big one he ran into looks at Sid with vibrant blue eyes, and Sid stills as he watches the guy’s nostrils flare with a big intake of breath.

Sid forgot the cologne.

“Crosby,” the alpha says, his accent strangely shaping Sid’s name. Sid heard plenty of Czech at the U18 tourney, when Canada had gone down against the Czech team and the players and their fans had drunkenly gathered outside of the Canadian locker room to howl shit at them until the Canadians muscled their way out.

He’s never heard anything like the way this enormous alpha drawls his name, and his eyes go wide.

The alpha next to the blue-eyed one, a beefy blond guy that has a huge nose, takes a step towards Sid and says something. Sid can’t understand the words, but the message behind them is clearer than fresh ice in the winter, and all Sid can think is that he’s never been in this much danger.

Some disgusting, traitorous part of him whispers in his ear that maybe he’d like it if he stayed and listened to what they had to say.

Sid runs.

Sid’s sexual immaturity is really on display here. I don’t say anything about what the alphas smell like, and though Sid catalogues what the alphas look like (this was mostly so I could make them distinct in their actions), none of it is appreciative.

He’s a prey animal realizing he’s in danger, and regardless of his fantasies and recent jerk-off session, he has almost no desire to “be an omega” in this moment… except for the part of himself he hates, the part of himself he isn’t at ease with yet. EVEN THEN, he’s not interested in, like, being thrown to the ground and Taken in the biblical sense, but he’s interested in “if he stayed and listened to what they had to say.”

It’s that teasing at wanting something, that teenage impulse to want to explore what you’re feeling but not willing to go all the way because you’re afraid and unsure and still young! But his prey instinct wins out (smartly).

He hates himself for it; he’s a fighter, and he doesn’t run from boys who are bigger than him, but he knows as deeply and intrinsically as he knows his own name that the instant one of the Czech alphas gets their hands around his neck, he’s done for.

That first line could be interpreted 2 ways before you get past the semi-colon: does he hate himself for running because he wants the Czechs? No; it’s because he wants to fight. Sid’s incorrectly performing being an omega here in multiple senses: he’s running from alphas and wanting to avoid his heat, and he’s also wanting to fight them.

He drops low, bending his legs so he can ram his shoulder into the blue-eyed one’s stomach, shoving him back just enough so Sid can elbow past the blond alpha and push through. He feels the blond reach for him, and a shout builds in his throat as the boy’s big hand grazes Sid’s wrist, nearly gripping him before Sid can twist out of the way.

He takes a step before the strap across his body gets yanked back, and Sid chokes as it digs into his Adam’s apple. The Czechs are gripping onto his hockey bag, and Sid only hesitates long enough for a hand to snake up and reach for his damp hair before he grits his teeth and slips out from under the strap of his bag and leaves it behind him, running in his untied sneakers down the hall.

The mention of his Adam’s apple draws attention to Sid’s age, I feel. It shows he’s physically mature but BARELY, because pointing it out draws attention to it in a conspicuous way. Then Sid being willing to ditch his hockey gear as he sprints—well, it shows (for once) he has his priorities straight. He tried to keep his omeganess hidden for the sake of hockey. Now he has to abandon hockey to keep himself safe.

The Czechs yell, their voices loud and reverberating off of the walls in a way that feels like it can physically pummel Sid. He still has the scent of them in his nose, and he can feel his untrustworthy body responding. He runs blindly, as fast as he can.

HERE we get some sense that the alphas are having a physical impact on Sid. And yet it’s not eroticized at all. It’s made violent and scary and he’s stripped of his own senses.

He rounds a corner and sprints, not remembering which way is which in the Helsinki rink. Sid barrels towards two figures in the hall, and his overwhelmed senses can tell that one of them is an alpha, the tall one, the dark one, and he sucks in one last desperate breath to hold so he can sprint past, so he can just get away from the heady scent and go somewhere safe.

Tall and dark, eh, Sidney? Our first hint of romantic descriptors.

The tall alpha moves faster than lightning, faster than a goalie adjusting to block a shot, and Sid feels an ankle connect with his shin and he panics.

Sid makes it about hockey. Ok bud sure you do you. (But like for real this represents a connection back to something Sid knows, something that is safe[...ish] for Sid, something that he loves).

He tripped him. The alpha tripped him, and maybe he’s in on it, and maybe Sid’s mom was right to be paranoid for all these years, and Sid’s hands come up to brace for the impact of the carpet when a hand as big as the span of his entire neck comes down on the back of it.

Everything stops.

Anxious stream-of-consciousness interrupted by an abrupt two-word sentence? Slap me silly with cliches, eh? But, hey, if it works...

The hand is enormous, the long, powerful fingers digging into the sides of Sid’s throat, and Sid’s jaw opens in something he hopes is a scream but by the way heat curls in his gut, he knows it’s something much, much worse.

Okay so HEREEEE we get yanked closer, again, to the erotic. The focus on hands (#TheFemaleGaze) as something salacious, enormous and long and powerful [hm. Freud is calling]... and even though Sid is terrified and refusing to put a specific name to what other emotion he’s feeling, his body betrays him yet again and we then fully slip into The Erotic with a heat—a heat—curling in his gut.

The hand yanks him up, pulling him away from the floor, and Sid fights against the instinct to go limp with everything he has; his trained muscles seize up instead, and Sid has never been so grateful to be an athlete. He balls his fists, sliding his foot on the ground to try and right himself, and then his world ends when the alpha scruffs him.

Sid resorts to athleticism (his only other use for his body before Being An Omega fucked it up, according to him) in order to fight back. And then the line “and then his world ends” hits. Melodramatic, sure, but he’s 16.

And moreover, objectively, the world Sid knew before this interaction is indeed over for him. Zhenya later thinks in the fic that alphas and omegas feel fated, like something out of a fairytale, and that line of fate—that this was inevitable, that once Sid and Zhenya met, Sid would be lost to “normalcy,” does ring true by the time the fic ends.

The alpha gives Sid a firm shake, just from the hand gripping his neck. Sid feels it down to his bones, reverberating through him harder than any check or hit he’s ever taken. Sid feels like he did when he was in 7th grade and one of his buddies tripped him while playing street hockey. This feels like when Sid’s head hit the blacktop; he’s not sure where all his limbs are anymore, and when he collapses, the alpha catches him.

This whole first chapter is just a major tease in regards to maturity, puberty, sexual awakenings, etc.

Sid acknowledged his physical response to alphas a few paragraphs ago, but now we’re back to Sid: The Child, to his middle-school self who is hurt and injured and vulnerable. By scruffing him, Zhenya ironically reverts him back to his child self; had Zhenya not scruffed him, who knows what Sid might have done or said to an alpha he was attracted to while he slips into heat?

By scruffing Sid—by making him no longer a viable partner [according to Zhenya’s instincts/hindbrain]—Zhenya actually keeps Sid safe here without even realizing it.

Sid lets out a sigh that sounds pleased, and he wants to heave instead.

And oop, we’re back! Tug and pull, back and forth. Will-they-won’t-they. Fun tension. The confusion of sexuality. Now that Sid is safe (even if he doesn’t know it), he can slip back into that pleasure state, even as he’s repulsed by it.

The alpha says something. His voice is deep and rich. Sid’s head lolls back so he can catch a glimpse.

He was right about the alpha being tall. His eyes go up and up to see the guy’s face. He’s older than Sid, but maybe he’s a player here. He could be 19, Sid hazily reasons to himself. His wide mouth is open in a concerned, surprised expression, and Sid’s eyes catch on how pink his lips are. He wonders how those lips would feel on his skin, but then his gaze is tugged upwards as the alpha’s eyebrows furrow over deep-set, dark eyes.

He’s handsome, and Sid is in his arms, utterly limp.

This part makes me smile even now while reading it :) Sid’s hazily like “Uhhh he could be my age right? Yeah it can definitely be acceptable to want this guy. Totally. Also he can totally play hockey. A dreamboat… Just For Me. Look at those lips. Also I’m totally helpless right now and for the FIRST time instead of terrified I am the human embodiment of the 👀 emoji.”

The alpha asks something of Sid, and Sid just stares up at him, dazed. He doesn’t know the language; it isn’t Czech. Maybe… Russian?

The hand still around his neck flexes, and Sid’s lips part. The alpha’s dark gaze drops to them, and Sid’s frightened by the emotion that blooms in his chest, a pride that’s twined with the adrenaline of his run. He can taste the alpha’s scent on his tongue, and it’s woodsy and deep and it makes Sid think of sex. He can feel his tongue poke at his lower lip, and the fingers around his neck tighten.

Then the noises from down the hall get louder, and Sid can’t move to look, but the alpha’s head jerks up. Sid watches as the alpha’s lips curl back and he snarls loudly at the Czechs.

Sid can smell them, the way their scents slide from hunter to hunted. There are rude, ineffective words spat at Sid before they retreat. He doesn’t understand a whiff of it, though, and all he can do is watch the alpha clinging to him. The alpha bares his teeth at the Czechs even as they scamper away. Sid can see the alpha’s teeth aren’t fully straight, but they’re sharp and a swooping sensation bottoms out in Sid’s gut.

It’s nothing like Parise’s hit, nothing like Tambellini’s command to leave the ball alone. Sid stares up at his alpha and he knows that if this guy took him to the ground, Sid would roll over without a second thought.

Fear rages through him again, even as his body hangs still from the scruffing.

Now we’re just really in the sauce, eh? We’ve fully entered into The Erotic and though Sid has that taste of fear in his chest, it’s not fear of alphas. It’s not fear of Zhenya.

It’s fear of himself. He isn’t scared at all of what Zhenya could do to him; he’s scared of what he wants (or what his body wants? He isn’t sure where that distinction is, because he’s been trying to divorce himself from his omega body since it started Making Problems).

Spicy! Delicious! I do, in fact, love it! His body is acting without his control (his tongue) but Sid is naming what he’s thinking of: sex. He hates himself over it. I am thoroughly enjoying myself!

The alpha looks back down at Sid, his lips coming together to cover his sharp teeth. He says something softly, glancing over Sid with obvious concern in his eyes. His grip loosens and his hand slides up into Sid’s wet hair to cradle his head instead.

“Crosby,” Sid can hear the other man, the beta next to his alpha— the alpha say in surprise, and Sid’s chest tightens.

“Crosby?” the alpha murmurs, squinting at Sid. He asks something else, and Sid still can’t get his throat to work, the scruffing clinging onto his voice box like a crushing fist.

The beta says something and the alpha grimaces, but he gently starts lowering Sid to the floor. Sid gasps in a breath, because no, not in the middle of a hallway, but the alpha just lays Sid down, bracing a careful hand on Sid’s shoulder, still cupping the back of his skull as he crouches down next to him.

“Crosby? Omega?” He hears the beta say in a thick Russian accent, and Sid’s eyes swivel to look at him.

“Help,” Sid finally begs, feeling weak and shameful.

Here we actually lose some of the erotic tension because

1. Zhenya looks at Sid with concern, not lust

2. His grip loosens on Sid, and

3. Zhenya puts Sid down not to have his way with him, but to make sure he’s okay.

The power dynamic is starting to shift; it isn’t so much about a/b/o as it is age right here. Zhenya is taking care of this kid, as he notes in the next section, and since Sid’s hangups over his immaturity will haunt him in the fic, his perspective sort of neuters Zhenya here because he thinks their ages will be a barrier to Sid getting Zhenya.

Also, another line I love: “no, not in the middle of a hallway,” because it’s SUCH a major slip on Sid’s part. His problem isn’t that he thinks Zhenya is about to go to town on him; it’s that they’re in a hallway and he has standards. (Or, rather, reasonable concerns over privacy, safety, and general comfort).

“Who is Crosby?” Zhenya asks as he stares down at the omega he’s cradling.

He’s about to be a very big thorn in your side for the next forever, Zhenya.

The omega is so young. He looks half-baked, especially with his head held at such an angle, making his chin disappear into his neck. His face is still round, and he has curly hair that hangs boyishly into his eyes. Those huge eyes are stunned and Zhenya can see the panic in them.

We’re still in that de-sexed space; readers can think ��Hmm okay so maybe Sid was right, that Zhenya doesn’t really want-”

Zhenya closes his mouth and tries to take in less of the omega’s scent. It’s hot and jabs at Zhenya’s brain like a spice; Zhenya can smell the slick on him and swallows down the saliva flooding his mouth.

“Oh.”

Yep. Still wants ‘im. Has a moral compass to stop himself about it. Barely.

Also, Zhenya eats a fair amount of food in this fic—shitty food, like his McDonalds meal and bad American coffee, and good food, like the ribs and coco lardo in Moscow and the pelmeni and soup with his mother. Sid’s scent is like a spice to him—this appeals to his emotional senses, not just his physical ones.

“This is Crosby,” the Superleague scout says, dumbfounded. “He plays for Canada, he’s an omega—”

“No shit,” Zhenya grunts, and he can’t stop his thumb from stroking across the kid’s shoulder where Zhenya is pinning him down, the thin Team Canada shirt shifting under his touch. “Crosby, who’s here with you?”

Oops, crack in the facade there, Zhenya. Watch your hands. Still, it’s not made clear if this is a gesture meant to be comforting (to Sid) or selfish (for Zhenya). Ambiguity!

The omega, Crosby, gapes up at Zhenya, and Zhenya curses himself for scruffing him.

He hadn’t meant to; he’s only scruffed an omega once, and it was in a very different context, where a buxom omega named Svetlana had wanted Zhenya to lay her out and make her limp with it in bed. Crosby certainly hadn’t asked, but Zhenya had felt the panic in Crosby like a guillotine rising over his head and had needed to stop it.

More cracks. Relating it to sex with Svetlana and then pulling himself back by a VERY sharp image of a guillotine. Feeling like you need to cut something off, there, Zhenya?

His hindbrain had made the decision for him.

Zhenya thinks about alphaness in terms of his hindbrain—a hidden prey drive he’s got in his head, an old evolutionary instinct. Part of him, but... not all of him.

It’s very distinct from Sid, who refuses to even consider his omeganess as something other than, like, a personal failure and/or a physical impediment that’s fucking with him. When his omeganess comes for him, it takes him over.

Zhenya THINKS about his alphaness as divorced from himself to justify his actions; Sid ACTUALLY divorces his omeganess from himself as a survival instinct (until it stops working, and then until he figures out it’s more advantageous to work with it).

Crosby’s pulse still rabbits away. Zhenya swears he can feel it through Crosby’s scalp, and he says softly, “It’s okay, Crosby, I’m here to help you. I’ll help you.”

Rabbit :) Prey animal. Zhenya touching him carefully, not like a wolf chewing on its prey, but like a human soothing a scared animal.

He hears the Superleague scout say something in ugly English, and Zhenya frowns, wishing he had spent any time at all working on English like Viktor had asked him to. He only knows scraps he’d picked up from the ridiculous Americans the Magnitogorskaya bratva worked with.

“He’s almost in heat,” he snaps at the scout. “Ask him about suppressants, does he have any?”

“His team should, they…” the scout starts, and he moves like he’s going to leave in search of the Canadians, but he hesitates.

Zhenya watches the scout’s eyes rove over Zhenya’s long, powerful frame bent over the crumpled omega beneath him.

“He’s a child,” Zhenya bites out, even as his body tells him he’s an omega. “I won’t do anything. Get help. Now.”

:) Spicy!

He puts real force behind the words, and even though Crosby doesn’t appear to know Russian, he shakes under Zhenya’s hold.

“Shh,” Zhenya murmurs, looking down at him. Those big amber eyes focus on Zhenya’s, and Zhenya’s hand on Crosby’s shoulder slides up to cup the side of his face.

“It’s okay,” Zhenya tells him, and he knows at least that in English. “Okay.”

Zhenya immediately comforting Sid even though he’s addressing the scout! We have not seen much of Zhenya being caring before this point; is this who Zhenya is? Is this what alphas do for omegas?

Truthfully it doesn’t matter because there’s no discord between Zhenya and his designation. He’s comfortable as an alpha. He is what he is, and no matter where it comes from, he comforts Sid in this moment.

Fuck the blonde women of Finland; Zhenya doesn’t want anything except the chubby-faced Canadian teenager he has laid out on the floor of a hockey rink, and since he can’t do anything about that, he needs to keep Crosby calm.

“You’re going into heat,” Zhenya tells him, knowing Crosby can’t understand. “You’ve done this before, yes? You’re old enough to know. It’ll be okay, we’ll get you suppressants, you’ll make it through. It’ll be just fine.”

Zhenya: “I will rationalize this. Yes. I can do that. Sure. Great. I cannot let myself YEARN. But I’m definitely going to give him command-sounding reassurances that definitely aren’t any alpha impulses leaking out of me.”

Zhenya’s eyebrows shoot up when Crosby moves a hand; it’s weak, but he manages to lift his arm enough to grip onto where Zhenya’s holding his face. It had taken Svetlana the better part of ten minutes to lift a finger, and he can see that Crosby, while young, is strong.

And, by the heat in his eyes, angry.

Zhenya grins at him, and he can feel Crosby’s pulse jump under his hands.

“Don’t be angry, kitten,” Zhenya croons at him, unable to help himself. “I kept you safe, didn’t I? I’ll get you back to wherever you belong, yes?”

Zhenya, you flirt. Also he’s like “Cool I’ll call him Crosby I’ll be professional and—oh wait he’s pissed off and cute about it haha hi Kitten :) hi :) I’ll take care of youuu :)”

Crosby recognizes the tone in his voice, if the way his eyes tighten is any indication. He opens his mouth to make a discontented sound that sends Zhenya into laughter.

“Come,” Zhenya tells him between giggles. “You’re fine, let’s go find your team.”

When he scoops Crosby up off of the ground and into his arms, Crosby makes a sound so undignified it makes Zhenya lean against the wall to catch his breath.

Honestly I’m not happy with the emotional tone here and had I not been writing 50k words in a fugue state and needing to publish them by fest time I think I would’ve changed this. But alas! Its imperfections make it unique… or whatever. Hopefully someone likes it.

Crosby is heavier than Zhenya expected; he’s dense, and Zhenya can glimpse how much of that density is dedicated to his ass. While Zhenya doesn’t lift weights with Metallurg anymore, he brawls enough to have very functional muscles. He can handle Crosby. He would like to handle him very, very much.

Yeah you do, Zhenya.

#careful everyone this is Very Long #anyways! i enjoy this scene too and this was fun!#ask game #😁#tkk notes

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jotarosbelt · 5 years ago

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Heyyy I’m REALLY nervous because I’ve never asked for anything like this jsdfsdgjsk but basically can I get Bruno x male reader and his reaction to his s/o having a mommy kink/calling Bruno mommy and possibly him stepping on his s/o’s c*ck in high heels?? (probably because his s/o asks him to bc we all know Bruno is pretty damn vanilla) SORRY IF THIS IS TOO EXPLICIT I LOVE YOUR WRITING SO MUCH!!

A/N: HI @giornocentric ! I’VE BEEN LOOKING FORWARD TO THIS FOR SO LONG, I’M SO SORRY I KEPT YOU WAITING

this is actually my first male reader, SOOOOOOOOO, pls forgive me if this is garbage.

without further ado, enjoy!

———

Mommy. [Bruno Buccellati X Male!Reader]

cw: mommy kink, praise kink, high-heel kink, light bondage, sex toys

18+ content ahead!

“I’m sorry, mio caro, can you repeat that for me?”

Your fists clenched into balls at your sides, knuckles white and face flushed an embarrassingly deep shade of pink at his request. It was so hard to say those words in the first place, and he’s telling you he didn’t hear you the first time?! Good grief.

“I said that I...” The room filled with a pregnant pause before you continued.

“I said I wanted to try and call you mommy in the bedroom. And heels. I want you to... wear heels.”

God, if only you had a stand like your boyfriend. You’d be out of this stuffy— when did it get so hot in here?— office in an instant if you could.

The male before you blinked for a moment before smiling softly to himself and getting up from his chair. Rounding the desk, he took a seat on the front of it before whipping his hair out of his face with a quick movement of his head.

“Mommy? Hm, I don’t mind. Don’t know where I’ll get the heels, but, I can try to arrange something...”

You can feel your eyes light up as you whip your head up to look at Bruno, ready to thank him a million times until he opened his mouth to continue speaking.

“Any specific.. date you wanted to try this?”

Your praises and thanks died in your throat. It was up to you? You thought telling him was enough and he’d take care of the rest— maybe surprise you—but, he wanted you to actively pick a date and wait in anticipation until you could fulfil your fantasy and bust the most satisfying nut of your entire life?

You were literally ready to have a stroke.

“I— Uh... later this week.. maybe..” You whispered under your breath, just loud enough for him to hear. He chuckled softly at your timidness.

He pushed off the desk with his hands, walking up to you and taking your slightly smaller hands into his own. “You don’t have to be so nervous, amore. The hard part is over now. Just give me a date and I’ll have everything we’d need by then.”

You bit your lip and gazed down at the floor before inhaling deeply.

“Okay. How about Friday night?”

He smiled. “Perfect.”

Stepping back slightly, he tugged on your hands and jerked his head over in the direction of his desk.

“Now, how about you keep me company while I review these mission reports, hm?”

You smile a bit more confidently at your boyfriend and nod. The events of Friday soon slipped from your mind.

Until you looked at your phone that afternoon morning.

For some reason, the word ’Friday’ seemed to be a lot brighter and bolder, much to your dismay. Was the universe trying to give you a heart attack? Sure as hell felt like it.

You rolled over to see Bruno absent from his side of the bed. It was a lie to say you weren’t slightly relieved, it was also past noon and he had work to do, but the fact that he might’ve been preparing your not-very-surprising surprise made your heart flip.

A sudden knock to your door ripped you out of your jumbled thoughts, and as you stuttered out a “come in,” your breath got stuck in your throat at the sight of who was in the door.

Bruno, wearing his normal white suit, was sporting shiny black pumps and red lipstick, holding a bundle of silk purple rope in his hands.

“Ah, I see you’re finally up bambino.”

The whimper that left your throat at the pet name was embarrassing to say the least.

The beautiful man approached you, heels clicking against the polished wood floor to take your chin in between his fingers and tilt your head up to look at him.

“Bru—“

His thumb quickly came up and seized your bottom lip, cutting your words off half way.

“That’s not my name right now, bambino.”

You inhaled shakily. “I’m sorry, Mommy.”

Cherry colored lips quirked up into a smile, he man in front of you moving the thumb that was at your lips upwards to stroke your cheek approvingly.

“Good boy.”

He bent at the waist to press his lips against yours, transferring the slightest bit of color to them as he kissed you lovingly like he always did. He never rushed you, always took his time. Now was no different, but the air around him felt... more intimidating.

You found his scent intoxicating— not how it usually was. His cologne made you want to drop to your knees before him and praise him. To please him.

What in the hell was he doing to you?

He pulled away from your mouth to pull you up from your seated position on the bed to a stand, rotating you 180° and gently pulling your hands behind your back. He tied the purple material around your wrists, knotting it tightly but in what you were sure was a pristine bow, before leaning forward to pepper kisses up the column of your neck to your ear.

“Too tight?”

Your head fell forwards slightly and a sheepish, yet satisfied, smile dawned your lips. “It’s great, Mommy.”

It was his turn to smile as he flipped you around again to complete the circle, easing you down into the messy covers of your bed.

His lips attached to yours again, the kiss equal in gentleness but filled with more passion as you two made quick work of each other’s clothing.

Your experienced fingers fumbled (shocking), with the zipper at his neck before sliding down and unbuttoning the rest of the shirt at his torso, sliding it off his shoulders.

Your fingers traced the tattoo his abdomen now dawned (he loved the design of his bralette so much he got it tattooed on a while back), the man releasing a soft sigh and your ministrations.

Your t-shirt was peeled away from your body and thrown to the floor at the foot of the bed as Bruno flattened out his palms against your chest, his fingers fluttering down to your pert nipples, tugging them in unison and making you gasp out.

You pulled away for air and looked up at Bruno’s disheveled appearance; his hair was a mess from how your fingers were grabbing at it before your hands were secured behind your back, and his perfectly painted lips were now smudged with the slightest bit of the pale pink skin underneath peeking out.

He pressed his lips to your sternum, kissing a trail of red down your chest before moving to a nipple one of his hands was working on. His mouth opened and he roved his hot tongue over the bud before taking it into his mouth completely.

You whined, hands straining at the ropes and chest arching up into his touch as he looked up at your blissed out face.

A wandering hand slipped from the other side of your chest to your pajama pants, pulling at the drawstrings and untying in to slip his hand into your pants. He gripped your hardened cock through the fabric of your underwear, rubbing up and down, teasing where the head would be and gauging that on where the spot of precum was forming on your undergarment.

You instinctively found yourself bucking into his grasp as he palmed your hard-on, pulling away much too quickly for your liking to discard your pants.

He folded the garment in half before tossing that to the floor with your shirt, falling to his knees to lick at your appendage through the wet material of your boxers.

“Mommy—“

His gaze flickered up to yours as his tongue stroked the vein on your straining cock, causing you to choke out your next words.

“Fuck— I want you to step on me, holy shit—“

You could feel your face turn red at your words, but you felt way too good to care as Bruno pulled back from between your legs, black hair falling in his face to hide his amused grin.

“You want Mommy to step on you?” He questioned as he rose to his full height. Your eyes scanned the tan, olive skin of his chest, tracing where the sun kissed parts of him cut off in a clean line to his slightly paler ones. You nodded quickly and he chuckled dryly, gripping your shoulders to pull you to a sitting position.

His heeled foot came up to press between your legs, making you groan at the sensation of the textured sole and pointy heel pressing against your cock and between your balls, you bucking ever-so-slightly into his shoe.

He ground his foot into your nether region slightly more, the moan you release stimulating his ears as he smiles. “Such a good boy. You’re making Mommy really happy, you know that, bambino?”

You would’ve responded if your mind could have processed the fact that Bruno was speaking coherent words to you, but it couldn’t and you let out an unadulterated moan at his praise, not even knowing what is was he just fucking said.

He pulled his foot away from your crotch, moving his leg to press against your chest and send you back down into the mattress with a whine.

“Turn over for me, principe.”

Eagerly, you roll over onto your stomach like a trained dog, resting your cheek on the cool sheets. You feel Bruno lift up your hips to remove your now-soiled boxers, which peel away from your skin with a disgustingly lewd wet sound, and hear your bedside drawer open and close with the sharp click of a bottle cap. The noise is followed by the sound of the squirt of liquid behind you, causing you to rub your thighs together in anticipation.

You hear the plastic bottle make contact with your nightstand and feel slightly calloused fingers run down your spine before taking purchase on the curve of your ass.

“Relax for me, bambino.”

His words put you at ease and you relax your lower half as he spreads your legs slighting with one hand, the other running over your puckered asshole, coated with a generous amount of cold lubricant.

A finger slowly pressed into you and the man behind you leaned down to press a flurry of kissing your shoulder as his finger bottomed out inside of you.

“You doing alright, caro?”

You nod so harshly you’re surprised you didn’t get whiplash and he places another kiss against your skin as his finger began rocking back in forth inside of you.

Focused on opening you up before pleasuring you, he slowly eases a second cold, but slick finger into your ring of muscles, scissoring and pushing deeper and deeper inside of you before he finally curves his fingers up to stroke your prostate.

You keen at the sensation and arch your back, giving much needed friction to your aching cock and pushing your body a few millimeters back onto his fingers.

“So eager, ah?”

You find yourself biting the sheets as he presses a third finger into your tight hole.

“You’re doing so well for me, bambino. So eager to please...”

His fingers speed up, and each thrust seems to hit your prostate more and more frequently until he’s never missing it anymore.

“You look so beautiful right now. You’re such a good boy. So good for Mommy.”

He presses kisses to your shoulders again as you squeeze his fingers in earnest, feeling yourself nearing the precipice of your orgasm until the feeling is torn away from you, along with the fingers that were in your ass.

“I much rather have you come around me, amore mio. I hope you don’t mind.”

You nod harshly and you can practically hear his smile as he flips you around and pulls you into his lap as he sits on the edge of the bed.

“Hm. I have something I want to try, okay?”

You raise a brow and mutter an okay as he reaches over to the nightstand he was fumbling in before to pull out a small vibrator and a velcro strap.

He secures the small vibrator to you and grabs the remote to it, not turning it on yet and instead placing his hands on your hips.

“Ready?”

For the millionth time that evening, you nod and he slides you down onto his perfect cock. When did discard his pants and underwear was beyond you, and you didn’t really give a shit as his head slid along the spongy surface inside of you that made you moan wantonly.

Once seated fully inside of you, he flicked the switch on the vibrator to turn in on, making your hips spasm and almost fall off of him completely. He grips you harder and begins sucking red, purple, and blue marks into the skin of your neck, sliding you up and down along his length before finding a rhythm that has you both panting.

You hear him mutter an obscenity or two under his breath as he clutches you tightly to him, causing your member to rub against his toned torso as he bucks up into you with fervor. His hair brushes against your cheek as his forehead makes its way into the crook of your shoulder, and your nails dig crescent moons into your palms and the sensations plaguing your body.

“Mommy, fuck, fuck—“

Seemingly taking him out of the fucked out trance your warmth had him in, he pulls away from the base of your neck to kiss your cheek, leading up to your ear.

“Cum for Mommy. You can do it, I know you can.”

As encouragement, his hand comes down from your waist to tug at the base of your cock, almost forcing your orgasm from your body as you grow rigid as groan as you cover yourself, Bruno, and the toy in your seed.

Bruno smiles to himself, smudged rouge and saliva plastering his lower face as he grips your hips and starts bucking up faster.

He tries to choke out an apology for being so rough, but it gets mixed into a string of italian swears as he tips over the edge of his orgasm, stilling inside you and painting your insides white.

He shakes as his high slowly dissipates and he blinks up at you, giving you a beautiful smile and a sweet laugh.

“Was I too rough? I don’t know what came over me..”

You smile back. “No, no. It was nice. I liked the change of pace.. and the heels..”

If even possible, Bruno’s smile grows wider and kisses your forehead before pulling you off of him and laying you down on the bed. You can hear his pumps clatter onto the floor as he gets up to go to the bathroom.

“Stay there, tesoro. I’ll take care of you, hm?”

#jjba #writing #jojo’s bizarre adventure #not sfw #bruno buccellati #bruno buccerati

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i-fan-misha-do-you · 7 years ago

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My Girlfriend’s.....a dog? (Dean x reader)

Word Count: 2706 Warnings: none A/N: Guys, I swear, this is the biggest piece of crap. I’m not super happy with the ending, (and I might re-do it later) but I haven’t posted in forever, so here ya go. Also, this isn’t part of Misadventures bc reader is paired with Dean, and I told you guys already that if you want a pairing in Mdvt then you gotta comment who you want. Alright, enjoy this crap fest. (gif not mine, credit to owner)

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No. No, no, no, no! No freakin’ way. This was not happening. It wasn’t possible. But then again, if you hunted with the Winchesters, just about anything was possible. You let out a small huff, turning around to see yourself from a different angle in your full-length mirror. A freaking tail. Not to mention the four legs and fur. Man, you really hated witches. Of course you got turned into a dog. The one animal your boyfriend wouldn’t tolerate in the bunker. You let out a small growl as you sat down. Thinking back to last night’s hunt, you probably should’ve told one of the boys that you got hit with some weird spell. But then again, nothing had happened last night. You’d felt fine, only a few minor cuts and bruises. The boys were way worse off than you, as of last night, at least. A fury body and a tail was definitely worse than bruises. Cocking your head in the mirror, you looked yourself over, trying to determine what kind of dog you were. You decided you looked most like a Belgian Malinois. But you didn’t even look like an adult. A puppy. You were a puppy. You let out a small huff before you realized that you really needed to use the bathroom. Wandering into the restroom that was connected to your room, it suddenly became apparent that there was no way you could use the toilet. You (attempted to) roll your eyes before nudging your bedroom door open and tiptoeing out to the library section of the bunker. You perked up as you heard heavy footsteps approaching you, and quickly hid your small body under a chair. To your delight, it was Sam, up for his morning run. Excitedly, you ran out from under the chair and let out a series of embarrassingly high-pitched barks in an attempt to get his attention. But he didn’t even look at you. Confused at his lack of response, you tried again, only to be ignored. Realization crossed your tiny features as you understood what was wrong. Sam had his iPod on, earbuds in his ears. There was no way he’d be able to hear you. Growling, you followed behind him as he opened the bunker door to begin his run. You narrowly escaped being crushed in the heavy door, but as soon as you got outside Sam was already halfway down the road, his long legs carrying him quickly. You gave up almost immidiatly, deciding that it would be impossible to match his pace for two hours. Seriously, who runs for two hours? You instead decided to explore outside of the bunker, realizing how great everything smelled now. Eventually, you found a bush and relieved yourself. Sam had only been gone about ten minutes, so you decided to take a nap. Curious, you walked over to the Impala and were delighted to find that the driver side smelled faintly of Dean. Curling up under the car, you quickly fell asleep. -----------

Your ears perked up as you heard heavy footsteps jogging in the dirt, nearing you before they slowed to a walk. You lifted your head as Sam’s sneakers came into view. Jumping up, you attempted to make yourself as pathetic looking as possible, hoping that would make Sam take you back inside. You crawled out from under the car, staying low to the ground and doing the best puppy eyes you could muster. You caught his attention quickly and he removed out his earbuds, sinking down to your level. “Hello, there.” Sam said softly, using his special dog voice. He held out his hand, and after a moment you hesitantly sniffed it, playing up the pathetic homeless puppy role. You could smell the places that he’d run that morning, the trails, the park, the picnic tables he’d stopped at, everything. You began licking his hand, giving him little puppy kisses. “Well, aren’t you just the cutest thing,” he said as he gently scooped you up in his arms. You were still licking his hands as he rose to his full height, and you were suddenly aware of how far down you would fall if he dropped you. Sam gently checked you for tags, and after finding none, brought you into the bunker with him. “Now Dean won’t be thrilled if he finds you, but Y/n will love you. Unfortunately, the rules for the day after a hunt are no waking the others if you don’t have to. For all we know, they could sleep all day.” You sighed upon hearing this. Your door was mostly closed, and Sam had no reason to go in your room. Hell, you couldn’t get to your room. He’d just scoop you up and bring you back to the library before you got the chance. Sam walked into the kitchen, setting you down on the floor to retrieve a bowl and fill it with water. After placing that beside you, he got a bottle of water for himself and gulped it down quickly. You quickly lapped up your water, though somewhat clumsily due to not knowing how to use your tounge properly. Sam chuckled, sitting beside you in the floor to scratch your back. You made a small whining noise and leaned in closer. You playfully bit his hand, and he gently pushed your head to the side. You repeated the action until Sam began to play wrestle with you. Five minutes later you were rolling on the floor with Sam, barking and yipping as you played. Sam was laughing and teasing you as you fought, and you almost didn’t hear Dean walk in. Almost. Your ears perked up as you recognized his scent, only stronger. Sam noticed your sudden change in demeanor, and quickly sat upright as you scrambled under the table. You watched your boyfriends sock clad feet walk into the kitchen and stop in front of Sam. “Dude, seriously?” He asked. His voice was deeper than normal, indicating that you’d woken him up. Sam was about to reply when he cut him off. “Ya know what? I don’t wanna know.” You heard the fridge open. “Where’s my girlfriend? Is she up yet?” You saw the bottoms of his plaid pajama pants move to the coffee machine. “Uh, no. I haven’t seen Y/n all morning.” “Yeah, it’s probably best she sleeps as long as she needs to. She did real good last night.” You were unable to contain the proud yip that escaped your throat. Sam froze as Dean turned away from the counter. “Sammy,” he said slowly, “I know for a fact that there is not a dog in this bunker. So why did I hear a dog?” His tone got harder toward the end of his sentence, and even though he sounded angry, you couldn’t help peeking out from under the table. You saw Dean’s shocked expression, and Sam’s ‘oh great, we’re done for’ face, but you just happily wagged your tail as you walked over to Dean. Sitting down in front of him, you raised one of your front paws and pawed at his leg. Dean set his coffee mug down on the counter and gave Sam a look you didn’t understand. “She wants you to pick her up.” Sam explained. “She?” Dean questioned, furrowing his brows. “How do you know it’s a she?” “I know about dogs, Dean.” Sam smirked at him. Knowing Dean might need a bit more persuasion, you did your best puppy eyes and cocked your head the same way you’d seen Cas and other dogs do. “Ah, come on, Sam. Why’d you teach this thing the puppy eyes?” Dean complained, but he moved down to pick you up anyway. Hesitantly, he cradled you in his arms, his long fingers scratching just the right spot behind your ears. “Ok, fine. It’s cute, but where would we keep it?” “We have lots of space in the bunker.” Sam suggested, but Dean seemed not to hear him. “And anyway, we have nothing to feed it,” “We literally have a whole ham in the fridge.” “Besides, Y/n doesn’t really like dogs-“ “-do you even know her? She loves dogs.” “Ok, fine.” Dean relented. “There’s no good reason why we can’t keep a dog. Oh wait, we’re hunters. We can’t hunt and take care of a dog.” “Dean, she likes you,” Sam pointed out with a smile. That was very true. You were now profusely licking Deans hand, enjoying how much stronger his scent was with your extra sensitive nose. He gave you a halfhearted grin before turning his gaze back to Sam. “Fine, how about we’ll keep it until Y/n gets up? Then she can decide what to do with it.” Sam nodded. “Sounds fair. You wanna name her?” Dean hmphed. “No Sam, I do not want to name her. If you name things you get attached to them.” “Come on, Dean,” he laughed, “if you don’t name her, I will. And you probably won’t like it.” Dean rolled his eyes before letting out a sigh. “Fine. I’ll name the dog.” After examining your coloring, he raised an eyebrow at Sam before suggesting, “peanut butter?” Sam gave him an ‘are you kidding me’ face. “What? She kinda looks like peanut butter.” “Try again, Dean.” “Umm, chocolate?” “No.” “Meatball?” “Dean, why are all of your suggestions food?” “Ugh, I don’t know,” Dean sighed, “just have Y/n name it.” You let out a loud yip when you heard your name, causing the boys to both look at you. “You want Y/n to-“Sam started, but you cut him off with a series of loud barks. Dean raised an eyebrow at his brother. “Your dog’s nuts.” Sam rolled his eyes, and you began to wiggle in an attempt to get Dean to put you down. When he wouldn’t, you ignored the four foot height difference from the ground to his arms and jumped. Dean let out a surprised, “hey!” as you took off down the hall towards your room. You heard two sets of footsteps behind you as you frantically pawed at your door. Jumping up, you knocked the handle just in time to open the door before the boys caught you. Slipping in through the crack, you ran and jumped on your empty bed. “No, you’re gonna wake up…Y/n…” Sam slowed as he entered the room, Dean right behind him. “Y/n?” Dean called out softly. You barked in reply. ‘Come on, guys,’ you thought, “it’s me. Come on.’ “Sam, where is my girlfriend?” Dean asked calmly, realization slowly washing over him. “Right there, Dean,” Sam answered, panic evident in his voice. “Y/n is a dog.”

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“How are we supposed to fix this?” Dean asked, his fingers absent mindedly running through your fur. You lay curled up on his lap as he and Sam scoured the books in front of them. They’d quickly found out that you weren’t very helpful when it came to research. You had chewed the books more than you’d actually assisted in finding a reverse to your condition. “I don’t know,” Sam said, a yawn escaping his mouth. They’d been at this all day, and come up with nothing. “I guess we could give it a day or two. If it doesn’t wear off by tomorrow, then we go by one of Bobby’s old library cabins in Michigan and get some more books.” Dean nodded slowly. “I guess that’s the most solid plan we’ve got.” His attention turned to you as you stretched and jumped off his lap. “Looks like it’s that time again.” He told Sam. Standing, he followed you to the bunker door, letting you outside and stepping out with you. He watched as you disappeared into the darkness, returning a few minutes later. You followed Dean back into the bunker, hearing the door shut behind you as you made your way into the kitchen. Dean opened the fridge and pulled out a package of lunchmeat, opening it and setting it down in front of you. You quickly finished it and drank a little water before you trotted off towards Deans room, passing Sam on the way and giving him a goodnight lick on his outstretched hand. “Night, Dean,” Sam said with a chuckle, turning towards his own room. “Goodnight, Sammy.” Dean clapped his little brother on the shoulder before going the same direction you’d gone. He found you curled up at the foot of his bed, fast asleep. He shook his head, stripping down to a tee shirt and boxers before climbing in and quickly drifting off.

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Dean awoke to you nudging his cheek with your wet nose. Blinking, he slowly sat up and pushed your face away, turning to look at the clock. It was nine am, which meant you probably had to go to the bathroom. “You gotta go out, y/n?” He asked you. You shook your head, stepping towards him then away in excitement. “What’s up with you?” He wondered out loud. You barked twice, trying to tell him what you’d thought of that morning. “Hey, hey. I can’t understand you when you bark at me. Sit.” He said, half serious. You glared at him but sat on his lap anyway. You cocked your head to the side, exactly the way a certain angel would. “Man, Y/n. Ya look just…like…Cas…wait a minute! Cas!” His hands moved to either side of your face, squishing it slightly. “You are a genius, Y/n” He pressed a quick kiss to your forehead before jumping out of bed and running down the hall to find Sam. By the time you caught up with him, he, Cas, and a disgruntled Sam stood in the library. “Hello, Y/n.” Castiel said in his deep voice, cocking his head slightly. You tail wagged as you pranced over to the angel. “Sit down, please.” He instructed, holding out two fingers. You sat obediently, waiting for him to use his angel mojo. He tapped his fingers lightly against your forehead, and everything flashed white. When you woke up, you were in your bed, the boys outside your room talking in hushed voices. Sitting up, you checked your hands, relieved to find that you had ten fingers again. Dean noticed you sit up, and quickly walked over to the side of your bed. “Heya, sweetheart. How are ya feeling?” He asked with a small grin. “Good, I think. I feel pretty good.” You answered, feeling your face, neck, shoulders and waist. “I’m back.” You said, smiling. “Yes, you are.” Dean leaned in, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. “Hey, Y/n/n. How ya doing?” Sam asked as he entered the room. “I’m good. I’m not covered in fur anymore, so that’s a plus.” The boys both let out a small burst of laughter, Dean slinging his arm around your neck and pulling you closer to him. “Please never turn into a dog again.” He joked. “Never.” You promised. Your attention turned to Castiel. “Thanks for fixing me, Cas. I appreciate it.” “Of course, Y/n. Your body may feel weak from the transition, so get plenty of rest. If you’ll all excuse me, I have business to attend to.” With that, the blue-eyed angel vanished. “Alright, I’ll let you two be for a few.” Sam said, turning and walking away. “Be honest,” you called after him, “was I a cute dog, or what?” Sam chuckled from the hallway as Dean spoke up. “You were a cute dog, but I’d rather have my beautiful girlfriend.” “Aww, good answer, D.” You grinned, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “And……” He leaned in to whisper something in your ear that made your face go red. You sat back abruptly and threw your pillow at him. “Dean Winchester, don’t think that I forgot that you told me to sit when I was a dog! There is no way you’re getting laid- “ He cut you off with a kiss, pushing you backwards onto the mattress and taking your breath away. “Ugh, I hate you sometimes.” You said, trying to catch your breath. “But you love me.” He said, grinning cheekily. “Yeah, I kinda do.” You agreed, pressing your lips to his again. Man, you were really glad you weren’t a dog anymore.

#spn #Supernatural #dean winchester #sam winchester #castiel #supernatural x reader #Puppy dog #spn family

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