#since his partner has darker skin i wanted some contrast | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

yeojaa · 4 years ago

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come over, pt. i

pairing. jjk x f!reader. rating. explicit. tags. this is pwp. smut in the forms of: kissing, oral (m/f), fingering, deepthroating, hickeys, protected sex. use of the pet name shy girl. wc. 6.2k. beta reader. @hobi-gif and @snackhobi aka the loves of my tiny life. author note. this is an adaption of an rp with my beloved @velvetwicebang. while the writing is all my own, i owe so much to loma for inspiring me and being such a wonderful partner. 💛 if you enjoy this, feedback goes a long way. tysm for reading! (and yes, there will be a second part.)

You’ve been friends for thirteen months, classmates for another three before that. You’ve worked on countless projects together, watched him fall off a roof, and have had to bail him out of campus security’s grubby little hands. Your friendship is easy, based on mutual suffering in Professor Kim’s class and long study dates spent in the library. He smuggled you chocolates in his pockets and you brought iced coffee to the 8 a.m. lecture you shared.

You’re not sure why you’re riddled with uncertainty now then, every nerve ending shot, lit up bright like the still-up mini Christmas tree sitting in the corner of your dorm room. (You know you should take it down but it’s so cute, slouched ever with a tiny gold star-shaped bell hanging from the end.).

Spending time with Jungkook was normal - a part of your weekly routine - but then again, you hadn’t somehow developed a weird little crush on him until recently.

(If you think hard, you could probably pinpoint it to a night a few weeks ago when he looked particularly good, fluffy powder puff of hair stripped of shadow and gleaming gold beneath the warm lecture lights. You’d never had a thing for blonds but he made it look good - surprising you when he’d dropped into his seat beside you and winked in response to your surprise.)

(It’s something you can't tear your thoughts from now, that infuriatingly charming smile burnt into your retinas. It sits at the forefront of your mind, stealing your attention from the movie that's playing on the television hung across from your bed. One of those blockbuster flicks, because who didn’t love gratuitous action and lens flares?)

A hand reaches for the chip bowl propped between you - homemade chex mix, because you’ve been obsessed with the recipe since discovering it a few weeks ago - and you flinch away when it brushes the hand that's already in there.

"Sorry!" You squeak before coughing, a quick-witted (but not altogether believable) attempt at hiding the sudden heat that flares across your cheeks. The same hand disappears between your knees, fingers curling into the soft throw laid over your legs. You tell yourself to relax at least three times before speaking, peeking at your companion from beneath a fringe of sleep-tousled strands. “Stop stealing all my chips.”

The boy beside you only grins, tosses that lazy smile in your direction before turning his attention back to the explosion on the screen, entire expression lit up by the fireworks that explode in flashes of colour.

You think you’ve gotten away with it - that he hasn’t noticed - and then he’s speaking again, pointedly staring forward, seemingly unbothered. (You know better though. Jungkook’s infuriating like that, picking up on all the little things despite the fact that he’s a dumb boy, too good at reading between the lines when he barely studies.)

“You’re blushing.”

The callout is, well, uncalled for.

You choose to ignore him at first, opting to shove two chocolates past your lips. They’re unbearably sweet, minty and cold - your favourite - and the richness spills across your tongue, eliciting a soft hum as your teeth buzz from the sugar. (Note to self: thank Jungkook for the chocolate later.)

“You’re blushing,” you retort once you’ve swallowed, cheeks puffed out and a dent gathering between your brows. “I’m just—“ Hand waves wildly - nearly hits him in the face with how wobbly it is - and you pretend-glare at him, faux affront laid in spades. “—hot.”

It comes snappier than you mean it to, spoken in something close to a pout. You aren’t actually. The campus is notorious for having garbage heating, floorboards more akin to packed snow in the dead of winter. It’s just annoying. You refuse to be another one of those girls.

(Not that there’s anything wrong with said girls. It’s more an issue with Jungkook, stupidly handsome and charming and far too popular for his own good. People already told you all about Jungkook’s escapades - even though you often heard them from him firsthand and in gruelling detail. One of the downsides to being friends with someone who, for all intents and purposes, carried the title of campus heartthrob.)

“Pay attention to the movie.” The same hand reaches for the mix again, careful to avoid brushing his this time. You think you’ve succeeded, snatching up a piece of pretzel, morsel halfway to your mouth when it drops to your lap.

The same lap that suddenly has a hand on it, palm warm over your knee.

If you’d thought your nerve endings were shot, now you knew they were. Every inch of skin was on fire - heat shooting up your spine and over your neck the moment his hand comes in contact with bare skin. Damn your need for comfort, damn your choice to wear shorts, damn his freaking hot tattooed hands—

You almost yell at him. The sound’s on the tip of your tongue when you bite down, stare trained wholly on the movie and the blood that splatters across the screen..

Really, you shouldn't be surprised. You’ve known Jungkook for nearly two years - okay, not quite. You’ve heard all the rumours about him, the whispered words that sound something like playboy and flirt and be careful. You know and yet you’ve found yourself in this situation, desperately trying to figure out what the hell is going through his mind as you stare straight ahead, refusing to move a muscle.

His profile is picture perfect from your periphery; he's focused too, acting like he's done nothing wrong. Sly as a fox, as always.

“Still blushing,” he repeats conversationally, as if he’s commenting on the colour of the sky or how cold it is in your room. Not as if he’s got a hand where it shouldn’t be, ink spilling over his skin in pretty patterns, burning the shape of it where he touches.

"I didn't blush.” It’s a retort made for only argument’s sake and even then, without weight. Feather soft and feeble in an attempt to keep your voice level. It's hard when you’re burning up, a livewire settled where you feel him. "I'm not blushing."

It's a lie - you can feel the flush, embarrassment flooding from your cheeks all the way down over your chest. It’s an inferno beneath your skin, lava coursing through your veins.

It spreads further and further, blooms somewhere new when his hand drifts lower, tracking across the soft inner of your thigh. Doesn’t cease even when his hand does, palm firm over your leg, the ghost of a touch passing so close to your core you can’t help but jolt. It’s as if he’s rearranged your pieces, mixed them all up. A brush of his finger over your clothed entrance feels like it hits you right in the chest, snaps your heart to attention. It roars to life, thundering madly, pulse erratic when he repeats the gesture, with that much more pressure.

You’re dripping, you realise to your horror, cotton of your thong sticking to your skin, grey of your shorts made darker by the arousal that spills over the one not-so-innocent digit.

A part of you wants to run from the room. Nearly do, heart hammering in your chest when Jungkook's face is suddenly too close, the warmth of his breath stifling against your neck. It feels good, anticipation and desire fizzing in your stomach like fountain pop. (The movie theatre kind, that’s somehow flat and too bubbly all at once.)

"Kook." You mean to say it reproachfully, with a hand pushing his wrist away. Instead it comes out like a whisper, a soft sigh of his name that sounds almost needy, laced with worry and anticipation that makes you want to tear your own hair out. Fingers remain locked around bone, other hand digging into the blanket and the linen beneath it, searching desperately for some form of composure beneath the material.

For the first time, you hazard a glance - know it’ll be bad for your own well-being - dropping your stare to where his hand rests. (You have to admit - you like the sight of those tattoos, a stark contrast to the unblemished softness.)

Like it almost as much as his kisses, the first of which lands exactly where you want it most. Delicate, polite, right on the junction of your jaw. A sigh escapes before you can help it. "Shy girl,” he coos, teasing in a way that makes your heart skip a beat.

“I’m not shy,” you huff - try to, anyway, around the kaleidoscope of butterflies that are threatening to choke you. "We're watching a movie." You’re trying to redirect his attention, even as you’re desperate for it, even as you think you’d give your whole heart for it.

You’re this close to combusting, eyes widening the moment he extracts his hand and tucks it back into the bowl of chips. A part of you wants to yell at him - for starting this in the first place but mainly for leaving you high and dry, turned on and soaking through your underwear.

(It’s not fair, but then again, you’d never expected them to be. You’ve seen the rules Jungkook plays by - namely those of his own creation. Term paper due the next morning? He’d somehow pull it out of his ass that night. Break something at a house party? He’d be let off with a smile and a wave, those doe eyes of his utterly lethal when paired with his pout.)

“Watch the movie then.” He sounds almost bored, utterly unbothered as he seamlessly slips back into the proper role of friend, classmate, study partner.

"Let's." Without tossing another glance in his direction, you stare straight ahead, own hand delving for snacks. So what if you very purposely brush your fingers against the pieces he's just touched, popping the pieces into your mouth before slotting your thumb against your tongue, cheeks hollowing around to suck the last bits of salt and butter off.

Despite your nerves - you’re hoping he's watching - you readjust, bringing knees up, crossing legs until one is resting atop his own thick thigh. The full of your bottom lip disappears between your teeth, worried to within an inch of its life as you shift beside him, seemingly manoeuvring your shorts into their rightful position.

(You’re not. They’re hitched higher than they were, barely worthy of the title of shorts, more akin to a belt. So revealing it’s almost uncomfortable, wet of your arousal sticking them to your skin.)

(Two could play this game.)

(Maybe him better than you, but still.)

You know what you’re doing and yet you’re somehow surprised when he’s suddenly disappeared from your side and situated himself in front of you, eating up too much of the space on your small double bed. “What’re you—“ The question disappears in the same moment he does, unable to track his movements when Jungkook slips forward, pressing his mouth over yours.

You’ve kissed a lot of people. (Okay, not a lot, but enough.) You were a senior in college, where kissing was like talking and fucking happened more often than dating.

You’ve never kissed Jungkook before.

Why hadn’t you?

His lips are terribly soft, pink and pouted, slanting across yours as if he’s trying to devour you. There’s no semblance of delicacy, nothing gentle and sweet like those brushes against your neck. They’re forceful, demanding payment in full when his tongue glides over the seam, seeking entrance despite the fact that you think he might’ve slipped in anyway.

There’s not a single wall he couldn’t break down, not a lock he couldn’t pick. Not with how he moves, purposeful and reassured, tongue sliding over yours, sucking it into his mouth as if it’s something he does every day. (Which it very well could be - just not with you.)

“Shy girl,” he repeats with a mouth filled with affection, praise that pours over you honey sweet and sticky. “You don’t have to pretend with me.”

The thing is, you’re not pretending. You’re half-afraid this entire moment is going to explode into a thousand pieces, a dream shattered by reality. You hope it doesn’t. Couldn’t bear it when he feels so nice, hand spanning your waist, tucked beneath the safety of your shirt and the fleece blanket between you.

“I’m not.”

“Oh?” There’s something in his eyes, something that coils heat in the pit of your stomach. You swear you can see the devil sitting on his shoulder, gleeful little smile rearranging his features. “Do I make you nervous, ____?”

Did he? Of course he did. Had, even before you’d known him.

(You’d grown comfortable, though. Found a way to separate the popular heartthrob from your friend.)

But you’ve lost your marbles, gone certifiably insane when you make a noise that sounds nothing like you. Because you’re once again far too interested in the way Jungkook’s touching you, manhandling you as if you’re some sort of puppet. It really shouldn’t turn you on so much, slick coating your bare thighs when he guides you onto your back, pushes you back against your too many pillows.

He’s your friend and he’s told you all about the way he fucks girls until they can’t walk.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t want the same treatment, though.

The moment Jungkook’s mouth finds your skin - sensitive and soft and so close to your soaked core - you keen, hands immediately flying into his silky head of hair. It threads between your fingers like fine silk, filaments of gold overlaid in colour by the movie that still plays.

“Oh my god,” you gasp, entire body arching off the back of the bed in an effort to bring some form of relief. You can’t help the heat that burns your cheeks or how you sound, begging and pleading as you tug gently at his blond roots. “Don’t tease me.”

You’re not asking very nicely but you figure Jungkook will give in. It’s his fault, after all.

His fault - which you don’t mind when he hooks fabric aside and drags his tongue across your slit, the flat of his tongue arching your back from the bed. Can’t mind when he does it again, rounded nose bumping against your clit. You’re trying to stay just a little bit decent, moans soft and caught between your teeth. You’re practically biting a hole through your lip in an effort to stay quiet, hands curled into fists. Gold spills between them and you imagine it hurts but he doesn’t stop, only works harder to drive you crazy.

Of course he’s good at this. Too good, if you’re being honest.

You’re dripping, legs trembling in his firm, unyielding grip. There's molten heat building in your stomach, creeping up your spine, and with each pass of his tongue over your sensitive core, it only expands. You want more - need it - and almost beg when he catches your clit between his teeth. A breathy baby spills out on accident when your eyes meet, gaze half-lidded.

It’s bad for your health, how good he looks right now, chin slick, lips rubied and pretty like jewels. “Shy girl sounds so pretty.”

There's something about his praise that completely ruins you, the words dragging a delighted, sexpot moan off your tongue. You want him to tell you how pretty you are now and later, over and over.

You want to be his pretty girl.

"I want you. I need more," you whine, hips rutting desperately, slick messy across your thighs and shining across Jungkook's mouth. He smiles then - brighter than the sun, utterly radiant, so devastatingly handsome you swear your brain short circuits - and then he’s doing exactly as you’ve asked.

He eats you out like it’s an art form, flicking his tongue over your clit with practiced precision, sucking the pearl between his lips. When he grazes his teeth over it - just the lightest pressure - you jolt, the feeling of a finger sliding into you stealing the breath from your lungs.

He’s always had nice hands, big broad palms and long fingers. They reach places you could never hope to, stretching you deliciously when he sinks another in alongside the first, exploring you with ease. The sting is slight, the fullness overriding any pain, further dulled by the suction of his mouth on your clit.

He even hums when he finds the spot he’s been looking for, hooking his fingers against it and pressing. (You swear you see stars; you know you feel him smile, lips spread like butter over your skin when you sob.)

You can’t help yourself, writhing and moaning, trying to ride his face with a desperation that has your chest heaving. It feels so good to have him between your legs. You almost miss the appearance of his other hand - in view for but a moment before it disappears past the waistband of his sweats. Dark as they are, pitch black like most of his clothing, it’s impossible to miss the way he touches himself. It has you even needier, pussy clenching at the thought of him fisting his own hard cock.

“Do you want a hand?” You ask as if you’re doing him a favour and not salivating at the prospect, eyes wide, blinking down at him from behind thick lashes.

“Fuck.” He’s sin incarnate, undeniable when he sheds his sweats, kicks them off with just one hand, other still slotted snug against your pussy. He never ceases his movements, fucking you on his fingers even as he sits upright, leaned back on his calves. “You want a taste? Shy girl wants a big fat cock in her mouth?”

There's something about hearing him so turned on, the expletive shooting a dizzying bolt of desire straight between yours legs. You’ve seen Jungkook worked up - he was awfully competitive, after all, dominating most intramural sports, breaking PR records in the gym - but it's something else completely when he's making you drip cum all over his hand.

"Wow.”

Jungkook's cock is pretty, flushed and glossy from the pre-cum he spreads with his thumb, massaging over the tip like it owes him something.

You want to taste it.

A contented hum rolls off your tongue at his question, though you don’t give him the satisfaction of an answer. His ego's big enough without it and you’re much more interested in stroking something else. Still, you lean into his palm, nuzzling your cheek against the warmth of it when he threads his hand through your hair, gathering it in his fist.

Then without looking away, your mouth falls open, tongue peeking past your lips to lick a fat stripe up the length of his cock, from base to tip. It's hot and heavy on your tongue, the salty taste of his pre-cum better than candy. You hum again, swirling your tongue around the head, and keep your gaze locked with Jungkook's, almost smirking when you drag your tongue over his fingers, gently grazing the edge of your teeth against the pad of his thumb.

“Please.” You’re usually far more reserved, not the kind to ask for more until you’re three months into dating and certain of where you stand. You simply can’t help yourself now, the feeling of your own wetness painting your skin, making you clench around nothing. "I need it."

The groan that comes sounds more like Christmas, a gift given by Santa Claus himself. It filters into your ears and has you grinning up at him, not even bothering to hide the pride that flutters your lashes and has you pursing your lips around the head of his cock.

When he speaks again, it’s dangerously quiet, low in his throat, laced with whatever same emotion that seems to shackle your limbs. “Open up, ____,” he instructs, though he offers little time to adjust, guiding his cock forward, stuffing your mouth full. “Show me how bad.”

You don’t mind. If you were to speak, it’d practically be a prayer, tongue tracing the veins that run the length. A chorus of yes please more when he takes just as much as he gives. You love the power that comes with Jungkook speaking so filthily, drunk on it when he continues, spewing filth in time with each rock of his hips.

Lips seal around the swollen head each time he withdraws, cheeks hollowing around the tip. Tongue passes over his fingers again before your hand rises, fingers curling around his wrist to pull his own away. (You probably shouldn't - it's too romantic - but thread your fingers through his in the same instant you sink down upon his cock, taking him halfway before pulling off with a pop!)

"Do you think you'll last long enough to fuck me?" You’re pushing his buttons on purpose, just like he had yours during the movie.

Something close to a snarl comes, a growl that reverberates out of that big cavernous chest of his, and he grips your hair tighter, tries to hold you still as he grins down at you. The expression is so at odds with the warmth in his eyes, the boyish tilt of his head.

You repeat the motion again and again, taking him a little bit deeper until the head brushes the back of your throat, reflexively swallowing around the intrusion. He's still so long and thick you haven’t even taken him all, drooling around his length, breathing through your nose and pushing past the desire to gag. Then you relax your jaw just a little more, humming when your nose brushes the neatly groomed patch of hair at his base.

Your free hand slinks across his thigh, nails digging into the meat, delighted by the flex of muscle and sinew beneath your hand. He's so hard, both on your tongue and beneath your touch. It prompts you to shift forward just a bit more - you can feel the slick on your thighs, dripping down onto the sheets with each movement - and trace across his thigh to gently palm his balls.

If you could speak, you’d probably ask for more. For Jungkook to use and abuse your throat as much as he wants. As it stands, you can only moan around him, spit and his pre-cum smeared over your lips.

“Look at you.” He’s talking to himself, lost in his own world as he fucks into your mouth, soothes the pad of his thumb over your cheek. You adore the way he sounds now, dazed and a little messed up. “Look so pretty with my cock in your mouth, ____.”

You can’t do much more than look up at him, batting your lashes when he compliments you, dragging your tongue everywhere you can reach as the head of his cock batters the back of your throat. It's not an easy feat, drool all the way down your chin, trailing down your neck and staining the silk of your camisole.

At some point, you’ll need to pull off - get a proper breath of air - but not now. Instead, you swallow around him, savouring the feeling of him filling your mouth, and squeeze gently at his balls. When you wink up at him, it's half-hearted and with moisture in your eyes, lining lashes in the form of little gemstones.

You do it again and again, moaning lewdly around his cock before it gets too much, pulling off of him with a gasping breath and tears down your cheeks. “Is it my turn yet?” You’re only half-joking, made needier by the soreness in your throat, the same you want to feel so desperately between your legs. Pressing a sweet, chaste peck to his head, tongue dipping into his slit to gather the pre-cum that leaks out, you offer the sweetest smile you can, saccharine sweet and soft.

“Your turn?” The way Jungkook snorts is derisive, playful. It pulls straight off his tongue - which finds yours, swapping spit as he guides you back to the bed. Teeth collide, lips grown swollen by the intensity of your kiss, and you startle when he nips hard at the bottom petal. “I thought you were shy.”

“I am,” you retort, returning the gesture, biting into the curve of his jaw with surprising repose. Colour blooms beneath the edge of enamel, a smattering of colour that makes you smile, eager to leave more.

Which you would do, if Jungkook weren’t stripping before you, peeling his shirt from his front, tugging it over his head in that weirdly hot way that somehow all boys did. It reveals skin in a single fluid pull, clothing discarded to the side before he levels you with a smile of his own, one that stirs to life the dimple in his cheek, eyes squinting with the intensity of his delight. He looks deceptively sweet this way, nothing like the demon who’d just stuffed his cock down your throat.

You’re not sure which version of him you like best.

Seeing him now, dressed in nothing but that absurd, devilishly handsome grin of his, you’re not prepared. You’re unsure where to look, gaze bouncing between the tattoos that crawl up his arms and span over his left pec, down the neatly defined ridges of his abs, and all the way back to his swollen, shiny cock.

“You’re drooling.” Of course it’s something he’d say - because he always knows what to say, plucking perfect words from thin air. The casual banter calms the rattle in your chest and refocuses it on his face that’s too close, looming over yours as his hands make quick work of your clothes, shedding the fabric from your form with deft, measured movements.

You’re ready to say something teasing - anything to distract from the fact that you’re still ogling him - when he catches you in another kiss, softer this time, infinitely sweeter. Suddenly, you’re shy - which really makes no sense, given what’s transpired.

"Don't make fun of me," you mumble, as bashful as you were during the movie, embarrassment burning across your cheeks. Arms rise to cover what little of your chest you can, folding around his broad palms that encompass them whole, tweaking at the straining buds.

“I’m not,” Jungkook reassures against your lips, face dropping into the crook of your neck. He nuzzles against you, sucking affection into the column of your throat, shamelessly laying a wreath of lust into the delicate skin. You wonder whether he can hear the stutter of your pulse, the reaction his next words elicit. “You’re pretty when you do it.”

You can’t quite pull your eyes away from his face, shrouded in lemon tart, so good-looking it’s unfair; his broad back and the muscle that threads it, undulating with each movement; or the way his thighs flex between your spread knees. You’re dragged through heaven and hell by the brush of his lips, each glide overstimulating your senses to the point of no return. You’re still burning up, all the foreplay leaving your legs like jelly, cunt dripping with need. "I bet you say that to all the girls."

Probably not the best thing to say with the position you’re in but the reality of the situation is hitting you and you’re feeling a little vulnerable. Want an answer that’ll soften the sharp edges of his teeth, the intoxicating glint in his stare.

“No, just you.” Whether it’s true or not, you can’t say for certain. You hope it is - wish upon a star for it, laying all your hopes and dreams into the constellations in his eyes. They’re lovely, winking down at you from the darkest depths, guiding you home.

You don’t mean to scoff - really, you don’t. It comes of its own accord, spilling forth like a glass too full.

“You don’t believe me?” He sounds almost offended, the picture of innocence when he reaches down, hand scrambling about for pooled black fabric. Comes back up with a packet between his index and middle finger, held aloft like a prize.

How can you when he’s ready to devour you whole, primed to feast as he rolls the condom over his length, stroking himself once, twice, gaze never wavering from where it rests between your legs.

“Always prepared.” It’s scathing but somehow tender, too mesmerised by the way he fucks into his loose fist. You’d say more - maybe make a flippant comment about his reputation - but can’t find the words when he’s teasing you, swollen head tapping teasingly over your core. It feels like too much, leaves you breathless when he hikes your legs up and nearly folds you in half.

When he presses into you, the sound you make is sinful, a moan you can’t help. Jungkook’s so fucking big you’re sure you’re about to split in half, pussy clenching tight around the sudden intrusion. “Oh my god,” you whine, hands coiling into his hair, trying desperately to relax, the sting of the stretch battling the pressure that builds as he sinks further in. “You’re so big. I c-can’t—” You’re starting to babble nonsense and he hasn’t even begun moving yet, lips hot over the sweat-slick column of his throat when he bows, burning his presence into the grace of your neck. A hickey of your own creation blooms right where your mouth is, right over his shoulder. The salt of his skin distracts you, makes it easier to accommodate the fullness. “You feel so good, Kook.” You rock experimentally beneath him, clenching tight as if to draw him deeper. “Please, move,” you beg, aiming to form another bruise beneath his skin.

The first thrust chases all the breath from your lungs, a gasp ricocheting off your tongue and into the minimal space between you. He's absurdly big, stretching you out so well that every stroke feels like heaven. When he pushes back in, snaps his hips in that easy, effortless motion of his, you’re making the most obscene noises, words lost to his hair as he lavishes your tits with attention.

B-big! is all you manage to squeak out. It sounds like that, anyway. With how he's filling you, it's hard to speak coherently; you can practically feel him in your throat. (Or maybe that's just from choking on him earlier. You’re not really sure.)

Hands find their way around his neck, over his shoulders, periwinkle-painted nails leaving light etchings in their wake. They bloom colour over his back - not too hard, careful still, motor skills barely functioning - before you tangle your fingers in his hair, holding him recklessly close as the pressure builds and builds, flooding your abdomen in heat.

There’s slick all across your thighs. You can hear the wet sounds each time Jungkook slips almost all the way out and then rocks back in. It's terribly messy and so hot but you’re greedy, drunk off the feeling of having this Adonis break you in half. "Harder, p-please." Eyes wide, you tug gently at the soft strands at the nape of his neck, meeting his with a flutter of your lashes. "Please?"

He acquiesces without hesitation, fucks you harder, deeper, like an animal in a rut. Grinds against you with each thrust, pushing you to your limits. Even has the audacity to push further, until the strain in your hips conflicts with the pleasure skipping up your spine, melting you into a boneless mass.

You’ve never felt like this, stretched out and used. You’re used to gentle lovers, sweet - if not boring - lovemaking. The way Jungkook's pounding into you is unheard of and you’re loving it, his name whimpered on a feedback loop. A steady Kook, Kook, Kook that twinkles in your ears, inarticulate and pleading as you rock shamelessly against him.

“You like that, ____?” It’s a question for his own ego, something he knows but asks anyway. (It’d be impossible not to know the answer when your cunt’s sucking him in, coating his cock in a pretty sheen.)

You’re nodding dumbly, breathless, eager to meet him each time he snaps forward. (It’s not easy like this, practically prone beneath him, twisted into a pretzel.) "Like it so m-much. Feels so good.” You can’t stop smoothing open mouthed kisses over his fluffy hair, basking in the sunshine that radiates off him.

There's an ache starting between your legs, pussy swollen around his thick length. You’re grateful for your natural flexibility, the hot yoga sessions you’d entertained on-and-off for years. You’re sure you’d feel it in your legs too, knees pushed all the way up by your ears, if not for that.

But still, you’re defenceless, made to experience each and every thing he has to offer: every vein and ridge, the head of his cock reaching so deep it's almost too much. With each stroke, Jungkook’s brushing against the sensitive spot that has pleasure skyrocketing, blossoming like a rose garden in spring. "R-right there," you manage, rolling your hips purposefully, nearly crying each time he brushes against your g-spot.

“Right there?” He parrots it back, infuriating and adorable, the teasing tenor dripping over you like raindrops. They settle beneath your skin, sinking into your bones as he rears back just enough, enough to steal a kiss that’s far more tongue than it needs to be.

It’s almost as if he’s trying to drown you, sink you beneath high tide.

Spit descends down your chin, trails over your neck and it’s a little gross but you don’t care. The attention he’s giving is shameless, passed over your cheeks, your throat, your breasts. He gives and gives, both with his lips and the praise that comes unfettered. “Perfect,” he hums, sucking your nipple into his mouth, worrying the bud until it’s straining and puffy, too sensitive when he kisses you again and your own thigh brushes against it. You whimper at the feeling, pulling softly at his hair, unsure whether you want less or need more. “So sensitive. Such a shy girl. Such a pretty girl.”

Every word of praise has you beaming, nearly purring with delight despite the pain that comes when he puts you through the same once more, laving over the other bud with abandon. He's sweat-slick, beads of it running down his neck, over the mosaic of bruises you’ve left behind. It's almost embarrassing how dark his throat is coloured, a dozen reminders left all over his skin.

(You wonder how long they’ll last, how many days will pass as the colour shifts, changing like autumn leaves. Whether they’ll still be there at your next lecture, if he’ll wear them with pride or cover up beneath one of his big baggy sweaters.)

(You hope it’s the latter.)

(Maybe he’ll let you give him more.)

(Maybe he—)

There’s a change of pace and you’re crying out, hiccupping with each thrust, the head of his cock finding your g-spot with unbearable, unrelenting precision. Clawing at his arms, long nails digging into the firm muscle of his biceps, something between a sob and a plea rolls off your tongue, over and over. "So big. It's too m-much.” And yet you don’t want him to stop, punch drunk from the way he reaches deep and pulls you tighter against him, hips risen off the bed.

You’re begging again, eyes rolled so far back in your head you can hardly focus, the coil in your stomach pulled so tight you know it's about to snap. When Jungkook laughs - a sweet giggle that proves his duality - you clench almost painfully, tears finally spilling over.

One last brush against your most sensitive spot, one last thrust of that monster cock, and you’re peaking, coming so intensely you feel as if you’re soaring. Everything's suddenly so much more wet, release soaking into the linens beneath you, coating your thighs and his legs and dripping between you.

You’ve never come like this before, without some sort of direct stimulation on your clit. It’s pleasurable in a different way, severing all your sensibilities, explosive in its magnitude. It tingles beneath your skin, flooding all your senses.

"Kook—please—come for me.” You’re rocking up, forward - trying to, at least, folded as you are - singing his name, pleading for him to fuck his cum into you (momentarily ignorant to the fact that you’ve been responsible, a thin wall of latex separating you from your fucked out fantasy).

Despite the sensitivity, you’re clenching around him, eager to bring him to his own high. You want to feel him come apart above you, eroded into a mess like you are.

He’s just as pretty reaching his peak as he is at any other time, handsome face screwed up as if he’s reached nirvana, bliss slacking his features the longer he rides it out, bucking into you as he fills the condom and still doesn’t stop. It’s almost unbearable, oversensitivity spilling into pleasure until he leisurely grinds to a halt, stops the inconsistent pressure against your bundle of nerves, the assault on your fluttering walls.

When he collapses against you, whole face squished between the valley of your breasts, you can’t help but laugh, the sound breathless and endeared. “Are you okay?” You don’t mind where he is, weight comforting, skin sticky on yours. He’s unbelievably warm - a blanket fresh from the wash and yet so much better, lulling you into a sense of security.

“Better than okay,” he murmurs against your chest, smothering open-mouthed kisses over skin, snickering when you jolt at the feel of his teeth over your nipple one last time. “You’re welcome.” It’s an indulgent, facetious expression of gratitude, one that you haven’t asked for. You laugh all the same, ducking your head into the crown of spun gold atop his head.

“You too.”

tag list. @neverthefirstchoice @youwannabelostandnotbefound @codeinebelle

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pascalpanic · 4 years ago

Text

Caffeine Rush: Chapter One / Americano

Javier Peña x f!Reader

Summary: Working a dull December morning shift, you meet a seemingly disgraced DEA agent by the name of Javier Peña.

Warnings: Language, talk of death and canon-typical Narcos violence

W/C: 2.3k

A/N: YOU GUYS i am so excited to share this story with you all!! i fuckin love Javi and coffee so this features my two favorite things! big thanks as always to my beta readers for helping me out- especially with chapter 2 (which i was stuck on for 3 weeks lol). I hope you guys enjoy! this story has some twists I don’t think y’all are gonna see coming ;) I’m planning to update this fic once a week! I just wanted to get chapter one out there :)

previous chapter || next chapter || masterlist

Americano: espresso and hot water; has a similar taste to a brewed coffee, but still darker and more caffeinated thanks to the espresso.

Work is blissfully slow on weekdays, allowing you to putz along at your own speed. Today, however, is boring as hell. You’d had approximately seven customers since the morning rush, meaning about seven drinks to make. There weren’t even tables to clean, no customers having sat in the cozy coffeeshop. You and your coworker had joked around, swept and mopped, and cleaned the espresso machines twice each.

At this point, with nothing else to do, you sipped your third peppermint mocha while perched atop two stacked milk crates, leafing through your worn copy of The Great Gatsby. It was a common occurrence when evening rolled around, but rarely so early in the day. Since you were the one on barista duty, Mandy kept watch for customers and allowed you to relax with your book. It was routine for the two of you. She mindlessly fusses with the product wall and the coffee grinder, cleaning everything for the third time.

The door opens and you pop up from your makeshift chair excitedly. The weather is blustery and cold, with heavy snowflakes starting to fall outside the large windows, and the man who enters is pulling his jacket tight around himself. He looks up and you quickly dodge behind the espresso machines before you can make eye contact. It’s instinctual, and you’re unsure why until your brain reminds you of the man’s face. He’s handsome, even though you got maybe a second’s look at him. Dark brown hair and a neatly trimmed mustache, eyes an even darker shade to complement his tanned skin.

You bite your lip and grab a large ceramic mug, bringing it to the espresso machine. No one would be crazy enough to order a cold drink in this weather. Mandy takes his order and a few seconds later, his receipt pops up through the printer at your end of the shop:

Ticket 114 - 12/3/93

Name: Javier

LG-Redeye

!memo: darkroast

Javier. The name suits the man, you think to yourself and smile as you begin prepping the espresso for his drink. As you walk to Mandy’s station to fill the mug with drip coffee, she smiles and nudges your side. “Isn’t he cute?” She murmurs. You look at the printed ticket then at the coffee warmers: there’s no dark roast.

“Very,” you giggle a little and fill the mug with light instead. He’s seated in the corner. “I call dibs,” you tease, and Mandy shakes his head. She’s married, but she knows your type, and it’s exactly the man sitting there, staring at a newspaper.

“Yeah, okay,” she shakes her head but smiles at you. “No wedding ring either. I think you should bring his drink to him instead of calling out the order.”

Staring down at the filling mug, you shake your head. “We’ll see,” you chuckle softly and return down to your end of the bar, pouring the two shots of espresso. “Javier?” You call in your barista voice, and the man lifts his head and walks to the bar.

“That’s me,” he says, a small begrudging smile on his face.

“Hi,” you chuckle and hold up the mug. “We’re out of dark roast right now, so I had to use light. Could I put some flavoring or cream or sugar in there for you?” You offer. “Otherwise, I can most definitely make you something else. An americano maybe?”

He pauses for a second. “Yeah, an americano would be great,” he nods. “What kind of flavors… are there?” he asks.

“Oh, we have a ton,” you say enthusiastically, grabbing the syrup rack and pulling it your way. “Any of these. Hazelnut, vanilla, raspberry,” you smile, rattling off the flavors, “otherwise we also have caramel and any flavor of chocolate.”

Javier raises an eyebrow as he looks at the small display. “Never been somewhere with so many options. Could I do dark chocolate and cream?” He asks, and you nod.

“Of course,” you tell him, dumping the previous mug and grabbing another. “I’ll have that right up for you. You can head back to where you were sitting,” you inform him.

He shakes his head. “I can wait here. Save us both a trip.”

You nod. “Sure,” you say with a smile, prepping more espresso. “The redeye and americano are pretty different in caffeine though, the americano is going to have more since there’s more espresso.”

“I just need as much caffeine as I can get. Tough day ahead,” he nods.

“I’ve been told bartenders and baristas are wonderful ears to listen,” you offer, a sweet smile on your face.

His guard has fallen like a wrecking ball through a house of cards at the way you smile. “Well, I’m with the DEA.” It feels strange, openly admitting that around here. Colombians weren’t exactly welcoming to American agents, but it felt like citizens around here saw them as some kind of superhero.

Your eyes light. “Shouldn’t it be a fantastic day for you then?” you ask. “I mean, it’s all over the news. Escobar. Do you know the guys in the photo?” You ask with excitement in your voice.

He nods. Escobar was killed yesterday, and it’s all over the news, including the paper back at his table. “Yeah. The blonde guy in the red shirt is actually my work partner. It’s a tough day because I didn’t get to be there when it happened. I’ve been down in Colombia for years now, and they catch Escobar two days after I leave.”

The smile on your face turns to a frown. “That’s… awful,” you nod, eyes full of sadness for him. “I’m so sorry. At least it must be nice to be home?” you ask, tilting your head slightly and pouring the espresso shots into the mug.

He shakes his head. “D.C. isn’t home. I’m from Texas,” he admits, and the way he speaks finally registers as a slightly slowed speech pattern from the area. “I’m happy for Steve though. The blonde one, my partner. He deserves it. We’ve been down there for… Jesus,” he sighs and looks at the ceiling as he counts the years, “well, a while now. Couple of years. I fucked up, bad. Honestly, I think I’m up here to get fired.”

You frown slightly as you pump the chocolate into the hot espresso and water, swirling it around with a spoon. “You worked on Escobar for years?” you ask, and Javier nods. “Well, then I personally doubt you’d be getting fired. You guys just caught him, everyone must be in a good mood. I guess it depends on how bad you fucked up,” you shrug as you tap the spoon into the sink and bend down to grab the cream.

“I… do you know who Los Pepes are?” he asks. You shake your head as you stand, pouring some cream into the steaming drink. “Well, they’re a radical group who did some crazy shit to try to weaken Escobar, and I got involved with them. I have a meeting today with the review board.”

You finally make eye contact with him, wincing for him. “Yeah, that doesn’t sound great,” you admit with a chuckle, putting the cream back in the little refrigerator beneath you.

“It’s not.”

“It’s not necessarily why you got called up here,” you shrug and grab a saucer, putting the mug on top of it and on the bar for him to take.

“Well, I don’t know, I suppose,” he agrees and takes the drink from you.

You shrug. “Best of luck, Javier,” you tell him with a genuine smile of encouragement.

He nods, looking at your name tag attached to your apron. He murmurs your name before looking back up at your face and into your eyes. “Thank you.” He takes his drink and returns to his table, and you sigh and return to your makeshift chair in the corner.

Mandy pulls up two crates next to you, sitting down across from you with gleaming eyes. “Did it go well? You two talked for a while,” she asks, raising her eyebrows and encouraging you to tell her more.

“A little, but just… how I would with anyone, I guess,” you shrug as you sip your mocha for a moment, drinking the last of the warm coffee. “Not like I got his number or anything.”

“He’s sitting down to drink his coffee. Go offer him a refill when he’s done.”

“That would require me to stare at him, Mandy, and I think he’d notice that,” you shake your head as you stand to make yourself a new drink.

She stands with you, pushing the crates out of the way. “I’ll keep an eye on him for you. I’ll signal to you when he’s done or getting low on coffee, and you can bring him a refill. How does that sound?” she asks you.

You nod with a sigh. “Since you’re apparently not going to let this go, fine. I will.”

Mandy claps her hands together excitedly. “Yay!” She sings. “Oh, will you make me a drink while you’re at it? I’ll have a-”

“Skim hazelnut latte with no foam and light whip,” you recite before she can finish her order.

“You’re a babe,” she sings and heads over to clean the tables that haven’t even been touched since she wiped them an hour ago.

You make her drink and set it aside, then work on your own, fourth coffee. The peppermint and the coffee swirl together deliciously in the air, fitting the weather and the time of year. It’s December, and the snow outside and the warm feeling from the man across the coffee shop contrast in your heart. You sneak glances at him a couple of times, biting your lip to hold back a smile as you admire the handsome face peeking above the newspaper he reads.

About ten minutes later, you look up from cleaning the machines to see Mandy tucked behind a wall where he can’t see her. She’s frantically waving at you, pointing towards Javier once she catches your attention. Go, she mouths excitedly, beaming at you.

You wipe your hands on your apron and walk to where she stands. “Fine, I will, but you’re making the drinks if anyone else comes in.”

“Oh no, how will I handle it?” She asks in a deadpan, eyeing the shop that’s empty except for the two of you and Javier. “Go,” she says, giving you a light shove and giggling.

You shake your head but walk over, placing a hand lightly on the table. “Coffee’s looking low. Could I get you a refill?” you offer.

Javier looks up at you, and you feel like turning to jelly as you look into his big brown eyes, filled with confusion but also admiration. He furrows his brow, creating small creases between his eyebrows. “Uh… sure. How much is it?” he asks, reaching for his wallet and setting down the newspaper.

You put a hand on his arm, giving a gentle smile. “You need it. It’s on the shop,” you tell him.

“No, seriously, what, like $5?” he asks, but you put a hand over his.

“No, Javier,” you chuckle lightly. “Don’t worry about it. Another americano with chocolate and cream?” you ask.

“Uh… make me whatever you like best. And bring one for yourself too.” He says, well, really asks, nodding to the empty chair across from him. “It’s not too busy to talk, is it?”

You swallow hard before you break into a grin. “No, not at all. Uh… do you like peppermint?” you ask.

“Peppermint is good,” he says, giving you a small smile.

“Perfect,” you smile softly at him, picking up his empty mug and saucer. “We have a peppermint mocha, it’s seasonal. It’s my favorite, I’ll be right back with them,” you say, giggling softly and biting your lip as you turn and walk back to the bar.

You’re hidden behind the espresso machines as you finally grin and giggle, and Mandy rushes to your side. “Oh my God,” she laughs happily. “He’s so hot. What were you guys talking about?”

“He asked me to sit with him,” you giggle excitedly, preparing four espresso shots.

She nearly squeals with excitement, grabbing your arm closest to her. You scoop some chocolate chips and pour milk into a pitcher, putting it under the steam wand. “Holy shit. What has he told you so far? What’s his story?”

“Well, he said he’s a DEA agent. He’s on leave from work right now, but the guy in the red shirt in that picture of Escobar after they killed him? That’s his partner,” you tell her, letting the excitement speed your words up. “He’s been in Colombia for a couple of years working on it. Isn’t that cool?” You laugh.

“So cool,” she nods in agreement. “And he’s so fucking cute. Girl, you need to get your ass back there before I steal him myself.”

You laugh as you pour the shots and then the steamed milk into the mugs. “I’m trying, but you holding onto one of my arms is holding me back, love,” you tease her and she breaks away. You top both mugs with a perfectly peaked whipped cream layer, then sprinkle candy cane pieces and chocolate chips on top. “Wish me luck,” you practically sing as you walk back with a mug for each of you.

Javier’s holding back a grin himself as you make the drinks. He can see your head bobbing along behind the bar, the other woman chatting with you. He’s more transfixed than you than he should allow himself to be, but all fears fade as he sees you approaching with a grin and two large, whipped cream-topped drinks.

You set the drink down in front of him and he smiles at you. “Wow. This…” he looks down at it and smiles a little. “Well, it looks sweet.”

“I have a sweet tooth,” you admit with a soft laugh and sit down, taking a sip and sighing softly. “It tastes like winter. I love it.” He nods and takes a sip too. It’s sweet, but not as bad as he expected. “I added extra espresso to yours,” you tell him, a shy smile on your face.

“A woman after my own heart,” he chuckles and sets it down, licking the foam off of his mustache.

You smile a little wider at that and hold back a laugh. “Did you want to talk about the meeting?” you ask him, tilting your head, your expression softening.

Javier’s already falling, and he curses himself as he looks at you. Not a thought except him. He’s already thinking of a sly way to get your number. “No, not really. I just spilled basically my entire life story to you.”

“Then you’ve had a very short and boring life. That was hardly anything. I’ve had customers come in and cry over divorces or lost family members; the whole job situation was mild,” you chuckle and admit, tracing the rim of the mug with your fingertips and staring down at the steaming drink.

“Really? You seem like a therapist and a barista in one,” he teases lightly.

“Well, I did just graduate with a Masters in psychology,” you shrug. “I just graduated with it from Georgetown. That’s why I’m here,” you tell him and look up. “Working here part-time while I decide what I want to do.”

“No shit. I did my undergrad in psych and sociology,” Javier says with a small smile, making your smile grow too. “Texas A&M though. Nothing as prestigious as Georgetown.”

“A&M isn’t anything to sneeze at,” you chuckle as you look over at him. His eyes are deep-set, deeper than they probably normally are. They’re bloodshot and hold bags beneath them. After a breath, you bite your lip and look him in the eye. “You look tired. I don’t know you normally, I understand. Maybe you shouldn’t finish this,” you tell him with a concerned smile, scooting his mug towards you. “Too much caffeine.”

“No, I need it, please,” he says, tugging it back and sipping at it again. “Just… until after this meeting. Then I’ll know what my future holds, then I can rest.”

“What time is it at?”

“5:00.”

There’s a beat of silence. “I don’t have any plans tonight,” you say gently, looking at him with a question in your eyes. “Would you like to get dinner? Talk things out, once you know what your future holds?” You offer, a soft smile and hopeful eyes. “I already know enough about you. This could be practice therapy for me,” you tease softly.

Javier thinks for a second, though he knows what the answer will be. At least pretends to think, surprised that you could hear all he had said about Los Pepes and working in Colombia and that you still offered. “I’d like that,” he nods, his voice soft when he looks at you. “I don’t know the area well. You’ll have to tell me where.”

“Do you have a car up here?” You ask him, and he shakes his head. “I can pick you up,” you offer. “Where are you staying?”

He grabs a napkin and pats his pockets for a pen. You hand him the paint pen tucked on your apron and he quickly thanks you before writing down the address to the hotel. You take the napkin and the pen and grab another napkin. “And this…” you say and write down your phone number, sliding it to him, “is where you’ll call me when you’re ready for me to come get you. Okay?” You ask.

Your voice is so soothing, Javier thinks. More than sleep or reassurance or even a hit of Escobar’s private stash or really anything could be to him right now, it’s a comfort. You must be a miracle, he thinks, some kind of blessing for something he isn’t quite sure of, but he must have done something right in the eyes of the Almighty to be here, right now, talking with you. “You know, I was raised Catholic,” he tells you and leans in a little. “I don’t know that I am anymore. But still… I think you might be an angel in disguise.”

Biting your lip, you giggle and look down. “I don’t know about that,” you chuckle as you look up at him again. “Just… right place, right time, maybe. I’ll see you tonight, okay?” you ask him, placing your hand over his and standing.

Javier nods as he looks up at you. “How should I dress?” he asks and tilts his head. His eyes are so expressive, you notice and smile a bit. They betray exactly what he’s thinking.

“Um… what you’re wearing now would be fine. A button down and jeans would work,” you tell him with a nod, patting his hand and picking up your mug. “I’ll see you then. Good luck,” you tell him with a sweet smile and retreat to the back. Javier can’t say anything in return, just sips his peppermint mocha.

Three minutes later, you return with a muffin. “Eat this. You can’t have all that caffeine and no food.”

“Thanks,” he chuckles and looks down at it. You’re gone when he looks back up, and he breaks off a piece. What a weird day. It’s only about to get weirder.

taglist:

@remmysbounty @mishasminion360 @blo0dangel @binarydanvvers @sleep-tight1 @apascalrascal @randomness501 @spideysimpossiblegirl @notabotiswear @pedro-pastel @sanchosammy @lv7867 @greeneyedblondie44 @hunnambabe @astoryisaloveaffair @emesispo @pedritobalmando @magikfanatic @yooforia @oceanablue @sara-alonso @pedrosmustache @feelingmadclever @hnt-escape @radiowallet @obsessivelysearching @a-court-of-feysand-and-elorcan @linnie0119

#javier peña x reader #javier peña #javi peña #javi peña x reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x you #javier peña x you #caffeine rush

231 notes · View notes

oftenderweapons · 4 years ago

Note

sub jk?? 😶😶😶

Pairing: Jungkook x reader (nicknamed Candy)

Wordcount: 2,0k

Genre: drabble, pwp, fluff, established relationship

Rating: 18+

This was SO! MUCH! FUN! TO! WRITE! Thank you, nonnie. Also, sorry if I got carried away with wordcount, I couldn’t help it 😳🥴🥴🥴 This is literally pwp. Just a drabble where bestest boi Jeon Jungkook is super sweet and begs a lot.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: sub!Jk (obvs), Domme!Reader; Candy is super horny and has a severe case of wandering hands. Brief handjob male receiving (just very casual palming); boobjob and blowjob; use of lube (again, let’s normalise using it); edging; hand pinning; mild mommy kink; grinding/humping with clothes off; praise kink; brief unprotected penetration (please don’t do that unless you and your partner(s) are safe); cockwarming; creampie; switch!Jk at the very very end.

Jeongguk standing at the kitchen counter, fixing breakfast, shirtless at the crack of dawn was something that always made you horny.

Simply watching those back muscles flex and flutter was a sight to behold.

He was humming a tune under his breath as he cut and cleaned an avocado, your chocolate milk already on a cup as it cooled down a little, so that you could drink it without burning your tongue. He always made it a bit hotter since he knew you always took your time before waking up — or rather, before getting out of bed.

Your feet padded softly against the linoleum floor, lazily walking toward him.

As you stood behind him, you placed your hands around his waist before sliding them to his front spreading your fingers against his taut abdomen, dragging them upward, toward his pectorals, flattening your palm against the thick muscles.

“Good morning to you,” he said with a teasing tone.

“'Morning,” you replied, placing your cheek between his shoulder blades.

“Your breakfast is ready.” He said, spreading some sliced strawberries over your toast.

“Mhhh...” You commented nuzzling your nose against his spine, your thumbs toying with his nipples. “How long do we have?”

“I have a free morning...” He said, chuckling.

“Free morning on a Saturday? Am I dreaming?” You asked, incredulous, letting one of your hands roam down, to the waistband of his sweats.

He stopped your wandering hand. “Are you feeling needy?” He asked, his chin resting on his shoulder as he looked at you from the corner of his eye.

“Can you blame me? You're hot first thing in the morning.” You said, standing on your tiptoes and kissing his nape.

He let go of your wrist, silently giving you the green light to slide your fingers into his sweats.

You inhaled his scent, leaning your forehead against him before tentatively teasing his pelvis by raking your nails gently against his skin.

“Do you want breakfast or shall we go back to bed?” He asked, feeling your small hand skim the sensitive length of his cock, up and down before wrapping your fingers around it, exploring how it hardened and fluttered and pulsed into life, tracing the spot where his shaft met his balls.

“Let's go to bed.” You murmured, cupping him and teasing his skin with the edge of your teeth.

He chuckled and tugged your hand out of his pants. “I need to walk.” He said, grinning down at you with the most mischievous expression.

As soon as you both reached the bedroom, he stood with his back to the bed, you standing right in front of him as he pulled his sweats down, taking them off entirely before sitting on the bed and crawling backward.

"Aren't you going to take off your shirt?" He asked, staring at you. "Well, my shirt, but you're wearing it..."

"Semantics," you commented, crawling toward him, settling down in between his spread legs and removing the problematic item.

"How do you want me?" He asked, sitting up, ready for you to direct him.

You pushed him with his back to the mattress, the soft light coming in through the blinds making the atmosphere intimate enough for a steamy rendezvous. “Just lay there,” you said, straddling his waist as you stretched to the bedside table, his hands landing on your ass lightly, your body laying on top of his as you fumbled with the drawer, finding a small plastic bottle and taking it with you, climbing down his body even though his hands felt so good groping your ass.

You kissed his strong thighs in the process, making sure that you teased them a little with your teeth and tongue. “Hands off,” you said as soon as you felt him touch your hair.

He obeyed. “Kinky.” He said grinning, crossing them behind his head and watching you get to

“Quiet.” You warned.

When he heard your voice, he immediately changed his attitude. “Sorry.”

You smirked and stood on your knees, uncapping the bottle and squeezing a line of lube from his base to his tip as his cock arched invitingly all the way to his belly, leaning slightly to the left. Looking at it felt almost forbidden at the beginning, but now here you were, considering how its proportions fit you perfectly, the long shaft matched with a less conspicuous girth. You doubted you could have handled him had he been even a millimeter thicker.

Drawing another line of lube, you heard him hiss.

You looked at him with a small sneer.

“Cold,” he pouted, as his glutes twitched with a tiny thrust.

You grinned and poured some lube on your palm, “Don’t worry, I’ll warm you up baby.” You said, leaning down, rubbing your wet hand to your chest, focusing on the valley between your breasts.

His eyes opened wide. “Oh god, yes.”

You smiled, placing your mouth on his thigh, tempting him before biting down, eliciting a tight growl.

“I said quiet.” You scolded him before caging his cock between your breasts. “You answer when I talk to you. Got it?”

He nodded quickly.

“Be verbal, baby.” You encouraged him.

He looked you in the eye, feeling slightly insecure, out of his depth. “Yes, Candy.”

“Good boy.” You said, sliding up and down, just once.

He began purring, but he managed to control himself, holding back after half a second.

“That’s my good boy.” You praised him again, watching as his arms started moving a little, struggling to stay still.

Slowly you gave him another pump. “Feels nice, sweetie?” You asked, looking up at his lovely face, scrunched up as he tried to restrain himself from pushing his hips against you.

“Feels nice, Candy. So nice.” He replied, trying to be ‘verbal’, as you had asked him, but also barely managing to stay sane.

You picked up your rhythm. “Look into my eyes, baby bun.” You called, staring at his sealed eyelids, waiting for them to flutter open.

Licking his lips, he obeyed, his dark pupils dilated because of the darkness and all the lust.

Lewdly, you lolled your tongue out, licking his tip and kissing it, sucking on it until it popped into your mouth, your teeth grazing the sensitive spot where his glans met his shaft, your head bobbing a couple times before you released him and started stroking him again.

"Oh god, Candy, I'm..." His eyes held your gaze for a second before you let go of your tits just slightly, reducing the pressure on him.

He threw his head back and groaned. “Please.”

Oh, that was the first of a long series. You meant to make him beg at least twenty times. Minimum.

You gave him a couple tentative licks, watching him catch his breath and unwind.

As soon as he looked like he had a grip, you went back on him with all your might, immediately sucking his tip aggressively while your boobs worked his shaft.

“Oh, please. Please, Candy, so good.” He whined, his voice so sweet as he softly, unconsciously switched to his satoori. “It’s too good.” He rumbled, giving a few thrusts up before you let go of your tits and placed your palms on his hips, pushing him down, momentarily denying him the privilege of your mouth.

“Stay put. No pushing.” You warned him, laying small pecks all the way from the base to the tip before swallowing him.

His arms immediately tried to go for your hair, but he managed to control himself and grip the sheets at his sides instead.

As you saw him behave, you added your boobs in the equation, immediately conjuring a moan from him that slowly turned into a breathy whimper. “Please, baby. I need you. Please, wanna cum. Lemme cum, I'll be so good to you.” He begged, desperate. “I've been so good.” He reiterated, trying to appeal for your mercy.

You pulled him out of your mouth and worked him with your hands a little. “You've been a good boy?” You asked, using your thumb to tease his slit, bringing your finger to your mouth once it was smeared in his precum.

“I've been so good.” His light voice contrasted with the tone he usually used for satoori. It was so sexy, the dragging of the vowels, the consonants with their smooth edges. It was a light mumbling.

You got on your knees and crawled until you found yourself straddling his hips.

“How good?” You asked, bracing your palms on his pecs, the pads of your thumbs circling the small areolae of his nipples, a few shades darker than his skin.

“I was making breakfast… I made you feel so good last night…” He tried to defend himself. “I'm always so good to you.” He babbled as he felt the warmth of your cunt cover his shaft. “Please, I'm your good boy. Please, Candy.”

Your pelvis started grinding against him.

“Please… I— I need it so bad. Please, baby.”

Your eyes rolled back as you felt his taut, slippery, hot flesh rub against your most intimate part. “What do you need, pretty boy?” You asked, moving one hand to cup his cheek.

“Inside, please, love.”He said, his abs twitching, his eyes struggling to stay open. You looked down, noticing his abdomen stained in a mix of lube and precum, pouring frequently and abundantly from his slit.

“So close…” He whimpered. “I'm begging you. Inside, Candy, ____.”

“Say the magic words, baby.” You said, licking your lips and smiling deviously as you felt him whine like the loveliest puppy.

“I love you, please inside…” He said, placing his hands on your ass. “Love you so much… God, Candy… I—”

You caught his wrists with a tut and pinned them atop of his head, stretching forward so that your breasts were bouncing right against his chest, your clit pressing more harshly against his sex.

“Please, Candy please, so good. Mommy please, inside.” He whimpered.

You felt your body melt. He'd never called you that before.

Never.

And you never thought you could like it, until it blossomed from his lips so gently and desperately, his body weak with tiny hiccups and moans, sweat covering his forehead, his soft chocolate locks fanned on the pillow like tender tendrils of darkness blooming around him.

“Mommy, please let me… I need it.” He cried out, his eyes watering as he opened them with so much difficulty.

Freeing one had, you brought it between your legs and slipped him in.

“Yes,” He moaned in relief, “thank you, mommy.” He said with a strained voice before you gave him a squeeze with your kegels.

Two thrusts and he was gone, completely blissed out, his eyes so grateful as they met yours before shutting down, his mouth opening in voiceless pleasure, his abs pulsing with the same pattern as his cock inside you, his chest staying wide and full for half a minute as he copiously spilled inside you, his lungs deflating as his high subsided, his seed pouring out of your hole and dribbling down his cock.

“Koo,” you said, letting his wrists go, his hands immediately coming for his face, covering his eyes.

“I'm so sorry, that's so embarrassing…” He said, trying to escape your curious gaze.

“It was so sweet, baby.” You said, kissing his cheek. “It was a little out of the blue, but it was really, really cute, Koo.” You said, nuzzling your nose against his jaw.

“It was amazing.” He said, hugging you to his chest. “And, I'm sorry for… That. I don't know what happened…”

“We can talk about that whenever you're ready. Or we can completely forget about it. Still, I think I sort of liked it…?” You said, dubious. “So I'd really like it if we talked about this sometime… Take it into consideration. If you're comfortable, that is.” You clarified.

Jeongguk looked at you silently for a minute. “Yes. Sure. I mean, I never really brought that up because it's something… It makes me vulnerable, but… I'd like it if we… took it into consideration.” He said, titubant but also relieved. “However…” He mused, “I think we have more pressing matters to consider.” He said, thrusting gently inside you before throwing you on your back.

All shyness gone, he spoke with a grin. “Your turn.”

#Jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #jungkook x y/n #jeon jungkook #Sub!jungkook #bts blog #bts smut #bts fanfic blog

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letterboxd · 4 years ago

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Chaotic Bisexual.

Shiva Baby writer-director Emma Seligman tells Ella Kemp about expanding her wildly cringey short film into an even more anxiety-inducing feature, why Virgo and Taurus make the perfect producing pair, and the eternal conflict of being a good Jewish girl.

“If I can skip a bris to see E.T., I like movies!” —Emma Seligman

It sounds like a strange riff on a guy-walks-into-a-bar joke: a girl walks into a shiva and bumps into her secret ex-girlfriend, then her sugar daddy, then his shiksa wife, oh, and their baby—yet the payoff is so much more rewarding.

Filmmaker Emma Seligman’s debut feature is a new kind of teen classic: 78 non-stop minutes teeming with well-drawn traits and tropes that define the best coming-of-agers, the best Jewish comedies and the best day-in-a-life psychological roller-coasters.

Shiva Baby began as a grad project—a short film of the same name—and Seligman’s feature-length embellishment impressed at last year’s virtual editions of SXSW and TIFF, where it was quickly snapped up for international distribution. In a way, Shiva Baby was perfectly tailored to the times we were living in: Danielle, our reluctant heroine, is trapped in a claustrophobic family event she can’t escape, as people from her past and lies about her future make their way deep under her skin.

Fred Melamed, Rachel Sennott and Polly Draper in ‘Shiva Baby’.

Shiva Baby is very much the product of a wry school of emerging filmmakers who understand excruciatingly mundane horror and pin-sharp comedy as intimate bedfellows. Seligman’s writing finds a way to flesh out gloriously caricatural Jewish relatives, probing and overbearing and irrational. She does this both through dialogue and a visceral, haptic aesthetic that lurches in and out of focus visually, and has a nails-on-chalkboard unease sonically.

Coming in hot with a 4.01 average rating, Shiva Baby is striking all sorts of discordant notes with film lovers. “Combines some of my biggest anxieties: being asked if I have a boyfriend as well as what my plans for the future are and people talking with their mouths full,” writes Muriel.

The film’s “bisexual chaos”, which hinges on a haywire performance from Rachel Sennott as Danielle, opposite Molly Gordon’s overachieving ex-girlfriend, Maya, is also one of its great strengths. Glee star Dianna Agron is the shiksa threat, Kim, while Danny Deferrari is Danielle’s hapless benefactor, Max. If that’s not enough? Polly Draper, Fred Melamed and Jackie Hoffman are also just there.

What do you think defines a Jewish sense of humor? Emma Seligman: It’s morbid usually, and darker—generally uncomfortable and cringeworthy. I think about Curb Your Enthusiasm or Seinfeld, and A Serious Man. It borders on, “Is this funny at all?” I think Jewish humor leans into the darkly funny British sense of humor. I’m Canadian, so I feel like I’m halfway between the UK and the US in terms of their sense of humor.

Was it always your intention to make a comedy that feels like a bit of a nightmare? You’ve mentioned Black Swan and Opening Night as touchstones… Because I came from a short film, the question when expanding into a feature was, “How are we going to keep everyone interested in this day?” It’s got to be a significant day, it’s got to be that this young woman’s life has completely changed from this day. So what is it that changes? Why are we watching it? I watched a lot of movies that took place in one day, one of them was Trey Edward Shults’ first film Krisha. And then from there I realized that anxiety and this scary psychological feeling is a great way to have the audience stay there.

I watched Opening Night because there’s a shiva in it, but it was more the lobby scenes that were so claustrophobic and tense. And then each step of the way with each department, we were like, okay, it’s gonna be tense, but then we got to music, I was like, okay, this has become a full nightmare. Initially, I was just like, it’s got to be tense, but by the end, I was like, well, it does feel like a nightmare to a young woman sometimes.

Because you mention that, I have to ask whether you’ve seen Bo Burnham’s Eighth Grade? I have, it’s incredible. It’s so funny, they’re both coming-of-age [films], and one of them is about a fourteen year old and then the same sort of feeling exists when you’re 22. When you’re fourteen is when it begins, and when you’re 22 you’re sort of at the end of it and you’re like, “Oh, I thought I figured out what I was supposed to do when I started feeling insecure this way at fourteen about sex and boys.”

Diana Agron and Danny Deferrari in ‘Shiva Baby’.

Let’s talk about Rachel Sennott, who you have describe as your “Virgo rock”. What do you bring one another in your creative partnership? She’s a hustler, and she sets goals like nobody else. I think she moves very fast, and I’m more detail-oriented. I don’t know if the movie would have happened without her because she was like, “What are the goals to achieve this film?” After we made the short film, she just kept checking in with me. She goes well beyond what an actor does, which is why she’s an executive producer, because she was very, very invested in seeing the movie get made.

I think she pushes. We joke that she brings me out of my depression and I help calm her down. I feel like Taurus is a little more chill. Virgos are also earth signs, but they run on a faster frequency. So I think I calm her down, especially when we’re writing and bringing it back to structure. But she’s way funnier, she’s able to give jokes so quickly. We balance each other perfectly, for sure.

Do you think your partnership with Rachel is the kind of partnership you could see yourself maintaining throughout your career? Definitely. I think it’s important to have a good friend and also a young woman. She’s got different career goals from me, but they’re aligned. And we’re not in competition with each other. I feel so grateful because so much of the time I feel like the world does make you feel like you’re in competition with your friends that are trying to do the same thing as you when you’re a young woman—or just maybe in general.

Rachel Sennott and Danny Deferrari in ‘Shiva Baby’.

Her character in Shiva Baby completely subverts the idea of a “nice Jewish boy/girl” which can be a trope in movies, but also very much a real thing in life. Is that something you consciously wanted to subvert, or did it come organically from the story you wanted to tell? I wanted to contrast that idea of a “nice Jewish girl” because every nice Jewish girl or boy has a sex life. I felt the sort of nice Jewish girl stressors on me were completely opposite from the NYU art school sugaring worlds, and hookup culture broadly. My family is such a huge part of my life and I think that those two sets of pressures are completely contradictory; to be a good girl or boy and have a stable career ahead of you, and to be finding, even if it’s at the very beginning, your eventual partner, or to just be in a relationship. And I felt like in school, no one wanted to date, everyone was hooking up. So many of my friends are sugar babies. I tried it super, super briefly.

I felt like the world was telling me to be like “an empowered, independent, sexy woman who doesn’t care what anyone thinks of her, and doesn’t abide by any rules”, and I was like, “This is the opposite of being a nice Jewish girl!” And I just felt like those two things were screaming at me. So I did want to play on that. But I don’t even think it’s playing, just because that felt like what I was trying to battle within myself. And I think a lot of young people do, whether they’re Jewish or not. That’s their family’s expectations. And then the world is like, “But don’t care and don’t commit…”

Writer-director Emma Seligman. / Photo by Emma McIntyre

But then you still have to go home to your parents at the end of the day and they’re going to tell you what to do… Exactly.

What would you want viewers to take away from Shiva Baby about the sugaring community that you feel has been maligned in the past? I’m not a sex worker, so I don’t want to speak on behalf of this community, but I definitely feel like there hasn’t been many positive portrayals of sex workers. So I just wanted to show someone—because I knew so many friends of mine who did it—who enjoyed it, or purposefully did it and didn’t feel bad or shameful about it. I think maybe a lot of people think that it’s always something that comes out of dire circumstances. But whether that is the case or not, I think there’s a lot of people who enjoy it and enjoy what they do like any other job. So I just hope that they’re able to sort of widen their scope of what a sex worker looks like and acts like. Every sex worker has got a family, friends, a full robust life, as we all do.

It’s time for your Life in Film questionnaire. Can you give me a few must-watch Jewish films for people who don’t know where to start? Fiddler on the Roof, Yentl, Keeping the Faith, Kissing Jessica Stein, A Serious Man. Definitely Uncut Gems, and Crossing Delancey.

Shiva Baby has been described on Letterboxd, variously, as “Uncut Gems but make it chaotic bisexual”, “the most stressful Jewish movie since Uncut Gems”, “the chaotic successor of Uncut Gems”, “if Krisha and Uncut Gems had a baby”, and, of course, “Uncut Gems for hot Jewish sluts”… Amazing, I love that. Extremely nice comparison.

Who is your favorite promising young woman? Not Emerald Fennell’s film, but a young creative or performer who you think is making waves. I love Hari Nef—I think she’s amazing and am really excited to see what she does next. I loved her so much in Transparent and Assassination Nation, and I don’t understand why she hasn’t been the lead in a million movies.

Molly Gordon with Rachel Sennott in ‘Shiva Baby’.

What should people watch next after Shiva Baby? Those Jewish movies would be a great start. And then Krisha, although I think a lot of people have seen it especially if they’re on Letterboxd! But then those Jewish romantic comedies, and then Obvious Child, all those movies are very sweet and endearing and helped me make it.

Separate from film, if it’s shiva-related then Transparent. If I didn’t have Transparent I don’t think I would have seen world of grounded, nuanced Jews that I could do comedy with. It would have been more in the Curb vein, which is also amazing, but a little more schtick.

What was the first film that made you want to be a filmmaker? My parents are huge movie buffs so I’m not sure there was one moment, but I will say that when I was six there was a re-release of the 20-year anniversary of E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial and I was at a horribly packed bris and my uncle was like, “Fuck this, there are so many people here, I can’t even breathe. Let’s go see E.T.” That was the first moment where I was like, if I can skip a bris to see E.T., I like movies.

Related content

From Short to Feature: Rob’s list of 2020 films that made the jump

Jewish Cinema (non-Holocaust): Amelia’s list of films “for when u want to celebrate your heritage but don’t want to have to think all too deeply about the Shoah”

Best Directorial Debuts of 2020: suggested by Letterboxd members, featuring Shiva Baby

Follow Ella on Letterboxd

Shiva Baby is now in select theaters and on VOD in the US. Film stills by Maria Rusche.

#shiva baby #emma seligman #jewish filmmaker #jewish director #directed by women #rachel sennott #jewish film #jewish movie #transparent #uncut gems #hari nef #e.t. the extra terrestrial #obvious child #krisha #trey edward shults

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the-historywhore · 3 years ago

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Hello again! I had a request in mind that if you'd accept to write it. I was hoping if you'd write a fic about Eivor Varinsson falling in love with black!reader who is a princess of a kingdom called The Land Of Punt (now a part of Somalia, Ethiopia and other North African countries. The kingdom she's actually from was a trading partner of Ancient Egypt known for producing and exporting gold, aromatic resins, blackwood, ebony, ivory and wild animals)

Since reader would be a princess, I imagine her having a no-nonsense but sassy personality who doesn't take orders from lowly Anglo-Saxons since reader, her mother and some of her people have been kidnapped and sold as slaves but Eivor saves her and the others during a raid in Mercia

It would be lovely to see how a Norseman like Eivor would react to seeing someone who's appearance, accent and culture is completely different as compared to the Scandinavians and the English people he comes across usually. And also, would the Raven Clan want to have gold trading ties with black!reader's kingdom?

Love your blog and your writing! 😍

Okay I just have to say I am so hyped for this prompt, you gave me so much info and direction with it and I’m living for the reader in this. Hope you enjoy this and this was really interesting to research and to write! 💕✨

In fact, I love this idea so much that I’m considering doing a part 2 👀

Foreign Lands.

M!Eivor x Black!Royalty!Reader

Eivor and his warriors docked the longship on the river bank, they were leading a raid in Mercia. This was perhaps the biggest raid they would lead of the season, this was a trading hotspot, surely inside the building there would be a phalanx of gold and metals, weapons and jewels alike.

The warriors prepared themselves, beating their shields, the axes swung and the swords clashed to take down the guards. Eivor kicked at the door, it wouldn’t take much to bring it down - ushering for his comrades to take position beside him they rammed the ornate wooden door of the trading stronghold. The door hit the floor with a clatter and this scene was before the Raven Clan.

Eivor could not quite believe his eyes, the room was filled with people - they were tied to posts, a range of ages with women and children clinging to eachother. Eivor noticed that there were no men amongst the group of prisoners.

Raven Clan warriors took care of any remaining undesirables so that they could properly assess what kind of trade was going on here. There was most certainly gold and some horns from exotic lands, but there seemed to be some kind of slave trade taking place here.

Eivor couldn’t deny the obvious, these people looked different - their skin was a much darker, and their hair looked to be a different texture. However, Eivor didn’t see them as objects - they were still people to him,

Many Viking clans took slaves from their conquests and raids, but since Eivor had been in command of the Raven Clan warriors - they had never taken a Single soul from their raids, least of all a group of women and children.

“Let these people go,” Eivor requested, and so the warriors began releasing the prisoners from their bounds.

“And where do you suppose we go?” An accented voice spoke up from a corner. Eivor turned to see a young woman standing up and making her way towards Eivor.

He took in her appearance, her clothes were a white linen - a beautiful contrast to her skin which seemed to glitter in the candlelight. Her voice was deep, and an accent that seemed to hypnotise Eivor’s senses.

“How do you suppose me and my people are to return to our lands?” She asked him once again. Eivor stuttered.

“How did you get here?” He managed to stutter.

“On a ship, where myself and my people were taken from our very homes to be shipped off and sold.” She quipped, this woman that had seemed to ensnare Eivor and she was determined to protect the people that she’d been taken with.

Eivor thought for a moment, but before he could open his mouth she spoke.

“I am a Princess, and my mother is a Queen. We can offer you things - Gold, Ivory, but you must help us.”

“How can we help you? We don’t even know where your home land is” Eivor said, he wanted to help this woman - this warrior Princess and her family

“Warrior, you seem to underestimate my knowledge of the world - I travel and trade with many civilisations just as my Brothers do.”

Eivor smirked, this would be a good venture for him and his clan - more allies never did anyone harm.

——————

The day had come where him and the Raven clan would return the people hailing from the Land of Punt to their home. He had worked with the Princess of these people to aid them in regaining their strength and housing them in the couple of months in preparation for the voyage overseas.

“We have come so far together, Eivor. I realise I have never properly thanked your for your co-operation and kindness..” The Princess stood beside the Norse warrior, watching as the longboats were loaded with the supplies they would need on their travels.

“It has been good to see another culture so different though, it reminds us that we aren’t alone. It always does the mind well to learn more, of course” His words were wise and thoroughly thought out, but his tone was solemn.

The truth was that Eivor would greatly miss the Princess’s company, she was witty and particularly good at trade deals and a valiant fighter. Her culture was so different to his but he found it so intriguing. Her glistening golden jewellery were a symbol of her power and status, while the brass runes in his hair were to protect him in battle and connect him to his gods. His clothing was a heavy wool, whereas her clothing was a lightweight cotton linen. There were so many contrasts between them, but they still found things to connect over.

———————

A/N: Hello! I am so incredibly sorry that this took so long!! I will be releasing a part two of this, I promise - Some requests had to be halted due to my College work but I’m on Break now so I’m back into the swing of writing! Master list coming soon 💕💕

#ac eivor #vikings #black!reader #princess #assassins creed valhalla #assassinscreedsyndicate #assassinscreedodyssey #assassinscreedblackflag #assassinscreedrevelations #assassins creed #assassinscreedorigins #assassinscreedrogue #princess reader

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slytherinqu33n · 4 years ago

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I Think you’re In Love With Me

Pairing: Draco x Slytherin!Reader

Warnings: Sexual themes, semi-fluff

Author’s note: This is my first imagine, I based it off one of my fav songs. Hopefully you like it, I am open to any feed back! Also sorry for any typos, only did a quick edit. I hope this isn’t absolute trash haha. If you have any requests my ask box is always open.

Summary: Y/N is your classic bad girl type, sarcastic and always sporting an eye roll. She’s tired of Draco’s relentless flirting and attempts on her. But when Draco smells her aroma in potions she decides to confront him, but will he see through her tough girl act. Maybe just maybe she feels something for him too. (Based on the song I Think You’re - By NYNE. Is it just me or does this song suite Draco so well!! You can listen on Spotify)

Y/N wasn’t one to be messed with, every one knew that. She looked as if she could kill with just one glance of her piercing eyes. They were always highlighted with her signature winged eyeliner and dark green eyeshadow. She was a rule breaker, never one to listen to her professors, always sneaking out past curfew and causing trouble, a classic badass. Y/N didn’t know it but Draco always had his eye on her, stealing quick glances in the hallway, watching the way she would sway her hips with sass as she walked, or the way that she would twirl her dark brown locks around her finger opposite him in the Great Hall.

Y/N and Draco had a fairly complex relationship, they would constantly tease and flirt with each other, both of them relentlessl, neither backing down. Draco and Y/N had always been fairly close friends since they had been sorted into Slytherin together in their first year. At some point along the way, Draco thought maybe it had become something more. It was in their third year when he had noticed she came back different, she was taller, her hair was darker and her curves had filled out, Draco had started to feel a spike of nerves whenever he was in her presence. Not only had her body changed but she had matured over the summer break, enticed by her now snarky attitude and quick wit. He was more than surprised when she would retaliate to his mindless flirting, no longer allowing him to get away with it with rosey cheeks and a shy smile as you had used to in your second year. Unbeknownst to anyone else, he wanted her to be his, he had decided that he would do whatever it took to earn your heart.

Y/N’s POV

Luckily for Draco they had recently been assigned as partners in potions, and today just happened to be the day that Professor Slughorn was to teach them how to brew Amortentia, to say Draco was nervous was an understatement. He knew that this would lead to him exposing his feelings for her, there was no doubt in his mind that he would catch a whiff of her sweet aroma.

“Draco would you pass me the moonstone?” you ask not even looking at him. He glanced over at you, his signature smirk plastered across his face. “Where are your manners Darling? Say please and I might.” You roll your eyes at him and sigh. “Fine…my darling Draco will you please pass the moonstone?” you say with your most sarcastic tone. “See Darling that’s all you had to say” he says winking at you.

“That was the last ingredient, one more stir anti-clockwise and it’s ready.” You breathe out looking over at Draco, who happened to be staring at you, you flash him a quick smirk, knowing you had caught him. “Come on then Draco take a whiff.” Your sarcasm coming out once again, you watch as he leans over the cauldron, closing his eyes as he breaths in the potions fumes. “Well, What does it smell like?” You say sounding half interested. “I smell coconut shampoo, musk perfume and new books…” He trailed off, knowing he had given away his crush on you. He looked up to see you smirking at him. Before you had the chance to say anything Professer Slughorn had ended the lesson and Draco was out the door.

Draco’s POV

A few days since that night in the common room had passed and Draco was sat quietly in the library trying to fit some study in, when his two friends Blaise and Goyle sat down opposite him. He couldn’t help but want their opinion on his situation so he decided to spill and tell them about his crush on you. “Of course she knows that I fancy her Blaise, you should have seen the way she approached me about my Amortentia.” Draco says rolling his eyes at his two friends. He told them exactly what had happened in potions last week and how you had more than confronted him about it. “Merlin Draco, you need to throw it back to her” Goyle chuckles “Beat her at her own game” He finishes. “You might be onto something there Goyle, when did you start using that brain cell of yours?” Draco says snickering.

All week in potions Draco would tease you in some way, running his hand up the inside of your thigh, not quite high enough to were you needed him most, waiting for you to drop your bad girl attitude and give into him. To his surprise you took everything he threw at you, coming back just as hard. You would swirl your fingers dangerously close to his clothed crotch underneath your shared desk. But Draco always managed to keep a straight face, never giving in to your advances.

On this particular day in potions Draco’s hand was sitting dangerously close to your clothed heat as he drew circles into your soft skin with his thumb. “I can tell what you are trying to do Draco, it’s not going to work.” You say to him under your breath with your signature eye roll. “Come on Darling I know you want me, you’re a bad girl and you know it!” He says with a smirk. You look over at him with a smirk “you know you’re just as bad.” Merlin, he loved your bad girl side, you were both bad and everyone knew it.

Y/N’s POV

Draco kept up with your teasing, you’d go fast then slow, stop then go, you were utterly surprised that he had not caved in to your advances yet. But today was different you hadn’t seen him all day, it was as if he was avoiding you, you thought maybe he had become fed up with the constant teasing. You had just come from your Defence Against the Dark Arts class when you waltzed into the common room to see Draco sitting in his favourite chair by the fire. He was dressed head to toe in his black suit, making you weak at the knees. Merlin he looked so good in that suit, it contrasted against his platinum hair perfectly, you could tear it off of him there and then. He hadn’t noticed you yet, you decided to just stand there and admire him for a while longer, how he sat there, glass in hand, his favourite Firewhiskey no coke, the bright orange glow of the roaring fire reflecting on his pale skin, Merlin he was handsome.

“It’s rude to just stand there and stare Darling.” His husky tone catching you off guard. “I haven’t seen you around today.” You say matter of factly “I’m tired of chasing you Y/N” he said sternly. You instantly soften, you know that Draco has had a rough childhood, maybe it was time for you to tell him how you really felt before he became disinterested. “Dray, I know you’ve been hurt before, but you know I’ll love you more.” You were standing directly in front of him now. Draco staring deep into your eyes, his pupils dilated. He put his glass down on the table beside him, he was finally going to take what was his, he wrapped his arm around your waist jerking you forwards so that you ended up straddling him. His hand resting softly on your cheek brushing his thumb over your bottom lip. You couldn’t handle the teasing anymore, crashing your lips to his in a heated kiss. Draco relaxed into you, fighting your tongue for dominance. Biting your bottom lip he had won slipping his tongue inside. After a few minutes you pulled away needing air. “Not such a bad girl now are you?” He says smirking at you. “I’d describe myself more as a spice girl, nice girl, party all night girl.” You say with sarcastically while giggling. He chuckles at this, hands still firm on your waist. “Party all night definitely, nice girl, you are anything but.” He growls in your ear. “Yeah and you love it Malfoy.” You roll your eyes at him. “You know it Darling.”

#draco imagine #draco x reader #draco lucius malfoy #draco smut #dracotok #draco malfoy #harry potter

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jjyusmile · 4 years ago

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the life i once had | ljy

PROMPT #11, Day 26: [Vampire]

pairing: vampire!juyeon x reader!

words: 2k

notes: for @deobiwritersnet ‘the magic begins’ event!

warning: intense intense i n t e n s e !

my writing

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

Your family has been coming to this seaside town since you were a little girl. As you strolled along the beachfront, inhaling the last of the summer air. Smoothing down your auburn brown curls and the flowing, floral summer outfit that breached its boundaries as the wind picked up. Glancing around at the crashing waves, you were mesmerised by the aggression of their nature. The sand wasn’t paradisiac, it was unpleasant. It spanned the entire shore of this coastal town, the shallow shores coated with surfer dudes and families with picnics. The town held huddles of smiling families, children playing on hundreds of penny machines that chime loudly at a win, which muffled the sound of the wind.

Your father suggested this place for old times’ sake; you had travelled the coast for the last two weeks -- saving the best for last. The town held a special place in your heart… stepping out and feeling the breeze that was mixed with the sea air. Your whole life was planned: graduate next July, move in with your partner, be engaged by next December. Your father jumped at the chance to take you on a family getaway one final time. Countless memories wandered this beach. As you looked out at the harbour boats, you noticed fisherman returning from their day at sea, reigning in their nets. Yet, your drifting gaze wandered, almost automatically. A slight crick in your neck began to twinge as was craned your gaze upwards. The daunting steps to the ruins of the town’s abbey made the whole scenario worse the longer you looked at it. What was left of the abbey were the tall, medieval monastic walls surrounding the abbey itself and an astounding house.

When you were younger, your father used to make you all climb the steps two at a time, “two, four, six, eight… the last one to the top is the beast’s dinner!” In the end, he carried you all the way to the top, “one hundred and eighty-eight, one hundred and ninety…” The abbey blocked the sun in a blinding manner, masses of people squinting and cupping their hands over their eyes to get a small glimpse at the towering wrecks of the walls. You were struck with awe once you faced the unnerving steps to the castle, looking out onto the shore. This place felt familiar every time you climbed the steps. One year, you were reading the old folklores of the abbey, once known as Streoneshalh, on signposts stating its history when your older sisters decided to recite facts about the abbey and its owner competitively; who could name more facts about how a famous writer used these ruins to inspire the scariest creature to roam the Earth. You were captivated, but you knew in yourself that vampires were not real. They were cruel, emotionless, and vicious myths.

“He doesn’t have a pulse.”

“He doesn’t age.”

Fascinated, yet bored, it had taken your Father thirty minutes to find you; the tall, aging zinc gravestone hid you well from the reality of it all. You felt a sense of comfort next to the gravestone; it wasn’t as daunting as the high-rise walls of the abbey.

Looking at it now, age twenty-one, you could never dream of how naïve you were as a young child. You had excused myself from your early reservation at the hotel restaurant to clear your head. Kicking the sand with your scuffed boot to regain you train of thought; your neck had begun to throb. This getaway was to spend some time with your family, yet, here you were strolling the beachfront alone.

“Time to head back to reality” you muttered to yourself, rubbing your neck through the thick, woolen jumper you had thrown on to keep warm. As you turned to mount the steep slant to head up to the pier, the air became suffocating. Subconsciously, you craned your aching neck to gaze upon the cliff once more. You began to feel emotions you hadn’t experienced in a long time: want, need, desire, familiarity. There was another feeling that was on the tip of your tongue, but you couldn’t bring yourself to admit it. Feet began to drift through the narrow, cobbled streets, you could have been walking for five minutes, twenty, an hour. The Bookshop, The Black Horse pub, Justin’s Chocolatiers. Your attention was no longer on the places that used to draw you in; you were being compelled by the daunting steps to the rest of your life “two, four, six, eight…”

You slowly approached the first steps when a low hum sounded… a ringing that would force anyone to find the source. Twenty-six, twenty-eight. It was inviting, blinding and staggering all in one. You could not shake the feeling that you were subconsciously drawn to this cliff. Seventy-four, seventy-six. Half way up and walking to the next set of steps that led to the abbey, the scenery behind you began to morph into a darker, gloomier sight. You caught a glimpse of flickering fire in your peripheral vision, and wooden boats wobbling in the harbor. You began to race up the steps to get a better look. One hundred and sixty-two, one hundred and sixty-four. You stood behind a familiar gravestone and gazed out at the completely different shore. Jaw slack and knuckles white, you tried to steady your mind by gripping the rough stone. Pulling your hands away, you noticed the grazes from the rough stone were slowly fading.

The shore was not only coated in dried up seaweed and flyaway branches but wooden canoes and fallen weapons that had been abandoned on the muddy sand. The tourist attraction that had protruded the tip of the bay was replaced by dark, wooden huts that you would assume were people’s homes by the clothing hanging up outside. You looked down to catch the flowing water that flooded the bottom of the cliff, as if surrounding it, with a small, aged bridge that led to the staggered steps. Small children playing in rags with bare feet in the dirt. Young men clinking stone steins together in celebration and chanting about a battle just won. Men and women were huddled around a fire, murmuring stories to one another, cheering and laughing as if they had no care in the world. How wonderful.

“Our Kingdom is wonderful, isn’t it?”

A pair of black eyes almost hidden by wavy, brown locks gazed down on your small figure. Your gaze flicked across the figures face, focusing on the deep, faded scar that lined the right side of his face. The stranger’s hand was caressing your lower back affectionately. His eyes penetrated your soul as if asking for permission to grasp it into his cold, possessive clutch. But he already has.

“It is incredible how the wind feels when you are no longer startled by the cold. It is refreshing, don’t you agree?” The stranger asked, his head tilted to the side as he gazes out with deep fondness onto the village.

His mouth, stained scarlet, morphed into a grin; his incisors stood out from the rest. Fangs. You should have been scared, but it felt familiar. His pointed nose arched delicately framing his face under the shadows. His tainted, ruby waistcoat contrasted the abundance of charcoal that coated his skin elegantly, all the way down to his pointed dress shoes. His skin was pale, but it was glowing with glimmers of silver and crimson, reflecting from the raging fires below.

“Where am I?” you whispered. Your teeth began to ache.

“My love, you act as though you have never laid eyes upon Streoneshalh before?” he cocked his head to the side, analysing every flicker of your eyes and every bump that rose upon your smooth skin. His voice was like velvet. A name came to mind as you gazed upon his adoring face.

Juyeon.

You looked down to find my woollen jumper had been replaced with a burgundy corset with overhanging silver chains and a dark, flowing cloak. “Our kingdom.” You murmured to myself, slicing your lip on the exposed teeth that had grown through. Pulling your hand away from the swollen graze, you noticed opaque blood, almost black, was dripping from your lip.

Bringing your finger to prod at the pointed teeth, you came to the realisation that you were supposed to be here. You were destined to have climbed those steps. Our Kingdom. A small man, much older than yourself, appeared in the doorway with a strikingly golden cane in his right hand. He grinned at you both with the same adoration as a father has in another life. Caedmon.

“The abbey truly is beautiful. The excellent detail that shapes its walls is a sight to behold. The glimmering light from those fires below accentuate the detail extraordinarily. Never has there been a sight like this.” You gawped. “I cannot believe that we live here…” Trailing off questioningly, unsure of the true reality of your life at this moment.

You turned my gaze back to the striking man beside you. King Juyeon, Ruler of Streoneshalh. He smiled at you, adoringly. You felt safe, comfortable, familiar. His cool, enormous hands enclosed your small ones as he intertwined your fingers. At that moment, you looked up to the scar gashing of his face. A flash of lightning passed your eyes as the scene around you changed. You saw the life you used to have before you ruled over your Kingdom.

Loud cheers surrounded your small tribe fighting to protect our coast. Flashes of silver like lightning. Swords were clashing against one another in aggression that you had never witnessed before. Your short, choppy locks were coated in sweat and dirt. Your tunic sliced in more places than one. You knew you were not meant to be in battle, but you had to find Juyeon. Your heart stopped once you noticed him lying on the floor, blood splattered his right cheek with glimpses of flesh oozing out of his skin. You ran to him faster than your legs could take you. “Please, please, please” you repeated, like. a mantra. Taking his paling face into your hands, wiping coated crimson locks from his broken skin. You sobbed until you could not shed a tear anymore. You looked up in time to see a small man with a gold cane with his gaze secured on your two figures. You took Juyeon’s hands in your own with affection, love, and hope. The battle had carried further along the shore, leaving Juyeon’s tiresome body and yourself alone with the stranger. His smile was alluring, welcoming. The light of the setting sun disappeared with a glimmer that was quicker than the lethal swords of battle.

“I owe my life to Caedmon for protecting you, giving us a life of eternity. I will never forgive you for being on that battlefield that day. The gruesome sight of slashing swords still haunts our nightmares. It was no place for someone so beautiful, so ravishing. Yet, he gave us our Kingdom to rule over and has taught us skills we could never have learned down there.” Juyeon’s gaze drifted to the small man that remained planted in the doorway watching over you, and then down towards your old home amongst the sea of cheering Saxons.

“Come, my love. The sun will begin to rise soon; we must get to our chambers. Caedmon has collected one of the dying soldiers from the battle for us. We have not fed in weeks.” He gestured toward the towering double doors that led into the abbey. You had forgotten what had ensued before you reached the steps. You wanted to follow Juyeon wherever he went. You had eternity to look after your kingdom, after all.

Caedmon reached your side, using his cane to aid his stride: “your love for one another never fails to astound me, my dear.” His grin is taken up by his protruding fangs. You witnessed a fatherly love gleaming through his eyes, despite their hollow depths. You nodded in appreciation, grinning, drawn once more by the allure of Juyeon and the abbey.

Before you entered our domain, grasping my fingers along the hem of lengthy cloak and striding confidently behind Juyeon and Caedmon, you felt an urge to turn and gaze out over the cliffs. You caught sight of a familiar gravestone; its silhouette cast a contrast against the flickers of copper that gleamed from the fire pits below in the village. Walking across the gravel path towards the cemetery, you noticed a grave marker by the same stone. Your velvet cloak flapped in the wind, stark against your auburn curls. You were surrounded by the lingering smell of burnt out fires and beef stews that you used to long for. The moment you felt fingers wrap around your waist, you were overwhelmed by his comforting scent. Inhaling deeply, your gaze wandered down to the cursive letters on the gravestone.

It read:

Here lies Juyeon and ---. Brave warriors of our unforgotten War. May their Souls Rest in Peace.

#deobiwritersnet #deobihalloween2020 #tbznetwork #lee juyeon #juyeon #the boyz juyeon #tbz juyeon #vampire juyeon #juyeon angst #the boyz fics #the boyz scenario #the boyz angst #tbz fics #tbz scenario #tbz angst

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spiritus-sonne · 4 years ago

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Being Blutpir

It occurred to me after reading parts from my past vampirekin and monstrosity writings that I have never written a more straight-forward piece about what it is like for me to be vampirekin and that’s something I want to do (so thus this writing). Specifically, I refer to my vampire ‘type as a “blutpir” since that’s the ‘species’ name I’ve chosen for it and my original concept of fictional vampires that it aligns with. They are, in essence, fictional humanoid vampires that have a notable amount of ‘animality’ to them mentally and behaviorally. There are various renditions of vampires that I connect to in some sense but none I’ve yet come across align as well as my concept of blutpirs that I had been slowly developing starting about a decade prior to consciously realizing I am vampirekin. Blutpirs are kind of cat-like, mildly shapeshifting humanoids, so it took me awhile longer to figure out my vampire ‘type from the time I came across therianthropy and otherkin as I knew very early on at that time that I have a cat theriotype. My cat ‘type kind of overlaps and blends with blutpir, so it’s not like I can always draw a distinct line and say more definitively “that is just a cat experience” and “that is just a blutpir/vampire” experience.

I think part of my eventual realization to blutpir is that there were seemingly cat-like experiences and aspects to me that didn’t fit my cat theriotype, or my other three theriotypes, and upon further investigation, I couldn’t manage to attribute just to my monster-heartedness. Now, I will say, my monster-heartedness does kind of sing through my vampire ‘type, especially since the monsters I connect to the most are animalistic humanoids, including some kinds of vampires. Honestly, when I get down to it, though, I think my main self-concept is actually that of a blutpir--it is how I see my human(oid) self in my mind’s eye. Plus it was actually a very rough concept of an original (blutpir) vampire called Sonne from where I came to eventually take on the name for myself and it’s stuck to the point of being about as close to a “true” name for me that I’ve ever had (the “Spiritwind” part always feels more like a last name, an extra specifier to better designate that is is me online). Sonne was a vampire character that I really looked up to in some sense for her power, charisma, and confidence, and for her being a blutpir. I never really fleshed out the character much, though I did early on write a poem about/inspired by her. The vampire connection, plus the connection to the sun (as sonne is the German word for sun), which is a strong point of my spirituality and theism, really allowed the name to become a seemingly permanent self-identifier for me.

I have a certain visual self-concept in my mind of what I look like: black hair (my real hair is dark brown), amber (sometimes greenish) colored eyes, a little darker skinned, and a thinner build than I actually have. Along with this is mild shapeshifting abilities like shifting claws or claw-like nails, shifting eye color (to an inhuman one, either glowy amber or all black, including the sclera (white) part), and shifting or retractable fangs on the top of my mouth. Those aspects have been rather constant for a long time in how I internally view myself, even though it’s really taken me until now to realize I’ve probably been seeing myself as a blutpir for all that time. This also doesn’t mean that I was wrong about my cat ‘type because I still experience aspects of it that I find to be or resonate with specifically a cat rather than a blutpir (including phantom parts, like my pivotal cat ears, fur, feline feet/legs, and having body-oriented thought of my feline body doing things, such as curling up to sleep). Yet perhaps, I will admit, maybe I developed over time a vampire ‘kintype and blutpir-specific self-concept in part from aspects of my cat therianthropy mixing with my humanness and my monster-heartedness until eventually I ended up with a blutpir ‘kintype and self-concept.

It’s unfortunately been years since I’ve felt more strongly like blutpir and I miss it. Don’t get me wrong, it’s still there, still present within me and I do still experience aspects of it actively, but because of depression, it’s not like I used to (yet I hope that will change over time now that I’m on medications that seem to be significantly helping me emotionally and psychologically). One of the ways in which I used to strongly experience blutpir was during sex (whatever kind of specific sexual activity). It got me feeling rather vampirically shifty, which I won’t get into details but it involved a more vampiric mindset, phantom claws and fangs, and a desire to bite and tear my partner (though I never did it beyond what my partner was okay with). Over time I lost that shiftiness and anhedonia took hold during sexual activity. I used to feel so free and euphoric during sex, not so much from the sex itself but instead from the vampire and cat shifts I had during it, which after I lost the shifting, I also lost the ability to much at all enjoy sex. I want to have that back, in part for my own sake and also because I think it would be healthier socially with my partner for me to enjoy having sex again, to actually be able to feel euphoric during it.

Certain movies and TV shows will get me feeling vampire shifty, mainly if there is a vampire or other animalistic humanoid in it. I’m kind of particular about it though--most vampire media just doesn’t do it for me and often times they are depicted as too human or not humanoid enough, the former often being vampires that seem like mentally and behaviorally just humans that happen to drink blood. Fangs on vampires is a much preferred thing for me to see and I get disappointed when I see fictional vampires without fangs. I also prefer to see them with claws or claw-like nails and extra points if they have (shifting) inhuman eye color. These three physical traits are the physical aspects of vampires I keep coming back to; being so drawn to and resonating with them, time and time again. They are consistent with that self-concept I have that I mentioned in this earlier. And when I do watch something that gets me feeling vampire shifty, I sometimes will get a pleasurable but strange rolling, contracting feeling in my abdomen that I only experience when reading or watching certain fictional humanoid creatures, particularly when they are shifting. I’ve wondered if it’s the same as the “butterflies in your stomach” response, but I’ve felt that during anxious times and know it doesn’t feel the same way.

One of my favorite depictions of a vampire in media is Colin Farrell as Jerry Dandrige in the “Fright Night” reboot in 2011. I don’t really connect to some of the more stereotypical aspects of the vampire like his weaknesses, but what I do strongly connect with are his animalistic behaviors along with his appearance with fangs, claws, and black eyes. One scene in particular I love is when he can’t get into a house to attack someone because he has to be invited in, and he acts cattish at the door, like an anxious caged cat pacing as it can’t get to the food/prey it wants. He manages to display some (of course not remotely all) of the behaviors and physical embodiments that I resonate with as a vampire, so I love being able to see that. I also rather like Henry from the TV show “Blood Ties”, mainly when he’s shifted because of how I connect with him in that state. In contrast, I’ve seen media that shows a character that looks like a bipedal, anthropomorphized creature/monster, even in a horror sense, or any range of looking like an animalistic humanoid and connect very little if at all with them because *behaviorally* and/or mentally they aren’t animalistic enough--they’re just a human mind in a nonhuman body, which kind of bores me, to be honest.

The list of typically vampire-associated things I don’t relate to is probably long, but I’ll mention some of it. Foremost is that blutpirs aren’t harmed by sunlight anymore than most humans are--that’s always been kind of an annoyance to me in vampire media, and it’s unfortunately a very common trope. Secondly, they aren’t undead at all, they are living beings, albeit with some supernatural aspects including longer-lived, reduced signs of aging, mild shapeshifting abilities, and ability to ‘breed’ via supernatural means rather than sexual (essentially blood transfer in a more typical vampire trope kind of way). They also aren’t adverse to religious symbols nor need to be stabbed through the heart with a wooden stake in order to kill them (or poof into ash when killed). There are others I can’t think of right now, but that covers at least some of them.

Sometimes I get phantom shifty with claws and/or fangs and I am fond of the feeling. I can at times feel my fangs gently pressing up against the inside of my lips, which leaves me pursing my lips just a little bit in response to them. I get, more uncommonly, a strange phantom feeling in my eyes that I’ve come to associate with maybe a shifting feeling to them, like they are (phantomly) turning to an inhuman state. These phantom parts can combine with other phantom parts of whichever of my theriotypes, usually cat (especially since I have constant phantom cat ears). I may feel defensive with eyes wide and flared, claws ready, and fangs bared (with me tending to feel only top fangs as a vampire, I think, and more pointed teeth on top and bottom as cat, but again, cat and blutpir are kind of blurred at times). At those times I will also want to hiss and growl and have ears back and hackles/fur on neck and back bristled. There’s also a certain ‘cattish’ grin or smirk I have sometimes when feeling vampirey, which I doubt looks nearly on my physical body like how I see it in my mind; and it’s something that the Jerry Dandrige character I mentioned does oh so well. When I’m feeling myself doing a ‘vampiric grin’ (whether internally or externally), I also mentally feel more confident, charismatic, and predatory, so it’s a mental shift and not just a phantom sensation or body-oriented thought. Comparatively, I’m usually docile, meek, submissive, and passive, so it honestly feels different but enjoyable to have that kind of shift in mindset (no matter how fleeting it may be, which it always is). I still feel like myself, to clarify, just a different sort of version of who I really am. It really captures what I felt Sonne-the-character was like.

I will say that I do have a distaste for the fact that the term “vampirekin” has seemingly become (at least on Tumblr) synonymous with vampirecore, I assume from the ‘kinning-for-fun’ people. It just reminds me of years ago when the Tumblr vampirekin tag was hardly even used, though even then what bit it was used was mainly not by people identifying as vampires in an otherkin-sense, but I like the *concept* of the tag potentially being used to help vampirekin find other vampirekin. Honestly, I’ve only come across a few or so people who actually identify as serious vampirekin, though I haven’t talked much with any of them about either of us being such, unfortunately (I guess, really, I’m just more apt to talk about this stuff in my longer writings and sometimes on forum posts for some of the shorter stuff). I’m thankful for those who have actually made it a point to denote vampirekin as not being the same as ‘energy vampires’ (or whichever term to call them, since there are a few; I mean the psi/sang vampires). Recently I came across a Discord server which does make that distinction and welcomes a wide variety of people in connection with vampirism of some sort. However, the description of the group noted that vampirism is about the practice of leeching another being’s life force or vital energy which I feel I can’t relate to in the way I experience my vampire otherkinity, but I do see that it would ultimately fit with my vampire ‘kintype itself with it being, of course, a blood-drinking vampire.

This is something that’s interesting to me in how I experience this otherkinity: my lack of a desire, let alone a strong, nagging urge, to drink blood. I figure it’s for the same reasons that I don’t experience the desire to eat grass (for horse), or arthropods (for mongoose and erdenvogel), or raw meat (for cat). Those urges for consuming foods of my ‘type-specific diets just have never been part of me and my experiences, for whatever reason. So why would it be present in my vampirism when it isn’t present for my four theriotypes? That makes sense to me, but whomever else may not understand it since I experience *being* (non-physically) a vampire in this life without the cravings for blood (or other life-force substance, yet my vampire ‘type is specifically a blood-drinking one). In the lore that aligns with my vampire ‘type, it doesn’t survive solely on blood--it eats like any other human--just needs to consume blood periodically to stay healthy and functional and may die without it.

They, from what I’ve come up with in my personal lore of blutpirs, don’t tend to go into (let alone on a frequent basis) strong, deep cravings for it, but that those urges can at times come up if they are starting to basically ‘wither away’ in health and such from going too long without blood, or if they’ve lost a lot of blood and haven’t had it replenished via transfusion yet. Those scenarios haven’t been applicable to me, especially since I’m living life in a human body that doesn’t need to drink blood to be healthy, functional, or to survive in general. It’s not that I’m mentally adverse to drinking blood, it’s just that I literally never have a craving for it and see no point in me trying to find a way to get a hold of either another person’s blood (safe donor) or another animal’s blood (like pig’s blood). Although it’s kind of funny to me that I have always preferred well-done meat and generally dislike the taste of meat that’s any below well done or sometimes below medium doneness (like roast beef for the medium level; steak and ground beef I dislike pink at all). Most people I know prefer their steaks rare to medium-rare, so I’m the ironically odd one out in that.

So yeah, being a blood-drinking vampire-identified person who doesn’t crave blood at least *sometimes* makes it more difficult for me to relate to other vampirekin along with most other people who have a connection with vampires, are energy vampires, or vampire lifestylists since so much of these vampire things tends to focus on the *need* and *cravings* for blood or life-force that defines vampires. Though when I really stop to think about it, despite that being definitive of describing or categorizing vampires, maybe even a fictional vampire species doesn’t *have* to be so much about that. It’s like thinking that a theriotype of a certain animal is heavily defined in being that kind based largely on what that animal’s diet is and that they would be odd if they didn’t, during this current human-body life, experience strong cravings for the theriotype’s food. Now granted, yes, most animals are not defined by their diets in our vocabulary: we don’t define a horse as a horse because it eats grass/vegetation, for example, but my point is that I don’t experience being a vampire as “a being that feasts on blood to survive”. I experience vampire as an animalistic humanoid that has various physical aspects and adaptations that came about over time, in part for predatory reasons to gain the sustenance (blood, especially from humans) that it needs from time to time to function and survive. Being vampire for me is much more about being a nonhuman, animalistic humanoid than it is about “I *must* drink blood”; it’s a much more diverse experience that I shouldn’t think has to boil down to such an oversimplistic concept of what a vampire is or should be.

For comparison purposes, it’s kind of like my domestic cat theriotype and how it is similar to actual domestic cats. Now, of course, I can’t know what actually goes on in the brains of cats, but things can be inferred from their behaviour. Domestic cats, like other felines, are evolutionarily built to *kill*, to be predators, mostly ambush predators. However, when we keep them inside and well fed, they are allowed to experience a life that isn’t mostly about “when will my next meal be” or “I need to hunt now” in order to survive. Instead, although they are still very food motivated and frequently are preoccupied with getting or wanting to get food (if they aren’t totally free-fed with a constant supply of food available all the time), they express a variety of other behaviors that include other aspects of their lives and selves (like social aspects, grooming, play, etc.). My experience in being vampire is kind of like that--although I do think often about wanting food, I’m fortunate and thankful to be able to be well-fed and not have to worry about obtaining my next meal for the most part. My behaviors and my mindset don’t end up involving me needing or feeling I need to obtain blood, especially since I don’t possess the physiology for that need to be present. Yet I do experience desires for attacking or biting as a vampire, even though those have been reduced for the past few years due to my depression (which I cover in a different writing).

It is thus not a sense of a need for blood that could connect me to other vampirekin and other vampirism-related people, as it is instead a sense of humanoid animality (albeit a very particular kind) that connects me to some concepts of vampires. And so even as a fictional humanoid vampire I still find more sense of similarity among therians than I do for most people who use the term “vampire” for themselves. I would like to find more animalistic vampirekin to share thoughts or writings with; to read of their similar and contrasting experiences in being a vampire. I want to read more thoughts about their vampirism “beyond the blood need” and into the diversity of other experiences they have related to being vampire. So here I am, trying to share my own pieces of vampirism for others to see and maybe relate to.

#otherkin #vampirekin #therian

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erintoknow · 5 years ago

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so unfamiliar now

Spiraling - A Fallen Hero: Rebirth Fan-fiction

Unless you want Ortega hounding you to the end of your days, you’re going to have to put on a show and convince her she doesn’t need to keep worrying about you. You’re fine. Everything’s fine. She’s fine. Wait – [Horseshoe Crab]

It’s my birthday today so have a second update this week!!!!!

[Read on AO3]

If you’re going to get Ortega to lay off of you, you need to start thinking about your appearance again. Dressing in hoodies to look inconspicuous doesn’t do you any good if it actually ends up drawing more attention to yourself. So… What do you dress like?

Once upon a time Ariadne fancied anything and everything from skirts and the femmest outfits she could get her hands on all the way to shrugging on a leather jacket and gloves as part of her roller derby get-up. What could possibly be a logical progression from that?

Don’t want to look too affluent. A waste of resources. But you don’t want to look destitute either. So… Clean, some color. Mostly greens, some purples and black for variety. Cloth and cotton, things you can layer. Mix in some new items with thrift store purchases to fill out the rest.

One day at the mall, you stumble across a cute pair of shoes with a 1” heel and add them to the pile. The old Ariadne would never have worn something like that, but fuck her. She’s dead.

Should you start doing make-up again? Stare yourself down in the mirror in the morning and make a face. Bad enough you have to see that wretched thing as much as you do already. The concealer work is enough. Leave the eyeshadow and lipstick in the past. Anyone misgenders you, you can just beat the shit out of them. It’s 2020 now, you’re totally allowed to do that, super villain or no.

God. Do you look human yet? You don’t feel it. What is Ariadne like? How do you play this? Do you play up the stutter or tamp it down? Does she find it cu– Fuck. Fucking hell. No. No you are not thinking about that. Jesus fucking christ.

You pull fabric around your shoulders, frowning in disapproval at the mirror. Once upon a time, Ortega’s mother gave you a serape like this for Christmas. That one was a rainbow of color. This shawl is a duller green, with a white geometric pattern along the edges. Still, it’s long enough, draping down to your waist. You could hide your arms completely underneath, maybe a few other things if there was a call for it. Kind of like the cape for your villain suit.

So is this you, now? Or at least, if not you; is it Ariadne? You’re allowed to change, right? Will she even buy it? You’re not sure that you do.

When you get the phone call from Ortega one evening you go along and let her make plans. You’ve got time to kill before your next big operation anyway. And you can field test your new wardrobe.

–––

“Ariadne! Hola!” Ortega raises her arm, a bright smile on her face. Looks like the last of the stitches are gone. Thank god. She’s got jeans on, another flannel shirt. No jacket today? If it wasn’t for the gave-away glint of metal embedded in her arms and hands she’d look like a textbook middle-age butch lesbian.

Did she always dress like that? Is it because she’s seeing Jane now? Swear she flirted a little more femme when she was with men. Not that you were paying attention at the time. Of course not.

Shut up.

You raise your hand back, “Hola yourself. Y–you look happy today.”

“I like the new look.”

You blink, glance down at yourself. Doubt creeping back into your head. “Uh. Well. It’s uh, it’s just stuff I had… laying around… you know.”

“Uh-huh. I’m sure.” She doesn’t believe you at all, damn her.

“D–don’t think it’s for your benefit!” You hiss back, you reach up and grab the edges of your shawl, pulling the green fabric closed over your body. “B–because it’s not!”

Her smile broadens. “I didn’t say anything, Ariadne.”

“F–fuck you.”

“I like the shawl, it’s cute.”

Oh god. You can’t look at her. Face warm. Ortega has a girlfriend, what the hell is she doing? “G–good for you. You um, you want to – to get on with w–whatever the fuck we’re doing today?”

“Alright, alright.” She laughs, turning and beckoning you to follow. “We’re already here actually.” Ortega gets about halfway to the front doors before she realizes (acknowledges?) that you aren’t following her. She turns her head, flaps her arms in a ‘what?’ gesture.

Pulling your shawl tight around you, there’s newfound gratitude for how your sunglasses help to mask your eyes.

You stare up at the front facade of the Los Diablos Children’s Hospital, white tiling and red brickwork and dozens of little panes of glass like too many eyes. “Ortega…” you try to keep the panic out of your voice. “I thought you said we were doing something fun.”

She walks back to you, tight frown on her face. “We used to do this all the time, remember?”

You stare at her, “Do what?”

“Visits? Readings? You know?”

Bite your lip, is that true? Ortega seems so sure of it, but… Thinking back to hospitals all your memory coughs up is a very different kind of picture. One that makes your stomach roil and your head dizzy. True or not there’s still one problem: “Ortega… I’m trying to keep a low profile, remember?”

Ortega sighs and pats you on the shoulder. “Look, there’s no PR crew, no cameras, I haven’t even told Chen. The only person who knows we’re coming is the lady in charge of managing volunteers, Sue, and as far she knows you’re just a friend I’m dragging along.” She steps beside you, hooking her arm in yours. “So, you’ve got nothing to worry about, okay?”

You tense up as Ortega half-walks, half-drags you to the doors. “If – if, um – ninjas descend from the ceiling and kidnap me, I want you to know…”

“Yeah?”

“I f–f–fucking hate you.”

Ortega laughs, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Bright lights and white walls, men and women in scrubs, medical masks. You keep your shades on, damn politeness. Mercifully, hardly anyone spares you a thought, eyes sliding off. Fewer people than you'd believe recognize Ortega out of her Ranger’s outfit. At the same time, you do get the sense she’s a known quantity here, this isn’t her first rodeo. You’ll just have to trust her; there’s an uncomfortable thought.

You wish you had the Rat-King handy, you can wrap a song tight around your head but you could stand to have a little help filtering out the background noise. Maybe it’s your own baggage, but the chatter of hospital thoughts always has this tension to it – forced cheeriness.

Hang back and let Ortega talk to the front desk, a few minutes of waiting and the woman, she mentioned, Sue? –Susan?– comes out frowning behind the too-thick fireproof doors. Straight brown hair, dressed in white, stud earrings.

It makes an interesting contrast between her and Ortega. Ortega’s sporting her Ranger-branded sports jacket today. Ranger-blue indigo shirt underneath. Her bronzed skin a touch darker in shade than her conversation partner. It’s a good look for her – the outfit that is.

You guess.

Not that you’re an expert on Ortega’s style choices or anything.

What do you care what she looks like?

You don’t.

Shut up.

Sue and Ortega make small talk, and Ortega keeps glancing your way. Expecting you to join in? You’d rather hang back. Not talking to any doctors today, thanks.

You worry the sleeves of your shirt, pulled down to the wrists. Rub the fabric between your fingers, trace patterns over your thigh, anything to do that isn’t further chewing up the inside of your cheek.

It’s been weeks now and neither one of you have discussed the kiss in the Hospital. Maybe Ortega doesn’t even remember. Some drug-fueled fever dream.

Or…

Or maybe she hated it? Is politely letting you pretend it never happened. She’s with Jane, you have to remember. Ortega is a lot of things, but she’s not a cheater.

And now Ortega’s beckoning you over. Welp.

Take a breath, in – hold – out. You’re not scared. What are you scared of? You are Ghost, the mysterious plight of Los Diablos. They ought to be scared of you. Ortega taps the side of her head. No shades? You make a face and she gives you a serious look. You huff and pull them off, fold up and tuck them in your purse. White walls. White lights. Can feel your heart jump. Fuck. Ortega smiles at you, you fake a smile back.

You’ve got this. Everything’s under control.

Here we go.

Sue hands the two of you off to a nurse who in turn acts as your guide. You trail behind, not paying much attention to his and Ortega’s conversation. What you bother to pick up confirms that Ortega’s made a habit of these low-key visits apparently, to different hospitals across the city. Ever since returning to the Rangers.

Did Ortega used to drag you along to official Ranger PR events? You can almost remember. The memory of remembering. Try to think too hard about hospitals though, and you get panicky. Short breath. Little dizzy. A hospital is the last place you want to pass out at, thanks but go fuck yourself.

–––

A pair of tiny arms clings to your leg and a jolt of panic shoots through you. “Uh… H–h–hello?”

A girl with cropped brown hair stares back up at you. “HI LADY! I like your hair!!”

You glance at Ortega, she’s got her back to you, teaching a boy how to do some fancy handshake. You catch the eye of the nurse, hanging back by the doorway. He gives a small smile. No help there. Look back down at the kid, “T–th–thanks? Um– Don’t you want to talk to Charge over there?”

She remains undeterred. “What’s your name?”

“Ari?” You glance towards Ortega again. Help. She remains utterly unaware of your plight.

“Are you a boy or a girl?”

You choke. “W–w–what? I’m uh– I’m a girl.” Fuck. What did she pick up on? You usually pass just fine these days. Could just die right now, that would be great, thanks.

“Oh. Okay!” There is absolutely no hint of embarrassment in this girl’s mind. “Are you Ms. Charge’s girlfriend?”

You hunch down and very gently try to pry her arms off your leg. “What um, what gives you that idea?”

She tilts her head, staring you down with full intensity. “‘cause you keep looking at Ms. Charge AND everyone knows the hero’s girlfriend ALWAYS has red hair!!”

You smile to hide the panic. “W–what uh, what makes you say that?”

She gives you a doubtful look, can’t believe an adult doesn’t know this. “‘cause it’s in all the movies!! Duh!!”

“Ari!’ Oh thank god. You breathe a sigh of relief as Ortega walks over, the other kids curiously watching behind her. “Making friends?”

“Hi Ms. Charge!!” The little girl fixes her full attention to Ortega.

“Hello!” She smiles widely, “Introduce me to your friend, Ari?”

“Uh–”

“My name is Casey!” The little terror cuts in. “SHE never asked!” Casey huffs. “Your girlfriend is RUDE Ms. Charge.”

“Girlfriend?” Ortega raises her eyebrows at you.

You shake your head wildly, suddenly way too warm. “S–s–she came up with that one herself!”

An hour and a half later of helping Ortega handle the meet and greet and you’re free again.

You slip your shades back on as the two of you exit the hospital. Run a hand through your purse to find the chocolate bar, peel off the wrapper at one end with shaking hands. “That was… that was something.”

Ortega claps you on the back and you stumble forward a step. “See? I told you you’d be fine.”

“Y–yeah, well…” You frown, “If you d–don’t hear from me in a week, you only have yourself to blame.” You break off a piece of chocolate, “Want any?”

“I’m good.” Ortega smiles, you shrug and pop the candy into your mouth “So…” Her smile fades as she glances towards you, “what did you think?” The two of you leave the parking lot, walk the sidewalk, you follow her lead through the streets.

“What d–did I think?”

“Want to come with me the next time I go?”

You give her a wry smile, “Y–You’re not gonna just, uh, just spring it on me again?”

She smirks back at you, “Me? Spring something on you? Never.”

“F–f–fucking smug-ass liar.” You punch her in the shoulder, and Ortega overplays it, comically swinging to the side. “W–why do I keep letting you do this to me?” You keep asking yourself that, and the answer hasn’t gotten any less terrifying.

“Do you remember the last time we did one of those visits?” Ortega glances at you as the two of you hurry across the street.

“When was that?”

“It must have been… well, right before–” She grimaces.

“Oh.” You chew your cheek, trying to think back. Can feel your stomach lurch as the world tilts under you. You have to stop and steady yourself. Cover it up by shaking your head. “I… kind of do? I–I–I haven’t thought about this in years, sorry.” You furrow your eyebrows, “I…”

“You were–” Ortega stops herself, “Oh, sorry, go ahead.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, finish your thought, it’s fine.”

Damn.

“I… think this might be… um, the first positive experience I’ve had with a hospital in… in years.” You grimace, keenly aware of the line you’re skirting. “Between uh… you in the hospital and…”

“And…?” Ortega slows down to match your pace.

Shake your head, “No, it’s – it’s nothing. Sorry. I don’t want to talk about it.” You try to smile even though it feels fake. “What were you going to say?”

“Oh, well–” Ortega rubs the back of her neck, “I was just going to say; I had to step outside to handle a phone call. And–” She laughs, “You were on the verge of panicking, all ‘Charge! Don’t leave me alone with these kids!”

You come to a stop, and groan, run a hand over your face. “Oh my god.”

“You remember now.”

You bite your lip, nod your head. “Uh-huh.”

“How did you get into teaching them about taxonomy? You never told me.”

You can feel the heat on your face now. “Okay. Look. It–it–it made sense at the time okay!? I thought it’d be easiest to keep them from going crazy if I r–r–read them a story?”

“Okay?” Ortega stops walking, leans her shoulder against a boutique storefront’s window, watching you with a smile. You cross your arms under your shawl to try and keep your hands from shaking.

“Okay. So. I just – just grabbed the first children’s book I saw. It–It–it was this animal book? I think? But it was all cutesy and inaccurate.” You bite your lip. “And when I pointed out a mistake, they all laughed so… I just… kept… doing… that…?”

She laughs at you.

You cover your face in your hands, heat going straight to your ears. “D–don’t laugh!”

Ortega covers her mouth, “Okay, okay. Sorry, you’re just so–”

You drop your hands to your sides, “I’m just so what?” You narrow your eyes at her.

She doesn’t miss a beat. “We’ll have to get you a book to read, the next time we go.”

Oh god.

“You’re going to – to kill me Ortega…”

Her smile falters, “I hope not.”

The two of you walk the next block in silence. Is it as awkward for her as it is for you?

Finally Ortega stretches her arms over her head and says, “I don’t do these hospital visits often enough these days.”

Watch her face from the corner of your eye, trying to get a read on her. “How come?”

Ortega sags, shoulders slumped forward. “Too easy to get caught up in work. Especially lately.”

Ah.

You have to keep your face blank, don’t let your heart race. “S–still obsessed with trying to figure out Ghost?”

She gives you a grim smile. “You know it.”

#fallen hero: rebirth #fallen hero fanfic #fanfiction #fhr/Ariadne

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sassyhazelowl · 5 years ago

Text

Fairy Tail Pride

Day 24 Prompt: “They mean everything to me” Pairing: ace!Natsu x ace!Lisanna + adopted child Addition Notes: requested by anon :) Mention of past non-con. @ft-wwtdp

~*~

Lisanna had never thought that all those days long gone would amount to this. After the accident, after Edolas, after the many harrowing adventures in between, she never would’ve dreamed her childhood fantasies would play themselves out so brilliantly.

“He’s lovely,” she cooed, careful not to wake the sleeping child in her arms. Natsu’s warm, solid bulk steadied her back as he peered over her shoulder thoughtfully. Even Happy was quiet, hovering, enchanted by the cherub face with the longest eyelashes any of them had ever seen. Tiny, delicate little fingers curled on the blanket and tight, brown curls covered the child’s head liberally, contrasting with his even darker skin. He was three, maybe four, Lisanna guessed, although his small size made her doubt his age. And if he were awake, the age in his eyes, old as the world, would make her doubt he was so young and guileless.

Cana had casually swung by the evening before, which was rare for the woman to do. If it wasn’t at the guild, she wasn’t around much - she was sociable in public, and private outside of the guildhall. Uncharacteristically hushed, she accepted the invitation into their small flat without even a smile. Natsu had long ago left his forest home, and Lisanna had moved out too. The flat was cozy; they had talked about upgrading it, but since Natsu left often and Lisanna would go to her sister’s, it didn’t seem worth it just for the two of them.

“He’s special, ya see,” Cana drawled, the word special rolling off her lips with subtext dripping. At some point, she’d decided to stop chasing her father, quit the guild as an active mage and took over the local orphanage.

They’d all grown up, Lisanna reflected, when the Peter Pan spell has been broken after Makarov’s death. The doting grandfather figure that kept them in childhood was gone forever. Something had broken, something had settled, the guild was no longer a harbor for adult children to play the day away with magic and destruction.

Special.

Could they handle a child like that?

One of the first things both Natsu and Lisanna established in their relationship was that sex was off the table. Natsu wasn’t interested, announcing it in his particular blunt way, and Lisanna was content to follow her partner’s lead. It had been a relief actually since in previous relationships there had been an expectation. Sex was part of a relationship, after all, and it was a duty to... fill, according to her prior partners. And it was one that had been… abused. Something she didn’t like to think about much, and once she was steady with Natsu, she realized she’d never have to think about it again. There was a lot of pressure, and it’d been a deal-breaker more than once in the past, but with Natsu she was free. And she loved him more for that, the freedom he gave her so casually.

Of course, they wanted a child.

It had come up before, then again, and then again. But it never seemed… right. And, frankly, Lisanna wasn’t sure how pregnancy would take to her, given her Magic. Even Polyursica had confirmed that sometimes when two strong mages had children, things went wrong, even without their strange magics.

Adoption came up. A lot. But it was a long process, an expensive process, and the laws had been changed recently to ensure the officials had lots of paperwork and fingers in potential adopters’ personal lives. There were lots of hoops, lots of requirements, and one of the big questions would be ‘why don’t you make your own?’ Humiliating and invasive. Discriminatory. And at the end there was no guarantee they could even adopt being active mages.

And here Cana shows up with a gift to drop right in their laps. She knew, of course, and since her orphanage was privately owned, she wasn’t bound by all the laws the state-run ones were. A lot of the laws but not all of them. And, more importantly, she wasn’t above circumventing them when necessary. She’d offered them a child under the table more than once, but in the end it never quite worked out.

Which is why Lisanna marveled at what lay in her arms, Natsu’s reassuring, warm bulk behind her and Cana giving a lop-sided smile reminiscent of her rakish youth to the side. Lisanna did not want to know what strings the woman had pulled to make this happen, and she was holding her breath nothing unraveled, because she didn’t think she could bear it if the child were to be taken away.

He needed her. He needed them. He needed a new start in life. He deserved it.

Natsu, as if reading her mind, gave her shoulder a squeeze of support and growled towards Cana with canines showing, “This better not screw up. They mean everything to me. More than Fairy Tail, you understand? Lisanna. Happy. This boy. If this goes wrong, we’ll leave, and I’ll pulverize anyone who stands in the way.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Cana waved him off, unimpressed, “I got it taken care of, swear. And you say that now, but wait until the little terror wakes up; there’s a reason I brought him knocked out cold. He’s got a right devil of a magic already, nearly burned the place down.”

Natsu’s grin grew, and Lisanna remarked, “Good thing this place is fire-proof already.”

Cana smirked, “Hope you have flood insurance.”

“What!”

But by then she was already sauntering out the door, hand waved in lazy acknowledgement. Happy went to shut the door before coming back to stare and whisper, “A little brother.”

“A perfect family,” Natsu proclaimed, wrapping all three of them in a hug. Lisanna leaned against him, safe and protected, whispering with a giddy happiness that filled very bit of her being, “A perfect family.”

#fairy tail #fanfic #nali #ftlgbtpride2019

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pokeshippingflashfic · 6 years ago

Note

One word prompt: Tabloids

“It looks like they’re on to you, Mr. Pokemon Master.”

Ash Ketchum nearly choked on his too-hot coffee, whirling around to face the redheaded young woman who’d just relayed such a cryptic truth to him in confusion.

“Wha… what’re ya talking about, Mist?”

Lacking any delicacy whatsoever, Misty Waterflower of Cerulean City unceremoniously tossed the paper she’d found outside before him on the table, where it lay flat with the headline: Kanto Champion Heartthrob Enters Tryst?! Details inside… staring boldly back at him.

“What the…? he muttered with a scrutinizing glare, haphazardly replacing his coffee mug and picking up the newspaper instead. That was, until he noticed the logo… “Kanto Canvasser? Misty, this is garbage! A tabloid! They’ve been calling the league for months trying to write some fake or over-embellished story on me and I kept saying no so they probably got fed up and wanted revenge. Lance told me it would happen eventually but since the last half a year’s been so quiet, I thought…” he ended in a ramble, looking like quite the guilty party.

“They say they have pics though,” his brunch partner pointed out, tapping the paper from her side of the small round table, then paused almost too patiently while Ash straightened up in his seat in a moderate panic, flipping through the pages until he stumbled upon the details and the photographic evidence against him.

It wasn’t a very good shot of him but even he could definitely tell it was him thanks to the telltale Pikachu perched on his shoulder and the official league cap on his head. What’s more, even though the whole thing was taken from a rear point of view, he could make out the urban strip of Pallet Town in the background and… what looked like his mom’s restaurant in the direction he seemed to be walking.

“Holy… When was this even taken?!” he yelped, eyes squinting before going wide in horror. “And wait…”

It was time to take in the other party of the so-called tryst he’d been rumored to have engaged in. Straight, somewhat thin dark hair that fell halfway down the young woman’s upper arms; a long, clingy darker dress; her skin contrasted drastically both with her attire as well as his own complexion in the photo, which was easier to tell since they were holding hands as they walked.

Again, considering it was from behind and clearly taken stealthily at night, it wasn’t a very good photo of him… but it was definitely him, which meant he’d been caught going to dinner and holding hands with a woman.

“Misty,” he told her firmly as he breathed deeply in through his nose, “I know… what it looks like but I’m telling you it’s not what it looks like.”

“Well, Mr. Pokemon Master, you can’t be telling me that’s not you, right? I mean, Pikachu is right there!”

“No, no, I’m not talking about me! That’s definitely me! I’m talking about her!”

“Her?” the redheaded young woman blinked bemusedly at his scandalous and suspicious tone, eyeing the picture as he turned the open paper around for her to get a decent look. Ash couldn’t help noticing the odd twinkle in her eye despite her more obvious stiff upper lip.

“This is the picture?” she asked after a few seconds of examination, and she seemed much less amused than she did at first. “Ash Ketchum, are you kidding me?” she gaped up at him with a slightly furrowed brow.

“I - I’m not but, like I said, I swear it’s not what it looks like! Maybe they edited her in or something? I dunno! I mean, you gotta know me well enough to know I wouldn’t step out on you, right?”

“I would have said this morning that I knew a lot of things! I thought I knew you well enough to know you didn’t even have the audacity in you to cheat, first of all! I thought I knew we felt the same, were on the same page, and that that,” and she paused just long enough to point it out on the page laid before her, “was our special spot! Your mom’s restaurant, ya know? I thought I knew what we were doing, and that we still had some time before we were exposed…”

“Uh…” the champion trainer responded, both somewhat guilty and much more baffled. What was she on about now? But it was best to let her get it out of her system first. If he tried to interrupt her now, chances were she’d just talk over him in order to be heard.

“… And, lastly, I thought for sure that you knew me well enough to recognize me from the back after all this time, you - you dummy!” she finished in a timely manner, up on her feet with hands on her hips as she stared him down with pursed lips and blotched red cheeks.

“I… wait, what?” he replied, gaze jumping repeatedly from her to the photo in the tabloid. “How is that you? Her hair is too dark; almost black!”

“Ash, c’mon, the photo is in black and white! It’s timestamped underneath as being from two nights ago when we went to your mom’s restaurant for dinner together! You’re literally holding my hand there! Don’t you remember doing that earlier this week?”

“Well, truthfully, I’ve held you a lot lately and definitely more than just your hand…” he muttered somewhat begrudgingly, or perhaps it was the shame hitting him full force for not realizing the truth sooner.

Misty’s somewhat dark expression softened at the tender memories, having the decency to blush at his forwardness as she regained her seat.

“It’s goo - great to have been able to spend some of my vacation from the league together,” he went on, staring avidly her way from across the table, “with you. I didn’t think someone would finally catch us though, ya know? Now what do we do?”

“Well, there are really only two options. We can step up our game - ‘cause you know they’re gonna step up theirs now they’ve gotten a peak - and keep acting discreetly. Or you - er, we - can just… come out. Tell ‘em everything. It might be a good time to do it. I mean, there’s no way your mom was gonna let us elope anyway and I doubt we’re good enough to keep an entire wedding secret.”

“And you’re okay with that? Aren’t you the one who said it was too much hassle to spend your whole time with your love life under the press microscope?” he asked her concernedly.

“Well, I don’t like being harassed… but I guess… I’ve been thinking on it some lately and I know I’ve been unfair to you. I’m not trying to reject your lifestyle or your choices. I’m proud of you for becoming a champion level trainer, Ash. I know it means everything to you…”

“Well,” he told her, pointedly reaching across the table and covering her hand in his own, “it does mean a lot. Mostly everything, I’d say,” he added, allowing her to interpret what he meant.

“… Anyway, I originally had a lot of reasons to keep our relationship - and our engagement - hidden… but most of them have lost their value in comparison to what we’ve been trying to build up these last two years. I’ll be joining you at Indigo Plateau soon enough and we can’t be obligated to keep everything under wraps while we’re there. So I guess what I’m saying is that I’m ready if you are.”

“Ready?” The shock was so overwhelming that Ash hadn’t actually said the word, more exhaled it from between his lips while remembering to breathe. “Mist, I’ve been ready since the day we started this relationship! This is great ‘cause my mom has been hounding me about wedding planning details! Now I can tell her to hound you instead!” he guffawed to his fiancee, leaping up and around the table to throw his arms around her enthusiastically.

“… Ooh, good,” was the far less energetic response. Nevertheless, she wrapped her arms around him too and smiled softly into his neck.

It was finally time to take on the world, she thought, as she remembered the ring sitting on her dresser back home. Together.

(Since I haven’t posted for a few days, I thought I’d crank out a couple at once to make up for it so here’s this.)

#pokeshipping #flash fic #fanfiction #aaml #ash ketchum x misty waterflower #ash x misty #requests #1wordprompt #word count: 1360 #Anon

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coffeecreamerwriting · 6 years ago

Text

Not SFW headcanons: Edgar Bright

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

He immediately, immediately, after you both are done, goes and nuzzles his face into your neck. He just breathes in your scent and holds you close. An “I love you” might slip out but he enjoys holding you and letting you know how much you mean to him.

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He loves your hands, he thinks they’re beautiful and magical and the way they wrap around him makes them look like a work of art. There have even been moments during dinner when he was staring at your hands so intently that he got hard.

He likes his smile. Not an exact body part but he keeps his teeth shiny and white and his smile says everything you need to know about him.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

He likes to cum on your chest. He produces quite a lot of it but it’s a very thin consistency, which in his eyes is absolutely perfect for marking your chest with. The way that the cum contrasts with the parts of your chest that aren’t covered and the parts that are only covered with a sheen layer drives him wild and makes him want to go another round.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He loves you in lingerie but he did try on one of your lingerie sets one time and he has to say he pulled it off. You were in enthusiastic agreement with his opinion.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

He’s decently experienced, has had a quite average number of partners for someone of his age. He knows what he’s doing but it’s more intuition based than because he’s been around the block.

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

He likes missionary of all things. He’s addicted to the expressions you make during sex and missionary allows him for the best view.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

He’s sort of playful. He is very, very, very big on teasing and sometimes he likes to joke around when teasing you. He knows he’s riling you up and when you get really desperate for him to finally do something, he finds it so cute he laughs. He likes to pretend he doesn’t know the affect he has on you.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

His hair is a bit more of a darker brown than the hair on his head. It’s trimmed neatly but sometimes he can get lazy a little and forgets to trim it.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

He doesn’t try to make it super romantic (he saves that for the afterglow). Romance is for romance and sex is for sex. That doesn’t mean he is all about the wham bam thank you m’am but he isn’t going to be sprinkling rose petals on the bed and lighting scented candles every night.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

He does it but not often, roughly around twice a week. He’s ok with waiting for actual sex to happen. When it comes to jacking off his heart really isn’t in it.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

He adores how you look in lingerie, especially in white lingerie. It ties into another one of his kinks; your innocence. He’s fascinated by your innocence and how he wants to find ways to ruin it completely.

He is also an expert dirty talker and sweet talker. The words he tells you in bed can have you go from blushing bright red at the

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

He likes to have sex outdoors. Not necessarily in public (although he doesn’t mind that much either) but late at night when everyone else is cooped up in bed, he likes to take you outside in the moonlight and see your body naked bathed in the moonlight and the stars.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

Your body. Edgar loves your mind and how you think but he is also very much a physical creature. Every shape and curve of your body drives him wild, he loves seeing you naked and wet coming out of a bath or when it’s too too hot and you wear as little as possible without being naked to the entire Red Territory.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

His biggest turn off is using toys on himself. He has no interest in you doing to him what he does to you. His hard no is choking. He hates the thought of choking you and seeing you struggle to breath. Choking goes too far for him.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

He prefers to give. He’s specializes in it, if you were to run a test he would have the top marks among members of the Red Army. It ties into how much he loves teasing you. He likes to take his time and bite your thighs and never give you what you really want until you’re absolutely begging for it and even then it depends on how he’s feeling in the moment.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

He goes slow, you swear up and down it’s just for him to tease you more. Every movement that he makes is highly calculated.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

He LOVES quickies, it even goes to as far as to say that he prefers quickies over proper sex. Not by much, but if you give him the choice he’s choosing the quickie. At least one of the times you have sex in a week needs to be a quickie. He loves them that much.

He’s in love with how raw everything is in the moment. He believes that quickies reveal what you and your partner really want in the moment and what you and your partner really need to be able to enjoy having sex. When you don’t have time for much the things that you do to, need to be what you absolutely cannot go without.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

Depends on what you mean by risk, he refuses to take any risks on anything that has a chance of creating life. He does, however, like to take risks when it comes to the toys he buys for you. He wants to make sure that those are well used and loved. He even took a risk and put his rope tying skills to the test once.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

He can only go for one round at a time but that one round lasts a long while. He has good stamina and patience and enjoys stretching out the time you two have together as much as he can.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

He has toys. For you. He makes it very clear that the toys he has are for you and you only. Do not even think about using a toy on him, it doesn’t matter which toy he will refuse.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

King of teasing. You swear he likes teasing you more than he likes actually having sex with you. He loves seeing you embarrassed by the things he says he wants to do to you while you two are out running errands in broad daylight.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

Incredibly loud. You were taken aback by how loud he actually was the first time you two had sex. Zero might be the one going to the Land of Reason the next full moon. Rumour has it that Kyle already went and just shows up when he needs to collect his paycheck. No one in the Red Territory has been able to sleep properly since you entered Edgar’s life.

He’s a screamer, sometimes a very loud moaner at the start and when he cums but in between he screams out.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

He refuses to have sex when the Creek family is nearby. You could be doing everything in your power to seduce him and be wearing his favourite lingerie but if the Creek family is anywhere close to being near he refuses to do anything more than light kissing and hand holding with you.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

5.5 inches/14 cm. He’s a grower not a shower, although not to the dramatic extent of some others. He has a very pronounced veins all around it that he feels adds to his appeal. The head is the prettiest, lightest, and brightest pink you have ever seen.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

Not very high. Among the lowest within the Red army. Once you start getting past three times a week he feels like it’s way too much and that some of the excitement of the encounter is taken away.

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He doesn’t fall asleep too quickly. He’s not one for long talks in the afterglow or whispering sweet nothings. He prefers to hold you close in silence and brush his fingers against your skin until you both fall asleep.

#edgar bright #edgar bright headcanons #ikerev headcanons #ikemen revolution #please beat me up for the pun i tried to make with the jack of hearts #lemon

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chrysolina · 6 years ago

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Fallen for you

Ask - @m-a-t-91 Hi could u do a STEVE Rogers x reader something where he’s super flirty with her always complementing her and hinting he likes her etc she doesn’t think anything about it etc she finally realizes it and they end up together please 💖

Summary - A memoir the three times Steve tried to show or tell you how he felt and the one time he succeeded.

Word count - 3.7k (yikes I got carried away)

Warnings - Fluff - so much fluff, lovesick post! IW Steve, kisses and drunken assholes mentioned

M A S T E R L I S T

Steve wasn’t too sure on a lot of things post-defreezing; he just didn't understand modern-day anythings. From technology to people to society in general, things had changed so drastically on most days he felt swamped and totally unable to anything but nod or sit in silence - that was until the accords came around and he knew things hadn’t changed completely in the 70 years he spent as an icicle.

The whole political debate over possibly uncontrollable powers weren’t the only things that hadn’t entirely changed with time; moral stands, the difference between actually good and bad people and love. No matter how hard he tried to deny it whilst he gazed at you during de-briefings or meetings, Steve knew he was head over heels in love with you and he wanted you to know it too.

After the avengers agreed to some of the accords rulings and regrouped, Nick made a personal call and asked you to become the new PA of the Avengers - to which you agreed unanimously. In under a few months of your structured supervision, the whole facility was running like clockwork and the avengers were organised to a relaxing perfection.

Steve, however, was far from relaxed; in the one year you had been working alongside him you had taken his heart hostage, along with his dreams, thoughts and actions, all by simple looks and heartstabbingly glorious smiles.

His heart and mind could only take so much tormenting and after many sleepless nights spent thinking about you in general, Steve decided to ask his brother of a best friend Bucky for advice. Bucky only looked at him pointedly and told him straight - “you need to be more direct and show her just how much you love her” and Steve did; he practised in the mirror, on the battlefield and even when talking to new recruits and finally, he got it.

Four times Steve had tried to tell you and show you just how badly he had fallen for you, four times; none of which were remotely successful.

The first time he tried was one keen autumnal morning, he had just come back from a long run out along the lake with Bucky and was aching to have a warm shower and to relax a bit. Instead, when he arrived in the main living area of the compound, he felt his heart flutter in a different kind of warmth - a warmth he could only recognise as love.

There you were standing over rolls of wrapping paper and various different sized boxes, your hair pulled into a beautifully messy bun on the top of your head as you slaved over the wrapping. With just one look at you, all he wanted to was to pull you away from your calculating stare and kiss you until you’d focus on him - or maybe you could bend down to focus on the tent of a -

“Hey Steve, you alright there?” Your voice broke Steve out of his trance and made him writhe in embarrassment. “Looking a bit dazed there Capsicle, you alright?” Ah yes, Tony had to give him that little push back into reality as he whizzed around with balloons and streamers in hand.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah I’m fine Tony.” Steve rolled his eyes and turned to look around at the soon-to-be Wanda’s birthday venue, the shiny golds and whites took him back to the memories of the glitzy glamorous roaring 20’s. When you looked back at Steve, something was bugging you about him; he seemed so distant and so dazed as of late and it made you pray to the gods he was alright because hey, you couldn’t have your favourite Captain unwell could you?

Leaving the presents to one side, you padded over to Steve and tapped his shoulder lightly. In a matter of seconds you and Steve were face to face - given your height difference - and you pressed the back your hand to his forehead to feel for a fever or temperature.

“God Steve,” You gasped at the heat radiating off his forehead. “You’re burning up.” You stated and took to looking him deep in the eyes, hoping the feeling you had caught for the super-soldier radiated through.

Yes whether you’d admit it to yourself it was true, you had fallen head over heels for Steve and everything he stood for but he didn’t need to know that, you believed since he has the best pick of women lining up outside his front door - so why would he need you?

With Bucky gone up to his floor to shower and Tony in some distant room somewhere, Steve knew it was now or never; the timing couldn’t be more perfect. Just the two of you alone and you easily within his arms reach, this was it. Until Tony burst back in with another box of Great Gatsby themed streamers and bunting.

“Go have a cool bath Steve, you’re boiling to the touch.” You said gently and tapped his stubbled chin with your fingers before walking back to the ‘wrapping station’, Steve’s heart hammering like a bass drum at the gentle touch.

“Yeah, cold bath. Got it.” He mumbled to himself and trudged back to the elevator.

The second time Steve tried, he was in the middle of a workout - unsurprisingly. He was busy throwing killer punches to the poor punching bag that hung limp from the ceiling, his punches sounding more like canonfire as soon as you stepped through the glass doors of the gym. To Steve’s demise, he didn’t even notice you walking in or the sound of the door shutting and you throwing your gym bag down on the benches central of the gym.

If he was being truthful with himself, it was you who had got him so riled up punching the living be-jesus out of the punching bag; you didn’t do anything to him at all, you were just being you - god help - and Steve’s mind went tyrant when he fell asleep late that afternoon.

Trust a man with the constant libido of a horny teenager to conjure up some sort of obscene dream in thirty minutes, the dream really made Steve’s skin crawl in disgust and slight delight; he relished in the fact that it was so filthy and so unhinged it got him hard in seconds but there again, the dream was about you. You were purer than this and Steve knew that, so he took to punching the shit out of his dream - via a punching bag.

“Hey easy there Macho-man,” You laughed once you saw the seams of bag begin to tear at the brutal force of Steve’s throws, you laugh catching Steve completely off-guard and made him miss the bag and face plant into it. “We can’t afford that many bags y’know.” You laughed harder at his shocked expression.

“Uh - Y/N - Hey..W-what are you doing down here?” God he had to keep it cool; don’t think about the dream, don’t think about the dream - fuck, he did. As best as he could, Steve tried to re-tie the tape around his hands and hide the growing erection in his joggers, the sight of your breast peeking out of your sports bra sent him into overdrive.

“Oh well y’know, the usual.” You shrugged and got to work setting up your music so you could run with ease; ah yes, the usual evening jog you’d partake in after a long and stressful day with the avengers - your favourite time of the day, so you told Steve.

As tempting as watching you ass bounce up and down as you jogged would be, Steve had more pressing issues to deal with and took to throwing more and more punches at the beaten punching bag in a fit to get rid of his arousal.

“You look a bit stirred there Steve, are you okay?” Your voice cut through the dull silence that hung heavily around the two and made Steve stop momentarily, only to resume shortly after.

“Apart from the usual nightmares, I’m peachy” BANG! Another skull-splitting punch thrown.

“Mm yeah peachy, like I’ll believe you there.” You scoffed jokingly and rummaged through your gym bag for your water bottle and headphones, your eyes happening to roll back at the constant banging of the punches.

“Like you were peachy earlier…” Steve Grumbled as he untied his hands and swept his long fingers through his longer darker blonde locks, an act that made you ache at its seductiveness.

You scoffed again at his comment “Alright look I was stressed alright? And everything was on-top of me and I’ve always gotta be-”

“Hey,” Steve cut you off all of a sudden. “You had every right to be as stressed as you are, no excuses needed. I understand completely.” His smile of appreciation caught you off-guard and starkly contrasted the violent punches he’d been swinging a second ago. And similarly, your smile and embarrassed blush that dusted your cheeks caught him off-guard too.

“Thank you Steve, it's hard to find someone in this building who understands me like that so I really appreciate you saying that.” And like that he was back to punching the living life out of the punching bag.

“What I don’t understand though is how someone as talented and as beautiful as yourself is still single?” He knew that would provoke a reaction out of you and it sure did, by the sound of your hitched breath and stilled movements Steve knew there was no going back now.

“I mean you’ve got the brains, the looks, everything and I just wonder how…” Steve pinched himself for allowing his shy and scrawny self come through of all times, he knew he was already ten foot under and he didn’t need his charmingless antics to get in the way of something great; not now, not ever.

“No I get asked that from time to time but I always say the same thing,” You said as you looked to the super-soldier, a knowing yet adoring smile gracing your kissable lips.

“And what’d you tell them?” Steve inquired.

“I just haven’t met the right partner who can see my full potential, beyond my looks that is.” You smiled at Steve again and walked off to the treadmills, earplugs already plugged in and music ready to get you pumping.

‘Maybe not today…’ Steve thought dumbfoundedly and took to walking away and to the showers, your smile like a ghost in his eyes for the rest of that night.

The third time Steve tried to tell you how he felt was at one of Stark’s parties, one that celebrated the engagement of the Sam Wilson and his fiancee Veronica.

Regardless of its purpose though, it was still the same kind of bash that Stark would throw back in the old avengers tower in Manhattan - it was big, noisy and generally not what Steve wanted to be participating in right about now, even with the Mead Thor had brought from Asgardian reserves pumping through his veins.

It wasn’t until around halfway through the night that Steve decided that enough was enough and chose to ponder his love-sick emotions in the cool freshness of the balcony air, considering how entranced he was after seeing you in that beautiful deep red low cut dress, flashing that gorgeous smile of yours to the world made Steve realise he really, really wanted to be by your side right now.

‘Maybe we’re just not to be.’ he thought to himself with a sigh as he watched the inky black sky for any sign of inspiration or motivation to go back inside and purposelessly watch you over a glass of whatever he fancied - but nothing came to him, much to his displeasure.

Perhaps divine motivation wasn’t needed after all since once he turned around to look back inside, he came face to face with your lightly done face - of which didn’t look so good right about now. Like he always did whilst you were around, Steve straightened up immediately and let out the breath he didn’t know he was holding in but watched with worry as you turned to look back inside and then back to him - or, his dinner shoes; more accurately.

“Steve, I really need your help,” Well, there were better things Steve was thinking you’d say there and then.

“What’s the matter doll?” On impulse, Steve gently held your upper arms and made you look up at him, his deep blue pools and soft touch enticed you to tell him what was going on.

“T-there’s a guy inside, he keeps on touching me and wanting me to drink the drinks he buys and wanting me to dance with him but I ke-kept saying no and I was getting scared,” You spoke in a hurried and laboured breath and watched Steve’s face turn from a face of shock to pure fury - rightly so, the mere thought of another man touching you unwantedly made Steve’s blood boil. “I told him I’m going to the toilet and I did but I couldn’t find anyone to help me - everyone’s to ratted to notice anything - and I saw you out here and-and-and I..”By this point, the scared and vulnerable tears that you had kept locked inside were on the edge of spilling out after your confession to Steve.

Instead of crying in his arms, you face planted into Steve’s chest out of vulnerability and allowed him to wind his arms around your torso and hold you close - maybe it was the Mead in his bloodstream or the possessive streak within but something within Steve told him to find this ass of a man and make a lesson of him, fists and all; but at the sight of you, quivering in his arms made him put his priorities in order and you came out on top, you always came out on top.

“Hey Y/N! I’ve been looking for you everywhere babycakes!” Steve didn’t need you to clarify who the man who had just stumbled out onto the balcony was, just by the sudden tenseness of your frame Steve understood - he was the jerk who had been harassing you all night.

“Oh, hey Captain!” Oh, so he did notice him after all - damn right, Steve thought with a deadly scowl. “Can I just,” He stumbled forward with an outstretched arm.”take my girl back? We were having fun see.” The drunken fool slurred out as if Steve didn’t know what fun was nut Steve was about have his own kind of fun with him in a minute.

“Your girl huh?” Steve growled at the fool with a dark feral glare that he’d mastered during his time as a fugitive. “Yeah, I don’t think so pal.” Steve smiled a mocking smile at the unwanted pest and tightened his warm hold on you, your grip on his deep blue shirt tightening at the welcomed sensation. “She’s off-limits, now back off.”

“No, no, no,” The man blubbered like a brainless fish. “We were having fun in there, weren’t we Y/N?” The man went to touch your shoulder but soon found his hand thrown back at him by Steve, his glare and acceptance tightening on the blonde by the minute. For a fleeting moment, the drunken man turned away from Steve to pinch the bridge of his nose and take a few deep breaths to calm his anger, giving Steve enough time to conjure up a plan.

“Y/N/N, do you trust me?” Steve picked your chin up and looked you deep in the eye, his stare made you wide eyed with shock as to what he was asking.

“Yes why?” You mumbled quietly and watched Steve’s eyes flicker back to the unwanted guest and back to you, a small smile pulling at the strings of his lips at the feeling of your stare.

“Look Captain, me and Y/N were having - oh,” Before he could lay another hand on you once he turned around, he was met with a very interesting sight that gave him a clear ‘back the fuck off’ message. In the split second he had turned around, Steve grabbed your face with his soft yet calloused hands and crashed his lips against yours in a passionate kiss that could make any other kiss jealous. Steve didn’t even bother looking back at the drunken spectator but instead shut his eyes to the nuisance and continued to move his lips against yours in a blind act of passion.

“I- I think I’ll leave you two to it then.” He spoke and suddenly ran away in a drunken stumble that could’ve made you both belt out in laughter if you had saw it but neither of you did, you were enjoying something much better with the man of your dreams.

Pulling away tantalisingly slowly, Steve slid his eyes open to look you dead in the eyes and think of something to say quickly. “So, he’s gone?” Steve nodded to where the guy once stood and to the open balcony door he had departed from, your eyes following the same trail happily.

“Yeah, finally.” You sighed with a smile and tucked away the loose hairs that had come out of your do as you kissed, your lips still tingling at the touch.

“Well it’s getting late,” Steve couldn’t bear the awkward short silence between you two and decided it for right him to leave now.

“I should probably get going, goodnight Y/N.” Steve signed off with a peck to your right cheek and wandered back into the party and to the elevator, hands clenched tight in his trouser pockets as his mind repeated that extraordinary kiss behind his eyes over and over, for the rest of that night.

Steve knew that the following morning would be awkward, extremely awkward between the two of you and he soon enough, he knew he’d have to fess up to what actually made him want to kiss you there and then. Sure he was angry, jealous and slightly tipsy but there again, he didn’t have to kiss you, did he?

Before his mind could go into overdrive as he sat at the kitchen island, FRIDAY’s voice ran out around him and made him straighten up in shock. “Sorry to disturb you Captain Rogers but Miss Y/L/N has requested your presence.” The AI’s voice ran out in the silent kitchen and made Steve sigh with a heavy heart, did he really want to see you so soon after last night?

“That’s alright FRIDAY; where and when would she like to see me?” Steve grumbled as he rubbed his hands up and down his face in exhaustion.

“At your quickest convenience, sir.” FRIDAY spoke matter-of-factly. “And she’s in her room, shall I tell her you’re on your way up?” Steve thought for what felt like forever and wondered if he should go to your room.

“Yes, tell her I’m on my way. Thank you FRIDAY.” Steve thanked the AI and peeled himself off the bar-stool and sloped off to the elevator, the thoughts of what could be waiting for him once he got there; would you be mad at him? Would you ask why he kissed you? Most probably. Would you be happy if he declared his feelings to you? Debatable. Would you ever reciprocate those feelings? Most probably not, Steve wondered once he stepped onto your floor and knocked on your bedroom door, his hand turning white by how tight he was clenching it.

As quick as the door opened and Steve could look at you, you crashed your lips onto his in a fiery hot kiss that could melt any Vibranium - metaphorically. It was as if you had basically pounced into his arms and told him just how you felt, words could neither describe how you nor Steve felt at that moment, with his arms wrapping around your body and your hands teasing the hairs on his cheeks and nape of his neck - it all fell into place, finally.

Pulling away just the same way Steve did, you cupped Steve’s cheeks with your small soft hands and looked him dead in the eyes, your eyes radiating love straight back into Steve’s own - if he could have any sight on repeat forever, it would this right before him; you looking at him like he put the stars in your skies - wait, what?

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” You sighed with an adoring smile and pecked Steve’s increasingly swollen lips quickly. Steve only looked down at you as if you had grown another head, when did he ever say to you he loved you?

“Come again?” Steve questioned with raised brows.

“Your kiss last night, it told me everything I needed to know.” Your smile never ceased to dazzle Steve - even when he didn’t understand what you meant entirely. Instead of questioning much further, he allowed you to do the talking and let him figure out the bits and pieces on his own.

“Steve, don’t act like that kiss was for convenience sake.” You tutted at the super-soldier with a smile and took his hands into your own, a smile grew on your lips at the touch of his slightly sweaty palms - a telltale sign he was nervous.

“I felt it, I felt you right through it.” You squeezed and shook his hands slightly for effect, the shake pulling Steve out of his derriere. “And I love you too.” Steve didn’t need to know anything else there and then, you had said the words he desperately needed to hear and for once, he threw caution to the wind and gave in; to you, to his desires, to everything.

Not even a second after you had finished your little speech, Steve had picked you up into his arms and pressed you tight against the wall beside you, his lips meeting yours in a passionate embrace that could go on for hours and hours. Although your kiss only lasted at max a minute, Steve didn’t hesitate to carry you back into your room, throw you down onto your partly made bed and stand over you with a hunger that you’d never seen in those beautiful eyes before.

Whilst still maintaining lustful eye-contact with you, Steve called out to FRIDAY and smirked at you devilishly before he gave his request, his voice now a deep timbre that made you weak to the knees.

“FRIDAY, make sure nobody disturbs me and Miss Y/L/N for a while, we have some ‘business to attend to.”

Tags - @coffeebooksandfandom @tacohead13 @patzammit @youreahandsomedevil @multireality

#Steve Rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers smut #steve rogers headcanon #steve rogers imagine #infinity war steve #queued bby

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austencello · 6 years ago

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Training Day - Arrow Music Notes 7x15

Team Arrow tries to partner with the SCPD with varying levels of success while Oliver and Felicity have an extra goal of making the city a better place for their baby. The flash-forwards sadly reveal that things somewhere fell apart as Mia and William bond over trying to find a way to listen to Felicity’s message.

SCPD, Team Arrow, and Olicity

The opening sequence was quite hilarious as each of the vigilantes are personally suffering through training as recruits for the police. The music reflects both the humor as well as slightly changing with each person. The opening almost had a techno beat mixed with Arrow patterns to establish the merging of two very different views and later string patterns took over while guitar harmonics accompanied Oliver’s unnecessary force, and different electronic notes reminiscent to Wild Dog, Overwatch, and ARGUS accompany Rene, Felicity, and Oliver in their bored versions of hell.

Felicity is not thrilled about all of these concessions and mentions her concerns to a very zen Oliver. He is determined to make it work so they can make the city safe for their baby. As they talk about this future, the beginning of the Olicity theme “The one I love” (2x23) plays in harp (Felicity’s instrument) in the same way it did in Felicity’s pregnancy reveal to Oliver in 7x14. However, as the scene continues a new theme plays as they agree that they are partners and a team both for their city and for their family. It is a theme built on their relationship of trust and love, expanding that to their newest family member, bringing a sense of hope.

The overall music of this episode had great interesting moments from the amount of percussion (especially tom-toms) mixed with the Arrow hero theme when the SCPD and Team Arrow discuss the possibility of a new gang and melting skin bullets, to the raid including a glitch in the glissando (slide) after Dinah’s cry glitched, to the electronic beats as the SCPD officers had a tense moment with Team Arrow about procedure. It was a mixture of old and new sounds for this tense partnership.

Felicity and Oliver decide to prove that their way is better and as they discuss this, the music in the scene brings back fun music from 7x14, when Laurel realized Felicity was pregnant partially due to her lack of wine, caffeine and current chocolate consumption. The fun, cute music in the piano, punctuated strings, and electronics provides the atmosphere some levity as Oliver revels in the genius of his wife and she demands mint chip for herself and the baby.

Meanwhile, Rene and Dinah are looking for legal proof to get a warrant for Midas. Dinah tries to explain that it is her job and neck on the line while a brass version of her Canary theme “Cemetery Confrontation” (5x13) plays. She is trying to be the hero for the city both as the Black Canary and police captain and struggling with what it means to be both.

Later on, Dinah confesses to Rene that her cry doesn’t seem to be working, hurting her throat, which is why she is choosing to be Captain first. As she admits that she is struggling to be both since her identity as the Canary was connected to her cry, her water-glass theme first introduced in 6x05 plays. This was often used for scenes between herself and Vince as the Vigilante and now she is struggling between two sides once again. Rene reminds her that it is not her cry that makes her the Canary but who she is and her fight for justice and what is right that inspires Zoe and the whole city.

Oliver and Felicity go to the bunker to go after Midas in the Team Arrow style and Diggle drops by asking them why they are giving on the partnership with the police so soon. As they tell Diggle about their new baby, the shortened Olicity theme in the piano returns over the slow version of the Arrow theme in the strings, used for emotional moments especially for Oliver. In his concern to make the city better, he and Felicity are not thinking long term which Diggle brings up. The very beginning of “I forgot who I was” (1x05) plays as he reminds them that they would be back to where they started, that they have to make it work with the police for their family, to be something better as brass begins to play. Brass for the heroes they are and want to be. That theme was about tunnel vision both originally with Laurel and Oliver in wanting to see only what they wanted to see, having trouble seeing the larger picture. In the same way, Oliver and Felicity needed Diggle to remind them to look behind the immediate and consider the future for themselves and their family.

The team finally suits up, stops Midas, and then reconvenes afterwards. At that point, Dinah tells the larger team that her cry no longer works. Diggle reinforces that regardless of having a cry or not, she is the Black Canary while her Canary theme plays in a higher bell-like electronic and violins, emphasizing that statement musically. It adds even more weight considering that Dinah’s Black Canary theme has been played very sparingly throughout the series (3 times before this episode).

Felicity and Oliver have a sweet moment at the end as they share that they have been thinking about baby names. When Oliver mentions the name Mia, shortened for Moira, violins begin to play sweet and bitter-sweet harmonies over water-glasses (remember those? They used to be used for Felicity a lot in Season 3) as they talk about their dreams of a safer city for their children, being all together and there for each other as the harp adds a few notes at the end in open 5ths, bookending the episode with their hopes and dreams.

Flash-forwards - Mia and William

Unfortunately, things aren’t quite what Oliver and Felicity had dreamed for their children. As William and Mia travel through the underground market, the music is filled with unusual dissonances and seemingly random notes with pauses between notes in violin harmonics and piano over electronic beats and almost metallic percussion. It lacks a clear melody and gives a jarring unsettled feeling highlighting the lack of safety but using the piano gives a sense of home as the siblings work together, first with Mia trying to protect William and then later William using his brains to share a Canary sighting to protect Mia and get the mini-cassette player. Mia’s Blackstar theme returns when she punches Felix and they reclaim their item.

Once Mia and William are able to play the message from Felicity, brass (used for heroism) begins as they prepare to press play with a little piano (Oliver’s instrument) mixed in. Cellos and horn play a new melody in unison as Felicity begins to speak to both her children and apologizes for keeping them apart. This combination of instruments provide both emotional depth and a heroic tone but also a little bit of angst in the minor harmonies (it has been a long time since there has been this level of a melody in Arrow which just makes me excited!) as Felicity explains that she and Oliver made this decision together to keep them safe. As she gives them coordinates to give to the team, the higher electronic/bell-like theme from 7x14 returns over string patterns and a few harp notes join in with melody as she instructs them not to look for her. This theme was used as William told Mia that their Dad was a hero and that the hozen was supposed to lead him to her, his family. Now, they hear the message for them to leave but they quickly dismiss that, determined to find their mother. It is a melody of hope in the future, a new family melody quickly turning darker and sinister with electronics, lower brass, and string patterns as they look over the wall to the Glades.

Extra Notes:

- prison music returned (repeated note higher electronic music and contrasting low note) both when Turner demanded freedom or at least to see his son and then later when he told Laurel who killed Diaz.

- the music for the flash-forwards have been very different from a lot of the Arrow timbre this season so I will be very interested to hear what happens with this week’s episode.

@smoakmonster @ah-maa-zing @academyofshipping @herskirtsarentthatshort @jorahandal @dmichellewrites @almondblossomme @green-arrows-of-karamel @scu11y22 @mel-loves-all @withgraceandlight99

#arrow 7x15 #arrow music notes #olicity #oliver queen #felicity smoak #mia smoak #william clayton #team arrow #dinah drake

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