#tipsy off wine and full bellies I can’t

[tightjeansjavi]

oh my god, then playing monopoly and Bill has his gun on the table (like in the show) to be all threatening and cursing up a storm when he lands on someone’s field. And Joel would be such a strategic smug ass, all “pay up sugar” while wiggling his fingers for your money and grinning at you.

I fucking love it!!

Ahhh wait yeah this is so fucking cute 😭 Bill probably is the first one to lose I hate to admit it but he probably would get frustrated and get up and leave LOL also I imagine they’re all gonna be tipsy from the wine at this point too and I can only imagine how flirty Gwen and Joel are gonna be with each other aaaaand, Tess and Beatrix will be there as well, the girls, gays and theys win again 🫡

[overlydeniableteddy]

Fattening Valley

First pov / feedee pov / second pov feeder / intox feedism / weight gain / mention of sex

I’ve already been at the farm for quite some time, working hard to build a successful life for myself in the valley, engaging with the townspeople, pining after Harvey and slowly winning his affection…

And then one day, you come to town, taking it by storm. I offer you a place to stay in the farm house so you don’t have to worry about finding accommodation while you get settled. It’s only after a week or two that you begin to enact your master plan, only eating half of the dinner you prepared in thanks for letting you stay and giving me the rest of your portion and a few leftovers. Me being polite, I accept, not wanting to admit to you that I’m already full. You start cooking breakfast, lunch and dinner, all of them bigger portions than what I usually had. You bring me snacks throughout the day, slowing me down and making me feel more sleepy and lethargic.

The charade continues for a few weeks, a pot belly forming under my clothes, my thighs and ass looking a bit more thick and blubbery— my face puffing up slightly. That’s when you move onto the next stage, you take me to Gus’ for a big thank you dinner, all this time you’ve been making subtle moves towards me, declaring your romantic and sexual desires with me, I laugh you off and say that I’m flattered. But you don’t stop. At this dinner date, you ply me with a variation of wines and beers, getting me drunker as you flirt more and more with me, I start drunkenly flirting back for giggles. You order plate upon plate of food for me, stuffing me so full that I nearly fall into a food coma at the bar. You scoot your chair around to my side of the table, slipping your hand into my clothes, feeling the taut bloated body beneath. I rest my head on your shoulder as you make me finish every last bite. Whimpering and burping from how full I am. The other townspeople look on in confusion and worry, they thought that it was me and Harvey that were supposed to end up together… but they don’t intervene.

At midnight, Gus closes for the night. You essentially carry an exceptionally drunk me home to the farmhouse, I belch and moan the whole way back, one arm looped around your shoulders and the other resting on my stuffed full belly. Once we get back, you decide to encourage me to drink some milk I forgot to sell during the day and I comply, lusting after you with boarish desires.

The next morning, I wake up still stuffed and hungover, unable to bring myself to get up and go about the farm chores. You smile and waltz your way into my bedroom, a thick stack of pancakes and a large coffee (with some whiskey mixed in), you declare that you’ve already done the chores for the day so I should relax and take a day for myself in bed.

You start doing this more and more, always making sure I’m in a state of tipsiness at all times, it’s easier to get me to eat more this way. My bloated pot belly becomes a large hanging gut, my arms flabby sacks of fat that can’t even bring themselves to pick up even a hoe anymore, my legs thick and blubbery cellulite ridden slabs of meat. My face rounded and cherub like— constantly rosy and jolly. I’ve begun to outgrow my once baggy clothes, knitted jumpers always riding up my belly halfway, showing off a large slice of pale fat belly.

Harvey becomes worried, he sees my decline of diet and increased intoxication, he wants to confront you for my changes but I brush him off and tell him that farmers are supposed to carry a little extra thickness, it’s all just thick muscle. He’s flustered but let’s it go until I stop doing the farm work entirely, and only appear in town for our weekly date at the saloon where you get me drunker than I’ve been all week and stuffed to beyond my increasing limits.

It goes on for a year, you transforming me into a lazy, flabby pig that can’t even take care of his own farm anymore, spending his days eating and drinking in various locations— constantly outgrowing his clothes. My body truly becoming a round and blobby spectacle for the whole valley to bask in…

And then we marry, I’m yours and yours alone. Your fat, drunk piggy, a fallen vestige of a once promising young farmer.

[sterekchub]

Derek wins a cruise vacation, but when he gets to the cruise ship it turns out a gainer cruise also booked when he did. He meets Stiles, and encourager who’s looking for love, and has a few tricks up his sleeve when it comes to encouraging. The trip is a month long and by the time they dock, Derek is heavier than should be possible to have gained in that time…and he and stiles are a definite item.

He got on the ship and they offered him colored lanyard- and he does a frantic google before deciding encourager doesn’t sound like his thing. Gainer….the more he reads about it and scrolls through videos and ‘before and after’ photos, the more flushed he gets and he definitely senses a match.

He turns down a lot of hopefuls who go out to him asking if he’s up to feed them, and sort of sighs and looks down at his own very flat middle and tells them keep looking. Most of them are chubby and Derek feels out of place…he doesn’t have the courage to approach anyone, he’s not even sure what he really wants, but he feels fairly confident his body says “toned and want to stay that way” instead of “feed me.”

He sits at the buffet, waiting for the cruise to leave port, sort of enviously looking at the pairs or trouples around him, being brought plates of food or someone rubbing their bellies shamelessly while hand feeding them. It looked…nice

He goes back to picking at his own rather meager plate when someone comes up to him. He’s attractive. Almost as tall as Derek, but not as muscular, so be looked softer around his face and middles

. “I know it’s only the first day, but man, it looks like you’re trying to lose weight.”

“I’m new at this,” Derek mumbles.

“Dude, all good. It’s a lot of people’s first time.”

“Not yours, I’m guessing?”

“Nah, third time. I’m Stiles.”

“Derek.”

“You know, I could offer you some tips if you’d like…”

Derek gestures for him to sit. Stiles immediately starts talking about the cruise and what shows he needs to see and the restaurants to try. Derek doesn’t even notice when his plate is empty. He stands to refill it, but Stiles waves him away.

“I got this. Someone has to show you what a full plate looks like.”

There’s a warmth pooling in Derek’s belly of both nervous, excited energy and the feeling of being somehow intimately cared for.

****

Stiles stays with him. Doesn’t seem eager to leave and when he reluctantly has to unpack in his room, he makes Derek promise they’ll meet up at dinner. Derek finds himself honestly agreeing.

He’s nervous, not sure what Stiles expects at all, how much should he order? He’s never had a huge appetite before….

Stiles orders him two glasses of wine, questions him lightly about his allergies and food preferences, and then tells him relax.

“The only wrong way to do this, is if you aren’t enjoying it.”

“And what do you get out of it?”

“I appreciate the view.”

Somehow, maybe the wine or listening to Stiles talk, Derek finished his appetizer, two entrees and his dessert. He’s definitely full, but not painfully so, and Stiles smiles brightly at him and mentions there’s ice cream up on deck 10.

He gets up and Stiles happily joins him, telling him, “looks like you enjoyed yourself.” And Derek can see his belly every so slightly rounded out from his rich meal.

***

Derek’s never been so happy. Day two Stiles wakes him up for breakfast buffet, plies Derek with plates and makes sure he’s adding butter and syrup on everything. Derek eats while Stiles explains his last boyfriend wanted to stop gaining- which Stiles respected but they went their own way.

Derek can’t imagine ever wanting to stop. If Stiles told him to eat until he was the size of the cruise ship- he would.

***

That evening they’re a little tipsy and Derek is more than a little full, belly actually painful, when they stumble into bed. Stiles is so, so gentle and his hands feel so good on Derek’s middle.

“I’m sorry I’m not bigger.”

Stiles kisses him. “We’ve got 12 days.

****

On the last day- Derek is coming off the ship with swim trunks and a truly awful tropical shirt Stiles had run to purchase him in the gift shop when his button had burst at dinner

None of the clothes he brought with him fit anymore, and Derek took that as a good sign for the future. Even in the swim trunks- he could feel them stretched uncomfortably tight around his ass and his belly was hanging over the waistband.

He wasn’t sure how he had managed to gain at least 30 pounds over the 2 weeks…but Stiles had certainly not been exaggerating about his skills as an encourager

with a kiss goodbye and Stiles phone number in his pocket- Derek couldn’t wait to have more than just 2 weeks with him.

[zoeysdamn]

Headcanon (crack): Wednesday’s characters being drunk

Don’t ask me why. @beggingforxavierthorpe​ and I talked and boom -- crack thoughts, you know the drill

Wednesday: 

Doesn’t get drunk easily, is used to fancy wines from family dinners; it takes around a whole bottle to get her tipsy.  

Prefers old age whisky (or nail polish remover)

Blunt af – even more than usual it is

But it also means blunting compliments

“Your dress is nicely complimenting your body, Enid”

“....I’m sorry wHAT– “

“I said what I said”

0 sense of danger

Like, none

Would accept any dare, I swear to god

“Hey Wednesday, bet you can’t walk barefoot on that electric line”

“Hold my beer–” 

Probably confessed a hella lot of personal stuff to Thing without realizing it

(he’ll keep it to himself, he’s not suicidal)

If she tolerates a hug more than 5 seconds, she’s wasted 

Enid: 

Can hold her liquor for like three cups top – after that she’s a goner

Will deny she gets drunk 

Switch between sad drunk, happy drunk, and cuddly drunk

Also will fight God in a fistfight on her 6th drink 

Sad drunk Enid will cry her heart out and cuddle you over any random subject. Last episode of her favorite show? Yep. The caramel dessert at the cafeteria at lunch? Absolutely. Yoko wearing the same outfit as her at the last party? She’ll cry on your shoulder. Mommy issues? bOI bring the tissues. 

Karaoke is a must do; don’t tempt her with a mic, you’ll have the full Taylor Swift discography blasted ‘til daylight 

Came become suspicious of everyone on her top drunk state: she’ll be sure one of the guest is actually principal Weems in disguise 

Probably had show her boobs on top of a table for fun (sober Wednesday had to pull her down)

Gets whiny when the alcohol starts to wear off 

Already ended up asleep upside down in a bathtub – somehow always wakes up in her bed 

Ajax: 

Mildly light weight; can hold his beer as much as he wants, but anything stronger and he’s gone. 

At 3 drinks he thinks he’s a good singer; at 5 he’ll demonstrate it (he’s not) 

Definitely an affectionate drunk 

Will hug anyone – anyone

The only person who had tackled Bianca Barclay into a surprise hug and lived 

Bc drunk Ajax is a gentle giant too cute for his own good

Actually managed to get away after being busted by Ms Thornhill as he stumbled drunk in the school’s corridor 

Asks the dumbest yet most legit questions

“So snakes are basically walking on their bellies?”

“D’you think Weems can have a baby with herself? I mean theoretically–” 

“If I stone someone during sex and pull out, do I pull the sword out of the stone?” 

Loves everyone, will die for everyone if you ask enough (just ask him)

Saw a bearded man once and hugged him while crying “Dumbledore, you’re alive!!” 

Xavier and Yoko filmed the scene; it’s an official meme of Nevermore now 

Harder drunker, so somehow the best at knowing all the tricks how to handle hangovers 

Will leave ibuprofen and bottles of water in the bathroom every time the party’s in his room

Xavier: 

Also familiar with fancy drinks (family dinners and all)

Ajax definitely made fun of him during their first time drinking together because of that 

Will defy anyone in a drinking contest – will most likely win but at what cost 

Knows when he’s drunk, will have another drink to celebrate it 

Needs no more than 3 drinks to dramatically turn to Ajax singing like he’s a judge in The Voice 

Hair has no rule anymore: past 5 drinks, Xavier will let anyone try any hair style on him – should he end up with a palm tree hairstyle (he definitely did. Multiple time.)

Instaured a socks race with Enid to establish a winner in beer pong in case it ends in a tie

The scale of drunken Xavier can be established by the corny nicknames he uses: babe, sweetheart? Getting tipsy. Muffin, baby doll? Drunk. Sexy cake, pudding, honeybun? Definitely drunk. Baby boo, Sugar pie? Bro you’re wasted af, drop this drink right now and stop trying to hit on the coat hanger.

Emotional drunk; the daddy issues WILL show and the emo playlist will be brought up.

Also somehow a bitchy drunk. Will make a gossip club with Yoko and Wednesday on the spot to bitch about every single guest while sipping mojitos and margaritas. 

Bianca: 

Will drown a bottle of tequila without blinking an eye and then recite an entire Shakespeare sonnet without stuttering 

Slightly emotional drunk, but also a loud drunk

Like, legit sounds like Cardi B laughing while drunk – a hyena

Brutally honest with you, but more prone to help you after a few drinks 

Dance monster on her 4th drink; don’t try to stop her getting on the dancefloor 

Taster of every new mix by Yoko; she has excellent cocktail tastes 

Will cry watching ‘Monsters Inc.’ on her 5th drink, will absolutely trash talk the little mermaid tho

The strongest drinker – it takes a lot to actually get her drunk

So she always end up being the referee to all drinking games (which she’s most likely to have instigated)

Have tons of pics of her friends during their drunken antics – goldmine. 

Mama bear taking care of the drunk crew 

Tyler: 

No filter whatsoever

Will either broke down into tears or unleash anger 

Would fight anyone too 

Not a lightweight but doesn’t know how to handle the amount of liquor he’s drinking 

Conspiracy theories after the 5th drink. So. much. theories. 

Had improvised a drunk strip tease once; will not do that again (for free)

Actually received a lot of compliments after that

The official coffee supplier of the crew on hangovers 

“Give me a pint of that coffee, Galpin” 

Around 4am, he’s usually taken by the urge to stress/hangover clean everything. Will do all the dishes to sleep off the alcohol. 

Will alternatively flirt or try to fight everyone, no middle ground 

He’ll actually defend any of his drunk friends being harassed 

High chances he’d join the bitch club too; Enid once photoshopped his, Xavier, and Yoko’s faces on the ‘Mean girls’ poster

(every one of them had secretly that printed in their locker)

Also a mother hen – at least he tries

Bonus: Principal Weems

Did indeed transform herself into a student to attend a party 

Quickly understood why she preferred a glass of Chardonnay in her cozy office

The sole time she threw up after a party thanks to cheap vodka

Also had to purposefully ignore some students after that – some pictures can’t be erased 

[some-kindofgnome]

meet me in the afterglow

After college graduation, you took an all-summer backpacking trip around Europe with your best friend. Now you've got one last night together before coming home as lovers.

characters: eijirou kirishima x f!reader

wc: 2.4k

tags: smut (18+ please!), aged-up characters, quirkless au, implied friends-to-lovers, fluff, mentions of drinking/the sliiiiightest bit of tipsiness, swedish condoms, no beta we die like that bottle of wine

notes: @the-moons-raes and I discussed travelling with BNHA boys at some length a lil while ago, so I wrote this sweet lil scene for her! Consider it a (very) belated birthday present my dear. 💖 xoxoo

MASTERLIST

The sky’s faded from powder-blue to apricot by the time you stumble together into the bedroom.

“Oh my god,” you giggle. You’ve been grinning all night, so hard it’s starting to hurt your wine-warmed cheeks. But this is the happiest you’ve been in a very long time.

“That was,” Eijirou starts, “one of the- no, the best meal I’ve ever had.”

“We should’ve ordered another bottle of that wine,” you muse. He’s got his hands on your hips and you twist in his grip, curling your fingers around his palms. His face has gone pink, but his eyes are sparkling and you’ve already decided you want to preserve this feeling for the rest of your life.

“I don’t think you need anything else to drink tonight,” he teases smoothly, pulling you close with his fingertips digging into the gauzy fabric of your dress. He leans down and pushes his lips against yours, the last tartness of the strawberry gelato you finished on the boardwalk still lingering in the tender flick of his tongue.

Tonight falls at the tail end of a long backpacking trip across Europe that you’ve been wanting to take for as long as you can remember. You’d never planned to take anybody with you at all, let alone the man you’d wind up falling for.

But Eiji’s always been pretty good at defying your expectations.

The rest of the summer hasn’t been this glamorous. You’d spent most nights shacked up in rickety little hostel beds, bunking together in rooms of six or camping out in the backseat of a tiny rental car. But the sleepless nights and sore backs and restricted luggage hadn’t changed a thing. You’ve been in heaven all summer long.

To celebrate your last couple of nights in this hemisphere, you checked into one of Naples’ top-rated hotels. It’s still not the most luxurious room on the market, but compared to the military-issue bunk beds you’ve been sleeping on for the past eight weeks, it might as well be paradise.

Especially now, given the changed nature of your relationship.

You got on the plane together two months ago nursing a deep, intense crush on your best friend. You’ve been close with Eijirou since your first year in college together, when he was assigned to the dorm room beside yours. And for as long as you’d known him, you assumed you’d be loving him from a distance.

But somewhere between Brussels and Berlin, the line between friend and lover started to blur. Since then, it’s been completely erased.

“Come on,” you protest, flinging your arms around his neck and clasping them together behind his head. “I can hardly feel a thing.”

He ran out of hair gel two weeks ago and he’s been wearing his hair down ever since, tied into a loose little ponytail at the nape of his neck. The dark roots of his natural colour are starting to show at his crown after going nearly two months without so much as a haircut.

To you, he’s never looked sweeter.

“That’s my point,” he insists, descending into tipsy, cheerful laughter. “You’re so drunk y’can’t feel a thing. C’mere, it’s time to get you to bed.”

His euphoric grin twists around the edges with mischief as he stoops, sweeping you off your feet with a quiet little grunt of effort. You burst out laughing, letting one arm drop around his neck as your head falls back in deepening mirth.

“Take me to bed,” you swoon, dropping purposely limp in his arms. You haven’t been able to do any of this since that night in Athens a couple of weeks ago where you miraculously had an entire hostel bunkroom to yourselves.

Even then, those cots didn’t make it easy.

Tonight you’ve got a king bed all to yourselves, which Kirishima plants you on before crossing to the window and throwing it open. The night air is velvety and sweet, rolling in like heady steam and waking your senses as you watch him ditch his shoes and crawl across the plush bedspread to settle down beside you.

“You are insanely beautiful,” he croons, propping one head on his arm and smoothing his fingers affectionately down your temple. “I can’t believe I get to tell you that.”

He leans in to kiss you after that, tasting you carefully as his hand drifts from your cheek to your neck to your side. He’s a careful kisser, tasting of the last hints of that sweet summer wine that’s filled both your heads.

Picking up on your eagerness, he breaks from your lips to push attentive little kisses down the side of your neck. But as he reaches the hem of the floaty little dress you wear, he pauses and finds your eye.

“Can I?”

He’s already sliding one palm down over the curve of your hip, but it pauses at your thigh, and the earnest little quirk in his brow is so cute you can’t help but giggle.

“Do you really need to ask?” you quip.

He hums thoughtfully against your skin, already mouthing at your collarbone. “Just making sure.”

There are oversized buttons lining the center front of your dress, and he takes his time popping open every single one. He opens the dress far enough that he could have easily pulled it down over your hips, but he doesn’t stop there. Instead, you get to watch as he works open the last button with quiet, deep concentration, and when he finally does, he pushes the folds open around your body with a loving little triumphant smile.

“There’s my girl,” he croons as he crawls atop you once more, shedding his sweaty t-shirt in the process. You’re chest-to-chest when he catches your lips again, and his skin is still a little warm from the afternoon you’d spent at the beach before dinner.

He kisses you long and low and slow, giving you plenty of time to let your thighs fall open around the slope of his hips. Eiji presses naturally forward, pushing the ridge of his pelvis and the stiff denim of his shorts against your flimsy underwear. He huffs quietly into your mouth, and as you shift and squirm beneath him you can feel his cock stirring against you.

“Eiji,” you whimper, turning your face sharply to one side. “Don’t make me wait.”

In the absence of your mouth, he noses attentively down the column of your throat. His eyelashes flutter at your jaw and you feel it when he purses his lips and swallows hard.

“Okay,” he rasps. “Okay, I gotcha.” He rears back, sitting up on his haunches to unbutton his shorts. Before he gets up to shed them, he rests a hand on the plane of your belly, smiling so innocently down at you it shouldn’t make you throb.

But it does.

“Ready for me already, pretty girl?” Eiji muses, and you have to bite your lip hard to keep from rolling over and screaming into your pillow as loudly as possible.

“Been ready for you since the beach,” you tease back, and it works, since his ears are turning red as he slips out of bed. He hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his undershorts and shucks both garments in one smooth motion, hunching over to let them drop to the floor while he steps unceremoniously out of them.

His cock’s half-hard already, sitting full and heavy between his thighs and swelling self-consciously under your gaze. He’s exactly as big as you always sort of knew he was. He’s not shy about it, either. He can’t afford to be.

But he doesn’t know how beautiful he is, sunburned and sweating in the fading golden-hour light of your last sunset in Italy. You want to pet the soft little bristle of dark hair that dusts his chest, follow the taper of it all the way down to that perfect trail that always used to disappear under his shorts.

Not anymore. You get to see him at his most vulnerable now.

And you will not misuse that trust.

“Come here,” you purr, pushing yourself onto your elbows so he can see the desire burning in your gaze for him.

He leans instinctively toward you, hands twitching by his sides. He snaps out of a little reverie with a hard blink, stooping in front of his shorts and fishing out his slim little travel wallet.

“Hang on.”

He flips through the creased euros and museum tickets, carding out a wrapped condom. He climbs back onto the bed and passes it to you with a shy little grin.

“I know you like to do the honours.”

The condom comes from a packet you bought in the wee hours at some twenty-four hour roadside convenience store before bedding down in a rented car together. The instructions are in Swedish, but you know what you’re doing.

By the time you get the condom unwrapped, Eiji’s on his knees in front of you and his cock is fully hard out of sheer anticipation. You reach between his thighs and wrap your fingers around his warm flesh, making him shudder. And you drop one sweet, warm kiss to his mouth before you focus.

He rolls his hips quietly into your touch as you handle the job with delicate precision, unrolling the condom all the way to his base.

“Ready?” He asks you, but you’re already laying back against the pillows and thumbing off your underwear, slick and aching for him.

“Get over here before I start without you,” you tease, and he is powerless to resist you. He anchors himself on his knees, hooking each of your legs over one of his powerful thighs. He reaches for you and his cock sweeps the inside of your thigh as it bobs between you. You’ve been wanting this from the moment you saw this room, the perfect ending to a life-changing trip.

Eiji sinks lower, letting the barrel of his chest rise and fall with a deep, steadying breath. He reaches between you to line himself up with you, casting his eyes up to yours when he feels you.

“Ready?” He repeats himself, and this time the humor’s gone. You nod quietly against the pillow and reach for his free hand, lacing your fingers together tightly.

You squeeze hard as he starts to slot himself inside you. He stretches you deeply, especially without any preparation. But he knows how to keep you comfortable, moving slowly and smoothly. He braces a hand on your belly as he bottoms out, but he does not pause there. Instead, he starts to ease into a lazy rhythm, sweeping his thumb between your folds to find the swelling nub of your clit.

“Fuck,” you whine, and he flinches a little inside you.

“God,” he gasps, bending over to press his forehead- sticky with sweat- into yours. “Tell me I’m not dreaming, yeah?”

You reach up and lightly pinch his chest with your free hand, and he grins above you.

“You’re good,” you confirm, hearing the breathlessness echo in your own voice.

“I’m not gonna last long like this,” he brushes. You shake your head.

“Don’t care. Just fuck me.”

His brow lifts against yours. After a chuckle of disbelief, he sits up.

“Aye aye, captain.”

He squeezes your fingers tightly and begins to thrust.

He does not hold back with you, keeping the pad of his thumb winding tight circles into your clit as he fucks you with eager diligence. You revel in the slap of your bodies, the fact that you can spread out and make noise, moan for him like you’ve always wanted to. Finally alone together for real. No stolen moments of privacy here. You can take as much as you want.

“Eiji,” you beg, beginning to clench around him as you feel the first twinges of your climax approaching.

“I’ve got you, baby,” he huffs, borderline incoherent as the flush spreads down his neck and chest. “Let go for me, I gotcha.”

In a dozen thrusts he’s got you falling, letting high whimpers escape your throat as your pussy clenches and flutters around his thick shaft. He rubs you diligently through your climax, fucking you steadily until you whine and paw his hand away, overstimulated and sensitive.

“I’m there,” he promises. “I’m there, I’m there, I’m….. f-fuck!” His jaw falls slack as he throws his head back, thrusting headlong into a tight climax that has him trembling against you. His hips go still, but you can feel the way his cock twitches inside your spent walls as he fills the condom.

When he’s finished he stays there for a moment, shoulders dropping while the rest of his body goes slack. He reaches up, scraping sweaty strands of hair off his forehead before he grins sleepily down at you.

“Did you…” He starts, eyes turning inquisitive. Someday he’ll be able to tell, but for now you’re just glad he’s asking.

“Yeah,” you hum, eyes bright despite the weight setting quickly into your limbs. It’s worth it for the pride that surges visibly through him, and he pulls out of you with a triumphant grin spreading his lips.

“Good,” he gushes, slipping quietly away to dispose of the condom. He’s hardly gone for a handful of seconds, and when he comes back he crawls eagerly up to your side and pulls you into his arms, curling his body attentively around yours.

“This is nice,” you confess, drifting pleasantly in the wine-and-sex-induced fog that rests heavy in your brain.

“Hmm?” Eiji’s already half-asleep above you, eyelids drooping as the light fades from the window beside the bed.

“This,” you prompt again. “Not having to get dressed again right away. We should do this more often.”

“I sure hope we do,” he enthuses. “When we get back, I’m not letting you unpack until we consummate our relationship on the right hemisphere.”

That was the longest you’d gone around him without laughing in a while. Even half-asleep, though, his wisecracks are enough to make you snort.

“Deal,” you hum, letting your eyes fall shut as the world bleeds out of focus around you. It’s not even eight o’clock and you’re sure you’ll have him again before nightfall. But for now, you’re more than happy to bask in the afterglow with the one person in the world you never thought you’d make it there with.

[jinmukangwrites]

Whumptober 2021 - October 3 - "Who did this to you?"

Fandoms: Linked Universe

Ao3

Warnings: major injury, attempted murder, blood, near-death experiences

---

Trouble comes with a smiling face; not that Wild knows that yet. All he sees is an eager young woman with kind eyes and a humble dress, offering to show him where he can get some wine to cook with tonight.

He and the rest of the heroes have been on the road for quite a while now, without a single town in sight. Nothing but various barns to cross their path. This is the first actual town they’ve seen in miles, even though it’s not a very big one. Yet, there is a small inn for weary travelers, and a marketplace near the front entrance of the town where farmers can sell their goods and towns-folk and gossip. The whole group of them are rather low on funds, but the market seemed like the perfect excuse to relax. Spend some money that they just barely have. Pretend to be normal people for just a few hours.

Just until sunset.

It was Wild, Twilight, Warriors, and Hyrule out in the market while the others were making deals with the innkeepers to get cheaper rooms and more beds. Wild wasn’t really sure what the others were wanting to find out in the market today, but Wild was on the hunt for quality ingredients for quality food that he couldn’t make while on the road. He planned on making a meal tonight fit enough for Zelda herself, and he needed wine to do it. Not to drink, of course not, but to soak into fine slices of meat to add extra flavoring. Nothing strong enough to get a man tipsy—and if he ends up with extra wine, he’ll put it in a flask and gift it to the Old Man. Hylia knows he deserves it.

But he couldn’t find anything even remotely related to wine in these small markets. Some stalls sell alcoholic jars of milk, but Wild honestly has never even heard of milk that could be alcoholic, let alone ever cooked with it. By the time the sun was starting to caress the horizon, frustration was bubbling in his belly because of this and all he could think about were those berries he saw on a tree a few days ago that looked perfect for making some of his own wine out of.

Twilight and Warriors were looking at a jewel-smith's stall, admiring the finely crafted trinkets and murmuring to themselves about the ones that would match her eyes, or impress that gentleman at the tavern, and Wild soon lost interest in both the stall and his love-sick companions. He had stood several feet off, leaning against a brick wall, eyeing the closest stalls to him and hoping for even a small sight of anything close to wine set up for sale.

And then he saw her. Trouble, despite him not knowing it. He didn’t even suspect it. Perhaps he’s gotten too used to the threats of other worlds, that he forgot the threats of his own.

She walked up to him, a swish to her brown dress that seemed to almost have a pink tint. Her hair was brown, done up in messy braids and a bun above her head. Wild assumed she was the daughter of a farmer who was selling crops from their farm, so he didn’t assess her too critically. Before he knew it, she was stopped a few feet from him, swaying her dress side to side between her thin fingers.

“Is there something you’re looking for, travelers?” she asked, her voice sweet like sugared honey. Beside him, Hyrule blushed a bit at the ears.

Wild wasn’t much in a good mood at the moment, but he decided that asking for help might be his only option at this point. “I’m looking for wine, or any kind of beverage like it made out of berries?”

The girl hummed, pressing her finger to her chin in thought. “The most popular beverage ‘round here is milk…” she said, and Wild’s shoulders slumped. But then she continued. “Though, I know a liquor shop further in town where they sell all kinds of drinks. I’ll show you the way, but it closes really soon.”

Hope surged in Wild’s chest. Perhaps he would be able to make a fancy meal tonight after all! Feeling in lighter spirits than he had all night, he told Hyrule to inform Twilight and Warriors that he would be going to the liquor shop. Wild barely noticed the slight hesitation on Hyrule’s face before he turned and did as he was asked. Wild should have noticed it. He should have thought more about how eager and smooth talking the girl was, should have been more in tune with his companion’s concerns, but he followed her out of the market anyway.

And now he’s here, laying on the ground in a pool of his own blood thanks to a hole in his stomach. The “liquor store” was nothing more than an abandoned shop several blocks away from the market, but he only found that out when he walked inside and saw the hastily put together lanterns to give the illusion of life, each one placed among dust and cobwebs. Before he could even turn back and question what was going on, the girl was sliding her arm around his side and heartlessly impaling him with a familiarly curved, sickle-like blade.

Her laugh was also familiar as his knees gave out and he crumpled to the floor, wheezing. Though not familiar in a way that he knew her name; he knew her kind.

“Wh-” he gasps, using one hand to clutch at the floor blanketed in bloody dust, and the other to press onto the wound in his stomach like he’s trying to keep everything in. “What-”

“You’re probably wondering why I’m here, hero,” the girl… Yiga chuckles, stepping over his crumpled body to squat by his head. “To tell the truth, I’m not sure either. I fell into a portal… and found myself in a whole new world. And I saw you, and your friends. I can’t tell you how long I’ve been waiting for the perfect moment to take you down. This is for Master Kohga-” Wild’s too weak to fight her off as she reaches for his body, searching his pockets and taking the only healing potions that he had. “-and for Calamity Ganon. I don’t care what happens to me now, as long as you die painfully and slowly, right here.”

Then, she stands up, takes his potions, and leaves, shutting the door behind her as she laughs into the night.

Stupid. Wild is so stupid. How did he not guess something like this would happen? Did he truly let his guard down so badly that he forgot to always be on the lookout for Yiga soldiers? Has he become so comfortable traveling between worlds that didn’t have rogue Sheikah that it didn’t matter for him to worry about them as much?

He’s going to bleed out and die here, all because he wanted some wine to cook with in a town that only sold fucking milk and he couldn’t bother to make sure the person he was following was actually someone with good intentions. He can already feel his vision swirling, and his entire body feels pathetically weak and cold. The pain is unbearable, bringing tears to his eyes.

He coughs up blood, and does his best to prepare himself for a failure’s death, as he’s too weak to even call for help; let alone try and save himself.

Stupid…

His vision swirls white, and then fades black, and he knows nothing more.

-o-o-o-o-

“Something’s wrong,” Twilight says, several minutes after Hyrule told him and Warriors that Wild had gone off with some farmer girl to find a liquor store.

“Something is wrong,” Twilight repeats when they ask a local villager for directions to the nearest liquor store, and they reply the only alcohol this town sells is the milk in the market.

Hyrule is quick to point out the direction he remembers seeing Wild and the girl go off in, and then they thankfully split up to cover more ground. The second there’s no one to see, Twilight changes into his wolf form, sniffing the air desperately for his kid. Wild’s scent is one that he will always remember, it’s stored and locked within his brain, right next to Mipha, Zelda, and all the kids at Ordon.

He finds Wild’s trail after a nerve wracking few moments, and then he’s dashing through dimly lit streets like his life depends on it.

The feeling of something being horribly wrong only gets stronger when he finds Wild’s scent leading inside a run down looking building with dim, flickering lanterns in the windows. Then, the reek of blood hits his nostrils at full force. He shifts back into his human form and bursts into the front door without a single care on what’s on the other side.

The stench of blood is stronger here, even for his human nose. But that doesn’t matter. What matters is that his eyes drop to the floor along with what feels like a stone in his stomach. Wild is at his feet, curled up like a child, red pooling around his terribly pale body.

“No-” Twilight drops down to his knees, already pulling out his spare red potion and gathering Wild into his arms. Wild makes a strangled groan through his throat, but his eyes are squeezed closed.

He’s alive though. The thought that he’s still alive is the only thing that gives Twilight enough strength to pull out the cork of his jar and shove the opening to Wild’s lips.

Wild chokes as the liquid enters his mouth, but Twilight doesn’t let up. It’s preferable to drink red potions, but when it comes to drastic situations like this, just getting it in the injured person's body is enough to save their lives. Wild coughs through the liquid and writhes in Twilight's arms, and it’s all Twilight can do to keep the bottle there and shakily whisper every comforting word that he knows. Eventually, color returns to Wild’s cheeks, and his eyes blink open blearily as his choking turns into instinctive swallows.

When the contents of the bottle is gone, Twilight lets the glass jar fall to the floor as he now uses his newly freed hand to check Wild’s wound.

It’s still nasty, and deep, but no longer life threatening. Another potion or some stitches and Wild will be as good as new. For the first time in what feels like years, Twilight allows himself to breath out a sigh of intense relief.

“Twi…?” Wild asks, voice incredibly small.

Twilight holds him just a little tighter, willing his heart to calm down. He’s almost… he’s come so close to almost losing-

“Who did this to you?” Twilight demands with a bite to his tone that he doesn’t mean to direct at Wild.

Wild doesn’t react to it though. He just closes his eyes and shakes his head. “It… doesn’t matter…” he replies in a whisper. Twilight feels anger swell in his stomach and he almost argues back, but Wild talks more despite how much it must still hurt. “Later,” he says. “’M hurt, wanna sleep. Deal with… it later.”

Twilight takes a deep breath, counts to five, then lets it out. He doesn’t feel any less upset. However, he keeps his voice level, deciding that arguing with Wild here will just upset the boy more than help him.

“Okay,” he agrees reluctantly. “I’m going to carry you, okay? I’m out of potions, but Wars or Hyrule should be nearby with some of their own. Then we can go get a well deserved sleep.”

Wild simply nods and relaxes into Twilight’s arms, breathing a sigh and closing his eyes. Twilight bites his lip, then resolves himself to hold one of his dearest friends close to his chest as he stands up. There’s blood everywhere, staining his hands, his tunic, his boots, his pants. But he got here in time. Wild will be okay.

That’s all that matters now. Once Wild has all his color back and his stomach no longer has a hole in it… then Twilight can make sure whoever did this regrets being born.

“I got you, kid,” he says, “I got you.”

[wonderwomanfantasy]

Sero NSFW alphabet

I can write sero smut... as a treat. 

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

He treats you like a god once he’s done with you. He’s a big fan of after sex massages. Sero also likes to smoke a little after sex but that usually leads to one of you getting horny and having sex again so like/ not really after sex more like mid sex. 

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

He’s got such a nice jaw and he knows it. Please kiss his jaw and chin he will get so riled up. 

Sero likes your back, it’s got such a nice shape to it and he loves the little moles and freckles on your back. He spends a lot of time touching your back when you too cuddle/ looking at it while he rails you from behind

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

his cum is so fucking thick for no reason. He can’t really do cum shots because it’s too god damn heavy to fly off. it’s also like, sweet? not like a lot just a little sweeter than average, it makes going down on him bearable. 

D = Dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He takes so many practice nudes, Like he is so concerned you won’t like his dick pics so he takes a thousand and only sends you the best ones. this also leads to posing after he gets out of the shower. 

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

I mean he’s had sex before but probably only one or two partners, its a bit of a learning experience for both of you. 

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

It changes day to day tbh on the one hand he likes fucking you from behind where you’re laying down, but he also likes it when he tapes your legs above you're head and he fucks you that way but also also he loves it when you ride him - or when He fucks you while spooning gah theirs just too many to chose from. for the most part though he likes positions where he gets to touch you and look at you as much as possible. 

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

...if you read kinktober day 31 you know what i think. Yeah he’s an absolute CLOWN do not trust this boy he will start humming the wee theme song in the middle of blowing your back out. He loves to see you laugh so he might fuck around and start tickling you while he’s eating you ot or something.

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

This boy has a full on bush he is so fucking hairy. he has a thick treasure trail starting at his belly button and leading to his pubes wich are a mess tbh. he keeps it clean but like unless you ask him to trim he won’t think to do it. a lot of chest on his chest and his under arms too

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Like I said most of the time he’s a goof but hear me out- after like a glass of wine he gets so romantic. Please imagine tipsy Sero whispering soft praise in your ear and calling you pet names in Spanish while he kisses your neck and fingers you. 

something to think about idk

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

not often tbh, really only when you’re not around to do it for him but most of the time he’s patient enough to wait for you to be in the mood too. but if you ask he will send you a video of him putting, all those practice nudes pay off. 

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

food play- That one ask really did something for me AnYwAys. He liked feeding his partner, it really turns him on and he loves it when he gets to eat off of you, and he generally has an oral fixation and this feeds you. 

praise- please he is so soft, he loves to worship your body and tell you how gorgeous he thinks you look when he’s fucking you and he will go feral if you give him some of that energy back he loves it when you praise him

cum play- uhm. hmm, how to phrase this. He likes to cum in you and when he pulls out push the cum back in with his fingers until it’s all soaked up same if he came in your mouth

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

shower/ bath sex babie. He loves the feeling of water around you and it’s also super hot when both of you are sweaty/ dirty he really gets off on that. 

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

when you're clingy. he feels his soul assend to a higher plain of being when you needy and crawl into his lap to hug him. Of course if you’re not feeling it he can be a gentleman and keep his hands to himself but if you want to be even closer with him...

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

piss. Idk he just thinks it’s gross

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

you are his fucking world and his face is your throne please watterboard him he loves to give head you are just so yummy he can’t get enough of you. 

he likes getting head as much as the next guy but it’s really an after thought to absolutely devouring you and making your legs shake. 

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

He likes to go slow and take his time unraveling you. His strokes are long and deep. it’s almost torture that he won’t speed up unless you beg him. Sero takes his sweet time building you up, and you hate it.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

pretty indifferent tbh. He likes them fine and he enjoys the risk of doing it in some place public but he’d prefer to fuck you properly some where he can take his time with you

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

meh he knows what a he likes so he can be a little hesitant to try something new but he’ll usually bend to your will and try something for you. 

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

pretty average, he can go for a while with out busting but after he cums he gets pretty tired quickly and needs a break in between rounds

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

like I said earlier he loves to tie you up and use his tape on you and he’s a pretty big fan of other toys too like vibrators and nipple clamps, anything to get you worked up really. 

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

mmm not really a tease in his actions but in his words. He likes to pick on you a little bit to get a laugh or make you beg if you really want something but he’s usually not the type to withhold pleasure, unless you’ve been really bad.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He is quiet but he talks a lot. Sero likes to moan in your ear softly, He’ll praise you and tell you how pretty you look right now and whisper how much he loves you but it’s all easily drowed out by the noises you make which he lives to hear. 

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

I didn’t have anywhere else to put this but he is a big Service top / Pleasure dom. He’s not really mean to you and he will do just about anything you want him too but he sure as hell is in charge and he reminds you of that fact by overstimulating you until you’re crying and can’t take anymore. 

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

hee hee he’s got a big cock. I know it I know it’s big. hmm no thoughts just sero’s big cock. uhm anyways like pretty nice it’s long and thick with some pretty purple veins and a slight left curve to it

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

I mean. it’s healthy but not as high as say Kaminiari’s sex drive. little things get him worked up and that tends to build until it’s too much to take

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He will stay awake long enough to take care of you but he likes to cuddle pretty soon afterwards. 

[tastingmellow]

Heyyy I see you’re looking for fic ideas? Since I’m thinking about my birthday tomorrow, maybe it’s reader’s birthday and Trevante surprises her?

HAPPY EARLY BIRTHDAY TO OUR LOVELY BP LIBRARIAN! You’re always coming in clutch with recommendations! I hope you enjoy your day tomorrow! 💕

Let’s have Tre treat you, yes?

A sigh escaped your lips as you turned the key in your lock, twisting the doorknob afterwards to allow yourself into the shared home of you and your fiance. You kicked off your shoes, allowing the soft scent of vanilla and eucalyptus to gently embrace you. Your keys were tossed aside in the designated bowl and your shoes were immediately discarded. Today was your birthday and your friends had treated you to a day of luxury. You first went to the spa after a lovely breakfast, then the nail salon, then shopping, and finally you were home to your favorite fella.

“Tre,” you kindly called out to him, dropping all your bags near the stairs before heading into the leaving room. As you stepped, you paused at the beautiful edible arrangement that sat on the living room table. You swooned, walking around the couch to get a closer look. You quickly pop a strawberry in your mouth, smiling at the invasion of sweet flavors on your tongue before you called for Tre again, a bit louder.

He answered you nearly immediately, guiding you into the dining room where an array of your favorite foods and desserts sat on the table, along with some wine and candles. The soft melody of Anita Baker flowed through room, enveloping you, enticing you closer to your man who stood there with a large grin on his face. He was dressed to the nines, in your favorite suit of his, holding a large bouquet of brightly colored flowers. “Happy Birthday, baby.” He softly spoke to you, stepping closer and handing you the flowers. 

His lips found yours in an all encompassing kiss, his hands resting on your back as his lips meshed with yours. As you pulled away he softly nipped at your bottom lip, a smile still plastered on his face. “Thank you so much.” You quietly replied, eyeing the table and then him. He squeezed your waist, tilting his head while you just stared. “What?” he inquired and you giggled, your shoulders shrugging as you responded, “I’m just beyond the luckiest woman in the world.”

Tre laughed softly, pecking your lips before guiding you to your chair. “Well, count me blessed to have such a beautiful woman speaking so high of me.” You smiled, your cheeks beginning to hurt from the continuous strain but you couldn’t let it fall. You were too happy, too in love. Tre quietly served you, taking the flowers from you and setting them aside. He poured your wine, made your plate, and kissed your lips one more time before sitting and making his own plate.

He asked about your day, listened closely, watching you carefully as you gushed about being pampered. He nodded, a smile on his face. Later, after your bellies were full and you were just a little tipsy from the wine, Tre brought you your gifts. Your eyes roamed over the multitude of bags, eyes sparkling in wonder before he placed them all in front of you. You stood to your feet, eyeing the bags before beginning to open them. 

Tre reveled in every little gasp of excitement, every coo of adoration. He sat there, watching you like you were one of his favorite shows. His eyes glazed over slightly, his minding wandering to your future. The future he’d get to spend with you, the many more birthdays he’d have to spend with you. His grin grew impossibly bigger at the thought, bringing himself back to you. When his eyes met yours all he saw was love. 

You made your way over to his leaning figure, wrapping your arms around his waist, squeezing him tight. Tre chuckled, squeezing you just as tight. “You are...the most amazing fiance. You never fail to surprise me.” He softly swayed to the  gentle music playing, his eyes closed, arms wrapped around you and head resting atop yours. “You deserve this and more...” he murmured, allowing you to rest your head on his chest. You bit your lip, trying to contain your smile.

“You’re all I never knew I needed. You’re my everything and I’ll be damned if I don’t let you know at every moment I can.” He spoke, his voice low as Debarge flowed through the speakers. You closed your eyes, marinating yourself in his words, allowing them to wash over you in a warm haze. “That’s why I can’t wait to have you become Mrs. Rhodes.”

You smiled, sighing contently. “I can’t wait either.”

[beauty-of-depravation]

Wanna make love ?

Gif not mine ♥️

Okey I've written the whole damn thing in one go, i didn't read it twice, I'm thirsty for Bucky everyday of my life.

Warning : explicit sexual content +18. Fingering/fucking/Making love/ condom is not an option/from slow to rough/ slow burn/FwB kind off/ dom Bucky/dirty talk

You always were a bold girl.

The afternoon had been going amazingly. Bucky is your best friend, and recently you both have been feeling off. You don't know if it's the approaching winter, or the work related stress, or just the weight of your pasts, but you needed this afternoon. A whole afternoon spent talking, about big everythings and sweet nothings. You went from talking about tragic events and confessing some pent-up feelings, pretty intimate emotions and impressions, to laughing and fooling around. the wind was strong and the rain fell violently on the window. Bucky was sitting on the wooden bench under the window and you were sitting cross-legged, on the carpet, your half-emptied glass of wine in hand, and an empty pack of cookies by your side. You still have a huge smile on you lips, and your belly still hurts from laughing soo hard, Bucky is one goofy motherfucker. The calm slowly comes back, and you let yourself fall on your back, still smiling softly. The silence is not awkward, it's serene.

And then you feel it.

They say nothing good happens after 2 am. They say it all seems to start after few taquilla shots. They say that hot summer nights are the most likely to lead to sex. The stories talk about how two best friends are in love, the girl comes back after a terrible date, her guy best friend invites her to drink. Maybe him too had a terrible night. after few shots, they flirt, fuck hard, then confess.

What about calm rainy afternoon. What about sharing a bottle of red wine. What about the fact that Bucky can't get drunk, and you only had two glasses. and then you want to make love ? What about If you are not in love, you just want to make love.

What if you are not falling in love but just falling in desire ?

What could possibly go wrong ?

You tilt your head back up, and look at the man by the window. One leg bent against his wide firm chest, the other on the ground, his long brown locks framing his face, his amazingly beautiful eyes are fixed on the apocalyptic landscape behind the glass. He is wearing a black t-shirt, and sweatpants. Your eyes wander over what you know to be a perfectly toned chest, and to his metal left arm which is facing you. He doesn't really like to leave it seen by everyone like that, but with you, he doesn't have this complex.

You stand up, walking to the bench, and sit beside him, also admiring the stormy weather.

— Wanna make love ? you say in raspy, dreamy voice, without looking at Bucky.

— What ? you hear him turn around to face you.

— I said, wanna make love ? you repeat, still not looking at him.

— Y/N what do you mean "make love"

— Bucky, are you completely dumb ? you finally turn your face.

— You mean ...sex make love ?

— Yes, James, because we are six. Sex make love, you reply with humour in your voice.

— i mean, where did that come from? he asks hesitantly.

— i don't know. I want to make love.

— right now ?

— yes, right now.

— with me?

— yes, with you.

Poor man is so confused, but you can see his body tensing.

— i ...i just want to have you inside of me right now, while we look out the window, look how much it's raining, and how the thunder rumbles, wouldn't it feel so good ? You heard his breathing go heavy, but you still add, if you don't want to just say no.

— it's not that I don't want to, he answers quickly, just need to make sure ...are you drunk?

— A little tipsy. Not enough for me to not know what I'm asking for and not enough for  you to feel guilty.

— So, you are just a weirdo ? Some humour is back in his tone but you feel like his voice is ... deeper.

— Yes.

— will it ...make things weired ?

— no, consider i want ....a really deep hug.

— from me ?

— James, if you don't kiss me in the three next seconds consider that I've changed my mind.

But you decide to go easy on him, and lean down half of the way, he comply and bring his lips to yours, gently, slowly, you start kissing eachother. It's ... poetic. Like you wanted it to be. You weirdo beauty obsessed girl.

You and Bucky, it feels perfect. Two souls permanently damaged. Two best friends. Why do people always think that "soulmates" is a word for couples only?

His tongue gently caress your lip and you part them, letting him invade you.You taste eachother the wine and the tenderness. His flesh hand is soon traveling along your back, to the back of your neck, and it sinks into your hair. A muffled moan escapes your lips when his metal hand grab your ass and push you against him, pressing your chest to his.

— Wait, wait, you breathe.

— What ? Bucky move his head back, and  look deepe into your eyes, half- worried, half disappointed.

— Relax, we are not stopping, James.  Just, let me straddle your lap. 

He chuckles, you love this sound, it makes you smile whenever you hear it.

— come here, he whispers, as he grab you ass more firmly, extend both his legs on the bench, leans his back to the wall behind him, and pulls you close, he initiates another kiss, and you start slowly moving your hips on his. 

You hear him grunt, and a cheeky smile come to your lips, as you feel him getting hard. You feel him smile arrogantly to, and you don't understand why, until he suddenly push his hips up, crashing his hardening cock with your crotch, a loud moan escapes your throat, you open your eyes and meet his gaze analyzing you, his metal hand take control of your hip rolling, and he makes it more intense. You can feel it now. The man is...god blessed. Fuck.

— Bucky...! you whine.

— Yes, doll ?

— don't tease.

— Then get of me.

— What ?

— Don't worry, Y/N, we are not stopping. You stick your tongue out at him, falsely irritated as he quotes you. But you face becomes red pretty soon when he adds in a dangerously low voice, his lips against your ear, Let's just get you ready for my cock, yeah ? Let me taste this pussy, doll.

He chuckles at how fast you jump off his lap. He slides down from the bench to,  drop to his knees and tap the space on the bench in front of him, taken by a sudden shyness you sit at some distance from his face. A loud laugh escapes his throat, and he suddenly grab under your knees and and pulls you toward him.

— Don't shy away, doll. Now, you are not allowed to cum, and don't you dare move. Understood ? he instruct while pulling down your pyjama pants and underwear at the same time.

— Yes.

— good girl. I'm going to take great care of you. he says, with nothing but sweetness and desire in his voice.

And suddenly, his mouth is on your pussy, his tongue flat against your clit. You mewl your pleasure, and your forearm covers your eyes, as he licks a line along your sex.

— Oh, god !

An deeply amused "Ehmmm" is his only reply.

He kiss your lips, bite your inner thigh and leave a hickey there. Then licks again, from your entrance to the head of your clit. You squirm at the feeling, and his metal hand push your hips down

— Doll, i really want to take you, make it hard for me to prepare you, and I'll push inside of you right now.

— Then do it, I'm wet enough, you argue.

— No, you are not, I'm to big for your little pussy.

You moan and your inner walls clench imagining him

— Cocky shit.

— I saw how you clenched, into dirty talk sweetheart?

— i can still change my mind about what we are doing.

He chuckles again, and ...it's weak to say he gets to work. He fucking eats you out like you are his last meal. He roughly suck at your clit, making his name spill from your lips like a plea, both his hands on your thighs forbid you to move an inch, as he keeps pushing and playing with the devil's door bell.

His tongue flicks your nub, and it takes a scream of pleasure away from you.

— I'm going to push a finger in, doll.

You moan and try to make a move toward him.

— ohh, so needy... Alright. But you have to tell me which one.

Your eyes snap open.

The mother fucking bastard. He knew, and you knew he knew. And you knew he knew you knew by the tone he used.

Okey. You might had confessed to Bucky, about a month ago, that you were...very curious of how his metal fingers felt inside a woman. And be might have answered by :

"They never get tired"

And you said "your too sweet to put a woman through that in bed" and he replied with a wink and "try me"

Ohh. Ohh. No.

But as if he was reading in your mind, he said :

— don't worry doll, not tonight. Tonight, we are going to make love slowly, by the window, for as long as you want. But i still want you to admit it.

— Oh, please..

You slaped yourself mentally, you were aiming for a sharp tone, but you sounded...needy.

— Say it, or you'll never know...

— You fucker... alright...i want the metal hand...

— what do you say?

— fuck off.

— alright alright, We'll work on manners another time.

And with that, he pushes knuckle deep one cold metal finger.

— how does it feel, sweetheart ? Tell me, his voice is sweet but still firm.

Oh that, that is an exercise you love. You focus on the feeling.

— it's cold, and it contrast with my temperature, i can't feel the hard metal on my walls, and ...oh when you move it like that, i can feel the tip of your finger lightly pushing on the spot...

Bucky is focused on your breathy description...and when you mention the sweet spot, he suddenly push harder on it.

— oh yeah ? This one ? Like that ?

— Oh fuck, Yes yes there Buck, right there.

— yes m'aam.

And with that, a second finger push inside of you, and he start pumping a little faster, pushing on your sweet spot.

— Oooh your fingers fill me up Soo good buck.

— Two fingers and already full, doll ? Unless I make you take at least three, my cock is going to stretch you out...oh doll, you just clenched around me. Like the idea of being stretched out on my big cock, hmm ? Good girls take a little pain, perfect girls enjoy it, which one are you ?

As you moan and don't answer, a third finger roughly push inside you, no warnings.

— Ooohhh buckyyyy !!!

— I said, which one are you ? His voice is now commanding. And his fingers fuck you harder, waiting for the answer.

— Pain is part...fuck.... part of beauty.

You feel him smile against your thigh, as he kiss it sweetly while fingering fucking you with all his might.

You feel your orgasm coming, you focus your mind on the sound of the rain behind you, and the feeling of Bucky's fingers pumping in and out of you at a demential pace, and his lips are back on your clit as he draw circles on it. Your soul is about to leave your fucking body. And you smile, the image of it is beautiful, you have this amazing man between your legs, and behind you a storm is ragging.

You moan loudly, and grip the sides of the bench and ...

— WHY DID YOU FUCKING STOP ?

a loud laugh, a real sincere laugh echos in the room as you sit up, looking at Bucky.

— Oh my God, your reaction is priceless doll ! You are the most fun I've had in decades!

— well that's not a surprise...you mumble, rolling your eyes, as he keeps laughing.

— Soo light headed... He says, taking off his shirt, and then his sweatpants. He went back to serious, and you had a hard time swallowing your saliva with the look he gave you. I told you, you were not to fucking cum. And you forgot.

Your eyes open wide. Shit.

He then grabs you by the waist, and sits down, his back to the wall, and make you straddle his lap once again. You wiggle on his muscular thighs, as he sows wet kisses on your neck, his long fingers grab the hem of your t-shirt. He slowly takes it over your shoulders.

— Fucking hell, i'm still a man doll, your tits freely bouncing at every movement you made had my head spinning all afternoon.

You giggle and he smiles at you sweetly, giggling to.

— Your skin is so soft...

He kisses a line between your breasts, then capture one of your nipples between his teeth, making you arch your back. He swirls his tongue around the sensitive nipple and suck on it passionately, as his flesh hand plays with you other boob, massaging it, pinching and rolling the nipple between his fingers. He then make his way of kisses up you neck, stopping behind your ear, he whispers:

— So now, sweetheart, let's follow the original plan, you are going to sit on my cock, and we are going to make love, as slow as I command you to, looking out at the storm. And if you want to cum, you are to beg for it.

— What ? But i..

— Oh, no back talk now sweetheart. Those boxers are getting tight.

You look down at the huge bulge. Ohh.  He wasn't kidding... forgetting about the arguing, you caress his length through the thin fabric, and he release a deep growl. You slowly kiss his neck while sliding your hand in his underpants, feeling how his cock jumps at you touch, how heavy, and hot it is between your fingers.

You can barely close your fingers around it's girth.

— Told you you needed to be prepared... He expire between two heavy breath as you play with him.

You don't answer him. Because you can't deny he was telling the truth, and you don't want to flatter his already flattered ego.

— you planning on taking the boxers off at some point, doll ?

— Hmmm, you might need to say please...

— Fuck...

You squeeze harder on his shaft, and he moan.

— Okey, okey i guess I earned that ...please doll, take the fucking boxer off so I can ruin you pussy ?

Your entire body shudder, as you finally push the boxers down, letting his erection bounce to his stomach. Your hand slowly travels up and down his thickness, spreading the precum. You want to taste him. Want to know how much if him you can take in your mouth, in your throat, maybe he'll push your head down and make you take more, You look up at him, his head is thrown back, his eyebrows frowned and his mouth slightly opened. That's... beautiful. You want to see what he will look like when the head of his dick will hit the back of your throat.

— Fuck...i want you in my mouth, Bucky.

— Fuck ...I'm going to get cursed for missing this opportunity...fuck. no.

You have an obviously desapointed look on your face, as you keep slowly stroking him.

— Oh doll, don't play the puppy eyes on me. I want to see you choke to, but another time. Right now, come here, on top of me, so i can play with your perfect tits, and lower yourself on me.

You moan, excited to have it inside of you, You lift your hips and slowly, slowly move down.

— Ohh fuuuuuck.

The tip going inside of you is the most delightful feeling. It's heavenly.

You feel Bucky tense under you, he is trying to keep himself from moving with all his might. You devilishly decide to play a little more.

You sink few centimeters more, not even half way down, and then back up, then back few centimeters down, and you stop. Acting like you need more time to accommodate his size, even though you only have the tip in.

— oh Buckyyy,  you are Soo biiiig, you feel so goooood, you moan in a fake porn star voice.

He gets it, your playing with him

You know what they say about teasing ? It backfires.

— Oh really ? Then doll, why don't you take all my fucking cock, you.fucking.tease. and with that he grabs you hips and snap them down roughly.

The next moans that escape you mouth are everything but overplayed.

— Fuck Bucky...

— That's what you get for being a tease, now bounce, slowly, and everytime you stop, I'm going to spank that ass. Leave pretty hand prints on it, yeah ? Now, bounce.

For how long did it go ? You can't even say anymore.

— Oh ... sweetheart, your legs are shaking ? Well, to.fucking.bad. *SMACK* take it harder. Ohh sweetheart, i didn't mean harder like that, it's not enough for a tease like you, is it *SMACK* ? More like that, he says as he grab you hips and empale you on his cock, up and down, up and down, no breaks, you are not going fast enough for his liking? No problem, he bucks his hips up, meeting you halfway.

— What, you want to cum ? But no, you can't. Don't even think about it. *SMACK SMACK*

— Doll, look in my eyes, right, look at me, you are doing so good for me. Go slower, you can't cum just yet remember, go slower.

— Look at those beautiful nipples, you like when I suck on them, yeah ?

— Grab on my shoulders, kiss me.

— What ? Why did i spank you this time ? Because I wanted to sweetheart *SMACK*

— tomorrow there will be my handprints all over those pretty cheeks. *SMACK*

— sweetheart ? Let's take a break. Yes, sit down, no, no, keep me inside. Just sit down, you wanted to make love right? I think you know better then to tease me know ? Yeah ? Good girl. Keep me inside of you, let me wrap my hands around you, let's look at the storm, aren't we confortable like that ?

You looked at the storm. From time to time he's move slowly. Or you'd readjust to feel him. the pleasure was a slow burn.

You grabbed the wine bottle from the floor, and you shared what was left of it. From time to time between heated kisses and touches you or him would crack up a joke, a dirty comment or a philosophical one. You asked eachother how come not more best friends had sex like that ? It was the best feeling. You had nothing to prouve to each other, you had no expectations, you were just here to feel good. You kissed for what seemed like hours, sometimes open eyes, sometimes closed, sometimes heated kisses, tongue swirling and mixing breaths, sometimes just gentle pecks.

By the end, you were both on the verge of insanity. You needed to cum. Bucky was sweaty and struggling to keep control, his hands all over you, his breath heavy and his voice as desperate as yours.

— Okey, what do you think about fucking me now ? You propose, heavy breathing.

— We done with love making? Asks Bucky with the same tone.

— The storm calmed down, you reply with a smile.

— Fuck, finally. Get on you back doll, he orders.

You painfully got off him, your legs muscles were sore.

— you're an asshole

— and I'm going to make you cum, get over yourself, he replied, still finding in him the strength to keep up with you temperament, as he stands up before you, towering over you body. God the man is beautiful. What a sight.

he raises your legs and puts your feet on his shoulders.

— Ready ?

— More then FUCK.

You head throws back.

— Oh. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. He curses to as he pushes inside of you and immediately starts pounding. You really are crazy tight, fuck.

Your sounds of pleasure mix in the air, the room is full of the smell of sex. It feels soo good. No one can fuck you like that, no one can understand how you like it like he immediately does. And no one except you can make him confortable enough for him to fully enjoy the moment. You both have wicked mids which are always afraid of something, afraid of an inversible threat that is constantly around you, the only thing you trust, is each other.

— Bucky, bucky I'm going to cum, fuck fuck, Bucky !

— yeah ? You are going to cum on my cock, doll ? He fucks you harder is that's even possible, and his metal fingers go to your clit and furiously rub it. Say please.

— Fuck...Fuck off.

You didn't think he'd be capable to stop. But he did. immediately. Everything stopped.

— You are not going to fucking cum if you do not beg, I'm not backing off of this. You say please, Bucky, make me cum, please. Or i leave you like that.

— Oh my God are you...arggg your breath is taken away from you as he roughly snap his hips, pushing himself all the way in, as a warning.

— fine! Fine, please Bucky make me cum! Please!

He smiles, and start pounding and bullying your clit so much you might cry.

— see. What. Arggg, a fucking good girl you ...can be. let it go, doll, cum, cum around me, ohh god, your clenching Soo hard, you feel Soo fucking good, don't try to escape, keep cumming, keep fucking cumming, oh God I'm cumming to, oh god doll you feel Soo good, so good...

You scream and cry out, your orgasm dragging out as he keeps playing with your love button, and his cock twitchs inside of you as he spills his hot sperm deep inside you.

— oh fuck, doll Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. He grunts and moan, and bite at your calf as he orgasms. And collapses on your chest. You hug him tightly, and you stay like that. Both panting.

They say it all ends with a happily ever after.

But maybe love story's always have to bring tragedy. They make us irrational, and some philosophs say that being in love brings the worst out of us, jealousy, insecurities, codependency...etc

What if the best love stories are friendship stories. And nothing says we can't spice them up a little, right?

They also say male/female friendship doesn't exist.

At the time you didn't fucking care what they said.

[blindbatalex]

proud to present the next installment of the carraville royalty au (masterpost; ao3) [[cw for implied past character death]]

~*~

Gary startled awake.  

He had been stuck in the past again, in the grip of another nightmare, but the dream did not grant him so much as a memory of itself as it receded out of sight, leaving behind only that tell-tale dread that sits deep in your chest.  He sat up in bed.  It was dark, no doubt the middle of the night; he was alone; the only light came from the fire which was throwing strange shadows across the floor.  Far too bright for this time of- he thought but he startled again before he could finish his thought.

 “Hey.”

 Jamie.

He was not alone in the room.  Jamie was sat in an armchair he dragged by the fireplace.  He was only a silhouette with the firelight behind him, more shadow than man.  Gary got out of bed, and walked over to him, not bothering to hide his frown.

“Is your shoulder acting up?”

Not like him to be awake in the middle of the night otherwise; that particular honour was exclusively Gary’s.  

“No,” Jamie replied and Gary noticed now the cup in his hand, the wine bottle on the floor—his flushed cheeks and unfocused eyes.  His husband was wholly and totally sloshed by the looks of it.  “Just enjoying myself some peace and quiet without your constant chattering.”  He took a swig of his drink and smiled.  “Was, anyway.”

Gary spared a longing glance at the courtyard visible outside their window.  Things he would have given for some fresh air now, but alas, ‘Manc lord sneaks around Liverpudlian castle at night’ did not bode well for the tentative peace between their two countries.  He sighed, and as he walked over to the table to get his own cup before dragging the second armchair across from Jamie, he pretended that was the only factor stopping him, that he would have been able to ignore how broken Jamie’s smile was and leave otherwise.

He poured himself some wine, opting to wait for Jamie to say something first.  A drunk Jamie was a talkative one and indeed it barely took him two minutes before he said- 

“The sighting of the first stork of the year is very important in my family.”  

Gary didn’t know what he was expecting him to say, really, but it was not that.  Then again he did have a habit of surprising Gary in the most unexpected of ways.  Gary took a sip of his own drink and waited for him to continue.  

“If the first stork you see is in flight, it means prosperity for the next year, but if it is sat on a branch or the ground, it heralds misfortune, and the more storks you see the more pronounced the effect.”  Jamie’s eyes were lost in the fire.  He was frowning and Gary had a strong urge to rub his eyes—all of this over storks?  

“Last year, Stevie and I were travelling through the Merseyside woods when we sighted the first one,” Jamie said quietly.  “Five of them.  All perched on the branches of an elm tree.”  

Ah.  Half of a log broke off in the fireplace, eaten alive to its core by the merciless flames, and fell with a great crackle, in a flurry of sparks like a fallen warrior. Jamie did not speak of G.errard, not to Gary, not outside of a passing reference.  Gary did not speak to him of David.  They carried with them wounds no eye can see and no balm can heal but these were theirs to carry alone.

“We were making camp in a clearing for the night,” Jamie continued.  “Stevie grinned when I pointed the storks to him.”  Jamie’s lips curled up with the ghost of a smile, G.errard’s smile, maybe. “‘Don’t you worry, James,’ he said, ‘if any sorrows come to bother you, I will draw my sword and fight them off for you.’  Then he drew his sword and pretended to fight what I presume were the upcoming sorrows.” Jamie shook his head.  “He never took it seriously.  But he was like that.  He was such a respected leader among the men, always so serious; you wouldn’t believe what he was like when it was just the two of us.”  He chuckled, the sound bitter as it was wistful.  “Five storks.  I saw them and I let myself get distracted by his grin and-”

Jamie stopped with an uneven exhale.  Gary could see him there, in that clearing, much younger even if it was only a year ago, smiling despite himself as G.errard fought off invisible enemies and light faded around them.

“Yes, indeed—if only you had, you could have singlehandedly stopped a war that was years in the making.”

Jamie’s gaze snapped to him.

“Don’t be smug, Gary,” he sneered.

He had warned Gary of his temper when they first met and yet Gary had only seen it in brief flashes so far, like now.  He didn’t know if Jamie just did not show himself to him or if that part of him had died alongside everything bright and beautiful about them with their late husbands in the war.

Gary lifted his free arm in a show of surrender, and after a short moment, Jamie let his eyes drift back to the fire, jaw still clenched, still frowning.  

For a while, the only sounds in the room were that of their breathing and the crackling of the fire.  

Until they weren’t.

“David was the life of the party, of any party.  He could charm the pants off of anyone and the king would regularly ask for our presence when he had a tricky foreign guest to entertain.  Last feast we were at, at our own castle-”  

Gary stopped as if his brain had only now caught up to his mouth. He did not talk to Jamie about David, he never had.  The wine burned his throat but was already warm in his veins; the log from earlier had burned into nothing.  He wanted to stop, but he could see it there so clearly, their great banquet hall, David laughing with his hair as golden as this fire in front of Gary, his head thrown back.  It was so vivid Gary thought he could reach in and touch it if he only strained enough.

“After-” he continued, “we were one of the last ones to leave the banquet.  On the way back to our chambers, I said something, I can’t remember what it was exactly.”  He had thought and thought about it since, tried to recall what he said, but like water through cupped hands, it had slipped past his mind and was now gone.  Like David.  “I said, ‘everyone loves you,’ or some such thing, and he laughed.  ‘Good thing I love you the most, then,’ he said.”

Mm, Gary had replied in return.  He said he didn’t mind David glowing with attention, and he didn’t, but well, he couldn’t say he minded this not-so-occasional reminder either.  Of course, so did David.

‘What do you mean, mm?’

Gary could not deny him anything he asked for, never could.  He didn’t even drag it out.

‘Means I love you more than anything too.’

David’s head snapped to him then and he was grinning now, a grin that stretched from one ear to the next and sparkled in his eyes.  

‘More than anything?’ 

He was more than a little drunk and so was Gary.  

‘Yes, David.’

He was the most beautiful person Gary had ever seen, even in the dimly lit corridors of their castle.

‘More than the world?’

He was positively preening now.

‘Yes, David.’

‘More than-” David hiccupped and lowered his voice.  ‘Mancunia?’

‘Yes, David.’

He gave Gary a skip and a curtsy.

‘More than…’ He snickered,  ‘Mrs. C.antona’s snowcakes?’

Gary snickered too.  

‘Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.’

Drunk as they were, he didn’t expect David to come at him like he did and pin him against the wall, hard enough for the stone to dig into his back.

‘Is that so?’

One of his eyebrows was cocked in an arch, challenging Gary, his cheeks rosy with the wine.  Gary looked into his beautiful green eyes, and said

‘Yes.’

*

When he managed to tear himself away from the past, he found Jamie looking at him. staring almost.

“I just wish,” he said and he was more tipsy than he thought. He did not talk to Jamie about David. “Just wish I told him I loved him more than the cakes.”

Jamie laughed, a sincere full-bellied laugh that roared through the room, and it was now Gary’s turn to be offended.

It was silly, he knew that, but no sillier than storks surely, and time after time he had gone back to that moment, to that ‘is that so-’

Because David had kissed him next and they stayed there tangled in one another until they heard a servant scuttling past and came to their senses, and Gary never did revise his answer when he loved David more than any cake in the world.

“Oh come on,” Jamie doubled down.  “You told him you loved him more than the whole world, and your kingdom, which I’m pretty sure counts as treason, by the way.  Obviously he knew you loved him more than some bloody cakes.”

“Not just some cakes!”

“Fine, more than Mrs C.antona’s snowcakes, specifically.”

Gary was feeling daft now at having brought this up in the first place, and yet, stubborn as he was, he doubled down too.

“You never had them.”

They were served at their wedding but Jamie had not so much as touched them, even after Gary suggested he should.

“What does that have got to do with anything?”

At the very least, this was the Jamie Gary knew, stubborn and obstinate and not moping over storks.

“They are my favourite cakes in the world, which David knew.”

Jamie laughed again, although it was softer this time and shorter, as if a friend he loved had told a brilliant joke.

“If I had to choose between you and the cakes, for example, I would choose the cakes,” Gary bristled, but when he looked up, Jamie’s eyes were- he looked down quickly, at the stone floor, a canvas now for the patterns the firelight drew and retracted.

“Look, Gary,” Jamie’s voice, like his eyes, was fond.  Gary really wanted some fresh air now, a way out of this room and out of the past.  “I will say this once and only because I’m sloshed.  I will deny it rigorously if you bring it up again, alright?”  He groaned, as if steeling himself for something thoroughly unpleasant, and Gary found himself looking up again, too curious for his own good. What was the Scouser playing at? 

“Alright,” Jamie muttered, mostly to himself, before he turned to Gary.  “You are insufferable.” 

Ah well, and here Gary was expecting something unexpected. His bad.

“Yes,” he replied pointedly, “you said so before,” but Jamie barreled on.

“Even leaving your kingdom aside, you can’t sit still, the kitchens have really had it both with your endless appetite for dessert but also for your attempts to improve things that require no improvement.  I will honestly not be surprised if one of them kills you in your sleep one of these days.” 

“Is there a point to this?” Gary felt the need to interject. Because he had heard all of this before, multiple times. 

Jamie met his gaze. 

“Yes,” he said.  “But, you are a good man, simple as that.  And if I can tell that in only a couple of months of knowing you, there is no way B.eckham didn’t know just how much he was loved.”

Five words, five simple words; he had spoken them so quickly and yet they had somehow reached in and lodged themselves in Gary’s throat. He didn’t know what to say, what he could say.  Was it a trick of the firelight, this look in Jamie’s eyes?

“Well, your reason is just as dumb,” he scoffed eventually.

Jamie’s mouth curled downward, the look was gone, and, good, Gary thought to himself.

“There was no way you could have predicted nor stopped the war based a few storks and you know that.”

Jamie opened his mouth to interject but Gary didn’t let him. This felt good.  Anger felt good, familiar like a well-used bow.

“A-a-a, I know what you are going to say.  But if you had taken your ominous warning seriously, if you had known, then you would have used the time you have left so much better.  You would have let him fuck you senseless each night and told him you love him every morning, over and over again. Memorised his smile, the colour of his eyes, every inch of his body.  If you had only known.”

From the expression on Jamie’s face, Gary could tell he hit the nail on the head.  “I know,” he said, laughed.  “Well, life doesn’t work like that, alright?  You couldn’t have known, not based on storks, not based on anything.  None of this is your fault.”

Gary stopped and the silence that rushed in was deafening. Jamie wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his tunic for they were shining now.  Gary touched his own face and frowned at his own fingers when they came back wet.  Across from him, Jamie’s shoulders rose and fell, just the once, in a quiet sob that Gary felt in his own chest.  He wanted to do something he never had before, something like- like- to wipe those tears himself, or to cup Jamie’s cheek in his hands.  Comfort him, like he had comforted Gary after so many nightmares that left him a broken, sobbing mess.  But it was more than that.  What he wanted-  God. What would David think of him if he saw him now?

I miss his smile, Gary wanted to say, because he did, every day.  He missed David and he loved David, so much.  He wanted someone to know, to understand.  And yet, here he was- God.

Jamie for his part, took in a deep and wiped his eyes again, and the moment had passed, leaving only something curling and pulling in Gary’s chest where his heart used to be.

“Let’s never do that again,” Jamie huffed and Gary agreed readily.

“Backgammon?” he asked; he didn’t think any of them could go back to sleep just then.

Jamie nodded, smiled even, and Gary stood up to fetch the board.

[strigital]

today i was invited to my first proper formal very adult party. rn i am tipsy af on two full glasses of wine cuz the restaurant we went to had the kind of waiter who'd notice your half-empty glass of wine and be like "absolutely fucking not" and fill it up again... so here are some fun things that happened during these 8 or 9 past hours that i still remember:

they christened a boy and the parents renewed their vows and for the whole time i had an anxiety attack because i'm THAT childless friend who never attends church and has no idea when to do what and stuff during all these ceremonies. also, while i was worried about being five minutes late... the family and the holy father himself were late by half an hour so lucky me i guess. EDIT: totally forgot to mention we also released white doves. held a real living breathing pigeon in my hands for the first time. he was giving me the side eye the whole time, making sure i knew damn well he did NOT like me. also almost smacked me in the face with the wing upon release. snuck one of the feathers left behind into my pocket as a lil souvenir. i hope that feathered asshole didn't get snatched by a hawk on his way home.

we ate rustic food like pastries with chicken out in the open field and it was kinda nice having an-almost-picnic in the church's backyard two feet away from the cemetery.

we rode a limo. a very long ass limo. my first limo ever. it had LED floors that cycled through various colors and the bass from the blasting music made it feel like you were sitting on a giant ass vibrator. it was fun... until that one baby decided to scream their head off...

we rode a steamboat up and down the river while a handsome fellow in a suit played saxophone covers of various popular (and memey) songs. it was my first ever steamboat or sax experience ever. was fun, until the same baby had another tantrum...

we went to dine in the restaurant of a hotel in the old town. let's just say the air itself inside the building was more expensive than i could ever dream. there were guest names on a small board by the entrance, listing who sat by which table. i saw my friggin name on a fancy lil card on said table. i was offered a glass of champagne the moment i stepped into that posh ass victorian style-ish place. there were three sets of forks and knives and i had no clue which was used for what. they had classy ass menus placed on top of a silk napkin. said menus had shit that sounded like a harry potter potion or something: smoked salmon with quail eggs, red caviar, melon and sunflower sprouts, foie gras with fruit caramelized in Pinot wine... you get the idea. also same sax guy from the boat kept on tooting his horn, while we ate food that cost more than my own fucken liver. i witnessed some absolute first-class magic done by the waitresses, god bless them and the wine refills they did unasked, my god do i love free wine, especially if it costs so much i can't even begin to guess the number. we also received some cute af gifts which were lil paper houses with raffaello candies in them and stuff. oh and also i feel like I'm about to explode because good god that was a LOT of food (free food, might i add) and a LOT of wine and lemon water...

and long story short

i realized that i am too poor to even stand in places like that but i am still grateful as all hell for being invited to such a gathering. i may not be religious at all, but... there was free wine. that alone completely covers me being forced to stand in a church full of proper god-fearing soccer moms for about an hour.

anyways

am very tired and drunk as all hell and with a belly full of godawfully expensive munchies so I'm just gonna launch myself at my bed and fall out of reality until tomorrow, when i have to get up for work (possibly - with a hangover) and be that poor lonely millennial again.

and even if i never get to experience such levels of poshness ever again... it was nice to feel like an important person, even if for just one day.

[universallywriting]

Steven/Connie double date (other couple your choice)

two in one

tw: recreational legal drug use (alcohol)

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

Steven still had a knack for embarrassing himself, despite being twenty-five and, in theory, well beyond his awkward teenager years. But he both lacked a filter and a fear of trying new things, which turned out to be the perfect combination for humiliation. All too often he shared personal information too easily, he tried new food and drinks that led to incredibly, embarrassing suffering, and regularly attempted physical stunts that left him with bruises on more than just his ego.

On the other hand, Connie had long ago transcended her childhood awkward stage. Somehow, she was a constant presence of unflappable poise, beauty, and wit. That was the kind of thing that happened when someone was preparing for a career in public speaking, and it could be a little annoying to have a partner so poised.

Except for the fact that he knew it was all a lie, and it was all too easy to knock her off her feet in the right situation.

“You’re painting again?” she asked Daniel over a dinner double date. “That’s amazing! I wish I could get back into my hobbies again.”

And he, one margarita in, put his head against hers to lovingly quip, “I wouldn’t called fifty thousand words of Sonic Boom fanfiction abandoning your hobbies.”

Daniel and Patricia cracked up immediately, and he could see the flustered looked on Connie’s face turn into giggles. Of course she wasn’t going to say anything - if she said nothing, there was a chance it could be a joke, and not that he had just outed her very real, ever-growing trove of fanfiction.

When the waiter swung by, he decided to get a double shot mojito, and a dish that was marked as spicy. It was a fun night, after all, and it took a lot to get him drunk.

And, as for spice, well… he was used to making a fool of himself. But he was absolutely going to drag her down with him if it was the last thing he did. Conversation continued as he took his drink fast, enjoying the odd burn that slipped from his throat to his belly - the beginning of a sleepy fuzziness starting to creep across his brain.

“Connie’s always been a nerd,” he remarked, grinning, because it was hilarious that everyone seemed to forget that but him. “No one notices because she’s so cool now, but she’s a huge nerd.”

“We’re all a little nerdy,” Patricia said. But he had vibes from that - the kind of vibes that said Patricia meant she watched sci-fi sometimes, or that she was very good at school.

“No,” he corrected. “I mean she’s a huge dork.”

Before he could see his wife’s face, the waiter slid by the table. Steven asked for another mojito and whatever look Connie had before is replaced with warning. “Should you?”

“Shouldn’t you?” he retorted, then beamed at the idea. “Can we get a long island iced tea?”

“Who’s going to drive?’ Connie said, and the waiter hovered by the table as he waited for them to settle it.

He waved his phone. “Rideshare.” He could tell that she was tempted. She rarely drank, but long island iced teas were her favorite. They were also very alcoholic, and she was very bad at alcohol. He said, with only the slightest bit of condescension in his tone, “Do you want wine? I know you’re a lightweight.”

She took it like a challenge, like he knew she would, and made up her mind straight away. She looked up at the waiter with her politician smile and said, “No, I want the tea. Thank you.”

She was a lightweight though, and he was quite happy with himself as he looked back at Patricia again. “I don’t mean that, like, Connie likes Star Voyage. I mean that Connie has an Eris account so she can fight about whether there’s a bias against interracial couples in fandom.”

“Well because there is,” she started, her temper went half-up just from the thought of it. But she took a breath and smiled and said, “But, you know politicians. We’re always politicizing everything.”

Boo! 

Boring. 

He tried not to pout, though he was pouting very hard in his mind as he ate his salad. Polished Connie was boring. Professional Connie was boring. Connie with her face on was amazing and wonderful and he loved the work she did but

he was already a little tipsy 

and she was boring. 

He was absolutely delighted when her tea came, and destroyed his mojito with a speed that made Patricia whistle. Connie was slower with her drink as she tried to maintain a normal conversation, but it was a heavy drink. It was her favorite drink.

It vanished, probably faster than she planned, and she ordered another because Daniel and Patricia were drinking too. Of course, he noted as he took a breather with an on-tap beer, the two of them could probably hold their liquor better than his love.

When his food came, he humiliated himself as he expected. His face went red. He felt sweat on his neck. He chugged water like he needed it to live. It was enough to get a giggle or two out of the other couple, and enough for his tipsy wife to regularly be overcome by them.

He was drunk but not drunk enough for walking to be a challenge. Perfect. He’d rather not look stupid if he wobbled on the way to the bathroom. In the meantime, Connie’s composure had plummeted down. Her voice was full of emphasis, exaggeration, excitement - the bubbly girl she kept under-wraps all too often.

Daniel was laughing. “Oh my god, are you serious? By the time you got to high school you were, like, full swan. We only knew you as sword girl.”

“And I worked very hard to cultivate that image,” she insisted, her words slightly blended together with delight and drink. “It’s a delicate balance. I leaned from Pearl. It’s about knowing what is and isn’t refined, and speaking only of the refined things.”

“Exactly,” Steven agreed, trying to sound properly Britishly posh. “We only speak of how compelling the draaaama was on Under the Knife, and never the fix fic you wrote because your favorite children’s book had too much kissing.”

There was laughter all around the table, Connie slipping down her chair as she giggled helplessly, shaking her head. “No! No that’s not why! You are taking-”

“Lisa says ‘you can’t fix an evil empire by kissing’, Connie! You made her say that!”

“This is bullshit! You are oversimplifying a complex situation to the point of no longer adding anything useful to the discussion!”

“That’s a meme!” Patricia cried. “That’s a seven year old copypasta!”

“Steven used to eat flour,” Connie said, a heavy swallow coming from her throat as she struggled to catch her breathe. “He still does sometime. I’ve seen him. I’ve seen him!” “Everyone eats flour. I can just appreciate it without other flavors.” He grinned, looking to the other couple with relish. “In Connie’s fix-it fic Archimicarus gains power whenever Lisa is in pain. So Lisa wears a-”

“Stop! Not the grimdark phase!” she gasped between peals of laughter. “Anything but my edgy phase, please!”

And that, Steven felt, was far more fun than composure.

[ri-ahhh]

idk if you’ve heard the song toxic by kehlani but maybe you could write something based off that song where a tipsy y/n calls up her on and off ex (grayson) to come over 👀 i love your writing btw

It’s already late when your best friend Fallon knocks sharply on the front door of your apartment. You had texted her not even half an hour ago, all up in your feels after you saw Grayson’s Snapchat story of him and some friends at the beach, an unfamiliar and pretty blonde girl tucked under his arm in one of the photos. She had responded immediately, letting you know she was on her way.

Feet clad in your fuzzy pink slippers, the strings of Grayson’s old hoodie keeping the hood cinched around your face tightly, you heave yourself off your comfy couch and trudge over to the front door to let her in. When you swing it open, she’s standing there with her hands full with her purse in one and an obvious brown paper bag in the other.

You stand aside silently, letting her pass the threshold and dump her shit on the kitchen island. “You didn’t have to bring alcohol, Fal, you know I don’t drink like that anymore.”

“Exactly,” Fallon deadpans, whipping out the bottle from the bag. “You stopped drinking because of Grayson Dolan. I think you owe it to yourself to let yourself start drinking because of him, too.”

You push the hood off your head and take the blue bottle from her when she offers it to you. Your brows raise. “You bought me Don Julio to cry over my ex? Isn't this, like, $50 for a bottle?”

Fallon waves a hand dismissively. “That’s exactly why I got it; you’re not gonna cry over your ex. Wine of any kind is crying juice. Vodka makes you a dumb bitch, and bottom shelf tequila makes you cry, a dumb bitch, and a ho. You need the good stuff, so we can bring out the bad bitch. Who can talk about her ex, get it all out, without crying again, or texting him, or posting a thirst trap.”

You roll your eyes. “That was only one time I accidentally sent you that nude instead of Grayson. And we were still together, so it didn't count as being a ho. I was just giving my boyfriend good spank bank material.”

Fallon is already rummaging through your cabinets, in search of the nearly-forgotten shot glasses. “Babe, you know I support every woman’s right to be a ho as much as she wants, especially after a breakup, but this is Grayson we’re talking about. You two were so into each other, it was toxic. You fought all the time, and by your own admission fixed everything with sex. You’re addicted, and as your best friend, I’m inserting myself here to keep you from talking to him anymore.”

She turns around, two little glasses in hand, and looks at you then the bottle in your hands pointedly. You give in and pull out the stopper and the Don Julio Blanco to her. 

“Now, I’m not gonna get you drunk. But we’re gonna get enough in you to loosen up that tongue, you’re gonna get all your Grayson shit out before I leave, and we’re gonna go to bed happy and feeling better,” she says matter-of-factly, pouring the clear liquid into the glasses. She hands one of them to you. “Cheers, bitch.”

Right before you clink and tap, Fallon’s phone buzzes. She leans over to check it where it’s resting on the counter, and her eyes widen. “Shit...”

“What?” you ask concernedly. Fallon puts down her glass and starts typing madly.

“It’s my downstairs neighbor. She said Roxy’s been barking for nearly an hour straight and she’s gonna file another noise complaint if I don’t get there to let her out.” She stops for a moment and looks at you. “Shit. I’ll get evicted if I get another one. Like actually evicted.”

Fallon’s dog Roxy has serious attachment issues, which is usually extremely annoying, but right now you're thanking her. You love Fallon to death, but this isn’t exactly the friend therapy you needed or expected when you called her up to come over. 

“Dude, go! I promise I’m fine. I don’t need to worry about you being homeless on top of my shit.”

“Okay. I’m sorry, babe, I promise I’ll FaceTime you as soon as I’m home.” She’s gathering her things, leaving the tequila open on the counter. “Make good choices, please. Love you!”

“Love you!” you call out behind her as she rushes through the door.

The door slams, and it leaves a ringing silence almost as loud as your best friend. You look around at your suddenly empty apartment, your eyes landing on the still-full shot glasses.

What the hell? You snatch one of them off the counter and down it with a grimace. Admittedly, it was the best tequila you’ve ever had, but it’s still tequila. The burn travels down your esophagus and settles in your near-empty belly. The sensation reminds you that you’ve hardly eaten today, and one shot was probably more than enough considering your lack of food and the fact that you’ve probably reverted to being an extreme lightweight after not drinking for so long. 

You and Grayson have barely been broken up for a month, and despite how hard it’s been, you haven't been tempted to touch more than a glass of wine or an occasional Whiteclaw if the stress of the day was too much. But it never felt right to have more. Grayson is still a part of you, even though that’s part of the reason you broke up to begin with. The two of you were becoming codependent on each other, which was turning into jealousy and neediness that built up into huge, explosive fights and ended with you fucking on whatever surface was nearest.

It was, indeed, a vicious, toxic cycle. Even though you tell yourself it’s for the best, you also can’t shake the feeling that the two of you aren’t done. That there’s still hope for your relationship, especially now that you’ve spent time apart.

Fallon’s tactics have backfired as you stomp back to the couch and snatch your phone off the cushion. Julio has given you the liquid courage you need to do exactly what Fallon told you not to.

I miss u

A classic. You wish you had it in you to be more creative, but the simple truth of it is: you do miss him. You miss his laugh. You miss his smell. You miss coming home to him, either here or at his house, after a long day. You miss his kisses. You miss his dick. 

There’s little shame for yourself in admitting that. You used it to solve your problems, but you were blind to that before the breakup. Everything is more clear now, especially the fact that you still love him deeply. 

Suddenly, your phone starts buzzing. You don’t even look at the caller ID, assuming it’s Fallon calling impatiently from her car. 

“Hello?”

“Hey.”

The deep voice on the other end of the phone startles you, and you hold it away from your face to see his name in big, white letters. No longer ‘Gray’ with some heart emojis, but ‘Grayson Dolan.’

You swallow hard and put the phone back to your ear. “Uh, hi, Hey.”

There’s a beat of silence before he speaks again. “I, uh, got your text.”

You don’t say anything, picking at a piece of fluff on your slipper.

“I miss you too. Like, a lot. Too much.”

You bite your lip tightly, chewing it nervously. You hadn’t expected him to fucking call. Calling and texting had two very different vibes. Over text, you would probably say something cute and calm and ask if the two of you could get coffee tomorrow.

But a call? You can hear his voice for the first time in weeks. It makes you want to jump through the phone and wrap him in your arms, to cry in his chest -- from happiness or sadness, you’re not sure. Either way, this is the closest you’ve felt to him in so long, and it makes you weak.

Grayson may be loud, but he’s good at shutting up when he wants an answer. It’s one of the things that drove you most crazy when you fought. He’d yell his piece, then stare at you until you had a retort. Sometimes you did, sometimes you didn't; you were always both at fault, for the most part. 

You take a deep breath and find your voice at last. “Me too. I...I haven’t been doing so great. Without you.”

She hears him sigh. “Me neither.” He pauses, and you wait anxiously. “Look, I’ll be honest. I was with Ethan when I got your text and he...well, he doesn’t think it’s a good idea that I called you. Or that we’re talking to each other, period.”

He leaves his sentence hanging, almost like an open-ended question without phrasing it as such. You can't stop the laugh from bubbling past your lips as you shake your head. “Fallon was just over at my place and said the same thing. So that either makes us really fucking stupid, or our best friends just don’t understand.”

“Famous last words, either way,” Grayson chuckled with you. You can hear crickets chirping in the background, and imagine he’s sitting outside by the pool. The two of you used to like to do that together.

You decide to follow his example and head out to your balcony, plopping down in one of the plastic chairs with your knees tucked to your chest. “What do you think about us talking, then?”

He doesn't miss a beat. “I think I miss you. And I love you. And I know I fucked up a lot, but I’ve been actually reflecting on everything that was wrong with us and I think I know now what I can do better. This time apart has been really fucking hard, but I think it was a good thing. For me, anyways.”

Your lip finds its way between your teeth again. You clamp it hard to hold back the shake in your voice. “Me too, Gray. I wasn’t perfect by any means, either. But as long as we both know what we need to work on, I want to try again if you do.”

“I do want that,” Grayson sighs, relief flooding his voice. He laughs that laugh you missed so much. “You have no idea how happy that makes me. I’ve been driving E crazy having these meltdowns all the time thinking about how I fucked up so bad that I wouldn’t ever get you back.”

You smile into your knees, and decide in that moment to risk it for the sake of your biscuit, which throbs at the mere thought and sound of him. “Is it too early to mention that I miss all of you?”

“Careful, or I might think you only want me back for my body.”

“I mean, I definitely had to use my imagination a few times without the real thing. I only had to think of you, though. How good you fuck me.”

This right here is probably where the tequila is coming in to play. Fallon was wrong again; you’re about to go Full Ho, having phone sex with your kind-of ex.

His breath picks up nearly imperceptibly, but you can also hear the smirk in his voice. “How many times did I make you squirt in the tiny house shed that one time, baby? That was so hot.”

“Mm, it was so good, Gray. I remember you had to carry me inside to your bed because I couldn’t walk. And then you fucked me nice and hard on your bed.” A rush of wetness floods your panties, and you squeeze your thighs together. “You came all in my mouth that night. I miss how your cum tastes.”

“Fuck,” he whispers. “Can I come over?”

You hesitate. You think of Fallon, of Ethan, of Don Julio. Of Grayson.

“Yes. Please.”

[wendimydarling]

Who’s in Charge?

Title: Who’s in Charge?

Summary: What happens when Illya’s authority gets tested?

Pairing: Illya Kuryakin x Napoleon Solo x Gaby Teller

Word Count: 3048

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Blowjob. That’s it.

A/N: Okay, a little background on this one might be needed. Gaby is in a formal Dom/Sub relationship with Illya Kuryakin. They have invited Napoleon Solo into the relationship as a second Dom, but it’s Illya that holds the reigns. This was originally written for another story but never panned out, so I changed some things around and made it a one shot. If anything’s unclear, don’t hesitate to ask! As always, I’m open to constructive criticism, and if you want to be added to the tag list or I forgot to tag you, just let me know!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Gaby was exhausted. Her work day had been long and arduous, full of customer complaints and sexual innuendos from her male co-workers. Someone had let slip the nature of her relationship with Illya, and now it seemed that every human in the office with a penis was suddenly interested in her "as a person". Needless to say when she left that evening she had a headache, and she supposed a little bit of heartache too. People would never understand. 

When she arrived at Illya's apartment, he and Napoleon were in the living room, arguing heatedly over whatever game was glaring at her from the iridescent tv screen. A few empty beer bottles sat abandoned on the coffee table; Gaby guessed the game was too exciting for the guys to take a break and add to the collection.

Her presence unnoticed, she wordlessly slipped into the kitchen and poured herself a large glass of wine. After downing most of it, she poured herself another full glass, then watched her lovers while she put the bottle away. Illya was standing at this point and Napoleon was so close to the edge of the couch he seemed about to fall off it, both of them yelling at their team through the television as if their words could be heard by the coaches. Gaby shook her head and smiled, conceding to the fact that she would never understand men and sports.

She pulled two beers from the fridge and opened them, took them over to the guys, and placed a bottle in each man's hand and a gentle kiss on each of their stunned lips. 

"How long have you been home?" Illya asked her, clearly confused. Napoleon remained quiet as he leaned back across the couch and took a swig of his beer, quite entertained by the fact that he and Illya had been caught by surprise. 

"About ten minutes ago," Gaby responded, laughing at Illya's expression. She exchanged a glance with Napoleon as he laughed with her. Illya was rarely caught off-guard and did not like it, nor did he like being laughed at, both of which she knew she would pay for later. For now though, she was enjoying her brief moment of triumph.

Napoleon was still laughing, and Gaby focused on him. He had a beautiful laugh, deep and throaty, and the lines around his eyes told her that he laughed often. She liked that about him, his enjoyment of life; she would give anything to see the world in a humorous light. His eyes twinkled and he winked at her, sending a slight pang of arousal into her now tipsy belly. She gave him her best seductive grin, then turned back to Illya.

"Work was hell today, so I'm going to take a bath," she told him. The look on Illya’s face at her lack of request kicked her submissiveness into high gear. 

"Need anything else before I do, sir?" She offered, looking at the floor and hoping that it was enough to satiate him. He came over to her and tilted her head up, forcing his gaze to his. 

"No, I'm fine. Next time come greet me first," he commanded her, his tone authoritative. Gaby breathed a sigh of relief and, noting the anger still lurking behind the hazel in his eyes, leaned forward to kiss him, satiating him for now. 

"Yes sir. Well, I'll be in the bathroom then," she stated, and turned once again to Napoleon. 

"Feel free to join me when your game is finished," she smirked at him, lingering on his gaze as long as she dared. Looking once more to Illya (who was too busy glaring at Napoleon to look back), she grabbed her wine and headed to the bathroom.

The bath was luxurious. Gaby had long since finished her wine and felt relaxed and uninhibited, letting the delicious scent of candles, the hot water, and the soft music soak away the stresses of the day. She let herself doze, her body weightless in the water. Gaby was close to sleeping when the door flew open loudly, startling her awake. Illya and Napoleon walked in, both sporting a mischievous grin on their face.

"What are you doing?" She asked, receiving no answer. The guys exchanged a glance, and then all Gaby could do was stare wide-eyed as she watched Ilya slowly begin to undress Napoleon, peeling Napoleon's shirt up over his head. Her mouth fell open into an 'O' as Illya removed Napoleon's pants at a snail’s pace, then came back up and did the same with his boxers. She tried to look away from Napoleon's erection (which was growing harder by the second at the sight of her naked in the water), but the amount of alcohol she had consumed that night prevented her from being discreet. She thought back to the few times Napoleon had joined her and Illya, and Gaby realized that though she had felt him, she had never actually seen Napoleon fully naked before.

"Boy, you really can't take your eyes off of his dick, can you?" Illya remarked, jealousy evident in his voice. It did nothing to sway Gaby's stare however, her eyes remained fixed to Napoleon's lower half. Illya addressed Napoleon. 

"Told you she was a cock-lover. Look at her salivating, I bet she can't wait to take you in her mouth." Gaby’s arousal sparked at the filthy words and she squirmed, but she waited to see what Illya's plan was. She looked from him, to Napoleon, to Napoleon's cock, back to Illya, and finally landed on Napoleon's face. He met her gaze proudly, no shame written anywhere on his handsome features. Her gaze shifted down again and came to rest on his member. She licked her lower lip then bit down on it, and was rewarded with an involuntary twitch from Napoleon.

Illya seemed extremely agitated then, watching the exchange between Gaby and Napoleon. 

"Well go ahead and join her, tell her what you want her to do," he huffed, perching himself on the countertop to watch. Gaby understood then; Illya wasn't punishing her, he was punishing Napoleon. Illya knew her skill, had told her more than once that she was the best blow he'd ever had, and she guessed that Illya wanted to establish who the higher-ranking Dominant in this triangle was. Gaby looked at Illya, and Illya gave her a look that told her what she was supposed to do. She became a temptress and sat up, splaying her legs and resting her hands on the floor of the tub. She pressed her breasts together with her arms, and crooked a finger towards Napoleon with a "come hither" motion.

Napoleon looked at Gaby, eyes dark with desire. 

"I heard you were fairly talented with your mouth," he purred, slinking towards the tub. She inwardly laughed at his naivety as he lowered himself slowly into the hot water. He had no idea what he was in for. 

"I might be," she teased, swinging her legs behind her and grazing his stomach with her breasts as she slid up to lightly kiss his jaw. "Depends on who's asking."

Gaby placed another soft kiss on Napoleon's lips this time, waiting for him to command her. 

"Well then love, why don't you show me?" He retorted. She kissed him a little harder, licking a little line from inside to outside his upper lip. He responded by opening his mouth and attempting to draw her in for a deep kiss, but Gaby pulled back before he succeeded, leaving him confused. 

"Doms have to be more specific," she directed him, "what talent with my mouth do you want me to show you?" For emphasis, she began sucking on the pulse point in his neck, which made him exhale heavily and throw his head back. 

"I want you to- hah!" Napoleon exclaimed as Gaby's fingertips found his cock. She ever-so-gently brushed two of them along his length, relishing his reaction and the control she was being given.

Illya never let her give him a blowjob anymore. He wanted all control at all times, which was disappointing for Gaby, though she understood why. To be able to make a man become completely undone under her touch, to have him begging, to have that much power over another individual, she got why Doms chose to be Doms. The feelings of satisfaction and power were addicting, and she knew Illya much preferred to feel in charge; he did not like being powerless and at the complete mercy of someone else as she did. It's why she chose to be a Sub, the helplessness turned her on more than the power. Still, she did occasionally enjoy being the one with the power, and she took advantage of those rare moments when they were given.

Letting her thoughts come back to the present, Gaby swirled one finger around the tip of Napoleon's swollen member and trailed it lightly down the underneath to his base. Napoleon's eyes were closed and his lips were pressed tightly together. She could see him frantically trying to regain the control that he had so quickly lost, could see him wanting to be the one leading the situation, as any Dom would. She chuckled softly at that notion, knowing full well that she was calling the shots right now. She looked up at Illya, who still hadn't lost his scowl. He huffed again and spun his finger in the air, telling her to move it along.

She looked back at Napoleon, who had opened his eyes again, though his head still rested against the back of the tub. 

"I'm sorry, Mr. Solo, I didn't catch what you said," she taunted, her other hand sinking beneath the water to join its teasing partner by stroking his balls. Napoleon was too fast though and caught her wrist before her fingers reached their destination, pulling her face towards him with his free hand. 

"I want. Your mouth. On. My. Dick." He told her, the authority in his voice sending shivers down her spine and waves of arousal through her stomach. "Please," he amended, and she had to smile. One of Napoleons's best qualities was that he secretly hated diminishing others, and she knew he would never make a good Dom. Still, she liked him, and she had been ordered by her Dom to pleasure him, so she obliged Napoleon's request.

Gaby place a slow, steady line of kisses down Napoleon's chest, applying gentle pressure with her fingers to the backside of his legs until he got the hint and exposed his groin to the air. She was good at what she did, but still, she couldn't breathe under water. She used the pads of her fingers to steady his erection, and continued the line of kisses down his length. Napoleon's breath hitched in the back of his throat at the contact of Gaby's lips, but he kept his eyes open this time, watching her go to work.

And go to work she did. She was slow and methodical, teasing him with the lightest touches, waiting until he would close his eyes only to surprise him by taking him full in her mouth. She would alternate licking and sucking, tasting him fully. Napoleon quickly began writhing, breathing heavily and trying his best to hold still so that he wouldn't thrust up and choke her. He couldn't think straight. This woman was taking him apart seam by seam and he found that he didn't even care. He chanced a look at Illya, who's eyes were fixated on Gaby's mouth with a murderous glare. Gaby chose that moment to hum loudly, and Napoleon's head snapped back towards her, meeting her gaze. Her eyes smiled devilishly at him and she hummed again, causing Napoleon to swear in a most undignified manner. 

"Told you she would take you down a peg," Illya finally spoke. Gaby smiled around Napoleon's cock at those words and grazed her teeth up his length, relishing the desperate need behind his eyes. She began to suck on just his head, and all the resolve Napoleon had not to beg disappeared.

"Oh dear god," he panted, wondering if this would never end. He had never felt such pleasure in all his life. Illya had been right, she was far more talented than he had originally guessed. He also surmised that Illya had known Napoleon would underestimate her, and had wanted to see him like this, to see him taken apart and weak in order to show his dominance over both Napoleon and Gaby. Napoleon had been reduced to an absolute mess of a man and he looked like a fool in front of Illya, but he didn't care; it felt too good. Gaby kept sucking his head. It still wasn't enough to get him off and she knew it, but Napoleon wanted to cum, so against his pride he started begging.

"Okay Illya, you win. Shit, you both win. Oh my god, please, just—Jesus Gaby, fuck!—oh god, I'm... I want to cum, I can't take it anymore, I can't; I need to—it's not enough, oh god..." Napoleon shut his eyes and leaned his head back on the wall, still babbling incoherently. Gaby ignored his pleas and continued her torturous pace, watching Illya and waiting for him to give her the go ahead. Napoleon was shaking his head at this point, moaning and gasping interrupted only by the occasional curse. Gaby's mouth was getting tired, but Illya had not yet granted her permission to give Napoleon release. She knew that she would be severely punished if she didn't wait for Illya's command, so she backed off a little and stared at him pointedly.

Illya was watching Napoleon's face with wicked satisfaction. Gaby saw the jealousy written all over Illya, and she grunted her displeasure at him, inadvertently making Napoleon gasp and jerk up. He slammed into the back of her throat and she gagged hard, doing her best to breath while her lips remained closed around his dick; giving Napoleon a break now would also result in punishment later. Napoleon groaned out his apology, but didn't open his eyes. The incident seemed to shake Illya out of his trance though, because he finally looked at Gaby, smug. 

"Finish him off," he stated with an air of pride, thinking to himself that he could have lasted longer than Napoleon. Gaby gladly complied. Prepared for it this time, she relaxed her throat and took Napoleon's entire length into her mouth, sucking hard. Napoleon’s eyes shot open and he cried out, crunching his torso forward and watching Gaby swallow him whole. His face twisted in painful pleasure at the sudden sensation and he felt his release building very quickly. 

" Gaby , I'm gonna, I can't hold it, I'm-" he tried to warn her but she just looked up at him and briefly put her fingers over his mouth, relentlessly sucking him to climax. He cried out as his orgasm hit him, further turned on as he watched Gaby swallow every drop of seed he shot into her mouth.

Napoleon shuddered as he finished and relaxed against the back of the tub, closing his eyes once more to savor the gentle open-mouth strokes Gaby was giving him during his post-orgasm high. Breathing heavily, he opened his eyes as she slid off him, grinning like an idiot when she slid her body along his to come up to his face. Tenderly, she cupped his face in her hand, and he responded in kind by clasping the back of her neck and bringing her in for a kiss. He moaned as he tasted himself on her lips, grunting in displeasure and pain as his cock twitched far too soon after coming.

Napoleon broke off the kiss and looked over at Illya, but all he saw was the sink, Illya was gone. 

"Where did Illya go?" He asked Gaby, stroking her hair. Gaby laid her head on Napoleon's chest and sighed, knowing her Dom was off pouting somewhere. 

"He gets very jealous," she admitted, tracing a finger along the lines of Napoleon's muscles. "He's probably out there on the bed, figuring out how to punish me for giving you attention." 

Napoleon looked at her, confused. 

"But Illya's the one who brought it up; he instigated the whole thing, said he wanted to watch you take me apart. Why would you be punished for that?" 

"Because I went beyond what I should have," Gaby said vaguely, pulling the plug so that the water in the tub could escape and standing up to get out. She grabbed a towel and stepped out of the tub, wrapping herself up to keep warm. 

Napoleon remained in the tub for a minute, his brain still trying to process everything that had just happened. Gaby laughed and tossed him a towel, catching him off guard. 

"Don't try to understand his reasoning, sometimes he just doesn't make sense," she told him, drying off and slipping her nightshirt over her head. Napoleon stood up and joined her outside the tub, wrapping the towel around his waist. He circled his arms around her from behind, looking at her in the mirror. 

"Well, thank you for the sex," he chuckled, "I can honestly say I've never had a more excellent blowjob in my life." Gaby laughed out loud. 

"I believe I should be thanking you. I never get to do that anymore and I miss it. It's fun." She winked at him, then turned in his arms. He kissed her again and she kissed back, but pulled away far sooner than he wanted her to.

"I'd better go find Illya," she sighed, heading toward the door. "Better to face my punishment now rather than later." 

" Gaby?" Napoleon stopped her, grabbing her hand in his. 

"Yeah?"  

"Would you... would you care to join me for breakfast tomorrow morning?" he asked her, heart pounding. She was someone else's Sub, and though he had been invited to join them as a third party, he couldn't believe he had just asked her out, knowing she would say no. Gaby smiled at him though, and squeezed his hand. 

"I would love to," she stated firmly, and pressed one last kiss to his lips before slipping out the door.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tag List: @littlefreya​ @sciapod​ @thiccgeralt​

[jugandbettsdetectiveagency]

Fluffy Bughead at varchie fancy engagement party where they keep trying to sneak off to be alone please 💗

No matter how many times she sees it, the butterflies in Betty’s stomach never tire of the sight of Jughead in a suit.

The one he’s in now is a far cry from the borrowed, oversized thing that he first turned up to her bedroom in—

(That will always hold a tender place in her heart.)

(That Veronica would kill him for, if Jughead ever attempted to show up to one of her events in something that improperly fitted.)

—but the effect it has is similar all the same. Betty squints against the lowering summer sun, painting the sky the same deep wine purple that is almost certainly coating her lips. Her eyes scan the crowd, finding his immediately, already looking at her and crinkled at the corners.

A gentle bubbling that has nothing to do with the open bar spreads throughout her limbs, dancing towards the tips of her fingers and down to the soles of her feet. Betty could be content to watch him from here, head tipped down in laughter at something Kevin has said, Jughead clapping a hand on his shoulder fondly. The tie she’d wrestled him into just before they’d left the apartment sits in her purse. Several of his shirt buttons are popped against the heat of the evening. Betty scans the skin on view, exhaling heavily into the rim of her glass.

One foot steps towards him, leading her forward on the giddiness of the celebration.

“Hey there, Maid of Honour,” Veronica says, appearing at her elbow, a coyness about her lips. “Enjoying the view, I see.” Her eyes slide in Jughead’s direction.

Betty knows her cheeks are already flushed enough to hide any new colouring. “Yes,” she says pointedly. “This place really is so beautiful, V. I’m so happy for you and Archie.” The chatter of guests is loud, but Betty still hears the contented sigh that slips past Veronica’s lips as they look out over the rolling hills of the hotel gardens. Betty tips her head to rest against hers.

“So am I, B. Nothing has ever felt this right, you know?” Veronica’s eyes are shining in the fading sunset, warm and eager in equal measures.

Betty turns to find Jughead again. He’s closer, caught in Archie’s enthusiastic embrace, and she allows her smile to deepen. Everything settles into place. “I do.”

***

Jughead weaves his way through the dense crowd, one destination in mind.

He’d done what he promised. Several sweeps of the patio—several passes at the buffet table—talking to their friends, and friends of friends. It still doesn’t come easy, but neither does denying those widened green eyes anything.

“Only a few hours… For our best friends, Juggie.”

Like she still needed to convince him.

“Yeah, yeah. I know, I’m not complaining at all.”

And he wasn’t, not really. The warmth in his chest is proof enough of how much he was actually enjoying himself. Here in this setting he never pictured himself in, with people he thought would fade from memory once he passed the threshold of high school for the final time—and it was good.

More than good, he thinks, watching Betty lean her head against Veronica’s from across the way. Her limbs look loose and content, even from here. Several tendrils of her soft updo have come undone in the gentle breeze that passes over them every so often; they catch the setting sun with a golden glow, illuminating the air around her like a halo. Jughead watches the graceful arch of her bent neck, following the smooth expanse until it disappears behind the blush fabric of her dress. Betty’s lips part in a smile and he can’t help but drift closer.

“Hey, bro!” Jughead struggles to right himself, arms now full of a tipsy Archie—he’s uncontrollable at the best of times, but adding alcohol makes Archie about as easy to tame as a new puppy. “Didn’t think you’d still be here.”

Jughead grins at the happily dazed look on Archie’s face. “Just making the most out of the free food,” Jughead replies, making sure Archie’s on his feet before he lets his arms drop.

“Yeah, sure. Really you just love me. And Ronnie. And Betty. And—” Jughead uses Archie’s hiccup to cut off his declarations with a laugh, deep and from his belly.

“We all love each other, I get it,” he says with a fond shake of his head. “Proud of you, man,” he adds, swallowing thickly.

“Proud of you,” Archie echoes, suddenly looking far more sober. Jughead feels his ears warm, but he smiles.

***

“Do you know how hard I’ve been trying to get close to the prettiest girl in the room all night?”

Betty shivers against the breath at her ear, the low timber of Jughead’s voice rolling down her spine, smooth like whiskey. His arms snake around her body and she lifts her hands to rest against his.

“Let me know when you succeed,” Betty sighs, mischief tinting her smile. She tips her head against his shoulder, letting the firm planes of his body support her, lips seeking. Jughead meets her half way, a delicate brushing of lips that matches the hushed atmosphere of the drawing night. A light moan catches in the back of her throat. Jughead’s arms tighten, sparking goosebumps across her skin.

She turns fully in his embrace, dragging her fingers through the hair at his nape, watching every shade pass through his eyes, intent on her, as they darken. “Crazy that we’re at Veronica and Archie’s engagement party,” Jughead mumbles as they stay locked in a sway. The distant sound of music filters in.

Betty’s brows furrow. “Crazy how?” Her voice is almost a whisper, afraid to disturb the air around them.

Jughead dips forward to press a kiss to the corner of her mouth, then to her cheek, her temple. “Just that it seemed like we’d never get here somehow. That it was never coming.”

Betty hums, nodding, understanding. “I’m glad though,” Jughead adds after a moment. “We finally got here. Hell of a journey,” he huffs, blinking rapidly against a barrage of memories.

Betty tucks her smile against the crook of his neck before drawing back to look at him again. “You don’t say. But we made it.” She pauses. “It always felt kind of inevitable though, didn’t it? This.” She doesn’t let go to gesture around, sure he’d understand.

“Yeah,” Jughead grins, pulling her impossibly close. “Yeah, it did.”

The kiss he gives her is deep and unhurried, promising so much more when she can peel him out of this suit and let him retrace the maps he’s made of her body over this journey they’ve called life together.

“Home?” she hears him ask when her eyelids begin to droop.

“Home,” she echoes, taking his hand.

[libraryleopard]

jesus take the wheel

Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolo di Genova, 1.3k, no archive warnings apply, read on ao3

“Maybe I’d be a better driver in America,” Nicky muses. “Everything is opposite, over there. Switching things up might help.”

“I don’t think we need to test that hypothesis out,” Joe says. “Nothing is better in America.”

Or: A domestic one-shot in which I project my terrible driving skills onto Nicky.

The thing is, Nicky is fine driving when it's life or death. (Well, not death, he supposes. But there’s certain phrases you can’t drop from your vocabulary, no matter the language or century, and hyperbole has its place in every dialect.)

The point is, he’s great behind the wheel of a car when careening and explosions are involved. When the goal is to get away as fast as possible with a minimal amount of limb regeneration, consequences be damned.

But anything more mundane? Well. There’s a reason Joe is the designated driver. Nicky tends to drive like an army is on his heels, no matter the circumstances.

“I miss horses,” Nicky grumbles. “You never had to care about stop lights when there were horses.”

“Horses didn’t have air conditioning,” Joe points out, drumming his fingers aimlessly on the steering wheel. “And they smelled a hell of a lot worse.”

Nicky can’t exactly argue with that—the twenty-first century may have its horrors, but the torrent of cool air pouring from the car vents is certainly not one of them. He props his feet on the dashboard, eyeing the red light ahead. “There’s no one here, anyway, can’t you just go?” The tiny eastern European town they’ve settled in for the time being–just until the dust settles, Andy claims–is small enough that even on a weekday, the main intersection at the center of town remains empty.

“That, my darling Niccolò, is exactly why you have not been entrusted with the leadership on this most delicate mission,” Joe replies.

“Yusuf,” Nicky sighs. “I think I could manage a grocery run.”

“Nicky,” Joe sighs back. “Your lack of respect for the great traffic laws of Croatia says otherwise. I will compromise Andy’s baklava for no one. Else we might find ourselves testing the limit of our immortality rather sooner than we expected.”

“What about Malta?” Nicky retorts. “I was a superb driver in Malta.”

“You were superb in many ways in Malta, my love,” Joe concedes, a smile tugging at his lips. Nicky knows exactly what Joe’s remembering when he side-eyes him, gaze catching on his lips. “But as the car still ended up a flaming wreck, I’m not taking that as proof of your everyday driving skills.”

“Those were unique circumstances,” Nicky protests.

“And these are not.” Joe eyes the stoplight, which remains stubbornly red.

“Maybe I’d be a better driver in America,” Nicky muses. “Everything is opposite, over there. Switching things up might help.”

“I don’t think we need to test that hypothesis out,” Joe says. “Nothing is better in America.”

Technically, Nicky can drive. He has the license to prove it—several dozen, actually, though since the names and birthdates are far from accurate, they don’t exactly prove much. He’s just not…particularly up to date. They all have blind spots in this modern world–Andy’s attitude towards smartphones is a reluctant reliance above some mixture of confusion and paranoia and Joe occasionally finds himself less than clear on the ever-shifting borders of countries (when, exactly, did the Soviet Union stop regularly appearing on the news?). Nicky’s blindspot just happens to involve four-way intersections and general bemusement at yield signs.

“It’s barely been a century,” Nicky protests. “Give a man some adjustment time.”

Stoplights are not really the problem, if he’s being honest. It’s more the sudden vehicular evolution that really threw him–how a few automobiles cruising at thirty kilometers an hour exploded into a world-wide industry of speed that always catches him off guard when he looks away for a few years. Now they talk? And drive themselves? It almost seems a waste to stay on top of such an ever-evolving invention. By the time he’d gotten comfortable with a stick shift, they were practically obsolete.

The light finally flickers green and Joe eases the car into acceleration with a whiff of exhaust and a rumble of tires against concrete.

The thing about cars, Nicky supposes, is that they truly remind him of how far he’s come. There’s always a moment—a pure, unavoidable split second—when his foot hits the accelerator and he realizes just how unrecognizable this world would be to the man he once was. This great hulking beast of metal and glass at his command, roaring through smooth stone streets with a belly full of gas and sparks.

Never in his wildest dreams could he have dreamt such a thing. Not in his days as a priest with his rosary smooth beneath his fingers, not once he’d traded worn beads for a knight’s sword, heavy with purpose and intended glory. Not even once he’d seen his flesh improbably knit itself together, once he’d met the eyes of a man once placed as his enemy and felt a spark that was anything but animosity. That mankind could forge metal and distill substances from the depths of the earth into something he could tame with a single press of his foot, with the turn of a key, is still remarkable to him.

He likes to remind himself, still, of the everyday miracle of living so long. There’s always heartache, always the wounds that fade from flesh but never soul, but there is also this moment here in a creation his civilization never lived to see, alongside a man he would have died hating if not for a turn of fate.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Joe asks as they slow to another stop. He’s always testing out new idioms, letting his tongue trip across the fresh inventions of language, as fleeting as sugar between the teeth.

Nicky shakes his head. “I don’t like that one as much. Are you supposed to be paying me to speak my mind? And pennies are so transient, I’m sure they’ll be gone in a few decades and the whole phrase rendered useless.”

“Better make use of it while it lasts,” Joe says. He reaches out for Nicky’s hand without even looking, easy as breath, and smoothes a thumb across the back of Nicky’s hand.

Nicky traces his own finger across his husband’s hands, the contours almost as familiar as his own. They wear rings for now, having deemed this place and time safe enough to indulge. They’ve been married almost more times than Nicky can count—in Arabic, in Italian, in English, in Dutch, in silence, in a dozen more languages than he can count, alone beneath the sky or in grand churches or mosques—yet they’ve always had to be cautious about it. Perhaps the world is finally beginning to catch up, in fits and starts, to what they and so many others have always known to be true in their hearts, even if only witnessed by the shadows.

“We should get married again,” he says, suddenly. “It’s been long enough since the last time.”

Joe tilts his head, the evening light pouring through the windshield sparking gold from his brown eyes. “You think? Perhaps we should spice things up and get a divorce for once.”

Nicky scoffs. “That involves more paperwork than either of us is willing to cough up. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

Joe laughs. “Fair. Another marriage, then.”

“Yes.” Nicky laces fingers tight with Joe’s, feels how perfectly they weave together as if some long-ago creator molded them to fit. “Now that Nile’s here. It’d be nice, I think, to celebrate with someone new.”

The unsaid between them: that this will be the first wedding in centuries without Booker, where he can’t get wine drunk and quote rambling sections from classic literature on love and commitment and they’ll all pretend his tipsiness isn’t to hide an edge of bitter jealousy. That Andy may not live to see the next time they exchange vows.

But at least they have Andy for now, and Nile, and each other.

“It would be nice.” Joe’s free hand is still splayed on the steering wheel and for a moment, Nicky is possessed by the urge to take it, to take all of him, and hold him tight, Croatian traffic safety laws be damned. Nicky at least knows enough to check in the mirrors that the road behind him is clear before he leans in and reminds Joe that there’s one language their mouths will always be fluent in, no matter the century.