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scuttling · 3 years

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And this I promise from the heart

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairings: Aaron Hotchner/Female Reader Word Count: 5,428 Tags: 18+, NSFW, Dad Bod Hotch, Fluff, Hot tub foreplay, Hiking, Hotch is into plants, Rough sex, Hickies, Biting, Mirror sex Summary: Includes a scene Inspired by @ssahotchie and this ask. Collection: Just The Way You Are Series, Part 2 Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 (Coming Soon!) Part 4 Link to A03 or read below! “Sunny. Sunny,” Aaron calls in his deep, even voice, and the six-month-old Golden Retriever at your feet wags her tail, looks up in your direction.

“Daddy’s home, Sunny girl. Do you want to get daddy?” She rises to her feet, looks out the door, down the hall, then back at you, tail thumping against your desk chair. “Go get daddy.” She takes off running, and you smile, turn back to your work. You can hear the jingle of her tags as Aaron scratches her neck—she’s probably two seconds from flopping onto her back for a belly rub, which, you know, you completely get—and his voice as he asks her if she’s had a good day.

If anyone doesn’t believe Aaron is a soft, gooey marshmallow of a man beneath the buttoned-up federal agent exterior, you welcome them to witness one exchange between him and his dog.

A few minutes later, he walks into your office, Sunny at his heels, and you look up, raise your eyebrows. “Oh, is it my turn to be greeted now?” you tease, and you stand, meet him for a kiss.

“Not jealous, are you?”

“Only a little, but I’ll let you make it up to me.” He wraps an arm around your waist, smooths a hand up your back, kisses you again, but this time it’s slower, warmer, and you’re a little breathless when he pulls back.

“Planning on making it up to you tonight—or, all weekend, actually. Derek offered to watch Sunny, and I pulled some strings and was able to rent us a cabin near the national park. I thought maybe we could get away, get some fresh air, hike the trails? I know it’s not the beach, but on short notice I thought you might enjoy it.”

“Are you kidding?” you ask with a grin, holding onto his arms. This is totally unexpected, so thoughtful it makes your chest ache. You lean up to kiss him repeatedly, soft and sweet. ��Thank you, baby, really. I can’t tell you how excited I am.”

“You’re welcome. I should have thought of something like this sooner; I’m sorry I’ve been a little oblivious.” He frowns, and you move your hands to his face, guide him down for a deeper kiss.

“I know you have a lot on your plate, and I love our life exactly as is—going away with you is just a bonus.”

“Well it’s a bonus you deserve,” he says, pulling you closer. “I want to be more attentive; I don’t want to fall back into my old habits.”

“You’re very attentive; I wasn’t exactly forthcoming with my thoughts, so I can’t blame you for not reading my mind. Let’s promise to talk more about things that matter,” you suggest; he agrees, and you kiss again before heading to your bedroom to pack your bags. After getting the car packed for the trip, you head to Derek's to drop off Sunny and her things—with lots of pets and kisses for Sunny, and a tight, appreciative hug for Derek—and then stop for dinner on your way to the cabin.

Aaron is so light and happy, you almost wish you’d gotten drunk and asked for a vacation sooner, even if it is only a weekend away.

The cabin is beautiful, all deep cherry wood and high ceilings, a stone fireplace; there is a swimming pool, a hot tub, and a finished wraparound deck that overlooks the forest. It promises peace, quiet, solitude—a perfect place for you and Aaron to reconnect and spend some one-on-one time together.

You unpack your clothes and toiletries, and Aaron unpacks the kitchen things: coffee, water, and wine, breakfast ingredients, snacks. You meet him downstairs when you’re finished, and he is sitting out on the patio with two glasses of wine on the table in front of him. You feel a little like you’ve died and gone to heaven.

“You’re so good to me,” you tell him when you step out onto the deck. You intend to sit down in the chair across from him, but he reaches out, curls a hand around your forearm and guides you to sit in his lap instead. You wrap an arm around his neck, loosely drape the other over his chest, look up at his gentle face. “So very good to me.”

“All I want is to be good to you; I just want to make you happy,” he murmurs, and he leans in to kiss you—it’s a very specific type of kiss, slow and passionate, one that makes you crave his touch on your bare body, and you make a soft, needy sound against his mouth, pull back with a smile.

“What do you have planned for me in that beautiful, brilliant brain?” Aaron ducks his head, smiles a bit bashfully; you love that your compliments still affect him after all this time, quite partial to the shy, serious man who stole your heart in the first place.

“Well, I was thinking wine, clearly… maybe a soak in the hot tub? I turned it on, brought out some towels—did you happen to pack a swimsuit?” He smooths a hand over your hip, your ass, and you cling to him a bit more tightly.

“I didn’t, but that won’t stop from getting in that hot tub with you.” He looks confused, and you raise your eyebrows, give him a moment to let it sink in.

“Skinny dipping?” he says, looking simultaneously surprised and turned on by the prospect. You laugh softly.

“Yes. It’s private back here, no neighbors close by, and I think it would be a lot of fun. I won’t try to force you to join me, you know I won’t, but if I could convince you somehow, please let me know.” You brush your fingers through the hair at the back of his head, lean in for an unhurried kiss, slowly dragging your tongue along the length of his, and it’s clear he’s quickly convinced. He grips your thigh with a firm hand, moves the other to the back of your head to keep you close, keep you kissing.

He’s not always forceful, not always rough, but there’s no denying what it does to you when he grabs you a little harder, kisses a little deeper; you want to give yourself to him even more than you usually do, want him to do what he wants, take what he wants. You want to give him everything.

When he breaks the kiss, you press two more against his lips, then pull back and tug your sweater over your head. He runs a hand over your breast, squeezes through the fabric of your bra, then slides it up to wrap lightly around your throat. It’s tender but possessive, something else that never fails to drive you crazy; the first time he did it during sex you had an orgasm almost instantly, and there’s just something about having his broad palm and thick fingers there that makes you lose your mind.

“Fuck,” you groan, though it’s more like a whisper, and he moves his other hand to your pants, slips the button free, hovers. “Please, Aaron.” He flicks his eyes up, stares into yours, pulls you toward him for another kiss, and you moan against his lips. The moment he releases you, you shift up, out of his lap, and you push down your pants and panties, unhook your bra.

You’re both breathing heavily, especially when Aaron looks over your body like he hasn’t seen it a million and one times already, his gaze hot and lingering; you reach for him, and he stands, lets you get him out of his clothes too. It’s clearly a little uncomfortable for him to feel so exposed, even though you are in a private space, so you run your hands over him gently, press your lips against his body, whisper soothing words of encouragement and remind him that you can go inside whenever he likes.

The hot tub is in-ground, square, made of stone, and you both sink into the blissfully hot water with matching sighs; the night is warm, with a cool breeze, and you sit down next to him, let him pull you into his lap again. You smile, tug the hair tie off of your wrist and sweep your hair up into a high bun, wrap your arms around his shoulders.

“Not so bad,” you murmur, smoothing your hand over his chest, “is it?” He holds you close with a hand on your lower back, drags the other up your stomach, over your breasts. Your mouth falls open in a soft gasp, and he does it again, his rough palm catching your nipple, rubbing against it.

“Not bad at all.” You run your tongue over your lips, grind in his lap—he’s already hard, and you can’t blame him, feel like you’re halfway to a climax as is. This is extremely hot, and not just because you’re still surprised he even agreed to it. “I want to kiss you—just kiss you for a little bit. You’re not too turned on for that, are you?” You close your eyes briefly, sigh, because he clearly plans to torture you, drag out the foreplay; eventually, you shake your head.

“I’m not too turned on for that.” He hums, pleased, and then brings a hand to your throat again, pulls you in for a long, wet kiss. You roll your hips against his, slowly and sensually, and he moves his hands over your body, squeezes your ass hard with both of them. “Mmm. Want you.” He squeezes again and you grip his shoulders firmly, whimper. “Aaron.”

“Should I let you up? Or should I make you come right here in my lap?” he asks, and then he decides on his own, moves a hand between your legs and slides it over your pussy. You moan softly, looking down at him in a way you hope conveys your desire, your desperation; he seems to understand, holds your ass and pushes two fingers inside you, presses deeply. “Kiss me, baby,” he breathes, and you do, gasping against his mouth as he pumps his hand.

Your kisses are graceless, eager, and you ride his hand, weave your fingers into his hair to keep him close, to stay connected. Eventually you just breathe against his lips, unable to focus on even a messy kiss; he adds a third finger, watches your face like you’re mesmerizing as you get close, as if he hasn’t seen this look a million and one times too.

“I want you to come hard, I want to hear it. I want the neighbors we don’t have to hear it.” He smiles, just a little, and so do you, and then you kiss him with renewed fervor, slam down against his hand, water sloshing around you; you come moaning, gripping his shoulders hard, and he brings his wet hand up to hold tightly to the back of your neck, so you’ll make eye contact as you ride out the final wave of pleasure, clench around his fingers. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” he groans, and you wet your lips, panting, lean in for another kiss.

“I want to blow you,” you speak over his mouth, earning a soft sound of desire, and he kisses you deeply once more before guiding you off of his lap. He moves up a step, so just his legs are in the water, and you climb between them, run your hands over his thighs. “Gorgeous too.” You look up at him, and he puts both hands on your face, pulls you in for a kiss; you grope at his chest, slip your fingers over the wet hair that trails down his stomach, then bite him there softly when he lets you go, leans back on his arms.

You wrap a hand easily around his straining cock, press the other against his thigh; his sharp intake of breath when you cover him with your mouth is enough to get you wet again, and you shift a bit uncomfortably—the stone is hard beneath your knees, the ache between your legs back in full force, but you would stay in this position for hours if that’s what Aaron wanted.

Now, though, he just looks like he wants to come, so you suck—tight, shallow, wet, strokes—and hum, working your hand with each dip of your head. “Oh, yes. So good,” he rasps, and he curls forward so he can run his hands down your back. It brings his body closer, his scrunched stomach brushing against your nose as you tilt your head up, and you whine, lift off of him, press open mouthed kisses to his stomach and chest, everywhere you can reach. “Fuck. Are you wet again, baby?”

“Yes,” you sigh, kissing him, touching him with your free hand—the other is still pumping his cock even though your mouth has abandoned it. “Touch me, please touch me.” He leans in a bit further, puts one hand on the back of your neck and one over your clit, rubs quickly and pulls you in for another hot, hard kiss. “Yes, touch me, Aaron, touch me.” You’re so eager for more—more pleasure, more of his pleasure—that you literally can’t stop talking, so you slide your mouth over him again just to occupy it, just so you don’t sound as needy as you feel.

“You’ll come for me again,” he murmurs, cupping your head with his broad palm—no pressure, just a reverent touch. “You’ll swallow for me, come for me; you’d do anything for me.” You would, you have no doubts, and you just hum your agreement, keep sucking until he groans, guides you off of him, to his lips. “Inside,” he mumbles through a kiss, and you take his face in your hands, deepening it, clinging to each other.

“You want to go inside?” you ask, breathless.

“I want to go inside… come inside you.” He puts his hands on your waist, urges you to stand, and you step out of the hot tub, take a few dripping steps over to the chair with the towels laid across it. You wrap one around Aaron, rub it roughly over his body; it starts as something sexy, but then it must tickle, and he laughs. You can’t help laughing when he does, and when he dries you off, you dissolve into giggles, wrap your arms around his neck and let him lift you, carry you into the cabin and toward the bedroom, pausing to grab the half-full glasses of wine before you go.

You set them down on the dresser, and he sets you down on the bed, hovers over you with a grin. He pushes your legs apart, wide on either side of his hips, and you surge forward for a kiss; he wraps his fingers in the sheets and pushes inside you, earning a short, high moan. You sink back against the bed, tilt your hips up, and he thrusts quickly, roughly, makes you sigh.

“Yeah, fuck, Aaron.” You curl a hand around the back of his neck, grip his forearm with the other, and grind up against him, watch his face as it shifts from determined to desperate for release.

“Won’t last,” he pants, and you shake your head, pull him down to your lips.

“Don’t have to. Just come, baby.” He groans, wraps his hand around the wooden headboard and uses it for leverage, slams hard into you; you fuck yourself against him, even harder when he comes, so eager to catch up, to meet him there. He leans in, face against your throat, fingers tight on your shoulder, and thrusts so deeply and roughly that your entire body tenses when your orgasm follows, and then you shake in his embrace while you catch your breath.

He brushes his mouth over your throat, your jaw, and you just lay together a moment, chests heaving, before he climbs off of the bed and grabs the wine. You both drink it down in one long sip, then laugh breathlessly once more, kiss again.

You get cleaned up, pull on pajamas, and Aaron builds a fire; you cuddle up on the sofa in front of it, drink enough wine to get a little tipsy, and talk and laugh, make out just to do it, with no end goal in mind. Time passes by slowly, and here, that’s perfect; you’d stop time if you could, spend the rest of your life warmed from the inside out with Aaron’s voice in your ear. The next morning, you wake up at a decent hour, make coffee while Aaron starts breakfast. It’s a bit chillier than the day before, so you wrap a blanket around your shoulders and take your coffee outside, look out at the forest and its silent stillness. Between Aaron’s work and yours, and now Sunny, life is rarely so peaceful, so quiet, and you just stand there and drink it in for a moment before Aaron comes out, clinking plates and silverware, disturbing your solitude in the most perfect of ways. You turn back, and he smiles, sets down your food, and you cross the deck, press a warm kiss to his lips, and sit down for breakfast.

The two of you get showered, dressed, and you drive to the national park to hike before it gets too warm; the trails range from easy to difficult, and you stick with something moderate, since you’re not very familiar with the park. The path you take is mostly dry, but lush and green, surrounded by thick trees and lots of plant life. Aaron, as it turns out, is quite the amatuer botanist, points out random flowers when he notices them, tells you their scientific names like a nerdy boy scout; it’s really very adorable.

“Baptisia australis—Blue Wild Indigo,” he says, pointing to a plant with small, light purple buds. “It’s a member of the pea family.”

“The pea family,” you repeat, taking care to step over a fallen log. He hums.

“I’m sure you know Indigo plants are used for dye, but indigenous people also use them in medicinal teas.” He takes another two dozen steps, kneels down to pick up a pretty golden-yellow flower that has fallen off of its plant. “Oenothera fruticosa—Southern Sundrops. Hummingbirds love them.” He turns to you, offers the flower, then a slow, tender kiss.

He moves on, tells you about at least ten other flowers along the path; you spend so much time smiling at his exuberance that your face is more sore than any other part of you by the time the hike is over.

You are ready for lunch, and a dip in the pool, and maybe a foot massage that leads to something more, but almost the second you walk in the door, Aaron’s phone rings. He looks down at it, then you, and you shoot him a soft smile.

Some things are just too good to be true.

He sighs, answers and brings it to his ear. You pass him, pat him on the back, and head to the kitchen to make some coffee to go.

“Hotchner. Yes, the family annihilator. Me specifically, JJ?” He looks over at you fondly as you pull a travel mug down from the cupboard, almost like part of him is surprised that you accepted his fate so easily, where the other part is very unsurprised. “We’re not far, but… No, it’s okay. I’ll be at the precinct in an hour. Thank you.”

“Family annihilator doesn’t sound good,” you say after he’s ended the call, stepped into the kitchen with you. “Do you have to travel?”

“It’s local, just an interrogation. We could be back here together by dinnertime.” He comes up behind you, runs his hands down your arms, leans in to brush his nose over your throat. “I’m sorry. I promise I’ll make it up to you.” He sounds resigned, a bit sad, and though it’s inconvenient, it’s not something he should be beating himself up over. You knew what you were getting into when he had to leave in the middle of your third date to fly out for a case, and you’ve accepted that his work is unpredictable, and urgent, and important, would never make him choose between you or the job—because it’s not the right thing to do, but also because you’re fairly certain he would not be able to choose you.

“I know you will; you always do.” Your tone is not sarcastic or biting, but soft, and you turn your head, tilt it back to receive a warm kiss on the mouth. “You’d better get changed. Can I come along for the ride? You can stash me away in a corner at the precinct,” you say, following him upstairs; he’d packed a spare suit just in case something like this happened, and you know he wishes he could shower first, but there isn’t time.

He agrees easily, and you change your own clothes, slipping into dark jeans and a clingy black sweater, a pair of low-heeled boots. He gathers up his badge and gun, looks every bit the super special FBI agent you know and love—but he still smells like the forest, and a very large part of you is uncomfortably aroused by that fact.

You focus on that, and the thought of how he’ll make this up to you, for the entirety of the drive; Aaron is quiet, shifting gears into his calm, composed authoritative mode, but you can tell he’s aware of what you’re thinking, feeling, that it’s running through the back of his mind as well. When you arrive at the precinct, JJ is there, and you stand by quietly while she brings Aaron up to speed. Apparently a man has killed his estranged wife, children, and mother-in-law, and there is evidence, but a confession would speed things up considerably, and the district attorney has called in a favor to ensure that Aaron is the one to interrogate the man. He leaves you with a kiss on the cheek, and you and JJ make small talk before it dissolves into silence.

“Do you want to watch the interrogation? Two-way glass,” she says with a smile, and you are intrigued by the prospect. You’ve never seen Aaron in action at work before, or at least not in a way that’s any more exciting than filling out forms. She takes you to the large window, where you can see Aaron and the suspect engaged in tense conversation.

He opens up a file, spreads out photographs of what must be the man’s family; you can’t make them out, but they appear to be gruesome, if the concentration of crimson that covers the pages is any indication. The man doesn’t flinch the way you would expect, but Aaron seems to know where to proceed with that knowledge; he continues questioning him, and at one point he gets in the man’s face, shouts, and slams his hand on the table.

You can’t help it, you jump, and JJ reaches out to rest a hand on your shoulder.

“You okay? I know it can be intense,” she says, and you compose yourself, nod.

“Yeah I’m okay. I just… he’s never raised his voice to me. Not once in almost six years,” you muse; you’ve never thought much of it, because a man shouldn’t be yelling at his girlfriend, right? This isn’t extraordinary, just normal behavior, but it makes you feel something deep and moving anyway. You excuse yourself, head to the bathroom and splash a little cold water on your cheeks; by the time you return, Aaron is already out of interrogation, and he and JJ are smiling.

“That was fast,” you say when you approach, and JJ pats Aaron on the arm.

“Now you know why the DA pulled all those strings to get him here. He makes the BAU look superhuman.” He shakes his head, never one to take a compliment without putting up a fight, and they chat a little more before Aaron puts a hand on your back to signal that it’s time to go.

You look at your phone when you get into the car. Thirty-six minutes have passed since you turned it off on your way into the building.

You always kind of figured, but for the first time you can see for yourself: Aaron is kind of badass. You stop to have dinner on the way back to the cabin again, but this time there is less laughter and more lingering looks, soft, eager touches. The atmosphere between you is the same as it was in the car on the way to the precinct, the familiar tension between two people who want each other but can’t, or won’t, or are waiting to say it.

It makes you feel pretty good, that the two of you have this kind of chemistry after all this time.

When you get back to the cabin, you both undress, and Aaron suggests showering together in the master bathroom’s large glass shower. You agree, eager to put your hands on him, your mouth on him; the way you touch is exploratory, as if you haven’t done this countless times over the course of your relationship, as if you weren’t in a very similar position just last night. You wash each other, slow and sensual, but tender, and then dry off, and kiss, walk backward toward the turned-down bed.

“I want to take our time tonight,” Aaron murmurs as he hovers over you. You nod, lost in the haze of his hands on you, the smell of his soap, toothpaste, the feel of cool sheets beneath your back—these are sensations, scents, you are intimately familiar with, but they never fail to make your heart pound, your breath quicken in anticipation.

No one has ever made you feel quite so much, and even after almost six years, Aaron is capable of reducing you to your basic needs and emotions with just one sentence breathed into the space between you. He smooths his hands up your sides, over your stomach, and you’d swear time stops so the two of you can just be, so you can indulge in each other in a way that feels like going back to the beginning.

His hands move to your breasts and he squeezes them, watches your face as you react to the roughness, the pleasure, before leaning in for a hot, breathy kiss. “Mmm. Yeah,” you sigh, and he presses his lips to your throat, drags them slowly down your chest, encircles a nipple and sucks hard enough that your head falls back instantly and you moan his name.

“God, I love your body,” he tells you before moving to the other nipple. “So perfect for me.” Again, he sucks, then moves his mouth just a little to the left, bites down on your breast where you’re soft and sensitive; he sucks harder, so hard it hurts and you know you will be sore where he’s claimed you for days to come. It’s been a while since he’s done this, bruised you, covered you in bites, and he knows what it does to you, seems unsurprised when you wrap your hands around his arms for leverage and try to grind against him where he’s sprawled on top of you.

“Please, Aaron.” He groans against your skin, moves a hand to cover your pussy, lets you rub against it while he continues to lick and suck and bite until both breasts are covered in the aching, tender remnants of his kiss. You’re so close to a climax from just his mouth and your own desperate movements against the heel of his hand; when he brings his lips to yours, soft and wet, you run your hands over his shoulders and head, hips working, revel in the way your own pleasure is reflected in his face when you come.

“Fuck, baby; so good for me.” You stare up at him, panting as you try to come down, and he brushes fingers over your lips, down your throat. “Turn over?” You moan softly at his request, turn onto your stomach when he leans up over you; you spread your legs wide and he tucks his knees in behind yours, guides you back onto his cock with both hands on your ass.

You fist your hands into your pillow, work your body back against his thrusts; it’s not fast, or hard, but he knows exactly where to put his hands to drive you crazy, how to help you move. You moan together, both out of breath and quickly approaching orgasm when he pulls out, leans back against his heels.

“Mmm, come here, sweetheart.” He slides his hands under you, covers your breasts again, guides you to your knees, then shifts so you both turn, face the side of the bed, not the headboard. He presses his nose against your cheek, hooks one arm around your shoulder to tightly grip your breast in his hand, and you grab onto his arm, lean your head back against him. “I want you to watch, baby. I want you to see how gorgeous you look when you come on me.”

You lick your lips, and it’s only then that you realize he’s positioned you right in front of the full-length mirror by your side of the bed. Your eyes roll back in your head a little when you process the request—is he trying to wreck you?—and he huffs a laugh against your throat.

“Do you like that? Do you want to watch me move inside you?” You nod lazily, lean your back against his chest, and he presses his cock into you, thrusts smoothly but quickly. Your mouth falls open in a soft moan, and you rock against him, digging your fingertips into his arm.

It’s so erotic, watching the movements of your bodies—Aaron’s deep pumps of hips against your ass as he disappears inside you, your thighs flexing to keep up. He squeezes your breast, which still aches from the hickies he covered you with, and then that hand slides up to your throat and you can see the bruises in all of their rich, vivid glory. “Oh, fuck, Aaron.”

“It’s been a while since I got to take you apart like this; you’re so perfect for me, so beautiful. Covered in me, full of me.” He squeezes your throat softly, just enough pressure to draw your attention there, and you sigh.

“Yes, yes. Harder,” you breathe, and he pounds against you; you watch his face in the mirror, can see that he’s breathless, close, and you bounce roughly back against him, moan and come when he’s pressed exactly where you need him. He thrusts a few more times, right there, and you don’t stop coming, just clench around him and ride it out, watch both of your expressions shift when he loses it inside you. “Oh, god, yes.”

“Yes, baby, just like that. Just like that.” He snaps his hips hard, mouths at your shoulder, and you’re reduced to whimpers until he removes his hand from your throat, pulls your hair back away from your face, tilts your chin toward him for a kiss. “So good: did so good, felt so good,” he mutters against your lips, and you both kiss a little messy, soft. This one has left you both a little come-dumb, and you press back against him, spent.

“Mmm. I fucking love you,” you sigh, and you focus on him—and maybe a little on the mirror—when he rumbles a reply and slips you his tongue. You pick Sunny up from Derek’s the next day—she runs to Aaron first, no big deal, so you talk with Derek, thank him again for watching her on such short notice.

“I’m happy to take her any time, she’s a real sweetheart. Did you enjoy your getaway?” You nod, smile, sigh a little wistfully.

“Yeah, it was really nice. He promised me a beach vacation for our honeymoon, though, and I plan to sunbathe on an island so remote his cell phone is rendered useless.” You look up at him, slap him lightly on his bicep. “So get better at your job, will you? When he’s my husband I’m going to be much less lenient if my date night gets interrupted.”

Aaron looks up from his position on the floor, where he’s giving Sunny the belly rub of her life.

“When I’m your husband,” he says with a smile, and you roll your eyes, thank Derek again, and wrangle your family out the door.

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pinkliquorstyles · 5 years

Text

drunk voicemails and confessions.

Warnings: Smut and a whole lotta angst.

A/n: Buckle up, it’s a big one.

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You have one new voice message at: 3:37am. From: Unknown caller.

Harry’s cheerful yet slurred voice rang through the phone, “Y/n! It’s me! Harry. I just called to tell you I missed you at the listening party today.” He hiccuped lightly before continuing, “I think you were with that guy...” his voice faltered for a moment “What was his name? John? Don? Oh, no, it’s Dom, isn’t it? Mitch s’telling me, it’s Dominic.”

“I hope you had a fun night, although I wish we could’ve talked... ‘miss hearing your voice.” He paused, seeming to ponder over his thoughts.

Harry quickly pepped up. “Oh well, s’ok maybe next time then. I should probably go, m’not sure how much time I got left on this thing. Anyways, I love you princess-“ The message abruptly cut itself off.

“To delete; press 3. To save the message-“

“Message deleted.”

Eight months.

That’s how long it had been since Y/n last heard from Harry. But tonight that record was broken with something as small as just a drunk voicemail.

Harry couldn’t help himself, as soon as he saw Y/n’s familiar figure at his own listening party, he fell back into the infatuation that he spent months attempting to escape from.

He may have had his heart broken, but everyone deserves a second chance... right?

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It had been a few days since the voicemail.

Y/n attempted to avoid it. Erase it from her phone. Read his apology text over and over until it got through her head that he didn’t actually mean it.

Whatever she could do to forget, she tried it.

Yet it still was in the back of her mind, it was like an annoying itch that she couldn’t scratch.

His voice reverberated in her head, especially those three little words. The three little words she never thought she’d hear, “I love you.” Even now, as she stared at the apartment ceiling with her boyfriend that lay quietly next to her.

Despite the sound of the small breaths that escaped Dominic’s lips as he remained in a deep sleep, Y/n could only hear Harry’s slurred voice replaying over and over.

She felt restless, tossing and turning most of the night. With an annoyed sigh sat up slightly, her back pressed to the headboard as her head lazily rolled against it. She rubbed the back of her neck before allowing her fingers to slowly graze her skin. She didn’t intend for it to be sensual at first, but she couldn’t deny how pleasurable her soft touch felt against her chest.

And besides, perhaps it could help her fall asleep.

Y/n slowly moved down towards the band of her panties, torturously teasing herself before finally letting her fingers dip under the lace material. But she couldn’t help notice her mind float somewhere else, or perhaps, with somebody else as she tauntingly grazed her heat.

It was him, of course it was him. It was his hands taunting her body. It was his lips roughly tugging at her own and it was his name that teased the tip of her tongue, threatening to escape.

She felt her pulse quicken, dirty fantasies filling her mind as her fingers sped up, dancing in circles around her sweet spot. She covered her mouth with her other hand as she dared not to make a sound and risk waking Dominic up. It didn’t take long before her back began to arch and her head pressed back against the pillow, pleasure quickly sweeping over her body.

“Y/n?” The small murmur was enough to break her from her trance-like state, almost as if a piece of glass shattered right in front of her. With a shallow breath, she sunk down into the sheets, facing the man that slept next to her. “I’m right here baby.” She assured.

The word hesitantly rolled off her tongue. It seemed like everything she said reminded her of Harry. It was overwhelming. She thought Harry was gone for good, that she was finally over him and that he would merely be a distant memory.

And if it wasn’t for that voicemail, maybe he would’ve been just that. A distant memory.

Y/n observed Dominic as he slept. Their relationship; if you can even call it that, was nothing like her last. Although Harry preferred to keep his vulnerability locked away, Y/n always knew he was a romantic at heart. It was one reason she felt so smitten around him, Harry would always make her feel special, like she was the only girl in the world.

Once Y/n could tell Dominic finally fell back into a deep sleep. She softly climbed out of the bed, careful to not rustle the blankets too much to avoid waking him up again.

Although she had her own apartment, she preferred to stay with Dominic. Well, he preferred for her to stay with him. She didn’t understand why, but he seemed to be attached to Y/n’s hip, never wanting to leave her side.

Not that she minded, she enjoyed the company... enjoyed the distraction.

They both decided that Y/n would be better off just moving her belongings to his apartment, saving her the trip of constantly bringing a bag of her stuff every time she stayed the night.

She tiptoed over to the stack of drawers in the corner of the room, quietly rummaging through them to hopefully stumble upon some lavender scent that she used to help her sleep. But instead, she found something else, something a little more meaningful.

At first, she scoffed at the sight of it, thinking the universe was playing one big joke on her. But her gaze soon changed to one of admiration towards the object.

--------

“Definitely not a happily ever after in that one but still, a beautiful piece of writing.” The unfamiliar figure spoke, his tone playful as he made himself at home by taking the free seat across from Y/n.

Y/n’s expression ignited with curiosity as she looked up. The golden glow from the yellow-tinted lights hanging from the ceiling provided a dim cast on the man in front of her, highlighting his features and the low shine of the messy brown curls falling onto his face.

A small smile teased at Y/n’s lips. “Maybe so, but then again I haven’t quite finished it so I can’t really comment on the ending just yet.” She said, folding the edge of the page before closing the book, placing it onto the rustic bar’s table.

“Seen the movie?” He asked with a surprised expression.

She mouthed a small no, a ghost of a smile playing at her lips at the mysterious man’s reaction “But seeing as you seem to believe it doesn’t have a good ending, I may have to keep it aside for a later date.”

He rolled his eyes playfully. “What? You can’t read sad books?”

Y/n pondered his words for a small moment. “Well, I just prefer novels or films with a more... happier ending to them.”

He lightly shook his head with an amused smile as he took a small swig of the drink in front of him, the rings wrapped around his fingers shining brighter than before as they reflected under the lighting, before placing the glass down with a small thud.

“Don’t you think that’s unrealistic though? Isn’t life meant to have its trials and tribulations.”

Y/n shrugged lightly, “Yes, life is supposed to have its difficulties but this-“ Picking up the book, She lightly waved it around in her hands before passing it to the still no-named figure.

“This is a story, a simple means to escape those supposed ‘trials and tribulations’ as you so call them.” She mocked in a failed attempt to match his accent.

“Don’t you find that boring though, the same story over and over again, no surprises, no suspense?”

She sighed, “In a perfect world there would be no suspense, not a single problem or worried thought.”

“In a perfect world yes, but that, we aren’t love.” He states with conviction.

Y/n scoffed, shaking her head playfully. “You sure are the life of the party aren’t you.” She admired quietly and watched as he flipped mindlessly through the pages of her book, her gaze falling on the loose curl that fell from his disheveled hair as she fought the feeling to push it back into place.

He quickly closed the book, causing Y/n to break from her sudden daze “I’m just realistic. And these little happily ever afters you desire are far from it.”

She coughed lightly, regaining her composure. “Well, I definitely wouldn’t want to be with someone like you.” Y/n’s quick response caused his eyebrows to raise in surprise, almost as if he was hurt by the passing comment.

“You know, glass half empty and all.” She added just as fast, attempting to recover from her less than favorable quip.

Luckily for Y/n, he took it as a challenge.

“Well personally, I like to think I’m quite the romantic myself. In fact, I’m probably far better than the saps you read about.” He remarked.

“I’m sure you are.” A small chuckle escaped her lips at the sound of his frivolous tone.

“I am so, and I’ll even prove it to you.” He grinned, already confident.

Her eyes glimmered with excitement as she took ahold of her own drink that had been sitting at the edge of the booth “As intriguing as that is, I don’t even know your name.”

His lip quirked up into a small smirk, his gaze falling onto the plastic rose placed in the middle of their table, it was practically falling out of the tiny box it reside in, and whilst it was used for the decor of the bar, he decided to use it to his advantage.

“Harry.” He said simply, before offering the flimsy flower to Y/n.

“Y/n.” She responded with a laugh, accepting the rose. “Well go on then, give it your best shot.”

--------

A ghost of a smile teased her lips as her fingers traced the detailing of the hard-covered book. She told herself she would throw this away ages ago, along with other small objects that reminded her of Harry, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. It meant too much to her.

She took the book in her hands, flipping through the slightly damaged pages as she reminisced.

But her reminiscing was soon cut short as she felt a pair of heavy hands grip her waist from behind, her body erupting in goosebumps while a low voice spoke close to her ear. “What are you doing up this late?”

Her body quickly froze at the sudden weight pressed up against her. As realization struck, the quick rush of shock left her system. She placed on top of the set of drawers “I couldn’t sleep, sorry if I woke you.” She spoke, her voice was seemingly fragile.

“Late night reading hm? What is it this time, those little romance books you love to read?” He hummed teasingly. “Or maybe it’s a little dirtier than the average love story, I always knew you were a little minx.”

“You caught me.” She said breathlessly. Her eyes fluttered closed as he peppered wet kisses across her exposed shoulder, all the way up to her neck while softly tugging at the tortured skin as soft little moans escaped her.

He let out a taunting chuckle. “You should’ve told me how badly you needed to get off, you know I’m always happy to help.” He turned her around, gently pinning her against the wall whilst allowing his other hand to teasingly graze against her body.

She didn’t notice it at first; she was doing it again. Thinking of him, thinking of Harry when she should be fantasizing about the man right in front of her.

And with each demanding kiss that reached her lips, a wave of pleasure coursed through her. But with that, another wave of guilt, as if they both came hand in hand with one another.

It was a whirlwind of lust and shame. How could she let Harry get to her head like this? And more importantly why is she feeling this way in the first place? Y/n was confident that she was over him, especially after she found Dominic, he was the reason she was able to move on.

He made her realize Harry’s true intentions; she was only a doll to Harry. Someone to use for their own needs only to throw them away when they’re done.

So then why is she so unsure about it all now?

“St-stop.” She mumbled against his lips. Her hands gently pressed against his chest, a light push disconnecting the two.

“Please.” Y/n’s voice faltered as she silently wept. She attempted to keep her emotions at bay the past few days, but it appeared it all finally caught up with her. Even Dominic could sense it. After receiving Harry’s voicemail she seemed exhausted, not physically of course, but mentally.

His eyes scanned her features with confusion. “Y/n what’s wrong?” He asked with shallow breaths. She didn’t have to tell him, he already knew. The minute he saw the two of them reunited, Y/n hadn’t been the same.

He sighed disappointingly “This is about him...Isn’t it?” He accused as he began to feel his frustration build, and the deafening silence from Y/n only confirmed his suspicions.

His hands tightened around her waist. “Y/n do you not remember what he did to you?” He scoffed, his voice laced with pure amazement at her foolishness. “I mean- didn’t I already tell you how bad of a person he is?” His harsh words were like a slap across the face to Y/n, not understanding how far he was willing to go to keep her as his own little toy.

He took a deep breath, attempting to compose himself. “He only wanted you for sex Y/n. He doesn’t love you, he never will and I can bet money that he did the same thing to a hundred other girls.” He said calmly, almost as if he thought his words were comforting.

Y/n shook her head gently, her eyes welling up as she tried to not let him get to her head. Harry was a good man, and she knew that. He just made one bad choice, one that almost shattered her heart.

But everyone deserves a second chance... right?

“And what exactly do you want from me, Dominic?” Y/n uttered pathetically as she attempted to muster any confidence she had left in her. She scoffed with spite that covered her sad features. “I mean let’s be real here, I don’t even think we’ve actually been on a real date.”

It was true; they hadn’t. He would always say it was because he was unconventional when it came to dating and love. But even Y/n knew it was just a cover, Dominic never wanted anything serious with Y/n... Or any girl, for that matter.

His frustration evidently returned to his features “What? Do you want us to have candlelit dinners and have me shower you with flowers every night?” He argued.

“Well it’s certainly better than whatever this-” She gestures between the both of them “Is.”

That was the last straw for him, he knew he was losing her and yet instead of attempting to calm her down and get her on his side once again; he preferred to attack her where it hurt most.

“Look. I don’t know what sort of fairytale you were living in when you were with Harry, but you’re in the real world now, I’m doing the best I can.”

“And you’re not exactly making it easy for me.”

“Well, if that’s how you feel, allow me to make it easy for you.” It was only then when the tears that remained still in her glassy eyes escaped, falling down onto her cheek as she gently pushed him out of the hold he had on her, remembering to take the book she had left on the shelf behind her.

He watched her curiously as she began packing her belongings that were scattered around his apartment bedroom.

This wasn’t what Dominic wanted, he just needed her to realize that he was better than Harry. But it wasn’t because he loved her, no it was far from that. It was simply because Y/n was a possession; she was his and only his.

Y/n packed the last of her clothing in a duffle bag before moving towards the kitchen. “Wait- Y/n.” He hastily trailed behind her. “Please, don’t go, I’m sorry.”

His voice seemed faint to Y/n’s ears, almost as if her whole body was working to shut him out. “Look didn’t mean it, I just- I’m so frustrated.” He remarked, seemingly with remorse laced in his tone.

“Ignore him. Ignore him. Ignore him.” She chanted to herself in her head.

He eventually caught up to her. His hand wrapped around her wrist, pulling her back from the door. “Just please... don’t leave me alone.”

Her gaze found his, and although it sounded like he felt guilty, his eyes told a different story. There wasn’t an ounce of love or the least bit of regret that she could find.

It was just desperation.

She wriggled her arm out of his tight hold. “I’m sorry, I just... I need some air. I’ll call you tomorrow.” She quickly averted his gaze before making her way out the door, shutting it behind her with an exhausted huff.

--------

Soft water droplets hit against the car window as Y/n drove away from Dominic’s apartment. Her clouded gaze focused on the road in front of her as her hands tightly gripped the steering wheel.

She wasn’t sure where she was going. A part of her itched to leave, leave this town behind and start somewhere new.

Y/n couldn’t help the ghost of a smile that played at her lips. She knew it was unrealistic... and mostly dramatic, but it wasn’t exactly impossible. What was there to stop her?

As she reached a red light, the flimsy ring that wrapped around her finger caught her eye as it glowed underneath the reflection of the bright lights that cast through her car. She sighed, deciding to turn on the radio to comfort her rather than basking in the deafening silence.

Her ears quickly pricked up at the familiar voice that played through the radio as a wave of goosebumps filtered across her skin.

She read the small display on her radio, Now playing: Cherry by Harry Styles.

Y/n stared at her car radio for a few moments, purely dumbfounded as she let the song resound through her car. “Hilarious.” She remarked at the universe with spite.

She didn’t attempt to turn it off. It was as if something was keeping her from doing so. Maybe it was her own mind, hoping that the song would confirm how destructive of a person Harry truly was, and in doing so removing any remnant feelings that remained in her heart for him.

Or perhaps it was the opposite.

Perhaps she secretly wished for Harry to give her a glimmer of hope, a hidden message that he still yearned for her as she does for him.

And with that, she let the song ring out into the car, letting the harmonious sounds envelop her all the way until the very end.

It was only then, when she found exactly what she was looking for.

Hope.

--------

This was a bad idea.

An incredibly bad idea.

Y/n knew that.

She still had the chance to turn around, so why didn’t she?

Here Y/n was pacing up and down the front of Harry’s apartment contemplating what seemed to be the unthinkable in her eyes.

“He could be out of town, oh god please be out of town and save me the embarrassment.” She muttered to herself, her frustration and levels of doubt only building with every second that passed.

She stopped in her tracks, her hand landing on the cold door handle. “I can do this.” She chanted, taking a deep breath before feeling her fingers fall from the object. “I can’t do this.” She groaned.

She wanted so much to turn around and never look back, maybe even forget that she ever even attempted to do this in the first place. But she couldn’t ignore how she felt, how her body was reacting at the possibility that she could see Harry again.

Her fingertips itched for her to knock on the door. Her eyes squeezed shut as she fought the tears that threatened to cloud her vision. With that, she gave in to the overwhelming feeling. She reached up, knocking on the door with a soft thump as her heart wildly drummed against her chest. “it’s now or never Harry.”

A few moments passed, her mind already raced with worried thoughts and regret. “Turn around Y/n. Go home, this was a bad idea.” Just as she was about to turn back around, she heard it. The faintest click. Her heart dropped.

The door had been unlocked.

It was as if time stopped. The rest of the world quickly fading around her as she caught a glimpse of him.

She admired his disheveled state, no matter how much she still resented him, she couldn’t deny the attraction she had towards him. His soft features making her believe that he is still the same man he was when they were ‘together’. But it’s those features that allowed him to get whatever he wanted in life, Y/n figured that out the hard way.

Harry’s confused gaze fell on Y/n’s familiar figure. His eyes transfixed on hers, unable to speak as an overwhelming wave of memories flood his mind.

“Y/n?” Harry was speechless at the sight of her. He couldn’t believe that she was standing right in front of her. So much so, a part of him believed he might be hallucinating. “What-“

Y/n quickly cut him off, urgency clear in her voice “Did you mean it?” She questioned anxiously.

Harry scanned her features with disbelief. “What are you talking about?” He asked uncertainly, almost hurt by her accusing tone.

“The voicemail Harry.”

He groaned, hiding his embarrassment by averting his eyes. “You know how sorry I am for that, I was drunk if it wasn’t obvious already.”

She shook her head in disbelief. “So you didn’t mean any of it? At all?”

“I don’t understand-“

Y/n felt like she was hitting her head against a brick wall, not only was she stumbling over her words, unable to convey what she wanted Harry to tell her, but she knew he wasn't someone who showed their true feelings when asked, it had to come naturally. “Just tell me the truth, please, I need to hear it.”

“What do you want me to say Y/n.” His voice was low but remained soft. Although he still wasn’t sure of her intentions, he found himself more curious than anything.

No matter how much Harry denied it, a part of him knew that there were and still are feelings that are locked away for her. He just never dared to face it.

It was a constant conflict in his life. When he loved, he loved deeply. He was a romantic and Y/n knew that very well. But there was always constant doubt in his mind that Y/n didn’t understand. He feared losing the thing that he would spend so long trying to fall in love with and adore.

So instead, he tried to avoid it completely

But Y/n was the opposite, a hopeless romantic they call it, she was never afraid to share her feelings. But the trait was destructive, she wore her heart on her sleeve which caused her to be impulsive, and this was definitely one of those times.

“...Please Harry.”

He shook his head in an attempt to gather and process his erratic thoughts. “I just don’t get it love, I thought you moved on already.”

“This isn’t about him okay just please, tell me I’m not crazy, tell me you still care.” She pleaded with desperation that gleamed in her eyes.

He refused to let his guard down, refused to allow himself to fall back into another trap that ended in him with a broken heart... again. “And then what? M’not trying to be a prick, but you have a partner already.”

She pitifully rolled her eyes. “Oh please Harry, you and I both know he isn’t the type to settle, he was eyeing off at least three other girls at that listening party of yours.”

Harry felt his jaw clench at her words. His first instinct was to scold Y/n at her choice of partner. But he couldn’t. Both of them weren’t anything more than acquaintances at this point. “So then why bother if you already knew it was a waste of time.”

He knew that he couldn’t stop Y/n from getting with other people, but he also couldn’t resist the touch jealousy that ran through his body at the thought of Y/n being with another man, especially one that seemingly doesn’t even cherish her the way he had.

Y/n’s gaze averted Harry’s as she pondered his question for a small moment “I guess... I needed a distraction.” Her hurt eyes met with his, “From you.”

She let out a small scoff. It was as if she was opening Pandora’s box. All these unsaid thoughts and ignored feelings were hitting both of them all at once. “I mean for god sakes Harry, can you blame me? You hurt me.”

“But you were the one that left me Y/n.” He snapped, his voice raised slightly but he wasn’t angry. Harry had the ability to keep his composure no matter how stressful situations managed to become.

Her eyes instantly perked up at the accusation. “What?” After a small moment, she realized what Harry was talking about.

The night where everything ended.

Her expression quickly changed into one of resentment “I only left because you were an asshole, I mean I actually told you that I-” She caught herself mid-sentence, not allowing the rest of her words to fall from her lips.

But although the words weren’t said, Harry still managed to connect the dots.

“And then all of a sudden, you’re able to say it back. Through a drunk voicemail of all things.” She shook her head, her eyes averting from his, unable to meet his gaze anymore.

Her heart beat ten times faster than before as she thought about how crazy she must be to even begin to think what she was doing was even remotely a good idea. She should’ve just left it alone and not involved herself with the trouble that came with Harry, but she couldn’t help it, it was like a magnetic pull that kept bringing her back to him.

She inhaled a nervous breath. “I don’t know what it is about you Harry, no amount of distractions have been able to keep my mind from thinking about you. It’s like you still have this hold on me that I can’t explain.”

“Tell me what you want from me Y/n.” Harry didn’t want to fight with her, neither did he want to see her upset.

He was trying. Trying to reach out to Y/n in a way that felt safe enough for him. He knew what she wanted, he secretly wanted it to, he always has. He just didn’t exactly know how to express it.

“I already did.” She murmured quietly.

“No, you told me how you felt. Now tell me what you want.” He coaxed calmly.

Y/n took a small and hesitant breath to control her racing heart. “I just want you, Harry, that’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

She hated feeling as pathetic as she did. She felt like she was begging for his affection. Whilst Harry was in his own head, worrying if he even deserved Y/n’s affection in the first place or whether she deserved someone better. Someone that could shower her with the same amount of love Y/n would for him.

He sighed thoughtfully, admiring the pitiful girl in front of her for a few moments before moving over to the side of the doorway. “You should probably get inside y’know, wouldn’t want you to get a cold or something.”

He held the door open for her before nodding his head, gesturing for her to move into the apartment. A sad smile played at her lips as she heard the familiar and comforting sound of Harry’s usual amused tone. “Silly girl.” He mumbled quietly as she walked through the door, but just loud enough for Y/n to hear it.

Although tonight hadn’t been exactly the way that Y/n had pictured it, it was something. It was a small step in the right direction and she was grateful for it.

They spent the rest of the night just talking, catching up on everything they’ve missed for the last eight months without each other. Harry went on an endless rant about his many adventures in Japan whilst Y/n skimmed on the finer details of her ‘relationship’ with Dominic and chose to dive into the topic of her career instead.

“Enough about all that boring stuff though, can we talk about Fine Line please?” She teased.

Harry groaned, throwing his head back with embarrassment, as he pushed himself further into the couch in an attempt to hide from Y/n’s taunts. “I’d rather we didn’t.”

She chuckled with a mischievous glint in her eye. “Fine, fine, another day then. But I am going to need an explanation for Cherry.”

“Of course you do.” Harry mused, lightly shaking his head with a boyish smile. He stared at the ceiling for a moment, purely dumbfounded by the events that unfolded tonight. He turned his head, looking back at her. “Hey Y/n?” He questioned.

She simply hummed, waiting for him to continue.

“I don’t suppose you want to stay the night? I mean S’pretty late, wouldn’t feel good about you driving at this time anyways.”

Y/n gasped sarcastically. “Are you implying that I’m a bad driver?”

“Course not, just want you to be safe s’all.” He murmured.

Y/n smiled softly at his concern. “Only if I’m not intruding.” She answered, her fingers twirling a loose curl that had fallen in front of Harry’s tired face.

It felt peaceful, comforting, as the both of them sat there silently simply just appreciating each other’s company for a few, small moments. They needed those moments; it was a way for both of them to let their guard down and allow themselves to trust one another again.

Harry was the first to break the pleasant silence. “I assume you brought a bag with you? Not that it matters, if you need, you can dig through my clothes m’sure you’ll find something you could use.”

Y/n nodded. “Yeah, it’s just in the car I can go grab it.”

Harry quickly piped up before Y/n was able to move even an inch from her seat. “Not to worry princess, you get comfortable I’ll go instead.” He lightly tapped her thigh before pushing himself off the couch.

“Harry wait-“ She called out. Her hand managed to interlock with his fast enough before he could walk away. He looked back, watching curiously as Y/n also stood up from the couch.

“What’s wrong?” Harry asked, his features instantly filled with concern. His hand fell from hers but instead, was protectively wrapped around her waist. The rings around his fingers slightly dug into her skin, the cold metal seeped through the thin material of her shirt causing a wave of goosebumps to wash over her. He gently used his other hand to grasp her chin between his fingers, lifting her head just enough for her gaze to meet his. “Y/n?” He began to worry at the sight of her glassy eyes.

“Don’t go just yet.” Y/n pleaded quietly. Her hands nervously toying with the hem of his shirt. “Please.” Her arms gently wrapped around the back of his neck as she pulled him closer towards her. Her lips brushed against his, “Can I... can I kiss you?”

No matter how much she wanted to give into the urge to kiss him right then and there, Y/n held consent at such a high regard, as did Harry. He always wanted Y/n to feel comfortable and most importantly, safe. He playfully tilted his head with a teasing grin “Of course y’can princess.”

The feeling of hesitation no longer reside in either of them and with one swift movement, Harry’s lips firmly pressed against hers. It only took a small moment before the both of them began to move in perfect sync. Although It was only a kiss, it seemed to make every thought that worried Y/n’s head dissipate as Harry reassuringly ran his fingers up and down her back. The kiss itself was slow, soft but comforting in ways that words would never be.

Y/n noticed a new sense of lust overpower her senses. She continued, kissing him more hungrily as time passed, and even Harry noticed her newfound pushiness as she roughly deepened the kiss which caused a gruff and low groan to escape from the back of his throat.

She breathlessly pulled away from him, bringing him back towards the couch and disconnecting the kiss as she gently pushed him down on the seat. She couldn’t help herself as she flung her leg over his lap to straddle him. He raised a taunting brow “Quite a needy little thing aren’t you?” He quipped, watching as her arms wrapped around his shoulder, resting on the back of his neck.

Her fingers interlaced with a short strand of his hair, twirling it around as she attempted to taunt him. Her innocent eyes failed to leave his as his concentration remained fixated on her plump lips. “Only for you, baby.” She leaned in, reconnecting their kiss. It was filled with more urgency than the last. The familiar taste of peppermint lingering as he moved his lips roughly against hers.

The rough feeling of denim grazed her legs as she grinded her hips into his. Her hands remained entangled in his hair while she tugged on the loose strands, earning a low yet encouraging groan to escape from Harry.

She felt his hands travel across her collarbone, tracing the material of her blouse before toying with the buttons that kept her precious body hidden away from him. Y/n felt the material fall from her shoulders, leaving her exposed and vulnerable to Harry. She pulled away from him as the cold air hit her chest. “We can’t do this here.” She murmured almost breathlessly, biting her lip to suppress the moan that threatened to fall as he planted gentle kisses along her neck, softly nipping at the delicate skin.

“As you wish princess.” He said tauntingly. Y/n could practically feel his smile against her body as his arms roughly gripped her lower back, pulling her up from the seat whilst her legs remained wrapped around his waist.

Y/n was in a fit of giggles as he carried her to his bedroom, mainly because he still managed to pepper kisses across her chest. “I swear to god Styles, if you drop me-“ He shushed her, continuing his torturous yet pleasurable assault on her body before gently placing her down on the bed. “That wasn’t so bad now was it?” He tutted playfully as he made his way to the other side of the bed, his body pressing against hers. “And all that complaining for nothing.”

Y/n hummed thoughtfully. “Are you going to punish me now, baby?” She asked with a sweet smile, wrapping her hands around the back of his neck as she pulled him closer towards her, their faces only inches apart from each other.

“Are y’sure you want to do this? He murmured lowly which earned an excited nod from Y/n.

“Gonna have t’use your words princess. Wanna hear you say it.” He hovered over her body, pressing featherlight kisses down her chest, all the way to her stomach while he teased traced the band of her jeans.

His dominating tone definitely had its way with Y/n. It was difficult not to resist him as the words sat on the tip of her tongue, waiting to escape. “...Please Harry, I want you.”

Harry let out a low chuckle at her pleading. “If I’d have known you were this desperate for me, I would’ve drunk called you a long time ago.”

--------

They both were messily wrapped up in a mountain of clean sheets. Harry leaned against the cotton headboard whilst Y/n remained on his lap. His hands delicately toyed with hers, his gaze thoughtfully looked over the ring that reside on her index finger. “You kept this?” He gestured towards the small object.

But it wasn’t just any old ring, it had the detailing of a rose whilst the rest of the band was covered in small diamonds. The small and dainty rose happened to be the same shade of red as the one Harry had offered Y/n on the day they met.

She hummed approvingly before her eyes lit up in excitement. A teasing smile played at her lips, “I also kept...” She gleefully jumped off the bed, grabbing something from her bag.

“This.” Harry curiously eyed the possession in her hands as she jumped back onto the bed, flinging her legs over Harry’s body, straddling him before she revealed the object. Harry’s features instantly ignited at the realization of what it was.

It was their book.

Harry immediately flicked through the fragile pages, skimming over the words with reminiscence evident in his eyes. But there was something different he noticed about it. Tiny little annotations were done with red ink across certain sentences and significant quotes were highlighted in different colours.

“I was going to give it to you before we...” Her voice trailed off, causing Harry’s chest to ache with guilt. “It was supposed to be as if you were reading it along with me, see?” She explained sheepishly.

Her heart rate quickened as doubts floated through her mind. “I know it’s silly.”

He flicked through all the way to the end of the book, noticing the red ink fly through each of the pages. “You wrote all this for me?” He asked with complete amazement in his tone.

“Maybe... but I understand if it’s too much you don’t have to read it-“ Y/n’s words were interrupted by a small and chaste kiss. “I love it, thank you princess.” He murmured softly. A faint blush ran across Y/n’s face. She could practically feel the low vibration of his voice as his lips hovered below hers.

Harry playfully shook his head, pulling away from her and instead returned to the book with a teasing smile. “Do you mind if I keep it for a bit?” He asked, noticing the nerves that fluttered through Y/n. She mumbled a small ‘I don’t mind’ before Harry closed the book and placed it on the bedside table.

“So, that means you did end up reading the whole story.” He quipped. She laughed lightly, falling back onto her side of the bed. The sound of her laughs were music to Harry’s ears, almost as if it were angelic. It was something he missed most about her.

“Every last page.” Y/n said approvingly. She reached towards the switch, turning off the lights as they sorted themselves for bed.

Y/n was the small spoon, of course.

The deafening silence filled the room. You could almost hear their racing heartbeats as they comfortingly lay in each other’s arms. “Hey Y/n.” He murmured, his voice evidently laced with exhaustion.

She didn’t bother opening her eyes, “Yes baby?” She asked curiously. A boyish smile teased his lips. Another thing he missed whilst Y/n wasn’t around. The pet names.

He couldn’t describe the emotions he was feeling. It was as if he never felt this way before about anyone or anything and frankly; it scared him. It was the same way he felt before Y/n had left him those many months ago.

But this time he swore he would not let his fears get to him. He knew this was right where he needed to be.

People always talk as of waiting until the right or perfect moment to express their affection, but Harry came to realize that the right moment doesn’t exist.

It was now or never.

He planted a small kiss on the back of her head. A hesitant sigh escaped from him as he attempted to push away his unease, giving into his vulnerability.

“...I love you.”

#harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines #harry styles #harry styles smut #harry styles x reader #harry styles one shot #harry styles one shots #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles blurb #harry styles angst #harry styles au #harry styles fic

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ashyblondwaves · 3 years

Note

Ooohhhhhhhh

Vision accidentally 🍆 in public?

I think you might have talked about this before? Like if he hears one of his and Wanda’s sex songs in the supermarket etc and they bang to relieve the strain?

Maybe in the outnumbered universe?

You know what? Let's do this one! I've had this other request in my inbox for two months now and I think it's time to get it rolling. Thank you to @anniemar for helping come up with Vision's boner song.

Would you consider writing a fic where Wanda and Vision have a sex playlist and it’s super hot and sensual and then they just hear one of their songs while they are out and about (like the supermarket or something) and Vis gets a boner so they have to sneak away for a quickie. And Wanda is just like wow you got really into that playlist huh but she’s not gonna complain when he just gave her the ride of her life in a goddamn supply closet or something.

Outnumbered: Shopping

Rating: Explicit

"The boys need more oatmeal," Wanda said, slowly pushing the grocery cart up the cereal aisle with a slight waddle. Her second trimester was just ending and it was starting to get a little difficult to navigate the world. She wouldn't say it, but the cart helped her balance. "They like the apple cinnamon, remember."

"Of course, dear," Vision replied. He easily plucked the box of oatmeal from the high shelf, lobbing it into the cart like a basketball.

"That was much easier than when I try to grab the box," Wanda laughed. "I should bring you shopping with me more often."

"We'll really need to thank Pepper for coming over to stay with the boys," Vision said. He fell into step with Wanda, a leisurely stride. "

"You should make her those peanut butter cookies she likes," Wanda suggested. "Since you're the one that insisted on doing the grocery shopping with me."

"In your condition-"

"I'm pregnant, Vis," Wanda said, shaking her head. "It's not a condition. We've talked about this."

"I've just read that grocery shopping can induce anxiety and," Vision looked down at Wanda's growing stomach. "We wouldn't want undue stress on the little one."

"Grocery shopping doesn't give me anxiety," Wanda answered, keeping to herself that Vision's fussing over her pregnant state gave her more anxiety than the shopping. "I like doing it. But I'm still glad you're here."

Wanda smiled at her husband, phased into his human form and dressed more relaxed than usual, deciding at the last minute to wear his sweatpants to the store. He meant well, Wanda knew that, but sometimes Vision's good intentions became suffocating. Wanda could still do things for herself, but convincing Vision of that was a challenge sometimes. When he got it in his mind that something was stressful or upsetting, he wouldn't let it go and insisted on helping.

"Where to next?" Vision asked intently. "How are the boys on their animal crackers?"

"We'll need to get more," Wanda nodded, navigating to the cookie aisle to grab the boys their favorite snack as the song on the grocery store's radio began to play a song very familiar to both Wanda and Vision.

I've never seen you looking so lovely as you did tonight I've never seen you shine so bright

It was a song from their secret playlist, used only after the boys had gone to bed and Wanda and Vision were alone to explore and enjoy each other. They played it softly in the background in hopes drown out any noise that may escape the confines of their bedroom.

Vision swallowed hard, looking over at Wanda with a knowing grin as her cheeks warmed and the store closed in around the two of them.

Wanda's concentration was off, suddenly forgetting about the animal crackers and instead thinking about the last time her husband tasted her. The same song was playing as he kissed and nipped the inside of her thighs and found her wet center, sweeping his tongue between her folds eagerly.

It seemed that Vision was thinking the same. He squirmed where he stood, hunching over slightly and making useless attempts to adjust the sweatpants around his very visible erection. It pressed against the gray fabric as Vision frantically tried to hide himself from the rest of the shoppers.

Wanda's middle was suddenly throbbing. Seeing her husband's reaction to the song was an unexpected turn on for her. She grabbed Vision's hand, abandoning the cart in the middle of the cracker aisle and walked as quickly as her belly would allow to the other side of the store that sold clothing and houseware. She snatched a couple of maternity shirts from their display.

"I'm going to go in the changing room," Wanda said, looking down at the extremely apparent outline of Vision's cock against his sweatpants. "Phase in when the employee isn't looking."

Vision nodded, waiting near the counter to hide himself as Wanda and the store associate headed to changing room number 3 and as his wife disappeared into the room he waited for the associate to become distracted.

It didn't take long. When another associate asked for help with a shipment, the changing room employee disappeared behind a wall of bras. Vision moved fast, zipping into the changing room hallway and easily finding room 3. He phased through the locked door to find Wanda waiting for him standing in just her shirt.

"Simple, right?" she said, grabbing Vision's shirt. "We have to be quick."

"Quick," Vision repeated, finding Wanda's lips and as they kissed, moans getting swallowed and muted, they moved back against the wall as Wanda hoisted her legs up and wrapped them around Vision. She hung on, arms wrapped around his neck, as he pulled the sweatpants down and freed his cock from the confines of the sweatpants.

"All because of a silly song," Vision lamented, pressing the head of his cock against Wanda's middle. "A nonsensical..." he pushed into her "song."

They kissed again, fighting against the moans that threatened to echo through the changing room station as Vision's hands moved to cup Wanda's ass, holding her in place while he drove into her.

Wanda wanted to speak. She wanted tell Vision that she loved him, she needed him. She wanted to tell him everything but she knew it would never come out. The way she felt filled up by him, his pelvis hitting her clit with each thrust, all that would come out would be a clamor of sounds that had to remain silent.

Vision dropped his head in the crook of Wanda's neck, planting kisses to her soft skin as his breathing increased, a sign he was getting ready to come. He pinned her against the wall a little harder, moving one hand from her ass to her clit. As he thrust he rubbed the sensitive bud until Wanda could feel herself close to the edge.

With a few more sweeps of his fingers against her clit, her world shrank and her orgasm took over, coursing through her body and down to her toes, making them curl against Vision's back. She began to shake, no longer able to hold on to her husband or find it in her to hover, but Vision's steady hands were there to hold her as her body unraveled and her center pulsed around his cock.

Vision kept moving, slower and then faster, just fast enough to edge himself to orgasm. A few more thrusts and he stopped, a muffled moan trapped in Wanda's neck told her he was coming, filling her. Becoming one with her.

Small fingers ran through Vision's hair as she held him close, neither of them ready to separate. But they had no choice. The risk they took was looming over them, ready to strike at any second. Vision pulled out, tucking himself back into his sweatpants as Wanda slowly lowered herself to the ground. She searched for her clothes that were balled up in the corner of the seat in the changing room.

They gathered themselves in quiet, both satiated and on alert. Wanda left the room first, walking back over to the maternity section. She eyed the items, trying to keep her smile from giving away that she'd just been freshly fucked.

Vision joined her a few minute later as she looked at a flowing dress white sundress that would be perfect for those late summer days when she'd be close to giving birth.

"Should I get this?" Wanda asked, holding it up against her body. "Would this look alright?"

"It would be beautiful on you," Vision said, reaching out to touch the soft lace. "Get it."

Wanda smiled, cloaking the dress over her arm as she grabbed Vision's hand and started walking away, hoping upon hope that a store associate hadn't gotten to their abandoned cart in the cookie aisle.

#scarletvision #scarletvision fic #wandavision #wandavision fic #outnumbered au #outnumber au drabble #wanda x vision #wanda and vision #fanfiction #wanda maximoff #the vision

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ddarker-dreams · 4 years

Text

2 Become 1. Trish x F Reader [Smut]

a/n: uhh. i love women. ahaaaaaaaaa.... i’ve never really written smut before so here’s to hoping this is Coherent . i imagine this taking place a few years down the line from the anime, when trish is an established singer and you’re her adoring gf!! thank you @vani-ya for editing my first attempt at smut <33 word count: 2.2k. warnings: light suffocation, verbal degradation, some possessiveness.

“You always let them look at you like that,” Trish huffs, kicking her pearl colored taormina pumps off onto the floor without a care. Her typically meticulously styled hair has been reduced to a shadow of itself, loose strands of pink locks framing her face. She looks unhinged, the cocktail dress wrapped around her chest moving in time with her heaving breaths. “I can’t stand it.”

Your weight shifts from leg to leg, uncertain of how to best resolve this situation. Tonight was meant to be a monumental one for your lover, the release of her second full album. Accompanying the event was an exclusive party, high society socialites coming in droves to support and swarm about. Big name celebrities that maintain friendships with Trish weren’t a rare occurrence, as much as she bemoans having to stay on good terms with people she could care less for.

It was all going just fine until one of them started flirting with you.

She’s given you the cold shoulder ever since. You thought she’d be more understanding of your situation, not wanting to place her in an unwanted position by chasing off the suitor. Choosing your words felt almost like a death sentence, destined to upset someone no matter what you do. Unluckily for you, it’s Trish who’s exacting her pointed wrath upon you. All feeble attempts at explanations went unheard in favor of berating your supposedly “lascivious” behavior.

“What? Fantasizing about him now or something? Stop zoning out and listen to me.” Her voice is laced with sweet poison, like a deadly melody to your ears. She scrunches her nose up -- as you’ve noticed she does when displeased -- glossy lips down turned. All of her mannerisms are memorized like the back of your hand, a treasure map you’ve long grown familiar with. This emotion of unbridled rage is a new one, and despite yourself, you feel a growing heat in between your legs at how she’s speaking down towards you.

“I’m not zoning out,” you reaffirm, applying a quick bandaid to a worsening situation. “Please, just let me explain--”

“Explain what? That you wanted someone other than me to fuck you?”

The vulgar words fall from her tongue with ease, striking a chord within you. You’ve always known her to be the possessive type, coming from nothing and making her own way in the world. You were the only person she’s ever confided in, a reality that makes your heart swell with pride. She cherishes you, as you do her.

“That’s not it at all.”

This time, she opts to ignore you, struggling with the zipper on the back of her dress. Trish blows a strand of hair out of her face, growing more frustrated by the second. Your brain is still trying to work this out, thinking of all the best possible things to say to calm her down. When she gets like this, indignant and turning her nose to you, there’s not much to say. The pent up frustration needs a release somehow, and you have a few ideas on how to help her.

“Cara,” your voice is a low hush, just loud enough to reach her ears. You walk towards her, slowly, accenting the sway of your hips with every step. This dress hugs your figure perfectly, a gift given by your girlfriend. She’s still refusing to look at you, caught up in her mental battle of angst. The goosebumps dotting her skin don’t go unnoticed by you, familiar with how much she adores being called pet names by you. “Let me make it up to you.”

Your shared King size bed creaks underneath the addition of your weight. From the rush of getting ready for tonight, clothes and shoes line the floor of your penthouse suite. Being so close to her gives a chance to inhale her signature perfume, rich with jasmine and hints of blackberry. Lips hover just above the pulse of her neck, tongue swiping out to lick a spot that sends her shivering.

“Y-you can’t,” she inhales, rubbing her thighs together, “seduce me out of this one. I’m serious, you know.”

Humming against her soft skin in confirmation, your lips turn into a smile. She’s under your divine spell, her quickening pulse betraying the indifference of her words. Sucking lightly against the spot, you earn a sharp inhale when teeth meet flesh in a loving bite. Trish’s entire body is tense, muscles refusing to relax. Moving away from the spot on her neck, one of her most sensitive ones, you take in Trish’s appearance. Thick mascara-covered eyelashes cover her emerald eyes, roseate lips parting to either admonish you or encourage you further.

Placing a hand on the soft skin of her thigh, you give a tentative squeeze.

“Can’t seduce you out of this one, huh?” You can’t help but repeat her words back with a knowing smile, earning another sour expression. She tuts, peeling your groping hand off of her. Instead of pushing you away, she takes ahold of your shoulders, shoving you recklessly against the bed and climbing on top of you, straddling your hips.

It’s her turn to tease you now, rubbing achingly slow just above your heat. You can feel her panties growing more soaked with each gyration, curses slipping from her lips. The stain this’ll undoubtedly leave against your dress is of little concern to you, too preoccupied with watching your girlfriend fuck herself against your exposed thighs to care. She leans her head back, movements growing more frantic, and in turn making your own heat desire stimulation. Before she can go further with her movements, she stops, as if remembering you’re there with her. Cheeks flushing, she motions to the zipper on the back of her dress. Understanding the silent message, you peel the fabric off of her skin, revealing her soft chest. Unable to help yourself, you dip down, latching your mouth against her sensitive nipple and suckling it softly.

“S-such a whore, aren’t you?” She manages to get out in between shaky sighs. You let your actions speak on your behalf, occupying yourself with pleasuring her pert nipple. With your free hand, you knead her chest, thumb rubbing sensual circles into her. Moving back, you take the chance to flick your tongue over her nipple, drinking in the unabashed moans that drip from her lips like honey. She cants her chest into you, not so subtly grinding her clothed heat against you once more.

Moving back with an audible pop, you look up to her. “I could say the same for you.”

Needing some friction of your own, your fingers dip into your panties to rub against your slick folds. Trish watches with interest as you pleasure yourself, subconsciously biting her lip at the sight. With how worked up the two of you are getting, it wouldn’t take long to climax, but where’s the fun in that? Her hand snaps to yours, wrapping around your wrist and pulling it away.

“Did I say you could do that?” The edge one would expect to accompany the words is gone, replaced with a deep longing. She can never stay upset with you for long. You’re both her weakness and strength, the sun that illuminates her life. You giggle at her impatience, lithe fingers tugging up your dress without wasting anymore time. She raises an eyebrow at your lacy black panties. Seeing how the skimpy fabric hugs the curves of your hips, accenting your ass, has her chewing the inside of her mouth. Had you not pissed her off earlier, she might have complimented your stupidly attractive body.

Pushing the thought away for later, she pulls down your panties. Your cunt is on full display, flushed and begging to be touched. The way she stares at you, like a predator wanting to devour a meal, sends shivers down your spine. Kicking off her own panties, she throws them onto the floor without a care. Trish sweeps down, placing kisses against your clavicle, her soft hair brushing against your exposed skin.

Not wanting to waste any more time, having hours of pent up frustration to take out on you, she presses you further into the bed. You spread your legs, already anticipating her next movements. Trish moves her pussy against yours, the both of you letting out a low noise. She inhales shakily, steadying her arms on either side of you. Treating you like nothing other than a tool for her own pleasure, she fucks herself against you, moans growing louder with every movement of her hips. Any teasing for her zeal in pleasing herself dies out on your tongue, too occupied with the delicious friction of your cunts rubbing together. You move your hips up to meet her halfway, head thrown back at how amazing she makes you feel.

Trish pants, increasing her pace, but growing more erratic in the process. “You… you make me so angry…”

You whimper pitifully at her admonishing, Trish takes the opportunity to pinch your nipples in a borderline painful fashion. It sends a wave of pleasure over you, moan after moan leaving your lips as she continues to abuse your pussy with her own. You can feel your release building up, growing stronger with each passing second. Trish, your ever-attentive girlfriend, senses how your thighs start to tense up.

“That’s, hah, that’s right,” she takes in a deep breath, flicking your nipple once again. “Ngh… come, just because of me… no one else, only me…!”

You let out a strangled moan at her encouragement, orgasm sending waves of satisfaction throughout your entire body. She continues her movements, fucking you to the fullest, wanting the scent of her perfume to seep into your skin. To have you all to herself, claiming you as her personal slut. Knowing that if anyone wanted a taste of you, it’d be Trish’s cum mixed in with your own. When your body relaxes against the bed, sweat covered chest trying desperately to take in air, she moves off your exhausted body.

Still overcoming your own haze, you manage to weakly ask what she’s doing, knowing she has yet to come. But she shushes you, crawling over to your spot on the bed. Before you get the chance to ask what she’s doing, she lifts herself up, her own wet folds hovering just inches above your face. You flush a bright red at the sight, able to interpret what it is she wants, but still surprised by the boldness of her actions.

“Act like a whore, get treated like a whore. Make some use of that stupid tongue for once.”

Trish lowers herself against your mouth without another word. Out of instinct, your hands reach to grope the plump curve of her ass, keeping her from suffocating you entirely. She moans when your fingertips dig into the soft skin, unable to stop herself from humping your face. Swallowing, your tongue peaks out, flattening against her hot cunt. In a slow, teasing motion, you take your time tasting her. Tongue pressed harshly against her folds, starting at the bottom and licking to the top. You stop just shy of her clit, holding back a laugh at the whine she emits.

Feeling a new sense of vigor at the taste of your girlfriend’s cum leaking out, you lap at her pussy, knowing testing her patience any further will land you in hot water. Trish’s fingers curl up, hips gyrating in time with your tongue’s movements. She’s getting closer herself, body growing tenser as you eat her pussy out. Her hands reach out to the bedpost, steadying her trembling thighs. With the newfound support, she fucks your face, frantically chasing her own release. Her moans increase in volume, a string of curses leaving her as she stills against your tongue, which alternates between sucking and licking her heat.

There’s no speaking at first, only Trish climbing off of you. She swings her legs over the side of the bed, not wanting you to see how flushed her face is. The opportunity to take in much needed oxygen is taken advantage of, panting until your heart rate settles just a bit. When she doesn’t initiate a conversation, you crawl over to her bare back, placing kisses on it. Wrapping your arms around her midsection, your lips press against the shell of her ear, blowing.

“Are you still mad at me, il mio angelo musicale?”

You nibble on her ear as she tenses, all too familiar with how much she loves your little nickname for her. Trish doesn’t swat you away, instead leaning against your bare chest, sighing at the sensation. She wants to berate you further, but a void in her heart stops the words from leaving. All along, she knew on some level that you weren’t doing anything malicious. Just the thought of some man coming along and picking your unfairly cute self up was upsetting enough. She’s lost too much, too many people.

If she lost you, her world would be meaningless.

Instead of voicing any of these sentimental thoughts, she clicks her tongue. There’s no spite in her words, not anymore, instead replaced with thinly veiled adoration for you. “Maybe. I’ll have to think about it some more.”

“If you need to ride my face again just to find out, let me know. You’ll have to pay for my neck surgery, should it be necessary.”

“S-shut up! God you’re so stupid…”

#trish x reader #trish una x reader #trish una #not sfw #JoJo's Bizzare Adventure #jojo's bizarre adventures #JJBA #jjba part 5 #jjba x reader #my stuff #jojo's bizarre adventures imagines #vento aureo #vento aureo x reader

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isis-astarte-diana · 4 years

Text

One Of Those Days

Summary: “I can help you, if you want. Give you something to cry about.” Missy always seems to know exactly what you need.

Warnings: NSFW. Mummy kink. Spanking with a kitchen utensil an implement. Dodgy dynamics. MIHOW.

Word Count: 5499

NB: Hey, so, uh, this is a thing I wrote! You literally asked for this, I wash my hands of it. This is a kink that walks a fine line and I know that, so I’ve done my best to keep it on the side that I think is more-or-less palatable, ie. this is some fluffy smut about a rough day made better by spanking, snuggles, sex and submission. I think a lot of us could go for that every now and again!

"Now, what was that in aid of?”

The sound of Missy’s voice behind you would usually make you jump; she has a tendency to appear out of nowhere, catlike and silent on her feet despite her Edwardian heels. There’s a faint glimmer of amusement to her tone that, on any typical day, would have you prickling with delight.

Today is not a typical day.

You scrub a hand over your face, turning away from the cupboard door that you’ve just slammed with vicious force.

“Sorry,” you mutter, your jaw tight. “I’m just in a bad mood.”

“Yes, I can see that much.” The teasing lilt is still there, but you can hear a hint of warning blooming in the words. “Quite the stroppy little thing, today, aren’t you?”

“Missy,” you caution, trying hard to keep the bite out of her name. “Just- don’t. Seriously.”

“If you think I’m going to tiptoe around you just because you’re on the rag then-”

Incensed, you turn on her, snapping back, “I’m not on the fucking-!”

The words die in your throat when her hand slams down on the kitchen counter beside you. She’s much closer than you expected, close enough to make you cringe back until the edge of the countertop digs into the base of your spine. She cocks her head, her eyes sparking dangerously, her painted lips curled into a half-smile with too many sharp teeth behind it.

“Careful, dearest,” she chimes sweetly. “Try again.”

Your gulp is deafening in the stillness.

Tentatively, you make another attempt. Your sour mood still shines through in your voice. “I’m just- I’m having one of those days. I don’t know why.” Missy raises an eyebrow, prompting you to continue, waiting with all the patience of a half-submerged crocodile for you to make another mistake. You turn your face away and take a steadying breath. “Everything- everything is getting to me. Everything’s too much. I feel like I’m gonna scream or break down in tears any second.”

“Maybe you should.”

You scoff wryly at her response and her other hand darts out, cool fingers taking hold of your chin, guiding your eyes back to her. Bristling at her audacity, you shrug her off. Her palm lands on your cheek, not harsh enough to be called a slap, but certainly with sufficient force to remind you that she would strike you if she had to. It pushes you into acquiescence as she turns your head once more.

Her expression has you dragging your bottom lip between your teeth, averting your eyes to avoid her gaze. She’s looking into you, through you, leaving you feeling pitifully exposed.

“I mean it.” Her thumb sweeps across your cheekbone with tenderness juxtaposed to her stern voice. She has a perfect way of doing this, of trapping you between severity and softness, disorientating you so that you never quite know if she’s about to kiss you or bite you. It consumes your attention and starts to unravel some of the throbbing knots in your mind. “I can help you, if you want. Give you something to cry about.”

Only Missy could make such a threat sound like a consolation.

Reaching up to cover her hand with your own, you risk meeting her eyes. Her lips quirk in encouragement. You’ve played this sort of game before, of course, but that doesn’t make it any easier to ask for; and she will make you ask for it.

Regardless of what you do now, pain will come. You were rude - downright nasty, in fact - and while she loves an argument better than anybody, she has her limits. Being snapped at like that is one of them. Your chances of sitting comfortably tonight are already miniscule. All that remains is for you to decide the context.

“Please.” It’s quiet, strained, the best you can manage. “Please... mummy.”

It’s hard to say if it’s uttering the words that knocks the wind out of you or if it’s the beaming smile that spreads across her face.

“Good girl,” she praises gently, her fingers curling under your chin with ticklish pressure that softens your tense posture immediately. It’s remarkable how easy this is for her, how swiftly she can turn you into whatever kind of creature she wants you to be, without even the barest hint of hypnosis. She can have you howling with rage, scratching and swearing and fighting her for all you’re worth, in one moment, and falling to your knees to worship at her feet in the next. If it weren’t so mutually beneficial it might frighten you.

Sometimes it still does.

“Mummy,” your voice is a cracked whisper as you nuzzle into the touch. She gives you a sympathetic pout and a soft click of her tongue. “I’m sorry I was rude.”

“I know you are, poppet.” She brushes a stray bit of hair behind your ear and loops her other arm around you, pulling you into her embrace. You gratefully accept it, tucking your head against her shoulder. “You’re just a sulky little girl, today, aren’t you? It’s not your fault.”

“S’no excuse,” you mumble into her blouse. It’s awkward, physically, to fold yourself up against her like this, but the soft cotton under your cheek and the scent of her perfumed neck call to you irresistibly. Your fingers press into her corseted back, savouring the warmth of her.

“No, it’s not,” she agrees, without reprimand. “But I’m not cross with you.” Her fingers card through your hair, her nails dragging soothingly against your scalp. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner, hmm? We could have nipped this in the bud first thing this morning, before it ever got this far.”

“I don’t know.” You hold tighter to her, the soft admonition making you feel faintly ridiculous. “I just thought it’d go away on its own.”

“Silly girl.” She sweetens the words with a soft kiss to your ear that sends a pleasant tremor through you. Her palm presses between your shoulder blades, rubbing firmly. “You know that that’s what mummy’s here for.”

You’re already close to tears just from this tenderness, and you nod against her shoulder, sniffling them back. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“Oh, none of that, love,” she croons. “It’s alright. I’m here now, and I have the perfect medicine for a fussy girl like you.”

Missy, expertly as ever, changes your mood like she’s flicking a light switch. Desire creeps slow and warm down the back of your neck. The gentle touch of her nose, her lips, against your ear becomes a caress as sensual as anything you’ve ever felt. With one last peck she looses her arms from around you.

Being let go of after she’s peeled back your defences like this, baring all of your rawest parts to the world, is torturous, but she entwines her fingers with yours and squeezes your hand to soften the blow.

“I think that this,” she reaches past your shoulder and plucks something from the counter behind you, utensils rattling together in their holder as she disturbs them, “should do very nicely. Don’t you?”

Smiling like she’s presenting you with a gift, she holds up the wooden spoon and shows it to you.

The sight of it makes your mouth go dry.

You’d always assumed that there was such a thing as a cruel implement; that pain and pleasure hung upon the tools used to create them, in at least some small way. That notion has long since been cleared from your mind. Sensation, in all its guises, is what Missy chooses to make of it. She can kiss you into agonies or beat you into euphoria, depending on her mood.

She’s used this on you before, but only ever with playful intentions. In this moment, playful she is not. The fact that she isn’t cross with you doesn’t mean that you will be spared; only that she’ll whisper words of encouragement rather than sharp reprimands while she takes you apart.

“So quiet, now?” She purses her lips, a soft note of displeasure in her voice. “Cat got your tongue, dear?”

You shake your head, not taking your eyes off of the spoon. “No, mummy.” You have to pause to wet your lips. “That- that would be good.”

Her face softens as if she’d been braced for you to protest. “Oh, my poor girl.” Once more, she squeezes your hand. “You really have had a miserable day, haven’t you?”

Feeling tears tug at your throat again, you nod silently.

“We’ll have you feeling better in no time. Come along.” Letting her chosen weapon hang at her side, she gently tugs you away from the counter. “I think we’ll do this in the bedroom today.”

With your eyes cast down you follow her through the TARDIS, its warbling hum a familiar comfort. Like everything else she does, Missy’s choice of location is always symbolic. If she were to bend you over the kitchen counter you could expect to have your arm twisted up behind your back - not necessarily with unkind force - and your clothes in disarray to expose you best. In the bedroom, things would be tidier. You would, you will, be bare across her lap, your fingers twisting in the duvet, the rhythm of her breaths and the shifting of her thighs reverberating through you like an extra heartbeat.

She’s utterly fearless as she strolls the halls, humming something to herself under her breath, the wooden spoon in her hand for all and sundry to see if you were to be witnessed. You doubt that your private activities are a mystery, as such, to your travelling companions, but the thought of the tableau that you would make as she leads you to the bedroom like this is enough to make you wince.

All shame is forgotten when you arrive.

“Would you be a dear, and fetch mummy’s box of tricks?” Missy lets go of your hand to brush your cheek with her knuckles, her voice a sweet and conspiratorial whisper. The feathery touch has you ducking your head with a shiver. “I’m certain I can find something in there to turn that little frown upside down.”

“Okay, mummy.” She flicks the tip of your nose with her fingertip and makes you squeak. Her smile widens.

“You see? It’s not all so bad, is it?” Her lips follow her finger, pressing a soft kiss to your nose. “Go on, poppet. You know where it is.”

The box of toys that she refers to is, you believe, a reupholstered sewing box, lined with black velvet. It sits on the middle shelf of the armoire, its mahogany grain gleaming in the rosy light of the bedroom, and you bring it to her with nothing short of reverence. It’s heavier than it looks.

It is, of course, bigger on the inside.

Missy takes it from you with a saucy wink and sets it down on the bed, atop the damask sheets, balancing the wooden spoon across its lid. It’s an impossibly tempting sight; she holds relief of every kind in her delicate hands. Something, almost a giggle, anticipation making you giddy and restless, bubbles up from your chest. You bite your lip to stifle more.

“Oh, my lovely girl.” The corners of her eyes crinkle as she takes both of your hands in hers, pulling you closer to stand in front of her when she sits at the side of the bed. “This is all you needed, isn’t it? A little bit of attention. A little bit of discipline.”

The words make your throat feel tight. Your eyes flit from her face down to the shape of her knees beneath the plum skirt. It’s too easy, teetering here on the precipice between symptom and cure, to let anxiety overtake you again, and your face heats with prickling self-consciousness.

“I’m not doing this because I’m cross with you.” She lifts your right hand to her mouth and brushes a soft, damp kiss across your knuckles, her eyes trained on your face all the while. “It’s for your own good. You’ll feel better for it.”

You offer her a shallow nod and murmur, weakened by the tears that bite in your throat, “I know.”

With another encouraging squeeze to your hands she lets them go, lets you brace them on her shoulders as she takes hold of your hips and guides you between her parted knees.

“You really are ever so pretty, you know.” Her fingers creep under the hem of your long shirt, trailing light and ticklish at the bare skin above the waistband of your leggings. You shiver under the touch. “I’m terribly lucky to have you.”

Your breath hitches. “Missy-”

“Ah, ah, ah,” she stills her hands, cool palms flat either side of your waist. One eyebrow quirks. “Mummy’s talking. It’s rude to interrupt.”

She’s almost too good at this.

“Sorry, mummy.” Pressing your fingers into her shoulders, you bend to kiss the dark, unruly hair at the crown of her head. She curls her fingertips against your sides and rubs slow circles there.

“Such a soft little thing, you are.” It’s uncanny, how you can be stooped over her like this, your cheek pressed into her hair, and feel entirely at her mercy. When her fingernails drag across your skin, sending you twisting and whining at the feathery sensation, she titters. “Oh, I could just eat you all up!”

Missy bunches up the fabric of your shirt in her hands and lifts it to your waist, baring a few inches of skin above your leggings. Her mouth descends with unbridled glee. Cool, slick kisses attack your stomach, and you squeal, caught off guard and entirely delighted. Emboldened by your reaction, she pulls you tighter to her mouth, fastens her open lips to the soft flesh just above your navel and blows.

It tickles, of course, rippling through you until you almost lose your breath in a shriek, but it does more than that. You draw tighter around her, wrap your arms around her shoulders, shifting your thighs together as the sensation washes down your spine as well as up. Another flicker of arousal unfurls in your abdomen and licks at your cunt. Obviously aware of the effect that she’s having, she nuzzles her nose just above your waistband, tickling the skin there with her breath.

“You're such a good girl for me.” When she starts to work at your leggings you straighten up, keeping your hands on her shoulders, widening your stance to help her ease them over your hips and down your thighs. It’s impossible to ignore how close her face is to your exposed underwear. “You’re not going to give me any trouble, today, are you, hmm?”

It feels like a lot to promise. Still, you nod.

“You’re going to be a brave girl, and come over my knee without a fuss?”

“Yes, mummy.” That much, you think you can manage. What comes after is anybody’s guess. “I promise.”

Bravery, for so long, meant stoicism to you, as if the two were interchangeable. You’d always assumed that they were. The first time you’d done something like this, been brought to a helpless flood of tears at her hand, the shame of losing control in such a way had almost crushed you; the memory of her fingers combing through your hair as she crooned how well you’d done, how brave you’d been for her, never fails to give you strength now. For all of her madness, there is method, and for all of her sadism there is an odd sort of compassion.

You don’t doubt that she enjoys her role in this. Missy has no pretences about her desires, and even while she soothes or rebukes you in the midst of your torment she makes no bones about how gratified she is to be inflicting it. The pleasure of watching you endure for her is only ever made sweeter by the shrieking, sobbing, squirming evidence of just how much you’re suffering.

Your devotion is paid in blood, in sweat, in boundless tears. Hers is paid in the freedom to give them.

She strips off your leggings and your knickers and leaves you standing there in your oversized shirt, braless beneath it. The hem covers what little modesty you may have.

“On, or off?” Missy toys with the fabric, cocking her head as she gazes up at you. You pause for a moment to consider the question. It’s comfortable, this shirt - one of your favourites, one that smells of her and feels soft and warm enough that you reached for it this morning as soon as you knew what kind of day it was going to be.

“On,” you answer eventually. “Please.”

“As you like, poppet.” She sits further back on the bed and pats her lap. “Come on, then. Let’s have you.”

It should be absurd, this entire scene, the way you eagerly climb onto your knees on the bed and lie yourself across her lap without hesitation. When she lifts the hem of your shirt higher to expose your arse it should make you feel ridiculous, and it does, in a way, but there’s an inexplicable comfort that comes with that. She revels in it, in turning you into this - whatever this is - and you bask in her obvious pleasure with complete abandon.

“So well-behaved for me,” she murmurs, one hand curling into the bountiful fabric of the shirt, resting low on your back with grounding weight. “My good girl.”

You cross your arms on the duvet and cradle your face with them, cheek pressed into the damask. The first touch of her cool palm on your arse makes you shiver, and then sigh contentedly when she begins to massage and squeeze the soft flesh there.

“It’s been too long since we’ve done this, hasn’t it?” Her voice is soft, a little teasing lilt to it that makes you smile. “You know that you can ask me whenever you like.”

“I know,” you tell her again, feeling your toes curl and flex from the gentle stimulation. “I just... I feel silly. Asking you.”

“Oh, poppet.” She presses her knuckles into your back to rub there. “Taking care of you is never a chore to me, you know. It could only ever be a pleasure.”

It’s too much for you to answer to; too much for you to think on, for long, without falling apart. Luckily, she doesn’t wait for you to speak. Her ministrations cease abruptly and she lands a single, hard smack on the left side of your arse.

You jerk across her lap, breath catching. As the sting begins to sink in you hiss, near-silent, “fuck.”

“Such language,” Missy chides, hiding her amusement with enviable skill, completing the symmetry with another swat that makes you gasp. “Do you think that’s appropriate for a little girl?”

She hits you again, and you squeak, shaking your head emphatically “No, mummy. I’m sorry.”

“I should think so.” Another smack; the warmth is slowly building under her hand, a wash of prickling pink heat. Some of the tension is starting to ease from your back, your shoulders, your neck, muscles you hadn’t realised were tight beginning to loosen. “I ought to wash your mouth out with soap.”

“Oh, please don’t!” There’s barely a trace of play-acting in your panicked whimper. The first time she’d made such a threat, you’d assumed that it was in jest; you had, of course, assumed wrongly, and you have no intention of repeating that experience. “I promise I’ll be good.”

“Bold words, my dear.” When she lands a particularly sharp slap low on the curve of your arse, she follows it through, digging her fingers into the stinging flesh and squeezing hard. Your fingers wind into the duvet cover as you turn your head and cry out into the fabric. “I shan’t warn you again.”

Frankly, you’re lucky that she warned you the first time.

With that, she begins to warm you up properly. Because she is not cross, and because this is not a punishment, she doesn’t tease you. The rhythm she takes up is steady and unflinching, a pattern of blows delivered with clinical precision. That sting of warmth blooms into a glow, and then a burn, until your breaths are short and your lips are curled back in a tight grimace.

The sensation is not yet much beyond discomfort, but it’s enough to draw you out of the depths of your own mind, pulling you back into the body that she holds against hers. Beneath you is the soft wool of her skirt, the comfort of the bed you share, the stability of her powerful thighs. Above you she presses the heel of one hand into your back and uses the palm of the other to set you alight. Nothing matters, nothing exists beyond these sensations.

All too soon, she stops.

“There we are,” she coos, rubbing at the sting with tenderness you know better than to mistake for mercy. “Isn’t that nice?”

It’s beyond you to answer, but you offer her a stunted nod, nuzzling into the duvet beneath your face. You draw a steadying breath. Tears sit heavy in your eyes, waiting to fall, impatient for the pain to come.

“You’re so lovely and pink.” Her fingernails drag a spiralling pattern across your sore arse, setting your thighs trembling. “This always calms you down so nicely. You’re such a meek little thing, really. You just get yourself in a muddle, sometimes.”

She tightens her grip on your shirt, replacing the ticklish touch of her fingernails with the cool, smooth back of the spoon. It's the most tantalising threat she can give you.

“Aren’t you lucky, hmm?” She adjusts her position, lifting one leg just enough to tilt your hips and expose you better. “To have a mummy who cares about you so much?”

The first snap of wood against your already-heated skin is like a lit match. You cry out, pulled from your stupor, hands fisting into the duvet cover. It takes all of your strength to turn the expletive that races up your throat into a wordless yelp.

“Oh, you are so cherished, my love.” Her voice is soft when she strikes again, on oh, god, the exact same spot, sharp as anything. “I just adore you.”

Three, four, five times she brings the back of the spoon down in the same place, low on the curve of the right side of your arse. The skin there turns tight with blistering heat. Your throat thickens as the tears gather momentum, pitiful whimpers spilling from your grimacing mouth. Just when you think you can bear it no more, this repetitive pattern of merciless strikes, she switches sides and begins to do the same on the left.

“You really do make me terribly proud, you know.” The cadence of her words is a dizzying juxtaposition to the steady rhythm of her unfaltering smacks. “Entirely vexed, at times, but always unutterably proud.” Without warning, she switches back, catching you off guard with a blazing strike to the red-hot patch of skin she was previously administering to.

The dam breaks with a vengeance.

You shriek, lurching forwards, holding tight to the duvet as the tears begin to fall, it seems, all at once. The speed with which it overcomes you is startling. Your hips shift over her lap, legs kicking weakly, vainly seeking to retreat from the pain.

“Good girl,” Missy croons, winding more of the fabric of your shirt into her fist to keep you from moving too far. “There you go. You just relax and let me help.”

Having achieved what she’d set out to do, piercing the thin skin that held back your cries, she sets to work on turning the rest of your arse as sore as the two spots she’s been abusing with such precision.

You might be begging; it’s hard to tell. It’s hard to notice anything but the faultless way she applies her chosen weapon to your stinging flesh, carrying you on a wave of incandescent pain through that horrifying moment of losing control. You twist, you writhe, you push your face into the sheets until the fabric turns wet and cool with tears, and all the while she feeds the fire in your skin and soothes you with soft praise.

When you finally reach back, overcome by the pain, every square inch of skin tight and blazing, she knocks your hands away.

“Enough,” you manage, through great, hiccupping sobs. “Enough, that’s enough-”

“Almost, poppet.” She presses her hand down into the small of your back again, rubbing firmly, easing the cries from your lungs. “Just a little bit longer.”

“No, no, but-” wiping your streaming eyes with the back of your hand, you squirm in her grip. “I’m done, I- I don’t want-”

“Oh, hush now.” She cuts you off, striking again, this time lower; the sensitive patches at the very tops of your thighs, the spots you feel when you walk or sit, are still due to be paid attention in full. “If something’s worth doing, it’s worth doing well, dearest. I take my duty to you very seriously. I’d hate to leave you wanting.”

Wanting is, perhaps, a strong word for it, but she does have a point. Being pushed just beyond the limits of your comfort never fails to leave you feeling better, in the end, once the tears have dried up and the endorphins begin to fade.

Fortunately for you, pushing is Missy’s speciality.

You’re a mess before she’s finished. The duvet cover is twisted up in your hands, folds of it stuffed into your mouth to muffle the helpless cries streaming from you. Your shoulders shake with desperate sobs. The heat that radiates from your punished skin seems to flow all the way down, merging seamlessly with the warmth of the slippery arousal that spills from you almost as readily as your tears, until it’s impossible to recall the border between desire and distress. Every nerve is alive and screaming. For half a second you wonder what could have possibly possessed you to ask for this.

And then she stops; and you remember.

“There’s my brave little girl.”

Slender fingers card through your hair, the palm of her other hand sweeping across your overheated skin. You keen miserably into the duvet, struggling to catch your breath, nuzzling against her hands. She clicks her tongue in sympathy.

“Oh, poppet.” The heel of her hand presses into the sore flesh of your arse, making you yelp and jerk, but this deeper pressure helps to ease the worst of the overwhelming sting. “Shh, shh, it’s alright. Just let it go. Mummy’s got you.”

Missy takes to this role as she takes to everything; with complete and utter mastery. She coaxes every drop of pent up emotion from you with her tireless hands, soothing pain as readily as she inflicts it, consoling what feels inconsolable. With immeasurable patience she cradles you in her lap while your wracking sobs die down into pitiful whimpers.

“There we are,” she coos eventually, scratching gently at your scalp with her blunt fingernails. “Do you feel that? It’s all gone, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” you admit with a sniffle. “Think so.”

“Oh, I know so, dearest.” Satisfied that you’ve calmed down, she lightens her touch again, letting her fingertips trail across the intense heat left behind by her ministrations. Her touch feels like ice and you shiver. “Just like magic. I’m really rather good, if I do say so myself.”

It strengthens you, and you roll your eyes fondly, blinking away the last of the tears. Your smile is watery and genuine. “You’re the best.”

“Oh, you know it makes me all tingly when you say things like that.” Her fingers spiral lower. As they creep towards the apex of your thighs you start to shift over her lap again, for an altogether different reason. In the afterglow of pain, the catharsis of weeping, your earlier arousal makes itself known once more. “My sweet little girl. You look delightful like this.”

It’s supposed to be teasing, but the brush of her fingers against the inside of your parted thighs makes your breath hitch, turning the question into a tentative whisper. “Really?”

“Really.” You spread your legs wider, allowing her the space to spider-walk her fingers along the inside of your right thigh, drawing your attention to just how slick you are. “All pretty in pink, and behaving so nicely for me. I could do anything to you.”

“Would you?” You risk a glance over your shoulder for the first time and find her eyeing you with a mischievous twinkle. It makes your heart race. “Please, mummy?”

“Oh, you are incorrigible, my dear.” She pats the back of your thigh, just shy of the sore spots. “Up you come. Let me see that lovely smile.”

Shifting back up onto your knees is awkward, and the hem of your shirt falls back down with the movement to irritate your stinging skin. Missy holds you steady as you sit back on your heels beside her.

“There it is.” Her fingers curl beneath your jaw, gently tilting your face to her. Conscious of the state you must be in, cheeks flushed, eyes red, dry tears cracking on your face, you smile weakly. “Do I get a kiss, now that you’ve finished sulking?”

There’s no trace of admonition in the words. Your smile widens, and you nod tentatively. “Yes, please.”

“Such good manners.” She grins sharply, leaning in to nuzzle your nose with hers. “It’s a wonder I don’t do this every day.”

Her fingernails skim along the curve of your jaw when she kisses you, tickling your earlobe until you giggle into her mouth. In her lips you can feel the curve of a genuine smile; not teasing, not mocking, utterly without performance. It makes your heart flutter.

When you break away your arms loop around her shoulders. “Thank you,” you murmur against her cheek. “Really. Thank you for this.”

“My pleasure, dearest.” Trailing her fingertips down your neck, she adds softly, “I mean it, you know. Every word.”

You hold tighter to her, feeling yet another prickle of tears. It’s easier, like this - easier for her to say it, easier for you to hear it, how deeply she cares for you. When your role is meek acquiescence you can lie still and let her worship you, and she, for her part, can do it, free of interruption or inhibition. In these moments it occurs to you that you are not the only one liberated from shame.

Your lips catch the corner of her mouth. “I know.”

Again, with effortlessness that astounds you, she catches you before you can fall into another well of emotion.

In a vertiginous display of speed she knocks you onto your back on the bed and straddles you to pepper your face with soft kisses. You shriek with delight, squirming underneath her, the raised pattern of the damask duvet cover irritating your stinging skin in a way that feels entirely too sensuous. The plentiful folds of her wool skirt warm your hips and thighs.

“That- ah!” Her hands dart underneath your shirt, fingers wriggling against your sides. “Mummy, that tickles!”

“My goodness, does it really?” Feigning innocence, she shifts lower, working feathery kisses over your throat now instead. “And this?”

“Yes!” You shiver under her touch when she drags her fingers further down, over your hips.

“Oh, well, I suppose I’ll stop, then.” Missy pauses dead still, her fingers curling into the dimples of your hips, her keen eyes fixed on your face as she peers up at you. She’s poised to strike, moments away from slotting herself between your thighs, and you bite your lip.

“Well... no.” Face heating under her gaze, you shift against her, rolling your hips. “I didn’t say that.”

“Make your mind up, poppet,” she teases, but she resumes her journey and swiftly has your legs hooked around her shoulders, her arms looped about your thighs to keep you open for her. Your back arches when you feel her breath against your vulva. “Are we playing, or aren’t we?”

The sight of her, lying on her stomach, her stockinged feet in the air and her ankles demurely crossed as she gazes, catlike, up from between your legs, plucks your spine with desire.

“Yes, please.” Once more, you tangle your hands in the duvet. “Please, mummy.”

“Well, since you asked so nicely.”

Her face splits into the familiar predatory grin and she holds your gaze as the flat of her tongue strokes the length of you. It’s enough to make you quiver, a hoarse cry ripped from your mouth at the heat, the velvet-soft touch of her. You can feel her throaty chuckle in your bones and when she pulls back, the loss makes you whimper.

“If you’re a very good girl, I might even let you choose a toy.��

#mine #nsfwork #missy x reader #the master x reader #gomez!master x reader #mummy kink tw #mommy kink tw #daddy kink tw #request #does it piss anyone else off how much i overuse italics in literally all of my fics????#i have a Lot to Emphasise and i've tried not doing it but it just Feels Wrong

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filthy-rat · 4 years

Text

Mary Had a Little Lamb

AO3 Link

You were never really one for parties, so you aren’t exactly sure how you managed to let your friend, Angel, drag you out one crisp autumn night.

From what they had said, this party was going to be mostly drinking and smoking weed and playing video games—all things you enjoyed, right? So maybe you would have a good time. You think about the inherent awkwardness of talking to people and the mortifying ordeal of being known, and your stomach clenches in fear. Ugh, maybe not. You make a mental note to do a better job of hiding your melancholy from them the next time they start giving you the Concerned Face.

As you approach the run down apartment building in the heart of the city, apprehension gnaws at your gut. For the third time in your five minute walk, you come to a halt, frowning at your companion.

“I don’t know, dude, I-I really shouldn’t—”

“Ugh, c’mon!” Impatiently, they stomp back to you, latch onto the sleeve of your jacket, and tug you along. “It’ll be fun! I’m sick of you moping around the house!”

“...I wasn’t moping,” you mumble, stuffing your hands into your pockets and shrugging off their hand from your sleeve. “And besides, do you even know anyone at this party?”

“Like, one or two people. But it’s a party, you’re not really supposed to know everyone.” They link arms with you, continuing to pull you down the street. “Listen, if we get any scummy vibes, we’ll bounce, okay?”

“Fine.” Huffing out an irritated sigh, you allow yourself to be pulled.

“There’s supposed to be some really hot guys here, too.” Angel flashes you an excited grin.

“Yeah, ‘cause hot guys have a history of being into me.”

“Oh, my god, stop that or I’m gonna kick your ass.” They nudge your elbow with theirs and give you another look. The dreaded Concerned Face. You hate it when they do that.

“Okay, okay. Let’s get up there before they drink all the good beer.”

“Hell yea.”

Arm in arm, the two of you make your way to the building, and Angel leans in to press the buzzer. A disgruntled, raspy voice on the other end asks shockingly few questions of the two of you before opening the door. There’s no elevator. You groan as you realize you’ll have to hoof it up five flights of stairs.

You can hear the music pounding from about a floor and a half below, and it only gets louder the closer you get to your destination. When you finally reach the correct floor, you’re gasping and clutching at a stitch in your side and regretting your life choices. Why the fuck isn’t there an elevator?

“C’mon, it’s this door,” Angel says, after catching their breath, and they approach a door at the end of the hallway.

The worn wood is absolutely slathered in band stickers and old Halloween decorations and painted-on pentagrams. Though the plaque on the door reads “66”, someone has taken a red marker and added an additional 6 to the end. You give Angel a dubious side eye.

“Listen, these guys are… a little rough. Just give them a chance, though. Most punks and goths are good people.” They give a nervous laugh, grimace, and knock on the door.

After a moment, it opens to reveal a thin youth with multicolored dreadlocks tied in twin tails and a bridge piercing. Arching a perfect brow, she saddles the two of you with an unimpressed eye, and steps back to see if any other partygoers will claim you.

“Who the fuck are these herbs?” asks one of them, putting an emphasis on the letter ‘h’ that makes everyone laugh.

You shoot Angel a glare. Punks and goths are good people, huh? They have the decency to look a little chagrined, and rub anxiously at the back of their neck.

“Angel!” shouts a voice, and you vaguely recognize one of Angel’s friends—you’ve never formally met the guy—as he approaches and pulls them into a one armed hug. “Hey, you finally made it! I was wondering when you were gonna get your slow-ass up here.” With the music so loud, they have to lean close and yet still practically shout to be heard.

“You could’ve fucking warned me there was no elevator,” Angel says, playfully shoving his shoulder. “Show me where the drinks are before I change my mind!”

Without another word, the two of them disappear arm in arm deeper into the shabby apartment, leaving you standing in the door awkwardly. The girl at the door eyes you up and down, her expression blatantly judgemental, but merely gestures inside with a grand sweep of her arm. With a polite but nervous smile, you step over the threshold and immediately glue yourself to the wall just inside the door. There are people milling about everywhere, drinking, laughing, making out.

You’ve never felt more out of place in your entire life. A part of you wants to leave—but you can’t do that to Angel. So you’re stuck there, leaning against the wall and pretending like you don’t exist.

The music pounding through the stereo lulls momentarily as another song is chosen.

“Hey there, sweet thing.” A voice, much too close to your ear, makes you jump and you whirl on the spot. “Tell me you ain’t wearing a fuckin’ Stryper t-shirt.”

Leaning his shoulder against the very same wall, the epitome of rough, roguish charm, is a pale, gaunt-looking young man. His dark hair is pulled down in front of his face in a messy devil lock, and there’s long, red lines of blood—hopefully fake—dribbling down from the crown of his head to his chin and onto the front of his sleeveless Candlemass shirt. A wrinkled, hand-rolled cigarette is tucked behind one ear, and the vest he wears rattles with many pins when he moves. You don’t think you’ve ever seen tighter jeans in your life. It’s like they were fucking painted on. Are those fishnet tights you spy through the shredded knees?

Who is this guy?

As you take in his appearance, eyes wide, he reaches out and gently cups your chin, forcing your eyes back up to his face. He gives you a knowing smirk, eyes hooded, and your whole face feels very warm.

The music starts up again, but quieter this time—a slow power ballad. You’re distantly aware of people pairing up in the background, but your eyes are focused on his.

“You lost, little lamb?” he says, his voice low, almost a purr.

“N-No, I came here with my friend.”

With an arch of his thick brows, the bloodied stranger casts an exaggerated look around you, then resettles against the wall with a shrug. “Don’t see you with anyone.”

“...Yeah, they kinda abandoned me.” A brief, rueful smile tugs your lips.

“That’s okay. I’ll be your friend,” he says, flashing a wicked grin that quickly makes him seem less a friend and more a wolf.

Is that why he called you ‘lamb’?

“...I don’t even know your name.” But, fuck, do you want to. You can’t remember the last time someone this hot even gave you the time of day.

“I don’t know yours either,” he points out, pulling the cigarette from behind his ear and placing it between his lips. “Names are so fuckin’ superfluous, kitten, but you can call me Mary.”

“Mary?” Your brow furrows. “That’s a strange—”

As he fishes a lighter from his pocket and brings the flame to the end of the cigarette, he gestures with his free hand to his bloody face. He takes a drag and exhales a plume of smoke, watching you out of the corner of his eye.

“It’s a joke.” A beat. He heaves a sigh, and shoots you a scowl. “Why do I even fuckin’—Bloody Mary, get it?”

“Oh. Y-Yeah.” You’re not quite sure you do get it, really, but he seems to be satisfied with this answer. You change the subject. “So, do you live here?”

“Sometimes, if I feel like it.” He plucks the cigarette from his lips and offers it to you, held delicately between two long fingers. The black polish on his nails is chipped, you notice.

“I don’t smoke.”

Mary smirks. “It ain’t tobacco, lamb.”

“Oh.” Frowning, you look down at the smoldering cigarette and a little bubble of panic rises in your chest. “I-I’ve never uh. Done it. This way before.”

Mary arches a brow.

“Me and my friend, w-we usually put it in brownies.” You feel silly just saying it, and avert your gaze with a grimace.

“Oh, well… you wanna shotgun it?”

You look back up at him, brows furrowed in confusion. “What is that?”

“C’mere.”

He leans in closer, until his lips are nearly touching yours. For one heart-stopping second, you think he’s going to kiss you, but no—he stops just shy of contact. The tip of his nose brushes featherlight against yours, though, and goosebumps erupt across your skin. His eyes are hooded, and there’s something so sensual and alluring in those dark depths that it makes your stomach do a little somersault.

“I exhale, you inhale, yeah?” His lip quirks into a crooked smile.

You give a slow nod, afraid that if you moved too suddenly he’d bolt like a wild animal. He lifts the joint to his lips, takes a long hit, and holds it for just a moment. His tongue pokes out to wet his lips. When he exhales a cloud of smoke, you inhale too quickly, and the unfamiliar burn of it makes your lungs spasm and you jerk backward with a cough.

Mary gives a rueful laugh and reaches past you to an open ice chest on the kitchen counter. With his free hand, he fishes out a can of beer and cracks it open. It foams and he holds it out at arms’ length with a quiet, disgruntled ah, fuck as suds splatter onto the carpet.

When it finishes spewing, he pushes the damp can into your hands, and you gratefully gulp it down to soothe your burning throat.

“Wanna go again?” he asks, once you’ve recovered enough to speak.

You eye him with apprehension. Do you want to go again? You’re pretty sure another close encounter with Mary might kill you. On the other hand, you’re craving more of that closeness.

“Okay.”

“Cool. This time,” Mary says, and he sidles a step closer, centimeters away from his body making contact with yours. “Don’t suck it into your lungs right away. Into your mouth first, like a milkshake.”

Or like something else? Your cheeks flush as this filthy thought enters your head. Thankfully, he doesn’t seem to notice as he leans in. This time, you’re ready, and though your throat burns again, you manage to cut your coughing time by half. The cold beer helps. Mary reaches around you and extinguishes the roach in a nearby ashtray, then settles back against the wall, his shoulder touching yours. For a moment, the two of you sit in silence as the weed works its magic. It isn’t long before you feel yourself loosening up a little.

“So… is Mary your real name?” you ask, casting him an expectant glance.

Before he can answer, however, both your attentions are diverted. In the living room before you, where most of the party seems to be congregated, a girl is sitting cross-legged on the floor, playing idly with an empty bottle of wine. She leans forward and gives the bottle a spin as she talks, and when it finally comes a stop, the mouth of it points to a taller girl leaning on the wall across from her.

“Ha, now you guys have to make out,” giggles another partygoer.

An nervous titter rises up from the other partiers.

Wordlessly, the girl on the floor gets to her feet, approaches the girl on the wall, and draws her lips downwards in a kiss. Several wolf whistles and appreciative hoots rise up from the crowd, and eventually the two part, looking flushed but grinning. The tall girl leaning against the wall grabs the other girl’s hand, and fishes out a marker to scribble a phone number across her palm.

Mary tilts his head back against the wall he’s leaning on and gives you a curious look out of the corner of his eye. You pretend like you don’t see his gaze linger on your body.

“Someone else spin!” demands a partygoer, and another person grabs the wine bottle.

“What is this, a party of stupid horny teenagers?” snorts someone else, and everyone drowns them out with a chorus of boos. Someone throws a pillow at them and everyone laughs.

“You wanna play?” asks Mary, his lip curving into a wolfish smirk. “Get someone’s tongue down your throat?”

“W-What?” Eyes widening, you tear your gaze away from the display before you to look him in the face. “No…” Not unless it’s yours. Even though you don’t say that last part, you can’t help but glance down at his lips as you think it.

“No?” He turns towards you, leaning now on one shoulder instead of two, and lets the side of his head rest lazily on the wall. That smirk only grows more wicked. “Oh, so you want your tongue in—”

A collective squeal rises up from the partiers congregated in the living room as the game of spin the bottle has now become a game of truth or dare, it seems. Instead of making out with a stranger, someone’s been dared to flash everyone. With a gasp of shock, you look away as a dude gets to his feet and starts fumbling with the fly of his pants.

Mary doesn’t look away.

“Do you want to play?” you ask him, looking up at his face.

“Always, kitten.” Tearing his gaze from the flasher, he looks down at you with those gorgeous dark eyes of his, and he gives you a wink.

“Fine.” The weed and beer have made you more confident—perhaps stupidly so. “Let’s play.”

Mary’s face splits into a crooked grin—a wicked flashing of teeth that does very little to soothe your nerves—and his hand grabs yours. You barely have time to grab another beer before he’s yanking you towards the circle of partygoers that’s begun to crowd around the spinning bottle.

You think maybe Mary’s going to sit beside you, but instead, he elbows his way into the circle across from you, and sits cross-legged on the floor. The game continues without interruption, and everyone decides if they’d rather kiss the person the bottle lands on, tell a truth, or do a dare.

Most people pick dare.

In the five minutes it takes for your turn to arrive, you’ve seen a lot of tits and ass from strangers. More than you’d ever care to see, really. You get the impression that these people aren’t exactly creative when it comes to thinking up dares. Or they’re just really horny. Most of the dares involve getting naked or showing off body parts.

Finally, it’s your turn.

You swallow hard, pointedly avoiding Mary’s gaze, and give the bottle a twist. It spins and spins and spins in a seemingly endless loop.

You chance a glimpse at Mary. Those dark eyes of his are hooded and staring at you with such an intensity, as if he’s reading every filthy thought you’ve ever had in your entire life and he’s imagining ways to sweetly torment you with them. Your stomach does a little somersault. Somehow, you just know where the bottle’s going to land. Mary’s lip twists into a subtle, wicked smirk, and the bottle comes to a stop.

It’s pointed to the girl just to Mary’s left.

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. Mary arches an eyebrow at you, an unasked question lurking in the inky depths of his eyes. But now the girl is asking the question and your attention is diverted away from him.

“Truth or dare?”

“...Dare, I guess.” You make direct eye contact with Mary as you say it. You think he looks a little impressed, but it’s hard to tell.

The girl chews her bottom lip in thought. “Dare you to…” She gives you an impish grin. “Let us look through the pics on your phone for one minute.”

A collective “ooooh” rises up from the congregation and several pair of eager eyes fall on you. A hot blush crawls up your cheeks, and as you fish your phone from your pocket, unlock it, and hand it to her, you silently pray you deleted those nudes you took a couple of weeks ago just for fun.

As your darer scrolls through your picture gallery, Mary leans to look over her shoulder, occasionally flicking his eyes up at you and smirking. The minute seems to drag on forever, and you busy yourself with taking sips of your beer, but you can’t help anxiously watching as they go through all your photos.

“Oh my God,” giggles your darer, and she turns your phone around to show you. “Cute selfie but is that a fucking dildo??”

A cackle rises up from the crowd of people as you look at the picture. You’d taken it a couple of days ago but never posted it to your social media for this exact reason. Sitting on the dresser in the background is a large, silky purple dildo. Face hot and red now, you snatch away the phone, grumbling under your breath as you stuff it back into your pocket.

“It’s my roommate’s,” you mumble, but no one hears you.

Mary gives a snorting giggle.

The person to your left gives the bottle a spin and the game continues. Several shotgunned beers, flashed body parts, eaten teaspoons of mustard, and one extremely loud streak later, it’s Mary’s turn.

The bottle lands on you. Mary cocks his head to one side, his eyes patient but there’s an unspoken challenge there that makes your pulse leap with anticipation.

“Dare.” He says it without even waiting to be asked.

“Okay…” You think for a moment, then flash him a grin of your own. “Dare you to sing us a verse from your favorite song.”

This seems to have finally flapped the unflappable Mary. His intense, challenging gaze falters a bit, replaced with utter bewilderment. He blinks, and a subtle blush rises to his cheeks, barely visible beneath the lines of dried blood. A thrill of pride surges through at the thought that you managed to surprise him.

“And no cheating, Goore,” says the girl beside him, elbowing his ribs gently. She flashes him a smug smirk. “They said sing, not growl.”

Mary casts her an irritated glower, before flicking his eyes back to you. For a moment, he contemplates, and his gaze holds yours the whole time. Someone turns down the music so that he can be heard better. With a clear of his throat, he closes his eyes, and begins singing.

I'm crucified Crucified like my savior Saintlike behavior A lifetime I prayed

I'm crucified For the holy dimension Godlike ascension Heavens away

A stunned silence follows this brief display. Everyone is staring at Mary with disbelief in their eyes, including you. Never would you have suspected that such an angelic voice could’ve come out of such a rough-looking guy. Several people clap, but Mary has eyes for only you. The intensity to his gaze fills you with both anxiety and elation. You’re unsure if there’s a punishment or a reward coming for you the next time your turn comes up.

You’re unsure which idea thrills you more.

The game continues, and a few uncreative rounds later, your spin finally selects Mary as your darer again.

He flashes you a mischievous grin, and your pulse spikes with adrenaline. By this point, you’ve had a couple more beers, and you’re really beginning to feel the effect. You’re a little braver, but only a little. A tiny, cowardly part of you wants to chicken out and pick truth, but Mary doesn’t even give you a choice.

“Dare you to make out with the hottest guy here.”

Fuck.

Judging from the smug grin and the intense smolder to his eyes, he knows he’s got you now. He cocks his head to one side, and his tongue pokes out to wet his lips, as if preparing himself for the inevitable.

Well, if he’s going to be so insufferable about it.

Holding his gaze, you turn to the guy immediately to your left, lean in, and capture his lips in a searing kiss. He grunts in surprise, but at least he reciprocates. Several hoots and whistles rise up from the crowd as the kiss continues on for a minute or two. You briefly toy with the notion of sliding into the stranger’s lap, but decide this will suffice for now. After a moment, your eyes open and you meet Mary’s gaze.

That insufferably smug look on his face has utterly evaporated. He stares at you, his expression hovering somewhere between heartbroken and incredulous. Then that, too, dissolves, and he looks away with a scowl.

“I need some air,” he mutters, and he gets to his feet.

Avoiding your gaze, he picks his way through the circle, and strides off. Guilt sinks its hot teeth into your stomach and you break away from your unsuspecting kissing victim.

“Mary, wait.”

With clumsy, drunken movements, you scramble to your feet, tripping only a little, and hurry after him. You find him out on the tiny balcony of the apartment, leaning on the railing and smoking a cigarette. Trying your best to be stealthy, you slip out onto the balcony. He doesn’t look up as you shyly approach the railing beside him.

“...I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Mary exhales a lungful of smoke, and casts you an unreadable glance out of the corner of his eye.

“For that, back there.” You frown. “I don’t know why I—“

“Forget about it.” He gives a shrug, turning his gaze back out to the glittering city stretching out before you, and takes another drag of his cigarette. “Got no fuckin’ reason to be mad, do I?”

Your heart sinks a little. He has a point, but you hate it anyway. Slowly, you shuffle a half step closer, until your arm lightly brushes against his, and look up at him. In your half-drunk state, you can’t find yourself to be ashamed of your ogling. He really is beautiful, even with lines of red dribbling down his face. The neon lights of the city below throw odd shadows across his features, highlighting the curve of his cheekbones, the crooked angularity to his nose, the definition of his brow. His lips look so soft and inviting. You find yourself studying them while biting your own.

“...It’s you, yanno,” you mumble quietly, rotating to lean your elbows on the railing. “I was just… I dunno, being stupid, I guess.” You look away from him, frowning at nothing in particular. “You know it’s you, that’s why you asked.”

“What’s me?” he asks, as he flicks the spent cigarette over the railing. With hooded eyes, he finally turns his head to look at you, and you just can’t resist anymore.

Wordlessly, you reach for his face and pull his lips down to meet yours. Obediently, he lets himself be pulled. He hums out a chuckle against your mouth, low and quiet. There’s some minor adjusting as he sidles closer, one hand sliding up to the back of your neck while the other yanks your hips against his, and his lips part in silent invitation. He tastes like beer and cigarettes and there’s some kind of unnameable metallic tang on his tongue, but holy fuck do you need more.

A soft, desperate moan escapes you, immediately swallowed by his kiss, and he adjusts more, sliding one of his thighs between your legs. You grind yourself against him with a whine. His hands fall to your hips, squeezing you and guiding you just right on his thigh. For a moment or two, he seems content with this—your lips on his, his tongue in your mouth, your crotch grinding against his thigh. With a groan through clenched teeth, he breaks the kiss and brings his lips to your ear.

“Better tell me what it is you’re after, little lamb,” whispers Mary, as your hands fumble with the overly-large belt buckle at his waist. “Or else I ain’t gonna fuckin’ know.”

“Want you,” you mumble incoherently, whining as he gives the thigh you’re riding a bounce. “Fuck me, please. Please.”

“Mm…” He makes a show of considering your proposal, cocking his head to one side. He leans in a little, and you think that he’s going to kiss you again, to get you going, and take it a step further. Then his face splits into a wicked grin.

“Nah.”

And he just pulls away.

You gasp in shock, your mouth hanging open in betrayal. As Mary Goore steps away from you, leaving you panting and needy and utterly unsatisfied, he gives a little cackle. So this is your punishment for disobeying his dare. God, what an asshole!

At the sliding glass door, Mary pauses, flashes you a shit-eating grin accompanied with a two-fingered salute in farewell, and disappears back inside.

What the fuck.

#chittychatty #my scribblins #mary goore #mary mary quite contrary #hhhhhh this is long i'm sorry

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impala-dreamer · 5 years

Text

Between Scenes

SPN FanFic

~Jensen and Y/N's make out scene really gets him going and it's really hard to stop...~

Dean x Andi / Jensen x Reader, Rich

1,874 Words

Warnings: NSFW. Masturbation. Oral Sex.

A/N: Written for @welcome-to-my-little-world, who requested Masturbation with Jensen for kinktober over on Patreon. Hope you all enjoy!

My Masterlist ~ Become A Patreon

“Dean. Don’t leave.”

Andi’s eyes draw him back and Dean is helpless. There’s something in the way she says his name, something in her breathless plea that holds him captive. He stops in his tracks, boots thudding against the hard ground.

“Please.”

Her voice barely carries across the field, but he hears it. He feels it in his soul. He can’t leave.

Dean drops his bag and spins, dark green eyes trained on her lips. He rushes forward, closing the space between them in a few long strides, reaching with both hands to grab her cheeks and pull her to him.

They kiss beneath the full moon, clouds sweeping high overhead, cool October breeze chilling their skin. He holds her close, putting everything he has into his kiss, giving her everything. There’s never been another woman for him, nor would there be, but the fear of letting go rips him apart inside.

He pulls back for a breath, thumbs caressing her jaw as his hands slide down her throat and around, sensually locking around the nape of her neck. She looks up with utter trust and love, apples of her cheeks lifting as she smiles.

“Dean,” she gasps in disbelief, having waited forever to be in his arms. “I...I love-”

“Don’t,” he sighs, shaking his head gently before diving back in, every cell in his body screaming for her. He can feel his blood rushing, brain cells firing, skin tingling, and it’s all because of her. “Don’t say it.” He licks into her mouth, humming at the sweetness.

She presses a hand against his chest. “But I do,” she says simply, honest eyes wide and taking him in.

Dean closes his eyes and presses his forehead to hers, arms wrapping tight around her. “I know, Andi,” he whispers, hoping the autumn wind will steal his words so they don’t come back to hurt him. “Me too.”

It happens too fast.

Dean presses her into the hood of the Impala, moon shining down upon the metal, reflecting back his own lust filled gaze as she leans back and spreads her legs. He lifts her up to sit on the edge and gets lost in her kiss again, shifting his broad hips between her thighs. He moans as her tongue traces the thick muscles of his throat, teeth scraping gently while her fingers tug at his jeans.

“Want you Dean,” she huffs, working his belt as best she can.

He jerks his hips forward and drops a hand to cup her breast. “Want you too, baby,” he growls, sucking at her bottom lip. “I’ve wanted you since the moment we met.”

The belt gives way, leather slipping from the metal clasp and Dean hisses as she slides her hand downward.

“Then take me, Dean,” she says with a smile, lying back against the hood and reaching up for him. “I’m yours.”

His head swims with right and wrong, promises and consequences, but the passion wins over. He covers her completely and rolls his hips into her, moaning at the blissful sigh she releases.

“And, cut! I think we got it!” Rich yells from across the set, barely looking up from the monitor as he halts Jensen and Y/N’s love scene. “Looks great, guys. Good work!”

Y/N squirms a bit beneath Jensen and looks up with a smile. “So… that was fun.” She laughs awkwardly and Jensen joins her.

“Yeah,” he smirks, leaning on his forearms on the hood, still locked around her head, pelvis still pressed against hers. He looks down and his smirk softens to a gentle smile and the urge to kiss her again overtakes him.

Y/N turns her eyes away before he can make a move and tries to stretch her back. “Um…Jensen?”

“Yeah?” he whispers, caught up in how warm her soft body feels beneath him.

“You wanna get off?”

He startles, cock twitching at the invitation. He’s already half hard from their scene and the blood is flowing freely. His cheeks glow pink as he leans his lips a millimeter closer to hers. “What?”

Y/N laughs and shoves at his shoulders. “Get off me!”

“Oh!” Jensen rolls and sets her free, trying to play it off as a little joke, but the hard line in his jeans has no poker face. “Sorry,” he grins with a shrug and Y/N shakes her head in jest.

“I’m gonna go get some food,” she says over her shoulder, walking away with a secret smile.

Jensen lays back against the Impala for a brief moment, trying to calm his body, but as soon as his eyes close, she’s there; soft and sweet and beautiful. His dick pushes against his zipper and he hops up before anyone can see.

“Fuck.” He groans as he leaves the set, cock still hard and aching. It’s been a few days since he’s yanked one out and that scene with Y/N flipped some kind of switch inside of him. He can tell he’s not going to be able to think this one away.

‘Please…’

‘Fuck, it really sounded like she meant it,’ he thinks, rushing behind the faux walls into the empty walk way. ‘She’s a fucking great actress.’ His jeans rub almost painfully against his erection; mind filled with the taste of her mouth, the feel of her hands on him.

He stops and bites his lip as he mentally calculates the distance to his trailer. “I’m not gonna make it,” he murmurs and then doubles back until he finds the door he’s looking for.

Dean’s room isn’t being used this week, but it’s still set up. The lights are off and it’s eerily dark, but there’s a door that shuts and a bed with memory foam.

Jensen makes sure the door is closed and perches on the edge of the bed. The mattress moulds around his ass and he lays back, groaning in relief as he finally unzips his jeans.

‘Want you, Dean... so bad…’

He fists his cock and slowly rubs up and down, shoulders shaking as he imagines her legs wrapped around him again. She was so fucking soft, so much give, yet firm when he pressed into her.

‘Dean...I love you…’

Her voice swam in his head, all the things she said and all the things he could imagine now. It was like honey flowing through his brain and trickling down into his bloodstream.

‘Fuck me, Dean. Hard…’

He pumped his fist faster; jaw clenching to hold back his moans. God, but her lips were so sweet, her kiss so hungry and inviting.

‘My hero...Need you, Dean...Need you so bad…’

“Fuck!”

The door creaks open, but he doesn’t notice. His mind is flooded with memories of her smell, her touch, the heat of her tongue as it pushed against his.

“Oh, god, Y/N…”

He feels the swell, the pressure build.

“Fuck.”

‘Please, Dean...Come in my tight little pussy...Need you to cum all over me.’

He holds his breath and rubs the tip of his cock, jerking quickly, hips lifting off of the bed.

“Fuck…”

This time the curse isn’t his and Jensen’s eyes pop open as his shoots up from the bed.

Y/N’s in the doorway, a hand held up to her lips as she watches in shock.

Jensen scrambles to cover up, yanking the hem of his flannel down, but she’s already seen too much. “What the fuck!”

She balks, pivoting on each foot, unsure of what to do. “I’m sorry, I thought I heard something and…” She stops and bites her lip. “Do you want some help?”

Her question is soft and alluring and Jensen’s body tenses.

“What?”

She takes a step, careful to close the door behind her. “I asked,” she said, slowly coming towards the bed, “if I could help you.”

He swallows hard, eyes glued to her lips as she speaks, over enunciating each word so that the plump pillows jut out deliciously. “I…”

Y/N reaches the bed and stops between his bowed legs, looking down with a lustful gaze. “I just figured since I put you in this predicament…” Slowly she kneels down, hands dropping to his denim covered knees to brace her descent. “...it’s only fair that I help you out of it.”

Jensen’s heart races and his dick pulses. “I can’t...ask you to do that,” he breathes, heavy exhale dropping his voice an entire octave.

“You’re not asking,” she says with a coy smile as she slides her hands firmly up his thick thighs. “I’m offering.”

He stares for the longest moment, watching as she inches closer. His stomach is tight and his brain is mush; there’s nothing he can do but give in. “Please.”

She smiles as her lips press to the tip of his cock, fingers gently pushing the layers of cotton up to reveal his soft belly. The hair on his tummy is sparse and pale, deepening to auburn as it reaches his thick shaft. Y/N presses her left hand into the down and circles the base of his cock with her thumb and index fingers, pulsing in time with his racing pulse.

Jensen’s head falls back as she licks the hard vein and swirls her tongue over his head. “Fuck.” His voice is harsh and raspy, he’s already so gone it won’t take much.

She can feel him twitching and tightens the ring around him, wanting to keep him from cumming as long as possible. They don’t have much time, but she wants to enjoy every second.

Jensen’s soon lost to the rhythm of her mouth as it slides up and down, so tight, so wet, so hot. He grabs at the blanket, fingers contracting as she edges him, taking him so deep he isn’t sure how she’s breathing.

“God damnit, Y/N… your mouth… fuck!”

He bucks his hips up into her and she gags around him, swallowing and pulsing her tongue against him. She hums as she works, moaning at the heavenly weight of his cock pushing down her throat, and finally loosens her fingers from around the base.

“Fuck!” Jensen grits his teeth as he cums, holding his breath as he spills onto her tongue.

She swallows every drop and eases away, lovingly petting his cock as it softens. She rocks back on her heels and smiles. “Thank you.”

Jensen pops up on his elbows and looks at her in shock, his head still fuzzy from the lack of blood flow. “Thank you?” he laughs. “Thank you! Jesus.”

He sways a bit as he sits up and grimaces as he tucks his sensitive flesh away. “That was… wow.”

Y/N stands and takes a tiny bow. “You’re welcome.” There’s a proud grin in her eyes and she extends a hand to help him up. “So anyway,” she says casually. “There was a sound issue on the last take, so Rich wants us back on set.”

Jensen’s knees are still weak but he makes it up. “Wait, what? When?”

She laughs at the goofy look on his face and shrugs. “I don’t know, like ten minutes ago.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah, but worth it.”

She winks and he about dies all over again.

“Definitely worth it.”

2019 Forever Tags:

@akshi8278 @amanda-teaches @arses21434 @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @because-imma-lady-assface @burningcoffeetimetravel @colagirl5 @cosicas-cuquis @cosmicfire72 @courtney-elizabeth-winchester @covered-byroses @crashdevlin @dean-winchesters-bacon @deansenwackles @deansgirl215 @deanmonandnegansbitch @dolphincliffs @dubuforeveralone @emilyshurley @emoryhemsworth @ericaprice2008 @eternal-elir @feelmyroarrrr @flamencodiva @focusonspn @gayspacenerd @hella-aj-the-trickers-son @herbologystudent252 @hobby27 @ilsawasanacrobat @justcallmeasmodeus @katymacsupernatural @lastactiontricia @maddiepants @mariekoukie6661 @meganwinchester1999 @missjenniferb @mrswhozeewhatsis @mysticmaxie @onethirstyunicorn @our-jensen-ackles-love @peridot-rose @risingphoenix761 @roonyxx @roxyspearing @sandlee44 @shadowkat-83 @spnbaby-67 @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester @spnficgirl @supernaturaldean67 @supernatural-took-me-over @thehardcoveraddict @tmiships4life @wegoddessofhell @winchesterprincessbride

#spn fanfic #jensen x reader #smut #one shot #jensen ackles x reader

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nialledfromfics · 4 years

Text

The Dating Game | Chapter Eleven

His body felt like blazing fire under her fingertips. His skin, like the sweetest candy on her tongue. His breath, like the freshest ocean air in her lungs. Their sticky-wet bodies moved together, slowly then faster, then slow again, giggles being replaced by salacious moans with every shared soft touch and greedy roll of their hips. It was sensual and intimate and filthy and obscene, endlessly consuming each other until there was barely anything left, until their flesh was raw and scathed and their already strangling breaths were merely depleted. And neither would have traded it for the world.

Niall had spent every single night at Joey’s apartment the two weeks following their life-changing revelation of feelings; walking Sadie for her in the mornings, queuing shows on her Netflix account that he thought she’d like, using her apple scented shampoo in the shower, and stealing the covers as he slept in her bed. The moment she got home at night, he was there, leaving again sometime after she had gone to work the next morning. She couldn’t keep her hands off of him, or her lips or her body. She didn’t want to. The way he looked at her, the way he smiled at her and touched her and the way he made her moan, it was all like a walking fever-dream that Joey feared would be over as fast as it began. But she tucked that tiny worry in the back of her head, focusing on the light in his blue eyes and the cute dimple that pressed in his cheek the moment he stepped through her front door every evening.

The dusty gray hue of the rising sun bled past the cloudy sky, filtering through the blinds and into Joey’s bedroom. She was slotted against him, her back arching into his front as Niall lazily fucked into her from behind, his big hand gripping at her hip to keep her steady. Joey faintly moaned, biting harshly into her bottom lip as Niall sucked across the side of her neck. His tongue traced the pulsing vein, and Joey reached back to tangle her fingers into his dark hair, holding his mouth to her skin. By the time Niall had slipped his touch from her hip to between her legs, rubbing slowly at the tiny nub amongst her wet folds, Joey had let herself go, coming hard, and loud, around him. Niall eased himself to his own sweet and satisfying release, deep grunts spilling out across her trembling flesh.

After catching her breath and Niall sliding himself from her swollen center, Joey brushed away at the hair sticking to her forehead in a sigh. “Every morning should be this good,” she softly mumbled, Niall chuckling as he sprawled out onto his back next to her and used the heels of both palms to rub the sleep from his eyes.

“Are ya sayin’ it's not?” he teased, pushing an arm up under his head and peering over at her.

Rolling her eyes, Joey turned her body over on her side to face him. “You know what I mean,” she shot back, tucking her hands between her cheek and the pillow. “It was just exceptionally good this morning.”

Niall raised a brow and licked over his lips to contain the smirk that attempted to pull at the corner. “You’re welcome, my love.”

Grabbing around his neck, Joey leaned over to push a kiss to his lips. “Thank you for your service.”

“Shut up,” he choked out in a laugh, his eyes pinching shut. Smiling at him, Joey tenderly ran her fingernails through the scruffy beard that covered his jaw. Her light brown eyes trailed after her delicate movements. Niall just watched her, his stare swimming over her still flushed face and tangled mess of her red hair that fanned out over her pillow, his mind reeling in how gorgeous she looked like that. He breathed out a smile.

“We should go out,” Joey then said, dropping her hand to rest on his bare chest as her eyes met his.

Niall buckled his brows. “Go out?”

“Yeah,” she said with a shrug of her one shoulder, “like on a date.”

Turning his head to peer up at the ceiling, Niall took a moment to think as his fingers resting behind his head twisted in his hair. It was then that it dawned on him...she was right. Two weeks gone and they had barely even left her bedroom. He glanced back over at her. “You made me realize that I am a fuckin’ dickhead and haven’t taken ya out on a proper date yet,” he admitted, a slight look of remorse settling on his face.

Joey breathed out a tiny smile and rubbed her palm over his chest. “Babe, it's fine,” she assured him, “besides...it's kinda hard to go out on a date when you’re literally inside me 24/7…”

“Fair enough,” he snorted, “but ya know, we could not do that thing for at least a few hours and do the proper goin’ out on a date thing instead.”

She heartily chuckled, her nose scrunching up as she pushed the side of her face into the pillow. “But I really like that thing...,” she started as she peeked back over at him, “but to be honest, I was kinda wondering when you were gonna ask me…”

“Ask ya out on a date?”

“Yeah, well, I mean…” Joey paused and flicked her stare over to her window. She pulled in a low breath. “We are dating, right? I mean...I know we haven’t, like, defined anything or whatever, but–”

Joey’s words cut short as she felt the heat of Niall’s hand slide under the covers to rest on her thigh. His thumb rubbed small circles into her skin and her gaze caught his once more. “Yeah, petal,” he said softly, “we’re datin’.”

She sheepishly bit down at her lip and slipped her hand from Niall’s chest to tuck some hair behind her ear. “Okay...so we’re dating,” she said. Niall couldn’t help but smile at her reaction as she looked back over at him. “But we’ve never actually gone out on a date.”

“You make a good point, darlin’,” he agreed, nodding his head. She laughed. “Perhaps, we should fix that then?”

“Perhaps…”

A smirk tugged at his lips. “Jo, will you do me the honor of goin’ on a date with me?”

“That depends,” Joey lifted her brows, “are you ready for us to be seen together?”

“What?”

“It’s only been two weeks since you broke up with Lila…” Joey reminded him.

Niall rolled his eyes in a low huff. “Yeah, but that doesn’t matter, I told ya, she didn’t matter.”

“I know, but…” Joey paused, and pulled in a deep breath, “but people might not look at it like that since everyone knew you were together. And it was different for us before when we were just friends, but seeing us now? They don’t know that it wasn’t real between you guys.”

His blue eyes darted over her face and Niall slipped his hand from her thigh under the covers to gently sweep his knuckles over her cheek. “Listen,” he told her, his voice soft, “ya can’t worry ‘bout what any of those people say, the media, the fans, they’re all gonna talk shit no matter what the truth is. Ya can’t pay any mind to it.” Joey nodded quietly as she chewed at her bottom lip. “It’s a double edged sword, ya know? You wanna be private and keep it all to yourself but also ya wanna live your life and shout it from the rooftops. Ya gotta find a balance and that can be hard sometimes.”

Joey fell quiet for a second, her eyes glazing over as thoughts swirled around in her head. Thoughts of him, with Lila. Ones that she would have assumed would never creep into her mind again now that they were together. “A few weeks ago, I saw the pictures of you and Lila,” she began, catching his stare. “Walking down the street, holding hands...kissing.”

Niall inhaled sharply and tucked his lips into his mouth. He knew exactly what she was referring to, and he instantly felt terrible. That was definitely not something he had wanted her to see. “I’m sorry, love,” he whispered.

“No, it’s fine,” she insisted, shaking her head, “I-...well, at the time I wanted to throw up, and I’m pretty sure I was two seconds away from breaking my phone in half,” Niall chuckled as she went on, “but…” Joey shrugged.

Rolling over on his side to face her, Niall reached out and carefully slid his finger along her neck, untucking some of her red hair that was clamped in between her cheek and her shoulder. His hand dragged down to rest at the curve of her waist as his eyes drifted over hers. “Can I be honest with ya?” he then said, Joey nodding in response. “Her agent kinda set that up.”

“What?” she said, her eyes going big.

“I wasn’t very keen on it,” Niall explained, the side of his face scrunching up, “it’s not somethin’ I normally do, ya know, like the pap walk type of things. But...they thought it would be good for her image, brand or whatever and...she asked me to do it and...well, I did.”

“Wow,” Joey breathed out, moving her eyes down to his chest. She let her finger gently twirl into the dark hairs. “So…you’re a whore.”

She shot her eyes up to his, unable to hold back her smile as Niall burst into a laugh, his arm wrapping around her naked torso and pulling her closer into him. “Shut the fuck up,” he muttered, Joey’s giggles being quieted by the press of his mouth on hers.

“Just know,” he went on after easing his lips away, “that I’d never have to pretend that shit with you...ever.”

Her fingers carded through the front of his hair. “I know,” she whispered, smiling as she swept some strands off to the side. “So, what’s your plans for our big date?”

“Jesus, I dunno,” Niall shrugged, “gotta think about it.”

Joey slipped her fingertip along his jaw. “Okay…” she said sweetly, meeting his heavy lidded stare, “well, can you think about it while you fuck me again?”

He smirked at her insatiblity, his touch dipping down to her backside making Joey’s eyes flutter. “Not sure I’ll do much thinkin’ about that while I’m fuckin’ you…” he told her as he brushed the tip of his nose to hers, drawing her back into a kiss.

•

Trying to get Niall to give Joey even the tiniest of a hint about their big first date was like pulling teeth. He was not budging, not in the slightest. He remained tight-lipped the entire rest of the week, smiling at Joey when she would try to tease it out of him with sexual favors or pretend like she was angry. Niall thought her stomping feet and crossed arms were too cute, but not cute enough to give in. He wanted their first date to be something she would remember forever, that they could remember forever together. He wanted it to be beyond special and an experience beyond her wildest imaginations.

Niall wasn’t always a stellar planner when it came to things like that. Big dates and such, if he was being honest with himself, it never really was something he put too much thought into. A football match or just some drinks at a local pub seemed to do well enough for him. And maybe it had to do with the fact that he hadn’t found someone that sparked that in him, that made him want to go all out and splurge and take the time to really make it a night they wouldn’t forget. Not until he met Joey, anyway.

He had enlisted the help of his PA and his best mate, Chris, to help with the planning. Niall knew exactly what he wanted to do, but keeping up with all the tasks to actually get it done in merely a week's time, was more consuming than he had thought it was going to be. So his friends happily stepped in to take some of the load off. Besides Niall running into the studio to do last minute touches on the album and slipping into meetings to deal with the marketing aspect of its upcoming release, he was busy using his networks to pull as many strings as he could for their unforgettable night. As the days flew by, the date night fast approaching, he was getting more and more anxious. He wanted it to go off without a hitch, and apart from Joey’s constant adorable curiosity over the matter, the execution was coming along flawlessly.

The night before, Niall gave into one little hint, one that he thought would be useful anyway, and told her that she needed to dress nicely. Joey shot him a look; buckled brows and a huffed eye roll that quickly sent him the message that she had no other intention besides dressing nicely for their date in the first place. He laughed it off. But Joey was absolutely reeling underneath her nonchalant attitude. She was giddy with excitement, and wholeheartedly intrigued by all of his well intentioned secrecy and sneaking around, and she could not wait until the night of their date arrived.

Niall contemplated blind folding Joey for the duration of the car ride to their destination just to enhance the surprise aspect, but then he figured that might be a bit too much. And could have very well freaked her out more than it would have left her curious and excited, at least in that kind of situation. So he did the next best thing; he hired a driver and sat with Joey in the backseat of the SUV, capturing her full attention for the entire hour and a half drive. Upon telling Joey his not-well-thought out plan of the blindfold, she doubled over in giggles, telling him it wouldn’t have been necessary in the first place.

“Oh yeah? Don’t give a shit about our date anymore, is that it?” Niall teased her, licking over his lips as his fingers caressed hers that sat linked together on top of her crossed thigh.

Joey raised a brow and gave him a smirk. “Not at all. I’m just more interested in staring at you than whatever is outside those windows.”

Niall took her compliment in stride, just a small amount of blush folding over her cheeks as he bowed his head a little. Joey loved to see him react that way to her, to know that she could still make the red pulse to his cheeks with just a few words. Peering back over at her, he met her gaze for a moment before letting his blue eyes slide down her frame. He couldn't even pretend that she wasn’t the most gorgeous woman he had ever laid eyes on, he knew it and he told her nearly every day, but looking at her sitting next to him; body hugging red dress, matched with a red lipstick and her hair cascading over her bared shoulders in tight waves, it was unbelievable. She was perfect, she was real and smart and beautiful and Niall couldn’t believe how lucky he was. Picking up her hand, Joey eased her light brown eyes from the glow of the radio screen over to Niall just as he placed a soft kiss to the bend of her knuckles.

“You’re too much,” she gently chided, Niall smiling against her skin.

Placing their hands back to their spot on her lap, he cocked his head slightly. “And you’re incredible.”

Joey glanced down at Niall’s own attire; crisp black trousers, a maroon button up shirt that was left a little open (at Joey’s request), and a simple fitted dinner jacket. His dark hair was styled loosely and easy–Niall knowing that’s how she liked it–just swept over to the side, with his beard grown in just a step past stubble and it was safe to say, he looked like a million bucks. And she couldn’t believe he was all hers. “So are you, baby.”

“How long is the drive anyway?” Joey quickly added, wrinkling her brow as she peeked around.

Niall brought her attention back to him. “Don’t worry, love,” he assured her, checking the time on his watch, “we’ll be there soon.”

He wasn’t wrong. It was only about another thirty minutes before the car had pulled off the main road onto a smaller back road. Joey was a bit perplexed as to where exactly they were going and what Niall had planned, but she agreed to go with the flow and regardless of her curiosities, she trusted him. The sun had just begun to set by the time the car had finally come to a stop, Niall making Joey cover her eyes with her hands the last few minutes of the drive down the bumpy road. Hopping out of the car and over to her side to help her out, Niall grabbed Joey’s hand in his, encouraging her to keep her eyes closed for just another minute until he was able to lead her right to where he wanted her to be. The ground felt a bit squishy under her heels, like she was standing on pads of grass and dirt but the air swirling around her was cool and boasted a fragrance that sunk into her lungs like an old familiar scent. She hadn’t even opened her eyes yet and she was already bursting with nerves and a flurry of excitement.

Niall slipped behind her, standing close enough that his front was touching her back and his mouth sat right at her ear. Joey reached her hands back, searching for his and Niall smiled as he entangled his fingers with hers. She was trembling, Niall felt it against his palms, against his body and a soft grin tugged at the corner of his mouth as he leaned in closer to her.

Joey held her breath; Niall’s warmth encompassed her and seeped out onto the side of her neck and her heart pounded in her chest. She bit down on her bottom lip as Niall inhaled sharply. “Open your eyes, darlin’,” he whispered.

Squeezing her fingers around Niall’s, Joey slowly expelled air between rounded lips as she opened her eyes. The sight was breathtaking. Miles of orange and green with intricate pops of purple scattered throughout the endless fields of wildflowers. The golden sunset was beaming down across the tops of the brightly colored petals in the distance, the light breeze swaying and twisting, reminiscent of a surge in the ocean’s tide. Her brown eyes wide with wonderment, her red lips parted in silent awe and Niall tipped his head to the side to watch the expression gleam on her face.

“I have never seen anything like this before,” she mumbled, her stare swimming over the waves of poppy and lavender that reached all the way to her toes. “It’s so beautiful. This is...absolutely extraordinary, Niall.”

His heavy-lidded eyes stayed on her. “It is.”

Shifting her head to the right to catch his stare, her red hair slipped over her shoulder and down across her chest and Niall tenderly uncurled his fingers from her one hand to cradle around her face, easing the young woman into a kiss. “This is just the beginning,” he breathed out as his lips left hers.

“You’re kidding?”

“Did ya think I was just gonna bring ya to a field of flowers for our date?” he replied with a furrow of his brow.

Joey laughed and gave him a slight shrug. “I never know with you.”

“Fair enough,” Niall chuckled, shaking his head, “but how ‘bout ya look all the way over to your left and tell me what ya see.”

Her hazelnut eyes grew big and Joey turned her face all the way to the other side, a low gasp spilling past her lips. Just beyond a sparse line of trees, a bit off into the distance and right at the edge of another wildflower field, sat a round dining table, complete with chilled wine and tapered candles and dressed in the finest linens. There was a small tent off to the side of that, Joey could see a few people busily moving back and forth inside, that had strings of lights connected from the tiered top to the branches of the trees overhead. It was stunning.

She smiled big over at Niall, and he felt the flush fill his cheeks as he carefully ran his fingers up through his hair just as Joey grabbed his hand to pull him along with her as they walked towards the table. “Holy shit,” she muttered under her breath as they sat down across from one another, a hired waiter already there to pour their wine, “this is...crazy, Niall!”

Niall pushed out a short laugh, his mouth turned down at the corners as he placed his napkin in his lap. “Only the best for you, babe,” he said to her.

Thanking the waiter as he walked away, Joey picked up her wine glass, Niall following suit and they clinked them together before taking a sip. “But tell me, what would you have done had it rained?” she asked him, biting off her smile.

Niall leaned forward and laid his crossed arms along the edge of the table. “Absolutely no fuckin’ idea,” he snorted, not missing a beat.

Her head tossed back in a cackle. Niall kept his blue eyes on her, watching her nose cutely scrunch up as the sweet sound of her laugh eased over his ears. Fuck, this girl had his whole heart. “Guess you just lucked out then…” she commented, taking another sip of her wine to settle herself.

He smiled. “Guess I did.”

Dinner went on without a single hitch; catered by one of Niall’s friends and most trusted chef to the stars and the most diligent and kind wait staff Joey had ever seen. The two laughed and talked, made soft eyes and played with fingertips across the table as they drank nearly a whole bottle of red wine. The night sky had darkened considerably by that time, the stars blinking above them and the moon casting a shimmery glow upon their skin. It was so romantic, the most romantic date Joey had probably ever experienced, being out there with a handsome man, amongst a field of beautiful wildflowers and tasting the deliciousness of the expertly prepared food and wine.

She was not a loss for sweet smiles or breathy giggles, or the rosiness that invaded her cheeks every time Niall locked eyes with her and Joey sat back in her chair in a low sigh as she tipped her glass up, emptying the rest of her wine past her lips. “This night has been...something else, Niall,” she told him, setting her glass back onto the table. “I don’t even know what to say.”

Leaning forward a bit, Niall rested his elbows on the table. “Night isn’t over yet, babe, got one more surprise for ya,” he casually mentioned. “Think you’re ready for it?”

Joey peered at him, eyes narrowing. “I dunno what else you could do to surprise me tonight,” she said, lightly laughing him off, “but sure, lay it on me.”

“Love to lay it on ya real good, but time and place, sweetheart,” Niall spit back, cocking his brow. Joey rolled her eyes at his lame attempt at a dirty joke and he chuckled. “Just fuckin’ with ya. I’m a bit nervous, sorry.”

Joey shook her head lightly, chewing at her bottom lip. “Why would you be nervous?”

“How ‘bout ya turn around and see, yeah?” he then said, giving a nod as he flicked his eyes behind her. Joey furrowed her brow slightly in confusion and slowly twisted her upper body around in her chair, her eyes sliding through the darkness of the night as they landed on the caterers tent behind her. It wasn’t but another few seconds before the white drapes parted slightly and Joey’s mouth fell open. Her stare went big, bigger than they had all night and she watched with a stampeding in her heart as her most favorite band in the entire world, the Wildflowers, stepped out from the dark and into the glow of the fairy lights strung above.

Joey couldn’t even breathe, and she clamped her hands over her mouth in a squeal, her eyes as wide as saucers and stuck to the band as they pulled out their instruments and began to play a private acoustic set, just for her. Glancing over at Niall, she nearly had tears pooling in the corners of her eyes. “Oh my-...oh my God, are you fucking for real?” she said to him, her voice hardly carrying over the sound of the music. “Niall!”

But he just sat there, his gaze fixated on Joey, watching and relishing in her joy and excitement. Seeing her face light up, the smile spreading wider across her lips and happy noises exuding from her as she bounced like an overjoyed child on Christmas morning. The band had started to sing; a pre-approved setlist that Niall had written up from all Joey’s favorite songs that she had mentioned to him over the months of knowing her. And he just slumped back in his chair, a contented smile on his face and his stare never leaving her. She swayed slightly in her seat as she listened and watched, and after the band had moved onto the second song, a bit of a slower one, Niall finally got the courage to lean towards Joey and ask her something. “Would you like to dance?” he spoke up, Joey most definitely hearing him over the calm, soothing melody of the song and she peeked over at him. He had such a softness in his face that it made a warmth ooze over her entire body. He shrugged. “I’m not much of a dancer, pretty shit to be fair, but I’ll give it a go.”

Reaching up to tuck some hair behind her ear, Joey smiled in a slight blush. “Yes, I’d love to dance with you.”

Niall stood up from the table, placing his napkin that was in his lap near his empty wine glass and stepped over to Joey. She glanced up at him as he held out his palm to her, and she struggled to pull in a decent breath, slipping her hand in his. He helped her up as she carefully laid her napkin in her chair and let him lead them both a bit out from the table in front of the band.

His large hands wrapped around the small of her waist, and Joey hooked her arms over his shoulders, her fingers mindlessly playing with the hair at the nape of his neck as they swayed back and forth. “You’ve outdone yourself, Niall James,” she told him, biting at her lip.

He smirked. “Oh yeah? Where do I fall on that checklist now?”

“Still keeping score, huh?” she teased.

“Naturally.”

They smiled at each other, cheeks blushing pink before Joey braved an answer. “No competition,” she said honestly, slinking her hands around his neck to pull him into a gentle kiss. “Best first date I’ve ever been on...actually the best date I’ve ever been on.” She paused in a laugh. “To be honest, I’m not sure you’ll ever be able to top it.”

Niall cocked his head back and peered down at her through narrowed eyes. “Who says I’m takin’ ya out again?”

There was a playful smirk tugging at his lips and Joey gasped, dropping her jaw. “So what, you were just gonna wine me and dine me–”

“Definitely sixty-nine ya…”

Joey threw her head back in a vivacious laugh, one that could have stolen the show had the music not been so loud. Her face came back down, with her red hair slinging over her one shoulder. Rolling her eyes at him, she sucked in a breath. “I guess I’m okay with that.”

Niall chuckled softly and pushed a kiss to her lips. His arms clamped around her body as their lips slipped away, Joey tucking herself down against him as he held her tight. With her cheek resting at the front of his shoulder, eyes glued to the band singing before them, Niall tenderly kissed the top of her head. “This is only the beginnin’, my love,” he whispered, hoping she would hear, “we got so much more to come, me and you.”

Joey smiled at his words and slipped her arms under his, hooking her hands at his upper back. She held him securely, so close that she could no longer tell her heartbeat from his and her eyes eased closed as they moved back and forth to the beautifully melodic sound of the music.

#niall #niall horan #niall smut #niall fic #niall fan fic #niall horan fan fic #niall ou #slowburn #tdg #chapter 11 #this oneeeeee GOD can i please date niall RIGHT NOW??#i hope you guys enjoy #please read and SHARE #and let me know what you think!!#i love hearing all your thoughts :))

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helpinghanikan · 4 years

Text

James “Bucky” Barnes A-Z

James “Bucky” Barnes A-Z NSFW head-cannons

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

The second time you had slept together had resulted with bruises, and bite marks and groans from you that was anything but pleasurable. It had been intense for the both of you, and there was no use in blaming Bucky for it.

Ever since then he’s been on the little obsessive side of being careful with you. After finishing he doesn’t let himself fall to the side like others would. Instead he immediately focuses on you, asking if you were okay or if you needed anything. Even though your eyes were still rolled back in your head and your knuckles hadn’t released their grip on the sheets yet.

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

On you: He loves your breasts. He’s always been more of a boob guy, doesn’t matter if they’re so small they’re flat or so large no shirt could be considered appropriate. There’s nothing better than innocently letting you lean against him. His hand just so happening to land over your breasts, cupping it and squeezing gently.

On himself: He loves his neck, how you nibble at the clean-shaven skin or you scratch through his beard. Your kisses are gentle, like cleaning away any tainted feeling there might have been, and you bites are just enough to distract from any intrusive thoughts.

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

After years of ice and murder and no physical contact other than pain a soft touch has more effect. Sometimes he will cum quickly when with you. The old man jokes and the “happens to a lot of men” don’t really help the situation.

What does help is how he’s ready to go after a few minutes of kissing and exploring. Using his fingers and tongue over his dick. Making a new game out of “training”. Which has, so far, favorable results.

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

Way back in the day the ideal date was the last showing of a movie. Where the theater would be mostly empty, the lights were low, and the employees were too tired to care about enforcing the rules. It was here that he learned to enjoy the female breast, and the joy of forbidden nookie in the dark. Whispering in her ear and getting permission, then his hands would begin to wonder.

With the new age it would be awkward to ask you to do this. As he would have to specifically ask you to wear a skirt, a long one, like the girls way back when. That would most of the fun. But it might be worth it if he gets the chance to cover your mouth in the dark of the theater, the other hand curling and rubbing under a hitched-up skirt.

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

When he was young and before anything mattered Bucky got around. Slut might be too strong of a word, but more like the local tom cat most would pet but no one wanted to let inside.

With his experience with women before easily transferred to you now. Although hindered by his fear of new strength and arm he started to find himself again. Although it’d be a little weird to admit, doing the same things with you as he did before helps with finding the good memories.

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

On a hard surface, where your butt is barely on the edge and most of your weight being supported by him.

It’s here that he can be engulfed by you. Bury his face into your shoulder and hair, inhale deeply and groan as you run a hand through his hair. Where you can cross your ankles behind his back, pulling him closer, tighter and groaning as it’s deeper.

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

He’s more serious when it comes down to it. Preferring to get you in the mood with a nice hold and a sweeping kiss then with a goofy grin and silly movements.

Sometimes he’ll play with you via a cute nip or taking you up in his arms. Where you’d scream and laugh but succumb to his charms in the end. Using that chance to be the one who kisses him deeply, groaning while doing so.

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

During his time as an asset he had to clean shaven everywhere; from beard to chest to lower it had to be gone and smooth.

Now, with his freedom, he started to his chest and arm hair grow out. The same with below the belt but that he tries to keep a little more groomed then just going wild like his hair and beard. Even those aspect he has considered a trim or more.

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

It varies from situation or even time how he treats the moment. Where quickies and the slightly tipsy sex are treated with more “get in and get done” attitude. When it’s early morning or there is time carved out of the day it’s slower and a stronger connection with more kisses and less rutting.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

He’d rather have you but there are times when he just can’t handle being with someone right now. It’s nothing personal, everything has just become too much and he needs a little time away from you, from everyone.

It’s there that he usually finishes himself off. Better to jerk one off then to live with blue balls during this episode.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

He loves a woman in uniform; lingerie, stockings, a little soldier’s uniform or nurse that wouldn’t be appropriate in the field. Hours could be spent running his hands over the fabric, touching skin, and then finding more tight fabric.

The difference between Bucky and others is that the ‘uniforms’ aren’t immediately removed for the prize underneath. Instead he pulls and tugs at the strings until the goods are within his grasp.

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

He doesn’t have an exact location he likes to steal you away to. Anywhere that’s private, an office or your room, even your kitchen or living room. Just so long as there isn’t an audience. Or there isn’t an audience he can’t glare away.

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

It’s not an exact thing you do, or that he sees. It’s a growing feeling that starts in the morning with a head kiss, or when you walk towards him with that smile. All innocent things that he hangs onto throughout the day.

It’s amazing that you haven’t broken a nose being bent over when he gets his hands on you.

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

Restraints on his wrists and ankles, he can’t handle anything holding him down. Even too hard of a grip on his wrists are enough to send him into a bad place.

To avoid this you jokingly hold him down by intertwining your fingers. Pressing them Into the bed with a little squeeze, making sure he knew that, if he wanted, he could switch things around. A few times he has taken advantage of that. Slipping an arm around your back after his eyes go slightly glasses. Moving into a different, better, scenario of being with you rather then slipping into the past.

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

There’s nothing more beautiful than seeing you before him. How his hands look through your hair, gripping and holding it, control that guides you through the paces.

It’s not that he’s unwilling to go down on you, get and give and all that. But it’s being able to sit back and let himself be pampered that makes the relationship the best he’s ever had.

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

What he’s capable of and what he delivers are two different things. He’s slow, he takes his time, and is gentle to the point of teasing.

It took some time before you could convince him to go a little faster, maybe a little rougher. It’s only when you take control that he realizes he wants to have more. The experimenting of his thrusts and grabs and little smacks on your backside as gradual but it’s growing.

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

Most of his trysts back int eh day were quickies, and he’s continued to tradition into the modern day. Wanting you whenever he has a moment, or when his blood starts pumping from the smallest, dumbest things.

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

A surprisingly vanilla guy it takes some coaxing to get him to try new things. Using little bits of negotiation; “It’s a different position, you’re on top.” “we’ll be gentle, with eachother.”

There have been several times where he’s said no to things, like restraints or chains or anything of the like. But he’s willing to try other things; new positions or maybe some food play that didn’t go as well as you thought. Although, going from sex to eating sundaes in your underwear was a fun experiment.

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

Although he’s had issues of premature arrival he’s like a horse. Ready to go again after a few minutes, kissing and massaging you in the meantime.

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

Bucky has never been big on toys. You have your own, a vibrator or something else to keep you busy while he was gone. But he’s always made a little face when you would bring something in or suggest something to be added.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

When he teases you it’s almost always by accident.

He almost crushes you, laying chest to chest with you. Nuzzling into your shoulder and neck, his hands and fingers sliding past quivering thighs into your center. Being gentle but taking his time to the point that the red on your face wasn’t just a blush.

“If you don’t-I swear…” Words are hard to find when the man above you is taking your breathe away and refusing to give it back. “If you don’t do anything…I’m gonna rip your other arm off.”

After a second he smiles against your neck. Probably only now realizing what he was unintentionally doing.

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

Bucky was a quiet man from both his training and just his personality. Trying to coax the sounds from him wasn’t working nearly as well as people had suggested. The best you could get was a grunt and a groan, maybe a few grumbled words.

It takes a conversation away from the bedroom to learn he just doesn’t like making noises. He’s not the kind of person who will scream and “oh yeah, oh yeah” all night.

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

Sex was the closest thing he could get to an effective drug. Where nothing existed in that moment except for you and how it felt to have everything about you as his. In this same vein he was addicted to you.

In the middle of the night, when the dreams were sliding into his mind, he would reach out for you. So long as he could find you, his drug of choice, before the dreams took hold everything could and would be fine.

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

He never really cared about the size of himself. No one had ever mentioned whether it was smaller or larger than average. He was thicker than most, something he could only tell by your face when he enters, it’s only then that he truly cares.

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

As previously mentioned his want for you would build and build throughout the day. But he never went out of his way to ask you, or pressure into have sex. It’s only when you ask or drop enough hints that he gets it.

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

He’s had trouble sleeping since Wakanda, but when he does sleep, he sleeps like the dead. After finishing he stays against you, holding close to your body that had fought away nightmares and memories alike.

It’s random who falls asleep first. Either of you feeling the other start to breathe deeper; Bucky seeming to take comfort in the smell of your sweat and living body. You finding the metal arm and holding it close, hoping to make the metal warm enough to be mistaken for a hand.

#reader insert #jame bucky barnes #james bucky barnes x reader #the winter solider imagine #bucky barns x reader #bucky barnes imagine #A-Z headcannons #A-Z

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need-a-fugue · 4 years

Text

We Grow Together (25)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Tessa Sullivan (OFC)

Chapter Summary: It’s just coffee with an old colleague... nothing to worry about...

Summary: Relationships can be tough, especially when one person is a recovering-from-being-brainwashed-and-tortured former assassin and the other is an overworked mutant scientist. But hey, every couple has their struggles. Right?

“Stop sulking,” she tells him, not even looking up from her computer screen.

“I’m not sulking.”

“James,” she chides, glancing up and seeing him leaning in the doorway of her office, arms tightly folded over his chest.

“I’m not sulking,” he repeats, unfolding his arms and striding in to take a seat on the old sofa in the corner.

“Fine.” She pushes away from her desk, flips her glasses up on top of her head, and leans back in her seat. “Then you’re brooding.” He shoots her an irritated glare. “Just say it. You’ll feel better if you do.”

“I’d feel better if you’d stay out of this.”

“What happened to thinking that me going on missions was hot?” she asks, rising and crossing the room to shut the door. She turns back to him and leans up against the closed door, wiggles her eyebrows playfully before saying, “With great power comes great sensuality.”

He shakes his head. “That’s not what this is. You can’t even use your powers out there.”

“I know,” she says quietly, moving to stand in front of him.

He looks up at her with tired, conflicted eyes. “If you do… if this guy finds out you’re a mutant…”

“I know,” she repeats, dropping her hands to his shoulders and giving him a small, playful shake. The corners of his mouth quirk up just a bit and he brings his hands to her hips. “Have I ever told you, you worry too much?” she teases, before lowering herself down to straddle his lap.

“No. Never,” he replies with a frown.

“I’m just having coffee with an old colleague,” she says, wrapping her arms around his neck and letting her fingers play in his hair. “There’s no need to worry.”

“Undercover operations are the hardest to monitor and the easiest to lose control of,” he tells her with authority as each of his thumbs begin to rub circles into her hips. Her knees squeeze his thighs a little tighter as she sidles further into him, and he finds himself fighting to maintain focus and not get lost in the warmth of her body or the scent of her honeysuckle shampoo. “This could be really dangerous. You can’t lose sight of that.”

“We’re meeting in a public place, an outdoor café,” she tries, her fingers moving to sweep some errant strands of hair back behind his ears.

“Which means anyone can see you. And I could lose sight of you in a second.”

“But you’re not the only who’ll be there.”

“I just don’t like it,” he says, the frown returning to his face as his gaze drops.

“Well, I don’t like that people are – or were – experimenting on mutants,” she says, suddenly stiffening next to him. “And honestly, this is something that I should be involved with. This is something that, like it or not, already involves me… and my family. You’re the one who pointed that out.”

“It’s not your job,” he says plainly.

She scoffs loudly. “I have a suit. That basically makes me a part-time Avenger. And besides… how would you feel if Steve kept you from anything Hydra related?”

His brow furrows deeply as he looks back up at her. “I don’t know. But it isn’t the same. Not really.”

“Babe,” she groans, leaning back a bit and staring down at him with a serious look. “I went to live at Xavier’s when I was 6 years old. I started training with the X-Men at 16. My first real mentor was a brilliant physician who was covered in bright blue fur.” She smiles when he raises a single, suspicious eyebrow. “I know it doesn’t seem like I… identify as a mutant. And maybe I don’t always. Because it’s hard. And scary. And… it can be easy to lose sight of who you really are when you spend so long in hiding.”

His face softens as he takes in her words. If there’s one thing that they truly have in common, it’s this. Both of them have been so many people over the years. Both of them have spent too much time hiding who they are from others… and from themselves. He reaches up and pets back her hair, running his thumb along her forehead. “You never talk about it,” he says softly. “You never talk about your time there, with them.”

She drops her gaze, her cheeks suddenly taking on a bright red blush. “Yeah. Well… it’s sort of complicated. But…” She looks back up and into his eyes. “I am a mutant. And that means more than just having the X-gene in my sequence. To me, that means more. I spent years immersed in the… culture. We have a different history from other humans. We’ve been abandoned, denied, demonized. You think this Hydra facility was the only place experimenting on us? I personally went on at least four missions to rescue mutants – people – who were held for testing or… training. I grew up learning about the secret missions of Nazis to root us out, activate us, tear us apart to see what makes us tick. I spent more nights than I can count listening to Logan’s stories about the Weapon X program, about the torture they put him through to turn him into the ultimate killing machine.”

He cocks his head and narrows his eyes at her. “Weapon X,” he repeats. “Why does that sound so familiar?”

She merely shrugs. “I heard rumors that SHIELD took it over in the 90s… maybe Hydra was involved with that too.” She lets out a long sigh and drops her forehead to his. “But see? That’s the thing. If we weren’t hated, we were ignored, forgotten. There are millions of us on this planet, but most people would say they’ve never met a mutant, maybe never even heard of them.” Pulling back a bit, she locks eyes with him. “No one ever cared enough to save us. No one ever cared enough to even see that we needed saving.”

“I care,” he tells her, cupping his hand over the back of her head.

She smiles a small, sad smile. “If I wasn’t here, if you and Steve and the other Avengers didn’t know me… I don’t know that any of you would care enough to look into this.”

“That’s not true,” he says, hurt breaking through his voice.

“History shows otherwise.” She places her hands on his shoulders and pushes back off of him. “Anyway, all of this is to say… I know what I’m getting into here. Probably better than the rest of you.”

He grabs her waist when she tries to shimmy off his lap, and he pulls her back down. “I just want you to be careful,” he tells her as he wraps his arms around her. She melts into him, resting her head on his chest. “You’re not trained for this… or if you were, well, you’re way out of practice.”

She lets out a small laugh before mumbling softly, “I’m not worried. I know who has my back.”

000

“I never did like this guy,” Clint utters through the coms as he watches Dr. Aaron Scofield dodge traffic on his way to the café down the block.

Tessa sits idly at a table on the patio, lined up perfectly to be in his view as well as Bucky’s from the other side of the quiet main street. “You never met him,” she says softly, masking the movement of her lips with a coffee cup.

“You really think I didn’t know everything about the scientists stationed in Minsk. I know why Genetech hired him.” He continues to peer through the Stark-manufactured sight device, snickering slightly when he sees the doctor stumble as he steps off a curb. “Klutz,” he snorts.

“Whatever.” Through the sight on his rifle, Bucky can actually make out Tessa’s dramatic eye roll. “I worked with him every day for almost a year,” she goes on. “And I can honestly tell you that he doesn’t have enough personality to be either liked or disliked.”

“Can you two relive the past some other time,” Natasha mutters. She sits just a few tables away, but Tessa can only hear her voice through the coms and even when looking directly at her, she can’t tell at all that the woman is speaking. Damn, she’s good. “He’s on your left,” she says simply.

“Dr. Sullivan?” the man asks as he approaches. He extends his hand and offers a meek smile, one almost hidden by his graying mustache. “It’s been a spell.”

She rises and accepts his handshake. “It has been, Dr. Scofield. Thank you for meeting me.” She drops back into her chair and waves her hand at the seat across from her… the seat where Bucky expressly told her to get him to sit so that he wouldn’t be blocked by any other patrons.

Instead, he chooses the seat right next to her, plopping down and folding in on himself, resting his elbows on his knees. “I was surprised to hear from you,” he says, his voice holding more enthusiasm than she’s ever heard from the man. “Though perhaps I shouldn’t be. I have heard stories about working for Stark Industries. I came up with a few gentlemen who worked for Howard Stark back in the day.” He leans back in his chair then, smug look taking over his face. “They left when the boy prodigy took over and started running the place into the ground.”

“Are we recording this?” Clint asks. “I want to play this back for Tony later.”

Tessa raises her eyebrows in surprise. “Really? Well, I guess he’s grown up some since then. Business is booming.”

“Tess,” Steve’s voice filters to her through the earpiece. “You’re not happy with your job, remember?”

“Pure luck, I imagine,” Dr. Scofield replies to her. “But if things are going so well…”

“Right,” she corrects with an awkward laugh. “No… well… I mean, business is great. I can’t complain about that. I just… I’m not getting to do the research that I want.” She shifts to the edge of her seat and crosses her legs toward him, leans forward to close off some of the distance between them. “I was thinking…” She smiles lightly, slowly swinging her hanging foot back and forth in an almost hypnotizing way. “The work we did together on the M-gene… attempting to clone it and activate it within certain tissues to spark cellular regeneration and growth… that’s the sort of thing I want to work on. That’s the type of work that could actually make a difference for people.”

“I’ll bet Tony Stark has you doing things like developing technology for cell resiliency that inhibits hangovers,” he says with a smirk.

She chuckles lightly, laying her palm on his knee. “That would be something he could sell,” she says with a crooked smile.

“You might wanna cool it on the flirting, doll,” Bucky mutters. “He’s starting to look a little spooked.”

“Poor guy’s probably only talked to three women his entire life,” Clint mocks. “And one was his mom.”

“I think she’s got this, guys,” Natasha says blankly.

“Well,” Scofield says, blushing as he pushes his giant glasses back up his nose. “Perhaps I should suggest it to him then. I wouldn’t mind making a small fortune.”

Tessa leans back in her chair, still letting her hanging foot draw lazy patterns in the air just inches from his shin. “I was hoping you might know of something,” she says, drawing out the final word.

“Work on the M-gene? No, nothing much has been done with it since Genetech went under. They held so many patents – ”

“What about the X-gene?” she asks expectantly. “I feel like I’ve been out of that world for so long now, that I don’t even know what people are up to these days.”

He straightens up and gives her a suspicious look. “Research on the X-gene is highly regulated,” he says stiffly.

“Yes, Dr. Scofield, I am aware of that. The M-gene, as well. It’s why we had to be carted of to Minsk to study it.”

“Yes, but… X-factor research is… less theoretical. It makes people nervous.”

“Not me,” she intones, holding eye contact with the man as she runs her tongue lightly over her bottom lip.

“Laying it on a little thick, there Doc?” Clint chuckles into the coms.

“Look,” she says, leaning forward once again and changing her tone to a more conspiratorial one. “I’m going to level with you.” The man nods once. “I shouldn’t know this… but I came across some information. I’ve been doing some work with the Avengers recently – ”

“What the hell,” Bucky hisses from his perch on a rooftop blocks away. “What are you doing?!”

She cringes at the near-shout in her ear, but goes on. “They came across some information, from several years ago, that ties you to some… studies.”

“Tessa,” Steve warns.

“Let her go,” Clint says, his voice suddenly serious. “She might have him.”

“They can’t…” Scofield sputters. “There’s nothing…”

She waves her hands in a calm down gesture. “No, no… they’re not doing anything about it. The experiments are all decades old. I just thought… even if you weren’t doing anything in this… field anymore, that you might know someone who is.”

His eyes go wide for a long moment as he moves from panic to curiosity to an odd sort of calm. “If that is what I think it is, then those studies were long ago abandoned.”

“Oh,” she says disappointedly.

“But…” He smiles wide and leans forward. “If you actually are interested… really interested, then I do have a fellow I could introduce you to.”

A genuine smile spreads across her face as she nods excitedly. “I assure you, Dr. Scofield, I am very interested.”

#Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x ofc #bucky barnes x original female character #Bucky x original female character #bucky barnes x oc #marvel fanfic #avengers fanfiction #Supernova

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otonymous · 5 years

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Kinktober - Oct 5th (Swallowing/Collaring): Milk (MLQC Kiro - NSFW)

Description: Get frisky with Kiro this Halloween Warnings: NSFW/18+: Explicit/graphic language — reader discretion is advised. Trigger warnings: swallowing, collaring, costumes, semi-public sex, mild jealousy Word Count: 1355 words (~7 mins of dirty, filthy, Halloween-themed smut) AO3: read here Author’s Notes: My first entry for @alloveroliver’s amazing Kinktober challenge! Many thanks to this incredible person for taking the time out of her undoubtedly busy schedule to organize this event. YOU ROCK! 🤩

Please note the potential trigger warnings listed above, and hope you all enjoy this dirty story! 😂 Happy reading, lovelies!

All characters & Mr Love: Queen’s Choice owned by Elex

🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃

“Wow! You look…absolutely amazing. Gorgeous. I-I can’t even take my eyes off you, haha…”

Savin tries to run his hand through his hair, but the attempt is just as awkward as the way he ogled you in your cat costume — the high collar of his black cape leaving practically no room for movement past the top of his gel-slicked head.

Keeping a polite smile on your face, you discreetly scan the room for the soft flaxen locks you loved to run your fingers through, hoping for a swift conclusion to the uncomfortable conversation.

“Thanks, Savin. I like your costume too! You make a great Dracula, very Bela Lugosi. And I appreciate you extending me an invitation to B.S. Entertainment’s Halloween party.”

Before Kiro’s agent can reply, a firm yet gentle hand snakes about your waist, pulling you close to the side of a warm body — lithe yet strong, lean muscle encased in black leather; buckles and straps criss-crossing the physique that gyrated so well on stage to incite the madness of fans the world over. And beneath a black hood: strands of golden hair.

“Miss Chips! You made it!”

In his eyes, the vast blue of a cloudless sky. And a smile just as luminous to match. But the flex of his arm around you hinted at tension, and before you knew it, you were spun around and escorted off before Savin even had the chance to sputter - Kiro chucking under his breath as he says goodbye on both your behalves.

“What was that? And what are you supposed to be dressed as?” You finally ask when Kiro ushers you into an empty VIP room at the club booked out by his agency, the pounding beat outside falling several decibels lower when the door closes.

“I’m a ninja assassin!” He spreads his arms wide, presenting himself in full glory. Drawing back his cape, Kiro brings his exposed biceps closer, muscles bulging as he flexed to show off the intricate designs drawn in black ink on his skin, smiling in satisfaction to see the awe etched on your face.

“You look like you could totally KO the final boss in a video game!”

“Of course!” Kiro beams. But then, the brightness of his smile dims. “Hmph. Maybe it’s my own bossy agent I need to take out. Can’t leave that guy alone with you for even a second, I swear.”

“Who, Savin?”

“He looked like he was about to swallow you whole. But, I guess I can’t say I blame him…”

The corners of those cerulean eyes crinkle in an impish expression as he scans you from head to toe, humming appreciatively at the cat ears on your head, the combination of your sleek black bodysuit and skirt…and the tail that hung near the base of your spine.

“That’s, um…quite the costume. You look very, very nice, Miss Chips.”

“You like it?! It’s actually the third year in a row that I’ve worn it — I really got my money’s worth! Anna always complains and says I should switch it up for our company’s Halloween party—“

“So, you’re saying that people other than Savin have already seen you in this costume?! Tch, man…” Kiro frowns, rubbing the back of his neck, and you can’t help but smile at the sight of the pouty superstar. Bringing a hand to his face, you force him to look you in the eye.

“Could it be that our superstar ninja is jealous?”

“Yes! Miss Chips is special, for my eyes only.” Placing his hands on his neck, nimble digits in fingerless gloves loosen the silver buckle on a black leather choker. “And I do believe your costume is missing this.”

Looking at the choker lying flat on his palm, the corners of your lips tug into a knowing smile; you had wondered how soft the pliable leather would feel wrapped around your neck.

Circling behind you, the subtle notes of Kiro’s cologne — spicy and sweet — suffuse your senses. “Kittens need collars, don’t they? To show the world who their rightful owners are?”

Then, dropping to a whisper, “Let bad men know that even though they can look, they can never touch…”

His voice is sultry, dripping with sensuality as he breathes against the shell of your ear. And when you sweep your hair aside to bare your neck to your lover, you are rewarded with the sound of his breath hitching in his throat.

“…Unlike the way I can. Isn’t that right, Miss Chips?”

Still carrying the heat of Kiro’s skin, the choker lay warm against your throat — gentle and secure, as if the superstar himself had wrapped his hand around the delicate column of your neck.

But of course, those hands that coaxed beautiful music from his guitar were currently preoccupied with drawing all types of lascivious sounds from your mouth as two fingers, then three, explored between your legs from behind; relentless even as your knees shook, bent over on all fours on the plush sectional as you were.

“Kitty’s more excited than usual today. You’re completely soaked, baby.”

Kiro sweeps your tail to the side as he palms a slow circle over your pussy, and you gasp at the touch of leather from those fingerless gloves, making it harder to come down from your second orgasm around his hand.

Biting your lip in anticipation to hear his fly unzipping behind you, you hike your skirt up even more, further exposing yourself to his hungry, blue eyes.

“Hmm. You’re so well-behaved, Miss Chips. I say a reward is in order, what do you think?”

Slowly stroking your collar with one hand, Kiro gently guided his cock into your entrance with the other. And all you could manage in response to his question is a desperate nod, the furry tips of your prosthetic ears tickling his skin as he bent over you.

Then, with one enthusiastic thrust, the superstar is buried to the hilt, leaving you clawing at the seat beneath you, desperate to suppress a scream of pleasure that surely would’ve given you away despite the noise in the club.

“Mmm, you feel good, Miss Chips. So good, ah…especially when you tighten like that.”

His fingers graze the sensitive skin at the small of your back before wrapping around your tail, pulling soft but insistent as his breath leaves him in shudders — the rhythm of his hips building faster and faster until your throat became uncomfortably dry from panting in response to his onslaught.

And when those long fingers gathered the arousal that dripped down your thigh to draw smooth, tight circles about your clit, the act has you convulsing as the tension broke in your body, clamping down on Kiro’s cock even as he pulled out — hand pumping hard to chase his own release outside the warmth of your body until he spilled hot over the small of your back.

Still shaking even when you sense Kiro’s finger tracing a haphazard pattern across the skin on which he came, you gradually open your eyes when you feel his lips pressing affectionately upon each lid.

“You must be parched, kitty…screaming the way you did. Here. Your reward.”

Collar snug as you craned your neck in Kiro’s direction, you stick your tongue out, obediently lapping up the liquid that coated his index finger — pink on white. Blue eyes are transfixed to see your tongue sweeping from corner to corner of those perfect lips, dutifully licking up any and all remnants of Kiro’s release until that, too, is swallowed.

Then, drawing even closer, Kiro whispers, “Good girl. You've earned your milk, Miss Chips,” before his lips close the gap completely.

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“Kiro, where have you been?! Several producers wanted to meet you and—“

Savin stops short when he spots the leather choker, looking back and forth between you and Kiro, eyes narrowed to see it adorning your neck instead of the blonde with twinkling blue eyes, who says, with a hint of challenge in his voice:

“Now her costume is complete! Don’t you agree, Savin?”

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Thanks for reading! Check out more of my work here! 📚

#alloverkinktober #kinktober #mlqc #mr love queen's choice #love and producer #mlqc kiro #mlqc fanfic #mlqc fic #mlqc smut #smut #swallowing kink #collaring kink #fanfiction #my writing #elex

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cosmicbash · 4 years

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@friendshipfisting requested some grumpy Em at the beach while chatting and I got a little bit carried away writing dorky fluff so-

You lucky heathens are getting a huge prompt drop. Hope you enjoy~

(This is long enough I could post it to ao3 if someone wants to come up with a title ahah)

Marshall hated beaches. He always had, they were just always so overcrowded whenever he tried going. And huge clusters of people did nothing but stress him out, even before he got famous and all those claustrophobic fears of a crowd closing in on him suddenly became a reality.

When he was younger and getting absolutely trashed everyday it was easier to deal with. The combination of pills and booze kept him mellow enough that he could even throw himself into a crowd at his own concerts. Helped build up somewhat of a tolerance for whenever he got up on stage.

Outside of performing however? They were still an absolute nightmare that made his stomach twist up into knots. A brief pass through, and maybe a few stops to meet and greet fans he could handle. But actively plopping himself into the hot sandy clusterfuck known as a public beach? That was the furthest thing from fun or relaxing that he could think of.

Luckily living in the middle of Detroit meant he was mostly free of dealing with said landscape.

So why in the hell was he struggling to get comfortable on some stiff itchy wooden beach chair, with the ocean loudly looming not very far away?

"The wave's are freaking perfect today-" Colson was beaming a smile at him, almost as blinding as the sun resting behind his pretty wet head. The lighting ironically formed a halo around the self proclaimed rap devil. It made Marshall want to snort. "You should seriously come in."

"I'm perfectly fine right here." Under the safety of his umbrella, above the hazardous hot sand. And most importantly far away from the heavy crashing waves.

Swimming wasn't his best skill either, afterall there was not much need to swim when you avoided the beach. Sure he could wade in a pool and float on his back if needed, but moving, rushing water was a completely different ballgame.

"You're such a drag," Colson's eyes rolled, long legs kicking up sand while he crossed the distance between them. He was still dripping water all over the place, stray droplets splashing onto Marshall's legs when he loomed ever closer to the chair.

Reflexively the older man tucked his notebook away in the nearby bag, knees pulling up so he could resituate himself. Legs crossing indian style to give the brat a place to sit.

Marshall couldn't care less about being a "drag", he'd been very vocal about his displeasure with the whole idea of wasting a day at the beach. For once he'd taken over the role of bitchy pushover. Spending most of the night before and morning of their trip muttering under his breath, listing all the reasons why it was such a stupid idea. But still going through with the process of booking and reserving a secluded spot for them on some remote beach.

The only reason he'd put up with it at all was for the younger rapper's sake, something which he hoped Colson could actually learn to appreciate. It wasn't common for him to concede like this, but it was only fair. "You enjoying choking on salt water and burning your skin?"

The tall blonde dropped down with a hard plop, legs bouncing to disturb more sand while the beach chair creaked. The bitter question didn't seem to phase his good mood one bit. "Yupp! Loving it. I've missed the beach, I was starting to look like a ghost."

More water splattered against Marshall's ankles, had his skin twitching. "One more big wave like earlier and you might be one-" The brunette was thankful he had shades on, just recalling the moment only a half hour prior when a huge wave had suddenly crashed down and disappeared his partner made his face curl up. It had been a genuinely terrifying minute of watching and waiting for Colson's soaked head to reappear above the water. One that nearly had him leaving his tiny sanctuary to pound down the length of sand separating him from the water.

Thankfully the younger rapper had resurfaced, farther out then when he'd been hit. Laughter visible even from his distance with the hard shake of the boys shoulders and wide smile.

"What? That was nothing, you should've seen how big some of the waves over in the Bahama's could get. Now those, those could totally sweep you out to sea."

Clicking his tongue Marshall gave a swift nod, fingers prying open their small cooler to dig out a cold bottle of water. "I'll take your word for it." The last thing he needed was for the kid to get a Bahama's vacation plan into his head.

Colson sighed dramatically, upper body dropping down to drape over the older man's lap. Inciting a string of curses and half hearted shoves from how the action left water soaking through his shorts. "A little bit of sun and water isn't gonna kill you old man, you look ridiculous all bundled up here in your shirt and hat. Like some horrible undercover pap who's hiding a camera in his beach bag."

The observation was accompanied by a soft laugh and long fingers tugging at the collar of his shirt, trailing up along his jaw to flick his hat.

Marshall's teeth set in a line. "What, you want me stripped down streaking across the beach? Tattoos and dick free for an actual reporter to see?"

The chance of some paparazzo being nearby was slim to none, they both knew that. Marshall had gone out of his way to rent the accompanying two beaches on either side despite the small cliffs between them. There was noone other than their own mix of security teams for miles. The only chance someone was getting a shot of either of them was with a drone.

In theory Marshall could strip down and dance about the beach all he wanted, grab Colson by his skinny waist and fuck him down into the sand until he was choking on a seashell. He was fully confident in his team.

That didn't mean any of that sounded remotely tempting however.

"Maybe not running across the beach," Colson snickered body twisting until he was lying with the back of his head against the older man's crotch. Arms curled up over his head so he could lightly grip onto his sides and stretch the rest of his body out. "A slow sensual walk towards the water sounds a lot better. Would give me something really great to look at."

The harsh tug on wet blonde locks barely elicited a reaction. "If your hoping for a full moon tonight you're gonna be disappointed. News called for clouds-" It was easier to deflect from the brats flirting then reward him with a proper response.

"With how your pants sag I'm guaranteed at least a half moon before sundown." This time Marshall was the one sighing, head shaking while he rubbed his temples. Colson of course looked beyond pleased with his joke, damp hands rubbing up over the front of his shirt to lightly massage his shoulders. "Unless your planning on dressing correctly for once while we walk the shoreline."

"Who said anything about walking along the shoreline? When did I agree to that?"

"What, we're gonna have a beach date and not enjoy the sunset together? It's no wonder you've been divorced twice." The light teasing had Marshall snorting despite himself. Palm pushing his sunglasses up off his face and much to his partner's delight knocking away his sunhat.

"Actually I let Kim's other boyfriends worry about the mushy shit like that, last time I went to a beach with her she left me passed out along the shoreline while the tide was rising." The memory had him chuckling quietly to himself while his gaze trailed along with white shoreline. "Fucking bitch almost let me drown all because I snorted her share of coke."

"Jesus-" Colson's lips burst apart in a laugh. Palms leaving the older rapper's shoulders to cup his neck instead. "Hope she at least cleaned your pockets out before she left-"

The suggestion had Marshall's gaze dropping back down, lips quirking up into a smirk while his fingers raked through Colson's knotted hair. "You'd think so right? Damn bitch swiped my wallet and forgot the motel's key card. Came back to wake my half submerged ass up and bitch how hard of a time I was giving her- like- fuck me for not reminding her it was in my back pocket while I was drowning!"

The outburst had them both laughing finally, Colson's boisterous and expressive was Marshall's was quieter and reserved to a soft shake of his shoulders. A few years ago the same story might've dragged up residual hurt feelings. Colson's soft fingers tickling his throat and heavy body helped keep them away.

"I'll keep that in mind in case I wanna drown your ass sometime soon."

"Probably already have it planned out, why your so eager to get me walking along the shore."

This time when Colson snorted it was followed up with a firm pull. "Fuck, ya caught me-" Large hands curling around the back of his neck to pull him down for an upside down kiss. It was interrupted by panted breaths and light shakes of the younger rapper's head but the action soothed his mood nonetheless.

Colson's mouth was warm against his own and tasted like salty sea water. Marshall even swore he could feel the scratch of sand against his chin but continued to kiss back anyway. The moment was pleasant, helped ease what little stress he had left in his temples.

The broke apart when his back started to ache, fingers tugging softly at the tangled blonde locks until they separated. "If I walk you along the shore like some cheesy hallmark movie can we skip the whole lovey dovey sunset gazing bullshit?"

Colson mock gasped. "And ruin my proposal I had planned?"

Leaning back Marshall moved to uncross his legs, forcing his behemoth of a partner to sit up himself. "If it's another collab idea dragging me out into this ridiculous sun and pesty sand was the worst way to soften me up-"

"Actually I was gonna propose we try fucking out in the ocean. Was hoping the whole weightless thing with the water meant you could hold me up while we fucked." The sleazy wink had Marshall shooting Colson a worried look. It was hard to tell how serious the brat was being. It sounded just like the kind of stupid thing he would actually plan.

"That's one way to break the news to the media," The brunette couldn't help but shake his head and laugh while he climbed back up onto his feet. Hand catching the wide umbrella so he wouldn't knock it over. "Rap God Eminem and rival MGK found naked adrift at sea together. Nude!"

For what felt like the millionth time that day Colson cackled, long neck stretching out while he threw his head back. "We- haha- We don't both have to be naked! Why would you take your shorts off too? You actually wanna skinny dip with me?"

"God no. I don't think I'd ever get the sand out of my ass. Fuck I've been sitting down this whole time and there's some inside my thighs."

Colson was less graceful when he stood up, full on jostling the umbrella with his head. Fingers curling around the older rapper's abandoned hat to slap it back ontop of his head. "That's half the fun of going to the beach. Getting sand in all kinds of-"Their eyes met in a brief flirty gaze. "Uncomfortable places."

The wink that followed was all the encouragement Marshall needed to start walking towards the beach. Eyes rolling so hard he thought they might get stuck in the back of his head. The sooner they got down to the shore the sooner he could get back to comfort of a nice soft hotel bed.

And promptly screw the blondes brains out.

#emgk #holy shit #this was so much longer than i planned #fanfiction #prompts

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stoopsbookstore · 5 years

Text

Stress Relief -M-

Synopsis - Doyoung is rethinking his decision to give Jaehyun's cousin an internship. He's constantly messing up the shipping orders, he spills coffee everywhere, he takes too many breaks, but Jaemin is his best friend's cousin, so Doyoung deals with it. One day, Doyoung has been stressed out so much because of Jaemin's bullshit, he freaks out. His maid offers a source of relief.

Warnings - Office sex, Window sex, Phone masturbation (it's on speaker while they're doing it), mentions of a pregnancy/breeding kink, Power dynamic (CEO/Maid), Soft Dom!Doyoung (probably could've written him more dommy, but I was feeling a bit soft)

"I know he's your cousin, but holy hell, Jay, Jaemin can't do shit right," Doyoung held his head in his hand as he talked to Jaehyun about his cousin's daily antics, "he fucking ordered 500 tons of printer paper, we only needed 50."

"It's a simple mistake, I promise. He's just a ki-"

"He's 19 and he's a dumbass. This isn't the fuckup he's done," Y/N came over to Doyoung, handing him a peppermint tea and a croissant to Jaehyun, "Thank you, Y/N. I know you're related and I'm doing this as favor, but shit, dude, you couldn't given him an internship? If his parents wanted Jaemin to get experience, why not just do it with family?"

Jaehyun wiped his mouth as he took a bite of his pastry, "Blatant favoritism. Since we are related, the company would see it as a conflict of interests. It was either ask you or have him clean vomit up at the carnival with Yuta's younger brother, Yuto."

"Baking soda or corn starch," Y/N started wiping down the trophy case, full of Doyoung's medals and awards from years past and present, "Dries it out, that way you can easily vaccum or sweep it up. No smell as well."

Doyoung nodded towards Jaehyun, a smug smirk on his face, "See? No smell."

"Ok, asshole," Jaehyun threw a napkin at the older male, "I'll talk to him, tell him to shape up or clean up. Y/N, always a pleasure. I wish you could come clean for me, but what from I've heard, sounds like Doyoung gives you a hell of a paycheck."

"3 year contact, full benefits, an pet-friendly apartment with half-priced rent as well as Holidays off? I sure hope that's a hell of a paycheck," Doyoung stood up, shaking Jaehyun's hand.

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

"Jaeh-" Doyoung was standing in his office, pants soaked in various caffeinated beverages, his phone on speaker.

"I know! I know! He accidentally spilt coffee on your pants in front of Mr. Park and his son, Jinyoung! Just send him ho-"

"We were so close to a possible merger! A small startup was in my grasp! He even flirted with Y/N as she was cleaning up his mess!"

"Listen, I'll knock some sense into him, just one last chance, please?"

Doyoung ran his fingers through his hair, Y/N taking Doyoung's jacket as she attempted to clean, "Fine. One last chance, but if he fucks up again, he's out."

Before Jaehyun could say his thanks, Doyoung hung out, slamming the speaker, a piece flying onto the floor. His head pressed against the desk in annoyed anger as Y/N stopped cleaning his jacket to grab the disjointed speaker piece. Doyoung noticed as Y/N bent down, her skirt rode up, a sliver of her black cheeky panties showing. He quickly diverted his attention when she straightened up, placing the small object on his desk. Doyoung fiddled with his tie as he continued to watch Y/N cleaning his office, poorly hiding the thoughts in his mind.

"Y/N, you're always so hard working. Don't you have a social life? Any friends or boyfriends or girlfriends," Doyoung tried to talk in his smoothest voice, concealing his speech of any suspicious tones.

"Nope, I'm single and I don't really go out. Honestly, Mr. Dongyoung," a strain in his pants emerged as Y/N's voice became more sensual to Doyoung, maybe a sip of water would help, "I just kinda stay home, watch some Netflix or Hulu and play with my cat."

Doyoung choked on the water a bit, his mind dirtying up Y/N's sentence, "your cat?"

Y/N grabbed the feather dust out of the office closet, her movements much more fluid than Doyoung has ever realized, "Yeah. She's a little puffball, only about 2 years, her name is Mimi."

"Oh," Doyoung let out a relieved sigh, a hand reaching under his desk while his free hand continued scrolling mindlessly through a document, hovering the mouse over his two screens, "I bet she's really cute."

Y/N chuckled, "She's an asshole, but a great cuddler. So basically it's like having a boyfriend, except the cat knows how to take care of itself."

Doyoung palmed himself through his pants, continuing to watch Y/N as he pretended to be interested in the annoying numbers that appeared on his screens. Y/N smirked, feigning innocence as if she hadn't noticed Doyoung craning his neck when she bent over again to fluff the couch cushions.

"Is there anything else you need help with, Mr. Dongyoung? I know you're stressed, so I can stay if you'd like," Y/N subtly bit her lip at the growing tension, walking over to fill his mug up with more tea, "maybe help with some stress? I know peppermint tea can help."

Doyoung chuckled at the question, "we have very different ideas of stress relief, Y/N."

"What's your idea of relief?"

"Call me forward, but bending you ov-"

The phone rang, Jaehyun's number appearing on the caller ID. Doyoung breaking out of his melodic way of speaking and answering it with anger and annoyance, Y/N hiding her surprise at Doyoung's bluntness.

"What, Jaehyun?" Doyoung almost growled, a shot of hotness going to Y/N's core, "I'm sort of busy."

"So I talked to Jaemin," a groan out of Doyoung's mouth as Y/N placed his tea on the desk, rubbing his shoulders, "Don't groan. He says he's sorry for messing up the order, he said Ten's handwriting was atrocious and he misread it. He also said he wasn't flirting with Y/N, he was just trying to be nice."

"I think he was being more than just nice. Talking to Taeyong about how he would love to make out with her in the 15th story hallway closet?" Doyoung heard a little giggle from Y/N, a sense of annoyance coming over him. Doyoung pointed to the couch, Y/N thinking he meant to clean it, but as she went to grab the lint roller, he signaled her to just sit on it. He scooted his seat from out under the desk, turning it to face Y/N, the bulge in his pants noticeable, "that's not being nice, Jung."

"He said that? The little shit told me Taeyong said that!," the air started to grow hotter between the two, Doyoung pointing to the door and making a locking motion with his hands, Y/N making her way, locking it as Jaehyun continued to defend his cousin, "anyway, he just became an adult this year, we did stupider shit when we were his age."

"Name one time I fucked up by ordering 10 times the amount of product needed or I tried hitting on my boss's employee," Doyoung motioned Y/N to take off her panties, Y/N sliding them down her legs as she walked back to the couch, throwing them at Doyoung, the fabric landing on his black suit pants, "Seriously dude, one time."

Jaehyun stammered as he failed to register one time that Doyoung had fucked up as badly as Jaemin, "there was that one time at Cube Cafe where you spilt coffee o-"

"On Y/N. Who, if I remember correctly, said it was her fault, we exchanged numbers and three years later, in a cruel twist of fate, became my employee," Doyoung unzipped his pants, his free hand going in his pants, the sight entrancing Y/N to start teasing herself, "The defense being one situtation was two college students being dumbasses on campus while the other is a college intern being a dumbass towards a CEO."

"Fuck, I hate when you're right. But you know you did that on purpose so you could 'talk to the pretty girl with the caramel frappuccino', don't even lie" Jaehyun sighed over the phone, Y/N unzipping the back of her uniform, exposing a matching black bra, Doyoung finally pulling out his cock as he started pumping, "I'll talk to Yuta, see if he can give a job to Jaemin that doesn't involve vomit. I'll call you in a bit, bye dude."

"Alright bye," the line went dead as Doyoung let out a growlish moan, his eyes watching Y/N push in one finger, "God, I needed this release."

"So you were saying?" Y/N pulled out one of her breasts from her bra, rolling the nipple with her free hand as she added another finger, "how do you relieve your stress?"

"Where was I before I was interrupted?" Doyoung kicked off his pants, pulling his boxers up as he walked over to Y/N, pulling her fingers out of herself as he helped her up to her feet, "I think I was talking about bending you over my desk, in your maid outfit or even naked. But I like the outfit better, it just reeks of desperation, so hot and passionate, I couldn't wait to strip your clothes, so I just said fuck it and started fucking you."

The two walked over to Doyoung's desk, him grabbing at the papers and files, moving them out of the way, Y/N playfully swaying her hips. Doyoung pulled down his boxers again, this time taking them off as he leaned Y/N over his desk. He flipped her skirt up and pulled her bra all the way down as he reached in his desk junk drawer to pull out a condom. Rolling it on, he rubbed his cock over Y/N's core, gathering some of the wetness that had occured.

"Of course, a condom for safety. As much as I'd love seeing you with a swollen belly and covered in my cum, we can't do that right now. You'd look so beautiful carrying my kids, then I'd get to spoil them as they grow up," Doyoung pushed into Y/N, a moan escaping her lips as her breasts pressed against the glass table, the coldness bringing a new sensation against her warmimed body, "we can talk about that later, if you'd like. To be honest, I've thought about you and I doing this ever since I spilt that drink on you."

"Was it in purpose like Jaehyun said?" Y/n questioned as Doyoung kept thrusting, the glass desk moving in rhythm with the pair, "needed a reason to talk to me? It seems like you got a bunch of more confidence."

"Could you tell? Becoming a partial CEO with your brother of a multi-million clothing company can do wonders," Doyoung admittedly regretfully pulled out, bringing Y/N to his chest as he became nibbling on her neck.

"Why did you pull out?" Y/N arched her back and started rubbing her thighs together, "do you have a meeting?"

"No, hell no, not until later. I would cancel it if I did," Doyoung walked over to the floor-to-ceiling window behind his desk, opening the curtains as he looked over the 6th story pane of glass, "come here."

Y/N walked over to Doyoung, his hands finding their way to her hips as he turned her around, unzipping her top the rest of the way and throwing it aside, leaving Y/N in just her bra, skirt and stockings, Doyoung slipping off her kitten heels as he kissed up her legs.

"So gorgeous, so beautiful," Doyoung kissed Y/N's back, shivers spreading throughout her body as Doyoung reached her neck, light bites accessorizing her skin, his long fingers tangling in her hair, pushing into Y/N, "I don't think you've seen my house in the few years we've known each other, we should change that, show you some of my toys I have, maybe get you some."

The sharp, calculated thrusts and smug taunts from Doyoung made Y/N hum in ecstasy, Doyoung's free hand reaching down Y/N's skirt to play with her clit. Y/N grabbed at Doyoung's forearm as he started at a fast pace, his fingers rolling the small bundle as he kept up fucking Y/N into the window. Doyoung pulled out for a second time, spinning Y/N so the duo is now face to face, Y/N biting Doyoung's lips. Slipping in one more time, Doyoung lifted Y/N's leg to rest on his hip.

"I want to take you on a date, I want to make you mine, years of seeing you in those skirts and shirts that my brother has designed," Doyoung leaned down to kiss Y/N's breasts, his thrusts starting to be more sloppy, "your tits peeking out of them, your skirt raising up everytime you reach up to clean the higher shelves."

Y/N leaned down to bite down on Doyoung's neck, her moans muffled and vibrating against his sweaty skin. Doyoung felt his high coming on, his thrusts slowing down, milking every drop into the condom. He pulles out, tying the condon and throwing it away. Noticing Y/N didn't get off, he dropped to his knees, spreading her legs apart, kissing her thighs.

"Doyoung, you don't have to do that, I'll be fine, I should get back to work, the 4th floor needs to be done and I have a vibr-"

"It's the gentlemen thing to do," Doyoung kiss her clit as Y/N leaned her head back on, the pleasure spreading through her body, "I'll have Hongjoong do it, don't worry."

Doyoung sucked and lightly nibbled on Y/N's clit, pushing 3 fingers into Y/N as he thrusted them in and out, working to Y/N's high, he would feel bad if he got off and she didn't, even though he's her boss and this started because he need some sort of release. Y/N's thighs started to shake as Doyoung continued licking at anything he could find, his fingers going at a merciless pace once he found the spot that made Y/N go high-pitch in her moans. Y/N didn't even notice her high had came until Doyoung stood up and brought her in for an intense kiss, her essence on his lips as she could taste herself on him. Doyoung helped Y/N over to the couch, taking off his jacket and giving it to Y/N as he gathered her clothes.

"I can't believe I just screwed my bo-"

"The next word out of your mouth better be boyfriend," Doyoung kissed her forehead as he walked over to his desk, looking for a specific piece of paper and calling the front desk, "Hey Ms. Sana, can you cancel the rest of my appointments for the rest of the day, Ms. Y/n isn't feeling well, so I think I'm going to give her a ride home and make sure that she's okay. Also, ask Hongjoong to clean the fourth floor, I'll give an extra 1,000 dollar bonus this month."

"Ok, Mr. Kim, I'll do that right away."

The phone hung up with a click as Doyoung texted the valet to bring the car around to the back, Y/N putting on her shirt and Doyoung's jacket. Doyoung helped Y/N up as he slid her shoes on.

"Where's my underwear, those are kinda my favorite pair."

Doyoung took them out of his pocket with a smirk, "they're mine too and I think I'm going to keep them with me. I'll get you more pairs, one in every single shade, hue and color."

The pair walked out of the office, Sana looking concerned and shouting an admittedly adorable "Y/N fighting!" as Doyoung and Y/N made their way down the hall to the back elevator. They waited for the elevator to come to the 6th floor, Doyoung's hand gazing over Y/N's.

"So, I assume we're going to your house."

"Like I told you, I've known you for a few years and I want to show you my house."

Y/N sleepily groaned, "I kinda want a shower and a nap first."

"Fine, a shower and a nap first," Doyoung put his arm around Y/N's waist as they stepped in the back elevator, her head resting on his chest as she curled up into him. Then with one last devious smirk on his face.

"But then, I'll give you a tour. Maybe show you some of my playthings."

#nct #nct 127 #nct imagines #nct au #nct scenarios #nct smut #doyoung #Kim Doyoung #Kim Dongyoung #slytherin bunny #my writings

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laschatzi · 5 years

Text

A Vision Softly Creeping

I labored over this for a long time: an attempt at dealing with some of the trauma Killian and Emma went through, and issues between them brought to the surface by that trauma. Bear with me, I’m not a psychologist, and my intention was not to describe a realistic therapy session. Thank you @effulgentcolors for the encouragement!

title: A Vision Softly Creeping

summary: Killian keeps having nightmares he can’t quite remember. With Dr. Hopper’s help, he discovers one of the reasons for them, and that might require a painful, in-depth talk with Emma. Set post season 6, shortly after the wedding.

word count: ~6,6k

rating: M and N for nightmares.

also on: ff.net and ao3.

..........................

It's not a sudden movement or sound that wakes her up, no, it's like some mysterious force that pulls her from the depths of her sleep, which is extraordinary in itself – because normally not even a cannon fired beside her bed would wake her up. She has slept through blaring alarm clocks, ringing phones and thunderstorms. But every time her newly wed husband is having one of those dreams, she seems to sense it even on the bottom of her subconscious.

Emma opens her eyes in the moonlit darkness and, after getting past her slight disorientation, notices Killian's silhouette sitting upright beside her. From the way his shoulders move she can see that he's breathing heavily. She lifts herself up into an upright position, and when he feels the shifting of the mattress, he turns his head to look at her.

“I'm sorry I woke you,” he murmurs and runs his hand through his hair, his voice thick with sleep and something else she can't quite define. He seems tense, and in the moonlight she catches a glimpse of the fine sheen of sweat that covers his bare shoulders and collarbones.

“That dream again?” she asks softly and puts her palm to his scruffy cheek.

His eyes that had been scanning the darkness almost erratically focus on hers again, and she reads barely faded panic mixed with relief and something deeper, indecipherable to her, that seems to have a grip on him.

“Killian?” she prompts, and he snaps out of it. In a sudden move, his hand comes up to the back of her head and pulls her in for a kiss almost brusquely, eliciting a startled gasp from her.

The raw passion, seemingly out of the blue, takes her by surprise, but as usual doesn't fail to make her respond. Her worries about his sleep being interrupted not for the first time by a confusing dream, as he's put it, are pushed into oblivion to the back of her mind by his demanding lips and tongue and the weight of his body pressing her down into her pillow again.

She welcomes the sensual assault and wraps her arms around his torso and her legs around his hips as he blindly finds his way past her sleep shorts and underwear and thrusts into her without further preliminary, deep and hard and possessively. Emma moans as her hips buck to meet his, but she almost can't match his raw force and fierceness this time, and as much as she enjoys when he takes her like that, leaving her sore and spent and simply thoroughly fucked, she suspects tonight he's fueled by the nightmare he just had, and before she loses all ability to think clearly, she vows to herself she's going to talk to him about it.

But afterwards, when she's cleaned them up with a flick of her wrist underneath the covers, he pulls her into an overprotective, almost uncomfortably tight embrace against his chest and is asleep again in no time; from physical and emotional exhaustion, she's sure. It'll have to wait until tomorrow.

The rest of the night goes by quietly, without further disturbances, and in the morning Emma is woken by the smell of coffee slowly wafting into her conscience and the pleasant feeling of softness and prickles traveling down her throat. She squirms and sighs when a certain spot on the base of her neck is stimulated by Killian's lips while his hand caresses the side of her ribs underneath her sleep top.

“Is it Sunday?” she murmurs, for a moment confused.

He chuckles warmly against her collarbone. “I wouldn't dare to wake you at this time of the day on a Sunday morning, love.”

She runs her fingers through his hair and breathes, “You... can wake me any day at any time like this.”

“I'll keep that in mind,” he hums as he pulls down her tank top to free her left breast, and she simply forgets how to form coherent sentences.

Killian takes it slowly this time, paying attention to his love's every sensitive spot... she has a lot of them, and he knows them all. He loves to bring out all the sweet tunes from Emma, the sighs and whispers and pleas, but what pushes him in particular to be gentle and tender this morning is a nagging feeling of guilt at the back of his mind. He knows he had that dream again last night, the one that has been haunting him for weeks now – ironically since life started to be actually peaceful in Storybrooke for longer than six weeks. He doesn't really remember the dream, it always slips through his fingers shortly before he wakes up, but it always leaves him with a feeling of unease, more like dread, and a vague anger. And that unsettling mix fueled him last night, too, urged him to feel this intense need to take her, mark her... and even though she welcomed him and enjoyed it, he feels like whatever it is that haunts him, he somehow took it out on her, and so now he... needs to make it up to her.

And he does make it up to her thoroughly.

Emma remembers her resolution to talk to Killian about his nightmares only when they're already on their way to work. Being woken up in that delicious way has thrown her off track completely and would have made it so easy to soothe her worries and sweep them under the rug, but she knows – from her own, painful experience – that unresolved issues and traumas have an unhealthy tendency to come back and rise their ugly heads in the least convenient moments; usually when you think you have shaken them off a long time ago.

So, when she parks her yellow bug in front of the sheriff's station, she asks in a – more or less – casual way, “Are you going to see Archie soon?”

Killian raises an eyebrow. “Actually, I have scheduled a visit for this afternoon, after the shift ends. Why?”

She shrugs. “I was just wondering...”

“About what, love?”

She looks at him searchingly. “Have you talked about your dreams?”

“Well,” he tilts his head, “yes and no. I told him that I'm having them, but as I don't truly remember them, there isn't really anything to discuss further.” He thinks about last night and feels guilty again. “Is something wrong?” he asks hesitantly, his voice full of concern.

Emma purses her lips in a pensive way. “It's just that you seem to have a troubled sleep lately.”

He licks his lips a little nervously and nods, a wave of guilt washing over him once more. “Aye.” Feeling her worried gaze resting on his face, he promises, “We'll tackle the subject again.”

***

“Captain.” Dr. Hopper smiles his patented therapist smile he has for every one of his patients, yet it's still genuine and never seems fake. “How are you doing today?”

“Fine,” Killian replies, “normal.” He tilts his head and adds a little hesitantly, “The day has never really been my problem.”

“Ah.” The cricket throws his visitor a probing look over the rim of his glasses. “But you had a troubled night?” he guesses, as usually hitting the nail right on the head. Killian just nods in response, and it's more a statement rather than a question when he says, “That dream again.”

“It seems to come with increasing frequency,” Killian replies in agreement. “Shouldn't it get better with time?”

The short man shakes his head. “I'm afraid not, Captain. Not unless you have truly dealt with the issue your dreams try to bring to the surface.”

Killian lets out a frustrated huff. “How am I supposed to do that if I can't even remember it?”

“It takes time,” Dr. Hopper tries to soothe. “Were you able to go back to sleep after you were disturbed by your dream?” he wants to know.

“I...” Killian averts his eyes, and his hand goes up by its own volition, his ringed index finger rubbing an imaginary spot underneath his ear. “Emma was startled awake, too, and I–” he interrupts himself and tilts his head, “we–”

“She provided physical comfort,” Dr. Hopper states calmly, ending his stammering in a firm voice, and leans a little forward, searching Killian's gaze. “Captain, finding comfort in being intimate with your partner is nothing to feel ashamed about.”

“No, I know, Doctor,” Killian confirms hastily. “It's not... it's not that.”

The doctor frowns in genuine concern. “Then what is it that makes you uncomfortable about it?”

Killian sighs and squirms a little. “It was the way I...” He lets his voice trail off, unsure how to proceed.

He knows the cricket would never betray a patient's trust by doing so much as judge them, but it still isn't easy for him to talk about these personal things... like his feelings, his guilt, or intimate details about his relationship with Emma. But if there is anyone he can talk to about these issues that torment him, then it's this man before him – the man who, in spite of their history, has been nothing but supportive when Killian was full of self-doubts, and who, on top, has sealed his bond with Emma. Right now, he's patiently waiting for Killian to continue, without pressuring him.

He draws a deep breath before he finally goes on, “It was like I... like I had to prove a point to her.”

Dr. Hopper lays his fingertips together and looks at him seriously, his gaze unfaltering. “Captain, did you do anything your wife didn't consent to?” he asks gently, but somehow it feels more like a rhetorical question.

Still, a hot pang of fury hits Killian right in the chest. “No, bloody hell, of course not!” he barks. “I would never!”

The cricket doesn't even flinch at his outburst. “I didn't think you would,” he replies matter-of-factly, and Killian can't help admiring his posture. This is the man he, in another life, did things to he doesn't want to think about and isn't proud of... but he's completely unimpressed by his momentary rage and stays completely focused. Looking at him, short of height, with his glasses and his staid clothing and manners, it would be so easy to underestimate him, but he has a quiet authority about him that makes it impossible.

“Still, you feel you acted,” he adds and sways his head slowly in search for the right expression, “out of inappropriate reasons?”

Killian is almost shocked by the accuracy of Dr. Hopper's words. Sure, everything he did last night was enthusiastically welcomed by Emma, and they have both reveled in lovemaking much rougher than last night's, so that is not really something to feel guilty about. But the reasons that fueled him to approach her like he did weren't the right ones. When Killian looks at the doctor again hesitantly, he finds his calm gaze resting on him patiently, encouragingly.

He swallows. “Aye,” he finally replies. “In that moment, I felt so...” he runs his hand through his hair nervously, “I can't even name it, but I felt so... guilty afterwards, like I'd been somehow taking it out on her.” He tilts his head. “Whatever in blazes it was that I felt.”

“And you still can't remember it?” the doctor presses gently.

Killian shakes his head. “Not quite,” he replies reluctantly, “but I have the feeling that I almost...” He interrupts himself and rubs his fingertips together before he presses through his clenched teeth. “Like it just... slipped through my fingers.”

“That sounds like you're almost there,” Dr. Hopper encourages.

Killian chews on his bottom lip in frustration and throws his hand in the air. “I only know I'm always powerless,” he finally blurts out, “and when I wake up, I feel desperate, lost, hopeless...” He bores his steely blue eyes in Dr. Hopper's before he adds in a bewildered tone, “angry.”

The cricket nods. “Captain, it's beyond doubt that what vexes you stems from the traumata you went through with Emma lately,” he states the obvious, “but we won't get to the core to the problem until we find out everything about your dream.” Killian waits, eyebrows raised in question, as the doctor taps his right index finger against his mouth a few times and then draws a deep breath, as if he's come to some conclusion. “I'd like to try something, if you're in agreement.”

“No magic,” Killian replies immediately in a stern voice, almost reflexively. “I don't want anything to mess with my mind,” he declares firmly, “or my memories.”

He has learned in very painful ways that only bad things have ever come out of it if any type of magic has messed with his mind; more than that, the results have been devastating. Whether it was the Crocodile dripping poison into his ear after briefly reattaching his hand, or Emma when she took his memories of her turning him into a Dark One – or the darkness itself, whispering of revenge and snuffing out the light to achieve it. And, well, his own attempt of getting rid of his own memories of a lurid crime committed against an innocent man... that had brought him and the people he loved nothing but pain either.

“I'm absolutely with you,” Dr. Hopper soothed, his hands raised in defense. “Magic has no place when it comes to treating the human soul.”

After scrutinizing him closely for a few seconds, Killian tilts his head. “Then I'm not averse to anything you deem helpful, Doctor.”

“Very good.” The cricket smiles. “If you don't mind,” – he waves his hand invitingly – “lay down and make yourself comfortable.” When Killian raises his eyebrows in question, he explains, “I want to try and bring you to the verge of dreams, calm down your mind and soul until you reach a state similar to sleep, simply with relaxation techniques.” He nods towards the cushions on the comfortable leather couch Killian is sitting on and adds, “It helps if you lay down.”

“Hm,” Killian grumbles, but then lets himself sink to the side, stretching his long legs on the far end of the couch, albeit a little reluctantly.

“Excellent,” Dr. Hopper comments. “Now close your eyes, please.”

Killian sighs but does as he's asked, and strangely enough, the doctor's voice seems even more calming and soothing when he can't see him. Automatically, his breathing gets slower and deeper even before Dr. Hopper tells him so, and he concentrates on nothing else than his breath and his heartbeat as everything else fades away and the doctor's voice becomes nothing but a distant murmur while his body seems to grow heavier and heavier...

...and the ground he's laying on isn't exactly comfortable, so he gets up. His feet are a bit unsteady, and when he looks down he sees that the uneven ground consists of sand. He looks around the barren, familiar place, and suddenly he knows where he is: Lake Nostos. The place where he witnessed the magic in Emma for the first time, when he lay on the ground, only half-conscious.

And there she is, like in a déjà-vû: Emma in her red leather jacket, the golden compass in her hand, as she confronts Cora. He wants to rush over to her, but he can't, something's holding him back, and when he looks down he sees that his feet are frozen on place, his black boots covered in a base of clear ice, like that time when the Snow Queen trapped him. Panic rises in his chest, and his eyes fly back to Emma, but it's like he remembers, Cora can't hurt her: when she plunges her cruel hand into Emma's chest to take her heart, she's repelled by the blinding white light bursting out of Emma's very core, and he is relieved hearing Emma's words, firmly spoken, “No, love is strength.”

But this time, Cora doesn't seem to be impressed. “Then prove it,” she sneers, and he doesn't like the sound of that, and he doesn't like the determined look on Emma's face either. She looks at him for the first time, an expression of guilt on her face, and plunges her hand in her own chest.

“Emma, no!” he yells. “What are you doing?”

“Don't worry,” she replies and rips out her own heart. An all too familiar, triumphant giggle comes from the other woman, a giggle that's haunted him for centuries, and he sees that Cora has transformed and is the Black Fairy now.

Desperation gives him strength, and somehow, he manages to free his feet, but before he can run over to Emma, he's held back violently, a sharp pain in his wrist making him look down again. He sees an old rusty shackle around his wrist and recognizes it immediately, it's the one Emma bound him with atop of the beanstalk. He also has the golden compass in his hand now, and he knows they can make it back home, together, but apparently, Emma has other plans.

And like in slow motion, he sees Emma offering her heart to the Black Fairy. “Emma, please! Don't do this!” he yells again, desperately rattling on the chain that holds him mercilessly in place.

But Emma shakes her head as she hands over her heart. “I'm sorry, I have to.”

He's helpless, and he can't do anything but...

“No!” he gasps and sits up abruptly, finding Dr. Hopper's eyes resting on him quietly.

Killian closes his eyes in endless relief and rubs his hand over his face. “I remember now,” he finally says, “Emma...” He falls silent and shakes his head, his mind still swirling from his upsetting dream.

“I know,” Dr. Hopper replies in a soothing voice, “you told me everything.”

Exhaling slowly, deliberately, to calm down, Killian runs his fingers through his hair. “And did it give you any enlightenment?” he asks almost reproachfully, because it's not like there was any surprise in that dream. That all the separations and nearly-losses have caused him serious distress, was clear from the beginning, and he just doesn't see how it was helpful to extract this dream from his mind that he's blissfully forgotten.

“Oh yes, it did,” the cricket tells him to his surprise and then asks, “Captain, what exactly happened on your wedding day?”

Killian frowns in confusion and surprise. “On my wedding day?”

“We only know that Emma defeated the Black Fairy, and that her family was present, but unable to help,” Dr. Hopper recounts and looks at him questioningly.

A chill runs down Killian's spine when he recalls the occasion, and he hates it, still hates the Crocodile's monstrous mother for tainting his wedding day with these traumatic events, a day that should only hold happy memories, and it does, but it also will forever be tied to the terrible memory of another occasion where he almost lost his love. He doesn't like to reminisce about it, let alone to talk about it, but alas, those are the two crucial points of these encounters with the cricket – if they're supposed to help him heal.

“She came to me on my ship during the day,” he begins reluctantly, “I had spent the night there. You know, because...” he lets his voice trail off and vaguely waves his hand through the air. His wedding band gleams in the light of the late afternoon sun falling through the window, and he swallows when his eyes catch the shine.

Dr. Hopper nods. “Because you wanted to avoid bad luck,” he finishes the sentence for him.

“Aye.” Killian huffs with sarcasm. “Well, that worked out quite nicely, didn't it?”

“You know it would have happened anyway,” the doctor reminds him gently. “Why did she come to see you if she knew you wanted to avoid her until the ceremony?”

“She told me about the impending confrontation, about the Black Fairy's ultimatum,” Killian says, his voice flat and his eyes staring at a point on the wall above Dr. Hopper's right shoulder.

“She came to discuss a plan?” he prompts softly.

“She came to tell me to stay back,” Killian replies pointedly, and a muscle in his jaw ticks. “She said she had to deal with it by herself.” He bores his eyes into the doctor's, hard like steel, like his voice now. “She came to say goodbye, in the event of her failure.”

Dr. Hopper waits for a moment, but when Killian doesn't continue, he asks quietly, “And did you? Stay back?”

Killian swallows and shakes his head once. “Of course not. I went to the Crocodile's to keep him from coming to his mummy's aid. Knocked him out with a bit of dreamshade to keep him out of the equation.” He snorts. “I should have known that the black witch was already waiting for me.”

“So that's how she captured you.”

He looks away. “Aye. The rest of the family was there, too, and we were frozen and watched her surrender her heart to the Black Fairy.”

“And you couldn't do anything to help.” It's not a question, it's a statement.

Killian snorts. “It was too late for that now, wasn't it?” His mouth twitches as he bites out the last word.

Dr. Hopper nods slowly, his sympathetic eyes regarding him. After a short pause, he finally tells him calmly, “Captain, you need to be honest with your wife.”

Killian frowns. “I am!” he assures. “Emma and I, we're past hiding things from each other. We–”

“Being honest means not hiding the truth,” the doctor interrupts, a little vaguely at first, “any truth. About what you feel.” When it becomes very clear that Killian has no idea what he's talking about, the cricket explains, “And the truth about your feelings is that you are harboring anger towards Emma.”

Killian is taken aback. “Are you out of your mind?” he snaps, maybe a little too indignantly. “Why would I be angry at her? The black witch was the villain, not Emma!” he argues.

“But Emma is your partner,” Dr. Hopper points out gently. “Yet, she didn't allow you to act like a partner.”

Killian turns his head to the side in an attempt to avoid the doctor's quiet scrutiny, but then decides that it's probably not working – and besides, he is coming here to deal with what haunts him, and denying the truth is not exactly a helpful way to do that. Unconsciously, he clenches his jaw.

“That hurt,” he admits reluctantly. “Still does.”

Dr. Hopper takes off his glasses and briefly rubs at the red marks they have left on the bridge of his nose. “Captain, Emma has been used to have to fend for herself for a very long time,” he then says thoughtfully, “much like yourself.” He gestures towards Killian and goes on, “And to realize that it's okay to accept other people's help and support... takes time and courage.” He tips his head to the side. “You might recall an occasion when you had trouble yourself opening up to Emma about what burdened you,” he reminds him, “which led to grave consequences for both of you and almost resulted in your own death.”

Killian nods grimly when he thinks back to the disaster he summoned after he'd found out that he'd murdered David's father. Trying to keep that a secret was a grave mistake that had him end up in Neverland, almost burned at the stake by the Lost Boys.

“She was so angry when she found out that I had not told her, that she gave back my ring,” he recalls in a thick voice, the burden of the painful memory of that fateful evening making it even physically difficult to talk about it. “Not because of what I had done,” he adds, “but because I had decided to resolve the problem by myself.”

“And she did the same,” Dr. Hopper says, expressing exactly what's been bothering him: that Emma accused him of one thing, but then went ahead and did just the same thing she'd condemned him for.

“But... will that ever change?” he asks, the helplessness and insecurity he feels seeping into his voice.

Dr. Hopper leans forward, his pale blue eyes firmly resting on Killian's. “Only you can change it,” he tells him and points out, “you and Emma. And to do that, you need to be aware of it.” When Killian frowns in question, he explains, “Talk to her. She must know how you feel, that you're upset with her.”

Killian sways his head from one side to the other, clearly in doubt. “I'm really not sure it would be helpful for anyone if I burdened her with that, too,” he ponders. “Not after all she's been through.”

“Oh, and for you it's been a picnic?” the doctor asks with just the right dose of irony.

Killian squirms on the soft leather couch. Burdening Emma with anything is the last thing he wants to do. “I–”

But the doctor is relentless and interrupts him with a hand held up. “Captain, your feelings are valid just as much as Emma's,” he says firmly. “She deserves to know, and you deserve to express it. That's the way this works.” He leans back again and speaks his final verdict, “That's the way a relationship works.”

Later, when Killian comes home – to the house he once picked to give Emma hope, visible proof that he still believed in their chance at a future and happiness, even when every hope seemed lost – he stands on the sidewalk for a while, hesitating to go in. It feels almost like a déjà-vû of that night when he found out what he'd done to Emma's grandfather, the ring that he'd wanted to give her burning a hole in the pocket of his jeans. The dilemma he was in – telling her the truth and risk losing her or keeping the secret and live with a lie – tearing him apart inside. The feeling that he couldn't dare to do what he'd planned and ask for her hand and her life, the feeling that he'd forfeited any right to a happy ending with his True Love almost choking him.

What lies ahead of him now can't be compared to that dilemma, of course, but it isn't easy either. What the doctor told him to do... deep down, he knows it's necessary and probably cleansing and healthy; but he also knows that, at least at first, it's going to cause uproar, pain, and guilt for the woman he loves. It's going to make her suffer, and he's going to be the reason for her suffering, again. Will that really be worth it? Surely he can do with a few more nights of poor sleep, if that's the price he has to pay for not hurting Emma?

She deserves to know, the cricket's voice reverberates in his head, And you deserve to express it. That's the way a relationship works.You need to be honest with your wife.

Damn, the little man is right. He isn't being honest with her if he withholds the truth about his feelings, if he keeps hiding and harboring them, nursing them until they grow to become obstacles, ugly, spiky barriers to keep him separated from his wife.

“Bloody hell,” he mutters to himself in a groan of frustration and scrapes together every ounce of courage and determination he can find, before he finally walks into his home.

He finds Emma upstairs, dressed in leggings and a comfortable baggy t-shirt, toweling her hair after her shower. She smiles at him, like she always does when he enters a room, and it tugs heavily at his heart.

“Hey!” She walks up to him and brushes a quick kiss on his lips. “How did your appointment go?”

He draws a deep breath, the scent of her coconut oil shampoo filling his nose. “It was...” He hesitates, licks his lips and tries again, “I think we made some progress.”

“That's great!” Emma comments. “About your nightmares?”

He scratches behind his ear. “Mainly about those, aye.”

“Oh, really?” She throws the towel on her dressing table and slumps down on the chair. “Do you remember the dream?” She looks at him expectantly.

Killian waves his hand vaguely and tilts his head. “Well, basically it's about what happened on our wedding day,” he tells her, “the wretched black witch, your heart, our family...” He lets his voice trail off and looks at his hand, the sight of the still unfamiliar rings catching his attention and distracting him for a moment. But then he pulls himself together, because avoiding a touchy subject has never done any good for anyone, and adds, “And me, doing nothing to help, watching her almost kill you...”

Emma gets up from her seat abruptly and puts her hand on his arm. “Killian! It wasn't your fault what happened!” she insists firmly. “You mustn't feel guilty about it! Is that really what your dreams mean?” Her forehead creases with worry and empathy.

He sways his head again. “That's not the only thing causing my incubus.”

That apparently takes her by surprise. “What else?” she wants to know.

“The cricket thinks I'm...” He sighs and licks his lips again; speaking seems very difficult. “He thinks that I'm upset with you,” he finishes.

“Upset?” she echoes. “With me? As in... angry?” Confusion is written all over her face. “But that doesn't... I mean, why would you be angry with me?” It is meant as a rhetorical question, but then she notices that he doesn't speak, just keeps scrutinizing her wordlessly, a ticking muscle in his jaw betraying the tension he feels. She frowns. “Killian?”

He averts his eyes for a moment, overwhelming the need to stop this before it begins to spiral out of control, because why would it help to dig up old ghosts now, right? It would only cause more pain and burden her with more worry and guilt... and then he remembers the cricket's words: that his feelings are valid, too, and that he has the right and also the obligation to express them, an obligation not only to himself, but also towards Emma and their relationship – because not hiding what he feels is part of the honesty that's indispensable for any relationship.

He draws another deep breath – regular breathing seems to be a difficult task right now – and directs his gaze back at her with determination in his eyes. He can see how she's taken aback by that.

“After all we'd been through,” he starts quietly, “after you'd even put our engagement on hold because I'd tried to resolve my problems all by myself... after we'd promised each other again and again to always support each other and be by each other's side...” She narrows her eyes, and Killian realizes that she has no idea what he's aiming at. “After all that,” he repeats firmly, “you still felt the need to go and face the most dangerous villain we'd ever encountered alone!” Her eyes widen, apparently in disbelief, and he goes on, “You still thought it would be better to confront her on your own, you still couldn't accept your family's help and let them – me – be there for you!” Now that the dam has broken, it seems to him, surprisingly enough, like a weight has been lifted from his shoulders, and he finds that it makes him feel actually free to put all this into words. “Why?” he adds, just when he thought he was finished. “When is that ever going to change?!”

“Really?” Emma blurts out. “You're mad at me because I was trying to protect you?!”

“That's the point, Swan!” he emphasizes, gesturing vividly. “You're not supposed to protect me! You're supposed to let me fight by your side, if necessary!”

Emma shakes her head. “The Black Fairy wanted me!” she points out. “There was nothing you or anybody else could have done!”

Sure, that would be her stereotypical excuse – no one else could have done it, so the Savior had to do it her way, alone. “Nonsense!” he contradicts fervently. “We could have worked out a plan to–”

Emma scoffs. “A plan to what?” she snaps. “Get yourselves killed?”

“You can't know that!” he replies angrily. “Do you really think letting her kill you would have saved me or your family? That she would have let us get away?”

He literally cannot believe how she could be so naïve not to see that by giving herself up to the Black Fairy she was sealing his – their family's – fate as much as hers. But death has never been something Killian Jones feared – well, at least not his own death. But seeing the woman he loves losing her life in front of his eyes? The last time, it nearly destroyed him. But he knows, this time, with his True Love, it wouldn't take him only three meager centuries to get over it – eons wouldn't be enough.

“Do you have any idea how I felt, being paralyzed and having to watch that monster with your heart in her hand?” Without being aware of it, he mimics the gesture of holding a heart in his hand and slowly closes his fingers to a fist. Emma's eyes are drawn to the movement of his hand, and he can see her flinch when his fingers curl around an imaginary heart. “About to crush it,” he goes on, “and not being able to move and do anything about it?”

After a few moments of heavy silence she blurts out furiously, “Of course I do! I had to watch Gold almost crush your heart while I was frozen, remember?!” Killian feels like punched in the gut, and also a little guilty for simply having forgotten this terrible episode. Yes, Emma's been there, too – he may not have given his heart to the Crocodile willingly, but what Emma almost had to watch his enemy do to him was practically the same.

“And I swore to myself,” she goes on, “to never let that happen again! That's why I went about it on my own, not because I thought I'd handle things better alone!”

He sighs and lowers his eyes for a moment to look at his hand that's still balled into a fist... and he understands. Because if there was ever an occasion where the only way to save her life would be to sacrifice his own, he knows he would not hesitate one second. So, he understands her motivation – but in this case, he's convinced, her sacrifice would have been in vain, the Black Fairy wouldn't have spared any of Emma's family.

He focuses on her again. “But that was not your decision to make, Emma,” he tells her softly. “We've been there already. And you know I'd rather die fighting anyone who threatens my family than surrender anyone I love to them.”

Her shoulders slump heavily. “Yeah, I know that,” she replies, her voice defeated, almost breaking. “But I really didn't think we had a chance this time.” Her wide eyes are boring into his with an almost frightening intensity, begging him to understand, as tears well up in them. “And I cannot watch another person I love die. I can't lose you. Not again.”

Killian reaches out and takes her left hand, his fingers squeezing hers almost painfully. “Emma,” he says, his voice deep and soothing, “When you think there's no chance to win, and there's no hope to prevail... that's exactly when you have to rely on your family, on me.” Her brows start to pull into a frown, and he insists, “When you need reminding that we'll always find a way.”

She huffs through her tears, almost in a choked laugh. “You sound like my mother.”

He tilts his head. “Your mother can be a piece of work, and everyone has made fun of her hope speeches at some point or got annoyed by them,” he admits, secretly counting himself in, “but you can't deny that whenever things have seemed beyond remedy and people have lost all faith, she was always the one to give them hope again, and along with that, the courage and strength to overcome anything!” He secretly counts himself among those people, too. He arches his eyebrows. “And I haven't seen her proven wrong one single time.”

Emma can't help but nod in agreement at that; so far, they have always managed to overcome anything, no matter how much against them the odds have been.

“Look at what has been thrown at her, at you – at us!” Killian reminds her. “Curses, poison, darkness, villains trying to take away our happy endings, to rip us apart, to destroy us,” – he pauses for a moment and threads his fingers through hers – “and yet, we're still here, and they are not. No matter how hard they tried, we have defeated them...”, he tilts his head again and adds dryly, “or made them part of the family.”

That makes her smile, which was, of course, his intention. “You're right,” she admits and squeezes his fingers. “I'll get there. It's just...” she licks her lips and swallows. “The instinct to protect the people you love–”

“I know,” he interrupts, “it's not easy. I get it. And if I thought there was no other way to save your life than to give up mine?” He nods gravely. “I would do it in the blink of an eye without discussion,” he concedes plainly. “But we can't and must not bear the burden alone, the burden of deciding whether there is another way or not,” he tries to make his point. “Like your parents when they were ready to sacrifice their lives to Regina's evil half to save the rest of Storybrooke. Or when I...” He hesitates for a moment, the memory still painfully fresh, “stayed behind in the Underworld.”

Emma shudders at the thought and points out, her tone a little accusing, “You decided that all by yourself!”

“Aye,” he admits, “but only after every other option we'd tried didn't work out.”

She sighs and nods. “Okay. I see what you mean.” She draws a deep breath and raises her chin, her eyes glittering and her voice firm. “I promise, Killian–“

“Just promise me,” he interrupts gently and smooths her still damp hair behind her shoulder with his hook, “to never give up.”

She presses her lips into a smile and tries to blink back her tears. “Okay. I promise.”

Killian lifts their joined hands to his lips and kisses the back of hers before he says softly, “You know, Emma... it's very likely that one of us is going to lose the other one day.”

Like he anticipated, she shakes her head fervently. “I won't–”

He squeezes her fingers, that are still entwined with his, reassuringly. “But that's okay,” he tells her firmly, even though the thought of losing Emma, at any point, pains him to no end, “because we'll know where we're going. And the one of us that goes first, will await the other, no matter how long it takes, and then we shall cross that bridge, together.”

Finally, one single tear struggles free and rolls down her cheek, the picture he just painted for her surprisingly soothing and peaceful. She squeezes his fingers back, and it's like she's anchoring herself in the here and now, in their reality.

She nods. “Together.”

#cs ff #captain swan ff #cs #captain swan #cs ff rec #my ff #a vision softly creeping

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