#your half delirious tired thoughts were INCREDIBLE

[emry-stars-art]

I’m wondering (and not sure if this has been talked about yet in a post I simply missed) about how Abram copes with Andrew’s physical affections (or lack thereof) in your lovely royal AU. With the history behind ‘pretty’ that you described for Abram in that last post, I feel like there is so much potential of him expecting to be touched, even before they are courting (but especially during/after), and wondering why Andrew doesn’t—especially once it’s established that he thinks of Abram as ‘pretty’. They are of different station so it would be so easy for Andrew to act entitled to Abram’s body like so many before, especially with Abram in a position where he’s basically serving him in some way. I wonder if it makes him relieved (due to professionalism/personal comfort at the very beginning) or anxious (due to having no ability to tell what is coming for him/later due to doubting if he is really wanted that way if Andrew doesn’t act the same as his point of reference) or a little bit of both for different reasons.

I imagine Andrew to be both a very tactile person and not necessarily so because he is so very aware of boundaries and only crosses them with invitation or purpose. I wonder how that translates here and how his touch plays into how Abram perceives him (and honestly there’s the whole part too where it’s something they have in common, trampled boundaries and bad associations and bone-deep understanding of such) or if they would ever have a conversation about that where Abram wonders about the curtesy of distance and space he is being given.

I’m like two seconds from passing out bc it’s pretty late here so idk how much sense this ask really makes but I’m having thoughts. I love your AU and your work and hope you have a wonderful day <3

YOU GUYS ALWAYS FIND THE MOST INTRIGUING THINGS TO EXPLORE I LOVE YOU (and your comments/etc, apostrophe-philosophy, are always a joy to read hehe)

(First: find the royal au writing masterpost here 💕)

I’ve been working on/thinking about this ask long enough that I’ve straight up forgotten if this was a thought I had when writing that first post (here) or if you brought it fully to my attention but we can safely assume it’s the latter so thank youuuuu for that truly. I love exploring Abram’s slow inch (and Andrew’s, but he’s had more time to get adjusted) towards finding a healthy relationship with touch 🥲 and oh my GOD don’t let me forget to tell all of you about Abram and gloves

I wrote a scene/lil collection of scenes about Andrew clearing things up here too because I’ve been wanting to explore Abram’s POV for a while 👀 there are references to canon abuse, so take care. As always, sparknotes version and additions below

I LOVE your points about Andrew, I totally agree that once it’s established and he’s allowed, he’s very much a tactile person, he just needs to get there first 💕

We all know for obvious reasons that it never once crosses the prince’s mind for Abram to be anything more than a professional bodyguard, even if he does find him attractive. He’s very good at courtesy and polite distance. How I imagine this goes down in the timeline is this:

1) Nathaniel shows up at Palmetto and he’s never allowed close to important people. Certainly never allowed close enough to touch. Totally safe there. It doesn’t take him long to understand Day really won’t take advantage of him since he never did in Evermore either, so that’s safe. There’s not much else to worry about for that long stretch of time.

2) Nathaniel/Abram becomes the prince’s guard. There’s probably a little anxiety just because there’s plenty of opportunities for the prince to try something, but as time goes on and Andrew keeps the previously mentioned distance, even acting apathetic (as he does), Abram starts to assume that the prince is straight/doesn’t care. It wasn’t as if every single person in Evermore was trying to get at him. Just the ones that wanted to. Obviously, the prince doesn’t want to. It gets to the point that Abram feels comfortable and doesn’t try to constantly watch his own back when he’s on duty.

Then the prince, perhaps feeling a little bold or hopeful or just wanting to say something so he doesn’t keep feeling like he’ll explode, makes a single comment on Abram’s “pretty face”. Even something that could be brushed off as friendly jest, if he really wanted. But Abram completely freezes up. Andrew, of course, notices. He doesn’t try to ask about it then, but he definitely notices. But he assumes that Abram took it as the genuine compliment it was, and that Abram is entirely uninterested or even wary of those advances. So he makes no more comments, he leaves the entire concept as far away as he can get it.

Now that Abram knows the prince finds him pretty, he’s just waiting for Andrew to be the same as everyone else. He didn’t even directly answer to the nobles in Evermore and they were still so bold - but he’s Andrew’s servant in the most direct way, and Andrew is a prince. Surely the prince is even more entitled to him than they were. (When he realizes this is what’s happening, Andrew tells Abram in no unclear terms exactly what is and isn’t expected of him. It takes longer than that for Abram to shake the anxiety he grew up with, but at least after that he can start repeating the prince’s words to himself when he needs to.)

3) that’s cleared up well enough, but then (much, much later) the prince wants to court him. At first Abram can’t think much beyond “there’s no way this is real” but then the more he thinks about it, the more nervous he gets again. He doesn’t know Palmetto courting traditions, what if he’s expected to do something he isn’t ready for. What if now that he’s accepted the courtship he can’t tell Andrew no anymore. It wouldn’t be fair of him to, he thinks, he shouldn’t have agreed so quickly.

But there’s a time they’re out doing whatever courtship things (maybe another horse ride for funsies idk), Abram’s getting nervous about it again, and when Andrew asks for a kiss or to hold his hand, Abram doesn’t answer. He’s also a little confused when Andrew doesn’t just do it anyway, because he hadn’t said no, but Andrew is watching him in the way that usually means Abram is acting too much like he’s at Evermore again. He tells Abram, “Nothing’s changed. You can say no.” And Abram does immediately - not because he doesn’t want whatever he was offered but because he scared himself. Andrew’s still watching him. “Don’t forget that again,” he says. Abram takes a shaky breath. “Yes, prince.”

But as soon as Abram’s past that anxiety for the second and probably final time? Andrew is still as tactile a person as before and gods know Abram is touch starved to hell and back, he’ll take any kind words or touches he can possibly get and he craves them. Specifically from the prince. Who loves to give them.

I’d love to come back and make a fluff post specifically about that point in the timeline if we can collectively come up with enough ideas for said fluff 🥰 for now thanks again for the ask, swear to GOD we’re gonna get these idiots a happy ending, but I’m having way too much fun in the meantime 😂

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

Bed Time

Team Free Will & Winchester little sister!reader

Requested by Anonymous

Synopsis: you have a bet going with your friends to see who can stay up the longest, but Team Free Will isn’t having it

Note: over a liter = like 3-4 cans

36 hours.

That’s how long you’d been up, and you were prepared to double it if need be. You’d already beaten out half of your friend group, and you had a feeling the others would crack soon enough.

One of your friends—you were so delirious now that you couldn’t remember which one—had made the brilliant suggestion that all of your friends should try to see who could stay up the longest.

You were used to getting minimal amounts of sleep in your chaotic Winchester life, so you readily agreed.

But it wasn’t nearly as easy as you thought it would be.

The longer you stayed awake, the more you started to realize just how awful Sam must have felt when he had Lucifer keeping him from sleeping. And this was just you and your friends doing a stupid challenge; you couldn’t imagine how he must have felt.

Still, between the lack of sleep and horrible memories flooding back of your big brother in pain, this challenge was turning out to be awful. But still, you were stubborn; you wanted to win.

Fortunately for you, your brothers and your angel friend Castiel still hadn’t discovered what you were doing. You didn’t think they’d approve of this less-than-healthy bet.

It was getting harder to hide it from them as you found yourself chugging energy drinks to stay awake. You threw them away in your room so no one would see, but they weren’t idiots; you looked almost as tired as you felt.

“Are you feeling alright?”

Of course Sam would be the first one to call you out.

“I’m fine,” you said immediately.

“She has over a liter of Red Bull in her system,” Castiel spoke up. You glared at him.

“What?” Dean asked. “You cramming for a test or something, kid?”

“Even if you are,” Sam interrupted. “That isn’t good for you.”

“She hasn’t slept in thirty-seven hours and fourteen minutes,” Castiel added.

“Cas,” you groaned. “Seriously?”

“You what?” Dean demanded.

“That’s abnormal, is it not?” Castiel put in, confused.

“Yes, incredibly,” Sam huffed. “And unhealthy. Kid, what’s going on?”

“I’m not tired?” You suggested.

“Try again,” Dean said.

“Fine,” you sighed. “Me and my friends have a bet going to see who can stay up the longest.”

“Oh brother,” Dean huffed.

“Y/N, this isn’t healthy. You’ve gotta call it off.”

“But I’ve almost won!” You protested.

“Bed,” Dean demanded. “Go, now. Tell your friends the game is over.”

You groaned, and were just starting to turn around when your phone buzzed. You pulled it out, and a wide grin spread across your face.

“I won!” You cheered.

“Bed!” Dean ordered, snatching your phone from your hands. “Scoot!”

“I just have to tell my friends—“

“Sleep!” Sam added.

You slumped your shoulders and started for your room, calling over your shoulder.

“Can you text the group chat that I won?”

The boys response came in unison.

“Go to sleep!”

Taglist:

@nyotamalfoy @mrvlxgrl

[kinkandkreep]

Hi u🖖 i have a request about Connor ( ratonhnhaké:ton ) can you make a spicy content about him ? ( if youre not ok with it deleted my ask ) good day or night to you.

A/N: Hey hey! Thanks for sending this in hun. 😁 I decided to do a drabble to further work my hand in that, and I also tried something a little different with this one, so I hope you enjoy! And please feel free to send in any more requests y’all! My ask box is still open!

Connor Kenway Spice

Having been married to Ratonhnhaké:ton for quite some time, you’ve come to learn a few things about him. 

For as big as he is, he’s a surprisingly silent sleeper, although he snores quietly when he’s had an especially tiring day. 

He’s got a secret sweet tooth (olykoeks are a particular favorite dessert of his).

He’s very ticklish, but only in the most odd places, like his elbows and forehead.

But perhaps most astoundingly, you’ve learned that he’s got quite the sexual appetite. 

You’re not sure what exactly you thought his libido would be like before the two of you got married, but it’s safe to say that you were rather surprised to find out that he’s essentially always ready to go. 

You assume it has something to do with the near constant flow of adrenaline he’s most likely to have given how on-the-go he always is, but you’ve never asked him to be sure. 

On a particularly good day, the two of you can take it to the bed upwards of 4 times, not including quickies for when Connor’s especially worked up and short on time. 

You’re own drive can’t always keep up, but Connor is always very respectful of that and never pressures you. In instances like that, he takes care of himself. 

Sometimes, you like to watch. 

It’s not always a mutual thing exactly, though you both do get mutual satisfaction out of it. 

Connor’s a big man, about 8 inches lengthwise and about an inch and a half thick. His own hands, which are large in their own right, just barely cover the circumference of him, nevermind yours. 

It’s incredibly satisfying to watch him come undone, his caramel skin glistening in the light of the fireplace. A light sheen of sweat covers him, causing him to radiate with an even greater glow.

He’s not loud- expressive yes, but never loud- but you can clearly see how his eyebrows scrunch as the pleasure rocks through him. 

The slick sound generated by his hand pumping his length in a steady rhythm fills the otherwise silent room. 

Connor’s head is thrown back in pleasure, strong neck and prominent Adam’s apple on display for your hungry eyes. A strange sense of possession creeps up inside you as you continue to observe your husband.

 ‘Mine,’ you think, rather deliriously. 

Or, perhaps you’d actually spoken out loud, because Ratonhnhaké:ton’s head snaps up, his normally warm carob colored eyes smoldering with a desperate sort of heat, his pupils dilated wide. 

He levels you with an expectant, slightly confused look, his hand never ceasing its back and forth, up and down motion. 

“Did you say som-”

“I said, you’re mine.”

Connor is momentarily taken aback, movements stuttering in their rhythm. 

“You-..I’m…yours?”

“Yes,” you rise from your seat, stalking the few steps towards the man before you. Upon reaching him, you kneel down, your face merely inches away from his manhood. 

Connor’s hand has long since stopped moving, his eyes following you on your path, pupils still blown out. 

Reaching up, you gently coax his hand away, replacing it with your own, and beginning slow, teasing strokes up and down his length. 

“You are mine, Ratonhnhaké:ton. Just as I am yours.”

Now leaning forward, you place a gentle, reverent kiss on his tip, chuckling at his subsequent sharp intake of air at the action. 

You can tell from the way his cock twitches and the muscles in his thighs visibly tighten- something about what you’d said struck a chord in your husband. 

You are very familiar by now with how best to go about pleasing the man: the right amount of pressure to use in your grip, just how he likes for you to slightly flick your wrist once you reach the head, the soft, barely there trace of your nails along his length. 

You could spend hours just pleasuring your love and watching his reactions.  

“Y-yours…”

Without ceasing the movement of your hand, you hum curiously, having been so absorbed in studying Ratonhnhaké:ton’s expression that you’d barely registered him speaking. 

“I am yours, Y/N. And you are mine.”

Ratonhnhaké:ton speaks again, louder and with more conviction, albeit a little breathless.

A moment passes, the two of you maintaining intense eye contact before you smile up at him.

Raising up, you cup your hand around your husband’s cheek, eyes still locked with his as your breaths mingle. 

In a moment, your lips slot perfectly into place against one another’s, pleased sounds emitting from both of you.

You swallow the precious sounds Connor makes as you begin pumping him faster. His hips and thighs begin to tense as he draws nearer to his orgasm. 

It takes but a few more strokes, and the pressure of a cleverly placed tip of your thumbnail against his head that sends Ratonhnhaké:ton over the edge. Several thick strings of creamy cum rope around your hand, Connor’s hips still jerking in the aftershocks. 

“Good boy,” you purr, bringing your hand up to sample his essence. It’s noticeably sweet, courtesy of how much fresh fruit Connor eats and the pies you always make him sample. It’s also only slightly salty, but otherwise tasteless. 

The man himself watches you with dark eyes, chest rising and falling a little more rapidly than usual. 

You’re preparing to speak, when a small yelp takes the place of the words you’d meant to say as Connor quickly flips your positions. Now it is you who sits in the chair and he who kneels before you. 

You’re a little confused, until Connor begins trailing his fingers up the exposed skin of your legs, pushing up your skirt as he goes. His eyes bore into yours, pupils still wide, although not as much as before, and that signature sexy smirk of his slightly curling his mouth. 

“You’ve been so good to me. Now, I am going to return the favor.”

[qvrcll]

Never Boring — Abby Anderson.

synopsis -> Abby has never taken you this deep but you’ve always turned dumber and dumber despite the decision of whether she does or not.

warnings -> EXPLICIT smut, f ! reader, rough sex

a/n -> this is so incredibly short but i had to write for my gf <3 my babygirl <3 (this was literally a piece written for dead pool but changed course 🫣)

wc: 1.1K (so short, ew, im sorry)

Sex with Abby was never boring.

Never boring, unless you chose for it to be — chose for the stinking slaps of fervent skin dashing against hip to not mean as much as you claimed it did everytime the contact hit, choosing to not break each other with the promise of reinventing the same high-up to pleasure across the blurred line of self-division and lunacy — there was something incredibly wrong with you in the acclaimed name of the action being to sedative to you and somewhere, dangling off the edge of a parapet, was the mantra you prized deeply, a melody of A-Ah, Hnnn-Ah—Abby—don’t-fuck-don’t stop!

“Don’t worry, wasn’t — ah — wasn’t planning to”, she’d grunt low in your ear and you would almost nearly crumble into a frantic mouthful of cold flesh and all panic in the leer that you couldn’t hear her despite the proximity — yet, in her cybernetic grasp like iron on iron, you almost felt yourself curdle to a stage of inflammation that humans had not learnt to navigate as a habitual instinct. But in her hands, under her weight? You were putty. Fucking delirious. Ready to latch onto the third string of human mutation as she drilled another hole into you (you could never say this out loud, it would swell her with unneeded ego)

You wrap your legs around her hips despite the sharp drives of every maneuver, hips locking in and locking out of your own in a cruel attempt to rim you with a taste of a self-concerned grip on reality, the thought of oh fuck, is this sex going to be the reason of my death? But the disappointment never came, it never looked through the books of her catastrophic plunges deep in your puffy cunt, and the only thing that came out, of you (you assumed) was the scream of her name and the presidented truth that no one could drive you quite this insane: she was a formidable drug and all you could do was choke, spit, gurgle across the taste of her, “Abby-Ang—Fuck, fuck, fucccckkk — You’re so good, you’re so good!”.

She smirks — or looks to be smirking — in the centre of your blurry vision, all bleary marked and bleached with streaks of distortion the harder you stared and the harder you tried, the more you cried: there is a gasp, a silent moment of insanity before she takes you deeper than she ever as, ever would claim to have (you would assume it was one of her jokes), because she parallels you against the bedsheets, or the notion of them anyway, because they were half hanging on the floor and half not doing their job at all — but she doesn’t care, much, when she haphazardly angles your lower half higher and higher up the bed, so she could dig you out and be an acclaimed archeologist with the profundity of those waited out, quickly prolonged bruises of her silicone dick wrenching you open from outside and then inwards. Cruelly. Messily, like she was a starved man in search for a single glass of water and you were an oasis, “Shit, you’re the best”, her voice ripples against the meat of your chest when she nearly knocks you unconscious from plunging onto it in weariness, that even her debilitation was causing you to realise just how far gone you are when consulted about her, and her assortment of plastic dicks? A whole different question.

It drills into you, slitting back and forth like a sword teased back into its sheath, and the goading notion of you being anything as so dipartire to her made you shut down onto the girth abusing your cunt — “Babe, you’re squeezing around it, like crazy”, her voice is sounding warbled, tired in a sort of fucked out way that drove you inaudible, and she leans in close to your face to check for any noises to be drilled out of you, but you fear if she begins to try, you would traverse grounds that would only invite more of the same. You would like your lower half as intact as possible, please and thank you.

“Abby—fuck, fuck—Oh god—Abby”, you’re not doing better, and though she’s just as atrocious as you are, she’s stronger. More resistant. She could hide her eyes well beneath her lids, whereas yours were rolled back, coddling the familiar side of a extreme malaise cultivating in your abdomen, a crick threatening to fracture into kaleidoscopic fragments of both you and her, traces of white, evidence of fatigue soon catching up and you tighten around the plastic, rack against her harder and she does the same (to achieve elation through the silicones bruising friction against her, you assumed in hindsight), though you suppose there is no way to tell when you’re turning dumb near towards your end, your salvation.

“Fuck—look at me”, she orders and it’s hard to decipher the tone when her brutish pace goes from bad to worse and you know she’s close when she’s threading her breaths in low ‘O’s and shallow gasps in order to still stay inside you: the strenght to plummel into you several drills than one was, thankfully, invited as extraordinary — and for the fruit of her endeavours and her equally skilled plastic dick, you blink fervently towards her, to satisfy her, to please her, to make her aware of the roads you’d cross to just get to suck her off in a downtown toilet, and she whines at the fact that you merely do.

“Yeah, yeah—just like that, don’t look anywhere else—“, her voice is losing footing and to be honest, you’re too muddle headed to pick any fault in it: finding fault in the crisp knowledge that Abby Anderson goes all messy, delirious and hot in the final ten seconds of sex was hard to find when you do the very same, much quicker and much more destructive.

Ten seconds.

“You’re so good—so fucking good”, she begs, and it almost sounds like self-assurance from her mouth but you know she means every word: the knot intertwists painfully and you’re so close to a nebulic cataclysm.

Seven seconds.

“So, so, so good. So good, this”, she directs her gaze to where her end meets yours, “It’s so good for me, isn’t it?”.

Three.

“Please”,

Two.

“Fuck—“

One.

“Oh my god!”

You scream. Scream till you’re hellbent against her chest like blackwork hugging her skin. Scream till you’re on the equivalent frequency of pleasure as the avocations of Dionysus himself. Till you’re sure you will end up outdoing her, in the form of discoloured and incoherent bawling as you maul her back, serene maroon lines, when you rupture beyond relief.

Yup, never boring.

[elysianslove]

sal i have a very important question, from the hq boys, who do u think are the best at aftercare? i think hirugami, oikawa and suna but maybe because im biased lol

“maybe because i’m biased” is my excuse for every ask i answer on here habsjdjd i get like twt p*rn asks and say the same guys over & over again sorry 😞

BUT BEST AT AFTERCARE?? oof okay

sakusa definitely. runs you a bath even if you’re half asleep and always, without fail, makes you tea!! he just like has to make sure you’re okay. gives a ton of forehead kisses. also he’s always like “get up n pee i don’t want you getting a uti.”

oikawa absolutely. he’s very gentle with you after even if the sex itself wasn’t intense? like he’s just running his hands along your body, calming you down, before he goes and gets a washcloth to clean you up. he just takes his time with the aftercare, treats you like you’re about to break any second.

matsukawa also. feel like his aftercare would be very domestic, in a way? like he drags you to the bathroom even if you’re too tired to move, washes your body in the shower, gets you a caprisun as you lay in bed, just chilling and talking. like he makes sure you’re okay but in his own, special, mattsun way.

hirugami is a sweetheart !! so it’s a given. very vocal after, actually asks you if you’re doing okay, telling you you did so good for him, you were perfect, he loves you loads, all while peppering and littering kisses all over your body as he cleans you up. just yk, takes his time.

feel like osamu would be great too? less in an obvious way, more underlying and subtle. like soon as you’re done he’s breathlessly asking you if you’re okay, just pulls you to him so tight, caressing his hands all over your body and kissing your neck, asking you if you need anything.

and kita obviously??? he’s so perfect at it, asking you if you need anything and if you’re all good, running you a bath, getting you a small snack or maybe some juice if you’re a little lightheaded. brushes your hair for you !!! kisses your forehead and tip of your nose and cheeks while you’re all tucked in bed. and he does it every single time without fail.

akaashi as well!!! very quiet after, but also really emotional. like he just really appreciates you and wants you to know that, desperately. hovers his fingers along your face, presses kisses to your hands and wrists, asks you if you’re doing okay, if that was alright, you hungry my love? just very attentive and caring.

i feel like with suna he had to like. give it some time. everything that he feels for you sometimes overwhelms him, but especially after sex, so it took him some time before he stopped running off to the bathroom right after to collect his thoughts. honestly it just means he needs the aftercare just as much!! so eventually you two fell into rhythm where you take care of one another.

aran as well??? of course ??? so much praise after !!!! like a shitton of it that honestly leaves you giggling. he just like motions you to come closer to him, cuddles you up to him and tells you all about how much he loves you. and he never ever skips aftercare he finds it incredibly important, especially if you have sex that’ll definitely leave you a little delirious yk?

i feel like tendō is as well!! lighthearted and sweet, makes sure your comedown is gradual and not so sudden that it just sends you spiraling. he’s got a whole snack drawer too so after making sure you’re okay and clean, he just turns to the drawer like, “okay we feeling savory or sweet tonight?” he’s a keeper fr.

also kuroo !!! he goes from incredibly serious right after to just clumsy and giggly a second later. like soon as you’re done he’s pulling back, hands trailing along your body as if he’s inspecting you, asking you if you’re okay, and when you give him the okay, he just sighs and leans over to peck your lips. definitely makes you shower with him (if only to have shower sex).

and iwaizumi. he takes it very serious, especially because he knows he can unintentionally get rough, aside from the times where rough is what you need and ask for. massages !!!!! oh my god the best. just his strong hands kneading in all the right places after he cleans you up. and he makes sure you pee and that you’re staying hydrated!!!!

also, remember!!! boys need aftercare too sometimes :)

[msmarvelwrites]

Coming Home

Summary: Loving Natasha was hard, but losing her was something you were never equipped to handle. Until she comes home.

Pairing: Natasha x reader

Warnings: fluff and feels, explicit language, smut, oral (f receiving- they’re gay bro), a little sprinkle of angst because I can’t help myself.

Word Count: 2.1K

Authors Note: For the incredible @sweeterthanthis’s request ‘Natasha + drunk sex + “believe it or not, this isn’t the weirdest place I’ve banged.”’ Thank you so much you sweet angel baby.

You watched as Steve disappeared into thin air, waiting on bated breath as seconds turned to excruciating minutes. Worry began to sizzle between your small group of friends. Finally, after what felt like hours he reappeared in a flash of white light on the tarmac. Steve took a step, a smug smile playing on his lips... And that's when you saw her.

Natalia Romanoff.

She looked like someone out of folklore, standing there with her flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes clutched to Steve’s arm as if she would topple over any moment. She glowed, you thought, as the setting sun beyond illuminated her hair.

Your heart was hammering in your chest, vision blurry as the sound of her melodic giggle melted over you. The hours you had spent longing to hear it, pretending it was ringing in your ears suddenly didn't do it justice. Like windchimes by the lake.

“Oh my god.” You managed to choke out, your hand coming to cover your mouth as tears began to well in your burning eyes.

Your feet were moving before you could stop them, body taking control as they pulled to her. To a thousand ‘what if’s’. To the woman who haunted your every thought since she had disappeared from your life. You had realised many things since you brought back the stones, one being you were completely and unchangeable in love with your best friend.

“Nat.” You hiccuped on your sobs, calling her attention to you. Her eyes softened the moment they found you, smile pulling wider across her lips as she called your name. You held your arms around your waist, terrified if you let go you’d fall apart. Horrified that this might all be another dream. That she wasn't really standing before you, whole and just as perfect as she had left you.

“Hey, sweetheart. Miss me much?” The words fell from her lips smooth like syrup.

You couldn't speak, to overcome with relief the moment her hand touched yours, pulling you hard against her body as her arms wrapped around your trembling form.

“Cause’ I missed you.”

Tony’s computer monitor was all that illuminated the lab where you had snuck off to when the party began to get out of hand. As soon as Thor brought out his Asgardian sludge you knew it was time to head out. Of course, they all had a good reason to celebrate. But the day's events finally started to sink in, your mind and body tired as relief and solace hung heavy on your heart.

You perched yourself on the windowsill looking out at the rolling hills as the sky began to favour the stars, reflecting to yourself, or so you thought. Your mind was still buzzing with unanswered questions, whirling and drifting in and out of a state of disbelief.

She’s really here, you had to keep reminding yourself. She came back.

Three faint knocks on the glass wall shook you from your thoughts, pulling you back to the dim lab. You looked up, heart hammering in your chest the moment your eyes adjusted to the light.

“Hey babe.” She called, her voice lulling a smile to your lips. You couldn't control it if you wanted to.

One of the side effects of loving Nat.

“Can I join you?”

You nodded your head, patting the empty ledge beside you as she shuffled across the room. The half empty vodka bottle in her hand sloshed a little as she walked, reminding you of just how many spirits you had indulged in that night.

“I still can’t believe you're real.” You mumbled, your eyes scanning over her face as if to memorise her beauty. You hadn't before, when she didnt come back. It was one of your greatest regrets.

“Honestly, I’m still a little foggy on how I’m here, too.” She assured you, her eyes flicking up to meet yours. “But I am. I promise.” her voice was hushed as her soft fingers came to dance along your cheek, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“I-I missed you so much, Nat. I thought I’d never see you again… I thought-”

She pulled you against her chest then, her hands running over your back as she held you tight. Her touch melted over you, lulling you calm again.

“I think you need a drink.” She chuckled as you sniffled back another sob. You nodded your head, taking the bottle from her hands and bringing it to your lips, wincing as the liquid courage danced on your tongue.

“I almost couldn't do it, ya know.” Nats words called your attention back to her, your eyes drifting to her lips as she spoke. “All my life I’ve been searching for something to fill this void… Maybe if I hadn't met Steve… Hadn’t met you, the decision would have been easy.”

You gaped at her, the confession hanging in the air.

“I wished it was me who jumped.” You finally spoke, her eyes flicking up to meet yours as sorrow flashed across her face.

“Why would you say something like that?” She snapped, her words hitting you in the gut with force.

“How could I? Nat, how could you? You left me, left all of us. You have no idea what it was like to- to…” You stumbled, alcohol clouding your judgment.

“To what?” She pressed, searching your eyes for answers as you brought the bottle to your lips again, swallowing down your pride.

“To lose my best friend. The person who was supposed to be there… I was supposed to tell you...” As soon as the words left your mouth you regretted them. The look of Nat’s face telling you everything you already knew.

“I was going to tell you… Before you left, but I figured I’d just see you in a minute… Like you said.” You sighed, the memory replaying through your mind like a broken record. It had since she left.

“What are you talking about?”

It was now or never. You knew it, and god you had waited too long already. Your heart hammered in your chest, body trembling as you met her gaze. Every fiber in your being was pulling you to her until you couldn't fight it any longer. Slowly, as if you might scare her, you reached your hand up cup the column of her throat, your thumb running softly against her jaw.

Nats eyes flicked to your lips, her body still as all the air in the lab seemed to dissipate in a breath.

“I mean look at you? God, do you have any idea how hard it is to be in the same room as you and not want to…? Shit, this isn’t how I… Okay, so what I’m trying to say is… Fuck-”

The moment her lips were on yours it was like every thought caught flame and sizzled away. You shivered against her, body searing hot against the touch as her hands held your face. You swear your heart had fallen out of your chest the moment her tongue ran across your lips, begging for more until she was climbing on top of you, hands tangled in your hair.

She growed down into you, her hips moulding with yours as you moaned into her mouth. It was all too much, your heart going into overdrive as her hands fumbled with your t shirt dress. Slowly she dragged it up and over your head, disregarding it somewhere on the floor and instantly attaching her lips to your throat.

“Fuck.” You breathed, hands holding the globes of her ass as you tried to move, overestimating your strength as your bodies toppled over onto the ground, giggles spilling from your lips.

Silence hung heavy between you as you stared at each other, both frozen and unsure of your next moves. Nat opened her mouth to speak but her words caught in her throat.

“I’m in love with you.” You choked out, the words tumbling from your drunken lips.

“I know…” It was all the confirmation you needed, crawling across the floor and pinning her down. Your lips collide with hers, aching, longing to touch her in all the places you craved.

Her tongue parted your lips, moaning ever so softly as your hands ghosted along her curves. You needed her, more than you’d ever needed somebody. Your whole body quivered under her touch, your core pooling with desire as her fingers roamed the waistband of your panties.

“You’re so beautiful.” The words echoed around your mind. “Can I taste you?” The question hung in the air as if it had to be answered. Still, you whimpered out a affirmation as her hand dipped under the fabric, fingers gliding around your sex, everywhere but the place you needed her most.

“You’re so wet, sweetheart. Is this for me?” She teased, lips crashing onto yours as your fumbled with her shirt, finally untucking it from her pants and throwing it somewhere across the room.

“Fuck, yes.” You managed to mumble out, your lip caught between your teeth as you shivered, her fingers feathering over your slick.

“Bet you taste so good, sweetheart.” She spoke, words dripping with desire. You were practically vibrating against her touch, grinding your hips against her fingers as they parted your sloppy folds. Skillfully, she circled your throbbing clit, watching you from above as you fell apart beneath her.

“That’s it, baby.” She cooed, peppering kisses down your neck, chest, stomach, until she was between your thighs. You watched her, breath caught in your throat as she slowly pulled your ruined panties down your legs, tossing them onto the floor.

“Is this okay?” The words startled you for a moment, as you looked down at her hesitating eyes. “We’re drunk and I don’t want you to think-“

“I’m not that drunk.” You interjected, delirious on her beauty.

“Me neither.” She admitted, chuckling softly to herself as she started again, running her index finger against your clit and gliding it deep inside you.

You threw your head back, soft moans falling from your lips as she pumped into you at an agonizing pace.

“Please, Nat.” You begged, desperate for her mouth. “I need you.”

As if the words commanded her, she sunk down, bringing her mouth to your glistening cunt and dipping her tongue into your plump folds. A hushed scream fell from your mouth, careful not to call attention to the activities taking place in Tony’s lab. But as her warm tongue lapped against your throbbing clit, you were shattered. Broken moans laced with profanity and pleasure tumbled from your lips as she sucked on your pussy, lapping at you as you melted into her mouth.

“Just like that.” You uttered, the coil in your belly beginning to tighter as she fucked into you, the vulgar squelching sounds filling the room around you. You were so close, getting off on the mere imagine of Natasha between your thighs.

“Cum for me, y/n. Let me taste it. I want to swallow every drop.” The words were your final demise, your body shaking as the impending orgasm ripped through you, so built up you squirted into her mouth and down her chin. Evidence of your euphoria dripping onto the floor in a puddle beneath you.

“Look at you,” she panted- face slick with your juices as she licked her lips. You physically shuddered at the sight. “You’ve made such a mess. Somebody better clean-“

“You have made a mess, would you like me to assist you?” FRIDAY’S voice echoed through the room, startled you both apart as you scrambled for an item of clothing to cover yourself.

“N-no!” You stuttered out, horrified as if the A.I were watching you.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t like me to get you a mop? Would you like me to notify Mr. Stark?”

“NO!” You both screamed at once. Nat looked just as horrified as you, hand slapped over her mouth as she desperately tried to hold back her laugher.

“Ohmyfuckinggod.” You breathed out, head in your lap as Nat wonder around the room collecting your abandoned clothing.

“I can’t believe an Alexa just cock blocked me” you shook your head, causing her to fall on the floor laughing.

“I don’t think she likes it when you call her that.” She warned as you rolled your eyes, a smile full of content playing on your lips.

“Wanna know somethin?” she started tossing your clothes in your lap as you shrugged on the crumbled fabric, “Believe you it or not, this isn’t the weirdest place I’ve banged.”

You lost it at that, head falling back as you tried to catch your breath. Natasha sank down onto her knees, her hands coming to cup your face.

“I’m so glad you’re back.” You whispered against her lips.

“Can’t get rid of me that easy, babe.”

TAGLIST:

@starlightcrystalline @kalesrebellion @projectcampbell @calwitch @sycochick @sassy-pelican @mollygetssherlockcoffee @amateuratheart @officialmarvelbabyn @a-really-bi-girl @fairislesheets @lookiamtrying @savior-adriana @thefallenbibliophilequote @sillygamingartghost @cutie1365 @sweeterthanthis @drabblewithfrannybarnes @navybrat817 @angrythingstarlight @whateveriwant

[aminiatureworld]

Give and Take

Characters: Albedo, gn!reader

Word Count: 2,111

Warnings: Injury

Premise: Everything in the world comes with a price. But should you really bear that burden alone?

In which the reader’s vision harms them.

Author’s Note: It’s Valentine’s Day weekend and I’m here to give you all the fanfic-y goodness I can! I’d like to thank lovely anon for requesting this, I hope I did your prompt justice! 

Writing this reminded me of why I hate Mount Everest. Also I realize I keep connecting Albedo to Dragonspine. Truly living up to his quests. Similarly to past prompts I injected a hospital into Monstadt because, I mean, of course a huge city will have some sort of hospital. I mean I’m sure there’s also a school and a bakery and such but there’s no point in having that as an in game mechanic. 

Version without bulletpoints on Ao3

Albedo

You supposed that you shouldn’t’ve been surprised that a mysterious and indescribable power came with a price. Honestly it wasn’t the vision’s fault that you weren’t the most aware sort of person, that you needed a warning label dropped down from the heavens to accompany the raw elemental energy you’d be handed.

At first you hadn’t really noticed it. I mean sure your hands were a bit tingly, but you’d just been handed a vision! Who would’ve thought you’d have suddenly developed the ability to control Cryo, coating your weapon with it, or simply lifting snowflakes off of your hand? It was a novel experience, and a welcome one at that.

But eventually the reality crept up on you. It was the small things at first. How your hands seemed frightfully cold all of a sudden, the odd purple hue of your fingernails that was now ever present, how you found yourself wearing gloves more and more often. But then came the red spots and the blistering, and you’d come to the sickening realization that this gift you’d been given had turned into a curse.

As the time had passed you’d come to the conclusion that there was nothing to be done about it. The world was made up of give and take, and if you wanted to continue to use your vision – something which had become essential to your life and which you weren’t even sure you could get rid of – you’d simply have to deal with the consequences. You didn’t like to bring attention to it, and though members of your closest circle knew about it you tried to ignore it as much as possible, doing what you can when possible and hiding your perpetually frostbitten hands when not.

And then you’d met Albedo. And if there was one thing you were certain of it was that you were never going to tell Albedo.

Albedo had come into your life unexpectedly, having run into you while searching for ingredients to use in his alchemy. What had started with a pleasant conversation had quickly turned into infatuation, then into love, and suddenly you’d found yourself the happiest you’d been in a long time.

It didn’t feel right to tell him. You knew that Albedo already had his struggles, things that shadowed his face for a moment before he returned to his serene expression. The last thing you wanted to do was to add to those struggles. Especially not about something that simply couldn’t be fixed. You knew he’d run himself ragged looking for a cure, but it was simply the way things were. And in truth you were tired, oh so tired, and it was easier in a way accept your predicament as inevitability rather than try to fight it.

It was a cold day outside, and you silently cursed the Guild for sending you out to deal with some rogue Fatui members in Dragonspine. Already the temperature was near unbearably, adding your issues made it near fatal. Though you’d managed to deal with the Fatui it’d been a long and hard battle, filled less with strategy and more with desperation as you tried to ignore the numbness in your fingers. Your weapon felt clunky in your hand and you felt tears of frustration as you missed over and over again. By the time you’d finished the feeling had spread throughout your body, and you fell over a few times on the way home, legs stiff and unfeeling. You were dreading having to look at them.

You collapsed as soon as you stepped inside, crying out as your blistered arms hit the wooden floor. Bath, you had to get to the bath. Your legs seemed near useless, dragging behind you, feeling like dead weight. As you peeled off your slightly damp clothes the sight that met you caused your heart to shudder, and tears of fear clouded your eyes. Your skin was of a ghastly white complexion, tinged with blue at the back of your knees and near your ankles. Already you could see the heat blisters forming and you wondered whether bathing might even be worthwhile at this point, or whether it could lead to even more tissue death.

You leaned against the wall, suddenly seized with fatigue. Though you knew that you should get up, should keep moving, that sleep could be deadly, you remained as you were. You were just so tired, and so confused. Why? Why did it have to be like this? You never saw Albedo suffering like this, never saw your fellow guild members toil on, day after day, suffering from that which allowed their livelihood. Why did you suffer this way?

You realized it was incredibly useless to stew in it. After all you’d come so far, grown so much. You knew the risks and you continued to act as if there were none. Was it not expected then that you would continue to struggle? Besides it was payment. You shouldn’t expect anything to happen without something else happening, especially in cases such as these. No one would just hand you a wad of money without expectations, why should magic have a different system? Really you just needed to get up, get up and… what were you doing again?

 Right as your grasp on the situation became exceedingly tenuous the door opened.

“Sorry for arriving a bit late my dear, I hope – ”

Whatever Albedo was going to say it was replaced by the sound of something dropping, accompanied by a sharp intake of breath.

“What happened?” Albedo’s voice was sharp, filled with concern and with determination. You shook your head slightly, though even your neck felt as if was cracking with every movement.

“Nothing. I just, I…” you weren’t quite sure how to answer that, your mind felt like it was barely functioning, “…this is normal.”

“It’s certainly not normal.” Albedo dropped down besides you, slinging your arm over his shoulder – something you barely registered. “Who or what in the name of the Seven caused this?”

“Me.” You replied, still trying to focus on what was going on, to mixed up in fear and fatigue to try to spin lies. “I did this. I told you. Normal.”

“You’re being delirious.” By this point Albedo had managed to pick you up. Kicking the door all the way open he barely turned back to close it, instead running through the streets, turning towards the hospital.

“No, it’s true. It’s… my…” you began to push on the brakes but it was too far into the confession for that now “… my vision. This is my vision.” The look that Albedo gave you was pure alarm. Shaking his head he cursed under his breath.

“As soon as you’ve healed we’re talking about this.”

 You didn’t want to think how the whole scenario might’ve turned out in a world without magic. Though the healing was slow going – it took you almost a whole week of hospitalization and half of it in intensive care to finally be considered in the clear. You hadn’t been conscious the whole way, having been through various treatments and surgeries, but when you woke up in your hospital room Albedo was invariably there.

The already reticent alchemist was practically a statue. He said little to you, and what was said were little things, encouraging words, comforting little nothings. There was nothing substantial in his sentences, and you sensed that he was waiting. Whether that was for your recovery or for your confession you weren’t entirely sure.

The day that you were finally released was surprisingly warm, and your hands were slightly sweaty in their mittens. Not that it mattered. It’d been over a week since you’d last used your vision, and you were feeling as good as new. Considering what you’d just gone through that was perhaps unsurprising.

Albedo met you right as you signing the last of some paperwork. A smile was on his face, and he made no attempt to hide his affection, slinging his arm around your waist. You smiled back at him, finally happy to be done with the whole dilemma. Kissing him on the cheek – something which brought about an intense blush on his part – you let out a triumphant “I’m going home.”

“Yes my darling, you are.” Albedo replied.

The walk home turned out to be a bit of a long one. The two of you stopped for lunch, discussing this and that. After a week of practically no conversation you were bursting with random thoughts. The simple act of talking to Albedo felt divine, and you reveled in it. You also kept your hands constantly linked, although you joked that it must be a bit difficult considering your mittens. Albedo simply shook his head.

“I love when our hands are joined, no matter the context.”

Finally you two arrived home. Throwing yourself on the familiar couch you let out a sigh of relief.

“Would you like some tea?” Albedo called out.

“Yes!” You replied, before picking up a book you’d left on the coffee table. You’d missed being surrounded by familiar things.

Albedo placed the tea on the table before sitting next to you. You leaned into his shoulder picking up the tea and blowing on it slightly.

“Darling?”

“Yes?” You replied smiling at him. Albedo’s gaze was that of seemingly perfect happiness, but curiosity lurked behind that, and even more than curiosity was worried.

“I was wondering if you might not tell me more about what you said when I was carrying you to the hospital. About your vision.”

You paused for a moment. Not that you weren’t expecting this, indeed you were surprised Albedo hadn’t brought it up when you were in the hospital; though you appreciated his reticence. You’d decided during your recovery that you might as well tell him. There was no point in hiding it after what had just passed. Not that you truly believed you could.

So you told him, pausing here and there, trying to explain why you’d never told him.

“I mean it’s sort of expected, isn’t it? I was given a vision after all. Surely I must have something taken away, some burden placed on me in return?” You finished.

“Of course not.” Albedo’s tone was slightly brusque, but you sensed nothing behind it. Indeed your partner looked five seconds from passing out himself, his face having taken on a ghastly pallor. He brought his hand up to your cheek and you leaned into his palm, savoring this small moment. “I’m sorry you’ve been suffering this way.” He murmured.

“I’m sorry you have to deal with this now.” You replied, voice just as soft. “I didn’t want to burden you with my plight. But I’m also sorry I hid it from you for so long.”

“That’s a bit contradictory my love.” Albedo let out a huff of a laugh. You simply shrugged, knowing that what he said was true. “I wish to help you.” He continued. “You shouldn’t have to continue to suffer like this. Your experience with your vision should be like mine; purely a blessing, without hint of a curse.” He paused, glancing away slightly, expression suddenly thoughtful.

“It’s true, what you say. Most of this world is governed by the laws of exchange. We put in coal and get out diamonds, at the price of intense heat and pressure and work. Energy only converts but it never simply converts to what you want. That is one of the first things one must understand when it comes to alchemy.”

Albedo glanced back at you. Saying nothing he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, then your cheeks, before finally pressing his lips to yours, giving you a brief, almost reverent kiss. “But that’s the wonder about magic you see.” He continued. “Magic lives outside these laws, scoffs at all the silly things the natural world must abide by. Magic is utterly self-contained, and with it comes the ability to do miraculous things, all without worrying about what one must give up. So you see, my love, there is no reason you should suffer.”

 The rest of the nice was spent peacefully, filled with soft laughter and tender kisses. When you fell asleep – cuddled up against the man you loved the most, limbs entangled here and there – you felt nothing but peace, peace and a great deal of relief. You’d trust in this world that Albedo envisioned, one without continual struggle, without endless suffering. For you knew he adored you as you adored him, and, that being true, even if there wasn’t a way for you to live a calmer, happier life, he’d make it happen.

[equestrianwritingsstuff]

For You

Warnings: vampire, feeding blood, IV, drawing blood, forced drugging, passing out/collapse, blood loss, delirious state of consciousness, hallucination, death thoughts, fever, starvation, pills, forced medication

There was no strength left in their body. No strength to run, no strength to fight, and absolutely no strength to take care of them.

Villain laid on the cool, wooden floor of their bedroom, too weak to do much more than periodically twitch their fingers. Their eyes drifted closed every once in a while, only to open when they remembered that Hero was starving in the bes above them.

Villain rolled over onto their stomach, the motion causing the world to contort and waver into a dizzying pallette of pastel colors. They breathed deeply, gathering their arms underneath them before heaving themself up and into a sitting position.

After about five minutes of sitting there with their eyes squeezed shut, trying not to sway from their taxing position, Villain reached forward and grabbed the IV off the night stand.

"V-villain," Hero murmured. Villain cast them a long glance. Their nemesis was hardly conscious on the bed, starved and heavily drugged. Villain gulped. They didn't want to keep them sedated like this, but they would try to kill Villain otherwise.

"Sorry," Villain slurred, their voice was as fragile as Hero's.

"Mmn," Hero groaned and slightly opened their mouth, awaiting the meal. Villain gave a small nod that nearly caused them to fall back onto the ground. They put a tube into Hero's mouth then inserted the needle into their own wrist.

Within a second, the delirious and greedy vampire started to gulp frantically. Villain's bottom lip trembled as they felt their limited blood supply diminish.

After only thirty seconds, Villain began to feel incredibly light-headed and contemplated whether or not to stop Hero's feeding. But one look at the desperate face made Villain decided on the former- just a minute longer.

"Hmph," Villain gasped as they slumped forward onto the bed, their consciousness wavering. With shaky hands, they clutched the needled and deftly drew it out of their vein before falling completely unconscious.

Villain drifted between sleep and wakefulness for a while, still collapsed on Hero's bed. During their brief stints of consciousness they woule remind themselves of Hero's next dose, but couldn't bring their depleted body to do so.

They feel vaguely feel the awakening Hero stirring under their body. Villain pushed themselves backwards, planning on standing fully up and going about their day, but their body had other plans. They fell back, hitting their back against the ground as the world was submerged in a dark shade of ebony.

"Villain! Open up!"

Villain moaned and tried to peel their eyes open, but they were too heavy.

The voice- it was a voice, they were sure- came again, "Villain. You need help, open the door!"

Villain didn't need help, they were sure of it. Hero did- Hero needed to eat and Villain was able to take care of them. For them.

"For you," Villain whispered, almost like the faintest breeze.

Their fingers curled into the hard ground. They were aware of the floor's cool features, but oddly it felt warm. Too warm.

Villain forced their eyes open and saw a trickle of blood coming out of their veins from where the IV was still attached. They were so certaib that they removed it and seeing it felt like a rock was dropped into their stomach.

Villain tried to reach over and pull it out, but failed, letting out a strangled sob as they tried to call upon their healing powers. Using them made them completely exhausted, but it kept them and Hero alive.

Villain, after a few agonizing seconds of calling their power, finally felt a comforting tingling through their fingers as their body created some blood. It was low in oxygen and lacked all the necessary and vital functions that blood cells carried out, but it did a decent job at feeding Hero.

Villain sighed in relief as the new warmth spread throughout their body, drawing them back into sleep...

Villain woke rather unpleasantly. They were only aware of the heat gathering in their head and the fact that they were cold- oh so cold. They moved their hands about, testing their environment, but was quite confused at the outcome. Wet. They were wet and cold.

Villain cracked open an eye and looked around. White walls with small shelves that held various bottles. Looking down, they saw tiny glaciers floating around a small expanse of artic water.

Suddenly, they tensed, scared and completely convinced that they were indeed trapped in a frigid ocean.

"Shh," came a voice, foggy and distant as if Villain's ears were underwater. Maybe they were, Villain couldn't tell for panic consumed them.

So Villain continued their struggles even as ropes wrapped around their head pulling them against hard surface. A boat. They were going to be crushed by a boat. They kicked and resisted the ropes that tied them so tightly against the imminet danger.

"Let me go!" Villain yelled, pushing away. The ropes let go, cut away by the knives that threatened to slit Villain's throat.

The term "knives" was literal. There wasn't just one silver dagger, but five, all working to free Villain before they decided to end the suffering person themself.

Those knives grabbed Villain's bare chest, right above their heart as they were pulled right back against the boat.

"Villain. You need to calm down. You have a fever, you are safe, okay? So is Hero. Do you hear me? Hero is being taken care of."

Hero... taken care up... Villain allowed their tired body to slump deep into the cold waves as they waited for one to take them to their grave.

But the merciless ropes and knives held them up, keeping them from drowning. Soft tendrils drifted through their hair and for a moment fear enveloped Villain at the thought of a mysterious plant suffocating them.

But, once they decided that the tendrils were kind, they leaned into the gesture, closing their bloodshot eyes as darkness closed around them...

Villain woke up, dazed and confused. They struggled under the thin sheet that covered their pale body, but was too weak to push it off.

Looking around, they noticed that they were in a foreign- possibly dangerous environment. The memories of the night before were foggy like they were swallowed, threwn up, then swallowed again.

But they did remember Hero, sick and starved on Villain's bed.

"Ah your awake," came a tired voice. Villain's gaze shot to the person sitting next to them. It took a moment but...

Supervillain.

Villain flinched and tried to run away, only to get tangled and stuck on the floor. Carpet, not wood.

They weren't in their house.

Villain squirmed, terrified of the all too familiar face. The face that brought tears of pain to many. The face that was probably here to punish Villain for taking care of a hero.

But Supervillain only walked to the other side of the bed, scooped the weak villain up, and laid them prone on the bed.

"Are you too warm?" Supervillain asked, placing their cold hand upon Villain's burning forehead. The cold hand that was going to be the death of Villain...

"Still running a fever..." Supervillain murmured and turned around. Villain barely had time to register the words before they were faced with a small, evil-looking, torture device.

Oh boy did it look simple and the possibilities were endless of what it would do. Villain imagine maybe it had a hidden needle and they would be drugged. They also wondered if it contained a knife- knives were threatening them before, why not do it now?

But nothing prepared them for the way Supervillain clutched Villain's jaw, forcing it open and sticking the device under their tongue.

Nothing prepared them for the lack of pain other that a sharp pinch. Their eyes began to flutter closed. After all, Supervillain wasn't torturing them...

A loud beeeep brought them back around. They stared deep into Supervillain's concerned eyes.

"I'm going to get you some medicine. Okay?" Supervillain laid a hand on Villain's head. "Try to stay awake for me."

Villain swallowed and nodded, small and helpless. Weak and fragile like a thin glass just waiting to break at the slightest touch.

But, despite Supervillain's request, Villain began to doze off only to awake when they felt like they were falling. They kept on forgetting what their half-consious self was dreaming or thinking about after those falls.

"Dang it Villain," Supervillain groaned when they entered the room and saw their colleague's eyes half-rolled into their head as they stared at the ceiling without any real object or reason.

"Come here," Supervillain cooed and gently cupped Villain's chin, opening it, and slipped the medicine into their mouth. They hoped that the sick villain still had some instinctual reflexes as they dumped some water down their throat. Supervillain then went to work on rubbing Villain's throat until they swallowed, taking the tylenol nto their stomach.

"Good job," Supervillain praised. They wiped Villain's sweating brow with a wet cloth while their patient drifted off to sleep. Supervillain did nothing to stop it.

Hero was struggling against the restraints as henchmen pried their mouth open.

"Gosh!" One of them squealed when Hero nipped at their hand. "They got rabies or something? They are wacko."

"They are a vampire you dim-wit," another henchman growled. That same henchman took Hero's mouth with some pliers and held it open long enough for the other to slipped some tablets into their mouth.

The hero swallowed and hissed.

"Okay. Supervillain told me that those will keep their vampire side at bay until they gain some weight," Henchman1, the one got bit said, wiping their nose with their hand.

Hero continued snarling until they exhausted themselves, slipping into sleep. Henchman2, the other, stood up and started to pace.

"Knock that off," Henchman1 snapped, standing up themselves. "You are taking first watch."

"No. You," Henchman2 shoved their friend. "I am not sitting with a freaking vampire. Did you see Villain? Part of me wonders if they were mind controlled."

"I thoroughly assure you that they weren't," Henchman1 rolled their eyes and slipped away from Henchman2. They opened the cell door and left.

Henchman2 walked over to Hero where they laid on a cot, unmoving. But, as if the presence of another was like a stimuli, the hero woke up.

Their eyes this time were not filled with desperate starvation or anger, but of worry.

"Where's Villain?" They asked, looking around. "They are not thinking. It's dangerous... it's..." they trailed off, their gaze meeting Henchman2's. "Are they dead?" They chirped.

"No, but sick and unconscious," Henchman2 replied, relaying the last update. That was about five minutes ago.

"They need my saliva," Hero continued. "To quicken the healing process. I cannot stimulate blood production, but I can share my healing."

"Villain has a healing factor as well and it doesn't seem to work."

"Because they are beyond exhaustion. Pair that will blood loss and starvation themselves, their chances of surviving are low. They need my saliva."

"How do I know this isn't a trick. A way to eat more?"

"I am human now. I need actual food. When the vampire takes over is when I can only consume blood," Hero glanced down at their bony wrists. "Blood satisfies like candy, but it is far from nutrious, but I thank Villain. Truly."

Henchamn2 smiled despite their best effort to remain nonchalant.

"I'm glad you do."

~ not going to edit, so I apologize for any mistakes

[r0zyp0zy0zy]

✿T.I.- Travel Sick☼✶

Master list

Words: 1810

Warnings: soft smut <3

Pairing: Iida Tenya x FEM!Reader

Summary: Traveling makes you anxious, especially when you just want to get home and cuddle Tenya

I intended for this bundle to be a basket, but I’m happy with it nonetheless 

Your shoulders ached, and you were on the verge of tears. The trip you went to with y/f/n was amazing and relaxing/exciting, but the thing you hated most about vacations was the travelling. Airplanes- they could crash, explode, shake. The airports are overwhelming and confusing, not to mention the food is awful. Boats- they could sink, fall apart, rock until you puked. You could go on and on about anxiety inducing transportation methods.

Tenya wasn't going to be home for a few hours, he was busy doing a drug bust, so you had to catch a bus. Yuck. Too many people, too much noise. Sensory overload was creeping up on you. You were so tired, and you just needed to chill out and have a massage.

Tenya: how are you, darling? Are you close to the house?

Y/n: ugh. Yeah I'm close. When you get home don't be surprised if I'm pissy, my anxiety is through the roof

Tenya: I'll make sure all of that stress is gone when I get back ❤️

Y/n: <3

You suppressed a long sigh, and glanced at what the next stop would be. Fuck... thirty more minutes. All the seats were taken so you had to stand, which did not help your delirious state. You popped in your earbuds and tried to drown out the bus noises with your music.

When your stop finally came, you almost collapsed in relief. Five. More. Minutes. You told yourself as you opened your umbrella and stepped onto the sidewalk. It was pouring, reflecting your own mood. Your feet slapped against the wet pavement, soaking through your shoes, but you didn't really notice. All the stress of the day was weighing you down.

When you finally, finally, walked up to the gates of your home, you pressed in the combination of buttons that unlocked it, and strode to your front door. All of this kerfuffle could've been avoided if you had just accepted Tenya's offer to fly in his private jet...

You unlocked the several locks on your door before you slammed it open and threw down your bag in relief. You shut the door behind you and went straight to the bathroom, taking off your jacket, shirt, and bra on your way, not caring about the trail of clothes you left behind. You sank down to rest your cheek on the bathtub lip, and let the waterworks fall. Crying, you peeled off your soggy socks and threw them into the hamper, you repeated your actions to your pants and underwear, and reached out to pull the knob of the tub.

You tiredly watched the water flow, adding a little bit of bubble bath to the stream. You hauled yourself off the tile floor, and into the bubbly bath. The warm water slowly soaking away your anxiety. You took a shaky breath, and held your knees to your chest.

Tenya fumbled with his keys, having trouble putting them in the correct holes. He triumphantly opened the door, and placed down his briefcase beside him. He could hear the bath running, and his eyes trailed the path of clothes you left behind. He took a deep breath, and put a smile on his face.

"Y/n? My love?" Tenya knocked carefully on the bathroom doorframe, not wanting to scare you.

"Hey Tenny-Chan," you sighed quietly, glancing up at him.

"Let me help you, my dear," he offered, kneeling down and rolling up his dress sleeves. "Just relax."

You nodded quietly, a lump still in your throat from crying. You let Tenya pour warm water on your back, trailing over it again with a soapy loofah. The soft smell of the body wash cleansed your nose, relaxing you.

Tenya leaned your head back for you and poured water on your hair/scalp. He began to hum as he massaged your head with shampoo, a gentle smile on his lips as he watched you sink into calmness.

Once everything was washed off, Tenya helped you out of the tub, strong arms holding you bridal style against his chest, soaking through his shirt. He didn't seem to notice. He carefully laid you on the fluffy towel on your bed, and sat you up and gently rubbed away the excess water from your skin.

"Thank you, Ten," you mumbled, leaning into his shoulder, "I love you."

"I love you too, my dear y/n," Tenya whispered back, petting your hair/head.

He knew he shouldn't, but comforting you and making you feel better after a stressful day caused his pants to tighten. Sure, he loved when you did this to him when he needed it, but boy, did it sure feel good to give back. Tenya pulled you closer, enjoying the sweet embrace. He felt so incredibly guilty for getting hard, and planned to put you to bed as soon as possible. Then he could head back into the bathroom and relieve himself.

"Baby," you murmured into Tenya's neck, making his body tense. "I-I know that you're probably tired and all from your day, but..."

Tenya pulled back to look into your e/c eyes, encouraging you to continue your sentence.

"—but would you be able to... make me feel good," you ground into his thigh lightly, and played with the back of his hair.

"O-oh, yes," Tenya groaned, so terribly relieved at the fact he wasn't the only horny one. "Give me one moment, my love."

You watched Tenya grab another towel, and put it on top of your pillow, "ok, just lay your towel beneath you so we don't have to change the sheets."

You did as he said, and readjusted yourself until you were comfortable, "thank you, Tenya."

"Anything for you, dear," he purred as he unbuttoned his shirt, revealing his slightly bruised, but very fit, torso. Folding his shirt half-assed, he plopped it onto the floor and leaned forward to kiss you.

"You don't have to worry about anything tonight, y/n," Tenya reassured as he kissed down your chest, grazing his fingers along your silhouette. "I'm gonna make you forget all about your travel-filled day."

You hummed in response and softly placed your hand on his shoulder, gliding down his arm until it hit the soft towel underneath you. Tenya continued his way down your body, gently gripping your thighs to spread them apart. He left a lingering kiss on your ankle, trailing his lips down to your calf and up again. You watched Tenya's head lower down your thighs, and your breath hitched when he sloppily kissed the supple skin.

Tenya was treating you as if you were made of porcelain, being so careful so you wouldn't break under his touch. You squirmed in his grasp, trying to inch your heat closer to his face. Tenya blushed and chuckled, dipping his head so he could lick a stripe up your slit. He felt so lucky to have you; you were so perfect for him. He would never get used to the fact that he could turn you on like this.

"Tenya-Sempai~" you whimpered, egging him on with his favourite honorific, "please. That feels so good."

He was practically glowing pink from your words, getting even harder. No, this night was only for you, he thought. Don't be greedy. Tenya suckled on your clit, teasing your entrance with his long fingers, and groaned at your taste. He couldn't believe that he was yours.

"Oh~ yes, Tenya-! Feels.. so.. good~" you arched your back, and engulfed him with your thighs so only his mumbles could be heard, "want.. you-!"

"Hmm?" His head popped out from between your legs, spit and slick glazed on his chin, "what do you want, y/n-chan?"

"Want you- want you inside of me! Please..." you murmured, struggling against the pace of his fingers.

"Are you sure?" Tenya asked, slowing his movements. "This night is for you."

"Please, Sempai~" you begged, "your cock feels so good inside of me."

Tenya let out a noise in between a groan and a whimper, and his hands went right down to his belt. He fumbled with it, struggling to take it out of his belt loops. He took off his slacks after, and his boxers followed, "of course, lovely."

Tenya slipped on a condom, and laid overtop of you. He gave you a few lingering kisses before looking down and guiding his dick inside of your vagina. A gasp left his lips, always amazed at how warm and tight you were. You sighed in content, and loosely gripped his shoulders.

"So good, Ten," you breathed, leaning up to kiss his cheek. He grunted in reply, focusing on getting all of him inside of you.

"S'all for you, my dear," Tenya said softly, finally bottoming out. He reached beside you to your side table drawer, and took something small and pink out of it. "I'll put it on a low setting, yeah?"

You nodded, watching as he turned on the mini pulse simulator. Your back arched as he held it against your clit, letting out a moan. Tenya mirrored the noise, and began to slowly thrust.

"Mmmph," you groaned, too weak to thrust against him. He pulled back and gripped your waist with his free hand, quickening his pace.

"Just relax, y/n. Don't exert yourself," Tenya gasped out, admiring your dazed expression.

The pulse on you clit didn't let you focus, and you felt your stomach churn. Already, you were close to the edge of an organism. You whined and squirmed, trying to get more. Tenya seemed to know what you needed, and put the toy up another setting.

"Tenyaaaa~" you cried, hands wandering the sheets beside you. "So close. So good."

"I know, lovely," he groaned, biting his lip to keep from coming too early. Your face was so pretty and fucked out, just from him.

Your legs tensed and your toes curled, stomach bubbling with pleasure. You were chanting something, but you weren't quite sure what, just desperate for release.

"So good for me, y/n," Tenya's muffled voice surrounded you. "Come for me, darling. P-please. I'm so close t-too."

"Fuck Tenya!" You wailed, head thrown back into your pillow. "Yes! Yes! Yesss~"

Your pussy clenched magically around him, and he couldn't help the guttural moan that left his lips as he came soon after you. His cum filled the condom, and he pulled out once he was sure you were satisfied.

"Thank you Ten," you mumbled. "I really needed that."

"Of course, lovely," Tenya replied as he threw out the used condom. "I'll help you dress before I make you dinner."

You grinned dumbly at him, and puckered your lips for a kiss. He obliged, and left you with an even dumber smile as he picked out some comfy clothes for you to wear.

[omg-imagine]

⊱ Drabble #3 ⊰

Pairing: Keanu Reeves x Reader

Prompts:

51- “I missed you so much.”

53- “I’ve been thinking about you all day.”

Words: 1.6k

Warning: fluff, smut

A/N: Not really a drabble lol. I also went full on with the smut here. Hope you like it!

Requested by @eevee-of-rivia​ ♡

The house sat still, cold and empty, the late-night chorus of crickets sounding from an open window, its irritating tune echoing in the hushed atmosphere. For what seemed like hours, you tossed and turned under the warm silken sheets, incredibly restless and deeply yearning for precious sleep to come soon.

Sighing, you flipped over to lay on the left side— Keanu’s side— of the bed. It was dull, uneventful evenings such as this which made you miss your husband a bit more than usual. Undoubtedly, if he were home right now, the night would have been more pleasant. You always slept so soundly with Keanu, feeling loved and secure with him curled up behind you, holding you close.

As expected, your mind continued drifting off to thoughts of him, silently wondering what he was up to at this hour. Though Keanu had sent you a few texts here and there, today had been the first time he couldn’t call you from where he was on the other side of the world, his packed shooting schedule this week taking up most of his energy and focus.

You couldn’t blame Keanu, of course. Even though there had been many, many times when you wished you and him weren’t separated by thousands of miles, the long absences were sadly part of his job. Over the years, you had learned to accept it, but that didn’t stop you from feeling so lonesome throughout the day, wanting nothing more than to see him and hear his voice.

Finally, fatigue took over, and you eventually succumbed to sleep with the slight hope of seeing Keanu in your dreams, just like every night. For tonight, your consciousness conjured up a familiar scenario; a vivid memory, to be exact. It brought you back to the day almost six years ago when you and Keanu exchanged vows on a sandy beach near the bright, blue Pacific waters; in a ceremony that was intimate and perfect, filled with so much joy and love. 

As your dream-self stood there holding Keanu’s hands, anticipating your first kiss as husband and wife, the scene around you began to melt away, your physical body rousing from its deep slumber and emerging into the real world. 

Carefully, your eyes fluttered open, your brain still thick with sleep as you observed your dark surroundings. That’s when you heard it—the sound of the wooden floorboards creaking as if someone were walking out in the hall.

Sitting up on the mattress, you let out a scream when the door suddenly cracked open, and a shadowed man came into the room. Then you heard him say your name, and it took you less than a second to figure out who it truly was.

“Keanu?” You uttered as you reached over to turn on the light, your racing heart soon relaxing.

At first, you couldn’t believe what you were seeing. You wondered if you were still asleep; if this was merely part of your dream. But when Keanu approached the edge of the bed, his kind cocoa-hued orbs gazing down at you, you were then convinced that this was actually happening. 

This was all real.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare—”

You didn’t allow Keanu to finish his sentence. Without warning, you jumped out of the covers and quickly scrambled towards him, pushing yourself up on your knees to kiss him. Capturing his neck in your arms, his lips were soft and sweet as they tenderly, perfectly molded to yours. Running out of air, you pulled away from him but not too far, letting your fingers weave through the ends of his raven locks.

“I missed you,” you spoke, your voice light and airy as the corners of your mouth lifted to form a smile. “I missed you so much.”

“I missed you, too,” Keanu beamed, placing his lips on yours once more. “I hope you don’t mind me coming home unannounced. I just thought it would be a lovely surprise if I didn’t tell you.”

“It’s a lovely surprise, indeed. Even though you gave me a fright back there, I’m happy that you’re here.”

With a bright grin, Keanu wrapped his arms around your body, drawing you in close as you sank into his warm embrace. Closing your eyes, you could feel him nuzzling his head into the crook of your neck, trailing the gentlest of kisses along the side. You hummed in delight while his mouth slowly traveled upwards, his lips grazing your ear as he murmured, “I’ve been thinking about you all day.”

“Hmm, what about exactly?” you questioned Keanu teasingly as he urged you to lie back in bed, positioning himself to hover above you.

“Well, for starters, I thought of doing this…”

A shiver ran down your spine as the large palm of his hand caressed your body, gliding smoothly over your thin, silky nightgown before pushing the garment up and off. Lustful gaze unwavering, Keanu’s fingertips ran alongside the skin of your inner thigh, inching them closer to your heated core. You inhaled sharply when you felt him massaging your sensitive nub through your panties, a smirk flashing across his face knowing that his simple touch could quickly reduce you to a needy mess.

“I imagined this moment during the entire flight, and it made me so hard just thinking about it.”

His words were somewhat of a loss when he swiftly rid you of your underwear and moved down your body, pressing his face towards your warmth. Hot breaths of air softly fanning over your cunt, you couldn’t hold back the moans escaping you as Keanu’s wet tongue delved into your aching pussy, two of his thick digits stroking, teasing your inner walls.

“I missed the way you taste,” Keanu cooed as you writhed helplessly against his strong hold, teetering dangerously on the precipice of climax. “I missed how tight you are around my fingers, my cock. God, I can’t wait to feel you around me.”

“P-Please,” you whimpered, lifting your head to meet his eyes which were filled with urgent desperation to touch, to feel. It had been too long since he’d given you this much pleasure; the late-night, steamy phone calls were incomparable to the real deal. “I want you inside me, baby. I can’t wait anymore, please.”

In an instant, Keanu pushed backwards, removing his fingers from your pussy, and you whined at the loss. You felt like you were half-delirious, your mind utterly stuck in a pleasure-drunk haze. Watching as your husband stripped off his clothes, your heart began to soar seeing his bare body. Your eyes shamelessly roamed over his entirety, sighing softly at the sight of the beautiful man before you. 

Finally, Keanu removed his boxer shorts, the last barrier separating you from all his glory, and you couldn’t help but admire his gorgeous cock, hardened and glistening because of you, just for you.

Wordlessly, he crawled back up to you, his body settling between your legs as your lips met in pure haste, kissing each other fiercely, almost frantically. Releasing a gasp, you felt Keanu’s member pressed against your entrance, its swollen rosy tip slicked with your juices. Breaths mingling together in short pants, you moaned at the delicious burning sensation of him pushing inside in one slow, measured thrust. He paused for a beat, allowing you to get used to his size, only proceeding once you gave him a nod.

“I missed this,” Keanu husked, his hips moving at a tantalizing pace. “I missed you.”

Bodies moving as one, the bed under you creaked with every thrust, the sound of skin slapping against skin mixing with the moans falling from your lips. Keanu’s girthy length stretched you out exquisitely. Each timed stroke became harder, rougher, and deeper, the growing coil of tension within you now starting to fall apart, and you looked up at him, knowing full well that he too was close.

“I love you,” he whispered in between staccato breaths, his movements becoming more erratic, his self-control slipping.

You gazed into Keanu’s dark, heavy-lidded eyes, his mouth slightly agape as a bead of sweat dripped from his quivering brow. Reaching a hand down, you hissed in pleasure when Keanu rubbed at your clit, dragging your nails over his back as he continuously hit that sweet, sweet spot deep inside you.

Within seconds, you began to tremble underneath him, spasming and tightening around his cock as you wailed softly, riding out your high. Grunting out your name, Keanu buried his face in your neck, giving a few final stuttering thrusts before finding his own release, pumping spurt after spurt of his thick creamy cum inside, a sated smile gracing both of your lips.

A minute passed, and so did several more. Soon, your ragged breaths steadied, your heaving chests returning to a calmed state. With a loving kiss, Keanu slowly slipped himself out, his tired body collapsing next to yours as you shifted to lie on your side, facing him. Staring adoringly at his gentle features, you felt your eyes beginning to drift close, though you tried to fight the sleep creeping in.

“It’s okay,” Keanu soothed when he noticed your drowsiness. “Go to sleep. I’ll be here next to you when you wake up.”

“Promise?” You asked in a muted tone, watching as he threw the duvet over to cover your bareness before turning off the lamp, darkness instantly enveloping the room.

Planting one last gentle kiss to your forehead, Keanu then snuggled closer, and you basked in the warmth surrounding you. “I promise.”

Content with his answer, you finally let the exhaustion take over, both your heart and mind now at ease knowing you would be peacefully asleep all night, held by the arms of the one you love the most, Keanu.

Permanent Tags: @penwieldingdreamer​ @keandrews​ @feminine-machinegun​ @fanficsrusz​ @thehumanistsdiary​ @rdjloverxxx​ @flaminasteroid​ @lussdew​

[oftenderweapons]

Everyday

Pairing: member x reader 

Wordcount: 300-400 words each piece

Genre: fluff, smut, slightest angst

Rating: suggested 18+

Small announcement

Unfortunately, I couldn't complete Jin's Love Talk scenario in time, since his conversation with Angel is a lot more difficult to handle and I still have some research to do (a lot of educational BDSM talk Yay! And I want it to be accurate and as precise as possible).

To earn your forgiveness, I will publish a double update next week, with Jin's part published on Thursday 1 am GMT, and Yoongi on Saturday at 3 am GMT. (Please don't judge my night owl lifestyle)

Here are some mixed drabbles (watch out for the text mentioned in Joon’s Love Talk) 😉 Also this is unedited, I’ll grammar check it in the morning. Each drabble is about 300-400 words.

Here is my Masterlist!

TRIGGER WARNINGS: dirty talking, spankings, oral male and female receiving, cum play (pearl necklace), male masturbation, breast worship, mentions of role play, mentions of sex tapes, mentions of subbing and pain kink, mentions of nipple piercing.

Namjoon

--  the morning after Love talk --

Sunday morning felt like a nightmare. He asked himself why, why for fuck’s sake he had left. 

You had kissed him, rubbed all over him, pressing your ass on him as you watched the film on the sofa, spooning. WHY!

He grabbed his phone. You were probably still asleep. Unless…? He texted you.

How’s your head? Mine is a mess. 

You don’t know how bad it feels to wake up alone. I felt like eating some tiramisu for breakfast and ruin your underwear. Did you touch yourself last night, after I left?

I thought about you, you know. That perfect ass of yours. How much I want to bite it. God, I want to spank you so bad, Vixen. I swear, if I put my hands on you I’m gonna ruin you. You won’t sit for a week. For all that fucking teasing last night. You don’t know how many times I thought about putting my hand under your skirt. Were you even wearing panties, naughty girl? You bent over at dinner and I noticed that there were no lines on that incredible peach of yours… Wanted to push you down against the table, drag your skirt up and just ram into you from behind. But I wanna take my time. Toy around this mind-blowing chemistry with you, until you’re on your knees begging for me to be your daddy and teach you how to do it right for me. At that point I would finger you nice and slow, the way impatient, hungry girls like you can’t handle. I would make you cum so intensely your legs would twitch merely at the thought of me doing it again. And then I would lie down and have you sit on my face. Cute right? I would help you ride my face with my hands cupping your butt, until you’re dripping all over my face. I want you to look down at me like a queen on a motherfucking throne, Vixen. And right after your second orgasm I would make you roll down so I can fuck you missionary, looking at the face you make the first time I slide into you, those pretty doll lips wrapped around the hand I used to make you cum. 

I know you must be so tight, little one. I can’t wait to leave angry, purple lovebites on your sexy hipbones and thighs, baby. 

Tell me you want that too, little vixen. 

After ten minutes of you not answering, he just headed to the shower, in the hope of blowing off some steam. 

When he returned he noticed the notification. 

My head? No complaints 😉😏

Thank you for the orgasm, daddy. Maybe I could help you with yours now?

Yeah. he was hard again anyway…

Seokjin

-- shortly after the Conversation with Jimin -- 

Water fell heavily on his back. You were laying in bed, your cute pjs making you look like a princess from a fairy tale. 

That princess had your cum all over her chest precisely five days ago.

He pressed his forehead to the tiles. No, a part of him said, but his hand was already there, lingering on his shaft. 

She licked it clean. Scooping it up with her fingers. Grinning at you. 

He hit his head against the tiles in the hope it would help him stop. 

You had your mouth on her panties, you coward? She was so lost she would have told you yes. He thought of your taste. He allowed himself that only once, maybe twice a month. Not because he didn’t like that, but rather because he had probably never done it before. Which seems ridiculous, but apparently his exes weren’t interested in cunnilingus? Was it absurd that he wanted to try with you? 

He dragged his hand up and down, angry at himself. 

He should just get in the bed and make you scream until even the florist at the end of the street knew who’s fucking you so good.

He thought about your hands tied up, about you cumming just with him ramming into you. He wanted to give it to you so hard you even forgot you had a body. He wanted your pleasure to be one with his. Just like last time. 

Not like your previous life was unsatisfactory. But he saw the superior look of bliss, how radiant you had looked the morning after. How easily you had fallen asleep in his arms as he caressed your hair. 

“Jinnie, love.” You called from the bedroom. 

He didn’t understand what came next, he was lost in bliss, your voice and his imagination making him fall in the deepest pits of pleasure. 

Yoongi 

-- after date five, art gallery --

Fuuuuck. He fixed his trousers in the elevator headed to his apartment. 

Rushing through his door, he almost tripped on his shoes as he took them off hastily. He had promised himself he wouldn’t. Yet again, here he was, sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows propped on his knees. He took off his turtleneck lightning fast, his naked pale chest emerging from the dark cotton that protected him from the chilly spring air. He didn’t actually have enough patience to get rid of his trousers. He let them bunch up at his ankles.

“Kitten.” He whispered shyly, reaching for his hard on. He was so sensitive his hips thrusted up as he gave himself the first stroke. 

Those tits. Fuck. Pressed against his back as you explained a picture to him, the tip of your nose running against the curve of his ear. 

He had wanted to pin you against the white walls of the gallery, like a work of art, get his head under your cute skirt and nuzzle his face against your mound.

And the ice cream. 

He thought he would cum in his pants, with you licking up your ice cream cone, your kittenish licks deviously appropriate to your nickname. And the ice cream dribbling down your hand in thick droplets a couple times. The way you had sucked it clean. 

Fuck, fuck!

He laid down on his back and kicked off his pants, hand still busy on his cock. Half delirious, he turned to his belly, thrusting his hips up into his hand, one arm propping him up. “Fuck, kitten, so good.” He nuzzled his face against the sheets, lost in his imagination. “Love, please. ____.” And with your name on his lips he let himself crumble and dissolve. Crashing, exhausted on the bed he took only a couple seconds before emitting an exasperated cry. He had stained the sheets like a teenager. 

Three times this week. And it was only Tuesday. 

Hoseok 

-- a couple days after his Conversation with Taehyung --

“Are you sure you want to keep it? We don’t have to, sweetie.” He reassured you. 

“You’ll have to leave soon. I know you get frustrated with phonesex. This could help you.” You combed his hair back and booped his nose. 

He hid his face into your neck. “Tell me you’ll see me in Los Angeles. Promise me you’ll come.”

“I promise, puppet.” You held him tighter. 

“The guys hate me when you’re not around. They say I get duller.” He whined with a sad voice. 

“My poor little puppet.” You fondled him. “And that’s not true Hobi. You’re always lovely.” You started waddling, bringing him from the kitchen to the sofa. Waddling always gets him to laugh. 

Indeed, a few seconds later he giggled as you both plopped down on the cushions. He shifted around until he was perfectly curled against you, his head laying on your chest.

“You sure you’re okay with me keeping it?”

“Guard it like your own life, Hobi. You know the risks.” You reminded him. 

“Yes, of course. It’s in my personal luggage. Safe. Don’t worry, seriously. Taehyung instructed me. And I’m pretty sure he travels with a whole library of this stuff.”

You cringed and laughed. “At least he can help you, eventually.”

“Your copy is in the pendrive in the bedside table.” He murmured. “It’s only three weeks until LA. It’s not awful. We can do this.” He tried to convince himself. 

“Just three weeks. You’ve got enough stuff to last you a month.” You kissed his forehead. 

“I love you.” He said, stretching to reach for your lips. 

“I love you too, puppet.”

Jimin 

-- The morning after your sixth date --

He woke up with an awfully painful erection. Probably because the night before you had teased him endlessly and when he’d come back home he’d been too tired to jerk off. 

Pushing up his hips tentatively, he felt the softness of the cotton on his naked body. Turning around he found his spare pillow between his thighs. 

Yes, he huffed out, thrusting his hips harshly. He moaned. He started with a punishing rhythm straight away, pushing so hard his whole back arched over and over.

His hand grabbed his own thigh, using his knees and free arm for leverage. 

The hand on his leg climbed up to his ass, cupping it, slapping it carefully, gently. He wanted you to do that. Grab his ass as he rammed into you. Manhandle him a little. His hand climbed further up, toying wit his chest. 

Shit. He tweaked his nipple, wetting his fingers with his mouth and bringing them back to his pect. His hips stuttered. 

He thought of your mouth. Of your sinful red lips, Of the way you always seemed to have the situation under control. Of the way you make him always feel desired.

Were you touching yourself at the thought of him?

Were you as eager as he was? Having wet dreams about him?

He was tired of this frustration. He fucked harder in the pillow, one hand around his neck, the other gripping his ass, his short nails diggin in the flesh. 

He could only think that your nails would look prettier. Sink deeper. Hurt more. Make it all sweeter.

Taehyung

— around date three or four —

“That lipstick looks lovely on you, Doll.” He murmured, holding your hand as you strolled down the gallery, a big bucket hat over his eyes. “I think I’ll call you poppy. That’s perfect poppy red. How fitting that opium comes from poppies.” 

You looked at him surprised. “Are you saying I’m a drug?”

“I’ve been high on you for the last four days. Since I saw you at the shop. Do you usually strut around in full pin up attire?“ He asked, intertwining your fingers. 

“No, not usually. I was just on my way to a theme party. I figured I could just get ready at the shop. I wasn’t expecting you to come around.”

“Theme party... Were you supposed to be the naughty housewife who can’t just get enough of her husband and has an affair with the poolboy?“ He asked, getting close to you enough to bite your earlobe. Oh, the teasing. He was reckless with it. 

“Tae.” You reprimanded him. You looked around. The gallery was empty since he knew the owner and he had allowed him to come visit behind closed doors. 

“It’s just us, Doll. No worry.“ His arm wrapped around your waist. “I can be your obedient poolboy.“

“Why be the poolboy when you could be my husband, spanking me because I ruined one of his expensive white shirts?” You looked at him mischievously as he cleared his throat. You both stopped in front of a painting. The still nature had a variety of vases with different flowers. Of course poppies were included. 

“There they are.” He pointed to the flowers. “And here she is.” His arm wrapped you up, dragging you closer to him, his mouth dipping to yours.

You thought his spell would wear off, but time after time, his kisses taste wilder. Would it ever become too much?

Jungkook

— shortly after Where, when and how —

Jungkook was laying on top of you on the sofa, and god, didn’t it feel nice...

Nuzzling his face against your chest, he let his hand climb under your T-shirt, meeting the elastic band of your sports bra and slipping his fingers underneath, tracing the outline of your pierced nipple.

“Again, baby?” You asked him, who had already reached his destination.

“I love it. I’m sorry.” His face felt ten times hotter on your neck, his blush apparent.

He made to remove his hand, but you locked it there.

“It’s sweet, it’s just that it turns me on a little.” It was your turn to blush.

“If you want I can just let it be. Really. I mean... Unless you want me to... help you out with... that.” He questioned, doubtful.

“Are you asking me if I need to be fucked?” You asked, unceremoniously, with a grin on your face.

“I mean. I wouldn’t oppose if you asked me to.” He kissed your neck sweetly.

You combed his hair with your fingers. He emitted a low whine, especially when you massaged his nape.

“Would you like to try something, Koo?” You were getting an idea.

He seemed to raise his head like a curious bunny. “Mhmh.”

“Remembered when we tried cockwarming?” You asked, ready for mischief.

“Of course.” He replied. Duh.

“What if we did the same here. I mean, if you kept your mouth there, did your thing until I can’t keep my cool?” You suggested.

“Take off this damn shirt right now.” He replied immediately, lifting himself off to allow you to move.

There we go.

[thekidultlife]

#5 On the Desk | 30 Nights with Lee Jihoon

30 Nights with Lee Jihoon

Genre: Smut

Words: 1.9k

(A/N: This is for the horny side of tumblr. Minors please do not engage in this sort of content!! Btw, always use protection folks)

“So? What did you call me here for?”

Your voice echoed across the huge office, filled with nothing but irritation for a single man, sitting comfortably on his chair, looking at you with a glare of his own.

“…Lee Jihoon?”

It was no secret that the both of you shared some sort of rivalry. He was the CEO of a prominent entertainment company in South Korea—the fiercest competitor of your own entertainment company. Whatever artist or concept you release, he will surpass with his own, and the cycle goes on and on; leaving the both of you irritated at each other.

Irritated…but not exactly.

“You look like you don’t want to be here,” Jihoon simply remarked, brushing his fingers through his hair as he leaned back on his chair.

You rolled your eyes at him.

“And why would I want to be?” you asked, and then turned to the door, threatening to leave, “If you have nothing to say after all, I’m leaving.”

“Your saying that after all the nights we spent together?” he asked, smirking as he stood up from his seat and walked towards you. “You’re so cruel, YN.”

You didn’t want to admit it, but he was right. It irritated you how he can easily see through all your layers of pride and stubbornness, after all the effort you made to try and hide your desires. But that doesn’t make him any different.

“Jihoon…” you muttered, warning him if he dares to come closer as he circled in behind you. If he ever did, you were sure you wouldn’t be able to resist him. Not when he looks incredibly handsome in his suit.

Yet he only made a smug grin, as he trapped you between him and the large desk, unable to escape. It was unfair that he could easily make you yearn for him like this; looking as if he was unbothered by everything.

“It’s still office hours, Jihoon…” you reminded him, once again trying to put a stop to this before it could lead into something else. “We can’t…”

“Are you teasing me now?” he asked, his dark eyes piercing through yours as he drew in closer. He hasn’t touched you, yet you felt your heart beating so dramatically against your chest. “Do you have any idea how impatient I feel waiting for night to come by?”

This is what you disliked about Lee Jihoon. He claims to be awkward with women yet for some reason, he just knows what to say to make your heart beat faster. It was unfair, truly unfair for you to have met Lee Jihoon. Now that you had a taste, you couldn’t get enough of him.

“Fine,” you finally said, placing your arms around his shoulders and then grinned. “But make it good.”

 Jihoon himself couldn’t get enough of you. He was addicted at how he would slowly pry your façade apart, making you give into his whims or yours, even how much you denied it. He loves how you would never give in immediately, and then revels at your consent as if it was some sort of reward he had won.

Raising an elegant brow at you, he slowly smirked. “Are you challenging me?”

Before you could reply, Jihoon hoisted you up the desk in one heave, making you yelp. His hands however, never left your thighs as he slowly eased them up to the hem of your skirt.

“Jihoon…I—”

“Getting excited now, aren’t we?” he asked, still grinning, making you avert your gaze to the side, unable to meet his eyes in embarrassment as he continued to glide his hands on your skin, teasing you as always.

“I’m not…!”

He hummed.

“That’s what you always say yet…”

Jihoon’s hand slid to your inner thigh, his eyes never leaving yours. “…why are you…already wet down here?”

You could feel his fingertips, touching you in your most intimate places, unable to think straight any longer.

“Wait…that’s…! Ah!”

In the most unexpected moment, he pressed on to your clit, making you gasp out loud, not slowing down his assault. He drank up the sensation of having you make such a sensual look on your face, making his lips break into a wider grin.

“Ah…this won’t do, YN,” Jihoon remarked, removing his hand from your clit, which he instead used to grab a fistful of your hair as he settled between your legs. “You’re making me want to eat you up.”

There was no excuse for this. You loved it, the way he suddenly crashed his lips on yours, devouring your lips, your tongue in a heated kiss. It was making you delirious with the amount of pleasure bombarding your senses as Jihoon took pleasure in kissing down your neck, leaving visible marks on your skin.

“Jihoon…wait…someone will—”

“See them?” he smirked, looking up from his place, nestled between your unbuttoned shirt and bare chest. “But that’s the point. I want them to know you’re mine.”

You frowned at this, annoyed at his cheekiness. “Nnm…! You little—"

“I’ll let you give me one later tonight,” he interrupted, his tongue already stimulating your nipple as he groped the other. “Besides, I’m tired of hiding this anyway.”

You knew there was something more behind his words, something that meant more than what was actually said. Yet before you could ask, Jihoon was already on his knees, glancing at you with a mischievous look between your legs.

“H-Hey, what are you…!”

“The office is sound-proof,” he suddenly informed you, grinning. “You can scream to your heart’s content.”

“W-wait, does that mean….!! A-ahh!”

Without even waiting, Jihoon slid your underwear aside and pushed his tongue between your already drenched folds, wreaking havoc between your legs. You had no choice but to drown into pleasure, squirming and moaning as he wrapped his arms around your legs to hold you down.

“Jihoon…Jihoon…I can’t—”

You squealed once more when he inserted two fingers into your hole as he played with your clit aggressively. Jihoon had to admit it was such a pleasure to see you being a moaning mess—you who is always calm and collected at all times.

“N-No…I’m…I’m coming, Jihoon…! Ahhh—t-too good…”

With a final flick on your clit, you descended down to your orgasm in violent twitches and loud screams—your mind going blank from the sheer pleasure of his hands and tongue.

You were still recovering from your high when Jihoon finally stood up and wiped his chin wet with your own fluids. It was kind of hot, seeing him in his best suit after he had just eaten you out to the point of climax.

“Did you like that?” he asked, as he pinned you down the desk once more, his dark locks tickling your forehead.

“Jihoon…” was what you could only say as you continued to pant heavily, gazing at him with sultry eyes, begging for something.

He grinned, knowing fully well what you wanted. “Not enough, huh? I could say the same thing myself.”

With another deep kiss and a lot of tongue, Jihoon undid his belt and loosened his pants with such speed, you hardly noticed it actually happened. The moment you realized what was happening was when you could feel his cock grinding against your slit, and when he finally spoke again.

“I’m going in now, so look at me while I do it,” he said, his eyes gazing at you so intensely, you could feel the heat radiate from them. “I wanna see your face.”

“Y-yes….!”

Arms wrapped around his shoulders, you braced yourself as he entered you slowly, adjusting to his size even when you’re already so slippery. You could feel him, his hard cock warming you up inside, which made you moan in pleasure.

 “M-move….move now, p-please!” You pleaded; eyes half-lidded as you gazed into Jihoon’s eyes.

“…And what if I don’t?” he replied back, the lilt in his voice proof that he was teasing you. “You still feel so good wrapped around me.”

“J-Jihoon…I just…please…I need…” You continued, moving your hips on your own to get some sort of friction.

“Need what, YN? Wanna tell me what it is?”

Here he was again feigning innocence when you both knew he was only egging you on to say such embarrassing things, but it was already too late into the game to be stubborn.

“I want it…I want you to fuck me...Jihoon! I can’t… a-anymore…please fuck me hard…sir.”

For you to be saying such lewd words turned Jihoon on to no end. He grinned at you as he pushed himself deeper into you, earning a high-pitched moan.

“You’re so good at this, aren’t you YN?” he finally replied, as he stood up straight and held you tightly on your hips. “Fine then. I’ll fuck you hard.”

Pulling back, Jihoon made a sharp thrust deep into you; groaning as he felt you tighten up around him. After that, he began to pound into you in such a rough pace that you couldn’t even form coherent thoughts inside you head. All you could see, hear and feel was Jihoon, fucking you so intensely as you moaned in ecstasy.

“A-ah…would you look at that…” he began as he draped your leg over his shoulder to gain better access. “YN…the admirable CEO of XX Entertainment being fucked so thoroughly in my office desk. Ever wonder what people would say if they knew we had this kind of relationship?”

“J-Ji…hoon…! T-that’s—”

“Something forbidden…unimaginable…yet…It’s exciting, isn’t it…?” Jihoon whispered as he bent to your ear. “I can feel you…ahhh…you’re tightening up…You like that, don’t you?”

“I can feel you…so much, J-Jihoon…! Please hold me…I’m close…” you huffed between breaths as he continued to thrust into you relentlessly, rubbing at the right places where you could feel the most of him. “I’m…! Jihoon…!”

In a heartbeat, Jihoon bent down and nestled himself on your neck, his pace beginning to become erratic.

“Shit…! I’m gonna cum, YN…should I—”

“N-no…ahh! It’s…it’s ok inside…I’m in birth control…”

Your head was turning blank, the hairs on your back tingling as you felt electric shocks coursing through your sweat-covered skin. Sex with Jihoon was always amazing, especially when he would push you to the brink of pleasure that was toe curling and mind-numbing.

“Alright…fuck…! I’m cumming…Y/N…!”

With a few sharp thrusts, Jihoon pushed deep as he spilled himself inside of you, driving you to your own climax as you felt his warmth spread. It was a sensation you were always so desperate for—the bliss of falling into orgasm while he was deep inside of you, still twitching and cumming.

“Jihoon…” you whimpered, loving the way he kissed your neck, then your cheek before he turned to gaze into your eyes.

“I mean what I say when I don’t want to hide this anymore,” he began, earning a surprised look from you.

“What…do you mean…? Are you saying that we…”

“Yeah,” Jihoon answered you immediately, his eyes hiding nothing. “I want to be with you. Officially.”  

As soon as you understood the meaning of his words, you made a bright smile at him and took the chance to peck on his lips.

“What a way to ask for a date, Lee Jihoon. You know that I won’t refuse you.”

“Good that we finally had something we could agree with.”

With that said, Jihoon stood up and pulled out of you, you made a dismayed tone at the sudden feeling of emptiness. Yet when his cum started dripping, you flushed at the realization of what you just did and immediately closed your legs.

In front of you, you could hear Jihoon chuckling as he tidied himself up.

“W-what…?” you asked, your brows furrowing now that your back to your usual personality.

“Oh I was just thinking…” Jihoon replied, his voice teasing.

“Since it’s already half past office hours, let’s have fun tonight in my apartment.”

-Hyeri

30 Nights with Lee Jihoon

[sirius-black-killed-god]

Can we get a small sneak-peak of what's to come in TBWKG? I know you mentioned you were busy, so no worries if you can't share anything at the moment! <3

Yeah, why not. Here’s part of the first scene. My goal is to have the whole chapter up in the next two weeks. :)

The Boy Who Killed God: A Certain Number of Regrets

JANUARY 3, 1972

Remus looked slightly less green when he helped Madam Pomfrey change Sirius’s bandages the next morning. 

It was funny, really. Sirius had seen Remus nearly torn to ribbons himself, but Remus seemed incredibly squeamish around Sirius’s injuries; so much so, in fact, that Sirius would have teased him relentlessly for it, had he not been gritting his teeth and cursing his way through the various Aguamenti’s and levitation spells.  

Merlin, he thought, when Remus finally let out a relieved sigh and Madam Pomfrey finally retreated to her office. Malfoy really did a number on me.

Really, it wasn’t the equal-and-opposite sort of retribution that was generally expected of these sort of pure-blood grudge matches. Sirius had aimed his curse at Malfoy’s face. It had been severe enough to scar, yes, but the scar was no longer than the palm of Sirius’s hand. And he’d struck Malfoy on the side of his face, eyebrow to chin, an area that could easily be covered by Malfoy’s stupid white-blonde hair. 

Malfoy had…

Well, Malfoy had nearly carved Sirius in two, hadn’t he? There was an X etched into Sirius’s chest, from collarbone to hip. 

No one could reasonably say that that had been a proportional response. 

No one had decried this grave injustice and breach of pureblood traditions, either.

Sirius hadn’t been lying, when he’d told Remus he remembered almost nothing after Christmas day. He knew he must have woken up at some point, because when his father had barged into his room yesterday morning—furious at what he’d deigned to perceive as laziness on the part of his eldest son and heir—Sirius had reached for the inkwells Alphard had given him. 

They’d been empty. 

All of them. 

Which either meant Sirius had, in his delirious fever-dream, somehow managed to choke them down in the days he’d lost, or…

Or, someone had dumped them out. 

Utilising his impeccable deductive reasoning skills, Sirius figured it was the latter. His chest certainly didn’t look like anyone had applied dittany before Madam Pomfrey got her hands on him. 

At half past eight, a house-elf popped in, bearing two steaming trays of food. Sirius’s mouth watered on sight, and, with a little strategic manoeuvring so as to avoid re-opening his scars, Sirius managed to sit up. Remus muttered a, “Thanks, Speckles,” as the house-elf set the trays on the pillow-wall between them, then disapparated. 

They ate in relative silence. Sirius studiously sipped on his piping hot broth—this time containing small bits of beef—as Remus devoured his bacon and eggs. As he finished his soup, and sparing a glance to make sure Madam Pomfrey wasn’t watching, Sirius snatched the last piece of bacon from Remus’s fingers and more or less swallowed it whole. 

Remus glared at him, but then sighed. He stood, slid out of bed, and placed the empty trays on the cabinet, before stretching his arms over his head. His neck and shoulders popped, and Sirius tried not to cringe at the sound.

“How are you feeling?” Remus asked, through a mostly-stifled yawn, and really, Remus looked terrible. His curly hair stuck out in every direction imaginable. His eyes were red-rimmed and opened way too wide in an apparent attempt to fight off exhaustion. His uniform was rumpled and untucked, but that wasn’t all surprising given he’d slept in it. The scar across the bridge of his nose was a darker shade of pink, starkly contrasted against Remus’s pale skin and freckles, almost as if—

As if…

Sirius counted the scars. Then, he counted them again. 

No. No. 

There was no way those were new. 

Remus had stayed at Hogwarts over the holidays. He couldn’t possibly—

“Sirius?”

“Hm? Yeah, sorry. I’m fine.”

Remus frowned and raised a disbelieving eyebrow at him.

Sirius huffed. “Fine. I feel like shit, but considerably less shitty than yesterday. Not going to pass out any time soon, anyway. Hopefully. Most likely.”

Remus didn’t look particularly convinced. 

Sirius pushed his luck anyway. “What are the chances of you helping me break out of here before Madam Pomfrey comes to check on me?”

“Not fucking likely.”

“But—“

“Sirius, you almost fucking died.”

“I did not!” 

Piercing, half-golden eyes tracked down to Sirius’s chest, over the bandages, then back up to the tattoo, and—

“Fine! Fine!” Sirius crossed his arms over his chest, trying to block it from view. Slightly mortified, he felt himself flush red. He wasn’t used to anyone looking at his chest, his fucking tattoo, least of all Remus Lupin. It… It was unnerving. “Can you at least get me a shirt?”

He wasn’t exactly sure when he’d taken off his own shirt—the exact events of yesterday were more than a little hazy in his mind—but he was certainly tired of not wearing one. It brought unnecessary attention to things he’d rather keep secret. 

Remus nodded, then gave him a small reassuring smile. “Yeah, I think I can do that.”

Remus made his way to the opposite end of the hospital wing, crouched by a small, bedside cupboard, rooted a round for a minute, then made a vaguely triumphant noise as he pulled out not just a shirt, but a pair of soft, Muggle trousers as well.

“Here,” Remus said, handing over the clothes. “These should do.”

Sirius eyed the clothes, subconsciously wiggling a little in his own, now-ruined designer trousers. The waistband and front part of his trousers were crusted with quite a bit of dried blood, Dittany, and other unmentionable, yet equally disgusting bodily fluids he’d rather not think too hard about. The trousers were about as far from salvageable as humanly possible. 

“Thanks.” Sirius took the proffered clothes and ever-so-slowly swung his legs over the side of the bed. He took a long moment just to breathe. 

“Do… Do you need help?”

“No.” Sirius tried not to snap, but he still managed to answer far too quickly and with far too much conviction. 

Remus clearly didn’t share any of his false bravado, but he turned his back all the same to allow Sirius the dignity of changing on his own. 

Sirius shucked his trousers in one go—they were so caked with filth that they kept their shape, much to his disgust—but kept his pants. His silk pants were equally ruined, but Sirius Black had just enough pureblood formality beaten into him that he wasn’t about to go pantsless in borrowed trousers.

Said borrowed trousers were rather large on him—so much so that Sirius muttered a quick spell to cinch them at his waist. The trousers hung well past his feet, the knees were rather worn, and never had such pedestrian fabric been used to clothe a member of the Noble and Most Pretentious House of Black, but they were incredibly comfortable. Absently, Sirius found himself wondering as to where one might acquire a pair and just what the consequences might be if his mother found out he’d gone to a Muggle tailor. 

Sirius shook his head and reached for the shirt. It was an equally worn button-up, with a patch on one elbow and ridiculously long sleeves, but it was made of thick, pliable material that smelled of… starlight and piping hot tea. Right beneath the collar—

No. That couldn’t be right. 

Right beneath the collar, stitched ever so carefully, were the initials R.J.L.

“Remus, are these yours?” Sirius asked, before he could think too much of it.

Because if Remus had a spare set of clothes in the hospital wing, that might lead one to believe that not only had Remus been a recent resident of said hospital wing, but the injuries he’d hypothetically sustained had also been grave enough to either warrant a change of clothes or an extended stay in the hospital wing that would consequently necessitate a change of clothes, eventually. Which, really, could not be possible because Remus hadn’t gone home for the holidays, so there was no logical reason for Remus to have been in the hospital wing at all.

Right?

Except the back of Remus’s neck flushed red and Sirius felt his heart stop. 

Because Remus had a new scar on his face that Sirius was now fairly certain hadn’t been there when Sirius left. 

Oh, how he’d wanted to believe that it was nothing.

Nothing, as it turned out, hardly ever worked in his favour.

“Where’d you get that scar on your face, Remus?”

“Siri—“

“No!” Sirius had half a mind to throw the shirt at the back of Remus’s head.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Remus turned to face him, and Merlin, how had Sirius missed it? The scar across the bridge of Remus’s nose was a pale pink, not faded silver. New. Raw. Fresh. 

The fight drained out of Sirius, as though he’d been punched in the throat.

“You were supposed to be safe, Re,” Sirius croaked. 

“So were you.” Remus’s jaw tightened, but this time, he didn’t turn away. “Our monsters will always find us, Sirius.”

For a moment, Remus looked as though he wanted to say more, wanted to explain, anything. He opened and closed his mouth, his fingers fidgeting all over the place. Sirius waited.

And waited.

Then, suddenly, Remus froze. Every muscle in his body went rigid. Sirius watched, confused and mildly alarmed, as Remus tilted his head up and turned towards the—

The giant door to the hospital wing was open, just a crack. When and how that had happened without them noticing, Sirius couldn’t be sure. 

Remus frowned and… sniffed? Whatever he was doing, it was beyond strange. Sirius watched Remus’s eyes dart around the room, seemingly unable to settle on anything in particular, always on the move, always searching for… something.

“Remus, what—“

Sirius heard the faint shuffle, the soft whisper of fabric, the slightly too-loud breathing. 

Except there was no one there.

Readying himself for a fight with whatever ghost or shadowy figure that may or may not have infiltrated Hogwarts, Sirius tugged on Remus’s shirt as quickly as he dared without risking reopening his wounds. He shoved the ridiculously long sleeves up past his elbows, called his magic to the tips of his fingers, and took a defensive stance next to Remus.

Someone—something?—hissed out a faint curse. Then:

“Ow!”

“That’s my foot!”

“Potter, if that’s your fucking hand on my arse, so help me God, I will—“

Sirius and Remus exchanged a startled glance.

“Evans?” Sirius called, to the otherwise empty hospital wing.

“Shit.” That certainly sounded like James.

“Weren’t they s’posed to see us eventually?” Peter, maybe?

“Yes, but not until after we scared the shit out of them.”

“That doesn’t seem very nice.”

“It’s supposed to cheer them up. All they need is a good bit of mischief and—“

“Oh, for Christ’s sake!”

With a sudden whoosh of fabric, James, Lily, and Peter materialised out of nowhere, not five feet from them.

“What the fuck,” Remus deadpanned, at the exact same moment Sirius gasped, “Is that a fucking invisibility cloak?!”

[dangerouscommiesubversive]

1, 8 21. Tendou/Kagami.

1. “Do you want me to stop?” 8. “Are you hungry?” 21. “Do you promise?”

Souji’s an attractive man in general, but there’s something about his legs in particular that just makes Arata completely lose his mind. It’s not just that they’re good legs, although they are incredibly good legs--it’s that there seems to be a lot of them. Arata’s not sure how that works, since Souji’s not actually much taller than him, but he’s not going to argue with it.

They’re in bed. They’re not even doing anything, too drowsy and slow to bother with anything past the pleasure of proximity. Souji is very nearly asleep, in fact, his head on Arata’s arm and his back against Arata’s chest. The way his eyelashes lie against his cheekbones when he closes his eyes is very slightly intoxicating. Arata’s only slightly more awake, and using most of his wakefulness to look at Souji.

What an amazing thing, he thinks, sleepily, getting to look at him like this.

“Mm?”

“Shit, did I say that out loud?”

“Did you not mean to? I appreciated hearing it.”

“Because you’re vain.”

“I am not vain,” Souji says, with as much dignity as he can manage while he’s half asleep, which is admittedly a lot. "I just enjoy hearing your voice."

"Especially when I'm complimenting you."

Souji says nothing to that, just radiates self-satisfaction.

It’s frustratingly attractive. Arata’s going to die of how beautiful he is, and how little distance has to be covered to run a hand down his side like he’s a cat to be petted. Which he responds to by shifting slightly into the touch and making himself more comfortable, and maybe Arata’s not as tired as he thought. So--a kiss pressed to the back of Souji’s neck, which gets a small pleased noise,and then a slow trail of fingers down ribs and stomach and hip to stupidly perfect thigh.

Souji twitches away from him for a moment.

Arata frowns. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No, by all means.” Souji also sounds slightly more awake. “Continue.”

“You twitched, though, did I do something that hurt? Do you have a bruise that I didn’t see or something?”

“Not at all, I’m fine.”

Frowning, Arata flexes his hand, enjoying feeling the outline of Souji’s muscles under his skin, and Souji twitches again, and realization dawns. “Are you ticklish?”

There’s a slightly-too-long pause before Souji says, “I am not.” He’s still turned away, but just enough of his face is visible to see that his eyes have gone wide.

“Oh, you liar.” Arata grins against Souji’s shoulder and drags a finger back up Souji’s leg, and Souji squirms. “You are ticklish. I found a weakness on the, the path of heaven.”

“You’ve found nothing of the--hmm.” Souji claps a hand over his mouth as Arata’s fingertips spider-walk back up his side. “You’re a cruel man,” he says into his palm, voice shaking with heavily-suppressed laughter.

“Why, because I think it’s kind of cute when you actually laugh?”

“There are oth-other ways,” and he bites down on the side of his hand for a moment, “there are other ways to make me laugh. Ones which don’t involve tormenting me.”

--

For once, Arata is awake first, probably because he drank too much coffee in the evening. It’s early, not long after sunrise, so he’s quiet as he goes to the bathroom, not wanting Juka to wake up and see him. Not that she doesn’t know, really, but she very politely pretends not to notice, and the fiction’s easier to maintain when he’s not coming out of her brother’s bedroom at quarter of six in the morning, wearing her brother’s bathrobe.

When he comes back from the bathroom, he stops in the bedroom doorway for a moment and just looks. Souji asleep is a precious sight, both in that he’s normally the first one awake and because he’s rarely so obviously vulnerable. He lies on his side, very still, the sheets stark white against his skin--he picked up a tan in France, and has maintained it since his return to Japan. Because, despite his insistence otherwise, he’s vain.

“I enjoy how you look at me,” he says when Arata gets back in bed, voice slurred a bit with sleep.

“I enjoy looking at you. You have amazing bedhead, it’s adorable.” Before the inevitable protest to the contrary, Arata continues with, “Are you hungry?”

“Slightly, but I’m not inclined to get up yet.”

“You don’t have to, I’ll make something and bring it to you. Breakfast in bed.”

Souji’s eyes open immediately, and Arata isn’t sure whether to be charmed or offended by his look of surprise. “You’re offering to cook for me?”

“Is that such a weird idea?”

“It’s...unexpected.”

“Well, it’s not like I know how to cook all the nice traditional stuff you do, but I know some Western recipes. You know, uh, pancakes. Denver omelette.”

“Fascinating. What’s the provenance of this unexpected knowledge?”

“American exchange student I knew at university, he taught me how to cook a few things--and I just realized that he was definitely flirting with me the whole time. Wow, I feel kind of dumb for not catching that.”

“Slightly unobservant, perhaps. It did take you some time to notice when it was me.”

“It didn’t take me that long to--” Arata trails off at Souji’s raised eyebrow. “You...had to get more direct, didn’t you. You were flirting with me for way longer than I realized.”

“Bingo, as your American friend might say. It was very charming.” Abruptly Souji’s face is illuminated by one of his soft smiles, made all the more beautiful by the extravagant mess of his curls. “I would appreciate pancakes and an omelette, if you’re so inclined.”

Arata nods, as seriously as possible. “Your wish is my command.”

--

Souji has never been in the habit of uncertainty, but Kagami Arata has a particular talent for catching him off-guard. With his strength, with his patience, with his breathtaking fury at the unkind world. With the curve of his fingers around Zecter or briefcase handle or Souji’s wrist. With the shape of his mouth, at the moment reddened from kissing and redder from biting his own lip, because even more than Souji, he is dedicated to not making so much noise that they wake Juka up.

Not being in the habit of uncertainty, Souji had never previously realized how pleasurable it could be under the right circumstances. This was clearly a mistake, and one he is privately, deliriously glad to have rectified, because had that not happened he wouldn’t be here now, in his own bed with Arata’s fingers digging into his thighs and one of his own hands gripping the headboard as he moves.

Sex isn’t the only context in which he appreciates Arata’s company, of course, but he likes the way in which it’s his alone, something which he can be certain Arata won’t share with anyone else. And more than that, the breathless tranquility of after sex, in which he is now lying comfortably with his head on Arata’s shoulder and saying, “I think this is the moment I look forward to most when I’m with you.”

“So the thing you like best about having sex with me is when it’s over? That’s flattering.” Said entirely without ire, in fact with an undercurrent of laughter, and even then followed with, “No, I know what you mean. This is good.” A pause. “Not to get really serious about things all of a sudden, but I hope we’ve still got this in, like, thirty years.”

“Thirty years is insufficient,” Souji murmurs against the side of his neck. “I will accept nothing less than forever.”

He feels, rather than hears, the catch of breath, and what Arata says, as his arm pulls more tightly around Souji’s shoulders is, “Do you promise?”

[agerefandom]

> Dirk: Regress

Fandom: Homestuck

Characters: Dirk Strider, mentions of Roxy and Jake

Words: 2,750

Summary: Dirk is an age regressor. (It’s a rough day but it’s easier as a four-year-old.)

Warnings: Isolation, body dysmorphia/dysphoria (unspecified), self-sacrificing ideals, one cuss word, mention of storms. 

(Note: I’ve had a few people notice that I usually write from caregiver perspectives for agere fanfiction! I struggle with putting my experience of regression into words, in a way that I don’t with my caregiver experiences. I still enjoy writing reader-insert fanfiction that deviates from my personal experience of regression, but this is my best attempt at communicating the way that I regress.) 

> Dirk: Regress

Your name is Dirk Strider, and some days it’s not worth claiming that you aren’t lonely.

Filling the hours of a day is routine by this point: there’s reprogramming to be done, and new scripts to be written, and fanfiction that you absolutely don’t post online under miscellaneous pseudonyms. There are fights to win and fights to lose and moments when you just throw yourself into the water and let yourself float there until the sun is too bright against your eyelids.

But some days just refuse to pass. Nothing feels like it’s really happening, and none of your friends answer your messages, and you refuse to message again because that would be desperate. Even with four centuries’ worth of internet videos, it feels like there’s nothing to watch, and the walls are closing in with the endless ocean stretching outside. You should be able to fill this day because it’s only as empty as every other day on this abandoned planet, but somehow time seems incapable of passing.

Today seems to be one of those days, and you’ve retreated to the roof to sit and watch the waves. The sun is too warm, and you’ll probably end up with a painful sunburn, but it’s worth it to be away from the wires and screens that remind you of the work you aren’t doing and the friends who aren’t responding.

For some reason this view always seems to feel new, despite the hundreds of days you’ve spent pacing on this roof, fighting on this roof, bleeding on this roof. Something about the sky’s ever-shifting shades and the way the ocean rolls far beneath you. Something about the seagulls that flutter down from the sky to rest their wings, or maybe the wind in your hair and the way it ruffles your clothes, the closest thing you have to human touch.

You close your eyes and lean your chin on your knees, breathing in ocean air that tastes like salt and smoke. You’ve always assumed that the bad smell is an effect of whatever technology the Batterwitch used to flood the planet, but maybe the air on Earth has always been horrible.

The heat is heavy in the air today, which means there might be a storm brewing. The apartment is always the worst during storms, listening to the rusted supports groaning in the wind and wild waves. Sometimes you wonder if you’ll even make it to the fabled game, or if the ocean will just swallow you one day with none of your friends the wiser.

You feel ready to settle in for an afternoon of grade-A moping, but part of you doesn’t agree. Part of you feels like enjoying the sunlight, or going for a swim. That sounds nice, if you’re being honest, but you doubt that you could enjoy anything today. Part of your mind will always be thinking about the messages you’re waiting for, the hours you have to fill, and the fact that tomorrow will be exactly the same as today, and how will you be able to deal with that when today seems so endless?

That excited part of you is insistent, though. It really wants to run around and play, which is an instinct that seems foreign. You mentally inspect the desire, trying to decide if it’s a sign that you’re finally giving up your tenacious grasp on sanity. The more you pay attention to it, the more tempting it feels. Just let go for a while.

There’s an energy in the desire that moves into your body, replacing the lethargy of moping. Your limbs feel ready for climbing, for swimming, for exploring a ruined world stretching around you that you usually prefer to ignore. Maybe it would be nice, to let whatever off part of you this is take the helm for a while. It feels like it might be already happening, and you’re too tired to fight it off. You let the part of yourself that’s moping curl in on itself, finding a little corner of your mind to continue its lethargic musings.

And then you open your eyes and push yourself to your feet.

---->

Your name is Dirk Strider, you are approximately four years old, and the ocean looks incredibly blue.

You feel silly for all the moping you were doing before, and for wasting such a beautiful day. You really want to take off your clothes and get into the water, but a loud part of your brain won’t stop telling you that jumping from this high up is a really bad idea.

Your brain is stupid. You head down from the roof, slamming the door behind you to show that you’re upset about not getting to jump into the waves. Your shoes are discarded carelessly, shirt and sunglasses and pants dropped along the way. Your body is funny, not quite right and not quite wrong. It stops you for a second, and you poke your stomach, hold up your hands. The fingers are unfamiliar. This is your body, isn’t it? Why doesn’t it feel right?

You shrink away from the thoughts, but the part of your brain that’s enjoying its rest pushes you back into awareness before you can get away. Apparently you’re not allowed to stop being here, so you guess that you might as well enjoy it. Away with the body thoughts! You’re getting distracted from the real goal, which is to be in the nice cool water as soon as possible.

Once you’re free of uncomfortable clothes, you patter down a set of stairs where the walls give way to the rusted internal structure of the apartments that used to be below your home. The stairs stop at a metal platform that you remember constructing, the heat of the blowtorch and the glow of the sparks. The memory fits and it doesn’t fit, so you shrug it away as you swing over the platform onto a ladder that leads down to the water.

Halfway down the ladder you know that you’re close enough to the water that it won’t hurt to jump, so you push yourself away from the ladder and let yourself free-fall.

You hit the water feet-first and it envelops you. You can feel the air bubbles combing through your hair, rippling on the bottoms of your feet, the last bit of the above-water world clinging to you. You let yourself drift until there’s only you and the faint ocean currents pushing around you, peaceful and quiet. You wish you could stay here forever, but you can feel your lungs starting to hurt. You have to kick for a few seconds before you break the surface, sucking in a deep breath as soon as the air touches your face. The sun is too warm, and you stick your tongue out in its direction. Stupid sun.

You swim in the direction of one of the nearest buildings that sticks above the water, enjoying the sound of your legs kicking through the waves. The ocean is mostly calm today, and you can hear the seagulls crying up above you. You navigate your way through the familiar landmarks of rubble and ruin, switching from front crawl to elementary backstroke as your energy rises and falls. Your apartment towers above you, casting a shadow on the water. You think about painting something on the side of it, trying to liven up the plain grey concrete, but that seems like a thought for another day.

It takes a few minutes of swimming to reach the nearest neighboring apartment building, and you pull yourself out of the water onto a shore of concrete.  There isn’t much interesting here, mostly crumbling bricks beginning to reveal the girders underneath. The roof has collapsed in on itself in slabs of concrete that you can pick your way across, avoiding the freshest evidence of seagull passerby. A plant has somehow made its home in one of the sections of brick, some kind of weed with jagged leaves and long tendrils seeking more dirt. One of the birds probably brought it from some faraway patch of land, high enough to avoid the flooding.

You stare at the bright green of its leaves, aware that it must be one of the only living things in the surrounding area. In the end, though, it’s impossible to resist picking it out of the wall, the tendrils clinging desperately to the rough bricks as you separate it from its home.

It’s rubbery in your hands, and you dig your fingernails into the leaves to watch the darker green show up in half-crescents where you tore the skin. You wrap the stem around your fingers, admiring the colour. You think about eating it, moving it towards your mouth, but there’s a mental feeling of someone smacking your hand and you drop the plant with a frown. Your brain is too busy and dumb.

You pick up the plant and move it into a patch of sunlight, hoping that it’ll get eaten by another passing bird. Then its seeds can go somewhere else, maybe even on the roof of your house.

You dive back into the water, daydreaming about having a jungle grow on the roof of your house, the roots becoming part of the apartment walls and the leaves changing colour like you’ve seen in TV shows.

---->

The afternoon passes in a delirious blur of sun and splashing, laughing at your own voice and trying to climb one of the supports of your apartment building before finding the metal too hot from the sun.

Eventually, you pull yourself out of the water and climb up the ladder one rung at a time. You take a last look at the rippling water as you open the door and step into the concrete stairwell up to your apartment.

The inside is dark and cool in contrast to the sun-heated world outside, and you begin to shiver as you make your way into your room. An old towel is in the laundry pile, so you scoop it up and use it to dry yourself off. It smells a little musty, but it does the job fine. The feeling of not-right-not-wrong hits you again as you dry off, and you push it aside more easily this time. Not your problem, and you’re starting to have the feeling that you won’t be here for long. It seems silly to worry about it with the little time you have left.

You get dressed in the nicest clothes you can find: there’s a shirt that seems way too big, and you pull it on before looking at what’s on the front. It’s a silly design with wobbly lines that you can’t put together from upside down, and the shirt hangs almost to your knees. It feels cozy, and you add a pair of boxers to the outfit before deciding it’s good enough for lazing around.

The bed is soft and springy and you settle onto it with a sigh, shoving a pillow into the corner to lean on. The day has been fun, but your shoulders are tired from the swimming and your head hurts from all the sunlight. You snag a pair of sunglasses from the table beside your bed, careful with the points as you fit them onto your face. The world gets darker and you relax, grabbing the nearest soft thing to hold. It’s Hella Jeff in his silly coloured onesie and you laugh at his big eyes, widening your own in an attempt to mimic his expression.

Your tablet is difficult to fish out from under the mattress while you’re sitting on it, and once you turn it on it makes a lot of loud noises at you until you exit the window that was open. My Little Pony is easy to find, and you pull up one of the early episodes before propping the tablet against your feet so that you can watch it while hugging your Hella Jeff plushie and maybe resting your eyes a bit.

You can feel the rest of your brain perking up as soon as the theme song comes on, but it’s your episode to enjoy, so you push everything to the back and sing along with Pinkie Pie, and if you fall asleep before the second episode is over, then there’s no one to tell you it’s too early to sleep and who cares about time anyways.

> Dirk: Wake Up.

You wake up in a tangle of blankets, with your shades half-off and poking into the pillow, and Hella Jeff’s ass in your face. You push him off grumpily and sit up in bed. It’s late, and you fell asleep with the light off, so your room is dark aside from the flashing lights from the various panels scattered on the desks.

You’re hungry, and still groggy from the unexpected nap, and the afternoon feels like a distant dream that could have happened to someone else. You try to prompt that same sense of excitement, the eager curiosity that had taken over for the day, but it feels utterly foreign to your mind. You physically poke yourself, as if that will make the mood re-emerge and take over, but it only makes you very aware that you’re wearing one of your old sleep shirts that you stopped wearing when you were about twelve. You pull it off with an irritated sound, and roll out of bed. Your pounding head demands food and water, and you haven’t checked your messages in seven hours.

The glasses you’re wearing don’t have build-in screens, so you swap them out for another pair once you’ve pulled on a t-shirt that actually fits and shoved some jeans over your boxers. Sure enough, Roxy has finally gotten back to you, and fairly recently.

You start responding to her message as you poke around the cupboards for something that you won’t have to cook. She’s messaged something benign, but you know that she knows that you know that she hasn’t been doing well or she would have messaged back sooner. Hopefully she’s feeling better, but you know from experience that she’s more likely messaging you to start an ill-conceived fight that she can use to rationalize her bad mood and self-isolation.

Having friends is exhausting. You find some packaged ramen and head back to your room, planning to just crush it up and eat it while you finish the episode that you fell asleep half-way through. Roxy is talking again, her words a blur of badly-spelled pink across your vision, and you already feel tired from the conversation. You miss Jake, and how easy he is to please. He won’t be back for another two days, out on some sort of island quest that takes him out of network range. You hope that he’s doing okay out there.

You settle into bed again, sparing a frown at your Hella Jeff plushie as if he was to blame for the entire situation. You hook up your tablet remotely to the TV so that you can properly hear it, and settle in to multitask for the night. This is what you wanted, something outside of yourself to focus on, someone else’s problems to solve, something to fill the hours for you.

But even as you start dissecting the things that Roxy isn’t saying, you find yourself craving that effortless enjoyment you’d felt that afternoon, the way your head had tilted up to the sunlight as if it was a second nature. You have a job to do, to keep everyone on track for a future that only you and Roxy know is waiting. But maybe one day, after everything was over and the game was won, you could take a longer break. Maybe there would be a new world for you to explore, and it would be better than the endless ocean of ruins.

For now, you wrap your arms around yourself and do your best to help Roxy communicate how she’s feeling. Your friends come first, and the future comes later.

[winterromanov]

Maybe a college Bucky one where he’s being playing games out of town, and trying to study for exams and he’s just so tired but trying to keep going and reader makes him nap and relax and it’s just very Soft ☺️

pairing: bucky x reader (set in the same universe as this fic)

Trying to play football and also be a competent college student is an Incredibly Difficult Feat. You know this, because watching Bucky vault himself from away games to home games to mid terms to finals is about the most exhausting thing you’ve ever seen. If he’s not studying he’s at practice, and if he’s not playing he’s in an exam. It’s like watching a manic, sleep-deprived whirlwind, living almost entirely off coffee and takeout noodles.

He’s not taking care of himself. He’s pushing and pushing and pushing, trying not to let anybody down--as if he could ever do that.

“You don’t have anything to prove,” you say, as he crashes face-down on the bed in your dorm, the night before he leaves to play a game at Harvard and minutes after his Cold War history deadline. You’ve not seen him eat anything the last twenty-four hours. “Look--you won the last game. Steve said you could sit this one out.”

A vague mumbling comes from your bed. His face is smothered by the pillow and he’s too exhausted to even turn over, so you poke his ass with your foot. His hand reaches out, reflexes still ridiculously quick, pulling you onto the bed with him.

“Sorry, love,” you smirk, curling as close to him as your tiny mattress will allow. His arm pulls you close to his waist, palm splayed across your back. His heartbeat is unrelenting beneath his shirt, thudding between you. “Didn’t quite hear that one.”

His head shifts so you’re basically nose-to-nose, his grin sleepy and delirious. He’s gonna pass out any second. You’ve seen it many, many times before in the last hectic few weeks--you’re probably gonna see it a few more. “I’ll be fine after nap. Promise.”

“Don’t you dare fall asleep before I can force a pizza down you,” you warn, and he laughs, deliberately snuggling into the pillow and letting his eyes flicker closed. You can’t resist--running your hand through his hair, along his face. Kiss his forehead. “Goddamn it, Buck. You’re making it very difficult for me to look after you.”

“You being here is enough,” he says softly and before you have chance to reply he’s gone, lost in some dream. You slowly creep out of his embrace, making the pizza for him anyway. By the time you wake up the next day his body is a phantom shape in your bed but the pizza is gone--he’s left you a bright pink post-it note on the plate. Scribbled in his usual scrawl are the words thank you always favourite girl.

-

we won!!! harvard ain’t better than us at FOOTBALL

wish u could have been there

renaissance lit is being a bitch :(( well done you STAR. miss you more every moment so get back quick

should i hijack the bus and speed down the freeway

if you must

consider it done

love you

love you more than anything

-

The next game is thankfully a home one against Yale so you can at least keep an eye on him--you’re just protective, that’s all, not wanting him to burn out in front of you. There’s a lot of gym sessions and library cramming and a grand total of one dinner date at his apartment, where you made a pasta dish with as many vegetables as you could think of in as possible (his mom had sent you a message afterwards with immense gratitude because her son needed his greens, damn it). The following evening you’d wrapped yourself in one of his jerseys and sat in the bleachers alongside an injured Sam--injured and bitter about it--and waited in the lights and the noise for the game to begin.

“Bucky tells me you’re worried about him,” Sam interjects rather suddenly and when you blink back, he shrugs his non-injured shoulder nonchalantly. “Not that I blame you. That dude just doesn’t let up, does he?”

“You could say that,” you reply, shivering a little. The November air is cold, even wearing Bucky’s sweater. “He keeps telling me the season will be over before long, but I...I don’t want that to be a couple of weeks too much for him, you know?”

Sam hums thoughtfully. Around you, the crowd practically fizzes with excitement, covered with facepaint and aggressively chanting team songs at the opposing side. You’d never been to a college football game before you started dating one of the team’s star players, but you have to admit, the atmosphere is kinda addictive. Watching Bucky play is kinda addictive.

“If I know Bucky, and boy do I know him,” Sam eventually replies, squeezing up closer to you as more people gather into your stand. A girl is openly staring at you both--it doesn’t happen that often, but more so at games. People know Bucky, and Sam, so people know you. “He’ll get through this all okay. He always does, (Y/N). I’d been pretty damn surprised if he doesn’t make captain next year.”

You stare at the bright, clean grass of the field, and think of a boy so fucking exhausted from trying to balance his life that he can barely function half the time. Bucky would be an awesome captain. You just don’t want him to become a dead firework because of it.

-

The game ends up being pretty close but Yale just snatch the victory. It doesn’t mean that they can’t win the season, but. Bucky makes his way over to your stand at the end of the game like he always does, taking off his helmet and mouthguard. He also looks extremely deflated, like he always does when they lose.

“It’s okay,” you say, taking his face in your hands. He looks angry at himself. And you know what he’s thinking. I should have pushed harder. “Shit happens. You were still amazing.”

He kisses you over the barrier in a display of affection you were once too shy to give away in public, but you need him as much as he needs you. When you break apart you plant a chaste, gentle peck on his jawline, running your thumb over the shadow. 

“You two make me sick,” Sam interrupts the moment, arms folded. Bucky flips him off while smiling sweetly and you can’t help but laugh. “Honestly. Didn’t ask to be violated, but here we are.”

“Payback for every single time I’ve walked in on you doing unspeakable things with the girl from the top floor on our kitchen counter.” Bucky snaps back teasingly. You like watching the banter unfold between the two of them. You’d be worried if Bucky and Sam weren’t taking the piss at every given opportunity.

Sam gestures pointedly at his injured right shoulder. “I cannot believe you’d treat a fallen comrade like that. I’m disgusted.”

“And so was I when I saw the state of the kitchen counter.” Bucky gives you one last kiss, clutching your hand. “See you after I hit the showers, yeah?”

“I’ll be waiting.” Your promise him, and his eyes glow just a little brighter.

-

When Bucky facetimes you from Brown the very next week, he looks like he hasn’t slept for at least three days. His Ancient Chinese history exam is literally a day after he arrives back from the trip and he’s frantically cramming in his hotel room in Rhode Island, while also trying not to fuck up the team’s chances of winning the season.

“Just one more game after this,” his grainy voice says on the other end of the video feed, head lolling against the headboard of his Holiday Inn bed. You wish he was in your bed. God, you wish he was in your bed. “And the season is over and I don’t have to be away from you ever again.”

“I don’t think your mom would like it if I stole you away for Thanksgiving.” You joke, tongue poking between your teeth. His lips curve, half a laugh escaping from his chest.

“That’s why she personally invited you to stay with us for the holidays. She’s worried you might sneak in there first and drag me to Virginia. She already knows I’d go wherever you go.”

Your smile is kinda wistful. “Except when you go to Rhode Island.”

“Except when I go to Rhode Island.” He repeats, sighing dramatically. He rubs one of his tired eyes. “Ugh. Who thought coinciding pre-Thanksgiving exams and football season was a good idea, huh?”

“I have no idea, but I’m prepared to have words with them.” You tilt your head. “Don’t work too hard, yeah? It’s one exam. It’ll all be okay in the end.”

“I know, I know.”

You want to keep talking, on and on until the early hours like you do sometimes, because time is apparently not real when you and Bucky are on the phone together. But he needs sleep, and you need sleep, and occasionally you’ll do things for the greater good. “Good luck for tomorrow. Brown won’t know what’s hit ‘em.”

“They better not,” he jokes, “Will you be live-streaming the game?”

As if you wouldn’t. You can’t pretend that you always know what’s going on or any of the rules, but you always try to watch him if you can. He’d do the same for you, over and over and over. “Already got the tab open on my laptop and everything.”

Bucky’s grin is near effervescent, even through your patchy wifi connection. “I love you more than anything, you know that?”

“I may have had an inkling.”

-

hello y/n 

HELLLOOOOO

u know brown are the best losers because they lose and give you TEQUILA

omg are you drunk

never been DRUNK IN MY LIFE!!!! but im at this cool party and stEv e has found a girl and i miss u

i miss u so much . and like i just do generally 

whenever ur not ar oUnd 

oh sweet boy. you are very drunk.

im serious though

sometimes i think about how much i love you and it scares me

because then i th ink what it would be like if you wreent there 

and that makes me so fucking sad i cant breathe

y/n

y/n ???????????????

hellooo 

have u gone to bed

no, just messaging steve to make sure he gets you back safe. im not going anywhere. just please please look after yourself. love you always

-

“I’m sorry about those messages I sent you last night.”

You grab him in the tightest hug possible, his hold all still hanging off his arm, rain spattering down from dark clouds outside his apartment block. You hold him for at least ten years, you reckon, because the thought of him being so fucking sad he can’t breathe makes you so fucking sad you can’t breathe.

“You’re a terrible drunk who says things that make me emotional.” You laugh tearfully into his sweater and he grips you even harder, if possible. The shards of glass jabbed between your ribs start to dissolve as you inhale every single part of him.

“I know, sweetheart,” he murmurs, “I know.”

-

His last game is the day of your renaissance literature exam and for once you’ve been the one not eating and relying on caffeine, anxiety lingering round your jittery bones like an irritating ghost. Your interactions with Bucky are a battle between you wishing him aggressive luck for what could be the winning game while he equally aggressively says your exam will go fine, they always go fine, it’s an easy A for sure. 

Your exam isn’t until the afternoon so you spend the morning pacing about your bedroom looking at a sporadic mess of post-it notes on your wall declaring quotes and context that you hope will just stick in your brain. When Lizzie from down the hall says there’s a package for you you don’t actually think much of it, too busy to deal with something you’ve probably forgotten you ordered from Amazon--but she makes some comment about how fancy it is, wrapped up in striped paper.

Your name is in print across the front so it doesn’t leave a clue on the sender, but as soon as you rip into it and find a bundle of things nestled between tissue paper, you know instantly. It’s kind of embarrassing you didn’t click sooner. 

Dear Y/N - you’ll ace it, favourite gal. 

You try not to break down in sleep-deprived and emotional tears as you pull out a brand new sweater in your favourite shade of burgundy, a vintage copy of Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina, three different kind of Hershey’s bars and a dumb little teddy bear wearing your college jersey. He’s sent you a fucking care package. He’s away at Princeton, and he’s sent you a care package, because exams drive you crazy and he’s just... Well, he’s Bucky.

-

i got your present

have i ever mentioned that i love you

i may have had an inkling

-

He doesn’t really leave you a choice, does he? Besides, the game is only at Princeton, and if you catch the train the moment you escape the uneasy warmth of a crowded exam hall you should be able to get there in time. 

You’ve never been to Princeton stadium before, but you grab one of the last tickets available and rush onto their crowded bleachers just before the game is about to begin. The lights are heady, the atmosphere is electric, and you’re about to watch the man you lovingly, completely, unrelentingly call your own play the game he loves almost as much as you at a stadium forty miles from home. 

hey steve, you text his closest friend, hoping he’ll see it, get buck to look at the front of the stairs near block d when you come out

y/n if this is what i think it means he’s going to lose his goddamn mind

:)

When the team runs out you notice the number five on his jersey straight away, a constant fleeting image in your head from the countless games you’ve seen him play. Even from a distance, Steve’s eyes catch your own and his arm starts gesturing violently in your direction, Bucky taking a couple of moments to catch on.

It’s a good job the game isn’t due to start for a few more minutes, because absolutely nothing can stop him from automatically sprinting to your side of the field and kissing you senseless, cameras and crowds be damned.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he says on a dizzy outtake of breath.

“Couldn’t miss the last game of the season, could I?” You gently push his chest, urging him to go back to his team. “And neither can you. Go back to them. I’ll be waiting.”

He steals your lips for one more second, giddy and pumped full of adrenaline. “I really lucked out the day I met you, didn’t I?”

His mouth is hot. Hot. Unmistakable. Real. Always, always real. “Not as lucky as me.”

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