#((and instead just be solely preoccupied with what game they were going to play next!))

[lovelykhaleesiii]

Kiss & Tell

PAIRING - Drew Starkey x Actress!Reader

Words - 1,459

Summary (requested by @jakson2003 ) - “Can we have a drew smut, she’s plays rafes gf and they have to do an intense make out, drew has feelings for her and Doesn’t know how to tell her but when they make out she accidentally says drew instead of rafe but only they hear it. P.s I love newcomer I can’t wait for more ;)”

Warnings - fluff, swearing, mentions of smut

A/N - this was SO fun to write, hope you enjoy <3 & let’s just pretend that’s you in maddy’s lovely position :)

Had you been asked where you saw yourself in the next 5 months, it definitely was not where you had eventually ended up. It was exactly 5 months ago, that you’d received a call back from an audition that you’d been most anxious about, the waiting game was all too stressful. It was for some new Netflix drama called “Outer Banks.” And you’d auditioned to play the part of Elena, the sole love interest of Rafe Cameron, played by the one and only, Drew Starkey.

Having been formally introduced to the cast and crew during the initial script reading, they had all warmly welcomed you in. Although, there was one person in particular that stood out the most for you, and it just so happened to be the one person you’d shared the most amount of screen time with.

It was a cliche trope throughout the film industry. That the co-workers would mirror the journeys of their characters, gradually falling for one another, although having witnessed it first hand you understood why.

It may have been the long, countless nights you’d spent practising lines, or the impromptu day-time filled adventures across each filming location that ignited this feeling inside. You had to confess, time spent with Drew was pure pleasure. Quite the contrast to his sociopathic character Rafe, he knew exactly how to make you laugh, and it didn’t take much either to make you smile, even on the spiritless days you’d felt drained.

And despite your driven efforts to brush off this “feeling”, your thoughts were restless in wondering if perhaps, Drew thought more of you than just his co-star…

Unsurprisingly, playing a love interest involved many moments of intimacy, mostly fleeting between Elena and Rafe, considering the nature and context of his character being on the run and somewhat preoccupied with other interests, those intimate moments you shared on screen had been short-lived, just a mere kiss or some degree of intense eye contact. Although, the inevitable had crept up. The producers had spoken to you both on various occasions about an upcoming make-out scene. Drew had always sort of played it off, joking that love-making wasn’t really a Rafe thing to do, although it seemed that the timing of the plot was perfect.

You’d never complained about any scene, no matter how extreme it may seem or how exposed you’d find the situation to be, it was all part of the job. However this time around, it seemed your personal thoughts had manifested into reality. You were excited although you were incredibly skilled at hiding it, after all you were an actress, distinguish yourself was your livelihood.

Throughout the lead up to the scene, you acted like it was nothing new nor major, just a “part of the job” type of logic, which Drew seemed somewhat nerved.

“Aren’t you little Miss professional?” He’d wittingly remark, before letting you go about your day.

Goodness, if only he knew exactly what you'd thought.

“Okay, so Drew we’re going to have you just storm out of Y/N’s room, but we want you to make it as though you’re resisting the urge to come back in before you cave in, okay?-”

“And, lovely Y/N, we just want you walking back in the meantime to sit on the edge of your bed, look as though you’re on the verge of tears, before you bounce back up to Drew entering, and then just naturally let the kiss come through and we’ll see how far we go, is that okay with you two?”

“Yeah, fine by me-”

Turning to face Drew, he had only responded with a slow head nod, saying nothing more.

Much to your disappointment, it seemed as though he didn’t actually want this to fall through.

“Everything okay?” You concerningly asked, gently reaching to grab his forearm, stopping him before he could disappear beyond your set door.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”

“Y-You just seem a little off, I don’t know.”

“I’m fine, Y/N. I’ll see you in a bit.”

You felt a little relieved, seeing that familiar, little smirk he’d pull. Maybe it was you that seemed a little tense.

Compose yourself, Y/N, fuck sake-

“And ACTION!”

It felt as thought the seconds had flown by, and you could hear the doorknob turn as Drew stood there before you, masked in Rafe’s demeanour.

“R-Rafe-” You stuttered, as you felt your body inching closer towards him, just as Drew slowly walked towards you, closing the distance between.

“I’m sorry.”

And before you could even whisper your next line, Drew’s lips brushed up against yours, closing in on a kiss.

He had other plans in mind, improv perhaps, although he usually would cut to mention something to yourself and the producers, in a haste to change.

Although, as you anxiously waited for the producers to yell “CUT”, you were internally ecstatic to find they’d let this one slide. Their stares, the cameras all fixated on you too, didn’t phase you nor did it seemed that Drew cared.

Throughout the kiss, you could feel Drew’s hands gently caress the shape of your body, against the thin material of the dress, snaking their way around smoothly, as he reached down, tenderly squeezing your ass.

Now that was a little excessive for the scene, although again… You hadn’t mind.

Breaking away from your lips, you felt his head duck down, as he began to nuzzle down your neck, leaving a trail of small, wet kisses. Although just above the tip of your collarbone, you felt his lips tighten their seal around you skin, as he began to suckle your skin.

“Ooh…-”

Your hands gently slide up against his back towards his neck, as your fingers brushed through his golden strands. He coaxed a moan from your parted lips, as your eyes shut lustfully, it was all becoming a blur.

“D-Drew-”

Instantly, the feeling of his pressed lips came to a halt, as they gently caressed your skin, as he pulled himself apart from you slowly.

“W-What did you say?”

Raising his gaze, as you both fixed your stares unto each other, the fact had just hit you then.

“AND CUT!”

“Y/N, what’d you just say?” Drew asked, still your bodies were initmately close to one another, as he still held you in his arms, as you held him.

“I-I-“ You felt so ashamed, felt yourself fevering up.

“How about we take a short break, that was a really good job guys! Drew I’m not too sure what happened in that last moment, but you guys had me fooled!”

The production team carried on oblivious to the nature of the scene’s ending, perhaps it was only Drew that had noticed your mistake.

And yet out of all people… Drew.

“I-It was just an honest mistake Drew, I get confused sometimes, you know that-”

You subtly pushed him off, releasing his grip from you, as you rushed off towards your trailer. You couldn’t bear the sight of him, you needed to regroup yourself before you could face him again. This was all too mortifying.

Slamming the door shut, it wasn’t long until you heard a loud knock against your door, and instinctively you knew exactly who it was on the other side.

“Y/N please, just open the door… It’s okay, I-”

“Please Drew, not right now, I have a headache, I’m not myself-”

“Y/N, can you just please, open the door…”

As hesitant as you were, you steadily opened the door, to a flustered looking Drew, his breath still fast as he was pacing himself.

“Tell me one thing. W-What you said, or what we just did… Was more than just a scene?”

Silence. You weren’t certain if it was right to confess, or if this was all some sort of a brutal ruse from Drew to torment you.

Although the earnest yet anxious look in his eye, had somewhat persuaded otherwise.

“I’ve liked you now, Drew… For quite some time. I-I just never said anything until my little accident today-“

“Why not?”

He caught you off guard, he seemed curious as to know why you’d held back.

“I was just never certain that you’d felt the same. It’s not the best of feeling, unrequited love that is.”

“That’s just the thing-“

His hand reaching over, as he gripped yours closely, his thumb caressing your knuckle.

“This was never one way, Y/N-“

As you stood on the last step on the entry stairway, now just levelled eye to eye with Dew, the same image of him leaning in enclosed you. He managed to plant a tender kiss on your lips.

“I love you too.”

#drew starkey #drew starkey imagines #drew starkey imagine #drew starkey fanfic #drew starkey fanfiction #drew starkey fluff #drew starkey smut #Outer Banks #obx #rafe cameron #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron imagines #rafe cameron fanfic #rafe cameron fanfiction #john b routledge #chase stokes #sarah cameron #madelyn cline #jj maybank #rudy pankow #pope heyward #jonathon daviss #kiara carrera #madison bailey

[jungkxook]

—midnight getaway. (m)

⟶ pairing: jung wooyoung x fem!reader 

⟶ genre: sprinkle of youtuber!wooyoung + fluff / smut

⟶ words: 6,488

⟶ rating: 18+ 

⟶ summary: a “romantic” getaway surrounded by your friends leads to an interesting night alone with wooyoung

⟶ warnings: pwp, wooyoung says baby a lot bc he’s in love, some teasing woo, exhibitionism, doggy style, sort of praise kink, ass play (fingering, fem!recieving), breast play/fondling, finger sucking, riding, unprotected sex, creampie 

⟶ note: this is the first fic i’ve written in a while and my first ateez fic no one come for me pls also this is dedicated to the lovely @kithtaehyung​ !! thank you for always encouraging me and my wooyoung antics!! 💛

p.s. this is shamelessly inspired by this wooyoung selfie!!

“Ugh. You obviously like her.”

The begrudging sigh comes from Yeosang, narrowly giving Wooyoung a heart attack when he realizes that you’re still within earshot. This wouldn’t have been so much of an issue had Yeosang not been so clearly talking about you to Wooyoung, though he barely has any time to recollect himself. Instead, sprawled out on the poolside of the villa the group had rented out for their week-long vacation in Jeju Island, Wooyoung firstly decides that he has no idea what Yeosang’s talking about.

“We’re just friends,” Wooyoung retorts.

“A friend you invite with you on a romantic getaway?” Yeosang asks with a wolfish grin.

Wooyoung shakes his head. He can still see you through the windows of the villa, now in the kitchen talking to Hongjoong. You’re all bright-eyed and glowing from the sun, in a swimsuit you had been putting to use just a few minutes ago when you took a dip in the pool. “Some romantic getaway, considering there’s seven idiots in the same house as us. Also thought this trip was meant to have no distractions.”

Which isn’t really a lie, because while their trip to Jeju was mostly for their YouTube channels, it was also meant to serve as a well-deserved break for the boys, and their leisure work of choice wasn’t exactly taxing and the majority of their trip so far has been spent simply enjoying themselves. Hongjoong had been so adamant too that there would be nothing to hinder them during their well deserved break. And of course you jumped at the offer to tag along when Wooyoung asked you, because you were his best friend but, moreover, his best supporter when it came to his passion and his videos.

“Yeah,” San hums nonchalantly from within the pool. He had been one of the few to jump in with you earlier, “but I don’t think friends flirt with each other on a daily basis.”

“Not to mention your video was all about her,” Jongho adds from beside Wooyoung. “I thought we were supposed to be promoting tourism in Jeju, not Y/N.”

That was a bit of an exaggeration. Sure, you had featured in a lot of the video Wooyoung had only just posted for his “Our Side of the Story” series he was doing (mostly daily vlogs, or aesthetic short films that you’ve always loved ━ much like the others, who have found a way to incorporate their love for music, dance, cooking, and everything in between in their vlogs), but you always made an appearance when you were so close with him. His viewers were used to it by this point, safe for the occasional questioning comments as to whether or not you two were dating. This video in particular saw you having the most fun in a while, frolicking the streets of the city, sprinting across the beach into the shallows of the ocean to try and splash Wooyoung with water; shaved ice shared between you and him and the way you snuck a bite of his when he was preoccupied, bike rides along the waterfront, and clambering along hiking trails so you could pose in a field of flowers that you had so desperately wanted to see.

Now, Wooyoung gives a roll of his eyes. “Funny. I don’t know what you guys are talking about.”

“Yeah, sure,” Yeosang sighs again. “When are you gonna tell her the truth?”

“The video already kind of did,” Jongho points out tauntingly. “If I was Y/N, I would have already realized.”

“Yeah━” San is beaming now as he clambers out of the pool, “but if you don’t want her, Woo, can I make a pass at her? Y’know, just to help take her off your hands━ Ow! What the hell?”

San jumps suddenly when Wooyoung chucks one of the pillows off of the lawn chair at his head.

“Keep your hands off her━” Wooyoung chastises. It’s meant mostly as a joke, but he worries when he recognizes a small part of him seems to care a little too much.

The others seem to find it funny at least, erupting into howling laughter that’s quick to fade when you wander back out to the pool and throw yourself next to Wooyoung.

“They’re definitely starting to catch on.”

Wooyoung lets out a weary sigh, though you’re starting to find it difficult to focus as he continues to kiss down your throat.

So, maybe if any of the boys walked in and saw the both of you in such a compromising position, they would be indescribably confused while also preparing to point an accusatory finger at Wooyoung for technically lying to them. But it isn’t really a lie, and certainly not one neither he nor you were keen on keeping for very long. It’s just that it seemed a whole lot easier to keep your newfound two month relationship with Wooyoung a secret for a small while.

It was mostly to give the both of you enough time to enjoy yourselves thoroughly without the prying eyes of your friends (who, while always supportive, are already passionately invested in your lifelong friendship with Wooyoung, pointing out his feelings for you even far before he could decipher them), their vlogging lifestyle, and their fans, while also waiting for the proper time to expose the truth. After the Jeju trip, you had both promised each other. But that plan was beginning to look more and more faulty as time passes.

What was supposed to be an innocent trip to Jeju with your friends turned into a tricky game in which Wooyoung had entirely different plans that consisted of you only. Specifically, how many times he can find you alone away from the boys to have his way with you. By now, night has since fallen and, after a short duration of time unwinding around a small bonfire in the backyard, the boys had all since retreated to their own rooms. You’re positive most are already long asleep and the ones that aren’t are beginning to nod off, exhausted after a long day and drowsy with liquor from the night of drinking. You’re fortunate Wooyoung at least first chose to find you alone in your room of the villa, but you still panic. Because Wooyoung should be sleeping in his shared room with Hongjoong down the hall from yours, yet here he was.

“My video today probably didn’t help,” Wooyoung adds. 

You hum in response. “I don’t know if sneaking into my room will help with that either.”

At this, Wooyoung grins wide. “It’s fine. Hongjoong’s passed out cold. You should hear his snores. Plus━” He presses a kiss to your shoulder. “I couldn’t sleep without wondering how quickly you can cum.”

You nearly choke as you hear the words fall from Wooyoung’s mouth.

But it wasn’t his fault ━ he has needs too.

The first night of your trip called for a joyous celebration at a nearby restaurant that resulted in everyone being blissfully drunk by the time you returned to the villa. You had gotten so dressed up for the occasion that Wooyoung hated to see it go to waste, adorned in a pretty floral sundress ━ one that has always been his favourite (and, no, he promises that’s not solely because of how nice your boobs look in it, though that’s definitely a plus). If the boys could hear his thoughts now, they’d certainly pick him apart.

The house, however big and spacious it may be, is certainly not empty. Even just next door to your room is the shared room both Mingi and San are in. This is a fact you choose to remind your dear boyfriend of now. “The boys are sleeping.”

“Screw the guys,” Wooyoung groans into your neck. His strong arms slide around your middle from behind, pulling you into an all too familiar and warm embrace. He’s caught you just before you can shed your dress and slip into something more comfortable, all radiant and shimmering from a day out in the sun. You melt almost immediately against his chest as he nibbles on the skin just below your ear, on the corner of your jaw. He whispers ardently, “You look really pretty today. You always do, but especially today.”

A gentle smile spreads across your face. You instinctively reach out behind you to rest your hand on the nape of his neck, fingers tugging at the hair there. “I wore this dress just for you. I know it’s your favourite.”

“Yeah, because your tits look amazing in it,” he snickers. As if to emphasize this, he reaches down slyly to cup one of your breasts over the material of your dress, giving it a squeeze.

“Well, now you’re just trying to distract me into bed with you.”

“Is it working?” he asks hopefully, a smug grin on his face.

You snicker, fidgeting in his hold to face him and patting at his shoulder. “Maybe if we weren’t surrounded by a group of seven drunk men who could potentially hear and walk in on me sucking you off at any moment.”

But Wooyoung has already waited all day for the boys to leave you two alone. Waiting any longer may as well have felt like an eternity in a certain type of special hell that he wasn’t exactly keen on.

“And?” A sudden smirk stretches across his face. He leans in close to you, lips brushing faintly against your ear. “You didn’t have a problem letting me fuck you against the practice room mirror the other day.”

You swat lightly at his chest, scoffing suddenly. “Wooyoung!”

But he has a point. In all fairness, it had been his idea to take you against the practice room mirror when the boys had gone home and you were dropping off food to your poor boyfriend still working late at night. You certainly hadn’t complained then when he had you coming around his cock with the practice room door left unlocked. It’s such a Wooyoung thing to say too, being that he’s not often caught off guard, especially when he’s so blatant and confident about all things sex.

“Can’t you keep it in your pants for one night, Woo?”

“No, he’s in pain,” he pouts childishly. He bites playfully at the tip of your nose.

You sputter for air, dissolving into a fit of laughter. “You did not just call your dick a he━”

“Okay, I’m in pain,” he corrects. He starts kissing down and back up your neck. “It’s not my fault you look extra hot today. Besides, you looked like you were having so much fun today. Is it so wrong for me to want to keep pampering my beautiful girlfriend?”

“With your dick?”

“Yes, with my dick.”

You snort.

“And━” He drags out the word purposely, a playful twinkle in his eyes. “I don’t even want you to suck me off, by the way. All I want is to fuck you senseless right now.”

Oh.

His words send a nerve right down to your core. Your thighs instinctively press together at the thought.

All things considered, you’re not any better. There was no denying how devastatingly attractive your boyfriend always looked, but especially today. A well-deserved break and the Jeju sun did him well, with a beautiful tan starting to glow on his face, free of any make-up or cover-ups. The usual stress of city life and work doesn’t weigh heavy on his brows anymore, and though his hair has gotten longer, it’s a neat and pretty mess ━ a little unruly from the sun and chlorine, and from having taken it down from its half-ponytail, but pretty nonetheless ━ with the under half of it bleached blonde and the top half dyed black. Dressed in nothing but a casual old t-shirt and a pair of board shorts, he’s both wholesomely cute and yet sexy at the same time.

And, while you are surrounded by a group of rowdy boys, Wooyoung isn’t necessarily wrong. He always seems to have a knack for making anything romantic enough if he tries, attributed to his charming ways. A night of lovemaking (or whatever he has in mind) in your room with a beachside view is, all things considered, kind of romantic.

You purse your lips now. “Think they’re all asleep?”

“With how wasted they are? Absolutely,” Wooyoung says brightly. “I tripped over a shoe in our room and Hongjoong didn’t even move.”

It’s risky, sure, but the sudden yearning to be with Wooyoung was almost debilitating. There was no doubt you could both get away with having sex in a packed house, right? Either way, it doesn’t really seem to matter. You’ve already been persuaded, and Wooyoung knows.

He pulls you in for a kiss and you let him get carried away for a moment, reveling in the way he needily nips and sucks at your lower lip. Then, finding a second of clarity, you can be heard saying against his mouth breathlessly, “We’ll have to be quiet.”

“Mmm,” he hums distractedly. “So quiet.”

But that was like asking Wooyoung not to breathe. It’s this passing thought, and the way he pulls and tugs you over to sit on his lap as he sinks onto the edge of the bed in a desperate haste, that has you giggling. He leaves a trail of sloppy kisses down to the underside of your jaw and then along your throat.

You tug at the hair at the nape of his neck as you begin to rut your hips against his slowly. “You look really handsome today, baby. It’s nice seeing you so relaxed for once.”

His stare meets yours suddenly, all sparkling and awed. He grips your waist and presses you a little more firmly against his hips so you can feel his semi-hard dick against your inner thigh. “Ugh,” he sighs, “say that again and I’ll bust a nut right here and now.”

Another giggle meets his ears, but this time it’s a little less focused as it splinters off into a whimper the longer you continue to grind against him. You decide to humour him. “I saw your vlog. It was pretty.”

He audibly whines now, his heart threatening to burst through his chest. “Yeah? I worked hard on it.”

“Is that how you see me?” You think back to the video and how you looked, the soft music overlapping it all.

“Yeah,” he deadpans, “like that piece of washed up kelp you tried throwing at me today━”

“You’re so━”

“I’m joking. Of course that’s how I see you, but that’s only a fraction of what you look like to me. A camera doesn’t do you justice.”

“So you think I’m pretty?” You snicker.

“So pretty.” He kisses you again, this time a little more earnestly. He sighs dreamily against your lips, “No, actually. If my dick isn’t in you in the next minute, I’m gonna go insane.”

A delighted simper sounds from you. “Don’t even have to cum, just as long as you do━”

Your jaw drops open as you find an angle that has you pushing your clit against his clothed dick just right. But even though you had so innocently offered to only get him off, part of the fun was seeing how quickly and how many times he could make you cum before finishing himself off. You deserve it, after all.

“God, you’re such a good girl,” he moans. He takes a moment to appreciate you in your current state. You, straddling his lap, eager hips moving against his with your brows pinched in concentration, the pretty material of your dress hiking up around your thighs. He reaches down, palms rough as they grip at the soft flesh of your thighs. “Look at you, already so needy for me. It’s so fucking sexy.”

Wooyoung fidgets beneath you. He burrows his face in the crook of your neck, nipping at your throat.

“How do you want me first, princess?” he asks sweetly now, peppering kisses along your throat, tongue soothing the marks he’s left behind. “Want my fingers in you?”

“N-No━” You croak. “Just wanna feel your dick.”

Excitement prickles at the tips of his fingers as he massages circles against your hips. “In your mouth or in you?”

“In me,” You rasp. “Now. Please, Woo━”

He marvels for a moment at how he’s so stupidly in love with you and your pretty words despite them having such dirty implications, and he hastens to please you. A wolfish grin tugs at his lips as he smothers them against your mouth, but then the giddy sensation of finally getting to have his cock buried in your walls overcomes him. He murmurs into a wet kiss, “As much as I love this dress, let’s get it off of you.”

He hastens to help you shove the straps of your dress down your shoulders, then off your arms. Then, he watches as you stand up to shimmy your way out of it, the material pooling at your feet, exposing your figure and the fact that you’re not even wearing a bra. The swell of your breasts meets his eyes first, and you’ve barely just kicked your way out of your panties when he’s pulling you onto his lap again, warm mouth latching onto one of your breasts. His lips wrap around your nipple, teeth nibbling on the sensitive bud. He can’t seem to get enough, moving to bite and suck at the soft flesh all over, shifting from one to the other, then down the valley of your breasts. A moan falls from your lips, hands pulling harshly at his hair as you push him further into your chest.

“Wooyoung…” You whine. “We gotta be quick.”

Though he wants nothing more than to mark up your chest all over, he relents only when he remembers that the boys are nearby. “Okay, okay━ Here━”

He grabs at your waist, shifting you around until you’re on your back splayed out beneath him. Towering over you, he pushes the material of his shorts down, pulling his aching dick from the tight confinements. Your eyes fall to the way he fists himself hurriedly, tip all red and glistening with precum, and the one prominent vein bulging along his length. You bite at your lip, legs instinctively spreading wider for him.

“Are we really gonna do this?” he asks, excited. “With the guys here?”

“Think it’s too late to ask when we’re both already naked,” You giggle. You remind him again, this time a little weaker, “Just remember to be quiet.”

He hums in response. Then, he teases you by running the length of his hard dick against your slick folds, already dripping with slick arousal.

“God, baby,” he groans, “you’re so wet already.” He taps the tip of his cock against your pussy, the sudden jolt sending your head spinning. As he rubs himself on you, the sticky wetness glides along the prominent vein of his length and spreads messily out to the top of your inner thighs. “Did I do all this to you?”

“Woo, no teasing,” You chastize in a small whine. A shiver runs down your spine at the feeling, and you hate having to resist all his teasing touches. “What if someone tries coming in?”

He flashes you a shit-eating grin. “Let them. If it’s Seonghwa, even better. I can finally get payback for when he purposely ate some girl out on my bed.”

You snort lazily, stifling your giggles. “Focus, baby.”

“I am focused,” he says smugly. He emphasizes this by pressing his dick a little harder against your folds, teasing the tip of it against your entrance. “With you spread out like this for me, all sexy━ Fuck, I’m so focused.”

But what he doesn’t tell you is that the thought alone of one of the boys walking in on the both of you is enough to excite him to no end. He can imagine it now, one of them wandering into the room while you’re writhing beneath Wooyoung, taking his dick so well, moaning nothing but his name. He yearns to feel you all at once, hurrying to please you.

Without warning, he pushes himself into you, cock stretching you wide in just the way you both like. Almost immediately, low gasps and groans sound from the both of you.

“Ah, f-fuck! Woo━” You smother your sudden cries with a hand clamping over your mouth.

“Shit, I know,” he sputters for air. His voice is heavy in your ear, a low grunt only for you to hear. “You feel so fucking good, baby━”

His head is swimming even just at the way your walls wrap around his tip so snug. He pushes himself into you the rest of the way, bottoming out with a sudden forceful and indulgent thrust when━

The headboard slams against the wall, exceptionally loud.

“Fuck, Wooyoung━ Woo━” You grip at his arms. “The bed.”

His eyes meet yours, stunned momentarily as you wait and listen. A minute passes, but the house continues to remain silent.

“It’s okay. Even if they do hear, it’s not as if they probably won’t know what we’re doing,” Wooyoung points out, matter-of-fact. “We haven’t exactly been very careful lately.”

“Still,” You insist. Your walls throb around his hard dick, desperate for some sort of movement. “It’ll give me some peace of mind.”

His heart swoons at your timidness, and though he has fun teasing you, he would never actually want to risk getting caught by one of the boys (however many close calls he’s already had with you) or, worse, upsetting you to the point of no return.

In the next moment, Wooyoung pulls out of you, then pushes back in again, this time less forceful. He swears he tries to be wary of the bed and of making too much noise but, much to both of your dismay, while the frame doesn’t bang against the wall too noticeably, the bed still creaks beneath you.

Wooyoung grits his teeth. He tries again, then one more time, and though your head lolls back at the sensation of him stretching you wide, you meet his gaze with your own apprehensive hazy one. Even Wooyoung’s patience is wearing thin when all he wants to do is tear you apart ━ that, and the slight creak of the bed is enough to start driving him insane.

“Fuck this,” his pace stutters to a halt, “let’s get on the floor. Can you get on your hands and knees for me, baby?”

“Good idea.” Your heart jolts in your chest from the excitement.

Within a matter of seconds, he’s parting from you, leaving you momentarily stunned at the loss of warmth. He helps you to your feet so that the both of you can sink to the floor on your knees. Before you can drop into all fours, Wooyoung stops you by reaching out for the blanket on the bed and tucking it underneath the both of you, but mostly to soften the ground underneath your knees. When he catches you surveying him with a fond gleam in your eyes, he quirks a brow.

“What? It’s just so you don’t get too uncomfortable,” he says sweetly, peppering a few kisses along your shoulder. “Is this good?”

“Amazing.” Your heart swells at all his gentle touches. You catch his lips on yours, faintly murmuring, “I love you. Like, so much.”

You can feel his grin against your mouth. “You know I love you too. And as much as I would also love to hear you go on about how I’m the most perfect boyfriend, I need to be in you right now.”

A pretty giggle meets his ears, and he marvels for a second how you’re so quick to oblige. Propping yourself up on your elbows, your ass juts out in his direction. You give it a little tempting wiggle, and he hurries to position himself behind you. With one hand on the small of your back, he guides you back down his length.

“Ah━ Fuuuck━” He moans. “Arch your back a little more for me, baby.”

You do as you’re told, leaning forward just enough on your elbows and sticking your hips back to meet his as he sinks balls deep into your core. Then, he’s crumbling apart, all breathy panting as he tries to focus.

“Shit, baby━”

“Mmm━”

“You’re so tight. So wet. I’m not gonna last,” he pouts, as if it’s a genuine disappointment. He watches as he pulls out of your heat just enough before shoving himself back in, his dick covered in a glistening sheen of your arousal. You’re so damn wet, he wonders how he hasn’t slipped from you yet. His hands grip and tug at your ass, spreading you to see the way your cunt pulsates and stretches around his dick. So perfect, almost as if you were made for him. “Tell me. Wanna hear how good you feel right now.”

“S-So good,” You mumble drunkenly. “God, you’re so good, Woo. Fuck━!”

His gaze droops down to your breasts, bouncing with each thrust of his hips into yours. He reaches around and grabs at one of your boobs. The gentle shake of the soft flesh in his palms is always his favourite feeling, and he can’t help but squeeze at them now because, god, he really does love your tits. If he had all the time in the world, he would do anything to fuck himself between your boobs, and cum all over your chest ━ but that will have to wait for now.

“Ah━ Fuck━ Wish I could take my time with you right now,” he moans, planting sloppy kisses along your shoulder. “I can’t wait till we’re alone. Gonna take care of you so well, baby.”

“Y-Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he grunts. He reaches down with his other hand, thumb pressing against the tight hole of your ass. The sensation alone is enough to have you nearly keeling over, a strangled cry of pleasure ripping from you. “Want you coming on my tongue so bad. Gonna fuck you against every surface too. You deserve it. You’re always so good to me, princess.”

“Only for you,” You whimper. If he wasn’t so pressed for time, the affirmation alone would have been more than enough to make him melt in your very hands. But his dick is still so hard, and your pussy is still so wet, all he can focus on is not slipping from your walls with every thrust of his hips. “Ah, Wooyoung! Y-You’re so━ So hard━”

You bite harshly at your lip when a loud moan threatens to spill from you. You bury your face in the blanket around you, clutching so tightly at the material. A part of Wooyoung finds it amusing, if only because, if the boys are awake and don’t hear your lewd moans, there’s no doubt they won’t be able to hear the sound of skin against skin as his hips slap against your ass.

“Let me hear you, baby,” he coaxes now. “Moan out loud for me.” When you shake your head, he snickers. “Want it harder? Will that help you?”

He gives an experimental roll of his hips, a little rougher than usual. It sends you teetering forward, a broken groan tumbling from you that’s left muffled by the blanket. He can hear you mumble wantonly, “Don’t be a tease.”

A cheshire-like grin spreads across his face. “Here━ Come sit on my dick. Wanna feel you so deep━”

His words make you moan softly, followed by the way he pulls out of you just quickly enough to sit back against the bed. He tugs you onto his lap and you follow suit, spreading your legs further apart as you sink onto his leaking dick. Down, down, down, until it almost feels as if he’s hitting your cervix, and suddenly you’re not so sure you’ll be able to keep it together any longer. That, mixed with the way he’s gazing at you, all hooded eyed and alluring, you’re very close to dissolving into a mess right in his very arms.

“Ah━ Ah━ Fuck, baby━” You grip at his shoulders as you adjust to the new feeling, hips squirming above his. “Wooyoung, please━”

But your words fall short. The desperate plea that hinges in your voice fades into nothing more than the urgent need to feel more of him, to have him absolutely wreck you, as you begin to rock your hips back and forth on his dick.

“Please what, baby?” he taunts lazily. But he knows what he’s doing, slyly beckoning you to make a mess, and moan for him.

His palms are warm as they slide up your sides, then around your back, hugging you close to his chest. He thrusts his hips up just once into you, sending you into a haste that has you lifting yourself up and then back down his cock. As you adopt a steady and reckless pace that has you bouncing on his length, he watches your every reaction. The way your face contorts at the sheer pleasure, brows pinched so hard in concentration, teeth sinking into your lower lip. Your hands reach out to thread through his long locks, pretty blonde tresses running through the seams of your fingers. You tug lightly at the root, earning a low groan from him.

“Fuck, Y/N━” His head rolls back against the mattress at your quick pace. “You’re so fucking sexy━ So desperate for my dick━ Ah━”

He moans suddenly, only this time it’s less muffled than before. Whether he does it the first time to tease you or simply because he had gotten carried away, you aren’t quite sure. Either way, it’s enough to startle you, even amongst the daze you’re in.

“Wooyoung━” Your voice is a small warning, but it lacks any severity when it splinters into a whine. “Not so loud.”

“They’re━ Ah, fuck━ sleeping━”

You meet his mischievous stare with your own heedful one. Your pace slows, if only just, and you’re certain this time that when he moans even louder, it’s entirely on purpose.

“Woo!” You clamp a hand softly over his mouth, smothering the tail end of his crude groan.

The grin that forms on his face beneath your hand is evident of his amusement of his toying with you but it turns sluggish quickly. The sight to see is hot enough, with the drowsy lopsided smirk poking out from underneath your hand as he watches you continue to ride him, now a measured gyrating against his own hips. When he realizes you’ve chosen to keep your hand over his mouth, he reaches up to grab a hold of your wrist, his large fingers splaying out and then up over your knuckles.

“Come on, baby. It’s okay. Let it out,” he hums. He kisses at your fingertips, tongue swiveling around to suck on your digits delicately. “Not even one tiny moan? Let me hear that pretty voice of yours.”

He can feel your thighs begin to shake around him and, judging by the crescendoing of whimpers tumbling from your mouth, he senses you’re close. Your free hand still grips at his hair, this time a little tighter as you try to anchor yourself in place to rock your hips a little faster. Wooyoung hisses delightfully at the feeling, a small lethargic chuckle rumbling from deep within his chest.

Rough hands grab at your waist now, shifting you around abruptly until you’re splayed out on the floor on your back with him hovering over you. His length stays wedged snugly in your walls, never once slipping, and as he settles against your chest, he lifts one of your legs up and over his shoulder. An animalistic growl slips from him at your pinched face, and the way your cunt starts to squeeze around him. With this angle that his hips pound into yours, his cock hits so deep into your core, pummeling against your cervix again and again.

“H-Harder━ Wooyoung━” You pant. “Please━ I’m gonna━”

Finally, a moan sounds from you. Loud and unabashed, a little broken and exhausted, but beautiful to Wooyoung’s ears nonetheless. In fact, it’s so sexy of a noise that it’s enough to nearly push him over the edge but he relents, if only just for a little longer.

“Ah, there’s my favourite sound,” he smirks. His tongue lavs at the underside of your jaw, and your hand finds itself tangled in his hair once more. “Gonna be a good girl and let the boys hear you now?”

You try with all your might to silence yourself, but the task proves more and more difficult. A few more slams of his hips into yours, and you’re crumbling apart right before his eyes.

“Fuck━ Wooyoung━”

“That’s it, baby,” he grunts into your ear. “Cum for me.”

As you come, the sudden gush of wetness around your core coats his length and he almost accidentally slips from your cunt. You’re clenched so tightly around him, Wooyoung feels as if he has to gasp for air to stay focused. His eyes still stay trained on you, watching as your face contorts as you writhe beneath him. But it’s your shameless moaning that sets him off, albeit still softer than usual but much louder than he was expecting from you with the boys so close by.

“Ah━ You’re so fucking hot━” he whines. “Gonna cum━”

Every thrust of his hips sends you bobbing up and down, and as you come down from your high the pleasurable feeling of his hard cock still burrowed in your sensitive walls has you whimpering softly. Your legs try to separate further, beckoning him for more.

“Cum in me, Youngie,” you beckon dazedly. “Wanna feel it so bad━”

“Oh, fuck━” he gasps. “Can I?”

“Y-Yes.”

“You’re so good to me, baby. Aren’t you?”

His pace quickens, hips snapping into yours urgently. One final shuddering thrust and he’s overwhelmed by his orgasm, cock pulsating within your aching walls as his cum fills you up. He has to bury his face in the crook of your neck to muffle his moans, listening to the sharp gasp for air you take when you feel his release.

He rides out his high in a few more leisure rolls of his hips, though he seems more concerned now with kissing your throat slowly. He gently unravels your leg from his shoulder, then slumps against you like the comfortable heavy weight that he is. His dick lays softening still buried within your walls, now leaking with his cum.

“Have I ever told you how amazing you are?” You hear him sigh dreamily into your neck. “‘Cause you are.”

“Almost daily,” You concur with a giggle. Your own fingers smooth out his hair, fixing the messy strands, and he croons with delight. He leaves a trail of sweet kisses up along your throat, then your jaw, and then the corner of your mouth. Safe for the laboured breathing as you both try to calm your shrill hearts, you’re made aware so suddenly of just how quiet the room suddenly is. “There’s no way the guys slept through all of that.”

“I’m sure they did.” Wooyoung nibbles gingerly at your lip. “There’s nothing to worry about. Especially right now. I’m so tired. We can deal with the potential consequences later.”

You snort. “How did I know that’s exactly what you would say?”

You catch him smirking before he plants one last kiss on your lips. Somehow, he’s able to pry himself off of you long enough to slip into his shorts laying discarded on the floor before disappearing outside of the room into the darkened hallway. He returns moments later with a damp towel to help clean up the sticky mess between your legs, then tugs you back onto the bed with him.

“They’ll see you sneaking out of my room if you sleep here,” You point out through a yawn.

“I’ll get up before them,” he insists. “Just give me an hour with you, like this.”

You can’t resist the urge.

At the very least, you fall asleep first in his arms, his fingers playing with your hair. He must slip away from you at some point during the night, unraveling himself carefully from your sleeping figure to retreat to his own room. You’ll tell the boys eventually of your relationship with Wooyoung, you swear.

But for now, there, under the covers of the bed, you have all the time in the world to enjoy yourself with Wooyoung in pure, unadulterated silence.

In the morning when you wake up, you join your boyfriend with the rest of the boys downstairs in the kitchen for breakfast.

You’re the last to arrive, having wanted to take your time in the shower ━ a fact that Wooyoung laments, because he wanted nothing more than to shower with you to “save water” (which really just translates to more sex), but with only two bathrooms and nine people, the feat seemed impossible. Now, you sidle into the seat next to Wooyoung at the kitchen table, smiling down at him when his eyes flicker to you which seems to go unnoticed by the others.

“How was your night?” Yunho asks passively once you’ve settled into place. “Did you sleep well?”

You nod, as Wooyoung answers, “Best sleep of my life.”

“Yeah, I’m sure.” This amused offhanded scoff comes from San under his breath. It causes Mingi to almost choke on his sip of orange juice as he snorts into the glass.

“What was that?” Wooyoung asks.

“Oh, nothing,” San says. The smirk on his face says otherwise. “Thought we heard some loud noises last night. It was weird.”

Then there’s Mingi, leaning across the table to catch your attention alone. He shoots you a more merciful look, though he still seems entertained nevertheless when he whispers to you, “You have something on your neck.”

Your hand instinctively clamps onto your throat, over the spot Mingi points to as you mentally curse yourself. While you had been so preoccupied the night before trying not to make any noise, you forgot to warn Wooyoung against leaving any noticeable marks on your body ━ a bad habit of his, and your fatal mistake for forgetting to check the morning after.

The others are fortunately not paying attention, already absorbed in their own conversations, but the horror of so clearly being found out by San and Mingi sends you into a frenzy. It even seems to alarm Wooyoung judging by the way he starts laughing nervously, though maybe that’s because your knee bashes against his under the table and sends him jumping in his seat.

Clearly, you have a lot of explaining to do. Eventually.

The last thing you hear San say before he and Mingi howl with laughter seems to make even the charmingly confident Wooyoung slightly frazzled, and leaves you all the more confused.

“Some romantic getaway, huh?” 

⟶ All rights reserved to © jungkxook. I do not allow reposting, translating, or any sort of modifying and reuploading of my work.

⟶ Feedback is always appreciated!

#wooyoung #wooyoung smut #wooyoung fluff #wooyoung x reader #wooyoung x you #wooyoung x y/n #ateez #ateez smut #ateez scenarios #wooyoung scenarios #wooyoung imagine #jung wooyoung #jung wooyoung smut #wooyoung oneshot #ateez oneshot #ateez x reader #jung wooyoung fluff #ateez fanfic #wooyoung imagines

[uswntxfootball]

purely by accident (leah williamson x uswnt!reader)

everything was going to plan until you made the mistake of wearing her shorts to practice.

word count: 2044 ish

rated F for fluff, S for stupidity, and M for messy as fuck.

——

it was open training today in tokyo, and you fucked up.

you fucked up.

the olympics were set to begin next week, and you fucked up.

~~

so flashback to last night.

with some thorough bribing, you finally coaxed jordan to crash with beth for the night, promising and swearing not to defile her bed while she was gone.  

you glanced down at the defender in your lap, her attention solely focused on the show playing in front.

the show was leah’s pick and it didn’t particularly interest you, as you were more focused on the sight before you.

both of you were in bed, leah’s head in your lap, your right laid gently over her side, and leah’s hand was playing with your fingers absentmindedly.

the girl in front of you let out a laugh at something that played on the screen, the sound making your heart skip a beat.

upon hearing your silence, she looked up at you.

leah’s cheeks flushed when she saw you already staring down at her, a loving smile stretched across your face.

“what is it?”

you lean down to kiss her.

“nothing. just my girlfriend is really cute is all.”

leah rolled her eyes but met you half way, pressing a tender kiss to your lips.

she turned back to the show and slipped her fingers between yours shyly, an action that caused butterflies and wholeass rhinos to have a disco party inside of you.

it was only a few minutes later when leah spoke again.

“you’re acting weird.”

you quirk an eyebrow at that.

“me? how so?”

“you’re staring at me like you really love me or something.”

you let out a snort.

“congrats baby it only took a year and a half for you to figure out.”

leah giggled, and you grinned, leaning down to give her a kiss on the cheek.

you couldn’t help but let out a sigh at how good it felt, having your girlfriend in your arms after not seeing each other for a month.

given the hectic schedule of the olympics, you both wanted to spend as much alone time together as possible.

you both knew that coming out in the midst of big events was a terrible idea, with first the world cup and the olympics following suit.

it wasn’t that you were ashamed of it, it was just that the media could be a lot at times.

and so could your teammates.

the two of you had met during the world cup, leah taking a particular liking to you after seeing you in the semi final match when england played the us.

she then had missed the chance to talk to you, but lucky for her, the next year, following suit with many of your other teammates, you signed internationally, landing a spot as a midfielder for arsenal.

trainings and games brought you closer together, and feelings developed, with both of you realizing quickly that they weren’t platonic.

but it still took an embarrassingly long amount of time.

and jordan couldn’t stand the two of you.

neither could rose, with leah and you both complaining to them, respectively.

even after quarantining with the defender (and jordan) and spending every second of the day with her, it was almost the end of the fixture when you finally mustered up enough courage to ask her out, only for her to beat you to it.

jordan can’t tell if this was better or worse.

on one hand she no longer had to witness the idiocy and obliviousness for days on end, no longer had to hear the desperate pining from both sides, and no longer had to deal with leah having a mental breakdown overanalyzing every text you sent her.

on the other hand, she now had to deal with the sickening cuteness of the two of you, and had unfortunately caught the two of you going at it in the arsenal locker room after practice, before practice, in the shower, and basically everywhere in the house.

rose was in a similar state, though being overseas, she was spared the worst of it.

the two of you had parted ways when national team duty called, leah staying in england and you flying back to the states.

and here, in tokyo, you were together again, and you couldn’t be happier.

~~

it was 11 pm now, the lights were off ,the defender fast asleep and snuggled close into your chest, your arms wrapped around her.

you had the vague thought of getting up to set an alarm for your training tomorrow, but any attempts to get up were squashed by your girlfriend, who at any movement only held onto you tighter.

your heart melted at the sight, but your rational thought knew this was a bad idea.

worst case is that you miss practice.

best case is that you somehow wake up on time naturally.

unfortunately it ended up being worse than that.

~~

you were jolted awake by your phone ringing.

the girl next to you let go of your waist and mumbled sleepily:

“turn it off.”

you stood up and saw rose’s contact name flash and you picked up the phone groggily.

“uh hello? what do you want?”

“HELLO?! WHAT DO YOU MEAN WHAT DO I WANT THE BUS FOR TRAINING IS ABOUT TO LEAVE IN SEVEN MINUTES WHERE ARE YOU?!”

you glance at the clock and the panic sets in.

7:23 am.

fuck.

oh. fuck.

you mutter a “shit” into the receiver before hanging up, glancing over at leah who was fast asleep.

brushing your teeth and putting your hair up quickly, you went around the room grabbing your jersey, jacket, shorts and cleats as you prepared to leave.

but before you left, you leaned over quickly and gave your girlfriend a light kiss on the forehead before rushing out the door.

you sprinted across the street to where the building where the us teams were staying, making it onto the bus quickly and collapsing on the seat next to rose, hoping no one saw where you had came from.

luckily for you most of the team was chatting and preoccupied, except christen who noticed and gave you weird look when you stepped onto the bus.

sam gave you a weird look too when she finished talking to mal.

“when did you come in? why are you still in your pjs? do you even have your kit and training things?”

you decided that saying you overslept was the best excuse.

you could tell sam didn’t quite believe that.

“well why didn’t rose wake you then?”

“um-“

rose cut in and saved you when she said with a shrug:

“it was a prank. i turned off her alarms and thought it would be funny.”

that was slightly more believable, as the younger kids played pranks on each other all the time, so sam let up her questioning.

you turned around on the bus, quickly pulling on your jersey, shorts and socks, all the while hearing a wolf whistle from kelley upon seeing you changing.  

you flipped her off when you finished.

“so where were you-oh,” rose’s eyes widening.

you scrunched your eyebrows in confusion.

“oh?”

rose let out a laugh and pointed to your collarbone.

you looked down and cursed.

there they were in all their glory, two hickies, bright as day.

“fuck this is an open training too.”

you were freaking out.

but thank god for rose.

rose thought about it for a minute before suggesting:

“well it’s kind of cold out today, you can keep your jacket on for the whole training and no one will see.”

“what would i do without you?”

“i dunno die probably.”

~~

arriving at the pitch, you hoped that your hyper-vigilant fans wouldn’t notice anything.

you did make sure to take some pictures with fans on your walk there though.

you noticed walking to the locker room that christen kept giving you weird looks, but you just brushed it off and got your mind set for training.

the open part of practice went well and without issue, except for the odd looks occasionally thrown your way by some of the veteran players.

when closed practice began a little bit later, you asked christen about it.

“why do you all keep giving me weird looks? do i have something on my face?”

christen shook her head, and upon seeing that there was no one around she whispered:

“i’m pretty sure it’s because you have a lionesses crest on your shorts.”

you looked down and gasped.

shit.

she was right.

in your haste this morning you had unknowingly grabbed leah’s shorts instead of your own.

in your defense, with the the english and us home kit both being white and both of you being #14, it was an honest mistake.

but still.

fuck.

so much for keeping it a secret.

christen opened her mouth to say something else, but upon seeing your face decided against it.

besides the one hiccup, the rest of practice went smoothly, and you were on your way back to the locker room when you were stopped by sonnett.

“do you play for england now or something?”

“it was an accident.” you said, shushing her.

all the way back into the locker room emily teased you, so much so that your face couldn’t have been any redder in your life.

you changed as quick as you can, trying to get out of the locker room as fast as you can.

walking out, you stopped abruptly upon seeing your girlfriend in the stands.

“leah? what are you doing here?”

your girlfriend, who looked radiant as always, said with a smile:

“well i was originally going to come bring you your shorts baby.”

“oh you found out about that?” you said sheepishly, a blush crawling up your neck.

leah shook her head and laughed.

“i woke up to us trending on twitter so yeah. did the girls tease you about it?”

you pouted a little nodding a yes, and leah just laughed, cupping your cheek with one hand and smoothing back your flyaways with the other.

at this point some of the chaos crew came out of the locker room looking for you, and upon seeing you and leah, they stood back and watched with wide eyes.

they watched you giggle at something leah said, lindsey making sure to keep a hand firmly closed around emily’s mouth to keep her from speaking.

some of the vets came out to see what the holdup was for, and upon seeing you, they stood back as well.

sam whispered quietly:

“are they flirting?”

“i think?” lindsey whispered back.

“it sure looks like it..”

christen shook her head.

the gears clicked into place in christen’s mind quickly, first with the hotel this morning, then with the shorts, and now this.

“i think they’re dating.”

emily’s eyes bugged out of her head and she finally ripped lindsey’s hand off.

“they’re WHAT??!”

this caused you and leah to turn, cheeks flushing when you see the majority of the team there, watching.

then they all started screaming at once.

“come introduce us to your girlfriend y/n!”

“hi leah!”

“WAIT CAN I GIVE HER THE SHOVEL TALK??!”

“I’M YOUR BEST FRIEND Y/N I SHOULD DO IT!”

“NO IF ANYONE DOES IT SHOULD BE ME I’M HER TEAM MOM”

you turned back to leah as the rest of the team quarreled.

“well since they’ve seen us already, let’s formally introduce you to the team.”

you stuck your hand out and said:

“come on. i’ll catch you.”

leah let out a laugh and took your hand, jumping down from the stands.

meeting the team wasn’t as bad as it could have been, partially because vlatko called sonnett away, but at the end you were both glad you had done it.

leah intertwined her fingers with yours as you walked across the field to the bus.

“i do have to admit my shorts look good on you.”

you looked at her and winked.

“maybe i’ll wear them on purpose next time.”

#leah williamson #leah williamson x reader #leah williamson imagine #woso imagines #woso imagine #uswnt imagine #uswnt x reader #arsenal wfc imagine #arsenal wfc x reader #engwnt x reader #engwnt imagine

[fallout-drabbles-n-stuff]

Fluff?🤔 How would romanced male companions react to feeling Sole’s pregnant belly kick for the first time?

Yesssss

(Like I usually do with the longer drabble-ish things, I'll do a couple of them that I have the most inspiration for and ya'll can request individuals if you so please! I'm more than likely going to add gage and Hancock later when I can think of more ways to introduce this without it being regurgitated.)

Danse:

It had almost became a little game your unborn child liked to play. Danse was certainly not a fan. See, every time your babe would kick- it would either be when Danse wasn't in the room and preoccupied or, and this is truly funny, you'd call Danse over and the child would completely stop- leaving their usually stoic father grinning like an idiot with his hand against your stomach, waiting for almost minutes to feel them...just to be let down yet again.

Poor danse even began to accept he might not ever get to feel the baby kick, which was of course completely unacceptable. As such, you stayed with Danse in the garage the majority of the day- purposefully playing Diamond City Radio a little louder than what was necessary. It would probably sound strange to tell, but certain songs seem to make your baby more active.

Thankfully, Danse was privy to your plan and was careful not to mess with anything that would potentially require careful precision and all of his attention.

Sure enough, "Anything Goes" began to play- and as if on cue- your child gave a rather expected kick.

"Danse.." You carefully spoke, fearing that your baby would somehow hear their father's name being called and stop moving once again.

The ex-Paladin's amber eyes grew saucer sized as he padded his way towards you- hand already outstretched and waiting for your guidance. With an almost silly sense of victory, you took his hand and pressed it right to the area the baby was kicking.

Finally- after so many failures- Danse felt his baby kick. The sensation alone almost immediately sent tears to his eyes, threatening to spill while giving his eyes a glassy look.

"This was worth the wait.." He managed to say, a content sigh leaving him right after he spoke.

Macready:

It was at night, right after you tucked Duncan and Shaun in. Mac was reading them a story or.. more or less improvising one while you got ready to settle in for the night.

Perhaps a couple minutes into you tucking yourself in, Mac finally came in with a tired- yet happy look on his face.

"Things really just can't get any better, huh?" He spoke, taking your thoughts and making them a reality as you eyed him up until he finally rolled into bed.

"My thoughts exactly, Mac." You replied, quick to curl up at his side the second the opportunity was presented.

The peacefulness provided was truly sweet. No rambunctious little boys yelling at each other, no raiders threatening to shoot up the place...no nausea..just you and the person you loved the very most in all the wide wasteland. That much was something you considered yourself quite lucky to have...however before you could let the sweet temptation of sleep sweep over you-

"Was that-" Mac interjected, having fortunately had his hand placed right on your stomach to feel-

"Oh holy crap, the baby!" Mac all but squealed, completely ruining the comfortable position you were in as he positioned himself to better feel.

"Jeez Mac.." You laughed, watching his pretty baby blue eyes widen with a crooked little grin.

Maxson:

"Arthur...Arthur come see, quick!"

Had you not been in the..*ahem*..state that you are currently in, such an interruption would've been met with his icy blue eyes peering over his shoulder and a simple "hmmm", the man silently hoping whatever needed his attention wouldn't require it for long so he could finish his work for the night.

Nevertheless, thanks to your current state, the usually composed Elder Maxson all but fell out his chair in his haste to be at your side. Pregnancy, as one might've guessed, was a horrifyingly wonderful anomaly for Arthur. He was so very excited, yet he was equally worried for obvious reasons- not to mention the looming fear of being such a young father and the inadequacy he already felt.

The blue eyes man stumbled to your side, just nearly missing the post of the bed of which you sat. "Is something wrong?!" He asked with a rather humorous shakiness to his voice. He couldn't help it- the hand on your stomach, cradling that precious swell, only filled him with fear...so much so that he couldn't look past it and see the happy smile on your face.

Before your love could give himself a heart attack, you simply laughed and took his hand, pressing it to your lower stomach. This only brought about a very confused, almost disturbed look from him- that is until he finally felt it.

As though feeling their father's presence, the unborn babe once again kicked- immediately changing Arthur's expression from one of deep disconcert to one of shock.

"I-is, is that them?" He asked in a small voice, his expression softening by the second and a slight gentleness seeming to glisten in his eyes. "What do you think?" Was your teasing reply, your hand slowly withdrawing from his.

Instead of thinking of some long, beautifully orchestrated line to express his awe- Arthur just kind of stared. However he soon descended, finally sitting on his knees in front of you and between your legs- patiently waiting for the next kick.

"Hey baby.."

And just like that, Arthur gave one of the most remarkable smiles you've ever seen. Not only because of the rarity, but because of the genuine love behind it.

#fallout 4 #fallout #paladin danse #fo4 companions #fallout companions #danse #elder maxson #Macready

[whats-rambled-rambled]

Long Nights - part 1

Neil x Reader

Chapter 1: Don’t kill my vibe

summary: all days blend into one, and as your friend brings back an unusual challenge, you are more than happy to accept it

warnings: 18+, explicit language, some violence, blood mention

author’s note: Woot woot, new series hype!  

This setting has been brewing inside me for months now, and what started as an idea for a one-shot, turned out to be a fully fleshed out series (f!Reader again, for more gender neutral one check out StuckInReverse series!). And a good chance to introduce this brand new dynamic. Aaaand to play with some rogue tropes - because guess who's gonna teach Neil all he knows about locks and how to pick them? (canon what canon or at least let’s forget the implications for a moment and let's enjoy all the HAND CONTENT instead)

I’m really excited to share this story with you all!

The song for this chapter is Sigrid - Don’t Kill My Vibe

Anyway, enjoy! All feedback is greatly appreciated, let me know what you think?

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

Tag list: @vaneilla @ergunbilge @invertedneil @wanderedaway

----

You absent-mindedly swirled your coffee and ice cubes clinked against the tall glass as you watched a gutsy pigeon searching for crumbs under a table right next to yours. The green and purple feathers on its collar were shining in the morning sun, not as merciless as it was about to get in just a few hours, but still heating the crowded plaza to barely acceptable levels.

“I don’t know, man, all days blend into one, maybe it’s time to skip town again.”

Mahir leaned back on his chair, his glance sliding through the swarm of tourists pouring from the alley nearby.

“No new gigs?”

You mirrored his pose and shrugged.

“Some, but they just lack… pizzaz.”

“Pizzaz?”

“Yes,” - you sighed and gestured vaguely - “that certain oomph, that sparkle, excitement, when your heart starts beating faster at the sole thought--”

“You sure you’re not looking for...would say love but I know you too well, so... a good shag?” your companion chimed in with a sardonic smile plastered on his face.

You scoffed, amused by that insinuation.

“First of all - thank you,” you started, your eyes lighting up and your grin getting wider with every word. “Second - that thrill is better than a good shag, and after a job well done, you can ride that high much longer than even the best orgasm.”

“Forget I said anything--”

“And finally,” - you continued, ignoring his distressed groan - “you skip all the awkwardness of the morning after.”

Mahir raised his hands in defeat, and even though he looked as if he took a mental note to never tease you like that again, you were sure he knew exactly what you meant. After all, he was your favorite partner in crime, and even though he’d come clean (...or at least slightly cleaner) a few years ago, you still could count on him whenever you needed to pull off a spectacular and/or a straight-up batshit crazy stunt.

“How’s Paddsy?”

“Grand, as far as I know, but haven’t heard from him in years, why?” you asked, tilting your head.

Your friend looked at you with impish sparks in his eyes.

“I remember how you kept yourself amused during your teenage years.”

“The challenges?” You raised your brow and laughed at the memory. “Ha, petty theft is one way to fight a dullness of existence, all right.”

“I bet you’ve gotten sloppier with age.”

That taunt in his overly casual tone was clear as day. Were you really that bored, though?

“Please, I could do it right here and now without any prep.”

...yes.

He sent you a smug smile and started browsing the crowd for a possible target. “Okay, what about... that guy over there?”

You followed his gaze and your eyes laid on a pair of men, lost in a conversation, keeping to the peripheries of tourist groups as they walked through the square. One of them was gesturing with enthusiasm, a wide smile brightening his tanned face, the blond hair in complete disarray combined with a slightly unbuttoned white linen shirt with rolled-up sleeves and beige trousers completed a disheveled look. Couldn’t be older than thirty. He was accompanied by a more composed middle-aged Black man, a maroon polo shirt and grey suit pants complimented his fit and refined posture.

“The yellow mane or the polo shirt?” you asked and Mahir snorted in response.

“The polo one.”

You looked the stranger up and down as you assessed the case. Even from afar, you could see an outline of a wallet in the pocket of his trousers, and the short sleeves meant easy access to the watch.

You smacked your lips and pouted. “Too easy.”

“Okay, so both of them,” he said, watching with satisfaction as you perked up at the suggestion.

“Now we’re talking!” you laughed, clapping your hands. You pointed at Mahir’s camera sitting on the table, internally blessing his choice of hobbies. “Mind if I borrow this for a moment?”

“Sure, whatever.”

You bounced at your feet and grabbed the camera and its case, securing both straps on your shoulder. A sudden rush mixed with a familiar coldness as you got your head in the game.

“Be right back.”

Circling the crowd, you positioned yourself on the path of your targets, blending in with the crowd. Right then, nobody would tell you from other slaphappy sightseers, mesmerized by the architecture of the Old Town district. Stopping abruptly every few steps to take yet another photo. Too preoccupied to pay attention to your surroundings. Making it way too easy to bump into someone, you know? Or, if you were clumsy enough, two people one after another, in a little live-action pinball moment.

You raised the camera and stepped back right into the polo guy, yelping at the impact.

“Sorry!” you squealed, jumping out of his way. Straight into the blonde man. “Oh gee, I’m terribly sorry!”

“You all right?” he asked as he caught you, placing hands on your arms for a split-second hold, enough to prevent you from bouncing back and bumping into someone else.

You turned around and met the bright blue eyes studying you curiously.

“Yep,” you mumbled through sheepish laughter. “And you?”

He beamed, raking his unruly hair with his fingers.

“Yeah.”

Your gaze flitted back to his companion, who was looking at you two with polite interest, visibly eager to continue his stroll.

“Sorry again! Have a lovely day, gents!” you chirped, sending one more apologetic smile and squeezing between them to walk away in the opposite direction.

Ten steps later you twirled around. Aiming the camera at a statue nearby, you checked on the men with the corner of your eye. The blonde guy glanced over his shoulder for a moment, but he didn’t seem suspicious. Good.

You made your way back to the cafe and fell back on your chair.

“No sweat,” you said and smirked, handing the camera back to Mahir and placing the case on the table. You turned it around so he could see what was inside - two watches, some mileage card you pulled out of the polo guy’s wallet, and something you grabbed from the other one… an Oyster card for public transport in London? What a combo. And of course, you could have picked the entire wallets instead, but what would be the fun in that? You didn’t have to make their life that much harder, after all, you just wanted to prove a point.

Mahir peeked inside and smacked his tongue.

“Okay, you still got it.”

“Damn straight!” You reached for your abandoned coffee and emptied it in one swig. “But I’d better get going.”

“Wait, what about the loot?”

“Keep it,” - you shrugged, leaning in to place a small kiss on the bearded cheek - “and tip that nice waitress well, will ya?”

“Sure,” sighed Mahir and patted your hand on his shoulder. “Be careful out there, mate.”

“Always.”

You stepped out on the sunny square again. There was nothing particularly interesting on the agenda for the day, so you decided to take a longer and more scenic route to your apartment. You put on the headphones and with your usual playlist on shuffle, you maneuvered between groups of people on your way to one of the alleys. And just as you were about to cross the road, someone blocked your path. You glanced up and it took all your self-control to maintain a neutral expression, despite all the warning sirens blaring at the full volume inside your head. How even--

“Darling! Long time no see!” said the blonde man you’d just robbed gleefully and grinned, his arms spread wide as if you’d known each other for years. Without dropping a jovial face, he leaned in and gave you a chaste hug, using the opportunity to utter straight into your ear. “Don’t make a fuss and come with me.”

Bloody fantastic.

The stranger linked your arms together and started walking down the street, pulling you with him in a little too rushed version of a friendly stroll. It wasn’t your first rodeo, though.

“Where are you taking me?” you squealed, faking badly covered distress and scouting the area in search of his partner, but the polo guy was nowhere to be seen.

“Oh, we need to have a little chat,” he said nonchalantly, securing a grip on you with another hand on your arm. “And the streets today are awfully loud, don’t you think?”

He dragged you into a back alley, losing the chummy demeanor with every step further away from the crowds. Lucky for you, the new setting worked in your favor. You’d been indulging him long enough, anyway.

Shifting your balance, you stomped hard on his foot, using the element of surprise to break free. Grabbing the blonde strands, you pulled his head down to meet your flying knee. A muffled groan escaped the stranger’s mouth and his curses followed you when you dashed to a small back street to your right. These few seconds of a head start were more than enough though, especially since you knew the area like the back of your hand. And that’s why you didn’t hesitate when you reached a chain-link fence. You jumped and bounced off the wall, pulling up on the edge and vaulting through the obstacle with ease, then gracefully landed on the other side and turned around just to see the man hitting the fence with frustration. He glared at you, wiping the blood from his face, and you almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

“See ya!” you giggled and blew him a kiss, disappearing into another alley.

You emerged on the main street at a reasonable distance from the place you’d left the stranger, weaving between people on the busy pavement, making sure nobody followed you. After a few blocks, you grew quite certain that you’d lost the unwanted tail. You smiled to yourself. The day turned out to be way more exciting than you could have expected. And it wasn’t even noon yet. 

You noticed a dark grey SUV pulling over next to you, but by the time you realized what was going on, it was already too late. The next thing you knew, you got dragged into the backseat and trapped between the blonde man and the polo guy. Shit.

You glanced at the driver, searching for clues about what you’d gotten yourself into. The woman behind a wheel gave off a paramilitary vibe, but you couldn’t be sure. Anyway, there was no point in trying to escape - you needed to wait for a more suitable moment. You didn’t have too much room to squirm around, so you just fixed your gaze on the road ahead.

“Well, this is awkward,” you said, breaking the silence as the car started moving again.

“As my colleague said - we need to talk.”

You looked to your right at the polo man. “Abduction is such an underrated conversation starter.”

“So is theft,” he noted, a shade of smile tainting the corner of his mouth. “I really liked that watch.”

“I have no idea--”

“We’ve checked the square’s surveillance system,” he interrupted you, but his statement was so ridiculous you just had to laugh it off.

“Now you’re insulting me.”

He raised a brow as he studied you with satisfaction. “You’d rather admit that you’re guilty?”

“No,” - you bridled, slowly getting tired of the whole charade - “but there’s no way you got to the feed so fast, and with how crowded it was out there, there is no way you’d find anything incriminating in there.” You hesitated for a moment, then narrowed your eyes. “Speaking of-- how did you even find me?”

A sudden movement to your left made you switch focus to the quiet blonde man. Still pressing a bunch of bloodied tissues to his face, he showed you his phone - a red dot was blinking steadily in the middle of a screen.

...tracking? You opened your mouth to ask a follow-up question, but then it hit you and your eyes flared up. That hug.

“Sneaky. I like it.” You grinned and nodded at him. “How’s your nose?”

He lowered his hand with the tissues. It was bruised and swollen, but you couldn’t tell if you’d managed to break it or not. Still - ouch.

“Never better,” he said and grimaced slightly.

“You should put some ice on it.”

He scoffed and rolled his eyes.

“You don’t say.”

Biting your lip to stifle a giggle, you glanced back to your right. “So? What do you wanna talk about?”

The other man shook his head.

“Not in the car. We’re almost there.”

You looked out of the window to find out you were driving into an industrial zone, and not the nice part of it. You didn’t mind, though - abandoned and creepy factory buildings were your jam, and they made excellent locations if you ever needed a chance to escape.

After a few minutes, you reached your destination. You got out of the car parked near the entrance to an empty hall. The sunbeams were pouring inside through the broken windows near the ceiling, lighting up a small metal table and a pair of chairs.

“Kudos for prepping such a dramatic setting, gents,” you laughed, taking a seat at the table. The polo man sighed and sat in front of you, sliding a folder with documents your way. You peeked inside, only to confirm your suspicions. They got some serious dirt on you, all right.

“Let’s start again, properly this time. This is Neil,” - he said, pointing at his companion, who was standing nearby, leaning against a pillar - “and I’m The Protagonist.”

You gaped at him and slumped your shoulders. “The Protag--...you’re shitting me,” you huffed, but the man was staring at you indifferently. “Dude, your parents must hate you,” you snorted, not even trying to keep a straight face. “What’s wrong with-- ...I don’t know, David? Or some of the classics, like John?”

“That’s how everyone here addresses me, and I’d like you to do the same.”

“Do I have to?” you groaned as you looked at Neil. He simply nodded, so you had no other option but to roll with it. For now. “Ugh, fine,” you said, shrugging. “You guys are spies or something?”

“Or something,” said The Protagonist. “We use certain espionage techniques to our advantage.”

“Sure,” - you scoffed - “next thing you’re gonna tell me is that you need my help to save the world.”

Neil’s amused snort made you glance at him again. “Well, maybe indirectly.” Playful sparks lit up his eyes as he gave you a half-smile. 

Are they for real? If that was an elaborate prank, this would be a good gotcha moment, but the men seemed serious enough.

You shifted on your seat, laughing nervously.

“Sorry to disappoint, but you’ve got the wrong gal.”

The Protagonist pointed at the folder in front of you.

“We need someone with your skills.”

...right. “Such as?”

“Lockpicking.”

You arched a brow. “Why? You need me to crack something for you?”

“No.” The Protagonist shook his head and took a deep breath. “We need you to teach our agents how to do it.”

“Hard pass,” you said, crossing your arms. “I’m not a tutor material.”

All of a sudden, a familiar voice rang behind you.

“Show her the lock.”

And then you connected all the dots.

“Mahir, you asshole!” you fumed, glaring at your friend as he joined you by the table. “Sloppier with age, I swear, you’re the main reason I have trust issues!”

“Main?” - he sent you a skeptical look - “What about--”

“Okay, you’re in top three, but mind you, today’s stunt alone got you five places up the table.”

“Oh no, I’m gonna cry myself to sleep tonight,” he mocked in his usual deadpan manner.

You huffed - “You better,” - mentally kicking yourself for falling for his ruse so easily. Maybe he was right. Maybe you’d lost your edge. That’s what you got for staying in one place for too long. You blinked rapidly, getting out of your head to focus on an item The Protagonist placed on the table. A small metal lock, pretty basic. No security pins, but you knew this model was made with sloppy tolerances that could give any beginner a headache.

“What’s so special about it?”

“Give it a try,” said The Protagonist and waved his hand in encouragement.

You reached to the pocket of your pants for a compact set of lockpicking tools you always had on you. Nothing fancy, rather a handy emergency set than anything serious - those were safely stored in your apartment, ready for the real work. Unlike the one you were about to do. Or so you thought.

You placed a tiny wrench at the bottom of a keyway and applied a minimal amount of tension, trying to set the first pin inside using a short hook. Trying and failing. The feedback from the tools was bizarre, like the regular laws of physics no longer applied to the lock’s mechanism.

“What in the fresh hell--” you uttered through gritted teeth, pulling out the tools to examine the peculiar lock.

Mahir smirked. “Enough pizzaz?”

“Shut up, I’m still mad at you,” you waved at him dismissively and focused back on The Protagonist, who was watching your attempts with polite interest. And a hint of a satisfied smile. “Where did you get that?”

“I’m afraid I can’t tell you,” he replied, leaning back on the chair. “At least for now, that is if you’d like to reconsider our proposal.”

You nibbled on your bottom lip, drumming the fingers on the table. Mahir, you bastard. Of course he knew you wouldn’t be able to resist an offer like this. Even if that meant a certain commitment, and that wasn’t something you were particularly fond of.

“Fine,” you sighed. “But I’m gonna teach only one person.”

“Deal.”

As you shook on it, Neil left his spot by the pillar.

“That will be me.”

You nodded in agreement and asked, “What about the lock?”

“Keep it,” said The Protagonist, standing up. As if he’d share the secrets straight away. “I want to hear your thoughts on it the next time we see each other.”

“And when is that gonna be?”

He just smiled enigmatically. “Soon. Mahir - a word?”

“Is he always like that?” you asked Neil as you got up, watching the others making their way towards the exit, but he just shrugged in return.

“He’s a busy man.”

You eyed your soon-to-be student curiously, and he responded in such, although suddenly losing some of the confidence he’d had before. Even with the bruised face, he radiated with this natural charm, a soft smile and the blonde strands falling into the bright blue eyes only adding to the overall appeal.

“Sorry about the nose.”

“Thanks,” - he smirked - “can’t blame you for that though, right?”

Grinning, you extended your hand in an informal truce offering.

“No hard feelings then?”

“Not at all,” he said as your palms clapped together and you smacked each other’s arms playfully.

With any leftover tension gone, all you had to do was to discuss the schedule and a few other crucial details. Neil took some notes and promised to get everything ready over the next few days. He even offered to drive you home, but you politely turned him down. A long walk, even slightly longer than previously anticipated, seemed more tempting.

Your fingers brushed against the weird lock in your pocket and you smiled to yourself.

For the first time in months, your heart started beating a little bit faster.

(next chapter->)

#neil tenet #neil tenet x reader #neil x reader #neil tenet fanfiction #robert pattinson #tenet #tenet fanfiction #the protagonist tenet #mahir tenet #neil tenet imagine #long nights

[obeiii-mee]

Heya!

Cuddling imagines for the brothers +Diavolo as a bonus because I felt the need to write something fluffy. These are really fun to write ngl.

———————————-

Cuddling Imagines with the Brothers +Diavolo:

Lucifer:

-He isn’t exactly the cuddly type if you couldn’t tell already. He’s pretty reserved when it comes to giving and receiving affection

-That doesn’t mean he dislikes it by any means!

-It’s just hard for him to accommodate to having a partner and receiving physical affection

-He gets used to it after a while

-But for the first few months of you guys going out, he kinda tends to lay quite still while cuddling in bed

-Sometimes it feels like you’re cuddling a lamppost

-Stiff and unresponsive

-He’s still not exactly the biggest fan of cuddling but he finds your little acts of love cute

-He’s OK with you laying your head on his chest at night since you are close but your presence isn’t too overwhelming

-He also really likes having you sit on his lap while he works sometimes which I don’t think helps him concentrate on his paperwork at all

-Overall, while he isn’t too keen on cuddling, he tolerates it and he is more than happy to lay down with you if you had a bad day

-“What is it? You want to lay down for a while? Well, I suppose it’s not a bad idea. Perhaps a little break would be nice.”

Mammon:

-This boy probably loves affection more than his brothers at times

-He genuinely likes your head pats and hugs but he adores the idea of cuddling with you after a long day

-If you guys sleep in the same bed at night, he tends to cling to you in his sleep

-Like, he will involuntarily attach himself to your arm or something

-One morning you woke up on top of him

-He doesn’t care about positions when cuddling

-He could be the big spoon or the little spoon

-Either way, he gets to stay close to you

-Surprisingly, he’s the one initiating cuddles usually

-“Human! I demand you stop doing your homework and that you come cuddle me for a bit. Please...?”

-Whenever you start cuddling into him at night, he gets all flustered and actually stops working for a few seconds

-The King of hogging all the blankets and pillows

-But that’s OK because he’s like a human size radiator

-He radiates warmth during the night

-Plus, you get to hear his morning voice the next day whenever you guys share a bed and the way he growls whenever you wake him up

-That’s definitely a bonus

-“What are ya doing? MC get in here, Imma cuddle the shit out of ya.”

Levi:

-He is so shy when it comes to any form of physical contact

-He almost passes out when you guys hold hands

-Let alone sitting in his lap while he watches anime

-MC, do you want the man to have a heart attack?

-He’s so hesitating to sleep in the same bed as you for the first few days of your relationship

-Because why would you want to spend your night next to a disgusting otaku like him?

-Give him a couple of days and then he won’t be able to sleep without you in the same bed

-He is almost suffocating during the night and much like Mammon, will cling to you as if his life depends on it

-Only problem is, this boy barely sleeps because he is too preoccupied with playing video games until past midnight

-Is this guy nocturnal or what?

-You will sometimes have to literally drag him away from the computer and forcefully tuck him in before giving him an aggressive goodnight kiss and slipping in next to him

-That will leave him stunned for a bit

-Likes hugging you from behind while sleeping a lot but doesn’t mind you holding him from time to time

-“So uh, a new season came for that anime we were watching the other day. Do you...uh, maybe want to lay down and watch it together?”

Satan:

-Your hugs are one of the only things that can stop him from going on a rampage at times

-He enjoys cuddling to a degree

-Cuddling up next to him in the evening while he reads is very relaxing for him

-And him getting to see your sleeping face on his shoulder is a bonus for him

-He doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable with clinging too much to you

-Very wholesome moments with him in the library

-Run a hand through his hair and he will melt

-Just your existence is the best thing that’s ever happened to him

-He tends to sneak a few kisses every now again while cuddling

-For the sole purpose of seeing you all caught off guard and flustered

-Lay on top of him please, he really likes holding you

-He isn’t squirmy while you guys sleep, like Lucifer, so it’s really easy to get in a comfortable position with him

-Cup his face from time to time and he will break

-Aghhh you’re too cute damn it

-“Hey MC? Would mind staying like this just for a little longer?”

Asmo:

-OK but I think people aren’t giving Asmo enough credit for this kind of thing

-It’s true, he is the Avatar of Lust

-But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t love wholesome and innocent moments like cuddling with his partner

-He often looks forward to these moments actually, where he gets to just lay down and appreciate his love for you

-Sometimes it escalates to steamier stuff but other times it doesn’t

-As long as he’s with you, he doesn’t really care

-He likes being held while cuddling and obviously adores all the kisses you give him during those times

-At night, you two are basically taped together

-Snuggle next to him and he will almost die from your cuteness

-Takes several pictures of you sleeping because your face is too beautiful to pass up on an opportunity like that.

-He sometimes insists on cuddling in public

-Yeah he’s horny almost all the time but he can be such a soft boy

-“You want to stay like this for a while darling? Well, who am I to deny you? Besides, this is quite nice.”

Beel:

-His hugs are to kill for

-It’s so easy to cuddle with him since he’s so comfortable and warm

-Obviously, due his size, it’s easier for him to hold you during cuddling sessions

-But he admittedly enjoys you wringing your arms around his neck sometimes and pressing little kisses onto his cheeks

-Is so gentle with you because he is kinda scared he might break every bone in your body if he hugs you too tightly

-He needs lots of affection, please give it to him

-He likes listening to your voice while cuddling

-He finds it very calming and reassuring

-Wants you to feel safe in his arms

-He’s the best at comforting so if you had a bad day and just want to cuddle he’s the right choice for ya

-Only downside to him cuddling you is that he has to get up every ten minutes to go eat

-But then again he could just bring a lot of snacks with him and cuddle you while he’s eating

-Problem fixed

-Also, Belphie is usually there in the background, appreciating the fact you guys are trying to be quiet the whole time so he can sleep

-“MC! I brought a bunch of food with me and now we can cuddle for longer!”

-“Beel you don’t have to whisper, I’m awake.”

Belphegour:

-The KING OF CUDDLING

-Would probably put everyone else to shame with how good he is at it

-You start dating Belphie

-You are now his pillow

-You don’t get a choice

-He will fall asleep on you every time

-Snuggly up to him while he’s asleep and, without waking up, will pull you closer to him

-You bought the two of you a matching pyjama set and fuck he’s fallen harder in love with you

-Will place his head in your lap and not get up for hours on end

-He likes having your fingers run through his hair too

-It lulls him to sleep

-Whines and complains if you have to get out of bed

-Since you’re there next to him most nights, he stops having nightmares or at least the really bad ones

-Waking up and seeing you next to him asleep is a blessing for him

-Ah your voice is also calming to him

-“Where do you think you’re going? Get back in bed dumbass, I’m not done cuddling with you. I can’t sleep without my pillow y’know?”

*Bonus* Diavolo:

-He’s actually very cuddly

-Tends to talk a lot during cuddling

-Omfg his laugh is precious

-Sometimes he kinda wishes he didn’t have all those boring duties to fulfill as a prince and instead just wants sleep in with you

-Its impossible for get out of his grip, I’m telling you

-Finds almost everything you do adorable

-He will wholeheartedly laugh and kiss you when you give him one of those sleepy looks in the morning

-Will probably say a joke or something while cuddling just to have you burst out laughing

-Barbatos occasionally walks in, notices you two soundly asleep while cuddling, smiles and walks out

-Even his butler has approved your relationship

-“I do wish I could spend more of my morning with you like this dear. These moments with you are marvellous.”

Al~

#obey me imagines #obey me #obey me belphegor #obey me beelzebub #obey me asmodeus #obey me satan #obey me leviathan #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me diavolo

[diyunho]

The Joker x Reader - “Trapped” Part 3

Almost one year ago, someone tried to kill The Joker in a speeding car and Y/N pushed him out of the way, getting hit instead. With a fractured skull and broken bones, she was out of business for 6 months; when she finally recovered, The Queen of Gotham wasn’t the same anymore. Trapped inside her own mind and exhibiting severe cognitive impairment, Y/N’s life switched upside down without any hope of ever returning to normal.

Part 1       Part 2     Part 4     Part 5

Same day, later in the evening

“What are you doing, Pumpkin?” The Joker crawls next to you although he has an idea about why you look upset.

You’re on your tummy scribbling on a piece of paper and he can tell you are concentrating hard while working on the current project: writing down your name. Only got the first three letters then the rest went blank.

“I….I can’t think…” you intensely stare at the blue pen in between your fingers.

“Of course you can!” J reaches over so he can guide your arm since it’s clear you need help. “There you go… done. Now try to copy it bellow, alright?”

“Hm?”

“Try again Princess,” he taps on the sheet and watches Y/N struggling to imitate the word. “Well done!” The King of Gotham praises. “Wanna give it a shot with a few more simple words?”

“Mmmm…” you debate. “OK?...”

You analyze The Joker’s movements as he depicts four letter words, one of them getting your attention in particular.

“Love?” you smile, happy you deciphered the meaning.

“Yes, a basic…”

“Love?” you scoot over, more and more excited and it clicks for your boyfriend.

“It’s just an example for you to exercise and relearn how to write, understand? It doesn’t mean anything!”

You giggle and touch his nose with yours.

“Love!”

“No Pumpkin! I don’t love you, how did you get such atrocity from my note??!! It has no hidden meaning! I barely, from very afar, remotely, not even similar to love, sort of like you and that’s it!”

You snicker and quickly slide to grab the yellow teddy bear, whispering in its ear:

“Love.”

“Aren’t you listening Princess?? Don’t start fake rumors!!”

Still…Y/N lives on her own little planet and her damaged brain grasped a wonderful concept despite The Clown vehemently dismissing his actions.

“Serves me right for being supportive,” he grumbles and resorts to diversion, the best weapon against your new found logic.

“Wanna read to me?” he points at the pile of children’s books resting on the nightstand: they are the best to use in your present circumstance.

“… … Read?... ” you ask, confused.

“Here,” J picks a random publication and gives it to you.

Might as well fully take advantage.

“Spoil me!” he buries his cheeks in your cleavage, guiding your free hand towards his green locks.

You never figured out how he doesn’t suffocate with his face glued to your skin; sometimes he sleeps like that for hours. Must be a special talent.

“The … ummm… the…. The duck…” you read the first page and massage his scalp, frowning at the words you can’t make sense of. “Cross… … crossed?...”  

“Yeah,” The Joker’s mumbled voice agrees.

“… the… g-glass…” you stutter at the sentence.

“Grass,” J corrects you.

“Hm?...”

“Grass Pumpkin, not glass.”

“Ummm… grass…” you continue to read the best way you can and he rectifies your errors until no more sounds emerge: The King is softly purring, a clear indication he’s dreaming.

You toss the book on the floor, fed up with the difficult task of organizing your thoughts; pampering him is better. You slowly tilt his head backwards so you can kiss him: The Joker frowns in his daze and you pinch his butt, chuckling.

“What is it?” he opens one eye and you pull down on his boxers. “Princess, we had sex an hour ago. Do you think I run on batteries?” the complaint is fast to follow.

... … … Batteries?... …                                            

You jump from the bed and stump to the closet, fumbling around for a couple of minutes before returning to a puzzled Clown.

You stretch the elastic of his underwear, dropping two batteries you snatched from the flashlight inside.

“How… how long do we w-wait?” you innocently ask.

The Joker bites his lip, attempting to contain himself yet he can’t: he bursts out laughing at your quirky solution while dragging you on top of him.

“You’re the funniest and smartest person I know, Pumpkin!” he cracks up, actually convinced he’s telling the truth. “Who’s my clever girl, huh?”

He’s talking about a girl again…What girl?...

Y/N peeks behind her and J reminds his baffled half:

“For God’s sake, Princess! I’m talking about you; you’re my girl! Can you get my phone?” he gestures at his mobile ringing by your pillow.

You give the cell to J, ignoring his conversation with Frost: you keep kissing him with the sole purpose of getting undivided affection.

“I guess Adam is here to pick up the cars you damaged,” he finally ends his chat. “Let’s go supervise the process. Don’t be disappointed, Pumpkin, we’ll have fun later. It’s your fault for destroying my collection!”

****************

The Joker watches his crew sweeping the concrete in the garage: broken glass, pieces of metal and debris scattered on the pavement after his vehicles were hauled inside huge trucks in order to be transported to Adam’s workshop for repairs.

“Thanks a lot, Y/N!” he growls, frustrated.

“Y-you’re welcome,” you serenely reply without a care in the universe.

“You’re the worst thing that ever happened to me, Princess!” he huffs at your indifference.

“Love,” you confess to the fluffy toy squished in your embrace.

“I heard that and it’s an aberration! Why do you keep persisting with this nonsense?! I’m literally stating the opposite!” J admonishes but who’s listening to him?

Not Y/N.

“Nolan is texting me,” he changes subject. “He wants me to meet him at his warehouse to inspect the boxes of ammo for the deal. Will you accompany me?”

“Hm?”

“Car ride?” The King of Gotham simplifies his request.

“U-hum!” you nod, preparing to enter the purple Lamborghini which luckily wasn’t in the garage when you smashed J’s cars.

“Frost, if you see me parked up the street in the driving alley, don’t come investigate, got it? This woman’s been pestering me for extracurricular activities, might not make it inside the mansion.”

“Of course, sir!” Jonny finds it wise to consent to his boss’s rambling.

“Tell everyone: if the Lamborghini’s rockin’, don’t come knockin’!”

**************

You’re sitting on J’s lap, completely blocking the arrangements happening at the table: you’re more preoccupied with your game than whatever it is they are negotiating about.

“What are you playing, Y/N?” Nolan curiously inquires because your thumbs are surely moving at a crazy speed on your cell’s screen.

“Hm?” you stop and gaze his way.

“What are you playing?” the man repeats.

“Mmmmm… Tetrixx Bricks.”

“What level are you on?” Nolan leans over, his eyes getting big at the revelation. “Holy shit, Y/N! How did you make it this far??! I’ve been striving to pass level 98 for a month!”

“She’s smart, that’s how!” your boyfriend sassily underlines.

“Do you think that you can help me?” the guy slides his phone in front of you.

“I’m sorry, is this a gaming party or a business matter?!” The Joker scoffs.

“Well, we’re pretty much done: we accepted the terms, we just have to move the merchandise in the morning.”

You are already matching the colorful blocks on Nolan’s game, his face ecstatic when the obnoxious song announces with great fanfare: “Level Up!”

“Holy cow!!!!” he shouts and you return his phone. “Thank you!”

“Hey Y/N,” one of the mobster’s henchmen dares to voice his demand. “Would you help me too? I’m stuck on level 76.”

“I’m dead on 105,” another goon mumbles under his breath, stepping in the line forming to your left.

J would normally cut off this useless waste of his precious time yet he can’t deny the gratification building up in his heart: heavens knows how it feels to be trapped inside your own mind and his girl has definitely battled unimaginable odds to be where she’s at right now.

Living with cognitive impairment is not easy, but she’s still here and it beats the alternative.

“Good job, Pumpkin!” The Clown boasts at the long string of cell phones parading through your fingers while you aid Nolan’s team leveling up on Tetrixx Bricks.

And somehow his hands are holding you tighter, not even bored with the random outcome of his meeting.

**************

You escaped on the terrace for a break and J is discussing the last details with your host: tomorrow you have a routine checkup, thus he has to wrap it up soon.

“Out of my way, half-wit!” Derek aka Nolan’s oldest son pushes you. Would he have done it if you were the same individual from almost a year ago? Nope. Apparently he believes he’s entitled to take advantage of Y/N since she’s alone outside.

“Why did Mister Joker bring you anyway?” he lights up a cigarette, annoyed. “Stupid monosyllabic bitch!” he ogles your summer dress, swiftly lifting it. “Are you wearing diapers?” he chuckles as you walk backwards, trying to process what he’s throwing at you. “Come on, show me!” he approaches and carefully scouts the premises to ensure you two don’t have company.

Perhaps the neurons in your brain are overcharged for the moment; nevertheless, they warn of imminent altercation: the dude’s a total douchebag.

“Are you shy?” Derek grins. “C’mon, lemme see!! Oooohh…fuuuuck…” he bends over in pain when your knee unexpectedly kicks him in the crotch: you used all your strength and he drops down, curling up in a ball. “God…dammit!” Derek shrieks at the defense he didn’t anticipate.

“I…I’m not wearing diapers!” you stammer and because he landed on the edge of the pool you roll him in the water also.

The loud splash makes The Joker wave at you, glad he eventually found you: he’s been searching around the warehouse for the last 5 minutes.

“There you are! Quit playing around, Pumpkin; we have a swimming pool at home!”

You rush by his side eager to bail before the asshole pops up from the bottom of the pond.

“Sushi for dinner?” J suggests and Y/N is not the type of individual to reject one of her favorite dishes.

“I…I love sushi,” you smile elbowing him. “Love.”

“Don’t start with me again!” The King barks at your obvious hint.

*************

“Are you eating the last piece?” he glares at your salmon roll.

“No,” you offer the treat to him. “You…you need it more,” Y/N verbalizes her concern regarding his well-being.

“Can’t disagree, Pumpkin. You exhausted me you naughty girl,” J pretends to be super tired. “What can I do? Princess wants, Princess gets,” he inhales, resigned.

You’re not focusing on his whining: frankly, your intellect has been challenged enough for today. You cuddle in his arms while he chews on his food and watch TV without paying attention to the movie.

“Don’t forget tomorrow morning you have your doctor’s appointment,” J mentions. “I have to stay and wait for the guns I purchased from Nolan; you’ll have to manage without me. I’ll send an escort, deal?”

“U-hum.”

“Don’t yawn, Pumpkin. I’m the one that should yawn,” The Joker scratches his thigh. “This move sucks,” he pouts and turns off the TV. “I have a better idea,” he chooses a kid’s book from the stack. “Read to me.”

You open the textbook and although your brain is overwhelmed, you still make an effort for his sake.

“Mmm… Rainy… sky… Skies?...”

“Yup,” he turns on his side and nuzzles in your hair.

“Float over…hmm… t-town…”, your voice echoes in the room, soothing a worn out Joker.

Strange he can’t properly rest unless you read to him: after all J barely, from very afar, remotely, not even similar to love, sort of likes you.

Also read: MASTERLIST

You can follow me on Ao3 and Wattpad under the same blog name: DiYunho.

#the joker x reader #the joker imagine #the joker fanfiction #the joker jared leto #the joker suicide squad #jokerleto #joker #joker fanfiction #joker imagine #joker suicide squad #dc #dcu #mister joker #mister j #Mistah J

[captainmarvels]

gliding light | one

Summary: Steve’s a little more preoccupied than usual, and gets (literally) knocked back into his senses.

Steve Appreciation Week Day 3 Prompt: Steve, Bruised and Battered

Pairing: (eventually) Steve Harrington x fem!Reader

Warnings: hockey fight, steve dislocates his shoulder, the usual messiness

Word Count: 3011 (sorry!!!)

A/N: first chapter for my college/hockey player steve au series! yay! I incorporated the steve appreciation week prompt into this chapter because what better way for steve to end up bruised and battered than during a fight in the ice rink? anyways, enjoy and lmk what you think! x

masterlist | taglist - add yourself!

As a kid, you don’t have much say in the trajectory of your life as the years go by. Your parents will have expectations; ideals, really. They aspire to see you grow up as they did; be what they once were; do what they once did. They really just want you to be like them. 

And why is that?

Your teachers will emphasize every year that your dreams are what you make them; that you are the captain of the ship named “My Life”, and that you are the sole determiner of the course that ship will take. 

But what happens when others have come aboard your ship, taken control of the steer, and claimed it as their own?

What happens when you can no longer have a stake in where your life takes you?

Steve can always be found leaning against the wall of the gym, staring at the ground, with his hair tied up in a messy bun, and his basketball shorts hanging loosely off his hips.

As you make your way over to him, your backpack strap slipping off your shoulder again and again, you wonder what’s happened with his dad this time.

Because it’s always his dad.

“Hey there, Harrington,” 

“Hey there yourself, missy. Debate team run long?” He glances up at you, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Sort of - Nancy was getting a little too into it again,” 

“When’s she gonna let you be captain?” You shrug in response, struggling to keep a steady hold on the mountain of books you were carrying. 

“Here, let me-” Steve catches the few books that manage to slip of the top with ease, chuckling loudly as you lean against the wall opposite him. 

“I swear, I’m gonna need three backpacks just to carry all these,”

“You can have mine if you want - it’s empty anyways,”

“We still on for homework and dinner tonight?” Steve nods, grinning as he opens up his bag and drops the books inside.

“Whose cooking will I be enjoying later this evening?” He asks as leans towards you.

“Lasagna, made by yours truly! My mom said pizza is on her this weekend, so...”

“Sleepover?” You nod, zipping up the bag and slinging it over your shoulder. 

“Can you drive me to practice Saturday morning then?” The two of you start walking towards the student parking lot as Steve continues. “John and the boys want to run a few extra drills before the first home game next week,”

“I can’t believe I’m gonna lose you to basketball practice so soon, it feels like just yesterday was the end of the season,” You say, kicking the car door wide open with your foot before dropping your backpacks in the backseat.

“Well, technically it was last month. But it’s state finals, baby! We gotta get in A-game shape!”

“I hate when you talk like that, it scares me like nothing else ever has before,” You both burst out laughing as you get into the car, Steve’s hand reaching over to take the car keys from you.

“It’s our junior year, sweetheart. You of all people should know we have to finish off strong. If I don’t get us the state championship, I might as well kiss college goodbye,”

You roll your eyes at him, snatching the keys out of his grasp before he can protest.

“Yes, I know. Regardless, you should still apply and try to get in with other scholarships and achievements besides basketball, Steve. Okay?” 

He nods, eyes closing slowly as he turns to face the window.

“Whatever you say, sweetheart.”

On an early Saturday morning, the last thing you expect to see is your childhood best friend barging into your bedroom, telling you to wake up before he’s late.

“Wha- What time is practice at? It’s a Saturday, for crying out loud!” You throw a pillow at Steve’s face, groaning as you cover your own with the duvet.

“I’m telling you, it’s the finals! C’mon, I can’t be late for this and you promised you’d drive me!”

The whole car ride to Hawkins High, Steve was tapping his fingers on his knees, his eyes focused on the road.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this anxious to get to practice, Harrington. Something up?” You ask as you pull into the driveway, parking just outside of the gym doors. He says nothing, and instead gets out of the car, and moves to open the backseat doors to grab his bags. You lock them.

“Hey, c’mon now!” 

“Tell me what the heck is going on with you first!” 

You look at him sternly, pointing at the passenger seat. Steve sighs, and plops back down, not even bothering to meet your gaze.

“Steve, you know I’m not gonna let this go. What’s up?” He crosses his arms over his chest, leaning his head back against the headrest of the seat.

“My dad… he’s been giving me a bunch of shit lately for coming home with shit grades, no job… he keeps saying I won’t get anywhere if I don’t make the basketball thing work, and he’s always on my ass about my plays and shit after every game, even though Coach says I’m the best Hawkins’ has had in years, and I’m the fuckin’ team captain. I’m just sick and tired of hearing that ‘I’m not good enough’ from him when I’m doing everything I can, you know?” 

Steve’s eyes are shut tight, and you know it’s because he’s fighting back tears. You rest your hand on his arm, saying nothing as you start to count his breaths.

1… 2…. 3…. 4…. 5

“I know you’ll prove him wrong, Steve. You always do. You’re better than he’ll ever be.”

Steve only nods, swallowing thickly as he mulls over your words.

You always know how to make him feel better - especially when it comes to his dad. Ever since you were kids, you always stuck by his side, comforting him and reminding him that he was everything his father was not, and it reminded him that at least he had one person on his team. He was always glad that it was you.

“T-Thanks. And sorry I didn’t say anything before now-”

“No worries. You know I’ll never push. Now get out of my car and show your dad you can take his ass in basketball any day, okay?”

He opens his eyes, smiling as he locked eyes with you. He takes your hand in his and squeezes gently before letting go and stepping out of the car to grab his bags.

As he shuts the door, you roll down the passenger window.

“Need me to swing by later or you good?” He shrugs, looking over the car at something in the distance.

Patting the car roof, he says, “I’ll let you know, yeah?” before heading off into the gym. 

As soon as he loses sight of your taillights, Steve books it.

Running across the street without a second glance, Steve can barely pick up the pace as he tries to keep his bags from slipping off his shoulders. 

Almost there.

He’s almost out of breath, but he finally makes it.

As he drops a bag to the ground, the bus pulls up to the stop where Steve is standing, the tires coming to a sputtering stop as the doors open.

Picking up his duffel, Steve boards the bus, and flashes the driver his round-trip ticket.

Once settled in a seat, he sets down his bags in the one next to him and finally looks out the window as the bus pulls away. 

The sign reading “Now Leaving Hawkins” flashes by, bringing a smile to Steve’s face as he leans back in his seat, eyelids fluttering shut.

Logansport, here I come.

Skates strapped on, helmet secured, and hockey stick in hand, Steve is ready for anything.

Well, almost anything.

He’s already on the ice, squatting in front of the net as he watches the team inch closer and closer with the puck coming right for him.

He hears it before he sees it.

Dodging right, Steve manages to knock the puck off course and straight into the rink wall, some of his teammates cheering loudly behind him as he picked himself up off the ice.

“Nice one, Harrington!”

“What a save, newbie!” 

Steve turns around, and is greeted with congratulatory waves and pats on the back as they make their way back to the box.

Well, almost.

Before Steve can step foot off the ice, he’s being pulled back into the rink by one of the older guys, who’s conveniently surrounded by some of his friends.

“Nick, was it?” Steve asked with a muffled voice, his mouth guard still in place.

“How many times you gonna make me look bad in front of Coach, huh?”

The grip on Steve’s shoulder tightened with every passing second, their eyes locked on one another.

“That’s not what I’m tryin’ to do, man,”

“Sure it’s not. Learn to stop kissing ass man, it doesn’t look too good on you,” He spit on Steve’s jersey before pulling off his helmet.

“I will when you learn to make a hard pass, and stop making it so easy for me to block your shots.” Steve pulled off his helmet and dropped it on the ice, the contact making a lasting sound across the empty arena.

“You’re really in it huh, Harrington? Let’s see what you got,” Without warning, Nick moves head on towards Steve, shoving him hard against the tempered glass boards surrounding the rink. Steve feels the back of his head collide with the glass, and thinks for a moment that he’s about to pass out on the spot. He feels blood trickling down the side of his face, and tries his best to wipe it off with the backside of his glove.

Before he can re-orient himself, Nick pulls Steve to him and punches him right in the jaw, his gloved hand scraping the underside of his jaw just before he hits him again.

Steve lifts up his knee and tries to hit Nick straight in the balls, but misses as Nick moves backwards, pushing Steve onto the ice. Before he hits the ground, Steve grabs Nick by the ankle and yanks it towards him, forcing him down with him, and they both hit the ice with a loud thud.

Before he can get up, Steve gets kicked on both sides by Nick’s friends; he can’t make out their faces as the right side of his face is already starting to swell up from the punch.

Hands suddenly appear on his arms, pulling him upright. Steve can barely make out Nick as he comes towards him, pummeling straight onto the ice again with two swift punches - one to the face, and another to the gut.

Steve lands on his side and winces as he hears the unmistakable sound of his shoulder popping out of his socket.

“Fuck,” is all he manages to get out before losing consciousness.

Flashes of bright white bring Steve back to the land of the living, and he finds himself sitting upright on a hospital bed. He glances down, wincing at the sharp pain shooting down his neck, and finds his arm in a sling, a band of ice packs wrapped neatly around his shoulder. 

Way to go, Harrington.

Before he makes any sudden movements, a doctor appears outside his door, tapping his clipboard with a pen.

“Well, Mr. Harrington, you’re lucky that shoulder injury isn’t more severe.”

Steve laughs awkwardly, barely nodding as the doctor moves closer to his bed.

“A harder push, or a different surface of impact, and we’d be looking at a separated shoulder in need of surgery. You’ll need to stay off the ice for the next four weeks though, I’m afraid.”

“No way for a quicker healing turnaround, Doc?” Steve smiled, wincing immediately from the flare of pain in his jaw.

“No can do, mister. If you want to regain full use of that thing, I suggest you keep your sport activities to a minimum, and stay off the ice. I have a painkiller prescription for you here,” The doctor flashes a piece of paper, “in case the pain lingers. If you dislocate it again, you’ll need to come in so I can re-examine it, alright?”

Steve nods in response, grimacing at the random flashes of pain he was getting from his shoulder and neck.

“Your friend is waiting for you outside; I’ll let her know you’re awake,”

Before he could ask any questions, the doctor stepped out, and was replaced by you. 

Shit.

“Glad to know you’re not dead.” 

“Can this… can we wait until we get home? I promise I���ll explain,” Steve says hoarsely, a weak smile appearing as he tries to appease the anger he knows is boiling over inside of you.

“Explain everything, or I’ll make sure that shoulder pops out again.”

The whole ride back to Hawkins was nerve wracking for Steve; a dead silence filling the car, your eyes focused on the road, your mind focused on the different ways you could kill Steve and get away with it. He was terrified of how upset you were, and he knew you were devising some sort of plan for revenge and honestly? He couldn’t blame you.

You were his best friend, after all. And he, yours.

Of course it pissed you off that he ran off to God knows where without telling you and almost died after a stupid, unfair fight.

This was the first secret he’d kept from you in years, and he just hoped you’d forgive him.

Growing up, he put you through a lot of shit, but you always forgave him, no matter what. Whether he’d just broken your brand new bike, or the time he accidentally elbowed you in the nose and broke it, or the five times you had to call firefighters to your house because Steve accidentally set something on fire.

No matter what, you forgave him. 

But he’s painfully aware that this time around is different, because he lied.

And that’s one of your sacred rules.

No lies.

The day you agreed to be friends, you made a pact that you both swore you’d honor to the grave - dramatic for a pair of five year olds, but nonetheless. You shook on it, and ever since then, it was the one rule left untouched - until now.

Once you pull into the driveway of your house, you help carry his bags into the house.

“Go wait upstairs,” was all you said after slamming the front door shut, and Steve followed directions. 

You tossed his things into the empty coat closet by the bathroom before heading to your bathroom, where you grabbed some rubbing alcohol, cotton balls and some gauze. Then you head off to your room, where you find Steve sitting on the edge of your bed, looking mopey as ever.

After shutting the door, you turn to look at him.

“Well, you better start talking, Harrington.”

You lean back against the door, crossing your arms over your chest as you waited for him to speak.

“This wasn’t how I wanted you to find out but,” He sighed, using his good hand to brush back some hair that was falling across his face. “I- I’ve been training and playing with this, this club hockey team over in Logansport for the last few months and,”

“Months?” You interrupt, scoffing at the fact that he had been lying for months now.

“I swear, I was gonna tell you-”

“When? Before or after you got a life threatening concussion?” Steve laughs sarcastically, shaking his head as he drops his gaze from you.

“Before, I promise. I just- I wanted to make sure I was making the right decision - that hockey was really what I wanted to do before telling you. ‘Cuz once I tell you, there’s no going back, and you know that.”

You want to protest his comment, but bite back your tongue instead. Maybe he has a point.

Supporting Steve’s dreams and ambitions meant making sure he followed through on them. Ever since you were both six years old, if Steve told you he wanted to do, be, or have something, you were right there by his side, championing him until he succeeded. But sometimes he’d want to quit, and you wouldn’t let him.

“Anyways, there’s no point in holding out anymore. I joined the club hockey team because I wanna quit the basketball team this summer, after the finals. That’s why it's been a secret for so long - I had to make sure I could do it, and that I wasn’t setting myself up for failure by joining a team for a sport I wasn’t too sure I’d be good at, or even liked. I know I should’ve told you sooner but I wanted to do this for myself, and-”

“For being one of the brightest people I know, you sure know how to pull some idiot moves, ya goof,” He brightens up at your back handed compliment, and flashes you a smile as you look at one another.

“You forgiving me then?”

“Only if you promise to stop hiding stuff from me,”

“I swear, this was it. You have no idea how much I wanted to tell you, honest,” He raises his hand up, chuckling when you roll your eyes. 

“So what’s your big plan then?” You sit down next to him, and cup his face gently, turning his head just enough so he was facing you, and start applying the alcohol on the cuts littering his face.

“Get us the state championship, quit before summer session starts, and start practicing with the club hockey team to get ready for the fall season. Easy, right?” He laughs softly and drops his gaze down to his slinged arm as he winces from the sting of the alcohol.

“You’re forgetting something,”

“What?” He glances up, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“How are you gonna break the news to your dad?”

tags: @thorsxodinson @jurassicbarnes @ahoyfandoms @messybitchjuice @bittergoldilocks @marvelismylifffe @cxddlyash @l4life @spidey-pal @000bananaclip000 @iydianight @harringtonsbaseballbat @1-800-gotjunk @cant-decide-at-this-moment  @novaddictx @fragcc @conors-my-boy

@mercedesbarnes @sadhwstudent @myhearthurtsss @madeinthemidnightmemories @nancethebadass @okaybutsteveharrington @coffee-and-stories @multifan-smc @stebehairrington @cassandras-musings 

#dailyharrington #steveweek2019 #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fluff #hockey player steve harrington #steve harrington au #steve harrington fic

[1kook]

milestone

Jeon Jungkook x (F) Reader

summary→ Part of you is touched that Jungkook really has been there for every milestone in your life. The other part wishes he hadn’t shown up looking so ridiculously sexy. tags→ American highschool/college universe, brother’s best friend au, grinding, first time, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex (pls use condoms tho), dirty talk, confessions, um graduation sex??? idk lol wc→ 8.2k

did i proofread? hell no lmao. this is my first time writing for bts tho!! enjoy!!

To say Jungkook had changed was an understatement.  

You could safely say this because you knew Jungkook, despite the times you wished you didn’t. You knew him, because he’d been attached to your older brother’s hip for as long as you could remember, present at nearly every milestone event of your childhood. He and Taehyung had become inseparable since the moment you’d first moved next door to Jungkook, their days spent playing video games after school, running around the backyard, and begging your parents to let them build a conjoined ‘Boys Only’ tree house. 

Yours, on the other hand, were spent inside, too shy to go outside and talk to your brother’s friend, even if he was only two years older than you. You were, in every aspect, the shy baby sister who played inside and hid behind her mom’s leg whenever the boys’ tummies called them back inside for snacks. 

It wasn’t that Jungkook was mean or anything. No, he was at least two times better than your own brother. On days your mother had urged you to go out and play, he’d let you play with his scooter around the driveway, because he knew you hated playing football with him and Tae, the both of them too rough. He was a sweet kid, from what you could remember, and you’d never once came to dislike him during those warm, honeyed days of your childhood. 

The bulk of what you knew of Jungkook came mostly from your teenage years, when you’d finally grown out of your shyness. Though he’d had an awkward growth spurt that led him to be the tallest freshman in his class for a short while, he was still the polite boy who everyone’s mother loved. His after school visits were not as often, both him and Tae consumed by their love for football. Their practices were grueling, and sometimes, they wouldn’t return home until well into the evening, their clothes soiled and smelly from all the hours they put in on the field. 

Jungkook was a junior by the time you started your freshman year, his prepubescent body finally working in his favor. He’d suddenly become more firm and defined, and you remembered the way his mother had scolded him when he’d pierced his right ear without permission. He’d become undeniably cute, but you always had kept that thought to yourself, lest you want the wrath of Taehyung’s overprotectiveness brought down on you. 

But he was still as supportive as he’d always been, wishing you good luck when both he and Taehyung had dropped you off for freshman orientation, a sweet smile adorning his face. It was Jungkook who had initially encouraged you to join the dance team, to which Taehyung had then insisted upon. (You’re pretty sure he just wanted you to join so he wouldn’t have to drive you home before the start of his practice everyday.)

You remembered so vividly how he’d driven you and your brother to and from school every day of the first semester, his hands veiny as they’d gripped the wheel of his dad’s car; you’ve never been able to look at a steering wheel the same way again. While your brother had preferred to scroll through his phone, Jungkook had liked conversing with you, head occasionally turning so you could catch glances of his side profile. During winter break, Taehyung finally got a license of his own, and those quiet mornings with Jungkook came to a stop. 

You saw him less after the first semester as you became consumed in your own school life, because, though the football season had ended, the dance team performed all throughout the winter basketball season as well. You came home late, often hitching rides from your older friends back home. They’d always been eager to drop you off, always desperate to catch sight of Jungkook or your brother coming out to receive you. The one day Jungkook did let you into the house, your cheeks had been tainted red from the cold. It masked your own adoration as he’d pulled open the door, his hair fluffy and soft, his usually broad body snuggly enveloped by a soft sweater. 

By the beginning of Taehyung’s senior year, both he and Jungkook had become transfixed with teaching you how to drive. At night, you’d run a few circles in the grocery’s empty parking lot, their instructions overwhelming as they shouted to be heard over each other. It was ultimately Jungkook who’d taken up the sole duty of instructing you, his voice soft and calm against your ear as he leaned in from the backseat, arm occasionally coming into your line of vision.

His and Taehyung’s senior night had been ridiculously teary, both of them grasping onto each other as the final whistle of their last high school football game rang through the crisp October air. Your parents had been preoccupied with taking pictures of Tae to upload onto Facebook, and you’d almost wandered back to the car in boredom, had Jungkook not swept you into a hug and gushed profusely, the adrenaline from the game and his happiness making him stumble over his words. He’d been smelly and sticky, his shoulder pads pressing into you in a mildly uncomfortable way, but you’d be an idiot to pull out of his embrace. 

It was during their graduation that you finally came to terms with your crush on Jungkook, your brother’s best friend in the entire universe. 

As they’d filed out of the auditorium, your eyes had been locked on Jungkook’s broad shoulders, nicely fitted by the gown they all wore, a sharp pang striking your chest. He was eighteen then, so bright and excited for college, and you knew you could never tell him how much he meant to you. You couldn’t tell him, not because it’d make things weird, but because Jungkook was so caring and generous that he would spend all his time worrying about little sixteen year-old you. 

He was such a genuine person, that you knew bestowing such news on him would only hinder his success as he moved onto the next stage of his life; so worried he’d be about you that he might even reconsider going to dorm out of state. You never wanted anything more than for Jungkook to be happy, and if it meant suppressing the feelings you’d felt for more than ten years, so be it. 

They would go away, you were sure, but Jungkook’s troubles for you would not. So you’d brushed them aside in favor of watching him blossom into the professional gentleman you knew he was destined to become. 

Which is what leaves you undoubtedly confused by his appearance at your graduation. 

“I- thanks?” You say, taking the sopping wet bouquet out of his grasp, holding it  as far as possible from your crisp graduation gown. The tassel you’d just turned brushes against your cheek as you level Jungkook with a confused once-over. He’s out of breath, for some reason, the strands of hair he’d brushed backwards slowly curling forwards to brush the tip of his eyebrows. 

He draws to his full height, leveling you with an unusual smirk. “Don’t mention it, kid,” he brushes off, playfully punching your arm. You guess he isn’t aware of his own brutish strength, hiding beneath that tight button-down, because you end up flinching after the hit, not that he notices. You push the flowers off onto your mom, who seems pretty preoccupied making sure the pictures she’d taken of you came out okay. Your dad is nowhere to be found, probably back in the cafeteria scarfing down the snacks that had been set out for people wishing to mingle after the ceremony. 

You’re thrown for another loop when Taehyung’s arm is thrown around your shoulders, knocking your cap off your head. He very narrowly catches it, twirling it in his palm as he beams in your face. “I can’t believe it,” he cries, “my baby sister, finally being released from prison!” He wipes an imaginary tear off his face, and you would have been more invested in his dramatics had you not been so enthralled by the sight of Jungkook. 

Admittedly, it’s been a while since you last saw him. He and Taehyung rarely visited, only on the mandatory holidays, before driving the five hours back to their college to never be seen or heard from until the next holiday. The last time you’d even seen Taehyung was during winter break, because he and Jungkook had decided to travel out of the country for spring break instead of coming home. 

The extended absence is probably why you’re so confused as you stare at Jungkook now, his appearance nothing like the young man that had worn this exact same cap and gown two years ago. You’re not sure if his life has genuinely transformed into a mess, or if he’d just been rushed to come to your graduation. Either way, his appearance is getting quite the attention from those around you. He’d forgone an under shirt, despite the translucence of his formal button-down, and when you squint hard enough, there’s definitely a tattoo on his clavicle, and another one nestled beneath the swell of his pecto–you quickly look away. 

“When did you guys get here?” You ask, scanning over the sea of gowns in an attempt to distract yourself from Jungkook’s godly appearance. Part of you is touched that Jungkook really has been there for every milestone in your life. The other part wishes he hadn’t shown up looking so ridiculously sexy. 

“Tae wanted to get here earlier so we could take pictures, but we had to stop by and get some flowers, and the only ones you liked were in the middle of getting water,” Jungkook supplies, unaware of your attempts to push him to the back of your mind. “And then we got stuck in traffic, and ended up getting dressed in the car,” he sighs, hands shoved into the depths of his wrinkled slacks. 

“Must’ve been quite the show,” you offhandedly reply, and have to will your face to remain as stoic as possible when he raises an eyebrow at you, a teasing smirk adorning his features. “Look, we’re gonna go eat at the nice Italian place downtown,” you say instead, turning your gaze back to Taehyung. “You guys are welcome to come, but I don’t know if we reserved enough seats.”

Taehyung snorts, and you’d pull away had he not currently held a vice grip on your shoulders. “Fuck that plan,” he scoffs, and your mom whacks his arm. “So here’s what we’re really going to do,” he says, pulling Jungkook in so the three of you are awkwardly huddled in the midst of the all graduates and their families. At the sudden movement, Jungkook’s arm brushes up your own, your heads nearly knocking into each other. “Dad said I can take you out to celebrate you finally being an adult, and since it’s officially the beginning of summer, there’s a huge party on the south side of town.” He says, and the fact he knows what’s going on in his hometown, despite only being home for all of two hours, lets you know this was premeditated. 

“I’m sorry, we’re doing what?” You finally gather the balls to look Jungkook in the eye again, and by the shrug he gives you (still with that stupid grin on his face), you at least know this was a Taehyung original scheme. You’re grateful he hadn’t roped Jungkook in yet, because if he’d proposed this idea, you’d agree in a second. 

You forget Jungkook and Taehyung work through a telepathically connected system, and one shared glance between the two has Jungkook immediately taking your brother’s side. “C’mon, that’d be fun wouldn’t it?” His voice is deep and raspy in all the right places, and you purse your lips together as you grapple for some excuse. You can’t say your parents are against it, because, according to Tae, your dad had approved of this plan–sort of. 

“Think of it this way,” Jungkook pulls you out of your thoughts, “it’d be better to go to your first real party with your brother!” You groan, and Taehyung beams at Jungkook’s terrible point. 

“This is a horrible idea,” you whine, snapping out of your childish antics when one of your friends brushes by you, throwing a soft goodbye over your shoulder. Briefly, Taehyung lets a low whistle leave his lips, to which you shove an elbow into his ribs. “Look, I appreciate the offer, but I really just want to eat some food and go to sleep,” you calmly state. 

Taehyung groans so hard and loud, it nearly sounds like a scream. Your huddle breaks at that, and you readjust your gown. You wonder if you’d imagined the way Jungkook’s eyes flickered towards your exposed neck, the off the shoulder dress you’re wearing making it seem as if the graduation gown was the only thing you had on. “You’re so boring, ___!” Taehyung complains. You refrain from rubbing your temples, because the makeup you’d worn tonight had taken quite some time. 

The only thing that calms you down is the way Jungkook slowly wraps his fingers around your wrist, pulling your diploma from your hand. “Oh, right,” he says, eyes glinting, “forgot you were a goody-two-shoes.” 

You can’t really say no then. Not only was your pride at stake now, but the way Jungkook’s eyes had traced around the dainty necklace resting between your collarbones had been too inviting. 

“Have you seen my brother?” You screech into Jungkook’s ear, your voice drowned out by the loud thump of the bass. Jungkook squints, as if that somehow helps him hear better, and motions for you to repeat it. You groan, and try again. You’re not sure if Jungkook shrugs because he hasn’t seen Taehyung, or because he didn’t hear for the second time. 

You’re a real idiot for letting some pretty brown eyes rope you into the craziest night of your life. Through the course of the evening, you’ve managed to see your brother–your own brother, the one who’d cried when Simba’s dad died–jump off the balcony of someone’s house and into a trampoline on the yard below, someone snort a line of crack off a guy’s dick, someone else completely wipe out while dancing on the bar, and Jungkook successfully swindle four hundred dollars out of some drunk billiards players. Suffice to say, you were ready to go home and knock out in the comfort of your bed. 

It didn’t help that Taehyung had been adamant that you drink as much alcohol as you could, occasionally brushing by to thrust another mysterious liquid into your palms. You shouldn’t be as cautious of the drinks considering your brother made them, but then again, your brother made them. 

The fact you’d had to watch Jungkook grind with multiple women on the dance floor for a solid fifteen minutes while Taehyung made you play beer pong with him, was another matter for another day. 

You sighed, glancing around to see if you could catch sight of Taehyung’s ridiculously bright head of hair. Probably the biggest mistake you’d made that night was putting Tae in charge of the car keys. 

You’re pulled out of your worries when Jungkook taps your arm. You raise your brows at him, and he motions for you to lean closer, which you hesitate to.

Truthfully, he looks absolutely godly sitting on that bar stool, legs deliciously spread out for you to slot yourself in between. Somewhere along the line, he’d began unbuttoning his shirt to relieve some of his body’s heat; he was three buttons down now, and the flat part of his chest, right between where his pecs met, glistened with sweat. 

As if sensing your hesitation, he hits you with another one of those sweet smiles he’d been dropping all night, though with the more alcohol he consumes, the more they start to look like those devious little smirks now. You acquiesce, leaning forward so that his lips hover dangerously close to your ear. 

What you’re not expecting is the palm that spreads itself on the small of your back, pulling you closer between his legs. Your breath catches in your throat, your arms automatically shooting out to rest on his shoulders. “You okay?” He huffs, hot breath fanning over your ear and neck. He pulls away, brown eyes wide as he inspects your appearance. You nod, distantly aware of the trembling of your hands. Jungkook smiles. 

“Don’t be so scared,” he laughs, and all you can do is nod again. His hand shifts, gliding around until it rests on your waist. “Don’t be so uptight,” he teases, fingers gently pressing into your skin in an effort to loosen you up. If anything, it makes you even more tense. 

He leans away, ducking down to catch your gaze as you struggle to contain the warmth on your face. When you finally meet his eyes, he seems almost devilish as his eyes trace over your face, briefly flickering somewhere behind you. “Don’t be such a fucking prude,” he cackles, and points over your shoulder. 

You turn your body, only to catch sight of girls falling over each other on the dance floor as they shake every body part possible. Truthfully, you wish you had the balls to move like that, be as open as them. In another life, you’re as fun and as wild as them, but in this one you’re still a reserved little girl, a trait you’re certain Jungkook has picked up on by now. 

“I don’t know how to dance like that,” you awkwardly admit, looking away from him the second the words leave your mouth. You don’t let this vulnerable moment last long, quickly screwing your lips up to spit out another excuse that will somehow redeem your image. “And, Taehyung gets too overprotective if I dance with guys anyway!”

It’s only a half lie. Though Taehyung is in every sense the protective older brother, he knows you’re smart enough to make your own decisions. 

Jungkook knows this as well as you do.

“Bullshit,” he smirks, and sets his cup somewhere behind him. You bite your lip, brain racking for any other lie you can throw at him to protect your ego. 

Jungkook doesn’t let you dwell on it for long, abruptly standing up. You don’t move away fast enough, and end up pressed against the hard plains of his body. “C’mon,” he says, gesturing towards the dance floor with a nod of his head. “I’ll teach you.”

You don’t get your protest in on time before Jungkook’s tugging you towards where the majority of the party is concentrated. You stumble between dancing friends and couples, and for a moment you think you’ve spotted Taehyung to save you, but it’s just another person with annoyingly bright red hair. Your options are cut short when you bump into Jungkook’s shoulder, and he turns to face you. 

He looks disgustingly handsome here, the obnoxious strobe lights casting colorful shapes across his features. “Follow my lead,” he mouths (or you presume he does), moving to knot your arms around his neck. 

His hips move, and for a moment, your feet become ice blocks, struggling to move with him. You’re too entranced by the roll of his hips, the way his narrow waist moves back and forth. His hands find their home on your hips, gently encouraging you to move with the beat. 

After you’ve regained your wits, you begin following Jungkook’s lead, letting your hips swing from side to side until they’ve synced with his. You chance a glance up at his face, before snapping it back to his body. It’s a thousand times easier to watch the rolls of his body than meet the heated gaze he’s leveling you with. 

A few songs pass, your bodies moving in the same beat, until suddenly, the DJ hits you with the annoying air horns, transitioning into an even raunchier, slow song, if that’s possible. Immediately, everyone around you changes their pace, and you struggle to do the same, body awkwardly knocking into the people around you. 

Somehow, Jungkook both saves and endangers you. 

The easiest way to get you to sync up with him while also pulling you out of harm’s way is, apparently, whirling you around to press your back against his chest. A gasp catches in your throat at the sudden physical contact, the hair at the nape of your neck sticking to your skin. 

“Relax,” he laughs against your ear, hips slowly rocking back and forth, encouraging you to pick up the same pace. You do, your face finally taking on all the emotions you couldn’t when you were facing him. His hands rest on your hips still, though this time they pull you closer with each beat of the music. 

His hand slowly curls around your body, resting over your belly button, his pinky dangerously brushing lower to where an unusual ball of heat has begun to form inside of you. You jolt, pushing back onto him. A soft puff of air brushes against your ear at the movement, Jungkook’s hands twitching on your body. 

You’re suddenly aware of a particular nudge against the curve of your ass. 

“Oh,” you breathe, your voice too loud for the soft RnB tune drifting through the speakers. 

“Oh?” Jungkook repeats, voice husky, and you can imagine the smirk that tugs at his lips. He pulls you closer, and you feel it again: the soft brush of his dick, slowly hardening because of you. He nudges your head aside, pressing his mouth to your ear. “You like that?”

You’re paralyzed, hips unconsciously swaying with the music as the intense heat begins curling between your legs. You must’ve nodded, because Jungkook chuckles as he continues the motions, slowly grinding into you the same way you’d watched him do to other girls that same night. 

After a particularly nice move, your hand grapples for his hair, tugging him closer as your head lolls backwards to rest against his shoulder. He presses a kiss to your neck, and you nearly ascend into another plane, the sensation so heavenly. 

“Look at you,” Jungkook purrs, rocking you back and forth between all the other grinding bodies. “Miss Goody-Two-Shoes does know how to dance,” he teases, pressing kisses along your jawline, a gasp escaping your throat. Your legs wobble, and you would have fallen if Jungkook’s arms hadn’t been wrapped around you. 

“K-Kookie,” you whine, quivering with every press of his lips against your hot skin. 

He quietly scoffs at the name, shushing you with more kisses. “Fuck,” he groans when you rock back into him again. “Tae always said you were off limits but,” he pauses, his hands briefly sliding over your pelvis, relishing in the moan that slips past your lips. “He didn’t tell me you’d gotten so pretty.”

Your cheeks burn even hotter at the compliment, head hanging in a sudden stroke of embarrassment. Jungkook presses a smile against the side of your neck. “Don’t get shy on me now, angel,” he croons as he stops swaying the two of you back and forth. 

His hands glide off your body to enclose your palms with his, raising them up to catch your attention. You’re met with that playboy smirk of his as he leans down to kiss your cheek. He raises an eyebrow, gesturing towards the stairs you’d seen countless couples go up throughout the night. 

You’ve barely stumbled off the dancing area when you’re suddenly attacked by a fiery drunkard, who immediately nestles his way between the two of you. “I was looking all over for you guys!” Taehyung slurs, hanging off your side. 

“That’s nice, Tae,” Jungkook grunts, trying to peel him away from the two of you in the subtlest way possible. Despite his obvious tipsy state, his hawk-like instincts kick in anyway, eyeing the way Jungkook tries to move towards you. 

There’s a heavy pause then, the both of them staring each other down. They’re probably having another one of those telepathic conversations right now, and you’re static between the two of them. Eventually, Taehyung backs down, though his jaw twitches as he spares you one last glance, before sauntering off to enjoy himself once more. 

You can more or less guess what it’s about. 

Jungkook doesn’t waste any time, tugging you up the stairs and into a dark hallway with doors on both sides. You vaguely recognize the door Taehyung had stumbled through earlier in the night before he’d performed his balcony stunt, but you don't dwell on in too much before Jungkook’s pushing you through another open door. 

It’s someone’s bedroom, obviously, and you feel some sort of guilt for all the people that have probably run through this person’s belongings during the course of the night. Apparently, Jungkook’s hidden talent is distracting you in a moment’s notice, his mouth suddenly sealed to yours, not even bothering to flick the lights on. The stranger’s bedroom slips to the back of your mind.

In all the fantasies you’ve had of Jungkook, none of them went quite like this. They were always more romantic, filled with tearful confessions and lingering gazes, the Jungkook in your head so soft and shy, too hesitant to touch you, let alone kiss you. 

You’re not sure where the younger you got these ideas from, because the real Jungkook is nothing alike. His mouth is hot when he slots it against yours, harshly biting down on your lip until you’re crying out. He doesn’t feel (or at least show) an ounce of sympathy before he’s shoving his tongue down your throat. 

You choke, momentarily flinching away in surprise. You catch sight of the hungry glare of his gaze, before he’s diving in again. You’re more prepared the second time around, fingers hesitantly wrapping around his neck as he licks into your mouth. He’s cornered you against the desk in the room, your ass pressing against the edge, and he uses it to his advantage, lifting you to rest on top. 

He glances at your swollen lips, beaming at the sight. “Gonna fuck you so good, angel,” he says, nudging your legs open to squeeze between them. You tremble at his words. 

He’s kissing down your neck, tongue laving over the skin only to bite you, when things take a turn. “You clean?” He murmurs, a little preoccupied with his work on your neck. 

You pause. “I- Yes?”

Jungkook stills immediately, pressing one final chaste kiss to your skin before leveling you with a confused furrow of his brows. “You sure?” You flounder, totally unsure. Jungkook’s lips twist into a frown. His hands are still wrapped around the sides of your thighs, but you don’t miss the way he subtly shifts away from you. You nod, but you suspect Jungkook doesn’t believe you. 

He sighs. “Look, I didn't bring a condom, and if you’re not clean, then I don’t really want to...” he trails off, awkwardly glancing out the window to his left, people crowding the backyard. You’re not entirely sure why, but the mood feels wrong all of a sudden. 

“I-” you start, and cut off when he levels you with that intense stare of his. “I’m not sure... what you mean,” you admit, so incredibly nervous as you watch him work his lower lip between his teeth. 

“What?” He says in disbelief, and your eyes widen at the disappointment in his voice. “You clean or not?” Your mouth opens and closes for a few minutes, before you ultimately settle on a one-shouldered shrug. 

Jungkook’s eyes roll into the back of his head, his jaw twitching. “How do you not know?” He interrogates, and your cheeks flush in shame. “Have you fucked someone that might’ve been,” he waves a hand around, gesturing about something, “y’know?”

You shake your head. “I... I’ve never had sex,” you admit.

The air seems to be sucked out of the room at your confession, Jungkook’s annoyed expression slowly melting away. Stuck in a vacuum, you can hear the hard thumps your heart gives from its position lodged inside your throat.

You hear the party downstairs and outside continue in full swing, and, when you focus your ears enough, can hear the muffled moans coming from the room next door. Your ears burn, and you hastily begin apologizing to Jungkook, ready to brush him away, when he surges forward to connect your mouths for the third time that night. 

He bites your lower lip hard, your cry swallowed by his lips as he begins kissing you with a passion you’ve never felt from any other kisses before. When he pulls away with a lewd smack of your lips, you’re panting for breath, chest rising and falling with every movement. His eyes momentarily flicker to the swell of your breasts. 

He ducks down, one hand gliding up the center of your body to urge you to lean back, your arms barely catching the edge of the desk in time. “Holy fuck,” he breathes against your chest, pressing one brief kiss to the top of your breast. “You really are a little angel, aren’t you?”

You gasp when a hand tugs your legs open as much as your dress allows, slipping between your spread thighs to run a finger up your throbbing core. Your thighs tremble at the sudden touch, a moan ripping itself out of your throat. “So pretty,” Jungkook praises, slowly sinking to the floor between your legs. 

The sight of his black tuft of hair between your legs makes your toes curl. 

“What’s a good girl like you wearing these panties for?” Jungkook murmurs, his hands pushing the hem of your dress as far up as it’ll go to expose the little number you’d pulled out of your closet that day. It was the only seamless underwear you could wear with this dress, and had picked it carelessly because you’d been planning on going home right after your graduation anyway. But, y’know. 

“I needed it for the dress,” you answer, your voice uncharacteristically dainty as you stare him down. 

Jungkook loops his fingers around the sides, eyes meeting yours as he slowly pulls it down your legs, fingers trailing over your calf muscles. Once he’s tugged your feet out of it, he doesn’t hesitate to bring it up to where you can both see it, inspecting the crotch area. You’re mortified to see the way it glistens. 

You hadn’t been aware how wet you’d become until then, Jungkook’s head tilting to the side as he stared down the offending article. Your humiliation only increases when he brings it to his nose, and takes one long whiff of it. 

His eyes flutter shut, and he moans on the exhale. “You smell delicious,” he sighs, and takes one more glance at your panties before carelessly tossing the pair over his shoulder. Your mouth is agape, unsure of how to feel at such an action. Jungkook doesn’t seem to notice, turning his attention back to your exposed pussy. “I bet you taste even better.”

You don’t get to properly process his statement before he’s burying his mouth between your thighs, sucking your clit between his lips. You cry out in pleasure right away, back arching as he swirls your bud around his tongue, eyes watching your every expression. Your hands wildly search for something to hold onto, before settling on the edge of the desk and his hair. 

“J-Jungkook,” you moan, biting your bottom lip as you try to suppress any more embarrassing sounds. He hums, the sound sending vibrations through your clit and up your spine. 

While you’re distracted by the ministrations of his tongue, he trails his fingers down your slit, grinning when you finally register the touch with a sharp gasp. He pulls off your bud with a pop, leaning back to stare at your virgin hole as he swirls his fingers around it. 

“You touch yourself, angel?” He questions, pressing a soft kiss to your thigh, finger gently probing against your opening. When you don’t answer, he bites the soft inside of your thigh, the way you tremble a sight for his eyes. “Answer me.”

Your eyes feel heavy, lips quivering as you watch him become entranced with your cunt. “Sometimes,” you admit, shame building in your chest at the wicked grin he sends your way. 

Jungkook pushes the tip of his finger in, pausing as your body spasms to adjust. “You’ve touched this pretty little pussy?” He asks, accepting the hurried nod you give him as an answer. “What do you think about, angel?”

He pushes his finger in halfway, and you moan, your body clenching around the unusual feeling. While you might’ve had your own fingers stuffed inside of you before, they were nothing like Jungkook’s thick and long digit, testing out how much he could curl it so far. “Y-You,” you confess, raising your fist to your mouth to bite down on it. 

“Oh?” Jungkook murmurs, eyebrows raising at the confession. He leans down, pressing a tender kiss to your clit again. If he’s surprised, he doesn’t let it show. “Do you think of me fucking you? Bending you over your bed while our parents are talking in the driveway outside?” He proposes, tongue slipping out to tease at your clit as he slowly pushes his finger the rest of the way in. “Or do you think of sitting on my cock during one of my and Tae’s sleepovers, angel? You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Getting yourself off while everyone else is asleep,” he croons, and you yelp when he shoves the second finger in, not even bothering to go slowly. “Sounds nice, doesn’t it, angel?”

You whimper, mind clouded by all the possibilities he’d stuffed into your head. Until then, they’d all been fantasies, little snippets that would drift into your consciousness every now and then, ones you’d push away in a haste, never letting them rile you up for too long. 

It seemed impossible to apply that same mentality now, with Jungkook’s tongue flicking over your clit lazily, mocha irises drifting up to meet yours. You nibble your bottom lip, nails digging into the grainy underside of the desk as you watch that disgustingly arrogant smirk cross his features again. 

His fingers twist and bend inside of you. Immediately, your mouth drops open, whole body tingling as his shoves his two fingers deeper inside, until his knuckles are brushing the delicate lips of your pussy. Instinctively, your legs try to clamp around him, to which he halts you by pressing his hand down on your hip. 

You cry out after a particularly brutal scissor of his fingers, which Jungkook apparently deems as a sign of you being fully prepared, slipping his fingers out of you. He presses one final kiss to your hip bone and rises to his feet again. His ares are fixed on your exposed pussy for a second, before he glances back at you. 

“So you really are a virgin, huh?” He murmurs, rubbing one palm soothingly over your hip. He brings the hand that had been buried inside of you up to his mouth, sucking your juices off his fingers with a pleasured groan. “Fuck, you taste good,” he sighs, cheeks hollowed around his fingers. 

You seem to be caught in a trance as you watch him, plush pink lips wrapped around the long expanse of his fingers. They’re glistening, both from your own wetness and his saliva. He pulls his fingers out, the sound lewd in every sense of the word, and brings them up to your mouth instead. “Taste,” he urges, leaning in close, “you’re so sweet, angel,” he purrs, pushing his digits into your mouth until your tongue is forced to lick around them. 

It’s an odd feeling to taste yourself, but you can’t really complain, not when Jungkook seems hypnotized by the sight of you. So you make the best out of it, twirling your tongue around his fingers until he’s deemed it enough, and yanks them out of your mouth with a ragged breath. 

“Gonna fuck you now,” he tells you, unbuckling his belt. You’ve been vaguely aware of the erection straining inside his pants since you first walked into the room, but it’d honestly slipped to the back of your mind, overshadowed by other matters. 

Now, you’ve seen your fair share of dicks, the majority, if not all, in the form of unsolicited snapchats from fuckboys at your school. But Jungkook was older than them, and thus probably had more experience and expertise with how to present his dick in a way that didn’t make girls go ewww. 

He doesn’t make it much of a show, doesn’t even bother taking his pants or briefs off. Instead, he tugs his hard cock out of its confines, and a moan catches in your throat despite the simplicity of the big reveal. His dick is thick, and long, longer than your entire hand at least. After giving it a few harsh pulls, he gets impossibly bigger. 

He must’ve sensed your fascination with it, because he doesn’t hesitate to bring your significantly smaller palm closer to him. “C’mon,” he teases, closing your fingers with his own, “don’t be scared.”

You play with him a little bit, shaky fingers tracing over the vein that decorates the side of his cock. You run the tip of your index finger down the slit at the head of his cock, and watch as a little white pearl of pre-cum slowly dribbles out onto your fingers, Jungkook groaning softly into your ear. He watches you spread his own self-made lube around his member, and groans, “I’m gonna fucking ruin you, my little angel.”

After you’re done examining your first ever dick, Jungkook wraps one arm around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer. Your legs dangle off the side of the desk still, the blood flow barely reaching your toes now. Jungkook grasps the base of his cock in one hand, tracing the rosy head around the tight ring of muscle leading into your soaking cunt. 

You cry out, wrapping one hand around him. The positioning feels all wrong; you feel too far away, the desk stiff underneath you. You whine, trying to tug him closer but your entire body still feels weak from the way his tongue had caressed you earlier, and you end up a huffy, pouty mess in his arms. 

Jungkook chuckles, pressing a kiss to the corner of your lips. He slides his hands beneath your thighs, before fully sheathing himself inside of you. You scream, your back arching in pain that slowly melts away into the beginnings of pleasure. “J-Jungk-”

“Shh,” he says, pressing kisses all along your jawline. In an ultimate display of strength, he hauls you off the desk, cock still fully inside of you, as he walks you over to the window, satisfying the part of you that was desperate to be closer to him. You feel the cold press of the glass against your shoulders before you can protest, and for a moment, the idea of everyone below you watching Jungkook defile you sparks a growing sense of shame in your chest, even though the room is dark and there’s no way they could possibly see you–right?

Jungkook doesn’t let you dwell in these dark thoughts for long, before he’s slowly moving his hips, pulling his cock out and slamming back into you. “All these people,” he huffs, setting the pace for the fucking you’re about to get right then and there. His hips slowly gain speed, transitioning from slow and shallow thrusts to rapid ones that almost hurt, had his dick not been rubbing against your swollen clit with each movement. “They’re all gonna watch you, angel,” he purrs, laving his tongue over the side of your neck, before biting down. 

“P-Please,” you whimper, fingers digging into his shoulders as your body becomes used to the feeling of Jungkook inside of you. You’re still embarrassed, but the more Jungkook talks, the more excited you get about someone actually seeing you. It’s a kink you never thought you’d have, getting off on others watching you, yet here you are. “Faster, Kookie,” you beg, his childhood nickname absentmindedly rolling off your lips. 

Jungkook jolts at the name, his hips stilling mid thrust. For a moment, you’re scared he came to his senses, realizing how absolutely wrong it was for him to be fucking you, his best friend’s little sister, against a window where everyone could see. But the thought seems to be only in your mind, as Jungkook suddenly resumes his actions. 

“Fuck, angel,” he grunts, snapping his hips with even more fervor. “You’re gonna be the death of me,” he laughs, though it’s choked and raspy, unlike the laughter that you’d been hearing all night. His hands, which had both been firmly clamped onto your hips to hold you against the window sill, leave. One slams down on the glass beside your head, while the other moves to grab the back of your thigh, hitching your leg up higher. 

The adjustment has him hitting an entirely new angle within you, and you nearly sob when the tip of his dick brushes your cervix. “K-Kookie!” you cry, every nerve in your body tingling. 

Jungkook presses a bruising kiss to your lips, swallowing every little noise you make. “You’re still gonna–fuck,” he curses, after a particularly harsh thrust that leaves him slowly grinding his hips against you for a second. “Still gonna call me that– stupid fucking name?” He chokes out, rutting into you with an inhumane pace, teeth clenching as he watches his own cock plunge into the depths of your achingly warm hole. 

You moan, fingers digging into his shoulders as he continues his thrusts, never stopping to let you watch your breath. The heat building inside your core is brimming, so close to exploding already that you become desperate for more. “More,” you beg, “pl-please.”

“Say it,” he spits, letting go of the window to grasp your hip again, his grip so tight it’ll probably leave bruises tomorrow morning. “Say it again,” he taunts, finally bottoming out inside of you, holding your hips as he slowly grinds his hips into you. 

“I-I don’t underst–”

“Bullshit,” he growls, pressing his forehead against yours. Your chest heaves, desperate for air as he continues slamming into you with a ridiculous strength. “Just do it, ___,” he demands. “Call me that childish name while my cock’s stuffed so deep inside you, you can barely breathe,” he huffs, and the strings of your arousal slowly begin pulling undone, your body so close to it’s breaking point as he continues thrusting. “Does that get you going? Thinking about all the times we could’ve done this before.”

You whine, your body beginning to feel like gelatin, as you shake your head. “Did you think about me fucking you when I was your math tutor? Or how I could’ve bent you over the backseat of my dad’s old car? Or maybe you fantasized about how it’d feel after one of my games?” You wail, and a cocky smirk crosses his features. “Ohhh, so you got off on that one, huh? Did you imagine riding me inside the locker rooms while poor Taehyung waited for us in the parking lot? I always knew you weren’t really a good little girl, ___. Maybe you aren’t an angel after all, hm?” You shake your head no, tears and moans escaping your lips, your body finally giving out on you, your thighs quivering around him as your body spasms, overcome with your orgasm. 

You feel your own cum slowly drip down the back of your thighs, body slumping back against the window as Jungkook continues fucking into you like an animal in heat. Dazedly, you trace a hand over the side of his face, murmuring a soft, “Kookie.”

Jungkook moans as your sensitive pussy throbs around him, unintentionally clenching around him. The drag must feel nice, because his thrusts become wild and off tempo, until he’s ramming into you sporadically, desperate for his own release. 

It comes a few moments later, with a few soft caresses to his face, and sweet pecks to lips. He busts inside of you, his hips meeting yours one last time, before his mouth goes slack against yours, and you feel his semen paint your walls. You whine at the feeling, body jolting. 

Jungkook doesn’t hesitate to haul you off the window sill, carefully dropping you down the perfectly untouched mattress, before falling down after you. All is calm for a few moments, the only sounds registering in your brain the harsh breathing of both you and Jungkook, and the slowing beat of your heart. 

After a while, everything else begins filtering in; the loud thumping of the bass downstairs, the hoots and hollers of the partygoers (Taehyung’s are probably mixed in), and the general ruckus that comes from having so many youths gathered in one place. 

It hits you then, and you’re quick to tug your dress back down over your ass, despite the cum dripping out of your pussy. Jungkook startles at your sudden movement, moving at the pace of a literal sloth as he tries to calm your nerves and persuade you to lay back down. His dick is limp and shiny with cum now, which not only makes it less sexy, but also is a stark reminder of what you just did with your older brother’s best friend. 

“Hey, hey, it’s alright,” he soothes, tucking his penis back into his pants as if sensing your growing anxiety. He seems nothing like the Jungkook who’d just fucked your brains out, but more like the Jungkook from your childhood. You’re not sure which one is worse. 

“Taehyung’s gonna hate us,” you cry, hopelessly trying to reign in the tears that threaten to spill over your waterline. Jungkook pulls you into his chest, your hands immediately flying to ball his shirt beneath your palms. 

Jungkook presses a kiss to the crown of your head, and you’re not sure if your heart skips because of that or because you’re crying. “Calm down, angel,” he murmurs, running his fingers down your spine. Before you can get in a protest about how you can’t possibly be calm in this situation, Jungkook beats you to it. “Tae already knew I was gonna make a move on you tonight, there’s nothing to worry about,” he hums, and your body stills. 

You pull out of his embrace to fix him with a confused, wide-eyed stare. “What do you mean Taehyung already knew?!” He’d been trying to ease your nerves, but if anything, made them worse. 

Jungkook sighs, “for a smart girl, you’re pretty stupid sometimes.”

Your watery eyes narrow dangerously at him, and Jungkook is quick to come to his own defense. “I’m sorry! It’s just,” he worries his bottom lip between his teeth, and even though the room is still shrouded in darkness, you get the feeling he’s blushing. When he finally glances back, his eyes are big and innocent, and you have a hard time connecting this Jungkook to the one from ten minutes ago who folded you like a chair against the window. 

“You were right about what you said downstairs, Taehyung has always been overprotective about you being with guys,” he mumbles. “He was mad when I told him I liked you during my senior year, but he knew I would never go after you, because I was becoming an adult or whatever, and then I guess he thought I was gonna get over it when we went to college. But then, like, I never did, so that’s why he was mad when he saw me bringing you upstairs, but you just looked so good tonight when you were dancing, and I’ve been sort of in love with you since we were kids, that I couldn’t help myself, and I just– Are you crying?!” His rambling is cut short.

“No!” You shout, except you definitely are. You sniffle, wiping away the makeup that has long since been ruined as you try to hide your face from Jungkook. Said boy is staring at you like a deer caught in headlights, unsure if he should console you or let you cry it out. He settles on the former, ducking his head down until you’re forced to meet his imploring gaze. 

You whine, pushing his head away as you scramble to gather your thoughts. “You’re so annoying,” you huff, getting the last of the tears wiped away as you level him with an irritated glare. “Instead of telling me you liked me, you basically stole my virginity, which you apparently asked my brother for–my brother! Of all people,” you scold, tweaking his nipple between your fingers, before trying to ignore the heated gaze he gives you from such an action. 

You let one irritated groan tear its way out of your throat before you’re burying your way back into Jungkook’s arms. “You’re not mad, right?” He murmurs, soft and caring, and you’re totally mad, because it feels like you’ve somehow been conned out of your own virginity. 

Except you tell him, “no, I’m not, because I’m kind of in love with you too,” and get to hear the giddy whoop that leaves Jungkook’s lips. 

#thekpopnetwork #kpopwonderlandtag #jeon jungkook smut #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook #jjk smut #jeongguk smut #jjk #bts jeon jungkook #bts jungkook #bts smut #mine #y'all i write those before my finals.... my precalc exam...whew....rip in pieces girl!!!

[hisgirlwonder]

Heart-Shaped Glasses cont. (Duncan Shepherd x Reader)

Length: 2.5K words Warning: Smut – daddy kink, age play/regression, food play, face fucking, “forced” orgasms, use of sex toys, degrading, that kind of thing. Synopsis: Summer days are for laying around, soaking in the pool, and drinking pink lemonade to cool down (but the sun isn’t the only thing that’s hot in this household.) Notes: I wanted to have this out a few days ago but things happened in my outside-Tumblr-life and I wasn’t able to. Please read my warnings and don’t click the button below if any of that offends you. Here on this blog we write for almost all kinks and are very open so expect some things you may not like. Oh and SORRYYYY if you feel like you have a sore throat after reading this, I enjoyed writing the nasty scenes and I hope you enjoy reading them :’) first part is here for my angels who haven’t read it.

“Well, do you?”

You say nothing, do nothing, except continue to suck on the popsicle Duncan gave you innocently. Your chilled lips stay shut with barely an inch of space around the frozen treat; bait for his frustration. Duncan wants a response and as the saying goes what Daddy wants, Daddy gets so when he sticks a hand out, palm faced up, you oblige without hesitation in handing over what you were eating.

*

Duncan thinks two can play at that game to himself and copies you, remaining silent. He drags the melting popsicle over your skin; along the curve of your neck, down your chest, and all over your nipples hiding behind the fabric of your swimsuit. Patches of red appeared and would probably stain but you were preoccupied with other things such as the thought of how it was so fucking hot when Duncan dirtied you up.

The feeling of his warm, wet tongue lapping up the sickly sweet remnants on your throat birthed goosebumps on your skin. Duncan traces a number of sticky paths over your flesh with his teeth and tongue; alternating between small licks with its tip and nibbles with those pearly whites. He brings the popsicle to your own mouth and sliding it in and out lewdly in a display of dominance and his other hand is undoing the bow around your neck.

Duncan tugs your swimsuit down and exposes your bosom in all its glory. He then follows this up by removing the popsicle slowly and allows it to drip down your chin. Duncan’s hands are turning into a mess too but he’s concentrating on your facial expressions while running the icy pole over your nipples; awakening them from their slumber and causing them to harden.

The icy treat breaks off the stick, probably from the heat of the day and also the heat between the two of you, and falls in your lap. Duncan has that look in his eyes; the one that appears before he’s about to do something mischievous. He’s a grown man but still easy to read like he’s thrown back in time and an oversexed teenager with a skull full to the brim of covetous and impure thoughts appears before you. He picks the melting treat off your lap and smashes it into your chest. You flinch from the sudden drop in temperature.

Duncan’s mouth takes a beeline dive to its favourite place, your nipples, and tries to clean up the mess he’s made. You interrupt him to slide out of the article of clothing that’s resting around your waist and has all of a sudden become pointless, throwing it to the side once it’s off without a care.

*

You slither around Duncan and into the pool. He soon follows suit by stripping off and jumping in. He swims over to where you are and you provoke him, fighting to break away from his reach but he overpowers you and wins. Duncan pushes you into the wall of the pool with his lower half; his erection pressing into your ass. “Now Daddy really has a problem,” he growls.

You act out imprudently and Duncan knows he could stop you but doesn’t, leaving you to escape the pool. As you’re swimming away, he stretches out an arm to grab your ankle but the fingertips of his hand only just grace the bottom of your soles.

“What are you doing all the way over there, princess?”

You look away and cross your arms over your chest, bringing them down as you begin to huff like a schoolgirl not getting what she wants. Duncan swims over and plants himself next to you. His sights are locked onto you in fascination watching the movements you can’t restrict so easily; the rise and fall of your upper body with each inhale and exhale, the way those crossed arms moved with your chest when you’d breathe, and the subtle, delicate movements of your lashes when you blinked.

He strokes your cheek and your eyes shut but still facing away from him so he couldn’t see the grin that was trying to emerge. That same hand drifts down to touch your chest, palming one of your swollen tits entirely. His strong, slender digits’ hone in on your nipples to play with them; something you couldn’t resist.

“Daddy just needs your mouth, baby girl. Look what you’ve done to him.”

“Is that so?” you drily remark. Duncan loved your smart mouth but he loved putting you in your place even more. He squeezes, tugs, and rolls your nipples around in between his fingertips causing pain to shoot through them.

“Ouch, you’re hurting me,” you cry out, pretending that you were in the kind of pain you didn’t enjoy. Duncan always knew when you were pretending because you apparently had signs you gave off; that or he played with you more than enough times to know when you really were hurt.

“Daddy has to show his baby girl who’s boss.” he reminds you in a tone that’s almost a taunt.

Duncan drops the assault with his hand and instead stands up out of the water. Your eyes are on his crotch and you've been made all too aware of just how badly he needs your mouth. He wraps a hand around the shaft and presses it to break through the crack in between your lips. Once he’s in, he starts off slow but the celerity soon picks up with each movement.

The physicality of how much of a tease you’ve been this afternoon hits and he doesn’t restrain himself. Duncan’s dominant hand finds the back of your head to slams the aching cock deep in your mouth repeatedly. The other one meets the hand already helping enforce the penance and by now your mouth is well and truly fucked; spit leaking everywhere and tears glazing your eyes.

He holds you in place, restricting your ability to breathe, and you’re starting to choke on his thick phallus. You’d try and push off but you know he’d overpower you and it didn’t even matter because moments like these are ones you’d happily die in.

A look of being drunk on your submissiveness and the power you’ve given him hits his face. You smack on his thighs as if to say I can’t breathe and Duncan yanks you back with a fist full of hair. In this moment Duncan begins to wonder how tear stained he can make your cheeks.

You gasp and begin trying to fill your lungs with as much oxygen as you’re able to but he thinks he hasn’t had enough and repeats the violent action three more times before deciding you’ve had enough and lets you go. Your body slumps forward in exhaustion but it’s very brief before the high of what just happened kicks in. You want more. An innocent voice breaks free from your beaten throat and says, playing, “There’s a feeling and I ‘unno what it is, Daddy.”

That was a flat out lie because you knew exactly what it was. It was a burning desire swirling between your legs, aching over your need for him to use you.

“I have an idea,” Duncan tells you, putting out his hand for you to grab onto. He assists in helping you step up and once you’re on your feet, squats down and signals for you to jump on his back.

*

“So soft,” you giggle as he’s towel drying your skin. Once satisfied he picks you up and your legs wrap around his waist with your feet locking together. Your cheek leans on Duncan’s shoulder and you query him as to what’s happening. He replies while walking to the playroom, “We’re going to play that fun game, the one you love so much.”

He lays you gently on the bed and grabs one of the soft toys strewn over the bed to hold it out and asking you to tell your beloved teddy where the feeling is. You point between your legs and Duncan winks to the admission. He grinds the stuffed animal against your bud which leads to you moaning in excitement and writhing around.

Duncan mocks you with things like looks like you’re enjoying that, you’re a dirty girl, and I should punish you for doing bad things to your toys before he hands it to you in a hint that you’ll need it.

For a second you aren’t feeling anything and you can’t see Duncan but that soon changes when his breath hits your slit and his tongue licks it clean. You try to thrust your hips into his face but he swiftly moves to hold them down and instructs you not to be so eager. The mouth that was mocking you ravages your needy cunt like it was starved and you were the last morsel of food it was going to taste. You sink your teeth into the toy you’re holding because it just feels so good.

Maybe Duncan was a deity that you were actually worshipping when oh my god would come out of your mouth in moments like these and perhaps your jokes about him being God were more literal than a figure of speech.

Your eyes close as you bask in the pleasure he's bringing to your body. It grows, and grows, and grows until you’re almost tipped over the edge. The climax you’re waiting for is nearly within your own reach but he stops. Your lids recede and you’re brought back to the present moment. You sharply exhale and glare at him in a way that was saying why did you stop but he gave you a one back that said don’t be so demanding because I haven’t finished yet.

*

Duncan pushes his cunt-hungry cock between your folds and slips inside without any effort required; you’re sopping wet from a mix of his saliva and your own lust. As he does his fingertips dance over your bud to beckons you over the edge, into the climax you so desperately desired. He didn’t dare move once he was in - he wanted to feel it all; the contracting of your muscles, the release, your jerks from the fulfilment of physical gratification.

With you right where he wants you he breaks the stationary position and slowly thrusts while thumbing at your clit – the post-orgasm stimulation to such a sensitive place forces a whimper in a mix of agony and arousal to escape. You try to shut your legs and wail it’s too much while giggling. Duncan holds them apart and looks at you with slightly narrowed eyes, growling, “Somehow I don’t think that’s true. You know you’ve been a bad girl and now you have to pay.”

He flips you over so effortlessly that he could have done it with one finger and drives himself back inside you, grunting as it glides in. Your back arches and you push back. He responds by asking how bad you want to make it up to daddy. You whine so baaaaad and by now he’d usually be retaliating but today he doesn’t and reaches over for your wand off the nightstand.

Duncan in the bedroom at times was a completely different person. Like, for example, right now he was saying obscene things about you while he fucked you and you love it. In the height of his endearing yet degrading you’re a little slut who loves her Daddy so much she’d do anything for him he switches the toy on and holds it against your clit – you squirm around because it’s almost unbearable but it feels so good and Duncan gets a kick out of it. He continues to fuck you and you orgasm two more times, each stronger than the last.

By his moaning you know he’s getting closer to his own climax and wants you to reach your peak once more so he turns the vibrations up even higher than it was. You cry out Daddyyyyyy while wiggling around beneath him on your knees and you orgasm harder than you previously had. Duncan notices just how much of your wetness is over his cock, the insides of your thighs, and his legs. He throws your wand to the side and hooks hands around your hips to pull you in close and fuck you mercilessly.

It isn’t long before he comes completely undone and filling you entirely while making heavy, guttural noises. He rolls off of you lays beside you. The bed now held two sweaty, spit-covered, cum-soaked, fucked-to-exhaustion, bodies - both of which were extremely happy.

Taglist: @avesatanormalpeoplescareme @sensitivethot @sacredlangdon @langdonsdemon @sammythankyou @taintedaffairs @queencocoakimmie @violett124 @1-800-bitchcraft 

Also, adding in these ones who reblogged/commented on the first part and I can tag: @moltenskeleton @horrorr-hoee @langdons-little-girl @thedeviltohisangel @bbyduncan @fangirlbang @dramapenguinthe3rd @plsfuckmelangdon @michael-langdon-owns-my-soul

#hoc smut #house of cards smut #duncan shepherd smut #hoc fanfic #house of cards fanfic #duncan shepherd fanfic #duncan shepherd x reader #duncan shephered x you #duncan shepherd x yn #daddy!duncan #dom!duncan #writing #fanfic #house of cards #hoc #duncan shepherd #hopefully this doesn't suck because i've been all over the place

[welllpthisishappening]

More Famous Than a Yankee Can

He knows it’s not a dream. He’s had this dream before. Finding her again and talking to her again and wearing pinstripes. They usually aren’t all the same dream. So this has to be real. But the last place Killian Jones ever expected to see Emma Swan was while he was wearing those pinstripes. With her standing on the bleachers in Yankee Stadium. 

Rating: Like...T’ish.  Word Count: I don’t know, a lot. Probably like 8K. I got sports emotions. AN: HAPPY OPENING DAY! THE YANKEES ARE GOING TO WIN THE WORLD SERIES. This has been sitting in my docs for several eons, but baseball season starts today and I’ve got baseball tickets on Sunday and, well...here are some words. This is a direct sequel to Start Spreading the News so it may help to read that, but if you’re like Laura, that is too many words, here’s what you need to know: Emma and Killian grew up together, haven’t seen each other in years, Emma’s at a Yankee game when she realizes Killian plays RF and the Bleacher Creatures play Cupid to get them back together. 

Also on Ao3 if that’s how you roll. 

Also, also, if you are in the baseball mood, here’s some shameless self promo because I wrote a baseball book (two, in fact) with more kissing and more sports emotions and you can buy it and read it. 

She is impossibly warm.

It’s the first thing he thinks about, as soon as her fingers wrap around the front of his t-shirt and he’s certain he can feel every single inch of her, standing there on the stoop in front of her apartment building and it’s kind of like holding onto his own, personal sun.

The whole thing is a fairly ridiculous notion, mostly because Killian shouldn’t be thinking about suns or any other celestial being when Emma Swan is kissing him, but it’s been that kind of day and he’s going to have to deal with the consequences of that whole seventh-inning stretch thing eventually. He’s fairly certain Regina is going to yell at him.

There’s a joke about getting burned in there. He’s circled right back around to the sun.

And, really, Killian knows that the heat is probably a product of sunshine and walking several dozen blocks, which probably wasn’t a good idea after playing a goddamn baseball game and ignoring a goddamn baseball game, but his legs didn’t seem to care and he certainly didn’t seem to care and he can’t stop kissing Emma.

Or the other way around.

It absolutely did not matter.

The very first time, the only time, they’d done this, he’d been an eighteen-year-old brat and she’d been sixteen and possibly the center of the entire universe. It had always felt that way, something about tides and drawn together and no one knew more about Killian Jones than Emma Swan did. Even Liam. It was easy to talk to her, sitting on back steps with the possibility of possibility in front of them and nothing seemed very likely, but that was equal parts exciting and terrifying for two teenage kids who could only count on their own dreams.

Neither one of them was ever really very good at sleeping.

It was because the house didn’t have consistent air conditioning.

So they sat and they talked and admitted things that were easier to say under a few stars, and they told him he had to leave three days after he turned eighteen. Killian told Emma, approximately, two hours and twenty-two minutes after.

Once he worked up the courage.

And his voice had shook, and his heart hammered against his ribs and he knew he stared at his shoes instead of her, because he wasn't sure he’d be able to cope with watching her expression change as soon as she processed the words. Or he didn’t want her to see his expression change as soon as he processed he might not ever see her again.

So he looked at his feet and stumbled over the words and she’d kissed him first then too.

Figured.

It was probably something about control and the sun never had to ask permission to shine.  

God, that sounded weird even in his own head. He assumes it’s because his fingers have found their way under the edge of her shirt and his mind is already drifting towards team-branded merchandise and how consistently he’d be able to hit if Emma was wearing his number.

What a possessive weirdo.

She didn’t freak out about the number thing though, and Killian wouldn’t have blamed her if she had, honestly. He’d kind of freaked out about the number thing because it was weird and sentimental and he hadn’t been hung up on a girl he knew when he was eighteen, but that might have been a lie and...something about Icarus.

Too close to the sun or whatever.

He needs to breathe.

Killian does not breathe. He can’t be bothered. He’s going to keep kissing Emma until she punches him in the face or something equally violent and absurd, because it’s been that kind of day and Regina’s going to hit him with several different bats.

Someone whistles.

One of them laughs when they, finally, pull away, foreheads resting on each other and smiles on their faces and touching her skin is like being burned and branded and some other verb that probably starts with the letter ‘b’ and is exponentially better than both of those ones.

“So the number thing wasn’t a total deal breaker then?” Killian asks softly, and Emma swats at his shoulder. He moves on instinct, years of training and practice and her eyes widen slightly when he catches her around the wrist.

It’s distracting in a way getting hit by a pitch is distracting. Like a ninety-six mile per hour fastball has just slammed into his thigh and left a bruise that won’t disappear for weeks, at least, and he’ll probably walk with a slight limp for a few games.

Killian needs to stop thinking of such violent metaphors. He briefly considers ducking his head to kiss her again, or profess several things that are completely out of the realm of possibility, but Emma is talking again and his whole mind keeps short-circuiting when that happens.

“A little stalkery, but in a nice kind of way,” Emma says.

“That’s the line I was trying to walk, for sure.” “So, uh…” “So what do you think you’re doing after the next home game?” Killian asks, and it immediately feels as if his heart bursts. Emma grins.

“When is that?” “Tomorrow.” She laughs, and it’s perfect and wonderful and he’d give up his signing bonus and player option to hear it every day for the rest of his life because he might have missed it every day for the last twelve years and he wants her to come to every single game for, like, the rest of forever.

Emma presses back up on her toes, an arm slung around his neck and the whole world could burst into flames and Killian isn’t certain he would notice. She kisses him again.

“Was that the answer?” he ask. “Because it didn’t seem like--”

“--Oh my God, you are needy. Yes, that was the answer. What did you have in mind, exactly?” He grins, hope and happiness and a ten-game hit streak he’s certain will be sparked solely on the way her eyes get brighter when she looks at him. “Everything.”

They don’t get off the stoop for a few more moments, which is, honestly, really kind of nice in a normal way that doesn’t include tragic backstories or professional baseball careers. It just is – the way it always was and, maybe, always could be and Killian is certain there are several thousand missed calls on the phone he turned off in the car.

“You, uh….do you have to get back to the Stadium?” Emma asks, and Killian kind of hates how cautious she sounds.

She stares at her shoes.

“Do you want me to?” “Ah, that’s a stupid, loaded question.” “Better get back to media training.” “Did you have to do that?”

He nods, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth and it is impossible not to be hopelessly charmed by her. He may tell her that eventually. “On more than one occasion,” Killian admits. “Every team has different rules and expectations and--” “--And I’m going to go ahead and assume there’s nothing straighter than Pinstripes, right?” “I’m not sure your joke made a ton of sense, Swan, but, something like that.” She winces, gritting her teeth like she’s nervous she’s the root of this problem that is the exact opposite of that. “Can you get benched in baseball?” “Yes.” “Really?” “Why would you think that I can’t? It’s a sport.” “No, no, I know, but, like...it’s not like basketball or something.” Killian arches an eyebrow, mostly so Emma will click her tongue and roll her eyes and he’s only slightly worried if he does, actually go upstairs, he’ll never actually leave. That’s even more stalker-esque than the number thing. He hopes Elsa isn’t there.

He and Emma have never actually made out on a couch.

It might be a nice change of pace.

“Aw, c’mon,” Emma sighs, palms back on his chest and his fingers keep drifting back to the hem of her shirt. “You know what I mean.” “I promise, love, I absolutely have no idea what you mean.” “I’m mostly just….I don’t know, apologizing? For causing a scene and you’re probably going to end up on SportsCenter and like in The Times right?”

“The New York Times? ”

“That’s a newspaper.” “I’m aware it’s a newspaper, Swan, but I doubt The New York Times is going to care about me or anything I did in right field unless it was catch a ball.” “You did that today,” Emma points out, and Killian is dimly aware of several camera shutter snaps a few feet away. He probably shouldn’t have worn team-branded apparel out.

That will probably be points five through eight on Regina’s inevitable list of all the things he’s done wrong in the last twelve hours.

“I did,” Killian agrees. “Kind of goes with the positional territory and you don’t have anything to apologize for, Swan.” She shakes her head before he’s finished talking, which is only slightly troubling, threatening to move some clouds in front of his metaphorical sun or however it would work. “I mean that’s just objectively untrue. There was yelling and you kept looking over your shoulder and that popcorn guy was so hardcore.” “Did he not tell you his name?” “No, that’s weird right?”

“Eh, I mean he was a little preoccupied distracting that one security guard.” “You saw that?” “Swan, you’ve got to stop acting like I don’t have eyes,” Killian laughs. “Or wasn’t almost painfully aware of you standing in that section.” “You were supposed to be catching foul balls!” “We’re repeating ourselves now. I did that. I promise, The Times does not care about it, I probably won’t get benched, could get benched, will likely get fined and yelled at by my agent, but you’re not punching me for the number thing and I’d really like to come upstairs.” She blinks. That’s not the immediate reaction he was going for, but it’s still not punching, so Killian assumes he’s working with some kind of hitter’s count.

“Thoughts,” Killian presses, and Emma’s eyes widen. They are distractingly green. Something about the Oakland A’s and uniform colors.

“About The New York Times?” “The amount I want to talk about The New York Times or any New York City publication is negligible, Swan. I’d be happy never to mention the newspaper industry again.” “Dying anyway.” “Daily News fired half its staff.” “Really?” Killian nods, the muscles in his face starting to ache from overuse. He’s fairly positive his calves are going to be sore for the rest of the season. It is all worth it. “Did you not know that?” he asks. “That was major news.” “I’ve been kind of busy. Unpacking and filling out paperwork. You know the NYPD makes you fill out a shit ton of paperwork before they’ll give you a badge.” “Yeah, I’d imagine.” Emma hums, but there’s nothing nervous about it. It sounds a bit like flirting. Killian hopes it continues to be a lot like flirting. For the rest of the season.

And longer.

“If I ask you to come upstairs again is that going to be weird?” “Nah,” he promises. “Unnecessary, but I did recently go to media training and I’m more than willing to answer questions on some sort of perpetual loop.” She smiles.

His heart bursts into flames.

“An incredibly impressive athlete,” Emma mutters. Her fingers are back on the front of his shirt, tugging lightly on fabric as she keeps smiling at him and definitely flirting with him. “C’mon, I unpacked my coffee mugs like as soon as I got here.”

There isn’t an elevator in her building, which isn’t doing much to help the state of Killian’s calves, but at some point Emma’s fingers lace through his and nothing really matters after that.

And he’s not entirely sure what he expected from a two-bedroom apartment in Chelsea, but walking into the room is like walking into a memory and it’s soft and warm and there’s a woman sitting on the couch.

That may make it difficult to make out there.

“Oh my God,” the woman breathes, eyes going wide and mouth hanging open and Emma’s hand tightens a fraction of an inch. Killian glances at her, a flash of a smile and something that might be a wink, but he’s admittedly a bit out of flirting practice and possibly losing what little control he had on the day.

The couch creaks when, presumably, Elsa jumps off it, crossing the space in a few, quick steps and Emma hisses in a breath. “You’re Killian Jones,” Elsa says, and it sounds like an accusation. He nods, the words getting caught in his throat and the vice-like grip Emma has on his hand. “You’re Killian Jones and you’re here. In my apartment. Well, our apartment. That’s...that’s a thing that is happening. I thought Mary Margaret was kidding.” “Wait, what?” Emma asks sharply. “You talked to Mary Margaret?” “Hours ago. I was honestly getting ready to send out some kind of search party. Did you guys walk back from the Bronx?” “Like 86th Street.” “Yuh huh.” “Got food.” “Right.” “Talked.” “Naturally.” Killian does his best to take a deep breath, but he feels like he’s being judged and evaluated for his trade stock again and Emma hasn’t ever let go of his hand. He tries to focus on that. It feels important.

Elsa’s eyes flicker towards him, a wry smile on her face. “You guys have made the news already,” she says, easy as anything and Emma curses loudly.

“Already, huh?” Killian asks. HIs voice doesn’t actually shake, which is as nice as it is surprising, but he knew it was going to happen as soon as his feet moved towards the warning track in the seventh inning and he’d absolutely spent the rest of the game glancing over his shoulder to make sure Emma was really there.

“I think there was some talk during the game, actually. Michael Kay was scandalized. Paul O’Neill thought it was kind of nice, I guess, at least that’s what David said and--” “--You talked to David about this too?” Emma interrupts, voice rising on every syllable and, that time, it’s Killian’s turn to squeeze his hand lightly.

“Was he the one that was going to kill me?” he asks.

Emma groans, but Elsa laughs softly, nodding as if she fully expected the conversation to deviate to murder plans and Paul O’Neill’s romantic tendencies. “You should absolutely be worried about that,” Elsa says. “Because he’s a huge Yankees fan and he was super excited when you got traded her.” Emma’s eyes look dangerously close to falling out of her face.

“What?” Elsa asks.

“No one thought to mention that?” Emma yells. She still hasn’t let go of Killian’s hand. He’s probably not counting the seconds or anything.

“No one knew that you knew Killian Jones.”

“I didn’t realize that was a prerequisite for knowing things! And it’s not really...I mean--” “--It’s been awhile,” Killian finishes. “What do you think we should name the popcorn guy? He didn’t introduce himself apparently.” Elsa laughs and Emma’s whole body sags with the force of her exhale, head landing on Killian’s shoulder in a familiar kind of way that makes his whole soul ache. That may also have something to do with all those blocks they walked and Regina is going to rip him apart.

Literally.

He has no idea how he’s going to swing a baseball bat tomorrow.

“So you just want to name him yourself?” Elsa asks, laughter clinging to the words. Killian nods.

“Feels rude to just keep referring to him as popcorn guy.” “Right, right, naturally. Did you know it was Emma as soon as he turned around?” He nods. “Immediately.” “Oh that’s stupid,” Emma sighs, both Killian and Elsa gaping at her and he refuses to be blamed for whatever his pulse does at the dejected tone of her voice. “No, no, not like that,” she continues. “Just...I mean I grew up, right?” Killian nods again. “I’m fairly certain that’s how the world works, love.” “Right, right, but you knew it was me.” “You knew it was me,” he says. “And you don’t even get to blame the uniform. No last names on pinstripes.” “A tradition like no other.” “That’s the Master’s.”

She laughs, soft and easy and her smile has already worked its way into several different corners of his being, tiny pinpricks of light that are far too sentimental for one day, but Killian knew it was her as soon as he turned around and he figure that has to count for something.

Everything.

“Why do you know that?”

“Why are you quoting taglines for sports you’re not aware of?” “I think you just like arguing with me?” “Not like that,” Killian argues, almost forgetting about Elsa entirely and there are goosebumps on Emma’s arms when he brushes his fingers over her shoulders. “It’s just--” “--Yeah, it kind of felt that way, didn’t it?”

“Exactly.” They haven’t actually said anything, not really, but they’re only a few feet into a three-story walkup in Chelsea and there’s still a roommate standing there and some overpaid SportsCenter anchor detailing the craziest thing you’ll see in baseball this season, and everything feels heavy and light and it would be easier if they were making out on the couch.

Killian doesn’t know why he’s so obsessed with the goddamn couch.

“I think the popcorn guy’s name is Bryan,” Elsa announces.

“What?”

“Bryan.” Emma jerks back when she repeats the name, eyebrows pulled low and she’s close enough to Killian that he’s a little worried he’s going to step on her feet. He keeps trying to occupy the same space as her. “Bryan,” Emma echoes, and Elsa shrugs. “Bryan the popcorn guy?”

“You got a better name? Also, shouldn’t he get kicked out for throwing popcorn at the field?” “We weren’t actually right on field level. I don’t think he’s got that good an arm.” “Aw, poor Bryan.” “We’re going to start calling him that and it’s not going to wind up being his name and that’s just going to be weird.” “You think you’re going to run into Bryan the popcorn guy again?” Elsa asks pointedly. Killian wonders if she’s a lawyer. It feels like they’ve just admitted to something.

He really hopes so.

There’s a blush to Emma’s cheeks, teeth digging into her lower lip and Elsa smiles triumphantly. “Maybe Bryan could buy you some peanuts next game or something. He’s getting his fifteen minutes because of you guys. Or CrackerJacks. Do they make CrackerJacks anymore?”

“That’s how the song goes isn’t it?” Emma asks. “Yes, but you were pretty busy during the seventh-inning stretch.” The blush gets….blushier.

That’s not a word.

He absolutely does not care.

“Aw, that wasn’t even clever,” Emma mutters. Elsa shrugs again.

“And they definitely still make CrackerJacks,” Killian adds. “They sell them at the Stadium, although I’m more partial to sunflower seeds during the game.” “No bubble gum, huh?” Elsa asks.

Killian opens his mouth to say something about even the thought of bubble gum is the worst thing in the world, but Emma answers before he can. “He got drunk on bubble gum flavored vodka once,” she explains, Elsa’s expression unreadable.

She’s definitely a lawyer.

“Did I ever actually introduce myself?” Killian shakes his head. “Not officially, no.” “Ah, that’s rude isn’t it? I’m so sorry.” Elsa thrusts her hand out in the space between them, a strong grip that’s not quite intimidating, but she was sitting on the couch and very likely waiting for Emma to come home and Killian can’t stop the groan that falls out of him when he hears his name coming from the general area of the TV.

“I think you guys are the lead story,” Elsa continues.

“God, of course we are,” Emma mumbles. And, reasonably, Killian knows he shouldn’t be thrilled by all of this, but yesterday he was sure Emma Swan was a distant memory and possible what if, but now her hand is wrapped up in his and it’s a little sweaty and a little warm and he really can’t stop thinking of sun-type puns.

So, honestly, he couldn’t care less about what’s supposed to happen when he’s far too preoccupied with what he wants and he pulls his phone out of his back pocket, turning it back on and pointedly ignoring the notifications on his screen.

He turns, flipping his wrist and presenting Emma with the phone. She lifts her eyebrows. “Am I supposed to know what that means?” “Tomorrow?” Killian asks, and it’s a shit way to ask her out on a second date, but he might be asking a hell of a lot more and he suddenly realizes he’d used the word everything before.

And she hadn’t objected to it.

“Is it supposed to be doing that?” “What?”

Emma nods towards the phone, lit up like it’s goddamn Times Square and they’d successfully avoided that on their trek downtown. “I think you’re under attack. And being called and texted at the same time.” “God, she needs to relax,” Killian mumbles, but he knows that’s like hoping tourists don’t stop and take photos in the middle of Times Square. He all but slams his thumb into the ignore button and Emma can’t quite keep her laugh quiet, which does something entirely unfair to several of Killian’s body parts, but he was woefully bad at science in high school and he never went to college and he’s spent way too much time thinking about the sun.

“Agent?”

“You’re a genius, Swan.” “That sounds a little like you’re making fun.” “I’m trying very hard to ask you out again.”

The blush turns into something else entirely, her lips pressed together and it almost feels as if his ribs are expanding and contracting at the same time. It’s not entirely unpleasant. It’s kind of warm in the way that home is supposed to be warm.

Elsa mumbles something about telling David to stop the search, but it’s white noise and Emma’s fingers brush over the back of his palm when she pulls the phone out of his hand.

“Yeah?” she asks softly, and Killian’s going to do permanent damage to his neck from nodding. It’ll be worth it.

He’s a sentimental, emotional sap and only kind of disappointed he didn’t actually hit that home run into section 203.

He figures he’s got the rest of the season to do it.

“Yeah,” Killian says. “So, uh….I don’t know what you’re schedule is like, but if there’s a chance you want to be in the Bronx again tomorrow. I can probably--” He doesn’t finish. Again. She’s kissing him and he’s kissing her and the floorboards make noise when Elsa moves towards her room, and it might not be the best first impression in the history of the world, but Emma makes a noise that Killian is suddenly determined to hear every day for the rest of his life, so that kind of takes precedence.

“Does that mean this was a date?” Emma asks.

“I’m a little disappointed that wasn’t more obvious.”

“Guess you’ll have to work on it the second time through the lineup.”

“That’s the greatest joke you’ve ever made.” “Now you’re just trying to woo me.” “Is it working?” She looks up, meeting his gaze and it’s all even and green and easy and his phone is still ringing in her hand. “Absolutely,” Emma promises. “And I’m off again tomorrow so if you want to prove your baseball importance and get me tickets or something then--” She doesn’t finish.

They need to stop this.

They absolutely do not need to stop this.

They spend a few more moments kissing in the middle of her apartment, and Killian hardly notices when his phone clatters to the floor. Emma exhales against him, fingers carding through the hair at the nape of his neck.

“Deal,” Killian says, bigger than four letters or one phone number exchange and it takes a few prolonged minutes to actually get his legs to agree to leaving that apartment.

He does, eventually, answer Regina’s calls, letting her shout and scream and mutter what an idiot no less than forty-two consecutive times, and she huffs when he asks about getting tickets for tomorrow’s game, but there’s a shout in the background and Robin was always kind of romantic anyway.

“Let him do it,” Robin calls. “Think about the pub.” “That’s not why we’re doing this,” Killian argues. It’s a losing battle.

Regina makes a noise like she’s thinking or considering profit margins and how this could all translate into an endorsement deal and the couch in Killian’s apartment is incredibly uncomfortable. He ignores that realization.

“Can you do it Regina?” he asks impatiently.

“Are you kidding me?” “Well you’re just grunting into the phone and I’ve got some police officer out for my head and his wife is questionably intimidating--” “--Wait, you’re intimidated by the police officer or his wife?” Robin asks, and it sounds like Regina has put the call on speaker phone.

Killian rolls his eyes. “That’s an antiquated question, Locksley.” “That’s a genuine question because this is a confusing situation. Were you pining over this girl forever is that honestly what’s going on?” “She’s not a girl.” There’s an almost too loud silence on the other end of the phone and Killian practically growls when he slumps down. And then Regina laughs.

Loudly.

So, maybe, he’s just descended entirely into madness. He hopes not. It would be really disappointing if this whole day was just a byproduct of his subconsciousness desperate desire to find Emma Swan again.

“Do you love her?” Regina asks pointedly, and now Robin is laughing and Killian might be dying. It would probably be more comfortable than this conversation. “Is that really what’s going on?” “Ah, c’mon, Gina, that’s romantic,” Robin sighs.

“Jones. I asked you a question.” “He always sucked at media training.” “That is patently untrue,” Killian counters, and he’s walked himself right into this corner. He’s going to blame popcorn guy.

He should probably buy popcorn guy goddamn season tickets.

“So then answer the question,” Regina says.

“No comment.” “That’s a yes,” Robin crows, and Killian can’t actually slide any further down the couch without twisting his spine into a wholly unnatural position.

“That’s not a yes.” “Sounded like a yes!” “Mills, can you control your husband,” Killian seethes, but there’s not actually much venom in the words and that’s only marginally frustrating.

“Look who’s antiquated now,” Regina mutters. “And are we only referring to each other by last name now?” “You started it.” “You are a child.” “No, he’s not,” Robin argued. It sounded like he was jumping up and down. “He’s in love and he wants to barter for this lady’s affections with seats in the box. Is that a better word, Jones?” “What is with the last name thing?” Regina asks sharply, and Killian’s eyes hurt when he squeezes them closed.

He’s going to bite his lip in half.

“Can you do it, Regina or do I have to call someone from...I don’t know, guest services?”

“That’s not the department you’d call at all guest services is for, like, groups and making sure there are first aid kits available.”

“If I make a joke about the state of your heart and your current need for first aid regarding your romantic life are you going to hit me the next time you see me?” Robin asks. It’s difficult to understand the question when he laughs it out though.

“Yes,” Killian answers simply. “I need you both to stop being so goddamn weird about this.” More silence.

Deafening silence.

The kind of silence that also threatens to hurt his spine.

“We can be not weird about this,” Regina says eventually, and that’s only kind of weird because it is absolutely the first time she’s ever said the word weird in real life. Killian’s mouth twitches. “But I’m thinking the love of your life probably won’t actually want to sit in the team box. She didn’t seem the type.” “You got that from the spot on SportsCenter?” “And a detailed breakdown of her and her friends from Ariel. I’d be worried about the police officer’s wife though. Sounded determined.” “She should be.” “He’s totally in love with her,” Robin mumbles, and Killian can’t bring himself to object. It’d probably be a lie anyway.

That’s not nearly as weird as it should be.

And Regina is as good as her word, she gets tickets, plural, in section 203 and Killian turns during roll call to find himself face to face with the goddamn sun. There’s light shining off her hair, tucked under a hat that makes her ears look almost ridiculous, but in the best kind of way and he never knows how he knows, because there’s no number on the front of her shirt, but she doesn’t have to turn around.

He knows.

He’s probably been in love with her since he was eighteen.

He figures that has something to do with it.

And whatever happens to every single nerve ending in his body when he realizes Emma is wearing his number in right field and smiling at him and he’s not great at winking, but Killian certainly makes an effort. He can’t quite hear her laugh over the din of the crowd and the next name on roll call, but he knows exactly what it sounds like and the force of her smile when she meets his gaze is only a little staggering.

Killian jumps when he hears the crack of a bat on ball and he only has a few seconds to react, but that’s all he needs. He’s kind of fueled on the metaphorical fire of Emma’s eyes anyway and his legs ache when he runs.

He runs as fast as he ever has.

The ball lands in his glove and he hasn’t actually practiced his fundamentals in years, but the cheers sound louder than normal and his ears are ringing a bit and Killian’s shoulder hurts when he slams into the wall.

His head snaps around immediately, looking for something he’s, at least, seventy-two percent certain he’s going to find, and Emma’s still smiling.

She’s also jumping. On the bleacher.

And yelling.

“What?” Killian shouts, throwing the ball back to the second-baseman and Regina is going to kill him, bring him back to life and then kill him again. He still can’t hear her.

“Again, Jones?” Scarlet laughs. He jogs towards the wall, glove tucked under his arm and an expression that’s somewhere between amused and incredulous.

That’s fair.

“Oh is that her?” Scarlet continues, nodding towards Emma and she’s standing with a guy who is probably the police detective. The police detective looks a little stunned. He doesn’t appear to be handling this as well as Mary Margaret was.

Maybe Killian will mention that at some point. It might earn him some extra points with Mary Margaret.

Killian makes a noise he hopes is an agreement in the back of his throat. “I can’t understand what she’s saying.” “Ah, that’s because you made some crazy catch in the outfield. Fans will fan, y’know. And, hey, maybe now that’ll lead SportsCenter and they won’t talk about this. Whatever this is.” “I doubt that,” Eric, the center fielder married to Ariel who is probably only too aware of what this is, objects. “Is she yelling a name?”

“It looks like she’s trying to direct planes at LaGuardia.” “JFK is a far superior airport. There’s all that construction at LaGuardia.” “Jesus Christ,” Killian mumbles, working a laugh out of both of them, but Scarlet is kind of right and Emma is pointing at the popcorn guy. He waves. “Oh, damn, it is a name. Swan, you’ve got to enunciate!” She scowls, the eye roll barely visible. Scarlet rests his forearm on Killian’s shoulder, using him as leverage to take in the crowd that’s still screaming and they’re all going to get suspended. Rob Manfred’s going to walk to Yankee Stadium and give them forty-game bans personally.

“Anyone tell you it’s super adorable that you’ve got a nickname for her?” Scarlet asks.

“That’s her name,” Killian reasons.

“Mmhm, didn’t Ariel say it was a nickname?” Eric nods. “Was adamant about it. And how lovestruck Jones was while he was trying to stalk this lady, but I mean we were there for that too.” “You tell her you didn’t need that part of the update?” “You met my wife?” “Fair,” Scarlet chuckles.

“Both of you shut up,” Killian snaps. “I can’t hear her. Swan, we’ve got to stop doing this. I’ve got to go hit!” She rolls her whole head that time, shoulders sagging with the force of her huff and it’s difficult not to be attracted to that. “His name’s not Bryan,” Emma yells, and popcorn guy is still waving.

The police detective has not blinked in days. At least. David. The police detective’s name is David. Emma told Killian that in front of Columbus Circle the day before.

“It’s not Bryan the popcorn guy,” Emma continues. “It’s Miles the popcorn guy!”

“Miles,” Killian repeats, her smile getting wider at the stunned tone of his voice.

“Miles the popcorn guy.” “Hey, Jones,” Miles says. He’s going to dislocate his shoulder from waving so much. “Nice catch! We’re, uh...ignore those message boards. The real fans are psyched you’re finally in pinstripes. Long time coming, huh?” “Something like that.” Will is never going to stop laughing and there are footsteps moving towards them, an umpire or Rob Manfred coming to get them out of the outfield and actually playing the game they’re paid millions of dollars to play.

It’s probably not Manfred though. There’d be way more booing from the fans in section 203.

“Have we walked into the Twilight Zone?” Eric asks.

“That’s a fair question, actually,” Killian admits.

“Does Miles only eat popcorn? That can’t be healthy.” “I haven’t done a detailed study of his dietary habits, strange as that may seem.” “At this point, I wouldn’t be surprised. Shit, we’re all get going to get fined for your romance.”

“It’s nice though,” Will argues. “Makes our storied franchise more relatable to the public. Right? I bet Jones’ agent has figured out a way to spin it. She kind of terrifies me.” “I’m going to tell her that,” Killian warns.

Will ignores him, waving a hand through the air and Emma’s eyebrows jump when the words fly out of his mouth. “Hey, hey! Jones’ girlfriend! You got a name? It’s going to be weird if you come into the clubhouse and I don’t know what your name is.” David blanches. That’s fair too. The whole thing is a seemingly never-ending farce.

“Emma,” she answers, and her voice doesn’t shake. If anything, it gets louder. The umpire or league rep or whoever stops moving behind them. Killian isn’t sure he’s still breathing.

It’s still not all that uncomfortable.

“Ok,” Will says, as if that’s that. “Cool. Emma and Miles the popcorn guy and who do you think is going to play you when they make the movie of this?�� “Excuse me?” “Oh my God, Scarlet, what did we just talk about?” Killian groans. “Shut up.” He grins, eyebrows jumping up his forehead and excitement practically palpable around him. “I'm thinking….like one of the Chris’s, y’know? What about the guy with you, Emma? You good with Chris Evans, police detective guy?” “How did you know that?” David asks.

“Word gets around a clubhouse quick. You going to duel Jones for Emma’s honor or, like, what are your thoughts on this?” “If he’s not an idiot and keeps making catches like that in right field.” “Shit,” Eric mumbles, but there’s a hint of humor to that too. “Lofty expectations.”

David shrugs. “The first one was more important.” Killian salutes. It’s ridiculous. He’s going to have to sign another extension to pay for all the fines he’s racking up.

“You going to guarantee a home run on back to back days or is that too much to ask?” Emma asks.

Killian tilts the brim of his hat up. “Are you asking?”

“Was that not obvious?” “Maybe we should work on that some more. Being more specific.” “At least a double. Against the shift.”

“You’ve got a deal, love.”

He would never say he did it on purpose. Not in front of all those fans and a police detective who couldn't seem to decide whether or not he wanted to glare at Killian or keep cheering for him and certainly not with two incredibly opinionated teammates standing next to him, but he might have done it on the hope that it would be alright and Emma hadn’t objected to girlfriend. So he didn’t do it on purpose, but he might have done it selfishly and needily and that second one isn’t a word.

Emma smiles.

“Alright, alright, c’mon Casanova,” Eric chuckles, yanking on the back of Killian’s jersey and the number that matches Emma’s.

He hits a single, and it’s absurd to be disappointed by that, particularly when it does beat the shift, but Killian had used the word everything and he meant it and means it and all incarnations of all tenses.

They make the backpage of The Post the next day.

Robin cackles when he shoves the entire paper into the phone screen, calling because they’re in Tampa now and Emma had come into the clubhouse after they beat the Orioles again.

Will shook her hand.

And it just kind of goes from there.

It’s chaotic and stressful and there is so much baseball during the regular season and then even more during the postseason because they win the Wild Card in the Bronx with Emma wearing her number in section 203 of the bleachers.

Regina had tried to get her to move into the team suite – ”It’s the playoffs, Ms. Swan, you shouldn’t have to be out there with all the normal fans.” “I’m sorry, what?” “Regina, are you suggesting there are levels of fans?” – but that had worked as well as Killian expected it to and he wasn't sure there was a bigger New York Yankees fan in the entire world than Emma.

Will and Robin had both laughed when she’d called after that Boston game, shouting about intent and should have charged him and nothing Killian had said got her to stop. Even after David promised she’d lost her mind during the broadcast.

Emma leads roll call when the Yankees come back home after the Boston series. It’s on SportsCenter again.

“We should be getting royalties from this,” Killian complains, but she kisses him silent and they really are very good at making out on a variety of couches.

And they keep winning.

There are more games and more series and then it’s the Series and the words are out of his mouth before he can really process what he’s saying.

“Do...do you,” Killian starts, tucked against Emma in a room with frames on the wall. She helped pick them out. And fill them.

“Do I what?” “I really want you to be there, Swan.” Her teeth find her lower lip, shoulders shifting when she takes a deep breath through her nose and Killian counts the seconds. Ten. Ten full seconds until she answers.

Or asks. “Yeah?”

He nods, the pillow rumpling underneath his cheek, and wills his heart not to beat out of his chest. It’s a close call. “More than anything.” “Should probably make Regina get tickets.” “Please don’t talk about Regina before I’m going to try and make out with you, love.” “Only try?” Killian grins and Emma laughs and they don’t get a ton of sleep before he has to get on a plane, but she gets on a different plane and when the ball lands in his glove in a right field that’s not his, he’s certain his whole body erupts into flames.

Of joy. Or happiness. Or perfection.

Because they won.

And Emma is there.

It just takes some time to find her.

There are cheers and Gatorade dumps and Killian’s uniform is plastered to him by the time he works his way towards home plate and a line of family and friends with credentials hanging around their neck and some FOX intern is already trying to get him back towards the mound.

He is, apparently, going to win some kind of award.

Oh shit, he might be the MVP of the World Series. Huh.

Killian doesn’t see her at first, but he hears her, shouts of his name and what might be his number and no one’s referred to by number only since his days in single-A, but it’s kind of endearing when Emma does it and he nearly knocks over the barricade.

She helps when she jumps towards him.

“Nice catch,” Emma whispers, but that’s as much as she says before he’s kissing her and she’s kissing him and it’s good and great and goddamn fantastic.

His lips slant over hers and her fingers find their way back into his hair, drifting to the drenched collar of his jersey, and Killian swears he can actually feel Emma’s laughter in the very middle of him when he tugs her closer. One of her shoes falls off.

“I love you,” Killian says, not the first time he’s told her or promised her, but this feels different and even more important and he has to blink when Emma leans back and beams at him.

Like the goddamn sun.

“I love you too.”

The barricade falls over with an impossibly loud crash and someone who is almost certainly Scarlet laughs, a phone in his hand and more laughter from New York and Regina shouts stop making out for two seconds, you’re ruining the TV schedule and she’s kind of got a point.

“I’ll be right back,” Killian mutters.

Emma nods. “I’m counting on it.”

There are more pictures and no one bothers to put the barricade back up and the kiss winds up on the cover of Sports Illustrated a headline about “New York State of Mind” that doesn’t entirely make sense, but they all buy a dozen copies and it looks good in a frame on the apartment Killian and Emma get together.

And there’s more to it all – a life and unexpected challenges and games that criss-cross the country, but Emma only ever sits in section 203 and Killian comes back home after every road swing and there are more questions and more answers and he changes his number eventually.

They’ve got a new birthday to celebrate and both Emma and Killian are positive he’s going to have one hell of an arm in right field.

#cs ff #captain swan #captain swan ff #captain swan fic #cs fic #it's opening dayyyyyyyy #i'm only slightly to moderately worried about freezing on sunday afternoon

[mygiantesslove]

Christmas Eve at My Cousins Feet

Sock Prison (11)

December 24th 4:09pm. It had been 2 hours since Bianca first trapped you in her sock and you were starting to wonder how serious she was about this.  At first you thought this was just a sick joke she was playing on you but for the past 118 minutes she had done nothing but grind you in between her toes, drag you across the bed under her heel and arch, and raise her foot up only to slam it down on you, just because you wouldn’t massage her feet.  

 “If this really is a cruel joke then she’ll have to let me out before the Christmas party starts in a few hours.  But if it isn’t a joke…and she really plans on keeping me as her foot slave…then I don’t know if I should massage them to appease Bianca or refuse to please her and hope she gets bored with me.”  Either choice sounds like it could go wrong on a number of levels but you try to think of all the possibilities.

 “If I rub her feet like I mean it, then what’s stopping her from keeping me as her foot slave for the rest of my life!  Becoming my cousin's foot massager doesn’t sound like a smart career choice even though she would Love it.  But if I refuse to be an obedient pet then whats stopping her from getting rid of me.  Will she crush me underfoot like some common bug?  Toss me in the garbage? Pawn me off to one of my sisters? Throw me in the backyard outside? Or even worse! Will she actually eat me like she said she would before or was she bluffing about that too?”

So many thoughts rush through your head about how your younger cousin could cause your demise.  You were so preoccupied with dying that you didn’t realize her toes reach down and grab you once again, only to feel your knees being gripped between her big and second toes while your face was being rubbed against her third and fourth digits.

After 30 minutes of being tossed around like a rag doll by your formerly little cousin’s stinky feet, she dropped you to the bottom of her sock.  You stood up and had to grab onto her heel for support after your legs almost gave way from exhaustion.  You stared at her heel for a minute before bringing your gaze up and staring at the massive sole of a teenage girl who held you captive in her red, green, and white Xmas sock while she wore it.  You noticed every miniature wrinkle as she curled her foot.  Before you knew it she had pulled her foot out and through the opening of her sock, you could see her grinning face.

 “I hoped you liked your stay with my feet little cuz.  Because if you didn’t, your gonna have a hard time adjusting to the smell and the rest of your life as my foot slave (giggles) hehehe.  I have to go change my clothes and get something to eat now but don’t worry I’ll be back before you know it and my dainty little foot will be right back in its sock home next to my favorite little foot slave cousin.  Cya later Jake.”

The vision of her enormous face disappears and instead is replaced by the twisting of the top of her sock into what looks like a Tight knot.  You bounce around all over her sock while she swings it in a loop for fun before finally tying them together and wrapping it around the foot of her bedpost.  You hear her change her clothes right next to you, but you can’t see anything through the thick, fuzzy, colored fibers of the inside of her sock.  All you can do is lay down where her toes would rest and wait for your cousin to release you from your sock prison, most likely only to play more foot games.  If Jake only knew that his head was resting on a worn-out string of cotton that he could claw his way out and escape.

#giantess #g/t #g/t writing #foot slave

[bluekyun]

A Touch of Comfort 3.

Pairing: Y O O N G I x R E A D E R

Genre: S M U T

Word Count: 2.362

Summary: “I think I’m going blind from your beauty.”

DRABBLE COLLECTION

Despite losing all patience with your best friend over the insinuation that you need a boyfriend before you die alone, you realize as more time passes that your blind date is quite impressive. He is no Casanova, but even in an alternate universe, you are certain that someone of that caliber wouldn’t even be close to your type. At first you were unsure if the man sitting before you would even be a good match, as his silent and slightly standoffish demeanor put you off at first. Compared to your positive and more bubbly personality, you figured that the match was an inevitable failure, but as both of you continued to talk, exchanging slight touches underneath the dining table, you realize that you have far more chemistry than you ever could have anticipated. Neither of you seem to notice how quickly time goes by until the entire restaurant nearly clears out of all its occupants.

 “We should probably leave before they decide to kick us out.” You suggest, flattening down your skirt and biting your bottom lip.

“Yeah.” Standing up from his chair, he walks beside you, offering his hand to help you stand. All you can do is smile, the sudden act of chivalry only forging goosebumps across your bare arms, his rough fingertips only sending shockwaves to your core. Just from the rough grasp he has on you, ideas begin to bombard your mind, scenarios of how he would be in bed as well as how his hands might feel in other places. Normally, you aren’t this promiscuous, but there is something about him that you find enchanting, a whisper begging you to latch onto him for dear life, sucking out his soul until he is nothing more than a stuttering mess between your legs.

 Just that image, now burned into the underside of your eyelids, is more than enough to begin the inevitable pool that would be your underwear, and as you walk out the restaurant doors, the friction, or more so lack of, begins to get to you.

 “I knew I was attractive, but you really know how to make a guy feel good about himself.”

 Glancing up, you watch as the lust glazes over his eyes, his focus skipping between your face and your legs. That’s when you notice the subconscious rubbing of your thighs, something you hadn’t realized you were doing until he so subtly pointed it out. Rolling your eyes, you try to dismiss his comment, instead focusing on keeping your legs apart so that just maybe you won’t fall victim to your own desires.

 But how long would that last?

 Opening the car door, you slide into the passenger seat of his black sedan, the leather seats and new car smell only acting as an aphrodisiac, as money has always been your biggest kink. It doesn’t solely decide your taste in men, but you would be lying if you didn’t acknowledge that it is indeed a preference of yours.

 With him situated in the driver’s seat, he shifts the beauty into drive, leaving the music to lull in the background. Neither of you say a word, as much of the conversation was maxed out over dinner, but even in the silence, you still feel the way his words sink into your skin, every hair standing on end as if every syllable is whispered directly into your ear.

Resting your head against the cool glass, you stare deeply into the night, etching out the glow of the crescent moon as it effortlessly blends into the dark sky. The air is peaceful, nothing more than a few cars on the road as they return home after their late-night escapades. You, too, are part of this pack, but you desperately wish you weren’t. You aren’t ready to end the day. All that preoccupies your mind is the way his lips moved every time he said a word, or the way he would present a sly half-assed smile whenever the waiter came around to check on you. Every small move he made, the way he held his silverware, how he sipped his drink, and especially the way he licked his lips every so often god it is all eating away at your resolve quickly, and more than anything you just want his lips on your own.

 The moment you feel a warm hand land upon the flesh of your thigh, you look over to see a cocky smile on his face, his vision focused entirely on the road ahead but his mind clearly elsewhere. You both seem to be on the same wavelength, but it is not in you to act so easy (despite wishing you would cave just this once) so instead, you return back to the window, the endless trees seeming more like nothing as you are completely distracted by the way his fingers begin to delicately tap against your skin.

 At first, he begins slow, tapping each finger in succession, but when he notices that you have yet to give him a response, he turns it up a notch. The tapping progresses to rubbing, his fingertips etching circles as your skin ignites in their path, but still, you are not ready to show the effect he has on you. For a short period, he stays like this, a collection of figure eights, circles, and at one point you’re almost certain he wrote fuck me on the inside of your leg, and although you find it quite amusing and absolutely hot, you decide to see what other ideas he might have for you.

 After all, you love to play games.

 In the reflection of the window, you notice the way he bites his lips, a clear sign of contemplation as he prepares his next test. You expect something along the lines of squeezing, petting, or even dirty words, but of course he is a man of many surprises.

 Within an instant, his fingers are against your core, nothing but the thin layer of your panties keeping him from the wet mess that is hidden underneath.

 “So wet for me already, baby?” The smirk on his face only makes you want to smack him, but it would be a lie to say you didn’t want it.

 In your mind, you know you should stay stoic, but considering that between the both of you, he is in the most vulnerable and unfortunate position, you decide to take advantage of this golden opportunity. With one hand gripping onto his arm, you desperately grind into his palm, allowing every sigh and moan to fall from your lips unhindered. Leaning your head back, you watch from the corner of your eye as his jaw drops in shock, your boldness only throwing him off slightly until he regains composure.

 For a while he lets you use his arm as a toy, the streaks of arousal on his skin only fueling his ego and desire, his boner only aching inside the confines of his slacks. He wants nothing more than to see you reach your high simply from using him like this, but he also can’t dismiss the thought of how you might feel around his hardened dick, so tight and wet until you’re doing nothing but screaming his name.

 He can’t wait any longer.

 “Uh… Yoongi. You’re swerving quite a bit there.”

 Returning to reality, he realizes that his death grip on the steering wheel has done little to keep the car in a straight line, as he is now caught in the middle of two lanes going at least ten over the speed limit. Releasing his arm, you allow him to take control of the vehicle once more, but when you see his arm glistening from your moment of fun, you feel a sense of pride. This will be his downfall, and you know already that he is the kind of man who cannot resist a sight such as that.

 When he pulls over on the side of the road, you let out a small chuckle at his impatience and utter insanity. He is so desperate for you that he would rather fuck in the middle of nowhere than wait to get home so he can ravish you on the bed.

 “Get in the back. Now.” The gruffness of his voice sends another wave of electricity, more arousal pooling at your entrance by his sheer dominance.

 Doing as you’re told, you climb over the middle compartment into the spacious back and wait patiently as he removes his seatbelt. Climbing over, he joins you, and the moment you are within reach, he has a strong hold on your waist.

 “Take off your shirt.” You comply without question, removing the garment until you are left sitting in your baby blue bra.

 For a moment he doesn’t say much of anything, instead staring and fluttering his eyelashes as he scans you from top to bottom.

 “I think I’m going blind from your beauty.”

 Those words fall from his tongue effortlessly, almost as if he never meant to say them at all, but it doesn’t stop the pink from appearing on your cheeks, the raw compliment only leaving you speechless and filled with warmth.

 Using one hand, he unbuckles his belt, removing his hardened member from the depths of his pants. The head is throbbing and already dripping with precum, the veins apparent even in the darkness.

 “Come here…” His voice is nothing more than a whisper, his prior demeanor now lost in the wind as he looks at you fondly. Something within him switched, the persona no longer present as he drops the walls between you and his very soul.

 It’s not often that someone is able to see this side of him, the part of him that cares deeply for others and loves with his whole heart, and although he keeps that side reserved for the ones who become solidified in his life, there is something about you that he cannot ignore, the sense of comfort and attraction he feels unlike anything he’s ever experienced.

 Straddling over the space on his lap, you reach down to move your underwear to the side. With both hands on his shoulders, you find yourself in the reflection of his pupils, the small moment of sincerity before you lean in closely, ghosting your lips over his. With a free hand, he finds solace in the crook of your neck, pressing you against him until the kiss is nothing more than gentle touches and quiet sighs. His lips, soft as feathers, mesh perfectly with your own, the taste of him, a mix of brandy and spices, only causing your head to spin. From underneath, you feel him line himself up with your entrance before he pushes himself inside, stretching you slightly as you become situated with his length. Neither of you break the kiss, and with both of his hands on your hips, he allows you to move, a mixture grinding and riding as you try to find the right angle. Leaning back slightly, you purr the moment his tip reaches that golden spot, the tingling sensation reaching all the way to your fingertips.

 “Right there.” The words strain to come out as he continues to hit it over and over, his grip on you now much tighter as you slam against him, nothing but the sound of skin against skin resounding inside the car.

 The ministrations from earlier already had you reaching your peak, and even though you thought the feelings would have died down a bit in the absence of his arm, you quickly realize that really, not much has changed. He seems to notice how close you are, as you are no longer able to kiss in a fluid manner, instead your mouth left hanging open as you bask in the oncoming of your orgasm. Allowing you to enjoy yourself, he simply leans back, admiring the way you look while riding him, likely the most attractive image he has ever seen in his entire life.

 He continues to thrust into you, matching the way your hips hit against him, and quickly there is nothing but mewls and groans coming from the depths of your throat.

 “Fuck… I’m so-… close.”

 Licking his lips, he increases his pace, using one hand to draw circles against your clit, your dripping arousal only coating his fingers as he slowly applies more pressure.

 “Baby, let go for me.”

 Those five little words push you over the edge, the stimulation finally catching up to you as the knot in your stomach finally releases, the wave of euphoria only producing stars of white behind your closed lids. No longer able to form coherent thoughts, you give in, falling forward with your head against his shoulder as he helps your ride your high until the very last breath.

 Both of you sit there, you half unconscious on his lap while he rubs your back lovingly, leaving gentle kisses against your hair. Despite still being undeniably horny and harder than he’s ever been, he still finds himself wanting nothing more than to just hold you in his arms.

 With your breathing now even, you sit up and place tender kisses along his jaw, leaving one final one atop his nose, an act so cringe worthy that he can’t help but look at you with pure disgust by how undeniably adorable yet demeaning it was. His reaction is so pure that you begin laughing uncontrollably, your fit becoming contagious as he submits to the smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.

 Once you’re able to catch your breath, your abdomen panging with the sudden exercise, you relax, and in the dim lighting from the moon, you give him a quick peck on the lips before a sudden thought crosses your mind.

 “Wait, what about you?”

 Looking down, he remembers his predicament. He became so focused on you that his own pleasure nearly slipped his mind.

 “We can finish that at my place.” He responds, smiling gently before pulling you against his chest, snuggling into your hair as if it is the most comfortable place on Earth.

#btswriters #bts writing squad #bt-yes-network #bangtanwriters-net #boy group writers net #kreativewritersnet #bangtanbuds #armiesnet #bts #bangtan #suga #yoongi #yoongi drabble #bts drabble #yoongi smut #suga smut #bts smut #a touch of comfort

[elizabethleslie7654]

Modern Entertainment

all kinds of cool jewelry and no shipping or getting mobbed t the mall

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This is part 8 of a series on modern society.

Here are the links to Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, and Part Seven.

  Modern entertainment shows many parallels between the Roman Empire and the rise of the coliseum towards the end of the empire. Specifically, I think today’s NFL bears a strong resemblance in our society to the heights that gladiators and similar competitors shared in Roman times. From what I can gather, part of the rise of the coliseum during the Roman empire was to placate the citizenry and divert and redirect their attention to things other than the problems facing the nation. Don’t look at the wolves at the gates (barbarians then, modern day vibrants and “diversity” now), just focus on the thrill of the game. Modern NFL and NBA games have had a surge in offense while minimizing defense. Even the MLB has placed an emphasis on offense again (to make things more exciting), more than the lowering of the mound in decades past (it used to be much higher, but gave the pitchers a greater advantage, so they lowered it to promote offense). This is all used to distract us and focus on things that don’t matter. Who won, who’s fantasy team is doing the best, who got traded to who. There are countless TV and online programs dedicated solely to this endeavor. Most of it is sick and twisted, materialistic, and gives a false sense of tribalism that is used to divert any true sense of it to avoid whites from realizing what is happening. This goes beyond just sportsball and into nearly all modern television. The shows that used to be odd bastions of whiteness are now disgusting parodies of diverse, fat, unnatural, and materialistic subject matter. Sadly, until things get worse, I’m not sure much of this will change.

  The modern coliseum of the NFL shares many similarities to the gladiators of old. Contrary to modern perception, gladiators didn’t always fight to the death. These were the highly trained and tuned athletes of the day and were valued as such. I feel this is similar to the glory that modern NFL players receive. They are elevated beyond the common citizen. They share largely no resemblance to the common citizenry (at least historically, this is becoming increasingly less true), and are being encouraged to be healthy and kept fit for as long as possible. In addition, the ardent focus on them has created such a large demand and market that these players are now given generational wealth (annually) simply because they are more violent, aggressive, and ruthless than their peers. I have done my fair share of athletics at a nationally competitive level so I understand the dedication this takes, but sadly many of these diverse players (Jadeveon Clowney comes to mind) are simply so gifted they don’t have to try. It’s is often the players with moderate gifts and an excellent work ethic (Tom Brady, JJ Watt) who are the enduring talents, that don’t simply burn out because they’ve never had to try before. But this matters only because our obsession with sportsball has elevated these players to heights, both in status and monetarily, that the common man can only dream of. Yet because of the entertaining distraction that this provides, people are yet to notice or care how wasted this money is. Free market is the free market, I’m not defending this, but simply trying to connect that our modern obsession and elevation of these players makes no logical sense and that the money given to most of these players is wasted (78% of NFL players go broke, according to a 2009 study, curiously enough 70% of the league is also black). This money could be used to help families purchase homes, help tricked students into paying off crushing student loan debts, and help the struggling laid-off machinist to buy a new button-down for his next interview. The worst part of this is that it is facilitated largely by white people. We must stop fueling and funding this obsession that mocks our dispossession, cultural standards (re: Colin Kaepernick), and also robs us of the greater pleasures (like family) and our own generational (and cultural) wealth.

  Additionally, this focus on sportsball still continues to be above that of consequential matters. People are still allowed to care about their football teams and talk shit about their rivals without fear of societal backlash. This is likely a way to avoid whites having a tribal identity and instead redirects it into another medium. Yet ask any person if they think white dispossession is an issue or if affirmative action has negatively impacted whites and you’ve already crossed a line. Ask someone who their favorite point guard or quarterback is and they likely already have a jersey on (if it’s Sunday) or they have an already crafted answer that is relatively well thought out. But ask them how their politicians stand on the wall or birthright citizenship and you’re a madman. Ask them what percent of Hispanic led families are on welfare (it’s over 50%) and again you’ll get crickets, but ask them what they think of the Patriots and you can bet body parts they’ve got an opinion. Until we choose to unplug (I used to be an avid RedZone watcher on Sunday, but have since enjoyed church and family time in lieu of it and am much happier, I advise you to do the same), we won’t be able to discuss these issues because everyone will be too distracted or preoccupied to notice.

  Even worse than suffocating the mental space required to care about these issues, they distract away from the problems that we do face. We know that when whites are made aware of their dispossession (supermajority to near minority in basically a lifetime) they become concerned and are more conservative. We know when whites are personally exposed to diversity (Hispanics at bus stops or in their neighborhood) they change their tune on issues pertinent to the times. But I would be curious to see how this data plays out when mapped on Sundays. I wouldn’t say it’s much of a jump to say that when we’re distracted and locked on to “the game” with “our team”, we might not even notice these clues to that could help us avert the final losing score for our real team (the white team) and the only game that matters right now (survival). If people realized how badly their money is wasted on these events, teams, and people, they might be more apt to care. They might care if they realize that these people, who you wouldn’t want to meet in a dark alley at night, are making 100x what the common man earns in a given year, and will likely piss (or snort, fuck, and recklessly spend) it all away, all while telling you you’re an oppressive bigot for existing (and maybe even for cracking an awkward smirk-like smile).

  The teams that should matter are your family, your community, and your people. The stars that should matter are fathers, pastors, leaders with your interests at heart, mothers, children, grandparents, and everyone who makes a healthy society go ‘round. The scores that should matter are fertility, standards of living, community cohesion, and a flourishing of your people. If we can’t take our eyes off the thrilling modern-day coliseum, we’re likely to lose the only game that matters. Sadly, if we do, there is no next game or next series. There is no next year or next season. There is only now, our present, and what will be, our posterity. If we fail to protect both, we will lose it all.

  I always try to end these pieces with suggestions to move forward. 1) Unplug from football unless it’s used in a manner to bond with family, then bite the bullet and enjoy the time with them. They aren’t where you are politically and may not be until the whole tide turns. But solo, try and avoid sportsball as much as possible. 2) Stop giving money to these people. Don’t buy garbage sports jerseys (wearing another man’s name on your back is borderline gay), don’t go to games, and try not to even join in when the topic comes up in conversation. Take the time you might’ve used for this and do something productive, lift, read, spend time with family, learn a new skill, build yourself. 3) Pay attention to the more important things. This one is probably preaching to the choir as most FTN readers likely already do, but if you do already, then try and get someone close to you or a family member to start caring about these things as well. Or simply encourage them to do something else with you, together, rather than watch a game. Start building yourself and your community. These suggestions and these takes might not make a huge difference but everything has to start somewhere. We have to begin to be the things we want within ourselves and our communities before we can make changes throughout society. To all of you out there, good luck with this. Keep heart that things may not change for you overnight, or that it may be difficult to purge yourself of these habits, but always keep the bigger view and realize that even if progress is small, you’re still moving in the right direction. And always remember, we’re playing a much bigger game, one that matters more than sportsball ever will.

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