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trashmouth-richie · 1 year

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TWIN FLAMES

Part 3: Phone Calls

PART 4

Summary: Many phone calls are made, road-trips too.

<w/c> 5.8k (3/?)

Pairings: Eddie x female! Reader

Warnings: MINORS- DNI vomit, SMUT

A/N: this starts slow and picks up! Not my favorite chapter but it does have some funny parts. Give me the feedback! I love it.

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Tossing and turning all night your mind clouded thick, thinking about how you would tell Steve. You didn’t want to drag this on forever, that wasn’t fair to him, or Eddie. You’ve never dumped someone before and you had no idea what was the right or wrong way to go about it.

Rolling around in your bed for far too long, you swing your feet out to hit the plush pink carpet decorating your room, matching the dainty flower wallpaper clinging to the walls. Stretching your legs, you make your way over to the bench under the window and pull out a scrapbook from the built in drawer. Curling your cotton socked feet beneath you, you open the book.

Inside are pages embellished with photographs, pretty calligraphy, glitter, stickers, you name it, it was there. This is your and Steve’s scrapbook. You remember receiving identical books on your sixteenth birthdays (both in April) from your parents. Your mother beamed and said her and Steve’s mother had spent hours upon hours perfecting every little detail and going through years of photos.

You flip through the pages and laugh at a picture of you and Steve about a year old in a kitchen sink, suds all around you both. Steve, even then with a mop of hair, smiling widely and you in tears bald as a cueball. A few pages more and it’s both of your families on vacation in Mexico standing on a beach, you are sporting a pink suit and a small ponytail in your hair, Steve’s rocking a sunburn and a small pair of blue sunglasses.

Flip flip flip

The next page brings another memory, the picture is labeled “date night!” You remember that day like it was yesterday.

Steve drove to your house to pick you up, his parents just bought him the BMW for his birthday that year. He had made reservations at Enzo’s in Hawkins. He was wearing a fancy emerald green button up with a black tie and black slacks. His hair was perfectly poised. You were wearing a slim fitting black dress with black pointed pumps. Your mom had perfected your hair with an entire can of hairspray and rollers. You two became official that night, Steve giving you a promise ring with his “SH+your first and last initials” on the side.

A single tear escapes your waterline and cascades down to the page. Steve wasn’t a bad guy, he was a great guy. He gave you wonderful memories, all happy. He never once mistreated you, never once spoke ill of you to anyone. He was polite and kind and treated you like a princess— a delicate, ready to fall apart without him— princess. It wasn’t his fault, he was forced into this relationship too, you were all he knew. He didn’t have any girlfriends before you just like you didn’t have any boyfriends before him.

You can lie to yourself about how happy you are but you know that’s not true. Harvard is not your dream school, you want to travel, want to experience all the things life could throw at you. You need to find yourself outside of Steve Harrington and he needed to find himself apart from you.

The last page reads a single sentence:

“Steve and y/n, together for always”

The writing was in your mothers handwriting. Placing your fingers over the elegant pen’s loops and curls you couldn’t help but tear up. You close the scrapbook and place it gently in its place in the drawer beneath your window nook.

Goodbye Steve Harrington.

—————————————————————————

“Lift on 3! One…two…three!” Eddie grunts hoisting Jeff out of the van.

Gareth has Jeff’s legs and Eddie has his torso. After throwing up in the van, twice, Jeff passed out on the way home.

“Jesus Christ Jeff!,” Gareth says whispering through bared teeth, “I’m gonna kill him, I swear on my mom’s life I’m gonna kill him!”

“At least you have his legs! He’s fucking covered in barf up here and yup, it’s in my hair. Oh he’s a fucking dead man!” Eddie whisper yells.

The two boys decided to take Jeff to Gareth’s house and toss him in the spare bedroom next to Gareth’s in the basement. Entering the house through the garage the basement door is across the small hallway past the kitchen. Setting down Jeff’s legs, Gareth quietly opens the door and motions for Eddie to turn around. Eddie turns around and with Gareth’s help, descends the stairs backwards letting Jeff’s feet bang into the steps as they go.

“Fuck it,” Gareth huffs, “let’s put him in the bathroom, that way if he pukes again he’ll be by the toilet.” Finding a small throw blanket on the couch, Gareth follows Eddie into the bathroom and they lay Jeff down, tossing the blanket at him.

“6ft 3 and can barely handle eight beers,” Eddie says with a chuckle sliding onto the sink, “after this bullshit he’s doing my fucking homework all of this year!”

Gareth slides down the door of the bathroom and lets out a huffed breath. “Yeah no shit, you could use the help” he says with a wicked grin.

Eddie flips Gareth a ringed bird and they both laugh.

“So what’s with this girl that’s got you so smiley about?” Gareth asks his older friend, flicking a lighter and lighting a cigarette. “You literally were beaming like an idiot the whole way home” he says, exhaling smoke up into the air.

“I don’t know dude, it’s like lightning, the minute I looked into her eyes I was hooked… I can’t explain it.” Eddie says reaching for Gareth’s lighter as he lights his own cigarette.

“Oh God you’re not gonna break out into fucking “Grease Lightning” are you?” Gareth says with a look of disgust.

“Man fuck you! First and foremost, Zucko used too much hair gel, secondly don’t be jealous because you’d be Kenickie after the shit you were pulling tonight!” Eddie said kicking at Gareth.

“I didn’t even give her a hickey, but look at this shit,” Gareth says looking to the right and pulling the collar of his shirt down a bit.

A mark the size of the peach and more purple than a plum is painted on Gareth’s neck. Eddie starts coughing and laughing all at once.

“Shut up!” Gareth yells, flicking his cigarette at Eddie.

“Sorry man, really but Jesus Christ does it hurt?!” Another cackle erupts from Eddie, and Gareth joins in too.

“It actually does,” Gareth says, wiping away laughing tears from his eyes.

A loud snore that could wake the dead explodes out of Jeff. Both the boys jump and shake their heads.

“Alright brother,” Eddie yawns, climbing off the counter, “I’m gonna head out. Tell shithead over there that I’m going to pick him up at 8 am to clean the van.”

“You got it, see ya” Gareth says, turning off the bathroom light and making his way to his room.

Eddie climbs the stairs and shuts the garage door quietly, jumps in the van and roars it to life squealing tires through town to Forest Hills Trailer Park.

—————————————————————————

The loud shrill noise of a phone ringing blares through your dream. You’re kissing Eddie at the party and Steve walks up behind you, tapping you on the shoulder. He’s furious, but all you hear is a phone ringing. Everytime his mouth opens, more ringing.

Shooting awake you look over at your alarm clock, 4:13AM. You weren’t dreaming your phone really is ringing. You somehow talked your parents into giving you your own phone line back in 8th grade. Quickly grabbing the receiver you answer hastily, not knowing if your parents stayed at the Harringtons or came home.

“Hello?” You croak, throat dry and achy.

“Good Morning sweetheart.” Eddie coos through the other end of the line.

“Eddie?” You say, rubbing your eyes and sitting up, moving your hand across the nightstand finding the lamp.

“The one and only baby,” he says smoothly, “sorry to wake you, but technically it is tomorrow.” Hearing his voice gives a sudden jolt of energy to your body, awakening all of your senses.

“It’s 4:15 in the morning, how are you awake right now?” you question.

“Well it’s Saturday and on Saturdays I go into the shop early to finish some side projects I have going on and I usually leave there by 7:30- 8 o’clock. Then, I swing by the donut shop and meet my Uncle Wayne at home to have breakfast before he heads to bed.” Eddie sing songs through the phone. “Plus,” his voice goes low, “I promised this absolutely beautiful little vixen last night that I would call her, and would you guess that she actually gave me her number! Not a fake one!” Eddie says with a laugh.

His voice is like velvet. Soft, smooth, sexy and purring in your ear through the phone.

“A vixen am I?” You giggle, “I always thought of myself as a saint.”

“Ohhhh baby, no, stick with me and you will barely be allowed in church” Eddie whispers into the phone.

A pulse develops in between your legs. You can feel yourself weeping and your pajama shorts getting damp. You slid a hand down past your waistband and rub circles into your sensitive bud, letting out a soft moan.

“If only you were here to touch me, that way I wouldn’t have to do it myself.” you say seductively into the phone.

Silence.

Oh God maybe that was too far.. shit.

Panic settles in, “Eddie?….hello?” you question.

“S-sorry I think I just had a stroke.” Eddie says with a chuckle. “So, uh.. how are you feeling? And how h-how was the rest of the party?” Eddie says, biting his fist and quietly slamming his head into the wall next to the phone in the kitchen of the small trailer.

“My head? Oh it’s fine, a pretty cute doctor fixed me up in his van and uh.. it was okay, Steve didn’t see anything, Will? I think his name is…covered for me and I just went home, oh by the way, you owe him some pot.” you say speeding through the first half and singing the last part.

“Ah shit, alright fine, one year and I would sell to him anyway.” he says light heartedly, “that was pretty cool of him to cover for you like that, he’s a good kid, oh also, Steve Harrington huh?” He says with a strained voice.

“Yeah, I didn’t know you knew him. I figured you weren’t friends, seeing as how I’ve never met you before.” You say. “I’m uh— I’m going to tell him today before I have to work later at the pool. ” you say quietly.

“Are you sure sweetheart? I like you a lot, don't get me wrong, I haven’t thought about much else since last night. But I don’t want to pressure you into anything you aren’t ready for. I promised you I would wait for you and I meant that.” Eddie says reassuring you.

“No I know, I just— I don’t want to lead him on. He deserves the truth.” Even though I lied to him last night you think to yourself.

“Okay, well I’m gonna head to work now. I just wanted you to know that I was thinking of you. Here’s my number, ###-###-####, you can call me whenever you get up or whenever it works for you.” Eddie says.

You let out a big yawn, “ok lover boy, I’ll call you later before my shift at the pool today” you say in a sleepy little voice.

“Get some rest angel.” Eddie says softly.

“Mhmm talk to you soon, byeee” you barely get out the last part before falling asleep, dreaming of a long dark haired boy, phone still snug against your ear.

—————————————————————————

Your alarm clock lands on the floor with a thud after you knocked it off the nightstand while trying to hit the snooze button.

“Y/n Honey! Your father and I are leaving soon, come down so we can say goodbye!” Your mother sings up the steps.

Your body is wrapped around something tight, ”What the hell?” you mutter. The phone cord is wrapped around your torso like a snake waiting to kill. You unplug the cord from the phone and stand up unraveling yourself. You had completely forgotten that your parents were spending the holiday weekend visiting your uncle Jack and aunt Laurie in New York.

“I’m coming!” you say racing down the steps. Your mother is in the kitchen in an attractive taupe pant suit, gold jewelry adorning her neck and fingers. Her mousy brown hair pulled back on one side, delicate curls falling to her shoulders. She is arranging important paperwork for their flight and placing them into her purse.

“Good morning y/n, I didn’t think you’d ever wake up.” Your mother says with a soft smile.

“Sorry- Couldn't sleep after I got home last night,” you tell her, covering your mouth while you yawn.

Your mother waltzes to the fridge and grabs the carton of orange juice, pouring the pulpy goodness into a glass.

“Here” she says, setting it down in front of you at the oak table, “it’s good for you!”

Your mother was always bubbly, always. It’s as if she never had a single bad day and if things went wrong she was always so optimistic about the outcome.

“What time is your flight?” you ask, taking a sip of the orange juice.

“We fly out of IND at 2 o’clock so we need to get moving, Peter! We need to leave!” your mother shouts to your father. “What are your plans for the day?” She asks.

Your mind wanders to a tall, curly haired metal head. The thought of seeing Eddie leaned over a car with grease on his vein protruding hands and arms, sweat rolling down his nose is enough to make you go feral. How could someone be that hot. Steve was good looking in a way that you knew other girls were jealous of you wherever you went. But Eddie was devilishly handsome. He awoke something in your core that was never once mentioned or thought of. The things you imagined doing with Eddie were so unholy you were sure to be damned to hell just from thinking about them, yet you didn’t care.

Steve was very vanilla when it came to sex. Not that it wasn’t good, it was, it just wasn’t exciting. You came close to orgasming once, in the four years you had been together. But Steve didn’t like to talk about sex after the fact. He didn’t want to learn your body or wonder if things felt good for you. It was very one sided and you were quite literally just along for the ride. The way Eddie made you feel in a few hours last night, is more than you had ever felt with Steve. You remember the way his hands felt on your body, his lips on your neck, the hard push of his cock through his jeans. The electricity radiating off of your bodies ready to explode with a force so un earth like, it was difficult to explain.

“Darling?” your mother interrupts your most intrusive thoughts.

“Oh Umm, I’m working at 4 at the pool and then I might rent a movie or something.”

“That sounds nice,” your father adds emerging from their master bedroom carrying their suitcases. “Okay sweetie we really need to hit the road.”

“I left enough money for food for you for the next few days on the hutch. We fly home Tuesday! Love you!”

You say your goodbyes and wave to them from the front steps as they back down the driveway. In that moment you can’t help but think how they would react when they find out you’re going to break up with Steve. They had been trailblazers for your relationship since it started, even before that. To them, Steve was like their son. But it’s not as if your relationship with Steve ending will affect them, will it? But what about you? What about your happiness? Would they side with you, fighting with you for your independence as a young woman? Or would they become unreasonably irate with you? Hurting for Steve and agreeing that you did in fact ruin his future and yours.

Pushing out the negative thoughts intruding your mind, you make your way to the kitchen popping some eggos into the toaster. The phone in your room starts ringing and you run to answer it, taking the steps two at a time. You didn’t know Eddie would call you again, but you’re glad he did, you missed him and wanted to see how his morning went working at the shop.

Suddenly feeling flirty, you pick up the phone and say, “well if it isn’t the sexiest guy in all of Hawkins himself, I told you I’d call you later today, you miss me that much?”

“I mean yeah I haven’t heard from you since I dropped you off last night.” The voice says quizzically. “I tried calling early but your line was busy.”

Your brain goes radio wave silent. Fuck fuck fuck fuck shit! It’s Steve! He wouldn’t have called at 4 o'clock would he have?

“Wh-what time did you try to call?” you ask shakily on the verge of getting caught.

“I don’t know like 8? I called your house and your mom answered saying you were still asleep, are you feeling okay?” Steve asked.

You forgot you fell asleep after getting off the phone with Eddie and never hung your phone back up on the receiver.

“I must have knocked it off the nightstand in my sleep, but I’m feeling better today.” you lie.

“Oh. Okay well that makes sense” Steve says, “I’m happy to hear that you’re feeling better.” he says.

You can’t wait any longer and the words start flowing out of you like vomit. “Steve, we need to talk”

“We are talking y/n…” Steve says slowly and confused.

“I-I know I just—- I’ve been doing some thinking and, I think we— I think we should… take a break.” You hesitate.

“W-what?!” Steve shouts, “What do you mean a break? Are you seriously trying to break up with me over the phone?!”

“Steve, there are things I want to experience in my life before college, I don’t even know if I want to go to college. I need to find out who I am outside of my parents. I want different things than what you—”

“And what would that be? Hmm? Please, enlighten me! What different things do you want y/n? Cause last time I checked it was supposed to be me and you going to Harvard and starting a life together, and you just want to throw all of that away on a whim?! So you could be a whore for the summer and come back to me when that plan fails?!” Steve says seething through the phone.

“I need to find myself and who I truly am. I feel like I’m just walking along a pre carved path and I have blinders on! I want to travel, I want to— ya know what it doesn’t matter what I want to do, it’s the fact that I need space.” You try to diffuse the situation.

“Yeah sure! Take all the goddamn space you need! I was calling to surprise you with a trip to Indianapolis for the 4th of July but I guess I’ll take Henderson, don’t want to fucking smother you with my presence!” (Click!)

The phone goes dead. Well that certainly didn’t go as planned. You slam the phone back on the receiver and flop backwards onto your bed. You were hoping deep down Steve felt the same way, needing some space from you, obviously he didn’t. You two had never fought once in your relationship, so hearing Steve yell at you calling you a whore hurt deep.

You lay in your bed for what seems like hours, counting the popcorn bumps in the ceiling unsure of what more you could do to make the situation any better. Steve could be dramatic at times but was he overreacting? People break up all the time! Why is he taking it so poorly? You try to put yourself in Steve’s shoes. Would you be this upset if he dumped you? You can’t help but think you wouldn’t, you would feel relieved. It’s not his fault you are just simply growing apart from a very forced relationship. You’re angry at him, angry at how he is acting.

The clock reads 3:30pm and you realize you still haven’t eaten and need to get ready for work. The cold eggos long forgotten in the toaster. The swimsuits for work are a crimson red one piece with the word “lifeguard” written across the chest. You French braid your hair and are slipping on your sandals when your phone rings again.

You grab it hastily and without thinking, you immediately start yelling, “Listen goddamnit!, if you just called to yell at me again, save your fucking breath!”

“Uhh, hey sweetheart, you okay?”

Jesus Christ! How many times could you answer the phone wrong today?!

“Ugh Eddie, I’m sorry, I thought you were Steve.” you say embarrassed.

“Definitely not, my hair is way better than his.” Eddie says with a laugh, “seriously though are you okay?”

You exhale a long bated breath, you're instantly pissed when the tears start falling down your hot flushed face.

“thought he would be under—understanding when I t-told him that I needed sp—space” you said through ragged sobs.

“Baby, what happened?” Eddie says calmly.

“He called me, he called me a whore because I said I needed a break to find myself” you get out in one breath before the sobs start again a panic attack taking place.

You can barely hear Eddie talking as your crying becomes louder.

“It’s m-my fault Eddie,I-I- I hurt him, he would have never said that if I wouldn’t have broken it off with him.”

“Sweetheart, I need you to listen to me. You have to take a deep breath and let it out slowly, you’re going to make yourself sick if you keep this up. Please, can you do that for me? Eddie instructs calmly through the phone.

“Ye-yeah” you say, taking a deep breath and releasing it.

“Ok baby you’re doing so good, do it again. Just once more okay?” Eddie coaches.

You do it again, twice. Your body feels more relaxed on the last exhale.

“Good baby, that’s a good girl. Are you okay?” Eddie asks reassuringly.

“I just feel like crap,” you say in almost a whisper.

“Let me take you out, I can pick you up and take you for dinner?”

“I have to work at the pool til 9” you say feeling the exhaustion rake your body from the emotional rollercoaster you were just on. Looking at the clock it says 3:54. “Actually, I have to go now. I'm going to be late. I’ll call you when I’m off okay… thanks Eddie for everything.”

Before he can say anything else, you hang the phone up and run down the stairs and out the door.

—————————————————————————

The blue and white striped umbrellas wrinkle gently with the hot breeze clutching Brideport this late afternoon. The white lifeguard tower you’re sitting in is hot and sticking to your thighs. It’s the last part of the shift with only a half hour left before the other lifeguard, Anthony and yourself will blow your whistles to close for the night.

A family of 5 remain, the mother and father watching their three little ones play in the baby pool. The shift was a good one, quiet, almost boring. Rotating between chairs with Anthony every 30 mins was the most exciting thing to happen. You’re painting your toes a deep shade of navy blue for the 4th, replaying your conversation with Steve in your head. You still can’t believe he would stoop as low as calling you a whore because you needed space to figure your own shit out.

Anthony blows his whistle loud and you follow suit having lost track of time. The family leaves, the littlest one asleep in the mothers arms. Climbing down from your tower you stretch your back and take your things with you to the front office area. It’s your night to close up and make sure everything is cleaned. Anthony waves bye to you as he squeals the tires to his Jeep. With the small radio on you make your way into the ladies changing area, making sure all the towels are picked up and in the laundry bins. You spray the floor with the garden hose attached to the wall and rinse and repeat the same actions in the mens changing room. You’re lost in your own world keeping your hands busy trying to make time go quickly. The last job is to close the umbrellas on the lifeguard towers, you climb up the three steps to each white tower and pull hard bringing the umbrella slack, taking the attached rope and wrapping it tightly around.

Walking back to the office area you can hear Fleetwood Mac playing gently on the radio. You hum along wiping down the counter and throwing the days worth of cash into the proper envelopes in Luke’s office, locking it. As you’re turning back around to grab your purse and leave for the night, a voice scares the shit out of you.

“Didn’t think you would be a Fleetwood Mac fan sweetheart.”

Whipping around so quickly your head would have snapped off if you were a Barbie, stands Eddie Munson in all his glory. Wearing a cutoff black DIO shirt, black tattered jeans, black boots and carrying two large pizza boxes.

“I didn’t know if you liked Canadian bacon and pineapple so I got a cheese too, and if you like neither of those options I’ll take you wherever you want to go.” Eddie announces proudly.

You throw your purse down, climbing onto the counter as Eddie sets the pizza boxes down, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt, you yank him forward and smash your lips into his. The kiss is even sweeter than the last one not even 24 hours ago. Eddie wraps his arms around you pulling you off the counter and into his arms, your legs wrapped around his waist. He smells like muted oil and cigarettes with the faded twist of a musky cologne. You never knew you could miss someone so much, after the shit day you had this single sight of Eddie is making things feel complete again.

“I..

Kiss

Missed

Kiss

You”

You say between kisses.

You kiss Eddie’s neck and lightly trace his ear with your tongue.

“Oh baby, I missed you more.” Eddie says letting out a small moan as you nip at his ear tugging the single silver hoop earring between your teeth.

He puts you down on the counter, arms on either side of you blocking you in. Pulling away you look into his eyes, they are sparkling with the lights above you from the office. You reach up and drag your thumb over his lips.

“I can’t believe you drove all the way here.” you say quietly.

“I would drive a thousand miles to see you, y/n” Eddie whispers, “the pizza is just a bonus” he says with a giggle.

“Oh shit, I forgot about the food,” you wiggle away from him and jump down inside the office unlocking the gate ushering Eddie inside.

You pull Eddie behind the counter and drag some life jackets out for both of you to sit on. Going into the cooler and grabbing two cans of Tab, Eddie has the pizzas placed on either side of him gesturing you to sit down.

“M’lady” he says, bowing his head and spreading his arms out. You giggle and curtsy as if you’re wearing a skirt and take a seat.

“I hope you like the cooked hog with yellow fruit,” Eddie says in an accent, holding a piece up for you to take a bite.

Not losing eye contact with Eddie, you take a bite. An exaggerated moan leaves your mouth, you lick your lips seductively and let out a little giggle.

“Canadian Bacon and Pineapple is indeed my favorite” you say with a wink.

“You’re gonna be the death of me” Eddie says, adjusting his pants.

You spend the next half hour or so listening to Eddie talk about his day. He tells you all about how Jeff threw up in the van last night and how he had picked him up this morning to clean it out.

“The dirty fucker threw up again while cleaning it!” Eddie roars with a laugh.

You could listen to him talk for hours, he is so animated. Using his hands to express himself in any way he can. He is also the most handsome guy you’ve ever seen. So watching him is like watching your favorite movie and only watching the best parts.

You crawl into his lap straddling him like you did in the van the night before.

Holding onto his face, you can feel stubble peeking through his pale skin itching your palms.

“Eddie baby, do you know how fucking hot you are?” you ask, “I can’t take my eyes off of you.”

Eddie lets out a low chuckle, “that is quite literally the pot calling the kettle black, sweetheart. I haven’t stopped thinking about you all day, you’ve been tattooed across my mind since the minute I laid eyes on you.”

“Do you believe in fate?” You ask him, “like do you believe we were destined to meet?”

“I believe there is some kind of connection between us that is larger than anything anyone could begin to understand. I was only at that party last night because Jason’s regular dealer is in prison. I would have never pushed my way through that barn during a fight, but something in my head was whispering to me, begging me to go inside. It sounds crazy I know, but I can’t explain it. I felt lost all day without you today. Like I was missing something.” Eddie says, shrugging his shoulders. “You probably think I’m some fuckin stalker now” he says with a half hearted laugh lowering his head.

“I could never think that,” you say lifting his chin tenderly, “When I saw you standing there with those pizzas and your ‘fuck me’ lips, I thought I had died and gone to heaven like a weight was lifted off my shoulders and everything that had me upset was washed away, just by the sight of you.” you admit to him.

Eddie squeezes you against him in a breathtaking hug, his hands clinging to the back of your neck and your lower back. Rubbing circles into your back. He slowly takes the straps of your swimsuit and lowers them from your shoulders, kissing your shoulders gently as you pull your arms out. Your swimsuit is still covering your breasts as you lean back and lift Eddie’s cut off shirt over his head. You kiss his chest, flicking your tongue along his black widow tattoo making your way down to his nipples, your hot tongue feeling like molten lava against the cool steel bar pierced through it. You can hear his heart beating faster and faster the more your tongue is in him. Eddie lets out a shiver and a moan. Eyes never leaving yours.

“Mmm you like that big boy?” you hum into his skin, making your way back up his neck sucking lightly and flicking your tongue as you go.

Eddie moves you gently onto your back so you’re laying on the life jackets. He moves your swimsuit lower revealing your bare chest. His lips connect to yours again, mouth wet and hot with need. He cups your round tits and gently rubs your nipples between his fingers like he’s rolling a joint. You moan into his mouth, feeling like a bolt of lightning hit your core and spread through your body. Moving down your body, Eddie sucks and kneads your tits leaving bruising purple marks all over them. Your hands are in his hair lightly pulling and tugging. You take one hand and move your swimsuit down past your ass, hovering above your knees. Eddie ghosts his lips down your hips, and makes his way to your thighs.

“Eddie” you moan, wiggling your hips towards his mouth where you so desperately need him. He rips your swimsuit down off of your feet and takes a look at you completely naked beneath him.

“Jesus Christ” he growls, “you’re so beautiful”

You pull him down to you kissing him in a frenzy and thrusting your tongue into his mouth to meet his. You bite playfully at his lower lip as he moves his large hands all over your body, the ice cold feeling of his rings tingling your hot skin. Eddie’s hands move down your body and meet your bundle of nerves, rubbing lightly , another moan escapes you more needy than the first.

“Yeah baby, you like when I touch you like that?” Eddie asks. You instinctively open your legs wider for him watching him eye the slick of your folds.

Eddie lowers himself down to you, his mouth hovering over your cunt. His eyes return back to you as his long tongue licks a thick ribbon up your folds and suckling on your clit.

Thank God it's the Fourth of July weekend because the moans you are making are competing with the fireworks on the decibel scale. Eddie is licking you like a man starved. Fast then slow, deeper then lightly. You close your eyes and throw your head back in ecstasy.

“Look at me Princess while I fuck you with my tongue.” Eddie says he laces your hands with yours and looks into your eyes, his eyes are dark and wild.

His long tongue snakes its way into your aching hole. A pressure builds in your lower stomach begging to be released. You use your other hand to clutch your tit, twisting your nipple and moaning deeply.

“Cum for me baby,” Eddie moans into your folds vibrating through your body.

“Oh fuck!, shit shit shit shit! Oh my God, EDDIE!” Your orgasm hits you like a tsunami. Crashing down and taking everything along in its wake. Your eyes are rolled into your head, the coil inside your body snapping and releasing warm liquid down your thighs and all over Eddie’s face in a thick glaze. Your body is shaking like you were left outside in the middle of December. You keep your eyes pinched shut, convinced that the Earth has cracked and swallowed you both whole. Fireworks in the sky decorate neon colors against your naked body as Eddie laps up your pussy devouring every last drop.

The feeling of overstimulation hits your clit as Eddie gently blows on it bringing you back down from your high. He crawls up your body and kisses your neck gently as you rub the pads of your fingers down his muscular back.

You close your eyes lightly and hear Eddie whisper into your ear.

“That was better than dessert.”

You smile and let out a small giggle as Eddie kisses your lips.

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Taglist: @manda-panda-monium

#eddie munson #stranger things #eddie x fem!reader #no vecna #steve harrington #eddie x you #eddie x y/n #mechanic!eddie #eddie munson smut #80s aesthetic

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inkykeiji · 3 years

Text

bright light city gonna set my soul on fire

ace anon said: wanna suggest dabi taking you to a poker game as a good luck charm then betting you on a game and losing...or winning and bragging about it by fucking you on the table

genre: smut + implied crooked secret agent/spy AU set in the late 1950s???

notes: AH ace i loved this idea SO MUCH it ended up sparking an entire fic!! heavily inspired by ian fleming’s 1953 novel casino royale + martin campbell’s 2006 film casino royale. it is set in clari’s version of the 1950s and in no way historically accurate!! think of it as an AU of the 1950s, if that makes sense ehehe | title credit: viva las vegas by elvis | songs mentioned in the fic itself: don’t and i beg of you by elvis, rockin’ robin by bobby day

warnings: 18+, period typical use of the word Daddy (not with dabi), inappropriate use of the word Mister, slight degradation, mentioned somnophilia, slight dacryphilia, minimal prep, night terrors, blood, murder, generally toxic codependant relationship, one implied mention of drug use (morphine), mentions of tense family dynamics

words: 8.5k

synopsis:

Yes, as much as he’d like to deny it, it’s true; Dabi fell in love with you the moment he laid eyes on you.

Because Dabi saw more than just a pretty little thing when your gazes first met.

He saw the perfect weapon, a diamond in the rough just waiting—begging—to be cleaned and cut and formed into the most brilliant gem, into the most ideal accomplice for him—because, really, what’s more dangerous than a beautiful woman? Especially when she looks like innocence personified?

Sticky pink candy, translucent and gleaming with saliva, clacks against teeth as you roll the heart-shaped lollipop around in your mouth, twirling the stick between your index finger and your thumb.

Legs kick idly as you lean back on your other hand, seated on the edge of Tomura’s massive, pristine mahogany desk, watching as his personal tailor helps Dabi shrug on a navy tuxedo jacket, stitched and sown perfectly to his measurements.

“I dunno,” he’s saying as he pivots his body a little, making a face at himself in the mirror. “I still think the black looks better,”

Ruby eyes roll up towards the ceiling, a frustrated groan spilling from between Tomura’s lips.

“You always think the black looks better. We’re going with the navy, it brings out your eyes,” he gives the back of Dabi’s head a sharp look before strolling towards you, features softening as he observes—the perfect picture of innocence, legs swinging slowly in cute little motions, strawberry lollipop sucked against the roof of your mouth, sparkling eyes floating from your boyfriend’s broad shoulders to his—your—boss’s face as he advances.

“Gimme some,” he demands, large hands finding your knees and halting your movement, using his hipbones to push them wider, making a space for himself between them and sticking his tongue out. With a giggle, you place the now misshapen candy on his tongue, gasping loudly as he snatches the candy from you, movements too quick for you to catch, and jumps away with the grace of a cat.

“Daddy!”

Tomura snickers around the lollipop in his mouth, sucking it into his cheek as he speaks around it. “Aw, come now, don’t pout,” his bottom lip pushes out to mimic your expression, tilting his head in false sympathy. “I’m sure your Mister will buy you another,”

“He better,” you mumble through your pout, eyebrows knitting together as arms cross tightly over your chest, eyes flitting to Dabi.

“I will, dollface, I will,” he vows distractedly, gaze not straying from his fingers reflected in the mirror as they fiddle with his bowtie.

“Promise, Mister?”

“Promise, baby, promise,”

Dabi’s already been briefed on the specifics of this mission—something to do with playing a poker game with a bunch of other crooked hotshots at the Sahara hotel in Las Vegas, but that’s all you know. That’s all you’re authorized to know.

Despite being Dabi’s accomplice and working for Tomura’s underground organization, you’re rarely allowed to be in Tomura’s office while the briefing happens. It’s sensitive information, dollface, and the less you know the better, and don’t misbehave now, sit pretty and quiet like a good little girl until the big boys are finished, and then Daddy and Mister will give you a pretty reward.

But! you had protested with a bottom lip involuntarily jutted out. But maybe, if I know more, I can be of better help—

But Tomura had shut that idea down before it had even finished leaving your lips.

No. Absolutely not. It’s for your own good—your own safety, you little brat—why can’t you understand that?

You do understand that, you’ve been told a thousand times—your specialty is distractions, used to keep enemies occupied before Dabi splatters their brains on marble floors, or to pry information out of men weak to the smile of a pretty girl.

And, to be fair, Tomura does reward you pretty generously, with glittering evening gowns and designer pumps and all the handbags a gal could ever want.

You turn back to face him, red lips spread into a cunning, mischievous smile, a smile he knows all too well, a smile Dabi loves—because he taught it to you—and Tomura hates—because it means you’re about to get what you want. “So. How much money are you giving me to play with this time, Daddy?”

Tomura’s face screws up, nose scrunching. “None,” he spits, removing the lollipop from his mouth. Tiny hands grab at the air, reaching for it like a child, Tomura swiping it just out of grasp as he continues his scolding. “Last time, you nearly bought the entire shopping complex,”

“Ah, c’mon, boss,” Dabi says around a cigar, still standing in front of the full-length mirror and smoothing down his clothing. “Give the lil lady a lil somethin’, will ya?”

“Yeah, boss, c’mon,” you plead, mimicking your boyfriend, adorning your face with your signature pout and award-winning puppy-dog eyes.

“Absolutely not.” His voice is stern as he speaks, facial features hard in finality and resolution, but his eyes—irises a crimson so brilliant, so beautiful it’s terrifying, almost looks as if it’s glowing—are beginning to waver.

“You know, if you don’t, then I’m sure I’ll get bored in that big city all by myself while Dabi’s working,” you begin in a singsong voice, eyebrows raising. “And you know what happens when I get bored, Daddy,”

“She gets int’a trouble,” Dabi grumbles, eyes catching yours through the mirror, though there’s a smirk forming around the cigar, held between sharp gleaming ivory teeth.

“S’true,” you nod simply, eyelashes fluttering as you gaze at Tomura. “Please, Daddy? Pretty please? I swear I won’t spend too much this time,”

“Jus’ give ‘er your credit card r’somethin’,” Dabi waves a hand in nonchalance before patting down his pockets. “I’ll keep a’eye on ‘er, promise,”

“Take that damn cigar out of your mouth and speak properly,” Tomura spits, and you and Dabi share another look, another smirk, through the mirror. “Fine, alright? Fine,” nimble fingers pull out a sleek leather wallet, flipping it open and searching through the card slots, grumbling to himself. “Christ, the two of you are insufferable, I swear to God,”

“Thank you, Daddy,” you giggle, soft and gentle and innocent, all of the things you weren’t mere moments ago. Platinum plastic gleams in your fingers as you tilt the card in the light, gaze captivated by the way it sparkles and glitters as you speak again. “Promise I’ll bring you back something neat,”

✰ ✰ ✰

It’s been a few years now since the two of you met, since the two of you became partners, and Dabi swears to high heaven and back that he had tried his hardest not to fall in love with you, cross his heart, hope to die.

At least, that’s what he likes to tell himself. In actuality, he fell for you the moment he laid eyes on you—it’s as cliché and cheesy as one of those Jimmy Dean flicks, but goddamn it, it’s true all the same.

Doesn’t help that that’s one of the first things you said to him, though.

You look like Jimmy Dean, Mister, you had giggled dainty behind your hand, batting those long, thick eyelashes as you gazed up at him, gracious and polite and all the things a good little girl like you should be. Is supposed to be.

It made him want to fucking ruin you. It sparked a white-hot fire deep in the pit of his stomach, a blaze that grew, and grew, and grew with each of your cute mannerisms. It procured an inferno full of pure desire, heady and intoxicating, that nearly engulfed him in an instant.

“Oh, yeah?” he had asked with a smirk, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms over his chest, tongue running along his front teeth as he steadily held your eyes. “‘N why’s that, little miss?”

Those eyes, the sparkling ones that had been so bold only a moment ago, bashfully flitted down to the teal typewriter sitting in front of you on a large oak desk, fiddling a little with your nails against the worn keys.

Baby pink. Cute.

“Oh I—I—” your gaze flashed up to his for a moment, intense cobalt burning into your very skull, before you averted your stare again. “Well, I-I don’t mean to be rude, Mister, it’s just that—your hair,”

Sapphire eyes flicked up, as if to gaze at his forehead, as if he were able to see his own hair from just that motion, eyebrows raising with the action.

“S’all messy like the way he wears his. You know, when he’s not doing a picture and all that,”

And you noticed your mistake immediately, eyes widening, tongue tripping over your words in your haste to correct yourself, to speak properly, like a lady. “I-It’s all messy, s-sorry, excuse me, it’s all messy like the way he wears his,”

A smirk, slow and dangerous, spread across his face as he observed you, tilting his head a little as his eyes travelled down your neck, to your shoulders and the sweetheart neckline of that pretty, pretty dress, and then back up again, narrowing slightly as they did so. It’s in that moment that Dabi first wondered what you’d sound like underneath him while sharp hipbones bruise his name into the tender flesh of your inner thighs, how you’d slur your words together then.

His voice was a touch huskier when he spoke again. “You like Jimmy, miss?”

“I sure do,” you nodded, painted lips morphing into a little melancholic smile as you looked down at the typewriter again. “It’s a real shame he passed,”

“Sure is,” Dabi mimicked your movement, giving a simple nod in agreement. “But thank you for the compliment, doll, I’ll take it,”

Your head snapped back up. “Oh, c’mon, m’not stupid y’know,” you huffed with a roll of your eyes and a light laugh.

“No?”

The traces of amusement that played in his azure eyes had your own narrowing a little in response, sitting up straighter as you rolled your shoulders back.

“No,” you shook your head. “I know who you are,”

“Yeah? And who’s that?”

“Touya.”

And it’s the way you said his birthname, the way your lips curled into a devious little smile around the word, the way one of your perfectly arched eyebrows raised in question, in challenge, that had confirmed it for him, right then and there, in that stupidly luxurious office.

“Touya Todoroki.”

He was sure he had to have you. He was positive he had to make you his—forever.

“You’ve been compared to Jimmy since he debuted—”

“And you know this because—”

“—because I read Time and Vogue and all those other stupid magazines, just like all the other women in this country. And I’ve seen you,” you paused to point a manicured nail at him. “On or in every single one,”

Oh, and he was sure you had, sure you knew that he was notorious for stealing several of his father’s girlfriends when he was in his early twenties, infamous for fucking them and then selling the Polaroid’s and information to vying tabloids and the like. He always did like to spice up those stories a little, to fluff them and make them a hint more scandalous, glamorous—those ones always sold for more.

Not that he needed the money.

“It’s rude to point, baby,” he winked before he straightened up, pushed himself off the wall and stalked towards your desk, stopping in front of it as large hands splayed out on the wood, and leaned close to your face.

“And I don’t go by that name anymore, sweetheart,” he had told you, voice smooth as scotch over ice, though something dangerous glinted in his eyes as they carefully searched your face, something omnious etched into the sharp smile on his face

A shiver crawled up your spine, frosty and slow, fingers tiptoeing up each vertebra as you nodded your understanding. “Y-Yes, sir,”

The door to your boss’s office had swung open then, Dabi straightening up and spreading his arms out in a grand sweeping movement.

“David!” he greeted as if the two were old friends, large smile stretched too tight across his face as he walked forward and clapped a large hand on the smaller man’s shoulder. “How are you doing?”

He murdered your boss that day. You didn’t know, of course, didn’t have a goddamn clue until over a month later, Dabi had made sure of that. But by the time you found out, you were already in too deep; too enamoured by him, wholly captivated by him in every sense of the word, too dependant on him, to care at all.

He had made it quick—quiet and painless and looking as if it was an accident, strolling out of the office only a few moments later and asking you out on a date like nothing had happened, words flowing smoothly from his lips in that drawl that is so distinctly him, almost lazy in a way, glittering lidded sapphire scalding your skin with its intensity.

Yes, as much as he’d like to deny it, it’s true; Dabi fell in love with you the moment he laid eyes on you.

Because Dabi saw more than just a pretty little thing when your gazes first met.

Nothing, that’s what.

Honestly, he did you a favour—he swears he could see it in your eyes, sparkling as they gazed at him like he sculpted the moon himself, pleading for someone—for him—to come along and take care of you, to put you in your place, to keep you in line, absolutely desperate for someone to mold you, shape you, construct and arrange you into his most perfect creation.

Perfect, perfect, perfect, that’s what you are; so good for him, so obedient and compliant, always hanging on his every word and eagerly awaiting his next command, enthusiastic to submit to him, to please him, to receive the praise you crave so badly.

And Tomura had agreed, too, after only fifteen minutes of meeting you, of observing you, of assessing you, that you’d be a flawless addition to their operation.

So Dabi did what he does best.

He started slow, of course, enchanted you with strings of pearls and gorgeous dresses and expensive dinners, fed you tidbits about his mysterious lifestyle, about his family and his job and his past, just enough to keep you coming back for more, until you were practically begging him to let you in, to permit you to join his vocation, to accompany him on the wild ride that is his life.

And that was the best part of all—you didn’t care, you wanted it just as badly as he did; wanted to help him, to serve him, to be his, without ever requiring the full story. You readily gave everything up for him, accepted his orders, his wants and his needs without as much as a single question, never faltering in your honesty, in your pure devotion to your creator.

It’s love in its truest form, you’re both sure of it—possessed by one another, infatuated with one another, dedicated to one another—both consumed by the most potent drug, this love, a force to be reckoned with, the strongest pull either of you have ever felt before.

And, really, what more could you ask for?

✰ ✰ ✰

He took you under his wing, crafted you into a master of manipulation, pairing it perfectly with that innocent kitten demeanour you wear so well, and taught you everything he knew: all of the infiltration techniques and self-defence he had learned before he was ostracized from his father’s company—a privatized intelligence agency that works closely with the federal government—the very organization he’s been working so tirelessly to burn to the ground.

You still don’t exactly know what happened. He doesn’t like to talk about it, about where those scars decorating his body came from, about why he’s thrown away his old identity and constructed a new one, trading ivory hair and a high-fashion wardrobe for inky black and weathered Levi jeans with big black motorcycle boots.

But you do know a little.

He had been the favourite son, the chosen son, the one set to inherit the empire his father had built. That was, until he got himself into an accident—one that he still isn’t ready to disclose the full details of, and you never push. But you know it had involved a twelve year old Touya—always devious, crafty, and ever-so intelligent, even as a child—sneaking along on a mission he absolutely shouldn’t have. The silvery burns that adorn his skin, puckered and soft and shimmering like moonlight when they catch in the sun, scars tinged with the slightest hint of baby pink, are from this incident. Whatever had happened after had scarred his soul forever.

Because you’ve never encountered such intense hatred, burning bright blue flames that rage and roar inside of him, the words that are spit from between clenched teeth when he talks about his father, about his baby brother, positively scalding.

But it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter that you don’t know the full story, that you aren’t entirely aware of why this vendetta against his family exists. It doesn’t matter that his one goal in life, his only true desire aside from you, is to take down his father. It doesn’t matter that he’s willing to do anything and use everyone to achieve his objective.

Because he is letting you in; slowly, bit by bit and piece by piece, the most fascinating and tragically beautiful jigsaw you’ve ever put together. He may never be ready to tell the full story, and that’s alright with you, because as you’ve reassured him countless times in the dead of night, you’ll always love him anyway—you’ll always be by his side.

That’s when he’s most vulnerable, it seems—in the middle of the night, at two and three and four in the morning, when he wakes trembling and whimpering and soaked with his own sweat.

He never tells you what they’re about, the nightmares. Sometimes, they’re so violent that they wake you first. He doesn’t fuck you immediately on those days, doesn’t say a word as he finds solace in your warm bosom, little fingers pushing back sweaty strands of inky hair from his temples as your other arm wraps around him, holding him close to you as his shaky breathing calms, as his muscles stop quivering. On those nights, he says nothing as he spreads your legs and climbs on top of you, railing you into the mattress like it’s his last day on this earth.

That’s how he likes to be comforted; that’s what calms him down best. It’s standard procedure at this point—not that you mind waking up to his soft sniffles and him shoving himself into your barely prepped cunt, or rousing to feel the tip of his naked cock rubbing against your clit through thin cotton undies as he tells you in that wavering voice to stay sleeping and let your Mister take what he needs. You’re there to serve him—and you do, so perfectly. You just want to help, after all. You’ve always ever just wanted to help. You never know which nights he’ll gift you another little piece of himself, of his soul, for you to try and fit in somewhere in the puzzle that is DABI. You don’t know the triggers—as far as you’re concerned, they don’t seem to exist anywhere outside of the padlocked barricade of his own head, no rhyme or reason to them, more random than anything else. But you’ll readily accept anything and everything he’s willing to give, the very instant he’s willing to give it.

✰ ✰ ✰

Sprawled out on the hotel bed with his white t-shirt riding up and exposing your lacy panties, you watch, in an almost trancelike state, as Dabi does his hair in preparation for the game set to begin in an hour or so. He leaves it messy and ungreased when he isn’t working, all tousled and fluffy, a sea of half formed curls that flow into each other, akin to tremulous waves hours before a storm like an inky ocean atop his head. But he cleans up well, when it comes time to get down to business.

“Every little swallow, every chickadee, every little bird in the tall oak tree,”

Standing in front of the mirror clad in a white undershirt and his suit pants, he sings along to Bobby Day’s staticky voice as it flows through the small radio set on the bathroom counter, nimble fingers dipping into a tin of greasy pomade and gathering a generous glob, a responding giggle bubbling up in your chest.

“The wise old owl, the big black crow,” he catches your eye through the mirror, a devilish smile materializing on his face as he continues, lathering his hands together. “Flap-a their wings singin’ ‘go bird go’,”

“Should’a been a singer, I’m telling ya,” you say as you roll onto your stomach, chin resting in your palms and head propped up, eyes glittering. “Could’a rivalled Elvis,”

Huffing out a laugh accompanied by a roll of his eyes, his hands begin to rake through his hair, slathering it with the substance and slicking most of it back from his face, sure to leave a few curls at the start of his hairline untouched. “So sweet you’re gonna rot my teeth, baby,”

“M’serious!” you insist, blinking at him as your eyebrows raise, watching the teeth of the black comb run through the slicked-up strands, his palm following close behind as he smooths it over; crisscross, crisscross, crisscross, fluff, pat, crisscross.

“Uh-huh, uh-huh,” he shakes his head in disbelief, though there’s the faintest pink tinting his stubbled cheeks. “I think I’m better at this job,”

What? Playing poker with a bunch of criminals and making deals with mafiosos and murdering those who wrong you? you swallow the words, letters stinging and scraping your throat as you force them back down, schooling your face into a neutral expression. “I respectfully disagree,”

“‘Course you do,” he mumbles to himself distractedly, leaning closer to the mirror to complete the look. “Elvis, you say?”

He begins belting out lyrics in an exaggerated deep voice as he adds the finishing touch—your favourite part—slender fingers shining with residual pomade as they twirl and coat the few stray curls left neglected, allowing them to hang artfully in the middle of his forehead.

“When I feel like this and I want to kiss youuu,” pivoting on his heel, he gazes at you with that shit-eating grin and continues. “Baby, don’t say doooon’t,”

“Oh, God, no, not Don’t!” you groan, flopping onto your back dramatically, face screwed up as if you had just tasted something sour.

“Alright, alright, alright,” he’s chuckling as he advances towards you, a small towel in his hands as he cleans them. “How ‘bout…” trailing off, he hums a little as he thinks.

“Hold my hand and promise,” he begins in a low voice, smooth and sweet like the finest melted chocolate, depositing of the towel and crawling onto the bed.

“That you’ll always love me too,”

Large hands gently pry your legs part, signature crooked smirk spreading across his face when he’s met with zero resistance, rough palms caressing silky skin as they slide up, fingers gripping and grabbing and kneading.

“Make me know you love me,”

The words taper off into a whine, beginning to sound more like begging than singing, as his body settles between your thighs, hipbones digging into the soft flesh while he hovers above you, supporting his weight on his forearms.

“The same way I love you, little girl,”

Lips trail along your jaw, leaving tender kisses in their wake—unhurried, careful, and full of purpose—as he mumbles against your skin.

“You got me at your mercy, now that I'm in love with you,”

Calloused hands begin to ruck up his t-shirt, digits dipping into the lacy waistband of your panties, his voice starting to tremble ever so slightly.

“So please don't take advantage, cause you know my love is true,”

He pulls back just enough to look at you, sapphire eyes gleaming in the golden sunlight and he pauses, blistering gaze searching your face for something, muscles relaxing and head dipping a moment later to finally press his lips against yours, whispering into the kiss. “Darling please, please love me too, I beg of you,”

And despite all the glitz and glamour, all the extravagance and exhilaration, that comes with each mission, this will always be your favourite part—when it’s only you and him, lounging around in some luxurious five star hotel or some dingy roadside motel, exchanging lazy, messy kisses full of stringy shining saliva, goofing around and whispering stupid Elvis lyrics to each other, words that hold more weight than either of you care to admit.

✰ ✰ ✰

It was supposed to be a fairly simple operation—minimal violence, Tomura had instructed. No guns or casualties, if it can be avoided, if Dabi can keep his temper in check. It was supposed to be easy, straightforward, safe.

It was supposed to be. But Dabi gets bored easily, likes a little spike of adrenaline with his missions, rolling his broad shoulders and cracking his neck as he joins the rest of the men around the poker table, a sly smirk on his face as they name the bets and the prizes.

“And my little doll,”

It’s hard to resist rolling your eyes as those four words slip from between his lips, slow and smooth in that deep, lazy drawl, trademark smirk painted across his lips as his lidded eyes scan the faces sitting around the table, an eyebrow raised, daring any of them to protest. Several hungry eyes dart towards you for a moment, standing like the reward you are a few feet behind Dabi and leaning on a railing, a shy little smile briefly gracing your lips in greeting, elegant evening gown shimmering under the crystal lights.

This isn’t new—Dabi usually bets you when he plays. Keeps him sharp, he claims. Keeps him on his toes, keeps it fun when there’s something important at stake, something valuable to lose, he says. He plays better that way, he promises.

Except he’s always craved that thrill of danger, has always liked to push further and further simply to see how far he can go before he topples over the edge. It’s a rush, a blast, a high akin to the morphine that so often flows through his veins, and he fucking lives for it.

It’s been over an hour now, since those words were murmured in that velvet voice, floating across the table and cloaking the thoughts of the other men like a lethal haze, most of whom can’t seem to keep their eyes from wandering back to you every so often, leering gazes coating your skin with grime you itch to scrub off.

But that’s the point—or it’s supposed to be, anyway. That’s the whole reason you’re here in the first place. To act as a distraction, Tomura’s words drift through your mind, just whisps of his voice that tickle the walls of your skull.

And what a perfect distraction you are, in a Dior dress that looks like it was made only for you, tapered perfectly to every curve and edge of your body, silk flowing gracefully with every miniscule movement, with every rise and fall of your chest.

But it bores you to tears, this poker game, eyes dry and sticky, sick of staring at the back of your boyfriend’s immaculate, intricate hair as his nimble fingers play with the mountain of chips accumulating in front of him, plastic clacking together as he shuffles through them.

You had begged him to let you go shopping—just for the first half of the game, you swear!—but he refused. I need my good luck charm there with me the entire time, babydoll, he told you, brushing calloused fingers down your cheek then tracing along the line of your jaw, gazing at you with brilliant sapphire that glitters in the late afternoon sun, streaming in through the hotel’s floor-length windows. We can go shopping after the game is finished, he promised.

You regarded him with skepticism.

“And dancing?”

“Of course,” he responded with a playful scoff. “We can dance until our feet are bleeding, pinky promise,”

Keigo comes to join you just before the game passes the two-hour mark, large hands finding purchase on your hips and pulling you back against his chest as his head dips down, soft full lips against your skin.

“Lovely dress you’ve got on,” he murmurs, breath hot against your ear, tickling the shell. “You look stunning—breathtaking—I mean, gosh, look at me, I can barely breathe,” he gasps dramatically, chest heaving against your back as he does so, chuckling when you roll your eyes and giggle at him to shut up, Kei, the vibrations from his laugh a comforting sensation, a familiar sensation, a welcomed sensation, sending warmth spreading through your body. “I’m so happy you’re here,” you whine, leaning further into him and head tilting against his collarbone to gaze up at him. “I’m so bored,”

“Yeah, I bet,” he says, something unusual—unreadable—settling in his topaz eyes as he glances up at the table. “You aren’t used to games lasting this long, are you, baby,”

A little pout settles on your lips and you nod, playing right into his condescending cooing as you snuggle into him, eyes following his stare. Truthfully, you haven’t a clue what’s going on, and, really, you couldn’t care less. You aren’t entirely sure what the significance of this poker game is, or who most of these men are, and you aren’t allowed to. Just sit pretty and perfect like you always do; it’s the thing you do best.

Except tonight—tonight something is different, unsettling, off. It’s no big deal, though, of course—you can almost hear that deep, dark voice drawling the words out in your mind, phantom breath tickling your skin.

Because Dabi’s always been startlingly good at what he does. Because Dabi’s always been able to worm his way out of a difficult situation. Because there’s never really been a reason to worry about it before, anyway. But tonight—well, tonight you’re watching as his Balenciaga clad shoulders are getting tenser, and tenser, as his jaw is clenching tighter, and tighter, as his grip on that singular sparkly chip resting in his palm is becoming stronger, and stronger, thin skin stretching painfully over sharp bony knuckles.

Keigo’s breath is bated, his fingers digging into your hips as he observes the game unfolding in front of the both of you, pulling you closer to him, hushed curses falling from his lips every so often. And Keigo knows what’s happening, of course, but he refuses to tell you, promising you that you wouldn’t understand even if he tried to explain it. Creases form on your forehead as your eyebrows knit, eyes drifting back to the table. Whatever it is, it’s clear that it isn’t good, Keigo’s body tensing against yours as he sucks in a breath and holds it for a moment before blowing it out from his mouth, exasperated. “Well, I’m positive it’s fine,” you say, trying to wave it off lightly, to whisk away the acrimonious dread that roots deep in the pit of your stomach and begins to spread, thick and dense as it slithers into your surrounding organs, to brush off the impending sense of foreboding that seems to lurk over you, getting heavier and heavier, darker and darker with each second that ticks by—though your voice sounds high to your ears, tinny and false. “Dabi’s never lost a game before, that’s why they send him to these things,” But Keigo doesn’t sound so sure, responding with a nervous breath of a laugh, lithe fingers flexing on your hips, rubbing little lopsided circles into the flesh. “First time for everything, songbird,”

The words send ice piercing through your veins, but you persevere, rolling your shoulders and standing up a little straighter, swallowing past the painful lump that’s lodged itself in your throat. It’s fine. It’s always fine. He’s always found a way to get out of messy, tight situations before. Why should tonight be any different?

It won’t be, it isn’t—you can already see Dabi collapsing on the cream sofa upstairs in your luxurious hotel room, tugging at his bowtie with a sigh as his head falls back, nimble fingers popping the first few buttons on his crisp white dress shirt, and had you scared for a moment there, didn’t I, kitten?

And you’ll playfully slap his shoulder as you crawl into his lap, roll your eyes as you straddle his hips and allow him to tilt the champagne flute to your lips, laugh it off as his hands begin to wander, rucking up your dress and kneading your ass, cock tenting his expensive trousers. Like always. You’re sure of it

It’s just past the three-hour mark when Keigo speaks again, all traces of teasing, of that easygoing lilt that is so distinctly him, gone from his voice. Golden locks stand in all directions, his hair having fallen out of its usual ducktail style, a curtesy of fingers raking through it nervously. His smile is tight as he looks down at you, front teeth nibbling at his cuticles as he speaks, muffled a little by his fingers. “Maybe we should get you out of here, sweetheart—”

“No,” you respond instantly with a firm shake of your head. “I’m not going anywhere,”

“Sunshine, listen—”

“I said, no, Kei,” you pull back a little to look at him, resolution sown into your voice, chest puffing out just a touch. “I won’t leave him,”

Honey eyes hold yours for a moment, and you can almost hear Keigo’s molars as they grind together. He exhales a deep sigh a moment later, shaking his head and tugging his fingers through golden strands again. “Alright, alright,” It finally comes to an end, a few minutes past the four-hour mark. Heavy lids start to lift as commotion begins to stir—soft murmurs among the men and chairs scraping against the floor, plastic chips clacking together and the sharp whisp that travels through the air as cards are shuffled—whining a little as you lean further into Keigo, who is now supporting most of your weight.

“Kei, feet hurt,”

“Shh, I know, songbird,” he hushes you, a large palm stroking your head. “But I need you to wake up, sweetheart,”

Rough, unfamiliar hands are wrapping around your arms only a moment later, yanking you from the warm sanctuary that is Keigo and hauling you against stiff muscle.

“I believe you’re mine now, darling,”

The words are gravelly, uttered in a low voice against the crown of your head. A vicious shiver crawls along your skin, whole body trembling with the force of it, as your lids snap open.

“Wait, what?” frantic eyes search the gaudy room for familiar cobalt, breath beginning to accelerate as you struggle a little in the grasp of a burly man with one eye. His grip tightens in retaliation and a pained yelp hitches in your throat, Dabi’s eye twitching at the sound. “Dabi? D-Dabi!”

Sapphire blazes into your skull, steadily holding your watery gaze as his jaw clenches, swallowing thickly at the sound of your pitiful little whimpers of his name, at the way you squirm and wiggle in your abductor's grasp, desperate to escape, to get back to him.

“H-Hold on, now,” Keigo begins, holding his hands up in surrender, a motion meant to signify peace, to signify that he isn’t a threat—even though you know he’s got the cold metal of his favourite pistol tucked into the waistband of his trousers and pressed against his warm skin. “Let’s talk this through, yeah? Just wait a minute—”

“Nope,” the man cuts Keigo off mid-sentence with a loud, harsh laugh, and you wince at the sound. “No way, a deal’s a deal, friend. I won her fair and square—she’s mine,”

A light chuckle, laced with irritation and dubiety, escapes Keigo’s lips as he shakes his head a little. “Come on, Dabi jokes around like that all the time,” and while his voice seems amicable on the surface, its ridden with cold undertones, phantom threats that are felt, not said. “And this little lady—as pretty as she is—is a person, not a prize. Taking her against her will is, in fact, kidnapping, and I’ll be forced to—”

“Let him go,”

“What?” the word falls from your lips and Keigo’s simultaneously—one incredulous and pitched high with distress, the other breathed out in disbelief, both equally as concerned—gazes snapping to Dabi, who sits quiet and brooding, dim lights casting shadows on the sharp planes of his face.

Azure drifts between your faces, features ridden with terror and alarm—furrowed brows and deep frowns tugging at the corners of lips, one pair of eyes wide with scepticism, the other pair glistening with tears. Dabi’s silent for another moment before he pushes on his knees and stands, squaring his shoulders and clearing his throat, voice ringing out loud and clear, dripping with admonition. “Let him go. He’s right; he won her, fair and square,”

He speaks slowly, annunciating each word with careful precision, sapphire glinting in the dim light has he holds the muscular man’s gaze. It holds something threatening, something menacing, something terrifying deep within the depths of his eyes, and you feel your captor pause for a second, tense, and then shiver.

“Uh, r-right,” he says, voice wavering a little as he nods to himself. “Fair and square,”

Dabi stalks towards you, shiny oxfords echoing against the pristine, freshly waxed marble floor, tutting his tongue and shaking his head, casual and relaxed as ever.

“Don’t struggle, you hear me?” he says, voice softer, gentler, as a calloused thumb swipes across your cheekbone, catching a stray tear. “Be a good girl for him,”

And I’ll see you soon.

The promise doesn’t need to be vocalized—you can see it, shining bright and true in his sapphire eyes, can sense it, in the air surrounding him, can feel it, at the very core of your soul.

A sudden sense of relief floods your body, pathetic little sobs getting caught in your chest as you exhale shakily and deflate in the burly man’s arms, tears finally spilling over your lashline and streaming down your cheeks.

“Okay,” you breathe.

Dabi gives you a simple nod, lips quirking up into a ghost of his signature lopsided smirk. Okay.

And just like that, all of the fear and trepidation and panic vanishes from your body, a serene calm chased by a sense of giddiness replacing it, scorching through your veins.

Because before the door to the man’s hotel room has even swung fully shut, Dabi’s barreling through, crystal handle smashing against the wall and cracking as skilled fingers tangle in short hair, yanking the man’s head back with a sickening crack and dragging the razor-sharp edge of his favourite switchblade across the man’s exposed throat.

He moves like a flash of light, a spark igniting a fire, so fast he’s merely a blur of black and navy and blazing sapphire. Thick crimson begins pouring from the wound immediately, a large splice spanning from one earlobe all the way to the other.

The man hits the shiny hardwood floor with a distinct thump, but you aren’t paying attention to him or the way he’s writhing as he tries to claw at his neck, coughing and gagging as he begins to choke on his own blood.

No, you’re captivated by sapphire, bright and burning as it surges towards you, calloused hands seizing your face roughly as chapped lips find yours, unforgiving and ferocious, bloody knife still in one hand, cool metal pressed against your cheek, smearing streaks of scarlet across your skin as you try to get closer to him, to get more, the stench of copper stinging your nose.

It’s eradicated in an instant though, Dabi’s heady scent—campfire and hickory wood and expensive cologne—filling your lungs, your mind, your entire being as it curls around you in the most intoxicating embrace, familiar and comforting and him, him, him. Stumbling backwards, you just about trip over your own feet as Dabi shoves forward, strong hands wrapped around your biceps keeping you steady. The sharp edge of the small rosewood dining table digs into your lower back, Dabi swallowing your resounding yelp as he sucks your bottom lip between his teeth and tugs, large hands finding your waist and squeezing before he hoists you onto its surface, using his hipbones to force your thighs open.

You nearly topple over from the power, from the urgency, hands flying out behind you and grappling against the table’s surface to keep you sitting upright as he heaves and pushes and leans against you, motions knocking sparkling crystal glasses and fine porcelain plates off the top.

The sound of shattering glass and cracking china mingles with the gurgling and garbling of the man who lay a few feet away on the floor, suffocating on his own blood. It creates such a beautiful symphony, intertwined with Dabi’s ragged breaths and your broken moans, with the ruffling of clothing and the screech of the table legs against the gleaming hardwood floor. And it’s desperate, and needy, and messy, teeth clashing and clacking together violently, saliva dripping down chins as tongues rub and glide and lick, hands pawing and gripping and tugging and ripping, the delicate material of your silk Dior dress practically turning to ash as his fingers materialize through it, tearing it to shreds.

“Off, off, off, I need this off,” he’s growling against your lips as his hands work, a low whine getting caught in your throat as you nod frenetically.

Yes, yes, yes, you’re whimpering, your own little fingers helping him destroy the silvery fabric, eager and anxious to rid your body of the bothersome garment.

A guttural groan, deep and dark and inducing a fluttering in your tummy rumbles in his chest as his eyes roam over your body, clad in the daintiest white lace.

“You’re fucking gorgeous, y’know that,” he’s mumbling between sharp bites to the flesh of your neck, fingers snapping the clasp of your bra, breaking it in one simple motion. “A fuckin’ angel, that’s what you are, baby. My very own angel,”

Rough palms slide down your torso, slow and purposeful as they trace, feel, knead the dips and curves, planes and contours of your body, slender fingers pausing to play with the elastic of the garter belt adorning your waist, holding up your lace-trimmed thigh-highs which have begun to tear, then hooking in the waistband of your thong.

His cock grinds against your inner thigh, hot and hard and throbbing as it strains against his trousers, digits toying with the lacy elastic, twirling it between his fingers before he lets it snap back against your skin, the harsh slap! echoing throughout the hotel room.

“Oh, Mister, I want it,” the plead falls from your lips in a shameless moan, high and whiny as your hips press forward in an attempt to grind against him. Slender fingers untangle themselves from the lacy fabric in an instant, gripping your hips to still them, fingertips digging into your flesh. “I need it,”

“Need what, dollface?” his lips brush against your skin as he speaks, teeth sinking into your collarbone a moment later, hard enough to break the skin, a loud cry getting caught in your chest. He sucks on the wound, hard, tongue laving over it in soothing little circles, slowly dragging over the bite.

And it’s a compulsion, a sickness, a fucking disease surging through your veins, infecting your mind with thoughts of him and only him, entire body buzzing with the desperate, pathetic, urgent need for him, for his cock, for his cum.

“Need you, need you,” you’re whimpering out, squirming and struggling a little in his grasp, a warning hiss spit through his teeth as blunt nails nip your skin. “Please, Dabi, please, lemme have it,”

“Have what, baby?” lips curling up into a coy smirk, he pulls back just enough to look at you, finally pushing his hips into yours, a patronizing laugh spilling from his throat as you instantly grind against his cock, impatient and impetuous. “Use your words, Mister wants to hear you say it,”

Scalding heat seeps into your cheeks as you squeeze your eyes shut tightly, a broken whine of complaint sounding in the back of your throat as you shake your head. “Y-You know,” you mumble. “You know,”

“Oh, come on, baby,” he tuts with a disappointed shake of his head, voice overflowing with condescension. “You act like such a little slut, but as soon as I want you to say what you apparently need oh-so-badly, you can’t? You get all shy and bashful like you’re innocent, or something?”

An arrogant chuckle bubbles up in his chest, a rough palm colliding with the flesh of your ass a moment later. Scarred lips graze your ear as he leans back in, speaking low and smooth, words leaving his mouth in a huff of warm, sweet breath. “You’re being bad, y’know that?”

The huskiness in his tone sends chills pebbling across your skin, a delicate shiver dancing up your spine.

“Please,” you whisper, bottom lip beginning to tremble. “Please, Mister, please,”

“Tell me,” he rasps, taking the lobe of your ear between his teeth and sucking, bruising his name into the sensitive skin. “I know you can do it, doll. What is it that you want? Tell me,”

And, God, it’s so embarrassing, vision blurring with the sting of tears, entire body beginning to tremble from the combined humiliation and lust surging through your veins, his clothed cock still rutting against your core, poking and prodding and so close, you’re so close, two tiny words, just say them. “Your—Your cock,” you almost yelp, blinking back the tears in your eyes as you try to gaze levelly at him, teeth digging into your bottom lip to quell its pathetic quivering. “W-Want your cock, please, Mister, I-I need it,”

“Yeah?” he breathes while he rests his forehead against yours, butting forward a little as his glazed eyes rapidly search your face, pupils blown to hell and lips bitten red, shining with spit. “Where, huh? Down here?”

A finger tugs the flimsy soaked lace to the side, another dark chuckle slipping from his lips as he drags a knuckle up your dripping slit.

“Here?” it presses into your cute little hole, your hips eagerly bucking forward in response.

“Yes, yes, there, Mister, there, please,” you keen, head nodding in almost frantic movements, skull knocking against his. “Please, n-no fingers, want your cock, need your cock, stretch me out, fill me up, I need it,”

And it’s your senseless babbling that does it, bratty and needy and incessant in high broken whines, that snaps the final thread of patience holding him back, and a growl rips from his chest, so violent it vibrates through your own.

The heavy buckle of his belt clinks as hasty fingers fiddle with it, shoving his trousers down his thighs just enough to free his cock.

You can’t help the mortifying moan that escapes your throat the moment you see it, velvety and pink and oh-so-pretty, flushed tip glistening with precum and two thick veins snaking around the shaft like vines.

“Christ,” he groans as he pushes into your cunt, burying himself inside of you in one swift thrust, your nails biting into the hard muscles of his shoulder through the thin material of his shirt as your hole stretches around him, both of you exhaling simultaneous sighs of relief.

It burns and it stings and God, you need more, eyes rolling back in your skull as the sharp heels of your stilettos dig into his lower back, little fingers tangling in white cotton as you try to pull him closer, closer, closer.

“Greedy little brat,” he snarls out as his hips begin snapping, the movement sudden, unexpected, welcomed, a choked cry of his name catching in your throat.

And it’s brutal and relentless, primal and desperate, lacking most of his usual finesse as he pounds into you, cockhead slamming against your cervix with every harsh thrust of his hips, hard enough to move the entire table itself, legs scraping against the floor a little more with each pump.

Inky curls cling to his forehead and temples, the white cotton of his dress shirt becoming translucent as it sticks to his damp skin, highlighting the hard planes of defined muscle that flex with each ragged inhale.

Surging forward, his tongue runs along the inside of your teeth before it drags against yours, slow and heavy, depositing his taste and staining it with the flavour of him, fiery cinnamon gum and smoky Marlboros. Gorgeous, needy little whines break in his throat in time with each strong piston of his hips, muffled by your mouth, and you greedily swallow whatever he’ll afford you.

It’s total sensory overload—he’s all you can see, all you can hear, all you can taste, touch, breathe, hijacking all of your receptors and overwhelming you with him.

It’s building inside of you, deep in the pit of your stomach, scorching flames that glow as blue as his eyes as they rage, climbing higher and higher, licking at your insides and expanding further and further until they finally engulf you, consume you, with their blaze, and everything shatters, body convulsing almost violently around his cock as you cum with a strained cry of his name.

“Fill me, Mister,” you’re babbling, begging, swearing you’ll die if he doesn’t, the flames will burn you to ash if you don’t get his cum soon, voice absolutely wrecked. “Fill me, fill me,”

And he obeys, filling your cute little cunt to the brim with thick, hot cum as his cock pulses, a cracked whimper of f-fuck, slipping past his lips.

His chest heaves as he collapses against you, the two of you falling back against the table’s surface with a thump, his cock still buried inside of you. A soft whine sounds in the back of your throat as you carefully unlock your legs from around him, wincing a little at the stiffness in your thighs.

I love you.

The three words are murmured into your shoulder, so soft you barely hear them, so quiet you’re sure you’d have imagined them had you not felt his lips move against your flesh, not felt his hot breath on your skin, not felt the gentle vibrations in his chest as he spoke.

“I love you,” you respond, voice tender as tiny fingers comb through his dishevelled hair. “I love you,”

He’s silent for a moment, your combined pants the only sounds ringing out among the hotel room, and then he nods—once at first; just a quick, sharp motion, and then again a moment later, with more vigour, more purpose, more acceptance.

Little hands smooth down the damp cotton hugging his back and your head lolls to the side, cheek pressed against the cool wood of the table. A certain type of giddiness—a type that’s sick, that’s twisted, that’s stuffed full of love—floods your body as your eyes connect with those of a dead man, laying in a pool sticky crimson, and God, yes, you love him, you love him, you love him—more than anyone else ever could, more than you could ever love anything else.

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handshakesake · 3 years

Text

🔥 FIRST IMPRESSIONS 🔥

YUJI/SUKUNA x READER

PART #3

!!! NSFW !!!

/// WARNINGS: Non con, oral, tag teaming, dirty talk, smutty smut smut (Yuji’s aged up, obv) ///

((Okay so now I can start doing DUALITY and if you guys like this you’re gonna lose your minds for the next phase. Also no shame, I’m a sinner and I know. -claps hands-))

Yuji might have sped just a tad bit to get home, right on your heels up the stairs to the front door, seemingly more comfortable since you hardly reacted to his unfortunate curse. Or maybe it was jealousy, seeing the other touching you during the switch and starting a war with him over a girl. If Sukuna wanted to stir him up, it worked. You could barely get the keys into the doorknob with Yuji’s mouth nibbling at your ear, hands tugging you backwards into his chest, dipping his head to bite at your neck.

“Glad to see you’re f-feeling better…but I can’t...mm, I can’t get the door- ah!” You fumbled over your words when he ran his tongue up the side of your neck, sneaking the keys from your hands and whispering with a suspiciously innocent tone.

“I’ll get it, I’ll take care of anything for you….” As soon as the door was open you two were stumbling frantically inside and Yuji kicked it shut behind him, ripping his tie off with a determined look on his face.

“Oh, I’m sure you would.”

Sore and sleepy, you sat up in bed in the dark and felt for your lover next to you, but he wasn’t there. The bedroom was pitch black, no light from under the bathroom door to indicate he was in there, in fact you couldn’t see anything at all. You could feel the sheets under your fingers and were confused, finding smooth silk in place of the fluffy blankets you and Yuji would nuzzle into most nights.

“Yuji?” You called out, but there was no response, just a painfully eerie silence and the sound of water dripping once or twice. You slowly slid off the bed, but when your feet touched the floor you found liquid an inch or so deep. First assumption was that the apartment flooded, so you scrambled for the light switch in the dark, finding no walls or doors. No furniture. Just more empty blackness. Just when you started to panic, you felt a hand slowly wrap around one of your wrists.

“Yuji?” You could hardly breath as another hand grabbed your side, then another arm hooked firmly around your back so you couldn’t escape.

“Wrong again.” Sukuna’s voice wasn’t playful or lyrical like it’d been in the car earlier that evening, it was a spoken growl, and agitated tone that warned you not to fight him. Warm, liquid verbal impatience.

“Why can’t I see you? And where are we?” Instead of pulling away, you let the arms gather you up and lay you back on the bed haphazardly. The mattress shifted, your body began to react to the fight or flight instinct kicking in, but you wouldn’t escape. He caged you in, climbing on top of you and sitting on your pelvis.

“We are within my domain. You wanna see me? Or are you scared of the dark, little girl?” Sukuna was mocking you, expecting the whole scenario would make you try to run, fight him like predator and prey, but you didn’t.

“If you still think I’m afraid of your form, you’re in for a surprise.” You ran your hands along his where they rested on the bed and kept his body up above yours, triggering flames to flicker around the bed, candles with their melting dripped onto the red liquid floor.

“Naughty thing, aren’t you. Wanting a peek at the big bad curse.” He snickered, lower set of hands trailing over your chest, down your waist and to the hem of the only thing you were wearing, a t- shirt. He tore it away with ease, enjoying the way you shivered. He was in thick white robes, body was so starkly similar to Yuji’s, aside from his eyes, arms and the vicious sneer on his face.

“You’re actually quite breathtaking.” You mumbled, half lidded eyes locked on his lower jaw as he swallowed hard, frowning while he brought his face to yours and the tips of your noses touched. His chest rumbled contemplative, he looked almost softer, a gaze of pity.

“Of course I am, I’m your king. Keep up the praises and I might reward you.” A trill cackle erupted from his throat, but it died down when you reached up and tugged at his robes and whined.

“I can’t praise what I can’t see.” Oh, Yuji must have screwed you a bit senseless, because the subservience was not something he’d seen come so easily.

“Ask me properly, little thing. Address your king correctly and I may have mercy on you.” His wicked smile showed fangs that glittered in the flickering candle light, his tongue teasingly wriggling behind its cage just waiting for a taste. His patience was godly, however, despite how many centuries he’d missed this ritual.

“Handsome, wise king Ryomen, have pity on my poor soul. Spoil me with your visage.” You smirk, dizzy with lust, just slightly noticing the deep red smoke on the air around you, sedating you without your knowledge.

“Such an obedient thing…” Sukuna sighed, but his lips were still curved upward, pride swelling as he let his clothes fall off him, leaving you to stare in awe for a few seconds.

“Little thing, you’re practically drooling. And over someone like me? Tsk tsk, what a shame. Though, it simplifies so much you look at me the way you look at the brat. Maybe I can come to terms with sharing my property.” As he spoke, he flipped you onto your stomach, a hand nestling into your hair to yank your head back and force you to look into his eyes.

“Share? What does Y-Yuji say...about that...” You moan your words while his three free hands find every inch of your body and handle you with a roughness your other lover never dared use.

“Ask him yourself.” Sukuna muttered as he turned your head by your hair and you found yourself staring up at Yuji standing at the foot of the claw foot bed.

“This is pretty lewd. Is it bad I’m a little turned on? Fucking pissed, yeah. But...” Yuji was affected the same way as you by the smoke drifting around, causing the bridge of his nose to be dusted pink with the heat of his blood.

“Shut up, brat! We share the same body, it hardly matters. Now keep her mouth shut too while I have my way.” There was no warning otherwise from Sukuna, a cock entering you with a single languid thrust was its own warning. It hurt, stung and you immediately reached out and grabbed onto Yuji’s waist for stability as the beast behind you set a rapid pace from the start. Your cries were so desperate, it tore at Yuji’s heart, but he felt like his legs would give out if he even moved. Between grunts, Sukuna gave him an order, his three free hands still roaming your form carelessly as he fucked you hard.

“Use-her-mouth! Or I will!” The warning was taken seriously, Yuji clumsily and in a haze pulling his jeans down to free himself, reaching for your hair to find Sukuna’s hand already there. With a half groan, half snicker, Sukuna gave Yuji a little help and pulled your head back more, your mouth already agape with desperate moans. As soon as he was in your mouth, Yuji started making some desperate noises of his own, only dwarfed by the occasional cackled of Sukuna, praising your subservience in the same breath he’d tease the brat.

“You’re such a fun little thing to play with, isn’t the brat lucky I let him borrow you?” He growled, but you couldn’t speak, drool dripping down your chin as Sukuna forced you to fuck Yuji with your mouth, fist in your hair painfully tight.

“You’re borrowing her, fucker! She’s m-my girlfriend!” Yuji stammered, they both picked up their thrusting pace and you clawed at the sheets, climax hitting you with no warning. Then another, lightheaded from the struggle to breath as Yuji got more needy for his own release and pushed deeper into your throat. They came in tandem, agonizingly, and you tried not to choke on the warmth flooding your mouth while the other flowed into your cunt so hot you couldn’t stand it. The broken choked cries you made on Yuji’s cock had the both of them rolling their eyes back, satisfied with themselves.

#jjk sukuna #jjk smut #jjk x you #jjk x reader #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #yuji x reader #yuji itadori x reader #sukuna smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #smut #itadori smut

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bobohu4eva · 3 years

Text

Pink Lace - Chapter 7 (M)

Characters: Baekhyun x Reader (feat. EXO members)

Genre: College AU, stripper AU, fluff, smut, slow burn

Summary: Baekhyun, a philosophy professor with mysterious wealth, got himself completely fucked over a girl who can’t let him into her life.

Word count: 4.4k

Warnings: sex work, mentions of sexual assault, adult themes/situations, smut (nothing too wild this time)

Tag list: @smolbeanmika @leave-me-in-the-summertime @totallynerdstuff @bbhmystar @nana-banana @kimyhappy @thegreatandi @geniusloey @deligxt @baekswifey @bbhyun506 @lovebuginlove @bellamendoza @baekyeonoreo @bobohumyonlyboo @wooya1224 @strawbaeri-s

Masterlist

Friday went by in a blur. You finally wrote your essay, which was sent to Baekhyun after you got home from class. Class. It had been hard. Really hard. The material was challenging too, but you were more focused on how sexy Baekhyun looked in his nice professor clothes. How had you gotten this lucky? You laughed like an idiot when he saw you and innocently pulled down the hem of his shirt with one eyebrow raised at you, making fun of the marks he had so graciously placed on your neck. Lucas had seemed to notice the marks as well, since he seemed weirdly focused on his work and didn’t speak to you at all, a nice change from his usual nagging about why you wouldn’t text him back.

You couldn’t stop thinking about work the next day. Baekhyun would be there again of course, and this would be the first time for you to see him there after admitting your feelings. It gave you whiplash how quickly your opinion of him had changed in such a short time, but you had no regrets. If the last two weeks had taught you anything, it was to not second guess yourself. You were ready to get in there and give the man the lap dance of his damn life, and hopefully more. Oh how you looked forward to it.

Saturday morning, you got down to business. Of course you always tried to look a little extra nice when he’d been there in the past, but today was the real deal. You needed to be fully exfoliated, face-masked, and beautiful. There was no such thing as over preparing. Not today. You even used one of those bath bombs with glitter in it so your whole body would shimmer under the club lights.

You made a point of it to wear the same outfit you’d worn the first night he’d met you; a baby pink lace bodysuit with generous cutouts, a thong, and sparkly white heels.

You left ample time to make sure your hair and makeup would be perfect as well. For the hair you’d opted to keep it down and add a little bit of curl, as for makeup, you wanted to positively sparkle. For the first time since you’d started working as a dancer, you tasked Mia with doing your makeup since she was more skilled at it than you.

“So you want a lot of glitter and glowy-ness, right?” She asked as she dabbed foundation on your cheeks.

“Just make me look like the goddess I am.” You said, closing your eyes and smiling at her expectantly, waiting for her to continue beating your face.

“Got it boss.”

After what felt like forever, she finally turned you around to look in the mirror. Your jaw dropped. She’d done your makeup before for stuff like prom when you guys were younger, but she had really outdone herself this time.

Your skin looked like it was glowing from within, with flecks of holographic glitter sparkling every color of the rainbow across your cheeks. Your eyeliner was perfect, and she’d even overlined your lips a bit and added some highlight onto them to make them look extra kissable. It wasn’t too much, just the perfect amount to spice up your features and make you feel like a million bucks.

“Holy shit Mia I love you. I look hot.”

“You’re really gonna give him a hard time tonight.” She winked at you, and you decided you wanted to give him a bit of a preview, tease the man a little.

You and Baekhyun had been texting each other pretty consistently for the last couple days already. You slipped into your designated outfit for the night and took a few pictures to send him, only showing little parts of you at a time. You selected your two favorites, and hit send.

You: (5:46pm) I can’t wait to see you later ;)

Baekhyun: (5:52pm) Holy fuck. You know what that outfit does to me.

You grinned down at your phone at his reaction, heart fluttering and butterflies flying about in your belly. This feeling was so disgustingly sweet, but you loved every second of it.

After changing back into your regular clothes, you packed your outfit and got ready to leave after having dinner with Mia.

The club opened at 7pm sharp, and you were there right on time. You went back into the dressing room to change into your carefully selected lingerie and shoes, adding a spray of your favorite perfume as a final touch before getting back out onto the floor to start your night.

“Holy shit Candy.” You heard your manager say as you signed in for the night. “special occasion?”

Tonight, not even his comments could dampen your mood. “You could say that.” You replied cheerfully before sitting down at the bar where you usually waited until Baekhyun arrived.

After sitting for a little while you were called up on stage, so you walked across the room, making sure to sway your hips on the way, and walked up the stairs to the platform with the pole.

You walked slowly around the pole a couple times, getting into the feel of the music. Luckily the dj was on your side tonight, and was playing something slow and sensual enough for you to really get down to. You started to do your usual thing, a couple little spins on the pole, a bend over and shake of the ass here and there, before slowly laying down for some floor work. There were already a decent amount of people in the club, and a few had come up to the stage now to tip you. For maximum tips, you spent a little while in front of each of them either playing with your boobs in front of their face or turning around and shaking your ass as they threw money at you.

The way your club worked was you did one song with your outfit on, and the second song topless. When you heard your fist song coming to an end you stood back up, turning around to face your back to the room as you took it off, to make for a more dramatic reveal. You slowly peeled the thin fabric of the bodysuit off, stepping out of it leaving you in only your thong and shoes.

When you turned back around, Baekhyun’s eyes met yours from across the room. He must’ve walked in as you were facing the wall.

Immediately you grinned, and he looked just as thrilled to see you as well, sitting down at the empty table closest to the stage. He never tipped on stage, you assumed because he was shy about standing up there in front of everyone. Not that you minded, since he always paid you generously anyway. But tonight you didn’t even care about his money.

It seemed he’d put some extra effort into his look for tonight as well. 90% of the time when he would come in he was in sweats, but not today. His black jeans hugged his thighs in a way that made your mouth water, and the fitted white shirt he wore showed off the broadness of his shoulders wonderfully. His black hair was styled out of his face and his glasses were hanging off the neckline of his shirt, further defining the swells of his chest.

Oh how you had missed this. Seeing him here, absolutely enamored with you.

You snapped yourself out of your thoughts and got back to dancing, this time paying special attention to his side of the room. You made sure to send little smirks his way as you did your thing. Once you’d made your way back onto the floor of the stage, you laid on your back on the edge closest to him, arching your back and running your hands up and down your bare body suggestively as you locked eyes.

He looked like he was about to faint.

Eventually the song came to an end. You gathered all the cash that had been thrown at you and got your outfit back on before walking off stage and directly onto Baekhyun’s waiting lap.

“If you’re trying to kill me, it’s working.” You giggled at his words, blushing.

“Thank you, I know this is your favorite outfit on me, right?” You asked, gesturing down to your lacy pink bodysuit.

“Of course.” He was smiling so widely, you thought this might be the happiest you’d ever seen him before. “You look so good tonight, you always look good of course, but holy shit. You’re really so beautiful.”

Your face turned an even deeper shade of red, the way he was looking at you would’ve made any girl swoon. Oh how beautiful he was as well.

“You’re literally sparkling.” He observed, looking down at the skin of your thigh and all the little silver flecks that were reflecting the spotlights as they moved around the room. “I’m gonna be covered in glitter when I get home aren’t I?”

You laughed, “Yeah, sorry.”

“Oh the things I do for you.”

“I missed this, the two of us hanging out together here, like this.” You whispered in his ear.

You could feel just how warm Baekhyun was. His cheeks were the cutest shade of pink.

He cleared his throat before speaking. “Are you gonna be mad if I take you upstairs before ordering us drinks? I don’t think I can wait tonight.” He swallowed.

“No, I think that’s a great idea.”

“Then I need you to get off my lap babe.” You happily obliged.

As you made your way across the room towards the stairs together, your heart rate began to increase. Never in your life had you been this nervous to give someone a dance. Or maybe nervous wasn’t the right word. Anxious. You were anxious, not nervous. You weren’t scared, you just wanted to do your best to make him enjoy himself.

The both of you knew it wouldn’t be a normal lap dance today. You wouldn’t just dance for a few songs and then sit and talk like usual. There was no way either of you would have the self control to keep it at that.

When you finally got into the room Baekhyun handed you the usual stack of cash, and you started pulling down the straps of your bodysuit when he stopped you.

“I, um, can you keep it on actually? Nothing against your boobs, they’re great, but I just really like this on you.” He said as he sat down and put his glasses on.

You laughed, but put the straps back in place. “Whatever you want.”

Usually, you’d set a timer for an hour. Tonight you didn’t bother.

You got right to it, sitting yourself in between his spread legs and leaning back against his chest. You rolled your body over his to the music, before turning your head to once again whisper in his ear. “I’ve been looking forward to this all day.”

“I’ve been looking forward to this all week.”

You turned your body to face him, both hands running up and down his chest. You could feel how fast his heart was beating beneath your palm.

“Can I touch you?” He asked.

After considering it for a moment, you leaned in towards his ear again.

“You can do whatever you want.” Your bottom lip grazed his earlobe as you said it, and you saw him shiver.

Not a second later you felt his hands start to explore your lace covered torso.

“God, this is a criminal piece of clothing. Why is it so soft.” His hand eventually found it’s way to your neck, where he moved your hair out of the way to admire the marks he’d placed upon it. “So beautiful.” He murmured as he traced his fingers across the trail of bruises he’d left you with.

You stood back up straight in front of him, turned around, and bent over, running your hands across your whole backside and down your thighs. For the first time, his hands made contact with the bare skin of your ass.

“Let me know if I’m making you uncomfortable at all.”

You turned to face him again, planting a knee on either side of his left thigh. “I told you. Whatever. You. Want.” You paused between each word, just to make it a little more dramatic. He swallowed.

It was true. If he decided he wanted to fuck you right then and there, you weren’t going to stop him.

“Really? Anything?”

“Anything.” You repeated.

He was still staring into your eyes, looking slightly concerned, but he found no reason in them to not believe you. You truly wanted him to do whatever he felt like doing with you.

“Come here then.” He grabbed you by the waist firmly and lifted you off his thigh, instead placing you atop his lap completely, one knee now on either side of his body.

You’d never sat with a customer like this. Of course you’d sit on their laps facing away from them all the time, but this felt so much more intimate. You felt the hardness beneath his pants against you, close, too close, to where you wanted him the most. You put your hands back onto his chest and just stared back at him with wide eyes.

“And I can touch you anywhere?”

“Anywhere you want.” You confirmed.

He looked down from your eyes to your chest. One of his hands crept up from your waist, over your ribcage, until he let it rest over the fabric supporting your chest. He ran a thumb over your nipple where it was hiding beneath the lace, causing you to inhale sharply.

Immediately his eyes shot back up to yours, still worried that he was somehow making you uncomfortable, but the look on your face quickly washed his worries away. He felt your heart beating beneath his palm the same way you’d felt his earlier as well.

“Are you s-sure you want me to keep it on?” You asked shakily.

Instead of answering he slipped a finger beneath each of the straps and dragged them down your shoulders until your chest was once again bare. He hadn’t been lying when he said he wanted you to keep it on, but taking it off himself seemed like an even better option now. He bit his lip as he watched the fabric give way, exposing you to him. He stayed silent for a second before finally speaking.

“So, so, perfect.”

You were sure he noticed your whole body flush red at his statement.

His hands were soon back on your ribcage, pulling the bodysuit further down your torso until your entire upper body was naked. Your cheeks were starting to go numb from the excitement and your heart was beating so hard you were sure he could hear it too.

The entire time he undressed you, your eyes were fixed on his pink lips. Oh how they were tempting you. You didn’t remember ever being this turned on in your life. Once he’d had a minute to stare at your chest you quickly took the item off the rest of the way before returning to your previous position straddling his lap.

His hands were warm on your waist as he pulled you closer towards him, until your chests touched. His face was close enough to yours that you could feel his breath on your cheeks. You both just stared for a moment, until something in you snapped and you closed the distance, bringing your lips to his.

You swore there was something about the taste of his lips that was like a drug to you. The second you touched your mouth to his, your whole body felt electrified. Was this that fireworks bullshit people always talked about?

He returned the kiss the passion, but you could tell unlike in his office, he was now taking his time. Your lips moved against each other slowly as you let your fingers run through his hair. It wasn’t rushed, he let his lips move at a relaxed pace as he started to explore your mouth with his own. You felt his tongue ask for entrance and parted your lips, allowing you to taste each other.

You felt one of his hands start to move upwards from your waist, to your ribcage, until it found the soft flesh of your chest, squeezing slightly, causing you to let out a soft moan.

“I’ve fantasized about this so many times.” He broke away from the kiss just enough to get the words out. “You have no idea.”

You shivered at his words, feeling how they made the knot in your stomach tighten in excitement. When he moved his hand to your other breast and flicked a sensitive nipple with his thumb, you moaned out his name shamelessly.

“Fuck, you sound so hot”

His kisses moved from your lips, down your jaw, and to the side of your neck. He placed a gentle kiss beneath your ear giving you chills, before pressing his lips softly to each of the purple marks, making his way all the way down to your collarbone. The whole time his hands continued kneading your chest, making you nearly lose your mind.

You had been touched before, but not like this. You realized that the handful of boys you had allowed to touch you in the past hadn’t known what they were doing at all, Baekhyun did. His expert hands worshipped your bare skin expertly as he continued placing soft kisses down your neck, this time without any sucking or biting that would leave marks. He was enjoying you slowly, softly, but you were impatient and wanted more.

“Baekhyun, please” you whined.

“Please what?”

“Touch me.”

“I am touching you.”

You let out another annoyed whine, wanting, needing, something more to relieve the unbearable tension that was building between your legs. After another few seconds of waiting to see if he’d finally do anything more without any luck, you took matters into your own hands. You started to roll your hips against him, feeling the hardness in his pants through the thin fabric of your thong.

His hands flew down to your hips, gripping them firmly in an attempt to stop your movements, but you continued anyway. After several more rolls of your hips over his hard length, he gave in.

“God, y/n.” He breathed out, voice shaking slightly. “Shit.”

He began to grow needier as well, eventually using his hands on your hips to guide you, rather than stop you, as you continued grinding against him.

Your lips crashed into each other once more, this time with more desperation. He sucked, bit, and licked at your lips, as you did with his. He kept one hand on your hip, sliding down to grope your ass as the other made its way back up towards your chest. The hand on your ass squeezed and pushed you forwards to the beat of the music, pushing you firmly against the tent in his pants.

You still wanted more. You wanted him to touch you everywhere, and you wanted to feel him. In a feeble attempt to try to convince him to give you what you wanted you snaked a hand between your bodies, running it down his chest and then his stomach until you got to the top of his jeans. You let your hand inch down just a little bit further, until you could palm him through his jeans.

This time you let your kisses travel to his neck, before whispering in his ear “Please, I need more.” You could hear the neediness in your voice, but you were way too turned on to feel any shame. “Baekhyun, please.”

He already felt like he was about to burst just with the way you rolled your hips against him. It took every ounce of self restraint in his body not to just yank his pants down, rip off your underwear and shove himself inside you. Feeling your hand over his cock, hearing you literally begging him for more, was too much.

“If you don’t stop I’m gonna come.” He said, sinking his fingers into your thigh hard enough to bruise, bringing your ministrations to a halt.

You leaned back slightly to look at him and saw his eyes closed, brows furrowed with a pained expression on his face. He was really having to hold himself back. You let out a disappointed sound that was somewhere between a whine and a moan.

“That’s okay though.” You honestly wouldn’t have minded, it happened fairly often anyway when you gave lap dances, nothing you weren’t used to. “Please?” You continued to beg, resuming the movement of your hips as well.

A muffled “Oh my god” was all he could get out before his hands were back on you.

He still wouldn’t touch you the way you wanted him to, leaving you more and more wound up and desperate as you whined in his ear with every roll of your hips. His eyes were still closed and his head was tipped back against the couch, giving you access to the smooth skin of his neck. You left kisses all over the soft skin as you kept up the motion of your hips, and you knew he was about to crumble.

You weren’t doing much better yourself. His hands found their way back to your chest, kneading and pinching the sensitive skin perfectly, reducing you to a quivering mess above him. The tension in the pit of your stomach kept building, and you knew you were close as well.

Not a minute later you felt your release crash over your body as you shook against him, letting out a sound of pure euphoria. He seemed to notice, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you in for another searing kiss. You kept moving against him and soon felt him go rigid as well. When he came he held you against his body so tightly, kissed you so hard you forgot your own name for a second. All that mattered in that moment was how good the both of you felt, panting and shaking as you slowly recovered from your highs. As your breathing gradually slowed down, you rested your head on his shoulder, closing your eyes in bliss.

To your disappointment he pushed you back by your shoulder, pulling you out of your dream-like state.

He was shaking his head, “I-I’m sorry I didn’t mean to-”

Instead of listening to him try to apologize for nothing, you shut him up by cupping his face and pulling him into a kiss. “Thank you.”

You smiled at him brightly and he returned it ten fold. You swore that smile was like sunshine even on the darkest day. You let your head rest on his shoulder once again, and he rubbed soothing circles onto the bare skin of your back.

“I was gonna apologize because I really wanted to save this for after I took you on a real date.”

You leaned back up to look at him once again, giggling at his words. “If anything you should be apologizing for not fucking me for real. But does that mean you’re asking me on a date?”

“No! I mean... not yet. I want to do it right. Ask you out properly. But you make it so fucking difficult, you know how hard I have to hold myself back? You’re one hell of a temptation to resist.”

You only rolled your eyes at him, “You’re the one choosing to hold back, if it were up to me you would’ve bent me over your desk Wednesday night already.”

He chuckled, “I know the way we met is... different, but that doesn’t mean you don’t deserve to be swept off your feet. I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if I treated this like nothing more than some heat of the moment fling. I want more than that, I hope you do too.” He said, looking up at you with hopeful eyes.

“Yeah, I do.” You blushed, looking down to avoid his gaze. Here he was, once again making you flustered with how honest and open he was about his feelings towards you.

The way he smiled back at you, and the admiration you saw in his eyes told you everything you needed to know. You brought your lips to his, and this time, you weren’t fueled by lust. The two of you just enjoyed the feeling of the others lips, basking in the softness and intimacy of it.

Eventually he pulled away, and cleared his throat “I hate to ruin the moment, but I kind of wanna get home and shower. I told you to stop if you didn’t want me to but you kept going so...”

You pouted, but he was right. You’d brought this on yourself. “Okay” you sighed.

After getting off Baekhyun’s lap you got your bodysuit back on, but before you could exit the room together, he grabbed your wrist.

“Come here.” He pulled you towards him, placing his hands around your waist, and you let your arms rest on his shoulders. He looked at you again with those same eyes from earlier, but this time he held your gaze much longer, and with much more intensity. Something felt different this time when he looked at you, like he was trying to tell you something just with his eyes. He brought a hand up to your face, stroking your cheek with his thumb. “You’re so pretty.”

You felt yourself go pink, and smiled as he pulled you in for one last kiss, this one even sweeter than the last.

Eventually both of you went back downstairs, you disappeared into the dressing room to get ready to leave, and Baekhyun went straight to his car.

On your way home you kept thinking about the way he’d looked at you before you both left. It had somehow felt different, more intimate. His gaze had held so much emotion, you wished you could look inside his head at what he’d been thinking. You had been kind of surprised when all he said was that you were pretty, something he’d told you a million times before, so why was it so different this time? Why did it feel like it meant so much more?

The last kiss as well felt too sweet, far too romantic for the time and the place. He was always completely open with his feelings, and of course you knew he liked you, but you couldn’t help but feel like there were some unspoken words in the way he’d looked at you just then.

Maybe, just maybe, it could be love.

Next Chapter

#baekhyun #exo #baekhyun fic #exo fic #baekhyun smut #baekhyun fluff #baekhyun fanfic #exo fanfic #exo smut #exo fluff

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staticscreenwriting · 3 years

Text

Love like the movies // Bucky Barnes // 5

Five - Dirty Dancing

Masterlist

Summary: This is a story of boy meets girl. The boy, Bucky Barnes, finds himself thrown into a world that seems so different from everything he’s ever known. The girl, (Y/N) knows entirely too much about rom-coms and is quite particular about the way she eats her popcorn. Bucky meets (Y/N) a few months after returning to NYC. He knows almost immediately that becoming her friend is inevitable. This is a story of boy meets girl. This is a story about love. (Bucky Barnes x female!Reader // a few spoilers for TFATWS)

Bucky wakes up to music. It's playing from outside the room, echoing through the halls and filling the apartment with sound.

It reminds him of when he was a kid and his mom would make them all breakfast as the radio would softly play in the background. She'd always have a smile on her face and twirl around the kitchen and sometimes, when they were still little enough, she'd pick up him or one of his sisters and slowly sway along with them in her arms.

It's a hazy memory, he's barely able to grasp it, but it's there nonetheless and that makes all the difference.

Rays of sun flood the apartment, coloring it in hues of orange and gold. Bucky steps out of (Y/N)’s room and into the hallway from which he can see straight into the kitchen. (Y/N)’s standing by the stove, a frilly pink apron wrapped around her waist and spatula in hand. Her hips shake slightly to the beat of the song and her lips move along with the lyrics.

Bucky wonders if he’ll ever get that. This feeling of pure comfort in his own home. To find who he really is and allow himself to be that person, no inhibitions, no holding back. Just be himself and be confident in who that might be.

“ You can keep standing there like a creep or you can come over here and help me, grumpy”

At the sound of her voice, he jumps a little, too lost in could-bes and what-ifs to realize she’s long noticed him leaning against the doorway. Her hair is a mess and there’s still eyeliner and glitter from last night stuck to her skin. But Bucky thinks she’s never looked better. It’s an intimate moment, to watch her in all her imperfect ways, move around her own home, being the most comfortable and at ease she’s ever been. There’s something about the way she looks at him then, showered in golden sunlight, a bright smile on her face. Bucky knows what it is he feels, deep down inside of him, flickering up like a light in the dark. He knows what it is. It’s not a feeling you forget once you’ve felt it.

He’s not gonna say it though, not gonna admit it to himself or anyone. All that can come from it is misery and heartbreak and while his heart is of very little value to him, hers means everything. So he’ll ignore it, shove it to the deepest darkest corner of himself and try not to acknowledge it in hopes it’ll go away.

“ You’re cooking? “ he asks as he steps up next to her, eyebrows raised in uncertainty.

“I’m making pancakes, and don’t look at me like that!” (Y/N) replies, swatting him with a dish towel, “ I know my cookies weren’t the best and I am well aware that my coffee sucks. But if there’s one thing I can make, it’s pancakes. Trust me. “

He does trust her. It’s something that he only fully realizes at that moment. Such an insignificant little moment. He trusts her, which is terrifying but also liberating at the same time. Maybe his life is on the right path. Maybe things can get better. Step by tiny step.

“ Hey, I ate your cookies, didn’t I? “

She looks up at him, a small smile playing on her lips, eyes shining with — something he can’t quite place. Maybe, he thinks, maybe he doesn’t need to know what it means. It means something and that's all that counts in the grand scheme of things.

“Yeah, yeah you did.”

For a moment it’s just them and the music and the bliss of a morning spent with a friend.

“ Okay, hand me the batter please?” (Y/N) says and points towards a big blue bowl standing by on the counter to his right. As he hands it to her though, (Y/N) doesn’t immediately start pouring the batter, instead, she dips her finger into it and holds it out to Bucky.

“ Try it, tell me if it’s too sweet. “

He’s hesitant for a moment. You don’t just go around licking your friends’ fingers. Surely social cues haven’t changed that much. But when she moves her hand closer once again and adds a determined “taste it before it drips onto the floor”, he wraps his lips around her finger, tasting the sweet pancake batter. It’s not too sweet, not at all, it’s perfect. He can’t really voice that thought though, not when his mind is somewhere else entirely. Somewhere it really shouldn’t be.

At that moment Bucky feels something he hasn’t felt in forever — arousal.

“ Good? “ she questions him as she pours the batter into the pan, a sizzling sound filling the kitchen.

Buck nods, completely at a loss for words. This is entirely silly and inappropriate. You’re not supposed to feel those things for your friends. Wasn’t this exactly what they talked about in the Harry and Sally movie? Sex ruining friendships. He can’t and won’t let that happen. Not with (Y/N). Not when he’s just starting to trust her. He needs this friendship more than he cares to admit.

“Grumpy? “

“ Hmm? Oh uh — yeah it’s good. “

And it is good, too good to give up. Too good to jeopardize it for some fleeting sense of passion. Too good to ever let go.

It’s ridiculous of him to put any sensual notions to such a silly little gesture. These things can be friendly. Innocent. People probably do it all the time with no ulterior motives. Maybe he needs to go with the times, let go of antiquated morals. Yeah, surely that’s what he’s gotta do.

They’re sitting by the kitchen counter, (Y/N)’s plate licked clean while Bucky is struggling to finish his pile of pancakes.

“ Do you want the rest of mine? “

“ Did you not like them? “

“ No, I did! I ate an entire pile already. But I can see the way you’re lusting after them. Come on. Open up. “

He cuts off a piece, lathers it in the syrup pooling on his plate, and holds it out towards her. Nothing sexual about it, just two friends sharing food. Absolutely nothing sensual about the way her lips wrap around the fork, they’re still tinted red from last night. Absolutely no dirty thoughts as the syrup drips down her chin. Or when she uses her thumb to wipe it away then licks the sticky liquid off of her fingers. All innocent. All —

“ Have you ever seen 9 ½ weeks? “ she asks him, looking up at him through her thick lashes.

“ No. What’s it about? “

“ Um — “ she starts then laughs to herself as if she’s sharing a funny inside joke with herself “ nevermind. “

“ Noooo, you can’t just start something and then not give me an explanation” he declares as the two of them get up and put the dishes into the dishwasher.

“ You know, Grumpy. There are a few things you better figure out on your own, trust me.”

“ Now you’re just being mean. “

“ No, I’m not I — “ her eyes grow wide as the song changes again and a big bright smile overtakes her entire face. Messy hair, makeup smudged, a smile on her face. God, he wishes they could stay in this little bubble forever. Hurt doesn’t exist here. Only them. Only happy things.

“ I forgot Dirty Dancing.”

“ What? “

“ You don’t know Dirty Dancing. “

“ I know plenty of dancing, thank you very much.”

“ No, Bucky. It’s a movie. It’s one of the most famous romantic movies and I forgot about it. I made a list of all the movies I wanna watch with you but didn’t think of Dirty fucking dancing. Sorry for swearing.”

“ You made a list? “

“ Yes, Grumpy. I made a list because I take this very seriously and I intend to make you watch them all with me because — because it’s fun and I like spending time with you. “

People, Bucky thinks, often take the smallest things for granted. The smallest things that make the most impact. That you will remember forever and cherish with all your heart. Like this one. People also don’t tell each other enough how much their friendships actually mean to them. People should. It feels wonderful.

“ I like spending time with you too.”

She grants him another sunshine smile before grabbing his hands and dancing along to the song. It’s faster than their late-night sway on the balcony, way less coordinated and there’s more jumping on her part and more shaking of — pretty much every body part.

This is so her. Chaotic and a little messy but so unapologetic. So fun. So happy.

“ Because IIIIII've haaaaaad the time of myyyyyy lifeeeee. No I neeeeeever felt this way before. Yes I swear it's the truuuuuuuuth. And I ooooowe it all to youuuuuu.”

“ That’s a catchy song,” Bucky says as a smile finds a way onto his lips. Sometimes it feels nice to surround yourself with people who make you smile. It’s one of the little pleasures in life one should allow themself to indulge in.

Bucky wishes he could bottle up this moment and never let go of it. Keep it for himself forever. That’s the thing about losing your memories, it makes you realize how precious every moment is and it makes you want to hold on tightly to each and every one as they happen.

“Right? I can guarantee you’ll be humming this song all day.”

(Y/N) twirls herself under his arm, away from him, then back before her eyes fall onto his glove-covered hands.

“ You don’t have to wear them for me, you know that, right? “

Sometimes he doesn’t even remember he’S wearing them, it’s become such a regular thing to him now. They are a part of him like the arm itself. They’re a shield really. From looks and judgment. And maybe, if he’s being entirely true to himself, they’re also to keep his eyes from focusing too much on the shiny silver of his hand. Of the fact that he will never be whole again. That he will never be able to feel a loving touch there ever again.

“ I know. It’s not you I’m worried about. “

“ Is it you? “

Bucky scrunches his nose up in discomfort. Talking about feelings wasn’t really a thing back when he was younger, especially for men. Sure there had been late-night talks with Steve about god and the world. About their hopes and fears and about the future. But those were few and far between and really opening himself up was never one of Bucky’s strong points. Talking about your feelings makes you vulnerable and being vulnerable was the last thing Bucky was ever allowed to be back then.

But as he said before, maybe it’s time to give up on antiquated ways.

So he nods “ Yeah. It’s — I still have a complicated relationship with the arm. I know it’s part of me and I’m glad it was given to me but it’s a huge reminder of all that I’ve lost and of a version of me that I can never go back to. A man I can never be again.”

“ Bucky,” (Y/N) starts and takes his face in between her hands. It’s a touch so soft, he can’t remember ever being handled this gently. Like a baby bird. Like a piece of porcelain. Like a treasure too precious to break. “I will never be able to fully understand how you’re feeling and I know that some of those things you have to go through alone and do the work yourself. But let me tell you something. Whoever you used to be might be gone but there’s a long-ass future waiting and it lets you be whoever you want to be. Maybe it’s time to let go of the man you were and start being the man you are because that one’s pretty great. And your arm is as much a part of that greatness as your smile or your constant grumpy mood. It’s what makes you you and you are really cool, honestly. “

His heart beats faster and stops entirely all at the same time. When he was younger he used to relish in the compliments thrown his way. He gracefully accepted them all with a knowing smirk playing on his lips. Nowadays it’s hard to believe them. Hell, it was so hard to have faith in Steve’s words. To believe that he was really worth all the effort and trouble Steve and the others went through, for him of all people. It’s so hard believing you are worth something when all you can see are your wrongdoings and shortcomings.

He wants to believe her words though. If only for a moment. If only for right now, safe and sound in their little bubble as the sun filters through the windows and the tastes of syrup still lingers in his tongue.

A few days later...

“They’re screening Dirty Dancing at the cinema around the block from me! Starts at 8pm. Come meet me, I won’t take no for an answer! xx “

He reads the message and tries to remember the way he felt that morning a few days ago when they danced around her kitchen. When she told him he was worth something. When she made him believe he wasn’t the actual worst person walking this earth. A disgrace. A mistake. A killer.

But every time he tries to go back to the bubble, a different pair of eyes show up in his mind. Eyes filled with sadness, with unimaginable suffering, with grief. All of which he put there.

He ran into Yori last night on his way home. The old man looked more fail than usual, sadder, more tired. Bucky found out why a few minutes later when he asked Yori about the cake in his grocery bag. The one with the white and green frosting.

“ It would be my son’s birthday today. I know he’s not here anymore but he was crazy about these cakes ever since he was a kid. Felt like remembering him. Would you like to join me for a piece? “

Bucky made up some half-assed excuse why he couldn’t, rushed to his apartment, and had a full-on breakdown. The kind that you don’t realize is happening until you’re all the way in the center of the hurricane.

There are shards of glass on his floor from when he threw a bottle against the wall. It’s a shame when you can’t even drown your sorrows in alcohol. His cheeks, he’s sure, are stained with tears that he had kept inside for so long.

How could he ever spend another second with (Y/N) when this is the kind of person he is. Brainwashing or not. The blood of Yori’s son is on his hands. Yori’s pain is his doing. All this grief and this hurt. It’s his fault and his alone. And Yori is just one of so many.

(Y/N) deserves a friend that doesn’t have a body count. Someone who doesn’t know what it feels when someone loses their life at his hands. Someone who doesn’t go to sleep seeing the eyes of those he’s killed. Someone who isn’t him.

His phone rings and he expects it to be (Y/N). She’s one of those people that text you then immediately call you right after. She likes to talk. In-person or over the phone. He doesn’t know if he wants to answer. Doesn’t know what to say. Would it be easier to just tell her not to contact him again? To rip off the bandaid quickly and then deal with the pain afterward?

Before he can come up with an answer to any of those questions, his eyes register the name on the caller display.

“ What?” he grumbles and leans his head against the wall.

“ Well, aren't you a happy chappy today. “

“ Sam, now’s not a good time. “

Sam hesitates for a moment then his voice sounds out from the speakers again.

“ Hey, Bucky. Are you okay? “

For a second, Bucky thinks about saying yes. He wants to keep on pretending the way he did so many times before. Wants to deal with this all by himself and not have anyone else get caught in his mess.

But he can’t. He’s tearing at the seams. He’s barely holding himself together, cracking open more and more with each passing second. So he takes a deep breath and tells the truth.

“ No. No, I’m not. “

30 minutes. No actually 34 minutes. He’s 34 minutes late. In fact, he hasn’t even answered her god damn text. He’s read it. Hasn’t answered though. And while that’s not entirely unlike Bucky, it still annoys her. Especially since when she tried to call him, the line was busy. So surely he’s on his phone. Is it too much to ask for a little reply?

If he doesn’t want to come, that's no big deal, (Y/N) tells herself, but a quick text would be the bare minimum he could give her.

Pout on her face and mood soured, (Y/N) enters the cinema and slumps down onto one of the plush red velvet seats. Not even in the mood for popcorn anymore, thanks Bucky.

There are hardly any people in there with her. Probably because by now almost every person on this planet has seen Dirty Dancing before and the weather is actually quite nice out tonight so most would rather enjoy the last rays of sun before winter will fall upon them than be stuck in a dark stuffy cinema watching a decade-old movie.

Not her though.

And if Bucky thinks she’s gonna miss out on watching this classic masterpiece because he can’t be bothered to show up, well he’s gravely mistaken. And yeah, maybe she’s being a bit dramatic, there might be a perfectly valid explanation for his no-show. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.

What happens if he actually goes on to date Leah? He’ll have less time for her that’s for sure. Movie dates won’t be happening then. Maybe it’s good she’s getting used to this now before she grows too close to him and breaks her own heart in the process of mending his.

She hates herself a little for those thoughts. Bucky deserves to be happy and if that means their friendship will be put on the backburner, then she should be okay with that, right? That’s what friends do, they want you happy no matter what it means for themself.

The Ronettes’ Be My Baby starts echoing through the room as the lights dim and (Y/N) sinks deeper into her seat, embracing the dark. The screen lights up with a black and white montage of people dancing and a swirly pink font spells out the actors' names. (Y/N) can’t wait to get lost in this picture-perfect version of real-life where things might seem bad but turn out right in the end. They always turn our right for these people. If only real life was this easy.

She’s so ready to just forget about all her troubles for the next 90 minutes.

And then a figure steps in front of the screen, nothing but a silhouette. A black shadow in front of the moving pictures. A shape she immediately recognizes.

“ Come on, dude. What the hell!” some guy in front of her yells out to Bucky, immediately following the words with a fistful of popcorn being thrown his way.

He’s here. He’s here and he’s obviously looking for her. She can’t make out his face but he’s shielding his eyes with his hands and letting his gaze wander over the crowd.

There’s a flutter in her stomach, one she knows oh too well. One she wants to bundle up and stuff to the very back of her being. A flutter that shouldn’t be there. That’s not what this is. Butterflies and goosebumps. This is eating spaghetti on the floor, dancing in the kitchen, and crying tears of laughter in IKEA. That’s what it is and what it should be. Right? But that doesn’t mean they can’t be affectionate. Right? That doesn’t mean they have to be cold and stoic and distant.

Right?

As (Y/N) reaches up her arms and waves, Bucky hurries down the platform and lets himself plop down in the seat next to her.

“ I’m sorry I was — “

“ It’s okay. You’re here now. “

That’s what matters. Being there. Just being there.

“ You deserve to have a friend, Bucky.” Sam said “ and she deserves to make her own decisions. If she decides you’re worth it, who are you to question that choice?”

Sam is right. Of course, he is. Despite how much Bucky hates to admit it, Sam is one of the smartest people he knows. Not in the way Tony or Bruce or Shuri are. Smart in a way that lets you know he gets you, he understands the chaos inside you, empathizes with it. He’s got this sense of incredible emotional awareness and a calm that exudes from him. Bucky will obviously never let him know this but talking to Sam feels more soothing and helpful than talking to his therapist.

He still doesn’t feel like he deserves her friendship, her affection, and her care. But really it would be foolish to think it’s his right to dictate who she can and can't care about.

Sitting beside her now, in the dark, with a movie playing on the big screen, makes things a bit easier. His thoughts aren’t so loud anymore and his heart, though still heavy, feels a little bit lighter. It’s easy to get lost in a story that’s not his and forget about the rest.

He almost forgets about his emotional turmoil by the time the two main characters dance around on a log, when he feels something against his left hand. First, it’s but a whisper of a touch, then more deliberate and then he feels the glove being slid off of his fingers. He doesn’t dare look over at her, eyes focused straight ahead. He doesn’t pull away though. There’s never been a touch quite so gentle against the cold vibranium metal. He doesn’t pull away, instead, he locks his fingers with hers and softly closes his fist.

If there’s moments worth holding onto, this is surely one of them.

“ I’m glad you came.” (Y/N) murmurs as she places her head against his shoulder. The one made of vibranium. The one that’s a part of him like his smile and his eyes and — his grumpy personality.

“ Yeah, me too.”

As Johnny and Baby give their all during the end of the season dance, Bucky can’t help but let himself relish in this moment.

There are two things on his mind.

One is the idea that maybe this is what friendship can be. Showing affection through soft touches and loving words. Maybe he doesn’t have to assign any deeper meaning to it. No matter how much it makes his heart beat faster or how the flutters in his stomach won't seem to settle down.

The other thing is the fact that this song is so damn catchy and while he hates himself a little for it, his feet tap along to the rhythm and he catches himself mouthing along to the lyrics.

And damn if it ain’t fitting because he has never felt this way before either.

Taglist // if you want to be added or taken off just message me :) //:

@zaynyierulez / @je-like-you / @dracoxxyoflam / @jackiehollanderr / @majo240820 / @kay-gilles / @booksb4looksstuff / @jckie94 / @charmed-asylum / @shawnie--jo / @yllwtaxi / @tailsoflightning / @giuliarogers / @mangoogirl / @gerim-1995 / @elen-alambil / @threeminutesoflife / @writeroutoftime / @buckybarn3s /

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky x f!reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x f!reader #winter solider x reader #buck barnes imagine #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #avengers imagine #avengers imagines #sebasian stan imagine #sebastian stan imagines #marvel imagine #marvel imagines #james barnes x reader #james barnes x f!reader

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whatifyoulivelikethat · 3 years

Text

bao, m | myg | 3

pairing(s): yoongi x reader

summary: Min Yoongi is always late to start work. He’s late in starting a lot of things. Like telling you he loves you.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; mentions of parental injury/surgery; so much fluff you might die; smut (fem reader, f and m-receiving oral, penetrative sex); non-idol!AU; deliveryboy!Yoongi x chef!reader who likes Yoongi’s leather jacket maybe a little too much if you get me

1. | 2.

“You think your dad is going to be mad that I’m making out with you in his kitchen?”

You chuckled as Min Yoongi slowly unbuttoned the chef’s jacket.

Technically, your dad’s chef’s jacket.

“I won’t tell if you don’t.”

Yoongi placed himself between your legs, nipping at your lips, smelling like leather and pine.

“When are you going to tell him that we’re dating?” Yoongi murmured, dark eyes smokey with lust.

“When his back is fully recovered so he can chase you around,” you teased.

Yoongi chuckled. “You think he’ll be mad?” he asked lightly, although you could hear the unease in his voice.

You reached though the flaps of leather and pulled him close to you, kissing him deeply, his body sandwiching you against the counter. You were finally done with your shopping, errands, and prep for the day. Yoongi had offered to take you home, but somehow you two had gotten distracted.

“Maybe a little,” you mused between kisses. “Only because you’re always late.”

Yoongi groaned exaggeratedly. “I’m trying my best nowadays.”

“That’s because I’m the one waking you up these days.”

He grinned. “The best kind of wake up.”

Prep was easier and faster these days. Yoongi was much more helpful than Taehyung when it came to cooking. And he could be encouraged with kisses. Yoongi kissed up to your ear, breathing into it, his ring-covered hands around your waist.

Voice deep and sexy, playfully running his tongue over your earlobe and making you shiver.

“Let’s get you home.”

No one could make you feel good the way Min Yoongi could.

Although he had a tendency to say some ridiculous things.

“Ah, my favorite buns.”

You could hear the smirk in his voice.

You sat on his face before Yoongi could say anything else. You moaned as you felt his tongue press against your dripping core, leaning forward to lay against his stomach. He was still fully dressed on your bed, leather-covered arms coming up to grip your thighs and press them back down to get more of you into his face. You were completely naked, freshly showered, hands roaming all over his clothed body as he ate you out.

Yoongi in a black leather jacket was just… heavenly.

His tongue flicked your clit and you gasped, gripping his jean-covered thighs.

Also, you wanted to be the one to undress him.

He had worn the black and white dress shirt again so you could unbutton it, moaning as you felt him lap at your sensitive clit, revealing his skin bit by bit, rings cutting into your ass as he gripped it to press your hips into his face. You pressed your palm into his crotch, running your fingers over it, feeling him swell in his jeans.

You felt yourself leak into his mouth, clit throbbing against his lips as he sucked it.

“Y-Yoongi, ah, so good…”

Undoing his tight jeans, shoving them down as he swiftly and roughly licked your clit. You paused, gripping his thighs as you grinded into his face, eyelids fluttering as you slipped into bliss, pussy clenching around nothing, creaming his lips and chin with your thick juices, moaning as he lapped it all up, grunting underneath you.

“Fuck, you taste so good,” came his muffled praise. “Give me more.”

And Yoongi began his assault again, nipping at your swollen clit, teasing it so he could lick and suck on it. You squirmed above him, pushing his underwear down, seeing the wet patch of his pre-cum and half-hard cock waiting for you, ready for your mouth.

You leaned down, careful to keep your hips in the same position so Yoongi could continue, wrapping your hand around his cock and your lips around the head. Yoongi moaned into your pussy, shoving his tongue into it. Your walls clenched around it as you swallowed his cock, swirling your tongue, tasting the saltiness of his pre-cum.

“Keep going,” he breathed. “Get me hard for you.”

He swiped his tongue up and down your pussy lips, drinking in your leaking juices before returning to your inflamed clit. Pressing his tongue into you and licking so fast and hard that it felt like he was a fucking vibrator. You gasped, mouth dropping onto his cock and rubbing the head into your throat, tilting your head back and forth, stimulating the sensitive skin. Hollowing your cheeks, getting him as deep as you could. You felt his cock throb and grow, hardening in your mouth as he hummed into your pussy approvingly, feeling you drench his face once again, slit pulsating against his lips and nose, desperate to have his cock buried into you.

You grinded into Yoongi’s face a little more before sliding down, letting him breathe as you pushed his black jeans down, down, shoving them onto the floor.

Yoongi chuckled. “Am I fucking you with the jacket on again?”

You felt your ears heat as you turned around to face him.

“Can… I wear it?”

He sat up, sliding out of it. Smirk on his lips, one broad shoulder out and then the shoulder, lifting his large, pretty hands covered in silver rings.

“Of course.”

You crawled around him, biting your lip as you slid it on, inhaling his scent of pine and leather, so good and sensual that you felt yourself become wetter as the buttery warmth wrapped around you. Yoongi looked pleased, removing his shirt before he grabbed a condom from your nightstand, eyes raking down your naked body in his leather jacket.

“Who would’ve guessed you look so good wearing only my jacket?” he purred, licking his pink lips as he slid the condom down his cock. “I should take a picture.”

You raised an eyebrow. “For who?”

He leaned down, grinning. “For me, so I can entertain myself when you’re busy.”

Now you raised both eyebrows as Yoongi positioned himself above you.

“Yourself or your dick?”

Yoongi grinned.

“Both.”

Both of you inhaled in satisfaction as he entered you, sliding in easily with how wet you were. You closed your eyes, enveloped in his scent, warmed by the leather, stuffed full with his cock. You tightened your core, making Yoongi hiss your name as you smirked, pulsating around him.

“Raise your leg,” Yoongi nudged and he moved his left arm so your right leg could rest against his chest, thigh against his stomach, but still with a clear view of your tits and face. “Ready?”

“Give it to me, Yoongi.”

Fuck, Min Yoongi was so attractive when he showed his pretty white teeth with his smirk.

He thrust into you deeply and your back arched, gasping hotly. His large hands gripped your ass and pushed it up, getting a deeper angle as he placed his palms back onto the bed, smacking your hips together, loud and wet, filling the whole room with your breathy moans.

“Ah, you feel so good, Yoongi…” you gasped. “I love it. Love you and your perfect cock.”

He raised his eyebrows, amused as he continued thrusting into you. “Is that a confession as I’m pounding you into your bed?”

You laughed, realizing what you had just said. Too late to back out now. “Sorry?” you chuckled, grinning sheepishly at him.

Yoongi leaned down, hitting you deeper, earning even more erotic moans, unable to hold back now.

“Hm, well I suppose I’m always late so you must have your vices too,” he said lightly with a hint of playful mirth, gasping slightly as he felt you clenching harder, sucking him in. “Fuck, you’re so tight. Gonna cum soon…”

You trapped your hands into leather paws of Yoongi’s large jacket, bunching the thick fabric around your clenched fists as you pressed your arms into the bed, raising your hips to smack against his, fucking him back, moaning in his face. You stared into his dark eyes; his pupils dilated with lust.

“C-close, Yoongi…” you panted. “Cum with me.”

He snickered deep in his throat, raspy and sensual. Purred your name.

A shudder travelled up your spine as you felt the wave crawl higher and higher, Yoongi fuck you harder and harder, your teeth sinking into your lower lip as you whined, the crash overtaking you and blanketing all over, your core throbbing with pleasure, clamping around Yoongi’s cock as he groaned, squeezing his eyes shut as he came, shooting into you deliciously, his entire length swelling and pressing against your tightness.

You pressed your head into the pillows, feeling so good, so full, so in love that you thought you might never come down, trapped on cloud nine. Yoongi panted above you, his black hair stuck to his forehead, arms shaking. He dipped his head down, smiling.

“Gonna need my dick back, if you don’t mind.”

You laughed, squeezing him a little before relaxing. “But I was having fun.”

Yoongi placed his tongue on the side of his open mouth, raising his eyebrows, eyes glittering with mischief.

“Don’t worry. We’re going to have fun all night.”

masterpost

#yoongi x reader #yoongi x you #yoongi smut #bts smut #min yoongi x you #min yoongi x reader #min yoongi smut #yoongi fanfic #yoongi fluff #yoongi scenarios

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missjanjie · 3 years

Text

Somewhere in the Crowd There's You | Rosnali

Summary: Denali and Rosé were best friends all through middle and high school, but had to part ways after graduating in 1998. But even years later, the one thing that always connected them were the mixtapes Rosé would make. Ship: Rosnali Word Count: 2174 Rating: T

ao3 | ko-fi

Bonus: Denali's Playlist for Rosé

“Denali, so help me god if you’re late to graduation you will not make it to college!” her mother shouted up the stairs.

Denali groaned and rolled her eyes. “I’m coming!” she yelled back down to her. She pressed ‘stop’ on her CD player and popped the cover open, taking the disk out and putting it into its correct sleeve in her CD book. It was a smaller one, as it only contained her most precious ones - the mixtapes Rosé had given her over the years.

The two of them had been best friends since they had both transferred to the same Manhattan school in sixth grade, Denali coming from Alaska and Rosé from Scotland. Both of them had felt out of place and immediately sought refuge in each other and had been inseparable ever since. And one thing that had always been consistent in their friendship was Rosé’s love of burning CDs and giving them to her, whether it was for a special occasion or just because she thought Denali would like it, and she always did.

“And don’t even think about trying to take your walkman!”

She huffed, looking at it waiting for her on her bed. “Fine,” she threw her gown over her dress and grabbed her cap before hustling out the door.

Any attitude she might have had disappeared the second she got out of the car and saw Rosé. she sprinted towards the taller girl, launching herself into her arms. “Rosie!”

Rosé scooped Denali up without hesitation, one arm wrapped around her waist and the opposite hand holding her thigh. “Hi Dee,” she cooed, spinning around with her before eventually setting her back down. “I got something for you.”

Denali giggled as Rosé reached up under her gown because of course, she would manage to get away with wearing pants at graduation. She beamed from ear to ear as Rosé placed a CD in her hand. Written in pink glitter gel pen over masking tape was ‘Denali + Rosé: Class of ‘98’, with a heart over the ‘i’. She looked at the tracklist and smiled when she saw one was highlighted - that meant Rosé had recorded herself singing, and that was her favorite part. “Super Trouper?” she tilted her head, noting it was the only song on the list that hadn’t come out during their time in high school.

She shrugged, a tinge of pink ghosting her cheeks. “I like ABBA and the song made me think of you.”

“I love it,” she quickly assured, hugging her tightly before sliding the mixtape into her macrame crossbody bag. “Come on, we better go take our seats so we can say goodbye to our childhood.”

Rosé arched her brow. “Bit grim when you put it that way, but let’s go.”

After graduation Rosé and Denali went to dinner together with their families, then back to Denali’s house for a sleepover, likely one of the last ones they would have before college. But they didn’t want to think about that, instead focusing on enjoying the time they had together.

It wasn’t easy for either of them, and Denali was left with a difficult decision. When she was twelve, she acknowledged the fact that she was attracted to girls, but decided it was best to not do anything about it. At sixteen, she realized that it wasn’t just girls in general, that would be too easy to ignore. For the past two years, she had accepted the fact that she was in love with Rosé, but too paralyzed with fear to do anything about it.

So, she made a mixtape. Each song one declaration of love after another. And it had been sitting in her closet for a week now while she tried to talk herself into giving it to her best friend. She knew it was now or never, tonight had to be the night.

“Something on your mind?” Rosé gently prompted.

Denali hesitated, then shook her head. “I’m just gonna miss you,” she told her, sitting next to her cross-legged on the bed. “We’re gonna stay in touch, right?”

“Of course,” Rosé assured. “We can call each other and talk on AIM when we can get to the campus libraries,” she suggested, resting her hand on Denali’s thigh and squeezing gently. “I think we can make it work.”

She chewed on her lip and nodded. “If you think so, then I do too.” She glanced back at her closet, thinking, her heart racing. Rosé cared enough about her to want to make their friendship work. Maybe there was a chance…

“Hey,” Rosé prompted to change the subject, “I rented Cinderella with Brandi from Blockbuster, you wanna watch?”

Denali nodded, letting her fear quell her desire to give her the disk. “Yeah, I’ll go make some popcorn.”

Six Years Later

Manhattan felt almost as foreign to Denali as it did when she first moved there. Despite the nostalgia that filled her when she walked past Broadway, recalling seeing RENT there with Rosé for her eighteenth birthday, or the other little things that brought her back to her teenage years, she felt odd, out of place. It made her stomach churn with the way everything seemed to change.

It didn’t help that, despite all of the promises they had made to each other, she had lost touch with Rosé sometime after the start of her sophomore year. Their lives had gotten so busy, so involved, it just dissipated and she had to try her best to move on.

And most days Denali was able to go about her life as normal. She returned to her apartment with lunch for herself and her roommate. Her new normal. “Liv! Come eat!”

Olivia promptly emerged from her room, a piece of paper in her hand. “Check out this flyer I snagged from the café a few blocks over. They’re having a karaoke night tonight, we should go,” at Denali’s hesitation, she jutted out her bottom lip and batted her lashes. “C’mon, please? They’re gonna have alcohol.”

With a jokingly dramatic sigh, she acquiesced. “Okay, fine, but don’t even think about trying to drag me on stage before I’ve had at least three drinks.”

After lunch, the two of them got ready for the night, doing their hair and makeup and picking out just the right outfits for the modern y2k-era nightlife. The walk to the café was about ten minutes and they were able to get a table before the room started to fill up. Her attention faded in and out as people started to perform, nursing her drink and picking at the chips on the table.

“Alright, who’s next?” the event host prompted, scanning the room. “You, in the pink, right this way!” There were some scattered cheers as a woman took the stage, but Denali didn’t look up until she started singing.

Olivia noticed the sudden alertness in her friend. “What, you’re an ABBA fan?”

“No, no I know that voice,” she insisted, shushing her to focus on the stage better. There was no way, it couldn’t be…

“But I won’t feel blue like I always do. ‘Cause somewhere in the crowd there’s-” Rosé looked into the audience, her eyes meeting Denali’s and her breath hitching in her throat, nearly missing the last word, but when she got it out, it was as if she were singing to her once again, “...you.”

Before Denali could decide what to do, Rosé was making a beeline for her, then she was standing right in front of her, looking more beautiful than Denali could’ve ever anticipated. “Rosie?” she asked softly, afraid it was too good to be true.

A broad smile stretched across Rosé’s face as if she were wondering the same thing until that moment. “Denali!” She yanked the smaller woman to her feet and pulled her into a tight embrace, one that neither of them ever wanted to end. “When did you move back to New York?”

“Couple weeks ago officially. My parents moved out to Long Island, so I was staying with them while I was trying to find a place. That’s how I met Olivia, my roommate,” Denali explained, gesturing to the girl still sitting at the table.

Olivia offered a polite wave and smile in response. “It seems like you guys have some catching up to do, I’m gonna go on stage next then, um, keep myself busy,” she decided and scurried off.

“Let’s go outside,” Rosé suggested, the two of them leaving the café and sitting on a bench in front of it. “I’ve missed you so much. What have you been up to?”

Denali shrugged. “Got my BFA in dance, worked with a few different companies either performing or choreographic. And last year I was in Zumanity, which was quite the experience,” she blushed a bit as she recalled that, unsure if Rosé was familiar with the type of show it was, “and now I’m here as a full-time dance teacher and choreographer. What about you?”

Rosé’s eyes did widen at the name, feeling her face start to redden as her mind started to wander, wondering what sort of things Denali had performed on stage. While she hadn’t seen the show, she had seen commercials when watching TV late at night. She’d nearly missed her question, clearing her throat and centering herself. “Oh, well, my life hasn’t been as interesting as yours, I got my BFA in musical theatre, did various off-Broadway gigs, and… you’re going to laugh… I’m the understudy for the lead role in Mamma Mia here on Broadway.”

“Mamma Mia… the ABBA jukebox musical?” She covered her mouth as she tried not to laugh, a bit of giggling slipping through. “A little on the nose, isn’t it Rosie? But I’m very happy for you.”

“Maybe so, but I’m much more interested in this Zumanity stint. I mean, I always knew you had that skill level but that’s a… unique setting,” Rosé retorted, her interest, and perhaps something more, very piqued.

Denali looked down and grinned. “It was. Everyone there was incredibly talented too, it was so freeing, so queer,” she said, then hesitantly looked back up to reaffirm, “which I also am, you know, gay.”

Rosé chuckled softly and nodded. “I kind of suspected as much, just with the way you reacted when we saw RENT,” she recalled, then quickly followed up with, “I am too.”

An eight-year-long weight lifted from Denali’s chest at the confession. “Do you wanna come back to my place? It’s just a couple of blocks over, we can have a sleepover like we used to,” she suggested.

“I’d love that,” she grinned, and as they walked back to the apartment, she had her arm slung around Denali’s shoulders, not passing up the first opportunity in years to keep her close. Even though it was an apartment she’d never been in before, the fact that it was Denali’s made it feel familiar.

Denali toed out of her shoes and set her purse down. “I have something for you,” she said suddenly, disappearing into her bedroom before Rosé to question her. She rifled through her closet, pulling out a box tucked away and grinning when she found the items she was looking for. It was still a risk, but this time she knew it was one worth taking. She took a deep breath, then rejoined Rosé in the living room. “I kept every mixtape you gave me, still listen to them sometimes,” she said, holding up the CD book in one hand.

“You did?” Rosé put her hand over her chest, beaming warmly. “Dee, that’s so sweet.”

She smiled, biting her lip and looking down, trying to fight away the nerves that crept back up. “I, um, I made you one too. I was going to give it to you after graduation but I chickened out,” she confessed as she handed the mixtape she had hidden among her possessions all these years to the woman she made it for. “I think the tracklist will explain why.”

Rosé’s lips parted in surprise as she gently took it from her. “To Rosie, with love,” she read the title before turning it over to see where Denali had written the songs in silver sharpie. And, sure enough, it was one love song after another, songs she knew well, that she knew the shorter woman spent her time carefully picking out each one. “Oh, Dee, this is beautiful. Honestly, I don’t know what I would’ve done if you gave it to me back then.”

Denali swallowed thickly. “I guess more importantly, what are you gonna do now?”

There was only a half-beat of silence before Rosé smirked, setting the disk on the dining room table before cupping Denali’s face and kissing her deeply, moving one hand from her face to wrap her arm around her body and pull her close. “I’ve always loved you, Denali. I’d just resigned myself to seeing you as the one that got away.”

Denali relaxed, arms looping around Rosé’s neck. “I’m not going anywhere.”

#rosnali #rosenali #rpdr rpf

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pricemarshfield · 3 years

Text

moments like these

A Figayda angst/hurt/comfort fic. Requested by @sapphic-tuesday even though they only requested it because I love Figayda. (ily bestie) Read on AO3 here.

Prompt: Figayda, angst, hurt/comfort, “You don’t need to stay.” “I don’t need to. But I want to.”

The forest is dark and damp and the worst fucking place Fig has ever been, and she's running as fast as she can to get away from herself. She'd point out how it's way too on the nose if she had any breath left, but as it stands, it's all she can do to keep putting one foot in front of the other, slower and slower.

Eventually she has to just collapse into the nearest bush, hope somehow that's enough stealth even as the crack of the branches seems to echo out for miles and miles. There's a long, long beat, where she thinks, just for a second, that maybe she's done it. Maybe the other her isn't too perceptive, either.

She hears an oddly pitched laugh from right behind her ear, as though she isn't lying on the ground, and when did the branches tangle around her leg? Where'd her bass go? Why did none of her friends even seem to care that someone else took her place--

Fig wakes up with a start, sits up, hits her head against her ceiling which is, of course, the living room floor. Her horns scratch it a bit, but thankfully, her mom won't ever see it. Her crystal says it's 3 in the morning when she checks it, and fuck, she's gonna be stuck in here for awhile if she can't pass back out.

She could send a quick text to the Mordred group chat (the manorlings, despite Ragh vying for 'OWLBEAR HYPE HOUSE') and ask if anyone's up to let her out, but then there'll be questions about why she's up, so she just concentrates on mage hand until she nails the chord and the ceiling opens.

The house feels too empty with everyone asleep, too stifling when she can't make any noise, but there's not exactly anywhere else she can go. Her days of sneaking out in the middle of the night to go to concerts aren't nearly as fun now that she misses her friends the whole time. Also, now people recognize her for being one of Solace's biggest stars or whatever, and that's just kind of a hassle when she's not in the mood for attention.

The living room couch is an old, cracked leather thing, moved from Jawbone's apartment. It's not comfortable in any traditional sense, but there's a groove in it that fits her perfectly, and that's nice, in its own way. Sometimes she misses the couch in the old house. It got burned to hell in the attack on prom night, though, so. The whole house did, honestly; when she went home after everything, the window in her bedroom was shattered, glass all over her bed so that she had to pick up each piece, vacuum up what small pieces she couldn't see. She still woke up with a couple cuts on her legs that she didn't have before, but it was home, even if the posters and the pink wallpaper were both singed, even if the purple comforter she'd had since she was a kid didn't smell like it used to.

The old Faeth house never really felt like home after her horns, sure, but Mordred...

She does like it here. Loves it, when everyone's crowded around the table, Adaine arguing with Kristen about some minute difference in casting, Jawbone telling a wildly off-color story to a confused-but-interested Aelwyn, Sandra Lynn making sure Ayda has enough food on her plate while she blinks back fiery tears.

But it doesn't change the fact that she lived here for all of a day before spring break, and right now the hallways and secret passages and tall ceilings all feel ominous, not exciting anymore.

She turns on the light before her mage hand dissipates, scrolls through the games she has on her crystal. Most of them are things she's had on here back when she liked unicorns and glitter and all those girly things that she never got around to deleting.

It's something to do, at least.

The bright colors are nostalgic in just the wrong way, and she makes it through two minutes of matching pop rocks and cake slices before she's scrolling through the games again, on-edge for no goddamn reason.

"Fig?"

Part of her relaxes against the couch before she's even finished processing the voice as Ayda. "Hey! I didn't think you were staying here tonight."

"I wasn't," Ayda says, looking at her with an expression she can't read at all. She's in a deep blue chemise, like she'd been sleeping before she walked through the enchanted door into Mordred. "I--may I sit?"

"Yeah, of course," Fig says, patting the spot next to her. "Always, babe."

Ayda cries a little as she sits, and Fig wipes the tears away. The first time she tried, when she was a normal tiefling and didn't wear the title of Archdevil, it stung a little, like stepping into a too-warm bath. Now, it feels just like the hint of warmth against her hand, uniquely Ayda and not at all painful. (Which is also uniquely Ayda, to never freak Fig out even when she's in this shitty mood.)

"So," Ayda says. "I was in Leviathan, as I needed to--well, still need to, I've merely decided the task isn't as important--I'm getting sidetracked."

"Yeah," Fig says, and when Ayda stiffens, says, "Not bad! Not a bad thing! It's cute."

"Oh," Ayda says. "I--sorry," and bursts into tears again. Fig wipes them away, kisses her cheek just 'cause she can, kisses the other one because she can feel Ayda's face get even warmer.

"No worries," Fig says, too late, because she's not--this is still new to her. "So what's going on?"

"As you know, I am a divination wizard, though not an Oracle like Adaine, our best friend." Fig nods. "But sometimes my dreams have--not prophecies, but looks into the present, or even occasionally the past."

"Okay," Fig says. "Is there, like, a slumbering demon lord underneath Mordred?"

"No," Ayda says. "I asked a ranger I know in Leviathan to check before he left on a journey to Sylvaire. Unrelated to the Nightmare King. I checked, just to be sure, because I am sure none of us want to deal with that again."

"Mmhm," Fig says, willing herself to keep breathing slow and easy and not tense up like she wants to. It's just Ayda talking about preventing further Nightmare King stuff. The Nightmare King doesn't even exist anymore, they're Cassandra, they're cool. "So, uh, what'd you see in your dream?"

"You," Ayda says. "That isn't uncommon. I dream of you often. You're in more of my dreams than not. Is that strange? Should I not have said that?"

"Not strange," Fig says, sure her cheeks are red rather than pink. "Just--I'm flustered, okay, give me a second."

Ayda nods at her, not smiling but face relaxed in a way that suggests the same feeling. Fig grabs her hand just to ground herself, squeezes it once. There's a moment before Ayda squeezes it back, like she's thinking about whether it's the right thing to do.

"Totally normal," Fig says, just in case.

"Good," Ayda says with one long exhale. "I was worried."

"You know, it doesn't matter to me if what you do is 'normal'," Fig says. "I like you whether what you do is normal or not!"

Ayda nods. "I want to finish my thought, but after that I want to kiss you. That was the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me."

"You could kiss me and then finish the thought?"

"I would forget," Ayda says, like she doesn't remember everything, like Fig is enough to distract her. Fig can't quite meet her gaze, then, a smile pulling at the corner of her mouth. She squeezes her hand again. Ayda squeezes back immediately. "Um. I'm distracting myself. What was I talking about?"

"Your dream."

"Right. Thank you, Fig. I dreamed about you, and I think it may have been--it was as though I was standing at your bedside. I know it was a dream and not sleepwalking, because I can't actually stand in your room--it's too short and I don't want to set your house on fire. But you seemed upset, and while I don't know if that was real or a dream or not, I couldn't--I couldn't just sit in my room and Leviathan without checking."

"Oh," Fig says. "Um. I'm fine."

"Hm," Ayda says. "You know, you were the one who told me that if people say they're fine, it very rarely means they're fine. I don't understand the logic of it at all, but I trust your insight."

"It's stupid," Fig says, and then, in a twist, bursts into tears herself. "God. It's stupid, I don't even know why I'm upset? Like, it's literally nothing, nothing is going on, I'm just dumb--"

"You are not dumb," Ayda says, and Fig hates herself all the more for the panic she can hear in her voice. "You have taught me so much, and if it matters to you, then it's not stupid. Fig?"

"Yeah," Fig says, voice embarrassingly choked up. She clears her throat as best she can, which isn't very well, since she's still actively crying. "Yeah, I know."

"I don't know what you know," Ayda says. "But I know that when I cry, you wipe my tears away, and I'm going to do the same for you, unless you want to stop me, in which case I won't."

Fig doesn't move, lets Ayda wipe away her tears even though it makes her want to cry more, someone being nice to her right now. "Thanks."

"Any time," Ayda says with the weight of a promise and not at all like the platitude most people would mean. "Do you want to talk about it? It's okay if you don't. I often don't want to talk about the things I'm going through when I'm still going through them."

"I don't," Fig says, because the idea of explaining the nightmare and Mordred and her old house being destroyed and feeling so, so unmoored and stuck all at once makes her want to tear her own hair out. "I don't--you don't need to stay. I'll be okay. If I'm not--if I can't talk about it, you don't need to stay."

"I don't need to stay," Ayda says, carefully, and Fig grips her hand tighter without consciously meaning to. "But I'd like to. If I can."

"I meant it when I said always," Fig says, still not looking at Ayda because she can't.

"Do you want me to?"

"Yeah," Fig says. "I always want you to stay."

Jawbone walks into the room on his way into the kitchen, sees two teenagers holding hands and crying and slightly-burning his couch, and decides he can just get water from the bathroom instead of the kitchen. He's not one to interrupt a moment.

#figayda #fig faeth the insatiable #ayda aguefort #fantasy high #dimension 20 #sapphic-tuesday #request #my fics

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platypanthewriter · 3 years

Text

Lilies of the Valley

This one’s for you @mourntheantagonist! And @cherrydreamer, thanks so much for the loan of your name!

Harringrove April Prompt day 30: Lilies of the Valley! Neil had opinions about Billy's mom, and Billy's mom's makeup, and Billy. What he thought doesn't matter anymore, but Billy's still a little worried about bringing it all up to Steve. GNC Billy.

When Billy was five, he’d tried on his mom’s gold pumps and her rainbowy nail polish, and she’d laughed and spread her arms for him to stumble into. “Hey, glitter-bug,” she said, kissing his head all over until he giggled, trying to protect his neck from her attack. “How’s the prettiest boy in town?” she whispered, blowing raspberries down his chest and stomach, and then finally letting him up once he was giggling so hard he couldn’t breathe.

She’d let him sit on her fancy vanity stool, spinning him now and then so they could see how he looked from different angles in the three mirrors. “Oh no,” she whispered, her eyes very wide. “I thought you were prettiest from this side, but every new side is prettier! How is it, sir, being the prettiest,” she asked, offering him an imaginary microphone.

He beamed into her face, and cleared his throat. “You’re the prettiest,” he told her, his eyes big with anticipation, and sure enough, she yelled and scooped him up, dumping him on the bed and cuddling him until they’d both laughed so hard their lungs hurt.

“You are,” she whispered. “I made the prettiest boy in the world.”

“You’re the prettiest girl,” he said loyally, and that time she kissed his nose. “Anyway,” he whispered, “—you have…” he trailed off, reaching up to touch the sparkling powders over her eyes, and the bright greasy red on her lips.

She drew a shaky breath, pushing herself up, and glancing towards the door. “...do you want to play with my makeup, baby?” she asked, and he sat up too, springing upright so fast they nearly clonked heads.

“Can we?” he asked, keeping his voice low, like hers, but nearly vibrating with excitement.

She bit her lips together, tucking some of his curls behind his ear. “You know how there are some things we keep secret from Daddy, sweetie?”

Billy squirmed around to face her, nodding, and folding his hands like a grownup. “Like when you kiss Mrs. Sally,” he whispered, then, belatedly, cupped his hands over his mouth.

“Like that,” she told him, nodding. “If I’d kept kissing Sally, he might have found out, and not let me see my lil’ glitterbug anymore.”

“I won’t tell,” Billy said, shaking his head, his heart pounding with the weight of adult responsibilities.

“I know you won’t,” she told him, smiling, but she looked sad. “But I can’t do anything that might make Daddy take you away, can I?”

Billy shook his head, wondering, as always, why his mom had married someone who didn’t like either of them very much. He kind of wanted to ask, but she reached out and held his face, squishing his cheeks together like a fish, and he batted at her hands.

“Makeup is like that,” she told him, and he frowned, trying to understand. “If I put makeup on you, Daddy will be very angry,” she told him. “So we have to wash it off before he gets home, and keep it a secret, just like me kissing Sally, right?”

It didn’t make a lot of sense, because Billy had seen his dad fussing with his hair, and his ties, and he knew his dad wanted to be pretty too—but maybe, he thought, his dad was mad because he was jealous, and that kind of fit. He nodded seriously, licking his lips, as he wondered what the lipstick would feel like.

It felt weird and sticky, but it looked beautiful, and he gasped as he opened his eyes in the mirror, leaning closer to touch the mirror, and then touching his lips.

“You’ll smear it,” his mom said, smiling, and Billy yanked his hand back into his lap. He closed his eyes and felt the shiny powders brushing over them, his mom’s warm hand steadying his chin. Very slowly, so as not to jar her efforts, he kicked his feet in happiness.

“There,” she said,” rubbing her thumb along his eyebrow, and squinting into his face. “You’re adorable, honey. Your mamma did so good.” She spun him to look in the mirror again, and he stared as she kissed his cheek, and then redid his lipstick, because he couldn’t stop chewing at it, fascinated. “Other mommies would be so jealous of my lil’ glitterbug,” she whispered.

An hour before his dad got home, she popped him in the bath, leaning in to scrub his face gently, and he sighed to see it go.

“We’ll play again, sweetie,” she told him, kissing his forehead.

That night Billy’s dad clicked his tongue at her bright red lipstick, and went and got the Bible. He made them stand, listening, while their dinner got cold.

“‘Therefore I say unto you,’” he read, “‘Be not anxious for your life, what ye shall eat; nor yet for your body, what ye shall put on. For the life is more than the food, and the body than the raiment.’ What do you suppose that means, Billy?”

Billy watched his mom shut her eyes, swallowing, and he tried to think, to get it right, but he never understood the Bible. He told his mother once that he thought they should have somebody write it all down that talked normal, and she laughed for the whole afternoon, and then told him that was another thing to not tell his dad.

“I thought that school was teaching him to read, and now he can’t even understand language,” his dad said, and Billy’s mom flinched.

“It means we should think about god more than looking pretty,” Billy’s mom said dully, and Billy watched her, and then his dad, wondering why he’d even wanted to marry her, because she was beautiful and funny and perfect, and Billy’s dad even got mad over things like the neighbor’s Christmas lights.

She didn’t wear the bright colors, after that.

Years later, Steve was driving back from picking up burgers, and Billy shoved a handful of fries in his mouth, and slurped his soda.

“You ever miss fucking a chick,” he said, weirdly flat.

“Uh,” said Steve, who hadn’t. “...um. Uh, d’you?” he asked, warily, and Billy shrugged, unwrapping his burger. He took a huge bite, grunting appreciatively, and Steve tried to think of what to say. “What...are you missing,” he asked, slowly, and Billy smirked over.

“Nothing big, don’t flip your shit,” he said, taking another bite of burger, and staring out at the passing scenery, as Steve tried not to shake him, or bite his lip, or look like he was flipping his shit.

“...what is this,” Steve asked, finally, clenching his hands on the steering wheel. “You cheating on me?!”

“No,” Billy said quickly.

“You want to? You wanna break up?! Where the fuck is this going, Hargrove?!” Steve hissed at him, and Billy sighed, letting his head thunk into the window.

“No, fuck you, I don’t want...any of that,” he sighed. “Calm your tits, Harringt—”

“Fuck you,” Steve spat back. “If you’re fucking bored—”

“No! I didn’t mean that!” Billy shot back, throwing a french fry at him, and Steve grabbed it and ate it, chewing with his mouth open, and his teeth bared. “Fuck you,” Billy sighed. “I just asked you a question, don’t get all pissed.” He sighed again, lowering the burger to his lap, and frowning past it. “I just wondered.”

Steve had kinda relaxed, waking every morning and seeing Billy sprawled next to him, his hair in his open, snoring mouth, and he’d forgotten he was Steve Harrington, the guy people left. “Fuck,” he whispered.

“I just meant the—they’re soft,” Billy said, glancing over, and then back down, his jaw working.

“You’re saying I need to get fat?” Steve asked dryly, through his teeth, as he pulled into the garage.

“No!” Billy shoved him against the door of the car. “Forget it.”

“Not likely,” Steve muttered. Billy shouldered past him into the house, and then ignored him until Steve went to bed, and Steve laid up in their bed alone. He didn’t cry much, but the couple tears that escaped went right in his ear, and he was tempted to just...go down and throw every porn cassette he’d ever owned at Billy’s head.

The next morning he got up and made bacon and eggs—he was hungry, even if Billy was being an asshole—and Billy came in and helped himself.

Billy’s eyes were swollen and red, and Steve didn’t know what to do with that—he’d never broken up with anybody he really liked, he thought, dully. Maybe it was hard. “Sorry for trying to have a conversation,” Billy hissed, and walked off, and Steve slid his plate of food aside, suddenly not hungry.

After a few minutes, Billy stomped back in. “What, you gonna stay out of rooms I’m in now—” he started, snarling, and then he stopped, and probably took stock of Steve’s head in his arms on the counter, and his breakfast getting cold. Steve jerked his head up, rubbing his face. “Fuck,” Billy muttered, grabbing Steve around the waist, and turning him enough to kiss. “I don’t…” he said, softly, biting his lip. “I don’t want somebody else. Don’t be a fucking dumbass, jesus, of course I don’t want someone else—”

“How the hell should I know?!” Steve hissed back, but relaxing, a little, into the kisses. “You just said you missed fucking women. I’m not one, if you missed that—”

“I didn’t say that,” Billy told him, taking Steve’s hands. “I asked if you missed it. Stroking your hands up here,” he breathed against Steve’s lips, and slid Steve’s palms up where Billy’s sides were shirtless and smooth under his denim jacket. “Feeling something...elastic, maybe,” he whispered between open-mouthed kisses, and lifted Steve’s hands up farther, to stroke over his nipples. “Something silky.”

It felt like the conversation had taken a sharp tilt, and Steve felt like the marble in a little maze, trying to avoid dropping through the holes. “...on you,” he whispered back, to be sure, trying to imagine it.

Billy was perfect already, he wanted to say, from the little softness over the waistband of his jeans where he’d stopped working out so hard, once he was away from his dad, to stretched pink scars that reminded Steve there were more places to kiss. But Billy was already withdrawing again, his shoulders hunching as he smirked, and Steve tried a “Keep talking.”

His hands were abruptly fuller of Billy as he leaned in, shoving Steve back against the counter. “I gotta keep things fresh, right,” he whispered. “Make sure you still want what I got. Maybe…” Steve waited as Billy searched his face, biting his lips, and then took a shaky breath. “Maybe dress up...a little,” he mumbled, losing momentum, and Steve hurried, feeling the need to catch some fragile part of Billy before it smashed.

“You wanna dress up for me?” he asked, making sure to grin, because it honestly sounded weird, but Billy wanted to—and Steve didn’t really give a shit about flowers, either, but even if they gave him hayfever, he knew to be happy when somebody picked him out a present. At least, he thought, whatever Billy was talking about was unlikely to make him sneeze.

Billy’s smirk went a little smaller as he flushed, and he laughed, shaking a little. “If—if you want,” he said fast, grinning tensely. “If you...if that…” he muttered, looking a little shiny-eyed, and Steve slid his hands around the soft, scarred skin of Billy’s back, and down toward the swell of his ass. “Imagine something bright down there,” Billy whispered, breathing against Steve’s jaw. “You could snap the elastic, pull me over.”

That sounded like Billy Hargrove wanted to wear lace panties, and Steve fought back an instinctive snigger, squeezing him closer, and trying to think of something to say, something that wasn’t “You’d make duct tape hot, babe,” or “Y’know we could not do that, and just fuck,” or anything else that made it seem like Billy’d asked him about something weird as hell, and important to Billy, and Steve hadn’t even listened. “Yeah,” Steve whispered, not sure what was required. “Sounds hot,” he said lamely, but Billy relaxed against him.

“Yeah,” he whispered, nodding, and laughing, and stroking his fingers through Steve’s hair so clumsily he almost poked Steve in the eye. “Yeah, yes, it’ll—it’ll be good, you’ll like it,” he whispered against Steve’s lips.

The next day Billy disappeared after school, and came home squirming and pink-cheeked. He wandered up like nothing was going on, resting his chin on Steve’s shoulder, and Steve turned and drew him in. Billy had his jacket buttoned, for once, and a flushed smirk, and Steve unbuttoned it from the bottom, sliding his fingers up over what felt like soft, elasticy cotton. It was a clingy little camisole thing, he realized, nearly a tanktop, nearly unisex, but the satin edging around the top, the thin straps, and the bright red put it squarely in the women’s section.

Billy laughed nervously. “It’s not even that pretty,” he said, glancing at Steve’s face, and then baring his teeth a little into the distance. “Fuck, this was dumb, in this little hick town, I couldn’t even find anything—”

It was stretched out across Billy’s chest, not the shape it expected to fit, and his nipples showed around the straps, the soft fabric clinging to his skin. “No,” Steve whispered, sliding his hands over ropy satin straps, and Billy’s skin. He ran a finger along the strap and down, his nail catching on Billy’s chest, so he shivered. “No, it’s—it’s really...pretty, Billy,” Steve breathed, and Billy reddened like Steve had never seen before, his smile widening into a beaming grin.

“They’re just cotton,” Billy whispered, “—but they were red, at least—”

Steve smoothed his hands over the soft fabric. He slid his fingers down the back of Billy’s jeans, and felt—yep, he thought, grinning as he felt Billy laugh, another thin elastic edge that definitely wasn’t Fruit-of-the-Looms. “Just cotton,” Billy whispered again, sighing.

Steve had bought lingerie before, but he’d never really thought about it for Billy—or even Nancy, who was too ticklish for lace, and liked the spontaneity of showing up and pushing Steve onto his back on the couch more than she wanted to set anything up with candles and rose petals. He felt a little guilty, though, seeing Billy squirming around, panting a little, his dick hard as a rock in plain cotton briefs, red or otherwise. “So you…” Steve started, and then stopped, uncertain what he was trying to say.

“What,” Billy bit out, glaring up at him, which looked...less than intimidating, in what looked like underwear for a kid, or somebody’s mom. Steve ran his fingers along the line Billy’s dick made in the panties, fascinated, and it twitched. Billy jerked his knee up, grinning, his freckles fading into his blush. “Quit it,” he said. “You’ll make me mess ‘em up.”

“...you like being...pretty,” Steve said, and Billy twitched, pulling his knees up and together. “No, don’t, uh, don’t pillbug up,” Steve told him, leaning in to hug his boyfriend’s knees. “Um, how...how pretty? What...what kinds of…”

“The hell d’you mean how pretty,” Billy growled, warily, and Steve bent his head, pressing a kiss to Billy’s tanned knee.

“You just...want pretty clothes?” he asked, as Billy took a shaky breath. “I just—I mean, you were talking about...girls. You want like…” Steve ran his thumb over Billy’s tense, curled toes. “You want I should paint these?”

“God, will you?” Billy asked, pushing himself up as he yanked Steve into a kiss, knocking them both off-balance so Steve landed on top of Billy in his soft, elastic cotton, and Billy groaned.

“Yeah, I’ll paint ‘em,” Steve whispered, kissing Billy’s hot face. “Don’t...really think you can get much prettier,” he said, feeling Billy’s cheek grin under his lips, “—but I’ll help. I might have something upstairs.”

“The hell would you have,” Billy snorted.

Steve felt indignant for a second, then kind of dumb as he shot back “I could wear nail polish, you don’t fucking know,” before he registered that it probably hadn’t actually been an insult, and he started to feel his ears go red. He cleared his throat. “...uh, no, though. I don’t. But my mom. There’s some of her stuff up there.”

“Oh,” Billy said, sitting up. “You...you’d let me use your mom’s stuff?”

“Why not,” Steve shrugged, pulling him up. “Maybe she’s got some nylons or something.”

“Holy shit,” Billy whispered, but he grabbed Steve’s arm, pulling him back around. “You don’t think she’d...she’d think it’s gross, right,” he asked, still smirking a little, like he was trying to keep it up. “She wouldn’t want some dude wearing her nylons.”

“You’re not some dude,” Steve said, rolling his eyes, “—and if she’s so damn precious about ‘em she can buy some more, come on.” He drug Billy upstairs—Billy was very manhandleable, in bare feet and a sheer cotton underwear set, and Steve tried not to think about the difference it made—and pushed Billy down to sit on his parents’ chintz duvet cover. He dug through her drawers, and found some nylons, and brought them over. Billy laughed, wide-eyed, and Steve reached down and grabbed his foot, thinking. “...y’know what,” he said, “—Mom used to do all this stuff to her feet, and I bet it kept her damn nylons from running.”

“...you saying I should go get a pedicure?” Billy snorted, and Steve shook his head, squeezing his boyfriend’s toes.

“Nah. Lemme see what she’s got, we can figure this out,” he mumbled, pulling out drawers. “Can’t be that hard.”

“...you gonna give me a pedicure,” Billy muttered, like he didn’t know whether it was a question or not, and Steve was about to roll his eyes when he finally found the right drawer.

“Oho,” he said, grinning over his shoulder. “The mother lode. Come look at the colors. I mean, they’re mostly kind of pink, but there’s some reds.”

The bed creaked as Billy got up and came over, and his breath hitched. He reached towards the lipsticks, and then jerked his hand back, and Steve grabbed the reddest one, and leaned to kiss him, softly, opening the lid. Billy closed his eyes, panting a little, and Steve kissed him again, because Billy’d probably wanna sprawl around looking pretty for a while without anybody smearing it, once he had lipstick on.

“Open your mouth, babe,” Steve said, and Billy did. Steve could feel the pulse pounding in the skin under his fingers, but he just brushed the tip over the corner of Billy’s mouth, narrowing his eyes intently.

Billy licked the tip of the lipstick, and Steve hissed at him, hsht! like Billy was a little kid, or a cat. “I can’t do this if you eat it,” he pointed out, and Billy laughed.

“It tastes the same,” he said, softly.

“...you eat it a lot?” Steve asked, realizing he had mouth open in concentration, and his tongue licking his teeth in the direction he was rubbing the lipstick on. He bit his lips together, smiling in embarrassment.

“I used to,” Billy said, letting Steve turn his head left and then right, and smiling. “Mom would dress me up.”

Steve paused for a second, at that, his hand on the lipstick stilling, and then he started again. “Dunno if I’ll do as good a job,” he said, and Billy laughed again, swallowing hard. “...maybe I’ll get better with practice,” Steve told him, and Billy grinned, yanking him in for a hard kiss. “Who-mmmph,” Steve protested, then leaned into it, feeling Billy sigh contentedly, and hum.

When Steve pulled back, his dick went half-hard just for the way Billy looked, leaning back against the side of the bed in his soft red underwear set, his eyes closed, his grin smeared and lazy. The red stood out, shiny and rich, and Steve wished—silently, to himself—that lipstick ever tasted even a tenth as good as it looked. “...jesus, that’s nice,” he said.

“I’m the prettiest, right,” Billy whispered, and a couple tears leaked from under his closed eyelashes. He sniffled as Steve lifted and turned his chin to fix his lipstick. “Shut up,” he said hoarsely, even thought Steve hadn’t said a word.

“...just thinking you look gorgeous,” Steve told him. “You look so pretty, babe.”

“...’life is more than the food, and the body than the raiment’,” Billy said, snorting a laugh, and Steve said “...what?”

“It’s a bible thing,” Billy said, his eyes widening as Steve pulled out a tray of eyeshadows, and held them up to Billy’s face, squinting.

Steve squinted, decided the green would make Billy look like he had a weird Christmasy disease with the lipstick, and pulled out the other one, pinks and golds.

“...it means you should worry more about following god’s word than dressing up like a slut,” Billy said, quirking his mouth. “‘Consider the lilies, how they grow: they toil not, neither do they spin; yet I say unto you, Even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these.’ Like, God makes you like he wants, you shouldn’t...change it. Try and...look...different.” Billy sighed. “He used to make us say it whenever we asked for new clothes. I told him I might as well go to school naked, then.”

“I don’t remember the part in the bible where Jesus called people sluts,” Steve said, leaning in to kiss Billy’s cheek, and then concentrating on brushing gold over his eyelids.

“Just be as nature made you, y’know, don’t...try to be...what you’re not,” Billy said, smirking. “He never found out I wanted to wear lace panties.”

“Good,” Steve told his boyfriend, then whispered “God,” as he sat back. “...Billy, god made you a lily.”

“What?!” Billy laughed, scrambling up to go look in the bathroom mirror. He was quiet for a long minute, and Steve got up and followed, grimacing.

“I’ll get better with the little brushes,” he said, leaning through the door, but Billy was just making kissy faces at himself, entranced.

“I’m the prettiest boy in the world,” he breathed, and Steve bit back a laugh. “Come here.” Steve wandered over to slide his arms around Billy’s waist from behind, and kiss his neck. “...you like it, right,” Billy asked, and Steve nodded, squeezing him.

“Come on,” he said, “Lemme do your toenails.”

“Jesus,” Billy said, giggling, kinda, his eyes shiny, and Steve just held him there, letting him look.

The next day, Billy changed the oil in his car, his nails and lips red, and his face smeared with engine grease when Steve pulled him out from under the car for a kiss. While he was tinkering, Steve drove clear to the Indianapolis Victoria’s Secret. “I’m dating an Olympic swimmer,” he told them, having practiced the lie. “She’s got no tits and these big shoulders, and she’s hotter than anyone else in the world, can you help me out?”

My other Harringrove prompts are here!

#Harringrove #Harringrove April #Billy's mom used to make him pretty #Prettiest boy #He hasn't thought about it much since #But now...now he feels safe #With Steve #Hurt/comfort a little?#Fluff #GNC Billy

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dancingazaleas · 3 years

Note

Can you write a modern au Historia Reiss x fem!reader imagine where the reader is in a band and has a very punk rock style, and Historias the popular cheerleader everybody drools over, and they hate each other but at a party some girl is flirting with the reader so historia takes her and fucks the reader silly in a bathroom and after confesses her feelings to r?

historia reiss | promise

ofc!!! pls i literally love cheerleader!historia. i hope this is good enough <33 !!

18+ pls ! [unedited]

warnings/notes: cursing, use of alcohol and drugs, eventual smut, jealous dom!historia, modern au!, college au!, cheerleader!historia, bathroom sex, degradation, slight praise, enemies to lovers supremacy, fem reader!, finger fucking, hints at pegging, and aftercare

you’re pissed, so pissed that you’re seeing white. you only know that you’re sitting under the bleachers of your college campus and that your best friend, annie, is sitting beside you.

historia reiss, the popular cheerleader adored by everyone, decided it would funny if she pulled a prank on you. the prank being drenched in ice water and then pouring pink glitter on your body from the second floor of campus.

the glitter stuck everywhere, even in your mouth. before you scrubbed some of it off, you looked like a bath bomb. the water made it stickier and made you cold.

you don’t know what kind of vendetta historia has against you, you’ve only just met her two years ago! you hadn’t even really talked her up until your freshman year of college. even then, you don’t think you had said anything rude or wrong.

you just assume she gets pleasure out of your suffering.

you’re ranting about historia to annie, who witnessed the whole incident, still covered head-to-toe in glitter. she’s smoking a cigarette and listening to you absentmindedly, a sign that she’s getting slightly annoyed. she grabs your jaw with her hand and turns your face towards her. she’s taking in a breath and you know exactly what she’s about to do.

when she pulls the cigarette away, she blows the smoke into your face and let’s go of your jaw.

“thanks for that,” you grunt, the smell always seems to calm you down for some odd reason.

“y’know, instead of ranting, you could go home and take a shower,” she looks sleepy as she holds onto her cigarette.

“i know. but she’s just so frustrating! wanna know what makes her even more frustrating?!”

annie decides to play along, she thinks you ranting is funny, “what?”

“she’s hot. scratch that, she’s literally gorgeous. she looks like a fucking goddess and has the personality of a witch,” you shout angrily, following annie’s movements of getting up and walking towards your dorm.

“i dunno,” she snickers, “she’s pretty nice to me.”

“yeah, cause she’s got some sort of vendetta against me. i swear—i have never done a single thing to her!! do you remember when she bashed our band?! does she even listen to punk?!”

annie’s made a mistake in encouraging you, “anyways. speaking of our band, don’t forget we’re playing tonight at eren’s house.”

“you mean at his frat house,” you snort, bumping your shoulder into her’s. you immediately regret it when you pull away and see pink glitter stick to her shirt and a shiver going down her spine.

“yeah, whatever. thank god he’s loaded enough to pay for a band. i can’t believe his dad just gives him and zeke cash,” annie coughs while she chuckles, smoke puffing out of her nose.

you’re laughing at her coughing, slapping her firmly on the back as you walk.

you don’t notice large blue eyes staring at you from far away.

————

you’re trying to ignore the idiotic comments annie’s making while mikasa does your eyeliner.

you, mikasa, annie, and—surprisngly—jean are getting ready for your show tonight.

originally, it had just been you, annie, and mikasa until mikasa and jean had started dating. she vouched that he could play the drums—and he definelty could. he also gets along surprisingly well with you and annie.

mikasa usually sings back-up for you—despite your begging for her to be the lead—and plays the electric keyboard.

annie’s on bass guitar. she gets stupidly smug everytime she’s done playing and the praise she gets from her girlfriend doesn’t help. annie also writes most of your songs.

“guys, we should make a bet,” annie’s twirling some of her hair, eyeing you and mikasa.

“what’s the bet,” jean smirks and raises a bushy brow. mikasa and you give a hum of approval.

“i bet that one girl is gonna be all over (name) tonight,” you snort sarcastically.

“elizabeth? i think she’s trying to seduce me so i’ll partner up with her for this project we have coming up in our music history class,” mikasa’s pullled away, screwing the cap of the eyeliner back onto the bottle. she hands you coal black lipstick.

“you know what i bet,” jean starts, you know it isn’t gonna be good, “historia’s gonna be eyefucking (name) all night.”

you’re in the middle of applying lipstick but you stop at his statement.

“no, before you say something, jean’s gotta point,” mikasa muses, fanning her hand.

“yeah. dunno how you didn’t noticed,” annie shrugs, hopping out of her chair and stretching her arms upwards.

you’re irritated and finished with your lipstick, eyebrows furrowed bitterly.

“anyways,” you grit your teeth, “it’s showtime.”

————

it’s been five minutes since you and the band performed, and after all that belting you just want a drink. you’re walking through the messy and huge kitchen, trying to avoid stepping on spilled shots and egg yolk—who knows—because these boots were expensive.

luckily, most people are partying like a mob in the main room of the smelly frat house. it smells like weed, everywhere. and when you open the fridge you see a long platter of chocolate brownies, is eren alright? you shrug internally, snatching a water bottle that’s sitting on the top shelf.

after you’ve closed the fridge door and opened it, you’re chugging the water bottle like your life depends on it. when you pull away, you try to not notice the lipstick stain and that you’ve drank the bottle more than halfway. you’re leaning on the island in the middle of the kitchen, you don’t plan on partying too much since you’re supposed to be the designated driver for annie, mikasa, and jean.

you’re about to take another swig of your water, eyes staring down at your phone and continuing to read a article. before you can bring the bottle to your lips, teasing laughter from your front is distracting you.

it’s historia, wearing a baby blue v-neck tank top that ends at her ribs. she has a white skirt on, pulled up to the middle of her bellybutton and stopping at her upper thighs. her shoes are white and chunky with sparkly blue butterflies on the sides of them. her makeup’s cute, a light blue sprinkling on the outside corners of her eyes that tickled her cheekbones, a light and natural (for her at least) pink lipstick on her lips coated with shiny gloss. she’s pretty.

“fuck do you want,” you frown with narrowed eyes, you’re praying there aren’t anymore tricks.

“nothing, nothing!,” she’s got a cheery smile on her face, “just wanted to see how you were doing! i cant even do that?”

rolling your eyes, you scoff, “not after you drenched me in ice cold water and then poured glitter on me. it took me two hours to get rid of the glitter in the shower.”

she’s opening her mouth, but you’re already done with her shit, “fuck off, dude.”

you’re stomping out of the kitchen, huffing with frustration. what the fuck was historia trying to play at? she’s such a cunt, pulling these mean pranks on you with no provocation and then coming up to you after and asking how you are?

you’re seething. you’re so angry you’re not even paying attention to where you’re going.

but it’s interrupted when you bump into someone’s back. lower... back.

said person, turns around and looks down at you. she’s tall, and you’ve seen her around campus with eren and zeke. she’s quiet and cunning, you’ve heard rumors that she gets paid to beat people up sometimes. you can’t really judge her, money’s money.

but she’s also gorgeous. glowing gold eyes and choppy blonde hair. she’s wearing a loose black blazer that closes at her sternum and down, with nothing underneath. she’s got some kind of necklace—you think it says ‘p’ or ‘z’—and pretty silver rings on her fingers. her heels make her tower over you more than she probably would without them on.

“shit, my bad,” you sigh and look away.

she shakes her head, the tiniest smile painting her face and her cheeks turn a little red.

“you’re alright,” she hums, “i don’t think i’ve met you. i’ve definitely seen you around, but no one’s ever given me a name.”

“oh, i’m (name),” you smile shyly, “i don’t know your name either.”

she chuckles a bit, somehow wrapping her hand in your’s and leading you to a nice loveseat. her nails are painted black and you feel inclined to put your legs over her lap.

“i’m surprised,” and that’s when you notice zeke and pieck on the couch next to you, “there are a lot of rumors about me. however, i guess whoever told you—or didn’t—left me anonymous. i’m yelena.”

you give a laugh, watching her throw her arm up onto the top of the couch. you’re cuddling her side within seconds, drawing a deep chuckle from her. her other hand reaches to your cheek, making you look up at her. she’s holding your chin with her thumb and staring at you with her hypnotizing eyes.

“you’re just the cutest,” she mumbles, letting go of your face and tapping your nose.

you’re getting embarrassed at the attention, and you don’t know what to say other than ‘thank you’. you’ve never been pussy whipped a day in your entire life, but you think you might change that.

she’s leaning in closer, ignoring the couple, who was staring at you two with amusement, that sat on the couch cuddling. you feel like you recognize them for a moment, but the thought it forgotten whenever yelena kisses you fervently.

she’s running her tongue across your lip and the shiver that goes down your spine makes you realize she has a tongue piercing. she’s pushing you down to lay on the couch, to which you happily oblige, her hand crawling up to your neck.

before you can even let her shove her tongue in your mouth and choke you, your hand is being tugged and all of a sudden your upper torso and body is on the floor and your head is aching. you’re dazedly looking at yelena, who’s just as surprised as you are, then turning to the couple on the couch.

holy fucking hell, how did you not realize that the couple was pieck and zeke. that isn’t even your main focus when another tug to your wrist pulls your lower half off the couch.

“what the fuck?!” you’re suddenly not dazed anymore, “let go of me!”

you’re snatching your arm away and scrambling to your feet, tugging down your short dress that rode up. you turn around to face the assaulter, only to look down and see historia.

historia grabbed you?!

before you can even scream or slap her, she’s, once again, pulling you away by your wrist. for such a small girl, she’s got a tight grip.

you’re stumbling as you follow her, not like you couldn’t, yelling profanities. you pass by annie, who spits out her drink at the sight of you, it startles her girlfriend, hitch. you mouth a ‘help!’ towards her just as you’re swung forward.

it takes you a second to balance yourself out, and before you can turn yourself around, you’re being shoved forward.

what the fuck is her deal?!

you’re pushed into a bathroom, finally turning around to see historia as you fall on your ass. she’s slammed the door closed and locked it, staring at you on the ground.

“the fuck is your damage,” you scream, leaning against the bathroom counter.

“you’re a fucking slut, that’s what!” she’s yelling back, now standing in front of you. her hands are trapping you against the counter, and you’re looking down at her.

“you’re a dirty little slut. you can’t help but get down with a woman when i’m not with you for five fucking minutes,” you can’t even open your mouth and opted to push yourself towards the counter more as you squeeze your thighs together.

“look at you,” she’s laughing mockingly, “you look like a dog in heat. are you enjoying this, you fucking whore?”

you whimper, shaking your head side-to-side.

“you’re a liar,” she’s laughing again, standing on her tip toes to brush her lips against your’s.

“i’m not.”

“if you’re not, go ahead and push me away then,” she smirks, leaning closer.

you look away, listening to the mocking giggle that she was releasing right in your face. her left hand is grabbing you by the jaw and forcing you to look at her.

“can i kiss you,” her look softens and you nod at her.

“yes,” and within a second, her lips are on your’s. the kiss is surprisingly gentle and sweet.

with a bit on your lip, her tongue is rubbing against your’s and her hands sliding under the thin straps of your dress. you’re whining when she pulls away and laughs. your dress is halfway down your body, chest jumping up and down as you pant from the lack of breath.

“look at you, baby,” she turns your head to the side, which gives you a profile view of yourself in the mirror. your lipstick’s smudged in the corner of your mouth, eyeliner’s smuged as well as your eyeshadow.

weak product.

“you need better makeup,” she’s giggling as she leans her head towards your neck.

she’s kissing and sucking almost everywhere on your neck and chest, as if she were marking her property. moans are bouncing off the walls as her hands release your boobs from the strapless bra you’re wearing and sucking on your nipples. honestly, you’re glad it’s off. it’s been tiring having to pull it up everytime it slipped even just a bit.

you tug at her blonde hair when her small hand gropes one tit and her mouth bites at the other. she’s tugging the rest of your dress down with her free hand, and it pools around your boots. she goes back up to kiss your lips, laughing in your mouth as you struggle to kick off your boots. she’s kissing at your cheek and ear, tugging at the waistline of your fishnet tights.

“might wanna take these off too if you don’t want them ripped,” yelping when she bites at your earlobe.

“i...,” you’re catching your breath, “need help.”

she giggles while nodding, helping you shimmying the tights down to your knees.

“jump up on the counter, babe. it’ll make it easier for me,” you’re obident and jumping on the cool bathroom counter, it makes you shiver.

historia’s on her knees, shoes kicked off, and her fingers tickle your legs when she’s sliding the tights off your legs. she’s got a sultry look on her face when she throws said tights over her shoulder, palming your kneecaps. she bites back her smirk when she pulls your knees apart, showing off your black panties. you fall back against the mirror and you lean mostly on your elbows, ignoring the loud bang that came from it.

her mouth’s leaving open mouthed kisses against your inner thighs, pants leaving your mouth. her fingers hook around the waistband of your panties, tugging them down quickly whenever you lift your hips.

your going to close your legs, but her hands prevent you from doing so. her eyes are glued to your pussy, lips spread open and your wetness shining in the light. you’ve got a little hair on your pubis, but that isn’t going to stop historia reiss from changing her name to sasha braus.

she’s sucking at your clit and spreading your legs apart as far as she can. she pulls away from your pussy just for a second.

“keep your legs open,” she says, a thumb rubbing circles into your clit.

it’s lazy and it’s satisfying, but it’s not enough to make you cum. she knows that.

you’re letting out high pitched moans and fingers tangled in her golden locks as she eats you out like a man starved.

‘i wish i had realized that i’m gay sooner,’ you think as historia slowly slides her middle finger inside of you.

you’re throwing your head back against the mirror when she suddenly adds a second finger, claiming that you could take it since you’re a slut.

considering your wetness is dripping down your ass and onto the counter, you can’t really object the statement.

she’s curling her fingers inside you, mouth closed around your clit. your moans go up an octave when she finds the spongy part inside of you, thrusting her fingers in and out of you after she angles her digits.

“fuck!” you moan and start clawing at historia’s free arm, which is holding down your hips.

“h-historia...,” you pant, “gonna cum... pl..please let me cum.”

her laughter sends vibrations across your clit, and that’s what sends you over the edge. you’re crying out as historia helps you ride out your orgasm by slowing her fingers down and pulling away from your clit. historia’s admiring you while she wipes off your juices from her chin, a small smile adorning her lips.

your head is thrown back against the mirror—once again. eyes rolled back and mouth opened in a silent moan. the hand that was gripping at her arm is clenched in a fist that has your knuckles painted white. your toes are curled and your back is arching in the air.

she doesn’t pull her fingers out of you until your calm, letting you catch your breath before she does it all over again.

———

your legs are trembling as she helps you sit down on the toilet.

you know you look like a mess—historia’s been forcing you to watch yourself. the eyeliner and mascara you have on is now smeared and ran down your face since you cried. your lipstick is smeared up and down, worse than last time, and your hair is messed up and tangled from historia pulling on it.

historia’s squatting before you, looking for a rag to wet down and clean you up with.

“next cabinet over,” you breath, throwing your head back.

“you know who’s bathroom this is?”

“yeah, jean’s in this frat too. him and marco share it. this place is pretty nice when there isn’t a party going on,” you giggle, somehow this whole situation seems funny to you.

she’s running hot water over the rag she now has, staring at herself in the mirror. historia’s got hickeys on her neck too and teeth marks on shoulders. she’s got glittery blue on her cheek, must be her mascara.

she turns off the water and wrings it out. she walks over to you, nudging your legs open with her knee. you comply and absentmindedly reach for one of her hands to hold. she takes the offer, squatting in front of you and cleaning up the slightly dried cum and juices on your thighs and vagina.

you shiver and let out little whines and whimpers, still sensitive from the previous orgasms. historia was also still wearing something. something that you didn’t even know she had.

a fucking 6 inch strap on.

“by the way,” you start, “how’d you get your strap-on here?”

“i came to the house before eren started throwing the party. i brought a bag with me and just hid it in the empty cabinet. i think eren wanted to hook up with me and mentioned something about pegging. brought it in case,” she explains, small smile spreading across her face as she starts cleaning your face.

you start giggling again, the hand that wasn’t holding her hand weakly grabbing at her wrist.

“hisu... can i get a kiss,” you pucker your lips when she pulls away the rag from you. she flips the rag to a clean slide, rubbing herself in the same areas as she did for you.

historia holds your cheek and gives you the sweetest kiss you’ve ever had.

“i’m gonna take you back to mine and ymir’s place. you’re still in sub-space and you wobble instead of walk,” she says, squatting down again to help you get your panties on.

she’s able to get your dress on the lower half of your body, but you both realize there’s a fucking cum stain on the chest. historia gives you a jacket that was in her bag, zipping it halfway. the dress stayed sitting at your waist, you’re to tired to get it open even if you have a cover up.

she’s done cleaning everything up within ten minutes, including herself. she throws the rag in a hamper in the bathroom closet that had jean’s name written on it in sharpie.

she’s slipping the bag on her shoulder and helping you walk with the other one. when you walk out, ymir is leaning on the wall by the door with a smirk.

ymir squats down a bit, laughing at your shaky legs every time you took a step. historia and her manage to get you on ymir’s back. you fall asleep before you three can get to the car.

———

when you wake up, your whole lower body is sore. your eyelids feel heavy as you open them, coming to your senses. you recognize ‘dance moms’ playing in the background and historia eating cereal as she watches.

you groan lowly, and historia finally notices your consciousness.

“so...,” you yawn while you stretch your arms up into the air, “talk about last night?”

historia nods while she chews, “so basically, i was jealous that you were hooking up with another girl that wasn’t me.”

“but why would you be jealous...? i thought you hated me,” you rub your cheek against the pillow you’re laying your head on.

historia blushes as she looks away with a pout, “i never hated you... i just... i didn’t like the feelings i have for you.”

“oh,” you lay on your back and ignore the heat rushing to your cheeks, “what are.... the feelings..?”

“i may or may not love you,” she hides her face by holding her bowl full of cereal to her chin.

you don’t say anything for a few moments, trying to think of what you wanted to say.

“i... i love you too. but, that doesn’t just mean i forgive and forget all the horrible shit you’ve done to me. i’ll start dating you when i feel that you’ve... ‘atoned’ for your sins,” you sigh, “it’s gonna take some time but if you want this to work or even start, you’ve gotta make it up to me and understand where i’m coming from.”

she looks at you with slight excitement, “i... of course! i was really mean to you and you didn’t deserve that, no matter how much i disliked you. i promise to make it up to you.”

she’s holding her pinky finger up to you.

you smile and link your pinkies with her’s, “promise.”

#attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #snk #historia reiss #historia x reader #anime

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cupofsquirrelfan · 3 years

Text

Speechless

Non-magical AU in which our favorite kiddos get ready for prom! This is a song fic, set to "Speechless" by Dan & Shay. You can listen to the song if you want to enhance the experience, but you don't have to!

Enjoy!

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

As Harry rang the doorbell of the large house, he felt his heart beating ten million miles a minute. His palms were sweaty, just like they always were before seeing Draco, so he rubbed them on the sides of his pants. He couldn’t help but look down at his maroon tie and fuss to fix it for the thousandth time. Or run a nervous hand through his hair, as if to gel it down even more than he had tried to. Despite his efforts, it was still the unruly mess that it normally was, now shinier with product. He stood on the front porch of the house, waiting, praying, for someone to answer it, so he could get this over with.

You say you’ll be down in five, the smell of your perfume is floating down the stairs, you’re fixing up your hair, like you do.

The door was opened by Draco’s mother. She smiled sweetly at Harry before motioning him to come in. She closed the door behind him as he walked towards the bottom of the stairs. Harry turned and saw Lucius standing in the door frame leading to the kitchen. Both men gave a quick nod.

“Draco, sweetie, Harry’s here!” Narcissa called up the stairs to her son. She turned to Harry and gave him another smile that made him feel a little less nervous. “He’s just finishing up getting ready, dear. Would you like a drink or anything while you wait?”

“No, thank you, Mrs. Malfoy.” He said politely, resisting the urge to rub his palms on his trousers again.

“Please, Harry, I’ve told you before, call me Narcissa.” She said, sternly yet with kindness in her voice.

I know that I’ll be a mess the second that I see you. You won’t be surprised, this happens every time, it’s nothing new.

Harry glanced around the room, looking around at the couches and furnishings, as if he hadn’t been to Draco’s house a million times before. His nervousness began to settle in again, making his palms even more clammy and making him want to reach for his tie once more. He settled on rubbing his hands together, feeling over the curves of his knuckles meticulously. He didn’t even know why he felt nervous! He and Draco had hung out plenty of times, why should this be any different?

It’s always on a night like tonight I thank God you can read my mind, ‘cus when you look at me with those eyes…

Suddenly, Harry could hear footsteps coming from upstairs. He looked up at the stairwell with anticipation, his heart beating as fast as ever. As Draco descended the staircase, he felt his breath hitch, and his eyes went wide. His lips curved up in a huge smile.

I’m speechless!

Draco reached the second to last step and stopped, looking down at Harry at the bottom. Harry couldn’t help but stare at the blond, looking up and down at the gorgeous maroon suit that he was wearing. It fit him so nicely, snugly hugging Draco’s hips and hanging so nicely on his legs. His jacket looked absolutely incredible. Draco’s bright hair fell in waves by his ears, stopping at his shoulders, and the front parts were braided and pulled back. Harry felt his heart rate pick up even more than it previously was, and he could only think of one word: gorgeous.

Staring at you standing there in that dress, what you’re doing to me ‘ain’t a secret, and watching you is all that I can do…

“Wow,” Harry said finally as Draco stepped in front of him at the bottom of the stairs.

“Wow yourself.” Draco said with a chuckle. He smiled at Harry and didn’t stop. Harry looked up into Draco’s grey eyes, immediately melting into the silver pools. He felt like he was about to faint.

“You look bloody gorgeous, Draco.” Harry felt his breath hitch once more as he allowed his eyes to travel the other boy’s body, returning them to the eyes that could cause him to commit crimes.

I’m speechless! You already know that you’re my weakness, and after all this time I’m just as nervous. Every time you walk into the room…

“I’m speechless.” Harry said with a final breath.

“You don’t look so bad yourself, Potter. Now, let's go out back, Pansy and Blaise will be here soon for pictures, as will Ron and Hermione, I’m imagining. Oh, and Luna, Ginny, Neville, and Hannah, right?” Harry nodded as Draco looked at him. “Mum, Dad, you have the cameras?” Draco looked past Harry and gazed towards his parents, who were looking at the two boys with complete adoration and love. Narcissa gave a quick wave with the camera in her hand.

“Draco, I want to get a picture of just the two of you! Smile at the camera!” Draco turned his body towards Narcissa, as did Harry. Harry thought he should’ve been dead by now, seeing as he forgot how to breathe entirely when Draco wrapped his arm around his waist. He slowly snaked his own arm around the other boy’s waist and tried to smile wide, hiding his immense nervousness. Narcissa clicked the camera a few times, beaming at the two of them. Lucius stood behind her a bit, looking at the two on the steps, and also smiling a little.

“Okay, Draco sweetie, step up a few stairs, and Harry, look at Draco like you’re seeing him for the first time!”

“Seriously, mum?” Draco asked, raising an eyebrow but still holding a smile, but when Narcissa held up the camera with an aggressive shake, he sighed and stepped up backwards.

Just as Harry was about to turn and ogle at his boyfriend, the doorbell rang and startled all of them. Lucius took a step back and opened the door, revealing Ron and Hermione, hand in hand. Hermione wore a gorgeous blue gown, filled with beautiful ruffles and a small train. Ron’s vest and bow tie matched the color of her dress perfectly. Behind them, Harry could see Ginny and Luna walking up together, Ginny wearing a gorgeous red strapless gown and Luna wearing a black dress with a halter top, covered in glittering sequins all over the top. Ginny’s hair was pulled up into a ponytail, which was curled at the end. Luna’s hair was down and straightened, with a red flower tucked behind her ear. Another car pulled up to the front of the house as the four others entered the house. Pansy and Blaise poured out of the back seats, wearing matching green outfits. Pansy’s strapless gown and Blaise’s dark emerald suit matched perfectly.

Draco stepped back down off the stairs, smiling at their friends. “You all look amazing! We’re gonna take pictures in the backyard, come on!” Draco grabbed Harry’s hand, causing Harry to jump and start feeling his heart betray him once more. Even the simplest touch made him incredibly nervous and eager.

Once in the backyard, Narcissa lined up the teens in front of the hedge in the back. The hedge was rightfully decorated with twinkling lights and beautiful white flowers. Narcissa masterfully snapped shots of each of the couples and the group as a whole, then even more group photos when Neville and Hannah stumbled into the backyard a few minutes late. Neville wore a black suit with a yellow vest, matching perfectly with Hannah’s flowing yellow gown. The straps hung off her shoulders beautifully, and her golden hair was in a half ponytail, with the ends of her curled hair falling in front of her shoulders. The ten of them posed for what felt like eternity, before Narcissa deemed that she had enough photos. For now.

Lucius emerged from inside the house with a few adults following behind. Harry’s dads came first, hand in hand. Remus was dressed for the occasion, as he was a chaperone to the prom as a teacher. Sirius wore his favorite leather jacket and a pair of black skinny jeans, and beamed at his husband with loving eyes. Following behind them were multiple sets of parents; Molly and Arthur, Alice and Frank, Blaise’s mom, Hannah’s mom, and Pansy’s mom. They all folded into the backyard and beamed at their kids. Each of the parents started pulling out their phones, taking their own pictures that would ultimately end up on Facebook before they all got to the venue. The parents all gathered together and reflected: How did they get so old, that their kids were all already seventeen and going to prom?

Harry smiled at his dads, walking over to greet them. Sirius held out a hand to Harry, holding a small box that held the boutonniere that he was to put on his boyfriend. He grabbed it and turned around to find Draco already walking over to him, with a similar box in his own hands.

Harry smiled up at the blond, admiring him, searching his face as if it held the answer to every problem Harry had ever experienced. And to him, Draco really did hold all the answers. Once again, he forgot how to breathe when he saw Draco smile back at him.

Draco opened his box and carefully pulled out the flower. It was a bright red rose, decorated with white flowering and gorgeous leaves. Harry stared at it with excitement. He felt his breath once again stop short when Draco reached forward to put it in place. With a large smile on his face, he reached into his own box and pulled out a white lily with tiny red flowers and leaves surrounding it. He put it in place on Draco’s suit and let his hand linger, moving towards Draco’s face, cupping his cheek. Draco leaned into the touch.

“You look beautiful, baby.” Harry whispered, as if everyone in the backyard wasn’t already staring at them in adoration. Harry paid them no attention, not even Narcissa, who was snapping photos like it was her job. Well, it was her job. Regardless, he only focused on Draco, on his beautiful, encapsulating eyes. On his pink lips, which he so desperately craved to feel on his own.

“You look beautiful too, Harry.” Draco whispered back. Harry felt himself being pulled carefully into Draco’s arms, and he allowed himself to wrap his arms around Draco’s torso and leaned his head on the other boy’s shoulder. He felt Draco lean on his shoulder and place a sweet kiss on it. Harry could’ve stayed like this for hours, if it wasn’t for Pansy loudly interrupting.

“Yes, yes, young love is very sweet and beautiful, but we have a limo to ride in, can we wrap it up?” Harry heard Draco chuckle before pulling away, and it sounded like pure melody to his ears.

“Yeah, shut up, Pans, you’re just jealous. You’re the one going to prom with a gay guy.” Harry saw Draco smirk and he felt his lips also pull upwards.

“Have you forgotten that I am also gay, dipshit?” Pansy scoffed, rolling her eyes before turning away from them and towards Blaise. She grabbed his hand and started pulling him towards the gate on the opposite side of the yard. Ginny, Luna, Hermione, Ron, Neville, and Hannah all followed them. Draco grabbed Harry’s hand and started to pull them towards the gate, when he felt a hand on his shoulder. They both stopped and turned to see Sirius’ arm outstretched.

“I’ll meet you out front, love.” Draco said to Harry, letting go of his hand and walking out the gate with the others. Harry turned his full attention to his dad.

“Moony, when did we get old enough to have a son going to prom?” Sirius asked, looking to Remus for insight. Remus just shrugged and laughed. He gave Sirius’ hand a slight squeeze before turning towards the house and walking inside to reconvene with the other parents, closing the sliding door behind him. Sirius turned towards Harry with a big, toothy grin.

“Have so much fun tonight, Pup. This will be one of the best nights of your life, make the most of it.” Harry felt himself being pulled into his father’s arms, and sunk into the feeling. Sirius’ hugs always felt like coming home. He smiled as he separated from the embrace. They both smiled at each other with a silent acknowledgement, before Harry turned and left the backyard through the gate, like the others.

Everyone was already piled into the limousine when Harry approached it. The door was still open, waiting for him. With a smile, he climbed in and sat in the seat closest to the door, right next to the blond that could make him so happy and so incredibly nervous at the same time. As he sat, Draco grabbed his hand and intertwined their fingers. They shared a brief look between each other before looking up at the sound of one of their friends’ voices. It was Blaise’s cool, calm speech. “So, are you guys ready to have the night of our lives?”

Everyone smiled, looking around at each other and chattering away about the songs they hoped would be played, or the food selection, or complimenting each others’ outfits. Harry found himself staring at Draco once more, admiring him.

Watching you is all that I can do, I’m speechless!

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

Thank you so much for reading this!! I had so much fun writing it! I may write a sequel in which they have an after party, but that's only a maybe. Hope you enjoyed!

A big shoutout to @dreamingamongthestars for reading this fic and always encouraging me no matter how annoying I am!! Lots of love to you always.

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gureishi · 3 years

Note

12 with Seven and a female MC, NSFW please ^^

Thank you for the wonderful request! And oh boy do I apologize if this wasn’t what you wanted. O_O My imagination was positively THRILLED by this prompt and this...is where it went.

I sincerely hope you DO enjoy this, because god knows I enjoyed writing about it. But seriously if you want a...tamer...NSFW Saeyoung story for this prompt, tell me and I’ll write that one too?? For real??

twelve: born to be together

Saeyoung X Reader; E (M/F sex, roleplaying, light dom/sub, assplay), words: 2941

If it wasn’t already abundantly clear (lol): smut warning, proceed with caution~ <3

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

You stand in the walk-in closet, in a forest of brightly-colored and bedazzled fabrics. They’re not organized by any discernible method, but they’re all hung neatly, some in plastic dry-cleaning bags and others draped multiple times over their hangers so they don’t touch the floor. You run a hand down the line of costumes, feeling lace and fur and taffeta. There are some here that are familiar: a maid outfit you’ve seen numerous times and a fuzzy full-body cat suit you find particularly charming. There are others that you’re sure you’ve never seen before.

“Saeyoung?” you call, and he hums in response: he’s sprawled across the bed, playing a game on his phone. “Why haven’t I ever seen you wear most of these?”

He laughs. “There are literally hundreds of outfits in there, babe. You’ve lived here for what, three months? When was I gonna wear them all? You want me to do a fashion show for you?”

You perk up, lifting a sequined tutu to the light so you can see it shimmer. “Yes, please!”

“Just say the word, baaaby,” he sings, drawing out the syllables. He’s teasing, but you’re serious: there is not one thing in this huge, chaotic closet that wouldn’t suit him. You comb through the racks, pushing past a denim mini dress, a full-on space suit, and what looks like a…sexy penguin costume? Okay, maybe not that one.

Toward the back of the closet, in a corner (you’ve got to help him organize all this stuff, you think), there’s a floor-length zip-up bag garment bag. You squish it—there’s something very fluffy in there.

“Hey, what’s in the fancy bag?” you call over your shoulder. You hear a soft flop as he tosses his game aside and the ruffling of the covers as he leaps off the bed. He appears behind you and wraps his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“Ohhh, this one?” He sounds pleased; he nuzzles the back of your neck with his nose and you squirm, ticklish. “Unzip it and see,” he offers.

You do, and your mouth falls open: in the bag is what you can only describe as a literal princess gown. It’s ballet slipper pink, with layers and layers of chiffon trailing all the way to the ground. The bodice is fitted and embellished with thousands of tiny gemstones.

“What mission was this for?” you gasp, fingering the gauzy, frothy top layer of the skirt.

“Not a mission,” he murmurs into your neck. “Just wanted it.”

Saeyoung skims his hands down your sides, sliding them into both of the front pockets of your jeans.

“I don’t want to know what this cost, do I?” you ask. He cackles.

“You probably don’t.”

Hands in your pockets, he pulls you flush against his body. Maybe it’s the luxurious feeling of the skirt on your fingertips and maybe it’s the insistent way he’s pressing against you, but you have an idea—a revelation.

“I want you to wear it for me,” you say. You slip out of his grasp, spinning to face him—you watch his eyes widen and his cheeks flush as he takes in your serious expression.

“Ohhhh?” he lilts, cocking his head to the side. “So when you say you want me to wear it, you mean…?” He’s teasing you, his hands on your skin again, dancing over your hips, up your sides.

“I mean exactly what you think I mean,” you tell him, and you reach out and stroke his cheek with your fingertips, delighted to feel that, in spite of his posturing, his skin is so warm—he’s flustered, and he melts a little under your intense gaze, his eyes roaming over your body.

He pauses, and for a split second, in spite of his apparent eagerness, you think he might say no. But then he springs into action, grabbing the hanger off the rack, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek, and sprinting out of the closet.

“Gimme twenty minutes—no, ten!” he calls to you, already disappearing around the corner, through the bedroom, into the en suite bathroom. You grin, patting your own flushed cheeks with both hands. This, you think, will be worth waiting for.

。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。

In spite of his promises, it’s actually closer to thirty minutes before he emerges again. You lay on your stomach on the unmade bed, half-heartedly scrolling on your phone. The anticipation coils in your stomach. In spite of yourself, you keep glancing up at the closed bathroom door—picturing him there, half-dressed, penciling in his eyebrows with those nimble fingers of his. Knowing that he’s doing this for you—it makes you clench your thighs together, squirming against the bunched-up comforter. Come on, you think.

And just then, as if he’s heard your silent plea, he pushes the door open a crack—just enough for you to catch the tiniest glimpse of an ankle peeking out under perfectly-arranged layers of pink gauze.

“Baby,” he calls, his voice soft, and you sit up straight. “Are you ready for me?”

You’ve never been readier for anything.

“I’m waiting,” you tell him.

So he flings open the bathroom door, and for a moment even you—you, the one who looks at him all day and sleeps beside him every night—are floored. There is a stunningly, jaw-droopingly beautiful woman in your bedroom, long red hair trailing effortlessly over her bare shoulders, thin waist accented delightfully by the tight bodice, toned legs just barely visible through the layers and layers of translucent fabric. Her features are soft, her golden eyes gaze just slightly downward, and one hand rests on her chest, thin fingers hovering just above the dress’s glittering neckline.

“Hi,” Saeyoung murmurs coyly. You feel like your head is going to explode.

“Come here, princess,” you call, and it takes all your willpower to keep your voice level. He obliges you, stepping delicately over the rug, holding up his billowing skirt with one dainty hand. He perches on the edge of the bed, flips a lock of hair over his shoulder. The wig matches his natural hair color and cascades voluminously down his back. He’s perfectly in character: he keeps his eyes lowered and his cheeks are flushed a dusty pink.

“Like this?” he asks, and he leans back the tiniest bit, letting the light catch his semi-translucent skirt, highlighting the silhouette of his thighs through the glistening fabric.

“Just like that,” you whisper. It’s not the first time you’ve taken the lead, but it’s not the norm, either—being in charge feels frightening and exhilarating. “May I touch you, princess?”

He nods, and the flush on the tips of his ears is real, not makeup—and even through the countless layers of fabric that make up his skirt, it’s evident that he’s already starting to get excited.

You sit up on your knees behind him and run a hand over his bare shoulders, part the soft hair that covers his back, wrap them around the back of his neck. He shudders.

“Are you going to be good for me, baby?” you whisper in his ear, and you feel the way his shoulders quiver eagerly. You grip his neck just a little tighter.

“I’ll be good,” he murmurs sweetly, and it’s already almost too much for you. You squeeze your legs together, impatient to touch him, eager to see his perfect demeanor shattered.

One hand still on his neck, you snake your other arm around his waist, which is dramatically cinched by the tight bodice. You stroke up his torso, curious, and feel the curve of what are quiet obviously breasts straining against the ruched fabric, peeking out over the tauntingly low neckline.

“I like these,” you whisper, and he arches his back, leaning into your touch. He laughs a soft, bubbling laugh—and it’s an act, a character, but there is some of Saeyoung’s delightful giggle in it too. Your hand roams across his chest and you slip one finger into the impeccable cleavage he’s created (you’ll have to ask him how, later).

Then you slip your other hand from his throat and explore lower, lower, across his hip, his thigh. You dip your head and take the soft skin of his shoulder between your teeth, biting hard enough to leave a small, half-moon-shaped mark. He whimpers, and you move your hand down his thigh, pointedly avoiding the erection that you can now see very clearly through the layers of chiffon. You taunt him, nipping his neck again, sliding the skirt up so you can drag your fingernails across his leg. He’s trying so hard to stay still, but his hips give him away, rocking forward the tiniest bit, seeking relief against the silky fabric.

“Are you going to let me fuck you, princess?” you hiss against his skin—and it’s a tease, but it’s a genuine question, too.

A moan tears from his throat, quiet yet desperate. He keeps his hands neatly folded in his lap but his eyes flutter shut and his hips wriggle as you pinch the skin of his thigh.

“P-please,” he whines, and he leans his head back, eyelids fluttering shut. “Please, I want you to…”

“Don’t move,” you tell him, and he obeys, sits perfectly still on the edge of the bed, his skirt splayed out artfully around him. He makes a perfect picture, you think—head reclined, yearning evident in every tense muscle of his body.

You go to the bedside cabinet and pull out the things you need: the little pink bottle of lube and a toy—a thin, smooth dildo, light-colored and fairly unobtrusive. You slip it out of its harness, deciding to use it in your hand today—and you return to him, taking a deep breath to steady yourself. He’s opened his eyes and he’s taking you in, standing over him, the toy in your hand—his beautiful eyes are huge and desperate.

“On your hands and knees, honey,” you purr, and he complies eagerly, climbing gracefully onto the bed and arching his back for you. “Don’t tease me,” you say, and he trembles. The skirt billows out around him and you set down the toy so you can slip a hand under his dress, over his silky-smooth thighs (did he shave his legs?). You’re delighted to find that he’s not wearing anything under the gown.

You run your hand up his thigh; he’s sticking his ass in the air, practically begging for you, and you slap it, face breaking into a smile as he whimpers.

“How bad do you want me right now, beautiful?” you ask him, and he moans softly, his legs shaking.

“I need you,” he hisses, and he sounds a little less like a princess and a little more like Saeyoung. You suck your index finger, wetting it, and then you slip it up and under his skirt and inside him. He reacts immediately, thighs shaking as he struggles to hold himself up, gasping for air. You slide your finger a little bit deeper inside him and you can’t help but grind your hips against the edge of the bed as you do, hopelessly turned on by the noises he’s making. He adjusts, widening his hips for you, and you curl your finger inside him, gently increasing the pressure and watching him come apart before your eyes.

“I’m r-ready,” he pants, “please,” and you pull your finger out of him, warming the toy with both hands as you liberally smear it with lube.

“I’m going to fuck you now,” you tell him, and you can barely keep your voice from shaking. “I don’t want you to make a sound till I say so, princess.”

He quivers in anticipation but doesn’t say a word. Almost without thinking, you unbutton and unzip your jeans, slip one hand down, down, over your underwear. The need you feel is overwhelming.

With one finger pressed against your clit, over your underwear, you take the dildo in your other hand and slide it over his ass, down, and finally inside him. His legs shake uncontrollably and for a moment you think he’ll fall—but he doesn’t, he stays on his hands and knees, back bent for you, and though his pleasure is evident in the way he throws his head back, hair falling everywhere, he’s quiet—just like you asked him to be.

You gasp, impossibly aroused by the sight of him like this, the delicate skirt falling every which way. You wish you could see his face, the ruined look in his eyes, but you settle for the sight of his ass and thighs shaking, framed seductively by layers of pink gauze. You slide the dildo deeper inside him and he twitches, gasping. At the same time, you move your finger over your swollen clit, moaning softly as you give yourself the stimulation you’ve been craving.

He’s so good, so obedient, so quiet, trembling as you fuck him with the toy and fuck yourself with your finger. He pushes back against you and his arms give out; he bends forward, face pressed into the bed. Your own legs are shaking like they don’t want to hold you up anymore but both your hands are occupied, so you lean harder against the bed, hissing as you move your finger in tight circles against yourself and angle the toy upward, questing for his p spot.

You’re going to come, you think—you’re going to come so fast, from your own hand, as you watch your boyfriend clad in this extravagant gown falling to pieces before you.

“I want you to come with me,” you hiss, moving your finger quicker and more frantically against yourself, “and I want to hear you.”

He moans immediately as if he’s been fighting to hold it back all this time, rocking his hips back into the toy. You can tell he’s close and you are too, driven half-mad by the sight of him. You rub your faster, faster, and you slide the toy in and up, penetrating him deeper. He groans, and there is still some of the pretty, modest princess in his voice, because god this boy knows how to stay in character, but the unbidden desperation is there too. He’s on the edge, you can tell, and you feel the telltale sensation of your toes curling, your thighs clenching…

And you throw your head back, continuing the pressure with your finger as the pleasure crests, thrusting into him more roughly, begging him to come with you…

And he does come, from the toy alone, his cock untouched—yelping as he rocks forward, his face buried deep in the pile of blankets on the bed and his whole body shaking…

And you feel tears in your eyes as you let yourself be taken over by the sensations, overwhelmed by the pleasure gripping you…

And he’s moaning, high-pitched and beautiful, crying for you to keep going…

And stars burst beneath your eyelids and you can’t see, thrusting into him one more time, knowing you’re hitting just the right spot as he sobs out your name.

And it slows, slows, and he’s panting, and you catch your breath and slip your hand out of your pants, pulling out of him with a trembling hand. He’s still shaking too, a quivering, beautiful mess gauze and tulle.

“You okay, babe?” you gasp, crawling up onto the bed beside him. He turns his head and you catch your first glimpse of his face—deliciously wrecked, mascara under his eyes and bright pink spots on his cheeks.

“I…I…wow,” he manages, finally sitting back on his heels. He’s in disarray, his hair in his eyes, his skirt sticking to his legs. “That was new,” he says quietly, his eyes shining as he tucks the long, fake hair behind his ears. “I never came like that before, just from…”

“I know.”

“The dress…” He laughs, pulling apart the unkempt layers of gaze.

“I guarantee I can figure it out,” you say, giggling, collapsing onto the pile of pillows. “I’ll just google ‘how to get cum out of ball gown.’”

“Oh god.” He grimaces, twisting and falling onto his back beside you. The skirt still manages to billow out splendidly around his legs. “Maybe…don’t google that.”

You turn and kiss him on the lips, sighing contentedly as he responds with enthusiasm, tugging your bottom lip with his teeth.

“Thanks for doing that for me,” you say. “That was…a fantasy I didn’t know I had, till today."

He grins against your lips.

“Oh, I knew I had that fantasy,” he says, skating his hand up your leg, around your waist. “But you…you…”

“Hmmmm?” You curl into him, finding that the fake breasts make a surprisingly comfortable pillow.

“I never thought I’d be loved the way you love me,” he says, kissing your cheek, your eyebrow, your forehead. “I didn’t think a person like you existed.”

“Course I do,” you tell him, flipping the skirt over his hip so you can rest your hand against his thigh. His skin really is amazingly soft. “We were always going to find each other.”

“Next time,” he says, melting into your touch, kissing your earlobe. “Dress up as a sexy prince for me, babe?”

You tuck his wig behind his ear and kiss his beautiful, smudged, wrecked, perfect face. “Anything for you, princess.”

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

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109 notes · View notes

taleofharrison · 3 years

Text

The First Christmas | Ashton Irwin

Summary: It’s the first time Ashton spends Christmas with you and your little gir (single mom!reader)

Warnings: Italics small flashback

Requested: No jthis is for the Christmas Celebration so...

Word Count: 1279

A/N: Fourth post and final post for the Christmas writng hope you enjoy and Merry Christmas

MASTERLIST HERE | Michael | Calum | Luke

“Mommy! Mommy!” your little 5-year-old Morgan squealed running towards you “Do you like it?”

She had a piece of cardboard in her hand, you guessed it must be her most recent piece of art so you stopped what you were doing in the kitchen to give her all the attention.

“It’s pretty” you told her truthfully. It was a drawing of her, Ashton, and you next to the Christmas tree full and it had glitter everywhere.

“It’s for Ash” she smiled again making your heart warm at how much she loved him.

Your relationship with Ashton had been perfect from the start and sure you may have your disagreements every now and then but never major fights and it felt like a dream every single day, you met through a mutual friend he told you Ash would be perfect for you.

The first time you told him about your daughter Morgan the first thing he asked was if he could see pictures of her.

“She looks like you” he smiled “I know it’s only our third date, but I would like to meet her”

“Let’s see where we’re at in a couple of months and we’ll see” his words had taken you aback and your answer also surprised you. It was then when you knew this relationship would be different.

Half a year later into your relationship like you promised he was meeting Morgan officially, the pair got along almost immediately sure Morgan, who back then was 4 years old, felt shy and insecure a around him at the start but you didn’t expect a different reaction and neither did Ashton but she warmed up to him rather quickly anyways and now here you were getting ready to spend your first Christmas with him.

“Will he like it?” she asked a small hint of worry in her voice.

“He’s gonna love it” you assured her “go put it by the Christmas tree before he gets here”

The sound coming from the doorbell was a sign telling Ashton was outside and your daughter squealed with glee making you smile; she had grown so fond of Ashton this Christmas meant the world to her.

When you opened the door, the girl ran and crashed with Ashton’s legs smiling two bags of gifts in her hands, one small the other one a lot bigger.

“There’s my little ladybug” he smiled ruffling her hair “Merry Christmas”

“Merry Christmas Ash” she giggled.

He finally made his way inside your house so he could properly kiss you and greet you, Morgan ran back to the living and sat waiting next to the card she had made for him.

“I have some Santa gifts in my car” he mumbled “We can go get them once she’s asleep”

“You didn’t have to”

“But I wanted to” he shrugged “and I brought this for you and her you can open them before her bedtime”

“You spoil us too much”

After dinner it was time to exchange the gifts that were by the Christmas tree. Morgan was the first one giving Ashton the card she had done for him.

“It’s really pretty Morgan thank you” he said “I think I’m going to frame it”

Ashton gave you your gift which was on the small bag. It was a framed picture of your first family day at Disneyland you remember it clearly it was the first time his bandmates tagged along with you and Luke was the one who took that of photo of you. It was simple yet the most perfect gift you could’ve asked.

For Ashton however you had gotten him vinyl’s you knew he didn’t have, most of them from bands during the 70’s. It took you months to figure out what to give to your rockstar boyfriend but still he was a quite simple man and appreciated every small detail you had with him.

“And now this one’s for you, ladybug” he pulled the bigger bag he had brought and put it in front of your daughter.

When Morgan opened the bag, her eyes lit up it was the fluffiest pink dress she’d ever saw, and it had glitter everywhere.

“I love it daddy” and there it was the 5 letters word she had yet to said. Ashton had always been ‘Ash’ for her, but it was safe to say that he was a lot more than that now.

“Glad you like it princess” he simply said no hiding the grin that was forming on his face.

“Well…uhm-Morgan” you spoke again “time for bed or Santa won’t come”

“Okay mommy” she replied putting her dress back in bag “don’t forget the cookies and milk for Santa”

“No, sweetie” you assured her “and you can wear your new dress tomorrow”

After you tucked her in her bed and gave her a goodnight kiss on her forehead you made your way back to the living room with Ashton.

“About that... “you tried to explain.

“Don’t” he said “Uhm I don’t mind, I kinda saw it coming”

You gave him a questioning look. You didn’t quite understand his attitude.

“She’s a lovely kid” he stated “and we’ve been dating for a year now and it’s been serious, like deadly serious, since you introduced me to her I guess it was a matter of time”

…

“MOMMY!”

The next morning the hyperactive Morgan woke you up jumping on your side of bed, Ashton had stayed the night so naturally he jolted awake at the disturbance.

“Come se my presents” she said.

“Yeah baby why don’t you go downstairs and while you open your gifts with Ash while I can make breakfast for the three of us” you suggested “how does that sound?”

She nodded running back downstairs “Sorry about that” you told Ashton once she was gone.

“It’s the Christmas morning” he pointed out “you can’t really blame her”

What came next it was the most wholesome scene you had ever seen. It was Morgan saying “daddy look at this...” “daddy look at that…” while showing him each one of the gifts Santa had left her.

“Will Mike come today?” she suddenly asked. She had taken quite a liking for his friends specially Michael.

“Uhm no, they are in Australia with their families” he said “remember where my mom lives and it’s too far”

“Oh…” the girl displayed a disappointed sad face.

“But they’ll come back soon” he quickly responded “and you can celebrate New Year with them”

“Okay” she said.

“Hey! Don’t be sad, go get your stuffed animals let’s have a tea that always cheers you up” Ashton offered, and she nodded going back to her room to get her favorite toys.

“Do you think it’s time to meet my family?” he asked going to the kitchen grabbing the coffee you had ready for him “Like in person?”

You had facetimed Ashton’s mom and a few times Morgan joined too, and she already loved you for making her son so happy.

“I mean I already met your family…”

“My family lives in the same country, silly” you teased him “and whenever you want to take us to Australia, I’m ready. I think Morgan can handle a flight that long by now”

“Really?” there was hope in his voice as though he couldn’t believe it.

“Yeah” you nodded “Didn’t you say this relationship was deadly serious?”

Ashton laughed at you quoting his words from last night.

“But now for real now, I do want to go know more about you, where you come from” you told him “so whenever you want to take us there I’m-we’re ready to take that step”

“I love you so much”

#5sos imagine #5sos imagines #5sos blurb #5sos blurbs #ashton irwin blurbs #ashton irwin fluff #dad!sos #dad!5sos #ashton irwin fanfic #ashton irwin imagines #ashton irwin imagine #5sos fic #5sos fics #christmas!sos #angela is writing #My Writing Corner

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ragrottend0ll · 3 years

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School Crush (Vinira Fanfic)

(In december I posted this little idea and now I decided to started it, hope you enjoy and forgive the misspelling, english isn’t my first lenguage)

Chapter one:

‘‘I like girls’’. Emira started.

‘‘I like girls, too’’. Amity seconded after a few seconds of silence.

‘‘Ok...’‘. Alador responded a little shook. ‘‘I-- Wow, yeah, ok.’’

‘‘Is that all you are gonna say, dad? Really?’’. Asked Emira. She didn’t spend seven years in the closet for just to get an ok.

Alador shruged a little. ‘’Congratulations...?’’

‘‘Fine, that’s better’‘.

The Blight siblings and Alador were hanging out. This was something that have been happening some time ago. At first it started as a sisters’ night, just for Amity and Emira, but then Edric discovered this and was begging, crying and basically annoying his sisters for let him ‘’in’’.

He finally achived it.

So, every friday night, while their parents were in important meetings or fancy restaurants, the three would reunited in Emiras’s room and just talk. Sometimes they watched a series or practice some makeup. Even tried on clothes from either Edric or Emira. Sometimes they would sing a karaoke or just talk about their day, their friends, Luz, and throw bullshit of their parents.

They didn’t need to worry about the mansion’s staff. They all like them and have never said something bad of them to their parents. Plus, some have sewn up mouths so... Anyway.

What they did not expected was that, one night, their father would return early.

Alador was honestly tired. He have been awake for three days straight and needed some sleep. Even when his lovely wife, Odalia, told/demanded him to stay awake and attend another important meeting, he denied. Alador was sure that, if he stayed awake for another hour, his body will just collapse.

When he arrive to the mansion, the buttler (he never can remember his name, really) was there and took his coat. Alador didn’t wait more and went upstairs. The Bight manor was splendant, huge and, now that he was walking alone through the corridors full of old portraits in the middle of the night, he would consider it spooky.

The portraits gave him chills in his back. He felt like the eyes of his wife’s ancestors were following him in every step he took.

‘‘I wouldn’t be surprise’‘, Alador tought. ‘‘They may be haunted for real’’.

‘‘I should probably ask Odalia about it’’.

Alador walked to his bedroom’s door, and when he was about to open it he heard something.

It was a scream.

‘‘The kids’’. He tought.

Alador ran as fast as his tiredness allow him to the wast wing, where the children’s bedroom were. The screams kept going, ‘’Where is the staff?’’ Alador asked himself mentally. His kids could be diying and non of the guards he hired were even near.

The screams were coming from Emira’s room. But the shouting didn’t sounded like Emira.

He looked at Amity’s and Edric’s doors. They haven’t come out and their doors were closed. Alador was tempted to open the other two door, but decided not to. If his children were being kidnaped, he’ll deal with the kidnapper in Emira’s room first.

Alador took a deep breath and casted a spell, ready to attack if he needed to. He opened the door, fast and hard. What he saw let him speechless.

There was no kidnapper. There was no danger.

But, he really didn’t know what to think about the scene that was display infront of him.

Emira’s room was a disaster. There were snacks in the ground, Alador wonder if Odalia would be mad about it, he answered himself almost inmediatelly with a yes. The room was dark, except for the karaoke that, Alador supposed, one of the twins bought.

Edric was lying in the floor with a microphone in his left hand, while his right hand where finger-brushing his hair. Oh, and he was using Emira’s lastest grom dress and a twelve centimeters tall heels.

Amity was sitting in the little sofa that Em buy two years ago. Her face had some very excentric makeup, specially her eyes. A wildly combination of pink, glitter and black. With red-sparkled lip gloss. Her triangular earings were replaced with a pair of Emira’s expensive earings that were only used for important meeting or fancy parties. She was wearing her regular pajamas, with the slight difference that, over her pants, she was wearing a puffy skirt. And that her feet were covered with long cowboy boots.

Emira was sitting in her bed, face was covered in some kind of skin care treatment. A phosphorescent green skin care treatment. Even with that, she was the most normal looking of the three. All her makeup was in the bed, (probably the responsable of Amity’s face) and her hand was grabbing her scroll, that was recording Edric’s performance, before he opened the door, at least. The scroll was still recording, by the way. Em didn’t have time to stop it before his father abruptely came in the room.

The Blight siblings were looking at him like deers flashed by a light. Each of them praying in their heads that if they don’t move Alador wouldn’t be able to see them, like some of the animal in the isles.

‘‘You... uhm,... arrived early’‘. Edric stated the obvious, crearly nervous. But, can you blame him? Not everyday your dad found you wearing a dress and using heels . Actually that never really hapened to him.

The music of the karaoke was still playing. Alador connected the dots and figured out that his son was the responsable of the screams.

‘‘Yes, I did’‘ Alador responded. He never had been a man of words, but in this moment he didn’t know what would be the correct way to react.

Should he scold them for being up at one in the morning making a fuss? Or He should just close the door and pretend that none of it happened?

He was definitely going to ask the servants if this was something that happened often and why they had not reported those... meetings that their children did.

‘‘Mom’s here, too?’‘ Amity asked. Her face now was now also covered with a strong blush of embarasment, that reached even her neck.

‘‘No, she is still in the meetong with the Hogson’s’‘ Alador answered.

‘‘Do you want to talk this now, or would you preffer to wait until the sun comes out?’‘ Alador asked. He wan’t sure if this was the right thing to do, but the words came out of his mouth even before he could think about it. That was something that didn’t happened to him since high school.

The kids glare at eachother and said a ‘’now’’ at the same time. If they waited for the sun, Odalia was probably going to arrive and they didn’t wanted to have that conversation with their mother.

None conversation, actually.

‘‘Alright’‘ their father said ‘‘Clean your faces and put on presentable clothes’‘

And with that he leave the room.

‘‘That could have been worse, right?’’ Edric said. He finally stoped doing the pose with his hand trought his hair.

‘‘Yeah...’’ Emira answered him ‘‘Mom could have catch us’’

‘‘Titan forbid’’ Amity said.

Once they cleaned their faces and put on their pijamas, the three siblings made their way to Alador’s office, who has completely forgot how tired he was.

They were nervous, Edric, specially. And were honestly surprised when the scolding was more about how they broke the curfew than about all the mess they did.

And after that, things evolved rapidly. The kids felt better in Alador’s pressence than ever before. They trusted their father even more because he didn’t said a thing to Odalia, and even gave the order to the servants to keep those meetings as a secret.

Two months later, Alador found himself spending the family-bonding-time, as Edric renamed it, with his children. The bonding-time had to be moved to saturday’s night, because Alador had the obligation to go to the meeting on friday. But the kids weren’t mad at all.

‘‘Dad?’’, Edric called for him. It has been five minutes since Emira and Amity’s comming out and Alador haven’t said anything esle since the congratulations. ‘‘Girls, I think you shouldn't have done it at the same time; now you’ve killed him’’.

‘‘We didn’t!’’ Amity shouted inmediately.

‘‘No, I think we actually did it, Mittens’’ Emira seconded.

‘‘I’m fine’’ Alador said some time later. The twins were disscussing if they should call an ambulance or just leave their dad there. Emira was drafting in her mind all the possible ways to hide Alador’s corpse in the manor, too. You have to be careful, right?

Alador sit up straight in the couch were she was lying. Before his both daughters come out to him some minutes ago, they were all watching a movie. If Alador had to be honest, he wasn’t really paying attention. He was falling asleep. This week has been rough, but for no reasom he would cancel the saturdaynight bonding time™.

‘‘None of my kids are straight, huh?’’ Alador thought.

Ok, to be fair, Edric haven’t come out to him (yet), but Alador prectically confirm his son’s orientation when he founded him performing when he discovered that friday sisters’ night. No straight, cis, man would use a dress and heels. Not even walk on them in the propper way Edric managed to do.

‘‘So, uhm, are you... mad or...?’’ Amity began.

‘‘Oh, no. No!’’ Alador answered, with a little laught that lately the siblings were more used to hear ‘‘I’m actually kind of relive.’’

‘‘Relieve?’‘ Edric asked, genuinely curious.

‘‘Indeed. I don’t have to worry about any potencial boyfriend and the concecuences that would imply-’’

‘‘Shut!’’ Amity and Emira shouted at the same time. ‘‘The school already teach us that. No need to repeated.’’ Emira continued.

‘‘I was talking about a heartbroken, but yes, sexual education is very important too.’’ Alador said. And, tho he seemed serious, he was teasing his daughters.

‘‘So, you are ok with this?’’

‘‘Yes, Amity.’’

Actually, I’m kind of a pansexual, myself. Alador tought, but keep shut.

The movie was paused. Probably since some time ago but Alador didn’t notice. He glare at Emira’s wall clock. 12:05, it marked.

It was early, Odalia wouldn’t be back until three in the morning. Anyway he open his scroll to verify that his wife haven’t texted him or something.

There was nothing, as expected. Only Odalia’s last message where she told him that she was going to leave the party at 1:45 and was expecting been home around 3:00 a.m.

‘‘So,’‘ Alador started ‘‘any particular reason to tell me your orientation?’’

Yes, it was sweet, but Alador did knew his daughter a little and can almost tell that, at least Emira had something else to say.

‘‘No, no reason.’’ Amity answered. ‘‘Just to tell you with Em.’’

Alador look at his older daugher, waiting for her answer.

Yes, they were closer than bever before, but the sad truth was that even if his children did trusted in him, he didn’t think that they trusted him that much.

It was reasonable, not less hurting, but understandable.

‘‘Well... You see, er. Ok, so. I actually wanted to tell you because, uhm....’’

Alright, now this was new. Alador never in his life had heard Emira stutter.

All his children were raise to be the embodinment of perfection, as Odalia describe it. The three took classes of everything. From music to etiquette, and diction was not left behind.

Now, Alador was sincerely curious.

‘‘There’s this girl in the school, and well-’’

‘‘Emira has a big crush on her.’’ Edric interrupted.

‘‘But Emira can be around her without being a red mess.’‘

‘‘You are one to talk, huh, Mittens.’’ Emira asked. Her cheeks were already a little blushy.

Amity looked away and Emira continue: ‘’My point is, that, her dad is kinda, a little... short budget. And-’’

‘‘Emira, I love you, but if that girl is using you for your money-’’

‘‘No! She isn’t! Sh doesn’t even know that I liked her’’

‘‘Well that’s debatable’’ Edric said ‘‘It’s really obvious and Viney it’s not as oblivious as Luz, plus-’’

‘‘Who’s Luz?’‘ Alador asked.

‘‘It doesn’t matter right now’’ Emira stated. ‘‘The point is, dad, that she didn’t even tell me his dad was in a little hurry. I was walking towards her and she was talking to her friends about it and I just heard a little. When I told her I could give her some snails she declined and actually was pretty mad about it, until last week, when I apologized. But I really want to do something about it.’’ Em talked fast, but Alador, as the good listener he had always been, didn’t missed anything.

‘‘And how can I help?’’ Alador asked.

‘‘Well, you can make him get a job? Maybe here in the manor or somewhere else. Her dad is in the construction coven, I think he is like, the right hand of the leader.’’

Alador hummed. Contruction coven right hand? He was a right hand once, before he was level up to coven leader. And he knew very well the salary of the seconds on board. It was a great amount of snails.

‘‘And before you say something like ‘she’s scamming you’, I want you to know that her family is really big. She has like, twelve siblings, not including her.’’

Alador sigh.

‘‘She really is a good person, dad. And if I can help her, I will.’’

‘‘She’s one of the noblest people we’ve met. There’s no danger’’ Edric said in favor of Emira’s propose.

Alador looked to Amity, who haven’t said much, and asked her with his eyes for her opinion.

‘‘I don’t hang out with her a lot, but she’s indeed good.’’

‘‘Well, I guess I have no other option, do I?’’

‘‘Thank you, dad!’’ Emira shouted and jump to her dad’s lap to trap him in her arms in a tigh hug.

‘‘I don't promise anything, but I'm going to see what I can do.’‘ Alador responded and hug Emira back.

He looked at Edric and Amity and with a head movement he invited both of them to join the hug.

Edric took Amity’s hand and join to it.

Well, Alador thought, I guess I have some work to do now.

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mxchellesworld · 3 years

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𝟑 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐝 - 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟔

𝐒𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐑𝐞𝐢𝐝 𝐱 𝐂𝐚𝐭 𝐀𝐝𝐚𝐦𝐬 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: 𝐂𝐚𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐒𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝐞𝐱𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨.

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: smut, use of toys, exhibitionism, degradation, knife play, bondage

𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 | 𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫

***

You had on a creme colored slip dress and underneath was the set which you had bought earlier in the day. Once you got home you had thrown your bags onto the couch and ran to your closet to look for a perfect outfit. You wanted to look angelic in contrast to the sins which you were hoping to commit during the night.

You had searched in your shoe boxes for an old pair of heels you had from your college days. They were blush pink blocky heels which had long straps that wrapped around your calves.

As annoying as you knew it would be you dusted some body glitter on your collar and shoulders to shine bright under the club lights. You did some dewy makeup and and made sure to highlight the highest points in your face. The final touch were your dangly earrings and a simple chain around your neck.

Ordering an uber you waited in the lobby of your apartment with a fuzzy jacket over your outfit to keep off some of the chilly night air.

You ended up showing up to the club at 6:55. You thanked the driver and bid him a good night. Walking down the familiar corridor you noticed someone else was in Penelope’s spot.

You had texted her before you came asking if she was going to be around. She mentioned she was meeting with her brothers but insisted on grabbing brunch soon.

A man with short dark curls and stubble was sitting at the desk. He greeted you with a bright smile. You were seriously going to ask Cat and Spencer where they found all these models to work for them.

“Hey sweetheart are you new here?” he asked extending his hand for you to shake.

You shook his hand and nodded, “Yeah kinda, I was here like last week. Is there anywhere I can put this?” you asked tugging on your jacket.

“Just write your name on a sticky note and I’ll tuck it under here for you.”

He handed you the pad and a pen. You noticed the way the veins popped on his large hands. You pulled off the sticky and shrugged off your jacket. His eyes lingered over your curves as your dress was tight enough to hug them nicely.

Handing both the items to him, he spoke again. “Why don’t you go ahead and add your number down on that note. In case you leave without it of course.”

You were about to reply when a voice spoke up from behind you, “Flirting on the job again, Luke.” You felt Cat’s hand on the small of your back.

“Hey I’m just trying to be welcoming,” he said raising his hands in surrender.

“Right,” she said.

He looked back at you, “I’ll keep this safe Y/n, you have a good one sweetheart.”

“Thanks,” you said before looking back at Cat then letting her guide you.

“You’ve just been catching everyones attention this week haven’t you angel,” she spoke in your ear. You shivered at her actions.

“Yeah but not from who I wan though,” you said with a pout.

She led you to the bar and nodded at a brunette who was behind the counter, “Aw are you upset we haven’t been around to give you what you want baby.”

You nodded then looked at the bartender who placed two drinks in front of you, giving her a smile. They were pink and had lemon wedge on the side. It was fruity and you could taste the hint of alcohol in them.

“Yes. Using toys on my own can only do so much Catherine,” you said looking in her eyes. You noticed the way her jaw tensed at the use of her full name.

She grabbed your cheeks in her hand pressing on them just enough for you to feel pressure, “I think you forget you’re not the one in charge here angel.”

You eyes widened. You forgot this wasn’t just a normal club. Anywhere else people might have looked at the scene in curiosity but here no one batted an eye when just around the corner people were doing worse for the eyes of everyone to see.

“Well then why don’t you remind me,” you said challenging her.

She got up dragging you by your hair, you noticed she was making way to the playrooms. She tapped on an earpiece you never saw behind her hair, “I’m gonna need Spencer in room number 3 please. Spencer room 3.”

She unlocked the door with a key she pulled out of her blazer, leaving it wide open. In the center of the room was a large bed and various pieces of furniture spread throughout. She pushed you down onto it, her hand traveling to grip around your throat.

“Is this what you wanted? You want me and Spencer to play with you here and show everyone exactly who’s fucking slut you are,” she gritted out.

You whined lowly trying to nod your head but of course she didn’t take that.

“Whats your color?” she asked.

“Green Mistress.” With that she landed a smack across your face. It wasn’t hard but enough for you to feel a little sting.

“Seems like we really did fuck you stupid. I’m gonna give you one more time to answer me correctly. Do you want us to fuck you here in front of everyone and let them see who fucking owns this tight little cunt.”

You all but yelled in response, “Yes Mistress please!”

Just then Spencer walked. He was wearing a black suit with just a white dress shirt under, the top two buttons undone again.

He looked at Cat with a smirk then turned to you with an instant stone cold gaze. It drove you wild to see how quickly his demeanor changed.

“Get on all fours and keep your head down,” Cat said before walking over to Spencer.

You could hear their whispering voices as they decided what they’d do with you. Somehow you disliked that much more than when they would speak as if you weren’t in the room at all. At least then you knew what was coming. For now you shivered in anticipation knowing damn well you pushed all the right buttons to get to this moment.

You heard the patter of Spencer’s dress shoes and Cats heels click on the floor as they moved about. The sound of a flip being switched but no lights in the room changing let you know it was the one on the sign of the door, signaling anyone could watch in.

Before you knew it the sounds of more people walking in and spreading across the room brought you out of your thoughts. However Spencer came and tapped you on your back. You slowly lifted your head not knowing if you were allowed to.

“You can sit,” he said softly. Another quick change from his last attitude.

You pushed yourself off your hands and sat back with your bum resting on your calves. He leaned in slowly, pushing some of your hair behind your ear, “Im gonna explain a few things to you, alright?”

“Yes Sir,” you said nodding.

He gave you a small smile before continuing, “Ok so all these people here are for you,” he said gesturing to them. You peered around and saw how they looked at you with a hungry gaze.

“However if at any point you don’t want them here or you need to stop just call red. Again, there is no punishment in doing so, and they will understand also. You got that princess?” he said searching your eyes.

“Yeah, thank you Spencer,” you said making sure he truly understood how grateful you were of him taking his time with you.

“Great now lie back. I’m gonna tie you up with these,” he said pulling out roped from a drawer that was within the side of the bed.

You scooted up to rest your head on the pillows lifting your hands above your head for him to take. He used the red rope to intricately tie them to the frame above you.

You gave them a test tug, “Are they too tight?” he asked.

“No Sir,” you said with a smile.

Cat walked back over trailing her trusty crop up your body. The dress had slipped up past your thighs.

“Whats your color angel?” she asked sweetly.

“Very green Mistress.”

“Good girl,” she said before landing a swat on the side of your thigh.

You yelped out at the impact which made her laugh. She moved around the space with her shoulders squared. Your eyes followed her every move trying to brace yourself for the next blow. She moved to your other side landing a swat on the top of your thigh.

You mewled at the feeling.

“Does our little slut like the pain?” she questioned, punctuating her sentence with another swat.

You frantically nodded your head, “Yes Mistress! It hurts so good.”

She trailed the crop down your chest, “Well then then its not much of a punishment is it?”

You saw Spencer walk over and noticed the knife in his hand, “Color?”

“Green sir.”

He looked you in your eyes as he trailed the knife down your cheek. Your breath hitched at the contact with cold metal. It slid down your collar then finally he pulled on to the low neckline of your dress and sliced through it. The fabric fell to your sides leaving your new set on display for everyone.

The room was a low murmur. You noticed some people adjusting themselves in their pants even going as far as rubbing themselves over the material.

You let out a quiet moan at the sight which Spencer had heard, “Do you see what you do to all these people angel? Too bad none of them get to lay a fucking finger on you. We’re the only ones who get to play with this perfect pussy,” he said trailing the blade down your clothed clit.

You moaned louder at his words and the small amount of simulation. He let out a dark laugh which faded as a new sound was in your ear. Cat walked over holding a wand vibrator.

“I gonna edge you twice. One for each time someone was flirting with whats mine,” she basically growled.

“Yes Mistress.”

Spencer set the knife down and pulled your legs apart. Cat wasted no time in pressing the vibrator right over your clit. You let out a symphony of moans. Your head fell back as you were swimming in pleasure. The knife was back on your skin and you felt it slice through the lace like butter.

Spencer placed it back down then went to fondle your breasts. You let out mewls and curses of his title. Cat handed the vibe over to him and she picked up the crop. You heard the saw before you felt the impact on your opposite breast.

“You’re getting close aren’t you angel?” she said mockingly.

“Yes Mistress,” you said breathlessly.

Spencer upped the setting on the vibrator and moved it around, circling right on your bud.

“Shit I’m gonna cum,” you whined.

“No you’re not,” Spencer said completely removing the vibrator, “Sluts like you don’t deserve to cum.” You felt your clit pulsating from the loss of pleasure.

Sure enough the vibe was placed again on your aching bud. They kept it up for a few minutes. This orgasm coming on stronger and easier due to how stimulated you were. The mix of pain and pleasure along with their degrading words spurred you on even more.

You were writhing on the sheets, head moving back and forth, back arching as you were so close to hitting your peak. The knot in your tummy seconds from breaking.

“You better not cum angel,” ‘Cat threatened with a swat on your tummy.

“I’ll just add another one and another one. I can leave you here tied up over night with the vibe on the lowest setting so that you never cum.”

You moaned out no’s and please’s for her or Spencer to end your torture. Spencer saw the way your chest heaved on the brink of release. The vibe was gone again and you let out a groan of dissatisfaction.

You could feel your slick dripping down your thighs and onto the sheets below you. You knew there’d be a big wet patch on the center. Looking up you saw the crowd had grown bigger. Some watching from the hallway too timid to fully be emerged in the room. A pair of familiar brown eyes caught yours.

Luke was standing there biting his lip. His eyes raked over your flushed form and looked at the small red marks from the crop which littered your thighs. You closed them in slight embarrassment. How long had he been standing there?

Cat spoke and pulled you out of your thoughts, “Are you being shy because your little friend is here?”

“No no I think she loves it,” Spencer spoke, “I think she loves seeing people watch her act like the desperate whore she truly is.”

“You know what angel we’ll let you cum. Just so our guests can see how pretty you look.”

“Thank you Mistress,” you said keeping eye contact with Luke. You noticed the bulge growing in his pants.

Spencer hooked his finger into your panties and pulled them down your legs. He threw them over for Luke to catch and winked at him. He spread your legs as you were now completely bare for everyone to see.

Cat took the wand and you heard the vibrator roar to life again. She wasted no time pressing it on your clit and circling it.

You let out loud moans and whimpers which you were sure could be heard all the way to the bar. Your eyes shut closed at the pleasure was flowing through you.

“Cmon princess be our good girl and show them how good we make you feel,” Spencer said leaning in to whisper in your ear.

With his permission the knot in your tummy broke. You felt your release flow down your thigh as you screamed curses and thanked them. Your hands pulled at the roped trying to move away from the vibe on your clit. The overstimulation being too much to handle.

She turned it off and set it to the side. Spencer moved to untie your wrists as Cat rubbed your cheek softly. Your chest heaved as you tried to catch your breath.

Spencer rubbed your wrists and placed small kisses on them to soothe you. You sat up and wrapped your arms around your body. Now feeling self conscious about the unfamiliar eyes watching. Spencer had noticed and shrugged off his suit jacket to place over your frame.

“I’m gonna go get the bag from our office,” he said looking to Cat. She nodded and watched as he walked away along with the the remaining people in the room. Luke was no longer present.

“You did so amazing tonight angel. We are so proud of you,” She took your face in her hands and pressed small kisses all over your cheeks and forehead. Finally she made it to your lips and and gave you a kiss which was nothing but reassuring.

She pulled away to speak, “Spence is getting our bag, we brought you a sweater and sweatpants.”

“So you planned for all this to happen?” you asked quirking a brow.

She laughed in response, “Yeah something like that.”

You wrapped your arms around her neck and pulled her in for more kisses. They were sweet and gentle but equally intoxicating. You could taste the strawberry mints which you remembered she kept all over the apartment.

“Always starting without me,” Spencer said with a smile as he walked back, one hand held a brown leather bag and the other held your jacket. He closed the door behind him before setting the bag on the bed.

You shrugged off the jacket and the torn items of clothing, “You guys owe me, I literally bought this earlier today!” you whined.

“Yeah yeah, hands up,” he said pulling the sweater over your head. Cat pulled your hair out from under it tenderly. He squatted down to get your legs through the sweatpants.

“I can dress myself you know,” you said through a smile.

“Just let us take care of you angel,” Cat said holding your jacket open for you to get your arms through it.

You sat back down to unwrap your heels. With how wobbly your legs were there was no way you’d make it out.

Spencer’s phone chimed in his pocket, “The car’s here to pick us up. Let’s go home.”

With that you picked up the bag which held your heels and discarded clothing. You reached out to interlock your pinky with Cat’s but she shifted to hold your whole hand, looking back at you with a smile.

You walked out of the lounge with a satisfied smile and your two favorite people on either side of you.

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