#but the maneuver here is so fucking transparent

[txttletale]

The "callout post" also calls you antiblack with no evidence whatsoever

i mean that could refer to many things. in february this year i did say some awful shit! it was pretty wretched of me, i was wrong and confidently (arrogantly, even) so. as a result i talked down to Black women, including Black trans women, who were approaching me in good faith & that was shitty & racist of me. i apologized for it at the time & have openly addressed & acknowledged it a bunch of times since, most recently this very month. if someone's still mad at me about that, like, fair enough, don't blame em!

if it's unevidenced it could also refer to all sorts of outlandish shit, like when i got called antiblack for saying 'usamerican' or for acknowledging the basic economic realities of anti-imperialism or that time someone ran a harassment campaign against anyone within five degrees of separation of a trans brazilian blogger on here.

either way tbqh i think it is beyond cynical and grotesque to bring up that completely unrelated incident when baselessly accusing me of pedophilia.

#ask #last ask about this because i do genuinely value admitting and being clear i know where i'm wrong ! #but the maneuver here is so fucking transparent

[preciouslandmermaid]

nothing’s gonna hurt you baby (carmy x f!reader) -- Part 2

Note: This wasn’t going to have a second chapter, but everyone was so gosh darn supportive and I knew it had POTENTIAL for more. So, here we are. I will be transparent and say that the smut cools down, but the tension ramps up 🔥🔥🔥 🥵🥵 Also, I have since finished the show…and wow…season 2 say when.

Warnings/Tags: cursing/foul-language, slow burn, communication failures, avoidance/denial of feelings, everyone is fucking stupid 

Chapter Synopsis: After your clandestine meeting with Carmy the backseat of his car – you endeavor to get life back to normal and back to business. However, after interviewing Marcus, Carmy confronts you, and it goes about as well as you’d expect.

Part One < Part Two > Part Three 

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

“Look at this shit!” Richie announced while waving a magazine in the air with its glossy pages flapping noisily.

“We can’t see shit if you’re waving it around like that.” Tina teased him.

“Yo! Did you bring a porn mag to work, Richie? You crazy.” Gary said while shaking his head, sweeping, and laughing.

“It’s not a fucking skin mag, you pervert.” Richie slapped the magazine onto the metallic kitchen counter. “It’s Chicago Business Weekly and look who’s on the fucking cover.”

“Is it us?” Marcus asked. Everyone crowded around the main kitchen countertop near the stoves to see what Richie brought in. Sydney shook her head in annoyance, but couldn’t help giving a surreptitious glance to the front page.

“No, it’s not us.” Richie replied, annoyed, before tapping two fingers on the cover. “Recognize the smokeshow?” He said with a grin. “Our business is fucking fucked, dude. I can’t believe she didn’t tell me she was this jabronis’ granddaughter.”

“Morning, Chefs.” Carmy said while walking into the kitchen and tying his blue apron around his waist. Manny and Angel stepped away from the kitchen and returned to their dishwashing station, leaving a gap of space for Carmy to walk through. His eyes caught the magazine unintentionally and saw you dressed sharply on the cover next to an older gentleman with his hand on your shoulder. The text near the bottom corner read: ‘A Legacy Unmatched’.  

“Oh, yeah!” Marcus brightened, “I talked to her this morning.”

Carmy frowned and rubbed his chin with his hand. “What – ah – what do you mean you talked to her this morning?”

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

EARLIER THAT DAY

“Sorry about the chaos.” You said after shaking their hand and gesturing to the other plastic chair. You were set up around the corner of your restaurant in the alleyway. It wasn’t ideal, but the other option was trying to coordinate and set this up at a Starbucks and you weren’t going to do that. The June deadline loomed over your shoulder like an overbearing grandmother.

“We’re deep in renovations.” You explained.

“It’s no worries at all, ma’am.” The dark-haired, older woman said with a coral-pink tinged smile. You noticed there was lipstick on her teeth.

“You’ve got – uh –“ You tapped your front tooth with your forefinger.

“Ay, Dios Mío!” She collected a mirror from the depths of her purse and wiped away the smudge with her fingertip. As she did so, you looked over her résumé and drummed your pen nervously against the single white page.

“You’ve done a lot of catering. Could you tell me more about that?”

You maneuvered through interview after interview with practiced ease. You used the front of your grandfather’s notebook like a table to jot down notes on their résumé. You were attentive, well-spoken, and direct. You were good at this. You were good at talking to people, making connections, reading between the lines of conversation and body language.

However, you couldn’t figure out why you felt so fucking hollow after each interview. You shook their hands and smiled with a weak promise to talk soon. No one stood out. Not a single person made your heart triple-jump at their passion or impressive skills. You needed ambitious, diligent people to work here. You flipped through your grandfathers’ notes with a grimace at his interior design choices. He wanted a sleek, modern, and sexy breakfast/brunch location. That was his plan for this location. He wanted someone to stroll in at two in the morning and get the best eggs and bacon of their life and an espresso made from imported beans from Brazil that looked Instagram worthy.

You didn’t doubt that it would be successful. Ninety percent of his businesses that launched were successful. Just off the top of your head, you recalled he had three restaurants in Chicago, two in Indianapolis, and one in St. Louis. And they were all long-standing establishments that existed past the five-year mark. Business and entrepreneur magazines called him the “Mogul of the Midwest.” He cracked the code of flipping old buildings and turning them into income generators of massive wealth.

You frowned at the page showcasing the main dining area with silver, alien-curved chairs (How the hell were those comfortable?) and bulbous hanging lamps. You scribbled your pen across the page and made a little doodle of a dog pooping on the white-and-black checkered floor. You made a mental note to find out the earliest time a Health Inspector could come and check the place.

“Hello.” A warm, friendly voice pulled you from your thoughtful rumination. You looked up to see a tall, young Black man wearing a red beanie. A quick glance to your phone confirmed that this was your 9:30AM appointment.

“Hi!” You stood up, smoothing your skirt, and reached out to shake his hand, “Marcus, right?”

“Wow, good memory.” He smiled. You felt yourself smiling back like it was contagious.

“Phone reminders are a life saver. Have a seat, please.” The plastic lawn chairs were better suited for an outdoor concert. But hey, beggars couldn’t be choosers and it wasn’t like you ordered any of the furniture for the interior of your restaurant. Yet. You were going to. You were! You just hadn’t. All your other responsibilities were taking up every ounce of available brainpower. You didn’t have time to online shop and mindlessly click through catalogs.

“I see you’ve been working at The Beef for a while. How’s that going? What’s something you enjoy about that work?”

When you first saw Marcus’ qualifications, an alarm bell rang loudly in your head. There was a chance that he was here because Carmy sent him to try and get information about your restaurant. However, you couldn’t deny your own curiosity about Chicagoland Beef and thus – made the phone call to schedule your interview with him. If Carmy wanted to try and weasel information out of you then he was going to have to try harder than sending his peons to do it.  

“Well…” Marcus wiped his hands across his knees. “It’s been different since Carmy inherited the place.”

Your heart treacherously leapt at the mention of his name. The side of your neck (generously iced last night and covered with foundation this morning) tingled warmly. You crossed your legs and your foot bounced anxiously.

“It’s not bad. I mean sometimes it’s a shitshow. But, uh, him and Sydney…it’s been really inspiring working with them.” Marcus’ face lit up when he said it and you knew it to be the truth. Marcus continued to speak about his time at the Beef, the different chefs who inspired him, and his current passion project—doughnuts. At one point, he brought out a little three-ring binder and showed off some of his favorite pastry dishes that he hoped to make one day. Your heart softened at the sight.

You enjoyed Marcus’ energy and he spoke with the type of passion you were looking for in your employees.

“Do you like working for Carmy?” You asked when it seemed like you could sneak that question in without it being awkward. You imagined Carmy in the kitchen. It wasn’t difficult to do considering you only saw him wearing that stupid blue apron that emboldened the color of his eyes.  

“I do.” Marcus nodded. “Sydney is great too. We’re all chefs but she’s like—I don’t know—not really second-in-command because we don’t have a hierarchy or anything like that. It’s more like a chill-archy. But she’s kinda like second-in-command, you feel me?”

Interesting. Your experience within your grandfathers’ restaurant revealed that most chefs were egomaniacs who adhered to a strict toxic hierarchy. They fired off decisions and ran the kitchen with an iron fist because anything else would be unacceptable and merit room for errors. They strived for perfection in an already high-stress, high-demand workflow.

You leaned back and the plastic chair creaked at the shift of your weight. “Then why are you interviewing with me?”

“Honestly? I just wanted to get the vibe of the place. I might not stay with the Beef forever, you know? Especially with everything I’m learning. And I still have a lot to learn.”

You appreciated his candor. It earned him more than a few points in your book even if he was here at Carmy’s behest. You made a note on his résumé: Carmy/Sydney are inspiring to work with. You idly wondered if you should try and talk with Sydney. If she already had a place of command in their ‘chill-archy’ as Marcus put it, then she likely wouldn’t want to leave, but you were curious how their kitchen functioned as a whole, beating organism. Was everyone happy? You slid his paperwork into your file and lightly tapped your phone screen to check the time. You only had a few more minutes until your 10:00AM appointment arrived.

“I really appreciate your time today. Do you have any questions for me before we end our time together?” You asked by rote.

“I was wondering what sort of food you’d be making at this place when it’s done?”

Your stomach churned. It was your least favorite question alongside people asking what the name would be. You considered lying and letting Marcus take a false narrative back to Carmy. But what would be the point? You didn’t have a menu. Any answer would classify as a lie.

“American.” You replied lamely, hoping your lack of enthusiasm didn’t shine through your words. Your grandfather might’ve planned out the decorations and listed reputable vendors, but menus were given to the chefs. Granted, he had final say before anything went to print or to table. Yet, without staff or a potential menu – your great project was a skeleton of a restaurant with no heart. You tried to avoid thinking about that fact too much. When you did, your hands would tremble with the foreboding heat of June clinging to your armpits.

“Heard.” Marcus said before shaking your hand one last time and smiling. “Have a good day, Miss.”

You smiled closed lipped at him, “You too.”

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

You scrolled on your phone with your legs outstretched to the empty opposite chair. You took the last bite of your burger and chuckled at the overly cheesy engagement post your relative created. You double tapped and hearts danced on the screen. That wedding would be a clusterfuck of drama. You hoped you were invited. Hell, you even had a green dress with the tags still on it that you could wear.

The sound of a classic rock radio station echoed, though slightly muffled, from inside your restaurant while the workers finished installing your kitchen equipment. And somewhere down the street, a construction crew was jackhammering into the road and shouting profanities while cars honked at one another.

With all the noise and distraction, it was no wonder you didn’t see or hear Carmy approach you.

He cursed your name and then said, “What the hell?”

You scowled at him. “Good afternoon!” You crumpled the greasy burger-wrapper between your fist and tossed at him. It missed. “This is private property, you know.”

You met his gaze and instantly regretted it. The first thought that popped into your head was Carmy moaning and grabbing your hips in a reckless, lust-filled haze. Your cheeks burned and you bit your tongue against your back molars to regain control and calm.  

“Don’t try to poach my fucking people, alright?”

Ah. He didn’t know about Marcus’ interview then. You slipped your black heels onto your feet, stood, and folded your arms across your chest. You were dressed in your best dark charcoal skirt and a simple, starched white blouse. You had to admit you felt capable and invincible dressed like a bitch running the stock market. This was practically your superhero uniform after graduating college. Clothes might not make a person, but they sure helped.

You weren’t the sweaty, frazzled, and covered in paint bitch anymore. Carmy was dealing with an entirely different motherfucker today. You lifted your chin, defiant and proud.

“Marcus has every right to apply and interview for the position.” You made a sweeping gesture with one arm at the whole of Chicago, “Just like anyone else.”

Carmy scoffed and narrowed his eyes at you. “What?”

You raised both eyebrows in challenge and gave a minute shake of your head, “What? That’s the free-market, baby.” You said tauntingly.

He tugged a hand through his hair, looking away from you momentarily, before pinning you with a look that was both hot and cold. You valiantly ignored the shiver that sliced down your spine. There was barely a foot of space between you, yet you felt like the distance was much smaller. You clenched your jaw to refocus your attention on the matter at hand. Carmy had his panties all twisted up because Marcus dared to explore his options. What a little bitch.

“We fucked.” He said in a hard, flat tone and crossed his arms, “and then you go and try to take my staff?”

You laughed, throwing your head back, “Holy shit!” You jabbed your finger at him, nearly touching his chest but not quite—“What happened last night has nothing to do with my plans today. Don’t be so fucking self-absorbed.”

“Self-absorbed? Oh.” It was his turn to laugh, and he chuckled scornfully.  “That’s fucking rich coming from you. What’s your issue with me? Huh? What did I ever do you?”

“Every time we’ve spoken – you tell me the odds of my business closing or, in this interaction, accuse me of trying to steal your fucking staff!”

“I apologized for that!” He stepped closer and with your heels on – you were nearly eye to eye. How the fuck did you get so close already? Your world burned bright red, hot and pulsing, and your fists clenched at your sides. You glanced at his mouth. Fuck. Fuck. You forced your gaze back to his and unflinchingly stared him down. He was the one being the asshole here. Not you. He was the trying to change the narrative.

“No, you didn’t. The words ‘I’m sorry’ never came out of your mouth.” You countered in a hissed, angry whisper. You didn’t want to become the crazy bitch shouting in an alleyway, but Carmy was pushing all the right buttons to make it happen.

“Maybe because you didn’t give me a chance and jumped down my throat the second you saw me!”

“Well maybe that’s because I find you to be aggravating and arrogant!”

“I’m aggravating?” He seethed. The flush on his face was identical to the flush that bloomed across his skin when you were in the throes of passion. You hated the reaction it stirred in your lower stomach, the knot tightening and twisting, with embarrassing intensity.  His eyes hardened, though you caught their brief flick down to your mouth and to the make-up covered spot on your neck.

“Yes! You are!” You stepped back with an exasperated, astonished laugh before you did something insane. His mouth was dangerously close to yours and you weren’t going to win this argument if you kissed him.

“You act like you’re trying to be fucking helpful. But I see you! I see what you’re fucking doing!” You shouted, “You want me to shut down because you don’t want the fucking competition. Telling me ‘Oh there’s no foot traffic here’! Just stay out of it, dude! I’m not your fucking damsel in distress to save. I know what I’m fucking doing so, just back the FUCK off.”

“You know what you’re doing?” He mocked and reached into the back pocket of his jeans.

“Yes!”

“Yeah?” He tossed a magazine onto the ground between you. The professional photograph with your grandfather stared up at you. Your throat tightened with grief and a shameful, agonizing pang reverberated through your chest. That was the last photo we had together before he… You couldn’t even look up at Carmy, though you were aware he was looking at you. Your gaze was trapped like a rabbit in a snare on the photo.

“Why? Cause of your family? Cause of all your grandad’s money?” Carmy snapped, “Just because you come from some family empire doesn’t give you the right to treat other people like shit. I tried to fucking apologize to you, and you wouldn’t hear it.”

“I actually don’t give a shit whether your restaurant opens or not. It doesn’t change how I’m gonna run my place, alright? What’s not fucking cool is that you fucking interviewed Marcus and didn’t even have the decency to let me know. Especially after we--” He cut himself off and cursed harshly under his breath.

You closed your eyes tightly to stop the burning, sharp tears from falling. You wrestled your grief into a dark corner and punched its stomach. No tears. No more tears. Not in front of him—not in front of anyone. Fuck. You swallowed and your nails dug into your palms at the pressure of your clenched fists. The pain helped shake you out of it. You had work to do. The day wasn’t over. Your veins boiled with anger.

Your head snapped up and you glared at Carmy with the ferocity of the Gorgon Medusa; “Aren’t you opening soon? Get the fuck off my property before I call the cops, Carmy.”

He threw his hands in the air, irritated, “Whatever. I don’t have to deal with this.”

Your shoulders shuddered when Carmy turned his back and started a brisk, pissed-off walk to Chicagoland Beef. You bolted around the corner to the back of your restaurant and planted both hands against the brick wall next to the dumpster before choking on your sob.

“Fucking fuck fuck. Fucking asshole. Fuck him. Fuck!” Your rage condensed into grief and exploded like a shaken-up soda can. You didn’t know if you were crying for your grandfather or out of frustration or if it was because of your conversation with Carmy.

His words painfully bounced around in your skull. You tried to comb through your interactions with him to discover if there was any truth to it, but you were too pissed off to think straight. He’s just saying whatever he can to get under my skin. He does want my restaurant to close. He wants it to fail so that his can succeed.

You wiped away the tears that smudged your mascara. You had another interview in a hour. You needed to be presentable. You needed to be calm. You would think about Carmy and what he said later.

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

Carmy pored over Mikey’s scrawled notes and messy bookkeeping. It was a headache on top of a dozen other headaches he already had. Someone knocked lightly on the doorframe to his office, “Hey, Chef?” 

It was Marcus.

“Hey, what’s up?” Carmy leaned back into his wheeled office chair.

“I just wanted to say I’m sorry for not telling you I had an interview.” Marcus admitted almost sheepishly, “I don’t want to stop working here. And I’m not going to quit. It’s just…”

Marcus sighed and rolled his eyes, “Richie wouldn’t shut up about her after they met. And I got curious. I wanted to know what they were doing over there, what sort of restaurant it would be, and I wanted to know what she was like. I wanted to know if she was like you or Sydney. Anyway…I’m sorry. I should’ve told you.”

Carmy fiddled with his pen in between his fingers, “Oh, yeah. It’s cool, man. We’re cool. We’re cool.” He leaned up in his chair as Marcus started to walk away, “Hey, before you go – uh – what - what’d you think? Of her? Of the place – I mean.” He asked while scratching his ear.

Marcus’ brow furrowed, “I didn’t go inside because they were working. She’s nice and very smart and - oh! She really liked my notebook! But um…”

He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. He already knew what Richie thought. (“She’s the single hottest and bitchiest woman I’ve ever met. I seriously thought my balls were gonna freeze off when she glared at me and told me to leave before the streetlamps turned on”).

“I don’t know man. It’s probably just me.” Marcus shrugged, “I don’t know. She just seemed sort of...” His eyes focused on a spot in the air past Carmy’s head. “Like she was just going through the motions - kind of like how I felt before you and Syd started working here.”

Carmy frowned and tried to digest that information in a way that wouldn’t give him heartburn.

“At one point, I asked her what her favorite meal was, and she said, ‘whatever has enough calories to keep me alive’.” Marcus shook his head and chuckled. “Can you believe that?”

“Yeah,” Carmy smirked, “Yeah I can, actually.”

“Alright man, goodnight. See you tomorrow.”

“Night, Chef.” Carmy spun back around to his desk. He leaned his forehead into the palm of his hand and sighed heavily. Fuck. He scribbled a note and turned the page and then started digging through papers to track down an invoice from three months ago.

By the time he left, it was nearly midnight. He unlocked his car and tossed his backpack into the passenger side. Something fluttered under his windshield. It was likely a flyer to attend church, or a strip club, or something from a Jehovah Witness. Carmy lifted his wiper blade and removed the piece of advertisement and half of an old man’s face stared up at him with the words ‘CHICAGO BUISNESS WEEKLY’ in red lettered script above his head.

He frowned, leaning against the hood of his car, and unfolded it. In metallic, silver sharpie, across the cover page were the words: I’M SORRY I REFUSED TO LISTEN TO YOUR APOLOGY. IT IS ACCEPTED. I AM NOT SORRY ABOUT INTERVIEWING MARCUS. TRUCE?

Carmy chuckled lightly to himself, refolded the magazine cover, and tucked it into the inner pocket of his coat. He climbed into his car and despite the chill in the air—he didn’t bother turning on the heat. He was warm enough.

(Continue to Part Three)

#fic: nothings gonna hurt you baby #im a fucking for carmy yelling yell at me baby plss #carmy berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x reader #carmy x reader #shorter and less spicy but next chapter will have angst lol #the bear fic

[ofduskanddreams]

over spilled milk

A little drabble for @ablogofbipanic: thank you for using your powers for good (yk what I'm talking about.) I hope you enjoy this slight evil in return.

[555 words, rated T] Read it below or on ao3.

Azriel steadied the full drink tray in his hands and carefully shouldered open the door. It was summer and the transition from the air conditioning to the heat outside the tea shop slammed into him. He hated it, it was too hot and the bright sun prickled where it landed on his exposed skin. Azriel stuck close to the wall, in the shade of the pink and white striped awning.

He balanced the tray in one hand while tugging his phone out of his shorts with the other and texting Cassian to figure out where they’d gone while sending him here like some damn errand boy. 

“Az!” He heard Cassian’s voice shout over the buzz of passing conversation and traffic, somewhere in the direction of the river.

Azriel rose up on his toes, peering over the heads of passers-by to see that yes, Cassian was standing with the glittering Sidra at his back and waving one arm like a signal flag. Nesta stood at his side, arms crossed impatiently.

She must be really thirsty, Azriel thought. He’d bet that her eyes were narrowed behind her sunglasses. 

Rhys and Feyre were standing in the shade of a tree, watching Cassian make a public spectacle of himself.

Azriel pocketed his phone and maneuvered the tray back into both hands, steadying the fifth drink perched precariously in the middle with his index finger. He stepped away from the wall only to collide with a hard body moving too fast. The stranger made an indignant noise that was more growl-like than anything Azriel had ever heard as pastel-colored milky tea, ice cubes, and tapioca pearls spilled over them both. Fuck, he was soaked.

Azriel swore and tried to brush some pearls off of the man’s once white, now transparent, button-down. A firm hand latched onto his wrist, stopping him.

“Sorry.” Azriel immediately backed away.

“No, I should be thanking you.” The man shot him a crooked smile, running his clean hand through his copper-colored hair.

Azriel was surprised, by the words and the man’s eyes. He’d never seen eyes that color—like whiskey lit by the fire. “Wh—Why are you thanking me?”

“Now I have a valid excuse to skip this meeting.”

“It’s a Saturday?” 

“Precisely.” The man’s smile widened and it scrunched the freckles dotting his nose. Azriel felt that smile settle low in his gut, warm and tingly. 

The man nodded, seeming to think that all was settled and he started to walk away.

“Wait,” Azriel moved in front of him, blocking his path. “At least let me give you my number so you can charge me for the dry cleaning.”

The man looked amused, but he took out his (thankfully) dry phone and tapped the screen a few times, handing it to Azriel with a new contact screen pulled up. Azriel quickly typed in his information and handed it back.

“Azriel.” He read from the screen, weighing the vowels' shapes as they were formed. The sound of his name drawn out made the feeling in his stomach worse. “I guess I’m not the only one with an unusual name.”

“What’s yours?” Azriel said what was expected of him—he wanted to know. The spilled boba was starting to dry on his clothes, the liquid turning sticky on his skin.

“My name is Eris. Eris Vanserra.”

tagging: @damedechance @iftheshoef1tz @houseofhurricane @the-lonelybarricade @separatist-apologist @krem-does-stuff @octobers-veryown @thesistersarcheron @velidewrites @vulpes-fennec @foundress0fnothing @yourethehero

*this is like 75% an inside joke. yes, the innuendos are intentional.*

#azris #i'm going to hell #boba tea #azris fanfiction #azris fanfic #acotar drabble #azriel x eris #eris x azriel #eris vanserra #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #eris acotar #acotar fanfiction

[cosmictapestry]

A25 and/or B6?

25. oh he’s strong 😳

and

6. lucienne edging

yessssss let's go sluts

prompt list here

Even once Lord Morpheus is more comfortable taking the lead during sex, things don't change much for them. He still prefers to be bossed around, put to use, guided into position. Lucienne does not mind this at all. It makes it all the more thrilling when he is in a mood.

It starts slow, both of them on the couch, and she's kissing him and running her hands through his hair and entertaining half-baked ideas of having his cock in her mouth, and then his lips are moving on hers with unusual urgency, and Lucienne breaks away with a curious hum.

He gives her a tiny, hungry smile, lays his hand on the small of her back, grips her thigh with the other. He guides her leg over his own, kneads the suddenly bare thigh, grips her arse with the other hand to pull her down onto his lap. All her clothes are gone, which she doesn't quite realize until he kisses her breasts.

Lucienne breathes out, an anticipatory little thrill rippling through her. His hands are so big and strong, spread wide on her arse, and he drags her close, presses her mound to to his clothed bulge. She spares a second to think it was very good of him to switch to his thin silky trousers—denim is a little bit terrible on the bare clit—before he is grinding her against him, dragging her slow and effortless up and down on his hardness.

"Lord Morpheus," Lucienne squeaks, because that feels incredible, and she clutches onto his shoulders for balance when he swipes his tongue over one nipple and draws it into his mouth. "My lord," she keens, and he hums, and he works her against him, and just as the anticipation is reaching a peak and sweat is prickling on her skin and she's beginning to tremble, he stops.

Lucienne groans and lets her head fall forward against his. "Oh, you brat," she says.

He laughs, the sharp edge of a grin on the breast he leaves cooling with his spit. He looks at her now as he resumes the motions, now torturously slow. Lucienne looks down between their bodies—they're both so wet, the silk transparent with slick, and the sight itself almost pushes her over the edge again—until he stops. Lucienne glares at him.

"My apologies," he murmurs, not looking or sounding sorry at all, in fact he appears rather smug with a smirk on his stupid little mouth. "What is it you want?"

Oh, she is going to wreck him next time. For now she takes the challenge in stride. "I want you to fuck me, my lord," she says. Demure doesn't come naturally to her and the request sounds quite imperious, but he likes it if the twitch against her clit is any indication.

"Very well then," her lord says, voice pitched very low as his clothes disappear until it's cool smooth skin against her own. He touches her folds with one hand, checks the wetness there, the dart of his tongue across his lips telling her he's found it satisfactory. "Always so ready for me," he says it quietly, reverently, and heat zings through her.

"Inside me, please," she says, and he smiles sweetly for her, and then his hand are back on her arse—and he effortlessly lifts her, swallows her gasp with a kiss, and he lowers her onto his cock. Her mouth hangs open, not able to respond to his plunging tongue as he lifts her back up, moves her back down, fucks her on him, slow and smooth and easy.

"Lucienne?" Lord Morpheus asks when she's been shocked silent long enough for his breath to begin to quicken.

"Fuck," she says, and she swallows, and she clenches on him, "keep—please—"

"Oh," he says, and he starts again, and he watches her face now, his eyes very wide while he maneuvers her. "If you hold onto my neck, I can lift you," her lord says. "Would you like that?"

Lucienne responds with something close to a sob, wrapping her arms around his neck and burying her face under his ear. "Yes, yes, yes," she chants, and he exhales heavy in her ear, and then he's standing up, holding her arse with one hand, using the other to urge her to wrap her legs around his hips.

"Well done," he whispers to her, and he's buried so deep like this, and his skin is all pressed to hers and his hands grip and rub her thighs as though in reward. "Are you alright?"

She mumbles something, close to overwhelmed, crying silently against his neck. "I am loving this," she tells him.

Her lord gives her a fond little huff, and he kisses the tip of her ear as he pulls her up, almost off of him entirely, and then lowers her back down with a shaky sigh. Lucienne's mind is spinning too hard to register the mortifying sounds she's probably making as he fucks her, drags her up and down on his cock.

Lucienne digs her nails into his neck when she feels his rhythm stutter, hears a groan rumble through his chest. He doesn't stop, but he pulls her down until her pelvis is flush to his and he grinds her there, and it takes seconds for her orgasm to scorch through her, making her toes curl around his back and her nails drag on his skin. "Fuck," she sobs, and she shudders, and he shushes her, bouncing her on him as though to soothe.

Eventually he stills completely, and Lucienne gasps and pants and leans back, looks at his beautiful smug face, and she decides he's allowed to be smug. There's a dripping sound coming from somewhere—Lucienne looks down between their bodies, sees the growing puddle on the floor, seed and slick dripping from his bollocks. "Fuck," she says again.

"I thought you would like that," he mutters, wrinkling his own nose in distaste. In the next second the mess is gone.

Lucienne hums brokenly and sinks against his chest with a content sigh. "This was fun," she says.

"Yes, I gathered that," he kisses the top of her head.

#sorry about the fucking. length. this combo is very hot lmao well done #the sandman #morphienne #x #minors dni

[alukahkaran]

as vox media slowly dripfeeds me more aritechtural content i slowly but surely lose my fucking mind inches away at all times from attempt to teach myself sketch up as a way to visual an office that is meant to be modern and sleek but on the edge of cutting edge for a universe that has things unknowable and advances that are so far past our own.

the idea of a functional office and yet hospital space inspires these clean straight lines that when all put together with the glass and the metal and the white drywall only serves to make this damning sort of horror-scape mentality where you’re in the horrifying clinical setting and it implies sterility but it also just is. miserable. having those office spaces be made of stiff glass boxes implies transparency within the workplace, which was the orignal fucking joke, that everything in this place you can clearly see when so much was happening to create a working respawn machine behind the scenes, but there’s a terrible thing to just imply a weird boxy clinical setting. i want like, an entrance you walk through into the hospital made of huge glass plates, like the building is covered in, that multicolored lenses of glass that act as shifting prisms and even the doors will bounce their way around, causing the front waiting area to be cast in lavender, a visual of the snake in the logo curling around the prongs on the floor, etc

im gonna put the vox videos here for. my own sanity as i do not think anyone is reading this but

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-p6WWRarjNs

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yb-kYt1lpnI

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oPnDOxMXlUc&t=372s

The way there’s interplay with light and the idea of expanding etc etc there’s so much i could sum up from these videos but

The entire building is made of glass. Every edge has been curved, all soft edges, curved like the circle of the logo. Dividers made of spirals of glass and curved over waves of white drywall with glass at the very tops that lets the soft light from each room to carry over instead’ve miserable fluorescence, cast magical balls of light that look sconce-like as they hover along hallways. hovering ergonomic chairs beside hovering patient chairs, no medical chairs made of plastic and metal as much as there’s white curled chairs looking cloudlike as they are maneuvered down hallways.

The monolith of the main office building is 120 floors, but the majority of departments actually exist in separate buildings . i would be a complete nutcase if i listed out every fucking department so we’re just gonna be like ex: Pediatrics has a building with 2 floors for general case, 1 floor for a playground, 1 floor for surgeries, 3 floors for post-care, their own cafeteria, etc. They’re all fairly closely themed to their particular practice. The main building is almost exclusively office work, minus the specialty floors for entertainment and training. The main building also contains all of the labs and places where testing like radiology are done, as well as any minor general practices. Family health is often dealt by off-site clinics. The main emergency hospital is an offshoot of this tower, a large circular building that curls around the building, moving as if a wave to join up with the general skyscraper. The attaching point is a massive garden and attrium where patients can walk around, and is open air, looking like this

The attachment looks like this but one of them and rounded

The interior spaces all have their own different functions but some of the floors are triple-floored inside , with cavernous spaces for office buildings with floating panels for the ceiling that let down false sunlight and false sky that the floor above is not visible through. 

thats the thoughts for now

top floor like this

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P7iwyVlKV-w

#lore thoughts tag #ranting tag

[elysianslove]

shameful lust; suna rintarō

synopsis; he’s off limits in every way, but that only makes you want him more. based off of this, this, and this. the smut is inspired by my bunny anon’s birthday idea :) bunny, you know the one :)

pairings; brother’s bsf!suna rintarō x fem!reader

genre; porn with kind of plot lmfao

word count; 5.5k what the fuck??

trigger warning; age gap (not specified, & everyone’s 18+), masturbation, unprotected sex, creampie, squirting, humiliation, praise, mini panic attack, link for the lingerie (slight nsfw warning)

it started off innocent, as most things do. you were sixteen when you first felt the butterflies nestled deep in your stomach, the drop of your heart, the heat of your cheeks, only around him. you’d thought it was a natural reaction; after all, you’d known suna rintarō since, quite literally, forever, and you were a growing girl, hormones imbalanced and thoughts as confusing as ever. it was normal, completely ordinary to feel as nervous as you did whenever his hand so much brushed against yours, or whenever he’d barely glance your way to offer a small, teasing smile.

it meant nothing, of course. you were just a young girl, sixteen, desperate to lose yourself in some sort of fantasy. a silly crush on your brother’s best friend was nothing strange, and definitely inevitable.

it would go away.

you’re eighteen when the feelings don’t go away, and when they begin reshaping into more— impure thoughts. the more you see of him, the more hyperaware you grow of everything that he is. suddenly your eyes easily find the small strip of skin revealed when he stretches his arms up, and suddenly you can’t help but constantly think about the way he sits, legs spread so wide as if to... accommodate something. suddenly your thoughts always find their way back to the way he’d hugged you goodbye, arms squeezing you so tight to him, allowing you to feel every ridge and ripple of his muscles, and the way he had ruffled your hair and his hand, so large, so easily sinking into the strands— and you’re left wondering what else his fingers could do in your hair, to the rest of your body—

it’s bad. it’s really bad. every day you try and convince yourself it’s innocent, and every night you prove yourself wrong when you find yourself on your stomach, face buried in your pillow and teeth biting down on it, mouth dampening the cloth as your fingers rub harshly at your clit and sink into your dripping cunt— all with his name falling off your tongue as you heave and cry. every night you think about how much thicker his fingers are in comparison to yours, how much longer, how they’d feel inside of you, curling within you. you know he’s dexterous, insanely good with his hands. you’ve seen the way his fingers fly across a keyboard or tap urgently at a gaming console. you know it, and it in no way helps in calming your frustration.

it’s bad, of course, but you live with it. after all, he is in every way off limits. a lot older than you, and much more experienced, suna would have to lose his mind before he ever thinks of you the way you think of him. what would a girl like you have to offer a guy like him anyways? your shaky hands and clumsy mouth? your tight cunt that can barely fit two of your fingers? you’d only leave him unsatisfied, and leave yourself utterly humiliated.

worst of all, however, you can’t imagine how devastated, how betrayed, your brother would be if he’d caught you fooling around with his best friend.

so although you’re yearning to say fuck all and fuck him, you don’t, because it doesn’t make sense in the slightest for you to do so. you continue to make due with what shirtless image of him or that time he slept over and went commando, waking up at the same time you had and his — his dick was hard— you could see—

fuck.

you need to grow up.

as you sit with your back to your headboard, your knees bent up and swinging slightly, two simple knock erupt on your bedroom door. it’s late afternoon, the sun’s brightness dimming slightly, casting your room in an orange glow. in all honesty, it’s soothing.

looking up from your phone momentarily, you call out for the person knocking to come in, your eyes returning to your screen once more.

“hey.”

at the sound of the awfully familiar voice, your head snaps back up and you lock your phone, looking up with newfound excitement at the man standing at your doorway. “hi,” you return with a smile, sitting up and crossing your legs.

suna smiles back, walking into your room with one hand tucked behind his back. “your brother said i’d find you here,” he explains, walking towards you.

you quirk a brow, curiously and amusingly smiling as you ask, “whatcha got there?”

he’s quiet for a moment as he walks over to your side of the bed, maneuvering in a way that doesn’t reveal what he has hidden behind him. you twist around on your bed, leaning on your knees to face him properly, and it’s just when you lift up slightly to settle comfortably that he leans down, bends over to get close enough to whisper, “happy birthday, pretty girl.” he gives you not another moment to process how close his face is — how close his lips are to yours — before the hand behind his back comes around between you.

tucked in his hand is a medium sized bag, not related to any sort of brand, so you assume it’s a simple bag he’d gotten from a convenience store. that would really only mean one thing— that he’s gotten you more than just one gift. you can’t see what’s in it since there are colorful papers stacked within it, obstructing your view, but you’re still flustered at the mere thought he’d even considered to buy you a gift. it’s not unusual; suna, every year on your birthday, has gotten you a gift, yet it’s usually more so a gag gift than anything. some inside joke of yours, maybe he’d pay for your dinner, things like that. never a full on, thought out gift.

“you didn’t have to,” you say, settling back down on your knees and hesitantly taking the bag from him.

he waves you off, disagreeing. “course i did; you’re nineteen now.”

you roll your eyes. “wouldn’t eighteen be more special?”

“fine,” he decides, playfully taking the bag from your grasp and pulling it to him. “guess i’ll just give this to someone else then— maybe your mom—“

“suna!”

at your reaction, he laughs boisterously, and against all odds, you find yourself smiling too. quickly, you reach out for the bag again, pulling it back to you.

“open it when you’re alone,” he disclaims, almost as if in warning.

warily, you eye the bag.

“sure.”

you try to be quieter when unboxing suna’s gift, but the paper’s scrunching is just so damn loud. after cursing it out, you finally rid the bag of its first layer of paper, and are met with a scented candle and some lotion. basic, expected. there‘s a card there too, and when you open it, there’s a note in his messy handwriting, reading out a simple happy birthday— and a good couple of yens too. money, a candle, lotion.

so basic.

there’s still more paper beneath, but you don’t expect it to be for anything except decoration, not for—

what the fuck.

what the fuck.

What The Fuck?

your two hands dip into the bag, reaching out for the final gift, grabbing it by its straps and—

holy shit, he got you lingerie.

it’s so— sheer? you don’t think an inch of you will be properly covered, even with the lingerie on. it’s properly transparent, with only the intricate lace designs to modestly cover you. when you dig into the bag, you find the panties to match the bra and— well, it’s pretty, you can’t lie. there are dark, almost flowerlike designs all over, and it’s a deep black, nearly blue or green. there’s also a garter belt, but there aren’t any stockings in the bag to attach to the clips. maybe he’d expected you to take care of that?— ah no, you stand corrected. there are stockings.

fuck, he thought of everything didn’t he?

but more importantly, what the fuck does all of this mean?

burying the lingerie deep inside the bag again, and making sure to cover it up with the paper, thoroughly, you place the other gifts and the card back in and on top, before putting it aside on your bed.

and now, to gather your fucking thoughts.

you had to text him to thank him for the gift, obviously. but there was no way he’d accidentally misplaced the lingerie there. it was deliberately placed, with the way it was folded and tucked neatly, underneath an extra layer of paper above and beneath it? yeah, definitely on purpose. but— why? had he taken notice of your feelings towards him? was this his way of making fun or... reassuring you they were mutual?

god, what the hell are you thinking.

snatching your phone from your bedside table, you check the time.

2:01 a.m.

okay, everyone‘s bound to be asleep by now. hopefully. you eye the bag, so cautiously one would assume there’s some sort of killing machine within it. you contemplate. shake your head. no. the gears twist. yes.

no.

yes. no. yes. no—

fuck it, it’s yours anyways, isn’t it?

you snatch it loudly, rushing off to lock your bedroom door, then rushing to close the blinds, tightly, surely, then rushing to turn the lights off and turning the small lamp by your bedside on instead. what else are you meant to do with lingerie other than, well, put it on? it’s rational, you think, obvious.

it’s fine.

stealing one last, deep breathe, you dump the contents of the bag again, and pick out the lingerie.

it fits.

it fits perfectly.

the bra is snug against your chest, pushing at your breasts but not digging in uncomfortably. your nipples peak through what‘s revealed of the mesh, and when they stand perky and hard, you blame it on the fact that you‘re half naked. the garter belt wraps tightly around your waist, not squeezing to the point of discomfort and pain, but not loose that it’s a nuisance, and the clips that hang from it are attached to a pair of stockings that stop mid thigh, squeezing at the flesh. finally, a pair of panties rest on your cups, cupping your ass perfectly. it too is sheer, and god— you can see so much of you.

is this— what he would‘ve wanted?

you can’t deny that you do look good. it shows your figure off appealingly, and coupled with some dark lipstick, your messy hair, and the slightest smudge to your day’s eyeliner— would— would he have wanted you like this? all dolled up for him?

is this what suna likes?

doubting the fact that you’ll ever have the courage to put this set on again, you grab at your phone, clearing the area before your mirror, then sitting down at the edge of your bed. might as well enjoy it while it lasts, shouldn’t you? posing in the mirror, you appreciate the way you look, the way the dim lighting complements the atmosphere, the way the piece hugs your body and shows you off. you look so good.

so good— for him.

reveling in this surge of confidence, you snap a good amount of pictures, posing differently in each of them, taking them at different angles. your camera roll overflows with them, and as you fall back on the bed, hair splayed out on the mattress, you smile proudly at the pictures.

do you look good enough for him to see?

the thought strikes you suddenly; it tickles at the pit of your stomach, makes your knees bend and your toes curl.

should you?

the messenger app is open at the text messages between you and him before you can think, a picture of you uploaded and ready to send.

should you?

you tuck your lower lip between your teeth, mulling it over anxiously.

no, you most definitely shouldn’t.

quickly, you swipe out of the messenger app, and onto safari. porn it is.

you should‘ve turned the ac on. fuck, it’s hot.

3:10 a.m. 45 minutes since you’d put the lingerie set on and had your mini photoshoot, ten minutes since you’d started masturbating. everything’s still in place except for the garter clips, which have snapped off of your stockings at some point in the past few minutes, but you pay it barely any mind as your legs spread wider, one hand dipped beneath your panties, the other pressing hard against your mouth, trying to keep yourself quiet.

it’s not that you generally had a problem keeping down your noises. your home was constantly filled with people, and you’re almost always sexually frustrated at the most inconvenient times. this time, however, it’s different. it’s different because you’re wearing a lingerie set that suna picked out, that suna bought for you, that suna gave you himself. would he have wanted to watch you touch yourself like this, dressed up so pretty? or— would he have wanted to fuck you while—

shit, you’re gonna cum.

you let out a broken moan, bleeding into a desperate son, muffled barely your hand. your fingers fuck into your cunt faster, squelching lowly as you arch your back, pressing your palm harshly against your clit.

“ugh, hngh,” you whine, squeal, wrist aching. “fuck, rin— please—“

you’re so loud, shit, shit, shit.

beside you, your phone dings! loudly, alerting you of a message received, but you can’t stop, not when you’re so close. it dings again, and again, but you continue to ignore, chasing your own high so desperately, faster, faster, faster. the coil tightens, your body tenses, mind hazing over and eyes rolling back— so close, so fucking close.

“well aren’t you a doll.”

your eyes snap open, and you only manage one second to process who the fuck and what the fuck before your hips are trembling and twisting, and your legs are shaking so awfully as your back arches deep. the moment you hear his voice, so deep and clear, looming just by the edge of your bed where you lay spread, fucking yourself, you cum— and you’re convinced you have a humiliation kink. you didn’t cum because you’d simply been close— you came because you heard him catch you.

in your post orgasmic daze, you pant deeply, chest heaving, rising and falling rapidly as you try to catch your breath. your fingers pull back from your panties, falling to the bed, sticky and wet, while your other hand falls from from your mouth, drool and spit dripping from the corner of your lips.

“aw, you ruined the set.”

you sigh. “rin.” the way you say his name isn’t in a way that’s calling out for him, but neither are you scolding him nor brushing him off for teasing you. you’re just simply trying to process the fact that he’s here.

“i like it when you call me that,” he admits, and in a second he’s falling over you, hands bracing and steadying him beside your head, keeping himself hovering at a small distance. “why do you always insist on calling me suna?” he wonders, head tilting curiously.

blinking slowly, you breathe in, and out, and ask, “what are you doing here?”

above you, he shrugs. “you were the one that sent me those—”

immediately, you’re pushing him off you, sitting up all too quickly as you reach out for your phone. you shakily unlock it, typing in your password and opening the messenger app. he’s right— shit. you could’ve sworn you’d deleted the photo, because you’d explicitly decided just how stupid sending it would’ve been. 

well, look at you now. 

“that wasn’t— oh my god, i’m so sorry, i didn’t mean to,” you stutter, turning your body towards him once more, but avoiding his gaze, your body, only barely having just cooled down, heating up once more. 

“oh?” he tests. “was it not meant for me?” 

“no, i—“ 

he’s smiling all too wide for him to not be getting off on your embarrassment. at the thought of that, your eyes unintentionally snap up to him, to his crotch, where beneath his sweats is a bulge, and god, it’s like all those nights ago where you’d seen his dick through his sweats and he’s big, he’s so big—

“just where do you think you’re looking?” he sneers, hand all of a sudden gripping your chin, tilting your head back up and forcing you to finally, for the first time, meet his eyes. they’re dark, almost sinister, as they narrowly glare at you, begging you for explanation. 

your mind’s no longer clouded over, all pleasure dissipating from your veins, pathetic humiliation replacing it. “i’m sorry,” you mewl, eyes tearing up at the look on his face. of course he was disgusted. just as your stupid crush on him was natural, so was his reaction. “i’m sorry, please don’t tell anyone,” you beg, lower lip wobbling. 

his grip on your chin tightens as he furrows his brows. “tell anyone?” he questions. “about what?” 

had he not— heard you? 

he says your name, firmly, deeply, in a way that has you stifling your sobs and biting your bottom lip to stop its quivering. patiently, you wait for him to speak, to say anything, until finally, he asks, “do you want me to fuck you?” and your heart stops. “yeah?” he continues, his other hand reaching for your wrist, your hand, the same one that’s still sticky with the evidence of you. slowly, as he brings his lips closer to yours, fingers slipping so that he’s squishing your cheeks tightly, he leads your hand to his crotch, to where his dick is painfully hard beneath his sweats. your initial touch is featherlight, and he doesn’t fully press your hand to his clothed cock, but still, just the smallest, tiniest feel of him has the lust in your veins thrumming alive. “you think you’d look pretty—” he pauses, lips hovering by yours, eyes searching for any sign of hesitance or resistance, “sitting on my cock?” 

“i’m sorry,” you apologize again, but he swallows it by finally, finally, pressing his lips to yours. his lips are so soft, softer than you’d imagined and fantasized a thousand times over, as they press against yours, managing to pull the softest moan of surprise and pleasure from you. you’d forgotten, in your moment of shame, just how much you’d craved suna rintarō. just how often you thought about him, those same fingers gripping your chin to be buried inside of you, those pretty lips sucking on your tits and clit. “want you so bad,” you hiccup, kissing him back. “so bad.” 

he hums, amused, pulling back. licking his lips with a grin, as if tasting you, his hands leave you entirely, reaching for the hem of his shirt as he lifts it up, freeing himself of the piece of clothing. “don’t you think i know, sweetheart?” he teases, daringly. at the sight of your eyes widening, he nods with a dramatized serious expression, tutting as he adds, “so dirty, thinkin’ ‘bout me like that.” 

you whine again, hands lifting up to obstruct your face from his view as you fall back on the bed, body bouncing slightly. “stop,” you plead, not for him to pull back but for him to stop reminding you of just how wrong it is to feel the way you do. still, you spread your sticky thighs for him when he presses his hands to your knees, and you shiver at the feel of his fingers tickling at your skin. “i’m sorry.” 

“that’s okay, pretty girl,” he reassures you, faux sweetness dripping like honey off his tongue. he leans in, carefully slow, hands following the curve of his body and yours. “i want you too.” he smiles mischievously, leaning close once more. “so bad,” he mimics you, lips hovering right above yours before he kisses you once more. you want to pinch his arm for outright mocking you, because really, how infuriating can he be? but it’s impossible to want to do anything but desire him in every possible way at the moment, especially when he presses himself harder against you, hips slotting between your legs and clothed cock brushing against your dripping panties. 

“rin,” you plead, hands clawing at his back, grasping at his shoulders. god, his skin is so warm. 

“yes?” he drawls, wet lips kissing the corner of your mouth, trailing easily to your jaw, and down to your neck. patiently, he waits for you to speak. 

with a trembling voice, you ask, “be quick. please.” 

a little stunned, suna pauses his ministrations at your neck, but it’s barely for a second. because moments later, he’s grinning sinisterly into the crook of your neck, sucking hotly as he replies, “sure thing.” 

you do want to take your time. you want him to stuff his face between your legs and sink his fingers so deep inside of you. you want him to force your mouth down on him, want to bury your face in your lap till you’re choking and gagging on his cock. you want him to take his time stretching you for his cock before he sinks inside of you, letting you feel every single inch and ridge of his dick until he bottoms out. you wish. you wish. 

but you’re desperate, and needy, and frustrated, and most of all, you’re not even sure if this is real. you’re scared to blink and have him disappear all of a sudden. you’re scared to wake up with soaked panties and no gift from suna, no suna above you, hard cock pressing against your cunt, only the same suna from all these past years, the same suna you pine over at a distance, wanting but never having. 

so you whimper so quietly, “be quick,” again, because he’s still too slow for your liking.

his fingers grasp the sides of your panties, pulling as quick as he can, sliding them down your thighs, watching as the cloth rolls at the urgency as it slides past your knees, your shins, your ankles, legs lifted high up. at the final loop around your right ankle, as suna flings it off, he kisses at your ankle, gripping it tightly and using it to spread your legs. 

as your legs spread, your pussy, soaking from both your past orgasm and this unbelievable build up, spreads too, glistening and dripping for him. his eyes easily fall to it, and, with that same glint in his eyes, he grins, and licks his lips again. “wish i could have a taste,” he admits to you, shuffling closer and bending your legs closer to your chest with one hand. the other hand frantically pushes at the hem of his sweatpants, tugging it low, beneath his balls. “god, i’d have you sit on my face for hours.” 

he’s going to kill you. 

he’s going to fucking kill you. 

at his words, your cunt pulsates and clenches tightly, hole glistening as you moan. you hope he doesn’t notice, but he does, somehow, and he laughs, too fucking loud. “you liked that, hm? bet you’d look so cute,” he spurs you on, and your entire body trembles. 

you wish to say something, to find the courage to belittle him, degrade him, remind him that if you’re in the wrong for wanting this then so is he, but it’s so hard to find your voice. it’s like he’s stupefied you completely, reduced you to this dumb, wordless, horny mess. god, fuck, it’s embarrassing. you can only watch with wide, tearful eyes and quivering lips and trembling legs as he spits on his hand and fists his cock, quickly, getting himself all nice and slick for you. his cock is— he’s so big, fuck. if you’d been shocked feeling him beneath his sweats, well, your entire body’s rigid with anticipation now. 

just as promised, suna’s quick. with one hand pressing and steadying firmly at your lower stomach, right by your hip, he guides his cock to your cunt with the other, wasting no time by pushing in. no way, no way, no fucking way. 

how is he fitting? 

“ease up,” he orders sharply, forcing more of himself inside of you.

in response, you bring both hands up to your mouth, clasping them tightly above your lips. you remaining quiet is as impossible as ever, with the way he’s stretching you so wide for him, so you press down harder with your hands and throw your head back as he sinks in deeper, and deeper. 

“aren’t a good girl?” he praises sweetly, his other hand mirroring the one on your hip. he watches as you lower your head again, lifting it up slightly to look between the two of you at where he’s fully bottomed out, buried deep inside of you. “feel good?” he wonders, even if he knows the answer. your head falls back again and you nod with your eyes squeezing shut. “feel so full, yeah?”  you’re glad he’s speaking for you, because you doubt you could find your voice at the moment, even if you tried. 

you nod again instead, urgently, just as he pulls out until only his tip remains inside of you, before pressing back in quickly, thrusting into you suddenly. the sight of him above you is better than anything your mind has ever made up, hands squeezing at your hips tightly, both ensuring you keep your legs spread for him and keeping himself up, steadying himself as he fucks into you. his arms bulge and the muscles in his abdomen tighten and tense with every thrust. his chest, so flushed red; his hair, a little sweaty, a little messy; his brows, furrowed deep in concentration; his lips, wet and red, so fucking red, his tongue jutting out slightly as he picks up the pace, as he thrusts faster, harder. 

and best of all: the noises he makes. he’s shameless, fucking into you with abandon, moaning and grunting and whining for you, like he’d been the one yearning, pining, and not you. and, you suppose, with the way he’s fucking into you right now, that there might’ve been some truth in his words, that he’s wanted you just as bad, that this wasn’t some pity fuck— poor little girl, his best friend’s sister, sending him lewd and inappropriate photos because she’s so desperate, she can’t help but lust after him, every single day. 

his hands squeeze even tighter and he grunts, gritting his teeth sharply. “fuck, m’already close,” he grunts, and somehow, that makes your heart swell, pride deepening. “cunt’s so fucking tight, shit.” you’re making him say those words, you’re going to make him cum so quick, it’s you. you. 

when his hands crawl up to your breasts, squeezing and kneading through the bra, your hands fall to his forearms, gripping so tightly and digging your nails into his skin. “please, please, please, cum inside,” you beg, trying to be as quiet as you can. “please rin, please.” 

the bed creaks with the effort and speed of his thrusts, your body bouncing as his cock fucks deep into your cunt. his head bows in, smooth hair swinging forward as he curses. “are you— hm..hngh—sure?” he asks, and you nod so rapidly you feel dizzy, arching your back as much as you can to get him deeper inside of you. he’s a mess of curses and pants as he fucks you even faster, one hand remaining at your breast, grasping tightly, the other lowering to your wet clit, rubbing furiously, messily, clumsily. 

no words are exchanged as he desperately circles your clit with the rough pads of his fingers, squeezing and kneading your breast as he angles his hips, trying to get you to cum before he does. and just as as before, just as he’d caught you earlier, your body starts to tense up, shaking in anticipation as your orgasm draws closer and closer.

but there’s something— different. 

“rin!” you yell out, still half-whispering in an attempt to keep quiet. your eyes well up as you call out for him again, your orgasm unbearably close. “rin, feels weird— oh m—”

he only just barely manages to shove his hand against your face before you’re screaming, throat aching and scratching as you thrash beneath him. around his cock, your cunt spams and clenches down tightly, cum splashing and spraying all over his lower stomach and past his cock to his balls. you’re still thrashing, still squealing and screaming, and he’s spilling inside of you, filling you up impossibly, his cum splashing and dripping as it mixes with yours. 

“holy shit,” he breathlessly marvels, hips still rocking and grinding against yours as he helps the both of you ride out your highs. “you ever—“ he steals in a breath, steadying himself slightly, “—cum this hard?”

you’re sobbing, hiccuping and mewling and whining and crying, your body impossibly sensitive. tears stream freely down your cheeks as you sink into the mattress, feeling quite literally like jelly. slowly, suna pulls his cock out, trying not to get distracted by the way your cunt squeezes out some of his cum, and instead focuses on you, his hands cupping your cheeks softly. 

“hey, hey, eyes on me,” he encourages, kneeling above you as his thumbs brush at your tears. 

“m’sorry, ri— suna,” you heave, hands grasping his as your eyes water again, fresh tears joining ones that are yet to dry. 

“what for, sweet thing?” he asks gently. when you start to lift yourself up, he leans back, sitting on your bed, giving you space to get comfortable. he watches with worried eyes as you furiously rub at your eyes with your palms and the back of your hands, as the tears never stop flowing. shit, did he fuck up somehow? he calls your name again, cautiously reaching out for you. when you don’t reject his touch, his heart settles, just a little. “tell me what’s wrong?” he offers again, and you sniffle. 

“are you not disgusted?” you ask, voice wobbly and cracking. 

his brows furrow, and he cocks his head. “because you... squirted?”

you slap at his arm with a roll of your eyes. “no, suna.” 

“when did i lose my first name privileges?” he asks, dramatically shocked. again, you roll your eyes. well, at least the tears have ceased. softening slightly, suna sighs. he’s shit at this. he’s worse than shit at this. talking in general? awful. talking about his or someone else’s feelings? he’s sure the devil would be better comfort. still, he can’t just— leave you. he’s sure that would make things a thousand times worse.

and honestly, neither does he want to leave you. 

“i can’t read your mind, pretty girl,” he reminds you, and momentarily, you look away. 

until you inhale sharply, and meet his eyes again. “it’s okay...” you begin, trailing off as you attempt to gather your words, before continuing, “that i feel this way for you?” 

at your words, at the much needed clarity, suna sighs in relief. so that was it. “more than okay,” he promises you. 

you nod in understanding, before prodding further, “not weird?” 

he thinks it over, before answering. if he’s honest with himself, the most he’d felt with you was sexual attraction. he liked the way your tits bounced when you ran to greet him or the press of your ass against his crotch when you passed by him to get somewhere. he liked— he liked thinking about your body, your lips, your hands. it’s why he sent you that lingerie set, the one that sits so pretty on your body right now. not that he’d been expecting you to send him anything, and he’d even anticipated that you might feel disgusted, might throw it in his face and slap him too. but he knew you better. suna was observant. he knew more than he let on, more than anyone could imagine. if he hadn’t realized your eyes on him in the past years, he must be blind.

still, he’s not sure if it was ever more, or if it is more. but, he supposes, it’s not an unimaginable feat. he thinks that maybe, there is a chance. he likes you, sure; you make his belly twist and his heart jump. but is he going to risk leading you on? 

he doesn’t know. 

he settles for, “good weird.” 

your face is the definition of a question mark. “what the hell is good weird?” 

“your face is good weird,” he retorts. it’s a bad comeback, terrible actually, but his face is flushing a dark red, and he needs to get away. you’re flustering him and it’s pissing him off. 

“that’s so mean!” 

yeah, the devil would’ve been better comfort. he wasn’t around though, so he made sure suna had been sleeping over that night instead. 

worked in your favor didn’t it? 

end note; my godddddfhksfhbskjbsb ,,, sorry if you found mistakes this took me all day and im not assed to proofread <//3 but i hope you liked regardless!! 

#suna #suna smut #suna rintarou smut #suna x reader #haikyuu smut #suna rintarou x reader #rintarou smut #suna rintaro smut #suna rintaro x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x reader smut #hq smut #sal's thirst tag <3

[jean-does-not-have-a-horseface]

Necklace

A/n: I knooooooow I said I'll post it tomorrow but I couldn't wait. Eren is really something so I hope you all enjoy this. Feel free to look ✨disrespectfully✨ I don't know if I'm embarrassed or not by this pls

Pairing: Eren/ Reader

Summary: sometimes the backseat of a car is the ideal place to find yourself in, so long as it's with Eren Yeager

Tags/ Warnings: NSFW, 18+, car sex

"Aw fuck!"

The drizzling cold enticed any of the skin that you had exposed, piercing through teeny molecules of flesh with what felt like severely dangerous needles. The loud, panting breaths that escaped both you and your partner merged in sheer fog, yet they clattered with the windows around you, staining the transparent material of glass like heavy curtains.

A mewl like sound reached your ears, ringing through your head for the upteenth time this evening only as if to reward you for your hard work.

"Fuck! Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck!"

Eren's hand shot off of your head so fast that it felt like he had been burnt only to land to the window next to him. A big hand print was plastered onto the foggy window, letting a few droplets of moisture run onto the rubber frames of the car.

The kitten like lick you placed onto his head, picking up the much dreaded drop of precum sent his head colliding in such force with the head of the backseat that the hard foam inside its industrial cover bounced his head to the front.

A bold hand cupped onto his balls, kneading the smooth skin in a manner that was firm in all the right ways. Eren bit his lip at that, a low grunting moan leaving his throat after scratching onto his vocal chords. Leaning further down you accommodated more of him in your mouth, trapping his shaft on to your pallette with your tongue before letting him off with a loud pop, only to repeat the action again.

Eren couldn't help himself, his digits run through your hair, despite being frozen, locked into place, stroked your scalp tenderly as if he found it in him to move even an inch. But when his lower stomach was churching beyond a sane point he only found it fitting to gather all of his remaining energy to treat you with a kiss.

In a heartbeat, the flats of his palms came to your cheeks tagging towards his face until he managed to open his eyes into yours. Teal orbs that were so beautifully decorated with gray specs started back into yours, hazed with lust to the maximum. You spoke no word, instead, you plopped his member off your hot mouth with a loud pop, revealing your swollen, slick with his own lust lips to him before curling the line of your mouth into a small smirk.

The cold air licked over his shaft, sending shivers across his spine yet you acted as if you knew that it was bound to happen. Carefully you wrapped both of your hands around his member, giving firm squeezes across his length with your right while twirling your left onto his base, eager to trap as much blood as you could into his erection.

"Oh fuck that feels so fucking good."

"Mhm baby"

Eren clenched his teeth as he tugged on your face again, much more forcefully this time and you couldn't help but comply to his unspoken request.

Instantly, your lips were clashed onto his, your teeth colliding from the action but you chose to ignore it as you moved your mouth on his in your own accord. Eren pushed further into the kiss, his tongue darting out towards your bottom lip to order you to open your mouth for him, to which you simply complied without teasing back.

"Fuck!" Eren said for the thousandth time "you're killing me tonight princess!"

In response your thumb circled his slit, collecting all of his slick, gushing precum, playing with how tender or soft you pressed onto him with every circle.

His tongue danced inside your mouth again, exploring the salty spots of taste he had left behind, his nose sniffing as much air as he could managed to make his lungs function halfway decently.

"As much as I like kissing you," you said, pulling back from his lips before delving into them again "I want to fucking devour you right now."

The words spiralled into Eren's brain, sending a whirlpool of desire to his lower abdomen. With wide eyes he nodded, swallowing any remaining saliva into his mouth hard enough to fill the small space of his car with the sound.

"Look at you being such a whore for my cock." He whined.

In reality, he didn't know how he could find it in himself to stand tall to his usual nature of dominance, or rather, how he managed to put any effort into it. His hands eagerly let go of your face and rested between your messy (h/c) locks once again.

Hungrily, you returned to his member, running the flat of your tongue teasingly over his head before licking the rest of his underside. When Eren hissed, you rubbed his tip sloppily over your lips and gathered your sweet saliva in your mouth, deciding that it was time to warm him up once again.

The premative sound of his voice enticed you, causing a strangle series of bubbles to form into your abdomen at the thought of what affect you could have at him. You were so hitched over the fact that you could make him melt and mewl under your touch that it excited you to no end.

As your heart sped up though, your jaw remained restless, opening eagerly to accommodate him once again. Your tongue flattened as you grabbed the base of his member right under his balls, bobbing him slowly into your mouth.

Eren's eyes watered as he watched you, his teeth digging into the chapped flesh of his lips so hard that he thought he could taste the piercing iron taste of blood, but he paid it no mind; how could he? How could he, when he felt so hang up on your total conquer of his body.

After a few thrusts you popped him out of your mouth, a longing haze in your eyes as you fixated them into his. You felt him burning holes into your orbs, your heart spreading up at the sight of him unravelling before you in such way. Your legs almost rubbed together to relieve some of the tention you yourself were feeling.

Eren seemed to notice, despite the vertigo that was written into his rich orbs, because a hand came to slightly squeeze onto your panty clad buttock. Four long digits wiggled there way under the line of your underwear, working vigorously to simply shove the clothe to the side as you finally decided to take a smooth ball into your mouth, giving it a little suck and a simultaneous long lick.

"More" Eren panted. "Take the other one too, don't stop jerking me baby."

While you were pleased with the loud sound Eren let out you wanted to stay victorious over your affect on him before delving into your own pleasure, though Eren begged for the opposite. Finally a frozen finger that had found its way through your folds managed to launch onto your clit with the perfect amount of pressure, leaving you vulnerable to let out a mewl of satisfaction.

With much determination focused on the movements in your hands you began to stroke him in a swirling motion, once again flattening your tongue as you felt him thrusting his hips slightly into your open mouth.

Eren's hand wiggled further against you, pushing your bottom into the air as he laid his palm flat against you. The sweet friction left your hips shaking, urging you to rub yourself just to prompt the slightest increase of pressure from his hand. Eren eagerly gave into your neediness, delving his middle finger just in the opening of your entrance while his thumb came to press onto your clit steadily.

When it happened, you shrieked, your chest heaving as your knees dug into the wide seat of the car with force, immediately sending a smirk of triumph onto Eren's face. Your moans were muffled by his member, the deep grunt you had wanted to let out transforming into a pleasuring vibration that spread all over him.

"Don't stop baby, I'm gonna come!" Eren's breath hitched in his throat as he spoke, his voice barely audible as it struggled to reach your ears.

You pressed on him, skillfully maneuvering the screw of your hands on him as you rubbed just below his tip, sending numerous hisses to come out of his mouth. His grip on your hair tightened while his hand momentarily stopped it's torment over you. Happy that you realised he was focusing on his release, you bobbed your head faster on him, reaching out two fingers to press just underneath his balls.

The pressure on the spot made Eren moan and widen his eyes, an inaudible curse leaving his mouth as he pushed his hips towards you further. With fast movements you stroked him up and down, your own hand colliding with your mouth, merely spreading the slickness of your drool over his whole length.

"Keep going like that and I'm going to come in your mouth."

"Mhm" you chuckled.

"That's it" Eren squirmed "Im gonna-"

Eren's thighs turned into stone, his whole body frozen as a strong ribbon of his release exploded into your mouth in spurts. His breath paced, his heart heaped into his chest, his eyes dilated as his head started feeling lighter that usual.

You got off of him, bringing a soft hand on his thigh to brush upon his hot skin, tenderly caressing pools of skin here and there. You leaned in softly, placing mellow kisses on places where your fingers couldn't caress, eliciting wondrous sounds off of Eren.

Finally, your eyes were fixed on his again, gleaming in unshed specs tears. Even though Eren's eyebrows were raised in agonising pleasure they furrowed dangerously as he kept staring at you. You felt your stomach tighten upon his gaze, a new, intense shock of arousal washing through you.

A needy gaze was all he needed to send him growling like a wild animal against you. Eren pushed past your face, bringing his face impossibly close to your ear. His breath ghosted over the spot, sending ripping shivers on your nape as he dragged his tongue in the tormentous manner across your lobe.

Nevertheless, in a moment where you felt your heart start speaking again you brought your forehead to Eren's forearm, eager to finally allow yourself to catch your breath. Looking around, you noticed how that hand print on the window had been covered with fog once again, your hand giving a small squeeze on Eren's bicep as you rubbed your lips over his silky smooth skin. His thumb rubbed a single soothing circle on your back before giving your butt a small prompting slap and, for a moment, you were sure you heard him chuckle with his own antics

"Time to get your shirt off babe." You heard Eren call as you cooed into his arm further.

You simply smiled knowingly in response. This was definitely going to be a long night.

Taglist: @thethyri @ackermans-freedom-inc @melancholicmonologue @nobody-knows-anymore @levisbrat25 @berrijam

#eren x reader smut #eren x reader #eren yeager x reader #eren jaeger x reader #eren jeager #eren yeager #eren jeager x reader #eren jaeger #eren smut #eren #eren aot #aot #attack on titan #snk #shingeki no kyojin #snk x reader #aot x reader #aot smut #x reader #aot season 4 #snk season 4 #shingeki no kyojin x reader #shingeki no kyojin imagine #snk imagines #snk smut

[buck-nialled]

Domestic Bliss - N. Horan Imagine

NOTE: hey i know it’s been a hot minute since i wrote for niall so i just want to say thanks for everybody’s undying support for all of my writing and everything i put out on tumblr. it truly means the world <3 and this is just a few domestic fluffy couple moments between you and nialler. 

TAGLIST: @fedorable-killjoys​ @isisferreira27 @niallberry​ @swiftmendeshoran​

“Well, what do we have here?” Niall’s voice, still gravelly from his flight-induced sleep the night before seems to enter the kitchen before his body can. You recognize his hands though, and their rough texture against your hips as soon as his back collides with your front. “Is the light of my life awake...before me?” He teases, introducing his smirking lips to the crook of your neck for the first time that day as his arms act as a belt for your middle. He was not a morning person by any means, but you are guilty of sleeping in much longer than the average person on most days.

“Don’t act too surprised. You were practically stumbling last night when I got you from the airport.” You lean back against his shirtless frame with a content sigh, going on about you needing to undress him the night before in consequence of his fatigued state.

“Right, I was totally out of it.” He spoke, trying to cover up the giddy feeling blooming an orchard in his chest. When you turned away from the mug of steaming brown to meet his eyes, though, the mischief dancing through his cerulean rings was transparent.

Scoffing, you say “you just wanted my hands all over you.” An unstoppable beacon that was Niall’s grin appeared as your mouth dropped open. Through his reply, he finds it apropos to grip your warm skin--hidden beneath one of his t-shirts--and bring you to flush against his figure.

“Can you blame me?” He gives you no time to reply to the rhetorical question as his lips are pressing against yours moments later in a small smooch. “Haven’t had them on me in months…” As he mumbles excuses through the collision of your lips’, some unreleased tension exits his body through a blissful sigh just from the simple touch of your hands climbing up his chest and gently clutching his shoulders.

“You’re lucky you were jet-lagged, Irish.” You stressed, before turning back to the mugs on the counter. “Coffee?”

His smile was unrelenting and evergrowing as a hand leaves your waist in exchange for the cup’s handle. “I knew there was a reason I kept you around.” Once again, your mouth falls open in offense as he pushes a cheeky giggle from his throat. “I’m only kidding ya, petal,” he brings the porcelain to his lips while he murmurs, taking a sip. “Damn, you make a good cup, though,” he praises and plants a kiss against your forehead.

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

“Mm,” you hum, cracking open your eyes. As soon as the sunlight enters them, you nearly jolt awake and turn to face the clock on the bedside table. A much later time than you anticipated stares back at you as a gasp exits your dry throat.

“Ni, wake up! We slept in!” You frantically jostle the snoozing body beside you, still tangled in the sheets and dreaming the day away. “Come on! You have a meeting and I have a presentation and, oh god, I never laid out clothes!” You groaned, swinging the sheets off of your nearly naked bodies. When Niall suggested the two of you fuck the day away the night before through your moaning, post-orgasmic hazes you did not want today to be your target. Niall whines when the cold breeze meets his boxer-clad frame and shivers, endeavoring to keep his eyes closed and yank the comforter back over his body.

“No!” You smack his hand away. “We have to get up. We’re already running late.” You pant, rushing off of the mattress and to the bathroom to frantically make yourself presentable. Once the sunlight and all of its golden glory make itself apparent to Niall’s skin, he too was racing behind you. After sharing the sink to brush your teeth and wash your faces, there was still a big step to tackle.

“Clothes,” you whisper. “We need clothes. I couldn’t even decide what to wear last night!” You yank clothing hangers back and forth on the rod in distress as nothing seems to be appearing worthy of today’s presentation.

“I have an idea.” Niall pipes up, sending you a devious smile.

Moments later, your heart had found a regular pace as you skimmed through the various articles of clothing in Niall’s closet and drawers. You must admit, dressing your boyfriend was a far better way to pass the remainder of your morning than picking and choosing clothes for yourself.

“Ready?” He asks, prior to turning around and facing you. A jumpsuit he had unearthed from your wardrobe minutes before was being held up by one of his hands, alongside a pair of heels occupied by his other set of fingers.

“Wow...I don’t even remember having this.” You whisper, taking the fabric into your hands with a proud smile. “Well done.”

“Here, step in.” He offers, taking a knee and opening the top of the jumpsuit for you to step into. Slowly, the fabric glides against your skin as he maneuvers it up your form and slides the sleeves to meet your shoulders. He does the same with your heels, strapping them against your ankles without being asked before standing to admire his styling choices, and also his choice of lover.

“Well?” You quirk an eyebrow.

“Well, I liked you better naked, but…” your hand smacks against his chest at the comment, leaving him a chuckling mess. “You look beautiful,” He tucks a piece of your hair behind your ear and takes your chin between his thumb and forefinger. “I’m dating a walking angel.”

With red cheeks, you press a grateful kiss against his stubbled cheek. “My turn.” As you dress Niall, top to bottom, he stares down at you with admiration swimming in his eyes. After zipping, buttoning, and belting his dress pants to him, you beam proudly at your work.

“This morning was productive if I do say so myself.” Niall laughs as you wipe your hands together, before setting them against your kiss.

“The perfect way to start a busy day. Now, go kill it at that presentation.”

“Go write a killer song.” You reply, sparing a few more seconds of your bustling to press a kiss against his lips.

“I will. And I’ll play it for you later.”

“Promise?”

“Only if you show me your presentation later.”

“You got yourself a deal, Irish. I’ll see you tonight. Love you!” Blowing a quick kiss to him upon your exit, he shouts just before the door shuts behind you, “Love you too, petal!”

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

Blowing out a sigh through your lips, you shut the front door to your house that both your and Niall’s family had just exited. “That was fun.” You sigh, leaning back against the door, exhausted from preparing and hosting dinner for such a large number of people.

“Yeah...so,” he turns to face the large pile of dishes stacked in the sink, still with remnants of chicken and pasta sauce spread amongst them, “dishes…” As his eyes train back on yours, the two of you shout simultaneously.

“NOT IT!” Again, the two of you were in-sync as your fingers raise to touch the tips of your noses.

“I was first!” The two of you shout collectively, before sighing in defeat.

“Alright, clearly this speaking thing isn’t working. Let’s just handle this like the mature adults we are.” You bring your hand down and approach Niall.

“Great idea.” He nods before the two of you were raising your fists into the air.

“Rock, paper, scissors, shoot!” Shouts of impatience leave the two of you upon the sight of your hands, both in the formation of “rock” hanging midair.

“Again.” Miraculously, the next five rounds of this game ended with you and Niall tying.

“Alright, forget this...I’ll just do them.” You volunteer, starting towards the sink full of dishes.

“No, that’s not fair. I’ll help.” Niall offers, following your stride to the sink and helping you gather dish soap and clean rags.

“Really?” Raising your brows in his direction, almost in disbelief.

“Yeah, but I’ll dry.” At the same time, you insist, “You dry.” In an instant, all of the desperation and refusal to wash dishes dissipated into laughter that echoed and floated around the kitchen.

“How long have we been together? We could’ve been doing dish duty together the whole time.”

“I don’t know but I’m so glad to be with a woman who prefers washing over drying.”

“I’m just glad to be with you.” A sincere smile crawls onto your lips as you study Niall’s face with fondness. He reciprocates the same, tender stare while he looks down at you. A smile also graces his lips.

“I’m glad to be with you, too.”

#Niall Horan #niall james horan #niall horan imagines #niall horan imagine #niall horan fanfic #niall horan fanfiction #niall horan blurb #niall horan oneshot #niall horan fluff #niall horan smut #niall horan angst #niall horan x reader #niall horan x y/n #niall horan x you

[peppersonironi]

Duke Thomas VS The "Good Child" Stereotype Chapter 2

Next chapter for my Duke Thomas Big Bang fic is up!

(Once again, a hearty thank you to my betas @queerbutstillhereand @theycallme-ook)

Read On Ao3

It was four am on a Friday morning, a week after Duke had decided he’d had enough of Bruce’s - and the other’s - incorrect opinion of him.

It was so early in the morning, that the main group of bats had been trickling back from patrol over the past hour or so. Stephanie and Cassandra had arrived first, followed by Jason ten minutes later. Then Tim had gotten back from his route with Harper, and Kate and Bette had stopped by for a bit (but eventually left for their own homes). Dick came home next, and Bruce had returned last with Damian.

Everyone was in varying states of winding down, with Stephanie at one end of the spectrum wearing silk pajamas, a fluffy robe which Duke was sixty-seven percent sure was Bruce’s, and bright pink bunny slippers Duke was positive were Dick’s. On the other side, Bruce hadn’t even pulled off his cowl, and was sitting down in front of the Batcomputer to work on a case.

Though Duke thought that Tim deserved his own category, dressed in a strange combination of disco track suit and kevlar body armor, and was hunched over three cans of energy drinks and a quart jug filled with espresso shots.

Duke leaned down to double check that his boots were laced up - one time he hadn’t, and had then proceeded to trip and fall into a garbage pile. Not. Fun.

He looked up, however, when Bruce clicked open a case file. So did everyone else, as if drawn by some invisible force.

They all clearly saw as Bruce hovered his mouse over a link which had been typed in sometime while the big bat had been away. The only hint to what it could be was the note reading “New Evidence.”

Bruce grunted in what for anyone else would be an exclamation of curiosity and went to click the link.

Which clearly went to YouTube.

In unison, all the bats’ eyes widened in realization. You see, in a family such as this one, pranks abounded. So they all had painstakingly memorized that series of letters and numbers.

They all knew what it meant.

Suddenly, the Batcave lit up with the dancing form of one Rick Astley. It was everywhere. On the several large monitors that made up the Batcomputer. The various screens spread across the caves. Everyone’s phones somehow were affected. As well as the X-Ray machine in the med bay, which was showing a skeleton dancing.

Bruce jumped up, rage full on his face. “Who did this? Make it stop!”

No one answered, all too frozen in shock at what had happened.

“Who…” Dick whispered from beside Jason, “Who would be that brave?”

“Yeah,” Jason whispered back, “Rick Rolls were banned at the 2015 family reunion after you played it two hundred and thirteen times in a row.”

Dick grinned, “those were good times.”

The two eldest boys began to bicker, Jason complaining that Rick Rolls were a part of the war crimes banned by the Geneva Convention, and Dick saying he “liked it: so there.”

Meanwhile, the song was reaching the chorus, and the other bats finally began to react. The three girls were dancing on top of exercise equipment, popping bottles of sparkling cider - or was that champagne? For their own sakes, they should hope it’s the former - they had pulled out of what seemed to be thin air.

Damian was in the corner, trying to get Titus to dance to the music - though he glanced around every so often to make sure that no one was noticing his moment of fun.

Tim was still nursing his collection of drinks like an alcoholic nursed a bottle.

Bruce was practically foaming at the mouth by that point.

“This is NOT FUNNY!”

That, of course, made everyone just start laughing harder. In the corner, Steph started to do the macarena completely off-tempo from the music. Cass seemed to be chugging the cider that Harper was pouring into her mouth.

Just then the holographic training simulations lit up, and Rick Astly began making his way across the cave, dancing all the way.

Bruce glared up at the semi transparent form of the singer, as if trying to force him into submission.

“T-pose to assert dominance!” Jason called, cupping his hands around his mouth.

“Yeah, that’ll totally work, B! Trust us!” Dick called as well.

Bruce took a moment to turn his head and glare at the two former Robins, who only smiled like the angels they clearly thought they were.

The image was not aided by the two giant stuffed swordfish just pulled from Jason’s utility belt.

“En guarde!” He cried, and tossed the one in his left hand at Damian, who had been trying to reassure his dog that the giant man wasn’t real.

The thirteen year old screeched, but caught the four foot long fish by its fin.

“This is animal abuse!” He cried.

“It’s not abuse if it’s dead!” Jason countered, and attacked the youngest bat with a passion.

As the duel progressed, Cassandra tried to raise her hand and gurgle out a bet on who would win, but began to choke on the liquid.

Harper cursed as she tossed away the sixth bottle of cider and tried to give Cass the heimlich maneuver.

Dick, meanwhile, pressed a button on one of the many consoles spread around the cave, and several stripper poles came out of hidden storage via hydraulics. He grabbed the nearest one, and began to dance.

“I THOUGHT I DISABLED THOSE?!” Bruce bellowed, as Dick began a twirl.

Stephanie, however, didn’t seem nearly as dismayed at the sight of the poles. She herself smacked a button next to her, and several disco balls dropped down from among the stalactites to join the fun. She then began to morph her macarena into an epic macarena. A few flips here, and a few pantomiming choking your enemies there. And a whole lot of randomly throwing glitter bombs at, well, everywhere.

But especially at the nearest authority figure.

Damian tripped over a bucket during his fight - apparently left over from Alfred’s earlier cleaning spree - and the soapy liquid spilled across the floor.

But, of course, them being the bats, Alfred didn’t use normal soap.

Huge bubbles began to farm from the liquid, the longest almost three feet in diameter, and rise up to the cave’s ceiling. The suds spread around, eagerly began to mingle with Stephanie’s glitter.

A solitary bubble, relatively small, floated over to Bruce’s head, and popped on one of his cowl’s ears. He was not amused.

*****

Five minutes later, everyone was lined up next to the Batcomputer with heads bowed in either shame or disappointment.

Bruce walked up and down the row, the perfect imitation of a drill sergeant. His glare matched as well.

“This is an outrageous breach of protocol,” he was saying, “the Batcomputer is not a toy, nor something to use for your own amusement. It is a serious tool-”

“Then why’s it called the Batcomputer?”

Bruce froze and whirled on Dick, who had chosen that inopportune moment to speak up.

“Because you were nine years old and saying no to you would have gotten me a meltdown.”

“It seems to me, Bossman,” Stephanie began, tenting her fingers in an attempt to act serious (the effect was strange combined with her bathrobe and slippers) “That you are perfectly happy to let Dick get away with things. But in this situation, with women present, you are strangely cold. This shows blatant sexism on your part and in this essay I will-”

“That’s enough, Stephanie.” Bruce cut off as a round of snorts and giggle erupted from the group of bats.

“You do realise that no one here is going to speak, right?” Jason asked, “You did teach us to resist torture. And - pardon my french, Alfred - but you are no fucking way close to the level of torture I’ve gone through. Namely waking up to Batcow sitting on top of me.”

“Are you commenting on her weight?” Damian demanded, glaring daggers at Jason.

“I said no such thing.”

“ Boys .” Bruce demanded, rubbing his temples. “Jason is right - not about Batcow’s weight - but I’m not going to get any of you to talk willingly.” He paused and made eye contact with every single bat present, trying to reach into their souls.

“Therefore,” he continued slowly, “I’m giving you one last chance. Otherwise: No one gets cookies from Alfred for two months. ”

The shock was immediate. Alfred’s cookies, of all kinds, were worth more than gold in the Manor. The ability to not have them? And for two months? Bruce truly was a cruel hearted tyrant if he was willing to go to such lengths.

Duke gulped.

“Fine, then.” Bruce said simply when no one answered. “I guess we’ll just have to check the security footage of the Cave.”

Why didn’t Bruce think of that earlier? He clearly wasn’t trying to give the kids an easy way out.

Bruce stalked over to the computer and began to furiously type at the keys, pulling up the footage for the past few days. The group watched in a tense silence as Bruce rifled through the multiple recordings, searching for the culprit.

“AHA!” Bruce grunted, upon finding a specific time stamp. There was a figure emerging from the shadows. He paused and then slowed down the video so they could all see who it was.

There were several gasps as the figure came into the light, looked around, and made his way to the computer. They had shown their face, not even bothering to hide.

Everyone whirled to Duke, then back to the screen.

“No way,” Harper whispered under her breath.

Because the person on the footage, who was now adding the link to the case file and hooking up bluetooth speakers, was Duke Thomas himself.

Bruce’s eye twitched.

There was a general consensus among the resident vigilantes in the cave at that time: Duke wasn’t going to live to tell the tale.

Duke felt uneasy under their scrutiny, unsure of what to do. This was his plan, after all. To be seen differently. But so far the lack of accusations or uproarious debate was disconcerting.

He looked up at Bruce, awaiting his reaction. Bruce didn’t meet Duke’s eyes.

“Hrn,” he grumbled angrily instead and whirled on Tim. Said teenager was barely standing up straight - well, he was leaning on Steph heavily - and blinked wearily around the cave. He didn’t seem to understand what was going on.

Bruce’s eyes narrowed for a long moment before he whipped around and furiously began to mess with the playback settings on the footage. Everyone stood still, not daring to move while Bruce grumbled under his breath.

Finally Bruce straightened and pointed dramatically toward the screen.

“There,” he grunted out, and everyone subconsciously leaned a little bit forward.

They didn’t see anything different from before, though Bruce’s finger did bring their attention to one of the bats that flew across the upper left hand corner. A few seconds of footage later, and yet another bat flew across in a similar pattern. Not exactly the same, so it wasn’t really out of the ordinary. Lord knows the bats would randomly fly out and into their hair much more than necessary.

“Note how the figure is disturbed when each bat flies across the screen,” Bruce said in the same voice he used when talking about a case - cold, impersonal, and yet like he was giving a college lecture.

No one spoke, not really sure what to say. I mean, what was the correct course of action when your father figure suddenly refuses to accept reality, and is grasping at the most unlikely of straws?

“I know this technique anywhere,” Bruce said more to himself than the line of vigilantes. He turned, completely passing over Duke, and set his sights on Tim.

“Timothy Jackson Drake,” Bruce growled, stalking forward, “What possessed you to doctor this footage?”

Tim didn’t respond, only mumbled incoherently and leaned onto Steph some more.

Bruce was furious, bearing his teeth as he spat out his response: “Now is not the time to use the anti-torture training I’ve given you.”

Tim nodded slowly and draped his arm on top of Stephanie’s head.

“You should know better than this,” Bruce began, “pranks are strictly forbidden in the cave, as you very well know. And in addition, I taught you better at framing than this. You choose a victim that could actually be considered as a suspect. Trying to pin the blame on Duke was your undoing - he would never do something like this.”

Duke cringed slightly, as the rest of the bats glanced Duke’s way. All were a mix of confusion and awe.

This … was not how this was supposed to go. No, screw that. That was an outrageous understatement. Things ‘not going according to plan’ would have been Jason randomly blaming Harper for the mess on no grounds - or maybe Bruce not bothering to check the cameras, opting instead to just ground everyone.

But blatantly ignoring evidence and then lecturing someone completely unrelated? No, this was too much. It couldn’t be real. This was some kind of scare-tactic wasn’t it? Duke was too much of an adrenaline junkie to be bothered by the usual ‘hanging upside down over a busy road’ schtick.

But then Bruce moves on to possible culprits Tim could have chosen instead - did he seriously think that Ra’s Al Ghul would Rick Roll them?! - and Duke lost hope.

“Uhh, Bruce?” Duke asked after the ten minute mark.

The Dark Knight turned and faced Duke.

Duke scratched the back of his neck. “Do you think I could head out for patrol now? It’s getting light out, and since you’ve clearly got this covered… I thought I could scoot out?”

Bruce was nodding before the end of Duke’s request. “Yes, go. I’ll deal with Tim. You don’t need to worry - you won’t be blamed. It clearly wasn’t your fault.”

Duke nodded slowly, and covered his disappointment with a small smirk. “Thanks, B.”

He jogged over to the edge of the platform and dropped down beside his Signal-Cycle. A routine mounting, a quick putting on of his helmet, and he was off.

Duke was scowling as he left, wondering what on earth had gone wrong.

*****

“Did you see that smirk?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Did he blame Tim on purpose?”

“How, though? To make such a tactical move -”

“It would have taken a shit ton of planning.”

“Can we get back on the fact that Bruce was fooled?”

“Or who fooled him?!”

#duke thomas #duke thomas big bang #batfam #fanfiction #my fanfiction #bruce wayne #stephanie brown #dick grayson #jason todd #tim drake #harper row #cassandra cain #damian wayne #batfamily

[what-the--curtains]

Not a Piece of Art

Part 2/5 - The Dinner Party

(Javier Peña x f!reader)

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Summary: You’re invited to the targets house for dinner, will they see through your act? Or can you keep your hatred hidden for long enough to get the information you need?

Authors note: Thank you for all the lovely comments and likes and reblogs💕❤️! I’ve been feeling kinda bleh recently so I apologize for it taking so long and I’m also sorry if it’s crap but I’m pretty happy with the story line (also there’s gonna be a follow up to this series for sure). Anyways hope y’all are keeping well and thank you for reading!!

Warnings: THIS STORY WILL BE 18+ starting next chapter (minors DNI) . For now it’s just swearing and allusions to abusive relationships

Word count: 5.7k

Tagged: @trash-dino-5000 @diogodxlot @agingerindenial

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You watch the moving trucks hired by the DEA to facilitate your luxurious, but imaginary lifestyle roll up the driveway one after the other. Each truck opened to reveal piece after piece of expensive furniture better suited to the silver screen than your real life adding to the dysphoria you'd been feeling over the past few days. You were now living and enjoying someone else's life, a fact that left an uneasy feeling in the pit of your stomach. Though the anxiety you were feeling was likely due to the very real threat of being murdered, and not the lavish home decor you were now in possession of. If there was one thing to be thankful for it was your close proximity to the water, you’d been landlocked for too long. Peace washes over you as you watch the water break against the cliff face. You turn towards the target's house gazing up to the balcony on the third floor. The doors are swung open and a woman in white stands with her arms outstretched on the railing, standing like a queen overseeing her kingdom. You were being watched. You lift your hand up to block out the sun, hoping to get a better look at her, but she's gone by the time you do.

Noticing the overwhelmed look plastered on your face as the trucks arrived Javier decided he would take on directing the movers. Only calling for your help when furniture needed to be placed, as interior design was admittedly not in his wheelhouse.

“You know where that goes?” Javi asks the movers, lighting up a cigarette and placing it between his lips. The movers nod as they lug the enormous mattress inside. He turns scanning the landscape to locate your whereabouts, you'd been all over the place this morning. Whether you were playing into the spacey artist trope or the pressure was finally getting to you he wasn’t really sure. Either way he wanted to make this transition as easy as possible for you, and considering you weren't a field agent it was also his responsibility to keep you safe. He spots you near the walkway that leads down to the ocean, a gentle breeze blows in from the beachfront causing the linen dress wrapped around you to part just above your thigh. There's a relaxed smile etched on your face, resulting in a calm that Javi had never witnessed emanating from you before.

An arm snakes around your waist and you lean into it for a moment before remembering who it belonged to causing your body to instinctively retract. You push back off his chest and watch as Peña shakes his head in quiet frustration before turning back towards the moving trucks. You chew your lip, you knew you had to do better at acting the part you’d been ordered to play. If you didn’t this mission would be over before it even started. Memorizing your alias was easy enough as was adopting the british accent, but acting in love with Peña. That was where it all fell apart, but if there was one thing you knew for sure it was that you did your best work under pressure. You swallow hard as the last few trucks slip away down the driveway. The notion of being left alone with Peña for the first time was an anxiety not even the ocean could sooth. With a deep breath you will your legs to move towards your new home which is currently looking more like a cell. You walk by Peña who snuffs out his cigarette in the dirt before following you inside.

“Why would two people ever need a house this big?” he asks, closing the door behind you, his voice bouncing off the marble walls.

“So they never have to see each other.” you offer, running your hand along the granite countertops.

“That felt targeted,” he says, watching your hands movement intently.

“It wasn’t, at least not intentionally. You notice how this whole back wall is glass? Weird design choice” you remark, trying to open up a civil dialogue with him.

“Probably built it so they can keep tabs on the neighbours” he offers coming up behind you, standing a little too close for comfort.

“Why build a house across from yours if you're trying to be undetected?” you ask, turning around nearly colliding with his chest, huffing at the inconvenience before maneuvering around him.

“If you were a federal agent and a big empty house was available for a stake out would you take it or would you go for the rocky beach or bug infested forest? Keep your enemies close, they expect the feds to show up here, so they make it easy to monitor” he explains, in a surprisingly uncondescending way.

“Hadn’t thought about that” you admit.

“Don’t teach you everything in those fancy buildings with ivory towers” he chuckles, as he sits down on one of the couches.

“Never claimed that they did” you retort “did they bring any food in?” you ask, moving towards the fridge.

“Not sure, figured the kitchen was your domain, can you bring me a beer” Javi says, the subtle misogyny fueling the rage simmering inside you.

“I’m sorry what exactly did your last servant die of?” You snap back.

“What? We’re supposed to keep up appearances” he responds calmly from the couch, feet crossed on the coffee table that cost more than your yearly rent.

“And what exactly is my appearance supposed to be? The domesticated housewife who brings you beer, cooks you dinner and sucks you off?” you respond, rage finally boiling over.

“Well I hadn't asked for that last one yet but...”

“Unbelievable! You can cook for yourself Peña. I'm not your wife and im definitely not your fucking mother”

“You certainly nag like her. Seriously a beer, it's not asking much” he demands.

“You know...” you say opening the fridge and pulling out a beer walking it over to him “I don't know if you’ve heard...” you continue, nudging his feet off the table with your calves as you place the beer down “of these amazing things...” you say, kneeling down, parting his legs and rising up between them, making eyes at him as you slowly run your hands up his thighs. “Called legs!” you state slapping your palms down on his thighs smiling as the growing smirk on his face quickly disappears “You should try using them sometime” you finish standing back up, grabbing the beer from the table and heading back into the kitchen to cook yourself, and only yourself, dinner. You'd managed to stay out of each other's hair for the rest of the evening, but another blowout ensued when it came to figuring out your sleeping situation.

“C'mon you don't have to be such a...” Javi exclaims calmly

“Such a what Peña?” you ask watching him bite his tongue “No please finish that sentence. I’d love to hear what thought provoking and truly innovative ideas you have about me.” You retort

“Just get in the bed” he pleads, lifting up the sheets and motioning his hand towards it.

“With you? I'd rather be shot” you state.

“Keep acting like this and your wish may just get granted sweetheart” he says through gritted teeth, the petulant show you were putting on wearing thin.

“Newsflash Peña! They can’t see us in here, so I think I'll take my chances on the couch” you assumed it was far enough away from the windows to keep you from prying eyes.

“Your fucking funeral” he shouts down the hall, watching you storm off with an armful of sleepwear you'd brought from home. The sleepwear was not flattering nor did it fit into the rich aesthetic you were currently upholding, but at this point, you didn't care. You'd chosen the oversized band shirt and basketball shorts because they hid your body away from prying eyes. Not that Peña would be looking, you hardly qualified as his type. You flop down on the couch rolling your eyes at the beer bottles he’d left there, likely for you to clean up. Irritated you fall asleep, cursing the couch for being inexplicably the most uncomfortable thing you'd ever had the misfortune of sitting on.

Your woken as the doorbell sounds throughout the house startling you so badly that you fall off the couch with a loud thud. “Shit!” you curse realizing it was likely the target. As quick as you can, you strip off your pyjamas and throw on the robe you had snatched in a hurry last night, only just realizing it was practically sheer. You yawn as you open the door to a beautiful woman who you immediately recognize as the target's wife, Helena. Presumably the same woman who you had seen on the balcony yesterday. She looked every bit a billionaire's wife with her hair neatly styled, 6 inch heels and perfect makeup while you, well you currently looked, and smelt, like you’d slept in a sewer.

“Hi im Helena, we saw you move in yesterday, we live next door.”

“We?” you ask squinting into the early morning light as another yawn escapes your lips

“Me and my husband” She says looking past you towards the couch where you had slept. Shit. Peña was not going to let you live that one down. Speaking of the devil, he appears from the bedroom in an open robe, and very thin linen pants, a look that made you realize why so many women were easily charmed by him.

“Cara mia, who's at the door?” he asks, eyes darting to the obviously slept in couch before settling on the beautiful woman standing before him. A woman who'd have his full attention if it wasn't for the transparent robe clumsily wrapped around your body.

“Our new neighbor” you say, refraining from using a cutesy nickname afraid you'd choke on it.

“Forgive my wife, she hasn’t been sleeping well” he says, coming over and wrapping himself around you, kissing the top of your head, before resting his chin on it.

“I find I sleep best when next to my husband” she responds offering Javi a megawatt smile which he returns.

“Maybe if your husband doesn't snore like an elephant” you respond sleepily with a soft laugh. You were surprised how well the british accent rolled off your tongue despite the early hour.

“Mine does as well, shakes the whole house! The things we put up with when we are truly in love are amazing” shes says, reigniting your anxiety “We want you to come for dinner, we've hired a chef” she continues.

“We’d love to, always good to know the neighbours, we like to make sure we're keeping good company” Javi reponds.

“Excellent, lets say, 7:30, be on time, my husband doesn't like to be kept waiting.” The second the door shuts you wiggle out from his grasp and make your way over to the kitchen pouring yourself, and only yourself, some coffee, still tired from the piss poor sleep you'd gotten last night. At least this time it wasn’t because you had to listen to someone having rigourous sex through the walls.

Javier follows close behind snatching the cup from your hands and taking a sip, knowing full well it wasn’t meant for him. He watches your eyes bulge slightly and your jaw tightens before you storm off into the bedroom to change out of the see through robe, much to his dismay.

“We need to go over the plan for tonight,” he says from the kitchen.

“Alright what is it?” you ask emerging in one of the many luxurious outfits provided to you.

“We’ll scout it out, find the room where they keep the paintings nd take the samples you need.”

“Ya” you say “and how exactly am I supposed to sneak in test tubes filled with liquid that traces drugs. ” you ask

“Bring a purse? I don't know. You're the genius you figure it out” he shrugs.

“I could wear a long skirt and strap them to my legs?”

“No they'll know you're hiding something,” he says, shooting down your idea.

“Purse it is then” you respond. “If they come back positive then what?”

“We can figure that out later, but i'll drop hints that the money I've made has been done in less than legal ways, and mention your outstanding knack for counterfeiting. Oh and wear something short tonight” he says “More to see means less to hide” he offers when he sees you glaring at him. “ and no scowling at me while we're in there, unless you really want to blow it” he laughs, your hatred for him almost comical at this point.

“What am I supposed to do when you're being insufferable then” you dig, with a wide fake smile.

“Save them up for later, besides it won't be me in there with you, it'll be my character, who you don’t hate.”

7:00pm

You change into a burgundy dress with an open back that falls well above your mid thigh, its length hardly covering you. You make a note not to bend over throughout the night, as you sling on the high heels that cost more than all your shoes combined. You grab the swabs and plastic bags needed to keep them sterile and stuff them into your purse before slipping on your wedding ring, and exiting into the kitchen.

“Alright, how do I look?” you ask, reopening the purse and re organizing the material inside it. When you finally look up you’re taken aback. Peña's usual attire of tight jeans and button up t shirt’s had been replaced by a stunning velvet pastel coloured jacket worn over top, a partially unbuttoned silk dress shirt and black dress pants. He cleaned up well, very well.

Your prolonged look doesn't go unnoticed by Javi, nor does the way your eyes quickly dart back down to your purse when he meets your gaze. He refrains from making a snarky comment knowing it would only piss you off, and that was the last thing he wanted to do before infiltrating a highly dangerous situation.

“Perfect, hermosa” he says, he wasn’t lying about it either. He knew you weren’t really listening to what he was saying, but god if you didn't look perfect tonight. Pretending to be in love with you would be easy enough for him, he hoped you’d be able to maintain the act as well. He watches as you move gracefully around him in heels that were working exceptionally well at emphasizing your... assets. He averts his eyes when you reach up for a bottle of wine knowing that more than you’d want him to see would be out.

“You know I can speak Spanish, right?” you say, a small smile creeping on your lips before quickly disappearing back into the cold facade you were determined to keep up against him.

“Well, I do now” he laughs, slightly embarrassed he got caught out complimenting you sincerely. He slides on his wedding band and escorts you out the door.

“God how do people walk in these for more than 15 mintues” you mutter, your feet already killing you. You almost regretted pushing Peñas arm away when he’d offered it to you earlier. Approaching the house you feel his hand wrap around your waist and you lean into him in an attempt to take some pressure off your feet. He rings the doorbell, lowering his hand as he hears the heels approaching from down the hall. Lifting up the hem of your dress he begins rubbing small circles over your thigh with his thumb. Any other time and you'd have broken his hand without a second though, but it fell well within the contract you’d had him sign detailing exactly where and when he was allowed to touch you.

“Welcome” Helena says as she opens the door in an equally revealing dress. She leads you through the enormous entrance way and into the main foyer, gazing up you see balconies on each level overlooking the large ballroom area. Your amazement at the house was cut short as you turned to see Peña who was currently only paying attention to Helena's fine architecture. If your eye rolls wouldn't give your true feeling for eachother away, his ogling certainly might. You elbow him harshly in ribs causing his hand to inadvertently dig deeper into your skin. His grip releases as Helena's husband enters into the room grabbing her and kissing her deeply for just long enough that both you and Javier feel uncomfortable.

“Welcome” he booms after separating from Helena, grasping Javis hand in his. You can see the veins in his arm bulge, as he clamps down on Peñas hand in a bizarre play for dominance.

“Here” you say offering him the wine, causing him to release his grip “Your home is as stunning as your wife” you smile as he looks down at the bottle reading its label.

“This one’s from a good year! Neither of our wives were even born then, lucky for us” he laughs, winking at you “We’ll have it with dinner.” he continues, pulling Javi into his side and walking him towards the bar.

Helena smiles at you and raises her eyebrows, rolling her eyes at her husband's behaviour. “Come now, alcohol will get us through the night” she states, leading you down the hallway. You knew her suspicions were high, and it wasn't lost on you that she’d likely shared her feelings with her husband, but she was being remarkably kind, which only added to your concern.

“Drink? What’s your poison, Carino?” Carlos demands of you. He was larger than life in both stature and personality, charming but in a terrifying way.

“I do believe he's talking to you love” you joke, smiling up at Javi earning a laugh from Helena.

“Whiskey, neat.” he says, you couldn't tell if Carlos was amused or upset by your disobedience, but the way Peña was currently pulling you discreetly out of Carlos’ reach made you think it was the latter.

“I usually don't ask twice, but for someone so beautiful and so clever, I'll make the exception. Though just his once” Javis grip around you relaxes and you flash Carlos a smile.

“Gin and tonic, if you don't mind”

“Any preference” he asks.

“Dealers choice”, you say, offering him back the control which seems to cut the tension and it's not long before he’s once again laughing with Javi.

“We're glad to have neighbours again '' Carlos says “especially ones who seem so agreeable.” His approval doesn’t relax you. Approval wasn’t trust and you’re well aware that this was just as much an interrogation as it was a dinner party. Carlos takes a seat in one of the upholstered armchairs gesturing for Javi to join him. Helena nods her head towards the couch and you follow her lead. Your eyes are quickly pulled off her when Peña yanks you down onto his lap.

“Darling!” you exclaim thanking the lord you didn't use his real name by mistake. “I could have spilled this very expensive drink all over this very expensive chair, I'm so sorry! I'd say he's not usually like this but...”

“I understand his need to have a beautiful woman in his arms as often as possible, it's why I'm on my fourth wife!” he boasts.

“I'm hoping i'll stick.” Helenea says, holding her drink up as she gazes lovingly over to Carlos, though something behind her eyes told another story. Perhaps you weren't the only one harbouring a secret hatred. “I'm hoping you’ll both stick as well. Neighbours can be problematic, nosy even, our last ones were before they...moved” Helena says from the couch

“Hard to imagine someone tiring from living in the house. It's beautiful, did you build it?” you ask

“Paid for it, but Helena designed it the whole thing, she's very gifted.” Carlos brags.

“I'd have to agree with that,” Javi says, smiling at her which she returns, a flirtation playing on both their faces. Javis hands may be on you but his eyes were on her and if you were picking up on it Carlos certainly had as well. You jump slightly when the server enters the room to inform the group that dinner was ready.

Javi pulls out a chair for you and you sit down placing your hand on his as he takes his seat next to you. The meal was the best you ever had, five delicious courses each one more decadent than the last.

“You don’t take her out to many five star restaurants? It seems as if she's never eaten such a meal!” Carlos excalims. Evidently you were doing a piss poor job at hiding your delight.

“I'm still getting used to the lifestyle if i’m honest. Though I imagine a meal such as this is still rare, even at the most expensive restaurants” you say before Javi can respond for you, the recovery impressing him slightly.

“You should have seen what she was eating before I met her, back when she was a starving artist” Javi says, as you bring a hand up to rub along the velvet jacket covering his broad shoulders.

“The billionaire and the starving artist, now I must know. How did you come to find each other?” Helena asks.

“My art dealer went to New York and brought back one of her paintings, it came with a photo and after seeing it I knew I had to have her, if she’d take me”

“And how did an old man like him convince a sweet young thing like you to marry him?” Carlos asks.

“No convincing needed, not when he sent thousands of my favourite flowers to my studio before showing up at the door himself. Any man willing to put that much time and money towards meeting me deserves a date. At least in my books and he’s continued to prove himself to me ever since.” You gaze up at him lovingly, so convincing that for a moment even he forgets you hate his guts.

“What are they? Her favorite flowers?” Helena probes, earning a grunt from Carlos presumably displeased with his wifes intrusiveness.

“Sunflowers. They're hard to find in New York, especially in the winter, I had to ship them from California.” Your gaze of faux adoration turns quickly to genuine surprise. How had he known what your favourite flowers were? It wasn't outlined in your character profile and you'd certainly never told him.

“I’ve seen the piece, its beautiful, your wifes very talented,”

“You should see her school portfolio, copies of works that were almost exact replicas of the originals. She possesses the talent of a hundred artists before her”

“You flatter me. Copying is a technique used to learn, but it's no measure of true artistry or creativity” you laugh. “When did you see my work, were you in New York?”

“Oh no I'm an art dealer myself, but I have people go to places for me. Your work was passed over my desk a few weeks ago.” Carlos explains.

“Perhaps I could paint you something then I would finally have a truly unbiased critic” You watch as Carlos slowly nods his head, contemplating your offer.

‘You’ll have to see our art collection, we have pieces here from all over the world” Helena says,

“How long have you been in the business?’ you ask, taking Carlos as a man who liked to show off

“longer than you've been alive” he says winking at you.

“Well I can only imagine what pieces you must have , you've proven to have exquisite taste, in all areas of life.” you smile eyes briefly darting to Helena.

“Helena show her the gallery would you, I wish to speak with my friend here in private”

“Will you be joining us later?” Helena asks, causing him to grunts out a yes before pulling Javi into another room to talk about god knows what. She leads you up to the second floor, each step you take causing a sharp pain to shoot down your foot’s arch.

“You get used to the heels, small price to pay for the lifestyle. Walking around in them in the house for a while helps.” she explains.

“Thank you” you say. “Somedays I dont think I'll ever really acclimatize to the lifestyle.” She leads you into a large room, greek style pillars run through the middle while art from around the world lines the walls. If the pieces were real this room was worth millions.

“How does your family feel about you living here? It must be hard them being so far away in England”

“I uhm...I... don’t have any.” You can feel her eyes boring into you assessing the answer you just gave her. “They passed, when I was 19” you continue turning to meet her gaze.

“I'm so sorry. To lose them so young must have been devastating, but I don't need to tell you that, do I” she says, shaking her head. You nod swallowing hard gazing back to the paintings. “Lucky he found you I suppose, and such a handsome man at that. Many billionaires are.... not.”

“Lucky for us both then” you say, moving along the wall “these painting are beautiful, I envy you being surrounded by such formidable pieces, and only a walk away”

“Yes'' she says, as if she doesn't care. She's watching you intently, trying to suss out where your loyalties lied, your lack of descriptive fondness for your husband suddenly seemed like a poor choice on your part. Before she can ask another question you hear Carlos yell out for her, the noise startling you both, so much so that her hand clamps down on your wrist.

“Duty calls” she says, composing herself and relaxing her grip on you.

“Should I come with you?” you ask, playing into the deer in headlights trope which seemed to have an effect on Helena.

“No, he asked for just me. I don't like to disobey him, he's not a kind man when not listened to.”

“Are you safe here” you ask.

“As long as I don’t cause trouble I should be.” she affirms.

“Well, you're welcome at ours, at any time. If anything happens, even if it doesn't you can stay with us. Heavens knows we have the room.” you say sincerely, the concern coming from you, not your character. Helana nods offering you a soft smile squeezing your hand before leaving the room.

“See how obedient she is, how compliant, she's perfect, don’t you think!” Carlos says

“Hard to argue with that,” Javi responds, giving her a once over.

“And beautiful yes, c'mon you are married not dead” he prompts when Javi doesn't respond immediately

“Very much so” he says, smiling at Helena before turning to Carlos who was intent on showing off his wife in the most demeaning way possible.

“Was there something you needed love?” Helena asked. She was used to her husbands showing her off to other men, but she was growing tired of it. She was involved in her husband's work, primarily in the organization making sure everything ran smoothly, she knew if it didn't she would inevitably be to blame. She valued her life, so she learnt fast, adapted like a pro. Four years later and her husband hadn’t offed her yet. She was a mastermind in a career she had been inadvertently forced into, but a mastermind nonetheless. To her husband she was nothing more than a trophy, but better to be that than a punching bag.

“A word in private” he says, gesturing to her with a come hither motion.

“Your wifes in the art room, up the stair, down the hall to the left, take the drink with you, we won't be a moment” He says, his eyes telling Javi to vacate the room. He lets out a grumble as he closes the door behind him. He shakes his head, swirling the whiskey as he walks towards the gallery. He’d fumbled tonight by not making it clear that he only had eyes for his wife, a hard task considering Helena, who he realized too late was likely meant to see if his gaze could be easily swayed. Which it had. All thoughts about any other woman cease to exist when he walks into the gallery and sees you bent over swabbing a painting. Something about watching you in your element had always been mesmerizing to him. It’s why he was always dropping off files for you, the task could easily be outsourced, but he enjoyed watching you maneuver with ease around the various machines.

“You should be more careful querida,” he says, chuckling as you jump back.

“Watch the door, would you? I've got two more to do” he leans back against the frame, one eye on the door, one eye on you watching as you meticulously swab the remaining paintings. “All good, you don’t think they keep cameras in here?” you ask, closing up your purse.

“No. Cameras are easy to hack.” he says nonchalantly, as he comes over to you stopping at your side looking up at the painting, suddenly understanding people's fascination with art. You grab the drink from his hand and take a sip placing it back down on the empty pedestal propping yourself up along with it when you hear footsteps approaching.

“Come here” you demand, and he does, eyes suddenly darker than before. He stops a few inches in front of you. “Closer” you beckon, wrapping your legs around him and pulling him into you. You drape your arms around his shoulder extending your neck allowing his mouth to graze lightly over the skin just in time for Helena and Carlos to witness it. You push him off you in pretend shock.

“Please, don’t stop on our account” Carlos laughs

“I'm sorry, god these pieces must be worth thousands and here I am sitting on one” you say hoping the act wasn’t too transparent.

“Don’t apologize, a work of art belongs on a pedestal” Carlos says, the complementing causing Javis jaw to noticeably clench. He was a better actor than you gave him credit for, maybe they would buy this relationship after all.

“We should probably be going, once she starts it's hard to get her to stop,” Javi says.

“So that’s how she trapped you” the husband responds, the entire exchange causing you to cringe internally. You hop down off the stool as Javi finishes the whiskey offering the glass to Helena who takes it before leading you towards the front door.

“We must do this again soon,” she says settling into Carlos’ arm

“Perhaps at ours next time?” You offer

“A generous offer, but we prefer to entertain.” He says

“Then I look forward to seeing you soon, especially if another meal like that is in store” As you exit the mansion Javi makes sure his hand is visibly running over your body, but you slap it away the second you can.

“Ouch” he says, shaking out the hand, the rings on your fingers leaving a particular sting on his skin.

“Suck it up” you respond, having had enough of him for the night.

“Cut the shit, your attitude problem is going to get us killed” he whispers through gritted teeth.

“I don’t have an attitude problem. I just have a problem with you” You say, turning to face him and prodding a finger into his chest “ and don’t act like you ogling his wife was helping our case either. Ya I slipped up tonight, but so did you, so shoulder some of the blame you’re throwing my way.”

“Jealousy’s a nice colour on you” he laughs, knowing how riled up it would get you.

“Ha!” you fake laugh “ because it's jealousy and not the fact that your inability to keep it in your pants is going to get me killed.” You exclaim as you enter the kitchen grabbing down a glass and chugging some water before going into the art room where you were storing the testing kits.

You? Jealous? Of what exactly. What did he think he had to offer that would make you want or need to be the subject of his attention. Attention he gave to anything that walked or batted its eyelashes at him. Jesus he was insufferable, you hated that he had this notion that your anger was based on jealousy and not multiple interactions where he'd failed to impress you. Even if you had come off as jealous it was all a part of the act. He had been acting jealous throughout the night, did he think you weren't competent enough to do the same? You had three degrees for fucks sake, you deserve some credit. “Fucking asshole” you mutter, the manifestation of the words helping you to calm down enough to dip the q tips in the liquid, sure enough, they came back positive the paintings had been near drugs, you’d tell Peña about that later. You see the light on in the bedroom as you exit the “art room” and you head towards it determined to get one last punch in before going to bed.

Javier had just settled into the enormous bed he had the luxury of having all to himself, moments away from flicking the light switch when he notices your figure in the door frame.

“Penny for your thoughts?” he asks

“I think he's abusive, the husband you were getting along with so nicely” you spit out, the venom intended to question his character in a hurtful way, but it doesn't seem to phase him.

“It's the job to get friendly with the monsters, doesn't mean I like them” he reasons

“I told her she could come here if anything happened, so we’ll have to hide this stuff a bit better” you remark, turning your failed attempt to get one last dig in, into a valid reason for starting up a conversation.

“Guess you'll have to stop sleeping on the couch then” he smirks. Check mate. Your eyes bore into the bed you had just talked yourself into sharing with Javier Peña.

#javi x y/n #javier pena x reader #javi x you #javi x reader #javier Peña x you #Javier Peña x y/n #narcos fanfic #narcos #enemies to lovers

[princess-of-riviaa]

I Don’t Mean It, Part 2

I Don’t Mean It (Part 1)

request: Could you please write something Henry x reader inspired by the song “weak” by AJR ? Many thanks!

Pairing: Stephen Colley x Reader

Summary: Stephen comes back to you and confesses his feelings, just as you’ve run out of time to be with him.

Author’s Note: This is probably nothing like what the anon had in mind when making their request, and I apologize for making it one of Henry’s characters and not the man himself, but I tried writing it for Henry and it just wasn’t working... so this is where I ended up. Even though it’s a different direction, I hope the anon still enjoys.

Warning(s): fingering, multiple orgasms

Word Count: 2,993

Your core begins to tighten as you near the edge. Without thinking you bring your hand to your clit and begin to move a finger in fast, rushed circles. Stephen quickly learns that that’s pleasing for you and replaces your hand with his own. With the way his tongue fucks in and out of you and he touches your clit, you’re coming in no time. He licks up your come the way you’d done with him, leaving you clean and dry.

“I love you,” you get out between deep inhales. The words are out now. Everything’s been laid on the table.

Stephen looks up at you between your legs, shock written all over his face. You hold your breath, anticipating his reaction. He opens his mouth to say--

…

You jolt awake in your bed, as out of breath as a marathon runner. You don’t know why the dream still takes you by surprise. It’s plagued you for months. Every time it’s the same--a memory of that perfect day with Stephen in the greenhouse; the confession that you hadn’t dared to speak of in real life; and his response that you never get, being torn from your dream before you can see how he reacts to your words.

You haven’t seen him in months. He’s moved to the city and become a rich woman’s play thing, something he would have refused if he hadn’t been so desperate for money. Cassie’s soon to leave, too. With her new husband, Simon, nonetheless. You hate her. Cassie used to be your best friend; you grew up together, played together, called each other sister as you braided each other’s hair. But then came Stephen. You fell for him, he fell for Cassie, and Cassie fell for Simon. Everyone was left heartbroken in the end.

You should move on. Out of this twisted love triangle--no, not a triangle, but a straight line that only moved in one direction--you’re the only one who has yet to move on from her childish fantasies of falling in love and being happy.

It’s easier to fool yourself during the day. You busy yourself with chores and housework, too distracted to spare even a passing thought for Stephen. But at night, the dream always comes. There’s nothing you can do to stop it, just like there’s nothing you can do to stop Stephen from bringing you to completion in the dream. It’s as blissful as it is painful.

It doesn’t help that your parents are forcing your hand in marriage to a man ten years your senior. You’ve never met him. In fact, you know nothing but his name: Cal Turner. You don’t like the way your first name sounds next to his last. You’d much rather be a Colley, though you’ll never speak that truth to anyone.

The next time you see Stephen is a week before your wedding. He knocks on your father’s front door. You’re at the bottom of the staircase when your mother opens the door to reveal Stephen in a brand new suit and a fresh haircut. Anyone with eyes could see that he’s from the city. There’s something different about the way he talks and acts. He’s not the man with farmer’s blood that you were so fond of. When he’s welcomed inside and locks eyes with you, his mouth parts. You find yourself wanting him despite everything in your head telling you that he isn’t an option anymore.

“I came to speak with your daughter,” Stephen tells your mother. “Would you chaperone us in a walk through the fields?”

Your mother agrees and, thankfully, keeps her distance as you walk side by side with the man you’re so enamored with.

“What are you doing here, Stephen?” you finally ask.

“I realized something in the city,” he says. “It’s not Cassie I want. It’s you.”

You pause. These are the words you’d imagined him saying for so long. Hearing them should feel like a breath of fresh air, a sigh of relief, but all you feel is… broken.

“You’ve always had the worst timing, Stephen,” you sigh.

He frowns. “What do you mean? Do you not… you don’t want me anymore, do you? You’ve changed your mind.”

You shake your head. A small step closes the distance between you and you grab his hand, looping your fingers through his rough ones. “Of course I haven’t changed my mind. I… I love you, Stephen. I’m afraid I always will.”

His frown only deepens. “Then what’s the problem?”

You can’t find your voice, can’t bring yourself to tell him the awful news.

Stephen leans towards you, his mouth brushing softly, hesitantly, against your own. You want nothing more than to pull him in and kiss him back. But you can’t. You force yourself to push him away instead. When you open your eyes, there’s heartbreak in his eyes.

“I’m getting married,” you finally say, your voice shaking. “One week from today.”

He goes through a multitude of expressions in just a handful of seconds--shocked to confused to hurt to angry to hurt again--but he doesn’t have a chance to say anything before your mother comes back to you, saying you all need to get back to the house before the sun sets. Stephen and you spend the walk back in silence.

…

Something hitting your window wakes you up. You have no idea what time it is, but the moon’s still out and shining bright when you run to your window. You look out at the ground to see Stephen standing there, whisper-shouting something at you that you can’t hear. With a grunt you lift the window open.

“What are you doing?” you whisper-shout at him. “It’s the middle of the night!”

“It’s only ten o’clock!” he tells you.

“You need to leave before my parents see you!”

“I’m not leaving until we’re done talking.” He crosses his arms and plants his feet to prove how serious he is.

“Stephen!” you exclaim. Your parents’ bedroom window is just to the left of yours. You flinch as their light turns on. “They’re going to murder me if they see you here! Go!”

He doesn’t even budge.

You force yourself to keep from screaming. He can be so goddamn stubborn sometimes! Instead, you point to the ancient tree with low-hanging branches beside your window. “Climb up and get inside before they see you!”

He finally listens to you and quickly maneuvers his way up the tree and into your bedroom. He catches his breath as you shut the window.

“What the hell are you doing here?!” you whisper.

His answer is a feverish kiss that sends shivers through your entire body. You bring your hands up to his chest to push him away, but they just stay there doing nothing as he continues to kiss you. You slowly kiss him back. At the first sign of reciprocation he wraps his arms around you. Your breath gets caught in your throat as he tugs on your bottom lip and swipes his tongue across it, leaving his sweet taste on your tongue.

“Stephen…” you gasp once he finally pulls away. “I can’t.”

“The wedding’s in a week, right?” he asks.

You avoid his gaze as you nod.

But he forces you to look at him, grabbing your chin between his thumb and forefinger. His heart is transparent in those soft blue eyes. “Then that means you have a week left. That means we have a week left.”

You shake your head and step back, struggling to think clearly and logically while you’re in his arms. “Stephen, I can’t. I’m promised to another man--”

“Do you love him?” he interrupts. “Is that it? You won’t be with me because you’re already in love with him?”

Again, you shake your head. “I’ve never even met him, of course I don’t love him. But…”

He closes the distance between you, holding your hands in his. “Then give me tonight. Please. I’ll die of heartbreak if I never get to know what it’s like to touch you.”

Those words make you simultaneously blush and roll your eyes. Stephen’s always been a bit dramatic. “You’ve touched me before.” You feel your face burn and your chest grow tight as memories of that day in the greenhouse race through your mind. You want to feel all of that with Stephen again, more than anything, but you don’t know if you could live with yourself after, knowing you’re promised to another.

His knuckles are soft against your cheek, touching you like you’re made of glass. “Not how I wanted to touch you.”

You frown, not catching his meaning.

“I want to touch you just once,” he says, “when I know what I’m doing. When you don’t have to tell me how to do it and you can just relax against me. I want to make you feel good before I lose you.”

You know you’re going to regret this, but…

You grab his shirt and pull him towards you, bringing your mouth up to meet his. The kiss is feverish and desperate and intense, leaving you completely breathless. He cups your face in his hands, a touch you’d only ever thought of as simple and romantic before, but the way he does it--the way it brings your mouths even closer and makes your heart race harder--is completely erotic. A moan sneaks out from the back of your throat.

“We’ll have to be quiet,” Stephen whispers in your ear before nipping at it, sending heat straight to your core. “Your parents can’t know I’m here.”

“Stephen,” you gasp. You reach for the bulge in his pants but he doesn’t let you touch him. You give him a disappointed look.

“Tonight’s about you,” he murmurs. “I’m going to make you feel good.”

Before you can think of something to say, he moves to the bed. After taking off his shoes he makes himself comfortable against the headboard.

“It’ll be easier if you undress,” he says, “and then sit between my legs.”

You blink at him, surprised at how he’s taken control of the situation. The roles are completely reversed from last time. You hesitate for just a second before beginning to unbutton your dress. It circles at your feet, leaving you in just your brassiere and panties. Stephen’s eyes are hungry as they roam up and down your body. His eyes on you makes your skin hot. You clench your legs together, already feeling yourself getting wet. You begin to move towards him, but he stops you.

“Undress all the way,” he clarifies.

You freeze.

He frowns. “Have you… you’ve never been naked in front of a man?”

You shake your head. “Not with the lights on. Not without being under the covers first.”

He holds your gaze, and those eyes are so kind and trusting. “I want to see you. All of you. If you’ll let me.”

A voice in the back of your mind whispers that you shouldn’t do this, that you should be loyal to your soon-to-be husband, but you don’t listen to it. This is Stephen, a boy you grew up with, your first love, one of your best friends. You trust him. And you want to give him this part of you. So you do. You take off your brassiere and panties with slow, shaking hands, and the clothes drop to the floor as your heart races in your chest.

Stephen licks his lips at the sight of you, and the dark look in his eyes and slight blush on his cheeks make you feel sexy and wanted. “C-come here.” Even his voice is shaking now.

You listen and make your way between his legs. He wraps his arms around your front and pulls your back flush against his chest. The rhythm of his heart beating against your back makes you relax. You lean against him as his fingers run up and down your arms. His breath fans lightly across your shoulders. Your eyes close as you lean your head back to rest on his shoulders. His fingers move from your arms to your shoulders, and then to your breasts. He begins to knead them slowly, gently, completely worshipping them under his hands. Your breath catches when his touch grows harder and he pinches your nipples.

“Does that feel good?” he whispers in your ear.

You nod and bite your lip, wanting him to continue.

He goes back and forth between kneading them and giving your nipples the occasional pinch just to tease you and keep you on edge. Your legs continue to squeeze together as your arousal grows with each passing minute. After a while, Stephen begins to run his left hand up and down your stomach and side, occasionally brushing his fingers down your thigh, and the touch is so light and sensual that it makes goosebumps rise on your skin.

By the time he takes things a step further, your putty in his hands. His hand slowly makes its way between your thighs and nudges them open. Your legs fall open willingly, all of your shyness disappearing under his hypnotizing touch. He runs his hand up your pussy, your arousal coating his fingers.

“You’re so wet,” he breathes. “So beautiful.”

Your legs fall open further as he runs his hand up and down your pussy again and again. You’re simultaneously aroused and relaxed, waiting for his next move. His middle finger finds your clit and begins to rub it in circles. You grind against his hand as you struggle to keep from moaning. He wraps his other hand around your stomach and pulls you back against him, forcing your hips still under his ministrations.

“Stephen!” you gasp, your pleasure quickly growing more intense. He’s much more confident around a woman’s body than he had been the last time you two were intimate. Which could only mean that he’s had practice with someone else. “Who taught you how to do all of this?”

“A few women,” he admits as he slaps your pussy, making you bite your lip as you fight back a moan. “No one who mattered. You were all I thought about when I was with them. That day in the greenhouse… you’ve no idea how many times I’ve thought about that day, how many nights I’ve dreamed of it…”

Your mind is growing foggy from the pleasure he’s providing you, so you only catch half of what he says. You hold onto his arm, needing something to tether you.

“I want to taste you,” he confesses as he circles your entrance with his middle finger.

Your body tenses in sweet anticipation as he slowly inserts his finger inside of you. He immediately finds your g-spot and lightly brushes his finger against it. A few strokes later and you’re coming around his hand, squeezing his arm and parting your mouth in a silent scream. Your mind is dizzy with pleasure as he brings his hand to his mouth and sucks off your juices. He moans quietly, liking the taste.

You’re still struggling to catch your breath as he brings his hand back to your pussy. He gives your clit small slaps and you��re surprised to find how arousing it is. Your walls clench around nothing and suddenly you’re clenching your legs as the sensations on your abused clit bring you to the edge again. The slaps are light but unrelenting and you have to cover your mouth as you cum again.

“Fuck, Stephen!” you whimper when your tongue remembers how to work.

He smiles against your cheek. “Am I making you feel good?”

All you can do is nod your head. You bring your hand up to cling to his hair as he begins to kiss down your neck.

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” he breathes against your skin.

“I’m thinking…” You struggle to think and breathe at the same time. “That I don’t want you to stop, and that I’m jealous of every other woman you’ve made feel this good, and that I wish I were marrying you instead--oh!” You’re cut off as he inserts two fingers inside of you, stretching your walls out as he fingers you with fervor. Stephen covers your mouth with his other hand, keeping your moans and cries from being heard on the other side of the wall.

“Cum on my hand, I wanna taste you again,” he breathes against your skin. His fingers continue to thrust into you hard and fast. The only sound in the room, save for your muffled cries of pleasure, are the squelching sounds of your pussy around his fingers.

You cry out Stephen’s name as you cum for the third time in just as many minutes. By the time you’ve stopped spasming with uncontrollable pleasure, your brain finally processes how tired your body is. “Please, Stephen, I can’t take anymore.”

“I have even eaten you out yet,” he says, sounding slightly disappointed.

You moan at his words, picturing his face between your legs and his tongue between your folds. “Stay.”

“Hmm?” He’s surprised at your offer.

You know it’s stupid and reckless, and that there’s a good chance your parents will find out in the morning, but you want Stephen next to you tonight. You want to stay in his arms until you fall asleep, want to feel his heartbeat against your skin until morning. “Stay with me tonight. And in the morning… in the morning, you can eat me out.”

“What about your parents?” he dares to ask.

“I’m a free woman for six more days. I’m going to spend that time how I want, with who I want.”

“I don’t want you getting in trouble--”

“I won’t.” Both of you know it’s a lie. “And even if I do, I’m twenty years old. I’m a grown woman. What’s the worst they can do? Stay with me tonight, Stephen, please.”

He smiles and kisses the crook of your neck. “Okay.”

***

Tag Squad:

@agniavateira​ @hnryycvll​ @littlefreya​ @celestial-vomit​ @lestersglitterglue​ @watermeloncavill​ @honeychicana​ @penwieldingdreamer​ @mary-ann84​ @elixasays​ @buckysgoldenheart​ @noz4a2​ @trippedmetaldetector​ @omgkatinka​ @lunedelorient​ @aphrodites-punch​ @yespolkadotkitty​ @sweetybuzz25​ @iloveyouyen​ @deathonyourtongue​ @utterlyhopeful​ @wondersofdreaming​ @tsukuyomi011​ @the-soot-sprite @desperate-and-broken​ @jayismz @emelinelovesjc @palaiasaurus64​ @wolvesandhoundshowltogether​ @henrythickcavill​ @secretlyactivated​ @madbaddic7ed​ @persephonehemingway​ @geralt-of-baevia​ @stargazingfangirl18​ @thedarkplume​ @spookypeachx​ @pensieveforyourthoughts​ @aletheladyinred​ @littlemissthistle @designerwriterchic​ @becs-bunker​ @angelic-kisses13​ @captainbigdy​ @sestrasasylum​ @radaofrivia​

Let me know if you want to be added/removed from my taglist!

#henry cavill #henry cavill smut #henry cavill i capture the castle #i capture the castle #stephen colley #stephen colley smut

[simplybakugou]

Sweet Summer Day

↝ Once you finally managed to go on a trip to the beach with your girlfriend, things started looking a little hazy as you had to chase away some boys pestering her.

BINGO SPACE: Summer Vacation

⋆ PAIRING: yaoyorozu x fem!reader ⋆ WARNINGS/TAGS: flufff; swearing; creepy boys 🤮 ⋆ WORD COUNT: 1542

A/N: this is another piece for the @bnhabookclub bingo event! momo owns my whole heart so obviously this was fun to write even though its a little shitty :(. thank you to @merry-kuroo for requesting momo for this prompt! the momo transparent cap is from the bnha bookclub google drive!

also yes the title is named after a TWICE track lmao. thank you @bnhatrashh​, the resident ONCE, for recommending me this BOP 💕

FULL BINGO MASTERLIST

✐posted 08.21.2020✐

It was the perfect day with your windows rolled down and the breeze ruffling through your hair. The radio was blasting your favorite song and while you were screeching along with the lyrics, your beautiful girlfriend who was practically flawless in every single way possible was sitting beside you as she hummed with the lyrics, making up for the chaos you were creating. Occasionally you would stop singing, wanting to hear Yaoyorozu’s soft voice that sounded like the gates to heaven opening with an angelic choir whisking you up to the sky but everytime she realized you stopped, she would stop singing as well, not wanting to be the only voice heard in the small space of your car.

It was an exciting day, one that you had been looking forward to for weeks since you found out that it was actually happening.

You, Yaoyorozu, and the rest of class A were finally on your way to becoming third years, your final year at U.A. High. Unlike every other summer, you wanted to do something fun. Usually you spent your summer breaks training and preparing for the next semester. Since you and Yaoyorozu had been dating your first year, you would often accompany her and help her study to strengthen her quirk and as much as you loved helping her out as much as you could, you wanted to spend your last summer as a high schooler with the one girl you loved and while having some fun at the same time. 

You managed to convince Yaoyorozu to go on a little trip and spend some quality time with her to which she agreed to. Although she did suggest inviting the other girls, you wanted to be around your girlfriend and take this trip as a date with her and as much as you loved your friends, it was fun to go out with her on your own.

“Is that it?” Yaoyorozu asked, her eyes gleaming in fascination at the sight of the beach ahead of you.

You nodded, grinning at the sea sparkling from the sun’s rays, the sound of the seagulls squawking at people for food, and the many people hanging around the waves and the beachside under the sun. You parked the car, exiting the vehicle and immediately unloading your things as you couldn’t wait to feel the sand beneath your toes.

Yaoyorozu assisted you as you both walked onto the beach with two chairs, towels, and any other belongings you deemed as necessary. You were quick to set up the chairs, taking your shirt and bottoms off as you were clad in your swimwear as Yaoyorozu followed suit.

Yaoyorozu sat down on one of the chairs that you finished setting up, sighing as she slipped her sunglasses on as she was basking under the sun. How was this girl so stunning?

“There’s a shop down there; do you want me to get you anything?” You asked her as you pointed to the small shop right towards the outer part of the beach.

Yaoyorozu nodded, telling you she just wanted something light to eat since it had been a long drive to get there and neither of you had eaten anything. With what you and Yaoyorozu wanted to get in mind, you proceeded towards the shop, ready to fill your stomach with cheap food to fill your empty stomach.

While you were away and Yaoyorozu finally felt relaxed under the sun, feeling the stress already be alleviated as she sat there. Her short period of solace was cut short as a pair of teenage boys, who looked around her age, approached her. She removed her glasses, peering up at the boys curiously. “May I help you?”

The first boy sat down on the sand, smirking at her. “You seemed lonely over here so hopefully we can change that.”

“Um, actually I’m fine here, thank you,” Yaoyorozu said, laughing uncomfortably.

“Aw, come on, don’t make this weird,” the other boy cackled, rubbing his hands together. “Why don’t we help you out? You need someone to rub some sunscreen on for you?”

Yaoyorozu shook her head, visibly distraught from the pryful boys and how disturbing and intrusive their behavior was.

“Wait a second,” the first boy started, eyes widening excitedly before his friend could say anything. “You’re that chick from U.A.!”

“Oh shit, you’re right!” The other boy exclaimed. “No wonder you’re so hot. All the U.A. chicks are hot.”

At this moment you had thanked the cashier for the snacks as you paid for them, swinging the bag happily as you made your way back to Yaoyorozu. Expecting to still see her sitting down peacefully as she took some well deserved rest, you were granted with the sight of the two boys pestering her and hovering over her. She seemed uneasy as she tried to distance herself as best as she could from the boys even though they kept scooting closer and closer to her.

You sighed, already used to little creeps like Mineta harassing her at school and you and the other girls didn’t hesitate to put the little twerp in place. Fortunately you had a quirk that helped you maneuver the ground, no matter the material involved. Using your quirk, you created a barrier between the boys and Yaoyorozu, using said barrier to forcefully push them away from her. They rolled in opposite directions and Yaoyorozu met your eyes in gratitude.

“Hey, dipshits!” You called out to them, turning your head side to side so they both heard you. “Stay the fuck away from my girlfriend, you fucking creeps.”

The first boy stood up, aggravated and embarrassed that a girl had humiliated him in front of the girl he was poorly attempting to swoon. He strode towards you, standing right in front of you. “You trying to start something?”

“And what if I am?” You retorted, raising a brow at him.

Before the situation could escalate any further, Yaoyorozu pulled you away from him, not wanting you to be involved with something that could make you look bad online as you were already known for your abrasive behavior especially as a U.A. student. “We’ll be going now.”

As you both began walking along the shore, you peered over your shoulder, making sure the boys weren’t following you two. One of them started cursing you out from afar and you flipped them off in response and then you looked over to Yaoyorozu. “Why’d you pull me away?”

“I didn’t want you to get in a fight,” she said simply. 

You scoffed. “Please, those assholes were bothering you, they needed a punch or two to the fucking head to humble them.”

Yaoyorozu giggled and you smiled at the sound. Although she never wanted to make you worry, whenever she was catcalled in this manner, she always felt down and upset with herself for something that other people do. She was a strong girl, you knew that better than anyone else, but when a boy calls her out and tries to hit on her, it’s different than a bunch of high school students being attacked by a group of villains. Yaoyorozu often felt disgusted with the boys’ behaviors, these two twerps and Mineta alike, but it put her in a vulnerable position during these situations, making her not know what to do at times.

That is until she met you. You and the other class A girls didn’t hesitate to put any pervish boy in place, no matter who it was. You weren’t afraid to beat anyone for even making your girlfriend upset and you would take action in a heartbeat.

And with you by her side, you made her feel confident, helped her realize how much of an outstanding girl she really is.

Yaoyorozu latched her arm with yours, smiling softly at you. “Should we continue where we left off before we were rudely interrupted?”

You nodded with the biggest grin on your face. “I thought you’d never ask.”

From there you ran directly into the crashing and raging waves, all while hand in hand with Yaoyorozu. The water cooled you down from the sun beaming down on both of you. You did whatever you could to make Yaoyorozu forget the two little brats who dared to make her frown. From building sandcastles to finding the prettiest shells in the depths of the sand, it was overall one of the most fun times you had in a while. 

It was easy to forget that you were teenagers when you were treated like adults by your high school as you were put into difficult and dangerous situations once being attacked by the League of Villains numerous times. But times like these made it all better, or you could at least try to think that it made it better. You and Yaoyorozu made sure to spend the day doing every single activity that not only brought you joy but also made you both feel like your age for once. 

Although the day started off a little rocky, thanks to your efforts in order to bring that angelic, pure, and loving smile onto her face, Yaoyorozu was able to have the best sweet summer day of her life.

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[internalsealpanic]

Hug Tutorials

summary: Constantine is stuck baby sitting. Not exactly his area of expertise. So how is he supposed handle a feral 8 year old? Help comes from an unexpected source.

A/n: I am pretty new to the Hellblazer fandom so forgive the characterization. I own nothing except Ruta (in all his bratty glory) and the plot. Maya belongs to the wonderful @birdy-bat-writes who is a wonderful human being. This thing is kind of part of a crack au me and Riya have been brain storming.  I will probably edit or rewrite this later.  Yes, I need a better title. 

warnings: awkward hugs, implied child neglect, and a lot of swearing

word count:  1,709 (This is actually really short.)

Ruta knows it hadn't started out like this.

He remembers when his mother used to try and help him read. She tried her best but the shapes on the page just made no sense to him. Not the way it did for Raffie or Mimi. 

He tries memorizing the words she said to him and parroting them back to her. It works! For awhile...  

He also remembers the walks to the park and how they'd listen to him about transparent people. 

They probably think he's too young to notice the change. 

His mom's slowly cut back on their nightly reading sessions opting for game night with his siblings. They were playing monopoly and that required a little too much reading for him to play. 

They haven't read together in months. Maybe he's the only one keeping track. 

He still tells them about the transparent people and now he tells them about the shadowy people but now they simply nod out of time with what he says. They used to be better at pretending and nodding in time with what he said. 

His dad got mad at him once when he started crying about the shadow people when they were at the market. He shook him, just a little, just enough to make him feel woozy, looking red with embarrassment. Ruta felt bad about it. He felt really horrible about  embarrassing his dad that he decided never to mention them again even when they got too close. 

The good news is he now had Count Von Bon Bon who listened and read aloud to him. He wasn't allowed inside the house because he was such a big bird but when they went outside he kept the shadow things away.  

He doesn’t need anyone else. He’ll be ok. 

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

If you asked John Constantine how on Earth he found himself in the mess, he'd likely give you a dumbfounded look, shrug, and mumble something about being too sober. 

But in all honesty, how does one find themselves watching their 8-year-old charge about to throw hands with not one but two Green Lanterns who should know better? 

Ruta stood , small and imperious, with his little arm crossed and his head thrown back after a great laugh. "I'd like to see ya do it, dumb carrot headed shit!" 

Guy, looking as red as, well, Sinestro, looks like he's about to deck the kid.  "Oh, I'm gonna,"  

John with all the good sense he's got fumbles over to the tiny terror.  "Sorry 'bout that lil' Ruta 'ere's just a bit nippy from 'avin' to wake up early. Yanno 'ow kids are,” He grabs the kid by his sweater who makes a little squawking noise not too different from his devastatingly posh familiar who would have been really helpful right now.  The kid wriggles a little, trying to claw John's hand away from the sweater.  He pauses and John thinks that maybe, just maybe, the kid had gotten some sense knocked into him.

Unfortunately for him, John Constantine is one unlucky bastard.

With the smarmiest grin plastered on his little face, Ruta slips out of the, admittedly, ill-fitting sweater. The kid basically sprinted back toward the lanterns who, by the way, still looked pissed as all hell. 

"Oh for the love of-" John is honestly going to pop a blood vessel.  He grabs the kid's arm since the kid despite his speed hadn't made it far. 

Ruta did not have the expected reaction.  He froze. Breath seizing. Body going rigid. John thought about letting go but thought better of it. 

"Ruta-" 

Ruta begins to thrash violently and make petulant noises. John rolls eyes even as the kid snarls a few colorful words. "Yer gonna hafta do bettern’ that lad if-"

CHOMP

"Sonuva! Zee, a little help would be appreciated, love,"

"Sorry John, I’ve got no clue about how Maya usually gets him to settle down,"

Well, that helped.

Justice League members gather in bewilderment as they watch Constantine let out a string of curses as he tries to pry Ruta off his arm. The kid's teeth were actually digging into his flesh.  John is pretty sure he would rather be fighting off all the demon's he's encountered over the years than be here, right now, getting his flesh torn.  

Bats and Supes enter the room. Now, John normally didn't give a rat's ass what those two thought but there was a special kind of embarrassment that comes with a tantruming child.  He now had a little more sympathy for people with kids in grocery stores. 

The next few seconds are hard to process. 

Bats discussing something about Earth's defenses with Supes wordlessly walks over to John, pats Ruta on the head,  the kid- miraculously- relinquishes his death grip on John's arm, and in a disturbingly fluid motion Bats scoops him up into his arms, settles Ruta on to his hip, walks back to his conversation as if nothing happened. 

The kid makes a brief distressed noise and a weak attempt at fighting before huffing and wrapping his wreathy little arms around Bats’ neck as Bats rubs circles on his  back. 

God, the kid looked so small all of a sudden. Had Ruta been that tiny this whole time? 

He looked a little relieved aside from his face which was red and screwed up like all his effort  was being devoted to trying not to cry. His breath is still uneven but it was settling down. He’s limp against Bats. For once, he looked like he wasn't about to turn tail and run or to tell someon to fuck off or  bite someone's face off.

Fuck, when was the last time the kid looked so relaxed?

The newer league members watch with a mix of awe and confusion while the older ones shake their head and murmur something about not seeing that in a while. 

It takes a few minutes, the entire conversation actually, for Batman to realize that all his kids are too big for him to comfortably carry like this even with his size. He panics thinking he accidentally kidnapped a young child.  It takes him a moment longer to realize who it is. 

"How the fuck did you manage that?" John finally stiffles out, awe clear in his voice.

Batman glares at John for cursing in front of the kid.

 "Wot? He’s said worse,"

"That’s cus you’re a fucking cunt," Ruta mumbles his cheek still smooshed into Bats' shoulder. Bats looks as stone faced as ever but from the frown tugging at his lips he seemed mortified but he made a grunt that sounded more nostalgic than reprimanding. Batman adjusts his hold on the kid looking like he was honestly debating on whether to keep carrying the kid around and keep working or give him back to the clearly inexperienced Constantine. He decides it was probably best to give him back to Constantine but a part of him just really wanted to keep holding the little one trembling in his arms. When was the last time he held someone this small. It kind of reminded him of when Jason was small right down to the fowl mouth. 

Ruta clearly also doesn't want to let go. Bats is sturdy and surprisingly warm.  He looked like he would cry if he let go. The kid’s knuckles were white from gripping Bats’ cowl for Christ’s sake. Sadly, Igris, his annoyingly posh familiar, shows up from who the fuck knows where. 

 "Little prince, this is no way to behave," He admonishes in an eerie vernacular that was only barely understandable due to exposure. Ruta's face grows hot from embarrassment and with a nod he extricates himself from the caped crusader's arms. 

The kid definitely looks like he's about to cry but he mutters a glum ‘Yes, Count Von Bon Bon’.  

 "Where the bloody hell have you been?" John asked. God, he needed a smoke. 

"I've been watching over Maya as the little prince had asked," John gives him a questioning look. "I got bored" The bird adds, shrugging in an oddly human manner.  

Ruta extricates himself looking sheepish but mostly tired. Kid has probably been stressed and on adrenaline for a while. The sudden feeling of safety just made him crash.  

John hesitantly wraps his arms around the kid. The kid freezes but hugs back hesitantly. John tries to lift the kid but the kid stiffens. John honestly had no idea how to hold this kid. He maneuvered his hands clumsily around the kid. Ruta made no objections but he was clearly uncomfortable. 

 "No. You have to support both of his back and legs. Sometimes you have to lean back a bit to get them to so he leave into you- yeah just like that,"  Bats instructs, sounding oddly gentle. His usual gravel absent. It kind of scared  John, to be honest, so he did his best to follow along.  

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

At some point, Maya shows up after her ‘date’ with Damian- not much of a date when there are a bunch of people watching you- and finds Bruce coaching John on how to hold a tired elementary schooler who was drooling on John's favorite beige coat. She tried her best to stifle a laugh. Thankfully, she didn't have to try too hard. 

 "EXCUSE ME????? B, since when were you a child whisperer?" Dick exclaims as dramatically as humanly possible. Damian and Tim radiated second hand embarrassment while Jason just plays it like he doesn't know his older brother. Maya guessed that if Bruce wasn't used Dick he would be cringing too. 

 "Nightwing, I've had more than 5 children. I believe I know how to handle children,"  

"Uhuh- sure, B.  Whatever you say,"

Bruce makes a neutral grunting noise. 

"Please tell me you're not adopting that one,"

"Of course no-"

"Yeah sure, B,"

"He's- He's Constantines,"

"Tt, father, you are a terrible influence,"

It is a spectacle to watch Bruce's kids team up on him. 

Maya shakes her head and laughs before heading over to John. 

“Well, bring me a biscuit and call me Christy Bats’ was right” He mutters rocking the feral child.  Ruta’s little arms wrap around him a little tighter. 

“‘Course he is, Christy. He’s Batman,” Maya drawls smiling innocently.

"Please never leave him with me again,"

"Dunno, Christy. Looks like you're doing fine,"

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@idkmanicantenglish (You said any DC content)

@birdy-bat-writes (You enabler)

#john constantine #dc fanfiction #DC comics #parenting #ocs #batman #batfam #good parenting #bad parenting #angst #my wriitng #robins #zantanna zatara

[ii-newcomers]

29. Pushing the Frontier

"Girls, today I’m teaching you a new game.” I said in the car on our way home for one of Angie’s monthly visits.

“What is it Mr Lopes?”

“Is it a surprise, Dad?”

“No, Princess, I can start telling you about it now.”

Whenever we brought her home from school she would be in the back seat talking about the things she wanted us to do when we got home.

“Angie, stop touching yourself, someone could see you from outside.”

We soon figured I had to sit on the back too, to keep an eye on her, or she would start touching herself right then, and that would have been unsafe.

“I’ll say it’s just an itch. It is an itch.”

You never let her be demanding, but it was still fun to hear talking crazy horny.

“Do as she says Angie, don’t get into dangerous habits.”

She composed herself.

“Princess, at your young age you have mastered your gag-reflex.”

“Thanks Dad, I do my best.”

“Today I’ll show you something called a deepthroat,” you said.

“Sounds nice Dad, just the name makes me tingle.”

“It’s great Flo,” said Angie. She wasn’t into gagging and I hadn’t forced her anymore, but she kept on surprising us with her sexual savvy. “There’s nothing like a good-sized cock down your throat. No, there is. Lots. Anyway.”

Aware of her contradictions and not minding a bit, you smiled at her. In the few months since she came into our lives you two had become very close, her skill at enhancing the pleasure you could give me being her main virtue to your eyes. I could see in the rearview mirror how Angie eyed you at your mention of your tingling, then holding herself from going to you and searching for the site of the sensation you were referring to.

“I can’t wait to see your dad fucking your throat Flo,” to which you replied with innocent giggling.

When we got home you took care of your belongings with your usual care, before coming to me with a smile and an open attitude to be taught. Angie had been wandering from my room to yours, consumed in anticipation.

“Come, Princess. Lay down on your back on Daddy’s big bed. Let your head hang down from the edge.”

Angie had already stripped and was reaching for my pants for me to follow her lead. You looked at us with your face inverted, having adopted the position I instructed. I allowed her to follow her impulses and engage in a thorough and dedicated fellatio.

“Okay Flo, now open wide. This will be easy for you. All you have to do is swallow your dad’s cock and not gag.” She had taken the reins and we allowed her to do so, it was pleasurable to have your little friend play the role of an experienced woman. In a way it was more than a role.

I slowly pushed my phallus deep inside your open mouth.

“Fuck Flo, you look so hot with your throat getting swollen by your dad’s cock.” She gently ran her fingers over your throat as I shaped it from within. When I withdrew she gave you a luscious kiss, spilling more of your saliva on your face in what could have seemed a careless manner, but we knew to be skillfully choreographed for the effect of a ravaged face in you.

“Flo, your mouth is so good to get fucked by your dad’s cock.”

She then moved over to take my phallus in her mouth.

“My turn Mr Lopes. I mean, could you please fuck my throat sir?” She giggled at her pretense of submissiveness.

As usual, without waiting for permission to be granted, she climbed on the bed and adopted the position in question. You, always placing the wellbeing of others first, sat up and gently rubbed her vagina as she proceeded to show her prowess in the maneuver you had just been presented with.

“Lick my pussy Flo, while your dad fucks my throat.”

You took turns, practicing intake while the other caressed the one receiving, a few cycles before turning into our more usual fares, that time in a much more gentle manner with you, my little princess.

As the afternoon turned into evening, after a light dinner break, we were back in the main bedroom.

"Come Flo, get closer, have a look at your father's cock going in and out my asshole."

Closer you could better enjoy the view, staring with your mouth half open.

"Do you like it, Flo? Do you like seeing how his cock stretches out my asshole? Get closer."

Some days I would perform only a vaginal penetration, others I would follow with the anal sex she enjoyed so much. This was one of those days.

“Yeah.” To your transfixed stare, I withdrew and her anus showed the natural dilation induced by me.

"Flo, lick my asshole please. Lick it now that it's gaping."

I nodded to your silent request for permission and did as she requested, around the rim and tickling it with your tongue. She moaned loudly and flexed her sphincters, opening and closing.

"She's blinking Flo. I'm sure you'll get it in no time my baby girl."

"Of course Dad, I will." You nodded and smiled. There it was, you had an assignment.

Later on it was your turn to have your anus penetrated while she was watched close up.

"Let's see that blinking now Flo." she said when I withdrew

We had been having such a good time you had forgotten, then you flexed your muscles down there.

"There we go princess, that's a nasty anal freak for Daddy.”

“You know Flo, you can also blink with your dad's cock inside your asshole. Give it a try."

I got in again and you again flexed, this time as I slid my phallus back and forth.

“Good girl!” I said.

“Hey! Don't I get any credit?“

“I do appreciate your concern for my daughter's education Angie.”

“Thank you Mr Lopes! Do I get your cum today for that?”

“You do Angie, thanks to Flo having such a sweet and selfless character.”

***

Part of Angie’s charm was her unbound enthusiasm.

“Mr Lopes, what’s the most times you’ve cummed on the same day with Flo?”

It was late afternoon. We had already had the sexual entrée of that Tuesday’s visit. We had moved on to have Angie over for the two consecutive nights every month. We were going through a heat wave that summer, so a late dip was called for and we were resting by the swimming pool.

“That was the first time he fucked my asshole,” you speaking in my stead was another sweet way of tending to my comfort. “He cummed three times, and pretty much in a row.”

“You guys need to give me more details of all your wild fucking.”

“We keep nothing from you, Angie dear.” I said in a soft tone. She already knew the limits I had set, she only needed a reminder now and then. The rough treatment you enjoyed so much, for her had been only a welcoming rite, after which keeping her in line was an agreeable chore we shared.

“Angie, we shouldn’t talk like this here.” you spoke in a low voice, not a whisper, which by its very nature has an even greater pull on prying ears.

She clasped her hand on her mouth, then broke in laughter and her pretense of alarm.

“What are you talking about, you just … yourself.” she caught herself from falling into explicit language again, always in a lighthearted tone.

“Yeah. Still, what’s the rush, we can go on talking about it inside.”

“Okay.” She replied with partially veiled impatience.

Our stay outdoors was shortened by her curiosity. She had endeared herself to us and we didn’t mind her stretching the bounds.

“Can I masturbate on your bed Flo? I promise I won’t shout too loud, the neighbours will never guess what freaks we are.”

We were on our way to change our swimming suits in our respective rooms. We had gone each our own way, but she spoke well within earshot.

“Come here, Angie dear.” I called her from my room.

“I’m dressing, Mr Lopes.” Short pause. “Should I go anyway?”

You both took my silence in the affirmative and walked in, you behind her, stark naked, into my bedroom.

“Not that there’s anything wrong with it Angie, but I intend to spare a few of your orgasms from masturbation.”

“Alright.” her anticipation was transparent in her grin. “So...”, our attention prompted her, “how many times? Three?”

She crawled on the bed, laying on her back, her knees up and spread open, despite my offer she was caressing the inner face of her thighs.

“Yep,” you crawled to her side, “three. You know, my first time getting my dad’s cock in my asshole was special, I’m glad I got it then.”

“I bet you’re glad. I mean, I don’t mean to be demanding sir, but we’ve never had you cum more than once.”

“Maybe this will be our first time, Angie dear.”

“Dad, you don’t have to.”

“Of course not princess, but as long as it’s fun I wouldn’t discard it a priori.”

“Yeah, I can be a lot of fun.” she said, moving on to stimulate your nipples with her tongue. “Hey, while we’re at it, when are you planing to start fucking Flo’s pussy, Mr Lopes? Flo, you don’t know what you’re missing.”

“Angie, that is quite a momentous event to make it part of a light-hearted record-breaking.”

She hesitated and paused, probably discarding comments contradicting my statement.

“It’s okay Angie. Dad knows what’s best for me, and that’s all that matters. I love what we do, and I know I’ll love what he’ll be showing me later on. Like you say Dad, all in dew time.”

“That’s right princess. Now, let’s not digress and get back to the current order of business.”

We went on to what could seem a fairly long run, above two hours, but for us was what we had grown accustomed to expect.

“Am I gonna get to see the fireworks again today Mr Lopes?” she said, shortly after you two had done your playful sharing of my semen. We were sprawled on my bed, close together, caressing each other.

“Angie, quit pressing my dad.”

“Don’t worry Flo, I feel under no pressure.”

“So?”

“Let’s see after dinner, Angie dear.”

We donned our comfortable lounging loose clothing and went to the kitchen. Once there, she strove to take my attention away from setting up our dinner together, the way we usually do.

“Angie, he said after dinner.”

She was pressing her backside against my still flaccid penis, though her insistence was having some effect on its size.

“Okay. Sorry Mr Lopes.” Her sweet insincere apology. “But I can tell you’re ready for it, aren’t you?”

“What can I say Angie? You have a truly uncanny ability to read a man’s sexual disposition.”

“Thanks. Yeah, I’ve made the best of my little time, you know. I’m just a little girl.” She said giggling.

We went on with our planned order, to start with the dinner.

“Now?” She said, as soon as we finished dessert.

“Dishes.” I instructed. She caught up with my meaning. There were simple duties that couldn’t be pushed aside.

She took care of the chore by herself, proving once again the overwhelming power of motivation.

“Hey, don’t start without me! That’s not fair Flo, you get to fuck him every day.”

You had sat on my lap, giving shape to my erection.

“Not every day Angie, I wish. Only every other week.” you replied, stretching your arms above you, back to reach my head, your body giving way to soft twitching from the anticipated pleasure.

“Yeah, I know. Whatever. You still do it twice as much as I do, and you get to suck his cock every single night too.” She had finished and was coming over to us.

She stood by our side, as if she were uncertain for a second on her course of action. She never was, she could mould into any arrangement we could, when she hadn’t started one of her own making.

“We’ve never fucked in the kitchen guys. Have you?”

“I’m not much into sexual games involving food Angie.” I replied, providing information you had never needed me to make explicit.

“Who said anything about food? Let’s fuck in the kitchen. You know, cock, not cook.” She reached under you to make physical her meaning.

You jumped off my lap.

“Sounds fun. Would you like it, Dad?”

“It’s highly unlikely I won’t like anything coming from you princess.”

“Look, he’s already hard.” She carefully extracted my rapidly hardening penis, her description almost true.

We recreated her suggestion, and though it was undeniably pleasurable, we didn’t feel strongly inclined to repeat it on another occasion, I took you two to my bed for my culmination.

“We made it.” She sighed deeply.

“You have cummed lots Angie, what’s the big deal with Dad cumming more times?”

“Flo, guys can’t go on fucking after they cum. I thought you knew that.” She teased you. “So, it is a big deal, not all that many girls can pull it.”

“We just fucked for two straight hours, just in the afternoon, not counting the morning. You can’t keep it up much longer yourself, even you need a break after a while.” It wasn't arguing, not in the charged sense, you were only developing your line of argumentation. The loving tone made all the difference.

“Yeah, you’re right. It’s fun. I don’t know, I just find it fun, get a guy hard over and over. Don’t you?”

“It’s not fun if Dad isn't having fun.”

“I can tell when a guy’s having fun, can’t you?”

“Angie, you will learn with time that sexual stimulus and response are not synonymous with the joy of sex.”

“Teach me Mr Lopes.”

She enjoyed sometimes pretending to have an intellect duller than what I could tell was the case, she never missed my meaning.

“Dad,” you had gently verified the absolutely drained state of my penis. “Don’t listen to her.”

“Mr Lopes, would like to give me a chance? Let’s break the record.”

“It’s okay princess, I won’t keep on insisting in an endeavour that’s only meant to be enjoyable. Go ahead Angie, I’m all yours.”

“I don’t need all of you, with all due respect, sir.” Giggling as she sat on my chest, falling on my penis and enveloping it in her mouth, easily fitting inside in its diminished state.

As soon as she started, while I was under the impression her efforts were going to be in vain, you came up with your remarkable resourcefulness.

You took the sex-toy we had grown fond of, and used it in her vagina and anus, stimulating her sensible areas with its vibration, then penetrating her; in the proper, hygienic order. As she demonstrated her appreciation for your initiative, you added your tongue into the mix.

Your presentation and her response was all that was missing.

“Flo, you’re a genius.” she said in a pause within the fellation she was now able to perform properly.

“I just know my dad really well.”

“Let’s not stay in the figure Angie.” I said as I got off from below her and went into action, to show her the deed had to be completed, and our enjoyment had to be the justification of her exercise.

After half-an-hour I knew cutting that last leg short was going to be necessary in order not to lose the initial momentum for my erection. It wasn’t a splendid climax, but it was pleasurable all the same.

“You’re welcome Mr Lopes.” she said, my semen dripping from her lips.

“Angie!” you gave her a playful slap on her shoulder.

“Granting your whim was highly enjoyable, let’s leave it at that.”

“Thank you Mr Lopes.” she said, mellowing into a warm embrace with you as she corrected herself, with an endearing shade of apology in her expression of gratitude..

We were so happy about everything.

[odos-bucket]

Safe

So I wrote another version of this story because 1) I can’t leave my house and I’ve already color coded everything in my room. And 2) I feel like those of us who read fanfiction are always looking for like a dozen different stories that deal with the same concepts

Anyway

So in this version they haven’t talked. But Jaskier fully intends to before things go any farther. It’s the same basic scene as the other story. Same room. Same number of days or weeks into the relationship (reader’s choice).

Their shirts are gone, and Jaskier is straddling Geralt’s waist, kissing his way up his sternum. Geralt’s arms are stretched out, and he’s gripping the bed posts, and has gone kind of white knuckled. Jaskier doesn’t notice this right away, but quickly makes another observation.

“You’re not touching me.” His breath is heavy. “... What’s wrong?”

He runs his hands out along the witcher’s arms, frowning at the tension he finds there. He stretches out to reach both of the other man’s hands, prying gently at his fingers.

“I didn’t know if you wanted me to,” Geralt finally says.

Jaskier lets out a laugh, without knowing if he means to or not.

“I thought- have I not been excessively, and at times I fear embarrassingly, transparent about that?”

Geralt gives him a look that he can’t decipher (and those have been getting fewer and further between). Jaskier tries to pull one of his hands off the bedpost.

Geralt makes a sound that might be a ‘no’, and Jaskier backs off.

“I can-” Geralt starts, and tightens his grip. “So that you don’t have to...” Each word is slightly breathier than the last.

“What’s wrong?”

Geralt sucks in a deep breath through his teeth and shakes his head.

“Should we stop?” Jaskier asks.

“You don’t have to.”

Something about the way he says it has Jaskier realizing that he does have to, and he slides over to the other side of the bed.

“Geralt, I don’t know what’s going on... You’re kind of scaring me.”

At that, the body beside him goes completely rigid. There’s a shift, and then Geralt is off the bed and halfway across the room before Jaskier can understand what’s happening.

“I’m sorry.”

Something Jaskier’s noticed in their years of traveling together is that Geralt apologizes for innocuous things. Almost never when he’s done something wrong, usually not when Jaskier feels he should, but more frequently than one might expect him to.

Frowning slightly, he maneuvers himself to sit cross-legged on the bed, and looks across the room.

“What for?” He asks.

Geralt gives him a look like he thinks the question is ridiculous.

Jaskier waits.

Geralt is mostly still, but his hands shift, fingers rubbing at his wrists.

“I don’t want to scare you,” he says gravely, lowering himself down to lean against the far wall.

“When have I ever been afraid of you?” Jaskier tries not to sound hurt.

“You said I was scaring you. Would it- fuck.” Every subsequent word sounds like he’s dragging it out of himself by force. “Would you feel more comfortable if there was something holding me in place?”

“... What?! What the hell are you talking about?!”

“You obviously weren’t comfortable with me holding the bed frame. I want you to feel safe.”

Jaskier stares incredulously. “You want me to...” he begins to echo, then shakes his head. “Did I do something that led you to believe I felt unsafe?”

“You said-”

“Yes, I remember, I said I was scared.” He doesn’t bother to hide his exasperation; it makes the whole thing feel just a little more normal. “... What did you think I meant by that?”

“What?”

“What specifically did you think I was afraid of?” Jaskier rephrases.

Again that look, like the question is completely ridiculous. But the answer still comes out a little unsure.

“Me?”

“No! You know I’m not afraid of you! You have to know that! You save my life every other week.” A sad laugh bubbles out of his throat. He thought they were past this! “You have protected me, and defended my honor, and let me dress you up like a doll and drag you out to spend evenings with people who you hate, and held me while I’ve cried through more nights than I can count; I think it might be time for you to face up to the fact that you’re just not as scary as you think you are.” He tries to sound teasing, but his voice cracks about half a dozen times.

“What was it then?” Geralt asks.

“I could tell there was something wrong, and I was worried about you. You were tense. I didn’t know what you were talking about. You seemed…” It almost feels ridiculous to say. “You seemed Scared.”

Geralt rolls his eyes.

“I want to understand,” Jaskier continues. “Can I come closer?”

“If you want to.”

“Do you want me to?”

Geralt nods. Jaskier still leaves a little more space between them than he normally would, even before their relationship had shifted into whatever it was now.

“What did you think was going to happen tonight?”

Geralt raises an eyebrow at him, and Jaskier rolls his eyes, and for a second it’s so familiar that he almost feels comfortable again.

“I want to understand,” he repeats. “What aren’t I getting here?”

“People want to feel safe during sex!” Geralt growls out like he can’t believe he has to explain it. “It’s not something you want to risk a weapon going off in the middle of! People want insurance, security. It’s how this works.”

He feels like someone’s just slammed a chair into his chest, nauseous, and breathless, and angry. He has so much more anger than he can do anything with at the moment. He finds himself suddenly needing to squeeze tears back into his eyes. He presses the heels of his hands hard against the floor, and doesn’t speak until he’s sure his voice won’t shake.

“You are not a fucking weapon.” He enunciates like he’s saying it for someone on the far side of a crowd. “And this is not how it bloody works.” He swallows, wants to pause again to make sure that his voice won’t start trembling, but there’s no way of knowing how long that will take. “Y-you hold on to the bed frame, to keep yourself still, because you don’t want your partner to feel like they need to tie you up, which you offered to let me do anyways.” Saying it out loud makes him feel sick. He doesn’t want to cry- this isn’t about him, can’t be about him- but it’s too much to hold back. At least he manages to let the tears slip quietly. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice that something was wrong? Did- did you think I wouldn’t care? How could-” He cuts himself off fast.

It’s how this works.

Fuck.

“Why do you think you’re going to hurt me?” He tries instead.

Geralt shakes his head.

“I wouldn’t hurt you.”

Of course not.

Because that isn’t really what this is about.

I want you to feel safe.

Jaskier presses his mouth shut, forces the anger back. How could Geralt think so little of him? He pushes the thought down and it pushes itself back up.

It’s how this works, he replays in his head again, until it serves to totally redirect his anger. There’s somebody out there who he doesn’t know, but who he can still imagine himself choking the life out of.

"I feel safe when you can hold me,” he says as steadily as he can. "Seeing you restrained makes me feel scared; it’s something that happens when we’re in danger, when something’s gone wrong. That’s the association I have. And seeing you so tense you’re practically shaking is worse.”

Geralt’s brow wrinkles.

“Why?”

“'Why?’” Jaskier echoes. He’s putting so much energy into keeping calm that he’s rapidly becoming exhausted. “Because I don’t really see much point in doing this if it isn’t going to be good for you.”

“That’s ridiculous. How I’m feeling shouldn’t affect your ability to get off.”

Jaskier covers his mouth to stifle an involuntary sound, reaching out instinctively with his other hand. Geralt grabs ahold of him like he’s been waiting for an invitation, and Jaskier thinks about how he should have reached for him earlier. And then he thinks that that last statement has been hanging in silence for too long.

“Of course it should,” he says quietly. “Of course it would… Wouldn’t your’s be? If it were the other way around?”

He watches something shift in his friend’s expression, and thinks he might finally be starting to understand.

But then Geralt shakes his head.

“It isn’t the same.”

A part of Jaskier wants to demand how it’s different. Another part knows that there’s no explanation Geralt could give that wouldn’t shatter him into pieces. And right now he needs to keep it together. He pulls himself out of his thoughts, and is surprised to hear his companion talking again.

“-There would be no reason for it anyways. I know you couldn’t hurt me.”

“… No you don’t,” Jaskier realizes. “I think tonight is proof that you don’t… Maybe this isn’t a good idea-"

Geralt freezes. His grip on Jaskier’s hand tightens at first, then begins to loosen slowly.

“-You shouldn’t be with someone who you can’t trust with total certainty to respect your needs.”

The pulse beneath his fingers picks up, and he wonders if that was a mistake to say.

“No,” Geralt cuts in. "This is my fault. You’re not-” he flails for what he’s trying to say. “…Fuck.”

Jaskier moves a little closer. Their legs bump against each other.

"It’s as important to me that you feel safe as it is to you that I feel safe. We can’t do this if you don’t."

“I’m not used to feeling safe."

“That doesn’t mean you don’t deserve to.”

“I don’t need to.”

“Fuck that,” is all Jaskier can think to respond to that with.

Geralt hesitates.

“I want this with you.” He says it like he thinks it should explain everything.

“I don’t get to hear you start many sentences with ‘I want.’" Under other circumstances Jaskier would have smiled, now he just sighs. "You don’t need to hold onto the bed posts to have this with me. You’re not going to lose me for refusing to do something that makes you uncomfortable. I want this with you too. But only if it’s for both of us. I have to know what you want, and don’t want, and need, and you have to know what I want, and don’t want, and need. And I need to know that if I ever do something that hurts you, or makes you uncomfortable, or even that you just don’t like,that  you’ll tell me to stop. ‘People want to feel safe during sex.’ I refuse to accept that that doesn’t include you.”

Geralt gives him a look like he still doesn’t quite understand. And it hurts, it hurts, it hurts so fucking much.

He wants to scream. He wants to break something. He wants to wrap his witcher up and keep him somewhere the rest of the world can’t touch him.

But for the time being he settles for moving a little closer, squeezing his hand a little tighter, and listening.

#the witcher #geraskier #gerlion #geralt x dandelion #witcher #ignore me #my writing

[kyrrahbird]

Ky’s 琅琊榜 Nirvana in Fire/Lang Ya Bang liveblog experience

EPISODE 3

OKAY EP 3 THE ONE YOU REALLY NEED TO STICK IT OUT TO

if u havent watched this show *please do*!! And maybe dont read this liveblog lmaoo

i forget entirely how much goes into each ep. but anyways to get this show on the road: this one starts with the child being beaten :( ...

Education in your serf class is bad obviously

I admire the gall of the eunuch to say “Prince Jing cant help you now” when Prince Jing is Right There

poetic justice

this is ALSO

dun dun

the first meeting of the DREAM TEAM 

!!

(Jingyan, Mei Changsu and Nihuang)

OOOH BOY THE UNDERCURRENTS

MCS goes straight to comforting the slave boy and i just feel,,, its sincere but there are,,, SO MANY layers of machinations going on here

like its manipulation of Every Person in this scene and i both hate and admire that cold blooded calculation

ESPECIALLY WHEN HE’S MEETING JINGYAN FOR THE FIRST TIME IN TWELVE YEARS ;A;

Just an update: this man is still Dead Inside™. And so distrustful i die too

Quick aside to the terrible princes:

I would also like to note, and its been said before but

Prince Yu is NOT SUBTLE in his aspirations. if i had to say who was the crown prince i might be confused??

and back-

Nihuang and MCS just pulled a mean pincer maneuver on Jingyan and hes being equally pointy back. Stop being mean to my prince :(((

i do wonder if nihuang is clued in, bc if she is, she puts a hell of a lot of trust in mcs. or maybe its all just subconscious, and they’re falling back into their old dynamic 

this scene KILLS ME

bc Prince Jing is trying so hard to protect tingsheng but he really has such limited power and he knows it

(i should read the book)

The first time i watched i did not realise HOW YOUNG mu qing is supposed to be. i love a protective younger bro ;;n;;

I also appreciate the flashbacks to relevant information. just so we know whats important to mcs

MENG DA-GE

-just saved that dude’s ass

Fei Liu was ready to wreck him

This didnt need to be so ominous but i appreciate their dedication to the Melodrama™

EVEN THE TALKING WHILE NOT LOOKING AT EACH OTHER

Nothing sus going on here. look they’re even facing different directions

MENG DA-GE LITERALLY SAID MOVE INTO MY HOUSE

bless

He’s worried!!! His mother hen tendencies are coming out!!

No he doesnt. No thoughts, only protecc

like a puppy

I also love the fact that despite all her fancy headdresses and pretty outfits, we never forget Nihuang is a martial general. Its the way she holds herself and moves i think

“This person is a mystery” > cut to sir su napping in a chair

Theres definitely comedy here. quite a lot of it!!! and i adore it

Never fear, Meng da-ge is here to join the “Force Mei Changsu to look after himself” gang

Side note - I kind of take it for granted as the kind of person Meng da-ge is, but i do think its symptomatic of the empire that one guy can just rock up and basically suborn the entire royal guard. like. your majesty. u done fucked.

70,000 is a staggering number of your own people to kill in one go. Like. I can’t actually wrap my head around it.

And all those people would have had families and friends and sure, they’re mostly just common but. most likely a bunch of the prominent families were killed too. im just wondering if there were like. riots? Or everyone just kept their head down and were like “guess it must be treachery”  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Consort Yue is so goddamn transparent in her manipulation but also like - there’s layers there

Because I feel like the emperor sees through the first layer (having an interest in who Nihuang marries) but is completely incapable of seeing beyond that

Or he doesnt want to. I mean the man does encourage competition in his court

Anyways we find out that he’s going to choose Sir Su to judge the written part of the challenge

This is great because it means Su-xiansheng is going to COURT :D

why do i keep changing how i refer to him? its whatever fits the vibe baby

Man’s got too many names anyways

gotta keep them in rotation

Oh we just found out Baili Qi might be top of the Langya list. good to know the system isnt infallible

I love everyones reactions like

what

the fuck

SOMEBODY FIX THIS

LMAO

Yujin is here to drop Jingrui’s badass backstory

And why he has the name and surname of a prince

I do wonder what its like, for jingrui. Like sure, hes son of two families... but heir of neither? He’s the oldest child but hes also known his whole life that he wont inherit the title. 

idk must be weird

hes incredibly good natured given all that shit

Lin Shu gege just humouring them by listening to a story that hes totally never head before /s

if only they had a dna test

Who’s My Daddy™ ancient fantasy china

ghufdghuisrgu Mu Qing u cant just SAY that

Update: Mu Qing has kidnapped sir Su

OMG

HES ENTERING THE ROYAL COURT

I REPEAT LIN SHU/MEI CHANGSU IS ENTERING THE COURT

i need to just-

the fkn music man

i die

Like i said the first time, i didnt know the full scope of the big deal but i KNEW. that this was it

These were the stakes. All the way up to the emperor

theres gon be some PARALLELS

“You no longer need to refer to yourself as a commoner”

oof

(i would like to say now that i love Liyang

like, A Lot

Second only to Nihuang)

LMAO mcs giving the crown prince a subtle head shake

His POWER

This ep ends on Baili Qi beating the absolute fuck out of Jingrui while Su-xiansheng just peels and eats an orange smirks like the absolute shit he is

like a beyblade

I’m going to stop putting links in these bc i know tumblr doesnt like them, but ill keep up the tagging. I might not get to one ep a day, but every couple of days or so seems doable! i just love dumping my train of thoughts into walls of text :D

TTFN

#ky rambles about nif #nif liveblog #ep3 nif #liveblog #nirvana in fire #nif #im sort of getting a system #but who knows with tumblr #one of these days im gonna lose the entire post #long post