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kpop-cakepops · 3 years

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What if you take wonwoo to a cafe date, they are eating and drinking when he decided to confess to his bff...maybe for the snuggle donation series 🤭

I looooove youuuuuuuu for this!! Also, not gonna lie, I thought you were telling me to ask actual real life Wonwoo out for coffee 💀 like how the hELL would I do tHAT?!

Anyhow!!!! I wasn't able to make this a part of the Snuggle donation series, BUT that's probably cause your prompt actually reminded me of my very first Wonwoo story (Sunny days and Books) and I decided to give Wonwoo's POV of the day he realized he loved reader! SORRY IF IT WASNT WHAT YOU ASKED FOR BUT I CANT LET THIS IDEA GO!

Warnings: none

Genre: fluff

Word count: 1,349

Sunny Days and Books: The Day He Fell In Love.// Jeon WonwooxFem!Reader

The day he admitted to himself that he fell in love hadn't seemed too special. You had asked him to meet you at the same coffee shop you two had met for the first time on that one rainy day that seemed so long ago. The special occasion? You had been craving coffee.

Wonwoo would typically tell you to make yourself a cup of coffee at home, however, after not seeing you for two weeks because of your exams and study groups, Wonwoo was forced to be transparent, at least with himself... he had missed you. He didn't know when or why, but you'd become important enough to him that he missed you when you were gone for too long.

"Hey there stranger." Your tired voice had brought a smile to Wonwoo's face, one that disappeared when he realized you weren't alone.

"Hey, you" Wonwoo greeted, but his cat eyes were trained on the man standing next to you, looking at him with the exact same curious and almost defensive gaze.

"Oh, this is Joshua. He's my senior and is working in campus as a teacher's aid. He was helping me study just a while ago, so I'm buying him coffee. Josh, this is Wonwoo he's my best friend."

It was odd how your introduction seemed to cause Joshua to let out a small breath of relief, but seemed to make Wonwoo tense up. "Have you ordered?" you asked.

"Yes. I ordered for the two of us, I didn't know we'd have a third joining" Wonwoo told you ignoring the way Joshua scoffed under his breath. Wonwoo knew he was being rude, but there was something inside that was just not allowing him to act rationally.

"I should've let you know, I'm sorry Wonwoo. Josh, I'll go get you a drink, is there anything specific you like?" you asked.

Joshua smiled at you sweetly, his big eyes turning into what Wonwoo could only describe as the most disgustingly cute crescents. Something he would never be able to compare to because cute wasn't exactly a word people used to describe him. "I'll have an iced Americano, thank you."

"Of course! I'll be right back!" you quipped making your way over to the register to order Joshua's drink leaving the two men alone.

"Wonwoo, right?" Asked Joshua forcing a smile at the taller man. Wonwoo, as usual, remained stoic and nodded his head. "So how long have you two known each other?" He asked.

Wonwoo's eyes met Joshua's and he smiled dryly, "about a year, we actually met at this shop. Has she told you about it?"

Joshua chuckled softly, "not at all. She doesn't really talk about you, today's the first time I hear of you actually"

Wonwoo's face faltered slightly. How was it possible that you didn't talk about him at school? You obviously weren't obligated to, but he talked about you all the time. So much that his colleagues asked about you from time to time... so how was it possible that you didn't? "Well, that's funny... I had never heard of you either" he tried retaliating.

"We just met... that's probably why"

"Hey!" Your voice interrupted whatever conversation the two had been having. "Here's your drink!"

"Thank you"

Wonwoo was really starting to hate the man in front of him. He knew it was unreasonable, Joshua hadn't exactly done anything to him personally, but there was a raging discomfort within Wonwoo that made him feel restless. A discomfort that urged him to grab your hand and tug you to sit beside him rather than next to Joshua.

"How've you been? Miss me too much?" You asked. Wonwoo smiled in your direction and nodded.

"I thought you weren't ever going to be done with exams." He told you.

"I'm sorry, I'd been meaning to call you or at least text you to let you know I'm alive, but I've been so tired." You let your head fall on his shoulder for a brief moment and smiled over at Joshua. "If it weren't for Josh, I really don't know what I would've done this exam season"

Joshua awkwardly cleared his throat. "It's the least I can do as your senior."

"Thank you seriously, I would've asked this one to help me but he's too busy being an intern" you teased.

Joshua watched the both of you closely, and you could sense what was going on inside his head. You had noticed it a few days back, the way he stole glances at you every few moments, how he always offered to help you first. You appreciated, the sentiment, but you knew it wasn't just a Senior Junior relationship he was looking for and you weren't heartless enough to tell him you liked someone else already. Someone you'd come to trust with your life in just a year.

"You guys seem awfully close, you sure you're not more than friends?" You could tell Joshua was trying to play it off in a joking manner, but you could also sense the underlying disappointment in his voice.

"Of course we're more than friends" Wonwoo blurted sending your tummy into a spiral.

"Right..." Joshua mumbled looking down at his coffee. "Listen, thank you for the coffee, but I've gotta get back to campus, I promised professor Lee I'd be there for his next lecture."

"Oh okay, that's fine. Thank you for everything, Josh. You're a really good person." You told him as you extended your hand out to him. His eyes dropped to your hand before taking it with a soft defeated smile. "Thank you. You're a really good person yourself. You be careful and let me know if you need help again, I'm always a phonecall away"

Wonwoo scoffed under his breath as he stared out the large window.

"It was nice meeting you, Wonwoo" Joshua added dryly.

"Same here" answered your best friend but he was too busy staring at nothing outside to even acknowledge the leaving man.

Once Joshua left you let out a breath. "Was that not the most uncomfortable situation you've ever been in?" You asked.

"If he made you feel uncomfortable why would you bring him along with you?" Retorted Wonwoo, his dark eyes still set on the street outside.

"Well because... he's a nice guy."

"You realize he wanted more from you than he let on, right?" He asked trying his very hardest to sound nonchalant.

"I know, I just didn't have the heart to tell him I'm not into him... that's why I asked you here" you admitted shyly.

"Me? Why me?" He asked.

"Well because... you're the closest thing I have to boyfriend. You're like my human guardian angel. So I thought I could just bring you here to intimidate him" you were so embarrassed by what you had just told him but there really hadn't been any other reason. "Plus... you were the one that told me that no matter what, I should always come to you if I had a problem"

Wonwoo smiled warmly at you, his large hand reach out to ruffle your hair. "Since when do you listen to me?" He asked.

You rested your head in his shoulder again taking the chance to close your eyes. "Some guy I know once told me that 'Comfort comes in all shapes and sizes and I’m glad you’ve chosen this mere case of a human to trust in' and I trust you."

Wonwoo sighed and let his head fall on yours. It was inevitable for him. He had spent every moment, from the first time you met to that very moment in time, trying to deny the way you made this very unknown protective instinct take over him. "Good... you should trust me. I'm always on your side." He told you.

It was useless, though, because he, the man who refused to believe in love at first sight. The man that swore depended on his intellect rather than his feelings, yes, Jeon Wonwoo himself.... hated the thought of another man by your side. Yes, Jeon Wonwoo was undeniably in love with you.

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itsclydebitches · 3 years

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Here's a quandary I've suddenly found myself in: where do you stand on writers deleting their own works, fanfiction or otherwise? I've had this happen to me on more than one occasion - I go to look for an old favorite and find it's since been deleted from whatever site I read it on.

On the one hand, I'm inclined to think that, "Sure. The author wrote it, it's their call. I don't own the work - I certainly didn't pay for it. It's their decision, even if it's disappointing."

But at the same time I can't help but consider the alternative - if I believe in death of the author (and I do), that an author's work fundamentally isn't solely theirs once it's been published, posted, etc., then it also seems wrong to have a work deleted. Stories aren't the sole property of their creator, after all.

But then I circle back. D'you think there are different obligations between authors and readers and the works being made in fandom space? I know if I had bought a book and the author decided they wanted it back, I would feel pretty comfortable telling them no, given I'd paid for it and whatnot. But that's a different world from fanfic and fandom space generally.

So. You're insightful Clyde, I'm curious as to what you'll have to say here (and to all y'all thinking about it, don't flame me. I haven't decided where I stand here yet - haven't heard a good nail-in-the-coffin argument for or against yet).

Val are you a mind reader now? I’ve been thinking about this exact conundrum the last few days!

(And yeah, as a general disclaimer: no flaming. Not allowed. Any asks of the sort will be deleted on sight and with great satisfaction.)

Honestly, I’m not sure there is a “nail-in-the-coffin argument” for this, just because—as you lay out—there are really good points for keeping works around and really good points for allowing authors to have control over their work, especially when fanworks have no payment/legal obligations attached. In mainstream entertainment, your stories reflect a collaborative effort (publisher, editor, cover artists, etc.) so even if it were possible to delete the physical books out of everyone’s home and library (and we're ignoring the censorship angle for the moment), that’s no longer solely the author’s call, even if they have done the lion’s share of the creative work. Though fanworks can also, obviously, be collaborative, they’re usually not collaborative in the same way (more “This fic idea came about from discord conversations, a couple tumblr posts, and that one headcanon on reddit”) and they certainly don’t have the same monetary, legal, and professional strings attached. I wrote this fic as a hobby in my free time. Don’t I have the right to delete it like I also have the right to tear apart the blankets I knit?

Well yes… but also no? I personally view fanworks as akin to gifts—the academic term for our communities is literally “gift economy”—so if we view it like that, suddenly that discomfort with getting rid of works is more pronounced. If I not only knit a blanket, but then gift it to a friend, it would indeed feel outside of my rights to randomly knock on their door one day and go, “I actually decided I hate that? Please give it back so I can tear it to shreds, thanks :)” That’s so rude! And any real friend would try to talk me out of it, explaining both why they love the blanket and, even if it’s not technically the best in terms of craftsmanship, it holds significant emotional value to them. Save it for that reason alone, at least. Fanworks carry that same meaning—“I don’t care if it’s full of typos, super cliché, and using some outdated, uncomfortable tropes. This story meant so much to me as a teenager and I’ll always love it”—but the difference in medium and relationships means it’s easier to ignore all that. I’m not going up to someone’s house and asking face-to-face to destroy something I gave them (which is awkward as hell. That alone deters us), I’m just pressing a button on my computer. I’m not asking this of a personal friend that is involved in my IRL experiences, I’m (mostly) doing this to online peers I know little, if anything, about. It’s easy to distance ourselves from both the impact of our creative work and the act of getting rid of it while online. On the flip-side though, it’s also easier to demean that work and forget that the author is a real person who put a lot of effort into this creation. If someone didn’t like my knitted blanket I gave them as a gift, they’re unlikely to tell me that. They recognize that it’s impolite and that the act of creating something for them is more important than the construction’s craftsmanship. For fanworks though, with everyone spread around the world and using made up identities, people have fewer filters, happily tearing authors to shreds in the comments, sending anon hate, and the like. The fact that we’re both prefacing this conversation with, “Please don’t flame” emphasizes that. So if I wrote a fic with some iffy tropes, “cringy” dialogue, numerous typos, whatever and enough people decided to drag me for it… I don’t know whether I’d resist the urge to just delete the fic, hopefully ending those interactions. There’s a reason why we’re constantly reminding others to express when they enjoy someone else’s work: the ratio of praise to criticism in fandom (or simply praise to seeming indifference because there was no public reaction at all), is horribly skewed.

So I personally can’t blame anyone for deleting. I’d like to hope that more people realize the importance of keeping fanworks around, that everything you put out there is loved by someone… but I’m well aware that the reality is far more complicated. It’s hard to keep that in mind. It’s hard to keep something around that you personally no longer like. Harder still to keep up a work you might be harassed over, that someone IRL discovered, that you’re disgusted with because you didn’t know better back then… there are lots of reasons why people delete and I ultimately can’t fault them for that. I think the reasons why people delete stem more from problems in fandom culture at large—trolling, legal issues, lack of positive feedback, cancel culture, etc.—than anything the author has or has not personally done, and since such work is meant to be a part of an enjoyable hobby… I can’t rightly tell anyone to shoulder those problems, problems they can’t solve themselves, just for the sake of mine or others’ enjoyment. The reason I’ve been thinking about this lately is because I was discussing Attack on Titan and how much I dislike the source material now, resulting in a very uncomfortable relationship with the fics I wrote a few years back. I’ve personally decided to keep them up and that’s largely because some have received fantastic feedback and I’m aware of how it will hurt those still in the fandom if I take them down. So if a positive experience is the cornerstone of me keeping fics up, I can only assume that negative experiences would likewise been the cornerstone of taking them down. And if getting rid of that fic helps your mental health, or solves a bullying problem, or just makes you happier… that, to me, is always more important than the fic itself.

But, of course, it’s still devastating for everyone who loses the work, which is why my compromise-y answer is to embrace options like AO3’s phenomenal orphaning policy. That’s a fantastic middle ground between saving fanworks and allowing authors to distances themselves from them. I’ve also gotten a lot more proactive about saving the works I want to have around in the future. Regardless of whether we agree with deleting works or not, the reality is we do live in a world where it happens, so best to take action on our own to save what we want to keep around. Though I respect an author’s right to delete, I also respect the reader’s right to maintain access to the work, once published, in whatever way they can. That's probably my real answer here: authors have their rights, but readers have their rights too, so if you decide to publish in the first place, be aware that these rights might, at some point, clash. I download all my favorite fics to Calibre and, when I’m earning more money (lol) I hope to print and bind many for my personal library. I’m also willing to re-share fic if others are looking for them, in order to celebrate the author’s work even if they no longer want anything to do with it. Not fanfiction in this case, but one of my fondest memories was being really into Phantom of the Opera as a kid and wanting, oh so desperately, to read Susan Kay’s Phantom. Problem was, it was out of print at the time, not available at my library, and this was before the age of popping online and finding a used copy. For all intents and purposes, based on my personal situation, this was a case of a book just disappearing from the world. So when an old fandom mom on the message boards I frequented offered to type her copy up chapter by chapter and share it with me, you can only imagine how overjoyed I was. Idk what her own situation was that something like scanning wouldn’t work, but the point is she spent months helping a fandom kid she barely knew simply because a story had resonated with her and she wanted to share it. That shit is powerful!

So if someone wants to delete—if that’s something they need right now—I believe that is, ultimately, their decision… but please try your hardest to remember that the art you put out into the world is having an impact and people will absolutely miss it when it’s gone. Often to the point of doing everything they can to put it back out into the world even if you decide to take it out. Hold onto that feeling. The love you have for your favorite fic, fanart, meta, whatever it is? Someone else has that for your work too. I guarantee it.

So take things down as needed, but for the love of everything keep copies for yourself. You may very well want to give it back to the world someday.

#fandom #fic things #mymetas #never any easy questions on this blog huh? lol

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spacesnail3000 · 4 years

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Let It Snow Chapter 4/4: Let It Snow, Let It Snow, Let It Snow

Pairing: Steve x Reader

Word Count: 7,051

Warnings: Smut, dubcon situations, emotional manipulation, more breeding talk/pregnancy fetish, come marking, oral sex, ABO dynamics and the nasty fetishes that come with it basically

Series Masterlist Main Masterlist

A/N: So yeah this was all supposed to be a Christmas fic or at the very least a winter fic but now it’s April so, idk? Lol at least it’s finished, thanks for sticking with me through it. I may write an epilogue but I don’t want to promise anything because I basically have no motivation/time to write these days. Anyways, enjoy and let me know what you think!

It was around midnight when Steve awoke, restless, his heart in a flurry about finally having a mate.

Steve traced the lines of her face as she slept, gazing at her with so much love in his heart that it ached like a blow to his chest during combat. She would learn to love him, and she would come to accept their bond. All would come together in time, especially once she was carrying his child, which he intended for her to be by the time her heat concluded.

Since she had passed out after their first mating, Steve had waited for his knot to go down, and then he cleaned himself up and prepared a few meals for when she woke up. He had also ventured out into the shed out back for more firewood before it got too dark. There was a good foot of snow now and even if Steve wanted to drive them home in this blizzard, he knew it would be dangerous—even with the truck.

Good thing Steve was in no rush to get back to the city. Not with a needy Omega upstairs waiting for him.

Her hormones and scent had flooded the entire house now, almost to the point of making him dizzy. As soon as he situated the firewood by the fireplace, he turned back to her, undressed, and crawled back in their nest to lay with her. He was able to sleep for quite a while before he woke up, his Alpha yearning for her so much that it resounded deep in his chest, a constant thrum like an orchestra playing a symphony crafted specifically for them, for their love.

Now there was a flicker of anxious energy, the brass instruments of their orchestra buzzing around in his mind. It presented with the urge to claim her again, to make her his in every way possible. It had been too long since he’d had her, and he needed her, needed to reinforce his ownership of her. She seemed to feel it too, shifting in her sleep, her brow furrowing, lips turning into a pout.

While he didn’t want to wake her up, he could still assert his love for her even while she slept. It wouldn’t be the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last.

So he began to scent her, rubbing his face on her scent glands, rutting his cock against her thigh and hips and stomach to mark her with his musk even more. One hand trailed down between her legs, where she was leaking his semen, and he pushed it deeper into her cunt with a few thrusts of his fingers.

He kneeled above her then, fisting his cock with the same hand, covering himself in both of their juices, pulling himself off with quick, efficient strokes for one purpose only—to mark her in his come. It wouldn’t be wasteful—the serum allowed him to create copious amounts of sperm, as well as regenerate it quicker than a normal Alpha, so he had plenty more to give her once he fucked her again.

But he needed to mark her in his seed, like a proper Alpha should. It would help her through her heat, help her body come to terms with their bond, with his ownership over her.

Just the thought of his cock knotted deep inside her, filling her up again—it brought him over the edge, and he spilled himself onto her stomach and thighs, countless white stripes across her smooth flesh, glistening in the firelight.

One of his strong hands came down to massage it into her skin, working at it until her skin was sticky and slippery and coated in his essence. He spread his come over her belly, up over her breasts, palming across her bonding glands to wipe his scent on them, and then down to her cunt, where she was visibly glistening with a mixture of his come and her own slick, her body already aroused from her heat, from his scent, from their bond.

He was still hard, his erection having never flagged once since their last knotting, and still antsy on top of that. This time, he wanted her to present for him, but she was still fast asleep and he didn’t want to wake her. His poor Omega was exhausted, and she would need her sleep.

Pushing her body onto her side, he laid down on the bed behind her and maneuvered her knee up and back over his thigh, his own leg thick and imposing stuck between hers. His cock slipped in easily, and he took it slow, rocking her back and forth as he fucked her, almost leisurely, taking his time to caress and kiss every part of her that he could reach.

As soon as he was inside of her, the music in their bond mellowed out into a soothing melody, and she relaxed into him, sleeping soundly now that he was in his proper place.

His hands slid over her abdomen, cupping it in one large hand, and he imagined how she would swell for him, his pups. She would grow so round, the skin taut against her belly, stretch marks decorating it like a painting of Steve’s ownership of her. He would worship her, rub lotion on her stomach, give her kisses all over, every single day.

Then he brought his hand up to her breasts, pinching at her nipples until she was squirming in her sleep. He couldn’t wait for them to grow along with her belly, engorged with milk, sometimes so swollen and painful that his sweet Omega would beg for him to help relieve some of her discomfort when the pups couldn’t. And he would oblige her with delight, happy to do such a service for his love.

Sharp teeth sought out her scent gland, which was swollen and red from his earlier marking of her. As he licked at it, cleaning the dried blood off, and sucked softly to stimulate more blood flow, he felt their bond sparking in his chest, sharp percussion tapping along his nerves, an electrical fire hot wiring his heart alive. Burying his face in her hair at the nape of her neck, he reveled in the feel of her warmth around him, her smell fogging up his brain. She felt like home, so warm and natural and comfortable, his mind completely at ease now that he was bonded with her.

“Sweet, sweet Omega,” he whispered against her neck, digging his nose into her scent gland, smelling the hot swirling tendrils of their bond. He was barely thrusting inside her at this point, more so rocking a gentle rhythm with his hips, basking in the slick heat of her around his cock. “What did I do to deserve you?”

She whimpered, the first crack in the shelter of her dreams, but he continued his slow tempo, his soft touches on her belly and breasts and hips, wanting to ease her into wakefulness, gentle, loving.

Her brain had other ideas, startling awake at once, alert and on edge at the feel of someone in her nest, someone she wasn’t prepared for fucking her awake. She jolted in his arms, and he could immediately smell it on her, the fear and anxiety and confusion, all overlaid by the residual desire from her heat. For a moment, she struggled against him, and Steve slid his hand up her collarbone to cup her throat, using a secure hold to press her against his body.

“That’s okay, sweetheart,” he whispered in her ear, then lapped at her bond mark again. “You’re okay, you’re safe, I’ve got you—”

“Steve?” she asked, voice thick in her throat, confusion increasing with her resistance as she tried to remember what happened. It tugged at their bond, harsh and unpleasant, and Steve scraped his teeth against the bond mark to spark the memory of it in her. It worked—she shuddered against him, the mixture of his hand on her throat and his pheromones flooding her senses forcing her to relax into him despite the uncertainty still lingering in the back of her mind. The presence of a strong Alpha taking care of her willed her body into submission, and he purred against her.

“Good girl,” he cooed, fucking into her with more force now that she was awake. She keened, clawing at his hand as it gradually placed more pressure on her throat.

“Alpha!” she squeaked, hips pushing back into him.

“Let me have your body, sweetheart,” he whispered, pulling out and turning over so she was flat on her stomach. “Be a good Omega and present for me.”

He adjusted their bodies so he was kneeling behind her, and she readily went up onto her knees, her head tucked into her arms to support her neck. For a moment, Steve admired the sight of her presenting for him, the slope of her back, the width of her hips, the shine of her cunt as it glistened up at him.

“Steve, Alpha, please,” she begged, heat peaking again without a cock inside her to appease her. As she tried to push her hips back, Steve held her still, wanting to take this at his own pace—although he loved it when she begged.

“Now, now, Omega,” he said, patting her ass firmly. “Your Alpha knows best. Trust me.”

She whined, and he could see her body tremble with anticipation when he ran the tip of his cock through her slick, but she didn’t say anything else. Satisfied that he had her submission in his pocket, he pressed in slowly, making her feel every inch of him as he penetrated her. Her whine tapered off into a shuddering moan, and it became almost a sob as he bottomed out deep inside of her.

“Yes, yes, yes,” she began to chant as he began to fuck her fast, his hips slapping against hers and echoing around the bare room. He admired her from behind, the arch of her back, her hands clawing at the pillows. Running his hands over the swell of her hips, her ass, he drew one hand back and spanked her with enough force to have her gasp and cry out into the mattress.

He kneaded her ass, pulling her cheeks apart and staring at his cock pistoning in and out of her. Their combined liquids frothed at her entrance, all around his cock, from the speed at which he fucked her, and he couldn’t help but to run his thumb across where they were joined, collecting the liquid, and then lean forward and shove his finger in her mouth.

She moaned around it and eagerly sucked it off, and Steve almost came right there from her blind heat-induced enthusiasm.

He changed his pace, now deep and slow, taking his time to feel every part of her. He was so deep inside of her and as he supported himself with one arm, he brought the other down to her stomach, cupping it and feeling her, imagining the day it would swell for him. She would make such a pretty little mommy, so sweet and perfect, making the perfect home for them, for their family.

Her whimpers filled the space, turning into high pitched moans as she lost herself again to the pleasure he graced her with.

“You love this, don’t you sweetheart?” he growled in her ear. She nodded, but he wasn’t satisfied with that. “Tell me, Omega,” he commanded her, voice deep. “Tell me what you feel.”

The first few sounds to come out of her mouth when she opened it to respond were not coherent words, but punched out moans as Steve fucked into her harder. “Oh, oh, God—” she cried, but settled down as Steve repeated his command directly into her ear, using a deeper Alpha voice, the voice of the Captain, one she couldn’t help but obey. “You’re—” she gulped down a moan, “So, so big… So big inside me, and deep, Alpha. So, so good—" Her words trailed off in a whimper. “Want your knot, please, Alpha, please—”

Steve grunted into her ear, his body practically flattening hers to the mattress as he fucked her harder, the urge to knot her too strong. He brought his hand down to rub at her clit, fingers sliding easily against her skin from all of her slick. “Love it when you beg me, baby, love you so much—”

“Alpha, Alpha—need your knot—”

“Tell me you love my knot Omega, tell me you love it—”

“Love it so much—need it—need you—” Her voice weakened to a squeal as her orgasm consumed her, burying her face into the pillow and shuddering underneath Steve’s hulking frame.

At the feeling of her cunt squeezing so tight around him, Steve roared out his orgasm, his knot swelling into place and locking them together, coming so deep inside her that he could feel her cervix pressed up against the head of his cock, everything so sensitive and soft inside.

“That’s right, sweet Omega,” he cooed, grinding his cock inside of her and grinning as she mewled, “So deep inside you, isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

She nodded and whimpered again, soft little sounds coming from her throat. Steve flattened his body over hers, providing a calming presence, sucking and licking at their bond until she shifted under him, at which point he turned them back to their sides and cuddled her against him with strong arms.

“Love you so much,” he whispered in her ear. She was still dizzy with pleasure, his knot pressing against her in all the right ways every time he pressed his hips into hers. He could feel her happiness and wholeness in their bond, the way she ached from how good it felt, the fogginess in her mind that remained from her orgasm.

Her heat was sated for the time being, and Steve allowed her to doze until his knot went down. At that point, he fetched some food and water for her, and when he came back into the bedroom, he roused her awake with a gentle tone. It was late and she was tired, but she needed to eat something and drink water before she went back to sleep.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he murmured, sitting her up and leaning her against his chest. Her head lolled back onto his shoulder, but he nudged her head up and encouraged her to drink from a water bottle. “Just a little more, honey—that’s right, that’s a good girl,” he cooed as she finished the bottle.

Based on how delirious she was, he had decided that the soup would be too messy for her to try and eat, so he fed her small bits of finger foods—dried berries, chunks of hard meat and cheese, and crackers. He hand fed her small bites and made sure she chewed them properly, letting her suckle the remnants from his fingers until she was too exhausted to eat any more.

At that point, he let her snuggle into his chest as she fell into a deep sleep, one that lasted throughout the night.

Steve awoke before her the next morning. He got up to shower, eat, and rebuild the fire, which he had tended to several times in the night. Luckily she hadn’t woken up anymore, and although he loved being inside of her, he knew she needed all the energy she could get for the coming days.

He didn’t bother putting any clothes back on, which paid off when he came back into the master bedroom to see his sweet Omega writhing in their nest, a hand between her legs. He had heard her moans coming up the stairs, but he hadn’t expected such a sight, her hair sticking to her face, glistening with sweat, her other hand clutching the pillow beside her.

“Oh, Omega,” he groaned, his hand coming down to run over his cock, already hard just at her scent, before cupping his sac in his large palm. “My sweet, sweet Omega.”

Their eyes met and she shot up, eyes focused on his cock. “Alpha,” she whispered, high and needy. “Need you, please—”

He chuckled and stroked his fist up his cock. In the back of his mind, he wondered how desperate she was for his knot, what she would do for it.

“Come and get it then, sweetheart.”

She wasted no time crawling over to him, sitting at his feet. There was a frenzied look in her eyes, a sort of wild gaze as she gave herself over to her animal instinct. “Alpha—” she mumbled, but her plea was cut short as he took a fistful of her hair and shoved her face forward onto his cock.

He didn’t enter her mouth, but instead he forced her face to rub against the skin, nose and cheeks rubbing against the skin, lips right at his balls. She moaned aloud, the animalistic display of Alpha affection going straight through her. Through their bond, he could feel her arousal grow stronger. He scented her like this, his musk all over her skin and lips until her mouth was watering and she was mouthing at his balls, yearning for his cock in her pussy.

By the time he took mercy on her and crouched down, she was dripping onto the floor. She practically threw herself on him when he finally kneeled down next to her, knocking him on his ass and tossing her arms around his neck.

She wiggled around in his arms until she was straddling his thigh, pressing her body up against his chest. “Alpha,” she whined, grappling at his neck and chest. Her eyes were glazed over again, mind fogging with the urgency of her heat. “Alpha, please, need your knot, please, I’ll do anything—”

Well, Steve really couldn’t resist it when she begged so sweet for him.

He fucked her right there on the hardwood floor, pure animal instinct, growling and rutting and locking his teeth into her neck as he came, breaking the skin once more and sending her deep into the clouds, her mind dizzy and drugged with pleasure.

Over the next two days, she was so consumed with her heat that he could barely get her to eat or drink anything between their intense sessions of fucking and knotting. As soon as he knotted her, she would be in a sleepy daze until her heat consumed her body again, turning her into a sex-starved maniac. There were several times that he had to force her to consume food or water as his knot was still inside, plugging her up with so much of his seed that he didn’t think there would be room for anything else. Sometimes he had to force her to sleep, too, rather than continue fucking her after his knot went down. Most of the time, the only way she could even fall asleep was with his knot lodged inside of her.

He was a good Alpha, taking good care of her during her heat. It filled him with satisfaction to hear her purring as she fell asleep, belly full of food, pussy full of his knot, completely and thoroughly sated until another wave of her heat woke her up. He kept her warm with the fire, kept her cozy in her nest, and he was there for her whenever she needed him to fuck her. He always knew what she needed before she needed it, anticipating every thought and urge she had, memorizing her mind like the words to a song.

Their bond was strong. He could feel her through it so clearly, and he was sure she could feel him just as well, feel his love for her, his adoration.

Steve couldn’t wait until she was all his. His kept woman, his sweet Omega, barefoot and pregnant, devoted to him and his family. Their family.

On the third day after her heat began, she slowly came back to her senses as the crippling need ebbed away.

“Steve,” she croaked sometime after his knot had gone down. She had been laying against his chest, not quite asleep, and he could feel the haze clear a little bit through their bond. Her heat was still there, he could smell it, but it was waning now.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he whispered, tightening his grip on her, placing a kiss on her head. She stiffened in his arms and that sour scent of confusion crept back up into their bond.

She sat up, gathering the sheet against her chest. “What—” For a long moment she was silent as she looked around, taking in her surroundings. The rumpled blankets on the air mattress, her clothes abandoned on the floor, the stack of newspapers Steve had been keeping himself occupied with when she wasn’t begging for his cock. Then she looked to Steve, eyebrows furrowed, a frown on her face. “Steve—" Her voice was hoarse, and she cleared her throat although it didn’t help much. “What day is it?”

“It’s Monday, darling,” he answered, purposefully keeping his voice even and quiet, trying to exude as much of a calming aura as possible. He could feel the turbulence on their bond, the ripples from her end as she questioned it. He wasn’t pleased at the sudden dissonance, but he also wasn’t surprised by it.

“And—and—my heat—”

“You’ve been delirious with it all weekend,” he informed her.

“All… all weekend?” He nodded and reached for her, but she pulled away. Fingers shaking, she brought her hand up to feel the skin at her neck, the inflamed gland still tender from Steve’s bite. “And you… you m-mated me…”

There had been so many reactions of hers that Steve had anticipated, so many plans he had in his head depending on her reply, and he had practiced so many different ways to respond to the feelings she felt now. He knew, from their bond, that she was confused, conflicted, saddened, angry.

“Oh, honey,” he cooed, understanding laced through his tone, just shy of condescending. “You wanted me to, remember? You begged me to bite you.”

She frowned, a lost little look on her face that made Steve want to gather her in his arms and kiss her. “That’s not true,” she whispered, “I didn’t do that… Did I?”

Of course, it wasn’t true—she didn’t beg for it, but she clearly was missing a few memories from the last few days, so Steve was going to roll with it.

“You did,” he lied, his tone steady and sure. He placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder and she shivered from the touch. “You asked so sweet, too, when you begged me for my mark—"

She jerked away from him. “But Steve,” she hissed, eyes filling with tears as she glared at him, “Obviously I couldn’t really consent to that! To any of this! I was under the influence of my heat!”

A frown fell over Steve’s face, and his hand fell back to his side. He let that feeling sit on their bond—hurt, sadness. She could feel it, he knew, from the way she shuddered. His voice was low when he next spoke, eyes downcast. “So… you didn’t want me to mate you?”

“N-no—”

“You don’t want to be my Omega?”

“Steve,” she whimpered, feeling the tug of their bond in her heart, the primal urge to submit to him despite her reluctance. The bond was not to be underestimated—it tied them both to each other, and no matter if she wanted it or not, it was there. Steve was utterly devoted to her, and that could be felt in every pulse of the bond, overpowering her aversion to it.

And she was a sensitive girl, too—so sweet and empathetic, never wanting to hurt anyone. The first time she said no to a date with him, she told him how bad she felt, how she didn’t want to let him down, but she couldn’t compromise the project. Now, she could clearly feel his love for her. She could feel his devotion. And she could feel his pain, too, he knew, and he could tell it was hurting her just as much as it hurt him.

He would simply have to convince her that it was the right thing for them, that it was meant to be. And, well, if she continued to reject him, reject their bond—he had a plan for that contingency, too.

Steve sat up opposite of her, taking her hands in his and forcing her to look at him. “Sweetheart, I know you’re not sure about this,” he began, pouring as much sincerity into his words as possible. “But I wanted this before it happened. I wanted to be with you before we came up here—and I know you wanted me, too.”

“No, Steve,” she shook her head.

“You didn’t want me? Can you honestly say that?”

“Steve—”

“No, you need to be honest with me, sweetheart. Because I don’t think I was imagining it. The lunch dates, the little baked treats?” He held on tighter to her hands as she tried to pull away, shaking her head. Tears fell down her cheeks but he could feel her emotions sparking in their bond—her guilt, yes, and her frustration, but also her fondness for him. “That time we went to Prospect Park and I bored you to death with all that stuff about the Grand Army Plaza? And then you fed your popcorn to the squirrels—and God, the way you laughed, the way you smiled. It was so precious.”

“But Steve—” He could feel the pain she felt as he overwhelmed her with sweet words. He could feel her warring with herself to give into the bond she never wanted. It was exactly where he wanted her.

“And that time you showed me all of your favorite places around Brooklyn, and I told you about how everything had changed since my time. You were so excited about it all, and then you got real sad, nostalgic. I knew then that you were perfect for me.” He lowered his voice, remembering the day fondly. “And that day I came for lunch and you were crying, and you told me about your father’s death, and I held you as you cried. Sweetheart, I want to be able to do that for you any time you need it—"

She wrenched her hands away, burying her face in her palms, shoulders shaking. “No, Steve—”

“I know you feel something for me,” he insisted. “I can feel it. I’ve always been able to feel it. And I’ve always felt this way about you, too. I was going to ask you on a date after we were finished with this place, even though I knew you probably wouldn’t say yes because you’ve got Tony’s new project to plan…” He trailed off with a well-rehearsed sigh. “But a man can hope, can’t he?”

“You don’t get it, Steve,” she choked out between sobs. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Sure, I liked you, I liked spending time with you. But I just wanted to take it slow with you. And now…”

Steve moved forward and gathered her face in his hands, wiping away her tears with his thumbs. “Honey, I know. I know. And I didn’t plan for this, either—but we’re in this situation now. If you want to medically break the bond, we can do that, but I’m also open to trying to make the best of it.”

Breaking a bond was possible, but the process was painful and lengthy, involving an injection of shots over the course of a few months to weaken and eventually break the hormonal bond between two people. It was contraindicated in pregnant women due to the potential for damage to the fetus, and there was no way she wouldn’t be pregnant by the end of all this. He felt certain she wouldn’t choose this route—could already feel her aversion just at the suggestion.

Even if she did choose it, he wouldn’t allow it. But he needed her to believe that he supported her no matter what.

Her panic mounted, and she met his eyes. “Steve…” she whispered. “Did you use protection?”

“No, honey, I didn’t. I thought you’d be on birth control.”

Another tear fell and her face crumpled. “I’m not… I’m not on birth control… I don’t like what it does to my body—that’s why I’m not on suppressants, either, Steve.”

Of course, that was another thing he loved about her—that she refused to put any of those modern-day poisons into her body. “I’m sorry, darling, I didn’t know that.”

False hope lit her face up. “Maybe I could get a Plan B pill—”

“Honey, it’s already been three days. And we’re going to be stuck here for another week at least before the weather clears up.”

“The—the weather—it’s still snowing?”

Steve gestured to the window, which was whited out with the snow falling heavily outside. “It’s barely stopped.” Her hope dimmed again, and he could feel her panic rising within the bond. Her breathing turned heavy and soon she was hyperventilating, letting out anxious sobs and moans. Steve took a hold of her again, forcing her head up. “Look at me,” he demanded, repeating her name and the order until she obeyed. “Breathe with me, darling. In and out, okay?” He coached her through miming his breaths until she was following along with him. “Good girl, you’re doing so good,” he praised her. “Just like that, keep breathing like that.”

Once she had calmed down, he drew her in against his chest, stroking down her hair and back to relax her.

“Sorry…” she mumbled weakly. Too weak to fight him off, too weak to question him anymore. Exactly where he wanted her.

“It’s okay, sweetie. I know this is all overwhelming. I know it’s a lot. Just know that I’m here for you. I’m gonna take care of you, and I’m not going anywhere.”

“Okay…”

“Let’s just take it one day at a time. The roads should be clear enough by the end of the week that we can head back to the city. We’ll stay here until then, and once we’re back in the city—then we can make the decisions. How about that?”

His meek girl, his feeble girl, although finding herself in an unwanted situation, was not going to fight him on it. She nodded against his chest, bending to his will so beautifully, his sweet, submissive girl.

Steve ran a bath for her and took his time washing her hair, conditioning it, and running a soft washcloth over every inch of her body. He soothed her until she was boneless against his chest, purring and shivering every time he went over any particularly sensitive area—her sides, her pelvis, the insides of her thighs. Once every perfect inch of her body was clean, he got her out of the tub and dried her off with thorough swipes of the towel against her skin, handling her with firm hands that had her nipples hardening and her scent peaking with arousal.

“S-Steve,” she whispered as he sat her atop the bathroom counter. Her small hands clutched at his shoulders as he dried himself off. “Steve, I think my heat is spiking again.”

“I know, darling, I’ve got you,” he assured her, wrapping the towel around his hips. She pawed at his chest, hands scrambling down his waist until he caught her wrists, long fingers encompassing her forearms completely. “Relax, honey,” he cooed, “Be patient. Don’t need you wearing yourself out again so soon, do we?”

“But Steve—”

He silenced her with a few tender kisses to her fingers, her knuckles, her palms. “Shh, baby. Let your Alpha take care of you—Alpha knows best, right?” At his words, his reminder of his ownership of her, he could feel the conflict within her. Her initial rejection of their bond followed by her urge to give into it. To give into him.

She whimpered at the feeling of that harsh, jarring tug on their bond. He felt it just as much as she did, the discord within their souls, and rather than let her dwell on it, he distracted her.

He ran his hands over her sides and tutted. “Your skin is a little dry, Omega. Can’t have that, can we?” Although she didn’t respond, she didn’t refuse him when he pulled out a bottle of lotion from the cabinet. “I’ll get you all fixed up, sweetheart.”

Steve started by massaging the lotion into her right hand, up her arm, and then doing the other arm before working on her shoulders with firm strokes of his fingers. He did her back next, stepping close between her legs and giving her sweet kisses as he blindly smoothed the cream into her shoulder blades, down her spine, into the divots of her sacrum. By the time he started working on her sides, she was trembling in his arms, hands clenched into fists against his shoulders as she tried to avoid pulling him against her or grinding her cunt against his pelvis.

“You’re doing so good,” he cooed, rubbing more lotion onto her neck and clavicles, before his hands wandered down to her breasts. Her eyes fluttered closed as he cupped them in his hands and massaged the lotion in. “Such a good girl for me.” She shuddered at the feeling of his calloused thumbs rubbing across her nipples, and then he continued down to her abdomen, spending a little extra time there admiring the softness, the life that had to be already growing inside. Then her hips, and her thighs, all the way down her legs to her feet, where she giggled and kicked reflexively when he dug his thumb in too hard.

“Steve,” she moaned, legs jolting from her arousal as he kneeled before her, teasing her endlessly. “Please, please, please—”

He grinned against her skin as he kissed up her shin, nipping at her kneecap, before spreading her thighs with his large hands. “Please, what, my sweet Omega? Tell me what you need.”

“Need you,” she gasped as his hot tongue lapped against the insides of her thighs, tasting her slick that had rubbed off halfway down her leg already from her squirming and writhing on the vanity. “Need you, need you so bad—”

“I know it, baby.” He methodically sucked the wetness off until his facial hair brushed against her outer labia. She cried out at that, hands fisted in his hair, nails scratching against his scalp.

“Please, Alpha—I can’t take it!”

He chuckled, lips pressed right against the juncture between her cunt and her thigh, and the deep vibrations of his voice so close to her core made her pulse with need. His palms ran up the length of her legs before stopping right at the apex of her thighs, and he used his thumbs to spread the lips of her cunt apart, having to dig in with some force to prevent them from slipping out of his grip with how wet she was.

“Fuck,” he cursed, looking at her exposed pussy glistening for him, all for him, flushed red from how much he had fucked it in the last few days. “Perfect. Absolutely perfect.”

With that, he wasted no time in burying his nose into her cunt, wanting to scent her deeply before he tasted her. He could still smell himself within her, and he rumbled with satisfaction that he would remain a part of her for so long, his come marking his territory, marking her as his.

The flat of his tongue trailed heavy up her slit, making the Omega keen, clench her thighs around his head until Steve gripped her knees and wrenched her thighs apart. He chuckled as her muscles trembled against his grasp, and the sound vibrated through her cunt and made her jolt in his arms.

Before moving forwards, he drew his head back to admire how swollen it was, flushed and engorged, sensitive to the touch as he ghosted his lips over it. He blew a line of air against her and she cried out, body shaking still. Then he wrapped his lips around it, suckling gently at first before swirling his tongue around, giving her a little nibble when she writhed against him.

Her reactions to him made his cock ache, the way she trembled, grinded her hips against his face. Her whimpers and cries and the way she said his name, breathless, whiny, desperate. “Steve, Steve,” she chanted, hips jumping with the rhythm of his tongue. “Steve, Alpha, please—” When he slipped two fingers inside of her, she went wild, crying, begging for his cock, his knot. “Need it, Alpha, please, please, please—”

It didn’t take much longer for her to come, what with how sensitive she was. He coaxed her slick out of her sweet cunt with his fingers buried deep inside of her, running his tongue around her entrance, around his fingers, licking up the fluids leaking from her. He was drunk off the taste of her, the taste of himself inside of her, the combination of them heady on his tongue like delicious mead, sweet and earthy, like tasting from Mother Nature herself.

She collapsed back against the vanity, her back against the cool mirror, panting and jolting with aftershocks as Steve continued to clean her up. Then he slowly kissed back up her body, placing sticky kisses against her skin until he reached her lips.

Her mouth opened for him on instinct, letting him lick into her mouth and share the taste of them until her mouth was coated in the taste of herself. After her whimpers started ramping up again, he pulled her against him, allowing her to grind her pussy on his abdomen while he caressed her body, plucked at her nipples, brushed his fingers across her mating gland.

“Alpha,” she gasped, pulling away finally. Her juices were all over his stomach and she was dripping onto his cock, impatient as he denied her. “Steve, Alpha, please, the nest, the nest, please fuck me there.”

“Aw, baby,” he cooed, cupping her cheeks and gazing at her reverently. “Of course, my love. Anything for you.”

With that, he scooped her up and carried her back to the bedroom, all the while praising the nest she built. “So soft and cozy, honey, isn’t it? You built it just for us, built the perfect nest for us. Such a good girl, such a good Omega, aren’t you? Perfect for me…”

He trailed off with his mouth on her breast, suckling her nipple after laying her down on the mattress. He was so wrapped up in her softness that he didn’t notice her lining her hips up to his or reaching for his cock until she was lifting her hips and fucking herself onto his cock.

“Impatient today, aren’t you, honey?” He chuckled at her responding whine, but he stopped torturing her, impaling her completely on his cock until he was buried deep within her. She felt like home, she felt perfect, comfortable and natural and warm. She was home for him.

Steve made love to her, whispering sweet things against her lips between sweet kisses, holding her safe in his arms while he moved within her, chasing her pleasure and his own. He worked his cock inside of her, so, so deep, right up against her womb, and the thought made him shudder.

“So good for me, so good to me,” he whispered over and over, laying kisses on her lips and then her cheeks once her mouth dropped open from the overwhelming pleasure coursing through her. He could feel it on the other end of their bond, pulsating with life and joy and comfort, every single bad thought drained from her mind because of him. He was the only thing she could think of, the only thing in her life, the only one.

And she was his only one. The only thing he loved, the only thing he cared about. Her, and the life that would grow within her.

“My sweet girl,” he rasped, voice catching in his throat. The overwhelming love he felt for her poured out. “My sweet Omega, my love,” he breathed into her neck, up against her mating gland, and she shivered, feeling their bond thrum like different strings of a harp being pulled all at once, a perfect harmony resounding and vibrating within them, within their souls. “I love you,” he whispered, kissing her bond mark. “I love you so much, I’ll always love you—”

She came around him then, sobbing against him, clutching at his shoulders and back with more strength than he would have expected from her, but his mind was blank at the feeling of her cunt fluttering, massaging his cock as his knot grew.

He was so, so close—just a little bit more—just a little. “Look at me,” he gasped, lifting his head to observe her prolonged orgasm. “Open your eyes, look at me, baby—” Once he took a hold of her jaw, she obeyed him, locking eyes with him as she writhed in pleasure beneath him. “Good girl,” he praised her in a low grunt, watching her eyebrows furrow in pleasure just from that. “You’re my good girl, my good Omega—I’m—"

He came inside of her with a groan and his knot locked them together. He remained leaning over her, careful not to put too much weight on her, and kept his eyes on hers. Her gaze never faltered, so full of emotion, and he preened under her watch, proud that he could satisfy his Omega so thoroughly. His happiness leaked into their bond, enough to sate both of them, and he soaked in the feeling of their bliss, their joined souls, his Omega happy. Happy because of him.

He couldn’t wait to fall asleep with her every night in this house, in their nest, with his knot buried inside of her. Couldn’t wait to have her sated and sleepy all the time, barefoot, pregnant, a perfect bundle of joy in her arms, mind blank and undisturbed from the gratification of fulfilling her Omega duties. She would never have to worry ever again.

Steve would take care of her. He would never let her go.

#Steve Rogers #Steve Rogers x Reader #Dark!Steve Rogers #Dark!Steve Rogers x Reader #steve rogers fanfic #dark!steve #dark!steve x reader #ABO #Omega!Reader #Alpha!Steve Rogers #marvel #Marvel fanfiction #captain america #captain america fanfiction #steve rogers smut #Let it snow

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alittlewhump · 3 years

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Unbidden - Act 1, chapter 8

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Content warnings: death mention, possible minor body horror with regards to injury

It had been a fortnight since Andariel. Morgan was adjusting to his new reality, one where speaking much louder than a whisper for more than a few sentences made it feel like he'd been screaming his throat raw. Where pain was out of proportion to the damage that caused it. Where his left arm was all but useless. Although he felt well enough to get up and move around, the wound on his arm showed no signs of closing. An inky colouration had spread out from the puncture, extending up above his elbow and down to his wrist. It turned his stomach to look at it. Any remaining strength in the limb was negated by the pain that shot through it at the slightest jostle or pull. Akara's expertise in the healing arts was not sufficient to handle a wound like this, caused by a demon queen and determined to linger. She had offered her sympathies and a supply of bandages, which at least allowed him to bind the damned thing so he didn't have to see it. His own limited knowledge of medicine did not extend to this manner of injury either, so simply keeping it covered and clean seemed like the best option available.

Morgan had been spending most of his time and energy on meditation and geomancy. Physical pursuits were not very attractive at the moment, so instead he focused on improving his magic. He would need it more than ever now, given the state of his arm. Eventually he would return to the graveyard he'd marked, to check on the restless spirits there, but he wasn't yet well enough for that journey.

The ground around the encampment was largely untended, but the soil was good. Morgan had been using it to flex his magical abilities cautiously, not wanting them to suffer from disuse. He turned small patches at a time, shuffling the richer earth up toward the surface bit by bit, until eventually there was a respectable area prepared. Nobody had asked him to install a garden, but it felt like it might be a useful contribution. It also helped to ground him. He had often tended the gardens back home, and found now that he was missing that work.

Short forays into the surrounding fields were still within the scope of Morgan's ability. Over the course of about a week, he'd managed to successfully transplant a reasonable variety of usable plants. Comfrey, feverfew, yarrow, and chamomile had all been easy enough to spot, and each had at least one medicinal use. They also had the benefit of being reasonably hardy, taking root well in the freshly turned earth. He had also experimented a little with some preparations of other plants he'd found - an outcrop of sway grass by a small lake, some sage nestled in among a patch of bright trefoil, a little bark from the willow just outside the encampment - but despite following standard procedures for preparation, none of the resultant concoctions did anything to relieve the pain of his injury. He took some fruits from what looked like an oleaster, intending to dry them for another attempt in the future, but he kept his expectations low. If the wound wasn't going to heal properly, it stood to reason that the other effects would also linger.

Cain had been good company, stopping by often. He inquired about the garden as it was talking shape and seemed legitimately interested in the various applications of the plants filling it. Morgan took care not to speak at too much length on any one topic, endlessly interesting though they were. Equally fascinating were the tales Cain had to share in exchange. The story of Tristram had been a sobering one, between the king's corruption by Diablo and the destruction it had wrought. And it seemed that it was not yet concluded, given the hero-turned-dark-wanderer who had fled. It would be worth pursuing that tale to its conclusion; Morgan's original request had been duly fulfilled, but the evident threat to the Balance was more pressing than returning to the Necropolis.

He'd also been alternating between meditating on ways to improve his clay golems and creating small versions to test the changes he'd thought of. So far he had come up with a lot of failed designs, going too far to the extremes to test the boundaries. A build with above average mobility that would crumble in combat, a strong and sturdy make that could absorb a great deal of punishment but would be too slow to hit anything that wasn't standing still. Now it was time to rein it in, to tinker with proportions and the flow of magic through the construct until something better emerged. Morgan slipped easily into the in-between state, retreating into his mind while his body rested in a comfortable cross-legged position. A pleasant breeze ruffled the leaves of the tree he was leaning against. Today would be good for focusing on the smaller details. He lost himself for a time in the contemplation of his designs.

A crawling, prickling discomfort pulled him back into reality. The sun was getting low in the sky. Someone had put their hand on his shoulder, and they were speaking to him.

"- word I've said, have you?" It was Blaise, looking annoyed.

Morgan shifted away from her, and she let her hand fall. "I'm sorry," he said, "I didn't hear you. I was meditating." The rough sound of his voice was another thing he was still getting used to. He rubbed his throat gingerly. Should have thought to keep some water nearby.

"Of course you were. I said, I talked to Kashya and she's agreed to give you some training. If you're going to keep fighting monsters and demons, you'll need some help. With your swordplay. It's not very good."

She was right, of course. Now that he could no longer hold a shield, his sword would have to be defensive as well - and magic had always been his strength, not actual physical strength or coordination. He'd been planning to refocus himself entirely on the magical side of things, but this was undeniably a good idea even if he didn't relish the prospect of physical training. Any formal instruction in the use of a sword would be useful.

"When?"

"You're welcome. Whenever you're ready. As soon as tomorrow." Instead of turning to go, she sat next to him. He expected her to keep talking, but she didn't. Maybe she was working up to something. The silence stretched uncomfortably. She didn't like him, she'd often said as much - so why was she staying so near? He'd been doing his best to be avoidable, true to his word. She hadn't been taking advantage of it, instead crossing his path at least once a day. Probably some sort of sense of obligation. The Sisterhood had been treating him with a cautious, grudging respect since Andariel's defeat. It was... strange.

That reminded him of a question he'd been meaning to ask. Now seemed as good a time as any, so he turned to study her. "Blaise. Why did you tell everyone I killed Andariel?"

She startled visibly and raised a hand to shush him. "What the hell, Morgan," she hissed, "you can't just say-" she cut herself off, looking around furtively. Apparently satisfied that nobody was eavesdropping, she continued in hushed tones. "Look, if Akara and Kashya knew I killed that big ugly bitch, they'd never let me get away from this backwater. It's different for you. They're expecting you to go. And when you leave, I'm going with you. At least until I'm well away from here. This place... I'm not really cut out to be part of something like this."

"Ah." That explanation made enough sense. He hadn't realized she wanted to leave, but then he often didn't realize things about other people. Perhaps he'd misinterpreted her loyalty as fondness. There wasn't always a correlation there. She hadn't exactly been talkative during their time together - not to him, not about personal wishes and desires. It also explained the closeness; by spending time around him, she was putting on a front, laying the groundwork that would justify her departure. Satisfied, he turned away to look at the sky. It was starting to be tinged with pink, and it was lovely to see.

"How do you do it?" Now it was her turn to scrutinize him. She was staring intently at his face as though it was going to hold anything other than confusion. Do what? Had he slipped back into his thoughts and missed part of the conversation? "I mean, doesn't it bother you?" That clarified nothing. He stared blankly, and she huffed. "People don't like you. As a necromancer. I mean, we didn't exactly give you a warm welcome. But there's no way it's just us. Your kind are... well, hated."

Oh, that. It was just a fact. He'd come to accept it easily enough. People didn't usually take kindly to him even before they knew his particular area of specialization. He shrugged, wondering idly what had lead to the question. She didn't seem to like that response.

"It's normal," he offered.

"It's not normal! How could you think that's normal? How do you... live with it?" She gesticulated, as though the waving of her hands might clarify her meaning. It did not. How else would he live? He took a moment to search for the words to frame it.

"As followers of Rathma, we are driven by pursuit of the Balance. What others think of us is not important."

"Not im- Morgan, of course it's important! The way people treat you matters. You have to rely on other people all the time."

"I try not to."

Blaise pinched the bridge of her nose as though the conversation was giving her a headache. "Yeah, I know you do. But sometimes you don't have a choice. Like - there's no way you could have gone up against Andariel alone, she would have killed you in a second."

"Mm." While certainly true, it didn't change much. Alone, he would have been more cautious, planned better. Probably died anyway. Others would have come to take his place. His individual life only held value in the contribution it could make toward the Balance. Death came inevitably to all things; to die in service was at least honourable.

Blaise seemed agitated. "I don't think you understand - this is life and death stuff. For fuck's sake, you nearly did die! When-" she lowered her voice, which had risen in frustration. It shook a little. "When I brought you to Akara, she argued with me. She didn't want to waste her supplies on you. She was just going to let you die on her doorstep, because she doesn't like you. That's not normal. You can't just think that's okay."

It certainly wasn't extraordinary. That was why necromancers generally brewed their own potions, not that he'd had either the time or the forethought to reach for his own during the encounter. He started to shrug again. Akara had been pleasant enough since - oh. All the pieces came together suddenly, but the picture they formed didn't quite make sense. Blaise had lied to save him. She'd decided, probably on an impulse, out of desperation, to frame him as the hero because the healer wasn't going to touch him otherwise. She had wanted him to live, and had sacrificed her own part in the story to ensure his survival.

Of course, that type of instinctively selfless behaviour was part of the reason he'd decided she was a genuinely good person. But having that kindness extended to him - that was new. He didn't quite know what to make of it. People weren't kind to him, as a rule. That was familiar, at least, predictable. It didn't feel like he'd done anything to earn this special treatment. He'd have to tread carefully.

"It's what I'm used to," he said quietly. "Death comes to all things. We do not expect others to delay it for us. But you... are extraordinary." It didn't really feel adequate, but he would need some time to process this new information, and the moment would be long past by then. "Thank you," he added. That also felt shallow. He had no reference to draw from - what was the appropriate way to convey this tangle of feelings? Indebtedness, surprise, gratitude, admiration, and those were just the aspects he had names for. He purposely held her gaze for a moment, hoping she would be able to glean something from that since his words weren't doing the job.

Blaise opened her mouth as if to say something, then closed it again. Instead, she stood and stretched. "I bet you haven't even eaten today. Come on, Charsi made these beautiful rabbit pies. You have to try them." She extended her hand toward him. He didn't especially want to join a communal meal, but it would be rude to refuse such a rare offer. And he had, in fact, neglected to eat. He took her hand to pull himself up. Tomorrow he would attempt to train with Kashya, but right now he wouldn't worry about it.

#my writing #story: unbidden #death mention tw #body horror tw

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muwur · 4 years

Note

um!! i want to request a comfort hc/drabble(?) anything !! just 👉👈 can i get hinata n/or tsuki comforting and standing up for their s/o (or friend!) who is non-binary ??

standing up for a non-binary s/o

♡ scenarios ♡ for hinata and tsukishima

gn reader

turned out longer than i intended tHIS IS MY PROBLEM N Y I UPDATE SO SLOW FORGIVE ME FOEFHEFOEFRG but anyway,,,, 2.3k words

a/n: i use primarily they/them as reader’s preferred pronouns in these scenarios, but i wanted to acknowledge that ik some non-binary ppl use other pronouns, they/he, they/she, or even all pronouns, etc :) reminder to pls be respectful to what people want and use their preferred pronouns! and pls lmk if i ever offend you bc i don’t want to upset anyone <3

hinata

Just a week ago, you had finally mustered the courage to come out as non-binary to your boyfriend, Hinata. You recalled the rising panic you felt when you were met with silence and the slight widening of his chocolate eyes. However, his initial surprise was quickly replaced with a softness gracing his features. When he gently stroked your cheek and reassured you that nothing would change how he feels about you, you felt your heart melt with relief. You had nothing worry about, after all.

Unfortunately, not everyone could be as accepting as Hinata.

Picking at an array of noodles with a fork, you fixed your sights on the dinner plate before you, trying to ignore a certain gaze threatening to sear your skin. Next to you, Hinata grimaced. Munching on his stir fry and trying to be respectful in front of your family were the only things keeping him from wiping that leer off your aunt’s face. She was blatant in expressing her disapproval, the wrinkles in her face contorting with disgust whenever she so much as looked your way.

After your heart-to-heart with Hinata the other week, you were inspired to come out to your family as well. The news circulated, and though you weren’t expecting everyone to exactly be on board, the reality of disapproval hurt more than you imagined. It was great timing that today happened to be your cousin’s birthday, and you were forced to have dinner with one of your least favorite family members. Luckily, you were allowed to invite Hinata. You couldn’t fathom how your soon-to-be 5-year-old cousin was so kind and polite despite being reared by such a tyrannous mother. Your earliest memory of your aunt was when she snatched your favorite toy from your toddler hands. You cried as she yelled at both you and your parents for letting you play with such a “gender-inappropriate” toy.

You knew she wouldn’t let you escape tonight without any offhand comments or dirty looks.

A throat cleared. You tensed in your seat. “Y/n? Dear, could you pass me the salt?”

You dared a glance up at the familiar voice. Your eyes locked with your aunt’s menacing ones briefly before you quietly obliged to her request.

“Thank you,” she said dully, taking the shaker. Sprinkling her meal, she continued to speak with nonchalance. “So, I heard you go by ‘they’ now? What’s wrong with he/she, hm? I mean, that is what you are, and that’s the only thing you should go by.”

Silence. Your parents looked at one another in discomfort, unsure how to respond. Your cousin looked back and forth between you and and your aunt curiously, unaware what was happening. A few more seconds passed by. With a shaky breath, you could only stutter out a timid “I-I--” before your mother cautiously piped up. “Aunt *name*, please, it’s your child’s birthday, let’s save this conversation for another ti--”

A scoff interrupted her. “Easy for you to say. You’ve always been so soft on y/n. Neither of you,” she glared accusingly at your parents, “raised her/him right. Now, look what’s happened. She/he’s gone delusional. How could any of you be okay with this and carry on like normal?”

You could feel yourself holding back tears. You wanted to say something against her, to show her you weren’t afraid of her and didn’t care what she thought. To prove that she didn’t know anything about you. That she had no right to be talking to you like this.

Yet you remained frozen in your seat, unable to speak. Inside, your mind went blank, leaving you defenseless against her hateful tirade.

“If she/he were my daughter/son, I’d set things straight immediately. No more outside communication. Who knows what nonsense they’ve been feeding your child? She/he needs to see a specialist to undo whatever brainwashing has occurred and--”

SCREECH.

Hinata stood in front of his seat, which had slid noisily across the floor when he pushed it back. He was silent, his eyes pointed downward and his two palms pressed on the table. All eyes looked at him with shock, if not a tinge of curiosity.

“Stop saying those things as if you knew one thing about y/n and what they’ve had to go through,” he said in a low voice, teeth clenched.

A challenging arch of the brow replaced your aunt’s initial surprise. “Oh, please. What do you know? You’re just a naive kid like y/n. You don’t understand. You know nothing about the real world and you kids go about life as if you can just do anything. You’re selfish.”

“You’re being selfish for refusing to understand a point of view that you’re not used to. How could you live with yourself knowing that you’re making someone you should care about miserable for the rest of their lives? You have no right to speak as though you know y/n. All you care about is your opinion, regardless of whether or not it’s right, and how you look to other people. What’s wrong with letting y/n make their own decisions? Why invalidate them before even giving them the chance to explain and help you understand? You should think about how you’re acting before trying to teach someone else how they should live.”

The air cracked with silent tension. It was too much. Quickly, you got up and dashed to the front door, unlocking it and stepping outside to breathe in the cool evening air. Wrapping your arms around yourself, you stumbled off the front porch, increasing the distance between yourself and that dinner table.

Your body jolted with shock when you heard a familiar voice out and felt a pair of arms wrap from behind your frame. Hinata was breathing heavily, his rushed voice laced with worry. “I’m sorry for making a scene in front of your family, y/n, but I couldn’t just sit around and let her say whatever she wanted. You don’t deserve that treatment. I don’t regret anything I told her. And if she’s still bothering you, or anyone else for that matter, you bet I’m gonna be there to stick up for you, no matter what.”

Despite the tears that pricked at your eyes, a small smile formed on your lips. Ditching your family dinner, you spent the rest of the evening together seated in a booth at a nearby fast food restaurant, munching on goodies and sharing lighthearted jokes. That night, you were reminded that it didn’t matter what someone like your aunt thought. Those who did matter were the ones who accepted and cared for you--the real you. In the midst of darkness, you found yourself a radiant being who never failed to brighten your day. You didn’t know what you did to deserve Hinata, but you knew he would be by your side through it all. For that, you were grateful.

tsukishima

After a rough week of nonstop work, food delivery, and 1AM espressos, you were relieved Saturday had finally come. Tsukishima, who had come by your home a few times that week to check up on you(r sanity) and drop off some surprise dinners, nagged you to take better care of yourself and offered to treat you to lunch that weekend (after you promised to get a lot of rest when you were finished). When you beat your deadlines early Friday evening, you nearly cried tears of joy and immediately passed out on your bed to catch up on lost sleep.

Saturday reminded you of the beauty of the outside world, much needed after your long week of confinement. Both sun and clouds gathered in the pale blue sky overhead. Warm sunshine freckled your skin while a gentle breeze cooled your temple. Hand in hand, you walked down the block with Tsukishima towards the farmer’s market. Already you could hear the nearby murmurs of a crowd and smell the savory aroma of freshly cooked food. Your stomach grumbled with enthusiasm as you thought about all the delicious choices waiting to be ordered.

Numerous vendors lined up down the street. Smoke arose from hot grills, carrying the scent of various spices through the air. Workers called out to passing customers, offering them samples of their homemade nut butters or showing off their natural, handmade soaps. With a fascinated glint in your eye, you observed each stand you passed by. From Hawaiian poke, grilled paninis, and tacos, to Thai stir fry, barbecue, and shawarma, the options seemed endless. As much as you loved the variety, it made making a decision even more difficult.

“Tsukkiiii,” you said pleadingly, “I don’t know what I want.”

He sighed. “Well, what’s your appetite in the mood for?”

“No clue, that’s why I’m asking.”

When he shot you an annoyed look, you held your hands up. “Hey, I’ve been using my brain way too much this week. I’m tired of thinking. I’m pretty down for anything, to be honest.”

With a shrug, he suggested trying the ramen from a stand several feet away from you both. You happily agreed and dragged the both of you to stand in line. Looking down at your shirt, you pulled on it slightly and adjusted the pin attached close to your collar. It depicted a cartoon cat with a text bubble that said “they/them” to indicate your preferred pronouns (though, in the note above, ik you may have a different combination of preferred pronouns. feel free to just sub in whatever those are into the pin ^-^ ). You recalled how you heart rushed with excitement when you found it in your mailbox that morning.

“You know, you didn’t have to get this for me,” you told your blonde companion as you admired your gift. Hands in his pockets, he gave you another shrug. “I just thought it suited you. Plus, strangers won’t misgender you, anymore.”

“That’s really thoughtful of you, Kei... Thank you, again, really.”

His lips formed into a thin line and he looked off to the side. He muttered a low, “Don’t mention it.” before stepping forward to follow the shortening line. A huff of amusement escaped you in response. You were also taking a step forward when you felt a shove on your left side. Tsukishima caught you mid-stumble, helping you regain your balance and stand upright again. Narrowing his eyes, he looked over at the man who bumped into you. The stranger caught himself from stumbling as well, then scratched the back of his neck in embarrassment.

“Ah, I’m sorry about that young man/woman! I wasn’t looking clearly,” he apologized.

You shook your head in response, offering him a smile. “No worries. I’m glad we’re both okay.”

He was about to laugh in agreement when he noticed the pin attached to your top. His smile vanished and he looked at you quizzically. “Say, what’s that pin you got there?”

“Oh,” you pointed at it. “This? These are my gender pronouns. I go by ‘them/them,’” you announced proudly.

Raising an eyebrow, he asked, “What does that even mean? ‘They/them’ is plural, so doesn’t it make more sense to just go by he/she?” He paused for a few seconds of thought. Then, it clicked. “Is this that ‘gender identity’ bullshit I’ve been hearing about lately?”

Your enthusiasm quickly dissipated. ‘Oh gosh, please don’t tell me that this person’s--’

“Now missy/boy, I don’t know what’s gotten into all your heads, thinking you can just pick and choose whatever or whoever you want to be. What you were born with is who you are. Why can’t people accept that and have to complicate things? It’s biology. I swear, people are just doing this for attention or a trend or whatever--”

“Ahem,” Tsukishima cleared his throat, interrupting the man’s rant. He placed a gentle hand on your shoulder and drew you close against himself. “Perhaps the topic is too complex for your tiny mind to comprehend,” he challenged, his voice dripping with collected hostility. “You should stop going on about things you don’t understand; it makes you look even more ignorant. Now, please, stop bothering my partner before you piss me off more.”

The stranger glared up at Tsukishima, then back at you. Deciding it wasn’t worth a fight, the man scoffed and shoved past your boyfriend;s shoulder, then disappeared into the crowd. Behind you, a kid’s wide eyes looked at Tsukishima with awe. “Wow, that was really cool! You really showed him!”

“Tch, it was nothing,” he responded bashfully. “Can’t let assholes get away with whatever they want.”

15 minutes later and you were both settled in a shady area on a grassy field with ramen bowls in your lap. Your eyes were glued to the ground. Tsukishima waved a hand in front of your face with concern.

“Earth to y/n? You good? You’ve been quiet since we encountered that guy earlier.”

You risked looking up into his eyes, unable to control the stream of tears running down your eyes. Surprised, the blonde placed his hands on the sides of your face and started to wipe your tears off with his thumbs. “I-I’m just, r-really grateful that you,” you choked between sobs, “were here with m-me, today. I d-don’t know what I would’ve done if I was alone.”

You let him wrap his arms around you as you buried your face in his shoulder. He nestled his cheek onto the top of your head and ran a gentle hand up and down your spine. “It’s okay,” he murmured softly. “I won’t let anyone hurt you, anymore. I promise.”

Several minutes later, you pulled away, sniffling and rubbing the remaining tears from your eyes with your forearm. He gave your head a small pat.

gRhhrrhGRH.

“Someone sounds hungry.” You rolled your eyes and swatted his hand off your head.

2 minutes into eating, and you asked (suggestively), “Can we eat from the same bowl and see if we end up connecting noodles?”

“N-No, that’s dumb.”

“Oh, c’monnnnn~ You know you want to, you’re blushing.”

“I’m not!”

a/n: sry about the weird stomach growl effect LMAO

if you coudlnt tell i was hungry writing this n i miss going out to eat foueherhggu

i hope u enjoyed <3 pls lmk if u would like any changes anon or smth different (liks regular hc’s, etc). have a lovely day n i hope you feel better <3 ill fite anyone who makes u feel bad >:(

#haikyuu x reader #hinata x reader #tsukishima x reader #tsukishima kei x reader #hinata shoyo x reader #haikyuu imagines #hinata shoyo #tsukishima kei #requests #comfort request

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lokidrabbles · 4 years

Text

Stop, And Think of Me (Loki x Reader)

After an incident at work, Loki provides reader with his own comforting methods

A/N: Another quick oneshot dealing with some work related stress, Loki fluff and smut. Again, thank you all for the follows and likes on my little stories :) As always, Gender Neutral Reader!

Warnings: Implied smut, lewd imagery, but fluff n’ stuff too!

A worker, the one Maria Hill, who still held some ambivalence towards Loki, was the one to inform him of what had happened earlier that day and why you had been dismissed.

The details of the situation were scattered. Your workplace at the facility had provided you with a sudden wave of paperwork, meetings, drills and overtime needed after another inter dimensional threat was discovered. Luckily no catastrophic worldwide panic was caused, as the Avengers meticulously took care of business. Through the midst of it all, there was some ongoing entanglement between the lower departments of the facility, with certain protocols having gone ignored and undetected by supervisors and authority figures. Whatever, or whoever had majorly fucked up, had decided to use you as a scapegoat to evade any type of consequences, throwing you in as the ‘newbie’ who had gone over everyone.

Loki admired your ability to defend yourself well with your own ability of verbal intervention, using your sharp tongue as weapon against anyone wronging you or him. You were quick witted, confident, and unafraid to speak your mind towards anyone. Whatever fool had wanted to try at you in this way wouldn’t have gotten the chance to defend themselves.

Never did he actually expect you to have utilized you own physical strength to justly give this person a broken nose.

Hill described the brawl being very brief as security was immediately called in to break you up. Luckily, no charges were pressed and Mr. Stark took the situation casually, finding it normal for seeming coworkers to punch the crap out of each other in this line of work. A good way to say no one was fired.

You were promptly sent home to ‘think about your actions’, but most importantly to cool off as you had become quite shaken up. Normally a situation like this wouldn’t have warranted his attention as it seemed things worked out on their own. You were an adult, who was more than capable of taking care of themselves, and probably wanted to spend the rest of the afternoon in privacy.

Despite these thoughts, Loki knew he’d find you in your home, and a certain obligation tugged at him endlessly. After all, what type of man would he be if he didn’t?

He would soon make way to your home (entering with complete disregard), and would find you shriveled up in your bed. From your dampened hair, he figured you had taken a much needed, life altering bath. The pressure of it all must have been to much for you to bear. Loki had noted how your gaze became hollowed, barely looking up to see him enter your bedroom.

“I guess you heard about my little episode.” You said flatly.

“Indeed. I have to admit, I’m quite impressed at the damage you left behind. Remind me to never get on your bad side.” He said while sitting at the edge of your bed.

You groaned, turning around for your back to face him. “What was I thinking? I totally lost myself back there.”

Loki inched up closer to you, beginning to meticulously straighten out your wet locks of hair. “You were defending yourself, were you not? I know you to be a level headed individual most of the time. I’d take it this person really hit a nerve.”

“Yeah, they were totally out of line! Calling me out in front of our department supervisor and calling me a ‘newbie’. Dickhead.”

“Oh, how I much I would have loved to see your pretty little knuckles land on this fool’s face.” He said teasingly, while still threading his fingers through your hair.

“It was totally awesome, don’t get me wrong. But I still feel like garbage.”

“Care to elaborate?”

He felt your chest rise with a deep inhale, and slowly fall down as you released. “Because, I shouldn’t have done that. I lost control over my temper again. I mean, it’s been a while but I didn’t think it would go like this.”

He noticed how your voice became smaller. This was something more than having an altercation with a coworker. This was something much more internalized, and Loki had come to know and understand your telltale signs very closely. You’d turn away, avoiding to see him in the eyes. You’d begin to take in deep inhales to control your breath. And your voice would begin to crack as the discomforting lump in your throat began to rise.

Loki wasn’t alien to comfort. In his childhood, Frigga would be his stone and the bearer of his doubts and worries. There were still times where Loki would remind himself of her sweet aroma and soft hair, caressing him dearly with intent and love. The memories of the late queen would forever linger with him, perhaps as a lesson for whoever would capture the Asgardian’s fondness.

A sniffle broke his thought process, and soon he saw how your body wracked with an onslaught of sobs and tears.

There was instinct which rose within Loki, a mixture of fury, protection, hesitation and warranted worry. His first flashing thought was to find the person responsible for causing you this pain, and swiftly burying a sharp object into their neck, but due to ‘certain restrictions,’ this would only make things much more difficult. Instead, he would provide you with what you needed at the moment.

“(Y/N),” He began, speaking carefully. “Turn around.”

You did as you were told, and you turned around to come face to face with the dark haired prince. Giant droplets dripped downwards, falling almost beautifully at the edge of your jaw. Uncontrollable sobs made it difficult for you to breath and articulate any type of explanation to him. Loki didn’t need you to explain however, as he knew exactly the conflict going within you. Loki understood sadness and shame very well. And perhaps, these were the most human emotions to use in efforts to connect to you.

He cradled your head justly into the crook of his neck, unbothered by the wetness coming from your face and nose. His arm cradled around your shoulders, holding you tightly and secure against his chest, close enough for you to feel the heavy beating in his chest. He encouraged you to drape your legs over his lap to support your whole weight onto him, as well as leading your arm around his shoulder. Your shudders continued, and he allowed you to experience everything within his embrace. He tenderly kissed your temple, murmuring sweet nothings and words of protection until your sobs stabilized.

“I don’t like seeing you this way.” He whispered into your ear, as if it would be only confessed to you.

“I'm sorry.” You said in between trembling lips.

“Stupid human. Don’t apologize for being upset.” He snarled.

“Ugh.” You let out an unappealing groan. “I c-can’t go back like this.”

“You won’t, because you will only show your vulnerability with me. Understand?”

He meant it. It made him physically uncomfortable to see you in this state, however it also sickened him to the core at the possibility of someone else wrapping their arms around you and allowing you to pour your tears onto them. For you, to have to resort to someone unworthy to bring you contentment? Unthinkable. As far as he knew, Loki was the only one who would witness this, and the only one who would provide you with the tenderness and care you needed.

“This individual was fortunate enough to only obtain a bloody nose from you.” He continued. “I’m sure I would be back in handcuffs and some type of cell if I was there.”

“Hmm?”

“I would have murdered them.”

You chuckled in between sniffles, and Loki could only imagine a small smile forming over your cheeks. “That’s horrible to say.” “Perhaps.”

You shifted within his embrace, just enough for your tear stained face to come close to his own. Loki felt your lips softly brush past his, and then return for a much needed kiss. He felt your small hand push the back of his head deeper into your taste, to which he eagerly reciprocated. You coaxed him to lay over you, and soon he would lean forward into you, pushing you softly onto your bed. You wrapped your arms justly around his neck as moans of contentment escaped the corners of your mouth. He returned these with his own guttural groans, taking in the sweet nectar of your mouth. He felt the heat rise in your face and his mind began to cloud with lewd details of his drippings all over your bare body. Indeed, no other individual would be able to bring this level of pleasure to you, or even begin to comprehend just exactly what your body needed. Only he was capable of such comprehension, and only his fingers, hands, lips and body were good enough to draw out the poison in you and replace with pure ecstasy and reverence.

He broke the kiss temporarily, catching his breath. He gazed at your glassy eyes, full of desire, and practically begging him to resume exploring your mouth.

“Feeling better, are we?” He asked with a satisfied smirk.

You nodded slowly, licking your lips over his remaining spit.

“Do you wish for me to continue? You know once I begin, I won’t stop.” He said, as if warning you for what was about to come.

“I know.” You responded self-assuredly. He loved it, your willingness to completely be pleased by his own doing and allowing whatever carnal desire he held back to be released onto you.

“Little human.” He began, trailing kisses from your salty cheek, and then all the way down your neck. “You will forget about all your troubles from today. I will fuck you endlessly, because you deserve a good fucking.”

“Loki, I-” You began, but he interjected immediately.

“No. Listen to me well. There will be no more hesitation with any of that. All I want to hear from you are those obscene sounds coming from your lips as I bury myself deep in you. Do you understand?”

“You’re gorgeous.” You said in a breathy manner.

Loki took you for the remainder of the day, lovingly and longingly. Your two bodies would join each other, sharing each other’s heat and sweat, providing you with the necessary distraction from your own turbulence, and providing Loki with a self-fulfilling deposition. You were his and no other man or woman could even possibly come close.

#loki #loki x reader #loki x (y/n)#loki x you #loki pov #loki imagine #loki imagines #loki drabbles #loki drabble #loki laufeyson #loki odinson

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the-sympathetic-villain · 4 years

Text

You Belong With Me - Chapter 22

AO3 | First | Previous | Next | Masterpost

Description: Much to his surprise, after being released from prison for a crime he didn’t commit, Logan has been appointed as a the prince’s new advisor.

Word Count: 3093

Chapter Warnings: Flirting/Romance (Let me know if I missed anything!)

Patton's laugh echoed in the empty corridor as they approached Roman's quarters. Virgil had given up enforcing his strict protective formation from earlier in the night and had settled for allowing them walking in pairs on their way back. He led them through the quiet halls, chatting quietly with a very tired but giggly Patton walking beside him. Roman couldn't help but roll his eyes as Virgil made pun after pun to get a rise out of Patton.

Most nights, he may have joined suit, leaning into Patton's tiredness to make him giggle, but he found himself preoccupied tonight. Logan walked beside him, silent as they listened to their friends' chatter and Roman had found himself sneaking glances at Logan as they moved down the halls. He seemed to be walking closer to him than he had on their way up to the observatory. His body language was more relaxed and the small, contented smile on his face made Roman’s heart flutter happily. He couldn't help but think there may be something there that wasn't there before.

Roman breathed a happy sigh, wrapping an arm around Logan's shoulder and his knees went weak as Logan crossed his arms and leaned into him. The stupid grin on his face almost certainly should be enough to scare anyone off, but Logan didn't seem to mind. If anything, the man's smile grew wider at his touch and that small quirk in Logan's lip filled him with an energetic passion the likes of which he'd never known. When Logan looked at him, Roman ached to impress him. He would have moved mountains to see the man smile, because each time Logan’s defenses dropped even the slightest bit, his eyes sparkled with an intelligence and kindness that drove Roman wild.

As they'd walked, Virgil continue to prod at Patton, who now howled with laughter but Roman didn't even register their words. Everything in the world seemed dimmer as he stared down at Logan’s smile and he couldn’t seem to focus on anything else. He watched as Logan rolled his eyes at Virgil’s jokes and he couldn't help but grin coyly down at Logan. He may deny it, but Roman thought Logan seemed to be hiding a smile at Virgil’s clever wordplay.

Roman dropped his gaze from Logan as they approached the door, trying to sober his heartsick mind before he drew the attention of his other friends. To his dismay, Virgil had spun around at that very moment to open the door for them and one look at his face told Roman he hadn't hid his feelings nearly as well as he'd hoped. A concerned frown flashed over Virgil’s face as he glanced between Logan and himself. Roman stared back at him with a pleading glance, and fortunately, Virgil seemed to catch the meaning behind his glance as he looked to Logan, who remained oblivious to Virgil’s attention on the two of them as he stared happily up at Roman.

Virgil held the door for them as they walked past the guards posted at Roman's chambers and Roman could feel Virgil's stare burning into him as he followed Logan and Patton into the room. Stepping in behind his friends, Virgil didn't hesitate even a moment to cut Roman off, stopping him in his tracks before he could move to join their other friends.

“Hey, Pat. Isn't it time to change Logan’s bandages again?” Virgil asked pointedly, before Roman had a chance to speak.

Roman turned and shot him a dirty look, making certain Patton and Logan didn’t see his irritation at Virgil’s apparent distrust of his intention

“Oh yeah. Thanks, Virge.” Patton smiled tiredly, oblivious to the growing tension between his friends. “I'm so tired I nearly forgot. We should definitely do that before bed, Lo.”

“No worries, Pat.” Virgil said, gently. “Why don't you take Logan in the other room and get him wrapped up nice and clean again? Princey and I don't mind waiting out here.”

Roman crossed his arms and stared down at the him, gritting his teeth in frustration at being treated like a petulant child.

“Sure. Come on, Lo.” Patton happily obliged, grabbing Logan’s hand and leading him out of the room. “We'll be quick!”

Once the door had closed behind them, Virgil turned to Roman. His gentleness talking to Patton disappeared as he stared at Roman in bewilderment.

“Don’t give me that look, Virge.” He refused to meet Virgil’s gaze, and instead, he moved to the fireplace to begin building a fire.

“What are you doing, princey?” Virgil asked, exasperated.

“I don't know what you're talking about.” Roman evaded, focusing solely on stacking the wood.

Virgil glanced back at the door to Roman’s room and softened his tone. He moved closer to Roman, not wanting Patton or Logan to overhear their conversation. “I saw you staring at Logan just now.”

“What's your point, Virge?” Roman muttered. “Patton was being affectionate with Logan as well and I don't see you scolding him like an unruly child.”

“You know it's not the same, Roman.” Virgil’s voice softened to almost a whisper. “I know you, princey. I saw the was you were looking at him just now.”

“And what if I am starting to care about him, Virgil?” Roman stopped his work, absently staring at the unlit wood in the fireplace. He suddenly felt numb as reality came crashing back down on him. He bit his lip, spitting his words a little too harshly. “It's not like you weren’t flirting with Patton all night. Who are you to judge me?”

“You know it's not the same, Roman. I'm not a prince and neither is Patton.” Virgil sighed sympathetically. “I'm trying to look out for you, princey. You have to be more careful.”

“I know that.” Roman muttered bitterly.

Virgil stared at his friend for moment before coming up to stand behind his friend. He rested a hand on Roman’s back. “Have you actually talked to him?”

“I'm not forcing anything on him.” Roman muttered breathlessly, quickly losing steam.

“I know you're not, princey. I can see it in the way he looks at you too,” Virgil pulled Roman up from where he was kneeling on the floor and guided him to the couch. They sat for a moment and Virgil wrapped his arm around him. “but you know it's not that simple. You need to talk to him and set some expectations. Otherwise, you’re both going to end up getting hurt.”

“I know.” Roman sighed, shaking his head. “Of course, you’re right. I acted without thinking.”

Virgil gently rubbed his thumb across Roman’s shoulder in an attempt to comfort him.

“I've never felt this way before, Virge.” Roman looked down at the ground, his voice despondent. “I’d accepted I wouldn't be allowed to marry for love, but to feel like this and not even get to hope for a happy ending is crushing.”

“It's not fair for you, but not all is lost. Just because you can't marry him doesn't mean you can't have anything together, assuming he's willing.” Virgil leaned his head on Roman's shoulder. “Listen, if it'll help, I'll take Patton to my place tonight and give you guys a chance to talk. Okay?”

“Okay. Thank you.” Roman was quiet for a while. “I don’t know what I'll do if he rejects me, Virgil. I feel like my whole soul is in on this one.”

“Worst comes to worst, we get through it together. I'm always here for you, princey,” Virgil turned and made Roman look at him. “but listen. Don’t panic if he needs time to think. He's been through a lot and it's a lot to consider all at once.”

“Right. I know.” Roman sighed. “I won't force anything.”

“It's all going to work out, princey.”

“Thanks, Virgil.”

They sat together for a while, lost in thought as time dragged on. Roman eventually found himself standing to finish stacking the kindling. After the fire was roaring, he paused for a moment before stepping back to rejoin Virgil on the couch. They were both quiet, staring into the flames. Virgil absentmindedly wrapped his arm around Roman’s shoulder, sinking into the corner of the couch. He pulled Roman close until he was practically laying on Virgil’s chest. They sat together, silently watching the fire crackle and burn and letting the night slowly pass them by, until quiet voices jolted them from their thoughts and the door to Roman’s room opened.

“Make sure you take this tonight. Two spoons worth should help you sleep through the night, but let me know if you still feel groggy in the morning or if you wake up too early. We can make adjustments tomorrow, if we need to, Lo.”

“Thank you, Patton. I really appreciate all you've done for me.”

“Anytime, kiddo.”

Roman stood up off the couch and Virgil quickly followed him.

“How are you doing, Lo?” Roman asked.

Logan smiled at him. “Quite well. Patton has taken excellent care of me. Most of my wounds have made significant improvements thanks to his expertise.”

“That’s good to hear. I'm so glad to hear you’re doing better.” Roman smiled at him sweetly, trying desperately not to stare at the happy expression on Logan's face. He had to bite his lip to keep a wide grin from spreading across his face as redness dusted Logan’s cheeks and he looked away shyly.

“Alright, it's late. Pat, grab your stuff.” Virgil interrupted. “You and I are going to stay at my place. Everyone needs some proper rest and there's not enough space here tonight without someone having to crash on the floor.”

Patton looked back to Logan for a moment, hesitating. Virgil thought for a second that he may protest but after a moment he seemed to give in, too tired to argue. He nodded. “Okay, kiddo. I'll be ready in a minute.”

Patton seemed willing to accept the arrangements but Virgil could see discomfort in Logan’s eyes as the suggestion. “Don't worry, L. It won't be long. Tomorrow, princey will have to return to his duties, so I’ll be back first thing in the morning.”

“Sure, Vee.” Logan replied, hanging his head to hide his nervousness. He swallowed, feeling a lump in his throat. Despite enjoying their night out, the idea of spending the night alone with Roman was still an intimidating prospect. Unfortunately, he couldn’t exactly say that to Virgil with Roman watching him. “Thank you.”

“Everything's good, L. I'll be back before you know it,” Virgil smiled encouragingly at him. “and I've got some things I’d like to show you tomorrow, if you’re up for it.”

Logan looked up at him curiously. “What type of things?”

“I'll tell you about it tomorrow, L." Virgil smirked. "Just be ready to work.”

“Okay, I will.” Logan muttered, staring intently at Virgil as Patton walked up behind them, yawning.

“I'm ready to go, Virgil.”

“Okay. Let's get you to bed, Pat. You’re starting to look dead on your feet.” Virgil smiled gently at Patton, wrapping an arm around his shoulder as he guided him to the door. “We'll see both of you tomorrow. Good night!”

Roman and Logan echoed their goodbyes cheerily as their friends left the room, but as the door closed slowly behind them, an awkward silence hung in the air and Logan could feel himself growing tense.

“Logan?”

“Yes, Roman?” Logan asked nervously, not looking away from the door.

“Can we talk?”

“S-sure, Roman.” Logan looked over at him, crossing his arms as he hesitantly made his way back across the room towards Roman.

“There's no need to be nervous, Lo.” Roman smiled encouragingly. He extended a hand to him and Logan felt himself hesitated before Roman quickly stepped forward to reassure him. “We're just going to talk, Logan. Nothing more.”

Logan smiled at him weakly and nodded as he reluctantly took Roman's hand. He allowed Roman to lead him over to the couch, tensing as Roman pulled him down next to him, dropping Logan's hand as he sat. Logan turned his head away. He hoped the heat of the fire would excuse the redness in his cheeks.

“Lo?”

“What?” Logan didn't even look up at Roman. He was too focused on keeping his breathing steady.

“Are you okay?”

“I'm fine,” Logan forced himself to look up to Roman, trying not to allow his anxiety show. An encouraging smile spread wide across Roman’s face and the prince's eyes sparkled in the light of the fire. Logan felt some of the pressure release from his chest and he smiled back at Roman. “Although, I'll admit I'm anxious about what you have to say.”

“Listen, Lo.” Roman sighed quietly. “I think I've made it obvious that I'm starting to fall for you.”

Logan looked away, feeling his cheeks burn. Panic burned in his chest and his breath suddenly caught in his lungs. “Ro—”

“Please, Logan." Roman stopped him, staring at him with pleading in his eyes. "Just let me finish before you panic, okay?”

Logan bit his lip and nodded, glancing up at him. He blinked, noticing for the first time that Roman also seemed shaken.

“I know this is not fair for me to ask of you.” Roman leaned closer, hesitantly offering a hand to Logan. “You've been through so much. You haven't had the chance to catch your breath, let alone process any of it.”

Logan nodded, watching Roman closely as he allowed Roman to take his hand. His nervousness disappeared and he kept his expression neutral as he listened to Roman's words.

“Perhaps, I should have controlled my actions more completely, but tonight, I allowed my true feelings to show without regard for how that may affect you." Roman paused. "I want to be with you, Logan. I treasure every moment I've been allowed to spend with you and I want the chance to continue to make you happy."

Logan stared at him, shock settling into his chest. His body felt like it was on fire as he watched Roman's face as he continued to speak.

"I'm going to be honest with you. Being together would be hard and complicated. It could never be official because of my title and suitors would continue to court for my hand.” Roman smiled weakly at him, defeated. “Nothing would make me happier than for you to say yes, but I don't want to deceive you into believing this is a fairy tale.”

Logan frowned and looked down at his lap, considering Roman's words carefully.

“I know you only just started to trust me and the last thing I want to do is undermine the trust we've built by forcing anything on you,” Roman sighed, gently massaging Logan's wrist with his thumb. "but I've never felt like this before and I think you feel it too."

Logan's face was carefully neutral as Roman continued.

Roman smiled at him sweetly. “But if you don't, that's okay too. I brought you on as my advisor because I saw talent, passion and kindness in you, and I want you around, regardless of if anything ever happens between us. Even if you simply don't want to get involved with me, everything just goes back to normal. That's it. No consequences. No hard feelings. I give my word that nothing changes.”

Logan was quiet, looking down at their interlacing fingers. The firelight flickered in his eyes, sparkling with life as he analyzed Roman's words.

“What do you think, Lo?” Roman asked. He stopped running his thumb along Logan’s hand, tensed as he waited for Logan’s response.

“May I take some time to consider your proposal?” Logan glanced up at him, his face neutral as he gauged Roman’s reaction.

“Take all the time you need, Logan. At the very least, you should sleep on it.” Roman smiled at him patiently. “Please, take the bed. I don’t mind sleeping here for the night.”

“Roman—" Logan looked up at him, starting to protest.

“Please, I insist, Logan.” Roman interrupted sternly, not giving Logan a chance to argue. “Regardless of anything that I said tonight, you are still recovering from significant injuries and you need proper rest.”

“Very well, Roman. I'll take the bed. Though I think the gesture unnecessary, I do appreciate your concern for my well-being.” Logan smiled at him as he sat up, leaning forward off the couch. His careful expression didn’t falter for a second as he paused to look at Roman. “Perhaps, I should rest then.”

“Of course, Lo. Get some rest.” Roman smiled tiredly at Logan. Now that he'd said his piece, the adrenaline was fading and he found himself quickly exhausting. “I'll see you in the morning.”

"Though, before I go," Logan hesitated, glancing curiously up at Roman. He bit his lip and was quiet for a moment before nervously turning to Roman again. “There is some information that I believe could be beneficial to my decision-making process.”

“Sure thing, Lo.” Roman yawned. “What would you like to know?”

Logan watched him cautiously. “Are you sure I'm not over-stepping boundaries?”

“Absolutely. Nothing is off-limits if it helps you come to a conclusion.” Roman muttered sleepily. “For better or worse, I’m putting everything on the table.”

“If that is the case, then I would like to try something.” Logan leaned forward slowly, watching carefully as Roman tensed. He paused, waiting for Roman to relax before continuing. Gently sliding his hand up Roman’s cheek to the back of his neck, Logan pulled him into a kiss. Warm lips pressed against his and he gasped, breathing in Roman’s breath.

God.

His lips were so much softer than Logan could have imagined. He moved closer to Roman, almost kneeling over him and he shuddered, feeling Roman tentatively kiss him back as Logan pushed forward more forcefully.

Every cell in Logan’s body felt like it was on fire, and it took all of Logan's self-control to pull back. Breathing hard, Logan looked down at Roman’s shocked face. Logan’s face flushed with embarrassment, though he couldn’t hide the contented smile on his face. He took one more glance at the soft look in Roman's eyes before turning to skirt the edge of the couch as he quickly left the room.

Dazed, Roman stared at Logan as he briskly walked out of the room, leaving him speechless. His body tingled as he slowly melted into the cushions beneath him. Thoughts of the sweet taste of Logan's lips danced through his head and he turned a rosy shade of pink as a smile spread wide across his face.

Author’s note: Wait for it <3

General Taglist:

@somehow-i-got-an-account @justanotherhumanstuff

You Belong With Me Taglist:

@cas-is-a-hunter @insert-cool-blogname @ironwoman359 @i-know-im-smart @imbadatnames8d @croftersphoenix @optimistic-violinist @chronicallynervouschild @croftersjam15 @actitus-hypoleucos @unbefuckinglieveable @justthatamount @eeveeeclair246 @taxicabinmemphis @dwbh888

#sanders sides #sanders sides fic #sanders sides fanfic #sanders sides fanfiction #ts virgil #ts patton #ts logan #ts roman #logince #You Belong With Me #villain writes

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sohin-ace · 4 years

Text

Jojo Drabble - Jotaro (Pride Month Special)

It's the end of Pride Month, and I haven't seen a single, not a single post about Aro/Aces...

I'm not really surprised. At all.

I'm linking some interesting videos and websites to help you understand this sexual orientation.

Asexuality: The invisible Orientation by Hippie Calico

I spent a day with Asexuals by Anthony Padilla

Asexuality by David Jay

Asexuality.org (available in 16 languages)

R/aaaacccccce on Reddit

R/asexuality on Reddit

(Both subreddits are very cute and full of funny memes and good positivity 💜🖤)

In regards to the visibility of this marginal and forgotten sexuality, I'll be making a drabble about it. With the only openly Aro/Ace character of Jojo that I know of.

※ Jojo Scenario • Jotaro - Ace to Ace

You opened the heavy metallic door leading to the rooftop, the loud clank and dry screech making you cringe. Hopefully the sound wouldn't alert the teachers or the class reps. After all, nobody was allowed on the roof. Especially during class hours.

You walked around, searching for a certain someone and, surely enough, the boy in question was there, just where you expected him to be.

"Man, you sure love to ditch, don't you?"

You chuckled and the male didn't even spare you a glance, his hat effectively shielding his face from the Spring sun as he laid leisurely on the floor, his arms pillowing his head.

"I could say the same to you."

Well, he wasn't wrong, you thought to yourself, but you would never admit it out loud and possibly give this smug man reason.

You slowly and carefully sat down next to him, groaning slightly at the painful difficulty of the usually simple task.

Jotaro perked up slightly at your discomfort, making sure you were alright. Thankfully you seemed alright and he relaxed.

"Yare yare daze, you shouldn't have come. You're still recovering, why are you walking flights of stairs now?"

That's right. You were still under medication and strict medical supervision for your quite severe stomach wounds. And you still weren't used to your prosthetic leg just yet.

It was purely a miracle that you managed to survive that fight against Dio, and you never ever took a second of your life for granted after that, thinking of the friends who didn't have the same chance as you, lost forever during that battle.

You looked down at your uniform skirt. You couldn't think about that now. You had to lift up the mood for Jotaro, and for them.

"Hey, I'm fine." You dismissed with a smile, "It doesn't even hurt that much anymore, it's been a while now." You reassured and he only mumbled his catchphrase again, laying back down.

You two kept each other company in comfortable silence. Despite everything, Jotaro was still taciturn and you were much calmer after all that happened the past few months.

It was already the end of the school year and your thoughts drifted to the future that awaited you, and what it had to possibly offer.

"Say, Jotaro..." You softly grasped his attention and he only hummed in response. "What do you think will happen next? After we graduate, I mean..."

"Hmm?" He opened a curious blue eye at you." ...Go to college or get a job. Or both. What else do you want to do?"

"Ah well..." You paused and thought of your next words. "I don't want to but... Guess I'll have to get married and stuff eventually... Have kids, cook for my husband, things like that you know..."

Jotaro clicked his tongue and scoffed at the disgusting idea. "...Bullshit."

"I know..." You sighed and looked back down at the male, only to see him stare at the now more covered sky, his usual glare softer on his face. You knew what he was thinking.

"Jotaro..." You called and he looked at you. "You're the same as me... Right?"

He didn't say anything, but his eyes spoke answers for him. You may not have known him for very long, but the adventures and experiences you lived with him were worth much more than years of friendship.

He huffed and closed his eyes. "Yare yare daze... Why are you talking about depressing things, now?"

"I mean... Can you blame me for being worried? I know you feel the exact same, Jotaro." You brought your knees up to your chest and stared ahead. "You'll have to get through the same thing at one point too... That's... What we're expected to do, after all... Whether we like it or not."

He hated to admit it, but you were right. What was the place in society for two outsiders with not interests in romantic or sexual relationships?

What were Aromantics and Asexuals besides loners, straight people craving attention and finding poor excuses for their lack of charisma?

Especially when everybody well knew that the only way to succeed in life, was to share it with a significant other and keep the bloodline going forever.

...Or was it really?

All these thoughts, your obligations as members of the patriarchal modern society, the implications behind all of it, the consequences, the fate you two would be doomed in. All of these were so painful. A lifelong struggle.

He was aware that he'd have to complete his other half of his life, achieve the ultimate life goals of getting married to a beautiful little wife and have cute little children running around the house and all that jazz.

But that's not how Jotaro Kujo had ever imagined his life would be like.

He had his own dreams, his own comforts. Being alone was good. So good. But he had no choice, he'd have to satisfy society's expectations. He'd have to make his mother proud and granting her the little grandchildren she always wished to have.

Jotaro looked back at your metallic leg. After all you've been through, after all he's lost to save his mother, pleasing her and making her happy was the least he could do to honor your sacrifices and the deaths of his loved ones.

But what could he do? Force himself? A man couldnt force himself to develop feelings, he could only pretend. But what good would that do him?

He'd have to, eventually. He couldn't help but think back at you. You were all the same. And you two would be judged for life for not following suit and do like everyone else, like little sheeps.

Was it so wrong to not want to be with a special someone? To not get attached or attracted? Why was it so weird? Why was it unacceptable? Who deemed it necessary, to get stuck into marriage just for the sake of being married?

And man, his thoughts rathered to drift to sex either, that's really the last straw and if possible, he'd love to shut everybody up about it. Shut up everybody who only validated a man's worth by his primal urge to knock a woman up.

You seemed to be the only one he could actually talk about this with, since people would just tell you the usual 'You're gay!' or 'You haven't found the one yet!'.

Just like telling a depressed person to 'cheer up'. Bullshit excuses of people who couldn't accept that mindsets and sexualities differ with each human being.

What were the two of you supposed to do? You were stuck, cornered.

He was a stone that knew nothing about affection, and he already pitied the unlucky woman who'd get to him.

And you were just as bad of a stone. He felt bad for you, for having to have to lay down and take it without batting an eye just to satisfy the needs of the greedy bastard that'd snatch you away.

"... We'll figure it out, Y/N. We've dealt with much worse to worry about things like that."

"That's true but... I don't know. It's hard to imagine a family life. I like chilling on my own. And I'm still too sad about them to be lovey-dovey."

He scoffed, hitting your back playfully. "So what? Let two hopeless rocks with crippling depression be themselves. Sounds like a plan."

"Now, hear yourself talking about depressing things!" You chuckled and pointed out accusingly at him, stealing his precious hat and putting it on your own head.

He sat up with an exhausted sigh and roughly pulled his hat down your eyes, as his own little revenge, gratified by a small 'Ow!' of response from your end.

He let out a ghost of a smile as you were blinded by his hat, thankful that you couldn't see him even though he knew you'd never tease him for being more expressive.

"Ow, that actually hurt, Jojo, you bastard!"

"Let's go." He stood up before stretching his huge hand out to you, making sure to be careful with your injuries as he pulled you up to your feet with surprising gentleness.

Before you could reach your classroom, you grabbed your friend's arm, prompting him to stop walking in the empty hallways.

"But really, Jojo... Wherever you are, and if you have been pushed into a life that unsatisfies you in the future... think about me, okay? You know that somewhere, I'll be the exact same... You're not alone."

He couldn't help but soften his gaze just slightly. You were a thoughtful person, that wasn't a secret. You already had proven yourself to be compassionate multiple times during your crusade, and you kept on.

You made him realise that he was normal and it was okay to not feel anything. You two could only rely on each other now, and it sure didn't matter to him what people say.

Oh of course he'd heard his classmates gush about how cute you two were and how uncharacteristically sweet he was towards you ever since you came back from your trip.

Because the infamous Jotaro Kujo wouldn't just have a soft spot for just anyone, right? Nobody would believe that he became so gentle just because you were injured, there must be something more, right?

No. Absolutely not. And screw society for fogging people' small brains into thinking that there's an afterthought or innuendo behind every male-female, or even same sex platonic relationships.

He knew well that it made you as uncomfortable as him, but you always brushed it off and let the people talk. Let them believe whatever they wanted.

He never wanted to think too much about it, but he couldn't help but worry as well sometimes. That was the kind of things that pissed him off.

It pissed him off so bad. If it wasn't for you he would have crushed so many skulls already. That would teach some people to shut the fuck up.

"What are you thinking about, Jotaro?"

He blinked, humming questioningly at you as you had taken him out of his transe.

"You just called Star Platinum." You said as you grabbed the Stand's big hand, shaking it around as if to greet him, to which he responded with a whispery 'Ora'.

He sighed heavily, calling his Stand back. "Nothing... Nothing at all."

You chuckled a bit. You've learned to read him quite well overtime. A skill only his mother and Kakyoin had mastered. "I'm worried too, Jojo. Hopefully it will be okay... For us."

You patted his back reassuringly and he smiled.

Wasn't that kind of love enough? Love without obligation, without commitment. Without the consequences. Without gender norms, without standards. Just people caring for each other. Wasn't friendship, camaraderie, sisterhood and brotherhood beautiful enough?

Platonic, unromantic love was much stronger than any other type of relationship. He was satisfied with this form of social contact. He didn't need anything more.

Jotaro Kujo was never a greedy man, after all.

The male was suddenly brought back to his sense when he felt a tiny hand tug insistently at his sleeve, hoping to wake him up from his rêverie.

"Papa, you fell asleep on your desk again..."

Jotaro inhaled tiredly, scratching his head and taking in his surroundings, his study back in his home in Florida. He patted his daughter's head, making her scrunch her face a little.

Was it that late already? He was so used to dozing off after working on his thesis, reflecting on his life and his choices. He had been overworking himself lately. He knew he shouldn't overthink, but he couldn't help it.

"Thank you Jolyne. Go back to sleep now, alright?"

The little girl nodded and trutted out, leaving her father alone to his thoughts.

Jotaro let out another breath, eyeing a certain picture frame, taken in the desert. Hopefully you were living a fulfilling life of your own.

And hopefully you two would get to meet again, and maybe talk again.

Ace to ace.

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floraone · 4 years

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What do we mean when we say “sex positivity?”

With Smutember around the corner, and because this is SADLY nothing sex ed talks about consistently around the globe, I want to take a bit of time to about sex positivity if you’ll allow me. Specifically, what we mean when we use the term, and what it doesn’t. Does sex positivity mean you have to like having sex? (Spoiler, it doesn’t). Does sex positivity mean it’s wrong to not be open about doing certain practices? (Nope, it doesn’t either.) Does sex positivity mean I have to either love or hate porn, or erotic literature? (No, again.)

Since I’ll talk about this for a little longer, AND you because get to decide if you want this topic on your dash*, read ahead after the cut. (*and, while we’re at that, with smutember coming: all posts on this blog will be tagged with the hashtag #smutember2020 henceforth. If you don’t want to see this content, please feel free to block the hashtag.)

Forthose who don’t want a long post, here is the TL;DR:

Sex positivity is defined in many, many different ways, but ultimately spans attitudes regarding how we perceive sex and sexual conduct both for ourselves and others. It sees sex as a healthy expression of ourselves in which all consensual expressions of it are valid. In which shaming each other for sex or sex practices or shaming each other for the lack of experiencing sexual desire and having healthy sexual boundaries is not sex-positive. Sex positivity is about embracing all expressions of sex and sexuality (as long as they are between consenting people) as something positive that embraces open communication about personal limits and desires, and encourages exploration. Consent here is the most important prerequisite requirement: That all people involved are of an age and state of mind and consciousness where they are able to willingly consent, as well as have the perceived power to willingly consent to participate in the action.

So, to preface this shortly, this isn’t actually a term that is super easy to define. Which is why scholars (among them feminist, psychologist, social studies and sexual medicine scholars and many others) have not yet agreed on a universal definition. In fact, there are papers solely focusing on comparing definitions to find their common ground. It is, thus, definitely not something that goes without saying.

Before I can speak about what sex positivity is, we have to talk about the most important ingredient, though: Consent.

What is (and isn’t) consent?

Consent is the explicit agreement to participating in any action, and here, specificially, sex. It can be verbal and non-verbal, but it means everyone involved really wants to do all sexual actions that are being done, no exceptions. It means no one is being coerced against their will, no one’s concerns are being ignored, their desires and boundaries are known and being listened to and respected. It means no one is doing something they had no chance to reflect upon if they want it or not, and no one is doing something they don’t want out of obligation or a sense of duty. It means no one is having sexual contact with someone who isn’t able to consent in any form: be it because they can’t consent because of their age, or limited consciousness, or because of perceived verbal or nonverbal threats and/or consequences. The latter, in its most base terms, means (non-exhaustively) that people below the (culturally differing) ages of consent - meaning children and young teenagers - cannot consent, that people who are intoxicated, under the influence of drugs, asleep, in a state of trauma or shock, in a dissociated state of mind or any similar states cannot consent, and that people who feel they have no power to say no cannot conset - i.e. someone who fears consequences to their physical, social or psychological well-being (or those of others) if they say no, which can range from, say, an employee feeling like they can’t decline an employer’s physical advances that they don’t want without negative consequences in any form in their work-environment, or a person in a romantic relationship fearing a break-up if they don’t “deliver” sex even if they don’t want it, or a person who feels they have to “deliver” sex they don’t want in order to prove their personal worth or love or affection or to avoid ridicule. These are of course non-exhaustive. A person who says yes even though they don’t want to because they feel they can’t say no, as well as a person who is too young and/or unable to say no, isn’t consenting.

And because this is so important, here, have that brilliant Tea of Consent by Emmeline May, quoted and photographed off my copy of “More Orgasms Please: Why Female Pleasure Matters” by the Hotbed Collective.

What Sex Positivity Is

Most of us are very intuitive about what sex positivity is, but the fewest of us have ever discussed it at length in any way or form, and thus the edges are very often hazy!

First and foremost, sex positivity is a set of attitudes that forms personal beliefs regarding sexuality, how we perceive collectively shared sexual norms, and how we view sexual autonomy and sexual expression both in ourselves and others. So what does that all entail, and how does that look?

A basic view of this is: sex is good! Sex is, as long as it’s consensual, something healthy, and a valid and enjoyable way to express intimacy, affection, love and desire. It’s not just a means to an end (satisfaction, babies, etc.) and it should not be shrouded in shame or pain or discomfort, and instead be communicated about openly and respectfully. This is of course, in direct answer to sex-negativity: The belief that sex is bad, shameful, sinful, and having it makes you just as sinful.

Here is one of many scientific definitions for the term: “[Sex positivity is] the belief that all consensual expressions of sexuality are valid.” (p.289)

That means if you’re, say, really into having sex while wearing stockings (actually something that comes up very often when you ask people of their fantasies in surveys!) or maybe wanting to be tied up for it (also a VERY frequent fantasy) and do it ONLY with people who are into it, too, and not against their will, then it’s a healthy expression of your desire and no one (no parents, no society, no church or institution or anyone) is entitled to shame or sanction you for it.

As Justin Lehmiller, a social psychologist and sex researcher says, society (including its medical and psychological history and authorities, sadly!) has had a very narrow and restrictive view of what is “ok” to be desirable when it comes to sex in the past and sadly sometimes still the present, and that “they’ve pretty much told us that we shoudn’t do anything other than put penises in vaginas and even that, ideally, should only take place within the confines of a heterosexual, monogamous marriage).” (p.vi) Bringing with it the dogma of immorality and crime, among else.

Sex positivity aims to be the antithesis of this. It means all forms of consensual sexual expression are valid. Not one form is better than another. If you live and love monogamously or heteronormatively, it isn’t better or worse than living in any other form. From polyamory to kinks, or having any kind of consensual fetish that don’t hurt anyone else or their free sexual expression when sharing them with others, all of them are valid, none of them are better or worse than any other individual choice. It means celebrating and validating all forms of sexual expression (or lack thereof!) as well as all forms consensual practices, while having any form of sexual identity and any placement on the wide spectrum that is gender identity.

What Sex Positivity Isn’t

Because sometimes it is easier to thoroughly understand something by outlining what it DOESN’T include, this is more imporant than many might think. And because I’m obviously not the first person to think about this, there is this really great article by Everyday Feminism about what sex positivity isn’t that is written in a very clear and straight-forward way, that I’ll urge everyone to check out, but I’ll also outline some select few of the (more numerous) basics they’ve described here:

🚫 Sex positivity means liking sex

No. Just because someone really, really enjoys sex, that does not mean at all they are sex-positive by default. Sex positivity isn’t synonym with being overly enthusiastic about having sex or surrounding yourself with it. It can! But that’s not at all the point in the slightest. Someone who really likes sex can still be disrespecful about someone else’s sexual expression, or feel entitled to someone else’s sexual acts or interest in sexuality, or that they can judge someone’s sexual identity or form of expression. Sex positivity is about respecting others in all their forms of sexual expression, even if those forms don’t represent your own. Likewise, someone who does not themselves like or enjoy sex can still be respectful of other’s expression of it in any form and with any other person or persons, and see sexuality as a healthy form of self-expression even when it is their choice to not engage in it for any span of time or reasons.

🚫 Sex positivity means everyone should have and like sex because it’s healthy

No. There are uncountably many reasons why someone might be repulsed by sex or simply not interested it. All of them are valid. None of them are to be shamed. Sexual trauma, sexual exploitation, a lack of feeling sexually empowered, pain during sexual intercourse, lack of desire, internalized shame that prevents sex from being enjoyable, the feeling of being in an environment where your sexuality is coerced or objectified and not feeling comfortable with it, being touch-repulsed or simply feeling no inkling of “lust”. All of this is valid. Sex positiy means respecting boundaries in consentual sex. It does not mean you have to have sex if it is unpleasant for you for any number of reasons. Of course, if you want sex and are suffering under any number of reasons that make you not enjoy it even though you would intrinsincally WANT to enjoy it (Anything from pain to sexual trauma to shame), then there are professionals out there qualified to help and counsel you. But they, too, are not entitled to dictate sexual action for you. Only you decide if you want to have sex or not. No one else. You are the master of your sexual expression in any form and are entitled to decide how, when and if you (and only you) want it, and no one else. That is an expression of sex positivity.

🚫 Sex positivity means being open to all forms of sex

No. Being sex positive means you respect the healthy expression of your own and someone else’s sexuality, and this includes their boundaries. You can believe that sex is healthy and enjoyable and should not be shamed in the least, and still not like anal. It does mean however that you still respect someone and their sexual expression when they do like the shit out of anal (pun intended lol, thank you very much.) This person is not entitled for YOU to like anal or to get it from you if you don’t enjoy it, and you are not entitled for them to not desire it. And this of course goes for any sexual practice. Judging and shaming someone for enjoying giving blowjobs is not sex-positive, just like it isn’t sex-positive to expect someone to inherently WANT to give blowjobs. Sexual boundaries are very healthy, and an important form of self-reflection and the root of true informed consent. Knowing what you like and don’t like and that these things will most likely differ from others in their unique expression is an important path to a most healthy sexual expression.

🚫 Sex positivity means always being ready, available, and interested in sex, with anyone.

No. Sexual expectations wear heavily on people from any gender or sexual identity. Many queer or nonbinary people suffer, among else, under sexualisation and being made the stuff of fetishes or being ascribed heavily sexualized attributions. Many men, among else, suffer under normative stereotypes, myths and sexual scripts that say they always want sex and are unmanly when they don’t feel desire 24/7, that they’re always up for sex and never not in the mood. Likewise, the 70s brought women and their sexual freedom into a position heavily reinforced by porn scripts in which they are expected as ‘sexually freed’ beings to be sexually available, ready, interested, and orgasmic at all times, and if you are not, you are a prude, and if you do it too much, you are a slut. These are all (non-exhaustive) forms of sexual shaming and dictated sexual expectations. If you are generally enthusiastic about sex and enjoying it, you are allowed to have phases where you feel less desire. And whether you are someone with a generally smaller libido that sometimes spikes, or you’re someone who has never felt any sexual desire at all, or someone who wants sex a lot, you are sex positive when you respect other’s free expression of it, and this includes the frequency in which they want it or with whom they have it. You get to pick what sex you have and with whom or how many you have it, no one else. Anyone who tells you otherwise under the mantle of ‘sex positivity’ is, as everyday feminism so eloquently put, employing “sexual coercion cloaked in faux-progressive language. If someone is calling you a prude or sex-negative for not having sex with them, they’re violating your consent and their opinion of you is invalid. And just because you want to create a world in which everyone is empowered to make the sexual choices they want doesn’t mean that you personally have to be interested in casual sex.”

🚫 Sex positivity means sex is healthy, so that means I am entitled to sex.

No. It means you are entitled to WANT to have it, but not to have it. In sex as in every other need involving other people (from receiving oral, to boardgames, to conversations, to a hug or affection): Just because you are entitled to want something or even very validly need something, that does not mean someone else is obligated to give it to you. Just because someone needs comfort and company, you are not obligated to give it. Just because someone wants and needs attention, it is not your job to give it. Just because someone wants sex and feels they need it, even if they are your partner, you are not obligated to give it. This can be frustrating, of course. But NO: Just because you want sex, you are not entitled to have it. Ever. From anyone. No one owes you sex, not even if you’re married to them. Everyone has their own sexual agency, and everyone needs to respect it. In fact, feeling entitled to sex lies at the base of sexual aggressive behavior of all kind, and the idea that your own desire for sexual activity rates higher in priority than the individual needs of the person you’re coercing it from. It’s at the root of rape culture, and something we must all internalize to overcome it: Despite you wanting something and it being healthy to have it or to get this something, no one owes it to us or is obligated to give it to us.

🚫 Sex positivity means you have no problems with sex.

No. The term positivity of course often brings overtly positive connotations with it: something easy and happy. Of course, sex positivity doesn’t require you to have an easy or happy relationship with sex and sexuality. Sex can be traumatising, uncomfortable, regrettable, awkward, unpleasant, confusing, or plain boring and uninteresting to you. Even if it isn’t traumatising or painful, it can still be hell of a lot frustrating navigating it and your own desires. Body image issues or and religious restrictions that can be important to you or not, never having orgasmed but really really wanting to, the feelings of not ever having encountered sex that’s truly fun for you, all of these and many, many more are the giant maze that can arise when navigating sexuality in our lives. None of these means you aren’t sex positive. It’s here for survivors of sexual violence and aggression and those who want to reclaim their sexual agency, sexual empowerment and self-expression, just as it is here for asexuals, demisexuals, aromantics, or anyone else. It’s the belief that we have a right to a healthy sexuality without being shamed, violated, sanctioned or discriminated for it, and that we have a right to our boundaries as well as our fantasies.

So, I’m guessing most of you knew this intuitively all along. I’m preaching to the choir. However, seeing it written down often helps us in expressing ourselves, and in the way we confidently navigate our own sexual empowerment.

And, with smutember on the horizon again, when we once again try to incorporate sex positivity in our writing, too, it might serve as a good reminder that we help along the normalisation of sex positivity whenever we portray it in media in general, and fiction specifically! I hope one day we will take all this fully for granted, and everyone around us, too!

#smutember2020 #sex ed #on consent #on sex positivity #celebrating sex positivity together #long post #🍋

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recurring-polynya · 4 years

Note

Loved reading your comments on that Izuru post, especially about how people write teasing. You gave some great examples of things to definitely avoid; do you have any tips or general thoughts on writing good teasing?

I have never wanted to talk about anything more in my life.

Teasing is a form of dysfunctional communication that reveals a lot about all the parties involved. It can be layered and complicated, and it can both establish a lot about the relationships of your characters, and provide jumping off points for both bonding and miscommunication.

The most important things to think about when writing teasing are:

What is the teasing character trying to evoke? (this may be conscious or subconscious)

What are the sore points/not sore points of the character being teased?

What am I, the writer, trying to accomplish here?

Let’s start with a very easy example:

Draco Malfoy wants to make Harry Potter mad, so he teases him about his dead mom. J. K. Rowling’s goal as a writer is to convince you that Draco is a dick. It’s super-effective.

It’s a low-blow. It’s deeply mean. There’s no subtlety. This is just bullying. We have all experienced this, we know it when we see it. I don’t think this is the kind of teasing you were asking about, but it’s important to establish this as a baseline, because this is what teasing can turn into, if done wrong.

We can tweak this a little to a very different effect:

Draco wants to make Hermione upset, so he calls her a mudblood.

Harry doesn’t know what this word means, is confused.

Herminione knows this is an insult, but most plays it off. It’s not culturally significant to her and also, she DNGAF about Draco.

Ron goes spare. This is a huge insult to him, he loves his friends, and he has no chill.

Draco is still a dick, but he’s also kind dumb and focuses on insults that would be insulting to him because he doesn’t know his enemy very well and also is not good at thinking outside of his own head.

Now we have fit in exposition and a ton of character-building. Neat!

Let’s move on to friendly teasing. Here are some positive roles teasing can play:

Replacing uncomfortable tension in a group. Often you may have one character in the group who is an outsider for some reason. Perhaps they were a former antagonist, or someone who has some fundamental difference between the characters. Teasing, particularly over something incredibly low stakes and stupid, gives a reason for the outside character to be mildly irritated with the others, which makes it easier for them to relax the actual tension they feel by being in a group where they don’t belong. Think Aang shouting “Flameo, Hotman!” at Zuko or everyone making fun of Uryuu’s cape.

Finding comfort in being marginalized. This is closely related to self-deprecating humor, and a character shouldn’t say something about someone else if they wouldn’t say about themself. Also, characters are going to have different comfort levels with this. I will make jokes about how bisexually I dress and the way that I sit, but I don’t go around shouting “Oh my God, that’s super gay!” although I certainly have gay friends that do. This is a way you can establish how comfortable a character is in that identity, but it can be fraught, and if you don’t have some personal experience with the identity you’re writing about, I would avoid going too hard. In Bleach, I will often have characters from Rukongai bond a little more easily, and make fun of some of the more formal aspects of life in the Seireitei when there are no nobles around. Further, Rukia and Renji super low-class, even among the Rukongai crowd (only Zaraki and Yachiru are lower, and I have never once read a fanfic of Kenpachi and Renji bonding over this, and I’m mad about it), and so when I have them calling each other trashbags and lowlifes, it’s a case of “I can make fun of you because we come from the same mudpit, but I will cut anyone else who says this about you.”

Allowing characters to present in a way that they choose. We sometimes invent roles for ourselves that we want others to see. I do this a lot with Renji-- when he comes to the big city, he’s a big, rough, scary dude. I am 100% sure he broke peoples’ limbs in Inuzuri. But he wants to be liked and he wants to be approachable, especially now that he’s a vice-captain, so he puts on kind of a big dumb oaf routine, and all his friends support him in this by making jokes about skipping leg day and calling him a dope and a goob. These are not hurtful insults, because this is how he chooses to present himself.

Leveling group dynamics. Related to the previous item, a lot of times, friend groups require people to fulfill different roles in order to keep everything running smoothly. Take for example, the Renji - Momo - Izuru - Shuuhei friendship. They come from a lot of different backgrounds, they’ve each had a lot of different personal challenges, and the friendship has lasted a loooooong time. Izuru has a lot more money and class than the rest of them. Shuuhei is the oldest. I bet Momo got extremely full of herself when she became Aizen’s vice-captain. Renji lagged the rest of them in becoming vice-captain, but then, he came out of the Aizen debacle in better shape than everyone else. We can’t all confront all these complex interpersonal dynamics all the time, sometimes you just wanna hang out at the bar and drag each other a little, and it’s comfortable and relaxing to just fall back on personas. Everyone teases Renji for being dumb and strong, Shuuhei for being hot and dramatic, Izuru for being pasty and poetic, Momo for being organized and congenitally unable to break a rule. A great place to insert drama is when you have a character who has outgrown these dynamics, who is sick of playing a role within a friend group-- old jokes that used to gloss over uncomfortable matters are suddenly causing the discomfort.

Play. A lot of teasing is honestly just for fun. Scoring points on your friends. In this case, the teasing can be as harsh or soft as you like, although the harsher you go, the more you risk actually hurting someone’s feelings (again, story hook!) I love this as an example:

Ichigo tries to tease Orihime over old bread of all things. Orihime is fireproof, she knows Ichigo loves her old bread and also is incapable of delivering a sick burn, but then Ishida and Chad just pile on, suck it, Ichigo, we all know who runs this group of nakama.

As a writer, this is your chance to show off your humor chops! The purposes of these scenes is not just to show your friendships, but to have fun and be funny! Having characters just call each other names is not really funny. In this example, Ichigo is trying to be cool, and his crew, none of whom are remotely cool, all hit the OBJECTION button hard at the same time and it’s hilarious.

Giving friendships age. People you have been friends with for ages know things about you. Have characters bring up embarrassing stories. Tease each other about the way they used to be, but no longer are. This is also a powerful way to distinguish between an old friendship that is still going strong, and one that has gone stale, but persists, perhaps for nostalgia reasons, where the teasing rankles. Maybe your story wants to resurrect this friendship, or maybe you want to show a character moving on. This is also a way to add exposition: Say Character A, who is usually very casual, dresses up for a fancy event. You can have Character B rib them about how they have never seen them looking so good. Then you can have Character A react in a number of ways: self-conscious or defensive, perhaps, or they could be flirty and brag about how nice they clean up, it’s up to you!

Giving friendships depth. Best friends can say things that other friends and casual acquaintances can’t, in part because they have a keen understanding of how to hurt each other (and how not to). A key in portraying different levels of friendships is boundaries, and a great dramatic tool is bumping up against those boundaries. In general, I have Renji let Rukia tease him about nearly everything, but occasionally, she’ll bring up what a glory-hound he was in their school days, and he freezes up every time. She can’t really figure this out, because he’s usually game for letting her pick on his dumbass teen boy behavior and she can’t figure out how this is any different. The thing is, he’s never told her that the reason he was busting his ass was to impress her and to be able to get a good job and provide for her, and it blew up in his face, and he can’t very well admit that now, without having to admit a lot of other stuff, too. ::holds fist in the air:: This is the good stuff.

A corollary, tired jokes. Rukia is 4’9” tall and she must be sick to death of hearing about it. It’s so obvious and so lame. It sucks being short, it’s a huge inconvenience on a daily basis, especially when your job involves trying to be tough and intimidating. It’s not like she chose this for herself. This is the lowest possible hanging fruit of teasing. But that doesn’t mean we need to ignore it completely. I have characters like Ikkaku, who doesn’t know her all that well, and is also an ass, throw it at her a lot, and mostly she either sighs and rolls her eyes, or she insults him back. Now, if Renji never mentioned it, it would feel like he was tiptoeing around it, which Rukia would be offended by. She’s not humorless, just tired. So, instead, I will only have him make short jokes if a) they are actually funny, or b) it’s a situation where the joke is really obvious and they’ll usually follow up with something like “I had to.” The idea is that, as best friend and chief trash talker, he’s contractually obligated to make the joke, but he finds it almost as tired as she does. Also, I turn it around a lot by having her make fun of him for being tall, as though being 6’2” is some sort of embarrassment and that he did it on purpose, and he just takes it.

This is real. My husband and I were in a very similar professional field, and he makes more than me, even though I have more education and work harder, and he lets me make fun of what a useless white dude he is, but if he sees it coming, he will definitely make a “you can’t do math because you’re a woman” joke, which he obviously doesn’t think is true. Only he is allowed to do this. It is very cathartic. We also make jokes about how he will never truly be successful because he is short.

I don’t write Ichigo as much, but I approach this a little differently with him, a) because he hasn’t been friends with Rukia for as long, or on such a day-to-day basis that he knows how much this irritates her, and b) he’s a teen. Instead, I try to have him actually put some effort into his jokes, like calling her Shorty McCaptainface. “Shortstack” and fun-sized/travel-sized/adventure-sized (for your convenience) are much more gentler and playful.

Please, please, I beg you, do not use “midget.” It’s not a nice word and it’s so, so tired.

All of this goes generally for other types of characters with the kind of physical characteristics that tactless people feel free to comment (being fat, wearing glasses, having prominent teeth, etc), or experience structural discrimination. Just think about how you would like your best friend to handle it.

Arright, it’s time to hit the elephant in the room: Teasing that leads into romance. This was such a huge trope when I was a kid, I grew up steeped in this idea of “a boy teases you because he likes you,” and I’m honestly glad we’re starting to move past this as a culture. You can still have a fun and teasing relationship without being mean, which I will get to, but let’s start with the OG couple of teasing because they like each other: Ranma and Akane. Now, as it happens, I have been re-watching Ranma ½ with my husband, who had never seen it, and on one hand, this show is a pioneer, it is amazing in terms of comedic beats, but on the other hand, it’s aged quite a bit and smacks of “I hate my wife” Boomer humor with a heavy helping of “no homo!” slathered on top. So, here’s how it works:

Ranma and Akane have been forced into an engagement by their fathers. Despite the fact that they have pretty similar and compatible personalities, they get off on the wrong foot, compounded by the fact that they are each deeply insecure about their gender presentations. They are each also profoundly stubborn. So, what happens, every single episode, is that one or the other will do something kind or heroic for the other, and the other’s heart will go “oh SHIT I like them but to reveal so would be to present vulnerability” so they insult each other instead. The insults that Ranma and Akane fling at each other are deeply hurtful and they are super-effective. Now, the one who has taken the risk of going out on a limb for the other has now been lambasted for their efforts, and responds with more insults. This is the fundamental tension of the show: they like each other and are terrified to admit it, so they force the other apart.

Now, as the show progresses, my memory is (and forgive me if I get this wrong, we’re still pretty close to the beginning, and as far as the long game goes, I am sure my memory is contaminated by too much fanfic), far, far down the road, when they eventually come to understand each other better, when Ranma tells Akane she’s an uncute, tomboy, she’s able to parse that as “I like you so much and I want to say so, but seriously, you know how ridiculous my upbringing was,” and when she responds with “You pervert!”, Ranma knows she is really saying “I know that, and also, you do not need to feel self-conscious about your girl form, I’m kinda into that.”

This is essentially a slow burn tactic. You need a tremendous amount of time to build out this kind of relationship. A lot of people try to skip straight from “characters insult each other!” to “characters are in love, they just couldn’t admit it!” and it does not work, especially if you reader is a person who has ever been in a shitty relationship. I would not want to be with someone who called me hurtful names. The fact that they were trying to cover up the fact that they did it because they liked me is not romantic. It says to me, “this person does not treat the people they love well.” Writers, we can do better.

Teasing creates tension, as I said, and it is often that case that we use it to trade a feeling we can’t handle for one that we can. For Ranma and Akane, they are trading attraction for combativeness. They can’t admit they like each other because they are deeply stubborn and also because they are very, very immature.

Conversely, characters may tease to deflect their feelings because of outside forces that they have no control of.

Rukia is fundamentally uncomfortable expressing her feelings. She had no parents. She has no experience with unconditional love, which is pretty essential for healthy childhood development. I’ve talked before about my Rukongai headcanon that it was taboo to openly express affection, because it is a brutal and dangerous town and to love is to show weakness. In this case, teasing can play a fundamental role. As children, if she started to express something that strays too close to an earnest emotion or attachment, Renji might respond with “Aaah, shut up, you sap.”

This is not mean-spirited. Renji is acknowledging that he hears her, he recognizes her feeling and prevents her from breaking the taboo. The teasing helps Rukia to save face. This creates a blind spot in their friendship, however. They know each other extremely well, they have a thorough read on each other’s moods and motivations and body language, but because they’ve never, ever been able to talk frankly about their emotions, they are both stuck in this place where they can’t tell if they like each other romantically and they don’t know how to bridge that gap. They don’t need to be mean to each other, but they are unable to progress because they keep blowing off the difficult conversations they ought to be having.

Keep in mind, I am keeping the teasing at low to medium stakes. It’s also difficult, because they’ve been apart for so long, that there are some topics that aren’t safe anymore, and sometimes they don’t realize that until after they’ve accidentally hurt each other’s feelings, again, an opportunity for some mild plot drama that’s based on misunderstanding, rather than these people are assholes.

Rukia’s relationship with Ichigo is very similar. Ichigo is also terrible at expressing feelings, partly because of his mom’s death, his dad is his dad, and he is a teen. I have read a lot of arguments that he’s neurodiverse, and frankly, I’m for that, too. I tend to characterize their friendship as very intense. They haven’t known each other very long, but they just have a lot of feelings, OKAY?! They have saved each other’s lives in very dramatic ways, they feel that they owe the other in ways they can never repay, and they just friggin’ like the heck out of each other, but their lives are also fundamentally incompatible, starting with the fact that Rukia is dead and Ichigo is alive.

So, when I am writing them bantering, one of my go-tos is to have them make fun of each other’s chosen planes of existence. “Why do you keep juice in boxes?” Rukia demands, as if it’s somehow Ichigo’s fault. “You can’t even ride a bike, you idiot,” Ichigo might rib her, as if she even knows what a bike is. What they are really doing here, is pushing against the fact that they have chosen to live separate existences and they’re honestly a little upset about that. “It’s dumb that we can’t hang out all the time,” is what they are saying. “I understand your decision, but I’m still gonna make fun of you.” This is incredibly low-stakes dragging, and also it’s a good place to be funny. I’m sure you have had someone make fun of your school or your job or your town in a way that you feel the need to defend it, and then you’re like “why am I defending this, it really is dumb, actually?”

One last thing, which is to think a lot about the word choices you use in your teasing, and try to organize them by intensity. My go-tos are “dummy” and “dumbass” because they get the point across, but they aren’t particularly mean and they are very generic. I also like slightly silly ones like “dunderhead” or “lunk” or “goob” or “doofus.” Paired insults are fun-- have one character greet another as “What’s up, nerd?” and have the first respond with “How’s it hanging, jock?” “Stupid” is slightly meaner, but I will often use it if one character is being self-deprecating, I will have the other respond “don’t be stupid,” or something like that, where it’s reassurance disguised as trash-talk. You can temper harder insults with tone: e.g., “You moron,” Rukia said affectionately.

Some people call their friends “bitch” humorously, and that’s a kind of friendship you can certainly choose to portray, but think hard about if that fits your characters and your writing style first. I try to avoid gendered insults; sometimes I’ll have villians use them, but even so, do we need to? Maybe not. Don’t use hurtful words unless your teaser actually intends to hurt (whether or not it’s effective).

And remember, you don’t even need to use insults to tease (or to hurt, for that matter)! Think about how your character would react to be called “fancy.” Or “cute.” Or “rustic.” Tease them about the apron they wear for cooking, or the fact that they don’t know how to use a cell phone, or their terribly out-of-style footwear. Also, it can be just as fun to have your character respond to teasing by leaning into it, or laughing back, or riffing, they don’t have to just get pissed off.

This post is so long. I am so sorry. Go write some teasing. Have fun. I can’t wait to read it.

#long post is long #god i hope the cut works correctly on this post #asks #on writing #thank you for this ask #i love pretending like i know anything about writing #i am just a kind housewife #i came in 2nd place in a one-act playwriting contest once

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heli0s-writes · 5 years

Text

IV. A Commitment*

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader x Bucky Barnes Summary: Natasha teaches you how to kiss. Tony gives you an opportunity. A/N: Part 4 of Mystery of Love. . (*) denotes NSFW!!

At 23, you were struggling to have a conversation about … it.

It was almost three weeks since your moment on Steve’s couch with him and Bucky. Their touches on your skin haunted you day and night, and it made your work at the compound significantly more difficult than you could have ever imagined. It was hard to find clarity under such zealous and watchful eyes, and the distance you continued to keep them at would eventually be thwarted. You had to ask Pepper for an extension on your assignment mid-May before it got too out of hand. She happily obliged, very understanding of your predicament. The deadline was extended indefinitely, but having no schedule threw you further off course.

In an effort to control at least your personal life, you allowed yourself to spend time with Steve and Bucky in small bursts, intent on not repeating another couch-event. They each had very different approaches of being in your presence, you found out. Steve was happy to accompany you to galleries and the store if he was already in town- which he often was whether it be by coincidence or intention.

You took walks with him through the park, had coffee together, read the paper, and laughed at the comic strips. You’d go to bookstores where he’d browse non-fiction and history while you showed him some of your favorite art books, teaching him about famous artists and their vision. Your conversations were light and full of laughter.

Once, he met you at a local bar and you discovered his passion for sports- one you didn’t share but were happy to appreciate. You didn’t even know the championship game was going on that day and in the middle of it it’d become so rambunctious (someone recognized him!) that the two of you had to run out before it could conclude.

Physically, Steve was rather indulgent of your reservations. He’d hold your hand in private and brush his fingers over your knuckles in public. More than the touches, it was his gaze that sent your blood rushing. He perfected that slow lingering sweep with his eyes. There was no fervent message to be analyzed behind those blue-green gazes—only a simple feeling. And that feeling he held for you was incomprehensible. It swept you away.

It wasn’t like you didn’t want to be physical or intimate because you loved the feel of the pads of his fingers and his callused palms. Or that smooth line of his winning smile, tilting upwards on one side. You constantly thought about those rough edges of Steve Rogers on your body.

It was rather that you were so fearful of crushing all the eggshells under your feet labelled “Steve and Bucky’s Tentative and Healing Friendship”.

Oh, you knew about The Winter Soldier and HYDRA. You’d gotten the quick and dirty version from Steve after your initial meeting with Bucky; the wipes, the assassinations, the complete and utter control they had on him for 70 years. The image of him in ice seared itself into your brain, the thought of them putting him up when they were finished using him killed you.

You weren’t just heartbroken, you were livid. You couldn’t help but take it so personally and you couldn’t quite explain why to Steve as you sobbed uncontrollably in the kitchen that morning except rasping breaths of goddamn it, oh god, Bucky. By the time Bucky returned from his run, your eyes were swollen and pink, bottom lip nearly chewed through.

You buried your face in his chest and whispered that you were happy to have him in your life and nothing else. There couldn’t be anything else yet. He was still raw, and you couldn’t tear him open any more.

Spending time with Bucky was significantly different, and a much more delicate task than Steve. He was hesitant to go into the city, a choice you understood completely so you never asked. Instead the two of you spent lots of time on separate sides of couches with tea and a book, careful not to sit too close. He’d gladly sit with a movie on while you worked on editing your many files.

After travelling for so long, you wanted to pick up your old hobbies again, so you started to make small meals at the compound. Bucky was hardly a cook by any means, but always seemed to know when you needed an ingredient from the cupboard and before you could fumble to reach for it, he’d have already set it next to your hand.

The conversations were short, and as you expected, he never divulged anything meaningful. After you had the talk with Steve, Bucky often sent you precarious glances, worried you might lash out because of his past. When you carried on as usual, the weight lifted from his shoulders.

Bucky was more physical, to say the least. He tried to respect your boundaries, but it wasn’t unlike him to push them from time to time. Unlike Steve’s tender gazes, Bucky stared intensely and openly. There were many a time when you’d look up from your book to see him on the other side of the sectional, staring straight through the pages and right at your face. His fingers would be tapping on his knee. When you’d finally see it and swallow nervously, he’d smirk and look back to his book.

Or you’d sit on the floor with your laptop open on the coffee table and Bucky would have silently moved from his supposed area on the couch to directly behind you. He’d lean over close, so that his breath would tickle your ear and ask you innocently about the picture you were working on. It never failed to send shivers up your spine and elicit wide, devilish grins from him.

It was his favorite game. It set you on fire.

And so it was that you attempted to balance your time with both men, as they navigated their own schedules of work, training, and rehabilitation.

You also tried to retain any semblance of your employment to Stark Industries.

You snapped pictures here and there, trying your best to maintain the illusion of your contract. There were some exceptional ones of the interior but photographing the Avengers themselves was challenging. Especially when it came to Bucky. He could sense any time you were in the room and strictly refused to ignore your presence. There were no candids taken of Bucky Barnes; he simply did not allow it. He never stopped staring at you.

At the end of May, you put the assignment on pause and decided instead to focus on the photos from your travels. Pepper kindly put up a room for you so you didn’t have to make the trip to and from the compound, but you were afraid that being in such close(ish) quarters with Steve and Bucky would lead to complications. She was very understanding at your hesitance and careful not to pry but left the offer open if you had any questions. You contemplated asking her, but in the end decided to save your queries for someone less motherly and more straightforward.

When you turned up at Natasha’s room, she hardly seemed surprised. She had two Irish Mules set on coasters on the small coffee table. You took a sip, licking your lips at the lime and ginger beer; she could really make a drink. It would have been bad to get drunk quickly and spill all your secrets, but there was something about her presence that was tossing out all pretense. You supposed the phrase, “You can’t bullshit a bullshitter” was especially applicable with Natasha.

The first query slipped out before you could catch it.

“Does it hurt?”

The right corner of her lips lifted, but her eyebrows raised in sympathy at your innocent question. It was a valid one, of course, and it was right of you to ask it. Natasha assured you that discomfort is normal at first since you’d never experienced it before- but that they both should be treating you respectfully, kindly, and lovingly. She restated that there was nothing wrong with taking it slow, finding your own pace and easing into it, and doing what you feel is comfortable.

When you told her you’d never kissed anyone before and that Bucky sucking on your finger probably didn’t count, she sputtered up a bit of her cocktail mid-drink. She didn’t specify whether it was because you’d never been kissed or if it was the... other thing.

“I don’t even know how it works. There’s two of them.” You’d been stuck on it all month. You’d have to decide in the end, and sure, maybe Bucky wasn’t jealous when Steve kissed your hand or when you’d go out with him but what if they started fighting about who got to do what with you. It wasn’t like they were each others’ soulmates. You complained to Natasha more freely at the end of your mug.

What if they didn’t like how you looked?! What if you were bad in bed? What if they got bored after seeking the physical aspects? What if that was all that became of your relationship?

She had listened to your rambling briefly but became determined to put a stop to the madness and set down her drink.

“You have to stop being so crazy, those two are closer than you or I can imagine. You might need to be convinced about the validity of being Soulmates, but those old boys do not. They have committed.”

There was that word again, you thought.

“And, if you’re so worried about your first kiss...” A single red brow raised itself high up her forehead, “I can show you. No more worrying about who kissed you first.” Natasha set her copper mug down with a definitive clink.

It might have been the drink that was making you brave, or the desperation of wanting some relief to your constant distress, because you eagerly said yes. Natasha had brushed back loose strands of your hair with her hand and propped herself up on her knees. She hovered over you, letting her locks fall over your face.

“Is this okay?”

You nodded, captivated. You could feel your eyes fluttering as she lowered her lips to yours in a single tranquil movement. Her warm breath pleasantly caressed your mouth as she kissed you. Natasha’s lips were soft and full, velvety with every parting and descent. One hand came to cup your jaw, pulling you closer and deeper into her motions. You didn’t expect the sound your mouths made against each other- the smacking was half disturbing, half arousing.

She had seemed like a good kisser, but it was almost a clinical experience, whether it was because it was a learning moment from a friend, or if it was because you were so concentrated on memorizing Natasha’s actions, that made it not quite enjoyable as the movies tried to portray. There were no string quartets harmonizing in the background or doves flying, only the lax pulse of your heart in your own ears.

When she finally pulled away, you were expectant for another one; you wanted to learn. She cocked her head at your silence.

“How was it?” You had thought about it for a second before answering truthfully, “Noisy...”

Natasha howled with laughter. When she gathered herself enough to speak again, her raspy voice was slightly a little more hoarse than usual.

“Kid,” she gasped, “The noises are the best part, trust me.”

The unexpected statement made your abdomen clench. You vaguely wondered what kind of noises Steve and Bucky might make, but hurriedly squashed them. Linger on that one for too long, and you’d burst.

After another half hour of fielding questions, she finally sent you back to your quarters with a flash-drive in hand, disclosing to you that it was her personal collection of “friendly” pornography- which made your entire body flush crimson. It was for you to watch, explore, fantasize about, and maybe get some ideas before the day arrives. Before opening the door, Natasha called your name sternly.

“Remember when I asked you if it was okay before I kissed you?”

You nodded.

“There is nothing wrong with that. In fact, they should be asking you. Porn does not capture all the real-life shit that happens during sex. There is nothing embarrassing about asking questions, voicing your needs and desires, and talking to each other. You’re not going to be awesome at it the first time. But you’ve got the rest of your life to practice.”

You thanked her sincerely. There was nowhere else that you were going to receive this kind of lesson and you really wanted her to know. Natasha shooed you out of her room, pointing to the flash drive gripped tight in your fist.

“Go rub out some good ones for me, okay?”

With a wink and playful slap on your ass, she promptly kicked you out but not before deftly tucking a flask of whiskey under your arm. You shoved the deviant things as deep into the pocket of your jeans as possible and wandered to the guest room Pepper had set up. You often took naps in there, and it would have been a better idea to go home, but you were strangely eager. Bucky and Steve were in the shooting range this evening, so you hoped they’d be fully distracted with loud gunfire and not sniff you out with 100 gigabytes of porn in your pocket.

Once safe in the comfort of the room, you tentatively launched a window on your laptop, headphones jacked in, one bud hanging loose. Your door was locked all the way, and you had wiggled the handle thrice just to be safe, satisfied when nothing budged.

Natasha’s files were categorized into multiple folders and subfolders. You made a mental note to thank her for such thorough and thoughtful placement of the videos, sorted and titled by extremely efficient keywords. She had a deliberate folder of multiple threesome videos, just for you, and you promptly decide to never bring it up any of it. Reading the titles alone made your legs tingle; your mind couldn’t help but automatically fit Steve or Bucky in the fantasy.

You fired up the first video, reaching over to the small nightstand to inhale two fingers of whiskey for good measure. It burned your insides going down but became a relief when it took your mind off the fire in your cheeks at the performance unfolding on your dim screen. Once again, your brain replaced the two male actors with your respective soulmates, and yourself as the woman sitting in the middle of the bed.

Of course you’d masturbated before, you weren’t a nun, for crying out loud; some bodily tension could only be relieved in a certain way. And it just so happened since the Binding, you were in the habit of doing it much more, anyway. It was difficult to spend all day with Bucky’s burning gaze and Steve’s feather light touches and expect yourself to immediately fall asleep...

Your phone lit up as two large hands caress the actress’ shapely thighs.

Tony’s face blinked on the screen. You ignored it, concentrated on thick fingers peeling the flimsy material of a lacy bralette down. Open-mouthed sloppy kisses begin between the woman and the man on the left as the one on the right cups the breast closest to him in a firm hold. You imagined a ghostly touch on your own chest and shuddered. One hand imitated the actions between the woman’s legs: feather-light touches interspersed with solid grips. The tickle creates chills that crawl all over your skin.

Tony face blinked again on your phone.

You fixed your posture against the headboard of your bed and flexed your legs, straightening them for a more relaxed pose. Your palm traced over the slope of your thighs as they dipped into a valley in the middle, slowly you brought your other hand to your chest, following the line of Steve’s Words. Bucky’s eyes flashed in your mind when one of the men catches the woman’s fingers in his mouth in a hard suck. The woman’s free hand and palms the opposite man’s crotch, rubbing slow circles around the tent in his jeans. He sucks in a low hiss of air and groans lightly, a profane word wiggling its way out of his mouth. In your left ear, it sounded like Steve.

F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s voice filling the room sent you into shock.

“Mr. Stark is requesting your presence in the living quarters.”

In a panic, you slammed your hands down on the keyboard of your laptop multiple times, silently screaming when the headphone jack falls out and there’s moaning repeatedly being paused and played in the darkness of your room.

“How does he--”

“Mr. Stark had me do a sweep of the rooms to find you.”

“F.R.I.D.A.Y.!!”

“Mr. Stark does not know what you are watching.”

You grumbled, accepting the interface’s comment. Sometimes it was hard for you to remember that she wasn’t an actual person since she so often responded in very human ways, including predicting your source of embarrassment. You flopped down on the bed, muffling your face in the soft comfort of your pillow, catching the smell of your whiskey-sour breath.

“Please tell Mr. Stark I’ll be coming,”

“That's an interesting choice of words, ma’am.”

Another scream was muffled in the pillow before you trudged your body out of the guest room.

As soon as you stepped foot into the gathering space, a tiny firework was popped in your face, colorful confetti flying from it into the air and scattering itself in your hair. You shrieked, naturally. There were some cheers and whooping from those in the room: Steve, Natasha, and Pepper. Your heart was pounding in response.

“Hey kid! Congrats! I got some news for you.” Tony beamed widely, slapping both hands firmly on your shoulders, “What is that, whiskey? Do I smell whiskey? Good shit, too. What is that? You drinkin’ Yamazaki?”

You cleared your throat and pressed your lips together firmly, hoping Tony would get the message, eye catching Natasha’s cat-like grin in the process. He clucked his tongue before pointing to the wall to your left where an e-mail was being projected. You briefly glanced it over as the room watched on, flicking bits of neon plastic from your head.

The e-mail thread was between Tony and Kristopher Byrne, the former director of the Museum of Modern Art, singing your praises. Your eyebrows raised higher and higher the further down the e-mail chain you went, and eventually it felt like they might fly off your face altogether. Byrne was pushing meeting you, possibly having a dinner together, possibly a position of employment with a local university or being a permanent fixture at one of his private galleries.

There was a choking noise you were vaguely aware of coming out of your mouth- and it wasn’t from excitement.

There was a reason you didn’t pursue a higher degree in the Fine Arts. There was a reason you only gave phone interviews, hardly showed your face, never entered your work in museums, and ran all over the world instead. You hated the attention and the culture of rubbing elbows with the upper crust. Yes, having a secure and stable income is nice- but that was already fulfilled by being employed by Stark Industries, and you never really needed more than that.

“I really appreciate it, Tony,” you began gesturing to the screen, hoping to not offend him, “But you don’t have to do this on my behalf.”

Tony put a hand over the ACDC logo and dimly glowing light on his chest, “I love nepotism as much as the next guy, trust me, but I did not schmooze him, he schmoozed me. He schmoozed me a lot, kid, and it was to get to you. He’s been asking about you for years.”

“Can you stop saying schmooze?” Pepper called, raising her hand primly, “You make it sound so gross, Tony.”

“Look, he just wants to have dinner. With you. And some friends.” Tony shrugged, as if the lift of his shoulder could so easily discard the rest of the statement hanging in the air. You knew that Kristopher Byrne did not just want to have dinner.

“What kind of dinner?” Bucky piped from the background. You turned your head to him, lingering in the back; he must have just come in after a shower. His wet hair was tied into a low knot at the nape of his neck, a few strands hanging loosely. You tried to hide a smile at his protective questioning.

“And what kind of friends?” Steve added, arms now crossed as he sat down on the couch.

Natasha gave a knowing look to Pepper as if to communicate that Tony couldn’t hide his agenda with both Bucky and Steve at his heels. Throwing his hands up he rolled his eyes with a histrionic lament, “Wow. You overprotective geriatrics really suck the fun out of my life, you know that? Great. Cover’s blown, F.R.I.D.A.Y.! Give me the real deal.”

The projection against the wall was hastily replaced with a different e-mail chain, one that very specifically requested a formal show of your most recent work post-travels, as well as a special request for never-before-seen Avengers portraits. You released a loud, disappointed groan, taking two big steps to the wall and jabbing your finger at the mass of text.

“This is why.” You ran your pointer under the phrase “black tie event” and shook your head. “This isn’t my life, Tony. It’s your life.”

“Yeah, I thought you’d say that.” You felt set up. His abruptly somber tone meant that he was about to drop some shit on you that would change your perspective.

“This is my life,” Tony began, pausing for effect before taking two fingers and waving it broadly over the room, making sure to catch Bucky and Steve in his radius. “And it’s their life, too. You think Cap’s not obligated to formal events? He’s a national treasure, kid. And Winter Dead-Eyes over there is America’s new Redemption Sob Story.”

Bucky growled, but was quickly silenced by the outline of Steve’s turning profile.

“You’re Bound to them; you can’t wander the world at your whim anymore. This is a golden opportunity dropping into your lap. One black-tie event with Byrne gets your foot in a lot of doors. He’ll make you a permanent faculty member at Tisch in two years if that’s what you want; you’ve got the clout- whether you like it or not.”

The whiskey was making you a little agitated, and it felt like Tony was cornering you into a pocket you weren’t ready to face. These types of decisions required time and deliberation, and twenty minutes ago, you were barely choosing when you were going to have sex in the next week.

“And if you’re so adamant against nepotism, how do feel being employed by me?”

“Are you saying you continue to employ me because we’re friends?”

“Aren’t we?”

He really did corner you. If you answered no, it would have been too cruel to everyone. If you answered yes, then you’d be a hypocrite, and there would obviously be no reason for you not to take the offer other than the fact that you didn’t want to. Regardless, Tony had a valid point: you couldn’t keep floating. You needed to settle permanently in New York.

You put your face in both hands, feeling the heat rise from your neck.

Steve stood up from the couch, “That’s enough.” The edge in his voice meant he was serious. He didn’t like seeing you distressed, but you waved him off, eyes still closed.

“I’ll need… time.” You thought your voice might shake, but it didn’t. Your brain was pumping out information that your mouth was glad to blather about, “I need at least a month. I need to work. I need to set up a studio space, I need equipment, need to find my printing guy… Where are we hanging them?” When your eyes opened, Pepper had her hands clasped together over her chest and Natasha gave you two thumbs up. Steve and Bucky, on the other hand, looked concerned.

Tony was grinning like a child in a candy store.

“Leave all of that to me, kid. Date’s set. Last Saturday in June, we’re doing it. Mazel tov! I love a good black-tie event, especially if I’m throwing it.”

You went home that night and slammed yourself into bed, tossing and turning for what seemed like hours. Your stomach was churning wrathfully, already expectant of the party. Everything felt like it was falling apart again. You had just barely come to the physical terms of having soulmates, taking small steps to ensure that you were treating them fairly and meeting their needs, yet it seemed like once again, the reality of being Bound was eclipsing your independence.

Steve’s words echoed in your head. It was a commitment. You needed to stay in New York and commit to him. You needed to commit to Bucky.

You picked up the phone when it vibrated and lit up with Steve’s face. A concerned murmur of your name passed through the receiver.

“Hey,” You replied, face pressed into your pillow.

“You okay? You left in a hurry.” He sounded relieved to hear your voice.

“I’ve got a lot on mind, I think.”

In the background was Bucky’s distinct mumble of “What’s she doin’?”

“Did ya get that?” Steve laughed, “Buck’s on edge.”

You shuffled yourself around the bed and snuggled deeper down, imagining the crinkle on Bucky’s forehead and matching crease of Steve’s eyes as he smiled. You suddenly missed them. There was something about the image of them sitting together purposely, talking to you, concerned about you, that opened the floodgates.

You let go.

Steve listened generously as you expressed your hesitations about presenting your work to Kristopher Byrne or any other elite art critic or connoisseur. The thing you dreaded most about art school was the jargon of “artspeak”, the constant performance of socializing with the right people in the right way to get an opportunity. After your solo exhibit of the Soulmate Series, you were so exhausted and disenchanted by the questions and feeling the need to defend yourself that you refused to enter any more exhibitions. It was why you chose to travel instead of pursuing a Masters or making your mark in New York.

Interviews were strictly phone-only for independent magazines or social media websites and you never showed your face. You didn’t want any attention that was not on your work, which was why you were so glad that Pepper was not only a great resume opportunity, but that she was extremely professional. The photos you took of the Avengers were posted for the public relations needs and you were credited only by name.

“I just want to be a photographer,” you said, “I want to make images and talk about them in way that is digestible for ordinary people. I think photo is a great medium for that because it is so commonplace. Why is necessary to then jumble it all up with pretentious terminology? I want to take photos that are meaningful but even your grandmother could enjoy.”

Steve laughed.

“Okay, maybe not yours, specifically,” You chucked, “But you know what I mean. Photography is ubiquitous, I just so happen to have had also an education and know the theory and mechanics. And I’m lucky enough to work with you guys. But I’m not them. I don’t want to sell a picture for thirty-thousand dollars and have it put up in some guy’s house and never shown again.”

“Give ‘em hell!” Bucky’s voice rang in the background. You were surprised he was still there, listening. It made you happy that he was.

Steve paused, “I think you can do both.”

You sighed. He didn’t understand.

“No, no, listen to me. You can fight it, but you’ll need to be a part of it. You can’t change anything about the system if you’re running from the system. As much as you hate elitist jargon, you know it, and you can participate in it.”

Your brow furrowed, but Steve went on, “Get the faculty position, exhibit in galleries, gain that platform and then you make changes on that platform. Even if you just teach- imagine having 100 students a year that you can pass this to. What were the students like in your college classes?”

“Uppity.” You admitted. “We took such dumb photos and then would critique them in such meaningless ways. Sometimes a sink is just a sink. Sometimes it’s not, but when it is, it really is."

Steve laughed again; the example was lost on him. “Okay. Now what if your professors felt the same way you did?”

“We’d probably hate each other less and experiment more without second guessing ourselves.”

“Don’t you think you want to do that for other students, sweetheart? Even if it means that you’re in the thick of it yourself?” A smile was slowly forming on your face. It only made sense that Steve Rogers was such a revolutionary. It really was such good advice.

“Buck’s right, sweetheart. Go give ‘em hell.” In the background was a satisfied huff and a “Damn right!” for good measure.

“Anything else on your mind?” Steve quietly asked after a moment had passed between you, as if he’d forgotten his friend in the room, highly alert and intently listening, “Anything ‘bout us?”

You breathed a deep sigh, careful not to blow into the phone as you thought about your next words carefully. The anxieties for the show colluded with your anxieties for your future here. Steve knew that; he was only asking to be polite. “Mmm… It’ll keep me close,” You murmured, “That’s good, right?”

“I can’t decide that for you, sweetheart. That’s up to you.” There was a pause, the sound of something hitting the wall softly like a pillow, some fuzzy scratches telling you the phone was moving around, and Bucky with an irritated reprimand: “Wrong answer, punk!”

You laughed mirthfully, feeling your worries rolling off your body as you listened to Steve and Bucky quarrelling on the other end. It felt so natural that you couldn’t help but think maybe this was another good step in the right direction.

More and more each day you could imagine yourself having morning coffee with Steve, watching a movie with Bucky, cooking together, eating dinner, working side by side at the compound. Maybe you didn’t have to settle for brief fifteen-minute walks in the park, and maybe one day Bucky could talk to you about his demons. The three of you could exist together, as you were intended to.

At 23, you made up your mind to stay in New York with Steve and Bucky.

Next Chapter

#steve rogers #bucky barnes #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes x reader #steve rogers x bucky barnes x reader #self insert #fanfiction #mcu #marvel #stucky x reader #soulmate au #Mystery of Love heli0s

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flourish--and--blotts · 4 years

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Mini-Fic 8

part 8 / god knows how many Draco Malfoy x (probably Hufflepuff) Reader warnings: language words: 1687 - 7380 so far part 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 last | next

You sat down to breakfast feeling triumphant in your conviction. You are going to talk to Malfoy, you are going to get some answers, and today will be the day to do it. But until then… breakfast. The tables before you filled with food, and though this happens quite literally every morning, you were especially delighted today. The Great Hall was full of boisterous chatter and the many clinks and clunks of dishes versus silverware. It was a most wonderful commotion, within which you settled into good conversations with good friends. All the while, though, keeping a wayward eye on the Slytherin table. You would need to catch him alone if you could.

The minutes passed and you watched the day begin as people left, books clutched to their chest for yet another day of study and work. Others were clearly prepared to enjoy the final day of the weekend, having loosened their ties and put on winter clothes. Draco’s crew got up to leave, though he stayed behind rather conveniently. It wasn’t long before your own friends decided to leave, and you followed. But not for long. You put on your best innocent face and lied, “Oh, I think I forgot a book. I’ll catch you guys later.” After being your friend for ages, Olive and Anemone did not think it at all odd for you to forget something and so accepted the fib readily. You doubled back to the Great Hall, but before you could get there, someone grabbed you by the arm, nearly running into you. It was, to your surprise, Draco Malfoy himself. He leant down and murmured, “We need to talk.” You responded in kind, whispering, “Good, because I need to talk to you, too.” His hand was still on your left arm, clutched so tight that it was beginning to hurt. The look in his eyes was fierce and it made you want to take quite a few steps back. “Library. 10 o’clock.” He released you and disappeared down the hall, leaving no opportunity to respond. Addled, but undaunted, you checked your watch while walking back to the Hufflepuff dorms. You had half an hour until your meeting.

You spent some of that half-hour coming up with a good excuse for your friends, who did not seem at all convinced. Then you went on to the courtyard to collect your thoughts. It was, for the most part, deserted, due to winter’s reign newly cast upon the castle. Most people were spending a lovely Sunday morning keeping warm by a crackling fire or playing in the snow outside, but not in the enclosed courtyard, which contained room only for pathways between corridors, and a few trees and benches. So this was where you sat, observing the subtle beauty of a scene enrobed in white. The spindly arms of a tree, once so green, were now simply trestles supporting the soft weight of snowflakes. The landscape was so clearly in service to the season, facilitating its delicate charms and whimsy. It is so serene and still, the frosted-over, the cold-hearted. Winter at its finest is both hauntingly powerful and immensely beautiful. And thus you felt prepared for your meeting with Draco, himself coming from a world of coldness and stony silence.

You felt the return of warmth biting at your cheeks and fingertips as you entered the library. A cursory glance at the tables proved fruitless. Many were filled, but none by him. It was best, anyways, to find somewhere more secluded. And while looking for such a spot, you found Draco himself, sitting alone in an empty corner, turning the pages of an old book much too fast to actually be reading it. He looked up as you approached, and motioned to the chair across from him. You obliged, settling into the seat with some discomfort under his judgmental gaze, placing your hands in your lap and sitting up straight against the back of the chair. Draco, by contrast, looked entirely comfortable with confrontation, with his hands clasped and elbows resting casually on the table between you. Regardless of your deliberation before coming here, his ease unnerved you. “I have questions,” he began. “So do I.” He looked away, allowing a moment of silence to pass before continuing, “What do you think of me?” “Oh boy…” you whispered, and leaned back further, if at all possible, to contemplate. “I think that you are… complicated.” He was, somehow, entirely poker-faced, “So’s everyone.” “Well... I thought you were a bully, unrelenting, sadistic, and needlessly.. mean. But now I don’t know.” “Hm.” He started asking something else, but you interrupted, “My turn. What were you doing downstairs during dinner on Friday?” “I believe I already answered this.” His words were accompanied by a glare. “That was hardly an answer, ‘Maybe I was’, now I just have more questions!” you blushed slightly, realizing how loud you had gotten, and so lowered your voice, “First off, why? Why were you there? Why did you stop? Why did you give me that look? Why have you been entirely mum for the past week? And what do your weird glances mean?” He put his arms down and crossed them on the table. “I was there to talk. To you.” He squirmed a little and you could tell that you were getting somewhere. “What about? Why?” “I’m sorry, okay?! I actually, genuinely, feel bad about tripping you on the stairs!” “Come again?” His eyes flared with something, irritation or anger. Or perhaps something else: defensiveness, shame. “You’re not the only one who’s surprised!” So that’s it, he was sorry. He explained further, “When you fell, I did find it funny. I saw the look of ‘Oh shit, I’m falling’ dawn on your face and I found it hysterical. I got high-fives as we walked past and they felt well-deserved. I honestly didn’t expect you, of all people, to get that angry about it.” He paused for a while here, and you felt that sympathy begin seeping in once again. “People insult my parents all the time. And I thought they were wrong. It made me feel pride when they were wrong. Pride for knowing the truth and for being right. My responses always came from a place of anger and protection. But then, you- you weren’t wrong. And I didn’t feel angry or protective.” He paused again, before continuing quieter, “I said that I could make your life a living hell, and you said ‘as if you don’t already.’ I didn’t realize what you had said until a few seconds later and then suddenly I felt bad. I didn’t know why, but I just couldn’t look at the odd way you held your leg and the contempt on your face and so I turned and left.” Realizing that what you said had hurt him, you suddenly didn’t feel so good about it anymore, “I- I didn’t know what I was saying. I don’t know your parents. I don’t know your family.” “So what?” he was completely unfazed. “But I didn’t- I don’t- I was just reading between the lines.” “And you were right.” “I was..” it was half statement, half question. There was loathing in his eyes, but it wasn’t for you. “To the world, I am Lucius Malfoy’s perfect son. A Slytherin, a leader, who shares his opinions on everything and represents him perfectly, his spitting image. But you should hear what he says when people aren’t listening.” He seemed to want to stop talking after that, looking incredibly tense and scornful. It dawned on you why he had felt remorse all of a sudden, “So you realized that you were becoming just like him, but also that you didn’t want to be.” In response, his expression became melancholic. “You realized that what he makes you feel is what you make other people feel.” His next words were barely above a whisper, “Yes. Exactly.” There was a long, long stretch of silence, tired, sad silence, before he spoke again. “(y/n)?” “Yes?” “What do you think of me?” His question made perfect sense now. “You aren’t like him. That fact that you’re this conflicted proves that. But I think that you don’t know yourself, and how can I tell you who you are if you don’t know?” He leaned back and slumped down in his chair, the emotional effort of this conversation having made him physically tired. He also seemed to be lost in his head, thinking but being unable to process. A few beats passed, and then a few more. You stood up and started walking away, but paused next to him for a moment, not knowing what to say. Then as that moment ended and you started to leave, his hand caught your arm and you turned back immediately. He met your eyes and locked onto them before uttering, “I’m sorry.” You reached for his hand and held it. Part of you felt satisfaction for his sorrow, that he was finally beginning to understand the effects of what he had done, what he had been doing for years. Another part of you pushed that away, reminding you that revenge, though sweet, is simply fighting fire with fire. You could see how thankful he was, and how honest, and meeting that with hate would do harm, not good. “Thank you.” You smiled and held his hand tighter, which he responded to by holding on tighter as well before letting go. That conversation should have left you contemplating, analyzing, but your mind was curiously blank. It was hard to focus on what he had done because that wasn’t who he was. Instead, you found yourself wanting to talk with him more and get to know him better. You couldn’t dread the next time you passed him in the halls or caught his eye, you could only feel anticipation. But that feeling sank and your stomach twisted when you reached the library’s doors only to find Olive and Anemone bursting with expressions of triumph. Olive spoke first, “You just met with Draco Malfoy-” “What? No! Of course I didn’t.” “-and we would like to know why.”

#fic #by me #draco malfoy #draco malfoy x reader #hufflepuff reader #draco malfoy fic #malfoy x reader #draco x hufflepuff reader #draco fic

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harrystyltistical · 5 years

Text

**Woman

NSFW

Word count:3k

Warnings: Spanking, hair pulling, harsh language and adult content

A/N: Breaking news! Rin finally got done writing before 12 o’clock. Like and rb if you enjoyed

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The sound of your knuckles bumping against the wood of Harry’s door sounded throughout the empty hallway of the apartment building. It was late, almost 3AM, so you aren’t surprised when you were the only one treading the hallways.

It was another lonely night that ended in another late text to Harry asking if you could come over. Of course he said yes, informing you that Mitch would be out, and he’d be waiting.

This was only your third or fourth time hooking up and you still would find it awkward to text your best friend for a late night booty call and would always mask the question with small talk. Harry, however, never hesitated to say what he wants. There were multiple occasions where he would you texts, or should I say sexts, while you were in public or with family and you couldn’t help the subtle shade of pink that would arise on your cheeks when you read about what he wanted to do to you.

While at first the sex was a little awkward, as you still saw him as your best friend, after the second time it got a lot easier and you were glad you could continue your friendship with Harry without any discomfort.

The door flung open to reveal a shirtless Harry standing in the doorway, gray sweatpants riding low on his hips and a cheeky smile adorning his face.

“Fancy.” You joked, referring to his clothes. Harry scrunched his nose in response and leaned down to place a slow kiss to your lips, his hand coming up to lightly hold your jaw. You smiled into the kiss, tangling your fingers into his hair as you backed him into his apartment, shutting the door behind you with your foot.

Harry’s lips moved from your lips to the corner of your mouth, making their way down your jawline and peppering kisses down your neck.

“Been awhile.”

“Hm, I know. S’why I texted, I missed you.” You say, wrapping your arms around his neck and staring up at him.

“You aren’t going soft on me, are you, angel?”

“Oh, never,” You say in a faux serious tone, tilting your head “just wanted to see you before you left for tour s’all.” Harry nodded, mumbling a quiet “oh” as he stared down at you.

“Well,” Harry says, moving a piece of hair behind your ear “i’ve got a going away present for you.” He continued, grabbing your hand and leading you to the couch. He reached beside the couch and pulled out a large box wrapped in matte red wrapping paper, with a red satin bow tied around it. You hesitated before he motioned for you to take it from his hands, to which you kindly obliged and untied the bow.

When you unwrapped it you were left with a velvet black box. You lifted the box to your ear, noting the weight as you shook it to guess what was inside, hearing something heavy roll around as you did so.

“Open it.” He encouraged, putting a gentle hand on your knee. You glanced over at him before removing the top to reveal a pink, girthy, at least seven-inches long, dildo. The sight made your cheeks flush, your face suddenly becoming very warm as you awkwardly gulped.

“Jus’ in case you were thinking about going out and finding someone else to fuck you while I’m on tour.”

“You’re the one who doesn’t want to make it official, which means I’m allowed to do whatever I want with whoever I want. If you have such a big problem with it, maybe you should ask me out.”

“I know, love, m’selfish, I told you. Nobody else gets to have you like I do, but honestly, with the way you’re looking tonigh’ you’ve got me wondering how bad it would be to just… let myself fall head over heels for you.” You blushed as the words left Harry’s mouth, he always knew the right thing to say.

Your eyes trailed back down to the gift, your hands softly running over the surface of the box until it met the plastic of the dildo. You wrapped your fingers around it, pulling it out of the box it was encased in and standing it up, holding it in place at the tip with your hand.

“Why don’t you give it a go while I’m here, eh?” Harry pipes up after a few seconds of you staring at the dildo in silence. “I’m not sure— Uhm, I don’t know if I can.”

“Wha’ do you mean? Of course you can, don’t be ridiculous.” Harry says, rubbing your thigh slowly as he watched you nervously look from him to the dildo.

“I can’t right now, though. I’m not...” You say, trailing off as if the word “wet” could make this situation any dirtier than it already was. Harry nodded and licked his lips, moving you onto his lap so you’re facing him and setting the dildo next to you.

“Then we’ll put tha’ to the side for now. How about you tell me what you’d like me to do to you, hm?”

“I-i don’t know.”

“Cmon, when I’m away on tour you’re gonna have to use that dirty little mind of yours to come up with something to get yourself off. Have you ever masturbated to the thought of me before, angel?” You nodded “What did you think about?”

The blush on your cheeks must’ve gone from subtle pink to firetruck red. Usually you weren’t so nervous around Harry, and you’d like to think that in other circumstances you would be driving him crazy by now, but these weren’t other circumstances. He’d somehow made you embarrassed, nervous and quiet, all without trying in the slightest.

“Wha’? Are you embarrassed to tell me, love? S’alright, won’ judge, jus’ wanna hear wha’ you get up to in that pretty little mind of yours.” Your eyes nervously met his, picking at the skin on your lip an obvious nervous tick as Harry gave you an encouraging nod.

“I think… of you touching me and kissing me and-” You paused, your mind reeling over all your dirtiest fantasies, too embarrassed to tell him the truth. Harry used his thumb and index finger to lightly grab your chin, tilting it down so you were making direct eye contact.

“If you lie to me one more time, you aren’t cumming tonigh’. So, tell me again, wha’ do you think about when you touch yourself?”

“I think of you pinning me down and fucking me, or holding down my hips while you eat me out so you have full control. I think of you bending me over your legs and spanking me til’ my ass is red and shoving your dick down my throat, but usually I fantasize about you fucking me in the living room and Mitch walking in on us.” You admit sheepishly, taking a small breath and trying not to smile at his reaction. You could feel Harry’s growing bulge pressing lightly into your thigh as you avoided eye contact.

“Dirty little whore, aren’t you? Wanna eat m’dick hm? Get spanked and pinned and fucked, totally dominated, like a good little slut, and as if that wasn’t nasty enough you wan’ Mitch to walk in us, so he can see how good you can be for me. Such a good little slut, and you want everyone to know about it don’t you?” You nodded in response, too much pressure in your chest to respond as Harry shoved his hand into your underwear, sticking a few fingers inside your warm, soaking core before pulling them out massaging the wetness between his fingers. He then tapped your thigh, signaling for you stand up on your knees and pulled your pants and underwear down your thighs. He carelessly discards them to the side, positioning the dildo under you and between his legs.

“Go ahead, sink down on it for me.” He says, holding you by the hips as you slowly sunk yourself onto it, your eyes rolling into the back of your head as you did. The dildo reminded you so much of Harry, stretching you in the most delicious way as it reached far into you.

This wasn’t your first time using a sex toy, you had a vibrator at home, but you never used a dildo before now. It was a little more work, seeing as there obviously wasn’t anyone to buck up into you, but it definitely did the trick.

You reached down to play with your clit, knowing that Harry’s eyes are on you while he stroked his hard dick at the sight only turned you on more, if that was even possible. A groan tumbled past your lips as you sunk all the way onto it for the first time, grinding your hips slowly against it. You looked stunning as ever, in Harry’s opinion, eyes shut softly with your mouth hanging open in a perfect ‘O’ shape as you got used to the feeling.

You started slowly, finding a pattern you liked before speeding up, the dildo now soaked in your juices sliding effortlessly in and out of you. Harry left it all up to you, despite the fact that he was underneath enjoying the view as you fucked yourself with the phallic instrument. He watched as you bounced up on and down, riding it like you would him, throwing your head back in pleasure and desperately digging your nails into his arm as you did so.

You sped up once again, the feeling of it sliding in and out of you becoming more and more delicious by the second, the pressure in your stomach building rapidly every time you’d take all of it. Your hand left your clit to balance yourself on Harry’s shoulder, your other hand reaching underneath and wrapping around the dildo, using your hand to fuck yourself with it when your legs became too tired.

The air you breathed felt like it was building in your chest as you got closer and closer to the edge, your toes curled and you threw your head back as you came around the dildo. Harry was quick to comfort you as you came down from your high, pulling you close and rubbing your back soothingly as he left short kisses on your cheek.

Your heart beat is quick in your chest and your breaths are heavy and deep as you came down, your eyes slowly fluttering open to see Harry smirking down at you.

“Did so good fo’ me, petal. Would you like to keep going?” He asked, you paused for a second before giving him a slow nod, sitting up straight in his lap and standing on your knees so he could remove the dildo from underneath you. Harry placed a soft peck to your lips, checking if you were sure before continuing.

“Quick question, angel, did I say you could cum?” He raised his eyebrow at you “Because, I don’t remember saying you could, but I know tha’ you know the rules so it must’ve just slipped my mind, yeah?”

You stared up at him through your eyelashes, shaking your head as you nervously bit your lip. You’d been so caught up in the moment you completely forgot to ask, and you knew what was in store for you when you broke one of Harry’s rules; An ass so red you wouldn’t be able to stand for a week, and that’s if you were lucky.

“No?” You confirmed his question with another shake of your head, although you knew it was rhetorical “That’s naughty of you.”

“I didn’t mean to be naughty, I forgot.” Harry shrugged at your response, motioning for you to lay out across his lap. You obliged, burying your face into the couch while you waited.

“Ah, ah ah, you’ll be cleaning daddy’s gift while you get your punishment. You’ll be getting fifteen, and I don’t want to hear any whining.” Harry said, placing the pink dildo in front of you and watching as you took the tip into your warm mouth. Your tongue is coated in your own juices when you felt a harsh smack! come down on your ass. You jumped at the sudden pain, the sting of your ass working with the erotic situation to make you even wetter.

Seeing as there is an artificial dick in your mouth, you can’t exactly count, so, as much as Harry loved hearing you choke out the number of times his hand had come down on your ass, sure to leave a mark by the end of the night, he let it slide.

By the time he counted fifteen he wasn’t sure whether the tears streaming down your face were from the spankings or from gagging on the huge dick placed in front of you. Harry reached over to swipe a few stray tears away before giving another harsh smack to your already stinging ass.

“You already did fifteen.” You say, pulling off the dildo and wiping the spit from your mouth as you turned to look at Harry.

“I forgot.” He said, mocking your answer with a raised eyebrow before flipping you back so your face was once again buried in the couch, leaving you to lift your head and continue cleaning the dildo with your tongue. Three consecutive smacks came down on your ass before Harry pulled you to sit up by your hair. He kisses you roughly before laying you down on the couch, your aching red ass making contact with the suede.

You let your tired body sink into the sofa, although your ass was stinging at the feeling. Harry was quick to crawl on top of you, sliding his pants down his thighs and discarding them on the coffee table as he bit and sucked at your neck. The feeling of his warm breath fanning out against your neck sent a shiver down your spine, Harry’s lips coming up to connect with yours in a rough, but slow kiss.

“Want you to feel every inch of me, petal.” He said, lining himself up with your entrance before slowly pushing his tip in. A deep, muffled groan tumbled past his lips and into your ear as he continued to push the rest of himself into your slowly, stretching your already sensitive pussy.

The feeling of him completely inside you was 10x better than the dildo, filling you up just right as he buried his face into your neck. He started slowly, taking a little more out each time, holding you close and taking his time. You could feel everything as he slowly pushed himself in and out, finger tangling themselves into your hair while his lips worked at your neck.

It wasn’t until you began pushing your hips back into his that he sped up, eager to make you come again and again. He reached behind himself to grab your legs and put them on his shoulders, fucking you faster and deeper than before. You knew you wouldn’t last long the second his hand came down to play with your clit, working you up more and more with each thrust.

You could barely catch a breath as your legs shook and your eyes squeezed shut. The pressure he’s applying to your clit quickly becoming all too much as moans continuously and involuntarily rolled past your tongue.

“Don’t cum, and that’s a demand.” Harry said, the way you’re shaking beneath him an obvious tell that you’re close, nipping at your earlobe so you knew he was serious. His hips sped up, the sound of skin slapping against skin sounding throughout the living room as he fucked into you with all he had.

You continued to hold off your orgasm, one punishment being more than enough for the night. Harry pulled at your hair as he got closer, his thrusts becoming uneven and sloppy as he approached his high.

“Cum with me.” He groaned into your ear, shooting hot ropes of cum deep inside you as your walls fluttered and you came around him. Your orgasm racked through your body, a squeal involuntarily coming out as waves of pleasure washed over you, Harry still grinding himself into you as you rode out your orgasms together.

“Can I clean you up?” You asked when he pulled out, his dick soaked in a mixture of your juices and his cum looking too good to pass up.

“Of course, princess.” He said, his eyes refusing to lean you as you sunk down to your knees on the floor in front of him on the couch, running your tongue up the length of his cock and swirling it around the tip before deep-throating him. Harry let out a deep groan at the feeling of your tongue swirling around his dick, his eyes rolling into the back of his head when you sucked at the tip.

“That’s enough, love, you’re gonna make me hard if you keep going like that” He said, but you ignored him, continuing to suck at the tip, running your tongue along the divot as you lightly stroked him. It didn’t take Harry long to pull you off his dick, glaring down at you with a raised brow.

“Petal, have you disobeyed me twice?”

“Like I said, you don’t control me.”

“Then fucking go out with me.” The question shocked you, mostly because you weren’t sure of the authenticity of it, but also because of how out of place it was. You hadn’t even meant it like that, but now that the situation had arose you weren’t sure what to say.

“Uhm,” you let out a small laugh “sure.”

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