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cherrykamado · 2 years

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Okay so like. So like. Okay. Getting my thoughts together is hard. Real hard. But like. Virgin reader and your new boyfie zeni. You've been taking it slow cos tbh your both real shy, and really like each other and dont wanna mess it up. So for a little while its sweet and its slow and its patient bc you are both so sweet and so patient with each other.

But all that fearful restraint hides a nutual fact about you both: you and zeni are both closet perverts. Zeni is decidedly, way less in the closet than you are about it-- like come on we've seen Zenitsu-- he makes it no secret how pretty he thinks you are and how crazy you drive him-- but youre so so shy and he loves u soso much and wont pressure you for anything ever. Never.

But you-- maybe you could use a little pressure, bc you are so deeply closeted about your tendencies its kinda ridiculous. Feeling your core throb while sitting in a chair and rocking your hips against it for just a few seconds, wondering, wondering what if you just kept going-- but almost as quickly stopping yourself and distracting with something else. There has to be a level of insanity for someone to be able to stoke the flames in their own belly and then ignore it like flipping a switch.

But before you were single and now you have Zenitsu, who touches you so often, who cradles you so close, who you slowly becomes bodily acquainted with as boundaries melt away, legs tangling and bodies draped across each other just for the comfort-- all this to say.

Maybe one day, you're cuddled up with Zeni, all tangled limbs and blurring lines, when that quietly distracting throb starts up again. A little twist-- your not sure if it was the warmth of him pressed up against you that did it, but you pull your eyes from the movie you were watching and find yourself drawn to the lines of his throat. And you feel needy. And stuck! Like suddenly you get the feeling that itd be so much harder to defuse-- and usually you'd wait to find yourself alone to take off the edge, but now you have Zeni, whose settled so comfy beneath you, whose thigh you straddle like a lazy cat, the thigh that distracts you now, pressed up against your throbbing clit and your walls clench, muscles in your legs twitching as you swallow hard as you try to calm yourself back down--

Too bad you didn't know that people can feel that when you sit on them with a clenching pussy. And god, knowing Zeni??? He can probably HEAR IT, the hitch in your vreath and the stutter in your heart and oh, oh, your pretty pussy is throbbing on his thigh and he slides his eyes to you and sees that furrow in your brow and the hazy look in your eye, and his hand in your hair scratches just abbit at your scalp and he murmurs in his unfair voice with an unfair amount of bass in his chest, "Do you... Need something?" And he says it as earnest as he can, because hes worried about pressuring you, but feeling your little thighs twitch with what could? Be? RESTRAINT? He think he might lose it, so he must be careful, he must be so so--

And then you give that small admission, dropping your cheek to his chest and squeezing your arms around him tighter and mumbling "maybe. I think so." And then ROCKING YOUR HIPS-- just a little, just to coax sparks, like you are very used to doing to yourself, microdosing to take off the edge-- and Zeni cannot stop himself from crooking his knee and pressing his thigh up against your mound maybe a little too hard. But maybe you needed that too hard to make the micro a macro and make your belly lurch, make you whimper and sink your hips down harder, because this is embarrassing, but hes letting you, and maybe it isnt too much like youd been afraid of--

"M'jus. Frustrated." You stumble over your tongue trying to explain yourself, justify yourself, maybe a little apologetic because you've never shared yourself with anyone at all and no ones ever seen you like this and isn't it embarrassing??? But Zeni just slides his handa down your back and settles his hands on your hips and watches you with big big eyes and a redding face as he goes "Yeah?" In a voice a little too strained, and you nod on earnest, and whine when he squeezes the fat of your ass. And Zeni swallows hard and tries to focus, tries not to let the sensation of your grinding tiny circles on his thigh send him into orbit just yet, cos he hasta be present for this has to be, cant dare miss it, and he feels hot under his collar when he hoarses out a little "Can I-- Want me to, help?"

And it startles you how quickly the answer comes, makes you tremble a little in his arms but-- its Zeni and hes asking and you, you need him so bad its killing you. And you fumble with the consent but it comes anyway, voice tinny and pleading. "Y--uhm, Yes, if you-- uh wanna if it's--"

And Zeni rushes out a little 'its okay its okay' hurrying to reassure as he grips your hips tighter, fingers sliding just under the hem of your shirt to grab at your squishy sides, and he pulls you, rocks you against the hard line of muscle on his thigh and watches your mouth open on a gasp, feels his own drop open as he cranes his neck, chasing the urge to bite at your sweet and shiny lips, to swallow up the so quiet and so shy little noises. But he cant keep his mouth on yours long enough because he finds that he suddenly cannot shut up for the life of him. A flurry of check ins and praise and every first thought that pops in his mind as he guides you to ride his thigh-- "S'okay, This is okay-- Like this? Yes, Like that, so-- ah, youre so good, so pretty-- feels good? Yeah? Fuck-- Just a little harder, feels good like this right? Can feel you-- hear you, youre so wet, sugar," and its all you can do to brace yourself against him and follow his lead, chasing after pleasure and finding it burning up, low and slow at first but getting hotter faster.

But not fast enough. It aches sharp in your belly, but not sharp enough, and it almost hurt, and he hears the desperation in your whines, the music of your voice go a little too high in just the wrong way, so he adjusts-- quicker than lightning halts your hips and lifts you up, pressing an apology to your whimpering lips when you choke a confused, betrayed little sob-- and then he slots himself between your thighs properly and sinks you down hard against the throbbing curve of his cock. Loses the sound of his "That better?" In the keen that rolls up your throat, sweet and full sounding and desperate in just the right way. And he bucks up into you, hardly needing to coax your hips but keeping his hands there to hold you steady, as you ride him Almost properly, layers of cloth growing tacky with sweat and slick and precum, but maybe, for right then its all either of you need. And maybe he grinds up against you until you come shaking over his hips, and maybe he cant stand staying his back and has to sit up to fold you up neat under him because he cant quite get that prettiest sound with your weight on him, but he can with all of his weight bearing down on you. And maybe you both cum just like that, gasping into each others mouths, him dragging his praise from your sweet lips down your pretty throat and mumbling his love for the fifth time consecutively. Maybe it isn't enough-- maybe he folds you up and fucks you properly, and all borders melt away completely.

But either way, when the fever breaks and you can find it in yourselves to settle, you've never in your life felt more pliant and plush and safe. Cooing sweet thanks into Zeni's blushing ears, who nearly gets hard again over being thanked over making you come, who almost immediately wants to do it again because now that youve let him have you once, even half way, he cannot imagine not having you again, and will later surely milk himself dry over the sounds you make when you come, until he's raw and drunk for you on just the memory.

But. Yeah. So. I'm viciously haunted by Zenitsu and idk where it came from but if i cannot get rest neither can you.

oh god....... I—

#DAMN FUCKING MKADNFSAKJGNDFENJK HELPPPP #MY BRAIN SHUT DOWN TO THIS #IM LITERALLY FROTHING AT THE MOUTH #🍒— cherry's mail #anon; 🐭#kny thirst #zenitsu thirst #zenitsu agatsuma thirst #zeni<3 #OH MY GODDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD

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earliebirb · 4 years

Text

the big small things

steve/tony, hurt/comfort, established relationship, 1510 words

“Ugh, just kill me,” Steve mutters, lying on the couch and burying his face in Tony’s stomach.

Steve would feel bad interrupting Tony’s work—Tony has been on and off the phone for hours and whatever is on that tablet in his hands must be Very Important—but he is in the middle of battling a ruthless bout of migraine. He wants nothing more than to lie down and close his eyes, preferably with his husband within arm’s reach.

“And yet you come to the one person you know is definitely incapable of ending your life.” Steve feels Tony’s fingers threading through his hair and already he feels some of the pain melting away.

“It’s not that hard,” Steve grumbles into Tony’s shirt. “You’re a genius, I’m sure you could figure something out.”

Tony snorts. “I hope you know I’m being a hundred percent serious when I say I would literally rather die.”

At that, Steve gives a reproachful hum. “You’re not allowed to die before me.”

“You’re not allowed to die before me,” Tony counters. His hand wanders down to Steve’s right ear, worrying gently at his earlobe. “What’s wrong, honey bunches?”

“I have the worst headache,” Steve says miserably, inhaling lungfuls of Tony’s comforting scent through his nose.

“You want me to go get you some meds?”

“Had some. Still hurts.”

“My poor baby. Let’s get you to bed, huh? I think you could use some sleep.” Steve hears the distinct click of the tablet being locked. Tony leans forward, setting the gadget down on the coffee table.

“But I don’t want to move.”

“I know you don’t, but you’ll be a lot more comfortable in bed, okay?” Tony says, his thumb caressing the back of Steve’s neck.

“With you?” Steve asks hopefully.

Steve knows that Tony is very busy with work. Steve also knows that he is being selfish. Still, he can’t help the stubborn flicker of hope that maybe—

“Yes, Sir. With me,” Tony says, easy as anything, as if Steve’s headache took obvious precedence over all of his work plans for the day—the weapon upgrades he has to do, the meetings he has to attend, and all the investors he has to charm.

Again, Steve would feel guilty if he weren’t too busy relishing the rush of relief running through him at Tony’s promise.

When Steve sits up, the movement sends a sharp pain shooting through his head. The previous pounding behind his skull returns just seconds later, continuing persistently like a silent tattoo. Squeezing his eyes shut, he cradles his head with a low groan.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart.” Tony leans in to press a kiss to his temple before standing up, offering a hand to Steve. “Come on, let’s go to bed.”

Steve accepts his hand, letting Tony lead him up to the master bedroom and into their bed. Tony fluffs his pillow for him before sitting him down on the bed.

“You get comfy. I’ll be back in a minute, need to get something in the kitchen,” Tony whispers, taking both of Steve’s cheeks in his hands and giving him a quick peck on the lips.

Steve is not proud of it, but he does frown petulantly at the thought of being left alone. Tony gives him a small smile in return, one that is less bright but much more genuine than the one reserved for the press and flashing cameras.

It never fails to warm Steve to his core.

Squishing his cheeks together, Tony leans down once again to plant another feather-light kiss on the tip of Steve’s nose before walking away and disappearing out the door. In the meantime, Steve tries to do as told, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath to ease the pain.

He doesn’t know how much time has passed, but he opens his eyes when he hears Tony’s footsteps approaching him. Tony is carrying a mug of something steaming. Very gingerly, he hands it to Steve. Upon holding the warm mug in his hands, Steve recognizes the liquid for what it is: green tea.

“Careful, it’s hot.”

Tony detests tea. In fact, he makes his distaste of the beverage abundantly clear to all and sundry, often proclaiming loudly of coffee’s superiority over it. Tony also knows, however, that Steve loves to have a cup of it every morning. Ever since Steve moved into his floor, he has kept a seemingly never-ending stock of the stuff in the penthouse kitchen.

Blowing on the hot drink before taking a cautious sip, Steve lets the tea’s warmth provide brief but very much needed relief from the pain.

“Jarvis, draw the curtains shut and turn down the lights, will you?” Tony says, slipping into bed beside Steve.

The lights dim to a gentle yellow and there is a quiet whirring as the curtains are closed, preventing any sunlight from streaming in.

Tony sits beside him quietly, fingers drumming an uneven beat on Steve’s thigh as Steve finishes the mug of tea in gentle sips. Once he is done, he sets the empty mug on the nightstand and slips under the covers. He inches closer to Tony, letting Tony’s thighs pillow his head.

“Better, sweetheart?”

Steve nods, blinking up at Tony. Brown doe eyes blink back at him. “Thank you.”

“You are very welcome. Now go to sleep,” Tony says, voice hushed, fingers tracing unidentifiable shapes into Steve’s sideburn.

“Tell me a story?”

“A story?” Tony hums in thought. “Okay. So, when I was little, there was this huge tree in the backyard of one of my family’s vacation homes, right?”

Steve hums, urging him to continue. He lets Tony’s low and soothing voice wash over him, his eyelids growing heavy.

“I think it was in Tuscany? I’ll take you there sometime, darling. You’ll love it. So, one day, I climbed up to the top of this tree because I got curious and wanted to see the view of the neighborhood from up there. And— Come on, you know me. A curious Tony is a dangerous Tony and all that. I think I must’ve been about eight or nine years old.”

All the while, Tony runs his fingers through Steve’s hair repeatedly in slow and gentle strokes.

Steve closes his eyes and takes the time to send a silent thanks to the universe for granting him the privilege of being loved by such a wonderful human being. Not for the first time, Steve finds himself wondering just what he has done to deserve Tony as his life partner.

He used to feel sorry for whoever his future spouse would be—a thought that plagued his mind whenever he had to watch his mother worry herself sick and stay up late at night to help him fight his raging fevers. He remembers feeling uncertain as to whether he would ever settle down with someone, uncomfortable with the thought of having to subject his partner to the task of taking care of his sickly self for the rest of their lives.

He didn’t even know if he would be able to find someone willing to do so.

And yet here is Tony, letting himself be pulled away from work in the middle of the day to take care of Steve. Tony, who has held him through countless nightmares and sleepless nights without a word of complaint. Tony, who acts like taking care of Steve is something he genuinely enjoys and takes pride in, instead of treating it as the extra work that it is. One of the things Steve has learned throughout his relationship with Tony is to convince himself to not be afraid of ever becoming a burden, at least not to Tony—something Tony continues to remind him of every single day.

Steve is no futurist; he has no guesses or conjectures as to what the future may hold for him. Whatever happens in the future, though, he knows this much:

He may not have gotten a lot of things right in his lifetime, but at least he did one thing right—marrying Tony Stark is the one decision he knows he will never regret.

Tony is his one constant, the one sure thing he believes in with the kind of fierce conviction that settles deep within his heart and thrums through his bones.

With his eyes still shut, Steve reaches up to take the hand that has been combing through his hair. He presses a grateful kiss to the inside of Tony’s palm before holding the hand in his.

Tony squeezes his hand and continues to talk, voice not once faltering.

Steve loves him so much his heart aches with it.

“...Suddenly, I heard Jarvis calling me from down below. He was all ‘Come down here before you get hurt!’ and I was afraid of getting into trouble, so I just stayed there, perched up on the tree. But then…”

Steve doesn’t get to hear the end of the story, but he does get to drift off into a very pleasant dream of smiles, laughter, and warm hugs smelling of coffee, lavender, and metal.

#stevetony #stevetony fic #stony #stony fic #superhusbands #steve/tony #steve x tony #mine #earl wrote something

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yourpaceangel · 4 years

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divine by loving

[Read on AO3]

It begins, on some sunny morning just weeks after the world was supposed to end, with a vase of flowers and a note. The lilacs are stunning, surrounded by baby’s breath and something green Aziraphale doesn’t remember the name of but looks lovely nonetheless. They’re the one bright spot amongst the dust motes and lazy spill of sunlight through half slotted blinds. A folded piece of paper, sealed with wax, sits beneath the vase and Aziraphale opens it as carefully as he can. Inside Crowley’s sprawling, carefully messy handwriting takes up only a small portion of the thick paper.

“My love has made me selfish. I cannot exist without you--“

He’s smudged the ink over the word ‘love’ like he couldn’t resist running a thumb over the word before the ink had dried. Aziraphale’s finger brushes over it and his lips pull into a smile. He puts the note down and has the phone cradled in his hand before he’s thought about what he’s doing.

Crowley, remarkably, picks up on the second ring.

“Hello dear,” Aziraphale says, looking at the lilacs, “I was wondering if you might want to get some lunch?”

Summer nudges its way into fall the way it has a tendency to do. The mornings grow crisp, sun coming into the sky later and leaving it earlier. The trees in St. James’ Park turn a multitude of spectacular colors. Vibrant purples, striking orange, muted gold. Aziraphale likes taking their walks in the early evening, before the sun has had time to set, after the heat of the day has already been bundled off and sent to bed. They walk, hand clasped in hand, down set paths with no real intention of going anywhere.

It’s nice. To finally be allowed this, to finally have the time.

“Robin,” Aziraphale says, pointing up at the sweet little redbreast hiding amongst the leaves. He’s always liked bird watching, and Crowley does too, though he sometimes complains that it leaves him feeling a little hungry afterward.

“Goldfinch,” Crowley echoes, gesturing with his head toward a bush.

They wind around the duck pond, stopping momentarily so Aziraphale can toss a handful of birdseed in their direction before starting off again. Overhead the sky turns a brilliant orange, clouds a cotton candy sugar pink spun thin and high above the trees. A bird arcs overhead, striking dark against the light.

“Blackbird.” Aziraphale says and Crowley looks up.

“Wonder if there are enough to make a pie.”

“Hush,” Aziraphale squeezes his hand.

Crowley’s thumb dances over the back of Aziraphale’s hand, rubbing absently at the skin there. “Dove,” Crowley says after a long silence.

“Yes, my dear?”

Crowley’s thumb stops rubbing and he pauses, thrown for a moment, before bursting into laughter. He points up into a tree at two doves, pressed close together.

“Oh,” Aziraphale says, feeling his cheeks heat.

Crowley tugs him toward a bench, under the nearby tree. “Would you like that?” He asks, “Names like that?”

“Crowley, don’t make fun--”

“I’m not!” He sits down, taking up half of the bench by himself. “I’m not, angel, I swear.” He takes both of Aziraphale’s hands with his own. “I just...I didn’t know you’d go for that, really.”

“I wouldn’t normally,” Aziraphale says, shuffling his feet, still standing, “it’s different when it’s you.”

Crowley’s lips form a little ‘o’, his eyebrows scrunching together like he’s thinking. “Angel,” He says, and this time it sounds deliberate. “Dove.” He kisses the back of one hand-- “Sunshine.” --and then the other. “My everything.” He tugs, so Aziraphale will bend down to kiss him and Aziraphale does, their noses bumping together briefly. He tugs again and Aziraphale falls willingly, resting his weight on Crowley’s lap, hands entwined. Crowley’s mouth tastes faintly like a burnt match might, but Aziraphale doesn’t mind it in the slightest. He opens his lips to let Crowley’s tongue touch his, a spark of heat at his core. “My one,” Crowley says against his mouth, breathless, “my only, my l--” He makes a sound like it hurts, like he’s bitten the inside of his mouth.

“Darling,” Aziraphale says, “dearest, starshine, my heart, my love.”

“Oh,” Crowley says and squeezes his hands, “Yes. Yes.”

They’re pressed so close now, cheek to cheek and chest to chest. It takes an age to separate themselves from one another. Long after the moon makes its way warm and full over the treeline, long after the stars began to show themselves, hazy balls of light so very far away.

Crowley makes himself comfy in Aziraphale’s reading chair, long limbs sprawled in odd directions in a way that shouldn’t be comfortable and certainly doesn’t look to be. He holds a glass of wine delicately in one hand, cradling the bottom of it like one would a newborn child. He looks good, pleasantly buzzed already, the tips of his ears a charming pink and his cheeks flushed. “I’m just saying,” Crowley says, gesturing with his other hand, his foot bouncing in the air, “I’m just-- what was I saying?”

Aziraphale laughs. He’s pleasantly drunk himself, his cheeks and the tip of his nose hot. “Roses?”

Crowley snaps his fingers and points at him. “Roses!” He declares, “Rotten for romance. Smell atrocious, all covered in thorns. Now the orchid, that’s-- that’s a fine flower.”

“Mm.”

“No bloody thorns on--” he takes a sip of his wine, nearly spilling it over his chin in his haste to continue talking, “No thorns on a good orchid. That’s all I’m saying.”

Aziraphale is tickled just watching him. The over exaggerated swing of his leg, the slump of his shoulders, the gentle flush of his face. Crowley puts down his wine glass, like he’s made a statement, crossing his arms over his lithe chest. Aziraphale doesn’t try to fight the smile that blooms across his mouth. “So you wouldn’t get me any?”

“Any what?”

“Roses,” Aziraphale says, teasing, “You wouldn’t get me any roses? Even if I asked?”

Crowley’s wild foot smashes into the end table and nearly sends his glasses and wine glass flying in his haste to sit up straight. “If you asked?” His eyes go wide, luminous. “Angel, I would get you the moon if you asked. Don’t you know?”

“Hm?”

Crowley opens his mouth but nothing comes out. He furrows his brows, looking bewildered. He opens his mouth again and then shuts it. “Come here,” He growls, reaching out a hand.

Aziraphale sets down his wine and goes.

The next morning there are orchids on his vanity, pale blue, like they’ve always been there.

Crowley opens the door of the Bentley for him. He looks dashing in a smart black suit, deep blood red shirt and black tie. His boots are so red they almost look black and Aziraphale wonders for a moment if they just look like snake skin or if Crowley has just taken to forming his feet to look like shoes. “Thank you, my dear.” Aziraphale says, kissing Crowley’s cheek as he gets into the car. He smooths a hand over his own grey suit, fiddling with the snake eye cufflinks as Crowley slides on the other side.

The Bentley roars to life, music spilling from its speakers almost immediately. Something soft and so sweet it makes Aziraphale rest his hand on Crowley’s knee and squeeze. “But touch my tears with your lips, touch my world with your fingertips, and we can have forever, and we can love forever.” Crowley peels out, cutting off two cars and scaring a flock of pigeons into flight, but his hand when he rests it atop Aziraphale’s is gentle.

“You have the tickets, of course?” Aziraphale asks, closing his eyes when Crowley drives over a curb to skip a roundabout and several cars blare their horns in fear and confusion.

“Course I do,” Crowley says happily, swinging wildly around a curve.

Aziraphale inhales sharply, digging his nails into Crowley’s knee, hearing Crowley’s answering laugh. “You could at least pretend to care about traffic laws.”

“What would I want to do that for?”

“Crowley--”

The Bentley slows considerably and Aziraphale feels Crowley pat the top of his hand. “You can open your eyes.” He sounds too amused for his own good.

Aziraphale peels one eye open and then the other, breathing out a relieved sigh. “Really, my love, it’s like you enjoy nearly giving me a heart attack every time we go somewhere.”

“Now you’re getting it,” Crowley says brightly. He pulls up outside the Royal Opera House. Cars aren’t meant to be parked here, but Aziraphale knows when they leave later there won’t be a parking ticket in sight. Crowley gives his hand a little squeeze and gets out first to open the door for him, offering his hand.

Aziraphale finds himself a little short of breath, if he’s honest. The light flashes off of Crowley’s feather cufflinks and Aziraphale smiles, taking his hand, letting himself be pulled up. Crowley guides him inside with a steady hand at the small of his back. He takes their tickets from his suit jacket, and Aziraphale barely makes out Orph…& Eur… from under Crowley’s thumb.

“Orpheus & Eurydice?” Aziraphale asks.

Crowley hums the affirmative. “Something new,” He explains and then frowns, “Unless you’d prefer--?”

“No, no. New is-- new can be good.”

“It’s not too late,” Crowley stops, letting people walk around them, “There’s a showing of Carmen tonight as well, and there’s always Tosca.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale reaches up to cup his face, fingers tracing briefly over the edge of his glasses, “It will be lovely, I’m sure.”

Crowley leans into him, blowing out a breath. “Just want to treat you right, angel.”

“You spoil me darling,” Aziraphale assures, pressing a delicate kiss to the corner of his mouth, his heart swelling in his chest, “You really do.”

“Deserve to be spoiled,” Crowley mumbles, clearing his throat and straightening back up, “Well, shall we?”

Aziraphale links their arms together, patting Crowley’s bicep. “After you.”

It’s a bad day. Winter has creeped its way into the bones of the bookshop and the little flat upstairs, shiny blades of ice clinging to the streets and windows. The cold makes Aziraphale’s leg ache, an ancient wound that shouldn’t bother him in his corporeal form but does nonetheless when the wind outside turns biting and brittle and brutal in it’s coldness. He lights the fireplace and leaves the space heater on but nothing seems to be able to chase the chill from the rooms.

Crowley is insufferable like this. He whines, he snaps, he sneers. He’s a snake through and through and nothing Aziraphale does is good enough.

“Let’s go away,” Crowley mutters, stomping around the bedroom in his silk pajamas and bundled in a thick wool blanket. “Let’s just go away.”

“Where?” Aziraphale snaps. He’s cold enough, sore enough, irritated enough that he can’t stop himself. “Alpha Centauri?” The way he says it does not come out nice.

Crowley freezes, shooting him a withering look. It’s enough of a sore spot that he goes back to bed, pulling the blankets back over himself.

“Really now,” Aziraphale says.

Crowley is blessedly, dreadfully silent.

“You’re being childish, Crowley.”

The blanket lump does not move.

“I’m going down to the shop,” Aziraphale sniffs. He does not slam the door shut behind himself, but only just barely.

The shop is colder than the flat and if anything it worsens his mood. He makes himself tea from the electric kettle in the back room and then promptly forgets about it, finding stacks of books to straighten and reshelve. He opens the blinds in the shop and then closes them again upon seeing the dismal, dreary gray streaked streets outside. He flops into his reading chair and massages his leg.

Upstairs he can hear the bump and thump of Crowley moving around, and then the shuffle of his feet on the stairs as he comes down into the shop. He’s still bundled in that blanket, cranky eyed and frowning, but he makes his way over to Aziraphale and settles himself into his lap.

Aziraphale starts at the feeling of ice cold fingers dipping under his jumper and he grabs them, bringing the hands up to his face. He breathes warm air over cool skin, rubs life into the fingers with his palms. Crowley sags against him, the fight draining out of the both of them at once. Crowley wiggles his hands free so he can knead Aziraphale’s leg, gently working the muscles around the sore spot. Aziraphale sighs against his cheek.

“I’m sorry,” Aziraphale says, hands digging into the blanket around Crowley’s shoulders to wrap around them both. “I’m having a bad day.”

“Me too.” Crowley says.

Aziraphale cradles Crowley’s face in his hands, brushing his nose over his temple before kissing his forehead.

Crowley’s hands dig a little harder into his leg. “Angel, I--” He takes a shaking breath and then shakes his head a little, “Nothing.”

“I love you,” Aziraphale says, running a thumb over Crowley’s cheekbone.

“Yeah,” Crowley says, his eyes a little wet, “that.”

“ I couldn’t utter my love when it counted. Ah, but I’m singing like a bird ‘bout it now. And I couldn’t whisper when you needed it shouted. Ah, but I’m singing like a bird ‘bout it now.”

Aziraphale follows the music to his kitchen. Crowley humming along in the early morning light filtering in through gossamer white curtains, his hands steady and sure as he chops vegetables and moves them into the pan. He’s bare except for a pair of boxers slung low on his hips. Aziraphale almost wants to lecture him on the dangers of cooking without proper clothes but instead has to lean against the doorframe to steady himself. There’s a gathering of scales at the small of Crowley’s back that glimmer like an oil slick in the soft sunlight, another little patch trailing up his neck and behind his ear. Aziraphale knows if he got a good look at the soles of Crowley’s feet he would have a delightful little patch of scales there as well. He’s enamored with the edges where pale skin meets smooth dark scale and has to hold onto his own hands to stop himself from touching.

“Good morning,” Aziraphale says.

Crowley starts, turning around. “I didn’t know you were up,” He says, cheeks pink, scratching at the back of his head. “I was going to bring you breakfast.”

“I heard music,” Aziraphale smiles, “I heard you singing.”

“Ah,” Crowley’s cheeks darken and he clears his throat, turning back around to add eggs to the pan. “That.”

Aziraphale can’t stand not touching him. He presses his chest to Crowley’s back and hugs his waist, tucking his chin over his shoulder. “Yes,” he agrees, kissing Crowley’s shoulder, “that.”

Crowley is quiet for a time. The kind of peaceful, relaxed quiet that means he’s just enjoying being in the moment. Aziraphale kisses those glittering scales behind his ears and smiles when Crowley shivers. “Pest,” Crowley hisses with no real bite. He smacks Aziraphale’s hand with his spatula. “If you’re going to be in here you might as well be useful. Set the table?”

“Of course, my dear.” Aziraphale squeezes his waist, places a kiss to his bare shoulder, and goes.

The moonlight dripping in from the frost covered windows is gossamer soft, kissing sweetly over pale skin and dark scales, whispering across dark hair and eyelashes. Aziraphale watches him from across the room, propped against the doorframe as he is, reading glasses slipping down his nose and book in hand. Crowley sleeps rather a lot in the winter, and Aziraphale likes to watch him sleep.

There’s something vulnerable about Crowley in sleep. Awake he’s all coiled muscle and perpetual movement. Drumming fingers, thumping foot, taps of pens against the table. 1-2-3, 1-2-3, 1-2-3, 1-2-3. He is confident and cocky, headstrong, headsure, steadfast. He’s a barely concealed grin, a bubble of laughter, the wink of an eye. Asleep he is none of those things. Crowley asleep is something heartbreaking, heartbroken; fragile like the hollow bones of his wings. And trusting. Aziraphale knows he’s the only being alive that’s ever seen Crowley like this, fidgety hands finally still against the pillowcase, face unlined and unworried.

Aziraphale crosses the room and sits by him, smoothes the fringe back from his forehead with a gentle touch. Crowley rouses beneath him, just a little. “‘Ziraphale?” He mumbles, barely opens his eyes before he’s closing them again. Trusting and so very sweet.

“Yes, starshine,” Aziraphale says, “Just me. You can stay there.”

Crowley curves toward him like he’s magnetized, the way he has done every night since their first together. He feels a barely there kiss to his hip, Crowley’s face pressed against his leg and arm sliding up over his lap. “Like it here.” He mumbles, “Warm.”

Aziraphale hums and scratches at his scalp, drawing a hoarse groan from his love’s throat. Smiling, forgetting his book temporarily, he slips down until their nose to nose, sharing breath. Crowley cracks an eye at him. Smothers his own fond smile by pressing his mouth against Aziraphale’s.

Privately, Aziraphale thinks Crowley’s sleep soaked kisses are the sweetest ones. Not that he’d ever tell him that.

“Darling?” Aziraphale asks, breaking away.

Crowley hums in question, nosing along his jaw, his neck, finding where his pulse beats a wild rabbit pace against his skin and applies his lips and tongue.

Aziraphale shudders and tightens his hand in Crowley’s hair. “Focus, please.”

Crowley makes a rather fetching noise at that but obeys, picking his head back up to look at Aziraphale. He’s lovely like this too. Cheeks pink, eyes hazy with sleep and a little something more, lips red from kissing and sucking and biting.

“I brought a book with me,” Aziraphale says, “thought you might like to read it?”

“To you?” Crowley asks, sleepy soft and kiss dazed. “Give it here.”

Aziraphale passes him the book and they curl together, Crowley’s head on Aziraphale’s chest.

Voice soft, honey soaked with warmth and grand affection, Crowley began to read. “The studio was filled with the rich odour of roses, and when the light summer wind stirred amidst the trees of the garden...”

Spring comes in a bloom of flowers and sun scented air. There’s a carpet of wildflowers rolling past as Crowley drives them further into the countryside. They have no real destination planned, just the two of them and all the time in the world. The radio plays soft and sweet in the background. “You’ve captured my love, stolen my heart…” Aziraphale turns his head to watch Crowley. His face is relaxed, lax, a gentle smile playing at the corner of his mouth. Aziraphale squeezes his hand.

Crowley looks good like this, soft in the mid-morning light streaming in through the window as they pass fields of rolling green. Crowley brings their combined hands up and kisses the back of Aziraphale’s, his lips soft and warm against the back of his hand.

Aziraphale scoots as close as his safety belt will allow.

“We should stop to see Anathema and Newton,” Aziraphale says.

Crowley hums in acknowledgement, kissing Aziraphale’s hand once more before setting it back down. They’d already been heading in the direction of Lower Tadsfield. Crowley points the Bentley in the direction of Anathema’s cottage.

“It might be nice to bring them something, as well,” Aziraphale says, “that’s the thing to do, isn’t it? Bring someone a gift when you visit.”

“There’s a bottle of wine in the backseat.”

“Oh! Yes, that will be lovely.”

Crowley nods, his thumb rubbing circles against Aziraphale’s.

Aziraphale leans over to kiss his shoulder, lips against dark linen. “Then maybe we can go see the children. Wouldn’t that be nice, Crowley?”

“Whatever you want, angel,” Crowley says, a little strained, a little breathless, “We can do whatever you want.”

Sunlight filters through the new leaves of young spring trees, breaking across the red tartan blanket that Crowley had rolled his eyes at but packed fondly along with the tan wicker basket. Aziraphale isn’t ashamed to admit he took his time planning this picnic. Deviled eggs, finger sandwiches, a lovely little charcuterie board from the darling Italian deli in Soho, fresh bread from Flor, jam from the market in Tadfield, scotch eggs and wine and tea in a thermos that matched the blanket. And lastly a beautiful angel food cake that Crowley had made a cheery noise at and tried to keep for himself.

Crowley is spread out flat in the grass just a little bit away, soaking up the sun like, well, something cold blooded basking upon a rock. Music drifts between the two of them from Crowley’s phone, something smooth and slow and earthy. It’s all a bit romantic really. Aziraphale pops the last deviled egg in his mouth and hums, sucking the remains off his thumb.

“Crowley?”

Crowley turns toward him, smiles.

Two days ago Crowley had left a bouquet of sunflowers wrapped in butcher paper on the counter of his bookshop and a scribbled note about how beautiful the weather was to be over the weekend and they really ought to travel to the country more. Crowley frankly had all the subtlety of a fox in a hen house.

“Need something, angel?” Crowley asks.

An errant ant makes away with a crumb left over from the cake, empty plate glinting in the late afternoon sun. The wind curls along the grass and through Crowley’s hair like fingers. Aziraphale almost loathes to ask it, Crowley looks so comfortable; but he is weak and a little selfish.

“Come here?”

Crowley’s smile shifts into something soft, softer. “‘Course.” He falls into Aziraphale’s waiting arms and tugs him in close until Aziraphale is half laying on him on top of the picnic blanket. “Close enough?”

No, Aziraphale thinks, lips pressed to Crowley’s throat, never. If they shared a body maybe, maybe, but maybe not even then. “Yes,” Aziraphale says instead, “thank you, dear.”

“Don’t have to thank me,” Crowley mumbles, face buried in Aziraphale’s hair, “not for this.”

The wind ripples past, tickling the edge of his trousers, the edge of his coat catching and flapping. The grassy hill smells sweet but Crowley’s skin is sweeter pressed as it is under Aziraphale’s nose. He tangles his hand in Crowley’s waistcoat, just holding.

Crowley hums, boneless and lax beneath him, hands skimming and skipping over clothed skin and nothing at all. Wandering, wondering. Aziraphale catches a hand as it flies past and brings it to his mouth, pressing fleeting kisses to lily white knuckles and a calloused palm.

Music drifts over them sweetly, soft and cosy as a blanket. Aziraphale can’t remember the artists name but he likes it, ethereal and earthy and heady. Crowley makes a soft noise and nudges at him.

“Dance with me, I like this song.”

Hardly a request Aziraphale could ever turn down. Aziraphale pulls them both up to standing, Crowley keeping their hands tangled as they sway together.

“Honey just put your sweet lips on my lips, we should just kiss like real people do.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale breathes.

Crowley shivers against him. “Yeah,” he mumbles, and tilts his head down for a kiss.

There’s a note stuck to the mirror of his vanity, as there has been every morning since Crowley started staying the night.

Manila yellow with a painstakingly inaccurate little rose on the bottom it reads “But here we are and something about it doesn’t feel like an accident. / We’re all looking for something to adore / and how to survive the bending and breaking.”

Aziraphale takes it down with dove-light fingers, mouth a wobbly thing as he cradles the note in his hands.

In the top drawer of his vanity sits a box, an engraved silver case older than even his bookshop. Aziraphale opens it and places the note inside, atop the other notes, the many dried flowers, his ring from the sixteenth century, the pearls from the necklace he’d worn to Queen Elizabeth I’s coronation. A box much bigger on the inside than it seemed from the outside.

He runs his finger over a molted black feather before shutting the case and locking the drawer, his heart too big for his chest.

Aziraphale wakes up in his reading chair to Crowley tugging gently at his ear. “You’re getting old,” Crowley teases, grinning.

“‘M not.” Aziraphale grumbles, batting Crowley’s hand away.

“You are.” Crowley’s hand brushes his cheek, the curve of his jaw. “Sleeping in your reading chair like an old man.”

“Quiet, you.” Aziraphale says. He grabs Crowley’s dancing hands out of the air and tugs until he has the demon fully seated in his lap. Aziraphale noses at Crowley’s exposed neck, pressing a line of sharp kisses along the skin from jaw to collar bone. Crowley really does have lovely collar bones.

Crowley squirms. “No, angel, come on I have a surprise.”

“Hm.” Aziraphale bites down on Crowley’s shoulder.

“Ah- angel.” Crowley protests, trying and failing to sound cross.

“Oh alright,” Aziraphale says, soothing the bite with a kiss, “show me your surprise then.”

Crowley clambers out of Aziraphale’s lap and tugs until they’re both standing. He leads him upstairs, hands tangled, nudging open the door to Aziraphale’s flat with his foot. In the middle of the room is a claw foot tub, steam curling up in ribbons from the water. A low table nearby has a glass and bottle of wine and a box of chocolates. Sinatra is playing from the record table in the corner, “Fill my heart with song and let me sing forever more. You are all I long for all I worship and adore. In other words, please be true. In other words, I love you.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale breathes, his eyes wide.

“Surprise,” Crowley teases, squeezing his hand.

“Oh,” Aziraphale says again, “This is- you-“

There are times when Crowley smiles that Aziraphale thinks ‘I could not love you any more than I do now or I would overflow with it.’ This is one of those times. Crowley, smiling, soft and fond and teasing. The kind of smile you give someone you’ve loved your whole life. The kind of smile that comes from knowing and being known.

Aziraphale blinks, a little misty eyed, and draws Crowley against him for a kiss. Tastes all the love curled up there at the corners of Crowley’s mouth greedily, his hands caressing and touching where he can. He doesn’t pull away until Crowley is sufficiently weak kneed and pink cheeked, and even then he only draws back enough to knock their foreheads together.

“Marry me,” Aziraphale breathes.

Crowley breathes in sharply, eyes impossibly wide, and Aziraphale fears for a moment he might have made a mistake. Then Crowley clings to him, hands digging sharply into his waistcoat, and says, “Yes.” He sounds hoarse, like the thought has robbed him of all his air. “Yes.”

And that smile. There is nothing, not in Heaven or Hell or on Earth, as dear to Aziraphale as that smile. And he falls in love all over again.

#fic #mine #aziraphale #crowley #ineffable husbands #divine by loving #((previously titled you don't have to say i love you))

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gingerwritess · 5 years

Note

I’m really drunk and your reader Loki drunk fix is like my actual life right now minus I’m alone and drunk lmao

“Your…nose, Lucky.”

Loki’s sigh is royal.

“What about my nose?”

“It’s cute,” you giggle, rolling over and pressing your index finger to the tip of his nose. “It looks evil, though…still wanna kiss it.”

You do—with a very loud, over-exaggerated smooch.

“Can you go to sleep now?” Blanching, he wipes off the tip of his nose. “My nose will still be here in the morning, we’ll see how you feel about it then.”

“M’gonna still love it,” you mumble—and then pull your shirt off.

“Why…”

“I want to be free,” you sigh, stretching your arms over your head. “C’mon, you too.”

“I’m never allowing you to drink my mead again.”

Sure, he’s grumbling, but a few seconds later you’re seeing double—double foggy but impeccably chiselled eight-packs, that is.

“Tha’s mine,” you mumble, and your hand goes bumpbumpbumpbump as it drags over his stomach, a drunk giggle erupting into the dim room. “Where’d you get your abs?”

Loki blinks, pausing his attempts to pull the blankets up to your chin. “Uh…I’d have to say they’re from excessive training.”

“Oh, like exercise, mmm.”

“Sure.” He chuckles when you fling the covers off again and try to roll out of bed, only to be caught and plopped right back on the pillows by your lovely boyfriend. “Can you please go to sleep now?”

“Stay with me, eight-pack.” Your hand latches around his wrist.

“Is that all I am to you? My abs?”

“Duh, you sexy piece of meat,” you giggle sleepily, and you lurch forward suddenly to wrap your arms around his waist, squishing your cheek against his abs. “Comfy, too. C’mon, I wanna use you as a pillow.”

“I’m…offended,” he sighs, climbing into bed beside you, your happy little squeal making his heart somersault. “Being a pillow was never the intended use of a strong core, but here we are…”

He knows you’re going to drool all over him tonight, but the way you snuggle up against his cool skin stops his breath in his throat.

“What’d you train for then, not being my pillow?” You poke him a couple times, grinning when he squirms—ticklish, no matter how hard he tries to deny it. “You’re real good at it, lucky ducky.”

Ignore the name, get you to fall asleep. Simple.

“Ah…wars.” He smoothes a hand over your head. “Training for battles and raids and wars, anything I needed to use to protect myself, the people I love, and my home.”

“So…have y’killed anyone, Lucky?”

A lump catches in his throat.

You innocent little human. Daft, utterly stupid and clueless, getting yourself into a situation like this with a person like him, trusting him to care for you, but still so innocent.

Asking him to stay? Hugging him like this?

Stupid, did he mention?

“You know the answer to that,” he murmurs, thumb brushing over your cheek. “The more you think about it, the less you’ll want me.”

“Okay.”

Your arms around him tighten and you smile into his abs.

“You’re still a good pillow.”

“Thank you.” He smiles down at your squished-up cheek. “Will you please sleep now?”

“Sheesh, fine.”

Dim moonlight fills the room as his thumb brushes over your jaw, a gentle breeze leading the curtains lining the open window in a waltz…he’s stuck praying it helps you fall asleep quicker.

As quick as possible, actually, because he really doesn’t know how much longer he can last before completely losing his mind.

Your breathing steadies after a few minutes, slow, warm, open-mouth breaths fluttering over his skin.

“Goodnight,” he whispers, prying your arms from around his waist. “I’ll check on you in the morning, my love.”

He’s nearly to the door when you sit straight up and screech after him “WAIT, GIMME YOUR EVIL NOSE—”

This. close.

Turning back around with a half-hearted sigh, he trudges back to lean on the edge of the mattress, bowing his head for you to do as you please with his, uh…evil nose.

“Gosh, everything on your face is pretty.” You heave a dreamy sigh, draping your arms around his shoulders. “I’m gonna kiss it all.”

“Mhm. You’re going to be in so much pain tomorrow.”

“Don’t care. Tonight was fun.”

“Just kiss me and go to sleep,” Loki laughs, bumping the tip of his nose into yours.

“Don’t rush me,” you huff with a frown. “Gotta take it all in. ‘Purdy face.”

“Just get it over with.”

Face scrunched into quite possibly the cutest grin Loki has ever seen, you place both your hand gently on his cheeks, gazing up at him as he leans over you.

You squish his cheeks together, giggling like a child when his lips pucker and he frowns.

“I have a reputation I need to maintain, you know.”

He doesn’t move, though.

You jump forward and plant a kiss on his forehead. “Love you here, pretty boy.”

“Again, is all I am to you my looks??”

Your mead-stained lips trail down the bridge and smack against the tip of his nose. “Love ya here, too, mister sexy-pants.”

“I don’t approve of this,” he jokingly scoffs, still not even trying to move away from your reach. “Our love should be so much more than physical—”

One loud smooch lands on his lips.

“Really love you here. Over ‘n over ‘n over.”

Twenty some-odd more little kisses pepper over his lips, touching down neatly on the corner of his mouth and venturing down to make sure his chin gets the love it deserves, too.

“You’re fuckin’ beautiful,” you mumble into his lips, still squishing his face between your hands. “I just can’t believe I get you, like, whenever.”

“Beauty is fleeting,” he whispers, weakly trying to brush away your compliments.

Your drunken gaze turns serious and you pull away to stare at him, eyebrows furrowed. “But you gotta know how beautiful y’really are, Lucky.”

“I’m lucky,” he repeats—if you weren’t drunk, maybe you would’ve caught the sentiment, but for now, you just burst out laughing again before kissing him.

The compliments are new.

“Beautiful, pretty, beautiful angel…” you’re mumbling again, fingers stroking along his cheekbones and over the bridge of his nose. “With ‘n evil nose. Looks anger-y, Lucky.”

“My nose looks angry?” He laughs, bringing up a finger to bop your own.

“Needs a smooch.”

“Ah.”

His eyes flutter closed when you lean forward to “smooch” the tip of his nose…again.

You sit back and decide that no, that beautifully sculpted nose needs at least two more smooches, but when you lean back in to deliver, Loki tilts his head up to catch your kiss with his lips.

“Cheater.” Your lips squish together as you try to speak.

“Trickster,” he corrects, a hand coming up to cradle the back of your head. “That’s enough about my nose. Kiss me properly, darling, please.”

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

hope that helps with the (possible!) hangover ;)

hope you enjoyed, please reblog and feel free to send me ideas!

loki tags: @bluediamond007 @himitoshi @drakesfiance @destiel1597 @dangertoozmanykids101 @archy3001 @jcalpha1 @yzssie @skullvieplu @forthesnakeofdragons @skulliebythesea @wegingerangelica @storiesfrommirkwood @agarwaeneth @adaliamalfoy @laurfangirl424 @paradisaicsam @fitzsimmons-is-forever @ladylokimischief @katelinwrites @tarynkauai @polaristrange @loavesofmeat @canadian-ravenpuff-multishipper @lou-makes-me-strong @holyn0vak @chocolatealmondmillk @swtnrholland @kenzieam @jessiejunebug @catticas @the-republic-and-face-of-texas @doralupin01 @whitewitchdown @atomiccharmer @falconfeather23435 @babygirlicecream @avengrcs @vethrvolnir2 @bookgirlunicorn @wabisabigrl @myhealingstar @khaleesi-marvel @ei77777 @spacecrumbs @scarlettghost13 @rocks-are-pretty-odd @confessionsofastrugglingteen @easilydistractedwriter @arttasticgreatnessoftheawesome77 @fluffyllamaswearinghats @milktearose @lcyouinhell @h0tshotholland @dontmesswithmemundane @southsidesarcasticwriter @helnik-s @lilith-akemi @fire-in-her-veinz @unlikelysamwinchesteronahunt @mischievousbellerina @kcd15 @mellowgirl01 @lokislilcaribbeanprincess @allthingzhiddleston @scorpionchild81 @lokixme @blue-automne @galaxycharmed @devilbat @kangaroobunny @end-up-well @planetariumx @sarcsep @mrfandomtastic @amaru163 @im-way-too-many-fandoms @caswinchester2000 @kybaeza @wester-than-west @vintagesunshinebitch @adefectivedetective @poetic-nikolai @moonduhsted @kerri-masson @iamverity @innaminitus @spnbarnes @narcissxblack @woohoney @anxiousamandapanda

#loki x reader #loki reader insert #loki imagine #loki x reader fluff #loki requests #boyfriend!loki #loki x drunk!reader #loki fanfiction #loki drabbles #loki laufeyson #loki fluff

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babyboy-cody · 5 years

Note

Can you write about the foursome and how you and jim are fighting and he’s just being a dick and stuff starts to escalate quickly and he throws stuff and then he pushes you and you fall or something and the others come in and they see what’s happened and you just decide to leave for the night, you don’t even say anything you just flee and they think you’ve left for good but you just had to be alone and think for a while and you come back in the morning 😪

(this hit the s p o t 🥺😖)

Michael and Duncan sat slumped in their seats on the couch. Duncan’s foot was tapping against the ground as he couldn’t contain his anxiety. Michael sat with his arms crossed and a blank expression set on his face. You’ve been gone for nearly two hours. The drive to Jim’s friends place was only 20 minutes. Duncan couldn’t stop checking his watch.

“They’re coming. Don’t worry, Duncan,” Michael says, lazily looking over at the dirty blonde man.

“How do you know?” He snaps, not meaning to come off as rude, but he’s panicking when two out of three of the people he loves isn’t home yet.

On cue, the front door swings open. Jim walks in first on unsteady legs, eyes wide and wild. You follow after him with a furious expression. Michael and Duncan jumped up and take a closer look at Jim.

“Is he…” Michael quietly trails off.

“Coked out of his goddamn mind? He sure is!” You angrily snap, eyes blazed with fire as you glare at Jim. “I found him passed out in the fucking bathtub.”

“Lay off, Y/N,” Jim groans and struggles to remove his coat as Duncan helps him. “I’m just having fun.”

“Having fun?” You humorlessly laugh. “Having fun means going to the damn park or watching a fucking movie! Having fun doesn’t mean getting stupid drunk and doing every drug passed down to you, Jim!”

“I thought you stopped using a while ago,” Duncan lowly says as stares into Jim’s blown out eyes.

“Yeah, well…” Jim shrugs and leans against the counter with his arms crossed.

Michael observes the brunette. He notices how Jim has purple bags under his once bright eyes. He notices how Jim is a sickly color rather than his golden tan. He notices how Jim is starting to be a walking skeleton instead of having the toned muscle like before.

“You’ve been using since you’ve been here,” Michael states, eyes turning dark and sad.

“I just needed a release,” Jim sluggishly mumbles.

“A release?!” You exclaim. “From what? Our relationship?”

Jim rolls his eyes and slumps into a nearby seat. You run your fingers through your hair in frustration at the sight of him being so careless about the situation.

“Y/N, make him drink some water and find him something to eat to get whatever drug out of his system,” Duncan softly tells you and grabs Michael as they both leave to go upstairs.

You sighed quietly and pull a cup from the cabinet. You pour a glass of water, per Duncan’s request, and you offer the cup to Jim. He moves his head away and clenches his jaw, bobbing his knee up and down in a form of agitation.

“Jim, please drink the water,” you quietly tell him, pushing the glass closer to his face.

“Get away from me, Y/N,” he orders lowly, his voice dark and gravelly, and it shook you to your core.

“I’m trying to fucking help you!” You shout, roughly grabbing his shoulder to make him turn around. “Drink the fucking water before you dehydrate!”

Jim roughly grabs your hand off his shoulder and grips your wrist so tightly that it makes you whimper. He grabs the glass and hurls it across the room. As the cup slams against the wall, it shatters into a million pieces. You gasp and stare into Jim’s furious eyes.

“You can’t fucking listen to me!” He roars, his hand squeezing your wrist tighter as he backs you up. “You won’t ever leave me alone, no matter how hard I fucking try! You’re so goddamn whiny that it hurts my fucking ears! Just leave me the hell alone!”

He roughly shoves you away. You try to catch your footing from his strength, but you fall back onto the ground, your head knocking onto the wood. You cry out and grab the back of your head as you turn onto your knees. Jim towers over you breathing heavily with his hands clenched into fists. You stare up at him with thick tears blurring your sight.

Michael and Duncan ran in after hearing you cry out in pain. They see you on your knees cradling your head with Jim standing over you.

“What the fuck did you do?” Duncan growls, but Michael holds him back so he couldn’t do anything harmful to himself or Jim.

You slowly get up on wobbly legs and sniffle with a whimper. You stare into Jim’s softening eyes and shake your head at him in disappointment. Without saying another word, you grab your keys and leave the house as you slam the door hard enough to make the guys flinch.

“We need to talk,” Michael tells Jim with a serious tone that even makes Duncan nervous.

You’re not sure how long you’ve been gone. It could’ve been two hours, maybe even four. Your phone was shut off and put away in the glove compartment of your car. You lay on your side away from the door and stare at the motel wall. The bed was at least comfy and room smelled of air freshener. You needed some peace and quiet. You’re still shocked to your very core that Jim would act like that. You didn’t blame him. The drugs in his system turns his brain into mush. But that doesn’t excuse the fact that he laid his hands on you and stared at you with such hatred and disgust in his sullen eyes.

A lone tear rolls across the bridge of your nose. You sniffle and wipe it away. You’re not sure what’s going on at the house, but you hope Michael and Duncan are talking some sense into Jim. Your swollen eyes become start to burn as your lids become heavy. With another soft sigh, you fall into a peaceful slumber.

Duncan paced back and forth with one hand buried in his hair as the other desperately dials your number for the millionth time. His heart beats erraticallyas he tries to calm his frantic breathing.

“I–I didn’t mean to!” Jim sobs as he buries his face in his trembling hands.

“Didn’t mean to?” Duncan scoffs.

“Everything was s–so blurry and–and I didn’t know what w–was happening!” Jim cried out. “I just s–saw her on the floor.”

“Calm down before you hyperventilate yourself into a hospital,” Michael quietly says and offers the young man more water to drink.

“She’s not answering her fucking phone. I tried tracking it down, but it’s out of range,” Duncan grunts and rubs his scruffy jaw in frustration. “She probably left to get away from this fucked up relationship as Jim says it.”

“I–I’m sorry!” Jim whimpers as Michael hushes him quietly. “I d–don’t want her to–to leave us!”

“Duncan,” Michael walks over to the panicking male and placed his ringed hands on his cheeks. “Y/N’s a strong girl. We all know she is. She’s at a motel and she’s safe.”

Duncan exhales quietly and trusts Michael’s words. He nods and nudges his cheeks closer to his hands. Michael presses a soft kiss to his forehead and moves away to kiss Jim’s head gently.

“When she comes back, we’ll have a proper discussion like adults,” Michael tells them, and they both nod. “Good. Now, we wait.”

Morning came by surprisingly quick. Your eyes were rimmed red as you looked at yourself in the mirror. You rinsed out your mouth and washed your face free of any tear tracks. The fresh air hit you pleasantly when you stepped out. After handing the key to the receptionist, you drove back home where your three lovers impatiently wait for you. As you’re at a stoplight, you turn on your phone and it immediately buzzed to life repeatedly.

(28) Missed Calls from Duncan💗💋

(12) Unread Messages from Duncan💗💋

(39) Missed Calls from Jimmy🏄🏽‍♂️🧸

(117) Unread Messages from Jimmy🏄🏽‍♂️🧸

(6) Missed Calls from Michael🖤🥵

You sighed to yourself and shoved your phone in your coat pocket. The ride home was tense and you couldn’t imagine how they must feel. You’re worried about Jim. Did they kick him out? Did they think he’s a no-good junkie? The possibilities were endless and your anxiety was at its peak.

You arrived home in a matter of 15 minutes. You shakily inhaled and exhaled as you walked up to the large dark oak door. You found it to be unlocked. When you quietly stepped inside, you heard their voice meddling together. You came around the corner and saw Michael and Duncan in a deep discussion while Jim sat slumped at the kitchen table. Michael’s eyes immediately flickered to where you stood.

“Dove,” he breathed out.

Jim’s head snapped up at the sound of your nickname leaving Michael’s lips. A new wave of tears washed over him when you make eye contact. He leaps out of his chair and wraps his arms tightly around your waist, pressing you so hard against him that you have to turn your head away to breath.

“I’m so sorry! I’m so, so, so sorry!” He sobs, breathing frantic and shoulders shaking. “I’ll get better. I promise! Please, please don’t leave me. I need you.”

You hush him quietly and close your eyes to keep your tears away, but to your dismay, they escape. You wrap your arms around his neck and curl your fingers through his hair. You kiss his neck and bring your lips to his ear.

“You need help, Jimmy,” you shakily whisper. “And I’ll be there for you every step of the way. We all will. I cant lose you to something as horrible as drugs, Jim.”

He nods against your shoulder and sniffles as he doesn’t budge. He inhales your scent and shakily hiccups.

“I’ll get better,” he repeats softly. “I promise.”

#more angsty foursome #these anons are POWERFUL #my heart a c h e s #michael x duncan x jim x reader

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starbuck09256 · 5 years

Note

Dialogue Prompt: 10. “Don’t look at me… I’m sick!”

Season One Early MSR referenced

He’s not sure why he bothered coming into the office today. He is clearly ill. But he has to finish his report to Skinner of the arctic ice core project. The death of Danny and Bear. How they will never know what all was buried up there. He sniffles again, trying to find the issues in his crowded desk, finally seeing a box on the other side of the office in Scully’s area. Bless her for being organized. He takes the entire box with him as he plops back onto his chair, loosening his neck tie even though it’s only 8:15 in the morning he already feels hot and sweaty. The cough syrup he had taken makes him feel a little loopy as he hits each key on the keyboard. Scully will be in any second, and he knows that she will spend a good amount of time reminding him that she is a medical doctor probably make him go to the hospital and finish his report for him ignoring the fact that the worms could be extressitrail and how imperative it is that further investigation is necessary despite the entire area being burned. She’s a challenge but in a good way. She trusted him up there when she could have easily just shot him. He knows the medicine is messing with his brain when he starts thinking about her soft skin under his fingertips as he reached around her neck. How those strong small hands felt running up and over his shoulder muscles. How cute she looked in that ridiculous jacket and how he likes seeing the casual side of her. He is going crazy, she is still probably a spy albeit a bad one. He’s actually been able to convince her of quite a few things and maybe that is part of some grand plan she has. But he is in trouble, when she fell asleep on the flight home against his shoulder, how she snuggled into him. This fierce brillant woman is going to take up a lot of his free time. He’s already hearing her voice in his head when he reads certain stories that sound crazier than him. He smiles dopily shaking his head as she comes through the door with her briefcase and can-do attitude.

“Morning” she says brightly.

Does her voice always sound like sweet honey? Have her eyes always look so simmery? He makes a promise to himself to never take that hydro-whatever cough syrup again. He is clearly losing his mind and should probably get a cab home at this point. He tries to smile up at her. Play it cool so she doesn’t see that he has a high fever and also grinning like an idiot. “Mulder.. Are you all right?” She is moving over to him. He can’t help it, he starts to cough.

“Don’t look at me.. I’m sick.” he says trying to move his hand in front of his face and dissuade her from getting closer. Her eyes narrow at him.

“Yea, I can see that.. You know I’m a”

“medical doctor yes yes Scully I’m aware. But I don’t need you lecturing me or anything for a cold. I just have to finish my report turn it into Skinner and then I’ll go home, promise.”

He clicks a few times as he stands up to make his way to the printer, his stumble forward and is caught by Scully. Who is way faster than she looks.

“Jesus Mulder,” she says as his cradled in her arms his legs having given out. He looks up from her shoulder sheepishly.

“Hi Scully,” he mutters. She helps him a little to the side chair. Her cold hands running up and over his face, god her touch feels amazing.

“Mulder, do you have a fever?”

He looks up at her chuckling as her shrugs his shoulders at her and then she leans down brushing a soft kiss to his forehead. It feels like a feather but leaves him feeling tingly and cool.

“Sorry Mulder, my hands are freezing and kissing your forehead is the only way I was going to be able to tell if you were actually really warm.”

He wants to make a joke, but he finds himself grinning and nodding happily.

“Its ok, it felt nice.” Oh fuck… he thinks. He is going to throw out that bottle of syrup the second he walks into his door. Her hands stop removing his tie. Her eyes meet his.

“Mulder, did you umm take anything this morning for your cold?” she asks her voice tentative.

The Mulder she knows is professional mostlyish. They have a great partnership and while she finds the work challenging and inthralling she has promised herself Mulder will not become the new Jack or Daniel no matter how cute his puppy dog eyes are.

“Yea yea I took some cough medicine from an old bottle.”

“How much did you take, you seem so out of it.” She mutters as her fingers finally free him of his tie and he feels the sweet relief of the first 2 buttons being undone.

“Mulder god you’re all clammy. Have you had any water?”

Water sounds like a good idea, he shakes his head as it slides a little to the left.

“Ok Mulder here is what we are gonna do.” Uh oh bossy Scully. Bossy Scully is not his favorite. Bossy Scully will shut you down. You will get nothing past her and she will make sure you are acutely aware that she is in charge. Bossy Scully is also incredibly sexy and one of his biggest turn ons. Not good not good.

“Scully I’m just gonna turn this thing in..” he makes a vague gesture to where he thinks the printer is (not at all where he is gesturing)

”and then I’ll go home, sleep this off. Be fine and ready to bother and inundate you with annoying theories tomorrow.”

He moves to stand ready to focus every single muscle in his body to accomplishing this task. He makes it about one foot before Boss Scully puts her hand on his chest and pushes him back down into the seat. So much force for a tiny person. He sits abruptly looking at her as sternly as possible. Her eyebrow raises and the look she gives him is something he anticipates seeing a lot of in their partnership.

“Mulder, you can barely walk, I will turn this into Skinner for you. Then I will come right back here and take you home with a few stops to get you all fixed up.”

“No Scully, that is a lot of effort. I mean it’s just a cold.”

“Mulder you are burning up, until I can get an accurate reading of your temperature and find out what the hell you took, you are not leaving my sight. Do you understand?” her stern voice leaves no room for argument, and honestly he would rather argue with her over something more fun than being sick anyway.

“Fine, doc. I’m happy to wait, while you run upstairs.”

Her tight smile as she grabs the papers off the printer stapling them quickly and walks out. He sighs slumping into his chair playing with the two ends of his unknotted tie, tries not to think about how his head still kind of tingles where she kissed him. How the faint coolness from her fingers brushing over his skin is wearing off and how she will most likely be helping him strip down soon to crawl onto his couch. Before he can think of anything else she is back grabbing her briefcase and bracing her legs to help lift him.

“Scully don’t look at me like that, I'm fine.” he huffs out as he starts to stand much to quickly and almost falls on top of her again. “

Sure you are partner, sure you are” she mutters his arm is slung over her shoulders as they try to make their way to the far elevator that can take them to the garage instead of the bullpen. She presses the button quickly and leans him against the wall a little. He can’t help but chuckle as they walk to her car.

Her car is clean with another box of tissues available for his use. He blows again finding a tiny trash can conveniently available in the back. He watches her drive past buildings that blur together as his eyes drift close. The next thing he feels is a small jostle of her hand on his shoulder.

“Mulder, come on you have to help me get you inside.”

His eyes narrow as he stares at her building. She has a brown bag of groceries in one arm as she tries to reach for him. He rubs his face, and he struggles to get out of the seatbelt. She huffs a sigh and reaches across him to undo it. Even with his stuffy nose he smells her perfume. She looks at him waiting for him to figure out that now he can get out.

“Oh, uh sorry.” he says as he moves towards her.

“I can carry the bag for you Scully,”

“No you can’t even carry yourself. Come on just lean against me,”

“Why are we at your place? Seems a little early for a sleepover dontcha think?” She chuckles as they struggle up the stairs to her building.

“You have no bed in your apartment, and no food. What I think you took for cough medicine was not in fact cough medicine but a weird liquid muscle relaxer, which is making you loopy and delusional. You are in no shape to walk or do anything but sleep. Plus all my fun doctor toys are inside.”she is smirking, he can see her smirking

“Oooh a sleepover and exam, you spoil me Scully.”

“Dream on Mulder.” she says as she fumbles for her keys sliding them into the lock and pushing the door open with the bag of groceries.

She helps him in, turning slightly to set the groceries down as he heads to the couch.

“No, Mulder, no.” he starts to sit as she rushes back from setting the groceries on the table. She is trying to lift him off the couch, but it’s so soft and smells like her and is comfy and he is so tired.

“Mulder, come on jesus you’re heavy” as she struggles pulling him up.

“You can’t stay on the couch.”

“Sorry Scully I can’t take your bed from you. That’s not very partnerly.” she huffs a sigh.

“Just help me get you into the bedroom ok?”

“That’s what all the pretty girls are saying these days.” She can’t help but laugh.

He stands swaying back and forth in her bedroom. It is famine but minimal. Decorated with whites and blues, he looks down at the tiny buttons on his shirt moving his fingers to try and undo them. she moves his hands away.

“Scully, whoa, look I got it.” the eyebrow is back.

“Mulder look just pull your shirt up a bit and undo your belt.”

“whoa, wait,”

“Mulder seriously you are going to fall over any second and I really need to get you in this bed before that happens and have you at least somewhat comfortable ok? I’ve seen plenty of naked men before alright don’t flatter yourself.”

“yea but Scully they were dead.”

“Ha..ha...ha” she says finishing unbuttoning his shirt for him and pulling it off.

She is the model of efficiency his Scully. Shit, she is not your Scully, she is your very beautiful partner. Not really the right time to think about that considering she is now pulling off your belt buckle and undoing your pants pushing them down.

“Ok sit down.” all business that voice.

Bossy turn on Scully is back. He sits in his white shirt and boxers as she takes off his shoes and socks. She moves quick and he is wondering if she is secretly the roadrunner, going beep beep as she avoids the coyote. Her hand is so nice on his shoulder as she helps him under the covers.

“Your hand feels so nice on my skin Scully,” he hums happily.

She sighs, lets her fingers cool his burning skin.

“Mulder just lay here, I’m going to go take your temperature, get you a cold compress and some water. Then you need to sleep for a bit before we can give you anything else. But I’ll make you some soup ok?”

“Can you cook too Scully? That’s good to know.”

she shakes her head at him and rubs her face.

“I’ll be right back, don’t roll off the bed.”

It's so comfortable her bed. Maybe he should get a bed, be a real adult. Have Scully pick out the sheets because the ones she has are so soft. He should steal one of her pillows too as he closes his eyes against the fabric.

He smells the most delicious thing, which is surprising since he wasn’t sure his nose could do anything besides leak mucus. He feels a cool cloth on his face lightly dampening his skin. It feels wonderful. Like tiny kisses from a water mist. He hums in contentment.

“Hey sleepyhead.” he finds her sitting on the bed next to him. She smiles warmly at him. Her fingers dancing across his forehead again as she moves his bangs.

“How ya feeling?” He still feels stuffy but not as achy which is nice.

“Better,” he mutters.

“What’s that smell?”

“Soup, I’ll bring you some in a minute. First take these and drink this entire glass please.” she hands him a couple pills and a cold glass of water as she stands up and makes her way to the kitchen no longer dressed in the pantsuit she was wearing to work, but a light blue sweater and black pants.

He sits up, moving one of her perfect pillows behind his head as she carries a tray full of soup and little crackers. He grins widely.

“Gonna spoon feed me too Doc?” she sets the tray down across his lap grabbing the napkin and tucking it under his chin mockingly.

“Sorry not part of the service,” her eyes twinkle she likes this. Likes bantering with him.

He takes the spoon in his hand pours way more crackers than he should into her clearly homemade soup stirring to get a big bite. It reminds him of when him and Sam had played to long in the snow. It warms his whole body, the taste lingers on his tongue. She smiles softly.

“Well let me know when you are done. Your fever has come down a bit. But I still think you should stay here until tomorrow.” he nods.

When he’s done she moves the tray fluffs his pillows for him and makes him take something else that will help him apparently.

In the morning when she is asleep on the couch and he feels a thousand times better he kisses her cheek before waking her.

Years Later

He looks at the discarded tissues that liter the end table. The bottle of nyquil, and aspirin. The picture of him and Scully obscured by a disarray of snot and mucus as he feels his lungs fill up to cough for the millionth time that day. He can’t help but laugh as Scully comes over to him, with her sad face of pity and a big bowl of her homemade soup and crackers. She sets it down for him, pulling out a thermometer and telling him to lay back. He’s pretty doped up on nyquil and some other stuff as her fingers brush through his hair and around his neck as she helps him settle on their worn couch. She sits against his stomach while his feet pop up on the other end. She smiles at him sadly shaking the old thermometer slipping it under his tongue. He thinks about all the times she’s been there doctoring him.

“I miss when you use to just kiss my forehead for the temperature” she smiles and blushes.

“I didn’t have a thermometer at the time..”

“Oh yea that was why you did it got me to come over stripped me down” he taps her thigh with his long fingers. She grins up at him knowing she never fooled him.

He can’t help but chuckle which leads to coughing. She shakes her head grabs the crackers and dumps a giant amount into his soup for him. Just like he did years ago. The spoon reaches his lips and he already feels better.

Tagging @today-in-fic @improlificinsarcasm @lappina @scully-eats-sushi @baronessblixen @itotallygazeatscully @marinafrenzy @peacenik0 @suitablyaggrieved

#mulder and scully

#xf fanfic

#prompt #fluff #s1 #sickfic #thexfiles #I love prompts

#written on my phone with no beta #shrug

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chocoluckchipz · 5 years

Text

Dance with Me, Chaton - 17

Read it on A03, WattPad, FF.net

Written for @ladynoirjuly2019

< Previous

17. Oblivio.

His whole body hurt, dull pain pulsating through Adrien’s very core. Eyes closed, the light still burned. Water. He’d drink an ocean given a chance. Adrien shifted on his bed and groaned. Head-splitting headache. Stiff. Why was his bed so hard? And where was his mountain of pillows?

Someone grumbled nearby. Adrien slowly opened one eye.

It was definitely his apartment. His living room with his couches and his TV set and his multiple gaming consoles. Albeit messy beyond imagination but definitely his living room. Why did he sleep on a coach then, instead of his comfy bed? And why in the world did Nino occupy the neighbouring one?

“Nino?” Adrien whispered.

“Shhh, man,” Nino moaned. “Dying.”

“Water,” Adrien whined.

“Aha.”

“Can you?”

“Dude, shut up.”

Someone whistled behind them. Adrien’s whole body resonated with pain.

“I see, you boys are looking great this morning,” Alya cackled, coming into the room. “Where is your medicine cabinet, Adrien?”

“Kitchen. Above the fridge.” He pointed out the direction without moving. “Can I… water. Please?”

“Me too.”

“Coming right up.”

It didn’t take long for Alya to come back with two glasses of water and some pills. It took her an eternity and a copious amount of persuasion to sit the two men up and make them take the pills.

“What happened?” Adrien groaned.

“You partied like it was the last day of your life,” she chuckled.

“I what?” he moaned. “Sorry, I… I don’t remember much.”

Alya quirked an eyebrow and sat by Nino. “What do you remember?”

“Club. Charades. I think I lost. There was a vodka plank? And… Marinette?”

“Well, I’m glad you remember at least her,” Alya snickered. “Though, I’d be really surprised if you’d forget. The way you two made out—”

Adrien’s eyes blew wide. “What? What did we do?”

“Made out,” Alya snickered. “Passionately kissed.”

“Dude, even I remember that,” Nino said, his hand on his forehead. “We caught you in a corner practically devouring the girl.”

Adrien stared at the pair in shock for a few moments. “I… I must have been really drunk.”

Alya laughed. “Why so shocked? She’s your girlfriend, isn’t she? You just needed to find a more private place.”

“She isn’t my girlfriend,” Adrien murmured. “We’re coworkers.”

Alya quirked an eyebrow. “Are you sure? You kept proposing to her yesterday.”

Adrien yelped. “I did what?”

“At least five times,” Alya couldn’t hide her amusement.

“Did—did she agree?” Adrien was mentally kicking himself for asking, but he had to know what to expect when he’d see Marinette next. As if he didn’t have enough embarrassing situations with her. He had to go and add one more. Perfect. She’d avoid him like a deadly tsunami from now on.

Alya’s lips trembled. “Every time. And she proposed to you at least thrice. Before you ask, you also agreed. Way too eagerly.”

Adrien flopped back on the couch.

“Bro, you’d better make me your best man. I already have a mind-blowing story to toast you to.”

“Shut up, Nino,” Adrien barked.

Alya laughed. “Not ready to get hitched?”

“Not this way, and—” He looked at Nino and back to Alya, “I’ve kind of had my eye on someone else, so this is awkward.”

Nino frowned in surprise. “Man, why am I only hearing about it now? I thought I was your best bro?”

“You are,” Adrien sighed. “I’m just not sure she feels the same way about me, so I didn’t want to mention anything until I knew.”

“Dude—”

Alya laughed. “Don’t worry. I doubt she remembers anything, and we’ll keep quiet. Right, Nino?

The man nodded.

“But just in case, we’ll go home in a few,” Alya added, “To give you two a chance to talk.”

Adrien groaned. “I have until Monday, so—”

Alya snickered. “I guess you also don’t remember that she’s here? Sleeping in your bed. I helped her to shower, and since her clothes are pretty much ruined, we borrowed one of your t-shirts. I hope that’s okay?”

Adrien sat up, the blood in his veins running cold. In his bed? Why? What happened? Did they? No. They couldn’t. Not with those two around, no matter how drunk they were. Not if Alya was helping her shower. Can someone please explain to him what happened?

Alya frowned. “You really don’t remember anything, do you?”

He shook his head. “Nothing after we started to drink.”

She glanced at Nino. “Should we enlighten him?”

“Babe, all I remember is that I wanted to take you home, but I promised this dingle head to drive him and his girlfriend home, so we went searching for them because someone wasn’t at the bar anymore despite his promises. The next scene I wish I wouldn’t remember, but the level of indecency with which they made out in that niche is kind of hard to forget even in my plastered condition. I think I told him to find a room and that we were leaving.”

Alya snickered. “Not quite. You told him if he was going to play games with his girlfriend, he should find a room.”

“So? Same thing.”

“Not quite,” Alya chuckled. “Adrien thought playing video games was an amazing idea and invited us all to his apartment for Mega Strike tournament.”

Adrien groaned, dropping his head into his lap. “I shouldn’t be allowed to drink. I’m an idiot.” He glanced at the video games scattered across the floor. “I guess we did play.”

“We did,” Alya said, “Until you insisted Marinette tried your newest Beat Saber VR game, and she threw up five minutes into her round. Poor girl, she had it so bad, kept crying and apologizing and vowing to bear you three children as an apology.”

Nino was struggling to contain a laugh.

Adrien’s jaw slacked, as he stared at Alya wide-eyed. “Marinette shouldn’t be allowed anywhere near alcohol as well.”

Alya laughed. “You two are a match made in heaven.”

“We are just friends,” Adrien protested.

“Sure,” Alya snickered. “Anyway, I cleaned your carpet the best way I could, but you’ll need to dry-clean the carpet.”

“Thank you,” Adrien said, “Please tell me this was the end, and we didn’t do anything else?”

“Well…” Alya playfully swooned. “As a true gentleman, you offered her to sleep it off here, in your bed. Us, you offered your guest room, but Nino said he won’t allow his bro to sleep alone on a couch so he joined you here.”

“I’m amazed you remember this all, babe,” Nino said.

“I knew what I was getting myself into, Nino,” Alya shrugged. “Neither of you holds your alcohol well, so someone had to stay sober.”

“You didn’t drink?”

“Nothing alcoholic which by the way, you all owe me big for. And believe me, I’m not letting any of you off the hook easily because cleaning up puke from your carpet and showering a girl I’ve never met before isn't my idea of a fun evening I was promised.”

Something chimed. Alya took her purse from the floor and pulled her cell phone out. “We should go soon, babe,” she said, reading whatever was on the screen.

“Sure,” Nino nodded, pulling her onto his lap. “But first, how about a good morning kiss?”

Alya scrunched her nose. “Do you even realize how nasty you smell right now?”

“You still love me, don’t you?”

She smiled, running her fingers through his hair. “I do… but that doesn’t mean I’m going to kiss you right now.” Looking at Adrien, Alya said, “Take your co-worker some water and two pills from the bottle I left on the counter when you go.” With that she turned to Nino, cradling his face in her hands. “How about we go home, clean you up, let you sleep it off and then talk about those kisses?”

“Not even one?” Nino’s pulled his best puppy eyes on Alya.

She only ruffled his hair and shook her head. “Not a chance, but I might be getting ideas of how you can make it up to me for the yesterday.”

Adrien got up, downed the remaining water in his glass, and walked away. Better to face Marinette than witness those two. He grabbed the pills, filled a new glass with water, and sneaked into his bedroom as quietly as he could.

Splattered in his mountain of pillows, tacked under his snow-white comforter, Marinette was still asleep. Adrien couldn’t take his eyes off her, a small smile weaving its way onto his lips. She looked lovely. The dramatic difference between his white bedding and her dark and messy hair was gorgeous. Her flawless skin glowed despite slight puffiness from the events of yesterday. Eyebrows relaxed above her closed eyes. A gorgeous curve. Blush lightly dusted on her cheeks, soft breaths escaping her slightly parted lips…

Adrien swallowed. According to Alya, he kissed them yesterday.

His sight fell lower, eyes widening. Hickeys. Fresh hickeys on her neck. Did… Did he give her those? There was one a little lower, closer to her chest. It couldn’t be another hickey, could it? He couldn’t go that low, could he? He leaned closer. It was hard to see with his t-shirt covering half of it… His t-shirt on Marinette in his bed with hickeys he’d placed there. Could he please die right now? Before he had to face Marinette and explain himself?

A loud snore split the silence of the room. Adrien jerked back.

Marinette frowned, scrunching her nose.

Adrien snickered. Such a petite girl, snoring up like a grown man. Cute!

Marinette tossed to the side, licking her lips and slowly opening her eyes. “Adrien…” she whispered, her eyes half-lidded, voice quiet and sweet.

He nervously smiled.

“Adrien,” she said a little more cautiously, her eyebrows knitting in a frown.

He waved.

“Adrien?!” Her eyes blew wide as she squeaked and covered herself with his comforter. A pitiful Ouch sounded from under it a moment later. A moan followed. Then she carefully peeked from under the comforter. “Where am I?”

“My place.”

Panic in her eyes, Marinette jerked the comforter up and looked under it at herself in his t-shirt. Her eyes closed, hands clutching his comforter. “We… did we…”

“Oh, no,” Adrien rushed to say. “I slept on the couch, and two of my friends were with us all evening. We didn't—didn't do anything like that. Apparently, we just played video games.”

She peeked from behind the comforter, her eyes wide and innocent. “Video games?”

He chuckled. “Crazy, right?”

“Then where’s my clothes?”

“Alya said you were sick at one point and kind of ruined it. She put them in the laundry and gave you one of my t-shirts to wear. I hope that’s okay.”

Marinette blinked, remaining silent for a few moments before asking, “Who is Alya?”

“You don’t remember anything either?”

She shook her head and moaned again. “I suppose it’s fair to say I drank.”

“Yeah,” Adrien sighed. “We both did, and it looks like we really overdid it. Here.” Adrien offered her a glass of water and pills. “This should help.”

Hesitantly, she reached for the glass and gulped down the pills in one go. Lying back onto his bed and covering herself with his comforter, Marinette moaned. “There is a reason I don’t drink.”

“I don’t drink either,” Adrien sighed. “We were lucky my friends were there to get us home.”

“So this Alya is one of your friends?”

“Yes. She’s my best friend Nino’s girlfriend. She basically babysat all three of us yesterday.”

“She needs a medal,” Marinette said. “Or a saint rank. Possibly martyrdom.”

Adrien chuckled. “She does. We’ll think of something.”

Marinette turned to her side, watching him for a few moments, when her whole body went rigid. “Oh my gosh,” she whined, hiding back under the comforter. “I kicked you out of your own bed. I’m a horrible human being.”

“That’s fine,” Adrien smiled. Suddenly remembering his marks on Marinette’s neck, he swallowed. She’d notice them eventually. He’d better come clean himself while he could. So, turning to a side, he mumbled, “Count it as an apology for leaving hickeys on your neck.”

Marinette jerked up, sitting straight. “Leaving what?”

“Those.” He motioned to his neck’s general direction. “On your neck. Hickeys.”

She frowned, then her eyes blew wide, and forgetting that she was wearing a t-shirt and underwear only, Marinette scurried to the bathroom to inspect her neck. “Oh, my gosh! Adrien! What did we do?”

“I don’t remember,” he moaned pitifully. “Alya says we kissed. Just a little. Like once or twice?”

Marinette blinked at him in confusion. “There are at least seven hickeys. How could we have kissed once or twice?”

She looked at Adrien for an answer, but he only shrugged, bowing his head low. “I’m sorry?”

Marinette whimpered. “I don’t know how to cover them, and I can’t afford to have hickeys today. Adrien, why?”

He perked up. A chance to redeem himself! “I can teach you how to cover them.”

She quirked an eyebrow. “Oh, so we’re experienced?”

“No, but at my photoshoots, I often see make-up artists cover them up for other models.”

“Yeah,” Marinette pursed her lips. “Very plausible explanation. I might need some time to decide if I believe it.”

“Your right,” he said. “If you don’t trust me, I can always not teach you.”

She watched him for a moment, then looked back at her neck in the mirror, running fingers over the bruises. “Alright,” Marinette relented a moment later. “Pass on the wisdom. You owe me at least that.”

Adrien grinned. “You won’t regret your decision. What’s today, by the way?”

“What do you mean?”

“You said you can’t afford to have hickeys today.”

“Oh. A dinner with my parents,” Marinette replied, turning back to look at the mirror. “I just don’t want to listen to their speculation about my non-existent love life, and if they see those, they’ll be sure to interrogate me until I confess to everything I don’t remember.”

“Then we must act quickly. I… I don’t have makeup here. We’ll have to go shopping unless you want us to go to your place and use your makeup.”

“We could go to my place, but some of my makeup are at its end, so I’d say we go shopping.” Glancing down at herself, she pursued her lips. “My clothes are ruined, you say?”

“Alya said they were. I haven't checked myself.”

“I believe Alya.” Marinette said and, going back into his bedroom, crawled under the comforter. She swaddled herself in and murmured. “It’s warm and comfy. I’ll wait for you here.”

Adrien chuckled, amused. “Accept my apologies, but I can’t buy you makeup without you there. We need to match your skin tone.”

“I have nothing to wear," Marinette murmured, burying her face into his pillow. "I can't go."

“We’ll find you something from my closet.”

“You’re a few sizes bigger than I am.”

“And you are a designer,” Adrien pointed. “And a fantastic one. Surely, you can adapt something.”

Marinette looked at him, pouting. When he laughed, she sighed. “I hate that you’re right.”

“I’m sorry?”

“This bed is way too comfortable for me to leave it willingly.”

Adrien chuckled. “I do owe you quite a lot by now. Would you like me to pay you back with the same bed?”

Adorable pout on her lips, Marinette silently watched him for a moment before relenting. “You’re buying me breakfast. I’m starving.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” Adrien saluted. “Would you rather rummage my closet on your own, or would you like me to help you out?”

“Lead the way,” Marinette said, crawling from under the comforter. “I’d rather you keep me from finding the things I shouldn’t find.”

“I don’t have anything like that.”

“Sure,” Marinette replied. “None of us do. Now, stop talking and get walking. We have a day of fixing up this mess ahead of us, and my stomach would start rambling soon.”

“As you wish,” Adrien bowed and headed to his closet with Marinette in his tow. He liked her. He really did. Even in the complicated situation they’d landed themselves into, Marinette was so fun and easy to talk to. Just having her here felt wonderful, and calming, and just amazing. She didn’t judge him for his mistakes. Her punishment sounded like a reward. Adrien needed people like her in his life. More friends like Marinette.

If only for a split second, though, but watching Marinette go thought his clothes, Adrien wondered: could it be that his drunk yesterday self knew exactly what he was doing? Could it be…

Nah! He shoved the thought away. He was in love with another, and no matter how much Marinette enticed, he was a loyal cat and couldn’t betray his one and only. His Ladybug.

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#ladynoirjuly2019 #you all knew this was coming so I'm not sorry #XD #ladynoir #Adrienette #hangover #a few surprises

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multifandom-hoes · 7 years

Text

No Missed Chances

Member: Yuta // NCT

Genre: Romance, Smut

Short Summary: He was so jealous of you spending your time with Johnny, he thought he saw red. Revenge would ensue.

Words: 2.5k

She had been getting the chills starting from around half an hour ago- starting from the moment she reached the living room of his dorm and beginning to talk with Johnny because it was easier to communicate with him, plus the man had such a laid-back air around him that she was simply drawn to him.

Quite clearly, Yuta, or her boyfriend for specifics, had not been too amused, having totally expected her to focus all of her attention on him instead of his friend. He was getting more and more annoyed by the passing minute, and the situation was becoming funny both to her and Johnny as they spoke, starting to simply discuss the weather all to annoy Yuta that bit more. To get him closer to the edge of snapping.

She didn’t feel bad, not really at least, since he had earned such a treatment himself- Yuta had been an ass recently, poking fun of her at close to anything, thankfully not going over the top, but she decided to teach him none the less- that should keep Yuta from poking any more fun from her, or so she thought.

The moment her boyfriend had decided enough was enough and stood up from his place at her side to instead commune to kitchen was the moment that Johnny howled a barely supressed laugh. “Oh he’s so done with us.” He was snorting, as well as rubbing a palm at his chin.

She couldn’t help but smirk, feeling victorious for once, as if her payback was smoothing over her pride. “That’s what he gets, really. He was feeling impish recently, poking fun and all, so now it’s my turn to do the same but in my own way.”

“Scary.” Muttered Johnny, yet a smile still played on his face, mirth in his eyes.

Scary, but needed. A lesson, or payback, was a lesson and it was dearly needed. It was not her fault that things decided to go the way they want- Yuta only had himself to pat on the shoulder. “I’m going to check on him. I think he had enough of that.” She finally breathed, trying to control her victorious smile. “Bye, by the way, I’m going home after apologizing.” She smiled over her shoulder to the still snorting Johnny, putting a finger to her lips to shush the man before entering the kitchen where Yuta had disappeared to.

His back was facing her as he pretended to scramble through the fridge looking for something to snack on, deciding to speak none the less, “What? You’re finally done with your flirting?” he came on harsh, a glare in his voice as much as it was on his face, she could bet.

Her arms snaked to be crossed over her chest, stomping a foot to her side, “Someone seems surprisingly jealous.” She humoured him, rolling her eyes. “Why so? What, thought I’d leave you for Johnny? Got scared?”

His shoulders slumped and he slammed the fridge door closed, turning around in a whirl of graceful limbs before scurrying over to her stiff form. “So what if I did? I’m allowed to. Besides, you seemed suspiciously comfy while talking to him and completely ignoring your boyfriend- the person whom you came to actually see.”

She only shrugged her shoulders, dismissing the matter and turned around herself. “I trusted you to out some more faith in my, since I thought you knew how much I loved and just tease you a little, maybe repay the fact that you act like an asshole from time to time- seems like you’re angrier than that. Tough, and I was about to apologize, too…” her voice trailed off as she walked down the hall, past the many empty rooms of other members.

She didn’t get to get too far before hearing Yuta yell, “Johnny, get out of the apartment and do something productive for the day!” and then she was snatched away and into a bedroom, which she was soon to recognize as Yuta’s.

“What are you doing?” she asked him with a frown, hearing the front door opening and then quickly closing, only Johnny’s laugh hanging in the air, before that, too disappeared.

“I’m very annoyed and very angry, and plus very turned on.” He said it matter of factly- as if it was absolutely no big deal. “Has anyone ever told you that you look frustratingly hot while cocky and annoyed? Because damn… You do.” He muttered, stepping closer and closer, making her back away and fall onto her ass right in his bed.

“So what? Are you hinting at some make-up sex?” she droned with a lifted eyebrow, her expression fairly bored, as was her body language.

He laughed, to her surprise, and leaned down, grabbing her chin in his hand and grazing her cheek with his other. “I was thinking more of `I’m going to teach you how to flirt with other men in front of me` sort of thing. And trust me, this ain’t going to be pretty, because that little, pretty pussy of yours is going to get pounded into so hard that you won’t be walking properly for a bit.” His eyes revealed humour, yet his voice had dropped, seducing her, making her tremble and clench her thighs.

Though her thighs were closed, and her form fidgety, she ground out anyway, “Doesn’t sound like I’m going to enjoy that all too much.”

His smile widened, revealing his pearly white teeth as he made her stand up and he sat down on his bed in her stead. “I promise you will enjoy that as much as I will. Now start stripping.”

Her heart stopped at the command, making her clench her fists as she stared down at him, asking him whether he was serious internally- from seeing his curious face and quiet self she understood that her boyfriend was not joking, and that maybe, just maybe, she shouldn’t have teased him that much.

And yet her face was shining with excitement from whatever was about to come, so she turned away and with a sway of her hips she started undoing the buttons of her jeans, sliding the zipper down before slowly bending over, giving him a glance over her side once before stepping out of the denim fabric.

Next came her shirt, a flimsy fabric yet a cloth none the less, and for that she turned to face him, slowly lifting her hands together with the hems of the shirt, finally ridding herself of the first layer of clothes, now standing barely in underwear.

“Well? What are you waiting for?” he asked her casually, inspecting his nails in boredom. “The rest, as well.” He spoke, manoeuvring that same hand in a downward wave to emphasise his words.

Her cheeks flushed, and her hands trembled at her sides, heat coursing through her body, yet she unclasped her bra, letting it dangle at her chest uselessly, covering nothing at all, letting him see just how excited she truly was with her nipples erect and skin crawling. As she moved on to her underwear, she noted his impatiently tapping foot and grinned- he was a master of acting, his face revealing nothing, yet his body language spoke miles and more of how much strain he was putting on himself simply sitting on that bed patiently.

“Now what?” she asked, standing stark naked and expectant.

He stood up, swaggering closer and turning them both around, cradling her shoulders into his arms and laying her down on the bed, biting into her lip before wiping a tongue over the bite, not even asking for an entrance. His hand, so slender and cold, slid down her sides, pinching at her skin randomly, making her jump from the unexpected action.

“What, you’re ticklish now?” he grunted, sliding down to her jaw, biting and licking and marking, all to get her riled up, his hand now at her nipple, pinching and playing, yet not doing what she wanted him to do.

“Stop teasing and playing around.” She snapped with gritted teeth, arching into him as soon and he pinched her nipple and bit the other one for her words.

“No’s gonna do. You teased me and now this is payback.” She felt him smile against her skin, ghosting lower to where he was needed the most, feeling herself clench around thin air in anticipation.

With a startle to her heart, his cold hands brushed down along her core, and then she heard his chuckling as he brought that same hand to her lips, his fingertips poking at her lips, asking for an entrance. She didn’t wait before her tongue wrapped around his fingers, sucking them in, covering them in her spit while enjoying the slight taste of her on those slender fingers of his.

She was too preoccupied with his fingers to notice Yuta smirking, looking down at her and then quickly plunging two into her, making her jump and bite his fingers, close to drawing blood- that didn’t stop him in the slightest, and his fingers inside of her opened in a `v`, then closed and bent in a beckoning motion, making her moan and shut her eyes tightly, relishing in the feeling.

Yuta continued his ministrations, slow and tantalizing, adding or taking a finger away, slowing down and hurrying up- all to his pleasure and to see her writhing. “Say, if you don’t make a sound, I might consider eating you out.” It was a challenge, she knew, and her brows furrowed at his steady pace, so close yet so far from giving what she actually wanted- him.

So she bit her lip, pinning her boyfriend with a glare so hard he fell himself tremble under that severity, yet managed to smirk none the less.

His fingers, so tantalizing, stopped entirely inside of her, and she whined, then clamped her mouth shut, realizing just how quickly she had lost that game. She cursed then, whining even more and apologizing. Yet he didn’t listen, smiling in victory and in response inserting his fourth digit, stretching her more and more, making her cum simply from having those digits alone work their job.

“Please Yuta- please!” her voice broke in a sob as he continued to toy with her, giving her everything and nothing at the same time.

“Please what?” he asked her innocently, bringing his other hand to her clit, rubbing circles on the sensitive nub, making her jump right into his thumb all over again- the pleasure jolting through her body in severe rush.

“Just fuck me already, you fucking prick!” she yelled, anger in her eyes. “Fuck me the way you promised, asshole!”

His fingers stopped moving, then were pulled out entirely, and he drew back to look at the work he had done, with cum dripping from her, sweat glinting off her body, hair sticking each and every way, lips already bruising and hickeys bright against her skin. She was a beauty.

His shirt was quickly discarder, thrown over his shoulder and landing in the bed opposite from Yuta’s. His pants didn’t even have the chance to be properly discarder, still dangling from one of his leg’s as he aligned himself with her entrance, pushing in with a quick grunt, stretching her more than ever and setting a relentless pace right from the bat, with a couple of weird angles at the start before he managed to find a favourable position.

The strength with which he held her hips was no joke, and she was sure there were going to be small, circular bruises where his fingers were now latched on. The strength that he put into pounding in her was relentless, in general, with thrusts so quick, deep and strong it made her slide up his bed, until her head was against the wall.

She couldn’t see his eyes, but it didn’t matter since she knew that his head was empty, anyway. She could bet money he saw nothing at this point, either, simply blinded by lust.

Yet as he slammed into her, her mind soon left her, as well, making her cry out from the vigour he put into working her. Her hands found his arms, digging her nails into his skin, trying to make herself control her voice. But it was hard, impossible in fact, and she clenched around him, tight, making him see stars as a content smile reached his lips.

His warmth flooded her, blinding her senses as his cock simply twitched inside of her, as he drew long and rugged breaths, though that didn’t last for long, and she was soon on her hands and knees, and he was pounding into her from behind.

Her arms shook, giving out in the end, and she was on her face, her screams smothered by the sheets. She felt tears prickle her eyes from the stretch, and she fisted the bed sheets, slamming them and then simply settling for biting her lip to control herself.

Yet as he continued to snap his hips into her with a pace that made his balls smack against her thighs, she realised that his words were true- it wasn’t only pleasurable for him, but for her as well. The pain faded to the point where pleasure overpowered the pain, and she simply gave up for the ecstasy, cumming for the fourth time that evening.

From his irregular thrusts, she realized that Yuta was close to his second, as well. It was quick work, but her arms were crossed on her back, held in place by the boyfriend himself, as he leaned over her, putting in more strength, making her bounce back and forth.

Then he stilled, and she felt his cum trickle down her thighs, mixing with her own.

Her hands were freed and lay limp by her side, his lips on her spine leaving only wet spots where he sloppily kissed her.

He fell on his side, his chest heaving, legs dangling over the edge of the bed, the pants finally sliding to the floor. “Well?” he asked, his voice casual yet tired.

“Well what?” her eyebrow shot up, finally facing him with her cheeks flushed a deep crimson.

He huffed, the vigour and force all gone from the man she loved, leaving the usual dork that he was. “Well, was it pleasurable? Did you realize that it’s not worth teasing me with flirting with others?” his eyes were rolling, yet she recognized that sliver of actual worry in his voice.

She stood up slowly, shaking on her weak legs, yet managed to pull off a smirk coupled with a teasing wink. “Was it pleasurable? Heck, Yuta you were something else entirely. And just for that, I will flirt with however men is necessary to get you that worked up. I ain’t missing my chances, Honey.” Then she sauntered off and into the bathroom, hearing his annoyed huffing and then stomping feet that went after her.

#nct #nct reactions #nct scenarios #nct requests #request #kpop requests #kpop #nct yuta #yuta #nct smut #smut #kpop smut #yuta smut #nct yuta smut

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