#kids have ridges on their teeth but they go away after wearing them down. i never used my front teeth cuz my jaw was FUCKED

[augment-techs]

“Why not tonight? I’m even wearing something pretty.” + Kim x Anyone you like!!

Skull had to resist the urge to groan like a parent walking in an his kids having set the living room on fire; the superimposed vibe was still there, but all of the people in the room were adults, and therefore should know better.

He'd just left to get snacks for five minutes, get the cookies he'd been making out of the oven--it should not have been possible for things to spiral so fast.

He sighed, setting the platter down on the table, taking his own goblet off the edge to fill it with milk for the cookie he still held between his teeth, and grumbled aloud after a moment of chewing before sitting back down beside Adam, "...What did you do to Kim?"

Adam picked up his own little champagne flute and topped it off with Shirley Temple, pulling the maraschino cherry out, "Scopina asked her a Truth."

"About what?"

Adam chewed on the stem, pointing at the alien woman and then at Kim like a class T.A. reporting to a genius professor, "Who her best sexual experience was with."

"...Which was?"

Kim, if possible, went an even deeper red, shaky hand raised up and wiggly pointer finger directed at both Bulk and Skull, her head flicking back and forth in desperation.

It was like watching a kitten being given the option of cream or a whole portion of steak.

Skull, despite being fully aware that everyone was looking between the Pink, the Coinless General, and the Double Agent with quiet awe and absolute curiosity, looked deadpan and it really showed in his words how unimpressed he was at such a tedious and revealing question.

"You asked a flustered bisexual to make a choice."

Scorpina allowed her smile to grow all the way to her ears, looking upon Kim and then clapping her hands as they all waited.

"I...I...you're both...that is..." Kim finally stopped pointing and put her hands to her face to try and work away her blush.

* 

…pulling his lips and tongue up along the curve of her panties as he traced their seems and pulled them gently down, Bulk smiled with his eyes up at Kim, hands remaining where he'd requested them at her sides as he pulled his own pants and underwear off to join his boots; shirt following them to the floor and pulling over the little jiggle he had left from years ago before he'd accumulated so much muscle underneath. The plush was still there, but Kim would be lying if she said she didn't appreciate the contrast as he slid above her and his belly smoothed over her own like a glove as he made way to peck and kiss at her lips.

It certainly distracted from the giant friend she had seen and ogled and wanted for weeks being at full mast and sliding between them to leave a wet trail from the ridge of her pubic bone all the way beyond her naval.

She wanted it so bad, but she'd promised to let him prep her after a good dinner and light wine. She'd even worn her sheer silk kimono and lace underthings that made her look like a cheesecake calendar girl from one of Norman Rockwell's more lurid pieces to keep her in check (since if she tore them from impatience, she only had one tailor good enough on staff to fix them, and no fucking way was she going to Adam Park after a sexcapade).

There was no way she could take him in her cunt; they'd measured and discussed this thoroughly, but Kim could never be called a quitter, so it would be her ass that he'd have to fill up.

*

"Maybe you're overthinking this a little," Trini put in as Kim continued to flick her gaze back and forth, from the mountain of a man that would have looked at home in the Game of Thrones original books, over to the man that'd had sex with almost every sentry that was both still living and had been stupid enough to attract Drakkon's attention or unfortunate (fortunate?) enough to have something Skull needed for the Coinless. 

It looked a little uncomfortable, the way her neck kept low and seemed to sag off of her shoulders.

"No, I'm really, not!" Kim almost giggled hysterically, biting her thumb, "They're both awesome and an unapparelled delight. How am I supposed to choose between that?!"

*

"Make sure you eat her well, Skullovitch; I don't want a single drop wasted."

Skull couldn't give an answer one way or another in this position, bent over the bed with Drakkon absently pulsing inside him as if he was a finger puppet, while Skull's mouth and hands were meticulously occupied with Kim's pleasure as she leaned back, pillow princess to the end of the line as Drakkon wished.

It was dizzying, the inside of her head reeling with the morality she so cherished being hushed and shushed by the mind control that told her to sit back--literally--and enjoy the ride.

She was grateful, way deep down, that some piece of Drakkon really didn't like to work for the bastard when he was high on power. At least, not when it came to Kimberly, submissive little doll in the palm of his hand that he had never been able to go beyond whispering in the ear of, or giving her a peck on the cheek.

It must have been infuriating that he needed someone else to do this for him.

But at least...

She trembled and moaned like an overly enthusiastic diva from some tacky little porno produced in the '70s. Her hands couldn't help finding Skull's hair, wet from sweat and deprived of gel, pulling and yanking at the fine black strands as the pads of his fingers palmed her legs wide before getting down to brass tacks. 

Kimberly could never be sure how he managed it, taking it painfully in the back end as Drakkon cooed in his ear, giving points and instructions and jerking him off in a reach-around; while also paying close attention to Kim's breathing levels, hands tweaking nipples and massaging her ass and hips.

His tongue was practiced in using the underside over the weeping folds, tip sparking lightning bolts at her clit, teeth gentle along the outside as he opened wide without bite to ease the greater length of his tongue inside of her.

When he added his spare hand into the mix, pointer and middle fingers following in after his tongue to search and locate that tiny little patch of flesh that was connected to important things, she squirmed like a cat in heat on a sidewalk. She folded up from her head resting on the pillows to lurch forward and over him; eyes wide open--unfortunately--to look Drakkon in the eyes like he'd ordered at the beginning to illustrate her pleasure.

*

"That was your question: Who her best sexual experience was with? Those exact words?"

The gathered party, a small cluster of Zack and Trini sharing the sofa and sipping at Root Beer beside Aisha and Rocky gorging on the mini red meat bits and bobs on crackers; Scorpina and Kim on either side of Bulk, using him almost like a bookend or body pillow with their own legs mirrored in draping over the sofa as he ate popcorn and they each practically chugged an actual pint of flavored liquor--all of them turned to look on Skull's face. Contemplative and precise like none of them could be.

Adam nodded his head as Scorpina was in the midst of chewing on her own maraschino cherry from the bottom of her drink.

*

She ended up at the edge of the bed, kimono and underthings carefully set to the side, her feet hanging off the mattress and her body being held up on quivering arms as Bulk had both eaten out her sopping wet cunt--he'd fondled her breasts the whole time, too, big hands encompassing the whole of them and holding on to sometimes maneuver her back and forth so she could grind against his mouth and tongue at her own leisure and preferred pace; moaning and breathing hard and so tempted to just rut against him until orgasm--and worked her asshole open with gel warmed and perfect.

His fingers were so big, it took half an hour to get four in to stretch her wide, get her ready and able for the main event that stood erect and alert and dripping pre all over the limestone and marble floor.

She was a drooling, begging mess by the time he pulled his foreskin back, that pretty red-pink head prodding gently against her as he held her ass open and still; sliding slowly, slowly, slowly in.

Kim had to finally rear up and lean backwards into his soft, downy hair covered chest once it was halfway to halfway in, hot and big against her insides as he pulled and pushed in and out in increments. Her arms wrapped around his neck and he kissed at her throat, palms still steady at her hips as she started bucking and bouncing to assist him on his journey. "Mm, you smell so good," he hummed in her ear, almost making Kim come right there with how honest he was; how gentle and sincere. The bristle of his beard sent pocked and prickly gooseflesh over her in waves and she could have begged for him to finish her there if she wasn't adamant about him getting his, too.

She did beg, a lot, by the time he was fully inside, eyes roving around in her head like a seizure patient and drool sliding down her chin as he really upped the pace--

And she really did mean UP. He moved into holding her legs aloft but firm so she was in the air, cock sloshing against the lubricant he'd also pumped a little inside, as well as his own pre; six inches outside of her body at any given time, but another six remaining inside her heat.

"Fucking fill me, fill me--fill me--!!"

*

Skull ate another cookie and settled his head aloft his hand, almost looking bored over at Scorpina.

"Bulk wins."

Two words, and everyone had instantly conflicting reactions to it.

Bulk blushed nearly as hard as Kim did, looking up at the ceiling while Kim looked confused at how easy it was for the man's best friend to decide that when she was a mess at her try.

Scorpina seemed to take it as a human thing, accepted it as the truth if he said it without hesitation; easily bored and ready for someone to carry on the game, she wasn't about to ask him to explain.

Zack and Trini could totally see it, having both "imbibed" on Bulk in their tenure fighting to protect and save the world. They knew what he was carrying and knew he was a good guy; Skull being his oldest friend was just an easy answer to swallow.

Aisha and Rocky looked...hesitant. But only because they were looking directly at Adam.

Adam looked scandalized and almost insulted that the words had ever even left Skull's mouth.

But he didn't contest his superior officer. Wouldn't, or couldn't, deny his friend his reasons for conceding a superiority the others didn't need to know about.

(Not here, when and where they were all relaxed a tipsy and a close stretch to devolving into silence and cuddles. Or falling asleep right there, Kim and Bulk within a stretched pace over to Kim's own bed of the empire.

The perks of being friends and comrades of the Queen; her room had all the fixtures of a studio apartment.

He could wait.)

* * *

Zack ended up with Trini draped over him, snuggled into his chest like the only safety she had known. Rocky doing much the same with Aisha, all muscle and lithe limbs and willing to take the brunt of his weight after almost dropping a champagne flute.

It took a little doing, but Kim had always been a girly girl and ended up forking over some of her stuffed animals she'd been amassing in her room under Bulk's suggestion she have something just for herself to hold onto in the night if she was feeling stressed and he was there; a giant red panda, giant unicorn and a pair of medium sized ferrets propped around Scorpina as she snored away the night. The empty bottle of wine Kim had fished out of her hand was replaced with a black cloth kitty.

Turned out that they four people in pairs could both wait. Both fold spare throws and blankets over sleeping doubles and singles as they all mentally plotted how to end their own evening together.

Bulk and Kim delighted in stumbling over to their shared bed by the time they were sure everyone was comfortable, Adam and Skull giving a wave on their way out the door to wherever they chose to go that was really neither Bulk or Kim's business.

They'd all worn through simple dares of chugging the last of the milk in gallons with one cookie each, or Frenching each other like they were teenagers again. Answering truths of their fears and hopes and embarrassment. 

And now they just wanted to strip naked from the plain clothes they'd been adorned with all evening, dive under the covers and press palms, fingers, lips, tongues, curve of the leg, prick, and cunt wherever they deigned they could get away with without waking the others up.

Very much like they were kids again; and Kim couldn't stop smiling as she slid Bulk's cock between her thighs, the heft and heat of it driving her crazy on each thrust back and forth without penetration but more than enough friction.

She was still wearing the little chain necklace with pewter stone hanging off the one loop, and Bulk couldn't help laying on the compliment as her fingers worked his tip.

"You look...so pretty."

Kim smiled all the more, practically glowing like pixie as she held his hands above his head, pinning them to the pillows; swooping in for a deep, deep kiss.

#long post #sexy times #mentioned and illustrated assault #shattered grid #boom! comics power rangers #Ranger Slayer Kimberly Hart #World of the Coinless Bulk #farkas bulk bulkmeier #Lord Drakkon #eugene skull skullovitch #adam park #ask fill #prompt fill #mmpr #ggpr #mighty morphin power rangers #go go power rangers #scorpina #zack taylor #trini #aisha campbelll #rocky desantos

[mypoisonedvine]

𝖙𝖜𝖎𝖈𝖊 I || professor!helmut zemo x reader

𝖘𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖞 : history is so much more interesting when he’s teaching it.  you’d better be careful before the two of you end up with a history of your own.

𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙 : 6k

𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘 : smut (incl. semi-public sex in an office and oral f receiving), significant age gap (reader is 20, zemo is 39; it isn’t actually mentioned though but it comes up in the next part), the slightest bit of angst?, nearly pwp at this point lol

                                    You wouldn’t know it by the way you were enraptured with his lecture, but you weren’t even a history major.  

Quite far from it, really, well outside of the college of liberal arts, and yet here you were in the front row, watching him gesture over a large map of Western Europe while he explained the sociocultural impacts of the Treaty of Versailles.

It was probably pretty obvious why you took such interest in all this, though.  After all, you were the only one who dressed as well as he did, your blazers and skirts and loafers standing out amongst a sea of hoodies and sweats and flip-flops; and, you were the only one who paid close attention and yet never seemed to be taking any notes…

Why would you, after all?  Looking away to write in your notebook would mean missing out on all the fun, and unfortunately you had found that when you copied down the words he spoke, his accent was not retained in writing.

Some kid in the back of the class had asked about his accent the first day; you thought it was kind of a rude question, if you were being honest, but he didn’t seem to mind too much (if perhaps a bit surprised that anyone cared).  He explained he was from a small country called Sokovia, but that his accent was a bit unique since he spoke Russian, German, Spanish, and Italian as well.

Because of course he did.  Like he was specifically designed to target all your weaknesses.

“Well, I could talk about that for the rest of the evening but I’ll spare you all and let you out a bit early today, how does that sound?” Professor Zemo offered.  The other students weakly cheered, a few claps here and there as you heard binders shutting and backpacks being zipped, but you were disappointed.  You didn’t want to go back to your dorm, all you were going to do there was think about him anyways.

Damn, I’ve really got it bad, you thought to yourself, shaking your head as you stood up and gathering your things, slinging your bag over your shoulder.  You glanced up at the podium where another student was chatting with Professor Zemo, and either he said something really funny or she was trying way too hard to flirt with him.  You rolled your eyes, irritated by the display and yet envious of her audacity to just go up there and talk to him.  Imagine having a crush and actually being able to look them in the eye and hold a conversation; you could barely do that with people you didn’t happen to find attractive.

Just as you were about to make it out the door, you heard your name and spun around.  You were shocked to realize it was the Professor trying to get your attention.  If only you’d thought to pretend you hadn’t heard him.

“Could I speak with you for a moment?” he requested, motioning you over with two curled fingers.  With a swallow and a nod, you stepped out of the flow of students exiting into the hallway and approached the desk at the front of the room.

“What is it?” you asked.

“I just wanted to discuss your most recent paper, if you have some time,” he explained, and your heart sunk.  Of course it was garbage, you’d written the whole thing last minute during a near-all-nighter.  “I still have the copy you turned in here in my bag.”

“Right, of course— sure,” you nodded.  By now the classroom was empty spare for the two of you, your words echoing slightly; presumably that was intentional, since these places were built for acoustics, but it made you worry you’d have to hear whatever criticism he had for you multiple times.

He pulled out the slightly-wrinkled paper and took his glasses off of his vest to wear (fuck, did he have to wear the glasses, just to personally attack you?) as he glanced over the top page before folding it over the staple.

“This essay,” he continued, “it’s—”

Ridiculous.  Idiotic.  A blight on humanity and a waste of printer ink.

“Fascinating,” he finished, surprising you.  “After I read it, I searched your student profile on my office computer—”

You gulped, trying not to take that as a compliment.

“I’m looking at your information and I’m seeing you aren’t even a history major— is this a mistake, when it says your major is computer science?”

“No, that’s my major,” you nodded.

“Well, that’s a shame,” he decided, “because you have some really interesting ideas in here, clearly you must have studied history before.”

“I mean, not really,” you shrugged.  “I didn’t even care that much about history until, you know, you...r class,” you finished quickly, realizing it sounded too odd otherwise.

And that smile, the way he looked down at the floor suddenly, was he blushing?  “Thank you.  I’m always… glad to inspire.”

If only you knew everything you’d inspired in me, Professor.

“If you didn’t care about history, what would motivate you to register for an honors history seminar?” he asked suddenly.  

“Well…” you trailed off, reaching up to scratch the back of your neck as you dodged his gaze.

“It couldn’t possibly be because I’m teaching it,” he realized.

“I came to your talk last year, the one you did about the Sokovian civil war,” you finally admitted, letting out a lungful of air as you said it and looking up at him sheepishly.

“Ah,” he nodded, “yes, that might make a bit more sense.  But we still haven’t found the real reason, have we?”  His eyebrow raised slightly and you felt like he was toying with you— but you liked it, the shiver that ran up your spine made that obvious.  “Because the question remains of what would possess a computer science student to take time out of her busy schedule on a Friday night— if I recall the night correctly— to listen to some stuffy visiting scholar talk about a bloody war in a country she may not have even heard of before.”

“My friend brought me,” you defended.

“Under what guise?” he pressed.

“She… may have mentioned something about… a cute professor with a sexy accent…” you stammered, cringing slightly as you spared a glance back up at him.  He was staring back at you with the most bewildering expression.  His eyes said ‘you thought I was cute?’, and yet his smile said ‘I knew it.’

“You must’ve been horribly disappointed when I took the stage,” he finally replied, voice a bit lower, softer, not echoing around the room anymore.  

“Not at all,” you returned, almost below your breath now, and suddenly you became very aware that you were standing too close to him, but you couldn’t move away, you couldn’t even look away anymore.  “I’m here, aren’t I?  Taking your class?”

“And you make it nearly impossible to focus, did you know that?  I swear your eyes never leave me, I can feel them on me.  It’s quite unfair, because I can’t stare back at you no matter how much I want to.”

Just as you looked down at his lips and back up to his eyes, which seemed to be following a similar pattern on your own face, just when you thought this might be it and you were about to do something you really shouldn’t (but really wanted to), you heard the door open behind you and you spun around so fast you nearly hurt your neck.

“Oh,” the man in the doorway mumbled, apparently surprised to see you enough to nearly drop the papers tucked under his arm.  “I’m teaching the next class in here— Honors History of Islam?”

“Professor Waters, yes, my apologies,” Zemo nodded, “we were just… our discussion ran a bit long, we’ll get out of your way.”

You and Zemo awkwardly gathered your things and made a dash for the door as the older professor took his place at the podium.  Once the two of you were out in the hall, you let out a sigh and gave each other a glance, like you were each waiting for the other to either acknowledge or ignore what had just (almost) happened.

“I have my next class across campus in a half hour,” he remembered suddenly, lifting his arm and pulling back the brown sleeve of his coat to look at his watch.  

“Right, you should… get to that,” you nodded.

“Walk with me?” he proposed, and you hoped your smile wasn’t as beaming as it felt.  

“I’d love to.”

So maybe you ended up skipping your evening class to sit in the back of his History of England course.  And, perhaps, he ended that one early, too, this time to buy you coffee at the student center; and your discussion ended up going on so long that the coffee shop closed and you had to go to his office to finish the conversation.

But, in a certain sense, it could be argued that you never really got a chance to finish that conversation after all… because a few moments after he shut the door to his office, you, for lack of a better term, jumped his bones.

“Fuck,” he mumbled against your lips as you pulled him closer by his jacket, “we can’t do this.”

You nodded, reaching up to wrap your arms around his neck.  “Mhm, yeah, you’re right,” you agreed breathlessly.

His hands took their place at your waist as you both stepped back, the back of your legs bumping into his desk which you jumped up slightly to sit on.

“I mean, we really can’t do this,” he continued, kissing your neck instead now while your legs wrapped around his hips, your skirt riding up slightly, your fingers fumbling with the buttons on his collar.  “I want to, overwhelmingly so, but we can’t.”

“I know,” you sighed; your head fell back when his teeth grazed over your pulse, and his hand was right there to catch it and hold it up, gripping the back of your neck.

“This absolutely cannot happen,” he groaned when your legs pulled him closer, something hard and hot pressing up against your thigh through his trousers and you were really hoping it wasn’t just his cell phone.

Then he rocked his hips, just barely, and you felt the outline of the ridge of his head and it was definitely not his phone unless he had the most suggestively-shaped phone case of all time.  You gasped and grabbed his face to kiss him again, shamelessly desperate now, weaving your fingers into the hair just above the back of his neck.

By now you had managed to get a few of his buttons open so when you slid your fingers down from time to time, they ran over his chest and the patch of dark blonde hair there.  Funny enough, you couldn’t remember having any strong opinions on chest hair before this afternoon, but now you felt your walls fluttering around nothing.  

He helped you shed your blazer just before tossing his own coat aside, never breaking the kiss, holding your face gently while he pushed you down to lay on his desk— he reached behind you to clear a few stray papers out of the way first.  

Your back hit the glossy wood and his weight pinned you down, rough hands sliding up your legs and under your skirt as you tried to push your hips up for more friction where you needed him most.

He pushed your hips back down, not too roughly but definitely enough to get your attention, before sliding his hands up your skirt again where he toyed with the hem of your panties.

You wanted to say something, more specifically you wanted to beg him to touch you, but you had this fear that if you spoke now it would all become real and he would stop because, as he had so poignantly noted, this can’t happen.  And both of you knew that… so maybe it would be easier to let it happen if neither of you really acknowledged it.

Luckily, he didn’t tease you too long, reaching under the fabric and swiping the rough pads of his fingers over your slickened folds.  You choked on your gasp, accidentally digging your nails into his shoulders when he drew delicate circles around your clit.  All at once, he suddenly pushed those fingers right inside you and your back arched; you needed so much more than just his fingers but the way they twisted and curled against your walls was nearly perfect as well.  

They didn’t stay long, quickly pulling back as you watched him quickly open his trousers just before you felt the head of him pushing up to your entrance.

His eyes met yours, dark with need, yet somehow clearly asking you for permission, making sure this was what you wanted: and fuck, you wanted it more than anything.  The moment that you nodded, he began to push forward— slow and deliberate, but unyielding.  

Perhaps as a perfect healthy college student in a male-dominated major, you had no real excuse for it to have been so long since you’d had sex.  As you liked to put it: dating as a woman in computer science means the odds are good but the goods are odd.  Truth be told, you weren’t sure at this point if having had sex any time in the past year would’ve prepared you for him anyway.  It felt like he was forging a new path inside you— certainly a wider one than anyone else ever had since he was so thick.  

With his hips fully seated against yours, the tip of his cock just reached the end of you, just barely brushed over those sensitive spots you didn’t even know you had before.

It stung a bit to be filled this thoroughly, so it was no wonder you were biting down on your lip hard enough to bruise it, your fingers clutching at his shirt tightly.

“Am I hurting you?” he whispered, finally breaking the silence, voice strained like he was struggling just as much as you were (though in an entirely different way).

“A little,” you admitted.  “Please don’t stop.”

He groaned a few curses as he started to move back, and forth, and so slow you could hardly stand it.  

“Fuck,” you breathed, “oh my god, harder, please…”

A little smile crossed his face, a sharp exhale almost like a laugh, and it made your cheeks burn even hotter than they already were.  But, he obeyed, regardless, more aggressive in his movements yet not any faster as he held your hips to keep you from sliding across the desk’s glossy wood surface.

Your moans were starting to echo around the office’s beige walls at this point, and he snarled as he bit down on your neck.  “You need to stay quiet,” he hissed in your ear.  “Can you do that for me?  Can you stay quiet even when I’m making you feel so good?”

“I-I’m trying,” you whimpered, “your cock is… so deep…”

“Oh, I know,” he cooed, voice heavy with faux pity, “poor thing, you can’t take it?”

“No!” you yelped.  “I can take it!  Please, please don’t stop.”

“I won’t have to if you stay quiet, darling, we can’t have somebody hearing you now can we?” he chuckled, licking and sucking at your pulse point as your eyes rolled back in your head.  “We can’t have somebody hearing you cry for me, and coming in here, and seeing you laying on my desk getting fucked by your professor, right?”

What the hell was wrong with you that that idea actually turned you on?  Why did it actually make you want to moan louder until everyone could hear you?

And when his cock speared right against that spongy spot inside you, you did exactly that and he had to suddenly clamp his hand down over your mouth.

“Fuck,” he growled, “you’re going to get us both in trouble.”

Your attempts at apologies were totally incomprehensible with his hand over your mouth, not that they were likely to have made much sense either way.

Blinking your eyes shut, your legs began to quiver slightly as he rutted into you, your toes curling inside your loafers.  You felt so full you could hardly stand it, stretched so wide that you were forced to feel every detail of his cock as it filled you.  Already your walls were bearing down on him; you couldn’t help it, it was like your body was just his instrument now and instinct had taken control of your movements.  

His accent was definitely stronger now as he whispered in your ear, praising you gruffly.  You knew from the beginning that you loved high marks and encouragement from your teachers, but this… this was different, and you hadn't known how much it would affect you.

"Good girl," he breathed, "you're taking me so well, draga, you feel so perfect around me."

You whined from behind his hand and he chuckled at your obvious neediness.

"You like making me feel good, darling?" he presumed, his smile pressing against your neck between nipping kisses to your pulse point.  "You like knowing that I can barely take this tight cunt gripping me so well, that I'm already addicted to your precious body and want to fill it with my seed?"

With your eyes rolling back in your head you nodded feverishly, heavy in your state of total delirium as he pumped his cock deep into you over and over.

You reached up to try to pull his hand away from your mouth, and he met your gaze with fire in his eyes.

“If I take my hand away, will you be good?” he challenged, and you nodded feverishly.  He was a bit hesitant but slowly moved his hand down, and though you did have to keep biting your lip, you managed to restrain yourself.

Every drag of the ridge of his head inside you was somehow more intense than the last, somehow hitting right at your spot and it was like each rough thrust knocked his name out of your mind and onto your lips until you were chanting it like a prayer, or a plea.

And each time you said it, he fucked you harder, snarling and whispering your name back to you a few times, in between little praises; "Beautiful," he mumbled, "such a sweet little girl… such a perfect cunt."

“I— fuck, I’m gonna—” you stammered your warning.  

“Will you come for me?” he finished for you, and you nodded quickly.

“Fuck, I’m so close,” you hissed.

It was obvious just by the build-up that you were going to come hard, pleasure tightening in your core until you were sure that it would spill over but it just kept going, making you wonder if it would ever reach the breaking point.

And oh boy did it, it slammed into you in fact, and your legs quivered as you struggled for air.  He growled in your ear, fucking you harder through it all, stroking every place that had only become even more sensitive.  The moment you could form words again, you were wasting the ability on a string of swears and promises you couldn’t keep.

“Yours, fuck, it’s yours,” you sobbed.  He chuckled a little, pulling back to examine your face which must have given away how fucked-out and cockdrunk you were already.

“Say it again,” he demanded darkly, holding you tighter, fucking you a bit more deliberately though not any less aggressively.

“Yours,” you gasped, cut off by a rough and dominating kiss.  Your moans were lost to his tongue but he didn’t need them to know you were coming, the way your body gripped him tighter than ever was sign enough.

“So good,” he whispered against your lips, “you’re doing so good for me…”

His words washed over your skin and soothed you like a salve, bringing some relief from the overwhelming feelings his body was assaulting yours with.

All things considered, he was still moving rather slowly, each of his thrusts measured and patient, and never really changing speed even as you were coming around him.  Weak little cries fell from your throat each time his hips met yours and the tip of his cock kissed the deepest parts of you.

Your body went limp in his arms and you hadn't noticed before how good it felt for him to hold you, for his strong hands to support you like it was nothing.  His thumb gently stroked your back through your shirt and you mewled weakly into his shoulder.

"So good, draga, so fucking good," he mumbled, holding you closer.

"Please… faster," you whimpered, "I want you to come."

"Is that what you want?" he taunted, ignoring the way you nodded immediately.  "You want to make me come, darling?"

"Yes, please, want it so much," you gasped.

He finally sped up, though it was still nothing like the lightning-speed jackhammering you were used to from guys your age: it was better, certainly, especially when he lifted your leg onto his shoulder and pushed so deep you saw stars.

The second one seemed to hit you all at once, almost out of nowhere, and you heard yourself mumble, “Professor, I’m coming.”  It sounded a bit pitiful, the way you said it, but he apparently didn’t mind as you felt him nod encouragingly in the crook of your neck.

You felt totally drained by now, exhausted even though all you’d been doing was lying there and taking it, but you knew he wasn’t done with you yet.  But, if the way his thrusts were becoming more desperate and erratic were anything to go by, he might be done with you soon.

"I'm going to come inside you," he groaned against your ear.  You were, like, 99.9% sure that if you told him not to, he would pull out, but the way that he phrased it, like a demand, like you didn't have a choice and he would do it either way… it had an effect on you, one he noticed when your channel tightened around him instantly.  "Oh, you like that idea, hm?  You want to be full of my come?  Your sweet little cunt is already trying to milk every drop from me."

"Yes," you breathed, "fuck, I want your come in me, please!"

He sped up quite a bit then, each slam of his hips into yours making you choke on a whine, your arms weakly clinging onto him for dear life.

You could feel his cock swelling, flexing, pushing your body to its limits as he moaned lowly through his teeth, streams of come making you feel warm and full.

He didn't stop until every drop was in you, thrusting in time with each pump of his release until he slowed to a stop.

Strands of hair fell into his face as he hung his head, panting hard and fast.  You melted back onto the desk, realizing this might be the first time in a solid half hour your back wasn’t arched.

It was a bit of a struggle to keep your eyes open against the heavy fog of afterglow that filled your mind; you couldn’t remember the last time you felt so… satiated.  As a college student, you were always thinking about the next assignment, mentally re-evaluating your calendar, or preparing for something— and usually all on less than six hours of sleep.

But now your mind was as close to a blank slate as it had been in at least a decade.  Even though you probably should’ve been, you weren’t even thinking about the potential consequences of this, the implications, the risks.  No, you were just staring up at him, thinking about kissing him again.

He would have to lean down for that, though; there was no way you were going to sit up now.

You hadn't even noticed that you had closed your eyes, almost falling asleep right there on his desk, until you felt his hand cradle your face softly, a calloused thumb rubbing over your cheek.

In unison, the both of you sighed deeply.

As much as it felt like a real effort, you blinked open your eyes and looked up at him, watching him comb his fingers through his hair.  It only messed up the style even further yet he looked better than ever.

He slowly moved his hips back, leaving you annoyingly empty, and readjusted himself until he almost looked put together again… but his collar was still uneven and his lips still looked bitten and there was still that precious pinkish hue on his cheeks.  If anyone else saw him in this state, they’d either know what happened between you two or think he’d just run across campus or something.

If anyone else saw him in this state, you’d be a little jealous, to be totally honest.

You got back to work trying to right your appearance as well, though you knew the best you could hope for was only mildly presentable; he looked at you like you’d never looked better, though.

“Well, this was fun,” you chuckled breathlessly, “but it’s getting pretty late and I have an eight a.m. tomorrow…”

“Yeah, so do I,” he nodded, glancing away.  

You picked up your bag from where you’d dropped it by the door, lifting the strap over your shoulder and starting to turn to leave.

"I… I should walk you back to your dorm," he announced, making you smile.

"That's sweet, but save your chivalry.  I can take care of myself just fine."

"But—"

"I think it's safer if we're not seen together walking together by my dorm," you interjected, "especially when I'm walking a little funny…"

"I hope I didn't hurt you," he winced sympathetically.

"No, trust me, that was… exactly what I needed," you breathed.  He smiled a little, looking down at the floor.

"Then I'll see you in class," he nodded, watching you closely as you stepped back and picked up your bag, starting to leave his office with one last small wave goodbye.  “Wait, wait!” he whispered harshly just before you could let go of his door, and you giggled as he leaned out into the hall and glanced around to make sure no one was nearby.  

When he confirmed the coast was clear, he smiled and grabbed your face with one hand, pulling you into a sudden kiss.  And you smiled too— you couldn’t help it— as you kissed him back, almost ready for him to drag you back into that office and start this all over again.  He did let you go, though, with one more whispered ‘goodnight’ and a look that made your heart do little somersaults.

As you finally did make your way back to your dorm, you tried to figure out if that was a goodbye kiss or a ‘see you soon’ kiss.  Or maybe a ‘thanks for the one-time office quickie’ kiss?  But you didn’t know enough about this sort of thing to know if that was even an option.

All you did know was that you really hoped it wasn’t the last kiss you’d have with him.

Can I speak to you in my office today after class?  Thank you.

-Z

You may ask yourself: can one simple email, in only thirteen words, strike fear into the hearts of those who read it?  And the answer is yes, assuming that email is from Professor Helmut Zemo and read by the lovestruck student who slept with him two days ago and hasn't stopped thinking about it since.

Only one of a few things could happen in his office after class, and there was a massive gap between the best and worst case scenarios.  You dressed for the best but prepared yourself psychologically for the worst.

You caught him staring as you walked past the teaching podium to your seat in the front; you just hoped nobody else caught him.  And if you'd thought paying attention in class was tough before, boy oh boy was it a challenge now.  The nerves of what he wanted to discuss with you were bad enough alone, but that combined with memories from two days earlier randomly assaulting your psyche was just overwhelming.

When he pointed at the map with two fingers, you could remember exactly how those fingers had felt inside you, twisting and curling and getting you ready for his cock.

When he spoke, you could hear the difference in his voice compared to how he groaned out his praises while he was fucking you within a damn inch of your life.

And every once in a while, when he couldn’t help but glance at you for a moment, his gaze burned right through you; you were helpless to those brown eyes, completely paralyzed by them, and it must’ve been hours of that before class finally ended.

For the first time, you were the first person out the door when he released the class.  As much as it was going to be a little bit weird to beat him to his office, it was certainly better than any of your other options.  There was a chair in the hall beside the door, and you took a seat and pretended to read a book just to look busy (there was no way you could actually turn symbols on a page into readable language right now, not when you knew he’d be here any minute to talk about… something).

Your peripheral caught him coming down the hall, but you pretended to be deeply immersed in your book until he was right beside you, unlocking his door and opening it for you and himself.  Tucking your book away and following him inside, you found him already staring at you, expression completely unreadable.  Your gut sank in anticipation of whatever conversation this was going to become, and a moment passed in heavy silence.

"Hi," you greeted plainly, letting out a quick breath.

"Hi," he returned.  "Close the door behind you."

You nodded and did as you were told, quietly pushing the wood back until the door latched before approaching where he had come to stand beside his desk.  Though you didn't originally intend to, you found yourself standing a bit too close.

"I'm not quite sure where to start," he admitted, chuckling breathlessly as he reached up to rub the back of his neck.  He looked cute flustered, which was a shame because his tone seemed to imply you needed to not be thinking about how cute he was.  “Listen, you should know that what happened before… it was a mistake,” he sighed.  “It can’t happen again.”

“Do you regret it?” you asked point-blank.

“It can’t happen again,” he repeated in lieu of a real answer, and you looked closely at his face; you didn’t find as much confidence there as you were looking for, it wasn’t the face of a man who knew he was making the right choice.  You certainly didn’t think he was making the right choice.

“Why did you want to have this conversation alone in your office, then?” you challenged.

He cleared his throat slightly.  “So no one would hear us.”

“Hear us talk?” you pressed.  “Is that all?”

“That’s… definitely the plan,” he nodded, swallowing dryly.  "Like I said, it was a mistake— my fault, not yours.  And I just hope we can put it behind us respectfully."

“All the best mistakes are made at least twice,” you whispered, reaching up to trail your finger down his lapel.  “Don’t you think?”

“Don’t do that,” he requested tensely.

"Do what?"

"That," he hissed.  "Stop being… irresistible," he clarified, eyes darting from your lips to your finger to your eyes and back again.  "A man can only take so much.  I'm trying to do right by you."

"You already did when you fucked me that good," you smirked.  "Nothing else could be as right as that."

Your fingers were just barely brushing over his belt when he grabbed you by the wrist.  Jaw tight and eyes solemn, he shook his head.

You wrenched out of his grasp with a nod.  It was worth a shot, but you didn't want to be that person who couldn't take no for an answer— so, you gave him a little smile and readjusted the strap of your bag.  “Well, if it was just the once, then you should know that I’m still glad it happened.  Even if it shouldn’t have.”

He nodded, strategically not speaking— but you knew he would agree, if he could.

“And if it’s any consolation to you now, you were the best I ever had.”

You reached for the doorknob, just starting to turn it and open your way out when he suddenly slammed it shut with a hand right above your head, making you gasp and spin around to look up at his dark gaze.

“Professor…” you whispered.

“The best you ever had?” he repeated, grinning proudly when you nodded.  “Oh, sweetheart, I wasn’t even trying.”  He leaned down to brush his lips against your ear as he whispered to you: “You don’t even know yet how good I can make you feel.”

A shiver ran up your spine; your tongue darted out to lick your lips.  “Are you going to get on with it and show me?”

He didn’t even let you step away from the door, dropping to his knees right there and pushing up your skirt to kiss and bite your thighs.  “Only if you ask very nicely,” he taunted with a brow raised in challenge.

“Please,” you breathed, “fuck, please, want you to taste me.”

His hands slid up your legs, grabbing the hem of your panties before sliding back down.

It wasn’t like you’d never been eaten out before, but this still felt like a first considering your skirt was pushed up to your waist, your panties were pulled down to your ankles, and even just one slow lick over your folds made it obvious he knew exactly what he was doing.

“F-fuck,” you choked, reaching down to weave your fingers into his hair.  He grinned against your skin and kept going, exploring you carefully before finally sucking on your swollen clit.  Your knees threatened to buckle, your head fell back against the door so hard it almost hurt, but all you could really feel was his mouth on you, moving like he knew your body better than you did.

So it was no wonder, then, that you already began to spiral towards your release, legs shaking around his head as he devoured you mercilessly.

"Oh my god, I—" you tried to warn him, but he already knew, and he pulled back to wipe his mouth with his sleeve and stand up.  He grabbed your jaw and kissed you roughly, stopping to whisper to you so close that his lips brushed against yours.

"I'm sorry, draga, but you've spoiled me… now that I've felt you come around my cock, I can't imagine making you come any other way.  I need to feel your cunt grip me so fucking tight… it's all I've been thinking about since I last saw you," he admitted.

"I thought about it, too," you sighed.  "I was up all night trying to make myself come as good as you did but I couldn't… your come was still leaking out of me."

He growled and leaned in to nip at your ear.  "Oh, poor thing… I can imagine it so easily, you laying in your bed with your legs spread, fingers getting exhausted from playing with your little pussy too much, these perfect lips whining for me because you need me to take care of you."

"H-Helmut, please," you whimpered.  

"Yeah, something like that," he smirked.

"I can't wait any more, just fuck me.  Need you inside me," you breathed.

"Then bend over my desk."

{part 2}

#baron zemo x reader #helmut zemo x reader #helmut zemo smut

[starshipsofstarlord]

Not on my boat

Pairing | Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary | whilst helping Sam fix his boat, during the midst of its progression, Bucky corners you within the old Wilson heirloom, leaving your friend and future captain, rather disgusted in the both of you.

Warnings | tfatws spoilers, mentions of death, some angst, smut, oral (male and female receiving), fingering, unprotected sex, bit of choking, swearing

Requested ✖️

Quick link to my masterlist, if you’re interested in reading more of my crap 😬

Hearing the waves crash against the side of the boat brought a smile upon your face, as you felt the breeze brush against your face. It was peaceful, fixing something rather than leaving it broken in order to save lives. If you weren’t swarmed with the government on your tail about how you were not allowed to use your powers, you’d be living out a free and happy life with the man you loved.

You were enduring a break from your assistance on the old Wilson vessel, your legs plodded around its platform, as you surveyed every piece that was in progress. Soon it would be in tip top shape, and when Sam and Bucky’s relationship was on par with that, that was when the two of you had planned to leave. There were plenty of things the two of you had to make up for before you could reside in peace; one of those things was that list of his.

It was a ledger of the amends that he had to make, a reminder of all the lives that had either taunted his own, or he had stolen from whilst he was not himself. James did not deserve the grievance that he was pardoned with, he was struggling, that much was clear. He had lost Steve, and then he was forced to watch as the shield had been handed off to some wanna be cap. To say he had been furious at Sam was a deep understatement, but as said, he was making amends.

Sam was a good man, you had learnt that much from the time that you had spent avenging to him. You had yet to tell him, but you weren’t planning on going back to that life after Karli was stopped, you wanted to continue working in the small shot bar slash grill, where Bucky and Youri would visit during your hours for lunch, and remain in that partition of worlds. Having Bucky and normalcy was a fine balance, which was a deep seated structure that you deeply needed.

If you did not have that then you were sure you’d explode, and hurt someone, or break something. That was no longer your duty, the fighting that you had spent most of your life giving into was coming to an end, and you were more than fine with that. A civilian life sounded good enough, and something that you could definitely settle for, though, you weren’t sure that Bucky would do the same, you hoped that he would.

That gleam in his eye was far too noticeable every time that he looked at that star striped shield. It had brought him much pain, but it had been there in the corner of his sight everywhere he had went. And now, Sam Wilson, the man that his best friend had entrusted with it, finally accepted the mantle, holding it in his firm grasp, ready to become the next captain to walk the earth, and both you and him knew that he would do far better than Walker could.

He was already a hero, he’d been fighting the Sam foes as Steve for some time, that was enough to know that he was ready. His hesitancy had been understandable, more so after listening to Isiah, though, it was nice to see Sam take his own path on this one. There were pictures of his younger self assembled upon the wooden walls, he was with his sister Sarah. She seemed like a nice woman, a part of you wished that you get to know her better, but she wasn’t a buyer into the whole superhero get advantages agenda, and nor were you.

From what you could tell, Sam had his advantage right here; his family. Sarah was supportive of him, always aiding him necessary, whilst she simultaneously raised to young boys, that looked admirably up to their uncle, and feeding the kids that they went to school with because their parents had no intention to. If you could, you’d buy a replica of her life, her head was above water, although the boat almost wasn’t.

The boat. It was an heirloom, something that you did not have of your own family. Everyone was gone, the only person you had was Bucky, and thinking of him caused a light chuckle to fall from your lips, he made you endlessly happy. But neither of you could have the picture perfect life, and that was why the pair of you worked, you were each well aware of the restrictions that taunted you both, and had both been down dark roads on more than one occasion.

Things were turning brighter though, as the sun glared through the old glass, casting luminosity to stroke the high points of your face. A gently creak had your head diverting to the door way, where no other than James Barnes was leant up against, his metal arm pressed to the frame as he adoringly swept his oceanic pools over your form, slowly stepping closer.

“What are you thinking about doll?” He asked you, his tone genuine, as you sighed from his words, rubbing your eyelid as you felt a small itch. You puffed your cheeks, as you placed your hands on the super soldier’s waist, rubbing small and vigilant circles through his grey shirt.

“Too much.” It was an honest answer, everything was rattling around like pins in your mind, sinking in and letting loose to their own will. They could not be organised, they would only tumble about again, until the box was empty, though, for now, you had nowhere else to put them.

“Sarah said we could spend the night.” At his words, you hummed, taking note once more of how generous the woman indeed was. “We get the couch, so you best be on your best behaviour baby girl, nothing dirty goes on inside.” A small smirk crept its way onto his handsome face as you gasped at his spoken intention, lightly hitting the vibranium of his arm.

“Why do you blame me for not keeping it in my pants?” You interrogated him, glaring up at the man with a furrow between your brows. “You’re the one that corners me, a lot like this actually, so that you can get your own way and fuck m- oh, that’s exactly what you’re doing now, isn’t it?” You scoffed, crossing your arms and stepping away due to the man’s hormonal impulses. “Why am in not surprised?” You asked yourself, shaking your head at the behaviour of your partner.

“Hey, I’m doing us both a favour. Sex in someone else’s house is not exactly appreciated, and there’s kids, that i would rather not risk getting caught by.” He moved towards you, grabbing an ass cheek in each hand, as he pulled you closer by his grip. “At least then, there’s a chance I can survive the night, without being woken up by you sucking me off, or riding me.”

He was pushing your buttons, and he far well knew that, almost too well. It was his technique to get you riled up, that way, there’d be no dismissal of his current proposal, though, you continued to wear that adorable frown that he loved so much, and so, he gave your ass another firm squeeze, causing you to gasp against his chest. “Fucking on their dead parents’ boat isn’t exactly respectful either.”

“We’re helping fix it, may as well take our break on board, let loose a little, release all that’s clouding your mind.” He shrugged, knowing that his words were tempting you into complying with his lustrous whim, and so, to put another step in to helping his cause, he stepped back, reaching behind him to pull his shirt over the back of his neck, leaving his muscular torso bare, and free for your eyes to roam.

“That’s not fair.” You whined at him, not stopping yourself as you moved closer, and smoothed your hands down his stomach. “You’re such a tease Barnes, why couldn’t you have just fingered me in the public bathroom and waited until tomorrow?” A groan slipped from your mouth, as you peppered kisses over his warm flesh, tasting the sweat on his skin as your tongue swiped over the ridges of his six pack.

“Where would the fun have been in that?” He watched you roll your eyes, but continue to work your way down to his navel, stroking his v line with your fingertips. “We’ve had sex on a plane, might as well add a boat to the list.” Bucky remarked, groaning as you put your weight down onto your knees, looking up at him with your pretty eyes, as you palmed him through the denim of his jeans.

He could feel his cock stirring beneath the material, wanting more, eager to breach the layers that were keeping your tongue from rotating around him. But he remained still, as you swept your hair out from your face, the noise of your pulling down his zipper audible, as you sent him a naughty grin. The man above you licked his lips, breathing a sigh of relief when you tugged his jeans and boxers down, his erection swiftly bouncing up, the leaking tip pointing rudely at your face.

With a quick hand, you grasped his length, rubbing over his veins as you pumped him, spreading the moisture of his precum over his rigid skin, aiding you in your movements. As you proceeded to jerk him within your grip, your mouth moved forwards, your breath fanning over his balls before your tongue slipped out to stroke them, swiping up the droopy skin, as you suckled one into your mouth, contently moaning from the flavour of his skin.

Your eyes had shut as Bucky opened his own, watching you through a hooded gaze as you happily assisted his genitals, sending him into a crusade of pleasure as you used your well adversed skill set upon him. Your bottom lip ran up his shaft, slowly dragging along his reddened skin, until your reached the tip, your hands fleeing down to fondle with his sack, as your mouth stuffed itself full of his cock.

“Baby girl.” He breathed, his chest feeling tight as he stood there, practically naked aboard your friend’s boat. James gritted his teeth, watching as you effortlessly bobbed your head up and down half of him, lazily grinning as gagging sounds eventually emitted from your throat as you had him down the back of your throat, saliva slipping down your chin as you shook your head from side to side with him choking you with his dick.

Though he worried not for your struggle, not as you moaned against him, your lashes fluttering though your eyes were shut. He reached his vibranium hand down, stroking the side of your face with the cool metal, a high whine whistling it’s way out of your nose. Your spare hand reached up, cupping it against you, as you hollowed your cheeks, steadily breathing your nostrils.

A light frown covered your face as you focused on smoothing your tongue on his underside, causing Bucky to throw back his head, his stomach sternly clenching as he felt his balls twitch; and then, before he could fathom it, he was filling your mouth, cumming down your throat, as he pulled out, the last of his seed falling upon your tongue as he manhandled himself, feeling sensitive as he watched you fumble your tongue around your mouth, swallowing the mix of your spittle and his cum.

“Taste so fucking good.” You spoke, laughing lightly as you stared up and saw his dazed expression. Bucky pulled you up, his hand cupping your ass again, as he backed you up against the dash, your back lightly hitting against the window as he pulled at your shorts, whisking then down your legs, rubbing you through your underwear. His tongue explored your mouth, tasting himself as he located your clit, your arms grabbing at his shoulders to push him down, to which he complied.

His noises echoed through your mouth, as he pressed kissed along the top of your thighs, his fingers surpassing the seams of your panties, swiping at your entrance, until his prodding ceased, and he sunk his middle finger into your pussy, feeling you clench around him instantaneously. His teeth bit into your skin, emitting a squeal out of you as you harshly tugged his hair, making him rut his loose cock against nothing but the air.

“So wet.” He mumbled against your skin, as his vibranium snapped the sides of your underwear, letting the damp material fall to the floor, as he licked circles around your clit with his tongue, pulley airy sounds of pleasure of of your lungs. He slipped in another finger, his nose being pressed against your mound as you tugged him even closer, feeling as though you were almost there. Then you came, his fingers quickly exiting you as his tongue plunged in your entrance, cleaning up all your juices.

“Need you to fuck me Buck, please honey”. The man stood, stroking his hard cock as he teased your entrance. He swiped it through your slit a couple of times, before slapping his head against your clit, making your mewl against his lips, as you licked your essence from around his mouth. “James...” His cocky demeanour returned, as he watched you glance down at his cock, pressing your lips together in desire.

“Thought you didn’t want to fuck me on the boat.” He sneered dominantly, gripping your throat with his vibranium fist, giving it a tough squeeze, finding it endlessly hot as needy tears pooled in the corners of your eyes. Your lips pouted as you sputtered to speak, but you were just so hungry for him. “Guess I’m just gonna have to take pity on you doll, aren’t I?”

With that,he wedged his way through your folds, filling you to the brim as he bottomed out, gently releasing your throat to paw at your tits through your shirt. “Move baby, move.” You mumbled, your head feeling dizzy as your nails dug into the back of his neck, pulling him closer so that you could place tender and supple kisses across the front of his shoulders.

And so, he began to thrust into you, keeping a grip on your hips as he raised your leg around his waist, driving into you deeper, your head tiredly lulling as you chanted his name in soft and delirious pants. “So damn tight angel.” The soldier muttered, biting down onto your chin as he kissed his way up to your lips, abusing the swollen flesh a little more. The kisses were sloppy and downright needy, his vibranium hand held your chin up so that it would tip in rhythm with his movements, making access to the inside of your mouth easier.

“Buck.” You mumbled against his lips as your eyes rolled, your own hand circling your clit as you jutted against his exceeding administrations, one hand crawling up into his scalp as you let our small screams. You were indefinitely close, and as Bucky swerved his head around your own, moving his lips to nip at your earlobe, you came, coating his cock in your wetness, as he continued to hit his hips against your own.

It wasn’t long until he followed after, your clumsy hands trailing down to roll his balls in your palms being the last thing to push him over the edge. Bucky remained standing between your legs, each of your heads resting over each other’s shoulders as you felt each other, eyes closed, and smelling how the aroma of your sex wafted around you, like a personalised perfume.

“Hell no.” And the peace was broke, as Sam’s voice broke it. He had his hands on his hips as he shifted his gaze away from the two of you, unimpressed by what had happened. “The two of you get a break and you - not on my boat!” He practically screeched like a falcon at the pair of you, his arms flailing about like a bird’s flapping wings.

Although he was maddened, it didn’t settle well with you. You were too far out of it to acknowledge what he must have thought about the on deck dick that you had gotten, you were too lost in Bucky, the feeling of him still inside of you, and the falling of his cum out from beneath you both. “You know what, I’m outta here.” Sam left, quite glad to do so.

“You alright doll face?” Bucky asked as he pulled out, making you wince from the feeling of emptiness. You nodded as he reached for your underwear , leaving them be when he registered he had torn them, and instead opted to picking up just you’d shorts, pulling them onto your legs, redressing himself afterwards.

“I love you Buck.” You smiled tiredly, humming as he pecked your lips a few more times, combing his hands through your sex hair, as he returned the facial expression, seemingly calm. It looked good on him, the pair of you had momentarily forgotten your traumas, and it was bliss.

“Love you too darling.” He pecked your nose, staring lovingly into your eyes as he helped you down, and abled you with support to stand. “Unfortunately I think our breaks over beautiful.” He spoke, his hand upon your waist as the pair of you walked from the scene, going to fetch a bottle of water from Sarah, whom you hoped had not learn of your oversea adventure .

#bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader smut #bucky barnes x reader #sebastian stan smut #sebastian stan x reader #bucky oneshot #bucky barnes imagine #bucky imagine #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes imagines #tfatws x reader #tfatws smut #tfatws bucky #marvel smut #mcu smut #mcu x reader smut #imagines #imagine #xreader #twssmut #twsxreader #sebastian stan oneshot #sebastian stan x you

[kimnjss]

just hanging out | jjk

⤑  series: cherry pickers

⤑ pairing: gamer(fuckboi)!jungkook x video vixen(virgin)!reader

⤑ genre: fluff!... some angst at the end if you squint.

⤑ rating: pg13

⤑ word count: 3.9K // unedited.

⤑ warnings: lmao second hand embarrassment probably.

⤑ A/N: hey :( love you all who have been enjoying this story nd sending your thoughts in - they really make my day. so thank youu! let me know what you think x 

FEBRUARY 22ND, 2020 | 16:49

Casual. You're constantly reminding yourself the entire time you're getting ready. This was supposed to be casual. This was not a date. So there was no reason for you to go through the process of getting ready for a date. You didn't shave, just took a regular shower with the regular soaps. 

Spent very little time in the mirror when getting dressed, there was no need for frilly shirts or form-fitting pants. Instead, you settled for a pair of ripped jeans and a hoodie that Taehyung had lost a little while back. Minimum makeup, hair up, and out of your face.

Needed to cement it in your mind that this was not a date. Steal away any reason for you to act like it was one. No matter how much you knew you'd enjoy the whole shebang, candlelit dinner, romantic walk admiring the night sky, kiss on the doorstep – you had to ignore that.

Bottle it up and stuff it down because there were many things you didn't know about Jungkook and the bits you did know weren't great. His shitty friends being at the top of the list. So, until you were sure he wasn't like the lot of them... not dates were what you'd settle for. Because at the end of the day, you wanted to see him.

It's a thirty-minute drive from your house to Jungkook's and you spend the entire car ride agonizing on how this 'not date' was going to turn out. And then immediately scolding yourself for freaking out over something that shouldn't matter as much as you were making it out to be.

For all you knew, he probably was just waking up... barely remembering that he had plans with you. Most likely hopping in the shower just minutes before you were said to arrive. Mmh, Jungkook in the shower. Droplets of water rolling over his tone skin, following the dips and ridges until...

It's hard to shake the image of Jungkook showering out of your head once you've got it there. Even with his insistent need to wear baggy clothes, it didn't take a detective to see that the kid was ripped. No doubt spent hours in the gym working on his arms, his abs, his thighs...

Nope. Not going there. No reason to go there when you were on your way to hang out, innocently hang out with a guy that you were just barely friends with. That's all it was. Two people getting to know each other after clicking the first time they talked. God, the way you clicked with Jungkook was unbelievable. 

He made you laugh. And it was weird because you don't remember ever feeling this comfortable around someone this quickly. Jungkook was different. At least you hoped he was. Instantly, you're shushing your thoughts. Refusing to mentally put so much pressure on something that more than likely become nothing.

Getting your hopes up too early was the reason why people got hurt in the first place. So this wasn't a date. And you weren't going to expect him to treat it as such. Just hanging out to get to know each other. That was it.

That was it. Your new mantra as you shove your car into park, heading up the walkway to his front door. Knocking while repeating those four words to yourself. Casual. That was it.

You're not even waiting a full minute before the front door is being pulled open, revealing a fresh-looking Jungkook. Dark hair falling in pretty waves, on either side of his pretty face. He seems to be glowing and you feel it throughout your entire body when he smiles.

A baggy pink sweatshirt swallows his figure, paired with equally loose gray sweatpants. His house is spotless when he lets you in, obvious that he spent the duration of the morning cleaning. The smell of Lysol still lingered in the air. Even the white socks on his feet seemed oddly clean.

You can't help but smile at the effort, allowing yourself to believe that all the trouble was for you.

Once he's setting your shoes in his extremely organized coat closet, he's leading you through the house. Smiling big as he gives you a mini-tour of the first floor and you swear you're paying attention. You're trying your best at least, but it's hard to concentrate on anything that wasn't how cute he looked.

“And this is the arcade,” He's showing off both rows of teeth with his broad gesture into the room located at the end of the hall. Obviously proud of this part of the tour.

As he should be. When the kid said arcade, that's exactly what he meant. Old school game machines lined the walls, ones that you'd actually find in an arcade. Some games that you've never heard of before. All with the high score name: 'Koo'. A dramatic two-person car racing game tucked in the corner.

There's a curved 90 inch TV mounted on the wall, in front of it on a stand is every game console ever made. He has his laptop set up in the room, with two monitors and two gaming chairs in front of it. In the middle of the room is the most comfortable L shaped couch.

All you can say is, “Whoa.” And he's laughing at your reaction.

“It's my favorite room in the house. Well... aside from,” His eyes shift up, obviously gesturing to upstairs where his bedroom is.

The insinuation has a blush darkening your cheeks, but you choose to ignore it, stepping further into the room with a tiny gasp. “You have Skee-ball!?” He's right behind you as you rush across to the room to where the game is set up. A manicured nail pressing against the start button, grinning wide up at him as the balls roll down.

Bright red numbers flash on the screen, the high score followed by his name: 310...Koo. A smirk instantly settling onto your features as you reach for one of the bright-colored balls. “I'm gonna beat that,” Lifting a finger to point at the numbers on the screen.

Jungkook is letting a loud laugh leave his lips, a pretty smile settling on his features as the sound dies down. “That took me two weeks... good luck,” Drawing your hand back, you release the ball on the swing. Watching as it travels upward toward the slots, dropping right into the gutter.

It takes four throws before you're getting it right, the ball traveling up the slope and directly into the 40 point slot. You're letting out a loud whoop, arms lifting in slight victory.

Eyes wide, you're turning your head to face him. “You saw that!?” You're shocked that he's already looking at you. With this soft lovey look that you were the one to hang the stars in the sky. And it makes you wish that this was a date because if it were you'd be able to let yourself enjoy the feeling that comes with the way that he's looking at you.

But it's not a date. So you don't. Shove the fuzzy feeling away with a shake of your head, reaching for another ball from the rack and thrusting it forward. 

FEBRUARY 22ND, 2020 | 18:08

Jungkook is scary good at games. Like scary good. If he wasn't matching your score, he was doubling it. Didn't even graze his high score in Skee-ball and every game after that was his domain. And he was having fun beating you, the smile growing on his face each time you were crossing your arms with a pout – claiming the game had to be rigged.

Foosball to Car Racing to Dance Dance Revolution (he had way more rhythm than you'd expect). You've settled down quite a bit since you first showed up at his house, finding it easy to relax around him. He was cute when he got competitive, not like you were much of a competition in these games... but it was nice to see him like this.

The scrunch of his nose as he focused on the screen. The cute dimples that popped out whenever he won. And how he mindlessly sat close to you, engulfing you in his sweet scent. There was just something about being with Jungkook that made you feel at ease, could someone who made you that comfortable really be as bad as his trash friends?

His shoulder brushes against yours as he settles further into the comfort of his couch, his thumbs moving over the controller quickly. Implementing combo after to defeat your character. In the fourth round of Mortal Kombat and you've only one once.

“Hey! You said you'd let me win,” He's laughing, not even letting your character get up before the large K.O. letters appear on the screen and his person is giving their little victory remark. A dramatic huff leaves your lips, the controller being tossed to the side to cross your arms over your chest.

All he wants to do is lean in and kiss that pout off your lips. Has wanted to kiss you since he beat you in table tennis. You're so pretty and he can't hold back from moving closer to you, guiding your movements just so he can have an excuse to touch you. And he doesn't miss the way you blush. The cute giggles that you let out when he flirts with you. Making him want to flirt with you more just so he can hear the sound.

“I tried,” He speaks through a laugh, taking in the skeptical look on your face. “I did! You're just so bad,” His eyes watch your fingers move around the controller, switching the screen to the character choice.

Gasping when his words sink in, landing dainty punches onto his shoulder. “You're mean! Rematch. I'm not bad,” Jungkook's pressing start on the game as soon as you both have picked your characters, leaning back against the couch as he instantly starts trying out combos on you.

Your whines and protests are cute. It's all he can focus on when he's supposed to be paying attention to the game. And the shout of triumph you let out when you're managing to knock his character down squeezes at his heart, he can't help but turn to look at the smile on your face.

“Look at you losing!” He's sure his health bar is at the end by now, but he can't tear his eyes away from you. In awe, because how could someone actually look like that? So effortlessly... beautiful? 

The tip of your tongue poked out the corner of your lips, brows furrowed as you work hard to take him down. So wrapped in the game, you don't even realize that he had stopped playing. It's his luck too, no telling how embarrassed he'd be if he was caught staring. Yet, he can't bring himself to look away.

Not until you're jumping up excited, clapping for yourself and your win. “Did you see that?” Your body is whipping around, forcing a surprised look on his face. Worried that you might've caught the way he had been looking at you. “I just fucking destroyed you! You can't even say that was beginners luck, either.”

You're lifting your hand for a high five, which he's happily giving to you. His smile matching yours as you flop down on the couch beside him, thighs grazing over each other and he feels it in his chest. “Do you want a chance to redeem yourself?”

Not even a minute is spared for him to answer because you're already starting up a new round. He's got his game face on now, shaking himself out of the daze. “Can you believe I just kicked your butt?” There's this taunting look on your face and all he wants to do is lean over and kiss you.

He takes for teasing you instead. Noticing your ridge posture that he had commented on in your picture. “I don't know how,” A large hand reaches over to touch your back, your body automatically leaning into his touch. “Your form is all off, it had to be luck.” Just a bit of pressure is applying to your back and you're slouching forward.

With a laugh, you're rolling your eyes – reaching a hand back to swat his away. “Watch me beat you like this too. I'll even let you pick my character,” You've been using the same girl since you started playing while he's surfed through the entire catalog. He's taking you up on the offer, picking one of the bulkier characters that don't do all the jump moves you seem to love so much.

And you still beat him.

This time distracted by the frustrated rants from you whenever your guy doesn't do what you tell him to. Time runs out and he ends up having less on his health bar and you're taking that as a proper win, lifting your hand for another high five.

Jungkook congratulates you quietly, more so trying to figure out just what was going on inside his chest. He's had girls over before. In much more intimate settings than this... but never has he felt like his heart was about to burst through his chest. This unbearable feeling to be close to you and it's quickly becoming all he can think about.

You're just so pretty. And you look oddly sexy in your sweats. But it's not just that. There's something else that he can't really place that's pulling him to you. Making it hard for him to stop thinking about stupid things like holding your hand or kissing your cheek. Imagining if days like today were the norm and after he'd grow tired of playing games, you'd let him stretch out his head in your lap – playing with his hair.

And it has to be crazy because this was only the first time the two of you were alone. The late-night texts being all he had to back up knowing you, but at the same time, he felt like he knew you. Like he's known you well. He can't describe it either, but he's almost positive that you feel the same.

“Are you hungry? Should we order a pizza?” You've already whipped your phone out, reluctantly putting a bit of space between the two of you as you scroll through your phone. Jungkook is quick to agree, fingers moving over the buttons on the controller to switch the TV.

No idea why he all of a sudden feels so nervous. “Sure,” He's managing to mumble out, but you're not listening. Already putting together a pizza for both of you. “Do you, uhm... do you wanna watch a movie? Something on Netflix?” Your thumb is stilling on the screen at the mention of Netflix.

Yoongi's playful warning ringing loudly in your mind. 'Playing video games was just Netflix and Chill with more steps,'. But there was the chance that he was actually tired of playing games and wanted to watch a movie with you. It didn't have to be that serious, you had been going at it for hours.

“Yeah, go ahead. Pick something.” His body slouches back on the cushions, scanning through the movies halfheartedly before choosing a random one with a really long title. After tapping his fingers against the screen, the neon orange lights in the room are dimming. A comfortable warmth settling around you.

Jungkook watches as you take your time putting the order together. The beginning credits playing on the screen and he's not even paying attention, too busy with his eyes glued to you. “I got meat lovers, you like that, right?” Setting your phone aside, you allow yourself to sink into the comfort of the cushions. 

“Mmh, my favorite.” Not a lie. It really was. And the fact that you had chose it without knowing just added to everything about you that made him want to kiss you. A small smile spreads across your lips as you nod, turning your attention to the screen in front of you.

The two of you sit side by side, watching the characters on the screen, but you're not listening. It's hard to hear over the pounding in your chest. The nervous bounce of his leg as if he was waiting for something. And you have no idea what because the pizza is no where near being on its way.

A pretty girl is in an argument with her male lead, something about debt and you're trying your hardest to follow the storyline. Although, you have no idea what this movie is and why he picked it. 

It's the thick yawn from beside you that catches your attention, Jungkook's arms lifting over his head in a stretch. You don't think much of it, other than the fact that he's being a little dramatic with his stretch. Until the arm closest to you is dropping down, not at his side like it had been before but around your shoulders – gently tugging your body into his side.

“Did you just do the yawn move on me?” You can't help but laugh. Even through the darkness, you can see the pink tint on his cheeks. “Shh, this is my favorite part.” You're actually positive that he's never seen this movie before, but don't put up a fight. Instead, you let yourself lean into his chest.

He's warm. And smells like flowers. His eyes don't move from the screen as he's reaching down, soft hands reaching for the outside of your knee. Slowly, he's lifting your legs onto his lap, only glancing in your direction briefly to gauge your reaction. Leaning back when there's no sign of you wanting to move.

“Your feet are so small,” Toes curling at the random attention, you're leaning over to reach for his face attempting to pull his focus. “Don't make fun of them! What the heck?” He's laughing loudly at you, allowing you to move his head. Shifting his focus from your feet to his face.

Your fingers are cold against his warm skin, but he can't keep himself from leaning into your touch. “They're cute.” Big eyes scan over your face, smiling softly when they're landing on yours. “You're cute.”

Almost instantly, the atmosphere in the room seems to shift. And you're not sure how he did it, but the way he was looking at you, the soft whisper in his voice... you can't but melt in his strong arms. Basically sat in his lap and it's nice. Jungkook takes his time with inching forward, entering your space which has your hand falling from his face.

He's quick to replace your hand with his one your cheek, tilting your head up toward his. You're sure he's going to kiss you. It's obvious with the slight pucker of his lips, the droop of his eyes, he's tapping a rhythmic beat against your knee ten times faster than the rush of your heart. He was going to kiss you.

Jungkook was going to kiss you and it felt like you couldn't breathe. Nerves on a ten because this wasn't even supposed to be a date. And now you were in this situation and you weren't the least bit unhappy about it. You wanted him to kiss you and it's a new feeling that you don't fully understand. It freaks you out.

Just inches from your lips and your face is twisting up, head jerking back before he can reach you. “What are you doing?” Instantly hating yourself for the embarrassed look on his features that slowly morphs into a puppy dog pout.

“I was going to kiss you...” Jungkook mumbles out sheepishly, dropping his arm from your body to push his hair back. Making an effort to put some space between the two of you, trying to figure out where he had gone wrong.

Because in his mind he had done everything right. Had been making you laugh all night, set some type of mood, told you that you were cute. And you seemed to be enjoying yourself... so what was he missing?

“Why would you do that? This isn't a date, Jungkook.” The mantra that you thought you had worked into your head seemed to be slipping. Not sure when you had forgotten what this was supposed to be, but now it was all rushing back to you.

The reasons you had rejected going on an actual date with him in the first place. And the realization of how stupid you were to think that this was a proper substitute for it. No matter what you decided to call it, it didn't erase the fact that this... tonight, with him... felt like a date.

And it wasn't supposed to.

“Do you kiss all the people you just hang out with?” It's wrong to put the blame on him and only him, but you can't help it. You're a mess in your head for a plethora of reasons, because it had been obvious. How he was looking at you, his arm around you, your legs in his lap... everything that you decided to ignore.

But in the same breath, he told you this wasn't a date... so why bother with all sweet shit. Turning movies on for one reason. Maybe you were reading too deep into all of this? Maybe you were overreacting. Jungkook didn't act like his friends when he was with you, maybe he was really different.

“Oh, come on, Yn... are you being serious?” He doesn't look all too embarrassed anymore, just a little bit sad from the rejection. It's fine, though. He'll live. “Dead serious, Jungkook. You got me here saying this wasn't a date. You need to stick to that,” You felt strongly on that part.

You had told him you didn't want to go on a date with him and even though this 'not date' was literally the same thing, he shouldn't act as if you had said yes to a date. Right? He should keep his word, that way things wouldn't get messy. Like right now.

Jungkook seems to put it together in his head, nodding his head in agreement – yet, the pout doesn't leave his lips. “Alright, alright. Fine. My bad,” He's tugging at the rolls of fabric on his sweats, avoiding eye contact with you. Dark hair covering his eyes, all you can really see is the pink of his lower lip.

And you feel bad, even though you know you shouldn't. It's not like you would've hated kissing him. It was just too nerve-racking to think of doing right now. You didn't quite understand it yourself, so there was no way you could go and explain it to him.

Instead, you're extending a finger. Poking the tip of your nail into his knee. “Don't pout. Come on, you'll miss the best part.” Referring to the movie that you're both watching for the first time, but it has a smile pushing onto his lips. His head lifting and gaze shifting onto the TV screen.

“Sorry,” He mumbles out after a moment, but you're not sure if he's apologizing for the almost-kiss or something else. Either way, you're flashing a genuine smile in his direction, lifting a hand to playfully shove at his shoulder. “Don't worry about it. It's fine,”

It really was.

— known for your body and surrounded by rumors about your sex life… rumors that he doesn’t think to doubt. until he’s meeting you… forced to realize there’s much more to you then the thonged shorts and lacy costumes.

⤪ masterlist ⤨

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A/N: timestamps make sense throughout the fic. if u want to be added to the tag list, send me an ask! + if you’ve asked to be on my permanent taglist, you do not need to ask to be added to this one !!

#jungkook #jungkook fluff #jungkook smut #bts smut #🍒 sm au #jungkook fic #jungkook sm au #jungkook imagine #jungkook angst #jeon jungkook #jungkook x reader #kim namjoon #kim seokjin #min yoongi #jung hoseok #park jimin #kim taehyung #namjoon #jin #yoongi #hoseok #jimin #taehyung #bts #bts imagine #bts sm au #sope

[unstoppableforcce]

dirty, pretty, beautiful

— “goddamn… I love to watch you work”

pairing: billy russo x f! street fighter! reader

masterlist | 5.2k | ko-fi

warnings: [18+], fighting, blood, blood kink (?), semi-public sex (? it’s a bar bathroom), slight choking, just overall violence (?) but enthusiastically consensual, all smut is from Billy’s POV

a/n: so maybe, I ignored every other WIP I have to write for billy russo. and yeah, this is 9000% inspired by the scene in 1x12 where billy is clearly turned on watching frank kill a man. but i really like the way this came out so I don’t even care

The warehouse had a stink to it. Musty, heady, metallic… Metallic like the remains of a handful of change against his palm. Metallic like waft of hot rain off the highest train tracks. Metallic like the taste of blood, coating his teeth, smothering his tongue until it was all he imagined he would ever taste again.

Fresh blood had a sweeter smell, a saltier smell even, but as more time passed, as the heat of the daily sunlight poured in through the windows left unboarded, as the frigid, damp night settled within the empty body of the building, the smell grew rancid. A ripe fruit passing it’s best by date, left to sit for far too long. A living liquor left to die, to rot, to stink. It was a smell he was far too familiar with, a smell that laced more of his memories than he cared to ever voice. A smell that, on his worst days, he found himself missing.

With hands heavy like weights, stuffed into his pockets to keep him anchored as the smell flooded his head, he managed his way forward towards the hum of the crowd. Hustlers worked the crowd, kids barely old enough to enlist waving hands full of crumpled bills and corralling bet after bet.

“We’ve got three fights! Three fights left until the main event!” One called.

“Place your bets and place them fast!” The next one chanted, over and over again, louder and louder each time a new wad of cash was pushed into his hands.

“This is a night you won’t want to miss.”

Clearly, the crowd agreed.

The itch of his sweater brought a new heat as he moved deeper into the crowd circled around the main cage, a cold sweat gathering at the back of his neck where the collar of his leather jacket met his skin. He knew better than to wear one of his suits to an event like this, but he still found himself missing the fond feel of the expensive fabric, the protective layer it granted him, the height it added to his already intimidating form. A few sideways stares told him he still stood out plenty on his own, but something about being dressed down struck a chord with him he didn’t like.

It was wearing a different skin, a more vulnerable skin, one that left him desperate in a way he hadn’t felt in far too long.

Billy Russo was a powerful man, but he hadn’t always been. It didn’t matter how many years it had been, he spent far too long walking on the edge, toeing a line. The group home, the bullies, the stares that followed his pretty fucking face wherever he went… one wrong move, one bad decision, and he could’ve ended up here under much different circumstances.

It could have been him in the ring, fighting for his next meal, fighting for his life.

His hand scratched at his beard as he shouldered further into the crowd for a better view, doing his best to ignore the brutal stench of violence and the unclean men surrounding him. It didn’t matter what feeling bubbled in his chest, nor what aching memories echoed in the back of his head, he was here for a reason. Recruiting discharged soldiers could only sustain their workforce for so long if special forces remnants and women remained hard to come by. When rumors started to grow, flowering up from the filthy underbelly of the city, a fighter to end all fights, he knew he had to get his offer on the table before anyone else could.

Anvil needed operatives. He had a job to do. The stench of blood and the avalanche of feelings that came with it, that was just… well, he could handle it. With or without his suit and tie.

“... El Tigre and the Mountain!”

The crowd roared for the first fight of the night.

There was a particular bias for the Mountain, which, upon laying eyes on him, made enough sense. He didn’t get the name out of irony, he towered over his opponent by a good foot, and no amount of speed on the smaller man’s part was going to make a difference. The fight lasted, violent hit after violent hit, but within a few minutes, the Mountain prevailed as expected.

Then another fight, just as brutal. Then another.

Watching men beat the shit out of each other, however, was nothing new. If he wanted unthinking violence and filthy brutality, he knew where he could get it a lot cheaper, he was here for overlooked skill, an underestimated killer. He was here for—

“The crowned royalty of chaos, the duchess of destruction, the princess of pain… the one and only…” his voice echoed across the warehouse, rumbling as the crowd grew uncontrollable. “The Queen of Combat!”

If the crowd had allowed enough space between where their rowdy bodies pressed against one another, Billy thought some of them might get on their knees and submit to you right there and then. Hell, the second he laid eyes on you, the thought even crossed his mind.

And he’d be lying if he said it didn’t linger.

The warehouse shook with unflinching loyalty, his ears defeaned by the corresponding cheers. Shoulders hit into his, shoved from behind, pushed by the guy in front of him, some of the crowd climbing up on the cage just to gain a mere inch closer to you. And yet, you made your way into the cage without sparing a glance to a single one of the aggressive animals clawing at the fencing, unphased by the noise, unflinching. Your chin lifted just above the noise and your graceful stature carried you the rest of the way in. Regal was an understatement, but, watching you as closely as everyone else, he wasn’t sure he even had the vocabulary to find a word that worked better.

Blood stained your hoodie, bruises scaled the ridges of your knuckles, and yet, he was sure that one word from you could summon an army out of the screaming crowd surrounding you. One word from you and Billy… well, the things he’d do for you.

His eyes locked on your knuckles, watching closely as you wrapped the brutalized skin away, then moved to your body as you tossed the old hoodie away. Scars and marks lined your torso—bruises left over from a fight a mere few days ago judging by the healing, scars from fights so long ago they were nearly faded, burns, cuts, slices, bumps… your skin was a war zone.

And he knew war zones. Shifting his weight from one foot to another, a hot pressure in his jeans apparent, he was sure he could lose himself in a war zone like that.

If the man who entered behind you was your opponent, it was clear there wasn’t more than a handful of souls in the whole arena who cared. There wasn’t a single clap out of beat, not one change in the roar of support aimed at you and you alone. He was bigger, sure, but if energy was anything to go by, he could be Paul fucking Bunyan and it wouldn’t have even come close to matching your unwavering support.

“Fighters, get ready.”

Your opponent took a few jumps, slapping his arms like he was Michael Phelps. You took one step forward, rolled your shoulders and leveled your stare.

There was no doubt in his mind who he considered a threat, who he considered a future asset.

“Tap out or knock out.” The kid stood between them reminded, and when neither of their deadly stares shifted, he nodded his head once, blew his whistle, and got the fuck out of the way as fast as possible.

But you… you waited.

Your opponent jumped at you, feigning left then right but not putting much strength either way, hoping for a flinch. A flinch he didn’t get. You didn’t even blink.

You just waited.

And when he opened up his left side in frustration after a series of perfectly blocked hits, you turned it on. He couldn’t even get his hands up fast enough.

It wasn’t like he was some nobody they pulled out of the gutter to have you fight tonight, he was clearly a skilled fighter of his own, it just didn’t matter in comparison. You were quick, controlled, deliberate. Two punches for every one of his. Perfectly placed to have him grunting and groaning while his landed with nothing more than a hiss or blink.

If he thought his sweater was suffocating him before, god, he had no idea what he was getting himself into.

He could feel the hum of his heart, and the sudden staccato everytime your fist connected with a crack. He could feel his pulse beating through every inch of his body, from his temples to his toes and every throbbing inch in between. Another hit, he could see the blood coating the wraps across your knuckles. Another hit, he could see the crimson staining your teeth.

He wanted a taste—no, he needed one.

A hit to the ribs had your opponent crinkling, a jab to the face had him spinning. A kick to the knee buckled him over, a knee to the chin sent his teeth up into his brain. As blood splattered up your bare thigh, your opponent collapsed to the concrete.

Knock out.

Even if he wasn’t truly out, he knew better than to move, his eyes already swelling shut, his unscarred skin bruised and bloodied.

The crowd went wild, but Billy couldn’t hear. He watched you swipe your wrapped hand against your chin, wiping away the blood from your lips, and he swore his mind short-circuited as his blood rerouted elsewhere. You were fucking gorgeous, you were delicious, you were his new religion, you were… Royalty.

A Queen.

Fuck, he was hard.

With your hand lifted in victory, the crowd reached a volume Billy hadn’t even thought possible, and when you ripped your hand away and moved back for your discarded sweats, the crowd again tried to swarm you. To touch you, to feel your power, to feel you up. He just watched. He’d catch you when you came back out, showered, with cash in your hand. In his experience, people were much more open to recruitment when they weren’t being verbally and sexually harassed by hoards of disgusting men with filthy leering stares.

It took about an hour, stood outside in the back alley where the late night wind beat him up with freezing gust after freezing gust, but when you came out, you were alone. That alone made it worth it.

Shouldering open the heavy metal door dressed in fresh sweats hanging loose off your hot muscles, you made it a whole two steps before you caught sight of where he lingered in your peripheral and nearly jumped out of your skin. “Staking out this door is a good way to get the shit beat out of you, you know.”

The cool bite in your tone hit even harder than the wind, but neither did anything to cool him down. In fact, his smirk only grew as you raised your chin in a stubborn challenge.

“Don’t worry, I come in peace.” He defended, lifting his hands where they held in his jacket pockets for the warmest show of surrender he could muster.

“Not interested.”

He took a careful step forward, eyes holding your piercing stare. “You haven’t even heard my offer.”

“Don’t have to.” The bag hanging over your shoulder shifted as the wind whipped by once more, and you quickly moved it down your arm as the weight found one of your more grueling injuries stretching the length of your collarbone. If he hadn’t been looking so closely, maybe you could have hidden your shrug, but he saw it all, he wanted to see it all, even as you argued back. “Whatever it is, I don’t need it in my life.”

Your feet found two more steps away before he pulled you back with his sly smile and slimier argument. “Just one drink.”

It’s not frustration that stops you this time, it’s curiosity, one brow raised as your arms cross over your chest. “Are you serious?”

For the first time, he doesn’t have an answer. For the first time, that perfect exterior cracks, his brow furrowing and his mouth left open. “What—“

“I mean…” your laugh shook him out of it, the sound something rough and throaty. “Seriously? I thought for sure you were here to recruit me for something, with this whole pretty boy soldier off-duty look you’ve got going on but no… you want to get a drink? Seriously? You waited out here for an hour in the cold because you want to fuck me?”

He cleared his throat as his stare and smirk absconded, was it really that obvious? Did he really even care if it was?

Business Billy, he reminded himself chastely.

Cutting the distance between the two of you in half, he extended his hand for a shake he knew he’d never get once his mouth opened. “Billy Russo,” he introduced.

Your smirk fell in the same second

“That Anvil guy?”

His hand pulled back and his disposition shifted to the only defense it knew, a cocky smirk and casual shrug. “My reputation precedes me, huh?”

“You take good people who get out and you toss them right back in.” The cold bite had vacated your tone entirely, and what replaced it, the heat of your righteous indignation, reignited the fire he felt when you were fighting. A match strike. A sharp cut against a stick of flint.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t gotten it before, but coming from you… well, he just couldn’t turn his cheek to it. “I help those who can’t get back on their feet—“

“You help them get back to the hell that messed them up in the first place, you mean. How charitable.” The sarcasm was a slap to the face, and still, he couldn’t find it in himself to take a step back.

“At least I take care of my people, I pay better, I—“

Your scoff echoed around the empty alley, bouncing off the dumpsters and brick walls, reverberating in his ears until it was all he could hear. “Yeah? And just how much is a life worth to you?”

His jaw clenched. “More than the government, sweetheart.”

“That’s not really saying much, is it?”

He let loose a sigh, a breath of tension he didn’t even know he was holding as his shoulder twitched and his stare found anything to look at that wasn’t you. What was he supposed to say? What argument could he voice back? You had a point. Hell, he could see a younger version of himself making the same argument back when things first got bad over there, back when he first thought about getting out.

The sentiment was respectable, and your stubborn tenacity was nothing to scoff at, but this wasn’t about heart.

Some people just don’t make it out. Some people can’t. Why was he so wrong for offering them a path back, what was so immoral about offering the opportunity for them to profit off of what they were previously exploited for? If he didn’t do it, then someone else would. And at least… at least he cared. At least he knew what it felt like to come back home and not have a home waiting for you, to have blood on your hands so violently red that you can’t go back into the real world without people noticing.

Your knuckles, scarred and scabbing, told him that you knew too. You found your way back to the fighting, just like the ones he recruited to work for him. Were you really so different?

And still, a part of him knew that voicing that question, in that way, was a good way to get beat up.

His eyes found yours again as his hands lifted and fell back down to his sides, defeated. “You’re right, but it’s just the way things are. Not all of us come home and end up underground fighting royalty.”

Your head shook as you muffled your rough laughter. “It’s not as glamorous as it looks.”

“Nothing ever is.”

Now it was your stare that redirected, eyes dropping to your feet before you let them scale their way back up the rocky terrain of his dressed down form. Worn boots, dark jeans, tight sweater, leather jacket, and that face. That pretty face. Exhaustion buried in the bags beneath his eyes, frustration laced in the furrow of his brow, a familiarity in the darkness of his eyes, a void of everything you remembered, skilled violence and inescapable grief, a void so familiar, a void you could lose yourself in.

It was late. It was cold. And you were alone. You were always alone.

You had made worse choices.

Sucking your bottom lip in tight between the bite of your teeth and slowly letting it out, you cocked your head to the side and began working on the last of your stubborn defenses. “If I say yes to the drink, is it just going to be more of this recruitment talk?”

His head twisted into a similar quirk, his smirk slowly gaining back its traction on his lips as he took you in with a similar once over. He inched one hesitant step forward, and when you didn’t shy away from the renewed heat of his attention, he took another. “Well I mean… I guess it depends.”

“On what?”

“On how much talking we do.”

—

It had been a while since he last had bathroom sex.

His boots stuck to the filthy linoleum floor, making every shift of his footing an extra effort. The shitty fluorescent light overhead flickered in and out with an infuriating lack of rhythm, blinding one second and pathetically inadequate to see you beneath him the next. But as his fingers gripped tighter around the flesh of your thighs, pushing you down into the cool porcelain of the sink he had you sat on, he had to admit that you were right. For everything it was, at least the sink was clean.

“So…” The burn was exactly what he remembered it to be, the cheap liquor clawing at his throat as he forced the shot down, chasing it with a quick swig of the even cheaper beer you had ordered for him. “This is your bar of choice?”

There had been six shots, three for each of you to start with, but you smirked around your final shot and he couldn’t even think ahead to his second. “Is that judgement I hear?”

He could feel his shoulder tick as he corrected with a slow drawl, “curiosity.”

“There are worse bars.”

“There are better ones too—“ His hand caught yours as you reached for one of his two remaining shots, his fingers wrapping carefully around yours. “Do you mind?”

You tried to pull back but his grip didn’t budge.

“You didn’t seem interested,” you fought, following his eyes as they dipped down to your busted lips. Again, you tried your hand. Again, he refused to let go.

“I’m plenty interested.”

You could feel his grip loosen, but this time, you let him hold it there. If anything, you leaned into it. Reaching with your other hand, you brought your bottle to your mouth and wasted no time licking up the remnants of your sip left behind across your bottom lip. Again, his stare followed, his nose scrunching as something deep in his chest began to burn. Again, you leaned into it, close enough for his cologne to overtake any of the thousand other smells swirling around the packed bar.

“Actually,” setting your beer back down, your unoccupied hand found the inseam of his jeans, his legs perched open on his stool with you sat between them. “I like this bar because the bathrooms are the cleanest.”

Picking up his next shot, he couldn't help the twist of his brow nor the uptick of his heart rate as your fingers teased higher. “The bathrooms?”

“Yeah…” your casual tone betrayed the tension pulled taut between the two of you. Every point of contact had him burning. Your hand in his, a candle flame he couldn’t stop drifting his hand over even as it burned. Your hand inching on his thigh, a creeping flame following a line of detcord towards explosion. Your stare, a rumbling volcanic heat mere seconds away from erupting. The rowdy crowd surrounding the two of you was nothing, the stuttering breath fleeing your chest all he could hear.

He leaned in, his brow still furrowed in confusion.

You leaned closer, pulling your hand from his thigh to take his last shot for him. “You ever been fucked over a filthy sink, Marine?”

He prided himself on his composure, in battle and in bed, but fuck, with two fingers inside you feeling you clench around him and his head buried deep in the crook of your neck inhaling the harsh stench of industrial soap trying it’s best to cover the smell of blood, he could feel himself skirting dangerously close to an edge he wasn’t ready to fall off of yet. His dick wasn’t even out of his pants and still, when he thrust a third finger into you and saw your brutalized knuckles wrapped around his bicep, nails digging through the thick fabric of his sweater, his name falling wrecked from your lips, he very nearly lost it.

“Russo— Fuck—”

“You like that?” He challenged breathlessly back, biting down hard on your battle bruised shoulder to keep it together as you grew closer and closer to the same edge. The light flickered and his stare shifted back up towards your face. A Queen brought to a trembling mess, teeth piercing the already torn center of your beaten lip. “Yeah, you do, don’t you?”

“Shut up.” The whine that accompanied your words betrayed the cut of them and his smirk only grew.

His lips scaled the scarred terrain of your shoulders, climbing up the bruised battlefield of your neck, nipping at every inch you offered him with your head thrown back against the steamed up mirror. “Shut me up.”

Your chuckle intercepted your heaving breath, the hot pants hitting his skin and flushing his cheek. “Yeah?” You challenged, your words ghosting over his lips as he drew ever closer. The cut of your nails dug into his arm pulled back, your grip settling comfortably around his throat instead as you inhaled his violent groan. “Make me cum.”

He fought against your vice-like grip as you squeezed tighter and tighter, stealing a singular kiss from your lips. “Yes, Ma’am.”

These were his cheapest jeans anyways.

Dropping slowly to his knees, his neck pulled from your grasp and his mouth found your ready and weeping heat. With one lick, your thighs closed around his ears, one suck of your clit between his lips and one of your calloused hands found his hair while the other gripped tight to the sink for any hope of stability.

“Billy—”

His fingers had worked you too close to the edge already, it didn’t take long before his fingers, still deep inside you, found the right spot and the burning pressure of his mouth on your clit had you soaring. The beating pump of your blood filled your head, the thumping echo all you could hear as your vision began flickering in time with the ancient fluorescent over head. You could feel him moaning into you, your stubborn grip holding tight to his previously pristine head of hair, dragging you closer as your screams no doubt echoed around the small bathroom.

Maybe the music and the boisterous crowd outside in the bar would be loud enough to cover the sounds. Maybe not. He couldn’t care less.

All he cared about as he fought his way back to his feet was the lazy pull of your hand in his hair. All he could ever imagine caring about for the remainder of his lifetime was the effortless drag of your tongue over his chin and lips, collecting the remains of your orgasm before sucking him in for the longest kiss of the night. Loose. Languid. Luxurious.

“Was that up to your standards, your highness…” he murmured with a smirk along the side of your mouth, his hands scraping down to your thighs, dragging himself closer.

Your grip found itself again in his hair, tugging tight. “Take your pants off.”

“Ask nicely.”

He felt the warmth of your scoff against his cheek, but you agreed in the only way you knew how, your hand not buried in his hair dropping to the bulge in his jeans. “Please…” your lips pressed once to his chin, then to his neck, soothing the crescent mark your own nails had left. One kiss, then another, and before he could reach his hand to his own belt to comply, you bit into the mark and deepened the color. “Take your fucking pants off.”

His lips twisted into a snarl, but he had his belt off and his pants open in record time.

The condom in his wallet was only supposed to be a backup, but he had never been more grateful for his disgustingly hopeful thinking than he was to find it exactly where he had remembered it being wedged between the folds of leather. And as you pulled him out of his boxerbriefs and rolled it on with a few lazy pumps, your satisfied smirk told him you were equally grateful.

Still, your fought. “It’s not expired, is it?”

“God, I hate you.” He swore back, but his heart left halfway through the words, his chest deflating, a nearly whimpering moan leaving his lips as he pushed into your soaking folds. “I fucking—“

Your hips rolled as he seated himself fully within you and again, his breathing stuttered. If he thought he was close before, this was just embarrassing.

He remembered the ruthless violence of your fight, the blood running from your nose and staining your teeth, the strong pull between your shoulders as you landed hit after hit. He gripped tight to one of your thighs with one hand and flattened his other palm to the mirror behind your head as his pace picked up. He remembered the echoing crack as you landed your final blows, the utter brutality that oozed from you as you moved from one hit to the next. He dragged your hips closer, he pulled you flush against his chest, muffling your cries into his sweater.

He remembered your knuckles and every groan they elicited. He kissed your jaw, unable to stop himself from thinking of how many you had broken.

The rough drag of him inside of you was taunting, the feel of him so full yet your climax still dancing out of reach. It was too much and too good all at once. Too little and too overwhelming in the same breath.

“Billy—“ your broken sob tore through his chest with a heat he didn’t even recognize, a burn so heavenly he swore a sunburst sliced through him. “Fuck— Russo, yes—“

Every muscle in your body tightened around him, squeezing him, clawing at him, destroying his composure. He tried to draw it out, he tried to fight back from the edge, but your moans turned to music and his head emptied out. “I—“

“Come on,” you cooed, your words slurring as you forced his lips back to yours. He was melting, the heat was too much, searing his insides, charring his heart and fuck… he was melting into you. “That’s it.”

His nose scrunched, his teeth baring, a guttural snarl escaping his fiery chest as he powered himself even further into you. Again and again and again and— “Shit…”

You whimpered as his hips stuttered, you whined as he fell still.

“Shit…” he repeated, trying one last languid thrust as he found his way back down from his blinding high. “That was… fuck…”

“Yeah,” you muster just enough breath for a chuckle. “Yeah it was.”

He barely had enough time to catch his breath before you were pushing him back on unsteady legs, he barely managed to catch himself on the neighboring stall before you hopped down of the sink. He wanted to laugh at your sudden urgency, make some kind of joke, or pull you close and disregard it entirely, but he still couldn’t breathe. His hair fell in his face, his sweater rucked up around his waist and his dick barely soft—

He was a mess. A wrecked mess without the words to stop you. You already had your pants back on by the time he had the condom tied off in the trash, you were fixing yourself in the mirror before he even found a hold on his belt.

“You know, I know some bars with nicer bathrooms.” He finally fought, catching your attention as he fed the tongue of his belt back through. “Better beer too—“

A battering knock sounded on the door, making both of you jump. “Can you two hurry it the fuck up! Some of us have to pee!”

Neither of you two could hold yourselves back from laughing at that, breathless or not, even Billy felt a subtle heat rise to his cheeks. Not for getting caught—no, surely that was inevitable in a place this packed—but because he really didn’t care, because he wanted nothing more than to do it again.

You had to feel the same, that had to be as good for you as it was for him, god it was better than good. If you wanted him on his knees, he would beg. If you wanted to wreck his shit, he’d say ‘yes, please’—

You pressed a firm hand to his chest, forcing him back to the stall wall. Your lips hovered over his, so close, he could taste your breath. “This won’t happen again, pretty boy.”

His head quirked with a glare, your hand keeping him in place as he fought towards your lips. “No?”

“No.” Your lips grazed his as they formed around the word but it wasn’t enough.

“That’s a maybe then?”

“No, it’s not.” He could feel your pulse, the beat of your chest pounding against his as you keep him just close enough and still too far away. He could feel the lie as you made it.

His smirk only grew as his lips touched yours. “Well, if we’re not having sex, you should just come work for me.”

You hand slammed him back but he just laughed.

“Not fucking likely, Russo.”

He surged against your grip for one last kiss before you pulled back. “Well,” he sighed, slumping back against the wall and finally accepting his defeat. “I know where to find you, at least.”

Even your stubborn tenacity couldn’t hide your smirk as you unlocked the door. “Maybe so.”

That wasn’t a no.

#billy russo x reader #billy russo x female reader #billy russo #dirty pretty beautiful tag #the punisher

[mochegato]

You’re Mine

Continuation of Mine Protector

“Yeah, I made it home safe.”  Marinette didn’t even try to hide the exasperation in her voice. She tucked the phone between her ear and shoulder as she locked her front door behind her.  “You do realize I literally fight crime in this city, right? I can handle a few blocks.”  She paused to listen to him as she hung up her coat and purse and turning on the lights.  She let out a sigh.  “Yes, even after a few drinks.  For crying out loud.  How much do you think I drank?”

She rolled her eyes and giggled at his response. She moved toward the kitchen and let out a garbled mix between a squeak and screech, nearly dropping the phone. She fumbled to recover the phone with a glare.  “No, no. It’s okay, K… Adrien.  It’s just a vermin found its way into my apartment.” She paused again.  “Uh, huh.  I’m going to have to take care of this.  I’ll talk to you later.  Safe flight,” she answered distractedly.

She shot a withering glare at the vermin. “Make a copy of my key last time you were here?  Without my permission?”

“No,” Red Hood answered coldly.  “Your security just sucks.”

Marinette’s eyes narrowed further.  “No, it really doesn’t.”

“Well, maybe I'm just that good at getting into places,” he answered with a mockingly sweet voice.

Marinette hummed in agreement.  “Most rats are.”  She took off her shoes and slung them toward the bedroom.  She looked back up in mock surprise.  “You still here?”

“Worried your little boy toy is going to come back and get upset?” he growled.  “Or worried he’ll hurt himself trying to fight me.”

“My…” she stared at him while the pieces fit into place.  “You’ve been following me,” she scowled at him, “How creepy is that?  And take off that damned helmet… and mask,” she added quickly realizing he was probably wearing both like the dramatic asshole he was.  “If you’re going to continue to embarrass yourself the least you can do is face me like the rat you are.”

“I wasn’t following you,” he growled.  “I was on patrol.  You weren’t exactly being discrete.  Trying to get my attention, were you?”

Marinette scoffed and leaned toward him.  “You never even entered my mind,” she responded in a sickeningly sweet voice.  “And for the record, if he wanted you hurt, you’d be dead.”

Jason scoffed back.  “Please that twink couldn’t hurt a kitten on its deathbed, let alone me.”

“That ‘twink’ has a higher kill count than you,” she hissed back defensively and immediately slapped her hand over her mouth. That information wasn’t helpful or hers to give.

Jason stared at her for a few seconds.  “And you’re okay with him?” he roared at her, his face contorting in anger.  “You can’t even be seen with me because I take out disgusting, perverted, wastes of polluted air, WHO TORTURE AND KILL innocent kids.  But you can fuck him?”

“Excuse me!” she gaped at him before narrowing her eyes at him.  “My sex life is none of your business.  And there’s a difference.”

“Oh I’m dying to hear it.  I’m dying to hear why I’m not the exception… again.  Why everyone else gets a break but me.  Why everyone else gets a second chance but me,” he yelled back.  “So tell me, what’s so special about Teacher’s Pet.  What makes him the exception?”  She glared at him squeezing her lips together to stop from revealing any more of Adrien’s secrets.  Jason grinned maliciously at her and leaned closer.  “He must be awfully good in bed to warrant a second chance from the Manifestation of Morality.”

“Because it was an accident!” she yelled back at him, her anger boiling too wildly to contain.  She narrowed her eyes at him.  “He lost control once, just once for a few moments, and that’s all it took to kill billions.”  The room was silent as Jason stared at her, her panting breaths the only sound until she started again.  “And he doesn’t even remember it.  I made it like it never happened and made sure he never found out.  So it’s just me.  Just I know. Just I remember it.  

“He has no idea how much power he has, but he has an idea and the thought that he has a infinitesimal fraction of the power he really has terrifies him.  He has nightmares about it.”  She looked away with a frustrated frown.  “He can destroy the world if he wanted to, but he doesn’t. That’s the difference, Jason.  He could but he wouldn’t.”

Jason glared at her, his nostrils flaring.  “Well good for him.  He sounds amazing.  Perfectly perfect for you.  You two can be non-lethal heroes fighting crime… together.  Gotham’s new crime fighting power couple.  They’ll throw parades for you.”

“You sound jealous,” she scoffed.  He stared at her, lips pressed together so tight she couldn’t see any pink.  She gave him a harsh, biting smile.  “Then perish.”  She turned away to get a drink of water missing the way his brow furrowed and his eyes narrowed.

“Far be it from me to interfere with your happiness,” he gritted out.  “Just worried about your safety, not to mention your future, with pretty boy if you’re using him to get my attention.”

Marinette raised an eyebrow and set down the water bottle she’d just filled.  “Where was that concern two weeks ago when you tried to shoot me?  And what would Little Miss Green Hair think about that concern?” she hissed back accusingly.

Jason stared at her for a few seconds.  “I shot near you for appearances.  You were never in danger.  You’re the one that doesn’t want anyone to know we’re… that we…” he faltered for how to finish the sentence.  What were they?  He didn’t even know let alone have words to describe it.  He focused on the second part of what she said instead.  “And that’s Jenny.  You saw me talking with one of my lieutenants and decided to jump on the first dick you came across?”

“I did NOT jump on anything!  And don’t think so highly of yourself, you conceited prick. Your romantic interest in anything that moves doesn’t determine my actions,” Marinette shrieked at him.  

Jason leaned toward her with a smug look on his face. “So what was Teacher’s Pet?”

“Teacher’s Pet was…”  She stopped herself before she continued that sentence.  It wasn’t his business.  Adrien wasn’t his business.  And he had absolutely no right to be upset about her talking to someone when he was… when he…  She furrowed her brow in frustration and pushed her face in his.  “So you’re allowed to screw whoever you come across but I’m a whore if I talk to a man?”

“What the fuck are you talking about?  You’re bringing someone home with you every night this week and you’re completely innocent but I have a female working for me and I’m a whore mongering asshole?” he demanded.

“What about Miss Green Hair?  You two were doing an awful lot more than just talking when I saw you two.  And she has been quite, what’s the word,” she tapped her lips with her glass of water she hadn’t filled yet, as if in thought, “effusive in her descriptions of your interactions to anyone who would listen.  All around town.  Do you know how many times I’ve heard about your girlfriend and all the escapades you two have been up to?” she hissed at him.  “And all the many places you’ve been up to it?”

Jason gaped at her.  “You two are quite the gossip in Gotham.  Every henchman and rogue wants to talk about it. Every.  Single.  Time. We encounter one of them.  But, far be it from me to interfere with your happiness.”  She smirked back at him condescendingly, pulling her lips tight enough for the trembling not to be noticeable.  She leaned into the anger, trying to focus on that feeling rather than the feeling like a broken, ridged knife cutting through her.

He stalked over to her and loomed over her. She stood her ground, refusing to back away from him and give him that satisfaction, her smirk deepening with resolve. “I never touched her.  I never even hugged her goodbye.  She’s a damned liar if she said anything different,” he growled, leaning his face closer to hers until his lips were centimeters from hers.

Marinette’s smirk faltered and morphed into uncertainty. “I have absolutely no interest in her as anything other than an employee and after tonight she won’t be that anymore either.  And jealousy,” his eyes flicked between her lips and her eyes, looking for any signs of hesitance, or more overt permission, “doesn’t begin to describe it.”

Her eyes darkened and her breath became labored. She reached her hand up to touch his face but let her hand hover just shy of touching him, unsure if she was allowed or if she wanted what would come next.  She looked up to meet his eyes through half lidded eyes.  She finally let her fingers caress his face and Jason broke.  He grabbed her by the hips and pulled her flush against him.  He pressed his lips against hers in a hard, bruising, possessive kiss.  Marinette pushed back just as desperately.  She wound her arms around his neck and tugged him down to her level so she could intensify the kiss.  

She pulled away just enough to speak, her forehead pressed against his, her hands still around his neck, clinging to him, keeping him from moving away, her breath fanning over his lips.  “Why?”  She searched his eyes desperately, needing to know what this was, what this meant.

“Because you’re mine.”  He pulled her in for another hard, overpowering kiss, his tongue caressing hers, his teeth nipping her lips.  He ran his hands down her sides to her butt and grabbed it hard enough to leave bruises.  She moaned into his mouth and pulled him closer.  He lifted her up and settled her around her waist and continued to massage her butt.  He pushed her against the counter, supporting her weight on it while his hands roamed her thighs and belly.

“You’re mine,” he repeated against her neck as he kissed a line of open mouthed, wet kisses down to her clavicle, drawing soft, breathless whimpers.  “You’re mine,” he said again.  This time he pulled away from her, his eyes sought hers out, a questioning look in them, seeking confirmation, seeking agreement from her that she wanted to be his.

She nodded breathlessly.  “Yours.  If you’re mine too.”  She pulled his shirt off to get access to his chest and pulled him against her, laying kisses along his upper chest and neck.

He hissed as her nails raked across his back.  He brought her face back up to meet his and nodded, whispering “Only yours.  Always yours,” before ripping her shirt off of her.

<><><><><> 

Jason carded his fingers through Marinette’s hair as she laid on him, her head resting on his bare chest.  She hummed in appreciation and nuzzled further into his chest, running her hands lightly over his naked sides and hips.  He chuckled and shimmied slightly under her fingers, threatening to knock her off of him.  She looked up at him with an amused smirk.  “Careful, Pixie.  That’s dangerous,” he warned with a smile.

Marinette chuckled and rested her head back down, smiling against his chest.  “I’ll take my chances.”

Jason smiled back and started carding his fingers through her hair again.  After a few moments, his brow scrunched up, almost too lightly to see.  He wet his lips slowly as he prepared himself for the next question.  “So what about that guy?”  He was forcing his voice to sound casual about the question despite his racing heart.

“Hmmm?” she hummed questioningly.

“I’m just…” he started, not sure how to finish the thought.  “What are we now?”

She looked up at him with a frown.  She started to shy away from him, reaching for a sheet to cover herself for the important conversation he’d started.  His question had popped the utopic bubble they had created, allowing reality to come flooding in.  “I... I don't know.”  

“Are we dating? Boyfriend girlfriend? Fuck buddies?”

“We're not...” she started, aghast at the suggestion, but snapped her mouth closed and pulled away from him to pull the sheet around herself.  “It’s… is that all it is for you?”  Her eyes filling with hurt.

Jason scowled and pulled her down for another searing kiss.  He wove his fingers into her hair, pulling her head closer to hiss her harder.  He wound his other arm around her waist, turning them over so he was hovering over her.  He pulled away just enough to trace her face lightly, staring deeply into her eyes.  “This is a lot more to me.  You’re a lot more to me.”

Marinette let out a relieved breath and offered a gentle smile.  “Me too.” She ran her fingers along his jaw and cupped his face with a soft look.  Suddenly her face turned strained because Jason was right.  What were they? What could they be?  She searched his eyes.  She loved being with him.  She loved their time together and the feeling of his fingers on her body.  

But it wasn’t that easy was it?  Just him and her and how they felt.  Reality was more complicated than that.  Marinette hated reality; reality where Jason could be cold blooded, reality where she could be sanctimonious, reality where he killed, reality where she had to fight him, reality where she wasn’t allowed to plan a future with him.  “I… we…” she took a deep breath and looked up at him again, her eyes shimmering.  “I can't be with a crime boss.”

Jason looked away and nodded in understanding. He knew that was how she felt.  He knew where she stood.  She’d never tried to hide it.  She’d always been honest with him.  He started to roll off of her but she pulled him back to her.  “But I…” her voice was verging on desperate.  Jason looked back up, hope back in his eyes.  “It's more than just...” she floundered, trying to figure out the words.

He brushed nonexistent hairs from her brow.  “I just know,” he started, cutting her off, “I don't want to see anyone but you.  I don't want to touch anyone but you.  I don't want to be with anyone but you. And the idea of you with anyone else hurts.”

Marinette nodded and traced his face gently with her fingertips.  “I don't want to be with anyone but you either.  And the thought of you with someone else kills me.”

Jason turned on his side, propping himself up on his elbow and lightly tracing her jaw.  “So... what about Teacher’s Pet?”

Marinette smiled and turned toward him.  “He's a friend.  A really good friend.  Almost a brother.  He…” she thought if how to phrase it.  She trusted Jason.  Probably more than she should and he already knew her secret, but Adrien's secret wasn't hers to tell, despite how much she’d stupidly already given away.  But, she wanted him to understand how important Adrien was to her.  So half-truth it would have to be.  Not a lie, but not telling his secret either.  “He was a hero for a short while.  He saved my life more than a few times.  He was visiting for a few days and slept on my couch.  He just flew home tonight.”

“So…” he prompted, a relieved smile starting to grace his face.

“So, not romantic.  Platonic relationship.  Familial. And happens to be a teacher so… amazingly accurate name, by the way,” she grinned up at him.

Jason smiled back at her as he leaned down to kiss her gently, softly and stroked his nose against hers, resting his forehead against hers.  “Thank God,” he whispered.

“And Jenny?” she asked tentatively.

“I’ll let her live out of deference to you, but I’ll need to choose a new lieutenant.”

She shifted her eyes to the side for a moment as she thought.  “Beth would be good, or Glenn.  I like Glenn.”

“Glenn can’t keep his mouth shut when you’re around,” Jason grumbled playfully.

“I know,” she smiled up at him, her eyes shimmering with mirth.  “That’s why I like him.”  Jason rolled his eyes but smiled.  “He said I remind him of his daughter, so I think he’s kind of protective a little bit.”

Jason groaned and buried his head in her shoulder. “Well now I have to choose him.”

Marinette giggled and pushed up to peck his lips. She bit her lip and looked into his eyes anxiously.  “So where does that leave us?  Not dating, but not not dating…”

Jason quirked his lips to the side and furrowed his brow in thought.  “That leaves us as us.  Not official, but together.  I’m not giving up my work helping Gotham and neither are you so… Still enemies but... with benefits.”  He waggled his eyebrows at her.

Marinette giggled and hooked her leg over his hip and pushing him back until she was straddling him.  “I better be the only enemy getting those benefits.  Or ally for that matter.  Or neither.”

Jason smiled at the change of position.  He cupped her face and worked his hand behind her head to pull her down for a kiss.  “You are.  And you?”

Marinette kissed him sweetly and smiled against his lips. “You're the only one getting those benefits, too.  Have been since we met.”

Jason nodded.  “Me too.”  He pulled her down for a longer, more intense kiss.  “Marinette, I…”  He couldn’t finish the sentence.  It wasn’t the right time to say it.  They weren’t ready for him to say it.  But even if he couldn’t say it, he still felt it.  He knew what the jealousy he had felt meant.  He knew what the anxiousness he felt when he was going to see her meant.  He knew what the tightening in his chest when she left meant.  He knew what he was feeling, but he couldn’t put it out there. Not yet.  “…I hope you’re ready for this.”  He shot her a devilish grin before turning them over again and pulling the sheet away.

Tags:

@jasonette-july-event @maribatserver @aespades @jayjayspixiepop

#maribat #Jasonette #Jasonette July #Jasonette July 2021 #prompt - Then Perish #Jasonette Mine

[dr3amofagame]

Since starvation is canon imagine Dream in the future having to deal with the mental effects of it. His armor doesn't fit and feels like carrying hard rocks that hit him in his bones painfully. It's harder to do things that he did so easily before. He used to be able to move freely, whenever he was trapped he could rely on his body to carry him away from any bad situation. He could climb trees and run and swim so eaily but now it's so much harder, so much more tiring. It's a trapping feeling that follows him around constantly.

aww this ask made me sad ,, yeah post-pandora recovery is going to be a Bitch And A Half. just *shakes c!sam* stop violating basic human rights you creeper man you. 

anyway, have some more syndicate c!dream angst!! 

tws: ed mention (kinda), disordered eating, starvation, trauma, torture (mentioned), vomit mention, internalized ableism (? dream makes a few statements that sorta brush off his trauma), pandora’s vault/prison arc

His armor doesn’t fit anymore.

It’s a bitter pill to swallow. Dream may not be like Techno, is hardly as careful with his armor - he’ll slap on a Prot IV, Mending, maybe Unbreaking if he’s feeling generous, but he’s never really managed to shake the careless ambivalence he’s learned to regard most of his belongings with after their inevitable destruction, not after the chaos that made up growing up with Sapnap and George - not to mention the training from manhunts. His armor was a rushed, simple thing, made much the same way as he would craft any set in iron, the extent of its personalization limited to the neatly-printed “Nightmare” he used to mark each piece as his own. Even so - it had once been his, his constant companion as he traveled around the server, as comfortable over his shoulders as a second skin - it wasn’t pretty, or well-crafted, or worth anything much at all, but it was his.

He doesn’t have very many things that were his from before.

Most of the set is still left on the armor stand Techno had left in the room, only the chestplate missing from the wooden dummy so he can hold it up with his own two hands. He brushes his hands over the surface, feeling out the familiar runes scrawled over it back and front, hardly even legible thanks to his rush job. It’s clearly taken a beating or ten, nicks and scrapes covering it back and front - some familiar, most not - and he frowns as he shifts its weight between his hands, heavy and leaving his arms straining even after just a few minutes.

He’s no stranger to proper training - knows, still, after so long without sparring or practice or anything, that the set is too heavy for him. He may lean towards a lighter armor than most to allow for his movement and parkour, but it was still made for someone well-practiced and healthy - nothing like the wreck of bones and skin he’s become after months without proper meals and torture. He can hardly hold up just the chestplate alone - he’s not stupid. Netherite is heavy, and he can hardly manage more than iron for an hour or two.

He bites his lip, before tucking his head to his chest and pulling the chestplate up anyway.

His hands are clumsy as he pulls the straps tight, fumbling weakly with the buckles in a way that makes his teeth grind against each other. The weight immediately presses against his still-healing ribs, making them creak and ache dangerously in his chest, and the sudden, gasping pressure on his lungs nearly sends him into a panic. He ignores it all, focused on the worn leather on either side, pulls each piece as tight as it will go.

He’s not wearing any padding, and the feeling of the hard metal against his bones is hardly what anyone could call “comfortable,” calls back memories of himself, a foot on his back, pressed against unforgiving obsidian. He breathes in another slow, shivering breath, chest struggling to expand against the weight, and stands in front of the mirror.

He looks dumb.

It reminds him of being a kid and trying on Sam’s diamond armor for the first time, completely dwarfed by its height and breadth, waddling around awkwardly from the foreign weight strapped to his chest and the awkward way it hung off of him. His armor is more familiar but no less unfitting, hollow spaces lingering that should’ve been filled by muscle and fat, his sharp edges digging uncomfortably against its surface. It hums with the same feeling of unbelonging, like he’s taken something that belongs to someone else entirely, the same heavy discomfort that comes from wearing someone else’s shirt or drinking from another person’s mug. Hot tears spring to his eyes, and he stubbornly blinks them away; it’s just a stupid set of armor, really, it doesn’t matter at all-

“Hey, nerd.” Techno’s voice is muffled outside the door, and he knocks softly against the doorframe twice - a request to enter. Dream stares at himself a moment longer, debating whether to shuck off the chestplate first, before sighing and kicking at the floor - once, twice, granting permission.

The door opens slowly, but Dream’s traitorous body freezes anyway for a moment, muscles locked and tensed painfully under the heavy armor, and he forces another breath into his lungs to stave off the panic. Thankfully, Techno knows about his stupid brain enough to know to give him some time, leaning against the door frame as he counts off the seconds in his head until he looks back up again to signal that he’s ready for him to come closer.

His eyebrow lifts and he gestures at the armor he’s wearing. “That’s your old set, right?”

He nods, worrying his lips between his teeth as he lifts his hands to sign. Yeah. Ranboo brought them from S-N-O-W-C-H-E-S-T-E-R.

“Makes sense.” Techno’s face twists as he struggles to follow Dream’s signs; he’s learned quicker than he would’ve expected, at first, but there’s a few things that Dream needs to fingerspell, still. He looks him up and down, a wry smile on his face. “Isn’t that a bit heavy?”

Dream gnaws on his lips further, trying to decide what to say, explain what has left him staring at the mirror in silence for upwards of ten, fifteen minutes now. If he was more in the mood, he’d make a joke about his self-absorption. Instead, he looks away, signing with quick, overly casual movements.

Wanted to see if it fit. It doesn’t anymore.

“Ah,” Techno’s voice, low and drawling, has picked up that knowing tone that Dream’s learning to hate. “I see.”

He frowns, keeping his eyes trained the bottom half of the mirror, to his too-skinny legs peeking out of the bottom of his sweatpants. He tries not to look at himself too much now, doesn’t know what to make of the near-skeleton that stares back at him when he bothers to look, all sharp edges and unnatural hollows, the foreign ridges of his spine running down his back and his ribs sticking out at his sides. None of it is his - not this armor, not this body, all of it belonging to a Dream that hadn’t been through the fire and brimstone of Pandora, that didn’t recoil at the taste of potatoes, that could eat more than two meals a day without throwing up.

“Dream?”

He shakes himself out of his own thoughts, tasting iron from where he’d torn apart his lips with his teeth. He balls his fist, pulls it to his chest. Sorry.

“It’s alright, don’t worry about it.” He can hear the sound of Techno shifting from side to side, awkward in the silence hanging thick and heavy in the room, “Anyway, Phil’s made some stew. You goin’ to join us?”

The question gives him pause for far too long as he weighs his options - he knows he should eat more, knows that it’ll be the only thing that helps him fill out and heal and finally start recovering from everything in Pandora, but no matter how much he knows his mind still recoils harshly at the idea of more food. He’s not hungry at all, or maybe he is and he just doesn’t feel it anymore - it’s hard to tell, in this new normal. Everything’s hard, after Pandora.

In a few minutes, he finally signs, biting back a flush of shame at the clear surprise in Techno’s expression.

“Alright, whenever you want, nerd.”

Techno walks out the room, and Dream sighs, a wheezing heave of breath that leaves him exhausted and makes the chestplate feel heavier than ever. One by one, he reaches for the buckles, maneuvering them open so he can pull the netherite over his head and let it fall onto his bed. He stares at the thing for a few minutes longer, lips pursed, at the messily drawn runes and the unfamiliar dents along the top edge and a gouge carved on one side, deep enough to expose a slight blue line of the diamond underneath, and huffs, turning away.

He’ll have to call up Ranboo or something later to see if anyone wants an old set of netherite armor. He has no use for it, anymore.

#tw ed #tw eating disorder #tw starvation #tw disordered eating #tw trauma #tw torture #tw vomit #tw internalized ableism #tw ableism #pandora's vault #prison arc #long post #my writing :D #my asks !!

[fruitcoops]

Hey girly i was wondering if you could do a coops smut with the prompte 71 and/or 90 Pretty please and Thank you i love! Your writing

Coops wedding night!!! At long last it is here, and I still have more than an hour before midnight. Since it took me so long to get this out, I’m opening up fic requests until 12 pm (noon) PST tomorrow! Thank you all for your patience--it truly means the world to me. Coops credit goes to @lumosinlove!

Wedding Preparations II Part 1 II Part 2 II Part 3

TW for smut, hickeys, wrist restraint (for a bit), and happy tears

Prompt 71: “Go on. I want to hear you say it.”

Sirius looked like he was having a Moment™ as they stepped into the house and, being a polite and loving husband, Remus let him have eight solid seconds of awestruck silence.

Then he leaned up, sank his teeth into the side of Sirius’ neck, and sucked.

A breathless whine slipped from Sirius’ throat and he nearly dropped Remus before pressing him up against the nearest wall and kicking the door closed, gripping his thighs hard enough to burn in the best way. Remus hooked his ankles around his lower back, squeezing his waist until he drew a moan from the soft lips that mapped his jawline.

Sirius stopped cold when he ran his hands along Remus’ upper thighs, and he grinned into the kiss. “What’s this?”

“A surprise,” Remus said, skimming his teeth over Sirius’ pulse point. “Wait, are you laughing?”

“I’m—” Sirius broke off into snickering and set him down carefully “I’m wearing one, too.”

“You’re kidding.”

“It’s a wedding, sweetheart!”

Remus leaned back against the wall as he burst out laughing, then beckoned Sirius closer and kissed him softly. “I guess that means we should go upstairs, huh?”

“That depends. Do you think you can leave my poor thighs alone for once?” Sirius quirked an eyebrow as he led Remus toward the stairs by the rumpled ends of his bowtie.

“Never.”

Sirius’ grin widened and he grabbed Remus’ hand; they ran up the stairs in a tumble of laughter, nearly tripping over each other more than once in their haste. The air still hummed with electricity, but a steady undercurrent pulled them closer like magnets, inevitable and unbreakable.

The bed creaked as they fell onto it in a heap, which only spurred their laughter on until Sirius broke the kiss to roll onto his back and catch his breath, kicking his shoes off. “This is fucking incredible.”

“Hmm?” Remus scooted against his side, slowly undoing the buttons of his shirt with one hand while the other tipped his chin over for a kiss.

“I’m about—” Sirius’ palm cradled the side of his face as his tongue swiped along his lower lip. “—to have sex with my husband.”

“Yeah, you are.”

“In our bed.” Another kiss to the ridge of his cheek.

“Mhmm.”

“On our wedding night.”

“Indeed.”

“After an amazing party and fucking fantastic pizza.”

“It was pretty great.” Remus tangled their legs together and tugged Sirius on top of him, sliding the shirt off his shoulders with a smile. “Have I mentioned how amazing you look in a suit?”

Sirius ran his hands under Remus’ shirt, tracing his ribs. “Once or twice. How do you want me?”

“I wanna see you.” He unbuckled Sirius’ belt and tossed it to the side, laughing a little at the clatter it made when it hit the floor before he pulled him down for a hard kiss that was more tongue and teeth than anything else. “Fuck, it’s a good thing the season’s over.”

Sirius hummed as he slipped each of Remus’ buttons out one by one, running his index finger down the line of his sternum. “It is. I think Coach was getting tired of seeing me with a limp.”

Remus pulled back slightly with his fingertips still under the waistband of Sirius’ pants. “Why would you be limping?”

He blinked. “Because…I’m about to get fucked into next week?”

“But you grabbed my ass at the restaurant.”

“Sweetheart, I grab your ass all the time.”

“I thought it was a hint!”

Sirius sat up and made a timeout motion. “So we each thought the other was dropping hints about who was topping tonight?”

“…I think so.” Remus crossed his legs under himself and held his hands out. “Alright, let’s settle this like adults.”

“Rock, paper, scissors, sh—Remus!”

“What? We always do it on ‘scissors’!”

Sirius sighed and shook his hands out. “We always do it on ‘shoot’, honey. Take two. Rock, paper, scissors, shoot!”

“Fuck,” Remus muttered as they both did ‘rock’. “Third time’s a charm. Rock, paper, scissors, shoot!”

“Merde. This isn’t going to work, we know each other too well.” Sirius turned his puppy eyes on and Remus’ heart clenched. “Compromise?”

“How about…” He scooted forward, sliding Sirius’ tie off his neck and nosing down the side of his neck. “I tie you down and ride you into the mattress?”

Sirius hummed and tilted his chin to the side.

Remus moved up to his lips, pressing an open-mouthed kiss there. “And I could blow you?”

He felt a smile against his skin and gasped as Sirius nipped his lower lip. “Deal.”

“Pleasure doing business with you,” he said as he traced the familiar shapes of Sirius’ chest and soft skin; under his palms, a heartbeat quickened. “Easy, baby, I’ll take care of you.”

Sirius’ laugh was little more than a huff when Remus pushed him onto his back and straddled his waist to pull his own shirt off the rest of the way. “I know, that’s what I’m waiting for.”

His head fell back as Remus scattered light hickeys over his ribs and skimmed his nipples once in a while just to feel his hips buck on reflex—a lovely half-moan slipped through when Remus ran his blunt nails down his sides. “Can I see my surprise now?”

“Please,” Sirius panted, dragging him down for a brief, hard kiss.

Remus paused for a moment to cup Sirius’ face in his hands, pulling away with softer kisses before unbuttoning the front of his pants and sliding them down his legs; something soft with an itchy edge scraped against the side of his hand and his chest stuttered. “God, you’re gorgeous.”

“You haven’t even—unh—seen it.”

“Don’t have to.” Remus rolled his hips down again and Sirius’ breath hitched as he pulled away, shifting to get a proper view of the surprise. “Fuck, baby.”

“Yeah?”

Remus traced the edge of the garter, watching the scalloped lace and deep red ribbon ripple under his touch, setting off the summertime gold of Sirius’ skin like a wet dream. “Mhmm. Very pretty.”

Sirius closed his eyes as he hooked a finger under the elastic, giving it a quick snap before soothing the burn with his mouth; he feathered his lips over the strange texture, leaving small love bites in his wake before taking the edge between his teeth and slowly dragging it down Sirius’ leg. He shuddered when it slipped past the back of his knee and Remus smoothed a hand down his calf.

“Voila.” Remus held the garter up once it was off and cocked a playful eyebrow at Sirius, who couldn’t seem to decide where he wanted to put his knees. “Do you want to take mine off, too?”

“Hell no, you’re keeping it on.” Sirius reached for his pants and Remus shifted to help get them pants off—Sirius paused when the first edge of black and blue lace appeared, then took a deep breath and shoved them the rest of the way down so Remus could kick them off the bed. “Yeah, that’s staying on for the rest of your fucking life.”

“And you’ll be there the whole time,” Remus said, bracketing his waist as Sirius toyed with the edge of the garter. “The rest of our life.”

Something unbearably soft overtook Sirius’ face and he went still, scanning every inch of Remus in awe. “Our life,” he murmured, running a thumb under Remus’ eye. “I like the sound of that.”

“Me, too.” He ground down and Sirius gasped, reaching one hand toward the nightstand as the other dug into Remus’ hip; Remus caught his wrist and pulled it to his mouth. “Not yet, baby.”

Sirius twitched under his thigh and he grinned, sliding damp kisses to the crook of his elbow before shifting until he was level with his navel. Gray-blue eyes, glazed with anticipation, locked on his own before fluttering closed as he wrapped his hands around the backs of Sirius’ knees and licked along the fabric at the top of his dick. “Oh, fuck me,” Sirius breathed, flopping back down and throwing an arm over his eyes.

“I thought we established it was going to be the other way around?” Remus teased as he toyed with the edge of his boxers, tugging and snapping without ever moving them as he dampened the front.

“I love the way you look like that.”

“Then look.” He reached up and tapped Sirius’ elbow. “Come on, baby, look at me.”

A shimmer of silver appeared and Remus grinned, tonguing the vein he could feel swelling under his lips. Sirius took a deep breath and stretched his arms over his head, arching his lower back until Remus canted his hips back down and removed his boxers in a smooth motion. He sucked a hickey into the ridge of each hip, kissing a swirling pattern all the way to his inner thigh until he heard a whine at the tail end of Sirius’ exhale. “Are you going to be mean tonight?”

“Mean?” Remus’ smile widened and he shifted to lay on Sirius’ chest, closing his hand around his dick and pressing his thumb beneath the head. “Ever heard of something called foreplay?”

Sirius draped his arms over Remus’ neck and wound his fingers in his hair, giving a gentle tug. “You live to torment me.”

“Unfortunately, you love it.” Remus kissed him gently and gave him a quick squeeze before scooting back down the bed to take the tip into his mouth. Sirius cursed and twisted his hands in the sheets, and a tremor ran through him when Remus pulled away. “Do you need something to hold?”

“I—maybe?” Sirius flexed his fingers, already so hard he was starting to drip.

Wordlessly, Remus took one of his hands and put it back in his hair, then laced his own with the other. “Much better,” he murmured against the shaft before taking him down far enough that Sirius’ mouth fell open slightly. The light pressure at the back of his head made Remus’ eyes fall shut in bliss and he squeezed Sirius’ hand with a hum that sent a shiver down his legs.

“You’re fucking perfect,” Sirius panted. His eyebrows pitched as his dick hit the back of Remus’ throat and his grip tingled all the way down Remus’ spine. “Mon loup, mon coeur, oh—fuck, mon mari.”

Remus swallowed on reflex as the nickname lit up every pleasure center in his body and Sirius moaned, pushing him further. The corners of his vision went speckly for a moment and he pulled off with a cough, though he kept one hand curled around the shaft.

“D’accord?”

“Got a little excited,” Remus rasped, licking his lips as he went back to his previous position. “Good?”

“Of course it’s fucking good, it’s y—do that again.” A whimper caught in Sirius’ throat as Remus hollowed his cheeks, then sat back.

“Are you close?”

Sirius nodded, a little desperate as he ran his palms down Remus’ biceps and tried to bring him back. “So close, don’t stop.”

“Unless you think you can go twice…” Remus raised an eyebrow and Sirius bit his lip. “Really?”

He made a distressed noise and brought his knees up to squeeze around Remus’ waist. “I don’t know, I just—I need something, sweetheart, don’t leave me hanging.”

Remus leaned over to slide up his body until they were face-to-face, pinning his hands to the mattress. “That was quick.”

“If you knew what your mouth felt like—” Sirius’ defense was cut short by a kiss that he eagerly returned; Remus dug around with his free hand in the tangled sheets and smiled when he felt a brush of familiar material, looping it loosely around Sirius’ right wrist. Their chests bumped together and Remus shuddered when he felt Sirius’ shaft, slick against his own.

“This okay?”

“More. More, more, yes.” Sirius hissed the last word as Remus tightened the tie and wound the other end around one post of their headboard. “Mine’s on the—fuck, on the left side.”

A slip of black stood out against the white of their sheets and he pulled it free before tying it around Sirius’ other wrist, making sure it was just as tight before settling into his lap and opening the nightstand drawer. “Y’know, I thought you’d want to do this before I tied you up.”

Sirius’ already-labored breathing stuttered for a moment when he saw the lube. “I do.”

“You made your choice.”

“Sweetheart,” he whined, tugging at the restraints with a slight pout. “Let me do it.”

Remus paused midway through slicking his fingers and glanced down. “Look me in the eyes and tell me you want me to untie you. Once they come off, they don’t go back on.”

Sirius chewed his lower lip, gaze flickering between Remus’ face and hand. Finally, he sighed and relaxed a bit. “You’re so hot when you’re bossy.”

“Am I?” Remus closed his eyes as his first finger pushed in. The rough edge of Sirius’ sex voice had finally appeared and he let it wash over him, crackling against every nerve like a live wire as he ground back onto his hand. His fingers were slimmer than Sirius’—it was an odd feeling after so long.

“I love seeing you melt under me, but it’s different when you’re telling me what to do.” A slight roll of Sirius’ hips spread Remus’ knees further and he half-moaned at the sensation, adding a second. “God, Re, you’re fucking beautiful.”

Remus smiled, letting his head fall slightly to the side as he brushed his sweet spot and rocked down; the garter around his thigh slid against his skin and Sirius pushed his legs up, supporting more of Remus’ weight. “Mmm, still good?”

“Add another.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

“Remus.” Sirius spread his legs wider; since Remus was straddling him, he dropped down as well. “Add another.”

He took a second to catch his breath, then slid the third in. His mouth fell open with a staccato huff and he grabbed Sirius’ leg for balance, fighting the urge to ride his own hand until his building orgasm pulled him under. “Ngh—fuck, should’ve done this before blowing you.”

“At least I’ll last a little longer now,” Sirius mused, flicking his gaze toward the lube. His dick was still shiny with precome and Remus bit his lip to stop himself from taking him back down his throat. Other plans, he reminded himself. You have other plans.

He sank down on Sirius’ lap and kept a tight grip on those broad shoulders, watching as Sirius’ eyes unfocused. The first grind of his hips made fireworks pop behind Remus’ eyelids and he made an embarrassingly needy noise that was made slightly better by Sirius’ strangled groan. “I love you,” he gasped out, rolling his hips harder on the next push. “Oh god, that’s good.”

“I still can’t get over the—merde, comment dit on?” Sirius’ knees jerked inward and Remus scrabbled for a hold on his chest as the head slid over his prostate. “The ribbon thing? Lace, looks fantastic on you.”

“Garter. ‘s called a garter.” And I’m wearing it because I married you.

“What’s the smile for?” Sirius’ voice was soft and Remus blinked his eyes open as he sat down all the way, circling his hips slowly; his hands were clenched tight on the ties and a high flush colored his chest and cheeks, but his expression was downright smitten. Somehow, that was just as sexy as the flexing muscles of his abdomen as he met Remus’ motions.

“I just...” He shook his head, running his palms down miles of warm skin. His face ached from smiling all day long, but he couldn’t seem to stop. “We’re married. We got married for real. I fucking love you and you’re mine forever.”

Sirius’ eyes shone in the low light of their bedroom and his breath hitched. “Forever. I like the sound of that.”

“Can I untie you?” Remus stopped moving and soaked in the feeling of being warm, of being full. Sweat cooled on his back and he heard Sirius sniffle. “Are you okay?”

“Untie me, then I’ll tell you.”

He was careful as he loosened each knot and pulled them over Sirius’ wrists, almost reverent with each twist and tug. Once both wrists were free, he pulled them up and kissed Sirius’ pulse points, sinking into a puddle of mush when broad palms cradled his face gently. Remus looked down with a half-smile. “Spill the big secret, baby.”

Sirius kept his hands on Remus’ face as he guided him down to brush their noses together and press the ghost of a kiss to his lips. A single tear sparkled in the lamplight as it rolled down to his ear. “You are everything I’ve ever wanted. I never thought I would be able to have this kind of happiness, but you—” His voice broke and Remus felt something prickle behind his eyes. “You’re it, Re.”

“You know what I just realized?”

“Hmm?”

“We never did the ‘til death do us part’ line.”

Sirius smiled and traced Remus’ cheekbones like he was a holy relic. “As if death would ever stop me from loving you.”

“You’re so fucking romantic.” Remus pressed the heel of his palm against his eye as the tears tracked down his face and euphoria turned his whole body hot. He took a few deep breaths and swiped the dampness from his face before leaning back down to kiss Sirius soundly, pouring everything he had into their shared breaths. “I’m not—Sirius, I don’t tell you often, but you are my whole world. I’m not good with sappy words but I hope you know that I love you with everything I have and everything I am.”

“I know.” It was amazing how such simple words could make Remus’ heart pound with joy. He knew what heartbreak felt like, had tasted it and burned with it when he thought Sirius would leave him. But this...

Remus kissed Sirius’ forehead and held his lips there; the world narrowed to them, the breath on his collarbone, and the heartbeat under his hand. If heartbreak felt like spattering on the ground, this was flight, and he knew he would never come down from it.

They stayed like that for two seconds, an hour, a millennia before Remus shifted and electricity sparked through his lungs, kickstarting the heat that raced in his veins. Sirius held him close, snapping his hips upward as he kept a constant hand on the blue-black garter around Remus’ thigh—Remus had bought the thing as a bit of a joke, thinking it was the perfect cross between elegant and just tacky enough to make Sirius laugh with the tiny bow on one side. Evidently, he had misjudged the sexy factor.

Sounds punched from Sirius’ lungs, desperate and wanting despite the fact that Remus would happily give him whatever he desired. “Re, Re, please.”

“What do you want?” he murmured into the space under Sirius’ ear, skimming his fingertips over his ribcage until he dipped one side of his hips down with a moan and drew a cut-off cry from Remus’ mouth. “Sirius.”

“Don’t stop moving,” Sirius begged, even as he wrapped his hands around the base of Remus’ waist and pulled him into the right spot, fingertips digging into his lower back. “Do not stop doing that.”

His breaths were coming faster and the world blurred into shapes and colors as the wave crept up on him once more; if Remus had any shred of awareness left, he was sure his face would itch from dried tears, but he had reached the point of so-close-almost-there-just-a-little-more where everything was tortured bliss. “It’s so much,” he heard himself pant. “It’s so much, oh my god.”

Sirius was asking him something, babbling in French—more, sweetheart, mon coeur, mon mari—but Remus only caught every third word.

Husband. That means husband. The cool metal of Sirius’ rings was stark against the overwhelming heat of his thigh and he shivered, curling one hand in the sheets and framing the side of Sirius’ neck with the other as his thighs ached from dropping down again, and again, and again.

“It does.” Sirius trembled in every muscle as he wrapped his arms around Remus and ravaged the side of his neck with kisses and bites. “Mon mari. Mine, my husband. Go on, I want to hear you say it.”

“Mon mari.” The words sounded muddled in his ears, but it must have been enough, because Sirius fell apart beneath him with a shout muffled in the junction of his neck and shoulder. All it took was a hand closing around his shaft for Remus to jolt and moan and melt, tasting the salt of sweat along with something so quintessentially Sirius that he couldn’t help but bury his face in it and ride out the tide.

“I love you.” Remus blinked, propping himself on shaky forearms to meet Sirius’ eyes. They gleamed in the warm amber glow of the bedside lamp they found at a yard sale not three weeks prior. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” A smile spread across his face, followed by what could only be described as a giggle. “Sirius, I love you so much.”

“We got married,” Sirius laughed; the slightly hysterical crack to his voice only made them both laugh harder and Remus rolled to the side, clutching Sirius’ hand in his own as new tears of mirth gathered in the corners of his eyes.

“Who let us do that?” Remus managed after a second. “Who authorized this?”

“Minerva fucking McGonagall, that’s who.”

“We need to send her a fruit basket or something. Maybe a cat.”

“She does like cats,” Sirius agreed; he glanced over at Remus, still grinning, and then flopped on top of him like a dead weight.

“Ow,” Remus wheezed, torn between shoving him off and snuggling closer. “Ugh, you’re all sweaty.”

“And whose fault is that, hmm?” Sirius raised his eyebrows and scooted into a proper cuddling position, where he could press a smacking kiss to Remus’ cheek. “You’re in no place to talk, either.”

“I’m in the perfect place, actually,” Remus said, letting his legs fall open so Sirius could settle properly; he snuggled closer and kissed the dip of his collarbone. “We need to shower at some point, but…”

“…but you’re going to be raring to go in twenty minutes and I’m not moving until I cuddle the living hell out of you.” Sirius raised his head and stuck his lower lip out in a pout. “I missed our morning snuggles. As cute as Harry is, it’s not the same at all.”

“Tell me about it,” Remus muttered. “The next time we get married, we’re not sleeping in separate beds the night before. It’s a stupid tradition.”

“Deal. When are we getting married a second time? I’d rather not divorce you five hours after we tied the knot.”

“I guess we’ll just have to plan another wedding.”

“Do I get to propose this time?”

“Sure. It certainly takes a lot of the pressure off me.”

“You knew I’d say yes,” Sirius scoffed, giving him a playful squeeze around the ribs.

Remus shrugged. “It’s scarier than you think.”

“It’s not that hard.” Sirius shifted around for a moment, then pulled Remus’ wedding ring off and made a mock-serious face as he held it up. “Remus Lupin, will you marry me?”

“Gimme that,” Remus laughed, snatching the ring back and sliding it on. “For the record, yes.”

“See, that wasn’t so hard.”

He tapped the underside of Sirius’ chin with his finger and drew him down for a brief kiss, resting their foreheads together. “I’d marry you every day if I could.”

“It’s a good thing we’ve got a lot of days ahead of us, then.”

[olivia200312]

Accident~ RID2015! Optimus x Human! Reader

Plot: Y/N got into an accident in her house.

So, this is a true one-shot. This is NOT a lie. I got into an accident this morning. I woke up normally like every other human but when I wanted to move my head, I felt a massive intense pain at the back of my neck and head area. When I stood up, I felt dizzy. I moved a bit but it got so worse that I wanted to lay back down. But I collapsed and my face made contact with the floor. Luckily not hard but I did get a bloody nose. I felt very hot and was pale. But this all stopped when I laid down and slept a bit. My grandmother called my mom and she arrived s fast she can. The ambulance was called and they took me to the hospital. They checked my health and I was allowed to go. I also bit my lip a little bit hard so it's swollen when I fell. I wear a case around my neck and have to take it easy. This all happened on July 16th.

This continues after You're No Alone and Author! Check them out!

Author: one-shot where I became a self-published author on July 10th.

You're Not Alone: on February 5th, my grandfather passed away.

Head area:

Brain: Processor / Brain Module

Head: Helm

Face: Face plate

Ears: Audio receptors / Receptor Orifice / Audials

Nose: Enstril / Olfactory Sensor

Eye brow: Optical Ridge

Eyes: Optics

Mouth: Intake

Lips: Dermas

Teeth: Denta/Dentas

Tongue: Glossa

Chest area:

Chest: Chassis / Thoraxal Cavity

Back: Hexa-Lateral Scapula

Spine: Bipedalism cord / Back Strut

Chest and back armour:

Chest plate

Back plate

Mid-section plating

Neck guard

Side plating

Arm area:

Arms: Arms / Restarlueus

Forearms: Bitarlueus

Hands: Servos

Fingers: Digits

Arm armour:

Gantlets

Shoulder pads

Arm guard

Lower area:

Pelvis: Pelvis

Butt: Aft / Skid-Plate

Thighs: Tibulen

Calves: Cadulen

Feet: Pedes - the high heel bits are called Struts or Heel Struts.

Lower armour:

Skirt plates

Aft plate / Skid plate

Thigh guard

Ankle guard

General/Internal components:

Muscles: Cables / Pistons - It depends on the area in question.

Veins: Fual lines

Stomach: Tanks

Lungs: Vents - used to stop the con/bot from over heating.

Heart: Spark

Tattoos: D-con/A-bot Insignias and the lark

T-Cog: The thing that allows all Cybertronians to transform, be that their arms or their whole body.

Bonus:

Penis: Spike

Vagina: Valve

Body: Frame

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

The alarm clock went off through Y/N's phone. She groaned and reached to put it off. Just as she wanted to move her head, she felt an intense massive pain at the back of her neck and head area. The pain was so intense and aggressive that it paralyzed Y/N to move. She nearly cried because it was very painful! But she managed to push the tears down. She moved her head very carefully. She then managed to stand up but she felt extremely dizzy and hot. She even was pale! Just as she grabbed her things like her phone, the charger, her wristwatch, and her headphones, it got far worse. She wanted to lay down again. She really tried to reach the bed but then... she collapsed. Her face made contact with the ground. It wasn't luckily hard, but she, either way, felt her nose drip out blood. She bit her lip a little bit hard that it will be sure swollen later. She even felt hot! Due to collapsing, she dropped her stuff, creating noises.

There were fast footsteps heard and the door of her bedroom opened. It was her grandmother. The poor woman looked panicked once she saw her granddaughter laying on the floor. "N/N, are you ok?" She immediately helped her up and made sure that she laid down on the bed.

"I f-feel weak."

The grandmother then saw blood drops on the floor, the carpet. She picked up her granddaughter's stuff that was dropped and laid them on the table. "I'll call your mother and clean the blood. Oh my god..." She immediately left the bedroom to call Y/N's mother and once it was done, she started cleaning to get the blood off. Once it was done, she sat down on Y/N's bed and kept an eye on her.

There were noises heard since Y/N's granny lived in an apartment. There was an elevator. Y/N heard the elevator clearly and it stopped on the floor where Y/N's granny lived. The doors opened and she entered the place. She immediately entered the bedroom. Her eyes widened when she saw her daughter in a weak state. "What happened?"

"I-I don't know. She collapsed on the ground. She has a high temperature."

That's when Y/N heard that her mother will call the ambulance. Oh no... Please no needles! Y/N didn't have enough strength to respond she took small naps until the ambulance arrived. It was two grown-up adult males. They were friendly. At that time, Y/N managed to sit up on her bed, her feet touching the carpet floor. She explained everything to the men while her family watched worriedly. They checked her blood pressure and her temperature. Like this one thing where you put your finger in. Y/N's temperature went down back to normal quite fast and she even stood up! She even moved and she felt no dizziness! Huh, looks like her body took the action quickly. Y/N wanted not to get tested but her mother wanted her to. God... She's an overprotective mother since she's single and loved her child dearly.

Y/N's grandmother helped her granddaughter to actually put her pants on before the ambulance arrived. She carefully stood up while the men made sure that she didn't collapse again. Y/N's mother packed like Y/N's phone, wallet, and the book she published. She had to wait for a few days to finally hold her book in her hands. What's stupid was that she had to pay for her own book instead of getting it for free since she's the author after all. The world was so stupid sometimes...

For the first time in her whole life, she rode in an ambulance car. One man was driving while the other was with Y/N, writing important information of Y/N's mother's card ID. Y/N herself was 17, almost 18. Let's just say that the accident happened on the day when her mother was supposed to come over and hand her daughter the book. It was honestly a very sad day for Y/N... She was excited to hold her book in her hands but look t that... a freaking accident.

The ambulance finally arrived at the hospital and Y/N was checked this time by a nurse. Everything went fine. The doctor came to check on her and Y/N explained everything. The doctor explained that the pain might be caused due to sleeping positions or other reasons. And the attack of dizziness, it could be caused by stress.

"Ever since my father's passing, she had a very hard time accepting that he's not here anymore. I see her constantly trapped with her feelings and emotions. She might have possible autism but it's not sure yet because the tests didn't happen yet. She even confessed that she wanted to commit suicide by taking pills. We are going to a psychiatrist but it doesn't help sometimes." When Y/N looked at her mother, she had a sad and soft look.

The doctor looked shocked by Y/N's mother's story. He couldn't help but feel sad for the teenage girl. She suffered a lot and still does. No one deserved to go through this, especially a kid. He looked to Y/N's mother and told her that it's better to continue to go to a psychiatrist. That's when Y/N was finally letten go with her mother. But however, before they can ride fully home, she heard her mother make an appointment with the doctor for a blood test. Oh, come on!

Later~

Optimus heard the news of what had happened. He got very worried when he heard that Y/N fainted. In his processor, he knew that it could be from the stress. Ever since her grandfather's passing, she never got better. She would cry for days, she didn't eat for 3 days which caused her to feel dizziness and headaches. She nearly landed in the hospital because of this. She started having trouble with her emotions and feelings. Not only that, but 2 months later after Y/N's grandfather's passing, her mother had a discussion with her, and guess what she found out, Y/N's other grandfather passed away on December 23th! Y/N never met her other grandfather before. She never saw him but she did saw how he looked from photos. His death was kept a secret for 2 FREAKING MONTHS! Y/N's father went to live in England with his new 'family'. Y/N's father did everything, especially paying the bills but he found out that his girlfriend had enough money to actually pay the bills! She lied the entire time! Y/N's father quickly broke up with her so he lived alone now. Y/N remembered the day very well when she heard the news that her other grandfather passed away in December. She cried. Yes, she may have never met him but she's sad that she lost someone that she could never meet. She wanted always to meet him! But he mysteriously disappeared after Y/N's parent's wedding day! Y/N had so many questions at that time. Had he ever heard of her? Did he know that he had a granddaughter? And many other questions. Y/N was right to be mad at her family. She was furious for days and there's still anger in her, she just doesn't show it. She rather keeps it hidden.

On the 3rd of July, just as summer vacation began, Y/N traveled to Poland with her mother. Since her grandfather passed away in Poland, both mother and daughter had difficulties traveling. Corona was still out there and the airports were controlling the passengers. You need to have important documents and proof that you are fully vaccinated or negative. Y/N was not vaccinated so she had to the test and let me tell you, it was disgusting! You know, the long thick thin stick in your nose to get the cells? Y/N's mother was also not vaccinated so she had to do the test as well. On the 4th of July; she went to visit her grandfather's grave. It was so painful... Y/N's mother believed that it would ease the pain, but she was so wrong, it didn't ease at all! Y/N wanted badly to talk to her grandfather alone but her two aunts and her mother stood close by. She didn't get privacy at all. She was mad. Y/N refused to eat for hours as well. But eventually, she came to eat when it was time for dinner.

2 days later, she returned back to the cemetery. She was alone this time with her mom. She had one minute of silence with her mother and FINALLY, Y/N got the privacy she needed. She must have at least talked for 1 hour to her grandfather's grave because she spoke a lot. She was thankful that her mom understood her. She said at the end her goodbyes and wanted to hug his grave, but she felt ashamed, shy, and embarrassed so she only touched the cross and cried. She cried the whole time.

At that time, Y/N was fighting was depression for months now. It was not easy due to the loss of a loved one instead of an animal. She missed of course her pet friends she lost, but with people was very different. When you lose someone for the first time, it's so painful. It can take a long time to get over with or part pain will stay forever inside of you. Depression cannot be 'cured' but you can control it with your power. It's not easy and it can be stressful, exhausting, and painful as well. Pain can be felt in your heart. What's one of the most important things to NOT ever do to a depressed person was yelling. It happened to Y/N. Her aunt, or her second mother, who lived in Poland, texted her and asked how she was doing. Y/N responded that she's fine. But she also told also that texted if she doesn't get better because of her possible autism or mental illnesses, then she will not go to work. But what Y/N's second mother send next, made Y/N mad. She responded like she doesn't have mental illnesses and that she needed only more explanation. Seriously? That made Y/N cry! Why was she reacting fast? Why was she quickly angry? Why was she having bad days? Why was she losing interest in her activities sometimes? Why had she dark thoughts? Why would she cry a lot? Why was she having trouble with emotions and feelings? Think about other symptoms. Those were clear signs of depression. According to an American's website where the experts knew everything about the loss of a loved one and what can happen further in the future if you don't get better in like 5-6 months after you lost someone, the chances were high that you had depression but it's important to go to a doctor where it helps you and asked questions. It's important, to tell the truth. once it was done, the doctor will finally give you the diagnoses that you were waiting for what's happening inside of you.

Y/N had to wait sadly. Still waiting. It can take up to almost 1 year or 2 to meet the doctor where the diagnoses can be finally revealed. She had possible autism as well. It was very possible Asperger's Syndrome. It's autism where people have difficulties communicating with other people but also having trouble understanding. The person can talk very well but sometimes can be quiet as a mouse too. People who have it were very unique. They even don't like to be touched all the time and don't like to make eye contact. Y/N's grandmother was the first one to notice the symptoms and told her daughter, Y/N's mother, to bring her to the doctor but Y/N's mother didn't notice anything until finally years later when her father passed away. So, they're on the waiting list. I mean, they had to be.

But anyway, Y/N's mother caught her daughter crying after she was done chatting with her second mother. Sometimes, Y/N doesn't want to talk about why she's crying but she's sometimes being pushed a little bit too hard which was not smart at all. When Y/N explained why, let's just say that later, Y/N's own mother, started to yell at her. Yes, Y/N had been fighting for months but seriously? Y/N wanted to scream and fight back but she couldn't! But when the fight was finally done, Y/N's heart was full of pain and felt hopeless as well. Y/N's mother should have never yelled at her! The results will be only crying! Sometimes, it can give results of an attack or worse...

Later~

Y/N walked carefully while not wearing a cervical collar around her neck. The doctor said that she didn't have to wear it all the time and recommended to at least sometimes move carefully her neck. Y/N felt pain sometimes but it's healing. She couldn't laugh hard, not yawn widely, etc. It was so annoying! She still couldn't forget her mother's yelling inside her head and those memories will probably haunt her. She already got her first corona vaccine and tomorrow, she needed to take a blood test because ever since the accident, her health was getting suspicious. Y/N decided to confront her mother at the doctor tomorrow and teach her a lesson that yelling at a depressed person was not smart at all. Now that she's a self-published author, she's busy writing about her life to inspire and teach others. Her mother needed to learn too.

"Sweetspark, when I heard about your accident, I was very worried," Optimus said, who randomly appeared behind her.

Y/N turned around fully to let her neck heal. "I am fine now. Just giving my neck time to heal. Sorry about worrying you..." She felt ashamed.

Optimus wrapped her arms around her waist, causing her to relax and lean gently against him. "Please remember that you're not alone, sweetspark. We all are here to help you. What your carrier did was not smart but I am proud of you that you'll confront her about it."

Y/N only hummed and couldn't help but smile when she felt him leaving soft kisses where she felt pain at her neck and head area. She giggled and Optimus smiled.

P.S. when Y/N became an author, only her second ex, her family, and her followers on Wattpad congratulated her. None of her friends did. Do you consider this disrespectful rude or heartless?

Yes, readers. Every detail left there is all the truth, including the yelling as well. I got the first shot of the corona vaccine and I feel still small pain but it's not bad luckily like the HPV vaccine I got once. So painfully... But my mother feared that soon the entire country will force everyone to get vaccinated, except kids under 12. Sorry to disappoint you all about the shot... The part at the end of my friends not congratulating me is also the truth :(. Darn blood test tomorrow! I have a phobia of needles...

#optimus prime x human reader #optimus prime #x human reader #x reader #reader #romance #tf rid2015 #rid2015 #transformers robots in disguise 2015 #transformers

[jamespotterthefirst]

Auld Lang Syne (Ethan x f!MC)

aka the fake NYE date

Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr. Lilac Allende) Word count: 3.5K (sorry) Warning: some language

Premise: Ethan pretends to be her date (yet again) for her family’s NYE party. Part II of  As Long as You Love Me So

Author’s Note: *gestures grandly* Look at all those chickens fanfic tropes. Thank you to @aestheticartsx​​ for pre-reading this mess! 

4:00 pm

Impossibly, he was there with her, in an over-embellished cabin in Vermont, staring at the bed as though it would sprout claws and teeth any minute now. For lack of anything else to say or do, Ethan cleared his throat rather loudly. 

“There's only one…”

“Yep,” she returned quickly, voice sounding strangled with barely controlled worry.

They had been in that exact situation before, not too long ago in Miami. Except when that happened, they had never kissed before. At that point, Ethan had no idea how her lush, warm lips would feel against his or how every swell and dip of her body would fit so perfectly under his touch. 

Ethan was convinced she was remembering that experience as vividly as he was. They had made it out of there with their dignity and professionalism in shreds. Now, they had somehow managed to stumble into an even worse scenario. 

Lilac finally tore her eyes away from the mattress and threw him a furtive but defeated look. 

“It makes sense, I guess. My cousins are not as old fashioned as our parents. They think we sleep together all the time.”

Ethan almost coughed, but thanks to acting skills he did not know he possessed, he managed to keep his face neutral. Desperately, he steered his mind away from thoughts of Lilac in bed with him and all the magnificent things they'd do. 

“I'll take the couch,” he managed, throwing his bag atop the plump cushions. The loud thud of its landing served as irrefutable finality to his statement. 

Now that he was here, he would get through the evening at her side, careful to keep his meticulously constructed guard up. After the festivities, that couch would be his only respite from the magnetic pull that always made itself known when he was near her. And in the morning, they would drive back to Boston, where he could focus his attention back on Naveen and the slight improvement of his case. 

Just one night. 

He just had to get through tonight and then he could go back to putting as much distance between them as possible.  

5:00

“You're kidding,” Lilac said, eyes trained on the sparkling silver fabric her cousin dangled before her. The bleak sunlight pouring from the window hit the dress and sent iridescent beams of color all about. 

Natalia all but shrieked with excitement, clutching the dress close to her. 

“You can't tell me he won't love it!” 

Lilac said nothing, examining the outfit and trying her best to figure out how so little fabric would amount to a whole dress. It looked to her more like a long, backless shirt than anything else. And typically, the garment would be just her style, particularly when trying upstage her horrible cousin Griselda at her own party. 

Today, however, she couldn't help but second guess everything. Her stomach bottomed out just at the thought of Ethan's eyes on her in that dress. 

As though reading her mind, Natalia grinned at her. 

“He loved that pink dress you were wearing at dinner the other night,” she said in a sing-song voice.

Lilac remained silent, fighting back the persistent need to ask for more detail. Natalia, however, did not need an invitation to offer it in a giddy rush. 

“He couldn't keep his eyes off you, Lilita,” she gushed. “The way he looked at you when you weren't looking…” She trailed off, as though words were not enough to properly describe the heated, stolen glances of that night. “God, you can just tell he lo—” 

At this, her cousin halted abruptly, throwing Lilac a sheepish look. There was no way for her cousin to know if they had said the words to one another yet in this made-up relationship.

A sharp, painful wave of longing settled in Lilac's stomach at the thought. What would it be like to hear Ethan Ramsey utter those words, striking blue eyes looking down at her as though she was the only person in the world? 

“Anyway,” Natalia tried again. “You can tell Dr. Ramsey was feeling that dress the other night. I bet I can guess what you did when you got home.”

Lilac sincerely doubted that unless Natalia knew she had been so mortified that night when she got to her apartment that she downed half a bottle of wine and stuffed her face with Sienna's brownies.  

“Fine,” Lilac agreed at last, taking the garment from her cousin. “I'll wear the dress.”

Natalia squealed her excitement and Lilac couldn't help but smile at her cousin's contagious joy. 

“I can't wait to see the stupid look on Griselda's face. She's been in an awful mood getting everything ready for tonight. When she sees you in this, arm in arm with your hot doctor, she'll have a conniption.”

6:00

The familiar burn from the liquid was a welcomed relief from the many thoughts plaguing him. They alternated between thoughts of Lilac and his concern for Naveen, despite the many texts from the latter assuring him he was fine. Now that he was alone, he was beginning to understand just how much of a mistake this had been. 

Ethan took another drink. Despite how much he disliked Lilac's pretentious cousin, he had to admit she kept the cabin's home bar stocked with exceptional scotch. 

“Glenmorangie,” a voice said from behind him. 

Ethan did not have to turn around to know it was Griselda, standing a few feet away as though summoned. 

“Eighteen year,” she continued, eyeing the glass in his hand. She paused, as though awaiting praise for her excellent taste. 

Ethan determinately offered none. 

Lilac's cousin sighed, moving closer to the bar. The clamor of her heels against the floor echoed around the cavernous space of the otherwise desolate living room. 

“I'm impressed, you know,” she said in a deliberately causal tone. She took the bottle of Glenmorangie and poured two fingers in a glass. “I didn't think you'd actually show.”

Unfazed, Ethan kept his eyes ahead and took another swig. “I can't imagine why.”

Griselda let out a low, humorless laugh. “See, I didn't think a world renowned doctor would be interested in acting for a whole weekend, all for the sake of a lowly intern.”

The words were delivered with unmistakable triumph, each of them striking Ethan like the ominous tolling of iron bells. 

With experienced impassiveness, he turned to face her. Griselda wore a victorious smirk, dark eyes glittering as she took in the expanse of his chest with unveiled interest. Her smile turned coy, concealed briefly by the crystal of her glass as she took a drink. 

When he glanced away wordlessly, she pressed on. 

“You can drop the act, Doctor Ramsey. I'm not an imbecile.” Her voice was a deadly whisper. “My pathetic little cousin would do anything to impress me. Even fake a relationship with her medical hero to fulfill her pitiful little fantasies.”

His fingers clutched his glass with such force that the decorative ridges dug into his skin almost painfully. 

“How she roped you into her juvenile scheme is beyond me.” She had gravitated a lot closer to Ethan. “Lucky for you, however, you are free to act as you please now that I know.”

He could see a blood-red nail moving closer to his hand on the counter. Ethan raised his scotch to his lips, his grip so tight on the glass now that his knuckles shone white. 

“I'd never fake a relationship in front of you,” he muttered at last, carefully choosing his words. 

This had the intended effect because Griselda perked up, intrigued. 

“And why is that?” 

Ethan set his glass on the counter, facing her full on. Summoning his most charming smile, the same one that had a visible effect on many recipients, he leaned in close. 

Griselda's breath hitched expectantly. 

And then, very carefully, so carefully that there would be no room for her to miss the words, he whispered—

“Because you're not that special.”

7:00 

With one last glance at her reflection and a sharp, shuddering exhale, Lilac trekked to the dining room where most of that night's guests were already congregated. Many pairs of eyes landed on her as she entered, the din of conversation ebbing slowly. 

Griselda, who was chatting with her work acquaintances, stopped mid-sentence as her eyes fell on Lilac, the faux pleasant smile falling from her expression at once. There was something different about the furious glare her cousin bore into her like a knife. It was unabashedly disdainful, even hateful. 

Lilac would have enjoyed it any other night but instead, she was far too busy scanning the crowd for—

“Dr. Ramsey, there you are,” exclaimed Natalia, eyes falling over Lilac's shoulder. 

Before she could swivel around, a pair of strong, warm arms enveloped her from behind. His hands rested at her hips and his intoxicating scent cast such a heady spell on Lilac that she was lucky his strong chest offered her support. She had no hope of getting any words out, least of all when he leaned down and whispered in her ear—

“New dress?” 

8:00

Ethan realized far too soon that the distracting silver dress was the least of his worries. Unsettled as he was, however, he would occasionally find his attention hopelessly caught on the tantalizing fabric and the way it adorned her figure perfectly. He wasn't blind after all. 

Lilac laughed at something Sebastian said. She was far more relaxed after a few drinks, laughing with ease in a way that made Ethan's pulse quicken. 

“I bet Doctor Ramsey would love to see those,” Sebastian said with a laugh of his own.

“See what?” 

“Some videos of young Lilita singing Selena songs at karaoke, complete with signature dance moves.” Sebastian accentuated the last two words with easy movements of his hips, gracefully spinning in a full circle. “Remember La Lavadora?”

Natalia laughed. “We used to tie up our shirts and pretend we were wearing her famous bustier.”

Just then, Ethan caught Griselda's eye from across the living room. Her dark eyes fell to the space that separated Ethan and Lilac where they stood, a satisfied smile starting to dawn on her face. 

With a sudden rush of determination, he cupped the small of her bare back and pulled her close, his blood fizzing at her proximity. Lilac jolted slightly, turning a surprised glance at him. 

“Is this okay?” he whispered in her ear. 

Lilac glanced at him through heavy lids, her eyes falling to his lips for the briefest of seconds. It was enough to make his pulse a roar in his ears. 

“Yes.”

As if on its own accord, his thumb traced lazy circles at her back. Blushing, Lilac parted her lips and looked at him so intently, Ethan was convinced she was two seconds away from dragging him into their shared bedroom. 

He would gladly let her.

“Get a room,” Sebastian teased, prompting Ethan to remember her cousins were still there. 

From across the room, Griselda scowled, downing her drink in one gulp. 

“Luckily they have one,” Natalia added with a laugh and a wink for Lilac. 

9:00

Griselda's undisguised hostility grew more tangible by the hour. Their dislike was no secret to anyone in the family, but even Natalia and Sebastian couldn't deny something was different today. So different in fact, that even her unsuspecting guests, who had no background on her family, started to notice. 

“What's up her ass?” Natalia joked over the music. 

Lilac shrugged and took another sip of her champagne, despite Ethan's constant reminders that the drink was pitiful. 

“You're getting drunk off of garbage, Rookie,” he commented from where he stood at her side. 

His hand rested on the curve of her waist, burning through the fabric. Lilac was convinced she was getting drunk off of him, his touch, and the way his eyes pierced through her with each glance. 

Natalia perked up at the nickname. “Rookie?” 

“His nickname for me,” Lilac explained. 

Natalia, looking a bit tipsy herself, cooed, “Aww! That's so cute!”

Luckily, she didn't ask for further explanation. Instead, Natalia moved to chat with a family friend, one Lilac was increasingly convinced she harbored a crush for. 

“Something's different,” she commented to Ethan quietly. “Ever since dinner, you've been… just… different.”

Instead of responding, Ethan's eyes scanned the crowd. 

“What's going on?” 

His eyes softened when they met hers. Gently, he leaned in to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear. He didn't move his hand away, the pad of his thumb tracing lazy lines along her cheekbone.

Lilac held her breath, too afraid that any movement might scare him away. Their faces were so close together, his eyes taking in every inch of her face, as though memorizing it. Until at last, they rested on her lips. 

“Ethan—” 

And then the blinding flash of a camera forced them to spring apart.

“Shit. Sorry. That was supposed to be without flash!” Natalia said. “It's a cute picture, though.”

10:00

Pretty green eyes made his blood warmer than any fine scotch ever could. He leaned in to whisper something that made her laugh and that made him drunker still, the sound making him feel weightless. 

Ethan's hand alternated from her waist, back, arms. His skin all but burned anywhere he touched her, white hot and electric. 

At some point throughout the night he had stopped checking if her cousin was watching. He no longer cared if she was buying the act. 

Not that he had been acting for a second anyway. Every touch, every whisper, every smile had been genuine. 

More genuine still was the urge to kiss her.

11:30

“Estúpida!” Natalia shrieked at Griselda, drawing the attention of most of the guests. She had jumped back to avoid the splash of red wine headed her way but she had not been fast enough. Her lovely champagne colored dress was ruined with an ugly splotch. 

“Sorry,” Griselda said, not sounding sorry at all. “If it makes you feel any better, it was an accident.”

Lilac doubted that very much. 

On second thought, spilling wine over Natalia had been an accident because the intended target had been Lilac. 

From beside her, Ethan sighed loudly, pulling her close. “Are you alright?” 

Before Lilac could offer any form of reply, Griselda let out an exaggerated coo at the sight of them. Keith, her boyfriend, lurked behind her, looking embarrassed and like he wanted to intervene but wasn't entirely sure how. 

“Gris, you're drunk,” he said, gently taking her elbow. 

Griselda purposely ignored him, eyes zeroed in on Lilac and Ethan. In the chaos of Natalia cursing up a storm and Sebastian looking around their immediate proximity for something to help her soak up the mess, Lilac could not properly study the unmasked disdain on her cousin's expression. All she saw were fierce dark eyes sinking into here's, glassed over from a full evening of drinking, and an unrelenting snarl. 

“Que hermosa pareja,” Griselda commented quite loudly. No one, not even those who didn't speak the language, could doubt the sarcasm dripping from every syllable. 

Lilac thought her cousin must be very intoxicated to allow her native language out so freely. 

“You two are almost…” Griselda trailed off deliberately. “...too good to be true.”

A horrible sense of dread sunk in her stomach like a stone. 

She knew. 

Her cousin's words, drunk and slurred as they were, insinuated that she knew about their fib. 

Panicked, Lilac glanced up at Ethan and was surprised to see him unfazed, as though the information was nothing new for him. 

“So happy for you, primita,” Griselda went on, swaying slightly on her feet. “If you do end up marrying this one, I must help you plan the wedding.”

A nasty surge of panic speared through Lilac, her pulse drumming chaotically at her ears. She could see Ethan's confused frown from the corner of her eye. 

“I got my hopes up with the last one,” Griselda continued, words accompanied by a dangerous smirk.

“Griselda, shut up,” Sebastian snapped furiously. 

“Until he cheated on you. What a shame that was.”

The room went dead silent. 

Lilac's throat constricted painfully and to her horror, her eyes stung with the threat of tears. Her breathing, which quickened dangerously, came out in chocked little gasps and it took every ounce of her strength to stifle them. 

“And then when you took him back and he cheated again, I just didn't—” 

SLAP

Lilac's palm had connected with her cousin's airbrushed face with a resounding crack. She didn't pause to see Griselda's shock dwindle into hatred, or to hear any of the words Ethan was saying. Furiously smearing away the tears that had finally spilled, she turned on her heel and ran. 

11:50

It was ten minutes before midnight when Ethan finally found her, a lone figure in the middle of the backyard's gazebo. She didn't move as he approached, eyes fixed on the dark outline of the forest beyond. 

It was a particularly clear night for winter in Vermont, the remnants of the last snowfall nothing but grey sludge on the ground. Still, the biting chill of the night whipped against their skin and the only thing protecting her was a flimsy fleece throw blanket. 

Without a word, he removed his suit's jacket and draped it over her shoulders. Lilac merely looked at the fabric and let out a small humorless laugh. 

“Back to where we started,” she muttered. 

It dawned on him that he had done the very same thing the night this whole fantasy started. 

After a short, peaceful pause, Ethan opened his mouth to offer some kind of comfort. Before the words could leave him, however, she stood up from her seat on the bench with a renewed sense of purpose. 

“Let's get the hell out of here.”

Ethan nodded once. “We can go back to the room—” 

But Lilac was shaking her head. “Back to Boston.”

A beat. 

“Rookie, that's crazy.”

“No, what's crazy is this whole stupid scheme. Pretending to date? Who does that?” Her voice flared briefly with her temper, only realizing this belatedly. She looked away from Ethan. 

Ethan remained silent, giving her as much time as she needed. After a minute, she exhaled sharply and met his eye again. “I'm really sorry I dragged you into this.”

Ethan wasn't sorry at all. He dismissed the apology with a wave of his hand.

More silence. 

Lilac leaned against a wooden beam and let out another ironic laugh. “The funny thing is it didn't even work.”

“It worked.” 

At his side, his hands flexed instinctively, yearning to touch her just like he had all night. There was no question in his mind that everyone, including Griselda, was convinced of his feelings for Lilac. 

Lilac, meanwhile, sent him a questioning look and his pulse accelerated at the mere thought of telling her just that. 

“That's why she lashed out,” he said instead.

She nodded once, deep in thought. 

The way her shoulders pinched with tension and the slight quiver of her lips left no doubt that she was recalling Griselda's lashing words. And though Ethan was insurmountably curious, he refrained from asking. 

“Earlier,” he started quietly. “She confronted me about this being an act.”

Her head snapped to look at him. After a few seconds, understanding dawned on her beautiful, moonlit face. 

“That's why you…” she trailed off, looking slightly embarrassed. “That's why you put on a hell of a show.”

They could hear the swelling of voices from inside the cabin. Someone inside announced there were only their seconds left until midnight. 

Neither of them looked away from one another. Ethan's eyes descended to her petal pink lips and then back to her eyes. 

“It wasn't for show.”

Her breath hitched. 

“Lilac, you already know that I—” 

In the distance, the party-goers began their countdown. 

“Ten!” 

His hand found the dip of her waist, as though magnetized. 

“Nine!” 

Eyes never leaving hers, he pulled her closer to him.

“Eight!”

“Ethan,” she whispered. A plea and the sweetest sound he had ever heard. 

“Seven!”

Their bodies were pressed so close together, he wondered if she could feel the way his thunderous heart beat for her. 

“Six!” 

Lilac's perfume caressed his senses as her delicate hands clung to his shoulders. 

“Five!” 

“Lilac,” he murmured, sounding agonized to his own ears. 

“Four!” 

Her hand moved to cradle his jaw and Ethan briefly closed his eyes. 

“Three!” 

Delicate fingers danced along the planes of his face with a featherlight touch. 

“Two!”

Ethan basked in her touch, convinced there was nothing better. 

Nothing except—

“One!”

And he kissed her at last. 

Translations:

La Lavadora : “The Washer Machine”/ a dance move

“Estúpida!” : Stupid bitch

“Que hermosa pareja,” : What a beautiful couple

Primita: little cousin

Author’s Note: Ah! So there will definitely be a part 3. However, I still haven’t decided if I will work on that first or on the next Picta chapter. It depends what this volatile inspiration of mine decides!

Thank you so much for reading this!

And thank you so much to everyone who put up with me, my blog, and my writing this year. Your support means everything. Seriously, writing is one of my greatest joys. Before truly immersing myself in this fandom, I thought I’d never write again because of work and other responsibilities. 

Thank you everyone for giving me this gift back.

Happy New Year, my loves! I wish everyone success, happiness, and excellent health. Now, let’s all quietly walk into 2021 and not touch anything. 

Tags: @openheart12​​ , @takeharryandgo​​ , @trappedinfanfiction​​, @aestheticartsx​​, @aworldoffandoms​​, @paulfwesley​​, @myusualnerdyself​​,  @rookie-ramsey​​, @ohchoices​​,  @enmchoices​​, @i-bloody-love-drake-walker​​, @choicesfanaf​​, @openheartthot​​, @octobereighth​​, @nazarihoe​​, @utterlyinevitable​​, @kites-in-our-skies​​, @maurine07​​, @schnitzelbutterfingers​​, @doilooklikeiknow​​, @snesdudes​​, @kingliam2019​​, @perriewinklenerdie​​, @cinnamonspongecake​​, , @queencarb​​, @ethxnrxmsey​​, @missmiimiie​​, @jens-diamondchoices​​, @adamsdumortain​​, @apphia12​​, @kalogh​​, @lucy-268​​, @binny1985​​, @queenbirbs​​, @honeyandsunfl0wers​​, @newcolonies​​, @lilyvalentine​​, @rigatonireid​​, @interobanginyourmom​​, @parkerattano​​, @custaroonie​​, @nikki-2406​, @lilypills​​, @chasingrobbie​​, @nooruleman​​,  @lonely-mxxnlight​​, @ruinedbypixels​​, @shadynaturehilariouscookie​​, @tsrookie​​, @mvalentine​​, @professorkingslay​​, @drakewalkerfantasy​​, @casey-v​​, @helloblueeyedcat​​, @mysticaurathings​​, @blossomanarchy​​, @thegreentwin​​, @togetherwearerapture​​, @rookieoh​​,  @rookiemarsswiftie​​, @natashajaniphilchoices​​, @mysticalgalaxysstuff​​, @hatescapsicum​​, @choices-lurker​​, @kiara-36​​, @junehiratas​​, @danijimenezv​​, @macy-ray85​​, @adrex04​​, @canigetanawwjunk​​, @sanchita012​​, @overwhelminglyaquarius​​ , @scorpiochick8​​, @skylarklyon​​, @starrystarrytrouble​​, @mercury84choices​​, @drariellevalentine​​, @ethanrcmsey​​,  @aarisa-frost​​,  @udishaman​​, @a-crepusculo​​, @quacksonlover​​, @caroldxnvxrs​​, @ramseyandrys​​, @whatchique​​​, @varikasnuori​​, @dimitriwife​​​, @genevievemd​​​, @shanzay44​​​, @fabi-en-ciel​​​, @trebondialanna​​​, @lady-calypso​​​, @ashiiknees​​​, @dr-ramseys-rookie​​​, @stygianflood​​​, @bellcat2010​​​, @iemcpbchoices​​​,  @bellcat2010​, @iemcpbchoices​, @gryffindordaughterofathena​, @alookseeblog​, @whimsicallywayward15​

@emotionalswift2,  @lion-ess24, @lovingramsey​

#open heart #ethan ramsey #ethan x mc #playchoices #my writing #choices fanfiction #ethan ramsey fanfiction #open heart fanfiction

[p---ink]

White.

Author’s Note: First Chris Oneshot. It was supposed to be a blurb/drabble, but I think its a bit too long for that now. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this filth. Also you ever get that feeling, where you feel like you've came up with an idea in your head originally, but also feel like you may have seen it somewhere else? Yea that's how I feel about this piece. So if you've read something similar to this, please link it and let me know so I can edit or delete this post altogether.

Summary: Chris greets you after a long day at work, with some TLC.

Word Count: 2.9k.

Warning: Fluff and Smut. Oral (female receiving), fingering, Semi-mean Daddy Chris, over-stimulation, multiple orgasms, and I think...maybe that’s it? Please let me know if I forgot something.

Disclaimer: Gif is not mine. 

“The kids are asleep?” You whispered, when he held his finger to his lips upon your arrival. 

“Yea, I just laid Ezra down. That is one rowdy little person.” He said chuckling, leaning down to plant a kiss on your mouth. He held you by your waist to pepper more along your face. 

“Chris baby, you are a God-send.” You sighed, leaning in to his touch. “You will not believe the shitty day I had.”

“Hold that thought and take a seat, doll” he ordered, urging you towards the living room by your shoulders. “I’ll be right back.” He promised. 

You sighed as you threw your work bag down on the love chair beside you, kicking your shoes off in the process.  When you crossed the room to drop down on the sofa, the weight of today’s events crushed you instantaneously, as you waited for your husband to return. 

You’ve been married for six years, and he’s been good to you for all of them. Great even. He always listened, and almost never complained. How could he when he was usually away, due to his job? 

He was forever busy with filming, press tours and whatnot. It made him feel guilty to leave you and your sons so often. So any time he was at home for a break, he took full advantage. He spent time with his boys, and then the rest with you, spoiling you all with his love. 

Preoccupied with your stress, you almost failed to notice Chris taking a seat in front of you. He took hold of one of your legs, and that’s when you noticed your spa-kit placed next to him. 

“Baby, you don’t have to do this.” You cried, scrunching your face in relief when he rubbed your calf in just the right spot.

Chris flashed those pretty baby blues at you, along with that signature smug smirk. “You know I do. And you know I want to.” He said, before dousing his hands with oil. 

As he firmly massaged the coconut into your skin, you couldn’t help but marvel at him. Taking a pillow into your arms to hug, and hide your giddy smile, you reply with, “What I did I do to deserve you?”

“Well I would tell you, but I don’t have enough time, because you’ve got to tell me about what’s got my girl so upset.” He informed you with a stern look that read who do I have to kill? “Before you do that,” he started, placing your newly moisturized leg down before grabbing the other, “Choose a color.” 

You tucked your bottom lip between your teeth, peering over to take a look into the open basket. It had an assorted amount of different nail polishes and products for nail care. Your favorite color currently decorated the bottom of the basket, and it made you recall the time your oldest son Jeremy spilled its contents over while playing a game of “paint” about a week ago. That boy. You thought, shaking your head playfully. Well I guess I won’t be choosing that one. 

After a moment of close examination, and scrutiny, you chose “White”, which made Chris immediately stop his measures against your legs, to peer up at you through hooded lids. 

“So its one of those days, huh.” He smirked. “I was hoping you’d pick that one.”

“What do you mean by that?” You questioned. You hadn’t known he preferred certain colors on you. 

“I’ll tell you later, but first tell me about your day baby.”

He didn’t need to tell you twice. You were dying to get it all off your chest.  You spilled out your hearts content, as your husband massaged your legs, then your feet, and in between your toes. As he delicately removed the old paint from your last session, and proceeded to paint your feet, you were almost finished relaying the message. 

“…and its just like they treat me like I’m insane! But you know what? The way i’m always overlooked, and ignored, makes me feel like I am going insane. Every time I suggest an idea, its stupid. But let some asshat say the exact same thing, and they praise him like a god.” You complain, rolling your eyes, at your memories from your work day. 

Chris offered you the occasional nod or two, humming softly at your cries of frustration when needed. And as much as he wanted to offer his two cents on the matter, he knew that what you wanted most was to be heard. You just wanted to be listened to. And while you wouldn’t of minded him beating their asses, he knew you needed his tenderness. His love. His care. And so that’s what he gave you. 

“And you know why they do it right? It’s because I’m a woman! A black one at that. Lord Jesus, it pisses me off so much.” You sigh, finally bringing your eyes down to him, after they had been trained on the air and nothingness around you; you had a habit of re-living stories as you told them. “But honey, this has really helped out a lot.” You say, cupping his chin lovingly. 

“You know I’ll do anything for you doll. And fuck those sons of bitches. They’re idiots if they can’t see how amazing you are. If you quit, like I suggested a while ago, that’ll really show ‘em.” Chris exclaimed, applying a second coat of white.

“Now you know I love what I do. I just wish I was more appreciated is all!” 

He gave you a sympathetic look before saying, “well you know me and the boys appreciate you.”, running his fingers along the ridges of your toes to remove the misapplied dye on your skin. 

“I know you do baby. I mean look at what you’re doing for me now.” You said, gesturing towards the care he took with your feet. 

Chris just smiled in response. He only felt slightly defeated when you rejected his idea to stay at home. You told him many stories about the jerks you worked with. You were among one of the only women at your company, and you paid for that fact daily. You told him, how they would talk to you, and treat you, even though you had the same amount, if not more experience as they did. He didn’t want you to have to put up with that. He wanted you to kick your feet up and enjoy the life he would provide for you and the kids you both created. But, like the supportive husband he was, he honored your wishes to pursue your passions. He knew that was what made you happier at the moment. The time would come, where he could spoil you completely, though. 

“Speaking of this,” You started, motioning towards your feet once more. “What’d you mean when you said “So it’s one of those days, huh”” You asked, putting on your best impression of him. 

Chris put on a smile that could light up a room, as a deep throaty chuckle erupted from his chest, and vibrated through your body via your feet. “Is that what you think I sound like? No matter, I’ll tell you what I meant. I can predict exactly what it is you need, and how you feel, based on the nail polish color you choose.” He said confidently, picking up a clear polish to apply the final coat.

“Is that right?” You ask, failing to take him seriously, even when he flashed that cocky grin and brow twitch that he often used to back his claims. “You’re so full of shit.”

“Seriously. I can. Listen.” He informed you, opening the clear polish, and brushing the access paint along the insides of the bottle. “I can prove it.”

“Fine! Go ahead.” You state, becoming intrigued.

Delicately holding your left foot against his knee, he starts explaining his theory while applying polish. “You see, when you choose a pale blue or orange, I know you just wanna forget about things with a movie or a cuddle session. Forest green or black, when you feel like throwing a couple of shots back with your girls at a bar. Mauve and a nude of any kind are your favorites, and you request them when you need to feel in control, classy, or sophisticated. And you always choose a soft pink, or yellow, when you need a happy reminder, or a burst of energy and inspiration. Lavender, is a color I wish you’d choose more, since it represents your happiness. Gray, is a color I wish you’d choose less, since it means you’re sad. And then there’s plum purple and candy apple red, two colors I can’t get enough of. You want those, when you’re feeling sexy. See, baby I can read you like an open book.” He declared, moving on to your second foot. Feeling quite sure of himself. 

You just stared at him in awe. Then you realized he didn’t mention, the one he just spent  ten minutes applying. “You forgot about white.”

“Oh I didn’t forget angel.” He corrected, smirking as he finally finished painting both feet. “I’m just waiting on your toes to dry.” After he says this, he begins to sensually blow cool air on your toes. 

“Chris! Tell me what it means!” You pout playfully, growing fed up with his secrecy. Also tickled from the air he blew. 

“Fine. But be quiet, you don’t wanna wake those little demons.” He warned, fixing you with a stern look that made you erupt into quiet giggles. He always made you laugh with his juxtaposed funny-seriousness. He was seriously funny. “White is my absolute favorite. You wanna know why? Its simple, and doesn’t drown out your pretty personality. It goes with every outfit, purse, and hairstyle. You wear this color, when you’re frustrated. Exasperated. Annoyed. You choose white, when you need me to wrap those pretty little legs around my neck, so I can make you cum till kingdom come. Or until you see, ‘white’. Whichever comes first”. He finished, staring at you seriously all of the sudden. A thick silence had befallen the two of you, and you almost didn’t know how to escape it. 

After a moment, you break out into a smile, despite Chris’ unmoving features. “Are you sure that’s what I want? Or is it something you want?”

“It’s what you need.” He affirmed, finally matching your expression, only his smile held a lot more lust than yours. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

“I’ll tell you something alright, Chris. I think you paint my nails entirely too much.”

He lets out a breathy chuckle, moving to pack up the spa kit, before saying “So in other words I’m right.” He rises to his feet, peering down through his long lashes with a knowing grin, before turning to leave the room. But not without saying, “Don’t worry baby, I’ll give you what you need.” Leaving you an anxious mess.

You start squirming in your seat, waiting with anticipation for him to return. You try to sit in your sexiest pose, but it makes you feel awkward. Then you start to wonder if you should remove your underwear. But you know he likes doing that. You even wonder if you smell okay, after such a long day at work. A million thoughts race through your mind, and you barely register his presence when reenters the room. You slightly jump, when you feel his warm hands brush against the nape of your neck.

“Shit baby.” Chris laughs, as he rounds the couch. “I knew it was bad, but I didn’t realize how bad. Let daddy, handle this for you.” He says kneeling back in front of you, knees tucked firmly under his person. He smoothes his hands over the expanse of your soft supple skin, leaving a burning trail of desire in his wake. When he hooks his fingers underneath the waistband of your panties, your breath hitches as the cool air hits your moistened sex. 

You lift your thighs and legs, so he can carefully remove the lace without ruining his handwork on your feet. When Chris surveys your dampened panties and inhales their scent, his grin grows wider. “You’re already this wet for me?” 

He gives you no time to answer as he’s pulling you closer to his face, by your thighs. The sudden movement caused a whimper to escape your throat, soft sound making his cock harden. He’s working his kisses up against your thighs with a quickness, ready to produce more sounds like the last. 

Your head’s position on the couch has you feeling a bit awkward, and you go to say  “This is uncom—” but cut yourself off with a moan, as he dives his thick tongue between your petals, writing love notes against the skin.

“What’s that, doll?” Chris asks, hot breath dangerously close to your bud.

You just mewl in response, wetting his beard with your juices, as he eats you like you’re his last meal. “Right there baby.” You groan, grinding yourself against his mouth when his tongue darts against your nub. 

“Right here?” He questions softly, repeating the same gestures, sending a jolt through your body that makes you buck against his face. 

Your words leave your throat, as he sucks harshly against the problem areas, shocks of pleasure emitting through your person. And just when you thought it couldn’t get any better, he adds his fingers. First two, but then three as he starts fucking your pussy. 

“D-daddy!” You cry, voice coming out shaky as you writhe against his lips and fingers. His actions have you climbing up the couch. 

Then he removes his lips, warning you to keep quiet. “My babies are upstairs, I’m gonna need you to keep your pretty mouth shut.” He commands, placing your soaked panties between your lips. 

As he quickens the pace of his fingers, and makes his tongue dart from left to right relentlessly against your clit, you approach your first orgasm of the night, and he knows it too, when your hole clenches around his fingers. 

He smiles, and tells you how proud of you he is, but he isn’t done with you yet. 

♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎

Your muffled moans ring through your ears, as you clamp your teeth down around your underwear. Your jaw was becoming slack from keeping it open so long, and you were feeling sore.

Chris was still continuing his assault against your sex. He had long moved from his position on the floor, and now sat beside you on the couch. 

He had your legs sprawled open, keeping them from closing with one hand gripped on your thigh, and the other rubbed fast and hard circles against your clit, while he whispered sweet nothings into your ear.

“What number was that one, baby? Five, six? I lost count after the third time, when you squirted on daddy’s chest.” He growled, biting his lip, as he quickened his pace against your nub. “Do you think you can do that again?”

You moaned in protest, shaking your head from left to right, as you approached another orgasm. You couldn’t take anymore pleasure, your sensitive bud was going through too much.

“What’s that baby? I can’t hear you.” He teased, face as serious as it could be. He was testing you. You knew not to remove the underwear, or you’d be there all night. When you made no moves to pull them out, he did it for you, a string of spit connecting your lips to the fabric.

You immediately pleaded with him to ease up. “Daddy I don’t think I-I can take an-nymore.” You cried, now a blubbering mess.

“You don’t think you can take anymore?” Chris repeated, mocking you. “Well that’s too bad. Daddy thinks his princess looks too pretty when she’s cumming. So suck it up, because I’m not stopping until we have to replace this couch.”

You  felt that familiar coil in your stomach again, threatening to snap, as you threw your head back. You were a sweating mess now. You had hair glued to your face, and neck, and your shirt was drenched, as it clung to your stomach. But still, it wasn’t quite as drenched as your pussy, thighs, and couch cushions were. 

Chris was as hard as a rock, but you knew if you touched him, he’d get angry. He wanted to play with you, until you were begging him to stop.

“What happened today at work again baby? What was it Chad said to you? I bet if I have you fucked out like this every night, I’d be the only man on your mind.” He whispered against your ear.

Your stomach began spasming, as you clenched painfully around nothing. This would be your last one too, before your body gave up. 

Tears streamed down your cheek, as you contorted your face into the sexiest expression Chris had ever seen. And then, just before your screams of pleasure could rip through your chest, he covered his mouth over yours, as you squirted all over his hands, your thighs, and stomach. When you finally opened your eyes, you could only see white, before your vision came back into focus.

Massaging the wet, between your folds, Chris bought his fingers up to your lips and said “open.” And you did, sucking all your juices from his digits without breaking eye contact. “Attagirl.” He praised, wiping your tears away. Feel better now?” He asked, small smirk playing on his lips.

You nod tiredly, throat dry from your previous activities.

He brushes your sweaty hair behind your ears before saying, “Good. Now, let’s paint those pretty pink walls white, too.” 

#Chris Evans smut #Chris Evans fluff #chris evans x reader #black reader #Chris evans #marvel smut #marvel fluff #captain america #Steve rogers #ransom drysdale

[thetravelerwrites]

Dr. Mael Halvorg (Finale) Lemon

Rating: Explicit Relationship: Male Part-Fae/Female Part Fae Additional Tags: Exophilia, Monster Boyfriend, Fae, Reader Insert, Genetics Content Warnings: Children, Pregnancy, Incubation, Birth, Babies, Surgery, Male Infertility, Mention of Cancer Words: 4233

The finale of @ivymemnoch​‘s commission! The reader takes Dr. Halvorg on a weekend trip for his birthday and changes his life forever. Please reblog and leave feedback!

The Traveler's Masterlist

The plus sign on the stick had taken you by surprise. You don’t know why, though; you knew this was probably going to happen eventually when you decided to stop your birth control. Of course, you didn’t expect it to happen so soon, since he was still recovering and potentially wouldn’t necessarily be any more fertile than he had been before, but considering how prolific your family was, it shouldn’t have been a shock.

Three months after Maël’s surgery, his test results had been not quite normal but favorable, and he was already talking to you about perhaps finding a surrogate and in-vitro fertilization, getting your opinion and making sure you’d be okay with it. You told him to wait, perhaps, and give himself more time to allow his… swimmers… to get stronger. You hadn’t told him you were already prepared to carry his child for him. You wanted it to be a surprise. A gift.

But now, after dating for six months, there it was. Right there on the ultrasound screen: a tiny little baby belly bean, no bigger than your thumb. Whatever doubts you had were always drowned out by one sentence.

He’s going to be so happy.

You went into his office after getting home from the OBGYN, having told him you were simply going in for your normal bi-yearly check-up. He was working, like always, but he looked up when you came in and smiled.

“How’d it go?” He asked you.

“Totally normal and healthy,” You replied. The both of us.

“I’m glad to hear that,” He said, putting down his pen. “No lunch with Amai? It’s Wednesday.”

“I know,” You said. “But I wanted to spend time with you.”

His smile widened and he opened his arms. You went over and sat in his lap, giving him a kiss.

“So, you’re birthday is coming up,” You said nonchalantly.

He snorted. “I haven’t celebrated my birthday in over one hundred years.”

“All the more reason to do it now!” You insisted. “I want to take you on a weekend trip. There’s somewhere special I want you to see.”

“And what would that be?” He asked, smiling at you fondly.

“A surprise,” You said, twitching his nose. “It’s in New York, though.”

His head rocked back. “That’s a ways away. Why are we going so far?”

“You’ll see. Do you want to go? Please?” You looked up through your lashes at him, being playful, hoping you weren’t being too weird and that he didn’t suspect anything.

“Well, alright. I don’t really have much work to do right now.”

You sat up and looked at him in shock, laughing. “I totally didn’t expect you to agree!”

He hugged you close and laughed too. “Well, there’s no reason not to, I suppose. And I’ll do just about anything for you if you ask nicely enough. God, it’s been ages since I actually took an actual vacation.”

“See? Perfect timing.” You bit your lip and looked at the door slyly. “Does the door lock?”

His eyes flicked to the door and back to you, narrowing them. “Yes. But the room isn’t soundproof.”

“I can be quiet. Promise.”

You thought he’d decline and say it was inappropriate to be intimate in his office, that he’d see you after he was done working and then the two of you could play back at his massive suite. Which was now your suite as well, as you’d moved in with him about a month ago.

What you didn’t expect was him to grin sinfully at you and get up, closing the blinds. He went around to lock the door and sat on the couch on the opposite side of his desk and patted his lap. Smirking, you joined him.

Climbing into his lap slowly, straddling him, you went in for a deep, probing kiss, dragging your fingernails down his chest over his shirt. He groaned against your lips and put his hands on your legs, petting under your skirt and slip, raking his fingers against the lip of your stockings. You’d taken to wearing stockings because he rather liked them. It seemed to do a lot to turn him on, especially when they were all you were wearing. He also had a corset fetish, too, but you couldn’t wear a corset all the time, especially around the children, so stockings were a happy medium.

He kneaded your buttocks under your skirt as you reached between the two of you and unbuckled his pants, unzipped the zipper, and reached in, fondling him over his underwear. His groaned deepened and he squirmed underneath you, his head falling back onto the cushions.

You started kissing his neck, pulling up his shirt and running your hands up his back. He had large, curious scales on his back, an artifact of his fae heritage. They were a lot like pangolin scales: wide, brown, and ridged. He often wore special padded shirts, because normal shirts were shredded by the end of the day. You thought they were adorable and loved grooming them for him, which he greatly enjoyed and made him almost purr, though you could cut a finger on them if you weren’t careful.

He reached under you and pulled your panties aside, lining himself up with your entrance. You sank slowly down onto him, drawing it out, and he hissed in a breath, biting his lip to keep quiet. You began to move on him, and he moved under you, thrusting up as you thrust down. He was always a very active, enthusiastic participant during sex, even if you took the lead. One hundred years of celibacy might have had something to do with that.

He flipped your skirt up and tucked it into your waistband so that he could watch himself go into and out of you, watch your thighs flex and contract, and run his thumbs up the straps of your stockings. You pulled the tie from his white-blonde hair and shook it out of it’s neat braid, letting it fall around his shoulders so that you could play with and tug on it. His pace quickened, and you matched his rhythm, the both of you beginning to pant and moan, quickly suppressed.

There was a knock on his door. “Dr. Halvorg? I need your signature on these invoices.”

He pulled you against his shoulder, muffling your sounds of pleasure, but he didn’t stop thrusting. You bit into his shoulder to keep yourself for crying out.

“What are they for?” He called through the door, his voice remarkably even-sounding.

“For the medical equipment from Broadchurch,” The assistant said.

“No, no, we never got the product, we’re not paying that,” He said, for all the world sounding like he was sitting as his desk staring at paperwork and not railing you on his couch.

“I’m going to cum,” You whispered into his ear.

“You promised to stay quiet,” He told you just as silently.

“I can’t!” You responded desperately.

“You promised.”

“So what should I do?” The assistant said, seemingly none the wiser that you were about to explode.

“Call them and ask where our equipment is. Until they locate it, they’re not getting a penny.”

You balled up his shirt in your hands and gritted your teeth as you came, gushing on him and holding your breath to stay quiet. You made a squeak, and his hand closed on your throat.

“Shh, shh,” He hushed.

“I’ll call them back, but I don’t think they’ll be very helpful,” The assistant replied. “They haven’t responded to any of the emails. The only communication is from emails.”

“Send them an email, then. I’m busy, though, so get on with it,” He said impatiently, staring at your face as your orgasm crested and ebbed, keeping a firm grip on your neck.

“Yes, sir,” The assistant said. You heard their footsteps recede.

“Oh, fuck,” You breathed.

“You did well,” He said, allowing his breathing to go fast and shallow. God, he had amazing self restraint. “Good girl. Stay still, I’m almost there.”

His pace became frenetic and bounced you high on his lap. He let go your your throat and gripped your hips, slamming you down upon him. He grunted, getting a little red in the face as he smacked his body into you.

You felt him release inside you, pulsing against your inner walls. When he was done, he flipped you over and lay you down on the couch, watching his seed well up and out of you to drip down onto the vinyl couch. He always did that, and you weren’t sure why.

You went to the en-suite bathroom to clean yourself up and brought him a wet towel so that he could do the same. When you were both done and had straightened your clothes, you spent a few minutes making out against his desk before he sighed.

“I should help my assistant contact the supply company. He’s a bit of a pushover, the poor kid.” Maël smiled down at you. “That was nice. We should do that more often.”

“We almost got caught!” You objected.

“Hey, it was your idea,” He said, grinning. “I’m looking forward to whatever you have planned for our trip. I’m sure it’ll be amazing.”

“It definitely will be. I promise.” You kissed him one more time, lingering for a moment, before unlocking the door and letting yourself out.

Next week, Saturday morning, you took a plane out to Albany, New York, and drove a rental car to a house in Glenmont. When you stopped in the driveway, Maël looked at you with confusion and a little bit of apprehension.

“I don’t understand,” He said. “What are we doing here?”

“You’ll see,” You replied. “Come on.”

You walked him up to the front door and knocked. A young woman in her forties or fifties answered.

“Hello?”

“Hi, are you Mrs. Winston?”

“Oh, yes, you must be the young woman I spoke to over the phone!” She said. “Come in, come in. He’s in the parlor.”

“Thank you so much.” You stepped into the house with Maël following. You could feel the curiosity and confusion radiating off of him.

You were led into a sitting room where a man in a wheelchair was reading a paper at a table. He was quite old, by human standards, in his mid-eighties perhaps. He was hooked up to an IV and had an oxygen cannula in his nostrils.

“Dad?” The woman said softly. “You’ve got visitors.”

The man looked up at the two of you. Despite his advanced age, he seemed completely within his faculties.

“Are you the woman I talk to?” He asked you.

“Yes, sir,” You responded. “Thank you for agreeing to see us.”

“It’s no problem,” He said. He was staring at Maël.

You pulled him forward. “Dr. Maël Halvorg,” You said to Maël. “I’d like you to meet Dr. Maël Halvorg. Robert’s son.”

Maël’s eyes widened and his mouth dropped in shock. He seemed unable to speak. You smiled at him encouragingly and nudged him forward.

He cleared his throat and held out his hand. “It’s a genuine pleasure to meet you, sir,” Maël said in a small voice. “May I sit down.”

“Please,” The man, Dr. Halvorg, said, shaking Maël’s hand and gesturing toward the chairs. You and Maël took a seat.

“Do you know who I am, sir?” Maël asked tentatively.

“I do,” Dr. Halvorg responded. “You raised my father.”

“Yes,” Maël said, smiling in relief. “I loved your father very much.”

“I know you did,” Dr. Halvorg replied. “My father spoke of a lot when I was growing up.”

“Is he… is he alive?”

“No. I’m afraid he died about eleven years ago,” Dr. Halvorg said sadly.

Maël sighed and hung his head a little. “I suspected that might be the case, but I hoped.” He looked back up at the older gentleman. “Did he grow up okay? What kind of man was he? I apologize, but I just have so many questions.”

Dr. Halvorg chuckled. “It’s no trouble. Honestly, I was hoping I might get to meet you one day.”

Maël smiled. “You were?”

“Oh, yes. May father told me so many stories about you when we kids were growing up.”

“How many children did he have?” Maël asked earnestly.

“Four sons,” Dr. Halvorg replied. “He was a great father and a brilliant man, though he said he had a rough start.”

Maël nodded. “Yes, Robert had some learning disabilities that made certain things difficult.”

“He told me that many people said he was lazy and stupid, and that you were the only one who believed he could learn. You dedicated much of your time to helping him.”

“Yes,” Maël said. “Being in school made him quite frustrated and sad, so I took him from school and taught him myself at home. He seemed to respond positively to that.”

“Indeed, he did,” Dr. Halvorg replied. “It was because of you that my dad became a teacher.”

“Robert was a teacher?” Maël asked delightedly.

“Oh, yes,” Dr. Halvorg responded. “He taught children much like himself, the ones who needed special attention and care. He was well respected in his field and much loved by his students. He didn’t want to retire, in fact. It was age and illness that forced him to stop.”

Maël held a hand to his chest. “I’m so proud to hear that. Robert was always a determined boy, so I’m so pleased to learn he kept at it.”

“He struggled, I’m afraid,” Dr. Halvorg admitted. “After his mother, my grandmother, left you for his biological father, things changed quite a bit. His father was not as understanding or as patient as you had been and set him back rather badly.”

Maël frowned. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“As far as my memory goes, he never called that man ‘father.’ As far as he was concerned, you were his dad. But his biological father insisted on wiping you out of their lives. That’s why he had to hide that.” Dr. Halvorg pointed to a picture on the mantle. “Young lady, could you kindly retrieve that?”

“Of course,” You said, standing up and going to the mantle, where there was a black-and-white photograph in a frame. It was Maël, wearing fine early twentieth century clothes, his hair cut short and wearing a flat cap. He was standing with his hands on the shoulders of a young boy, perhaps eight, wearing similar clothes. You took it and handed it to Dr. Halvorg, who gave it to Maël.

Maël stared at the picture, his eyes bright and glittering with tears. “I never thought I’d see his face again.”

“Keep that,” Dr. Halvorg said. “He’d have wanted you to.”

“Oh, I couldn’t!” Maël said. “This is yours!”

“I have digital copies,” Dr. Halvorg said dismissively. “In any case, I won’t be needing it much longer anyway. Stage four lung cancer, you see.”

“I’m so sorry,” Maël said mournfully. “Can anything be done?”

Dr. Halvorg shook his head. “I’ve lived a good life. I have children, and grandchildren, a beautiful wife, a wonderful job. The one thing I wanted was to meet my father’s father. Not that other man who did his best to tear my father down. The man who did his best to lift my father up. You. And I’ve done that. I can go now content.”

Maël’s restraint cracked, and he wept. “I appreciate that very much,” He said in a strangled whisper.

Maël and Dr. Halvorg talked for hours, recounting stories from both Robert’s childhood and adulthood. Dr. Halvorg showed Maël pictures of his siblings and children. Maël told Dr. Halvorg about his life’s work in reviving dying races. You watched the two of them interacting, and it made your heart swell with gladness. You’d never seen Maël so happy and excitable.

Finally, nearing sundown, you realized that Dr. Halvorg was becoming tired. His daughter came in to give him his evening meal and medication, and the two of you said goodbye.

“It has been an absolute joy, Dr. Halvorg,” Maël said, shaking Dr. Halvorg’s hand. “You lovely daughter has my number and my email, so please keep in touch.”

“My pleasure,” Dr. Halvorg said. “You have a nice trip back with your lady, Grandad.”

Maël laughed and teared up again. “I will.”

Outside, before you could get back in the car, Maël pulled you into a tight, warm hug.

“Thank you,” He whispered into your hair softly. “Thank you so much. I love you. I love you. I can never repay you for this.”

“What about a diamond ring and a pretty white dress?” You asked, wiping his tears and smiling up at him.

He laughed. “It’s a deal.”

Back at the hotel, he sat on the bed and stared at the photograph, pointing out little marks on Robert’s face and telling you stories about them. You listened with your head on his shoulder.

Eventually he stopped and placed the frame carefully in his suitcase.

“Are you hungry? I’m starving. Let’s order something.”

“Before we do,” You said. “I have a birthday gift for you.”

He chuckled incredulously. “Honey, I appreciate that, but honestly, there’s no possible way you could have topped what you gave me today.”

“Are you sure about that?” You asked, going to your suitcase and pulling out a small rectangular box. “Here, open it.”

The second he saw the pregnancy test, he fell to his knees, sobbing loudly, his head pressed against the floor. You knelt next to him and rubbed his back, letting him get it all out. Years of despair, pain, and sadness being released. You’re sure he was overwhelmed, so you waited in silence and lay your head against him.

“Is this real?” He choked.

“It’s real,” You assured him. “I have an ultrasound picture.”

His head popped up, tears streaming down his face. “Can I see it?”

“Of course,” You said, pulling it from your purse.

“Oh, my God,” He wept, staring at the small bean in the picture. “Oh, my God. It’s mine?”

“Yes, honey, it’s yours,” You said. “We can do a paternity test if you want, but I promise you it’s your baby.”

He stopped being able to speak and just cried. He cried for a very long time. You picked him up and laid him in the bed and ordered some food. While waiting for it, you climbed into bed and held him.

“Are you okay?” He asked after some time.

“Me? Yeah, I’m completely fine. Are you okay? You were crying pretty hard there. I’m surprised you haven’t fallen asleep. I’d be exhausted.”

“That’s not what I mean,” He said, lifting your chin so you were looking at him. “Are you okay with having a baby? I know I’ve been talking about wanting to have a child for as long as we’ve known each other, but is this what you want?”

“Yes, it is,” You told him. “I stopped my birth control months ago.”

“You didn’t tell me you’d done that,” He said.

“I wanted it to be a surprise,” You said, stroking his cheek.

“You. Are. Amazing,” He breathed. “I am so happy. Happier than I have any business being, and it’s all because of you.”

“You deserve to be happy, Maël,” You said. “Don’t ever thin’ otherwise.”

He pressed his forehead against yours. “I love you.”

“I love you back.”

Yenuno and Amai we’re overjoyed to hear the good news, and the children also seemed to be happy to have a new playmate coming. Maël seemed unable to stop smiling. He took time off from work to take care of you during the worst of your morning sickness and was present for every doctor’s appointment, every ultrasound, every time you even texted him. If you asked, he’d drop anything he was doing to come and help you.

His little girl was born in the spring, and he named her Roberta. He took her everywhere with him, rarely putting her down for any reason, even keeping her on his shoulder when he was working. The joy that radiated from him was infectious, and everyone near him couldn’t help but smile at his brand new attitude.

You planned your wedding for fall that same year, and afterward, you and Maël were able to take Roberta up to New York to meet Dr. Halvorg. He passed away a few weeks later. You and Maël attended his funeral, and as Dr. Halvorg was buried in the same family plot as Robert, Maël got the chance to visit his son’s grave for the very first time.

“Hi, Robert,” He said softly, kneeling down in front of the headstone. You waited with Roberta asleep in your arms a few paces back.

“I’m sorry,” Maël said, his voice breaking. “I’m sorry I didn’t do more when your mother took you. I wish I had fought to keep you, but I didn’t think I had any right. I just wanted to know where you had gone and if you were safe, but she told me nothing about where you were going and disappeared. I bribed the men at the train station and the docks to look through the ledgers, to try and find your name, but I never found it.

“I will always blame myself for not doing more, for not stepping in and making sure we could keep in contact. I should have taken it to the courts and let them decide, but I… I was scared they would determine I trying to hold on to something that wasn’t mine.”

Maël sniffed and wiped his eyes.

“I just wish I had one more chance,” He continued. “I wish I could have had a phone call, at the very least, to talk to you and hear your voice and tell you what I should have said back then. That it didn’t matter whose child you were biologically or legally. I was your father. You were my son. Nothing would ever change that.” His voice cracked further. “You will always be my son.”

After a moment silent tears hitting the grass where Robert lay sleeping, Maël straightened up an took a deep breath.

“I know where you are now, and I’ll come visit again, you and my grandson,” Maël said. He laughed. “I can’t believe you named your son after me. I’m honored more than I can tell you.”

Maël turned to you and opened his arms for the sleeping form of his daughter, his face wet with tears, and you passed her over.

“You have a baby sister, Robert,” He said, smiling. “I named her after you. She’s always smiling and happy. She reminds me so much of you when you were little that it’s kind of scary. I think the two of you would have been best friends. I’ll make sure she knows all about you.”

You put a hand on his back and rubbed gently. He kissed Roberta’s forehead and tiny little ear.

“We have to go now, Robert. You’re baby sister is going to wake up soon and be hungry. But I’ll come back to see you again, I swear. This time, I promise I’ll come back.”

As winter crested into spring again, Roberta was walking and had said her first word: “Daddy.”

You were still teaching at the facility, and had taken up the job permanently. Yenuno and Amai’s little girls were Roberta’s favorite playmates, though they had been warned to be careful, as Roberta developed more slowly than they did.

“Can we have another one? Please?” Maël asked one night as he watched gleefully as Roberta used her fat baby fists to shove raviolies in her mouth.

“Give me another year, but yes,” You replied.

“A year!” Maël whined. “That’s so long!”

“Don’t sass me,” You told him. “A year and no sooner. Besides, you still have more work to do. Did you get in touch with the Celtic Fae Council?”

“Yes, finally,” He replied, picking up his fork. “I didn’t realize how much red tape was involved. Genetic testing is underway. So far, there have been three men with similar blockages as mine. There are also a few women who were born missing one or both ovaries. We’re trying to trace back when this infertility spike started, but it could have been a millennium ago.” He laughed as Roberta threw a ravioli across the room. “I think she’s done, she’s just smashing them into her tray now.” He stood up and swept her up out of her seat, not even caring about the marinara stains on his shirt. “Come on, sweet pea, let’s take a bath. Eh? Eh, princess?”

He bounced her and she squealed.

You got up from your seat and came up behind him, circling him around the waist with your arms.

“You’re a good dad, honey,” You told him. “Roberta’s lucky. We both are. And so is our future children.”

He turned in your grip and kissed you. “If luck exists, you brought it with you. None of this would have happened without you. You are a miracle.”

You kissed him again and pushed him toward the bathroom. “She’s putting ravioli in your hair.”

He belly laughed and headed for the bathroom. You followed and marveled at how much had changed, wondering how it would change again. You looked forward to it.

Since my work is no longer searchable, please do me a favor and reblog this story if you enjoyed it. Help me reach a wider audience! To help me continue creating, please consider becoming a Patron or donating directly to my PayPal!

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My Masterlist

The Exophilia Creator’s Masterlist

[malkumtend]

Their Booth (part 3) - Human Squirrelcrow AU.

Crow has never found making friends easy. That wasn’t so much a problem for him because, until recently, he never really wanted friends. Too much hassle. His mother had a problem with it though. She used to try and set him up with other members of the track team. Pairings in class, setting up group work after school, even study meet ups with other teachers’ kids. Each ended with the same result. The disappointment lined her face like ridges on a mountain, and Crow found it hard to not feel terrible when he saw the look in her eyes.

“I’m doing my bit, Crow.” She’d said once as they’d walked away from a track meeting that had ended with half the team glaring at Crow as he left. “I can introduce you to people, but it’s your job after that.”

“I never asked you to do anything.” It was true, he hadn’t. He couldn’t look at her as he’d said it.

“I wish you would, maybe then you’d put in a little effort.”

Effort? Effort was just standing around people. Effort was pretending you didn’t notice when people looked at your height and rolled their eyes, smirking. Effort was hearing warnings about not talking to you and not ripping into them there and then.

Crow put in enough effort.

“I don’t want to.” Was all he had said.

Ashfoot just sighed and that, strangely, was just enough for Crow’s teeth to start chattering in the summer air. “Fine. Then you’re on your own.”

She didn’t interfere much after that. Not even a question. Crow had made his point.

She must have been hiding her dismay at his attitude for a while, because every time he came home nowadays Ashfoot was practically jumping with questions.

“What was she wearing? Where’d you go? Did she notice your new haircut? Why don’t you invite her here once and a while?”

Crow held up his hands as if he was protecting himself. “Mom!” He tries to walk by her, but she pulls him down excitedly next to her on the couch. “Seriously! Calm down!” He pats himself over but he doesn’t stand back up. It wouldn’t do much; Ashfoot had a good grip.

“Come on! Tell me! Tell me!”

Crow can’t help but laugh. She looks so bright now. “Mom, we were just studying math. It wasn’t like we were seeing the Moonstone monument or anything.”

Ashfoot rolls her eyes knowingly, “Crow, it’s ten, and it’s a Friday night.” She squeezes his arm so he feels a sharp pinch. “I’m a teacher. You were not just studying."

“What can I say? You raised me right.” He wants to leave it there. The TV is on, some nature documentary plays, he fakes being interested in it to ignore her interest in him.

Her hand leaves his shoulder, she sits back, crosses her arms, her eyes go hard. “One. Two. Three-”

“Oh, really? You’re going to do the-”

“Four. Five-”

“Mom, I’m not some kid any-”

“Six. Seven. Don’t make me reach ten.”

“Honestly, we were just-”

“Eight. Nine-”

The panic from childhood authority betrays him. He’s vaguely aware that he’s begun to sweat. “Okay! Okay! Stars above, fine!” He ignores the expectant smirk and the satisfied tilt of her head. “We headed around Highstone Street for a little while. There’s some media store that she likes to check out there. Also,” He’s ashamed when he feels his ears go hot. “She wanted us to visit the museum. She said there was some cool new sports exhibit there.”

“Oh, yeah I heard of that!” Ashfoot perks up, “Was it good?”

Crow can’t lie. “They have Wind Runner’s track shoes from when she won the state finals!”

Ashfoot’s jaw drops, “Are you kidding?”

“No.”

“What colour were they?”

Crow’s grin broadens. It’s amazing to share an interest with a parent. “White with black streaks with grey soles.”

Ashfoot is already on her phone, typing feverishly into notes. “Remind me tomorrow to set up a class trip.”

“Sure.” Crow knows he’ll be recording his mother as she drifts into a fangirl state at the sight of so much sports history. He also knows he’ll be grinning the whole time as his teammates try to configure that the hysterical middle-aged woman is in fact the teacher who could easily take the role of a military drill instructor if asked.

Ashfoot is still typing when she asks, “Did Squirrel enjoy it as well?”

Crow squeezes the sidearm of the couch absently. “I guess.” He shrugs.

“Try to be more convincing.” An octave drop is all it takes to go from cheery to sullen.

He sighs. She probably didn’t enjoy it that much. It was no secret that Squirrel was not a fan of sports. Crow would be surprised if she could even guess where the last Olympics were held. She showed up at his track races, but it was only because they were friends, if they weren’t she wouldn’t set a foot near the field.

“I don’t know.” Crow chuckles. “I don’t really think she enjoyed it, except when we checked out the boxing section.”

“Did she say anything?”

“No. After we saw half the exhibits, I asked her if she wanted to leave. She said no.” Actually, she’d told him to shut up and enjoy himself, and that she wasn’t paying ten dollars to not even see the whole exhibit. Crow kept his mouth shut after that.

Ashfoot sets her phone down, “Well then maybe she enjoyed it. It was her idea, right?”

Crow nods, but he doesn’t believe her words. He’s suddenly worrying: Did he make her go through an hour of boredom? Did she waste her money and time over him? Did she get in trouble with her parents for coming home late? He feels his pulse rocketing and he wets his lips. Should he call her to see if she was okay? Should he apologise for making her act like she was interested.?

“I hope she didn’t mind.” Is all he says.

Ashfoot’s face scrunches up, “Don’t be stupid. She wouldn’t have suggested going if she hated it that much.” She must not like the look on her son’s face. Her arms cross as she leans back in her cushion. “Tell me, how many times have you gone to that media store with her?”

The question catches him off guard. He feels exposed somehow. He thinks for a moment, blowing out air. “Um, three or four times, I guess?” It’s probably more but admitting that feels embarrassing and like he’s backing into a corner.

His mother waves her hand, “And I know that you’re no Leonardo DiCaprio. Did you care when she took you there? Were you annoyed?”

He doesn’t respond. It seems he doesn’t need to as his mother raises an eyebrow. “There you go.” She says, a teacher’s declaration giving her sincere command, but with a lightness only Crow can find some kind of comfort from. “I’m sure she doesn’t care that much. It’s what friends do.” Crow blushes at how it seems his mother needs to explain what friends actually did. “You do things you’re both interested in. It’s not some kind of drama; don’t turn it into one.”

Crow can swear his home life is some kind of soft detention. He knows it’s the teacher in her voice that sounds so convincing. Maybe it’s also that what she’s saying makes sense. There really had been no indication that Squirrel hadn’t enjoyed herself, but there was equally nothing Crow could think of that gave the impression she had.

Maybe his mother was right, that she didn’t need to do either. Perhaps tolerating interests was part of the description.

But he didn’t want her to tolerate these things. He really wanted her to enjoy them. If she didn’t it felt like she was only tolerating him.

He’s silent for too long. He does that when he doesn’t have an answer.

“Oh my stars,” Ashfoot says, her chin digging into her knuckle, “Crow, what’s the worst that could happen? Do you really think she’s going to hate you because she allegedly didn’t like some museum? I haven’t even met her and I know she isn’t that shallow!”

Crow lifts his head an inch. There’s a bitter taste on his tongue. He hates it when people talk to him like he’s an idiot. He hates it more when he truly feels like one. “It isn’t that. I just want her to enjoy herself, that’s all.”

“Again, you’re just thinking that she didn’t.”

“Well, do you know any better?”

His jaw tightens with instant regret. When Ashfoot doesn’t even budge, he feels worse. If she wanted to, she could tear him apart with words. Many students could attest to that. She just sits, thin lipped, a knowing arch over one eye.

He hasn’t shown her any attitude like that for a while now.

It doesn’t take a genius to realise why he’s suddenly defensive.

“Sorry.” Crow mutters.

“God.” Ashfoot crosses her arms, “You do like her, don’t you?”

Crow stiffens up, his heart racing as he turns to his mother. She’s practically convulsing with laughter. The sight of his jaw hanging as well as his burning face must be a hell of a change. There’s no point denying it. He was an open letter to Ashfoot.

“Don’t look like that. You were only ever this happy to have company when Feather was around. And that wasn’t so hard to figure out either.”

A letter that had never been closed to begin with, it seemed.

Crow just resigns, a hand falling over his face while his mother continues to chuckle with a growing delight. “You’re really not helping.” He says grumpily.

“You’re not helping yourself, I think.” She says, remarkably even. “You’re worrying over nothing, I don’t need to say it again. If it bothers you so much, why don’t you just ask her out?”

Now Crow is spluttering, choking, trying to function.

His mother continues to laugh.

“I can’t do that.” Is all he says once he’s managed to keep himself from throwing up.

“Why not? All she can do is say no.”

“Oh, that’s just great! Then we can just forget the whole thing, can’t we?” His voice is poisonous with sarcasm. Enough that his mother’s eyes narrow.

“Watch it.” She warns. “You’re not big enough yet that I can’t treat you like a kid.” Her hand smacks her thigh to prove her point. Crow growls but he sits away with a huff. It feels like he’s going through loops on a rollercoaster. He hadn’t even admitted to Feather that he liked her when he had, not even when he didn’t anymore. He’d wanted too, of course. But just thinking about it was enough of a turn off.

He had always counted himself lucky to even be Feather’s friend. The idea of pushing that luck was like betting your fortunes after winning the lottery. She couldn’t just say no in his eyes. Everything after that would be them forcing themselves to act like it had never happened, that he didn’t feel the way he did. Soon enough, it would be too much for one of them and she wouldn’t even be able to look at him without tensing and turning away.

Those thoughts were a constant thunderstorm. And he didn’t want to risk leaving the safety of his silence.

Those thoughts were no different with Squirrel.

“Look, it would just get in the way. I don’t want to make it awkward between us.”

Crow expects it when Ashfoot rolls her eyes. But it’s smooth and alert instead of tiring. She’s nodding to herself, grunting like she’s heard some old joke for the hundredth time. “Oh, don’t make me hear another story like that.”

“Huh?”

“It’s just what your father said.”

It’s like a wasp’s net has been thrown into the room. Crow can’t keep his mouth shut. He hardly ever hears his mother talk about his Dad. He never brought it up either. He’d always assumed Ashfoot wouldn’t want to talk about him. He couldn’t imagine anyone who wanted to be reminded of their dead husband.

Crow’s never been the one to bring him up either. No one really did unless they were talking about him in general. He was a local hero after all. It would be surprising if there was one person who didn’t know about the great runner who had dragged himself, baton in hand, in the State relay just so Tallstar could win it for the region. Doing that had been what caused his early retirement after all; Crow knew what it was like to run with a strained tenon, nevertheless a snapped one.

That permanent limp had been what gave him his nickname.

A nickname he’d worn like the armour of a local hero.

Crow’s classmates hadn’t even known he was Deadfoot’s son before they found out he was Ashfoot’s.

They never talked about him around Crow. No kid hated him enough to rub salt into that wound.

Truthfully, whenever Crow had heard his father’s name, it wasn’t upsetting for him. It was just… strange. He heard teachers and students praise his father’s name, talking about how loyal he was, about what he liked and what he didn’t, and Crow couldn’t even tell what was the truth and what was a mistake.

The crash had happened only a few months after Ashfoot had become pregnant. Crow had never gotten the chance to meet this ‘credit to the city’. To hear all these things, when Crow would not even know his dad’s eye colour without looking in a picture taken before he was born, it just made him feel odd. Not uncomfortable. Just odd.

He was happy his father was someone respected, and he wished he could have met him. But how could he miss someone he hadn’t even known?

Really, the fact he only heard about Deadfoot from all these stories was just another reason Crow pushed himself in track. It wasn’t that he wanted to make his dad’s memory proud or anything, he just felt like it was something he should do. Besides, he enjoyed running. Whether he was as good as the ghost of a name wasn’t really a major concern.

But he’d always felt it was different for his mother. She’d loved him. She’d lost him. She was the only one who really knew who he was behind the highlights.

Crow didn’t dare bring him up around her. Who’s to say his name wasn’t an atom bomb in her mind?

He made sure to never cross that line.

But she’s sprinted over it so effortlessly.

“W-What?”

Her head rests against the cushion, eyes soft and sweet on her son. “Me and your father had been friends for years, and it was clear as day that he liked me. I made it pretty clear I liked him too. But it took him nearly a whole decade before he even asked me on a date.” A glitter of amusement sparkles over her. “I’ve had students sweat less after doing a circuit ten times.”

Crow doesn’t say anything. He’s so used to only hearing his father associated with terms like ‘legend’ or ‘hero’ that the idea of him being nervous, of thinking of him with emotions, is like being dunked with cold water.

“I said yes, obviously, but I still grilled him on why it took him so damn long. He said that he was worried of ruining what we already had. I could have punched him. We’d liked each other for that long and he wasted time over something stupid like that.”

He searches her face for some kind of regret, but she’s smiling passively, as if recalling an old joke. There doesn’t even seem to be a trace of nostalgia there. Just clarity. Just life. Suddenly, he feels embarrassed again. He must be obvious as his mother places a hand on his shoulder.

“Why didn’t you ask him out?” Crow wonders out loud.

She chuckles warmly, “I did.” She assures, “Multiple times.” She starts counting on her fingers, “Trips to the bar, circuit meet ups, late-night parties, even bloody walks on a night. I think I was clear enough, thank you very much!” Her voice is rough but still on the verge of laughter. “He was lucky I had the patience of a saint.”

For a moment, even Crow is pulled into how much of an idiot his father sounded like. With all the effort Ashfoot says she put in he can’t get how Deadfoot would ever let those chances slip.

Then he remembers who he is. And he knows how his father felt. He understands it all.

They are more alike than he thought. “It isn’t the same.” Crow turns away. “You knew you liked each other.”

“Not at the start.” Ashfoot says, “I had to let him know.”

“And what if I do?” Crow asks, his voice hardening, “If she says no I’ll just look like an idiot.”

Ashfoot doesn’t avert her gaze, her hand remains on his shoulder. Crow can’t help but feel soothed by the touch. “That’s like asking what’s the point of starting a race when there’s a chance you’ll lose.”

The need to laugh out loud overwhelms him. “Really?” He splutters, “That’s your analogy?”

“It’s right, isn’t it? You’re giving up before you even start. That’s the jist of it all!” Her words sink in because she knows what she’s talking about. “You’re worrying over all this stuff Crow, but the truth is that you don’t have a clue that you’re right or not. Squirrel isn’t the one presuming all these disasters Crow, it’s you.”

“So what do you think I should do then, since you’re the expert?” Crow exclaims, his hands folding behind his head as he rests back, trying to not notice her sudden glare.

“Oh no you don’t.” Ashfoot scolds, slapping him on the shoulder like she was swatting a fly. “You’re old enough to drive! You’re not having your mother sort your messes out for you!”

“Thanks for the help.” Crow mutters, glowering to hide his wounded pride.

“Look, whether or not you want her to be your girlfriend is your own issue, Crow.” She explains, her knees rising up to rest on the cushion beneath her. Her body rotates so she’s looking straight at him. When her eyes twist with what Crow recognises as disappointment, his glare cows. “But after all the time you’ve spent with her, if you still think she’ll just abandon you because she doesn’t share one of your interests, I have to say that I don’t think you respect her as much as she deserves.”

If it was anyone else, maybe Crow might have gotten angry. Stormed up demanding how they dare presume that about him. That they don’t know him and don’t have the right to say how he feels about his friends. Maybe he might have reiterated the ways he trusted Squirrel, the ways the did respect her. On a bright day, maybe he may have listed some of the reasons he liked her so much just to clarify how much he does care about her.

But it isn’t anyone else.

Ashfoot knows who he is. She’s a teacher, and a good one, and there are many reasons for that.

She’s also an incredible mother. Especially because she was the one person who can shut him up when he’s acting like a moron.

And he shuts up alright.

He trusts Squirrel, he does. But he understands what his mother really means.

“You don’t need to worry over every little thing, Crow.” Now Ashfoot is tender and Crow allows her to edge closer to him so she can pull him a little nearer. “People aren’t made of glass.”

Squirrel certainly wasn’t. Is she was made of anything it was gold.

He thinks of what Squirrel would think of him. Her reaction to him so hung up over the thought of her not liking something.

He knows she would laugh.

Not to be mean. But because how couldn’t she laugh at such stupidity?

Crow thinks of saying sorry, people have often said that only someone like Ashfoot could raise a kid like Crow, he can see how right they are. Then his shoulder touches his mother’s as her hand squeezes his arm. They sit on the same cushion and it sinks beneath their weight.

Crow is relieved that he doesn’t need to apologise to let his mother know he’s remorseful. She didn’t want to hear that. She just wanted him to listen because that would be the only way she could help him. And despite how many of his problems still exist, he does feel better.

Like a little kid, he feels braver.

He looks at his mother with a kind of wonder. “Is it alright if I invite her here tomorrow?”

Ashfoot gives his shoulder a squeeze, “You don’t need to ask. I’ll be out trying to sort out a trip to the museum anyway. So, she can stay as long as she wants to.”

“I hope she isn’t busy.”

The hand falls off his shoulder and she’s glaring at him again. He smirks, “I’m kidding. I don’t care.” He lies.

She huffs and turns off the TV. “You are so much like your father. He had that kind of way with words too.”

“Is that a good thing or not?” Crow asks as she’s nearly out the room.

She pauses, turns, and shrugs. “Context is key.” She says with a wry smile. “Get her text!” She barks like ordering him to do another lap. Then she’s gone and her steps echo up the stairs like a countdown for him to finally grow some balls.

He finds it surprisingly easy to pull out his phone, and even more surprising when she sends the first text.

Yo.

Okay, maybe that wasn’t anything to be proud of.

The response is almost immediate, the buzz of his phone makes the skin on his neck spark.

Lol Yo birdboy to what do I owe the pleasure?

She doesn’t sound busy. That makes him a little more calm. Crow takes in a deep breath and types, trying not to picture her sniggering at his messages.

You sound unhappy to hear from me lol Are you busy tomorrow?

It’s kind of a stupid question. Nobody is really busy on Saturdays. And the next exams weren’t for another few months. Crow grapples to think that it doesn’t matter. But what did he know? Maybe she had plans with family or with Leaf or with her film team or-

The phone buzzes again.

Apart from struggling being the best undiscovered Hollywood talent, not much. Why?

Another wave of relief. Now’s the time to ask.

Now is hard to comprehend.

He knows the longer he waits, the worse it will be. For a moment he questions why he likes this girl to the point that one of his hands is shaking at the thought of asking her to hang out. He sighs. Maybe he can blame his father for inheriting his lacklustre performance with girls.

And it’s that that makes him calm down a little.

Thinking he’s alike his father, the man he’s heard so many people call a legend, the man he’s found out shook like him for ten years over a girl who he knew liked him. He doesn’t sound like a hero, but maybe that’s Crow’s fault. After all, who’s to say a legend didn’t have their own fears.

And maybe Crow has his father’s fears.

But he can make it so he has his guts as well. If just for when it matters.

Sounds terrible You want to struggle with that over at my place?

It goes quickly after that.

Ohh has Xmas come early?! I was beginning to think you were some hypochondriac!

Ha-inserted sarcasm-ha

;3 Sure that sounds good I don’t know if I’ll be able to get my parents to drop me off tho

Why?

My dads got a meeting over here and my mom is taking Leaf to look round some uni’s

I can pick you up if you want?

Can I drive?

Not a chance in hell

Booooo You’re lucky I’m bored

Is that a yes?

10:30, you show up any later I’ll call the cops and tell them you’re a stalker

Lol noted, I’ll see you then

(not joking) you better, I wanna check out Casa de Crow for myself

Say those three words again and I’ll block you

Casa De Crow

Blocked

XD ttyl

Ttyl

It’s over after two minutes. Crow’s never held a smile for that long before.

…

He makes it five minutes early, but he waits a little just in case. He knows how close to time Squirrel is, she only gets ready for the time she’s set. He wouldn’t be surprised if she wasn’t entirely ready a minute early.

It’s a nice day thankfully, crisp and warm, the sun kisses the street in long yellow rays. Thankfully, he’s able to park his car across the street from her house. The red sandstone gleamed under the summer sky, making it look even better than when Crow first saw it. It wasn’t luxurious or anything, just a two-storey house. But there had been care put into it. Windowpanes painted a glistening white and a garden entranced with flowers Crow couldn’t recognise, it was the effort that made the imagination.

On the drive here, Crow would admit that his head had spun a little. The worst ever possibilities still made up his head like a hornet’s nest. But now he was here, their buzzing had stopped. It might have been the summer air, sleepy and gentle, reminding him of the other days like this where he had hung out with his friend.

He guessed that was it. This was just another day in the end. One that he was looking forward to seeing through.

He didn’t need to bring anything, but he still has his wallet in the glovebox. It was better to be prepared in case of anything. (more than likely the idea that Squirrel hadn’t gotten to breakfast yet) Maybe they could head into the city for a bit before heading over to his. He checked the glovebox again, glad to see it still rested there.

When it gets to 10:28, Crow feels its fair to knock on the door. He exits the car, walking into the mostly empty street, save for one arriving car that Crow stops to let drive past. He crosses, feeling a strange smile on his face as he walks up to the door. He wonders if he should drop her a text to let her know. He decides against it. Probably too weird.

He knocks on the door, gradual but clear and pulls out his phone as he waits. He quickly decides to put it away in case he looked rude if her dad answered the door.

He can’t hear anything, so he knocks again, just in case.

His phone vibrates. There’s a text.

I’ll be down in a minute, just getting some stuff together Hold your horses

The time on his phone is 10:29.

Once again, she’s down to her time. Crow shakes his head, chuckling.

“Hey.”

The voice is soft, but it seems louder on the empty street. Crow raises a brow, turning. The guy stands a few feet away from him. His hands are buried in his brown bomber jacket, and he looks at Crow with a puzzled, but even, unaccusing expression. He’s at least a foot taller than Crow, but he doesn’t look like he’s trying to look big. His chestnut hair is smooth and wavy, and the only aura of threat comes from the broad curve of his shoulders.

Apart from that though, he looks friendly.

Upon seeing Crow, his eyes flare with realisation and what looks like a relieved smile comes over him. “Oh! I remember you! You’re Squirrel’s friend, right?”

His voice isn’t demanding or hostile, just natural and bright.

Crow almost finds it odd himself that he hates the guy.

Then he remembers who he’s talking to.

He doesn’t wait for Crow to respond. He’s come forward, “You might not remember me. It was a while ago.” His hand extends out, eager to shake Crow’s. “I’m Bramble. What was your name?”

“I remember you.” Crow says levelly, restraining the urge to growl. He takes Bramble’s hand and tightly shakes it. “And it’s Crow.”

There’s a unnerved flash in Bramble’s eyes but he keeps his smile level. “You got quite a grip, Crow.” He pulls his hand away and Crow muses on whether he actually tried to hurt the guy. Bramble looks up at the house as the sun fades, lingering over the two of them. “You here to see Squirrel?”

“Yeah.” Crow can’t help himself. “Why?” There’s an edge to his voice.

Now Bramble looks taken aback. His smile thins as he laughs dryly. “Just asking really.”

Crow stares.

“So, how’s she doing anyway? I haven’t had the chance to talk to her recently.”

He says it so casually that Crow wants to knee him where it will hurt. Chances? That was rich. She’d given him chance after chance when he’d broke promise after promise, and he had the gall to act like it wasn’t something he could control. Crow would believe the bastard was taunting him if it wasn’t for that dumb smile.

Crow wants to tell him to mind his own business. He wants him to piss off.

But he wants this day to go smoothly.

He shrugs, “She’s fine.” And he leaves it at that, even as Bramble’s smile twitches, hoping for something else that Crow wouldn’t give him.

To anyone else Crow would probably look like a jerk. Being hostile to such an openly nice boy. But anyone else hadn’t heard how Bramble had betrayed Squirrel’s trust. They hadn’t seen how Squirrel was affected when the one guy she wanted there on the most important night of her life failed to even leave a shoeprint.

Crow doesn’t have the time to worry about idiot’s feelings. He knew enough to know on what side he stood.

The awkward second is enough for Bramble to reach for another chance. “Yeah.” He coughs. “Well, uh, I’m just here to meet with Firestar.” He waits for a response. Crow doesn’t care enough to give him one. As far as he was concerned, this guy didn’t deserve to even speak to him. The taller boy shuffles on his feet, coughing again. “I’m part of the student committee, you see, every now and then we need to meet with the teachers to discuss plans.” He waves his hand. “You know, upcoming events and all that stuff.”

“Really?”

Bramble looks delighted that he’s gained a response. “Yeah.”

“So did you work on the culture festival last term?” Crow throws out the hook.

Bramble’s eyes widen, electrified. “Of course! I mostly worked with setting up the venues on that one.”

Crow’s fist tightens. Why did he expect this idiot to know what he meant? It was clear he hadn’t thought once about what happened that night. “I don’t remember seeing you there.”

His hand goes to his neck as he laughs.  “Yeah, you wouldn’t. I actually had plans that night so I couldn’t turn up.” He grins. “But maybe you went somewhere I helped plan? What did you do?”

There’s consideration for a second in whether Crow thinks he should let this go or not. He didn’t want to make some kind of scene after all. This wasn’t a day he could waste on some moron like this.

Still though.

He wants to see if he’s too thick to understand what he says next.

“I checked out the student films for most of the night.” Crow watches as Bramble’s face slackens. The grin fades to a dry, only a little upturned, line and there isn’t as much life in his eyes anymore. He’s got him. There’s the recognition Crow had to see. Crow cranes his head; he can’t help himself. “You help out there?”

“No.” Bramble says, his voice isn’t weak, but it isn’t strong. “That really wasn’t an area I was a part of.”

Crow could have scoffed. “I see.” He’s playing with fire now, he realises, but the urge is so strong. He’s made some point to the idiot. He couldn’t stop now. “You missed some good stuff. It was a great time.”

“I’ll let the girl who managed it know you had a good time.” The older boy’s voice is different now, like it’s been sharpened with flint. Is he angry? Crow can’t tell, but if the fool even lays a finger on him, Crow’s aiming for the nose.

The thought of Squirrel’s disappointed face that night is enough to tell him he isn’t stepping over a line.

Besides, the guy still hasn’t mentioned the obvious.

But he’ll have to face it now, as Crow can hear the clack of keys spinning in the lock.

The door bursts wide and she’s there. She looks as vibrant as ever. Short orange shirt, bright blue jean shorts, knee high boots, and strangely she’s still wearing her usual green winter jacket despite the strength of the sun.

But Crow doesn’t say anything. He’s just happy to see her. He thinks she looks happy to see him.

“Hey!” She pipes, she pulls her coat tight on her shoulders, springing out the door. She looks ready to burst past him to the car when she sees the other boy on her doorstep. Crow is both unsurprised and scared when he sees the frown take over her expression. She stops right in front of Crow, just catching her feet like she thinks she’d catch something if she took another step. “Oh. Hey.”

Bramble’s an idiot, but even he can catch the way her voice drops. He frowns too. “Hey.”

“I forgot Dad said you were coming over.” She turns away, whipping her hand back to her house. “He’s out in the back garden. Do you want me to tell him you’re here?” Her voice isn’t hostile, but it’s low in a way that Crow knows isn’t her.

“Nah, that’s fine.” He’s beginning to take in the whole scene. His face goes between the two in front of him, his face unreadable. “You guys off somewhere?”

“Nowhere special, really.” Squirrel says quickly. She doesn’t need to explain herself to him. “I was bored and I got an invite to hang out, not gonna let it slide.” She looks back at Crow, and something instantly looks brighter on her face. “You parked nearby, right? I cannot be bothered to walk a long way because of you.”

Crow chuckles, pointing to the other side of the street. “Your lucky day then?”

“See, you can use your brain when you want to!” The inflection in her voice is so sugary it’s contagious. It’s also isolating to a select few. “Well, onward then!” She pipes at him before striding forward. When she passes the hard-faced boy, she mutters, “Have a good time.”

There was no way he could miss any of this.

Crow is split.

One possibility is that he’s happy. Happy because the way she avoids him, the way she has made her problem with him clear, it could be a signal that she is truly over him. That maybe she could move on when she was ready.

But the other, is one that makes Crow tremble. The idea that she’s making a point. Because seeing how he looks when he’s ignored, it’s clear that she truly has Bramble’s attention now. And maybe that was what she wanted. Maybe Crow was just a way for her to get back at him.

That thought doesn’t last long.

They hung out before Crow even knew he existed, it would be like saying that their whole group was made just to spite the idiot. Squirrel isn’t like that. They’d become friends because it was what they wanted.

Crow has to trust her.

He’s ready to follow her when Bramble speaks up.

“Squirrel!” He calls, some kind of desperation in his voice.

Squirrel stops, and turns back, she looks annoyed. The street goes silent again. This time it doesn’t feel natural.

Bramble sighs, he looks wrung out and caught. He meets the fiery gaze with a low stare. “I get that you’re angry at me. And I get that I deserve it. I was an idiot, okay? I know how hard you worked on your film, and I did want to see it.” He looks down and up like he’s searching for a rope. “I didn’t mean to get side-tracked.”

Squirrel looks uncomfortable, like this is the last thing she wants to talk about. “It doesn’t matter.”

“No, it does! I’m sorry, all right?”

Crow can’t deny that he’s a little impressed. The guy didn’t try to twist it and make out like he wasn’t to blame. He could admit that he messed up. He stays quiet as he waits for Squirrrel’s reaction. It was up to her to forgive him or not.

She ducks her head as she looks away, her fingers tap over her crossed arms.

Bramble repeats himself, “I really am sorry. And I still really want to see your project. Could I?”

Squirrel shrugs, “Sure. Dad burned out tons of copies for his friends. He was probably going to offer you one.”

That’s more than likely not the way Bramble wanted that to be answered. He doesn’t look relieved. He rubs his eyes with a tight breath. “Okay, great. But, um, I was also thinking, do you want me to help out with your studies again?”

Crow flinches. He doesn’t want to panic at that, but he does. Because he knows that Bramble isn’t a head of committee for nothing, he knows more than him, he could help Squirrel more than he can.

Squirrel shakes her head. “Nah. I’m doing okay now, thanks. You don’t need to trouble yourself.”

There is deep relief in Crow’s gut. Not just that Squirrel preferred him, but that she didn’t mention he was the one who was helping her. He wasn’t some leverage she needed to get something over the guy.

“It wouldn’t be any trouble.” Bramble says dryly, his face twisting. “I’m not that busy or anything.”

“I said it’s fine.” And now Squirrel is bursting back to grab Crow’s arm. She gives him a sharp look. “Are you trying to look like some emo garden gnome, come on!” She exclaims, pulling Crow away from her house.

It’s only for a moment but Crow can see the look of bewilderment on the boy’s face as they stroll past. Like he can’t believe that he’s the one being dismissed. Crow isn’t sure how long he watches after them as Squirrel drags him to his car.

“Are we going to go or not? Open open open!” She chants. She doesn’t even glance back at her house.

Crow thinks this means he shouldn’t either. They get into the car, and Crow watches her shuffle around in the seat, pulling it forward and back deliriously as she tries to get comfy. “Heh! You must have used air spray in here just for me!” She jibes. She doesn’t look phased at all.

Still Crow can’t help but ask, “Are you alright?”

She inhales to say something that looks angry, then she closes her mouth, inhales again and beams at him. “Of course, I am! Don’t worry about him! I’ve got thicker skin than that, Crow!”

“That wasn’t really what I meant.”

Crow falls silent beside her. They don’t speak for a moment. Crow looks aside and sees her porch clear now. The front door closed.

Squirrel seizes the silence. “Crow, you don’t need to worry about me.” She says, her voice soft, but sparking. “I appreciate it but, honestly, I’m fine. Okay?” Her tone implies that she really wants to sweep this brief encounter under the rug. Crow wants to as well. He can’t help but feel like he shouldn’t though.

“Are you sure?” He says, just to be safe. He watches her face closely.

Her smile broadens, “I always am!” With that decided, she swings her hands behind her head and she meets Crow’s eyes. “Now can we get going! I’m want to see if it’s the lighting in your house that makes your hair so dark!”

He lets it go now.

Because there’s a safety in her eyes, a relief, a happiness that she can let the bullshit go here. A happiness to see him and be in his company.

The idea that she can enjoy herself with him.

Crow’s chest warms and he smiles back at her, his muscles finally relax for the first time that day. “Alright then.”

Squirrel beams, but before she can open her mouth to say something else, a deep rumbling fills the car.

Crow grins and Squirrel blushes when they recognise where it’s coming from.

“No breakfast, huh?” Crow teases. A punch lands on his arm.

“Shut up! I was in a hurry this morning!”

“And who’s fault is that?”

She only mutters an angry, embarrassed reply.

Crow shakes his head, but he’s happy that he didn’t take his wallet for nothing. “So… pancakes?”

Squirrel nods behind her blush. “Please.”

...

#squirrelcrow #squirrelflight #crowfeather #human warriors au #human warrior cats #Warrior Cats #warriors au

[passivenovember]

Laughing Stock

Mrs. Jacobson changes their whole world with a pink sticky note and it's almost poetic.

Billy finds it on Friday, a little pastel tombstone wedged between an empty yogurt tube and the head of Dawn's favorite Barbie Doll in her Myth Busters lunch box.

She's having trouble making friends. 

It's solemn in tone, like a smoke signal. A warning scribbled in shades of green.

Breaking news: Area Kid Prefers Goosebumps Over the Mystery of Multiplication Tables, the Stress of Socializing, or Conforming to the Standard Everyone Else Has Put in Front of Her. More on this at seven.

The color of that afternoon, the muted pinks and greens of steely skies dipped pastel criticism, reminds Billy of Easter. Of baby Jesus and betrayals. Good intentions that try to take over the world. 

She's having trouble making friends.

Billy reads the sentence twice. First out of necessity, again out of annoyance, feeling more and more like he should've seen this coming. Through the large kitchen window of the sink Dawn builds mud pies on a spool of fresh grass. Armed with sticks and funky painted rocks, she carries a threadbare toy rabbit and the weight of seven other people.

Imaginary friends.

Only friends.

On toward adventure. Steve appears in the reflection of the window and Billy hands him the sticky note.

"It's my fuckin' fault." Billy says, to no one in particular.

Dawn's lady-bug roller skates tromp through the grass, tearing narrow clumps in the soil as she locates the perfect spot for her third mud pie. The trainer skates were an early birthday present from Joyce, hand painted with little metal antennae welded on, courtesy of grandpa Hop.

Billy doesn't want her to wear the wheels down before the big surprise next week, but.

The skates are perfect.

Cute and adventurous, just like Dawn, and every time Billy sees her racing around the house while Steve complains about their security deposit, he's reminded of the love that colors every afternoon.

Dawn parks herself in front of an old tree stump as something is disclosed to Hopper the rabbit. Secrets, plans. The window is closed so Billy can't hear what she's saying, exactly, but he chokes on something sharp. 

And wet.

Anyway.

Steve runs his fingers through Billy's hair. "What's wrong, baby?"

Hopper the rabbit is thrown onto the stump, discarded, as Dawn sorts through her pockets for leaves and animal bones.

Billy gestures to the window, like, "Our kid's a goddamn freak."

"Billy."

"She carries around bags of animal bones."

For lack of anything better to do, Steve reads the sticky note once more before finally shrugging his shoulders. “She’s playing.”

Dawn begins separating her skeletons into piles.

“Where’d she even get them?”

”The woods. Uncle Dustin, maybe?”

Billy shakes his head. “It’s fuckin’ weird.”

"She's just being herself, Bills, aren't we encourage that kind of bullshit?" Steve manhandles Billy around the edge of the countertop until brown eyes draw firm conclusions. "This whole thing isn't fair. Not right of you to blame yourself. Not fair to say those things about her."

Billy fights back anyway. "Mrs. Jacobson said--"

A haughty, irritated puff of air forces clouds to move away from the sun. "Who gives a shit what Mrs. Jacobson said?"

"I do. It's important that Dawn makes friends with other kids her age, Steve."

Through the window she buries a rock in the ground, using tree bark to build a cemetery, and. 

Billy's. Trying not to get upset. 

He bites harshly on the ridge of his tongue, fending off heavy, obnoxious tears. "She doesn't even try to like the other kids her age."

Steve snorts. "What's to like?"

"Steve--"

"No, I'm serious."

"They could get her into. Y'know." Billy thinks about it, turning to put on the kettle. "Baby dolls, little pink dresses, glittery stickers, you know."

Steve grits his teeth. "Girl shit?"

"No, Steve." Billy rubs at the bridge of his nose. "Not girl shit."

"Well, she's into mud. And science. And dead animals, because Dawn likes to know the way things work." Steve slides onto the counter next to the oven, poking at the grip of the kettle with forced interest. "Science. Boy stuff. That's what Dawn likes."

And Billy.

Doesn't like there this is going. He folds his arms. "Maybe she could learn to like other stuff."

"So you agree?" 

And. "What?"

"You want down to enjoy girl stuff."

"Yes. No, fuck." Billy squeezes his eyes shut. Opens them again to find his husband sat next to an open flame, shoulders stapling themselves to his ears and just. Hanging there. 

Billy tries again. "I want her to be into normal stuff. Five year old stuff."

"Other five year old's are interested in whether each playdough tube has a unique flavor," Steve counters, tossing Mrs. Jacobson's concern into the recycling bin without a second thought. "Dawn's beyond, like. Way beyond everyone else her age."

And Billy gets it, alright? 

Because their daughter is kick ass. She's everything Billy wished he could've been at her age--adventurous. Kind. Open hearted. Brave. Smart. He fills two mugs with water, also thinking about how hard it was to be.

Different.

When he was going up. Billy knows, like. He and Dawn are unique in different ways, targeted for different reasons, but. 

Still.

"You don't think we should be worried about this."

Because He is. And he will be. Forever.

Steve shakes his head, lost. "Worried about her not making friends?"

"It wasn't always. Easy. For me."

"I know, baby."

"And with us. After, like. Neil and the party and Dawn having to explain the two dads thing. One who sleeps with a nail studded, bat. And." Billy swallows thickly. "The other, who couldn't stay dead."

He opens a bag of sugar. 

Forces himself to go slow with each movement, as if studying for an exam. 

Steve lets out another fertile pass of air. "Kids are little bags of shit."

"You don't mean that."

"Of course I do. They pick each other apart for no reason at all, if it wasn't the bones and the gay dad thing it'd be something else. Her hair cut or her shoes."

"What's wrong with her shoes?" Billy demands, but.

Steve rolls his eyes, almost. Fondly. "Nothing, but since when have I had a clue what the kids are into these days?" Steve asks, reaching for Billy and taking the hint when Billy recoils, as if bitten by a snake. He offers a kind, easy smile. "She has us."

Billy stirs their coffee. "That's not the compliment you think it is."

"What's so crazy about us?" Steve wonders, eyes going wide and watery, just. Adorable. His tongue pokes out with his grin. "Besides the whole, y'know. Living corpse and baseball bat situation."

Billy opens his mouth to respond when the back door slams open. 

The kitchen is a flurry of activity. 

In the last ten minutes it's started raining and Dawn is covered from head to roller skate in mud. 

Her pigtails are lopsided, caked with mounds of Earth and grass as Billy lunges forward with a tea towel in hand. He's learned what kinds of questions to ask if he wants the full story. Steve helps their daughter to the bathroom Billy figures out the basics. 

Chasing worms.

Wiggly, quickie worms who burrow too fast beneath beds of roses. 

Dawn was trying to see if they could burrow all the way to the center of the Earth. 

#harringrove #harringrove april #day four #roller skates #LISTEN #this one is so disjointed but prompt festivals are about having fun #just gettng something on the page without thinking too much bout it #might have tomorrow's chapter be a continuation of this story #might not #Im feeling drained #so I did the best I could #please be kind to each other

[domesticmail]

the bird and her cage; one

chapter one; litany in which certain things are crossed out

a/n: colton anon !!! here’s your first chapter :) i hope you like it!!

MASTERLIST

PLAYLIST

TAGLIST

warnings: mention of physical, verbal, and mental abuse. alcohol.

word count: 2.3k

you poor, sad thing

you want a better story...

who wouldn’t?

           -  richard siken

You are so cold. The jacket you’re wearing was meant to look cute, not to provide warmth, and you’re suddenly regretting the choice to wear it as freezing air bites any revealed skin. Your hands are shaking, your legs are burning, and your teeth are chattering as you force yourself to move, keep running, keep moving, you can’t stop you can’t you have to keep going.

Headlights engulf you in bright, cutting light. You look back while moving forward, craning your neck to get a good view of the car because oh god, if it’s him, you’re going to die.

As the Volkswagen speeds past you, you put an arm up to shield your eyes from the light. Fuck. Your breath fogs the air and when it feels like you are finally too tired to keep running, you remember your phone, its weight pressing against you in your back pocket. Like a woman who has found god, you cry as you take it out and, hands and fingers shaking in the freezing air, get yourself an Uber for wherever the fuck you are. You type in “hotel” and click the first address you see, nearly sobbing with the release of tension. Thank god, you think to yourself, I can leave, I can get away, thank god, oh, thank you, oh my god.

Thirty minutes later you find yourself standing in front of a random hotel in St. Louis, broken-hearted and desperate.

And it’s painfully apparent.

The guy at the reception desk clearly sees that you’re in some sort of troubling situation, because he doesn’t ask any more questions than he has to. He smiles in that pitying way that strangers do when he hands you your room key, second floor, and you just nod weakly.

The room is comfortable. It’s unremarkable, really - clinically clean, the way hotel rooms are. You know they don’t clean the duvets, so you fold it down and crawl under the covers. You bring your knees to your chest and just rest for a moment. You close your eyes, big inhale, big exhale. I’m safe, you think to yourself.I’m finally safe.

The thought brings tears to your eyes, and in the company of yourself you cry, shaking sobs racking your body, fragile and sad and finally, finally safe. Your phone pulls you from the tears, ringing the tone you set specifically for one person; the only person on the planet you trust. Of course he’s calling, you think to yourself. No surprise there. His timing, coincidental or not, is unmatched.You slide answer on your phone screen, push the speaker to your ear with a sniffle.

“Dad?

”His voice, deep just like you remember, echoes through the other end. You haven’t heard him in a while, he’s been on a work trip, you thought, and yet here he is. Dad knows. “Kid?”

Your voice catches in your throat when you ask again, “Dad?”

“Hey, kid, are you okay?” That stereotypical concern lacing his words. It’s been weeks since you’ve talked over the phone, and here he finally is, exactly the way he was last time you spoke.

A hiccup as you say, “No - no, Dad, I’m…” Your words trail away. What are you supposed to say? Steven turned out to be an abusive prick, just like you’d always guessed. I’m in the middle of a place I don’t know, and I am so, so tired, Dad, I need you to save me. I need you to come here and save me because I don’t know if I can save myself from this - “You there?” He asks.

“Yeah, sorry.” You clear your throat. Better to go with the less explosive option. “Um, Dad, Steven and I broke up.”

A moment of silence.“The engagement’s off?”

“Yeah.” You sniffle.

Another pause. You can practically see him now, rubbing his forehead in that way Dads do when they know there’s something really bad going on but they don’t know if boundaries permit them to ask. He inhales and exhales hard. “Are you okay?”

You start to say yes, but your voice catches again, the lump in your throat like a terrible rock, throat constricted around it, and you begin to cry as you say once more, “No, I’m not, I don’t know where I am or what to do and I’m tired, Dad, I’m so tired of doing things. I’m tired of him and of everyone and of my life and I just - I want to get away.”

Once again, a pause. He’s got his index and middle fingers pressed into his cheek now, thumb supporting his chin, weighing your words. If he were a better man he would buy you a plane ticket; if he were worse, he would tell you it was your fault.But he is merely himself, and he clears his throat. “Okay. Okay.”

You rub your nose and sniffle again.

He asks, “Where are you, kid?”

“I - I don’t…” You start, then catch yourself. “One second.” You pull up Maps on your phone, then sigh. “I’m at a hotel in St. Louis.”

“St. Louis?” He whistles low. “That’s a ways away from Kansas, Dorothy.”

“Dad.“ You laugh despite yourself.

“I know, I know. Forgive me.” He coughs. “So, St. Louis. Missouri?” “Yeah.”

“Mkay. Do you want to come home?”

There’s a question. If you go back home, back to New York, you’ll be stuck in your apartment, and that’s...less than preferable. You’d rather not spend the next month in the bed you shared with him, every picture and appliance flooded with memories of the vile man you’d been engaged to. 

And anyways, this hotel room wasn’t that bad. Like you’d said earlier, clinical. No memories. A clean slate.“No - well, at least, not yet,” you sniffle.“Okay. Do you - are you in a good hotel? Do I need to get you a room somewhere nicer?”“No, no, Dad, I’m fine where I am.”

“Okay. Okay.”

“You don’t have to keep saying okay.”

He sighs on his end of the phone, and you can’t help yourself from smiling.

“Look, you’re an adult,” he says, “so I’m not going to micromanage you or anything. I mean, if it were your mother instead of me, you’d be on the next plane home. But I think maybe this, this time away, it’ll be good for you.”

“It will, Dad, I promise. I just can’t be anywhere he is right now.”

Another trademark pause.

“Did he hurt you, honey?”

You gulp.

“Y/N?”

Exhale. Don’t panic. If you can’t trust him, who can you trust?

“He was...abusive, yeah.” Sniffle. Tears threaten to flood your eyes but you hold them back with a sharp nip to your lip. “But I’m safe now. I’m safe.”

“I’ll make sure the son of a bitch can’t come within a mile - “

“No, Dad, you don’t have to - “

“I want to. Let me do this for you.”

You sigh. “Dad.”

“No. No leaning on this one.”

“Fine.”

“Thank you.” You can practically hear the angry grin on his face. Men, you think to yourself. “You have your wallet, and money, and everything?”

You pat your other pocket, feel the ridges of your wallet pressing into the fabric. “Yeah.”

“Okay. What about clothes?”

“Uh….no.”

“No problem. I’ll make a few calls.”

“No - “

“Yes. I’ll text you with the details.”

You huff. “Fine.”

“Alright. You call me if you need anything, yeah?”

“Yes.”

“Hey. I love you, kiddo.”

“Love you too.”

He hangs up first, and you find yourself sitting alone in the empty hotel room.

You’re not good at being alone. You come from a big family, five siblings, two parents; you’re used to noise, commotion, distractions. The hotel walls feel like they’re creeping in on you, big, silent rumblings as they crawl towards you slowly. The lack of noise is deafening, your skin is crawling, eyes itching for a distraction.

You need to get out.

There’s a bar a few blocks away, Yelp informs you as you weave through pedestrians on the sidewalk. Someone bumps your shoulder; you turn to look at them but they are already lost in the crowd of people. It’s a Friday night, everyone is getting out of work, just let it go. You’re going to get stampeded if you don’t keep moving - there’s already someone passing you, silently annoyed, you’re sure.

Paddy O’s, the sign high above the door says. From inside you can hear the hustle and bustle of a Friday night crowd, no doubt watching some event on the TVs above the bar. 

The door swings open and suddenly the noise loses its muffler as two beautiful women exit. One is tall, with deep, dark brown hair and striking features. Her left arm is draped around the shoulders of a smaller redheaded woman, who is laughing and holding her hand. The redhead has a pronounced accent and can’t get through three words without bursting into laughter. The taller woman is smiling down at her, chuckling.

They are dressed like they went to the bar immediately after work; that is to say, they’re dressed quite nicely. You look from the tall woman’s pantsuit to the redhead’s turtleneck and pants, and then to your own outfit. If their clothing is the usual for this place, then you are severely underdressed.

It’s a bar, Y/N, you think to yourself, shaking your head. You close your eyes and inhale steadily. You’ve got this.

After a few moments, you open your eyes again. The couple has disappeared from sight; probably back to their car. You walk to the doors and open one, entering the bar.

As expected, it’s loud, and it’s crowded, but there’s a seat at the bar a couple feet in that looks comfortable enough. You move through the surrounding patrons to take the seat, and order yourself an old fashioned - it’s your dad’s favorite, and you could use a little comfort right now.

The people on either side of you are deeply engaged in their own conversations. To your left is a woman of about 20, sitting with a man who you assume is her husband. From the small pieces of their conversation you can pick up on, she’s having a problem at work, and from the looks of it, he is humoring her by pretending to listen. You don’t know if she knows he’s not actually listening - but that’s not really your business. The guy to your right, you can tell, is one of those guys who peaked in high school. He’s chatting up the girl to his right about how his YouTube channel is just getting off the ground, and the merch line (you cringe at the phrase merch line) is coming out soon. 

So you’re by yourself, basically. The seat you’re occupying is your own little bubble in this bar, where you are the sole occupant. There’s nobody looking at you, nobody watching your move, listening to you order. No one is engaging you in conversation, trying to grab your attention. You are, just like in the hotel, completely alone.

And holy shit, you hate this.

Panic floods your veins, because oh god, this was a terrible idea. You are completely alone in a city you have never been in before and you decide to go to a fucking bar? In a random city? Oh, this takes the cake for stupid decisions. You really just up and decided to put yourself in a dangerous situation in a town where you have no one. Very smart.

You take a sip of your drink as the guy who peaked in high school and his date get up from their seats. The empty space makes you uncomfortable; you don’t want anyone to sit there but you also don’t want to be sitting next to open seats.

The glass is shaking in your hand. This is what you decide to focus on.

Deep breaths.

The breathing exercises don’t help, and the shaking is getting worse. You feel like crying as the rest of the Old Fashioned floods your mouth, the sweet liquid slipping down your throat as you swallow. The tears are gathering in your eyes again. You try to blink through them but it’s not working, everything is getting blurry and god damn it you’re crying at a bar you’ve never been to before in a city you’ve never seen and this all could’ve been avoided if you’d just flown home, you fucking idiot.

Someone’s sitting down in the empty seat to your right, and embarrassment heats your face. Your instinct tells you to get up and leave but you feel frozen to your seat so instead you just look away, look anywhere but the stranger to your right. 

“Excuse me, are you okay?” 

You can’t turn around because if you turn around the person will see you crying, and you cannot be seen crying by another stranger today, so you just bite your lip hard and nod, hoping the person will take the hint.

They do not, because who the fuck would ignore someone crying in a bar? Someone who looks remarkably out of place, and desperately in need of a friend?

“Hey, are you alright?” They ask again.

You hiccup, then laugh self-consciously. You turn to the stranger, a tall - wow, a remarkably tall man. He’s broad and, well, really, he’s built like a fridge. He’s huge. He towers over you so greatly that for a minute you think maybe you’re hallucinating, but the sad look of concern he’s giving you tells you that no, he’s real. “Do I look okay?” You ask.

He offers a sad smile. “You don’t want me to answer that.”

You laugh again. “Thanks.” You sniffle. “You’re the second random person to see me crying today, so. Congratulations.”

“I feel like maybe that’s not something I should be celebrating.”

“Yeah, probably not.”

He’s looking at you like you’re fragile, like you’re going to break, and it’s killing you, but he is company, and that’s what you need right now. You smile at him weakly. “Is this the part where I buy you a drink to apologize?”

That brings a smile to his face. He laughs, a low sound that you know comes from deep in his stomach, and the air feels a little lighter. “No, absolutely not. If anything, I’m buying you a drink.”

“God, no.” You exhale, and smiling comes a little easier. “I can barely hold the glass.”

“That’s probably for the best.”

“Probably.”

And here is the awkward pause. The pause where you debate whether or not he’s gonna continue talking to you. Are you worth his time? You can see in his face that he’s considering something - probably which excuse he’s gonna use to go back to his friends.

Surprisingly, he fills the silence. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but you’re new here, right?” 

You nod. “I’m actually from New York.”

He actually laughs again at this. “Don’t take this wrong, but I can tell.”

“Oh, fuck you,” you laugh.

“No no no no no, it’s not a bad thing, I swear!”

“Okay, saying ‘I can tell you’re from New York’ is always a bad thing, you can’t just - “

“I didn’t mean it like that!”

You furrow your brows at him, smiling. “What’d you mean then, huh?”

“I just mean...you have that vibe, you know?”

A laugh bubbles up from your throat. “No! What’s that supposed to mean?”

He’s laughing too, both of you facing each other. “You’re confident. You know what you’re doing.”

You raise an eyebrow at him, unbelieving. “I’ve known you for all of, like, five minutes. In fact, I don’t even know you!”

“Oh, shit, I’m so rude, I’m sorry.” He extends a hand. “Colton Parayko.”

You take his hand, and as you do, you look him in the eyes.

For a moment, everything stops.

There’s something meaningful about the way he’s looking at you. Something important that you can’t quite put your finger on. He is, for a moment, seeing you. The music has paused; the bartender has frozen; the woman to your left has stopped talking. All that is, is your hand in his, the tender way he’s holding your hands, like he is rooting you in this moment.

And then you shake his hand. And you say, “Y/N L/N.” And you pretend that didn’t just happen, that you’re not still looking him dead in the eyes because you’re scared to look away.

When your hands part, you can’t help noticing that yours feels empty, cold. 

You spend another two hours talking to him. He is easy to talk to, really; he has a comfortable presence. By the end of the night you are facing each other in your seats, your knees touching. You’re leaning forward when you talk, and he’s got one arm on the bar, the other one gesturing wildly. 

Conversation flows like a river between you two. You talk about New York; he’s been there once or twice, he says.

“Oh, really? For what, a frat trip?”

He laughs. “No, for hockey.”

“Did you play in college?”

This is the funniest joke he’s ever heard, apparently, because it absolutely sends him. “No, no.”

“What did I say?” You ask. You’re confused, you thought it was a pretty normal question.

He looks away from you, and then makes eye contact again, you’re having another moment. “I like you,” he says, smiling.

You’re even more confused now. “I mean - thank you. I like you too, but what’s so funny?”

He clears his throat and looks down at the bar. “I play hockey for St. Louis.”

You aren’t in the middle of drinking anything, but this makes you choke. A strangled noise comes from your throat as you slap a hand over your mouth. He grins at you. 

You remove your hand slowly. “Like. The city.”

“Yeah.” He’s almost bashful about it.

“Wait. Wait wait wait wait. Wait. Hold on just a fucking second.”

“Okay - “

“I’ve been sitting here. Bitching to you about my life. For hours. And you couldn’t find the time to tell me you play for the fucking National Hockey League?”

He giggles, and the sound almost seems unnatural coming from someone his size. “That’s...about it, yeah.”

“Oh, I am such a dick!” You exclaim.

“What? No, no -”

“I spent this whole time talking about myself!” You huff, closing your eyes. “I am so sorry.”

He puts his hand on your hand, and your eyes shoot open. Every time he’s touched you tonight, every passing contact, you feel warm, and the butterflies in your stomach start to act up. You can feel your heart rate quicken as he says, “Don’t be sorry. You definitely needed it.”

You smile at him. “Thank you.”

There’s another pause in the conversation, but this time you’re the one debating. You like him - a lot. He’s so warm, and kind, and sweet, and you can tell he’s being genuine, that he’s not just being polite, but you don’t want him to think you’re desperate. You’re not. You just like him. A lot.

You speak up at the same time he does.

“So - “

“Can I - “

“Oh,” you laugh. “You go first.”

“No, no, ladies first,” he responds, gesturing to you. “The floor is yours, Ms. L/N.”

“Um, well.” Suddenly you feel embarrassed. “I kind of made tonight all about myself, and I think maybe I owe you, now.”

He looks surprised, but he’s smiling. “Yeah, you do, kind of.”

“Okay,” you laugh, rolling your eyes. “So. I don’t know how long I’m gonna be in town, but...maybe we can do this again, sometime?”

There’s something about the way he grins at you that lights up your heart, because your pulse is rapid as he says, “I think we can work something out.”

You trade phone numbers. He offers to walk you back to your hotel, but you decline - you did just meet him tonight. If this were New York, it’d be different, you’d invite him in for wine and maybe more, but this isn’t New York. Plus, part of you is just so tired. For the first time in what feels like years, you actually want to go to bed.

The night air is warm, and on the way back to the hotel room, all you can think about is the way his hand felt on yours.

When you reach your room, you slip your clothes off and get in the shower. You hadn’t realized how tight your back was earlier - the knots in your upper back are causing aches in your lower back. The hot water loosens the tension, and you can finally relax.

As you’re toweling off from your shower, your phone buzzes.

colton parayko

So, is it weird to ask if you’re free tomorrow?

Maybe being alone in St. Louis isn’t that bad after all.

And hey - 

You’re not really alone, are you?

#the bird and her cage #chapter one: litany in which certain things are crossed out #colton parayko #colton parayko x reader #tbahc one

[starkeristheendgame]

College au prompt where Peter becomes good friends with a new kid on campus named Harry and invites him over one night to study and tony come home to Harry on peters bed while peter takes a shower and thinks the worst. (Peter and tony are roommates btw) and when peter comes out Harry tells peter that tony came in and saw him and stormed out and peter goes out to find him and tony tells him that he thought peter cheated and he was jealous. And they spend the rest of the night curled in Tony’s bed

I hope I did this justice! Thank you sm for the prompt, and I hope that you enjoy it :’) 

TW: Miscommunication | Suspected (no actual) cheating | Moderate angst | Slight hurt 

The figure sprawled on their bed is immediately evident as not Peter. Tony stops short in the doorway, taking in the sight of the boy draped over the bed like he owns it. 

At a passing glance or at a distance he could pass for Peter, but closer inspection tells all the differences. This boy’s hair is lighter, a little straighter. His jaw is sharper, mouth wider, eye brighter. Classically and softly handsome, not too dissimilar to Peter.

He’s shirtless, head lifting from the pillow in surprise. 

“Oh! Peter didn’t tell me he was expecting-”

“I’m sure he didn’t,” Tony cut in icily, ears picking up on the sound of the shower. Peter was one of those ‘must shower after sex’ kinds of people, though now and then he could be persuaded to snuggle for a while before the tackiness and drying sweat became unbearable. 

It was crystal, nuclear level clear what was going on here. He didn’t need more than two braincells to rub together to take in the scene and know what he’d walked in on.

“Uh.” The other boy looked confused and a little apprehensive, brows furrowing as he pushed himself up onto his elbows. Glancing at the closed doorway of the en -uite. Tony forced himself to breathe out, forced himself to move under the leaden, cold weight of his heart. 

He’d thought Peter was different. 

Peter had promised him he was different. Had promised his friendliness with everyone was truly just who he was, that the only person who had his heart and body was Tony. He’d been a fucking fool for believing it, clearly. 

Peter was beautiful, vibrant, insatiable. How could Tony have any singular claim to that? How could Tony have thought he could ever hoard such a treasure? 

He turns away. 

Barely hears the slamming of the door over the roaring in his ears. He felt sick, nausea and hurt twisting an writhing in his stomach like a live beast, ugly and wounded. 

He kept replaying every moment with Peter over and over in his mind, the last texts they’d sent to each other, the last kiss, the first time they fucked, every time Peter had promised Tony, there’s nobody else but you. 

He laughed, because if he didn’t laugh he’d cry. How fucking stupid had he been? Nobody was as sweet as Peter, as wholesome without using it as a smokescreen. 

Peter had well and truly reeled him in, hook, line and sinker. He clutched his car keys in his palm so tightly that it began to hurt, metal ridges biting into his skin as he stalked across the campus towards the residential parking lot. 

Ripping open the door to his car, he’d barely got inside and shut the door when it was yanked open again, a breathless Peter almost falling straight into his lap. Tony jerked in his seat, heart squeezing so painfully at the sight of Peter’s wild, dark eyes that for a moment he almost forgot about the rest of the hurt. 

Peter was laughing. 

“You’re an idiot, Anthony Edward Stark,” Peter managed, hair sopping wet and wearing nothing but a sodden shirt, boxers and unlaced sneakers. Fury coiled low and vicious in his stomach as Peter crawled into his lap, panting and red cheeked. 

“Get the fuck off me, Parker,” he snapped once he’d come back to himself, once he’d reminded himself of why Peter was wet. Hurt flashed across Peter’s pretty face, lips parted and the light in his eyes flickering like a candle in the breeze for a moment, before cold hands clutched at his jaw, forcing his head up where he ducked it away, teeth grinding.

“Tony. Please, I know what you’re thinking, but if the last few months have meant anything, give me a moment to explain.”

He wanted to laugh, to shove Peter off him, but he couldn’t move. It was a cruel card to be dealt; if the last few months have meant anything to you. 

They’d meant everything to him. 

“You’ve got ten fucking seconds before I tip you ass-first into the dirt and leave you there,” he choked out, wrenching his jaw from Peter’s gentle touch as tears blurred his vision. He kept his hands fisted at his sides, terrified that if he let himself touch, he’d find himself either hurting or holding. 

Peter let out a breath above him, teeth catching his lower lip for a moment. He was still awkwardly hunched over, crammed into the bare space between Tony and the steering wheel. 

“Tony, baby. I know what it looked like, okay? But I can promise you, I swear to you, it wasn’t that. I meant to call you on my back to the dorm, but we ran into Steve and I forgot. That boy? That’s Harry.”

Harry. 

The name was familiar, immediately so. It dredged up past conversations of the new kid in Peter’s chemistry class, friendly and nerdy, crushing hard on Peter’s friend MJ. 

Something must’ve crossed his face because Peter looked encouraged, gripping at his shirt like Tony might still throw him out of the car at any moment. 

“He’s my study partner for this assignment, Tones. That’s it, nothing else, I swear. He came to our dorm because we’re working on a project - I can even show you, and I can show you the lecturer’s list that shows us as partners. I had a glass of orange juice and we were trying to juggle the folders and the laptop and he knocked it from my hand.”

Peter looked like he might cry now, curling towards Tony like a flower towards the sun. 

“Baby, please. We tipped the orange juice, and because we were sat back it went all over us. His shirt got soaked and it was in my hair, Tony, and I told him he could take one of my shirts while I showered but he just said he didn’t want to go poking around without me there and, and--” Peter’s words trailed off on a hitch, his eyes glossy as he pawed at Tony helplessly. 

“Please. I could never do that, Tony. Not to you, not to anyone.”

And fuck, but if Tony wasn’t a weak man. Even as ridiculous as the story sounded he could feel himself thawing, drawn to Peter like they were tied by red string. 

He could feel the hurt and the anger draining away, the jealousy at the mental image of two pretty, slender boys together fading like an old memory. Peter was staring down at him imploringly, braced like he still expected to be hit, wearing Tony’s shirt and Tony…

He let out a breath, a sound somewhere between a sob, a laugh and a growl, and dragged Peter down to his chest, sucking in a ragged breath and inhaling the scent of Peter’s coconut body wash. 

Peter slumped against him, arms wrapping around his head as best he could in the cramped space, body shuddering with his own exhale. 

“You’re being honest?” he whispered into the damp fabric pressed against his face and Peter shifted, reached for him against to tip his head back so they were looking each other in the eye. 

“Always, Tones. Fuck, when Harry said you sounded pissed, and you’d walked away, I... I thought you were leaving me. I can’t... I know how it looked, and I’m so sorry. I should have-” 

Peter’s words are cut off by Tony catching his mouth, licking into him and kissing him with enough force to bruise, pressing closer and closer until the car horn startled them both. 

“We-- We should go back. I told Harry to wait while I went after you,” Peter murmured, biting at his lip, hands roaming Tony restlessly like he was afraid this was just a dream and he was about to open his eyes to Tony having driven away. 

He doesn’t even know where he’d have gone. Home was a set of sparkling brown eyes and a laugh that made his heart soft and warm. 

He let Peter pull him from the car, the cool air hitting the wetness on his chest and thighs from where Peter had leapt straight out of the shower, straight into clothes and straight onto him. Peter refused to let go of his hand, glancing up at him on every other step like he might change his mind. 

He counted his breaths, counted his steps, tried to blink away the sight of Harry sprawled half naked on the bed, the way his gut had risen up like a tidal wave. If Peter said they hadn’t done anything…

He had no choice but to trust him. 

Harry was standing upright when Peter pushed the door open, looking across at them warily like Peter had brought Tony back just to let him lay into him. 

Tony drank in the sight of him again, the vague nervous-horrified expression, the empty cup on the desk behind him and the one important factor he hadn’t noticed before - the fact that one pillow case and the top cover of the bedding had been removed. 

“I swear, nothing ha-” Harry begun, and Tony held up a hand, squeezing Peter’s with his other. Harry’s jaw snapped shut and his expression pinched, like he was bracing himself. 

“If Peter says nothing happened...Then nothing happened,” Tony breathed out, glancing to the side at the sunny, joyful expression that Peter levelled him with. He offered a tiny, weak smile in response, still too wrung out to really comprehend the entire situation. 

He still felt vaguely sick and he could feel a headache brewing behind his temples, but relief shook through him like an earthquake. 

“That’s really good relationship trust right there,” Harry huffed out, wringing the hem of one of Peter’s shirts. Peter must’ve given it to him before running out.

“But also, for future reference, I’m straight. Not that Peter’s ugly! Just... Lacking. In what I like,” Harry clarified, shooting Peter an apologetic glance when the boy made a sound like he might actually be dying. 

“Great?” Tony replied in puzzlement, brows lifting. 

As it turns out, Harry was actually not such a bad guy. He’d recently transferred from Canada and had met Peter through their Chemistry class. He looked horrified when Tony apologised for getting the wrong idea, shaking it off with his own apology for how it looked, for not thinking about what Peter’s boyfriend might presume upon walking in. 

Peter hugged Harry before he left, and Tony shook his hand, gritting out a heartfelt but reluctant sentiment that he was happy Harry had a friend in Peter, and that he hoped this hadn’t put Harry off hanging out with Peter or Tony in the future. 

No sooner had he shut the door did he find a set of hands tugging at his hips, pulling him backwards until he bumped into a warm, solid body and they both toppled, landing on the bed together, entangled. 

“You know I’d never cheat on you, right?” Peter mumbled against the back of his neck, arms wrapped around him. Tony gave a soft sound and shifted, rolling them so they were laying side by side now, playing little spoon as Peter wormed closer. 

He’d dried off in the time they’d sat talking to Harry, but his fingertips were still cool as he slid them under Tony’s shirt collar. 

“I know,” he replied gently, holding onto Peter’s arms with one hand, dropping the other to his thigh where he rubbed slow, soothing circles. 

They lay there together for a while on the unmade bed, Peter breathing warm puffs of air against the back of his neck and Tony losing himself in the motion of sliding his thumb along the side of Peter’s wrist until the latter’s stomach grumbled loudly. 

They reluctantly hauled themselves up and made ramen, remade the bed, then fell straight back into it. Peter wrapped himself back up around Tony as they settled, fingers entwined and the room around them quiet, content. 

“Invite him back over on Friday,” Tony murmured as Peter tucked his head under his chin. 

“Really?” Peter sounded dubious. 

“Mm. We can invite the others too if you want, but I don’t want to scare away your new, straight friend.”

“And you won’t get jealous?” he could feel Peter’s smile against his shoulder. 

“Mm, no,” he replied, tucking Peter closer. “Because before he gets here, I’m going to fuck you so full of cum it’ll be dripping out of your for hours, reminding you who you belong with.”

#fanfic #starker #starker fanfiction #starker fanfic #ironspider #ironspider fanfiction #ironspider fanfic #tony stark/peter parker #peter parker/tony stark #tony stark x peter parker #peter parker x tony stark #starker: angst #starker: (not) cheating #starker: hurt/comfort #starker: hurt an comfort #starker: established relationship #starker: college au #starker: alternate universe #sie fics