#Feet up toes out knees bare giddy

[beautifulpersonpeach]

BPP I JUST SAW THE NEWS IM SO HAPPY AAAAAAAA

***

[lalacliffthorne]

🕯midnights pt. II🕯

Azriel x Reader

part I part II

summary: azriel might be too much of a distraction after all

notes: the people have spoken, we got a part II. seriously though: it's honestly and completely blowing my mind how many people read my first posts here and liked them. like - truly; it's nuts, I really can't even wrap my head around it. it's always been hard for me to find the kind of people who would read what I'm cooking up, and I'm sure that any writer would agree that, while writing is the thing that keeps us alive, we fucking thrive off interactions and being able to talk about our babies and all their little details. and this is giving me that, and I'm so fucking thankful for that, so please; never ever be shy and just write to me, talk to me, it melts my little heart to hear from you and makes me just really fucking happy.

anyways, sorry for the rambling, here´s part II of midnights, it's pure fluff and I'm not even sorry

______________________________________________________________

I couldn't handle the distraction.

Not. In. The. Slightest.

I inwardly kicked myself as Azriel gently pushed me into the guest room and slipped his hand off my lips to close the door. The lock clicked softly, and my heart jumped into my throat.

This was a really bad idea.

At least Cassian's snoring was gone.

Azriel's bare chest brushed against my shoulder, and when I looked up at him, his gaze was slowly tracking over the little bits of evidence of me. The rumpled sheets on the obscenely huge bed, the jewellery strewn over the wooden dresser and the shoes kicked off next to the door. There was a clothing rack Mor had lent me next to the window leading out to the street that was stuffed with the clothes I had saved from the water damage in the bedroom, and my books. Dozens and dozens of books stacked next to the empty fireplace.

The shadowsinger threw me a look, and I smiled sheepishly. “They would've gotten wet.”

Azriel's lips twitched, and something hot washed over me as his dark eyes tracked over my face.

This was going to be a long night.

~

I wasn't sure what exactly it was that I had expected. Maybe that my heart wouldn't be able to stop skipping, that just Azriel's presence would be enough to make focusing on anything but him absolutely impossible, and that I would spend the rest of the night tense and regretting several life choices.

My legs growing tired had not been on the list.

Shifting lightly and leaning my knees to the side, I tried to focus on the book propped against my thighs.

I had curled up on one end of the small couch at the back window, a soft blanket draped over my bare legs and a pillow stuffed into my back. Azriel was sitting on the other end, his wings relaxed and folded comfortably, body leaned lazily into the cushions, his skin shimmering in the soft, warm light. His eyes moved slowly over the pages of the book propped against his knee, his brows smoothed over and one strand of his hair falling into his forehead.

For some reason, his presence wasn't throwing me off nearly as much as I had thought it would. His steady, even breaths weren't distracting but calming, his body only a few feet away radiating warmth and grounding steadiness.

Sure, my heart still went haywire whenever I looked at him for too long, some strange feeling surging in my chest. But it wasn't uncomfortable. It was giddy, and comforting, and it made something bubble warmly in my chest, my breath hitching once in a while.

If only it wasn't for the fact that even with my legs pulled up towards my chest, my toes almost touched his thigh.

This couch wasn't meant for two people.

Would I stretch out my legs like they begged me to do, they would be draped over Azriel's lap, definitely invading what I considered personal space. It was the only reason I had not changed my position about half an hour ago, when my legs had slowly started to tingle uncomfortably, and had instead stayed frozen in my position.

Even though Azriel had not seemed to mind being close to me earlier, I didn't want to push it.

Ever since meeting him, I knew that for him, physical contact was - complicated. I had seen plenty of times when he had flinched away from it, mostly from strangers, as well meaning as they had been. He didn't seem to mind as much when it came from his friends, his family. In fact, I was pretty sure I had seen him lean into the way Rhys patted his shoulders or how the way he rolled his eyes when Cassian squeezed the living daylight out of him in a hug always looked half-hearted, his lips curving just barely in amusement, or how he let Mor mess with his hair and give him cheek kisses even though he glared at her.

I wasn't sure if he needed to trust a person to be able to accept physical contact or if it was something else entirely, but I didn't want to overstep. He looked so relaxed, calm, almost unguarded, it made something flicker in my chest.

I didn't give care if my legs turned numb if it meant he could stay like that for a little longer.

Shifting again, I barely suppressed the urge to grimace when there was a light sting in my thigh, my muscles aching.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Azriel's eyes flicker up from his book and towards me and tried to keep my breathing even, gaze moving over the words on the page before me without quite catching their meaning.

The Spymaster returned his gaze back towards his book, and I slowly let myself relax, inwardly making a face when I shifted in my seat, trying to find another position that didn't make my legs feel quite so mangled.

Big, calloused hands closed around my ankles, and my heart jumped into my throat when they pulled on my legs, dragging me down over the cushions in one swift move and causing a soft squeak to leave me when my head hit the armrest.

My breath stumbled, my eyes darted up, widening slightly, and Azriel draped my legs over his lap, my calves pressing against his thighs when he tugged the blanket around my legs and threw me a look.

“You've been squirming for half an hour.” He mumbled the words like they were an explanation, only after a few seconds adding in a grumble: “It's driving me nuts.”

My breath hitched, stilling as I stared at him as he shifted a little in his seat, sinking back until he was reclined comfortably again, draping his forearms over my shins and turning his attention back towards his book. The blanket had ridden up, and his right arm was pressing against my bare leg, but Azriel didn't seem to give a shit about personal space or physical contact as he pulled my legs closer, his right hand slipping under the blanket to gently close around my calf and hold it in place.

One corner of Azriel's lips tipped upwards a little, and without looking away from the pages, he mumbled, amusement lacing his deep, low voice: “You're staring.”

I blinked, swallowing against the sudden tightness in my throat as something fluttered in my chest, high and wild, and Azriel threw me a look, a twinkle in his amber eyes that was full of dark mischief when he raised an eyebrow lightly.

“Too much distraction?”

My lips parted in disbelief, and Azriel's lips curved like he was holding back a smirk. Then he turned his attention back towards his book.

I stared at him, gaping lightly as my heart skipped high and a ridiculously wide smile slowly stretched over my face.

You're on.

Slumping back into the cushions, I picked up my book that had fallen into my lap when Azriel had dragged me towards him, flicking back to the page I had left it. Snuggling into the cushion, my eyes moved over the page, not processing a word as my mind started working. Staring. Distraction.

Well, I could just –

Shifting, I started to tug the blanket off my legs, keeping my eyes on the pages of my book as my brows furrowed lightly in focus. Leaning up a little to pull the blanket off my feet, I dropped it onto the ground, stretching my bare legs before settling back into the cushions.

It was a long shot, but –

Azriel threw me a look, and I caught the second he blinked, his grip around my calf changing. His eyes, looking like molten gold in the warm light, moved over my legs, my shirt pushed up from him dragging me down over the cushions, now barely reaching the top of my thighs. A muscle in his jaw shifted sharply, his piercing gaze tracking up my shins, over the small scar on my knee where I had fallen as a child, up my thighs –

"Too much distraction?”

Azriel's gaze snapped up, and I lost the fight against my twitching lips when it met mine, a wide cheeky smile slowly spreading over my face, bright and mischievous, and Azriel stared at me, stared as a twinkle spread through his eyes, growing and growing just like the crease digging into his cheek.

Giggling softly under my breath, I turned my eyes back onto my book, focusing back on the pages as my heart skipped against my ribs.

Or, I tried to focus. But Azriel's hand had slipped up my leg, now resting on my shin, his scarred skin rough and warm on mine as his thumb started to slowly brush over my skin. And suddenly, nothing about him was calming anymore.

Trying to keep my breathing even, I barely suppressed the urge to swallow as I stared at the pages of my book.

From the corner of my eye, I saw the shadowsinger's lips quirk upwards.

Damn it.

Breathing out soundlessly, I tried to focus back on my book. Azriel´s thumb was slowly swiping over my skin, almost absentmindedly. It made my throat close up as something skipped against my ribs, and I shifted without even realizing.

Azriel's grip around my leg tightened, and he mumbled: “Stop that.”

“Why; am I distracting again?” I felt my lips curve as I huffed, and Az looked like he had to bite back a smile, raising a brow at me.

“Are you done squirming?”

I breathed out before closing my book with a snap, holding it up and raising a brow at him. “This is boring.”

“That's because you're still only in the beginning.” The golden flecks in Azriel's eyes twinkled. “It picks up later.”

Grumbling, I let the book slip to the ground, dropping my head back against the armrest.

Blinking at the ceiling, I listened as my heart thrummed steadily against my ribs, something warm bubbling gently in my chest, giddy and warm and comfortable.

My eyes were just closing a little when suddenly, a thought struck me that made my heart miss a beat and jump into my throat as I widened my eyes.

“Shit.”

Azriel's eyes darted up when I scrambled to get to my feet, a crease forming between his brows as he watched me, his wings flaring slightly as tension rippled through his body.

“What?”

I turned to blink at him, his shoulders suddenly rigid and body straightening, like he was ready to jump into action.

“I just remembered I ate the last of Mor's cookies.”

Azriel stared at me. Then he huffed. His shoulders sank back, and he flopped into his seat and glared at me.

“I thought -” He broke off, breathing out as he raised a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, but his lips twitched like he suddenly had to hold back a laugh. Shaking his head, he looked back up at me, and my breath hitched when I saw the way his eyes began to twinkle.

“What?” I felt my brows furrow, and Azriel slowly started to smirk, creases forming in his cheeks and causing something to surge high in my chest.

“Nice knowing you.”

I deadpanned, and the shadowsinger chuckled, the deep sound almost making me sway on the spot as his eyes crinkled.

“Hey, at least I planned on making a new batch.” I glared at him, but it probably looked more than a pout, judging from the way Azriel's lips curved when he pushed himself to his feet.

“Alright, come on.” His eyes were bright with amusement when he fixed his pyjama pants that had slipped dangerously low on his hips, stepping towards me and placing his hands on my shoulders. His touch sent a jolt through my body, the weight of his palms gentle when he turned me around, mumbling: “Can't have Mor killing you over a jar of cookies.”

I tried to keep myself from swallowing when his breath fanned over the top of my head, his chest bumping into my back as he started to push me towards the door, and my heart skipped a little.

Frowning lightly, I slowed my steps and looked up at him over my shoulder.

“What are you -” My eyes flickered over his face, and I blinked before breathing out and smiling, crooked and a bit cheeky as I raised my brows at him. “You can stay up here and read, you know.”

“And miss you trying to navigate our kitchen?” Azriel's brows furrowed as he opened the door, but his lips curved when he threw me a look. “No book is that entertaining.”

I tried to elbow him into the ribs, but Azriel dodged the jab, smirking in a way that got my heart stuck in my throat.

Breathing out softly and soundlessly, I allowed him to gently nudge me onto the stairs leading down into the house.

At least I could put some reasonable distance between us in the kitchen.

~

The moon was shining through the windows as we made our way down the stairs, stars and galaxies twinkling on the dark sky. When we passed Cassian´s floor and a particularly loud snore echoed from his room, I had to muffle my giggle with the back of my hand, Azriel´s chest vibrating in my back like he was laughing silently.

The living room was dipped in half-light as we made our way over to the door leading to the kitchen. I pushed it open, shivering happily at the warmth washing over me, mixed with the sweet smell of the flowers sitting on the big table over at the window. The fae lights flickered to life, flooding the room with warm, golden light when Azriel closed the door behind him, and I slipped behind the kitchen island, stretching to open the two high cupboards that functioned as a pantry before pulling myself onto the counter. The marble was cold against my knees as I straightened up and stretched to get to the container of flour on the top shelf.

Squinting in concentration, I jumped lightly when Azriel sucked in a sharp breath.

“What the –“, he interrupted himself, and I could feel the air shift behind me like his shadows had brought him there, then a hand settled on my back, warm and steady as it pressed firmly, and my fingers almost slipped on the cabinet.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Azriel sounded torn between amusement and irritation, and I grumbled: “Getting the flour. This place is built for fucking giants.”

Stretching a bit more, I could feel him shift closer, his hand pressing harder against my lower back, and my breath hitched.

Making a happy sound when my fingers closed around the container, I pulled it off the shelf. But I hadn't expected it to be quite so full and so heavy, and so I squealed softly when it dipped back, the lid sliding off, and I ducked my head when I could feel a rain of flour douse past me.

Quickly pushing the glass up and catching it with my free hand, I carefully slid it onto the counter before throwing a quick look over my shoulder – and feeling my eyes widen as my heart skipped once before stilling.

The flour had missed me, only dusting my dark shirt with a thin layer.

Azriel had not been as lucky.

The shadowsinger blinked. His lashes, usually long and dark, were now stark white, just like his hair and his face and the top of his shoulders and wings, all coated in a thick layer of powdery flour.

A soft snort left me. Then something began to bubble in my chest until I couldn't contain it anymore, and a laugh broke free, quickly turning into wild and unrestrained giggles.

A rumble grew in Azriel's chest as he started to scowl, taking a step back before shaking himself like a dog, sending flour everywhere in big white clouds. I coughed through my laughter, quickly holding onto the cabinets as my shoulders shook and I fought for air, my eyes becoming teary.

“I'm so sorry.” Laughing, I leaned my forehead against the shelves, my ribs beginning to ache as I tried to catch my breath, the image of the mighty shadowsinger, darkness personified, covered in white flour flashing before my eyes and making me break out into a new fit of giggles.

“I'm sorry, I'm –“ Breathing in deeply, I wiped over my cheeks, my belly aching as I looked over my shoulder, and Azriel blinked and turned his eyes away from my face. Scowling lightly, he raised a hand to run it over his shoulder, a thin white film of flour still dusting his tanned skin.

“Come here.” Snickering softly, I reached out a hand, and Azriel glared, but there was something in his eyes, bright and gleaming, as he slowly stepped forward until his side brushed against my ankle.

I motioned for him to drop his head, and something skipped high in my chest when Azriel's gaze dragged over my face for a second. Then he complied, and still giggling softly under my breath, I ran my hand over his shoulder, brushing off the visible remainders of flour before softly raking my fingers through his hair, shaking out the white dust.

Azriel´s shoulders grew rigid. His wings rustled before shuddering, and I quickly pulled my hand away, my heart leaping into my throat.

“Sorry,”, I mumbled, smiling softly and sheepishly, and my heart missed a step when I saw the muscles in Azriel's back shift.

The shadowsinger breathed out, his shoulders sinking back as he raised his head, and the soft twinkle in his eyes made me exhale soundlessly.

“Are you done up there or do I need to seek shelter?”

I snorted, turning back around with a wide grin. “Shut up.”

I could feel the coolness of shadows brush my feet, and when I threw a quick look over my shoulder, pools of darkness cleaned up the white dust on the floor. Azriel was still hovering behind me, shadows brushing over his wings to clean off the white residue before whispering and grazing down his back.

Pulling the sugar and the chocolate chips from the cupboard, I set them down next to the flour, then I pressed my hands onto the counter and slid off the surface. My bare feet hit the floor, and my heart missed a beat when my back hit Azriel´s chest.

Quickly taking a step forward, I looked over my shoulder to sent him a sheepish smile, but something got lodged into my throat when my eyes met Azriel's, trained onto my face, dark and deep in the light.

“Are you going to climb onto anything else or am I spared from more heartattacks?” His mumbled words were like a gentle shiver down my spine, his head dropped a little to look down on me as his eyes tracked over my face, something in them I couldn't quite decipher. There was still a smudge of flour on his cheek, and my fingers itched to brush it away.

My heart skipped softly, and I felt my lips curve until I was smiling, wide and a bit cheeky. “No, I think you're good.”

Azriel stared at me, hair tousled and shoulder muscles shifting, and I had to tear my eyes away because suddenly, my chest felt like it was about to burst.

“Alright, uhm,”, I scratched my forehead and tried to remember why I was standing in the kitchen, “I – need butter and eggs.” Turning around, I pulled both from next to the box with bread.

Azriel retreated as I started measuring the ingredients, pouring water into the kettle before placing it on the stove. I had just mixed together the eggs and the soft butter when his chest brushed against my shoulder and he placed a mug in front of me, steaming softly and spreading the smell of sweet berries.

Silence settled over the kitchen, but it wasn't uncomfortable. It felt like it had earlier, up in the guest room. I could feel Azriel, feel his eyes on me, but it only made something flutter softly against my ribs, giddy and warm. The fae lights plunged the kitchen in a warm, cozy light while outside, the night sky glittered with stars and the oven hummed.

By the time I had rolled the dough into little balls and put the first tray into the oven, my braid had become loose. Pulling off the ribbon tying it off, I unravelled it, turning around as I brushed some strands behind my ear, and my eyes met Azriel's.

My breath hitched.

“What?”

The shadowsinger stared at me, and slowly, one corner of the his lips tipped up just barely, but there was something in his eyes when he pushed off the island, slowly stepping closer. It almost looked like he was battling something in his mind as his gaze flickered over my face. Then he blinked and stretched out a hand, mumbling: “You've got a little –“

His thumb brushed over my cheek, gently rubbing over a spot next to the corner of my lips.

Suddenly, breathing felt difficult, something skipping so high in my chest, it reached my throat.

Swallowing harshly, I watched with my heart pounding against my ribs as Azriel took a step closer until his chest gently bumped into mine. His hand rested against my jaw, palm warm and rough against my skin that had started tingling under his touch, something changing between hot and cold running up and down my spine, my body freezing up when the shadowsinger's piercing eyes darted over my face. He blinked, then he dropped his head lightly.

When his nose brushed against mine, my breath faltered and my whole body went completely still. The only thing I could feel was my heart, pounding flatly and shakingly as Azriel´s scent drowned me and his warm breath hit my lips.

Azriel carefully nudged his nose against mine, halting. I could feel the way his breath trembled slightly, his throat working like he tried to hold back the urge to swallow.

It felt like he was waiting. Expecting me to pull back.

But I just fought the tighteness in my throat and hesitantly raised my chin.

When my lips brushed over Azriel´s, a shudder went through his body. His hand slipped over my jaw to the back of my neck, and he broke the last bit of distance, pulling me forward to crash his lips onto mine.

Something surged in my chest, growing warmer and bigger with every second, fluttering madly.

A whimper built at the back of my throat, and I reached out to grip Azriel's sides the same moment his free hand rose to cup the side of my neck. He was kissing me like I was air and he was drowning, deep, hard and desperate, his tongue dragging over mine, fingers winding through my hair as he took a step forward. His chest pressed firmly into mine, his brows drawn together and breath harsh against my skin, and my heart skipped so high, it got stuck in my throat.

When Azriel pulled back to suck in a sharp breath, his thumb brushing over my skin as he pressed his forehead against mine, breathing heavily, my heart was pounding and I wasn't quite sure where up was and where down. My nose brushed against Azriel's, and I swore I could feel his breath stumble.

Swallowing, I eased my grip on his sides, my voice a bit hoarse when I mumbled: “Gone?”

Azriel breathed a huff, and my heart skipped when I opened my eyes to see a grin slowly spreading over his face, causing his eyes to crinkle and a crease digging into his cheek, his iris twinkling so brightly my breath hitched. Then he dipped his head, and my heart tumbled when his lips pressed against the spot on my cheek, tongue darting out and swiping over my skin.

When he pulled back, his iris was twinkling and my breath flat. There was something there in his iris, something that matched the strange surging feeling in my chest and that made my body feel light like air as his eyes flickered over my face.

“You're staring,”, he mumbled, the harsh rasp in his deep voice betraying him, and I felt my lips curve slowly into a wide, beaming smile.

“Want me to stop?"

Azriel stared at me, and his eyes became even brighter as his deep voice rumbled through me.

"Never."

[mrs-han]

Jumin Week

Day Six: Philautia

With you being away for the weekend, Jumin had the penthouse to himself. Naturally, he kept himself busy with work and Elizabeth the Third, but there was a glaring you-shaped hole missing… and it was getting harder to ignore.

Moving to the small, peach-colored Bose speaker, Jumin smiled fondly. Memories of you dancing wildly or delicately filled his mind — he chuckled as he recalled a spin you had been trying to master, only to land on the bed, couch, or his arms as you toppled over.

Running his fingers through the indented play button, he tilted his head. Surely, you wouldn’t mind him using your stereo…? Or listening to your Spotify playlist?

Jumin opened the account, album covers of Disney, true crime podcasts, and unfamiliar Japanese and Korean artists littering the screen. Eyes softening, he opened the playlist you created — the image you chose being of a wide-eyed Elizabeth the Third looking cluelessly and cutely towards the camera.

Jumin coughed back a laugh; 100 hours and 8 minutes worth of music you enjoyed.

Hm.

Looking back down at your speaker, he pressed the on button, familiar green and blue lights illuminating it. Immediately connecting through Bluetooth, a song boomed throughout the penthouse —

Scaring the absolute shit out of him. Scrambling to turn it down, Jumin closed his eyes and let out a huff.

If you were here, he wouldn’t hear the end of it. He could already imagine your endless laughing.

“Why she insists on turning this thing all the way up is beyond me.” With a sharp click of his tongue, he glanced at the song playing on his phone. “TiK… ToK. Tick tock. I wonder if this Kesha knows the title of her song is spelt wrong.”

With great caution, Jumin turned the volume up on your speaker. A catchy pop-bop filled his ears, but he was still… apprehensive with this kind of music. While your personality shined through catchy diddy’s and endless repetition, Jumin preferred a calmer tone. Light jazz, even scat if he was feeling adventurous.

Turning the music up a little more, he began to understand the appeal. Bobbing his head and patting his thigh with his hand to the beat, he felt himself begin to relax. It felt like you were home, just around the corner, shouting the lyrics you dedicated to memory.

Swaying his hips loosely and relaxing his arms, allowing them to sway naturally to the beat of the music, Jumin smiled. He was only taught formal forms of dance, never something as spontaneous as this. Spreading his legs wider, Jumin grabbed and threw his jacket to the couch. Feet tapping against the floor, he took a chance and started to move around the way you would — toes barely touching the floor, arms up and out to the side, hair madly swooshing in different directions.

He felt ridiculous, but free. Gaining more momentum, Jumin started hopping to the intoxicating rhythm, his long legs skipping from the kitchen to the living room. The small smile on his lips was so much bigger now; he made giddy sounds he had never made before, squeaking in his adrenaline and laughing loudly.

Body glistening with sweat, Jumin slid his tie from around his neck and shot his arm into the air, waving the tie while moving his hips from side to side. Spotting his reflection in the window, his laughter only grew, filling the penthouse with a noise it hadn’t known from him.

Now he understood why you did this everyday!

Pushing the door open with your knee, you set your luggage down and twisted your backpack off your shoulders. The blaring music instantly alerted you. “Jumin? Sweetheart?”

“Tick tock, on the clock, but the party don’t stop, no. OH, WHOA, WHOA OH.”

You clapped your hand over your mouth, muffling a laugh. That was definitely the voice of your husband.

Peeking your head around the corner, your mouth fell in amused bewilderment. Jumin’s elegant figure was no more as he stood thrusting his hips, shaking his butt, and waving his arms to music only you listened to in this relationship. You couldn’t help it; raising your phone, you snapped a quick picture of him…

The click alerting him instantaneously.

Spinning around, hair wet from his sweat, his body tensed. “Darling…!”

Wiggling your fingers, you shined your largest smile his way. “Hi ~!”

While he slammed his hand repeatedly onto the speaker to turn it off to no avail, you ran to him and wrapped your arms around his waist. Jumin hesitantly wrapped an arm around you, very aware of how sweaty he was. “Welcome… home, what is wrong with this speaker.”

You lowered the volume and buried your chin in his chest. “I see you enjoyed yourself while I was away!”

Jumin blushed deeply, his ears ringing. “Darling, it’s not what it looks like.”

“Oh, I think it’s exactly what it looks like.” Pushing his matted bangs back, you gripped his hand. “Don’t be embarrassed! Come on, Mister Fancy Pants! Show me what you can do!”

Jumin beamed, pressing his warm and wet lips against yours. And as you led him to a wider space, the drowning music filling his ears and you before his eyes, there was no better place to be.

@juminweek2019

[whump-card]

Interlude 21.1: Candy and Cameras

Takes place during Arc 2, except for a little bonus moment at the end :)

Based off of prompts from this list by @whumperful as requested by an anon and @thecyrulik

~1160 words

CW: alcohol, toxic relationship, whumper/whumpee, manipulation, conditioning, restraints, dubcon kissing, fade to black dubcon

~~~

“Have another.”

“Have another.”

“Have another.”

~~~

Simon stumbled out of the bar clinging to Matthew’s arm, giddy and single-minded. He stood on tip-toe to breathe into the vampire’s ear.

“Can-dy, can-dy, can-dy!” he chanted.

“Okay, okay!” Matthew relented, “There’s a CVS or whatever-the-fuck down the street, let’s go.”

The bright lights of the convenience store were dazzling and magical. Simon spun in place for a moment, then spotted the candy rack and nearly fell to his knees in front of it. The clerk gave him the side-eye, but decided he wasn’t causing trouble.

“You pick out what you want,” Matthew ruffled Simon’s hair, “I’ll be right back.”

Simon barely noticed the vampire leave, too entranced by the bright colors and logos spread before him. Something plucked at his heartstrings.

Nostalgia.

He brushed the feeling aside and busied himself with picking out the perfect selection. A giant Mars Bar, obviously. A pack of Sour Patch Kids. An Almond Joy, because that was - that was somebody’s favorite. He couldn’t remember whose. Hubba Bubba bubble gum tape. A giant KitKat. No longer able to pick up anything else without it all spilling out of his hands, Simon staggered to his feet.

He convened with Matthew at the checkout, and the vampire tossed his own find onto the counter; a red and yellow box.

“Whassat?” Simon asked, leaning against him.

“Camera. You got fuckin’ Almond Joy?”

“I like Almond Joy,” Simon mumbled.

~~~

Back at the apartment, Simon flopped onto the bed while Matthew dumped out the shopping bag full of candy onto the sheets.

“Yessss!” Simon snatched up the sour gummy bag and struggled with it for a moment before shoving it towards Matthew. “Help!”

Matthew, who had been taking the disposable camera out of its box, glared at him.

“You know you’re a fucking demanding little bitch sometimes?”

Simon laughed, before he processed Matthew’s serious tone and a shot of anxiety ran up his spine.

“Sorry.”

“You can make it up to me.” Matthew opened the gummies easily. “Kneel.”

The command sent a drunken flutter of arousal through Simon, and he pushed himself upright, overshot and almost keeled over in the other direction, then sat back on his heels.

“Shut your eyes, open your mouth, and stick out your tongue,” Matthew ordered, plucking a sour gummy out of the package.

Simon obeyed. He wanted Matthew to have fun. He didn’t want Matthew to be mad. He wanted to do whatever Matthew wanted, forever.

“Now, don’t move until I say so.” Matthew set the candy on Simon’s tongue, eliciting a whine of protest. “Hold it!”

Simon could feel drool collecting in his mouth. Then he heard a click, and a bright flash lit up the insides of his eyelids red, dazing him. He automatically pulled the gummy into his mouth to say, “Hey!” He blinked up at Matthew, who stood over him with the camera, winding it back.

“I don’t like…” An old fear soured his stomach and jumbled his words as he slowly chewed the sour candy. “Don’t take pictures of me!”

“Aw, c’mon!” Matthew gently persuaded, “It’s just for us, nobody else will ever see them,” he combed a hand through Simon’s hair, “Except for the nerd at Staples who develops them, but what do we care what they think?”

Simon leaned into the vampire’s touch as Matthew brushed his hand down the side of Simon’s face and took a firm hold of his chin, turning his face this way and that.

“Man,” Matthew breathed, “You’re real pretty when you’re wasted.”

Simon beamed at the compliment, warm devotion drowning his anxieties.

“Open.”

Completely pliant, Simon opened his mouth and Matthew slipped his thumb in under Simon’s tongue to take an even stronger grip on his jaw.

“Ow,” Simon half-complained.

“Shh,” Matthew lifted the camera in his other hand, “Hold still, just like that.” He snapped another picture, and Simon cringed from the flash.

“Okay,” Matthew released him, “Take your shirt off.”

“Not if - Not if you’re gonna take pictures a’me,” Simon slurred, folding his arms and frowning.

“But I want to take pictures of you. You’re adorable,” the vampire cajoled.

Simon knew he should be able to resist the simple flattery, but couldn’t.

“Mkay but, nobody sees ‘em essept you. N’the Staples nerd.”

“Just me and the Staples nerd,” grinned Matthew.

Simon started to pull up the bottom edge of his turtleneck, but as he got it over his head the dexterity of his drunken limbs failed him, and his head and arms became trapped in the fabric.

“Agh!” He lost his balance and flopped over onto the bed, twisting uselessly. He heard Matthew laugh and the camera snap as the vampire captured a photo of Simon’s exposed abdomen.

“Matthewww!” he whined, muffled under the tangled shirt, “Help me!”

“Okay, okay!” Matthew took one more photo before climbing onto the bed and pulling the shirt off Simon’s head.

“Better?”

“Mhm,” Simon nodded, still disoriented. Matthew leaned in and kissed him, hard, confusing him further, and held up the camera and took a selfie. Then he pulled back with a self-satisfied smirk, winding the camera back.

Simon wiggled his arms above his head where they were still trapped in the shirt, blinking his eyes rapidly from the haze of the flash.

“Get it off,” he mumbled - but now that he was lying down, he was finding it harder and harder to care. Fatigue was settling deep into his bones, and the bed was so soft and comfortable.

Matthew’s eyes lit up, and he dropped the camera into the sheets to peel the shirt off Simon’s arms - but instead of taking it entirely off, he wrapped and knotted the fabric around Simon’s wrists.

“Hey…” Simon struggled weakly against the restraint, “I don’… I donlike that.”

Matthew leaned down to kiss him again, murmuring into his mouth, “Yeah you do.”

Simon would do anything for Matthew.

“Yeah I do,” he echoed.

Matthew reached down to unbutton Simon’s pants.

“Can I take pictures while I fuck you?”

“No, c’mon…” Simon turned his face away, but it was a half-hearted denial. Matthew grabbed his chin and pulled him back, nose-to-nose.

“Come on, say yes,” he coaxed.

Simon’s eyes wandered over Matthew’s face, only barely comprehending.

“Okay.”

~~~

Months later, Captain Isles stood in Simon and Matthew’s abandoned apartment, opened with keys taken from Matthew’s seized possessions. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but he was looking anyway. He picked up and put down Simon’s books. He opened and closed the refrigerator. He rifled through dresser drawers.

That’s when he found it.

A fat yellow envelope, buried under Matthew’s socks. He opened it and pulled out a random photo from the center of the stack. Stared at it for a minute. Slid it back in and closed the envelope. Almost put it back in the drawer.

Then he tucked the photos into the inside pocket of his jacket and left the apartment.

~~~

Masterlist

Taglist: @flowersarefreetherapy, @pigeonwhumps, @sunshiline-writes, @seasaltandcopper

[venti-tangents]

Confessions on the Beach

For the past few months, this has been living rent free in my brain. The Sultry Summer Nights event was the last story event we got where the MC and Clavis weren't lovers. Don't get me wrong—I loved the way the romantic tension played out in the event. However, the event being so close to his actual route release, I couldn't help but wonder what it would look like if the beach scene were a part of his route, or ended in some sort of resolution to the romantic tension. Thus, this was born. Enjoy!

WC: 794  Warnings: Spoilers for Clavis’ route in the Sultry Summer Nights Event. 

THE sand felt icky between my toes; the crash of the waves provided a remedy for my condition. For a moment, washing away the sand was the only care I had in the world, as I hiked my skirt over my knees and marched into the ocean. 

Unfortunately, my expectations that were set high by the lovely descriptions of the sea in my books were intimately deflated the moment I stepped foot in the water. Instead of washing off, the sand stuck to my feet, made worse by the seaweed tangling around my ankles and the clams below my heels. All of a sudden, my body reacted out of instinct, desperate to flee.

“GET IT OFF–what the fuck is that ?!” Half shriek, half cry I jumped around, trying to put distance between me and whatever ungodly creature just crawled out of the ocean.

Laughter rang in my ears, the source being a doubled over Clavis desperately trying to catch his breath. “My goodness” he managed in between gasps “…what an amazing reaction!”

Contagious. So much so that in spite of myself I found humor in my own humiliation.

 “Is that why you brought me here?” I quipped back, as I struggled to contain my own giggles. 

Time seemed to freeze, as the world narrowed to just the two of us, laughing like children on the beach. Even as I lost grip of my skirt and the water soaked its hem, even as a wave knocked me off balance, sending me face down into the wet sand. Except the impact never came. Instead of the expected cold embrace of the water, I found myself embraced by warm arms; instead of finding myself reflected in the blue of the ocean, I saw myself in Clavis’ golden eyes.

“Ah, I can’t take my eyes off you for even a second, my sweet” He chuckled deeply. Clavis, who was usually impeccably groomed from head to toe was in absolute disarray below me, sand plastered to his shirt, seaweed tangled in his hair. Yet, he laughed wholeheartedly, like he was genuinely having the time of his life. 

“Your hair is a mess.” Giddy,  I plucked seaweed out of his drenched waves. 

“Yours isn’t any better. Maybe the local children will mistake you for a sea spirit.” 

“Is that so? Then they must mistake you for a sea monster, given your state”

“A male siren! Ah, you say the most flattering things, my sweet”

“Between us, I’d be the one mistaken for a siren. Especially next to you!”

He let out a deep, bellowing laugh, making me much more aware of his chest pressed up against mine. I figured he was built solidly, but the lean elegance of his body was all the more obvious with his soaked white dress shirt…

For the first time in my life I snapped my head up to the sky in silent prayer–please don’t let him notice the blush climbing up my neck.  When I regained enough of my composure to look down. I was met with a tilted smile and flushed cheeks—I could not breathe, could not think, could not do anything but look into his eyes.

Clavis called out my name, hands around my waist trembling. Nervousness, excitement, adoration and fear danced on his face—the man that I had only caught glimpses of was finally in front of me, tangible and real. My thumb found its way to the beauty mark right under his mouth, traced its way across his plush bottom lip. 

“Yes, Claivs?” I barely recognized my own voice, raspy and raw, filled with want. Time stopped–all that mattered was his warmth, his laugh, his smile. 

“What do you want to do now?” Slowly, his hand tangled in my hair. 

Our situation was ridiculous, yet it was the first time in years where I didn’t care about what came next. “Kiss me, Clavis.” Barely a whisper, my heart sored—finally getting its way after years of being ignored. 

“As my lady wishes.” Swiftly, he closed the distance between us, his plush lips meeting mine. Softly, I kissed him back, afraid that he’d disappear behind his usual mask. 

Through soft kisses and caresses, our hearts shared secrets that our heads were too scared to acknowledge. When we finally broke for breath, we burst out in giggles—giddy like a pair of infatuated teenagers.

In this special place outside of time, the tension between us finally broke. It was a long time coming, and I was sure that once time restarted and we returned back to Rhodolite, we would be back to our positions; as Belle and a Prince.  Yet, the sight of a genuinely happy Clavis is enough to give me just a little bit of hope that things would turn out okay. 

[camerica]

@rejectory asked: [ GRAPPLE ] for my muse to wrestle yours down to the floor or against the wall + Thor

They've been playing this for weeks now and it's become Steve's favorite past time. The thrill of turning the corner and never knowing if it'll be an Asgardian brick house or an immoveable shield is a constant threat in the Avengers compound but the others play along nice enough.

Their little game has more than totaled a few walls, broken a few hundred windows, threatened the foundation with a hearty spackling of cracks and crannies for decor.

This time, however, Thor's caught him off guard mid-sentence and that's on Steve. Laughing through the whistle of air leaving his lungs, he'd tap out if he thought he couldn't handle it but this is just the beginning. Thor's going easy on him and he thinks he's got a way to work his way out of the hold. By getting his knees beneath him and using every ounce of his upper body strength to lift the big boy up and over.

Maria just barely manages to slide past the two of them, eyes rolling into the back of her skull and a very audible very grumpy scoff leaving those lips. Steve will apologize later, offer to make the report on his own. Right now he's got a squirming God pinned beneath him and no more leverage. Bad idea- OOMPH.

His face hits the marbled flooring and it feels too much like they're fish caught in the same line flopping around on an embankment the way they're trading body slams. It's exhilarating though. No one else can match him strength for strength and in between missions you get soft. Thor's keeping him on his toes, teaching him a thing or two about how he trained in Asgard. Never heard 'fight like a God' before, but it's becoming his favorite.

He digs an elbow deep beneath the God's ribs, loosening one half of an arm long enough to tear himself free and with a wild and ecstatic grin on his face, he goes in for the leap just as Thor's scrambling to his feet.

Steve won't lie, Asgardian armor is something else and it hurts like a sonuvabitch to take shoulder first but that satisfying guffaw that leaves his companion at having the air tackled out of him makes him giddy.

[stay-corner]

do u think chan likes to record his moans when he's jerking off and it sounds just like the bble audio?

chan loves pretending to be risky. he doesn't like partaking in actual risky behavior - he would never send a naughty audio on bubble, or let you blow him in a cinema, or anything of the sort, but his head spins, so dizzy with need whenever he gets to have you in his studio late at night at the company; barely anyone is present then, but just the slim, very slim chance of getting caught shoots straight to his core, abs clenching and thighs quivering as he tries to stave off his release.

naturally, he's also obsessed with sending little audio messages that do not incriminate him in any way. but he knows. he knows what he's doing with all the shuffling, his far-too-loud whimpers slipping past his lips right before his voice hits the mic. he's almost trembling with excitement as the audio loads, hundreds of messages following, and he doesn't even read them, simply letting his phone fall into the sheets as he watches them pop onto his screen too fast to even be comprehensive. and then chan bites his lip, giddy smile pulling at his mouth as his hand travels south, down, under the blanket and over his underwear, his length already twitching against the confines.

well, he wouldn't randomly record his beautiful moans as he builds up towards his release - that is too much (for now). he will, however, send you fairly similar messages whenever he's feeling particularly playful. that's when he exits the bubble app, shaky fingers barely managing to find your name in his contacts before he records a breathless "hey, babe, you up?" and sends it without a second thought.

at this point, chan is rock hard, pretty tip peaking past the waistband of his underwear, and he awaits your response, gaze fixed to his screen as his hand begins to pull the elastic down, fingers ghosting over the underside of his cock.

chan lets out a silly giggle when he sees you've read and listened to his message, his toes going numb as they curl in anticipation, his hand finally, finally wrapping around his length as you type in a short response.

"yeah, what's up?"

oh, if only you knew what's up.

chan lets you wait a minute or two, too focused on how good it feels to finally get some relief, his fingers tightly gripping his shaft, thumb flying over the glistening head every once in a while, making his breath hitch. his entire body is already tensing up, muscular thighs almost lifting off the bed as he throws his head back, pants and moans escaping his throat unrestricted. the wet smack of his hand is downright filthy in the silence of the room, and chan has half a mind to grab the phone with his free hand, his jerking coming to a halt right as he presses the 'record' button.

"nothing much," his breathy voice hits your ears and catches you off guard, and you hear him shuffle on his bed. you manage to catch how he wets his lips before he breathes in and continues talking. "just thinking about you."

the message goes on for four more seconds, three of which are complete silence, before the fourth one seals the thought that's plaguing your mind.

the wet glide of his hand over his cock is unmistakable, even if for just a moment, and the sharp intake of breath is impossible to miss, cut off by the recording ending. you laugh incredulously before you respond, though chan is already gone, phone tossed somewhere in his mess of a blanket, bashful grin atop his plush, bitten lips.

he doesn't even wait to see how you react, too embarrassed at this point, a deep pink dusting his cheeks and chest as he plants his feet on the mattress, knees bent and hand fisting furiously at his length. his hips twitch incessantly, following the intoxicating friction, and although he burns with shame, chan's not shy when he pants out loud, eyes closed and mouth ajar. beads of sweat slide down his forehead as his eyebrows furrow, and he reaches out blindly for his phone, unlocking it sloppily after a few missed tries, and he doesn't even read your response to his little audio message before he records another.

his strangled moans make a perfect harmony with the constant tossing and turning atop his sheets, wet smacks accompanying it, and then he speaks in broken whimpers and whines, desperately pleading into the phone. "ah, ah, fuck, i'm gonna cum-- i'm gonna cum, ah-"

the message ends when his muscles contract, his phone slipping out of his grip as his cum spurts all over his clenching abs, fingers not ceasing their thrusting until he's completely spent, jaw slack and limbs numb, a soft buzz dancing under his skin.

yeah, chan definitely gets off on sending silly little risque audio messages.

- lunar

[asoftvoice]

in the end

summary: finishing a book you recommended ignites a realization in chris.

warnings: age gap, fluff, spoilers for They Both Die At The End by Adam Silvera, and Little Women by Louisa May Alcott. mentions of death.

pairing: chris evans x costar!reader

your toes dug into the sand, the sun beating down on your skin. you rested your chin on your knee, looking out at the waves crashing against the shore. you looked longingly at your costars who were splashing around in the water.

it had been a dreadful long month long full of shooting your new movie, Ghosted. you thought that filming a romantic comedy would be a breeze, but it was proving to be anything but.

you were forced to put your happy face on when you barely had the energy to crawl out of bed, and act like you were head over heels in love with Chris's character.

acting in love with Chris wasn't the hard part for you.

it was pretending that you weren't in love with him when the camera's weren't rolling.

playing his love interest, you had very few scenes that didn't include him, and even when the cameras weren't rolling, he was constantly in your space. constantly joking, poking, tickling. treating you like a little sister, as if he wasn't kissing the life out of you an hour ago.

it hurt, that you couldn't deny. it hurt knowing that the two of you would never work out. even if, for whatever reason, he did fall for you and he did confess, the two of you would only end up heartbroken. the judgement and criticism that the two of you would no doubt receive even if the relationship was just rumoured, made you feel sick to your stomach. as much as you wanted to be his, and for him to be yours, you knew that it would just end up hurting the two of you if you tried.

it was exhausting. a bone deep exhaustion that had yet to be soothed, but you had a feeling that this break from filming would do the trick.

for once, Chris was nowhere to be seen. he had been unsure if he was going to be able to make it to the beach house that had been rented for the weekend, and you were happy to be separated from the man who had been suffocating you for the past 8 weeks.

but you discovered that now that he wasn't here, you wanted nothing more than for him to be sitting next to you. to be talking to you, and you wanted nothing more than for the two of you to be able to be together, despite the universe telling you no, or so it felt.

Chris clicked the key fob to lock his car, hearing it beep behind him. he slung his duffel over his shoulder, and entered the house. the door to the back patio was open, and he could see his castmates fooling around in the ocean.

then, his eyes found you, sitting on the sand, watching them.

the corners of his lips pointed up towards his eyes in a warm smile, watching your shoulders rise and fall as you took a deep breath. the duffel fell from Chris's shoulder and hit the floor with a thud, his shoes joining the duffel a moment later, before he was hissing when his bare feet touched the burning orange sand.

he made his way over to you slowly, waving and smiling at his cast mates as he did so. Chris smiled wider as he approached you. he was never able to control his smile around you. no matter his emotion at the moment, all you had to do was enter a room, and he was instantly happy, almost giddy, even.

you had brought such a light into his life since meeting you. before signing on to the movie, he'd felt hopeless. he was 40, almost 41, and he'd only had a handful of committed relationships, but none of them going past dating.

him and Minka had talked about marriage and kids, but ultimately they were both a different points in their lives, and were better off friends. he hadn't really spoken about marriage or kids with anyone else, and after realizing this, he had lost all hope of ever having the family that he wanted.

that flame, that desire for the domestic life, reignited when the cast met for the first time. the smile on your face and the light in your eyes relit that flame inside of him, and the hope came back, albeit slowly.

he wasn't oblivious to the way you looked at him either. he could see the fondness that you tried to hide, and he could hear the way your breathing sped up and skin warmed whenever he made physical contact with you, both on set and off.

the only thing holding him back was the age difference. you were years younger than him, but that didn't stop him from wanting you. it didn't stop him from imagining what it would be like to hold you in his arms all night, to kiss you, to love you. it didn't stop him from imagining the two of you sharing your first dance at your wedding reception, and how great of a mother you would make.

was he getting a head of himself? absolutely, but it didn't make his thoughts retreat. in fact, if it wasn't for knowing what the internet would say about the two of you, he would have acted on his feelings weeks ago. but the thought of the comments saying that you were using him for his money. the comments about how the relationship wouldn't last. but most importantly, the comments about how he was grooming you.

he wanted you to be his, but he knew that the internet would push the two of you apart, and he wouldn't be able to bring himself to recognize that, or to end the relationship because of that, meaning the two of you would be locked in a relationship that isn't healthy for either of you.

he wanted to protect you, not hurt you, and if loving you from afar would ensure you protection, he would do just that. he squeezed his eyes shut, pushing the thoughts from his head as he took his seat next to you, returning your smile with one of his own.

"hey." he greeted, and his eyes gazed into yours as you giggled quietly.

"hi." you said so quietly, that Chris could've missed it if he wasn't paying attention. "h-how was your drive up here?" you stuttered slightly, and it made Chris chuckle.

"it was alright. little boring, but nothing a little music couldn't fix." he stated, and you smiled again, before looking out at the ocean again. "what have you guys been up to while i was gone?" he asked, following your eyeline.

you shrugged. "not much, honestly. i managed to find a quiet spot in one of the unused sitting rooms, and managed to read about half of my book." you said.

Chris nodded, breathing out of his nose. you were an avid reader, and he'd watched in amazement as you'd made your way through They Both Die At The End in two days, before offering the book to Chris to borrow, because you thought he would like it, and you were right. Chris was only half way through the book, and had never been more invested in a book that involved death, a concept that scared him. granted, the last thing he'd read before packing it in his bag was Rufus watching Mateo have a nightmare.

"what are you reading?" he asked, seeing the smile grow wider, about to happily ramble about your book.

"Little Women." you said.

"a classic," Chris stated, and you simply nodded in response.

"it is. i loved the movie, and saw it at my local book shop and picked it up. i'm loving it so far. Jo just cut off her hair, and I love how she thoroughly explains her reasoning behind it. because in the movie, its just stated that Jo 'couldn't bear it', seeing Aunt March, that it. in the book, she just states-" you began to ramble, before you realized your actions, and you stopped immediately. "sorry, i'm rambling again."

Chris shook his head, his eyebrows knitting together. "no, don't say sorry. you're passionate about books, and I'd love to hear more about it. please, go on." he said, and you smiled big, before continuing to explain.

"so, in the book, Jo says 'Meg gave all her quarterly salary toward the rent, and I only got some clothes with mine, so i felt wicked, and was bound to have some money, if i sold the nose off my face to get it.' it made me realize that even though Jo works hard for her family, she feels like she will never be good enough. and that feeling didn't stem from Marmie, it stemmed fully from Aunt March, which is really interesting because..." you rambled, and Chris continued to smile, watching you intently, fully aware his eyes held nothing but love for you.

Chris breathed through his nose, blinking back tears as he turned the page.

as much as he was in love with you, he was regretting agreeing to reading this book. you'd waited patiently for him to finish his breakfast, before grasping his wrist, and dragging him to your corner of paradise that you'd found the day before, insisting that the two of you could read.

Chris immediately agreed, not only because he was now invested in the book in his hands, but also because he could see the pure, untouched excitement in your eyes, and he wanted to keep that light there. the two of you had take up refuge on a small bench full of pillows, squished between two book cases, and in between quiet laughs, gasps, and turning pages, the two of you had drifted closer, your legs now over his lap, his hand not holding the book rubbing your shins, only leaving briefly to flip the page.

he swallowed the lump in his throat as he digested the words in front of him.

'I wonder if Mateo found his mother yet. I wonder if he told her about me. If I find my family first, we'll have our hug-it-out moment, and then I'll recruit them in my Mateo manhunt. Then who knows what comes next.

'I throw on my headphones and watch the video of Mateo singing to me.

'I see Althea Park in the distance, my place of great change. I return my attention to the video, his voice blasting in my ears.'

"no," Chris whispered as his eyes moved from the second last to the last line, seeing you look up from your book in the corner of his eye.

'I cross the street without an arm to hold me back.'

the book fell from Chris's hands, letting them come up to cover his face as tears spilled over his waterline. a sob bubbled up his throat, before your arms wrapped tightly around him, soothing him, even if just slightly.

"it's called 'They Both Die At The End' for a reason," you teased, but stopped teasing when you realized that your attempt at a light hearted joke to make him smile wasn't working, and decided to take a different route.

"do you want to know what's so magical about that book?" you whispered, sliding your legs underneath you as his hands dragged down his face, wiping away his tears. "the most magical thing about that book is that despite the fact that Mateo and Rufus are so different, despite the fact that they come from very different backgrounds, they are so similar. Rufus's parents have died, and Mateo's mom has as well. not only that, but Mateo's father was in a coma. neither of them had parents to turn to when the got their call from Death Cast. and despite all of that, despite their very different backgrounds, they found each other, and managed to learn all there was to learn about one another, and fell in love.

"despite everything, they found each other, and no matter what others said, no matter what was happening in the world, two people fell in love with zero regrets, and i think that's beautiful." you finished, and finally made eye contact with Chris, who was, once again, fully aware he was staring at you as if you were everything, as if he'd just witnessed you create the heavens and the earth, as if he was utterly amazed by you.

and you were. the way you dissected the characters, their story line, and their love story in such a simple way. it amazed him how he could apply the assessment to the two of you, and by the light flickering behind your eyes, you had as well.

Chris tried to speak, but stuttered. he clamped his mouth shut, and swallowed harshly, forcing the lump of emotion down his throat, before trying again.

"can i tell you the most beautiful thing about you," he said quietly, his one hand falling to your lower back, the other resting on one of your arms. "and me?" he continued, not waiting for your response. "the most beautiful thing about us is how we both relate to Rufus and Mateo. obviously only one of us is a man, but," you giggled loudly, and Chris felt the tension in his shoulders relieve immediately. "we're the same. i know how you feel about me, i can see it in your face, i can see how much it pains you to love me the way you do and be so scared of us hurting each other. i can see the want for me to have you, and for you to have me. how you're trying to come to terms with it, and let me tell you something, i am too. i feel as if i've loved you my entire life, despite knowing you for only a few months. we both know what the internet is going to say when we announce our relationship, but just as Rufus and Mateo were together until the very end, i promise you, i will be with you until the very end. no matter what.

"no matter what happens, no matter what is said about us, i will love you to no end." he whispered, his thumb rubbing your arm gently, seeing your head tip forward, and your chin wobble. Chris rested his forehead against yours, sniffing as his own tears fell down his face, his emotions shifting from sadness for Mateo and Rufus to pure and utter love, and need, to protect you, and love you. "all you have to do is say yes." he said, and as soon as he felt your head nod, his hands wrapped up and around your upper back, his lips chasing yours.

they met in the middle, and it felt as if a fog had been lifted as soon as they pushed against one another. you had the realization that Chris was right. that no matter what happens, no matter what anyone says, you have each other, until the very end.

[starshipsofstarlord]

The Eyes Are Lined

Summary: whilst on the last days of set of filming the show where he plays Tommy Lee, Sebastian is greeted with a surprise guest in his trailer, and he is certainly not going to be one to complain whence he’s gets a treat as sweet as you

Pairing: Sebastian Stan x reader

Warnings: 18+, smut, mentions of phone sex, oral sex (male + female receiving), unprotected sex, penetrative sex, p in v, degradation, spanking, daddy kink, teasing, fingering, pet names

Word Count: 4133

Masterlist Link

It fell from his lips as a relieved sigh, it had felt like forever since he had last seen you, and as he took in your form coiled in a baggy sweatshirt of his and hopefully nothing more, he was fast to close and lock the door behind himself. His tongue darted out to swipe the upon the underbite of his lip as he stepped slowly forwards in his adjourned flip flops, the wide shorts hanging off his legs. For this role he had very much diversified his appearance; lost weight, changed his hair, worn temporary tattoos - yet from the prowess that resonated through your eyes, nothing in the way of your attraction had changed.

“Sebba.” You greeted him with a wide smile, dismissing your phone that had been in your hand to the side of the couch, and crawling off the seat that you had taken up residence in. Instantly, your arms wrapped around his sleek torso, taking in the aroma of his deodorant that obliterated the senses through your nostrils. He pulled your face up with the grip of his heavy palm against your courteous cheek, as his breath fanned against the platter of your forehead.

“You’re here early, shooting doesn’t finish for another three days.” He stated, the grin that was tugging at his features clearly showing that he was anything but disappointed by your unspoken arrival. Tucking your arms to land around his waist like a belt that was enclosing him against you, you happily sighed, stroking your nose against the expanse of his bare chest that was beholden before you through the open curtains of his plain black hoodie. For a moment your eyes flickered down to the fake piercings that were strung like light fixtures from his nipples, watching as the silver metal beamed in contrast to the bulb that was fixed into the ceiling.

“I wanted to surprise you, it feels like forever since we were that close.” Was your confessing admission, as you pressed a warm kiss upon his revealed flesh, causing him to hum in acknowledgement of the amorous act. “Though I’m happy that god awful shadow is gone from your chin, if you want hair there then I suggest that you grow your beard back out.” You stroked your thumb over the crescent of his chin, running the pad through the indent as he inwardly cocked his brow, stiffening his jaw at your straight opinion.

“What’d you think of everything else? Be honest now darling.” He clicked his tongue, staring down at you with his smokily framed eyes, as you coiled back into your shoulders so that you could get a better overall viewpoint of him, as your hands descended to cupping the inward joints of his elbows. You balanced your weight on both of your feet, juggling between them to remain sturdy as you felt the mood in the trailer punctually shift, as though you were crossing through the mysterious channel that inhabited the Bermuda Triangle.

“Hmmm, well I’m rocking for the eyeliner, it really makes your eyes stand out more than they already do. And you know I’ve always been an absolute sucker for the longer hair, but I’m a sucker for you in general.” At that suggestive statement, you casted a sultry wink at him, hoping that he caught onto the act rather than thinking you had something entrapped in the perimeter of your eye. It was not dust that had clogged upon your pupil, instead it were lust, gripping onto the very image of him. It had been months, long ones at that since the pair of you had seen each other.

All the intimacy that your relationship confined in its long distance was dealt with over the phone, never once did the space that his work divulged the two of you apart make you feel lonely, he tried his utmost to ensure that you were comfortable even with miles for what seemed like an eternity separating you. The cellular contact that immersed your spare time furloughed for both late night calls that brought an innocent lovesick smile to resort upon the spectating image of your face that was reflected through the front camera of your phone, and sexual conducts that travelled across the countries that you were both in to bring you closer and alternatively higher together, in a blissful reunion that swamped your head with hyperactive hormones that followed after your mutual orgasms.

“Naughty.” He condoned you for your filthy innuendo, his hand cascading down the artwork of your body, and moving behind you, so that his fingertips were dancing upon the crown of your exempt ass cheek. “Guess all that time away has gotten you desperate for me, huh? Do you want to some sucking up to me? I’ve had a pretty hard day, and it would help me relieve a bunch of the stress that depends on these last few days. Not to mention I am so pent up from not seeing you all this time, it was practically torture honey bee, I’m not even sure how I survived.”

Dragging his head down to meet with your own, you pressed luscious and. Extended pecks onto his thin lips,having missed them covering every inch o your skin with the love that swelled in his chest and other places for you. “I don’t even know if you’ll last that long Bas, its been a certain while of you solely using your hand.” A giggle reaped from your throat as your hearing absorbed the gasp that slithered out of his mouth; he playfully pushed down upon the line of your shoulders, only enhancing your amusement by doing so. “So pushy.”

“That is right, and I will only get rougher with you the longer that it takes you to get down on your knees for me, so I would think logically. After all, after I completely wrap on this show, I’m going to have all the spare one in the world to put you in your little place and stop you from being a disobedient little brat.” It was a promise, he was threatening you in the most sexual way possible, and you’d be lying if you were to say that some aroused nectar hadn’t gathered in the passage that divided your highs down the middle. You gulped, intimacy written in every speck of your irises as you lowered yourself to be poised on your thighs, your face near the tent forming at his crotch.

The material of his shorts gathered with creases as his cock grew beneath the baggy subject that defined his legs that much more. A hand ravelled through your locks as you found yourself darting your tongue out to caress his legs, moving your muscle upwards as your hands teased the waistband of the barrier that prevented you from seeing all of him. “How much have you missed me baby, let daddy know.” Lightly, he begs to roll his hips forwards, pressing his erection teasingly against your face, and you were loving every second of it. His balls were pressing against your chin on every mimic forwards, and as you tried to speak, your voice was a tiny bit muffled by them.

“So much Sebby, I hated being apart from you.” You thought that would be a good enough answer, but as his fingers threaded further through your hair, a quiet yelp ejected from your throat as he strayed you head to be leant upwards so that you were gazing into his domineering eyes. That was when you realised that you must have made a mistake, but no matter what it was, it was much too late to take it back. Sexual fear paved through your gaze as you poured, wanting nothing to get back to your journey of duty which was to suck his cock, however, you could not continue if Sebastian had other things, such as whatever you had done so wrongly plaguing his mind.

“Bitch no cause why did you pronounce my name wrong? It begins with your favourite letter; a D, remember? And now I’m not even sure that you deserve my D. Right now I am not your Sebastian, what am I little girl?” He growled down at you, his toes rigidly curling in the open toed shoes that he were sporting, his hand remaining tangled in your hair.

“Daddy.” You tried not to sob out of dismissal, and instead expedited for apologising to refrain from angering him any further. “I’m so sorry daddy, I’ll do anything. Anything to make it up to you, please, I’ll never make that mistake again.” Unless it was not in this scenario of course, the pebbles of your tears brought a vivid richness and innocence upon your face, as though you were pooling diamonds out of the windows of your explicit soul. And I’m return, you were met with the gift of Seb shoving his shorts to be draped over his feet, his cock playing the curve of a sail as it stiffened more so at the air that hit it.

“Are you wearing anything underneath that sweatshirt baby?” He enquired as his right hand held his length in hand, enclosing his fist around the warm flesh that was beading with visible emotion at the tip. It was as though a pearl was balancing on the sector of his slit, teasing you as you dryly licked your lips, wanting nothing more than to ingest that into your body. To answer his question, your hands toyed with the bottom of his clothing article, pulling it up so that he could see your bare abdomen, of which was dressed in nothing more than your flawless skin.

“No daddy, I’m not. Am I in more trouble for that?” You worried that you were, all that you had wanted to do was surprise him, and you felt yourself grow a little giddy as he slowly shook his head, and pull back the coat of his foreskin to flash off as much of his cock as possible. He was teasing you to the slyest of his abilities, he wanted to subject you into doing something against your better judgement, and you remained strong, no matter how much you wanted to coil your lips around the head of his member and take him as far as the hollow of your throat would naturally allow.

“No baby, imma let you off the hook for that because I haven’t seen you in so long and I know that pretty little cunt has missed me probably more than the rest of you, but don’t test me again angel, or on the plane home you’re gonna have to sit on a bag of ice.” A part of you wanted to smirk, to coyly piss him off to see if that perseverance were to be true, however if you knew Sebastian, and you knew him more than well, you wouldn’t put anything past him nor his motives. “Go on, I can see you practically drooling to take me in your mouth. Don’t tease or I’ll fuck your face; be a good girl would ya.”

You weren’t going to waste anymore time, for all that you aware, any one of the set assistants could take him away from you, and that possibility only fuelled your instincts further as you hovered your head away from his hand, that was now patting and gently playing with your locks instead of using them as a leash, and flickered your tongue out to swipe that sample of precum and swallow it without hesitation. Before your mind could comprehend it, your body had already taken the next steps forwards and started to swallow down his member, your lashes fluttering closed as you hummed, sending a rhythm through Sebastian’s body of which made him cuss.

He was looking through half lidded eyes, almost shutting them, though stopping from doing so when he noticed your hand creep down the smooth skin of your thigh, and pry at your own folds. He was going to reprimand you for being so confident that you weren’t going to get caught doing something that was so ludicrous, but he decided that he were to allow you to continue for a moment. If he made a scene after revelling in his own pleasure, then you would be more compliant with whichever punishment that he nailed you down with. The tips of your digits quivered around your lips, before sinking within your walls and the rest of your palm cupped your pussy.

It made more sense now you were moaning against him, for not only the taste of him that hung heavily on your tongue, but from the slip of power that you thought you had over him, even if it be cloaked in secrecy. As he thought more of that, he found himself starting to fume with an underlining of rage, his fists stiffened at his sides as he exhaled through a combination of the sensations rippling beneath his skin. It was a combination of brewing disappointment and foreseen arousal; his veins burned with both, turning his blood warm and drumming his brain with one thing - it were his birthright to make you submit before him.

And though you were positioned in front of him, cast to your knees as you worked on his hard cock with your heavenly mouth, your mind had slithered away from the laws that you were supposed to obey as you fingered yourself against and without his jurisdiction. To retain from speaking out just yet Seb put the pressure of his front teeth down upon his bottom lip, as he tuned his ears on the sounds of your mouth i taking his cock and slathering it with the natural lubricant of your saliva, and if he paid enough attention, the sound of your nimble fingers darting in and out of your entrance was echoed through the slick that was provided from your hormonal body, that coated your fingers and glistened underneath the lighting.

As he felt a spark approaching through the intermissions of his pleasured body, he found it to be best to direct you away, and exhibit distance despite having forgone with that flow for the time space that you hadn’t seen each other in. And thus he gently stepped back, allowing his cock to fall past your lips and a string of spit to be the only thing connecting you to it. It was an instinct for you to whine as you watched him take his cock back into his hand, giving himself a couple of easing tugs to cool himself down from his ruined orgasm.

And that was when all prevailed in realisation for you, that he continued to ogle at you from above as your index and middle fingers on your right hand remained inside of your cunt, and as your mind sparked some sense back into it, you instantly removed them despite the emptiness that attained within that area. Your eyes remained wide as you watched with caution as Seb took it upon himself to take a seat on the sofa that was below the blind strung window of his trailer, his hand temptingly patting his thick thighs as a means to convince you to move closer.

“Get up here you deviant minx.” It was not a sweet gesture that he were offering you, no, instead you were getting punished despite evading such a fate earlier on. Pushing yourself up from your knees, you went to lay yourself against him homely lap, however as you went to do so, he tugged at the sweatshirt that compiled a flush of heat against your addictive body, pulling it up a few inches to send you the message. Once you had completely removed the appeared and were dressed to the eye in nothing more than your naked flesh, that was when Sebastian allowed you to continue laying your stomach across his legs, as your own legs and breasts were draped either side of them.

His rough fingertips caressed the muscles of your back, making them twitch from rugged anticipation. They descended lower as he dug his knee into your ribs, enjoying the way that your breath hitched. “You know the rules angel, you don’t touch without permission, and yet you did. Do you have anything to say for yourself before I bruise this beautiful ass red and blue?” The worst thing was you could imagine how your cheeks would look all bruised up from the harsh strokes from his commanding hands; it had happened before and each and every time you’d tell yourself that it’d never happen again, that you’d avoid such intimate brutality because you’d behave.

But you both knew better than to trust those empty promises that wailed from your desperate throat as you were subjected to a pain that made your mind hazy and your throat parched. “No daddy, just that I’m sorry.” A yelp quickly followed after as he collided his hand down upon the fat of your behind, your entire body jolting as you shakily inhaled, knowing that in a few minutes that you’d get used to the pain and find it less surprising. The first strike was always the worst, and as another clapped down, followed by more and more, tears reigned the paving of your face as they spilt down your cheeks.

Your apology was simply a waver in the air, it did nothing other than tell him something that he’d heard a million times by this point. And when nothing added to the soreness of your bosom, you swore that you were in heaven, it continued to sting though as relief washed over your aura, and your lashes flickered through the fallen tears, slowly drying from the sobbing that they had commenced. “You took that well, okay.” Seb breathed, beginning to softly stroke your ass which made you whimper from the feather light pressure that digressed against the impact he had prohibited you to dwindle in. “I’m gonna reward you, think you can turn over baby?”

He slipped out from beneath you, allowing you to remain on your stomach for the moment until you had finally came up with your decision. You wriggled a little, stretching your toes as you hummed in reply and switched, despite the searing conundrum that resorted favour over your backside, onto the polar of your position, only to find your lover of whom was in control crawling towards you, the rings around his eyes looking sinful as he stared at your naked body as though you were his prey. His hands began to reel up your legs, coercing you into squirming against the cushioning that was managing to keep you at the same physical level as him, though the same couldn’t be said for the mental premise that rendered in interference of your relationship.

Hot air brushed upon your mound as he pressed a kiss to the hill that lead to the lake that was fawning at his close proximity, waves crashing and glistening to appeal to his ocean eyes. “Daddy, can you please do something?” A grunt differed from his throat as he inhaled the sea salt that subordinated his nose to the all natural scent, all before he nipped at the inside of your thigh before delving his face between the tightened proximity, sealing his mouth around your sensitive bud as he mumbled moans against your reactive flesh, earning himself a deeper invasion as you rutted your hips up to his face.

Sebastian Stan was a man of many talents; he could clearly mimic anyone that a script needed him to, but the one thing that he was truly magical at was using his mouth. It was a skill set that made you mercilessly comply to him, it was his superpower, which was indeed ironic considering that he played a hero in one of the world’s biggest franchises known to cinema. He raised his hands to grasp at your own as he trailed them into his strongly pigmented hair, giving you permission to ravel your hands through his straight hair, and feel the smooth sheen against the judge of your skin. You liked it, as you knew that you would.

Using his tongue, he pried at your entrance, sinking it within you as he began to shake his unruly head, extracting small screams from your throat as you became victim to his plentiful evidence of love. Your chest raised out in the air as your eyes rolled back, and a tweak pulled at your clit once more, and looking down, it revealed that it were your beloved tugging at the button with his teeth, as he gouged your reaction. When you reached your orgasm, he dived head first back into your emptying cavern, cleansing all that he had subdued from your body via his amazingly versed and performed sentiment.

“Taste so fucking good baby.” To prove his point, he clambered above you, slipping his lips against your own as he swabbed your tongue with his own, sharing your own juices so that you could feel them balance on your taste buds. His hand ran down your body as he pinched your hardened nipples, earning himself a withered and high pitched sigh from your mouth as he pulled away from the kiss. “Think you for another one in you angel? Daddy wants to fuck this sweet pussy, you okay with that?” A dazed nod gave him permission, though he grasped your jaw with his strong hand as he ensured that you stared back at him. “I need to hear you.”

“Yes, want your cock in me daddy. Always do.” A content smile used your mouth as it’s efficient puppet as he held onto his cock, and teased it around your folds, wetting his foreskin and other areas to make it more pleasurable for the both of you when he went to push in. And when he did, you felt like you had died and gone to heaven, it made you wonder how you ever survived going months without his touch, in any which way. Your hands held onto his hips as you steadied his weight, silently giving him the okay to start moving, and he did, he sunk within your cavernous walls, only to pull back and repeat the action. “Seb.” You breathed the shortened version of his name, the hot air leaving your mouth hitting his shoulder as he panted beside your face, his nose dragging up your cheek as you ran your hand down, cupping his balls and stroking them with the tender contact of your thumb.

For once under these circumstances, he did not shun you for saying his true name, instead he was too busy with the maddening rush that flew through his body as he fornicated with you. His pace increased, provoking the sound of flesh slapping upon flesh in the air as your thighs and hips clashed, amongst other parts. “Fuck sugar, ya close?” He asked you hurriedly, his forehead scrunching up as he felt immense pleasure as your cunt clenched around him, using his leverage to play with your clit once more. You ravenously nodded your head, dragging your nails over his body as you tried to jut your body up against his, chasing the approaching high which ultimately had you slumping against the cushions as he continued to pummel your body with his delivering thrusts.

“Shit.” He almost shouted, a soothing buzz ongoing in his body as he released his seed within you, you being able to feel every drop even after he pulled out and rolled to lay beside you, tugging you to be laying on his chest, neither of you caring for the cum that was escaping from your entrance that also happened to be the exit. “Why you laughing at me angel face?” Sebastian queried as he heard your cheeky sounds of amusement, a grin ruining the formation of his rocker disguise.

“You’re eyeliner’s all smudged.” You laughed, running the pad of your thumb beneath his eye and in the crows feet that dipped below, blending it further into his skin and giving it a grey hue to its ebony gradient. “You still look hot though.” You shrugged, nestling your head deeper into his chest, finally relieved that you and Sebastian were in the same place at the same time again.

[lovestrucked-again]

1.2k  warnings: oral sex (F receive), overstim, heavy smut written by a sudden urge :)

Jaehyun shuts the door.

His office is messier and more comfortable than Taeyong’s. The blinds are pulled down and the only artificial light comes from a desk lamp.

He leads you around behind his wide built-in desk, rolls his chair away and brushes a pile of mail back from the writing surface, clearing his desk.

"Have a seat," he encourages you, gesturing to the cleared spot on his table.

You carefully inch your bottom up onto his desk and scoot backwards, tugging the lower hem of your dress down to cover as much of your thighs as you can. Jaehyun flops into his chair and looks you up and down. Without warning, he rolls forward and lifts your shoes to his lap. You try to cross your legs but he catches your bare calves and stops you.

"You looked pretty excited with Mr Lee back there. How's your first day going so far?"

"Uh, it's... it’s not what I... I didn't expect you guys to—"

"The spankings? I know. I told them that was crazy.” he chuckles.

"Really?"

"Of course”

"Why didn't they—?"

"I got outvoted three to one. So... here we are."

"No, it's gotta stop! I'm not like, okay with it... sir."

"Well you seemed pretty lit-up when I saw you."

You look away. You can’t admit that to yourself yet, let alone to this gorgeous man holding your knees slightly apart.

"I think your body has different ideas," he continues soothingly, "about what it enjoys."

"NN-o," You shake your head, still unable to look at him. "No it doesn't. You guys are... you're my employers. You can't just..."

Jaehyun moves his hands to your thighs and pushes your dress back softly.

You tense.

"This all seems very strange to you, I know," he says quietly. "And since it's your first day, you're probably feeling extra sensitive but I think... what you need now is some way to calm your nerves."

"Wha-t?" you stammer nervously.

"This will make your whole day seem easier," he whispers as his elbows spread your legs apart and his face doves to your crotch. You slump backward, gasping loudly as his mouth latches onto your swollen vulva and sucks your clit and labia through the sheer panties.

"Oh Sir! What are you—? Oh... God!"

You claw at the desk behind you, trying to scoot away, but he pulls your hips firmly closer. His mouth attacks your pussy so adeptly that your panties may as well have been invisible.

You struggle but his hands bend your legs back until your feet are over his shoulders. You tip backward, onto your elbows.

Within seconds your neck slackens as your groin endures a flood of ecstatic sensations. It’d been ages since anyone had gone down on you, and after your gushing orgasm in Mr Lee’s office your body was well-primed for more.

Jaehyun takes a breath and yanks your underwear to one side. Then he immerses his tongue inside your folds, licking and sucking every millimeter of your bare sex into his mouth. You collapse completely and grab his head.

"Oh God, oh God, oh God, oh God..." you pant. He was obviously an expert at this.

His hands pushes your legs farther back, folding your knees to your chest until your shoes are inverted high above your face. Your toes curled-up tight.

He peels your panties out from under your and gathers them into a rope around your knees, enabling him to keep your legs pinned back with just one hand. His free hand then takes up a position alongside his chin, thumb extending to probe your labia. Moments later he buries that long digit deep inside you, rocking it back and forth while your clitoris grow inside the vacuum of his mouth.

Your body squirms against his face. Your tailbone lifting off the desk.

He shivers his mouth against you, slurping your folds between his lips while his thumb probs your narrow depths.

For you, each successive minute of this was more ecstatic than the last. Finally you let out a desperate and plaintive cry.

Juices from your interior mingle with his saliva and trickle down the crack of your ass. The tempo of his mouth and thumb accelerate.

Your fists ball. One against his desk while the other lodges itself between your teeth.

Your clit was being pinched between his lips and shaken. His tongue flicks like a rabbit's foot. Then he wiggles his index finger into the slippery ring of your anus.

You feel all your orifices tighten at once. His finger pushes deeper and wiggles further.

He chooses that moment to suck your clitoris extra hard.

You scream as the climax hits you. It arrives with the force of a rogue wave, crushing everything in its path. Your jackknifed body quakes and wriggles. Your breathing stops.

As you come, Jaehyun carefully squeezes a second finger into your ass. Still he flicks and sucks your clit unabated.

A string of wavering sobs burst from your throat. Your hips jerk under him. Fresh secretions ooze from you.

Finally you grab his hair and shove him away. It was too much.

He raises his face, sucks in a lungful of air and surveys your body.

Your outer labia was puffy and gaping. Your delicate inner petals are bright pink and awash in lubricant. The head of your clitoris held itself high, entirely too swollen now to fit beneath its narrow hood.

His fingers remained half-inside your slippery butt, gradually creeping outward.

"How's that for a warm welcome?" he asks through a greedily glistening grin.

You rock your head from side to side, unable to speak. Eventually you reach down and push his hand from your ass. He obligingly removes his fingers, but keeps your legs pinned back for a moment in order to watch your anus recover its pucker.

Then he releases your knees and sinks back in his chair. For the next dozen seconds he simply admires the sprawled beauty lying atop his desk.

Your slender legs are slack, draped wide apart. Your sandals are heel-to-heel in front of your butt. Your nipples pointing at the ceiling, having completely escaped your bra.

You try to sit up, but only manage to get to your elbows. Your eyes are half-lidded. Your feet slip off the desk and fall, drawing your legs somewhat closed. You gaze at him sleepily.

He stands up and closes the distance between them in a single step. You do not move other than to track his approach. He bends over, cups your face in both hands and pulls you into a kiss.

You’re so far gone you answer his tongue's probing requests with eagerness, kissing him back as though he were a newfound boyfriend. Your heart flutters in your chest.

None of this makes sense. Here you are, hooking-up with another of your new bosses, giddy after such orgasms. Anything seems possible now.

Because it’s only nine fifteen in the morning.

[inkykeiji]

do i make you scared? baby won’t you take me back

characters: dabi | todoroki touya, shigaraki tomura

genre: smut with a bit of angst sprinkled over it

notes: the second part of a companion piece to i can take you there but baby you won’t make it back. i’m really not kidding when i say this is almost entirely smut. uhhh virgin!tomura is a nasty nasty boy, please please please heed the warnings and stay safe! <3 | title credit: save that shit by lil peep

warnings: 18+, pseudo-incest (stepcest), non-consensual branding (yes, branding in the sense that something is being burned into the skin), noncon/dubcon, dacryphilia, cheating, degradation/dumbification, emotional manipulation, cumplay/snowballing, cockwarming, size difference, generally toxic relationships

words: 7.1k

synopsis:

“Was it good?” he seethes, eyes narrowed sharply. You think you might be able to detect a hint of distress sown into his voice, but you have no time to meditate on the thought as he yanks again, pulling your head back further. “Was it worth it?”

Glistening tears stream down your cheeks and you exhale harshly through your nose, teeth gritted as you urgently try to stop crying.

“Fucking answer me,” he growls out the words, but he sounds almost…desperate? You’ve never heard his voice like this before, and it’s then that it finally dawns on you.

You got him back.

      ✰          ✰          ✰          ✰          ✰          ✰          ✰          

To your surprise, you spend the rest of your night the day after the party texting Tomura, and every time your screen lights up with a message from him, it sends a whole flock of butterflies fluttering in your tummy. You should feel guilty, really, but you’ve never been in a situation like this before and it’s…exhilarating.

It’s risky, answering these texts when Touya’s a mere few feet from you, but it sends sparks shooting up your spine, the idea of getting caught doing something you’re definitely not supposed to, the very thought of how upset he’d be if he knew, making you feel giddy.

You guard your phone closely for the rest of the week, deleting messages exactly after you send them—Touya has taken it and gone through it in the past, so it wasn’t far-fetched to think he may try to do the same thing again. It wasn’t like he didn’t notice your nose in your phone, little giggles bubbling up from your chest as you responded to whatever was on the screen. You can see it in his eyes, the frustration building each and every time a soft laugh escapes your lips, eyes glimmering as you tap out a response.

You plan your impending visit strategically, in tandem with Tomura. He knows Touya’s unpredictable and seemingly ever-changing schedule better than you do, and you both know that there’s absolutely no way in hell Touya would ever willingly let you hang out with each other—he barely leaves the two of you alone when Tomura comes over to your house, so you can only imagine how livid he’d be if you even asked to go spend some time with him, just the two of you.

You wear your prettiest dress—Touya’s favourite dress, a deep, satiny crimson—two inches too short to be considered proper, the hem brushing your midthigh. It hides a pair of baby pink cotton panties you’re sure Tomura will like.

Your veins thrum with the combined mix of terror and anticipation as he lets you in, and the heady combination has your entire body trembling. Tomura gives you a look as you kick your shoes off, eyes narrowed as they scan your body.

“You comin’ down or something?”

“I-I’m not allowed drugs,” you admit meekly, eyes falling to your feet, toes wiggling a bit.

Tomura snorts, an amused little smirk on his lips as he mutters, “No, of course not,”

Long, slender fingers wrap around your wrist, his cold touch making you jump, giving a slight yank as he begins leading you. He lives alone, in an apartment his father pays for—which is surprisingly much tidier than you expected—and you can’t help but look around curiously, eager to learn more about him, glazed eyes searching for hints in the empty takeout containers littering the counter, in the few articles of clothing strewn around the place.

Brows knit together when he bypasses his bedroom completely—the door wide open to reveal a large bed with blue sheets tangled at the bottom—and leads you to a living room with plush couches and an ornate rug you’re positive he didn’t pick out by himself. His fingers release, and he plops down on the floor, hands curling around a gaming controller. Scarlet eyes drift to you, up your legs and to your face, and you resist the urge to shiver under his intense gaze—you’re sure he can see straight up your dress from this angle.

But he does nothing except look at you expectantly, not breaking his stare until you finally sit down next to him, daintily tucking your knees under yourself.

Then he’s shoving an extra controller at you almost aggressively, the sudden motion pulling a gasp from your throat, making you flinch away.

“Relax,” he rolls his eyes, pushing the controller at you again and shaking it a little in his hand, trying to entice you to take it. “I’m not gonna hurt you, or anything,”

“You…You’re—what?”

Tomura observes you carefully, scrutinizing now, eyes narrowing a little as they scan your face. You stare back at him dumbly, lips slightly parted. “What?” he snaps.

“But I thought—I mean, I want you to—”

“What?”

“That came out wrong,” you rush to say, shutting your eyes tightly in embarrassment. “What I mean is…Um, didn’t I come over so we can like, fuck?” your cheeks burn as you force the words out, ears ringing as blood rushes to your face, so loud you almost miss his sharp intake of breath.

Tomura’s eyes widen and he stares at you for a long moment before he checks his phone, scrolling through your messages. “You said…You wanted to play video games?”

You look at him, blinking in astonishment. “And you believed that?”

Tomura frowns a little, eyebrows knitting, slightly defensive. “Well, yeah?”

You’re at a loss for words as you stare back at the man sitting cross-legged in front of you, watching you closely. This is the guy Touya so desperately didn’t want you to be around?

Powerless to stop the little giggle that bubbles up in your throat, you inch towards him on your knees. “You’re kinda cute, y’know?”

Soft notes of tiger orchid and sweet sticky toffee waft over him, your body heat clinging to his skin as you settle beside him, thigh touching his knee. He seethes at you, and his fingers twitch around the controller, a hand moving to rake his nails against his neck.

You reach out, little fingers wrapping around his wrist and pulling it away from his flesh.

“Do you want to?” you ask softly, gazing at him through your lashes, bringing his palm to rest over your breast.

“Are you stupid?” he spits, fingers instantly tightening the moment they meet satin, the strength of his grip making you gasp. “Of course I fucking want to. Do you know how many times I’ve jerked off to you? Christ,”

Warmth blossoms in your chest at the confession, sparking a dull heat that begins to spread deep in the pit of your stomach. You’re flattered, even though you can hear Touya’s voice in the back of your mind, sharp and condescending, reprimanding you for being so easy.

“Yeah? What did you think about?” Your voice quivers a little as you ask the question, but that doesn’t stop his ruby eyes from darkening, his free hand dropping the controller to shamelessly rub at the bulge in his jeans.

“How cute your little cunt must be, how sweet it’d taste, how good those lips would feel wrapped around my cock as I fuck your throat,” his voice drops an octave as he speaks, low and dangerous as he kneads your breast hard—too hard, but adrenaline keeps the pain from registering.

He’s reaching for you now, pale hands pawing at your hips and dragging you over, forcing you to straddle his lap. A soft whimper falls from your lips as he instantly begins rolling his hips up, like he can’t bear to wait, fingers digging into your flesh as they hold you in place.

Neither can you, apparently, because you begin wiggling a little in his grasp, trying in vain to rut against him.

“You’re a little whore, huh? Even with a virgin, you can’t help but grind on a hard cock,” he smirks, lips at your ear. “A hard cock’s a hard cock I guess, makes no difference to you, greedy little slut,”

A mewl escapes your throat as you nod, hips pushing forcefully against his, grinding your little cunt against rough denim.

Wait, virgin?

“A v-virgin?”

“Yeah, lucky you,”

His words taper off into a growl, vibrating in his chest, hands leaving your waist to cup your jaw and roughly pull your face to his, lips crashing into yours. You emit a soft, startled noise into his mouth, and he swallows it greedily, tongue forcing its way through your parted lips and into your mouth, commanding your own tongue into submission almost instantaneously.

It’s nothing like kissing Touya. Your body follows your tongue, melting into him. Fingers grip your jaw, pressing crescent indents into the skin as he guides your head to exactly where he wants it to go.

It isn’t romantic. It’s harsh, and desperate, a mess of teeth and tongues fighting for dominance. A hand tangles in your hair and pulls, forcing your head back and revealing your arched neck to him. His lips trail down the column of your throat, leaving wet, sloppy kisses in their wake.

“I wanna fuck you already,” he whines a little, aggressively thrusting against your clothed core. You moan out an affirmative noise, nodding.

“One rule,” you breathe out.

“Hmm? And what’s that?” his lips are against your neck, tongue painting it in glistening saliva with slow, languid strokes.

“No marks,” you yelp out just as his teeth sink into your skin. It stings, Tomura keeping his mouth latched onto your neck for a few seconds, teeth buried in the soft flesh. His tongue laves over the mark before pulling away completely, and a shiver crawls up your spine as the bite is exposed to the cool air.

He’s giggling into your shoulder, nipping at the skin superficially. “Oops,”  

“Tomura!” you whine, making no effort to pull his lips from your neck. “Touya’s going to murder me,”

He laughs again, pulling back and rolling his eyes. “And, what? He isn’t already going to kill you for fucking someone else?”

There isn’t a moment to respond, though, not a second to try and explain how weird Touya gets about marks in particular, because then he’s crushing his lips to yours again, hard, fervent, bruising.

“Gonna cum soon if you don’t fucking do something,” he practically snarls into your mouth.

The very thought of Tomura cumming in his pants just from a few minutes of dry humping makes your entire stomach flutter, a flash of pure confidence surging in your chest as involuntary words tumble from your mouth.

“Oh?” you murmur, breath hot against his lips. “Something? Like this?” you begin gyrating your hips in tiny, quick circles, giggling at the groan you rip from his throat.

And Tomura hates how fucking innocent you sound, gazing at him with glassy eyes and swollen lips and a sinful little smile.

“Stop,” it’s supposed to be a command, an order, but it comes out as a broken whine, his hands latching onto your hips again as he forces you to move even faster, rocking into you.

“Doesn’t feel like you want me to stop,” you pout a little and he huffs out a curse.

It’s intoxicating, to be in a position of power like this. It isn’t your favourite—you’re much too shy and indecisive to be in a role like this all the time—but the novelty of it excites you nonetheless. Touya never lets you do anything like this, hates being teased with a passion, but Tomura seems to enjoy it, like it’s some sort of game to him.

“Little bitch,” he breathes out, though his forehead is resting against yours, eyes shut, soft grunts spilling from his throat.

“C’mon, Tomura,” you whimper, and now it sounds like you’re the one begging. “Make a mess in your pants for me? P-Pretty please?”

That’s all it takes to have his hips stilling, fingers pressing bruises into your skin as he grips you tightly, holding you in place and forcing you to grind against him ever-so-slightly as his cock throbs and twitches in his jeans.

You expect him to push you off immediately after, to shout and berate you for such behaviour, but he doesn’t. Instead, he leans back against the bottom of the couch, arms encircling your waist and bringing you with him.

It must be uncomfortable, to sit in those soiled jeans filled with cum, but he doesn’t seem to care, more interested in exploring your mouth with his tongue as you kiss lazily. You don’t mind, although your clit is aching and swollen, pussy fluttering around nothing every so often as his fingers explore your body, kneading your ass and tweaking nipples, your panties soaked all the way through and sticking to you unpleasantly.

And it’s due to this that your hips still manage to rock against his in minuscule movements that are more teasing than anything else, little micro-circles that have your drenched cunt grinding gently against wet denim.

It seems he has an impossibly short refraction period because, before long, his cock’s hard again, pressing up into your clothed hole. You whimper his name into his mouth and he breaks the kiss, lips red and puffy, shining with saliva.  

“Take my cock out,” he instructs, voice stern despite his slight breathlessness. You crawl off his lap and do as your told, popping the button, tugging the zipper down and pulling at the waistband of his jeans. He lifts his hips just enough to aid you in dragging them down to his thighs, cock springing free.

“Clean it up,”

It’s covered in cum, so much cum—too much cum, more than is normal—glistening in the low light of the living room. It twitches a little under your gaze, as if to say get on with it already, so you wrap a hand around the base and bring the head to your lips.

You start with kitten licks, tongue tracing around the head and playing with the slit, pulling a deep, throaty moan from him.

“Don’t—Don’t swallow it,” he rasps. “Clean me up and keep all my cum in your mouth,”

It’s difficult—his cum is much more bitter than Touya’s, and you gag a few times as it settles on your tongue, marinating in your mouth. You try your best to hold it in your cheeks and away from your tastebuds, working as quickly as possible as you lap it up, gazing up at him with teary eyes when you’re finished.

“What a good girl,” he spits in a patronizing tone, like it’s an insult. “Kiss me,”

It’s a demand you have no choice but to obey, a hand rooting in your hair and yanking you up to face him.

He all but smashes your lips together, fingers still wrapped tightly in your hair, holding you in place. His tongue forces its way through your lips and you greet it eagerly, desperate to get his cum out of your mouth.

Except he doesn’t let you pull away after you’ve passed the majority of his cum to him, the bitter taste still stinging your tongue. No, he uses the fist tangled in your hair to keep you still as he shoves his tongue into your mouth again, transferring the cum—now watered down a little with his saliva—into the warm cavern yet again.

You whine, and he chuckles, lips spreading into a grin against yours.

“Swallow it,” he whispers, pulling back just enough to watch your expression as you force it down your throat, face souring, eyes squeezed shut as your lips pucker just a little. “Open, lemme see,”

Your mouth falls open obediently, little droplets of water clinging to your lashes as you gaze up at him, waiting for approval.

“Good,” he practically purrs, eyes darkening as his fingers caress your face. “Now I want to fuck you,”

You’re nodding, but he doesn’t give you a moment to respond, beginning to manhandle you into the position he wants before he’s even finished speaking. The oriental rug is soft against your cheek as he presses your face to the ground, hands curling around your hips as he hoists them up.

“What cute little panties,” he breathes, dragging a finger along your clothed slit before yanking the material down to your knees.

It stings a little as he practically shoves his cock into your sopping cunt, not bothering to stretch you out—you’re not even sure if he knows he’s supposed to—but you’re wet enough that the breach is relatively easy, and the burning fades quickly as your little hole adjusts to the girth of his cock.

He begins thrusting immediately, and he’s rough, overeager, uncoordinated, the vicious snaps of his hips uneven and sloppy.

Truthfully, he’s only using you as a hole the first time, but you don’t mind—not really, anyway. Blazing sapphire sears through your mind, and you think about how furious Touya would be if he knew, if he could see the way you’re degrading yourself, letting yourself be reduced to nothing but a fucktoy for a nasty virgin to desperately hump away at, sacrificing your own pleasure for his.

Touya would never.

To Touya, making you cum is half the fun. He gets a rush from it, gets high off the way you go absolutely fucking stupid from his fingers and cock, how quickly he can turn your brain to soup, rendering you a dumb little blabbering mess only capable of whining out the words niichan and Touya-nii. It feeds his ever-growing ego.

But Tomura is eager to please in a different way. He’s more selfish than Touya, sure, but he’s keen to learn all he can, curious and committed.

And, once he finally gets the hang of it, confident, too.

His thrusts gain more finesse as he fucks you, but he’s unable to keep up any steady rhythm, the tight fluttering of your pussy every time he grazes a specific spot inside of you making his hips stutter, forcing needy, guttural groans from his throat.

He cums quick—not that you expect any less from a virgin—with a deep growl of your name that has your stomach swooping, cunt throbbing around him again as he fills you with thick, burning cum.

You’re exhausted by the end of it, abused body melting into the lush carpet as your cunt throbs desperately, his cum slowly oozing out of it. Tomura snorts as he looks down at you, gentle hands tugging your panties down the rest of your legs and removing them completely, discarding them a few feet away.

“Up you go,” he’s murmuring as hands snake under your armpits and haul you up. You mumble his name and he hushes you, collapsing heavily on the couch with you still in his arms. Strong hands manhandle you into straddling his lap again, leaking pussy pressed against his softening cock.

The television hums to life, quiet main menu music floating through the room as the soft clicking of buttons sounds behind you.

You should go home now. You know you should. You’ve done what you came here to do, and now you should be leaving.

Should, should, should.

But Tomura’s so warm, and you’re so tired, muscles aching despite the fact that he did most of the work.

“Rest,” he instructs quietly when you begin to whine into his neck, fingers preoccupied with unwrapping a piece of watermelon bubblegum.

He’s so much softer than you expected—disgusting, but soft—and you can’t believe you spent months being terrified of him. You know this is probably the last time you’ll be able to see him in a long time—a fact that produces an inexplicable ache deep in your chest—so you allow yourself bask in the moment, just for a little, you promise yourself.

You obey his gentle command, snuggling up against him and permitting yourself to drift in and out of consciousness to the sound of aliens being killed and aggressive button smashing.

But then something hard is poking you—you aren’t sure how long you’ve been sitting here for now, long enough for Tomura to power through a few matches, at least—and that blistering heat flares again, beginning to coil tight in your tummy.

You shift a little, an involuntary whine slipping from your lips.

“What is it?” Tomura asks, eyes never straying from the screen, fingers never pausing. “You wanna sit on my cock, baby?”

Christ, yes. You mumble into his shoulder, nodding and rolling your hips in response.

He chuckles—a low, quiet sound rattling around in his chest—and allows you to sink down on him again, captivated by the soft moan you emit as you do so, crimson eyes gleaming and breathing slightly laboured.

“Ah, fuck,” he mutters when his avatar on the screen gets shot, redirecting his attention.

And it’s…it’s nice. Surprisingly nice. He’s cozy, and comfy, his breathing slow and even with every rise of his chest, despite the alien shrieks coming from the TV behind you. He smells like cheap cigarettes and artificial watermelon with just a hint of cedarwood, and you inhale deeply, letting the scent fill your lungs.

Touya rarely lets you cockwarm him; Touya doesn’t have the patience, Touya doesn’t have the time. You fall into a state halfway between asleep and awake, hips rocking against Tomura just enough to keep him hard, just enough to have you whimpering into his neck.

He could get used to this, he tells you. The confession is soft, a private little thought that just kinda slips out, mindlessly falling from his lips, but you could, too, you think.

It’s intimate, which is odd, considering you barely know him, used to be frightened of him. But it’s such a refreshing contrast to Touya’s intense, scalding flame.

Eventually, though, it isn’t enough, the teasing’s too much, and you need more.

Gazing up at him with glittering eyes, you begin to trail your lips up his neck, over his self-inflicted scars, slowly, hesitantly.

He inhales sharply, jumping a little in surprise, and you freeze, terrified you might’ve overstepped some invisible boundary you were not previously aware of.

“Keep going,” he whines, a little petulantly, hips wiggling against yours.

Lips resuming their ministrations, you place gentle, chaste kisses up the column of his throat and along his jaw, delighting in each soft sigh you manage to pull from him. The game playing on the TV suddenly halts, Tomura throwing the controller on the couch cushion next to you before large hands cup your face in a tender way you did not think him capable of.

Your mouths slot together, kissing messily, saliva glistening on your chins as you pass his watermelon gum back and forth between yourselves. It’s kinda gross, kinda filthy, juvenile and sloppy, but it’s fun, has the two of you giggling into each other’s mouths, a little breathless from it all.

“Wanna ride you,” you murmur, almost shyly, against his slippery lips.

“Yeah?” he rasps, just barely bouncing you in his lap. “You wanna use my cock to get off?”

“Yes, please,” the plead comes out as a pathetic whimper, and you squirm impatiently.

Finally, finally you get to cum. In this position, you have leverage over the angle of your hips, able to situate yourself just right, so his cockhead nudges exactly where you want it to.

He does nothing this time, just leans back and watches you with those dark, half-lidded scarlet eyes, hands idly exploring your thighs, occasionally raking his nails down them. He’s in a trance as he gazes at you, mesmerized by the way your eyes are starting to roll back, by the way each drag of his cock against that spot has you keening, by the way his name leaves your lips in broken little whines that have him gasping in response.

Your hips speed up, and you’re desperate, so desperate to cum, nails digging into the flesh of his shoulders through his thin t-shirt.

“Gonna—” he starts, breathless. “Gonna cum?”

You nod a little frantically as eager hips rock against him, his hands finally finding your waist and helping you move.

“Please,” he whimpers. “Wanna feel you,”

And it’s his begging that does it, that finally sends you over the edge, pussy clenching around him, convulsing almost painfully and gushing on his cock with a sharp cry of his name. He follows immediately after, painting your insides with hot cum as a curse hitches in his chest.

Your body collapses against him, going pliant and boneless as you both pant. Everything feels heavy—you haven’t had an orgasm that intense in a while—and the absolute last thing you want to do is get up and walk home.

Tomura can sense it. He can feel it in the way your fingers are knotting in his t-shirt, in the way your hips try to scoot forward, chest pressed against his tightly, and he wraps an arm around you, trying to keep you close for just a minute more.

Silence blankets the room as the two of you calm your breathing. You’ve been anticipating a certain sense of awkwardness to finally wash over you all night, but it never comes. Instead, it’s pleasant, and you hum a little, nuzzling your face into Tomura’s shoulder as skinny fingers brush through your hair.

“I don’t wanna go,” you say, and it’s so quiet, muffled by the material of his shirt, that he barely hears it. Maybe he wasn’t supposed to.

“Just stay,” he mumbles, resting his chin atop your head. “Text your dad some bullshit, or whatever,”

You want to. You’re surprised at how much you desperately want to.

“Touya will kill me,”

“Touya’s gonna kill ya either way, sweetheart,”

You suppose that’s true. Neither of you tricked yourselves into thinking that you’d actually get away with this. Touya will know the moment he sees you, will probably be able to smell Tomura all over you, but you can’t seem to find it in yourself to care, not in that moment, not when Tomura’s so comfy and you’re so sleepy and it’s all just nice.

Good, you think. It’s about time he gets a taste of how much stuff like this hurts.

And so you find yourself crawling into his bed, in one of his t-shirts, with bruises in the shape of his fingertips rapidly blossoming, heat seeping into your cheeks when he tells you he thinks you look cute in his clothes.

He latches onto you the moment you’ve settled into his mattress, long arms encircling your waist and dragging you towards him. One of your legs slots between his, and you have to stifle a giggle.

“Hard again, Tomura?”

“Shut up,” he says, no heat to his voice. “Can’t help it,”

His words echo your own, three simple words you’ve said so many times to Touya, and you feel a pang in your chest.

“Not my fault you’re too hot,” he continues, grumbling into your neck.

Honestly, you didn’t peg him as a cuddler, and maybe he isn’t—maybe he just wants to grind and hump against your thigh—but you welcome the warmth of his body nonetheless.

It doesn’t bother you, although it probably should, as he ruts against you, tiny broken moans and high, breathy whines being exhaled against your neck. But it’s so new, all of this is so new to you, and curiosity clouds your better judgement. While you’re pretty sure you should be shoving him away, reprimanding him for such behaviour, positive that’s what any normal person would do, you don’t. Little fingers thread in his hair instead, carding through silvery-blue fluffy tufts, reveling in the groan it pulls from him.

It doesn’t take long for him to cum, thick and sticky in his boxers, the material wet against your thigh. You’re impressed, both by how easily he cums, and how much he cums. You want to tell him, want to tease him about it a little, let him know you think it’s cute, but heavy, hazy fatigue begins to wash over you, and you fall asleep to Tomura’s soft breaths mingled with the sound of you phone buzzing, over and over and over again.

       ✰          ✰          ✰  

Your phone’s dead when you wake sometime in the early afternoon, and for that, you’re thankful. Anxiety floods your stomach, bubbling up in your chest acidly as you think about what’ll be waiting for you when you recharge it.

Tomura walks you to the door, which you find to be very odd behaviour, but sweet nonetheless, and watches carefully as you slip on your shoes.

“Uh, text me later, okay?” He sounds unsure for the first time since you’ve been with him, and your expression softens.

“I will, if Touya doesn’t take my phone away,”

And you pretend to miss the look on his face, the way his eyebrows knit as a hand comes to scratch idly at his neck, the way he looks almost worried. It’s fine. You’ll be fine.

       ✰          ✰          ✰  

He knows. The moment you step foot through the front door, he knows.

You knew he would, but it doesn’t make the glare scathing your skin any less terrifying.

He’s on you in an instant—you didn’t even know humans could move that fast—pinning you to the drywall, large hands wrapped around your wrists and forcing them above your head, keeping you trapped.

“You little slut,”

Unexpected anger flares in your chest, even though tears are already beginning to collect in your eyes, and you squirm in his grasp.

“I fuck one other person, and I’m the slut?”

You gasp the moment the words leave your lips, wide eyes searching his face and shaking your head frantically, would slap your hands over your mouth if they weren’t currently secured in his bruising grip against the wall.

The look he gives you is absolutely petrifying, blue eyes darker than the ocean—so dark they almost look black—his stare cold and hard as stone, sending sharp spikes of ice up your spine.

“You fucking reek of him,” he spits, face screwing up in disgust. You’re sure you do, too, after spending a good twelve hours in his bed, almost positive you can smell him in your hair, the remnants of cheap cigarettes and artificial watermelon clinging to you.

Patronizing eyes rake over you, zeroing in on the violet that’s bloomed on your neck. His nostrils flare as he stares at it, breath beginning to come in rapid, uneven huffs. His eyes slowly drift back to yours, an unreadable expression settling on his face.

It’s shock, and disbelief, and rage, and…and sadness? It passes too quickly for you to even tell, and then he’s pulling your wrists down callously, still gathered in his hand, and dragging you towards his room.

He all but throws you on his bed face first, breathing harsh and erratic as he exhales forcefully through his nose and climbs on top of you, knees on either side of your thighs. A large hand wraps itself in your hair and tugs, forcing your upper body to arch.

“Was it good?” he seethes, eyes narrowed sharply. You think you might be able to detect a hint of distress sown into his voice, but you have no time to meditate on the thought as he yanks again, pulling your head back further. “Was it worth it?”

Glistening tears stream down your cheeks and you exhale harshly through your nose, teeth gritted as you urgently try to stop crying.

“Fucking answer me,” he growls out the words, but he sounds almost…desperate? You’ve never heard his voice like this before, and it’s then that it finally dawns on you.

You got him back. Sure, he’s furious beyond belief, looks like he could kill you right here, right now, with his bare fucking hands—but he’s also extremely upset, if the slight quiver present in his voice is any indication.

“Yes,” you wheeze out. If it made him feel even an ounce of the emotional turmoil he’s put you through with his whores, then yes, it was absolutely worth it.

“You’re going to regret saying that,” his voice is low, threatening, calm. It’s disturbing, how quickly he can switch, and a chill of unease settles deep in your bones—once Touya stops with his growls and snarls, once his voice becomes monotonous and almost serene in a way, that’s when you know he’s really angry.

Shoving your head down into the mattress, he tells you to stay fucking put as he gets up and wanders over to his desk. He returns to the bed moments later with a tool that vaguely resembles a pen, hand tangling in your hair again as he pulls you up.

“You know what this is?”

You shake your head as best you can.

“It’s a soldering iron,” his voice is still composed and collected, sounding almost as if he’s explaining something to a child, but there’s a malevolent glint in his eye, a look you’ve never seen before. “It gets really, really hot. I just so happened to be warming one on my desk,”

He says it so nonchalantly, as if this is an object one would regularly keep in their bedroom or on their desk.

“It’s not supposed to be used on skin,” he shrugs a little, twirling the tool between his fingers. “But today, I think we’ll make an exception,”

“What?”

“Head down, ass up,” he instructs sternly, pushing your head into his pillows.

“Touya, wait—” you start, the rest of your sentence muffled by the sheets. His hand gives one firm shove—a warning to stay down—and then he begins shuffling around on the bed.

Careful to keep your cheek pressed hard against the pillow, you turn your head just enough to speak.

“Wh-What are you doing?” Your voice is trembling, thick with tears, dense anxiety building in your chest.

“I’m going to burn my name into your pretty little ass,” he responds simply as he positions himself behind you, yanking your panties midway down your thighs and sitting back on his heels. “A nice, pretty, permanent mark so you, and everyone else, never forget who you fucking belong to,”

“No!” you gasp, beginning to lift your head only to have him force it back into the pillow with a snarl. “No, Tou—niichan, I-I’ll do anything, please—”

“No, no, no, baby,” he says over your senseless babbling, voice almost gentle, thumb caressing your silky skin. “Don’t squirm, now,” he chides. “If you squirm, my hand might slip, and I might burn other parts of your body. We don’t want that, do we? Be a good girl for niichan and sit still,”

And so you do. You should feel ashamed, pathetic, revolted that he’s able to manipulate you so easily, that he knows exactly how to turn you into putty to be molded and shaped as he pleases, even when he’s about to sear his name into your skin.

It burns unlike anything you’ve ever felt before as he carefully carves his name into the supple flesh, saying the letters out loud as he does so. It’s a unique, stinging-stabbing type of pure agony, one that sends sharp pain radiating up to your lower back and down your thigh.  

Fingers curl in his dark sheets as you sob into his bed—chest-wracking sobs that have your entire body trembling, chest-wracking sobs that you so desperately try to hold back and swallow, to stay still, to be good for your niichan. Touya tells you to be happy, be grateful, that the temperature of his iron goes up so high.

“Otherwise, I would’ve had to go over it several times in order to make it really stick,”

It’s over quickly, though, a mere fifteen minutes later and he’s cleaning it with rubbing alcohol and gently taping thick gauze over it and uses this opportunity to take your panties off entirely.

“Good girl,” he praises as he hoists you up, manhandling you to straddle his spread thighs, careful of your now very sensitive bottom. “You did so good for niichan,”

And you can’t stand the way your heart weakly flutters at his praise. You can’t stand the way you instinctually bury your head in his chest, tiny fists forming in the material of his t-shirt as you wail, can’t stand the way he is still the only one you want comforting you.

His cock is hard through his jeans, and you can feel it pressing into your core as he shifts a little under you. It’s humiliating, but you’re powerless to stop your hips from moving in subtle little circles, grinding your cunt against the rough denim. And he lets you do it for a little, too, tender fingers petting your hair as he soothes your sobs, taming them to little sniffles and hiccups.

“Niichan’s gonna fuck you now, okay?” he asks softly, murmuring against your scalp, voice almost sickly sweet.

It takes you a moment to respond, eventually nodding your head.

A smirk spreads across his lips and he instructs you to get up, tapping the side of your thigh.

You lift yourself, walking back on your knees and giving him enough room to free his aching cock from the confines of his jeans before his hands find your hips again, dragging you back.

“Baby,” he breathes as his fingers spread your folds, his eyes darkening in a manner much different than before. “Already wet for me?”

Cheeks burning with shame, you nuzzle your head into the crook of his neck, whimpering a little as he pushes a finger into you.

“Don’t tell me,” he gasps tauntingly, voice dripping with artificial surprise. “You didn’t like being branded, did you?”

“No,” you whisper, shaking your head quickly. No, it wasn’t the branding that did it—not really, anyway. It was the aftercare. It was Touya’s cold hands gently tending to your injured bottom, Touya pulling you into his lap as he praised you and dropped kisses to the crown of your head, Touya getting hard from the punishment, from permanently searing his name into your flesh.

You should be disgusted with yourself, with how eager you are, hips wiggling a little only a few moments later as you whine out softly, “Niichan, cock,”

“Impatient,” he huffs. “Don’t get bratty with me now, you were doing so well,”

A pout forms on your face, still hidden in his shoulder.

“Jus’ want it so bad,” you mumble against him, beginning to slur your words. “Please, Touya-nii?”

He hums to himself, makes you beg just a little bit more, reveling in the way your voice begins to get desperate, all high and needy as you try to fuck yourself on his fingers, whimpering and begging with pathetic little please, niichan?’s.

“Is this how you want it? Huh? Wanna ride niichan?”

Mewling a little, you nod, rolling your hips into his palm.

“Words, sweetheart,”

“Yeah,” you breathe out. “W-Wanna ride you,”

Finally, he gives it to you, lets you sink down on his cock, watching the way you wince as it stretches you, expression contradicted by your soft moans.

He forces you to begin bouncing immediately, doesn’t allow you to set the pace—he never does—smirking at those little pained cries spilling from your throat, though whether they’re because his cock or the five letters freshly burned into your skin, he isn’t sure. Maybe both; probably both.

“Aw, baby,” he coos, tone condescending. “Does it hurt?”

“Yeah,” you whimper, the threat of tears stinging your eyes.

“Yeah? Yeah?” his voice mimics yours, pitched high and whiny. “I bet it fucking does,”

A hand travels down to grope your ass—specifically, the cheek with the brand—squeezing hard as fingers dig into your skin. You cry out, tears finally leaking from your eyes, chest hitching as you sob out, “Touya-nii,”

“Don’t ever do something like that again,” he says in your ear, voice low and dangerous. “Don’t you ever go fuck another man because you’re mad at me, do you understand?”

Heat begins to coil tightly in your stomach at his smooth, dark voice. “Y-Yes,”

“Promise me,” he growls, grip tightening on your ass.

“I promise,” you’re weeping as he gives one more harsh squeeze, pain scorching through your backside, a loud yelp escaping your lips.

“Bet his cock didn’t feel as good as mine,” he sneers in your ear, panting a little. “Wasn’t as big as mine, didn’t fill you up the way mine does,”

“No, no, no,” you’re chanting in time with his thrusts, eyes rolling back in your head.

“Probably could—” a low groan cuts him off as your pussy flutters around him. “Could never make you cum the way I do,”

A loud whine rips from your throat, your head nodding as he continues his relentless thrusts up into you, never once faltering. Adrenaline and endorphins rush through your veins, high off the heady mixture of pleasure and pain.

“N-Niichan,” you gasp, nails digging into his flesh through the material of his thin t-shirt. “Niichan,”

“Gonna cum? Hmm? Gonna make a mess all over niichan’s cock?” he’s asking breathlessly, slamming into you at a rapid pace and using his thighs for more leverage, hands gripping your hips.

“Uh-huh,”

“Do it, then,” he commands hoarsely. “Cum on your niichan’s cock,”

And you do, helplessly, incapable of disobeying a direct order, creaming so hard your vision blanks for a second, overwhelmed by the extreme, potent mix of pain and pleasure crashing over you.

“Who do you belong to?” Touya’s nearly keening now, hips jackhammering, making your body twitch and shudder with every sharp thrust into your sensitive pussy.

“You,”

“Tell me again,”

“I belong to you, niichan,”

And those five simple words—those five simple words have him cumming hard, hips stilling and cockhead pressed firmly against your cervix, filling your cute little cunt with his seed as broken curses fall from his lips.

You’re both panting, covered in a thin, sheen layer of sweat, your hair sticking to your face and little droplets of tears still glistening on your lash line. He all but collapses back against the bed, taking you with him, cock still buried inside of you.

“And I’m yours,” he whispers into your hair, hugging you tightly—too tightly—to his heaving chest. “I’m yours,”

Laying in his arms, in his bed, with his name burned into your ass, you wonder if you’re destined to play this game for the rest of your lives.

He’s yours.

Are you stuck with him now, forever?

He’s yours.

Will you every get married? Ever get the chance to date someone else?

He’s yours.

Do you even want to?

Laying in his arms, in his bed, with his name burned into your ass, knowing he’s yours, do you even want any of that?

No. With your head resting against his chest, rising and falling with his gentle breaths, slender fingers combing through your sweaty hair, you realize that this is all you want.

He’s yours, and you’re his, and that is enough.

[witch-and-a-half]

pretty

i’d originally wanted to do this idea with Cedric, but i’m honestly so glad i tried it with Fred instead. and it was fun to come up with a makeup look for Fred :)

notes: reader x fred, fluff, kissing!, probably a gryffindor but not really important, unrequited love <3

words: 1.5k

- - -

The Gryffindor Common Room was surprisingly empty for a Friday afternoon. [y/n] sat on one of the couches flipping through a Muggle magazine her mother had sent her that morning. She barely looked up from the page when she heard someone come in.

“Hi Freddie.” she said cheerfully, eyes still on the glossy photos of celebrity makeup looks.

Fred didn’t respond, but instead dropped himself onto the ground a few feet in front of [y/n]’s couch. He let out a dramatic sigh and laid flat on the rug with his gangly limbs sprawled out around him.

[y/n] grinned and dropped her magazine onto her lap, “What’s the matter?”

“I was supposed to hang out with Lee and George tonight… but they’ve both got dates.” Fred stuck his tongue out in disgust.

[y/n] raised her eyebrow. “Oooh, with who?”

Fred looked at her, feigning shock, “I can’t believe you’re more interested in a bit of silly gossip than my feelings. My evening plans are ruined, so now you have to hang out with me.”

Now it was [y/n]’s turn to pretend to be hurt. “Oh, I see. I’m the backup friend.”

Fred groaned again and moved to join [y/n] on the couch. “You know that’s not what I meant.” His arms draped lazily across the back of the couch so his forearm rested behind [y/n]’s head.

“Let’s do something fun.” Fred shifted his arm to nudge [y/n]’s head rather aggressively.

“I know!” [y/n] said as a mischievous grin spread across her face. Fred’s eyes narrowed. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen that look in her eye, it was the same look she would get when he and George convinced her to help out with their latest prank. But he’d never had that look directed at him.

“I can do your makeup!”

Fred let out yet another defeated groan and leaned his head back, “[y/n]... I don’t think-”

“Pretty please?”

He looked over at her for a moment. Her lower lip pouted out and her brows pulled inwards. Fred couldn’t help but smile at her exaggerated puppy dog eyes. How could he say no to her now?

“Please?” she said again, softer, “I promise I won’t go overboard and no one will know.”

Fred sighed in resignation. “Okay, fine. Pinky promise you won’t tell?”

[y/n] wrapped her little finger around Fred’s outstretched pinky and gave it a little shake. Her face broke into a giddy grin. Her hands clasped together and she stood up, bouncing a bit on her toes as she did so. “I’ll be right back!”

“You’re gonna look so pretty!” [y/n] chirped as she bounded up the stairs to get her makeup kit. Fred slumped back into the couch with his palm on his forehead. His face grew warm as he thought of how excited [y/n] looked and how secretly excited he was to spend the evening with her.

~ ~ ~

“Hold still!” [y/n] reprimanded.

She had finished brushing his eyebrows out and putting a smidge of concealer under his eyes and along his nose-bridge. Now she was sweeping a bit of forest green eyeshadow along his lash-line.

Fred’s eyelids fluttered a bit each time she brought the brush to his skin. “Please don’t do too much…” he murmured carefully so his face stayed as still as possible. [y/n] giggled as she finished putting the shadow on his second eye. “It’s just the tiniest bit of green to bring out your red hair. You can open your eyes now.”

[y/n] stayed close to his face, admiring her work so far. Fred watched her eyes examine his face, and struggled to suppress a small smile. His heart soared seeing how focused she was.

“Okay, this part is important. Close your eyes again.” [y/n] grabbed her eyeliner pen and turned back to Fred’s face. She hesitated for a moment, struggling to find the right angle.

Fred opened one eye to see why she hadn’t started poking at him again. “What is it?”

“I’ve just never done eyeliner on another person.” she said, “I’m used to doing it straight on but it’s hard to do from the side of your chair.”

As [y/n] leaned across his knees to see how the pen angled from each side, Fred lightly grabbed her hips and guided her onto his lap. It wasn’t a forceful gesture, but his boldness surprised both of them. [y/n] felt her heartbeat quicken as she leaned towards his face with the eyeliner pen. His eyes closed and he asked, “Is that better?” She hummed an “Mhm” in response and silently prayed he couldn’t hear the tremble in her voice.

She drew a thin line along his long lashes, and then added the daintiest little wing to the outer corners. [y/n] pulled back and Fred’s eyes opened slowly. One of his hands rested gently on [y/n]’s knee, ensuring her thighs stayed perpendicular atop his own.

“I think that’s the best eyeliner I’ve ever done.” she said through a soft laugh. The surprise in her voice was genuine. [y/n] was impressed she’d managed to make any sort of straight line with Fred’s touch distracting her.

His hand fell from [y/n]’s knee as she stood to grab a rosy lipstick. When she came back to Fred, she found herself straddling him. She didn’t think to do it… it just happened. Her knees rested on either side of his thighs on the chair. [y/n]’s hips stayed close to his knees, so their torsos were far apart, but she was straddling him nonetheless. Fred’s hand came to her outer thigh to steady her as she leaned in to put on the lipstick. Her forefinger curved beneath his chin, holding his face steady as she dragged the lipstick along the inner part of his lips. Then, she dabbed her finger cautiously on his lip so the color was darkest on his inner lip and lighter on the outer edge.

[y/n] put the lipstick down to admire her work, cradling Fred’s face to see from different angles. Both of them were hyper-aware of how close they were, how [y/n]’s touches lingered on Fred’s jaw, and the way his hand remained firmly just below her hip.

“You look very pretty.” [y/n] breathed nervously.

Fred’s lips pulled into a smile and he murmured, “You look very pretty, too.”

Now both of his hands were on her hips and pulling her closer to him. [y/n] wrapped her arms around his neck and their mouths collided. Their lips moved together slowly and cautiously at first. But as they both relaxed and let the moment sink in, their movements became hungrier.

Fred had longed for the feeling of [y/n]’s lips on his for almost a year now, ever since she eavesdropped on one of Fred and George’s schemes and suggested they add glitter to an explosion for added effect.

[y/n] parted her lips slightly, allowing Fred’s tongue to playfully enter her mouth. She recalled the way she often caught him looking at her with an undeniable glint in his eyes. Sometimes it was in the castle corridor or midconversation. At first she didn’t understand it, but then the Hufflepuff beside her in class noticed it too and whispered, “Wow. Do you know what I would give to have a cute boy look at me like that?”

They pulled away from the kiss breathlessly. Fred’s hands slowly moved along the curves of her body and she dragged her fingers along his scalp. For a moment, they just looked into each other's eyes and basked in the exhilaration of it all. Then, [y/n] heard the door to the Common Room open and quickly moved to the chair beside Fred’s. He gave her one last cheeky grin before their time alone ended.

“Oi! What have you lot-” George greeted before stopping in his tracks and doubling over with laughter. “What did you let her do?” Lee exclaimed from beside him.

Fred turned crimson. [y/n] handed him a makeup wipe, but he turned it down. “I’ve been told I look quite pretty.” He folded his arms across his chest defiantly before standing to look at himself in the mirror above the fireplace.

“What do you think?” [y/n] asked as Fred came back to his seat.

Fred nodded, “I quite like it. You’ve done a good job.”

George scrunched up his nose a bit, thinking about how he would look the same as his twin with makeup, “Reckon it’s not an everyday look though?”

Both Fred and [y/n] chuckled before Lee spoke.

“Gee George, I don’t know if I could ever fancy a girl so much that I would let her put eyeliner on me.”

[y/n] turned to Fred, pretending to be shocked, “You fancy me?”

He just rolled his eyes in response.

”Hey [y/n],” George called as he followed Lee up the stairs to their room, “you’ve got some of Freddie’s lipstick on your face.”

[quindolyn]

Spontaneity in the Garden || James Potter

Word Count: 1720

Notes: Bo‘s mind is top tier and unmatched, thank you for the inspo baby. We all deserve cottage core James. Even the subbiest of the subs will melt at the prospect of James calling them “Mommy”. This is pretty shitty but I’m getting more requests for smut so bare with me while I practice, you’ll probably see more of these smaller pieces as I experiment.

Warnings: sub!James, oral female receiving, mommy kink, I think that’s it?

Masterlist

The warm summer air of somewhere in the English countryside was something you’d gotten used to. When James and you moved to a cottage far away from the city, the both of you were downright giddy at the prospect. Having moved 6 months ago, you were not disappointed.

“Poppet?” You heard the sweet, angelic voice of James carry out into the garden where you were picking strawberries, crouched down, examining the sweet fruit, deciding what was and what wasn’t ready to be harvested. You were thinking you would make strawberry crepes the following morning for you and your husband.

“Yes Jamie?” You called to him as you heard his footsteps approaching you, they came to a stop a foot or so away from where you were kneeling in the flower bed, the lightweight, flowy material of your whimsical, floral print dress sprawling out around you. “How can I help you baby?” Looking up at him his beautiful face blocked out the warm afternoon sun, shining through his dark hair forming a halo around his head making him look angelic.

You stood up, satisfied with your crop with the small wicker basket full to the brim with sweet red fruit. 

“You look gorgeous (Y/N/N),” James commented approvingly, his eyes raking over your body.

“Thank you Jamie,” You smiled, reaching your hand out to run it down his jawline before moving it to his hair, tangling your fingers in his dark tresses.

“Wanna make you feel good,” He admitted, pulling you close, grappling at your waist. His large hands running up and down your sides wanting to be as close to your body as possible.

A smile graced your lips, peering into his azure eyes hidden behind the thick frames of his glasses, “How do we ask baby?” 

“Wanna make you feel good Mommy,” He pleaded, resting his forehead against your shoulder before turning his head in order to nose at your pulse before pressing his lips to the delicate skin, “Please,” He whined.

“Good boy,” You praised, using your nails to scratch his scalp, feeling his smile press against your neck at both the praise and the feeling of your nails in his hair. “Always such a good boy for me, you know that?”

“Really?” He asked you, almost disbelieving, turning his visage to meet your eyes with his wide ones. James needed constant praise and you were more than happy to provide it for him. 

You hummed affirmatively feeling the ache in between your legs flare as James planted open mouthed kisses on your neck before he slunk down to his knees in front of you. Looking up at you with puppy eyes he leaned forward so his nose was level with your pussy, hidden behind layers of fabric. As he nuzzled his nose into your clothed pussy you began to hike up the skirt of your dress until it was pulled up to your waist revealing your panty clad center and bare legs that seemed to have James entranced.

He moved so that his forehead was brushing the ground, searing his lips to the inside of your ankle before dragging them up your half, leaving trails of his spit in his wake as he gently sunk his teeth into your soft skin, though not hard enough to elicit any bruises, Jamie knew to ask before he left any marks on you. 

He was yours to mark.

Not the other way around.

He quickly made his way up the inside of your thigh, eager to get a taste of his favorite thing in the world, your cunt. 

“You in a rush, baby?” You asked, adjusting your skirt to peer down at him, where he rested his cheek on the inside of your thigh, nudging his glasses further up on his nose as he shook his head. “Words,” You commanded, gripping his jaw squishing his cheeks together making his lips jut out in an exaggerated pout.

“No Mommy, I’m sorry,” You didn’t even know if James knew the definition of the word brat, he was always so obedient. So eager to please.

He returned his lips to your knee, taking his time in working his lips up your leg, laving his tongue over your supple skin. “Mommy,” He whimpered into your skin, steadying himself on your legs by grabbing onto your thighs with his hands, the cold metal of his various rings sending a chill through your body as they melded into your flesh. “Mommy can I leave marks on your pretty thighs? Please?”

You responded by pushing his head back in between your legs, nodding your head enthusiastically as you felt his lips suction on the inside of your thigh. The nip of his teeth on the sensitive flesh tip toeing the line between pain and pleasure as his tongue peeked out to calm the bite. He continued up your legs, switching between the right and the left dragging moans from deep inside your chest until his nose finally brushed against your clit. 

“Fuck!” You swore, shifting the entirety of your dress to one hand as the other found its home in James’ hair, pushing him closer to you.

His fingers hooked onto the lact fabric of your panties as he pulled them hastily down until they were pooling around your bare feet.

The brunette didn’t hesitate before practically lunging into your cunt, reaching up his hands to grip your thighs, pulling them apart slightly so he could better access your clit. His long tongue licked a broad stripe from your quivering, gushing hole to your sensitive bundle of nerves.

You steadied yourself on your feet, anchoring yourself to James’ head as he worked on devouring your cunt. “Fuck Jamie, that feels so good baby, use that tongue, make Mommy feel good.”

Urged on by your praise he attached his lips to your clit, sucking harshly causing sparks of pleasure to shoot up your spine and through your limbs, feeding the pull in your stomach as pleasure hits you in waves following the movements of James’ tongue as he greedily licked up your juices.

“Such a good boy, use your tongue to make Mommy cum, you can do it.” You encouraged, beginning to thrust our cunt into the drooling boy’s face as he released his grip on your thigh to insert two long, calloused fingers into your dripping hole. As he pistoned his fingers in and out quickly his ministrations on your clit slowed, the contrast in his respective movements drove you insane pulling you closer and closer to orgasm. 

No one had ever made you feel as good as James could, his tongue, his fingers, his cock, all of them had you edging towards orgasm in a matter of minutes, and today was no exception. The man kneeling between your legs has managed to bring you to a quivering mess looming above him, gripping his broad, muscled shoulders like he was the only thing grounding you in reality.

And maybe it was.

The feeling of his shoulders beneath your palms reminded you of how beautiful it was to have James Potter on his knees, you forced yourself to pry your eyes open, moving your dress so you could get a better look at his face buried in your cunt. James’ hair was mussed from your tugging and grasping, as he looked up at you you noticed he’d removed his glasses, or perhaps they’d fallen because they were now stranded in the soil, his bright blue eyes gleaming as whimpers and whines escaped your lips.

“W-Why’d you take your glasses off darling?” You managed to say through gritted teeth as he continued moving his fingers in and out of your cunt, now curling his fingers in order to hit your g-spot repeatedly until you were on the precipice of orgasm, forcing yourself of the ledge you dipped your fingers below his jaw, tipping his head up to look at you.

“Wanted to eat your pussy better Mommy, wanted to make you feel as good as possible, wanted to be your good boy,” His words were muffled by your clit but your heart still swelled at his words.

“Go on then baby, make Mommy feel good with your mouth,” You commanded, letting go of his jaw.

James shifted himself so he was able to replace his fingers with the length of his cunt, pistoning it in and out of you as he set to work on your clit with his hands, rubbing his palm in harsh circles against your delicate bundle of nerves. As pleasure seared through your veins you threw your head back, releasing your breathy moans into the clean air of the picturesque countryside, the scent of nearby flowers flooding your nostrils as you edged closer to your climax, ready to make a mess of you pretty boy’s face.

“M’gonna cum baby,” You moaned out, digging your fingers even further into James’ hair using it to anchor him to your pulsing pussy, not letting him move away even if he wanted to.

Eager to please you James moaned into the expanse of your cunt, knocking you across the edge into pleasure, allowing wave after wave to crest over you and engulf you in the sensation of James lapping at your cunt as you rode out your orgasm, cleaning everything he could get his tongue on before you gently guided his head back tilting up once again to look at his face.

James looked borderline ethereal on his knees, the bottom half of his face glistening with your release.

“You were such a good boy for me darling.”

“Thank you Mommy,” James grinned genuinely, “Love being your good boy.”

“And you do such a good job at it too,” The extol left your lips as you leaned down to press a gentle kiss to the tip of his nose. “Now how about we go inside and I repay you for making me feel so good?”

You didn’t have to ask James twice before he was on his feet, lifting you into his arms, a smile cracked against his face as he carried you towards your house. The sounds of your shrieks and giggles heard as he peppered your face with kisses, the basket of strawberries left abandoned in the flower bed. You didn’t need crepes, you had James.

tagging: @randomoutsiders @weasleyposts

[maddiewritesstucky]

Snare Me His Shadow

Pairing: Steve/Bucky

Rating: Explicit 18+

Words: 4.5k

Tags: Primal Play, Prey/Predator Kink, Fighting As Foreplay, Rough Sex, Biting, Choking, Dom/Sub Undertones, Come Swapping, Anal Sex, Overstimulation, Fucking Outdoors, Storm Sex, Poetry As An Aphrodisiac, R18 Hide And Seek

So a million years ago, @howdoyousleep3 passed on an ask from her inbox that read:

[I dont know if you’re familiar with primal play, but it’s so fucking hot. Yeah, I know, Steve is all muscle and ability, he’s strong he’s fast, he’s smart, he is not prey. Usually. But Bucky - the winter soldier - is a hunter. The best, in fact. He loves a good hunt]

...This one possessed me. Please heed the tags, this is an entirely consensual and agreed-upon game between Steve and Bucky, but it is very much a hunter/prey type situation 😈

It’s electric, like this.

Barefoot on the damp earth, navigating by muscle memory more than sight, because darkness settles that much denser beneath the tree canopy.

Steve could move faster, could take this barely-worn path through the woods behind the compound at a sprint. But fast is loud. 

Fast is leaves cracking and branches splintering, and the muted thud of footfalls on the forest floor. It’s eyes fixed only ahead so you don’t stumble, and nothing but the sound of your own exhales in your ears.

‘Fast’ gets you caught. 

The in-rolling storm crackles humid in the air, sparking against Steve’s skin as he weaves through the underbrush. He throws his every sense outwards, searching and sifting through those faint currents of movement around him, those quiet signs of life. But it’s all life out here; birds and insects and creatures who can’t bear the light, all just playing the same game he is, and every last one of them pricks at his awareness. 

Every last one of them kicks at his pulse and drip-feeds new adrenaline into his bloodstream, because experience echoes a warning way down in his cells - the apex predator comes silent as a spider. 

There’s so many eyes on him, the weight of being watched pressing down on him from all sides. He digs the heel of his hand into his arousal and pulls in a lungful of air on the cusp of rain; feels himself splintering between his warring desires to put up a worthy chase, and to drop down belly-up in the dirt.

It’s a choice that will be made for him, eventually. 

He might be strength, and speed, and strategy. But out here, he is prey. 

Out here, in these weeping woods that stretch endless into the night, Steve is achingly, exquisitely outmatched by the hunter who lies in wait; biding his time, unseen, and slipping ever closer. 

Dressed in black from head to toe, or skin bared to the shivering pulses of the forest; empty handed, or palms laden with the urge to grab and pin and possess…

The Winter Soldier is out there, and Steve’s blood runs so much hotter for the knowledge that he won’t see or hear or feel him coming until it’s too late. 

He winds his way amongst the weathered trunks, hugging the shadows and pawing at the lines of his own body; stroking his thighs and pulling at his nipples, raking fingernails over the bare skin of his stomach. It’s rough and absent and frantic all at once, a weak precursor to what he’s evading.

The dissonance of it is dizzying, hiding from the thing he wants most. He wants to cry out, to make for the clearing in the middle of the woods and sprawl shameless in the open until he’s found, but he knows the rules - run, hide, don’t make it easy.

Pursuit is the purpose, and capture is a pleasure that must be earned, no matter how raw his skin is screaming for touch. And it is screaming - he’s a copper wire stripped bare, and he shivers for every stinging snap of branch and damp drag of leaf against his body as he picks his way through the darkness. 

Hard limits apply, he’d told Bucky, the rest is up to you. 

He shudders for it now, those words and the way Bucky’s eyes had darkened for them; the way he’d leaned in to kiss his sugar-laced threat right onto Steve’s waiting lips - I will find you.

It’s only a matter of time. The forest is vast, and countless months have passed since they last played this game, but Bucky is a blade that never dulls. 

Bucky is razor-sharp, in wit, beauty, and battle; made up of midnight and silent strides when he so chooses, and he will find Steve. 

He might have had eyes on Steve this entire time; ten soundless steps behind, watching Steve’s slow descent into desperation with a smile on his face, and the mere possibility has Steve’s cock weeping through the thin fabric of his shorts. 

His fingertips dip beneath his waistband and sweep through the wetness beading at his tip; stroke that sensitive spot just beneath the head. His palm slips to press at the heavy throb in his balls and it makes his breath catch too loud in the confines of his chest, has a moan slipping out past his gritted teeth. 

He knows it’s foolish, knows he’s only making himself easier to track. But every step he takes is winding the hunt toward its inevitable climax, and intellect is giving way to instinct. 

His consciousness is beginning that steady downward drip, sinking from logic and reason to settle and swim with the dense heat pooling at the base of his spine. Soon, he’ll be nothing more than the urge rippling under his skin, the tight-squeezed air in his lungs and the thrum of blood between his thighs, and every brush of his own hands is permission to slip a little further to it. 

So he doesn’t stop. 

His feet and his fingers keep moving; his body acting now on his mind’s behalf to draw towards the river's edge, where his desperate sounds will be swept away by the unending rush of water over rock, because this is about preservation now.

It’s about surviving the voracity of his own need until he is found, until Bucky catches him, and then…god, then...

The rest is up to you.

The beginning of rainfall winds its way down through the tree canopy, and it does nothing to quell the heat radiating off Steve. He’s burning so hot for this, so hungry for it; his need only growing sharper as the atmosphere curls in thick and charged with the promise of thunder. 

It’s rumbling in the distance already, too faint for non-enhanced ears but creeping closer; a rolling bass beneath the surge of the fast flowing river up ahead. He can see the diluted black of open space through the trees now, can hear the clack of wet-tumbling stones, and it’s nothing short of delusion, the way it feels like he’s headed for sanctuary. 

Logic knows it’s a weak veil of auditory cover at best, and an outright plea for ambush at worst.

Steve knows, down in his gut, exactly which one he’s hoping for, and he sprints for it with the last of his tactical thought seeping out through the soles of his feet. 

He breaks through the tree line, hitching a gasp as he stumbles out into the full force of the downpour. It’s coming down heavy, sluicing at the fever-sweat clinging to his skin, and he tilts his face up towards it; lets his eyes drift shut and his shoulders drop as he bares his throat to the purple-black sky. 

His pulse riots for the sheer abandon of the gesture, of shifting his posture to one of invitation in the midst of evasion. It only spurs him on, makes him want to find out just how shrill that siren in his cells will wail when he refuses to curl in on himself. 

He forces his hands open at his sides, turns his palms outwards and walks further out onto the exposed riverbank. He stands ankle deep in the river with his heart in his throat, soaked to the bone and all but shaking with the desire to drop to his knees in submission.

And that’s when he hears it. 

The slow-whistled high note, followed by a low; the signal that shivers from the top of Steve’s spine to the cradle of his hips.

Found you. 

It’s a question as much as a warning, that signal; a chance for Steve to respond in their shared language of gesture whether he wants the chase, or the fight. 

As if he hadn’t made up his mind the moment they agreed to play tonight.

As if he’s not done for either way. 

He pulls in a shuddering breath, his skin prickling with the presence he can sense now off to his left. Survival instinct begs him to open his eyes, to scour his surroundings and prepare for what’s coming, but he only shuts them tighter. 

He grins up at the pelting rain, curls his quivering right hand into a fist, and beats it against his drenched, heaving chest.

Take me down where I stand. 

Thunder rumbles overhead and shakes the stones underfoot. Steve’s blood beats frantic in his ears, one heartbeat stumbling over the next, and he waits, waits for the blow he doesn’t want to see coming.

A foot to the back of his knees, an arm wrapped around his throat, a strike of unyielding metal between his shoulder blades...it’s never the same twice, and it’s always better than the time before, and he can’t stop the desperate whimper that falls from his parted, rain-slick lips.

“Bucky!” he pleads, hurling it into the current of the storm raging around him.

“Steve,” comes the answer from directly behind him; the word falling across his skin in the split second before teeth sink deep into the meat of his shoulder.

It’s nothing short of wanton, the way Steve cries out with it. 

Five fingers curl a punishing grip around the column of his throat and a soaking wet body plasters against his back, and Steve doesn’t even try to hold his centre of gravity as he’s wrestled down to the riverbank.

It’s a messy takedown, raw force over skill; dripping all the same desperation that’s been twisting hot in Steve’s gut all night. Bucky pins him belly-down against the stones at the river’s edge, the full weight of his body draped over him, and Steve knows the tremor he can feel humming through Bucky’s muscles has nothing to do with the cold.

“The river,” Bucky growls; metal forearm jammed against the back of Steve's neck, “of course you came to the river.”

Steve squirms giddy beneath Bucky’s mass, beneath that deep-thrumming power crushing down on him. 

The storm-swollen current reaches up the bank to wash shallow and frigid beneath Steve’s cheek, his chest; against his nipples and his thighs and his cock inside his drenched shorts. It’s cold enough to draw gooseflesh across the bared expanse of his skin, but fuck if that persistent rush doesn’t feel like getting tongued; like every single time Bucky’s ever slipped an ice cube in his mouth and sucked him off just to see him hit the ceiling. 

“Buck...” 

It’s the only word that makes sense anymore. Steve gets his elbows under himself and pushes his body up, but only so much as to feel the stifling weight of Bucky on top of him. 

Bucky’s hand slips to the front of his throat and grips him tight up under the line of his jaw; tips his head back to get his lips and teeth pressed hard against Steve’s ear.

“Steven...did you even try?” 

The rain and the river aren’t enough to sweep away the mockery in his tone. He’s shifting himself on top of Steve, putting scant inches of space between their bodies, and Steve knows this cue; grins bright and breathless for it.

He digs his hands in against the riverbed, plants his knees and shoves upwards. He heaves his weight forward and Bucky’s grip loosens just enough to let it happen, to let Steve crawl and clamber a few meager feet forwards.

Steve knows it’s a false freedom but he laughs half-hysterical for it anyway, and even more so when Bucky’s hands are catching him again, clamping bruising tight at his hips and grappling him onto the flat of his back. 

He winces at the battering strike of rain against his face, but it’s just as soon blocked by the cover of Bucky caging him in; replaced by the tepid drips rolling off Bucky’s perpetually warm skin. 

Steve’s body reacts the way it thinks it’s supposed to, going through the motions of trying to throw Bucky off - strength funneled into a forearm arm pressing here, a knee striking there. But it’s pointless; sabotaged by the underlying truth that the only place Steve really wants to be is stuck exactly where he finds himself - pinned pliant beneath his predator.

He lets himself look, then; lets his gaze slip down between them to drag over the length of Bucky’s body. He’s bared to the elements just the same as Steve - not a stitch on him save for running shorts that barely hit at mid-thigh. His hair is pulled back, and he’s soaked to the bone, and when lightning splits the darkness in two and catches on the angles of his face, that raw perilous beauty strikes a blow all of its own to the center of Steve’s chest.

“You win,” Steve rasps, dragging his voice up from the pit of his billowing lungs.

Bucky’s answering laugh is darker than the wet-ink midnight pressing in on them, and it shudders all the way to Steve’s bones when Bucky sinks down to purr ominous against the vulnerable stretch of his neck.

“Not yet, I haven’t.”

The ravenous clamp of teeth on his throat sends Steve’s body bowing, writhing for that merciless bite that doesn’t break the skin, but makes purpled ruin of what lies beneath. Fascia and blood vessels and Steve’s sanity, all broken down in the transcendent grind of Bucky’s jaw, the heat of his mouth; all over Steve’s neck and his chest and his belly, and it’s so feral, the way Steve wants it. 

He wants the shred of busted stitching and the shock of rain against newly bared skin as his shorts are torn from his body.

He wants the red welts raked down his rib cage, the kiss-split lip and the deep set imprints of Bucky’s teeth all up the insides of his thighs. 

Bucky’s touch is heavy and he means it to be; his shifting, squeezing grip claiming handfuls of Steve’s willing flesh wherever he can get it. And he can get it everywhere - every last inch of Steve’s body splayed out for him in tribute to his prowess, and Steve wants him to take it. 

He wants Bucky to make sacrilege of it out here under the split-open skies, until it feels like heaven itself is sobbing for it. 

“Fuck me,” ruin me, desecrate me, arch-backed and bleeding-lipped in the dirt, “Bucky, fuck me…” 

Steve begs with all of himself, legs split and arms thrown above his head; dripping sweat and storm and half-crazed surrender. Like he actually has to plead for this, like Bucky’s not already stuffing searching fingers up between his cheeks to grope for the base-end of silicone that says Steve’s body is primed for the taking.

Bucky bites taunting denial into his skin, over and over. ‘No,’ even as he pulls the plug from Steve’s body and replaces it with his fingers. ‘No’ growled against Steve’s body every time he begs now, and please, and I’m ready, just to fray that tenuous thread of Steve’s resolve. 

Steve’s delirious with it, crying out high and sharp for the stretch of cold metal inside him and the drip of remnant lube. He chants Bucky’s name and reaches out with clinging, clawing hands that only get batted away; that get caught at the wrists and pinned down, and Bucky’s laughing at him. 

Bucky is toying with him, leaving him empty and climbing back up over his body to graze teeth over Steve’s cheekbones, to whisper sweet mockery against Steve’s lips before he kisses them bruising-hard.

“Tell me you want it,” Bucky coos, clamping his hand over Steve’s mouth and pushing the clothed head of his cock up against Steve’s hole. 

Steve sobs against his palm. He forces the words out wet and incomprehensible onto Bucky’s skin; again and again as Bucky tuts and tells him to speak the fuck up. 

Tears are streaming free from the corners of his eyes and his legs are hooking desperately around Bucky’s waist, and he knows that Bucky wants this just as bad. He can feel Bucky shaking and shuddering under the strain of holding back and holding out, trying to push Steve closer to his breaking point just because that’s what Steve wants; devotion at its most deranged.

“Don’t cry, baby,” Bucky laps at the tears tracking down Steve’s face, letting up his hand from Steve’s mouth only to settle it heavy on his throat. 

He slips his other hand down between them to shove at his shorts, fighting the clinging fabric down far enough to get his cock free, and then they’re both groaning for the rub of naked skin on skin. 

“Buck,” Steve chokes out a half-strangled cry as Bucky sinks his whole weight onto him, dragging his stomach over Steve’s weeping cock and rocking his own into the crease of Steve’s hip. 

“Tell me you want it?” Bucky says again, a question this time instead of a taunt. 

Steve’s rasp of yes, fuck, do it barely makes it past his lips before Bucky’s cock is pushing into him.

There’s no hesitance, no pretense of patience to it. Bucky doesn’t finesse it and Steve doesn’t want him to - he didn’t spend half the night skulking through the woods in the middle of a fucking thunderstorm just to get taken the way he would be in the sanctity of their bed.

Steve came out here to get fucked vicious, and Bucky knows better than to pull his punches.

He shoves brutal and punishing into the tight heat of Steve’s body, knocking the air from Steve’s lungs and the sense from his psyche. 

He’s tucking words up against Steve’s ear, something lilting and familiar, and the roar of Steve’s own blood and the groaning sky above don’t drown out Bucky’s voice so much as darken it’s edges; slip a rumbling bass beneath it’s baritone. Steve loses himself in the well-worn rhythm long before the words catch up to sink hooks into his ribcage.

“O Hunter, snare me his shadow,” Bucky hums, “O Nightingale, catch me his strain…else moonstruck with music and madness...I track him in vain.”

Steve would weep, if he had it in him to do anything other than lay there flat on his back and take it. 

Bucky grinds in blinding-deep and stays there, rocks there; drips poetry all over the side of Steve’s neck like he’s not fucking him fit to kill.

He squeezes Steve’s throat until his eyes roll back, swats at Steve’s cheek and pulls merciless on his hair. He stuffs fingers into Steve’s gaping mouth deep enough to gag on, and hinges Steve’s jaw open so he has no choice but to set loose every raw, wrecked sound Bucky knocks out of him. 

It’s fucking flawless.

“Give me one,” Bucky growls. 

Steve needs no clarification beyond the spearing of Bucky’s cock into his prostate, and he reaches down between their bodies to jerk himself frantic and heavy-handed. 

It should be pitiful, how little it takes. But it’s been mounting for what feels like hours, and when Bucky wrenches himself abruptly from Steve’s body to slap a hand down square over Steve’s balls and his slick, aching asshole, that orgasm crests with near-painful force.

“Fuck!” Steve’s wracked with it, shuddering and flinching from it like it’s not the makings of his very own flesh and blood. 

Bucky doesn’t even wait for it to be over before he’s dipping down to lap at it; rubbing his cheek and his chest and his belly through Steve’s release on his slow crawl back up to spit it into Steve’s mouth.

“Don’t you fuckin’ swallow it,” he warns, pressing his thumb to the seam of Steve’s lips, “I want it back.” 

Steve’s body is sparking chaotic, crying too soon and too much just as loud as it’s screaming too good as Bucky grips him by his sodden hair and buries his cock back inside him; falling into rhythm like he never stopped thrusting in the first place.

He wants to moan, wants to cry out for that welcome knifepoint of forced pleasure building within him, but the desperate sounds creeping onto his tongue are every bit as caged as the come he can’t swallow. 

Which is the whole point, Steve flushes submissive to realize - Bucky’s got him gagged without even touching him. 

He twines his limbs up around Bucky’s body, groping and pulling at him like there’s still an insufferable distance left to close. The guttural moans Bucky’s spilling into the crook of his neck only render Steve’s own noises even more pathetic; huffing high and reedy the longer they remain trapped in his throat. 

“Christ, listen to you...”

Bucky pushes up onto his elbows to stare down at Steve, to watch the play of desperation on his face. 

He’s no less transparent himself in how affected he is, a lifetime of ceaseless want spelled out in his gaze; hunger and rapture and the kind of adoration Steve doesn’t think he’ll ever fully earn, not really.

But it’s all right there, in the way Bucky’s looking at him; the way he’s bearing the howling force of the storm against his back just to give Steve this, and Steve is sunk.

Steve is nothing more than the sweet ruin of his body and the near painful swell of his heart for the multitudes that Bucky contains. A death sentence if you ask the history books and still the better half of Steve’s soul, Bucky is the boundless shadow and blinding light of Steve’s entire existence; his every reason for being and doing and fucking trying, after all these years. 

It would be terrifying, if Steve weren’t bone-deep certain that he’s the axis Bucky’s world spins on, too.

“You found me...” 

The words are almost a sob hitching off Steve’s tongue, pitched fuck-drunk and slurred around his mouthful of himself. 

He’s breaking the rules and he knows it; half hopes for the crack of an open palm against his cheek for it. But the look Bucky hits him with lands harder than any physical strike could hope to; taking Steve’s face firm between his hands and staring down at him like there’s never been a truth so vital, so dire.

“I will always find you, Steve.” 

And that’s just it, isn’t it? The one thing their shared existence will always narrow down to. There’s nowhere either of them could go that the other wouldn’t tear the world apart to get to, and the scant inches of distance between them right now might as well be oceans for all Steve’s burning inside to cross them. 

He cups his hands around Bucky’s neck and arches up, pulls him down; pleading with everything but words for Bucky’s mouth on his, and Bucky doesn’t make him wait. He meets Steve right there in the delirium with lips and tongue and moans that rival the swelling thunder; sucking the taste of Steve off his tongue and dripping a starved groan into his mouth in its place.

“I wanna make you come,” he says, like he hasn’t already dragged one out of him, “tell me you’re gonna come.” 

“Fuck, I am, I’m gonna come...” 

“Say it’s for me, Steve, tell me it’s mine.” 

Steve nods so hard, he can feel a bruise bloom at the base of his skull where it grates against the riverstone. Of course it’s for Bucky, everything’s for Bucky; every breath in his lungs and every beat of his stricken, obsessed heart. The sensations within him are mounting too immense, too desperate to be named pleasure, but they’re careening all the same towards the one thing Bucky wants from him, and it will only ever be Bucky’s, this perfect agony of coming undone.

“It’s yours,” he sobs, voice weak and body shaking. "Just—fuckin’ take it from me, Buck.”

He gives up all conscious hold on himself; submits entirely to the relentless drag of Bucky’s dick against his insides and the wet rasp of rock against his back as Bucky drives deep into his surrendered body, chasing that climax for the both of them.

It burns so bright, when it hits Steve; wrenched from his core and rolling sharp through the splay of his trembling frame. He cries out with it, but the storm cries louder, Bucky cries louder; moving ceaselessly through the spasms of Steve’s orgasm and drowning in the give of Steve’s body beneath him. 

“Fuck, Steve, I—” 

“Do it,” Steve slurs, needing nothing more than the tell-tale shudder of Bucky’s body and the way he gasps Steve’s name like a warning. “In me, Buck. Do it.” 

Bucky cusses sharp, pulsing his hips as he lets go inside Steve like he can bury that seed deep enough to stick. And fuck, Steve wants it to. It’s all raw nerve on the inside but Steve never wants this to end; possessed by the slick grind of Bucky’s twitching cock and the heaving half-moans of Bucky’s breath. 

“Don’t stop,” he pleads, reaching fingertips down to where their bodies are joined, where Bucky’s stuffed into him and leaking out of him. “Keep fucking me, just—just keep—” 

Keep coming. 

Be that monstrous entity in the woods who fucks me like it’s a haunting, ’til not even an exorcism would rid me of you. 

He prods at the stretch of his swollen rim, drags his fingers through the warmth seeping out around Bucky’s cock. He wants it everywhere; brings those slick fingers up to smear over the pulse point on his neck, down the line of his throat, and Bucky heaves a moan dragged right from the marrow of his bones. 

“I won’t stop,” he grits out through clattering teeth, rocking into Steve graceless and starving. “Not gonna stop, Steve.”

It sounds as much like threat as it does promise. 

They’re both quaking with it, overstimulated and frigid cold and too achingly, crushingly lost in each other. For all the serum may have made them both to defy science and probability, to withstand war and stall the ravages of aging, it still couldn’t create a vessel vast enough to contain this - this raw, insatiable need for one another. 

“Bucky…” 

Steve looks up from the flat of his back; tips his head to offer up the stretch of his throat as he offers up a tremulous verse — a challenge — into the space between them. 

“The woods are lovely, dark and deep...” 

Recognition sparks dark and joyous in Bucky’s gaze. He catches Steve’s hands in his and threads their fingers together, palm against palm in a too-tight grip.

“But I have promises to keep,” he grins, “and miles to go before I sleep…” 

His lips are turning up wolfish; the roll of his hips turning to something liquid and long-haul, and the rain beats down just as violent as it ever did. 

Steve lets his eyes slip closed, lets the final refrain slip from his tongue before he surrenders, smiling, to the slow closing of Bucky’s teeth around his windpipe.

“...And miles to go before I sleep.” 

If you’re at all curious, the poems they quote are ‘In The Forest’ by Oscar Wilde, and ‘Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening’ by Robert Frost 😘

[kashimos-hajime]

homestretch of the hard times | g.t.

summary: the eve days of your potential death kinda spurns things to move forward: for takemura, it means confessions. for you, it means making exceptions. and drinks. ‘cause takemura’s the pickiest fucking eater you’ve ever met.

WARNINGS: small spoilers for act 1 of cyberpunk 2077 and references to non-spoiler texts between takemura and v, just fluff, small angst, swearing, idk what else is going on so if there are actual spoilers thats completely coincedental ndlnskfsldnf pairing: goro takemura x fem!street-kid!v word count: 2.6k

a/n: so cdpr did us dirty for not allowing us to romance him (to my knowledge) but he has my mind, heart and everything else so :) listened to the bones by maren morris w/ hozier

part of the tales of a two-bit thief series

It starts with something straight out of a romance movie: A car crash, saving each other’s lives (well, him more than you) and “Wait, V, I need you.”

You don’t know how you got here, to be precise. There were a chain of events, some absolutely stand up fucking moments on your part, and just… fuckery. So much fuckery and life went to shit.

All you know is the ticking time bomb’s only ticking louder and at this point, the only thing that can silence it at all is the man beside you. Not even the meds Misty gave you can help you now. 

You’re sitting in his car because you called him and he had answered and now… now they’re on one of the off ramps looking over Night City like they own the fucking place.

Maybe you did, once. Ha, maybe back when everything seemed more job to job and not life to life. For a moment, maybe you were in the big leagues.

Takemura doesn’t say anything, even though you can tell he wants to. His hair still pulled into that man bun, collared shirt with not a single wrinkle in sight. Weird how he never looks out of place, not really. Not even with the car crash. Shit, he always looked good.

You think you’re actually gonna miss that. That one semblance of someone being put together that gave you the hope that maybe you could stick it too.

You think you’re gonna miss a lot of things about him—from his stupid complaints about the food here, to his stupid random philosophy texts in the day, to the fact that he eats the ramen you buy anyway without complaint, even though it’ll never compare to what he has in Japan.

The thought that counts.

They don’t even have the radio on, just the dim lights of the car, a window rolled down. You don’t smoke but you feel like you should be tapping a cig either way. You haven’t had the time to just fucking breathe—not with Silverhand breathing down your neck, corpo rats swarming you on all sides. 

Everyone wants a piece of you, it feels like. 

You look at Takemura.

Almost everyone.

“Thank you,” you tell him quietly, with difficulty. It’s hard to get through your words without thinking Silverhand’s behind your back, mocking you. You’re so fucking tired. “It hasn’t been easy.”

He doesn’t respond. He’s too busy looking at one of the cars nearly collide with a pedestrian. You could’ve laughed. You used to make fun of the shitty drivers in Night City, knowing full well you’re one of them.

You get chased by a couple of cops, rules start to bend.

You used to wonder why you never left.

Then, you actually left, and you realized that hell, you can take the person out of Night City—can’t take the Night City out of a person.

Atlanta fucking sucked, but maybe you should’ve stayed there.

But then, a tiny voice whispers as you look out the window to the fresh night wind. You never would’ve met him.

It’s funny, you think. To come back and get a brain tumour in the shape of a rocker who can’t fucking touch anyone who loves him, who he loved, only for you to fall in love with a corpo you can’t fucking touch at all because… because there is no time left. It just isn’t fair.

“I used to be a corpo kid,” you confess, looking at him with a wry smile again. That catches his attention. He looks at you with those eyes that scrutinize you, interrogate you, peel you apart to your bare essentials and you have to look away before you can’t control your face anymore. God fucking damn it. “Not when it mattered, obviously, but… I remember what it was like. Grew up hating every single on of them.”

“Your parents were Arasaka?”

“Mhm. Security division.” It’s like your eyes are magnetic to his because when you blink, you find yourself regarding him again. Your fingers play at your lips. “Counterintelligence. I was supposed to go into that, too. Big dreams.” 

“I see.”

“Yeah, then my parents were tried for treason and murdered, so I got thrown out. That’s it.” Your hand falls away. You pick at the chipped nail polish on your thumb. “Never told anyone that. ‘Cept…” Jackie. Well, he’s fucking dead, now. “‘Cept you, now, I guess. Guess some corpos aren’t so bad.”

The corner of his mouth pinches up like he’s flattered and you can’t help the pleased warmth spreading through your chest. 

“Should I be honoured I am one of the few exceptions you have made?”

“Well, I don’t make exceptions often, so…” You grin slyly. He looks away just as you catch a flash of his smile growing. It’s a nice smile. You wish you saw it more often before the end of the road. Maybe it’s one of the regrets you have, too. “Yeah, maybe you should feel special.”

“Hm.”

“C’mon, Takemura. Humour the walking dead, yeah?” You stretch against the leather of his car seat with a pleased sound. “I’m spending what time I have left with who I want to. Can’t ask for much better than that.” A quiet hangs in the air as you melt against the black leather and you look at Takemura who’s staring at the wheel with an intensity you don’t often see. It makes your gut squirm. 

“And I? I am one of those people?”

You lean on one hip and look at him, bending a knee and resting an ankle on your thigh. He looks at you with an uncertainty—an uncertainty you’re sure echoes in your eyes.

It was business, then it wasn’t. Maybe it never was.

“Yeah. You’re one of the few on the short list.”

“Exceptions again.”

You laugh. “Yeah. You’re an exception to most things, I think. Weird, that.”

“How so?”

“Ah, I don’t know. I’ve had family—still do, ones that matter, you know. Just… no one ever like you, Takemura. Drives me crazy.”

“The feeling is mutual. Your mocking brings you onto thin ice, V.” His fingers tap against the steering wheel. The engine’s off so it seems more fidgety than anything. Weird. You never noticed he fidgeted before. Maybe he’s nervous?

About what?

“I must ask you something.”

“Shoot.”

“If you have a future, what do you see for yourself?”

Your eyebrows shoot up. You frown and pick at your flecking nail polish even more, looking at your hand and focusing more on that so you don’t have to answer your question. His eyes burn into you and you swallow, trying not to act like you haven’t thought, in regret, at night, about a hundred million fucking times the possibilities they could’ve had together.

You’re not about to say all that.

Instead: “Settling down with the family. Mama Welles, people at the Coyote.” You blatantly don’t look at him when you add, “Others. This has been enough action for a lifetime.” You rest your hands on your lap and chance a glimpse at him. He’s looking away from you, out the window on his side, and you shift in your seat. “How about you? You must’ve… had dreams. Before all this shit went down. You make it out of here and then what?”

When he looks at you, your heart nearly cracks at the sadness in his eyes. He smiles, but there is no strength, and his eyes are darker than the night surrounding them.

“I would go to the countryside, just as I’ve always wanted. Leave this, all of this, behind. Rural Japan is beautiful, so a small town would suffice where everyone knows everyone. We do favours for one another. It is community. Nothing like here.” His lips pull into a tiny frown. “When I was a younger man, I wanted a daughter,” is all he says. “I believe I could have been a great father, so perhaps… perhaps one day.”

“A daughter? Not a son?” you ask curiously, and he almost chuckles. You can’t help the faint smile on your face. 

“If my daughter grew up anything like her mother,” he explains with a slight glance towards you, “I would have more hope than a son who was like me.”

You frown.  “You’re not a bad man, Takemura. Any son like you—with your code of honour, your shitty selfie skills—no one’s gotta a chance.”

He merely scoffs in response. Again, with the you mocking him. It’s a wonder he lets you.

“But really, that sounds… nice. A daughter, a wife.” You drum your fingers against your knee and his eyes dart to yours, click like they were always destined to meet, and your lips part. Words stall on your tongue and you want to speak but in the dim lights, you are lost in the darkness of his eyes. Something comes, something goes, and you barely croak out, “Whoever marries you will have to deal with so much of your shit that the kids have to turn out alright. The complaining, for one. Picky eater for another.”

This time, he does chuckle and you swallow a breath at the sound. “Dealing with it comes with practice, V.”

“Is that so?”

“Shouldn’t you know?”

“I—“ For once, no funny retort, no witty quip shoots out of your mouth, and you realize that there is an implication—an intricate dance where they’re struggling not to step on each other’s toes and nearly failing at every turn, yet somehow, it works because they’re dancing, and it’s quiet, and it’s… it’s peaceful.

Shit, you’re getting a load of this. When’d you become a poet?

“I guess I should know,” you finally say. “Never understood why I got so giddy whenever I saw your texts, you know, seein’ your name flash on my phone.” You laugh bitterly. “Guess I know why, now.” He’s silent and you don’t look at him. You look at the dashboard where you’ve kicked your feet up a dozen times, the glove compartment that still has your sunglasses inside.

Shit.

“Thank you for everything. Shit’s a little… more bearable, I guess. When you’re around, that is.” The words come out stilted, awkward, but your heart is so heavy in your throat you feel like you’re going to choke. You look into your lap, your whole body incinerating under what you’re sure is the most judgemental glare of your life and you just hope to fucking God this man says something, does something.

Holy shit. You’re going to die of embarrassment. Didn’t even think that was possible.

Then, a loud sigh. A sigh you’ve heard often enough beside you right before a gunfight or when he has to eat the food you ordered for him or even the nights when they’re exhausted, bruised, and just plain tired right before going to sleep where they lay on the floor.

It’s exasperated, a how on earth did we get here, a very annoyed again, you’re so fucking stupid, and you’re still running through your list on what this particular sigh can mean before a hand gently takes hold of yours. Your eyes dart to his, blinking and he stares at you like you’ve just stabbed him. Your heart is fucking racing in your chest, pounding like thunder. His fingers fold over and you realize, as you interlace fingers, that his skin is burning at your touch. 

Or maybe, it’s the other way around.

They sit there in silence, not looking at one another, looking out windows, parts of the car, everything but each other, and when he squeezes your hand, you close your eyes and swallow your heart.

It’s over.

“V,” he murmurs, voice so deathly quiet and raspy in your ears that your gut clenches. You turn to watch him. “Tell me that you will not stop fighting.” You swallow your breath as his eyes flicker from your own to your parted lips. He inhales quietly and you swear you can feel his heartbeat pulsing in his fingers in your grip. “That this is not all for nothing.”

“It isn’t.“

“Then I was right.” His eyes flutter back to your gaze and he tilts his head. Wisps of fine hair escaping his manbun brush over his nose and you reach up on your own accord, swiping it behind your ear. You lean over the console, your elbow digging into the leather and, tentatively, you trail your fingers down his jaw, hold his face in your hand. “I am… what is that phrase you use so often?”

“SNAFU?”

“No.”

“Assblasted.”

“No.”

“Royally fucked?”

“We need to expand your vocabulary.” You smile nefariously as his other hand reaches for your chin. He pinches it lightly, thumb stretching up to brush over your lips and your face freezes at his touch. “But yes. Royally fucked. I wasn’t wrong when I said I needed you.”

“I think that meant a whole something else back then,” you whisper rawly and he smiles sombrely. His thumb leaves your mouth to brush your cheek, his eyes fixing on you as if he’s trying to memorize aspects of your face: the arch of your nose, the bow of your smile, the way your brow wrinkles. “Meant more business-like.”

“I did. And now, I believe the terms have changed.” He arches an eyebrow. “Are we at a mutual understanding, V?”

“Yes.” And I hate that we are. Your hand along his jaw lifts to wrap around his wrist. “Consider that feeling mutual, yeah? It goes both ways.”

“I will.” Another small smile graces his lips. It makes him look younger every time and you rub your thumb over the back of his hand. 

“Do you wanna grab something to eat before you drive me back home for some shuteye?”

“The choices here are atrocious, V.”

“Then, drinks,” you propose, letting go of his wrist. He lets go of your chin, and turning to face the front, you kick up your feet on his dash. He stares at you for a moment then sighs because there really isn’t anything he can do about it. Nor, do you think, he wants to. You squeeze his hand and send him a silly smile. “How about drinks? I wasn’t hungry anyway.”

“Are you paying?”

You eye him incredulously. “Who do you take me for? You?”

He snorts and the engine roars to life with a flick of his wrist. He grabs the wheel dominantly and you swallow at the way his fingers wrap around the handle. “The Afterlife, then?”

“Or, we could make it rustic.” You pull his hand into your lap playfully and run a thumb over his knuckles. His eyes flit over and you send him a smirk. “I know Mama Welles doesn’t like you, but the Coyote’s serving cheap. Happen to like me there.” He begins to pull out of their little overhang and he nudges their joined hands into your abdomen, silently telling you to buckle in. Rolling your eyes, you mumble out a ‘boomer’ underneath your breath before letting go of him and following orders.

He settles a hand on your thigh and squeezes. You hang an arm out the window. 

The wind’s running through the car, he has the radio on low, and they’re easing through onto the highway.

Your chest is lighter than a feather, mind’s quieter than a ghost.

You’ve seen scarier deaths, dealt a lot more. You know that silence is a bigger killer than most bullets.

But here you are now…

“I’m changing this,” Takemura says. “This music is terrible.”

…Shit, maybe life isn’t so bad, ending the way it is.

[gryffindors-weasley]

It’s Not Living If It’s Not With You

Young!Sirius Black x Reader

Summary: After several moments having gone by of the two of you skirting around your feelings, the right time finally arises.

Word Count: 5.9k oops

Warnings: mild angst, smoking, mutual pining, fluff, kissing

It had been no secret that Sirius Black had a penchant for walking on the wild side, for being braver than most in nearly everything he’s done and will do. There were times where he had been perhaps too adventurous for his own good, but that would never stop him from continuing on with his habits. There was never a dull moment so long as he was around for it, but, over the years he’s come to realize those moments aren’t complete unless one person in particular is there to share them with. You.

October 19, 1977

You stood at the base of the carpeted stairs with your arms crossed over your chest, lips parted as you tried your hardest to mull over the words just spoken to you. The offer just given to you that required an answer of approval; anything other than yes simply wouldn’t be accepted. That would be downright ridiculous.

“On a what?” You ask once you’d thought about it for a few seconds, unsure if you’d even heard him correctly and immediately hushed for your nearly too loud tone of surprise.

Sirius stood before you with a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth as he tucked his hair behind his ear, a chunk falling back in his face. His smile was far more than telling that he was up to no good at all, but you were beginning to realize that he hardly ever was. He lifted his hand and swirled the lone set of glimmering metallic keys around his finger, his smile only widening at the thought running through his mind.

“A drive,” he said, speaking as if it were completely and utterly normal to be taking his best friends’ fathers car without permission. As if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

A laugh fell past his lips upon seeing your mouth open and close a few times in confusion, in contemplation, head tilted and brows furrowed as you looked up at him curiously. “You are planning on taking Mr. Potter’s beloved car?”

He nods, “yes, Y/n/n, that’s the one.”

“And you’re planning on dragging me along to get in the inevitable trouble you’ll be getting into once he sees it’s missing?”

“That’s the idea, yes,” he smiles.

You squint up at him and meet his gray gaze, his own stare holding something akin to mischief as he was rapidly growing more antsy and impatient by the second with your hesitancy. You turn and look over your shoulder, peering into the living room just mere paces away from where the two of you had stood in the Potter household. Mr. Potter had been reclined in his favorite chair as a miscellaneous television show had been playing, fast asleep with that morning’s paper in his lap and his glasses halfway down his nose. The setting sun had been spilling through the open blinds, casting stripes of orange on the walls as a lamp on an end table illuminated the room.

Mrs. Potter had taken her knitting elsewhere to avoid her husband’s very obvious snoring, presumably tucked away comfortably in their bedroom and would likely remain there except to wake her husband should he not be in bed by ten o’clock. James hadn’t come home yet, having been out in the town with Lily. Time never seemed to exist when he was with her, always finding himself returning home far past curfew to be teased by Sirius for being too lovestruck for his own good. Though, it was something James had readily fired back because he too was just as in love even though he’d denied it.

So, needless to say, Sirius was bored and itching to get out of the house.

You turned back to him with pursed lips, his brow raised in anticipation as he rocked back and forth from his heels to his toes.

“Why do I feel like this isn’t the first time you’ve done this?” You ask, voice just above a whisper.

“Oh, come on.” His eye roll is immediate as he grabs your hand, tugging you out of the door with a smile on his lips. You tried not to let your cheeks burn at the feel of his hand in yours, the hand that had yet to let go as he looked back and smiled at you. “And no, it’s not the first time.”

It was your turn to roll your eyes now as he let go of your hand in favor of opening your door with a dramatic wave of his hand to gesture towards your seat, nearly walking into the hood of the pristine car from being far too busy sending you a smile. He makes up for it as he hops over the door and into the driver’s seat with ease, flashing you a smile as he puts the keys in the ignition.

He pauses for a few seconds seemingly not of his own accord, momentarily taken by the way the setting sun glimmers on your skin and sparkles in your eyes. By the way you’re smiling at him even when he’s being a complete idiot who trips over his own two feet because he’s too busy doing exactly what he is doing in the current moment. Staring.

He often wonders how he manages to stay so collected around you, exchanging his fond feelings for charm and witty comebacks to your even wittier quips. But clearly, so clearly his attempts to appear so collected were rapidly crumbling around him with each passing second he spends staring at you. Though even so, he finds he doesn’t have it in him to cut it out.

“Well, are we going to drive or wait for Mr. Potter to catch us?” You tease, pinching his chin gently in your hand to further your taunting. “If you take a picture it just might last longer.”

He rolls his eyes and puts the car in gear, setting off down the road. You pretend your stomach isn’t a mess of butterflies at the way he’d been gazing, you try to keep your mind from playing into the flurry of possibilities of what it might mean. But absolutely nothing could stop the way your cheeks burned as a result, but the wind in your hair was easy to focus on, the wind pressing on your palms as you stuck your hands above you.

Sirius let out a holler as he sped off down the countryside, the breeze sifting through his hair as your brief moment of shared smiles only added to the exhilaration you felt having taken the car without permission. As he turned the radio up to an ever familiar classic rock song.

Yeah, it was totally worth it.

March 7, 1978

The common room was filled with giddy gryffindors and colored team flags that night, half of them still cheery over the outstanding victory of the quidditch team earlier that evening. Still dressed in their jerseys, their faces still painted red and yellow. The other half were having just as much fun as an endless amount of laughter filters through the room and bounces off its stone walls.

James, of course, had been amongst the happiest—it was his team that had won after all. And Lily had fallen close behind him, her fond gaze set on her lover as much as she would beg to differ. Remus was just happy to be there in the moment with his best friends, his smile near constant much like everyone else in the room.

Everything was a haze of gryffindor colors; red pillows scattered on the floor from those who’d stood on the couches, ruffled tapestries along the walls. The latest hits from Queen and ABBA had been playing on repeat as everyone in the room had been having the night of their lives in the name of victory, good natured fun filling boisterously in the cozy space. It was a good night really, but everyone you’d hoped to be there wasn’t in attendance, the one person you found yourself wanting to see most wasn’t there.

Sirius.

He’d disappeared shortly after the match, one he’d sat through with merely half as much enthusiasm as he’d usually had in support of one of his best friends. Of course he’d made it a priority to congratulate him on his winning, he always had and he always will, but you were quick to realize even amongst the bustling crowd of cheerful teens that he hadn’t made it back to the common room with the rest of the group.

It was entirely too easy to tell when he wasn’t around, it always was. Things had lacked a certain light, a certain energy only his charisma could bring forth in anywhere he’d gone. It wasn’t far off to say that he’d been important to your tight knit group of friends; he was chaotic, he was rebellious, he was Sirius.

You had barely gone ten minutes in that party before you found yourself slipping from the common room in search of your best friend. You knew just where to find him as you navigated the dimly moonlit corridors with purpose in your stride, the music still ringing in your ears despite your otherwise quiet surroundings. He was rather predictable to the select few who knew him almost better than he knew himself, but you still held hope in your heart that he’d be just where you’d felt he’d run off to as you climbed the spiral staircase.

You were right.

A soft smile tugged at the corner of your mouth when your gaze fell upon the raven haired boy, his dimpled chin in his palm as he sat alone. His gaze was set on the stars above, glimmering bright and high in the sky in the perfect view given from the astronomy tower. You sighed softly at the sight of him before you, shoulders slumping a bit as you approach him.

“The party is downstairs, you know,” you spoke lightheartedly, moving to sit down with him and nudging him with your elbow when you did so. “It happens to be one of our last here.”

“I’m not really in the partying mood, Y/n/n,” he grumbles with a soft huff, his gaze focused ahead of him and his jaw clenching. Though he finds himself nudging you knee with his moments later in hopes that it’d soften the accidental harshness of his tone. He hadn’t meant to sound so irritated, especially not with you.

You sigh softly, your eyes dropping to where he’d been continuously picking at a hole in the knee of his jeans before lifting to him once more. You were certain you knew just what was plaguing his mind for the entirety of the day, at least that long and possibly more. It wasn’t uncommon for him to linger on the past and rightfully so, but you decided against speaking further on the subject as a smile pulls at the corners of your mouth.

“Are you ever?” You jest, making light of the brooding expression on his face.

He finally looks at you then, his eyes narrowed in a gray stare at your words as he tries his very hardest to stifle his smile. “Have you come to bother me, Y/n?”

You shoved at his shoulder lightly as your mouth fell agape in only half surprise at his words, laughter leaving your lips nonetheless as you squinted up at him. “Sirius Orion Black, I wholeheartedly believe it is my job to bother you.”

He rolls his eyes then, a scoff sounding and soon to be followed by the laugh leaving his lips as he shook his head. “Well I’m wholeheartedly convinced that you’re doing a wonderful job.”

His quip is as lighthearted as your own as you share a look of scrunched noses and faux frowns, ones that fade into soft smiles as you bring yourself to look away before your cheeks burn redder than the crimson shirt you’d been wearing. Unbeknownst to you, and something that he doesn’t plan to shed any light on, he was grateful for the lack of proper lighting otherwise you just might see the matching shade of red on his face. Something only ever achievable by you even if you hadn’t known it.

Your mingled laughter had quieted as you sat with him, and you couldn’t help but to steal another glance in his direction. His lingering smile was evident even as strands of black hair splayed across his cheek from where they’d once been tucked behind his ear. One that just minutes before was far from making its appearance when he’d sat there by himself and drowned in the gravity of his past leading up to this point.

His closest friends had never failed to bring out the absolute best in him, something he found himself immensely grateful to have. To be able to be loyal to people he knows will always want what is best for him. But as he sits there, no longer alone as he had been in that tower for a short while, he’s with the one person he had hoped would come looking for him. The one person always stuck on his mind and he knows you always will be.

You found it in yourself to look away from your best friend just a little too late as you bit the inside of your cheek, having known he’d caught your stare but too prideful to check and make sure he really had. Instead, you drop your head to rest on his shoulder and grab his hand with a squeeze, the softest of reminders that you were there. It was an action that made his heart flutter and race all the same.

“Eager to hold my hand, Y/n?” He teases, his charm making its reappearance.

You lift your head and release his hand with a poorly attempted glare, holding his gaze only briefly before you fell back into your previous position. “You really do make it terribly hard to tolerate, do you know that, Sirius?”

His smile widens as your words, his laughter sounding once more.

“Well, I wholeheartedly believe it is my job to do so,” he states, repeating your earlier choice of words as he rests his head atop yours.

“And I’m wholeheartedly convinced you’re doing a wonderful job.”

He nudges your foot with his converse in response, cheek still pressed to the top of your head as he laughs when you do the same. You really were something else entirely and he knew that, you were witty and fierce and entirely too extraordinary for him to begin to fathom. He’s quiet for a moment as he thinks things over, as he enjoys your company and the way you chose to leave the fun of the party in favor of finding him. Yeah, he still can never believe it. He’s quiet for a few more moments as he mulls over his next words.

“I didn’t say you had to let go of my hand,” he mumbles, tossing it out as a suggestion he hopes you understood the point of.

He didn’t have to wonder too long as your hand soon slips in his once more, thumbs crossing over and fingertips curling over the backs of your clasped hands. A softer smile is shared but unseen, and he’s quickly reminded that a moment like this is much better than being by himself, than being at a celebratory party.

June 19, 1979

The lake. It was a meeting spot to rival all others the very moment your group of friends had first laid eyes on it. The discovery was entirely accidental, something stumbled upon in an attempt to find the absolute perfect spot to camp. In fact, it was so perfect that James had tied one of his old shirts around a tree branch for future visits, to unofficially claim it as your own. It was absolutely incredible and seemingly unknown to most anyone else which you found next to impossible—it was too amazing not to be. But, whenever the trip was made, which was more often than not, no one else had ever been there to spoil the fun.

Clusters of wildflowers and dozens upon dozens of trees lined the perimeter of the open water, each one a different height than the last but all extraordinarily beautiful in their own way. Those very trees were also perfect for tucking yourself against with your favorite book at the moment, the right amount of shade to combat the summer sun so long as you’ve got a blanket to sit on.

“Do you think they’ll ever get tired of throwing each other in the water?” Lily asks, a smile on her lips as she shakes her head.

You follow her gaze to the sight ahead of you, Sirius over James’ shoulder having had his fate set in stone as he’s thrown into the lake with an unceremonious landing. You watched as he rose to the surface, mouth agape in shock at the completely expected action as he’s quick to cast an aguamenti spell in his best friend’s direction. It wasn’t until his gaze fell upon you that you found it the right time to look away, his smile too distracting for your own good as your cheeks burned at the brief moment. One that most certainly did not go unnoticed by a very intelligent Lily Evans.

You were fairly positive that there wasn’t a single thing that could get past her, especially not the very obliviously in love friends she’s got. It wasn’t exactly hard to tell either, she’s sure that a complete stranger could even see it if they’d spent merely five minutes in the same room with the top of you. Your rosy cheeks and unbreakable smile were telling enough of that very fact, a reaction most always elicited by the dark haired goofball not far away.

“No, I don’t think they will,” you finally manage once you realize you hadn’t answered her yet. Your gaze darts to her once more and her eyes are already cast on you, her brow raised and the corner of her mouth quirked up. “What?”

She rolls her eyes, a laugh falling from her lips as she shakes her head once more. “You really are terrible at hiding your feelings, you know.”

Your mouth falls open slightly as your brows furrow, a scoff sounding as if she’d been entirely absurd. “Feelings? Don’t be ridiculous, Lily.”

“Then I suppose you’re blushing just for the fun of it, you’re smiling over absolutely nothing?” She says, getting up from her checkered blanket and walking backwards away from you.

“And where are you going?”

“Seems like someone can’t stay away from you!” She jests rushing off towards James after tossing a wink your way, leaving you to frown and scoff once more.

It wasn’t until you pulled your gaze from her that you understood what she was getting at, the very one in question making his way undoubtedly towards you. Your eyes rolled as you bit the inside of your cheek to contain your grin, your grip on your book clutching tighter as he approached you.

“You better not be looking to throw me in the lake,” you state, brow raised as you cross one ankle over the other.

“Are you going to read all day, Y/n?” He asks, snatching the sunglasses from the top of your head just to see your frown. His grin only became more teasing at the very audible huff leaving your lips at the action.

“Perhaps I just might be able to if you stop distracting me,” you quip, frowning as you watch the smile on his lips widen.

“Then I guess that’s just too bad,” he counters, fully realizing what you had just said in that moment as a smirk appears. “Wait a minute, I’m distracting?”

You shake your head and bite back your smile again as he sits the red framed sunglasses on his nose and roots around in his shoe, pulling out a cigarette and a lighter he kept tucked in there when he wasn’t wearing them much to your obvious dismay. And as if it weren’t already terribly obvious that he’d known of said feelings, his laughter before even seeing your expression was telling enough of that very fact.

“Sirius,” you start, frowning as his mischievous grey stare meets yours. “I told you not to smoke near my books. One wrong move and you’ll burn the pages.”

He’s quick to laugh as he lights it, nearly choking on the smoke as he’d done so and you laughed in response to it. “Y/n, that’s most definitely impossible and you know it. Besides, when have I ever followed the rules?”

He laid his head in your lap, his raven hair splaying across your legs and dampening the corners of your book pages and you’re absolutely convinced he’d done it on purpose. They’d warped almost in an instant and you huffed, knowing immediately that getting any form of quality reading done would be next to impossible beyond that point. Not with the smoke billowing away from you or your best friend making little effort to take your mind elsewhere.

“Those shades aren’t hiding the fact that you’re staring, you know,” you say, peering down at him over the wrinkled pages of your book.

He scoffed at your accusation, though a smile still tugged at his lips as he swiped the book from your hand and took another puff from his cigarette. “Was not,” he defends, though the way the very corners of his mouth quirk up and the softest of blushes stain his cheeks, you know you’d hit the nail on the head. He lifts the cherry red glasses and looks at you, no longer attempting to fight his smile before lowering them and letting his head fall back in your lap. “I definitely was not.”

“Yeah, whatever you say,” you sigh, grinning up at the sky as you toss your book to the side. “Whatever you say.”

September 30, 1979

The wedding of James and Lily was perhaps the most special event that was shared amongst your group of friends, the most celebratory. It had been a small one; you were quite sure there weren’t more people there than you could count in both your hands, just close friends and family.

The location was nothing short of perfect and familiar; the beloved clearing by that lake you all had treasured so fondly. The trees had begun to fade from rich greens to even richer reds and oranges, the wild flowers still in full bloom regardless of the cooling temperatures as fall began to become noticeable.

This was perhaps one of the few and rare occasions everyone had dressed up, and even then you’d have to say it was rather casual compared to most weddings you could think of. But Lily and James weren’t ones to follow the norm, though Sirius had most certainly been pushing the envelope. He’d showed up in a suit of James’, his grass stained converse not failing to make their appearance to top off the otherwise perfect outfit. Lily hadn’t been exactly thrilled at the best man’s choice in shoes, but she quickly focused her attention on more pressing matters. Marrying the love of her life.

It couldn’t have been more perfect than it was, having been surrounded by the people that mattered most to everyone. Not a dry eye was left, especially not from Sirius and Remus, even more so Sirius. He’d tried his hardest to deny the fact that he was absolutely most certainly emotional over the union of two of his best friends, having cleared his throat more often than nod to rid himself of the lump within it. But no matter how hard he’d tried to play tough, it was far more obvious that he wasn’t as he read his speech.

Now, as the sun had nearly completely set and the night had begun, it was then that you found yourself reunited with the one person you always seemed to think about. The one person that had joined James and Remus in being the life of the party. Not a dull moment would ever exist so long as they were in attendance.

“Might I have this dance with you, Y/n?” He asks, a goofy smile on his lips and his hand outstretched towards you.

You rolled your eyes at his rather disheveled appearance, his once pristine suit now looking worse for wear as he’d discarded his blazer somewhere that would probably take some searching to find. The top buttons of his dress shirt had been undone, the very collar ruffled and his sleeves rolled up and wrinkled. Not to mention it was half untucked ever since he’d gotten his start on karaoke; all else had become unimportant the moment Queen had come on.

Perhaps your most favorite part of his newfound look was the black tie that disappeared from around his neck in favor of being tied around his head. Either he had no clue it was there or he simply didn’t mind the fact that it was, and your bets were on a little bit of both. His hair was a bit of a mess as it fell over the fabric on his forehead, but one thing had remained constant the entirety of that day. His smile.

“A dance?” You repeat, unable to fight your own grin as you look from his hand to his gaze.

The corners of his mouth quirk up higher than they’d been in that moment as his eyes roll. “I’ve only been waiting the whole night.”

“Is that so?” You inquire, slipping your hand in his and you’re quick to be pulled closer. Your giddy squeal of surprise had sounded amongst the boastful chatter and cheer all around you. Not to mention the same ABBA song that’d been playing for what had to be the fifth time now as per James’ request. “I had no idea you were so eager to dance with me.”

He lifts your hand to twirl you, hands clasped and arms extending as he spins himself for the fun of it. He nearly tripped over his own two feet but if it meant he’d see you smile then it made the slight embarrassment all the more worth it to him.

“There happens to be a lot you don’t know about me,” he says, brow raised as he falls as seriously as he could muster which hadn’t been very much. “A lot.”

You paused in your tracks as his hands settled on your waist, a mild look of concern flashing across his face until he saw the expression he knew so well in yours. “That is entirely untrue and you know it. In fact, I know more about you than I ever cared to.”

His eyes roll once more at your teasing as he lifts you off your feet in a lighthearted retaliation, spinning you once and twice and even a third time as the breeze washes over you and your laughter mingles amongst everyone else’s. He finds himself staring again as he sets you back on your feet, busying himself with reciting the lyrics to Waterloo as long as it means you hadn’t noticed his admiration. You seem to be far too taken by the off key singing, though you couldn’t bring yourself to ever be annoyed.

His singing dwindled and his voice lowered after a short while, his arm remained hooked around your waist save for when he’d twirled you a few more times. You tried your hardest not to play into the fact that your heart had been racing for reasons other than the dance you’d been sharing. To not dwell on the fact that his hand was in yours and his absentminded hums of music had filled the space between you. Should another Led Zeppelin song come on, everyone will simply have to be subject to more singing. Or the fading scent of his cologne that wafted your way with every movement and every gust of wind.

A laugh fell past your lips in that moment, catching his attention immediately.

“What?” He asks, amused and curious. He knows the meaning behind that laugh and he knows surely you’ve got something on your mind.

“I thought you hated ABBA,” you jest, raising your brows. He tips his head back at your comment, his hair flopping backward briefly as a groan fell from his lips. “I’m starting to believe otherwise with the way you know just about every word to every one of their songs that’s come on.”

“Must you be so observant?” He huffs.

“How could I not be?”

He scrunches his nose and mocks your words, your laughter immediate as you return the gesture.

Things fell quiet between you after that for a while then, leaving you both to bask in the music that’d since been turned down, the conversations that since lessened the more the night continued on. Leaving Sirius to think for more than a few moments about just how many hours and minutes he’d waited to dance with you. Or how you rested your head on his chest and he hoped you hadn’t heard just how heavily his heart had been beating. If you had, he’d simply just blame it on the way he’d carried on that night. The adrenaline.

He knew in the coming days and weeks and months and years, ever since the day he met you, that you’d take up the forefront of his mind and he’s yet to be proved otherwise. You’ve made yourself be the calm to his chaos, the one he will always seek out even when he doesn’t realize it. He knows as he dances with you to a song he always swore he hated that he wouldn’t trade it for the world. Not even when you tease him for knowing every lyric. Not even when you tell him he smokes too much and he knows it to be true. Not even when you put those bloody flowers in his hair. Not even when you push his buttons and argue with him for being so foolishly reckless at times. You were just as stubborn as him and he knows he’s met his match.

He doesn’t know quite when he’s known himself to be in love with you, it’s all kind of faded and muddled together. But in the current moment as minutes collect and time passes with the laughter of his friends and newfound family, with you, he knows he’s got what he needs.

“Sirius?” You ask softly, curiously after a while, your gaze falling upon him.

“Yes?”

He finds himself tucking your hair behind your ear, the tips of his fingers tracing over your flushed cheek. He was very much aware of the heat rising in your face at the action, very aware without the need to see it in the glow of the moon. Because there’s this thing you do each and every time you’re flustered, he’s noticed, and each time you look away and smile. You smile and purse your lips and it’s become painfully obvious to him that you were always trying to fight the crimson in your cheeks.

“Have you really wanted to dance with me all night?” You finally say, your smile soft as your eyes nearly sparkled in the moonlit glow you stood under.

A soft laugh leaves his lips as he himself looked away, knowing that habit of yours he knew so very well had rubbed off on him. But he turns back to you, eyes gray and full of something you couldn’t quite put your finger on. “Yes, Y/n. It’s always you that I want to dance with.”

You try your hardest to ignore the flutter in your heart at his words, to contain the butterflies in your stomach. The way he’d looked at you, a certain sincerity in his words and a certain something in his gaze making it near impossible to think straight. The way he looked, goofy and the embodiment of utter chaos—it had you unable to look at just anything else. Though you will admit, as of late it’s always seemed to be rather hard to look anywhere else for more than a few moments so long as Sirius had been close by.

So, as you stood there half-dancing to the melody of a song you hadn’t fully been paying attention to, you find yourself focused on him. Without second thought you lift your hand, grasping the tie around his head softly to you with the fabric between your fingers. He looked absolutely ridiculous and that was for certain, ruffles of black hair dusting his shoulders as that very tie tickled over his nose with every gust of wind. His cheeks were a bit rosy from the energy he put forth that evening you presumed, unaware that a good bit of it had been caused by you.

You tuck the charcoal colored fabric behind his ear, a laugh falling from your lips and mischief dancing in your eyes that told him surely you’d had something on your mind.

“Then I believe it is my duty to tell you that you really are the worst dancer.” There it is.

He pulls you closer, his laughter puffing against your skin as your own continues giddily. “And who’s to say I wasn’t just trying to give you a chance?”

You bite the inside of your cheek to stifle another bout of giggles, you refuse to give him that satisfaction. But the closeness between the two of you had proven to be far more effective in shutting you up as his nose nudged against your own. He couldn’t bring himself to refrain from resting his forehead on yours in a matter of moments, his lashes fluttering and mingling with yours. Your heart hammered in your chest yet felt calm all the same, as if this was exactly where you were meant to be. You knew it was.

“Well,” you start, voice soft as he smiles softly, more so when you accidentally step on the toes of his grass stained converse. “Then I’d say that was awfully nice of you.”

The scrunched noses and soft laughter you share only lingers for mere fleeting moments before his lips brush over yours, featherlight and hesitant. But it was then that you lean on your toes and kiss him fully, his hand squeezing yours as his smile presses against your lips as you continue to sway together. Never mind the three friends of yours watching that very moment with the largest of grins and maybe some teary eyes from James. Never mind Lily high-fiving Remus before extending their hands to James to collect their bet money. You were kissing your best friend, the raven haired wizard that never failed to get on your nerves in the best of ways. The one that could bring life into any room he’d walked into.

“Does this mean you love me too?” He asks, eyes crinkling from his grin and laughter immediate, “Because that would really be awfully embarrassing if—”

“Yes, I love you,” you laugh against his lips to shut him up, closing the space between you once more. “I love you.”

In that moment as he kissed you, as the tips of his fingers brushed across your cheek and the light of the moon washed over you, he knew. It has been you that ignites every moment into the light that it is, the one he finds he can’t ever stop thinking of.

It’s not living if it’s not with you.

—

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