#I just accidentally got boneless thighs so there was no skin

[yellobb]

I know these are white ass meals, but I’ve cooked a full meal for myself twice and I’m proud :)

[sevikasleftpussyflap]

idk about you BUT there's this one song that I got absolutely feral over bc everytime I listen to it, my brain goes 'ugh imagine Sevika saying this or thinking this whenever you're with them' or like, more nsfw: them saying stuff like this as pillow talk🥰 I'm sorry, but this scenario just absolutely knocks the wind out of me😭😅 I wanted to share with the class ig, but if this leads to headcannons I'll be flattered.

Good Little Girl sung by Kade McCuen (here's the link if you're curious, https://youtu.be/yd2pxkK2evs )

I absolutely love your work, bless you. I accidentally started a cult for Sevika a couple of months ago, so tyy for giving us holy scriptures 🧎🏼‍♀️

I want to join the cult!! And ooooo I have so many ideas for this, definitely lines up with the concepts in the multichap I’m working on

Warnings: NSFW, mentions of torture, violence, soft and playful Sev, marking and biting

Love love love the idea of Sevika being with someone considerably more kind and virtuous, where their only misdeed is being Sev’s lover.

I can see Sevika silently pondering the differences between the two of you and how it would strengthen the affection, her feelings, or whatever it was she felt for you.

Sevika carefully washing the blood off of her hands, making sure to get under her nails and the grooves of her claws before coming home to you. She wouldn’t particularly care about scaring you away (not anymore, at least) because despite your innocence, you’re not naive. You know exactly who Sevika is and love every part of her. She just knows if you assume she’s hurt you’ll fret until she’s showed you she’s fine, and that frown will remain until she has to exasperate you with genuine impatience to get you naked and beneath her.

“Honey, I’ve had a hard day. Please take your shirt off?”

You remain nonplussed at her attempts to distract you as the cut on her eyebrow still bleeds. Cool air caresses your skin from where she’s subtly trying to lift the fabric that bars her from the only remedy she needs. A slightly irritated breath hits your face as you halt those hands, staring at her with the sternest expression you can muster.

“I’ll go get the alcohol. For cleaning.”

You are Sevika’s world, so she listens to you in every situation unless there’s a threat against your life and you’re asking her not to commit atrocities to find out who it is. Besides that, your word goes and the most protest she’ll make is a slight attitude in her expression while she offers gentle alternatives. This doesn’t stop her from giving you bedroom eyes as you dress her wounds, your soft hands enough to spark desire in her as she watches you pamper her. You don’t consider basic care as “pampering,” but it still ends with Sev saying “You done? Good.” before pulling you down into her lap, back against her chest as she works her hand into your underwear and gives you her thanks. Firm, grateful kisses pepper your neck and cheeks while she renders you boneless, sagging into her hold with soft sighs and happy whines.

“You always take care of me, don’t you? Let me return the favor.”

Might I put the scenario in your mind of Sev opening a cut on her lip through hungry kisses, trailing blood down your torso, chin, breasts, and thighs until you’re covered in her. With your consent, she leaves bruises in the shape of finger and handprints along your body. Just to give you a taste of how it feels, because you’ll never have to experience being covered in blood and bruises unless it’s with her.

“So pretty.” The collar of purple and blue around your throat smarts under the faint press of her hand. All of this unmarked, pure skin available for her to stake claim to.

Also, her teaching you how to mark her up. Igniting a possessive streak in you that you didn’t know existed. Sev giving you her shoulder, her hand, her arm to bite down on as she grinds against you. Probably the roughest sex ever had between the two of you.

After a day of merciless executions and thorough tortures under Silco’s command, she knows she has you waiting at home for her, ready to jump into her arms like they’re the safest place for you to be. You’ll chirp about the food you attempted to make her, so excited about the freshly imported ingredients she was able to get you. You attempt to make her a plate with her hands pawing at your hips, lips glued to your neck while you scold her about her heinous behavior. It’s a dream of yours to have a docile, relatively normal life.

As a zaunite, you didn’t have that luxury and had to experience a peaceful existence through books and glimpses of paradise through Piltover. Sevika doesn’t share the same dreams. Admittedly, she was made of sterner stuff and adapted to her rough upbringing whereas you were significantly affected in a completely different way. You were not made for a life the Undercity had to offer. You could not thrive in the harsh environment and likely would have withered without Sevika to spoil you.

So she made your dreams a reality, as much as she could. She kept you blind from the brutalities of her job, her nature. Bled enough people to flood a town in your name, to build you the life you wanted.

Sevika, beating an enforcer bloody because they dared to hassle you during one of your rare trips around the Undercity without her. All she needed to see was your tearful eyes and the bruises encircling your wrist to set her on a warpath.

So yes, you’re her good girl. She’ll never fail to tell you that as you fall apart under her fingers, especially if she’s the first and only person to make you do so.

“Oh, that’s it. Look at that sweet face. Feels just right, huh, sweet girl?” Slick fingers retreat back to your thighs, but just for a second. Just to see the flicker of desperation cross your face before you’re overloaded with pleasure once again. She could never deny you anything, even with the burning desire to wring every depraved expression out of you, to see what a job she did on her little angel.

When she awakens that lustful side of you and has you pawing at her in public, begging her to take you home and ruin you, the teasing would be unbearable because that’s not appropriate, is it angel? She must have ruined you if you can’t go a few hours without needing her inside you. Of course you’d refute the claim, shaking your head with burning cheeks as your grip tightens on her sturdy bicep. Her eyes would narrow, seizing up your blatant lie like she does with business owners and enforcers alike on a daily basis. She’ll drag you to the back, a corner, anywhere away from prying eyes so she can unbutton your trousers. Two fingers would dip beneath your underwear, expertly finding the damp circle in the fabric that exposes your pitiful attempt at retaining some dignity. Lying now, too? She must be a bad influence.

So now she needs to take you home, tend to you because she promised she would give you everything you need even if you didn’t know what that was.

[twistnet]

she’s my collar [ jill valentine ]

⋯ KINKTOBER PROMPT ; day 05 [ leather // latex ]

⋯ WARNINGS ; female!reader, smut [ leather harnesses // collars, vaginal fingering, strap-ons, collar pulling ] + mature language 

⋯ NOTE ; this content is strictly for those 18+ ; any minors // ageless // blank blogs interacting with this post // masterlist will be blocked

the moment you had entered your shared apartment, jill stood awkwardly in the doorway leading into your bedroom with a small smile, “i’ve got a surprise for you...” she utters, head nodding towards the interior of the bedroom before turning over her shoulder and heading further in.

you quickly discard your belongings, following right after her and stopping short the second your eyes drop to the box laid across the neatly tucked bedspread -- something jill must have done to calm her nerves of whatever she had planned for the night, “open it.” she utters with a simple smile, watching as you take a step forward and run the tips of your fingers along the top of the ribbon tied box.

with a deep sigh, you tug the ribbon loose from the perfect box, letting it fallaway before lifting the lid on the box. tissue paper crinkles loudly as it flutters around, before being pushed to the side and revealing the little gift jill had purchased for you.

you gasp lightly, eyes widening before your attention snaps to the woman standing just opposite of you with a beaming smile, “do you want to put it on for me?” she questions softly, giving you a chance to back away if need be, but the smooth leather harness and collar that lay before you is just too much to pass up. and you’re quickly gathering the items from the box and disappearing into the bathroom to get ready.

the second you’re out and backed against the mattress, jill’s eyes float over your newly exposed form, save for the leather collar, harness and thigh garters that hug you perfectly. she praises herself for picking something that looks so beautiful against your skin, and wonders why she hadn’t down something like this before.

you mewl softly as her fingers ghost along your sides, trailing up towards the little collar strap securely around your neck before looping a finger underneath and tugging you forward. your gasp of surprise muffled against her lips and tongue, leaving your body boneless as she quickly dominates your tongue with her own. before quickly releasing her hold on your collar and letting you fall back against the mattress once more.

“you look so pretty like this... maybe i should make you where this more often.” she coos above you, smirking when you huff and nod in agreement -- you’re lustfiled haze making you agree to just about anything at this point so long as you get to see the pride in jill’s face.

then, her fingers press against your exposed cunt, two fingers slipping through your already wet folds with ease. she smiles as your hips buck up into her hand, chasing over any little bit of touch you can seem to get before a firm hand presses against your hip in warning.

jill takes her time, soaking her fingers throughly and accidentally bumping your clit with each motion -- but not frequent enough in order to keep you on your toes. there's just something about the way your face scrunches up, and how your hands tighten into fists with each little ounce of pressure before she finally gives in.

a single finger slides into your cunt, before a second is added after seeing just how greedy your hole has sucked both in. there’s a chuckle of amusement on her end, but it falls right passed your ears as your only focus right now is the drag of jill’s fingers against your walls, and the pads of her fingers pressing against your sweet spot.

her pace was much slower than normal -- as she usually would have been fucking your fervently with her fingers until you came crying and gushing around her. only this was something you would have questioned, had it not been for the small bag laid beside her when you came trailing out of the bathroom in your full leather set -- oh no. this was only the beginning of the night, and she had other plans for you.

meaning, the second she felt you clench tightly around her fingers -- a clear sign that you were on the verge of coming, she withdrew her fingers from your cunt. making a show of sucking your juices from her fingers as you whined below her, only to be silenced with a simple raise of her brow, “be patient, sweetheart... we’re getting there.”

there’s a wave of warmth that overtakes you as jill leans back, grabbing the bag she had laid out before. eyes tracking each of her movements as she pulls out the harness and dildo, then as she slips the harness up the length of her thighs before settling it at her hips and tightening where needed. 

she dips past you, rummaging through the beside drawer for the lube bottle before coming back into focus. the lube dribbles into her hands, coating them in a heavy slick before one moves to coat her cock and the other slips over your clit. you hum, whimpering as she draws tight circles on your clit until she feels that she’s adequately soaked her cock before settling between your spread legs.

the blunt head of her cock slips into your cunt easily, stretching you open as you let out a loud mewl. fists close around the bedding at your sides, eyes screwing shut as inch by inch jill’s cock slides into you. you clench around each bit, continuing to draw her in until she’s fully seated inside you -- filling and stretching you oh so deliciously.

she pauses for a moment, letting you adjust before drawing back to the tip and slamming right back into you. the air is punched from your lungs, and you gasp wildly as jill rocks her hips into you, pushing deeper into you with each thrust. her hands drop to either side of you as a way to stabilize herself as she fucks into you. strands of her hair are already sticking to her forehead, but she can’t bring herself to care in that moment -- as all she wants to do is see you come on her cock.

you’re already embarrassingly close to your first orgasm of the night, having already been built up once to a point where your body still hasn’t let go of the tension in your lower abdomen. you clench harshly around her cock, huffing out a mix between a huff and a moan as the head of her cock continues to prod at your sweet spot. 

the final straw of your orgasm, is jill’s fingers slipping back under the collar, tugging you in close as she continues to rail you into oblivion, lips barely ghosting over your own as she mutters softly, “cum.”

and you do, thighs shaking violently as you cry out a breaths away from her. the hot wave of pleasure rolling over you as she fucks you through your orgasm. and only stopping when your hands weakly push at her chest.

her movements still, keen eyes looking you over as you work to catch your breath and she lets you fall back against the mattress. she gives you a moment to recoup, before she’s shooting you a mischievous smile and flipping you over onto your hands and knees.

a shocked sound falls from your lips as her hands slip under the strap of your waist and thigh harness, dragging back against the base of her cock before asking, “ready to go again?”

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[fett-djarin]

Hand to Hand Practice

helo its another Paz Vizsla x f!reader!

MINORS DNI

Crossposted to AO3

Rating: 18+

Length: 2.2k

Warnings/Tags: SMUT, sparring, rough sex, dirty talk, unprotected sex, PiV, creampie, multiple orgasms, oral (f receiving), slight spanking, somewhat of a size kink? Please let me know if I missed anything!

NSFW UNDER THE CUT

Thump.

Your back hit the floor. The breath was knocked from your lungs from the impact. That bastard--he threw me!

“Come on girl, that’s the best you’ve got?” Paz taunted you from a few feet away. You huffed, swiping a hand across your forehead to wipe away the sweat that dripped from your temples.

“You know I can’t throw you around, Paz,” you snapped back at him, glaring venom at the ceiling. His amused chuckle crackled through the vocoder. The dark T-visor of his helm appeared above you, looking down at your prone form. Paz held a hand out for you to take. His palm dwarfed yours, and he pulled you to your feet with seemingly no effort.

You groaned, feeling your spine pop as you stretched. Paz moved back to his spot. He bent his knees, crouching slightly and distributing his weight in a defensive stance. He beckoned you forward with a curl of his fingers. “Again.”

There wasn’t much room to spar in his ship, so Paz had shoved everything not bolted down to the sides and tossed a few heavy blankets on the floor in place of a mat to spare you from being thrown straight onto metal. Because you were thrown. Quite often. Paz let you get a few hits in before bodily lifting you and ending your assault. You were a good shot with a blaster, one of the best--you were hardly ever in close-quarters combat. You knew the basics, but hardly ever used them or practiced. One bounty got too close for comfort, and you sported a new scar on your arm because of it. After it healed, you asked Paz to practice with you, maybe teach you some new maneuvers.

And to teach you, the big Mandalorian challenged you to take him down. You couldn’t knock him off his feet, he easily weighed over 300 pounds with his armor on. Trying to get him to move was like barreling into a tree. The best you could hope for was to outmatch him in speed, and not let him pick you up.

You shook out your arms, bouncing on the balls of your feet. Paz had taken his beskar off--save for the helmet--so he was only in his padded armor and you wouldn’t break your knuckles throwing punches. He cocked his head, and you knew he had a smug smirk on his face, waiting for you to launch yourself at him again. You moved.

You dodged the swipe he took at you, instead landing a hit of your own on his side. Paz was unfazed. He laughed, making another grab at you, which you danced back to avoid. The two of you circled each other--you, waiting for an opening; him, countering every movement.  The next time you darted in for a swing, Paz grabbed your arm. He easily twisted you and had you pinned. You struggled against him knowing it would do you no good.

His hand settled at the base of your throat--not squeezing, just lightly resting there. You froze like a spooked tooka as a bright spark of pure arousal settled in your core. Oh, Maker…. He knew exactly what to do to have such an effect on you. Paz was so big--his hand was so big, dwarfing the delicate line of your neck. If he applied the slightest bit of pressure you would probably melt into the floor and then wither away from embarrassment. You wouldn’t be able to bear looking him in the face--visor? ever again. His thumb traced a light line over your collarbone. Heat flooded your face and you swallowed thickly.

“I win,” his rumbling voice murmured right by your ear, sending shivers down your spine. You steeled yourself, shaking off your feelings and stomping them out of your mind. “Again.” Then his arms tightened, drawing you back against his chest. Something thick and hard pressed against your lower back and you squirmed, pulling a groan from him.

Of course, sparring got him hard. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t work you up too.

“One more round,” you insisted. You ‘accidentally’ pushed your hips back against his erection as you squirmed out of his arms. Paz grunted, letting you go. You didn’t expect to win this round, even with his new distraction, but you didn’t want to. If you worked him up enough, maybe he’d snap. The thought of what he would do sent a delicious shiver down your spine.

You readied your stance. Paz did not pull his punches, not that you expected him to anyway. This was a game to him. He did manage to surprise you, though. For as big as he was, he could be fast. You had just ducked out of his reach when you felt him grasp your hips, and then you found yourself on your stomach, fall cushioned by the blankets. His weight settled on the back of your thighs. You couldn’t even twist to try and throw him off balance--he had you pinned.

He slowly leaned down, resting his weight on his forearms on either side of your head, caging you in. “Did you even try that time?” His fingers traced down your spine, then the warmth of his hand slid up under your shirt, teasing your skin. “Or did you just want this?” and he rolled his hips for emphasis, grinding himself against your ass and making you gasp.

When you didn’t answer, he chuckled. “Yeah. I thought so.”

His hands continued to skim up your sides, each touch building warmth in you. When you wriggled and whined, he paused. “D’you want this off, baby?” he asked with a light tug on your shirt.

“Please,” you breathed. Paz chuckled, then guided your shirt up and over your head. Your bindings followed shortly thereafter. He traced a finger down your spine, making you shudder. You tried to subtly press your thighs together to take the edge off, but from his seat on your legs, Paz felt your muscles tense. He tutted, rubbing his fingers over your clothed pussy, the barest hint of pressure making you all the more desperate.

His fingers hooked in the band of your pants and tugged lightly. His weight shifted off you and you lifted your hips to help him pull your pants and panties down, leaving you bare beneath him.

“Look at you,” he rumbled, palming your ass. “Pretty girl.” The gentle smack against your flesh made you gasp. You shifted your hips back against him, trying to entice him to move his touch to where you were wet and warm and dripping for him. Paz was a tease, but he was also not the most patient man. His fingers dipped down to your heat, rubbing light circles over your clit before pulling back to tease your entrance. Then he pulled away.

Your confused noise cut off as the warm glide of his tongue swiped through your folds from behind. A wanton moan left your mouth as your hips arched up, off the blankets piled on the floor, trying to grind back against his face. Paz’s big hands spread you apart, holding you open for him as he explored you with his tongue. Each lick, suck, and kiss was a warm wave of pleasure suffusing through you, building until you were squirming against his hold.

“Paz, Paz, please--” you choked out, teetering on the edge. He wouldn’t give you that last little push you needed to reach your high. You moaned, hips bucking against his hold, desperate for the final bit of stimulation your body craved. Paz held you steady, giving you pleasure as he saw fit.

“Cum on my mouth, pretty,” his voice, deep and gravelly and not filtered by the modulator, sent an extra spike of pleasure through you. His lips wrapped around your clit and he hummed, the little vibrations doing enough to coax you into orgasm. You weren’t bowled over by sensation as you sometimes were; instead, this orgasm was a slow, thick, rolling wave of heat spilling through you, spreading through your limbs and leaving you loose and boneless.

You just knew Paz had a self-satisfied smirk on his face seeing you blissed out and jelly-limbed on the floor of his ship. You hummed as his weight settled over the back of your thighs once more, the rough canvas of his pants dragging against your sensitive skin. He didn’t strip, instead opting to pull his cock from the confines of his clothing.

The thick length of Paz’s cock rested on the cleft of your ass. He groaned at the sight, your plush rear and the peek of your dripping pussy from between your thighs, his cock nestled between your cheeks, showing just how deep he would reach sheathed inside you. You tried wiggling your hips, enticing him to fuck you, but the steady weight of him on your thighs and his hands on your waist held you in place.

“This what you wanted? You didn’t wanna train--y’wanted to get fucked,” he punctuated his words with a thrust, grinding his cock against you.

“Yes, yes, fuck me--please, Paz, want you--” you babbled, hands fisting in the blankets beneath you. You rocked your hips against him. Paz’s breathing stuttered, and then he was spreading you open to watch as he sank his thick cock into your wet heat.

The press of the head of his cock had you gasping into the blankets, and then as he buried himself inch-by-inch, you couldn’t stop the little moans and whines that left you. You tried to relax your muscles, taking as much of him as you could, but your cunt spasmed around the intrusion. He grunted behind you, feeling your walls flutter around him as they stretched to accommodate his length. When his hips touched your ass, you shuddered, stuffed to your limit, the ache turning into a pleasant warmth licking at your core.

Paz rocked his hips slowly, only sliding an inch or so out before thrusting back in, and you clawed at the floor. You lifted your hips to the best of your ability, pushing yourself back against each thrust. He started slow--every time was like the first time, you were so tight around him, especially in this position. He didn’t want to hurt you--not in a way you didn’t ask for.

He squeezed your ass, massaging your hips and tugging you flush against him. He stopped moving, holding himself still while encouraging you to roll your hips against him. "That's it, baby, fuck yourself on my cock,” his voice was rough and dark, sending shivers through you. You whined, driving yourself back harder, desperate for more stimulation. You squeaked, trailing off into a moan as his hand cracked against the plump flesh of your ass. “You want more? Needy thing.”

He fucked you, and when Paz fucks, you’re gonna feel it for days. His hips pounded down into yours, each thrust sheathing his cock deep in your core and driving against that spot inside you that made you clench around him. Raw pleasure shot through you like unrefined electricity, burning bright along every nerve. Your toes curled in the blankets beneath you. The muffled sound of his clothed pelvis meeting your bare skin, mixed with the wet noise of your arousal, filled the ship. Each brutal snap of his thrusts drove you closer and closer to the edge, breathless moans torn from deep in your chest. The walls of your cunt fluttered around him, strangling his cock.

“Gonna cum for me, pretty baby?” When you didn’t answer, one of his hands wrapped around your jaw, tilting your head back and forcing your back into an arch. The angle made him spear even deeper into you and you nearly squealed. “I asked you a question.”

“F-fuck, yes, please, please, please--”

He shoved his hand between your hip and the floor, wrapping around your front so his big fingers could rub circles over your clit while he continued to fuck into you. He pressed demandingly at your clit and your legs trembled while you grasped desperately at anything within your reach to ground yourself, unaware of how loud your moans had grown. The dam of your orgasm finally broke, and you soaked his cock and the blanket beneath you as you came. Devastating waves of pleasure rocked through you and you clenched helplessly around his cock as he fucked you through it, his fingers continuing to tease your clit and making you jerk in his hold.

The tight, hot clamp of your cunt around his length had Paz following shortly behind you. Half a dozen shallow but firm thrusts, and he came with a rumbling groan as he sheathed himself inside you.

You trembled beneath him, flushed and sweaty and so, so deliciously boneless from the intensity of your orgasm. Paz gently pulled out, rubbing a soothing hand up and down your back. You whimpered at the loss of his warmth, the comforting weight of him on your body.

“Easy,” he murmured. “‘M right here.” He would have laid down beside you, except the floor wasn’t the most comfortable, even with the blankets he had thrown on it--so instead he maneuvered you into his arms and lifted you with ease before placing you in his bunk. He quickly stripped off his heavier clothes before crawling in next to you and wrapping you in his arms. You curled into his chest, legs resting on either side of his.

Tentatively, you rocked your hips, the slickness of your combined releases dripping from you easing your motion. Paz squeezed your thigh in question and in warning. You grinned devilishly up at him.

“One more round?”

[valdomarx]

The most disgusting parts of a witcher’s work were almost -- almost -- worth it for the simple pleasure of taking a bath afterwards. A contract on a zeugl, however, pushed even Geralt’s patience to its limits. With the job completed he’d arrived back at the inn exhausted, covered in fifth, and stinking to an unbelievable degree.

Jaskier had taken one look at him, led him out to the yard, and thrown buckets of cold water over him until the worst of the filth was washed away. He would have grumbled about that, but Jaskier had also ordered a hot bath sent to their room and prepared his lavender soap that Geralt secretly loves, so he decided to be magnanimous. 

Now, he lets the warm bath water wash over him, bleeding away the stress and disgust of the day.

Jaskier sits behind him, rinsing out his hair with careful movements. The scent of lavender spikes as Jaskier lathers the soap between his hands and begins to rub it into Geralt's scalp. His fingers are strong and sure, digging in with just the right pressure.

Having spent the day being spat at and wading through hip-deep filth, it feels sinfully good to be touched with care and attention. Jaskier digs a thumb into a spot at the base of his skull and Geralt moans without meaning to. Jaskier only hums, and does it again.

He can't deny he's always enjoyed having his hair played with, and if he feels his cock filling out as Jaskier massages his scalp it's only because it's been too long since he's allowed anyone to take care of him, and because there’s something about being submerged in water which makes his body open to suggestion.

Jaskier is patient as ever, chatting away as he rinses Geralt's hair and moves on to soaping his shoulders, his back, his arms, his legs. Geralt could technically do that for himself, he supposes, but Jaskier seems to be enjoying himself and it would be rude to interrupt.

As Jaskier runs a hand up the inside of Geralt's thigh, his knuckles brush tantalisingly lightly, accidentally, against his cock. Geralt’s hands squeeze hard against the rim of the tub, but his breathing remains even. Jaskier raises his eyebrow in a tiny quirk but says nothing, and Geralt doesn't either. Best not to draw attention to it.

Jaskier keeps calmly running soap along his leg, and then the back of his hand brushes past Geralt's cock again, and then again, and Geralt can't suppress a moan. He's getting harder by the minute and there's no way Jaskier hasn't noticed.

He wants... He wants to run. He wants Jaskier to keep his damn hands to himself. He wants Jaskier to touch him more, to touch him all over, to take his cock into his familiar, calloused hands and...

"You seem tense," Jaskier says, voice low.

Of course I'm tense, you fucking prick, he thinks but doesn't say, you keep touching my cock and I think I might like it.

“Come on, let me see to that shoulder.”

A ghoul had sliced into his shoulder last week, and it was healed now but Geralt decides to indulge Jaskier all the same. He’ll only worry otherwise. He lets Jaskier guide him out of the bath, and Jaskier pointedly doesn’t mention the fact he's half hard. Somehow that only makes it more mortifying.

He lets Jaskier lie him face down on the bed, a towel draped over his lower half for modesty. Not that modesty seems to be a concern to Jaskier, who fetches his oils and makes himself comfortable sitting on the backs of Geralt’s thighs.

The weight of Jaskier on top of him is, surprisingly, not unpleasant, and he tries to unwind as Jaskier works oil into his hands and gently prods at his shoulder, checking the edges of the scar with careful fingers.

Still, it feels wrong, greedy even, to enjoy the way Jaskier touches him. Being the subject of such close attention makes him squirm, and he’s embarrassingly aware of his hard cock beneath him. His heart rate picks up in the beginnings of panic, and his muscles are tensing up…

“Breathe for me,” Jaskier says, fingers barely grazing him. “Just breathe.”

He can do that. He takes one shaky breath, and then another, Jaskier softly stroking his back.

“Good,” Jaskier hums, and the warmth of that sends a shiver down Geralt’s spine.

The scent of chamomile fills the air as Jaskier begins to rub at his shoulder, sweeping outward in firm strokes that dig into the muscles and release knots he hadn't realised were there. Jaskier has talented hands, everyone knows this, but Geralt appreciates it afresh whenever Jaskier does this for him.

Geralt feels himself relax inch by inch as Jaskier works across his back, down each arm, along his spine, the warm feeling of relaxation punctuated by the occasional twist of pleasure-pain when he digs in deep and releases a knot.

Jaskier takes his time, touching and smoothing over each section of skin, and yet all too soon he's reached the base of Geralt's spine and he's lifting his hands away.

Geralt manages to bite down on a whine, but only just.

"Do you want me to keep going?" Jaskier asks, and all Geralt can think is that he doesn't want this to end, he selfishly wants as much as Jaskier will give him.

"Yes," he rasps, voice shaky, and he thinks Jaskier's hummed response sounds content.

Jaskier pushes the towel away and begins working up his legs, starting at the soles of his feet and moving up in careful strokes. It's a rare thing for anyone to touch Geralt this much, and his dick twitches beneath him, confusing the touch of a friend for that of a lover. Jaskier hardly seemed shocked by his body’s reactions at this point though, so he lets himself slip into a warm, comfortable bubble of sensation, comfort and satisfaction with a low thrum of arousal far in the background.

Jaskier's thumbs press into the inside of his thighs and Geralt's hips dig into the mattress without him meaning them to. Heat creeps up the back of his neck as he realises what he’s doing.

“Mmm.” Jaskier doesn’t sound displeased, though. He runs his hands along the crease between Geralt’s thighs and ass, fingers kneading at muscles which are tight and sore from weeks of riding Roach.

It’s deliciously good, actually, even if it is a little close for comfort. Jaskier’s hands find every knot and pressure point, digging down hard into the meat of his ass, and Geralt gives himself over to it.

Soon, too soon, Jaskier’s hands slow and move away, and when they lift off completely Geralt lets out a little moan that he can’t contain.

He feels the air behind him still as Jaskier freezes, seemingly deep in consideration.

“Shall I keep going?” Jaskier asks, and his voice is husky, almost uncertain, like he doesn’t know how Geralt is going to react.

Geralt has no compunctions now though, too wrapped up in the feeling of Jaskier’s hands on his skin, craving more, not caring for propriety. “Yes,” he gasps, and mercifully, Jaskier’s hands are back on his skin immediately.

Jaskier drips more oil on his hands, and the sweet, floral odor of chamomile fills Geralt’s senses, lulling him further into that comfortable, pliant state. He trusts Jaskier. He trusts him to make him feel good. It’s nice to cede control for a while, to let someone else decide what he’ll do and how he’ll be touched. The only requirement is for him to lie there and do as Jaskier tells him, and he’s confident he can do that.

“Spread your legs for me,” Jaskier says, one oiled hand on each thigh, and Geralt does so gladly. There’s a twinge at the back of his mind at the thought of how exposed he is, but that’s quashed as soon as Jaskier’s hands are back at his ass, squeezing and massaging.

Jaskier runs an oiled finger along the crack of his ass and he shudders all over, acutely sensitive to each motion. Jaskier does it again, other hand holding Geralt’s hip in a way that’s more comforting than he’d be willing to admit.

He teases a finger around Geralt’s rim and gods, Geralt has no idea what’s gotten into him but he wants this, wants more, wants Jaskier to keep doing whatever he’s doing because it’s sending sparkles across his skin and there’s a restless hunger building up inside him.

When Jaskier slides a finger inside him he clenches up at first, unused to the sensation. But Jaskier runs a hand down his side, muttering kind words in a soft voice, and Geralt relaxes into the sensation.

“Good boy,” Jaskier murmurs, and Geralt glows.

Jaskier fingers him slowly, sliding one finger in and out before adding a second, and the stretch feels strange but not unpleasant.

And then Jaskier cocks his fingers and brushes against something deep inside him and sparks shoot through his body like lightning, and he’s grinding down into the mattress and gasping for air.

“Feels good, hmm?”

Geralt can’t answer, can barely focus, but he knows he wants more of that so he nods his head against the rough pillow, hoping Jaskier will get it.

Jaskier understands, like he always does, and he moves his fingers with more force, rubbing up against that spot until Geralt is boneless and breathless, caught on his fingers like a fish on a hook.

His sense of time is stretched like molasses but Geralt is dimly aware that it only takes an embarrassingly short few minutes before he’s keening and writhing under Jaskier’s careful attentions, heart beating faster and faster and breath coming shorter.

There’s a tightly coiled heat twisting low in his belly, blood thundering in his ears, the smell and chamomile and soapy bathwater and Jaskier building in his nostrils.

And then Jaskier leans in close to his back, fingers deep inside him, and his voice is soft in Geralt’s ear as he says, “That’s it. I’ve got you.” And Geralt lets himself fall, lets himself float, certain that Jaskier will catch him, and he gives himself over to the waves of pleasure that are cresting inside him.

He comes with a soft gasp, shuddering as all the tension and anger and heat he’d been carrying flows out of him in time with the gentle motions of Jaskier’s fingers, and he feels stretched and exposed but somehow light and free.

“There you go,” Jaskier says, withdrawing his fingers and patting Geralt with his other hand.

Geralt is too hazy to speak. But he lets Jaskier roll him over and clean him off. He has the sudden urge to pull Jaskier onto the bed with him and hold him close, but he’s fairly certain that’s not what this was about so he fists his hands in the sheets instead.

Jaskier sits beside him and runs a hand up his leg, and even now his touch leaves goosebumps up Geralt’s skin.

“You’re more comfortable giving pleasure than receiving it, aren’t you?” Jaskier's voice is curious, not judgemental.

He supposes he probably is. There's something functional about pleasing someone else: a challenge, a goal, a requirement that he can meet. Having someone lavish pleasure on him isn't like that. He's supposed to, what, just lie there while Jaskier works to make him feel good? It seems hedonistic, selfish even, like something he's not deserving of. Witchers are built to be efficient tools, not something worthy of care or pleasure.

He hums. But he feels like maybe Jaskier understands without him having to say anything.

“You are allowed to want things." Jaskier is so very gentle. "It’s not wrong to feel good. You deserve that.”

Something twists under his rib cage, some ugly mix of anger and shame, because that's not right, it's not like that for him, and he doesn't know how to explain that to Jaskier -

Jaskier lays a soft hand on his thigh. "It's okay," he says, and Geralt lets himself believe that maybe it is. "Just think about it, yeah?"

"Hmm."

If he allows himself to consider... allows himself to imagine a life where he's deserving of care... He wonders what that might look like. What he could be if he was worthy of something more.

And then his mind snaps back to the here and now, because such dreams are not meant for men like him.

Jaskier sighs, like he knows exactly what’s going through his head. "You'll get there," he says, and there's no pity in it, only hope.

Geralt wishes he could share his conviction.

[wherethewordsare]

Back in the Closet

Mind the tags on this one yall. It gets smutty. cw:blow jobs and accidental love confessions. not exactly in that order  Thank you @kuripon always for the amazing beta work you do. You are truly one of the only people I trust with my works. 💖💖💖

Geralt hated these events. He felt like he had to stuff himself into a suit that strangled him as he sat through long-winded speeches that had nothing to do with his department. The only upside to any of it had been that this year he had a date. 

When he turned to look at Jaskier he got a blank stare back, Jaskier’s eyes blinking slowly at him. ‘You owe me’, his face read as he stifled another yawn. Under the table, Geralt reached out, slipping his hand into his and squeezing gently. 

They sat at their back table, hands linked under the table. Geralt hadn’t realized that Jaskier had moved closer, his hand now sliding into Geralt’s lap slowly. His other hand was above the table, chin resting on his palm to hide the smirk that was slowly growing. 

Geralt made a move to swat the wandering hand away but found that nimble fingers were already toying with his zipper. He shot a warning look at Jaskier who only leaned in and pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek. It was a complete contradiction to the delicious friction his knuckles were building up against the seam of Geralt’s trousers. 

He turned his head, pressing a small kiss to the corner of Jaskier’s mouth. “What are you doing?” he said under his breath just as those clever fingers pressed along his quickly growing erection. 

“Sorry darling, is this too much?” Jaskier smiled at him, batting his eyes. Over the table he seemed completely still, unfazed as just under the white linen of the table cloth. Jaskier  managed to work open Geralt’s zip and slide those same fingers in to wrap around him. 

Geralt nearly jumped out of his skin at the contact, his leg bouncing hard against the underside of the table as he bit down, nearly groaning aloud. 

“Jaskier!” He all but growled. 

“Hmm?” Jaskier found his pace, stroking just enough to send Geralt hurtling towards making a fool of himself, even if none of his colleagues found out. He gripped Jaskier’s wrist, stilling him as he leaned forward and took a shaky breath. 

“Put it back. Then you’re going to go just outside of this hall and make a left,” Geralt muttered, trying to get his breathing under control. 

Jaskier simply did as he was told, pressing another kiss to Geralt’s cheek with a grin that was all too smug. Geralt watched as he left, shaking his head at the sway Jaskier's hips gave. He had always been a sight to behold but tonight he was in peak form. Geralt sometimes wondered why it had taken him so long to finally ask him out. 

He gave himself just long enough for his cock to flag enough to stand, following behind Jaskier. He caught him just outside the door and took his hand, not slowing for a moment.

“Oh naughty thing, where are we going?” Jaskier chuckled, giving Geralt’s hand a squeeze. 

They rounded another corner before Geralt couldn’t take it anymore, pressing Jaskier to the wall firmly and claiming his mouth. They kissed messily for a long moment, Jaskier’s hands easily sliding up into Geralt’s hair as he squirmed between him and the wall. 

“Ah, darling! Maybe… mmm.” He bit Geralt’s lip with a soft huff before pulling away again. “Elsewhere. Maybe somewhere a bit out of view?” He suggested with a roll of his hips. Geralt could feel the length of Jaskier’s hard cock pressing against his hip. 

They fumbled across the hall into what appeared to be a broom closet and as Geralt closed the door, Jaskier pinned him to it, his mouth already at his throat. There was a laugh bubbling up from him suddenly and he rested his head on Geralt’s shoulder, though his hands never stilled. 

“What?” Geralt asked, dipping down to kiss Jaskier again, his palm pressing to Jaskier's tented trousers, making him groan into the kiss. 

“Just thinking, this is truly the only reason to ever go back into the closet.” He was smiling, and just this side of good tipsy where he was the perfect level of hassle to keep Geralt on his toes. 

“Jask, I love you, but you need to not.” Geralt rolled his eyes and was about to reach for Jaskier’s zip when his brain caught up with his mouth. 

They both froze in the low light, staring at each other. Geralt felt his heart sink as he realized what had just happened. His heart dropped to his feet as he caught Jaskier’s eyes, wide in shock. 

Fuck.

“Jaskier, I-” He was cut off when Jaskier surged forward, kissing him with near bruising force, his hands unable to keep still for a moment longer. 

“Oh, oh dear heart.” Jaskier pressed his forehead to Geralt’s. It wasn’t hard to make out the smile in his voice. “Maybe two reasons to go back into the closet.” He hummed happily as he leaned in again. 

Geralt could barely hang on him, hands gripping Jaskier’s hips tightly, afraid that if he let go it would be over. But then Jaskier was murmuring into his throat, his teeth dragging against the delicate skin there as he chanted the same phrase over and over. 

He was slipping from Geralt’s hands but he realized it was because Jaskier was slipping down to his knees. That alone was enough to send his brain into overdrive. 

“I love you too,” he said simply, looking up at Geralt, the mischief and lust returning to his eyes. But there was something soft and open about the look now too that Geralt had seen before but hadn't known what to make of it. 

He didn’t give Geralt a moment to think beyond that as he leaned in, nuzzling against the bulge of his trousers, hand already working the zip open. Geralt let his head fall back with a thunk, his hands tangling in Jaskier’s hair. Part of him thought that they were going to be extremely obvious when they left the closet. Another part couldn’t care less about it. 

He had lost track of the moment but came slamming back to it when he felt slick warmth wrap around the head of his cock. It took everything in him not to buck his hips. He knew Jaskier didn’t mind but there was a time and a place and he thought that that could wait till later. There was a slide against the very tip and all of Geralt’s restraints nearly buckled. 

“Fuck, Jask!” Geralt grunted, bringing a hand up to muffle the moans that were starting to slip from his mouth as Jaskier’s head began to bob. He’d have bucked his hips, but strong fingers held him pinned against the door. He grasped desperately to Jaskier’s hair, his body curling in on itself with every slide of Jaskier’s mouth. 

Beneath him, Jaskier simply looked up through long lashes as he took Geralt down to the root, moaning around his cock as it bumped against the back of his throat. Geralt stood stunned, his knees feeling like they would give out at any moment and then Jaskier swallowed around the head of his cock and he saw stars. 

“Fuck.” Geralt’s eyes slammed shut and he gulped for air, trying to hold on as best he could as he felt himself start to shake apart. His fingers tugged at Jaskier’s hair, nails dragging over his scalp which only made him moan louder, the vibrations echoing against Geralt’s core. 

“Jaskier… Jask… Fuck, Julek! I’m… fuck.” He was babbling, desperate to stay as quiet as he could, sure that anyone walking by just outside the door could hear him. But it was hard to focus on that when he opened his eyes just in time to see Jaskier give him an enthusiastic nod and a wink. 

Geralt’s world tipped dangerously. He brought a hand up, biting down on the heel of his palm to muffle the shout he gave as his orgasm tore through him. The only thing that managed to keep him up were Jaskier’s hands still holding him steady against the door. He could feel that mouth work him through it, greedy in the way his tongue dragged along the underside. 

“I… fuck.” Geralt felt boneless, leaning back against the door, his hands scrambling for purchase as he pulled Jaskier to his feet. 

“I love you, too.” Jaskier repeated, grinning as he kissed him, licking into his mouth. Geralt felt nearly drunk on it, moaning around the tongue that slid against his, tasting the wine from dinner and himself and Jaskier’s eager honesty.  

He pulled back just enough to slide a hand between them, pawing at the front of Jaskier’s trousers. Geralt all but whined when a hand wrapped around his wrist, pulling him away. 

“Oh no, dear heart. We’re going to save that for later.” Jaskier pressed another kiss to Geralt’s cheek, then his chin. “When I get you home and take you to bed.” His voice was low and it rumbled against Geralt’s throat. 

“Hmm.” Geralt let himself bury his face against Jaskier’s shoulder, clinging to him as he caught his breath. Warm fingers tucked his spent cock easily back into his trousers. He had to stop himself from grinding against Jaskier’s very obvious erection pressing against his thigh. 

Jaskier chuckled, peppering kisses to every place he could reach. “I think I should call us a cab, don’t you?” 

“Bastard,” Geralt groaned though he was nodding, “Take me home, Jask.” 

“With pleasure.” Jaskier already had his phone in one hand, the other wrapping around Geralt's waist, still supporting him. It was promising to be a very long night.

[kingonafiftymetreroad]

Fic Rec Post

Hey everybody! One of my secret santas asked me what my favorite fics are so I decided to make a full blown rec post just for them. These are a little all over the place so I hope you can find something that you enjoy here! ☁️✨ 

Please make sure to read all tags and warnings before reading a fic. And don’t forget to kudos/comment!

🌙 The Finish Line (Is A Good Place For Us To Start) by LoadedGunn 122k

Louis Tomlinson, one-time Formula 1 World Champion, is looking forward to the 2013 season. He’s got Zayn in his garage and Liam in his ear, he’s got Cowell Racing backing him despite former indiscretions, he’s got experience and the best race car out there. Not to mention he’s the only racer they have, after Oliver dropped out late last year.

It hasn’t occurred to him that Oliver would have to be replaced by February. That is, until he finds himself at a party celebrating Harry Styles leaving Ferrari for Cowell. Harry hotshot Styles, who broke a record last year and is probably looking to make a big splash. Harry Styles, who is talented and somewhat intimidating. Harry Styles, who left Ferrari for reasons unknown and seems kind of lonely and harmless in person. Lonely, harmless, hot as fuck. Whatever.

The first thing Louis does is take him under his wing. From there it’s nine months of slow-burning romance, the past catching up to them, turning into the human puppy pile that is OT5 and a lot of feelings until, of course, reaching the finish line.

🌙 a promise lives within you now by sarcasticfluentry 46k

A Lord of the Rings-inspired Middle Earth AU. Louis is an Elven prince, next in line to become King of Mirkwood, and Harry is the orphaned Human boy who grows up alongside him. They fall in love, but Louis’s obligations to the throne, Harry’s mortality, and impending war threaten to tear them apart.

🌙 if you're for real and not pretend by brownheadedstranger 21k

In which Harry works in a bakery and Louis can't seem to find what he's looking for.

🌙 Into The Blue by zarah5 117k (story is locked, ao3 account required to read)

AU. In which Louis is Harry's scuba instructor and quite happy to provide the requested special treatment, pun fully intended. It can't be all that difficult to convince Harry that they're on the same page, right? Also, Niall and Liam may or may not be dating, and Zayn is surrounded by emotionally stunted idiots. He bears it with dignity.

🌙 Don't Unplug Me Or Shut Me Down by slashter 7k

Louis scowls. "He's a photography student. He works with gorgeous models and probably breaks hearts with his smile. I'm a nerd. I earn my money fixing broken crap, and for some stupid reason, I like it. He wears short skirts, I wear t-shirts, he's cheer captain and I'm on the bleachers, et cetera, et cetera." Louis sighs. "I swear, the coolest thing I've ever done is wear contacts."

Basically, Louis is a self-proclaimed nerd who fixes things and Harry seems too perfect to keep breaking as many things as he does.

🌙 You Are The Blood by sarcasticfluentry 175k

A seventh-year Hogwarts AU in which Niall gets all the girls, Liam goes on a journey of self-discovery, Zayn falls in love, Harry wants something more, and Louis tries to figure out once and for all why he, a Muggleborn, was sorted into Slytherin.

🌙 this must be what all the fuss is about by youcomecrash 3k

"You're sweaty," he mumbles matter-of-factly. Louis opens his eyes and raises his head from between his arms. Harry's just staring up at him with a lazy expression and Louis kind of wants to kiss him to sleep. "That's because it's a hundred degrees in here, babe."

🌙 I Fell From the Sky For You (Like a Shooting Star) [by louserz] by waddupjordan (orphan_account) 8k (This was originally posted on tumblr by @louserz and this person had permission to post it on ao3 for the author. if the original author sees this and wants me to take this off of my rec post please DM me and I will. This fic displays elements of depression and homelessness although it is not tagged that way so please take caution in reading this. I don’t want to accidentally trigger anybody.<3)

Harry owns a bookstore, Louis is homeless, and apparently even shooting stars fall in love.

🌙 Sail Across Me by iwillpaintasongforlou 21k

Harry is a prince that is about to be forced into marriage against his will and running away to sea seems like a much better option. Louis is the captain of the infamous pirate ship The Rogue and he has a thing for helping defenseless creatures. Especially when they're as pretty as this one.

🌙 but maybe im just in love when you wake me up by theonewiththelarrystories 6k

lazy morning sex, prompted by Asher: "like a whole sleepy sunday morning vibe of waking up together and then louis pulling a sleepy harry into a warm bath and louis washing harry all over. a bit of body!worship, louis gently working conditioner into harrys curls and him practically purring. Then louis taking it slow with kisses on harrys neck and gentle touches and then fingering harry until hes whining with his head thrown back against louis’ shoulder little needy noises coming from his perfect fucking lips. and then harrys boneless and content while louis leads him back to their bed and spreads him out face down and rims the fuck out of him until hes screaming and then he fucks him gently and then they cuddle on the couch and harry wears louis’ white sweater and louis calls him ‘sweetheart.’"

🌙 strawberry milk fic by Wankerville 158k (3 parts)

This is a 3 part story. The 1st part was originally written alone and then the author added the rest. You can just read the 1st part (19k), and you’ll still be satisfied without feeling added pressured to read the whole thing. Please read all the tags and warnings for each fic beforehand!

🌙 and we live like legends now by soleilouis 16k girl!direction 

harry works at a juice bar, and louis is the cute girl that skates at the park right next door.

🌙 Through Eerie Chaos by MediaWhore 102k (story is locked, ao3 account required to read) @mediawhorefics​

For as long as anyone can remember, Old Hillsbridge Manor has always been believed to be haunted. Everyone in the village agrees and keeps a respectful, fearful, distance. New in town after a bad breakup and an internship that led to disappointment rather than a permanent job, Harry Styles figures taking pictures of the decrepit building could be a great new creative project. Or at least a much-needed distraction while he searches for a job and crashes at his parents’ new house. No one warned him about the apparitions though; about the music, the laughter, the people who flicker and vanish when you call after them, the echoes of a past that should be long gone… Harry has never believed in spirits but even he can admit that there’s something weird going on. What starts as mere curiosity evolves into a full-blown investigation and soon enough, Harry finds himself making friends with an aristocrat from the 1920s and struggling with finding the best way to tell him that he’s dead.

The Ghost Hunter AU where Niall lives to prove ghosts are real, Zayn is a skeptical librarian and Harry gets caught up in a century-old mystery and catches feeling in the process.

🌙 jump in the deep end by istajmaal 5k 

Louis’s stomach lurches as he closes the last bit of distance, Harry’s nose settling between his arse cheeks and pushing them apart. Harry’s lips brush against the puckered skin around Louis’s hole in a kiss and Louis lets out a whine so high-pitched he barely recognizes it as coming from himself—what if I'm not clean enough, what if Harry hates it, what if Harry pushes me away—but then Harry’s long, wet tongue swoops in a circle around Louis’s rim and Louis feels like all the breath is knocked out of him. He grabs for Harry’s hand, still digging into his thigh, and squeezes over it, until Harry releases his vice grip on Louis’s thigh and laces his fingers through Louis’s.

or, Louis's arse is a sensitive subject, so Harry approaches it gently. With his tongue.

🌙 the wheel breaks the butterfly by embodied 4k girl!direction @aliensingucci​

“Out with it, Styles,” Louis groans. Harry’s suddenly regretting this whole thing, and she’s sure she’s beet red now, so she just blurts it out so fast she’s not sure if Louis even understands her right away.

“I’ve never gotten head before.”

AU. harry and louis are roommates. girls' night ends a little differently than usual.

🌙 you flower, you feast by stylinsoncity 18k

He's King of the Underworld, but don't assume Louis has it all. He could stand for some excitement in his monotonous, eternal life and maybe, even.....a soulmate.

(Despite not having a soul.)

And along came "Harry".

🌙 you change, water sea by got2ghost 4k girl!direction (ziam with side larry)

“Zayn wants me to teach her how to make a girl squirt,” Louis says, like it’s the most casual thing in the world. Liam chokes on the water she’d been swigging from her thermos, which makes Louis throw her head back and laugh. Zayn’s brows pinch together and she pats Liam gently on the shoulder, muttering, ‘you okay babes?’

🌙 The Case Of The (Definitely Not Haunted) Styles Mansion by BriaMaria 40k

“So there’s a sense of humor buried beneath all that condescension, huh?” Louis said when he’d stopped laughing.

“It’s not condescension, it’s intelligence. I understand you might not be able to recognize it yourself,” Marcel said, then slapped a hand over his mouth. “Oh god, I’m sorry.”

Louis stepped closer, his eyes on Marcel’s face. “For being an asshat?”

“For being rude,” Marcel said, from beneath his palm.

Louis shifted a half-step closer until he was at the very edge of Marcel’s personal space. It felt like he was nudging at it, asking to be let in. Marcel flushed hot for no reason.

“Lucky for you it takes quite a lot to actually insult me,” Louis said taking one step closer. Too close. Too close.

Marcel met Louis’ eyes. Those blue eyes that reminded Marcel of poetry instead of science, lyrics instead of formulas. They were so pretty he wanted to drown in them.

---

Or the Nancy Drew AU where Marcel is a man of logic, Louis is a private detective who believes in ghosts, and the Styles Mansion is definitely, absolutely, positively *not* haunted.

🌙 You are the Lyrics by TheIfInLife 4k @larryficwriter​

or, Harry wears lingerie for the first time and Louis definitely approves.

🌙 Wild at Heart Ain't Hard to Find by QuickedWeen 11k girl!direction @becomeawendybird

Louis and her best friends Niall and Liam always take an annual vacation together. This year Niall has picked Redwater Canyon, a small tourist town where everyone lives like it's the Old West. There are saloons, stagecoaches, and limited access to WiFi.

The town boasts tours, excursions, activities, and the hottest woman Louis has ever seen in the form of the local blacksmith.

🌙 Withdrawal Was the Weeping by QuickedWeen 11k girl!direction

Confined by life and society, Harry spends her Sunday afternoons walking aimlessly about the countryside as it's her only source of freedom. One Sunday she is aided by the most beautiful woman she has ever met, but not everything is as it seems. Was it a trick of the light? Was it Harry's own active imagination? There is nothing to do but try to find her again.

🌙 i must admit i thought i'd like to make you mine by disgruntledkittenface 50k @disgruntledkittenface​

Louis fell apart when her ex broke up with her and moved across the country. Just as she’s starting to move on, Zayn comes back to town for their mutual friends’ wedding – with a new girlfriend as her plus one.

Blindsided and scrambling to save face, Louis lets herself get talked into a fake relationship with her new friend Harry. Their arrangement makes Louis feel pathetic and embarrassed, but it’s only going to last a few weeks. She just has to get through the wedding – what could happen?

🌙 tempted by the fruit of another by disgruntledkittenface 3k (zayn/louis/harry)

Zayn didn’t mean to look. And she certainly didn’t mean to watch.

It’s just that Louis and Harry are the worst hosts in the world; they’re in their bedroom, clearly fucking (again), and so loud that Zayn can’t concentrate on her game of Among Us in the living room. Liam has killed her twice. Liam. So she just went down the hallway to make sure their bedroom door was at least closed.

It wasn’t.

Zayn stumbles into a world of possibility when she stays with Harry and Louis for a few weeks.

🌙 I have more favorite fics but they are not included here due to them being deleted from ao3. They’re saved in PDF form both on my laptop and my phone (I go back and read them all the time) so if you’re interested in those you’re welcome to reach out to me and ask privately and I’ll share what I can.

This turned out a lot longer than I had expected. If you read through the whole thing thank you! ✨

[pettyprocrastination]

Rip Out Our Seams and Stitch Us Together

Maxwell Lord x Valerie Lord x Black!Reader

Chapter Three

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: Straight up smut first thing in the fic, we startin’ off with a bang folks. Profanity, they stare at ur booty ;). Ur patience is TESTED by these rich idiots. 

Chapter Summary: The great Maxwell lord is having trouble focusing lately, You have your first consultation with the famed Lord couple and realize their clashing styles and all around personalities may cause an issue (or cause you to kill somebody). 

Tag List: @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa​ @zeldasayer​ @readsalot73​ @captainsamwlsn​

Chapters: 1/2/3

(I will not stop using marilyn gifs for val she’s just so beautiful you guys hhhhh)

Max felt distracted. Muddled. He wasn’t sure what it was lately that had him in such a rut. 

“Maxwell!” His secretary whimpered beneath him, his hand moved from gripping her hair to slapping over her mouth to try and silence her nails-on-a-chalkboard like voice. He wasn’t sure if anybody outside his office heard her, and if they did he couldn't care less. They knew by now to ignore any suspicious moans or groans and keep doing their job unless they wanted to lose it. 

What she should have known by now is to never call him by his first name.  

The company was doing good, it was doing great in fact. He and Valerie weren’t spending time together, which was usual, and Alastair was home for the summer. Nothing was out of place, so why did he feel off?

Maybe it was you. 

That ridiculous seamstress with the even more ridiculous nickname and ridiculous outfits. I mean Stitches? What were you, a fucking dog? 

Delilah, the secretary currently moaning beneath him like a cheap whore, tried to grip at his jacket with trembling hands as he pulled her closer and closer to her climax with each thrust. He slapped her hands away without even looking down at her, eyes squeezed shut as he chased his own release instead of attending to hers. 

Valerie insisted he go to the “design consultation” with her today, which meant leaving his office in the middle of a goddamn work day to hear her prattle on about what color makes her feel the prettiest. Usually he’d stand his ground and refuse, but lately a break from work didn’t seem all that bad. 

All because of his goddamn secretary. 

The woman in question grabbed onto his wrist and cried against his hand, even muffled he could still hear her grating moans. Lately she’d been cuddly with him after each screw, trying to nuzzle his shoulder and ask for things like he was some pathetic sob paying for a sugar baby instead of her fucking boss. 

He’d have to fire her soon, if her whiny voice didn’t do her in, the piss poor work ethic would. 

But for a moment, when he looked down at her, with her back arched and eyes shut as she fluttered around his cock, he was reminded of that ridiculous seamstress, the little noise of surprise you made when he clamped a hand over your mouth, and just how soft your skin felt under his palm. 

Maxwell would never admit this to anybody. But that image alone made him cum on the spot. 

Maxwell Lord was a man who learned how to compartmentalize at a young age and never stopped doing so. He pulled out of the boneless woman beneath him, before cleaning himself up and tucking himself into his trousers while she laid against his desk, panting like a dog in the heat. 

Not like she fucking did anything. 

His ringed hand landed a stinging slap to her thigh that shocked her out of her blissful haze. “I’ll be out for the rest of the day, take my calls and let them know I won’t be back in until tomorrow.”

She blinked, watching owlishly as he grabbed his briefcase from his desk before walking out of his office. “Where are you going?” The way she sounded so disappointed and shaky as if he had broken a promise to her made him feel nauseous. 

He didn’t bother giving her a response. 

----

The moment his driver parked outside of the store, he saw a convertible drive up to the curb before stopping, he knew the cherry red color better than anyone, as it’s the same shade of the car he gifted Valerie for their five year anniversary. 

She stepped out, avoiding the jump in the curb as she adjusted her hair and dress before her eyes landed on his car and flashed him a condescending smile. 

Maxwell knew even though he was only two seconds later than she was, Valerie would still hold it over his head like a treat. He stepped out of the car, mindful of any gutter water around him this time and walked to his wife. 

“I wish I could say you're fashionably late at least but-” Her blue eyes ran down his suit, brand name and costly before smirking. “-you didn’t even bring that to the table.”

He let out a short humorless laugh before taking the handle of the door. 

“Oh? No witty remark about my outfit?” The woman feigned surprise as her husband raked his eyes down the baby blue dress that stopped just above her knees and fit her curves like a glove.

Valerie Lord held a doctorate and multiple books studying the human mind and the effects shaping childhood, she was an intelligent woman. Which meant she knew damn well just how good she looked. 

She just wanted to hear him admit it. 

“It looks good.” He said plainly, not hiding the way his eyes clung to the supple form of her thighs that she teased under a white sundress just last week. 

The curve in her red lips was the closest he’d gotten to an honest smile from her in ages. “You should know. You bought it for me after all.”

“I’m a man of refined tastes.” Max answered simply before giving her an almost playful swat on the ass and opening the door for her. 

The moment they entered the girl at the register from before, young and anxious, looked at them with wide eyes. A textbook laid open on the counter in front of her. 

She gaped for a moment before Valerie smiled at her. 

“Hello sweetheart.” His wife cooed, “We’re here for a consultation with the bosslady, mind letting her know for me?”

The girl pointed to an open door against the back wall. “She takes her consultations in that room.”

Valerie gave the young girl a quick pat on the cheek before walking into the room and calling out “Thank you dear!” over her shoulder. 

“Did you have to talk to the kid?” Maxwell mumbled under his breath to his wife, who scoffed in reply. 

“Well I wasn’t about to stand there in silence and scare the poor girl half to death like you were.” 

Maxwell looked at her incredulously. “I was not scar-”

His denials were cut off upon entering the room, which was laid with multiple chairs surrounding a table, covered in books displaying different types of dress and suit styles, a few fabric swatches were spread out as well. But the main focus of the Lords was on you, currently bent over, digging through a large container in the corner of the room as you grumbled and huffed, hips swaying and ass raised high in the air as if presented to them like a gift. 

One they admired greatly and for much too long to be deemed socially acceptable. 

Valerie tilted her head to the side with a little hum, enjoying the view before her just as Maxwell did, before he eventually coughed into his fist to make themselves known. 

You jumped up at an angle from surprise, accidentally thumping your head against the wall. A shouted curse left your lips as you rubbed your head. 

“Hard at work or hardly working?” Maxwell droned. 

“You're late.”

His wife smiled. “And you're exceptionally perky.”

“What?”

His elbow dug into her side. “What she meant to say was that we live busy lives. But we're here now so let’s get this over with.”

The three of you took seats at the table in the middle of the room, you handed each of them a design booklet before flipping open a blank notebook for yourself. 

“Any initial idea’s the pair of you have?” You twirled the pencil between your fingers as you spoke. “Or at least any automatic no’s?”

“Nothing too loud.” Maxwell told you. 

“Or too dull.” His wife added.

“No floral.”

“But don’t be afraid to use patterns.”

“No sparkles.”

“No tweed.”

“And absolutely no plaid.” They finished together. You stared at the list on your paper before blowing out a long breath. 

“Alright. So you don’t want anything dull, but also not loud, but no patterns, but use patterns, nothing with sparkles, or tweed and-”

“No plaid.” They reminded you in unison. 

“Uh, right. No plaid.” You didn’t enjoy them as separate people but somehow they were even worse together. “So is there anything the two of you can agree on wanting?”

“Color coordination.” Max told you. Your shoulders dropped with relief. Fucking finally. 

“Okay. Okay that I can work with.” A steady stream of ideas began in your head. The accent colors of Maxwell’s suit would match the main color of Valerie’s dress. 

“We’d have to match Alastair as well.” 

Your pencil froze on the page. “Who?”

Maxwell’s brows cinched together. He seemed offended by the fact you didn’t know who was the poor bastard who got stuck with that ridiculous name. 

“Our son.” He answered. “But don’t worry about making anything for him. He won’t be accompanying us anyways.”

“And why not?” His wife countered. She had turned in her chair to face her husband with an angry look. With each passing minute this started to feel more like couples counseling than a consultation to make them some fucking clothes. 

“Because the gala is in September, dear.” His voice was so sickly sweet you could practically feel the patronization dripping off of it. “He’ll be back at the boarding school by then.”

Of course this kid goes to boarding school. Eventually you just zoned out their argument and began to draw up ideas. It’s probably better the kid is away from these two though. God forbid you meet what type of monster they made.

“For how much money you pay that damn school it’s a miracle you don’t know their schedule. He has a two week break in September at the same time of the gala.” “For what?” Max damn near shouted. At this point you abandoned your notebook and pencil in favor of rubbing your temples. 

“I don’t know. Some dead president, I'm not on the school board!”

“Well maybe you-”

“ALRIGHT!”

The pair stopped arguing and shot back to you, eyes wide at the sheer audacity you had to shout at them. 

Nobody shouted at them. 

“I’ll make a suit for the kid, okay?” You explained weakly. “Could we please, just, get to the actual goddamn design you two want?”

Valerie stared at you, before looking at her husband who had the same “Well I’ll be damned” look on his face as her. She tilted her head to the side and he shrugged in response. 

The heavy use of non-verbal communication they had just made you feel like even more of an outsider.

“Well I don’t see why not.” Maxwell sighed, grabbing one of the books in front and flipped through the suits in it. “I blocked out the rest of my day for this anyways.” 

The pair spent the next hour and a half flipping through design books and pointing out to you what they liked and what they hated. 

They seemed to hate a lot.

But you still learned enough about them to cross out some ideas and begin finalizing others. While Maxwell could wear a solid colored dark suit, he didn’t box himself in that way. He enjoyed a notch lapel type with pinstripes, and seemed quite partial to robin egg blue given how often he pointed out the color on other designs.

Valerie enjoyed solid color dresses rather than those with patterns on them, and while she often wore clothes made to hug her figure, each gown she pointed out flared out at the waist, reminiscent of a princess at a ball. 

Their son, well you had no idea what the kid liked. But given he was a child, he probably hated most suits, as certain brands were just as scratchy as they were expensive, so you made note to find something especially soft to make it out for their child, who’s suit would most likely mirror his father’s.  

Eventually you pushed away from the table, four pages full of notes and concepts as you rubbed your eyes. “I think that will be enough for today.”

“Poor thing.” Maxwell simpered with pursed lips. “Are we tiring the baby?”

Valerie slapped her husband’s shoulder. “Maxwell don’t be rude. Of course the poor girl is exhausted. Just look at the bags beneath her eyes!”

You spared a glance up at them to place a hand over your heart. “It truly is a blessing to be working with you both. A gift if I’m being honest.”

Valerie stood up from the table and set a hand on your shoulder as you walked them out. When she walked close enough you were surrounded with the citrus perfume she wore the last time she came over. “Oh we’re just kidding. You show a lot of promise Stitches, don’t disappoint and we might just keep you around.” She bumped her hip against yours with a coy smile, you did your best to ignore the funny flips your stomach did at the suggestion of them liking you so much they return for your work again and again and again.

“Which wouldn't be that hard.” Maxwell smirked at you and waved a blase hand through the air while the other opened the door for his wife. “The standards aren’t set very high given the fact that your own sense of style has you dressing like a hippie liberal arts teacher.”

The door slowly closed behind them as they walked to their cars, but before it could shut completely you poked your head out to say. “Those are some mighty big words coming from the guy dressed like a car salesmen with a secret latex fetish.”

Even with the door shut you could hear his wife’s shrieking laughter. 

Authors note: Slooooowwww burrrrrnnn babey.Now that they consultation is done we can move on to these assholes just bursting into your store to “see your progress” and then TENSION WHILE GETTING THEIR MEASUREMENTS. Also Maxwell lord is so starved of actual chemistry and love that the mere thought of a woman he may be actually attracted to he BUSTS that second lmao. Alastair will be included in the fic!! Wrote headcanons for him last night n i got all soft and emotional. But no joke writing this fic and doing headcanons for it is honestly so fun and relaxing for me so if you want to be tagges or talk hcs PLEASE send them my way I love this ot3 of power bisexuals. 

[kingsofneon]

Kink ask--omorashi/piss kinks? (No specific characters or ships in mind, but if you have hcs about it, you'd have my full attention.)

No | rather not | I dunno | I guess | Sure | Yes | FUCK yes | Oh god you don’t even know |

okay, look, okay. LOOK. okay. im. very specific abt this one. because A LOT butts right up against me being like Yo that’s Unsanitary. But. I really like this one really specific part of it in like a REALLY INTENSE WAY

just.

like.

the aspect of humiliation in really needing to go and being told not to, squirming as they try and be good or hold themselves back because it feels good to be fucked full while already needy, wanting to concentrate on. being fucked but also so desperate that they can’t concentrate?

and then the relief of being able to go, to let go as asked, the satisfaction of release OR. the humiliation of not being able. to hold it. being debased for making a mess.

eeeeverything else I’m kinda eh/iffy on but. that. gets to me.

(i have headcanons but they’re going under a readmore kdjdj bc otherwise im just gonna have to DIE :) )

mainly i think sabo is into it. smacks itself right into his humiliation kink and he went Oh No and that was it, as soon as he realised it was a kink he couldnt stop thinking about the fact that he often feels really good if he consciously holds back the urge.

he used to get distracted and not pee but then like. after finding out it was an actual kink he pays More Attention to when he has to pee like ‘ i cannot be into this’

but no shocker he is

anyway, scenario of ace/mar finding out is probs smth like, sabo distracting himself on purpose because he does have to get this stuff done but it’s pretty lowkey?

and he doesnt realise koala Knows they have free time and has called his bfs for a surprise (we can say it’s near his birthday so she’s decided she can be nice. as a treat.)

so he’s a little needing-it, but not super there, just an edge at the back of his mind, when ace comes in and puts his hands over sabo’s eyes and is like guess who~

“there’s two guesses, by the way, yoi”

and sabo is like oh!

ofc he first has to tamp down the urge to slam his elbow into ace’s stomach, bc he thought she was koala at first, and he’s trying to say like,  Do Not Sneak Up on him, but thgen he’s like wait it’s my boyfriend being cute. we will allow it....

and he gets to turn around and ace still has his hands over sabo’s eyes and gives him a kiss and he’s like. trying not to smile because. he loves them. and it’s really nice to be surprised like this. Normally he has to go visit them instead, they don’t often get to see him.

a Moment of makeouts and soft grinding and physical affection and then Ace is like you should show us around the base!!

and sabo’s like I could show you my bedroom? (eyes emoji)

but Marco just grins at him and he’s like “nahhh, we have time for that later.”

Sabo wants to groan at his cheese but he’s also like okay Fine, dork. Because. he does just like spending time with them and he wasnt super riled up

but.

it does mean

he totally forgot that he needed to piss

it isn’t until an hour later that it suddenly comes back with a vengeance, and sabo’s like ah shit. I had like a fuckton of water. And they’re. hmmm. maybe half-way on a hike or smth? sabo is showing them the revo dock. bc normally the two of them fly in lmao (makes it easier to hide their connection, if Marco flies them both in)

and also the dock is pretty and leads into a beach and it’s disguised as a abandoned fishing town/tourist trap, so he thought they’d like it.

and they do, if the fact that Ace hasn’t stopped grinning, is anything to go by. he just. also. needs to pee. and ace’s smile needs to stop distracting him.

but ace keeps dragging him around and he doesn’t want to say anything, so he’s like nah! it’s gonna be totally fine! We can stop for some food or snacks and I’ll just have a moment to myself then.

but also he’s trying not to get a little turned on. aching to go, and also, thinking about how humiliating it’d be, for his boyfriends to see him hard when they’re just hanging out for kicks, or how nice but confused they’d be, if Sabo accidentally-

and he stops the thought RIGHT THERE because he absoLUTELY cannot live if he thinks about that, and indulges that fantasy, and then Marco places the back of his hand against sabo’s forehead and he’s like huh??

“You look really flushed, Sabo,” Marco says, frowning at him. And it’s an Actual Frown, not a teasing frown. “I think you’re getting sunburnt.”

Sabo spluttering a protest but then Ace drags him into the shade of some rocks and. well. it does actually feel a lot better in the shade, but now that he’s stopped he just. can’t distract himself. pressing his thighs together but trying to look natural, Marco and Ace just chatting and it is Totally Normal he absolutely isn’t desperate to pee, feeling it throb and-

oh shit, oh fuck, that was definitely a leek, Sabo can feel it, the sudden release of tension rocketing through him, feeling so good, and he gives a tiny, sharp little gasp and bites his lip and Marco / Ace are like "Sabo? What’s wrong? Are you okay?” and they’re just touching him, Ace trying to pick away at his coat to see if he’s injured, Marco feeling for a temperature and then at his neck for a pulse, and Sabo’s skin is singing at their touch, at their care, the lingering trace of their fingertips, and he grabs Marco’s laps and grits his teeth and he’s like

“Look, I just really need to pee.”    

“Then....just go?” Ace suggests, looking at him with a confused frown, and oh god Sabo’s now just imagining if Ace actually meant it the way Sabo’s brain suddenly leapt to, for Sabo to just go, piss staining his crotch and trickling down his leg to pool on the sand, and Sabo can just imagine how good it would feel if he-

“Oh,” says Marco, cupping his cheek. Sabo will not look at them, but he can absolutely feel how red-hot his cheeks get under Marco’s touch, under the weight of that tone.

“You don’t wanna go, do you, Sabo?” he says carefully, and Ace makes an even more confused sounding huh? next to them. “You just like- feeling like you have to. Is that right?”

“Shut upppp,” Sabo hisses, and Ace is like, computing next to him, and Sabo is so so so embarrassed and so fucking turned on that he’s hard as shit and they haven’t even touched him

wow! great! at least he can’t pee with his dick hard as fuck! but also!

he needs to spontaneously combust in embarrassment

“Oh it’s a kink!” goes Ace, and his eyes dart so fucking obviously to Sabo’s dick and Sabo kinda wants to cover himself but that’s an even more obvious move than Ace seeing his stupid erection and Why is this his Life

Except. Ace is kissing his cheek. And pressing himself against Sabo and sneaking his hand into Sabo’s pants, and Marco is backing him up against the wall. and he’s got a knee between Sabo’s legs for Sabo to grind on.

“Wha-?” he says, knowing now he’s the one who sounds like a confused idiot, and Marco just cocks his head and looks at him

“It is a kink, right? You like this?”

“I- I mean- I don’t-” and both of them are paused & staring at him and his cheeks are aflame as he manages a jagged nod, and then Marco gives him a quick kiss and when he pulls back Ace is just like

“Well if you like it then we can try it out.” and he shrugs like it’s fucking simple, like Sabo hasn’t been super embarrassed this entire time and it settles in him (they love you) and then Marco’s hand reaches out and he fucking presses on Sabo’s bladder and Sabo gasps, needy and pained, yanking Marco’s shirt as he tries to close his legs further, tries to stop that ache, feeling himself shudder. And ace just grins and is like, “I mean, it is pretty hot seeing you squirm like this.”

👌 👌 👌 

and then they make out with him, hot and heavy, and when they finally jerk him off, his pants still around his hips and dick out, Marco then just presses on his bladder again and tells him not to pee but it’s too fucking late and Sabo sobs in relief at being able to piss.

So fucking humiliated at Ace & Marco watching him, loose and boneless from his orgasm, but also. they’re watching, watching him make a mess, watching him piss on the sand because he couldn’t hold it back any longer, and he can feel himself getting turned on again as the relief mixes with that preening sense of humiliation and exhibitionism.  ️

anyway 4 basic headcanons i kinda think Marco doesn’t really get it/isnt interested in trying it but he likes seeing Sabo desperate. He’s already very good at knowing what will humiliate sabo, this is just another tool in his arsenal, one that used by itself is more than enough to get sabo worked up and crying. he likes. seeing sabo cry.

ace has tried it a couple of times and sorta sees where Sabo’s coming from? but he likes being told he’s a good boy for holding it, for drinking when he’s told, he likes the control aspects more than the humiliation aspects, and sabo likes wetting himself and being mocked but ace is always ): when he “fails”.

AND THOSE ARE MY THOUGHTS AND NOW I NEED TO GO DIE, BYE :)

[conaionaru]

Honor and Blood (Ivar the Boneless)

Knockin' on Valhalla's door

Synopsis: Ivar leaves for England and new problems arise in Kattegat

Warnings:  smut (in the beginning), oral sex, adult themes, fighting, angst, prophecy, believed? character death

Tags:

@xbellaxcarolinax @lol-haha-joke @youbloodymadgenius @thereareendlessopportunities @heavenly1927 @astridbaby @shannygoatgruff @queenbeeta @chynagirl13 @didiintheblog

I don’t own the gifs. Also, thank you for your support. I really appreciate it. If you want to be tagged please write me<3

P.S. I think I am getting better at this smut thing. Maybe all the hours of “research” paid off 😂

Aros was asleep, and Vanya was brushing her hair after taking her bath. It was well past her usual bedtime, but Ivar wasn't home yet, and she wanted to talk before he left. If it was the last night she might spend with her him, then it should be special.

That's why she bathed with lavender scented oils from a merchant and brushed her hair till it shone like flames. Her skin felt tingly, and her nightgown felt featherlight. "I thought you would be asleep." Ivar's rough voice said from behind her, startling her from her thoughts.

She turned around in their bed and crawled towards the edge of the bed on all fours.  "Can't sleep in an empty bed. I will have to find a solution when you leave. Otherwise, I will fall over dead when you come back."

Ivar chuckled at her words and pulled himself up on the bed, Vanya sitting down on her heels, watching him getting comfortable on top of the furs.

"Aros managed to crawl a bit today. Only one foot, but he is getting better. Maybe he will crawl to you at the docks when you come back." She told him, settling herself against him right side while he put his arms around her and drew her in closer. The couple laid side by side, Vanya's fingers ghosting over Ivar's collarbone, enjoying the shivers it produced.

Ivar looked at her foxish grin and smirked down at her. Vanya's head turned to the side in curiosity at what he would do next, she opened her mouth to ask him, but Ivar put his finger against her plump lips. "I like the smell; it's new."

"Lavender and Cedarwood. Hoenir actually helped me pick it up. He was very picky, so I happy that you like it."

"I like it very much." He whispered against her lips before kissing her. At first, it started slow, but passion and need consumed them, and things got heated. Vanya threw her right leg over Ivar's lap and climbed on top of him, burrowing her hands in his hair and softly pulling on the dark strands.

Ivar's calloused hands gripped her sides, one palm sliding up her white nightgown over her pale thighs. With breathy gasps, Vanya untied his tunic, tugging on it to take it off. Being the loving husband Ivar was, he took it off without teasing her, going right back to kissing her while her hands explored his chest and abs. Not liking the lack of nakedness from Vanya, Ivar pulled off her clothes as well, admiring the view he grew to love.

Since Aros's birth, her breast had gotten bigger, and she gained some stretch marks on her belly. But she still looked like Freyja to him, now she was even more beautiful, even with her marks and the scar left behind by the arrow in her shoulder. Vanya was breathtaking no matter what, and to him, she would be a goddess before, during, and after her pregnancy as well.

Her pink lips trailed down his jaw and neck, kissing, biting, and sucking softly, torn between leaving marks or not. Ivar had no such inner turmoil as he nipped at her collarbone to make her stop her teasing. Vanya threw her head back and ground her hips against his crotch to throw him off rhythm.

She bit his ear and pushed against his shoulders to make him lie down. When his back hit the furs beneath them, she raked her nails down his torso to his breaches to untie them. Ivar's hand stopped her, causing her to look at him in worry, thinking his legs must be bothering him. Ivar only shook his head and carefully flipped them around so Vanya would be under him. "I want to try something first."

The ginger watched him confused as he trailed kissed down her neck to her chest. After some teasing and a goodbye kiss to the space between her breasts, he moved on to her crotch. Vanya gasped at the strange sensation that he caused her with his tongue, throwing her head back and clenching the furs between her fingers.

Ivar continued his sweet ministrations, caressing her tights with his hands. After a year of marriage, he wanted to try what he saw Hvitserk try on Margrethe. Judging by the sounds and wiggling, he was doing a good job. Maybe the slave was good for something, at least, even if it was just putting ideas in Ivar's head.

So when Vanya moaned out loud and softly shook against his lips, he thanked the gods for letting him accidentally stumble upon his brother and the thrall in the woods. He slithered up the length of her body and kissed her, surprised by how much she was responding after she just came. Vanya pawed against the laces of his pants and pouted at him in her adorable way; with a victorious smirk, Ivar did as asked and took his breeches off.

He positioned himself over her to ensure he wouldn't squish her or hurt and entered her in a single thrust. Both paused to catch their breaths before he carried on, kissed her lips between thrusts. Knowing he liked it, Vanya nipped on his earlobe and tugged on his short hair, wishing he would grow it out a bit for a better grip.

It was astonishing to her, how much their lovemaking changed from the first time of awkwardness and duty. Over time they got more experienced and adventurous, learning what they loved to do and what not. And Ivar's new trick certainly will be repeated next time.

Ivar's movements sped up, and Vanya's breath grew shorter, signaling that they were both near. Locking gazes and lips, they reached their end together. Ivar rested his forehead against Vanya's, breathing in her intoxicating scent. Both were drunk on euphoria, kissing one last time before Ivar pulled out of her and laid down on his usual spot on the right.

With a happy sigh, Vanya pressed her front against his arm, drawing the furs over them to keep them warm. Ivar looked at her with vulnerable eyes, cupping her cheek in his hand and dragging his thumb over her swollen lips. "Could you wear something red tomorrow to see me off? So I can remember you that way for when we are apart."

Vanya smiled at the innocent question and nodded. She leaned against his palm and kissed the tip of his thumbs. "Anything else, Hjertet mitt (My heart)?"

"Just let me lie here, beside you. And touch you." The two turned on their side, Vanya spooning Ivar from behind, holding him close to her heart. She brushed her fingers through his hair and hummed the lullaby she always sang to Aros. And so they fell into a peaceful slumber, enjoying their last night together until he returned.

Vanya is sitting on her bed with Brynja, talking about the cute boy the older redhead was interested in. "He is tall and has eyes as green as the forest. And hair so blond it is like snow. You should have seen him, Vanya; he looked so good standing there in the river!"

Vanya laughed at the squeal the servant let out, looking down at her latest piece of work. The red dress Ivar wanted to see her in today. The door to her opened, and a thrall barged in. "The Queen wishes to speak to you."

With a confused look, Vanya put the dress down and followed the thrall towards the Queen's bedroom. Her mother in law sat on her bed, looking distressed. "Did you know he is leaving?"

"I thought he told you." Vanya tried only to be cut off by Aslaug.

"That is not what I asked you." She lifted her gaze from her lap to look at the girl she saw as her own daughter. "What I am curious about is if he told you he is leaving."

The young Princess sighed and sat down next to Aslaug, taking the woman's thin hand in hers. "He told me the day he was asked. We talked about it, and I encouraged him to go. He wants to prove his worth to Ragnar and everyone else. I am not happy about it, but I agreed he can go."

Aslaug shook her head and clenched Vanya's hand tightly. "Did he tell you what I saw?"

The frown on her face was answer enough. So against her son's wishes, she told Vanya of her vision. When she was done, Vanya stormed off, barged into her room to find Ivar on the bed, changing Aros's swaddling clothes. The Ragnarsson had no problem doing the dirty work of raising a child, and Vanya and Aslaug were very proud of that. But the pride didn't matter now.

Ivar looked up at her, but his smile fell when he saw her angry expression. "Why are you angry? Did Sigurd say something to you again?"

"No." Vanya scoffed and lifted the freshly changed babe into her arms, lying into his crib so he wouldn't be in the way. "But your mother did."

"Ah." The look on his face was conflicted, watching her stiff back as she stood by the crib. "I wanted to tell you myself later."

She turned to him, her eyes furious and hands in fists. "That's all you got to say for yourself? That you wanted to tell me? What would that change? I told you that I am only letting you go if you swear you'll return. And now that you know you will die, you still want to go!"

"I told you. I need to prove-"

"Yes, prove to your father you are a real man. But who cares what he thinks? He abandoned his family! He left you for dead, Ivar. What do you have to prove, then that he is a terrible person?"

Ivar shook his head and reached out for her, but Vanya stood her ground. So he sighed and dropped his hand in his lap. "What if you were in my place? What if you could prove to your parents that you were more than a womb? Wouldn't you do everything to do it?"

Vanya laughed, trying to keep her tears at bay. "If it required me to die, I wouldn't do it. All the people that matter, whose opinion matters, they are here. If you have to prove something to someone, then let it be Sigurd or Bjorn. Don't sail to England, Ivar."

"He left me to die. That's why I have to show him I am more than a cripple or a burden. Mother might be wrong."

"What if she isn't?"

"Then, that's a risk I have to take. I don't want to hurt you or Aros, but I have to do this."

Vanya crawled into bed with Ivar, putting the soiled swaddling clothes safely away. She kissed his forehead and lips smiling down at him with tear stains down her cheeks. "Promise me we will meet again. Be it in Kattegat or the afterlife. That we will find a way to be together forever."

"I will visit you in Freyja's hall every day, Min elskede (My beloved)." Vanya smiled at his declaration of love and kissed him before he left to gather his order from the blacksmith. If watching him leave now hurt, how much would it hurt when he left for real?

The grass under her skirt was still damp from the morning dew, and the air was heavy. Hoenir sat a distance away from her, sharpening his axe as Aros slept on his lap wrapped in furs. The sun was already up, and so were the people, including her husband, but Vanya was far too engrossed in her task to worry about anyone seeing her.

Vanya's red locks framed around her, hiding her face as she lit two candles. "All-mother. Goddess Frigg, I beg of you. Please don't take my husband away from me. I will do whatever you wish of me. You have protected me, and I ask you to do the same for Ivar. Goddess of marriage and motherhood, I beg of you." Tears gathered in her eyes as her hands clenched into fists at her side, the nails drawing blood.

"Please, keep Ivar alive." She sobbed pathetically, her head collapsing against the rock the candles were on. Her chest felt heavy, like someone was sitting on it and choking her at the same time. What Aslaug told her this morning tore at her insides, messing with her head, and made her weak once again.

After all the hard work it took her to become braver and stronger, it took one conversation to make her go mad with grief. She allowed Ivar to go, encouraged him to go on a journey with his father. And now, just before he is to leave, the gods spoke to Aslaug. He will drown, the Queen saw it, and he still wants to go.

Ivar knew what the news would do to his mother and wife. But he insisted on going and made peace with death, not caring who he is leaving behind. How selfish of him, but Vanya can be selfish too. So she prayed to Frigg, begging her to save him from the peril that awaited him.

"I pray to you all the other gods. Please protect my husband. I beg for Ran to spare him, for Hlín's protection and Odin's favor. But I pray for your mercy All-mother. "

Vanya propped her chin against the stone and looked at the flickering candles before her. "I know it is too much to ask for from you. But I will accept any help I can get even if you surely hate me now. I pray to you also. I am losing hope and don't know who to turn to. Please..." The tears hit the cold surface of the stone while her voice shook, sobs cutting her off as she tried to compose herself. "Please, God. Protect Ivar."

After all this time of devotion to the Norse gods, Vanya hit her lowest point. Kneeling on the grass in the middle of the day on a hill, praying to every god she knew. Oh, how the Aesir must hate you now, how fast the Princess turned her back on them when they asked for Ivar's life. She just hopes they will forgive her and take pity on her misery.

"We should go; you have to get ready before they depart," Hoenir called from behind her. Vanya sniffled and blew the candles out, sending out a silent prayer before leaving to redress. Let the gods be merciful, her old and new ones.

Watching the crew load their boats as Ragnar stood over them looking on edge was a painful sight. Aros whined in her arms too, reaching for the headpiece she wore on her forehead, curtesy of Aslaug. She did as Ivar asked her to do last night and wore a red dress, looking as perfect as possible to burn her likeness into his mind.

Aslaug's and her's arms were linked together in support, both anxious to see Ivar go. Ragnar's weird look towards something behind them warned them that Ivar is here. But when Vanya turned her head to look at her husband, instead of seeing him crawling on the ground, he was walking.

It looked like a lot of work, but with the aid of crutches, Ivar could stand upright somehow, even if he dragged his feet behind. She smiled proudly at him, overjoyed to see him able to do something he wanted to do his whole life. He truly was brilliant.

They watched Ivar walk onto the docks, struggling to lift his legs over the step, but he managed it in the end. Not like Vanya doubted him for a second. Aros whined once again, this time reaching for Ivar, who noticed the sound and looked towards them, freezing in his track. "You wore it."

"Of course. I promised, didn't I?" She grinned at him, tears threatening to spill from the corners of her eyes, but she stood there bravely. She spilled enough tears today; now, it was time to be brave and make it easier on him. "I prayed for your safe return, Hjertet mitt (My heart)."

Ivar looked at her surprised, after the time he caught her praying to the Christian god a long time ago, he expected her to take longer to adjust to the pagan ways. Considering she was against blood sacrifices, but apparently, he was wrong. "And to which god did you pray? The Æsir and Vanir or the Christian God?"

"Both." Her shameless admission shocked everyone around her, especially those who knew of Ivar's hate for anything christian. "Just to be sure you would be well protected and return. I warned you I would hunt you down to the gates of Valhalla if I have to."

Ivar smiled at her and said his goodbyes to her and Aros. After a few steps, his crutch got stuck between the floorboard, and he fell to the ground. Ubbe run to help him, but Aslaug stopped him, believing Ivar could do it himself. And he did. He ditched his new means of transportation and crawled to the boat where Ragnar awaited him.

"Hurry up. We've got a tide to catch." Watching Ivar leave felt like hell, or what Vanya was taught hell looked like. But she still swelled with another emotion; the pain and pride went hand in hand, till the boats were too small to follow with the naked eye.

That's also when Vanya returned to their hut to bathe Aros and put him to bed. Brynja filled a little tub with lukewarm water and left the Princess to herself. Vanya laid her babe into the water, carefully washing him as she hummed his lullaby to keep him calm.

The necklace of Jörmungandr that Ivar made for her dangled above his head, distracting him. He reached towards it and cooed adorably, making her smile. She remembered the story Ivar told her once.

"In the depths of the ocean, a giant serpent named Jörmungandr is biding his time. The child of the god Loki and Angroboda is so large; he can wrap his body around Midgard and hold the end of his tail in his mouth. His mouth, which is lined with venom-dripping teeth, is large enough to swallow a god or giant whole—Odin, fearful of the serpent banished into the waters of the world."

Aros watched her talk, his eyes wide watching the dangling object above him. If he understood her or just liked the shiny metal, Vanya wasn't sure. "Now he circles the world for eternity; every time he resurfaces, he is angrier. But he can't escape the oceans till his time comes. When the world is ending, Jörmungandr will take a stand against Thor once more. He will escape the sea, drowning everything in his path, and his breath will poison the sky."

She pulled him out of the tub and wrapped him into a cloth to dry him off. Sitting on her and Ivar's bed, she looked down at her son's sleepy eyes. "But Thor will finally triumph over the beast, smashing him with his hammer, only to die afterward. Both winning and losing at the same time in the end. But for now, he is still in the sea, waiting, fuming at his punishment."

Vanya laid down on her side, her son laying on Ivar's half of the bed. She smiled at his peaceful expression and closed her own eyes, unaware of the horrors Ivar faced out on the sea ruled by the serpent she just spoke of.

[jinmukangwrites]

Whumptober Day 29

Reluctant Bedrest

Ao3

Summary: After a run in with a psychic alien, Dick notices that Bruce is acting strangely. He's protective... perhaps too protective.

Note: Dick is Robin, about 16 years old in this fic.

Please be aware of warnings in tags.

-o-o-o-o-

The reason Bruce doesn't like meta heroes in Gotham isn't because he's afraid of what they can inspire. Gotham already has its thing, and Joker seeing some kid fly through the air or some man run super fast isn't going to change his shtick. 

Bruce doesn't like meta heroes in Gotham because he's weary of what they can bring. 

And they can bring trouble. Magic trouble. Magic trouble that stems from a single Green Lantern appearance in Gotham just so Hal can return a pen he borrowed from Bruce and forgot to return at the end of their last League meeting. 

In Dick's defense, it's a nice pen. He gave it to Bruce himself. So really, it's not Hal's fault some alien magician from space decided to come down to earth and stir trouble, it's Bruce's because he, for some reason, thought it would be a good idea to let Hal borrow the nice pen Dick might have accidentally stolen from Bullock.

Long story short, there's a space lady currently floating in the middle of some warehouse, using her neat magic powers to not only telepathically lift up the crates around her, but also manipulate them open and aim the illegal weapons from inside. 

It's Gotham, so of course the random warehouse they've found themselves in has illegal weapons. 

And the thing is? Bruce and Dick are completely alone in this even though Hal was the one who attracted her here. He left the city before she arrived. He's probably halfway across the solar system by now on the way to his next super cool Lantern Corps mission. 

But this is fine. There's nothing Gotham can't handle, even if it's powerful guns controlled by space magic. 

"Robin!" Bruce shouts, "down!"

And Dick goes up, flipping over the stream of poorly aimed bullets and laughing until he lands on one of the warehouses support beams. He watches Batman charge forward, launching himself into the alien lady and stabbing a powerful taser into her thigh. The screech she makes is inhuman, and Dick grins, jumping from the beam and hitting her across the face with his heel. 

She goes flying to the ground, collapsing in a crumpled heap as Dick rolls to his feet on the ground, careful of the pressure on his ankles. The moment Bruce takes one confident step towards here, his hand hovering where the enhanced cuffs are, he knows they've won. Guns are clattering to the ground, the magazines popping out from the force and the synthetic black stocks cracking. Thankfully, no bullets launch themselves. 

"Can I come with you to drop her off?" Dick asks, bouncing on his heels and approaching as Bruce does so. The alien groans and curls her clawed hands, but remains relatively marionette-like on the ground. 

"No," Bruce grunts because he's boring like that. So Dick wants to go to the Watchtower in space. What's bad about that?

Dick opens his mouth to argue, but his voice catches in his throat as the alien's spine tightens like a panther the second Bruce is within range. "B! Watch out!"

Dick runs forward, but it's already too late. The alien contorts her body in a way a human would never be able to do and wraps her long fingers around Bruce's skull, her eyes flashing a sickening teal. Bruce goes dangerously still for the entire time it takes Dick to run up there and knee her in the gut. She makes a weird gurgling noise then stumbles back, throwing out her arms frantically. Dick hisses as one of her claws tear through the skin above his left eye, but he ignores it in favor of grabbing his own pair of cuffs and tackling her, forcing her strange, almost double jointed limbs behind her back and snapping them together. The cuffs hum, and she goes boneless.

Dick steps back, panting, then spins on his heel to find Bruce still... just standing there. Blankly. Like he’s trying to reconnect his eyes to his brain and his brain to the rest of his body. Unease pools in his gut, allowing a stone of worry to sink to the bottom. He swallows and steps forward. “B...?”

Bruce blinks under his cowl, then slowly his head turns towards Dick at a creaking pace. 

“You...” Bruce begins... his voice is scratchy like he’s been screaming for hours. “You’re hurt.”

A spike of confusion settles near Dick’s skull. Dick brings his fingers to his forehead and realizes that no, it’s not a physical spike of confusion, but a stinging cut that leaves drops of red glistening on his green gloves. It’s not that bad though. Probably doesn’t even need stitches. Dick wipes the blood off on his red tunic and shakes his head. 

“I’m fine.” 

Bruce doesn’t seem to believe it. Or at least let the issue go. He stares at Dick in a way that’s so unlike himself and Dick swallows nervously, then turns towards the crumpled alien lady to both gather his thoughts and hide the unease that must be showing on his face.

However, he doesn’t have long before Bruce walks up besides him and wraps a hand around Dick’s arm, firm but gentle. The shock of physical contact alone has Dick gasping and almost bonelessly allowing Bruce to manhandle Dick into facing him. Bruce’s free hand touches the sliver of broken skin above Dick’s eyebrow and frowns. 

“We need to get this looked at.”

Dick swallows. “Really, B, I’m fine. We should figure out what to do about-“

“The police are fully capable to take it from here.” Bruce’s hand tightens on Dick’s arm, not bruising but enough to get a message across that he’s not going to let go willingly. “Let’s go. You’re hurt.”

“I’m not ten anymore,” Dick mumbles, but walks along anyway as Bruce begins to drag him out of the warehouse and towards the Batmobile. Bruce opens the passenger seat and coaxes Dick inside the car. Apprehension settles in Dick’s throat as the door closes, and as Bruce walks around the front of the car Dick quickly tries the door handle. 

It moves, but it doesn’t open. Bruce has locked Dick inside.

Immediately, Dick knows that not only is something off with Bruce, but something is wrong. However, he doesn’t get a chance to think much more about it before Bruce is settling into the driver's seat.

“Bruce...?” Dick asks.

Bruce doesn’t answer, just holds out a rag towards Dick and mumbles. “Buckle your belt.” 

Dick does so, then reluctantly grabs the rag to hold it against the cut on his forehead. It’ll probably be scabbing by the time they get back to the cave. Maybe Bruce is just worried about infection? He got cut by the fingernail of an alien, after all.

Yeah. That’s it.

And then his thoughts go crashing down when Bruce frowns and reaches across the dashboard to hook his finger under the straps over Dick’s chest. Dick squawks and attempts to bat his hand away. But Bruce is persistent and tugs on the strap, frowning at the amount of space he creates between Dick’s chest and the strap.

It’s barely half an inch, but Bruce still ignores Dick’s complaints and tugs the buckle of the belt to make it tighter, practically tying Dick to the seat of the car.

Once Bruce is done and turns on the car, Dick sits there in stunned and embarrassed silence. He’s sixteen. He doesn’t need Bruce to check every cut and his seatbelt buckles. 

Bruce begins his drive towards the cave in grim silence, his mouth slowly becoming deeper and deeper into a stiff frown that Dick’s now too afraid to ask about.

Something is wrong with Bruce, and Dick has no idea what. The alien lady must have done something to him, and Dick’s going to find out.

For now though, he forces himself to relax against the chair and keep the rag on his head, and stays there silently until they arrive in the cave. 

By now, however, every single one of Dick’s nerves feel shot. He reaches to the door handle to pry it open, and then remembers that Bruce had turned on some sort of child lock that Dick didn’t even know existed until now. Once Bruce finally leaves Dick alone, Dick’s definitely going to sneak to the car and pry around the mobile for other childish restrictions Bruce still has installed to embarrass Dick. For now though, he curls his fingers into the rag and waits in tense silence as Bruce walks around the car once again to open Dick’s door. 

Dick tries to duck under his arms to escape towards the changing area, but Bruce catches his arm. Not for the first time does Dick loath his short stature and his persistently thin body type. Bruce practically has his entire upper arm trapped entirely in his large hand, and it makes it difficult to get free. Dick unwillingly stumbles along as Bruce begins to drag him towards the med bay. 

Dick looks desperately to the bat-computer just to be reminded harshly that Alfred isn’t even in Gotham at the moment. He’s on paid vacation for the next two weeks. 

Dicks alone. 

Alone and being dragged to the med bay by an iron grip. “Bruce,” he gasps, “really, I’m fine-“

Dick’s tugged to the cot and given a stern look. Bruce hasn’t taken his cowl off yet. He normally always takes his cowl off in the cave. 

Dick hates how badly he wants to do as he’s told. He’s never had that big of a rebellious phase, at least not as big as any of his friends. Dick doesn’t know why, but no matter what Bruce does to piss Dick off, Dick still feels obligated to do as he’s told. Doing his own thing in battle is one thing, but disobeying a direct order like the look Bruce is giving him right now sends shivers of discomfort through his entire being. 

Dick swallows and hops slowly onto the edge of the medical cot, grabbing the fabric of his tunic with his free hand as his other presses the useless rag against his forehead. 

Bruce nods, then turns to go through various tools that Dick doesn’t really know the names or uses of. There’s never really been a point to memorize medical terms before, not when either Alfred or Leslie are normally easily able to get a hold of. 

Now though, as Bruce pulls out an empty syringe and a clean needle, then pulls out a small brown bottle to dip the syringe in, he really wishes he'd at least asked more questions whenever someone took care of him in this room. 

“Bruce...”

Bruce grunts then lifts the syringe, flicking the base to get rid of the bubbles in the clear liquid. 

“Bruce, what is that?”

Dick really tries to not sound too scared or worried, but it’s hard to keep the shiver out of his voice when Bruce turns towards him with his cowl still up, his frown sill present, the needle still held ready in his hands.

Batman has scared Dick before. Many times. Sometimes, Batman loses himself in anger and Dick has to step back and breathe. 

But Bruce has never scared him. Not like this.

And somewhere at the back of his mind, he screams at himself that he shouldn’t be scared. He’s a teenager now. Teenagers like him don’t get scared.

But then Bruce takes a step forward and every cell in Dick’s body erupts into red.

Something is wrong. Something is very wrong. And Dick’s terrified to figure out what.

So, instead of sitting there and letting it happen, Dick throws the red dotted rag at Bruce's face and then ducks under his grabbing arms. Dick’s heart pounds in his throat as his cape is briefly tugged, but Dick thankfully manages to slip away and make a mad dash towards the manor.

“Robin!” Bruce—Batman?—shouts. But Dick doesn’t listen to the angry tone or the beginnings of heavy boots chasing him up the stairs. He keeps running until he’s through the grandfather clock and sprinting towards- towards where?

He doesn’t know where he should go.

Bruce’s feet pound on the metal stairs, and Dick decides to just run and think about specifics later. 

Eventually, Dick ends up running into his room and slamming the door closed behind him with his chest heaving for air. He’s just about to lock the door closed and hide in the small entrance to the ceiling in his closet, but then the handle of his door turns itself with a shocking force and then slams open. The wood of the door slams into Dick’s skull, not only reopening the just barely clotting cut, but making a dent of its own. Dick’s head spins as he goes down, red obscuring the vision of one of his eyes. He vaguely hears a sharp gasp, but he’s too focused on the black shadow descending upon him, too fixated on trying to scramble out from the metal fingers once again closing over his arms.

“-m sorry...” Bruce is saying. Apologizing. “I’m trying to help. Trying to keep you safe. This is why you have to do as I say...”

There’s the flash of a needle right in front of his blurry eyes, and Dick doubles his struggling, his heart practically hitting the backs of his teeth. However, it’s all useless when the needle breaks the skin of Dick’s neck and the cold, tingling liquid enters his system. Immediately, Dick feels twenty times more nauseous than when he was hit in the face with his bedroom door.

His struggles grow weaker against his will, and soon he’s being lifted so he’s cradled in Bruce’s arms; his nose pressed into the crook of his neck. Dick can smell Gotham on him. 

For a terrible second, he thinks Bruce will carry him through the rest of the house and back to the med bay, but then the world spins as he’s maneuvered into one arm, and then lowered onto his own bed. Bruce carefully pulls up Dick’s rumpled navy blue comforter and puts it over Dick’s body up to his chest. Dick’s still just aware enough to try and fight him, try and shove his too gentle hands away with whatever strength he has left after that mystery dosage of drugs. 

But then Dick’s wrists are grabbed, then lifted, then cuffed through the bars of his headboard. 

Dick’s so stunned that he hardly processes that Bruce is tucking him in until Bruce is leaning over him and pressing the comforter under Dick’s back.

Dick wants to kick him, yell at him, but he can hardly keep his eyes that focused anymore. Before he knows it, the blurry face of Bruce leans forward and runs his Kevlar clad hand through Dick’s hair, lifts his bangs, then presses a kiss just to the side of the double whammy of head wounds.

“You’ll be safe here,” Bruce says, running his thumb gently over the smarting cut, “I’ll be back, and I’ll make you feel better, okay?”

Dick’s stomach twists at those words and the plethora of meanings it could have. But his eyes are closing against his will and his toes are tingling. There’s the taste of iron on his tongue.

Before he knows it, he falls unconscious while Bruce turns and walks out of his bedroom.

-o-o-o-o-

When Dick wakes up, he... doesn’t hurt. He feels really good, actually. Considering. He blinks blurriness from his eyes and tests out the level of control he has over his body, and it’s surprisingly a lot more than what he expected. Whatever Bruce gave him, it must not have been too strong.

He bends his knees and wiggles his toes, then curls his numb fists besides his hips to feel the handcuffs have been replaced with soft, padded straps. Familiar straps. Looped over his wrists and ankles... another around his chest. Bruce must have taken off the restraints from the medical cot in the basement and brought them up here.

Which doesn’t surprise him as much as it probably should. In fact, what really catches his attention is that he’s no longer in his Robin uniform, but in his softest pair of pajamas. 

The observation sends shivers down his spine. It’s not like Bruce hasn’t assisted Dick in changing before... in their line of night-work, you sometimes get hit bad enough to not be able to move much, and it’s not a good idea to treat wounds or sleep in an outfit that’s been through the worst Gotham has to offer. But this? This feels awful. Vile... almost. His underwear has been changed, he can feel the hems around his thighs.

“Robin?” 

Dick tenses and turns his head. The motion causes his brain to spike with pain near his eye sockets, but it doesn’t hurt nearly as bad as it could. Besides him, Bruce sits, still in full Batman regalia with his cowl stubbornly over his head. Dick can see red markings near the bridge of his nose, proof that the cowl has been on longer than what it’s intended for.

Has Bruce been here the entire time? Just watching him?

“B‘rs..” Dick mumbles, then tugs on the straps on his wrists hidden beneath the comforter. “L’me go...”

Bruce frowns. “You’re still hurt... you’ll hurt yourself.”

Dick groans in frustration. His fingers don’t have that much control as he would like, but just from a little tugging Dick knows he’s not getting out of these unless someone lets him out. They’re bat-grade.

“But...” Dick tries, forcing his puffy feeling tongue to cooperate. “I have school...”

“I called you out...” Bruce replies. “Until you’re no longer hurt... until the city is safe...”

“It’s j’sta scratch, B. It’s-“

“You’re not leaving until you’re healed.”

Dick snaps his jaw shut with the biting tone of Bruce’s voice and stares at him with wide eyes. Bruce must notice his shock because his shoulders loosen and his lips twitch into... an apologetic smile.

“I’m not angry,” Bruce says, “I just want to protect you. Keep you safe. Do you understand?”

Dick has the feeling that he’s not leaving the bed whether he says he understands or not. So, instead, he just glares.

It doesn’t seem to phase Bruce too much. In fact, it does nothing to stop Bruce from bringing his hands up to Dick’s head and checking on the bandages there that Dick hadn’t even really processed until now. Dick tries to turn his neck away, but Bruce’s free hand latches onto his chin. Once Bruce makes a satisfied noise, he leans back and then grabs a bowl of something that was sitting unnoticed until now on Dick’s bedside table.

“I’m glad I predicted the time you would awake accurately,” Bruce says, stirring a metal spoon in the bowl. “It’s still hot.”

He takes the spoon out and sure enough there's a... spoonful of oatmeal. Dick can smell cinnamon. And it smells... good. Shockingly good. Dick the alien lady gives Bruce cooking skills?

Bruce brings the spoon closer to Dick’s mouth and immediately Dick turns his head. 

“Robin...” Bruce chides, and Dick curls his fists tighter. So tight he can feel his nails making crescent marks in his palms. He makes sure he doesn’t pierce skin though... because if Bruce is already being overwhelmingly concerned with his health because of a scratch...

Dick bites his lip. “I can feed myself.”

“It’s hot. You might burn yourself.”

“I can feed mys- mph-!”

Suddenly, there’s a spoon in his mouth, resting on top of his bottom teeth as the oatmeal just barely touches the roof of his mouth. He can feel the steam... but it’s not even that hot.

“Eat, Robin,” Bruce says.

Robin. That’s all Bruce has called him since this all began. He hasn’t gotten dressed out of his suit. He doesn’t look like he’s slept. It’s like he has a single purpose, and that’s to keep... Robin safe. 

Overwhelmingly safe.

This isn’t Bruce. This... this is brainwashing or possession or- or... but this isn’t Bruce. 

Dick slowly closes his mouth, heat and oats spreading across his taste buds as Bruce slides the spoon out of his mouth slowly to not drop any food or drool onto Dick’s chin. 

It tastes good. That doesn’t stop the blush of embarrassment that paints his cheeks and ears.

“Was it okay?” Bruce asks, and Dick swallows, then glares.

“Can we just get this over with?”

Bruce, once again, doesn’t seem offended by Dick’s snapping. He just smiles, grabs another spoonful, and blows on top of it. Dick feels like he’s going to be sick.

Instead, he opens his mouth again and allows this fake—definitely fake?—version of Bruce to spoon feed him until the bowl has been scrapped clean. 

Bruce sets the empty bowl down then smiles at Dick. Smiles. Dick firmly keeps his mouth shut. 

“I’m going to put the bowl away and make some lunch. After that, we can watch a movie?” Bruce stands up. Smiles wider. “How about that?”

Dick tugs on the straps around his wrists ever so slightly, frustration building up in his gut. He takes a deep breath. He needs to find a way out of this. He... can't let this continue. 

“Actually... I need to use the restroom.”

Bruce’s smile softens into sympathy. “Will you fight me? I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Will you hurt me?” Dick snaps back without really meaning to. Fortunately, it seems to be the right thing to say because a strong emotion passes over Bruce’s face. 

“No,” Bruce says, “never. I’ll never hurt you. But... Robin... you have to promise to not... disobey and get yourself hurt. Otherwise, I’ll be forced to get the catheter.”

Dick’s gut twists violently at that. 

Catheter. They have one of those?!

But he can’t just lay here and wait for this suffocatingly protective version of Bruce do this to him for much longer. He’s itching to move. Not just because this whole situation has his nerves fried to high heavens, but also because he’s been strapped down and rendered immobile even though he, by all means, is completely able to move.

Being forced to be still has always been something that gets him quickly uncomfortable. Even if it’s just very reluctant bedrest.

Dick resists a gulp. He’ll have to risk it. 

“I won’t disobey or hurt myself,” Dick promises.

Bruce regards him for a second, and after a moment it seems he finds whatever he was looking for and leans forward to grab on to the hem of his comforter. Bruce carefully pushes the comforter down to reveal the straps tightly wrapping around his body. Dick remains still as one by one the straps are loosened. 

Dick forces himself to not attempt to escape right then and there. Instead, he allows Bruce to take his hand and carefully help sit him up, his gloved thumbs rubbing gentle circles over his sore wrists.

Bruce talks him through standing up again, guiding him on how slow to go to not cause the blood to rush from his head and make himself dizzy. Once he’s standing, Bruce’s grips on the small of his back and on his elbow, his head pounds for just a second. Probably from being hit in the head with a door... he probably just has a small goose bump. Bruce would never panic about something like that.

Bruce begins to walk him across the room, mumbling comforts and encouragements that aren’t needed during the walk into Dick’s bathroom. For a horrifying second, Dick thinks Bruce is going to attempt to help him, but with a barely contained relieved sigh Bruce simply sits him down on the toilet and explains that he’ll be waiting outside the door, and to call when Dick’s done.

The second the door clicks shut, Dick scrambles to his feet, careful of how his knees and fingers still feel slightly lethargic thanks to the drugs. But it’s nothing, Dick’s felt worse and has done a lot cooler flips and tricks with harsher head injuries. Way cooler tricks than climbing over the toilet to open the small, foggy glass window.

He opens the window and pokes his head outside, frowning at the height between himself and the ground. It’s a long drop. He’ll have to carefully scale the brick walls and window sills to make it down. He looks over towards where his bedroom windows are and then settles his gaze on the tree placed right next to his bedroom. He used to use that tree all the time to sneak out. If he’s slow and cautious, he should be able to just scale the wall to his bedroom, avoiding the windows Bruce can see out of, and then safely make his way down the branches of the tree.

With his mind made up, Dick stretches his fingers then steps onto the toilet tank to heft his upper body out the window. It’s a tight squeeze, but manageable if he turns to just the right angle-

“Robin!”

Shit.

Dick does his best to scramble out of the window as quickly as he can, but a heavy hand wraps around his ankle just as he’s about to fully exit. Before Dick knows it, he’s being dragged back inside, his struggling and kicking going ignored. 

Dick doesn’t allow himself to give up there, the second he’s back inside the bathroom, he throws the hardest punch he can against Bruce’s jaw. His bare knuckles hurt almost immediately, but he ignores it in favor of squirming out of Bruce’s shocked grasp and bolting out the bathroom door.

He doesn’t make it far before two arms wrap around his middle and he’s dragged down to the floor from the weight slamming into his back. Dick’s chin slams against the floor and he bites the corner of his tongue with a help. Bruce is over 250 pounds at least with the Batman armor, and all of it is laying on top of him. Practically suffocating him.

He wheezes and claws at the carpet below his body. “Buh- Bruce- You’re hurting me!”

He can feel Bruce tense above him at those words, and for a hopeful second Dick thinks he’s gotten through to him...

But then Bruce tightens his grip, forcing Dick up and against his chest. “It’s for your own good,” Bruce says, and it sounds like he’s trying to convince himself as well as Dick.

Soon, Dick’s lifted in Bruce’s hold, his feet swinging on the ground thanks to his cursed shortness when Bruce stands fully up. Bruce turns towards the damn bed and Dick snaps. He kicks and struggles and punches, but Bruce seems to not be affected, or maybe he just doesn’t care. Before Dick knows it, he’s thrown onto the bed and Dick’s heart jumps to his throat.

He tries to roll off, but his wrist is grabbed and he’s forced to his back. With expert movements, the first cuff is back on, and Dick screams in frustration.

He uses his free hand to grab at Bruce's face, then uses his legs to kick and knee Bruce’s body as hard as he can, but it’s all useless. Soon enough, Dick’s pinned back to the mattress of his bed, each strap exactly back to where they were before. Dick takes a deep breath and glares at Bruce. 

“Let me go.”

Bruce shakes his head and double checks the restraints. “I told you to follow instructions, Robin, I told you what would happen if you didn’t listen.”

And not for the first time, real fear curdles in his stomach. Only, this time it’s so much worse. “Bruce, no-“

Bruce has the audacity to give him a sympathetic look. “Stay here, I’ll be back with the catheter.”

Bruce stands up and pulls the bedsheet over Dick’s body. Dick tugs on his restraints desperately as Bruce begins to walk away. “Bruce! Batman! Stop! I-I’m sorry I-“

The door closes and Dick groans, tugging harder against the straps. He isn’t going anywhere. He’s completely powerless. 

He’s so frustrated that tears begin to swell in his eyes. He strains against the straps just to bring his shoulder up to his cheek and attempts to wipe away the moisture before any tears can fall, but even that is difficult to do. 

He wants this to stop. He wants Bruce back. The normal Bruce. And isn’t that pathetic? He’s a teenager. Sixteen years old and crying because his dad- his guardian isn’t acting right. It has to have been something the alien lady did, Bruce wouldn’t act like this normally. He wouldn’t strap Dick down just because of a cut, he wouldn’t escort him to the bathroom, he wouldn’t grab a fucking catheter just because Dick was misbehaving. 

He wouldn’t care this much about Dick’s safety.

He forces himself to relax and to quit struggling in the padded straps. All he’s doing is irritating his wrists and ankles. There’s nothing he can do. Bruce will come back and- and Dick will just have to wait this out until someone notices something is wrong. Until Alfred comes home... 

Will Dick really be stuck like this for a week? How long does it take for minor cuts to heal? Is Bruce going to make Dick wait until his skin is smooth and there’s no scabbing? No trace of it left?

He doesn’t want to wait that long. 

He really doesn’t want to.

All too soon, the door opens back up and Bruce is holding a bag full of equipment. Urinary Catheters aren’t ever bulky and are normally able to be hidden in someone’s clothes, so maybe Bruce has brought even more equipment just in case Dick misbehaves in other ways. 

“I’m going to sedate you,” Bruce explains, opening the bag to reveal exactly what Dick expected. Tubes. Dick’s gut twists. “So you won’t be uncomfortable during the procedure.”

“Don’t do it. Please.”

Bruce doesn’t answer, just digs out the supplies he needs. Once the tubing and bags are laid out, Bruce grabs a needle and that same brown bottle as before.

Dick clenches his teeth and glares at the ceiling. Man up, Grayson. It’s just a catheter. People get them all the time. From the looks of it, it’s not even one that will go through the skin of his stomach. It’s just going to be inserted through his...

Man up, Grayson.

It’ll be fine.

Bruce approaches and rubs a cool cloth at the base of Dick’s neck. Dick brings his hands into fists and closes his eyes. 

Right as the point of a needle touches the base of his neck, something shocking happens.

His bedroom door bursts open, and there stands none other than Hal Jordan in full Green Lantern regalia, eyes wild behind his mask and his ring practically flaming on his finger. Before Bruce can even do anything, a bright bolt of green launches across the room and hits Bruce straight on, sending the man flying.

“Bruce!” Dick shouts as he crumples to the floor. Somewhere at the back of his brain, he knows that Bruce isn’t hurt, not with the visibly lowered power of the blast combined with Batman’s armor, and he also knows that Hal is here to help, but he can’t help but worry as Bruce groans on the floor, steam rising from his suit. Hal doesn’t give Bruce a chance to recover, he creates a small bubble around Bruce and traps him there, and then rushes over to Dick to undo the straps.

“I’m sorry,” Hal practically blubbers, hands shaking over the straps to unlock them. Dick shakes his head and sits up the moment he’s free enough to do so.

He looks at Bruce on the floor and clutches his stomach. “What’s wrong with him?”

“He was... persuaded to hyper-fixate on something he cares about,” Hal explains, not really looking like he understood it fully himself. “The Tralleine thought it was amusing... I’m sorry it took so long for me to get back, she wouldn’t talk until I was there.”

So the alien lady did cause this. Tralleine. Dick’s never heard of that species before. Not for the first time, Dick thinks about how cool of a job Hal has that allows him to fly through space and meet so many aliens all the time. 

“Can we fix him?” Dick asks.

Hal smiles. “Yeah, kiddo, yeah we can fix him. You want to come to the Watchtower with us?”

Dick nods, then allows Hal to take his hand. Before Dick knows it, he’s sitting at the Watchtower, eating some pie Clark brought over, and waiting for someone to come get him and tell him Bruce is Bruce again.

It takes hours, but soon enough, Dick’s bursting into the medical ward of the space station and immediately locking his gaze on Bruce. Bruce finally has his cowl pulled down, and his bare chest is wrapped thanks to the bruising and burns he has because of Hal’s energy blast.

But he’s there. He’s there and looking at Dick with such guilt and relief, that Dick doesn’t think. He just runs forward and wraps his arms around Bruce’s neck and squeezes. 

“I’m sorry, chum,” Bruce whispers. Strong arms curl around his back.

“It’s okay,” Dick replies into the corner of his neck.

“He needs plenty of rest,” another voice chimes in, and Dick turns to find Clark walking into the room with Hal standing behind. “Don’t over do it, Bruce.”

“I won't,” Bruce replies, still holding Dick as tightly as he dares. 

“We’d prefer it if you stayed in bed until the bruising fades, but I understand-“

Bruce cuts Clark off with a shake of his head. “It’s okay. I can stay in bed for a while.”

Clark smiles in understanding, and Hal shifts nervously behind him.

“Sorry,” Hal bursts, “I didn’t mean for this to happen, and I should have known something like this could happen and-“ 

And Dick laughs and Bruce chuckles. “Just don’t come to Gotham uninvited again, Jordan,” Bruce replies.

“Yeah, nothing bad happened,” Dick adds, “don’t sweat it. You’ll just have to make it up to me.”

Bruce goes silent like he thinks something bad happened and Dick makes a mental note to convince him that he’s seriously fine. Instead, he begins to list the things Hal can do to make it up to Dick and Bruce, like a space trip or a cool rock from a cool planet or maybe even an alien pet, and he can feel the tension in the room beginning to fall.

Today was scary, that’s for sure, but Dick bounces back easily. He’ll just have to make sure Bruce bounces back with him.

[notyetneedcoffee]

Okay, picture this: You and Bucky are hanging out at a party, enjoying your time. You are teasing him, hoping for him to just pull you away from the party and having his way with you, but he won't budge. After a few minutes, you get mad and stomp off, but before you can get to your room Bucky is there pulling you inside his. The whole night Bucky has you screaming for him. And if you could write this, I want it to be as dirty as possible. I want name-calling, cumshots, him using you as his toy

Try this on....

You Win

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, Nothing but smut

Sixteen days, eleven hours and forty-seven minutes. Damn it. Was this stupid bet even worth it?

You shifted in the bar stool just a little, legs crossing a bit tighter.  Your nails tapped on the shiny surface, impatient for the bartender to bring you a fresh double Irish whiskey. The party going on did nothing to distract you from the sexual frustration coiled up in your belly like an over wound watch. Bastard didn’t even seem to notice.  

He laughed easily on the other side of the room, shooting pool with Sam and Cap. If anything, he looked more relaxed than he usually did. It was a lie. It had to be. You saw the door handle to the terrace from yesterday morning after all. Catching you and Nat doing yoga in the sun was enough for him to bend the steel in on itself.  

“Hey mamma,” Clint slid up next to you, wrapping a casual arm over your shoulder. “What’s with the look?”

“What look?” A brilliantly fake smile greeted him.

He only laughed. “Oh, that’s how it is?” He leaned even closer, breathing in your ear. “You and Barnes still haven’t broken yet, have you?”

“Clint.” You groaned.  

He laughed again, pulling ever so slightly at the edge of your black wrap dress. “Do think he realizes you’re wearing a corset under this thing?” Your eyebrows shot up. His hands lifted in surrender. “Hey! I’m observant. That’s my job.”

Your laugh mingled with his. “Well, well.” Clint turned his head to the side with a sly smile. “That got his attention.”

Bucky stared directly at you, face unreadable, broken pool cue in hand. You moistened your lips with a wet tongue and smiled at him before turning away. You patted Barton on the butt as you walked away with your drink. “Thanks, Clint.”

Near the pool tables, a small group stood in conversation. Natasha waved you over. Bucky made sure you couldn’t miss the view as he leaned over to take a shot. Legs spread and thighs strong, his ass looked magnificent. Just before he stood upright, you skimmed by with a light “excuse me” and brushed your pelvis against him. He growled.

After a moment of conversation, you finally caught Bucky staring at you once again. Accidentally on purpose bumping Natasha’s arm, your cocktail napkin fell to the floor. Bending to pick it, at just the right angle, Bucky was granted a full view down the front of your dress from corset bodice to lace panties.  

That placement took planning. It paid off, too. As he took a powerful step forward, you thought “game over”. Bucky stopped. You swallowed hard when he took a deep breath and calmly walked in the opposite direction. Shit.

Now he would avoid you. He’d go calm down. Take a cold shower. Shit.  

Clint saddled up between you a Nat. “Crash and burn, huh?”

You swallowed back the last of your drink. “Fuck off.”

There was no more sense staying at the party.  The music and noise just became annoying. You dropped your empty glass at the bar and didn’t even bother saying goodnight to anyone on your way out.  A few people meandered in the halls, but no one else was around on the elevator and the residential levels.

As you approached Bucky’s door you wondered if he was in there taking a cold shower. You’d be happy to warm him up. No. You would keep walking.  

You barely heard the door open before strong arms lifted you off your feet and hauled you inside. The door slammed closed. Bucky’s arms held you locked immobile, your back against his chest. You felt his nose rub up against your neck. He inhaled deeply.  

“You’re wearing the same perfume as the first night we fucked.” He rumbled.  

“So glad you noticed.” You smiled wickedly as Bucky’s metal hand clamped around your throat.  

“Then there’s this.” He freed your torso long enough to rip the dress. It pooled to the ground. He ran his hand over the black silk of the corset. “Son of bitch, Doll. So damn sexy.”

The sound of a knife sliding free of its sheath set your heartbeat racing. Bucky’s growled into your ear. “But it’s got to go.”

The knife slipped through the ties. You felt the corset release, felt the steel against your flesh. A nasty laugh bubbled past the hand at your throat, your voice like silk. “Does this mean I win the bet?”  

Bucky slammed you around, back against the door, knee between your legs. His thigh rubbed against your sensitive clit. His mouth devoured yours in a brutal kiss, tongues battling and teeth biting. Taking your nipple between his fingers, he pinched it hard.  

“You may have won the battle, but I’m taking the spoils.” Capturing both your hands he held them over your head with just one of his. His other slid between your legs, strong fingers slipping through your wetness and delving deep. “I’m going to fuck you every way I want to, and you are going to say yes.”

His hand pumped a rapid beat in your cunt, wet and sloppy. Your knees weakened and you moaned.  

“Answer me.” Bucky breathed in your ear, hand pausing. “Are you my bitch tonight?”

“Yes.” Fuck that was hot.  

Bucky lifted you up, your legs going around his waist. He carried you to the bedroom and tossed you on the mattress. Kicking off his shoes and stripping off his clothes, he crawled on the bed to sit back on his heels. Your tongue wet your lips as he stroked his hard cock. “Come here.”

Crawling forward you licked you way up Bucky’s cock. You were teasing. Bucky took you by the hair and you took him in your mouth fully. His hips snapped up, cock hitting the back of your throat. Saliva ran down his shaft, soaking his balls.  

“Take it.” He growled. “Fuck. So good.”

Bucky pulled you away, and threw you to the bed. One hand went to your belly and the other dove between your legs. He knew exactly how to touch you, how rough he could get. You began to writhe beneath his hold. “Come for me, Dollface.”

“Oh god, Buck!”  

He pushed down on your pelvis, finger working hard against your g spot. You squirmed and mewed. His hand didn’t stop even as your body shook a squirted across his hands. Bucky growled, “Fuck, yes. I do this to you. I make you come apart. Me.”

“Yes.” You breathed.  

Bucky flipped you over, face into the mattress. His hand came down across your ass with a hard crack. You gasped. The shift from blissful sensation to pain set your nerves on fire. Shit. Yes. His fingers dug into your hips lifting your ass into the air.  

His hand came down again. Crack! You cried out. “Yes!”

You felt the tip of his cock against you. Your hips rocked back, but he held you firm. “You want it?”

“Yes.”

“Say it.”  

“Fuck me.” You cried. “Sink your cock in me, Buck, please.”  

He did. Hard. As deep as could. Growling, he pounded into you. Skin slapping on skin. So full. Every nerve on fire. The tension building. Bucky took a handful of hair, arching your back. You felt another orgasm building. But he pulled away.

Buck flipped you over, burying his face between your legs. He lapped and sucked, sounding lewd and sinful. “Fucking sweet.”

He crawled back up your body, pining you knees to your shoulders.  

“Two goddamn weeks,” he sunk his cock in you.  

“More than two weeks.” Bucky kept pounding into you.  

“Been seeing you, sexy as fuck.” His hips smacked against your ass. 

“Wanted to touch you.” His voice came out in a growl.  

“Needed to fuck you.” Your body shook.  

“Had to be inside you.” You cried out, climaxing again.

“Had to fill this sweet, fucking cunt up.” His hips snapped, coming hard.

“Yes,” Bucky breathed, pulling back and watching his cock slide out of you. Smiling at the slippery mess. Breathing in the scent. “Damn, you are amazing.”

He released your legs, placing an open mouth kiss on your leg, on your belly, on your breasts, and throat. You pulled him close, drinking in his kiss until he collapsed beside you.  

“That was...” You felt boneless.

“Yeah, Doll.” Bucky smiled at you, relaxed and sex drunk. “But we are never, ever, placing that bet again.”

[heath-ur]

00Q Kinktober - Day 10

Prompt List ; Ao3 Pairing: Bond x Q  Prompt: Dirty Talk Warnings: Smut, No Beta

Bond’s POV. For the first time! And I can’t keep plot from train-wrecking this. Oh well. You can skip to below the ~*~ if you’re here for smut and not for Q’s cats.

James lets himself into Q’s flat using the keyfob the boffin had given him after the last time he’d slept over nearly 2 weeks ago. At the time, he’d been a little surprised at the trust, but Q had explained patiently that the only things of importance he kept in his flat were his cats and his teas. The prior James was too besotted with to ever hurt and the second was beneath his notice. Q strived hard to keep his work and personal life separate, selections of previous and current partners excluded, so the only electronics that held any sensitive data were the tablet and laptop he kept on his person.  

Q had continued on as if he hadn’t shown James his throat, “Besides, the cats miss you something terrible when you’re away on mission. This way, you can come visit even if I’m still at the office.”

Well, he was back from another mission. And he could admit to himself that he missed a certain boffin and his two ridiculously cute cats. So here he was at 7 in the morning, letting himself in.

The cats were quick to clamber to the door - Gambit and Zugzwang both, even though the little tuxedo tabby was less curious than his bicolored brother - and rub against his crisped trousers. James slips the door closed quickly so Gambit couldn’t escape and bends down to scoop up little Zug to give his chin some clucks before he gets too shy. 

Q must not be awake yet - they wouldn’t be so expressive if they’d been loved on yet.

There is a moan from the couch that has James on alert, but he keeps his body relaxed so as not to concern Zuggy - the poor thing was so high-strung as it was; he didn’t need more stress in his life. He gently places the cat into the little cave portion of the cat tower that took up a good quarter of the living room wall and faces the possible intruder sleeping on the couch. 

The man has on a rumpled suit and his face pressed into the back of the couch. Just off a bender, then. James tries to keep his sense of jealousy in check. When it was just fun and games, he hadn’t minded the thought of Q with someone else - he certainly had more than his fair share of sexual partners. But then Q had told him about Alec and told Alec that they were it. And Alec and James had agreed - honeypots only. Q’d given him a keyfob to his home, for chrissakes. So this man couldn’t be a one-night-stand. He couldn’t be, but James wanted to murder him anyways. 

As if the man could sense James’ murderous thoughts, he pulls his face back enough to squint at the form over him. His face goes through several facial expressions - confusion, fear, concern - before settling into into a blank mask of ‘fuck it’. 

“Tanner,” James recognizes him now. He schools his mask into something a little more pleasant. The man was straight and 100% in love with his wife - Elenore or Elizabeth. El-something. 

“Q!” Tanner calls out, then whines in pain as it makes his headache worse. He keeps going, though. “Q! Please call off your menace of a bookend!”

After a few thumps and stumbles from the bedroom, Q comes to lean against the door jam, hair disarrayed, scrubbing his bare eyes, sleep pants slung low. “There’s no need to shout, and Gambit isn’t a menace. He just wants love. And they aren’t identical, why must you come up with weird twin references? Why are so you insistent about hating my cats, Bill? They...oh.” He’s opened his eyes and is staring at James before a smile takes over his face. “Welcome home, James.”

James can’t help but smile back, “I’m home. I thought I’d pop over to see my favorite kitten,” He steps over to Zuggy to pet him as he says it, but from the corner of his eye he can see how flushed Q becomes. “I wasn’t expecting you to have company.”

Q shrugs, “Some of us from the office went out last night. The ladies - R and Moneypenny - decided to leave us when I’d ceased to be amusing.” 

Tanner makes a noise in the back of his throat. “They did want to know how much you remembered in the morning.” 

Q squints in Tanner’s direction, “Enough. My retribution will be swift and devastating.” 

Tanner pales, but James isn’t sure if that is due to Q’s threat or his hangover. Either way, the man excuses himself from the flat as soon as he has his shoes on and tells Q he’ll see him tomorrow. Q grunts in his direction and stumbles up to James to press his head into James’ shoulder to block out the light. 

James finds himself curling his hands in Q’s hair gently, teasing the tangles out in small sections as they begin to sway. Gambit presses between their feet in a bid for attention, but James ignores him for now. 

Q makes a fussy sound when James begins leading him back to bed, but allows the manhandling like he always does. In moments, James has the curtains closed against the light and they’re both curled under the covers, Q clinging to James’ pectoral. 

~*~

When James wakes next, it’s to Q wiggling in his arms. As he lets go, Q shoots out of bed and to the bathroom. The sound is pissing, not vomiting, so James lays back and tucks his arms under his head and waits patiently for the boffin to finish his morning routine and feel more human again. 

Q easily clambers back into the bed and leans over for a kiss, breath minty and eyes clear. “Welcome home. Or have I said that already?” 

James chuckles and kisses Q a few more times. “You’ve already said, but I don’t mind hearing it again. DId you have a good night?” 

Q wrinkles his nose and presses his morning erection into James’ hip. “They got me drunk and began interrogating me over the both of you. I’ll need to infiltrate their mobiles later to make sure they didn’t make a recording, the ungrateful bints.” 

James cages Q in and reverses their positions, “Oh? What naugthy things did you say about us?”

Q scoffs. “They just wanted to know if the both of you were proportionate, how fit you were. Things like that.” He rolls his hips. “I didn’t say anything about our previous… hmm, encounters. Although Moneypenny was there when I first met Alec. And R knew why I was slipping away into my office that one time.” 

James lowers his mouth to kiss Q’s cheeks, the hinge of his jaw, his neck. He murmurs in Q’s ear, “So you didn’t tell them about how I pressed you against a wall so tight that all you could do was squirm to get off?” He presses his thigh in tight against Q’s cock as a reminder, relishing in Q’s moan, in the nails scraping across his back. 

“You didn’t tell them how you went to your knees for Alec within minutes of meeting him?” James bites down on a particularly pretty patch of neck. Q bucks up in shock, whimpering. James continues, “You didn’t tell them how you worked him over so well he pulled on your pretty curls so hard he thought he’d accidentally hurt you - until you asked oh so sweetly for more?” Q whines high in his throat, flush blooming in his cheeks and down his neck and chest, crawling down further in blotches and spots. His eyes were glazed, only a ring of green to be seen around the saucers of his pupils. 

“James… James please,” Q begs so gently - completely at opposition to the scratching and pulling of his hands. 

“Do you like that, darling? Do you like to know that we talk about our feisty kitten when we’re away? That we share what we like best? What you like best?” James immobilizes Q’s hands in  one of his, keeping them above their heads. At the same time, he shifts his weight to press the palm of his free hand down hard on Q’s chest just centered against his collarbones. He keeps his eyes focused on Q’s face, to make sure that he’s up for it. 

Q keens and thrashes, but no matter how hard he bucks, he can’t switch their positions. He doesn’t want to - James can see that in his face, in the way that Q’s lips are curling upwards at the same time that tears gather in his eyes. Oh, this perfect little force of nature. James grinds his cock next to Q’s, tensing his abs so Q gets the rub of those muscles he likes so much. 

James sucks and bites a ring of bruises against Q’s neck, just above his hand where they will be covered by a shirt later. “Alec was so upset that he couldn’t show me the beautiful bruises he left in his kitten’s skin to remember him by. Instead, he told me in detail about those cute little hiccups you make when you cried… and all I could think of was how much you cried when I had you in this bed for the first time. Do you remember? You struggled just like this before you let it go for me. Will you let go?” 

Q fusses and cries, he drums his feet like he had that first time, but soon enough he stops his false struggling and melts into the bed. James groans and ruts into the hollow of Q’s hip.

“So good for me,” He croons. “So good for us. Alec told me how much of a mess you left on that sofa.” He chuckles. “Wasn’t it the same one Tanner just spent the night on?” Q gasps and whines but keeps himself still, letting James do as he pleases. “Hmm... “ James sighs into Q’s skin. “Yeah, just like this, baby. Listen to you,” James coos and starts a rhythm with his hips. “Feel what a mess you’re making between us. Won’t you make it a little messier? For me, darling? I can’t wait to tell Alec what a good boy you’ve been for us.”

Q’s moan tapers out in surprise as he comes, thighs and arms tensing before becoming lax again. The extra slick and heat, along with the feeling of Q boneless and trusting below him, is enough to send James over the edge as well. 

James doesn't hesitate to drop most of his weight down on the slighter man as he takes time to catch his breath and stretch out his arms. Q tsks but only wraps James closer as soon as he has his hands free, raising his knees to better fit James between his thighs.  

Once the come between them begins to cool and congeal, James sighs but pulls away to go get a wet flannel from Q’s connected loo. When he comes back into the room, Q is still belly-up, but his face is covered by a pillow and his arms, as if he’s trying to smother himself. James pads up quietly and begins cleaning up the mess, leaning down to leave a kiss on Q’s nipple. Q squeaks but otherwise doesn’t move. 

“Too much?” James asks gently as he lays back into the bed, propping himself up on one arm.

Q mumbles. 

“Run that past me again?” 

Q lifts the pillow to expose his mouth and nose, but keeps his eyes hidden. “Good. Just…You two really do talk about me, don’t you?”

James laughs gently. “Did you not believe us?” He slips his hands down and around Q’s skin in random patterns. “We’ve said similar things before.” 

Q’s blush returns and he squirms, but he raises the pillow to squint in James’ direction. “Not like that, you haven’t.” His voice sounds both cross and embarrassed. 

James pauses his hand. “Would you prefer we stopped now that we know we’re speaking about the same person? Or would you just prefer that I don’t tell you?”

Q looks up to the ceiling. “No…. no. You can keep doing both. I just… didn’t realize how it would make me feel.” James begins his hand again and snuggles up closer. 

“That feeling is good, though?”

Q sighs and finally loses all of his tension. “Yes. Very… good.” 

James doesn’t miss how Q’s mostly-soft cock twitches in remembrance, and grins to himself. “Does this mean you’ll let us take pictures?”

Q makes an offended sound and tries to push James out of bed.

[mageicalwishes]

Read on AO3: Here

Rating: Teen And Up 

Summary: "But then, before I even knew what was happening, she was kissing me back. And Crowley, I swear I melted. She tasted of cigarette smoke and spiced rum - Like fire personified.”

Carry On Countdown, Day 6 - WLW (Women Love Women) @carryon-countdown​

Tags: Unrequited Love, Friends With Benefits, Implied Sexual Content (Never Actually Described Though), Pining, Watford Eight Year, Slight Angst, Everyone Is Over 18 Just To Be 1000% Clear, Carry On Countdown 2020 Day 6

Words: 1,580

Ebb

The first time it happened was New Year's Day. We’d stumbled back into our room from our impromptu party on the Lawn with Nicky (After her sister came out and yelled at us), when she suggested that we dance. It was stupid, really - Flinging ourselves about to The Doors, our booze-addled minds incapable of keeping a beat - but it was fun. So fun. She was giggling loudly, spinning me around the room with reckless disregard for our neighbours. And I just couldn’t stop smiling. Everything felt so … big - So light and bold. I didn’t think - I didn’t even know how it happened - I just … did it. 

I’d been thinking about it for months. I’d always known that I liked girls (Well, ever since I figured out what my weird obsession with Kate Bush really was), and then the Crucible went and gave me her. With her copper skin and her salt and pepper waves, that near permanently raised slitted eyebrow; it was impossible not to fall. I’d been infatuated with her since the start, but I’d never actually intended to act on it. I mean, for Merlin’s sake, Ebb, use your brain! But, in that moment, I was drunk enough that I didn’t care to be cautious. I just wanted. I didn’t think about the embarrassment, or the risk, or the rejection. I just thought of her. I let it all go and just did it. I kissed her. Finally.

She stiffened at first, clearly shocked, and my mind snapped back to normality at a sickening pace, desperately trying to recall a memory spell potent enough to erase everything.  But then, before I even knew what was happening, she was kissing me back. And Crowley, I swear I melted. She tasted of cigarette smoke and spiced rum - Like fire personified. And she was so confident with it, working her jaw against mine as she knot her hands in the roots of my hair (I don’t know, maybe she snogged girls all the time. It definitely seemed like she knew what she was doing, and she was always going on about how fit Chrissie Hynde is). Unprepared for reciprocation, I was at a loss. So, I just lay my head back against the wall and let her go - Let her give me everything that I’d been craving. 

And then, as she trailed hot kisses down my neck, she offered me everything - Wrapping her hands around my wrists and tugging them downwards, pressing my palms to the backs of her thighs.

“What do you want?” she’d said, voice low and heady. 

Christ. What did I want? I didn’t even know (Well … I mean, I kind of did, but I couldn’t bring myself to tell her, even with all the Whiskey). But she was asking. Her skin was warm and soft and real in my hands, and she was offering it all to me. I could’ve just … taken it. But I didn’t want it to be like that - Blurry eyed and spur of the moment. So I shook my head.

“I do want to. I just … another time? I want - I think that we should wait” 

Taking a step back she’d smiled, soft and uncharacteristically apologetic. “Alright. Another time. Wanna just go to bed? I think I may have had a bit too much, I’ve got a fucking massive headache.”

Truthfully, I didn’t really want to sleep, despite the increasing heaviness of my eyelids. I wanted to go back to dancing - To pretending that everything was normal. I wanted to spend more time with this Fiona. But I agreed.

Yet, despite my woe, when I came back from the bathroom, she was laid out on my bed, boots and jeans still firmly in place. Unsure, I stood frozen in the doorway, staring at the curve of her back against my sheets until she started laughing at me, lifting up the duvet in invitation.

“Come on, Ebby,” she’d teased. “Don’t go all shy on me,”

So … I went for it, slipping into bed beside her and taking her in my arms; drifting into sleep with the taste of fire still heavy on my lips.

I assumed that it would be over after that - Her promise of ‘Another time’ doomed to go undelivered. Just a mad one-off - but, to my surprise, it continued. We weren’t … anything proper, not really (I mean, she didn’t look at me the same way that she looked at Nicky). But it was something. 

Every now and then she’d come into our room with that wicked glint in her eye, and I knew that I was lost. She’d have me boneless, kissing up my thighs and muttering all kinds of wild things into my ear, before I even had time to wrap my head around why. (My mother would’ve be so disappointed if she’d found out what we were up. She’d always said that the ‘Pitch girl’ was a bad influence). But I needed it. I liked it. 

Alas, I couldn’t stop myself from wanting more. From wanting something real. Something more than just … messing about.

She’d never really shown an interest in having a ‘real’ relationship before, always preferring quick, non-committal flings (Half of which were based off of nothing more than the desire to piss off her parents), but for a mad moment, I convinced myself that maybe she’d make an exception for me.

She was always softer with me when we were like that - Holding me tight against her at night, and reassuring me when I thought I was getting things wrong. But, it went beyond that. Even on days when we wouldn’t have our ‘fun’, she’d still sneak into my bed to cuddle, or press kisses to my clammy forehead when I got one of my cursed migraines. It was … strange. It was if, once we opened that door to intimacy, she couldn’t help herself from creeping through it, even in situations where ‘friends’ would almost certainly draw the line. And then … there was my birthday. 

She’d woken me up at the crack of dawn, jumping on my bed, still in her knickers and worn Queen pyjama shirt, shouting about ‘exciting plans’. And then, after breakfast, she’d driven me out into the countryside and led me into a barn filled with goats and sheep, where she’d set us up a little picnic with pizza, and hot chocolate, and strawberries (She’d even gone so far as to bake me a little ginger cake). “I know it smells like shit in here,” she’d said. “But I thought you’d appreciate the company.”

I’ll admit that, in spite of the gesture, I was a little apprehensive at first. But, after she explained that the farm belonged to her ‘Sister’s pet’ (Which I can only assume was the Fiona way of saying ‘husband’), I soon relaxed. And then, it was lovely. 

We danced, and talked, and laughed, and played with the animals (Fi tried to feed a lamb a piece of pepperoni but I managed to convince her not to). She told me all about her new nephew and I told her about the time me and Nicky accidentally turned our nanny blue. It was friendly. It was nice. And then … she kissed me - Unrushed and to no purpose - and it was perfect. 

So, when she finally had to go (Off to her pre-arranged birthday drinks date with Nicky), I couldn’t find it in myself to dampen the day with the appropriate amount of jealousy. Instead, I left floating far above Cloud Nine, that small, nagging part of my mind teasing me with a hopeful ‘What If?’, despite my better judgement. 

Consumed by the prospect of more, a few weeks before the end of term - Before the end of Watford - I bit the bullet and initiated that regrettable ‘What are we?’ conversation. She’d just laughed, like I was being utterly absurd, in her usual, unbothered way and set me straight with a simple “We’re friends, Ebb. Best friends. Don’t stress yourself out by overcomplicating things, it’s just a bit of fun. Relax. Let yourself enjoy it.”

I was in a foul mood for weeks after that. Even though I knew that that’s all it was - That my foolish, growing love could only ever be one-sided - hearing it hit me like a curse. Left me wounded - Bitter, and broken, and bruised. 

She didn’t know, of course - About the depth of my feelings (I guess I wasn’t as unsubtle as I thought, after all). While she may have a bit of a negative reputation, what with her famously short temper and record-breaking list of detentions, Fi wasn’t cruel. Not to me. Never to me. She didn’t say it to be harsh, or to cut me down, she said it because it was true. ‘Just friends’. Only ever ‘Just friends’

Thinking back, I should’ve stopped it right then and there (It would’ve saved me a lot of heartache). But … I couldn’t give her up. Even though the messy, undefined greyness of the ‘relationship’ that we found ourselves in was so far from what I really wanted, I took it all greedily - Our ‘benefits’ my subpar consolation prize. Her distant touch a hollow shadow of what I longed for. Sometimes it felt like it was tearing me to pieces. Sometimes it felt like it was the only thing holding me together. Sometimes it felt like nothing at all. Like I said … Fiona Pitch is fire personified. And I’d let her burn me a thousand times. 

[rhabakoli]

Targets On Their Backs

So, here it is, Part two of this HC by one of @dreamwritesimagines followers, bc I can’t seem to stop myself.  It’s about 2.2k words, 4 pages long, and it’s quite... something. 

Also, if anyone has a better title, shoot. 

Gala and Ubbe had moved Ragnars bed into the new room, while you were walking around in circles, holding you son to your chest and humming softly, trying to keep him calm and quiet. He had started fussing, when Eitr flew out the door. The bird had yet to come back, which made him restless. Ubbe sat on a chair, feet on the table and played with his dagger, his axe on his lap. Even you, inexperienced in war and fighting as you were, could tell what he was doing. “Do you think there’ll be another attack tonight?” He scoffed. “If there’s more than just the one assassin, they’d be mad to try. But I’m still not leaving until someone is here, who can at least throw a dagger.” “I can throw a dagger.”, you murmured. You almost accidentally hit your husband, but who had to know. As it was, you still were glad he wouldn’t leave. “Thank you, Ubbe.” 

He made a dismissing gesture. “You’re family. I can’t let anything happen to you.” Gala put the last furs on the bed and then came over to you. “Do you need anything else, before I go?” You smiled at her. “No, thank you, Gala. Get home and rest, today has been… well.” She nodded, gave Ragnar a little wave and was about to leave the room when Hvitserk stepped in, his arms laden with books. They almost collided but he reacted quickly, shifted the weight in his arms and steadied Gala by grabbing her shoulder. “Excuse me, I didn’t see you, Pri-” “It’s Hvitserk.” One corner of his lips pulled upwards. “I don’t like when you call me by my title. I’ve told you before.” “Yes, Hvitserk.” He lit up when she said her name and then went to put the books on your table. “You’re gonna stay here for a while, I thought you might like to have your books here.” “Thank you.” You noticed Gala turning towards the door once again. “Hvitserk, won’t you join Gala on her way home? I am not comfortable with her being alone after the attack.” He didn’t need much convincing. Gala looked at you with wide eyes, before blushing and pulling her cloak closer around her shoulders. Your brother-in-law motioned to the door and bent slightly at the waist. “M’lady.” Ubbe snorted and winked at you, when you turned to him. “Subtle, Sister. Real subtle.”

Ragnar was sleeping in his bed with Eitr, now clean again, residing on the head end of it. She was staring at the door, as if she was expecting someone to storm in at every given moment. You went over to her and stroked her soft feathers, kissed her small head and spoke to Freyja, expressing how grateful you were for her present. You stood there for a while, watching your son and your bird, and you tried not to think about all the ways tonight could have ended. Your son could be dead. Eitr could be dead. Hel, more guards and Gala could have been killed. Oh Gods, Gala. The poor thing had been through so much with you, already. You’d have to prepare a present soon. Something to express your fondness and how much she was needed and appreciated. Maybe you could find her another cat. Surely, Earl Erik could give you some pointers, perhaps he knew someone who had kittens. Then, something else came to mind. “Ubbe.” At you voice, he raised his head and turned slightly in his seat. “Who’s the best at throwing? Daggers, I mean.” “Ivar.” He turned around fully now, sitting backwards on the chair, one arm on the backrest, the other hanging over it, swinging his axe slightly. “Why? Do you want to learn?” “Least I can do, no?” Ragnar gave a little snort, making you look. His soft baby hair was in complete disarray, and you wondered who he had it from. He had a lot of it too. You wished you could ask your mother. “Y/N, do you think that’s the best idea?” “I can’t always rely on you all. At some point, someone’s going to get through, get to us when no one is around.” You straightened your back, raised you chin as you threw him a look. “You said it yourself: You won’t leave until someone’s here who can at least throw a dagger.” You shrugged. “And daggers are way lighter than swords, after all.” Ubbe laughed and shook his head. “You and Ivar really deserve each other.” “What, because it’s uncommon for a woman to handle a weapon?” “No, not for born Vikings. But they also can hold a sword for more than 5 seconds.” “I am not christian anymore, am I?” “I think you’ve never really been.” He leaned his head on his hand, tilting it to the side. “You’ve adapted way too fast. Maybe it was fate after all.” “Thank you.”

Ubbe turned towards the door, when you heard voices. Soon, the door opened. Ivar stepped in, closely followed by Bjorn. “Ivar, you can-” “I know what I can, and what not.” He looked furious. “Don’t try to tell me what to do.” “I’m not, I’m just saying, maybe you should-” “You should shut up.” Ivar came straight towards you, letting his crutch fall to the floor and pulled you close to him. Immediately, your arms were around him and you were pressing your face against his neck. Bjorn threw his hands in the air in a slightly exasperated move and shook his head. You peeked out underneath Ivars jaw, seeing Bjorn pointing at you. “Talk some sense into him.”

Then he turned, gave Ubbe a slap to his shoulder to make him move. At the door, he stopped, smirked, bent at the waist, with one arm stretched to the side and went after the oldest brother. After the door closed, Ivar relaxed a bit. He softened his hold on you and looked over the cribs sides, watching his son sleep. Eitr flapped her wings once and let out a hoarse croak. “Ah, I’ve got something for you.” You raised your head, surprised. “Are you talking to my bird?” “Yes.” Your eyebrows almost left your forehead at that. Ivar ignored you in favour of your bird, who watched his every move. Your husband conjured up a piece of meat, dark, juicy, fresh as could be. He lifted it, Eitr following his hand with her eyes. When he was sure she’d react, he threw it and watched the falcon catch it midair. “You… did you slaughter a goat just for that slab of meat?” He laughed. “No. The cook did.” “But you specially went to get it.” He looked down at you, frowning slightly. “Yes. She murdered an assassin coming after our child.” The look on his face turned grim. “I’d serve her a whole horse, if she was able to eat it.”

You slept awfully. Every other noise made you wake up in a panic, frantically looking towards the crib, where Eitr still watched over Ragnar. Ivar awoke right with you, always, pulling you back down against him, shushing you and stroking over your hair in an attempt to soothe you. Thus, you were exhausted and pale, with red rimmed, dry eyes. You could hear the guards outside talking, muffled voices and laughs. Ivar slept next to you, seemingless dead to the waking world. You slowly got up and went to see your son, who was just like his father. There was no denying it. He was sleeping on his belly, spread eagle in his crib, a bit of fur gripped in one tiny fist and drool collecting on the sheets. You weren’t saying Ivar the Boneless, most ruthless Viking to live, was drooling in his sleep, but… well, if his sleep was deep, contrary to usual... “Y/N.” You jumped, barely keeping in a yelp. “Ivar.” You swallowed your fear, trying to calm yourself. “Did I wake you?” “No, love.” He sat back against the headboard, raising an arm towards you. Quickly, you went over to him and joined him under the covers. His hand came to lay on your back, not breaking contact, even as you positioned yourself against him, arms around his neck and leg thrown over his hip, the other curled against his side. This way, you were eye to eye with him. “Morning.” Ivar nudged your nose with his, pressed his hand between your shoulder blades and kissed you good morning. He came away humming and a serene smile splayed on his lips as he pressed little, soft pecks all over your face and down your neck. “How is the little prince?” “He’s well. Sleeping, drooling, just like his father.” You squeaked, when Ivar bit you in turn. “You dare being this brazen towards your king?” His voice was rough from sleep, deeper than usually. He let his fingertips of his free hand wander up your thigh, pushing up your shift in the process. “I can do as I please, I am the queen, after all.” “Hmmm.”, he rumbled. “That you are.” He grabbed your bum with both hands and lifted you, placing you in his lap. “Ivar!”, you protested. “Oh, shh.” He took your face in his hands, studying it, tilting it from side to side and lastly brushing your hair back from your face. “Are you alright? I know you didn’t sleep well.” “As alright as one can be, after last night.” You stroked over his shoulders, followed his tattoos down his chest. “And I feel like I should ask you that question. You couldn’t have slept much either, with me waking you up all the time.” He shook his head, frown in place. “No, don’t you worry about that. I am more used to it.” He heaved a shaky breath, stopping your hands on his skin by laying his own on top of them.”Y/N.” The way he said you name, made you fear the worst. “What?” “I feel like it is my fault.” “What, the attack?” You were ready to launch in a long rant about his tendency to talk bullshit, when he stopped you. “All of them. Your poisoning, the tea-” His voice broke and he cleared his throat, as he laid a hand on your belly, probably thinking about the child that would have been your first. “The attack on Ragnar.” You took his hand, kissed the palm of it, silently encouraging him to go on. “You can’t deny, it’s been a lot, and it’s been awful for you, for the child as well…” He took a deep breath, eyes now glassy. “And I-” He clenched his teeth, jaw muscles tensing so hard, you were afraid he’d never be able to release them. “I think I should let you go.” “What?” You felt as if he had punched you in the guts. “How did you even-” He clamped a hand over your mouth, big, round eyes looking up at you, pleading. “A better man would let you go, release you from your vows, so you can go away, far away and live without a target on your back.” His eyes hardened before he closed them, hands coming to the back of your head, pulling you back down to him. Ivar breathed you in and leaned his forehead against yours. His hands fisted your hair, holding you close. You mirrored him, stroking your hands up his chest to his jaw, thumbs dragging over the bone. “I am not a good man, love. I can’t let you go, I am too selfish. I need you close, I need to know where you are at all times, so I can protect you, shield you.” It was no lie. He was too headstrong, too impulsive to be a truly good man. But he was good enough for you. He was loving, gentle, with you as well as Ragnar. He even bettered his behaviour towards his brothers. And that you told him. Your fingernails scraped over his skin, brushed through his hair, calming him, as it always did. “You don’t need to be good, to be right for me, Ivar The Boneless, King of Kattegat, most feared Viking of all lands.” He watched your face, hands now on your hips, simply holding you against him. “I don’t think sending me away would do any good. I’d be an easier target, even. I’d still be your wife, I wouldn’t have the heart to deny it. And why is that?” A small smile showed on your husbands face, before he answered what you’ve asked him innumerable times now. “Because I have it.” “You do learn, after all.” Eitr let out a coo from her spot over the bed, a sign that Ragnar was waking up. And true it was, just moments later his baby-blabber filled the room. He was happy and talk active in the mornings, making you dread the time when he’d be actually able to form words. “So don’t think like that. You might be selfish, but you are not at fault. It is the people who seek your throne, your misery, who are to blame.” Softly, you pressed a kiss to his lips and then got up. “The young prince awaits.”

**

Part 3

[cami-chats]

Tie Me Up In Red

Title: Tie Me Up In Red

Link: AO3 (full text also below)

Square Filled: Magic Use During Sex

Ship: Tony Stark/Wanda Maximoff

Rating: Explicit

Major Tags: None, but there is Explicit Sexual Content, Dom/Sub, Sub Tony, Bondage, and Trans Wanda

Summary: Tony admits he liked to be tied up, and Wanda has an idea for how to do that.

Word Count: 2725

Created for @mcukinkbingo​

Full Text under the read more

They both had a thing for red: Wanda’s hair, her powers, Tony’s suit, his wardrobe, and his toys, she learned.

It felt strange to say she loved her powers, but she did. She loved them all the more for the way it would look ringing Tony’s wrists. She hadn’t mentioned that fantasy to him for long time, content with their sex life. Hell, she wouldn’t have ever told him if he hadn’t brought it up first.

Tony grabbed a box and showed her the clattering of red: vibrators and lingerie, handcuffs and ribbons. “We don’t have to do anything with it, I just figured… I don’t know. If you were open to trying some of this stuff, I’d appreciate it, but you definitely don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

Wanda didn’t said anything at first, entranced. She licked her lips and reached into the box, pulling out a silk ribbon and running it through her fingers. “You like to be tied up?” she asked breathlessly. He was a fucking dream come true, and just thinking about it made her tingle.

“Yes,” he admitted, blushing like he thought she would have something to say about his preference.

“That explains a few things.” Like how easily he followed where she pushed, and why, when she had accidentally given him an order in bed once, he had followed without objection. (They’d talked about it afterwards and she apologized for doing it without them talking first. Tony had easily forgiven her, and they dropped the topic, both of them too nervous to broach the idea of doing it again, on purpose this time.)

“Is it… a problem?”

“Very, very not. So, uhm.” She tried to put the ribbon down but couldn’t. She pressed the fabric to the skin at his wrists and felt breathless. “It’s a good color on you.” She shook her head, trying to focus. “So what are we talking about here?”

“Ideally?” She nodded, and Tony chewed on his lip like he was deciding whether or not to tell her everything. “Complete submission. I never- really get it though. Everyone wants to be rough, all leather and collars. Which is fine, if that’s what you want.”

“And that’s not what you want.”

His fingers tightened on the box. “I want to be taken care of. Be told I’m-” he stopped, throat working “-beautiful and perfect while I’m dressed up all pretty.” He was hunching over the container slightly, protecting himself from what his memory told him was coming. “I want my hands to be tied so I can’t touch you back until you let me, but it doesn’t matter that I can’t move because you’ve taken care of both of us.”

Wanda sidled closer, putting her arm around him low on his hips and kissing his shoulder over his shirt. “Do you believe in kink soulmates? Cause I’m starting to believe in kink soulmates.”

Tony laughed, unconsciously relaxing and leaning into her. “So you don’t mind?”

“Mind? Baby, I want nothing more than to take care of you. You don’t have to answer,” she started carefully, “and this is the only thing I want to ask, but- how did people react in the past when you told them?”

He cleared his throat. “You remember Bain?”

“Unfortunately,” she growled. If she ever saw that woman in real life, she was going to earn herself a one way ticket to prison.

“She told me to remember who the girl in the relationship was. After that, I stopped telling them exactly what I wanted, just tested the waters to see if they were interested.”

“And?”

He shook his head minutely, ashamed. “Nobody wants to be with Tony Stark if they have to do everything you know?” he chuckled, all self deprecation and no humor. “They thought I was being selfish.”

“You deserve so much better sweetheart. Will you let me take care of you?” she asked softly.

Tony looked at her, eyes wide and vulnerable. “You mean it?”

~~~

Tony looked great in his suit today, and Wanda told him so at every available opportunity. His cheeks pinked, and he shivered when she kissed his neck and let her hand rest just above his ass, lingering so he could feel her breath on his skin. His face was flushed so frequently that Steve actually asked him if he was feeling alright. He rolled his eyes and said they weren’t getting rid of him that easily, and pretended nothing was amiss until she did it again.

At the end of the day, Wanda led Tony to their room, her arm firm but gentle around his waist. She sat in the armchair they kept in their room and took off her shoes. Tony hovered uncertainly until she pat her thigh in invitation. He couldn’t sit directly on her lap because he weighed more than she did, but slightly to the side had the same intimacy. She put one hand on his thigh, and the other at the base of his neck, massaging. “How was your day, baby?”

Tony shuddered, trying to not go boneless. “It was good.”

“You look so amazing in this suit. You should try and put more red in your outfit love, it’s your color.”

“I have-” he cleared his throat “-a little bit of red.”

Wanda looked over his outfit again, frowning. “I don’t see any.”

Tony fumbled with his pants, undoing the zipper and pulling down his underwear to show her the panties he was wearing. They were lace with swirling patterns that might have been flowers and, of course, red. She ran a finger up and down his cock through the fabric, feeling him get harder under her touch.

“Oh baby,” she breathed. “Can I see you in just these?”

Tony scrambled off her lap, trying to be quick to the point that he probably took longer. He tried to kick off his pants, but his shoes were still on, so he had to sit down or risk falling over.

“Take your time sweetheart, we’re not in a hurry.” Wanda stood, unzipping her jeans and reaching in to untuck her cock, then pulling her underwear back up and sitting down, the bulge now obvious.

Tony finished undressing, blushing hard as he stood before her.

Her powers could be like an extension of her body, they’d agreed, and if Tony was ever nervous he could of course use his safeword. Gently, Wanda reached out with her powers and pushed on Tony’s shoulder, easing him to his knees. She couldn’t resist tweaking a nipple with her powers before letting the red evaporate, blending in with the blush traveling down his chest. “You look so beautiful baby. Were you wearing those all day?”

He shook his head. “They irritate my skin if I wear them too long.”

“That’s good love. Are you still good in them right now?”

He nodded.

Wanda had meant to use her powers sparingly to ease Tony into it, despite Tony saying that he had zero issue with her using them, but she kept using them, in love with the way it looked on Tony’s skin. She twirled her fingers, watching the red twine in his hair and release, moving down his face in a caress and continuing down his body until resting on his thigh, smoothing over the skin absently. Wanda barely noticed her fingers keeping up the movement, leaning forward to peer at him. “I feel like there’s something else we should have,” Wanda said.

“I-” Tony broke off, biting his lip.

“What is it, darling?”

“I could wear lipstick,” he suggested quietly.

“You’re a genius.”

Tony preened, but was still too new to not try and suppress it.

Tony’s arms were resting at his sides, but as Wanda stood, she moved them behind his back and held his wrists together with her powers. She dug in the vanity, looking for the deepest shade of red she could find. She glanced at him and saw that he was doing his best to hide. “Spread your legs honey, I want to see you.”

He did as she said, not hesitating.

“Tilt your head up.”

He did.

She walked over and held his chin as she applied the lipstick. “Oh sweetheart,” she said reverently, “whoever told you you’re not the most perfect being in the universe couldn’t see you.” She pet his hair, feeling him give into the motions so easily it’s like he was built for it. From this angle, she could see the red of his panties, the red on his lips, and the red binding his hands. “Can I try something?”

“Yes,” he said, more a breath than a word.

She cupped his face as her powers moved his hands, guiding them to hold onto her legs. “Can I get your pretty lips on me?”

He nodded, gazing up at her adoringly.

“Tap if you need me to stop, okay? I’ll feel it.”

He nodded again, and this was about the time she should move her hands, but she didn’t want to. She stroked his cheeks and used her powers to slide her underwear under her cock. Tony leaned forward and took the head between his lips, then looked up at her, wide brown eyes asking if that was okay.

“You look like a dream, baby.”

His eyes fluttered shut and he took more of her into his mouth, going over her slowly, purposely smudging his lipstick over her length.

“That’s it love, just like that. You always know exactly what I want.” She put a hand at the back of his head and fucked into his mouth leisurely. “You look- oh- oh baby you look so gorgeous. And I don’t just mean on your knees for me, but don’t doubt for a second that I don’t love that too. You look perfect no matter what you’re doing, and you do everything so well.” She gasped when Tony took her to the back of his throat and swallowed. “Just a second baby.” She reached out with her powers and rubbed at his nipples in contrast to her words. She thumbed at his cheek as she moved shallowly in his mouth before pulling out.

She got on her knees too, cock hanging out covered in spit and lipstick marks. Tony’s hands were still stuck to her thighs, and she trailed her hands up his arms, leaving a benign mist of red chasing after her. She kissed him, claiming his mouth as she thrust her tongue in and teased his cock with one hand until he was whimpering.

Wanda broke off and let his hands go. She gave him a minute to catch his breath, then took his hands in her own and stood, helping him along. He rested his head on her shoulder, and she realized she still had all her clothes on. “You could be a candy, you’re so sweet,” she said, turning to kiss his head. She smoothed her hands over his shoulders and down his back to grip his ass, bringing him forward with a little help from her powers to grind against her. He moved the way she guided and stopped when she did. “Gods above I must have done something very good in a past life to deserve this.” She slid her hands under the material and grabbed two handfuls of frankly magnificent ass. “How about you take these off and get on the bed? On your hands and knees sweetheart.”

Tony swayed when Wanda stepped away, pausing to get his bearings before sliding the panties off and getting on the bed. He was obviously nervous about exposing himself like that, so Wanda kept up a running dialogue of how great he looked, how much she loved him, and how nice it was that he trusted her like this.

She worked on stripping out of her clothes, pausing intermittently to run a hand through his hair or smooth over his back as she talked. She grabbed the lube and a condom from their bedside table before climbing behind him. She put her hands on his ass, pushing his cheeks together then pulling them apart to show his hole, and putting her dry finger against it to feel him clench.

“Grab ahold of the headboard sweetness.” Wanda let go as he scooted forward and put his hands together before gripping the solid wood. She leaned over him, tracing up his back and as far up his arm as she could reach. Her breasts brushed against him, and she enjoyed the bare stimulation as her powers followed her hands, snaking along his skin past where her fingers ended and continuing on to tie his wrists together and link them to the headboard.

She leaned back and lubed up a finger, circling his rim a few times to get him loose enough for her to press in.

Tony let out a choked off moan, and she hummed. “That’s it baby, just relax.” She pet his thigh as she put in another finger, reaching around to give his cock a few strokes. “Be loud for me, love,” she said when he cut off another noise. “I want to hear you.” She twisted her fingers, pumping them in and out smoothly. “You sound like a salvation prayer when you let go baby.” She found his prostate and massaged it for a second. She pulled her fingers out, put more lube on even though it wasn’t strictly necessary, and wiggled three in.

Tony moaned, loud and long, and Wanda’s cock twitched.

“So good sweetie, so good. You want me in you?”

“Yes,” Tony gasped, arms jerking against his restraints.

Wanda increased the power going to them, not really affecting how they interacted with Tony, but increasing the glow. Red glinted off his arms and shoulders where he was sweating, and he tugged on them again. “Please.”

“Don’t have to beg, baby, I was just getting ready. I wouldn’t do that to you,” she promised, lining herself up and pressing in slowly. “I want to give you the world, Tony, you think I wouldn’t give you my cock?”

His back arched as he pushed his ass back, trying to hurry her along. She obliged, her hips pressed against him, and she wiped her hand off on Tony’s cock, ridding herself of the lube as well as giving it to him, even though he wouldn’t need it for what she had planned.

She rolled her hips and thrust shallowly as her hands ran all over Tony’s body, touching and massaging to get her fill of him-- though such a thing wasn’t truly possible. When Tony finally gave up to her, trusting her to make him feel good, she put her hands on his hips and started fucking him in earnest.

He gasped and moaned, muttering her name over and over as she slammed into him, determined to make him feel as good as she felt. Her mind was fuzzy with pleasure, but she still was able to focus her powers and start jacking Tony off, hard and fast like her hips were moving. She tightened her hold, both on his hips and his cock, and then Tony was coming, shaking and panting as Wanda chased her orgasm. She groaned, hips moving reflexively as she spilled into the condom.

She released her powers, and watched Tony collapse to the bed through a haze that only came with great sex. She took off the condom and tied it, pushing it off the side of the bed and hoping neither of them would step on it later.

Wanda laid down next to him, barely controlled, and massaged his trembling arm. “On your side, baby.”

Tony rolled, the arm that Wanda couldn’t reach before now on top of him. She spooned him, hand working over the muscle as he snuggled against her.

“How are you feeling?”

Tony nodded and had to clear his throat before he could speak. “Good.”

Wanda hummed. “Glad to hear it. Sorry about all the pet names.”

“I liked it.”

Wanda smiled tiredly. “Well I’m glad to hear that, but still. I’m out of practice.”

“I liked it,” he repeated, his voice scratchy.

She curled her arm around to his chest and hugged him. “And I’m very happy that you liked it, but imagine how much better it can be.” She kissed his shoulder.