#I’m debating between doing the next story bit for Dot as a fic or another comic (but like in a different style/format as this one)

[llumimoon]

I just sketched out the last comic page of The Talk…….. the end is in sight guys

[zaffrenotes]

[TRR: WD106] Avoiding A Blunder

Summary: Prince Liam has to fill in for Crown Prince Leo, and Murphy’s Law is put into motion at the end of his trip. Chaos ensues, condensed Wacky Drabble style. Fic Rating/Warning: M; alcohol consumption, minor health/medical emergency, anxiety/angst Author’s Note: All main characters belong to Pixelberry/The Royal Romance, I’m just borrowing them * Fictional versions of IRL individuals are included with affection; any other characters mentioned in this piece are my creation * This is my submission for @wackydrabbles Prompt 106: You’re gonna get us busted! * You have @the-soot-sprite and @ao719 to thank for this ridiculousness, lol - Soot reblogged a photo, Betsy sent me this request

and...this is what my brain came up with (PS - thank you both for the movie discussion) * For the purposes of this story, Triydalia is a fictional country that shares a border with Thailand * Word Count: 1999 😅 (7 minutes reading time)

Taglist (if your name is crossed out, I'll tag you in the comments): @/ao719 @burnsoslow @gkittylove99 @neotericthemis @ofpixelsandscribbles @rainbowsinthestorm @superharriet @/the-soot-sprite @choiceskatie @jaqren @aestheticartsx @bbrandy2002 @dcbbw @gnatbrain @jared2612 @kingliam2019 @ladyangel70 @lovingchoices14 @nestledonthaveone @princessleac1 @queenjilian @sfb123 @texaskitten30 @theroyalheirshadowhunter @yourmajesty09

Liam was used to filling in for Leo at a moment’s notice; participating in conference calls with ambassadors for early morning updates when Leo overslept, and attending meetings with ministers when Leo went AWOL. He’d grown accustomed to his brother’s antics, but he wondered how Bastien managed to keep his position, when he’d lost track of Leo’s whereabouts countless times.

While Leo spent more time avoiding his duties as Crown Prince of Cordonia, Liam dutifully took on the extra responsibilities in stride. It often meant partitioning his already packed schedule to sit in on vital cabinet meetings or dining with visiting dignitaries, but sometimes Leo’s vanishing acts gave Liam the opportunity to travel.

Though their ambassadors handled the majority of day-to-day relations with other countries for trade, Constantine preferred to meet face-to-face when he could. One such time, a lingering cough turned to walking pneumonia, restricting Constantine to as much bed rest as possible. It also meant sending Leo to Japan for a meeting with the Prime Minister in his stead.

It would have been fine, if Leo hadn’t pulled another one of his disappearing acts.

--

A week later, Liam was seated on the royal jet on his way back from Tokyo, navy attache with espresso brown leather trim in the chair next to him. Across from him, Maxwell chatted with Anya over various Thai dishes. On the other side of the plane, Drake was in a heated discussion with leggy blonde Anitah while the ladies’ petite friend Donna observed in silence, fighting back a grin. “You’re an imbecile if that’s your opinion,” Anitah declared, raising her hands up in the air. “Are you sure that’s the hill you wanna die on?”

Drake smugly sipped from the crystal tumbler in his hand. “I’m right and you know it.”

“What are you two talking about?” Liam asked, relieved to think about anything other than what was in the bag and why it was so important he hand deliver it to his father.

“Fight Club being a better cinematic masterpiece than The Princess Bride,” Drake replied. “You guys agree, right? If you could only watch one movie for the rest of your life, you’d want to watch Tyler Durden fight the system instead of some…” he paused to sneer at Anitah, who crossed her arms and stuck out her tongue at him, “...story about a swashbuckler rescuing a princess? She’s not even a real princess!”

“Fight Club is such a guy movie though,” Anya argued, turning in her seat to face Drake. “Princess Bride appeals to men and women, with a much larger audience.”

“Okay, that’s two for Buttercup,” Drake sighed. “Maxwell? Li?” He looked at his friends expectantly.

“Fight Club, definitely,” Maxwell said, nodding his head. He’d spent the better part of the trip doing everything to get into Drake’s good graces after the octopus incident on the first night in Tokyo.

Before Liam could respond, a commotion from the front of the plane made everyone’s heads turn, where a pair of Kings Guards and two flight attendants were seated near the galley. One of the guards slipped into the cockpit, rushing out a moment later in Liam’s direction, as the jet slowly tilted to the right. “Apologies, Your Highness. Do you or any of your guests happen to speak Triydalian?”

Anya slowly raised her hand. “I knew a bit when I was a kid, but I haven’t used it in years.”

The guard motioned for her to join him. “Please come with us, miss. The pilots need a translator.”

“Is everything alright, Remy?” Liam peered past the guard, eyes widening at the sight of the other guard and one attendant hovering in front of the other attendant in a chair.

“We need to land the plane, Sir,” Remy answered, ushering Anya up from her seat. “Ramona passed out. She’s breathing but unresponsive.”

--

Twenty minutes later and after a jarring landing, they’d arrived at a small airport in the Republic of Triydalia, at the edge of one of the country’s many jungle forests. Calling it an airport was generous - it was more of a cleared dirt path in the middle of the jungle with a shack for an airport tower, and a man that looked like more of a hunter than an air traffic controller. After a choppy conversation that required pantomiming and hand signals, Anya left with Remy and the man from the tower to fetch a tribal doctor, while Anitah and Donna assisted the other member of the cabin crew to look after Ramona. They were warned to remain as quiet as possible and to stay inside the jet.

Minutes passed by in tense observation; Anitah and Drake continued their debate in low whispers, growing louder as they defended their choices. Liam could see the pilots discussing something pointedly as they checked readings on the instrument panel and worked on calculations. One of them stepped out, claiming that he needed to stretch his legs, and walked cautiously down the runway. When he returned, the other pilot joined him outside, despite the original warning to stay inside. Liam peered out the windows and checked his watch, worrying about Anya and Remy, along with his father’s instructions to avoid delaying their return.

While the remaining guard headed towards the back of the plane to pace back and forth for the eighth time, Liam took it upon himself to speak with the pilots. The air was thick and stifling the moment he stepped outside. Around them, there was nothing but green, green, and more green from the wilderness that surrounded them, abuzz with tropical birds and insects. At his side he carried the blue attache, remembering the promise to his father that the bag wouldn’t leave his sight. He spoke in a hushed tone when he approached the pilots. “You’re doing more than just stretching your legs, aren’t you, Captain?”

Both men grimaced slightly. “Yes, Your Highness. Even if we pulled back to one end of the runway, we’re still at least five hundred feet short of clearing takeoff.”

“What if we worked to try and clear the brush on either end?” Liam offered, looking off into the distance.

“There’s no way to clear out the trees, even the young ones,” the co-captain answered. “We might be able to take off if we could drop some weight, but the larger concern is the longer we wait, we increase the risk of encountering someone who doesn’t want us here.”

Liam nodded gravely; months of civil unrest in Triydalia meant rebel groups assembled faster than the government could contain them. There was no guarantee of anyone’s safety, stranded on a remote runway. There was no telling what was wrong with Ramona while she was unconscious, and therefore no way to treat her without the aid of a doctor. Ensuring the safety of the crew and his friends could have been avoided altogether if Leo didn’t constantly opt out of handling the duties of his station. In that moment, Liam abhorred the never-ending list of responsibilities thrust at him as a result of having to pick up the slack for his brother, knowing if their roles were reversed, Leo would manage to find a way to leave Liam to solve problems on his own.

“Could you excuse me for a moment?”

He’d barely finished asking the question before walking into the tall grass by the edge of the runway. Ignoring the pilots’ calls to return, Liam sprinted into the dense greenery, dodging between vines and scanning the ground for tripwires until he could no longer see the plane over his shoulder. When he finally stopped running, he bent over, hands on his knees as he gulped in air. Liam looked down at the blue bag in his hand, wondering what on earth was so precious to reduce him to a courier.

Shaking the bag did nothing; it felt practically empty, though he could tell something was inside. He couldn’t open the bag to check, since Prime Minister Abe and his father were the only ones with keys, and PM Abe handed him the sealed bag when they parted ways. Liam wanted to throw the infernal “murse” the ladies had good-naturedly teased him for into the bushes. Perspiration dotted his hairline, and he let out a primal scream, before taking slow, deep breaths to quiet the worrisome thoughts racing in his head and bring his heartbeat down to normal.

Cursed courier bag in his right hand, Liam braced his arm against his torso, pinning it in place with his elbow when he bent his other arm up towards his face. Curling his fingers into a relaxed fist, he pressed his lips against his thumb, thick brows furrowing in thought. All around him, wild birds called to one another amidst the chittering clamor of insects hidden in the foliage. He was so busy running through scenarios in his head that he didn’t hear the quiet click of a camera, turning to look up only when he heard a branch snap in the distance.

“Watch it! You’re gonna get us busted!” Donna hissed to Drake. She pocketed her phone, elbowing Drake in the ribs as they crouched behind large leaves. She ticked her head in Liam’s direction. “Go get your boy, none of us are safe out here.”

After some coaxing, Liam headed back to the plane with Donna and Drake, walking briskly through the jungle, eyes trained to look for anything out of the ordinary. Liam was alarmed when he heard and then saw the engines running, until Drake explained the pilots were burning off fuel to lighten the plane. They’d begun to walk up the steps, when Maxwell popped out above them. “Whoo!” Maxwell exclaimed, digging for another snack from the container he cradled in his arm. “Feels like a sauna out here!”

“Lower your voice, Maxwell! Please!” Liam seethed. His features pinched together in disbelief. “Are you...eating? Now?”

“You know I stress snack,” Maxwell replied, shrugging his shoulders. He shoved another cookie into his mouth.

Liam’s eyes lit up and he took the stairs two by two, knocking on the cockpit door before swinging it open. “What if we unloaded whatever’s not bolted down? The decor, dinnerware, the food and drink?”

“That...would certainly help,” the captain replied, looking back over his shoulder. He turned to his co-pilot. “It could be enough to get in the air after burning off the excess fuel.”

“You heard the man, Maxwell,” Liam said, offering his friend a nervous grin. “Get Drake to help you start unloading the plane. Has Ramona’s status changed?”

“Donna found the first aid kit just before she took off with Drake to go after you. Anitah found some smelling salts that gave her a rude wakeup call. Turns out her insulin pump shorted and she just needed some juice.”

Several more minutes passed as the group removed whatever they could from the plane, leaving piles of cookware, food, throw pillows, and even seat cushions to lighten the load. Drake whined when they gathered up the liquor, but he stuffed a bottle of whiskey in a cabinet by his seat. They’d nearly finished when Anya and Remy returned, running on foot. “That thing better be ready to take off!” Anya hollered, motioning for everyone to board. “Rebels on our tail! Time to go!”

Everyone scrambled back onto the plane; Liam relayed the urgency to depart to the pilots, who rapidly went through their flight checklist. Remy pulled Anya up onto the steps and they all clamored to buckle into their seats, the sound of gunfire in the air as the jet rolled forward and lurched up into the air, barely clearing the canopy.

Adrenaline pumping and breaths shallow, Liam looked around at his friends and the crew, thankful they were safely in the air again.

--

Liam thought he was having a stroke at twenty-four when he saw the contents of the bag. Constantine smiled with glee at the small gold cat, one paw raised.

[mrfitzdarcyslover]

My Drummer Boy

Hello lovers, this is a fic STRICTLY based off the movie version of Roger and how he was depicted in the film. If you’re not into fanfics just keep scrolling! :)

Also warning if you choose to read I’ve added a bit of smut at the ending. If you don’t care for that but still want to read I’ve marked off where it begins! 

xx mrfitzdarcyslover

Y/n is a close friend of the band who has been there to watch their success grow from the start. What happens when y/n is reunited with her boys after months being apart? And how does a certain drummer boy react to her return?

Flushed and out of breathe you ran towards the makeshift studio that the boys were recording in. To be completely honest the excitement of finally seeing your best friends again was electrifying and made you feel completely alive. But the thing that made you feel most giddy was finally seeing Roger, It had been months since you’d seen him last. With his tour of America with the boys and you’re marketing job always keeping you on your toes you hadn’t had a chance to see your boys return home from America. You had planned to surprise the band by showing up unannounced in the countryside while they were recording their new album. In order to pull it off you had to go to Ray Foster’s office and con the address out of his secretary Kelly. In all honesty you’d always found Kelly extremely annoying flirting with Roger anytime she saw him. It always drove you wild to see Roger flirt with other girls when all you wanted was for him to look a you and decide that you were all that he needed. 

Completely tangled up in your thoughts of Rog you didn’t notice the dip in the ground and due to the gravel you lost your footing and collapsed onto the mud. Grumbling to yourself you looked down at your white polka-dot dress covered in mud and stood up muttering to yourself about the stupid English rain always mucking things up. Wiping as much of the yucky brown slush off you as possible you continued the last few steps up to the door and yanked it open with all your might. The first thing you heard opening the door was Rog’s normally deep voice singing at a pitch only dogs can hear. Grinning to yourself you came into view of the boys. The first one to notice you was Brian who stared at you with eyes as wide as globes. With a stupid grin on his face Bri stood up and came barreling at you wrapping his arms around your waist and spinning you around. Giggling you wrapped your arms around his neck and squeezed the boy you considered a brother. The next one to see you was Deacy who gave you a big adorable Deacy smile and smacked Freddie on the arm causing him to whip around with a dirty look on his face. As soon as Freddie saw you he gave you that charming little look and said,

 “Darling it’s been far to long. Where the HELL have you been?”

“I’m sorry Freddie work”

“That’s not good enough darling it’s far to hard to contain these boys without you around. I absolutely forbid you from leaving us for so long again!”

“Of course Fred” you said with an edge of sarcasm “I’m at your beck and call” finishing it off with a little bow you heard Brian chuckle beside you.

Grinning at your shenanigans Freddie opened his arms and wrapped you up with a flourish.

“What the hell is going on out there?” you heard Rog say a bit of annoyance edging the remark. Knowing he couldn’t see you yet you stepped out from behind Brian and Freddie to let Roger see you. The grin that engulfed his gorgeous face had your heart beating wildly in your chest.

“Hello my love” he said his voice deep and husky.

“Hiya Rog”

Without breaking eye contact Roger removed the big headphones from his blonde mop of hair and rushed towards you out of the sound booth. 

“Darling” he said grabbing you by the waist and tucking you into his arms, “Where have you been? I’ve been going crazy without you around.” he whispered into your ear so that the boys couldn’t hear him.

Grinning you buried your face into his shoulder and breathed in the comfortable scent of Roger. Sighing you heard the band behind you snicker causing you to pull away from the heavy warmth engulfing your body.

“Well I think we need to celebrate” Freddie said “Darling I am so happy your back they won’t let me have any fun anymore. Please say we can go to the bar, they’d never refuse you.”

“Of course Freddie a trip to the bar is definitely in order, I need to let loose and have some fun with my favorite people in the whole world.”

“Great! Now let’s address the small problem of your outfit. What the hell happened to you? Did you get into a fight with a cow?”

“I fell...outside in the mud. Bloody English rain”

Chuckling Freddie shook his head at you and grabbed your hand pulling you fully away from Rog who squeezed your hip as you moved towards Fred. Freddie continued to pull you through the doors, past the muddy spot you fell, and into a cute little farm house.

“y/n where did you put your suitcase?”

“It’s on the landing of the stairs”

“Good, good lets go you can use my room to change, I want you cleaned up and ready to go in half an hour. It’s the second door on the left.” he said pushing you towards the stairs with a peck on the cheek.

Grabbing your suitcase you moved up the stairs towards Fred’s room. Once upstairs you grabbed your little black dress and the deep red lipstick that made your eyes pop. All together it took you about twenty minutes to get looking presentable enough to go downstairs. Opening the bedroom door you heard the band all downstairs laughing and joking with each other causing you to smile with a deep fondness. 

“Alright boys who’s ready to go out and get absolutely trashed tonight?” you jokingly said while descending the stairs.

All eyes turned towards you including a particular drummer’s causing you to shiver with excitement. 

“y/n you look absolutely spectacular.” Bri said standing up to grab your hand

“Well thank you Mr. May.”

“Alright let’s go I need to have some fun before I succumb to a tired and bored death.” Freddie remarked with smile on his face.

Freddie was the first to exit closely followed by Deacy and Brian. Roger came towards you holding out his hand for you to grab.

“y/n you look ravishing tonight, I hope you know that.” he said while slowly raking his eyes up your body “I’m not entirely sure I’ll be able to keep my hands off you my love.”

“Behave yourself Roger” you said with a giggle pulling him towards the door and into the cab waiting to take you to the pub.

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

Arriving at the pub your first impression was that it looked run down and worn out but the boys insisted it they served nothing but the finest beer, having come here a handful of times for a quick nightcap. You all quickly located a little round booth in the back corner and shuffled in one by one. Starting from the left side it was Freddie, you, Roger, Deacy, and then Brian. The waitress was quick to come running over giving Roger her most sultry look while pushing her chest out in an attempt to grab his attention, which made your blood boil. 

Sensing your anger Brian redirected the waitresses attention and ordered a pitcher of beer for the whole table along with the glasses necessary for each member of the group. After that the night went off without a hitch each of them telling animating stories about their time in the states while on tour. You added a couple stories about the crazy things that happened to you on the tube as well as the new gossip at work. A few beers in you noticed the waitress coming back towards your table eyeing Roger up and down like he was a piece of meat. Annoyed beyond control you scooted in closer to Rog and nuzzled your head into his neck. The movement caught him by surprise causing him to inhale deeply and mumble a string of profanities. 

“Love what are you doing?” he asked looking down at you with dark eyes. Smirking you glanced back at the waitress who was frowning deeply, anger in her eyes. Roger noticed where you were looking at and chuckled internally, of course he noticed the waitress’s sultry looks he wasn’t blind but nobody could interest him the way you did. To be honest on many occasions Roger had fantasized about capturing your lips into a heated kiss and lifting you up into his arms only to continue in his bedroom, but whenever he thought he might actually go for it he chickened out. Everyone knew there was chemistry between you too, neither of you made an effort to keep it quiet, constantly flirting and teasing one another but for some reason the final move was never made. Roger hoped that tonight would finally be the night he would get to claim you as his and show you off the the world and all the adoring girls who lusted after him.

“y/n if you keep that up I’m going to have to pick you up right here and punish you my love.”

Blushing crimson you looked down at your lap internally debating what to do next. Not wishing to go another night without him you looked back up at him and said 

“I’m all yours”

“Bloody hell” he said with a sharp intake of his breathe “Lads I believe I need to go back to the house now, to many bad....pickles.” He stumbled out, visibly cringing at his own excuse.

“Yeah I think I’ll join you Roger, I’m absolutely wiped after the long bus ride down here.” you said

Freddie stood up with a smirk allowing you to slide out of the booth closely followed by Roger. The rest of the band all watched you rush out smiles on their faces. 

“Do you think?”

“Absolutely darling and about damn time to.” Freddie said finishing Brian’s sentence.

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(A/N Smut ahead read at your own risk, the story ends in smut so if you don’t like reading smut this is where your version of the story ends!)

Once you and Roger had grabbed a cab you sat on opposite sides of the car starring at each other with heavy lust filled eyes. Roger’s eyes were electric drawing you in. 

“E’re we are” the cabbie said in his thick accent “That’ll be 20 pounds.”

“Here you go mate” Roger said leaning over you to pay the driver.

You got a whiff of is cologne mixed with the smell of beer and cigarettes. Slipping out from under him you opened the door and slipped out making sure your ass stuck out for him to look at while you climbed out and onto the gravel. Looking over your shoulder you gave him a sultry little smile and began to sway your hips back and forth while walking towards the front door. Not turning around you heard Rog’s feet hit the gravel and then you heard the sound of the door being slammed and the cab driving off. 

“Well well my little mynx, its just you and I now.” he said huskily “What in the world should I do with you.”

Turning around you leaned against the column of the house and popped your knee out.

“I told you, I’m all yours tonight.”

“Bloody hell you have no idea what your getting into y/n. I have so many things I want to do to you.”

“Then do it Rog.”

Stalking towards you Roger pinned you against the column bringing your foreheads together and breathing heavily against your lips.

“Please Roger, I need you.”

That was all it took for all his walls to break slamming his plump pink lips against yours in a heated embrace you moaned into him as he bit your lip silently asking you to open up your mouth for him. When you didn’t immediately oblige Roger grabbed your hips and pulled you flush against him which caused you to gasp opening up your mouth and giving him an opportunity to slip his tongue in. Sighing you gave in and continued to kiss him while gently grinding your hips against his.

“Christ y/n what are you doing to me?”

Smiling you slipped out from under him and opened the door. Grabbing his hand you pulled him into the house and up the stairs.

“To the left love, the first door.”

Shaking in anticipation for the night to come you opened the door and dragged him in. With a quick turn of events Roger slammed the door closed and turned you around and pushed you into the door.

“You’ve been very naughty tonight y/n. I think you need to learn your lesson.”

“Yes sir”

“Now I’m going to walk over to that bed and sit down. I want you to strip for me darling.”

Grinning you slowly stalked over to the bed shaking your hips from the left to the right and pulling the zipper down your side to open up your dress. Lifting up your arms you let the black dress slowly slip to the ground and pool at your feet. This left you in nothing but your lacy red panties and heels.

“You are the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen y/n. Absolutely stunning. Leave the panties and heels on and come over here.”

Smiling you slowly sauntered towards him giving him the most innocent look you could muster. Once you reached the edge of the bed you lifted your knees to rest on either side of him and slid down so that you were straddling his lap. You felt Rog shudder underneath you and slide his hands up your back before he brought them up around your shoulder towards your breasts. Inhaling deeply Rogers rough fingers drifted over your sensitive buds causing you to whimper pushing your chest further into his big hands. Understanding what you wanted Roger trailed kisses from your jaw, down your neck, finally coming to rest over top your your pink bud. He began to kiss and bite with his mouth while one hand massaged your other breast. After a few seconds he kissed his way over to your second bud and began to repeat the action on your other breast.

“Oh Roger please, don’t stop.” you moaned out

“On your knees love.”

With fire coursing through your veins you slid off his lap ensuring to press down harder over his member before you came to rest on your knees between his legs. Glancing up through your eye lashes your hands began to work at the zipper and button on his pants. Slowly you hooked your fingers into the belt loops of his pants and pulled them down, leaving Roger only in his briefs his member clearly erect and impatient. Palming at his member you stood up and gave him a quick kiss on the lips and pulled his briefs fully off finally allowing you to get a look at his cock. Gasping at its size your felt your walls clench in anticipation of what was to come.

“Can I lick it sir? Please?”

“Yes baby you can.”

Excited you sunk back down onto your knees and stared at it head on. Slowly you leaned forward and licked a long strip from the base to his tip.

“Christ y/n please put those pretty red lips around my cock.”

Eager to oblige you slipped your crimson lips over the tip and allowed his cock to slip into your mouth. Moaning you took as much of him in as possible choking a little bit when he hit the back of your throat.  

“Oh baby that feels so good, don’t stop”

You hollowed out your cheeks and began to suck him. Popping off his dick you began to leave open mouth kisses up it while massaging his balls.

“Your turn my love” he said while grabbing your arms and pulling you up onto the bed. You fell back onto the bed with a giggle opening your legs so that he could slide up your body claiming your lips with his own. 

“I’m going to make you feel as good as you made me feel love. Keep your legs open for me.”

He began to kiss a heated trail down your body across your chest, past your stomach and finally reaching the brim of your lacy red panties. You felt him slip his rough fingers under the hem and pull down leaving you completely exposed to his awaiting mouth. He began to tease you kissing everywhere but the place you craved the most. Bucking your hips towards his mouth he placed his big hand on your stomach and pushed down holding you to the bed. 

“Patience darling.” he chuckled darkly

“Stop teasing me.” you whined

With a dark smile Roger finally lowered his head onto your core and kissed your sensitive bud. Moaning you grabbed his hair and pushed him further into you, holding him in place. Darting his tongue out Roger split your folds open with his fingers and slid his tongue into your heat. Roger continued his assault on your pussy licking, and sucking until you thought you might pass out from pleasure. When you thought it couldn’t get any better Roger slipped two fingers into your core beginning to stretch you for the events to come soon. Moaning you whined out feeling the familiar clench in your stomach. 

“Roger I’m cumming.”

“Let it go baby, cum for me.”

With a deep sigh you felt your walls clench together over Roger’s fingers. Ever patient he kept his fingers inside of you, helping you ride out your orgasm. Once every last bit of your orgasm was gone, Roger slipped his fingers out and quickly sucked them clean.

“You taste amazing love, so sweet.”

With a lazy grin you looked down at him and quietly called him up to the top of the bed with you. With a new breath of life you claimed his lips with your own and began to palm at his cock once more. 

“Rog”

“Yes my love.”

“I want you inside of me now.”

With lust blown eyes Roger pushed your legs apart and began to line himself up with your entrance. 

“Wait, can I be on top?”

“Are you sure love?”

Nodding you pushed him down onto his back and slung your leg over his hip straddling him to the bed. With agile movements you lifted up your body lined yourself up over his tip and slowly sunk down onto his cock.

“Oh fuck your so tight.”

Biting your lip you breathed through the slight pain from his size and then placing your hands on his abs began to rock back and forth creating a dangerous friction.

“That’s it love, you take my cock so well.”

Grinning you began to feel immense amounts of pleasure coursing through your body causing you to lift your hips and then sink back down onto him feverishly fast. Flipping you over Roger lifted your leg up and began to pound into you bottoming out each time his thrust in. 

“Faster, faster Roger please.”

Grunting Roger hiked your leg up higher and began mercilessly fucking your pussy. With a loud moan you grabbed the headboard opening up your chest for him to lower his mouth down onto. Biting and nipping Roger grunted a couple more times before you felt your walls clenching around his cock making his movements far more sloppy. With one final thrust you felt his hot seed squirt out into your walls mixing with your own desire.

“Oh god baby, yes”

“ROGER”

Collapsing down onto your naked body Roger’s cock remained buried deep inside your core slowly getting softer and softer. Running your hands through his hair you hoped this night would never end. A few minutes later you heard Roger’s small snores. With one last kiss to his forehead I pulled his cock out of my core and snuggled into his body falling into a deep heavy sleep.

[anonthenullifier]

You see all I wanted from infinity war/endgame was Vision and Nebula meeting up and being friends. But she doesn’t know that he’s always been a sythezoid, so she’s kinda like “shit, what happened to you??” And Vizh kinda just “???” But marvel’s too cowardly to do anything fun, so could I please request a fic based loosely on that?

That would have been lovely! I’ve never written Nebula before, so I hope she’s in character here, and I hope you don’t mind a bit of Scarlet Vision at the beginning and the fact that I am just going to willfully ignore canon for this story. :D 

A cozy, soothing rightness curls through his synthetic veins as he takes in the emerald wisps in the distance. His heart beats faster at the shimmering points of light deep inside the structure, understanding that each one may one day (in many billions of years) host a system teeming with conscious thought. He is awestruck at how so many elements all came together to form the majesty before him. There is also a part of his mind, one that rarely feels present, that sings with the knowledge of being home, back among the particles and the atoms which were birthed in creation.

“It’s beautiful.” Her voice brims with wonder, eyes wide and smitten, her fingers still laced with his, as they have been since the ship first arrived unannounced on the lawn of the compound. Through all of the conversations, all the planning, all the awkward introductions and stumbles of two teams attempting to work together, he knows Wanda’s attention, like his own, has rarely strayed from the panoramic windows of the ship.

“It is.”

Wanda tugs him closer, their hips meeting and trapping their joined hands, allowing her to lay her head along his bicep. “Do you know what it is?”

The simple answer, and likely all she is asking, is that they appear to be inspecting a nebula. Yet he has been attempting to discern the exact nature of the structure outside (one he knows is not nearly as close at is seems). There are numerous large, billowy clouds clustered together to form the overall shape which is, if he squints, reminiscent of a seahorse. “I believe it is a conglomeration of giant molecular clouds.” Wanda’s huh is accepting of the response without actually tucking the information away, the same sound she makes any time he has provided an answer that isn’t really an answer to someone without a deep knowledge of the topic. “This nebula is likely a stellar nursery.”

Her mouth curves into a waxing crescent, “That’s amazing.” Her joy is celestial, filling his chest with the appropriateness of experiencing this with her, of all people. “So, uh, what do you think…of all this?”

The mission, from what he gathered in the hotly debated group meeting, concerns thwarting an attempt to retrieve an ancient and powerful artifact, some confusion still remaining as to the actual artifact as well as why and how the Guardians of the Galaxy (or so their apparent captain - though there was debate on this as well - introduced them as) came to call on the Avengers. “I am uncertain what is happening due to the ill-defined plan we have been given.”

“Glad I’m not alone.” Wanda’s snigger is delighted yet empathetically annoyed. “What do you think of all of them?”

It’s a big question, one he has contemplated briefly, yet he isn’t sure if deep thought is needed to describe the way he feels, his emotions blindingly bright on the topic. Yet he gives it a moment’s thought before answering. Earlier at the meeting, there was a green skinned woman seated across from him, her eyes serious and mouth in a perennial frown throughout the debate. Next to her was a bulky man with straightforward, un-nuanced opinions that contrasted sharply with the intricate crimson markings inlaid in his skin. To Vision’s right was a woman with antennae, her mouth in a constant joyful curve, and to his left (well, Wanda’s immediate left) was a foul-mouthed tree and an even fouler-mouthed raccoon. The assortment was dizzying, only one truly normative human amongst them, and for the first time in his relatively brief existence Vision felt oddly…normal. Not a single individual on the ship stared at him askew, veered from his handshake, or whispered behind his back. Even on his own team he has never been treated in such a casual, unperturbed nature. It’s nice. “They seem passionate, well-trained, a bit disorganized, but accepting.”  Well, mostly, during the meeting his eyes would wander to the far right of the gathering, to a face that was framed by the shoulders of Steve and Sam, to the unerring stare of the cybernetic woman who said all of four words the entire debate. That is not enough to sway his emotional assessment, however.  “I am comfortable here.”

“Good,” she squeezes his hand while laying a kiss to his arm, “they’re a lot louder than our team.”

“Oh yes, most assuredly.”

Another hug from her fingers and she yawns, stifling it against the fabric of his uniform, her breath hot on his skin. “Alright, today’s been overwhelming so I’m going to sleep. You coming?”

Any other night he would say yes, but the expanse of space calls out to him, demanding just a little more time. “I believe I may remain here a bit longer and then I shall join you.”

“Okay,” Wanda rises up onto her toes, a cloud of scarlet, shimmering in unison with the nebula outside, engulfs his face, turning his head down and to the right so she can kiss him. “Good night, Vizh.”  

“Sleep well, Wanda.”

Once she is gone, Vision tries to enjoy the solitude and silence of eternal night, except it is difficult to do when not truly alone. He waits precisely five minutes, forty-five seconds, and fifteen milliseconds before acknowledging the shadow that’s been watching him since the teams dispersed earlier in the evening (well they called it evening despite a lack of demarcation between day and night). “Are you intending to speak with me at any point?”

“Calm down,” the woman’s voice is monotone, which usually implies emotionlessness, yet he can sense a seething rage in each syllable, “didn’t want to interrupt your little moment.” A layer of disgust coats the last two words.

“I appreciate that.” She rolls her eyes and he finds himself at a loss for how to continue…well, more at how to begin. When they arrived on the ship, she was not present, at some point between introductions and the first aggravated groan of the meeting, she slinked in unannounced and relatively unnoticed, the only signs of recognition by anyone were some of the surprised eyes of his own teammates at her blue and purple skin and the unmitigated view of her metal parts. It means they have not truly met and that seems an appropriate place to start. “I am Vision,” he turns towards her and holds out his hand.

“Yeah, I know,” the complete disregard for the information is more effective at slapping his hand away than if she had physically done so, “so,” her eyes scan his body with a detached, almost scientific interest, “what happened to you?”

“I, um, do not follow.”

Her face is unimpressed by his lack of comprehension. “Had to have gotten into some deep shit for,” she waves her metal hand at him, “all this.”

This is a line of postulation he has not encountered concerning his appearance, the majority of people usually ask if the stone in his head is a way to turn him off (or on and then they laugh and run away). “I was created in a laboratory.”

“Well, that’s boring.”

For some reason the dismissal stings and he finds himself sharing the more dramatic details of his birth before he can reason through why he is doing it, “In which a rogue sentient robot controlled the mind of a renowned geneticist and forced her to create my body as a new form to occupy.”

A small, frightening smirk forms on the woman’s lips, “Now we’re talking.”

Vision nods slowly, confirming they are, in fact, speaking, “During the process, Wanda, who was, well, aiding Ultron-”

“Ultron the psychopathic robot?”

“I- yes, he is,” Nebula nods, a hint of pride on her face at connecting the dots of his story. “Wanda realized Ultron’s plan and freed the geneticist from the mind control, and then the Avengers captured the cradle my body was in and they finished bringing me to life, without Ultron’s influence.”

The woman accepts the information and doesn’t press for more, so he joins her in staring out the windows at the peacefulness of space.  Then she speaks and the conversation veers in a direction he did not anticipate, one with a concerning level of hopeful curiosity. “Did you kill him?”

“I-” he thinks back to the forest and the regret he felt even though he knew it was the right thing to do, “I did, yes.”

“Nice. That’s my dream,” she doesn’t turn to look at him, the air around them chilling as she seems to dissociate from their conversation and slip into a wholly different mindset, “to murder the man who did this to me.”

The uniqueness of the conversation begins to take shape, the similarities of their appearance maps onto his deep understanding of the desire to find a kindred spirit. “Who-”

One word, one sign of interest is enough to catapult her into what seems a well-rehearsed monologue. “My father. When I was a child, he conquered Luphom, killed half the population, took me under his wing.” Vision’s lips fall at the decidingly unfatherly actions. “Every time I failed him he replaced more of my body, enhanced me, he’d say, usually without knocking me out, wanted me to know exactly what he was doing to me.” As subtly as possible, his eyes pinpoint every part of her visible body that is cybernetic, his stomach looping itself into knots at the innumerable lines along her face and at the fully metal arm, “This one was me,” she cocks her arm like a rifle, a wicked sneer on her face, “chopped it off to escape my sister.”

“Your family sounds,” he pauses, seeking out the appropriate word, his own experience with family abnormal, but not in a way that would encourage him to dismember himself, “complicated.”

She snorts, “Aren’t all families?” and the combination of the sound with the casualness of her words is alarming.

“I do not believe it is statically possible for every family to have such serious complications.”

Whatever humor she had in the situation vanishes, the shared ground between them crumbling with the purse of her lips. “You got a cape, assume you can fly?”

“Yes.”

Her chin dips with the victory of her deductive reasoning. “What else can you do?”

The breadth of his powers is vast, yet he believes he can boil it down to a small list, though hopefully she does not wish for a conversation on why he can perform the feats he can because he has not yet deciphered the best explanation. Vision begins with the most obvious enhancement. “Not only is my body laced with vibranium, but so are my cells. This makes me nigh indestructible and—” suddenly a leg cuts through the air, sliding diagonally from his right clavicle down to his left hip as his density drops, her foot connecting with the floor in a deafening thud.

“Fascinating.”

Vision’s sympathetic system activates as he turns to follow the shark-like circling of the woman as she takes in his now solid body, even reaching out to experimentally nudge his shoulder. Despite his body’s response, he does not currently believe he is in any real danger, no clear signs of a legitimate threat present in her posture or on her face. “I am able to shift my density, which also allows me to phase through solid objects.” To demonstrate, he reduces the density of his legs and drops down until the floor is at his knees. He returns to his full height, feet solidly on the floor, only after she acknowledges the action with a guttural hmm.

“Can you take the density the other way?”

“Yes,” and he does, shifting his molecules until his skin resembles the sheen and cut of diamonds.

She studies his skin, stepping closer to poke it again, this level of closeness one he never encourages or enjoys from anyone other than Wanda, but he worries if he flinches or pulls away it will demolish the tenuous sense of camaraderie and relative absence of judgment from the woman. This seems a decent plan until she winds back and punches him in the face, the force of which actually moves his jaw a quarter of a millimeter. Vision immediately steps back, creating what he hopes is a chasm of acceptable but not offensive social distance. The woman doesn’t seem to notice or much care, cracking her knuckles with a barely perceptible grin on her face, “I’m jealous.”

Now the attention is stifling and so Vision seeks to deflect it. “What do your,” he tries to conjure up a word or phrase that is descriptive without being offensive to her abusive upbringing, “cybernetic adaptations provide?”

“Super strength, durability, and rapid healing.” Vision watches as she takes three steps back, spine straightening, chin slightly aloft while her arms hang down and her hands are held out just to the sides of her hips. “Give it a try.”

He’s seen Natasha in the same stance, even down to the subtle quirk of her lip that says do your worst. Unlike in training, however, he doesn’t have to engage, instead he decides to double down on what his teammates call his otherworldly aloofness to parry the suggestion. “I am uncertain I follow.”

“Come on.” The flick of her fingers tries to entice him. It fails, his body remaining a respectable distance. “Just one punch, lab boy, see who’s really stronger.”

There is, to him at least, absolutely no reason to establish any dominance hierarchy based on strength, which is precisely what her tone and continued stare imply she wishes to construct. “I would rather not.”

Disappoint slips into her irate, “Coward.”

Perhaps he is, though he disagrees with the assessment given his past behaviors in battles. “I believe I may retire for the eve—”

“Arm wrestling?”

The question is a smidgen desperate, something he finds surprising, yet it does cause him to contemplate the suggestion and weigh all possible outcomes of accepting the offer. “I suppose that would be an acceptably nonviolent test of our strength.”

“Good.” He follows her to the dining table located towards the back of the main room and watches with interest as she clears a space for them, shoving cups and plates and vid screens without caring when something falls. “Right or left?”

“I am ambidextrous.” This is accepted with a sharp smile, the woman choosing her seat and placing her mechanical elbow on the table, hand held aloft, fingers open and inviting. Vision settles uneasily into the other chair, rotating his torso fifteen degrees to bring his left elbow to the cool, metal table. “Are there rules?” The question is asked as he places his hand in her own, the feel of her prosthetic on his skin a fascinating texture in comparison to other hands he has held.

The woman flexes her fingers, rearranging her body to get a better grip. “No external weapons,” a fair rule, “that’s it.”

“What about-” Vision feels his arm begin to give out as the woman unexpectedly starts, attempting to use surprise to her advantage, but he recalibrates his muscles within a quarter second, flexing his bicep to bring their hands back to the starting position. “That was unsportsmanlike.”

“Oh, boohoo,” she snarls at the lost ground, eyes locked on their hands as she struggles to push his arm.

This is not his maiden voyage in arm wrestling, in fact, one of the first team bonding activities they did in his life was such a competition. Captain Rogers alone gave him pause in his dominance, though even then he tried not to use the strength inherit in his full density for fear of harming his teammates. This woman surprises him, on comparable footing to Captain Rogers, but she has a slight advantage in ruthlessness as he’s fairly certain a screw or two is being shoved into the skin between his thumb and index finger. Vision increases his density slightly to counteract the questionable use of technically-not-external-weapons and manages to drop her hand an inch and a half closer to the tabletop.

“Come on,” her voice is strained, teeth clenched while she strives to regain her position, “that all you got?”

Vision likes to think of himself as above the human need to win, yet Wanda is typically the first to point out his sourness in losing at games, including this one, the woman’s words egging him on despite knowing he should remain unmoved by the taunt. He increases his density a fraction more, pushing her hand down farther and that’s when she screams and he sees her humerus fracture. Panic floods his mind, body, and voice at the same time. “Oh, oh no, I will go get aid immediately.”

But she doesn’t let go of his hand as he tries to leave, doesn’t cry or wince as she stares hard at him, a sickening snap coming from her body as her bone shifts back into place. With his attention frazzled, she thrusts his wrist down in a swift arc, slamming the back of his hand to the table.  “Gotcha.”

A sadistic chuckle echoes around him as his parasympathetic system kicks in, breathing beginning to settle and the adrenaline leaving his cells, his mind whirring in an attempt to reconcile all that happened. Vision isn’t certain how to proceed, simply stating, “That was also unsportsmanlike.”

Her nose scrunches in disagreement, “You used your density manipulation, I,” she holds out her arm and winces as she replays the maneuver, her gaze locked on his as she reconnects her artificial bone, “heal very quickly. Comes in handy from time to time.”

“That must, um, be quite useful.” And manipulative in non-dire situations, yet with the family environment she has informed him of, perhaps it is an adaptive survival technique.

She takes his compliment with a satisfied smirk, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms. “Not bad for a couple of scrap heaps.”

Self-deprecating humor is something he himself has toyed with, an outlet for acknowledging his deep insecurities without alarming others. He tries hard not to use it, knowing how easily it can tip into a spiral of self-doubt. Given his own perceptions of his inhuman physique, it’s not surprising to find this woman has mastered it and even though he chuckles politely, his mind also rushes through the various ways to counter the lighthearted dehumanization. “Are you familiar with Gestaltism?”

“No,” she levels a serious gaze at him, “but I hope you’re about to tell me about disemboweling enemies.”

Thankfully he is not, nor is he willing to enter into that branch of conversation. “It posits that in the process of perceiving a stimulus, the whole is considered something other than, and distinct from, the parts that make it up. In fact—”

She stands, the sound of her chair scraping against the ground effectively silencing him.  “This is boring.”

“My apologies.”

“The angry woodland creature would be better to discuss parts and wholes with,” an impish, knowing slant forms on her mouth, “though I don’t think you’ll agree with his philosophy.”

Vision isn’t sure which shipmate is the angry woodland creature, given both the tree and raccoon were snarky during the meeting. “I will do so, thank you.”

With a curt nod she turns to leave, takes four steps, hunches her shoulders, swivels to face him, stomps the four paces back and thrusts her mechanical hand out. “I’m Nebula.”

Vision shakes her hand like Steve taught him, firm yet friendly. “Vis—”

“I know.” Before the words are out of her mouth, her hand is gone from his, back at her side, fingers flexing in discomfort. “You’d be more formidable if you talked less.”

“I will process your constructive feedback.”

This time her snort isn’t alarming and might even be a bit friendly. “Good night.”

“Good night.” He remains at the table for several more minutes, face turned towards the windows of the ship. The conglomeration of gases, clouds, and stars still swirl together, forming a whole object of wonder, one that has explanations, yet still remains a relative mystery.  Nebula, he reasons, seems a very fitting name.