#and that he thinks sex is beneath him but knows the chemicals are good | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

drmaddict · 22 days

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Keep Out

Summary: modern!Aemond takes his girlfriend home with him for the semester break over summer. He had already forgotten that he barely got any peace and quiet in his old room.

Wordcount: 1.717

Warnings: tiny smuttish part, but also not really, mentions of an unwanted lap dance, lots and lots of fluff

Present

They heard something rumbling loudly against the door. "Urgh. Fuck. Aemond?" shouted Aegon through the door.

(Y/n) laughed silently and shook an equally smirking Aemond, who was lying on her stomach.

2 months before

Aemond was unusually nervous for his ratio. He had never brought anyone home before. It was unusual. He felt strangely naked, as she paced around his room, looking at the books and posters from his school days.

When a grin appeared on her face, he knew immediately what was coming.

"Aha!" She pulled the CD case from the shelf and held it up triumphantly. "I knew it!",she grinned at him.

He just rolled his eyes and put the My Chemical Romance CD back in its place. "Behave.", was all he said.

Her smile softened. Her arms gently wrapped around his neck and pulled him in for a soft kiss.

"Close the door! Would you?", they heard someone laugh. None other than Aegon stood in the doorway and grinned at them both. "We don't want mummy to think you're promiscuous."

"Wow. That was a difficult word for you.", Aemond replied in a calm voice, but (Y/n) could see the tension in his jaw.

"At least I'm not a twenty-year-old virgin.", Aegon rolled his eyes and walked away again.

(Y/n) scratched his neck reassuringly. "So this is Aegon?"

He grumbled in agreement, annoyed.

"You exaggerated a bit with his hair. I was almost expecting a half bald head.", she turned his mind to another topic, knowing full well that he was largely uncomfortable with the subject of sex.

"You didn't see him after rehab. He was close."

She laughed lightly.

He lay relaxed on the bed. (Y/n) half beneath him. His head lay on her chest and he savoured the delicate fingers, as they ran over his scalp and through his long strands.

Sleeptoken was playing softly in the background, but he focussed more on her heartbeat, which he could now hear so clearly.

His eyes had fallen shut at the caresses, his breathing was calm and deep.

Everything was beautiful. Everything was good. Everything-

"Aemond we - Oh sorry."

Both their gazes shot in the direction of the roughly flung open door. His mum stood in the doorway, a little embarrassed. "We'll order something from the Italian. Please come downstairs... And put a shirt on Aemond!"

He dropped his face into the crook of her neck and groaned in annoyance. "I should have taken a hotel.", he grumbled.

She kissed his temple. "Just locking up is cheaper, I think."

"We don't have to.", she explained quietly.

Aemond shook his head. "I want to try it.", he admitted, still looking nervous. "But only on you for now.", he confessed quickly.

She stroked his hair. "Okay."

"You sure?"

She nodded with a smile.

Aemond cleared his throat. He had come a long way since he was a boy and a teenager, but the memory of that night was still so present.

Aegon had dragged him along to his birthday. He doesn't know what he'd expected, but it hadn't been a stripper.

He and his friends had cheered her on as she danced on Aemonds lap. He had never felt so overwhelmed und uncomfortable. The fact that he had come in his pants less than two minutes later had, of course, taken the mockery to the extreme.

They had bawled and Aemond had simply run away until he could lock himself in the bathroom, where he washed himself three times in a row in an attempt to wash off the shame.

"Hey." He felt her hand on his cheek. He pulled himself from his memory. "It's just me here. No one else." She smiled so warmly at him again. And she was right. The rest of his family was gone tonight, except for Haelena. But she rarely left her bugs voluntarily anyway.

He nodded, but still buried his face briefly on her shoulder. "Can I?," he asked, stroking her waistband with his fingers.

She nodded with a smile.

He carefully slipped his hand under the elasticated fabric and immediately came across the top of her panties. He looked at her questioningly again. She simply nodded. His fingers travelled deeper. He felt light stubble and took in the slightly scratchy feeling beneath his fingertips. He drew a few exploratory circles.

"Does that bother you?", she asked a little hesitantly, but he immediately shook his head.

"Not at all."

He let his fingers wander deeper until he felt what he was looking for. He groped around a little awkwardly and blindly. Searching for what he had already read about. She tenderly pushed her hand towards his. Grasped his fingers and brought them into position. She calmly showed him how to move them. He followed her with concentration.

She sighed slightly and withdrew her hand again. He tried himself out. Experimented. Memorised what caused which reaction.

And he realised, that this was okay. It was even kind of nice. It was-

The door to his room opened again. Helaena poked her head into the room. She didn't pay any attention to the situation of the two of them, frantically trying to present themselves in a more socially acceptable manner.

"Helaena!", shouted Aemond reprovingly.

She looked absolutely neutral in return. "Have you seen my Tarantula? She's run off."

"Your what?", asked (Y/n) immediately in alarm.

"My Tarantula. She-"

"Rethorical question.", explained Aemond immediately. "And no."

"Okay."

The door closed again.

"Please tell me that Tarantula is the name of your cat."

"Don't worry about it. The creature is ancient. It probably just turned to dust."

"Found her!", Heelena shouted from the corridor.

"Great.", Aemond called back, only slightly annoyed.

(Y/n) was still sitting tensely on his bed. "What do you say we-"

"Chinese or Thai?" he asked.

"Chinese."

"I'll just wash my hands and get the car.", he explained and stood up humbly. Would he ever have a quiet evening in this house?

"I love you.", she called after him tensely.

"Love you too.", he called back with a sigh.

They made out violently. She was sitting on his old desk and had her legs wrapped around his hips like a snake.

His centre kept twitching slightly forward. His family was gone, even his sister, and the damn door was locked.

Aemond pressed himself against her even more than he already did. His hands wandered under her top. His lips broke away from hers and travelled to her neck. He was ready. He was sure. He felt comfortable with her. He wanted this.

"To bed?", he asked, slightly out of breath.

She nodded eagerly. "Please.", she sighed. He lifted her from the table and carried her towards the bed. She took off her own top and threw it somewhere. He did the same.

She was already sitting down on the mattress and pushed herself into the middle of it, when Aemond tried to get out of his trousers.

He lay down on top of her. Their lips met. He sighed, when he felt her hands on his bare back.

He was just sliding his hands into the waistband of her trousers when he heard the click of the lock. He frantically threw half of the blanket over (Y/n) to cover her body as his grandfather stood in the doorway.

He looked at them both in astonishment.

"Excuse me.", he nodded briefly to (Y/n). "Otto Hightower. The grandfather." He introduced himself impassively.

"Hello." (Y/n) waved back, overwhelmed.

"You still have my encyclopaedia.", he explained, turning to Aemond.

He looked at him perplexed. "Couldn't you have just called me?"

Otto just raised an eyebrow. "The book, Aemond.", he demanded.

Aemond stood up angrily, took the book from the shelf and pressed it into his grandfather's hand.

"Could we have some privacy now, please?"

Otto just waved him off. "But don't get her pregnant. We don't need any more complaints like your brother's."

He didn't even look at them again. He simply left the house.

Aemond breathed in and out in a controlled manner.

He turned round with a jerk and pulled his trousers back on.

"Aemond, it's all-"

"Get dressed. We're driving."

"Driving? Where?"

"To a hotel.", he explained curtly and held out her top.

(Y/n) looked at him in surprise. "So we're not stopping?", she asked, half teasingly, half cheerfully.

Aemond looked at her insistently. "Not if you don't want to."

She smiled. "Let's go then."

The night was mild. Mild enough that they didn't try to put as much distance between them as possible. Just touching fingers or knuckles.

No. Aemond had snuggled up to her chest and (Y/n) held him in a relaxed grip.

They both lingered in the land of dreams, knowing that the door was locked and the key was still in it.

They had had their peace and quiet all evening. No one had gotten on their nerves. Aemond had snuggled up to her as he usually only did in his own flat. A place where no one could go without his permission. The key in the lock wasn't the highend security system in his flat, but it reassured him enough.

Even in his dreams, he still had the feeling that he had finally triumphed when he was suddenly and rudely torn from this world.

A loud, breaking sound rang out. The sound crashed into the room like a bang.

And with the noise, Aegon smashed in too.

"Oaaa! Fuck!", he exclaimed, annoyed, then he laughed clearly drunk.

Aemond and (Y/n) immediately sat upright in bed. (Y/n) looked perplexed at Aegon.

Aemond looked at the hole in the wall that had once been his door, now lying as splinters of wood on the floor.

"I didn't get the curve.", Aegon laughed, still on the floor. "Sorry little brother."

Present

"Stable.", (Y/n) stated, when she had her laughter under control again.

"Steel core with a security lock. Standard for banks.", explained Aemond relaxed.

He firmly grabbed her hand, which she had withdrawn during her fit of laughter, and put it back on his head.

"Don't stop.", he just sighed and closed his eye again. A slight smile played around his lips.

She kissed the top of his head with a smile and complied.

#aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #hotd fanfic #modern!aemond #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #hotd aemond #aemond targaryen x you #fluff #aemond targaryen fluff

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takami-takami · 5 months

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Keigo Takami — Nsfw Alphabet

6k. Hawks x Reader. Minors dni.

- ̗۪۪̥̀৩ु˖❥ A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Oh, Keigo is sickly sweet.

All that post-orgasmic fuzziness is getting funneled directly back towards you: the object of his affections. Every chemical that bursts and pops in his brain when he comes inside you is getting channeled right back into plentiful doting, post-sex.

Keigo's aftercare… It's riddled with indulgent pampering. You know how some dogs bring you their favorite toy to make you happy? Yeah. It's kinda like that. If you had feathers, he'd preen them between his fingertips.

Keigo's the kind of dom who's primary form of aftercare is giving aftercare. He needs to see his hands soothe and treat you like royalty in order to be normal. At his core, Keigo is quite the sensory, visual creature. When he sees your eyes slit shut like a purring cat beneath his touch, that's when he finally allows himself to breathe.

The hero who is so desperate to help and wants to see people smile more than anything, to the point that it disintegrates him, finally being given a healthy outlet for all those urges to protect and provide and keep you safe? Yet it's still a kind of "work" that satisfies his workaholic nature without feeling like work at all? And it simultaneously serves as the purest, most soothing indulgence he's ever had the pleasure to sink his teeth into?

Oh my god. It makes him normal.

Physical touch is a big one. He's a bit handsy and gets in your personal space, but you don't mind one bit, so it bodes well for the both of you. If you let him pull you into the bath with him after, he likes to wash and run his palms along your body even though you're perfectly capable of doing something like that yourself. His little "let me, babe" is an instruction and a beg all at once. Expect him to get a bit playful with the bubbles, though.

Part of why Keigo loves baths with you is because of the part where you turn him over, gently preening and pinching the bristles of each feather until his brain melts to goo once more.

You're going straight to bed after. No buts. You deserve some well-earned rest after you did so good for him. Keigo made sure to start buying the softest blankets and pillows he could find after you started getting intimate together. Don't ask him why.

Keigo doesn't shy away from verbal affirmations, either: "Oh, baby, you did so good for me", "you're perfect", "I'm so proud of you." He never did like holding back his true feelings on things, and speaking to you is no different. He is going to let it spill and that's that.

For aftercare that he needs personally, be sure to reflect how much his aftercare helps you and be honest about what you need! Whether they're verbal or not, he's quite skilled at understanding cues. It's good for him to be shown the fruits of his actions for a change, even if he doesn't think he needs it.

It's good for him as much as you.

- ̗۪۪̥̀৩ु˖❥ B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Keigo never stopped to think about his favorite part of his body. If you asked him, he'd likely cock his head to one side like a doberman puppy given a command they can't exactly interpret on the spot.

He supposes everyone expects him to answer with the word "wings"— even though those closest to his inner circle would balk at such a notion, knowing how complicated that whole situation is. Yes, and no.

The answer comes easily, after he meets you. Keigo likes the way you look into his eyes. In that way, he learns to love them.

He abhors his hands, but he worships yours. Every bump and ridge, the sharp roundness of each knuckle, the length of each finger. The way you hold him, the way you touch him. He'd shudder in recounting this, if you were to ask him what parts of you he likes best.

He also adores chests. That skin-to-skin contact is soothing; and although he can hear your heartbeat through his feathers well enough already, pressing his ear directly against the source grounds him deeply. It makes him feel ablaze and at peace all at once, the bareness of your skin.

- ̗۪۪̥̀৩ु˖❥ C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

This boy cums a lot. Like… Genetically. He's blessed. Whatever god is out there gave him the right equipment for his breeding kink in a stroke (ha) of good luck.

Keigo cums sticky, excessive, fat ropes— his backshots are insane, his facials outrageous, his creampies coating the sides of his cock white and spilling out of you before he even can pull out because there's just not enough room for all his cum inside you.

Keigo is a gentleman, so he will ask your input respectfully beforehand without letting his desires slip through the cracks when he pants the question, "where do you want me?"

But you both know the truth.

You're perfectly aware there is nowhere else his poor, sad, pathetically needy dick would rather burst and throb than stuffed deep inside you. Balls deep, as flush as your bodies can practically go, subtly grinding against your ass rather than thrusting because he would rather die than pull out even a fraction while he's in the midst of an orgasm this good.

The orgasms he experiences when he's inside you are the closest Keigo will get to religion.

How else is his cock supposed to get milked? Not inside of you? Fuck out of here.

- ̗۪۪̥̀৩ु˖❥ D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He, uh… Likes to be humiliated and talked down to. And stepped on... A lot. More than a lot. It makes his brain go fuzzy with the lack of control. Don't ask him where that kink comes from. Really, don't worry about it!

Keigo is also the type of guy to swear he's not into feet (he's into feet). No, really, he just thinks your boots suit you and he swallows a lot around them because he's just so fascinated with the, uh… The style. Yeah. You can prop your feet up on him like a footrest, if you want. It's intimate, or something— whatever, just do it.

Can he kiss them? Can he unlace your boots? Do you want a foot massage tonight, babe? It's no inconvenience, really, don't worry about it, he insists… Please? Fuck, please, would you let him touch you, your skin is so soft, he promises he's been so good please god just let him feel your soles against his hot, throbbing cock— I mean his hands. When he massages them. As a favor to you.

Fuck, his dick is hard now. That's your fault. This is all your fault for wearing sleek leather and not ordering him to rut against it like a fucking dog. Leather boots as a "fashion choice" his ass, you're torturing him. You have to be doing this on purpose. That's your fault, not his, but he's sorry anyway if that means you'll punish him by stepping on his dick so gently with your—

- ̗۪۪̥̀৩ु˖❥ E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Virgin loser.

But no, seriously, Keigo has had neither the time nor the cognitive space to stop and consider his own sexuality, let alone experiment with it. It's not like he would have trusted anyone enough to do so with, anyway. Fat fucking chance.

As far as whether he knows what he's doing, he starts off tentative and curious, absorbing the information of your body and voice like a damn sponge. When he tests the waters, so to speak, he starts slowly and observes any miniscule quirk of your muscles, every hitched breath in response to the stimuli he offers.

Keigo is a quick learner and a perfectionist. Don't expect him to take the backseat for long.

- ̗۪۪̥̀৩ु˖❥ F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Missionary.

Undoubtedly, missionary. He's romantic, like that.

What more could a man want? Your ankles hooked across the small of his back, his right hand entwined with yours while his left kneads every inch of your body, focusing on petting your sex whenever he wants to hear your voice whine for him.

Keigo gets the perfect view like this. He can absorb all you have and breathe it into his lungs and swallow it while he gulps down your image like a sacreligious idol. Like an angel. Like worship.

The connection of it all maddens him. He adores the way he can press your thighs up and into a mating press if he so pleases, deep enough to stuff your guts full of him and make you sob gooey tears with how good it feels. It allows him unbridled access to your thighs, your chest, your hands, your mouth (which he plays with unashamedly like his favorite toy. Fingers, tongue, lips.)

God help him, Keigo loves missionary.

- ̗۪۪̥̀৩ु˖❥ G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

As serious as Keigo wants to take the love you share, for every intimate night you make love and absolutely nothing else, there's another day he makes you laugh so hard your chest aches like a bruise in bed.

Keigo can be a brat. A little shit, a pain in the ass. This is no secret. Still, every joke and nibble and tackle and moan is utterly saturated. It's sticky. It's lovesick.

He likes to banter in battle, and that switch doesn't turn off when the conflict is between the sheets. There are nights he simply allows himself to be your pillow princess, laid back and spoiled in the fluff of your bed like it's made of heated cashmere; and there are other nights you grant Keigo the holy sacrament of servicing you while you simply lounge and watch him do what he does best.

Those nights, not many words are exchanged. There's no need to say them.

You get each other.

Even so, you cannot count the amount of times you've choked "shut the fuck up" through laughter over the years, when sex looks more like tussling than worship. It's stress relief as much as it is bonding, play as much as it is intimacy. Still, Keigo keeps a good balance of humor and seriousness.

Can't have all work and no play, can he? He never was a dull boy.

- ̗۪۪̥̀৩ु˖❥ H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Keigo has trimmed hair that is still blonde, but slightly darker than the hair on his head. It's well-kept.

He keeps his chest bare, unfortunately, to look photogenic for his modeling gigs and such. But after many nights spent begging and pleading on your knees, Keigo sort of considers keeping the happy trail. After the night you traced your tongue down the trail toward his cock, promising he'll get this kind of treatment if he keeps it, Keigo never shaves it again.

Oh, Keigo's happy trail… It crawls up his navel and stops just short of his belly button; dark and noticeable, but a little sparse, kind of like the scruff on his chin. It makes him look more rugged while simultaneously making him appear prettier somehow, because Keigo is nothing if not unfairly contradictory and magnificent in everything. Asshole.

You suppose anything would look good with those abs as a backdrop, though.

- ̗۪۪̥̀৩ु˖❥ I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect?

Keigo never knew intimacy before he met you. It sounds like hyperbole, the word never; but whether people believe him or not, it doesn't erase the decades of longing for no one and nothing in particular, a parasocial ghost that both plagued him and kept him trudging forward.

Keigo builds community for others, working to connect their hearts… Why wasn't he invited, again? Oh well, that doesn't matter to him. That's not why he does the work he does. His own happiness is never why Keigo does fucking anything.

It's for the greater good. And Keigo is worse than everyone else, isn't he? It makes sense why he wouldn't be invited. He never stopped to question that.

You don't touch him like he's dirty, though. The first time your palm slid up his throat, he stiffened and trembled like a twig that might have snapped beneath your boot; but when you hush him this softly, he's a stray kitten in your maws, plucked and wrapped for the first time in fleece and warmth and love. For as feral as the world made him, Keigo is at his core quite a domestic thing. You put him back in place when you make love to him.

In turn, Keigo offers himself to you. It's not much, but it's yours if you'll have it, he says. The louder he gets when you fuck him, the more you realize he's opening up his lungs like buds awake from frost.

You know from experience what that's like. He opens you up, too.

- ̗۪۪̥̀৩ु˖❥ J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Keigo had to go through a bit of a journey to arrive where he's at.

Namely, over the course of his sad little life, he underwent three categorical phases. Do not mind the tiered nature of the following sections. This shift was, in actuality, torturously gradual; like having one's body dragged forward by its ankles, finally accepting you have no say in where it's headed after a few desperate claws at denial.

Jerking off was a chore, a half-assed attempt at wringing the frustration of a long day out of his body and letting it wash down the drain on Sunday nights— every other time of the week was booked to the nines with hero work. Ten minutes for yanking it, tops. If Keigo timed his sessions with a stopwatch, he'd fall just short of the millisecond every time. Score. Efficiency. Plop down in bed and go straight to sleep after so you don't have to think about how lonely that whole experience just made you feel.

Enter, scene: you. After meeting you, masturbation just wasn't the same. It frustrated him that he even had to use the same word to describe it, because as far as Keigo was concerned, this was not the same activity in the slightest. Those were the golden years, when jerking off felt less like "rubbing one out" and more like "this is how it feels to drown in liquid gold. This is how it feels to have your cause of death be every neuron in your brain spontaneously combusting in a fit of pleasure. This is how it feels to be in love." The first time he allowed himself to touch his cock to the thought of you, Keigo swore he saw god; and when he finished an hour later, the back of his hand was chewed to whimpering bits. Yeah, those were the golden years.

And here we are, back to square one. After you finally get together, Keigo is back to square one. What do you mean he has to use his own hand when he's on missions away from you? What do you mean he can't cum inside you? This sucks. This blows. It's not the same, and for all his patience and respectability, the lack of passion when he touches himself kills Keigo with sexual frustration. The only thing it accomplishes is planting a pathetic whimper of "fuck, I miss them" in his head while he pants post-orgasm in a shitty motel bed alone at two in the damn morning. You do get a really cute text message after every time; something chaste like "missing you tonight <3." It's so obvious. You simply have to laugh.

- ̗۪۪̥̀৩ु˖❥ K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Breeding, obviously.

Dumbification, both ways. Thinking is overrated! And honestly, he deserves a bit of a break from all the whirring that goes on in his overheated, overworked, cognitive machine of a brain. Something about the responsibility for guiding his partner through it when he's the one who doms is special to him, too.

Oral fixation, because he's the cutest little biter. He chews. Keigo also gets lost with his mouth latched onto your chest, flicking his eyes upward periodically when he has the mental faculties to think for half a second (which is not all that often, when his mouth is full, his lips are pursed, and his tongue is lapping its fill.) He also adores giving head!

Subspace, too— Keigo is a fiend for subspace, either guiding you through it or getting lost in it, himself.

Huge fan of edging and overstim. Keigo is not a physical sadist at all, he never wants to make you cry out of pain; but tears of frustration are not just "on the table," they're a goddamn feature. He is such a pain in the ass. You can't blame him for being insufferable, for stopping just short of your orgasm when you want to cum and forcing more out of you when you think it's too much. He's just having so much fun!

Keigo is the kind of guy to edge you when you say you're close and click his teeth dramatically before he goes, "ahhh, shucks, baby. What was that? Did you ask for something? I didn't hear you that time. Ask nicer."

He tilts his chin to the side and taps his ear with two stiff fingers when he leans in, invading your space as he mockingly orders: "Say it louder for me."

And after you throw your little fit about how mean he's being, how he’s such a bully, Keigo finally feels emboldened to move onto the next phase. He makes you feel good until you're sobbing, expertly dragging climax after climax out of your body until you're so overstimulated you can barely speak and are lacking more than a few electrolytes. In which case, Keigo will make a point to laugh at your complaints. He'll say, "aww, I thought you liked coming? Aren't I being nice? Don't pout, I'm just giving you what you asked for!"

This is not so much a kink, but he likes the title daddy because of the trust, affection, and protective responsibility being 'daddy' implies. Assuming responsibility during sex feels like home to him; because for the first time in his life, he has a healthy outlet for those urges and instincts that have caused him so much trouble. He admits in canon to being desperate to be of use and help, after all— oh, and along that same vein, he loves to service top.

Keigo thinks the title "sir" is really cute too! But mostly, he treasures the nicknames and pet names you come up with for him. His names of "Keigo Takami" or "Hawks" have never felt stable for him growing up. So nicknames are nice, for a change.

And he has a mommy kink because of his mommy issues. You'll actually have to be very gentle about this because he absolutely does not recognize where it comes from at all.

- ̗۪۪̥̀৩ु˖❥ L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

In bed. Anywhere in his home, really— surfaces, the floor, cabinets somehow— but he especially prefers to take you in bed. It's not a nest thing, trust me (it totally is).

The way Keigo's quirk works isn't an actual animal quirk, so he's not literally a bird and his bed is not literally a nest. But he does possess a number of birdlike oddities, and this is one of them!

He also just feels safe, secure, and at ease in his home (not the one from the commission, his actual home). Given his whole thing about his little roosting place in canon, it makes sense that the bedroom holds special significance to Keigo in particular.

Keigo bought you some blankets. He really, really hopes you like them.

- ̗۪۪̥̀৩ु˖❥ M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Service. Pleasure and sensation is fantastic for him, he thrives in it, but eroticism is cognitive for him as well (or, ya know, lack of cognitive during dumbification). Don't get him wrong, a simple "woah!" and a popped half-chub from seeing you shirtless is still something that definitely happens, but he can be a complex man, too. He promises.

Most of all, Keigo is an observant sponge. He likes to watch, to study, to learn, to analyze, to perfect— like a cat confined in an enclosure given toys and apt time to chase and solve as a form of enrichment.

Sex is special and a bonding activity, but as much as he's a sucker for the plain old basics— the romantic part of it all— it's no surprise that Keigo gains a great deal of satisfaction from gently mapping the parts of your psyche that make you tick. And obviously, as Keigo is one for outcomes, just mapping you out isn't enough for him.

He should be able to play with the fruits of his labor, too, no? The satisfying pop of your last brain cell has something of a Pavlovian effect for him. That's when the real fun of it begins.

- ̗۪۪̥̀৩ु˖❥ N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Any heavy impact play. This is an absolute no from him. He doesn't want to do it with tools like flogs, whips, etc; but it's especially worse when it's his own hands. He can't exactly pinpoint why, though (poor birdie has a thing about his hands being dirty). For that matter, he dodges anything that would bring you more physical pain than, say, a firm tap. Keigo does enough of that at his job, he doesn't want to hurt his baby, too.

A couple love taps on the cheek or thigh are the most you'll get, but the way he does it is more than enough to get your brain fuzzy. He's a biter and scratches a bit, though! So if you're into pain, this is where you'll find common ground.

Never call him filthy or dirty, or ever imply he is either of those things, even as a joke or to tease him.

He's not a fan of choking, but specifically when he's the one doing it. Again, it reminds him of his job. He's okay being choked himself, though, since he believes he's perfectly capable of handling himself (and he's used to putting his life on the line, anyways).

- ̗۪۪̥̀৩ु˖❥ O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Most are familiar with the "Keigo-drowns-between-your-thighs-and-dies-happy" headcanon at this point, but the classics are classics for a reason.

He prefers giving over receiving. It's not even close, honestly. Your orgasms against his tongue satisfy him more than his own— not that he won't be touching himself while he goes down on you. Because he absolutely will.

Rough day? He'll eat it from the back to cheer himself up.

Good day? He tops it off with you on top of his face, of course.

Mediocre day? Fuck it, he's on his knees and his mouth is on you before his keys hit the table, anyways.

One of your fondest memories you recount to him endlessly (to his embarrassed chagrin) is a night you two were roleplaying in bed. The slippery fucker thought he was slick, tied to the bedpost as he attempted to— in character and in scene— subtly propose you sit on his face as a "punishment" in that pathetic little oh no, whatever will I do type of voice.

His face flushed scarlet when you burst into laughter over him, breaking character and nearly busting a lung in the process.

Oral? As punishment? For Keigo? Did he actually think you were going to buy that? Oh my god. You never let him live it down.

- ̗۪۪̥̀৩ु˖❥ P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Depends on his mood and yours. Oftentimes, you find yourselves synced and on similar wavelengths; but other times, as all couples inevitably see, there's a bit of a mismatch between sharp and smooth desires. On those nights, Keigo takes the liberty of defaulting to softness.

He easily slows his pace when you tell him you want it syrupy and molten, regardless of how pent up he is. But more interestingly, Keigo is able to see when your "give it to me rough" doesn't reach your eyes.

When you ask for rough sex with your hands clutching his tee shirt and a shaky look in your eye, that's when Keigo rolls up his sleeve and kisses you softly. If you pitch a fit, he'll shush it away. Both wrists are kissed, and both thighs are placed reverently on his shoulders.

"Why are you doing that," you ask.

"Because I like you a whole lot, dummy," he answers, pecking a kiss on your tummy. "Let me show you how much?"

- ̗۪۪̥̀৩ु˖❥ Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

When it comes down to it, Keigo is a hero. His career comes first, so quickies are a delightful inevitability in this line of work. Given his particular gift for espionage and the equipment he carries to boot (feathers, baby), the chances of anyone catching him in the act are slim enough to slide under the door to the broom closet he's fucking your brains out in.

But make no mistake, just because Keigo can break you down quickly doesn't mean he prefers it. He'd much rather take you in his bed achingly, ironically slow for a man so beloved for his speed. He'd rather be meticulous with you, but he can't always get what he wants exactly when he wants it. Self control is unfortunately a thing he has to consider, he'd sigh.

He's still going down on you during quickies, though. No way in hell he'd deny himself that.

- ̗۪۪̥̀৩ु˖❥ R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Keigo is quite careful with you. He cradles you in his maws like fresh fruit fit to burst— sinking his canines just enough to pierce your skin and sample your juices, but never using enough pressure to cause you any tangible damage. He wouldn't want to hurt his baby, even if part of him does want to deconstruct you a little; just not in a destructive sense. His preferred method of breaking down is to coax out your moans the way a gardener coaxes the sprout of his very own harvest.

That being said, once Keigo becomes comfortable enough with you to let the guard dog in his heart rest in your lap, he is open to a surprising amount, sexually speaking. Whatever it is, he's clever enough to find a way to make it sexy— and if a certain kink or position doesn't work out as planned, he's grounded enough to remain confident you can both get a laugh out of it together, at least.

You just get each other like that, you and him; and fuck, if that isn't the hottest thing in the world to him.

He feels safe enough with you to treat your bed like a playground and a temple all at once. Keigo stops and considers his new life one night as he takes the BDSM test with you, sitting cross-legged on the floor with a mouth still spilling crumbs from that night's takeout. His chest hurts from laughing, his heart is fuller than his stomach; and for the first time in his life, another person feels like home to him.

- ̗۪۪̥̀৩ु˖❥ S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Multiple. Many. Numerous.

This is Keigo's forte, his wheelhouse, his territory. You're out of your mind if you think you can outlast this man, but it's cute of you to try.

Your attempts to keep your sorry little mind held together by willpower and duct tape for just a little while longer are absolutely adorable to him. He'll use that against you, too.

- ̗۪۪̥̀৩ु˖❥ T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Keigo doesn't own any toys— well, he didn't, before he met you. A few painful months after he realized it was actually you that made his heart beat, he buys a fleshlight to kind of, sort of, maybe pretend it's you.

Disrespectful, yeah. He knows. But it's better than the alternative. He can't afford to get you mixed up into his life; and if fucking a chunk of silicone every couple of nights to unscramble the plague of you from his head and make it normal (it makes it worse) is the sacrifice Keigo has to make, then call him Japan's number one martyr, because he's going to wring his money's worth out of the damn thing (and his cock).

Once Keigo gets over that thinly-veiled form of self-sabotage, he buys a couple of toys to use on you, instead.

- ̗۪۪̥̀৩ु˖❥ U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Life's unfair, sweetheart.

That's what Keigo tells you, smile wide and gloved hands clasped behind his back as he encircles your bed.

He adores his handiwork, tied up, gagged, and stuffed in every orifice. He's not a sadist, he swears! He just wants to… Overwhelm you a little. It's fun! And it's not Keigo's fault, really, that he likes to play with his food.

Honestly, he's doing you a favor by teasing you to bits! You like it, don't you? All pouts and "please"s, but the moment he takes away that stimulation you nearly throw a fit (how adorable. Keigo adores his little brat.)

The only comfort granted to you is the sound of his voice, all buttery rich and familiar; but even that notion carries a caveat. The words he decides to spill aren't exactly fair. Condescending bits of praise he knows will get you to whimper for him just right, questions he knows you can't answer properly in this state…

Point is, Keigo will use every resource available to be unfair to you because he's the worst combination of perfectionist and pain in the fucking ass. If he doesn't edge you up to the damn millisecond before an orgasm, Keigo won't consider it a job well done; and a job insufficiently done is not a job done at all. He'll have to give it another go until he does it right.

… And another, and another, for good measure.

- ̗۪۪̥̀৩ु˖❥ V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Keigo is loud.

He's embarrassingly, heart-wrenchingly loud. The oh-god-did-I-leave-the-window-open kind of loud, especially when he subs. He's such a fucking baby about it; like he's crying for attention, for you. Poor thing. Whimpering, moaning, sniffling for attention like a puppy with its tail between its legs peeking from between a dog crate's bars.

Keigo never was one to hold himself back or keep his mouth shut— he's not the shy type, exactly— and you look like the type of person to be into that kind of shit, anyway, he'd attest later with an infuriating smile.

Is he wrong? He rarely is. Bastard.

But regardless, Keigo tends to run his mouth. His voice is his most precious weapon to use against you when he's on top, too— sharper than any feather he's ever grown, that's for damn sure. His dirty talk reveals his silver tongue and charisma more than anything.

Keigo is a switch, but he enjoys the luxury of changing your mood quite quickly with his voice alone. He doesn't have to try hard at all to get you into subspace or domspace, really. All it takes is a "make me" to get you to be mean to him, a "please" to get you to pamper him, a "watch it" to get you to shrink, a "poor baby" to get you to melt.

He's not the only one that's well-trained, it seems.

- ̗۪۪̥̀৩ु˖❥ W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

His wings puff up a little when he cums. Like a Ghibli character, yeah.

When he's babbling while he gets a good lay, dick wet and balls deep into a real good fuck, Keigo's wings shudder from the shoulderblades to the wingtips. They flap a few times for good measure, uncontrolled with arousal. It's not like he couldn't suppress the instinct to do so. It's just that he knows it drives you wild to see him as authentic and raw as he wishes he could be.

It's a little unconscious, but moving his wings during sex also entices your hands to play with them a little. You always did like to fidget, and what better way to peacock in front of his precious partner than to flap their favorite fidget toy within arm's reach?

It's mutually beneficial, thank you very much. You get a little something to grip on to while he blows your back out, and Keigo gets to blow his load while you tug at an erogenous zone arguably more sensitive than his cock.

It's a win-win.

- ̗۪۪̥̀৩ु˖❥ X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

The wishful thinking answer is that he is big but not like, ouch big, about 6 inches or so. HOWEVER, realistically, this is not the case. There is evidence to consider.

His pants are very baggy. This raises questions. Nobody wears pants that baggy at the crotch all the fucking time unless they are packing. He also carries a certain energy with him. BDE or whatever. So this bumps him up to about 6.5-7 inches as an estimate. But honestly, it's difficult to say! Because Keigo is also not particularly tall or anything.

It curves a bit upward when he's rock hard and it slaps against his stomach when he's on his back. Mostly smooth save for a few prominent veins. Nothing crazy, but enough to be visually appealing or trace if you want to. His dick is ever so slightly darker than the rest of him and a bit flushed, especially at the tip. The head is proportional/average and swells darker when he's hard or edged.

Huge breeder balls. They're sensitive, too. And he gives insane cumshots. Like, he cums a lot. A lot. His backshots are out of this world. Fat, sticky ropes. A gift for his breeding kink, truly.

He has a very, very pretty dick. Like the kind you'd look at and go "wow, congrats man" and give him a firm handshake. The kind of dick you stick a little blue award ribbon that says "best in show" on and pop a confetti popper.

- ̗۪۪̥̀৩ु˖❥ Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Not very high at all, interestingly. It's pretty par for the course, for a man his age; if not a bit dampered at times by his constant business and overworked nature.

When Keigo gets into it, he gets into it, sure, but his drive isn't really on the higher side. It's more of an "on" and "off" switch that he has a pretty solid handle on. His cool head up top tends to trump the hot one between his legs.

Well. You kind of throw a monkey wrench in that whole system, but that's okay. No, really, it's cool. He still is able to begrudgingly do the same old routine, this time through gritted teeth and with a head nearly thunked against the wall in agonized frustration.

When you send him racy pics before his afternoon patrol, it technically is possible for him to will his boner down and think of something else. And that is what he ultimately decides to do— just with a little footnote tucked away for later.

He'll get you back. He always does.

- ̗۪۪̥̀৩ु˖❥ Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Eepy. Falls asleep on top of you, cradled like a teddy bear. Zzzzz.

#✒ writing #smut #🌶 spice #hawks x reader #keigo takami x reader #mha smut #bnha smut #minors dni

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greenglowinspooks · 11 months

Text

(DCxDP) The obligations of a rogue versus those of a parent (Pt. 4)

—

Tw: descriptions of body horror, Dr. Crane has PTSD and Does Not Realize, Crane has an actual panic attack and just doesn’t care, the Riddler makes one (1) sex joke about Batman

Will be crossposted to AO3 eventually

(Pt. 1 here) (Prev here) - (Pt. 5 here)

(Masterlist here)

—

Dr. Jonathan Crane is in his lab, the acrid scent of chemicals filling the air, and his hands are shaking.

Danny’s health, for the first week that he had him, had been steadily improving at an extremely quick rate. However, his healing had begun to stagnate. Danny said that it was because his body had run out of ectoplasm, and that while there was a lot of ambient ectoplasm in Gotham, he needed a stronger type in order to heal.

And so, that led Dr. Crane here.

He had stolen the research notes from the Penguin years ago regarding his experimentation on him.

(He quite vividly remembers the sound of bone creaking and groaning as it twisted, lengthened. The squelching of shifting tendons and muscles, the strange fabric-like tightening of skin. The feeling of going from man to monster, of losing all claim to his humanity.)

Danny had called him Liminal, part ghost. He had said that he was transformed by, among other things, a kind of synthetic ectoplasm.

Danny needed ectoplasm.

Crane had the research notes. He had every ingredient necessary. And yet, attempt after attempt failed.

The chemical smell burns his nose. His hands tremble.

Dr. Crane is not afraid.

He doesn’t feel fear anymore. He’s tried to, many, many times, but nothing has worked. And yet, his hands are shaking still.

(The horrifying sensation of vertebrae pop-pop-popping along his spine, growing and lengthening. The unbearable itching beneath his skin as toxin glands begin to form. The feeling of his teeth sharpening and elongating, of his skull growing, of his vision changing and brightening. The awful stench of chemicals. The awful stench of ectoplasm.)

Jonathan takes careful note of his shaking hands, his blurring vision, his accelerated heart-rate and shallow breathing.

(Human hands. Human vision. Human heart and lungs and organs.)

He takes note of them, but he does not let that distract him from the task at hand. Danny is not a chemist, but Jonathan is.

The boy knows enough about chemistry in theory, but he won’t go anywhere near Crane’s equipment. He seems to have some sort of intense fear of laboratory settings, probably developed during his stay with the GiW, and Crane is willing to respect that, if only because he cannot afford to lose him.

As such, Crane is the only one qualified to do this. And, unfortunately, if he isn’t successful the boy may very well die.

He heats the chemicals to precisely the right temperatures, adding each one to its correct container.

Dr. Crane thinks of the Scarebeast, that creature born of cruelty and greed and a sense of superiority. That creature which he tries to ignore is a part of him, that can never be removed. A damage which cannot be undone.

He pours the contents of a small beaker into a larger flask, watching the liquids swirl together. The stench in the air is becoming closer and closer to the one burned into his memory.

Crane’s whole body is wracked with unpleasant sensations. It’s truly unfortunate, he thinks, that despite his mind’s lack of fear, his body still reacts so harshly.

Jonathan’s eyes wander, eventually settling on a purple and green card sitting innocently on the corner of the table.

Right.

Even if they wiped out the GiW tomorrow, and even if Danny could survive without ectoplasm, he would still be in danger.

Crane has to get him back to good health. It’s the only way he can be sure that the boy can defend himself properly.

The solution in the flask begins to foam, and Jonathan does not hesitate as he adds the final ingredient. He pours the mixture into a new container, capping it and placing it into a freezer set to -40 degrees.

Hopefully this time he got the timing right.

Jonathan tries to relax, the ventilation in the room slowly but surely clearing the familiar smell from the air.

He thinks of the letter.

Surely, he thinks, that man can come up with some better material for his jokes. Or, at least something new.

Same old threats, same old attempted poisoning.

Aiming his threats at Danny, though, that was new. New and utterly unacceptable.

Scarecrow did what he had to.

He doubted that his solution would last forever, of course, as with that man it never did. As such, he would prepare both himself and Danny for the inevitable moment that his choices came back to bite them.

However, for the moment, they were safe. Danny could rest and recover, and Jonathan could figure out a plan to minimize possible damages.

Jonathan is no longer shaking.

He’s exhausted. This is his fifth attempt today, and each one leaves an unfortunate strain on his mind and body.

With a sigh, he settles himself into his seat at a nearby desk, opening up his computer and logging his most recent attempt. He still has to wait for it to chill to know if it was successful, but he can always update the logs later.

Once he’s done, he stretches, joints popping loudly as he walks to the freezer.

When he sees the results of his tireless work, the ghost of a smile flits across his face.

Success.

Jonathan picks up the jug of ectoplasm and leaves the lab, which is in all actuality the basement of the new apartment that he moved himself and Danny into after receiving the note. The scrappy old woman who was his landlord had told him that as long as he paid her five hundred dollars up front, she would let him set up in the basement without any questions or cop calls.

And so, the most expensive apartment in the Narrows was his.

At least, he thought, the distance between the basement and the apartment was short enough that Danny didn’t have to sit in while he was doing his labwork.

Jonathan knew that he didn’t exactly have a strong grasp on the concept of ‘lab safety,’ proven by his built-up immunity to almost every toxic chemical he’d ever encountered, and he doubted that Danny should be around such an environment.

He was back to the apartment quickly, not bothering to hide the self-satisfied smile on his face. Danny is sitting in his armchair, trying to read one of his books. Danny looks up, ready to greet him, when he sees the jug in his hands and pauses.

“Is that..?”

“Synthetic ectoplasm,” Jonathan says proudly, “I found the Penguin’s research notes and decided to recreate it, since you said that you needed it to heal properly. I’m not sure if it’ll work the same as what you usually have, but I hope it’s helpful all the same.”

Danny is standing, now, and looking at Jonathan with a strange look in his eyes. He looks, Jon thinks, like he’s about to cry.

Then Danny is rushing forward and wrapping his arms around Jonathan, his scrawny form shaking.

Jonathan is, for a moment, horrified. Did he do something wrong somehow? Why is this child, who’s so afraid of touch, hugging him?

And then he hears Danny’s voice, and he knows that it was all worth it.

“Thank you,” he’s mumbling, over and over, “thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you so much.”

“Of course,” Jonathan says softly, because what else can he say?

The boy cries in his arms for a while, and Jonathan briefly wonders what his life must have been like before, if a person like him can be seen as a comforting figure.

Then, Danny pours himself a small glass of the synthetic ectoplasm, putting the rest into the small fridge which had come with the apartment, and he settles back down, sitting in the armchair once again.

Jonathan sits opposite of him, and they chat with one another as Danny drinks.

Danny talks to him about the stars and tells him about different spaceships, and Jonathan makes sure to pay attention and ask the boy questions.

He doesn’t miss the way that Danny lights up every time he asks him something about his interests. He’s so passionate, so smart, a trait that he seldom sees outside of his fellow rogues, and Jonathan wants to encourage that.

It’s…nice. Peaceful, almost.

And then the front door flies open, because Jonathan isn’t allowed to have nice things.

“Jon,” a familiar voice rings out, “what the hell?!”

Danny is frozen in place, clearly terrified.

Jonathan heaves a sigh, turning to face the nuisance who’s entered his apartment.

“Eddie,” he drawls, “to what do I owe the pleasure?”

Edward’s face is red with anger as he invades Jonathan’s apartment.

“Oh, I don’t know! Maybe it’s the fact that you sent a bunch of rogues a cryptic message and then dropped off the face of the earth for two weeks! I was worried, Jon!”

Jonathan hums in acknowledgement.

“I didn’t think it was that cryptic,” he says, picking up a book in order to pointedly ignore the Riddler.

“Oh, of course you didn’t, you straw-stuffed hickory dickory dickhead. I swear, you’re always—” he pauses, finally having noticed Danny sitting opposite of Jonathan, “—who is this?”

“My apprentice,” Jonathan replies, dreading the upcoming headache he was no doubt going to develop from Edward’s company, “he’s helping me hunt down the GiW. His name is Danny.”

Edward gasps dramatically.

“You—an apprentice?! And you’re letting him sit in the old man chair?! You don’t even let me sit in the old man chair,” he wails, draping himself over the headrest of the couch with a flourish, “Jonathan, I thought I knew you!”

“Edward,” Jonathan says, “get out of my apartment.”

“Oh my goodness, this is incredible. You’re becoming the bat!”

“I am not becoming the bat, Eddie, now get out.”

Edward has a shit-eating grin on his face as he waltzes over to Danny. Danny, who seemed terrified when he first appeared, is now looking at him with obvious amusement written all over his face.

“I mean, look at him! The hair, the eyes, the scrappy build. If you put him in one of those traffic light vigilante costumes, he could easily pass as a Robin!”

“I’m not doing this with you today, Eddie.”

“Riddle me this, Jon: I am a treasure hidden inside of a chest. You can break me, or steal me, or give me a rest. I can flutter, or pound, or attack, or drop, but if you don’t have me, you’re certainly fucked. What am I?”

Jonathan pauses for a moment before he groans, dropping his head into his hands.

“Eddie.”

Danny sits still, a confused look on his face as he repeats the riddle silently. Then, his face lights up in delight.

“A heart!”

“Jon, I like this one,” Edward says with a smile, ruffling Danny’s hair, “you are correct! A heart, something that I wasn’t aware that our dear Jonathan had!”

“Eddie, stop.”

“No, no,” Edward says, “I was worried about you, you deserve this. I mean, you even missed girls night! You never miss girls night!”

“Girls night?” Danny asks, absolutely delighted.

“Oh, of course,” Edward says, sprawling over on the couch, dangerously close to just laying in Jonathan’s lap, “we have it once a week. I’m invited because of Selina and Jon’s invited because Harley likes him.”

“And what does girls night entail, exactly?”

“Eddie,” Jonathan groans, “please.”

“Well,” Edward hums, “we usually paint our nails, or watch a movie, or gossip about the other rogues, and occasionally, we tell each other about any ‘encounters’ we have with Batman,” he says, raising his eyebrows up and down.

Danny’s jaw drops.

“Edward, shut up,” Jonathan says, an irritated tone in his voice that wasn’t there before.

“No way,” Danny says, “I thought that Batman, like, hated you guys or something. You mean he actually..?”

“Oh, the Bat is much like a bottle of liquor or a cheap cigarette, in that he was made to be passed around.”

Danny chokes on air.

“Edward Nygma,” Jonathan hisses, getting out of his seat and looming over the man, “get the hell out.”

Edward pales.

“Leaving, leaving!” Edward says, dashing away from Jonathan. He pauses, turning to flash Danny a quick smile.

“Remember Danny, I’m your favorite uncle! Not any of the other rogues, me!”

With that, he leaves, the room falling completely silent.

And, as per usual, that silence does not last.

“You full-named him?” Danny asks gleefully, “and it worked?”

Jonathan just sighs, sitting down on the couch and rubbing at his temples.

“Please, don’t take anything Eddie says seriously. He’s a moron.”

“Dr. Crane, please let me come to girls night with you,” Danny pleads, his eyes sparkling, “I promise I won’t embarrass you.”

Jonathan groans.

“Of course you won’t, Eddie will do it for you.”

“Come on, please?”

“I think we’re a bit busy with the GiW at the moment,” Jonathan snaps. He pauses as he notices the crestfallen expression on Danny’s face.

This boy is going to be the death of him.

“Perhaps, though, when all that is taken care of…”

Danny cheers, grinning wildly, and Jonathan is not at all relieved to see him happy again. Certainly not.

The rest of the day is relatively normal.

Danny works on trying to get information from the GiW database while Crane refines his his fear toxin, both preparing for a raid on the GiW base they located in Gotham.

It was only a temporary base, nothing of note, but there was a chance of discovering more bases through it, and that wasn’t something either of them were willing to give up.

Still, something like this would take time. Rushing would only lead to failure.

…

Late in the night, long after Danny is fast asleep in his room, Jonathan pauses.

The GiW are not the only threat out there. They aren’t the only threat to him or to Danny. Perhaps it could be helpful to reach out to someone with greater resources than himself.

He sends a quick message to Red Hood.

Hopefully, he thinks, everything will go smoothly.

—

#dcxdp #dc x dp #dp x dc #dpxdc #dp x dc crossover #dc x dp fic #liminal scarecrow #Jon’s PTSD is triggered by the smell of ectoplasm because his life is a nightmare #HDJFNDNDNFKDJF #I am the master of emotional whiplash #rip Jon just trying to have some peace in this fucking house #never gonna happen king 🫡#oh also Eddie is not lying that bat can manwhore #and like half the rogues in Gotham know this from experience #and also most of the JL #and some of JL dark #btw Eddie and Jon are besties #they’re both awful but they make it work #when Jon full-names Eddie that just means that if he doesn’t stop whatever he’s doing he’s gonna get a dose of fear toxin #Eddie isn’t intimidating enough to full-name anyone so if he gets mad he just bashes whoever in the head with his cane #Jon is the living embodiment of ‘me and my girl don’t argue she bash me in the head with a rock and I walk it off like a man’#also side note I’m not doing any ships in this #because I don’t want to #they are just Like That #if you wanna read it that way though it’s completely fine #also shoutout 2 that one scriddler fic on ao3 that helped inspire that riddle LMAO

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melodyatlas · 20 days

Note

jason getting turned into a werewolf and having a fun time hunting tim down and catching him <3

and then he's either happy about the smell of fear or he gotta get rid of it <3

either way sex?!

Jason knows there are definitely both pro's and con's to being a werewolf.

Pro's list:

His senses are heightened, even outside of his wolf form

He gives off a more menacing vibe, even to people who don't know what he is- he can tell, people instinctively cow to him when he bares his teeth now

Con's list:

Shifting is a bitch

Shifting is a Bitch

Shifting is a BITCH

yes that deserves to be on the con list three times, it's /that/ much of a bitch, in fact....

SHIFTING IS A BITCH

He doesn't have quite as much autonomy as he'd like when he changes. It's not as if he /vanishes/ and the wolf takes over. And it's not as if he's high-jacked, forced to watch as his body acts of it's own will.

But his instincts /do/ override logical thought a lot of the time. And it's more than a little difficult to snap out of it when those instincts tell him to do something.

It's how he finds himself running through the woods just outside of Gotham, chasing down a certain Red Robin. The logical part of his brain is telling him that Tim knows what he's doing, luring Jason away from the city.

But he wonders if Tim /really/ knows what he's doing; He's leading Jason away from the dangers of being found out, sure, but he's also putting himself further from help.

Jason isn't chasing Tim for the fun of it (though that is a perk of the chase- the adrenaline pumping through him, flooding his brain with all kinds of happy chemicals because his chosen interest is making it a challenge for him), he's chasing him because at the end of the chase, when he wins (because he will win) he gets his prize.

The logical part of his brain is telling him Tim /isn't/ a prize. But... That part of him can definitely be ignored right now, because he can't think of a better reward for catching the little bird than the noises he'll make, the feeling of him beneath him, around him. Tim definitely a prize.

And Jason /will/ win.

But not before he has his fun.

So he continues on the chase; He lets Tim 'lure' him further into the woods for a little bit longer before he starts herding Tim around to a denser part of the woods.

Tim is good at what he does, a quick and clever vigilante, who is normally quite good at tricking others into what he wants them to do. But he's small for a hero- and mostly he makes it work in his favor, but here and now? He starts running out of steam long before Jason's supernatural stamina starts to wane.

Jason can tell when Tim is starting to flag, so he chases him a little bit further before rounding him back to a large cluster of roots he saw a few moments ago. It works just as he'd hoped, Tim stumbles, twisting his ankle on the mass of roots. And in true Tim Drake fashion, he just keeps going.

He's hobbled now, though, and it's only moments later that Jason stops toying with him, and closes the distance between them to tackle Tim to the ground.

His hand slips between Tim's head and the ground, cushioning what could have been a devastating blow on another root, and instead softening it just enough that Tim bites his lip open at the impact instead of biting through his tongue and getting a concussion from the blow.

Small mercies for Jason's own sake; He doesn't want Tim concussed for this- wants him in his right mind, wants to see what noises he can coax out of him while he's fully cognizant.

The blood welling up on Tim's lip draws Jason's attention. He isn't a vampire- but, /god/, does he kind of feel like one when the urge to suck Tim dry hits him at the first taste of it. He takes Tim's lower lip into his mouth to keep sucking at it, nibbling to get more blood to well up.

He can feel how tense Tim is beneath him, his hands pushing hesitantly at Jason's chest, but he doesn't /really/ try to push Jason off- just gives an attempt to pull away from Jason's mouth before realizing that Jason was not going to let go of his lip and freezing up a little beneath him.

It lasts until Jason tires of playing with Tim's lip, and instead decides to lick into his mouth. He opens up for him beautifully, letting out this surprised little noise, muffled into Jason's mouth, as his hands fist into Jason's shirt where they had been resting.

Jason opens his eyes to see Tim's sliding shut and takes the opportunity to kiss down from Tim's mouth to his neck, laving the soft skin there with attention, biting at the top of his suit's collar. It's too high- covering too much skin- covering the scar /Jason/ had left there-

So he rips into it with his fangs, lets the wolf-strength tear the heavy material in ways he wouldn't have been able to before he turned. He kisses and sucks at the newly-bared skin, leaving marks near the scar that he can't help but stroke.

It pulls a shudder from Tim, and with his mouth finally free to speak- "J-Jason- what're you-?"

Jason can't help the growl that tears through him at that, because shouldn't Tim know what he's doing? Red Robin is /his/. He's just staking his claim on what they both know. Tim's the one who brought him out here all alone, after all.

Suddenly, it's /very/ important that Tim really understands what he asked for by stealing Jason's discarded mantles- parading around in Jason's colors-

Jason buries his face in Tim's neck, teeth latching on again while he tears at Tim's armored leggings, the reinforced material shredding like paper under his strength.

The small bit of tension he had unwound from Tim with his mouth builds right back up once he's bared below the waist. Jason can smell the fear that shoots through him- the first taste of /true/ fear Tim has let loose all night.

And that's not right- Tim isn't supposed to be afraid of him. They did that song and dance years before. Even back when Jason had beat Tim half to death the kid wasn't actually scared of him. Now they're closer to actual friends- partners, even, sometimes.

So Jason makes it his new mission to remove the fear from Tim. He can't help his own rutting against Tim's thigh, but he doesn't try to free himself, instead he pets softly at Tim's hips, trying to rub the tension away with gentle pets.

"Jason- look at me."

At Tim's request, Jason noses and licks back up Tim's neck, before pulling back just enough to lock eyes. They stay like that for a long few moments, Tim's hands still fisted in Jason's shirt, Jason's still stroking at Tim's sides.

Jason lets out a little whine when it goes on too long, rutting a little harder against Tim's thigh before leaning in to kiss at the corner of Tim's mouth.

He doesn't know if it was what Tim saw in his eyes or if it was the kiss or the long press of his hard length against Tim's thigh, but the fear eases slightly, and Tim seems to force himself to relax a degree.

It's not gone, Jason can still smell it, but Tim turns into the kiss briefly before pulling back enough to speak against Jason's lips, "Okay. Okay- take what you need."

And if Jason didn't go nonverbal during these little bouts as a werewolf he would tell Tim it's not what /he needs/. It's about showing Tim what they are. But he can't wrap his head around words right now, so he just licks back into Tim's mouth and finally pulls his hands off of Tim to shove his own pants down.

He will show Tim, though. By the end of the night, Tim will realize why he led Jason out here on his own, he'll realize why they both had such fun with the chase- and he'll realize that there's a reason he's submitting to Jason so beautifully.

#jsrjdhgjhg i feel like the ending is kind of abrupt but im thinking i might expand this into a full scene for ao3 lmaoooo #jaytim #melodys works #melody answers #deepwithintheabyss #nsft

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luminnara · 2 years

Note

I would like to formally make a request for Paul and his dead? / undead? girlfriend (or partner if you prefer gnc / gn) having monster sex? 😗 Like fangs out, hisses, growls, maybe some blood and dead bodies near by, and the y/n is fully cognitive after eating brains and so she feels so alive and energetic and strong. (Unrelated but I headcannon her to crawl in and out of graves to sleep and so she always smells like earth and moss after a rain, either a hint of zombie funk 😇)

Love Me Dead | Paul x Zombie!reader 18+ ONLY

Warnings: smutty smut, zombie stuff, monster fucking

@henhouse-horrors I know you requested some zombie love too ;)

You love it when he’s like this, chest heaving, eyes wild, chin covered in blood. He’s still your goofy, lovable boyfriend, but he’s also vicious, a night stalking, blood sucking fiend who gets so high off the thrill of the hunt that almost nothing can contain him. He’s a killer. A predator.

A monster.

But then again, so are you, though you’re not the same. You’re slower than Paul, who’s always so full of vicious energy that you can hardly keep up. When he gets hungry, he seems to get more energy. When you do, you slow way down. Sometimes, you can barely manage the shuffling, shambling walk that your kind is so known for. But when that happens, your vampire boyfriend always notices, and he’s always more than happy to do all the dirty work and catch you some fresh corpses.

When you sink your teeth into a brain, you immediately feel better. Your mind clears. Something about the prions in the tissue, someone told you once, something about all those special chemicals and proteins and everything else, keeps you going. That’s why you need brains, human brains, not just regular meat, and they’re so, so delicious now.

Sometimes, you wonder if you would have ever done this when you were human; then again, you can’t remember anything prior to waking up six feet under with a killer headache and decreased motor function, so you try not to delve down that rabbit hole too much. What matters is that eating brains makes you feel better, and seeing Paul standing amidst the bodies of his dinner always puts you in the mood.

He notices you watching him and looks over with a lopsided grin. His features are hard, his brow sharp, his cheeks gaunt. When he speaks, you see the flash of pearly white fangs, and when you look into his eyes, you find them to be a bright yellow-orange.

You think he’s beautiful this way. Even prettier than when he’s all soft and human-looking. He’s covered in blood, his blonde hair wild and untamed. You see him swipe a long tongue over his fangs and you shudder.

Paul notices, because nothing you do ever escapes his watchful eye.

“How you feelin’?” He asks, practically slithering towards you. You know what he wants. You want it, too.

You open your arms, reaching for him, and he dives in. He’s all teeth and claws, a whirlwind, and as he buries his face against your neck and inhales the petrichor, you can feel a rumbling groan vibrating in his chest.

“Please, Paul…” you gasp, and he’s inside of you in seconds.

He never wastes any time. He wants you too badly. His hips roll against yours as he thrusts in deeper, lips brushing your skin as he whispers disjointed nothings that almost make sense. His pillow talk is hotter than anything you’ve ever heard, because it always starts out coherent and then becomes more and more absentminded because he just feels too good. You feel too good, and he’s always very vocal about how hot you are.

“You feel too fuckin’ good, baby,” he breathes against your ear. He’s suddenly everywhere, filling you up and surrounding you. He’s the only thing you can think about, the feeling of him thrusting in and out of you while his claws grip your waist. “Fuck...”

You’re moaning and whining beneath him, grinding your hips against his whenever they meet. When you cum, he lets out the deepest groan you’ve ever heard, and he follows soon after. One nice thing about being undead, you always say, is never having to worry about the after effects of a creampie.

“I love you, Paul,” you say, pressing a kiss against his cheek. It’s far too chaste after fucking a monster on the beach, but it’s just the right amount of sweet.

“I love you more, babe,” he grins, cradling your face in his hand. He still hasn’t pulled out, and you know he won’t until he really has to. “Sexiest zombie a guy could hope for.”

It’s corny, just like Paul. He eventually helps you up and half carries you to wash off in the ocean, and after another snack, you’re ready to go home. It’s become a regular routine for the two of you, and every few nights, you get this special time alone without Santa Carla’s other vampires watching. And you cherish these date nights of yours, when you get your Paul all to yourself.

#the lost boys x reader #the lost boys x monster!reader #paul x reader #paul x zombie!reader #monster!reader #paul x monster!reader #zombie!reader

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pedros-mustache · 3 years

Text

summer shower || domestic!din

word count: ~2.1k

warnings: smut (18+ only—get out of my kitchen): shower sex, body worship, brief oral (f receiving), p in v sex. also: weirdly emo, references to military service, language, x fem!reader

a/n: chucking this into the void because i am not Satisfied with it in the slightest and there is a ridiculous of me in it that i hate. but the people asked and this is what my fingers produced. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

“You know, if we were somehow doused in harmful chemicals, all of us—and I mean all of us—would fit in this shower fine.”

You stumble in the hotel room’s narrow passage, the peculiar remark rendering you without equilibrium. Fingers still poised at your earlobe, heavy jewelry swaying between your grasp, you lean back to peer into the bathroom. “I’m sorry—what?”

You find your husband standing in the middle of the shower, arms extended at his sides. He swivels his head right and left, judging the width of the shower stall by his arm span. With a tilt of his head and a quick lift of his brows, he deems it acceptable.

You smile, pressing your shoulder to the doorframe, inspecting him inspect the hotel’s accommodations. His dress uniform fits him well, the navy suit pulled taut around his broad shoulders. His bow tie—untied as soon as the hotel door shut—hangs loose around his neck, and his chest weighs heavy with his decorations and ribbons. Captain Din Djarin, respected officer of the Air Force, somehow able to put on a regulation flight cap and still look fuckable.

You do like it when he dresses up for these yearly events—the galas and the charity functions, the parties that give you a weekend away from home, a weekend to yourselves. You do like it when he drags the dry cleaned suit out of the closet and you hang on his arm in a glitzy dress, the whole world slobbering at his feet, eating from his palm, for a single evening.

You just like it much better when he puts the uniform away. When he is simply... Din.

He drops his arms and glances at the rainfall shower head, pulling you from your thoughts. “Think about it: if the kids were here and a vat of nuclear waste fell on top of us, we’d be perfectly fine all jumping in the shower at once. Not a tight fit at all.”

Your lips can’t help but stretch into an amused smirk. “You’ve been watching too many superhero movies with Davin.”

“Maybe.” He steps out of the stall, and the glass door swings shut on a whisper. “But I can lay flat on my back with my feet pressed to one side of the shower and barely touch the other. And I’m six fucking four.”

Waving a hand, you cross the title floor, tugging off your heels as you go. “Whatever you say, dear.”

It’s late, almost three in the morning if your phone is telling the truth. You’re tired, full from a good meal, a little fuzzy from too much champagne. Your flight leaves early in the morning and then it’s back to reality. Back to baby diapers and Davin’s chess practices and Grogu and his new job at the hardware store. Back to push and pull and give, give, give until you collapse, delirious, on your bed each night.

Are you a bad mother if don’t want to go home quite yet? You aren’t sure.

You busy yourself with your nighttime routine: vitamins then medication, makeup remover then foaming cleanser, and so on and so on until your pocketbook runs dry. Din thinks the twelve step ritual is ridiculous, but after giving birth twice and parting ways with the youth and vigor you clutched through your teen years, you aren’t sure he understands.

You’re part way through step six—eye cream—when you feel him, tall and firm, slide behind your back. His hands skim down the length of your torso, pads of his fingers catching on the sequins of your gown. You lean forward undisturbed, dabbing the white cream beneath your eye, and he hums, pressing himself into your ass.

“I liked looking at you tonight,” he whispers, catching your focused gaze in the mirror. He pushes his palm against your stomach, his semi tucked between your cheeks, and plants a warm, wet kiss behind your ear. “You looked beautiful.”

Your face softens to a smile, and you lower your hands, setting the eye cream aside. “I liked looking at you. I always like it when you get gussied up.”

“Not about me,” he mumbles. He moves his hands to the clasp at the top of your gown, fiddling with it until you feel the halter straps release your neck.

“Well, it’s kinda about you. I mean, tonight was about recognizing your unit and—”

Din shakes his head and tugs the top of your dress downwards with one hand. A gasp pulls from the back of your throat, and you resist the urge to hide your bare breasts beneath your forearms. You duck your head away from the reflection of yourself—half naked and studded with a diamond necklace at your breastbone. You look like...

Fuck, you look like so much more than you are.

Even after all these years, the way Din eyes your body—so openly, so reverently—brings a certain heat to your most intimate places. You feel exposed before him, open and raw like a wound waiting for a healing bandage. He handles you with care, gently bringing his hands around to test the weight of your breasts in his palms. He nudges your nipple with his thumb, and you swallow hard, gripping the bathroom counter with manicured nails.

“Couldn’t keep my eyes off of you,” he continues. “Even when you were flirting with Vanth.”

Your jaw drops on an indignant frown. “I was not! I was—”

“‘s okay.” He drags his tongue from your earlobe to the juncture where your neck meets your shoulder. “I know you have a little crush.”

Shit, is it really that obvious? It’s just a harmless crush on a handsome man you see once a year. Nothing you would ever entertain. Din is your husband, your world, your...

Fuck.

Your heart slams against your ribcage, and damn, if your eyes don’t look misty. “Din, I—”

“Shush.”

He pinches your waist before shucking his hat and his jacket from his body. His eyes pierce yours in the mirror’s reflection, never once wavering, and you catch your lower lip between your teeth, gnawing the flesh there already picked raw with anxiety. You remain still, frozen under the smoldering intensity of his gaze, until he stands naked behind you.

It’s hard to breathe, hard to think, when he looks at you like this; and even though you know him better than anyone, he still manages to remain unreadable in the moments you desire clarity the most. The hard line of his jaw and the fold of his brow could mean any number of things, and you card through your rolodex of past events, past missteps and offenses, searching for whatever you did last time to make it better.

When he takes your elbow, you stiffen.

Din sighs, shoulders dropping. “Sweet girl...” Gently, he urges you to turn around, and you comply until the small of your back meets the cool countertop. He lifts your chin with his knuckle then gestures to the lower half of your gown. “Need help with that?”

It’s a dance, this moment, one you think you’ve perfected over the years. You surrender, wrapping your arms around his neck as he wiggles the gown over your hips. The fabric pools by your feet, and you kick it away, sealing your mouth over his. He kisses you—slippery and sweet and everything you need when your fragile walls tremble at the slightest upset. His hands mold over your body, pressing and massaging whatever flesh he can find. His hard length folds against your stomach, and you resist the urge to stroke him, make him happy through your touch alone.

Not about me, he said. You know well enough what he means.

Into the shower stall, where hot water fills your lashes and still he kisses you, his tongue an extension of the words he does not know how to form. You sigh, pulling away for a breath of steamy air. His skin feels slick beneath your hands, and you dip your head back, allowing him access to your neck. The diamond necklace, the one he clipped on before the dinner party, clicks against his teeth.

“So pretty.” He grabs handfuls of your ass, spreading the cheeks slightly until you feel your heat part. “God, you get me so hard.”

You whimper. It’s all you can manage when your head is so full of other.

“Sit back,” he says suddenly, an edge to his voice. “Sit back on that ledge.”

You open your eyes and look over your shoulder to the small ledge tucked in the shower corner. Din leans over and swipes the tiny bottles of shampoo and conditioner onto the floor. They clatter and slide against the slick tiles, rolling away to the opposite side of the stall, and then he’s pushing you by the hips, forcing you to sit, and spreading your legs before you have the chance to realize what’s happening.

He swipes his tongue over your folds—one quick, flat drag of the muscle over your wet cunt. You shudder, and he lifts his face from between your legs.

“I know you have a crush, pretty girl.” He slides a thick finger into your tight heat, and you choke on a groan when he crooks his knuckle.

“I know you get kinda giddy thinkin’ about seeing Vanth once a year. And that’s okay.” He leans down to tug your clit between his teeth; you bite down hard enough on your lip to draw blood.

“You’re more than a mom,” he says, and your heart stops. He kisses the left side of your cunt, dipping his tongue into your slick for the briefest, most glorious of seconds. “You’re more than my wife.” The same tender care to your right side, and you slide against the ledge, limbs weak.

“You’re a woman. And I love that.”

Din seals his mouth over your cunt, digging his tongue between your folds like a prospector at a goldmine. He dimples your thighs with his fingertips and cards his tongue against your body, searching for any nugget of wealth you may possess. He finds your clit with ease and focuses there, swirling the nub in erratic motions that keeps hovering you at the edge.

It’s strange. The tears that spring to your eyes are borne of sheer pleasure. Your husband kneels on the shower floor and eats at you like a man starved. How could you not cry? Still too, he sees you—he acknowledges you—and that makes you cry all the more.

Before the damn can burst, you jerk your hips away from his face. You slap his shoulder, sliding to your feet on the wet floor. The shower water runs tepid now, and your body chills where the showerhead cannot reach.

It doesn’t matter.

Din remains on his knees, staring up at you. You’ve never felt more...

Wanted.

“Fuck me,” you gasp, body buzzing. Alive. “Fuck me.”

He nods.

Notching his hand in the pit of your knee, he wrenches you forward.

You relax your legs and lower yourself to the floor, fully accepting the hard press of his cock at your entrance. Gripping his shoulders, you slide down his length until he is sheathed in your core. His mouth finds your chin, and you gasp, water catching in the pool of your mouth.

He begins a slow rhythm—forward and backward, forward and backward—until you all but bounce on his cock. It’s hedonistic, pornographic, and hard on your aging bodies, but he fucks you well and earnestly. He slams into your pussy, mumbling against your skin words that set your heart aflame.

How much he adores you—and loves his life with you—and how he regrets nothing. Not a single moment.

You cum with a high-pitched cry, dropping backwards to catch yourself on the floor when your legs spasm around his hips. The orgasm shreds through the heavy veil you drag by your feet, the one you wear from time to time, when you cannot find yourself amongst the forest of your own mind. You burst like sunlight, and Din follows shortly, his fingertips gripping your hips as he continues to slam—there, always there—into your cunt.

He slips from your body and drags himself to your side, pushing wet strands of hair away from your face. Shower water beats down on your skin, washing away the evidence of your desire for one another. Din doesn’t seem to mind; you don’t either.

He kisses your cheek, nuzzling his nose against your temple. “My girl.”

Your eyelids flutter shut, and you smile, holding fast to the forearm laid across your breasts. “Always your girl.”

#din djarin x reader #din djarin smut #the mandolorian x reader #the mandalorian smut #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal smut #modern!din #domestic!din #pm writes

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scuttling · 3 years

Text

Animals

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairings: Aaron Hotchner/Female Reader Word Count: 2,766 Tags: 18+, NSFW, Insecure reader, Crushes, Some very public secret touching, Fingering, Pool sex, Unprotected sex Summary: Based on this prompt from anon: "Reader in a red skimpy bikini at one of rossi’s pool parties trying to get hotch to loosen up….what happens when she gets a little too close when they’re swimming in the pool?" I uh 🥵 Link to A03 or read below! Going to Rossi’s for dinner as a team has to be one of your favorite things in life. There is always good food, good drink, teasing and grinning and laughter; you all get to decompress, destress, enjoy each other’s company as people and not because someone’s life depends on it.

You get to see Hotch as a person, too, and that’s kind of the best part. He’s the one who needs to relax and unwind more than anyone, so when he’s there with you all, casually dressed, softer, and quick to smile, it’s no wonder you… feel things.

You’re not an animal. You can feel things without acting on those feelings; you are more than your instincts. So what if you get butterflies in your stomach when he offers to pour you more wine? So what if your breathing picks up when he’s so close you can feel his breath on your neck? So what if you end these nights at home, alone in your bed, wishing he was beside you, inside you? He’s still off limits.

Your body’s reactions to him are normal, chemical, biological, and pointless, because he could be standing half naked in front of you and you would still be able to control yourself. You are a brain that happens to be in a body, not a body that happens to have a brain.

At least, that’s what you tell yourself when Rossi invites everyone over, not for dinner, but an evening pool party.

A pool party. Fuck.

You are one hundred percent apprehensive, but for two different reasons. One is that you are a little self-conscious, and you prefer jeans and t-shirts over any other clothing; wearing a swimsuit in front of your coworkers seems extremely daunting. The other reason is that seeing Hotch in his swimsuit might actually be more terrifying, because you talk a big game about being able to control yourself, but if presented with his hot body, dripping wet, maybe his hair slicked back, a drop of water on his nose...

You take a deep breath, blow it out slowly. You’re just going to tell them you feel sick and can’t make it. Probably no one will care anyway.

You’re just gathering your things to leave work for the weekend, preparing to smile sadly and tell your lie, when Hotch appears at your side, his bag slung over his shoulder. He’s leaving work on time for once; it’s a freaking miracle.

“You’re coming to Rossi’s, right?” he asks softly, and you get those goddamn butterflies. You smile, not sadly.

“Yeah, definitely. I need to go home and get my swimsuit, though. I think I have one... somewhere.” It’s been a while since you had a vacation; wherever it is, you hope it still fits. He swallows, nods.

“Right, of course. I’ll see you there, then.” He brushes a hand carefully over your shoulder and passes you, heads for the door. You take another deep breath.

You are not an animal.

Right?

You arrive at Rossi’s house last, because you spent so long looking in the mirror, trying to convince yourself to just accept the way the swimsuit fits.

The only one you could find was from college, a little red string bikini, and since your body is obviously different now, it’s a little too small. You’re mostly covered, though, except for your ass, and no one is going to be paying much attention anyway. These people are like your brothers and sisters—or in Rossi’s case, your fun uncle—with the exception of Hotch, but you know he’s not going to be looking.

You walk into the backyard in your coverup, a cute black and white tunic, and everyone is swimming but JJ and Hotch. JJ is standing off to the side, phone at her ear, and Hotch is sitting on a lounge chair, not lounging at all. His spine looks rigid, but you can’t imagine why.

“Beer, my dear?” Rossi calls, holding up his own Corona. “Over by Hotch.” You smile and head toward him, bending to reach into the cooler for a drink; he looks a little more comfortable when he sees you, and says hello. You reply, then lift the bottom of your tunic to try to twist off the bottle cap, to no avail.

“Here, let me,” he says, reaching for your bottle, and he wraps his t-shirt around it, pops it open and hands it back.

“Thanks.” You take a long sip, your head tilted back; after all the self-scrutiny, you feel like you earned this one. “Why aren’t you swimming?”

“I will; didn’t feel like it yet,” he says, looking up at you, and you put a hand on your hip.

“Only you would come to a pool party and not swim, Hotch. Live a little.” You take another long sip, if you can call it that—the bottle is half empty already—and then set it down on the table, pull your tunic over your head. Might as well undress where fewer people are paying attention. “Come on,” you say, reaching out a hand. “I will if you will.”

He looks you over like he thinks you’re crazy or something, staring at you for a long moment, and then nods, lets you pull him up to standing. He tugs his shirt off too, and you do your best not to stare, because he is even hotter than you’d imagined, his chest broad and strong, arms strong too, and there’s a trail of hair disappearing beneath his swim trunks that you would like to explore with your mouth. You take a calming breath, turn to head for the edge of the pool, and he follows behind you; Derek looks up and whistles, and you feel yourself flush hot.

“Okay, Baywatch,” he calls with a grin, “come toward me again, but this time run in slow motion.” You roll your eyes and remind yourself not to try to cover up. If he sees you nervous, it’s just going to get that much worse.

“Shut up. It’s the only one I had,” you reply, and you look back at Hotch, who’s just standing there behind you and not saying anything. It’s like he’s afraid to get too close to the pool, or something; no way a big bad FBI guy is scared of water, right?

You get in the pool, and it feels blissfully good on this 80+ degree day, even though the sun is down; you dunk your head just to get it over with, before someone does it for you, and when you come up, you hum happily and rub your wet hair back out of your face.

You look at Hotch, who is sitting on the edge with his feet in the pool. It’s a total cop out, and you swim over to him and carefully put your hands on his legs beneath the water. He looks down at you seriously and doesn’t move.

“Come on, all the way in. For me.” He wets his lips, and you’re about 80% sure he’s going to ignore you, so you just let go of his legs and back away; he absolutely surprises you by dropping into the water with a splash. He goes under, pops up and shakes his wet hair, droplets clinging to his shoulders. You laugh out loud and give him a shove, glad, again, that you’d chosen to submerge yourself already.

“Are you happy now?” he asks, voice dry, but with a playful smile, and you nod and smile as well. Yes, you’re happy, maybe a little happier than you should be: you can feel that your nipples are hard beneath the thin material of the bikini top. Your stupid body is sending signals, and you’re entering the danger zone, your brain and body fighting for dominance; your stupid body may be winning.

Do not engage, your brain repeats when you look at wet Hotch, a sight to behold, all big and drippy and firm; your body whispers in your ear like the devil on your shoulder, just go for it—he will feel really good—what’s the worst that could happen?

“Yes,” is all you say, moving closer to him even though there’s a warning bell going off in your brain. Do not engage!! “All I wanted was for you to loosen up a little, to relax.” You’re less than a foot from him, and no one is paying either of you any attention, busy playing with an inflatable beach ball or singing along to the radio or drifting around on a lounge float. You two might as well be the only people in the world, or at least that’s how it feels.

“I’m… loose,” he says, his voice low and rough, and something about it makes you feel less inhibited, like maybe it’s not just you who wants this; your hand brushes his waist, and then his hand brushes your hip, and then you lean closer and your leg brushes…

Very loose indeed, if loose equals horny, because that’s definitely not a gun in his trunks and he’s definitely happy to see you.

“Sorry,” you breathe, but you don’t feel sorry. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t move, and you brush him more purposefully this time: your thigh against his bulging cock.

Do not engage!!

“Don’t be,” he replies eventually, and then it’s your hand moving of its own accord, palming him, big and hard. He closes his eyes, wets his lips. You want to bite his throat, to lick it, to get your hand down his shorts and feel him; you’re about to do that, your fingers slipping past the elastic, his breath hitching, and then the beach ball smacks down in the water right beside the two of you and you jump apart, startled.

“Sorry!” Emily calls, and Hotch bats the ball back over to them, and then you just look at each other. Was that a close call you never mention again, or…?

Now or never, your body says. He was about to let you put your hand in his pants. Try it again.

You are not an animal.

You try it again.

This time, you make it past the waistband, and you wrap your fingers around his dick. It’s thick, and hot, and smooth, and he reaches out a hand to grip your waist hard, his eyes boring into yours. You wet your lips, move your fingers to the head, rub it, and then you stroke him three times just to see what he looks like when you do.

He’s gorgeous, unsurprisingly, his eyes lidded and his chest heaving, and you rub him softly one more time and then withdraw your hand; apparently you’re cool with groping your boss in the same pool as the rest of your coworkers, but an actual orgasm is where you draw the line.

You are also breathing heavy, so turned on you’re almost shaking with need, and then Hotch reaches down and slides his hand inside your swimsuit bottoms, rubs the pads of two fingers along your slit. It takes everything you have not to moan at his touch, especially when he dips lower, prods at your opening where you are already slick. He takes a deep breath, and it looks like he’s fighting for strength too, which makes you feel a little better.

At least you’re both animals, now.

He pulls back only to get his hand on your ass, to squeeze it so hard your body shifts forward. You look up at him, and he looks down at you, and everything that needs to be said is said with your eyes.

You drift apart a little bit, but you still feel the ghost of his touch and maybe always will.

You float around, and talk a little; you get out to finish your beer, to grab you both another, and now that you know he’s into you, you maybe make climbing out look a little sexy. When you ease back in, hand him his bottle, he makes eye contact while he wraps his lips around it and takes a long drink.

Eventually, the others interact with the two of you, and it feels so strange to pretend that you and Hotch didn’t just fucking fondle each other fifteen feet away. It also feels really dirty, and that only serves to make you wetter. The glances he’s shooting you don’t help that situation much, either.

Garcia and Emily are the first to leave, and then Reid, until the only ones left are the two of you, Derek, and JJ. JJ says goodbye, heads out, and then Derek gets ready to leave. Rossi says he’ll walk him out, that he’s going to turn in, but that you and Hotch are welcome to stay as long as you like, and to just please lock the front door when you go.

“Couldn’t get you to get in, now can’t get you to get out,” Derek teases Hotch; you preen a little, because you know you’re the cause of both, and when Derek and Rossi leave, the air becomes thick with tension again. You open your mouth but don’t know what to say.

It’s Hotch who actually speaks first.

“I’ve thought about doing that for a very long time,” he murmurs, and you move closer to him, get your hands on his waist again. “You are so fucking beautiful, all the time, but in that bikini… were you just trying to tempt me?” he asks, a sincere question, and you shake your head.

“It’s really the only one I own. I got it in college, so it’s a little small now,” you explain, and he chuckles, soft and low.

“Well then, I guess I’m glad you don’t swim much, because you’re absolutely breathtaking. I was having a very hard time keeping my hands off of you, so I’m glad that you… initiated.” He puts his hands on your ass, pulls you closer, and you wrap your legs around his hips, your arms around his neck.

“Me too. I’ve wanted you for longer than I can remember, you’re so fucking perfect.” You bring a hand to his wet hair and guide him down for a deep, steamy kiss, rubbing against his hard-on and moaning softly, since you can, now. “I want you, Hotch.”

“I need you,” he says, and that’s so much hotter; you reach between you to push down his shorts, taking him in your hand and stroking him again while he holds you up, and then you ease your bottoms to the side and guide him inside you, moaning and tipping your head back when he presses in. “Oh, fuck,” he pants, and you cling to him, kiss him harder, and move in his arms.

“Oh, god, Hotch,” you breathe against his lips, working your hips against his thrusts. “You feel so good, so big and hard and good.” He groans, buries his face in your neck, and pumps up into you roughly, like he’s getting close already.

God, this is amazing, pure fucking, the outcome of being up to your eyeballs in sexual tension—you’re connecting the dots now, seeing how some things you thought were innocent between the two of you were absolutely not—and when he comes he pounds hard inside you, and you dig your nails into his neck and bounce on him until he groans and slides out, sensitive.

“Oh, wow,” he exhales, and then he turns so you’re up against the wall of the pool and lets you go, holding out his hands so you know to stay there. You stretch your arms out on either side of you, breathing hard, and he leans in, moves your top out of the way and sucks on a nipple, then reaches down and pushes your bottoms aside again, presses his fingers deep and fucks you with them.

“Hotch, oh, fuck.” He looks up at you through dark lashes, nips at your breast, and then lifts his mouth off and begs you to come until you do, practically strangling his fingers as you clench tight around him.

He pulls his hand away after getting you through it, fixes your suit and then his, and then pulls you back into his arms and kisses you for a long time, full of yearning and passion and satisfaction. You sigh against his mouth, touch his face, and offer for him to spend the night at your place.

He does, and you have sex on the kitchen counter, and in your bed, and then on the floor the next morning.

You animals. Taglist ❤️: @arsonhotchner @mrsh0tchner @ssahotchie @sleepyreaderreads @mintphoenix @meghannnnnn @disgruntledchowchow @azenpal @g-l-pierce

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfic #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x female reader #hotch x female reader #hotch x reader

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sugarmaplewings-fics · 4 years

Text

Disclosed

Pairing: Bakugou x reader x Kirishima

Warnings: Like, two sex jokes? Nothing that crazy. Once again, gay, bi and poly as fuck. Oh and language too.

Author’s note:

So uh, I guess this ends the saga of Little Secret. I’m still doing Kiribaku fics, but I guess I just had a bit of a theme going here in this trilogy. I tried to focus more on Eijirou in this one since he kind of got pushed to the side a bit in the other two stories. Little Secret had more of y/n’s omniscience, while Big Secret was more Bakugou driven (big brain hehe).

You can probably ignore the ending of this since it’s really really cheesy and it was the only thing I could think of at the time I wrote it (I think this is another one of my fics that I finished at 3 am or something).

Anyhow, I’d say this is my favorite part of the trilogy in some ways! It’s super soft and fluffy, and I really like how I wrote it out. I seriously hope you enjoy it!

I love you guys!

-Sugar

☆*･゜ﾟ･**･゜ﾟ･*☆.☆*･゜ﾟ･**･゜ﾟ･*☆

As much as Kirishima loved being a hero, honestly, he loved his days off more.

He watched from in front of the counter as you amicably bickered with Bakugou, bustling around the kitchen still in your respective pajamas.

"I'm just saying we could have something other than cinnamon rolls for breakfast," the blond man pouted, tailing you as you walked from the fridge to the oven.

"It'll be fun," you said. "Geez, we don't have to keep up with that hero diet you set up every day. It's our day off, let me have my sugar and carbs."

Bakugou began to grumble something about the amount of chemicals that were probably in the pre-made pastry dough, but you paid him no heed. The little cheerful beeping tones of the oven sounded through the room as you set the temperature.

"How long is that going to take?" Kirishima asked.

"Like half an hour," you said. "Need a snack 'til then? We need to eat these oranges before they go bad."

"Sure, I'll take one." You tossed the orange fruit to him, which he caught easily and began to peel.

"You want one, 'Tsuki?"

Bakugou grumbled a "Fine" and you handed him his, taking a third for yourself.

Normally, you may have been able to wait until the sweet pastry rolls were done, but instead you'd spent the last two hours very slowly waking up and cuddling in bed.

As per usual, Katsuki had woken up first, letting his eyes adjust to the warm tones the room had taken on with the rising of the sun. He remembered today was his day off, and a final bout of tension left his shoulders. His back had previously been pressed against Eijirou's, but now he decided to turn himself over to face him. Peeking through scarcely opened lids, Bakugou glimpsed your form on the other side of Kirishima, scarcely visible as you snuggled into his chest. Bakugou allowed himself something he only saved in silent, private moments like this: a smile. Just a small one, barely even lifting the side of his mouth. But he couldn't help it. The sight of his perfect boyfriend and girlfriend fast asleep in each others' arms brought him such an overwhelming feeling of compersion, he simply couldn't help himself.

Bakugou draped an arm over Kirishima's side, rubbing at your forearm with gentle strokes of his fingers. You hummed in your sleep, pushing yourself even closer into the red-haired man holding you. The blond breathed in Eijirou's heavy, musky scent, letting it flood his nose and instill a sense of unparalleled calm over himself.

The shifting motions on either side of him caused Eijirou to begin to blink his own eyes open, shedding the foggy haze of sleep from his mind. Dreams from his previous night's rest danced and fleeted at the edges of his memory, before they were ultimately discarded and lost to the unrelenting abyss that is abandoned remembrance. He felt warm. Warm, and comfortable, and happy, and perfect.

Eijirou noticed the steady movement of the arm placed over him, signaling that Bakugou was awake. You, on the other hand, slept on; eyes lightly closed, lips parted with breath, gently clasping the front of his shirt. Kirishima slowly pressed a kiss to your forehead, followed by another and then another.

His soft lips combined with the soothing motions of Katsuki's hand finally brought you smoothly out of your slumber, groaning a bit in your consciousness.

"You two awake yet?" Bakugou's voice sounded from over Kirishima's broad shoulders. It was a little gruffer than usual from sleep and it made you smile.

"Yeah," Kirishima answered for you, meeting your (E/C) orbs with his own.

You pulled your arm from under Bakugou's hand, moving it until your fingers were able to intertwine and lock with his over Eijirou's side. He felt safe under your loving union, tying yourselves together over him so the three of you became one unit.

That was how your morning had started. For a long time, the three of you laid there, chatting in low tones as you and Katsuki snuggled into either side of Eijirou, who later turned to lie on his back to tuck each of you under an arm. The experience was nothing other than peaceful, the three of you content to simply lay in each others' presence.

Ever since that one fateful afternoon nearly two years ago, your lives could scarcely have improved more. Inviting Bakugou into your relationship was the best decision you'd made, and now here you were. The three of you had graduated from UA and begun your lives as heroes; Eijirou still worked as an indispensable sidekick under Fatgum, while Bakugou was still in the process of getting a hero agency of his own off the ground. But today was a day you had settled on to spend completely together, and it was all going just wonderfully.

Somehow, the idea had gotten into your head that you'd make cinnamon rolls for breakfast, so once you and your boyfriends eventually crawled out of bed, you set about fulfilling the urge.

Kirishima popped another orange slice into his mouth, watching you absentmindedly as you pulled out everything you would need. Which, to say, wasn't much, seeing as you were simply baking them from a can. As you pulled out the pan and cooking spray, Eijirou's red eyes flicked over to Bakugou, who had removed the cardboard tube from the fridge again. The redhead fought back a smirk as he watched his shared boyfriend scowl at the ingredients, thinking back to his almost monthly 'your body is a temple and you should treat it as such' lectures he'd give the two of you.

You caught sight of him as well, striding towards him and plucking the container from his hands. Bakugou started grumbling again, turning and exiting the kitchen to presumably go get dressed or something.

Kirishima took the opportunity to come up behind you as you popped the cardboard cylinder open, letting the preformed dough puff up as it met the air. His arm wrapped loosely around your waist as he bent a little to place his head on your shoulder. "Need help with anything?" he asked.

"No, thanks," you said, taking the unbaked rolls and filling your pre-sprayed pan.

He hummed and straightened, moving so he could lean against the counter. He noticed your orange next to him, partially peeled and abandoned. Taking one of the remaining slices from his own, he held it out towards you. "Hey, babe."

You turned and caught sight of it, smiling as you took the little slice between your teeth. You pulled it into your mouth as he pushed from his end, and you began to chew. "Mmm, that one's good."

Eijirou grinned back in agreement and ate the last slice. He reached for your abandoned one, working his nails beneath the pliable peel. "So what made you buy cinnamon rolls? Other than the fact that they're delicious, that is."

"Cold nostalgia," you said, tweaking the dough in the filled pan so it looked right. "I saw them at the store and thought to myself, 'Hey, I remember eating those. I could totally make them myself. Tasty.' Also I thought you might like them. We can all share." You picked up the pan in one hand and carried it to the oven, checking that it was the right temperature and sliding them in.

"I'm not sure about Katsuki," Eijirou said, picking some of the white fibers off another orange slice. "He didn't seem too thrilled."

"Meh," you said, fingers tapping out twenty-seven minutes on the oven timer, bringing more happy beeps to your ears. "If he doesn't eat any of them, there's just more for us, I guess. But you know how he is. You think he'll crack in front of us or wait until we leave?"

Eijirou smiled as you walked back to him, running your hands up his sides affectionately as you grinned up at him. "I'll bet one of us will find him having one in the middle of the night," he wagered.

"You're on," you giggled, swiping another orange slice from him.

"Hey! I would have given you some if you had asked, you know."

"Oops." You slid the slice slowly into your mouth, keeping your eyes on his own. A burst of sweet citric juice filled your mouth as you bit down, and you shut your eyes for a second just to fully enjoy it.

The sensation of a finger poking at your nose caused your lids to flutter open. Your eyes crossed to look at the offending digit, rolling back up and focusing on Eijirou's face.

"Bep," he said, the note accompanying his action.

You booped his nose in unhostile revenge, beginning to giggle as a mini-war began. Eijirou used the pad of his pointer finger to jab lightly at your face, making a new sound effect with each one. You had the advantage since both of your hands were free; tapping both your index fingers on his torso, face, and shoulders.

"Boop."

"Beep."

"Bap."

Bakugou shuffled back into the kitchen and watched your cheerful assaults on one another, both his cheeks and his heart warming at the sound of your giggles. "What the hell are you two doing?"

"Being in love," Eijirou said, proceeding to poke at your cheek. "Get over here, Katsu."

Bakugou just tched and wandered over to the oven to look at the baking rolls. "Dumbasses."

"Better hurry up, 'Tsuki," you said, stepping closer to Eijirou. "Or else you're going to miss out on the kisses."

"Oooooh-," Kirishima drew out for a second before your lips met his. He reciprocated, noting how you both shared the same orange-citrus taste. Out of curiosity, he peeked his eyes open to meet Bakugou's.

The blond man scowled, finally stomping over to you. "Fine. But I'm going in the middle." He wedged himself between you two.

"Yay!" Your arms wound around his slim waist, resting just above his hips. Your lips attached themselves to the base of Bakugou's neck, while Kirishima smooched at his mouth. It was quiet and sweet for a moment, each partaking in another's lips until you were satisfied, swapping positions when necessary.

You separated from Bakugou, running your thumb over his cheekbone for a moment as you looked into his eyes. He'd gotten better about asking for and receiving affection over the years you'd been dating, but it still brought warmth crashing through your system every time.

"Eiji Baby?" you asked, keeping your eyes on Bakugou.

"Yeah?"

"How much time is left on the oven?"

Kirishima glanced up at the glowing digits. "Eighteen minutes."

You hummed. "I'll get started on the icing for my rolls."

"Our rolls," Eijirou corrected, grinning at your over-the-shoulder eye roll you gave him as you made your way to the pantry to grab some powdered sugar.

Bakugou had the same reaction as you, tsking under his breath and moving to lean against the counter next to Kirishima. His position wasn't held long however, since you soon returned with your bag of sugar and the carton of milk, shooing them away so you could use the space. You pulled down a bowl and poured in some sugar and milk, beginning to mix it into a thick liquid with a spoon.

"Need a taste tester?" Kirishima asked hopefully.

"Eiji, this is pure sugar."

He glanced back at the ingredients. "Yeah."

There was something undeniably satisfying about watching the powder mix with the milk, going from fine and crumbly and turning into a sweet liquid mixture to later be drizzled over your pastries.

Maybe it was the motions of your hand as you manipulated the spoon. Maybe it was the ambiance of the room, surrounded by the two men you loved and planned to spend the rest of your life with. Either way, the song that had quietly been thrumming at the back of your mind wandered to the front, and the next thing you knew, you were humming.

Bakugou and Kirishima looked up at the sound of your voice, small smiles spreading their lips. Eijirou recognized the tune you were quietly singing to yourself, quickly adding his voice to your own. Your cheeks heated when you met his eyes, yet you continued to hum along with him. For a moment, you were both content with hitting the notes (or at least, trying to in some people's cases) wordlessly. But then you came upon the chorus, and it was as though you simultaneously reached a shared agreement that it should be belted out properly.

"S'GONNA TAKE A LOT TO DRAG ME AWAY FROM YOUUUU! THERE'S NOTHING THAT A HUNDRED MEN OR MORE COULD EVER DO! I BLESS THE RAINS DOWN IN AFRICAAAA—"

Bakugou watched you with an expression of general disgust and confusion. This was an act, of course, for the most part. He could never quite get used to the spontaneous concerts you both would occasionally throw, singing whatever obnoxious song that came to your minds. You probably only had one brain cell between you two, and it was a tossup of who got it for the day. But there was something about it that made his heart stir and his neck prickle. Maybe it was the absolute glow about Kirishima as he threw back his head to belt out lyrics. Maybe it was the way you had taken the spoon out of the icing bowl, singing at it as if it were a microphone. Bakugou would die before he ever joined in, but he never objected to watching.

The moment the song finished, you started on another. Kirishima turned to you as a new idea struck you. You lifted your hands to a sort of air guitar, playing a bit of the intro to the song in your head before beginning to sing again:

"We're no strangers to love. You know the rules, and so do I~"

Kirishima smiled, liking the way you thought. He admired your sense of humor and how well you went along with goofing off with him. The redhead let you sing the first verse, dancing around the kitchen space from him to Bakugou, looking at each of them as you sang some of the lyrics and wiggling your eyebrows.

It wasn't long before Eijirou jumped in again, joining you as you sang to Katsuki. "Never gonna give you up, never gonna let you down, never gonna run around and, desert you~"

Eijirou took your spoon as you rocked out on your personal invisible guitar, going to town on chords that didn't exist.

Bakugou fought down the butterflies swarming in his stomach at the sight of you two having fun. You would lean against him and grin up into his face from one side, while Kirishima draped an arm over his shoulders and passionately sang into your spoon. Katsuki noticed that some of the icing had dripped down onto his hand, but the redhead seemed to not have noticed.

You paused to giggle at Kirishima, who started taking the song as seriously as he could. His eyes were squeezed shut, fist curled into a ball as he drew out some of the lyrics as though it were so much more than an old-timey memed love song. You let your voice fade as he did his own thing, only offering it as further back up vocals. Eventually, he reached the final reiteration of the chorus, and let himself riff on the final lines as a finisher. When he was done, he opened his eyes, finding that he had even kneeled down on the floor a little in his passion. He stood and grinned, and you enthusiastically applauded his performance.

"That was for you, babes!" he said, pointing at his small audience of two.

Bakugou scoffed, but you could hear how it was a little choked from how cute he had found it. The liar. Both you and Eijirou could see how his cheeks had changed a few shades darker right in front of you.

Kirishima strolled confidently back up to you, swooping each of you into an arm and kissing Katsuki full on the lips without warning. Bakugou's eyes widened at the contact, cheeks burning even more than before. Eijirou pulled back with a satisfying smack of his lips, diving in to give you the same treatment. As per usual, you were more receptive to the kiss, more than happy to throw your arms around his neck and partake in his lips.

"Enjoy the song, there?" you teased once you pulled back, tracing your fingers under his jawline.

"Hell yeah!" Eijirou flashed those perfect sharp little teeth of his in yet another heart-stopping grin. Did he have any idea what that smile did to both Bakugou and you? He had to know it turned your hearts to pure hot chocolate, right?

"Got a song rec, Bakubabe?" you asked, turning to your blond boyfriend. "You mustn't be excluded from our concert on this fine morning."

Katsuki rolled his eyes. "Whatever. Doesn't matter anyway because your shit rolls are almost done."

You glanced at the oven timer, which was, in fact, counting down the seconds until it went off. "Ha ha ha! My children!"

You slid out of Eijirou's hold to grab your oven mitt out of its drawer. The oven went off with a drawn-out beep the moment you stepped up to it, cracking the door open and taking a peek inside. A wonderful smell hit you in the face along with a gust of hot air, and the sight of six perfectly golden cinnamon rolls greeted you.

"Look at them!" you said as you pulled them out with your mitted hand. You turned off the oven and canceled the timer before walking back to the counter to let the pan cool.

"Can I ice them?" Eijirou asked, coming up behind you to get a good look.

"Not yet. They have to cool first."

"Aww, man."

You pulled out a new spoon to use for frosting, since the previous one had been breathed all over. Next you began to clear off the counter, picking up any pieces of orange peel abandoned from breakfast.

Kirishima leaned against the counter again, taking a deep breath of the cinnamon roll smell that had flooded the kitchen. "I love it when you bake, (Y/N)," he said. "It's so much fun. The kitchen smells great, everything always tastes great—"

"Always?" you asked skeptically with a smirk.

"I guess there was that one time," he admitted. "That was—that was probably not a very good idea."

"If it weren't for me," Bakugou cut in, "you would have burned the whole house down."

"An artist must experiment with her craft." You flipped your hair a bit, turning back to your kitchen maintenance. There wasn't much to do. Between both yours and Bakugou's preference for a neat house, your counters usually stayed pretty clear.

Eijirou glanced at the bowl of icing, dipping the tip of his finger into the white mixture. "You know what this looks like?"

"No," you and Bakugou said at the same time firmly, understanding what he meant immediately.

"Shot down," Eijirou said. "You're right, that wasn't that good."

You putzed for another minute, finally hovering your hand over the cooling pan. "That should be good enough."

You had Eijirou harden the tips of his fingers to hold the pan as you began moving the rolls out onto a plate. He started humming again as you drove the spatula under the baked goods.

"Seriously?" Bakugou asked, having inched closer to watch. "Again with the singing?"

"I've got a song in my manly, chivalrous heart," Kirishima said, turning to grin at him. "Can't help it. I'm in the zone."

"I'm liking this zone," you said. "It's fun."

You pushed the icing bowl to Eijirou and took out another spoon for yourself, dipping it in and allowing the sugary liquid to drizzle over the golden brown confections. Kirishima did the same on his own, still humming the tune of Be A Man from Mulan and nodding his head to the individual notes. You danced along with him, moving your hips to his favorite Disney song.

Kirishima's eyes wandered down to your swaying movements. You really did wear those shorts nicely.

You jumped at the sensation of a large hand gently grabbing at your butt. Turning, you saw Eijirou's slight smile on his lips. "Eiji?"

"What?"

"Didn't you get enough last night?"

Kirishima shrugged, finally removing his hand. "Can't a man admire his woman's perfect body?"

You rolled your eyes, tapping the sugar-coated spoon to his nose.

He blinked at the cold sticky sensation, going cross-eyed in an attempt to look at the drop of icing. "Yeah, I probably deserved that."

You smirked and rolled your eyes as you went back to icing your cinnamon rolls, watching Eijirou out of the corner of your eye. He was trying to figure out if his tongue was long enough to lick it off the tip of his nose, but so far, of course, he was having difficulties.

"Idiot," Bakugou said, taking Kirishima's chin and turning his face to his. He captured the sweet white droplet between his lips and swiped his tongue over it.

Kirishima's eyes widened at the gesture. "Katsuki?"

"What?" Bakugou shot him a teasing grin. "You had something on your face."

You chuckled at the two of them, tearing off a roll from the bunch. Eijirou noticed your action and took one for himself, cheeks a little pinker than usual. Bakugou watched as you both bit down.

Eijirou bounced a little on his toes as he chewed the sweet bread. "So good!"

You smiled and nodded in agreement. "Mhm!"

Bakugou looked from you to Kirishima, then to the plate of warm rolls.

"Sure you don't want one, Katsuki?" you asked. "They're pretty good."

The blond sighed, finally grabbing a roll for himself. "It's too late to be cooking breakfast now."

"He cracked!" you said, turning your gaze to Kirishima.

"Did not." Bakugou aggressively took a large bite out of his cinnamon roll.

"You said you weren't going to have any." You cocked your head at him, taking another bite of your own.

"Did I?" Bakugou smirked at you and licked a bit of frosting off his lip.

You thought back for a moment. Maybe he hadn't. He'd certainly acted like it though.

"Well, do you like it?" you prodded.

"Sure." Bakugou shrugged and examined the cross-section of his roll. "Probably would have been better if you'd actually made it yourself."

You folded your arms. "Too much work. I wanted a cinnamon roll and they had them in the store. Simple as throwing them in the oven."

"But the preservatives," he argued.

"But my lacking baking skills. Besides, now I'll live forever."

"Hah? That's not how that works, dumbass."

"Well, I think they're perfect." Eijirou cut in. He put an arm around you and Katsuki and pulled you into either side of him. "You've got the spice—" he kissed Katsuki on his cheek, "—and you've got the sugar." He kissed your cheek.

"What the fuck, Shitty Hair."

"I'm not always sugar," you half-heartedly protested, snorting a little at his cheesiness and ignoring Bakugou.

Eijirou paused for a second, considering. "Yeah, okay. But . . . my metaphor."

"Your metaphor is stupid."

You swatted at Katsuki. "Oh, shut up. What are you in this situation, Eiji?"

He thought for a moment, then shrugged. "I'm not sure."

"Hmm . . . maybe you tie us together," you said, beginning to run your fingertips over his forearm. "Roll us up tight in your arms."

Both Kirishima and Bakugou blinked at you for a moment, cheeks dusted a shade darker than normal.

"So we're a cinnamon roll?" Kirishima asked.

"Ye—"

"I AM NOT A CINNAMON ROLL!" Katsuki shuffled against Eijirou's arm without really trying to get away.

"I think you are," you said. "What do you say, Eiji? He's an adorable smol bean—"

"No."

"—too precious for this world—"

"NO."

"—protecc at all costs—"

Bakugou threw the remaining third of his cinnamon roll at you, and it bounced off your head onto the floor.

"HEY—!"

He slipped out of Kirishima's arm for real this time, making an advance towards you. You ducked out of the redhead's hold too, running off to the living room.

"I PUT MY HEART AND SOUL INTO THOSE ROLLS, KATSUKI!" you called behind you.

"Sure."

"JUST ADMIT YOU'RE MY PRECIOUS BABY CINNAMON ROLL."

"Never!"

Eijirou listened to the sounds of his partners chasing each other through the house. Finishing off his morning treat, he smiled, thinking about how lucky he was to have the two of you. You no longer hid anything from each other, and everything was laid out in the open. Your futures were bright, and Kirishima knew in his heart that you'd forever be happy as long as you were together. From now on, your feelings would remain disclosed.

☆*･゜ﾟ･**･゜ﾟ･*☆.☆*･゜ﾟ･**･゜ﾟ･*☆

[Big Secret]

[Little Secret]

Taglist: @loxbbg @runrabbitrun3 @basicaegyo @iiminibattlehero @katsugay @nabo39 @pyrofanatic @sendhelpimstupid @sokkasangel @xoxopam4

#bakugou katsuki #bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #kirishima eijirou #kirishima x reader #eijirou kirishima x reader #kirishima eijirou x reader #kiribaku x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #reader insert #sugar fics

392 notes · View notes

pocketfulofrogers · 3 years

Text

Love Me Anyways

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: What is there to say? You’re a dark and twisty assassin and Steve Rogers is definitely... not that. When you get an opportunity to run, will you take it?

Notes: Tiny bit of smut and angst with a happy ending. If you feel like you’ve seen/read this before, you may have. I’m reorganizing and this was previously part 1 of Haunted Woman, Broken Lover. When I originally wrote this, it was meant to be a one off, but sad endings don’t always feel right. I then struggled to turn it into a series, so here is HWBL reimagined with a different ending as a one shot. The series will still be a thing, but now I actually feel good about it!

They call you a ghost. It isn’t for the way you seem to slip through walls or the way you look at death as a reflection. It’s the hollowness of your eyes that earns you the nickname. Hazed over orbs coated in grey.

Clint asks you if they’ve always been that color, you tell him you can’t remember anymore.

Fury lets you run your own thing after you agree to attach yourself to the badge. He’d rather not know how exactly you get the job done, so long as you’re on their side.

You’re solo most of the time, it’s better that way.

They learn quickly how deadly you are, leaving your enemies questioning the validity of your existence and holding the same vacant stare as you. It wasn’t just physical injuries you specialized in.

The first time you met Steve Rogers was an accident. You had a rogue Armenian scientist tied up in his basement. He had been about to run when you appeared at his kitchen table, and, for a moment, you thought a heart attack might get him before you could.

You were sat before him, leaned forward with your tools on a bench beside you. A small blade aching to break skin sat hot between your fingers, but so far, your words had been enough. Steve opened the door, barreled down the steps, and stopped in his tracks. You locked eyes with him and, in a flash, you saw something hauntingly familiar within the blue.

That’s when something inside you shifted.

He took one look at the scene before him and shut it down immediately. You slipped away when he called it in and left no trace of your existence except for a long thin line gushing red from the scientist’s throat.

Steve find’s the plans for a chemical attack on his desk that night and where to find each accomplice wrapped in a pretty bow of nylon. Alive, your note assures him.

“She’s like a cat. Brings home dead things to show her affection.” Clint says one day. You promptly shove an elbow in his gut.

He learns how to spot your work past blubbering grown men and catatonic stares. Natasha tells him you hold your liquor well, Clint comments on your gambling abilities. He asks if your eyes are naturally that color, they tell him you don’t like to answer that question.

Later he asks Fury how they found you. He’s not sure how you became what you are today, but he knows this world has not treated you well, yet here you are, working to protect it regardless of what had been done to you. That’s the only reason he didn’t order Clint to take you out.

“So, she’s good?” Steve asks.

Fury pauses for a moment. “For our sake, I hope so.”

The next time you see Steve Rogers, you’re slinking through the Triskelion halls trying to stick your nose somewhere it probably doesn’t belong. He bumps into you, grabs your arm and your side to steady you. You know he can feel the scars beneath the thin material of your shirt and jump from his touch.

He shakes it off. “Tell me,” He starts. “Do you have an actual name or are you really just a ghost.”

You think for a moment. “Y/N.” He raises a brow, both your voice and an answer surprising him. “What, were you expecting a cryptic answer on the relativity of life and death or something?”

He chuckles. “Guess not.”

A moment later, he gets distracted, turns a way for a split second and then you’re gone.

“Yeah, she does that.” An agent passing by comments.

You continue on your path, leave him the gift of a solved problem on his desk sometimes. He sets up cameras and lasers, trying to catch you just once. It takes him a few months to realize the janitor drops the files and notes for him. You and Natasha laugh at his expense.

He starts to leave files in various places he knows only you could find. The worst of the worst. Men and women he thinks you’d be happy to cross off. You can’t tell if he leaves them for you, or because they’re just terrible people. Either way, the change in narrative surprises you, but you never bring it up. You’re the last person that would ever judge someone.

Natasha taunts him over it.

“It’s a modern-day love story with an assassin twist.”

“Why not that one?” “She doesn’t like Oklahoma.” “How do you know that?”

“She sent booze as thanks for your last tip. Are your cheeks seriously red right now, Rogers?”

Eventually, you concede and stop leaving him only the locations of gift-wrapped bodies with detailed lists of committed crimes. Complete with proof, of course, you weren’t lazy. You start to send him alive leads, people that can be questioned. Sometimes they’re unharmed, usually they’re mostly coherent. He’s surprised by the change in narrative, but he never brings it up. Sometimes people change, but that was none of his business.

Natasha is sure to point it out, though, consistently.

“You see him more than anyone else.” “That’s not true!” “…” “He’s here more than you, so it’s only by default.”

“Wait, you left that guy alive?” “Steve needs to question him.” “What about that one guy I needed answers from?” “You didn’t say please.”

“I’ve known you longer.” “He leaves me sex traffickers.”

When a body comes up dead that shouldn’t have, your signatures blatantly displayed, they send him to bring you in. He doesn’t believe for a second you could kill a kid, but he’s the only one who can get close enough. Fury’s only half sure you won’t kill him.

You battle with the idea of running, knowing they’ll never find you if you don’t want them to. You saw the evidence; you knew you were screwed. Fury told you from the very beginning that if he ever sensed you had turned, he’d take you out. No warning, no questions. Still, you wait patiently in your living room.

The window by the fire escape opens and Steve slides through, tip toes his way in and around the corner only to find you sitting there, an amused smirk tugging your lips.

“What calf exercises do you do? They look fantastic.”

He rolls his eyes and catches site of the artwork around him, the soft whites and greys of your walls and furniture giving spotlight to their colors. He never even considered you could have a home. You follow his gaze and shrug. Assassins can have taste too.

“The diplomat’s son, did you kill him?” He asks. You watch him silently. “Fury thinks you did.”

You walk slowly towards him, watch him curiously and tilt your head. “And if I did?” You prompt.

“I have orders to bring you in.”

You’re a breath away now, gliding your fingers along the Kevlar of his arm and trailing your way to his jaw. You trace his collar with a fingertip, watch as the pulse of his jugular quickens. You look up at him and he swallows thickly.

“And if I don’t want to?” You graze tentative fingers along the edge of his jawline. “Tell me, Captain, would you kill me?”

He hopes the eagerness in your voice is misplaced, the envy misinterpreted. Or perhaps the girl who surrounds herself with death does it with the idea that it may one day take her.

You don’t give him the opportunity to dive into that rabbit hole.

When you place your lips on his, soft and remnant of something sweet, he can only taste the brilliance of life. He wraps himself around you, slips in his tongue when you’re startled by his sudden switch. You thought you’d leave him shaken enough to slip away, disappear with the rising sun.

But now? Now you’re just as hungry for him.

He carries you, lays you across your bed. He runs the pad of his thumb along every scar left behind by a blade, places a kiss on each one from a bullet. You knot you fingers in his hair as he drags his tongue up the inside of your thigh, scream his name when he brings you higher than you’ve ever been before.

When he slides into you and stretches you deliciously so, you allow yourself to feel just this once. He catches the shift in your eyes, convinces himself his mind is playing tricks on him when the grey haze appears to fade.

He moves slow before he finds his pace. You dig fingernails into his back and trail them down hard enough to make him hiss. He nips you from shoulder to jaw, hips rocking into you, and you swear nothing has ever felt this good.

You lay there in silence, sweat coated limbs still entangled. He sighs heavily and you just know he’s about to ruin the moment.

“Stay.” You whisper. He looks down at you wrapped around him. “I’ll go with you in the morning, just stay tonight.”

He tightens his grip on your bicep and nods. “Ok.”

You’re still awake when dawn breaks, you had gotten lost in the simple rhythm of his heartbeat. A dream that one day life could be even just an imitation of normal. The thought makes you sad more than anything else.

You slip from his arms, grab a bag, and pack the essentials. Watching him sleep, he seems so peaceful, so good. You ache to wake him and stick around long enough to fix this mess. He deserves that.

Could you do it? Forget your past and pretend to be anything other than the hollow shell those before carved you into?

Ah, but this was your MO. Slip away in the dark when things took a turn either way. ‘Flight risk’ has always been written on the back of your eyelids. You weren’t quite sure why you felt you owed Steve more, but you did.

He awakes to a bright sun and a cold spot beside him. There’s a torn piece of paper where your head should’ve been. He brushes his thumb over his name and opens it. It states your innocence and exactly who he should be looking for, where to find them. At the bottom is a separate line.

‘Careful, Captain, or I just might be your future.’

Three years later.

You grab the tiny umbrella in your drink to twirl the ice around again. Undoubtedly a nervous habit you picked up in response to the very crowded beach bar you’re currently sitting at.

It was an alert you received in the middle of the night notifying you of your cleared name a year ago. You can’t be sure how whoever it was reached you, but the screenname ‘Tiny Dancer’ gave you a few ideas.

In that moment, reading those last two words you’re free, something changed. Perhaps it was months of being on the run from people who you allowed to know you well enough to track you that left you felling so drained.

Of course, you thought about the beautiful man you left behind first, knowing that there was no one in this world who would fight harder for your freedom. You wanted to go find him, you really did, but you couldn’t deny the fact that you felt different this time. Like maybe this was your chance to start over. A chance to live a life that had been stolen from you so long ago.

The bartender, a lovely middle aged man who strictly wore floral button ups, watches you down the rest of your drink and is quick with the refill. You try to thank him, but he waves you off.

“Anything for my favorite customer.”

You push your bottom lip out in an exaggerated pout. “Are we not friends by now?”

He barks out a laugh and leans forward against the bar in front of you. “Friends get invited to drink with me, which you do almost everyday. Family gets invited to the cookout. Which is Sunday, by the way. Show up early and bring an appetite.” He shoots you a playful wink before pushing off to help another customer.

You lean your head back slightly to feel the warmth of the sun and tune into the sound of the crashing waves. It’s the lightest you think you may have ever felt with the sand sticking to your bare legs and salt water in your hair.

Nothing could interrupt this perfectly blissful moment.

Well, almost nothing.

“Sand looks good on you.” A deep voice says beside you and you smile, face still tilted towards the sun.

“Took you longer than I thought.” You turn to Steve still smiling. “How long can you stay?”

He moves his sunglasses from his eyes to the top of his head and looks around for a moment taking in the view. When he turns back to you, the smile that breaks across his face almost stops your heart.

“As long as you’ll let me.”

#Steve Rogers #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers x reader #captain america #captain america x reader #captain america imagine #mcu #marvel #avengers

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sxdmoonchxld · 4 years

Text

Tell Me U Luv Me| MYG

Summary : You should have stopped this a long time ago. Hell it wasn't even supposed to begin. But now it's too late no matter how hard you try you always go back to him. And now he wants you to tell him the feelings you've been hiding...the feelings you weren't supposed to have.

Genre: smut, smidge of angst, fluff if you cross your eyes and read it upside down

Theme: Infidelity

4k words

Warnings: Rough Sex, Oral Sex, Fingerfucking, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Cunnilingus, Begging, Multiple Orgasms, Fuckbuddies, Bad Dirty Talk

a/n: i use to be lizardsocial, so if this seems familiar that's why.

———————————————————————

You stood outside the cracked door to his room shaking as frenetic nerves fired through the synapses of your brain. The cold draft flowing from the inky darkness escaping the room assaulted the warmth of your skin with coolness. Galvanizing waves of charged currents rushed through your bones, blunt teeth worried the inside of your lip as sizzling bubbles of anxiety, and zealous anticipation boiled in the pit of your gut.

"Are you going to just stand out there the whole night? " His voice, sonorous and smooth akin to dripping molasses reverberated softly through the quiet hallway.

His words mixed to the distorted pulsing of the blood in your veins. Flowed so heavenly to the crashing drumline beat of your heart resonating violently in your ears. You glanced down focused on the jittery motions of your hands. Remorse and guilt waged in the jumbled mayhem of your thoughts. For a spilt second. Oh such a painful second the image of your original lover manifested itself through your cloud of ignominy. This was wrong, the truth apparent. It didn't take a genius to deduce how inequitable and sickening it is. He didn't deserve this cold dose of adultery and deceit you served him with a cum smeared smile.

But you are weak.

There were several countless failed tries, where you sought to stay away. To purify yourself of his narcotic magnetism, to expunge all late-night escapades unraveling when the moon kisses the sky. Altering to omitted memories to never resurface in the sunlit horizon. Many times there a been that expected moment of reasoning. Albeit choosing to strike post-coital when you’ve been belatedly freed from the smog of arousal. Momentarily sated with the pulsating of your cum filled cunt. It’s usually then, only then you find yourself with the urge - the need to flee.

To be spooned in the warming embrace of your loving, naive boyfriend. To shield you from the freezing chills of your sins, and help sooth the pain as you reflect on your harrowing actions. Pathetically the shame, pain and regret are wistfully short-lived emotions, forgotten like an old childhood toy. Not soon after, in their place the yearning begins. Boiling at odd hours in the night, symptoms of withdrawal surfacing, devising you desperate.

Oh so fervent

Aching - desirous for your next moment with him.

He is slick and cunning like a snake. Coiled in captivating colors, poisonous, yet so enticing. He was no good for you, it was no secret. But when it all bubbled down to a concentrated thought. You were like a drug fiend, addicted to the empirical taste of his angel dust. Caught deep in the sweet down spiraling remedy that was Min Yoongi. He was the proverbial forbidden fruit and the serpent mix into one deadly package.

Not much coaxing was needed to take a bite. His tempting words and intoxicating presence was just enough to seal your fate. So with unsteady sock laden feet, your body propelled toward the dimmed room. The creator of your greed and secret ruler of your body waiting just beyond the door.

“I didn't think you were coming."

How funny. In a pathetic way that is. He didn't think you were going to come? Where could he possibly get that idea from? Admittedly it's been a while since the last encounter with busy and conflicting scheduling keeping you apart. Though not once have you missed that hypnotizing tune that always led you to him. Not once have you denied him a chance to ravage a body that was never his from the beginning.

“Did you finally get him to fall asleep?”Yoongi mused, the bed creaking lightly as he rose from lying down. You watched as he began walking towards you with a steady gait. The lamp on his nightstand casting a shadow to hide the right side of his face. Shivering you nodded, a small shaky smile of fondness playing on your lips as you reminisced your boyfriend's excitement over their new album.

"Good. You know how restless Namjoon gets when we have new material on the way." Spoken like a man who knew his best friend, his fucking brother. Yoongi was right though, it took time and patience to soothe a riled Namjoon.

Listening to hours of animated rambling, chatted amid eye-watering yawns and repetitive strokes through chemically damaged, yet soft and lush strands of hair. Though once his burning enthusiasm trickled down to a burnt-out wick, he was dead to the world.

"Yeah. I know." You responded with stifling discomfiture, a wave of salty transgression washing on the sandy banks in your chest. It was an unspoken rule. Namjoon was not to be mentioned in the immoral extent of you and Yoongi. Not to be slandered and tainted with the actions that would inevitably condemn you to hell. Now wasn't the time to be thinking about him while in this place, in this position; in this context. It served no relief. Only proving to be a conduit of neglected emotions that would be mulled over in the future.

You flinched at chilled forearms enclosing around your waist. The thin silk material of your nightgown, ineffectively blocking the cold press of his fingertips against the lower portion of skin on your back. Yoongi habitually kept it cold in his room. He joked claiming he liked the way your nipples hardened to stiff little nubs when they met the air. Yet he knew the biting element of his room did naught to rouse your body. It was him, simply him.

"I've missed you," he spoke soft and sweetly with cool lips resting patiently below your ear. His heated breath a spreading raised goosebumps to the surface of the skin on your neck. Pulling back to glance at him, you internally gasped. The verve burning in his eyes as he stared at you unwaveringly, was startlingly surprising. The passion swirling in his chocolate orbs were strange but not unfamiliar. Still, they held his desire and lust, but there was something else mixed in that was unknown, and didn't belong there. It made your heart speed up and palpitate uncomfortably beneath your ribs.

Scowling, your eyes dropped at his words and your own foolish flare of emotions. Of course he missed you, but not in the same way you missed him.

"You just missed my pussy Yoongi," you said unfiltered because it was true and despite knowing that truth, you hated the way your heart pained with a tinge of sadness.

‘No! Feelings weren't to be caught’, you scolded yourself mentally. It was unfortunate enough that you were already addicted to the sex with him. A weakness that you were failingly to recover from, a flaw Yoongi exploited with sick joy. The extent of this relationship carried no purpose beyond a way to release the sexual tension.

Temporarily rectified by secretive fucking behind his best friend and your boyfriend, Namjoon's back. Any feelings could and would utterly ruin you, except in the recess of your mind, you knew it was too late. The opening for evacuating slipped through your fingers the moment you opened your legs for him.

"It's okay because I've missed your cock." You tried cooing seductively, the partial lie trailing with the hand maneuvering between your frames as you lightly palm him through his sweatpants. An exciting jolt and rush of arousal raced down your spine at the discovery of his cock already at half-mast. Yoongi hummed appreciatively at the feeling of the palm of your hand rubbing slow circles on his clothed member.

"Hmm, are you sure that's all you miss?" he asked his hands languidly stroking your waist.

"I can assure you, your tight little pussy isn't all that I missed from you." His eyes burned into you like he was capable of seeing the hidden parts of your soul. Jarred, your palming slowed down to a stop. Your hands falling limply to your sides and brow bone turning down into a perplexed frown.

"Y-Yoongi, what are you talking about?" You tried pulling away from his hold, exceedingly confused to the implication behind his words. That out of place, foreign emotion whirling deeper, burning brighter in his eyes.

This wasn't like Yoongi, in fact, it was unnervingly out of character. He wasn't one for teasing or insignificant banter. Honestly, you were surprised you were still on your feet and clothed. If this were like any another of your previous encounters, you would already be on your back. Legs lewdly spread, your gushing pussy filled to the brim, trapped in the clutches of primal fulfillment.

"W-what are you talking a-about." He mocked, tongue sucking his teeth.

"Don't try and deny it. I see right through you. In you."

Enthralled, Yoongi pushing you towards his bed didn't register in your muddled brain until the plush softness of his bedspread cradled your spine. You flinches as hands slammed down beside you caging your head in among extended elbows and bent knees straddled over trembling thighs.

Yoongi drew his head down to your neck and like a bitch in heat, your neck craned effortlessly. Lips parting for the escape of an airy whine at his warm lips on your skin. The next Picasso in the making he nipped at the column of your neck, sucking your skin with differing pressure, painting the bare canvas with blotches of cherry and mulberry.

Another big no-no.

"Y-you can't see a-anything, because t-there is nothing t-to s-see." you lied again, stuttering terribly in between breathless pants. Yoongi chuckled, you could feel his leer against your skin.

"I can feel it-," he said with a tender lick to the blemishes littering your neck. His head moved down your chest, irritatingly feather-light pecks left by a brush of his lips. His mouth coming to rest over the swell of your breast where your heart pounded furiously below his lips. "-the way your heart beats for me."

A large hand abandoned its post beside your head, cupping a breast wrapped in delicate silk. Gently he massaged the soft tissue, alternating amidst firm and gently caresses. The meat of your breast spilling between clenching fingers. You arched your chest further into his hands, fluctuations of venereal relief rippled from his touch, your throat fluttering out moans. Warm wetness engulfed your other unused breast. Helpless you keened lustily and flagrantly, as flat teeth nipped at the hardened nub poking through the material of your gown.

Another lusty moan rumbled from your throat as a thick tongue began laving around the bud to soothe the sting of his bite. Your nipple stiffened further the cold air hitting the wet splotch, as Yoongi detached from the fabric encased teat. With seductive chocolate feline-like eyes scorching with ardor. His gaze lingered to your exposed thighs and the bunched up bundle of cloth resting on the apex of your legs.

Your heart throbbed in a frenzy when you noticed the focus of his gaze. Was he actually thinking about eating you out? As long as this affair has been occurring, never did he perform the act, or hint at wanting to. Judging by the cockiness of his rap lyrics, its apparent he is confident in his skills.

There was usually little to no foreplay, with your pussy easily dripping like the cock slut it has proven to be. Not much needed to be done to have you soaking for Yoongi. A couple of rough fingering thrusts with stomach coiling pressure against your g-spot and you were ready to meet him raw and ready.

A lecherous leer quirked the corner of his lips, he trained his eyes on you as he shifted down your body, his stomach now flat against the bed. You yelped when frigid fingertips seized the flesh of your thighs yanking you closer to his face. The rest of your nightgown rising up to rest in a crumpled heap underneath your breast. He snickered condescendingly at the exposure of the slick wetness coating the center of your panties.

Unfazed, thick fingers pressed into your dampness, collecting more of your arousal in the seat of your panties. You always got so wet for him, copious fluid dribbling to catch between your ass cheeks, your cunt pulsating wildly in anticipation, eager for his next move. With no hesitation, Yoongi pushed his nose into your pussy, the tip nudged against your covered clit, shamelessly breathing in your fragrance deeply.

"I can even smell it." Another deep inhale through his nose and a hot exhale through his mouth.

“So sweet.”

He pushed your panties to the side, a trail of sticky slick following its wet departure.

"I bet I could even taste it. How much you missed me."

You whimpered, your hips shoving up in silent desperation. You wanted, no needed Yoongi to give you more. You weren't accustomed to being teased, never having to beg. Yoongi always delivered with hip bruising, backbreaking, unrestrained strokes, his cock splitting your walls in rapid succession. That was what you were accustomed too. It was what you thought he wanted, the foundation of this liaison, fast and rough fucks. This time something was off. Things were changing, his intentions shifting, and you were scared, deathly frightened.

That even an ounce of his true affection, would overpower you. The taking over of your being complete, the tipping point of your inevitable overdose. An abrupt bloom of pleasure unfurled in your lower gut as Yoongi spread your pussy lips lewdly. The thumb of his hand hooked deep within your ribbed walls, your cunt clenched tightly around the thick digit. The stark temperature difference of his thumb and the torrid heat of his ascending tongue drew a high- pitched yelp from your throat. Searing energy blossomed through your core as the tip of his tongue flicked off your fattened clit at his first swipe. Brazen and amplified he sucked on his pink muscled appendage mouth parting loudly with a pop.

"You taste delicious, sweet like I said," he complimented before burying his face in your pussy. His thick tongue squirmed within your core joining his thumb, as it shoved as deep as it could reach before it started flicking out in an amalgam of movements liquifying your insides. You cried out helplessly throwing your head back against the mattress, your hips angled high pressed against his face to him feed more of your cunt.

"Tell me I’m better," He spoke around mouthfuls of your center. You whined, his words cutting through the buzzing vibrations in your ears. He was better than Namjoon, on a different spectrum. It was evident in how your body sang for him, how your hips ground helplessly on the twisting muscle inured so fathomlessly in your cunt. But you couldn't say it, you wouldn't dare say it out loud even though the words burned the base of your throat. That was too close in crossing forbidden territory.

"Tell me how much you missed me." His tongue drew your clit in his mouth, plush lips sucking the corded nub.

"No!" You denied him for the first time.

You just couldn't say those words no matter how much your vocals cords seized to shout the words Yoongi’s request. A muffled chuckle spilled out of him at your surprising defiance. He was calm in his movements, his thumb dragging along your walls to shift to press up against your g-spot, applying pressure with each outward stroke. His gaze was heated, staring at you over the mound of your cunt, balmy puffs of air fanning over your jumping clit as he spoke.

"Tell me how much you missed this. Us. How right this feels."

"Tell me how much better I am than him-" he demanded again. "-can he make your body sing like I can?"

"Y-Yoongi," you gasped harshly sweat permeated on your skin. Descending over the valley of your breasts in opaque pearls. You couldn't say it. Ceasing his stroking thumb, the whine bubbling in your throat was choked down by the replacement of two of his fingers. Scissoring them apart, his fingers curved on your g-spot assaulting the area with pressurized tenacity. With lips back on your clit sucking all the collected fluids down his greedy throat. Your teeth clenched together, hands fisting into the bedspread, your thighs shuddering terribly around his body.

"How much you wished, that was me fucking your pussy 5 days ago instead of him."

You gasped at his words surprise and fear mixed with lust, distorting your features into an almost comical expression. Yoongi laughed cynically.

"Didn't think I'd find out, would you kitten?"

Fucking Namjoon was more so out of guilt than some kind of vendetta against Yoongi. Namjoon was your boyfriend for fuck's sake, you couldn't go on denying him for much longer without him becoming suspicious; if he wasn't already.

"N-o, no!" Still you denied him, unwillingly to come to terms with the truth, both the latter and internally.

Toes folded in on themselves as Yoongi sped him his fingers to deep thrusting aimed directly for the spongy bundled of nerves. Your orgasm started intensified at an alarming pace, you could feel it in the way your stomach cramped. How your hips sloppily thrust toward Yoongi's face, your back arched off the bed. Soft, euphoric cries ruptured from your larynx, binding themselves onto the edge of every fleeting gaspy breath disbanding in the air. You slapped your hands over your mouth to muffle your scream, the sudden snapping ties of your pleasure, hitting you with the force of a freight train. Your upper body flailed around on the bed, unrestrained portions of your legs kicking out at the intensity of your orgasm. Your eyes pricked with tears and lungs suffocated as they were robbed of air.

Floating in post-orgasmic limbo, you vaguely registered his fingers withdrawal from your clenching cunt or the shuffling of his sweats pants down his hips or he hiking of your legs to perch against his waist. It wasn't until the fevered eagerness of his leaking cock head pressing against your quivering core, did you return from the clouds.

Yoongi stroked the skin of your thighs with sticky tenderness, his face coming closer to yours to capture your chapped lips in a sweet kiss. You gasped in frail distress and shock, your heart constricted tightly within your chest. Stars bursted behind your eyes at the strange feeling of his lips moving against your own. Another act taboo in the relationship that was this. Yoongi seized the perfect opportunity to ease his tongue into your mouth, dancing with your own. He was tart with your flavor, mixed with his addicting treacle.

Gradually his cock split your glossy folds, breaching your cunt's hole with the tip of his cock. You cried out in his mouth, detaching your lips from his. A string of conjoined spittle landing on your cheek as you turned your head to the side. Yoongi's lips followed you, connecting your mouth once again as he began surging his cock, deep, deep, and deeper. The slow pace allowing you to feel the burning stretch, every eager throb of his cock, every engorged vein pulsing under his skin.

Yoongi didn't give you much time to adjust as he started his leisure strokes. He barely withdrew before he was spearing you back on his cock, much deeper than before. Tearing your mouth from him again, you gasp with the stinging need of air, a forearm coming over to cover your face. The bright light of the lamp on his nightstand shining across your face suddenly a nuisance, as you greedily swallowed in the fresh air between mewling cries of pleasure.

"Does your slutty pussy squeeze him as tight as your squeezing me?" Yoongi grunted reducing his already sluggish pace, his hips rotating with each stroke.

Your head felt like it was ready to implode. You were overheating, short-circuiting, the blood in your veins boiling and curdling. Namjoon infiltrated your thoughts, his kind hardworking nature, how much he loved and adored you, but was it enough? Did you even love him anymore? Or were you stolen away by the man he considers his brother? It was all becoming too much, Yoongi's slow strokes and demanding queries were causing you to overthink. You needed him to speed up, to fuck your brains out so you wouldn't have to be pestered with your evolving thoughts.

"Yoongi, I-I need you to speed up. I want you to fuck me faster, fuck me harder please!" You begged as if your life depended on the tempo of his thrusts, and in a way it did, at least your sanity did.

"Shhh" he cooed. One of his hands abandoning its place on your lifted legs, to come and pry your arms away from your face. Your breath hitched as your blurry gaze focused in on the unbridled emotion raging in his dark eyes.

"Tell me I'm the one you want." He eased out of your body, grunting lowly as your cunt clutched desperately at his retreating cock.

"Tell me I'm the only one who owns you, who owns your heart." Again he sunk back within your depths.

"Tell me you love me and not him, and I'll fuck you until your coming on my cock."

Yoongi promised in one swift stroke buried deep within your cunt, speeding up his thrust to his usually relentless rhythm. You screamed in familiar delight, arms wrapping around his neck in a loop. Your breast crushed into his chest, fingernails embedded in his shoulder leaving raised red crescents. You could already feel your second orgasm approaching, your cunt enclosing Yoongi's cock in a vice-like grip, you never lasted long when he rammed into you like this. It was what you needed, the perfect escape to the feelings boiling in your chest. Another mind-numbing orgasm and he would follow suit, then you could leave and close this chapter of your life, the end of a book with a bittersweet ending.

"Oh, no you don't." Yoongi tsked. He knew the telltale signs of your orgasm, he ruled your body with an iron fist wrapped in a velvet glove. Reducing his strokes to that of a snail's pace, he laughed at your wail of frustration, a bead of sweat dropping off his body at the shake of his shoulders. How obtuse of you to think he was going to let you come without you telling him what he's been dying to hear from your lips the whole night, for months.

"Say it. Open that pretty mouth sweetheart and tell me what I want to hear." Yoongi cooed, his cock now surging into your depths with shallow, unfulfilling strokes.

"Yoo-ngi." You hiccuped clamping your eyes tight. The coiling tightness of your orgasm was still there, maybe if you concentrated hard enough-

"Say it! Tell me you love, how I love you!" Your eyes flew open, dilating to focus on a blurred image of Yoongi. Him? Love you? How? Why?

"Yes, I love you." He said smoothly, no hesitation, not an inkling of regret, just confidence and love glimmering in his eyes.

"Now. Tell me you love me too and don't lie." Yoongi reiterated with a rough thrust.

"I-I don-" your mouth opened and closed, a fish out of the water you were caught. You fell back on to the bed, a hand placed on your chest over the blood-filled organ crashing against your chest. Your heart captured by another, no longer could you deny it, deny him, deny yourself. So with a heavy heart...you told him. "I love you."

You didn't want to. It wasn't supposed to happen like this. A one-time thing, he...you let escalate too far. Now it was too late. The truth was out now, and all hell was about to break loose.

"Tell me again."

You strangled on a wad of spit at the sudden rough thrust, your teeth clanking together at the single motion. "I love you."

Yoongi groaned loudly, the loudest you think you've ever heard from him at your affectionate confession. His hands readjusted themselves off your thighs to better support himself as he began lifting his your legs to rest on your chest, your knees pushed into your breast. Immediately his hips set off at a fast pace, the slaps of his balls hitting your ass nearly rivaled the shout of pleasure or the wet slapping of where you were connected.

Your hips met his with bruising contact, but you didn't care, the angle of his cock drilled at your g-spot relentlessly. Black and white dots floating in your vision, eyes rolling in the back of your head. Jumbled repeats of his name wretched themselves from your lips, you were sure the other boys in the shared apartment could hear your cries of satisfaction. Namjoon as well.

You didn't care, your love for Yoongi, the feeling of his cock in your guts, was the only thing on your mind. A couple of more thrust and your orgasm was ripped from you, your legs thrashing about in Yoongi's hold. The sweet pull of your cunt on his cock bringing forth his own release, and with one last surge of his hips, the bulbous head kissing your cervix, he spurted warm ropes of his cum straight into your womb. Breathlessly he dropped your legs from his hands, a mixed wad of your and his cum spilling out from around him. Gently he withdrew and fell onto the bed beside you, lowly he sighed in satisfaction.

"Tell me again."

You told him.

"I love you."

#bts smut #min yoongi #bts fanfction #bts fanfic #min yoongi x y/n #min yoongi x reader #suga #august d #suga x reader #suga x y/n #bts lemon #oneshot #bts #kpop #fanfic #reader insert

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narrators-journal · 3 years

Text

Working late

Previous: Here

For the rest of the time Ango had off, he spent with you. It was a nice time, and it made him happier than he had been in a long while to have someone to talk to that wasn't Tsujimura. It also helped that he could talk about something other than his job with you, as well as have something to think about aside from said job. So, in the end, he didn't regret trying out that dating app, even though he'd been so skittish to build a connection with someone. You, meanwhile, didn't seem to care about all of the flaws he brought up on your dates. You were fine with him not having much time to do much, and seemed to accept that this long stretch of time off wasn't his usual schedule. Thankfully, you didn't pry into why he'd suddenly gotten a month off if it wasn't normal. "I'm not looking for a constant partner. I can deal with taking things slow and being long distance," You assured on the second to last day of his break, wrapping an arm around him in a small hug, "My only demand is that I'm allowed to send you stuff and keep in contact as much as possible. Please just don't ghost me." He nodded, and with that, you seemed pretty content with that, letting him leave to return to work after his month off. Sadly, his happiness was swiftly squished under the weight of the work Taneada gave him upon his return. Of course, it wasn't a surprise to him, his boss had always been keen on shoving piles of work at him whenever he could get away with it. So, he just dug in and focused on catching up for the month of work he'd missed. So, another week passed uneventfully. Ango hadn't gone home more than two or three times, instead opting to crash on one of the decorative office couches for small naps when he got too exhausted to continue to work at times. He was swiftly exhausted, struggling to keep awake and to avoid completely crashing and sleeping for most of the day during his little naps. Though, it wasn't all bad. He tried his best to reach out to you when he could, and you were one of the few bright spots he had on the days where he was too busy to go home. (y/n): You doing alright? Wishing for another vacation yet lol.Ango: Very much so, but the paperwork is pretty standard, so it's nothing too taxing. (y/n): Ew, that sounds so boring. Ango: It is. That's why I didn't go into detail about my job, other than some of it being classified. (y/n): Yeah, kinda would've ruined dinner if I fell asleep to your paperwork chat lol. Ango: Lol. He smiled as he read your casual messages while he laid in the dark office long after even Tsujimura and Taneada had gone home, leaving him with the night security guards and little else in the way of coworkers. Usually, Ango just went to sleep as quickly as possible, having honed the skill of falling asleep on command pretty much, but when you'd checked in on him, he was fine with staying up to talk to you and unwind that way, and when his phone vibrated to notify him of another of your messages, he was further encouraged to stay awake out of pure curiosity. (y/n): Hey, Ango, I might know a way for you to destress. Ango: What is it? Yoga?(y/n): Nope! With that message, you sent a photo attachment, and he turned quite red before he'd even opened the file. Oh god, please don't be up for sexting. I'm much too rusty at that. He quickly plead internally, than, after swallowing the anxious lump in his throat, he opened the picture. Sure enough, it was a risque photo of yourself, nothing nude, but he got a healthy hint of what you looked like beneath your clothing. It brought a bright red color to his pale cheeks, but he didn't dislike the image, in fact, it honestly sent a bolt of excitement straight to his pants. Though, he was then faced with the predicament of responding. Fuck, do I comment on their body? Their underwear? He mulled over his options for a long moment and tried to formulate a good response that didn't sound too rude, but in the end he still struggled. Ango: Why the sexual image? Ango: You look nice, Ango:Your undergarments are rather cute. (y/n): Lol, take your time, dear. Ango let his phone fall to his chest after that and just scrubbed at his face with both of his hands, being mindful of his round glasses, then wiped his sweaty palms on the couch before finally sending a response he didn't delete. Ango: I'm sorry if I seem rude, I'm not used to being sent photos. You are very attractive. (y/n): Awww, thank you~ Have you really not been sent risque pictures before? Ango: Not really, haven't had many partners before to try. (y/n): Lolol, well dear, it's usually good etiquette to send a pic in return if you want😉 That sent another hot bolt of thrill to his groin, but he wasn't super sure on whether he should give into that lascivious voice in his head. Is it really smart to do this? They could use any compromising pictures against you. The anxious voice in his head whispered, but, after a moment or two of debating, the glasses-wearing man took a deep breath and let it out slowly, I guess it wouldn't hurt, as long as I don't show my face it shouldn't be that bad, even if they does use it against me. Besides, I can't exactly sleep comfortably after this, might as well take a photo while I'm at it. He told himself, using a bit of reasoning to curb how anxious he felt on his way to the men's room, the one rare place where there wasn't any security cameras. Once safely hidden in a stall with his phone, out of the view of any of the night guards or security cameras, Ango took a moment to relax so his hands didn't shake too badly, then, pulled his pants down just enough to let his semi-erect member free. He then took a moment to figure out how to take a passable picture and sent it off, his cheeks now as red as a rose and his gut was in a maelstrom of nerves, excitement, and arousal while waiting the painfully slow minute it took for you to reply to his picture. When you did, it was with a second image, (y/n): I appreciate your bravery~ Here, a final little picture for ya before I go to bed. Good night, Ango~ Your humor helped to relax him after such a nerve-wracking adventure into such a new territory. Not to say Ango wasn't a puritan, he'd had sex more than once, and he was pretty flexible with what he did in bed, but sending lewd photos from work was a new, anxiety-filled experience. Although, his stiffened member didn't seem to care about that paranoia. Fuelled by your second, slightly more risque image, his member now demanded to be dealt with before he even thought of sleep.He let out a little sigh and ran a hand through his dark hair, taking his glasses off and setting them carefully on the back of the toilet before shutting his dark green eyes and began to slowly stroke himself. The friction his hand gave, paired with the images now in his mind was the perfect mix to form fantasies starring you. Thoughts of you taking his long-neglected member into your mouth, or maybe riding him, so many thoughts that made his erection twitch filled his mind, trickling in as he finally fed his long neglected sexual needs ever so slightly. He hadn't done so in so long that he forgot just how addictive it could be to chase that delicious boost of happy chemicals masturbation could give him, but he was highly enjoying rediscovering the pleasure of the friction from his hands when paired with the fantasy of you being the one to stroke his twitching member until the pleasure reached its peek and a groan was yanked from his throat and quickly muffled as his body tensed and his brain was filled with static for a few moments. When he'd come down from that high, his euphoria was quickly replaced by immense shame, so he was swift to put his softening dick away and scrub up the evidence of his alone time. He put his glasses back on, straightened his clothes, and took a few deep breaths to slow his pounding heart and lessen the stain to his cheeks before he left the bathroom and returned to the couch. This time, he just went to sleep.

#Ango Sakaguchi #bsd #Ango x reader #bungo stray dogs #x reader #fanfiction #not sfw #long distance #quotev

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whitherliliesbloom · 3 years

Text

fragrant sorrow

[ ffxivwrite2021 ] ★ [ masterlist ] ★ [ prompt #10 - heady ]

[ implied kaye/lily ] ★ [ 1,805 words ] ★ [ wozwald au ] content warning- features use of dr*gs, alcohol and tobacco. passing mentions of sex too but it doesn’t happen on screen or involve the main characters. kaye also kills a man. be warned, this is wozwald au, after all.

heady: intoxicating; affecting the mind or senses greatly

even after all these years, the scent of flowers brought the god of death the most amount of pain.

It fucking reeks.

His lungs hurt to even take a breath, nose filled with the cloying stench he’s grown all too familiar with. With fists balled tight in the confines of his pockets, he takes heavy steps deeper through the sickly grey corridors, with only the weight of the scythe strapped to his back serving as a reminder... or rather motivation for moving forward.

Flashing lights leak through the gaps of the rusted metal door that lets out a deafeningly ear-piercing shriek as he pulls it open, and the scent of complete and utter depravity floods his senses.

There’s the familiar and known - the odor of cigarette smoke and bitter alcohol intermingling in the air... so heavy and concentrated it would almost be enough alone to dull his senses. Like an old friend he hated to know - but comforting in it’s own sickening, addictive way, even if it hurt him to indulge in it.

And then there’s everything else that Kaye loathed that kept his disgust for the place increasing triple fold - distinct notes of burnt chemicals and sweet, heady musk that has him scrunching his nose up and resisting the urge to raise a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose.

It fucking reeks. Even more than me.

The carpet beneath his leather boots feels damp - soiled and damp with a concoction of wine and bodily fluids. To even hear the very squelch with every step he took caused the man’s nerves to shrivel... though he has long since learned to hide whatever discomfort he feels.

And the sights are no more better than the scents and sounds - used needles lay discarded upon tables and couch cushions, crumpled smallclothes neglected and equally well worn strewn about... along with the numerous bodies of both warm and cold that littered the space of the club.

Most of the stiff bodies, as far as the man could tell, were caused by overdose of some kind... poor sods whose life essence had been willingly but not full knowingly given up to fuel the debauched existence of the pathetic excuse of a god.

It was a good thing he’d convinced Lily to stay behind at the camp - though he did promise to make his way back within an hour or she’d feel compelled to come storming through the place out of worry, which she has full right to.

But he didn’t quite feel like having her bear witness to what he’s surrounded himself with now. It’s sure to take several hours worth of comforting, soothing and a patience from him that he’s running thin on. It wasn’t that he disliked her presence - or hated to reassure what was to be the closest thing he’s had to an actual... companion or friend in god knows how long.

But the stench that was depravity has seeped too far into his own bones, tainted his own blood so much that to even think he was even in any position to separate himself from the very things that the far too innocent for her own good lesser goddess... it was a hypocrisy that made his blood begin to bubble and boil.

It fucking reeks. But this is exactly the type of scent that suited a monster like him best.

Kaye stops, expression morbid though unchanging and sharp gaze hardened as he stares down at the lesser god of all lesser gods lounging lazily upon the throne made of discarded plush cushions.

And like the sheer weakling he is, he is wholly unaware of the immense power disparity between himself and his visitor, so much that he’d looked up with a cocky smirk, drawing a sharp inhale of his cigar before blowing the smoke in Kaye’s face.

The further one is away from divinity, the more detached they become from the natural order... with senses so dulled by their own foils that they could not even recognize one of the original pantheon in the flesh.

But that only made Kaye’s job easier, as he silently eyes down the lesser god of carnal pleasures.

“And to what do I owe the pleasure, lad?” The bastard has the audacity to act cordial with him. It would seem he’s as much of an idiot as he was perverse. “Yours is an unfamiliar face.”

“Of course it is.” Kaye responds, voice sour and aloof by comparison.

“Then what’re here for?” The man asks again, leaning forward to bear his rotten, blackened teeth in a wide grin as he spreads his arms out in a gesture of welcome. “The ladies? The booze? You seem the straight and narrow type. Thinkin’ about losing yourself to your carnal pleasures for the first time huh? Everyone always gives in to it eventually after they remember how worthless life is.”

Kaye grits his teeth beneath sealed lips, and with jaws tightened, he reaches behind his back with one hand.

“’Appreciate the offer... but I’m several millennia too old for this shit.”

“-Wait- What are you-”

The scythe takes another life, clean and effortless as ever. Blood spills freely, pouring over the altar of the now dismantled god.... and Kaye can hear the demented screams of what little of his worshippers assaulting his ear drums.

The smell of iron and death permeates the air, and Kaye turns to leave before he can become drunk on it.

It fucking reeks.

---

He didn’t have much luck in convincing Lily this time - stubborn as she is whenever she wanted to or felt like she had to be... and him not having enough energy to fight her enthusiasm. She’s younger, more energetic... and he’d admit to no one that he’s envious of that at times.

But she’s also naive and kind, traits that alone are praiseworthy... but certainly not something that belongs in the modern age - it was a miracle she even came into existence as she did on account of the state of things.

That was also part of the reason why he hadn’t wanted her to come with him on this visit - though that reason had been far more selfish on his part this time than before.

Because whereas his earlier refusal to let her join him in disposing of the god of carnal pleasures was out of a pure protectiveness for her wellbeing that Lily could fully understand, she could not fathom why Kaye would be so unwilling in letting her visit the abandoned altars of one of the original six.

He’d even brought a bouquet of flowers, something Lily thought she’d never in all her life get to see the ultra god of grouchiness would ever hold - even if the man did seem a tad put off by his own gift for some reason, for lack of a better term.

And so she’d followed even in his protest... deep into a forest away from the main city as they walked further and further away from the gaudy neon lights and street lamps into the cold glow of the moonlight through a canopy of dense forest tree branches and leaves.

Lily can tell as Kaye pushed past the overgrowth with practiced ease that he has the route memorized... despite there being no real set path to their destination at all.

And when they finally reached a clearing in the woods and reached the stone altar, surrounded by crumbled stone walls and mossy bushes, Lily finally gained an inkling of why Kaye had been so hesitant in letting her come visit the pseudo-grave of one of his old companions.

There was next to none left of the original shrine... now left with a singular stone with a shape of an hourglass carved into its surface that Lily instantly recognized.

It was the emblem of the late goddess of creation - the last god of the original six to have died barring Kaye himself.

Lily has read tomes about her - about the goddess who, despite her relative weakness in comparison to the other five... possessed within her the great gift that was the ability to create... to give life and change to the very essence of the world.

In a sense, it wouldn’t be a stretch to say that this goddess was Lily’s predecessor.

And though the current goddess of change could not possibly know what type of person the goddess then had been... the fact that she had faded away due to the lack of followers and not due to the judgement passed on by the god of death’s scythe was enough for her to understand now the pain Kaye must feel even just thinking of her.

And it was apparent- even with the lack of emotion in his tense expression as he bends down on one knee to place the flowers beneath the stone before rising to his feet and forcing himself to feign a relaxed demeanor by burying his hands in his pockets and slouching... which only made it more obvious to Lily just how on edge and uncomfortable he was.

She hesitates for a moment, but she finally fights all of her natural instincts telling her to stay quiet to speak and ask him a question.

“What was she like? The goddess of creation?”

Kaye stiffens, and Lily almost mistakens him for a statue as he bows his head and gazes down at the flowers with sorrow welling in his dark eyes.

It takes a while for him to respond... but when he does, the pain in his voice shatters Lily’s heart.

“She was gentle. Kind. An idiot, all things considering... Not unlike you, I guess.”

This world as it is had no place for the softhearted, Kaye knew that the moment he had started to note this old friend’s power growing dimmer and dimmer. And yet even on her deathbed... even counting down the days to her inevitable disappearance, she held a gentle, weak little smile upon her face.

“She liked flowers...” He thinks to add, and his nose scrunches up once more.

It reeks. The whole altar reeks. He can barely even remember what her voice sounded like or what her smile looked like. And yet the scent of flowers would ever stay fresh to haunt him.

It’s a fragrance of floral notes and fresh wind... an intoxicating blend of gentle lavender, lilies and chrysanthemums. It was a kind, gentle, sweet and beautiful scent.....

And it ill-suits the rotten state of the modern age... It ill-suited him.

Just recollecting old memories has made the god of death wobbly on his feet, and he turns to leave before Lily can stop him. He needs a cig.

But not here... Not here where the scent of flowers still rung fresh. Not where his greatest sorrow and regret has yet to be tainted by the odor that he now carried.

#ffxiv #final fantasxy xiv #ffxivwrite2021 #ffxivwrite #kiwisffxivwrite2021 #kaye #lily #wozwald au #fanfic #mine #I MADE IT WITH LITERALLY A SINGLE MINUTE #I was so frantic which is why the ending seems rushed greeehrhrufuhuf #angst angst angst angst

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threeminutesoflife · 5 years

Text

Manifest Destiny

Pairings: Dark!Stucky x Dark!Reader Warnings: 18+, non/con, sex pollen, lab experiments, kidnapping, stucky bj, female masturbation, minor mention of death. Summary: Reader invents sex pollen, selfish relationship issues w/ her boyfriends, breaking up is hard to do Word Count: 8.2k a/n: This was written for the ever-sweet and incredibly welcoming @imanuglywombat The Ugliest Wombat Challenge. She’s an amazing writer- Congrats on your 1.7k! Thank you for hosting!

Prompts: Desert and Mountain Moodboards-

It’s odd, the revelations and ideas you come up with when your mouth’s filled with cock.

“Take it.”

“B-Bucky, wait-”

“Don’t whine, you’re ready,” Bucky panted above you, “you feel good enough to me.”

Bucky's hips connected painfully into yours as your back dug into the table, “Be good- take Steve in your little mouth, baby girl.”

His hands cemented around your waist while you lay haphazardly across the small kitchen table; the back of your neck hit the table’s edge with every sharp snap of Bucky’s hips.

Steve murmured your name drawing your attention to him. Looking up, Steve loomed over you stroking himself, balls knocking against his fist as he slid his hand down his shaft. Standing with his legs apart, Steve’s figure jarred in and out of your vision as Bucky used your body.

“Open.” Steve was in your vision.

“Now.” Steve was out of your vision.

Bucky pushed in and out of you greedily; vision jerking, neck snapping.

“Hurry up,” Steve tsked impatiently, annoyed you didn’t automatically know what he wanted. Guilt fell down upon you when your compliance wasn’t fast enough. “Convince me you’re not selfish. Show me how grateful you are for us, sweetheart.”

The table scrapped against the floor as Bucky ground into you deeper and harshly twisted your leg higher on his shoulder. You yelped when your neck snapped against the table’s corner.

“Good girl, keep that mouth open for me,” Steve dipped his knees and moved himself closer to your lips. “Drop your head. More. More goddammit. Now- relax that throat, sweetheart. Yeah. Just like that. Fuck- feel so good. Wanna see my dick fill up that smooth throat of yours.” He laid his large hand down along the column of your neck as Bucky’s deep thrusts caused your body to rock up and meet against Steve’s open palm. Steve tightened his hold around your expanding neck, smirking when he felt himself slide deeper in you beneath his palm, “You owe us for being ungrateful. Don’t ever keep us waiting, sweetheart.”

They left for a mission the next morning, a year later you were gone.

Twelve months ago / first day away: The flash hit your eyes before the sound erupted in your ears. Shock delayed your reaction time. Your arms shot out in front of your face but you were too late to duck away from the table top’s explosion. The ceiling extinguishers released, followed by the air duct vacuums removing any traces of smoke and fog in the lab. Pulling yourself together, you recited the chemicals and amounts mixed shortly before the mini-detonation. The corners were singed on the formula’s trial and error notebook, one notebook of many that helped track your successful and unsuccessful runs. When you shakily flipped over a sheet to write down the amounts that wouldn’t be combined again, you saw it. In the reflection of a container, you were missing an eyebrow. The boys left before dawn this morning, departing for an estimated seven-month deep mission. There would be no communication with their handler unless an extreme emergency arose, meaning death. An absolute rule of no messages or check-ins to outside parties, meaning you. At least under the forced silent conditions, you wouldn’t have to find a way to hide your missing eyebrow. You wouldn’t have to listen to them bemoan and force you to stay out of a dangerous lab. Their “reluctance” to go was felt by everyone in the building but thankfully for you, Fury said there was no other option. Their storm of distaste for leaving you unattended, and free to roam out from under their thumb, had everyone counting down the days to their departure. You were used to their anger and shortness, but this long absence would be a blessing. Your time would be yours and you’d be able to work freely on your experiments. You wouldn’t have to convince the boys that they were your number one priority, while missing an eyebrow.

Eleven months ago / first month away: You rolled over and stretched, legs twisting out and around the soft comforter- flaying your limbs across the wide bed, claiming any and all space. A giggle escaped you as you rolled your body over to the far left side of the bed, only to roll yourself back over to the opposite side. Laughing harder when you realized there were no consequences if you accidentally woke up a sleeping super soldier. You rolled over once more just because you could. You fixed the bed the night before, a small act of deviance when you tucked the corner of the newly purchased sheets under the mattress. The same set of sheets you were outnumbered on buying earlier. Grabbing a pillow, you flipped yourself over to the foot of the bed and turned on the television you put in the bedroom last month. Resting your chin on the pillow, you wiggled your toes under the throw pillows at the head of the bed. You inhaled deeply and enjoyed the pleasant detergent fragrance, you could hardly register their scent anymore. A late morning of watching tasteless shows of your own choosing; you couldn’t wait to bring in leftovers and eat them in bed between the new covers.

Ten months ago / second month away: The tower floors were quiet, peacefully so. Even the inanimate objects seemed to breathe easier without super soldiers dictating about. You came and went at all hours to the lab or outside to grab food. Sometimes you went for short walks when you needed time for your ideas to ferment. The freedom and fewer restrictions were new at first, leaving you hesitant and feeling guilty for enjoying them. But slowly, it became easier to indulge. It was a treat to only having to be concerned about yourself and your wants and desires. It wasn’t that you didn’t care about Bucky and Steve, they gave what they could. Or rather more accurately, they gave what they wanted. But it was a relationship built on their terms. Their needs and wishes- those came first. The boys provided what they thought was needed in a relationship, but it was restricted to what you felt was essential. They’d give you the shirt off their backs, but then tell you how to wear it. Bruce noticed your newfound sense of self first, the looseness in your shoulders and no more worry-filled glances at clocks. He didn’t want to say you smiled more when your boyfriends were away, but he noticed more enjoyment and excitement in you.

Nine months ago / third month away: Staring at the computer screen in disbelief, a laugh stuttered out of you. It was coming together, the formula. You were meant to create this. The idea that once formed in your head as a fleeting sarcastic notion- how to make sex more enjoyable and ready your body quicker for intercourse- lead you here. However, it became a bit more sinister with Steve and Bucky’s influence. In the beginning, the idea was only to assist you in finding more pleasure and to be ready for whenever they wanted it. Now the idea grew into something that would drive the subject into a state of painful, distracting lust until one was able to achieve an euphoric release. Something that would fully consume the users and allow another a window of opportunity in that chaotic distraction. And it was slowly coming together.

Seven months ago / fifth month away: Trials with subjects, successful: the rabbits were going at it like rabbits.

Six months ago / sixth month away: You accepted the offer. The chance at a taste of freedom and a sense of accomplishment made you agree immediately. The minor detail about temporarily relocating to the desert wasn’t a concern. You were looking forward to testing the formula further out west. SHIELD wanted more extensive experiments on your sex pollen idea, or as you called it, Dionysian. You would conduct more trails here and then proceed out to Groom Lake for more immersed testing in the SHIELD designated areas. Now you just needed to find a way to inform Bucky and Steve. But this, this was your destiny.

Five months ago / seventh month away: The boys were never a thought when you accepted the testing opportunity. But with their return approaching, you couldn't stop thinking about their reaction. You needed to rehearse your words when you’d sit them down to talk. You tried convincing yourself that they would hear you out. You tried convincing yourself that they’d understand this opportunity meant a great deal to you. They’d agree and encourage you to go, right? That’s what people offered each other in healthy relationships- encouragement, support. You, however, were not in a healthy relationship. And the thought of seeing them only made you uneasy and sick. You would be lying if you said they were missed. Depending on how you treated each other these next upcoming months, you might blaze your own trail without them. As the elevator climbed to your living quarters, your stomach twisted at the thought of telling them you’d be away; twisting at the thought of their anger. As the elevator doors opened to your floor, you decided you wouldn’t tell the boys that you already accepted the offer. Instead, you’d talk to them about a possibility of one, and then present it in a way that it’d seem as if they were giving you permission to go. Stepping into the hallway, you noticed utility bags thrown to the side. Shit. You didn’t realize they were back already. Seven months away and you were in a meeting instead of greeting them when they landed. How long have they been here? You walked into the bedroom and saw both men freshly showered, towels wrapped low around their waists. The three of you stood awkwardly in the silent bedroom. Scanning the room, you noticed the television missing and your new sheets ripped off the bed, crumpled on the floor.

Four months ago: The boys left for a three week mission and before they left again, things around the apartment were less than ideal. During an argument last month, you suggested about getting your own bedroom in the Tower. The boys didn’t appreciate that thought, edging you for a full night until you apologized for being inconsiderate. You sobbed during your climax, your body wrecked and colored with embarrassment. A lie and a promise passed your lips to them- you were sorry and you’d treat them how they deserved to be treated. Pulling out your notebook, you set up the timer and recorder and hooked up the body monitors. You nervously brought over a glass of water and pulled out the dropper for the liquid Dionysian. You’ve been trying to convince yourself to test it out, unwisely on yourself. Closing the notebook, you shook your head at your would-be actions. Don’t do this. But then glancing at your phone, the screen filled with missed texts from Steve and Bucky. Each bubble angrier than the last. “Where are you?” “Why are you keeping me waiting?” “You better answer Steve, baby girl.” “Text Bucky back right now, sweetheart.” “Do you need to learn your lesson again?” You threw your phone aside and turned on the recorder. One drop of Dionysian in the water, you drank and waited for a reaction. This was a last resort, but you needed to be prepared just in case. You decided that before taking your leave out west, you’d try your hardest to work with them and determine if it was possible to miss them. For now, you’d try to be how they wanted you to be and see if this was the future you’d actually want for yourself. You'd try to be their good girl. Maybe there was something salvageable for you three. But if nothing could be saved, you’d be prepared. Your next three weeks would be filled with testing and orgasms while the boys were away.

Three months ago: “There’s talk of an opportunity,” you started shyly across the table. “No.” A set of deep voices cut off any further discussion, silverware crashing against the plates. “But it would only be for a few months away, and I’d get to further my research. You should hear all the new breakthroughs we’re having with this formula. It’s beyond impressive. It’d really be a great tool out in the field. The fact alone that it would keep the target so incapacitated, too preoccupied to achieve relief, one could escape easily and put several hours of distance between them and other operatives,” you pleaded for them to listen. Why couldn’t they just listen? You listened to them- helped them achieve their goals. When did this relationship turn into something less for you? Why did you allow it to turn that way? “Buck said no-” “Steve said no-” Simultaneously conjoined sentences of dismissiveness sailed across the table at you. That hurt, but you weren’t about to give up easily. You excelled too far in your career, achieved too much in the lab for your boyfriends to shut you up. “With more testing, we could really extend the release time and keep the subjects immobilized, maybe up to 12 hours, hell, maybe even longer. I mean, just depending on the concentrated amounts of what would be administered. Wait, I need to write this down,” you excitedly pushed the chair away from the table with the intention to get your notepad. “You better be only getting up to bring us back a slice of the apple pie you baked earlier, sweetheart.” You shut your eyes at Steve’s warning, your shoulders tensed at his commanding tone as you tried memorizing your ideas to record later. “I’ll take an extra slice tonight, baby girl,” Bucky handed his plate over with a wink. Collecting Steve’s dish also, you reminded yourself to remain calm. They’re not selfish, they love you. They do care about you, they’re just reluctant to share you. You would try another time.

Two months ago: Sweaty bodies on either side of you, tired and loose from the orgasms given and received. Panting breaths slowed as lazy hands drew circles on your hips. “There’s a chance for a promotion…” “Keep talking and I’ll stick my dick back in your mouth,” Bucky grumbled. “Quiet, sweetheart.” Steve chided and slapped the side of you thigh, “Stop trying to ruin the moment, it’s not polite,” Another time then.

One month ago: “There’s interviews being held in the next couple days for-” “Not this again,” Steve cursed. “Why aren’t you happy? What could it possibly be that causes you to be so fucking miserable here with us?” “We thought you were happy. Are you lying to us?” questioned Bucky. You couldn’t be sure if there was menace in his words. His eyes were sharper though, you couldn’t deny the warning slowly brewing in them. You picked your next words carefully, but a part of you knew they’d never be the right ones said, “…I am happy. I care for you both, so much. But it’d be only five months at the most and only three away for certain. I mean, you both had a mission that lasted seven months with no communication. And with me there, we could still talk everyday. It’s only a temporary relocation. I’d be by area51, so it’s well-guarded. Maria said I’d be able to talk and skype when I’m away from the labs, I could call you in the evenings. Plus, SHIELD has their own designated areas there- I’d be with our people. Please. Let me do this for my research. Please, Steve. Please, Bucky. It’d mean so much to be able to test out there with more free range-” “-You care for both of us?!” Bucky cut in, cold impatience in his voice as he said your name. It was as if he never heard you say anything else after that line. “What the fuck is that suppose to mean, baby girl?” “Now, Bucky- easy,” Steve lazily placated him. Steve thought a little fear supplied by Bucky would do you good, maybe you needed help to reevaluate what was important in your life. Them. “I’m sure our girl didn’t mean it like that. I’m certain she didn’t want it to come across as awful and hurtful as it did. Am I right, sweetheart?” “Do you not fucking love us like we love you?” Bucky stepped closer with his accusation. “Of course, she loves us. Our little sweetheart wouldn’t dare hurt us like that. Would you?” Steve cupped your cheek and ran his thumb across your cheekbone. “She knows how much it’d physically hurt us, if she was away from us again. She knows how physically ill it made us- not being able to talk to her when we were gone all those months. The daily pain we were in for leaving her behind on that mission. That mission she brought up so casually, as if it was nothing.” Your lip trembled under Steve’s thumb but you kept your back straight. You created this formula from the ground up. You worked for this achievement. You needed them to be on your side, or out of your way. You were tired of being their cheerleader when they didn’t reciprocate. You wanted the chance to develop your own personal mission of success. “I remember,” you stilled your lip from trembling as Steve ran his thumb over your chin. I remember how much I do for you both, and how little you allow me to do for myself. “You better fucking prove how much you love us,” Bucky challenged as he unzipped his pants. Good cop, bad cop. You were running out of time.

---

The kitchen timer sounded, startling you as you hid the suitcases in the back of the closet. The scent of cinnamon and apples hung thickly in the air from the pie you pulled out the oven. Looking between the closest and homemade pie, spiced special for tonight, you were ready to leave for good.

---

“Would you like to know what’s going on with your bodies?” You watched the two men double over from the cramping, gripping the edge of the nearest piece of furniture. “Your bodies truly are superior, I’ve been fucked over enough times by you both to know. But still... I hope I administered enough for you, Steve. And I hope you didn’t get too much, Bucky,” you winked at them as Bucky grunted through another painful muscle contraction.

“What,” Steve panted as his stomach squeezed, “did you do?”

“Broke one of your rules, sweetest. Brought my work home with me. Gonna break a couple more, too. But at least you’ll have each other to help you through it. Because Steve... Bucky’s going to need your help.”

Bucky and Steve shot you glares between sucking in their breaths and squeezing their eyes shut through the increasing punch of stomach cramps.

A fake pout across your lips, you crossed your arms and leaned back against the chair, “What. No questions? No sharp words?”

The room filled with wheezing and coughing, the scent of their sweat started climbing in the air.

“I tell you, boy- I wasn’t expecting the silent treatment.”

Painful grunts and twisted moans echoed out of them.

“You two are boring. How’s this, blink twice if you need help,” you snickered louder when the boys growled out their anger. “Oh relax, babies,” you cooed with contempt. “The more you fight it, the more it’ll hurt. I made sure.”

“Fuck this,” Bucky rasped, “I’m burning up. Even my arm feels hot.”

Sweat beaded across Steve’s brow as he watched Bucky curl in around himself. Steve was miserable, but Bucky looked like shit.

“Let me see,” Steve put his hand on Bucky’s forehead. “Jesus, Buck. You’re on fire. What did you give him?”

Steve tried to spin around at you, but Bucky caught Steve’s hand and pulled it back on his forehead. “Hurts less when you touch me.”

“What?” Steve questioned, looking at Bucky’s sickly complexion.

“Just keep your hands on me, Steve. It hurts less.”

Steve cupped Bucky’s face before turning to you in horror, “What did you give him, y/n?!”

“Relax. I gave him the same thing I gave you, but porker here just ate more pie than you. Which by my estimations, your next heat wave should start kicking in soon. If not, there’s a chance tonight will get more interesting- and messy.”

Steve was about to scream out more questions when a fresh wave of pain hit him. He gritted through another contraction. It helped to touch, just like Bucky said, but he could still feel the pain slowly getting stronger. He also started feeling his dick getting harder.

Steve risked a glance away from you to see Bucky’s pants painfully tented, “Steve, touch me more. I need you.”

“Better listen to him, Steve,” you sat down in a chair that was far enough away to enjoy the show.

“You’re in so much trouble when this shit wears off,” Steve gritted out, holding onto Bucky. He was torn between helping Bucky and locking you up.

“I’m taking the job, boys. I’m leaving shortly.”

“What? You can’t leave,” Bucky whirled his slumped over body to look at you. Hair wet against his forehead, sweat stained his shirt. “Fuck. Help me out.”

“I can take it and I am. You two are better for each other. I don’t want this anymore.”

Bucky howled, a painful mixture of trying to fight the sex pollen and realizing they were losing you.

“Goddammit,” Steve ground out in anger, his hand tightened on Bucky’s shoulder. He tried keeping himself upright, still attempting to touch Bucky and ease them both through another contraction. “You’re not fucking going anywhere. You’re mad, we get that. But right now- you better fucking help us out!”

“Help yourself!” you shouted back, rising up from the seat. “Fuck each other. That’s the secret. I can already see the precum on Bucky’s pants. Give each other a hand, literally. You’ll be helping one another for most of the night while I fly out.”

Bucky took a deep breath and lunged his body in your direction. He didn’t make it far. You only shook your head at them. Steve was in too much pain to grab Bucky, but at least Bucky managed to pathetically pull himself up to sit. This wasn’t playing out as gleefully as you thought it would. Instead, you were angry. Angry at them, angry at yourself.

Both men commanded, then pleaded for you two stay with them again, “Baby girl.” “Sweetheart.”

For a moment you thought you should, but then you saw your notebook next to your bag and you knew you were leaving. A wave of resentment hit you when you thought of what led you here. “God. Must I do everything for you, little boys?”

Bucky grunted when he fell on all fours from the push you delivered between his shoulder blades.

Tangling your fist in his hair you pulled Bucky by his locks across the room. You dog walked the Winter Soldier, crawling his way like an animal in heat, before Steve’s feet. Grabbing Bucky by the nape of his neck, you forced his face closer to Steve’s cock.

With your free hand you pinched your fingers around the bottom of Bucky’s cheeks, squeezing harshly. His mouth parted and lips puckered out as you bent down to his ear, “Open and enjoy.”

Steve stood immobile, taking in Bucky’s weakness and your strength. His tip weeping with arousal at the drastic change in dynamics.

Steve quickly undid his pants eager for pleasure, “Maybe I should get you first, but this will help us quicker. Suck me dry, Bucky. Then I can help you better.”

You scoffed at Steve, even now he portrayed himself as selfless when he was actually selfish.

Your actions were harsh and voice mocking as Bucky’s lips wrapped around Steve’s dick. Both moaning in pleasure with the contact.

“No, no little bear. I know you can get the honey out better than that. Put some effort into it,” with a swift shove of your foot, you pressed your shoe into Bucky’s firm ass cheek.

Suddenly and ungracefully, Bucky lurched forward and impaled his mouth further down on Steve’s dick.

A deep growl from Steve’s chest vibrated out down along his torso and into Bucky’s mouth. Pressing Bucky harder into Steve’s crotch with your foot, your eyes connected with Steve’s. He couldn’t look away from you. Bucky coughed and choked on Steve’s length as you pressed him harder into Steve with a devious smile.

Steve lost it. Instead of trying to pull Bucky off him to allow him to breathe, Steve grabbed Bucky by his hair and pulled his face in closer.

Bucky’s nose to Steve’s pelvis, you bit your lip and undid the button on your jeans. Slipping your hand under your panties, you felt your wetness as Steve kept his eyes locked on you. You licked your lips, spurring Steve on. The whimpers you let out when teasing yourself made Bucky suck harder. You found your release at the sight of Steve’s hard thrusts and Bucky slipping his hand down his own pants.

---

“Thanks again for the ride,” you said, nestling the grocery bags between your legs.

“No problem, needed a few snacks too. Seemed like a good idea when you mentioned it.”

“You’re just gonna miss me, partner. What will you do now that we’re not shadowing each other 24-7?”

“Hey! There’s only so much junk food on base. You know I need variety. Besides, a drive into town seemed like a nice way to break up the evening. How else am I supposed to keep you out of trouble?” Aaron teasingly quirked an eyebrow, tapping his thumb on the steering wheel to the beat of the song.

“Yeah, yeah- chaperon, my chaperon. Thanks again for the extra time you put in with the project. Shaved off a month from the schedule, couldn’t have done it without you staying around those extra nights.”

“I’m looking forward to us getting back to New York.”

“Hmm,” you rolled the window down halfway, trying to keep yourself busy to avoid commenting.

Aaron looked over at you, “Hey. It’ll be nice to go back home to New York, right?”

You shrugged, “It’ll be nice to leave tomorrow. With us already submitting the results the other day, all we have to do is clean and pack up. It’s quiet with only us being there in the SHIELD section now.”

“New York bound it is then!” Aaron tapped your thigh and gave your knee a friendly squeeze. “I can’t wait to get back, who’d of thought I’d miss the wife’s cooking?” Aaron mused, slowing down at the yellow light.

“I’m just happy to have some time off. Take in some sights and then venture into a new contract at my own leisure.” You flipped the radio’s volume up a few clicks higher, resting your head back against the seat.

“It’s amazing how much we accomplished in that time frame. It’s your estimates that allowed us to finish earlier than expected. Your calculations were in the zone, only needing minimal tweaking. Some days it was like you already tested the product out, especially with how close we were with each ingredient’s measurements,” Aaron shot you an amused smile but it slowly dropped when you didn’t smile back. “Oh, hey. Hey, you okay?”

Clearing your throat, you sat up straighter. “Um, yeah. I’m good,” turning your head to look out the passenger window, “now.”

Nodding his head at your words, he easily mistook your reaction, “What I’m trying to say is- if you ever need help with another project, think of me.”

“…Thanks. I will,” your mumble of gratitude seemed like modesty but it was guilt.

You shifted in the seat, putting more room between you and Aaron. Almost like you were giving your emotions more space to sit comfortably in the car also. You knew why your calculations were so close to being correct with making the sex pollen viable. You recorded and studied the muted video you made of Steve and Bucky’s reaction times to those test doses. But some nights, when you couldn’t sleep, you slipped your hand between your thighs and watched it with the sound on low.

Aaron straightened the car out of the turn, “Can’t wait till agents are able to use this in the field. There’ll definitely be some interesting stories. Get ready, I’m sure an offer will come to stay on permanently with SHIELD. You’d want that, right? It’d be nice to be back in that lab with Banner.”

You sighed at the New York reminder. These last several months had been wonderful. You enjoyed all the research tasks guilt-free instead of juggling them with two demanding Avengers. When they were away, you got to decide how to fill your days and nights. You got to immerse yourself in your own research missions of experiments and notes. You enjoyed organizing the videos and recording, typing the trial and errors, outlining notes on coffee-stained scribbled books.

But you weren’t ready to give your freedom up, you were in no rush to return to New York or Banner’s lab. It was a hard call you made to Bruce the other day. You didn’t want to burn any bridges with him, not when he was a mentor. But you weren’t ready to return. You didn’t want to be in close proximity with Steve and Bucky anymore. So when you spoke to Bruce earlier, you told him you’d be taking more time for yourself and wouldn’t be returning to New York...

“What do you mean you’re not coming back?”

“Bruce, this is essential.”

“Essential to your career or essential in avoiding your relationship status?”

That cold splash of verbal water made you pause. A heavy silence was met on both ends of the phone. A few seconds past as neither you or Bruce said anything. Finally, Bruce broke the standoff by sighing in agreement of your request to take a break before signing a new contract. But not before he gave scientific advice, “You’d feel better if you talked to them. They miss you, you know. This avoidance and stress, it’ll just make you sick.”

“No, I’d feel better if I had more time alone. Space, lots of space to decide what I want to do. Somewhere-”

“Listen, Jailbreak,” Tony queued up your call over the speakers causing Banner to send him a sour perturbed look.

You moved your jaw back and forth, trying to tamper down the annoyance of hearing Tony’s voice cut in on your private call, “..Yes?”

“It’s time.”

“No, actually Tony, it’s not. Nor will it be.”

“Yeah super, I hear ya small fry and that’s really great you think that. But now hear what I’m saying, it’s time.”

“Stop, Tony. I’m taking time for myself.”

“Sweetheart-”

“Don’t call me that!”

Tony cringed at your tone, mildly forgetting Steve’s nickname for you. Bruce rolled his eyes at Tony’s less than accidental slip-up. “Okay, okay. What I mean is and I repeat, it’s time. You can find that inner peace bullshit back here. You need to come home.”

“That’s not my home anymore. I’m doing what I want and going to figure-”

“Then what? I have two out of control super a-holes on back to back missions because they’re pissed their girlfriend left them.”

‘In compromising positions,’ you thought. “It’s ex-girlfriend now, Tony.”

Tony’s laugh was dry and crisp, “Hardly an ex.”

“I am. I have no claim on them, they have no claim on me. Hence, the ex part.”

“They’re taking back to back missions so they can kill- legally, sweetheart.”

“Well, they’re doing it together so it’s an Avenger date night. They have each other, that’s enough.”

“Quit fooling yourself, spit out the kool-aid. There’s no getting out of this. You aren’t an ex to them and you will never be an ex to them. Realize it, quickly. For your own sake. And more importantly, for the sake of my cleaning bills. Ring your energy bell, light your candles- then come home.”

“I called to say thank you to Dr. Banner, not to get into an argument with you, Mr. Stark. My contract has been completed,” you gritted through your teeth. You were over all this, especially Tony putting his nose into everything. After this, you planned on finding something else with a different company. Another life.

Tony tapped the mute button on the screen and leaned away from the desk. A look of disbelief on his face as he waved his hand over the table to Bruce. “What kind of attitude are you teaching her in here? Am I handing out bonuses to be cashed in for disrespect? Is it not registering with her that I sign everyone’s payroll?”

Bruce looked at Tony over his glasses, mumbled an apology on your behalf and turned back to his project.

Tony flipped the mute button off, “Funny, thought I owned the company. Thought I owned a multitude of companies. Remember that, lil'miss girlfriend to Steve and Bucky.”

“Tony,” closing your eyes, you took a moment to gather yourself. The man was exhausting, “Please stop, I didn’t call to fight. I only called to say goodbye to Bruce, and now, it seems to you also.”

“Look, deserter. Bruce agrees you should have some time away,” Tony pointedly looked at him causing Bruce to nod quickly in agreement. “I’ll set you up in a cabin. It’s a nice place. Mountains, woods, big ponds, Bambi bullshit. It’s far enough away from noise and people. Town’s about an hour’s drive, so you’ll get to concentrate on what matters there. I’m sending over the location now, it’ll be stocked when you get there. Get your priorities sorted. Get this out of your system, you had your streak of rebellion. There’s new projects you’re needed on here. Reevaluate what matters and then head back. This is where your home is.”

Tony ended the call without giving you a chance to agree or protest and smirked at Bruce.

“Oh no, no. Don’t do that to her, Tony.” Bruce frantically shook his head causing his glasses to fall further down his nose.

“They’re coming back soon anyways, a reason to head back a few day earlier will be fine. I’m not dealing with them and their fucking destruction anymore. They’re out of fucking control without her. Their missions are the only things keeping my building intact here.”

“Tony, you can’t do that to her- she wanted out. They just need more time. They’ll eventually come to terms with this,” Bruce tasted the lie as soon as it was out.

“She made her bed- sandwiched right in between a jagged tin-can and captain popsicle. They’re her problem to deal with and no time like the present,” Tony scrolled through the screen again. “Besides, you know I’d find you if you ever tried to leave me. That’s one thing I actually get where they’re coming from. You’ve learned your spot is with me. Lil'miss escapee will learn her spot is with them.”

“And if she has to learn it the hard way?”

“Well, that’s between them.”

The noon sun beat down on Steve as the com crackled with an incoming call, “Speak, Stark.”

“How much of a favor do you and Manchurian want to owe me?”...

Aaron patted your knee and called your attention back, “What do you think?”

“Sorry. What?”

“New York. When we get back, you want to start in the lab right away or take a week off?”

“Um,” you shifted in your seat, “I’m not going back, Aaron.”

“…So you’re staying out here for a bit longer but then heading back?” Aaron’s knuckles tightened around the steering wheel as his eyes darted from the empty road to you when you didn’t answer. “You’re coming back with me, right?”

“No. I spoke to Bruce earlier and said goodbye. I’m taking some time off. I’ll figure out a new place to work later.”

“You’re not serious.”

“It’ll be for the best for-”

“You can’t do that,” he spat acidly.

“What do you mean, I can’t do that?”

“I need to call the wife.” Aaron angled the car over to the side of the road. A pair of unnoticed headlights shut off in the distance as you were too preoccupied with Aaron’s outburst.

“…Can’t you call her back at base?”

“No. I definitely can’t,” he said bitterly as he whirled his body to face yours. “When the hell did you even decide this? How could you keep this from me?”

“I- what. I’m sorry, but what does that matter? I appreciate your help on this project but you don’t need me, Aaron. You’re great, you’ll get picked up for a new contract with Stark. Or, maybe even think about going to a different place like I am-”

“That’s not the fucking point! FUCK! I need my phone.”

“What’s wrong? You’re freaking me out.”

Aaron ignored you while he frantically patted himself down, “Fuck. Gonna be pissed, accuse me of doing this on purpose or some shit. Goddammit, I don’t have my phone. Give me yours.”

“Why are you acting like this?”

“Give me your phone. Now.”

“I left it at base,” you lied and pressed the back of your heel against your purse on the floor.

“Give. Me. Your. Phone.”

“I don’t have it!”

“You’re as selfish as they said. FINE,” Aaron punched the steering wheel and started the car up. “We’re going to the base. I’m calling the fucking wife. Then you and I are going back to the Tower.”

You stared at your friend who literally morphed into a complete stranger right before your eyes. Your heart sped up as he looked at you with contempt.

“I want out,” you reached down to grab your purse, but Aaron took a hold of your thigh and squeezed painfully making you yelp.

“No! You’re fucking staying rig-”

Before he could finish, Aaron’s window was violently smashed in.

The force rocked the car for a moment; glass confetti flying, little shards landing on his lap and chest. Screaming, you pressed your back into the car door as a silver arm flew through the shattered window and delivered a punch into Aaron’s chest.

Bucky. “Oh my god-”

TAP, TAP, TAP.

Your fearful whisper was cut off as you jolted away from the passenger window and the tapping by your ear.

A tear ran down your cheek when you saw Steve lean against your car door, smiling. “Hi, sweetheart.”

Aaron groaned beside you. His face bloodied from the broken glass and Bucky’s metal hand pressured against his sternum.

“Good to see you, baby girl.”

Before your brain could catch up to your fear, Aaron coughed and wheezed in his seat, “I didn’t know. I swear.”

Bucky tsked and pressed his fist into Aaron’s chest harder.

“When did you find out, Aaron?” Steve asked as he moved his hand through your open window and gently caressed your cheek. “Think he’ll lie to us, sweetheart?”

“Just now,” Aaron struggled for a full breath against Bucky’s weighted arm, “I swear.”

“You swear a lot, don’t you Aaron?” Steve tapped your nose. “We heard you swearing at our girl. We didn’t like that very much.”

“Baby girl.” Your eyes cut to Bucky’s as you pressed your back further against the seat. “Is he a liar?” Bucky slightly lifted the pressure off of Aaron’s chest.

Wetting your dry lips, your brain was muddled by the confusion of seeing them here. “Lying, about what?”

Aaron hatefully hissed your name before shouting out, “Goddammit! Fucking tell them I didn’t know you weren’t coming back.”

“Don’t talk to her like that,” Bucky warned steelily.

Your eyes darted between Steve and Bucky, your mind still whirling, “He didn’t- I didn’t-”

“Tell'em I just found out, you bitch!”

The plates in Bucky’s arm shifted as he knocked Aaron against the seat, “Mind your fucking manners.”

“Is that true, sweetheart? You just told him?”

Before you could answer, Aaron squeezed your thigh, “Tell them!”

You hissed under his grip, Bucky and Steve’s eyes zeroed in on Aaron’s hand covering your thigh.

Before you could yell no, Bucky reached in and grabbed Aaron’s hand off you.

A metal fist over flesh, he squeezed until bones crunched. “Don’t touch what isn’t yours.”

Bucky dropped Aaron’s mangled hand and looked straight at you, “Get out of the car, baby girl.”

The car door creaked open, Steve’s palm rested on the frame with his other extended for you. With shaky fingers, you unbuckled your seat belt and reached for Steve’s offered hand.

“You did this,” Aaron bit out over the pain, “you selfish, bitc-”

Bucky ripped the door open and grabbed Aaron by the back of his neck. In one swift move, Bucky drilled Aaron’s face forward into the steering wheel. You jumped at the sound of the horn blasting as Steve walked you away.

“Careful, sweetheart. Don’t worry, we got you,” Steve pulled you in closer to his side before opening his car’s backdoor.

“Steve, please he has a wife,” you pleaded, your brain now clearer on what was about to happen to Aaron. “He didn’t know I wasn’t coming back until just now. I swear. I only told Bruce and then Tony found out. But- but Aaron didn’t know.”

“Sweetheart,” Steve cupped your face, his touch deceptively tender as he reached behind his back. “There’s no wife. Aaron was calling us, keeping track of our soon-to-be wife. But his hand on your thigh, the way he spoke to you? We can’t allow that. He did this to himself. Get in the car, we have a cabin to get it to.”

The last thing you felt was a pinch on your skin. The last thing you heard was a gunshot.

---

Before you even opened your eyes, you felt the headache knock against your skull. You gingerly rolled over enjoying the feeling of a warm, comfortable bed. But who’s bed? The question shook you, making you sit up with a jeering head rush. Sandwiching your hands to your forehead, you took in your surroundings. Expensive rustic furniture lined a cabin wall, exposed logs and chinking ran the entire room. A vaulted ceiling showcased wooden beams, and a partially open door showed an attached bathroom.

Was this Tony’s cabin? Crawling up to the windowsill above the bed, you peered out to see the rich, green scenery. A thick forest and mountains in the background, if it were under different circumstances you might have enjoyed the mockingly peaceful scenery. But instead, it reminded you of a gaudy oil painting and Tony’s words of Bambi-bullshit. You continued to scan the grounds when you noticed you weren’t on the ground level.

“Glad to see you’re up. Bet you’re thirsty,” Steve casually entered the room, water bottle in hand.

You silently turned around on the bed to watch him.

“Plotting takes a lot out of a person,” he placed the water bottle on the desk and leaned against the mahogany design.

“Want to go over what’s expected of you, or would you like to test this drink first?”

“Is Aaron dead?” You were back to being a pawn on Steve and Bucky’s chessboard, but you risked the question. You knew the answer but you wanted him to confirm it. Pushing your luck further you asked again, “He is dead, Steve?”

“Guess we’ll talk about what’s expected of you first,” he gruffly replied.

“You can’t keep me here, Steve. People will be looking for me, they’ll be looking for Aaron.”

With a smirk, Steve crossed his arms over his chest, “I can and we are, sweetheart. No one’s looking for you.”

His confidence alarmed you. “They will be looking for me, Steve. My stuff’s still at the base.”

“No, baby girl,” Bucky entered the room, setting down your suitcase and a large brown paper bag. “Tony offered a little digital help. If anyone looks, there’s cameras showing you packing up and leaving much earlier. But who’d even look? Not us, you broke up with us. Not anyone at SHIELD, your contract’s fulfilled. Plus, you told Banner you weren’t coming back to the Tower.”

“…No,” the cabin’s walls were closing in on you.

Steve got up and stood with Bucky at the foot of bed, “You should’ve appreciated what you had, sweetheart. You hurt us. If you talked, we would have listened. You can always come to us.”

Your eyes narrowed at Steve’s delusion.

“You say please and thank you, but you’re not really grateful for how good you had it. Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

You stared past their shoulders, finding a knot on the wooden wall behind them. Afraid a wrong word would set them off further, you didn’t trust your voice with the fear and anger swimming in you.

Steve chuckled, “Well, look who’s giving who the silent treatment now.”

“Look at us, baby girl. I said, look.”

With your lip between your teeth, you slowly made eye contact with Bucky. He grabbed the water bottle off the desk and tossed it by your feet, a soft thump sounded when it landed in the blankets. “Drink it.”

With a scratchy voice, you lied- “I’m not thirsty.”

“You’re so fucking stubborn, can’t wait to bend you over and break you,” Bucky laughed at your discomfort. “What’s wrong? Can’t trust what we give you?”

Steve nodded toward Bucky and the bag before speaking, “It’s simple, sweetheart. You’re staying in here until you can’t take it anymore. The water’s off in the bathroom, so rethink that. You get the water we give, and we’ll see how you react. ”

Beep. Bucky set his watch causing Steve to smirk at your worried expression.

Putting his hands down on the mattress, Steve leaned in, “If you get desperate enough, we’ll help you out- if you ask nice enough.”

“Better ask really fucking nicely, baby girl. Better make my dick fucking blush at how well you beg.”

“Sweetheart.”

Your watery eyes found Steve.

“If you don’t ask nicely, we can’t help.” Steve stood up and crossed his chest again, “And if you continue to be stubborn, but those fingers aren’t doing enough…” Steve trailed off as Bucky opened the brown bag.

Your chest burned with fear when Bucky pulled a gun out of the bag and dropped it down on the mattress. “Maybe you’ll find relief with this, baby girl.”

You would die here. With the tears pooling in your eyes, Steve and Bucky’s figures blurred. Finally, the dam in your throat broke. A sob of spittle and fear ran over your lips. Wiping the tears away, you saw the boys exchange looks.

“Why are you crying, sweetheart?” Steve cooed venomously, large shoulders rolling back. “Aren’t you pleased with our offer to help?”

With a tilt of his head, Bucky twisted your fear further, “Why the tears? Just offering you help to find an ultimate release, baby girl.”

“Y-you’re going to kill me because I left? You’re going to kill me like Aaron?” You’re self-preservation crumbled knowing you were always their thing to play with.

Bucky and Steve looked at each other before bursting out laughing.

“Why are you being so dramatic, baby girl?”

“Sweetheart, what gave you the idea that we’d kill you?”

Your lungs squeezed as you glanced at the weapon. Bucky picked up the gun and began wiping it, “No baby girl. The gun’s mine. This is yours.” Bucky gestured his head to Steve.

On cue, Steve reopened the bag and pulled out an apple pie. “We’re gifting you pie and water. Let’s see how long you hold out until you need to drink or eat.”

“Then we’ll see what happens next, baby girl.”

“Our own little experiment,” Steve connived. “Looking forward you see who’s hypothesis is successful.”

“I was always a fan of science, baby girl.”

You moved to your knees, the mattress soft beneath you, “I don’t want this, please. Just let me go, I’m sorry. Bucky- please. Steve?”

“Listen sweetheart, take your punishment like a good girl and give us some entertainment. It’s the least you can do for us, since we’re protecting a possible murder suspect.”

A vile taste hit the back of your throat again, “Murder suspect?”

“Baby girl.”

Before your mind registered your actions, you caught the gun Bucky tossed you. A drowning sensation hit your body when a misery-filled tsunami crashed against you. Your vision tunneled, your lungs burned- you fell for it.

“Oh baby girl, don’t worry. It’s not loaded, this time. Now, eat your pie and drink your water. We’ll come back to check on you.”

“At some point,” Steve sneered.

“If the urges get to be too much, put the gun between those nice thighs,” Bucky winked at you.

Steve shook his head in amusement, “Bucky…”

“Ah, alright,” Bucky leaned forward and took the gun from you with his left hand. “I’ll let you fuck a different gun, get that barrel nice and clean for me. Sound good, baby girl? But Steve’s right, gotta save this one- fingerprints, leverage. Silly details.” Bucky dropped the gun in the paper bag and tucked it under his arm.

“Why can’t you let me just let me go? You could have anyone else-”

“Sweetheart, we’re getting married. You’re it for us. We’re doing this for you.”

“We’re protecting you. You should be thanking us, baby girl.”

“How are you protecting me?!”

Steve sent Bucky a smile before facing you, “If we’re married, we won’t have to testify against you.”

#dark!stucky x reader #theugliestwombatchallenge #dark!bucky x reader #dark!steve x reader #dark!reader #dark!steve x dark!reader #dark!bucky x dark!reader #dark!stucky x dark!reader #stucky x reader #dark!marvel #dark!fic #dark!fanfiction #dark!steve rogers x reader #dark!bucky barnes x reader

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phantasticworks · 4 years

Text

baby blue and bubblegum pink

hello! this is just a little domestic fic i wrote after hearing the discussion of painting nails that dnp had in the stereo live the other day. enjoy!

When Phil walks into the lounge after a long video editing session, his nose is attacked by a sharp, chemically smell. It takes him a second to place the scent, as it’s been a while since he’s actually smelled it in their flat. He finds Dan on the sofa in the lounge, leaning over and stroking a tiny brush carefully over his toenails with a sparkly black varnish. His eyebrows are furrowed in concentration, and Phil feels a little sympathetic for the way he’s contorted himself to reach his foot, propped on a precarious stack of boxes in front of him.

“How was the zoom call?” Phil asks, settling on the arm of the sofa.

Dan jumps, streaking polish across at least three toes. “Phil!” He screeches.

Phil bites his lip, trying to hide his laugh. “Sorry, babe, I thought you heard me come in.”

“Fuck,” Dan swears as he looks at his foot. “No, sorry, I wasn’t really paying attention.”

Phil drops a hand to Dan’s shoulder and kneads gently, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to the side of his head. “Sorry,” he says again.

“‘S fine,” Dan mumbles. “Can you grab me a napkin or something?”

Nodding, Phil disappears into the kitchen, returning a moment later with the requested napkin. “Here,” he says, crouching down and batting Dan’s hand out of the way to wipe away the stray nail polish. “They look good,” he says, voice full of soft admiration.

“Thanks,” Dan says, a proud smile on his face. “I figured, you know... we talked about this on the live so it kinda just got me in the mood.”

“Right,” Phil says, clearing his throat. His eyes keep wandering back to be nail polish though, and he can’t decide if what he’s feeling is just genuine appreciation for how good his boyfriend looks or if it’s something more. “So how’d the zoom thing go with your editor?”

Dan rolls his eyes and huffs, leaning back and capping the polish, evidently finished. “God, it was such a waste of time. He told me I was being too picky about font size. Like, it’s my book! If I want it to be 13 points, then let it be 13 points!” He continues bitching, even as Phil drops to sit cross-legged in front of him, taking one of Dan’s feet in hand and massaging. It takes him a few minutes, but eventually Dan pauses his rant to look down, his toes flexing with the way Phil is digging his thumbs into the arch of his foot. “That feels so fucking good,” he says, almost a moan.

“Yeah?” Phil asks, grinning. He loves this, making Dan feel good. It’s not even about sex, right now. It’s just seeing that he can give his partner this comfort at the end of a long day, and seeing it being so appreciated.

“Yeah, babe,” Dan says, shifting so that he’s more comfortable on the sofa. “Mm, careful with my toes, though, they’re still a bit wet.”

Phil had almost forgotten about that.

Almost.

He drops his gaze to the shiny polish adorning Dan’s toenails, inspecting closely. They’re not perfect, and honestly the ones on his right foot look a little fucked, but it’s still so pretty. Without really making the conscious decision to do so, Phil blows gently on the toes, intending on helping them dry quicker.

“Uh, Phil?” Dan asks, his voice a breath away from laughter. “Alright there, mate?”

Phil looks him, and he knows his face is a little flushed. “I just thought I’d- they’ll dry faster,” he says defensively.

Dan studies him for a moment, his head tilting. “Okay, sure,” he agrees eventually. “Thank you.” He leans down to pet Phil’s hair. It feels weirdly romantic.

With Dan’s permission, Phil continues blowing air at the nail polish, probably long after they’ve actually dried. Dan silently offers his other foot, probably more for the foot massage than the drying system, if Phil had to guess. Still, he spends a few moments blowing on those toenails as well before pressing his thumbs into the arch of the foot, massaging deeply. The groan Dan lets out is near pornographic, and Phil can’t help but snort.

“I think you’re enjoying this a little too much,” he teases.

Dan lifts his head from where he’d dropped it onto the back of the sofa, giving Phil a sleepy grin. “I’m not the one who suddenly got horny for feet, bub.”

Phil splutters. “I’m- I am not horny for your feet,” he squeaks.

Dan lifts a challenging eyebrow, glancing pointedly to where Phil is still rubbing his foot affectionately. “Is that right?” Dan teases.

Sighing in defeat, Phil glances down at Dan’s toes, feeling some of that strange feeling in his gut again. It almost borders on jealousy, in a way. “I just think they look...” He searches for a word, and unable to find it, he leans down, pressing a kiss to the painted nail of Dan’s big toe. “Pretty.”

“Oh,” Dan says. Phil can almost hear the click as he realizes what this is about. Part of him cringes away from that feeling, and he has to force himself to lean into it instead, to remember that this is Dan, who would never judge him for anything. Well, there was that one time with the sushi- but Phil isn’t thinking about that now, because Dan is pulling his feet away and reaching out for Phil. “C’mere,” he says, trying to pull Phil into his lap.

It takes a moment of struggle. Phil’s not as young as he once was, and his knees pop when he tries to stand, and one foot is a little asleep so he all but stumbles onto the sofa. Dan giggles as it happens, and Phil loves that sound more than anything, and he hopes he gets to keep hearing it forever.

Phil being more or less successfully gathered in his lap, Dan wraps his arms around his back and looks up at him with soft, curious eyes. “What’s going on, bub?”

Of course, Phil’s first instinct is to deflect. “Nothing.”

Obviously, Dan knows him better than that. “Well let’s start with the easiest thing,” he says. “Is there a foot fetish you’ve been hiding from me for ten years?”

Phil smacks him, very lightly, on the arm. “Dan!”

Dan grins. “Hey, I’m just asking. They say you can develop new tastes with food, I’m sure you can develop new tastes with sex, too.” He sounds intrigued, rather than like he’s making fun, and there’s a little bit of relief in that.

“It’s not a sex thing,” Phil says, almost apologetic for it. He halfway thinks that Dan was getting a bit horny, for whatever reason.

Dan’s expression doesn’t change. “Okay.” He rubs Phil’s thigh in a soothing sort of way. “Then what is it?” His voice is soft.

Phil turns his head so he can look down at Dan’s feet. It’s not a foot thing, he knows that. If Dan had painted his fingernails, Phil would be fixing his attentive gaze on his hands instead. But as it is, the glittery black polish is gleaming from his toes, and Phil just... wants. He wants something he never has before, never really even considered that he might be allowed to want it for no other reason than to look.

But Dan won’t judge him for this.

So, he takes a breath and turns back to Dan, pushing his curls up off his forehead just to kiss that empty space. “I was wondering if you’d paint my nails for me,” Phil says, forcing a casual tone.

He almost expects Dan to dive deeper into it, to ask questions and dissect the psychology of it like he’s so apt to do, but he doesn’t. He must realize how precarious this all feels to Phil, and instead he just smiles beautifully. “Of course. Let me go get all my polishes and you can pick a color.”

~~~

“Phil! I said one color!” Dan is screeching as Phil lines up a fourth bottle of nail polish.

“I can’t decide!” Phil complains, surveying the collection of two shades of blue, a green that Dan swears is yellow, and a bubblegum pink. He’s about to add another to the pile when Dan snatches it out of his hand.

“Absolutely not, I’m not doing five different colors,” he says, holding the polish out of Phil’s reach. “You can pick two, but I’m not doing five.”

Phil sighs heavily, like this is the hardest choice he’s ever had to make. “Fine. I want to do this one and... this one!” He hands Dan a baby blue and the bubblegum pink, not missing the way Dan gives him a look of mild surprise.

“Sure, bub. I’ll do alternating colors, yeah?”

“Why not just do one hand blue and one pink?” Phil asks, watching as Dan gets everything situated.

Dan snorts. “I don’t think people do that,” he says mildly, placing both of the bottles on the arm of the sofa and putting the others back into the little bag.

“I want to have one blue hand and one pink,” Phil announces. “I don’t care which is which. Oh! I’ll close my eyes so you can surprise me.”

“Sure,” Dan says. “C’mon, get back in the floor so I can see your hands better.”

Phil huffs as he does as he’s told, his knees making a cracking noise as he folds his legs beneath him. “I hope you don’t expect this to have a happy ending,” he says, eyes flicking down to Dan’s crotch rather pointedly.

Dan rolls his eyes. “If I wanted a blowie, I’d just ask,” he says dryly.

“Of course you would,” Phil snorts. He thinks for a moment. “Maybe later, though?” he asks hopefully. It has been a rather long day, and sex is basically a physical form of therapy.

Dan snorts loudly. He props his feet up on Phil’s thighs, dragging Phil’s hands up into his own lap. “Horny rat,” he says affectionately. “Alright, close your eyes so I can disfigure you- I mean paint your nails.”

“Hilarious,” Phil deadpans. He does as he’s told though, closing his eyes and relaxing, allowing his hands to rest in Dan’s gentle grip.

It takes approximately four minutes for Phil to get bored.

“I’m bored,” he complains loudly.

Dan huffs, and his breath fans out across Phil’s face. “I didn’t realize I was meant to be entertaining you while I do this,” he says.

“Well what am I supposed to do?” Phil whines.

“Just sit there and be quiet? I don’t know bub, but I’ve got to focus if you don’t want them to be completely fucked up.”

Phil pouts. “It’s too quiet.”

Dan sighs. “Maybe it would be good for you to have a moment of rest after working all day. Maybe the lack of stimulation would be a good thing, even.”

Phil does actually consider this, but ultimately decides, eh, probably not. “Hey Siri, play Phil’s playlist.”

“Phil,” Dan chastises. He also sounds mildly embarrassed, like he didn’t put the playlist together for Phil. Granted, that was forever ago, at least six or seven years, but still.

“What!” Phil laughs, cracking one eye open. “I’m bored!”

Dan just shakes his head and gives Phil a dirty look. Taking the hint, Phil closes his eyes and listens to the music while Dan takes care of him, the feeling of polish being swiped on his nails an unfamiliar but welcome one.

~~~

“Okay,” Dan says eventually. “All done. You can look.”

Phil had honestly been drifting in and out of sleep a little, so to hear Dan’s voice all of a sudden makes him jump. Dan snorts a laugh at that, but is otherwise silent as Phil opens his eyes and looks down at his fingernails. He’s not sure what he’s expecting, really. It’s not like he’s particularly afraid of this; he’s comfortable enough in his gender and sexual identity to paint his nails, it’s just...

It’s just like being given something he didn’t realize he was allowed to want, not because it had ever been kept from him, but because he’d never been offered it in such a casual way. As a gay man, he’d always felt that embracing this other side of “traditional gender norms” was something that was deeply engrained in you from a young age, a desire that had to mean something for it to be correct. He feels like that might be how it was for Dan, in some ways, but for him... for him this isn’t something he’s hid from himself, or searched for to satisfy some part of him. It was just something fun, something new to try. They don’t look perfect, honestly, and Dan’s right, having each hand have different colored nails doesn’t look right, but even so, Phil likes it.

“You’re making me nervous,” Dan blurts. “Do you hate it? I really tried my best, babe, I-“

“I love it,” Phil interrupts, turning his hands over and looking at the way the pink catches the light.

“Yeah? You do?” Dan sounds positively giddy.

Phil grins up at him. “It’s perfect.”

Dan flushes at the compliment, and Phil thinks that shade of pink is even better than the nail polish. “Well don’t go getting too excited. You’ve got to be careful and let them fully dry for an hour or so because they’re super easy to mess up.”

Phil balks a little at that. “An hour?” he whines. “What am I meant to do for an hour?”

Dan grins mischievously at that, and Phil nearly regrets asking. “Think you can keep your hands to yourself?” When Phil nods, Dan stands up, gesturing to the sofa. “Switch places with me, bub. I can think of a couple ways to waste an hour.”

Phil kisses him quickly on the lips when they’re swapping places, excitement and gratitude all rolled up in the kiss. “Thank you.” He doesn’t just mean for the sexual favor he’s about to receive, and he can tell Dan knows it.

“No problem,” Dan grins. “You can get me back later.”

#phan #phanfiction #painting nails #gender-y discussion but not super heavy #i honestly just wanted some soft nail painting moments #fluff #domestic #just boyfriend things #baby blue and bubblegum pink

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