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#but the bottom two are far enough from my home territory that I can like. get weird and have fun with it
birdmenmanga · 1 year
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excellent point!!
Prompt Week - 7 days, 14 simple prompts (2 per day). you know the drill. general is just going to be about the series at large, ship-focused is probably going to be takaeishi week electric boogaloo
Collaboration (Artswap) - Participants are paired up randomly in order to work on a single creation together. Traditionally it's a single illustration in which one person does the lines and the other does the colors, but you could also do other things like "one person scripts and colors a comic, and the other person does the linework" or "two writers pass a single google doc between them like a hot potato and they write alternating paragraphs" etc.
Podfic Challenge - A podfic is essentially an audiobook of a fanfiction. Either write and podfic a birdmen fanfiction, or ask for an author's permission to podfic (a portion of) a fic. You can get fancy, like adding sound effects or backing music, or just keep it simple and record something on your phone. Nice because it doesn't require you to create something in the traditional sense and is also a way to show appreciation to past fic writers. Not nice depending on how self-conscious you are about your voice.
Not My Medium Challenge - Create a fanwork in a medium you've never worked with extensively. For example, for myself, I'd consider illustrations, sequential art, meta essays, fanfiction, and music videos as mediums that I've worked in extensively, so I'd focus on other things such as meme compilations, music compositions, podfics, video essays, gifsets and edits, among infinite possibilities.
Draw A Comic Month - 4-week event with one week dedicated to scripting, storyboarding, linework, and colors/toning each. A comic can be as simple as a 2-panel comic to something as complex as a 30-page manga. This is one time where my comics advice is going to be ENTIRELY FREE OF CHARGE. I am going to sit in the birdmen discord at regular times throughout this event and do my best to make the comic of your dreams happen (guy who is obsessed with sequential art voice)
the collaboration is a COMMITMENT whereas the rest are things you can opt in and out at any moment. ok now go hog wild with the votes and let me know your bonus thoughts in the tags
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shesjustanothergeek · 10 months
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His Love
|Aegon II Targaryen x Fem!Reader|
Part Fifteen
Master List of Series
Summary: Being a bastard born in the slums of Flea Bottom was all you were known for. Not the streak of white you had in your dark hair, the violet ring around your pupils, or how your sharp tongue and skills with the blade resembled your father, Daemon Targaryen. You were just a bastard, nothing more, but to him, to Aegon Targaryen, you were everything. You were his love.
Author's Note: Hey, besties! Guess who passed their State Board Exams…? ME! I DID! Now, all I gotta do is fill out some paperwork, and I'll be licensed. I've started working already, but it's only three days a week right now, so pretty good! Don't hesitate to comment or ask me questions. I love hearing them and seeing others discuss them. Happy reading, everyone, and let the celebrations commence!
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Chapter Warnings: Violence
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The celebrations of Aegon's birth had finally arrived. All the Great Houses were expected to come—all but one. The Velaryons and part of the Targaryen faction were not extended an invitation. Rhaenys had taken this as a political slight by Queen Alicent. She was collateral damage in the cold war between Rhaenyra and her old friend. Guilty by association.
Lord Corlys was still fighting for control of the Stepstones and had put his loyal Lady Wife on the Driftwood throne to rule in his stead. The alliance of the Triarchy and House Martell of Dorne was of much concern, and without the aid of the King's fleet, the battle was all but lost. Yet, through it all, the Sea Snake remained on the collection of islands, fighting tooth and nail against those who wished control of his rightful territory.
Princess Rhaenys did not know of your efforts inside the Keep, slowly but surely attempting to send help to the losing battles. The day she was crowned the "Queen Who Never Was" came to mind. She felt abandoned by her cousins, Daemon and Viserys, for refusing to take a stance on the insurgents. Baela was her only solace, her heart missing the pieces her children used to occupy. She would never forgive them if her husband died.
You sat at the exponentially smaller desk in your room, the maids you had yet to become familiar with brushing your silky hair as you read two pieces of parchment.
Jace and your father had sent you letters. Daemons were curt, mentioning nothing about how he missed or thought of you while away. It was as if he was speaking to a fellow warrior, not his daughter. Only ensuring you were still on track with your efforts, wanting to know how far the influence of the Hightowers reached and when to expect words regarding the Stepstones. You ignored him for now, folding it in threes and placing it in the side drawer of your desk as you read your brother's.
"Dear Sister,
Jealousy became me when I bid you farewell a few days ago. I knew what I said was wrong as the words lept from my tongue. I am not proud, and regret has haunted me since. I express my sincerest and deepest apologies.
You have always been open and honest with your emotions, and I wish to do the same. I love you, sissy, despite what my words may have alluded to. You have experienced hardships that no child of that age should witness, and you did not grow to resent your family for it. I cannot say the same for me if something similar happened.
I wish the Queen did not invite you to Kings Landing, not because I am jealous, but because I haven't a clue what I mean to do without you. Father wants me to be strong, like you. He wants me to practice swords like you. He wants me to listen to Mother's audiences like you, but I am not you. I am a boy whose lineage is clouded with stolen kisses and an accidental fire.
I wish you were still here so I could feel your embrace. I do not believe I can handle Daemon for much longer. How have you done it for so long?
The days cannot go fast enough as I await your return. I intend to give you a proper apology once you are home. Perhaps we can spend some time in Aegon the Conqueror's Garden as I grovel? I will arrange a picnic for when I do. I don't want to beg on an empty stomach.
Missing you,
Jacaerys Velaryon, your wretched little brother."
His endearing letter did not help the ache for Dragonstone. A smile burned your cheeks as you rubbed the dry paper between your fingers. You could smell the brimstone on the fibers, the sulfuric scent taking you home.
"My Lady," a servant gained your attention, taking your focus off the sweet words. "The men should be returning from their hunts in the Kingswood soon. I would suggest we start readying you for the tourney later today."
You nodded wordlessly, giving them a tight-lipped smile as you put Jace's letter next to Daemon's. You will be sure to write them both later.
You were confident Jace would love to hear how the tourney went. He had always gravitated toward stories of knights in shining armor valiantly jousting for a lady's favor. He had spoken several times about wanting to participate in the events. That was the only thing that pushed him to pursue the sword, other than your mother's and father's orders.
You could picture your little brother atop a white steed, armor resembling a dragon with a lance in his hand, asking for the favor of one special noble girl. The image brought a genuine grin to your face. Jace was always the gentleman his Mother taught him to be.
You wanted to stand out amongst the crowd of green royals you were sure to be seated with. It was to be your first public appearance since your legitimization, and you had to make an impression. You allowed your ladies to bathe you, and upon your exit from the tub, you requested one to show you the variety of gowns you had brought. Black was always the most innovative option, representing the colors of your House, and there were plenty to choose from, thankfully. It was only a matter of which one.
You decide to help your decision by considering the weather and environment. Most of the gowns you had were thick for the constant chill of Dragonstone and would indeed have you draped over a chair with a fan to cool off despite the changing seasons. That had only left you with a few options, which immensely helped. It had revealed a dress you once deemed too scandalous to wear in your family's presence.
It was not typical Westerosi fashion. Rhaenyra had commissioned a tailor in Dorne to create a gown when you officially became of bedding age.
You could tell it was something she had longed to wear as a girl, a freeing and rebellious design, but etiquette and her position would not allow her to wear such exotic clothing. You did agree with her that it was stunning. The deep plunging 'v' of the neckline certainly accentuated your breasts and made them much more pleasing to the eye as your maids tightened the strings in the back.
The fabric was a combination of red with an overlay of black lace. Golden thread held the seams together, and a matching cape to your shoulders, leaving your arms bare. Pieces of Aurelian were sewn on the shoulder pads of it, looking like crumpled yellow leaves that cascaded down your biceps. A circled belt of silver was delicately snitched around your waist, the excess of the metal resting between your legs.
After you were dressed, the servants ushered you to the vanity, holding the draping fabric so it did not catch as they began to fix your ebony hair. They elected not to put it in its usual braided style, instead rolling and twisting the long strands onto themselves until they reached the base of your head, pinning it to your head. It was simple, and you immensely enjoyed the freedom it gave to your range of motion.
Next, they adorned you with matching jewelry and a delicate headpiece that arched over the crown of your head. A necklace of a curled golden dragon wrapped around the hollow of your throat, a long needlelike chain attached to it as a polished metal fang hung at the end. They then slid a hammered bronze cuff on your wrist and rings of the same color, dragonglass, and rubies for its gems. The ladies applied the final touch of makeup to your skin, a fine powder to rid the shine from your nose, a dusting of rouge, and a hint of rose-colored balm to your lips.
You felt like the Targaryen princesses of centuries past, the blood of old Valeryia pumping your heart.
You would give anything for your Mother to see you now, dressed in the traditional colors of her House. Though you couldn't hide your relief in Daemon not being here, you were sure he would've made you change or barred your door to stop you from escaping in such scandalous garb. You stood, finding the dagger Daemon had gifted you and the belt it was connected with. You hooked it around your waist, adjusting it to be just out of view.
Your servants stared at you in awe, more amazed by their work than you as you grabbed the wreath of black charm lilies and black crystal pansies you requested to give your favor to the knights who asked. You didn't believe any of them would but knew it was proper to have one nonetheless. You smiled at your ladies, conveying your gratefulness through your unusual eyes. You turned, facing the three women, your cape resembling a waterfall.
"I believe I haven't inquired of your names yet," you prompted, looking them over. The youngest of three fiddled with the hem of her white apron, avoiding your gaze. "I do apologize for that. You all have been very kind to me."
"I am Jeyne," the oldest spoke first, giving you a curtsy. Grey hair poked from under her servant cap, wrinkles creasing the corners of her eyes.
"I am Fiora," the next one spoke, bowing. She appeared not much older than you, with bright green eyes and a splash of tan freckles on her nose and cheekbones.
You would guess the youngest girl, around Jace's age, continued playing with her clothes, muttering a meek "Dyana" and quickly bending her legs. You frowned at her response, sensing her anxiety, and reached for her tiny fingers, rough and dry with callouses.
"You need not be frightened, Dyana. I am not as wicked as the whispers claim me to be," you jested with a grin. She returned it, but it did not reach her eyes. A pang of sadness struck your chest as your gaze flicked over her as if you could understand the reason for her apprehension at a glance.
"My Ladies," you said, standing and clasping your hands in front of you as you bowed your head. "It is a pleasure to become acquainted finally. I am sure we will become close during my stay here." You smiled at all of them once more, your attention resting briefly on the meek fair skinned girl. "If any of you need something from me in the meantime, no matter how small or trivial, I will be at your service as you are to me."
The three shared bewildered expressions, Fiora's mouth agape as all muttered their thanks.
You supposed their reaction was understandable. They had never been treated like people before, almost making you feel bad for your motives.
Your plan would not hurt them in the long run. If anything, they would most likely be grateful to have a princess as an ally. Most nobles did not realize how much of their life depended upon the people serving them, not considering that they saw and heard everything within their homes. You would be a fool not to take advantage of that during such tumultuous times.
"Well," you clapped your palms together, giddy to finally have that out of the way, "I have grown rather famished and wish for some snacks before I watch men get rammed with sticks." Jeyne grinned, and Fiora bit her pink lips at your crude words. "I know that this is not proper, but I truly am in the dark. If you would not mind, could you lead me to the kitchens? I frequented them much at Dragonstone, as midnight snacking is a vice of mine, and wish to know where they are when the cravings emerge."
Knowing your next moves hinged on their response, you had planned those words carefully. You needed to tell them something that they believed was a secret. Daemon had told you once that revealing something one would deem embarrassing, that displaying vulnerability to a fellow human would have them drop their defenses, but if they were smart enough to realize this, it would ruin everything.
Fiora gave a toothy grin, nodding vigorously before looking at her companions. The other two shared the same smile. Through those actions, you could quickly tell what her personality was. She was a giddy and sweet girl, albeit a bit more susceptible than someone of her age should be. The other women followed along. Her joy was contagious as they approached the kitchens with you on their heels.
A self-satisfied smirk replaced the kind smile you wore for your servants.
Everything was going according to how you imagined it. Your maids took kindly to you, and as you traversed the long hallways and steps of the Keep, each passing nobleman and servant noticed your presence. One Lady gasped as you rounded a corner and met face-to-face, quickly scurrying away like a scared field mouse. A man who stood over a full head taller than you raked his eyes over your form, his attention staying on your breasts long enough for Jeyne to notice. She silently stepped before you could truly capture his face, only noting his long black hair and eyes.
Servants bustled throughout the kitchens, some throwing large pieces of dough on a floured table, others running with plates of food and ingredients in their hands. None of them paid attention as you entered, hidden behind the uniformed girls, having to duck beneath a misplaced stone in the stairwell ceiling.
Jeyne, Dyana, and Fiora led you through an archway into a room filled with even more people who still did not notice you, peeling carrots, potatoes, and other vegetables. You felt your chest deflate in defeat at your seemingly unimportant presence, not anticipating them to continue their tasks and not spare you a glance. It was not every day a member of the royal family graced them with their appearance.
It almost felt like the servants of the Keep did not see you as a Targaryen but as just another one of them. Your mouth soured at the thought, digging your nails into your palms until they left imprints. It would be best if you were happy to see them collectively agree you were not like the rest of your kin, but still, not receiving the recognition you tried so hard for was gutting. You could feel your body deflating, curling in on itself as your previous confidence dwindled.
No matter, you told yourself. This can work to my advantage.
They saw you as not someone to be feared, and perhaps you could extend those same opinions toward your Mother. Rhaenyra needed everyone who resided in the Red Keep to be on her side when she ascended the throne, the nobles who lived at court, and the knights who protected and defended the Targaryen name. Everyone was needed.
Jeyne handed you a peach from off the wooden table a male servant used to cut some vegetables, smiling as your thumb stroked the fuzzy skin. You could still remember when fruits such as that were unavailable to you, though these memories were faint and grew more difficult to recall as time passed. Dyana then found a jug of cider, filling a small goblet up to wash down the sweet taste that danced on your tongue, and Fiora used the corner of her apron to wipe the stray juices that dribbled out of the corner of your mouth. You smiled at them both gratefully, fighting on the inside not to swat their doting hands away, feeling like a child again.
You sucked the last bit of the pulp from the large seed before removing it from your lips and throwing it in the bucket they used for scraps. You continued to sip on the brass goblet Dyana had given you, following them from out of the kitchens and into a courtyard you had never seen before. It was lined with pens filled with livestock. Sheep, pigs, goats, and chickens belting, chirping, and snorting as you passed.
You were still determining exactly where the tourney would be held but had yet to hear of the vast and spacious arena it was. You knew you would be sitting inside the royal box next to the other noble members of your family, and you couldn't hide how less than joyful that made you feel. You did wonder if the King would be there, knowing that what the Maester and Otto said were complete lies about his health. Some of you still held onto hope that there was some truth in their deceitfulness. Indeed, they couldn't be so bold as to say something that could easily be disproven with one's eyes. The next Council meeting would undoubtedly be an eventful one.
Your ladies led you back inside an entrance of the castle you had never seen before, urging you to follow their steps and assuring you were close. Soon, the low rumbling of voices could be heard. Different pitches and accents all melted into one continuous barrage of sound as you ascended the stairs to your seat.
The first leg of the tourney was set to begin in a short while, and most of the royal family had already made their appearance. Even the eldest prince sat in a high back chair, practically falling asleep with a cup of wine in his hand. A slight grin formed on your face at the endearing sight, appearing as if you were looking at a babe rather than a man grown. His perfectly pink lips stuck out in a pout, a sigh escaping as he adjusted in his seat.
You were standing above him diagonally on the top riser and could see every huff, and every scoff he made as his Mother spoke to him, but Aegon could not see you. Queen Alicent said straight ahead, not looking at him as you saw her permanent scowl. It was her firstborn's name day, which should be celebrated with nothing but smiles and laughs. One would think she would be happy for such an occasion.
Aegon said something to his Mother that made her snap her head in his direction, ready to offer him some choice words as she saw you.
You could hear the gasp leaving Alicent clutching the pointed star of the Seven glued to her neck. You swore by the sound she made she had not seen you but the Stranger himself as her face paled. The Queen whispered something as she quickly looked away. Aegon was just as shocked as you regarding his Mother's reaction. He thought she might faint as he swiftly turned to see what it was all about.
Your gazes looked at one another, and your cheeks reddened under his stare. You felt your heart flutter in your chest, offering him a quick curtsey as you walked to an open seat at the lowest riser, crossing your legs as you adjusted the dagger at your hip.
Aegon had died. Well, it certainly felt like it when he laid his eyes on you. For once, his vision was clear and not yet clouded by the drink, and he could see your perfectly crafted body. He immediately went to the plunging neckline of your dress; how could he not? Your breasts were right there where he could see, noticing how much bigger they were than he initially imagined. He then noticed the curled golden dragon around your neck, reminding him of his own, Sunfyre. Had you chosen that for him? Did you purposefully put that on with him in mind? Aegon could feel his cock harden at the thought.
He watched you descend the giant stone steps, holding your skirts up so you did not trip as he saw your bare ankles. He could hardly contain the twitch of his hips at the sight. Aegon had been with many women in his life, too many to count, and yet seeing just a peak of your hidden skin had him nearly spilling in his breeches.
He thought back to your moment in the Godswood. Underneath the Heart Tree, the fragments of the sunrise peeking through the leaves dotted your skin with beautiful rays of yellow. One had been over your eyes, and Aegon had seen your pupils shrink and reveal more of the purple that bathed there. He never wanted to leave that moment with you. He wanted to stay forever underneath that tree, trace the scars on your skin, and kiss every part of you until he had you squirm underneath him.
Aegon remembered how your breathing hastened as your jaw trembled at his touch, your face contorted into a gorgeous pout as he pulled your lip with his thumb. He noticed how you were clenching your thighs together even though you had no idea. Nothing had changed between the two of you, he realized. Aegon knew you desired him as much as he desired you. You just did not know it yet.
Gods. He wanted to take the empty seat next to you so badly but knew what his Mother would say if he did-- what she would do if he did. So, instead, he signaled for a serving girl to fill his chalice to the brim, drowning his sorrows in Arbor Red.
***
You felt rather pathetic as you shifted in your seat, the wood creaking with your weight as you still held your wreath of flowers. You could sense everyone's eyes on you and the empty chairs positioned at your sides. No one wanted to sit next to the bastard, you mocked in your head, feeling as if your eyes would pop out of your skull if you rolled them any harder.
It was the fifth round of the tourney, and five men had been knocked off their horses, but no fighting had ensued. Bracken, Tully, Arryn, Tyrell, and Blackwood boys had to skulk back to the stables knowing they had lost.
The King had still yet to show if he was ever going to, and you had given a fierce glare at Otto Hightower a few rows up when he announced the tournament had officially started. You had caught the stare of Princess Helaena in the process and immediately softened, returning her kind smile before the One-Eyed Prince stole her. You made a mental note to see her at the feast the following evening, perhaps share a dance or two.
With the end of the fifth round started the sixth, and the vibrant lion banners of House Lannister were prominently displayed as Ser Tyland entered the arena. He sat atop his chestnut horse, trotting over to the squire that held his lance. He approached the royal box, and you thought for a moment he might ask you for your favor. You couldn't hide the distance as he smiled up at you but turned his face away, looking at someone behind you.
"I am Ser Tyland of House Lannister," he announced.
Yes, you twat, you said internally, we know who you are. You live here.
"Princess Helaena," he called, and she looked up from her fingers to the man below her. His voice nearly made you vomit. "Would you do me the honor of bestowing your favor for the next round, Princess?" he asked chivalrously.
She glanced at her grandsire beside her, and he nodded in approval as she stood, her pale yellow dress shining in the autumn sun.
"Of course," she smiled, walking to the steps to place her ring of white and blue flowers on the pole of his lance.
"I thank you, your Grace," he replied and then trotted back to the waiting young squire.
Helaena stood there momentarily, her eyes glassy as she looked at you. It didn't feel like her gaze was on you, but more looking through you as she whispered. "Heed the beast within the deep. Rock runs red, and rocks bleed."
You looked at her confused, brows furrowing, and reached for her hand, asking her to speak louder. She quickly smacked it away, her eyes widening in fear as if she was suddenly woken from a dream, and she hurried up the steps.
You didn't have time to dwell on Helaena's outburst as Ser Tyland Lannister's opponent entered the wring. His armor was an impenetrable crepuscule steel and as shiny as the scales that covered your dragon's flesh, a helmet the same color with a mane of yellow hairs spanning from his crown to the base of his neck. His banners were ones you had only seen on paper. Most of the fabric was black, just like his thick armor, but the sigil was a deep golden kraken with ten long tentacles, nearly spanning the entire flag. The squid-like beasts of House Greyjoy were said to terrorize the depths of the oceans and sink the ships of those unsuspecting.
You were unsure of which Greyjoy it was. Dalton or Veron or maybe a cousin or some distant kin that shared the name. You didn't care who it was. They were just another lord or knight seeking fame inside a wood and dirt stadium.
You signaled for a servant, and he gave you a chalice of wine as you slumped in your seat. You didn't want to cloud your mind with alcohol, always the one to be alert and observe things other people may not notice, but this was getting rather irksome, and you needed something to do other than sit and look pretty.
"Ser Dalton of House Greyjoy," the knight said, his horse a dusty grey color as he lifted his helmet off his head. You ignored him with confidence that it was not you he was speaking to, taking another gulp of wine as you swirled the drink.
Dalton was a fierce and ruthless man. You had heard his stories of his youth sailing the Basilisk Isles with his late uncle, pillaging the towns there. He had somehow claimed a Valyrian steel sword named Nightfall during those plunders. At one point, he had aided in the battle of the Stepstones as a sellsail, where his uncle was murdered. It had been rumored in a fit of vengeance, he killed every enemy within his sight and emerged from the battle victorious and drenched in blood. Since then, he bore the title of the Red Kraken.
"I come seeking the favor of the bastard girl the court speaks so much of." A collective gasp sounded in the royal box, shocked at his words.
You barked out a laugh at Ser Dalton, attempting not to choke on the liquid you just swallowed. You should have been insulted at him for calling you such a name. In the eyes of the law and the Seven, you were no longer a bastard, but clearly, that did not stop people from claiming you as such.
"You have found her, Ser Dalton of House Greyjoy," you mocked, crossing your legs as you began to play with a small leaf. You smiled as you noticed the maroon outline of his House sigil on his breastplate.
Everything thing about him was dark and menacing. He radiated an aura of malevolence from the inside as if you would cut him open; he would not bleed the same red. "Though, I do not think you deserve my favor after calling me such a name." Men and women released more gasps, and you could hear someone muttering a soft "Gods be good" under their breath.
You waited for the following apology, but it did not come, leaving you sitting there like a fool. You hummed in disapproval, pushing yourself upright.
"I am no longer a bastard girl," you stood, holding the flower wreath between your fingers, "but that of a woman born from a night of sinful heat and passion. I am skilled with the blade and well-read. I study history, philosophy, and the politics of the realm." Ser Dalton's onyx gaze crept from your leather slippers to the white streak in your hair. He watched you step closer and lean over the railing so only he could hear you. "I am not just a simple fucking bastard girl."
He watched the words roll off your tongue, gripping his lance tighter with parted lips as you placed the circle of black and wine-colored flowers on it.
You fixed your spine, staring down your nose at the bannerman before you. "Win this joust Ser Dalton of House Greyjoy, and I will forgive the slight you have made upon me. For I am afraid if you do not, the sand of the Iron Islands shall turn to glass, and your Salt Wives will finally be free. You have my favor and my luck." You flicked your wrist as you walked back to your seat. "Off with you."
"Thank you, Princess. You honor me deeply." He lifted the fist that carried his helmet and crossed it over his chest, bowing his head with an amused smirk.
You sat down, grabbed the cup you had been working on, and asked the servant to fill it again, unbothered with his courtly manners. Ser Dalton placed his helmet back on and readied his horse for the first bout.
You almost chuckled at the sight, drink to your lips. Sitting on his horse, he looked like a nasty black pony with a yellow mane, ready to bite and kick anyone nearby. His whole get-up was quite ridiculous as you continued to watch.
Ser Tyland's armor was so very much... Lannister. There was no other word to describe the style. He wore a long red flowing cape, his dense silver breastplate trimmed with gold in the shape of a lion.
An announcer with a sizeable brass horn stepped onto a wooden platform a few meters before the royal box. He wore a plum-colored hat with a dyed feather and an off-white tunic dampened with sweat and stained with dust as he shouted the outlining phrases for the beginning of this round. He introduced each House and their respective ranks within them.
"Ser Dalton of House Greyjoy, Lord Reaper of Pyke, conqueror of thirteen Salt Wives, Lord of the Iron Islands," he boomed into the sky, swaying his hand to the right side of the arena to where the man was. He paused to let the crowd shout their praises.
Screams and hollers of people echoed loudly, drowning out the announcer as he introduced Tyland next. You could see the proud Lannister boy's ego was hurt at the apparent favoritism, and you feigned a pout at the sight.
Finally, he blew his horn, signaling they could begin. Ser Dalton did not waste a breath in fear as he charged at Ser Tyland, his yellow-striped lance already bent and ready to take his opponent off his horse. You scoffed, taking another sip of the sickly sweet wine.
If he planned to knock Tyland down on his first try, he clearly did not comprehend the point of a joust. You did not understand why the audience would love him if he intended to get this over swiftly. This was supposed to be entertainment and not battle. It was meant to be a spectacle for the crowd, a break from the mundane life of the court.
At the last second, as Dalton and Tyland were about to collide stick to the chest, Ser Dalton lifted his lance straight. Ser Tyland's breezed past his rival, completely missing his goal with a cheer from the crowd. You mirrored their sentiments but did not show it on the outside, only adjusting in your seat with a soft sigh. You saw Dalton to the left now, and if you did not know any better, smirked at you. Arrogant, just like the Lannisters.
They went at it again, the hooves of their steeds thundering on the packed earth. This time neither of them started with their poles down, only for Ser Tyland to raise it at the last moment and knock Ser Dalton in the shoulder. Sadly, he did not fall off his horse and only lost his grip on the lance, dragging a line in the dirt. You laughed, pleased to have witnessed at least some bruising to the man's pride.
You tried your best to ignore the stares of those behind you. They had been on you since you sat. No doubt, if you looked, you would only be met with aversion and disgust. You steeled yourself, moving from your slouched position to rest your hands on the arms of the chair.
Aegon was part of the stares, though his expression differed significantly from the others. His Mother had cast him a sidelong glance at his reaction, and only then did he outwardly calm. He had been inside his mind until the squid boy approached you, asking for your favor. He even had the gull to call you a bastard! In front of nearly the entire court of the Red Keep! Oh, how Aegon wanted to call his dragon and burn the fish to pieces.
It also did nothing to soothe him when he saw you lean over the box fence, telling the squid boy only something he could hear. He knew your breasts were on display for the man judging by his hungry gaze. At one point, Aegon swore he saw him adjust his stance in the saddle.
Aegon was furious. His nails dug into his seat's material, feeling splinters wedge underneath them. He stole a pitcher of wine from a servant, keeping it on his lap so he could have continued access to it.
He was so, so furious as he watched your sudden interest in the tournament. He knew you were only mesmerized by the men in front of you because Ser Dalton gave you attention. Aegon wasn't upset over that; no, he was upset over the fact that the Lord of Pyke had won the round by hitting Tyland Lannister straight into the chest, sending him flying into the dust. He noticed how your shoulders lifted with barely contained excitement as he watched Ser Dalton send a bow your way.
He groaned, not filtering his discontent for the rest of the rounds that unfolded, which, sadly, each one Ser Dalton was the victor of. Eventually, the final bout started. His opponent was a Glover boy from the north, unsure of which one, but it didn't matter as he witnessed the Red Kraken get thrown from his horse. Aegon couldn't help but cheer theatrically at the sound of the lance splintering when colliding with his stomach.
He had caught your sudden gaze then, brown eyes flitting over how he stood and clapped his hands. You didn't smile but gave him a look of confusion, your thick brows furrowing. He had felt his jubilance subside, but only slightly.
Suddenly, Ser Dalton shouted, yanking a sword and shield from his squire and challenging the victor to a duel. Aegon felt his stomach sink into his chair as a strand of his blonde mane obscured his vision. Oh, splendid, he mused; the squid has pride.
The Glover had taken up the challenge without strife, still proudly wearing the banner of his House on his back. Aegon wondered if you had ever witnessed a duel before. He knew you had taken a life, but it was not the same as watching someone do it. Selfishly, he dreamed you would turn away at the sight and seek comfort from him, but that was all it was... a dream.
You watched with surprise as the Glover's and Dalton's swords clashed, the clang ringing in your ears. Each slash and thud of their metal longswords sent a jolt through your bones, curling your toes and squeezing your drink in a vice-like grip. You hated to admit that you felt nervous, your heart beating just a little too fast to be considered normal.
Ser Dalton's swings were wild but held a skillful precision, connecting with the Glover's side. It knocked the wind out of the poor boy's lungs and had him raising his shield as Dalton kicked it, sending him stumbling further.
He was so savage, so bloodthirsty that it made you shiver. You finally understood why he was called the Red Kraken, and you feared for the Glover's life. Surely, he wouldn't kill the boy; you hoped he wouldn't. The poor lad looked like he had just become a man. He was much shorter than Dalton but still taller than you, and he looked like this was his first tourney. You wished he would yield.
Ser Dalton swung at the boy, his armored fist connecting to his jaw with a nauseating crunch of bone and metal. Confidently, he kicked to disoriented teen in the stomach, knocking him to the ground, his sword falling just out of reach. He went to pull his shield to defend himself, but Dalton stomped on the arm that carried it. You could see how the Kraken stood over the Armored Glove, unable to hear what he said to him. You didn't need to. You knew what came next, and it did not frighten you. The Glover lost the duel as the Greyjoy raised his sword, cutting off the words that attempted to leave his tongue with a blade to the throat.
It was bloody. So very bloody. The essence of the Glovers' life force spurted from his body onto the face of Ser Dalton Greyjoy, dripping from his chin. You heard the gasps of those around you, a platter dropping at the horrific show as the ground became saturated with red. You didn't feel sad as you watched two people drag his body away, the crowd bursting into cheers and applause. In fact, you felt hardly anything, sitting as if nothing had happened as the announcer raised Ser Dalton's hand in triumph. You were used to death by now.
To the outside person, you looked alright, but Aegon knew you were anything but. Your knuckles blanched around your drink, resting it in your lap. He felt foolish to think you would shy away from such things. He knew you were much more robust than that, but still, he hoped you would run to him.
Everything next seemed to happen in slow motion. Aegon watched the crown of roses intended for the Queen of Love and Beauty be placed into Dalton's bloodied palms, strutting over to the royal box as he called out the most beautiful name he had ever heard... Yours.
His little one. His love.
Aegon went to jump out of his seat, but the firm hand of his Mother yanked his arm, abruptly pulling him back down before he could mock the royal family with his outburst. He wanted to rip his Mother off him and run to you. He wished to hide you from the hundreds of eyes staring at you. This wasn't right. He panicked. This cannot be right. You were his, and he was yours until the end of days.
He pictured what Ser Dalton's head would look like on a spike as you walked down the stairs and onto the small platform below. He watched the Salt Lord's eyes rake across your body as he placed the crown on your head, whispering something that made you clench your fists.
Everyone knew what this meant grandiose display meant. The Lord Reaper of Pyke intended to court his pretty girl and make a Salt Wife out of her. No, Aegon thought. That will never do.
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I hope y'all liked this chapter. It's an exciting one! We've met a new character, Dalton Greyjoy. He plays a big part in The Dance of Dragons. I won't spoil it for anyone, but let's say his heart runs black… The next chapter is the feast for our baby boy's 20th birthday! Let's hope Aegon gets everything he wishes for.
Tagged Peeps:  @zeennnnnnn, @malfoytargaryen, @targaryencore, @justasmallbean, @alexandra-001, @omgsuperstarg, @sommornyte, @silverslive, @unclecrunkle, @prettykinkysoul, @duesobabe, @djlexi, @ynbutbetter, @honestlykat, @graykageyama, @legolas017, @iiamthehybrid, @brezzybfan, @dd122004dd, @ladybug0095, @millies0bsimp, @kalfild, @sheislonelyalways, @tempt-ress, @bellameshipper, @minttea07, @trikigirl271, @esposadomd, @buckylahey, @justarandomflowerchildofthenight, @partypoison00, @please-buckme, @pastelorangeskies, @joliettes, @existential-echo, @priyajoyy, @valaenatargaryensdragon, @merovingianprincess, @rachelnicolee, @candy12110, @w3ird11, @ruhjkie, @fatalewomen, @somemydayy, @ariana-dumbledore8, @marikkjj, @zillahvathek, @sunfyresrider, @sunny-boy-06 
Bold means I couldn't tag you for some reason :(
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f1nalboys · 2 years
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idk if ur recs are closed by now and also if u have too many on ur plate pls dont feel pressured to respond :) but I saw someone once asked u abt cockwarming w randy while watching a movie 😳 and honestly I'd love to read smth like that! obvs dont feel pressured to at all, just a suggestion if u wanna! anyway i also just wanted to say ur writing is so so good and ur really talented, and i always love reading ur stuff! hope u have a great day/night <33
HI MY DEAR BEAUTIFUL ANON i literally have no excuse for how long its taken me to get this out i am so sorry im awful however this gave me some inspo SO.... i hope u guys like this >:) i went the route of in a movie theater and not at home so i hope thats ok???? anyways hope u enjoy and i hope i remember how to format these posts lolz
At The Movies - Randy Meeks
Randy Meeks x Fem!AFAB!Reader
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WORD COUNT: 1429
WARNINGS: nsfw, reader wears a skirt, public sex, cockwarming, randy calls reader good girl, orgasm denial, edging, slight dom/sub dynamics, randy my beloved <3, implication of more sex, not proofread bc we die like men
The movie theater was packed, unsurprisingly. It was opening night for the latest Stab movie (number 5 if you had been counting correctly) and for some reason Randy had wanted to go the night it came out. He had a strange fascination with the Stab franchise now that it no longer followed Sidney’s and his story and instead had delved into borderline shit territory. 
“Scuse me, sorry, my bad,” Randy says, repeating his apologies as he scoots towards his seat, you following closely behind him. He had gotten two seats in the very back row, far right side of the screen. When you realized that you had been confused; Randy was normally anal about getting the middle seats. “It’s the best spot for the perfect movie watch!” He would say to you every time you laughed at his particular-ness.
He takes the seat right next to the wall, stretching out his feet slightly as you settle down next to him. The lights dim and the crowd roars, glow-in-the-dark Ghostface masks illuminating the darkness. Randy wraps his arm around you, pulling you in closer, and you rest your head on his shoulder. “You alright?” You ask just loud enough to be heard over the crowd.
Flashing you a soft smile he nods, kissing you first on your forehead and then your lips, his large hand still cold from holding his drink coming up to cup your cheek. “M’perfect.” You half expect him to pull away and look back towards the movie, towards the screaming blonde girl who was about to be gutted, but instead he leans in again, kissing you a little rougher. You giggle into the kiss.
“Randy,” You laugh, pulling back, and he whines slightly, his grip on your cheek tightening just a little. “Pay attention to the movie, baby.”
“No, want to kiss you instead.” You turn your face as he leans his, his lips planting on your cheek and he laughs, breath hot against your skin. “C’mere, sit on my lap.” You cock an eyebrow at him but all he does is let go of your face, grabbing your hand instead.
“Why do you want me to sit on your lap so bad?” You tease, moving from your seat to sit down on his lap. His arms instantly wrap around your waist, pulling your back flush against his chest, his lips instantly on your neck. “You got a crush on me or something?” 
You can feel him smile against your neck and you can feel the goosebumps raise on your skin as he plants soft kisses up your neck before stopping right next to your ear. “Yeah, something like that. But I also want to fuck you.” Before you can even comprehend what he’s saying he’s grinding you down on his lap, making his clothed erection very obvious. 
“Oh…y-you do? Here?” You swallow hard, biting at your bottom lip as he lets out a quiet moan. Randy hasn’t stopped grinding you against him and you can feel him hardening underneath you with each purposeful movement. “Is that why you asked me to wear the skirt?”
Randy laughs slightly, biting at your neck and you just barely stifle the moan that bubbles up out of your throat. You can feel yourself getting wetter with each passing second. “Mhm, plus you look so fucking good in it. Need you to sit on my cock baby, please? Please can you do that for me?”
Your mind was foggy and you barely register yourself nodding yes but you can feel your thighs clench together when he mutters ‘fuck,’ under his breath. You lift off of him for just a second, sparing a glance at the people besides you, just two seats away. No one was paying you and Randy any mind, too enthralled with the movie to care. Randy fishes his cock out and you gasp, taken by surprise, when he reaches his hand under your skirt and pulls your panties to the side. 
“Sit,” He says, moving your hips, positioning you just above his cock. You take a shaky breath, biting your lip before sitting down, his cock sliding inside you. It burned deliciously; normally you were well beyond prepped, covered in your own juices, before he would fuck you, but there wasn’t any time for that. “Fuuuuck, so tight. Thank you baby, good girl.” He’s back to kissing your neck and his arm is wrapped around your waist again. You can’t move, can only sit and feel his cock twitch inside you.
“M-move? Can you move? Please?” You ask, tilting your head to the side slightly to have him hear you. He laughs, shaking his head. 
“M’sorry baby, too risky. We can’t have anyone hear you now can we? Don’t want to distract anyone.” You squeeze your eyes shut at the realization that Randy is serious. He had you sit on his cock just to watch the stupid fucking movie like this. Attempting to shift your hips, desperate for any sense of friction or movement, has his grip on your waist tightening. “Stop. Moving.”
You don’t try to move again. Your entire body aches, your brain begging you to move, to fuck yourself on him, begging you to ignore the people around you and just cum. But from Randy’s tone of voice you knew that it would only result in a punishment, one you did not want to receive. 
It wouldn’t be so bad, you thought as you stared ahead at the screen. Just an hour and a half, that’s all you had to get through. For the next ten minutes you focused on the movie, trying to ignore the feeling of him inside you or the occasional thrust he would give when ‘adjusting’ himself. You were doing good, the knowledge shoved in the back of your mind ready to be ignored for the time being, until Randy’s other hand came in between your thighs and flicked over your clit.
You gasp loudly, face burning hot, though he had timed it to happen at a ‘scary’ part, your pleasure drowned out. “Randy,” You warn, turning your head to the side fully just to see his shit eating grin. “I thought, fuck,” Your eyes flutter shut at the feeling of his soft fingers brushing up and down your slit. “Thought it was risky?”
“It’s risky to fuck you, not to make you cum. You’ll do that for me, right? You’ll cum on me like this if I wanted you too?” His voice is sickly sweet in your ear, his fingers swirling around your clit with ease, and all you can muster is a single nod before you collapse back against him, letting him do whatever he wants to. One of your hands is gripping the armrest of the chair, the other grabbing onto his arm, your nails digging into both. “You close baby?” 
“Y-yes, please, fuck.” You try your hardest to keep your voice quiet, to hold and bite back the desperate moans you want to let out, but you're unable to hold back the groan of displeasure when Randy moves his hand away. “What the fuck?” 
Randy can’t help but laugh at the harsh whisper, slipping his fingers into his mouth to taste you. You can still feel him inside you, his cock twitching as he sucks his fingers clean. “Sorry baby, I changed my mind. But you’ll be good and I can treat you right when we’re back home, right?”
“Randy, can you just-”
“If you ask, you won’t cum at all tonight.” With a huff you concede, settling back down, your back against his chest. “Good girl.” He kisses your temples and try as you might you can’t fight back your smile. The rest of the movie is agony, your cunt aching and dripping around Randy the entire time. When the lights come up and people begin to leave, Randy tells you when to stand up so he can fix himself.
He laughs as you stand and you look down, instantly embarrassed. His sweatpants were soaked.
“You made a mess, baby,” He teases, standing up and wrapping his arms around you. He walks you out of the theater and to the car with you in front of him, asking you questions about the movie as if you had been able to pay attention to any of it. He opens the car door for you, letting you inside and giving you a kiss before pulling back just a little bit. “You did good. Thank you.” 
“You’re welcome. Now can we get home so I can cum, please?”
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papersirens · 2 years
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A Sprained Ankle V2
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-ˋˏ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ɪs ɴʙ / ᴀᴏ3 ᴠᴇʀsɪᴏɴ / ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ / ᴡᴄ: 1870 ˏˋ-  
Warnings: Yandere, sprained ankle, general creepiness, implied stalking.
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AN: Jotaro is one of my fav yanderes so take this. ALSO not EXACTLY like the prompt like I have done before but its the general gist there is carrying and a sprained ankle.
18+ blog only! Minors DNI!
In high spirits you walked down the familiar street, destination: home. You’d just come from a coffee date with your best friend, one you hadn’t had the chance to speak to for a few weeks as you’d both been pretty busy with your own lives. They worked and had children to take care of, a family to feed and cater to. You only had work but you were happy with that, you chose to focus everything on your career and that still resulted in being just as busy. It was a nice day sitting outside for a few hours, drinking and talking about everything and anything that happened between you two in the last few weeks.
You knew the route home like the back of your hand. You’ve lived in this city for most of your life, thankful for the work opportunities that allow you to stay in familiar territory. The cafe you’d been at was your favourite, one you have been going to for years. That’s why when you approached a small set of stairs, you were surprised and confused to have made your way on the floor at the bottom of them.
It felt like something blocked your foot from moving forward, something solid in your path stopping you from walking correctly and catching you off guard, tripping you before you could catch yourself from falling down the stairs. It all happened so fast and you were immensely embarrassed at such a display, stupidly falling down some stairs in the middle of the day like some drunk. To make matters even worse a tall, dark and handsome man stood before you with a hand to help.
“Hey are you okay?” They were gruff but there was a lick of concern in the way they spoke, already at the bottom of the stairs and hovering over you.
You took a second to fully register what had happened, calming down from your panic and looking to see what you could’ve tripped on. Atop the stairs wasn’t anything unusual, there wasn’t anything there. There were no obstacles or anything nearby you could’ve missed, a last minute drive-by that caused your fall. For a moment you even considered maybe it was this man who tripped you.
No. That’s silly to think. Why would a random man trip you down the stairs and then come to help? He is so big you surely would have noticed if he was that close to you. He was like a statue in comparison, tall as a building and wide like one too. You’d have at the very least felt his presence if he was close enough to trip you.
“Uh, yeah thank you,” you huffed a pathetic attempt at a laugh to lighten the situation and embarrassment.
You tried to stand up, not noticing the hand he held out for you to help you up, however it was in vain as any pressure you put on your foot shot sharp pains throughout your leg.
“Fuck!” You drop yourself to the floor. “I can’t stand on my foot, I think it might be a sprained ankle.”
“I live 5 minutes away, I can carry you and call a taxi to get you to the hospital.”
Something about this didn’t sit entirely right with you, a strange feeling in your stomach that told you this wasn’t a good situation. “It’s fine, I have a cell phone-“
You do not have a cell phone anymore.
A couple of feet away from you on the ground was your aforementioned cell phone, crushed and completely destroyed. It was amongst some of your other items that fell from your bag in the fall, though it looked odd to have been so destroyed. The fall wasn’t that bad and you weren’t far from the stairs. Instead, it looked like it had been stepped on, crushed inwards rather than cracked and fallen apart.
Before you could think much further about it, the stranger who offered you help cleared their throat to bring your attention back to them. You turned back around, eyes meeting their bright blue ones as he knelt beside you and waited for an answer.
“Huh, actually yeah if you wouldn’t mind letting me use your phone.”
Almost like he was on the edge of his seat waiting for you to give permission, he stood and collected all of your items that fell from your purse, putting them back inside before passing you the bag. Taking it with a small thank you, he scooped you up in his arms and caused a small squeak to fall from your lips as a result.
Whilst it felt nice being in such a strong, good looking man’s arms there was still something deep nagging you. That gut feeling one can sometimes have, something you should probably listen to from time to time. It wasn’t often you feel this way and was another reason why you should probably find your own way to a hospital.
That’s another point. He picked up your phone from the ground and put it back in your bag, if you look at it maybe you can determine if it really did simply break with the fall. From such a distance you could only guess how badly it was broken. Still cradled in the strangers arms you began rooting through your bag, about to pull it out when the man spoke.
“My place is around this corner.”
You were sufficiently distracted from this and slid your phone back into your bag. It probably wasn’t anything and you’re just being paranoid. It’s broad daylight out, if anything were to happen to you there would be witnesses, surely. Someone will have seen you both interact and be taken away. The stranger didn’t exactly look like every other average man in Japan.
At his front door he let you down, helping you stand on your good foot as you balance with the help of the tall man and a wall. You weren’t one to be nosy, your mom taught you better than that but you couldn’t help noticing that the keychain he fished out had a lot more keys than could be considered normal. It wasn’t extreme but normally keychains held 3 or 4 keys, this one looked to have 10 different ones. Door unlocked he scoops you up again without warning to bring you inside.
His home was a lot more average than his physical appearance. There wasn’t much to it; the walls were bare and painted beige whilst the furniture looked regular and almost brand new. No distinguishable features of the home and the fact only added to the sinking feeling you were trying so desperately to ignore.
The man placed you on an armchair gently, moving a phone from behind you to the coffee table in front to use. You thanked him with a small smile as he left to go into what you could see was the kitchen. Beginning to look in your bag for your phone book, the stranger stopped you again.
“I have a card here for a taxi,” he started coming back into the room, a small business card between his fingers. “They’re likely more local and faster.”
Taking the card from him you tried your best not to touch his fingers and seem greedy to take the card. You just wanted to get your ankle sorted and hope it isn’t anything serious, however he seemed to move forward as you were about to close your hand on the card, grasping his fingers instead. You pulled back almost like he was on fire and burnt you, a strange gasp leaving your lips but it couldn’t have been from shock. He didn’t seem to mind, a short huff of a chuckle before placing the card on the table next to the phone.
You didn’t look to pick up the card until he turned around and began walking back into the kitchen. It was only now you were starting to listen to your gut and it might be too late. Dialling the number you held the receiver to your ear and waited for someone to pick up. After numerous rings, the phone beeped to indicate no one was answering. Fuck. Immediately trying again, you didn’t remove the receiver from your ear.
You were lost in your own head with the uneasiness and panic of the situation as you prayed someone on the other end of this number would answer, so much so you didn’t hear the stranger asking you if you’d like a drink. Not at least until he said your name clear as day from the kitchen, with so much confidence as though he’s an old friend.
That snapped you back into the room, your eyes wide and your heart skipping a beat. You knew you weren’t going insane and had every right to have such a reaction when he too looked at you with eyes slightly wide, realising what he’d done.
You didn’t want or need to know, but asked anyway. “How do you know my name?”
Without missing a beat he answered. “I saw your ID in your purse when you fell, it was on the floor open before I picked everything up.” He had moved into the doorway of the kitchen and living room now, giving you his full attention as he watched you.
Whilst you can’t confirm or deny any truth in his story, his reactions still didn’t sit well with you and you’d had enough. Hanging up the call - that no one was still answering - you stood to leave and moved to the door as best you could, applying as little pressure to your bad ankle as possible.
“I’m sorry sir, thank you for helping but I’ll find my own way to the hospital.”
It was literally in the blink of an eye that he was in front of you, blocking your path to the front door with his large frame. There was no way he got there so fast, not without you noticing. You didn’t hear or see him move from the other side of the room, like time had stopped and he kept moving. You gasped at the shock of him suddenly standing in front of you, a dark look in his eyes as he stared down at you.
“You can’t go anywhere with an ankle like that.”
Last ditch attempt, throwing caution to the wind, ankle be damned, you ran around him. Or at least you tried to run around him. He didn’t move to stop you as you’d expected, anticipating having to use extra effort to push past him and hope for the best - but he didn’t. Rather, an invisible force stopped you. Near the front door it was like a wall you couldn’t see, an immovable force you couldn’t get past until you were lifted from the ground by said invisible force.
Screaming as your feet were lifted off the ground, you were thrown back onto the couch. You daren’t move this time, scared and panicked at what the fuck just happened, what just moved you and how he could do that. The man stood behind the couch, leaning over as he whispered, “I told you you’re going nowhere.”
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averagejoesolomon · 2 years
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Hi, hi, hi—here's the kids. This chapter has, once again, exceeded the expected word count. These kids are CHATTY and I refuse to cut any of it, because it all makes me happy. Fanfic is a magical place. Anyway, thanks for reading. I hope you enjoy. If you're new here, you can read all of Full Circle on Ao3.
Chapter Five
“Absolutely not.” Rachel rejects the sight before Matt can fully step out from behind the curtain. It’s the third protest of its kind and he must have reached his final strike, because he’s still got one shoe in the dressing room by the time she starts to wave him back in.
“Aw c’mon.” He steps out anyway, straightening his lapel and rotating on his shiny new heels. “Pinstripes are cool.”
If she twists her nose up for much longer, there’s a chance it’ll become a permanent feature of her face. “Not with a paisley tie, they’re not."
She sits just beside Abby, the two of them lounging on the curved edge of a velvet couch at the center of the Hutzler’s men’s section. Where Rachel wears disgust, Abby wears a pleased little grin that settles right into its usual place along her lips. She slips her Tootsie Pop into the side of her cheek and crosses her arms. “I think he looks sharp,” she says, shooting him a wink.
“He looks like a linebacker,” Rachel sneers. “Look at the size of the shoulder pads.”
Matt tries not to slump in the shoulders, but he’s suddenly all too aware of his stance. “I’ll switch the tie,” he offers.
“You’ll switch all of it,” Rachel corrects. “This isn’t 1932 Chicago.”
“But—”
“Try again, Matthew.” There’s no give in her voice, and they’ve been friends long enough for Matt to know better than to try and take it. As he slinks back behind the curtain, Rachel calls over his shoulder. “And try one of my picks—clearly Abby’s careful selections aren’t getting us anywhere.”
“Hey,” says Abby. “He looks great. It’s not my fault Maryland High Society wouldn’t know fashion if it crawled straight into their fruity little cocktails.”
Matt’s not aiming for fashion—he’s aiming for camouflage. This outfit should help him blend in at the kind of function where everyone intends to stand out, which is exactly the sort of mind-twisting, layered espionage that is best left in Rachel’s calculating hands. Abby may know what he looks best in, but Rachel knows what he looks most natural in. This time around, it has to be Rachel.
He strips down to his undershirt, neatly hanging the discarded clothes and casting them aside. It takes too long to rifle through the collection of blazers, sweaters, scarves, and pocket squares that Abby chose for him, but eventually he sorts it down to the bare bones that Rachel laid out at the start of their trip.
It’s a pair of plain black slacks, which definitely beat the corduroy bell bottoms Abby had him try on earlier. She’s paired it with black shoes, black socks, and a black belt. So far, Matt’s in familiar territory. This outfit sticks pretty close to his usual Sunday best, straying only at the shirt. It’s black like the rest, but it’s printed with bright, bold flowers in pink, red, and blue. She’s brought it all together with a solid black bowtie and Matt can only manage one thought—Rachel is damn good at what she does.
Over the top of his curtain, he hears Rachel call out, “How’s it going, Joe?”
And from three dressing rooms down, Joe grumbles, “I never agreed to this.”
Each piece of Matt’s newest ensemble slides on easy, exactly the right size and cut. The pants are crisp and hemmed to just the right length. The shirt is softer than anything in his closet back home. He buttons, tucks, and tightens, rolling up the cuff of each sleeve.
“I see,” Rachel says, every bit as condescending as she’s known to be. “So you don’t think that adequate preparation is critical to success in your line of work?”
“Boy, you’ve got a real way with words, huh Ace?” Joe responds. “That’s not what I said, and you know it.”
If Matt had a nickel for every argument exchanged between the two of them, he might actually be able to buy the clothes he’s got on right now. At least he’s tucked away for this round, with an excuse to step back from his seemingly permanent position as a referee.
“Joe,” Abby whines, bringing a merciful end to the mounting tension. “I’m waiting with bated breath. My breath couldn’t be any more bated. If I bate my breath any longer, I’m gonna pass out right here on this horrifically uncomfy couch and then you’re going to have to carry me to the car.”
“Alright, alright.” Metal rings scrape against their rod as Joe slashes the curtain aside. Matt can’t see the outfit from his place behind a curtain of his own, but the sisters’ following silence speaks volumes. Joe’s dejection tells Matt all he needs to know. “Is this what you wanted?”
Rachel is the first to break the pause. “For you to look like a Kennedy brother?” she says. “No, not exactly.”
“Wait, wait, wait,” Abby says. “The Kennedy look could work—it just needs some tweaks. What if we mix the Kennedy brothers with those boys from The Outsiders?”
Joe groans. “What in the hell are you—?”
“Hush,” she says before he can finish. “Come with me.”
There ain’t many people in the world who can get away with hushing Joe Solomon and still have a functional jaw afterward, but curiously, Abby seems to make the list. In a matter of seconds, Matt hears the curtain close again, and Joe’s dressing room dissolves into an indistinguishable series of excited suggestions and disgruntled disagreement.
Matt wraps the loose tie around his neck and folds his collar into place. The untied ends stick out from each side and his fingers fumble around until he manages a dirty, crooked knot. He stares at it in the mirror, debating, before he ultimately decides that it will never meet the infamous Cameron Sister standards. “How do I do this bow tie?”
Abby, amidst her campaigning to see Joe in an oversize polo, can’t resist the urge to respond from three rooms away. “What—they don’t have bow ties in Spring Lake, Nebraska?”
“I dunno about Spring Lake,” he calls, matching her tease. He threads a finger through the center of his knot, then splits it into two once more. “But the humble people of Hay Springs don’t prefer ties of any kind—always getting stuck in all of our tractors.”
“Seriously?” says Abby.
He smiles. “Not even a little.”
“It’s just like tying a shoe,” she tries again.
“Thing is,” he says, “my shoes ain’t usually around my neck.”
There’s distraction in her voice as hangers click and clack against one another. She must be shuffling through all of Joe’s selections, mind fully occupied, but the multitasking capabilities of Abigail Cameron know no bounds. “Just fold the fat parts until they look like a bow,” she says. “Then cross the long end over the short end.”
He holds the two identical ends of the tie. “Long end?”
She sighs. “Make one of them longer.”
“Is that before or after I fold the fat parts?”
“You do it all at the same time.”
“See the problem with that is that I’ve only got two hands and both of them are”—his curtain rips open once more and he freezes in front of his own reflection—“occupied.”
The first thing a fella has to learn about Rachel Cameron is that she always gets what she wants. The second thing to learn is that she’s not likely to wait around for it. Matt’s seen this exact expression on Rachel’s face at least fifty times over the years—the determined glare of a woman who’s ambition so thoroughly outweighs her patience. 
So it’s no surprise when she says, “Give me your neck.”
But the third thing to learn about Rachel is that sometimes she needs someone to remind her how to slow down. “Well gee, Rachel,” he says, his easy grin growing. “Ain’t you gonna buy me dinner first?”
She does not relent entirely, but something about her softens at the sight of him. Without breaking eye contact, she takes a great big breath through her nose, then lets it fall out of her mouth in a long, slow huff. She’s already reaching for his collar when she asks, “Do you want your tie done up right or not?”
Matt doesn’t fight her. He couldn’t possibly. Sometimes it seems as though Rachel has more knowledge at twenty-six than Matt could amass in his entire lifetime. From her brilliant mind, to her impeccable gut, and straight through to her nimble fingers, which tie a bow tie as though it’s second nature. “My pops taught me how to tie a half Windsor.” He’s not sure why he tells her, except in some halfhearted attempt to prove that he is trying. That he is learning. That one day, he might stand a chance at catching up to her. “Then the Army taught me how to tie the full Windsor—but when it comes to the bow ties, I never seem to get it right.”
She doesn’t lend a word in response, focus impenetrable, but she hears him. She always does. As she loops one end over the other, each step begins to make sense in a way it never has before. Matt watches her with a careful purpose, knowing with the utmost certainty that next time, he’ll fix up his tie all on his own.
She pulls the final loop through and straightens the ends out. She takes everything so seriously, but the severity suits her. It weaves through the even tempo of her breath. It lingers in the lines along her jaw and shapes her lips into something strong and stubborn. Brown eyes turn to stone and Matt reckons there’s not a force on Earth that could stop her from doing what she wanted to do, whenever she wanted to do it.
Satisfied, she lands a hand at the center of the bow, right at his chest. Her severity crawls up her arm, into her palm, and straight into his pulse. “You clean up pretty good, Nebraska.”
He has to clear the spot in his throat where her touch blossoms. “You sound surprised.”
Her shrug is simple and small. “Only a little.”
And she’s got that rare little smile on her face, so he pulls out one to match. “I’m a good looking guy, Rachel Cameron—don’t you forget it.”
Not all silences are made equal. Some are the long, dull result of a misplaced bug. Others are the quick, fleeting panic of a missed phone call. Matt has spent hours, days, months of his life listening to silences both crucial and not, so he knows this one when it comes. He’s heard this particular silence in between dignitaries making decisions. He’s heard it at underground card games, just before someone folds. He’s heard it in all of those split-second stutters in critical conversations, between two people with too much to say. When it really comes down to it, Matt’s listened to enough important words in his lifetime to know when some of them go unsaid.
But Rachel doesn’t give him the chance to investigate, because Rachel is far too talented for that. “Yes, well,” she says, letting her hand fall. “Maybe if you didn’t spend quite so much time looking like you just got done slinging a bunch of hay around, it might not be so shocking to see you in a shirt and tie every now and again.”
He blinks. Raises his eyebrows. Despite every effort—and it is a mighty strong effort—he can’t pin back a devilish grin. “You’ve seen a lot of that, have you?” he challenges. “Hay slinging?”
It ain’t often Rachel’s left speechless, so it’s worth relishing when she is. Her eyes search his as she fights for some sort of rebuttal, but she comes up short. “I’d like to take this moment to remind you that I’m a lot smarter than you in a lot of different ways.”
He holds up his hands in a low, uncommitted surrender. “Don’t gotta tell me twice,” he says, now straining against an all-out laugh. “But this conversation has me thinking that I at least know more about hay.”
“Congratulations,” she says.
He beams. “I’ve gotta take ‘em where I can get ‘em.”
“Wipe that smile off your face, Matthew.” 
“Yes ma’am.”
He bites his grin into his teeth and throws his gaze toward the floor in an attempt to collect himself. He ain’t quick about it, but it’s made easier by Joe’s voice, suddenly soaring through the dressing rooms. “You’ll have to send me to the depths of hell before I try those pants on.”
Before she can say anything, Matt has already cast a warning look toward Rachel. “Easy.”
And while he does keep her from charging the dressing room in a full sprint, there’s not much he can do for the furious heat that rises straight into her face and roses up her cheeks. “He’s been a pain since he got here,” she snaps, tone hushed. “Barking at our staff, condescending to our driver, and now yelling at Abby—his mother would be ashamed if she heard the way he speaks to people.”
Matt tucks his tongue into his cheek. “I promise she wouldn’t.”
Rachel looks up at him. “Wouldn’t yours?”
The expectation in her eyes steals his next few breaths from his lungs. For years, Rachel has known more, seen more, and understood more about this business than he could ever hope to. She has answers to every question and she is always the first to find new information. She’s an expert, which might be why it feels so strange to stand on the other side of the conversation for once, holding on to a secret that she hasn’t already pieced together without him.
He’s not sure he cares for this newfound feeling between the two of them, so he fills her in and sets the world on its axis once more. “Joe grew up in the foster system,” he tells her. “Bounced around Manhattan like a pinball.”
Evidently, it’s not a feeling that Rachel is used to either. “I didn’t know that.” While most people might have the good sense to sound apologetic, Rachel doesn’t quite make it there. In fact, she sounds more impressed than anything else. There’s not much in this world that squeezes past her, but Joe is the exception. He always is.
Matt just nods. “I know you didn’t.”
When he says it, her expression softens again, just as it did before. He watches a single thought inch its way through her features and she opens her mouth to say something, but they are interrupted by the sight of Joe, stomping out from behind his curtain.
Matt can’t believe his eyes. “Oh c’mon,” he says, throwing a hand out toward Joe. “How come he gets pinstripes?”
Abby has dressed Joe up in a more formal shirt than Matt’s ever seen him wear, with stripes that race straight down his front. The fabric flows at every seam and she hasn’t even looped the top two buttons into place. It’s all tucked neatly into pants that roll up at the ankles, and he’s sporting some sockless loafers. “I look like a sailor.”
Abby pops out right behind him, a pleased look on her face. There’s a dance to her step as she comes up behind Joe and crowns him with a finishing touch—a pair of sunglasses tucked atop his head. “You look great!” she squeals.
She must not see the grinding pulse of his jaw, so Matt intervenes before smoke starts curling out of Joe’s ears. “Does it help to know you look like a very cool sailor?”
“Cool and sailor are not two words that can coexist in a sentence,” says Joe.
“I’m serious,” says Matt. “You’d have the biggest boat in the marina—that’s how cool you look.”
“I don’t want to be any kind of sailor,” Joe says, throwing his hands in the air. “I want a leather jacket, and a cigarette, and—”
“Rachel!”
It’s clear that Joe has plenty more moping he’d like to do, but he doesn’t get the chance. An unfamiliar voice joins their informal group, calling to the girls from the other side of a half dozen racks. On instinct, Matt drops the tease in his tone and scans the area. Only when his guard is down does he realize it should have been up this whole time. They’re here on business. They’re here because of the Circle.
He’s tired. He’s getting sloppy.
When a young man, not much older than him, weaves his way through the men’s section, Matt kicks himself for not having seen him sooner. He blends in perfectly with the rest of the crowd, dressed in a neat, navy button down without a hair out of place. He waves them down, flashing a chunky, silver watch and when he approaches, he brings the entire cologne section with him.
Matt looks to Joe, and Joe is already looking right back.
“Michael.” Rachel is hardly ever surprised, so it's easy to notice when she is. She doesn't have enough practice covering it up. “What are you—?”
Michael cuts her off with a hug that’s big enough to wrap around her two times over. She’s stiff at first touch, but loosens into a hug of her own, more delicate than any movement Matt's ever seen from her. “I knew you had to be in town for the picnic,” he says. “But none of my calls have been getting through.”
With Rachel compromised, Matt looks to Abby for something to go off of—a hint, a history, or some sort of extraction signal. When her eyes finally meet Matt’s, she holds up her hands in the shape of a heart, then splits it into two.
Matt's pretty good at reading signals, but this one leaves him with more questions than answers. Boyfriend? Ex-boyfriend? Failed heart surgery?
“Oh,” says Rachel. “I’m sure the line has just been busy. Daddy’s all over the place right now. You know how it is.”
Michael pulls away, but he doesn’t let her go. Not entirely. His hands stay latched to her arms, holding her in place as he takes her in. Rachel takes it with grace as his gaze travels up and down her body, as though seeing her for the very first time, but she’s rigid. She’s stiff. She’s an agent, caught someplace she doesn’t want to be and searching for a way out.
Matt’s just about to give her an out, but Abby beats him to the punch. “Michael,” she chirps, words crawling with a disingenuous delight. She reaches out her own arms, and forces a hug of her own. “Long time, no see—what a surprise to find you here.”
Abby’s grip is more purposeful than Rachel’s, giving Rachel just enough time to slip away. Maybe it’s on purpose, or maybe it’s entirely on accident, but it doesn’t escape Matt’s notice that Rachel falls right between Matt and Joe. She takes a moment to straighten out her shoulders, but she spares no other movement. She is composed. She is confident. As far as the rest of the world is concerned, Rachel Cameron is exactly where she intends to be.
Over Michael’s shoulder, Abby rolls her eyes at the rest of the group, then pulls away. He lets Abby go quicker than Rachel. “Yes, well,” he says, sticking his hands in his pockets. “I was just looking for an outfit to wear to the picnic—I swear it’s the event of the season, everyone’s so excited to be back.”
Michael’s already wearing an outfit that’s plenty suitable for a party and he’s probably got twenty more just like it at home, but Matt doesn’t say so.
“We’re excited to have you,” says Abby. “We’re going to have those shrimp puffs you like.”
“Something to look forward to,” says Michael, but it’s not long before his eyes are drawn to Rachel once more. “Maybe we’ll resurrect our annual trip out to the boathouse, and stuff our cheeks with them until we’re sick.”
Rachel’s smile is demure and dainty, as Michael steps closer and closer. “Wouldn’t that be something?” she says.
“It’s good to see you, Rachel.” He sounds wholly sincere, right up until he catches sight of Matt and Joe, as though it’s the first time he’s noticed their presence. “Gentlemen, I’m sorry,” he says. “I don’t think we’ve been introduced.”
It’s all the invitation Matt needs. “Matthew Morgan,” he says, stepping forward and extending a hand. “We’re—”
“Friends,” says Rachel, too quickly. “They’re friends from school. Matt and Joe.”
Matt shakes Michael’s hand, and Joe reaches out to do the same. “Ah,” says Michael. “Georgetown men. You know, I tried my damndest to get Rachel to come up to Harvard with me, but she had her sights set on DC.”
“DC’s pretty hard to resist,” says Matt.
Michael’s eyes keep giving him away, because now he sizes up Matt with a single glance. “I guess so,” he says, and his tone gives him away, too. Without much more trouble, he looks back toward Rachel with a smile that belongs in a magazine. “Listen, my mom will lose her head if I’m not back in time for dinner—I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“I’ll save you a dance,” Rachel tells him.
And that’s the only answer Michael needs. He turns away with a slickness to his step, then makes his way back to the main floor. “Abby,” he says as he goes.
“Mike,” is Abby’s only reply.
Matt’s not sure when, exactly, he and Joe ended up in front of Rachel, rather than beside her. It’s one of those instincts that only comes with years of closely-guarded secrets and long nights in the field together. When Matt turns around to look at Rachel, she’s still not herself, standing straight with tight shoulders, looking smaller than she ever has before. “Are you—?”
“You forgot the jacket.”
It’s a quick enough shift in the conversation that Matt can’t help but think he’s missed something. Skipped over a handful of seconds in time. “I did what, now?”
“The jacket.” She heads back toward Matt’s dressing room and flits behind the curtain. A stranger might think she was back to her usual, commanding nature, but Matt knows better. He knows her. This is a retreat, through and through. “I set out a jacket to complete the look—the outfit is ridiculous without it.”
How Rachel could be thinking about his outfit right now is beyond him. Matt hardly remembers putting these clothes on at all, his mind reeling with questions about Michael and his shrimp puffs. He looks back toward Abby, requesting some sort of backup, but she only shakes her head. As she takes a cross-legged seat back on the velvet couch, the message is crystal clear: drop it.
So what else can Matt do? He drops it.
When Rachel pops back out of the dressing room, she’s holding a solid black blazer, accented at the seams with matching silk. She doesn’t waste a breath before she holds it out to him, and he doesn’t waste what little patience she has left by resisting. He threads each arm through the sleeves and lets her do all of the straightening, swiping, and adjusting she needs.
When she's done, Rachel grabs him by the shoulders and turns him around to face the couch, dressed from head to toe in her finest selection. “Oh!” says Abby. “Wait, I love this.”
Rachel makes her way to Abby’s side. “See?” she says. “Way better. I just wish…”
They both cock their heads to the side, and Matt’s never seen a more terrifying sight. “Huh,” Abby huffs.
Rachel nods. “Yeah.”
“It’s just not—”
“Nope.”
“But he’s not gonna—”
“He might.”
Abby cuts her a downright daring look. “Wanna put money on it?”
And Rachel seems to know something she doesn’t. “It’s worth a shot.”
It’s a sisterly benefit, to have entire conversations without the need for complete sentences or thoughts. Matt’s no stranger to the unique Cameron language and while he would usually let the conversation fall to the wayside, he can’t shake the feeling that this time, they’re talking about him. “What?” he says. “What am I missing?”
Over their shoulders, there’s a streak of revenge in Joe’s smile, which ain’t really fair, considering Matt’s not the one who put him in a sailor suit. Regardless, Joe has somehow cracked the sisters' code, on the inside of their unbreakable back-and-forth, and he's entirely too happy about what he's hearing. “I hope you aren’t too attached to your hair," he says. "Because Abby's about to lose a bet."
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Feathered Friends
The forest wasn’t far from town.  A mere thirty minutes trip, as the crow flies.  And the crow most certainly flew, for she knew that traversing the area on foot in her human form would be far from the wisest decision.  Nabe was well aware of the dangers of encroaching on fairy territory, after all.
A small clearing in the woods - just enough for a small patch of light to trickle in from above.  Nabe dove in from above, weaving between the trees toward her destination.
A cottage, nestled between the roots of a particularly large oak tree.  Wrapped around it and the tree as a whole was a garden - in the springtime it would bloom into a stunning array of colors, but at this time of year the green was starting to fade.
The crow landed.  First on the roof, then down to the ground.  A light tap tap of her beak on the door.  When there was no immediate response, she hopped over to one of the windows, tilting her head to peer inside.  “Helloooo?” she cawed out.
A short pause before the owner of the home appeared, poking his head - fluffy pink and yellow contrasting his large dark eyes - around the corner.  “Oh, hello, little crow,” he said warmly.  He walked over to the window, opening it so she could pass through.
‘Little crow’ was an odd nickname when the two stood next to each other.  He stood, after all, at a mere 3 feet tall, and thus Nabe, even as a bird, was well over half his size.  Even so, the fairy affectionately patted the crow’s head, pleased to see his friend again.
“How are you?”
“Good!”  She tilted her head, letting the moth pet her, clearly comfortable enough around him to trust his touch.  “Have.  Presents.”
“Oh?”  He took a few steps back, allowing her space to shift into her human form.  A transformation he was used to seeing - and they both understood how much space it would take up in his home - built, after all, for fairies rather than anything remotely human-sized.
Fortunately for them, Nabe was able to transform into a sitting position.  “Yeah!  Nabe’s always bringing a presents for Mian!” she replied cheerily, reaching into the messenger bag that had appeared on her form.
A handful of black crow’s feathers, a couple of small tubes of paint, and a pair of cut gemstones - all these gifts were carefully laid out in front of Mian.
“Thank you!”  He carefully picked up each gift, inspecting them closely.  “Ah, these feathers will be perfect for my current project,” he said, eyes lighting up.  “And these paints!  How did you know I was running out of metallics?  And these gemstones!  Did you cut these yourself, Nabe?”
“Oh no, no.  Nabe only bought them, sorry.  She’s been busy with work.”  Nabe bowed her head, as if to apologize.  “But she did have some time to work on her sketchbook!”
“Of course, of course!”  Mian nodded enthusiastically.  “I can get my sketches, too.  Just let me put these on my workbench, first.”  He rushed off through the door, quickly setting the gifts down before retrieving the hand-bound tome he used for his sketches.
He used four arms to carry the book back into the main room, setting it down in front of Nabe and quickly flipping it open to some of his more recent drawings.  Nabe, naturally, took this as her cue to lay out her sketchbook as well - spiral bound and slightly bent after sitting at the bottom of her bag.
“Nabe got a bunch of leaves and sticks together to draw!” she said, pointing to the still life on the page - a slightly smudged pastel drawing of some brightly colored fall leaves.  “Nabe forgot to seal it properly though,” she admitted with a frown.
“I think it looks good like this.”
“Yeah, but Nabe likes her pictures to be perfect!”
“A sketchbook doesn’t have to be perfect.”
“Nabe knows.”  She flipped to the next page, showing some drawings far more typical of her - sketches of herbs and other plants, the type commonly found in field guides.  A couple of them showed the slightest hint of color, light layers of colored pencils to make them pop.
“I do admire your ability to make such clean lines, though,” Mian said, hand lightly brushing next to one of the leaves on the page.
“Nabe’s pretty sure you say that every time.”
“I know.”  Mian moved to show off his sketches now.  These drawings were loose, sketchy, depicting some kind of beast.  “Anyway, I’m starting concept sketches for a new project.  I’m thinking of making a new wolf mask - I’m worried the runes in mine are starting to wear and I don’t want to risk ruining the finish.”
“Oooh!” Nabe leaned over, examining the drawings closer.  “It looks very fierce!”  She turned the page - revealing some cleaner sketches of wolf heads and other more stylized masks.  “Mian hasn’t decided on the design yet?”
“Not yet.  I’m worried that if I go realistic I won’t be able to gather suitable materials, though, but stylizing designs can be hard to properly pin down.  It took many seasons before I settled on my current one.”  Two hands moved, taking the aforementioned mask off of his belt, setting it next to the book for comparison.  “I have considered making it identical, but I don’t have any more of this particular shade of red.”
Nabe tilted her head.  “Do you remember where you got it?”
“Not in this world, I remember that much.”  He traced a finger along the browline of the mask.  “The beast required very special materials.  It might look simple, but it took even longer to craft than my human face.”
Nabe wrinkled her nose.  “Nabe can’t find it in a store, then?  What about on Hydaelyn?  Was it there?”
“No, no, not that world, either.”  Mian’s antennae twitched slightly.  “But don’t worry about it!  I’m sure I’ll be able to figure it out.  You have other things to focus on!”
“Maaaaaybe.”  Nabe pouted, letting out a slightly-more-birdlike noise than she meant to.  “But you’re Nabe’s friend, and Nabe wants to help.”
A quiet, chittering sound from the fairy - a laugh.  “Nabe, you already bring me so many supplies.  Please, I’ll let you know if there’s something you can help with.”
“Promise?”
“Of course.”
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imwiththefae · 3 years
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Perfect
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Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader
Summary: Bucky wants a little something to get him through a long mission.
Warnings: Nudity/photographed nudity, implications of smut and a sex tape/video (18+ older, please!), one bad language word, fluff
Word Count: Roughly 1680
A/N: This piece has got to be one of my favorites that I’ve ever done. Sweet and spicy at the same time! A big big thank you to Rose, @gogolucky13, for letting me bounce this idea off her and brainstorming with me! I really don’t think this piece would’ve reached its full potential without her help. She’s an amazing human and a fantastic writer, so go and check her out! Please forgive/ignore any mistakes you may find. Happy reading!
______________________
“Babydoll?”
You offer a small hum in reply, your attention still stuck to the weathered paperback book in your hands. To your right, Bucky snaps his own book closed and sets it on his bedside table.
“You know how I have this two week mission coming up?” You look at him now, a mixture of anxiety and sadness settling within you, where they would inevitably make their home over the weeks to come. You force a wary smile. Despite your own feelings, you want Bucky to know that you’ll support him endlessly. This time is no different.
“Yeah, what about it?” Turning back to his bedside table, Bucky reaches for his phone before facing you again. You watch him fiddle with the device, noticing how he doesn’t meet your eyes when he speaks.
“I was...thinking,” he begins, and a entirely new wave of worry overtakes you. Thinking what? Surely he couldn’t be ending things with you over a lengthy mission. The two of you have been together for three years, for God’s sake. Does he want to opt out of the operation? You don’t know the details, but do the risks outweigh benefits this time around? The thought sends you into another round of panic, and even though you’re good at hiding it, Bucky is quick to notice the shift in your mood.
“I was just thinking that I want some...pictures of us. Of you...just to have while I’m away.” A pink flush colors his cheeks. You quirk a confused eyebrow at him.
“We have lots of pictures together, Buck,” you say, and as if on cue, his phone lights up, revealing a selfie the two of you had taken on your date to Central Park. You’re laughing, a smudge of chocolate ice cream smeared on your cheek. Bucky is laughing, too, his own cup of mint chocolate chip clutched in his free hand. Even in a photo, the immense amount of love he holds for you is evident in the way he’s looking at you.
“I know,” Bucky cracks a coy smile, but it fades when he continues to speak. “I meant the kinds of pictures of you...that I can’t show anyone else.” Now, he’s pulling at a loose thread on the comforter. Still not quite following him, you cock your head to the side. He huffs. “Pictures of you...naked,” he all but mumbles. Now it registers.
“James Buchanan Barnes,” you muse, a mischievous smirk playing at your lips. “Do you want to take my nudes?” The flush on his cheeks deepens and he finally chances a glance at you. Your reaction noticeably eases his nerves a little.
“If that’s what they’re called these days, then yes.” He reaches a hand to scratch at the back if his neck. “If it’s okay with you, of course.” Your heart flutters. Always the gentleman. Closing your book and depositing it on your own bedside table, you waste no time in stripping yourself of your (his) t-shirt. Bucky watches with wide eyes, ogling at you as if it’s the first time he’s ever seen you bare.
“What’d you have in mind?” you ask eagerly. He chuckles, opening his phone and selecting the camera. Before you can even register it, he’s snapping a photo of you cross-legged and bare-chested on the bed. “Hey! I wasn’t even ready!”
“Don’t worry, babydoll,” he smirks. “Just a quick test. You look beautiful, anyways.” You can tell by the way his smirk widens at his phone screen that he’s admiring his work.
“You should probably make a separate album for these, just to be safe. I don’t need Sam or Steve seeing my boobs.” You cringe at the thought. “Do you need me to show you how?” Bucky chuckles again, turning his phone to you. On the screen, the candid photo of you is displayed in an album labeled “My Best Girl”. Butterflies fill your stomach, and it’s your turn to blush a deep pinky-red. If you weren’t so flattered and in love with this teddy bear of a man, you’d be worrying about who taught him how to create a new photo album...and if they knew what it was for.
“Alright, come over here,” Bucky instructs, rising from the bed and padding over to the full-length mirror in the corner of your shared bedroom. You follow him eagerly, shimming out of your panties once you’re standing beside him. Again, he watches you, his smirk wide and his eyes hooded with desire. Still, though, the rosey blush hasn’t left his cheeks. You can tell that he’s nervous from they way he watches you, gauging your every move and reaction. This is new territory for him, and while you’re the only one he’d ever want to explore it with, he’d be damned if he upset you in any way.
“Gotta be nude for the nudes,” you giggle, taking in your naked reflection and Bucky’s half naked one beside you. His grey sweatpants are low on his hips, but his upper half is bare and muscular and absolutely perfect. Something about being completely exposed and vulnerable while he’s still somewhat clothed sends a chill up your spine and an aching desire straight to your core.
“Okay, will you hold this? And please, let me know if you want to stop at all.” You nod. Bucky hands you his phone and moves to stand behind you. He hesitates for a moment, and then his right arm comes around your body and across your breasts, positioning himself in such a way that only your nipples are covered. His vibranium arm snakes it way down your left side, cool fingers ticking soft skin, his hand coming to rest against the most intimate part of your body, shielding you from the camera lens. If you were turned on before, it doesn’t compare to the feeling that floods your body now. His large frame wrapped around you, his hands, both calloused and smooth, concealing the parts of you that are only his to see and touch...it’s enough to make you feral. You rest your left hand on his metallic forearm, leaning back into his warm chest. Bucky nuzzles his nose into your neck, his lips finding the spot where your neck and your shoulder meet. Raising his phone to the mirror, you snap the picture.
“Perfect,” Bucky whispers against your skin, and it’s obviously that he isn’t referring to the picture, though you’re positive that came out just as well. Gently, he guides your body to turn around in his arms, taking the phone from your hand. Now chest to chest, he drapes your arm over his shoulder. You follow suit with your other arm, reaching up on your toes and wrapping them around the back of his neck. Something between a squeal and a giggle escapes you when his vibranium hand grips your ass cheek, giving it a playful squeeze. Bucky laughs. “Stay still, sweetheart.” The camera clicks again.
“You’ve really thought this through, huh?” you quip, pulling back to look at him. Your arms still rest around his neck, your fingers tangling in his long brown locks. “You should be a photographer after you’re done avenging.”
“Only if you get to be my model.” He steals a soft kiss.
You continue to allow him to do what he wants, molding your body into whatever position he likes. Slowly, he sheds his nervousness and lets his guard down. Sweet nothings are whispered and giggles are shared. The level of trust and comfort the two of you have been able to find in each other never ceases to amaze you, or him, for that matter. Never did Bucky think that he’d ever get to a place like this. But now that he’s here, now that he’s with you, nothing else seems to matter.
Now he’s leading you back to the bed and laying you back among the messy sheets. He settles between your legs, his phone camera at the ready as you tuck your hands behind your head. “Wait,” he says, seemingly more to himself than to you. Your brows knit together in wonder as he reaches over and pulls open one of the drawers in his bedside table. A soft metallic jingle has you pushing yourself up on to your elbows. Your eyes go wide once you see what Bucky pulls from the drawer.
“Will you put these on?” He looks at you innocently, expectantly. You hesitate, eyes wide as your gaze flicks between Bucky and his dog tags that dangle from his hand.
“Buck...are you sure?”
“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life, sweetheart,” he smiles, the meaning of his words reaching far beyond the idea of someone else wearing his dog tags. He drapes the cold chain over your head and gingerly pulls your hair from underneath it. The two silver tags that bare his name come to rest perfectly in the valley of your breasts. “Perfect.”
Smiling, you lay back again as a warmth blooms in your chest. You’re fully convinced your heart will burst one day because you can’t contain how much you love your super soldier. Until then, you’ll spend every moment showing him just how much he means to you. Resting your head on your hands, you give him your best flirty smile. Bucky snaps a few pictures this time. Sitting back on his haunches, he scrolls through the latest pictures, pinching his bottom lip between his teeth.
“These are too good not to set as my screensaver, babydoll,” he almost whines. You giggle, poking your toe playfully into his abdomen.
“Fine,” you relent. “But only as your home screen. Keep your lock screen PG.”
“Deal.” You watch him as he fiddles with his phone, noticing his growing arousal that his sweatpants do nothing to hide. An idea pops into your head.
“So...you’ve got my nudes now,” you purr, sitting up and grabbing the drawstring of his sweatpants. “How about a video to match?” Bucky’s eyes go wide, his pupils blowing, the task of switching his screensaver forgotten now.
“Are you sure?” His previous nerves make a small reappearance.
“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life, Buck.”
That’s all the confirmation he needs.
————————-
Read part 2 here!
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folkloreguk · 3 years
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🍒Cherry Ice Cream (2)🍒
A/N: Part two is here! There won't be another one after this. I just wanted to split it into two little scenarios with one being cute and the other not so cute lmao...I hope you enjoy - as always I appreciate feedback a lot!
taglist: @lovely-ateez
genre: smut, optional bias (m) x reader (f), lifeguard!au, pool sex, unprotected sex
words: 3.4 k
PART 1 (fluff, both parts can be read independently)
It was the middle of the summer holidays and you had never been happier. Sunny weather, swimming, lots of free time and as much ice cream as you wanted were only a few of the reasons for your luck. The main cause was the boy of your dreams. A few weeks ago, you had met. It had been the most chaotic, embarrassing day at the public swimming pool – or so you had initially thought. Turns out being a walking disaster could not only attract negative attention. When the otherworldly handsome and kind lifeguard had pulled your clumsy figure out of the water and even bought you ice cream to make you feel better, you had a feeling things were about to change. And you hadn’t been wrong. Maybe you were seeing things through rose-colored glasses and a mix of lovestruck hormones, but you suspected he might just really be this great.
Ever since your first ice cream date, the two of you had been inseparable. Looks were one thing – and you had made yourself aware that though he was a picture of perfection, he could still have turned out to not be your type at all. But the inside reflected on his outside. Every day you found out a new enrapturing detail about him. He was a never-ending book that you were utterly unwilling to put back down.
Your days were spent at the public swimming pool, watching your lifeguard boyfriend do his job and questioning if this was all some sort of hidden camera prank. During his break he came running straight to your spot under the trees and plopped down on your towel, ready to spend the most time with you until he had to go back. Although your streak of bad luck was over, he still took care of you and made sure you were okay in the heat. He reminded you to drink enough water and sent you a good morning text every day. When he had first asked you to help him put sunscreen on his shoulders, you had hesitated with cheeks hotter than the sunlight that day. Now it was a daily thing, and sometimes when his hands were on your back, rubbing in the lotion, you caught yourself wishing there weren’t a hundred families around you. But it was hard scoring alone time with him at the pool. Even later at night, right before closing time, there were always one or two diehard swimming fans there.
“I love watching my cute girlfriend swim,” he would keep telling you.
“You better make sure you’re paying attention to the rest of the visitors, too,” you would reply, but secretly love his flirty remarks. Perhaps he wasn’t even so far off. After your first encounter, it was apparent that maybe you were the one guest who didneed the closest monitoring. Even his co-workers knew of you. They had made it their life mission to remind him daily how whipped he was for you, but he never cared about their teasing.
At night, you rode your bikes home. Towards the candy cotton clouds on the horizon, through the small suburb, you rode side by side, still damp hair flowing in the wind. Outside your home he cupped your face then, the sun kissed skin of his hands still warm to the touch. Like he was the slowly setting sun himself, he kissed you goodnight. You were addicted to his lips. He made you fly, brought back all your fondest memories as if he himself was in them, and let you forget every worry you’ve ever had in the world.
One evening at the pool, you lay on your bathmat, headphones in your ears and your favorite summer playlist taking you to another world. Suddenly, two hands grabbed you by the shoulders. You jerked up in surprise.
“Oh my god, we could have hit our heads together!” you scolded your boyfriend, who was smiling at you like an innocent five-year old.
“Guess what. My boss just told me that I can close the place up tonight. You know what that means, right?” he said.
“Tell me more,” you smirked.
“Technically, we can stay here however long we want. And do whatever we want. As long as no one finds out,” he whispered the last part into your ear. Chills ran up your spine despite the heat in the air.
“Do whatever we want, huh?” you said. “I thought you were being a model employee?”
“I am,” he shrugged with his child-like smile. “And the model employee needs to go back to work now. I have a reputation to uphold. You’ll be waiting for me, right?”
“Of course,” you nodded, watching his figure as he jogged back to his seat by the pool. The next hours seemed to go by extra-slowly, to your dismay. After his announcement, you only found yourself staring in his direction more than on any other day. Truly, you could never get used to his handsomeness. You thought of his voice that made you melt like ice and his hands when he kissed you. Too often they remained in innocent, safe territory. Maybe that was about to change. It was a Friday, meaning the opening hours were longer than usual. By 10 pm however, even the last person had left. The public swimming pool was closed. Officially.
You had to admit, you could get used to having an enormous swimming pool all to yourself. Blissfully, you dived through the water, not having to worry about crashing into anybody’s legs or losing track of your surroundings. You had always felt as though swimming was a little like flying. Not that you knew what flying would be like. But if you had to make a guess, feeling weightless and small in a seemingly endless space probably came close. All your life, it had remained the same. Playing pretend in the water, acting like a mermaid scavenging for the most precious treasure of the seven seas – all your loveliest ideas lingered in your memory like it had been yesterday.
The pool had a shallow end, about the depth which allowed your head to reach above the surface, and progressively deepened towards the other end. You took a gulp of air and descended into the darkness. Taking long strokes, you dived towards the white light at the wall of the shallower pool end. With the brightness ahead of you, you failed to notice the shadow behind you.
As you were in the process of coming up from the water, a pair of arms suddenly wrapped around you. For the second time that day, you jolted in surprise and quickly gasped for air.
“You scared me out of my wits! Will you stop that!” you said, but you were already smiling. It was hard to carry grudges against the boy behind you. Not when he held your waist and rested his chin on your bare shoulder, grinning as if it was a crime to even suspect him of such things.
“Hi, there,” he said and pecked your cheek sweetly. “I missed you.”
“So did I,” you admitted. Only months ago, you had made fun of how lovestruck your friend had been. You weren’t one to speak now. His hands let go of you while you turned your body to face him. Then they were on you again, and although it was a small touch, your lack of clothes created a tension between you right away.
“Wanna race me?” he whispered into your ear, as if there was anyone around to listen in. Was he serious? Did he really think you wanted him to let go of you now? His voice on your neck rendered you wanting him so bad, you had to take a deep breath to compose yourself.
“I’ve been swimming all day,” you said. “Besides, didn’t you say we could do whatever we wanted? We can swim whenever we want, during opening hours.”
“Oh, sounds like you have better plans?” he asked. For a moment, he touched your forehead with his. If you bent forward slightly, you could have kissed him. His hungry eyes were on your lips when you had finished the thought.
“I was thinking you could kiss me, for starters?” you coaxed him. He chuckled.
“So you’ve been thinking about it too, the past few hours,” he realized. “You know, I was trying to be subtle about it.”
“Forget about being subtle,” you said. “Let’s just make out, please?”
“I’d like nothing better than that,” he smiled, and then your mouths touched. His gentle lips tasted faintly of chlorine and salt, a taste you had come to associate with him and magnificent things. You held his face in your hands tightly and pushed your body against him yearningly. Reacting, he sighed and deepened the kiss. His wandering hands found the small of your backside as you arched your back into his frame. You hummed quietly, hands burying in his wet hair and playing with it at the nape of his neck.
All your childhood you had been searching for your treasure under the water. Now you understood. He was right there in front of you. Little you would be proud you had found someone this precious and incomparable. And hot.
“Jump,” he said. You did as he suggested and wrapped your legs around his waist. The proximity of his body made your heart hammer against your ribcage with such feverishness, you worried it might jump through your chest. With the way he touched every curve of your body, you almost forgot how to kiss. Luckily, your instincts did the job for you as you sipped on his lips and sighed every so often. He caught your bottom lip between his teeth, and you felt his smirk when you moaned in surprise. Every inch of your skin burned with desire for him.
As he carried you over to the side of the pool, you pulled away shortly. You took the liberty to attack his neck with frenzied kisses. It felt just as you had imagined a thousand times. You couldn’t possibly recount all the instances when you had found yourself staring at his neck and shoulders in the past weeks. He was easily the biggest distraction you had ever known. But it wasn’t your fault his tanned skin was so inviting and his strong presence ever so alluring. Returning his teasing, you bit into his shoulder, kissing and sucking on it right after.
“Fuck, baby,” he said in a throaty tone. “You’re amazing.”
Softly, he rubbed his nose against yours before your lips locked again. The kiss was all but soft. Your tongues meddled as if you were starved people and you could barely keep your hands in one place. Not that you would want to. You wanted to glue his hands onto your body or better yet handcuff him to your wrists. What was the opposite of a restraining order called? You were about to invent a word for it. Never before had you been so intoxicated, so in ecstasy with another person.
He pulled aside the fabric of your top momentarily and cupped your breasts in his hands. You gasped and melted into his touch and the way he played with your nipples. He attacked your neck in kisses and you shut your eyes, enjoying the sensation of his lips.
“I really want you.” He had his hands on your ass and all you could think about was the growing bulge in his swimming shorts. Your hard nipples rubbed against his chest, the thin fabric of your swim top doing little to nothing to separate your bodies. How could somebody’s whole existence be so titillating? He pulled away, just far enough to speak but barely. “I’ve wanted you like this for a while. But I didn’t want to unsettle you by making you think I just want sex from you. Truth is, I don’t want you to be just some summer romance, Y/N. Every day I hope you’ll still be here when summer is over.”
“Why would you think I’m going anywhere?” you asked. “You’re the reason I’m the happiest I’ve ever been. I ask myself every day how I managed to end up with you in the first place.”
“That’s easy. First, threaten to demolish the turnstile with your stubbornness, second, offer your head to a bunch of kids with a water ball, third, square up against a bug in front of a hundred people, fourth- “
“Okay! Enough,” you said. “Don’t bring up my clumsiness. That’s just about the least sexy thing in the world.”
“Baby, I think there’s nothing not sexy about you,” he spoke. He kissed you deeply and all your embarrassing memories vanished at once. “So, you’re cool with this?”
His sudden change in tone caused your breath to hitch in your throat, as his hands lingered by your hips, just above your bikini bottom. You only nodded, the motion getting more eager as the words sunk in. He slid his fingers along the inside of your thigh, and you squirmed under his touch in desperation. Swiftly, he pushed aside the material above your center. His digits slid through your wetness, catching the nub between them, and rubbing ever so slowly. An overwhelmed gasp spilled over your lips, and you closed your eyelids.
“Fuck- ,“ you muttered under your breath. He teased your core, nearly sliding his finger into you, but then pulling away to find your nub to toy with.
“You look so beautiful,” he said. At his words, you looked at him through fluttering eyelids. He was one to talk about beauty. The luminescence from underwater sharpened his features, and his eyes had something magical, something enchanting about them. Like he could have you – or anyone – without saying a word. He reminded you of a merman, or rather a siren. Ready to drag you along with him, deep under the surface. And you were so willing to let it happen. For all you knew, you were long lost and under his spell anyway.
“Have you ever done it in public?” he asked. You were too distracted by his fingers on you at first, head hanging back in ecstasy, until you snapped out of it.
“No, but – fuck – I guess I can strike that one off my sex bucket list after tonight, can’t I?” you said.
“You have a sex bucket list? Interesting, tell me more about it,” he smirked. His eyes darkened and his tongue licked over his lips once. As if on command, his lazy ministrations on you quickened, rubbing your clit in small, circular motions until you were a moaning, stammering mess. You suspected he did so just to see your immediate reaction, and you gave him just what he wanted.
“Can we postpone the – the talking…on later?” you murmured, feeling like collapsing against his broad shoulders. “I’m kind of too busy to – to talk.”
“I can see that,” he teased you, kissing you gently. The delicacy of his lips only made your head spin more. “You’re so sweet, baby.”
“Don’t you want to get busy too?” you asked. You reached for his swimming trunks and wrapped your hand around his hard member through the material. “I don’t want to wait any longer.”
“Shit- me too.” His arousal echoed in his moans, and he sucked in a breath. There was a sense of power in knowing you could make him react so gravely by doing so little. You tugged on his trunks and pulled them down a little to reveal his full length. Palming him, you felt how painfully hard he must have been for a while now. He groaned and it was the best thing you had ever heard. Eagerly, you slid your bikini bottom off and watched for a moment as it sunk down into the depths of the pool. Your legs wrapped around his waist again as he aligned his cock with your core.
At this point you supposed you were both out of words. Hunger had taken over and you barely managed to form a sentence. He kissed you and you hummed and nodded, wanting him to know you were ready. Easily, he entered you and you whimpered at the way he stretched your velvet walls after all the wait. Your senses were overcome with everything around you. The warm water enveloping the both of you, the soft summer breeze caressing your faces, his hands on your hips as he guided your body into his thrusts and the sound of your breathless moans and sighs – it was pure bliss. Night had almost fallen, with the sky being a deep blue, almost black by now. It was a perfect setting for a perfect night with your favorite person.
You gazed into his dilated pupils and the coil in your stomach tightened in the most delicious way possible. Now you recounted a myriad of dreams you’d seen him in. Not always, but occasionally he showed up in your dirtiest of dreams, with his gorgeous, addictive smile and strong arms. But now he was right there, in front of you – inside of you – and you apprehended how weak your boldest imaginations had been. Your nails dug into the skin of his shoulders as you clenched around his cock. He moaned your name huskily and it only clouded your head further.
It was crazy how loving a person could magnify everything. Even with closed eyes, the mere idea of him fucking you, at night in a public pool, could beat every single other experience you’d ever had. You felt like you were blessed with the audience with a god. A god, who had manifested on earth only to scoop you up and show you the finest things in life. You definitely couldn’t think of a finer thing than his cock dragging through your walls, hitting your g-spot repeatedly, while he had you cased against the pool tiles. Moans and little whimpers fell from your lips, and you were glad there wasn’t a single soul close by who could have heard.
He was jaw-dropping. With the way he pounded into you hard, using the poolside wall as support on your back, you felt your head spin as your eyes rolled to the back of your head. Your skin seemed to prickle wherever he touched you and you pushed your chest against his. Just a little closer, you told yourself, even though you were running out of space already. It was body against body while he whispered naughty things into your ears, telling you how incredible you felt, how lucky he had gotten with you and how sexy he found you.
“You’re the fucking best I’ve ever had, baby,” he said. His teeth grazed your neck as he kissed your sensitive skin messily. You could have counted every single drop of water hanging from the strands of his hair and adorning his face. Could have taken notice of every single eyelash and even the tiniest speckles of color in his irises. But you could barely command your eyes to stay open.
“So- close,” you said. In your ecstasy, you clawed at his back as another wave of pleasure went through your entire body.
“Together, hm?” he said, lips brushing over your cheek with every thrust. You hummed and nodded, as he picked up his thrusts to a toe-curling speed. With every touch of your sweet spot, you felt reality slip away a little further, and you were doing nothing to fight it. You invited the feeling in, resting your forehead against his, breaths coming out in short puffs. And then it overcame you. Your orgasm jolted through you like electricity, and you clung to him as if you might have sunken otherwise. It made your shared moans high pitched, and he followed you, pulling you into his arms like it was alone you who was keeping him afloat.
The splashing of the water softened as he drew out your highs for as long as possible with slower thrusts. Eventually, he halted completely. He cradled your face in his hands and when you finally opened your tired eyes, he was watching you with full adoration. His charming smile caused an eruption of butterflies in your stomach. This was only the beginning of your time together, yet you could barely fathom your fortune. And as it seemed, this time fate was on your side.
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caramelcal · 3 years
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stay the night [m.b]
DAY TWO OF MY 500 FOLLOWER CELEBRATION AHHH I HOPE YOU GUYS ARE EXCITED <3 TOADY IS ANOTHER CHARACTER I HAVEN’T WRITTEN FOR BEFORE, BUT I HOPE YOU GUYS ENJOY (DON’T WORRY IF YOU’RE WAITING FOR CHARACTERS I ALREADY WRITE FOR, THEY’LL BE COMING SOON ENOUGH)
also i know this is short, i’m just experimenting with marcus rn as i haven’t wrote for him before <3 
warnings: mentions of sex, drugs and alcohol
“Stay here tonight.” 
you can find the whole prompt list here. if you have any ideas for any of the prompts, don’t hesitate to message me or leave a request! i wanna hear from you guys!
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Pants fell from both of their lips as they lay side by side. Her eyes were glued to the ceiling, not even feeling his glance on her as she caught her breath. It was a common occurrence for this to happen: for them to have sex. Marcus didn’t like titles, some would even go as far as to say that he was scared of them, always preferring flings.
The girls he had been with in the past didn’t really seem to like that. They wanted security, to become official. They wanted the whole three yards, the cute dates, kissing in the hallways, note-passing in class but that wasn’t Marcus’ thing. Thankfully, it wasn’t y/n’s either.
She understood why Marcus didn’t do relationships anymore. He didn’t want to get attached to anyone, he didn’t want to open his heart just to lose someone again; the pain of losing his best friend becoming far too much. y/n understood, she had been close friends with him as well.
Marcus had never talked to her before their friend’s death, and they still barely talked now. It had been a mistake, in all fairness, a high and drunken mistake, but after they realized that they both weren’t looking for a relationship they had made a deal, kind of. It was weird, a peculiar relationship the two had, they were hardly even friends, but with each smaller detail that they learned about one another, they found themselves more and more intrigued.
Their relationship was cemented though. They were nothing more than two people who had sex with no feelings attached, who always left minutes after they had sex without a single string of conversation. Of course, they would say bye to one another, but apart from that, no words were shared amongst the two teenagers.
They were at Marcus’ this time, which meant that it was time for y/n to pack up her things, get her clothes on and escape through Marcus’ window without being caught. She could have gone through the front door if she really wanted to, Marcus had given her that option, but she didn’t want to even entertain that the majority of the time, scared of the questions she would be asked or the attention that would be drawn to her.
With a sigh, she sat up, not even sparing a glance towards the boy whose eyes were glued to her back. She swung her legs out of the bed, standing up with her back still faced towards the boy as she picked up her clothes, haphazardly putting her shirt back on that had been ripped off by Marcus earlier on that night.
However, this normal occurrence which almost came naturally to both teenagers was leaving Marcus empty. Something felt as if it was bubbling at the bottom of his stomach and he had to fight the twitching in his muscles that urged him to grab her and wrestle her back into bed so he could cuddle.
That was uncharted territory for Marcus; something that would have scared him merely weeks ago. Yet, now, he couldn’t find it in himself to care, the only thing he cared about was that he somehow managed to get the girl to stay.
“Well, I guess I’ll be on my way,” Y/n twirled around with a small smirk playing on her lips. The window was open now but just before she left, she mockingly put two fingers up to her temple, saluting the teenage boy before leaving.
She was halfway out the window when Marcus practically jumped out of bed, running over to the window and grabbing her wrist. He was shirtless still, but he didn’t care if somehow his neighbors saw him, he only cared about getting here to stay.
“Marcus, what are you doing?” The girl asked in a hushed whisper, in an awkward crouching position due to the slanted roof. Her head was craned awkwardly so she could look back at Marcus’ wide eyes with her eyebrows furrowed.
“Stay.”
“What?”
“Stay here tonight.”
Silence fell between the two as they stared into one another’s eyes, Marcus’ grip still not budging off of the girl’s wrist. She knew this was against the deal that they had set down, this was too intimate for their relationship but she couldn’t deny that she did want it.
A small smile crept onto her face while she began to nod her head, “Okay.”
Soon enough, a smile erupted onto Marcus’ face and y/n is pulled back into the room. His arms were circled her waist, chin on her shoulder while she leans back against him, basking in the warmth that he is giving her. His messy hair tickled her neck, but she doesn’t make any move to get it out of the way. It’s weird to be in Marcus’ touch like this: they’ve never done it before together.
Yet, it feels good and strangely comforting. She hadn’t felt at home for a long time, and neither had he, but it seemed as if they were starting to make a home with one another.
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cherrykindness · 3 years
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wild tweets |
pairing: Harry Styles x Actress!Reader
summary: as newlyweds, you and harry read thirsty comments for buzzfeed.
warning: it's thirsty tweets, so below there is adult humor 😳
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"It's a bright, sunny morning in Los Angeles, and there's nothing I want more than to be on BuzzFeed and read wild tweets alongside my husband."
"Thirsty tweets, babe." Harry corrected, laughing out loud with the producers behind the cameras.
"Thirsty Tweets." You said quickly, putting your hand over your mouth to stifle a giggle. "I'm terrible at that, I'm sorry. Can we start over?"
"Let's take a break for one to two minutes. You've given us a great introduction, Y/N."
You shook your head, smiling shyly before turning to Harry, who was already watching you with that easy smile at the corner of his lips. You liked how his hand remained firmly on yours, making those circular movements with the thumb that always served as a natural medice for your anxiety.
"You look so fucking beautiful."
The pleated dress with flounce sleeves fit you like a glove. You had made peace with the various shades of white since the wedding and knew that Harry liked to see you in that color too.
"Thank you, you're not too bad either, Styles."
You intimately suspected that Harry would always seem far beyond that "not bad" that came out as a euphemism from your mouth. He wore nothing but a pair of bell-bottom pants in a strong shade of blue and a soft vest printed with fluffy little sheep on a striped American collared shirt - in your opinion, no one could look better in farm animal clothing than Harry Styles and Princess Diana with her red "Black Sheep" sweater in the 1980s. In contrast, you knew your husband well enough to know that he was arrogant and knew exactly how hot he looked - you also made your thoughts clear enough when you kept him backstage beyond ten minutes in a rather heated kissing session.
"Are you anxious?" you asked curiously, remaining with downcast eyes fixed on the strokes that remained assiduous on your warm skin. "To read about how the whole internet dreams of fucking my wife?! Of course." Harry joked, leaning over to leave a small one on your cheek. "We agree on that, don't we? Although I'm a little nervous, I'm really interested to know all the crazy things they say about you. Everyone knows you're mine at the end of the day, that's enough."
At the end of the break, you and Harry made a silent agreement that you should be the first to pick up one of the scattered papers in the red pot. There were quite a significant amount of tweets, and as much as you were used to reading rather sordid things about your husband on the Internet, the excitement was there as if you were wading into uncharted territory.
"I would be a good girl all year round if Santa guaranteed me a threesome with Harry and Y/N Styles on Christmas Eve." You laughed, Harry staring at the camera with an expression close to the meme of the surprised Pikachu. "You guys are incredibly nasty, I love it."
"If that was the first one, I'm really worried about the next ones." Harry commented with a little corner smile, picking the next tweet out of the bucket. "I have an entire folder on Pinterest dedicated to Harry Styles' hands, and let me tell you why: those hands are art, and art needs to be recognized."
"What- Guys, you promised you wouldn't post my anonymous tweets here." You quipped with false reproach, laughing at your own stupid joke while everyone else in the studio did the same. "But I can't blame her, honestly." Shaking your shoulders, you opened another piece of paper. "Harry Styles finally confessed that he wrote Watermelon Sugar for Y/N!!!! Are you guys imagining the same thing as me?!!!!!! 🥵🍆💦"
"Exhausted emoji, eggplant emoji, and water emoji?" Harry frowned, staring at the tweet you held up. "I imagine you're in need of a vacation somewhere refreshing and you're craving a fruit that everyone eats like it's really a vegetable."
"That reminded me of that story-" You laughed, hiding your face on the table as Harry continued to offer a poker face to the camera, struggling not to keep up with you laughter. "I'm sorry, lovie, I have to share this with the rest of the world." You stated, wiping a few tears from the corner of your eyes. "Harry always wears those fancy suits to concerts, right?! Right! Turns out he looks really hot in some, like his ass molds perfectly into those tight pants and everything. I was home that night because I wasn't feeling well enough to face the big crowds, but I was still following everything on twitter. It was a concert in London, not so far from where we lived at the time, so it was obvious that he would come home after it was over. I follow some portals that do really fast updates of pictures, videos, etc; everything that happened at Harry's concert was on my timeline in a matter of seconds. When one of these profiles uploaded a picture of him with his back to the camera in a heavily accentuated black and white suit, I quickly sent him the image along with a peach emoji and then wrote "looks good tonight". He didn't reply to me until a few hours later, of course, but I obviously didn't expect a "ready for a Fifth Avenue peach salad for dinner?" and numerous cutlery emojis."
Harry rolled his eyes comically, indulging in laughter as did everyone else who occupied the backstage area.
"I'm against the eroticization of emojis." He said between uncompensated breaths, shaking his head negatively. "Let's go to the next ones, please, I'm already feeling exposed enough here."
"I like your old-fashioned spirit, baby." You assured him with a smile, laying on the sturdy shoulder hidden under the fluffy fabric.
Harry chuckled low, leaving a little kiss on the top of your head before selecting the next paper. The fans would die when that video aired, everyone was sure. You two easily forgot the cameras when you were side by side, and the public display of affection had never been a problem.
"My life mission is to look at someone the way Harry looks at Y/N and be reciprocated the way Y/N looks at Harry, then I could die happy." Harry read. "That was very good and healthy, thank you!" He smiled. "But don't settle for death in that case, please. Just make sure to keep that person around forever."
"Awn, we got so sweet now." You made a pout. "Thank you for sending us something so cute! I really hope you find the right person soon." Sending a kiss to the camera, you moved on to the next tweet. "I wouldn't want to get a golden ticket to visit Willy Wonka's factory, I would like to get a golden ticket to actively participate in Y/N and Harry Styles' Honeymoon.
"That was creative, so I will disregard the fact that you removed my last name from my wife's name." Harry joked.
"I will always be an Y/L/N." You flashed the tongue. "We had a great Honeymoon, but I know you guys already know all about it because there are pictures all over the internet of outings that I don't even remember existed."
"Even though we chose a rather reserved city, many paparazzi still managed to photograph some of our nights there." Harry agreed. "There was one particular day when we opted to have dinner at a restaurant near the beach. Y/N had found it even before the trip, it was pretty laid back and we could spend the evening at karaoke. I don't really remember what happened, but we woke up the next day with a terrible hangover, still wearing the clothes from the dinner and with several headlines saying that I was cheating on my wife in the middle of our Honeymoon with a blue-haired italian girl."
"That wig made me sexy, man." You blinked, laughing as you remembered the situation. "It's a shame the paparazzi only got low quality images, but I swear I looked really amazing that night. Italy, I miss you."
"We're coming to the end and I haven't had to ask production for a glass of water yet, thank you to whoever selected these tweets." Harry raised his thumb to the camera, smiling before turning his gaze back to the small paper he had chosen. "Y/N could literally punch me in the face and I would just bow down and thank them for it." He laughed. "She has heavy hands, so I would rethink that choice."
"It takes strong hands to be a superheroine." You blinked gracefully, referring to your works as a Marvel actress. "I move around a lot during the night, so I'll take this lovely opportunity to say that twitter can dismiss all the malicious theories about Harry always show up with a new bruise all over his body."
"Please stop making indecent assumptions while Y/N is aggressive with me at night only unconsciously, her father has access to social media."
You laughed, clearing your throat before reading the next obscenity aloud.
"I would sell all my possessions to have Y/N sitting on my lap for ten seconds."
"Oh my God." Harry laughed out loud, throwing his head back. "I should have said that in our wedding vows."
You shook your head, laughing low as you set the tweet aside.
"That was pretty funny and cheeky, I approve."
"Okay, looks like we finally got to the last one." Harry announced, waving the paper in the air dramatically before opening it. "Harry could literally crush me with those boots while fuc- I need that glass of water." He said dumbfounded, hiding his face between his hands after throwing the tweet over his shoulder. You laughed out loud next to the organizers, and meanwhile Harry leaned his head on your bust, staring at you still with wide eyes. "Please promise that we will be careful with our future children on the internet."
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donutloverxo · 3 years
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A Royal Scandal 3
Modern Royal King!Steve au
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(Image from Pinterest)
cowritten with @lizzygal​
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Summary - Modern ruler, His Majesty King Steven G Rogers, is on a quest to make his long term secret relationship the real thing. He is a man in love and wants his lover and partner to be his queen.
Warnings - Smut (m/f), dub con/non con, sex tape, scandals, mentions of past domestic abuse, soft dark Steve, possessive Steve, spanking, power imbalance, mentions of previous domestic abuse, somnophilia.
Pairing - King!Steve x reader
Word count - 7k
Story masterlist
Sometimes Steven forgot that you weren’t that much younger than him. He forgot about a lot of things when it was only the two of you. You did that to him. You made him forget things that everyone else reminded him of constantly, intentional and not.
Early that morning was no different.
Long before his alarm went off, Steve found himself on his side watching you sleep. Feeling in every way equal to you, like there was not this huge ocean of things that he did not have in common with you, opposed to what the two of you shared.
Obviously, he was the son of kings and tyrants while you were the daughter of immigrants and a blue-collar family. You’d grown up in a house full of love and kindness and acceptance, he had not. You’d ended your teenage years going to college and then travelling and ending up here, where you chose to stay and work and travel and live a life that Steve could only dream of, his own had never been his own and never would be.
You had dreams and hopes, little things like aspirations. He didn’t.
Steve’s life was dictated by things like duty and obligations, expectations. Yours was not.
Maybe that was why he’d been so drawn to you?
Compared to all the royals around Europe and titled individuals, politicians, even old families, none of them interested him even a fraction of the amount that you interested him. To Steve you were exotic. You were a fascinating creature who might as well have come from Mars.
He couldn’t even say what it was or why.
For so long it had felt right to be alone. Considering the blood of monsters ran through his veins, Steve had been uninterested in any sort of companionship more than a brief encounter at a private location.
For Christ’s sake, he refused to sleep in the bedroom that his father had slept in.
Upon assuming the throne, he’d selected to take up older quarters in an unused part of the palace living complex. As if to ensure he was as far away from the rooms that his father and grandfather and great-grandfather had slept. Choosing to sleep in a bed untainted by any of those men, stored from when his land was ruled by an emperor. Hoping with the hopes of a young king that it would save him from their madness.
Beside him, you slept so peacefully, trustingly.
Steve had never brought anyone into his private apartment. Nor had his bed seen any carnal action since it’d gone into storage. Until you. He’d simply never been so inclined.
A rough sound from the growth on his cheek rubbing against his pillow. A pleasant reminder of that night that felt so long ago, yet also like only yesterday.
He’d had a beard back then he remembered.
A full bushy one.
One that had made you laugh softly at, roll your eyes and still manage to pull off an acceptable bow when you greeted him that late night.
“They beat Canada then Your Majesty?” You had inquired with good nature, setting down a whole stack of papers and folders onto the very modern conference table in a big room that could fit two dozen, more if the people were standing.
He’d beamed.
Steve remembered he’d been in a particularly good mood that night. Even if he was working late on the education push into the outer regions of his kingdom. A good amount was still very rural, many simple villages that lived as they had fifty or more years ago. Many parts of his kingdom were still deeply rooted in the past.
“Indeed. Eleven to four.”
He was beaming. Beaming! You were pretty sure you could see molars. It made you shake your head and begin to sort out all your work into piles to go over. Not that you’d ever admit to secretly being caught up in the hype of the team being so close to gold at the Winter Olympics. “So then the beard stays?”
“You of all people,” he admonished, coming over to help you. Picking up the well-marked up maps you’d spent hours annotating.
Making you roll your eyes.
On he went though, obviously needing to drive home the seriousness of this matter. “The beard stays until we win gold. Next we play Norway. I don’t think it needs to be said that we cannot risk it.”
He was serious. Really serious. If that full glorious beard was any indication.
More focused on the organizing task yourself.
Sorting your work by region, pile by pile, each had taken much work and effort and negotiation, endless phone calls and trips and emails to each area to get them to work not only with you, but one another. It was like herding cats. It had taken you months to get this all sorted out for Steve to see. His ideas weren’t even ready to be implemented. This was just the pre-gaming, the leadup, the work in preparation. You weren’t even on Step One. You were on Step Zero.
“Now that I know, I’ll be sure to grow a beard next Winter Olympics.”
And then you were rewarded with a rich hearty laugh from your king.
Well not your king, as you weren’t a citizen of this country. But you still liked to think of him as your king.
Watching you sleep was something he’d never tire of. Never get enough of. It was a luxury that he didn’t realize he wanted day in out.
The ability to wake up with you tangled up in blankets. Curled back against his front. Hogging pillows as you did. Allowing Steve to run his fingers up and down your bare thigh, along the curves of your body. Letting him lean forward to press his lips to your shoulder and see the peaceful rest of your face in his slowly lightening bedroom. Every last inch of you here for him.
Hungry.
That was what it was, he was hungry for you. Like a big bear that woke from hibernation after a long winter. At times he felt such a way. Never having felt this way about anyone prior.
In his own time, he slipped his fingers down along the round of your ass underneath the flesh of your hip. Warm. Soft. Smooth. Neither of you had left the bed since the late night bath in his tub.
Further down Steve allowed his fingers to trail.
Memorizing every last second to get him through his day. From how you felt pressed against the front of him, how your back moved against his chest with every steady breath you took. The way your legs tangled in his buttery sheets with his own, how the soft cheeks of your bottom pressed against his alert groin.
Most definitely though, how your skin tasted and felt beneath his mouth. Smelling like yourself from all your favorite bath products kept in his bathroom.
You’d smelled so good that night too.
You always smelled good.
It was something that he had noticed but hadn’t given any real thought to.
It seemed to be a mix of perfume and body lotion or cream. Cause Steve found the flowery smell would linger after you walked by in the way that perfume did, infusing the air and making his brain scream out that you were near. But also, when you shook his hand, it always had that sweet fresh clean smell afterwards.
Now, whenever Steve smelled it, all he could think about was you.
Those smells danced around him. Making the late hour bearable. Making the fact that the offices were empty but for the two of you, when you both should have been home in bed, not matter.
“Ok…” you were talking to him, pointing out places on the massive map that was his nation. Arms crossed. Legs spread. Standing beside you as you informed him with tones that indicated your happiness, your displeasure as well as your utter irritation. “…so I managed to get in touch with every Education Department in all nine of your territories.”
Though you were not looking at him, Steve nodded, laser focused on this project he’d tasked you with months ago.
“All of the department heads are on board with your desired overhaul to completely modernize the entire system. Unfortunately, they told me that I had to call all the district heads for all forty-six provinces to get their agreed participation too.”
Your tone went from pleased with yourself then skeptical and then annoyed.
You turned your head to look at him. “Which is what I spent the last three months doing. It was something of a thing.”
Steve could only imagine.
He was quiet though so you could go on. More than pleased with how well you worked in this position. He’d originally been skeptical with your being a foreigner. How dedicated would you be to a job in a country that was not your own? One hundred percent as it turned out.
Your hands flattened out dramatically on the table. Outrage surged from you. “I’m still waiting on two appointees because their predecessors apparently died during harvest season and no one could be bothered to replace the position. I literally had to fly out to the outer reaches of civilization to find this out. Cause all the government offices are closed during harvest season, fyi. But they’re literally filling the positions now.”
Such was the challenge of having a large kingdom with one foot in the future and one in the past. Such things led to the difficultly of keeping a Chief of Staff.
Steve’s previous Chief of Staff had come highly recommended and lasted a little over a month.
Whether it was from a lack of dedication, the obvious frustrations of the job or maybe he simply had not wanted to jump on a plane and fly six hours then ride by car five hours to remote areas in order to complete his work. Steve could not be sure. All he knew for sure was he’d keep you as long as humanly possible.
In his eyes, you were a saint.
“What’s with the question mark?”
Making you look to see which question mark you’d marked on the map full of stickers and marks and tabs. Hours had been spent working on the damn thing.
Seeing which question mark in question made your nose scrunch. “Oh…them, they refuse to even answer my calls until they are allowed to take their traditional name for their province. Which is way above my pay grade. Someone else is going to have to deal with them. I tried.”
Ah, Steve nodded, that was far from surprising. The far outer regions were notoriously independent or rebellious, depending on your stance.
He would deal with them accordingly. Not how his father did, but in his own way.
Steve’s attention was drawn to two nearby provinces. Each had a frowny face sticker. Without asking, he merely pointed.
A noise of pure disgusted frustration came from deep in your throat. Making you stand and look to him, brandishing your hands in all directions. “I tried my best with them. I really did. Both of those provinces absolutely refuse to take part in anything if the other is involved. Apparently, they’re still salty at one another over something that happened in fourteen-seventy-three and refer to me as the foreign she-devil. So…good luck with them Your Majesty.”
Soundly you slept.
Comfortable. Safe. At peace.
Making him feel like a true man. A provider able to care for you, protect you, satisfy you. As if he were stripped down to what nature intended. Instead of what society had dictated for you both.
Reaching down to that heavenly place between the V in your thighs, Steve pushed his fingers further to find your softness slippery, your skin slick with viscous arousal. In pushing his finger up further, running it around the edge of your slit to where the gateway to your body was hidden, he found you heavily aroused. Coating his fingers with a thick fluid that promised you would be able to take him now. Oozing into the cervices between his fingers and smearing thickly down his palm and over the back of his hand.
Unable to help himself, he brought his hand out from between your legs in order to look at your arousal. Merely the sight made his balls clench in eager anticipation. Tasting the bodily excretions had his hips moving against yours on their own.
A noise came from you. Though you were far from waking. Always one to enjoy your sleep.
On his tongue you were heady, ripe. Tasting like sin. Steve licked his fingers. Eyes closed so he could savor the taste, how you clung to his tongue and were thick, like a burst of brandy swirling with his saliva.
Awakened now from his deep sleep. Ravenous like a beast of the forest. He pressed a lingering kiss to your shoulder. Making you mumble. Making you wiggle in your sleep, causing you to reach your arm out for a pillow to pull close. Hooking your leg up higher too. Becoming more comfortable in the bed in addition to opening yourself up more to your king. As if your body had connected to his on a level your mind was unaware and encouraged him to take you.
Down he peered. Strands of hair fell across his forehead at the harsh angle. A soft lightening of the sun through drapes he never closed last night allowed the sight of moisture. Folds of bare skin sheened up at him. Tempting him with that webbing of goo that promised him you were ready.
Taking himself in hand, he caught sight of your name curled over his side. Reminding him of your absolute possession over him. Sending his hand low to pull his foreskin back in order to feed this hunger of you that consumed him.
Your signature was all swoops and swirls.
Recognizable above anyone else’s writing he came across on a daily basis.
All over paper and on the maps. In little corners. Highlighted. In different color pens. On stickie notes. Written on napkins or on the back of random pieces of paper.
At the time, he’d had no idea how far gone he really was.
Not even when he watched you take note after note with a purple inked pen, your hand flowing across paper like a swimmer cutting through the water. Taking down his every word, every command.
A incredibly distinctive feeling of being full woke you up from your glorious sleep, in a very singular sort of way that could be from only one thing. Only one thing on earth felt like that when waking you up.
Pulling you out of a warm blissful sleep only to wake you with the exquisite feeling of being stretched open, pushed into, filled up. Making your fingers clench bedding or pillows or whatever they could grab.
A low breathy moan came from you in the time between you were woken and awake, your face burrowing in a pillow was followed by a soft profanity. Weight slowly covered you. Weight pinned you down to the bed a little at a time. Skin and sheets and soft dustings of hair rubbed against you.
Only when you had fully woken did you feel pubes brush against your cheeks. A light tap of scrotum bumped you too.
Long arms wrapped around you. Wet lips mouthed along the curve of your neck.
This was a far superior way to wake up. Compared to your apartment, in bed alone, to your neighbors loud shrilling alarm clock through your paper-thin wall.
Groaning out at the feel of His Majesty’s cock stuffed safely up in your secret garden. You found yourself whining at Steve at whatever time it was in the early morning. “…fuuuuck…what’d I say about doing that…” A swivel, nay, a swivel with a pop of his pelvis followed, making you see stars, gasp deeply as if you’d been stabbed in the lungs and then add on for God and Country. “…My King…shit, My King…oh shit, My King.”
Though it may have been said in jest, his tone was hot enough to scald. “If memory serves me correctly…” another deep push of thick hips shoved you forward into the pillows. “…you say, not in my ass unless I’m awake.”
Stars.
So many bright and colorful stars.
Mmm.
Yes, that was something you had told him on many occasions and it still held very true. If Steve was going to put anything in your ass, forget that thing he claimed was a dick, you needed to be fully awake so you could both physically and emotionally prepare yourself.
Nothing at all could have prepared you for the drastic turn your life was about to take that night.
Nothing.
Everything had been so normal. It was so regular. Like many a long night working late hours at the palace before. Hours had been spent going over all your hard work contacting each and every head in each education department per province, as well as per territory. In addition to the national department of education, preparing to prep them for what the king wanted.
Like any other late night, Steve helped you put all of your paperwork back in the correct order you had it in. Like every other time, he requested a palace car take you to your apartment. Granted the apartment you shared with your best friend was walking distance away. It was late and simply not safe and you found were touched that Steve would think about your well-being.
For a king, he wasn’t that bad. When it was the two of you anyway.
Looks aside, which he had in spades, he could be very funny in a sarcastic sort of way. He was very well read and intelligent, quick on his feet. Although people seemed to think of him a certain type of way based on his father and his own kingship at a young age, when he really was his own person.
You’d noticed he had a definite interest in the classical masters and had on rare occasion seen him sketch out something on a flight or during a less than stimulating event. He had an artistic ability that would never come to anything due to his role.
His strong sense of duty paired with a disgusting moral obligation pretty much guaranteed his life would be spent in service to his country. Period.
You could see why people thought he was hot. The man had been blessed by the genetic gods. Plus he was a king. Who didn’t grow up dreaming about being a princess? Or think about a literal Prince Charming from fairy tales?
Having now had the benefit of working in a real life palace. You knew the realities of that fantasy.
You had two pages of notes that could attest to the reality of your childhood Disney Princess movies.
Reality was always so different.
Not for the first time, you found yourself repeating yourself. “…and let me say one more time. Thank you so much for talking with my parents. I know it was only ten minutes, but, I know how busy you are and it just completely topped off their visit. My mother has been telling everyone about how she met the king. You even have my father cheering for the hockey team.”
A smile came over Steve’s face that was real.
It wasn’t one of his practiced smiles. It was an actual smile. You could tell because it reached his eyes.
“Well,” Steve answered you with a shrug, sounding genuinely pleased even if he also sounded tired and like he wanted nothing more than to go off to his living quarters in the palace and crash into bed, before he had to get up to start a new day. Helping you stack the last of your papers up. “Anything to convert a soul to hockey. Technically, it is his team too.” And because he could not help himself, Steve added on, “Even if his grandparents fled from here for a cushy life in the west.”
Up your hand flew to your chest.
Your jaw dropped in mock pain. “Ouch, Sir! That one was painful.”
His smile grew at your over-the-top reaction.
Still though, he dipped his head and you noticed there was a little blush on his cheeks above where that magnificent beard grew. Chagrined, he quickly followed up with, “I apologize. That was a cheap shot.”
In a physical sort of way that his people were known to interact, personal space be damned, Steve reached over to touch your arm apologetically. Not something he did frequently. Although he had done it a handful of times. The press of his mouth to your cheek was new. The little kiss was brand new. Steve’s lips were gentle on your skin. His beard tickled your face.
Never in your life had your heart pounded as violently in your chest as it did at that gesture. Quickly, your head turned. Though you did not move back or say anything. Instead, you found yourself staring at Steve. Looking into those pools of blue that were looking at you with the same amount of surprise that you felt. His lips were right there, right there.
Blood roared in your ears, your heart pounded faster and faster and faster.
He kissed you.
Did he really though?
Was it a kiss or was it a kiss?
For a moment in time, you leaned in. Leaned closer. Leaned till you almost touched him because that was what your body wanted to do. Until you remembered that Steve was a king. A KING. Remembering that made your head command your body to lean backwards a bit. Allowing you to see that he had leant in to meet you.
He’d leaned closer to kiss you.
What were you doing? What in the hell were you doing? You had no business doing this, no business at all messing around with Steve.
Fingers moved along your arm, tracing up the back of it softly. That simple touch made goosebumps break out over your skin. It made your breath hitch. Your hands began to shake so you grabbed the fabric of your skirt.
However, you made no move to step away from Steve. Nor did he make any sort of move to step away from you.
Another attempt at a kiss was not made.
Fingers touched your face instead. Steve was close enough to you that you felt his legs brush yours. You felt his breath against your face. Fingertips ran across the swell of your cheekbone, down over your lips, tracing the bridge of your nose in what felt like a desire to memorize your face.
Steve was gentle. His fingertips felt like feathers on your skin. He made you shake like a leaf in terror because you wanted him to touch you more. You wanted to be touched. You wanted to feel his hands on you and the soft glide of his thumb along the line of your jaw was painfully insufficient.
Without thinking, you reached up with your hands until you remembered that he was the king.
Were you allowed to touch the king? You weren’t sure. He was touching you and it was fabulous but were you allowed to do the same? You wanted to. You so deeply wanted to. You just were not sure what was allowed in this situation. It had not exactly been covered in the Royal Protocol Guidebook you had.
Then came Steve’s voice. Harsh. Gravelly. Desperate.
“Touch me. It’s ok. I want you to.”
For only a heartbeat or two you remained still, observing him, making sure. Only after that did you reach up with your hands to cover his wrists. Rub along the fabric of his button-up shirt. In doing so, you not only felt the strength in his well-muscled wrists, or how warm the silky fabric was, but, you could feel him tremble. He was shaking about as much as you were.
A rush of air surged from his lungs as if you had burnt him.
Curious, you turned your head so you could place a single kiss on the inside of his hand touching your face, right at the base of his thumb. In doing so, you ripped a noise from deep within him. A noise that was both pained while also infused with wanting.
“This is ok?”
“Yes,” he croaked out, as if he were terrified you would stop.
Never would you have ever imagined he would be so responsive. Almost touch starved it felt.
Sometimes, Steve still felt as if he were a little touch starved to you. Sometimes it felt like he’d gone his entire life without having that physical connection between two people. As complicated of a man as he was with as complicated of a life as he had, you at times forgot that he was still a human being with human being needs that were essential to thriving.
And it wasn’t like you were complaining.
Far from it.
Not after the orgasm you just had, not from on top of him either. Lounged across the front of him. Loose limbed. Languid down to your marrow. Peppering the damp skin of his neck with slow wet kisses and scrapes of teeth. Long drags of your tongue collected drops of salt that tasted of him. Lazily. Heart to heart. Stomach to stomach.
There really were worse ways to wake up.
Like, for instance, in your apartment taking cold showers cause the building’s water heater was ancient. That wasn’t fun at all and usually had you shivering and hurrying through an icy shower. Straight up not a good time.
This? This was soooo much better.
Feeling Steve’s long legs wrapped up in your own, paired with his softening member filling you by virtue of sheer size not letting himself just pop out…this was a much better way to wake up. Far superior in every way.
Not that you were willing to waste precious time like this luxuriating in post-coital bliss. No, no. A burning question was hot on your mind that kept popping up after last night. After all, you were a modern woman and this was a serious relationship. You had every right to ask this question at any time you wanted. Even now. As your boyfriend, the king, fondled your breasts in his hands with such intensity that you would have thought he’d just broken out of Alcatraz after a decade of no nookie. Not that you were in the least bit complaining. Not one bit.
“Am I going to have to quit my job?”
It was something of a concern.
You loved your job. You loved working with Steve. You loved your life as it was and a big part of you suspected becoming queen would mean big changes.
Not that you lifted your head from his neck, or ceased your trek down towards his collarbone. Trail of your kisses never slowing or stopping. No hint of any sort of disruption came. Not for a moment or two. Not till your ravenous boyfriend squeezed your breasts possessively. Thumbed your nipples and finally opened his eyes, as if it were the biggest chore on earth.
His voice was rough. His tone felt like hot gooey honey that just got everywhere. “No…not yet…”
Leading you to make a noise. A pop followed when your mouth left the dark spot you’d been sucking on nearly at his collarbone. What with your name already etched on him. What else could you leave in a display of ownership over him? “Nothing else to add My King?” For added emphasis, perhaps you gave you vaginal muscles a clench knowing what that did to him.
A grunt came from beneath you.
Wrapped up in yours, Steve’s legs clenched in response to what you did. White teeth sank into his upper lip and you absolutely thrived at the sight and feel of him arching up against you, shifting around beneath you at the way your body squeezed him.
Those hands left your breasts only to reach down, run over your waist as they had so many times before, leading you to grab them. Snatch then right up. Press them down into the mattress over Steve’s head. Since the man was far larger than you, this sent you leaning downwards and ever closer to his face. “Steve? I asked you a question.”
How easy it would have been for him to get free. Yet, he seemed content where he found himself. Still wedged within you. Warm in bed. Body a sea of a complex cocktail of chemicals after physically releasing into you. A far better way to wake up than alone in a massive bed. Or worse, to his mother jabbing at him to urgently tell him something that was not urgent at all.
Feeling your breasts press against his chest. Lightly brushing over his skin, your nipples little points that sparked a definite interest in his dick.
God did he want you to be his queen.
“Not yet,” Steve ground out, nearly close to being overwhelmed by you. Each and every word was enunciated to utter perfection, as if it took all of his concentration and effort to get them out. “I’ll have the palace leave your name out of the official statement today. We can go slow. Ease you into things…ease you out of your job…” and to reward him for such a thoughtful statement, you clenched around him once more.
However, it seemed, there was more and even though his eyes rolled up into his head at the feel of your core squeezing his not entirely soft organ, he pushed on with the determination of his ancestors. Grunting. Arching back into the bed as the pillows had all wound up on the floor. Perfect teeth clenched together. “M-my people…will…love you…too.”
So, it was entirely possible, that you were feeling all kinds of powerful watching him writhe beneath you. Knowing exactly what sort of repercussions this could have to your morning. Which was still progressing on time. It was entirely possible that you may have intentionally pushed your own pelvis against his to reseat yourself.
“Oh yeah? How can you be so sure? You saw what happened with those two over in England. And that prince isn’t even next in line to the throne.”
Perhaps it was the seriousness of the direction in which your conversation had taken, Steve remained beneath you. Taking no action, even though you could quite literally feel his dick grow more interested in what your hips were doing.
A panted out, “…fuck…” escaped from him, before he opened his eyes to look at you seriously, if not also a little heatedly. “Quit obsessing over them. The King of Jordan married for love. Queen Rania was a commoner. If you must, focus on them.”
Sudden movement found you falling off Steve and onto the bed, shoved onto your back and in a flash, he was on top of you again. Over you. Hovering. Though he’d escaped out of your body, you could feel the king’s most delicious semi, slick from your previous copulation, squish between you both.
Admitting on an exhale, “Forgot about them.”
“Everyone does.” He agreed, surveying down, taking in the sight of you. “My country appreciates you. They’re fond of you. You’re in all the papers and they’ve given you a nickname.”
And that. That. Nearly killed the mood.
It sent your eyebrows together dubiously so.
Everytime you were in the press it was when your skirt had been blown up on a windy day, or if you’d accidentally gotten food on your shirt. Or that time a baby goat pooped on your shoes. Or when you’d tripped and fallen off a dock into a lake. Who could forget that time you’d accidentally called the Prime Minister of Canada a ‘moose fucking cannibal’ when you’d still been getting the hang of the language, your first year on the job?
You’d been affectionately dubbed, ‘the King’s Foreign Devil’ and it had stuck.
Hell, you still got asked about your thoughts on the Canadian Prime Minister whenever a member of the press was around.
“Most the time, you have a higher approval rating than I do,” he added. Much to the consternation of Maria Hill in PR. “Trust me. There is nothing my country loves more than a hard-working loyal servant of the people who talks shit about western leaders.”
Mood totally killed, you seethed and not for the first time, “That was an accident! I was trying to call him Canada’s Disney Prince.”
***
The note had been hand delivered to the palace and was now crumbled into a ball in the Queen Mother’s bedroom as she stormed off, once more, that early morning in a fury of rose satin and silk. Her perfume clouded around her, drifting behind her, much like the wake of a boat cutting through the water.
Thick carpets silenced her heels. Doors opened for her as she neared them, allowing her to not need to slow her step even for a second. Not a single moment wasted as she made her way through the private living quarters of the palace.
Down hallways and around corners, over to the rooms that her grown son had selected as his own.
It would have been so much easier if he would have just taken the rooms that his father had lived in.
Although, with the horrific memories attached to those rooms, how could she blame him when he elected not to? She had her own private rooms. The dead kings rooms were locked up tight and still not used. Abandoned like so much he’d done, started and accomplished in his life.
Upon coming to her only child’s rooms, those doors were held open for her and on she pressed on. Sailing through his rooms, one after another, until she got closer to his bedroom and could hear his shower which was the direction she headed.
A brief glance was made at the mess that was his bed.
A roll of her eyes was followed by a shake of her head.
Some things males never grew out of it seemed.
“Steven!” She called out in warning, should he be in the bathroom about to come out in the nude. Which was the last thing she wanted to see.
Not only was his bed a mess but his clothes from yesterday were all over the floor.
She had every intention of telling him that he needed to straighten up this mess before the cleaning staff came in his room. The last thing she wanted was for them to think he was messy and then tell their families and friends when they went home that the king had a messy bedroom and word would get out that her son was a slob. Ugh. No. She’d make sure that he straightened up.
Speaking of the devil.
As his shower ran, Steve peered out of the bathroom with a wet head. A midnight blue towel was wrapped around his waist. A toothbrush was in his hand. To Sarah, it was very clear that her grown son had not shaved yet either.
Seeing him in such a state that morning along with his messy room and the fact the shower was going wasting water. It did not make her mood any more agreeable.
Though her son was taller than her and considerably more muscular, she never feared him.
She knew he would never hurt her like his father had so many times. Towards the end, Steve had even defended her from his father’s physical attacks. Those days. They had been dark. Horrible. Terrible. When she noticed that her husband had begun to carry a knife to protect himself from his son. Well. What was she supposed to do?
Attacking her was one thing. Being violent towards her was one thing. There were some things that she learned to tolerate. It was unescapable. Their son though. To take a knife to their son? Her son? Sarah would never allow such a thing.
She was queen at the time.
It was not so difficult to get the drug that she put in her husband’s evening nightcap. She’d used all of it. Thrown the vial away the next day when she went to rouse the king as she did every morning, only to find him dead in his chair. Fireplace having long gone out. Slumped down. Cold. The coroner had said it was a heart attack. Exactly as she’d been told the drug would work. He’d been buried with no one the wiser. Not even Steve.
“Yes mother?”
Sarah rolled her eyes. “You are not growing another beard. Last time you looked like some man that lives up in the mountains in a tiny shack.”
Just as her own father once did, Steve’s eyebrows rose in surprise and question.
No. That was not why she was here.
Sarah had a higher calling that morning and straightening her slim shoulders, she so informed him. “Hope and Janet are here in the city. They’ve come for a surprise visit and will arrive at the palace within the hour.”
Steve’s eyes narrowed at her in response to her information.
It was horrifying. It was outrageous. It was not what he wanted to hear that morning one bit. Not at all. Not one single bit.
Hope and Janet?
Those were two names he never wanted to hear with the additional words being, ‘on their way’. No. Just no.
All he could say that was remotely civil, after what the then Princess Hope van Dyne had done, came out in something of a tone. “I don’t want to see either of them. If you want to see them, that’s your choice. Keep them away from me.”
Considering what the now Duchess Hope had spewed to every reporter, journalist and whomever with a platform…Sarah was a little surprised that Steve was being so kind.
She’d expected a bit more of a reaction from her son.
Could she be holding a bigger grudge against her one-time closest friend’s daughter? After what had happened, Queen Janet van Dyne had become somewhat distant. Which was not surprising. Hope had not broken the engagement gracefully. Nor had she been anything less than opinionated afterwards.
“I suspect she is in trouble,” Sarah confessed. “Why else would they come here? Considering everything that Hope has said over the years.”
Steam continued to seep through the cracked door.
Sarah was about to say something about the shower. Steve was wasting a considerable amount of hot water. She herself was leading the Go Green Initiative in the country and as she stated constantly, it all began at home.
“Mother, don’t take this the wrong way, but, I wouldn’t shit in Hope’s mouth if she was starving.”
Ah.
Perhaps she’d been too quick to judge Steve’s current opinion on the wayward duchess?
Pondering his statement, Sarah found herself looking for any way to come back with a counter when she noticed that the shower turned off. Which was odd. Shower’s didn’t turn themselves off.
What was even more peculiar, Steve reached back behind himself to shut his bathroom door.
It clicked.
Like a light going off.
How could she not have noticed? How could it not have been obvious?
Blue eyes that were a little softer than her son’s narrowed. “You aren’t alone.”
Silence.
Quiet.
Her pink lips opened in surprised. A question hovered on her tongue.
“No mother.”
“But…”
“Mother,” he implored as only a son could. “Not now. She would not want the first time she officially meets you to be when you’re dressed for the day and she is not.”
And though her son’s words were true. They were right. They were exactly what she would have wanted him to say and because she had raised him well, she was even proud that he had made such a quick decision. It wasn’t fair.
Sarah wanted to find out who you were. She wanted to meet the woman that her son was involved with. Was that so wrong? Sarah wanted to meet the woman that her son was considering marrying. There was so much she wanted to say to you, so much to teach you, so much she wanted to learn about you. Perhaps her desperation showed because her son reached out to place a hand on her elbow.
“If you can chase Hope and Janet away, we could have lunch together. The three of us. If not, dinner? Or even tomorrow. I’m not doing anything with Hope under this roof. Not after she referred to our country as a third world plus hellhole full of war criminals and superstitious backwoods heathens.”
Ah, so he did remember.
Those words had been seared into her memory as well. Sometimes Sarah wondered, as Steve had never really given much indication that he cared one way or the other what Hope had said. It was only after she began to speak unflatteringly about their people that he grew irritated, much like herself.
Although, what irritated Sarah more, was the quiet that came from the royal house of van Dyne and Pym a few countries over. Never once had Janet spoke up. Never had Janet said anything about her daughters outrageous remarks or behavior. Nor had she apologized.
Knowing her son, Sarah knew that he would never court anyone who was not kind or compassionate. Steve would never pick a Hope as his queen.
Up came a hand that bore a lovely ring decorated with fresh water pearls from their own waters. “I’ll have them gone before lunch and then we will all sit down together so I can finally meet her.”
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bruhstories · 3 years
Text
Yes, Daddy
summary: it's stepdaddy!zeke, there's no need for a summary xD pairing: stepfather!zeke x stepdaughter!reader warnings & content: stepcest, unprotected sex, fingering, spitting, lots of daddy mentions, oral sex (male receiving) word count: 1.5k
a/n: danger! this is very self-indulgent, i'm so sorry
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You couldn't understand why your mother wanted to get married after your father left. The two of you were perfectly fine just by yourselves. She kept yapping about how a man could offer you stability and security, but you knew better — you knew your mom just wanted to get laid, and since she was almost 50, no one sane man of her age would marry her. She looked good for her age, so it was no surprise when she finally brought home her boyfriend. What was surprising was that Zeke was twenty years younger than your mother. Hell, you were closer to his age than her — he was only nine years older than you. But you could completely understand why she fell in love with him. The man was handsome, extremely intelligent, charming and, most importantly, rich. And for some stupid reason, Zeke was dating your mother, a reason you didn't figure out yet.
Then the wedding happened, and your mother was the happiest she'd ever been. You helped pick her dress, organised the whole damn thing to the smallest detail, even tasted the cake. You were going to move out eventually, and decided your mother would feel better if she had someone around her, so you tried to be nice to your new father. Besides, after Zeke moved in with you, you found out he was a pretty cool guy. So cool, that you began to fantasise about him, touching yourself when you heard him fuck your mom through the thin walls that separated your rooms.
You can't sleep. You toss and turn in your bed, you're either too hot, too cold, too tired or too full of energy.
"Fuck." You breathe out, pushing the blanket off of you. Perhaps a glass of milk will help, and so you go downstairs, dressed in nothing but an oversized t-shirt and a pair of knee socks. You don't expect Zeke to still be awake after the way he the bed screeched an hour ago, yet there he is, watching some documentary about monkeys.
"Can't sleep either?" You walk into the living room and he glances at you, not so subtly admiring your thighs. Maybe you should've put on some panties.
"No. I can't get used to the mattress."
"Huh." You shrug, making your way to the kitchen. "Want some milk?"
"Yes, please." Zeke nods, not taking his eyes off of you. You don't turn the lights on, you know your house like the palm of your hand, and open the fridge, bending down for the jug. The shirt isn't long enough to cover your body once you've bent, and you know that. You count on that.
"Mind if I sit with you?"
"Not at all."
You hand him the glass of milk before plopping on the couch, thighs exposed to the viewing pleasure of your stepfather. Neither of you is paying any attention to the TV, but you both pretend to be immersed in the documentary. Until you become adventurous and rest your hand on his knee. He doesn't flinch.
"You've got some milk..." Zeke points at the corner of his mouth.
"Oh? Did I get it off?"
"No. Here, let me." He wipes the drop with his index finger. Swiftly, before he can remove his hand, you poke your tongue out, giving his finger a slow lick. He's frozen, and you take advantage of this to suck on his index, not breaking eye contact for one second.
"Thanks." You flash him a smile after removing his finger out of your mouth with a pop. You're threading on thin ice, and it's about to crack by the looks of his growing bulge.
"Do you think it's appropriate for you to suck on your stepfather's fingers like that?" Zeke's condescending tone makes you squeeze your thighs together, and he leans closer to you.
"You could've removed them from my mouth, daddy." Your hand travels from his shoulder to his chest. "Makes me think you liked it. That's not very appropriate either, is it?"
"Why, you little... slut." His calloused fingertips graze over your collarbone before snaking around your throat. You whimper at the tightness of the grip, a smile creeping on your lips. "Shh, you wouldn't want your mother to wake up, would you?" You shake your head, half-lidded eyes watching his every move. Zeke releases your throat and you already lifted your shirt. "So eager to please."
"Mmm, I wanna please you, daddy. Wanna make you feel good." Your hand is desperately trying to pull his cock out but Zeke has you pinned to the couch by your shoulders.
"Bet you've got a tight cunt." He licks his lips, imagining how you'd clench around his throbbing dick. "Bet you're also soaked."
"Why don't you see for yourself?" You take him by surprise with a kiss that's so wrong, but that feels so right. Zeke kisses you back, tongue exploring your mouth like it's uncharted territory while his hand snakes between your thighs. You're not fighting him by any means, no. In fact, you spread your legs so he can have all the access he wants, seemingly satisfied by your actions. And he's right, you're dripping for him.
"Am I wet enough for you, daddy? Bet that old hag is so dry." You don't know what possesses you to say those things, you never hated your mother. But Zeke just has that effect over you and you can't even think anymore.
"Now, now," he shoves two fingers between your folds and you throw your head back, "that's no way to speak about your mother."
"Oh, p-please, as if you give a shit about h-her!"
"Hmm, it's true. I wanted to break up with her until I met you. And I knew I had to make you mine." Zeke adds another finger, curling them up to hit your sweet spot. "I'm glad you're not as stupid as your mother."
"Shit, fuck me, please! Wanna feel your cock inside me, daddy!"
"Needy whore. Do you beg other boys like this?"
"N-no, just you! Only you!"
"Good, because starting today, you're not allowed to see other men. Not after I fuck you."
Finally, you think, finally he wants you. You bite on your lower lip when he spits on his cock, the glistening tip pushing at your entrance as you squirm and whimper. Zeke is by far the biggest man to fuck you, and you're sure you'll be sore tomorrow. Inch by inch, he bottoms out, filling a whole no one could have filled. Manicured fingernails dig into his shoulders for support because the man is so feral and aggressive, you feel the couch sliding back with every thrust. And your face — it's a sight for sore eyes, the way your lips form an O when he fucks into you, the way your eyes roll when his cock grazes over your cervix. He drinks you in, that's a fact.
"Fuck, you're sotight." Zeke grabs your chin, fingers pressing into your cheeks. "Open that filthy mouth."
You obey, thinking he might kiss you, but the man merely spits into your mouth and you clench your spongy walls around his cock, swallowing before he can tell you to do it.
"Good slut." He praises you and you feel your cheeks burning, chanting his name like a prayer. "As much as I love you mewling like a bitch in heat," Zeke shoves three fingers in your mouth, "I need you to shut the fuck up."
You nod, eyes filled with lust and desire as he fucks into your poor cunt. The harder he thrusts, the more you want him, and so you buck your hips, earning a low growl from your stepfather.
"That's right, take it like the whore you are."
You want to ride him, want to scream his name, but you can't, not with your mother upstairs, but at this point, you don't even care if she hears you — all you want is the sweet release of your orgasm that's been building up for some time now. Zeke can feel your need by the way you pant and arch your back, and he decides to let you have it.
"Be a good girl and rub that clit for daddy, yeah?"
You don't waste any more time and do as you're told, frantically touching yourself, clenching your muscles before relaxing them with muffled moans. He seems satisfied by your little performance, slowly pulling his throbbing cock out of your sore, soppy cunt.
"You gonna suck and swallow, love?" He removes his fingers from your mouth, coated in your saliva, drool dripping down your chin.
"Yes, yes, yes!" You answer him eagerly, tentatively falling to your knees and without a warning, you take him into your mouth.
It doesn't take much to make Zeke come — with hollowed cheeks, you bob your head up and down, back and forth, palming his balls and swirling your tongue around his cock and he's putty in your hands. When he's close, he holds your head back so that you don't miss a single drop of his cum and, like the good stepdaughter you are, you swallow the entire load with a smile on your pretty face. Zeke mockingly pats your head and you look at him with glossy eyes.
"Same time, tomorrow?"
"Yes, daddy."
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Sixty Six Percent [Spencer x fem! Reader]
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A/N - This is for my “girls night out” square on my CM bingo card for @cmbingo​, which you can find the masterlist for here. Also loosely based off this prompt I’ve been wanting to write for a while - Our best friends are that awful “cute” couple that make out in public and call each other “sweetie” and “sugar” and god they’re awful, let’s talk about how awful they are – develops into “oh we’re that awful couple now”. Includes some Galvez and is set circa season 14 ish. Bottom right image taken from Kirsten’s Instagram. 
CW - not much really - just drinking and fluff.
In which girls night takes an unexpected turn when it coincides with boys night.
WC: 2.2K
Find my full Masterlist here.
Western’s bar in DC on a Friday night had been a must for girls night out. It was known for its cheap drinks, loud music and packed dance floor. Everything you and the girls were looking for. 
When your closest friends worked for the FBI, arranging girls night was always a near impossible feat. You’d lost count of how many times Penelope, Emily, JJ and Tara had to bail on your plans because another case had come up. 
You understood, you’d been best friends with Penelope for years now and you appreciated their schedules were hectic but you were always left downtrodden when they’d had to cancel again. 
But finally after weeks of cancellations and rescheduling, tonight they had been free for girls night. 
Shots were flowing and you all showed off your moves on the dance floor. You and Tara being the only single ones of the group danced with a few men but it was all harmless flirting, nothing serious. 
You weren’t looking to take someone home tonight. 
It was nearing midnight and you had all taken a break from dancing to rehydrate with vodka. You noticed Penelope’s eyes shift away from the girls across the room and her perfectly sculpted eyebrows knitted together.
“What is it, Pen?” You asked her, having to speak loudly to be heard over the music. 
“We can’t just have one night.” She rolled her eyes but then her face broke out into a large smile. “Excuse me.” And with that she sauntered off.
Your gaze followed where she had gone to see her throwing herself into the arms of her boyfriend, Luke Alvez. 
You chuckled to yourself, nudging Emily in the arm.
“They just can’t stay away from each other can they?” You laughed.
“It’s disgusting really.” Emily also laughed. 
“Looks like they're having a boys night. We should probably go and say hi.” JJ shrugged.
“I suppose it would be rude not to.” Tara agreed.
The four of you followed in Penelope’s footsteps across the room. You’d met most of the team over the years thanks to Penelope and you said your hellos to Luke, Rossi and Matt. 
The last man you came to had incredible hazel eyes, which even in the dim lighting of the bar you could see were flecked with gold. He had a light stubble on his cheeks and untamed curls you had a sudden desire to run your fingers through. 
Spencer Reid, you assumed. You’d heard of him countless times but for whatever reason the two of you had never met. You got the impression he avoided social situations in lieu of more academic pursuits. 
You’d heard stories of his time in prison and looking at him now it struck you that there was a hint of sadness in those hazel eyes and you assumed that must be why. 
“You must be Spencer.” You smiled a little shyly at him. You had no idea he’d be so attractive. “I’m Y/N.”
He smiled at you but you noticed it was stifled. Like he knew the fact you knew his name meant you knew what had happened to him.
“Yes, I’m Spencer. I’ve heard a lot about you Y/N, I can’t believe we’ve never met before.” Despite the sadness about him, his eyes seemed to sparkle as they looked at you and it made you feel hot under the collar. 
“Me either.” You couldn’t help but beam, had Penelope been hiding him from you? He was just your type. 
You turned to look at your friends briefly but were surprised to find them gone. Tara, Emily, JJ and Matt were now dancing in the middle of the floor while Rossi propped up the bar, sipping his single malt. 
A few feet from where you were standing with Spencer, Luke and Penelope were swapping saliva in an extremely NC-17 fashion. 
He had his hands on her voluptuous backside and her fingers were clawing at his shirt. 
“Are they always like this?” You turned back to Spencer with a grimace.
He shrugged.
“Not always but often enough not to be phased by it anymore.” He chucked a little. 
“Young love.” You laughed too. 
“They’re actually pretty cute when they aren’t pushing the boundaries of public displays of affection.” 
“Pen always refers to him as bunny, it makes me sick.” You laughed harder.
“Oh gosh.” Spencer pulled a face. “They flirt over the phone on cases all the time. It takes forever to get an answer out of Garcia because they have to flirt in every single call.”
“I bet he hasn’t described to you their sex life in graphic detail. Because Penelope has.” You shudder a little. “I know more about Luke’s anatomy than I ever needed to know.”
“That’s...that’s unfortunate.” Spencer laughed. 
“Yeah that’s one way to put it.” 
“Can I buy you a drink?” His smile was much less sad now, and more genuine as he looked at you. The way he was smiling at you made you feel weak. 
“That would be really nice.” You nodded. 
You followed Spencer to the bar where he ordered you both a drink and paid. He then led you over to a small booth away from the chaos where you sat next to him to allow you to be able to converse over the music. At least that’s what you told yourself.
It had nothing to do with the fact you wanted to be close to him. Absolutely nothing. 
“One time we were on a case in Boston and I called Garcia and for whatever reason she thought I was Luke and she started graphically describing what she was going to do to me, Luke when I got home. It was...disturbing to say the least.” 
“Oh wow. That sounds...horrible.” You laughed. 
“I’ve not been able to properly look her in the eye since.” Spencer pulled a face.
“They are the definition of sickening. But they’re happy. I guess that’s all that matters.” You shrugged, sipping your drink. “They’re lucky, one night stands have never worked out that well for me.” 
“No?” Spencer looked inquisitive. “I’ve never had one.”
“Really?” You raised an eyebrow at him. “I thought everyone had had at least one.”
“Statistically only sixty six percent of American’s have had a one night stand before.” 
“I forgot Penelope told me you were a genius.” You laughed again. “That’s a surprisingly low number.” 
“It’s still over two hundred and sixteen million people.” he didn’t even look as though he had to think to know something like that. You were impressed and felt slightly inadequate in comparison to him.
“Oh, in that case I suppose it is a lot.” you didn’t really know what you could say to that. “Can I ask why you’ve never had a one night stand?”
Spencer contemplated his answer this time. Facts and statistics rolled off his tongue but when he had to speak of personal things it often took him a moment to find the right thing to say.
“I suppose I’m a romantic at heart. One night stands seem kind of...disheartening to me. I’m not saying never but I’ve never felt the need thus far in my life.”
“See I don’t agree.” you turned in your seat so you could look at him properly. This close you could really see his incredible bone structure, high cheekbones and a sharp jawline. You wanted to run your fingertips over the delicate curves of his face, kiss the stubble on his soft skin and make your way to those plump lips of his. “Being single is hard, especially when your best friend is Penelope who is and is all loved up with Alvez. One night stands provide a little solace from the loneliness I guess.” you shrugged, trying not to sound like you were throwing a pity party for yourself. 
“But isn’t it just lonely all over again when it's over?” Spencer leaned closer to you and your eyes were fixated on his lips. 
“I don’t know.” mirroring him, you leaned closer. “We could always find out.” you smirked at him. You had just met him and you knew being so brazenly flirtatious could be dangerous territory. But you’d gone all these years without ever crossing paths so you supposed if this went south and Spencer rebuffed you then avoiding him wouldn’t be that difficult. 
His facial expression didn’t change so you had no idea what he was thinking or how he had taken your advances. He leaned even closer and your eyes were still locked on his lips.
“Are you asking me to come home with you Y/N?” his eyes were dark, lust perhaps? 
“I’m asking you to join the sixty six percent Spencer.” 
For a few long seconds neither of you moved or spoke. Spencer eyes fell over you, lingering longer on your lips. You shifted a little in your seat feeling hot under his intense gaze. He leaned even closer and you thought he was about to kiss you, but just as he inched towards you, a voice snapped you back to reality.
“Y/N there you are!” it was Emily. “And Spence, hey.” 
“Hi Emily, what’s up?” you would never forgive her if she had gotten in the way of Spencer kissing you.
“Come and dance, it's girls night!” she tugged your arm, pulling you so you were on your feet. 
Spencer shuffled out of the booth behind you. As Emily started dragging you towards the dancefloor, he came close to your ear and whispered “I’ll come and find you later.” and then he headed over towards Rossi who was still propping up the bar.
You danced with the girls for hours, even Penelope when she came up for air and pried herself away from Luke for more than a few seconds. The drinks kept flowing, laughter was aplenty; it was a great night all round. It had been worth waiting for.
Around three am you and the girls decided to call it night. You were a little tipsy and your feet hurt from all the dancing. You had lost track of Spencer earlier in the night, you were a little disappointed but it was probably for the best. A one night stand with your best friend's colleague would no doubt only end in disaster. 
You said your goodbyes outside, hugs and cheek kisses were dished out and they all promised you would have another girls night as soon as their schedules allowed. You lived on the other side of town than the girls so you waved off their cab from the curb and awaited the next one. It wasn’t long before another cab pulled up and to your confusion the rear window rolled down as it came to a stop.
“Told you I’d find you later.” Spencer smiled at you from the backseat. 
You tried to hide your blush as you slid in next to him. 
“I thought you left.” you buckled yourself in and almost immediately Spencer took hold of your hand.
“Not without you.” he leaned closer and then his lips pressed against yours in the backseat of the cab and you felt your whole body turn to jelly at the sensation. He used his free hand to cup your face as he deepened the kiss.
You felt a jolt of electricity coarse through you, something you had never felt before. Your lips moved in such a synchronized fashion it was crazy to think you had never done this before. You felt as though you’d waited your entire life for this moment. 
The kiss lasted a few minutes and when it ended you both panted slightly, trying to grasp at the air that had escaped your lungs. He kept his hand on your cheek, stroking small circles on your skin with his thumb. 
“Are you ready to join the sixty six percent club Spencer?” you smirked at him in the dark. 
He kissed you again, softly this time, more cautiously. 
“I’m quite comfortable in the minority. And I already know I am not going to be able to settle for one night with you.”
Your heart melted at his words, and the loving look he was giving you. You squeezed his hand, kissing him once more.
“If you take me for breakfast in the morning, you can have as many nights as you like.” you winked at him which made him blush a little.
“I’m sure we can arrange that, my love.”
“Thirty four percent it is then.” you laughed, settling your head on Spencer’s shoulder. He wrapped his arm around your shoulders and kissed your head. 
You would have to berate Penelope for not introducing you to Spencer sooner. But you might also need to cut her and Luke some slack, because you had a feeling you and Spencer were going to become an awful, cutesy couple just like them. But when it was happening to you, you didn’t mind so much. Maybe you’d even let Spencer call you bunny…
...On second thoughts, maybe not. Somethings would never change. You’d leave the cringey nicknames to Penelope and Luke. At least for now anyway. Tomorrow was another day. 
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all-things-fic · 4 years
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Spoilin’ for a Fight
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A/N: Happy Sunday loves! Hope you’ve all had a lovely and restful weekend. No, your eyes aren’t deceiving you... I have indeed (finally) posted another piece of writing. Here’s 6.7k of Harry riling up his partner all because of a bloody vest.
Thank you as always for all the love and patience everyone has given me. Especially @waitingfortwilight, @haute-romance-quotidienne and @harryfeatgaga. Hopefully this lives up to any hype the sneak peek created! I’m going to disappear again .x 
***
You rolled your lips into your mouth as you watched him walk his way around your master bedroom. His movements were confidently familiar as he tucked his vest into the waistband of his white boxer-briefs and kept his eyes down to the dress shirt and trousers he had laid out across your bedspread, sitting next to choice accessories. 
He was running late. Both you and he knew it. Yet the leisurely motions he undertook would never have told you that if you didn’t already know. The way he had taken longer in the shower, carelessly stepped out of the towel (and stepped over it too, meaning the item was now damp and in a bunched up pile closer to Harry’s side of the bed waiting for someone to put it in the laundry basket) and meandered his way through getting ready. 
Boxers first, then black ankle socks. Then the bloody vest. 
You exhaled through your nose, trying not to release a breath that would catch his attention and let him know that you were becoming slightly vexed by how lackadaisical he was choosing to be.
The vest had to go.
Not even in a sexual way either. 
And it wasn’t the fact that it just wasn’t doing it for you - on the contrary it was quite the opposite, the tight item clearly letting you ogle and appreciate the fine specimen you were proud to call your partner - but it was just how much of grandad-move it was.
You understood how having some sort of undershirt kept his actual shirt looking pristine acting as a defensive layer between his body and his clothing.
But, the vest had to go. 
It just had to.
Blindly reaching down to your dresser for your tube of mascara, you unscrewed the gold lid and coated the wand with product. 
Mouth slightly fallen, you washed your lashes with the High Density Black mascara and quickly made the switch to the other eye making sure to get your bottom lashes too. 
Looking at Harry through the mirror, you wondered what he could be debating as he stood silently in the middle of the room. A soft frown traced his brow, his eyes looking down at the bed. His hands were digging into his waist, as his lips jutted slightly in thought. 
Your conclusion was that he was debating his outfit choice for the evening. 
Lid gently screwed back on, you placed your mascara into your cosmetic vanity, before then reaching out for your brow gel. A quick brush through each side and you were done with that step.
You happened to quite like his outfit choice. It was a little less formal than usual for one of your dinners. Classic houndstooth patterned trousers and smart black shirt. The kind of material that made a scratching noise which was music to your ears as you clawed at your man, wanting him closer. Whether that was in the booth of a restaurant, on the car ride home while you were sat at a red traffic light, or when he had you pinned against the locked door for your house. 
Eyes dropping, you watched as your hands - with freshly lacquered nails - gently drew the opening of your silky-satin dressing gown together as it started to gape. 
From your fidgeting, Harry’s attention was stolen by the movement he had seen in his peripherals and when you next looked up at him in the mirror you were met by his already awaiting gaze.
His face looked worn, as his still slightly damp hair fell across his forehead. Lines lingered in his skin from the way his head was tilted and his arms were bent as his hands faffed around with what appeared to be a trinket box. He must’ve reached for it at some point while you were otherwise occupied. 
Gold cross dipping underneath the neckline of the vest, the width of his chest seemed to be getting wider the longer you kept your eyes on his reflection. In moments like this you always became hyper aware of the amount of tattoos that were scattered across his body - arms, shoulders and chest. If you were able to let your eyes drop lower, you were sure the ones of his legs would be just as vivid.
But while everything else about him just seemed content in the moment, his eyes were different. They were strong as they held yours. Waiting for something. 
And you knew you couldn’t keep his gaze as you let your words leave your throat, albeit with less conviction than you originally thought them.
If you were after a bicker before dinner then he was absolutely going to bite and give you what you wanted. You just knew it. 
“You’re not going out in that, are you?”
“‘S there a problem ‘f I am?”
A charged pause.
Harry’s remark was shot out instantly, on yours as fast as a predator was on their prey. 
Inhaling deeply through your nose, you looked back at him through the mirror. A slant to his lips as he waited once more.
Gentle raise of his eyebrows. Faint but definitely there. Goading. Knowing you would be so aware of every moment, every twitch with your eye for detail. His eyes shone in a way that he was daring you.
Oh, he was spoiling for a fight. Most definitely. 
See, this wasn’t new territory for you and Harry. He knew that it sometimes got on your last nerve in how he opted for a vest to cover his top half as an undershirt but especially when he only wore that as the item of choice and simply slung a suit jacket over the top to complete the outfit. 
Like that one time when he attended The Store X The Vinyl Factory's Transformer exhibition and swung by your then rented London townhouse after said event in the small hours only for you to chastise him on the doorstep for how he hadn’t even put on a proper shirt for the evening. 
That night he had teased you - “‘least let me in the door before you start dressing me down, darling. Especially considering ‘m halfway there with not putting on a clean shirt an’ everythin’” - in that slow draw that maddeningly managed to warm you through even when you were irritated with it’s orator. 
Blinking, you knew you needed to respond but you weren’t sure which route you wanted to take with your tact. 
“Not a problem, ‘s just not my favourite.”
“Didn’t realise we’d become tha’ sorta couple,” he paused, his sentence obviously not finished. When your eyes met his again, he continued, “The kind that tells the other what they can and can’t wear, can and can’t do.”
Sighing, you fiddled with your diamond earrings and spoke, “Forget I said anything.” 
“No, no,” he spoke clearly, ringless hands rising in defeat. “You don’t like the vest, ‘s fine. Allowed an opinion.”
“Nice to know.”
A suppressed laugh spluttered from Harry’s lips as he pressed them together. 
Looking at him again, you watched him wrinkle his nose up at you through the mirror. By now your gaze was flat and you were far from impressed with his taunting.
“Come on,” he encouraged, eyes alight.  “‘S have a row.” 
“I’d rather not.”
“‘S healthy to tell me to piss off every once in a while, y’know tha’?”
“So, piss off.”
“Ouch,” he dragged the word, playing offended. “Could say it wi’a bit less conviction next time.”
“That’s if we make it to a next time,” you muttered, seeing his smirk. “‘M not doing this.”
He watched the way you snatched at your other earring, your hands quick to try and place it gently to your lobe but in your haste you fell foul of losing the item. 
“Shit,” you hissed when the dainty jewellery slipped from your grip and to the wooden floor below with a dull clink. 
“Hang on-“
“It’s fine,” you rebutted any chance of his offering to help, swiping for the earring and managing to make good the second time around. 
There was tension in the air now as Harry remained quiet while you continued busying yourself, ignoring the bubble of annoyance and unexplained upset simmering within you.
Gently scooping at your necklace next, you fiddled with the clasp of the fine chain and tilted your neck down as you raised your hands and arms to place the necklace onto yourself. 
From behind you, Harry nervously chewed at his bottom lip. He knew the outcome wasn’t going to go well as he looked on at your slightly shaking hands struggling to successfully bring the two sides together. 
Rather than point out the possibility of ruining the nails that you had endlessly chewed his ear about all afternoon and constantly stuck under his nose to show off; he waited with baited breath, more than willing to step in if required.
It was when he heard the small and soft growl omit from your mouth with sheer frustration that he decided to change tact.
Gone was the trinket box, tossed aimlessly back onto the bed with a soft bounce. His hands gently placed to rest against taut shoulders, Harry leaned down to press his lips to the top of your head. Nose tickled by your hair he muttered into the silky strands, “Let me, darling.”
You froze as you sat in your seat, eyes still slightly lowered from the way you had dropped your head. Frantically blinking as you mulled over how you were going to play your next move. 
Harry hummed, noticing that you had gone quiet on him, knowing you wouldn’t want to engage with him just yet considering how soon he had previously provoked. He just had to wait it out a little more. 
A slump came to your shoulders at his words, partially irked at how he had been the one to coil your spring - pushing and pressing and prodding - and now he thought he could be the one to so easily offer you release. 
“Let me just-,” he spoke more so to himself, cutting himself off, as he scooped your hair into his hands and mumbled soft apologies considering he knew you had spent some time on styling. 
When he was happy that your neck was open enough and there wasn’t going to be anything to hinder him with your tresses over one shoulder, he reached for the item. 
Harry’s right hand met yours first, his thumb and forefinger easily pinching at the delicate chain that he knew so well having been the person to pick and purchase the item. 
Surprised at how easily you gave up the treasure, Harry darted his eyes to your left side and reached for the other side of the fine chain. 
“Have you got it?” You were reluctant to let the one side of the necklace go, in fear of losing the pendant that was currently bouncing against your chest from the way you held the jewellery item. 
Again, a throaty hum vibrated through Harry’s chest. 
“Which idiot chose the finicky clasp?”
“You did,” you outright answered him.
He chuckled in concentration, eyes zoned in on the way his thumbnail pressed at the clasp to hold it down, and his left hand fed itself to the right. “‘S right, I did. Fucking big idiot over ‘ere.”
You then felt the chain gently tickle the back of your neck as Harry let the item go. “But he’s only gone an’ bloody done it.”
Lightly sighing, you pressed your hand to your chest and felt the necklace sitting cooly against your hotter than usual skin. A soft smile at Harry’s choice of words to let you know he had successfully put on the necklace. 
Slightly inside your own head as you raised it to sit up straight, you quickly busied yourself with returning items that you had been using to get ready, to their rightful spots.
Behind you, you heard Harry chuckle as he gently dropped himself down to sit on the edge of your side of the bed. He was clearly amused at how you still couldn’t bring yourself to look at him. 
“Ignoring me now? Not even gonna gi’me a thank you?”
If you hadn’t been so stubborn, and focused on the task at hand you would have heard his question and thanked him. However, given your own bloody-mindedness, you never stood a chance. 
Learning forward, Harry’s hand reached down to one of the four legs that made up your dressing table pouffe - the one closest to him - and swiftly pulled. 
Of course, you squealed. The quick change in motion was enough to cause anyone to omit a noise fit only to dogs hearing due to its pitch. 
“‘Ve got yer,” he spoke around a chuckle, enlightened by your reaction as the chair scraped against the flooring and made it so you were virtually sat in his lap. “If the mountain won’t come to Mohammed...”
Sharply, you turned to look at him and pushed at his shoulder. “Hope you’re not implying-“
“Wha’,” his expression was boyishly cheeky as he cut you off with his question, his hand keeping hold of yours that had pushed his shoulder. “What am I implying?”
Nostrils flared as you looked at him, feeling your arm slowly wrap around his neck as he tried to pull you closer once more on the chair. Legs man spread, he managed to slot you in between his thighs and enjoyed the way your soft knees squashed into his inner thigh from how close you now were. 
“I’m implying what the proverb is implying,” he smarmily responded, forever having an answer for everything.
“Is that so?”
“It is,” he turned, noting the way your arm was still draped around his neck.
“Shame that,” you commented. “Cause if you were alluding to the other thing then you would’ve really gotten the fight you were looking for.”
Harry’s eyes cut to you from the corner of his vision, his lips now pressed gently against your forearm. “Would I? If that’s the case, I take it back.”
Again your nostrils flared, as you mumbled a veiled threat of, “Swear to god, Harry.”
“So, so easy to wind up-“
Harry’s voice was abruptly cut off when your fingers came into contact with the hair at the nape of his neck and pulled as hard as you could. His only response was to gently graze his teeth to the skin of your arm and the silk of the gown in the tiniest of nips as he ascended to your neck.  
“D’yeh know how much I love fighting with you?” He mumbled against your skin, “How much I love doing anything and everything with you?”
“Have a feeling you’re going to tell me,” you swallowed around your dry response, feeling his lips quirk against the shoulder of your silk gown as he gently brushed your hair away once more.
With it falling down your back, you became all too aware of the gape to your coverup, revealing your clavicle and the top of your breast, as Harry’s lips rubbed against where your neck and shoulder met. 
Growl-like hum heard from your suitor, you gently pushed your finger through his drying hair. Forcing it in haphazard directions before bringing it back and smoothing it down. 
When he showered you with affection like he was currently doing, it was hard to stay mad at him. Which is why you found the direction of conversation so intriguing. What was he trying to achieve here? Whatever it was, he really was going the wrong way about it. 
“Know why I love fighting?” He felt you shake your head lightly as he brought you back to him with the question. The rustle of your hair against his was heard prominently in your ears as he now lightly rested his forehead to your temple. “Yea’, you do,” he disagreed with your non-verbal response, tone gritty as he tried to rouse once more. 
“‘S cause I love shagging when we’re angry,” he heavily pressed his nose into your cheek, knowing you were watching him through the hooded eyelids regardless of how you wouldn’t fully let your gaze meet his long enough to be suckered in. “How you really dig your nails into my back an’ shoulders when I properly get going - not to mention my arse cheeks - and how it feels when I step under the shower the next morning and wince like a little wuss.”
You laughed breathily, stopping your feelings of joy by biting down on your bottom lip. Laughter however played on your lips, lingering in a soft smile that danced along and up the corners of your mouth.
“Fight me, darling.” 
Amused didn’t even cover it as you pulled your head back in a slightly uncomfortable way to look at him. The smoulder of his dilated eyes that were clearly set on what he wanted, they jarred so evidently against his messy hair that looked fit for a toddler who had woken from a heavy nap.
He seemed awfully whiny for a man who was confident with what he wanted. Supposed to be the instigator of an exchange of diverging or opposite views, creating most likely a heated happening. Then again, maybe he was onto something.
Soft frown set in the middle of his brows, his eyes dropped so brazenly down to your lips. A quick swipe of your tongue had them glistening enticingly for him as saliva lingered and caused his groan to get caught in his throat. 
Hand against the back of your head, he tilted your face down to his once more and let his mouth sit at the corner of your lips. Your breathing and his had started to become staccato, as anticipation bubbled within you both from your shared close proximity. 
“‘M waiting,” you challenged knowing he would rise up to the provocation, as his hand turned you face a tiny amount more so when he stuck his nose against yours, so they would slot perfectly together.
Harry’s vision blurred as he felt your warm breath bounce against his face, licking his own lips now and rolling them into his mouth to take away any dryness. 
Hand drawing you to him and mouth about to take your bottom lip, he felt the soft draw back of your head causing his lips to tweak as his breathy laugh mixed within his short and sharp exhalations. 
“‘S tha’ how it’s gonna be?“
You fought the way your hooded eyes wanted to close at the gruff tone that laced his question, wanting to marvel in the glow that had started to coat the skin of his face. 
“Said you wanted a fight.”
No sooner had the words left your mouth were his lips abruptly upon yours. His hand spread across your entire cheek as your free hand reached for his wrist and tightly gripped. Noses squashed from the force; desperate to have each other. 
Harry's lips were fierce and bruising, his body feeling heavier against yours as he rested his other hand against your chair and gave you more of his weight. 
For him your smell was everywhere, as your other arm wrapped around his neck and clawed at the fabric of that bloody vest. The sweet of your hair care juxtaposed against the woody florals of your perfume that sensually drew and tied him to you.
Knees knocking together, you felt the way his hand stumbled as it peeled away from the chair and clawed at the silky fabric of your gown. Fingers quickly became frantic as his concentration moved to his hands that lifted fabric and slipped underneath craving the feel of your warm, soft skin.
With his mouth slightly slower and fallen as he was pulled elsewhere, you tried to take the lead as his hands wandered and he explored.
His hands were softer than usual, time away from music and instruments meaning the callouses had faded. Short nails were dull as they clawed, fingertips dancing against your plush thighs as they flattened to the seat and then upwards along your hip, scooping around your back and confidently spreading out just shy of the top of your bum.
God, he loved knowing you were completely naked underneath. How with a quick and sharp tug of his hand, he would have you bare to him.
Small press against your lower back had Harry silently asking you to raise and fall into his lap. You ignored him at first, far too wrapped up in the way he gave you his tongue around his quivering lips that were trying not to smile at the way the two of you were shamelessly necking on and he was managing to get his own way. 
Pressing your toes into the patterned antique Persian rug which sat underneath your bed, your body created a break between your thighs and their seat. Harry took advantage of the space without any need for a nudge, his hands curling against the clammier, warm skin as he urged you once more to come to him.
Your knees hit the side of your mattress first, lifting and mounting Harry’s lap and he moaned as he enjoyed your full weight against him. Fingers digging into the skin of your thighs, you felt him squeeze as he started to lower himself down to the bed.
Body laying atop an outfit priced easily in the early thousands, Harry hummed clearly letting you know how pleased he was with himself. This was only solidified by the crack of his hand, as it slapped against you bare bum cheek now on show. 
“Can’t believe you’ve got your arse in the air like this,” he rasped, head lifted so he could leave lingering kisses to the hinge of your jaw. 
Mouth slightly dropped, you could feel the way his right hand danced against the curve of your cheek and the way it dipped as it met the back of your thigh. 
His eyes were on your face, chin soft as he tilted his head down to his chest. You admired him, somehow able to find a stillness woven within a intoxicated, sensual love between the lewdish comments and suggestive wandering hands. 
Lips melding to the skin of your cheek, he asked,  “Who’re you showing it off to?”
“You, ‘f you want it like that.”
The coolness of the room hit your bare skin even more as Harry roughly pushed up the fabric of your gown up as he palmed your cheeks once more, skin massaged and squeezed between his digits.
Raw groan, he found his voice, “Turn over for me.” 
Harry slid himself closer to the side of bed, hands making light work of his socks and his briefs before he turned to throw you a glance over his shoulder.
You had removed your gown, item somewhere now on the floor revealing yourself to him proudly. 
As you lay gently on your stomach, the expanse of your bare back on show for him. He greedily let his eyes wander, the curvature of your shoulders and the indentation of your spine line. 
The way your right leg was slightly bent creating a crease to your hip and your left leg a little straighter. You certainly gave him plenty to devour with his sight. 
He didn’t give it much thought when he joined you back on the bed, his hands pressing into the mattress closer to your head.
Bare fingers caught your attention as you watched his hands scrunch around his expensive dress shirt, the familiar scratching sound music to your ears as it caught against his nails and not yours for once while he threw it to the floor at the bottom end of the bed.
“Doesn’t look like we’re going to make it to tha’ dinner,” he spoke, his words not really warranting an answer. Beside your hips, you could feel his knees as he leaned for the trousers on the other side of you and pushed them out of the way too.
He continued with, “Already late. ‘S no point.”
From the way he spoke you wondered if this was what he had been aiming for all along. To scrap dinner and have his way with you. It wouldn’t have been the first time and definitely not the last. 
Eyes already heavy from the deep lull of Harry’s voice, they closed when you felt his lips hit your back, making light work of inhaling you in. His mouth was wet as he reacquainted his lips with your skin, suckling the lower he got.
Nose gently sweeping down, you found yourself dropping your forehead to your forearm giggling from the light tickle, only to sharply cry out as his teeth sunk into the top of your cheek and your head lifted once more. 
Your hand reached behind you pressing against his forehead, “Don’t you dare leave a love bite on my bum.”
His lips twitched at your squealed but breathy chastise, tongue laving against the startings of a mark. “Always begrudging me of eating, darling.”
A devilish grin laced his features as you dared to look over your shoulder at him and take in his gaze that owlishly looked at you from behind your curved hip. All you could see were his eyes as your hand gently pushed his head while he pulled your hips upwards with him, lips skimming the backs of your thighs. 
“Mm,” he started. “Not everything though, ‘s tha’ right?”
The man simply didn’t want to part from his meal.
“You always did like dessert better.” 
There was nothing more Harry loved than when you let him put his face between your legs. But when you let him do it from behind, he couldn’t even explain the difference yet there was one.
Maybe it was the way he could grab and smack your arse, fingers digging into your hips as he got to pull you onto his face when things started to get hot and heavy. That animalistic grab to your hip bone, loins pulled onto his face as he went to town.
Even better when you would push back against him. So caught up in the way he felt that you couldn’t wait any longer. He could talk to you easier this way too, really coax you not only with the feel of his tongue but the words that dripped off it too. 
And then there was the possible anticipation of assplay. Tongue always ready and willing to stimulate if it were desired and communicated. 
The way his hands massaged you, softly pulling apart your rounded cheeks and opening you to the cool air of your bedroom almost stunned. Your body quickly gathered itself with a warm moan when you felt his warm salvia drip messily down onto your ass and your middle. 
Then he was leaning forward - lapping at your skin - lapping you up. Tongue greedy at your cheeks and folds, building his own desires before he actually ate. 
This was his starter. 
The most feminine gasp exited your open mouth when you felt his mouth land where you needed him the most, somewhat too cautiously for your liking at first but you knew he sometimes liked to play this game. You found yourself wiggling back, Harry’s hands wrapping around and squeezing into your thick thighs welcomingly when he knew you’d caught on. 
He hummed, pleased that you had fallen from his meek offerings and gave you more of his mouth. 
“There’s my girl.”
“H,” you panted, pressing your forehead onto your forearm. 
“Fuck,” he muttered against you, enjoying how you were letting him have a taste. Your sweetness quenching his starved fancy. 
You were wet, but he wanted you wetter. Just wet enough so that you were tacky when he tapped himself against you teasingly. 
With his eyes closed, Harry opened his mouth wider as he pulled your hips back to his lips. His nails dig into your skin as your hands clenched into the sheets beneath.
He worked slowly against you, tongue licking at your wetness and saliva mixing with your early arousal. Nose buried inside of you as he devoured you in a way that had you thinking he had been wanting you this way for weeks. A little bit rougher, grabbing you to him and not in the way that quickies usually brought. In a way that sex selfishly commanded sometimes. 
“God, baby-“ how was it always so- gratifying? 
With his eyes closed now as he tried to focus, Harry felt your body shuffle and his own limbs followed after you without restraint. Your bum became slightly raised as you pressed your arms deeper into the mattress due to the way you began to play with yourself.
Your fingers swiped upwards in gentle pulls against your clit, Harry’s mouth barely letting up. He must’ve figured out what you were doing though from your slight change in position as he hummed against your heat, light mutterings that you couldn’t make out. 
“‘S tha’ feel good?” he asked, voice hot as he pulled back to bring his focus onto the glide of your fingers against your wet and neglected clit. “Couldn’t wait, wanted to play.”
You knew you were slick, you could feel it but rather than feel embarrassed you found yourself without a care as you pushed yourself back again. His chuckle made you feel on fire, “Not done with me? Still need some more?”
His lips and tongue dove straight back in rather than wait for a verbal answer, feeling the way your legs widened further when he licked in a particular way. The smell and taste of you was everywhere, gleaming against him with a tackiness that was the perfect piece of free memorabilia. 
Breathing heavier, you both listened to every small gasp and light moan that was drawn from you. The sound of his lips pulling at you making a heat spread across your chest and down to your core.
Harry knew your reactions like the back of his hand, and was waiting for that one sound that was so sweet and enough to get him to cheekily pull away. 
The thought alone had his lips curving into a smile against you, as he felt you starting to clench against his tongue from your joint efforts of pleasure. 
“Harry,” you whispered, rushed. The slow burning feeling starting to form in the pit of your stomach as your fingers began to move with that little bit more fervour. “Want you.”
His mouth was away from you and against the skin of your bum cheek not long after, lips messily wiping as he moved them up your back leaving a trail of arousal in his wake as you felt yourself fall flat to the mattress as he mounted you. 
Hands pinched into the skin of your back, Harry pressed his pelvis against you. 
Feeling him nestled between the cheeks of your bum, caused your eyes to close. He was so full and hard for you, you couldn’t contain the throaty moan that accompanied his grind into the dip of your bum.
“‘M gonna fuck you,” he panted, hands sweeping your hair to one shoulder so his lips can find your skin again. “Want that, hm?”
Your fingers wove into the hair at the nape of his neck, as he craned his head to look at you. His left hand pressed into the bed, holding his entire weight as his right hand reached down for his leaking cock. 
“‘S this what you want- how you want it?” He goaded in question again, gently tapping himself against the skin of your bum before he slid himself down and watched as you slightly raised your own hips for him and started to reach behind you to encourage him to press his weight on top of you.
Harry lined himself up, pushing forward and shifting his eyes from his sinking cock and up your back to see your head dipping forward to fall between your shoulders. He knew he’d never grow tired of the welcomed blissful moan of ‘yes’ that always left your lips when he finally gave it to you.
Humming deeply, Harry bit around his smile as he started with shallow, teasing thrusts. A series of strokes that you found frustratingly sexy but knew as ones he wouldn’t be able to keep up due to his own insatiable desires. 
He swore, in the least teenage boy way possible, you were always tighter to him like this. Especially if you crossed your legs at your ankles behind him while he pushed into you. 
It was usually the position you adopted when you’d let him take you this way, however in the dusk evening he could feel that you had lifted your legs up so your calves were resting against his bum and holding him to you; cutting his shallow thrusting short to press and hold him deeper inside. 
As his pelvis flattened against your bum, he gritted his teeth and released a deep noise from the very back of his throat. The sound had you giggling, slightly wiggling your hips from beneath him, the moment quickly halted by one of his hands cupping at your skin.
“Darling, steady,” he warned.
“Come on,” you wiggled again. “Fuck me then.”
Pulling back, Harry nudged forward just as smooth, the intent behind his thrust obvious. Eyes dropped down he enjoyed the bounce of your cheeks from the force of his pelvis.
A content hum left your smiling lips as you jolted from each push of his hips; his grunts of exertion delightfully pleasurable as his hands pressed into the mattress next to your waist. 
Thrust measured - slow, hard and deep - knowing what they wanted and needed. How to get it too. Undulating and determined.
Harry’s eyes closed as he felt you squeeze him, your legs dropping away from the cheeks of his clenching arse and down to the bed with a soft bounce. You moved again and he followed, legs opening wider against the mattress beneath you both. 
The way your face was now half buried into the sheets, muffling your moans that were usually hot against his ear and coaxing him to places he was still dumbfounded he was able reach let alone find. 
Teeth gritted once more, he could feel the tightness in his limbs and lower back. The work of his hips was unyielding but you were opening up to him, only making him want to continue the steady rhythm. To push and pull. To chase.
And it was enough. It was nice. Simmering. And if you opened your legs just that little bit wider you could rub yourself against the sheets but you wanted to give as good as you could get. Being engulfed wasn’t going to give you that. 
“Give it to me,” you requested, “Harder, baby.”
“Yeah,” he agreed. “Really need it, don’t yer?”
He pulled you upwards, hands at the curve of your waist so his fingers indented and left lighter marks against your skin from the pressure.
Now on your knees he could really have his way with you. 
Soon the sound of your skin slapping together only started to add to the growing fire in the pit of his stomach and yours. The sound of it so obscene but so welcomed to both your ears. 
Harry’s eyes raked over your naked body, the pert cheeks of your arse bouncing enticingly against his hips, to the tops of your fingers that were fisting tightly into your bedsheets. Knuckles so prominent due to the unrelenting grip.
He had noticed that your body was on its way to folding in on itself, arms stretching above your head and hands finding purchase on your plush bed pillows closer to the top of the bed that had been reached and pulled for by your own lack of knowing what to do with your hands.
“D’ya love me?”
His question was so gritty. Throat dry from his heavy breathing. You found yourself collapsing again. 
Your body, in its lethargy, started to curl up into itself with hands pressed down and your legs bent as your arse begins to bob more against him rather than thrust itself back.
“Said d’ya love me.”
He was sharp with his thrust.
“So much-“
It was wet and it was gasped. Low moan as he cracked his hand against your cheek.
“‘S tha’ the sex talkin’,” he heaved goadingly, and you knew he was smiling. It wasn’t the sex talking, but it could be. Both so taken by the waves of pleasure that could easily sway even the most sound of minds.
You whined into your arm from his smarmy laugh, a writhe to your hips as Harry licked at his thumb and pressed it enticing against your arse. Gentle rubs had you gasping his name and pressing back, as his thumb slid down to collect your arousal that was sat coating your outer walls and his cock each time he retreated.
As you became more excited, his thumb pressed against you with a bit more pressure, gently popping inside and sitting there. 
“Harry,” you whined, the loudest you could around biting your lips, a soft frown forming against your brow at the pleasurable intrusion. 
“You fuckin’ love it,” he growled, watching as you pushed back against his next thrust. “You dirty mare.” 
Heavy frown against your brow, you dropped your head onto your forearm once more and felt yourself start to clench around him. “Yea’,” he muttered to himself, “You’re coming.” 
Nodding your head against your forearm, you felt his free hand rest onto yours that was pushed above your head. He pressed down, fingers slotting through yours as he grunted in time with his harder thrusts into you.
With shaking thighs and aching knees, you feel your mouth fall as his teeth grazed over your ear and his heavy pants warmed your already perspiring cheeks. 
“Don’t fight me,” he pleaded. “‘S nice to give in.”
His head was heavy against your temple, your hair messily in your face. You felt your expression fall as you teetered, starting to lean slightly more to one side. He was nodding, you didn’t know who to but you knew what about and you found yourself craving his narration of whispered ‘yeses’ but instead you were both overcome and the best he can do was huskily groan to encourage you.
Suddenly it tipped and your limbs started to shake as you pressed back against him both in want of more but more so to ground yourself so you didn’t collapse. He stuttered from your vigour but held you there, feeling you helplessly writhe and mercilessly squeeze around him. His cock grinding and dipping into you, drawing out each tremor, desperately seeking its own sexual gratification.
Your other hand was wrapped around his face, fingers digging into the back of his neck and whispering begs for him to come inside of you. Pleas of how you want him to give it to you. Fill you up.
And you were lewd because sometimes that was how he liked it.
Such a pretty face and pretty mouth - yours - speaking to him in such a way. Admonishment was forgotten. Who needed or cared for it when his balls were pulling up tight with each slap against you. 
And then he collapsed against you. His thighs roughly spread you as he clenched and groaned deeply - guttural - giving you everything he had. 
Blood rushed around his ears as he shuddered and shook, the force of his orgasm causing his hips to continue with little pushes just to be sure he was done. Lost to himself, the silence and his sensitivity. 
He roused to your dirty snicker, one of disbelief. Right hand wrapping behind to feel for his arse cheek and digging your nails there, wanting to keep him deep inside, or just behind you for long enough to feel him pressed flaccid and wet against your cheeks. 
The filthy reminder caused you to flush, as Harry shuffled behind you, lips seeking out your clammy skin. 
“Make you mad more often, ‘f tha’s my private penance.”
His words were muffled, spoken into your shoulder as his hands soothed and massaged over your joints in preparation for the aching reminders tomorrow. 
And the vest was still on. 
2K notes · View notes
jar-of-ectoplasm · 3 years
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Reverse Demon Slayer AU
a/n: a demon slayer au my friend and i were talking abt a bunch last week and i wanted to share it with you guys :))
like literally the au is just the demon slayers are the demons and the demons are the demon slayers it's prob been done before but still here it is besties (the hashiras turn into the 12 kizuki, the trainers are like the ex-kizuki members [like kyogai])
Genre/Warnings: Demon shit, body horror, just kinda creepy stuff cause the demons in Demon Slayer look busted most of the time, mentions of blood, gore, mentions of violence/death, religious stuff (gyomei)
~Giyuu Tomioka~
-Stays in the forest near a lake
-His voice echoes, kinda like how a siren's would. Since his voice is very calming and can go pretty far out, it lures a lot of people into his lake
-Blood Demon Art: Can create "reflections" of the demon slayers he's fighting out of the water in his lake. Every hit they land on Giyuu's version of them just goes straight through it since it's made of water but it's able to actually hurt the slayer (basically giyuu just makes little water minion to do his bidding)
-Would be very attached to the demon who turned him (which is Urokodaki) and would be absolutely livid if anyone managed to kill him
-After your encounter with an ex-kizuki member, you started hearing a strange voice echoing through the forest in front of you. Mistaking the man's calls as cries for help, you venture further into the forest not knowing you were walking into your death.
~Shinobu Kocho~
-Her eyes look just like a fly's, but instead of red they're purple
-Has pincers on the sides of her face
-Blood Demon Art: Can spit acid up to 5 feet (like an assassin bug) and if she manages to bite you, she can inject venom into your bloodstream with her freak ass bug tongue (like an ant)
~Sanemi Shinazugawa~
-The top half of his outfit would be tied around his waist (like how Susamaru had hers)
-The scars on his body would become mouths, and each mouth also has a voice so whenever Sanemi speaks it's like there are several voices speaking at the same time
-Blood Demon Art: Can literally take the their from a person's lungs and suffocate them. A demon slayer can't use their breathing technique if they can't breathe, right?
-Doesn't wash the blood off his clothes and he keeps the swords of the slayers he kills as trophies
~Tengen Uzui~
-Each dot on his face tattoo would become more eyes
-His three wives would change every so often because they're kidnapped female demon slayers
-Blood Demon Art: If he gets even the tiniest cut anywhere on his body, he'll be able to emit an incredibly high pitched sound to disorient his opponent
~Muichiro Tokito~
-Blood Demon Art: Creates a mist that, when inhaled, fogs the person's memory; making them forget what they were doing completely so he can easily attack them
-Honestly, he thinks killing the Hashiras Muzan sends after him is a chore, so he usually stays in the Infinite Fortress
-When he does go out though, he doesn't stay in one place for too long so he can avoid the demon slayers as much as possible. He doesn't want to waste energy on killing low level children
~Obanai Iguro~
-Pretty much a naga, the bottom half of his body is a serpent's tail
-Can unhinge his jaw to take some big ass fucking bites out of people
-His eyes can look in two different directions at the same time, making it hard for slayers to land a good hit on him
~Mitsuri Kanroji~
-Main territory is the red light district, she lures men into her little place and eats them
-Blood Demon Art: Similar to how Tamayo can force someone to tell the truth using her demon art, Mitsuri is able to attract people to her. No one wants to hurt the person they're attracted to, so it would make it easy for her to kill them.
-The prettiest demon Hashira by far, pretty much everyone else looks like some horrible grotesque creature
-She always tries to keep the clothes of the men she kills clean so she can give them to the girls in her house. Even if they are human, she still cares for them greatly
-Is the cleanest demon Hashira as well. She doesn't like making a mess of her room just to clean it up right after
-Mitsuri also likes to try different recipes with the men she eats. Having them raw just isn't as fun as cooking them herself
~Kyojuro Rengoku~
-Blood Demon Art: Similar to Esidisi from JJBA, he can make his blood boil. When the slayer manages to get a hit on him, his blood would splash on them and burn through anything it touched. The temperature of his blood is on par with lava
-Looks the most human out of pretty much all the demons, but something just seems very off about him
-When you're fighting him, he's stone faced until he gets bored of you. His smile just looks way too big for his face, and the amount of teeth in his mouth are far beyond what it should be
-Doesn't have eyelids so he literally never blinks
~Gyomei Himejima~
-Would be dressed as a traditional Buddhist priest/monk
-He kills demon slayers to "help them atone for their sins"
-Main method of killing would be using his rosary to choke them out, sometimes since he doesn't really know his own strength their heads pop off
-He cries blood instead of tears
-Blood Demon Art: Can make his blood as hard as diamond so the demon slayer would be unable to cut him on the first try, so he would be able to take advantage of their shock and kill them
~Tanjiro Kamado~
-Blood Demon Art: Just the same as Nezuko's, since they're siblings and all that
-He had come from a family of demon slayers, and after getting turned into one himself they all tried to kill him (except for Nezuko)
-Wears a muzzle only when Nezuko is around other demon slayers. They have to keep up a charade, but it's so hard to control himself sometimes and that's when the muzzle really helps
-His favorite part of the body is the heart. When he was human, everyone always saw him as kind and innocent but when he was turned he was seen as the complete opposite. He hopes that consuming the hearts of other people will return his old kind-hearted personality
~Nezuko Kamado~
-Nezuko followed in her parent's footsteps by joining the demon slayer corps, but instead of trying to find a cure for her brother she gets information and passes it to Tanjiro and the demon Hashiras.
-Nezuko ended up taking Tanjiro away from the bloody ruins of their home, and on their way down the mountain they ran into Giyuu who instructed them to go to Urokodaki so Tanjiro would be safe
-Has killed demon slayers who have seen her interacting with the demon Hashiras. She has to keep her record clean to climb the ranks and to help Tanjiro at the same time
~Zenitsu Agatsuma~
-Would lure people into a trap by guilt tripping them into being alone with him
-"Could you please help me? I lost my gramps, but I can't see him anywhere. Will you help me find him?" and then they'd get bodied
-Always avoids killing innocent people or new demon slayers. He feels so bad for taking their lives away from them, but sometimes he just can't help it
-He'll style the female demon slayers hair after he kills them so they can be just as pretty as they were in life when they get to Heaven
~Inosuke Hashibira~
-The boar mask would become his actual head
-Instead of duel wielding swords, they would be some big ass fangs that he swings around to impale demon slayers
-Inosuke fights dirty. He'll snap his jaws at you and laugh hysterically when he manages to take a chunk out of your arm
-Actively seeks out demon slayers to kill. He never kills regular people because they don't put up a good enough fight for him
-Eats every part of the body, including the bones
~Misc Characters~
-Kanae was a spider-esque demon and cocooned people in her webs to feed a young Shinobu and Kanao until she was killed
-Kanao was human-turned-demon by the sisters
-Urokodaki is an ex-kizuki member and all of his trainees are now the demons in the Final Selection
-the Fox Children, led by Urokodaki, are merciless to any wannabe slayer that comes into their forest looking to make it out alive. Most of the demon slayers that make it out are nearly dead or had ran straight through, not even trying to get a kill
-the Fox Children wear the masks because their faces are incredibly fox-like (think like, mid transition animorphs cover)
-Nobody knows what Urokodaki's face looks like, but based on his mask that's for the best
~General Stuff~
-In this au, the demons actually stick together and the demon slayers work alone which makes the Hashira Kizuki way fucking scarier than they already were
-And because these demons work together, they're all going to hold grudges against certain demon slayers
-When Kanae was killed, the demon Hashira went apeshit, especially Gyomei. Pairing his strength and horrible blinding rage at the fact his coven lost a very important member, every slayer he kills within the first year of Kanae's death die in horrible ways.
-Imagine following the directions your dove gave you to an old, overgrown sanctuary secluded in the mountains. The moonlight does little to illuminate your surroundings, but one thing you do see is the mangled body of your fellow demon slayer hanging from a tree. The only thing keeping them together is their spinal cord, and the impossibly large hand holding their head to a branch.
-The Hashiras are all extremely savage and violent, rarely ever sparing a human life. (sometimes Shinobu or Kanao might feel bad and spare a small child or elderly person, but other than that nobody is safe)
-Crows would service the demons, and doves would service the demon slayers. Everyone is always wary around crows because nobody knows whether that particular one belongs to a demon or not
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levicanpunchme · 3 years
Note
Hi i found your profile today and I read all of it I am SO IN LOVE WITH YOUR WRITING!!💕Hope u are doing well and getting enough rest!Can i please request Levixfem!reader where they watch scary movie and reader is scared during and after the horror movie maybe u can do hc with levi or one shot!If u like the idea and u are ok to do it can u put much fluff?💕🥺
Thank you for suggesting! Hope you enjoy ;)
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Levi X Y/N
Genre: Romance/Fluff
Warning: Contains a tiny make-out description
Movie Night Gone Right
The air seemed to be drowning in thick tension, terror bustling in your veins as you held onto the edge of your blanket. You scoffed to yourself: modern technology had really evolved so much: the large television screen amplified every emotion especially whilst watching horror movies. It felt like the heinous predators would jump out of the screen any moment, making you piss yourself.
The darkness in the room and eerie music from the television made it impossible for your mind to gravitate elsewhere. Your body was taut as you held your breath while the stupid main characters died one after another in the haunted villa.
You looked to your far right at your boyfriend, who seemed quite unaffected by the countless jump scares. Even whilst watching a terrifying movie, you didn’t see him bat an eye.
He was either too brave or-borderline sociopathic. You hoped for the former.
“Why’re you always choosing horror movies on our date nights, Levi?” You bitterly muttered, your annoyance visible in your tone. Every weekend, you both watched a new movie and he chose horror every damn time.
Your boyfriend looked away from the screen, his wolf-like eyes reading yours. His dark black hair attractively fell like curtains on his forehead, disheveled and messy.
“Because they’re fun,” he monotonously replied.
His response made you speechless. “Fun? What part of large scale man-slaughter and cannibalism, fun?” You cried, disturbed at his reasoning. Horror movies just gave you vivid nightmares and trauma. You usually spent weekend nights with Levi just because you were too scared to head back to your dorm.
Levi’s lips curled into an unapologetic smirk as he glanced back to the television screen. You glared at him narrowly and then resumed watching the movie. A few minutes in, another terrifying scream erupted from the television and your body grew cold, your blanket now scrunched within your clenched fists.
“You’re shaking,” Levi’s soft voice pulled you out of the gory massacres of the movie. He swiftly scooted closer to you as his arm found its way around the small of your back. He wrapped you close to him, your face resting against his chest.
Your chest ached with joy as you heard his heartbeat, trashing against your frame, sending vibrations through your body. His familiar soapy scent washed over you and ignited a deep fire within the pit of your stomach. Your scent mixing with his made your toes curl in pleasure. You liked stealing some of his sweatshirts to take them back to your dorm just to smell him on you. The warmth of his breath cascading down your forehead sent tingles down your spine, making your heart ache with jitters. It was the feeling of being beside him that gave you pleasure.
The movie watching experience was ten times better with Levi holding your body.
Levi’s arm around your frame never loosened. Your warmth embracing him gave him the unfamiliar feeling of a home. His head was filled with you alone, so much so that he didn’t even know who the hell the main characters were in the movie; a week of pent up frustration from not seeing you starting to quench as your warmth diffused into him, making him feel like he were a part of you.
He started dating you a few months ago and it was crazy how damn clingy he had gotten in just a matter of months. At first, he never intended on letting a woman into his territory but you defeated the strong walls that were guarding his heart. When he tasted the sweetness of your lips, he forgot every promise he had made to himself and felt his walls shatter into nothingness.
Levi wanted to snatch you away from the shackles of your university which constantly demanded your attention, keeping you busy with assignments and exams; he wished to burn the whole building down along with your dorm so you could live with him, giving him the epiphany of waking up beside you. He hated anything which took you away from him. Selfish, yes but he couldn’t help it.
He dug his nose into your silky hair, acting subtle so you wouldn’t catch onto his motives. He wanted to run his fingers down the long strands all day, but he couldn’t. No matter how weak you had him, he didn’t want that side to be seen by you.
If he scared you away with his carelessness, he’d throw himself off a rooftop.
He surveyed you, and rechecked for any signs of awareness but seeing the intense emotions in your eyes, he realised you were sucked up into the haunted world of the movie.
He silently smiled to himself and inhaled your scent. Your fragrance was so therapeutic, a fresh breeze of comfort to his exhausted body. His insides squeezed in joy. You were like a heavenly addiction, fulfilling his needs, comforting his emotions.
“Levi, that woman was the imposter all along!” Automatically, his eyes regained its indifference, the smile of his lips disintegrating as he peeled his eyes away from you to the screen.
You looked up at him while snuggling in his chest. Levi pretended to be immersed within the movie and then looked down at you; he almost stopped breathing seeing your lustrous, wide eyes looking up at him like he were the only one on this planet. His breathing became shallow as he quickly nodded, and looked away from you.
“Levi...” you noticed his heaving chest.
You stared at him doubtfully and then it dawned upon you. His eyes were cold but his body said otherwise. He was so warm and his heart was beating so heavily, your stomach flooded with a mass of butterflies.
“Levi, who’s the imposter?” Your heart was skipping a beat as you tried confirming your doubts.
He visibly froze, your question catching him off guard. His adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed his nervousness like a deer caught in headlights.
“Why're you asking me that? Aren’t you watching?” He counterattacked, hoping this would divert your attention.
You stared at him for a good minute and then looked at the television screen. “Yeah but I was just wondering if you ever doubted that white haired lady. She looked so innocent, asking for help and stuff.” You watched his reaction, waiting for his response.
“Yeah, didn’t expect that.”
Chills travelled down your spine as you realised what had been happening these past few weeks: why he always suggested on watching horror movies; why he kept on asking you when will your semester end; why he didn’t like going out to the shopping mall for dates. Everything started making sense.
“Levi, there is no white haired lady asking for help in this movie,” your breathy voice made him flinch and tense up. You had never seen Levi outrightly display his emotions but right now, you could see the little rims of his ears going darker red, a pool of redness pumping through his cheeks as his bottom lip trembled.
Processing, you grabbed the remote from his lap and turned the television off. Your heart was thudding against your ribs as you observed Levi’s clenched fist.
“Why’re you making me watch horror movies when you don’t like them yourself?” Your voice was so soft and airy, comforting him.
You were currently having the time of your life, watching your rigid, formal boyfriend emotionally overwhelmed and embarrassed.
“Answer me Levi,” you dared him.
He gripped his nape and sighed, his nose crinkled with reluctance. Very softly, his words held you astounded.
“So you can get scared and hide into my arms.” —you almost gasped, your body shrivelling as a feeling of mystical happiness engulfed your chest. Your heart palpitated as you stared at the man who owned your heart, feeling the corner of your eyes burn.
“Why didn’t you just—say so?” You whispered.
He looked up at you, his eyes hinting of annoyance. “Because,” he muttered, his words caught in his mouth. You waited patiently. You would wait forever for him, only Levi Ackerman.
“I don’t want to scare you off,” his white skin looked so flushed. Seeing him, your body instantly warmed up too.
“Levi,” his name fell from your mouth like butter. Then earnestly, you climbed on his lap, your leg on either sides of him, facing him. The bold response made you fluster, your cheeks flaring up as you stared into the grey mists of his eyes.
His reaction was instant. His body became taut under your heat as he gazed into your eyes with a suffocating intensity. He instinctively pulled you closer, pulling you into him. Closer, closer until two bodies mushed into one, not an inch of space left in between.
“Levi, I want to dwell you in so much love, so much affection that you might get tired of me and throw me away,” you started with confessing.
Both of you were new to a relationship; both had fears and doubts hurdling your paths. How much volume of love do we express? How much of love do we need to hold back? Is there an exact percentage? Will holding his hand make him uninterested? Will pulling you into his arms seem clingy? The questions were numerous; answers, numerous.
Levi’s chest was heaving in a way you never expected. His eyes were darker than usual, thunderously grey and passionate with a whirlwind of emotions erupting loose; his body was hotter and eyelids heavy as he stared at you with an intensity he never let you see before.
“I get excited when you call me to pick me up from uni-when you text me to remind me of our date nights, and when you let me see through your exterior, when you let me explore every side to you.”
It was taking everything in you to not run away and go into hiding. Your words were exposing the sides you kept to yourself but it was time to let go. It was time to let him know exactly who you belong to.
“Levi Ackerman, if it’s you, I’ll give up everything to be by your side.”
Your words were cut short as his hand held the back of your head and like a desperate wolf, he pulled your lips into his. Every fibre of your being sprung to life. It felt like all the happiness of the world was thrown at you so suddenly, you couldn’t contain your emotions. His moist lips feasted on your mouth and impatiently invaded you with his tongue. Your audible panting was almost embarrassing but you could hear him struggle to breath as well. While he rendered you breathless, his mouth drank from within you like a thirsty stray dog. His arms around you had you locked, unable to escape, nor did you want to.
As you panted to inhale some air, his lips peeled off your mouth, up to your eyelid; he kissed one and then the other. He was breathing so heavily with his nose, your heart faltered at the sounds. He ran his fingers down your silky hair strands and dropped tantalising kisses down your cheek, to your chin and your nose. “I-want-to-steal-you-away-from-the-world,” he confessed, in between mind numbing kisses. He then buried his nose inside the crevice of your neck, inhaling you shamelessly. “If I could, I would-absorb-you-within me,” the hurling emotions he had kept inside were pouring out like unforeseen rain.
He kissed your neckline, tasting and inhaling every inch of you. “I can’t get tired of you, y/n,” his soft words tugged at your heart, making your eyes well up. You were so overwhelmed by his love, and your love for him that your vision was becoming hazy.
“Levi, promise to share your true feelings with me?” You asked, your hand finding its way into his undercut, you pulled at his baby hairs, making his eyes screw shut in pleasure, a comforting sigh left his mouth.
He nodded, spellbound by your touch.
You edged your face closer, kissing the high bridge of his nose and each one of his eyebrows.
“So no more, horror movies?” You muttered resentfully against his lips. His eyes opened again and a soft smile illuminated his mouth as he kissed your plump lips again, not getting enough.
“No more horror movies,” he promised.
You giggled lovingly and kissed the corner of his warm mouth affectionately.
“Move in with me.”
You almost fell back, his words pushing you over the edge. You almost thought you misheard him but the glint of honesty in his eyes proved otherwise. He was dead serious.
“Uh—are you sure? I can be very annoying and lazy...” You didn’t think this was a good idea.
He cut you off, annoyance present in his narrow eyes. “I don’t care,” he rasped.
“I can also be quite messy and you don’t like mess-” You knew this excuse might make him reconsider.
His conviction remained unabated. “I’ll help you clean,” he quickly responded.
You held back your giggle. A day ago, if someone had told you that Levi Ackerman would be begging you with his narrow intimidating eyes to move in with him, you would’ve slapped them in the face for lying.
What changes could a day make...
“What if I don’t want to clean,” you pouted, deciding to tease him.
“Fine, I’ll clean for you,” he responded without hesitation and waited eagerly.
You broke into a melodious giggle which made him roll his eyes at you.
“Okay, Mr. Ackerman. I agree,” you casually responded and kissed his jawline.
Levi exuberantly stood up still carrying you in his arms as a huge grin elevated his facial features. “Let’s get your things.” He put you down on your feet and hurried to the table to grab his keys.
“Wait hold on... right now?” You stared at the clock. It was past midnight and your dormitory was probably closed.
Levi nodded eagerly. “Right now. We’ll request them to let us in.” Before you could object, he was already putting on his shoes and grabbing yours so you could gear up.
You stared at your boyfriend: he looked like an eager kid preparing to go to Disneyland after his parents promised him so. You wondered since how long had Levi put his inner childishness and love away, afraid of the consequences. And then Levi pulled you to the sofa, tying your shoes before you could change your mind and dragged you with him all the way to your dormitory in the later hours of the night. After fighting the guards and begging your dormitory manager, he successively managed to get you to pack up your belongings and come live with him starting that very auspicious movie night.
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