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nobedofroses · 2 years

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Warm My Heart

Day 16: Ruined Orgasm

pairing: Pero Tovar x fem!reader

warnings: nightmare mention, some making out, grinding, fingering mention, handjob, cunnilingus mention, ruined orgasm, first time sex discussed a bit (not virgin heavy language)

words: 2.3k (oops its a oneshot!)

a/n: somehow this turned into a full on oneshot, which might be expanded upon, so that’s why I gave it it’s own name. so much buildup just for a little ruined orgasm alskdjfkasjdf Also, I could not tell you what time period this is supposed to be, just accept that it’s in The Past, please xx

Last, Full List, Next

🎃🎃🎃

The harvest this year had been more meager than in the past. As such, you had been worried about making the money from selling it last all winter until you would be able to grow and sell things again. So, you had decided to rent the small room that you acted as storage to a border. You would just clear the floor and one shelf, which should be enough room for your preferred type of person, a young woman like yourself. The original hope had been that a daughter of one of the larger families in town would stay. Several families seemed too big for their dwellings, but in the end the older daughters that could stay away from home were too valuable for their childcare and housekeeping to let them do so.

For a while you had been worried about what you would do, but then one day a man came along the road leading to town and stopped at your house to ask questions since it was the first one on the outskirts. He had been polite and spoke with an accent, but said no more words than he needed to.

He was inquiring about places to stay and what sort of establishments were in town. Instinctively you trusted him. It was strange because you knew absolutely nothing about him, but he was very respectful and… handsome. And you had been fixing your fence when he came up to you, so when you had a bit of difficulty he offered to help and eventually took over while you babbled about the town, a bit distracted by watching him work. Before you knew it, you were suggesting that he stay with you and showing him where he would sleep.

You supposed it wasn’t your most well thought out plan, and could have been very dangerous, but the man, Pero, was anything but. At least to you. For the first few days he had kept his distance, spending nearly the entire day outside either on your property fixing things he found or somewhere in the town or woods. He would leave before you were awake and get back as you were falling asleep. You weren’t even sure what he was eating.

But two weeks in he had chopped a load of firewood and was carrying it to stack right outside the house and bring part of it inside to be ready for that night. You had practically attacked him with your offer of some soup for lunch, wanting to make sure he was eating well if he was doing all this work for you. Work that you had never even asked for.

After that, Pero joined you for meals at your insistence. It was nice to share a meal with someone, and even though Pero still didn’t talk much, he was always ready to listen to you.

Weeks later, the weather turned fast. It was snowing heavily, eventually making it too difficult to get to town unless absolutely needed and consuming most of Pero’s time outside just to clear it away. It snowed so much that the roof of the chicken coop collapsed and the three surviving hens needed a place to stay until Pero could fix it. You ended up moving Pero’s bed roll to the main room next to the wood stove and the hens were in the pantry.

But when you saw the bed roll in the main space, you realized how small and thin it was and how uncomfortable it must be. For anyone, but especially a well-muscled, tall, and broad man like Pero. You felt guilty with your comfortable mattress, and wanted to switch with him. Before you even finished your sentence to Pero, he said no, absolutely not. So you had dropped the subject. Until a few days later when there was a thunderstorm with freezing rain.

The rain was bad enough, making even the air inside feel colder than it should. But the thunder was worse, reminding you of times when you were small and scared and felt helpless. You had woken up from a nightmare, Pero sitting at the edge of your bed to wake you because you had been crying out in your sleep.

His hand was warm and heavy on your shoulder and he was such a comforting presence that you hadn’t thought twice before moving to the side and grabbing his hand to pull him into bed with you. Thankfully, he hadn’t resisted, just joining you in bed and waiting until you turned around so he could hold you from behind, reassuring and good and everything you needed right then.

From then on, there was little hesitation from Pero to join you in bed to sleep. You had merely to ask with a bit of a pout and remind him that it would keep the nightmares away, and he was at your side. And you hadn’t had another nightmare since. There also hadn’t been any more thunderstorms, but that's besides the point.

One morning, perhaps a month later, the fire in the wood stove had burnt out more than usual, and when Pero tried to get up to start the day, you had whined that you were cold without him. Of course, he merely rebuilt the fire, but somehow you managed to convince him to get back in bed as well.

The next hour had been spent with you talking to him with your eyes closed as you cuddled into him, facing his chest, which was different than usual. You could feel his hums of agreement or understanding under your hand and it felt so nice to be with him like that. When you were a little more awake, you had opened your eyes to find his face only inches away from yours. From there, gravity, magnetism, or some other force had drawn the two of you together until you shared a kiss.

It was your first real one, and it was wonderful but short. That is, until you expressed your desire to do it again, and again, and again, until Pero stopped you from asking by stealing your breath.

Naturally, your relationship became more and more physical. There were long bouts of very amorous kissing, times when he not only held you but moved himself against you, spreading your thighs around his own and pulling you down to him until the friction through your clothing made you gasp and you could feel his hardness below you.

He had seemed content with that, even for the next week. He never tried taking off any of your clothes and never took off his own. You knew he knew you were wholly inexperienced, but you had thought he was going to teach you. Apparently he needed some encouragement.

Once you told him you wanted to do more, to know more, he obliged. Pero made you reach a peak of ecstasy with just his fingers moving between your legs and promised to next do the same with his mouth. But that hadn’t seemed fair to you. You wanted to know how to make him feel that good too.

Pero had hesitated at first. He wasn’t used to women wanting to do that. Previously, they had either participated lightly in their fucking because they were paid to, or it had been desperate and fast enough that there was no need to use their hand. But you wanted to use only your hand until his completion. In the end, he couldn’t say no to you, and he was eager to cum by a hand other than his own.

The first time, he had held your hand on his cock with his own, and stroked himself to completion by guiding yours. It seemed the best way for you to learn the correct pressure and speed. He came hard enough that his hand fell away, but you kept going and going, still as hard and fast, until he had to stop you with a wince. Then he explained that his manhood got sensitive after he came, so once all of his spend had come out, it was okay to stop. You had apologized with kisses, and resolved to yourself that next time you would do better.

While in the following days you had let Pero use his mouth on you (and nearly fainted due to the pleasure), you wanted to try your hand again on him before doing something so complicated with your mouth. What if you hurt him again, even for a moment, and this time with your teeth?

Pero was happy to let you; his cock was raging hard after tasting your sweet cunt, and he needed relief sooner than later.

He watched your hand on him, a little bit clumsy without his to guide you, but he encouraged you all the same, “Yes, like that, hermosa. So good.”

You were proud to make him feel good without help, so you stayed very focused on his length to make sure you continued to do everything correctly. The pressure was firm but not too hard, and on every other move up, you added a twist of your wrist that Pero had shown you.

With your dominant hand, you focused solely on the round tip, spreading the clear liquid that leaked out, and then just running your thumb over the little slit again and again because he moaned a lot when you did it. That gave you confidence that you had a good instinct for this, that even without him telling you explicitly what to do, you could make him feel good.

Pero’s breathing came quicker, his chest heaving as he closed his eyes and let his head fall back, “Oh sweet girl, you are going to make me cum. Mierda.”

You smiled and sped up both hands a little bit, as Pero had told you. Closing the one hand over the tip, you squeeze in time with the up and down of the other. Pero’s moans picked up and got higher in pitch, like they had last time, and you knew he was going to spill his seed any second now.

Not moving your eyes for even a second from his member, you waited until what you thought must be the last possible second, and then, just as Pero had, you let your hands fall away just as the thick white liquid started spurting from the tip.

But instead of the beautiful, delicious moans he had made last time, you were surprised to hear Pero make a choking sound as he opened his eyes, looked down at his untouched cock, and frowned deeply (deeper than you had ever seen him frown, which was saying something). You weren’t sure what was wrong. He had liked what you did with your hands, his spend was dripping down his length, and you had stopped before it hurt him.

The two of you sat in silence for some long moments. Pero was still just staring at his manhood and you didn’t know what was going on. Then you did notice something interesting. He was still hard. Last time, within a minute or two of his high, his length had softened, but now it was still as hard as ever, and looked more flushed than before.

You cleared your throat. You wanted to know what was happening, but you felt a little flustered asking. “Pero…”

He looked up at you as if just remembering that you were there. His gaze quickly switched from you to his cock and back to you. “How— how did you do that, hermosa?”

“I-I don’t know. I just wanted to do better than last time, I didn’t want to hurt you, even just a little bit. Did I? Does it hurt to still be… so stiff?” The back of your neck was blazing hot just saying the words aloud, but you needed to know if you had caused him pain.

“No, no sweet girl. I do not hurt. I ache. Even after spilling my spend, I crave release more than I ever have before,” Pero told you, his voice rough.

You swallowed. Another glance at his member showed you it was nearly purple at the tip and twitching, like it needed to be touched. And you were sure it did. But now you weren’t sure you trusted your hands. Your mouth seemed like a worse option. However, you could not leave Pero in this state that you had created.

Shifting your weight, you felt sticky wetness between your thighs, and not, you knew, from Pero’s mouth. Touching him had made your core wet. Watching and hearing him now made you ache, just like him.

Suddenly there seemed to be only one solution.

“Pero, I want to help,” you told him earnestly.

He smiled, a little breathless, and touched your cheek, “I would be glad for your hands. Perhaps with my help once more.”

You could not blame him for wanting that contingency, but you shook your head. “I think there is only one way to make sure you get what you need. I want to give you all of me.”

Pero stared at you, only blinking, and you wondered if there was a language barrier. If you would have to use more plain (or vulgar) words. Then he rushed forward and kissed you with a passion and heat you weren’t expecting.

Several minutes of kissing went by without another word being exchanged or any touching except for his hands on your face and neck. When he finally pulled back, you were breathless and a little dizzy, just looking up at Pero like he was your world. Which in that moment, it truly felt like he was.

He pressed a quick kiss to the corner of your mouth and then told you, “I will give you everything as well, mi amor. But first, I must ensure that you are ready.”

At first you weren’t sure what he meant, but then he was laying you down on your back and his shoulders were pushing your thighs wide again. You moaned shakily as his breath ghosted over your center.

It was hard to believe that Pero was delaying his own pleasure only to give you more. But it did reassure you that your instincts were correct and he was absolutely the right choice. In your home, in your bed, and in your life.

🎃🎃🎃

#i just love a sweet gruff man #also ignore how absolutely wild it is for her to take in a man as a border when she lives alone on the outskirts of town #pero tovar #pero tovar x reader #smut #oneshot #fluff #nobedofroses #spooky smut 22

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steele-soulmate · 6 months

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Tattooed Wings, CHAPTER 523, Peter Steele & OFC, Soulmate AU

SUMMARY: Mary Claire Bradley meets her soulmate- literally- the famous Peter Steele of metal group Type O Negative. But will obstacles including trauma, stalkers, and toxic family members get in the way of their life?

WARNING: mentions of child rape (nothing graphic) PTSD, milk kink, soft smut, grinding, assault, fingering, hand jobs, blow jobs, 69, P in V sex, blood, noncon rape, violence, death, vandalism, graffiti, attempted kidnapping, break-ins, wild animal attacks, terrorist attack (sabotage) consensual impregnation, bareback, impregnation kink, creampies, terrorist attacks (shootings) hit and run pedestrian accident, precipitous labor, neonatal death, abandoned baby

WORDS: 1158

I woke up the next morning to find that the Ratajczyk bedbugs had come in at some point to infest the bed. Peter was spooning me in his chest, his face squished into the back of my neck as he breathed easily, his arms wrapped around me, snugging me in tightly to him with a hand pressed to my heavily popped out tummy. Elizabeth and Katie both flanked Baby Tommy, the three kids with their respective dolls- Elle, Jing and Baby Tommy’s little unnamed dollie friend- sprawled all about the bed. Mittens and Primrose were sleeping, the motherly cat against the triplets and Primrose tucked in next to Baby Tommy with her little skunklet nose tucked underneath her tail.

I smiled at the open door policy that my husband and I had in place. If the door was shut, then we weren’t to be disturbed. If the door was open, the kids could come inside and keep us company. And boy, did they take full advantage of our rule- sneaking in for early morning snuggles was the main reason, I felt.

I was currently at that stage of my pregnancy where all I wanted was to be fucked into oblivion by my husband’s thick meat, him kissing me all over my befreckled face as he waited for me to come back down again before performing a quick check in and then resuming his manly task.

Peter seemed amused by my frisky sex drive, sometime humoring me with a quickie before returning to whatever he was doing or gently turning me down in favor of tending to the kids. I found myself falling deeper and deeper in love with him as he easily divided his time between getting little girl’s nursery read for the Ratajczyk triplets, helping the girls out with their homework and giving Baby Tommy and Baby Eve skin on skin.

People were overjoyed at the family update that I posted to Instagram- a green and white onesie and the name Matthew Oliver Ratajczyk- Baby Mattie, a green and blue onesie and the name Brandon Edward Ratajczyk- Baby Teddy and a pink and white onesie and the name Josephine Rose Ratajczyk- Baby Jojo. The final picture was a picture of the ultrasound with the boys nestled around Baby Jojo.

People went nuts.

I had set up an Amazon wish list for diapers, crib pads, bottle liners and other such things, all things that we would go through like tissues and would need a healthy supply of. I felt as though people should feel like they were attributing to the family, and the wish list was quickly emptied two hours after I had announced its existence.

Peter had spent most of the next few weeks reading up on Spina Bifida babies and had also discovered a small business on Etsy that made soft bedsheets for people with stim issues and he had purchased three sets of crib sized bedsheets- one in yellow, one in white and one in green. He had washed the bedsheets in gentle unscented detergent before dressing her bed and folding the other bedsheets and setting them into the closet for now.

The babies’ cribs were hand carved with love and care, each one with a different character decorating the headboard- Pooh Bear and Piglet, Kanga and Roo and Owl and Rabbit.

He had touched up the paint on the walls and sanded down the rough spots on the furniture that had originally been for little girl. He also disassembled the crib that James and Aaron had thoughtfully purchased for our usage and had stashed it in the garage for now while he had vacuumed the rug and steam mopped the hardwood floor, bringing up at least three years of grit and grime. He tossed the plush toys into the washing machine and effortlessly restored them back to their former glory. He finished up by hanging a sign with the Ratajczyk triplets’ names onto the door, proudly identifying the Hundred Acre Woods as the babies’ shared bedroom.

I hadn’t been downstairs since Valentines Day, and due to how uncomfortable I always was, I was mostly confined to the master bedroom, happily amused by knitting, crocheting, working on my latest book, doing gentle pregnancy yoga or anything else that held my attention for more than three minutes. I trusted the kids and Peter to keep the downstairs at least presentable and tidy, and in exchange for me staying up in my tower, a regular supply of blueberries would be bought up to feed the great mommy dragon that I was.

From time to time, Isabelle would seek me out to ease her itch. I had happily pleasured her to the best of my pregnant ability, loving her willingness to engage in sweet kisses and sensual cuddles or an impromptu threesome with Peter fucking her at the foot of the bed while she ate me out.

Peter seemed to pick up on how horny I was as of lately, and loved having me ride him in cowgirl, our hands clasped lovingly together lovingly as we locked eyes with one another, shooting off higher, higher, higher-

I would always come to in the tub, warm water flowing from the facet and Peter on his knees with my washcloth in hand, smiling gently at me as he soaped me up before rinsing the soapy suds from my sweat streaked body.

“I can’t wait to meet you three,” I murmured in a soft voice one night when Peter had tugged my back flush against his chest, me having packed pillows into my front, wedging me in place. “Mommy can’t wait to meet her babies.”

TAGLISTS ARE OPEN/ ASK BOX IS OPEN/ REQUESTS ARE OPEN/ PLOT BUNNIES ARE WELCOMED

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PETER STEELE TAGLIST

@rock-a-noodle

@ch3rry-c01a

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sukirichi · 3 years

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wine: ingredient 44 + sugar 7 + spice 12 for gojo satoru *slams table* thank you for feeding us kind maam

for sukirichi’s milestone event:

the meal order : 🍷 + 44 (hate sex au) + 7 (forbidden relationship) + 12 (praising kink) your dinner has been served! also bruh LOL you’re a choso simp this is hilarious spspsps

— who are you to deny him when he only wants to worship you?

gojo satoru x fem! reader

contents/warnings: nsfw, slight angst, reader is hot girl shit, gojo long schlong, hate sex, car sex, spanking, riding gojo, slight angst, praising kink taken to a DIFFERENT LEVEL (i want to make people question the extent of their praising kink), body marking, rough sex lol it’s always rough in my stories, unedited

Your friends pushed you out of the club, all of you laughing, hands clutched around your waists as loud, drunken giggles fill in the night air. It was a wild night; your friends invited you to the club to take your mind off your stupid boyfriend. You thought you’d end up moping around, too much of a buzzkill to ever let loose because it wasn’t that easy to stop thinking about him, but even you were surprised when you started grinding with people on the dance floor just three drinks later.

The gals were more than delighted to see you enjoying your night, only dragging you out the club when you nearly shoved your tongue down another man’s throat.

Scratch that – your friends called you to hang out because you lied about having a shitty day at work. You’ve had your fair share of shitty days, but you were one of the most prominent lawyers in your firm, no one dared gave you a bad day. Your subordinates knew that if they even looked your way without your permission, you wouldn’t hesitate to dump paperwork on them, or assign them to the nastiest cases just to piss them off.

Yeah, you were sort of a bitch, but you didn’t care.

It took a lot to get where you were now. It wasn’t easy to be a woman in a male-dominated workplace and you were forced to strip your softness off, replacing it with hard armor and sharp tongue concealed under bold red lips, a tight pencil skirt that accentuated your curves, and a pair of black suede pumps.

You deserved all your success. You were smart, stunning, confident, powerful – so then why did you feel like shit around your shitty boyfriend?

The answer was loud and clear. It bothered you to no end that he wanted to keep your relationship a secret because his family was too different from yours, coming up with a shitty excuse that you were just “too different.” He never bothered explaining, and every time you confronted him about, he’d only wave his hand, distract you with those delicious and soft lips of his until you forget it over and over again.

You were okay with it at first. It wasn’t a really serious relationship; you only started dating him because you saw yourself a lot in him – confident, self-assured, maybe even a little cocky – plus, he was extremely attractive.

But the longer you spent time with him, you were beginning to fall in love.

Yes, you, the ice princess of one of the most respected law firms all over the city was beginning to soften up at a certain blue-eyed man who had magical hands.

But tonight – tonight you’d forget about him.

Your stomach was heavy with expensive liquor and you were nearly staggering on your knees, the only thing preventing you from falling were your more sober friends. The others were holding you close to keep you upright, while one of your friends moved to a quieter part of the block to call an Uber for you. Your friends were all happily married, some with children, so they couldn’t really stay out too late at night and chaperone you all the way back home.

You were well-aware you were being a bother, but fuck, couldn’t you lean on someone for just once? Sighing, you leaned closer to your warm friend, mumbling something about wanting to forget about everything you’ve been through.

“There, there,” she patted your head comfortingly, “You’ll be fine, babe, you’re a strong woman. I know you’ll get through this.”

“But I hate it,” you drunkenly admitted, lips trembling the more you thought about him, every stupid little thing about him – his soft white hair, those pretty blue eyes he always hid under shades even at night, his large, calloused hands that always felt so rough when keeping your legs open for him and you couldn’t even start talking about his cock, he was just so blessed and perfect in every little thing that you hated it. You hated him. “I don’t like this feeling,” you sniffled, “I feel like I’m being looked down on, that I’m being pushed to the side. I feel unimportant, like I’m not good enough.”

“Who said you aren’t?”

You froze in your friend’s arms, eyes meeting with those blue ones you could never get enough of. As if noticing your silence, your friend immediately covers you with her arm, glaring at your boyfriend. “Do we know you or something?”

“No,” Satoru replies coolly, brows furrowed in the state you were in. You turned away from him with a scoff, arms crossed on your chest. Why did he have to be here out of all places? Wasn’t he busy with work or whatever family shit he apparently couldn’t tell you about even though you’ve both been dating for a year and a half now? He just wasn’t giving you a break, and the hairs on your arm stood up when he said, “Not that you have to, but may I please drive Y/N home?”

“She’s not going anywhere—”

“She’s a friend of mine,” he insisted, turning to you with a pleading look in his eyes. You almost melted. Almost. “I need to talk to her about something.”

You rolled your eyes and stepped forward, your friend’s arm latching onto yours. You could tell she was worried from the way her gaze darted back and forth between you two. Satoru was, after all, clearly uninvited, and he didn’t seem like your type either. You always insisted you preferred refined man, men like his friend Nanami Kento, but alas, you were stuck dating this one instead.

“It’s fine,” you told her with a fake smile, “I’ll call you later when I get home.”

You never got to call her – simply because you didn’t make it home. The moment Satoru closed the car doors behind you, you both got into a heated argument. Satoru hated silences and always made sure the car was filled with music, but this time, he didn’t notice there weren’t any songs when you opened your mouth.

Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was the anger and pent-up tension of not being able to hold him and kiss him in public like normal couples did, in addition to the fact Satoru never explained why he insisted on keeping you a secret – whatever it was, you just snapped.

“I don’t even understand why I’m still dating you!” you huffed, legs crossed on top of the other as you gazed out the window. Lips trembling, you tried so hard to not cry, especially not in front of the man who was breaking your heart. “This is hardly a relationship when I’m not free to call or text you as you please, when I can’t go out with you on dates and we’re always hanging in my apartment. I’m your girlfriend, Satoru, we’ve been together for a long time but I honestly don’t even feel like it. What the hell are we dating for then?”

Satoru clenched his teeth, his grip on the steering wheel tightening. “How many times do I have to tell you that I love you,” he said coolly, acting unbothered and unaffected as ever, but the clench in his jaw said otherwise. “If that’s not enough—”

“Of course it’s not enough!”

“I’m trying here too, okay?” Satoru slammed on the brakes and parked on a desolated spot, hands running through his hair while he breathed heavily. Once he’d calmed down, he shook his head, refusing to look you in the eye like a man. “I’m trying my best. It’s just hard. It isn’t as easy as it looks.”

“What isn’t easy as it looks? Dating me? Letting the whole world know I’m yours?” when Satoru didn’t respond, you scoffed, patience running low and thin. “You’re pathetic, Satoru. Dating you was the stupidest thing I’ve ever done, and I thought I was a smart woman.”

With a shake of your head, you slung your purse over your shoulder and reached for the car door. You were about to leave when Satoru suddenly pulled you towards him, his lips slamming into yours. Like always, you fell into his trap, into the blissful pleasure that was his lips and his hands, and you hated it, hated him, hated him so fucking much because you were so tired of his entire existence.

You wanted to let him know he was insufferable.

You wanted him to feel the pain and misery he put you through.

“I fucking hate you,” you snarled as Satoru kept fucking into you, the entire car windows fogged and the vehicle shaking. “I wish I never met you, you asshole,” Satoru, displeased, only buries himself deeper into you, as if they would erase his mistakes and shortcomings.

Satoru’s large hands snake to your waist and onto your breasts, expertly tweaking them between his fingers. Your head fell back to the crook of his shoulder, your back pressed against his hard chest as Satoru trapped you in his strong arms, impaling you on his cock over and over again. “You’re lying,” he whispered into your neck, tongue and teeth playfully sucking at the tender flesh. His grip on your hip was bruising and possessive, and your breasts bounced fervently at how he snapped his hips upwards to feel your walls coat him and hug him tightly and warmly. “Why would you hate me, sweet girl? Don’t I always make you feel good? Don’t I remind you enough that you’re the best fucking thing ever?”

You didn’t respond right away, your breath taken away with how you could never get enough of this, of him. He was right no matter how much you denied it. Despite being terrible in everything else, Satoru knew and respected you, even admired your dominance and intelligence when other men were intimidated by it.

No, he worshipped you. He made you feel like you were a divine goddess when he tugged at your hair to tilt your cheek to him, his tongue slithering to your lips to taste himself on his tongue from when you previously busted his nut with just your mouth.

Lipsticks smeared on his cheeks and crescent moons on his pale thigh from your nails, Satoru looked wonderful beneath you like this.

He was beautiful, so damn beautiful, but it didn’t change the fact he’d put you through hell these past few weeks.

No, it wasn’t just the past few weeks. Things were always complicated with him. He was perfect in everything else but when it came to you, he made it a mission to hide you and your relationship, changing your contact name to a totally random one “just in case.”

Your mind was confuzzled and you felt like you were on the urge of breaking apart from both his ministrations and his confusing treatment over you. Before you knew it, you were kissing him back fervently with the intensity of your hatred over this man.

Your hand reached his to guide it to rub at your clit, and Satoru, eager to make you feel good as always, happily obliged. Satoru kept bouncing you on his cock until you were too overwhelmed to speak, crying and mumbling incomprehensible words.

Him, only him, would ever have the ability to let the sharp-tongued and intelligent woman who never bat an eye in court lose her wide vocabulary, falling apart in his arms while his long length abused your puffy lips.

“You made me feel like shit,” you finally admitted, tugging at his hair until Satoru is lowly groaning at the slight sting. But did you care? Of course you didn’t. You wanted to hurt him too.

“How so, sweet girl?”

“I can never have you the way I want,” you answered through gritted teeth, moaning out when Satoru suddenly thrusted too deep, hitting your most sensitive spot that had you quivering in his hold. “You don’t—” you gasped, “You don’t understand what I feel, how you make me feel like I’m never good enough for you. That’s the reason why you don’t want anyone else knowing, right? ‘Cause I’m not good enough for you, never gonna be good—”

Satoru didn’t let you finish your words, shutting you up with his cock instead. The vehicle shook uncontrollably with your mating sessions, and Satoru silences you by pulling at your leg to press it on his chest instead.

The sudden switch in positions had your muscles tensing and stretching, adding only to both your pleasures with the new thrown in factor of slight pain. You felt Satoru kiss your neck down to your shoulders, scraping his canines until you were absolutely lost. You gave in, you gave up, head lolling back next to his loving lips that murmured sweet nothings.

“Not true, sweet girl,” he reminded you, flattening you on his cock and making you roll your hips while you slid up and down his pole sensually. Unlike the previous pace, the slow sensation of your pussy hugging his cock with your arousal letting him slide in easily allowed you to feel every part of him, almost mind-wrecking at how good he’s able to make you feel even after such a long time of having him already.

“You’re the sexiest and most intelligent woman I’ve ever met, the best, the absolute blessing of my life, and I just want to protect you, sweet girl. You’re too precious for me to lose,” Satoru kept mumbling over and over again.

You could no longer process his words functionally, not when he’s slamming you down his length like that and burying himself in you as if he didn’t want to be anywhere else.

Satoru’s hands were still curious, appreciative and gentle as he runs his hands, dipping into all your curves and pressing into your most sensitive spots the way you liked it.

“You’re always so good for me so no, sweet girl, never gonna let you go, not when you’re so perfect for me,” Satoru eased your worries – temporarily – with his words, and you’d believe his lie, you’d fall into the same mistakes over and over again because you were just that weak and powerless when it came to him. “You’re made just for me, sweet girl, you’re the prettiest and your pussy is the prettiest – I worship you, I adore you. You’re so divine.”

You blamed it all on your ego.

He praised you so well, made you feel so good and always placed you on top of the world when he’s inside you like this. Even if you knew he’d knock you down the pedestal just hours later, you opened your doors for him all over again.

Satoru knew this too, because he rammed inside your walls and ruined everything that you held firm beliefs in, his large hands smacking your ass to urge you to bounce on him like you weren’t made for any other purpose than to be the woman he adored.

You lied to yourself – you always did – but did you care? So what if you couldn’t be the one he really loved? What did it all matter when you were the one he worshipped?

For the sake of the praise and the compliments, you’d let him fuck you and play with your heart over and over again. It was a toxic routine you’d never get tired of, and you no longer complained, forgetting about everything he’d done and every heartbreak he caused you because he was there, whispering into your ears how good you made him feel and how you were the only one made to take him, and you didn’t care. Not anymore – not when you were worshipped.

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fairyaali · 3 years

Note

hello love! Can I please request a somewhat spicy sub!chat noir x reader? Maybe where the reader is kinda feeling him up and leaving him hickeys and he’s a purring and moaning mess? Maybe he’s begging her to keep going and who is she to say no to such a sweet baby kitty? If that’s not too much of course😌 tysm

Hello bb ! I hope that this satisfied your sub! Chat needs hehe (i know it satisfied mine so) I really love how this came out and maybe i’m willing on continuing another part from here) Thank you so much for this request ! <3

Pairing: Chat Noir X Reader

Warnings: NSFW, characters are aged up in college here :), swearing.

Tags: Sub!chat, Dry humping, begging.

This is how it all went down. He saved you from an akumatized villain. He flirted. You flirted back. Then you guys started hooking up.

You didn’t understand why Chat Noir would do this with a civilian but like every other person on this planet, he has his needs. He would knock in a pattern on your window so you knew it was him and you would let him in, you’d talk for a bit, ask each other about your day until one of you breaks and pushes the other on the bed or against the wall. He was good in bed. Very good. You knew you’d never grow tired of this affair. To top it all off after you both finished you’d sit in bed and talk about all sorts of things. Aliens, Conspiracy theories about the media, gossip about people and sometimes he’d even play Mario Kart with you.

There were no strings attached. You both made it clear from day one. There couldn’t be. You both didn’t have the time for a relationship, you both didn’t have the energy for one so you simply stuck to the title ‘fuck buddies’ until one of you decides to back out. This night was different though. A smile didn’t appear on your face when you hear the familiar knock on your window because you were stuck cussing at your computer screen and rubbing your head in frustration. You had an essay to explain Shakespeare and his works but for some reason you kept deleting all that you’ve typed because you couldn’t put your thoughts into words.

He knocked again, quickly this time. “I know you’re there, beautiful.” His voice was muffled through the glass.

You huffed and put your laptop on the bed before stomping to the window. You opened it and were met by the hero grinning at you. You, on the other hand, didn’t have a pleased look on your face.

“I’m not in the mood Chat.” You state and were about to close the window again but he held it to stop you from closing it.

“Ma Belle, did I do something wrong?” He asks, a frown on his face.

You shake your head. “No, I just have this stupid essay that I’ve been trying to type out for the past four hours.” You sigh and make your way back to your bed, rubbing your temples.

He follows you inside and closes the window behind him.

“Maybe I can ease your stress for a little bit.” He says, a smirk on his face.

You simply shoot him a glare and he chuckles nervously, putting his hands up in defense.

“Okay. No sex. Got it.” He sits beside you and looks at what you’re typing.

“You know you can leave right? If you’re horny you can go to your other side bitches.” You say as you type away, your eyes glued onto your screen.

Chat purses his lips, like he held himself back from saying something and shook his head.

“Maybe I came here for some company.” He says.

You snort and chuckle. “Yeah right.” You say sarcastically and look at him, but he wasn’t smiling. You gulp and your smile fades away. Did he seriously come over because he feels lonely?

His face was leaning closer to your and you were leaning closer too. No. You had to finish this stupid essay.

“Stop distracting me kitty.” You whisper and kiss his nose quickly before looking back at the screen.

He groans and falls back on the bed, playing with the pillow.

“I can help you if you’re writing about Shakespear, I wro-“ He stops himself from talking and you turn around, quirking your eyebrow at him.

“You wrote an essay like this?” you questioned.

He visibly gulps and shakes his head.

“Do you go to college?” You question further.

He chuckles nervously. “You know I can’t tell you that mon ange.”

You stare at him for a moment before looking back at your screen. You decided not to pry further, he seemed uncomfortable talking about his personal life and you decided to respect his wishes.

Your phone started to ring and you see that it’s your friend from college Marinette. You pick it up.

“Hey Mari.” You say as you type.

“The deadline has been changed to next week!” She exclaims happily.

You were filled with rage.

“what?” You deadpanned.

“Yeah apparently some students asked to change it because they were having difficulties so he changed it to next week instead of tomorrow morning.”

“I literally asked him to extend the deadline three days ago and he refused. I swear to god I want to kill this son of a bitch” You groan and clutch your fist in anger.

She sighs, “I know girl, but hey at least you’ve got more time on your hands!”

Marinette always tried to be positive when she could and you appreciated that but honestly you needed to vent. “Yeah, thanks for letting me know Mari.”

“No problem! Bonne nuit.”

“Bonne nuit.” You sigh out before you end the call.

You groan out in frustration and shut your laptop.

“What happened?” Chat asks.

You get out of your bed and start to pace around.

“I have been working on this essay for the past four days, knowing very well how stupid it was that the deadline was only five days for a two thousand word essay on fucking Shakespeare and when I ask to extend the deadline, the son of a bitch replies with an angry email saying theres enough time and that im just lazy.” You finally breathe and chat was about to say something but you cut him off.

“But when his privileged French pupil ask him to extend the deadline of course he agrees and you know what, I think it was Adrien fucking Agreste who asked him because hes the fucking pretty model boy who has everybody on their knees for him just because of his high status.” You sit down and without realising you start talking about a different subject.

“Yeah, I get it, everybody wants to fuck the pretty blond guy with money, I would too but at least I don’t look like a thirsty bitch every time he talks to me, some girls in my damn college have literally no chill and I swear to god one day I want to make him my bitch, make him weak for me to show those bitches what i’m capable of.” You were breathing heavily at this point and your face was flushed red.

You always thought Adrien was attractive, everyone did but whenever he talked to you, you responded normally to him unlike other people who constantly laughed at everything he said to try and get in his pants. He was a good guy but he was too well known for his own good and it made you uninterested in him. You thought he was out of your league, that’s what those french bitches told you at least. They belittled you just because you’re foreign - you knew they were just jealous that Adrien was always the one to come up to talk to you unlike them.

That was enough ranting for now. You look at Chat who was staring at you wide eyed, his cheeks glowing red.

“You don’t need to say anything, it’s just-“ You look down at his body and notice something. “Chat..why are you hard?”

He crosses his legs over the other awkwardly to try and hide it. “W-What are you talking about?”

You stand up and walk over to him and he walks back until he’s pressed against the wall.

“What? You get hard thinking about me making someone weak?” You whisper to him and he looks away from you. “You want me to do the same to you kitty?” You kiss his ear and he shudders, nodding slowly. Your hand moves down from his chest to his belly and your lips move from his ear to his jaw. Chat tilts his head back and a frenzy of purrs emerge from his parted lips. He was aroused, in a state of euphoria even with your small, light touches. Your hand moved lower until it reached down to the tent he had in his suit. It was painfully tight for him. Your fingertips lightly brushed over the bulge and he cussed under his breath.

“Fuck.” He whispered while you continued to touch his clothed erection and lick up his neck. He kept purring and moaning at the same time. You loved seeing him worked up like this. Your lips latched on to a certain spot on his neck and you sucked on it harshly, nibbling at it when you got the chance and putting more pressure with your hand against him.

He was a mess, grinding against your hand and breathing heavily.

“Ma Belle – merde,” he couldn’t even speak without stuttering. “I want more, please.” He begs and you look up at him, noticing the red mark on his neck and feeling very pleased with yourself.

“More what, kitty?” You whisper and remove your hand from where it was.

He groans in frustration.

“More – I-I want you to touch me more.” He pleads. “Please.”

You smirk at him and pull him to your bed, pushing him back on the bed and getting on his lap. Before he could react you put your lips on his and start to grind on top of him.

He moans against your lips and throws his head back, holding onto your hips for support. You could tell that he wanted to take his clothes off but you wanted him to come right then and there.

Your hips move against his, the friction pleasing you the same, causing you to moan but grin at the worked up blond beneath you.

“Shit, shit I’m close.” He whimpers and closes his eyes, moving his own hips with yours to get more pleasure.

It felt so good but you knew you couldn’t finish with him, maybe you could continue after but your hopes disappeared when you heard the beeping coming from his ring.

“Mon Ange I-“

“Shut up and come for me kitty.” You groan out and quicken your movements causing him to part his lips and hold onto you.

His body shakes and he spews out cuss words in French while he comes undone, thrusting his hips up and whimpering.

You’re both breathing heavily, looking at each other both dazed and tired. You were about to lean in for another kiss but his ring starts beeping furiously.

You hop off of his lap and watch as he groans while he gets up, uncomfortably moving because of the mess he made between his legs.

“I’m sorry I cant finish you off.” He says, pouting at you.

“It’s okay Chat, I think you’ve done enough today.” You wink at him and he chuckles bashfully.

“Until next time Mon ange!” He says and opens the window.

“Bye Kitty.” You blow him a kiss and with that he’s off.

Maybe you could actually finish yourself off to the thought of him being a mess for you but before you could even do anything, your phone beeps and you see a notification from Adrien Agreste.

“Did you hear that they moved the deadline for the Shakespeare essay? Pissed me off tbh.”

It was like he knew you accused him of something and to top it all off this was the first time he’s ever really texted you. It was weird but maybe you shouldn’t think much of it. Right?

#chat noir #chat noir x reader #adrien agreste #mlb #adrien x reader #miraculous ladybug

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riddikulus-writings · 3 years

Text

Take A Nap

A/N: So yeah. I have a long, in depth fic for these two that's chock full of secrets and fluff and Actual Backstory but for some reason all I can write is smut. This is part two to Escapades and takes place just after the police van rolled down that hill. Also, can someone let me know if that link I tried doesn’t work? I’m still new to writing on this blue hellsite

Word Count: 1734

Pairing: Rick Flag x Female Reader [Codename Nyx, after the Greek Goddess]

Warnings: Still not really any plot, sorry guys. The plot for this is hidden elsewhere. Vaginal fingering. Semi-public sex. Dirty talk. Rick still won't shut up but he really should, though, people are trying to sleep. Choking. Uh, nothing makes sense, really? Movie innacuracies due to the fact this is now a bigger vehicle than the hippie van they were cruising around in, but the same concept still applies.

Apparently, the van was on fire. One by one they stepped from the wreckage, walking out into the road, weapons in hand. Nyx wished she could’ve taken a picture, because she was positive they probably looked pretty cool.

Disoriented. Possibly concust. But cool.

And suddenly, rolling to a stop, was the small dusty van they'd rode to town in. Abner was in the open slider door, waving them in. DuBois puffed out his chest, "Alright. To Jotunheim."

"Not yet," Rick stopped him, "There's something else we need to do first."

"Stop standing like you have an American Flag waving behind you and get in the fucking mini bus, Flag."

Nyx's voice shook him out of his reverie; he was the last one outside. He jogged to catch the bus before it began moving faster, piling in the door and sliding it shut behind him. His eyes immediately found Nyx, seated in the very back. Rick beelined for her through the others and took up the space on her right. Peacemaker called to him from a seat up, "So, where are we going, now?"

"The Mayor's mansion in town," Rick told him, "We need to get Harley."

"Oh, I miss her," Nyx mused quietly.

Oh yeah. Rick cringed to himself, remembering the three missions he, Nyx and Harley had been on before he’d requested to Waller that Harley be benched more often than not. The first had gone by fine, minimal issues. The second was better. No deaths, no infighting amongst the Squad. Nyx had loosened up around other people by then and banter even happened. And the third--

Ain’t it normally the gal makin’ heart eyes at the guy and not the other way around, Ricky?

He’d shaken his head and given Harley a stern glare for assuming things. Harley had simply given him her smuggest million dollar grin and continued about her own business and not his.

“Suicide Squad to Mr. Flag,” a hand was waving in his eyes, slowly coming into focus. It was Nyx’s hand, but Cleo’s heavily accented voice, “What’s the plan?”

Rick cleared his throat, looking among his teammates, “Peacemaker high up, across the street. Sniper for any possible danger. Cleo,” he pointed at her, “Abner and, uh… Sebastian… are around back. Take out any guards back there. DuBois scales the wall to the top, Nyx and I keep watch.”

“Question,” Nyx raised her hand up, “Why can’t we just walk in the front door?”

"That would give us away," Peacemaker told her blatantly, "Instant capture. Dumb idea."

"You're a dumb idea," she retorted, "Actually, a bad idea was bringing you along."

Whoa. Everyone's eyebrows shot up, "Nyx, what the fuck? No infighting. Knock it off," Rick's voice was low but firm with authority.

"He's-- he's got bad vibes about him," Nyx's words slurred, "I-I just don't like him."

"No one does," DuBois told her, patting the very quiet Peacemaker on the shoulder, "Everyone try to get some rest before we get to town. It's going to be a while."

The rest of the team hunkered down in their seats, leaning against their respective windows or leaning forward with their heads against the seat ahead of them. Cleo snuggled into Nanaue's side, and Peacemaker went as far as laying completely flat on his back, his thick splayed legs hanging in the aisle.

Rick reached over and tugged Nyx across the bench seat they were seated on, sliding her into his side, "What’s up between you and Peacemaker?" His voice was quiet, muffled against the hair at her temple.

She ducked away from him a little, tucking her head under his chin, "I've been with him a bit longer than you have. I just… can't explain it but I don't like him. He makes me uneasy."

Rick's thumb started rubbing circles in her hip, "So many trust issues."

"I have my reasonings," she yawned up at him, "Secret reasonings."

"Oh, I'm sure you do," he whispered, grabbing her chin with his free hand so he could look her in the eye. The dim moonlight through the window made her eyes seem almost black, "Extra secret reasonings, huh?"

Nyx leaned closer, staring at his mouth instead of his eyes, "Top secret."

Rick hummed in agreement and closed the gap, sealing his mouth over hers. He wasted no time dipping his tongue into her mouth, drinking in her moans before they could get too loud. He gently pushed on her, laying her down across the length of the seat. Rick followed her down, nestling himself between her legs. Nyx planted a foot on the seat beside Rick’s thigh as he hitched the other into the crook of his elbow, “Gonna be quiet?” he asked quietly, lightly peppering kisses down her neck. Sucking on her now-exposed collarbone.

She whined, a breathless whisper as she nodded desperately, trying to grind her hips against something. Rick moved back up, his free hand moving around her neck, “Quiet.”

He slowly lowered her leg, her boot softly hitting the floor. Rick sent a sidelong glance through the rest of the dark bus, and so far no one had moved from their previous positions. Thank God for that. What a sight they’d wake up to; Nyx spread over the only bench seat here, Rick looming over her, a hand around her throat. They’d either think he was trying to kill her, or get very uncomfortable very fast and ask him to stop.

Which, he wasn’t about to do whether someone woke up or not.

He turned his attention back to the panting woman beneath him, raising an eyebrow at the grin spread over her face. The more pressure he applied to her throat, the wider her lips spread. His right hand worked at the buttons of her black pants, “Filthy little thing,” he muttered, “There’s other people on this bus.” Rick snaked his hand down the front of her pants, stroking down her dripping sex, “All for me?”

“That is you,” she panted out, grabbing the back of his head to pull him down for another searing kiss. When he scooped his cum back up with two fingers and pushed them inside, Nyx bit his bottom lip so hard he was sure she’d drawn blood. He leaned into it, pushing his tongue on her mouth again as he worked his fingers and scissored her open.

“Quiet,” he admonished, again, pressing his free hand against her throat once more. He pinned her to the seat, squeezing his hand as tight as he’d let himself, “Gonna wake everyone up,” he breathed out, his nose brushing against hers.

Again, Nyx’s grin grew, her pearly teeth glowing in the shards of moonlight passing through the windows, “Good.”

Rick almost growled but couldn’t without fear of waking someone up. Instead he buried his face in her shoulder, “Fuckin’ filthy little thing,” he repeated, curling his fingers against that certain spongy spot he’d found that made her grind hard into the palm of his hand, “Gonna be a good girl and keep me in there?” She whined out a high pitched yes but otherwise stayed breathless, quiet pants crawling up her throat and Rick wanted nothing more than to shove his cock in her open mouth. He pulled up from her neck, almost sneering with the strain of trying to stay quiet as he worked his thumb up to the peak of her cunt, “Want you to cum all over my hand, sweetheart. Gonna do that for me? See if you can stay quiet.”

“Bastard,” was the whimper he got.

“That’s not very nice,” he told her, pressing his thumb hard on her clit. Her arm suddenly flew up to cover her face, Nyx burying her face in the crook of her elbow as Rick buried a third finger deep in her cunt, his thumb rubbing fast circles. He moved his hand from her throat, sliding it instead to her hip to hold her down as she bucked into his hand, “C’mon, almost there. I got you,” he muttered.

Her hips stuttered, low whines coming muffled by her elbow. She was choking his fingers and he had to remove one so he could keep them moving, working her through her orgasm. Rick’s hand got soaked suddenly and she went limp, her only movement coming from her chest that moved with rapid breaths, “Bitch.”

Rick tugged her arm from her face as he slid his hand from her pants, “What’s the matter, Nyx?”

“I--” she panted out, “hate being-- quiet.”

He flashed her a bright grin and tugged her pants back into place, giving her stomach a gentle pat, “You didn’t have to,” a quick peck on the lips, “But it would’ve been a bit awkward for the others. Especially when I wouldn’t stop.” Another whimper, and he raised an eyebrow at her, but simply stuck his fingers in his mouth.

“I’m going to sleep,” she whispered, dropping her hand off the side of the seat. Her knuckles brushed the floor. The other arm folded behind her head.

“I sure fuckin’ hope so,” DuBois grumbled from somewhere up front. “You two are disgusting.”

"No one told you to listen," Rick shot back, his whisper loud enough for DuBois to hear over Nyx's stifled giggles. Rick was grinning, though; thankfully Bloodsport couldn't see it.

"Someone needs to nap," Nyx murmured, a small smirk plastered over her mouth, "He sounds cranky."

“You ain't laying down there,” Rick suddenly tugged her back up to snuggle into his side, his arm draped over her shoulders as he scooted them both to the end of the seat, “Leanin’ or layin’?”

“Lay,” she yawned.

He turned and pressed his back to the window, head lolling to the side to lean on the seat. After some shuffling, she was between his legs, back to his chest. HIs arms wrapped around her, one leg from each of them on the seat and the other leg on the floor. They looked like they had the same boots on. Nyx nuzzled her head into his shoulder, “Y’smell nice…”

“I smell like jungle and sweat,” he chuckled, his laugh vibrating through her, “And blood. Go to sleep.”

And they both dozed off like that, just as they had several times before on Nyx’s couch. Their breathing evened, Nyx drooling a little onto Rick’s bicep. Rick shifted in his sleep and snugged her closer to his chest.

#Rick Flag #Rick Flag x reader #Rick Flag x female reader #rick flag smut #the suicide squad #Rick Flag The Suicide Squad #dc #dceu #suicide squad fan fiction #suicide squad fanfiction #rick flag imagine #rick flag one shot #dceu fan fiction

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moonstruckbucky · 4 years

Text

The Recruit (8/?)

Summary: Becoming a SHIELD agent had been your dream and finally, you’ve achieved it. You’re at the top of your class in every field except one—hand to hand combat, and it doesn’t impress Captain Rogers in the slightest. Instead, it seems to convince him you’re useless, setting off a tense relationship between the two of you. In an effort to bridge the gap, Bucky offers to help you train to earn your way back into Steve’s good graces. What could possibly go wrong?

Pairing: Steve Rogers x fem!Reader x Bucky Barnes (not Stucky)

Warnings for Chapter: Angst, pouty Steve. More soft Bucky. That’s it, that’s the warning.

Notes: Thank you all for the feedback of the previous chapter and for your patience while real life took over for a bit. Someone mentioned that they felt like Bucky/their relationship wasn’t featured enough, so I hope this chapter fulfills that for you! x

Also, a giant thank you to @marauderskeeper for this beautiful artwork!!! I’m so fucking in love with this! How perfect is this artwork, y’all?!

Steve finds patterns in the ceiling, shapes. It’s near-silent in the room save the sound of peepers through the open window, the soft breathing beside him. The weight against his chest shifts, sighs, rolls over, and he swallows thickly. Traces the lines of her body even though they’re all wrong, catches the scent of her hair - the wrong color.

He isn’t a stranger to the modern concepts of love and relationships, but it’s an indulgence he doesn’t frequently partake in. The women he meets are great, just none seem to strike that chord in him. None that seem to challenge him or intrigue quite like you.

The woman leaves with a friendly smile, an easy exit with no lingering questions of another night together or anything. He remains in bed for a little while longer, hands tucked up behind his head as he connects constellations in the ceiling. Training begins in thirty minutes, and he inhales deeply to quell the raging in his belly. He’s nervous; it’s the first he’ll see you after his apology.

He’d heard about your successful mission and he’s proud, almost excited for you, even though he knows he has no right. His treatment of you only serves to prove he’s failed as Captain; he’s meant to lead and guide and encourage. Instead, he judged and ridiculed and humiliated, drove you to the point of persevering to prove him wrong.

And you did. He’s embarrassed, ashamed - but proud all the same.

He dresses slowly in the SHIELD-issued black tac pants and navy t-shirt, the SHIELD logo emblazoned on the breast. Someone like Nat or Bucky or even Sam might accuse him of stalling as he carefully and meticulously laces his sneakers, but to anyone else he’d appear sluggish. To anyone else, he’d say he’s tired, that he’d had a late night, but if it were any of the aforementioned three, he’d pointedly keep his mouth shut.

He’s nervous - he’s man enough to admit it. He’s unsure of what to expect, unsure if he’d imagined his apology and your reluctance to believe him. He hates not being sure, not being confident, hates being thrown off his axis, out of balance. Structure, routine, and control is weaved into his DNA, and by apologizing, he’s given up that control, given a piece of him away for someone to do with as she pleases.

He hates it, loathes the way it makes his movements slower, stiffer, like he slept on a bad mattress all night instead of his cushy pillow-top next to a warm body. A warm body he really had no business bringing back here last night, but he brushes that thought away.

He takes a little longer than usual brushing and inspecting his teeth, snarling into the mirror and using floss of all things until he looks at the time and knows he can’t put this off any longer. Schooling his features into impassive steel, Steve sweeps from his room. The ride in the elevator down to the training room is spent building up a wall in his mind, a wall away from her - from you.

You’re already there when he enters, along with Bucky and a few other recruits. You’re smiling, teasing Bucky, and it puts lead in his chest. Absolutely scorches when you notice him and your smile promptly drops. He feels his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows heavily, and the burn in his chest lessons only a little when you offer him a respectful nod.

He returns it, catches Bucky’s eye and his friend gives him a reassuring smile. Steve’s not sure it helps. Mentally shaking it off, he begins the session, starts them off with running laps while he and Bucky spectate.

Steve can’t help but watch you; you’ve got near-perfect running form and you seem unbothered by your knee. You keep pace with everyone, even set it once or twice, and his scrutiny of you means he catches every little side-glance you give his best friend. The little curl at the corners of your lips, a darting glance away.

He catches the same expression on Bucky’s face - and he knows. How could he not know? The way he’d intervened when Steve was being unreasonably harsh, the easy, gentle teasing between you just now, the ever-present smile on Bucky’s face whenever he looks at his phone, the secret glances now as you increase the pace and pull ahead.

As Steve moves the group on to sparring sessions, the looks between you and Bucky become less sneaking and more appraising, and Steve has to dig hard beneath to find any joy that his friend has found his own happiness. Steve knows Bucky deserves it, after all he’s been through and yet.

The obvious connection between the two of you makes his chest hurt and jaw clench so tight it aches. When Bucky calls on you to demonstrate with him, Steve has to hide his curled fists in the pockets of his sweats.

His mind is muddled; he has no reason to be this angry - jealous, surely - but angry? No. Aggravated enough he wants to knock Bucky’s teeth out, sick enough at the sight of the two of you, moving in such synchrony, that he almost looks for the closest trash barrel.

Instead, he pushes the recruits hard, calls out tips to avoid making his previous mistake again, and offers assistance where it’s needed. An adjusted position here, a tip about roundhouse kicks there. He can almost ignore you and Bucky grunting and shouting only feet away.

You, meanwhile, are almost hyper-aware of Steve and the one-eighty he’s seemed to have made. He’s keeping his distance, though you don’t miss the pinched expression to his face or the underhanded glances he shoots you. Probably anticipating a snarky reply or otherwise prove you aren’t trying to remain civil.

He’s made his way over as Bucky pulls you into a headlock, the position warming something deep within you. His arm is loose enough around your neck that he isn’t cutting off any air, but his pelvis is flush with your backside and you even think he’s grinding it - imperceptibly enough that it goes unnoticed by the others. He’s fresh, you’re learning, pushing boundaries wherever he can.

Normally, you’d play along, dig and push a little back, but not with Steve watching the way he is. Arms crossed, feet hip-width apart in his typical Captain stance, but he’s far less rigid than he was. You execute S.I.N.G. (solar plexus, instep, nose, groin) with anxious butterflies, but you manage to successfully complete the move, spin, and move to jab Bucky again.

Steve’s voice is even gentle when he tells you, “Move your feet. Don’t lock up or remain stationary.”

It’s such a far cry from his previous gruff behavior that it throws you, knocks you slightly off-kilter so that you stumble into Bucky’s chest. With heat in your cheeks, you push away from him, try to resume as if you didn’t fumble at all. You’re meant to be the picture of indifference and yet Steve’s one-eighty has you completely floored.

Should you be, though? He did promise you he’d be better, and so far he’s kept that promise. Perhaps a part of you hadn’t believed him, hadn’t had any reason to believe him - about anything. The fact that he’s trying stirs something in you, and it leaves you open to wind up face-down on the mat.

“Shit,” you grunt as the wind rushes from your lungs.

“That’s what happens when you get distracted,” Bucky teases before reaching with his metal hand to help you to your feet. “Your enemy won’t hesitate to exploit that opening if you give it to them.”

“Yeah,” you agree on a sigh, “yeah. Let’s do it again.”

The warmth in your cheeks doesn’t cool as you run through your spar again. This time, you manage to block out Steve’s close scrutiny and get Bucky on his back, a knee pressed into his chest. You know he can toss you off without a hitch but he lays there, lets you have the win.

“Better,” Steve compliments with an approving nod. You can’t bring yourself to meet his eyes, so you stare at his chest - which, to your shocking admission, isn’t all that much better. The intrusive thought forces you to duck your head, busy yourself with your water bottle as Bucky and Steve begin a rundown of the next exercise.

If either notice you take a little longer to collect yourself, they don’t say anything. After a few more moments of distracting yourself with your water bottle, you return to the group as the Captain and Bucky begin a mock-mission to sharpen your skills.

By the time you’re released from training, you’re covered in a layer of sweat that shimmers under the overhead lights, your mind is tapped, and your entire body feels like it went a round or five against Mike Tyson - super soldiers in your case, but they’d pulled their punches. The muscles in your back pull taut as you stretch, a tightness that makes you wince, expel a tiny whimper.

A gasp as a set of hands lands on your back - one warm, the other just slightly cooler - and the thumbs dig in, find the tightest muscles and press.

“Fuck,” you hiss, arching against Bucky’s skilled hands. A pained smile over your shoulder and, “Hi.”

“Hi.” He grins and leans forward to drop a kiss to your temple. “You did good today.”

“Feels like I went ten rounds with an MMA fighter, but thank you.” Another hmph as Bucky digs his knuckles into your lower back, and a sigh as the tightened muscles release. You slouch against him, disregarding the slight dampness to his compression t-shirt, and turn your face into his neck.

“Feel better?” he asks, throat vibrating against your forehead. Wordlessly, you nod.

“Until tomorrow when it really sets in. You’ll have to carry me everywhere,” you retort cheekily, tilting your face to meet his glimmering eyes.

“Oh, will I?” A teasing upturn of his lips and your eyes dart to them, hold there for a moment as your heart trips over itself in your chest.

“Uh huh.” A pause, then you shrug. “Or you can just stay in bed with me.”

The darkening of his eyes is offset sharply by the awkward look that suddenly shadows his face, cheeks going rouge as he quickly averts his eyes. It’s an odd reaction, and you tilt your head, mouth popping open before he overrides you.

“Whatever you want, doll,” he assures with a smile, all traces of bashfulness gone.

It’s a bit disconcerting how quickly his charming, easy-going demeanor is back in place, but you chalk it up to his former status as an assassin. Give nothing away, a mask he can flip off and on. He further pulls your mind away by lifting your hand to his lips and dotting small kisses across your knuckles.

“C’mon. Should take an ice bath for those muscles.” And he tugs you down the hallway.

“Mother of fucking SHIT.”

Bucky chortles, applies pressure to your shoulders to keep you from popping out of the bathtub he’s filled with ice and water. There’s a burn in your limbs from the cold, and your nails scrape at the ceramic of the tub, squeaking in the small space. Breath rushing in and out as you try to relax, loosen your sore, tightened muscles to let the coldness do its job.

But it’s hard, your mind whines, and your verbalize said whine pathetically.

“It’s so cold.” It’s a whisper, because speaking any louder is downright impossible as your brain works overtime to warm your body.

“I was frozen in ice off and on for seventy years,” he reminds you teasingly, “you can handle it.”

You hiss a laugh, and it makes his mouth twitch. He recalls the first time he ever made a joke about his history with HYDRA. Steve nearly shit a brick before chiding him about how he shouldn’t joke about such things.

“Steve, it happened to me,” he’d reminded, “I should be able to joke about it all I want. Better than going into total shutdown every time HYDRA is mentioned.”

Steve hadn’t said anything after that, but each time Bucky made a jab at HYDRA, he didn’t miss the disapproving gleam in his friend’s eye.

He feels relief that you laugh, feels, well, normal, and like he’s made progress if he feels he can confidently joke about his trauma. He knows he’s made progress, but there are still instances where he feels the others aren’t so sure.

With you, though, he doesn’t have to second-guess it. You don’t treat him like glass, like he’s going to shatter at the first sign of distress. It’s refreshing from the overbearing manner with which Steve treats him on most occasions. He’s thankful you hadn’t known the Bucky from before, the one Steve grew up with, the ghost of a time that’ll never come again. You’ve nothing to compare him to, nothing to miss like Steve does. It’s as refreshing as ice cream on a hot day...or an ice bath following a rigorous workout.

“C-Can I g-ge-get out yet?” Your teeth are chattering, arms crossed tightly over your chest and rubbing at your arms, riddled with gooseflesh. Your lips are even turning slightly blue as they wobble with the cold.

“Can you feel your muscles?” he asks, reaching for the towel he’d placed on the toilet seat.

“I ca-can’t f-f-feel my lips, never m-mind my mus-muscles.” The snark is lost amongst the clicking of your teeth, but it gleams heavy in your eyes. Smirking, Bucky holds out the towel and helps you stand on shaky legs, like Bambi on ice.

Leggings and sports bra plastered like a second skin, they in no way help to warm you even out of the ice, and after you’re wrapped in the towel, Bucky gives you your privacy to strip down and get changed. Movements unsteady, your wet clothes are plopped into a pile on the tile floor and new, warm, dry clothes are hastily thrown on. Despite the rigorous workout this morning, you feel freshly invigorated, like maybe you could run a mile - once feeling comes back to your legs, that is.

Burrowed in the new clothes, you step out of the bathroom to see Bucky reclined on your bed, looking quite at home. It puts a warm, fuzzy feeling in your chest as you approach, and it only grows when he opens his arms for you to burrow into the heat of him. His arms wind around you, the metal one a comforting weight against your back.

It’s silent for a little while, a peaceful blanket pulled over the two of you in the small space of your room. Bucky’s chest rises and falls gently beneath your cheek, slow breaths, and you almost think he’s asleep until he speaks.

“Whatcha thinkin’ about?”

You ponder for a couple beats. “What’s your favorite part of the 21st century? I mean, you were frozen off and on for so long, you didn’t really get a chance to enjoy anything right?”

He hears the trepidation in your voice, the slight intonation that you might actually be crossing a line by asking. He smiles, chuckles a little so you know you haven’t offended him.

“Is it predictable to say the food?” At your head shake, he goes on, “I mean, in the 30s and 40s, we barely had nothin’. Sometimes we’d all go to bed hungry with no dinner, and sometimes I gave my sisters my portion of food. I was the oldest, you know? Had to take care of my family. But now...now there’s just, so much. And so many different kinds! You know, when I first came to the compound, after Shuri fixed my noggin, I didn’t eat a lot. Ate only what I thought I was allowed to eat. One small serving. Was still going to bed hungry even when all this food was at my disposal.

Then Steve came to talk to me. Told me he was the same way, when he first came out of the ice. Said he had to take it slow because even though he was bigger, his body wasn’t used to eating so much. Neither was mine, even though I was healthier when I... before. HYDRA didn’t feed me, not really. No hot, home-cooked meal for the Fist. It was MREs, or a feeding tube - if I was awake long enough at the base. My system got used to it, and then when HYDRA fell, it was always...Ramen or canned meat, some fruit, if I could afford it. Nothing real substantial. Even in Wakanda, I was still only eating small portions. My first three-course meal here, I puked it all up. I was so astounded by the fact that I could eat as much as I wanted to, but my body wasn’t ready for it. It was used to rationing itself on small meals, used to fasting sometimes, too. But it got better. I ate a little more at each meal, got my body used to eating three times a day. Started working out more, too, to up my hunger. Eventually I could put away three servings at each meal and still have room for dessert. I’ve got a wicked sweet tooth.”

The last line is so unexpected, it makes you snort, choke on the breath, before you can laugh for real. It’s short, though, when you take in the entirety of his story and realize there’s so much you still have to learn about one James Barnes, so much of himself to reveal, so many layers to peel back so you can see who he truly is. A little skip in your heartbeat betrays your excitement to find out, if he’ll let you.

"I’ve got a list,” he then says, “of things people have recommended I try. Maybe you can help me cross some of them off, huh?”

“Bucky Barnes, are you officially asking me on a date?” you tease, leaning your head back to aim a cheeky smirk his way.

His chest rumbles against with that warm chuckle that warms you to your bones. “Suppose I am. You gonna leave a guy hangin’?”

“Hm, I suppose then I could assist you with this foodie bucket list. We’ll make a cultured man out of you yet.”

#the recruit #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x you #bucky x reader #steve x you #steve x you x bucky #bucky x you x steve #bucky x reader x steve #steve x reader x bucky

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katcoquette · 3 years

Text

No More Games

Draco Malfoy x Fem!Slytherin Reader

Word Count: 1.3k

TW: language, sexual references, alcohol use, light smut

“PLAY IT AGAIN!” Daphne yelled, pumping her arm in the air. You were currently pregaming in your shared dorm with Pansy and Daphne, your best friends. It was the best confidence boost, taking shots with your girls, screaming the words to your favorite songs. You were always ready for a party, especially when you knew a certain someone would be there.

You pulled your favorite dress over your body; the one that made you feel like your best self. The three of you put on finishing touches, then headed down to the Slytherin common room where the party was in full swing.

Your group was a sight to behold as you strutted into the party, and over to the rest of your friends, the boys of Slytherin. Blaise whistled as the three of you made your way to him. “Drinks ladies?” He offered each of you a cup. “Cheers!” You hit your cup against the others before drinking the whole thing. You could feel the bass pumping through your body, already feeling buzzed from the shots you had taken earlier as you survey the room.

“Come on, mate. Loosen up.” You hear Blaise from behind you. You turn your gaze to the boy he was talking to. This should be fun.

“You in a mood again, Malfoy? Not getting laid enough?” You say sarcastically. He scoffs, “That’s never been a problem for me, babe.” You roll your eyes as he walks away.

You had a love-hate relationship with the blonde. Some days you were each other’s worst nightmare, and other days you would be hooking up in an empty classroom. There was probably something more between the two of you, but neither of you would ever admit it. Instead, you spent your time teasing each other, or trying to make the other jealous. It was easy to do, since you were both part of the Slytherin group that ran the school.

“Let’s go dance!” You pull Daphne to the middle of the floor and start swinging your hips with your hands in the air. You move up and down, fluffing your hair with your hands before grabbing Daphne’s, and jumping around with her. You start to giggle with your best friend, taking turns twirling each other. “Where’s Pansy?” You yell over the music after a good ten minutes. “I miss herr.”

Your words were slurring slightly, even though you were fully conscious of your actions. Daphne didn’t say anything, not wanting to try to scream loud enough for you to hear her, instead motioning to your best friend who was sipping a drink in the corner with none other than Draco Malfoy.

He noticed you looking at them and smirked, moving closer to Pansy. He made sure your eyes were still on them before he started running his hand over her arm and whispering something in her ear, making her laugh. You narrowed your eyes at him. Two could play at this game. You turn on your heel, searching the room until you find who you were searching for.

“Will you dance with me Blaise? I’m lonely out there.” You slightly pout, feigning sadness. He chuckled, nodding, and letting you lead him to your previous spot where you were in full view of Draco. If he was going to use your best friend to try and make you jealous, you would do the same.

You start slow, hanging your arms loosely around Blaise’s neck. His arms move to your waist, and you sway to the beat of the music. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing, Y/N.” He says lowly, scoffing playfully. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Blaise.” You say, pressing your body up against his. He laughs, “We can put on a better show than that.” He turns you around, so your ass is pressed against him, and runs a hand down your thigh.

You put your hand over his, continuing to guide it slowly over your thigh. Your other arm is lifted behind your head, bent behind Blaise’s head. You lean into his chest, still swaying to the bass. Here, you finally look up at Draco, a glint in your eyes.

He was already looking at you, taking in the sight of you and his best friend as he took slow sips of his drink. He was no longer paying attention to Pansy, who walked away once he had made it clear he was done talking. He seemed amused, knowing that this was retaliation for Pansy.

So you decide to take it a step further. You were going to win.

You start grinding your ass against Blaise, keeping your eyes locked with Draco’s to make sure his full attention was on you. It was, and the smirk had left his face. Now, his jaw was set in place.

You break his gaze, focusing on the way your hips were moving on Blaise. “He’s fucking pissed.” You faced Blaise again, “Good…” You whispered, running your hand over his hair, leaning dangerously close to his lips. “Mind if I finish this little game?”

“He’ll probably kick my ass, but by all means, finish it.” He smirked. You hadn’t noticed that Draco had left his corner and was next to you until he grabbed your arm, stopping you from kissing Blaise.

“Not so fast, Y/L/N.” He snarled. He gives Blaise a look, which makes him put his hands up defensively, and back down, before fully walking away.

He stared down at you, still gripping your arm. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

You look back innocently, biting the corner of your mouth. “Is something wrong, Malfoy?” You snake your hand to his chest, and stand on your tip toes, so your lips are brushing his ear. “Did I do something that upset you?” You whispered, placing a kiss near his earlobe.

He grabbed your neck, pulling you away from his face. The motion caused you to smirk, you knew you had him right where you wanted him.

“You’re mine, only mine.” His hand drops from your neck. You step forward, so you’re pressed against him, and run your hands up the nape of his neck and into his hair. He lets out a small sigh. “Oh yeah?” Your eyes meet again. “Then why haven’t you claimed me?” You taunt him. His eyes fill with lust, but he stays silent. He puts his hand on your lower back, pushing you in front of him to guide you through the crowd.

As soon as you turn the corner into a more private area, he has you pushed against a wall, lips hungrily finding yours. His hands are everywhere, grabbing your ass, holding your face, lightly pulling your hair. You softly moan into his mouth, parting your mouth further as you fight for dominance. “That’s what I thought, darling.” He growls. “I’m the only one that makes you feel like this, aren’t I?”

You debate your response in your head. You had already won, this was the result. You’d be lying if you said it wasn’t exactly where you had wanted to end up. So, despite your pride, you told him the truth. “…yes.” You mutter, eagerly pulling him to you again.

His hand was hovering over your inner thigh now, as if debating the thin line you were about to cross. You helped him make his decision, bucking your hips closer to him and holding his hand against you. You pulled away from each other, breathing heavily, but his hand hadn’t moved, and neither had yours.

This time was different than the other times you had met up. You cared more about what he was thinking this time. You were both hesitating, trying to be respectful. You cocked your head slightly, still looking at him. “We can both agree I won your little game, right Malfoy?” He had no snide remark, instead just nodding. “Good.” You breathed. “Then let’s go upstairs, no more games.” He didn’t need to be told twice, picking you up and carrying you to his room.

A/N: Hello from past me- I’m currently celebrating my 21st birthday with my roommates, yayyy. The queue is stacked and ready until I get back from our staycation. Keep wearing masks! Love you all xx Kate

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eleanorfenyxwrites · 3 years

Text

@guqin-and-flute I hope you don’t mind that I jumped in on this one? It happened to hit my inspiration bone just right so I wrote a quick one-shot while procrastinating my college assignments.

(Edit: now on my AO3, titled, “You’ll Have To Trust Me”)

In retrospect, Nie Mingjue supposes, he should have known that it would just be their luck - his luck, really - that they would run into something like this.

Leave it to Jin Guangyao to find the perfect excuse for the three of them to get away from the overwhelming crush of their duties for a night only to just so happen to walk right into a fucking trap that has conveniently left himself and Lan Xichen blinded and Jin Guangyao apparently untouched.

Oh not that he’ll ever get Lan Xichen to believe it was a trap, of course. It was an ‘honest mistake’ as far as he’s concerned, which he’s currently reassuring Jin Guangyao of throughout all the other man’s outwardly anxious fretting.

“Er-ge are you really sure you’re alright? You’re not hurt anywhere?”

“A-Yao -” Lan Xichen’s voice is soft and warm and even though the kindness isn’t even directed at him it still feels like a warmed blanket around Nie Mingjue’s shoulders. Lan Xichen is just...like that. “I promise I’m alright, not even a scratch.”

There’s a pause and then a tentative, “Da-ge?” from much closer than he would have expected. He doesn’t flinch though. He won’t give Jin Guangyao the satisfaction.

“What?” he replies, his tone as curt as Lan Xichen’s was affectionate. He can practically feel the disapproval radiating off of Lan Xichen in response but that isn’t anything new with their new..situation. Nie Mingjue has already made his peace with the fact that he is likely going to spend the rest of his life upsetting his oldest friend in some way or another.

“You’re injured.”

“I know that!”

“Mingjue-xiong? You’re hurt?” Lan Xichen suddenly pipes up and Nie Mingjue knows that the only reason there’s not an accompanying rustle of clothing and a gentle touch on his arm is because Lan Xichen is as sightless as he is at the moment and likely afraid to move too much.

“It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing. Will you let me look at it?”

Nie Mingjue instinctively pulls his injured leg closer to himself and away from Jin Guangyao, biting his tongue instead of groaning when something grinds under the skin in a spot where he’s pretty sure nothing’s supposed to actually move.

“It’s fine. We just need to figure out how to break this fucking curse before something comes and eats us,” he grunts once he’s sure he can talk without screaming, dull flares of pain dragging up and down his entire left side, from toes to shoulder and back down again.

“Mingjue-xiong just let him look at it,” Lan Xichen sighs. “We’re not going anywhere for awhile anyway until we figure out how to do this safely.”

Nie Mingjue holds out in silence for another two minutes (he counts) before he relents with a nod. For a long moment he’s able to maintain the hope that Jin Guangyao wasn’t watching him to see it, but then there’s a quiet shuffling and small, cool hands are lifting the suspiciously sticky fabric of his trousers to take a look at his leg.

“What’s wrong? How bad is it?” Lan Xichen asks when Jin Guangyao sucks in a gasp and Nie Mingjue glares into the middle distance that he can’t fucking see because this spirit that Jin Guangyao just had to chase tonight blinded them and now he’s broken his fucking leg because of it. And he’s still somehow the only person in the world who doesn’t trust the oh-so-accommodating, oh-so-polite, oh-so-obsequious Jin Fucking Guangyao, so the chances that his accusations of trickery and malicious intent will be listened to are little to none.

He’s pissed, basically.

“That fucking HURTS Meng Yao!” he snaps, his voice too loud and sharp in his frustration at the burst of pain from whatever Jin Guangyao had just done to his leg. His hands go still and this time the quiet gasp comes from Lan Xichen.

“Mingjue-xiong,” he chastises as Jin Guangyao’s hands slowly pull away from his skin.

“It’s alright, er-ge,” he demurs and that tone gets under Nie Mingjue’s skin even more, that kicked puppy tone, that ‘I’m used to the world not respecting me’ tone that he always uses to get his way with Lan Xichen. Whether he does it on purpose or not (Nie Mingjue fucking knows he does) it’s exactly the right way to get Lan Xichen’s sense of propriety involved and suddenly Nie Mingjue is the one in the wrong for using his old name rather than his legitimized one. As if that name isn’t a slap in Jin Guangyao’s face all on its own, but no one but Nie Mingjue even seems to notice that bit. “His leg is broken and it’s gone through the skin. I need to go find something to make a splint with, I’ll do my best to stay within earshot.”

“Alright A-Yao,” Lan Xichen murmurs. “We’ll stay right here.” His smile is audible despite their circumstances and Nie Mingjue takes a deep breath in, squeezing his unseeing eyes shut. His anger won’t find a home here - not with these two as his companions practically drooling on each other with all their gooey affection in their own little world - but he doesn’t want to take it out on Lan Xichen anyways. He’s got quite a few things he’d like to take out on Jin Guangyao, but that would only end up hurting Lan Xichen as well, and his childhood friend doesn’t deserve that.

Jin Guangyao’s footsteps retreat through the underbrush, growing fainter and fainter until there’s nothing to hear but the wind through the trees.

“Mingjue-xiong,” Lan Xichen starts, his lecturing voice out in full force.

“Don’t. I know.”

“Do you?”

“Yes, Xichen! I know! I got it, it was just a slip of the tongue! Is your precious A-Yao the only one here allowed to make ‘an honest mistake’?!”

“Alright.”

They lapse into silence then, Nie Mingjue still breathing too fast and too hard but unable to stop. He’s angry, he’s in pain, and he’ll never admit it out loud but he’s afraid. Ever since he had woken up in the Scorching Sun Palace to find Lan Xichen defending Meng Yao so fiercely he had known he couldn’t count on Lan Xichen’s protection from the other, which meant that if he was to keep himself safe from Jin Guangyao’s scheming mind and murderous hands he would have to always maintain the upper hand. He can’t do that while injured and blinded and with Lan Xichen similarly incapacitated, the pair of them suddenly entirely reliant on Jin Guangyao.

It would be so easy for Jin Guangyao to arrange for an unfortunate ‘accident’ and get rid of him. He’d watched the man murder with the intention to frame someone else for his deeds. If he was willing to do it once, who’s to say he won’t be willing to do it again?

He’s on his own, and he honestly can’t say he enjoys the feeling.

“A-Yao?” Lan Xichen calls a few quiet minutes later, startling him out of his spiraling thoughts.

“I’m still here, er-ge,” comes the faint call from some distance away and Nie Mingjue hears a few dry leaves rustle as Lan Xichen shifts his weight, presumably turning in his direction even though he can’t see Jin Guangyao out in the trees. “It’s difficult finding sticks that are both as long as da-ge needs and as strong and also straight enough to be a splint. Are you both still alright?”

“Yes. Take your time,” Lan Xichen replies and then things are quiet again.

“You can’t really think this is a coincidence,” Nie Mingjue finally mutters, low enough not to carry too far beyond their spot. “Xichen, please. Just entertain the idea that this is all on purpose.”

“I can’t, Mingjue-xiong, I’m sorry.” And he really does sound remorseful about that, because of course he does. “I trust A-Yao. Accidents happen on night hunts all the time, and we three are not infallible. I am only relieved that he remains unaffected by this curse so that we have hopes of getting out of here safely.”

“And just why do you think he wasn’t affected?” Nie Mingjue can’t resist asking, beginning to become desperate to understand Lan Xichen’s way of thinking that can keep him from becoming in the least bit suspicious.

“We shielded him from it, of course.”

“I didn’t!”

“You did, Mingjue-xiong. You and I both.”

Nie Mingjue mentally replays the last moments before the world had gone dark. They’d been pursuing the spirit as it fled back towards where it had come from, all three of them running as fast as they could over unfamiliar, heavily wooded terrain. He’d seen the spirit whip back at the last moment, diving towards them rather than back into a stone hut nearly completely crumbled under moss. He remembers shouting for Lan Xichen to watch out and -

Yanking Jin Guangyao behind himself as he skidded to a stop next to Lan Xichen just in time for the spirit to slam into both of their chests and knock them all backwards.

He remembers the moments after that as well, his vision fading quicker than a candle guttering out. He had shoved Jin Guangyao at Lan Xichen just before everything had gone completely dark and his momentum had carried him over the edge of a small ravine. He had been the only one to fall into it, the others had joined him almost immediately after, but under their own power.

Nie Mingjue growled low in his throat and pounded a fist against the soft earth beneath him once, irritated with himself for the moment of weakness; for his instinct to protect Jin Guangyao being stronger than anything else in him when it came right down to it.

He can’t admit to it.

“He’s smaller than us and he was lagging behind while we ran. We were in his way when the spirit turned and he couldn’t get around us, that’s all there is to it. We weren’t protecting him.”

“Alright,” Lan Xichen agrees far too easily and it’s clear by the tone of his voice that he knows Nie Mingjue is just trying to save face. He both loves and hates that knowing tone, as well as the fact that Lan Xichen doesn’t press him to tell the truth that they both know.

Nie Mingjue is thankfully saved from any further humiliation by footsteps returning through the brush and he sits up a little straighter, breath quickening again as he braces himself for the pain of having his leg shifted and splinted that he knows is imminent.

“I was looking for a crutch but nothing around here is sturdy enough for you, da-ge, you’ll probably have to lean on er-ge to walk,” Jin Guangyao supplies as he comes closer, stopping a few steps away. There’s the clatter of a few sticks being set down on the ground close to his leg and he forces himself not to flinch away from it. The movement would only hurt and it won’t stop what’s about to happen, so he holds himself still with a grim determination.

Jin Guangyao settles down near him again and his hands are back on his skin, his touch still featherlight and cool as he shifts his trousers up over his knee but now there’s a slight trembling in his fingers that Nie Mingjue can feel when the man places a hand flat on his shin just below his knee.

“I’m sorry, da-ge,” he whispers for Nie Mingjue’s ears alone. He doesn’t have a chance to reply before he’s letting loose a primal shout of pain that he has absolutely no control over whatsoever. He bites out a litany of swears next, his head swimming and unseeing eyes brimming with tears as the nearly unbearable flare of pain settles again.

“Mingjue!” Lan Xichen shouts and there’s the sound of movement from his direction.

“Over here, er-ge, take my hand. Don’t get too much closer or you’ll hit his leg.”

“A-Yao, give me one of his hands.”

There’s a bit of shuffling, the touch of two shaking fingers under his wrist, and then Jin Guangyao’s hesitant touch is replaced by the anxious surety of both of Lan Xichen’s surprisingly warm hands wrapping around his palm. He curls his fingers tightly around Lan Xichen’s palm in return, both to reassure him as well as to have something to hold onto as Jin Guangyao starts getting his leg splinted, every single touch against his skin like a line of throbbing fire. Somehow it hurts more when he can’t see what’s happening, can’t anticipate the next touch.

The fire starts to ease as he realizes Lan Xichen is passing him some of his own qi, two of his fingertips pressed firmly against the pulse point on his wrist. The thread of it is soothing, silvery blue where it slips along his meridians. It leaves the scent of fresh pine and the peculiar crispness of mountain air in his nose and on the back of his tongue in its wake as it chases away the sharpest pains and soothes the duller ones into a manageable ache.

None of them talk while Jin Guangyao methodically binds his leg and Lan Xichen tends to his pains as best as he can. When it’s finished Nie Mingjue hears Jin Guangyao murmur for Lan Xichen to stop before he exhausts himself too much to travel.

“I need you both to listen to me very carefully,” Jin Guangyao says, his tone perfectly even.

“Yes yes we know, you get to order us around to get us out of here - how lucky for you,” Nie Mingjue snaps, patience worn down to the absolute thinnest it’s been since he had been driven to threaten Jin Guangyao’s life in Qishan.

“No, I meant...well, yes. But..” Jin Guangyao sighs then, a heavy, world-weary thing. It’s been a very very long time since he’s heard Jin Guangyao - normally so silver-tongued - become tongue-tied over anything. He sounds exhausted.

Nie Mingjue is..dismayed but not surprised to realize that he can still be manipulated so easily by the other even when he can’t see him. Not that he’ll ever let on, of course, but that doesn’t mean the twinge of guilt at being part of the cause of that exhaustion isn’t real. “Let’s just get out of here first, I suppose. I have something to tell you when we return to the inn, and you’ll both have to listen to me. You’ll have to trust me.”

“We trust you, A-Yao,” Lan Xichen replies instantly. Both Nie Mingjue and Jin Guangyao’s silences speak volumes about what they think about that, but they both wisely say nothing. If there’s one thing the pair of them can agree on anymore it’s that Lan Xichen should be allowed to keep up his optimistic illusions about the world for as long as they can be maintained. He should always get to believe the best in everybody like he wants to.

Getting Nie Mingjue standing and propped up against Lan Xichen’s side for the return journey leaves him sweating and trembling but upright, and able to walk. Lan Xichen holds his free hand out to hold Jin Guangyao’s belt, Jin Guangyao warns them of any obstacles in their path, and Nie Mingjue does his best not to pass out.

They follow Jin Guangyao in this way back the way they had come, and while Nie Mingjue is constantly braced for something else to go wrong, after a small eternity they finally manage to return to the inn without further injury.

They agree to gather in Lan Xichen’s room, Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue sitting on the bed and facing Jin Guangyao’s general direction, and Jin Guangyao begins to talk.

“Just trust me,” he reminds them once again. “There are a few things you should know.”

----

In the morning, a scrap of post is sent from the smallest, cheapest inn of a small town that sits precariously on the edge of the forest on the far border of Lanling. The letter is bound for the heart of the territory under the control of the Jin’s, and Jin money is spared for the extra expense of ensuring it will arrive as quickly as it can.

The letter will reach Jin Guangshan in the afternoon just in time for his usual break for tea, and Jin Guangshan will sit on his throne in Jinlintai to read Jin Guangyao’s report that the plot Jin Guangshan had devised has worked to perfection, that Qinghe Nie will no longer be a threat to his position. That he is retreating to Gusu to ostensibly grieve with his remaining sworn brother while doing his best to gain whatever secrets he can from their library to further secure their position at the top of the world.

Shortly after the letter begins its hurried journey to Jinlintai, three heavily cloaked figures - two tall, one short; one limping, one supporting, and one guiding - quietly slip away to begin their own journey in the opposite direction, bound for the safety that only the Gusu Lan can provide to shelter them while they plan just what, exactly, the three of them are going to do next.

#the untamed fanfic #3zun #Nie Mingjue #Lan Xichen #Jin Guangyao #Definitely not my fixit verse lol #But I guess....a different kind????#idk I wasn't really planning anything when I started but I guess I accidentally made it a fix it by breaking it a little bit first #guqin-and-flute

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shitpissboi · 3 years

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Alone Together

Summary- The holidays are always hell, and sometimes you just need to be alone together with your boyfriends and your dumbass friends.

Word Count- 3476

Pairing- Katuski Bakugou x Reader x Hitoshi Shinsou

Warnings- Swearing, detailed use of marijuana, stalker behavior (kinda, just given as a backstory at the very beginning), aged up characters.

A/N- Hello everybody! This is actually the first fic that i’ve written in well over a year, so forgive me if my writing is still a little rusty! I hope you like this fic, and thank you for taking the time to read it! :) (Edit: Honeslty thank you so much to everyone that’s interacted with this post! I did not expect it too get so many notes, so thank you all!🥺🖤)

You sighed as you walked into your apartment, the stress of the past week weighing heavily on your shoulders. This entire week had been awful, not only had you been made to work over time almost every day this week at the cafe, a new regular has apparently made it his sole mission in life to make your life hell after you rejected his advances. He had asked for your number last week and you politely declined, telling him that you already had two wonderful boyfriends that made you extremely happy.

Ever since then, he had made sure to come into the cafe every time you worked just to make your job as hard as possible. Calling you names, commenting about your appearance, making you remake every single thing he ordered several times, just to name a few things. Coupling all of that with everything else that happened this week, it would be safe to say that it was one of the worst weeks you’ve had this year. All you wanted to do now was curl up with your boyfriends, smoke, and watch trashy television.

Said boyfriends were already on the couch as you walked into the living room, lavender locks leaning against the back of the couch, one hand using the remote to look for something to watch, the other hand running through the messy blonde hair that was sitting in his lap. Your other boyfriend was sprawled out across the couch, laying his head in sleep deprived man's lap as he was texting away on his phone, only the former noticing your quiet entrance.

“Hey Kitten, how was work today?” The former asked, altering Katsuki to presence. He looked up from his phone the same time Hitoshi looked away from the TV, both of them noticing something was wrong right away. Katsuki immediately sat up and moved to the other end of the couch, leaving just enough room for you to sit comfortably in between the two men. You plopped onto the couch and threw your head back and just groaned, earning a small chuckle from the two.

“That bad Teddy Bear?” Katsuki asked, repositioning you so your head was laying on his lap and your legs were on Hitoshis. You just nodded your head and pushed your face into his abdomen, trying not to cry out of frustration.He ran his fingers through your hair as Hitoshi started to rub your sore feet, helping you to relax.

“I don’t really want to talk about it.. Can we just smoke and watch shitty TV please..?” The lavender haired man smiled softly at the pout in your voice, carefully moving your legs to get up before you could even finish what you were saying.

“Of course we can baby. We're gonna have to call Tape Face though, your shitty boyfriend smoked the rest of it last night.” The pomeranian growled out teasingly, effectively bringing a laugh out of you.

“He’s your boyfriend too Katsuki.” You laughed, sitting up straight and stretching. You watched as Hitoshi walked back into the living room, carrying all the things you would need for the nights sesh. You smiled up at him gratefully and pulled out your phone, quickly texting Sero and asking if he was busy. Hitoshi set up the items on the table then sat down on the chaise part of the couch, pulling you to sit in between his legs. Katsuki had gotten up to get drinks and snacks for the three of you, making sure to also grab your favorite. Hitoshi started to scroll through Hulu, settling on My Strange Addiction for now, when your phone started ringing. Sero’s name flashed on your phone, answering it immediately.

“Hey mami! What’s up beautiful?” You laughed as you felt Hitoshis grip tighten around you, Sero has been your friend since you were little kids, growing up in the same neighborhood. If he wasn’t dating Denki when he first introduced you to the Bakusquad then they would’ve thought you guys were together with how much you two flirt.

“Hey Sero. I know it’s late notice but could you make a delivery tonight, preferably soon?”

“Of course (Y/NN), your week not getting any better?” He asked, genuine worry seeping into his voice.

“No, it hasn’t. And a certain SOMEONE,” You looked up at Hitoshi and nudged him with your elbow. “Smoked the rest of what we had this morning and didn’t bother to restock.” He simply rolled his eyes at you.

“You know, if you keep being a brat, then i’m gonna have to teach you a lesson, Kitten.” Hitoshi teased.

“Shinsou Hitoshi! You can’t say things like that on call!” You pouted, hitting him lightly in the chest. You could hear Sero, and Denki since they were always together, losing their shit over the phone. You growled and put the phone back to your ear.

“You know I was gonna invite you guys to smoke with us but I don’t like to hang out with fucking bullies!” You growled into the phone, but started laughing as Kaminari immediately started to back track and apologize, making Sero laugh even harder.

“Just your ass over here already, and bring Kiri and Mina too if they want, we haven’t hung out as a group in forever.” You rolled your eyes as you heard Denki runoff in the background, yelling at Kiri and Mina to get their asses ready, then hearing a loud thud, making your and Hitoshi look at each other curiously.

“We’ll be over in 20 minutes babes... God dammit Denks how many times do I have to tell you not to ru-” The phone quickly hung, making you two roll your eyes yet again, you swear that over excited dumbass is one of the only things that can make Sero lose his never ending patience. You gently threw your phone onto the coffee table and relaxed back into the purple haired man. He kissed your forehead and wrapped himself around you tightly, allowing you to fully relax into his embrace.

About 25 minutes later, a knock startles you from your happy daze. Seeing as Katsuki had taken Hitoshi’s previous position, Hitoshi your position against Katsuki, and you snuggled into Katsuki’s side, you got up to answer the door. As soon as you opened the door you were trapped by a hug from Sero. You relished in the hug for a couple seconds before pulling back and letting him, followed by Denki, Mina, and Kiri. Denki and Kiri immediately made a bee line for the couch, fighting over who would get a hug from their best friend first. (Hitoshi and Katsuki respectively.)

“Well it’s nice to see you guys too, damn.” You mumbled, laughing a little at the end as you see your boyfriends immediately get annoyed with the two loud intrusions.

“How much you wanna bet they’ll be dead within 30 mintues?” Mina said, pulling you into a side hug.

“I give it 20. Tops.” Sero stated as you hug Mina back, leaning into the peck she gave you on the cheek before going to wrangle Kiri in before Katsuki tried to blow him up.

“How’re you doing babes?” Sero asked, turning toward you while he slid his backpack off.

“I’m okay right now, a lot better than earlier. I’m so fuckin ready to get stoned though.” You chuckled, rubbing the back of your neck with your hand.

“I’m just glad that you're feeling better. I swear the next time that bastardo shows his face i’m gonna beat his ass.” He growled, cracking his knuckles to try to be intimidating.

“Get in line Tape Face! Now get the fuck over here so we can get this started!” Katsuki yelled, making you let out a small giggle. Sero followed you into the living room where the chaos had already started. Denki was being half heartedly being consoled by Mina as he cried at Hitoshi for cuddling Katsuki and not him. Meanwhile Hitoshi was glaring daggers and Kiri, who was sitting in your previous spot, and addimently talking to Katsuki.

You simply rolled your eyes and sat at the end of the chaise, Sero sitting in between your legs on the floor. He pulled a ziplock bag out of his backpack and grabbed the grinder off the table, promptly starting to break up the bigger nugs and put them into the grinder. You reached around him and grabbed your bong and a water bottle, pouring some water into the bong. Hitoshi had noticed you guys sit down and grabbed the bottle out of your hand when you were done, trading it with a lighter. Not even a couple minutes later Sero was handing you the grinder and you opened it, starting to pack a bowl while he got the stuff ready to roll a blunt.

You packed the bowl as full as you could and held the lighter to the bowl, starting to inhale. About 10 seconds later, when the chamber was sufficiently filled with smoke, you pulled the bowl out and inhaled again, relishing the feeling of the smoke settling into your lungs as you passed the bong and lighter to Sero. You held it for a couple more seconds before slowly letting the smoke out, feeling yourself relax with the exhale. You took the bag sitting next to Sero and continued to grind for him as he took a hit before passing it to Hitoshi.

You watched Hitoshi take a hit as you continued to twist the grinder back and forth, smiling when he grabbed Katsuki by the collar and exhaled the smoke into his mouth. Katsuki blushed furiously, always being caught off guard when the younger man did things like that, and angrily buried his face into his neck. Hitoshi smirked as he looked down, handing the bong off to an unsuspecting Kiri. (Kiri, Denki, and Mina seriously didn’t realize you guys started until they were dead ass handed the bong-)

Pulling your attention away from your lovers, you handed the full grinder to the man below you, seeing that he already had a blunt wrap split and emptied out. However he just handed the grinder and the tray to Hitoshi, knowing the exhausted man can roll a much prettier blunt than he can. Your head snapped up as you heard Denki start coughing and watched as Mina ripped the bong out of his hands.

“How many times do I have to tell you not to cough into the bong Denki! I swear every time you hit a bong you cough into it!” She yelled, using the sleeve of her shirt to wipe the water off the outside of the glass instrument.

“You're still coughing into the damn bong Kaminari?!” You exasperated, staring at him bewildered. It’s been a good couple months since you had all been able to get together, and in that time he had finally decided to move in with Sero. Sero was the second biggest stoner you’ve ever met, just being beat by Hitoshi, and his favorite thing to use was a bong, you would’ve thought he had taught him by now.

“No matter how many times I tell him he still does it, so now I make him roll a blunt or use a pipe.” Sero shrugged, moving so he could sit between his boyfriend’s legs instead.

“It’s not my fault my lungs are so bad! Whenever I fry myself it fucks up my lungs!” He whined, leaning forward and draping himself of the latino dramatically.

“Which is exactly why you should learn how to use the fucking bong, idiot.” Katsuki spoke up, seemingly over his flustered state for the moment. Denki just whined dramatically, causing you all to sigh in irritation. Mina rolled her eyes and took her hit before passing it off to you. You gripped it tightly and stood up on the couch, very carefully going over to Katsuki and sitting in his lap, his arms immediately wrapping around you and his chin resting on your shoulder.

You held the bong against your lips and went to light the bowl only for Katsuki to snatch it from you, making your lean away and glare at him. He smirked at you and flicked the lighter on, bringing it to the bowl. You rolled your eyes and smirked, putting your mouth back to the bong and inhaling as he lit it for you. You inhaled for a good 15 seconds before he pulled the bowl away, allowing you to inhale the smoke into your lungs. You handed the bong off to him and watched as he leaned it, very clearly wanting you to share the hit with him.

You smiled at the secretly needy man holding you, softly tangling your hand with the hair at the base of his neck and gently pushing him forward. You tilted your head and let the smoke flow from your parted lips into his open mouth before sealing your lips together. Your lips molded together perfectly with his, the rest of the smoke seeping through your nose before you pulled away, still smiling.

You looked on as he opened his eyes, a soft smile settling onto his features before he exhaled fully. You closed your eyes and leaned against him, contentment washing over your body for the first time during this hell week. He chuckled and leaned back against the couch again, taking you with him. You listened to him take another hit and felt as he inhaled and exhaled, feeling the smoke blow across your head as he blew you. He handed the bong off and let his head rest on the back of the couch, slightly tightening his hold on you.

You heard Kiri take another hit as Mina, Sero, and Denki started another fight, letting out a giggle and Katsuki and Hitoshi let out a groan at the same time. You felt Katsuki reach up but paid it no mind until Hitoshi spoke up.

“Hey! That’s no fuckin fair Katsu! You can’t just turn off your hearing aids and leave us to suffer!” Hitoshi let out, holding the frash blunt in the side of his mouth while he signed for Katsuki. Your eyes snapped open and you sat up, giving the blonde your own glare, starting to sign for him.

“Suki! You said you were going to leave them on this time!” You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest when you were done using your hands.

“I’m not gonna listen to these shitty extras fight the whole time, so until they shut the fuck up, i’m leaving them off.” He signed, a satisfied smirk on his face.

“You’re such a fukin asshole suki!” You grumbled, making sure to not sign to him. He just stuck his middle finger up at you and laughed. You just turned away and looked to Hitoshi, taking the blunt out of his mouth and grabbing the lighter. He tried to grab it back but stopped when he saw the mischief in your eyes, sitting back to watch you. You lit the blunt and took a long drag, passing it to Sero on the ground before climbing on Hitoshis’s lap. You gently grabbed his face and opened his mouth slightly with your thumb.

You let the smoke fall from your lips and past his, watching as he sucked in the hit before dipping down to kiss him, raking your right hand through his hair. He pushed up into the kiss, making sure to make a show of grabbing your ass, opening his eyes slightly to lazily glance over at Katsuki, smirking to find him growling at you two.

“Oh come on, get a room you horny lil freaky fucks.” Denki called out, making you burst everyone but Katsuki and Hitoshi burst out into laughter, the latter just deadpanning. You fell too the side to the side of Hitoshi, bumping into Katsuki’s still crossed legs, pulling yourself up when you calmed yourself down.

“What in the fuck did you just call us?!” You asked, noting that Katsuki was signing to Hitoshi and asking what in the hell Denki just said. Said man just shrugged, leaning back against the couch.

“A horny little freaky fuck.” He stated as if it was the most normal thing in the world, causing Mina, Kiri, and Sero to start laughing again. Katsuki had turned his hearing aids on again at this point and had heard what he said.

“If you call my boyfriend and girlfriend that again i’m gonna kick your fucking ass dunce face.” Katsuki rumbled, grabbing his friend by the collar. You just laughed and reached over to his arm, lacing your hand with his and pulling it back to you, kissing the back of it and wrapping it around yourself. He tightened his grip on you and used his other hand to hold Hitoshi’s, growling at Denki.

Denki yelped and jumped off the couch, lowering himself and trying to hide behind Sero, crying Katsuki not to hurt him. Sero just mumbled a “Fucking idiot”, and pulled the yellow haired man against him, leaving his arm around his waist. By this time the blunt had gotten back around to Katsuki and he took his arm off you to take a big hit, moving to lean against the arm of the couch so he could continue holding his boyfriend's hand.

The blond passed the blunt to you when he was done, and you quickly started to inhale, smiling at the familiar burn in the back of your throat. You inhaled for a good while before passing it over to Hitoshi, laying back so your head was now in your other lovers lap. He automatically brought a hand up to your head and raked it through your hair a couple times before simply resting it on top.

You closed your eyes as it finally started to hit you, allowing you to fully relax into your lover. You tuned out the rest of the conversations and background noise easily, focusing on the feeling of Katsuki’s hand on your head and Hitoshi moving so he was laying on your lap while still holding Katsuki’s hand. The blunt got passed around a couple more times before it was finally done, the bong getting thrown in here and there. You had ended up in a position where sitting up against the back of the couch and his legs apart as you sat between them and leaned against him and the arm of the couch. Hitoshi had crawled between the older man's legs and laid his head in your lap, practically purring as you pet his hair.

You were brought back down to reality when Hitoshi got up to grab a drink and change the TV, putting on something funny and didn’t need to be thought about too much. You sat up to, much to your blonde lovers grievance, and reached toward Hitoshi with a pout. He just let out a chuckle and grabbed your favorite drink and snack off the table, handing them to you as he got comfortable in your lap again. You happily took a sip of your drink and set it next to you, making sure to screw the cap tight, before opening your snack.

You munched it absentmindedly and leaned back against the arm of the couch, smiling up at the blonde and offering one to him. He looked around before begrudgingly opening his mouth, allowing you to place the tasty treat inside. You giggled as he grumbled and looked away, still not used to his friends seeing him act “soft”. You heard your other boyfriend let out a laugh at the explosive hero, genuinely happy that he still continues to try and open up to those close to him, especially after the last couple being rough on everyone.

The holidays brought stress to everyone, the spike in crime making the heros (Kirishima, Denki, Katsuki, and Hitoshi.) over work themselves more than usual and become even more exhausted. While you, Mina, and Sero all had to deal with the wonders of working retail and food service during this time, always seeming to get stuck with the absolute worst customers that would threaten your job and life.

The last month has clearly taken a chunk out of everyone, and the almost always rowdy group was just thankful to finally get a restful and relaxing night. Even if the group was full of impulsive ideas and even more impulsive decisions, they never felt more safe than when in each other's company, mastering the art of being alone together when it was truly needed. You smiled as you came to this realisation, knowing that no matter what happened or what obstacles would be thrown your way, as long as you had your boyfriends and your friends, everything was going to be alright. You are going to be alright.

Masterlist

Posted 12/19/2020

296 notes · View notes

theboyzuniverse · 3 years

Text

Let's Dance

It has been the most wonderful experience working with The Boyz and their company. As soon as you graduated dance school you were lucky enough to land a job almost immediately. The pay isn't too much yet but it helps you get by, and you have the most amazing people to work with, everyone is friendly and respectful. The best part about your job, however, was the boys. Watching them work hard, slowly succeeding, and celebrating the little achievements. They were a big part of your life, and the reason you got to work everyday, you loved their humble and playful vibe. Most of all of course, you enjoyed dancing with them, and watching them dance.

Working on the choreography for 'Stealer' had been a fun time. It was by far the sexiest concept that the team had done, the group was becoming more well-known, and everyone enjoyed themselves. It amazed you how much they suited the concept because they had the softest personalities.

Every member is very attractive and talented, but you always had a soft spot for Sangyeon. You admired his leadership and how he sometimes acted as a secondary parent to them, but at times he would still goof around and be silly with them. He had a the brightest smile, was always polite and friendly to every one of the staff, it also helped that he was hella attractive. What didn't help was how fast your heart would beat every time his part would arrive for 'Stealer'.

"Are you drooling again? Why don't you just tell him straight out how much you're in love with him?"

You blushed red as your roommate and close friend Jun called you out. He was also a dancer and you both had been scouted by the company at the same time.

"Could you be a little more subtle? I don't wanna get in trouble." You hissed back.

"Well you couldn't be more obvious with your little heart eyes."

You rolled your eyes and playfully hit him.

"I just... Its complicated."

"What, because he's an idol?"

"Partly, but more so because I don't think the company would really like it, and I can't afford to lose this job."

"What? Not even for love?" Jun feigned shock and you rolled your eyes again, he always teased you but he also always made life a little more fun.

Jun and you, along with his girlfriend of two years shared a two-room apartment. Since the rent was split three ways, it made life financially more comfortable, so it was a win-win for everyone. If they ever broke-up it would be another story, but you were pretty sure they could get married soon. However, you wished it wouldn't be too soon, at least not until you could afford your own apartment.

"Do you think he could be interested though, even a little?" You asked.

"You know my answer," He sighed.

"Well, if we go by your logic, it would pretty much mean all of them are interested because they're all super sweet."

"Believe what you want, but Sangyeon doesn't give compliments and praises to the rest of us as much as he does you."

You always noticed it a little too, the sweet heartfelt compliments and encouragements he would send your way. Of course he always politely thanked all the staff but he somehow made you feel like you were a little more special, but you couldn't bring yourself to believe quite yet. It felt too unreal that he could actually like you back.

"Come on, they're having a final rehearsal before D-day."

You follow the rest of the staff to the bigger rehearsal room. All the boys were already at the center of the room, and obviously as you take a seat your eyes are immediately fixed on Sangyeon. The music starts and you watch closely, he has two main parts and you can't help thinking that both are just as seductive. The first part was when he stood with his back to the crowd, moved side to side with a smooth shoulder dance as he looked back seductively. The second part was when your heart almost jumped out of your chest because you were so sure he was looking straight into your eyes as he pulled himself forward. Luckily, no one else had noticed.

After they did the whole choreography two more times, everyone was free to do their own things as official work was done until D-day. You just sat there on the floor, debating whether to go home or not. If you go home, you would either just go to sleep or watch a movie and eat delivery food alone in your room. If you stay, you'd still be alone as everyone else would go home, but you'd be more productive. You somehow didn't feel like going home just then, Jun and his girlfriend would also appreciate having the apartment to themselves for a while even though they wouldn't admit it.

"You coming home?"

"No, I'll just stay for a while."

"Okay, don't be out too late though."

"Yup."

"See you at home."

Everyone left one by one and you waited for them to all be gone until you actually started to move. You loved having the practice room to yourself, being alone with your thoughts and being able to express the music with your body. Playing 'Heroine' by Sunmi, you started to dance according to a choreography that you made yourself. Having the freedom to express yourself while nobody's watching gave you a kind of thrill that kept you energetic. The song was ending when the door opened to a smiling Sangyeon, looking totally happy and amazed at what he just saw.

"Oppa!" You said startled.

"What the heck, that was amazing!"

You blushed shy and embarrassed, looking at the ground.

"Did you see the whole thing?"

"Yeah, I forgot my phone and I came back to get it, but I saw you started dancing and I was afraid to interrupt you."

"Ah, that's so embarrassing, you should've told me." You whined.

"That was nothing to be ashamed of." He told you as he held your shoulders with both hands. "Be more confident Y/N."

Sangyeon goes to the end of the room, puts down his bag and removes his sweatshirt and cap, and starts the music. 'Stealer' starts playing and your heart skips a beat as he walks towards you.

"Let's dance." He tells you, "Together."

At first you think of refusing but instead you just nod and follow him. You've been rehearsing with them so you already know the whole choreography. The two of you dance side by side, and he does little improv moves so it looks better since only the two of you are dancing instead of a group. You follow what he does. Your favorite Sangyeon part comes on and you get excited over it, the excitement turns to a mini heart attack when his second part comes on and he maintains eye contact with you through the mirror. Overwhelmed, you just stop in your tracks and sit on the floor with your back against the wall. He stops too and comes and sits next to you before the song is done.

"Its been a while since I've wanted to have some time alone with you," Sangyeon starts talking, and you hold in your breath. "You do know that I like you right?"

You breathe out the air you were holding in and slowly answer, "No... I didn't know."

He looks at you a surprised, "I always thought I made it pretty clear, and the members are always teasing me."

"I've thought about it, but I just never believed it would be possible." You reply.

"So that means you like me too."

You nodded once, too overwhelmed by what was happening. He takes your hand and holds it, drawing circles with the other hand.

"You always underestimate yourself, your talent and how beautiful you are." You felt like your chest was gonna explode with how fast your heart was beating. "I'm sorry Y/N, I should've just been clear and straightforward with my feelings."

"What? No, its not something to be apologetic about."

You bravely put your head on his shoulder, and you both stay that way for a while. Then he turns to you to go in for a kiss. You try your best to remain calm as he draws closer and you close your eyes. His lips touch yours as he softly cups your face, then deepens the kiss as he turns himself to face you. You don't know if its because you haven't had a kiss for so long but it gets you hot and turned on in no time. Sangyeon breaks the kiss as he connects both your foreheads, you both breathe heavily as the sexual tension gets undeniably high.

The whole place is quiet except for the sounds of your breathing. Sangyeon pulls you onto his lap, facing each other, bodies close, he pulls you in for another kiss. You reach out and run your hands through his hair, lightly grinding against him as he moans a little.

"Sh*t," He mutters softly as he breaks the kiss again, you could feel both of your heart beats racing.

You get off of his lap shy about the steamy make out session, then he stares at you with the same intensity as he did at the final rehearsal. Seeing it close up makes you breathless. He reaches for you and pulls you back on his lap, and starts nuzzling his face on your neck and giving you kisses. You could feel him hardening as you grind yourself against him, and you moaned as he left hickeys on your neck.

"Take it off," You tell him lightly tugging at his shirt.

"Getting impatient are we?" He smirks.

You blush and look down as he removes his shirt, softly running your fingers down his abs. Sangyeon inserts his thumbs in the waist of your pants, and slowly pulls them down to remove them. You dared not say anything, afraid that you would wake up and find out it was all just a dream.

"Are you sure you wanna do this?" He asked.

You nodded. It was what you've always wanted, no turning back.

Sangyeon pulls down his pants a little, taking it out his length and pumps it a few times. You position yourself as you slowly slide it in. It hurts more than you thought it would so your eyes get teary, he wipes away the single tear with his thumb and pulls you in for a kiss. You're thankful for how gentle he is with you. Once you get a little used to him you start riding him, and an immense pleasure fills you up. He groans a little and that turns you on more as you get bolder and rougher, moving your hips against his. He removes your shirt and unclasps your bra, sucking on one breast as he squeezes the other. To add to all the pleasure you were feeling at that moment he starts rubbing your clit with one hand, you whimper a little. If you could die from immense pleasure this was it, yet you never felt more alive.

"Look at me," He commands you as he stops sucking on your breasts.

You look at him shy, but not embarrassed. He pulls in for another kiss, this time his hands on your neck. He's not really choking you but he put a little pressure on it and you could tell he was almost coming, you could feel yourself getting nearer too. Soon after one last kiss you feel your orgasm wash over you, a type of euphoria engulfs you. Sangyeon could tell from your moans. He pulls you close connecting his lips with your neck, and you grind a few more times as he came soon after.

You both breathe heavily recollecting your senses, and you rest your foreheads against each other. You smile at how soft he looked right after what you both had done, and stay that way for a while, without him pulling out.

"We should get dressed," You tell him.

He nods, as you both get up. You somehow feel a little cold and empty as you disconnect from his body. He looks at you and sees your disappointed face, giving you a peck on your lips.

"Will you go on a date with me tomorrow?'

"Yes, of course." You smile instantly.

The two of you get dressed quickly and gather your things to head out. Right before you were about to turn off the lights a breathless Eric rushes inside.

"Wait wait wait, I forgot my phone." He says as you and Sangyeon stare at him. "What?"

You just keep staring at him, shocked that you and Sangyeon had done it without locking the door. You then turn to Sangyeon about to say something when he cuts you off.

"Let's go home Eric."

"Wait, why are you guys so awkward? Did you finally tell her? What happened between you guys?" He shouts over Sangyeon pushing him out the door.

You giggle at how silly he was being. Sangyeon turns around before going out the door.

"I'll see you tomorrow at 8?"

"Okay,"

He winks at you as he leaves, and your insides do a little dance. You couldn't feel any more happier and content at that moment.

#lee sangyeon #sangyeon #the boyz #the boyz sangyeon #the boyz smut #kpop smut #tbz smut #tbz sangyeon #the boyz imagines #the boyz oneshots #oneshot #smut oneshot

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cherryblossomtease · 3 years

Text

Chapter 16

18 + only

warnings and summary - Masterlist

Authors Notes: So maybe sometimes I get a little wrapped up in the romance and the drama amongst the kink *shrug* I was very much in my feelings while writing the next few parts but I sincerely hope you enjoy the next few posts over the next couple of nights. I’m happily working on the ending!

Warnings: 18+ only as always. Thank you for knowing your own limits. Not everyone can handle this much Bronte… by Bronte I mean m/m/f action lols- no but really— explicit sexual situations, m/m first time sexual exploration and insinuation, dom Zemo, sub reader, sub Bucky

You’re convinced overindulgence was invented on the first yachts. It was probably the romans who came up with it. Caligula comes to mind. Terrible person, evil fuck really. Threw epic parties though and some of the best were on boats. While you’re missing a few hundred people to reach those levels, the next couple of days could inspire a depraved emperor or two.

You eat drink and laugh your way through a hazy cloud of hedonistic delight until you've managed to find yourself between them, beside them or beneath them on every level of the yacht. And if you aren't being fucked into oblivion, then you and Bucky are on your knees obeying Helmut’s many commands.

And yet it’s not all A.D. levels of body fluid swapping. You and Bucky convince Zemo to give your favorite baking competition show a chance and end up binging all of season three from the start, with you cheering when the winner is announced because you called it when they thought it would be the odds-on favorite.

During the lazy days that drag on so much longer than real life would ever allow, you team up with Bucky and nearly defeat Zemo at an endless game of chess which you can see only happens because he allows it; however you both easily beat the Baron at shuffleboard and more than once until he's convinced you’re both cheating.

The games are fun of course, but what you most like is watching Zemo and Bucky find their stride as a couple while learning how to share you, after all they've only ever had you apart. It's sweet to see them so attentive and aware of one another, not wanting to make the other feel pushed aside or less than. Yes Zemo is the dominant one in this relationship, thats been established, but respect and care for feelings is not bound by a role.

It's the little things that show this, like how Zemo will watch the way Bucky traces his finger down your neck thinking you don't see him looking and adjust his own subtle displays of affection. It happened in the lounge after you all went swimming just this past afternoon. You’d settled onto the low couch together, reading and scrolling. He used to touch you just like that—playing with your hair, stroking the back of your neck— now he watches, and it makes him smile to see Bucky so gentle with you. Without a word and little effort he lifts your legs up and over his own putting his feet up on the coffee table before getting lost in his book again so that you are cradled between them. This way, Bucky is free to touch you as much as he wants and Helmut can wrap his arm around the tops of your thighs and lay his warm hand on your knee. Sometimes, when he reads something especially interesting, he grips just a little tighter...

Helmut Zemo.

Your ever observant Baron. Always attentive to every need, so ready to serve for a man so quick with a command. Be it a drink, or a late night snack; Helmut is never above offering every comfort. He is a gentle and adoring force of such intense love that you both feel swallowed by the world he’s built around you.

On a calm and peaceful night —you can’t say which one, because you’ve intentionally lost count— the sky is full of stars and a low hanging white moon, so the three of you go out onto the bedroom balcony and curl up together on the oversized white sofa. You’ve brought a glass of wine and a blanket and take a big gulp of the jammy red before laying your head in Zemo’s lap while Bucky rests in the crook of his arm making himself small enough to fit and Helmut opens one of the many books from the den.

One of the things you’ve found out during your travels is that in preparation for his escape, Oeznik had been busy readying two crates full of the things the Baron would need; some things which were private and other small luxuries a man like Zemo can not live without, like these books. You’ve begged him to start Wuthering Heights. He doesn’t mind, Helmut is a tragic romantic at heart, it’s Bucky who seems a little doubtful at first but by the time Cathy’s ghost is begging to be let in through Heathcliff’s window, Bucky is silent and listening, completely lost in the story, or as your suspect, this beautiful telling of it. You’re just glad he’s able to experience the delight that is Helmut's voice all soft and calm as he brings the story to life. Everyone should be so lucky…

When he’s gone through the first couple of chapters and you’re starting to fall asleep, he closes the book, kisses your head and rubs Bucky’s thigh suggesting that it’s time to go in.

The bed is a welcome change and while you’re all too tired for a wild session like what happened on the upper deck this morning (your knees still ache and you’re pretty sure Bucky would have marks from Helmut’s belt across his back if it weren’t for his healing abilities) you can sense something special starting.

It’s easy to forget on nights like this that anyone is submissive or dominant in your relationship. There is no edge to the way you touch one another, just love. Limbs intertwine, hands touch and rub and hold; only Bucky’s cool vibranium gives away his identity, otherwise there is a playful mystery in the dark that you all choose to let remain until you kiss a mouth and smile figuring out that it's Bucky because his lips are full and pillowy soft while the fingers that calmly stroke your wet center are Helmut’s because they move in his confident, graceful way. And you find yourself thinking of something you really haven’t before.

Experience. It’s something the three of you have so much of and in so many different ways that you nearly forget one of you is technically a virgin.

Hard to imagine the man kissing you, the man who has been inside of you so many times is new to this, well a form of this. The thought makes your heart flutter with excitement as you feel the deft fingers leave you and Helmut gets up from the bed.

He doesn’t go far and you wonder what it is he’s gotten.

When you feel the weight of him dip the mattress and much closer this time, you open your eyes curious but realize it’s a little too dark and Bucky’s face is too close to see. You pull back wanting to catch a glimpse of what you think is happening as the faint scent of bergamot tells you all you need to know.

Bucky raises up, not far, but enough that the moonlight shines on half his face letting you see how his brows knit close together. His gasp is light. He does not exhale. You can’t see past him but you know that Helmut has been slowly nudging him closer towards his first time and you have been watching this man be readied for a moment that just a few days ago he never would have imagined— or maybe he has? Honestly based on the way he grinds his ass against Zemo when the three of you are lost in all sorts of lovely situations, you’d say he’s imagined it a lot more than he’s letting on.

He exhales and they moan together as you pull him down into a deep kiss.

Is that one finger or two?

“Would you like to come inside of her?” Helmut asks softly as Bucky breathes through the feel.

He hovers over you, eyes shut tight, licking his lips before moaning softly again “Yes.” He manages to say, and you’re so wet you think Zemo could have saved the oil.

Permission must come through some physical contact because you hear nothing, just feel him at your entrance and then inside of you. You can’t help but to moan and arch your back, your stomach pressing against his, your nipples brushing against his warm chest groaning as you give into the familiar size of him, opening your mouth with a deep sigh as your heart races knowing he is taking you while being had.

Between breaths you catch a glimpse of Helmut beside him —right hand flat on the small of Bucky’s back the muscle of his left forearm flexing rhythmically— his face is stern with concentration but his eyes are soft. He does love to make you both feel good. For all his bluster and demanding, nothing ever makes him so happy as pleasing you and Bucky.

The fact that you start to come so quickly is no surprise but the fact that you start to come together makes you look at one another. You smiling through the quick breaths, Bucky’s furrowed brow a sign of his shock but absolute pleasure. It’s too much for him in the best way as he rocks his hips, slowly thrusting deep into your body that clings to him.

You shut your eyes, your gasp mixed with a laugh and a cry as you come.

Bucky lays over you, his face tucked into the safe corner of your neck, so soft and warm where he moans heavily, climaxing in a way he’s never experienced before. You put your arms around him holding him tight and the sound he makes is the sound of a man who has just discovered quite a few things about himself.

He raises up, breathing hard, stunned and happy as he kisses you.

That was incredible for you both and together you quickly look over Bucky’s shoulder at Zemo who sits gazing at your faces in the dark…

#zemo x you #bucky barnes x you #winterbaron #winterbaron x you #zemo fanfic #winterbaron fic #helmut zemo x reader #james bucky barnes x reader #helmut zemo/james buchanan barnes #boys who love boys who love girls #oh to be so loved #sammich #cozy #yacht life

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vodkassassin · 4 years

Note

My dude, my gal, or maybe nonbinary pal (just to be sure, don't know your pronouns) you gave me the light, you have opened my eyes. All this ships I didn't know I needed and now can't get enough of. Your writing is a DELIGHT. For a prompt, how do SQH's disciples see him? What about the demons under MBJ? That one shot of LQG getting jealous of MBJ in which the underling backs away slowly means this isn't the first time that has happened right?

Thank you so much! It really makes me happy to hear that people enjoy reading my stuff. It’s half of what makes writing it so enjoyable for me. Another part I enjoy is how I seem to be dragging all you poor fools down with me into my shipping abyss of rare pairs. God bless.

I went with the demon perspective! Might do a disciple perspective next time? Idk. @quiensecomioelpie

—

As an agent of the Northern kingdom, Mao Liang is required to attend strategy meetings whenever they are present within the palace. Regardless of whether they had just returned from a long, grueling mission in the field only the day before, or not.

Luckily, there’s never that much attention brought to them, and Mao Liang is never expected to share their opinion or thoughts during the meeting, only directly to his majesty and the advisor afterwards. A relief, because if Mao Liang had to speak to the dozens of generals and high ranking soldiers and fellow agents that stand around the colossal, war room table alongside them… Well, that’s a crowd, isn’t it? If Mao Liang was forced to publicly speak, they might actually die.

Someone who doesn’t seem to ever have a problem with addressing a crowd of demons, though — be they gruff soldiers or generals or a glowering, looming king — is someone that is worth admiring.

Lord Shang pulls his furs around his shoulders more tightly, attention directed almost entirely on the maps sprawled out over the table they’ve all gathered around today. His head tilts toward the side just slightly, like a predator whose eyes have zeroed in on his prey, and Mao Liang has to fight the urge to shiver at the sight.

The odd twitches that they see in their fellow demons tells them that they, too, experience the same unease, so at least they’re not alone in this.

It was an odd thing, at first, to fear a human — much less a cultivator. In the beginning, as Lord Shang was just ascending into his climb for power in the Northern Kingdom, it had been something Mao Liang had been almost offended by. Just as any demon in their right mind would be, faced with such a slight, twitchy little thing, whose eyes rove to and fro as if they are a frightened animal. It screams of weakness, to any demon eyes.

Any demon that doesn’t already know better, at least.

Within the decade, however, it became clear that this feeling did, indeed, have its place in Mao Liang’s heart. That they were not experiencing a falsity. That Lord Shang, despite his diminutive appearance, is deserving of this respect, and not just because his majesty is so fond of him.

Not only is the cultivator powerful — Mao Liang still shudders in remembrance, whenever there is a storm in the sky strong enough to birth lightning — but he is conniving. He is intelligent to a terrifying degree. He is scarily efficient, productive, and reliable.

When Lord Shang says something will be done, it is done.

When Lord Shang says changes need to be made, they are made, no matter how many voices make their dissent known (nor how many idiots have, over the years, attempted something much more underhanded — they all fail, each and every one of them, and eventually the attempts were fewer and fewer, before just completely grinding to a halt).

If Lord Shang decides you are not fit for a position….

Well. In the beginning, he’d have just taken care of it himself. Through varying means, all of them increasingly terrifying, according to the rumors Mao Liang has heard over the years. Now, though…

Now, if Lord Shang decides someone has to go, the king himself is ever so obliging to make sure that it happens, often post haste.

So much power in the palm of a single person, even if he is an immortal master — it’s awe-inspiring.

So, Lord Shang indeed deserves the respect he commands from the heart of every Northern demon, and even those beyond their borders. However long it had taken them all to realize (and then accept), the state of the kingdom in recent years has been thriving more than it ever has in the past. Things haven’t been this good since perhaps the early golden age of the current Mobei Jun’s great and mighty ancestors. And they all know exactly who to credit that for.

“Here.”

Mao Liang startles, gaze snapping down to the map and zeroing in on where Lord Shang’s dainty (and deceptively powerful, mustn’t forget that) finger is tapping on an outlined enemy outpost.

“Eliminate them, first.” Lord Shang says.

“Ah — my lord?” One of the generals hedges awkwardly, tone coming out rather flat in his attempt not to offend — as it happens with most demons, their accents when speaking the common language does not leave a lot of room for niceties and polite speech. It’s caused a lot of scares with Lord Shang, where the demons under his attention are never certain if they’re about to get banished from the kingdom or executed by the king (which would be a mercy, certainly).

Mao Liang winces, covering it up by clenching their jaw tightly and eyeing the general who spoke from the corner of his eye, as Lord Shang turns his attention directly upon him.

The general is standing ramrod straight, shoulders stiff and brow pinched, when the advisor’s aquamarine gaze cuts to him. The demal shouldn’t have spoken up at all.

“What is it?” Lord Shang asks, pleasantly. Mao Liang feels a shiver wrack their spine.

Lord Shang is always pleasant, right up until he isn’t. It’s when he isn’t, that one has to watch out for oneself. But it’s ever so difficult to know when that caution is required, because Lord Shang is unpredictable, in a sense.

It takes a lot to truly and irreparably offend the honorable advisor. The last one who had…

They’re still scraping the poor guy’s innards off the wall of that conference hall, Mao Liang is pretty sure.

“That outpost…” the General begins, haltingly. He eyes the peak lord hesitantly, searching the neutral mask for any sign of displeasure, before continuing. “It’s not very important in the grand scheme of things, my lord. The enemy does not particularly value it. To expend our forces on its destruction would, I believe, be a waste of our resources at this time.”

There. Succinct and to the point. Mao Liang cranes their head around to peer at the advisor, who stands at the head of the table.

In the shadow of his majesty’s great bulk and dark glower (which is currently directed at the silently sweating General, poor demal), Lord Shang looks so much smaller than he actually is. Almost breakable. Non-threatening.

Mao Liang has never heard a more hilarious joke in their life. Non-threatening, their ass.

“You would think so, wouldn’t you?” And oh, there is cheer injected into the advisor’s voice, now. Mao Liang watches in fascination as the general visibly cringes. “Ah, but that’s where you’d be wrong, General Peng! You see, this particular outpost actually is rather important, especially to our enemy. They’d just like for us to think that it isn’t. The larger outpost, here?”

Lord Shang sweeps his hand across the map to the larger outline that’s much closer to the Northern borders.

“That seems more of a threat to us, just like you pointed out earlier. And I agree, it does seem that way — however, this larger outpost is only a decoy. A red herring, if you will. It’s larger and more heavily manned specifically to distract us from this smaller outpost over here.”

General Peng flinches minutely, having his own contribution to the meeting so effortlessly and nonchalantly thrown back into his face as only an incorrect assumption rather than a logical deduction. He doesn’t speak, though, even to ask the advisor where he’d gotten such information from.

No one ever asks Lord Shang how he knows something. Everyone knows that if Lord Shang knows something, then he just knows it, and you are to trust it, because he is never, ever wrong.

It is frightening enough, having the advisor of the king know your name, personally, without you ever having introduced yourself to him. Small, meaningless facts about you, the names of your family, where your clan ancestral ritual grounds are (something that no demon tells anyone outside their own clan, upon pain of death. And having that just thrown out there in casual conversation? Terrifying.). What you had been doing, while undercover, just the week before….

Mao Liang’s first meeting with the Peak Lord Shang had been memorable, to say the least. They had come out of it with a very, very healthy fear and respect for the man, of course. Ask any demon in the Eternal Winter Palace — hell, any demon in the damn kingdom itself — and they would tell you the same.

“It’s this outpost we have to worry about.” Lord Shang is saying, tapping once again on the smaller outline. “It’s the center of their operations. Everything that actually matters is hidden underneath it. It is absolutely crucial that those of you in the field ensure that it will no longer be a problem. You should take, I’d say, around three platoons.”

Mao Liang glances down at the outline. The outpost is tiny, nestled into the belly of a valley. Just looking at it, they would guess there are only perhaps a thousand demons in total guarding the place. Sending in six thousand soldiers to take it out is a bit of overkill.

But, then again, if the real operations are all happening underground, concealed….

General Peng’s lips thin into a pale line. Then, the demal nods in acceptance. “If Lord Shang says so.”

“I do,” Lord Shang says, quietly, not even lifting his gaze back up from the map, staring down at where his own finger is pressed to the outpost.

General Peng’s entire face goes pale.

Before anything else can happen, like Lord Shang going completely silent and unhelpful (It’s happened in the past, Lord Shang deciding that they no longer required his advice, if they were so certain of their own (always subpar) intelligence on the matter. His majesty’s ire, in response, had been absolutely brutal on everyone even peripherally involved. Mao Liang had been lucky enough to not have been in attendance at that particular meeting, but they’d heard stories.)— before anything like that could happen, the king himself decided that enough is enough.

Mobei Jun shoves off the table and sends them all a sharp glare.

“Well,” his majesty says, powerful voice expanding into the air and filling the cavernous war room like it was something material. “You have your orders. What else do you want? Get out.”

As they all scramble to their feet and head for the door, Mao Liang is at the forefront. They hate tactical meetings. They’d rather be on the field. Or in their quarters, sleeping. Or in their quarters, reading. Anywhere that other people are not. This meeting has already drained their meager energy levels to almost nothing. It’s nap time. It’s nap time.

“Mao Liang,” Mobei Jun’s voice calls, and they fall to an abrupt stop just before the doors. “Stay behind.”

Demons, generals and soldiers and even fellow agents, stream past them, and they quietly despair. Fuck! They’d been so close!

They turn, and step back to the table. They execute a bow, working to keep any expression off their face entirely — especially when Lord Shang smiles at them. Oh, ancestors.

“There’s a mission that requires the best counter-intelligence agent that we have,” Lord Shang begins, as flattering as ever, and Mao Liang knows immediately that they’re in for a lot of work. Dammit. “Here, follow me. There’s no reason to do this in such a drafty, echoing hall. I’ll debrief you on the way to the kitchens.”

Ah! Mao Liang hasn’t eaten since yesterday! And from the glimmer in Lord Shang’s eye as the man smiles, he knows it too.

Another thing about Lord Shang, that Mao Liang particularly admires, is how the man cares, despite everything else. If you ever work directly underneath Lord Shang, you can always be absolutely certain that he will look out for you.

In the Northern Kingdom, there is no place safer.

#svsss prompts #shang qinghua #mobei jun #scum villain's self saving system #demon realm #war strategies #demons #demon spy OC #vodka answers #vodkassassin fanfiction #quiensecomioelpie

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yikesharringrove · 4 years

Note

Oooh spin the usual narrative around and maybe Steve got some really cool tattoos on his back after high school and Billy is just being all sweet on him later and notices them and LOVES them and is all like "ride me and show me" and won't let Steve finish until he describes all his tatts on his back

Smut

Billy hadn’t been in Hawkins, Indiana for about three years.

He had fled pretty much as soon as he got that diploma, had packed up his car the night before, tossed his stupid cap and gown in the trunk, and just fucking left.

But here he was, ready to watch Max and the rest of her brats graduate.

He was standing, feeling weird in his best shirt, sweating under the Hawkins sun.

And there was Steve Harrington. Of course he would come for his kids, was probably gonna tear up as they made their way across the stage. He could see Steve’s big hair sitting close to the front, with Henderson’s mom, looking just the same.

He spent the entire ceremony glaring holes in the back of Steve’s head, only looked up when Maxine Elizabeth Mayfield stomped across the stage, rolling her eyes as Susan and Neil made a big to-do somewhere in the crowd.

Then went right back to staring at Harrington.

He looked good.

Like, still looked as hot as he did in high school, but he looked,

he looked like a man.

He had shot stubble along his jaw, and he looked a little more filled out.

He was waiting for Max, standing with her mother off to the side when Steve turned, and noticed Billy.

His eyes went wide, and he began making his way over.

“Jesus, Hargrove. Long time no see.” He pulled Billy into a hug, a tight, sweet good-smelling hug. “You look good, man.” He smiled brightly at Billy.

“Yeah, Harrington. You too.” And he did.

“Hey, uh, all the kids are having a little shindig at The Byers’, I’d love to catch up with you.” He rubbed down Billy’s arm, made him so much fucking hotter than the bright sun.

The kids’ party was a nice barbecue in the Byers’ backyard.

They were all running around, getting in food fights and being stupid idiots.

Billy can respect that, the last summer before leaving all your friends.

Billy didn’t really have friends to leave, though. Just kinda, left, one day.

He kept his eyes on Steve the whole time, watched the way he smiled and laughed with the kids, the way his eyes kept flicking back to Billy.

The sun was beginning to set when Steve came over to the stairs Billy was perched on, two beers in hand.

He gave Billy one, settling right next to him.

“So, what have you been up to? Been, what three years?” Billy had left the day he graduated, hopped in his car and didn’t stop ‘till he saw the ocean.

“Moved back home. I’m working at a garage, now.” Steve gave him another nice smile. “Saving up to maybe go to school, or get a house or something.” He shrugged, taking a swig of his beer. “What about you? Got a girlfriend?”

“Ha! No. Not really, dating right now.” A slow grin spread over Billy’s face.

“Just fuckin’?” Steve’s cheeks went red, but he didn’t deny anything. “Yeah, me too, Harrington.”

Steve laughed, pushing at his rolled up shirt sleeve.

It was just under his elbow, and Billy zeroes in on dark black ink winding down to an elegant curl on the side of his elbow.

“Any good stories?” Billy licked over his teeth.

He had stopped pretending in California, didn’t really want to here either.

“Well, I mean, there was this one guy, just absolute maniac. He had this thing about getting caught, so we’d go out to shitty bars, see how long it took before we got kicked out. We got away with a lot at most of ‘em, though.”

He watched Steve carefully, didn’t even see a twitch.

And then,

“Oh, I was kinda seeing a guy like that.” Billy’s brain shorted out. “There’s a gay bar down the block from my place in Chicago, and he’d take me out on the dance floor, and this one night, we just about fucked before someone noticed what we were doin’. It was kinda fun.”

Billy’s mind was racing, pictured pulling Steve onto a crowded dance floor, pushing his hands down his pants, fingering him, letting him rut against his thigh until he cums in his pants.

“So you, you’re gay?”

“Bi, actually. Figured that one out right away after movin’.”

“Yeah? Let your queer little flag fly?”

“It’s been fun.” Steve shrugged. Billy licked his lips, had an idea.

“Y’know, you coulda been havin’ fun way before you moved.” He leaned into Steve’s space, looking at him through his lashes.

Steve’s cheeks went red.

“It’s not too late, is it?” Billy stood up, tugging his keys out of his jeans pocket.

“I got a shitty motel room bed with your name on it, Pretty Boy.” Steve scrambled behind him, tossing himself into the passenger seat of his car.

He grinned at Billy.

Billy drove like a bat outta Hell, getting Steve to his motel room as fast as possible.

He led him inside, slamming Steve against the door the minute they got in.

He kissed Steve roughly, licking inside his mouth.

Steve moaned into his mouth, fumbling with the buttons on Billy’s shirt.

Billy pulled him, shoving him onto the bed, taking Steve’s shirt off in turn.

And there was the ink.

It curled down both of Steve’s arms, leading from his back.

“Holy shit.” Billy traced on of the curling tendrils. “Never begged you for a tattoo type.” Steve shrugged, his eyes flicking down to trail over Billy’s body.

“I like it.”

“Can I see?” Steve pushed on him gently, but then he got an idea. “Wait,” he grinned at Steve. “Ride me and let me see them.” Steve smiled devilishly back up at him.

He pushed Billy, swapped their positions.

He was straddling his waist, could feel how hard Billy was underneath him.

“Only if you get me all ready.”

Billy undid Steve’s belt, tearing his khakis open.

Steve sat up, awkwardly wiggling out of them to sit back down, completely naked on Billy’s lap. He took Billy’s hand, kept direct eye contact as he sucked on Billy’s fingers.

He was like a fucking pornstar, his eyes going all dark and sultry as he licked over Billy’s fingers, sucked them into his mouth.

“Jesus, Stevie. You’re so fuckin’ hot.” Steve smirked at him, pulling his fingers out of his mouth with a pop, guiding Billy’s hand around his hips, leaning forward over Billy.

“Go ahead.” Billy jostled him a little closer, rubbing his spit slick fingers over his hole.

He pushed one inside.

Steve’s eyes fluttered closed, and he moaned, so loud and pretty.

“God, wished we had done this years ago.” Billy was now pumping his finger in and out of Steve.

“I was pretty repressed back then. Don’t know if I would’ve done this.” Billy eased in another finger. Steve took him so well.

“Then, glad I got here just in time.”

“Welcome to my slutty phase.” He grinned at Billy, grinding his hips back and forth on his fingers.

Billy spread his fingers, scissoring them open and closed, getting him open. Steve squirmed a little.

“Just like,” he took Billy’s wrist, shoving his fingers in deeper. Billy curled his fingers. “Oh, yeah.” He started tossing his ass back, fucking himself on Billy’s fingers. “Fuck.”

He collapsed forward, burying his face in Billy’s neck.

Billy tried to get a look at the dark ink covering him from neck to upper ass cheek.

“I’m I’m ready.” Steve bat Billy’s hand away, turning around.

He lined up Billy’s cock, sinking down on it.

Billy’s eyes fluttered closed.

“Jesus Christ,” Billy groaned. Steve felt like Heaven.

He looked over his shoulder, tossing him a wry smile. Billy clung to his hips.

“Like what you see?”

The tattoo was beautiful.

It was an intricate monster, tall and skeletal, a face like a flower, opened up with rows and rows of horrible teeth. There appeared to be black smoke coming from behind the monster, delicate furls of something, maybe vines? They climber up Steve’s shoulders, wrapped around his arms.

It shouldn’t have been sexy, staring at this thing while Steve bounced on his cock, but it was Steve bouncing on his cock, tossing his head back and moaning.

“What do you think?”

“I think, you don’t get to cum until I tell you all my thoughts on this art.” Steve moaned loudly. “This fuckin’, fuckin’ monster. Black ink looks real pretty on you, Baby.”

Steve turned again to look over his shoulder.

“Tell me about it.”

“I mean, I shouldn’t be turned on, lookin’ at this thing. It’s like, it’s like it’s screaming at me.” Steve shuddered. Billy didn’t know if it was a good shudder or a bad one. “I can, I can see the saliva in it’s mouth.”

And then Steve stopped, panting heavily.

He pulled off of Billy, turning to face him again.

“Sorry, that’s just, you know, not the best dirty talk material.” Billy grinned at him.

In one swift motion he rolled on top of Steve, slamming his way back inside of him.

“You want good material? You want me to tell you about how often I jerked off to you in high school? Pictured how pretty your lips would look around my cock? Thought about how tight your little hole would be?”

That was apparently the stuff.

Steve’s eyes were wide, his hair wild on the pillow behind him. He was panting shallowly, just accepting what Billy was giving him.

“Thought about taking you all kindsa ways. Thought about bendin’ you over in the showers after P.E. and just fucking you right there, in front of everyone.”

Steve’s back arched beautifully, and his thighs trembled against Billy’s sides as he came, thick white spunk sticking their stomachs together.

“Yeah? That get you going? The idea of people watching, of being made my bitch?”

“Jesus, Billy, I already finished.” His cock gave a flimsy little kick as if proving his point.

“Yeah, now I’m getting myself off.” Steve laughed at him, shifting his hips to let Billy drive in deeper.

“That what get you there? Pining me down? Making me your bitch?” Billy moved a little faster, a little rougher. “Now’s your chance, Tiger. Gimme your cum, ruin me.”

Billy bit down on Steve’s neck, made him yelp as he bucked his hips, cumming inside of him.

He breathed for a minute, rolling off of Steve.

Steve stretched like a cat, wincing slightly.

“Lemme see your art again. Was a little distracted with the sight of my dick in your ass.” Steve laughed, rolling over onto his stomach.

Billy traced the monster’s mouth with light fingers.

“It’s cool.”

“Will Byers drew it. Kind of reminds me to, you know, put the past behind me. I know it’s cheesy but,” he shrugged, trailing off.

“Sometimes cheesy works.” Steve’s cheek was smushed against the pillow as he studied Billy.

“What’s it like being back in Hawkins? Must be weird coming back after being gone.”

“Nah. Nothing’s really changed. Weirder coming in blind that first time.” He traced one of the black vines. “I thought you were in Chicago?”

“I am. Only moved out there about six months ago. Didn’t get into college or anything, so I’ve been working shitty jobs, saving up some money. Thinking about running away some more. Get further away.”

“You’re always welcome in California. I got a pull out couch.” He licked over his teeth. “Or you could share my bed.”

“Are you asking me to give you sex in exchange for a place to stay?”

“You did say you’re in your slutty phase.” Steve laughed, burying his face in the pillow.

“We’ll see if I get desperate enough to get outta here to take you up on that offer.”

“You could drive back with me. Stay for awhile, fly back. See if you like it.”

High school Billy would be creaming in his pants right about now, asking Steve Harrington to run away to California with him.

Steve looked at him, his face unreadable.

“I could go for a little adventure.”

#this turned into something......else #i didn't know what to pick for the tattoo so i went demogorgon but then #figured steve prolly wouldnt want THAT brought up while he was getting dicked into next week.#yikes writes #lemons #steve harrington #billy hargrove #steve harrington x billy hargrove #billy hargrove x steve harrington #harringrove #harringrove fic #harringrove ficlet #harringrove drabble

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elmidol · 3 years

Text

Strange Attraction (NSFW)

Reyux (Rey x Hux) PWP

Originally written in 2019 for kylomademedoit on AO3

Word count: 1.7k

Far more confusing and intriguing than the fact that Kylo Ren, as the self-appointed new Supreme Leader of the First Order, had joined forces with the girl was Rey herself. She had managed to convince Kylo Ren to allow the remnant of the Resistance to live. This was something that initially General Hux had found to be intolerable. It had grown on him. Or, rather, Rey had grown on him. He did not know how he felt about her exactly. She could wield the Force the same as Ren could. This had left a somewhat sour taste in Armitage’s mouth, which had faded away when she refused to use it against him. Then she had been skilled in aiding repairs to the vessels. Ensuring Supreme Leader Ren was not foolish as he pulled back some of their fighting forces. The takeover of the galaxy would be less hostile.

This was something that he had still not yet come to terms with. Which was, when one took the time to think about it, rather odd given their interactions. It had taken one month of stolen glances and flushed cheeks before they had managed to forgo the business talk in favor of being more personable. Another two weeks until Armitage decided to take a chance by brushing his hand along hers. Her eyes had flown to his face. At first, he had believed himself to have just made a rather foolish mistake. And then she smiled.

He had not been taught to be affectionate by his late father, which was one of the main reasons that he struggled with understanding his feelings for her. He did not dislike her; General Hux was well-versed with hatred and resentment, and this was not it. She intrigued him. More than that, he found himself drawn to her. The passionate way with which she spoke of both the Force and technical matters threatened to steal his heart —except that he was in denial that he had one.

It was so much easier to attributed what he felt to desire. That had initially left him stained with guilt. Even still, Armitage had wrapped his hand around his cock that night in his private quarters. He thought of how the young woman had looked as she had trained with the Knights of Ren. Covered in sweat. The ferocity in her eyes, in her mannerisms, that so contrasted with the shyness she exhibited whenever she knew that he was observing her. His throat undulated as he swallowed. His thumb sliding along the top of his shaft while his fingers danced along its underside. The vein pulsed underneath.

He grabbed for the lotion, lubricating his hand and returning it to his erection. His feet pressed flat on the mattress. His eyes closed, picturing her. When she was panting. It was so simple for him to imagine her underneath him. Releasing those low growls she had a tendency to make. The gasps —

“Kriff.” His cock twitched in his hand, and he picked up the pace. His cum stained the sheets, which he used to wipe off his limb and lap. He balled them up and had a droid take them away.

The next time he saw her, it was like she knew what he had done. Her blush was deeper than it had been in some time. This contrasted greatly with the tentative brushes. The accidental contact that he realized was not accidental. He did not think she would be completely ignorant to sex —she had grown up on Jakku, and had to have endured more than her fair share of propositions and sexual harassment —but that did not mean he believed her to be experienced.

“You can kiss me.”

She sounded hopeful, determined. There was a level of confidence to her that endeared him, and a hesitancy, a shyness, that made him feel guilty all over again. Rey mistook his lack of a response for something that it wasn’t.

She turned her head away. “I’m not too young, you know.”

It was the first time he considered their age difference. Armitage stepped away from her, walking away and leaving her there.

They did not see one another for three weeks. The new Supreme Leader had the young woman training and away on missions with the Knights of Ren. General Hux was promoted to Grand Marshal. He wore that rank with pride. But he wasn’t too prideful that he would pull away from her when, after those three weeks elapsed, she caught sight of him in a hallway. Rey blocked his path. She never, not once, used the Force to stop him. This was one reason he respected her, and it earned his attention.

“You still think about me when you…touch yourself.” This time his face was the one to sport a hot blush. Rey stepped nearer to him, her head tilted back. He could feel her breath on his lips. It made him wonder what her lips would taste like. What she would taste like. “I think about you, too, when I cum.”

Maker, he never knew breathing could be such a hard thing to do.

She did not wait for him to respond. With a smile, she crossed her arms behind her back, twisted on her heel, and walked away. Grand Marshal Hux unashamedly stared at her rear the entire time. She knew it too. Rey waggled her fingers at him in a sort of wave, sort of I-hope-you’re-watching-me.

In some respects, she was just as inexperienced as he had thought she might be. Her fingers were not the same as someone else touching her. Rey squirmed, giggling when he slipped his hands up her sides and toyed with her breasts. He found this adorable. Armitage leaned forward to kiss her, and did not object to her raking her fingers through his hair. She pulled so many strands out of place, yet he did not care. If it brought forth more laughter, which it did, he wanted her to indulge.

His mouth moved with hers, his tongue delving inside. She was a quick learner. Though to start with she did not know what to do with her tongue, she soon began to mimic the actions of his. Armitage swallowed her moan when he teased the roof of her mouth. Rey pressed her hips against his in want.

If she wanted to, she would be able to flip them over and take control. She let him have full reign of her body. He laid her head upon the pillow, nibbled at her jawline, and hushed her gently when she moaned at the loss of contact. Armitage kissed her breasts. He pinched the nipple of her right breast whilst suckling on that of the left. Then switched, rolling one bud with his tongue and the other with his thumb. Her fingers were under the waistband of her pants. She was wet, the slick sound of her juices make him harder.

The redhead grabbed at the young woman’s wrist, and dragged it up out from underneath the pants. He sealed his lips around those wet digits then started to suck on them.

It was delicious, how she tasted and how she suddenly seemed to become shy. Once more she squirmed, blushed, and giggled. She threw her head back when he settled between her legs and tasted her more fully. Armitage swirled his tongue inside of her. Replacing his tongue with one then two then three fingers, he scissored her open. All the while he nibbled and lapped at her clitoris. His name spilled from her lips as she came. That moan was no less beautiful than her laughter.

But it was nothing in comparison to the look on her face as he eased his cock inside of her. Her eyes grew wide, her chest rising and falling heavily. “Lovely,” he whispered, not sure if she heard him and not caring even if she hadn’t.

Later, he had to wonder if he had had that same look on his face as she did the fourth time they were together. The confident smirk as she pushed him down onto the bed and promised him that he would be just fine, that he simply needed to just trust her. Her eyes pinched a little as she spoke. Her small frame belied the strength that she possessed. Armitage could feel her muscles every time that they were together, but moreso now that she was using them to situate his body how she wanted it.

Rey lowered herself onto his cock and took her bottom lip into her mouth. He loved how she chewed it in that moment. Not shy. It was pure ecstasy. “I—“

Her finger on his lips, silencing him. “Shh. Don’t talk.” This was not the giggling Rey that squirmed underneath him. This was the Rey who took control on the battlefield and, now, in bed. She rolled and swerved her hips, grinding against him. “It’s my turn to lead.” Armitage could only nod, his mind trying to manage through the fog of confusion that was soon consumed by pleasure.

This was something she had known how to do all along, he realized. She baffled him. Rey was a set of contradictions. Armitage had been taught that emotions would make one weak, yet it was her feelings that made her stronger. She was so Light yet able to control the Dark as well. Naïve but wise. Gentle and rough. He did not know how he felt about her. It was far too strange, too foreign, this attraction that he felt. How was he to describe all of those emotions, the ones that he had shut away as a means of surviving. Even now as she controlled him, she made him feel empowered.

Armitage stopped trying to think, and let himself focus instead on the feel of her on his cock. Her inner walls clutched at him. Rey used the muscles in her legs to raise herself. His stomach swooped in anticipation. As she slammed down, he bucked up. They met one another halfway every time. Each thrust bringing both of them closer to climax.

“Armitage!” she said breathessly. He called out her name in turn, catching her in his arms as she collapsed against him. The pair of them laid there in the bed entwined.

When he recovered, he kissed her neck—and she giggled.

#general hux x rey #armitage hux x rey #hux x rey #reyux

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cagestark · 4 years

Text

A Hole in the Head//7

Read here on AO3.

I’ve been inactive and some have been worried; everything is fine, I’m just waiting until some irl things clear up. I *am* writing though. Hope this makes up for my absence even a little bit?

About this: nff. Slut-shaming. Sub-drop. General rough and meanness lmao.

He drags Peter off of the couch, one hand wide enough to cradle the back of Peter’s head to avoid letting his skull kiss the floor. Drunk off of arousal, Peter doesn’t fight back, instead arches into the contact so that his hard cock drags along the older man’s, a low desperate sound slipping free from his throat.

“What are you doing?” Peter breathes, hopeful. Bucky settles between Peter’s thighs (and the stretch in them is absolutely delicious; it’s borderline obscene how wide they have to spread to accommodate the other man) and humps down into the warm cradle of his legs, causing fireworks to explode behind Peter’s eyes. “Not that I’m complaining—oh fuck, please don’t stop—”

“Tell me everything you know about what Tony was saying on the phone,” Bucky growls. Peter cracks his eyes open at the strange request. Above him, Bucky’s hair is a dark curtain that parts around them, blocking out the rest of the world. His face is set, jaw clenched. At his hesitation, Bucky grinds downward again and the friction has his eyes rolling. “Tell me, or I’ll stop and leave you here like this.”

“What do you mean, what—”

“Why’d Tony say those things about me?”

“Because he likes you? Jesus, I thought you were supposed to be some ultra smart assassin capable of, oh, no, no, don’t—”

Bucky has leaned up, letting one heavy arm rest flat against Peter’s chest to keep him pinned to the floor and the other resting just above his cock, palm flat against the twitching abdominal muscles. Like this, no matter how much Peter strains, his cock receives no contact. Through his teeth, the dark man says, “What do you mean he likes me? He’s Tony fucking Stark!”

“What’s that got to do with it? Please Bucky, please, it hurts!” Showing mercy, he drags his hand down from where it rests against Peter’s stomach, and when that large, warm palm cups his cock, it is almost enough to make him cum. He struggles to get his heels planted on the floor so that he can arch his hips upward. With surprising tenderness, Bucky cradles Peter’s aching balls in his hand before moving up to wrap his fingers around the clothed cock as best as he can, jerking Peter off in a slow, firm rhythm through the fabric of his sweatpants. “Oh fuck yes, thank you, sir, thank you.”

“Focus, kid, and maybe I’ll let you cum,” Bucky says coldly. “Tell me everything Tony has told you.”

“He, he thinks you’re hot,” Peter gasps, shaking, fingers scrabbling at the carpet for purchase. “He said that he re-respects you, oh god, thank you, don’t stop—”

“Then keep talking.”

“He said that you, you’re art and he admires you and you—oh fuck, please sir, squeeze me tighter, yes!—he said you make him feel safe. When he fucked me yesterday, he said he wished that you’d walk in on us, he said that he thinks about you in the next room listening in. God, please, Bucky, can I cum?”

“What are you asking me for permission for? Like you’re not just a brat who will take whatever he wants anyway.” Bucky says. His voice is cold in the best way, a juxtaposition to the endless heat he pours off, the heat he’s ignited in Peter’s belly. Planting one palm on the floor beside Peter’s head, Bucky reaches down to slide a hand beneath Peter’s ass and drag his hips up off of the floor and grind them against Bucky’s own, their cocks a delicious, explosive friction. “But you told me what I needed, so I guess you’ve earned it. Go on, then. I don’t have all day.”

Peter wraps his arms around Bucky’s neck, tangling his fingers in that dark hair and using his heels to get the leverage he needs to thrust his way off the deep end. The coil wound so tense in his lower stomach snaps, balls drawing up as he cums into his sweats, so long in coming that it hurts in the best fucking way. His body jerks, muscles tensing and untensing like he’s in the throws of a seizure. But Bucky holds on to him tight, firmly guiding his hips to drag out the orgasm until Peter feels like a cloth wrung free of water.

His head feels a little fuzzy, throat dry by the time Bucky slips his hand from beneath him. The stickiness in his sweatpants tickles a little where it drips down his legs, but he can’t find it in him to care, not when he’s on this most fragile edge between staying afloat and going under. Then, coldness—and when he opens his eyes, he sees that Bucky has withdrawn, dragged himself and his heat back to the couch and seated himself heavily on the cushions, face tilted towards the ceiling with his eyes closed.

He’s still hard. Peter is just drunk enough to pull himself up onto his knees and make his way to kneeling by Bucky’s legs. The assassin parts them easy enough, leaning his head back up to watch Peter with an empty curiosity, even when Peter opens his mouth and breathes hotly on the bulge in his tactical pants.

“What are you doing?” Bucky asks, low and dangerous.

“‘m gonna suck you off,” Peter says. His tongue drags a long, wet stripe from the bottom of that twitching bulge to the top. All he tastes in his mouth is the polyester-cotton blend, and he can’t wait to replace that with the taste of Bucky’s cock. A noise rumbles in the dark man’s chest, a warning, but the challenge does nothing except make Peter’s eyes go glossy where he looks up from beneath his lashes. “I don’t mind if you pretend I’m Tony.”

Bucky grabs a fistful of Peter’s hair and pulls his head back so harshly that a noise slips free of Peter’s mouth, his throat bared. Bucky pulls him, coaxing him back to the floor lest he snap his own fucking neck. One thick boot comes down flat on Peter’s chest, pressing just enough to threaten the rapid rise and fall of his breathing. Still seated on the couch, Bucky looms over him while he loosens his belt.

“You want my cum, kid?” Bucky asks through his teeth. He draws his cock free from his pants and Peter cranes his aching neck, desperate to see it. The angle is no good, only lets him see the last three inches before the sight is blocked by Bucky’s thick thigh. But what he sees makes his own spent cock jerk. Bucky is thick, flushed a pink just as dark as his lips.With a practiced, firm hand, the man begins to jerk himself off. “Beg for it.”

Beg for it? The words echo in Peter’s head, setting off alarms that he isn’t nearly far enough under to have silenced. Peter doesn’t beg. Alright, he does, but Peter is under no illusion that being submissive makes him any lesser than the people who dominate him. His submission is a gift to them, Peter Parker is a motherfucking gift, one that Bucky does not yet appreciate and has not yet earned.

“No, you coward,” Peter gasps. Both his hands wrap around Bucky’s boot, but even with all his strength, he can’t budge it.

The force behind Bucky’s boot increases. When the man leans over to place more weight on it, he looks downright unhinged, his lips pulled back to bare straight, clenched teeth. “What did you just say to me?”

“You heard me. You’re a pussy! Does coming up with an excuse for your depravity make you feel better later? I had to jerk the kid off, for information,” Peter mimics, throwing his voice in a mocking impersonation of Bucky himself. “I wouldn’t have let him suck me off, but he begged for my cum. You are a twisted fuck. Own it, asshole!”

For a moment, watching the way Bucky’s handsome face twists in fury, Peter thinks maybe he went too far. The boot on his chest adds pressure until his ribs creak, and he feels true fear. Ever since he was a boy, people had warned Peter that his mouth would get him into trouble someday. Maybe this is his ticket about to be called.

But instead Bucky slips down from the couch until he’s straddling Peter’s chest, pinning thin arms tightly to his sides with the larger man’s thighs, belt buckle gaping and framing his erection like the golden stage curtains at the fucking Lincoln Center. This close, Peter has to stare straight up to look at the man’s face. When his hands fall back to the buttons on his tactical pants, Peter’s eyes slip there instead.

“Fine,” Bucky mutters. He pulls out his cock, and from this angle it’s truly something spectacular: long and thick and cut with neatly trimmed pubic hair and balls that hang low and heavy. Reflexively, Peter lifts his head up off the floor to see if he can crane enough to lap at the purple, slick head, but he can’t. “That how you want to play it, kid? I’ll own it. I’ll own you, you little shit. Gonna paint that pretty fucking face.”

“Do it,” Peter groans. He struggles to breathe through the weight on his chest, heart hammering. Above him, Bucky strips his cock like it’s a weapon, stroking the length of it with an unforgiving grip while the other reaches down to cradle his own balls, palming them with uncharacteristic tenderness. It’s one of the most obscene, arousing sights Peter’s ever seen, his soft cock twitching where it rests in his own cooling cum. Bucky’s face is just as artful as his cock, head tilted in pleasure, full mouth parted to reveal his teeth clenched tightly shut, the ultimate juxtaposition of soft and bestial.

His eyes slit open while Peter stares, dark stormy-sea eyes. Peter opens his mouth wide like a target for Bucky to shoot, and the way his face twists in arousal, the cry that comes from his throat as his head falls back - there’s no way Peter could ever forget those things. When Bucky cums, it’s downright explosive, pearlescent seed raining down on Peter, striping his face and the curls of his hair and landing on his eager tongue.

A desperate sound slips from Peter’s throat as the taste bursts across his buds. It’s cum, not fine cuisine, but it’s Bucky’s. Above him, the man makes a tortured sound at the sight of Peter licking his lips. When at last Bucky has drained himself, cum trickling down his scarred knuckles, he shuffles off of where he pinned Peter to the floor.

For a long moment, both of them rest and catch their breath. Bucky is the first to move, plucking a tissue off of the end table and holding it out to Peter like a white flag, a peace offering. The expression on his face is mostly unreadable. The man who pinned him to the floor and then jerked off onto his face seems to have receded, letting a more closed off Bucky to the forefront. Peter is more than a little fucked thinking about how fond he is of both sides: the unhinged and the sane.

“Don’t get soft on me now,” says Peter, even if it’s kind of nice. The last thing he wants is Bucky feeling some twisted guilt (all that bullshit Peter said earlier about the man’s perversion was just that—bullshit. Maybe they are all perverts, but at least they’re among like kind). He ignores the tissue and reaches up to wipe three fingers through the mess on his cheeks, slipping them into his mouth to suck them clean.

“That was a mistake,” Bucky says, voice like sandpaper. “It’s never going to happen again.”

Peter gapes. “Why not?”

“Tony—”

“Were you listening to that phone call?” Peter asks. He feels liable to explode, a ball of fury (of hurt) throbbing just beneath his throat, desperate to be released. How long will Bucky continue to play these games with them? With Peter? “He’s fine with it! More than fine. He’s fucking into it!”

“Just because he might like it doesn’t mean it’s good for him,” Bucky grits out. “It’s the last thing either of you needs when you’re still getting over what happened with that cunt Beck.”

“Right,” Peter says, pushing himself up so that the assassin is no longer towering over him. Bucky has an easy four inches on him (and probably sixty pounds), but Peter has never let his small stature keep him from speaking his mind. “Because you’re obviously the authority on what we need!”

“You’re goddamn right I am!” Bucky shouts. “You think you need this? You think you need me? You need me like you need a fucking hole in the head.”

“You—aren’t—Beck!” Peter’s face burns, reddening with fury and embarrassment. How many times and in how many ways will Beck come back to haunt him? How long must he be dead before the cloud of him dissipates from above Peter’s head? “Tony hasn’t ever left me alone overnight in the five years we’ve been together. Why? I haven’t woken in the night once this week to find Tony sitting in the armchair by the bed, cleaning his gun because he can’t sleep. Why? And you heard us on the phone—Tony hasn’t bottomed in over twenty years, but he said he’d do it for you. Why? Because we trust you, fuckface!”

All at once, the fury drains out of Peter. He finds himself exhausted, eyes burning in a terrible, traitorous way. Turning away, he snatches up the tissue that Bucky had grabbed for him and begins to clean himself off, clenching his jaw so that it doesn’t tremble. His hands shake, adrenalin from the sex, the fight, hormones crashing.

Peter sits heavily on the sofa, the pile of tissues beside him. His mind begins to whir, trapped in an endless cycle. It’s his fault he and Tony are in this mess, both lusting (that’s all it is, all it can be, Peter swears) after the assassin. When he speaks, his voice is fragile and cracking, slow and slurred and not at all its typical self, but he can barely hear it, can barely feel the words as they trip from his open mouth: “I just don’t get it. You’re attracted to us. It won’t get you in trouble. Why, then? Why do you keep doing this? Is it—is it me?”

“Don’t,” Bucky says, low and threatening.

Peter doesn’t hear it, lost in the fear that creeps over his mind like fog too thick to see sense through. His words come out garbled around the knot in his throat that is strangling him. “Is it because I’m, because I make things so hard? Running from you ‘n talking back? Because I, I can be good. I swear. Just give me a chance and I can show you.”

Firm hands grab the collar of Peter’s shirt and drag him right up off the couch until his toes struggle to touch the floor, fabric ripping underneath the brutal grip. Now he’s face to face with Bucky who searches his expression with furious eyes and a downturned mouth. “What’s wrong with you?” the man asks. He shakes Peter a little. “You’re acting like—what’s wrong?”

“I don’t know,” Peter says, answering a question Bucky never asked. His voice warbles, thick with emotion, eyes misting. “I’ve never known—”

Bucky squints, eyes raking over Peter’s face before settling on his trembling mouth. “Are you dropping?”

Oh, he thinks, teeth chattering. Yes, yes I am. One of Bucky’s wide palms comes up to cradle the back of his head and coax him to look the larger man in the eyes. They’re narrow, intense, unreadable as always. “Come on, snap out of it. Tell me what helps when you’re like this, kid,” Bucky says.

“Nothing,” Peter says with wet lashes. Because that’s how it feels when he drops this hard, like nothing will help, like nothing will ever get better.

Bucky pulls them flat together, chest to chest, tucking Peter’s head underneath his chin and wrapping his arms around Peter’s thin frame, squeezing firmly because Peter can’t stop shaking, because he’s trembling like a leaf on a tree tossed in the wind. The warmth the other man gives off is heavenly, cutting through the chill on Peter’s skin and soaking into him deep. Awkwardly, one hand begins to pat at Peter’s back.

“You’re okay,” Bucky mutters. “Just—fucking calm down. Please.”

Bucky says please like he’d usually say a threat, and it makes Peter’s heart squeeze.

He shakes his head before burying his face deeper into the man’s broad chest, inhaling while he twists his fingers around the fabric of his shirt. Bucky smells always of leather and cologne, sometimes of sweat, but even the smell of sweat isn’t unpleasant when it comes from the him. Groaning, Peter lets himself relax into the heat and the scent and the arms that feel like the only thing tethering him to this world. Half of him wishes that they’d let go, that he’d float away somewhere where he’d cease to bother and burden the ones he loves.

The ground slips out from beneath his feet as Bucky scoops him up and into his arms. Peter struggles for only a moment until Bucky’s grip tightens in a way that is both threatening and soothing. Under that grip, Peter goes lax and lets the man carry him up the stairs as if Peter were nothing more than a basket of laundry. Outside the doors, Bucky hesitates for only a moment between his own door and the door Peter shares with Tony before choosing the latter.

The sheets smell like Tony. Peter rolls upon contact with them, burying his face and inhaling. Trying to clear the fog from his head. He jerks when someone touches his shoulder, but it’s just Bucky, staring down from so high up with his typical frown and stormy eyes. The bed depresses as Bucky kneels up onto it, coaxing Peter to roll over and sit up. He feels like a child when Bucky takes his shirt off, but there’s no fight in him, not with his mind so far away and his body so weak and fragile. With uncharacteristic tenderness, Bucky uses a cloth dampened from the en suite bathroom to clean Peter’s face of any residual cum, wiping carefully at the delicate skin beneath his eyes, across the expanse of his forehead, down over the slope of his jaw. Peter lets his eyes fall shut, feeling the rasp of the cloth against his sensitive skin, the warm dampness of it.

He lowers Peter carefully back down into the den of soft sheets and blankets and pillows, and Peter stares through heavy eyes at the man’s figure—

Then he blinks, awakening. The lighting in the room has changed, the sunlight tilting to a dramatic new angle to show that time has passed, that Peter has been asleep far longer than he might have expected. His head throbs, the skin beneath his eyes tender and crusted with dried tears, but he sits up anyway and wipes the drool from his mouth.

Bucky is seated in the armchair having pulled it up close to the bedside. He’s slumped over, his elbows on his knees, his face buried in his hands. At the sound of the sheets rustling, he lets his hands drop to a more neutral position while he looks up, face blank.

“Why didn’t you wake me for lunch?” Peter asks. His hands still shake, but the terrible tightness in his chest is gone. “I had a salad in the refrigerator, now I’ll bet the lettuce is all wilted. Thanks for nothing.”

“I’m sorry,” says Bucky.

For a moment, Peter thinks he’s misheard. When he asks Bucky to repeat himself, the man looks like he’d rather face torture. But still, he says it again.

“The salad isn’t a big deal,” Peter jokes weakly.

Bucky ignores the attempt at deflection.

“I’m supposed to be keeping you safe. But I just keep fucking up.” He stands up and sheds the dark henley he’d been wearing. Peter’s mouth goes dry at the sight of the man shirtless: pale skin, every muscle defined from his pecs to the abs and the lines that frame his package. Here and there are scars: brutal ones along Bucky’s shoulder that make Peter wince in sympathy; a hole of twisted scar tissue from a bullet wound long healed over. Every last detail takes Peter’s breath away. “If you want me, you can have me,” Bucky says, jaw clenched. “I’ll—take care of you.”

“What am I, a fucking houseplant? Did Tony leave you instructions to water me every other day if my soil feels dry and give me a quarter turn so I don’t bend towards the sunlight? I don’t need you to ‘take care’ of me.”

“Kid,” Bucky says, low and dangerous. “You make it real hard not to throttle you. I’m trying to have a serious conversation here. Dial down the brat.”

“I am the brat. Conversation would go a lot smoother if you’d stop being a dumbass, how’s that for a suggestion? A life hack. Yours for free, asshole. And for what it’s worth, I do want you,” Peter admits. He scoots across the bed until his back is pressed against the headboard, pulling the sheets up around himself. It feels easier, here on his turf, in this place that he and Tony have worked so hard to reclaim as safe. Easier to be honest. “Just not like this.”

Bucky scowls. His abs tense, a distracting motion. “Either you want me or you don’t.”

“You’re missing the point,” Peter snaps. “Just as much as I want you—maybe more than I want you—I want you to want me. I want to be wanted.”

“You think I jerk off on casual acquaintances?” Bucky asks. “I want you, okay! Maybe if we fuck, you’ll get this out of your system—”

“I don’t want you out of my system!”

“What do you mean? What, you want more than a fuck?”

The way he says it, like it’s the most ridiculous thing in the world that Peter could possibly want—it makes Peter feel cold all over. Suddenly, he realizes the gravity of what he is saying. He’s admitting to things he didn’t know he felt, things that he’d buried. Tony, he thinks. I need to talk to Tony. “Forget it.”

Bucky seats himself again, slouches deeply and tangles his hands in his hair to tug. Watching all the muscles in his chest and torso work makes Peter lick his lips reflexively. “Jesus Christ. I still don’t know what you fucking want from me, kid.” Then, with a vulnerability that shakes Peter to his very core: “I’m not good at this. You want me to snipe a guy from a thousand yards? I’m your guy. You want me to build a bomb with whatever you’ve got under your bathroom sink? I can do that. But this—whatever the fuck this is? I don’t know what I’m doing, and I’m just going to fuck it up.”

Peter swallows heavily. A part of him wants to reach out and take Bucky’s hands from his hair, coax him to let go of a grip that must surely be painful. A bigger part of him wants to say something foul and snappy, something that will keep this argument spinning forever and forever, like tires stuck in slick mud. “I believe in equal opportunity,” he says, as gently as he can. Gentleness doesn’t come easy. “So I’d like a chance to fuck this up, too, please.”

Bucky snorts softly. “And with both of us working to fuck everything up, who the hell is going to hold this together, huh?”

And isn’t it obvious? Peter thinks.

“Tony,” he says. “Duh.”

Reaching out, Peter pats at the bedspread beside him. Bucky watches with wary eyes, like maybe Peter has slipped a whoopee cushion under the blanket, or maybe there’s a land mine that’s been left sitting since WWII buried beneath the sheets of a bed in a 2010 built mansion in New York, still active, ready to detonate as soon as he sits. But after a long moment, he pushes himself up out of the chair (which creaks with his muscled weight) and sits gingerly where Peter directed.

He looks lost. Unsure. Younger than Peter’s ever seen him.

“Tell me,” Bucky says, quiet though no less intense. They’re close enough that he doesn’t need to do more than whisper. “Tell me what you want from me. From this.”

“I want there to be something between us to fuck up,” Peter admits.

Peter takes Tony’s call out by the pool. The New York mansion sits on twelve acres of land, which gives him plenty of vantage points to watch the sun as it sets, smearing the sky with oranges and pinks. Even from this distance, he can feel the weight of Bucky’s gaze. The man is ever watchful, as if someone is going to step right out of the woods and try to drown Peter in the in-ground pool.

Tony listens quietly while Peter tells him the events of the day, only interrupting to ask a clarifying question or two. That’s the thing about Tony: he’s an amazing speaker, but God can he listen. Peter is a habitually nervous talker, always eager to fill any silence between himself and another person. It works out in Tony’s favor on nights like tonight, when all he has to do is hum thoughtfully and Peter spills his guts and more into the empty air between them.

The only thing he leaves out is the motivation for Bucky’s actions, the hard-on Peter believes he’s harboring for Tony. That he isn’t spilling yet; not until he has more solid confirmation.

“Are you angry, sir?” Peter asks. His anxious feet kick up ripples in the pool.

“No—why in the world would I be?” Tony asks. “I goaded you into propositioning Bucky, or did you forget? And I’m more than half hard after hearing about your little tête-à-tête this afternoon. I’m downloading the security camera footage from the game room as we speak, just so you know. 39% of the way there.”

Peter smiles, glad his back is to the house so Bucky can’t see. Knowing that soon Tony will be watching him driven to absolute desperation (and then he will see what he let Bucky do to him, not that Peter could have struggled free even if he’d wanted to) makes his gut clench. But as quick as it comes, his smile fades. “I knew you’d be okay with that part. But it’s not like you asked me to go and—catch feelings for him.”

Tony hums.

“I don’t want you to think that you aren’t enough for me,” Peter goes on when the silence lasts too long. “Because you are. And I don’t want you to think I’m a slut, even if I am—”

“Peter,” Tony says, voice low and infused with warning. Peter ducks his chin even three thousand miles away. He still feels the disharmonious undercurrent thrumming in his blood and chest from his earlier drop, and it makes him more pliant than usual. The last thing he wants to do is upset his lover, disobey his lover. “I’ve had it with you calling yourself that word in that tone. Do it again and for the next two weeks I’ll jerk off during my morning shower and the closest you’ll get to sex with me is overhearing any sounds I make through the bathroom door. Understood?”

“Yessir,” Peter murmurs. Despite the sharp words on the other end of the line, Peter’s feet kick happily. There has always been a part of him that believes his love of sex is a moral defect—society, past lovers, past friends teaching him so. The reassurance from Tony is like aloe to that scorched part of him. There’s nothing wrong with him. Tony says so.

“Good boy. The only feelings of yours I’m concerned with are the ones you hopefully have for me,” he says. “Do you still love me, kid? Tell me now if you want me to cut you loose, and for both our sakes, I’ll pretend that I could do it.”

“You can cut me loose, but I’ll never leave,” Peter says. “I know where I want to be, Tony. At your feet. Always.”

“I miss sucking on that silver-tongue, sweet thing.” Tony’s voice is just short of a growl, the sound of it rushing over Peter’s skin like the breeze, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

He lays down, back against the tiles of the poolside, feet still in the water. Above him, the sky is just beginning to turn cobalt blue. Jupiter is bright tonight. His heart squeezes in his chest when he dares to think about how lucky he is. Tony. And now Bucky. But he doesn’t want to count his chickens before they hatch. “Come home, sir.”

“You just want to fuck,” Tony says slyly.

Smiling, Peter lets his eyes shut. “I don’t want to go to sleep without you here.”

“Are you afraid?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

Tony hums.

Peter sighs. “Maybe not. But I miss you even when you’re just in the city—imagine how I feel with you on the other side of the country.”

“I left you in excellent hands. Speaking of which, I can hardly wait to see those hands on you. 92%.”

“So slow?”

“The file is huge, kid.”

“He says he wants to wait until you get back before we fuck,” Peter says, scowling to the stars.

“No wonder you want me to come home. If he can manage to teach you the value of patience, I’ll double what I’m paying him.”

“The two of you are going to kill me.” Peter weighs his next words carefully. “You know, I think Bucky has a hard-on you.”

Fabric shifts in the background. Tony’s voice is sharp when he asks: “What makes you say that?”

Sirens go off in Peter’s brain complete with flashing lights. Abort, abort. “Well who wouldn’t, sir?”

A soft, humored exhalation, and Peter relaxes.

#winterironspider #winterspider #starker #cagewrites #ahith

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