#me drawing them holding hands like Hm this needs to be more fucked up somehow. Ah of course (adds the broken vase)

[randomstarmuffin]

Hm. What’s this? I seem to— drop something— oh! It’s the number 6. On a rug. Arug. Interesting :39

Spotify wrapped inbox prompt! Accepting (...but if anyone else is interested please do not expect it to be quite this long it very well could be but I am not capable of making length promises you really cannot trust me)

6. “Adhd” by Truslow (39. “Tonight You’re Perfect” by New Politics)

aw, geez, not on the-- i just had that steamed... now look what you’ve done, there’s a big ol 6 on the carpet. are you happy??? (actually though, i’m going to need to know how you somehow wrote 2 numbers -- I am counting the number you hid secretly in the emoticon -- of songs which are NOT on my arug playlist, but which DO completely fit. howd you do that huh??)

Sorry, there’s a clear reason I don’t post fics to tumblr usually lol. Behold, something that FAR exceeds drabble territory:

    “Stop!”

Doug drops back on his heels, instantly obeying. He already felt a bit winded, but now his lungs constrict in a terrible little squeeze that has nothing to do with running up a staircase and hiding in a tiny alcove under the hush of night sky where only the full moon can see them.

Maybe he’s stupid, especially compared to Arthur, but he’s pretty sure even he couldn’t have misread such an obvious sign. An obvious, bright and shining KISS ME, STUPID sign in the, like, atmosphere or whatever: the way Arthur had been looking at him, in how close together they’d been, in the way the conversation had naturally petered out and Arthur had glanced at his lips and leant in and closed his fucking eyes and–

And put up his hands to push Doug away by the shoulders not half a second later.

Which, fine. Doug can roll with it, and it’s not like it would really bother him if Arthur had actually changed his mind or just realized he wasn’t into it or wasn’t as comfortable as he’d thought at first or whatever.

But.

But.

The way he won’t meet Doug’s gaze anymore, and the way his posture straightened up—not just to stop bending down toward Doug, but also in that stupid way he gets when he’s feeling awkward or like he has something to prove. The way his expression is stabilizing into that level, flat, stupid mask he tries so hard to keep up all the time, and for what? His real smile—a little lopsided, a little crinkly in the nose in a way that makes his glasses ride up ever so slightly, if you’re watching for it—is a much nicer, more welcoming thing. It’s gone now, though, as surely fallen away and lost as tree leaves in winter.

The problem isn’t that Arthur’s drawing a line about the attempted kiss. The problem is that Doug can see in his eyes that he doesn’t feel differently; he’s feeling what Doug’s feeling, and he wants it as badly, and he fucking won’t go through with it.

That’s what hits Doug like a punch to the gut. He’s not worth trying.

Arthur’s arms drop back to his side, and then seemingly feeling that wasn’t enough to dispel the awkward tension (it wasn’t), he clasps them behind his back, too, for good measure. What, was he worried Doug would try to hold his hands?

“We… We can’t– We shouldn’t be doing this. I should…” he makes an aborted gesture indicating he means I should be going.

And, man. Fuck this.

Doug laughs humorlessly. “Why? I’m not on your list of pre-approved suitors, or whatever you do in your fancy ass castle? Can’t be seen ‘consorting’ with the hired help?”

Arthur flinches a little. Good.

“Doug–”

“No, Arthur, you listen up,” Doug interrupts, crowding into Arthur’s space despite his half-baked attempts to back away. He jabs a finger into his royal highness’s chest, hard enough that with any luck he’ll be feeling it far longer than only while it rests there. “Save that shit for your subjects, or whatever the hell. Don’t fucking tell me what I should or shouldn’t be doing. You don’t get to decide that for me. Sorry if that’s not what you’re accustomed to.”

“I’m not–” Arthur grits his teeth, just slightly, barely visible in the pale moonlight, a tick of irritation even he can’t mask completely. He takes an ever-so-slightly shaky breath. “I fail to see,” he amends carefully, sounding no more put off than he is delivering the upcoming week’s weather forecast (and all the more out of place because of it), “the need for you to– to be– like…this.”

He steps back again, and this time pushes Doug’s hand away as well. In its absence, he pointedly does not rub at the spot Doug’s finger had been, despite the fact that Doug’s 90% sure he accomplished his goal of making it bruise.

“Like what, Arthur?”

“Like– Just– Agh.” The little noise of aggravation he lets loose would be more gratifying if he weren’t literally turning away at the same time. “I should hardly think I’d need to tell you that.”

Doug crosses his arms and follows right along, keeping the same amount of distance between them. There isn’t much room up here on the observatory’s top deck for him to really go anywhere, after all.

“Oh? Don’t underestimate how stupid I can be. Try me.”

“You’re not–” Arthur takes a breath. “Do not put words into my mouth.”

“Ha!” Doug crows, triumphant. “So don’t put them in mine either, asshole.”

“I– Hff.” Arthur runs a hand up the bridge of his nose, under his glasses, knocking them askew. “Just– Forget it, okay. I… Please, Doug. Just forget about me, we can– We can just act like nothing ever happened.”

“Like nothing ever happened,” Doug repeats. Slowly.

“Yeah—Yes. I will just… We can avoid… That is, if I leave first, you can just wait here for a few minutes before following so Volcanon doesn–”

“Fucking hell, Arthur. Seriously?! First of all, you do realize that pretending we don’t fucking know each other is ten thousand fucking percent more suspicious in a town with a fucking population of twenty fucking people! Which we showed up to together, at the same fucking time? What do you want me to say, I tripped and fell over and—oopsie!—lost my memory, too? Fuck.”

Arthur frowns at him, and for as happy as Doug is to get some kind of reaction, a silent little frown is not going to cut it.

“Is that it, then?” Doug demands. “Or what, are you firing me? How much do you want me to pretend I have no godsdamned clue who you are, exactly? Should I re-introduce myself? My oh my, would you look at that, a real bona fide prince, how very exciting!”

Arthur’s frown pinches in the corner. “Do you want to be fired?” he asks, seeming to surprise even himself a little with the question. Doug would actually have really gotten a kick out of it, if only he’d asked several minutes ago when they were still laughing and the mood hadn’t gone to shit.

“Don’t change the fucking subject.”

“No,” Arthur says. “No, I want to know this. You keep bringing it up. If that’s what you want, I won’t stop you–”

“Do you remember that thing we just talked about, where you keep putting damn words in my mouth?”

“–as after all, it’s not like you really…” Arthur blinks at him, trailing off.

Doug rolls his eyes. “So that’s a no, you don’t.”

“I simply,” Arthur says, grimace very briefly twitching across his cheek, “do not see the point in keeping up the—let’s face it—ruse, if you will, when that is clearly not what you want.”

“Oh? Then, tell me. What is it I do want, huh?” Besides a single measly kiss.

(Which he’s clearly not going to get. And it’s so stupid, so stupid, because it’s not like he was even planning to act any differently, after. Nothing had to change—nothing would have changed—if Arthur had just let it happen to begin with. A kiss isn’t really a big deal, even if Doug’s skin is still crawling with the retracted potential of one. But now, well…)

“I believe I was recently informed how distasteful it is to speculate on behalf of other people,” Arthur replies, snippy and over-enunciated. Good. Doug wants snippy.

(It definitely doesn’t tickle that missed-potential itch.)

“Yeah? Well surely they also ‘informed’ you that it’s different when you have permission, right? Go on, lay it on me. Tell me how it is, oh imperial scholar, oh ye of infinite wisdom who always knows best. Hit me.”

It’s gratifying that Arthur, of all people, looks for half a moment as though he might have been considering taking him up on it, literally. Of course, he would never, but it’s the thought that counts. Especially with Arthur.

“Mmn. If I had to speculate. I would say what you want, what you have been expressly complaining about in no uncertain terms since we left the capital, no less, is for me to ‘get out of your hair,’ as I believe you once put it. I fail to see the problem with fulfilling those wishes now, is all.”

“Hah. Do you.”

As though that weren’t ages ago. As though everything hasn’t changed since then.

As though Arthur doesn’t know exactly how little Doug had been hoping Arthur would ‘get out of his hair’ moments ago, huddled in that alcove. As though he doesn’t have eyes and can’t see how little Doug wants that now, either, despite Arthur’s best efforts.

And, really. It’s insulting and he knows better. He’ll have to try much harder than this.

“I merely wish to be conscientious.”

Doug snorts. “Sure. Call it what you need, buddy.”

Arthur opens his mouth, but falters at the last second before he can say anything more.

And Doug could almost scream, because he realizes a half second before it happens that he’s lost. That he’s lost Arthur, lost him to himself, to his thoughts and worries about every godsdamned thing except the one thing he ought to be looking out for: himself.

And not what he thinks that should mean, not how people see him and what they think of him and how his actions will reflect. Him.

Doug watches Arthur slam the door on himself, not for the first time, and, for the first time, wonders if Arthur even knows what that means. If he even knows what he’s doing to himself.

Doug’s been playing this part for a while now, pretending to be the sort of stalwart companion they both know he obviously isn’t. He would even say he’s been doing a good job of it, that it’s worked out well for the both of them, all things considered. And, fine, he can admit it—he was trying. He didn’t have to put as much effort into it, not when they’d already left the capital and there wasn’t anyone else around who could have filled the role even if Arthur had wanted them to.

But Doug had tried. And that’s not easy to admit because it is quite clearly contrary to his cause, but– How could he help himself when he’d caught a glimpse of what he could find behind the façade?

And where exactly had that gotten him?

Whether Arthur can see Doug’s turmoil, he can’t be sure, but either way he is unmoved to change his mind and continue talking. He takes a breath and with naught more than a prim nod turns gracefully on his heel and resumes his approach of the exit, neither too hurried as to betray frustration or anger nor too slowly as to betray hesitance or remorse.

Unbidden and despite the fact he’d known to expect this as soon as he saw the shift in Arthur’s expression, Doug scoffs, a sound of disgust and scorn and deeply unpleasant surprise.

And maybe some unpleasant surprise at the unpleasant surprise, too. Like… It’s not really that important. Doug doesn’t care that much about this. About Arthur.

And really, even though he does, what had he been expecting all this time? Why let it get this far? He knows what has to happen. He’s always known! He’s worse than Arthur’s being right now, if he really deluded himself into thinking he could have this and achieve his goal at the same time and everything would stay all hunky-dory. If he thought he could get this close and expect there to be no consequences.

Because now, as Doug watches Arthur rebuild his walls twice as high and twice as thick, he realizes he can’t do this.

Sure, he shouldn’t do this, he’s always known that, deep down. He let himself do this for far too long, it’s true. But all this time, it’s been because he could do it, because there wasn’t anything to stop him, because he could keep idly poking and prodding and being rewarded with more pieces of the puzzle.

But he can’t. Not anymore.

It’s not that he thinks those walls are insurmountable. Frankly, given enough time just standing here staring him down, Doug thinks it would be pretty easy to bring them crumbling to dust again. Not like it’d be the first time, after all.

And it’s certainly not that he’s seen a side of Arthur he finds repelling—if anything, he’s seen more evidence tonight that Arthur is capable of fighting for himself than not, which is… Well, not worth examining further, right now, however it might make Doug feel about him.

He can’t do this because Arthur is capable of being this person Doug can see, so clearly, who has so obviously been dying to get free, all this time, but he keeps choosing not to be.

And Doug is too in l–

He. Is too…involved to keep watching him do it.

If Arthur wants to keep doing this to himself, then, hey, that’s great. It’s not like it has ever once been Doug’s place to tell him what to do with himself. (Not like he’d ever listen even if he tried.)

But it is Doug’s place to choose what he does, and he can’t let his choice be to watch someone take everything they have to offer and smother it, over and over and over and over.

He’s lost too much. He can’t keep losing Arthur, again and again.

(If his revenge consists of getting rid of the people responsible for his losses, paying them back, giving them as good as what was got, how could that possibly figure in this? Who is he supposed to be mad at, if it’s all one and the same? What is he supposed to do about it?)

Much better to just be done with it than stand around and let it happen.

So, Doug watches Arthur retreat, chin high and immoveable and untouchable, as he’s done several times before. And he knows it’s not enough. There’s no finality in it, there’s only Arthur’s expectation—whether Arthur is aware of it or not—that eventually Doug will, once again, follow his lead, no matter how plentiful or loud his grumblings about it will be. He’ll still be there anyways.

And for just one second, Doug allows himself to imagine that things are different. That he can and will do just that.

Maybe it wouldn’t have to be just a daydream, hidden in a secluded area under the moonlight.

Maybe it’d be something they could figure out in concert, in harmony, more than the first draft of a melody only they can hear, something real and open and true.

Maybe it’s something they could learn to do together.

“Maybe it’s time to just admit it,” Doug says coldly, freezing Arthur’s retreating back in place on the stairs. Like this, they’re about the same height, and Doug appreciates how it makes boring holes into the back of that stupid, entitled, idiotic blonde head easier.

“…Admit what?” Arthur asks slowly when Doug doesn’t elaborate. He doesn’t turn around.

“Admit that we’ve done all we can do for each other. We made it to Selphia, like you wanted—woulda been nice to have a head’s up there, by the way! And you already know I’m not really here because I cared about…attending to you, or honor, or whatever. So we’re good,” Doug replies dismissively.

Arthur still does not turn. “…We did achieve the first aim I intended to pursue, yes. And as I said, I will not stop you if you do not wish to retain your position. However, if you are under the impression I have accomplished everything I set out to do, you are mistaken.”

“No, you’re right,” Doug agrees.

Arthur is playing the specifics close to his chest, so Doug may not know everything, but he knows Arthur is clearly up to something when late into the night most nights, he can still be found pouring over records and receipts and maps and recovered journal entries by candlelight. Doug doesn’t really get where all of the documents even come from, but he knows there’s a kind of rhyme and reason to the haphazard way they end up in towering stacks on one side of Arthur’s desk, same as the so-called organization of his extensive collection of glasses.

What exactly Arthur’s secret agenda is isn’t important, though. The problem is and always has been Doug’s agenda. Selfishly, he hopes Arthur is clever enough to figure that out himself.

“But,” Doug continues, biting out the words, “as far as what you wanted—why bother pretending that it’s—that we’re—nothing when, clearly, it really was nothing. So. Later. It’s been real.”

Arthur turns around then, stricken. Doug has never seen such an expression on his face. Maybe he shouldn’t like the heady curl of pleasure he takes in having caused it, considering the circumstances, but oh, does he.

Maybe it’s not fair, when he’s decided to be this way not because he doesn’t care, but rather because he has all at once discovered he cares entirely too much. But that angry part of him—the part that wants to just grab Arthur by the scruff and wring him around until he realizes how stupid he’s being, the part that hates being so entirely consumed by something ultimately futile, the part that just wants to take all the things burning him up inside out on everyone, someone, anyone, around him if only so he isn’t the only one in flames—that part of him wants Arthur to hurt, too. Even if it isn’t fair. Even if he doesn’t figure as much to Arthur as Arthur does to him. (Even if, improbably, heinously, unforgivably—he does.) He should still have to feel something at Doug’s absence.

“No, no,” Doug says, deciding to screw it, to let that part of him take over, “Go on, now. Please, don’t stop on my behalf.”

Yet.

It’s petty, and it’s desperate.

But the other part of Doug?

It really, really hopes he does. Please.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Arthur can’t stop.

Arthur would do a lot of things, ones he’d never really thought he’d have reason to, much less want to, on Doug’s behalf.

Just, not stop.

If he stops, he may never start again. If he stops, and admits that he—enjoys? Covets? Anticipates?

Desires, ardently?

—the time that he spends in Doug’s company, that he wants nothing more than to go back to that quiet, shining moment in the alcove across the observatory deck and freeze it and trap it in a jar and hold it close so he can live in it forevermore? If he admits that, he has to admit that there’s no purpose to what he’s seeking out, that finding it—finding her—won’t give him what he wants. That he’s spent all this time searching for something in the entirely wrong places.

That the thing he wishes for above all else wasn’t really anything special, that there wasn’t a deeper meaning behind it, that there wasn’t a reason he can point to. That it’s something one can just happen upon by accident. That there’s nothing to earn, nothing to prove, no epic quest required to win the right to glittering riches unimaginable.

That it’s incidental, and small, and plentiful, and common, and he’s spent so long chasing a dead end lead with such single-minded focus that he’d missed it every time it’s been right in front of him. Or if not it, then—the truth of it, which is something of equal, or perhaps even greater, import to him.

He can’t admit that. He knows it can’t be true. He has evidence, eyewitness testimony. It’s a pledge and it’s a duty and it’s a struggle and it cannot be easy or else how much time will he have wasted?

It’s difficult. Everyone says so. He knows it to be so.

But, says the errant little voice in his head, did you ever think to ask in which ways it should be?

Arthur can’t stop, and there’s a reason he’d had to beg Doug to do it earlier, to stop, instead of pulling away from that almost-kiss on his own.

Kiss. Had they really almost…?

Not that it means anything, necessarily. There are plenty of reasons to do something like that. Plenty of reasons that aren’t the only one Arthur can seem to conjure up, which is really more of a laughable non-reason than anything concrete or real.

He had simply wanted to.

They had been so close, and Doug had been right there, and that had been the only thing he could think—not even really think, truly. More like, he hadn’t been thinking, or couldn’t think, and had only possessed an impulse to do it, and… Well, and nothing else. Scarily, he doesn’t think he has a better justification to point to.

So, it’s– It’s good Doug had listened to him, that they’d avoided it. How unnecessarily complicated; how improperly had Arthur been willing to take advantage of someone he held a position of power over.

(…Technically. Sort of. Not that it means anything in practice. He thinks, if the mood were different, Doug would laugh himself to tears if he suggested this aloud, and say something about how Arthur wishes that were the case.)

Arthur doesn’t suggest it aloud. Instead, he meets Doug’s eyes, belatedly realizing they’re at height with his own, owing to his being on the steps. They catch on the moonlight and flash that fascinating striking silver; there’s steel in them, too, now, but also something else, molten and alive and demanding, all at once anvil and ingot and hammer alike.

If only Arthur could figure out which shape they’re being stricken into.

Something is different about this, as compared to every other time Doug has complained and threatened to leave Arthur’s “sorry ass” behind to be torn apart and eaten by palm cats on his own, that he has better things to do than babysit a “grown-ass” man all day.

(Are all of Doug’s insults ass-related, now that Arthur thinks about it? It’s not something to ponder on right now, but it’s hard not to consider all the same.)

Arthur really must be out of it, but either Doug doesn’t realize or doesn’t care that that’s the case, because he seems to take Arthur’s continued silence to be its own kind of answer. Something changes, a shift in his weight or a twitch in his expression, something Arthur can’t quite put his finger on but can’t help noticing all the same.

Doug blows an angry huff of air, and Arthur can tell he’s hesitated too long. He’d thought they could salvage this and just go back to how things had been, but he misstepped somewhere, and he just can’t figure out where.

He doesn’t exactly get a chance to mull it over, though.

Under his breath, almost like he doesn’t mean to say it out loud, but also sort of like part of him absolutely does, he says, “Figures you’d leave too. I guess that’s all you ever learned to do, huh?”

Arthur nearly doesn’t recognize the nasty voice lowly gutting him in an afterthought, pulling apart every single piece of his insides, sizzling as it cuts through him, but he doesn’t have time to dwell about the tone or the speaker when the words have seized him to the point of gasping for air.

It’s a swift, violent thing. For the way it dismantles every conscious thought and sensation in his body, if he had the slightest bit left of his propriety he’d almost say it was a mercy, such an expedient—such an accurate, precise—execution.

But he can’t breathe, doesn’t remember how, isn’t sure if he wants to, so how can he possibly be expected to respond?

But an assassin’s job isn’t to torture, is it? Get in, finish it, get out. Arthur still doesn’t know the whole story, but it may as well be the truth, too, for everything he does know about why Doug dropped himself onto his doorstep in the first place.

Regardless of how well-trained for it he is, Doug wraps this hit up quietly, short and to the point. And Arthur almost wants to thank him for it.

“Don’t worry,” Doug says, voice so close to Arthur’s ear and so very, very far away. “I’ll save you the trouble.”

And he shoulders past Arthur and just.

Leaves.

Arthur isn’t sure how long he stands there, feet on stairs at different heights, nearly-but-not-quite-by-a-step-or-two on the observation deck all alone, growing cold in night air. There’s a chill in it, absent of a breeze but rather of the type that merely sinks directly into your bones without any motion, the kind your body involuntary soaks up like a sponge. He doesn’t remember how Doug left, exactly, though he supposes, with no shortage of hysteria, that he must have used the stairs to do it.

(With no shortage of hysteria, he’s very briefly struck by the thought that he wouldn’t, technically, have had to do so, necessarily, but he shuts that off before he can picture how such an improvised exit would end. He can’t even think it.)

(Besides, how could he have done that when Arthur knows Doug had pushed past him on his way out?)

(He had. Surely, he had. Arthur can feel the phantom burn of his touch blistering his side. He hadn’t imagined that.)

(Right?)

Arthur is on the floor of the observatory deck, the Selphian observatory deck, and he isn’t quite sure how he got there, but all he can think is that this is what he wanted, this is what he asked for.

He’d been begging for this, to be alone, to have his legs collapsed out from under him (somehow, miracle of miracles, not on the stairs but on flat, solid deck, though he’s not sure when that happened, either). His knees, he realizes, sting from the impact of falling on them. He wanted… He wants–

He needs help.

It’s so simple. How he hadn’t realized before is impossible to know. He can’t do what he came here to do on his own.

But things had changed, hadn’t they. Without his noticing, without his permission, without his appreciation, Arthur had gained something he’d never once in all his 19 years had, and he hadn’t even realized it until it was gone. Someone who truly listened, and cared, and not because they were on a payroll, and not in spite of it. Someone who stuck around despite all-too-oft expressing frustrations about situations he’d put them in. Someone who hadn’t known him all his life, and hadn’t asked to hear about it, but had remembered anyway. A confidant.

A friend.

And maybe…

If Arthur hadn’t been so stupid, and blind, and senseless, maybe tonight he could have even been more. Maybe he already had been, and Arthur simply and foolishly had insisted he wasn’t. Hadn’t let him be.

Maybe, despite everything Arthur’s ever known telling him otherwise, maybe that fleeting moment, that moment-before-a-first-kiss, in which everything had felt perfect–

Maybe it really had been?

He struggles with it, but at least the air comes easier to breathe, now. Nothing that feels perfect ever really is. Arthur knows this. He’s always known.

Focusing on the basics always helps. Perfect is imaginary. It’s not real. By definition, it is untouchable and unquestionably impossible.

But.

But the stars shining in Doug’s silver eyes, iridescent in the moonlight. But the lingering echo of his muffled laughter, like a barrier holding out the rest of the world aside from just them two. But the gentle weight of his touch, branding Arthur’s forearm where he holds it.

Perfect is a fabrication, it is a standard to be upheld, it is expected.

Perfect is not something that knocks you so hard off your feet that you tear through the knees of your trousers, that catches you so unaware that you haven’t even realized you’ve fallen until you hit the floor.

Arthur knows this. He knows many things, and he knows this.

But.

Oh, but.

But he believes, for the first time in a long, long time—a startlingly, shockingly, quakingly long time—he believes tonight. He believes tonight had felt perfect.

Being nearly caught by Volkanon after assuming the head butler would have already been asleep, immediately after they’d stolen out of the castle with an assortment of documents even a visiting prince really shouldn’t have been privy to, which they’d filched from the castle basement and which had still been very much on Arthur’s person. Doug snatching his arm when he’d frozen stiff, quickly but discreetly dragging him away in the opposite direction. A near miss with Forte coming around the corner on patrol, Doug yanking Arthur back into the observatory stairwell just before the Dragon Knight could spot them.

Of course, it’s not like they’re fugitives. There would have been no reason for Forte to think anything amiss even if she had seen them, and as Doug himself has pointed out, it’s more suspicious to draw attention to the issue by pretending something obviously untrue. If they had just kept walking, no one would have stopped them from a pleasant if somewhat late night out strolling Selphia’s streets. Even Volkanon would have likely only had an exuberant greeting for them and asked how their night was going, none the wiser about what Arthur was concealing in his coat.

But had that mattered? Had it mattered that it had been unnecessary when Doug, face flushed with adrenaline, had started wheezing quiet giggles about the overreaction, had turned to Arthur, eyes bright, and said, “Race you to the top,” and taken off up the stairs before Arthur could stop him.

Had it mattered that they could have kept walking, when Arthur finally made it to the top (a bit more out of breath than he’d like to admit) and realized he couldn’t see Doug, and he’d wandered onto the deck apprehensively, halfway through quietly calling his name a second time when he’d been bodily tugged into an alcove he’d never once even noticed before. When he’d stumbled into Doug, who had been been right up against him, laugher still singing in his eyes and the crinkles in his face, and Arthur hadn’t been able to help himself from laughing too.

It hadn’t mattered. It hadn’t been anything noteworthy at all, in fact, not any part of the whole thing.

And it had been—wonderful. Exciting. Thrilling for no reason in particular, not due to any real danger, not for any reason Arthur could think to give. It had just been…unreal. Perfect.

And Doug—Doug had been perfect.

No, not just that—Doug had made Arthur feel perfect, too. And that’s nothing anyone’s done in… Since…

Has anyone ever?

Has he ever felt such a perfect, whole sense of belonging, such a perfect reason to just be, to screw all the other noise and nonsense and not worry about everything else around him and just be, there, in the moment, with someone else by his side? The way Doug, without even trying, had done tonight?

At least, before Arthur went and ruined it.

Ah.

Right.

What does it matter, what does it matter, for Arthur to realize any of this now? Doug already left. He isn’t there to help Arthur back on his feet. He isn’t there to tell Arthur if he should keep running, or if he should stand and fight, or anything else.

How unbearable, to only realize how far and fast and deep he’d fallen after he’d already absolutely screwed up his best chance to do something about it, tonight.

Arthur rearranges himself carefully, mindful of his scraped knees. Out of habit, he pats the pocket of his coat containing the documents that had gotten him into this situation in the first place. They’re still there, safe and sound. He sits leaning back against the observatory railing and tips his head to gaze at the stars above him.

Arthur sighs. What Doug had said—that last part, at least—that had hurt. And the irony of saying it and then leaving himself? With a clearer head, Arthur can now say that was far worse.

And isn’t that just something. People say these sorts of things about him, have said them since he was a child, and he’s never paid them much mind. Sometimes they sting a little, he can’t help that, but never any worse than a prick of the finger. But tonight? But when Doug was the one saying it?

The worst part is, Arthur isn’t sure if he was wrong—about any of it. About Arthur running away, about them having already done all they could do for each other? About Arthur putting words in his mouth and expecting things from him that he’d never promised?

And had he truly meant it, that there was nothing between them? It hadn’t felt that way. The fire in Doug’s eyes hadn’t made it seem so. But how can it possibly be, that someone as direct and shameless at Doug would lie so unflinchingly, now, after all this time?

Unless…all of it had been a lie?

Arthur knows that could be true. Hell, maybe it’s even likely, given what little he knows about Doug and how very much he doesn’t.

He just…doesn’t believe it.

The stars twinkle on, laughing at him, and the moon watches, still and silent and calm. The clear, cloudless sky itself offers no great insights—though it does remind him that there is supposed to be a storm blowing in sometime in the next few days.

Calm before the storm, indeed.

It’s a little silly, but Arthur doesn’t have any energy left to combat silly, so he mutters, “If you were going to send a sign, wish you would’ve been a little more clear about that,” at the sky.

Predictably, he does not receive an answer.

[midnightdemonhunter]

And the vase shattered and the flowers spilled out, and the petals soaked in the water as I soaked you in, love.

[bibblelevi]

hi sar! can i req for a prompt

levi / modern au

17 (sfw list) + 70 (nsfw list) 🥺 pls and thank u ily

Modern AU Levi Ackerman x fem! Reader

Contains fem-implied Reader, making out, face-sitting, drunk sex, oral (f receiving), heavy petting

Prompt: Tucking their hands beneath the other person’s shirt, just to watch them break the kiss and gasp in surprise at the sensation of cold/warm hands on their skin.

Prompt: “tell me what you want”

He’s on his back, pinned down by your body. Your knees dig into the carpet on either side of his hips, one of your hands holding his face steady while the other squeezes his palm beside his head. His free hand runs down your bare spine, skipping over your bra strap, cupping and kneading your ass through your panties.

It’s been ten minutes of this: nothing but wine-induced, drunken making-out.

Levi’s lips move clumsily, clasping around your bottom lip to give an occasional little tug. The gesture coaxes a breathless laugh from your throat every time.

He still tastes like the red wine you had collectively drank more than half of. Somehow you think the distant taste intoxicates you further, pushing you deeper into your haze.

You lower your hips down, rubbing your center right over the growing bulge in Levi’s pants. He groans, then pushes into the feeling, until both of your bodies are moving in tandem, igniting a new high. This one rivals the first in its intensity. His hand moves from your ass to your thigh to help your movements, while he struggles to tear his other hand from your grip.

“Stop that,” you whisper harshly into his mouth. You reach back, grabbing his other wrist and joining his hands together right above his head.

His head lazes back, exposing more of his neck. “You’re fucking evil,” he hisses, biting back a whimper.

Your teeth scrape over his jaw and neck, suckling one mark before getting lost in your possessive nature. One turns to three, which turns into five, all down his neck and over his collarbone. His collared shirt is now tugged off one shoulder.

You can feel his cock straining, and you rub against him, grinning at the wanton expressions replacing his typical nonchalance.

“Tell me what you want,” you say. You release his hands and cost your own down his clothed chest before sneaking beneath his shirt.

He arches beneath you immediately, an airy gasp fumbling from his lips. His eyes roll, and all you’ve done is splay your bare palms over his abdomen.

“Cold fucking hands,” he curses you, then muses to himself, “How’s that even possible?”

A soft laugh sounds. You work on unbuttoning his shirt, still sat over his cock. When you reach the final button, he places his hands on your thighs and pulls.

“Come up here.”

“Hm?”

His fingers curl. “Come sit on my face. ‘need to taste you.”

Your mouth drops, but you scurry from your spot, hesitantly placing your knees on either side of his head. Levi looks so pretty from this perspective, his black hair strewn away from his forehead, silver eyes glinting up into yours. You can see the squiggle of concentration between his furrowed brows as he tug your panties to the side and eyes your pussy.

“Look at you,” he sighs contently, like there’s nowhere else he’d rather be.

He curls one arm around your thigh, then prods at your clit with his tongue. It instantly draws a whine out of you.

“So sensitive.” He spares a few more kitten licks, before his hold on you strengthens. “Also, when I say ‘sit on my face’, I mean, sit on my fucking face.”

Then he pulls you down, nearly suffocating himself on your cunt. You reach your first climax rather quickly, but it only dawns on you that he isn’t finished when his hold fails to loosen.

[yandere-sins]

One More

Genshin makes my imagination vibrate pleasantly. I just want to give Kaeya a reason to make me go “Oh?” cause he’s not even my one of my favs. But the sheer sex appeal coming from that man is dangerous.

Characters: Kaeya Alberich (Genshin Impact) x Reader Warnings: Yandere, Groping, Innuendos, Alcohol, Aphrodisiacs, Insults

»»———————— ♡ ————————««        

“Hey there, Sweetheart. What’s bringing you to the tavern so late at night?”

You had barely entered Angel’s Share and sat down at the bar before hearing the ever-so chipper voice of the cavalry captain drawing closer. There was nothing strange about meeting Kaeya here after a long day of work, but you and Charles exchanged a glance, the bartender sighing deeply. “I’ve only served him two drinks so far,” he explained, and you couldn’t help but think that was already one too many. 

But who were you to say no to the Kaeya?

Perhaps better than anyone, Kaeya knew about the little game you two were playing. The always so icy shoulder you gave him as he continued to pressure you with his flirts was only making him want you so much more. You couldn’t count the number of times he had stopped you in the headquarters, pinned you between him and the wall - in broad daylight nonetheless - asking how you’re doing and if you need help with anything. You. Were. Sick of it! If he wanted a child to play father for, he could ask Klee to hang out with him! You, on the other hand, were a remarkable knight, trusted enough with complicated orders that - luckily! - kept you out of the city for a prolonged time so you could avoid him. 

It only was hard when you weren’t on duty. Or in the city. Or close to him. 

That’s when he became frisky, rather needy too.

Kaeya brushed his face from the left side of your head to the right, taking a deep breath. If it wasn’t known that you two reached back all the way to your training days, anyone would have raised an eyebrow. But most of the other guards were able to brush off his weirdness for affectionate friendship. It was almost like only you could see behind the farce, and perhaps his estranged brother. Not like Diluc had been any help to you, though, aside from breaking Kaeya off you once or twice when he was around and noticing your discomfort.

Taking up the stool beside you, there was no prior question if the seat was taken. A rather empty keg arrived with Kaeya at the bar, and he briefly tapped the rim until Charles fished for another bottle of alcohol to fill it up with. One could say Kaeya and a drink were a good mix, but to you, they were a terrible combination. Drinking made him bold. Unrestrained even. 

Even though he offered his keg to you, you merely looked away, sipping at your own glass, one you much rather preferred to the brew he drank his night away with. Grinning, he instead took a hearty sip, leaning against the counter leisurely as he watched the bards perform near the entrance, but you didn’t miss even a single glance he sent your way every few seconds. 

It was very unfortunate that you liked Angel’s Share for its drinks best; otherwise, you’d have had a good reason to avoid the establishment. But at the same time, you couldn’t let Kaeya direct all of your life. It was no state that you shouldn’t do what you enjoyed just because he could be there, and yet, you considered it. 

“So, how was your mission? I’ve been missing your skills at training.”

“It was fine,” you answered curtly, uninterested in the conversation he initiated. There weren’t many people you talked to when you came back to Mondstadt. Somehow… it had always been hard for you to make friends with the other knights. Part of you suspected Kaeya being a reason why no one seemed to want to hang around, forcing you to spend most of your training with him since no one was willing to spar with you. Then again, you never had any evidence to confirm your suspicion, just like with many other phenomena you experienced over the years.

More than once had there been instances where your orders had been withdrawn just when you came close to solving the problems, often with the excuses that you were still too inexperienced or needed somewhere else. It had been so hard to raise in the ranks while Kaeya seemed to make leaps forward without a worry, but at least, you managed to secure your place now--one far away from the cavalry captain.

Sighing, Kaeya turned around to face the counter again, plopping his arm around your shoulders. Uncomfortably, you rolled your joints, but he instead pulled you closer to him, the smell of alcohol drafting off his lips as he spoke. “No need to play coy. You know you can tell me the truth. Didn’t you miss being home? I’m sure cleaning up those camps must have been exhausting!”

Missed being with me? seemed to be the words he wanted to say, but he packaged them in a way he knew they’d actually affect you. Kaeya had always been clever enough to poke the places that hurt. Of course, you missed home. You’d miss it more if not for him, but you had your family here, your siblings and parents that you’d like to see more often. But there was no chance with how much Kaeya liked to interfere in it. As if he was already part of your family, inviting himself and always showing up unannounced to hang out.

“‘Twas okay,” you replied after a moment of thought. 

“Well, I missed you,” he chuckled before taking another sip of his keg. “I missed you sooo much!”

That was enough for you, brushing his arm off roughly before turning on your stool to leave. You knew even finding another space to sit wouldn’t spare you from him, and if you ended up in a less crowded area, you didn’t want to imagine what he’d do. “Aw, come on,” you heard behind you as he gripped your arm, making you stop. “I get it, I get it, you’re tired. But you can’t be tired enough not to drink one more with your old pal, right?”

With his voice rising in volume, you two finally gained some attention, and you instantly felt a rush of embarrassment as you stared into quite a few pairs of perplex eyes. Kaeya might have been eccentric, but he was well-liked nonetheless. Causing a scene had never worked well for you, and since you were already deemed an outsider, you’d only catapult yourself more into the shadows if any rumors spread after you left. 

Clicking your tongue, you tore yourself out of his grip before sitting back on your chair again, holding up your finger. “One more. Only one more.”

“Of course,” Kaeya grinned, getting his will once again. “Only one.”

»»————— ♡

Hot lips brushing against each other, you had no better way to describe your state of being other than burning. For someone so cool and with an icy skill, Kaeya was not even close to being cold and reserved when it came to touching you. With a smile displayed on his mouth whenever he wasn’t using it to tease you, you could barely remember how you two ended up making out in one of the backstreets of Mondstadt. His hands were seemingly everywhere, and at the same time, lingered at the spots that created an audible cue from you when he squeezed them. 

“You’re so sensitive,” he noted as you hung in his arms, hands currently squeezing your ass from your thighs upwards. “That’s good, I like that.”

“Fucker,” you merely cursed back. “You only said one more drink! I feel like shit! What the hell was that?”

“On the contrary, you feel amazing,” he ignored your questions, pushing his leg between yours as he pressed you closer to the cold stone wall behind you. A welcome sensation, giving you back some of your senses as the chill helped to calm your heated body. “I fucking hate you, Kaeya,” you confessed drunkenly, but the time was as good as any to say it.

“Ouch,” he brushed it off with a chuckle. “Are you sure? Your body grinding against mine is giving me very different vibes, Darling.”

Next thing, he was back in your mouth, his tongue roaming and keeping yours busy as you slung your arms around him. “You’re so stupid and mean, always testing everyone. You’re probably the reason everyone is avoiding me too, and you don’t let off no matter how much I tell you to leave me alone!”

“Mhm,” he hummed as his lips wandered down your neck, making you stretch it out for him so he could reach better. “And now... I don’t even know! You drugged me?!” 

A soft laugh escaped him before you felt a suck at your collarbone, followed by the wet sensation of a tongue tasting your skin. “Bingo, Baby. Lisa really wanted to know what would happen if someone drank this potion and you were all too eager to get it down your throat-”

“To get away from you!” you interrupted him.

“Whatever.”

Finally, Kaeya came up on eye level again, the two of you staring at each other for a moment in silence. 

“Whatever?” you questioned, confused by his reaction. 

“Yeah, whatever. I think kissing you made me swallow at least, hm... half of it too. Even if we wanted to, we wouldn’t be able to stop now, don’t you think?” 

One of the most disgusting grins you had ever seen on the face of a person played around his lips as he pressed up to you, uniting you two in another kiss. Of course, you could stop it! You could, and you would right now. After all, you had allowed it to go on for far too long now! Pressing your hands into his shoulders, Kaeya let out a soft sigh against your lips, his uncovered eye closed as he enjoyed the affection. “One more,” he mumbled as he kissed you again and again, feverishly and impatiently. “I’ve been waiting forever to do this.”

With the excitement of a teenage boy, his hands roamed your body, pulling out the shirt from your trousers to lodge themselves beneath it. Skillful fingertips drew patterns over your skin, up your spine, and down your sides until you were gasping and shivering in his grasp. “Good,” he sighed against your lips, unbothered by you still trying to push him away, only ever flinching as he groped you. “Don’t you already know it? How much you drive me crazy? It’s only fair I drive you crazy too.”

“What the fuck are you even talking about--” you tried to contradict him. But Kaeya was quick to muffle your voice with another deep kiss. Intentionally or not, he met one of your sensitive spots as he explored you, causing a hitched moan to escape you, followed by a satisfied grunt from him. “I’ve been waiting for so long, I can’t have you take it from me now,” he breathed out huskily. 

“I’ll scream!” you threatened him. “Let me go now, Kaeya!”

“Ah-ah,” he rebuked you, one of his hands being freed of groping-duty to cover your mouth. “No one’s going to take you away from me now either. Come one, be good, okay?”

Waiting for the right moment, Kaeya couldn’t endure your angry stare for very long before falling into soft laughter. “All right, all right,” he chuckled before leaning forward brushing his lips against his hand. “One more kiss, okay? I will leave you alone after that.”

Furrowing your brows even more, he interpreted you shaking your head as a ‘no’, letting out a long, “Aww…” 

“Only one more, pretty please?” 

You had to give it to him: persistency was something he didn’t lack. It felt like shooting into your own foot, but part of you just wanted it to be over. You two had kissed so much up till now; how much worse would one more be? And if he let you go afterwards, you could definitely endure it. Lifting up your hand to yank his from your mouth, Kaeya didn’t expect you to take the initiative, looking at you perplexed as you leaned forward to kiss him. No one ever taught you how to kiss, and without his directions, you weren’t actually sure on how any of it worked, but he didn’t seem to mind, humming a pleased tune before returning your awkward smooches.

When was a kiss one kiss? When the lips parted? After the first initial touch? Kaeya’s definition was two minutes of continuous connection between you two, only briefly drawing back for air but never without upholding the contact by biting and pulling on your lip or having your tongue following his out of your mouth into the cold night. He gripped your head tightly in his palms, not allowing you to get away. Only when he let go did you fall back hard against the wall as you two finally broke apart, and you hadn’t noticed how much he had held you up. 

The rich flavor of alcohol on your tongue and his scent in your nose didn’t help with getting a clear mind, but nothing about you made sense anymore. Now that he had let you fall back and away from him, you felt even hotter than before, your body clearly bothered by the lack of stimulation. What part of ‘I wanted none of this’ did you not understand yourself? At least by the throbbing in your abdomen, you could tell that whatever kind of potion he had given to you definitely wasn’t a fun experience, but all the more potent. 

“Hurts, huh?” he laughed across from you. “Oh, fuck off,” you mustered to say, but the pain was obvious by your expression. You were barely able to keep yourself up properly.

“I’d offer my help, but you made it clear you didn’t want it.” The situation must have been really funny to him, only agitating you more. If it at least hadn’t been Kaeya, you might have accepted help, but you knew you’d have to get yourself home now all by yourself in a state of constant heat with no way to resolve it. 

“You caused all of this! You should at least take responsibility without taking advantage of the situation!”

Pushing yourself away from the wall, you decided it was time to step away. There was no use in talking with Kaeya, but the moment your support dwindled, you noticed how wobbly your legs felt, barely capable of holding you up. What had you trained all these years for if a mere potion could make you so incredibly weak? Before you could get back to the wall, one knee gave away, making you sink to the ground where you could barely catch yourself with your hands. 

“It’s really working you hard, isn’t it?” you heard him speak down from above. Squatting to your level, you felt his hand slide through your hair before gripping and lifting your head to face him. “Tell you what: If you ask nicely, I’ll help you. Can’t promise you’ll wake up in your bed tomorrow morning, but a bed nonetheless, wouldn’t that be nice?”

“Fuck you,” you hissed back, and he shook his head, disappointed. 

“Try again.”

What choices did you have? Risk the little bit of reputation you still had by being found in the morning, disheveled and drunk from the night before? The knights absolutely hated anything that would ruin their pristine prestige, so much even you knew. You had worked so hard to get where you were, could you really risk all of it? “... please,” escaped you before you could think it through further. 

“What was that?” he teased you, and you wondered why he could still be so clear even after drinking much more than you did and having had a taste of the potion from your lips. “Please help me get home.”

This time, he laughed out loud, obviously amused by how pitiful you had to behave to please him. “One more time. Say it one more time, and say it nice.”

Frustrated, you wished you could have punched him in the face, but you only bit your lip, taking a deep breath before complying. “Please, Kaeya. I need your help to get home. Please help me home!”

Embarrassment was all you could think about as he conditioned you to do as he wanted, but finally, after you did what Kaeya demanded, he petted your head, leaning forward to kiss your forehead before reaching under your arms to pull you up. “Look at you, all cute and begging me for help.”

Quickly being lifted from the ground, you found your new halt by gripping into his shoulders tightly and wrapping your legs around his waist as he held you in front of him. “You’re so adorable!” he chuckled as you clung to him much more in fear of him letting you fall than because you wanted it. He seemed to have similar thoughts, giving you a bit of a scare as he let go of you, having you hang from him by only your own strength, which you didn’t trust anymore. But just as quickly, your horrified expression made him laugh, and he gave your rear a teasing slap. Lucky for you, Kaeya didn’t make you fear any longer, embracing you back and allowing you to sink against him more as he started to make his way through the streets of Mondstadt. From an onlooker’s point of view, it might have seemed like you jumped him out of joy, but really, you clung on as if your life depended on it while Kaeya seemingly enjoyed the hug.

“Just get me home, you Asshole,” you grumbled, but your insults didn’t do any damage to his good mood. “Sure, I’ll get you home,” he replied chipper, but you already had bad thoughts as you heard that.

“At least, the place I call ‘home’,” he confirmed your suspicion, and inwardly, you already admitted defeat even as you punched your fist into his shoulder. 

“You know how it is,” he brushed it off lightly, patting your backside while he climbed the stairs towards the headquarters with seemingly no effort. 

“I can never refuse you or leave you be. I adore you way too much.”

[bokunosimpfiction]

Yandere!Karl Heisenberg x Reader Pt. 2

You could read this as a stand-alone fic, but there’s some more context of the situation on the first one.

Usertags: @fandomtrashgoddess

Synopsis: Some fluff/hurt slash comfort after and escape attempt. tw:kidnapping (implied) tw:physical abuse (implied)

             You sat on in the bathtub, facing the wall, head leaned back, while Heisenberg sat on the toilet seat behind you. You counted the little dots and indentations in the ceiling while he repaired your injuries.

             You tried not to hiss when he poked around your face, checking your wounds and scratches for any metal debris or splinters. Your eyes watered when he would pull one out, no matter how gently he did it (or tried to), it made your eyes water. You pretended to be strong.

             After a little bit you feel a warm, damp cloth pat your skin. It doesn’t sting as much, and if anything soothes the burn.

             “I told you not to try and escape,” he mutters, “look at what you did to yourself… You’re lucky I found you when I did.”

             “Who was the one that set up the traps that almost killed me?” Your voice was hoarse, dry, and tired from screaming, and your body was sore from running and kicking and screaming. You lost the fight in you an hour or so ago, and here you were being cleaned up from the mess that was made. The mess that you made.

             “I wouldn’t have to set up traps like that if you stopped trying to escape.” He takes a cotton pad with saline solution on it and lightly dabs at the cuts all across your face. “These are going scar, sweetie.” You can feel the sarcasm and hostility at the end but chose to ignore it. “You’ll be beautiful no matter what, of course, but you get them through pain, and I can’t stand the thought you ever being hurt.”

             “Okay boomer.”

             “What the ever-living fuck is a boomer?”

             “Google it.”

             “How did you even get wifi here?”

             “Not telling.”

             He sighs and begins to gently apply aloe to the cuts. You’d never use those words to describe Heisenberg. He’s big, bulky, strong, and intimidating, but for some reason his rough and callous covered hands managed to be so nimble and delicate on top of being bulky and strong. It has to do with his tinkering and building, you suppose.

             He places a kiss on your forehead, above one of the bigger gashes and leans your head off of his lap. “Alright, I think that’s the last of them.”

             You still sit in the tub, covering yourself with your left, covered in gauze and bandages. The other one in a sling with ice inside. It hurt terribly, some of the worst pain you’ve ever felt. You remind yourself to NOT dislocate your elbow.

             You felt so exposed, in nothing but an oversized tank-top and your underwear. He had put you in one of his shirts to have easier access to your arms and such. You were exhausted, and just needed sleep. But you knew that you had a punishment ahead of you, and that you needed to endure a little longer.

             He tilts your head up, to look him in the eyes. There was so much more emotion than you could comprehend: anger, sadness, betrayal, love, there were too many and he was clearly conflicted on what to do.

             He scoops you up bridal style, easily, and holds you close. “I think you’ve learned your lesson for now, being chased by propeller man is more than enough excitement for today, we’ll worry about the consequences tommorow.”

             You just nod your head. “Thank you, Dr. Doofenshmirtz.” It’s a quiet statement, and despite the exhaustion, you still are able to maintain a bit of snark. You refuse to be fully submissive, and in moments where you don’t have the energy to fight physically or battle it out with yelling insults or witty comebacks, you have to resort to statements like these.

             “I told you to call me Karl.”

             You pretend to consider it for a moment. “Hm… no.”

             “I might change my mind and spank you now.”

             You yawn. “You don’t have the nerve.”

             Still, he carries you gently into the shared bedroom. The kink-sized bed with beige sheets and a comforter folded at the end of the bed. It was yours mostly because it’s always cold at night. Heisenberg always found his way under it or wrapped around it somehow, and by morning he was either dead asleep with no way to escape or in the workshop, waiting for you to come visit him in your pajamas.

             “You’re not going to be able to change tonight by yourself.”

             “I’d like to try.”

             “Well, you won’t.”

             “Don’t act so tough, Schwarzenegger.” All of this snark is tiring you out, but you refuse to give up what little control you have left: freedom of speech. Thank God for being an American because lord do you know how to use it.

             “I’d imagine you’d learn to shut your mouth after all the times I’ve gagged you but apparently not.” He sits you down on the poorly made bed and slips his shirt off you. The cold nips at your skin and perks your nipples, which he ogles at for several moments before going to the shared dresser.

             He doesn’t ask how cold you are, just grabs the short-sleeved slip-on night gown from its place in the draw and a pair of underwear. He lifts your legs and slips off your current pair. It’s been a while since you last shaved, but he shows no disgust or even disinterest. He wants to lean closer, smell you, taste you, feel you, but he restrains himself. Your shaken and tired enough as is, no need to worsen that. He slides the new pair back up, lifting your ass with his hands while he pulls the briefs up to the small of your back.

             He slides the sling off your arm, and carefully maneuvers it through the arm hole. “Keep it still, okay.” His voice is soft and gruff, and for a moment, you melt, before you remembered he kidnapped you. You’ve had more domestic moments, ruined by the circumstance in which they came, but for some reason, you feel his caring nature come through more.

             He slides your other arm through the arm hole and tugs the dress down over your head. It’s bunched at your hips from you sitting, but there’s not much he can do about it besides move you, which he doesn’t plan on doing.

             “Heisenberg?” You call out softly, pulling him out of his train of thoughts, “I’d like to go to bed now.” Why the hell do you have to ask for his permission? But you do anyhow. He pushes you back onto your side of the bed, and rests your head on the pillow, that’s almost flat enough to be replaced. Almost. He pulls the covers from under you, and tucks you in up to your chin, just like how you would a child. You see him walk to the end of the bed, his coat moving behind him as he pulls the comforter up. He leans down, and you look in his eyes a moment before kissing you on the forehead.

             “Goodnight pumpkin.”

             “Goodnight Zoidberg.”

             “Goddamn it.”

[bnha-dumpster]

Well I was wondering can I have a izuku x male reader x yo shindo (I love my fluffy boys) using their quirks (I guess people call it quirk-play) on their lover? (Sorry for my bad grammar btw)

of course! i don't think i've written this pairing before so this will be interesting. 

pairing: deku x male reader x shindo content warnings: quirk play (deku uses black whip), bondage, light dom/sub dynamics, overstimulation word count: 1.7k

It’s always a bit awkward when you attend events with your partners. Sandwiched between the two of them, Shindo resting his hand on your hip and Midoriya holding your hand, you somehow still feel out of place. You’ve been to a lot of events with them but your feelings have yet to change from the awkwardness. At the very least, they know how to reassure you when you get home. 

When you get through the door, Shindo’s already picked you up and slung you over his shoulder, hand shamelessly groping your ass. Midoriya is following the two of you like a puppy. His eyes are yearning and as you look at him, you can see the beginning of Black Whip manifesting in his hand. 

You’re honestly expecting one of them to rip your clothes off. It’s far more common than letting you take your own clothes off or just taking them off for you normally. But as you’re laid down on the bed, far more gently that you thought, you watch as Shindo begins to unbutton your dress shirt. He’s slow as he does it, stopping ever few buttons to feel your chest through the fabric. 

Behind Shindo is Midoriya, removing his clothes and letting them drop to the floor unceremoniously. A small tent has already formed beneath his boxers and he stops undressing when he notices how your gaze lingers on it.

“You’re going way too slow, Yo.” It’s not unusual for him to express his eagerness, especially when Shindo wants to take it slow. 

“Do you not have patience, Zuku? It’s been a while since we’ve been so sensual with him.” He’s not wrong. “Let me get him all riled up, okay?” 

His voice is low and has a rumble to it, as if he’s using his his quirk to make him sound that way. It’s that and the way he gently strips you down while staring at your body as if it’s a delectable meal that gets you going. It has you squirming in your spot. 

“Don’t get impatient with me too, Y/N.” And there it is. The commanding undertone as Shindo grips your bare thighs a bit too tight; it’s a warning. 

“Izuku, bind him up nice and tight.” 

And that’s when Black Whip comes into play. Midoriya slots himself behind you on the bed and lets his quirk do the work. Hands bound behind your back, legs up and spread- just the way they both like it. 

You can feel Midoriya’s cock rub against your ass, searching for friction. A familiar tongue click stops him. He’s just as submissive to Shindo as you are. He stills and decides to busy himself with your nipples, playing with them and latching onto your neck. 

The older hero watches the two of you as he undresses. You’re both so cute, so obedient for him. Two sets of eyes watch his every move, waiting quietly for his words. 

“Zuku, be good and get him hard for me.” 

A calloused hand travels down your front to gently grip your dick. He’s gentle and strokes you slowly, his hand able to hold you perfectly. You whine and lean against him as he does. Shindo finally gets onto the bed. He settles in front of you on his knees, rubbing his hands on your thighs for a moment. They move past your crotch to go up to your chest, replacing Midoriya’s hand. 

Vibrations flow through his fingers as he pinches your nipples. Part of you is glad that he’s focusing on your nipples instead of your cock. It’s so easy to push you over the edge if he uses his quirk on your cock. But Midoriya’s hand is just as good. The younger hero knows exactly where and how you like to be touched. In the end, they both have their ways of driving you crazy.

Between the gentle strokes and the vibrations against your nipples, you’re not sure what exactly makes you cum. You let out a whimper as you do, watching as you cover Midoriya’s hand with your cum. He pulls it back so he can lap the substance up with his tongue like it’s a delicacy. 

“Good boy, both of you.” Shindo pulls his hands away to lift your legs up just a bit more. A vibrating finger circles your hole to tease you. He hums when he feels how eager it is to take his finger in. 

“Did you prep for this? Were you expecting this? Hm?” A tap on your thigh is your signal to speak.

“Well... We always end up doing this after events so I thought it’d be better to get prepared just in case...”

Your face flushes and he can’t help laughing at your answer. It’s so cute, just like you. Shindo slips his finger in you and curls it, the vibrations already making you squirm. Black Whip’s hold on your legs becomes tighter and you’re unable to move. 

“I think we’ll make you cum one more time before we fuck you. How’s that sound?” The only response you can give him is a whine as he stretches you out. It takes a second finger before he curls them into your prostate, vibrations increasing to an overwhelming amount. It really seems like Shindo wants to pull out your second orgasm without even fucking you. 

His other hand, vibrating just as much, wraps around your limp cock and and begins to pump it. If it weren’t for Black Whip, you’d be squirming and pulling away. But all you can do now is whine and turn to Midoriya, pleading for him to make it stop. He doesn’t. The green haired hero won’t go against Shindo and you both know it. The most he can do is leave kisses along your neck and shoulders and tell you that you’re doing so well.

The abuse of your prostate and cock so soon after your first orgasm hurtles you into your next one. Cum spurts out of your cock pathetically, coating Shindo’s hand. He puts his hand in front of your face and you open your mouth without him needing to say anything. You clean his hand of your cum during your brief break. 

“Who do you want first, hm?” 

How mean of him to give you a trick question in this state. 

“Want Yo...” 

That’s the only answer. You’re given a devilish grin from the older hero before he lines himself up and sheathes his cock all the way in. You throw your head back and moan, mouth open in hopes that Midoriya will get the hint. He does and attaches himself to your lips, practically devouring your mouth. All your embarrassing moans are muffled. 

Shindo’s slow as he thrusts into you. He’s enjoying how the two of you meld together into a needy mess. Your overwhelmed senses are calmed down by the mouth on yours and the way Midoriya hugs you against his chest so gently. The way he tries to pry your focus away from the cock filling you past your limit is more than appreciated. But Shindo will only allow it for so long. 

“Y/N, look at me.” His voice is commanding and you feel his eyes piercing into you. “Be a good boy for me and look at me.” 

Midoriya releases your mouth and turns your head forward. He holds the side of your head so you can’t look away. Shindo leans over your shoulder to give him a kiss of thanks. 

The thrusts resume with four hands roaming your body. The hero in front of you doesn’t go fast, but he does go deep. Slow, rhythmic and deep thrusts into you make you want to curl into yourself. You do your best to keep your eyes on Shindo. He’s hushing you gently, peppering your face with kisses as you do what he asks. 

“Such a good boy.”

“So proud of you.”

“Just like that, Y/N.”

“Keep looking at me, baby.”

It feels like it goes on forever and it probably does. Both of your partners have far more stamina than you do. They could go on forever if they really wanted to. 

By the time Shindo’s getting close, your cock has finally sprung back to life. It leaks precum and bounces against your stomach with each thrust. Midoriya’s hands are dangerously close to it, tracing the skin around it. He knows not to touch it unless he’s allowed to. 

They must have shared some sort of look because Midoriya’s hands finally reach down. One hand wraps around your cock and the other cups your balls, rolling them in his palm gently. You whine and throw your head back onto his shoulder, hands clenching. Even if you’re hard, a third orgasm is too much. But the two of them want to draw out one more. Just one more. 

When a palm comes to focus on the head of your cock and tease it, you tense up. You cum for hopefully the last time. With the way your ass clenches around his cock, Shindo cums deep inside you. He leans in to catch your lips, groaning against them as he rides his climax to the end.

You let out a small whine when he pulls out. There’s another look because Black Whip dissipates and you collapse onto the bed. Your head’s hazy and you don’t think much of it when Shindo pulls you forward and flips you onto your back. 

“Izuku’s still so hard. You won’t let him suffer like that anymore, will you?”

Midoriya eagerly sinks himself into your heat without letting you respond. His grip on your hips is tight as he earnestly pounds into you. It’s beginning to hurt and you try to push away. Shindo doesn’t let you, grabbing your hands and holding them above your head. 

It’s not surprising when the younger hero cums within a few minutes. How long had he been waiting for this? You don’t know. All you know is that it’s warm inside you and you actually find yourself missing the sensation of Midoriya filling you once he pulls out. 

“Wanna take a bath, baby? We’ll take care of you.” 

With a small hum, you nod and nuzzle into Shindo’s body. You’re tired and a bath sounds perfect. You practically crawl into his arms and latch onto him so he can carry you. The rumble in his chest you feel as he chuckles relaxes you. You can already hear the bath water running.

[dracoscene]

Delirium | Draco Malfoy x female reader

Summary: steamy shower sex. that's it

Contains: SMUT (18+), dom! Draco, cum play, dirty talk, unprotected sex (don't do that), mentions of insecurities

A/N: I really dislike this but oh well

Word count: 1k

_________________________

"I got lonely in there, you're taking way too long." Draco complained, a scowl on his face as he leaned against the bathroom door.

"Just a few more minutes, I'm almost done!" you called out from inside of the shower, letting the hot water run down your body.

"Mind if I join you? I know you always finish faster when I’m involved."

You scoffed at the cockiness in his voice. "Alright, come in." 

A mix of nervousness and excitement built up inside of you as you watched him get rid of his clothes through the fogged up glass door. This was going to be the first time you two would have sex in the shower, a whole new territory.

His signature smirk was plastered across Draco’s face as he opened the door to step into the shower, a wave of cold air creating goosebumps on your exposed body. Feeling his gaze on you, your hands and arms instinctively went to somehow cover yourself up, making Draco's smile turn into a frown when he noticed.

"Stop, there’s absolutely no need for you to do that, love." he stepped behind you to lay his arms on top of yours, head resting gently on your shoulder. "It's just me, alright?"

His touch made you relax right away. "I know, 'm sorry." your words were almost being drowned out by the splashing sound of the water hitting the floor. Draco placed a single kiss on your neck.

"Don't be." you felt his breath on your neck. "I think you just forgot how fucking perfect you are to me." he moved his arms under yours, letting your hands rest on top of his as he started running them over your body carefully. "But that's okay, 'cause I'll make sure to remind you."

His left hand left it's place from under yours, traveling the path from your belly over your chest and up to your neck, the metal of his ring was cold against your hot skin, making you shudder.

"So fucking beautiful." he whispered as he applied some pressure to your neck, making your eyes flutter shut. Your right hand was still on his as he slowly guided them in between your legs.

Draco paused his movements when he felt you lifting your hand off of his. "Don't." his tone was dark, demanding. "I want you to keep it there, want you to feel what I'm doing to you."

You obeyed, feeling his fingers move under yours as he started drawing figure eights on your clit. He picked up the pace, causing you to dig your nails into his knuckles.

Your head fell back onto his shoulder, giving him access to replace the hand on your neck with his lips, kissing, licking and sucking on the flesh. He made sure to leave marks, something for him to admire when he was done with you.

Heavy breaths turned into small moans as Draco alternated between massaging your clit and rubbing it at a ridiculously fast pace that made it hard for you to hold onto his hand, which he seemed to notice.

"Darling." you felt him smirk against your skin. "You're gonna need your hands now to hold onto something while I fuck you into delirium."

Leaving you no time to process, his hands grabbed your hips and pushed you forward by pressing his body into yours. You gasped as your body made contact with the cold tiles, hands flat against the wall for some sort of support.

"Bend over for me a little, will you?" You did as you were told, pressing your bum against Draco's erection in the process. "Look at that, such a pretty sight." He groaned while his fingertips traced the path of water drops that were running down your back.

You whimpered as he started teasing you by sliding his tip through your wet folds, hitting your clit. "Draco please just-" You sounded more desperate than you intended to, craving the feeling of him inside of you, and he knew that.

"What was that, hm? Do you need my cock inside of your pretty little cunt? Is that it?" You nodded, feeling your cheeks blush at his words. This boy just loved to tease you.

"Alright then." His hand found it's place on top of yours, grasping it as he pushed his cock inside of you inch by inch, only for him to pull out again, leaving you feeling empty before thrusting all the way into you again.

Your eyes clenched shut, back arching as Draco rocked his hips into yours, smirking from behind you. Moans and grunts from both of you filled the shower as he increased the speed of his thrusts, hitting your g-spot every time.

Strength left your body, legs trembling, threatening to give up but Draco was quick to drape one arm around your waist to hold you up flush against his body. "Don't give up on me now." he grunted, lips against the shell of your ear.

His fingers found your sensitive clit once more, rubbing fast circles, determined to make you finish as his own climax was approaching. "Think you can cum like this?"

He found his answer in you walls fluttering around him, moans turning into small sobs as the double stimulation made your mind go comfortably numb. It only took a few more thrusts before you came undone around his cock. Draco followed shortly after you, the sight of your shaking body in front of him causing him to tip over the edge, covering your insides with his cum.

Draco let your body sink into his arms, pulling you close to him as he planted soft kisses against your shoulder, giving you time to regain some strength. A whimper left your lips when he pulled himself out of you carefully, taking a step back to admire his work.

"Draco what-" you saw him kneel down behind you, his head at a level with your thighs, watching as his cum started to drip out of your cunt.

He looked at you in awe, gentle hands caressing your delicate skin, dragging two fingers up your thigh to gather his leaking cum before it was being washed away by the running water.

"Do you have any idea how fucking beautiful you look right now?"

[neon-junkie]

It Takes Two To Tango

Summary: Stuck in a failing marriage where both you and your husband are having affairs, you enjoy another night with the man that you literally bumped into at the Saloon.

Pairing: Javier Escuella x f!Reader

Word Count: 2227

Rating: NSFW

Tags: Cheating/Affairs, Degrading, Humiliation, Praise, Squirting, Cum eating, Creampies, Face slapping, Knife kink, Choking, Smut without a plot.          

Notes: I had RDR1 Javier in mind for this seeing as he's low honour, and the dialogue/actions in this are very low honour Javier based, buuuuut you're welcome to picture any Javier you want <3

To put things politely, you hate your husband. When you two first met, he was sweet, kind, wonderful, everything you'd expect in a partner; the first few years of your marriage were flawless, but something within him changed, and he began spiralling off the rails, crashing into the man that he is today.

A divorce is hard to come by, especially in this time. However, you two seem to have somewhat of an unspoken agreement that you're no longer together. Well, you still share a house, still sleep in the same bed, still ask how each other's day went; but you know exactly where he goes to every night, leaving you all alone in your comfortable home, and sometimes, the nights can get so cold without anybody to hold.

The new man that keeps you warm every night bumped into you at a bar, quite literally, and apologized profusely, then offered to buy you a replacement drink. You happily accepted, taking an instant fancy to his mysterious yet welcoming aura, and spent the rest of the night blatantly flirting. You eventually asked him to help clean the liquor he'd spilt off you, and he did so by licking a stripe from your collar bone, along your neck, settling just below your ear. "It always tastes so much better when you know you shouldn't be doing it, eh?" he huskily whispered, and you agreed by grabbing his hand and pulling him across town, straight into your bed.

Javier knew who you were when he bumped into you, he knew you were a married woman, and he mentioned that he'd seen your husband spending his time with other women, so it's only fair you do the same, right? At first, you felt guilty, until that one night where your husband came home with obvious hickeys on his neck, and you got your own back by asking Javier to mark you ten times worse.

And yet again, Javier's now climbing up the same path to your balcony, swinging his leg over the railing, and finding his way into your bed once he watches your husband leave. You're practically starving every single day, desperate for a way out of this marriage, but even more desperate to spend time with your lover. It's crystal clear how much he enjoys playing this sinful game with you, and often reassures you during pillow talk that he's seen your husband do far worse. It's only a matter of time before the tower falls.

"Javier," you mutter, wrists tied to the bed posts, legs spread, and said man lapping away between them.

"Mhmm?" he hums, his mouth far too occupied as he continues wrapping his lips around your cunt.

"T-too much, come on," you beg.

"Not yet," he quickly blurts out, and returns to lapping at your clit, sliding two fingers into you and curling them perfectly. Thank the lord that you live on the outskirts of town with no attached neighbours; you can be as loud as you want, moaning to your hearts content as Javier mutters sweet praise against your lips. "Good girl," he mutters against your cunt, his fingers continuing to work you open.

"C-come on," you beg yet again, only this time you hear Javier chuckle against you.

"Alright," he sighs. Javier removes his fingers, and licks his lips as his head raises, meeting yours. "Always so impatient, aren't you?" he laughs, but he's also the one lining his cock up to your entrance, cutting your reply short as he slides in. "I don't blame you for being impatient, you know," Javier begins to mutter, jumping straight in to a quick pace. "You must be so deprived, all thanks to that shitty husband of yours. But I'm here now, I'm here to make sure you tire yourself out every night. If your husbands not going to use this pussy, then I might as well use it," Javier shrugs.

It's never slow and steady with Javier, always quick and heated, in a rush just in case your husband does come early, even on the nights where he doesn't come home at all. Your head is rolling back against the pillow, eyes falling shut, but Javier draws your attention back to him with a slap across your cheek. "Look at me when I'm fucking you," he orders, making your eyes go wide. "That's better."

Javier moves his hand to your throat, squeezing lightly between your jawline, enough to be pleasurable, but not enough to make your mind go hazy. "Open up," he orders, and your mouth falls open instantly, tongue sticking out. "That's a good girl," Javier praises, before dipping his head down and spitting directly into your mouth. "Swallow."

He's grinning as you swallow his spit, licking your lips afterward; your cheeks then begin turning red as Javier returns to choking you, a dark glisten in his eyes as he continues to pound you, thrusting into you like his life depends on it. "I fuck you good, don't I?" he asks.

"Uh-huh," you manage to sigh, nodding your head at the same time.

"Then why do you keep closing your eyes, hm? I want you to look at me whilst I'm fucking you," Javier barks, and lands another slap across your cheek. Instead of wrapping his hand around your neck, he places his fingertips on either side of your cheeks, squishing them slightly together and ordering you to order your mouth once more. You watch as he spits into your mouth again, but much slower this time, letting his spit drool off his tongue, slowly into your mouth, before dipping his head down and sealing the deal with a hungry kiss.

"Good girl," he praises again, his lips still pressed against yours. Javier's thrusts come to a halt, his cock sheathed deep inside you, and he props himself upright with a somewhat serious look on his face. "Are you going to let me do it tonight?" he questions, and you know exactly what he's on about.

"Yeah," you nod. You go to reach out, but you're quickly reminded about your wrists being tied to the bed posts, as if you've somehow forgotten.

"I guess you could say this is a punishment, huh?" Javier asks as he shifts his weight over to the edge of the bed, reaching down to pick up his gun belt, his cock still inside you. "I mean, naughty girls like you deserve to be roughed up," he continues, unsheathing his knife and twiddling it between his fingers. "Of course, I'm not going to hurt you, but I suggest you be a good girl and stay still," he smirks.

Javier's knife disappears from your sight, only for the cool metal to be pressed against your throat. The blade is barely touching your skin, hovering over you. However, it's close enough to send a chill down your spine, one that you attempt to contain in fear of the blade making contact with your throat. Javier picks up his pace again, starting with slow thrusts, ensuring the knife is at an angle where it's not going to hurt you. For a man who you met at the Saloon, you trust him, not just with keeping your affair a secret, but with hot and heavy situations like this.

"I'd say hold still, but I've already made sure you'll hold still," he laughs, gesturing with his blade to your bound wrists.

Within time, the roll to Javier's hips becomes quicker, his eyes flicking from yours to the knife at your throat. You know by now not to close your eyes, no matter how many times he hits those perfect spots inside you, your body urging to let your eyes fall shut as your head rolls back.

Javier moves the blade across your skin, trailing up your neck and jawline, and presses the flat part to your cheek. He urges you to tilt your head, and keeps the blade there as his lips meet your neck, marking you loud proud, clear enough for your husband to notice, not that he hasn't before.

"How many do you think I can leave before he says something?" Javier comments, chuckling between kisses.

"Javier, not whilst we're fucking," you sigh. The last person you want to think about right now is your husband, and Javier replies with a laugh, moving his head back up, his eyes meeting yours.

"Alright, alright," he replies. "Say, could you hold this for me? I need both my hands free if I'm going to fill you up."

Before you can verbally accept, Javier's already pressing his knife against your mouth; he's kind enough to slip the handle into your mouth, rather than the blade. Instead, the blade tickles your cheek, pointing to your side, whilst your lips are wrapped around the handle.

"That's very kind of you," Javier laughs. He wraps his hands around your thighs, pulling them up to his waist, and puts all his focus into chasing his orgasm, using you like some kind of cheap street whore, not that you mind.

This time, Javier is the one to close his eyes, his breaths becoming quick and short as he slams down into you. You're a whimpering mess, most of your moans muffled by his knife, but he soaks up every noise you make like sweet music to his ears.

"Shit-" Javier grunts, his cock coming to a halt inside you as he fills you up; you can feel his cock twitching, complimented by the heavy moans Javier's letting out. There's a thin layer of sweat forming on his forehead, which he accidentally presses to your shoulder as he rests against it, catching his breath as he comes down from his high. "Your turn," Javier softly mutters.

He slips out of you, and shuffles to rest beside you, propping himself up on his elbow. Javier's other hand goes straight to work, not wanting to leave you empty for too long; he slips two fingers inside you, accidentally pushing out some of his load, the white mess oozing out of your cunt. Javier's fingers curl, and he begins moving his wrist, hitting that spot inside you at a vibrating speed.

You let out a cry, muffled by the handle still locked between your lips. Javier smirks at your reaction, but he doesn't let up, keeping his pace fast, eager to see how quickly he can make you cum. As always, your body begins to shake, uncontrollably squirming in Javier's grasp. He's letting out sweet words of praise, "good girl," and "that's it, soak the bed for me."

"Javier, I-"

"What?" he questions, his fingers not losing their pace.

"We'll make a mess!"

"Not we, you. You'll make a mess," Javier chuckles. "And what's wrong with a little mess, huh? just make your husband sleep on the damp side."

For some unknown reason, Javier's comment catches you off guard; maybe it's the way he whispered it directly into your ear, or the thought of letting your husband suffer whilst you sleep peacefully, but either way, your orgasm hits like a train.

"That's it," Javier cheers, watching in awe as you squirt. He doesn't let up, his fingers still hitting that spot inside you, his palm brushing against your clit with every flick of his wrist.

Javier's milking you, and it's rapidly becoming too much, only you're still bound to the bed, unable to push him off, and the knife handle in your mouth is keeping you from calling out your protests. He's smart, Javier knows exactly what he's doing, or what he's done.

But eventually, you run dry, your body still shaking from an intense and drawn out orgasm. "That's my good girl," Javier praises, placing a kiss to your temple as he pulls his fingers from you. Javier sits up on his knees, using his dry hand to remove the knife and places it on your bedside table. "Here. Open. Clean me up," Javier orders.

Javier presents his fingers, and like the well trained slut that you are, you open your mouth, allowing him to slip his fingers inside. The taste is exactly what you'd expect, a mixture of squirt and cum, but you let your eyes shut as you clean his fingers, licking them dry, enjoying the soft moans and sighs he lets out as he watches in lustful amazement.

You're just about finished when you hear the front door slam. Javier and you share a look of pure horror, his fingers still between your lips, both of your eyes wide and visibly nervous. Javier quickly pulls his fingers from your mouth, rushing to grab his knife and cut you free from your binds, with caution.

As soon as you're free, there's a mad rush, both of you hurrying to pull your clothes on, followed by dumping all of your bedding into the laundry basket. There's almost no time for a kiss goodbye, but you manage to fit one in, sharing the taste of your regular encounter before Javier scurries out onto your balcony and hops the railing, disappearing into the night.

Thankfully, your husband doesn't trail upstairs straight away, giving you enough time to organize your laundry properly and put some fresh bedding on. And by the time he does, you're already sound asleep, worn out from yet another illicit encounter.

Isn't it about time you start looking into your divorce?

[kar-krashew]

my someplace is here [AO3]

Five times Alec gay panics at a bus stop (ft. umbrellas, jackets, and a bus driver who really isn't paid enough for this).

rated: T

for @rainyhuman and @peachygos (ily!)

This is so cliché and over the top and I have absolutely no regrets <3. Sometimes (always) Alec is a himbo who is in love and his actions reflect this entirely. I don't control these things.

One.

Alec Lightwood doesn’t believe in love at first sight, but the man across the bus stop is absolutely gorgeous, and he’s twirling in the rain like a goddamn movie cliché, and Alec’s first thought is holy shit, so maybe Alec Lightwood is an idiot, and love at first sight is definitely a Thing.

Alec’s second thought is that the man is an absolute maniac— because really, the dude doesn’t even have a coat on— but Alec’s the one with an insane urge to kiss a stranger in the middle of the street, so, whatever; They’re probably both maniacs.

Alec’s third thought is that he’s about to miss his bus. Shit.

—

Two.

For the record, Alec does not usually walk into bus stop poles while staring at his phone, nor does he usually yell out “Ow, shit — !” if the aforementioned event does happen to occur. He does, however, end up doing both of these things at once a week later, and the stifled laughter behind him informs him that someone at the stop has definitely seen him, and he’s never going to live this down, ever.

“I’ve personally found that walking around an obstacle tends to be much more effective, darling,” the someone says, and Alec supposes that was called for, but hey, rude. He looks up to face the speaker, preparing himself to be offended, and—

Oh.

It’s the beautiful stranger from last time.

The man smirks at him from the bench, drenched again, and God, he’s even prettier up close. Brown eyes, smudged eyeliner, water trickling down his neck, with a tunic open down to his navel and pants that look painted on— Alec’s brain is short-circuiting.

“Hit your head a little hard there? Or do you just see something you like?”

“Huh?” Alec glances up from where he’s been staring at the man’s collarbones.

“I asked if you saw something you liked, pretty boy,” the man repeats.

Alec opens his mouth, presumably to say something that would be considered appropriate and normal in this situation, but he somehow misses his own memo and instead stammers out: “I, uh, I have an umbrella.”

He prays the rain will have mercy and just drown him on the spot.

The man’s brow quirks upwards in amusement. “Excuse me?”

Alec, unfortunately, is still alive, so he must now suffer the embarrassment he’s managed to cause himself and find a way to explain whatever has just come out of his mouth. He ducks his head, trying to avoid eye contact as he speaks. “If you want it,” he elaborates, “I have an umbrella I can give you.”

The stranger just looks at him for a moment. Alec’s sure he’s going to be told to fuck off (which would be a perfectly understandable reaction and probably have been his own in this situation) but after another second, the man defies all of his expectations and grins, so wide that it steals a little of Alec’s breath away.

“Handsome and chivalrous, I see. Do you make a habit of offering your belongings to strangers?” the guy asks. “Besides, I’m sure you’ll need it later. Perhaps you should rescind your offer, I promise I won’t harbor any grudges.”

“I have a coat,” Alec insists, “and you’re. . .” —incredibly attractive, doing things to my brain function— “more in need of its services.”

He’s not really sure why he’s so adamant about this, especially since the man is right: he will be needing the umbrella later, but his pride’s involved now, and he hasn’t really been thinking things through for the past ten minutes anyway. He might as well argue about his dumb umbrella with a beautiful man at a bus stop.

“I suppose you’re right,” comes the man’s response. He taps painted nails against his chin as he hums. “I’m not in much of a position to refuse, now, am I? Though, I doubt I’d refuse any position with you involved,” he winks. “But, yes, if you’re being serious, I shall gladly accept your umbrella.”

Alec blinks. He honestly did not think that argument would’ve worked. (He chooses to ignore the blatant innuendo to preserve his sanity for now.)

“Well?” the man prompts.

“Oh! Yeah, sure.” Really, the whole zoning-out-while-staring-at-the-hot-guy thing is going to become a problem very fast if Alec keeps doing it every two minutes. He gathers his thoughts enough to fumble with the umbrella in his hand and give it to the man, who accepts it with a graceful flourish.

“I’m Magnus Bane, by the way,” the man offers. “I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced.”

“I’m Alec. Lightwood. My name’s Alec Lightwood.”

Magnus holds out a ring-covered hand from where he’s sitting. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Alec. Short for Alexander, I presume?”

“Yeah,” Alec nods. He reaches out to shake Magnus’s hand, adding, “but no one really calls me that.”

Magnus’s smile turns into something incredibly flirty, and Alec can feel his cheeks heating up. “I like to be special, Alexander,” the other says, “and it suits you far better.”

Alec’s not really sure how to respond to that, because the way Magnus says his name is doing things to him, and that, combined with the fact that he’s still clutching Magnus’s soft hand in his own, is probably going to give him a heart attack. He’s about to say something decidedly stupid about Magnus already being special and perfect and amazing when the bus saves him from humiliation and pulls up next to them.

Alec releases Magnus’s grip to awkwardly gesture at the vehicle. “I should really. . . you know,” he trails off, and Magnus blinks at him for a second, surprised.

“Oh, right! You should get going, places to be and all that.” He waves his hand through the air dismissively. “I’ll return your umbrella to you next week, same time?”

Alec smiles dopily as he nods. “That sounds great.” He takes a step back. “I’ll see you soon, then?”

“Of course.” Magnus gives him a little wave. “It was lovely to meet you, Alexander. Safe travels.”

“Thanks, uh, you too.”

Having to walk home in the rain is so worth it.

—

Three.

Izzy laughs at Alec for the entire week when she finds out why his umbrella’s been missing, then makes it worse by telling Jace, who gives Alec an incredibly long-winded speech about umbrellas as metaphors for protection during sex or something. He also deigns to throw a condom at Alec’s face when he leaves to get the bus, which sends Izzy into another bout of cackling laughter.

They’re both assholes, and Alec is never going to cover for them at family dinners ever again.

So he’s scrolling through his phone at the bus stop, trying his best to ignore the increasingly obscene texts his siblings are sending him, when Magnus shows up, bright and beaming and decidedly dry this time, though he’s still not wearing a jacket despite the cold.

And dear lord. If Alec thought Magnus looked gorgeous while soaked in rainwater, this is something else entirely. Gold-streaked hair, unbuttoned shirt, immaculate matching eyeshadow— fuck.

“Alexander!” Magnus greets. He sits down beside Alec on the bench, and grins as he hands over Alec’s umbrella. “Finally a little dry, hm? Though I might’ve underestimated the cold and left my coat back home.”

“Yeah,” Alec says. “Not that you were wearing one when it was raining.” He’s trying his best not to stare at Magnus’s mouth, but the man is very close to Alec’s face right now, and he cannot be blamed if his gaze slips a few times, okay? He’s only human.

Magnus shrugs, drawing Alec’s sight to his shoulders instead. “Coats are irrelevant, anyway. I haven’t worn mine all week, so I might as well continue the trend,” he remarks, and Alec snorts.

“I don’t think that’s as impressive as you think it is. You sound like a petulant toddler. How have you not had, like, five colds by now?” he says. Magnus feigns a pout in response, and Alec stifles a laugh.

“Such cruelty, Alexander!” Magnus replies, “Ah, I suppose I’ll just have to suffer the elements until I’m finally back home again, since no one seems to harbor any sympathy for me. Woe is me, and all that.” He tightens his hands around his biceps, rubbing up and down to warm himself up while sighing dramatically, and Alec, well,

Alec gets a really stupid idea.

“Do you want my jacket?” he asks. “I won’t be out in the cold for that long, and I’m wearing a much warmer shirt than you are.”

Magnus’s lips part in surprise as something conflicted flashes behind his eyes. “I—” he starts, then clears his throat. “I wasn’t being serious, darling. That’s your jacket.”

“Is that a no?”

There’s a moment of silence before Magnus shakes his head. “No, it’s not. I, uh, I’d love that.”

Alec beams, and Magnus clears his throat again. “You’re horribly trusting of someone you’ve only met twice,” he says, voice a little strangled, but Alec just shrugs as he begins to wrestle the black fabric off of his shoulders.

“It’s just a jacket,” he explains, leaning closer to drape it over Magnus, “Even if I never got it back, at least you wouldn’t freeze to death on your way to wherever you’re headed.” He fixes the lapels dutifully, and smiles to himself. “Besides, you’ve already given me my umbrella. I trust you.”

“Is that so,” Magnus answers weakly, which prompts Alec to look up from his fiddling, and oh wow, their mouths are so close to each other’s.

If Magnus inches in just a little bit closer, then they’d—

They’d—

“Um!” Alec jerks backwards, face flushing, “Yes, uh,” he stammers, trying not to look overwhelmed. It’s not going great, because moving back means that he’s now being treated to the sight of Magnus in Alec’s jacket, and he’s having some issues thinking properly right now. It swallows Magnus’s wrists almost entirely and looks far too plain for his expensive printed shirt, but fuck. It’s possible that Alec didn’t think this through.

Magnus opens his mouth, hopefully to tell Alec to kiss him but also probably to tell him to fuck completely off for whatever move they almost pulled, but the bus suddenly turns the corner and pulls into view, cutting him off.

Alec’s not sure whether he’s relieved or furious about this.

“Next week, then,” he ventures. Magnus blinks at him slowly, then nods.

“Yes, of course,” he smiles softly. “Next week.”

—

Four.

“Remind me again, why your presence is necessary today?” Alec grits through his teeth, tightly gripping his umbrella as the rain pours down on them. Izzy punches his arm, not even looking up from her phone as she does so, where she is no doubt giving Jace a play-by-play of Alec’s every action as they walk towards the bus stop.

“Because I’m never one to miss out on good blackmail content,” she replies, which is true. She’s got about four folder’s worth of content of “embarrassing shit Alec has done” on her phone, most of it consisting of his painful attempts at being straight in high school, and Alec’s pretty sure she’s started a fifth, probably titled “Alec’s horrible attempts at flirting with men,” which isn’t that much better than the straight one. Alec is debating turning around and just walking to his destination so that his sister won’t be able to gain more content for her virtual blackmail folders, which is exactly when Magnus comes into Alec’s field of vision.

Alec freezes in his tracks. Holy shit.

Magnus is standing in the center of the street again, drenched from head to toe with his head thrown back . The streetlights illuminate him from above, highlighting the curve of his neck and the colored streaks in his hair as he laughs to himself, staring up at the stars.

He looks ethereal. Alec’s never been one for the romantics, but he’s pretty sure this is what poets mean when they talk about true love and angels and immortal moments in time.

“Oh, he’s hot,” Izzy whispers approvingly. Alec agrees, because, obviously, but he pretends he’s unaffected and straightens his face.

“He’s probably freezing,” he says instead. Izzy rolls her eyes— she gets that from him, he really should stop doing that— and then, before Alec can stop her, calls out.

“Hey! Hot Umbrella Guy!”

What the fuck.

“Are you insane?” Alec hisses. He was trying to look nonchalant and not like the totally lovestruck idiot he is, but now Izzy is waving at Magnus like a maniac and Magnus has noticed them and is walking towards them and Alec is going to die. He’s going to write Izzy out of his will and then he is going to collapse into a heap of embarrassment and gay panic right here, and it’s going to be his sister’s fault.

“Relax a little, hermano,” Izzy replies, and before Alec can provide her with an alphabetized list for every reason he cannot relax, Magnus is already standing before them, smiling as water trickles from his hair.

God, he’s beautiful.

“Hello, hello!” he greets. Alec suddenly notices that Magnus is wearing Alec’s jacket, which is, well. Something. (Izzy is never going to let him live this down, and also Alec is having a very hard time thinking any thoughts.)

Magnus seems to notice Alec’s wandering line of sight, following it and glancing down, eyes widening. “Oh my god, I was fully intending to return this to you, I’m so sorry. I got a little distracted. I’ll have it cleaned and returned to you next time, I promise,” he explains. Alec shakes his head.

“No worries,” he manages, cutting himself off before he says something even stupider like “it’s yours forever” or “marry me” or something, and Izzy snorts from beside him. Alec hates her.

“Thank you,” Magnus says, then turns to face Izzy, “And what may I call you, dear?”

“I like him,” Izzy declares, in what Alec assumes is meant to be a reassuring whisper but instead ends up being incredibly loud, “I’m Izzy, Alec’s sister. And I assume you’re the elusive Magnus I’ve heard so much about?”

“Izzy,” Alec warns. Magnus smirks and shakes her hand.

“The one and only,” he confirms. There’s a mischievous sort of glint in his eye as he glances back up at Alec, and Alec’s not sure how he feels about Magnus and his sister already getting along so well, but he’s sure it can’t lead anywhere good.

“Well, Isabelle,” Magnus says, “If I asked him, do you think your brother would join me for a dance?”

Alec chokes. “What?” he splutters. Magnus turns his grin to face him.

“If I asked, Alexander, would you join me for a dance?”

“I—” Alec starts, staring down at the hand Magnus has outstretched in front of him. There are so many reasons he should say no, and so many reasons this is a bad idea, but also the most beautiful man Alec has ever seen is holding his hand out for him to take, and what else is he supposed to do? “Yeah,” he says. “Sure.”

The first thing Alec notices is how soft Magnus’s hand is in his as he pulls him out into the rain, laughing as it hits his face again, and Alec can’t help but laugh along even as water soaks into his shoes and drenches into his socks. There’s something so childish about it; giggling and spinning in an empty street without any music, holding hands like toddlers, and Alec wouldn’t have it any other way.

“You’re thinking too much,” Magnus murmurs, then he tilts his head back and closes his eyes. “It’s about being in the moment.”

Alec smiles. If only he knew, all he’s thinking about is this moment: how the water catches in Magnus’s lashes, how he’s humming something entirely off-key under his breath, the way he presses against Alec’s chest. Fuck. Alec’s known this man for three days, and he’s halfway in love already.

He closes his eyes against the rain, too, and smiles at the thought: loving a man like Magnus Bane.

Yeah, he could get used to that.

—

Five.

When Alec reaches the bus stop today, Magnus is nowhere to be seen and Alec’s jacket is sitting in a bag at the bus stop with a little post it signed with the letter “M.”

It’s fine, Alec tells himself. Magnus is probably just busy with something else, and this has nothing to do with the fact that Alec froze up awkwardly when Magnus kissed him on the cheek last week, to the point where Magnus had to nervously laugh it off because Alec was too busy panicking.

It’s a flimsy argument, but it keeps Alec from losing his mind for about fifteen minutes until the bus pulls up early and Alec realizes that this is it. He’s not going to see Magnus this week— maybe not ever again, if Magnus has decided that Alec’s gay panic is not worth his time, and Alec wouldn’t even blame him.

God, he feels so stupid. If he hadn’t acted like a complete idiot last time, then he would’ve at least had some closure.

“Sir, are you getting on or are you waiting for another bus?”

Alec blinks, glancing up to see the bus driver raising her eyebrow at him. “Right, sorry, give me just a mo—”

“Alec!”

It can’t be.

“Alexander!”

Alec spins on his heel, turning to face whoever called his name, and oh my god, it’s Magnus. He’s running up to the bus stop, waving frantically, and Alec is overcome with such a large wave of relief that he forgets that the bus driver’s been waiting for him for like five minutes now and he climbs off and runs towards Magnus, only vaguely registering the sound of the bus leaving without him. He doesn’t even care; Magnus is standing right in front of him, panting heavily but still so beautiful and perfect, and Alec would walk home everyday if he got to see Magnus because of it.

“Alexander,” Magnus huffs, gathering his breath. He absentmindedly reaches out to grab Alec’s shoulder, and Alec immediately wraps his arms around his waist to stabilize him. “Oh lord, one second, I ran all the way here.”

“I thought you were gone,” Alec says, still holding onto him. “You left the jacket and I thought—” he trails off.

Magnus frowns. “I’m so sorry,” he says. “I thought I’d made you uncomfortable last week and didn’t want to make it worse, but I didn’t realize how rude not showing up would be. I know you probably don’t feel the same way but perhaps we can still be friends? I can be completely professional about it, though you seem to have just missed your bus—”

Alec grabs Magnus’s tunic (because he’s still not wearing a jacket, Jesus Christ) and kisses him.

Magnus blinks at him when they pull away. “Oh,” he says, a little breathless, and Alec smiles.

“I don’t want to be professional about it,” he admits.

“Oh. . .”

Magnus still seems shell-shocked, so Alec makes a move to let go of him, shifting his arm away from Magnus’s waist, but then Magnus leans back in and presses his mouth back to Alec’s and oh, nevermind then.

Alec’s not sure how long they spend there, kissing like handsy teenagers under the roof of the bus stop, but he’s aware of a few cars passing (and possibly another bus), so he’s not ignorant of the fact that it’s definitely been a while when they finally pull away for more than a second. Magnus is staring at his mouth when they part, though, which is not helping Alec’s resolve to actually have a conversation about this.

“We should talk,” he manages, and Magnus nods, still staring at his mouth.

“Right,” he agrees. “That would be a wise course of action.” His eyes flick upwards for just a moment, and something flickers behind them before he beams. “My place is two stops away, if you’d like to talk there. Perhaps we can wait for the next bus together, since we seemed to have missed the one I usually take? It might take a while, though.”

Ah. Alec swallows back a grin of his own. “Of course,” he replies, “I don’t suppose you know any way to keep us busy till then?”

“I’m sure I could think of something.”

(The bus comes late, and they still somehow almost miss it. Alec refuses to take any blame for this.)

—

+ One.

Alec Lightwood didn’t believe in love at first sight, but the man standing at the bus stop is smiling softly at him as he approaches, twirling an umbrella between his hands as he waits, and Alec’s first thought is holy shit, so maybe Alec Lightwood was an idiot, because what else could it have been?

“Hello, stranger,” the man says when Alec finally reaches the stop. He glances down, taking in Alec’s rain-soaked button down and slacks, and grins. “Forget your umbrella back home?”

Alec laughs. “My coat, too,” he agrees. “I got distracted this morning.”

Magnus hums, leaning in to kiss the rain off of Alec’s mouth, and Alec smiles into it, tasting the faint wax of lipstick and the salt of the rain. “Must’ve been a pretty good distraction.”

“Yeah,” Alec says. He leans in again, because he can. They have time. “He is.”

Magnus’s lips have got a lovely little tilt to them by the time they pull away, tint slightly smudged from Alec’s attention, and he’s never looked more beautiful, even with the dingy lighting of the shitty bus stop they’re standing under.

God, Alec loves him. He feels a little stupid with the feeling, and he can’t help but step back out onto the rain, holding out his hand.

“Hey,” he murmurs. Magnus’s eyes light up with understanding. “Care to join me for a dance?” And sure, Alec’s shit at dancing, and sure, they have to get on the bus sopping wet minutes later, but they’re both giggling like idiots and clutching the umbrella together between their intertwined hands and Alec’s got a little ring box in his pocket just waiting for the right moment, so what else matters?

They’ll probably have to invite the bus driver to the wedding, though. It’s only fair.

[littlestarofthewest]

I'm glad you opened requests again! Your writing is 👌🏻👌🏻👌🏻I've been thirsty af for a fic where M!Reader and Arthur are fucking and Arthur manages to make the reader cum without even touching his dick, just pure prostate stimulation (preferably with his dick but fingers are good too). Obviously no pressure to actually write it tho!

Thank you for turning this into a tip request. It was a pleasure to write 😄

In The Deep

Pairing: Arthur x m!reader | Words: 2630 | Rating: Explicit (18+)

You sink deeper into the water, feeling like you're floating on clouds. Since you're used to washing in cold streams or lakes, a hot bath is easily the highlight of your month. That, and your company.

Arthur comes over and puts a towel down on the chair next to the tub. "Let me guess, you'll never come out of there."

"If you keep bringing me hot water when it runs cold."

"Oh no," Arthur says, laughing, "that was a one time deal because you looked miserable. I ain't your maid."

Arthur says so, but you're still wondering why he drew you a bath in the first place. You came here to rob a stagecoach or a train, but Arthur found this homestead instead. It belongs to a wealthy family that likes to stay in the city over the winter.

You could have just robbed it and moved on, but it's well off the grid, and you've been on the road for days. Arthur said you should take the opportunity to relax a little, and now that you're soaking in the water, you have to thank him.

"Sure you don't want in on this?" you say, feeling a little guilty that Arthur went to all this trouble for you.

"Maybe tomorrow; I'm good for now."

Arthur's leaning back on the chair, lighting a cigarette, and you can't help but watch him. You've been doing that ever since you joined the gang. There's just something about Arthur that draws you in.

You've seen him beat and kill people, knowing full well that he's by definition not a good man, and although you're usually suspicious about pretty much everybody, you trusted him from the start. Not that he ever tried to get you there. In fact, you've rarely seen someone who tried so hard not to be loved. You fell for him anyway. 

It all started with little things like a lingering touch while passing a gun or Arthur always picking you to bring along on hunts and jobs. That led to whispered conversations while stalking your prey and sharing a tent during cold nights.

You remember the day at the lake like it was yesterday. Arthur helped you bring in this ridiculously big fish, both of you overjoyed. You've rarely seen Arthur this light-hearted before and couldn't help but kiss him. You sat with him by the fire deep into the night before you cuddled up for warmth. And then…

"What are you thinking about?" Arthur asks, leaning over to look into the tub.

The mere memory of being with Arthur gave you a sizable boner, and you take a deep breath. "You told me to relax, remember?"

"That I did," Arthur says, putting out his cigarette.

He comes over and puts his hands on your shoulders, running them up and in your hair. Then he gets some soap and takes his time to wash you from head to toe. You wish you could tell him to stop, but you've never been pampered like this before. You only get out of the tub when the water finally runs cold, and Arthur helps to get you dry.

"Sure you're not my maid?" you tease.

Arthur only rolls his eyes before putting a quick kiss on your lips. "Come on, you haven't seen the best part."

He leads you into the next room, and you can't quite believe your eyes. The bed is enormous compared to what you're used to, with more pillows and blankets than anybody could ever need.

"Some people live like this all the time," you say with wonder.

"And today, we do as well," Arthur says with a shrug. "Help me out of these clothes."

You're all too happy about that command and open the buttons on Arthur's shirt. He peels himself out of it while you move on to his pants and then the union suit. There aren't many things that you like as much as undressing Arthur. 

Somehow you feel closer then, being the one trusted enough to see Arthur vulnerable. As much as you love him with hat, spurs, and guns, just Arthur is everything to you. 

He's still very much in control, but out of choice rather than appearing so in front of others. You learned early on that Arthur is anything but a dumb brute who only knows force.

The second Arthur's naked, he draws you in for a kiss, but before you can cling to him like a second skin, he leads you to the bed.

"Let's get you in there," he says, and you crawl on top of the sheets.

"Jesus, that's soft," you say, making Arthur chuckle.

He comes after you and moves you around, so you lie flat on the bed. You stretch out your arms and legs, enjoying the space and how you sink a little into the fresh bedding under you.

Arthur crawls over you, kissing you. All of this seems too good to be true, making you think about the alternative. You could be fleeing from the law right now or sit in jail after a robbery gone wrong. 

"Arthur?" you ask, a sudden thought creeping up on you.

"Hm?" Arthur hums while he nibbles on your neck.

"There was no train or stagecoach, was there?"

Arthur answers by kissing along your collarbone and down to your chest. It gets harder to concentrate, but you want to get to the bottom of this.

Did you know about this place before we got here?"

"Maybe," Arthur says, peppering your stomach with kisses.

"Why did you bring me here?" you ask, and finally Arthur looks at you, a grin on his face.

"Pretty sure you know."

Heat rushes to your ears before a shiver runs down your spine. You always enjoy being with Arthur, but it means so much more that he planned this.

"What's Dutch going to do to us when he finds out that we didn't rob anything?" you ask.

"Don't worry about that," Arthur says. He moves back up along your body, placing soft kisses here and there until his face is hovering over yours. "Worry about what I'm going to do to you."

Arthur looks serious, and although you know that he'll never push you farther than you can handle, your heart pumps faster. You lift your head, coaxing Arthur into kissing you. It's soft and slow at first, but you can feel Arthur between your legs, so you roll your hips, rutting against him.

"Something you want?" Arthur asks, and you answer by pressing yourself against him.

"Pretty sure you know," you say, making Arthur grin.

He gives you a quick kiss before diving to the end of the bed, and when he comes back, he's holding a small bottle. "Let's get you nice and ready for me."

A tingling feeling takes hold of your whole body, and you wonder if you'll ever be with Arthur without it happening. For now, you let it wash over you and spread your legs, showing Arthur that you're more than willing to get ready.

Arthur takes his time, using a lot of oil that he rubs around your hole before carefully pushing his finger in. You'd be okay with him being more forward, but Arthur seems to be in a certain mood today. 

After taking care of you in the bath, he goes deliberately slow now, pushing his finger in in slow motion, always giving you time to adjust. By the time he actually moves his finger in and out, you're ready to beg for more.

"How does this feel?" Arthur asks, and you sigh.

"Great."

"Good," Arthur says, moving his finger again, and for a moment, it feels weird, like he's looking for something.

A jolt runs through your body when Arthur hits a particular spot, and you suck in the air through your teeth. Arthur puts his other hand on your stomach, rubbing in a circle. "Just relax."

"I'm trying," you say, but the sensation is strange. "It feels like I have to pee."

"That's normal, don't worry about it."

"Normal?" you ask, realizing that Arthur planned this as well. "What are you up to?"

"You trust me, right?" Arthur asks, his voice serious.

"Of course."

"Then let me take care of you. Just breathe and relax. I promise you'll enjoy it," Arthur says, before adding with a chuckle, "you're not going to pee. Don't worry about that."

You take a few shaky breaths before there's a regular rhythm to it again, and like Arthur said, you try your best to unclench your muscles.

The way Arthur strokes this one spot inside of you still feels weird, but when you breathe deeper and begin to trust that you won't pee yourself, the touch becomes more and more pleasurable. 

It's similar to having your dick pumped but also so different. The arousal seems to pool deeper inside of you but still has you standing rock hard. 

"See? You're doing just fine," Arthur says, and his voice makes it even easier for you to just let it happen. 

Arthur moves his other hand now, running it up to your chest and neck, caressing your thighs and teasing your nipples with soft touches that rile you up just enough, so you roll your hips. 

Meanwhile, Arthur doesn't stop stroking you, and you can't help looking down. Your cock is leaking way more than your usual precome, and a jolt of anxiety rushes through you.

Arthur must notice since he catches your eye and stops his movements for a moment. "Hey, look at me. It's alright, that's normal, too."

"Sorry," you say, reminding yourself that Arthur would never hurt you.

"Don't worry," Arthur says, going back to teasing you, "you're alright."

He leans in to pepper you with soft kisses wherever he can reach but leaving out your dick. Instead, he keeps up the pressure inside of you.

Once you stop thinking so much about it and focus on Arthur's touches instead, your whole body seems to grow warm from the inside, with your cock twitching in excitement. You roll your hips, your body sinking in the bedding as if you want to melt, and your breathing grows even slower. 

"Now, that's a good boy," Arthur says, his voice like a gentle caress. "You're doing so good."

Just listening to him always adds to your pleasure, and as you welcome the way he teases you more and more, your arousal grows. You're warm and relaxed, but your dick begs to be touched, and you can't hold in quiet moans when Arthur's finger hits you just right. 

"I need more," you say while Arthur touches every inch of your body except your dick.

"More?" Arthur asks, and you know that he wants you to actually spell it out.

"I want you inside of me."

Arthur gets the oil again, using more on you and his cock before crawling over you. You can't hide your excitement, but again, Arthur doesn't quite give you what you want.

He teases you with the tip of his cock, rubbing with enough pressure to drive you crazy but never pushing in. 

"Please, Arthur," you whine, "I need it so bad."

"Tell me," Arthur says, his voice deep and unyielding. 

"I want you to fill me up and make me lose my mind. I'll do anything. Please."

Finally, Arthur pushes into you, but just like he did with his finger, he stretches you open with his cock as slowly as he possibly can, even holding still once in a while.

The treatment makes you grab the sheets under you, and you buck your hips. "God, I beg you, Arthur. Please, please more."

"Someone's needy," Arthur chuckles, and you run your fingers over his chest, your nails digging into the skin.

"Please," you say again, the word coming from deep within, and Arthur must hear it in your voice.

He pushes as deep as he can go, filling you up. You sigh, a little bit of the build-up pressure leaving your body. Then Arthur kisses you again, his body lined up so perfectly with yours that you feel completely at ease. Arthur's weight on you, his scent, his lips on yours, it's home for you now.

Arthur rolls his hips, hot and heavy inside of you, and with his body trapping your dick between the two of you, you're right back to being on edge. You'd be happy to keep going like this, now that you're on familiar ground, but Arthur has other plans.

After a long kiss, he gets in a kneeling position, lifting your legs up over his shoulders. You're about to ask why but Arthur pushes into you, hitting that spot again.

"Jesus Christ," you moan, your body tensing up for a moment from the surprise.

"Relax," Arthur says, running his warm hand over your stomach. "That's all you have to do. I'll do the rest."

You take a deep breath, and like you did before, you lean into the feeling. Arthur's movements are slow and deliberate, quickly building up that hot sensation you noticed before.

When you close your eyes, Arthur pets your thigh. "That's good. Open up for me."

You're torn between looking at him and just focusing on yourself, but soon it becomes quite hard to miss what's going on. It's like Arthur is setting fire to your lower body. 

Looking at him as he holds on to your hips to thrust into you makes matters even worse. Your dick twitches like crazy, still untouched, and you're not sure how much longer you can take this.

"Arthur, please," you groan, having a hard time even catching your breath, "I need more."

"You're doing so good; just give it time."

You don't have a chance to argue, not with the way Arthur changes his rhythm. You can feel him deep inside of you, adding to the heat, and his voice becomes constant torture.

"God, I love watching you like this," Arthur says. "You're doing so good for me."

Listening to him makes you melt, and when Arthur thrusts into you with shorter bursts, something inside of you suddenly gives. It feels like a volcano erupts behind your cock, hot lava making its way up and down your body, sending heatwaves to the tips of your hair. 

"Arthur," you gasp, and he smiles.

"You're such a good boy. Let it happen. Come for me."

Every push of him drives you almost insane, your thighs shaking, and every muscle cramping in your body. Your cock pulses between your legs, and you stare in surprise at your own dick as you shoot your come onto your belly.

The relief that follows lingers just like your orgasm did, in a way that you've never experienced before. You close your eyes and just breathe, trying to burn that feeling into your memory.

Arthur slips out and lies down next to you, kissing your cheek. "You alright?"

You sigh before you turn to him to steal another kiss. "What the hell have you done to me?"

Arthur chuckles. "Why?"

"It never felt like this before," you say, caressing his chest with your fingertips. "You have to do that again."

"I think you're better off with a break," Arthur says with a smile.

You run your hand further down before you follow the same line with your lips. "You're right; let's take care of you first."

Unlike Arthur, you don't play it slowly but suck his cock into your mouth, eager to pay him back.

"Jesus Christ," Arthur curses, holding on to the sheets like you did. "Fine, you're a good boy. I'll do it again, I promise."

You hum around his cock, happy to apply what you already know, and you can't wait for Arthur to teach you more.

[extremelyblackandwhite]

innocence - 38

  PAIRING: bodyguard!bucky barnes x innocent actress!reader

WARNINGS: angst, smut (18+), oral (male receiving), handjob, slight innocence kink 

A/N: not me still not fully recovered from the “you wanna see what i can do with leverage” moment. oof, still gets me heated up. anyway, this smut was mostly inspired by my pinterest board showing me this and this which i feel would be something y/n would wear for bucky. enjoy xx 

NEXT CHAPTER

She didn’t know she was running, but she was. She ran off that room before he could catch up to her but through the middle of her thoughts she could hear him yell out for her and run after her. Maybe it was an adrenaline rush, the thought of getting severely hurt or any other thing but she had managed to outrun him, running into the main corridor where everyone was awaiting for the judge to announce the results. As Mr. Hawthorn screaming her name registered in her brain, she rushed to Bucky, taking him by surprise. Out of instinct he wrapped his arms around her, looking down to see her hiding her face in his chest. 

As Bucky started to wonder why she had suddenly appeared and even why she had left in the first place, Mr. Hawthorne made his way down the hall yelling out her name made it all the much clearer. Bucky held her slightly behind his back, hand tightly holding hers as the man made his way to them. Bucky held out his metal arm in front of him, stopping Hawthorne from getting any closer to her. 

     - Give me that phone, Y/N. Now. - he wasn’t yelling, his tone was constant as he starred both Bucky and Y/N down. She moved her phone behind her back, typing while maintaining eye contact with the agency director. - I said ...

      - Back off, man. - Bucky tried to remain calm, he knew having a major fight or even yelling at the man in front of him wouldn’t put him in a good spot. However, he’d be caught dead if he allowed that man to even dare to touch his wife.

      - C’mon, Y/N. You wanna play with leverage? At least step away from your guard dog and confront me or are you already too comfortable with being a housewife? 

      - You wanna see what I can do with leverage? - Bucky pushed him slightly backwards but Y/N stopped him before he could do anything else, squeezing his hand and handing out the man in front of the two of them her phone. Before Bucky could even complain about getting her phone back, Mr. Hawthorne left the two of them in a fast pace. - What the fuck was that? What did he do? Why did you give him your phone? 

      - Trust me, okay? - she cupped his face, leaning her forehead against his when she wasn’t even sure if what she did was going to work. Her eyes darted slightly across the hall, seeing Chuck with the lawyer but quickly returned to Bucky. - I love you. 

      - What’s wrong, princess?  Hm? What did he do to you?

      - I love you too would’ve been nice, Buck. - she teased.

      - You know I love you too that’s not the point. You’re trying to distract me. Don’t shut me out. 

      - I am not shutting you out, Bucky. Nothing happened, it’s fine ... he’s just ... upset at me. 

      - Why is he upset at you? 

      - I ...

      - Mr. Barnes. - the lawyer approached the two of them, interrupting her just  as she was about to start her sentence. - The judge has called everyone in, let’s go. 

      - Has the jury made a decision? - Y/N’s grip on Bucky’s hand tightened and she was almost frozen on the spot as he started to walk to back to the court room, but she didn’t move. 

      - Hey, it’s just us, princess. Just us. - Bucky smiled at her, kissing the top of her head but she could barely register things.

She couldn’t hear anything as the two of them walked to the court room’s door where they were separated again with Sharon, Steve, Sam and Chuck accompanying her to the bench while Bucky took off with the lawyer. She sat down on the harsh, cold wood, her heart beating fast as she tried to read Chuck’s face yet she couldn’t. The jury and judge arrived, and suddenly everyone was on their feet, waiting for whatever decision the jury had taken; however, the jury looked confused, almost puzzled by the fact they were back into the court room. 

      - It has come to my attention that further evidence as been found. As such, bailiff, take the witness Mr. Hawthorne into custody where he will be charged for the harassment and stalking of Y/N Barnes as well as obscuring justice. In the matter of The People vs James Buchanan Barnes, this case is dismissed. Mr. Barnes, you are free to go. 

A few oh my gods erupted into the court room which went into complete frenzy as the bailiff took Mr. Hawthorne into custody who merely stared her down and shouted out in disbelief. She turned over to Chuck who took his phone off his pocket and played the exact same audio which she had played to Hawthorne just a few minutes ago.

     - I could kiss you. - she hugged her friend, a big smile on her face.

     - Please, don’t. I am still largely afraid of your husband, he would crush me like a soda can. Do you want me to die such a painful death? After I had to somehow understand your typo filled text with the worse recorded audio I have heard. Sincerely, Y/N, Bucky would’ve done a better job and he is what? As old as dinosaurs?

     - You’re the best. - she kissed her friends cheek before going over to Bucky who was being swarmed by both his friends that had come to congratulate him, his lawyer and some reporters.

She smiled at him, standing in the back of the crowd and catching his eye despite everyone surrounding him. Bucky couldn’t care less about those people surrounding him, congratulating him and even some complaining that he once again had avoided paying for his mistakes. All she cared was catching her eye in the middle of the crowd, as if a spotlight shone onto her. 

     - I hope you enjoy being being out of a job for 10 years. - Mrs. Olson said as she passed by to probably be with Hawthorne but Y/N didn’t say anything. 

She knew what was on the line but she would throw it away for Bucky. If it came between Bucky being free or her career, she would always pick the first option. However, it didn’t sting any less.  Yet, this was not about her, not today. Today was Bucky’s day. The day where he got rid of the problem that she had brought upon the two of them and while it was now gone, it still occupied a tiny spot of her mind which screamed at her about her own guilt in this whole situation. The flashes were bright and she kept being pulled to the back as more journalists and reporters tried to get some time with the former Winter Soldier but he avoided them, breaking through the crowd to be with the only person he actually wanted to celebrate this with. 

    - What did you do, princess? - he wrapped his arms around her, turning to exit the court room and leave all this experience behind. - And don’t say it wasn’t you, the lawyer told me it was you.

    - He could be lying. 

    - You could’ve gotten hurt. Why didn’t you tell me? 

    - It was just a guess ... I didn’t want to raise your hopes over a guess. I’m sorry. - she leaned her head against his covered arm. - It’s my fault this whole thing happened and I thought if I fixed it, I’d feel better.

    - It’s not your fault this happened. You could’ve gotten hurt, he could’ve hurt you and then what?

   - He was not going to hurt me. - she scratched her neck. She knew it was a lie, everyone is capable of everything in her business. - I had to do something for you. I am ... I am so tired of being weak. 

    - You’re not weak, what are you talking about?

    - Weren’t you in this trial? They talked about you as if you were some cold blooded murderer and me as if I were the weakest person ever. As if I wasn’t standing in that room and hearing to it. If I could defend myself, if I had put my foot down none of this would’ve happened. 

Bucky’s heart broke as he heard her talk, tears pooling in her eyes as what she had been feeling for the past weeks of meeting, court days and witness speeches seemed to finally explode, breaking free from the pressure she had been putting on it so it didn’t show, so she didn’t feel weak. He had never felt weak before, helpless maybe but never weak. Even as the Winter Soldier he could easily overpower his handlers if he wanted to, he could overpower new recruits and pretty much everyone who he was presented with. He’d never felt weak, he’d never know what it was like to feel weak and he had never even considered she felt weak because he just did not see her as weak. She was soft but not weak, she had strength in her softness, in her kindness. She’d done things he couldn’t see himself doing in his mid twenties. 

     - Hey ... - he flushed her close to him, drawing invisible circles on her back and kissing her temple. - Do you wanna get cheesy chips?

     - I need to go say goodbye ...

     - It’s fine. - he combed her hair away from her face to kiss her forehead. - I don’t want you to get caught up in a mess with photographers. 

     - I’m ridiculous. - she cuddled against his side as he led her out the back of the court where he had parked his car. - I should be comforting you, not the other way around.

     - You’re not ridiculous. This was as bad for me as it was for you. - he opened the car door for her. - Besides, I love comforting you. 

     - Really? Because from what I know, you were the one in danger of being in prison for at least 5 years. The only danger for me was trying to get naked during spousal visits. 

     - Aw, princess. You were willing to get naked in prison, for me?

     - You’re ridiculous, Barnes. 

     - So are you, Mrs. Barnes. - he smirked. - You are not weak and you are not ridiculous. Are we clear? 

     - Don’t use your sergeant voice on me.

Bucky chuckled, putting the key onto the engine and turning it on as the car started to roar up. She leaned her head against his shoulder, mindlessly listening to the song on the radio, probably one of Bucky’s favourites. On that moment, she didn’t care her career was on hold for the next 10 years because he was here and he was free like he deserved. As he pulled in front of the chippy shop nearby his flat, she perked her head up to kiss the corner of his mouth. 

    - Can we do takeaway? I wanna go home. - she cuddled against his shoulder once more. 

    - Sure, princess. Stay in the car and I’ll be right back, yeah?

    - Yeah. 

He left the car, loosening his tie as he entered the shop, leaving Y/N in the car. She rose her hand up, looking at the wedding band on her finger. It had barely registered in her that she was married, she of all people. She knew she wasn’t attention’s sweet centre and she knew she definitely did not deserve a guy like Bucky. God, in her wildest dreams she’d never thought she’d even end up with a man as caring and thoughtful as he is. It was almost surreal she’d even gotten married without having to fight her agency, at least too much. Her lips stretched in a smile as her husband came out of the shop, a toothy, childish grin on his lip as he waved the brown paper bag on his way to the car door.

He drove the two of them back to the flat and once they were inside, her shoes were thrown to one side as well as his tie and jacket and the couple made themselves comfortable on the couch. Y/N sat on Bucky’s lap, takeaway on her lap while he held his on his hand with the other searched for something to watch on TV, eventually landing on The Honeymooners.

    - I need to take you on a honeymoon. 

    - I don’t need a honeymoon. 

    - Bullshit. - he held her close by, hearing her giggle through the small digs onto the plastic container. - Where do you wanna go? C’mon, entertain me. 

    - Hm ... - she looked up, nose slightly scrunched. - Italy. 

    - I was stationed in Italy for a while. Nice place, great food. Where about?

    - There’s this movie called Letters to Juliet, it’s in Verona, and I always thought it looked so romantic. 

    - Okay, princess. Whenever you want, I’ll take you to Verona and we will have a nice month long honeymoon. 

    - Month long? 

    - Yeah. If we go any less, we won’t have time to do any sight seeing. 

    - Why is that?

    - Because I do intend to have sex with you in every part of the hotel we stay in. - he kissed the crook of her neck, taking the takeaway container away from her and placing it on the coffee table. - Maybe even try it in those tiny Italian balconies.

    - You just escaped five years of prison and you’re thinking of vouyerism already?

    - You shouldn’t look so pretty, then. - he hooked his finger under her chin and turned her face towards him, giving her a long drawn out kiss. His hand climbed up from her thigh up to her dress, pushing the sleeve down to expose her shoulder. His stubble rubbed against her soft kiss as he laid a kiss on the subtle skin of her shoulder.

   - Mhm, Buck ... - her hand pushed his shoulder back and he immediately pouted. - I have to shower. I smell like the dusty, mouldy court room and I’d like that smell off me. 

    - Mind if I join? - he pulled the sleeve off her other shoulder but she held her dress against her chest before it could fall down. - I can give you a massage.

   - If I allow you with me in the shower, there will be no showering. - she got off his lap, pushing her dress up. - I’ll be back. Try to keep the pouting to the minimum until I’m back. 

   - Just so you know, you’ll need another shower after you’re back. 

Y/N rolled her eyes, before padding into the bathroom, leaving Bucky on his own in the living room shuffling through various channels. The shower on the background was running until it was running for too long, Bucky turned his head around, looking at the door that led to the bathroom.

    - Princess, everything ok? - he prepared to get up and check on her but was. interrupted by her opening the door.

She stood against the door wedge with her typical shyness which made her so endearing to anyone who met her, yet, this time, it was something other than endearment that Bucky was feeling when looking at her. She was dressed in a white corset and knickers with a small floral print and small pink ruffles at the edge of her underwear. The corset was also adorned with a blue ribbon and small blue bow, everything covered in with one of her many short satin robes that she normally used over her pyjamas or over one of Bucky’s shirt which always looked like a dress on her. 

    - Were you wearing that ... - he cleared his throat, trying not to stare at her perky chest. - Were you wearing that today? 

    - No, I bought this one in case you won. - she closed the door of the bathroom behind her, padding barefoot over to the couch, standing in front of him, her robe slightly slipping of her shoulder. - Do you like it? 

    - Fucking hell, princess. - he leaned forward, hands wrapping around her waist to pull her close to him. 

    - It looks silly, doesn’t it? I don’t know, I just thought I’d wear something nice and do so ... - Bucky interrupted her rambling by kissing her, his hands pushing the robe fully off her and throwing it somewhere in the living room. His hands massaged her thighs and upper body until they were cupping her face, kissing her as if he hadn’t seen in her in ages. 

Her hands rest upon his shoulder, lips melded against his in a long, drawn out kiss. She whined as Bucky moved his lips from hers to her jaw and slightly under it, sucking the subtle and sensitive skin he found there. She allowed herself to get lost in the feeling of his slight stubble against her sensitive skin, drawing kisses and leaving hickeys with slightly rough lips. His hands scouted her corset for the square brackets, loosening the garment and pulling it over her head before leaning to kiss her again. She smiled against the kiss, breaking it to look at him which greatly annoyed Bucky, who tried to kiss her again. 

    - No... - she pushed him back against the couch as he tried to kiss her collarbones. Her hands toyed with the fabric of his shirt, fingers trailing up and down his chest. - Let me do something for you.

    - Princess ... - she ignored his pleas and attempts to pull her in and distribute more kisses all over her body.

Instead she climbed off his lap, standing on her knees in front of him, eyes looking up to him with a devious like innocence which was intoxicating to him. Her hands ran up his thighs, nails racking over the fabric of his trousers until they reached his belt. She bite her lip, unbuckling the accessory and tossing it aside before pushing his trousers down along with his underwear. She gripped his cock in her hand, her finger swiping the pre-cum off his tip before he started to move her hand slowly up and down.

    - Oh fuck ... - Bucky groaned, throwing his head back with his eyes shut. She smirked at this reaction, continuing to move her hand up and down in a painfully slow motion. 

Bucky groaned and moaned, head pressed against the headrest of the couch, eyes closed and lips opened. Her confidence grew at the sight of her completely blissed out husband and she stopped her motions. Before Bucky could whine about it, she kitten licked his tip before licking a broad stripe up his cock eliciting a low grumble from him. He looked down at his wife through half closed eyes, locking eye contact with her. Y/N gave him an innocent smile with innocent eyes before taking him in her mouth. Bucky breathed out, high gasp as his hand gripped onto the couch cushions. He moved his hips forward unconsciously, his cock hitting the back of her throat. She breathe through her nose as she bobbed her head up and down his cock slowly, cheeks hollowed out as she made it upon the spot. 

   - Fuck, princess. Fuck, you’re so good, fucking hell. - Bucky breath harshly as she picked up the pace, her movements almost matching up with his breathing tempo until she started to vigorously suck his tip, getting him almost shaking before returning to take him inside her mouth once more. - Fuck, stop. Stop. 

  - Did I do something wrong? - she pushed her hair behind her ears.

  - Come here. - Bucky helped her up and on top of his lap, pushing her underwear down her legs before he did so. She held herself up by holding onto his shoulders, staying slightly taller than him as he holstered her up. 

She looked down as he looked up, his eyes gazing onto hers as he lowered her down onto his hard cock, silencing her whimpers with a consuming kiss. Her skin seemed to flush hot and cold at the same time as he filled her to a halt. Bucky let her accommodate to his size, kissing down from her lips to her collarbones.

    - Fuck, you’re pretty. - he panted, moving to kiss her neck while his hands held her still. - So fucking pretty, princess.

    - Bucky, please ... move. - she hide her head in the space between his shoulder and neck, a hot flush settling in her cheeks. 

    - I’m not gonna ... fuck ... I’m not gonna move if you hide, princess. - he spoke through moans, voice strained due to the grip of her walls around him, pulsating. - Look at me, look at me when I’m fucking you. Let me see your pretty face. 

Y/N whined, moving to look at him as he flushed her chest against his. She probably looked a mess yet had no time to worry about that once he started to push her hips up and down on him, eventually leading her into riding him. Her hand slide from his shoulder to his chest as she bounced on top of him, the sound of skin slapping against each other along with the moans and groans of both of them as they chased their high. She felt her own walls pulsating with each thrust, her lower belly coiling up as she continued to move up and down his cock as if she were going to die if she stopped. She gasped and whined, continuing with her movements as the coil continued to tighten up and her movements sped up. 

   - That’s it, princess. Such a good girl. - he moaned against her ear, silencing some of her moans with messy, wet kisses. - You wanna cum on my cock, hm? I know you want to.

   - Buck ... - her gasp was high as her walls spasmed and her body tensed. The grip on his dick led him over the edge just a few seconds later and he pulled her completely flush against him, feeling him cum fill her up and leak onto both hers and his thighs. She hide her head on the crook of his neck, mewling while she regained her breathe. 

Bucky chuckled through his breathlessness before slipping out of her which caused her to let out a small whine before he laid her down on the couch, arms wrapped around her. 

   - Make that a 3 month long honeymoon. - he cuddled her against his chest. 

   - How much of that will be sex? - she looked up, completely blissed out.

   - You’ll get a week of sightseeing if you keep pulling this on me.  

   - Right. - she rolled her eyes. - I forget that you are old and cannot take this much excitement. 

   - Are you teasing me, Mrs. Barnes?

   - Maybe. - there it was, the little playful smirk he loved so much. 

   - Oh, princess ... - he lifted her up as he got up from the couch, walking towards their bedroom. - You’re gonna regret that. 

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[kstewdeux]

@inukagfluffweek

August 11, 2021 - Touch

Lewd

For the life of him, Inuyasha could not figure out why people were staring at them more than usual or, more unnervingly, why Miroku kept giving him some very uncomfortable glances filled to the brim with amusement. Per the norm when the things made him uneasy, Inuyasha had taken to sticking a little closer to Kagome than he traditionally would have in a clearly hostile village. Not because he couldn’t protect himself, okay? He was perfectly capable of protecting himself and had for over a hundred years. And, to be clear, being around her didn’t make him feel safe. Definitely didn’t need to feel safe when he could defeat these assholes with one hand behind his back. He absolutely did not need Kagome to protect him and she wouldn’t be able to do much on that front in any case. It was just that he felt a little more secure near her. Secure was not the same thing as safe. Not at all. He didn’t need her to feel safe. Just…a little more confident when he was admittedly a little anxious people were staring. At first, it actually wasn’t that bad but the stares just kept getting worse and so…

But he was not staying close because he was scared. He wasn’t scared of anything. Except, well, losing her so…so that was probably why he felt the need to stay close. So he could protect her if shit hit the fan. Knowing that she was safe made his chest less tight and his stomach stop churning. Sure as hell wasn’t because…

Letting out a controlled exhale, Inuyasha distractedly flicked at some crust that had somehow lodged itself in the corner of one eye before letting his hand drop again.

“What a beautiful public display,” Miroku hummed as he sidled up to his companions and gave Inuyasha a mischievous grin, “It’s almost heartwarming to see two young people so in love.”

For some unknown reason, Kagome choked as her heart started beating so fast from fear Inuyasha’s instincts nearly went into overdrive. Why the hell was the wench so terrified?

Glancing around, amber eyes widened at the realization that Kagome might be just as worried about the stares they’d been receiving. Maybe she was staying close to him for….similar reasons he’d been staying close to her.

“You need to shut up,” Inuyasha hissed quietly before lowering his volume more so as to not be overheard - somehow making the monk look even more amused, “This ain’t the place to say shit like that. The villagers have been watching me like a hawk.”

“I absolutely cannot imagine why,” Miroku snickered as he pointedly glanced down and set his jaw to keep his shit eating grin in check, “In any case, Sango is almost done buying provisions so why don’t we move on ahead, hm?”

“Fine by me,” Inuyasha huffed as he began walking forward only to realize - when the thing in his hand jerked once to keep him in place - exactly why people were staring. Amber eyes widened in mild horror as they darted to the hand clasped securely in his own which was attached to the miko herself.

When did they start holding hands? He sure as hell didn’t do that and yet his palm was slightly sweaty indicating he’d been holding her hand for some time now.

“We should wait for her,” Kagome chided nervously as she gave Inuyasha’s hand a light squeeze making butterflies erupt in his stomach, “It shouldn’t be much longer.”

Mentally going over their day, Inuyasha tried to pin point when exactly the hand-holding started. They’d been walking side by side most of the day but he…he didn’t remember…

She must’ve started it.

“Why are you holding my hand?” Inuyasha asked - even though he took no action to cease the contact.

Giving him a strange look, the miko gave him an answer he did not like.

“Because you kept putting your hand in mine?” Kagome replied slowly - her worried look morphing into an amused one, “Wait…”

Some flashed behind her eyes and the melting look on her face made his stomach churn.

“Aw, you didn’t…”

“No ‘aw’. There is no ‘aw’ here,” Inuyasha huffed as he pulled his hand back and tucked both hands into his sleeves, “You did this. Not me.”

The melting look increased and Kagome gave him an affectionate smile.

“Awww….”

“What did I say about no ‘aw’!” Inuyasha huffed desperately, “I didn’t start this.”

“Yes you did,” Kagome sing songed and much to Inuyasha utter shock, a nearby elderly human woman chuckled softly to herself while looking between the pair with something akin to strangerly affection. Which disturbed him as much if not more than whatever was happening with him and his wandering hand.

Breathing heavily, Inuyasha’s mind continued racing down every moment of this fateful day. Trying to find the moment or apparently moments where he’d been the one to instigate the offensive touch but no matter how hard he tried, he had no memory of it. None whatsoever. Every minute of that day had felt natural. Normal even.

“D-do I do shit like that a lot?” he finally asked - his Adam’s apple bobbing as he tried to keep his composure.

“No but I liked it,” Kagome admitted with a hum before taking a step closer and giving him a shy smile that had his ears pinning back against his head.

And then she did something that absolutely crashed his mind…

She stood on her tiptoes and pressed a quick kiss on his cheek.

“You can hold my hand whenever you…”

“Are you insane?! You can’t just kiss me like that in strange villages,” Inuyasha hissed as his mind finally caught up - his hand desperately trying to wipe away the perceived sin. Kagome’s grin only made his anger and discomfort grow hotter.

“To be clear then, it’s okay if I do that in familiar places?” came her teasing retort and for a moment, Inuyasha was almost very, very stupid. He almost said something along of the line of forbidding kisses entirely. Something he most certainly did not want to forbid. Especially considering she was pretty much saying she’d give him kisses if he wanted them.

Blushing faintly, Inuyasha decided the best course of action was to react normally. Brush her off and declare her stupid…

Thankfully the old woman watching saw the incoming relationship bomb coming before it landed and for some unknown reason, felt inclined to defuse the explosive before it detonated.

“Be bold boy and say yes,” the elderly woman chuckled softly, “A girl like that won’t wait for you forever and the monk is right. Anyone with eyes can see you love her.”

“Stay outta this” Inuyasha snapped irritably - a reaction to which the old woman thankfully seemed amused by, “What makes you so bold?”

Miroku’s hand flew to the top of his head - hoping his friend didn’t just incur someone’s wrath and also…didn’t Inuyasha just say they shouldn’t draw attention to themselves? Was this just how he coped with fear and anxiety? Antagonize people? If so, how was Inuyasha still alive?!

“Well this was my husbands village and now it belongs to my son. Everything that happens here is my business,” the old woman hummed - giving the somewhat nervous trio a reassuring smile, “And seeing as how you’re in my village, what I say goes.”

“Crack pot,” Inuyasha huffed - earning a full blown facepalm from the miko - and the old woman, to her credit, simply smirked. Not at all afraid of the teenager even with all his fangs and demonic energy. Mostly because he was obviously domesticated and in the presence of equally powerful friends who could stop him from doing any real damage but also because this demon clearly had a good heart and therefore, she reasoned, wouldn’t harm her.

And while that was all mostly true, that didn’t mean Inuyasha wasn’t seriously considering punching her.

“Inuyasha, you need to be nicer to people.”

“Fine. Fine,” Inuyasha huffed as his blush deepened. Glancing at the old woman to make sure she wasn’t upset by what he’d said, Inuyasha turned his gaze back towards the miko who was clearly expecting him to apologize to the old woman. Which he wasn’t gunna do but he could fix one thing that probably needed fixing for a while now.

Squaring his shoulders, Inuyasha cleared his throat and…tried…

“It’d be annoying but if you…you want to kiss me sometimes, I won’t stop you.”

Kagome blinked once then twice.

“Come again?”

Quickly reaching over to push Miroku away face first before he could add in his two cents, Inuyasha tried to look like what he’d said wasn’t awkward as hell.

“I said if you want to kiss me, go ahead. Old bat was right,” Inuyasha hufffed before his eyes widened in horror at what he’d impulsively implied, “I mean, you already j-just do shit. I c-can’t really stop you.”

Kagome made a bemused face and wrinkled her nose at this bizarre admission. That was at least twice now that Inuyasha hadn’t shot someone down after they announced he loved her. Which was unusual and for someone as easily triggered as he was, that left her with a most wonderful conclusion.

One that he apparently realized she’d come to and so Inuyasha did what Inuyasha do.

He tried to protect himself. Poorly.

“I see that look. Don’t be stupid. I mean…yeah, she was right about…about the love part…I do, um, love you, ya know, as a friend. A good friend. And, um, sometimes friends they kiss I think.”

“Well if that is true I must inform San…”

With a soft groan at his own cringeworthy awkwardness, Inuyasha once again necessarily pressed his hand against the closer than usual monk’s face and gave it a light push. This was already nerve racking enough without the monk making it more weird on purpose. First he was holding his woman’s hand without realizing and now he’d all but admitted how he felt. Something he’d been denying himself because he didn’t want to force someone to walk beside him as he faced the constant pile of shit being thrown at him. Add to that he didn’t deserve to be happy when Kikyo was suffering and it was just…wrong to feel like he did.

What he wanted didn’t matter. It never mattered…

Kagome smiled and his stomach turned into pleasant knots.

Except it did. Hell did it ever. He couldn’t even go more than a day without this woman before he lost his fucking mind. What was he going to do if she knew and didn’t feel the same way? Or worse, what if a chance at a relationship ended badly?! If she left him, she’d take the only friends he’d ever had with her…

He’d be alone…

“Uh….huh…”

Panicking now, Inuyasha decided to rely on old faithful and go for an insult to force her back into friendship lane. This was getting into dangerous territory. She knew. Mainly because he told her but he…he could fix it.

“W-why are you so s-stupid, huh?” Inuyasha added a little desperately and much to his horror Kagome’s knowing smile only grew, “I’m just saying you just do shit and…I mean, what am I supposed to do, huh? You just throw yourself at…”

The old woman snickered at the scene and threw in her thoughts with a bemused laugh, “Please just kiss him young lady and put us all out of our misery. He talks far too much for his own good.”

“STAY OUTTA THIS YOU OLD…” Inuyasha began to bellow before whimpering softly when Kagome sealed his mouth with her own. Before he knew it, his arms were pulling her up and against him to give her the best access. It was beautiful and pure and everything he’d hoped a real kiss would be like. While she had done that before, this was the first time she’d done it for a reason other than saving his sorry ass. She’d done that only because she wanted to and that fact that she’d done it just because nearly brought a tear to his eye. Did she…did she love him back?

“You know,” Kagome panted lightly as she pulled back and nuzzled her man’s nose, “I love you too.”

Visibly wilting in relief, Inuyasha gave Kagome the most affectionate look anyone had ever seen on his face. A look that crumpled and turned to annoyance when Miroku made another comment about ‘public displays’.

The old woman simply rolled her eyes and continued on her way - mentally chuckling to herself about how the youth of today could be so foolish and how life was far too short.

A short distance away her middle aged son was watching his mother with a weary smile while the pair of mercenaries seemed to discuss something of great magnitude.

“That’s a dangerous thing you just did.”

“I did nothing but nudge those two down a path they were already on,” the old woman chuckled softly - reaching out to pat her son’s arm, “Love is love sweetheart. It’s one of those funny things in life that just is.”

For a long moment, the son watched the newly formed couple as they resumed holding hands before sighing and turning to follow his mother.

“I meant you meddle far too much” the son continued - glancing over his shoulder to make sure they went being overheard, “They’re mercenaries by trade. You saw their weapons. Probably fresh from some war and…”

“Mercenaries deserve love as well…”

The son let out a long exhale and rolled his eyes.

“Mother. That boy had claws…”

“Claws deserve love…”

The son stopped mid step and groaned that kind of exasperated groan only a child with an embarrassing parent would understand before glancing over his shoulder to watch the little band move on towards their next bounty. One day his mother was going to try to play matchmaker with the wrong two people…

But thankfully, it would seem she always managed to pick the right ones.

[olivia-anderson-fanfic]

Into The Unknown, Part 5

First

Previous

Tim finished up pretty quickly.

After all, all the baby toys seemed to just be different variations of each other. Some crinkle, some make sounds, some squish, some… do nothing at all? Tim had no clue how he used to get by as a kid.

He ended up getting Damian three toys:

A tiny rubber duck. He’s almost completely sure that Marinette would have bought one if Tim hadn’t. At least when he was the one buying it he could opt to get the Darth Vader one (Damian had always been woefully uncultured, this was his one chance to make the kid watch sci-fi without risking getting stabbed).

A plush cow with crinkly ears. He had to hope that this could maybe jog memories of Batcow and, in turn, everything else. Tim had tried to think of something a little more relevant but all he could think of were things related to Batman, to Superboy, to the League of Assassins (did their lives really revolve around vigilante-work that much?)... and, unfortunately, this reality didn’t have merch that he could give the kid.

And a squishy plastic baguette. Because that was all he could think of to get back at Marinette for the duck thing.

When it came to little kid books he hesitated for just a bit before getting the basics -- stuff like animals and the letters and Spot The Dog. He wondered, vaguely, if he’d have to teach the kid numbers since they already used the Arabic numeral system. He got a book on it just in case.

Then he got a couple of books on parenting.

He checked out and then walked back to the sitting area where he was supposed to meet Marinette.

… she was taking forever.

He sighed quietly and skimmed through a book on parenting.

… oops they were supposed to breastfeed until Damian was about two. No clue what to do about that. Maybe the kid was already used to a bottle? He hoped so. He’d watch him more carefully while Marinette was holding him to see. In the meantime, he’d get a bottle and some formula on top of the baby food they’d been getting so far.

Alright so the kid was supposed to learn behaviors and language through observation. Good. That, hopefully, solved that problem. Tim probably would have just given the kid a textbook and said ‘good luck’. Marinette… he didn’t really know what Marinette would have done, but the woman wasn’t a teacher as far as he could tell and asking her to teach the kid properly was a little unfair.

Babies around his age are supposed to speak in something called… protowords? Like… a baby language? Damn, he has a miraculous and it seemingly allows him the power to understand every language but apparently ‘baby-speak’ didn’t count as a language. Tim called bullshit.

He felt a weight settle down on the bench next to him and absently glanced over.

Marinette sent him a slightly tired smile. She was wearing a new, dark red scarf.

He opened his mouth to say something only to have her shake her head and adjust her scarf a little to show him something.

Ah. It looked like Damian had fallen asleep on her shoulder so she’d fashioned the scarf into a makeshift baby sling.

“Could’ve used the stroller,” he whispered, setting his receipt in the book to mark his page.

She snorted. “And risk waking him? He cries every time he wakes up, I’m not dealing with that right now.”

He bit his lip. “You know… this book says he’s supposed to cry for, like, an hour to an hour and a half a day.”

She tipped her head to the side a little. “He’s cried like… three times.”

“Yeah, and he was really easy to shut up. Decidedly not normal.”

They looked back down at Damian, identical frowns on their faces.

“Does it have an explanation for why he’d be like this?” Marinette asked, her voice soft.

Tim hesitated.

“The only reasons I can think of are that he doesn’t think we’d help him if he cried or he thinks crying is something he’d be punished for. Considering how he was raised… it could be either. Or both.”

~

Marinette yawned as she sat back on the hotel bed. She leaned back against Tim, leaving him to bear the weight of both her and Damian.

He, to his credit, barely even blinked. He turned slowly until they were both leaning back against each other.

She tipped her head back to rest on his shoulder.

She could fall asleep like this, she thought. Propped against Tim. Damian, in her arms, watching an episode of something called True and the Rainbow Kingdom… it was nice.

Or, at least, it would be if Tim could stop that infernal tapping.

“Ugh, could you stop that? Some people actually sleep.”

He gave a tiny puff of laughter that acknowledged that he heard her but, alas, he continued typing.

She groaned a little and reached a hand behind herself to give him a tiny bap to his side.

“Hm. This may shock you, but hitting me really hasn’t helped your case.”

She huffed and twisted around to try and see over his shoulder. She’d given up on sleeping, anyway.

“What are you even doing?”

He shrugged just slightly. “Trying to figure out what to do about money.”

She nodded slowly, looking over his shoulder as he scrolled through jobs they could do with zero experience or degrees. That could sustain a family of three and pay for the daycare they would have to take Damian to. The options... weren’t great.

Damian tugged on her shirt for her attention and she looked down as he pointed at his screen with a bright smile. There was a black cat on the screen. She didn’t really know what he wanted until he kept saying ‘ma’ over and over. She nodded and said ‘cat’ in both Arabic and English, which seemed to sate him as he went back to watching… the giant green yeti monster stealing a basket of candy? What the fuck was even going on on this show? Were kids’ shows like this in her own world, too? Or was this one’s shows just especially weird?

A thought occurred to her and she looked back over at Tim.

“You exist in this world, right?”

He nodded absently and opened a tab that, despite its claim that it was an entry level job, apparently required two years of experience and a degree. He closed it quickly.

“Why don't we just mooch off of the other you?”

Tim sighed. “Because that’s illegal?”

“You’re a vigilante. I don’t think that ‘borrowing’ money from your alternate self is where you should draw the line on illegal activities.”

“I draw the line when it harms innocent people.”

She laughed at that. “He’s rich. It’s not like he’s going to miss it. Think of it as… giving the money to people who need it.”

“You’re a regular robin hood,” Tim said sarcastically.

“I know. I’m so kind,” she agreed, grinning.

There were a few moments of silence.

Then, finally, he shook his head. “Even if we could somehow do that -- which I can’t guarantee because I’m not completely sure I could guess my passwords -- the fact that we’re in Texas… he’d notice.”

She shrugged. “Then let’s move back to Gotham.”

He blinked and finally looked up from the computer. “What?”

“We don’t have much of a life here, really, so why not move?”

He considered this for a while before sighing and flopping back on the bed. “Let me see if I can even get into the account. There’s nothing to say that I even have the same social security number here...”

She nodded her understanding and laid back next to him. Damian whined a little at the sudden displacement but just ran a hand up and down his back absently until he was watching his show again, completely silent as he stared at the screen. Now the main girl was reaching into her bag for a weird orb of light that was, apparently, sentient. Was this the Dora of their world? God help their children.

Speaking of helping their children...

She picked up a parenting book to read while Tim tried to guess his otherworldly counterpart’s passwords.

~

Tim managed to get in.

He rested his head in his hands, cursing quietly.

She glanced over and smiled at his slightly flushed face.

“What was the password?”

He grumbled under his breath.

This only seemed to encourage her more because she started nudging his shoulder, the soft smile morphing into a cheeky grin.

He sighed and took a moment to gather himself before looking over at her. “It’s… ‘<3Richard<3graysons<3little<3brother<3’.”

“... I don’t get it.”

“Good. So you can’t tease me about it,” he said, sticking his tongue out at her.

She scoffed. “That’s not fair.”

“Totally is.”

He set the computer down beside himself and stretched his achy old bones. He’d had a baby for approximately two days now and he could already feel the bad back setting in. Tomorrow he would have gray hair.

“I’m going to look it up if you don’t tell me.”

“... he’s a celebrity,” Tim said quietly.

Her grin wavered back towards that genuine smile for just a second before spreading into an even wider grin. She reached out and pinched his cheeks. “Awwww, Tim, that’s so cute --!”

“Shut up,” he complained, batting her hands away.

She snickered. “No. I’m going to write that password on your tombstone.”

“You’re assuming I’m going to die first.”

“I have an extended lifespan. You’re only going to have that for another fifteen years. After that? Unless I’m really stupid you’re gonna die first.”

He rolled his eyes. “I’m going to find out how to be immortal now. Purely to spite you.”

She snorted. “Okay. Good luck with that.”

“Thank you.”

With that, he pushed himself up with a groan. “I’m going to get him ready for bed.”

She nodded her understanding and continued with her reading.

Damian whined a little when Tim tried to take him away from where he had curled up next to Marinette but that seemed to be more because he was tired and cranky than genuine distress.

Tim was the one to bathe him. It wasn’t a bubble bath, he wasn’t eager to repeat the previous night’s mistakes, but he did give Damian the rubber duck. This seemed to work for all of them, since Damian now allowed them to take him out of the bath as long as he got to bring his duck.

Marinette grinned when she looked over at where Damian was chewing on his rubber duck as Tim struggled to click the annoyingly difficult buttons of the onesie into place.

“Told you he would love it.”

“We both know that wasn’t why you wanted to get it.”

“And we both know you didn’t get that squishy bread-thing just because you thought he would like it, either.”

He smiled. “Maaaaaybe.”

The onesie finally allowed itself to be buttoned and Tim picked Damian up so he could get into bed.

Marinette frowned. “This book says we shouldn’t let him sleep with us every night. Says it creates a bad habit that’s hard to break.”

Tim raised an eyebrow at her but, reluctantly, carried the kid over to the crib so they could sleep separately.

“Fine. But I’m going to sleep before him so I don’t stress out all night.”

She snickered. “Fine. Fine.”

He climbed into bed, set a pillow between them, and promptly dozed off before he could get woken up by Damian whimpering through the night.

… Tim woke up a few hours later -- his body wasn’t quite used to sleeping through nights just yet -- to find that Marinette had brought the kid into bed with them again.

He smiled a little and moved the pillow out from between them. Even if Damian was currently too trapped in Marinette’s arms to even reach it, it was best to make sure it couldn’t happen.

Damian whimpered a little in his sleep again and Tim tipped his head to the side. He reached over and gently combed his fingers through the fuzzy little tufts of hair that the kid had so far. Damian relaxed.

Tim sighed and shifted in the bed until he was closer to Damian, then maneuvered through Marinette’s mess of limbs to press a tiny kiss to the top of his head. The baby smiled in his sleep and, though the kid couldn’t see it, he returned the smile. He rested an arm around the kid as well in hopes that it would keep the kid feeling safe before allowing himself to drift off.

~~~~~

Next

@nathleigh @peachmuses @unoriginalmess @hammalammadamdam @astrynyx @laurcad123 @927roses-and-stuff

[lumosinlove]

12/18/20: Day Five

On the fifth day of Ficmas, Hazel gave to yA, SOLNTSE. IN. RUSSI-A.

“Lupin! We’re going to Dante’s for drinks, what do you think?”

Remus looked back at Marlene and Dorcas, over the auditorium seats. Dorcas held up two thumbs.

“Last hurrah before Christmas vacay?” she said.

Remus slung his bag over his shoulder and laughed. “Yeah, Dante’s sounds good.”

“You can bring your hot Russian, if you want,” Dorcas pressed a kiss to Marlene’s cheek. “It can be a double date.”

Remus looked at his phone. “He’s in a meeting until later, but let’s go. We have dinner plans, though, I’ll tell him to come pick me up there when he gets off the subway.”

They left the lecture hall with the rest of the class, filing quickly out the door at the promise of no work for a good month and the weather forecasting first snow tonight.

It was a short, ten minute walk along West 4th Street. Remus could practically smell the coming snow, and he smiled, thinking about walking with Sirius in it tonight after dinner. He thought of Sirius leaving their apartment that morning in his thick green coat, and wanted to see him in the snow.

“Our very own aperitivo,” Marlene sighed, looking at the small spread of meats and cheeses in front of them and taking a loving sip of her drink. “Oh, yes, it’s Christmas.”

Remus popped an olive in his mouth. “It feels like it, doesn’t it?”

“It’ll feel more like it when you’re in Russia,” Dorcas said. “Covered in snow, and furs, and caviar and six-foot-something of dark-haired beauty—”

“Yes, okay,” Remus laughed, trying to shush her and agree at the same time. “That’s probably true.”

“Don’t know about the caviar,” said a voice from behind Remus. “But want to see Remus in furs.”

Remus turned just in time to see Sirius’ teasing smile, cheeks flushed from the cold.

“Only furs?” Sirius said. “Just for me?”

Remus rolled his eyes but tilted his chin up so Sirius could kiss him gently.

Marlene laughed. “Hi, Sirius, how are you?”

“I’m good,” Sirius’ grin was bright and he straightened, keeping an arm around Remus. “Long day of meetings but, all over now, yes? Here for celebration dinner.”

“Well, we got him all warmed up for you. Took us fifteen minutes to get him to stop talking about the final.”

“He get to say it all over again for me, then,” Sirius said. “Will make him very happy.”

Remus rose, drawing his bag over his shoulder. “Okay, okay,” he laughed. “We’re going now. Thanks for drinks, Marls, that was really kind of you.”

“Merry Christmas!” Marlene sing-songed. “And happy From-Russia-With-Love trip!”

Remus laughed. “See you guys in the new year.”

“Hi,” Sirius whispered to him as they turned, pushing out the doors and back into the frost.

Remus took Sirius’ hand and brought his gloved knuckles to his lips. “Hi. Как дела?”

Sirius nodded. “Da, today was good. Starving, though.”

“Me, too. Do you know when you’re wanting something, and so waiting just takes ages?”

“Everyday, coming home to you.”

Remus wrapped his hand around Sirius’ arm and leaned up for a quick kiss. “Yes, that.”

“Now I’m take to dinner,” Sirius said. “Then it’s just us. No more waiting.” He glanced up. “Not even for snow.”

Remus saw the first flakes fall onto Sirius’ hat before he felt them himself, nipping at his cheeks.

“No more waiting.”

They sat in a cozy booth, sharing plates and a piece of chocolate cake.

“Sweet,” Sirius said, thumb brushing a smudge of frosting from Remus’ lip. “Remushya always likes sweet.”

Remus just smiled over his glass of wine. “I’m really excited, you know. I’m glad we’re going.”

Sirius nodded, sucking air between his teeth. “Yeah. Hope it…goes good, you know. I really don’t know.”

Remus smoothed a hand over his chest. “I’ll be there if it doesn’t. I’ve been there myself.”

“Yes,” Sirius said, curling his fingers around Remus’. “But not think about yet. First, we have two weeks in dacha. Just us.”

Remus leaned into Sirius’ side, cheek against the soft material of his suit. “Love you.”

“Я люблю тебя,” Sirius said back, lips against Remus’ temple. “Now. Tell me all about final.”

~

The elevator dinged open, and the New York snow looked even more amazing from their large windows. Plush, and falling slowly.

“At least it’s coming now and no during our flight,” Remus said as Sirius helped him out of his coat.

“Have to get up early,” Sirius sighed and wrapped his arms around Remus’ waist. “Then I’m take you to dacha bed and we sleep in.”

“Sleep?” Remus turned his head. “Is that what we’ll be doing?”

Sirius’ laugh was soft against his neck. “Sleep, sex. Wake up, have tea and I’m make you blini with jam and cream. Then I’m put you in nothing but furs on Christmas morning, Merry Christmas to me.”

Remus turned in his arms. “You could put me in nothing right now.” He wound his fingers through Sirius’ hair. “We really should be tired for such a long flight…make it go faster.”

Sirius bit his lip. “Right. That’s true.”

Remus pulled Sirius down and kissed him gently. “Yeah?”

Sirius grinned, walking backwards slowly. “Come now.”

~

Remus was exhausted and exhilarated all at once. He was surrounded by unfamiliar signs in an unfamiliar language. But then there was Sirius. He spoke fast, smoothly, got their bags and ordered to-go cups of tea for both of them, sweetened and milky. Sirius was rumpled and adorable in his white beanie and black puff coat. He had a thick scarf around his nose and his tea held in one hand, suitcase in the other.

“Car waiting,” he said in a sleep-scratched voice. “More sleep.”

Remus pulled his own hat lower over his ears. He could feel the cold from beneath the automatic airport doors. He wished it was light out, but the sun was long set.

“Eleven PM, right?” Remus asked, looking at the time settings on his phone.

“Yes,” Sirius said, taking a long sip of his tea. “We take train now. Take one day. Have our own cabin, I set it all up.” Sirius sent him a smile. “It’s one of my favorite things. Sleeper train to country, get away from cities for a bit.”

Remus tugged his suitcase and smiled. “Wish I could kiss you right now.”

“Me too, baby,” Sirius said. “Soon.”

The train station was dim and mostly empty, but they were escorted to one of the rear train cars by a woman in a pristine uniform like they themselves owned the train. She opened the door for them, showing them the different compartments of their car—a kitchenette, a bathroom, two bedrooms, and a sitting area, all complete with crystal light fixtures and broad, clear windows. She left them with a slight bow and the wooden door clicking closed, silencing most of the train’s noise.

He and Sirius grinned at each other for a moment as they set their bags down. The cabin was soft and inviting, the snow outside glinting as it rushed by.

“Look,” Remus said, pointing to blanket on the couch. “Furs.”

Sirius laughed out loud, tossing their coats to the sides and all but tackling Remus onto the couch. Their kisses quickly went from playful to slow, Sirius’ weight rocking against him with the slight movement of the train.

“Miss you,” Sirius whispered, licking into his mouth. “Even for hour car ride.”

Remus pressed his hands under Sirius’ shirt. “Take this off.”

They shed their winter-cool clothes in favor of warm skin on skin.

“Hm,” Sirius said into Remus’ kiss. “Suitcase. I’m get. Pick a bedroom.”

Remus smiled, stretching out on the couch, cock warm and pleasantly turned on against his hip, before swinging himself up and picking the left bedroom. The bed was tightly made with a white quilt. He glanced back at the main room, smiling at their trail of clothes and Sirius’ bare back bent over the suitcase.

Remus untucked the sheets, fluffing the quilt up near the end of the bed before falling against the pillows with a sigh.

“Are you coming?” Remus called, letting his thighs spread.

“I’m come!” Sirius’ voice said, and he appears in the doorway a moment later. He leaned against it, naked and smiling, eyes raking over Remus. “I’m really come, wow.”

Remus laughed as Sirius stroked himself once, twice, and then walked forward to kneel at the end of the bed. Remus watched him look out the window, beautiful and silver in the night and the moon that silhouetted the trees.

“Looks cold out there,” he said. “Warm in here, though.”

Remus held out his arms and Sirius leaned over him, bracketing him in.

“Come here,” Remus laughed, pushing Sirius’ hips down against his with his heels. “We’re in Russia.”

Sirius let out a soft sound as their cocks brushed together. “You’re my home now, Remushya. Russia is special place but…it’s you.”

Remus pressed closer to him, closing his eyes at the feeling of Sirius’ skin on his. They kissed with no hurry, Sirius’ fingers heavy, and then light, and then heavy again, making him pant and push back against his touch. The train seemed to cradle them both, even as Sirius cradled Remus. Sirius’ first press inside Remus was swayed by the rocking of the train, making Remus’ eyes squeeze shut as he clutched to Sirius’ back.

“Remushya,” Sirius’ voice came out strained and breathless, mouth pressed to Remus’ neck. “Yes, yes, baby…”

Remus ran his hands down Sirius’ sides to his ass, feeling the muscles that indented at his hips every time he fucked forward.

“Can we,” Remus curled a hand around the back of Sirius’ neck and scraped his teeth against his jaw. “Harder?”

Remus felt cooped up and stiff from the plane. He wanted—he needed it all out somehow, the nerves about meeting Sirius’ family, the stress and elation of the last semester, his overwhelming love for Sirius that never seemed to yield. He needed it to be explosive, he needed it pressed into his skin.

“I’m do,” Sirius said with a smile. “But have to stay quiet. Can you? Don’t know if you can.”

Remus laughed, biting his lip against the next groan that threatened as Sirius stroked just right inside of him. He nodded. “Please.”

Sirius got his knees under him, his arms under Remus’ back to hold him close. It gave him enough leverage that, the next time he snapped his hips forward, the effect felt doubled. Remus’ head fell back, mouth open.

“Shh,” Sirius said with a soft kiss, and then snapped his hips forward again. He didn’t pick up the pace, but ground in hard each time their hips met.

“Ah,” Remus smothered the sound against Sirius’ neck, breathing harshly. Sirius barely gave him time to catch his breath before he did it again. The soft sheets slipped beneath Remus’ back, but Sirius didn’t let him go.

“So good, Remus,” Sirius panted. “Is good?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Remus chanted breathlessly. His lips dragged along Sirius’ neck, kissing and relishing. “You’re so—ah—“

“Shh,” Sirius’ laugh ended in a soft moan of his own, and Remus pressed a hand over his own mouth, laughing, too.

“No, no, like to see,” Sirius sat back on his heels, chest broad and tanned in the warm light of the cabin. Remus watched his brows knit as he looked down at where his cock dipped in and out of Remus’ body. “Fuck, so much to see.” He smiled at Remus, bending to kiss his chest before sitting back again and pressing into him slowly. “We get home, I’m make you say everything. No one but us.”

Remus watched as Sirius took hold of his hips and fucked forward again, and again, faster than before. Remus whined softly, his cock red and drooling against his stomach now. Heat spread over his chest, from where Sirius was warm inside of him, heavy and aching.

“Sirius,” Remus said, and Sirius fell forward again, Remus’ heels urging him closer. He tangled his fingers into Sirius’ dark hair, kissing him. Remus’ breath caught, his head falling back as his orgasm built, as Sirius’ cock brushed his prostate over again. He felt swollen against his stomach, balls drawn up. “I’m—”

Sirius jerked, a sound ripping out of his mouth as Remus clenched around him, coming between them without a hand.

“Baby,” Sirius groaned. “Baby…” he fucked Remus through it, more slowly now, dragging and careful as Remus’ cock spat out thick ropes of come. A moment later, Remus felt Sirius’ own heat, heard it in the way Sirius’ breathing stopped and the started again, in the way he pressed hard into Remus to ride it out.

Remus still remembered how this part used to feel. The obligation. The preparing his tired body to get up, get dressed, and walk home.

But the memory was faint now. Now, he was being kissed all over his chest and neck, his eyes closed as he laughed tiredly, hand rubbing the back of Sirius’ neck.

“Better every time,” Sirius’ low voice said, kissing along his jaw. “How you do that?”

“Me? You.”

Remus opened his eyes to see Sirius looking down at him. His hair was a mess from the traveling and the sex, he had tired circles under his eyes and chapped lips, and Remus had never seen anything better, anything brighter.

They couldn’t share the tiny cabin shower, but they managed the bed, squeezed in tight and warm.

Remus fell asleep with Sirius’ front pressed all along his back, and the world just beginning to lighten outside, above the moving landscape of Russia.

When Remus woke again a few hours later, it was to Sirius’ voice in the sitting area, speaking soft Russian. Remus waited until he heard the cabin door close, and then slipped his feet into the slippers that were waiting at the foot of the bed, and pulled one of Sirius’ sweatshirts on before opening the bedroom door.

Sirius was removing lids from dishes on a breakfast tray, set out on the table by one of the large windows. The world was a blissful white forest outside, the sun a watery dot in the sky.

“Wow,” Remus said, looking out. “We’re in Narnia.”

“Narnia?” Sirius laughed. “Oh, right. Cupboard movie. Yes, we meet spy goat soon.”

Remus laughed as he sat, tilting his chin up towards Sirius. “Доброе утро.”

Sirius set the tea he had been pouring down and took Remus’ face between his hands.

“Good morning, Remushya,” he whispered, and kissed him softly.

They pulled into a tiny station a few hours later, and, as Sirius drove a rental car through winding snowy streets, they only met a few small towns. The house they pulled up to, however, if not large, was tall and ornate. It was all white, blending in with the snow, and had carved shutters and trimming.

“It’s like a gingerbread house,” Remus said as they got out, pulling his coat closer against the cold. “Baby, it’s beautiful.”

Sirius beamed and wrapped an arm around Remus, pressing a kiss to his temple.

“Just us,” he said when they reached the door, and leaned down for a kiss while turning the key in the lock.

The entrance hall was a blast of warm air and Remus opened his mouth to voice his relief when—

“Sivushka?”

The voice made both of them jump.

There was a boy with dark hair and familiar eyes standing there. Regulus, Remus recognized from photos. Sirius’ brother.

“Regulus?” Sirius said, and in Russian, “What are you doing here?”

Regulus had only opened his mouth to respond when there was another voice from down the hall, and Remus was able to translate those words.

“Reg?” it said. “Who is it?”

A blond boy appeared, wearing a sweatshirt and sweatpants. He had the palest blue eyes Remus had ever seen.

“My brother,” Regulus said, still in Russian. “And—someone.”

“What are you doing here?” Sirius asked again. He didn’t sound demanding, but almost—whiny. Remus watched a smile pull at Regulus’ mouth.

After that, all Remus caught was family and home. He guessed Regulus was saying that he had just as much right to be there as Sirius did.

“Sirius?” Remus said hesitantly.

“English?” Regulus said incredulously, looking at him.

“This is Remus,” Sirius said, and then hissed a curse back. He looked at Remus again. “So sorry, I…Remus, not know they be here.”

“It’s okay,” Remus shook his head. “It’s completely fine. Do they…”

“No, can’t really understand us. Well, Regulus can’t but…don’t know blond man.” Sirius turned, asking. “Dima.”

“His…” Remus prompted.

Sirius’ expression went surprised, and he looked again. The brothers stared each other down. Remus sent Dima an awkward wave. Dima waved back.

Sirius said something in Russian and Regulus raised an eyebrow, shaking his head.

Sirius looked back at Remus. “Friends. Fishing and hunting.”

Remus nodded. “Oh.”

“I really surprise, I…” Sirius huffed out a laugh, but his face went firm again when he looked back at Regulus.

Remus looked around Sirius at the two of them and, in Russian, said, “It’s nice to meet you, I’m Remus.”

Regulus and Dima looked at each other, then laughed.

“What are you speaking?”

Remus smiled a little, face flushing. “I know I don’t speak well.”

“Do you have to be so rude?” Sirius sighed, and took their bags. “Did you take the good rooms?”

Regulus shrugged. “Of course, it is just the two of us. Why wouldn’t we?”

Sirius rolled his eyes and turned to Remus. “Be right back. Is okay?”

Remus nodded. “Yeah, go ahead.”

Sirius nodded and started trudging up the stairs with the suitcases.

“You may be big in America, but you’re just my brother, here!” Regulus called after him, then looked at Remus, standing alone and shrugging out of his coat.

“English?” Regulus said, in English this time. Remus nodded.

Regulus shook his head, pointing to himself. “Sorry. Dima—”

“I have better,” Dima said. “You are friend?”

“Oh,” Remus stuttered. “Um—”

“Boyfriend,” Regulus said in Russian, and Remus stared at him, trying to gage his reaction.

Regulus waved him off. “He thinks I don’t know.”

“But…you do?” Remus said.

“Yes.”

“You tell him?” Remus asked.

“He will tell me, now,” Regulus turned and walked down the hall.

“Please,” Dima said, and gestured for Remus to follow him.

Regulus looked uncannily like Sirius although, where Sirius was rounded out with muscle and his shoulders broad, Regulus was leaner, his features sharper.

“We…have lunch?” Dima said. “Yes? For you and Sirius?”

“Yes, please,” Remus smiled at him, then, in Russian, “I help?”

Sirius came back down to Remus chopping a tomato while Regulus fried something that he had called Kotlety in a pan. It looked like meatballs, only breaded and more fragrant.

Sirius eyed it, and Remus recognized the word uncle from Regulus. Regulus nodded.

“He say it is uncle’s recipe,” Dima supplied, and Sirius looked at him.

“Do you speak English?” he said.

Dima shrugged. “Some. I try but…not many times I need.”

Sirius nodded. “I understand. It is hard language.”

Regulus forked the steaming Kotlety onto four plates and Dima topped each with sour cream and onions. Regulus took the tomato Remus had been chopping and placed it on thick slices of brown bread, along with some ham.

“How long are you here, Sivushka?” Regulus asked when they were all sitting at the cozy kitchen table. Snow was falling in fat flakes outside, and Remus took a moment to look out at the land. It looked vast, with a frozen lake in the distance.

I’m here for Christmas and New Year’s,” Sirius replied around his food. “You know that.”

Reuglus said something and Sirius leaned in to translate. “I told my parents I come in two weeks. Wanted to be here with you before.”

Regulus’ next words had Sirius pale, and Remus guessed they had something to do with their relationship because, after a moment, Sirius took Remus’ hand tightly in his own.

“Da,” he said simply.

The table went silent. Remus watched Sirius look at his brother. His gaze was steely, the way it got while he was working, or on the phone, sometimes. But Remus knew how much hope and fear lay just beneath.

“Okay,” Regulus said, and went back to his food.

Remus raised a shoulder when Sirius looked at him, expression surprised. “He said he already knew…”

“How?” Sirius said in English, and then again in Russian.

Regulus just scooped his left over sour cream with the last of his bread and leaned back in his chair.

“Are you going to—” was all Remus understood from what he said next.

“I can’t,” Sirius sighed. “Even if I want to. It’s your house, too.”

Remus gathered Regulus was asking if Sirius was going to make them leave.

Regulus just shrugged, and when Sirius rolled his eyes again, Remus fought back a laugh. Sirius with his brother was different.

“Okay,” Sirius said in English—maybe just to annoy Regulus. “We’re jet lagged, we’re going to nap. Remushya, come, I show you house.”

Regulus’ eyebrows raised at the nickname.

“Thank you about lunch,” Remus stuttered out, and followed Sirius out of the room.

The bedroom Sirius led them to was warm, too, and Remus was full and feeling the full effect of the time difference. He groaned and fell down onto the bed on his back.

“Well, that was surprising,” he laughed.

Sirius fell down beside him. “Very.”

“Hey,” Remus turned onto his side, hand on Sirius’ chest. “At least he took it well. He seemed okay.”

“Regulus is not my mother,” Sirius sighed. “Or my father. I love them, I do…and I miss them, but…have see so many new things since leaving home. I’m worry—worry they don’t understand. They’re harsh people. I’m just—not really know.”

Sirius sighed again and pulled Remus onto his chest. “We sleep now. So tired. Maybe they are gone when we wake up, just bad dream.”

Remus laughed. “Maybe.”

~

Remus woke up groggily to Sirius closing the bedroom door as gently as he could. He winced when he turned to meet Remus’ tired eyes.

“Sorry, baby,” then, he rolled his. “Not just bad dream. Still here.”

Remus snorted, rubbing his eyes. “What time is it?”

“Almost dinner time. Slept for maybe four hours. Should get up now.”

Remus sat up slowly. He felt like he had sunk half way through the bed to the floor. Sirius laughed softly at the sight, coming to sit on the edge of the bed and stroke a palm over Remus’ sleep-heated cheek.

“I’m bring you orange juice, okay? It help with sleepy.”

Remus hummed, fingers closing around Sirius’ wrist. “Just a little longer. Come here.”

“We get so off schedule,” Sirius warned.

“We have nowhere to be,” Remus smiled as Sirius swayed forward with the words. He kissed his lips, easing him down over him until he could wrap his arms around his waist. “Come here, love.”

Sirius laughed softly, but settled down.

Dinner was delicious and not as awkward as lunch. The brothers seemed to be getting along better, and they made Remus feel alright about needing a translation.

Things got more serious after dinner. They were drinking tea spiked with strong liquor, and Remus felt warm all over, tucked into Sirius’ side. Dima and Regulus were stretched out on the floor in front of the fire, eating some sort of caramel candy.

“When was the last time you talked to mother?” Remus made out Regulus saying.

He felt Sirius stiffen beside him. “Um. Last week. Confirming plans.”

Regulus eyed him carefully, pushing himself up from resting on his elbows to resting back on his palms.

“This is what will happen, okay?” Regulus said, elbows moving to rest on his knees. His dark hair was framed by the firelight. “I’m telling you right now.”

“Okay…” Sirius began.

“They’re not going to be okay in the beginning,” Regulus said. “But I can see you think you are going to be in danger. That isn’t true.”

Sirius sighed. “I don’t think danger, I just think…” Sirius looked down. “I will no longer be…you know, the successful child. I’ll be something else.”

Regulus scoffed. “You’re the successful child because I am the unsuccessful child, not because of your love life.” Regulus shook his head. “Sirius, they love you. This is true, at least.”

“But what if not after?” Sirius said, then pressed his lips together. He wrapped his arm around Remus more tightly. “After they know.”

“Then…” Regulus began. “Then I convince them.”

Sirius looked up. “You would?”

Remus looked at Sirius, trying to gage his reaction—his real reaction.

Regulus tilted his head from side to side. “Okay, fine. Then I try to convince them.”

“You—” Remus began, trying to find the words. “Maybe, yes, you help. Good to have brother. Other people.”

“I brought Remus because…” Sirius looked at Remus, eyes searching and worried. “I wanted them to meet him before they decide how they…”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Regulus said. “Remus just said. I’m your brother.”

Sirius let out a breath, rubbing his eyes and then staring at the fire. “I’m scared.”

“You don’t have to be scared of me,” Regulus said.

“How was I suppose to know that?” Sirius snapped. “We don’t speak.”

“And whose fault is that?”

Sirius opened his mouth, paused, and then closed it again. Remus felt him sag a little against his side and held him tighter.

Regulus sighed. He looked at Dima, and Remus watched him raised a shoulder. Then, he finished off his glass and looked back at Sirius.

“We’re leaving in the morning,” he said, and the rest was lost on Remus, but he didn’t look upset. “It’s fine, it’s fine, we will go back to be, what?”

He said a word in Russian and then Dima said, “spoiled.”

“Spoiled by mama’s cooking.”

“And we see you at Christmas,” Dima said in English.

“Reg…” Sirius said.

“Really, it’s okay,” Regulus nodded and stood. “You deserve good things, Sirius. And you, Remus. And…I want you to have good memories now…even if the later ones aren’t. Know it’s okay with me.” Then, he looked at Remus. “Our family will like you.”

“I hope so,” Remus replied and Regulus laughed.

“You really do have a horrible accent.”

Remus laughed, too. “I know.”

He looked at Sirius, and was glad to see the faintest of smiles there on his face.

The next morning, they watched Regulus and Dima pull out and down the road from the living room window, and then Remus smiled, feeling arms around his waist. He could smell the fresh blinis waiting on the counter for them.

“I think he’s right,” Remus said, imagining the two of them driving down that same road, towards Sirius’ family home. “I think it will be okay.”

“I hope. But now, just us,” Sirius said with a gentle kiss to his neck.

Remus leaned against him. “Just us.”

[carelessannie]

Tony takes three steps around the corner and stops short, standing up straight.

"Oh," he muttered after a moment, caught between wariness and delight. "Oh, Parker is not going to like that."

Swinging the halter and rope cheerfully, he continued towards the second field where Licurgo was, for lack of a better way to describe it, flirting.

Speak of the devil - the sense of being judged was almost tangible and Tony turned his head to see a pert little ass and an upturned nose marching parallel towards the fields with him, so intent on letting Tony know he didn't care for his presence that he hadn't yet noticed the way his precious little trust fund pony was all but wrapped around Tony's 'backwater hick horse.'

Tony leaned against the fence with a cheerful smirk and waited. Three... Two...

"What the fuck is your horse doing to Bal?!"

One.

"I believe its called bond-building grooming," Tony answered smugly, head cocking as he eyed the yard's star English pupil. Peter was staring with abject horror at where Balagur and Licurgo had their necks entwined, nibbling away at each other's fur in a friendly display.

Peter's cheeks had already obtained an affronted pink flush the shade of cotton candy. The stick up his ass seemed to grow in size, lending his spine a ramrod straight air.

"Look at them being B-F-F's," Tony cooed, shooting Peter a shit-eating grin.

"Shut up," Peter demanded crossly, arms folding and cheeks darkening. Over Peter's shoulder Tony could see Bucky heading straight for them, obviously anticipating that this would bubble over into another of their famous spats.

"It's not a big deal. I'll bet if we go back a few pages in their pedigrees they're even distant cousins."

"Oh please, you wish Licurgo had any of Bal's blood," Peter sniffed at him, shooting him a scowl. His cheeks were the color of roses now, dusky and hot. His brows had pinched down into what Tony liked to call his Regina George bitchface.

He pursed his lips.

"You know... Its not uncommon for bachelor stallions to form intimate bonds. Maybe they're lovers."

Bang went that pretty faced bomb.

Sheer outrage took over Peter's face and he squealed in fury, lunging for Tony. A set of strong arms wrapped around his waist and bodily hauled him off the floor like a scruffed kitten, the prissy little brat writhing and hissing in Bucky's arms.

"Whoa-hoah there, spitfire," Bucky laughed as he lifted Peter up, holding him against his chest and taking waddled steps backwards so Tony was out of range of those slender, deceptively powerful legs.

"I'm going to collect my homosexual stallion now. Toodle-pip," Tony announced cheerfully, slinging the rope over his shoulder and vaulting the fence as Peter yowled behind him.

(Find the first part here)

The worst part was— after Peter calmed down enough to finish training for the day, he could already notice a difference in Balagur’s attitude. His sweet, pure baby usually gets a second wind in the afternoon, eager to perform and even becoming more affectionate as the end of the day draws near.

But instead of excitable energy, Peter actually found himself correcting Bal twice when his posture slumped forward, deflating in a long sigh.

Once, he could understand. He pushes hard, and knows that even a stallion as fine as his Russian trotter will need a break from time to time.

Twice, and Peter was growing suspicious. He guided Bal through a series of exercises, and almost fainted to notice the horse practically dragging his feet around turns, the rhythm of his steps barely in cadence.

Balagur— Peter’s prized, award-winning and meticulously trained stallion— was throwing a temper tantrum.

Okay, Peter took a deep breath, forcing his aura to remain level-set and peaceful, he just needs some time.

Peter slowly approached where Bal was standing, making sure to remain in sight and keep his hands well within view. He wished he had a snack— it always helps to have a bribe on hand if needed.

“Shh,” Peter cooed, drawing a gloved hand up the side of Balagur’s neck, making sure to scratch behind his ears as well, “who’s my best boy, hm? Sweet, strong boy like you— what are you doing getting caught up on some second class set of hooves?”

He used both hands now to smooth out the brilliant white coat, making sure to stare deep into his horse’s eyes, “Listen to me— he’s nothing but trouble, understand? I don’t care how he sweet talks you, or how great he looks in that saddle, or how dark his hair is…”

Peter trailed off, absently thinking… not about Licurgo, but about the other stallion’s rider instead. He shook his head, focusing again, “Nevertheless! We have goals, yes? Two weeks to get down this routine, and then we’ll be draped in gold— how does that sound?”

He smiled down into Bal’s deep, dark eyes, admiring his boy’s beauty.

“I think it sounds good, sugar,” a voice called, startling Peter out of his daze. “Would love to see a pretty thing like you draped in gold, not that you don’t look stunning as is.”

Tony. The other man was settled against the fence, chewing on— is that really a piece of straw? Peter scoffed and gathered Bal’s reins, “Are you following me? Because I thought I made it perfectly clear—”

“Oh, no no no,” Tony grinned around the straw, tipping his head back to give Peter a salacious once over, “m’just here makin’ sure the goods are being taken care of.”

Peter is going to curse himself for asking, “And the goods are?”

Tony just smiled wider, looking between the two of them in some type of wild glee. Peter almost had to stop himself from smiling along. Almost.

“How’s ole’ Bal behavin’ today, sugar?” Tony asked instead, following them as they headed back to the stables, “I’ll tell ya— my boy was throwing a fit after you separated ‘em like that. Sure makes you think…”

Peter gripped the reins tighter, barely holding back his rage as he turned to give Tony an earful, but somehow the older man was already heading in the other direction.

“Pretentious cowboy,” Peter hissed, turning back to his horse, to his priorities.

He gave one last look over his shoulder, taking in the view of Tony’s firm, sculpted ass in his faded Levi’s.

No. Priorities.

[pixie-cocaine]

ATEEZ Reaction To: Having a wet dream about you

yourusernames: Omg can I request ATEEZ reaction to having a wet dream about their friend? (Who would start developing a crush, who would want to have a one night stand and who wouldn't care at all?) Thanks!!

A/N: These reactions are based solely off of what I think they’d do, I am in no way, shape or form, telling you that this IS how the members would handle this scenario. Like shit, I dunno the guys :/. This is a gender neutral reader reaction btw :)

(This is very explicit, you have been warned!!!)

Hongjoong ♡:

• It felt like the actual thing

• Your lips; sweet like pink lemonade and eyes staring into his with a soft sparkle that originated from his bedside lamp

• but what felt more real than anything was you

• Your scent, your taste

• Your touch...

• It was all overwhelming in the sense that he found himself breaking out of his dreaming state, breath heavy as if he’d been sprinting for hours, and a lusty sheen screening his mind from acting with any sense of rationality

• He was horny horny, dawg 💀

• I feel for that man, it’s tough...

• He could already tell that he had an...accident, before he pushed the duvet off his body due to registering the last couple twitches of his restricted cock in his shorts

• No wonder he could ‘feel’ everything so well

• He wasn’t able to sleep the rest of the night.

• Couldn’t help but begin to feel a crush blossom for you

• As y’all already know, the man gets attached to the ones he spends the most time with

• You’re no exception

• Would end up telling you about his feelings. It was eating him up inside to keep it to himself

Seonghwa ♡:

• He has no right looking this good, dawg. It literally makes me so mad lmao

• Lemme lick your face, I bet it tastes like expensive concealer and everything I’ll never have >:}

• Anywhore

• He felt feverish, even inside his dream

• It was odd; he could feel you, but he couldn’t feel you. He remembers the surreal sensation of warmth under his palms as he grabbed onto your bare ass whilst you bounced you on top of him, panting hard and clutching at his damp hair to pull his head back

• He groaned, and just as he went to switch positions, he was snapped out of his dream

• Was like “Fuckin pardon?” when he realised where he was; his empty bed, alone in his own room, no sign of you

• Frowned, pushing the covers off of him because dawg, he was heating up OwO

• Then realised the large wet spot at the front of his sweatpants

• “What the...”

• Was never the same™ 

• Everytime he saw you, he couldn’t help but feel that same heat in his hands, and he felt guilty about it. 

• Didn’t know how to approach you about it at all. What was he supposed to say?

• “I nutted in my pants because I dreamt about doing the dirty with you”

• Just wouldn’t bring it up

• Good chance he’d catch feelings. Seonghwa builds bonds with the people he knows, it’s very easy to tell that when he cares, and he would care dearly for you. Once the chance that anything intimate between you two arises, I’m sure he’d begin to think of you romantically once you’re shown in said light.

Yunho ♡:

• Now wouldn’t a flustered Yunho be a sight? Damn...

• He loved looking down at you

• The way you smiled at him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and pulling his bare chest into yours as you whispered how good he felt inside you, cooing out words of praise and encouragment 

• It was hazy, but he can still vaguely remember how you kissed him so sweetly. How your fingers smoothed his bangs away from his eyes, and how you moaned into his ear softly with each thrust

• It was only when you cupped his cheeks and spoke, did you break him out of his dream;

• “Wake up.”

• His eyes shot open

• Only a blue ceiling stared back

• “Mmm...?” Yunho sits up and rubs his eyes roughly, already aware of the blush that paints his cheeks and nose because he can feel the heat in his face

• Said ‘What the fawk 😃’ when his brain caught up with what he just experienced, as well as the stickiness that clung to his inner thighs when he moved to go get some water

• This bitch was contemplating his whole life after that

• Is ‘UwU’ with you from then on cuz a babie caught butterfwies ;(

• Rlly bad at hiding his feelings lol, you’d catch on eventually

Yeosang ♡:

• It was messy, to say the least

• Kitchen island sex? Yup :D

• The dream wasn’t at all put into play with any sense. You guys were just... in the kitchen, when you confessed your feelings and made a move on him

• A deep kiss mixed with the pounding of nervous hearts all put Yeosang in a fever outside of his dream

• “Say you like it,” You panted, using the hand on the back of his head to push his forehead against yours while the other kept you from laying onto the island

• “I like it.. Fuck, I like it”

• “Yeah?” His hips stutter when you clench your walls around him, and in turn, he lets out a choked-off gasp

• “Y一Oh my god一Yeah...”

• Damn... he was FEELING it lmao

• Funny thing is that he slept throughout the entire dream and woke up only when his foot did a little mid-sleep spasm

• Stared at the wall while frowning for soooooo fucking long

• Whole time he said ‘ya know wot, that’s real interesting 🤔’

• Then was like “Prolly just horny 😃. oh well, time to change my underwear”

• And that’s what he chalked it up to in the end. Would maybe make a joke about it to you next time y’all hung out if he’s feeling loose enough and doesn’t mull over it for too long

San ♡:

• HEATHEN

• Hold on, lemme get a half-assed feel for the man... yes... mm-hm... ah, I see... OK!

• So, from what I can tell, San would distance himself from you slightly. Maybe. 

• That night, as he lie in his bed, breath coming faster with each motion that went on in his head, he saw you in a way that he never thought would happen.

• Skin, slick with sweat and eyes like burning coals as they focused on him. There wasn’t much to remember before it was already fading, but he could still make out how much his stomach lept and spun, heart oh-so thunderous in his chest. Whatever you did with him in the dream... it sparked something inside him.

• San was in a daze as he woke up, his body not quite cooperating with him when he tried to sit up, and instead, falling limp with the next couple of attempts.

• WHEN I TELL YOU THE SOUL WAS SUCKED FROM THIS MAN AISDIUBFADEBI-

• Really just stared into space with the look of a dead man

• What did he do when he finally saw you again?

•  ✨ pretend he didn’t see shit ✨

• Not the masked uncomfort-

• Depending on whether you’re one for confrontation, he might just cave if you press him about his weird behavior enough, but be fast, because I’m sure he could push his feelings down succesfully if he tried hard enough.

Mingi ♡:

• Dude... the fucking happiness of the dream...

• Silly giggles when you’d accidentally bonk eachother while switching posititons, bright smiles when you stared at eachother after a long time, random compliments, and nothing too serious that you couldn’t find playfulness in. Even when you’d both stop smiling to let out small moans and feel the moment together, it was always lighthearted.

• FUUUUUUUUUUUUCK IM SO ANGRY-

• It was some shit you’d see at the sundance ;(

• Then he woke up-

• You were the first and only thing he thought about as he gained conciousness. He wanted you... you, you, you, just you.

• He’d never wanted anything so bad. A sudden longing that made a lump form in his throat and an overwhelming feeling of how much he’s always wanted you.

• So, like Mingi does, he strived for that goal >:D

• He made an effort to see you as many times as he could and whenever you were free to hang out. And finally, one night when you both lie in his bed and gazed thoughtlessly at the ceiling, he told you.

• “I had a dream about you, you know.”

Not me basically making a summary of a could-be fic-

Wooyoung ♡:

• Now believe it or not, this bitch is hard for me to get a grasp on. All I can say with confidence is that he has the sex appeal of a milf stripper and is kinda stubborn-

• Hmm.... bothered.

• That is the feeling it would pull from him.

• Hungry; frequent patterns of warm breath against sweat-slicked skin, mumbled curses past wet lips, nails dug into his stomach deep enough to draw blood yet barely acknowledged through animalistic films over both your eyes, and teeth furrowed into the flesh of his shoulder as you scratched at the blank canvas of his back.

• It was all raw sexual aggression from both sides. So much so, that you both practically fought during it.

“I hate you. I hate you like you don’t even know, Wooyoung,” You speak, breathless, and reach up to weave both fists into his hair, “I love you so much that I fucking... hate you.”

• Then...

• Gone.

• Just like that, the dream was replaced with the sight of familiar bedroom walls as Wooyoung opened his eyes, a sigh escaping past his lips when he finally pieced things together.

• “As if I wasn’t already stressed enough...,” He murmurs, staring down at the new stain on his sweatpants.

• From that point on, it’s a new habit for Wooyoung to catch sight of you and keep his gaze there; just staring when you’re not looking, and feeling terrible afterwards. He feels like he violated you somehow, and with that ball of dread in his stomach whenever he sees you, he becomes distant.

• It’s not catching feelings so much as it is a new desire.

Jongho ♡:

• Jongho, Jongho, Jongho... whatever will we do with you?

• Upfront about it, surprisingly.

• He caught feelings. How could he not when you’re one of the most breath-taking people he’s ever had the pleasure of knowing?

• That face of yours, along with your voice so soft and encouraging in his ears, was enough for him to cave.

• “Just like that, baby... Just like that.”

• He doesn’t even remember the details of the dream. Just your words and kisses, which still make the touched skin of his body heat with excitement whilst he blinks down at his hands.

• He clenches them; one, twice, then lets them fall back to his sides. He doesn’t need to look into his pants to know that he’s soiled himself.

• He feels kinda... empty? After the dream. Lmao just as exhausted as San was, really, but both at the fluttering his heart when he thinks of you, and the dream itself, so cleans himself up real quick before going back to sleep. 

• The fluttering doesn’t go away the next morning.

• So... he tells you :D

• As soon as you walk through the door, holding a bag of snacks and drinks for preparation to crash at Jongho’s apartment for a little bit, he sits you down on the couch, much to your confusion at the serious face he has.

• “I know that this kind of thing can ruin friendships and I don’t want that. At all. But, I had a... dream, about you last night and now I can’t really stop thinking about you...”

• Not the pounding of his heart making him dizzy :*