and he's going to be moving

“You Love Me?”

Title: “You Love Me?”

Pairing: Richie Tozier x Reader

Type: Platonic | Romantic | Familial | Other

Warnings: angst, profanity, mentions of aids, mentions of neglectful parents.

Prompt: F13: “you love me?” “You have no idea.”

Never in your life did you dream you’d fall in love with Richie Tozier.

You’d known him since your diaper days - toddling about together, plump thighs and sticky mouths, with both of your parents watching - your’s attentively, Richie’s listlessly, bored, looking as though they wanted to be anywhere other than watching their only child take his first steps.

Growing up, shared rattle toys became shared peanut-butter sandwiches or bright-coloured hairclips pilfered from your mother’s china dish. Richie loved to wear those hairclips, more than even you. He’d stick an assortment of them into his unruly web of dark curls, specks of pink and lime and chrome swathed in a brunette tide.

Richie had always been… spacey, almost. From the first time, in third grade, you could cross the road on your own (“be very careful, Y/n. Remember to look both ways, and stop and listen for any cars, and never, ever cross on a bend.”) Richie’s parents gave no such forewarning, and it was with cheery ignorance he sauntered right into the - albeit, quiet - road on Monday morning.

Your hand shot out and grabbed him by the collar in childish alarm. “What are you doing? We have to look both ways first!”

“Oh yeah,” he returned cheerfully. “I forgot.”

Brushing off your scandalised look, he pointedly craned his neck left, then right, and then took your hand in his and pulled you from the curb with no warning. You shrieked at him all the way over the asphalt, sure a car would come from nowhere and career into you. When you scrambled onto the sidewalk on the opposite side, you ripped your hand from a giggling Richie’s grasp.

“That wasn’t funny!” you said shrilly. “I told you, we have to be careful when we cross a road, else we’ll both be hit by cars!”

“What happens when you get hit by a car?” Richie countered thoughtfully, as the two of you began walking. You paused to think, chewing your lip.

“We end up flat as pancakes, and the police have to peel us off the road,” you eventually returned triumphantly, but if your aim was to deter Richie, it backfired.

“Cool! I want to be a pancake!” declared the boy enthusiastically, but you merely shot him a frosty look and dragged him through the school gates.

You were there when Richie got his glasses, and the teasing started. Sneering jibes of “four-eyes” were brushed off, kids asking how many fingers they were holding up deflected with ease. You worried for Richie, the sensitive soul that you were, but he only ever laughed about it.

You were there when his parents stopped calling when they weren’t going to come home that night. Before, it was apologetic phone calls (“Richard, sweetie, we’re so sorry, the most silly thing - your father enjoyed himself a little too much at the gathering, you know how he likes his currant wine, only we thought it best to stay at the hotel tonight.”)

You found him hunched up by the side-table where the phone stood. The house was dark and cold - the heating wasn’t on. Richie looked like he hadn’t moved in years, a statue gathering dust, huddled against the wood of the table. You flurried around, snapping the lights on, straining to reach the boiler on tiptoe and turning the dial all the way up before scooting over to Richie and crossing your legs anxiously.

“What’s wrong, Richie?” you inquired. “Where are your parents?”

A pure stab of shock flashed through you at his sudden sob. Tears dripped down his screwed-up face, and when he spoke, his voice trembled. “I don’t know.”

Eventually, after a few phone calls, it was discovered that they were in New Jersey for an open evening of his father’s business. Richie stared at you, stricken, as you solemnly recited what the lady on the phone had told you. “But why didn’t they tell me?” he whispered. You didn’t know the answer to that, so you hugged him instead. He smelled of apple suckers and loneliness.

You were there in fourth grade when Richie discarded his mismatched sweaters and jeans for bright eyesores of Hawaiin shirts and jean-shorts and colourful sneakers. He traded his thin, wiry black glasses for thick red ones that made his eyes looked three times their normal size (you noticed what a pretty brown those irises were, then). He was there when your love for rainbow ponchos and ballet skirts and bracelets with bells on them faded in favour of garish maroons and olives and navies, overalls and sandals and short-shorts. He still wore the hairclips, sometimes - the dark red one that was always his favourite. The rest he kept in a small pot under his bed, along with a photo of you and him grinning toothily in first grade, tucked safe under the velvet lid.

You were there when Henry Bowers, held back for the third year running, decked him for the first time. He called Bowers a “son of a motherless whore” - something impressive-sounding he’d overheard on TV - when he saw him laying into the tiny asthmatic kid from world history. It hadn’t ended well, and you ended up wiping the blood from his nose and lips and teeth. He smiled sheepishly as you scolded him, but his apology was real as the blood staining the tissues. And another plus - from that day, you had three new friends. Stuttering Bill and Eddie Spaghetti and Stan the Man. You five were united as outcasts, not exactly a force to be reckoned with but certainly one that required brief consideration before attempting said reckoning - or whatever.

And in fifth grade, Richie hit some sort of tipping point.

He grew louder and more foul-mouthed, more enthusiastic in his spastic movements, and far more inclined to disrupt a class or smoke in the toilets or flunk school entirely. Then the remarks filtered in - intrusive and suggestive, comments on your legs or your chest or your mom. It annoyed you to no end, but you could think of no way to make him stop. Every time you snarked him or socked him on the shoulder, it made him slightly wilder, a shit-eating grin cracking his face in two - until you remembered something you’d seen once on telly. A man and a woman, and the man talked a lot. Whenever he talked too much, the woman would press a big red button that made a loud “BEEP BEEP” sound.

So, when the next remark came - “Hey Y/n - you have any other hobbies, ‘cept for being my own personal bicycle?” - you stared him dead in the eye and countered solemnly, “beep beep, Richie.”

He gaped at you like a fish out of water, speechless for the first time in years. “Did - did you just - beep me?”

From then on, it seemed to work to shut him down.

But it wasn’t until four months ago - when Georgie went missing, and you met Bev and Mike and Ben, and IT chased normalcy from your life did things between you and Richie start to shift.

You wanted to be with him every second - he was the longest-standing memory you had, the boy with hairclips in his curls who watered your head like a flower the first day of second grade. He was the one who poked your cheeks and called you “bubs” and yanked your ponytail and drew obscene images on your hand in permanent marker. He was the one who spent 70% of his time sleeping round your house when the silence of his was unbearable, who held you sombrely when you cried and cursed at the toughest of bullies in your honour. Richie was, to say with a flair for the dramatic, your life - mapped out in dark hair and freckles and lime sneakers, your other half.

The first time you wanted to kiss him was after the blood oath.

You hissed in pain as you wiped your hands absently on your black shorts. Richie walked beside you, gazing at the jagged cut on his palm with avid interest.

“I swear you can get AIDS from doing shit like this,” Richie commented as the both of you reached your bikes discarded in the grass.

You huffed a laugh. “Probably - but don’t go telling Eddie that.”

“Please. He’d convulse and die on the spot,” Richie scoffed, swinging a leg over the leather saddle. “So, where’ll it be, sweetcheeks?”

You rolled your eyes at the nickname. “I’m kind of in the mood to not think about anything. You wanna head to the arcade?”

Two hours later, pumped up on blue-raspberry Slushies with fingers cramping from the buttons and levers you’d been busy stabbing and yanking, you and Richie sat in a greasy-spoon café, snacking out of a shared basket of cheesy fries as the sky darkened outside the window.

“What d’you think’ll happen now?” Richie asked suddenly.

“What do you mean?” You swallowed your fries, reaching for your Pepsi to wash it down.

“Now IT’s dead. Kaput, bitch. No more missing kids, no more hallucinations, no more freaky fuckin’ clowns.” Richie heaved a sigh. “Cause I don’t think everything will just magically go back to the way it was.”

“No,” you mused in agreement. “No, you’re probably right.”

“‘Cept for us,” Richie beamed suddenly. “We’re inseparable, right?”

You grinned. “You bet, Tozier. For better or for worse.”

You looked at him - skin illuminated by the softly-glowing neon lights from the sign outside, the contours of his face sharply shadowed, hair a black, untameable mess as ever - and the urge to kiss him took you so fiercely, it almost knocked you off your chair. You swallowed your mouthful of fries too quickly in your shock, and one ended up dislodged in your throat. You choked and wheezed, and Richie unhelpfully thumped you on the back until you’d swallowed the damn thing.

“Jesus Christ,” he commented. “Y/n, if you wanted something to choke on, you could’ve just asked.”

A week ago, the comment would be met with an eye-roll; now it only made a flush climb your face, and you took a long swig of your iced Pepsi to ward off the redness.

The first time you actually kissed Richie Tozier was two months later.

It was midnight, but sleep troubled you not. You sat wide-awake, flat on your back and staring up at the ceiling in the darkness, when a sudden tap like long nails on wood made you start violently. Clambering to your feet, you glanced at your window; sure enough, a second later, a pebble hit the glass pane and bounced off again, and you sighed, picking your way over and opening it wide.

“Throwing pebbles, Romeo?” you called down teasingly. Richie glared up at you.

“Can I come up?”

You jerked your head in affirmation. At this point, your parents were so used to you going to bed alone and coming down in the morning with Richie, you didn’t even have to worry.

You slid the ladder out the window until it touched solid ground, then went back to your bed. A minute later, Richie’s face appeared at your open window, and he hauled himself in with all the grace of a sack of wet concrete.

You frowned as the scents of - was that wine? Wine and perfume - wafted in after him. He was also wearing a suit - a suit - but the illusion of whatever formality he’d been going for ended at his hair; looping black curls in total disarray, a soft tide of dark hair held back by a lone red hairclip.

“What the fuck are you wearing?” you eventually managed to choke out.

“My parents are home,” he answered non-communally. “And they decided to host a fucking mixer at our house tonight. So I was forced to wear this bullshit thing -“ he plucked at the suit in disgust “-and I only just managed to get away.”

“Wow.” Your eyes caught the red hairclip glinting amongst the soft web of dark curls. “I haven’t seen that thing in years.”

His hand skittered up to trace the clip absently. “My final act of defiance,” he chuckled weakly, before sinking down to sit on the carpet with heavy shoulders and clasped hands.

“Why are they such assholes, Y/n?” he asked suddenly. “I don’t know if I mortally offended them as in infant, or some shit like that - but even if I did, I still wouldn’t know, because they don’t talk to me. I don’t get it. Why have a kid if - if you’re not gonna-“ He waved his hands around in frustration, as if he could wring some meaning from the sentence if he hit at it enough.

“I don’t know, Richie,” you sighed, sliding off the bed and scooting closer until you sat toe-to-toe with the despairing boy. “I wish - I wish I could help you.”

Finally, he looked up; the tear tracks on his face glistened faintly as he smiled - not a smirk, or a shit-eating grin - a real smile that tore a hole in his chest and let all the dully-glowing fragments of the real Richie spill out for you to see. “You already have,” he answered softly.

Your breath seemed to catch in your throat. “But there’s gotta be more I can do. Damnit, Richie, I love you, so much and it fucking kills me to see you just - just take this shit.”

Richie stared at you, stricken. “You love me?”

You scoffed lightly, your face softening. “You have no idea.”

“But…” Richie was struggling to finish a coherent sentence. “Do you love me like - like the kid the split your granola bars with in second grade or do you love me like a…” Again with the wild hand gestures. “Y’know?”

A laugh bubbled through your lips. “Who says it can’t be both?”

As he opened his mouth to retort, you covered it with yours.

It was chaste and clumsy, but the chaps on his lips felt just right against the smoothness of yours, and the squeak of surprise he made at the embrace was swallowed. You could feel the heat of his cheeks and the flutter of his eyelashes and the firm beat of his heart all in that one, fleeting moment your lips touched.

And even as you pulled back, you felt him still. He was stammering in a way that’d give Bill a run for his money, but you could only smile.

Never in your life did you dream you’d fall in love with Richie Tozier - but right now was one of the rare, blissful seconds reality was better than dreams.

anonymous asked:

Steve headcanon where you're moving into a house together and the boys / eleven and Max come and help? x

a/n: okay, so i was totally going to add this to the list and do it later since it’s thanksgiving, however (this is a bit personal so you can skip and go straight to the headcanon), one of my friends who is my age and getting married next week (which is a whole other story that’s just aldkjfalskdjfalksdjf asdkfjlsadkfjlaskdjf) decided to lay it on me that he’s planning on having kids in like a year or so and i’m weirded out and just llike nope so i figured i’d distract myself with this. 

tl;dr: fluffy steve headcanon with the party is distracting and nice.


  • it had been a long time coming
  • like, a loooooong time coming 
  • you and steve had been dating for years when he’d brought up getting a house 
  • you’d told him that you’d at least better be engaged before that happened
  • and he was just like, “no shit y/n. i thought that was a given.” 
  • so it takes awhile but the idiot proposes to you 
  • the whole party was involved in keeping you busy the day of so you’d have no idea what was going on 
  • (you said yes, of course)
  • and the day after the two of you got engaged, steve cornered you with the local newspaper and had circled seven different listings with a red marker 
  • this boy was ready 
  • you hadn’t thought that you’d be particular about getting a house, but you ended up being particular as hell, but when you found it? 
  • you found it 
  • (well, dustin had been the one to find it, but still)
  • everything had gone smoothly
  • one day you were freaking out because you were trying to buy a house and this was adulting and what were you doing this is insane 
  • and the next day the two of you were homeowners 
  • like, actual fucking homeowners
  • which of course brought along the next course of action 
  • moving 
  • you’d thought that it’d be hard to entice the party to help you move 
  • but it turns out steve had already enticed them into helping by saying that they could use your basement any time for DnD (which was still going on strong, even years later)
  • (steve still doesn’t know how to play, but he plays with enthusiasm)
  • so they were  r e a d y
  • mike had suggested that el just use her powers to get all the boxes into the moving van 
  • that was met with a resounding no 
  • “moving brings people together, mike. c’mon,” you’d said, grinning at him 
  • mike just gave you the finger 
  • it took all morning just to get everything into the van 
  • (you’d been smart and had loaded up the stuff from your parents’ house the night before)
  • (steve had said that he didn’t have that much stuff and they could do it the day of)
  • (he’d lied)
  • dustin and lucas would bicker about where the boxes needed to go 
  • max and will took to organizing all of the furniture in the van
  • (will kept saying that it was like tetris)
  • el was helping you finish up the last of the packing while mike was fluttering between the lot of you, helping wherever he could 
  • steve was trying to label every single box, but somewhere along the way, he got some boxes mixed up, so he just wrote fuck it on the rest of them 
  • it was well after noon by the time the van was loaded up
  • so steve, dustin, and will had piled into the moving van while the rest got into your car
  • when you got to the house, you decided that it’d be easier to just get the boxes inside and then the furniture later 
  • which worked well enough
  • until it turned out that the couch was just slightly bigger than the doorway
  • (it’s like that scene from friends, except steve was the one screaming “pivot” over and over again, until dustin screamed at him to “fuck off”)
  • you were just silently thanking god that the neighbors weren’t around 
  • it took literally all day, but by 7:42pm on saturday, september 17, 1988, it was done 
  • the moving van was empty 
  • the furniture was all in place
  • the boxes were starting to get unpacked, but everyone knew it’d take at least a year for everything to be officially put away 
  • dustin offered to take your car to go pick up some pizza
  • steve called him a shithead and said that he shouldn’t be driving because he doesn’t care what the law or his driver’s license is, there’s no way in hell he should be allowed to drive
  • that started off a whole other argument when the boys came to dustin’s defense and then steve called them all shitheads and said that they were all babies still 
  • you, max, and el left to go get the pizza 
  • by the time you got back, it had been decided that steve was the shittiest driver out of all of them, and that max was the best 
  • by the time that the pizza had been doled out, you were all littered around your brand new living room
  • the entire party was somehow shoved onto the couch together
  • shoulders smushed together as they all ate their pizza 
  • you and steve were sat on the floor, backs up against the couch as you just grinned at each other 
  • “y’know, mom and dad, this isn’t that bad. it’s kinda nice,” lucas said, laughing 
  • “yeah, you guys got room for one more?” 
  • “or like, six more?”
  • you looked at steve and grinned
  • he was grinning right back
  • “yeah, we got room.”

“I was thinking we might go out for dinner this evening,” Draco asks him, just as Harry’s coming through the door with a stack of files and two bags of shopping from Waitrose and a rolled up metro under his arm. “Hello,” Draco then says, belatedly, knocking one knuckle against the chest of drawers in their hallway.

Harry holds up the bags, demonstratively. “I was going to make pasta?” he says. “I got mozzarella balls.”

A little crease appears in between Draco’s eyebrows, which isn’t exactly the usual reaction Harry receives upon saying the words ‘mozzarella balls.’

“I– we can go out,” Harry tries, but the crease doesn’t disappear, and he can’t think of anything else to say.

“No, of course not,” Draco says, collecting himself enough to come over and take the bags out of Harry’s hands. “I’ll dig out some candles or something,” he continues, halfway into the kitchen.

Harry pauses for a second in the hallway, trying to remember if today is his birthday or Draco’s birthday or some anniversary he should have bought flowers for. But it’s just… it’s just a night, as far as he can remember. They’re deep into November now, London is dark and freezing and grey, and Harry can’t remember anything ever happening in this month they’d have cause to celebrate about.

Draco doesn’t look over when Harry comes into the room, reaching up to put away a tin of chopped tomatoes in the top shelf that Harry can’t reach. He’s wearing a red jumper, one of Harry’s, and it’s riding up at the waist. He looks warm and soft and rumpled and Harry loves coming home to him like this, is so grateful for it, even when he acts strangely and says things that don’t make any sense and frowns at things that really don’t warrant it.

Harry goes up behind him and puts his hands right on the bare slip of skin above Draco’s trousers. Draco freezes, and Harry takes his hands away again. “What’s wrong?” he asks, and Draco turns to him, sort of wildly.

“I’ve fucked this up,” he says, nonsensically, “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“No you haven’t,” Harry tells him, even though he doesn’t know for sure. Draco hasn’t fucked anything up in years, he doesn’t think.

Draco makes a face, freezes for just a moment, and then goes down on one knee on the wooden floor in their kitchen. Harry’s mind goes flat, smooth, he can’t even think.

Draco swallows, and Harry watches his throat move. “The ring is in the bedroom,” he says ruefully, “I just… I’m not doing this right.”

“Stop saying that,” Harry tells him, as soon as he can manage it. “Please just. Ask what you’re going to ask.”

“Do you want to get married?” Draco asks him, so obligingly, red the way he gets sometimes. “To me. Do you want to marry me. Because I just– desperately want to marry you.”

It doesn’t occur to Harry to say no. Draco could ask him anything, and the answer would be yes, yes always, yes forever.

“Yes,” he says, blinking hard, and Draco tilts forward with a long exhale, his forehead pressed hard against Harry’s thigh.

“Good,” Draco says, out of breath. “That’s good.”

Harry cups the back of his head, gently. Was it like this when his parents got engaged? In their kitchen, or in their bed, or on the sofa in the living room he’s only seen in photos. Did it occur to either of them to say no?

He hopes it didn’t. He hopes they felt this way about each other, like there was nobody else. Like it was the easiest choice they’d ever made.

“Good,” Harry echoes, and that’s– that’s what it is. 

It’s good, it’s easy, it’s the person he loves loving him back and telling him so. For a hundred more cold, grey, Novembers. For years, hopefully, piled on top of one another, decades and decades of it, a lifetime of it.

Hands

Summery: “Cuddly night with Harry and you can’t stop playing with his hands.”

——————–

“You know you’ve got great hands right?” You question your boyfriend Harry.

The two of you have been sitting on the couch for about a hour watching Bob’s Burgers. Well that is until you had gotten bored with the show so you turned to him and began to play with his hand. This is a normal act for you to do so he continues watching the show while giggling to himself.

It takes a few seconds for him to register that you said something.

“Thanks babe.” He says between laughs still not paying attention to you. You begin to trace the veins. He really does have big hands, they don’t look that big until there right there in front of you. You bring his hand closer to your face and begin to lightly kiss each knuckle. That gets his attention.

“What’re you doin’?” He asks lacing his fingers through yours.

“You know I like your hands.” You say as he tugs you onto his lap to where your straddling him. You both let out a giggle. When you’d successfully situated yourself on top of him he grabs your other hand and laces it with his free one.

All of a sudden Harry starts moving your arms around like crazy and makes you do weird motions. You both crack up laughing.

“Your gonna be a STAR!” He yells in a funny voice while holding your arms out and shaking them.

“Quit I’m gonna pee!” you yell between laughter. Harry had the hugest grin.

After a few more weird motions he finally lets go of your hands and put his on your thighs. Still giggling you bring your hand up to your eyes to wipe away the tears. When you finally calmed down you noticed he was looking at you with the goofiest grin.

“What?” You ask raising your eyebrow.

“I’m just so fuckin’ in love with you.” He says bringing your hand to his lips leaving a kiss. Now you break in to a goofy grin.

“And I’m so fucking in love with you.” You say then you grab his face and kiss him.

Goofy Harry was always your favorite Harry.

———-

Sorry I haven’t wrote in SOOO long, I’ve been going through like a mid life crisis (I’m 16 and dramatic please ignore me). But I hope you liked and please send in requests I’m actually going to do them this time! :)

Womanizer

A/N: Holy crap this is long! This is for @caplansteverogers​ song fic challenge based on the song Womanizer by Brittany Spears.  It’s probably really bad and i hope you enjoy it and I apologize for any mistakes.

The Winter Solider, James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes was sitting at your bar. Normally you wouldn’t care, but this man was a local superstar and as with any local superstar the women were all over him. You watched the scene in front of you with a knowing look. Barnes was playing innocent drawing more women to him, it was a classic womanizer move, one you’ve seen countless times.

Keep reading

Jungkook x Reader Smut

Genre: Smut (18+)

Warnings: Degrading, Anal, Intense Smut, Teasing, Overstimulation, Spanking, Orgasm Denial.

Word Count: 1K

Apology: I’m sorry Jungkook Stans

Enjoy!

You and Jungkook haven’t had the chance to spend time together since the comeback. Despite him not allowing you to pleasure yourself while he was away, you still did, also telling him while he was away.

Just thinking of the punishment he had planned for you excited you. You put on his favorite set of blue lace lingerie, under a sheer black shirt. You lay on the bed, ready for him.

The front door creaks open. You hear the commotion of him putting things down, the jingle of his keys hitting the kitchen counter. You hear an echo of his sigh come down the hallway, making you squeeze your thighs together. The hallway light peeks through the bedroom door as he cracked it open. Flicking on the lights, Jungkook’s eyes immediately focused on just you. He made his way over, eyes never leaving you. He spread your legs, positioning himself between them. Your eyes lock with his, his left hand exploring your body, not missing a single bit of skin.

“You’ve been naughty baby girl,” He smirks, his forehead pressed against yours, lips just hovering over yours. The rasp in his voice causes you to bite your bottom lip, your eyes locking on his lips. He softly presses them to yours, pulling away quickly, making you whine of neediness.

“I’ll have to punish you,” His hand slipped underneath your shirt, squeezing your breast, making you moan.

“So sensitive,~” He hums. His lips connect to yours, going in with hunger. Jungkook massages your breast, as you moan while he kisses you. Your legs find their way around his legs, creeping up. He pulls away from the kiss, lifting you towards him. His right cheek pressed against yours, his hot breath hitting your ear.

“Go get in the shower,” He whispers, “I’ll meet you there,” You nod, getting up, heading to the bathroom. You start the water, making it the warmth that’s perfect for the both of you. You strip off your clothing, Jungkook coming in as you were about to remove your panties, his finger hooking on the sides. His hard length grazes your back. Jungkook slips your panties down your legs, allowing you to step out. You step in the shower, the warm water hitting your back, Jungkook follows, turning you around to face him. His hand held the side of your face, your hands placing themselves on his chest, as you put your head up to kiss him. His fingers tangled in your hair, your right hand reached down to touch his length, causing a small moan from him. Jungkook reaches down, grabbing ahold of your wrist. Jungkook lifts you up, holding you against the shower wall, his tip grazing your sensitive entrance, you whimpered in his ear as you wrapped your legs around his waist, arms around his neck.

Jungkook slid in, slowly, with a breathy moan. You began to roll your hips on him, Jungkook moved you up and down on his length. Your nails dig into his skin, leaving scratch marks all over his back. You felt your high coming, Jungkook could tell by the expression on your face. He stopped, turning off the water, then carrying you to the bedroom. You were “bothered” still, you knew he was hard still, but he has something planned. Jungkook went into the little drawer of toys he had for you. It wasn’t going where you thought it was, he lubes it up, walking to the edge of the bed where he left you.

“Bend over,” You situate yourself so that your feet are off the bed, your ass in the air in front of him. Jungkook turns on the vibrator, the noise exciting you. No warning, he stuck it in your ass, you expel a series of moans. He teases your entrance with his tip, you begin to whine.

“Daddy~,” You whine. Jungkook decided to make this a little game. Every time you whine, he’ll spank you.

“Whine some more, I dare you,” He kissed up your back. He continues to tease you, making you just whine more. Your ass is already bright red, stinging with pain. Jungkook begins to roughly thrust into you, your knees going weak. You’re gripping the sheets, moaning as loud as you can.

“Da-dad,” You whine, barely able to make out the word. But, when Jungkook spanked you, you screamed. “Daddy!” You clench around him, lifting your hips.

“Cum all over daddy’s cock, you dirty little slut,” He growls with a few more hard thrusts. You came when your breath hitched. You came, hard, so did Jungkook. But, he wasn’t done yet. He turned you on your back, then slid a finger through your folds.

“Wait here, princess,” He left the room. The vibration of the dildo in your ass made you roll your hip. Jungkook came back in, he took the vibrator out of you, setting aside. He then goes down between your legs, you felt something cold on your stomach, whimpering. You lift your hand, to feel his hair, you tangle your fingers in it, as he moves an ice cube around on your bare stomach. You remove your hands, then he goes down farther, running it along with your inner thighs. Then, he began to suck your clit, the ice cube on your sensitive bud, it was a sensation you’ve never felt, but you enjoyed it.

Once the ice cube fully melts, Jungkook licks a stripe along your core, then begins to eat you out. His tongue twisting, going on the edges of your walls. Your breath hitching at every move he makes. He knew just his mouth wouldn’t get you enough, he moves his mouth from your core to your clit, inserting 2 fingers, padding at your g-spot. He began thrusting them into you, slowly. You were breathless, glistening with sweat. You whimper as you came onto his fingers, back arching.

Jungkook stood before you, sucking your juices off his fingers. Then, leaving the room. You lay there, catching your breath, and limp. He eventually came back, lifting you up bridal style, carrying you to the bathroom, candles were lit up, roses in the water. He carefully set you in the water, climbing in behind you, laying you on his bare chest. He kisses your shoulder, nuzzling into your neck.

“You took me well, baby,” He says, rubbing your thighs. “I’ll take care of you tomorrow,” Still out of breath you whisper.

“I love you,”

“I love you too, princess,” He kisses onto your neck.

The Weeping Garden

Originally posted by maryxglz

a/n: the gif has no meaning to this story but I loved this part in the movie so oh well; btw, thanks to everyone for putting up with my ultra shitiness

The statue of Y/n stood in the garden by the palace. Smooth stone benches circled around her pedestal of sapphires so that any one could sit by and watch or talk or read. But the common practice of a person kneeling down at Y/n’s feet means that anyone watching must leave. 

Y/n’s legend traces back to long ago; she was a well-known goddess of truth and virtues, born at a time when the Asgardians needed some truth and virtue in their lives. She was killed by one of her sisters, a jealous and envious lady. 

And so in her honor, a statue was built and placed in a garden of blue and white pastel flowers. Legend declared that only the tears of oppressed and weak would bring her to life, when the world had fallen to dust and needed Y/n’s brightness to guide them. 

Over time, people had begun to pray at her feet, confess their wrongdoings and overcome past sufferings. They believed that their tears gave her strength, enough so that one day she’d be able to awaken and fight for them. So her garden became known as the Weeping Garden, a place where people can go to hope and believe.

Loki does not believe. 

He had not believed for a long while, not since he’d begged for her to awaken and end this suffering he felt-being an outsider. After the truth had come out-after he’d learned of his true heritage and Odin fell into the dangerous sleep-Loki fell to his knees and cried for the first time in a long time. He apologized for everything he’d done to possibly deserve such pain. 

Nothing happened. Y/n did not awaken to take Odin’s place or lead Loki to his happy ending. 

Loki couldn’t even begin to describe the betrayal he’d felt; he’d been abandoned by the one person who was never meant to betray anyone. 


It was now a time of destruction in Asgard. Hela had awoken, apparently ready to unleash hell, and Loki was meant to be on his way to the Eternal Flame. And yet he is distracted. 

Y/n’s statue is staring at him, her blind stone eyes blank but unyielding. 

“What do you want?” Loki snapped. 

Her head did not move. 

“There’s nothing I can do for you!”

Still, nothing. 

Loki swore and held out a hand. The statue wavered off of the ground and Loki ran. He felt hopeful, of all things. But he’d certainly not get on his knees and cry or beg for Y/n to help him. 

If the legend is true-if-then the Flame would bring her to life just as easily as a few sniveling sobs.

Of course a few parts of his brain told him it wouldn’t work. He couldn’t imagine that tears hadn’t been shed for her with Hela around. People must have tried. So why should he? 

Loki didn’t know what to do, but he’d have to make a choice fast. His brother is counting on him and he can’t let Thor down. Not again. 

Standing before the flame, Loki took a deep breath. The cup that held the inextinguishable licks of flame seemed so small and probably meaningless to anyone who wouldn’t know better. 

“This better work,” Loki said to himself. He reached into the basin and cupped his hands together. A ball of fire pulled away. Loki looked at Y/n’s inanimate face. She was carved to be very beautiful. Although she is only stone, her hair bounds over her shoulders, across the curve of her breasts, animatedly. 

Loki, hesitant, as if he feared the flame would go out, put both hands on either of Y/n’s cheeks as though he were about to kiss her. The flame melted the stone into something like rubber that pooled around her feet. Loki took a step back as the melting rock slid down Y/n, who could hardly peel her eyes back. She fell forward and Loki caught her, his heart beating twice as fast with excitement.

He slunk down to his knees, cradling her close. “Are you alright?” Loki asked, brushing her hair from her face. It’s [h/c]. It’s soft. 

And she’s beautiful. 

Perhaps the most beautiful thing Loki’s ever set his eyes on. The rock encasing did not do her features much justice. 

She coughed and wheezed for breath, shaking in Loki’s arms. 

A moment later, her eyes opened. Y/n looked at Loki with weak pools of [e/c]. “You’ve…awoken me.” Those first words startled Loki. He had been unsure and up until she spoke, nothing about the revival felt real.

“Why?” she asked in a thick, wavering voice. She limply struggled against Loki, trying to pull away from him, but her limbs felt heavy as lead.

“Hold on to me,” Loki instructed. She weakly protested a few times as they stood, one of her arms looped around Loki’s waist.

“What are you doing?!” Y/n shrieked when she saw Loki seize Surtur’s crown. “Stop, you’ll kill us all!”

Loki couldn’t determine if Y/n is fully lucid. She seemed groggy and cloudy and physically weak; she could hardly stand without Loki’s help, and struggling to take the crown from him proved difficult. But she seemed aware enough to know what dousing the crown into the eternal flame would mean.

Loki placed the crown into the basin and lifted Y/n into his arms. She thrashed against him. “You’ve killed us all!” shd exclaimed. “Don’t you know what you’ve done?”

Loki supposed he’d react similarly in Y/n’s position. Ragnorak meant the end. The utter end.

“You’ve killed us all!” she exclaimed.

“Unless my brother and I are wrong, then yes, I suppose I have,” Loki grunted as he hoisted Y/n by her hips and throwing her across his shoulders. Y/n struggled against him weakly, hitting her fists against his back. “Let me go!” she exclaimed. 

“Quit moving around,” Loki instructed as he attempted to run as fast as he could with Y/n yelling in his ear and pounding on his back. “I’m trying to save you!” 

Y/n reached her hand down and pinched Loki as hard as she possibly could on the butt. Loki yelped and Y/n managed to worm her way off of him. 

“You are lucky that I am feeling outrageously kind today,” Loki snapped as he seized Y/n by the wrist. She raised another hand to strike him. Loki caught her other limb and stared at her darkly. 

Her eyes are [e/c], stern and unwavering. 

“Come on,” he said. The two ran, Y/n being dragged away but she didn’t fight him off as they exited the palace that had begun to rumble under their feet. 


a/n: hahahah cliff hangar 

BTS Reaction – Bruises After Sex

Author’s Note: This is my first ever attempt of writing a reaction. Let’S see how this works:))

Jin:

After you both came back from your highs he would look at your heavily breathing figure and realize the bruises he left on you. He will trace the bruises on your beautiful skin with his fingers softly. He knew how bad it must have hurt you so he felt guilty when his hands started shaking a bit which ruined the moment for you.

‘Jagiya…I-I’m so sorry, I never meant to hurt you. Are you sure you are okay?’

‘Don’t worry princess I will cook for you so you won’t feel anything but joy!’’

Originally posted by fawnave

Yoongi:

He would wake up in the morning and see you in his embrace, sleeping. He would see your naked body by moving the covers with his attempt to sit on the bed. In shock, he would go over everything that happened last night placing his head between his hands and feel sad about the situation but when he tries to get up he realizes his own bruises ‘you’ gave him.

‘At least it wasn’t just me.’

‘I love you so much that it hurts.’

Originally posted by meanyoongis

Namjoon:

You will come out of the bathroom whining about the bruises and joking around with him when you hit his sensitive spot. He will become sad and protective all of a sudden, looking at the floor a bit. He will then come up to you and lightly kiss your tender lips while cupping your face. He will keep telling you that he is sorry but expect this happening to you more.

‘You turn me on so much I can’t imagine myself going slower.’

‘Oppa will make sure to pay back to you, how about I show you me being a gentleman now?;)’

Originally posted by forever-young-got7

Hoseok:

You were sleeping together when he wakes up and wanted to wake you too with the sunlight and his huge happy smile. He will go over the window and open the curtains letting the sunshine in but it hit your bare back highlighting the fragments of last night. He will lose his smile and run up to you, waking you up, hugging you and kissing anywhere on your body while saying he will be gentle next time.

‘Baby I’m so sorry do you want me to apply some cream?’

‘I will get 5000 shots of coffee to not lose my senses again! It doesn’t work like that?…Oh…’

Originally posted by jhopingforhoseok

Jimin:

He will find you preparing breakfast and appreciate your presence when he wakes up every day. He will slowly come after you and hug you from your waist making you jump a bit. Between your cute laughter, he tries to turn you around but your hip hits the counter leaving you in pain because of the bruises he gave you last night. He will get worried while saying that it’s okay and gently rubbing his hand on the bruises like comforting a little child.

‘Don’t worry love I will kiss them all so it will heal faster.’

‘I’m sorry baby everything will be okay.’

Originally posted by samwol

Taehyung:

Tae would step inside the bathroom to find you having a warm nice morning bath and he decides to join in. He will make jokes while giving you cuddles and decides to wash your back. When you turn, he will realize the trail of blue purple hickeys and scream. He would be so worried at that moment constantly asking you if you are okay and the only way you could stop him is giving him a teasing slap.

‘OMFG JAGI WHAT ARE THESE TELL ME WHO DID THEM????…Oh…it was me…’

‘I’m sorry jagiya next time I will make sure to wear gloves!!!’

Originally posted by toughchim

Jungkook:

The day after your heated night you have a big appointment at work so you jump out of the bed and start dressing up. Jungkook will wake with sleepy eyes calling out your name but you are so rushed running in the room when you felt his arms wrapped around your body to calm you down. When he steps back he will realize the bruises at your hips from his rough grip and he will kneel to give soft kisses to those spots. He will say he is sorry. Eventually you miss your appointment.

‘I’m sorry for ruining this amazing body of yours.’

‘But I treated my princess well, didn’t I?’

Originally posted by jkguks

Hope you liked itt!!!

Do You Wanna Be A Serpent? Part 6

She was sugar and honey and everything right about the world, her lips were soft as satin and her hands buried deep in his hair sent the kind of chills down his spine that he only felt when the cold poured from his body and warmth took over. She was blonde ponytails and tiny skirts, she was motor oil and worn out novels, she was light and dark, fire and rain. Betty Cooper was everything and there was no way on this planet Jughead Jones was going to lose her, not now and not ever.

She was healing him, stitching up the broken pieces of the young Serpent hole by hole.

Since that kiss in the girls locker room the two had been inseparable, you hardly ever saw the beautiful cheerleader without her leather clad boyfriend towering over her frame. He was intimidating , that much was certain, from his gang of bikers that followed closely behind no matter where he went, to the protective and slightly frightening gaze he cast on nearly every Riverdale Student who dared to stare just a little too long at his Betty. And she was, his that is, he treated her as an extension of himself, and he supposed She was, she was carrying his heart after all.

But there was one minor problem, a nagging itch that tapped at that back of Jugheads brain, an insecurity fed by years of mistreatment and shame. Betty had yet to invite him to her home, it had been just two weeks since the beginning of their relationship but it still weighed heavily on Jugheads mind. Any talk of her family was quickly pushed aside, her parents were never mentioned and all he knew of her home life was that her sister had gotten pregnant and went to live on a farm in Tulsa. He wanted to know all of her and her family, her upbringing, that was such a huge part of her it seemed to leave an empty gap in Betty’s heart, one she wasn’t willing to give away quite yet.

Not that he didn’t mind their nights curled up on the couch in his fathers trailer, Betty’s perfectly hand written notes for the blue and gold sprawled out beneath them. One night Betty walked into his tiny home with an armful of clothing, tattered and torn, her cheeks rosy as she dropped the clothes on the couch, her hands reaching in her back pack for a sewing kit, when Jughead had stared at her curiously she just smiled.

“Sweetpea asked me to fix up a couple of his shirts and I guess a few of the gang heard that I’m pretty handy with a sewing needle so they asked me to do a little mending.” She shrugged, her smile bright as she changed the topic to the latest drama on the cheerleading team.

That was one of the things jughead loved most about Betty, she never judged, never pitied, she just…did. Most of the women on the Southside weren’t particularly the maternal type, most of the young Serpents moms had run off shortly after they were born and the ones that had stayed? Well, They weren’t the type to fix clothes or cook dinner.

But Betty was. she was happy to come over and make dinner for Jughead and his friends, happy to patch up the bruises and cuts that the gang members would get after particularly brutal street fights, she did it all with a smile, a real one, one so genuine it lit up the entire room. The once dark and dull Southside seemed to be getting brighter by the day. It was no secret that the tiny journalist was the main reason for the change.

That brought them to where they were right now , Betty’s legs wrapped around jugheads waist, her hands in his hair as she peppered kisses to his neck, her button down blouse halfway undone. She was sin personified and normally he was plenty happy to enjoy the feel of her perfect body pressed against his, her curious hands exploring, setting sparks to his skin. But tonight? Well he was a little distracted.

“I want to meet your parents” he mumbled into her loose honey blonde waves. The sentence was muffled in a mumble and it came out sounding more like “ na mee your parents.”

Betty pulled away, her eyebrows scrunched, a giggle escaping her lips as she ran her fingers down his jaw

“Come again handsome?”

Jughead let his hands wander Betty’s curves before he took a deep breathe, his rainstorm blue eyes meeting her meadow green ones

“I want to meet your parents.” He spoke more clearly.

Betty stiffened, fingers falling from his face and pulling away as she buttoned up her blouse

“My parents aren’t home. They’re away.” She spoke briskly, sliding from his lap and adjusting the the tiny green skirt she was wearing.

“For how long?” Jughead pressed, he was still shirtless but now he was standing, trying desperately to get her to look at him, to explain.

“I don’t know Jughead, god why do we even have to talk about this? I met your dad, you don’t really need to meet my parents. We know we’re official what does it matter?” Betty huffed, her arms crossing around her chest, the button down she was wearing rose up on her forearms revealing a deep purple bruise, fingerprints visible around her wrist.

“What the hell is that?” Jughead barked, moving to her so quickly she didn’t even have time to pull down her sleeve before he was gently clutching her arm in his hands.

Betty inhaled sharply

“someone must have grabbed me too hard at practice last week, it’s no big deal.”

Jughead stopped back, something dangerous in his eyes

“I know bruises Betty, and that ones fresh, you haven’t had cheerleading practice in two days and you’ve been wearing long sleeves for three. It’s summer Betty, now tell me. Who. Is. Hurting. You?” He didn’t want to scare her but he was damn close to shaking, his words coming out in a growl, someone was hurting his girl, Someone was hurting Betty and he was going to find out who.

“No one! No one is hurting me! Just drop it Jughead, please!” Betty cried, tears welling in the corners of her eyes as she backed into the trailer wall.

“Bullshit! Someone is beating on you. I’m your boyfriend! I want to help you! God Betty just let me help you!” He was yelling now, his hands flaring.

Betty shook her head aggressively

“I don’t need your help! Just leave it alone, I’m asking you to leave it alone!” She begged.

“I can’t leave this alone Betty, you know who I am, What I am! You have to tell me who’s doing this to you, I’m not going to let it happen again, I can keep you safe!” The dark haired boy was pleading with her, searching her face for some kind of indication, he was such a fool, he hadn’t seen it, hadn’t paid attention to the bruises.

“no one can keep me safe! Don’t you get that?! I’m not safe anywhere!” She was sobbing now, her chest heaving under the anxiety and guttural cries

“What about your parents? Your dad? Does he know?!”

It was just a split second,a flicker of her eyes, the way her body tensed at the mention of him. Jugheads eyes widened, in an instant he was grabbing his leather jacket and pulling his shirt on, his hand was on the door handle when he felt Betty’s body press against his

“Where are you going?! Please stop, just stay please, just stay!” Her entire body shook with unrestrained sobs. “I need you to stay.” She whispered her voice so broken he had no other option but to turn around and wrap his arms around his beautiful girlfriend, sliding them both down the wall and squeezing her against his body.

After a few minutes Jughead whispered

“I want to kill him. I want him dead.”

Betty shivered against his chest

“Sometimes I think I do too. It’s been happening since I was little, it’s why Polly ran away, she wanted to take me with her but I couldn’t leave, I can’t leave my mom. I wasn’t lying when I said they went away, they left this morning for a journalism convention they’ll be home tomorrow .”

Jughead nodded slowly, wheels turning in his mind

“You’ll stay here for the night, I want you right next to me, where I can see you, feel you.”

Betty nodded, not a moment of hesitation

“I don’t really want to be alone tonight.” She whispered

Jughead shook his head

“You’re never alone. Not anymore, I’m right here sunshine and I’m not going anywhere. Not now and not ever.”

After what felt like hours Betty’s breathing slowed, her head pressed against his chest slipped slowly. She was sleeping, thank god. Jugheads arms moved under her knees, picking her up bridal style as she sleepily swung her arms over his neck involuntarily, finding comfort close to him even in her dreams. Gently laying her down into his bed and sliding into the space beside her, the Serpent Prince stared down at his beautiful princess, he had meant it when he told Archie he was going to protect her, keep her safe.

He was willing to do whatever it takes.

Happy Thanksgiving, here’s some more of this older!Stiles AU that I’m pretty sure I’m going to have to name eventually since it keeps going.


“It was somewhere over here, I remember this bend in the stream,” Erica said, carefully stepping over a fallen branch. She was moving slowly, cautiously, like she was afraid to trigger another seizure. It was probably too soon for her to be out wandering in the woods, but she insisted she was okay and who was Stiles to tell her she was wrong?

Scott knew more about her epilepsy and he was walking with her, so if anything went wrong with her, he would know what to do. Stiles was more focused on the ground, looking for anything out of the ordinary as they moved deeper into the preserve.

“That’s where I slipped,” Erica continued, pointing to a groove in the muddy bank from sneakers sliding. “So I think it’s…” She straightened and looked around her, hesitating.

“It’s okay, take your time,” Scott assured her with his big, earnest eyes. And despite the fact that it was already in the first moments of getting dark, he added, “We’ve got all day.”

Speak for yourself, Stiles didn’t say aloud. He was running on no sleep, he hadn’t changed out of his uniform in over twenty-four hours now, and he still had to stop by the store on the way home because he was pretty much out of real food.

Despite spending his teenage years getting the groceries for the house and demanding his dad eat healthy meals, all of his amazing shopping habits died surprisingly fast once he moved out on his own. Now he just had a real bad habit of putting it off for days on end and finding himself at the one twenty-four hour convenience store at 5am after a night shift, shamefully filling his arms with microwave burritos while Hector the cashier watched in judging silence.

He didn’t like that an eighteen year old had that kind of dirt on him, but they had an understanding, wherein Hector told no one about the burritos and Stiles looked the other way that one time he saw a six pack of Bud Light in the cashier’s backpack behind the counter. It was Bud Light and Stiles was buying six burritos and pack of gummy worms. There was already enough silent shame between them.

“This way,” Erica decided with a nod, but still glanced at Stiles before moving like she was expecting him to tell her she was wrong.

He just nodded right back and followed her lead.

He always felt a little awkward around Erica; she was so quiet and shy that he felt like he was railroading her into conversation every time he talked to her, but Scott always insisted she wasn’t normally like that. Which…still didn’t make Stiles feel great about it.

You’re just a little intense, she’ll get used to you, Scott said every time he brought it up, but he’d also been saying that for four years. It wasn’t looking good.

They clambered up a small embankment with more slips in the mud, and there at the top…was nothing.

“It’s gone,” Erica said, taking a few more steps forward.

Keep reading

Taehyung - You don’t love him

Taehyung’s hands shake as he grips onto the table, his eyes filling with tears as your words hang in the air. You gulp a little, wishing it wasn’t so hard to do this. In your head, you think back to all the poor decisions you’ve made in this relationship - agreeing to go on that first date, letting him kiss you, moving in with him, letting his propose and even accepting it. Looking down to the ring on your finger, it feels like it burns to wear it. You sigh and repeat your words again,

Keep reading

ontariokid  asked:

4 with lumax maybe?? if you could???

4. “Who gave you that black eye?”
WC:
1111 


Lucas doesn’t want to go to the arcade today, but he promised Max. She’d been looking forward to their one-on-one Dig-Dug match all week, and he’s not going to disappoint her. So, while he still bikes to the Palace Arcade Saturday morning, he keeps his head low, hands gripping the handlebars tightly.

Keep reading

Thursday…Thanksgiving Day

Before the sun shone in the sky on Thanksgiving morning, a knock sounded on Rick’s bedroom door. Michonne was about to ignore it, when the knock came again.

Sighing, Michonne tried to sit up. That was a lot easier said than done because as soon as she starting moving out of Rick’s arms, his hold tightened and his eyes fluttered opened.

“Where are you going?” he asked in a voice husky from sleep.

“Jeffy’s knocking on the door again. I’m about to go hurt him. I’ll be back in a second.”

Rick kissed Michonne’s shoulder before loosening his hold. “Okay, I’ll keep the bed warm for you.”

Keep reading

b99 is usually so good about continuity but…Holt and Kevin going to Kevin’s parents for Thanksgiving? When last we heard they haven’t spoken to Holt in thirty years because they’re ‘huge homophobes’? With no deets on what changed? 

Because I think there is a totally feasible explanation for *why* Kevin does what he does in Two Turkeys, which is that he’s incredibly nervous about bringing Holt to his parents’ again, so much so that he’s projecting those fears onto the dessert. (This also makes sense because Kevin’s parents have never encountered the pie before. Kevin doesn’t usually go home for Thanksgiving, and this year they’re trying again.) So it’s not about the pie, really, it’s about the situation. That would have made sense. 

(If you’re reading this and you feel moved to write the fic, please do!) 

And I do love, love, that Kevin loves sitting in silence in a car with his husband. I know it’s supposed to make them look like boring dorks, but IMO that is hella romantic.

one thing I noticed from my lesson yesterday, which was pretty much just her demonstrating how she used side reins, with a bit of practice about moving the lunging circle, was that PJ was cutting in and I couldn’t get him to go out consistently by pointing the whip at his shoulder. It seemed like he only stayed out when he got his speed up, usually at the canter, but I think that’s just because he had to go out to keep his balance.

I had this problem with Zeke, too, last time we lunged.

My trainer dismissed it as a Green Horse Thing but I want to know how to fix it because I don’t want him cutting in so close. Not a fan.

Aside from just letting a Green Horse learn their balance on a circle, any anecdotes on what y’all have done to fix this? I’m curious how different trainers approach it. Is it pretty universal to just point the whip at their shoulder until they move out or nah?

Asking here before I go exploring on google because I always like the diff input I get from you guys.

glamourous39  asked:

Bed all day. Todoroki.

Sounds like heaven. 


“Shouto.” No response. “Shouto.” Quiet, not-quite-conscious noise of some sort. “Shouto, come on. Move, I have to pee.” 

He shifted his arm so you could move. His breathing evened out again almost immediately. 

There was a grey, watery beam of light peeking through the curtain, and the clock said it was only 6:12. Shouto had a late night; he’d come home from the office around three hours ago, so you weren’t surprised that he was so dead to the world. 

As you walked to the bathroom, you considered your options: you could either make breakfast for the two of you, go do something until he woke up, or go back to bed (in which case, you probably weren’t going to get up for anything but food for at least half the day, but more likely the rest of the day). 

Well, if you made breakfast right now, it would get cold by the time he woke up, and you had no urge to do anything in particular this early in the morning, so you went back to the bedroom and slid under the covers. 

Shouto immediately snuggled up to you in his sleep, and you drifted off not long after, looking forward to having such a rare lazy day.

in your dreams, sweetheart

Photographer!thor, Model!loki. Kind of the second in my photographer Thor series, the first one being a heart and a pair of boots.


“Why not just go with fishnet?”

Thor looks up. He’s kneeling between Loki’s legs, cutting holes in the white tee Loki is wearing. Thor’s left hand is under the shirt while the right one is working the scissors.

Over Thor’s shoulder there’s the professional camera he’ll be using to take the pics. It’s on the table right next to Thor’s giant to go coffee cup and his car keys.

Thor looks at Loki for a moment and his eyes just devour him. And Loki thinks having someone look at you like that literally gives you the best high ever.

Thor looks down at the thin fabric, shifts his weight in his shoes.

He moves his hand higher under Loki’s shirt, reaching for the collar area. The warmth of his palm and Thor’s forearm pressed right to the center of his chest makes Loki arch his back a little and hug Thor’s ribs with his thighs.

Loki squeezes Thor’s chest between his knees and Thor hums, fiddling with the shirt.

Thor picks a spot close to Loki’s left shoulder, pulls the fabric away from Loki’s skin and cuts a hole there.

The hushed sound of ripping fabric in Loki’s ears and the spicy scent of Thor’s cologne filling his nose, warming the blood in his veins.

“Don’t have any of them fishnet shirts,” he replies.

Loki leans back on his palms, keeping his legs pressed to Thor’s sides.

He flips his hair over his right shoulder, teases, “I don’t believe you.”

Thor smirks, slides the silver blades of the scissors into the slash he’d just made, snips, makes it wider, and hello left clavicle.

“No?”

They’ve just met in a bar about an hour ago, and now Loki’s sitting on an empty wine box in this guy’s apartment about to pose for some pics and the moon is shining out there and the night is theirs.  

Loki shakes his head slowly, left eyebrow arched, “I think you just wanna touch me.”

Thor moves his giant palm over Loki’s chest, then closes his fingers gently around Loki’s throat, hand still under the collar.

“Yeah?” he smiles up at Loki all crooked, swiping a thumb just under Loki’s jaw, “where’d you get that idea from?”

Loki plays along, “makes you wonder, doesn’t it.”

Thor’s smile grows bigger, “love this mouth of yours.”

“Love your hands,” Loki says.

Definitely not just the hands.

Thor chuckles. He’s full of himself but he’s fucking hot.

He slides his palm back down from the hollow of Loki’s throat to the center of his chest. He cuts another hole there, puts the scissors away.

Loki watches him with parted lips as Thor slides his fingers in, grips the fabric in both fists and tugs hard. The fabric rips so easy, leaving a grinning slash the size of a pocket knife behind.

Loki is impressed and fucking turned on.

He bites his lips and pokes Thor’s side with the heel of his boot.

“Be gentle with me?” he asks all innocent but his eyes betray him.

Thor grins, “in your dreams, sweetheart.”

3

Javier came out of his room late to avoid his mother… he knew she was going for bunch and therefore wouldn’t have the time to waste with him the morning. Just how he liked it. 

He met Rozalia the house Butler as he moved around the apartment and was happy to see her had barely seen her since his return and somehow always managed to miss her when he visited home once in a blue moon. 

“Mr Fernandes.. how lovely to see you again!” she exclaimed happily 

“Rosie you haven’t seen me in a few years and you’ve forgotten my first name?” 

“No sir, just that your mother prefers professionalism.” 

“You don’t have to do that ridiculousness with me! its Javier please…!” 

“You look hungry sir, can i make you some breakfast?” 

“No don’t worry yourself Rosie i’ll probably grab a bowl of cereal and head out!” 

“No no, I insist! Sit down and i’ll make you something. I haven’t seen you in a long time.. you can sit here and tell me about university while i make some breakfast for you!” 

Javier chuckled… “Okay.. you win!” he said as he sat down on the stool! 

anonymous asked:

Prompt: could you maybe write about the first training fight Virgil and Roman had?

(set immediately before Training)

“You…you cheated!” Roman rose from the ground, sputtering, wiping dust from his eyes.

“Uh…yeah?” Virgil replied, struggling to catch his breath, his whole body aching.

 He hadn’t wanted to do this in the first place. Learning to fight, fine, yeah, that made sense. He wasn’t gonna be like Logan, and refuse completely. But Roman could’ve just…started formally teaching them.

Instead, the prince had insisted on “seeing what skills they had” before he began any kind of lessons. Which, okay, Virgil could see a point there. No need to go over things they already knew. And Patton had handled himself fine–Roman had beaten him, but from what Virgil had heard Roman usually beat everybody. He was a tournament champion for a reason. But Patton had known the moves and it’d taken Roman a bit.

Then he’d turned to Virgil, and, well…no. Virgil didn’t really know how to fight with a sword and obey the rules of combat. But he hadn’t survived as a friendless bastard by not knowing how to fight at all.

Maybe ducking and rolling away from sword strikes, tumbling off to the sides, and finally throwing dirt in Roman’s eyes before sweeping his legs out from under him wasn’t “chivalrous” but it had fucking worked. And the point was to win, right? So why did Roman look so…pissed off?

“Not like I was gonna beat you with a sword, Princey,” Virgil pointed out, running a hand back through his sweat-soaked hair. “I’ve never used one.”

“But you…you…you’re not supposed to stoop to…” Roman pulled himself visibly under control, his eyes still red and watering.

“It seemed a fairly effective tactic to me,” Logan said mildly from the sidelines.

Roman frowned, glancing over at him before shaking his head. “Effective or not, it’s outside the rules of combat.”

“Bullshit.” Virgil flinched slightly when Roman’s gaze turned back to him, but held his ground. “Maybe it’d get me disqualified in a tournament, but I don’t actually give a fuck about that. If I’m in a fight, I’m fighting to win. There’ll be people depending on me winning. I’m not gonna let some stupid set of rules keep me from doing what I have to.”

“Fine!” Roman picked up the wooden practice sword Virgil had knocked out of his hand when he’d been blinded, his jaw clenching. “Fine. You’ve made your point, and I suppose a peasant such as yourself cannot be expected to obey the laws of a gentleman. But if you insist on using such tactics, I’m not be the one to train you. Perhaps Gareth, Jerrick’s rider, will be a better fit.”

“Fine by me,” Virgil returned mildly, trying to pretend Roman’s continued disdain for his common origins didn’t sting. He’d beaten him, hadn’t he? How many people could say that?

“Fine,” Roman agreed. “Now,” he said, turning to Logan as Virgil picked up his things and headed out of the room. “As for you…”

Virgil escaped, feeling vaguely guilty for leaving Logan alone to face Roman’s ire, but not guilty enough to stay for any more of it himself.